Bare Arms

Posted on Sat Apr 10th, 2021 @ 2:01pm by Lieutenant Kurt Bishop & Bar'soon'fo'da'gree'nars

Mission: S2:3: Snow Drift
Location: Canopus Station, Station Security

Bar'soon had waited patiently.
He had sat down, placed his hands on his knees, and thought a pleasant thought to pass the time. His mothers glowing bones, burning a beautiful vermillion green in the ruins of her bed-chamber. The red flames of the drapes, the chemical fire igniting her bones and keeping them that way. By all accounts, the spectacle should still be ongoing, and if his traitorous brothers and sisters were smart, a lucrative tourist trap.

In hindsight, he should problem have gone with a longer memory because following thirty seconds of inactivity and a bubbling giggle towards the end that scaled up into a near cackle. Cackling in the security annexe of a Federation starbase is a good way to get all of the wrong people's attention.

And then it struck him: why was he waiting? These people knew who he was, he told enough people that by dint of statistical probability his name was on the lips of everyone on the station.

So he got up, dusted down the cheaply replicated jumpsuit he'd gotten with his Station Assisted Living & Service Allowance (SALSA), and strode past the duty officer's desk and into the beating heart of Station Security like he owned the place.

Lieutenant Bishop was discussing a possible rise in smuggling with several security officers when he noticed Bar'soon entering the common area with Petty Officer Mapleton, the duty officer, in tow.

Not recognizing Bar'soon's race, Bishop would treat the intruder as a lost ambassador. For now anyways. "Can I help you?"

"Oh, hello!" Bar'soon said brightly as he looked Bishop up and down and up again. Why did it seem the human genome ran towards brown hair and rugged physiques? Less of a gene-pool and more of a gene-fountain. Which reminded him of the bird fountains his mother had installed in the bank holiday palace. All those little brushes.

And the red mist when a slightly-to-large bird tried to get some water and got caught in the gears.

"I've come to pick up my gun," Bar'soon said and clapped his hands together happily, rubbing them as he planned his chicken luncheon. "Do you have a selection, or do you do bespoke work? Because I have a few (dozen) ideas."

Bishop was taken aback by this person's brazenness. "We don't give out guns. Especially don't give guns to civilians. Exactly who are you?"

PO Mapleton, and a few other's who had been part of the original Canopus Expedition, opened their mouths as Bishop spoke The Forbidden Words. But it was too late, the form of the destroyer had been selected.

"Bar'soon'fo'da'gree'nars, Third of his Title, holder of the lightning throne, guardian of the sacred skulls of Antiok and ruler of the world of Shishimi and all its celestial companions. Currently royalty in exile, ambassador without portfolio, and owner and provider of items at the Em'Bar'See on the Medina Level!" He finished without taking a breath.

Maybe he breathed through his pores? Or tear ducts?

Bishop had read Bar'soon's ample dossier. It was filled with colorful language used by many officers that had contact with the Shishimi. So far, Bar'soon was living up to the hype in his own file.

"Hey Lieutenant," Ensign Dupree whispered to Bishop, "I think that's the Bar'soon guy they warned us about in the briefing."

"Yah think so, Ensign?" Bishop replied sarcastically before returning his attention to Bar'soon.

"I don't care what titles you hold, the only two people that are authorized to go past the duty NCO are the station commander and executive officer." Bishop told Bar'soon. "The duty NCO will treat you with respect, as will all my security staff. You will do likewise return that respect. If you ever disrespect the duty NCO again you will be holding court in one of our detention cells."

Bar'soon seemed to think about that for a moment. The gears turned, the hamster wheel squealed, and the water wheel at the back began to turn slow but true. Of course, all of that mental steam power did zip due to the fact it wasn't connected to anything related to his mouth.

"But I was the one disrespected, made to wait out there with all of the..." he reached out a regal hand, and wiggled his long fingers at the waiting area. "...people. And you see everyone here jumps all over my words whenever I try to say my name, so clearly they do not know that I am the deposed king of all Sishimi and all its celestial companions. You know, not one of them. But now you do, because you asked for my name and now it has been spoken."

He smacked his lips together, and turned his head fast enough that his long earlobes whipped to and fro.

"I am somewhat parched from speaking at such length. I don't see a bar, though I once saw a most ingeniously hidden selection of liquors in a seed vault on an asteroid made of gold," he said craning his neck. "I'm not picky, sparkling mineral water with a twist of ham would be quite delightful. I'm been experimenting with the replicator, wonderful invention I-...you're not writing this down. I think you should write this down, I've noticed you Federation types tend to get a glazed look in your eyes when I speak for longer than a minute. Terrible attention spans."

"Is he asking one of use to be his stenographer?" Dupree asked.

"Yes he is." Bishop replied, frustration evident in his voice. "Dupree, your going to escort his royal highness to his cell. Put him away from the real prisoners so they don't frighten him and he doesn't annoy them. I'm sure he will complain to high heaven so do everything with courtesy and by the book. Take petty officers Singh, Blake, and Ramirez with you."

Bishop turned to Bar'soon. "Your Majesty, at this time you are going to be arrested for trespassing and interfering with law enforcement. Ensign Dupree and an escort will lead you to your cell. Once safely there, they will bring you mineral water and ham."

"See?! See this is why I said you should write things down! I said a twist of ham, a twist! Not ham, a twist-" Bar'soon suddenly went very still. "Wait...wait wait wait. NO! Do arrest me! Lock me in irons! File me away! Will I have to list my titles and occupation? I'm new at this."

"So you're trying to be arrested?" Bishop asked. "Yeah, we'll get that all down later. No need for someone as important as you to do mundane forms. For now, follow the security detail to your cell. Dupree will make sure you get your spiral ham."

Bishop turned to Mapleton. "This guy wants a diplomatic incident. For now, just put him down as 'Alien with conflicting titles'. No formal name, no AKAs, no titles. Keep the information to a bare minimum in case we need to cover ourselves. Normally I wouldn't bother command with someone like this but this guy is up to something." He whispered to her.

"You want to bring Captain Ingram in on this?" Mapleton said.

Bishop motioned to Mapleton to turn around so Bar'soon couldn't see them talk. "No, I just want to keep him informed so he isn't blindsided."

"Let me explain. When I've arrested powerful people like Bar'soon." Bishop stopped to think. "Correction, I've never meet anyone like Bar'soon. When ever I arrest a powerful individual, most don't come without some sort of resistance. They beg, threaten, physically attack, or one time latched on to a bulkhead when we try to haul them off. Bar'soon wants us to throw him into a cell and he wants to make sure there is a long paper trail. Why? I don't know for sure, but if I had to guess I think he wants to make a spectacle. Maybe ask the Federation for some pressed latinum for his silence. And that scavenger of a journalist that is on this station will run the hell out the story."

"Like I said, I just want to give Captain Ingram a heads up." Bishop explained. "Send a brief message to him."

"On your head be it," Mapleton said quietly and stepped away to make the communication happen.

"Excuse me?" a lyrical voice asked from behind the vacant duty officers desk. One of the Rish buskers brought in for unlicensed performance work was standing there, bass guitar draped over his shoulder. "Far be it from me too presumptuous, but we've been waiting for a while and if we can just walk in to make our peace we'd like to get back to the Reef before third shift...?"

"We aren't here for customer service. You'll be processed according to priority." Bishop coldly told the musician before returning to Dupree. "Respectfully put our guest into a cell and then send an officer back out to the duty desk and help Mapleton."

"Mister Bar'soon, please follow these officers." Bishop politely motioned to the security detail.

"Oh no, " says the sergeant, "I'll have no such chat
And neither will I take it from snappy young brats
For if you insult me with one other word
I'll cut off your heads in the morning"

The lyrical Rish voice sang out from the waiting area, as the trio of buskers broke out into a rapid rendition on a set of pipes.

"Ladies and gents, and those who genders number like the stars, take heed and take merriment: The Canopus Security Philharmonic is here to make light the weight of your conscience be they guilty or not," the lead Rish said with a flourish. "Next up is the Maw Of The King, wherein a clever Rish scoundrel outwits the crew of the Federation starship Nathaniel King. A favourite of the Reef and of many an ear."

Dupree turned to Bishop. "Should I have Blake put them into a cell?"

"No. If those wastrels want to sing, let them sing. At least they aren't out on the Medina." Bishop replied.

"But there're playing songs disparaging Starfleet." Dupree protested.

"That's how the weak lash out. Besides, some short sighted members of the Federation Senate gave them the right to free speech." Bishop explained to Dupree. "Now please escort our guest to his accommodations."