Murder Most Foul
Up Murder Most Foul The Emperor’s Clothes Third Time’s A Charm

 

Table Of Contents

Mission : Murder Most Foul


Art by Michael Lovato 1993

The contents of the Ship Logs are considered to be a "compilation" under the provisions of Title 17, U.S. Code (known as the Copyright Act): that is, "A work formed by the collection and assembling of preexisting materials or of data that is selected, coordinated or arranged in such a way that the resulting work as a whole constitutes an original work of authorship." As such, it is the property of the ship’s Captain; however, automatic transfer of ownership to STARSHIPS OF THE THIRD FLEET is effected upon publication of this mission by the ship’s Captain ipso facto.

As outlined in Circular 1 (Copyrighted Basics, Library of Congress, Washington DC, USGPO 1989-262-309/12), "copyrighted in each separate contribution to a periodical or other collective work is distinct from the copyright in the collective work as a whole and vests initially with the author of the contribution."

This mission may not be reproduced in any form without the express, written authorization of STARSHIPS OF THE THIRD FLEET.

Prologue

From the Ship’s Log of USS GALILEO (NCC-8888), May, 2307

Grahame Dorsai Clayton, IV, Commanding Officer of the Star Cruiser GALILEO was in that delicious state of semi-sleep, where the subconscious takes control. His sleeping quarters were darkened, the Shaleen sheets from Shakalar, a gift from his mother, were cool against his skin. He shifted positions, rolling onto his back and clasping his hands together on his chest. Again, he relived the holidays at Greystoke Manor on New Britain. Images of his father and mother, Lord and Lady Greystoke; neighbors and old friends-and Kirtland-floated lazily through his mind.

The GALILEO was moored in space some 50 kilometers from Starbase 12 along with several other Third Fleet ships, awaiting the end of the stand down and the return of their crews. Heavy Cruisers USS MONITOR (NCC-1713) and USS MORIARTY (NCC2448); Light Cruisers USS XIA (NCC-1435), USS TALLEDEGA (NCC-1448), and the Cruiser USS PADDINGTON (NCC-2485); along with other ships, including USS HELENA, USS PANDORA, USS MESOPOTAMIA and USS SHARIM EL SHEIKH, were arrayed around the starbase. Each was at a different stage of readiness. In two days they would all begin to get underway for widely different missions, their crews refreshed and ready to go. Then, once again, the starbase would revert to normal: only a couple of ships, undergoing minor repairs, would remain.

Clayton dimly heard the sounds of eight bells rung over the shipwide intercom system: four o'clock in the morning. Almost all of his crew would be on board by now; just a couple of stragglers left to come back before 0800, when he would contact Fleet Admiral Kenneth Brannon at Third Fleet Headquarters to learn the ship's next mission. Captain Clayton could dismiss the gentle sounds of eight bells, but he couldn't ignore the insistent buzz of his direct communication line to the Bridge.

He reached above his head and activated the circuit. Wide awake now, he spoke into the empty room, "Captain here."

The apologetic voice of ENS Arrhae t'Kilyle, Chief Linguistics Officer replied, "Sorry to awaken you, Captain, but I have a Commanding Officers Eyes Only message from Third Fleet Academy."

Clayton could picture the ensign's light features, upswept eyebrows and pointed ears at the Communications Station on the Bridge. He could also imagine the look of concern on her face--no officer enjoyed bothering her Captain in the middle of the night, not even for a Commanding Officer's Eyes Only message.

"No problem, Ensign," Clayton managed to hide the concern he felt. Was there something wrong with Father? Or Mother? He threw back the covers and reached for his robe. "I'll take it here in my quarters."

The Starfleet insignia was already on the screen when Clayton sat down at his computer terminal. "Captain Clayton here."

Vice Admiral Lord Greystoke's image materialized. Clayton could tell by the look on his father's face that something was very seriously wrong.

"Son, I'm glad you're back aboard your ship. I have a problem."

"Is there something wrong with Mother?" Knowing his father was okay, his concern immediately shifted.

"What? Oh, yes, she's fine. There's nothing wrong with the family. The problem is at the Academy." He paused, then continued, "Kyoto Haleakala has been murdered!"

Clayton was stunned. Kyoto had been one of the many people who had come in and out of Greystoke Manor during the recent holidays. She had been her usual volatile self. A scene from one of the numerous parties flashed unbidden into his mind. Tiny Kyoto, with a drink in her hand, was involved in a heated argument with another faculty member, Jacobsen Hastings. The diminutive Kyoto was standing her ground, looking up at the figure towering over her. Hastings made some remark which obviously incensed Kyoto. She looked at him in contempt, threw her drink in his face, and stalked off.

"Murdered? When? How?" It was inconceivable that something like this could happen at the Academy

"One of her assistants found her slumped over a computer console this morning. The program she'd been working on for more than a year had been erased from memory-including the backup in the Academy's Main Frame." Lord Greystoke paused and a strange look crossed his face. "She died from an overdose of Tri-Amber Nightingale."

"TANic? Impossible! Kyoto would never be addicted to Silk Dreams. It's out of the question!"

"I agree," Lord Greystoke nodded. "But, that's what happened."

"Why would her computer program be erased? What was she working on?" Clayton was searching for a motive.

"I can't go into details right now, Son, but it dealt with the First Confederacy."

An icy hand clutched at Clayton's heart. He had lost good friends on the Starfleet ships wantonly destroyed by the mysterious First Confederacy. Ramifications of the last meeting between Federation and First Confederacy forces were still reverberating throughout Starfleet.

"The First Confederacy?" Clayton repeated. "That's Top Secret, Grahame, and not for general discussion." Lord Greystoke's voice was stern.

A sudden suspicion flitted through Clayton's mind. "Why are you telling me this, Father?"

"You have some of the best minds in the Fleet aboard the GALILEO, Son. And...." Lord Greystoke was a bit uncomfortable with outward displays of emotion. He looked uncomfortable now. His voice dropped, "I trust you, especially, in a situation like this."

Vice Admiral Lord Greystoke studied his hands intently for a moment, then looked up. "I've already talked to Admiral Brannon at Third Fleet Headquarters. Your orders to get underway for Third Fleet Academy at best possible speed should arrive any moment."

Clayton leaned back in his chair, folded his arms, and studied his father silently. He leaned forward and quietly asked, "And what else do those orders say, Admiral?"

"Operational and tactical control of the GALILEO have been transferred to Third Fleet Academy until this situation is cleared up."

Clayton involuntarily raised one eyebrow, "I'm to report to you?"

"It may sound awkward, Son, but it'll be okay. I need your help," Lord Greystoke was almost pleading.

Clayton nodded, knowing how hard this was on his father. "We'll be there as soon as possible."

"Thank you, Captain. I'm relying on you." Lord Greystoke retreated to safer ground.

Clayton, not entirely happy with this assignment, for several reasons, turned off the screen and punched the hailing button on his communications panel.

"First Officer report to the Captain's Quarters on the double."

CDR Donati had just stepped off the transporter platform. He reached over the edge of the transporter console and replied tersely, "On my way, Captain."

The tone of his captain's voice was one Bo Donati wasn't familiar with. It was obvious, though, that something serious and out of the ordinary was up. He moved quickly to the door, down the corridor, and into the turbolift, making sure his uniform was in place. Evidently this was no social event.