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Mark Garrison

"Opening A Dialogue"

"Opening A Dialogue"

 

With special guest writer Victria

 

It was a short stroll from Main Security over to the brigs, which didn't give Mark much time to really figure out what he was going to say to the prisoners, or was it guests? The Fed Council and Starfleet seemed to be flip flopping on that a lot. Still, Captain says jump, and you say how high... Things were at least moving along smoothly. Fae had already picked out the quarters, and Charlotte was giving orders to evacuated said deck the rooms were on. That left him once again trusting Victria to set up the details of security. Have to look over those as well he figured.

 

Entering the brig, it was far more packed then he'd liked. Medical was there dispensing food to the Al-Ucard, as well as a host of other people who had no better reason then to be classified as gawkers. With a sour look on his face, Mark ordered them all out into the hall, so he could speak to the prisoners/guests privately. After a few minutes, the brig was empty, besides the brig officer running the force fields, the Al-Ucard and Eritian prisoners, and Garrison himself.

 

Walking up to the middle group, he cleared his throat to gain the attention of anyone who hadn't notice him empty the room. "I'm Lieutenant-Commander Mark Garrison, Chief of Security. I need to talk to whom ever holds authority to speak for your...group."

 

After a brief moment of discussion, a single Al-Ucard male emerged from the others and paced up to the edge of the forcefield. He stood at around six and a half feet, was slender of build, but toned as were all of his brethren. With his uncanny blue eyes, pale skin, dark hair and sharp features, he could have easily been Victria's brother. In fact, all of the Al-Ucard seemed to resemble on another to some degree, though there were subtle differences in facial characteristics and body types. The Al-Ucard continued to stare, unblinking. "I am Morill of House Ardal. I do not speak for them," he gestured dismissively to the Eratian's in the cell next to theirs, "but I am the First for this group."

 

He glanced to the Eratian's for a moment before returning his attention of Morill. "That's fine. I'm here to tell you that the Captain has decided that you're all to be given quarters. Operations is in the process of setting up arrangements for you, and you'll be moved shortly."

 

"We are being set free?" His nostrils flared slightly and his gaze narrowed as though he didn't believe. Tilting his head, he seemed to read Mark's expression. "No, we are still prisoners. We are simply being coddled by the Federation so that they may feel better about themselves."

 

"The quarters are an upgrade from being crammed together in these cells. If you'd like, you could stay here. I don't care much, personally," His recent encounter with Victria didn't leave him much love for the Al-Ucard or their plight. Still, he was supposed to try and be diplomatic. He sighed deeply. "We're trying to work on an outcome that doesn't result in us turning you over to the Scorpiads. I wont lie and say that it's a for sure thing. I'm also sure that you know full well that they wont just let you go. So, you could try to be a little more appreciative, rather then insult the only thing standing between you and what ever example the Scorpiad intend to make of you all."

 

Morill smiled. It was the slow, calculating smile of a predator assessing his prey. One finger rose to press against the forcefield, his claw-like fingernails dragging across the surface as though the resulting energy surge was no bother. "Your Federation will not do anything to jeopardize the fragile peace they believe they have built. It is a facade and is dangerously close to crumbling at your feet. While you cling to your fragile existence, the Scorpiad are rebuilding their forces to crush you. And they will, make no mistake. They will not stop until they have obliterated every trace of your people from this quadrant of the galaxy. They may not even stop there." He bared his fangs and hissed. "We, the repressed, are the only thing that stands between you and utter destruction, so stop congratulating yourself on pretending to treat us with respect," he snarled. "If you do not intend to release us, you are no better than the false Gods that have controlled us for so long."

 

He scowled, his frustration growing. They were all so high and God damned mighty. "This was obviously a mistake. Not only are your people unable to ask for help, they're incapable of receiving it. Look, the only reason I came down here is to make sure you won't cause any trouble while we move you to your quarters. I've spent some time with your kind, so I know you all have some kind of code of honor. All I need to know if you'll cooperate and move peacefully, while we try to work on some way of releasing you."

 

"You mean you have spent time with heeerrrrrrrrrr," he hissed. "Her stench is still on you. I can smell it even through the field." The forcefield sizzled as he struck it briefly. "She is not one of us. Not for some time now. You have tainted her. She stinks of this place and has forgotten who she is and what she was born to do. She is dulled, muted, half. You have no knowledge of us. You could never know us except as prey." He snapped his fangs in frustration and moved back from the field, turning sharply on one heel and rejoining his kin in what was, quite obviously, a dismissal of the human security officer and an end to the conversation.

 

"You should say that to her some time. See what she does." He looked them for a moment longer, before letting out a disgusted snort, and walking out of the brig.

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