"The Murder of Ibraham Stern"

Posted on Tue May 19th, 2015 @ 7:55pm by

Mission: Pandemic [Incomplete]
Location: Various
Timeline: Various

The mixture crackled and fizzed, superheating as the two otherwise benign chemicals began to swirl together, forming something entirely different. Something toxic. Elizabeth Heyworth sighed inwardly, but outwardly remained passive, her hawkish face impassive, save for a slight wrinkle between her eyes as she stared intently at the results. She scratched at her scalp absently, inadvertently messing her hair up. To this she did allow herself an audible sigh, pulling her hair back in a jerking motion to tie it in a neat ponytail.

The young Lieutenant stepped back from the all-white station she was working at. Deep in the bowels of the science department of Cestus III, Elizabeth watched as the simulated virus chewed her 'cure' apart.

An older, grizzled officer slid by her station, flashing her a smile as he did. She nodded back, and stole a quick look around. He was the last of them. She was alone.

She slipped back to her station, and quickly - but efficiently, with the perfected skill of one who took even the smallest details serious - packed up her work and wiped her station down. Moments later it was like no one had ever worked there. Elizabeth allowed a moment to survey it, making sure nothing had been missed or was out of place, and then turned to walk to her small desk. The east-wing of the main science labs were dedicated to, as most science labs were, physical research, but to the west was an alcove that had been carved out for office-space. Most of the work was research-based, with only some experimentation at the later stages of any given project, so each scientist needed a place to work. She stared at the small cubical-styled work-station in disgust. Some eight years of education, and another four to complete the Academy, and this is where she would die. She daydreamed of the time wasted writing her doctoral dissertation, when she could have been out having fun with the friends she never had.

Her slight frame slipped into the cozy, yet utilitarian chair and her thumb swiped across the coded reader. Her screen snapped to life, and she began.

"Computer, resume Climer oh, oh, four seven, dated January 12, 2245," she said, her English accent aristocratic and proper. The computer chirped, and then an angry buzzing sound blared, which she silenced with a wave and a scowl. She stole a look around and then leaned in close. "Override, Stern Delta Seven, Seven, Six." A positive chime sounded and the screen lit up, revealing multiple camera-angles of a white facility. The date in the corner matched her requested date; 2245.

146 years ago.

As the recording began, Elizabeth shifted in her chair. "Computer, pause," she said. She tilted her head slightly, straining to hear anything out of place. She wasn't given to paranoia, but the events of the last five months of her life had been anything but normal for her. Ever since Ibraham Stern came into her life, the entire world had felt tilted. She felt a sudden wave of inspiration. The Climer file could wait, she told herself.

She needed to tell this story. She needed to tell his story, not for herself, but for him. She knew, deep down, that he never would.

A crash of sadness struck her, and her brow furrowed slightly. "Computer, begin recording," she said. "Title the file..." She inhaled deeply, closing her eyes in an attempt to regain her composure. "The murder of Ibraham Stern."

If he wouldn't, she would. I will be the arbiter of your legacy, Bram, she thought.

--

Five months ago

“It still puts you arriving at your scheduled time,” Admiral Gohan said, steepling his fingers. His face was like a shadow in the screen of the communicator as Stern stared down into the small device. “I need you to see if you can extract any information from her before she expires.”

Stern frowned. “What is she dying from?”

Gohan said nothing.

Stern sighed. “Well, can you at least tell me what it is I am after?”

Again, silence. And then, “go to Outpost 101, it is one of our bases; there you will seek out a Doctor Tillmar; he’ll direct you to my agent there. First attempt to break contact, and then, if you aren’t able to, make sure she is gone. Gather her things and have them sent to me directly. After that you can be on your way, Lieutenant.” The transmission cut out and the screen of his communicator went black.

Stern put it in his pocket and looked up. He was on Earth, near the North-west region of the Americas. The sky was so utterly blue, like an ocean as he stared into it. Had he detected a hint of ill will from Gohan? The man was unreadable.

=Outpost 101, three days later. Region Classified=

Tillmar was a short man with a kind face; Stern recognized an Intelligence Officer when he saw one, but he said nothing. He was certainly no doctor, that much was evident just from the way he carried himself; casual and loose, like he was trying too hard to seem unthreatening. He walked with the expert gait of a killer. “This way, Lieutenant,” he said, smiling as they walked down the narrow and dark corridors. “I’ve got her in the room just on the end there.”

They reached the octagonal doorway and Tillmar stopped. He nodded to Stern. “As far as I go; not for my eyes or ears,” he said, smiling. “If you need anything, just call.”

Stern nodded. Tillmar walked back down the way they had come and Stern watched him go. Definitely a killer, he thought.

He looked into the small room; it was dark, and an incense smell hung in the air heavy. He could also smell counterseptics, unguents, and the distinct scent of death; a sharp, sickly sweet odor that stuck to your skin and hair.

She was shrouded in white cloth, various tubes protruding from her flesh as medicines and liquid were pumped in and out of her body. Two tubes jutted out of her mouth.

Her skin was ashen, and her face was sunken in. He wondered how long she had been like this. He knelt down beside her bed and peered at her face. “Not getting anything out of you,” he murmured. She was never going to wake up.

He stood up and reached for her chart. Quinn, Harper the name read. DOB, 02082365. “Damn,” he whispered. “Twenty five years old.” He shook his head. She was just a baby.

He started to set the chart down when something caught his eyes. Where it listed a date of death a date and time had been entered.

Today’s date, three minutes from now.

He looked at her, and then at the door. The door was shut and sealed and as he walked to it the doors did not open. He furrowed his brow and turned back to the girl. Something was wrong.

He turned back to the door and attempted to pull the panel next to it free. He couldn’t get his fingers between the slats, and grunted and cursed as he struggled with it.

There were no windows. “The hell,” he hissed as he pressed himself against the wall. He was trapped.

It was a trap.

He saw the girl convulse. He narrowed his eyes. She began choking on the tubes in her throat. “Tillmar!” he shouted. He hammered on his comm-badge. “Tillmar damn you!”

Her body arched viciously. He could hear her spine cracking as her arms shot out to either side of her. Her fingers twisted and contorted insanely. Her eyes went wide, the whites impossibly large as the veins seemed to expand. The eyes darted and twisted, seeking an escape, seeking freedom.

Stern stood ready.

At last her body ceased to move, and with one last massive cough, blood sprayed into the air and Harper Quinn was no more, her body falling back, limp.

Moments later the doors slid open and a medical team rushed in, gowned and masked. He watched them as they silently wheeled her body away. They looked like they were trying to save her, but it looked more like they were just going through the motions to Stern.

He turned to find Tillmar standing patiently; the man had his hands behind his back and was staring at Stern impassively. “I apologize Lieutenant,” he said. “There was a malfunction with the door; by the time we realized something was wrong…” He looked away, feigning regret.

Stern frowned. What the hell had all of this been about, he thought. “Call your master and let him know his toy is broken,” Stern spat, brushing past the “doctor.”

Tillmar watched Stern go. When the Intelligence Officer had vanished around the corner he reached into his pocket and pulled out a comm-device. “It’s done,” he said.

Lightyears away, sitting in an office in a glass tower that overlooked the San Francisco Bay Admiral Damian Gohan stood and stared into the darkness. Your move, Charles, he thought.

--

Elizabeth sank back into her chair, staring at the words she had transcribed. It was, of course, second-hand, told to her by Stern himself, but she had independent verification from Tillmar, shortly before he died. She decided, though, that it was enough for tonight. She would resume tomorrow.


--

Ibraham Stern
Intelligence Operative

With;

Lieutenant Elizabeth Heyworth, PhD
Science Officer

and

Admiral Damian Gohan
Starfleet Command Intelligence