From: neale@mentor.cc.purdue.edu (Neale Davidson)
Subject: STTUQ 9/15
Organization: Purdue University Computing Center
Date: Thu, 27 Aug 1992 18:24:03 GMT

 
  - STAR TREK      ---------------------------------------------------
  - THE UNFAIR QUO ---------------------------------------------------
 
  Part Nine of Fifteen
 
  --------------------------------------------------------------------
 
  CHAPTER NINE
 
        Riley stood at the foot of Gahrut's bed. He noted the 
  giant blisters on his Lieutenant's armored hide, and wished 
  that there was something he could do to help. But there wasn't, 
  all he could do was try to find out what happened. "Tell me," 
  Riley commaned softly to the Horta's damaged form.
        "It didn't know what hit me, Captain," Gahrut moaned. "I
  asked who it was, and he fired at me. I didn't have a chance to
  react." Gahrut was still slowly leaking fluid, the makeshift
  silicon patches were having difficulty holding him.
        "What do you remember?" Riley tried, staying as
  matter-of-factly as he could. "Did you get a look at him?"
        "He was in shadows," Gahrut replied. "It looked like he
  was wearing a Star Fleet uniform, but it was to dark to see
  anything visually. From his heat pattern, I'd say he was a
  human, but I can't be any more specific."
        Well, that narrows it down to six billion, Riley fumed to
  himself. "Has Paula ever asked you to escort her to places
  before?"
        "A few times, sir," Gahrut strained. "She was usually
  tripped out about someone when she'd ask."
        "Tripped out?" Riley responded with interest.
        Gahrut shifted somewhat, exposing more of his uninjured
  areas. "Yeah, she'd be scared of guys. It'd usually happen
  after someone hit on her and wouldn't take 'no'. I'd walk her
  to her quarters and that would be it."
        "Has she ever carried a phaser in public before?" Riley
  asked flatly.
        "Never to my knowledge, sir," Gahrut asked. "Why do you
  ask?" Gahrut was concered, something terrible had to be going
  on, and he felt responsible.
        "Security force recovered a phaser from a streetman who
  tried to sell it from there," Riley explained. "It was issued
  to the ENTERPRISE."
        Gahrut was taken aback. "Sir, no one's told me. What
  happened to her? What's going on?"
        Riley paused for a moment. There was no way to smooth out
  the harshness of the news. There was no way to sugar-coat it.
  "She was raped, Lieutenant."
        "No," Gahrut trailed. "No," he said again, his voice
  breaking under the emotional deluge.
        Riley gently tapped the rocky form on the bed. "It's not
  your fault, Gahrut. You did what you could."
        Gahrut didn't reply. Sadness and guilt consumed him.
  Riley waited for several seconds, trying to find more words to
  ease the pain. There were none. He quietly left to the
  hospital's large cooridor where Matthews and Saavik had been
  waiting for him.
        "I told him," Riley admitted with regret. "He didn't 
  take it well, but I can't say that I blame him."
        "He needed to know, Captain," Matthews replied, his mood 
  not lightened. "It's not going to be easy. Security's got no 
  leads yet."
        "You mean there were no clues left behind?" Riley
  demanded, upset by the assertation.
        Matthews sighed. "The doctors here said that she was
  clean of usable evidence," he explained mornfully.
        "No semen samples?" Riley queried.
        "The assailant failed to climax," Matthews responded. "It
  isn't uncommon. Generally, rape is a crime of agression or
  domination, and not sex."
        Riley nodded, understanding all to well. "So, whoever did
  this, didn't leave traces of himself behind? That's a bit
  unlikely, don't you think?" He was frustrated now, wanting to
  do more, wanting to have a target for his agression.
        "Well, there are genetic traces from several individuals
  on her," Matthews offered. "It isn't conclusive as yet. Whoever
  did this took some great pains to ensure that they wouldn't be
  easily caught."
        "Of course," Riley muttered with distaste. "When Paula
  comes to, I'll need to ask her some questions. Will that be
  alright by you?"
        "No," Matthews protested lightly. "She'll be in shock for
  a while. Maybe in a couple of days, when she's more relaxed.
  But she'll need time to recover."
        "In a couple of days, Doctor," Riley retorted, "the
  bastard could be half-way to the Neutral Zone. I want him, and
  I want him as soon as I can have him. Is that understood?"
        Matthews grimaced, knowing that Riley was barely managing
  his temper. "I'll see what I can do, but I can't promise that
  she'll be receptive. We're dealing with a deep psychosis here,
  Captain."
        "And a deep psychotic," Riley countered. His patience was
  wearing extremely thin.
        "There's more, Captain," Matthews continued cautiously.
  "Judging by her past injuries, I'd say that this has happened
  once before."
        Riley fell silent, sitting down on a nearby chair as if
  the strength had been sapped from him. "Before? Her hatred of
  men, it came from a rape?" he asked tiredly.
        "It is consistant with common cases," Matthews replied.
  "The victim will associate all men as threats, particularly
  those with authority over her."
        "And she has been afraid of you, Thomas," Saavik
  commented. "She was afraid with no logical reason, citing a
  psychomatic, or phobic, reaction."
        "Jesus," Riley muttered distantly. "Is it possible," he
  slowly began. "Is it possible that the rapes were by the same
  person?"
        "Rare," Matthews commented, "but definately possible.
  Once someone has asserted his dominance, he may wish to
  continue it."
        "You suspect a connection, Captain?" Saavik asked as the
  Captain stood up. "There is no evidence to support such a
  claim at this time."
        "No evidence," Riley muttered. "That's why I need to
  question Paula as soon as I can."
 

-- 

"Our crew's living quarters have left the ship."
			- Secundam Yto aboard the IRON CLAW II
Neale Davidson, another writer wanna-be. neale@mentor.cc.purdue.edu