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David Bonali vs PFC Homer Kyle
“You had orders?!” the private echoed. His face grew red with rage. He drew in a deep breath and the color returned to his face. David was as cold as he was ruthless. Kyle smashed his hand down on the console in front of him. “If I didn't have my own orders to keep you in that cell I'd show ya to the airlock myself. I don't think you even knew Price or Higgins. Heck the whole team was only assembled just minutes before the meet. Your orders couldn't have been that specific. Why Higgins? Why Price? Why not ME or our senior ranking officer who you were dealing with.”
He sighed quietly and continued to stare at the ceiling. There was a debate as to how much he should reveal to the private. David frowned and crossed his legs at the ankles. “Your team wasn't exactly wearing rank insignia. I was tasked with killing all of them.” Ice green hues searched the tiles above him for anything interesting. “I was saving that hothead leader of yours for last.”
“You know what it is like to lose a man on a mission, I kept Price from bleeding out in the shuttle while I watched Higgins die in Spearhorse's arms. He didn't die well,” the young man sighed. He blinked away the image he could clearly see of Higgins last gasp then the death gurgle.
The Corolian had to think back over his year of service to the Tagime and then through the years with the Syndicate. He shook his head. “Can't say I know what it's like to lose a man. I'm not meant to die and I work alone.” David grunted quietly and straightened, turning so that he could sit up on the bench. His hands remained on the edge of the cot and he planted his feet on the floor. He leaned forward slightly as he stared at Kyle. “Look. This would have turned out different if I knew you were Starfleet. Higgins knew what he was getting into, same as Price.”
Homer was holding back the tears forming in his eyes, barely. His survivor's guilt getting the best of him. “So, Christopher died for nothing,” he announced as he analyzed the situation. “We join the fleet to make a difference, to explore and make contact with potentially new allies. Not to die in vain. Yes, risk is part of the job but to be taken out by “Friendly Fire” is unacceptable. If you get off scot free, as you probably will with some get out of jail free card, how will you prevent something like this happening again?”
David shrugged and straightened before leaning back to rest against the wall behind the bench. “Not my job.” He took in a deep breath and shook his head. “It's a shame what happened, but that's life.” The Corolian smirked to himself and chuckled at the irony of his statement.
Kyle couldn't stand this man's attitude about life. He didn't act like any Federation officer he ever met before. He wondered if he even bled red. How could any human be so vile. If this was a covert operation cover he sure as heck was a method actor that was getting way too deep in his head.
His gaze shifted briefly to the private on the other side of the force field. He couldn't sense the man's emotions - his own telepathic blocks were in place and it kept him from feeling others around him - but he could tell by body language that Kyle was disgusted. David turned his chin and hummed quietly to himself as he wondered if one man's opinion mattered to him.
He shook his head in answer and pushed to his feet. The suit jacket was shrugged from his shoulders and tossed to the corner, followed by the dress shirt once he'd unbuttoned it. His bare chest was marred by a striking black tattoo over his right pectoral, an Orion slave symbol, and the angry red and pink flesh where the projectile had passed through his shoulder. The skin was still healing, leaving his body flushed with the overstimulation of his macrophages. “Any chance of a new shirt?” David resisted the urge to reach up and scratch at the wound on the back of his shoulder.
Kyle walked back to his 'station' at the security console. “What is wrong with the one you have?” he asked the prisoner.
Ice green hues shifted toward the private, the glance slow and deliberate. David stepped toward the jacket and dress shirt that were on the floor and he leaned over to pick up the thinner fabric. He held the shirt up and stuck his finger through the holes in the front and back, then wiggled the digit. The white fibers were stained dark brown with dried blood. “It's a bit drafty.”
“I will talk to the quartermaster,” he responded with a shake of the head. It was obvious by his body language the he was back to business monitoring the captive in his cell. …€Â˜So much for a game of chess to pass both of our times. I can't see him as any kind of honorable man.' he thought to himself.
He grunted quietly and dropped the shirt back onto the jacket that had been ruined in the same fashion. The Corolian shook his head and retreated back to the bunk. David eased onto the thinly padded bench and laid on his side with his back to the force field. It wasn't a position he normally took, but he felt there was no danger from the Darmok crew. He sighed and folded his arm under his head as a pillow, gently massaging the short blond strands of his hair as he considered how to move forward. He needed a new ship and a story to go back to his Syndicate boss with about why the soul spheres couldn't be recovered. …€Â˜This double agent thing is for the birds. I was so close to being out and I lost Anika and the kids.' For once, the assassin relaxed completely and closed his eyes. …€Â˜I need to get out of here.' Yet, what would he do without his family? Where would he go?