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Sheriff Roscoe Burton pushed his chair back from the dinner table and let out a resounding belch. "Good meal, Blanche," he said to his sister.
The hard-bitten woman turned to him. "Now down to business," she said. "What'd you find out about getting Jack released and back home where he belongs?"
"Nothing," the Sheriff answered. "I started pulling strings as soon as I found out last night. All my contacts in Starfleet dried up, though. Apparently this Short Clan thing is some kind of pet project of the High Command, and it would mean their jobs to go against it. I even offered a few thousand of what we've got left from Scordo's payoffs, kind of subtly, as a 'reward from the family.' No bites; one guy I thought I could trust even said he could turn me in for trying to bribe an officer, which I thought was pretty low."
"Well, I want my boy home, and I don't care how you do it," Blanche said. "You've been throwing your weight around enough, and I can remember when you were scared of the dark. What good is being the Sheriff if you can't use it to help out family? Now it's time for you to produce. Maybe you can use that Johnson boy as leverage, or the reporter's kid he hangs out with."
"I can't do the impossible, Blanche," the Sheriff said. "But that's a good idea. Any cop knows if you want to arrest somebody, there's always something you can catch them at, whether they're actually committing a crime or not. I'll keep my eye on them, and maybe we can negotiate something -- I let one of them go if they let Jack go. And even if that doesn't work, it'll be good to get revenge on them for getting Jack in trouble."
"See you do, Roscoe," Blanche said darkly.
A broad smile came across Skipper's face as he opened the guest room door and peeked in. Doug was lying on his back, his head slightly tilted to bury his nose and mouth in Pen's hair. Pen for his part was cuddled up close to Doug's side, head resting on Doug's chest like a pillow, one arm draped across Doug's torso. A sheet covered them to just below the waist, but a large bump in it suggested that the leg Pen was not sleeping on was draped across Doug's thigh, and a somewhat smaller bump suggested that he was responding to the body contact.
Apparently sensing Skipper's presence, Doug drowsily opened his eyes, and then blushed at the embarrassing position he'd been caught in. "Um, it's not..." he began.
"No worries, Doug," Skipper said. "I'm smiling for two reasons. First, the position you and Pen are in is the exact same one that Bobby and I were in when I woke up earlier, and that gave me a bit of a chuckle. Second, and I mean this without any sarcasm, you two look really sweet lying there. It makes what I put you through in that conversation last night worth while. And you both look more relaxed than I ever remember seeing either of you. I really am happy for you, Doug."
"Thanks," he said blushing.
"I'd have let you sleep, but Grace and Bobby are just cooking breakfast now, and I wanted to make sure you were up and ready to eat. I'll let you be for now, but wake up Pen and let him know." He closed the door and headed for the stairs.
"Hey, babe," Doug said gently, "Time to wake up. Breakfast's nearly ready."
Pen stirred, roused, then his body stiffened and his eyes came wide open, looking at Doug. "Omigod, it wasn't a dream!" he said.
"No, it's for real," Doug said, and leaned in for a kiss.
"So you're going to come out, I mean completely out?" Bobby asked incredulously.
"Yeah, that's what we decided last night," Doug said. "If I'm going to be going out with Pen, then I'm going to be man enough to stand up and say so, not play the kind of fuck-around games that Tony did."
"Don't even compare yourself to him, Dougie," Pen said. "You showed me something I never dared to dream of, last night." Jondo giggled.
"Um, keep it at least moderately clean," Grace said, grinning.
"No, I didn't mean sex!" Pen said, his face bright red. "Well, maybe that too, but what I was talking about is Dougie's commitment, the fact that he says he loves me and isn't afraid to show it."
"I do, babe," Doug said.
"If anybody'd asked me if I'd be hearing that conversation at my breakfast table even yesterday morning," Bobby said, grinning, "I'd have told them they were Looney Toons." Everyone laughed.
"Listen, though," Skipper said, "to get serious for a moment, about coming out... Once you're out, you're out. There's no putting it back in the bottle. Willing to hear some advice?" Pen and Doug both nodded. "Well, then, I'd suggest that you take today, maybe tomorrow, and talk through exactly what you are going to say to anyone, especially your dad, Pen, and your mother, Doug, think about what the possible reactions might be and how to deal with them, and have all your ducks lined up in a row before you break the news to anyone. I'm not suggesting not coming out," he hastened to add as Doug began to cloud up, "just planning it out before you do, being ready for whatever might happen."
"And you know we're behind you," Bobby added.
"I suppose I ought to go down to the hospital and see the butt doctor," Pen added.
"Well, I got to thinking," Skipper said. "Farmington doesn't really have a specialist in proctology, and the guy who does handle those cases spends more time at the bar in the Holiday Inn lounge than he does at the hospital. If you're willing to go along with it, why don't we stick with Plan A: ask Jonas and Harry to connect you with someone. Their connections with Starfleet, or whatever it is, will probably get you someone better than old Doc Lushmore."
"Sounds good to me," Pen said.
"And that gives us time to plan out what we're going to say, while still making sure you won't die of a ruptured ass or something while we're doing it!" Doug said. Jondo and Bobby burst into laughter at 'ruptured ass.'
As Grace and Doug cleared the table, the next hour was spent in a spirited conversation of how various people might react and how best to broach the subject with them.
Out of nowhere the emergency services scanner which had been quietly running in the background as they talked, with routine traffic checks and what not, let out three loud alert tones before the dispatcher's voice came over announcing "Attention all units and surrounding agencies, special attention Arkham town and Franklin county units. ADW, shots fired, reported three, three, nine High St. Three thirty-nine High St. Reports of multiple persons down. Any available unit respond code 3."
"Holy crap!" Bobby exclaimed. "That's Maureen and Jonas's place! You guys wait here for us," he said to Pen and Doug. He and Skipper broke for the EMT unit. As Skipper pulled out, Bobby radioed in "Arkham EMT Unit One, 10-8 and 10-49, Code 3."
Flashback summary: The eight Interdimensional Travelers returned minutes after the phaser duel with Pastor Friendly of the local FCC and his parishioners, to be met by an Arkham Town Policeman and Skipper and Bobby in the EMT unit. As George and Josiah sat down with the policeman to help him make out his report, Jonas and Harry went to the front lawn, documented the site with a digital camera, and were recovering the Phasers that the FCC group had used. Phil, the local patrolman, called off mutual aid after determining the situation was under control. At that point, the sheriff and a deputy pulled up, and the deputy seized and handcuffed Jonas and then Harry.
Drew and Randy yelled out as the sheriff and his deputy loaded the handcuffed Harry and Jonas into the back seat of his patrol car. George looked up startledly, followed quickly by everyone else.
They ran to the door in time to see the sheriff and deputy pull off, with Jonas and Harry handcuffed in the rear seat. Everyone started talking at once.
The policeman held up his hand for quiet. "Go ahead, Phil," George said.
"I'm going to call the sheriff on my belt radio, see what's up. Everyone remain quiet," he said. Suiting action to word, he pulled out his radio and called. "Arkham 4, Clancy, calling Sheriff Burton. Sheriff, are you free to assist me?"
"Not really, Phil," came over the radio. "I just picked up two teenage thugs that shot some people and were grabbing their weapons. After I get them booked, I can probably give you a hand."
"Thanks, Sheriff. I'll let you know. Clancy out." The policeman clicked off his radio and looked disgusted.
"Skipper, check which of the FCC men are alive and stunned, and Phil, go with him and put them in handcuffs," George said. "I'm going to wait a couple of minutes to let them get to the jail, then I'll call Roscoe myself." The two nodded agreement and went to the front lawn to do as requested.
George pulled out his Cellphone and punched in the number to the county jail. "George Wentworth here," he told the desk sergeant. "Is the sheriff back there yet?"
"Just walking in now," came the reply. "Wait just a minute and I'll connect you."
"Roscoe," George said after being connected through. "George Wentworth here. I heard you were transporting prisoners. Want to fill me in?"
"Mornin', George," the sheriff said. "I picked up that reporter's boy and his friend. Looks like they shot Pastor Friendly and some of his people right in front of her house, and were taking items from their bodies when we got there. I told Pete to grab them fast, before they could use those rayguns on us, and we loaded them off. I'll get a confession out of them before I arrange them before the judge Monday, one way or another."
George rolled his eyes. "Got any evidence as to what happened?"
"C'mon, George, it's obvious. Couple of teenage punks saw a chance to take down a fine God-fearing group of people, and steal from their dead bodies. Don't worry, I'll make sure you have a confession. Remember, it's my job to arrest them, and yours to convict them."
"All right, Roscoe. Just make sure you know what you're getting into," George said. He hung up disgustedly.
"That moron," Josiah said.
"Trouble is," said George, "he is officially the chief law enforcement officer for the county. The only two people in the state who can override him are the Governor and the State Attorney General." His eyes met Josiah's. "I'll try to reach the A.G.," he said. "You got any contacts at the Governor's Office?"
"Maybe," Josiah said. He walked over to Maureen's phone.
George dialed in a number, listened, swore under his breath, and punched in codes to negotiate the automated menu. "George Wentworth here ... Assistant State's Attorney for Franklin County ... I need to reach the Attorney General in person ... Yes, I know it's Saturday. He has to have left an emergency contact number ... Well, dammit, you call it, then. I wouldn't be calling if it wasn't something I need him to handle personally. ... Yes, I'll expect his call." He gave his Cellphone number and rang off.
Josiah, meanwhile, had pulled out his list of contacts, and quickly dialed in a number. "Hello, Therese? Josiah Brewster here. Sorry to disturb you at home. Listen, it's quite urgent I speak with the Governor as soon as possible. You know your way around Augusta; can you help me get through to him?"
"I'll try, Josiah." Therese heard the urgency in her old friend's voice. "Fred and Millie Hardesty -- he's the Gov's. Political Secretary -- live right across the way. I know he and the Governor sometimes golf on Saturdays. I'll go check with Millie and see if I can reach them."
"Thanks, Therese," Josiah said. "This means a great deal to me -- more, in fact, than I can say."
"What's wrong, Josiah?" Therese asked. "You sound like it's a life-or-death situation."
Josiah drew a deep breath. "That may very well be exactly what it is," he answered. "The only other person I've ever said this to is my new bride, but with all the years we've worked together, you deserve to hear the truth. After Annie died, I'd pretty well resigned myself to never having children. Part of what made me stay on with Family Court after she passed was the idea that at least I'd be helping children that way, even if I had none to raise of my own. Well, as of a week ago I now have a wife and son of my own -- formalizing it legally remains to be done, but they're mine -- and not just any boy, but someone any man would be proud to call his son." Maureen drew an involuntary breath; her eyes watered. "And to be perfectly frank, that was the result of a honest-to-God dictionary-definition miracle, a saint of sorts showing up to answer prayers. Well, about five minutes ago the hick sheriff here picked him and his friend up on a trumped up charge without even bothering to investigate what had happened, of which there are six other eyewitnesses. And from the sounds of what the sheriff said when we called, he plans to get a forced confession out of the boys, even though they did nothing wrong."
"Got it," Therese said. "I'll do my best for you, Josiah. But don't hold your breath; I don't know how effective anything I can do will be."
Bobby meanwhile had been watching Phil and Skipper through the windows, and hit something with his foot. Picking it up, he recognized it as Harry's Starfleet communicator, which had fallen half under the chair when Harry was stunned, a week ago by Harry's personal time and less than a half hour ago by local time. He hit the 'Send' button.
"U.S.S. Lafayette" came the response. "We are under red alert; is this an emergency?"
"Um, this is Bobby Martin," he said, feeling suddenly out of his depth. "I picked up Harry's communicator. He and Jonas do something for you guys, I think, and the sheriff just arrested him and he needs help."
Is this some sort of prank call?" the ensign on duty at the Lafayette's signals station asked. "Because if it is, it's not funny."
Captain Roger Simmons looked up as his signals ensign picked up on Bobby's call. "Belay that," he said. "T'Laran, please get a fix on where the signal is coming from."
"Arkham, Maine," came the Vulcan woman's response.
Simmons strode over to the signals station. "Give me the mike," he said. "Bobby, who's there with you?" Bobby named off the others present. "Very well, hand the communicator to Judge Brewster, please."
"Josiah Brewster here," he heard a few seconds later. "It's a pleasure to hear you again, Captain, though I believe it's only a hour or two for you since we last spoke."
"What exactly is the situation down there?" Captain Simmons asked.
"Well, before our little 'vacation' that we encountered you on, we'd been ambushed by six men from one of our local churches -- I believe you can guess which one by now. We escaped being killed only by chance. Jonas and Harry, whom I presume you remember, were able to defeat them. We returned only a half hour ago, and were filling in our local policeman as to what had happened. Jonas and Harry were out front, collecting evidence, when our county sheriff showed up, threw them in handcuffs, and drove off with them. We've been trying to reach someone with the authority to override him."
"You just did," Simmons said firmly. "Stay on this communicator, please." He depressed the P.A. key on the signals console, and said, "Ensign Oliver Romero, please report to the Bridge. Mr. Romero, report to the Bridge." Turning to the signals ensign, he continued, "Our assigned mission while in orbit is to support Clan Short. Your 'prank call' was a call for help from an outpost of Clan Short." His brief, emotionless words and the expression on his face as he said them made the young ensign realize how much of a mistake she had made. "Open a frequency to Admiral Morrow's office, please," Simmons continued.
"Roger," came Admiral Morrow's voice moments later, as his image appeared on screen. "I'm swamped, as no doubt you are too. I've got help coming for you: the Hood's due in later today, and the Excelsior and Enterprise are headed for Earth at maximum warp. I've also heard that Sarek is due to arrive shortly in the D'Kyr. Try to manage until they can get here. I know we're asking a lot of you, but I know you can handle it. Is there anything I can help you with in the interim?"
"We're managing," Simmons said. "Our brig is overflowing with FCC prisoners, and I've jury rigged a Rec Hall as a temporary detention area, with force fields to produce virtual cells for additional prisoners. What I need from you, though, is quite simple, but will take a short explanation.
"We just received a call for help from Clan Short's little Maine outpost. Apparently there was a subsidiary FCC attack up there as well, and they defeated the attackers without lasting casualties. I have a report on events the Lafayette was involved with relative to that, that I believe should be sent encrypted and confidential after this emergency has been dealt with. But it seems the local law enforcement got in on the wrong side of the battle, and surprised and subdued the two Clan operatives. I can spare one Security man to go clean up the mess, but there's a small problem."
"I've followed your directive not to allow new officers, Ensigns, to exercise judicial power. The man I have in mind to send has worked well with them before, three times now in fact, and two days ago was faced with the need to pass sentence. He came up with the right move: he proposed a sentence -- exactly the right one for the circumstances, in my opinion -- and then deferred to the Clan Short member who had called him in, to ratify it."
"I've been watching his work, and liking it, and recommended yesterday to you that he be promoted to Lieutenant. That's sitting somewhere on your desk. I want to send him down, but I want to give him the full range of officer powers. I need your approval to promote him."
"Granted. Let me know if you need anything, Roger. Morrow out."
As the Admiral signed off, Ensign Romero arrived on the Bridge, and snapped to attention. Captain Simmons quickly briefed him on the situation. "I'm sending you down. Your mission is to free Jonas and Harry, whom I believe you've worked with before, and to take such other action with regard to the men who arrested them as may seem appropriate to you based on what you find out on site. There's only one problem: you're out of uniform, Lieutenant." Simmons smiled; T'Laran solemnly brought over a small box bearing lieutenant's insignia, removed Romero's ensign's insignia, and put them on his uniform in their place. "Congratulations, Lieutenant Romero," Simmons said as she finished.
"Thank you, sir," Romero said, grinning.
"You earned it," Simmons said back with a smile. "Now report to the transporter stage to beam down."
"Aye, aye, sir," Romero answered.
Oliver Romero appeared in the lobby of the Sheriff's Office/Jail. To his left was an unmanned reception counter, beyond which at a desk sat a portly desk sergeant. To his right, a door promised entry to a series of offices; a row of chairs flanked it to each side. Dead ahead of him, a barred door provided access to the jail area proper. The desk sergeant looked up, surprised. "I'm Lt. Oliver Romero, Starfleet Security," he said. "I need to speak with the sheriff."
"The sheriff is interrogating two prisoners that were just arrested," the sergeant said. "If you'll have a seat, he'll be with you when he's through,"
"Um, I'm afraid I didn't make myself clear, sergeant," Romero said affably. "That was not a request for an interview; it was polite instructions to you to direct me to him. Now."
"Winfield, get in here," the desk sergeant said into his intercom. A moment later, the tall, graying, husky Deputy Winfield stepped through the door from the offices.
"Oliver Romero, Starfleet Security, here," Romero said. "I've been detailed to speak to your Sheriff regarding a pending case, and the sergeant here seems ... disinclined to cooperate." Winfield took this in silently.
"Sheriff says he's not to be disturbed while he's questioning those two kids he picked up," the sergeant said with finality. "That means you wait. In this office, and in this county, his orders are the law."
"Under the treaty creating the Federation," Romero said, "national and local laws and institutions are sacrosanct until and unless they violate Federation law. We got a report of a probable violation of Federation law -- not the first one from this county, as I'm sure you know -- and I was sent to investigate it. That's straight from basic police training; I learned it there the same as you did."
"You still ain't seeing the Sheriff until he's good and ready to see you," the desk sergeant said belligerently. "This here's the sheriff's office, and his orders, not some young punk from Starfleet's, are what goes around here."
"We can play this out two ways, sergeant," Romero said grimly. "You can direct me to the sheriff, right now, as required by law and treaty, or you can continue to stonewall me. Either way, I'll see the sheriff and do my duty."
"Don't threaten me in my own office!" the desk sergeant said, angrily rising from his desk.
Romero pulled his Phaser and said, "Which way is the sheriff's present location?" The desk sergeant reached for a desk drawer, and Romero stunned him. "It's just a light stun," he said to Deputy Winfield. "I believe he was reaching for a weapon in that drawer."
Winfield drew a deep breath, weighing his career against his oath. He knew Romero was in the right, and he had grown more and more disenchanted with Sheriff Burton's heavy handed ways -- as well as some unexplained activities on the sheriff's direct orders earlier in the month, just after the arrests up in Arkham. "He was," he allowed. "Sheriff's interrogating the McConnaghay and Johnson boys in Interrogation Room #1, back through this door and to your left. Supposedly they shot Pastor Friendly of the Fundamentalist Church and five of his parishioners in cold blood. He's trying to get them to confess to it."
"Well," said Romero, "the Family Court Judge and the State's Attorney were present at the time, and that's not what they say. That's why I'm here."
Winfield nodded grimly, "C'mon," he said, opening the door. "My oath was to uphold the law of the land, and to follow lawful orders. Something didn't sound right about this whole deal, but he is the Sheriff, after all."
The two men strode quickly through the door to the offices and down the hall to Interrogation Room #1. Inside, Jonas and Harry were shackled to two straight chairs. The sheriff loomed over them. "You thought you were smart, getting my nephew sent away." He backhanded Harry across his cheek. "Well, we'll see how smart you were spending the rest of your life in prison for six counts of murder. There's a confession there on the table, all nice and typed out for you, admitting that you killed them. All you need to do is sign it."
"You son of a bitch!" Jonas said angrily. "We did no such thing; they attacked us and our family. And if you touch Harry again, I'll...."
"You'll just sit there and do nothing," said the sheriff, backhanding him as well. "Now just keep your punk mouth shut unless you're ready to confess to your crime."
Romero flung the door open. "Roscoe Burton, you are under arrest for two counts of assault and battery, two counts of false arrest, and whatever else I find out you've done, but that'll do for starters."
"Winfield, arrest that man," the sheriff commanded.
"Sorry, sir, I can't do it," Winfield said. "I took an oath to enforce the law, not to help you carry out a vendetta." He stepped forward, and effectively subdued and handcuffed the sheriff.
"You're done in this department!" Sheriff Burton said.
Romero pulled out his communicator. "Got another crooked cop to beam up, in custody," he told the Lafayette transporter stage. "Oh, and there's a desk sergeant in cahoots with him, stunned, about 40 feet southwest of where I'm standing -- I can't give you a precise figure, because he's in a different room. Book this one for two counts of assault and battery, two counts of false arrest, and two counts of interfering with Clan Short operations. Hold the other one on suspicion of conspiracy to obstruct justice, until I get this mess cleaned up and find out the facts."
"There's five figures in the room you're in, sir," the voice came back. "Which one am I beaming up?"
"The other man not restrained and I will move towards him and then back," Romero answered. He gestured at Winfield and they both stepped towards the sheriff and then backed away from him.
"Got it," the crewman on the transporter stage said. A moment later, the sheriff's figure flickered and beamed out.
"You want to uncuff these two boys?" Romero asked Winfield, who stepped over to them and unshackled them.
"Jonas, Harry," he continued, "I already know pretty well what happened at Jonas's house, from the Judge's account. But I'll need to get your statements on that as well, and also what happened to you here -- not that I don't have a pretty good idea already."
He turned to Deputy Winfield. "Okay, deputy, with the sheriff and desk sergeant gone, who's the ranking officer in this department?"
Winfield thought for a moment. "Well, Sergeant Flynn retired back at the end of August. That left just Sergeant Casey on the desk; everybody else were just deputies."
"All right, who has seniority?" Romero asked.
"Well, that would be me -- sixteen years in with the department," Winfield said. "The next closest is Mathers, with just shy of eleven."
"All right, then," Romero said. "In the absence of anyone outranking you, you're now Acting Sheriff of the county, until the County Board can act on the interim appointment. I'll have my superiors send official notification to you and to them, but I'm authorized to name you to the job when there's a vacancy as the result of a Starfleet intervention like this."
Winfield was taken aback. "I expected to be fired for going against the sheriff!"
"And now you are the sheriff," Harry said, chuckling.
"If I may make a recommendation," Romero said to Winfield, "your first order of business as sheriff should be to find out what all has been going on here under 'Uncle Roscoe'..."
"I wondered if you'd remember that," Harry said, thinking back to the Thursday he'd called in Romero at the high school. Romero smiled.
"...and keep Starfleet apprised of your results," Romero continued. "I'll feed you back all I can that isn't classified, but this looks like one incident in a nationwide terrorist conspiracy, based on what else happened today. We have well over 200 men locked up on the Lafayette, taken in an armed insurrection, and well over a thousand people have been killed. Admiral Morrow will be very interested in anything you find out, and I'll recommend closest cooperation with your department, now we have an honest man in charge of it."
Winfield looked stunned. Jonas spoke up, "Oh, the Sheriff took our Phasers, and also the ones I'd just confiscated from the six men who attacked us. I thought it was interesting that a small-town church minister and five of his parishioners were carrying Starfleet-restricted weapons."
Romero nodded. "That is an interesting question, and one the Admiral will want the answer to, I'm sure. From what we learned, they were using transporters to move people in for the attack out West too, which they shouldn't have had access to either."
"How does it happen you boys had Phasers?" Winfield asked.
"We're authorized to carry them, as part of our responsibilities as members of Clan Short," Jonas answered.
"I didn't realize the Clan was doing anything in this area," Winfield said.
"Mom would tell you that you ought to read the Dispatch," Jonas said with a grin, then winced as the bruises from the sheriff's 'interrogation' hurt. "She did some articles on the Clan when they first intervened up here, just before Harry and I were invited to join."
"You need anything more from me, sheriff?" Romero asked Winfield.
He did a double-take as he realized the 'sheriff' was directed at him, then answered, "No, I think I can bring it under control. I'll be in touch if I need help." He stepped to the secure-storage cabinet in the room, looked, and pulled out the grocery bag full of Phasers that Jonas and Harry had collected.
"Okay, then, I want to get these two where they can get looked at from what Burton did," Romero said, then, raising his communicator, "Lafayette? Three to beam to the McConnaghay home in Arkham. You have the coordinates stored already."
Moments later, Romero, Jonas, and Harry beamed out. Winfield shook his head and went to start sorting out what had really been going on in the Sheriff's Department behind his back.
As Romero, Jonas, and Harry beamed in to Maureen's living room, Harry's mother Abbie grabbed him and wrapped him in a tight hug. "Ouch," he said as she squeezed his bruised ribs. "You're all right!" she exclaimed. "Now, I want you to get your little hiney right back home where you'll be safe. The news has been full of terrible things happening to kids, and you got shot at even right here at Maureen's. Now get moving; I'll be along as soon as I've talked to Maureen."
Unwilling either to obey her directives or to provoke an argument with his mother, Harry looked at Josiah with an expression that clearly read, 'Help!' Josiah nodded, and gave him a reassuring smile. "I made you and Jonas a promise in the resort lounge a couple of days ago," he said, "and I will keep my word to you. There are a couple of radical steps one or the other of us can take. But if you'll be willing to follow my advice, I think what we need to do is to all sit down and have a good long talk with your mother."
"First, though," Skipper said, as he gently prodded Jonas's face and side, checking for broken bones, "sit down over there by Bobby and have him check you over. Maureen, I think ice packs for both of them would be a good idea."
"Actually," Romero said, "I think they really need to be looked at, at a hospital E.R. No offense to you two's skills," he continued to Skipper and Bobby, "but I was delayed just enough that Burton managed to get pretty rough on them."
"Oh, Mom, Aunt Maureen, I should introduce you," Harry said. "This is our friend, Ensign Oliver Romero of Starfleet Security."
"Look again," Romero said, smiling.
"Congratulations, Lieutenant," said Jonas. "When'd that happen?"
"I actually have you two to thank for it," Romero replied. "Captain Simmons nominated me for promotion after Harry and I dealt with the incident at your school Thursday, and he called Admiral Morrow personally to have him approve my promotion when Bobby called for help this morning."
"I thought Captains could grant promotions to their crew," George said.
"When they're out on a mission, that's true, and standard procedure," Romero replied. "But when they're back at Earth, procedure is to nominate officers for promotion, and give Starfleet Command the courtesy of approving them. Nine times out of ten, though, the Captain's recommendation stands."
"All right, then," Maureen said. "Let me load Jonas and Harry in my car, and drive them down to the hospital to get checked up."
"Um," said Romero, "I don't want to badmouth your local hospital. But after what's come out since Doctor Michaels of F.Y.S. asked Starfleet Medical for a review after your Clan intervention there, I personally wouldn't take my pet white rat there, much less a person."
"I really need to check in with the Clan, anyways," Jonas said. "Maybe Doc Austin or 'Tonio, or Marc, can check us over. Umm... my communicator was with the clothes we brought back."
"Here's the one I picked up," Bobby said. "It must be Harry's. It was under that chair."
"Thanks," said Jonas, and flipped it open, toggling from the Lafayette to Clan H.Q. "McConnaghay to Clan Short."
"Jonas!" Seth responded. "Are you two all right?"
"We survived the FCC attack with no lasting injuries," Jonas answered. "But we got banged around a bit in the last hour, and need to be checked up."
"Okay, we're evacuating the casualties to four hospitals in Des Moines now. Why don't you take Broadlawn, and kind of supervise after you're checked. We don't have any other Clan members going there, and I'd like to make sure the kids get the best of help.
"Sounds good," Jonas said. "Have Starfleet transport us?"
"Um, no. Ark's been doing it for us. Hey, if you can get the guys that did E.M.T. transport for you last Sunday, bring 'em too. They can help work triage."
"No problem; they're standing right here." Jonas looked a question at Skipper.
Skipper began to nod OK, then thought of something. "Do you think there'll be a Proctologist available there?" he asked.
Maureen looked up. "What would you need a Proctologist for?"
Randy giggled. "Skipper and Bobby've got a friend with a hurt butt because a bad guy stuck his wee-wee into his poopyhole, like what happened to the kids on the beach."
"How'd you know that?" Bobby asked as the entire room broke into laughter.
"What?" Randy asked. "That's what's wrong with him!"
"He's telepathic, like 'Bastian," Harry answered Bobby.
"Didn't Jamie and Jacob tell you anything about confidentiality?" Josiah asked Randy.
"What's that?" Randy asked.
George decided it was time to apply some of what he'd learned. "Well, son, investigators like you and I and Drew sometimes come across information that people don't want to have everybody know. So unless it's a part of the criminal case we're putting together, we have a rule that we keep their secrets if we learn them. That's confidentiality."
"So con'dench'al'ty is just keeping secrets?" Drew asked.
"That's right," George said.
"Well, why didn't he say that?" Drew asked, provoking another round of laughter.
"Proctologist," said Skipper again.
"I'd think they would," Maureen offered.
Skipper nodded to Bobby. "Go get them. Ask your mother if she wants to lend a hand on triage, too. Don't push her about it, but bring her back too if she does." Bobby ran out the door towards the E.M.T. van.
"Shouldn't a licensed driver go?" Abbie asked.
"He is licensed to drive that thing," Josiah told her. Gathering Maureen by eye, he motioned toward the dining room. "C'mon in here, Abbie, and the three of us probably should have a good long talk. We've been through a very busy week in the last few hours, and you need to hear the story." He led her into the dining room.
"With all the FCC incidents," Romero said, "I'm going along with you guys until I'm certain you're safe. There's been too damn many unpleasant surprises today, everywhere." Jonas and Harry both nodded agreement and thanks.
"Unless you need us," George said, "I'm going to get these guys home. We haven't been there for a week!" Abbie looked at George as if he were out of his mind. Drew, Randy, and Philip giggled. Maureen collected hugs from the three of them.
As she hugged Philip, she said, just loud enough for him and George to hear, "I want you and your Dad to come over so we can talk about your feelings for Linda before she gets here." Philip blushed and looked horrified. "It's nothing bad; you'll see." George rested his arm on Philip's shoulder, and gave him a fatherly smile.
As the Wentworths went out to their car, Bobby returned with Pen and Doug. "Mom said if you don't need her, she'd rather stay with Jondo, and get some cleaning done. If she ends up being needed, though, you're to call her."
Jonas looked skeptically at Doug; Skipper said, "I'll explain later. It's a really nice turnaround, and a story you won't believe."
"Try me," said Jonas with a grin. He lifted his communicator, and called Seth. Moments later, the six boys and Lt. Romero vanished from the living room.
Jed and C.J. materialized in the living room. With a shout of joy, Jared ran over and kissed him. "You're all right!" he said. Jed blushed.
"Yeah, a lot of people got killed or hurt, but we were just fine. We got to help some of 'em." Jed turned to Rina. "Rina, I'm going over to the apartment; I need to use my Clan terminal to look up what help is available for families where the adult is disabled."
"No, young man. You'll stay right here, where I can make sure you're safe," Lizbeth said in her best police officer taking authority voice.
Jed looked at her with barely controlled anger. "Lady, I don't know who you are or what you're doing here, but you have no authority over me. You're dressed as a cop, but let me tell you. Three weeks ago next Monday, my Mom and Dad were killed by three corrupt cops in the pay of a crooked businessman, and if it hadn't been for the Clan, they'd have gotten C.J. and me too. In fact, two days later at the funeral, they tried to. Last Sunday, a hospital security guy tried to stop me and my Clan brothers from keeping Mickey here from being sent to an old folks' home, and my Jared to a FCC family. And less than an hour ago, I had to call in Clan Security to keep a Charleston city cop from helping another FCC agent take two boys my and C.J.'s age away from their mother -- and they were the younger brothers of one of the boys that got killed today. Yeah, I've met a few honest cops, too, but I'm not naive any more. You may be Officer Friendly come to life, but I'm not going to bet me or my brother's life on it. I've got a job to do, and a family up in Charleston is depending on how good I can do it. So don't think you can pull that 'I'm a cop and you'll do what I say' crap on me!"
Sylvia spoke up. "I understand why you're upset, Jed, but I've known Lizbeth for years, and she's good people, through and through. But let me offer you a compromise. I don't have any reason to think the programs and laws on disability have been changed this past week; do you?"
"No..." said Jed.
"Well, then, Robert never stopped working just because he was in a wheelchair. In fact, he started taking projects that had to be handicapped accessible, simply because he knew firsthand what it was like. There's a very thorough library he put together of programs and laws relating to government help for the handicapped. Come back to his study with me, and we'll find just what you need."
"That sounds good," Jed said. He looked over at Lizbeth. "Officer, I'm sorry I was rude. But what I said goes. I'll trust Sylvia about your being O.K. But I've got no reason to trust cops, and I hope you see why."
"I do, young man," Lizbeth said. "Bad cops give all of us who try to do our job right a bad name. And I'm sorry you've been through so much."
"Thanks," Jed said. "But you know what? If you are really sorry, and not just being polite, there's something you can do. Next time you get a chance to intervene and help a kid in trouble, do it. One big reason we have the Clan in the first place is that people don't do that any more, or not enough."
"Deal," Lizbeth said, and held out her hand. Jed shook it, and offered her a smile, which she returned. Then he followed Sylvia to Robert's office, at the back of the house.
"Tell me about what it was like where you went, Ceej," Raffy said excitedly.
The scene as they materialized in the Emergency Room was not what they had expected. To their left, behind the reception desk, were several treatment rooms. In one, a middle-aged couple and a woman nearly their age surrounded a bed in which an elderly lady lay; a doctor and two nurses were moving into her cubicle. In the next, a boy of about 11, clad in some sort of sports uniform, sat on the bed while his mother waited impatiently alongside. Two more nurses stood outside the next, empty cubicle, drinking coffee and talking. To their right, the waiting room was full of children and teens, some wearing Cadet uniform, others Unit fatigues, and others normal street clothes, many clenching bandages or compresses against what were clearly wounds. An angry teen in Cadet uniform was walking towards the reception desk. In front of the reception desk, a man in a suit and tie stood clutching a sheaf of computer printouts, while the nurse at the reception desk looked daggers at him.
Jonas took one look around and began to get angry. He stepped up to the reception desk and identified himself. "Jonas McConnaghay, of Clan Short of Vulcan. May I ask why these people" he gestured at the waiting room "are not being treated?"
"That's what I'd like to know," said the cadet, as he arrived at the desk. "We've all been waiting out there for close to an hour."
"He won't let us," the nurse answered, with a toss of her head in the direction of the suited man.
"Can you explain, sir?" Jonas asked the man, carefully calming his outward appearance.
"None of these children playing war have any proof of insurance," the man said haughtily. "This is a business, not a charitable institution. We do see needy cases Tuesday and Thursday afternoon at the outpaitent clinic; perhaps they should come back them."
"And you would be...?" asked Lt. Romero.
"Arthur Weemsby, Assistant Director of Accounting here at Broadlawn," he replied.
"Aren't you aware of the state of emergency?" Romero asked.
"I tried to tell him, but he won't listen," the nurse at the desk said disgruntledly.
Remembering the telecast he had seen earlier, Romero pulled out his communicator. "Romero to Lafayette."
"Go ahead, lieutenant."
"Please patch me through to Governor Ted Jacobs of Iowa; if not at his office, locate him. Consider it as mission essential, please."
"Understood. Patching you through now."
"Ted Jacobs here. Lt. Romero, is it?"
"Yessir. I'm standing at the Emergency Room reception desk of Broadlawn Hospital in your fine city. They are turning away the boys injured today for lack of insurance paperwork. Starfleet operating procedure is to defer to cooperating local authority where possible. Do you wish to take action, or shall I?"
"Stay on the line, please. There was the sound of dialing, and then a sonorous baritone. "McIntyre residence."
"Delbert! This is Ted Jacobs. I'm surprised to find you at home, not at the hospital."
"Well, I have competent staff there. In an emergency like this, the last thing they need is an administrator underfoot. I figured on going in later this evening and seeing what troubleshooting needs done."
"Well, Del, I'm giving you advance notice that I'm sending in the National Guard to take over your hospital in the name of the state. Seems that one of your 'competent staff' has taken it on himself to turn away the injured boys I promised Iowa's help to."
"Sonofabitch. Who?"
"Do you have a name, lieutenant? the governor asked.
"The man gave his name as Arthur Weemsby, Assistant Director of Accounting," Romero answered.
"That fool! Ted, can you give me ten minutes to get there and straighten things out before you start to act?"
"With pleasure, Del. Lieutenant, wait on Del McIntyre, who runs the hospital. If he can't get things straightened out, don't hesitate to call back -- but twenty years' friendship with him says he will, and fast."
"Thank you, governor," Romero said. The line went dead. Romero motioned his six companions and the angry Cadet into a circle, and told them the outcome of the call. They stood back to wait.
Eight minutes later, a fit-looking man in his 60s dressed in casual slacks and polo shirt came walking through the entry door, pulling off a jacket as he entered. He walked up to the nurse at the reception desk. "How are you, Lulu?" he asked.
"Much better since you're here, Mr. McIntyre," she said.
"I want you to get on the intercom and make an announcement: every nursing station except I.C.U. is to send at least two nurses to E.R., and as many more as they can spare. All physicians in house are to report to E.R. When you're done with that, start calling in anyone who's on call. Let me know how many that rounds up, then we'll decide if we need more."
He turned to Weemsby. "Arthur? Just what do you think you're doing?"
"Protecting our bottom line, sir. As you know, this place has to make sure we're paid for our services. These children that evidently were hurt playing war had no proof of insurance."
These children are the survivors of a terrorist attack. All the one's in uniform are kids who volunteered to help fight back. Your penny pinching came within a minute of having this hospital taken away from the board by either the State or the Federation, and I would not have blamed either of them." He spun around. "Lt. Romero!"
"Yessir," Romero said.
"Thank you for saving my hospital," McIntyre said briefly and warmly, then turned again to Weemsby. "Arthur, do you know how many packages of sterile gauze pads we have on hand?"
"No, sir, but I can look it up on the computer inventory," Weemsby answered.
"I'm not interested in what the computer says," McIntyre replied. "I want you to go floor by floor and take a physical count. If you value your job, you won't stop until you're through. You will keep out of the way of anyone treating patients, especially here in the E.R., while you're doing it. You will come back to me with a precise count when you're done. At that point I'll let you know if you still have a job here. Perhaps by then, I will have calmed down enough not to follow my first impulse and throw you bodily out the door."
"You can't do that; I have a contract," Weemsby said.
"Which you breached an hour ago when you refused treatment authorized by the Governor himself; look it up," McIntyre said. Turning again to Romero, he said, "I know it's beneath you as Starfleet security, but would you do me the honor of marching this useless bean counter out of here?"
"It would be my pleasure, sir!" Romero said, grabbing Weemsby's arm and escorting him firmly toward the door. The boys in the waiting room broke into spontaneous applause as he thrust him out through the entry door.
Motioning Bobby with him, Skipper walked up to the reception desk. "Miss Lulu?"
"Yes?" she said.
"James Hamilton here; I run the Arkham, Maine E.M.T. Service, and this is Robert Martin, my partner. We're here as volunteers; let me know where we can be of help. We can handle first aid, stabilization, triage, and the other usual E.M.T. duties. I also have Navy corpsman training if you run short of doctors to handle minor wounds."
"Why, thank you!" Lulu answered. "Doris, Fran! These are James and Robert from Maine..."
"Skipper and Bobby to friends and coworkers," Skipper interjected.
"...why don't the four of you take Room #1 and set up emergency triage there?. Just get a name and a fast needs assessment for each and pass them on, most serious first. Painkillers for serious pain and treatment only to stabilize; let other teams handle everything else."
"That works for me," Fran said. "Thanks for volunteering, boys. Umm, Bobby, I'm sure you get this a lot, but you look awfully young...."
Bobby smiled. "Fully trained and certified, and I've been working E.M.T. runs for a year. Yeah, I do hear it all the time."
"I hope I didn't offend you; I was just surprised," Fran said apologetically.
"No problem, ma'am. My mother's a nurse, too, and she doesn't look her age," Bobby answered, telling the truth if somewhat misleadingly.
Turning to the cadet who had complained earlier, Skipper said, "How about you arrange for them to move to Room #1 in an orderly fashion? Put anyone you think needs to be seen first ahead of the others, then take them in some sort of order." He raised his voice. "These two ladies and my partner and I will be doing triage in the first examining room. That means we find out what treatment you need, then send you for it, most urgent first. Those who can afford to wait will be given painkillers and sent back out here until the more urgent cases are treated. Everyone OK with that?"
The boys in the waiting room all called out "Yeah" or variants on it. The two E.M.T.s and the two nurses set to work.
Jonas looked over at Doug and Pen. "Okay, why are you two here? Especially you, Doug?"
Pen looked embarrassed. "Skipper brought me to see a proctologist."
"He got raped last night," Doug interjected. "Skipper, Grace, and Bobby did emergency repairs, but Skipper wants him checked by a specialist."
"Okay, but that doesn't explain you," Jonas said to Doug.
Pen flared up. "If it wasn't for him, I probably wouldn't be here! He's been taking care of me." He looked lovingly at Doug.
Harry suddenly remembered Thursday, with Doug stepping in to protect Pen from Jack. "Why are you so down on him, Jonas?" he asked.
"He was bullying Jed and Jared last Monday," Jonas said. "I want to know what he's up to."
Doug was not happy his past was coming back to haunt him, but he resolved to keep his cool. "Remember what you told me then, Jonas?" he asked.
"Yeah."
"Well, I took it to heart. And I decided to try honesty instead." Doug paused. "Can I tell 'em, Pen?"
Pen paused, screwing up his courage. "No, I want to," he answered. "As of late last night, Doug and I are going out." He wrapped his arm around the larger boy's waist; Doug smiled at him and slipped his arm over Pen's shoulders.
Jonas looked dumbfounded. Harry, who'd been listening and adding things up in his mind, smiled. "Congratulations, guys!" he said.
The four of them then joined the cadet to see what help they could be .
"Oh, lord, I'm bushed," Bobby said as he slumped down next to Doug several hours later, fatigue written all over his face. Skipper followed behind, equally drained. Jonas had his head resting on the table in front of him, in the hospital cafeteria; Harry, nearly as tired appearing, was gently massaging his shoulders. A checkup at the end of the processing of the injured boys had shown no broken bones or other serious damage from the sheriff's manhandling of them, just bruising and each had an incipient black eye.
"I just wanted to stop and thank you," an equally tired looking intern said at Bobby as he walked by the table. "You probably saved that boy a nasty scar with your idea."
"Aw, it wasn't much," Bobby said, blushing. "I just read that in last month's issue of Emergency Medicine, and thought of it when you were talking about how to handle it."
"Don't be too modest," the intern said. "I'll admit I had some questions about a boy your age doing E.R. work, but that answered them in full. If you get any grief from anyone, refer them to me. As far as I'm concerned, you're the real deal." He smiled and walked away.
"What was that about?" asked Harry.
"Oh, nothing," Bobby said dismissively.
"Yeah, right," said Skipper sarcastically. "That intern was working on a patient next to us that had a nasty scalp wound. I don't know if you know how to handle bleeding in emergency surgery, but what we do is clamp off arteries and major veins, and cauterize -- sear shut -- the minor blood vessels that do the most bleeding. Scalp wounds are nasty for bleeding because there's so many small veins in the scalp, all near the surface. A wound the size that kid had, cauterizing the normal way would have left a big scar on the side of his face, just below the hairline, that would have disfigured him for life. Bobby remembered an article he'd read where a researcher found that reducing the heat in cauterizing seals the bleeders, but with first-degree burns that don't scar, instead of the normal high-heat cauterizing that leaves scars. He spoke up and told the intern about it, he tried it, and it evidently worked fine." Skipper smiled proudly at Bobby.
"You guys were busting butt too," Bobby said. "Every time I looked up, one of the four of you was passing by, either pushing a patient somewhere or carrying supplies for the medical teams."
Jonas looked up. "Doug, I owe you an apology. I've been judging you by that one incident in the park, and some of the stuff I heard around school. But nobody could have put more into today than you did. I misjudged you, and I'm sorry."
Doug hung his head. "No, you'd have been right," he said. "I've got a debt to pay for how I used to act, and I'm trying to pay on it. But I can't believe how many people were here, injured."
"Yeah, and nearly all hurt from fundamentalists attacking people they disagreed with," Harry said.
"No, people they hated," Jonas corrected. "That's what the Clan is all about -- protecting kids from people like that, and people that want to abuse them."
Pen came into the cafeteria just then, saw them, and walked over. "Where've you been?" Harry asked.
"Doug and I made him go in for an exam at the end of the rush," Skipper said. "He wasn't going to; we insisted. What'd you find out?" he asked Pen.
"Small internal tear," Pen said. "It wasn't anything serious."
"Yes, it was," Skipper said. "If not treated, you could have gotten peritonitis and died. How'd they treat it?"
"They made me lie down on a biobed for a half hour -- I dozed off," Pen said. "Then the doctor took out your stitches and told me everything was healed."
"That fast?" Bobby asked. "We just put them in last night!"
"Read up on biobeds," Skipper said. "They're restricted technology, just being released to the public. They're great at diagnosis, and they accelerate natural healing at an enormous rate. I didn't know they had any here."
"Starfleet sent four in to help with the emergency," Romero said, joining them.
"And I'll bet I know how they knew they were needed," Harry said, looking at Romero, who blushed. The boys chuckled.
"So, you're, like, completely healed, love?" Doug asked. Pen shyly nodded yes, and leaned in for a kiss.
"Damn fags ought to be arrested," a maintenance man muttered as he walked by, glaring at Pen and Doug.
Harry flared up. "Those 'damn fags' just volunteered several hours to help in a crisis, and they're not even from this state! That one," he said, pointing at Pen, "is heir to a multimillion dollar fortune. He didn't have to come here, but he did, to help. Just what...?"
Doug motioned him down. "Just why are you acting like that?" he asked the man calmly.
"The Bible says...." the maintenance man sputtered.
"The Bible never told you to insult or hate. That's from something inside you. And if you're honest with yourself, you know just what that something is ... and it has nothing to do with what anybody else is doing or not doing in your presence. Take a good look inside yourself, and be honest with yourself...." The maintenance man stalked away.
Jonas stared. "Who are you, and what did you do with Doug Murdock?" he said rhetorically.
Doug grinned. "Same Doug as always. But now I'm an honest man -- and a free one. Free to show my feelings; free to love; free to have good friends, like these two" gesturing to Skipper and Bobby.
"You know, I thought I was used to wounds and blood, from riding and working the E.M.T." Bobby said. "But the concentrated dose of so many of them, hurt so bad, tonight, just got to me. There's got to be a way to prevent this sort of thing from happening, ever again." He looked resolute as he finished.
"That's what we're working towards," Harry said, "me and Jonas and Jed and our other brothers."
"Jed's your brother?" Bobby asked.
"Yeah, in the Clan, and it's a legal relationship, under Vulcan Law," Harry answered.
"That must have been what he was talking about, when we were taking Mickey and his brothers home," Skipper mused. "When we said that they were our brothers now, he said something about there being consequences, because it's a legal relationship."
"You two vowed brotherhood to Jed and the McKendricks?" Jonas asked, looking up again.
"Uh, yeah...." Bobby said, suddenly wondering where this was going. "Is that bad?"
"Farthest thing from it," Jonas said with a warm smile. "That means you're our brothers too! Welcome to the fight against the creeps that hurt those kids today!"
"Can we get in on that?" Doug asked. "There's nothing I'd like more than to help do that." Pen nodded agreement.
"It's a deal," Harry said. "We'll talk more about it tomorrow," he added, noticing Romero's gesture.
"I think it's about time we all got back where we belong," Romero said. "Any objections?" Six weary teens gave him nods of assent.
Jed came down the hall from Robert's former study/workroom, excited. "Hey, Ceej!" he called out. "C'mere take a look at this! See if you think Nate and Lije'll like it!"
C.J. ran and followed him back down the hall, followed in turn by Jared and Raffy.
"How the heck're you going to afford to do that for 'em?" Jared's voice echoed from the room.
"We'll get the money from Kayla," Jed said confidently. "That's what F.Y.S. is set up to do."
Skipper, Bobby, Doug, and Pen materialized in the kitchen.
"Hey, cool, you're back!" Jondo said exuberantly. "Tell me all 'bout it!"
"Be patient, Jondo," Grace said as she sprinkled some ginger into the Thai noodle dish she was preparing for a snack. "They look dead tired -- give them a chance to sit down and rest!"
"Um, Grace, Jondo?" Doug said nervously. "D'you think Pen and I could stay in the guest room again tonight? Neither of us really wants to go home and deal with the questions there after the workout we got this evening."
Grace nodded sure. Everyone sagged into chairs around the kitchen table, and Bobby began to tell Jondo and Grace about Iowa.
Harry and Jonas materialized in the living room. "Ooops, sorry!" Jonas said to Josiah and Maureen as they both sat up abruptly.
"It's all right," Josiah said, reddening. "Beaming in, you couldn't very well knock." He grinned. "Besides, we're all going to have to get used to living as couples together."
"Speaking of which," said Maureen, "you're staying here tonight, Harry. Josiah and I had a long talk with your mother. She's back home now, and knows you're staying here. She'll be over tomorrow, and the five of us are going to have a conference."
Clan Short Archivist's Notes: This is another wonderful chapter from the fertile minds of D & B. Except for one teeny tiny problem. Blanche is still running loose.
D & B continue to add depth to their characters and to the CSU as well. I never truly no which way a chapter is going until the end.
Please continue writing more chapters and stories with your wonderful style.
TSL Clan Short Archivist