Star Trek Hunter
Episode 12: Prisoner in the Ice Castle
Scene 2: Investigator Shran Walks Into a Bar...
Investigator Shran Walks Into a Bar…
Investigator Lynhart Shran had taken advantage of his time on Earth to refresh his wardrobe. His silvery gray shirt had French cuffs and Belo Cantys had selected platinum cuff-links for him. A new pair of Red-Wing shoes - a deep maroon with ornate patterning, new dark denim jeans with a heavy crease. Even his large leathery looking overcoat had a new silvery sheen to it and a broad collar had been added. Despite his age, Shran still had a ring of hair around the sides of his head that was mostly brown - his craggy features were entirely human except for his large antennae.
As a hybrid, Lynhart Shran was less welcome in most places in Laikan, the capital of Andoria, than humans or other non-andorians.
And this bar, tucked into a back alley, was one of those places where he would be least welcome. Seedy bars full of seedy characters doing seedy things could be found on nearly any planet or moon with humanoids and Andoria was no exception. This establishment did not have a name - only a number in andorian numerals. The door was firmly shut and a large andorian - much larger than Shran - was posted outside to see that it stayed that way to all except for known patrons. And Shran did not qualify.
Shran flipped up the collar on his overcoat, creating a shell around the back and sides of his head and strode directly up to the door-warden.
“You know you’re not…” the andorian started as Shran walked up to him. The door-warden stopped talking as Shran drew an exceptionally large firearm from under his coat and in a single, smooth movement, placed the business end directly under the door-warden’s chin, forcing his head back against the door.
“Allow me to get the door for you, sir…” the door-warden managed. He started to reach behind his back. Shran casually spun the firearm around, delivering a vicious blow to the side of the andorian’s head, sending a spray of bright blue blood across the door. Shran grasped the unconscious andorian’s wrist and placed the door-warden’s hand on the door’s access panel.
The door slid open and Shran dropped the door-warden’s wrist, stepped over his semi-conscious body and walked inside, the door sliding shut behind him. A few seconds and a number of loud but muffled explosions later, followed by a crescendo of muffled screams, the door slid open again and seedy looking andorians came pouring out, stumbling over the semi-conscious door-warden. One andorian made it out of the door, then his head exploded.
Inside, the bar was a mess. While at least a half-dozen heavily armed andorians had taken protected positions and were returning fire, none of them seemed to be able to actually hit Shran as he strode up to the bar, selecting and taking down his targets with relaxed precision. Three andorians made the mistake of turning over a steel table and firing at Shran from behind it. One of these stood up to take a shot, just in time to see Shran casually toss a grenade as he walked by, which landed behind him. The grenade exploded just as it hit the floor behind the table.
As half the room was suddenly awash in shrapnel, phaser and disrupter beams and bullets continued to cut through the room. Shran dropped the repeating musket he had been carrying, hopped up, sat on the bar, lifted his legs, spun around and hopped down behind the bar. One andorian who had been hiding behind the bar pointed a disrupter at the old investigator’s face. In a single move Shran turned the hand and disrupter back toward its owner and forced him to discharge it at himself.
Someone shot Shran in the back with a disrupter - the old man’s leathery overcoat dissipated the beam. Shran drew his phaser and turned around, phaser in one hand, disrupter in the other. The andorian who had shot him dropped his disrupter and raised his hands beside his face. Both were crouched behind the bar.
“Hello, Shrib," Shran said to the andorian in front of him. He then lifted his gravelly voice so that it could be heard throughout the establishment: "If you want to live, stop shooting and drop your weapons.” There were a few more desultory shots - as if the weapons themselves were confused. Then the clatter of weapons being dropped as the people holding them did the math. “Walk out - now!” Shran shouted from behind the bar.
Shran looked at the andorian he had captured behind the bar. His voice was quiet but intense, rough. “I’m not going to bind your hands, Shrib. You run away from me, I won’t just kill you. I’ll kill everyone you care about first and make you watch. You’re going to give me everything I want from you, the first time I ask, and if I’m in a decent mood and if you’re very lucky, you might get out of this alive.”
Shrib was clearly terrified, his face almost blank with disbelief. “You can’t do this, Star Fleet…”
“The only uniform I’ve ever worn is the uniform of the Andorian Imperial Guard,” Shran said. “For 30 years. They reactivated me this morning. Now we’re leaving through the front door. Pull yourself together.”
When they stood up, the bar was empty except for nine dead andorians.
“You killed nine of our people…” Shrib said.
“Actually, I only killed seven of them. Somebody took advantage of the mayhem to settle a few scores.” Shran looked around. “Bihr th’Rhaotrehr, Ashyss th’Vhaanet…”
Shrib’s antennae flexed wide and forward, almost laying down on his face. “The Ebar syndicate… They’ll be coming after you now.”
Shran made an amused noise. “I have 198 - make that 205 confirmed kills as an eliminator for the AIG. Most of them andorian. The Ebar syndicate is just going to have to get in line with everybody else. Now out!”