Oedipus Wrecks
Episode Name: Oedipus Wrecks Written By: Starfleet Cast: Casya, Edwards, Ghorev, Minos and Starfleet. Produced By: Starfleet Directed By: Starfleet Aired On: Sun Sep 08 03:37:15 2002 Stardate: 52617.5
Time: Sun Sep 08 00:44:46 2002
Stardate: 52617.2
The two Starfleet officers are being held against their will, in slave collars, on the Orion merchant vessel Prince's Gambit. Now all they have to do is wait for dinner - the dinner Minos promised them. The room is extremely well secured. It's nothing more than a holding cell with pretense. Gauzy fabric hangs from the ceiling to the walls giving it a tent-like effect. A viewport looks out over a blue-green world. The door has no mechanism for opening on this side - it blends in almost perfectly with the rest of the bulkhead, which is a metallic purple in color.
Ghorev makes his way around the perimeter of the room, pacing out the time. Every so often, his frustration is vented with a /thwack/ as he slaps at the bulkhead. He is frowning a frown of concentration, of rumination.
Edwards wanders around the 'quarters', looking for anything that might assist with some sort of escape attempt. While futile, it helps him keep his mind off of other things. Ghorev already has the frustrated lashing out down pat, after all.
Ghorev says, "Any ideas on your end?"
Edwards pauses, so he can glance back toward Ghorev, and replies, "I
think we should get out of here."
Ghorev says, "You're not looking forward to dinner, then?" He
frowns. "I'm thinking the biggest logistical hurdle is..." and he
points at the collar around Edwards' neck as he approaches.
"Obviously."
Both of the officers have heard about Orion slaver collars: they're rigged.
While they are not delicate devices (rather the opposite), if tampered with,
they will kill the slave. To discourage runaways, it is often networked to a
central hub. If the collar gets out of the range of the hub, it will kill the
slave. Each of them has kill switches that allows the slaver to detonate the
collar with the flip of a switch, killing the slave.
Ghorev says, "The trick," by way of continuing, "is finding
some way to jam the signal *open* -- so that it doesn't trip the death-trigger,
but can't be given commands by the contol unit, either. A static jamming field
of some kind, rather than a communications blackout. What I wouldn't give for a
single Borva-be-damned compin right now."
At that moment the door opens and in steps a green Orion woman. Unlike Bela
who wears her makeup more like a human, this woman's makeup accentuates
animalistic qualities. She wears almost nothing beyond the electronic collar
around her neck - a few stitches of gold cloth cover her most private areas. Her
fingernails are long, but she is still able to deftly carry the tray she is
holding. Beyond her and the door, the officers glimpse the Klingon in the hall.
The door slides shut behind her and she approaches the center of the room. She
curtsies and extends the tray, which is loaded with fresh fruits, a pitcher of
water and a bottle of wine. "I am Casya. I am to serve our guests,"
she says.
Edwards almost replies, until the door opens. After he gets a good look at
the serving girl, he glances back toward Ghorev, and remarks dryly, "Well
isn't that nice?"
Ghorev says, "I can imagine a hundred ways the Orion Syndicate has to
serve up an Andorian, mind you." But he approaches. "Thank you, Casya."
No sense being churlish, after all. "What is the wine you're bringing
us?"
Casya straightens up. "I believe it is from Earth, my lord," she
says. "What is your pleasure?"
Ghorev says, "Freedom," bluntly. "But I'll settle for knowing
where this ship is, currently."
Edwards just wanders over to the brazier, so he can inspect it idly. Being a
married man, he shouldn't be looking at mostly naked women anyway.
"In orbit of Syrenya," replies Casya. "The crown jewel of
Orion space." She sets the tray down on a shelf on the back of the sofa and
begins to pour Ghorev a glass of wine. When she is finished she moves toward the
Andorian and offers it to him. "And freedom is only for the master to give,
my lord."
Ghorev hrms. "I'll take that under advisement, thank you, Casya."
He takes the wine, but does not yet drink it.
Casya asks Edwards, "What is your pleasure?" She stalks toward him
and the brazier.
Edwards gives Casya a sour look, "How about if you stop prancing around
here half-naked?"
Ghorev murmurs, "She's hardly prancing," and approaches Edwards, as
well. "And it's only skin." Must be some Andorian thing.
The Orion woman asks Edwards, "Do I displease you, my lord?" There
is a hint of nervousness in her voice.
Edwards watches her reaction and sighs, shaking his head, "The
management displeases me." That said, he wanders away, toward the viewport,
so he can look out at the world below.
Casya looks to Ghorev. "You will have to forgive me, you are my first
clients," she says. "I've been working hard, and Madame Edwards says
that I have potential.. But I'm frightened of the collar," she says.
"So whatever you want me to do - I'll do. Just be.. Pleased.. With
me."
Ghorev says, "First clients? Do tell." He lets Edwards jump on the
'Madame Edwards' angle. "How long have you been in training?"
Edwards jumps like a trained monkey. Veering back around, he approaches Casya
and inquires, "Madame Edwards?"
"Since I was born, my lord," replies Casya. "I was raised on
this ship." She blinks several times at the first officer's response.
"Yes," she says. "She is our mistress, she is in charge of the
girls on the ship. ...But why do you ask about the Madame?"
Edwards looks to Ghorev and raises an eyebrow, "We have to be able to
use this somehow."
Ghorev translates for Casya. "The human over here is related to Madame
Edwards, you see. Could you tell her we're here?"
Casya blinks, and looks between them, her gaze finally resting on Edwards.
"Related? Related how, my lord?"
Edwards returns his attention to the confused Orion, "We're married.
She's my wife. So will you please tell her that we're here and might need her
help?"
Casya grins at Edwards' jest. "Married, my lord? Certainly you must be
mistaken. It is no wonder I do not please you, I am far too young for you, my
lord."
Ghorev says, "It makes *me* feel old to hear you say that, and frankly,
I'd like to think of myself as anything but."
Edwards fixes the girl with the most serious look he can muster. "You
are old." he replies to Akeen, before refocusing on Casya, "And I'm
not mistaken."
Ghorev says, "Casya, inform the Madame, regardless. Perhaps she will
want to see us, anyway.*"
Casya's eyebrows pinch together. "The Madame has been on the ship as
long as I can remember," she says quietly. "Some of my earliest
memories are of her reading to me, and I am nineteen. In all that time I have
not known the Madame to have a husband, my lord." She bows at Ghorev's
request. "My apologies but I cannot, my lord. I am expected to entertain
you and here I must remain. Shall I dance for you?"
Edwards grunts and glances toward Ghorev, as if he has access to some
mysterious knowledge, "What in the hell is she talking about?"
Ghorev says, idly, "*WE* got here through a chronal trap of some kind,
you know."*
Edwards shakes his head, "Then what about Minos and his little Klingon
friend? They looked the same as they did earlier this week." Slingshotting
his attention back to Casya, he asks, "What's Madame Edwards' first name?
And, ah, just tell us everything you know about her."
Ghorev shrugs. "We don't deal with as many as nine impossible time
paradoxes a week?" But he falls silent at the questioning.
"Madame Janice Edwards," replies the Orion woman. "She's our
mistress, she teaches us, and takes care of us. But she also punishes us. We
shouldn't be talking about such things. I should dance for you."
Edwards furrows his brow, "Janice Edwards?" And it hits him like a
ton of bricks. For a moment, he just stares at Casya, before trying to roughly
grab a hold of her arms, "He sent you in here, didn't he?! Trying to screw
with us?!"
Ghorev says, "Michael, what are you doing?"
Casya frowns but doesn't resist him. "No," she says pitiably.
"I promise. I am simply here to give you pleasure and make you
comfortable."
Edwards so does not look mollified by that response. And this time, he
doesn't respond to the girl's looks. Instead, he moves to throw her down onto
the ground. "Get out of here! NOW! And tell Minos that if I see him, he's
/dead/!" Of course, Ghorev's question is sorta lost in the shuffle.
Ghorev moves to place himself between Edwards and the fallen girl. "Get
a grip on yourself!"
Casya hits the floor with a yelp, and lies where she fell. "I have
displeased you, I am sorry," she says. Her voice indicates she is upset,
even scared, but she's not given herself over to crying. She begins to shakily
push herself up.
Edwards doesn't take to Ghorev's scolding and rears back, trying to throw a
wild haymaker at his friend. So much for reason.
The girl scrambles up as the men begin to fight and quickly makes her way
toward the door.
Ghorev tries to block the blow with a forearm, without returning it.
Ghorev pushes the frantic swing aside, and uses his free hand to splash
Edwards with the wine, some of which is already spilling down his own arm,
staining the makeshift 'pirate's blouse'.
When the wine hits him, Edwards recoils, stunned by the unexpected liquid
assault. It seems to do the trick of injecting some sense into him. At least,
enough not to continue trying to attack a fellow officer. For now, he settles
for quietly trying to get the drink off of his face.
Ghorev says, "Do I have to use up the rest of the bottle, or the pitcher
of water, or are you sufficiently calm?"
Edwards doesn't respond. He just stops wiping at his face and turns away from
Ghorev, giving him the silent treatment.
Ghorev says, "Fine, be that way. Let me know if the wine was
drugged."
Ghorev sets down the glass, with a frown.
Casya disappeared through the door about the time Edwards was getting wine
thrown in his face.
Edwards glances around quickly, making sure that the slave girl is gone. That
done, he folds his arms across his chest, and still doesn't look toward Ghorev,
but does mumble something that might be an apology.
Ghorev grunts back and eyes the water suspiciously, for a moment or three.
Then looks to Edwards. "Better?"
Edwards idly wipes at his face again, before going on the defensive, "He
sent her down here. She was a spy. Would have made sure we'd never get out of
here." That he seems perfectly certain of, for some reason.
Ghorev says, "A cynic would point out your irrational first-glance bias
against the green of hue. I can name another you didn't trust at first,
either." He sits down, idly plucking at a wine-splattered sleeve. "But
no matter. What brought that on?"
Edwards grinds his teeth a bit at the racism accusation, "This isn't
about her being Orion. It's about her being a liar. She is one and I know it. He
sent her down here."
Ghorev says, "Of course he did, silly man. We're on his *ship*!"
The Andorian looks incredulous. "Everyone is at his command, including us
right now." He doesn't seem to quite understand the subject here. "So
he'll find out that I like to waste perfectly good wine."
Edwards shakes his head adamantly, "You don't get it. You don't
understand. She was working against us. That innocent act was just that, an
act!" His voice starts to get progressively louder, "It's what they
do! They get in your head and try to mess you up!"
Ghorev says, "Women in general, you mean?"
Edwards begins to pace, the frustration building, "No, not women! Orions!"
As if it was that obvious. "They were trying to trick us! Why can't you see
that?! You should have helped me throw her out!"
Ghorev holds up one finger, a signal for a moment's attention.
Edwards is much too agitated to stop, unfortunately, "You don't know
what they're capable of doing! I do! I've dealt with them!" At least he
isn't throwing any more punches, just pacing and rambling like a lunatic.
Ghorev makes a noise, like a human clearing of throat. "They don't
*have* to trick us. They have us. We're wearing slave collars, in a virtual
cell, on an Orion ship, in Orion space, without any way home but them. I think,
if you add up the plusses and minuses, we're definitely the third team on the /kochek/
field today, and I can't see why they'd bother trying for the familiar ice
advantage."
Edwards whirls around, so he can face the Andorian now, and responds,
"Well they did! So don't you try to tell me they didn't! I know, because my
mother is DEAD!" When that comes out, he abruptly stops, and turns away
again.
Ghorev is, again, failing to grasp subtext, "What does your mother have
to do with this?"
Edwards doesn't say anything for a good moment. "She's dead." he
finally replies, "She's not here. She's dead. They were trying to trick
us."
At that moment, the door slides open and in walks a matronly woman, in her
mid to late fifties. Her hair used to probably be blonde, but has since gone
almost a shock white. It is short, cut close to the head in ringlets. She wears
no slave collar, but is dressed almost puritanically compared to the young slave
girl that Edwards tossed out - she wears a long brown dress with dark blue
shoulders that lead to long sleeves of the same blue material. Michael
recognizes her, or rather, the little boy that Mikey once was does. Janice
Edwards. Mother.
Edwards perhaps was about to say something further, but not anymore. Seeing
the Mrs. Janice Edwards causes him to swallow whatever words were coming up, and
all he can do is stare helplessly, feeling a whole lot like the child he used to
be.
