[Investigations into the family of the Ace of Spades: Qamala and Lawrence]

Qamala pulled a bottle of that fine wine from the cargo memclips that had been brought back from the Ace of Spades, her expression thoughtful. Bodily death didn't really disturb her, though she'd seen few enough dead bodies in her life. That which was important about people couldn't really die -- but it was also that which left the truly indelible traces in and on everything it touched. She wasn't overtly sensitive to it, as some Magellen were -- but it still affected her. She could almost feel the family-crew of the destroyed ship on each memclip she handled, their emotions, their thoughts, their history. Hoping it and the wine would help, she sat down at a terminal in the med bay and inserted the first clip, browsing the data there and sipping contemplatively, becoming absorbed in the mundane entries of these people's lives.

She hadn't even gotten halfway through her first glass when Lawrence returned from the cargo bay. "Is it?" She asked simply, eyes the color of deepest violet turning to take him in at a glance.

"No," the gentleman replied simply as he strode right over to the open bottle of wine and started to pour. He raised the glass to Qamala and downed half of it. Then he closed his eyes, let his head fall back, and exhaled a deep breath through his nose. When he was done, Lawrence topped his glass off and took a seat across the table from the small female.

Qamala sat back in her chair and reclaimed her own wineglass for a half-hearted return toast. "I am not sure whether I was hoping it was Aldeborahhn, or was not her," she admitted, sipping thoughtfully.

"So how goes it here?" he asked.

"Slowly," she admitted. "Jason and Marianne Fleming took possession of the Ace of Spades about ten standard years ago. Young couple, from spacing families so far as I can tell."

Her long fingers called up a photo of the couple on their wedding day, with the bows of three ships in the background, including the Ace. "I was hoping to find more information on the parents, and their next port of call. Care to join me?"

Lawrence leaned forward to rest his chin in his hands. "No, truly, I care to go to Il Toscado and enjoy the langostine risotto with some of this wine and maybe some pear grappa, followed by an evening in one of the casinos along Cape Sprig and then maybe some late night aerobics with a cocktail waitress or two. But..."

He shrugged and started to flip through the mem chips with disinterest until he found the financial records his companion smiling and shaking her head at his antics.He picked it out between two fingers and studied it quizzically before entering it into the reader. As he browsed through it, he took note that, yes, the records did indeed represent the records of an owner/operator freight business. And based on their cash flows they seemed to be good, upstanding citizens of the Empire.

Lawrence sat back for a moment and considered - these were true Citizens, capital "C". They weren't just members of the Proletariat. That should mean something important. It meant...what? He tried summoning his inner detective like he did on the ship, but the emotional noise from his earlier inspection of the ALF made it difficult.

Returning to the financial records, he now studied them with more of a forensic eye. Where were the flows going? Where were they from? Itmade sense to start at the end and work backwards, and when he did so, Lawrence made yet another interesting discovery.

"Here's something interesting," he said to Qamala. "The last financial transaction is recorded as a deposit received from this Weisman person, "shipping manager" for ITI, Augusta, Meridian."

Qamala nodded, she'd run across that data earlier, before the last staff meeting.

Lawrence looked up from the records and shot Qamala a raised eyebrow. "This Weisman guy gets around, doesn't he?"

"Hm." A tiny frown creased her brow as she reached for the wine bottle and refreshed her glass."You think it's the same one? I suppose it is just a little too much like what humans term `coincidence', isn't it."

"Indeed," Lawrence answered her. "So this Weisman character arranges for the the transport of a faux Princess, and then tries to see that I'm kidnapped to be used as leverage on my father. But if that's the case, who's responsible for the transport's misfortune? Could it be Weisman himself? Why would someone arrange for the transport of an ALF and then destroy the ALF?"

"There are many players at the table in this game," Qamala replied, using the kind of game metaphor she'd only recently learned. "Weisman and the interests he represents are but one of them. It might be that another party is countering Weisman's move. It might be that Weisman's group decided to kill the transport so they could hide evidence of it, holding it there in space to be retrieved at a later date. Or it could be that Weisman is a double agent and is playing from more than one side of the table. We need more data to eliminate possibilities, at this point."

She shrugged, rather liking the soft buzz in the wine. "Lawrence, forgive me if this is too personal, but something about that ALF is disturbing you. I can feel it." Qamala winced a little at that, smiled half-heartedly. "If you want to talk about it, I can listen."

Lawrence considered her over his wineglass. He truly found her company to be agreeable, unencumbering, unlike the others. She never seemed to want or expect - yes, that was it. She never expected anything from him and he found it refreshingly pleasant compared to the usual sense of judgemental disapproval he sensed from the others. Still...

He shrugged. "The Princess and I have a brief history," he explained. "My feelings about it are not entirely pleasant."

Her head tilted, as it usually did when Qamala was considering a new concept, or an old concept in a new way. "I will not pry further if you wish to change the subject. Did you quarrel?"

Lawrence raised his eyebrows and smiled. "You know, for someone who doesn't want to pry, you do like to ask questions."

"An innate, almost pathological curiosity is part of my genetic makeup," she confessed, smiling helplessly. "But if that's a subject change, we can move on, like I promised."

Lawrence shook his head and looked down at his notes. "Well, there's not enough information in the financial records to do more than frustrate me, but we should fill the others in on the second Weisman link. As for the crew, we know they were a family, and that the parents had an open relationship with the other male and female aboard - which isn't a bad thing," he added while looking up to wink at Qamala.

She blinked back at him, obviously puzzled as to why it might be considered so, but didn't interrupt him.

He returned to his notes to continue. "Based on the photos I recovered, we know they were part of a family business of sorts. Here, look."

Lawrence turned his datapad to show the picture he had referenced. The photo showed the the Ace of Spades' couple, apparently on their wedding day, with the bows of three ships in the background: A shiny new looking Ace Of Spades, another named Sister Sin and a third called Queen Of Hearts (apparently their mom and dad's ship). She laughed softly, and pointed at the same photo up on her display screen, but again chose not to interrupt.

A bleep from his PDA heralded a change in the display.

"That's interesting," Lawrence said as he looked at the readout. "I saved the comms I took from mom and dad. They indicate that Queen Of Hearts next port of call was Tripoli Station, a farm planet in the Empire Proper not too far from that side of the Neutral Zone. If we're going to notify next of kin, that might be a good start."

"Agreed. Hopefully in such a way that they'll know we weren't the cause of their deaths," she added softly.

OOC: I'm not exactly sure where to go with this. All the info I have is now in-game and the objective of Qamala and LBIII's research has been satisfied.

OOC: You have a good point (and obviously, the same GM info I got!). Let me see if I can think up a good round off for it, and we'll call it good.