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Niko, penguin tucked under one arm, is still perusing the contents of the datapad as he wanders into medbay. "I'm not broken, promise," he says absently, looking up from the info.
Edward panics, aiiiieeee! This is an -evil- place? He wants to go home!
Niko is perfectly capable of getting a penguin muzzle, as well as a blindfold.
Edward misses his comfortable home. He sniffles.
Clara turns back from the wall monitor, a vast list of all sort of interesting medical terminology thereon, and blinks to refocus on people rather than scary words. The penguin gets a rather bright and mischievous grin. "No? Then you've taken up part in the Great Penguin Wars?"
Niko grins at that. "Oh... no, this is Edward. Riley threw him at me, and I'm trying to decide whether to give him back or send a ransom note. But I'm actually here for a reason," he adds, expression growing serious. "Riley told me what happened, but he didn't remember the name of the poison. Could you tell me what it is? I want to try and track it down."
Edward needs to be saved. Isn't it obvious from his pitiful expression? Riley searched and searched, but this evil guy stuffed the poor penguin in a -drawer-.
Clara snickers merrily, reaching over to scritch the penguin's head. "You can leave him here if you like? I'm sure after being thrown, he's trying to claim sanctuary with his brethren." Her expression turns solemn at the reminder and she turns back to the monitor, pointing with the stylus at an entry somewhere towards the bottom. "Cyanatic hypothalidrine."
Edward doesn't want -sanctuary-, he wants to go -home-... The world is populated with such evil people!
Niko lets out a low whistle, head bobbing in a brief nod. "Okay, that's a start, thanks. Not exactly your most common chemical. I'll get on it, right away." Edward is deluded, Niko's not evil.
Clara tilts her head thoughtfully up at Niko. "Get started on it?" she asks, somewhat puzzled. "There's no way to counteract its effects, Niko. We'd be barking in the dark trying to find an antidote. Anyway, Riley's going to be fine. He hauled through the worst part." She starts to look towards the screen, then hesitates. "Or are you looking for who might even -have- this stuff?"
Niko nods to the last question. "Yeah, which is why it's helpful that it's not all that common. Easier to find who might have it, that way."
Clara isn't evil either. She's nice to penguins. Hides them in her office if they want, even.
But Edward wants to go home. He's so sad. He misses his person, and his nice spot on the couch, and he bets his person misses him. It's so lonely here. Such a sad and pathetic penguin.
Clara sighs and shakes her head at the monitor, rubbing at her forehead. "Truth to tell, Niko, -no one- should have this stuff. It's a purely pernicious substance. The only reason it's still about is because it's so easy to kill someone with."
Niko says lightly, shifting his grip on the sad and pathetic penguin, "Well, just because folks shouldn't doesn't mean that they don't. And I'm going to make sure," he adds, a touch of grimness to his voice, "That we track down whoever it is."
Clara's gaze slides off to one side thoughtfully as she nods, lighting on the penguin as she her arms over her chest. "I know. And in a place like this, there might be a dozen people all with the substance in their quarters." She peers up solemnly. "When you find the person, will you let me know?"
Niko nods once. "Of course. Certainly. Not sure how long it'll take, but I'll definitely let you know, yeah."
Clara taps at the datapad by the monitor, then tears a printout that extrudes from the wall to offer it over. "That's the factoid sheet on the hypothalidrine. It's also got a list of symptoms for someone injected with it and the chemical composition."
Edward tries to offer pleading looks. Freedom? Pretty please?
Niko murmurs a thank you as he takes the sheet, skimming it absently. "That'll be helpful, yeah." Looking up with a wry grin, he adds, "There are worse things than bugs in the crops, eh? Talk about the cure being worse than the disease." Hush, penguin.
Clara doesn't hear the penguin either. Not unless he's attempting seduction. Instead, she rolls her eyes and smirks, nodding. "Seriously. And the bad thing is, this imitates a bad case of influenza, but then the victim just...dies. Within hours. Well, most of the time," she adds, obviously relieved. "I think I'd rather go out with a flyswatter and get the bugs, personally."
The penguin isn't -orange-, how could he be seducing? "Good thing there are exceptions to the rule, yeah," Niko says, looking, if anything, more grim. "Anything else, Clara? I want to get going on this."
Clara waves a hand, aiming the stylus back to shut down the monitor. "No. Thanks for all this, Niko. Good luck, okay?" she offers with a wan smile that widens slightly at the penguin. "Last chance for sanctuary, bird," she adds.
Edward would be in tears if he could manage it. Aren't y'all such awful horrible people abusing such a cute toy?
Niko is a horrible awful person, yup. "Thanks--and what else could I do?" Lifting a hand, he heads out of the room.
Niko heads towards the Second Floor Elevator Lounge.
[A bit later, Clara heads over to General Housing]
Clara gives Vryce an affable nod and head doorwards. Perhaps she's going to offer more penguins sanctuary. Perhaps not.
You say "Tarrant? It's Clara Aleron. Do you have a moment, by any chance?" into the communit.
Your communit crackles to life and blares "Of course Miz Clara. I was just setting to some research, by all means something I've no real desire to work on just yet. How can I help you?" in Tarrant's voice.
You say "It's...a professional matter. Is there somewhere I could meet you? I'd rather discuss this in person. I did knock at the door to the broom closet...you've moved?" into the communit.
Your communit crackles to life and says "Yes, thankfully. I'm a hall over now, G11." in Tarrant's voice.
You knock on a door.
Tarrant calls, "Come in."
Clara pauses just inside the door, momentarily distracted to look frankly approving. "Nice place," she offers with interest. "Certainly better than before. This is downright cheerful." She offers a somewhat stiff smile. "Afternoon, Tarrant."
Tarrant has obviously just finished swiping a pile of papers and plasfilm into a box, clearing the table. Tugging open a cabinet he deposits the box. Nodding he gestures to the couch, "Please, come in, have a seat. Yeah, it's a vast improvement on the old. I'd like to thank you for poking the powers that be. Everything in here works, I was quite thrilled."
Clara slips her hands into the pockets of her labcoat, smile fading faintly as she nods solemnly. "Of course. It was the least I could do. Riley had a chat with whomever, I assume." Rather than sit, though, she paces the tiny open length before sighing. "Tarrant, I have a professional question."
Tarrant does however pad over to the couch, sinking onto one end of it and sitting cross-legged. "Ask away, I'll attempt to answer it if I can, Miz Clara. But as regards profession, I'm sometimes kinda' limited."
Clara turns to face you with rather blandly, hands still in her pockets. "Of course. I can understand that. Do you know who here in the Complex would have access to cyanatic hypothalidrine?"
Tarrant pauses a beat, looking thoughtful, eyes cast downwards a moment as his brow furrows in thought. "Well," he answers at last, "Anybody in the Department, anybody with access to a pet smuggler, and anybody from the Milleflorian sectors would have better odds at getting it. It's used there as a processing chemical in skimmer fuel."
Clara sighs faintly, dropping her forehead into one hand for a moment and venturing a vague nod. "I was afraid of such." She looks back up again, still just as expressionless. "Please, Tarrant...please tell me you haven't used it recently in your profession. For example...yesterday."
Tarrant is now looking more than a little puzzled, auburn brows dropping still further. "I've never used it, at least not so as I can recall. It's too chancy. If the subject has a strong enough constitution it simply doesn't work. Not to mention it's hardly a clean kill by any means."
Clara finally does take up the offer of a seat and circles around to drop into the opposite corner of the couch, nodding with a hint of relief. "I'd rather thought you'd say that, but I had to ask. I'm sorry," she offers quietly.
Tarrant shakes his head, making a gesture of dismissal. "There's nothing to apologize for, you don't know me as well as all that after all. Who was poisoned?"
Clara inhales a slow breath, folding her hands and drawing on every iota of proper behavior she was raised with. "Riley," she supplies with a heavy veneer of ladylike composure. "I really didn't think you'd been responsible, but I did rather wish to know who had access to the substance."
Tarrant does look just a -bit- miffed when that's pointed out, "Miz Clara, I thought I'd explained I was a gentleman of some honor, and I'm hardly likely to go around killing decent people, let alone decent people who are related to my lady love, yes?" He shakes his head, "I take it he survived it, or there would have been some uproar."
Clara tilts her head to the side, jaw firming slightly. "You did explain that, and I apologized. I truly am sorry for questioning you. As I said, I merely wished to know who has access to the substance. Shall I apologize again?" She straightens to the edge of her seat as if to rise. "I -am- sorry, Tarrant. Yes, he survived."
Tarrant sighs as if very tired indeed, "Miz Clara, you are very easy indeed to offend." He shakes his head, "Is there anything else I can offend you about?"
Clara balances her elbows on her knees, tilting her head to one side to peer at you with a wistful smile. "The prickly physician, that's me. I'm sorry, Tarrant. Just...I don't think you'd be in the best of moods if you knew someone was trying to assassinate Corian, would you?"
Tarrant shakes his head lightly, offering you a sheepish grin. "Probably not, but then I am accustomed to such situations. Surely this isn't the first time someone's wished to kill Admiral Addison? It is rare for someone to attain such a public position without having enemies, yes?"
Clara drops her gaze back to her hands, grimacing. "No, he's plenty of enemies, I'm sure. Especially for reaching his position at his age. But I don't think there's ever been anyone specifically out there -trying- to be sneaky about this. Even Sarducci just shot him outright. What happens when someone isn't there to catch the attempt?"
"One must needs be cautious," Tarrant replies after a few moments of thought, "But one cannot live one's entire life in fear. Or rather...someone could come along and succeed, yes. But he could also trip on the stairs and break his neck. Life is risk. The trick is the minimize it, not stress over it."
Clara plucks at the edge of her lab coat for a moment, then nods and climbs to her feet. "You're absolutely right," she agrees with determination. "The idea is simply to preservere." She hesitates a moment, as if about to ask something else, then decides on a warm smile. "Thank you for your help. I should leave you to get back to your research."
"Or to remove the known threat," Tarrant replies quietly, words all but devoid of accent. "It's not as if you don't know people who do that kind of thing, after all."
Clara's smile fades to seriousness, one brow quirked slightly. "I only know two people who would have the capability. I trust them both. The others are all either in prison or off-planet...theoretically. Do you have a suggestion?"
Tarrant shakes his head slightly, "I meant you knew folks who go about removing threats."
Clara's hands slide back into her pockets, the only movement she makes. "Do I?" she queries softly. "Again, I ask. Do you have a suggestion?" A hint of the underlying desperation flashes through before being throttled back again. "Please...if you do..."
Tarrant shifts forward a notch, elbows on knees, "Miz Clara, I should hope you know I'd be willing to do this thing. The debts owed alone... But I would have you think before setting me onto this. You know what's likely to happen to this person, if they're immoral enough to try such things, with me catching them out."
Clara unfolds her hands from her pockets, refolding her arms at her chest as she moves to pace the small floor area again. "I do know, yes. And that isn't necessarily a good thing, as whomever you would...catch...may not be the one handing out orders. I -knew- Denner didn't work alone," she mutters.
Tarrant simply watches you pace, quiet again for a while. "I'm a tool, but only for specific purposes. I'm more than willing to do this, but only if it's what you want done. I can even make it so it'd be unlikely any other would be willing to take up this contract, but once again, I do not know if the conscience of a physician would countenance such things."
Clara pauses in her pacing to face you with widening eyes, half amused and half incredulous. "You're serious, aren't you? Good heavens, you really don't know?" She half smiles and returns to pacing. "I can't harm a living being. It's...terribly difficult for me. But just belonging to the family I do, I understand the necessity of what you do. Still...I'd rather see the person alive. And talking."
Tarrant lifts his shoulders in something akin to a shrug, "As would I, but when dealing with others who ply the trade, I refuse to accept living as a required condition. It's rarely if ever possible to manage that one, and it wouldn't be with my own skin intact. I'm willing to make that trade off, but even then, it's usually just not possible."
Clara shakes her head firmly. "I will not trade you for a possible middle man, Tarrant. You are the companion of my lifemate's sister." She rubs at her head for a moment, then stops and regards you thoughtfully. "May I have some time to think about this?"
Tarrant can't but pause at that, offering a grin, "Is that like, my brother's wife's sister's roomate?" He nods amiably to that, "I'm certainly not going to stop being willing to do this because of the passage of time. Just remember, conditions change as time passes."
Clara has to return the grin wryly with a nod. "Well, that, and I consider you a friend," she adds, then nods in understanding sobriety. Not that she was intoxicated, but she's soberer now. If that's a word. It should be, if it's not. "I realize that. I'll get back to you on this by tomorrow." She pauses, then adds, "See, my family employs people for this...but they're all back on Earth. And you're not an employee, Tarrant. I'd rather not see you harmed over this. Then again, I'm not about to lose Riley."
"Not an employee," Tarrant echoes in agreement, "But a friend, yes. And one that would like to help. I just don't want you regretting your decision later."
"Yeah," Clara replies, eyes drifting off to one side as she murmurs to herself in rambling French for a moment, then offers a wan smile back. "Could you...maybe just keep your eyes open? Please?"
Tarrant nods to that, his manner subdued. "I surely will, Miz Clara. I surely will."
Clara fumbles in her belt for a moment to withdraw her scanner and wave it at you in mock-threatening and grinning. "And it's just Clara. Miz Clara, indeed. Makes me sound like some landowner's daughter." She reholsters the instrument and smiles quietly. "Thank you, Tarrant. I appreciate your help."
Tarrant grins at that, looking rather amused, "What, and your family owns no lands? Am I not allowed to torment in return for all the misnamings I have suffered?" He winks, nodding. "Clara then, certainly." He shakes his head, "It is nothing at all, no thanks are needed."
Clara waves a hand over her head. "Orbiting colonies. Those aren't land," she counters with a grin. "And you may torment as much as you feel necessary, although I warn you I studied tormenting in school." She glances at the door, then purses her lips. "I should get home. Make a few calls. I'll get back to you tomorrow?"
Tarrant nods to that amiably, standing in an attempt to be polite. That one bad leg is being a particular pest however and his attempted bow doesn't really come off as well as it might. "I'll await your decision. A pleasant evening to you."
Clara tilts her head at you for a moment, brow furrowing before she reaching under her coat to pluck a hypo from farther back along her belt. Batman would be jealous. She offers the hypo over, explaining, "A local, if your leg is bothering you. Good evening, Tarrant. My best to Corian."
Tarrant shakes his head, waving off the hypo. "It usually does when the weather's changing, not a big deal. I've lived this many years with it day in and day out, I'm hardly going to start objecting to the pain now." He nods, "When next I see her, I pass that along."
Clara lifts a brow, but does tuck the hypo into a pocket. "Your choice, of course. But you needn't live with such discomfort. Goodnight," she concludes, and heads out the door, already deep in thought.
You leave the room, pulling the door shut behind you.