The Investigation Begins

Posted on 18 Jun 2026 @ 3:38pm by Captain Brynhild Kleim & The Narrator & Ensign Unknown 'Weirdo'

1,881 words; about a 9 minute read

Mission: Unity

Time had both narrowed and expanded – there was no other way he could describe it. As if time itself had become fluid and he moved through it or past it in a way which did not quite fit with regular perceptions.

First things first. All steps were laid out in his mind's eye, an easy sequence: first this, then this, then this.

He had walked away from T'sal and the forensics team with a curt: "Keep me posted," and tapped his comm badge next – the badge, ineffectively cleaned, still bore some darkening stains. "Tychon to captain Kleim."

Brynhild Kleim was, of course, far from being psychic...but there was a sinking feeling in her gut when she got the call from Ensign Tychon. She just knew that the news couldn't be good. Not with what little she already knew. Not with what she had already pieced together... "Kleim here," she responded. "Report."

"I regret to inform you that Commander Kristiana Petrova has died." His voice showed no emotion. As he talked, he pulled out a PADD and wrote some notes on it. A request to T'sal to pull up the station logs to find out more about the originally logged security alert, footage from the functional cameras of the station, and a detailed map of the blind spots. "Investigations are ongoing." He hit 'Send' on the PADD.

"I see," the captain replied, sounding equally emotionless outwardly, though she closed her eyes for a moment and took a slow breath. A new tattoo. My first on this ship, and I have barely been here for a heartbeat, it seems... "What do you know so far?" she finally asked aloud.

He gave a concise report of what they found thus far. What little they had found. Bloodstains, the crumpled form, a knife sticking from her back… The image was engraved in his mind, as sharp as if it was a holo-image he could observe from every angle. "I'm heading to the ship to continue my investigation there. A forensics team is on site."

Brynna nodded a little, even though she was the only one to see it. "Understood," she said. "Report to medical as soon as you come aboard and check in with Dr. Warner. She will be conducting the forensic exam, and it will be top priority." She knew she didn't even need to make the order since it would be understood by the medical team and CMO.

"On my way. Tychon out." One last look to where the forensic team was at work, to the smears and spots of blood, now slowly beginning to darken. Still no emotion showed on his face. Something older, deeper, colder had taken posession of him. Again, he tapped his comm badge. "Tychon to USS Odin, one to beam up."

A moment later the ship coalesced around him. He gave a polite nod at the ensign behind the transporter panel and immediately left, automatically choosing the quickest route to medical. "Looking for Dr. Warner," he said as soon as he entered and looked around.

It was a nurse who greeted him, but her expression was solemn. It hung like a cloud over sickbay. "She is in the forensic suite," she replied, gesturing down a short corridor that led to a private room at the back of the medical space.

Outside the suite was a sign that instructed anyone entering to down protective face and hand gear, to avoid contamination of the procedure.

He had enough presence of mind to thank the nurse, to observe the niceties even when he felt anything but. The mood which clung to sickbay was understandable, he noted, just one datum point amidst many others: they had tried to save one of their own and failed.

He donned the protective gear with brisk, efficient movements, then entered the room. The door hissed close behind him. "Doctor Warner," he said by way of announcement.

Amelia felt the weight of it all, but she was a professional. She knew that she might be able to help provide some information to help find the murderer. She was still in her dress uniform, having rushed back to the ship when she heard the call about this, with a medical apron over it. "Ah, Ensign," she said. "You are in charge of the investigation?"

"Yes." No doubt there were other security officers more qualified than he was. More experienced. Less emotionally involved. Nobody had ordered him off. So, pending such an order, he forged ahead, as he did in all things: full steam, with no hesitation whatsoever.

The doctor nodded a little. "So far, I have confirmed that the blade found at the site, in the body, was the cause of death. It wasn't a misdirect. The weapon is in the evidence container on the counter there." She nodded at it. "If you want to take a closer look. It does not look like it originates from any of the more prominent UFP races, but I haven't been able to fully run it through the Sal'kiiran database to see if it was gotten locally to the station or planet."

"It didn't look familiar to me, either, from what I could tell," he replied, already turning to the container. He could summon the image in his mind's eye as easily as walking into a holodeck, crisp, clear, ready to be examined at all angles: the crumpled form, hilt sticking from the back. The blade itself hadn't been visible, buried all the way.

Now he looked at it in its full and deadly form, lying in the container. Still stained with darkening blood. "Teleported out or pulled out?" he asked, without taking his eyes of the knife.

"Teleported," she replied without looking up from the console-bridge suspended over the commander's body, conducting a deep-tissue scan. "I wanted to be careful about damaging the wound by pulling it out, so I avoided that since I could."

The knife itself was an interesting design, one that might even be considered beautiful, in less grim circumstances and not covered in blood. About 17 centimers long, half of it was blade. Slender in basic design, with a slight curve to said blade. Double-edged, with a clipped point on one side and shallow but sharp serrations further down towards the grip. The blade was of an unknown metal, having a vague blue shimmer to it under certain angles. The grip was separated from the blade by a small guard, simple strips of metal with filigree motif on it, extending two centimeters from the grip. Said grip was made of several laminated layers of wood and shaped to comfortable fit a hand with a swell for the palm and indents for the fingers. The pommel was similarly embellished as the guard. Notably though in the center of the grip, embedded in the laminated wood of alternating colors, was a symbol of sorts, inlaid with the same bluish metal that the blade was made from.

This was certainly not 'just' any knife from a random kitchen drawer. Beautifully made, tastefully decorated, with a design one might consider almost ritualistic.

That… could have worrying implications. His mind, still running on multiple tracks, made a note of them, then stored those thoughts for the time being. The best way to approach this was not with any preconceptions, but to keep all options open.

With one hand he pulled out a tricorder and scanned the knife, he rapidly downloaded the image onto a PADD and sent it to the computer with his other hand, in order to run it through the database. 'Include known Sal'kiiran databases', he keyed in as an extra order.

The tricorder began to spat out a wide array of data: exact dimensions of the blade, composition of the metal and other elements. He rapidly scrolled through it, hoping to find what he wished to see: fingerprints or alien equivalents, DNA or similar structures – anything which could tell him who had wielded the knife.

Unfortunately the scan yielded no DNA - not even a scrap - other than that of Commander Petrova. No fingerprints either, not even partial ones. There were some remnants of aggressive cleaning fluids though, residue that implied the knife was very meticulously cleaned before being used. Also some trace fibers from a type of fabric. The computer indicated it was commonly used in workgloves and welding gloves, commonly used by the Federation during large construction projects.

The symbols returned a more interesting result. They were of Sal'kiiran origin. Old symbols, representing pride and independance. The materials too showed the knife was of Sal'kiiran make; using metals and ores that were native to the mountain regions of the planet.

"I can also tell you," the doctor continued after several minutes to let the ensign examine the knife, "that whoever attacked her could not easily overpower her or used anything to subdue her first. She has defensive wounds and clearly put up a hell of a fight first."

"How long do you think such a fight lasted? Seconds? Minutes?" he asked, fixing the dark sea-coloured eyes on the doctor for a moment, then shifting them to the body. He watched it, seemingly without emotion, or with as much emotion as he'd used to examine the knife. The body was just that: a body, the remains of once-living flesh which had but one last tale to tell: that of its demise. What made Kris Kris, the essence, the life of her, had gone, passed beyond the borders which separated past from present, to be mourned when there was time for mourning.

First things first.

Amelia didn't reply immediately, because that was slightly less exact an answer. "I cannot tell you for sure from just the body," she began after a moment, "but I would guess at least a few minutes. Not all of these wounds could have, logically, happened in just moments unless there were multiple attackers, but I don't see evidence of difference. There are bruises that I surmise are from fists, and they are the same size. There is only one knife that caused the blade-related wounds. No evidence of any other weapons. So, a few minutes at least, I would say, yes."

"Thank you, doctor."

Puzzle pieces, a handful of pieces. More than he had before he entered, still not enough by far to complete the puzzle. "Is there anything else you can tell me?" If not, he would leave Amelia to finish her work in… well, not exactly peace, but at least in quiet. He had a lot of work to do still, work which didn't require his presence here.

Amelia smiled faintly, sadly, as she looked up briefly to shake her head and meet the ensign's eyes. "Not yet, I'm afraid. I haven't had very long. I will let you know if I find anything more, however, and alert you whenever the tests I'm running are done."

He forced himself to smile, although he never felt more like not smiling – extremely unusual for him. "Then I'll leave you to your work, doctor." And I'll attend to mine…

Smile fading, he turned on his heel and left the forensic suite in the same manner as he entered, with grim determination. First this, then this, then this…

 

RSS Feed