|Posted: Thu Jul 16, 2009 2:27 pm Post subject: The Assassin's Mind (Karl Koester)
Petty Officer First Class Koester
(Note: This takes place shortly after the DS9 Episode Fields of Fire).
*Pets his dog*
Computer, begin recording.
Three people died on Deep Space Nine, according to Petty Officer First Class Tony Yamaguchi, Assistant Master at Arms for the station. I've known Tony practically since we were recruits at Security Advanced Indivdual Training.
As I lie here on Starbase 371 recovering, talking to the shrinks, I find plenty of idle time that simply training and caring for my new canine companion doesn't completely fill.
Don't get me wrong, Max is a wonderful companion.
*Dog licks Koester's hand. Koester brings the scarred hand to scratch the pup behind his ears.*
I recently became aware of the three deaths on Deep Space Nine. What really caught my eye was the killer's choice of weapon. A weapon that I've had more than my share of familiarity with. The TR-116 rifle.
During a solitary campaign where I fought as a lone sniper against God knows how many Jem'Hadar and Cardassian troops and killed exactly three hundred and seventy one of them, the weapon was my weapon of choice.
As a unit marksman I was allocated the weapon when on the Dantana station, which proved fortuitous.
Anyway, LT Chu'lak, the killer. While I don't approve of Starfleet personnel killing each other, I must admire the brilliance of his design. A micro transporter whose signature is practically undetectable and an exographic targeting sensor. The perfect additions to what I believed was an already perfect killer of Cardies.
I think the modification should be made to any TR-116 rifles in Starfleet's inventory and am working on a draft memo to my compatriots in security to go up the chain of command.
I understand Chu'lak's mental state better than most. The only thing separating him from me, scarily enough is choice of target. He chose to kill Starfleet personnel. I killed Cardies and Jem'Hadar, with the occasional Vorta to mix.
I can remember the heft of the weapon in my hands. Of slamming that six or twelve round magazine home. Of tracking my target through the holographic targeting sight bolted atop the weapon. Of the sureness of the knowledge that I was close and yet so far from my quarry. That I would be the last living thing to know their presence. That at any second their life was mine to take or spare. I often chose the former. Especially if the target was Cardassian.
I am beginning to understand Bajoran hatred of Cardassians, especially after witnessing atrocities they committed at that Dantana orbital facility, using slave labor of Starfleet prisoners.
I would find that my own fiancee was among them and that she died in a riot when a Cardassian Glinn interrogated one of her cellmates. Thankfully I was able to kill said Glinn when he was on a planetary rotation for some shoreleave.
I remember he was victim number forty-two. I remember he was hiking through a canyon with several other Cardies, just doing a routine patrol. It was his last when I fired the 'hotload' round, that punched into his body armor like it was papier mache and then fragmented into a hundred superheated pieces whose catalyst was his slimy Cardie blood. It literally cooked his intestinal tract and took him at least four hours to die painfully, three of them when a Dantana Sabretooth dragged him into its lair and began to use him as a 'teaching tool' for her cubs for how to kill live prey...
I didn't feel the rage then. The rage was gone. It was only that I was the one with the upper hand. I had the dominion over his life. I had the crosshairs just below his heart. And I would end his cursed life then and there...