"I'm telling you I feel fine!" repeated President Winston Carlyle for the fortieth time. "I demand to be released at once!"
But Doctor Macintyre remained unmoved. He looked up from the PADD displaying the President's stats and said, "We just need to keep you here for one more day, Mr. President, for a few more tests. Just to make sure, you understand. There was a lot of radiation seepage from Starfleet One's impulse stacks. I'd hate to have you facing the G'kra High Commissar across the treaty signing table and all of a sudden have your hair start falling out. I have my reputation as a genius surgeon to think of after all." This last was said with a grin, but the joke was lost on the impatient President of the UFP.
"The treaty signing is in three days--"
"You'll be out of here well before then, sir," said Macintyre. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm meeting a couple of nurses in the cloak room in five minutes who wanna play doctor." He smiled, reattached the PADD to the foot of Carlyle's bed and left the room.
A dark storm cloud darkened Carlyle's face as he watched the doctor go. "That man should be banned from practicing medicine," he grumbled. "And exiled to Rura Penthe!" he added as a happy afterthought.
A shapely female figure stood from the chair in which she'd been seated and approached the bedside. "He's one of the best doctors around these parts," she told the president. "Besides, he was just trying to lighten the mood in this room, you old grouch."
Carlyle smiled in spite of himself and turned to face the burgundy-uniformed woman. "You know, you're just as infuriating as your husband, Captain Hunter."
"Guess that's why we get along so well," replied Dee, returning Carlyle's smile with a crooked one of her own. "Besides, this hospital is surrounded by hundreds of Starfleet Security and Marines. This is probably the safest place on the entire planet right now, and since we haven't yet caught whoever tried to kill you the first time, we need to make sure you're safe."
The President grumbled in grudging acquiescence. "Fine, fine. Just as long as I don't have to eat hospital food while I'm here," he said.
Dee smiled. "I'll see what I can do," she promised.
A lone figure sat hunched over a small transceiver unit in a tiny dark apartment somewhere in Serenity City. He was monitoring communications to and from Paladin Hospital, hoping to intercept something useful regarding the President, but all he had listened to all day were numbingly uninteresting personal calls from patients and routine messages from hospital workers. He was about to switch off and call it a day when the speaker grille cracked to life.
A female voice said, "Hello? Pete's Pizzeria? Yes, I'd like to order one pizza, extra cheese and hasperat. Send it to Paladin Hospital, room 601. Thanks."
The lone figure smiled. This was the break he'd been waiting for. He recognized the voice as belonging to Captain Dee Hunter, and room 601 was President Carlyle's room at the hospital. He looked up the address of Pete's Pizzeria in the city guide, shut down his spy equipment, made sure his disruptor was charged and secure in its shoulder holster, then pulled his jacket on to cover the weapon. He locked the door to the small apartment behind him and proceeded down the narrow stairs to street level to catch a robotaxi.
Fifteen minutes later, the service entrance of Pete's Pizzeria exploded inward, knocking a hapless employee carrying a large can of tomato sauce backwards into a stack of onion sacks. The employee tumbled over the sacks and the thick red sauce went flying, splattering everything in range; the walls, the ceiling, the other employees were covered in dripping red mess.
"What the hell are you morons doing back here?!?" thundered the manager, who had been summoned by the racket. At that moment however, a dark shadow stepped through the shattered door. Crackling blue energy flared in his right hand, and a smoking hole appeared in the stunned manager's chest. He fell to the tomato sauce-splattered floor, his blood mixing with the rest of the mess. The other employees joined their leader seconds later.
The figure holstered his weapon and stepped over the bodies, careful to avoid the worst of the slippery, growing, red puddles. A quick check of the small dining room revealed no customers -- lucky for them -- so he locked the front door and turned the sign hanging in the window around so it read 'CLOSED' on the outside. Back in the kitchen, he grabbed a pizza that looked finished and put it in a delivery box, picked up a spare 'Pete's Pizzeria' cap and the keys to the delivery car, then disappeared back out the service entrance. The entire operation had taken three minutes.
Ten minutes later, a hovercar with 'Pete's Pizzeria' proudly emblazoned on its sides pulled up to the rear entrance of Paladin Hospital. A young man stepped out, liveried in Pete's Pizzeria cap and carrying a pizza box. As he approached the doors, a burly Starfleet Security guard stepped forward and waved him to stop.
"Security check," said the guard.
The figure paused his advance and held out the pizza box. A sudden flash of blue energy from underneath the box momentarily brightened the night, and the guard fell to the ground with a smoking hole in his chest, dead before he hit the ground.
The figure passed through the hospital's entrance. He knew the dead guard would be discovered quickly, so there was no time to waste. Just inside the entrance was a stairwell guarded by two more Starfleet Security. He pulled a small device from his jacket pocket and tossed it at their feet, then quickly ducked back outside. The pair's eyes widened in recognition and they made to dive out of the way, but it was too late. The grenade detonated in a fiery blast that shook the walls of the building and blew them to bits.
The figure dashed back inside and leapt up the stairs after first tossing the now-useless pizza aside. If he could get to room 601 quickly enough, his mission would be successful. By that time, he was sure reinforcements would have the place surrounded and escape would be impossible, but escape was irrelevant. Only the mission mattered.
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