<<Deck 2, Holodeck 2 – USS Hawking>>
<<March 7, 2384 - 1100 Hours>>

With the spring back in his stride, Michael progressed down the hall to the holodeck. He’d been told by one of the engineering staff that they were one of the first systems to be repaired, so he thought he’d give them a road test. He had just the program in mind.

For some reason being aboard a new post always made him feel uneasy. This was exactly what he needed to relax. Standing outside the large metal doors, he looked at the access panel adjacent to the entrance. He pressed the enter command.

“Computer run program Falkner-2-2-Epsilon, “Death on the Nile”.” Falkner smiled.

“Program complete. Enter when ready.”

Hearing footsteps behind him, Michael turned around and was greeted by the sight of the executive officer.

“Looks like you had the same idea as I did.” Jacob smiled.

“Ah, sir,” Michael was uneasy around his superior off duty, “I was just about to test the holodeck systems.”

“Anything particular in mind?”

“Just a program that my grandfather sent me.” Michael nodded. ‘Ah’ he thought, ‘what the hey.’, “Care to join me sir?”

Jacob stopped short, clearly surprised by the offer. Still, he had the time and it would be a good way to learn more about the Hawking's new security chief. “Sure,” he said.

Stepping forward, Michael entered the Holodeck first, emerging on the other side in a beautifully decorated art deco room, full of people and music. As he crossed the threshold his appearance was altered by the holographic emitters. His clothes were changed into a tidy grey suit, pinstriped, and he appeared to gain quite a bit of weight. A cane also materialised in his left hand. When the transformation was complete, Michael, now complete with moustache, adjusted the carnation in his lapel, and continued forward into the fray.

Jacob followed, surveying the 'room' with a professional eye. He scanned for any gaps or flaws in the scene being created for the two officers, but the illusion was seamless, the early 20th Century dwelling faithfully reproduced by the on-board computers.

The rosewood panelling lining the room's interior seemed to glow with warmth, the burnished brass fittings polished to a mirrored finish. Underfoot, the deep pile of the carpet felt soft and sensual to Jacob's feet, more accustomed, as they were, to unyielding ships deck plates.

Jacob looked down in surprise as he too was made over with a new suit, slate grey, and appearance matching that of a retired army Colonel of the British Army. Jacob nodded once in satisfaction - this was one system that appeared fully functional.

“Monsieur Poirot, Colonel Race, you must join us.” A rich female voice called out to them. Its owner was expensively dressed, a cigarette holder in one hand and a glass of some exotic Egyptian wine in the other. An artistically draped fox lay around her neck.

“Madame Doyle, enchanté.” With a surprisingly good French accent, Michael took a proffered hand and kissed it gallantly, nodding his head politely.

“Colonel Race,” the lady turned to regard Orley, “I don’t believe we’ve been formally introduced yet, Linnet Doyle, American millionaires, or so they tell me,” she smiled radiantly.

"Oh, that's me!" Jacob realized after a moment’s hesitation, "Yes, er, Madame, pleased to meet you." Unsure of what to do with his hands, Jacob settled for a polite bow which he hoped was in keeping with his character's military background.

Linnet Doyle laughed playfully, hiding her mouth modestly behind one gloved hand. "I see the famous British reserve has yet to be assailed by these modern, permissive times," she teased.

“Oh, Linnet, ever the flirtatious dear,” a young man stepped out from behind her, also expensively attired, holding two glasses which he offered to the two protagonists, “Simon Doyle, I see you’ve met my wife, you must have a drink with us.”

“Well Colonel,” Poirot or Falkner asked him, “Shall we?”

Jacob managed a smile, trying to relax. "Indeed we shall, Mr Falkn - er, I mean, Mr Poirot."

“So do tell us about yourself Colonel, Monsieur Poirot told us so little about you at Karnak.”

Jacob’s face appeared worried, since he’d had no time to become acquainted with his character. Michael stepped in to cover for him.

“Ah, but Madame, the Colonel, il est très modeste, he would be too embarrassed to detail to you his character.”

Linnet indicated the seating area next to them. “A seat Monsieur Poirot? Colonel Race?”

“Merci,” Poirot smiled.

After the group had been seated, Poirot/Falkner continued.

“The Colonel represents the interests of her Majesty in Egypt, now that his distinguished career in the British Army, it has finished.”

“Good to know we still have the best out here representing the Crown.” Simon nodded proudly.

“Well,” Jacob smiled, “I do my best.”

“It’s just a terrible shame you came aboard so late Colonel, you missed such an exemplary tour around the Temple of Hathor. Did you know she was an Egyptian Goddess, with the head of a cow, how terribly amusing.” Linnet took another breath from her cigarette.

“Were it not for that terrible accident Madame, I would agree with you.” Poirot turned to Race, “The Madame Doyle was almost killed when a statue of the head of Hathor fell to the ground.”

“The Egyptians believed her to be the creator of all life you know.” A voice behind them informed. The two men watched as the colour drained from Linnet’s face.

“Jackie,” Simon sighed. Jacob and Michael turned to see a beautiful young woman enter the bar from the deck outside. She was dressed in a simple but elegant red dress, not very expensive.

“Tired darling? The old girl wearing you out?” Jacqueline de Bellefort smiled. It was a viper’s smile.

“Let’s go darling,” Linnet turned to Simon, anger on her face, “This room is beginning to feel a little stuffy.”

“Linnet-“

Doyle’s attempts to stop his wife’s exit were in vain, and she stepped past him and left the room dramatically, heading for her cabin on the starboard side of the ship.

Poirot sighed, and whispered to Jacob, “The jilted lover.”

An hour passed. Poirot, Race, Doyle and a rather rude man who introduced himself as Ferguson engaged in a game of bridge, and Jacqueline continued to nurse drinks at the bar. The clock had struck twelve half an hour before Poirot gave a polite yawn and stood to retire to his cabin. Jacob also stood, and turned to Michael as the colour started to fade from both himself and his companion, till about half of it was drained, giving the protagonists an eerie quality.

“Mr Falkner?” Jacob queried.

“This is so we can view the scenes for which we aren’t present, and still watch the story.”

Jacqueline stumbled over to a chair on the port side of the room, and looked at Simon by the bar.

“Ring the bell dear.” She yawned.

“I think you’ve had enough Jackie.” Simon was unamused by her antics.

“Well I want another drink.” Jacqueline stood rather shakily.

“Oh, go to bed Jackie.” Simon snapped.

“Don’t tell me what to do you snake.” She screamed, her hand coming back out of her purse with a small pistol in its grasp, “I said I wanted to shoot you.”

“Miss de Bellefort!” a young girl known as Cornelia Robson gasped from the corner of the room.

“Jackie just put it away.”

“No, I won’t.” Jacqueline screwed up her face, and Cornelia gave a quiet scream as the trigger was pulled, and Simon Doyle collapsed onto a seat behind him clutching his leg, crying out in pain. With a shrill cry from herself, Jackie dropped the gun, and kicked it away.

“What have I done?” she cried.

“For god’s sake Ferguson, get Dr Bessner! And somebody take her back to her cabin, don’t leave her alone!”

“I’ll do it,” Cornelia put an arm around the hysterical Miss de Bellefort and escorted her back to her cabin. The steward came rushing back into the room, but Ferguson managed to convince him that they were merely playing a game.

As Jacob began to get interested, the mise en scene shimmered, and reassembled themselves into the side of the ship, at dawn. Poirot and Race now stood alone in full colour, watching the Nile passing beneath their feet. The Karnak’s Captain, an Egyptian Gentleman wearing a white uniform and turban, approached them politely.

“Colonel Race? Monsieur Poirot?” Jacob nodded, and Michael raised his hat and cane.

“How may we help you Captain?” Jacob asked.

“I am most sorry to tell you sir, that there has been a murder.” His face was drained of colour.

“Mon deu...” Michael gasped, “Who?”

“Mrs Doyle. She has been shot through the head, and her pearls are missing.”

-OFF-

OOC: This has been a joint post between Lieutenant Orley and Lt JG Falkner - I wasn't sure about the time index, but it can always be changed