UT: Darker Territory: Hearts of Glass

[DarKush]

*********************************************************************

ISS Alexander

Soltok System


Gul Ranor predictably hesitated when the cloak fell to reveal the full glory of an Excelsior-class warship of the Terran Empire. Hudson would make the spoonhead pay for his lapse. “Throw even the kitchen sink at them Nyota!”

“Aye, aye,” the woman responded lustily. She unloaded on the Kraxon, stitching them with phaser blast after phaser blast.

“Gretchen, make sure they can’t call for backup,” Hudson ordered. He wanted to end this quickly. In the few encounters Imperial ships had with Galor-class vessels these days, they almost never were alone.

Ranor’s brethren might be close by, or even heading their way now. Alexander had gotten the jump on the unsuspecting Ranor, but Hudson wasn’t confident of his chance of besting three Cardassian warships.

The Kraxon fired back, rattling the bridge. “Damage report!” He barked.

“Damage minimal,” Murakawa replied. The dance continued as the ships traded blows. Hudson gave Ranor credit for not running at least. The snakehead would die on his feet. He supposed there was something to say for that. Eventually even some of the Cardassian shots got through. Some consoles began sparking and curls of smoke tickled Hudson’s nose.

Yuki’s damage reports became more detailed.

“This is taking too long,” Hudson groused. “Use one of our tricobalt devices!”

“But sir,” Dryer protested. The woman was clearly enjoying the dueling, especially since Alexander still held the advantage.

“There could be other Alliance vessels on the way here, now,” Hudson cut her off. “We need to end this, and quickly.”

“Captain, if we destroy them with a tricobalt device, we will reveal our hand,” Murakawa said. “And with our cloaking device not working properly, they will be able to find us.”

“Once this is over, Nyota will personally see to it, that Bixby fixes that piece of Klingon junk,” Hudson declared. “Right, Dryer?”

“Aye,” the woman said quickly, now excited at the prospect of getting to use her hands. Nyota did so enjoy the personal touch.

“Nyota focus on the Kraxon’s forward shields. Once they are down, send that tricobalt weapon right up their forward weapons array,” the captain ordered.

“Acknowledged,” Dryer replied.

“Kraxon’s forward shields are collapsing,” Murakawa called out minutes later.

Hudson grasped the swagger stick with both hands, bending it almost to its breaking point. “Now Dryer,” he commanded, “Fire!”

The tricobalt device, pilfered from the Tholians, was a miraculous weapon. Alexander only had a handful onboard and under Shelby they were to be used only in the direst of situations. Hudson thought this fit time fit that definition.

By the time it had completed its hellish work, there was nothing left of the Kraxon but dust, vapors, and metal fragments.

Hudson exhaled, not realizing he had been holding his breath. The vaporizing of the Kraxon was awe-inspiring. The total destruction was sacred in a way and he kept the ship there, so he and his crew could pay homage to whatever gods of war had bequeathed even the Tholians with such powerful weapon.

Once the worshipping had concluded, Hudson ordered the starship deeper into Alliance space.

*******************************************************************

ISS Alexander

Captain’s Quarters



Hudson stepped into his new living quarters and dropped his towel. Yuki was stretched on the couch, wearing nothing save the PADD pressed to her chest.

“I was expecting Dryer,” the captain said, nonplussed. “I thought in her over eagerness to inform me about her session with Mr. Bixby that she would overstep and enter my quarters without permission.”

“We both know how much Nyota enjoys her work,” Murakawa said. “She’s going to spend hours on Jervis.” The woman shuddered at that, and Calvin wasn’t sure if her reaction was due to horror or pleasure.

“I didn’t expect you to be the one to break into my quarters, yet at least,” Hudson grinned. He sauntered over to Shelby’s liquor table. It was only thing that had belonged to the previous occupant that Hudson hadn’t ordered removed. David had had quite the taste when it came to spirits.

Hudson looked over a few, decided on an unlabeled bottle of green liquid. He poured two shots and brought them over to the couch.

He looked down at the petite woman. “I should have you placed in the booth for this violation.”

She shifted on the couch, to give him a half-glimpse of backside. “I would prefer a spanking,” she cooed, before giggling, unable to maintain her seductiveness. Hudson shook his head.

He offered one to his first officer while gesturing for her to make space for him.

Holding his glass, he gestured with his free hand for the PADD. He read its contents while sipping the strong beverage. “I had Tarses analyze the cloaking problem,” the woman said. “He determined that that slimy Rejak sold us an antiquated device, from a century-old battlecruiser, likely D7-class, and our records did indicate that D7 cloaks could create energy distortions that could be detected.”

“Bixby didn’t know that,” Hudson groused.

“Apparently not,” Murakawa shrugged. “You know the man has other…hobbies.”

Calvin shook his head. “It’s a wonder he’s kept this death trap in one piece as long as he has. I never got why Shelby kept him around.”

“Oh, he has his uses,” Yuki said with a sing-song voice. “As the former captain, and his successor are well aware.”

He glared at his first officer, “Be careful,” he warned.

“The good Mr. Jervis has friends on Risa, a place both you and the dear departed Captain Shelby have visited.”

“I said,” Hudson tossed the PADD away as he grabbed the woman tightly by the shoulders. She gasped in surprise, her eyes becoming lidded. “I said, be careful.”

“What would Mental Hygiene, Vassal Affairs, Genetic Purity, or dare I say Security or Imperial Intelligence have to say about your availing yourself of Risian flesh?” The woman challenged.

Hudson contained his rage. He could never, would never, admit to his feelings for Arandis. It had started out as a prudent decision, a way to avoid shipboard dalliances that might blur his ability to do his job or spot an enemy, but it turned into something more due to the addicting Risian. Yes, there was desire, but also affection, a feeling he could never share with another Terran.

In the throes of jamaharon they had become one in a way he had never thought possible and longed to experience again. Still Calvin was ashamed of his weakness. If Arandis was nothing more than sport, which is how Shelby and other Imperial officers viewed the Risians, the conduct would still be illegal, but the authorities, who often engaged in unauthorized exchanges with a host of aliens, would overlook. However, if questions were raised and investigations begun, the truth of his relationship with Arandis would be revealed, and he would be drummed out of Imperial service, or worse. “I elevated you Yuki,” He said, “And just like that, I can elevate someone else in your stead.” Shelby had also been shielded by his family name and the fear it evoked, but Hudson had no such insulation. His first officer had him in her hands, in more ways than one, but he would never show it.

“If I wanted to out you, I would’ve,” the woman said. “But I don’t want the captain’s chair.”

“That would be a first for an Executive Officer,” Hudson scoffed. “I’ve told that lie many times myself.”

“I mean it,” she declared. The woman caressed his face, and then elsewhere. He groaned at her touch. “I’m no Risian epicure, for certain, but I am sufficient,” she promised.

“Why are you here?” He forced himself to stay focused while she did her best to unwind him. Her kiss was her reply. Calvin didn’t know what Murakawa was angling for. She had never expressed such interest in him before. Perhaps the woman was still awash in adrenaline from their recent battle and seeking release, which wasn’t uncommon. Shelby had often sent Daren or whatever female was on hand to his ready room after a dust up. Hudson had been grateful for the soundproofed walls during those instances.

Thoughts of Daren brought him back to his senses. He pulled away from the woman. “No,” he told her. “You’ve got to go.” Was someone pulling her strings like he had with Daren? Or did Murakawa have designs of her own?

“If you really want me to leave, just tell me one more time to go,” Yuki breathed. The woman pressed herself against him, almost in desperation, as if seeking protection, and Hudson had always made protecting his charges a priority.

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[DarKush]

Terok Nor

Landing Pad Two

Bajoran System


The intendant leaned close to her second in command. “Garak, that’s his niece?” She asked, as she watched the older, statuesque woman dragging the protesting warrior, still in full armor, toward the small Toron-class shuttle.

“Yes,” Garak asked, focused too much by the spectacle to look at Kira, “Krastil, daughter of Lorcan. Lorcan was the much older brother of Commander Lurkan.”

“Was?” Kira was mildly intrigued. She was more interested in Krastil’s muscled arms, rippling in their death grip on the snarling, cursing man.

“Lorcan died at Archanis IV,” the Cardassian explained.

“Ah,” she sighed. “That had been an unfortunate loss for the Alliance.”

“The last one, for certain,” Garak promised.

“If only that were true,” Kira purred before turning from the Klingons. They no longer amused her. And the failure of the N’Vok to capture or eliminate any rebels, due to Lurkan’s incompetence, had infuriated her. She put on the best face she could, still threw the most lavish parties in the quadrant, but Kira felt her grip on everything was hanging by a thread, one that a bunch of ungrateful Terrans, including her Benjamin, threatened to cut at any time.

She couldn’t allow that. Even at the cost of her dear Benjamin’s life. A paltry sum to pay for sure, for peace.

The Bajoran didn’t have to vocalize or even gesture for Garak to follow her. The man knew her mood by now, which was both convenient and troubling.

Once they had left the landing pad and were walking through the corridors, Kira asked, “Any progress with the transpectral array?”

Garak grunted, “Professor Sisko claims she is working as hard as she can.”

Kira pouted. “And you don’t believe her Elim?”

“No,” the man was blunt. “And if I might be so bold…”

“Of course,” Kira urged, “Be bold.”

“How can you?” The man asked. “She was Sisko’s wife, the man leading the rebellion to topple you.”

“You know so little about a woman’s heart,” Kira shook her head, “Or a woman’s fury. She hates him and that is why she will complete the device and help us wipe out the rebels. Some things are more important than power or position, but that’s something you can never grasp.”

“I know more than you might think,” Garak challenged, “And whatever enmity exists between the Siskos, they were still married at one point, and she loved him. That is hard conditioning to break, and I’ve broken many thetas, so I know what I’m talking about.”

“I’m sure you do Elim,” Kira said with honeyed condescension.

The man shifted his ridged jaw and she looked down just in time to see him curdle his fingers as if he had her throat in his dangerous hands. A thrill shot through her at the prospect.

“We should kill the good professor now and allow Alliance scientists to finish the project. Their loyalty can be ensured without question,” the man declared.

“Like yours?” She said, unable to keep a straight face. Kira laughed and the Cardassian seethed. She wished she could bathe in the waves of hate roiling off the man.

“I’ve always put the interests of this station above everything else,” he said.

“You are just keeping the seat warm for you,” Kira rejoined, “And that’s why I love you Elim.” She ruffled his hair. The man tensed at her touch. The Bajoran laughed, “You amuse me. That’s why I keep you around, plot after failed plot, scheme after foolish scheme, because you keep things interesting. And you know how much I hate boredom.”

“I’m serious,” he said.

“See, if you were serious, then you wouldn’t be any fun anymore and I would have to be serious in how I dealt with you,” Kira was still smiling, but there was no warmth in her words, yet a smidgen of regret. “You don’t want that Elim, I promise you. Now do you?”

The man took a long pause, doubtless weighing his options. “No, of course not.” He finally said.

“Good,” she said, warmth returning. She patted his back. “Your best trait is that you enjoy your job, almost as much as I enjoy mine. But sometimes, you have to let others do the work for you. Not only is Jennifer Sisko working on our behalf, but she is a big lure, for our Benjamin or any other rebels who seek to kidnap or neutralize her.”

“But the reports about Sisko being killed,” Garak began.

“Are just that, until we have evidence,” Kira said quickly, too quickly. Even Garak wasn’t dense enough to not see that she had genuine affection for the errant pirate, and those feelings could be manipulated.

“I’ve taken the initiative to get us that proof, and even more,” Garak said.

“And just how did you do that?” Kira was both dreadful and intrigued.

“I’ve contacted Central Command. They are sending one of their top rebel hunters to help us root out that vole infestation in the Badlands,” the man said with pride.

Kira was less enthused. It was a sign of her inability to deal with the situation, though certainly that was Garak’s motive all along, to expose her weakness. “Is it Damar?” That louse would drink her dry.

“Unfortunately, no,” Garak smiled, and she wasn’t certain if he knew how exasperating Damar truly was for her, or if the clod believed she was upset about the news and was trying to butter her mapa bread. “They are sending Thrax.”

“Wonderful,” she clapped. “Instead of the insufferable Damar, we get drier than a Kolaran desert Thrax,” Kira rolled her eyes. “You sent for him Garak, so he’s your responsibility. But do inform Thrax that if he fails, I will find a way to amuse myself at his expense…and yours.”

Garak swallowed hard. “Understood Intendent,” he said, giving a short bow. Kira waved the man away. He had become an eyesore. Someone more appealing came immediately to mind.

Since Quark’s untimely execution, a delightfully rogue El-Aurian had taken over his establishment. She was certain the man had some other ulterior motive, and she was looking forward to prying out the real reason he had decided to hang his proverbial hat at Terok Nor.

“On my way Martus,” she whistled as she sashayed down the hall, no longer worried because her troubles had now become Thrax’s and Garak’s. She would miss Garak if Thrax couldn’t produce, but if she got over Odo, who was more effective at his job than her second, then moving on from Elim would be as the Terrans said, “A piece of cake.” Realizing she was talking to herself, Kira laughed, and continued to do so as she strolled all the way to the Promenade.

****************************************************************

Terok Nor

Private Quarters


Garak hustled to his wall monitor. The oval shaped screen shifted from the avian-trefoil symbol of the Alliance to the hideous visage of Colonel Orta, his counterpart on Empok Nor. The right side of the man’s face had melted after being exposed to delta radiation during an attack on his ship by Terran rebels. The man’s vocal cords had even been cut, and now the only way he could speak was through the vocal synthesizer attached just under his right jaw, like a metallic growth.

Garak was glad he had started in on the zabu stew he had gotten from the Replimat. “What do you want Garak?” The Bajoran’s metallic voice grated, more dismissive than usual.

Garak leaned close. Even though he had just checked his room, as he always did, with a personal scanner for eavesdropping devices, he still remained cautious. “The intendent remains unsuspecting,” he informed the Bajoran.

Orta grunted, and it sounded like gears grinding. “If she knew what you were up to we wouldn’t be having this conversation, would we?” Garak frowned. The man had a point. “You’re wasting my time Garak.”

Unshaken, Garak pressed on, “The matter of time is why I contacted you Colonel. I’ve done my part, I’ve fed you information to give to the rebellion. Kira’s position is weakened, but not in jeopardy. You promised the rebels could deliver a big, embarrassing victory that would topple her, but you haven’t delivered. I’ve been forced to cover my tracks by requesting assistance from Central Command. I don’t want Thrax mucking up our plans.”

“Thrax?” Orta raised the only eyebrow he had left. “I’ve heard of him. He could present a problem,” the Bajoran nodded, “but that’s your problem.”

Garak slapped the wall and pressed his face close to the screen. “No, that’s our problem!”

“I practically gave Sisko to you, but yet he escaped your capable clutches,” Orta shrugged.

“My men said he was wounded, there are reports that he died,” Garak said.

“But no conclusive evidence,” the Bajoran finished his thought.

“If he is alive, he will try to reach Professor Sisko again,” Orta promised, “And then you will have him.”

“I can’t count on that,” the Cardassian shook his head. “Benjamin Sisko can be a most frustratingly unpredictable theta.”

“Understood,” Orta said. “I’ll see what I can do.”

“That’s all?” Garak shouted, and then hunched low, looking around, afraid he had been overheard.

“Yes,” was Orta’s brusque reply. “We can’t press these rebels. They are suspicious. But I can see about upping our timetable, preparing something big, perhaps timed for Thrax’s arrival so he can report back to Central Command your intendent’s incompetence.”

Garak smiled at that. He held up a finger. Orta gave a staticky sigh. “What is it now?”

“You must make certain that Kira bears the brunt of the failure, not me. I need a victory to shore up my position.”

“A sacrifice you mean?” Orta asked.

“Yes,” the Cardassian nodded.

“I’m sure something can be arranged,” the Bajoran said before cutting the link. Alone, Garak sighed with relief. Things were finally hurtling toward his destiny. But first…zabu stew!

**********************************************************

 

[CeJay]

Alright all caught up again with this and for somebody who isn't a big mirror-universe fan, I have to say I am quite enjoying the complex tale you're weaving here.

Like we've come to expect from a DT tale, there are a wealth of characters here, with many familiar faces, each one fleshed out with their own motivations (and there are a lot of those) and backgrounds.

The rampant racism and xenophobia can be startling to read, particularly when dealing with favorites like Glover and company, but it remains a great reminder that this is a very different place with a very different history.

Liz Shelby is interesting since she is one of the few characters breaking the mold here, which makes sense considering her recent experiences.

One of my favorite moments so far was the great misdirection with Glover's admiral parent. That was very nicely done and caught me by surprise.

Looking forward to see where this all goes. My guess? An even darker place.

 

[DarKush]

**********************************************************

Rebel Base

Sector 04-70

The “Badlands”


The shaggy-haired brunette nearly knocked Chakotay over. He threw his arms up and wrapped her in a sloppy embrace. The kiss was long and juicy. When they both pulled back for air, the woman wrinkled her nose. “You smell so…antiseptic,” she said, sticking out her tongue and making a face.

“And you don’t,” he laughed. The woman’s eyes flared at that and she pulled away. He held tightly to her. He didn’t think he would ever see her again. She eventually fell back into his arms.

Behind him, someone cleared their throat. “Oh,” Chakotay turned around. He loosened his grip on his paramour. “Captain Shelby,” he said, surprised by how much warmth he felt at seeing the woman again.

“Seems I’m interrupting Mr. Chakotay,” Shelby began.

“Oh, uh,” Chakotay’s cheeks warmed and he didn’t know why. In his arms, his perceptive lover bristled.

The Imperial officer stuck out her hand. “Captain Shelby of the Imperial vessel Travis Mayweather.”

“I’ve heard,” the other woman said slowly, “It’s the talk of the base. You can see we don’t get many new faces here.”

“Rayna,” Chakotay chided, “Don’t be like that. Captain Shelby, this is Rayna Boone, my…”

“I think I figured out the relationship between you two,” Shelby replied.

“Of course,” Chakotay chuckled.

“So, how did you two meet?” Shelby asked.

“We met during a raid on the mining facility on Bajor VI. Rayna decided to join with us instead of remaining a slave,” the man explained. Shelby nodded, a glint of respect in her eyes for the woman’s willingness to fight.

“Yes,” Rayna nodded, running a hand up Chakotay’s arm. “I thought it was Sisko’s band at first. They’ve gained quite the reputation in these parts.”

Chakotay rolled his eyes, “But you had to settle for me.” He smiled.

“And that’s more than I ever could’ve hoped to have,” Rayna replied, clutching the man’s head and reaching up to connect their noses.

“This is quite fascinating,” Ensign Pollard almost bumped into Shelby. The woman’s eyes were planted on her tricorder as she swept it around the room. “Amazing what they were able to do, hollowing out this asteroid, installing environmental systems,” the woman was talking to herself, again.

Shelby glared at her but let the scientist pass. “My science officer is correct, this is impressive.”

“For slaves you mean,” Rayna added acidly. Chakotay looked at the ceiling. The woman was possessive. For a long time, she hadn’t understood the nature of his friendship with Justine even. He had been patient with her because he understood her need to claim something, anything, perhaps for the first time in her life.

“We could definitely use your help,” Chakotay bypassed Rayna’s swipe. “We’re doing the best we can, but it’s a constant struggle.”

“I’ve heard about that warship of yours,” Rayna said, sizing Shelby up. The woman met her gaze. “Will you allow us to visit, using that…vanishing…”

“Beaming,” Shelby clarified.

“Yes, that,” Rayna said. “Can you beam me up to your vessel. I am very curious to see it. I had heard stories, about the Empire, but only that it had fallen to the Alliance and we were to pay for the sins of our imperial ancestors.”

“We didn’t know there were humans in bondage in Alliance space,” Shelby said.

“Convenient,” a caustic voice interrupted them. Chakotay scowled.

“Not now Locarno,” the man waved for the younger man to go away. But the reddish-browned haired man was not deterred.

“It’s fine,” Shelby said, “Let the young man speak.”

“Young man,” Locarno said, “That’s rich. Well, I’m not one of your soldiers, so you can’t just talk down to me.”

“I doubt you would last long in Starfleet,” Shelby replied. “With an attitude like that.”

“Like that means something to me?” Locarno challenged. “If Starfleet was so powerful why is the Alliance still in power?! You’ve been hiding all this time. You’ve left us to pay for your crimes!”

“That’s enough Locarno,” Chakotay warned.

“It’s alright Chakotay,” Shelby said, “I’ve got this.” She got in the man’s face. It didn’t take long for Locarno to start looking around for help, but no one was coming to his rescue. However, Chakotay did notice several people nodding in agreement with the firebrand though they hung back. “You have no idea what we’ve endured, what we’ve been through, but most of the Empire has no idea you even exist, much less knowing your mistreatment by the Alliance. But we can work together, now,” the captain said.

“Oh yeah,” Locarno breathed through his teeth. “That crazy artifact you gave Solok. For all we know it’s some kind of weapon.”

“Hold it right there Locarno,” Chakotay stepped past Shelby and bumped chests with Locarno. The younger man didn’t back down. “Once again, you have no clue what you’re talking about.”

“Chakotay, don’t do this for people we don’t know,” Rayna grabbed the man’s closest bicep and tried to pull him away. “Or for her.”

That got Chakotay’s attention. “What?” He looked away from the trouble maker to see more trouble brewing in Rayna’s eyes. Her gaze was hotter than the plasma storms surrounding them, and her focus was on Shelby. Shelby was steely now in meeting her latest challenger’s gaze. Chakotay continued to be impressed by the captain. She was exactly the kind of leader they needed to throw off the yoke of the Alliance.

So maybe Rayna had a good reason to be jealous, because he couldn’t deny that he was taken with the woman, though she seemed more committed to her duty than any personal entanglements.

Chakotay wouldn’t let Rayna drag him away like he had before. He bumped against Locarno again. “Stow it,” he warned.

“The fact that you’re defending her so much Chuckles tells me that you and Shelby did a little more than share an orb experience,” Locarno brayed. Chakotay floored the man.

A crowd appeared out of nowhere, people eager to see blood spilled.

Locarno hopped up and charged the man. He hit Chakotay in the stomach and fell on top of him. Locarno began whaling. It didn’t take long for the older man to flip the upstart over and climb on top of him.

“Chakotay! Chakotay stop this!” He heard Justine’s yell. He got one more rabbit punch in and laid out the pest before he stood back up. Chakotay looked at his bleeding knuckles and flexed his sore hands.

“Dr. Quaice can take care of that for you,” Shelby said, a twinkle in her eye. Chakotay smiled back at her before the scowling Justine reached him.

“Just what the hell was that about?” She said, gesturing to Locarno. Two men were already dragging the unconscious man away.

“We can take care of him too,” Shelby offered. “And Rayna, it could be your opportunity to see my starship.”

Justine looked back at Shelby. “Not helping.” The captain blithely shrugged. Chakotay caught Shelby’s eye and she winked at him. She’s not a person afraid of a good row, he realized, liking her all the more.

Just then, as if reading his mind, Rayna squeezed hard on his arm. “Let me see about those hands,” she offered.

“But the captain said,” he began.

Rayna rounded on him, blocking everything else out with her intense presence. “Shelby, the rest of them, they are not to be trusted.”

“They saved my life,” he protested.

“And we just let them waltz in here,” the woman shook her head. “You’ve heard the stories, of the cruelty of the old Terran Empire. They are no better than the Alliance!”

“They don’t need to be better,” Chakotay said, sidestepping the woman. “They just need to be victorious.” He walked past her and approached Shelby.

“Your offer still good?” He asked, holding up one of his bloodied hands.

“Of course,” Shelby said. She tapped the golden sword and globe symbol on her chest. “Shelby to Mayweather. Two…” she paused, “Rayna are you joining us?”

The woman gave Shelby a once over and then she scowled at Chakotay. He felt something die between them, in that moment. “No,” she shook her head slowly.

“Alright,” Shelby either was oblivious to Rayna’s pain or didn’t care. “Bridge. Two to beam up.”

“Aye captain.” A tinny voice issued from the symbol. Shelby wrapped her arm within Chakotay’s and smiled.

“I promise it won’t be as bad this time,” she said. The man nodded along, but his stomach didn’t believe her. He just hoped he didn’t lose his lunch when he was put back together again.

*********************************************************************

Rebel Base

Sector 04-70

The “Badlands”

Hours Later…


Commander Kendrew Braener did his best to keep his lunch down. It wasn’t only the stench of so many unwashed bodies pressed together that roiled his stomach, but also the species compositions of these so-called rebels.

They were a ragtag group, key word ‘rag’, and they were made up of humans and aliens. He had never seen humans and aliens working together as equals. Laughing, sharing food and drink, or displaying other forms of affection. It was sickening.

The Alliance had corrupted his Terran cousins, and he was afraid the virus might infect his crew. Some of the Mayweather crew were already interacting with the rebels, as Pollard buzzed about, determined to run her damned tricorder over every inch of the asteroid.

Lt. Terry was overseeing the provision of supplies Shelby had ordered be given to the rebels. She had ignored his protestations. Those supplies had been hard won and were not in ready supply. Some of them had been stolen from the last Starfortress they had docked at after the station’s commander had attempted to squeeze even more credits out of them.

And now Shelby was just giving their supplies away! He shook his head. “Can you believe this?” He muttered to Inquisitor Biraka. The barrel-chested, older dark-skinned man merely nodded along, his expression impassive, but his constantly roving eyes taking in everything.

Braener scowled at the man. He would’ve preferred that the inquisitor was vocally agreeing with his complaints, but he would have to settle for the man’s customary silence. Bennington Biraka had clawed his way up through the ranks by keeping secrets, which made him one of the most trusted men in Starfleet, while also making him one of the most dangerous.

“The captain promised us glory, she told us we could finally take the fight to the Alliance, but yet we are spending time here in the middle of nowhere, mingling with aliens, while waiting, waiting, for a decrepit green-blood to commune with some moldy Bajoran artifact,” he snorted. His derision masked a twinge of envy. Almost everyone aboard the Mayweather who the captain had exposed to the Bajoran orb had had some experience, had gained some insight, had transformed in some way, but Braener had felt or seen nothing…only darkness, and a chill that he still hadn’t shaken yet.

When Shelby had eliminated Captain Varley, Braener saw no advantage in opposing her. Even if he somehow would’ve succeeded against her he would’ve incurred the wrath of her powerful family.

But he had to wonder, out here, if even her family could protect her. Or if he could arrange a plausible enough ‘accident’ to claim the center chair. The information they had obtained just by being inside Alliance space would provide enough wealth and fame to fill the void left by his encounter with that accursed artifact.

And with his new wealth, Braener could finally divorce the windbag he had married for status and openly claim Aldo, a researcher at Imperial Alpha. They had long been an item, away from the prying eyes of his merchant husband.

But for the moment his attention was drawn to a muscular red-hued, bald man sitting by a crate and drinking alone. Braener couldn’t place if the nonhuman was of Orion or Thallonian extraction, and if they tarried much longer in this hovel, the first officer might have to find out.

He heard shuffling of feet and the throng moving, making way. The limping Solok, assisted by a striking olive skinned female, whose irises were too dark to be human, or fully Terran, hobbled over to where Captain Shelby was conversing with a mangy creature that looked like a werewolf from Old Earth legend. The beast was down on all fours but holding a conversation with Shelby as if it could understand what she was saying. In fact, the captain was actually listening to the monster.

Braener shook his head and rubbed his eyes. If he wasn’t witnessing it with his own eyes he would’ve put an agonizer to anyone who even joked about such a thing to him. The din died down as Solok reached the captain. Biraka’s focused so intently on the Vulcan and Shelby that Solok’s companion glanced at them, as if she could somehow sense the two men were paying close attention.

“Captain Shelby,” the older man intoned. “The orb has shown me many things.”

“As I suspected,” the captain nodded.

“But not everything,” Solok added.

“What more do you need for me to prove my intentions?” Shelby asked, her tone challenging. Braener was heartened to hear that discordant note. The woman was still the scrapper that had gotten the Mayweather through harrowing encounters with everyone from the Crepusculans to the Husnock.

The Vulcan reached for the captain’s face. She backed away. Braener knew what the man was about to attempt. He had heard of green-blood mind probes. He rushed toward them, pulling out his phaser.

“Get away from the captain!” He ordered, stepping between her and the Vulcan. Solok remained calm though his companion shrank back when Braener waved his weapon in her direction. “If you don’t step away right now, I will vaporize you!”

The damnable Vulcan smiled. Braener had been taught that Vulcans had no emotions, that they were walking machines. To see how the living computer mimicked Terran emotion was unnerving.

“Stand down,” Shelby ordered. Braener chanced a look back at the woman.

“Captain,” he began.

“Stand. Down,” the woman said with more force.

Braener looked at the Vulcan and then back at Shelby. The woman’s countenance was as hard as rodinium. The first officer entertained defying the woman’s orders and slagging the green-blood, and then turning the phaser around on her.

He took a quick look around and saw rebels brandishing weapons at him, along with several Mayweather crewmen, including Security Chief Terry, which disabused him of the fantasies swirling in his head.

Braener shoved his firearm back into the holster and stepped aside. Shelby stepped forward. The Vulcan carefully placed several fingers on the woman’s face. She shuddered at his touch, while Braener trembled with revulsion at what looked like a caress.

“My mind to your mind,” the Vulcan’s voice had lowered. The man was almost whispering. “My thoughts….to your thoughts…”

The two stood like that, physically connected by only several of the man’s fingers, but Braener could see from the contorting of their faces that they were bound by much more. It was appalling that Shelby would willing share her mind, her essence, with an alien.

It felt like they had been in their silent dance forever though it was over in a few minutes. When the green-blood broke his hold, Shelby stumbled back, gasping for air as if she had been submerged underwater. With surprising quickness, the Vulcan, this time without the aid of his dark-eyed companion, rushed to grab the captain and steady her.

Her eyes fluttered, before narrowing on him. “What?” She sputtered. “Wh-what just happened?”

Solok smiled. “I can trust you,” the Vulcan declared. “Now, where is the device?”

Braener’s ears perked at that. Device? He already had the damned thing. Had the stupid aliens misplaced it?

The first officer couldn’t believe it, but the captain matched the man’s smile. She tapped her compin. “Beam it down Mr. Craig.”

Shelby held out her hand. Seconds later a cylindrical object appeared in her palm.

“Captain, what is that?” Braener couldn’t restrain himself. He marched over to her. As Shelby was handing it over to the Vulcan, Kendrew reached out and grabbed the woman’s wrist. He forced himself not to twist it. Shelby glared at him. “What is that?” He demanded.

“If you don’t unhand me,” the captain warned.

“Answer my question,” the first officer said.

“It’s the real reason we are here,” the captain replied.

“What? I don’t understand?” Braener lessened his grip but still held onto the woman’s wrist.

“The Bajoran object, it just showed me Solok’s face, it guided me here,” Shelby said. “I thought he was the person who could figure this,” she looked at the object in her palm, “out.”

“What is that?” Braener asked.

“A prototype,” the captain answered, “for a transporter that can traverse dimensions.”

Braener dropped the woman’s arm. He staggered back, shaking his head. “That’s…impossible; preposterous!”

“I assure you Commander Braener, it is not,” the Vulcan said.

“There are no other dimensions or universes,” Braener said, turning his ire to the green-blood. “That Bajoran artifact screwed with your mind captain! Just like this green-blood is manipulating you! He wants to steal our vessel!”

Braener pulled out his phaser. “I’m tired of listening to his lies!”

Shelby was as calm as the Vulcan. “Now Mr. Bennington,” was all she said. The words confused Braener.

“What?” He asked.

Strong hands wrapped around him, pressing his arms together, shock making Braener drop his weapon. Braener struggled, throwing back his head, kicking as best he could, to break free.

“Pollard,” Shelby was still calm. The science officer emerged from the throng. “Apply the first officer’s agonizer.”

The dark-skinned young woman did a double take at the captain. Shelby nodded for her to continue. She hesitantly removed the small triangular device from the man’s belt. He glared at her.

The science officer gulped before meeting his gaze. “Do it,” the captain said. The woman carefully placed the device against Braener’s shoulder. He clenched his teeth and did his best to mentally prepare for its activation.

“Never touch me again Number One,” Shelby said. “Now, Ensign.” Rivers of pain tore through him. Braener nearly bit off his tongue. The inquisitor’s grip on him didn’t even allow him to sink to the ground. His body writhed in agony, befitting the infernal device’s name.

Oceans of sweat pored from him, the salty tang of blood reached his mouth, from a nostril, he wet himself, and still Bennington held on. And Pollard kept the device on his burning flesh.

Before he succumbed he saw that the once reluctant woman was now delighting in the pain was inflicting upon him. His last thought was a glint of pride that Pollard had finally become a worthy Imperial officer.

********************************************************************

 

[DarKush]

Alright all caught up again with this and for somebody who isn't a big mirror-universe fan, I have to say I am quite enjoying the complex tale you're weaving here.

Like we've come to expect from a DT tale, there are a wealth of characters here, with many familiar faces, each one fleshed out with their own motivations (and there are a lot of those) and backgrounds.

The rampant racism and xenophobia can be startling to read, particularly when dealing with favorites like Glover and company, but it remains a great reminder that this is a very different place with a very different history.

Liz Shelby is interesting since she is one of the few characters breaking the mold here, which makes sense considering her recent experiences.

One of my favorite moments so far was the great misdirection with Glover's admiral parent. That was very nicely done and caught me by surprise.

Looking forward to see where this all goes. My guess? An even darker place.

Thanks CeJay,

I'm glad that you're giving this one a chance despite your distaste for Mirror Universe stories. Thanks for feeling that the characters are fleshed out and have their own motivations. I've wanted to do that at least for some of them.

When I read back some of the things that I have some of the characters thinking and/or saying when it comes to racism, xenophobia, among other things, it can be a bit jarring, and I'm the one writing it. However, with it being the Mirror Universe I wanted to differentiate from the Prime UT characterizations. I don't know if I've done it enough across the board with all the Mirror Universe versions of the UT characters, but I've tried, sometimes in small ways as well. For example, beyond Glover's views, his station in life is much different than in the UT. This story takes place in 2371 (after the DS9 episode "Crossover"), and UT Glover is already captain of the Cuffe at that time, at the height of his career, whereas MU Glover is stagnating aboard an aging Imperial vessel, his shot at the captain's chair fading with each passing year. And I also gave him MU siblings, more accomplished than him, to make him different than the UT Glover. As for Shelby, she also is less ambitious career wise than in the UT, but also less amorous.

As I mentioned before, the story is also allowing me to flesh out some characters that are new to the UT or have been side characters, like Braener. Just this last passage, I make a mention to his UT spouse Aldo (Caruso). Caruso is a character in "Childhoods' End". Hopefully I will get to flesh out UT Braener when I get back to writing the DS9 stories in DT, since Gibraltar placed the character there in one of his stories. Pollard is a character DF and I were working on and so I thought it would be neat to introduce her MU counterpart in this story.

I've been reluctant to use a lot of UT characters from other series, namely Shelby (both Elizabeth and David, for that matter) and DF was gracious enough to allow me to use her. (And I have been writing Gibraltar's Awokou for so long now, I've practically adopted the character). I kept many other UT series's main or major characters out of this story just in case other UT writers have MU plans. That being said, once reading TLR's MU story ("Semper Letalis") I have started incorporating some aspects of that story into this one, to have it, at least for me, take place in the same story universe.

I'm glad you liked the swerve with Glover's mother. Since I had killed her off before the events of the first DT story I wrote, I thought an MU story would be a good place to revisit her again. And DT readers are so used to Samson being the admiral that I thought it would be a nice twist. I don't know if you caught the Commodore Donners mention, as being a member of Special Affairs. I was assuming Cicero Donners, but I didn't specify. Of course if there's a character (s) you would like to see in the story let me know. I still haven't figure out how this is all going to wrap up.

Yeah, I think you answered your own last question. Of course it's got to get darker. This is Darker Territory after all.

 

[DarKush]

********************************************************************


Shuttle Delahaye

Sector 04-70


“You want us to fly into that?” Thomsen asked. Glover nodded, hating to agree with the man. But before them lay a wall of fire.

“The locals don’t call it the ‘Badlands’ for nothing,” Bano quipped.

“This sector of space is rife with plasma storms and gravitational anomalies, and you’re telling me that what we’re seeking resides within it?” Terrence shook his head. “It’ll be a miracle navigating through that maelstrom, much less getting out of it in one piece.”

“Even Imperial Fleet conquest vessels might not make it out of those storms, and we’re in a Klingon garbage scow,” Thomsen added.

“Be that as it may, that’s what we’re going to do,” the Bolian would not relent. “Besides, we’re going to have help.”

Before Glover could reply, Thomsen said, “Sensors detecting several vessels, rapidly approaching…out of the expanse.”

“Just what’s going on here?” Terrence asked. “More friends of yours?”

“Not quite,” Bano said. “Just be alert and follow my lead.”

“Your lead?” Glover spat, “I don’t take orders from aliens!”

Bano eyed him. “You will this time.” She turned from the fuming man. “Mr. Thomsen, fire a few warning shots.”

“You don’t want me to destroy them?” The security man was disappointed.

“No,” the Bolian said. “I want this to look believable.”

“Just what are you aiming at Lieutenant Bano?” Glover asked, noting her technically lower rank.

The deck shuddered as Thomsen did as the woman ordered. “Oncoming ships are charging weapons.”

“I’m employing evasive maneuvers,” Glover said.

“Belay that,” Bano countermanded.

“You don’t give me orders!” Terrence snarled.

“We’ve already been through that,” the woman riposted. “I don’t want those ships destroyed. But I do want them to think they’ve taken us out. When they do attack, afterwards, lower shields and weapons, make it appear like we are experiencing power fluctuations.”

“You would leave us open? Vulnerable?” Glover was beside himself. “Are you in league with the attackers?” He pulled his dagger. “Is this another foolish alien rebellion?!”

Bano shook her head. “Those are marauders. They will not destroy us, unless we give them cause to, if we put up enough of a fight. They’ll board us. They’ll be looking for things to steal, and also any hostages to plumb information for and also trade in exchange for more items.”

“Enemy ships are firing,” Thomsen announced.

It took everything in Glover to not jerk the vessel out of the way. The enemy ships were precise, hitting the engine and propulsion. Thomsen did as he was told. The internal lighting dimmed as he dialed the power down and then it flickered as he played with the power levels.

The two vessels didn’t fire again. They took up position in front of them. On his console viewscreen Glover could see the long, slender ships had two jutting wings that reminded him of Terran birds.

“Bajoran interceptors,” Bano explained.

“They are hailing us,” Thomsen replied. Bano nodded to the man. He let the message come through.

“Klingon ship, prepare to be boarded.”

Glover set his jaw as Bano told Thomsen to completely drop their shields. The woman pulled her phaser. Terrence put away his blade and did likewise.

Four shafts of golden light twinkled into existence. The Imperial officers were on them before they even materialized. Thomsen took down two on his own.

The large man under Glover looked almost Terran, except for disgusting webbed hands. “Who are you?” Glover demanded, placing an elbow against the struggling man’s throat.

“He might answer you, if you weren’t cutting off his oxygen,” Bano advised. She straddled an Andorian relatively smaller than web-hands, yet still muscular. The business end of her phaser was pressed against the younger man’s jaw.

Glover chanced a look up to see that Thomsen was holding both his dagger and his firearm at a young Vulcan woman and a tan-hued, bearded human man.

“Perhaps we should start with introductions,” Bano said, her tone conversational. “My name is Susan.”

“Who are you?” The Andorian demanded.

“Why are you flying a Klingon vessel?” The human, held at Thomsen’s dagger point demanded.

“Are you part of the rebellion?” The man under Glover’s elbow got out. Terrence pressed down to silence him. The man’s gurgling was the best music Glover had heard since this mission begun.

“It is more logical that these are buccaneers in the employ of either Intendant Kira or Intendant Lang,” the Vulcan woman said. “Else, we might have heard of them or this ship before.”

“So, you’re telling us, in not so many words you are not marauders out to ransack this ship and murder us?” Bano asked.

“Could’ve fooled me,” Glover added, pressing more, and pleased to see his charge had stopped protesting and was turning a nice shade of red.

“Ease up Glover,” Bano ordered. He glared at the woman. “We don’t want to antagonize our new friends.”

“Who said we are friends?” The Andorian retorted.

“I think sparing your lives is a good basis for friendship,” Bano replied. She eased off the man. Glover reluctantly did the same. The large man got slowly to his feet, rubbing his red throat and staring daggers at Terrence. Glover glared back at the abomination, daring him to make the first move.

“Let’s start over,” Bano said. “As I said…”

“Susan,” the Andorian cut her off. “I got that.” He eyed the rest of them. Glover took in the four. They all wore dirtied, torn clothing. He couldn’t tell when the last time they had showered, if ever.

“I’m Jonin,” the Andorian said. “This is Zim,” he patted the shoulder of the large man who was still scowling at Terrence. Jonin gestured to his two compatriots. “T’Shanir and Hardcastle.”

“Who are you?” Terrence demanded.

“We asked the same of you?” The Andorian shot back.

“We’re resistance fighters,” Bano explained. “I’m making an assumption here that you are the same, no?”

“Rebels?” Zim scoffed, still eyeing Glover. “Prove it.”

“Obviously none of us are Klingons,” Bano began.

“Though this bunch smells like it,” Terrence jested. He smirked at the scowls he got from Zim, the Andorian, and Hardcastle. The green-blood merely raised an eyebrow, her expression damnably nonplussed.

“For resistance fighters, you’re very well fed, and well dressed,” The Vulcan observed. Jonin nodded at that, his eyes narrowing.

“We work…worked for Lorath Holdings,” Bano explained.

“Lorath…the slaver,” Zim spat. “They’re slavers!” Hardcastle took a step toward Thomsen until the man raised his blade.

“We were,” Bano nodded, her false admission convincing. The woman was more deceitful than Terrence could imagine. The shameful urges started churning again. “We did what we had to do to survive. I think we all can understand that.”

Zim and the Andorian shared a look. Both the green-blood and Hardcastle had understanding expressions as well. Glover wondered if Bano had been practicing this spiel or if she was just making it up as she went along.

“We heard about the rebellion, news of it has spread beyond the Bajoran sector,” Bano declared. Jonin was relieved by that news. The blue fool, Glover thought. If all of his kind were as gullible he saw why they had been conquered by the Empire. “We had heard the rebels hid out in the Badlands, and that Intendant Kira’s forces couldn’t find them. When we learned that Lorath would be supplying an influx of new lambdas-humans I mean- to Empok Nor, we made sure to be aboard the crew of this vessel. After the shipment was complete, we knew the Klingon crew would celebrate, getting drunk, pursuing…other vices. Once they were inebriated, we struck, taking over this ship and heading to the Badlands, prepared to offer our ship and services to the cause.”

“Interesting story,” Jonin was still skeptical.

“We could just take this ship and space you,” Zim stated the obvious.

“You could,” Bano said, opening her arms, a symbolic gesture of vulnerability. Glover growled low in his throat, fighting against his very nature not to slaughter everyone else on board. “But you wouldn’t get too far.”

“The power fluctuations,” Hardcastle spoke up.

“So, you noticed,” Bano nodded. The human returned the gesture.

“This is a good ship, but it was heavily damaged during our mutiny. The captain tried to set the self-destruct, but we prevented that. We’ve kept her going only because we know this vessel very well, but still we need someplace to set it down and fix its problems.”

“There is a lot we could do with a Klingon ship,” the Vulcan surmised.

“It could get us places these Bajoran clunkers can’t,” Zim agreed. “Everyone knows that Kira and the Alliance has passed off that old junk. But the Alliance wouldn’t be expecting a Klingon ship slipping in under their noses.”

“Zim and T’Shanir are on to something,” Hardcastle said.

Jonin weighed their words for a few moments. He shrugged, “Okay, welcome to the rebellion,” he said, his smile cold. “On a trial basis of course. If we see any hint of treachery…”

“Understood,” Bano said. “And thank you.”

“Don’t thank us yet,” the Andorian replied. “Because you’re not seeing where our base is.”

“I don’t follow,” Terrence looked at the Bolian and then glared at them. “Either you trust us, or you don’t.”

“Where are you taking us?” Bano asked.

“Our base,” Jonin replied. “You just won’t be seeing it.”

“Stop talking in riddles Andorian!” Glover demanded.

“Zim,” was all the man said. Terrence turned to the large man just as he saw the webbed hand swinging down toward him.

“Oh,” Bano’s gasp was the last thing he heard.

****************************************************************

 

[DarKush]

ISS Alexander

Captain’s Quarters


Hudson’s hand snaked out, clutching the woman’s throat. She gasped loudly and stopped moving. “Where are you going?” Calvin opened an eye. He eased his grip, so the woman could speak.

“I-I…was just returning to my quarters,” Commander Murakawa sputtered.

“Without informing me first, or asking my permission?” Hudson was fully awake now. He released the woman before sitting up in the bed. She knew to stay where she was. He tossed a crumpled bedsheet at the woman to cover herself. Yuki complied. He didn’t need any covering. Hudson preferred the cool air on his skin.

“You didn’t get what you came for,” Hudson replied. The woman licked her lips.

“Of course, I did,” her voice was now husky. She reached out to his manhood. He lightly batted her hand away.

“Don’t kid yourself,” Hudson said. “We’ve both had better.”

The woman dropped the pretense. She nodded in agreement. “You really love the Risian,” she stated. Hudson glared, hating her, and hating himself for the honesty of her declaration. He couldn’t reply.

“What you were looking for, it was in one of Shelby’s skulls.” Hudson reached for the controller at his nightstand. He pressed the button and one of the bedroom walls receded, revealing a dozen empty spikes.

“Our dearly missed Captain Shelby had a hobby of collecting the heads of his enemies,” Hudson replied. “He liked to show them to his first officers, as well as his lovers, inculcating fear in both. I had them all atomized, save one, as soon as I claimed these quarters.”

“One?” Murakawa was curious.

“Yes, a Gallamite by the name of Boday, who had crossed the captain. He turned the alien’s transparent skull into a flagon. Commander Dryer took a liking to it, so I gave it to her.”

Murakawa shivered at the thought, and Hudson was intrigued that the woman could still be repulsed by anything, serving in Imperial service as long as she had.

“I really have no ill intentions toward you,” Murakawa said. “I was happy to see you ascend. It not only resulted in my own promotion, but Shelby…he was a twisted man.”

“I know that, very well,” Hudson nodded. He closed the recessed display and then rummaged in the nightstand. He pulled out a blade.

The woman’s eyes widened, but Hudson waved away her fear. He stuck the blade into his arm, at his wrist. The blood pouring, he reached back into the drawer and grabbed a pair of tweezers. He fished around in the wound, grimacing with the effort until he pulled a blood-covered translucent device out. “You were looking for this,” he replied. “The personal scanner hidden in your PADD did not account for a subcutaneous implanted data crystal.”
He held it out to her, pulling it back just as she reached out for it. “I want you to know that I give this willingly, whereas Shelby held it over your head like the Sword of Damocles.”

“And you have my loyalty for that,” Murakawa said quickly, a note of impatience in her voice.

“I want more than that,” Hudson waved the tweezers still holding the data crystal. “I want answers.”

Murakawa sighed. “You know what’s on the clip already. You know that I, and my sister Denise, are half-Centauran. You know that our personnel records were altered to hide that damning truth.” The woman turned away, her cheeks reddening as her shame rose.

“Yes,” Hudson said. “And to think all this time you’ve been riding Tarses when you’re even more of a mongrel than he is. It was his grandparents that erred, but you, you’re just one generation away from the impurity.” With his free hand, the captain reached out and touched the woman’s chin, guiding her back to look at him. “Do you bully Tarses out of guilt, deflection, or…projection?”

The woman’s expression closed. “Are you going to give me the clip or not?”

“You’re in no position to ask any questions of me,” Hudson said. “Need I remind you that with one call Dryer would be on you faster than the plasma storms we’re heading into.”

That unsettled the woman. Hudson grinned that he found something else to get her goat. “Now you understand the precarious situation you are in, one that Starfleet Intelligence can’t rescue you from. And that leads to my question, why didn’t you tell me you were also an agent?”

********************************************************************

Sector 04-70


The water jolted him awake. The shudder ran through Terrence’s body, followed by an eruption of pain. Glover’s head was throbbing. It took him a moment to remember Zim, and the punch.

There was laughter, it sounded like metal scraping against metal. “Rise and shine,” a mocking voice said.

Glover turned in the direction of the voice, ignoring the aching in his head and body, and the cold touch of the water that had woken him up. He was in a cage. A large one. Outside the bars was Zim, holding a large, empty bucket. Beside him was a corpulent, hirsute, one-eyed pig of an alien.

“Tellarite,” Glover heard Thomsen snarl. So, he wasn’t the only one who had gotten the cold shower. Terrence looked around quickly and saw that a drenched Bano was stirring. He also saw they weren’t alone. There were two others, a male and a female. They were huddled or had been thrown together in a far corner of the cell, both of their backs turned, and they looked unconscious. He didn’t want to consider they might be dead.

“Slavers?” Thomsen pondered of their captors.

“I ask the questions on this scow human,” the Tellarite stuck a thumb into his fat chest.

“You can kill me now,” Glover declared, “Because I will never do anything a talking hog tells me to do.” Thomsen chuckled at that. The Tellarite glowered.

“Hold it,” Bano said. “There’s no need for further violence.”

“Who are you?” The Tellarite demanded. He leaned closer to the cage, but not close enough to be grabbed. He took a sniff, his snout twitching.

“I told you they’re Klingon agents,” Zim said.

The Tellarite snorted. “I know what you’ve told me. Now I want to hear from them.”

Zim wouldn’t relent. “They were in a Klingon ship. They are either in league with the Alliance…or maybe, there are those stories, about the Alliance surgically altering operatives to infiltrate the rebellion.”

The Tellarite guffawed. “Seriously Zim, you’ve been quaffing too much dresci.” He paused, turning his shaggy head to the other man, “You better not have drunk my last bottle.”

Zim grunted but didn’t otherwise respond. The Tellarite sighed and turned back to the cage.

“This one,” he chucked a thumb in Zim’s direction. “He loves his stories, the more fantastical the better, even those damned enigma tales. So, let’s start afresh shall we? I am Gorik, captain of this vessel.”

“And leader of our resistance group,” a woman, a full Bolian woman strode into the room, with an older, white-haired Vulcan behind her. The woman was wearing a red jumpsuit, one of the cleanest Terrence had seen among this crew. Her green-blood companion wore a gray tunic, pants, and boots that were about the same complexion as his skin. The man looked he was attached to the mortal coil with only the slenderest of threads.

“Daneeka,” Gorik nodded. “What did you find on that ship?”

The woman gave a quick report, occasionally looking into the cage, and locking eyes with Glover. She would look him up and down, a familiar fire twinkling in the woman’s eyes. Terrence was disgusted by the alien’s desire. “There were several carry bags, that we couldn’t gain access to. It appears they can only be accessed via thumbscans.”

“We can lob off their thumbs,” Zim offered.

Both the Bolian and Gorik shook their heads at that. “I don’t think we need to be that drastic Zim,” Daneeka chided the man. “In any event, Gorik, we still don’t know who these people are.”

“Salk,” the Tellarite addressed the Vulcan. The old man was clutching a slate-gray rectangular device. “What have your medical scans yielded?”

“The bioreadings do not reveal any abnormalities, or Klingon, Cardassian, or even Bajoran DNA,” the man said.

“So much for your theory,” Gorik reamed Zim. The other man growled low in his throat a that.

“We have two humans, and one human-Bolian hybrid,” the Vulcan continued. Daneeka made a point to look hard at Bano. The woman glared back at her. The full Bolian’s expression turned curious. Glover surmised that such hybrids weren’t common to those in the Alliance either.

“That leaves us right back at square one,” Gorik said. “It really doesn’t answer who they are, why they were in a Klingon ship, or,” he paused, and dug into his left pocket of the dark blue, stained jumpsuit stretched over his wide frame. He shoved his hand forward, opening his palm to show the black combadge within its grasp.

Glover frowned. He wasn’t surprised that Bano’s affectation would get them into trouble. “What is this symbol?”

*********************************************************************

Alliance Battlecruiser Falkein


The Galor-class battlecruiser jutted hard to port, the helmsmen steering the ship so fast that it took a few seconds for the artificial gravity to keep apace. Gul Corvinas dug painfully into her armrests to remain seated.

She couldn’t help but laugh as her first officer yelped as he was lifted off his feet. The heavy man crashed to the deck seconds later. It wasn’t totally the restoration of artificial gravity that was to blame.

Corvinas shifted her focus back to their enemy. The Imperial ship was coming at them fast, fire spitting from its weapons’ ports. The ship trembled under the fusillade. Several consoles blew apart. It was easier for Corvinas to ignore the screams than the smell of cooking flesh.

“Damage report,” she demanded of her still fuming first officer.

“Forward shields temporarily knocked offline,” Dal Pellet grumbled. “They have been restored.”

The trespass into Terran Empire space through the Molari sector had gone well until they had been surprised by several Imperial Border Security vessels. The one before them was the next to fall before their disruptors.

The latest opponent was older than Falkein, but faster, and was packing a hardier punch than Corvinas had expected. Her weapons officer had informed her that this type of vessel belonged to the Griffin-class and was decades old. Yet, it was providing more of nuisance than she had anticipated.

“What else do we know of that vessel and it’s commanding officer?” Corvinas demanded, her mind racing to find any form of advantage.

Corvinas half-turned in her chair to her first officer. Pellet was hunched over his standing console aft of the command chair. The man looked up after a few moments, and several more swipes from the attacking Imperial vessel.

“Our information is scant…however, the vessel is the ISS Abaddon, a deep space cutter, mastered by a Commander Marta Batanides…a Terran female,” he added, unable to not lick his lips. Corvinas rolled her eyes. The man quickly spewed what they had on Batanides and her vessel. It wasn’t much to go on. The Alliance had been so successful in constricting the Terran Empire, it was almost easy to believe the official story told to their Terrans and other subject species that the human tyranny no longer existed. “Abaddon once battled one of our patrol vessels in the Cuellar system, escaping our clutches,” the man said.

“Not this time,” Corvinas promised. The deck trembled again as the Abaddon pelted them. “Return fire!” The woman was on the edge of her seat. “Don’t let that Terran witch go unpunished this time!”

Pellet shifted the viewer to the aft section of the ship. The weapons master unleashed the aft disruptors at the ship, stitching its silver-gray hull, even carving into the large sword and globe emblem painted across the top of the ship’s secondary hull, which hung over the primary hull saucer.

“Direct hits, to weapons, propulsion, and their main bridge,” the weapons officer crowed. The man knew he had just secured his position, if not his life, with that action. The Border Security ship was listing, with one of its nacelles sputtering before going completely dark.

“Bring us about,” Corvinas ordered the helm. She shifted in her armor. “Hail Abaddon. I want to see my opponent’s face when I demand her surrender.”

Corvinas’s impatience grew as the viewer’s image didn’t shift to a fearful and beseeching Batanides on a wrecked bridge.

“Did they receive the hail?” She asked Pellet.

“Of course,” he shot back. She glared at the man.

“Hail them again!” Corvinas barked.

“Gul Corvinas, why don’t we just vaporize them,” the weapons officer asked.

“I’ve never broken a Terran before,” Corvinas confessed.

“But you were stationed on Nuzzo Station,” Pellet replied. “There were plenty of human slaves there.”

“Lambdas, thetas, they are already broken,” Corvinas sniffed, remembering her time at the notorious Klingon space station. “I want to see one that hasn’t learned their place yet. Now, hail Abaddon again.”

Pellet audibly sighed. The man was really testing her patience. “No response,” the man said.

“Wait,” the weapons officer replied. “The ship is…moving.”

Even though it only had one working nacelle, the ship was righting itself, turning solely to face the Falkein. Corvinas sat up in her seat. Batanides was quite the interesting Terran indeed.

“It’s like, she’s eyeing us,” The weapons officer replied, a note of surprise in his voice.

“Not us, Dalin Donat,” Corvinas shook her head, “Me. She’s challenging me. And I always meet my challenges.”

Abaddon’s working nacelle started pulsing. “She’s trying to bolt!” Pellet declared.

“Take out their remaining nacelle!” Corvinas ordered. The Abaddon lurched forward. Donat unloaded on the ship, scoring deep hits, peeling off sections of its hull, but still the crazed Batanides kept coming.

“What is she doing?” Pellet asked the question that had to be on all their minds.

It only took a few seconds before the dark flame flickered in Corvinas’s mind. “She’s going to ram us!”

“Break off!” Pellet yelled, beating Corvinas to the punch.

“Abaddon’s jumping to warp,” Donat said. It was too late. The pitted, fraying hull of the Terran starship was the last image Corvinas saw.

When the lights came on, Corvinas jumped with a start. Colonel Orta was standing before her, his arms folded. “Welcome back to the land of the living Gul Corvinas.”

Corvinas glared at the man. Around her, her crew pretended not to notice how shaken she had been.

“As you can see, our holographic recreations are quite convincing,” the Bajoran said.

“Not comprehensive though,” Pellet said. And for once, Corvinas was glad for the man’s obnoxious asides.

Orta shifted his best eye in the large soldier’s direction. “The recreation was cobbled together, from the disaster recorder left by the Gurlen after their encounter with the Abaddon.”

It had actually been the Gurlen that had tested itself against the Border Security vessel, but Central Command felt it valuable to use the encounter for training purposes.

“I thought this program was intuitive enough that it would not just replay the fate of Gul Vorlem and his doomed crew,” Pellet complained. Corvinas was also not pleased that her Galor-class battlecruiser, the successor to the older Gurlens, had fared no better against a practically decrepit Earth vessel.

“It did, you just didn’t do anything too different than Vorlem, a sign that Central Command thinking is too rigid,” Orta rejoined. Pellet growled. Corvinas held up a silencing hand.

“What do you want Orta?” She asked. “Did you come here to watch real soldiers do their jobs or has the intendent sent you on another errand?”

The man’s grunt sounded like static. “I have received word,” the Bajoran replied, his manner and tone now businesslike. “I have the location of one of the rebel bases.”

“About time,” Pellet snorted. “I’m tired of fighting photons.”

“You’ll get your blood, Dal Pellet,” the Bajoran promised, “But first, remember to spare our agent during the course of your bloodletting. Somehow Central Command has gotten wind of this and have informed Terok Nor. You know Garak will be on this like a rabid gettle.”

“The game’s afoot,” Corvinas said, recalling one of her favorite lines of Shex’pir, his works being quite the rage on Nuzzo Station.

“Intendant Lang wants you there to also ensure that the enthusiastic phekk doesn’t slaughter everyone,” Orta added.

Corvinas was more worried about restraining her crew than the oafish Garak, but she kept that thought to herself. Corvinas looked at Donat, Orta already forgotten. The weapons officer, sensing her mind, rushed over one of the green panels in the otherwise dark gray room.

“Transport us to Falkein at once,” she ordered, eager to be aboard her real ship once again. “We leave now!”

****************************************************************

 

[DarKush]

Author's Notes:

A few things I wanted to point out here. The Cardassian vessel Falkein is named in honor of my fellow UT writer Dave Falkayn for allowing me to use the Shelbys and the Mirror version of the USS Malcolm Reed (ISS Travis Mayweather). Also, for the use of Murakawa, though the following passage shows that the Mirror Murakawa in this story is not Denise, but a sister, that at least exists in the alternate universe. The name Yuki comes from the Kelvin timeline comics, and the character Yuki Sulu, a heretofore (to my knowledge) invented sister for Hikaru.

When I decided to tie things more to TLR's Mirror Universe story I started checking some of our UT wiki, among other things, and came up with the Gurlen-class Cardassian ships, and also the cool Griffin-class, including the name Abaddon, so I thank TLR for providing such detailed information about the Starfleet Border Service, as well as the Mirror name Border Security, which I now also use in the story.

I also wanted to thank Gibraltar. He created Jonin Faltyne, which I already included in this story, but also Salk, the Vulcan admiral in the Prime UT universe which Gibraltar graciously allowed me to kill off in my second written DT story, "Under the Shadows of Swords."

And I should've thanked all the creators who have built Trek over the years because I've been drawing characters, names, etc. from them since day one really. Orta, Daneeka, Quaice, Nuzzo Station, Natima Lang, Thrax, Locarno, Hudson, etc., etc., all came from canon Trek. "Alexander" is a name I took from the Discovery comics, the "Succession" story.

 

[DarKush]

****************************************************************

Sector 04-70


“You can’t seriously be entertaining this?” Zim demanded.

Gorik stroked his tuft of beard. “It isn’t any more unbelievable than the ideas whirling around in your imagination.”

“The Terran Empire was destroyed!” Zim insisted. “Everyone knows it! After their Emperor Tiberius was deposed, his successor’s reforms led to their demise.”

Terrence’s anger was rising as he watched the back and forth, but he held his tongue. He knew what Bano had told the Tellarite was working its way through his porcine brain and the man would eventually see the truth, or rather, what aspects of the truth the half-Bolian had shared with their captors.

“I’m more interested in Susan’s claims about an Imperial starship, in this sector,” Daneeka entered the fray. It wasn’t lost on Glover that the Bolian had used the security agent’s first name, as if she had already formed a bond with Bano. This was something doubtlessly Bano would use to her advantage at some point. He just hoped it wasn’t at his expense. He could care less if Thomsen was thrown to this pack of wolves.

“It is illogical,” Salk spoke up. “But not impossible. The Terran Starfleet produced some of the most barbarous, yet cunning soldiers in galactic history.”

“You would know,” Gorik grinned. “Serving aboard one of their ships.”

“What?” Terrence couldn’t help himself. “You served aboard an Imperial vessel?”

“Bullshit,” Thomsen was even blunter.

Salk’s expression drew tight. “You forget how long-lived my race is,” the man replied. “I served in the Imperial Fleet during the last decades of the Old Empire, during the reign of Spock. I even captained a vessel, the Commodus.”

“That would never happen!” Thomsen leapt at the man, smacking so hard against the cage that it rattled. He grasped the bars and attempted to rip them wide, so he could get hold of the Vulcan. “No green-blood, no alien would ever sit in an Imperial captain’s chair!”

“Stow it Thomsen,” Glover barked. “He’s correct.”

“What?!” Thomsen was behind himself.

“He’s correct, at least about one thing, even under Emperor Tiberius, some extremely loyal aliens were given greater responsibilities. This magnified under Emperor Spock.” Terrence searched his memory. “And there was an ISS Commodus, of the Sun Tzu-class, but from what I remember from my Academy history course, that ship was commanded by a Terran, a woman named Darwin.”

Terrence gave Salk a double take, because it appeared the older man had smiled. “She had been the second officer when I was in command, the chief navigator. After I was captured by the Alliance, she either was promoted, or your censors have sufficiently scrubbed Imperial history to remove as much of the truth as possible.”

“I still don’t believe him,” Thomsen declared.

“Neither do I,” Glover admitted, “But I do find his story…intriguing.”

And I find yours intriguing Terran,” Gorik elbowed back into the conversation. The man had an admirable desire to lead, Terrence admitted, if only to himself.

“Maybe this…starship is why Solok has called for this gathering?” Daneeka pondered.

“We shouldn’t talk about this around them,” Zim said, throwing a dismissive hand at the imprisoned Imperial officers.

“What does that matter?” Daneeka rejoined. “It’s not like they are going anywhere.”

Gorik laughed. He slapped the backs of both Daneeka and Zim so hard they both almost stumbled over. “Good one Daneeka.”

Zim shook his head. “You should not take this lightly,” he admonished. “Can’t you see how dangerous these collaborators are?”

“I’m no collaborator,” Glover said, “But I am dangerous. When I get out of this cage you’re going to find out just how much.”

“Not helping,” Bano said out of the side of her mouth.

Gorik’s snout twitched. “Perhaps you are right Zim,” He said, crossing his arms over his broad chest. “The humans are quite hostile.”

“Perhaps we should hold off doing anything with them until we meet with the others,” Daneeka offered. “Solok might know more about them.”

“Or Sisko,” Zim smiled when he said it, looking directly at Glover. “He knows how to extract information from traitors.” Terrence was unfazed. The name nor the man attached to it meant nothing to him.

“I thought Sisko was dead,” the Tellarite said.

“Oh?” Zim was shaken by the news.

“Those are just rumors,” Daneeka offered, “likely spread by Intendant Kira.”

“She is a deceitful one at that,” Gorik nodded. “Well, you three are spared…for now, but that means someone draws guard duty.”

“I can do it,” Zim suggested.

“No,” Daneeka replied. “We want them not just alive, but in one piece, before we reach the gathering.” The Bolian glanced at the cage. “I’ll keep an eye on them.” The woman lowered her head and her voice, “Besides, I would like to know more about Susan. If she knows anymore of my kind.”

Bano’s gasp was soft, but Glover caught it. Gorik patted Daneeka on the shoulder, the gesture paternal. “Understood. I’ve never seen the homeworld of my people, and to be…ripped from yours, to know that loss, I can’t imagine.”

“Thank you,” the woman said before lifting her head. She wiped her face. Gorik helped her. Once the woman was composed, the Tellarite lightly tapped Zim in the chest.

“Let’s go. We’ve got to get to the mess while there still might be some bloodrinds and tak left.”

“Great,” Zim replied with palpable disappointment. It sounded like music to Glover. Once the two men had left, Daneeka approached the cage.

She bent down and motioned for Bano. The security agent complied. “You’re Bolian,” Daneeka began, giving Bano a once over, “But not completely.”

“No,” Bano nodded. “I’m half-Terran.”

Daneeka glanced in Glover’s direction as she contemplated that. “And you serve the Terran Empire?”

“Yes,” Bano answered. “My human heritage has helped me tremendously, but still life under imperial rule appears more palatable than what you’re being subjected to by the Alliance.”

“I was a child, living on Boliax Colony, when I was taken during an Orion slaver raid. Eventually I was bought by the House of K’toh-maag, one of the great Klingon families. But I remember what life was like even on the edge of Terran control, and it was no paradise.”

“At least you weren’t reduced to skulking around like pests until the Alliance caught you,” Bano rejoined. “Bolians, with the proper attitude, could make something of their lives.”

“And who determined what the ‘proper attitude’ that Bolians should adopt?” Daneeka shot back.

After Bano didn’t answer, Terrence jumped in. “The Empire helped the Bolians, and this is the kind of disrespect we get?”

“You certainly didn’t help fend off the raids on Boliax,” Daneeka said.

“That was Border Security’s lapse,” Glover shrugged. “No need to hang on to that now. The important thing is Bolarus remains an important world in the Empire, your people thrive under our admittedly demanding, yet fair, governance.”

Daneeka laughed. “And to think, after meeting the Terrans in Alliance space that I thought that maybe, just maybe there was hope for you all, but now I see, you’re no different than the Alliance really, just the locus of your hatred is.”

“We are right, because we are stronger,” Glover declared.

“The Alliance would say otherwise,” Daneeka countered, “And since the Terran Empire is seen as a fable in these parts it would appear the Alliance is the stronger, and therefore right.”

“These spoonheads and foreheads will be burned from existence!” Terrence boasted.

“This, from a man in a cage, captured by a group of aliens and alien-loving Terrans,” the full Bolian scoffed. She shook her head before shifting back to Bano. “And I thought, Susan, that I could learn something from you, about our world, and that hopefully the Empire had learned from its mistakes, but now I see I was mistaken. Perhaps Zim is right, and we should space you all.” Daneeka stood up.

“Wait,” Bano called out.

“No,” Daneeka shook her head again. “We’re done talking.” She looked at Glover. “Your friend answered all my questions.” The woman took up position by the door, patting the pistol hanging from her hip every time she caught Terrence looking at her.

Bano punched him in the arm. “Thanks for bungling things,” the woman said. “I could’ve gained her trust.”

Glover restrained himself from backhanding the woman for touching him. “There is no reasoning with these aliens,” he said, loud enough to draw a baleful glare from Daneeka.

“And what about me?” Bano said, a sliver of hurt poking through her anger.

“What about you?!” Terrence charged. “You’re the reason we’re in this mess to begin with. What was Command thinking, putting this mission in your abominable hands?!”

Bano struck quickly, her fingernails slicing into Glover’s face as she jumped on him, hissing all the while like a sun viper. Terrence threw up his hands, protecting his eyes. The woman was so ferocious that he couldn’t strike back to knock her out. He was doing his best to avoid being blinded by the woman.

He heard Thomsen rustling to get out of the way as two rolled around. They got entangled with the insensate captives. The two started to stir.

“I’ll be damned,” Thomsen breathed, causing Bano to pause. Glover took his opportunity. He jutted his palm upward, hard at the woman’s chin, knocking her head back. The clacking of her teeth was extremely satisfying.

Bano fell back. Glover saw that the woman was down before looking at Thomsen. “What is it?” He demanded.

Thomsen pointed at the waking prisoners. Both had turned. Through the mass of bruises and cuts Terrence saw they weren’t human at all. Their crinkled noses gave them away.

“Bajoran,” Glover spat. He clenched his hands, ready for another fight.

****************************************************************

Rebel Base

Sector 04-70

The “Badlands”


Ensign Noelle Pollard continued waving her tricorder around, taking in as much data as she could. The young science officer wouldn’t stop until the device burst with information. She couldn’t wait to share her stories of this voyage into the Beta Quadrant with her great-grandmother.

The venerable woman was her only living relative, and it had been her long Starfleet career that had inspired Pollard to pursue a similar path. Her great-grandmother had been a medical officer. Noelle wasn’t as skilled with her hands, though she did have an interest in alien races and civilizations.

Being here, on this asteroid, was like seeing a microcosm of a galaxy that she had only read about before, some in official histories, others in banned books her twin had someone obtained for her.

Noel had always chafed living on Mantilles. Life for nonhumans could be harsh in the Terran Empire, but it was no walk in the park for humans who didn’t have wealth, power, influence, or knew someone who did. Unfortunately, many of her great-grandmother’s allies had been murdered or died via other circumstances along the way.

It was a miracle her great-grandmother had survived after throwing in her lot in a mutiny against Captain Lester when the woman had been chief medical officer aboard the ISS Endeavour. Lester had been opposed to then-Emperor Spock’s peaceful overtures toward the Klingons and sought to ignite a war by destroying the Emperor’s peace conference on Khitomer.

Spock had rewarded her great-grandmother and the other loyalists, and surprisingly even spared Lester’s life. After the Alliance defeated the Empire, her great-grandmother had gone into hiding, biding her time until either Lester found her, or some old enemy found Lester.

It didn’t take long for the later to happen. Noelle missed hearing those old stories, even the ones that frightened her. She had always possessed an insatiable curiosity. In that, her great-grandmother had said she resembled her great-grandfather, another Starfleet officer who had died decades before Noelle’s birth, while serving aboard the Paxton during the pacification of the Rigel system.

It was fortunate that no Rigelians were present among this throng of aliens. The name Pollard might still raise hackles among their kind.

She certainly wasn’t making her family name known as she went about. Her great-grandmother after all would never share all of the things that she, her husband, or other Pollards had done in the name of empire.

Noel had rejected that legacy completely, breaking purity laws when he married a Vulcan colleague from the Learning Center on Vulcan. His flouting of the law resulted in her brother being sent to Tantalus for neural adjustment. Her brother hadn’t made it off Tantalus, and Noelle knew better than to inquire officially about what happened to him. She knew nothing of the fate of her Vulcan sister-in-law.

Losing in her thoughts, she hadn’t noticed the strange readings. She rubbed her eyes, “That’s an E-band transmission,” she said, and then her cheeks warmed as Noelle realized she was talking out loud. “Just where is that coming from?”

She set out in search to sate her curiosity.

*********************************************************************

 

[DarKush]

*********************************************************************

IKS Vi’chak

Main Bridge



Garak put on his most ingratiating smile while trying to avoid the targs straining on their leashes as they lunged for him. The slavering quadrupeds’ howling raised Garak’s scales. The breathing Mount Kri’stak squatting on the thronelike command chair laughed as one of the beasts came close to tearing out a chunk of the Cardassian’s leg. The rest of the phekks on the dark and dank bridge joined in the laughter. Garak reined in his outrage, focusing instead on why he chose a Bajoran expletive for these Klingons instead of one from his own tongue. It reminded him of how much time he had spent as Kira’s lackey. She had contaminated even his speech.

The bushy gray bearded Klingon thought admiral carried on, with the hearty guffaws growing so strong, they rattled the ship’s bulkheads. Which made Garak even less certain about Intendant Kira’s judgment.

Perhaps the woman was worthier than he had ever given him credit for, producing for him the perfect lure with the location of the rebel base, but placing Garak on a deathtrap vessel captained by a crazy man. If so, the Bajoran was ensuring his death.

He smiled at that, glad that the woman acknowledged that he was more of a threat to her than Sisko or any other human rabble could be.

“What are you smiling about Cardassian?” The thought admiral demanded. “You’re this close to becoming a bit size meal for my lovelies.”

Garak gave a curt bow, while still keeping his distance, “It is just an honor to be on this esteemed vessel.”

“Oh?” The man raised a bushy eyebrow. He wasn’t sure if Garak was lying or being truthful.

“Yes, Thought Admiral Kojo, son of the famed Councilor Knos, and the Jadashha of Ajilon Prime, the Saber Bear of Denobula, the Liberator of Kessik IV, the Tamer of the Silicon Avatar, the Obliterator of the Oberoi sector,” Garak rattled off. “And your namesake, General Kojo, a man building a career of service to his House and Empire nearly as illustrious as your own.”

“Hmph,” Kojo stroked his thick beard. The thick hair was matted with dark stains. Garak wasn’t sure if the stains were from bloodwine, or something less savory. Kojo dug into his beard, pulled something out, sniffed it, and popped it into his mouth. While he chewed, the man yanked hard on the chains connected to his chair, causing his pets to yelp in pain. The beasts laid down and began mewling. “You are most astute Executive Officer Garak! Welcome aboard Vi’chak!”

The man snapped a thick finger and a lithe, though fearsome woman stomped away from the standing console to Kojo’s left. Garak shook his head, not quite believing his eyes. The woman, dressed in Klingon armor wasn’t Klingon. She wasn’t even Cardassian or Bajoran.

She looked like a…Trill? Garak rubbed his eyes, wondering if the thick fumes on the bridge were toying with his mind, but the cinnamon-hued woman, with half-shorn blonde hair, exposing the dots running down her slender neck and along her face, just like a Trill.

Central Command had been more charitable about allowing Bajorans, Ulirians, and some other subject races, like Klaestrons, to serve aboard their vessels, while the Klingons had only brought aboard non-Klingons for missions or as spoils of victory. But the idea of placing a member of a subject race on the bridge and granting them an officer’s rank or standing was unheard…until now.

The woman strode over to an aft console and pushed aside the officer sitting there. The man snarled but offered no other protest. The thought admiral gestured to the now unoccupied terminal. “Take your place as my first officer, Elim Garak, son of Tain.”

Garak concealed his surprise that the Klingon knew anything about him. This Klingon wasn’t as oafish as he looked. Still, he wished that the man’s son had been in the sector when Kira had informed him of the Marauder base. General Kojo was a terse, brutal man, but effective. His father, on the other hand, amused the Regent with his stories of ancient battles that man would never have fought, so he not only allowed the fossil to continue serving but gave him a Negh’Var-class cruiser, one of the most powerful ships in the Alliance armada.

The Cardassian concentrated on the console. He did his best to ignore the stench of the smoke curling around the bridge’s floor. He knew that it was covering something he would rather not see, and it was holding back other pungent aromas at bay. Fluent in Klingon, he quickly digested the displayed information.

“That data is correct?” Kojo asked, “Is that the location of one of the Marauder bases?”

“Central Command assumes so,” Garak replied. Kojo growled. “Yes,” he was more declarative. “This is where the Marauder base is located.”

“Excellent,” Kojo slapped his armrests, causing the poor wood and metal to tremble. “Once again it’s Klingon warriors who have to clean up another Bajoran and Cardassian mess. We could be expanding our Alliance, gaining new allies, conquering more foes, if there was stability within our realm!”

“We want the same thing Thought Admiral,” Garak said, “Though some Alliance officials have coddled and pampered the Terrans, viewing them as pets, or unruly children, instead of the threats they truly pose.”

“By ‘some’ you mean Intendant Kira?” The muscled woman spoke. Sitting now at the pilfered console, her doleful eyes burned into him.

“Now, now Nandali,” Kojo grumbled. “You’ll be at my side again once this mission is over.”

“Perhaps…before,” the woman grinned, revealing sharpened metal teeth. Her retort elicited laughter from across the bridge, including from the general.

“You’ll have to watch that one, Son of Tain, if the rebels don’t get you, she just might,” Kojo roared with laughter. “And she’s a biter!”

Garak looked at the woman, a smile plastered on his face, but venom in his gaze. “My teeth might not be metal, but they rend all the same.”

“Hah!” Kojo bellowed. “You’re a good sport Son of Tain! We’ll see how good you are at battle!”

Garak looked in the seething Nandali and then around at the Klingons who didn’t look none too pleased by his presence, and he wondered just what battle the old gettle was talking about.

*********************************************************************

ISS Alexander

Sector 04-70



“If I had told you who I was working for sir, then I wouldn’t be very good at my job,” Murakawa said for the umpteenth time. Both officers were fully dressed now and sitting at the table in Hudson’s kitchen.

The woman clutched a steaming mug of Raktajino. The pungent Klingon coffee was illegal, which of course meant Captain Shelby had stocked up on the banned beans.

Hudson merely sipped on a glass of water. “Obviously you weren’t that good, if Shelby made you.”

“Key word there is “Shelby”,” the woman said, after glowering at him. “Their reach is quite long, longer than I imagined. It didn’t take long for Shelby to uncover dirt on me, which he used to keep me in his thrall.”

“Perhaps that’s why Fujisaki sent me,” Hudson pondered. “Of course, he didn’t tell me there was already an operative aboard.”

“And obviously you weren’t so skilled to have ascertained that yourself,” Murakawa smirked.

“Don’t get cute,” Hudson warned. “I guess it doesn’t matter now. Shelby’s underworld ties had been a growing concern. Some wondered if the Shelby family was looking to slice off a piece of the Empire for themselves. But with David now off the chessboard and Elizabeth Shelby in the wind, their standing at the Imperial Court is precarious.”

“Something tells me that your mission wasn’t to kill him,” Murakawa said before taking a sip.

“No,” Hudson shrugged. “It wasn’t.” His throat felt suddenly dry, so he took a drink. “Once Shelby set course to apprehend his sister, Fujisaki ordered me to eliminate him. Command could not allow David to gain possession of what his sister had stolen.”

Murakawa raised an eyebrow. “What did she steal?”

Hudson’s smirk was cold. “You ask too many questions.”

“It’s my job,” the woman replied.

“No, your job is to continue being my executive officer,” Hudson said. “If I require more…” He purposely glanced at the now empty bed. “I will send for you.”

Anger flashed through the woman’s eyes, but she held her tongue. She knew what was good for her.

Hudson looked at the wall behind the woman. By the door was his quarter’s chronometer. “And you go on duty in the next half hour. I suggest you head to the bridge now and make sure my seat is warm.”

“Of course, sir,” the woman said tightly. She glanced down at the mug, as if contemplating throwing its contents into his face, or smashing it against his head. Hudson smiled as he imagined the scenarios flitting through the woman’s mind.

“You’re dismissed,” Hudson said. He kept his eyes on the woman until she left. And he remained rooted in his chair for a few moments after, prepared for her to barrel back in, guns blazing.

After he was confident that the woman had gone to the bridge, Hudson finished his water. He armed himself, trying not to think of Arandis, because he needed his heart hardened for what was to come.

************************************************************************

ISS Alexander

Private Quarters


Lt. Commander Nyota Dryer played with her dagger as she watched the captain finish dressing and leave his quarters. The man remained unaware, as had Captain Shelby, that she was watching.

Dryer would have to come up with a reason for why she would be late. Normally she was on the bridge hours before the captain and executive officer, but she had sent Rollins in her stead.

She pondered who she would blame for her tardiness while sending the communique. Dryer wrapped her fingers against her desk, her impatience growing as the minutes stretched on.

As soon as the Imperial symbol dissolved, Dryer stanched her frustration. She sat up straighter in her chair and promptly saluted.

Dryer quickly dropped her arm when she saw the impassive Vulcan looking at her, not hiding her boredom.

“Where is your master Vulcan?” She demanded.

“The consul is not available,” the older man replied. “He authorized me to receive messages for her, only of the utmost importance.”

“What’s your name?” Dryer ordered. She found it odd that a Terran of such prominence and renown would ever entrust a green-blood with such authority. But the ways of the dynastic families and other courtiers of the Imperial Court were often perplexing to her.

“I am Lojal,” the man replied dryly, his haughty detachment angering Dryer. The security chief wished she could reach across subspace and wrap her hands around the man’s wrinkled neck. She was certain she could wring an emotion out of the green-blood then.

“Well, Lojal,” Dryer began, “I’ve got new information about Captain Hudson.”

The Vulcan raised an eyebrow, “Need I remind you that the consul only wants important information.”

Dryer curdled her fingers. She told herself. One day green-blood. One day. “He will want to know this,” the security officer promised.

Eyebrow still raised, Lojal’s face an edifice of skepticism, the Vulcan said, “For your sake Lieutentant Commander, this had been be worth his time.”


************************************************************************

 

[DavidFalkayn]

Ah...duplicity, double dealing, secrets within secrets, and treachery--yep, this is the mirror universe.

 

[CeJay]

I don't think there's anyone in this story who doesn't have a secret agenda. Gotta say, that's pretty impressive work.

Let the backstabbing commence!

 

[DarKush]

Thank you both for reading and commenting. It's the Mirror Universe, if everyone wasn't turning on everyone it wouldn't be nearly so fun IMO.

************************************************************************


Rebel Base

Sector 04-70

The “Badlands”



Noelle didn’t realize how far she had moved away from the throng until the realization came to her that the din had died down considerably. She was alone, in a darkened section of the base, one filled with crates, the newest embossed with the gleaming and proud emblem of the Terran Empire.

She ran her tricorder over the Imperial crates to see if they were causing the mysterious readings. “This makes no sense,” she muttered as she came up with nothing from the Imperial items. Pollard swung the tricorder around in a wild, desperate arc, hoping to snatch something.

The device began beeping in the direction of a stack of boxes in the far corner. Whatever was causing the unexpected transmissions was behind that stack.

As Pollard approached she heard movement. She stopped. “Hello,” she offered. There was no response. “Is everything okay? Are you alright?” She walked forward, but slowly. She considered pulling out her phaser or at least her dagger, which was protocol, but decided against it. Captain Shelby wanted to be on good terms with these people. Noelle didn’t know why, or if the captain was simply lulling them until she hatched her real plan.

So, in the spirit of amity, Pollard called again, “Hello. I’m Science Officer Pollard, from the Travis Mayweather. I’ve detected unusual transmissions that I’ve followed to this room. Is there something you need assistance with? Our labs aboard the Mayweather are more than adequate.”

She stopped again when there was more rustling. A slender figure eased from behind the stack. The figure was Terran. A woman. She held what looked like a communicator in one hand and a disruptor in the other.

Pollard backed up and placed her hands above her head. “There’s no need for that. We’re friends,” she said quickly.

“I don’t know you, nor trust you,” the other woman replied. The woman had reddish-brown hair pulled back into a tight bun that fit her grim expression.

The woman looked familiar. She had seen her with the rebel Chakotay before. “Rayna,” she plucked the name from her memory.

The woman’s eyes crinkled as she nodded. “Yes,” her tight expression grew even more so. “How did you know that?”

“I saw you, before, with Chakotay,” Pollard answered. “Please, lower your weapon. This is all just a misunderstanding.”

“How long were you in here? What did you hear?” The woman demanded.

“I didn’t hear anything,” Pollard said, her voice starting to rise.

“I don’t believe you,” Rayna replied. “I can’t trust you won’t tell the others.”

“What are you talking about?” Fear started to coat Noelle’s throat and constrict her air. Her heart began pounding and sweat began pouring.

“Chakotay can’t know, not until it’s over,” Rayna stated. “They-they promised he would be spared. That I could claim him. He would be my theta.”

“What are you talking about?” Pollard’s voice almost broke.

“I would expect an Imperial officer to have more composure,” the other woman was dismissive. “Yet you wouldn’t last a nanosecond in an Obsidian Order interrogation.”

“Obsidian Order?” Pollard squeaked. She had heard about the dreaded Cardassian intelligence organization. “You work for them?”

“As if you didn’t know,” Rayna spat.

“I didn’t, I didn’t,” Noelle replied.

“Whatever Shelby is truly here for, you won’t alert her to my presence,” Rayna declared. “She’ll learn soon enough, they all will.”

The woman’s boast was enough for the science officer to know this wasn’t some jest. Pollard threw her tricorder at the woman. Rayna instinctively aimed her weapon at it, vaporizing it. Noelle cried out, in fear and over the lost data.

Rayna swung her disruptor at her, and Noelle just missed joining her tricorder by diving behind the nearest stack of crates.

She moved quickly, thankful the room was stuffed with crates and barrels. Rayna was methodical, disintegrating them all though, anticipating her movements. It was only a matter of time before Noelle ran out of things to hide behind.

So, she decided a different tactic. Her back against her latest bulwark, Noelle pulled out her phaser. “You don’t have to do this,” she said. “Whatever you want, the captain can provide it!”

Rayna’s laugh was harsh. “I would like my face back for one!” She shouted back. “I would like to sleep in my own bed, to hear the taspar cries outside my window. And-and I want Chakotay there with me, so he can see the true glory and wonder of Cardassia Prime. Maybe then, at least he will see that there is no reason to resist. We are just superior, and he can see the reason of our rule.”

Pollard moved again seconds before she would’ve been vaporized. First the first time she returned fire, which caused Rayna to seek cover herself.

“Wait? You’re Cardassian?!” Noelle said, her curiosity overwhelming her fear, as she hid behind more gods’ sent crates.

“Of course, I am,” Rayna spat.

“But you, you look so Terran,” Pollard replied.

“I hate this skin they make me wear!” Rayna snarled.

“Fascinating,” Noelle couldn’t help herself. It appeared that the Obsidian Order had surgically altered one of their operatives to appear human. She took several shots, ran for new sanctuary before asking, “Cosmetic changes, or genetic?”

“Does it matter?” Rayna said. “You’re out of crates Terran!” That prompted Pollard to finally notice that that she had ran into a corner, guided really, by Rayna. The woman had been toying with her all this time.

Noelle felt like an idiot. For all her love and knowledge of science, reading Terrans or even aliens had never been her strong suit.

“Come on out Terran, and get this over with,” Rayna said. “At least die with some dignity, not like a vole trapped in corner.”

Noelle sighed, anger, fear, and shame all roiling her stomach. She thought of her great-grandmother and Noel, and how she would never see them again. Sadly, she even thought of the hologram she had developed more of a bond with than any other living being.

She stepped from behind the crate. She held her weapon at her side. Rayna smirked.

“I didn’t think you were going to go for that,” the Cardassian said. “So, are you at least going to try to die fighting?”

“What’s the point?” Pollard shrugged. “I’m a scientist, not a killer.”

Rayna chuckled. “Well, at least you’re honest for a Terran.” The Cardassian lifted her disruptor. “Where do you want it, the heart, or between the eyes?”

“Can you at least tell me your name?” Noelle asked.

The woman paused, she pursed her lips, pondering the request. “You know, I-I haven’t said my true name in a long time. And I haven’t heard it spoken…in so long. It feels…I feel like it belongs to someone else.”

“Say it now,” Pollard urged, “I would like to know who is going to take my life.”

Rayna nodded. “I suppose that’s fair.” She worked her lips for a few moments, but no sound came out. “I-I am…my name is…Seska.”

“Seska,” Noelle nodded. “That is a beautiful name.”

Rayna, Seska, actually smiled. “Thank you.” Her finger curled around the trigger. Noelle closed her eyes.

She jumped at the sizzle of disruptor. There was groan and then a heavy thump. But Pollard felt nothing. Death felt a lot like living. She touched herself, her chest and her forehead were thankfully hole-free. Noelle cracked open an eye.

The human, or so she hoped, named Locarno was crouching over the dead Seska. He looked up at Pollard and winked. “Welcome back to the land of the living ensign,” he quipped.

***********************************************************************

 

[DarKush]

***********************************************************************


Rebel Base

Sector 04-70

The “Badlands”


“We don’t know what this Rayna-I mean, Seska, told whoever about us, or this base,” Lian’ne opined. The comely Xyrillian was the first of the resistance leaders to arrive. Solok had called for a gathering of the rebels in this sector of space for consultation. “An Alliance could be heading this way right now.”

“Lian’ne is right,” said a Kelpien, who surprisingly led a group of marauders. Shelby hadn’t remembered the man’s name. Her mouth had watered at the sight of the tall, austere creature. Kelpien entrails and ganglia were highly prized delicacies. She hadn’t dined on Kelpien since her formative years, and the captain thought they had been hunted to extinction. “Solok, it would behoove you to evacuate while you, while we, still have time.” Every few moments, the Kelpien would eye Shelby, as if sensing her thoughts.

“The logical course is to ascertain the true nature of the threat before taking action,” the Vulcan reasoned.

“I just can’t believe that Rayna, of all people was a spoonhead,” a hard-faced, dark-skinned man named Santos shook his head. “She saved my life on Athos IV.”

“She probably saved all our lives, at some point,” Ishara, a dark blonde young woman, added. “It just doesn’t make any sense.”

Solok raised both eyebrows. “Stadi,” he said to his aide with the very dark eyes. “You couldn’t read Rayna or even Locarno?”

The woman pinched her face, her olive cheeks blushing with disappointment. “Hey, I’m a complicated man,” Locarno breezily replied. “Even a Betazoid couldn’t figure me out.”

Shelby shared a look with Braener. Betazoid? The captain thought, her anger growing. What secrets had the woman already plucked her the minds of her crew?

“How do we know this all just isn’t some ruse?” Chakotay declared. The man was covering his grief with anger. “Rayna was no traitor, much less a Cardassian, of all things!” Justine Haas tried to rub the man’s shoulders, but he shrugged away. The heat had risen considerably, and it wasn’t just because of the heightened emotions. Solok’s small office was stuffed with people, all of them trying to figure out what had just happened that resulted in Boone’s, or Seska’s, demise.

Shelby spoke up, “My science officer would not lie.” At least about something like this, Shelby thought but didn’t voice. She glanced at the woman. When the science officer wasn’t absently picking at the tricorder she had made certain Security Chief Terry brought to calm the woman down, she was holding herself, her head down, as if lost in a nightmare. The woman was still visibly shaken by her encounter.

Elizabeth’s pity was mixed with scorn at the woman’s display of weakness. She was certain Braener would have her subjected to the agonizer for her lack of composure even more than his thirst for revenge. And she couldn’t really blame the man. Pollard fit in more with their weaker Terran cousins than Imperial humans. Just like her incorrigible twin brother the captain supposed.

“This Section 31 you claim to be a member of.” It appeared Braener was more intrigued by Locarno than interested in enforcing discipline on Pollard, for the moment at least. “I’ve heard of it, but only that it was rumors.” Shelby was surprised that her executive officer revealed something he knew that she didn’t. Perhaps he assumed she did, or his inquisitiveness got the better of him. It led to her wonder what else the man knew and was keeping from her.

“That’s sort of the point,” Locarno said saucily. “But you’re a good martinet Commander Braener, check your memory banks for the Starfleet Charter, Article 14, Section 31.”

Her first officer frowned, but did just that, “The article in question simply allowed for extraordinary measures to be taken in times of extreme threat.” He shrugged.

Locarno nodded, “Can you imagine a time of greater extreme threat to the Empire than when the Klingons and Cardassians became allies? Emperor Spock interpreted the Starfleet Charter to allow for an organization that would seek out allies, even among aliens to combat the threat posed by the Alliance. We’ve continued in that role ever since.”

“That’s impossible,” Shelby said. “Spock was deposed decades ago, and the emperor and Imperial Court would never seek alliances with non-Terrans.”

“That’s why we operate outside the auspices of Starfleet Command and even the Emperor,” Locarno said. “We wish to protect the Empire, even from itself.”

“That’s treason,” Shelby replied.

Locarno smirked, “You’re really going to talk to me about treason?”

“Good point,” Braener conceded, though through clenched teeth.

“Look around you, humans and aliens allied together,” Locarno opened his arms wide and half-turned around the room. “With all the might of the Terran Empire, we can’t even push beyond our space, that the Alliance just hasn’t put the effort into claiming. The key to their defeat is to join with aliens”

“Preposterous!” Braener spat. “Captain, I’ve heard enough of this claptrap!” He drew his weapon and pointed it at Locarno. Everyone in the room tensed. “You’re coming to the Mayweather with us Mr. Locarno. A few sessions in the booth and you’ll tell us who all your Section 31 confederates are.”

Shelby placed a hand on Braener’s wrist and forced his arm down. He glared at the woman. “What are you doing?!”

“He’s…he’s right,” she said, her voice quiet, tiny even. “It’s…like I saw in the vision…from the orb.”

“Are you really going to believe some fever dream caused by some alien artifact?!” Braener was beside himself.

“Your captain is correct,” Solok said. “I experienced a similar vision.”

“Well, of course, you did!” Braener charged. “Captain, you can’t listen to this nonsense any longer. Let’s apprehend these ‘rebels’ and take them back to Imperial space. I’m sure the lot of them will net us a good price from the Orions.”

Shelby sighed. She set her jaw. “You’re dismissed Mr. Braener.”

“What?” The man’s surprise was genuine.

“Go back to Mayweather and cool your thrusters,” the captain ordered.

“But captain,” the man protested.

“Do not make me repeat myself,” Shelby said. She nodded at Lt. Terry. The security officer hustled over. “Escort the commander back to the ship. If he insists on countermanding my orders, even so much as a disrespectful look or grunt, toss him into the booth, the setting at your discretion.”

“Aye, aye, Captain,” the man nodded eagerly. “Let’s go.”

Braener shoved his phaser back into his holster. He glanced at Shelby but wisely kept quiet. He tapped his compin. “Braener to Mayweather, two to beam up.”

The transporter sparkles hadn’t dissipated before a hubbub drew the captain and everyone else’s attention. Two people Shelby had never seen before burst into Solok’s already overcrowded office. The man was tall, swarthy, and scruffy, while the woman, also tall, was beautiful, with shoulder-length hair cut in way that didn’t hide the brown spots running down her neck.

“Trill,” Shelby muttered. The woman looked at her and smirked.

“Who are you?” The Trill asked.

“Where is O’Brien?” Solok’s expression was cross. “I requested him.”

“Well, you got us,” the scruffy man replied.

“Where is Sisko?” Ishara said. “Are the rumors true?”

“It is telling that Benjamin is not here,” Lian’ne added, a note of disappointment in her voice.

“Is Sisko dead?” Santos inquired. The scruffy man glared at all of them.

“Sisko sent me,” he declared, “That should be good enough for you all. Now, where is the weapon?”

“It’s not a weapon,” Shelby replied. The man turned to her.

“And just who are you?” He demanded. Shelby immediately disliked the querulous man.

“I just asked that question Julian,” the Trill rolled her eyes.

“Yes, and you didn’t get a response,” the man retorted. “Like I always say, why stab when you can shoot?”

“That’s your approach to everything,” the Trill sighed.

“And it has rarely been sufficient,” Solok chided. “I’ve called for other rebels, together we will figure out what to do with what Captain Shelby has bequeathed to our cause.”

“Captain Shelby,” Julian gave Elizabeth a scouring look. “What’s that costume you’re wearing? Are you one of Kira’s new comfort servants?”

Shelby bit back her anger. “My apologies,” the Trill said. “Julian can be so crass sometimes, though his heart is in the right place…I think.”

She reached out a hand. “Isn’t this human costume?” She asked after Shelby didn’t take it. “My name is Jadzia.”

Shelby glared at Julian once more before finally accepting the proffered hand. “Captain Elizabeth Shelby, of the Travis Mayweather.”

“I assume that’s the museum piece that’s in orbit,” Julian jibed. “Come to think of it, that outfit you got on reminds me of an old vid of the Terran Empire uniforms. Just what kind of fetish is Kira indulging in now? Or is it another lecher, like Legate Ghemor? I’ve heard his costume balls are all the rage.”

“I assure you that my ship can take on anything you, or the Alliance can throw at it,” Shelby promised.

Julian smirked, “I look forward to testing that boast.”

“And I thought I was the biggest frinx in the Beta Quadrant,” Locarno laughed, drawing Bashir’s ire. The two men began arguing. Haas left Chakotay and Jadzia joined the Terran woman to separate to the two bulls.

Shelby took the respite to check on Chakotay. The man was out of sorts, not his normal, assured self. She actually felt more sympathy for the man, with only a hint of distaste that he could be so close to someone so false. Though she had to give Seska and the Obsidian Order some respect. She had heard of their dreaded reputation, but now she knew it was earned.

While she was speaking to him, Chakotay’s eyes were on Locarno. He muttered, “Everything was fine, until he showed up. He’s hiding something, for all we know he’s the real traitor!”

Chakotay pulled out the pistol that had been stuffed in his belt. Shelby grabbed the man’s arm, and forced it upward, the beam slicing through the rocky ceiling. The man snarled with anger, which quickly turned to gasping pain. Shelby moved from preventing the man from killing Locarno to chopping his throat.

Chakotay gasped, his face turning redder than the giant star of Azati Prime. He dropped his gun and fell to the floor.

“What did you do?!” Someone yelled as they rushed past her.

“I crushed his larynx,” Shelby said. “Now, get out of the way,” she said. The captain ordered the dying man be transported directly to Sickbay. “My chief medic will take care of him.” Before she had finished the sentence, Chakotay was engulfed in Mayweather’s transporter effect.

“Why did you do that?” Haas looked up. The woman was still crouching at where Chakotay had once been.

Shelby tugged hard on her tunic. She was not used to being questioned. “Chakotay is in no real danger and it prevented him from killing Locarno.”

“Well, uh, thanks I guess,” Locarno smiled.

The captain turned to him. She made a show of cracking her knuckles. “But Chakotay was right, you’re hiding something else.”

“What do you mean?” The man said smoothly. “I’ve told you more than I should have. Very few people in the Empire, or outside of it, have heard of Section 31.”

“And what say you about that Ensign Pollard?” Shelby said. All eyes turned to the reserved science officer. To her credit, she didn’t wilt. Shelby considering shuttering the woman’s date with an agonizer for the time being.

Pollard held up her tricorder, to back up what she was saying, “This man is not Nicholas Locarno.”

“Damn it, Chakotay was right!” Haas drew her weapon. Eyes shifted to Locarno and for the first time his bluster was gone.

“Hold it Haas,” Shelby said, brandishing her phaser. But it was pointed at Haas and not Locarno. “Go on Ensign Pollard.”

“It took a moment to look through casualty lists sir, but I’m certain that the man who says he’s name is Locarno, is actually Thomas Eugene Paris.”

“I’ll be damned,” Shelby said. “Imperial Governor Paris’s son? I thought you were dead.”

“Well, yeah, that report was greatly exaggerated,” Paris shrugged. “Even my beloved mother doesn’t know, nor likely would she give a damn anyway. Dad either, for that matter, if you can find him,” He glared at Pollard. “Great way to repay me for saving your life.”

“Just what the hell is going on here?” Haas asked. She lowered her weapon, but she didn’t return it her holster.

“Who cares?” Julian sniffed. Jadzia thankfully elbowed the man hard in the gut.

“Fine,” Paris exhaled. “The section faked my death, so I could operate more freely in Alliance space. See, no big deal.”

“Why didn’t you just say that?” Shelby’s patience was fraying.

“It’s more fun to have you guessing,” Paris’s grinned, the insouciance back.

A lithe, sure-footed catlike Draylaxian entered the room. He went straight to Solok. Bowing his head respectfully, the man said, “Solok, Gorik’s ships are in orbit.”

“Well, why isn’t old tusk face down here then?” Julian huffed.

“He says there’s something, or rather, someone, people he wants you to see,” the Draylaxian ignored the obstreperous human’s outburst. Shelby groaned, ashamed for the first time to be Terran.

Solok raised an eyebrow. “Did he provide more information.”

“Only that these people claim to come from the Terran Empire,” the felinoid replied. Solok looked at Shelby immediately.

The woman, though shocked, beat him to the punch, “Let’s go.”

**********************************************************************



Sector 04-70


Glover grabbed the dark blond male, while Thomsen hemmed up the red-haired woman. “Who are you?” Terrence took the lead.

The Bajoran’s eyes widened in shock and then narrowed in disdain. “Unhand me Terran, or you will regret it.” Glover slapped the man’s left temple. He grimaced in pain.

“If I ask again, I will hurt you more,” Glover promised.

The other man smiled, his split lip beginning to bleed. “Do your worst Terran!” To the misguided fool the word was an epithet. Terrence prepared to beat respect into the Bajoran.

“Stop resisting Brai,” the woman said before Glover started. The woman’s tone placed her above her colleague.

“I am Second Lieutenant Brai Sencla, of the Alliance,” the man reluctantly answered.

“Where’s your uniform?” Bano asked. Glover gave the man a once over. It was the first time he realized the man was wearing tattered clothing.

Terrence looked at the woman. Despite Thomsen still gripping her shoulders, the woman’s expression was steely. She also wore civilian clothing.

“It’s apparent,” the woman began, “That we find ourselves in a similar predicament as yours. Perhaps we can work together.”

“Why,” Bano inquired, “And just how were you captured. Being members of the Alliance military and all?”

“The major never said,” Brai began, and then caught himself. The woman glared at him.

“So, we got ourselves a major here,” Thomsen replied, jerking her closer to him. “A pretty one at that.” She pulled back from the man’s leering face. With Thomsen’s breath, Glover couldn’t blame her.

“Save the playtime for later Thomsen,” Glover barked. “How were you captured, and just want do they intend to do with you?”

“I think you can imagine the second part of that question,” the woman said. She paused, sighed, and added, “I am Major Dynoth Ceja.” Glover nodded for her to continue. “We were accosted by Gorik’s marauders on our way back to Empok Nor after vacationing on Balosnee VI. We were the only survivors. If you can help us, our Intendant will reward you handsomely. You might even be promoted to theta status.”

“Sounds wonderful,” Glover muttered.

Dynoth’s face hardened. “This is a one-time offer,” her voice chilled. “Colonel Orta has doubtlessly sent search parties for us. When they find these brigands, he will make them suffer in ways I can’t imagine, and I have a vivid imagination.”

“Is that so?” Thomsen wrapped the woman in a bear hug and tried to kiss her cheek.

“Knock it off!” Terrence ordered. That lapse in concentration gave Brai his opening. The man buried his fist deep in Glover’s midsection. Terrence grunted with pain as he fell over, clutching his throbbing midsection.

Terrence had expected another blow but the Bajoran was rushing to aid his superior officer. Bano was on the man’s back as he was on Thomsen’s. Brai was trying to wrench the man away from Dynoth who was whaling on the fixated security guard.

Glover watched the brawl while he gathered his strength. He leaned back against one the bars and enjoyed the show. If they all killed each other that would be fine with him. They were dead weight anyway.

“Still the spectator,” a voice from his past vaporized his bemusement. Glover jumped up, right into the low ceiling of the cage.

“Damn,” he said, rubbing his aching head.

“I should’ve known they would send you,” his ex-wife stood in the doorway of the jail. Shelby looked resplendent in her black and red Imperial uniform, bedecked with the medals and honors of command that Terrence had long coveted.

She smiled down at him, as beautiful and vexing as ever. “Just as I should have known you would find someway to screw it up,” she added. “Even though my family hates yours, they still considered Octavia or Septimius as worthier mates.”

“It’s good to see you too,” Terrence continued rubbing his head, “Now get me out of here so I can save you.”

*********************************************************************

 

[DarKush]

ISS Travis Mayweather


Terrence stood in front of the long mirror, admiring the cut of his uniform. It felt good to be in an Imperial uniform again. The only imperfection was that the stately red and black uniform had full sleeves, while he preferred displaying his arms. As soon as he could, he would have a word with the ship’s quartermaster about the folly of not anticipating his desires.

“Terrence Sejanus Glover,” Shelby called as she stepped behind him. He played off being startled by the woman’s voice, one he hadn’t heard in years. He also forced himself not to react as her hands reached through his arms and massaged his chest. Terrence wasn’t sure if the woman had been wielding a dagger or not. “You always looked impressive in your uniform,” the woman said.

Glover turned to her and saw that the woman was naked. “I look even better out of it,” he smirked.

“You’re ready to go again?” Shelby’s expression was a mix of disbelief and desire.

“It has been a long time,” Terrence replied.

“Yeah, like what, for you, a day or so?”

“One man’s day, can be a lifetime for another,” Glover rejoined.

“There’s no time, not right now, anyway,” Shelby sauntered away from him. He admired her figure as the woman went into her walk-in closet. She put on her uniform, Glover admiring her all the while.

When Shelby turned, she asked, “What’s wrong?”

Terrence hadn’t been quick enough to hide his displeasure at the sight of her captain’s rank insignia. Shelby followed his eyes. “Is this going to be a problem?”

“No,” Terrence said. “I just…never thought you would make it to the center chair before me.”

Shelby smirked, “Well, you came close, if your story about almost knocking off Old Man Awokou is true.”

“Of course, it is,” Glover groused, annoyed she would disbelieve him. “My synapses are still fried from all my time I spent in the agony booth.”

Shelby walked over to him and touched his cheek. “It’s good to know the exterior looks as good as ever.”

Glover kissed her hand. “Right back at you.” He pulled the woman close to him and kissed her passionately, hungrily. Shelby matched his fire with her own.

They kissed and pawed each other for minutes, until the captain broke away, gasping for air. “We’re going to be late.”

“It can wait,” Terrence said, reaching for her again.

She sidestepped him. “It can’t,” she said, before straightening her tunic. “We don’t know if the Alliance is sending ships, hell, a whole armada our way.”

“I believe that story, almost as much as I believe this thing about the Bajoran orb,” Glover said. “How about you just hand it over and we head back to Imperial space. With the proper bribes, a murder here or there, you can even retain command of the Mayweather.”

“You were always more amenable after sex,” Shelby pursed her lips while shaking her head. “I was hoping this session would pound some sense into you.”

“I did the pounding,” Terrence quipped.

“Please,” Shelby pushed off against the man’s chest. “Once you see the orb, you’ll understand.”

“I guess I owe you something, for getting me out of that cage,” Terrence said. “Though I still intend to kill everyone onboard that pig Gorik’s vessel, your ‘friendships’ with these rebels be damned.”

Shelby shook her head. “Once you see the orb, we’ll revisit that.”

************************************************************************

Alliance Battlecruiser Falkein

Sector 04-70


“We have company,” Dal Pellet said, with extra sourness.

“On screen,” Corvinas said. The image shifted simply to more streaking stars. The gul turned around in her chair. “Now is not the time for levity dal,” the woman chided.

“Look closer,” Pellet suggested. The woman looked back at the viewer, squinting. She noticed strange pulses of energy, approaching fast.

“What’s that?” She demanded.

“Likely a Klingon vessel,” the first officer replied, “However the size is…odd. It’s too large to be a Bird-of-Prey, yet too small to be a Vor’cha or Negh’Var battlecruiser.”

Corvinas’s eyes narrowed. “A Bajoran vessel equipped with a Klingon cloak?”

Pellet shook his head. “It’s larger than any Bajoran warship.”

“A new vessel the Klingon Defense Force has sprung on us?” The science officer opined. Corvinas ignored the woman.

“This is most curious,” the gul said, steepling her fingers. “It appears we have someone unknown, skulking about, with doubtless ill-intent.”

“It’s the Klingons,” Pellet said with certainty. “Our instrumentation might be effecting our sensors, as well as interfering with their cloak.”

“That is the most…logical…likelihood,” Corvinas agreed, smiling at her own private joke. The Vulcan’s screams tickled the edges of her memory.

“Perhaps we should disabuse the Klingons of the notion that they can surprise us,” Pellet suggested.

“No,” Corvinas shook her head. “It’s obvious the fools don’t know we have uncovered them, so let’s wait until the moment is more advantageous.”

“If we delay they might figure out their cloaking device is not working properly,” Pellet said. The man was eager for blood, and he didn’t care from whom, and that concerned Corvinas. She didn’t want to pick a fight with the Klingons unless she had to. Tensions between the Empire and the Cardassian Union were already strained. Many in the Central Command chafed at being the junior partner in the Alliance and were galled that even lesser powers like Bajorans could vie for power and positions that should only be allowed for Klingons and Cardassians.

“We’ve got one war already, with these misguided slaves, let’s not ignite another with the Klingons,” Corvinas countered. She turned back around to glare at Pellet, until the man nodded in concession.

“Excellent,” she replied. “Pellet, keep an eye on our friends. Dalin Donat, prime our weapons in case the Klingons get any ideas.” After both acknowledged her orders, Corvinas said, “Now, shift the view screen forward again, as well as our main sensors. I don’t want to get so entangled by Klingon shenanigans that we hit a plasma cluster.”

Though the Klingons were still behind her, they remained foremost in her thoughts. The foreheads provided a new wrinkle to the mission, one that she would have to figure out how to deal with in addition to achieving victory and escaping with Falkein in mostly one piece.

Corvinas wasn’t sure she would be able to accomplish all three, and when she thought about it, compared to another session of holographic war, the woman wouldn’t have it any other way.

****************************************************************

 

[DarKush]

****************************************************************

ISS Travis Mayweather



The corridor was lined with soldiers, who gave prompt, crisp salutes as Terrence strode by. But not for him, but for Shelby, his ex-wife. Glover tried not to let it rankle as the some of the more ambitious and/or obsequious crewmen tried to outdo their compatriots in their rigid poses and lusty hails.

Shelby barely acknowledged them. The woman was too intent on reaching their destination: the ship’s conference room where the artifact and a gaggle of rebel so-called ‘leaders’ awaited them.

Glover couldn’t imagine how someone who had deposed their superior to take their spot wouldn’t bask in the adulation and fear of subordinates. It was what he hungered for, so he could be on the same pedestal as his siblings.

Octavia, being the eldest, it was little wonder that she already sat in a command chair, by promotion no less, and even greater honor. It was particularly galling that his younger brother Septimius was master of the Renegade, a frigate in the same class as the Mayweather.

A center chair, and perhaps even more, was waiting for Terrence, if only he betrayed Elizabeth. He glanced at the woman, and remembered last night, and then so many nights and days before, all those many years ago.

Someone among the Admiralty or the Imperial Court thought it made for a great jest to place both a Glover and a Shelby aboard the same vessel, the ISS Herakles, fresh out of the Academy.

Captain Schwarzkopf, the Herakles’s commanding officer, certainly had been taking bets on who would survive. But the nigh impossible happened, Terrence and Elizabeth fell for each other. Or maybe it was simply a bond drawn out of defiance, of their families’ dynastic ambitions and the leering arrogance of their Herakles crewmates.

Glover relished the memory of Schwarzkopf, looking Orion green with sickness, as he presided over their nuptials. For a period, even more than usual, both had had to watch their backs for crewmen enraged that they didn’t rake in a fortune over the lack of a demise.

But their spring barely lasted a season for reality came with the force of a winter maelstrom. Glover was offered a promotion on the Repulse and Shelby was lured by the siren call of Special Affairs. And things had been haywire for Terrence ever since.

So, perhaps, just perhaps, there was something to this mysterious, mystical orb, and the transformative effect Shelby claimed it had on her and others. Perhaps it’s just the universe setting things back the way they should’ve been. And maybe when it was all over, it would be Glover wearing the insignia and medals adorning his ex’s chest.

“I would like to think you’re looking at my chest, and not my medals,” Shelby smirked. The woman could always read his mind.

“Both…are alluring,” Terrence said. Elizabeth chuckled. “Well, keep your eyes on my chest. Those you can possess, unlike this vessel.”

Now Glover smirked, “Time will tell.”

Shelby shook her head. “Commander Braener would disagree with you.”

Terrence chuckled, “Who?”

Elizabeth touched his arm, a smile on her face. “You are incorrigible Sejanus.” Shelby was one of the few people he allowed to call him by his middle name. His historical namesake had held admirable ambition, but still had failed all the same. Sometimes Terrence wondered if his parents had named him after the executed Roman consul because they knew he would be the failure among their offspring.

As they reached the end of the long corridor, the turbolift doors opened. A dark-haired, pale young man stepped out. Terrence noticed the man was sweating profusely. He also noted the phasers in the man’s hand.

“Lieutenant Albert, why aren’t you on the bridge?” Shelby said coolly. Glover’s eyes darted around. He saw the closest guards had drawn their phasers.

But he wasn’t sure if they were aimed at this Albert fellow or at him and Shelby. Perhaps Braener was more formidable than Glover gave him credit.

“Captain Shelby, please step aside,” Albert said anxiously. He gestured with his firearm.

“What is this about son?” Shelby’s voice took on a maternal quality Terrence had never heard before.

“Captain, I don’t want to hurt you,” Albert replied. “Please get out of the way. This concerns him?” He pointed his weapon at Glover.

Terrence looked at the young man, his fear drenched in ice water. This wasn’t the first time he had been on the wrong end of a phaser, and he would make certain it wouldn’t be the last.

“Lieutenant, what is this about?” Shelby shifted to her command voice. “Commander Glover is my personal guest.”

“He’s…he’s much more than that,” Albert said. “You don’t even know who I am…do you, sir,” he added with condescension.

“Should I?” Terrence knew he shouldn’t antagonize the twitchy younger man, but he couldn’t help himself. He also couldn’t help but take his eyes off Albert to see what his confederates were doing. Both men were now blocking the corridor. Glover would either have to go through Albert or them.

“Of course, you wouldn’t,” Albert replied. “You didn’t even show for the memorial service. My father was on the Repulse!”

“I see,” Glover said, grimacing. It was only his family’s pull that kept him from being worm food along with Albert the Elder. But his career had been permanently mangled, his ascent interrupted. He was done paying the price.

“You have a problem with me,” Glover said, chucking a thumb at the two men behind him. “What do those goons have to do with it?”

“They are just to make sure you don’t run,” Albert replied.

Glover frowned, “I’m a Glover,” he said. “We never run.”

“Albert, stop this now,” Shelby ordered. “I’m in a charitable mood. Surrender now and I will only order all three of you subjected to the booth for an hour.”

“I’m sorry Captain,” the nervy man shook his head. His finger squeezed around the trigger. Glover roared, ready to go into death facing it head on. The bellowing distracted Albert just long enough for Terrence to rip free his dagger and throw it, the blade puncturing the man’s chest. Albert shrieked in agony. His phaser fired. Without thinking, Glover pushed Shelby out of the way, the beam singeing his uniform, cutting through fabric, and thankfully not flesh and bone.

Pressing against a squirming Shelby, Terrence made a mental note to not punish the quartermaster.

He pulled his weapon. Albert was down, blood bubbling up from around the hilt of Glover’s blade. The man was writhing in agony. Terrence grinned. His blade wasn’t a simple alloy. It was based on the dreaded Mobius blade technology and coated with nanomolecules that spread from the wound through the bloodstream, sending agonizing currents as they marched, like an army of fire ants. Death was painful and never as quick as the victim wished it to be.

Terrence admired his handiwork for a few moments, fascinated by the marionette movements of Albert, whose body was no longer his own. Shelby wiggled free from the man’s protection.

“You two, drop your weapons, and head to the booth. If you drag your feet, I will have the guard set it at full duration for the both of you,” the captain said.

Both men, their heads below their shoulders, dropped their weapons, the phasers clattering on the deck.

Shelby came to stand beside Glover and watch as the man was eaten alive from within. His veins bulged and were fire-orange, which showed the progress of the nanomolecules.

“Mobius blade,” the captain said. Terrence nodded. Albert could only wretch now, his throat pregnant with the nanomolecules.

“Terrence we have an appointment to keep,” Shelby said after a few moments.

“You don’t want to watch this?” Glover was surprised, and disappointed. “This man just tried to kill me, and likely would’ve hurt you to get to me, despite what he said.”

The captain shook her head. “No, not Joshua.”

“Okay, what about the other two then? Why they hell did they sign on to such a cockamamie scheme?”

Shelby pondered that, her soft lips drawing into a tight line. Glover restrained himself from stealing a kiss. “I don’t know,” she admitted.

“Seems like someone else might have been pulling their strings than a sad sack like Albert,” Glover nudged the dying man with a boot.

“I think you’re right,” Shelby said.

“Any idea who?” Terrence asked while reaching down to pluck the knife from Albert’s chest. He wiped the blood on the shuddering man’s sleeve before tucking it back beneath his red sash.

“Braener is too obvious a culprit,” Shelby said, tapping her chin.

“Sometimes the most obvious choice is the correct one,” Glover suggested.

“Yes,” she conceded, “But I feel he would want to kill me himself, he’s just that kind of sadistic.”

“Perhaps it’s a good thing that fate brought us back together again, so I can watch your back,” Glover said.

“And who’s going to you as you’re watching my back?” Shelby said, laughing.

“Fair point,” Terrence admitted. He glanced down at the lamentable Albert. The man was barely moving now, though he was still alive.

He stepped over him and activated the door to the turbolift. He gave a short, though grandiose bow and gestured for Shelby to enter. “After you Mon Capitaine”.

Shelby shook her head as she stepped over Albert and entered the lift. She glanced at the twitching man once more before the doors closed on him, and then she forgot him altogether.

******************************************************************



ISS Alexander

Sector 04-70



“Cardassian vessel is conducting another sensor sweep,” Murakawa announced from the operations console.

Hudson was on the edge of the seat, gripping the riding crop. “Back off, back off,” he said quickly. Ensign Auguste took the proverbial foot off the brakes.

Everyone held their breath as the Cardassians completed their sweep. “Are they powering their weapons?” Hudson asked Dryer. Before the woman could answer, he added, “Are they coming about?”

“No sir,” the woman said crisply, “to both questions.”

“The sweep could be innocuous, procedural,” Murakawa offered.

“I don’t believe in coincidences,” Hudson retorted. He contacted Engineering. Before Bixby could speak, the captain said, “What’s the status of the cloaking device?”

“Its operating within normal…” Bixby began.

“Check it again,” Hudson ordered. As the ship voyaged deeper into the sector, toward the whirl of plasma storms, Alexander’s systems were already being impacted. The Klingon cloaking device, already incompatible with Starfleet technology, could be especially vulnerable.

Long minutes passed, Hudson still on edge, the swagger stick in his hand somehow not broken in two yet.

A light on his armrest blinked. He activated it. “Ah sir,” Bixby began. The man sounded uncharacteristically contrite. And hesitant.

“On with it,” the captain urged.

“Ah yes,” the chief engineer cleared his throat. “Sir, the cloak is radiating at a slight subspace variance. It appears only to occur at warp speed. When we were at impulse there were no such readings.”

“They know we are here,” Auguste voiced what was in the captain’s mind. He frowned at the younger man.

“If that’s so, then why haven’t they fired on us yet?” Commander Dryer was openly perplexed, and disappointed.

“Correct the oversight immediately Bixby,” Hudson snarled.

“Captain,” Murakawa said quickly, “I don’t think Mr. Bixby should.”

“Oh?” The captain glared at the woman. “Explain yourself.”

“Commander Dryer raised a good question,” the first officer said. “Like the ensign, I do believe they know we are following them, but I speculate that they don’t know who we really are.”

“Excuse me?” Hudson demanded clarification.

“Those readings, are of a Klingon cloaking device, an ally vessel,” Murakawa pointed out. “The likely reason they haven’t fired upon us yet is they think we are a Klingon ship.”

The captain pondered that for a moment. He warmed to the idea. “A Klingon ship under cloak for some reason,” he smiled at the idea. “And why would they assault an ally? We are one big happy fleet after all.”

“Precisely sir,” Murakawa nodded.

Glover looked down at his armrest communicator. “You heard all that Bixby?”

“Yes sir,” the man was prompt.

“Then maintain things as they were but keep an eye on that cloak for any other peculiarities, anything that might give away our true identity.”

“Aye, aye sir,” the engineer said.

“And once this over, we’ll revisit your ignorance of Klingon cloaking technology,” the captain promised.

The man was much less swift this time. “Of…course, sir.”

“Get back to work,” Hudson slapped the communicator off. He shifted in his chair to pin Dryer with a hard look. “The nanosecond those snakeheads even look like they have figured who we are out, I want them atomized.”

“Yes sir,” the woman said robustly.

“We don’t need them to find Shelby,” Hudson said, sitting back in the captain’s chair-his chair. “But they can be the first to encounter any storms of other cosmic phenomena along the way, a battering ram, and a likely distraction while we reacquire what we came for.”

“Captain Shelby sir?” Murakawa asked.

Hudson didn’t answer her. He didn’t even look back at the woman. Instead he smiled.

***************************************************************************

 

[CeJay]

Shelby and Terrence, together at last.

And what a team they make.

 

[DarKush]

************************************************************************************************

…. Terrence was literally beside himself. The other man wearing his face was down on his knees, cradling Shelby. The woman was bloodied and limp in his arms. The other Glover was distraught.

There were two other Terrans there, a dark-haired brown man with an intriguing facial tattoo and a tall, lithe pale blonde woman. There were words between them, but Terrence could hardly hear them. It sounded like they were talking through water. Somehow Terrence was on another plane of existence, a spectator to his own life, or a life that had yet to be.

The other humans left Glover alone with Shelby. His doppelganger rushed around the ship. It was then that Terrence noticed the ship was shuddering, with some consoles on fire while others were as dead as the other Shelby.

After Glover found whatever he was looking for he went back to Shelby. He knelt down by the woman, and continued stroking her face, muttering to himself, with his eyes closed. Terrence didn’t have to hear what the other Glover was saying to understand that the man was preparing himself.

It didn’t take long for Terrence to figure out what the man had been preparing himself for. Several shafts of light resolved into a gaggle of Alliance soldiers, a mix of Klingons, Cardassians, and one Bajoran. The auburn-haired Bajoran female was as grim as her gray uniform.

There was a look of recognition in the Bajoran’s eyes. She knew the other Glover, somehow. But he didn’t know her. When one of the Cardassian goons went to clobber Glover, the Bajoran stopped her. Words were exchanged, and then Terrence got quite the shock.

The other Glover opened his tattered tunic. He had a bomb. Terrence was as surprised as the Bajoran and her lackeys.

Terrence would never sacrifice himself. He would fight to the death. This…Glover…wore his face but could not have been him.

“What kind of madness is this?” He demanded, looking around him, searching for the puppeteer manipulating his thoughts. “Is this one of those infernal Ferengi devices?!” He raged, painful memories flickering of the thought maker he had once been subjected to. “I beat it once, I’ll beat it again!” He promised.

There was an intense, all-consuming brightness as the alternate Glover’s life went up like a Magna Roma candle.


…. It was another Glover. This time, this Glover was thankfully in a uniform, even one that looked like Imperial garb, though the insignia was not that of the Terran Empire and on the opposite breast, and the tunic was bereft of medals.


Either this Glover was an undistinguished soldier or achievements were marked by something else in this other reality. Instead of medals, this Glover wore a silver harness. Though the man was seated, Terrence saw the phaser sticking out of a holster on his hip. The uniforms reminded Terrence of the old Imperial uniforms, with black shoulders and division colors on the tunics. However, the collar was closed, giving the man’s appearance a more militaristic air even than Imperial outfits.

This Glover sat across from another Shelby. His Shelby also wore command red, along with the harness and phaser accoutrements. Around them the large mess hall was abuzz. Terrence was confused and disconcerted to see as many aliens as humans, and most wore the same uniforms. They were in the same fleet. And even more surprising they appeared to be equals, talking, laughing, and even eating together.

With this alternate Glover and Shelby their plates were mostly untouched, and their steaming mugs were still full. Even though they were surrounded by people, they paid little attention to them, or each other. Both looked up only occasionally from the PADDs they clutched.

Though their distraction did not deter their tablemates. Terrence was surprised to see Jasmine, of all people, at the other Glover’s side. Just like on Kill Devil, Jasmine wore operations gold, but this alternate Jasmine was far more affectionate than the woman who had shared his bed. Her arm was wrapped around his doppelganger, and every few seconds she pressed against him, and kissed his cheek or whispered into his ear. He saw the twinkling on Jasmine’s fourth finger and then looked harder at his counterpart and saw a ring. Terrence blinked and then rubbed his eyes. He couldn’t believe it. In this reality, or whatever fever dream it was, maybe an elaborate holographic recreation, Glover and Jasmine were married.

And while this Shelby wore no ring but lean, chestnut-haired woman sitting very close to her to be just an acquaintance didn’t seem to mind The woman also was in an Imperial uniform, command red as well.

Terrence really wished he could hear what they were saying, and then suddenly, he could:

Jasmine: “Terrence, we barely spend anytime together as it is, and now that we have this short shore leave all you can do is look at your damn PADD.”

The chestnut-haired woman smiled: “I’ve got the same problem Jasmine.”

Shelby’s head jerked up. She gave the disgruntled woman a quick peck on the cheek. “How is that Erika?”

Erika shrugged. “I had hoped for…you know, more than that.”

“There’s no time,” Glover was brusque. “It’s fortunate that all of our ships were in the sector at the same time.”

Jasmine frowned. “This damn war,” she shook her head. Terrence wished he could ask about the war. Who were they fighting and why? From the harried and hangdog expressions, he saw weighing down so among the throng, he knew that the Terrans were losing.

“Are the rumors true?” Jasmine’s expression was now fearful, “That the Federation might actually lose?”

Erika gasped, “Could the Federation really fall?” What was this Federation the women were yammering on about? What had happened to the Terran Empire in this reality.

“You know better than to listen to a bunch of gossip,” Glover said too brusquely. The man was clearly lying. Terrence didn’t need to inhabit the same skin or share the same mind to easily see that, and it appeared that his tablemates did as well.

“If that’s the case, then Archer IV meant nothing,” Shelby backed Glover nonetheless. “It was our first real major victory in months.”

“Years,” Erika corrected her.

“But it didn’t slow down the Klingons one iota,” Glover groused. Klingons? Terrence’s eyes widened at that. Whatever the reality, the foreheads stood in the way of Terran destiny. “So, we must do everything we can, seek out any advantage, just to keep our heads above water at this point,” Glover added. He looked to his Jasmine. His expression was remorseful. “I’m sorry Jazz, but Captain Rixx has a deadline on these status reports. There’s no rest for the weary,” he smiled weakly.

Jasmine’s rolled her eyes. “Or the wicked.”

“It’s the Klingons that are wicked.” It was the second time Terrence blinked. It was the auburn-haired Bajoran woman again. But this time wearing a Terran uniform. She clapped Glover on the shoulder and he moved over for her. He even smiled at her. Terrence’s stomach curdled.

“It’s been a long time Ojana,” Glover said. The woman nodded tersely. She placed the glass of amber-colored fluid she was holding on the table.

“I wish this could be under happier circumstances,” the Bajoran said. She hunched her shoulders and everyone at the table leaned in her to hear her explanation. Terrence caught himself doing the same thing.

“What’s happened Pell?” Glover asked.

“It’s the Enterprise,” the woman shook her head sadly. She wiped a tear from her eye. Jasmine and Erika both gasped while Glover and Shelby glowered. Terrence thought back to the ISS Enterprise and its egomaniac captain, Picard. He couldn’t imagine any Bajoran weeping for them, unless they were crying out in pain, or for vengeance.

The Bajoran paused, pain contorting her features. “What’s happened Lieutenant?” Shelby’s voice was gentle, but her tone insistent. The woman could be just as demanding no matter the universe.

The Bajoran looked morosely at them all, and then took a drink to fortify herself. “It…it was destroyed, in battle with a Klingon fleet,” the woman answered. And then she looked up, as if seeing past them, and glaring right at Terrence. “And the fleet is on its way here, to Starbase 105…”

…The bloodthirst was enviable, but everything else was wrong. Terrence was looking at another version of himself. This one, crouched over, ready to pounce. One eye was covered by a patch bolted onto his face, his other eye spewed venom. He was bald, his face a patchwork of scars. His ripped arms were bare, but the bloodstained, metallic armor he wore was abominable. It was Klingon.

Glover rubbed his eyes, and shook his head, but the nightmarish image remained. This Glover, garbed in barbarian rags also clutched one of their three-bladed d’k tahg. He had seen the dagger slice through many of his colleagues in the Imperial Fleet.

The d’k tahg was dripping blood. Terrence followed the drip. His heart thudded. There was a human woman, mortally wounded. It was the woman from the other reality he had witnessed. “Erika,” he muttered. They were on the bridge of a starship. Dead bodies and burning, blackened consoles encircled them.

“You’re going to pay for that,” Terrence’s heart thudded again at the sound of the pained voice. It was Shelby. The woman was pushed into the room by a larger, muscled Klingon woman. The woman, also in a similar uniform, threw Shelby at the dying woman. Elizabeth fell just short of her, but she crawled quickly to the woman. It was almost like the reality where another Glover had cradled his Shelby. This Elizabeth whispered to the gasping Erika, while Glover grabbed the Klingon woman and kissed her so violently that when they broke apart there was a thin trail of blood between them.

“She’s the last survivor my husband,” the Klingon woman said. Terrence was appalled by that. He had never entertained such a thought. He couldn’t imagine there was an iota of desire in him for a Klingon. But yet, this Glover had not only sexed the woman, but married her.

“Perhaps she’ll be more forthcoming than that one, Krastil,” Glover nudged the dying woman with his boot. She twitched in pain and Shelby glared up at him.

“You’ll pay for this traitor!” She spat. The idea roiled him. Had this Glover sold out to the Alliance? Could this be his future? No, he shook his head, it could never be. He wouldn’t allow it.

Terrence paid closer attention. Shelby wore a tattered, red and black one-piece uniform, which reminded him once more of the old Terran uniforms. She bore no insignia. Erika wore a red jacket with black trim over a similarly styled, yet shredded gray and black tunic. The combadge on the jacket looked no different than the reality where he had been sharing a meal with the two women, yet everything else was different.

“Your captain is dying,” Glover replied. “Do you wish to join her?”

“I would rather die a thousand times than tell you were Admiral Hanson is,” Shelby declared.

Glover laughed at her defiance. “Did you hear that Par’Mach’kai?” The alien word coming from a man with his lips offended Terrence. “‘Admiral’ Hanson, as if there is some legitimacy to their rebellion, their little ‘Starfleet.’”

Krastil laughed heartily at that. Shelby flushed with anger. Terrence had seen that emotional response more times than had cared to. Terrence had always known it was better to be in another room, or preferably space sector when it occurred, but in this reality, he didn’t know how things would play out.

“She acts like she has a choice.” Krastil jibed before moving quickly; she dug into the woman’s hair and yanked her neck back. The Klingon drew a long, wickedly curved blade.

“My blade is thirsty for blood,” she said, holding it aloft. Shelby, while wincing, continued glaring at Glover, challenging him.

“Hold,” Glover ordered. His wife growled low in her throat.

“Hanson, the butcher of Ganalda IV, and one of the key authors of this little revolt, is a criminal. As soon as he and the rest of the terrorists are apprehended the tensions between Klingons and humans will ease,” Glover told Shelby. “Think of this as advancing peace.”

“I would never betray my friends! You see what I’m wearing?” Shelby snarled.

“Not for long,” Krastil brought the blade down.

“Krastil!” Glover yelled, but it was too late. Expertly, the Klingon cut a seam from the pelvis to the collar bone of the uniform. Both Glover and Shelby were too stunned to move. Krastil was not. She ripped her hand out of Shelby’s hair to grab the back of her uniform and pull it until it tore. Shelby fell forward, clutching the ends of the torn uniform, to cover herself as best as possible.

The woman looked up at Glover. Tears began flowing but hate shined through them. “How could you?” She asked. “We’re human. They’re Klingons!”

Glover shook his head. “That’s where you are wrong Commander Shelby. There are no Klingons, no humans, only predator, and prey.”

He trudged over to Shelby and grabbed the woman roughly by her chin and looked directly into her eyes. “I was raised by Klingons; Garrett’s folly saw to that. I am loyal only to the Empire!”

“Do your worst,” Elizabeth was defiant.

Glover merely grinned. “Krastil,” he barked, “Prepare the mind-sifter!” ….

 

[DavidFalkayn]

The different relationships between Terrence and Liz across universes: Spouses...lovers...friends...maybe even in a few universes antagonists. You did a great job in catching all the nuances and quirks of these two characters.

 

[DarKush]

The different relationships between Terrence and Liz across universes: Spouses...lovers...friends...maybe even in a few universes antagonists. You did a great job in catching all the nuances and quirks of these two characters.

DF, thanks so much for reading and commenting. Your comments convinced me to add more scenes. I have altered this recent passage, and added another, because I hadn't considered having Glover and Shelby as antagonists in other realities. My intention had been to show different facets of their friendship in other realities.