Tales of the USS Bluefin - 10: "No Honor Among Thieves"
- Thread starter TheLoneRedshirt
- Start date
I'm impressed. There are in fact Starfleet Intelligence operatives out there who do manage to get valuable information? This is not a myth then? Too bad that it comes to late for the Amberjack.
A great segment.
An odd thought that struck me while reading this: Imagine all the hilarious and un-pc insights one might get from collecting all those deleted log entires. Now that would be a great little nugget!
A great segment.
An odd thought that struck me while reading this: Imagine all the hilarious and un-pc insights one might get from collecting all those deleted log entires. Now that would be a great little nugget!
Chapter Seven
Stardate 54334.3 (5 May 2377)
Durniv Family Compound
Verex III – The Orion Homeworld
The Durniv clan’s mountain home was more of a fortress than villa. The yellow-orange stone edifice was built into the side of a 1800 meter peak, with access only by air or a series of secret tunnels. It was a marvelous feat of engineering, built some 500 years earlier at the expense of much money and many lives.
Ahmet’sur Wozkan Durniv, patriarch of the Durniv Syndicate family, stared out the picture window of his study, which provided a breath-taking view of the Runjil Mountains. Faint tendrils of white snow draped across the orange rocky peaks. Usually, Wozkan found solace from the majestic view but not today. Wozkan was worried about his son, Krixo, the youngest of his children and Ahmet of the Fle’jurn. Three standard days had passed without contact from the ship or his son. Durniv knew that there were any number of possible explanations for losing contact with the ship, but his instincts told him that something was very, very wrong.
Wozkan Durniv was something of an oddity among the Orion Syndicate clans. He was well-educated, holding a master of business administration degree from Harvard’s Rigel VII campus. Additionally, he was devoted to his family – not merely as a clan boss, but as a loving father. Finally, Durniv had carefully crafted a well-polished façade of respectability, enjoying the company of politicians, business leaders, and key influencers around the quadrant. To be sure, the Durniv family was involved in illegal and unsavory activities – but these were well-hidden by his numerous legitimate business ventures and charitable causes. He was well-cultured, choosing his clothing, villas and art work with care. He eschewed the garish clothing and ostentatious trappings of his peers. Durniv had little regard for the other Ahmet’surs of the Syndicate while his own success and demeanor earned him both envy, respect and a healthy modicum of fear.
Wozkan poured water into a glass from a crystal carafe and took his seat behind his large desk. He sought to distract his mind from concern for Krixo by going over the latest financial statements from one of his legitimate businesses. His desk terminal chimed, signaling an incoming message.
The Orion hesitated, then pressed the reply stud. The image of a well-dressed human male appeared on the screen. Wozkan knew from the man’s expression that the news was not good.
“Tell me,” he ordered.
“I’m sorry, Mr. Durniv, but I have grave news. I just learned from my source within the Border Service that the Fle’jurn was discovered adrift. Your son . . . the entire crew . . . was found dead.”
Wozkan closed his eyes. “How?”
The human shook his head. “My source did not know. Apparently there’s a tight security lid on this. I may need to apply more leverage.”
“Do what you need to do, Drake. I want to know what happened to my son. More important, I want to know who is responsible. Use any resources necessary, do I make myself clear?” His voice was calm and controlled, belying the grief and anger that was just below the surface.
Drake nodded, his expression somber. “Yes sir – and my condolences on your loss. I genuinely liked Ahmet Krixo.”
A sad smile flickered across Wozkan’s dark red features. “Thank you, Drake. Keep me posted on your progress.” The Ahmet’sur closed the channel and leaned back in his heavily padded chair.
How do I tell Krixo’s mother? He wondered.
* * *
Stardate 54334.6 (5 May 2377)
USS Bluefin
Molari Badlands
The luxury yacht appeared on the main viewscreen, though interference from ionic activity degraded the image. Still, the view was clear enough to see that the vessel was intact and in remarkably good shape.
“Talk to me, Mr. Bane,” ordered Akinola.
“I am reading power on the ship, Captain, but at very low levels. Navigational deflectors are active but shields are off-line.” He paused before adding. “No life signs.”
Akinola nodded grimly. “Radiation levels?”
“Elevated but within tolerable levels. Whatever happened to them – it wasn’t the ion surge.”
The Captain glanced at Commander Strauss. “This scenario seems a bit too familiar, XO.”
Inga nodded, her attention still on the viewscreen. “I was thinking the same thing. The plague again?”
“Only one way to know for sure.” He tapped his combadge. “Bridge to sickbay.”
“Castille here, go ahead.”
“Doc, we found the yacht. No life signs and radiation doesn’t seem to be a factor. We might be facing another case of Antarean Plague.”
There was a momentary pause before the CMO answered. “Can you beam over a probe?”
“Negative – transporters won’t work in this soup. We’ll have to send over a boarding party on a Stallion.”
“Make sure they’re wearing environmental suits – I can have a decontamination station set up on the hangar deck just to be on the safe side." He paused, "I better go along with the boarding party.”
Akinola nodded. “We’re on the same page, Doc. Get whatever you need set-up on the hangar deck then see Senior Chief Brin about getting suited up. Lt. Sarnek will go along as your pilot.
“Understood. Give me a half-hour to make preparations.”
* * *
Fifty minutes later, Stallion 01 exited the Bluefin’s hangar bay and banked around toward the drifting yacht.
Lt. Sarnek held the utilitarian craft on course as energy crackled along the hull. Castille glanced up uneasily.
“So, um, this thing is designed to handle this type of stuff, right?”
Solly grinned at the CMO through his helmet visor. “Hell, Doc – I once went through a force three ion-storm in one of these things and lived to tell about it. This is nothing.”
The Stallion rocked violently, pulled sharply by gravimetric shear. Castille’s face was pale. “Nothing, huh?”
The grin remained on the Red Orion’s face. “Well, maybe a little more than nothing.”
“Senior Chief – please man the tractor beam controls,” ordered Sarnek from the pilot’s seat.
Solly activated the Stallion’s graviton beam emitters. “Lot ‘o crap to burn through,” he muttered. “Can you get us in a little closer?”
“I am endeavoring to do so,” replied the Vulcan officer. “However, there is a 19.3% chance that I could collide with the yacht due to the unpredictable nature of the ionic eddies.”
“Still pretty good odds,” muttered Brin. “Just a little closer, Lieutenant – I’ve almost got a tractor lock.”
Sarnek deftly applied the aft thrusters, while keeping a close eye on their approach speed.
“Tractor lock,” announced Solly, a satisfied note in his voice.
“Thrusters off-line,” replied Sarnek. “You have the ship.”
The Senior Chief expertly drew the Stallion and yacht together with the tractor beams, lining up their docking ring with the yacht’s hatch. There was a slight scraping and groaning sound, then a loud ratcheting noise.
“We have a good seal – docking collar is extended and pressurizing,” announced Solly.
Sarnek tapped the comlink on his e-suit. “Stallion zero-one to Bluefin. We have successfully docked with the yacht and are preparing to board.”
“Acknowledged. Bluefin standing by,” came the voice of Lt. Bane.
Sarnek and Brin stood and Dr. Castille followed suit. The CMO noticed that Solly wore a phaser. He pointed at the weapon.
“Do you really think that’s necessary? There’s no life readings on that ship.”
Brin smiled but there was a feral gleam in his eye. “Just habit, Doc. Never hurts to be prepared.”
Lt. Sarnek opened the Stallion’s hatch. There was about three meters of crawl-space through the docking collar to reach the yacht. Brin went first, crawling on his hands and knees. He took a small device from his belt and attached it to the yacht’s airlock. There was a moment’s wait before a green indicator flashed on the device and the hatch slid open. Solly entered, followed by Sarnek and Dr. Castille.
The three men looked around the luxurious central cabin of the yacht, which was deserted. There were, however, signs of a struggle and two dark patches on the thick carpet – one was dark red, the other a deep blue. Castille activated his tri-corder.
“No readings of plague are evident. But that may mean it was present and has dissipated.”
Brin moved forward toward the flight deck. He called back a moment later. “No one’s up here.”
“Search aft, Senior Chief,” ordered Sarnek. “I will go below and check the engineering space. Doctor, please continue your scans.”
Brin and Sarnek left to continue their search. Castille knelt and scanned the stains on the carpet. A small object lying near one of the stains caught his eye. He frowned and pulled tweezers from his medikit. The object looked like a clump of hair, but it was knotted in an intricate pattern.
Brin and Sarnek returned quickly. “It would seem the ship is abandoned,” remarked the Lieutenant. “Yet, the escape pod is still in place.”
“No way they could have beamed off,” muttered Solly, “at least, not around here.” He noticed the object that Castille was holding. “What did you find, Doc?”
“Blood, for one thing,” he said – gesturing to the stains on the carpet. “The blue is Bolian – the red is human. There’s not enough there to indicate the extent of injuries, though – could be minor, could be worse.” He held up the knotted hair. “Found this on the deck, but I have no idea what it is.”
Brin’s face was grim. “I do – it’s a Nausican death knot. They like to make totems that they braid in their hair – shows how many people they’ve killed, how many battles won . . . stuff like that.”
“I don’t suppose it’s something you could buy at a souvenir shop?” asked Castille.
Solly shook his head. “No way.” He glanced at Sarnek. “Pirates.”
“Based on the evidence, I must concur,” replied the Vulcan.
“What do you think happened to the passengers?” asked Castille, looking at the Orion NCO.
“If pirates were involved, nothing good, Doc, – I can promise you that!”
* * *
Stardate 54334.3 (5 May 2377)
Durniv Family Compound
Verex III – The Orion Homeworld
The Durniv clan’s mountain home was more of a fortress than villa. The yellow-orange stone edifice was built into the side of a 1800 meter peak, with access only by air or a series of secret tunnels. It was a marvelous feat of engineering, built some 500 years earlier at the expense of much money and many lives.
Ahmet’sur Wozkan Durniv, patriarch of the Durniv Syndicate family, stared out the picture window of his study, which provided a breath-taking view of the Runjil Mountains. Faint tendrils of white snow draped across the orange rocky peaks. Usually, Wozkan found solace from the majestic view but not today. Wozkan was worried about his son, Krixo, the youngest of his children and Ahmet of the Fle’jurn. Three standard days had passed without contact from the ship or his son. Durniv knew that there were any number of possible explanations for losing contact with the ship, but his instincts told him that something was very, very wrong.
Wozkan Durniv was something of an oddity among the Orion Syndicate clans. He was well-educated, holding a master of business administration degree from Harvard’s Rigel VII campus. Additionally, he was devoted to his family – not merely as a clan boss, but as a loving father. Finally, Durniv had carefully crafted a well-polished façade of respectability, enjoying the company of politicians, business leaders, and key influencers around the quadrant. To be sure, the Durniv family was involved in illegal and unsavory activities – but these were well-hidden by his numerous legitimate business ventures and charitable causes. He was well-cultured, choosing his clothing, villas and art work with care. He eschewed the garish clothing and ostentatious trappings of his peers. Durniv had little regard for the other Ahmet’surs of the Syndicate while his own success and demeanor earned him both envy, respect and a healthy modicum of fear.
Wozkan poured water into a glass from a crystal carafe and took his seat behind his large desk. He sought to distract his mind from concern for Krixo by going over the latest financial statements from one of his legitimate businesses. His desk terminal chimed, signaling an incoming message.
The Orion hesitated, then pressed the reply stud. The image of a well-dressed human male appeared on the screen. Wozkan knew from the man’s expression that the news was not good.
“Tell me,” he ordered.
“I’m sorry, Mr. Durniv, but I have grave news. I just learned from my source within the Border Service that the Fle’jurn was discovered adrift. Your son . . . the entire crew . . . was found dead.”
Wozkan closed his eyes. “How?”
The human shook his head. “My source did not know. Apparently there’s a tight security lid on this. I may need to apply more leverage.”
“Do what you need to do, Drake. I want to know what happened to my son. More important, I want to know who is responsible. Use any resources necessary, do I make myself clear?” His voice was calm and controlled, belying the grief and anger that was just below the surface.
Drake nodded, his expression somber. “Yes sir – and my condolences on your loss. I genuinely liked Ahmet Krixo.”
A sad smile flickered across Wozkan’s dark red features. “Thank you, Drake. Keep me posted on your progress.” The Ahmet’sur closed the channel and leaned back in his heavily padded chair.
How do I tell Krixo’s mother? He wondered.
* * *
Stardate 54334.6 (5 May 2377)
USS Bluefin
Molari Badlands
The luxury yacht appeared on the main viewscreen, though interference from ionic activity degraded the image. Still, the view was clear enough to see that the vessel was intact and in remarkably good shape.
“Talk to me, Mr. Bane,” ordered Akinola.
“I am reading power on the ship, Captain, but at very low levels. Navigational deflectors are active but shields are off-line.” He paused before adding. “No life signs.”
Akinola nodded grimly. “Radiation levels?”
“Elevated but within tolerable levels. Whatever happened to them – it wasn’t the ion surge.”
The Captain glanced at Commander Strauss. “This scenario seems a bit too familiar, XO.”
Inga nodded, her attention still on the viewscreen. “I was thinking the same thing. The plague again?”
“Only one way to know for sure.” He tapped his combadge. “Bridge to sickbay.”
“Castille here, go ahead.”
“Doc, we found the yacht. No life signs and radiation doesn’t seem to be a factor. We might be facing another case of Antarean Plague.”
There was a momentary pause before the CMO answered. “Can you beam over a probe?”
“Negative – transporters won’t work in this soup. We’ll have to send over a boarding party on a Stallion.”
“Make sure they’re wearing environmental suits – I can have a decontamination station set up on the hangar deck just to be on the safe side." He paused, "I better go along with the boarding party.”
Akinola nodded. “We’re on the same page, Doc. Get whatever you need set-up on the hangar deck then see Senior Chief Brin about getting suited up. Lt. Sarnek will go along as your pilot.
“Understood. Give me a half-hour to make preparations.”
* * *
Fifty minutes later, Stallion 01 exited the Bluefin’s hangar bay and banked around toward the drifting yacht.
Lt. Sarnek held the utilitarian craft on course as energy crackled along the hull. Castille glanced up uneasily.
“So, um, this thing is designed to handle this type of stuff, right?”
Solly grinned at the CMO through his helmet visor. “Hell, Doc – I once went through a force three ion-storm in one of these things and lived to tell about it. This is nothing.”
The Stallion rocked violently, pulled sharply by gravimetric shear. Castille’s face was pale. “Nothing, huh?”
The grin remained on the Red Orion’s face. “Well, maybe a little more than nothing.”
“Senior Chief – please man the tractor beam controls,” ordered Sarnek from the pilot’s seat.
Solly activated the Stallion’s graviton beam emitters. “Lot ‘o crap to burn through,” he muttered. “Can you get us in a little closer?”
“I am endeavoring to do so,” replied the Vulcan officer. “However, there is a 19.3% chance that I could collide with the yacht due to the unpredictable nature of the ionic eddies.”
“Still pretty good odds,” muttered Brin. “Just a little closer, Lieutenant – I’ve almost got a tractor lock.”
Sarnek deftly applied the aft thrusters, while keeping a close eye on their approach speed.
“Tractor lock,” announced Solly, a satisfied note in his voice.
“Thrusters off-line,” replied Sarnek. “You have the ship.”
The Senior Chief expertly drew the Stallion and yacht together with the tractor beams, lining up their docking ring with the yacht’s hatch. There was a slight scraping and groaning sound, then a loud ratcheting noise.
“We have a good seal – docking collar is extended and pressurizing,” announced Solly.
Sarnek tapped the comlink on his e-suit. “Stallion zero-one to Bluefin. We have successfully docked with the yacht and are preparing to board.”
“Acknowledged. Bluefin standing by,” came the voice of Lt. Bane.
Sarnek and Brin stood and Dr. Castille followed suit. The CMO noticed that Solly wore a phaser. He pointed at the weapon.
“Do you really think that’s necessary? There’s no life readings on that ship.”
Brin smiled but there was a feral gleam in his eye. “Just habit, Doc. Never hurts to be prepared.”
Lt. Sarnek opened the Stallion’s hatch. There was about three meters of crawl-space through the docking collar to reach the yacht. Brin went first, crawling on his hands and knees. He took a small device from his belt and attached it to the yacht’s airlock. There was a moment’s wait before a green indicator flashed on the device and the hatch slid open. Solly entered, followed by Sarnek and Dr. Castille.
The three men looked around the luxurious central cabin of the yacht, which was deserted. There were, however, signs of a struggle and two dark patches on the thick carpet – one was dark red, the other a deep blue. Castille activated his tri-corder.
“No readings of plague are evident. But that may mean it was present and has dissipated.”
Brin moved forward toward the flight deck. He called back a moment later. “No one’s up here.”
“Search aft, Senior Chief,” ordered Sarnek. “I will go below and check the engineering space. Doctor, please continue your scans.”
Brin and Sarnek left to continue their search. Castille knelt and scanned the stains on the carpet. A small object lying near one of the stains caught his eye. He frowned and pulled tweezers from his medikit. The object looked like a clump of hair, but it was knotted in an intricate pattern.
Brin and Sarnek returned quickly. “It would seem the ship is abandoned,” remarked the Lieutenant. “Yet, the escape pod is still in place.”
“No way they could have beamed off,” muttered Solly, “at least, not around here.” He noticed the object that Castille was holding. “What did you find, Doc?”
“Blood, for one thing,” he said – gesturing to the stains on the carpet. “The blue is Bolian – the red is human. There’s not enough there to indicate the extent of injuries, though – could be minor, could be worse.” He held up the knotted hair. “Found this on the deck, but I have no idea what it is.”
Brin’s face was grim. “I do – it’s a Nausican death knot. They like to make totems that they braid in their hair – shows how many people they’ve killed, how many battles won . . . stuff like that.”
“I don’t suppose it’s something you could buy at a souvenir shop?” asked Castille.
Solly shook his head. “No way.” He glanced at Sarnek. “Pirates.”
“Based on the evidence, I must concur,” replied the Vulcan.
“What do you think happened to the passengers?” asked Castille, looking at the Orion NCO.
“If pirates were involved, nothing good, Doc, – I can promise you that!”
* * *
Oh nicely done. Love the procedure of the ship routine and away team. They understand this is going to be a complicated mission. Well done.
Bluefin picks up its first trace of our missing troublemaker-teens. The question now is, will they be in time to save their sorry behinds? And what will they do once faced with the deadly and uncurable plague?
Also, it appears the Orions will not take the deaths of their people (and familly members) lying down. More trouble for Akinola and co?
Great stuff, looking forward to more.
Also, it appears the Orions will not take the deaths of their people (and familly members) lying down. More trouble for Akinola and co?
Great stuff, looking forward to more.
The pirates have the kids, the Orion has the anger/resources, and Akinola has his crew.
Let's get ready to ruuumble
Let's get ready to ruuumble
This is shaping up nicely--Orions, pirates, a bioengineered bug, the Bluefin, and a bunch of spoiled joyriding teenagers in way over their head--as Xeris said, Let's get ready to ruumble...
Chapter Eight
Stardate 54334.8 (5 May 2377)
USS Bluefin
Molari Badlands
“Captain’s Log – Supplemental: The initial search of the abandoned yacht indicates the likelihood of pirate involvement. If so, we find ourselves with a good news / bad news scenario. The good news is that the pirates likely took the four teenagers alive – either for ransom or to sell to slavers. The bad news is finding them will be extremely difficult unless we find a lead. At this point, we don’t have a description of the pirate’s ship or a heading. And, with the amount of lead time they have, they could be in any of a dozen systems, either hiding or selling their hostages to others. Time is definitely against us.
I’ve ordered Lt. Bane to go over the yacht’s sensor logs. The pirates attempted to wipe them, but the data chips on these high-end yachts are heavily shielded. With luck, we may pick up some useful data. Dr. Castille is still going over the forensic samples he brought back. We also managed to tractor the yacht into the landing bay, although it’s a very tight fit. Senior Chief Brin has a detail combing the yacht inside and out for additional clues.
In the meantime, we are beginning a search for the pirate ship in question. But without more details, it’s like picking one speck of dust out of the Greater Riven Nebula. We could sure use a little luck right now.
* * *
“Castille to Captain Akinola,”
“Akinola, go ahead Doctor.”
“Can you come down to sickbay? I’ve discovered something interesting.”
“On my way.”
A few minutes later, Akinola strode into sickbay to find a weary looking Octavius Castille peering into a medical scanner. The CMO gestured for Akinola to come over.
“Take a look,” invited Castille. Akinola peered into the hood.
“You’re looking at one of the blood samples we took from the yacht,” explained Castille. “Apparently, there were three sources, not just two. One Bolian, one Human and a Human hybrid of some sort. That sample is from the hybrid.”
Akinola recognized platelets in the sample, but there were dark, shriveled star-shaped objects that seemed out of place. He straightened and looked at Castille.
“What are those star-shaped things?” asked the Captain.
Castille pointed a finger at Akinola. “My exact question! As it turns out, those are the trace remains of the plague virus.”
Akinola glanced back at the scanner with a frown. “So someone on that yacht died of the plague?”
Castille shook his head. “No. What you’re seeing is the traces of a plague vaccine. At least, I’m fairly sure it is.”
“But I thought there wasn’t a cure.”
“There isn’t . . . wasn’t . . .” Castille rubbed his eyes, obviously frustrated and fatigued. “Look . . . what I’m trying to say is, to our knowledge, no cure for the Antarean Plague exists. That’s not to say that no one has tried. But to date, none of the top Federation researchers have successfully come up with a vaccine or cure.”
“And yet . . .” said Akinola.
“. . . it seems that someone apparently has,” finished Castille. “My bet would be that whoever managed to alter the plague and weaponize it, also managed to find a cure.”
“All the more reason to find this mysterious ‘someone.’ Akinola paused. “You said this blood sample is from a Human ‘hybrid.’ What did you mean by that?”
Castille pursed his lips. “The genetic markers indicate Terran stock, but there are clear indications of manipulation. It took me a while, but I think I figured it out.”
“And?”
Castille glanced back at the scanner. “Unless I’m mistaken, and I don’t think I am, that blood came from an Augment – a genetically engineered being.”
Akinola gaped at the Doctor. “What? You mean someone like a Khan Noonien Singh? You’ve got to be joking.”
“There are still Augments around, Captain. Granted, such genetic manipulation is illegal, but it does happen – probably more often than we realize. There’s a large black market for illegal medical procedures all over the quadrant. I saw it first hand when I lived on Rigel IV. Hell, I imagine some Augments are serving in Starfleet. It’s not too hard to gyp a standard blood test.”
The Captain crossed his arms. “So let me get this straight, Doctor. You’re saying that a Human Augment with a built-in immunity to the plague is our culprit?”
Castille shrugged. “I’m a doctor, not a detective. But someone who was on that yacht certainly fits that description. And I seriously doubt it was one of the four missing kids.”
* * *
Stardate 54334.8 (5 May 2377)
Pirate Ship G’laaq Toj’ma (Shade of Despair)
Star system NGC38819
Kinjo Takeda started awake and blinked in the dimly lit cell of the pirate ship. The ship’s inertial dampeners obviously needed to be calibrated, and the sudden deceleration had nearly caused Kinjo to slide off the moldering cot.
We’ve slowed down – but where are we? How long was I asleep? He wondered. His expensive wrist chronometer was missing – big surprise. He guessed (correctly) that the water that Sora Cambiet gave him to wake up in fact contained a sedative.
Kinjo set aside his fear and began to look around the cell. It looked more like a storage room than a brig – there were stacks of crates and bits of discarded machinery and electronics strown about. Unfortunately, there did not appear to be anything that would serve as a weapon. Not that he believed he could fight his way out of the situation – Kinjo was certainly no fighter. What he did have was a very bright mind and impressive skills as a computer slicer. Of course, he needed access to a computer to use those skills.
The sound of approaching footsteps in the corridor caused him to collapse back on the cot and feign sleep. The hatch to his cell opened with a metallic protest and harsh light from the corridor fell into the room. He sensed the looming presence of someone before feeling something hard against his neck. Before he could react, he heard the hiss of a hypo-spray and his eyes fluttered open – his heart beating rapidly, due to the heavy dose of stimulant that flooded his bloodstream.
He sat up quickly and moved away from the two figures. Nora Cambiet and a nasty-looking Nausican regarded him with amusement. His eyes tracked to a wicked looking knife that the Nausican held in a menacing manner.
“I was about to contact your father,” Cambiet began, conversationally. “Give me his private com-code. I don’t want to waste time going through subordinates. No doubt, he will try to have the signal traced – not that it will do him any good. However, should you give us a panic code or anything that might give him a clue to your whereabouts; I’ll let Gwamtor here practice his carving skills on you. Understood?”
The Nausican revealed a set of serrated fangs, in an obvious attempt at a grin.
Kinjo swallowed. “Yes, yes – I understand!” he replied quickly.
Cambiet cocked her head. “I’m waiting.”
Young Takeda gave his father’s private communications code to the pirate Ahmet as he warily eyed the Nausican. Then, he decided to go out on a limb.
“Could . . . could I see my friends?”
“Perhaps. First, I will contact your father with our demands. If he is amenable to my terms, I will see that you and your friends receive an ‘upgrade’ in your accommodations.”
She smiled, but there was coldness in her obsidian eyes. “But – if your father should prove to be obstinate . . . well.” She patted his leg. “Let’s just say, you should worry less about your friends and more about your own well-being.”
Cambiet spoke a few words in guttural Nausican and her compatriot grunted and reluctantly placed his knife back in its sheath. She ran a hand through Kinjo’s hair. “You’re a handsome boy, Kinjo. I hope I don’t have to ruin your pretty face.”
She turned and retreated from the cell. The Nausican held Kinjo’s eyes with a malevolent glare for a moment longer. He fingered the hilt of his knife and made a chuffing noise that Kinjo supposed was laughter, before backing out of the cell and slamming the hatch closed with a reverberating clang.
* * *
Stardate 54334.9 (5 May 2377)
USS Bluefin
Molari Badlands
Akinola returned to the bridge to find Lt. Bane, Ensign Vashtee and Commander Strauss peering at a screen at the operations station.
“Did you find anything?” asked the Captain.
Bane turned with a satisfied grin. “Yes sir! Seems these Stargalleon yachts have very nicely shielded sensors. The pirates made a half-arsed effort at wipin’ the logs, but we’ve managed to restore most of the data. Here, take a look . . .”
Akinola peered at the screen. Although the image was somewhat fuzzy, it was clear enough to make out a rather ugly vessel. The misshapen ship looked oddly familiar.
“Did you run it through the database?”
“That we did. Turns out, it’s the G’laaq Toj’ma – it’s a pirate ship, alright.”
Senior Chief Brin stepped over to peer at the image. “Oh yeah, the ‘Shade of Despair’ – we had a run-in with them a couple of years back. They opened fire on a freighter just before we arrived on station. Damn near cut it in half.”
“That’s right,” agreed Akinola. “Leaving us with the choice of pursuing them or rescuing the freighter crew. We had to let them get away.” He frowned and shook his head. “This current situation seems out of their league.”
“What do we know about the pirate crew?” asked Strauss.
“Their leader is a Green Orion named Poan. Or at least that was the case two years ago. Typical pirate – real brave as long as he out-guns you. The rest of the crew is the usual hodge-podge of scumbags. I find it hard to believe they could engineer a biological weapon.”
“Maybe someone else is in charge now,” suggested Strauss.
“So it would seem,” murmured Akinola. He glanced at Bane. “Anything else, Lieutenant?”
Bane nodded and gestured toward Ensign Vashtee. “Tell him what you found, Maya.”
The Sri Lankan officer pointed to another screen. “Not only did we get an image of the pirate vessel, we also have a record of their ion trail.”
Akinola grinned. “We have a heading?”
Vashtee nodded. “We have a heading.”
* * *
Stardate 54334.9 (5 May 2377)
Starfleet Command – Office of Commander, Border Service
San Francisco, Earth
Vice-Admiral Deidre Bouvier, Commander – Border Services, sat behind her massive desk in her opulent office, sipping a latte’ when her terminal chimed. She placed the cup on the leather desk pad and frowned at the ID code of the incoming transmission. Entering a personal code known only to herself, she activated an encryption protocol that was not part of the standard Starfleet computer security system. The channel would be routed randomly through myriad relay points, making the signal nearly impossible to trace or decrypt.
The face of a well-dressed Human male with angular features and a thin mouth appeared on-screen.
“Admiral,” he said.
“Mr. Drake,” she replied, feeling a mix of irritation and apprehension. “I thought we had concluded our business.”
The Syndicate operative’s expression did not change. “My superior is understandably upset by the loss of his assets and wants assurances that everything is being done to find the persons responsible.”
Bouvier’s jaw tightened. “As I told you before, we are investigating the matter.”
“What have you learned?”
The Admiral hesitated. Thus far, her involvement with the Syndicate had been at a very casual level – nothing more than providing bits of harmless information a bit earlier than they could get from the news-nets. She had been very careful not to reveal any operational information.
“Mr. Drake, I have already told you all that I . . .”
Drake interrupted, his eyes flat and without emotion. “Admiral, I needn’t remind you that we provided the influence whereby you ‘achieved’ your current exalted position. It would be a shame for you to lose all that you have attained . . .”
“How dare you threaten me!”
“We do not make threats, Admiral,” Drake said in a quiet voice. “We don’t have to. Now, I will contact you again in exactly twelve hours. You will provide me with a detailed update of every aspect of your investigation and you will answer any questions I have for you. Don’t disappoint me.”
The screen faded to black momentarily before the Border Service insignia reappeared on the screen.
Admiral Bouvier took a deep breath and brusquely brushed a stray lock of hair from her forehead. She took a few moments to compose herself before tapping the intercom on her terminal.
“Alex, signal Star Station Echo and get me Admiral Bateson. Let me know immediately when you have him on a secure channel.” She closed the intercom channel before her aide could reply.
* * *
Stardate 54334.8 (5 May 2377)
USS Bluefin
Molari Badlands
“Captain’s Log – Supplemental: The initial search of the abandoned yacht indicates the likelihood of pirate involvement. If so, we find ourselves with a good news / bad news scenario. The good news is that the pirates likely took the four teenagers alive – either for ransom or to sell to slavers. The bad news is finding them will be extremely difficult unless we find a lead. At this point, we don’t have a description of the pirate’s ship or a heading. And, with the amount of lead time they have, they could be in any of a dozen systems, either hiding or selling their hostages to others. Time is definitely against us.
I’ve ordered Lt. Bane to go over the yacht’s sensor logs. The pirates attempted to wipe them, but the data chips on these high-end yachts are heavily shielded. With luck, we may pick up some useful data. Dr. Castille is still going over the forensic samples he brought back. We also managed to tractor the yacht into the landing bay, although it’s a very tight fit. Senior Chief Brin has a detail combing the yacht inside and out for additional clues.
In the meantime, we are beginning a search for the pirate ship in question. But without more details, it’s like picking one speck of dust out of the Greater Riven Nebula. We could sure use a little luck right now.
* * *
“Castille to Captain Akinola,”
“Akinola, go ahead Doctor.”
“Can you come down to sickbay? I’ve discovered something interesting.”
“On my way.”
A few minutes later, Akinola strode into sickbay to find a weary looking Octavius Castille peering into a medical scanner. The CMO gestured for Akinola to come over.
“Take a look,” invited Castille. Akinola peered into the hood.
“You’re looking at one of the blood samples we took from the yacht,” explained Castille. “Apparently, there were three sources, not just two. One Bolian, one Human and a Human hybrid of some sort. That sample is from the hybrid.”
Akinola recognized platelets in the sample, but there were dark, shriveled star-shaped objects that seemed out of place. He straightened and looked at Castille.
“What are those star-shaped things?” asked the Captain.
Castille pointed a finger at Akinola. “My exact question! As it turns out, those are the trace remains of the plague virus.”
Akinola glanced back at the scanner with a frown. “So someone on that yacht died of the plague?”
Castille shook his head. “No. What you’re seeing is the traces of a plague vaccine. At least, I’m fairly sure it is.”
“But I thought there wasn’t a cure.”
“There isn’t . . . wasn’t . . .” Castille rubbed his eyes, obviously frustrated and fatigued. “Look . . . what I’m trying to say is, to our knowledge, no cure for the Antarean Plague exists. That’s not to say that no one has tried. But to date, none of the top Federation researchers have successfully come up with a vaccine or cure.”
“And yet . . .” said Akinola.
“. . . it seems that someone apparently has,” finished Castille. “My bet would be that whoever managed to alter the plague and weaponize it, also managed to find a cure.”
“All the more reason to find this mysterious ‘someone.’ Akinola paused. “You said this blood sample is from a Human ‘hybrid.’ What did you mean by that?”
Castille pursed his lips. “The genetic markers indicate Terran stock, but there are clear indications of manipulation. It took me a while, but I think I figured it out.”
“And?”
Castille glanced back at the scanner. “Unless I’m mistaken, and I don’t think I am, that blood came from an Augment – a genetically engineered being.”
Akinola gaped at the Doctor. “What? You mean someone like a Khan Noonien Singh? You’ve got to be joking.”
“There are still Augments around, Captain. Granted, such genetic manipulation is illegal, but it does happen – probably more often than we realize. There’s a large black market for illegal medical procedures all over the quadrant. I saw it first hand when I lived on Rigel IV. Hell, I imagine some Augments are serving in Starfleet. It’s not too hard to gyp a standard blood test.”
The Captain crossed his arms. “So let me get this straight, Doctor. You’re saying that a Human Augment with a built-in immunity to the plague is our culprit?”
Castille shrugged. “I’m a doctor, not a detective. But someone who was on that yacht certainly fits that description. And I seriously doubt it was one of the four missing kids.”
* * *
Stardate 54334.8 (5 May 2377)
Pirate Ship G’laaq Toj’ma (Shade of Despair)
Star system NGC38819
Kinjo Takeda started awake and blinked in the dimly lit cell of the pirate ship. The ship’s inertial dampeners obviously needed to be calibrated, and the sudden deceleration had nearly caused Kinjo to slide off the moldering cot.
We’ve slowed down – but where are we? How long was I asleep? He wondered. His expensive wrist chronometer was missing – big surprise. He guessed (correctly) that the water that Sora Cambiet gave him to wake up in fact contained a sedative.
Kinjo set aside his fear and began to look around the cell. It looked more like a storage room than a brig – there were stacks of crates and bits of discarded machinery and electronics strown about. Unfortunately, there did not appear to be anything that would serve as a weapon. Not that he believed he could fight his way out of the situation – Kinjo was certainly no fighter. What he did have was a very bright mind and impressive skills as a computer slicer. Of course, he needed access to a computer to use those skills.
The sound of approaching footsteps in the corridor caused him to collapse back on the cot and feign sleep. The hatch to his cell opened with a metallic protest and harsh light from the corridor fell into the room. He sensed the looming presence of someone before feeling something hard against his neck. Before he could react, he heard the hiss of a hypo-spray and his eyes fluttered open – his heart beating rapidly, due to the heavy dose of stimulant that flooded his bloodstream.
He sat up quickly and moved away from the two figures. Nora Cambiet and a nasty-looking Nausican regarded him with amusement. His eyes tracked to a wicked looking knife that the Nausican held in a menacing manner.
“I was about to contact your father,” Cambiet began, conversationally. “Give me his private com-code. I don’t want to waste time going through subordinates. No doubt, he will try to have the signal traced – not that it will do him any good. However, should you give us a panic code or anything that might give him a clue to your whereabouts; I’ll let Gwamtor here practice his carving skills on you. Understood?”
The Nausican revealed a set of serrated fangs, in an obvious attempt at a grin.
Kinjo swallowed. “Yes, yes – I understand!” he replied quickly.
Cambiet cocked her head. “I’m waiting.”
Young Takeda gave his father’s private communications code to the pirate Ahmet as he warily eyed the Nausican. Then, he decided to go out on a limb.
“Could . . . could I see my friends?”
“Perhaps. First, I will contact your father with our demands. If he is amenable to my terms, I will see that you and your friends receive an ‘upgrade’ in your accommodations.”
She smiled, but there was coldness in her obsidian eyes. “But – if your father should prove to be obstinate . . . well.” She patted his leg. “Let’s just say, you should worry less about your friends and more about your own well-being.”
Cambiet spoke a few words in guttural Nausican and her compatriot grunted and reluctantly placed his knife back in its sheath. She ran a hand through Kinjo’s hair. “You’re a handsome boy, Kinjo. I hope I don’t have to ruin your pretty face.”
She turned and retreated from the cell. The Nausican held Kinjo’s eyes with a malevolent glare for a moment longer. He fingered the hilt of his knife and made a chuffing noise that Kinjo supposed was laughter, before backing out of the cell and slamming the hatch closed with a reverberating clang.
* * *
Stardate 54334.9 (5 May 2377)
USS Bluefin
Molari Badlands
Akinola returned to the bridge to find Lt. Bane, Ensign Vashtee and Commander Strauss peering at a screen at the operations station.
“Did you find anything?” asked the Captain.
Bane turned with a satisfied grin. “Yes sir! Seems these Stargalleon yachts have very nicely shielded sensors. The pirates made a half-arsed effort at wipin’ the logs, but we’ve managed to restore most of the data. Here, take a look . . .”
Akinola peered at the screen. Although the image was somewhat fuzzy, it was clear enough to make out a rather ugly vessel. The misshapen ship looked oddly familiar.
“Did you run it through the database?”
“That we did. Turns out, it’s the G’laaq Toj’ma – it’s a pirate ship, alright.”
Senior Chief Brin stepped over to peer at the image. “Oh yeah, the ‘Shade of Despair’ – we had a run-in with them a couple of years back. They opened fire on a freighter just before we arrived on station. Damn near cut it in half.”
“That’s right,” agreed Akinola. “Leaving us with the choice of pursuing them or rescuing the freighter crew. We had to let them get away.” He frowned and shook his head. “This current situation seems out of their league.”
“What do we know about the pirate crew?” asked Strauss.
“Their leader is a Green Orion named Poan. Or at least that was the case two years ago. Typical pirate – real brave as long as he out-guns you. The rest of the crew is the usual hodge-podge of scumbags. I find it hard to believe they could engineer a biological weapon.”
“Maybe someone else is in charge now,” suggested Strauss.
“So it would seem,” murmured Akinola. He glanced at Bane. “Anything else, Lieutenant?”
Bane nodded and gestured toward Ensign Vashtee. “Tell him what you found, Maya.”
The Sri Lankan officer pointed to another screen. “Not only did we get an image of the pirate vessel, we also have a record of their ion trail.”
Akinola grinned. “We have a heading?”
Vashtee nodded. “We have a heading.”
* * *
Stardate 54334.9 (5 May 2377)
Starfleet Command – Office of Commander, Border Service
San Francisco, Earth
Vice-Admiral Deidre Bouvier, Commander – Border Services, sat behind her massive desk in her opulent office, sipping a latte’ when her terminal chimed. She placed the cup on the leather desk pad and frowned at the ID code of the incoming transmission. Entering a personal code known only to herself, she activated an encryption protocol that was not part of the standard Starfleet computer security system. The channel would be routed randomly through myriad relay points, making the signal nearly impossible to trace or decrypt.
The face of a well-dressed Human male with angular features and a thin mouth appeared on-screen.
“Admiral,” he said.
“Mr. Drake,” she replied, feeling a mix of irritation and apprehension. “I thought we had concluded our business.”
The Syndicate operative’s expression did not change. “My superior is understandably upset by the loss of his assets and wants assurances that everything is being done to find the persons responsible.”
Bouvier’s jaw tightened. “As I told you before, we are investigating the matter.”
“What have you learned?”
The Admiral hesitated. Thus far, her involvement with the Syndicate had been at a very casual level – nothing more than providing bits of harmless information a bit earlier than they could get from the news-nets. She had been very careful not to reveal any operational information.
“Mr. Drake, I have already told you all that I . . .”
Drake interrupted, his eyes flat and without emotion. “Admiral, I needn’t remind you that we provided the influence whereby you ‘achieved’ your current exalted position. It would be a shame for you to lose all that you have attained . . .”
“How dare you threaten me!”
“We do not make threats, Admiral,” Drake said in a quiet voice. “We don’t have to. Now, I will contact you again in exactly twelve hours. You will provide me with a detailed update of every aspect of your investigation and you will answer any questions I have for you. Don’t disappoint me.”
The screen faded to black momentarily before the Border Service insignia reappeared on the screen.
Admiral Bouvier took a deep breath and brusquely brushed a stray lock of hair from her forehead. She took a few moments to compose herself before tapping the intercom on her terminal.
“Alex, signal Star Station Echo and get me Admiral Bateson. Let me know immediately when you have him on a secure channel.” She closed the intercom channel before her aide could reply.
* * *
Please let Akinola and Bateson find out she's in the Syndicate's pocket. Damn bitch is going to find herself in a very tough position. Between Starfleet's boot up her ass and a Syndicate club about to bash her skull in. Tut tut 
OOooooh, Bouvier on the take...man, I hope karma gives her a good, hard kick in the ass.
And an Augment...I dunno why, but I'm picturing that woman Wolverine fought in X-Men United. Is that at all what you had in mind?
Great to see more Bluefin!!!!
And an Augment...I dunno why, but I'm picturing that woman Wolverine fought in X-Men United. Is that at all what you had in mind?
Great to see more Bluefin!!!!
As if I didn't have sufficient reason already to hate Bouvier! She's obviously sold her soul to attain her present office, and now she's likely going to compromise the integrity of the Bluefin's investigation, if not the safety of the ship and crew.
Wow. I think she's earned an uncomfortable conversation with Solly Brin at a time and place of his choosing.
Wow. I think she's earned an uncomfortable conversation with Solly Brin at a time and place of his choosing.
It's interesting, though, about Solly. He can be such a badass when he wants and needs to be--but unlike, say, Pava, I feel like I could sit down and have a comfortable conversation with him. There seems to be an on/off switch with him, for the badassery. (Now, it can come back on any time it's needed--but I think you get what I mean.)
I always thought Pava was very calm and polite 99.9% of the time, and was quite the conversationalist. Hmm. Well, I say potato and you say sociopath.
Bouvier is dirty...oh well...
She thought she could deal with the Syndicate without them calling in their markers--that's like thinking you can remain a "little bit pregnant"--it doesn't work that way as Bouvier is finding out now.
She thought she could deal with the Syndicate without them calling in their markers--that's like thinking you can remain a "little bit pregnant"--it doesn't work that way as Bouvier is finding out now.
Oh what a great twist. The already massively unpopular head of the Border Service is on the take. Is it going to be too much to ask to see Akinola take her down?
Well, for now I guess he's got bigger things to worry about. Augments are a dangerous bunch as we've all seen before. And I bet Bluefin will not be facing the cuddly bunch of misfits we've seen on DS9 but something more like Khan and his disciples.
Fortunately for Akinola he's got Solly Brin on his side.
Awesome stuff, hope to get more soon.
Well, for now I guess he's got bigger things to worry about. Augments are a dangerous bunch as we've all seen before. And I bet Bluefin will not be facing the cuddly bunch of misfits we've seen on DS9 but something more like Khan and his disciples.
Fortunately for Akinola he's got Solly Brin on his side.
Awesome stuff, hope to get more soon.
Great stuff. A villanious Admiral atop Augments. This is going to get nasty. Whoo hoo.
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