Chapter Sixteen
Stardate 54366.5 (22 May 2377)
USS Dragonfire
In Standard Orbit – Vagabond VI
Captain's Quarters
Captain Slayd reclined in the semi-darkness of his quarters, his skin still tingling from his recent sonic shower and the soft, sublime music of the London Philharmonic Orchestra caressing his ears. He sat with his eyes closed - a glass of port in hand.
"Would you care for something else, sir?" inquired James, the holo-butler. "Some canapes or a sandwich, perhaps?"
"Thank you, no, James. This is fine."
"Very good sir." James turned, then hesitated. "Is everything alright, sir? You appear . . . troubled."
Slayd opened his eyes and glanced at his erstwhile man-servant. A wan smile formed on his lips. "Very perceptive of you, James. You certainly have learned to read my moods."
"Chapter and verse, sir," replied James, with a hint of pride. "I certainly do not wish to overstep my bounds, sir, but if I could help?"
Slayd breathed out heavily. "If only you could. But I do appreciate your concern, nonetheless."
James bowed slightly. "Yes sir. In that case, I shall take my leave." He shimmered slightly, then faded from sight.
Slayd took a sip of port and stared out the viewport at the ugly planet below. He always felt a compulsion to clean thoroughly after visiting that devil's paradise. This time, the sonic shower had proved singularly inadequate.
The terminal on the nearby desk chimed softly. With a sigh, he stood from his lounge chair and moved to the desk, tapping the terminal.
"Slayd - go ahead."
The image of Ensign Kwan appeared on the screen. "Ensign Kwan, sir. Sorry to disturb you, but there's an incoming message from Starbase 500 for you. Shall I transfer it to your quarters?"
"Yes, please. Thank you, Ensign - I'm standing by."
"Yes sir - just one moment." Kwan's face disappeared to be replaced momentarily by the Border Service insignia. Seconds later, the image shifted to reveal the familiar face of Admiral Edward Jellico.
"Atemus," said Jellico.
"Edward, nice to see you," replied Slayd. The two men weren't exactly friends, but they did hold each other in fairly high regard out of mutual respect. More important, they trusted each other.
"I thought you might be interested in the latest word from Earth regarding the Tzenkethi situation. The Caitian ambassador has been raising holy hell about the incursions and has not-so-subtly suggested that Starfleet in general and the Federation Council in particular has been giving Cait the middle finger."
"I would say that's an accurate assessment on the ambassador's part," replied Slayd, dryly.
Jellico frowned. "Artie, you know the political climate we're dealing with. Hell, after the Talarian incursion, half the council is calling for Starfleet to pull back and 'circle the wagons' around the core worlds."
"What about President Satie? What's coming out of her office?"
"The usual political double-speak. 'We're monitoring the situation, taking this situation seriously, assuring the Caitians of our full support, etc. etc.' No specifics of course, and absolutely no hint of sending any ships out your way."
"And what of the Admiralty? Any sense of how they're leaning?"
Jellico sighed. "I wouldn't look for much help there, Artie. Hell, your own service Chief has pretty much thrown your sector under the shuttle."
"Admiral Bouvier? The woman is an imbecile," Slayd said with unusual rancor.
"Maybe so, but she's a well-connected imbecile. I've never seen someone rise through the chain of command as fast as she has. Hell, she hasn't commanded anything bigger than a deuterium tanker."
Slayd held his own thoughts in that regard in check. "So basically you are saying we can't expect any help out here. What about some of those shiny new Akiras under your command, Edward? Surely you could send one or two this way?"
Jellico frowned. "I already suggested that to the CnC. The response was, and I quote: 'under no circumstances are you to dispatch any assets to the Outland Expanse.' When I pressed, I was told in no uncertain terms to drop the subject." He shook his head. "I'm damned sorry, Artie."
"Not your fault, Edward."
"Artie . . . I hope you're not planning on doing anything . . . rash."
Slayd smiled thinly. "Now Edward, why would you say such a thing?"
"Oh, I don't know Artie - maybe because of that incident involving Admiral Sercova when you were commanding the Hannibal? Hell, half the Admiralty is scared to death of you, the rest wouldn't mind if you accidentally flew your ship into a star!"
"I don't know why. I haven't published my memoirs . . . yet." Slayd paused, and his tone became more serious. "Edward, this isn't about me, is it? I mean they wouldn't . . ."
Jellico held up his hands. "No, no . . . though I imagine some of them see a perverse irony in the situation. He sighed. Artie, between you and me, Starfleet is in far worse shape that has been reported in the media. There is genuine fear that we could lose a war with the cats. Politically and strategically, that would be a disaster."
"As opposed to allowing the Tzenkethi to take over this entire sector and enslave the Caits? I cannot believe I'm hearing this from you, of all people!"
"Artie - Believe me, I'm on your side. But for now, my hands are tied. So are yours."
"Only if I allow them to be. Nice chatting with you Edward. Slayd, out."
"Wait a minute - what are you . . ."
But Slayd had already closed the channel.
* * *
Stardate 54366.6 (22 May 2377)
USS Dragonfire
In Standard Orbit – Vagabond VI
Bridge
Commander Nor Huren glanced over at Captain Slayd. Her C.O. was unusually quiet - obviously he was troubled.
"Still thinking about those poor kids?" she asked in a low tone.
Slayd blinked and looked at her. "Hmm? Oh, forgive me Number One - I was wool gathering. You were saying?"
"I asked if you were thinking about the kids that died from the Nibo flu?"
Slayd felt a tinge of shame. He had not been thinking of the victims - instead, he had been planning retribution - against the one who had killed Mueller and stolen the vaccine, against Prog, against the Tzenkethi who waged terror on innocent Caitians, and even against the moral cowards who would sacrifice the Caitians to their murderous cousins for political expediency.
He shook his head slightly. "No such tender thoughts today, Number One. I'm afraid dark and ignoble deeds preoccupy my mind at the moment."
She regarded him with her large, golden eyes and smiled. "Glad to know our thinking is following the same trajectory. Would you like to check in on our guest?"
Slayd returned the smile. "Yes, I suppose we've exposed Mr. Prog to a sufficient dose of Klingon culture. After you, Number One."
* * *
As Captain Slayd and Commander Nor Huren entered the brig, they were accosted by a noise that sounded much like a herd of animals being eviscerated by blunt instruments. Against the cacophony, a chorus of Klingon voices roared. Slayd could make out some of the lyrics - basically a tale of betrayal, murder, revenge, conquest, bludgeoning and screaming. Typical nursery-story fare for Klingons.
Security Specialist Duff was seated at the Brig station, his head bobbing in time to the heavy percussive beats that sounded like mortar shells exploding. Apparently Duffy was an aficionado of Klingon opera. He stood when he noticed the presence of Slayd and Nor Huren.
"Has Prog started talking yet?" yelled Slayd over the din.
"Sir?" Duffy shook his head, unable to hear the Captain over the pounding music.
"Prog! Is - he - talking?"
"No sir! He's not walking - he's still in the cell!"
Nor Huren walked around into the control station and tapped a contact. Instant the music died, though Slayd's eardrums continued to pulse from the audio assault.
"Duffy," said Nor Huren, "We came to see if Prog has softened up any."
A look of realization dawned on Crewman Duff's face. "Gosh sirs, I forgot about that - I kinda got caught up in the music."
Nor Huren and Slayd exchanged glances and hurried to cell three.
"Deactivate the force field!" ordered Slayd.
The blue glow disappeared instantly and the two officers entered. They found Prog crouched in a corner, his eyes wide and blinking in terror.
"Has it stopped? Is it over? Please! No more - I . . ."
Slayd knelt in front of the traumatized Ferengi. If not for the memory of his dead friend and the children who succumbed to the flu, he could almost feel pity for the scoundrel.
Almost. But instead, he only felt disgust.
"Are you ready to talk, Prog? If not, we have many more files of Klingon opera. Mr. Duff is quite the fan, so I'm sure he would be happy to share more with you."
Prog looked at Slayd, his eyes glistening. "I'll tell you whatever you want to know. Just . . . no more of that noise!"
"I only have one question for you, Mr. Prog. Who had Mueller killed and stole the vaccine?"
Amazingly, Prog actually hesitated. Slayd stood as if to leave.
"No!" shouted Prog. "I'll tell you . . . but you must protect me. He'll kill me if he discovers I told you . . ."
"Who? damn you! Slayd thundered. "No deals, no promises . . . give me the name!"
"Gog!" Prog said, shuddering as he spoke. "It was Daimon Gog . . ."
Slayd was stunned. He looked at Commander Nor Huren, her own expression murderous.
Prog began to giggle - softly at first, then increasing to a level of hysteria. "Heheeheeheh . . . Oh yes, it was Gog, alright. . . Heheeheheeheh . . . As you hew-mon's say, "Payback . . . heheeheehehe . . . is a bitch!" Heeheeheeheehahaheeheh . . .
Slayd and Nor Huren exited the cell with Prog's maniacal laughter echoing in their ears.
* * *
Who the hell said you got to have a real life? 
