********************************************************************** ISS Travis Mayweather Braener dug into his armrests, wishing he could wrench his chair from its moorings. “Stop that shuttle!” He bellowed. A second shuttle was streaking away from the ship, galloping toward the Klingon ship bearing Shelby. “Uh, which one sir?” Stiles asked. “That one, ugh, both of them!” The captain roared. “Captain, Security Officer Weathers is piloting the Diego Grillo,” First Officer Woods informed him. “There’s another passenger, but the readings…are…unusual.” “The inquisitor?” The captain demanded. “I cannot say sir,” Woods was troubled by that failure. It seemed impossible to fathom, but Braener voiced, “Number One, could it be possible that…that Weathers overtook Biraka?” “I don’t know sir,” Wood replied. “It’s just as feasible that the inquisitor has convinced Weathers to join him.” “For what reason?” Braener wondered aloud and realized that showing confusion made him look weak before the crew. He would never voice it, but he knew it, and so did many of the bridge crew, that if Biraka had wanted to lead a mutiny, he could’ve, at any time, even against Captain Varley. But he had seemed content to keep to the shadows, playing at whatever games he or his compeers were entangled in. “Who knows with him and his section,” Woods replied. Braener’s face pinched, “‘Section’? What are you talking about?” His Number One paled visibly. “We’ll talk about this later,” the captain decided. He refocused on the job at hand. Stiles was having as many problems capturing the errant shuttles as Weathers had been. Braener allowed the haplessness to carry until he nearly imploded. He erupted after Shelby’s shuttle was gobbled up by the Klingon battlecruiser, the foreheads taking his prize. After letting loose a string of curses, the captain said, “Stiles, agonize yourself.” The dutiful man quickly pulled out his agonizer and placed it against his body. Braener didn’t even look at the pathetic waste, his wild grunts and groans of agony as he was surely convulsing due to the pain-inducing device did not mollify him a bit. He wasn’t even pleased to hear the thump of Stiles hitting the deck. “New plan,” Braener said after a second. “Shoreham, take over for Stiles. We’re going to cripple the Diego Grillo and then turn our attention to that Klingon battlecruiser. I’m through with playing games with Shelby. She’ll consider it a mercy that I am her executioner than letting the Klingons get hold of her.” ************************************************************************* ISS Alexander “There’s another player on the board,” Chief Engineer Bixby said. Dryer saw the second shuttle that had spat out of the Travis Mayweather, one that the frigate was now pursuing. The Klingon battlecruiser had claimed the other Klingon ship, at the cost of its aft shields. Dryer regretted that it wasn’t her at the tactical station, slicing into the Klingon ship. But Henshaw was doing well. She glanced at the tall, dark-hued man. His family had long served Starfleet, with one of his direct line even serving aboard the fabled Enterprise under Kirk, before the man ascended to the throne. She licked at the rough edge of her scar, considering making the man her personal assistant. Bixby interrupted her contemplation. She turned around in her seat to glare at the man. The engineer looked down, seemed to reconsider his behavior, and then looked at her squarely. Nyota smiled at that. She figured the man was angling for a promotion. “What is it?” “Captain, now that we have the upper hand, perhaps it’s best to consider Dr. Frobisher’s admonition about the red matter weapon.” Nyota chuckled. “We could destroy that Klingon derelict at any time now,” she looked at Henshaw and gave him a brief smile, “Thanks to our competent new chief of security, but we need to make a statement. The Alliance needs to know what the Terran Empire is capable of. We will proceed with the metaweapon.” “Understood,” Bixby replied. “Don’t second-guess me again,” Dryer said before turning back in her chair. She stroked the armrests, the seat already molding to her frame. She contacted the Weapons Bay. “Frobisher, is that red matter torpedo ready?” “Yes, Captain Dryer,” the man’s voice was strained. He really didn’t want to do this, and that made Nyota want to needle him further. She would not be told what to do on her ship, ever again. “Excellent,” she nodded, looking at the unsuspecting Klingon warship. They had no clue what was about to hit them. “Execute.” ************************************************************************* Author's Note: The Diego Grillo, Juan Andres, (Jacquotte) Delahaye,and Good Fortune are all named for pirates of African descent, or in the case of the Good Fortune a ship captained by a black pirate. Henshaw is a nod to the Mirror Universe comic series "Mirror Images".
************************************************************************* Shuttle Diego Grillo “What’s going on here?! Solok, what have you done?! Take us back to the Delahaye at once!” The words burst out of Shelby rapid fire. It took her only seconds to realize she had been beamed into another Starfleet shuttle. She also quickly recognized it as one from the Mayweather, the Diego Grillo. Seeing Weathers at the yoke, Elizabeth thought this was some kind of ill-timed rescue attempt, but the woman sitting across from her shouldn’t have been there at all. In fact, she shouldn’t have even been alive. “Stadi?” The Betazoid turned around to look at her and smiled. “It’s been a long time,” she said with a strange familiarity. “What do you mean? How-how are you alive? Where are we going?” The questions gushed like a geyser. “You didn’t bring her consciousness to the surface?” Stadi directed the question at Solok. The Vendorian held up the multidimensional transporter, studying it. The Bajoran ark was at his feet. “You stole the orb as well?!” Shelby was beside herself with anger and confusion. “I didn’t have time to awaken her,” Solok replied, ignoring Shelby’s tirade. “I was contemplating the adjustments needed for the transporter.” “Adjustments?” Shelby asked. Everyone paused as the ship shuddered. “Keep her steady Karla,” Shelby couldn’t help but be a captain. “Aye, aye, sir,” the woman replied. “Just the damn Mayweather is trying to take out our propulsion.” “We are running out of time,” Stadi said. “Indeed,” Solok replied. He placed the device against the console, and Elizabeth heard a clink as if the device had been magnetized. Solok began tapping furiously at the engineering console. Elizabeth pulled her firearm. “If I don’t get answers immediately, someone is going to get the business end of this phaser.” “Put that away Captain Shelby,” Stadi said. “The only person you will injure with that toy is Security Officer Weathers.” “We’ll see about that,” Shelby aimed the weapon at Solok. A golden-orange tendril shot out from the cockpit, wrapping around Shelby’s wrist and squeezing until she yelped and dropped the weapon. “Captain!” Weathers shouted. She jumped out of her seat but was lifted off her feet and slammed hard into the ceiling. Stadi let the woman fall like a rock. Her head smacked the console with a bone-breaking crunch and then the woman slid do the deck, leaving blood in her wake. It wasn’t a tendril now that held the security guard by the throat this time; Stadi’s second arm had morphed into a long, sinewy purple limb. Four slender fingers curled had grabbed the woman’s neck. To Shelby’s horror, the golden-orange tendril around her wrist changed into similar digits. “My God,” Elizabeth struggled to keep fear from closing her throat. “W-what are you?” “What are we is a more precise question,” Solok said, his back turned to her, but yet, he was aware of everything. “The immersion went deep for you,” Stadi explained, without shedding any light at all. While conversing with her, Stadi was using the arm that had likely killed Weathers to pilot the shuttle. “If I were aboard the Mayweather, and still wearing the guise of Nurse Temple, a cytokinetic injection would’ve triggered a reversion and you would comprehend.” “Nurse Temple? Guise? Cyto-what injection?” Shelby’s confusion blocked her pain. The tendril receded. She held her aching wrist. “Even your discomfort is an illusion,” Stadi replied. “It takes a lot to hurt us, much less kill us.” The woman’s face began to bulge, and her eyes…changed, the oval pupils taking on a cruciform shape. “Oh, oh God,” Shelby shrank back. She looked down at her phaser but knew it was unwise to attempt to go for it. Stadi was incredibly fast, and then there was Solok. “Your visions,” Solok talked while he continued working his instrument panel. “The temple in the stars, in the Bajoran system. You shared this belief with me before.” “How? How is that possible?” Elizabeth said. “I-I just met you.” “Are you ‘dreamed’ about me,” Solok corrected. “They weren’t your dreams, they were memories, or rather, they belonged to the being you once had impersonated…the Bajoran monk Teero Anaydis.” “What are you talking about?” Shelby demanded. She couldn’t declare the Vendorian mad because she suspected she was cracking up herself. For all she knew, she might be in an agonizer booth aboard the Travis Mayweather, the pain Braener had inflicted on her finally crushing her mind. “We-I-killed Teero,” Shelby said, refusing to give into madness. “You thought you did, but our sly compeer took Shelby’s form,” Solok replied. “He buried himself deep under Shelby’s psyche to prevent an easy, and damning reversion. Teero believed that the orbs could guide us home. You were right, but not in the way you thought. The orbs brought Shelby and the Mayweather to the Iconian system, to you, and when you assumed Shelby’s form, you learned about the multidimensional transporter, and your ‘dreams’, sparked by your orb experience, led you to me. You had finally found the way home.” *Yes* Stadi’s voice whispered in Shelby’s mind. The woman’s face was no longer humanoid. Her mouth, ears, and nose, were all gone, replaced by a monstrous visage, the most alien she had ever encountered. And yet, what frightened Elizabeth more was there was something very familiar, comforting about that abdominal face. *We have often lived among the shape changing species of this quadrant, to better hide our true forms, and doing so has made it easier to report our findings* “Our, ‘findings’?” Shelby shook her head, not wanting to see how what Stadi, or the creature that had been wearing her face, was starting to make sense. “Yes,” Solok still used verbal communication. “A Terran vessel, the ISS Voyager, entered our realm through an interdimensional rift while eluding an Alliance vessel. It was destroyed immediately. Some wished to purge this space of filth that instant, but we decided upon a more prudent approach. Dozens left our realm, shedding our true forms, on a one-way trip to live in the Alpha Quadrant, to infiltrate the great powers, and steer them away from our realm. But once another Terran vessel, the Enterprise, accidentally used a multidimensional device, similar to this transporter, to gain entry into our space, we knew we had to act. Those among us at Starfleet Command altered the findings of the investigation into the starship’s disappearance. Certainly, our compeers beyond the veil had eliminated the Enterprise and it’s buccaneering crew. However, with this kind of technology in the possession of a xenophobic power like either the Empire, or the Alliance for that matter, it was only a matter of time before either power would find a door to our realm again, and this time it would not be accidental. Assuming Shelby’s form and stealing the transporter prototype was paramount to the survival of our species.” Stadi’s laughter scraped in Shelby’s mind. *As if they can truly harm us* “Not at the moment,” Solok said, “But I am under no illusions that they can’t learn.” “So, what are you saying?” Shelby was completely lost, in more ways than she could imagine. Solok looked at her squarely. His upraised eyebrow was like a mockery of the species he was impersonating. “You are not Elizabeth Shelby. Where the real Shelby is, I do not know. I don’t know if you killed her or merely incapacitated her. You have likely repressed those memories to better maintain the illusion that you are in fact the real Shelby.” “No,” Shelby shook her head. She clutched her stomach. “It’s not true. It can’t be true.” “You deceived Commander Glover about your pregnancy, is it not possible that you could deceive yourself about your true identity?” Solok said, his words without judgment. “That-that was just to, to motivate Terrence to help us, to not betray us,” Shelby replied, feeling the knife of betrayal twisting in her guts. “He-he’s always wanted children. He’s always wanted an heir, a legacy. I knew that was the one thing he wanted even more than a captain’s seat. If-if he I thought I was carrying his child he would do anything to protect me, and therefore that would make it easier to complete my mission.” Now that it was out there, it sounded horrible, even for a Terran Starfleet officer, a manipulation of the cruelest sort. She looked past the beast now standing where Stadi had been, to the furious battle beyond. She touched the wall closest to her and shivered as she felt the chill of the void slipping through the shuttle’s seams, as the weight of space bore down on her. “Terrence,” she whispered. Tears ran from her eyes as memories of their younger years, the rival, the romance, the bitterness, and the division, all danced in her mind. As they spun around they began to feel more and more distant, as if she was looking at a vid, and not her own life. And the tears lost their taste, and then evaporated. Shelby’s cheeks began to bulge. She looked down and her fingers were…lengthening. *Finally* Stadi thought. *I don’t think our compeers would like to see you in such a disgusting form* “No,” Shelby shook her head. She tried to speak again but no words came out. Because she no longer had a mouth. **********************************************************************
********************************************************************** ISS Alexander Captain Dryer stood up, unable to bottle her surging emotions. In one fell swoop she would destroy a Klingon battlecruiser and the traitorous Captain Shelby. Whatever regret needling her at extinguishing the lives of any loyal crewmen aboard the Travis Mayweather, Nyota resolved to grapple with privately. At the moment she had a battle to win and a point to make. She balled her fingers into a fist, a fist as iron as the Imperial will. “Mr. Henshaw, fire!” ******************************************************************** IKS Vi’chak “Hard to port! Hard to port!” Bregath roared. The man had taken the command chair. Garak held on, his hair flying into his face, his teeth clenching as he felt the strain of the structural integrity field, the deep, almost painful groan of the ship’s struts as the Kriosian did her best to avoid the torpedo coming at them in a bloodred streak. Garak was glad Nandali had resumed the helm, pushing the eager young Bekk who had taken her place, after she had properly grieved for Kojo. In typical Klingon fashion, once they had performed their death rituals, the body was of on more importance. Garak was certain that Bregath would have the old admiral’s corpse removed from the bridge, perhaps doing it himself, once they had a moment to breathe. “It missed! It missed us!” Kaemon cried out. Indeed, the aim was off as the torpedo bypassed them. “It’s heading for the asteroid,” Garak said. “The Marauder base,” he added, reining in his joy. The Terrans were wiping away any evidence of his conspiring with the rebels for him. “Come about and resume firing on the Excelsior!” Bregath ordered. The Kriosian did as ordered, and so did the new captain’s replacement at the weapons console. “Captain Bregath,” Garak called over the din of battle. “What about the So’Taj shuttle in the hold?” “What of it?” He bit back. “Even So’Taj qu’vatlh should know their way around a Klingon bridge!” Several warriors laughed at the retort. Garak weathered the hardy laughter. He couldn’t be sure who was on that So’Taj vessel and what kind of information they had about the rebels. He needed to make sure there was nothing implicating him. “They could be injured,” he tried. “Then they will die well, like warriors for once,” Bregath nodded. “They could be carrying vital information,” Garak pressed. “Ah,” Bregath’s eyes widened. “Now the forshak ripens. There’s something aboard that vessel you covet?” “Perhaps,” it was one of the few times Garak decided not to lie. “And,” he added quickly, “wouldn’t you rather a Klingon warrior be navigating this fine vessel as you deliver the final blow to the Terran warship?” Bregath’s eyes narrowed. The man wasn’t as dumb as he looked. His suspicion was consumed by laughter. He threw back his head and laughed heartily. “Well said Cardassian.” He waved dismissively, “Go, get out of my sight! Kojo put you in that chair, but I am the master of Vi’chak now!” He paused, “Nandali, you go with him!” She turned around in her chair. “I have fought to be part of this crew!” “And so, you have,” Bregath nodded. “You earned Kojo’s respect, but not mine. If you wish to stay aboard Vi’chak, you will do as I say. Accompany the Cardassian to the So’Taj vessel. If he does anything untoward, and I mean anything, split him apart.” Nandali flashed her metal teeth and slowly pulled out a long blade. “Gladly.” ***************************************************************************
Stadi, Solok, and Shelby are members of Species 8472? Of all the gorram possible twists, I was not expecting this. So I was completely frakking wrong.
The twists and turns keep on coming like punches right in the face. Well, punches into the face of the characters, that is. This is a hell of tale you are weaving here and if I ever thought to have an inkling on how it's all going to turn out in the end, I think I must now wave the white flag and just wait and see what happens.
*************************************************************************** ISS Travis Mayweather Captain Braener couldn’t help but chuckle. “Shelby’s men shoot as badly as mine!” “Captain,” Woods interjected, the troubled tone in her voice stopped Braener from berating his executive officer for interrupting his musings. “What is it?” He snarled. “The-the asteroid,” Woods pointed at the viewer. Braener followed the woman’s finger. While the torpedo fired from the Alexander missed the Klingon ship, in large part, to some incredible piloting from the boneheads, it slammed into the large asteroid. But it did more than that…it went through the cosmic rock, through…space itself. He blinked, not quite able to process what was happening. “Is-is that?” He struggled with the words, afraid to speak them. Before Woods or any of his crew could answer, could give voice to his fear, the ship was smacked by a godlike force. There was a rush of air, there was screaming, klaxons wailed, and then pain. “Sir, sir?” Furlong flashed a pen light into his eyes. The brightness added to the pain engulfing his head. He pushed the light away. “Why, why aren’t you at your station?” His words slurred, slickened by blood. “Sir,” the auxiliary helmsman began again. “The-the helm…a bulkhead.” The man shook his head, his emotions starting to overcome him. Braener pushed the younger man aside. He fought against the dizzying pain in his skull. On all fours, he saw that a large plank of metal had smashed down over both the helm and the operations console. Woods was trapped underneath, what remained of her a bloody, twitching mess. “Damn,” Braener said. He punched the deck, hoping the new pain would clear the gauze in his mind. Around him klaxons still blared, fires raged, and there was screaming, but it felt far away. “Captain.” It was Furlong again. Whatever his faults, the man was persistent, and loyal. He had picked well when it came to a captain's mate. “Let me help you sir.” He carefully grabbed Braener under the arm and helped him to his feet. He even helped hold him up until the man’s legs felt less rubbery. The captain wiped blood from his mouth and nose. He looked around the bridge. “Inquisitor,” he replied. The mysterious man had reappeared on the bridge. He held a phaser rifle in one hand. “What are you doing here?” Beside him stood Shoreham. The woman was brandishing her phaser, aimed directly at him. The captain checked for his own weapon, but Shoreham wagged her phaser with disapproval as soon as he touched the cool metal. The brunette had the jump on him. Suppressing his anger, Braener had no choice but to play along for the moment. “I came to kill you,” Biraka replied. “But now, now I see there is no need. The universe coming for us both, for all of us.” He pointed his rifle at the main viewer. Eerily reminded of Woods, Braener also looked back at the cracking screen. Between bursts of static, he saw a maelstrom before them, a galactic whirlpool. “It was the red matter,” the Inquisitor explained. “Somehow the Alexander stabilized it or stabilized it enough to turn it into a weapon.” He exhaled. “Fascinating.” While the dangerous man was stargazing Braener pulled his weapon. Furlong pushed the man to the side and was vaporized for his bravery by Shoreham. Before the woman could readjust, the captain disintegrated both traitors. “Anyone else want to challenge me?!” He shouted, a declaration not just meant his cowering crew, but to the universe itself. He saw who was left standing of his crew and began issuing orders. Stations were rerouted, as Braener reclaimed his seat. With their own necks on the line, the crew would do whatever it took to avoid being devoured by that swirling maw. Braener just wasn’t sure it would be enough. ***************************************************************** ISS Alexander “Gods,” Captain Dryer muttered, transfixed by the beautiful destruction. The Travis Mayweather had been the closest ship to asteroid. Her attention was torn between the forming black hole and Mayweather’s desperate struggle to avoid its jaws. “We could help them,” Bixby offered. “At great risk to ourselves,” Operations Officer Jenkins chimed in. “The Klingons are still out there,” Henshaw reminded her. “Mr. Henshaw, prepare a spread of photon torpedoes,” Dryer smiled. “Let’s help them both.” ******************************************************************** Shuttle Delahaye Terrence was glad he was seat. “What the hell just happened out there?” The shuttle had been bounced around the hold of the Klingon ship as it had been hit with what felt like a tidal wave. “I-I don’t know,” Bashir replied. “Not part of your brilliant plan eh?” Glover jibed. The swarthy man glowered in response. “There’s something going on out there,” Pollard spoke up. “Maybe we’ll be better protected inside this battlecruiser.” “Spoken like someone who’s never been a prisoner of the Klingons before,” Bashir riposted. “Julian,” Dax admonished. “No, not this time Dax,” the man said. “It’s now or never Commander Glover,” Bashir prodded. “He’s right,” Terrence replied. “I can’t believe I just said that. But Shelby is out there, the prototype and the orb are out there with her, going God’s knows where, for who knows what. My child is out there, and I’ve got to get them both back! I don’t give a damn about those objects, or your rebellion, or any of that. I just want my wife and my child!” “They’re that way,” Bashir pointed out the viewport at the closed shuttle bay door. “Everyone strap in, as best you can,” Glover advised. “If hell’s out there, we’re getting ready to go through it.” ************************************************************************ IKS Vi’chak Nandali pushed Garak off her. “Get off!” She snarled, clacking her metallic teeth. The Kriosian pulled her blade again and swung it at him. Garak staggered back, disoriented, but still of mind, to avoid the fatal swipe. “Put that thing away!” He urged. Around him the ship felt like it was tearing apart, as klaxons shrieked, and burly warriors ran in all directions. “What’s happening?” “It doesn’t matter,” Nandali declared. “Captain Bregath gave us instructions. We will proceed to the shuttle bay.” “So, that it’s it for you? If Captain Bregath, Thought Admiral Kojo,” Garak began, but stopped with a whelp when Nandali threw him against a wall and placed the edge of the blade at his throat. “Never speak Kojo’s name again,” the Kriosian hissed. “You are not worthy.” “And you,” Garak laced his voice with pity, “You think you are worthy? To them? You’re nothing more than a quick pinch of seloh.” He grinned as the woman’s eyes widened, shocked as much by his statement as his use of Klingonese. It gave Garak the moment he needed. The Cardassian angled his disruptor and fired through the holster. She exhaled, drops of blood pelting his face, before she fell back. Garak stood over her. “Unlike you, I don’t follow orders like I’m some theta! This ship is being torn apart. And I don’t intend to be here when it does. So, there’s been a change of plans.” He stepped over the dying woman and hustled to the nearest wall-mounted computer display. He smiled upon finding his new quarry. Garak left Nandali behind without a second thought. **************************************************************
You weren't completely wrong. Stadi was masquerading as a Changeling, so she 'was' a little. I had considered earlier making Solok and Stadi both Changelings, and later on Shelby, but the frequent regeneration Changelings needed to undergo made it impossible to do for Shelby in particular. I liked the character Stadi in the Voyager pilot and wanted to include her in my story, as I did several other Voyager characters, but originally I didn't plan on making her a Changeling. I know I wanted to include the Changelings in some way in the story, a nod to Odo, and a hint at the Mirror Dominion, and when I thought back about the Stadi scenes, I realized that for a Betazoid she wasn't that good of a mind reader or empath, so I thought maybe she isn't that good at either because she's not really a Betazoid.
************************************************************** Shuttle Diego Grillo *The Terrans have created an artificial black hole* The being that had been Stadi thought. Shelby, half-transformed, unwilling to completely shed all that she thought she was, shuddered at the being’s words. She thought of her crew aboard the Travis Mayweather, her allies, and her enemies, but most of all, she thought of Terrence, on that smaller Klingon ship, with even less protection against the savage gravitational pull of a black hole than even an Imperial frigate. She wished she could reach out to him, with her touch, but her fingers were different now, alien, and she knew he would recoil from them, from her. Even if she was carrying his seed, he would destroy it and her, deeming them both abominations. It was the Terran way. She knew all that, but still, the woman she once was-still was-felt something for him, feared for him. Elizabeth wished she could reach out, to share her thoughts with him. But she couldn’t. Because he was not one of them. “It’s done,” Solok said, with one final finger tap. The display glowed a soothing yellow and then green. The Vulcan/Vendorian sighed, and smiled, before he reverted. Shelby watched in both horror and wonder as the man expanded outside his humanoid form. *It is time* Solok nudged her. His thoughts were gentle. *That shell has served its function* He reached out to her and touched her forehead with one long, gnarled finger. The Bajoran orb was cradled in his other hand. She gasped at the flush of memories. It was unlike anything she had ever known before, but yet she knew, Shelby knew, it was as much her life as all the times she had spent with David, her parents, or even Terrence for that matter. In her true home there were no stars, no planets, but hypnotic swirls of green, yellow, and brown, no void but pure matter, and it pulsed, like the great beating heart of the universe, and now it was calling to her, singing to every atom that made her. The being that had once been Shelby reached out for it, needing it, wanting to return home. At the edges of her need, she heard the whine of a transporter beam, and a golden light suffused her, breaking her apart. *Terrence* Was her last thought before thinking became unnecessary. ********************************************************************* ISS Alexander “Hit both ships with everything you’ve got Henshaw!” Dryer ordered. “Aye captain,” the security chief was brisk. A fusillade of phasers and photon torpedoes hit the Klingon battlecruiser and the Travis Mayweather. Both had been so busy fighting against the strong gravitational clutches of the black hole Dryer had created they had forgotten about the Alexander. That would be their last mistake. Both ships had shifted their shielding to the sides closest to the black hole, leaving themselves exposed. Henshaw carved into them like roasted Tellarite. Dryer definitely was going to reward the able security guard in her private chambers once they were back in Alliance space. A cheer went up as several explosions ripped across the starboard hull of the Klingon ship and it crashed into the Mayweather, demolishing its primary hull. A large fireball engulfed them both as their remnants fell into the gaping cosmic gullet. “Bixby, keep us far enough away so we won’t be sucked into the singularity,” she barked. “I’m doing the best I can captain,” Bixby said, almost hysterical. “We’re at full reverse, maximum warp, and we’re barely staying out of the teeth of that thing!” “You won’t have to work so hard for much longer,” she promised. Dryer had already intended to eject the man from an airlock as soon as she could, the chief medic as well. She wanted all the residue of Captain Shelby’s reign cleaned for her fresh start. She stood up and tugged down hard on her tunic. “Mr. Auguste, swing us around and get us the hell out of here!” “Aye, aye sir,” the helmsman was relieved to be receiving that order. Dryer smirked. She wasn’t sure whether to pat the man on the back or order him to an agonizer session for insufficient enthusiasm for battle. “Captain, wait!” Jenkins shouted from the operations console. Dryer fondled the hilt of her dagger with annoyance. “Don’t ever raise your voice at me,” she chided. The young blonde dipped her head in submission. “My apologies Captain, but-but a shuttle has emerged from the Klingon vessel!” The low-slung shuttle, the same one the Mayweather had been pursuing, broke free just as the battlecruiser folded in on itself. Whoever was at the yoke had an impressive drive to live. Dryer hated to have to extinguish that flame, but she would, if they resisted her. “Impossible,” Bixby breathed. The black hole was already doing its fiendish work and was clawing at the now bucking ship. The captain imagined that the shuttle’s pilot would fly the ship apart rather than be consumed by the singularity, and that impressed her as well. Dryer was intrigued. “Hail the Klingon shuttle.” “Captain?” Jenkins was incredulous. “I don’t repeat myself,” Dryer replied, glaring hard at the woman. Jenkins swallowed and patted her brow before doing as the captain demanded. “Klingon vessel, I am Captain Nyota…” There was a harsh bark of static, before an unmistakably Terran voice cut in, “Captain, get lower your shields and beam us aboard, this instant!” “Who are you?” Dryer asked, angered, but also excited by this man’s gall. “Commander Terrence Glover,” he quickly replied. Her eyes widened at that. So, the man had survived after all. His father would be pleased, and the rewards bountiful. “Reading four life signs on that ship, three human, one Trill,” Jenkins pointed out. The captain grunted at the superfluous information. “Beam them to the bridge, now!” Henshaw left his station, as did several others. They all pulled their weapons. Dryer was confident in her soldiers, many she had personally trained, so assured she didn’t brandish a weapon. She would not act like a bloodless Kelpien on the prow of her ship. Four shafts of golden light appeared on the bridge. They resolved into Glover, a young woman in Starfleet blue, and two bedraggled civilians. Her nose twitched at the stench of civilians, and by their appearance and odor, she pegged them to be Alliance denizens. Before Dryer could speak, Jenkins intruded again. “Captain, a single escape pod has ejected from the battlecruiser!” Dryer huffed, “Beam it into the cargo hold.” She turned to Henshaw. “See to our new guest.” “At once captain.” The man gave a stiff-armed salute before rushing to the turbolift. “Any more surprise interruptions?” She asked of Jenkins. Nyota was pleased to see the woman go scarlet. “Now,” Dryer turned her attention back to Glover. “You four, in my ready room.” The guards crowded around them, nudging them with their phaser rifles. Glover and the others pushed back. “Enough,” Dryer ordered her guards. She led the way to her office. Once inside, she ordered the guards to remain outside. Perching on the edge of her desk, arms folded, Dryer began, “Why the hell were you on a Klingon vessel?” ******************************************************************
****************************************************************** ISS Alexander Private Quarters Garak jumped to his feet. The ship’s captain strode into the room, guards at her sides. Both aimed their rifles at the Cardassian. The captain waved for them to be lowered. “I must say,” the Cardassian took a look around the spartan crew quarters. “This wasn’t the welcome I was expecting.” Truly, he expected to be in shackles deep within the ship’s bowels. “Believe me, almost everyone on board wants to break your scaled neck,” the captain said, “Or at least give you a run through an agony booth, myself included.” “Well,” Garak couldn’t help his damn curiosity, “Why haven’t you? I can assure you if the tables were turned…” “That won’t happen,” the captain declared, “Even in the ass end of this so-called empire of yours.” “Ah, your invisibility screen,” Garak nodded, smiling appreciatively. “By chance, how did you get your hands on…” “I didn’t come here for small talk,” the captain said. “Oh,” Garak stilled his racing heart. The pain would start soon, and he had to be prepared for it. “I wanted to take a look at you before I send you off,” the captain said, giving him a scouring once over. She frowned, disappointed at what she saw. “Wait, no inquiries, no…torture?” Garak didn’t hide his surprise. “The aforementioned agony booth, the agonizers, even the Tantalus Field…” “You saw what I did to that asteroid,” the captain replied. “Just imagine what I could do to Bajor, Qo’noS, or Cardassia Prime.” A hard lump formed in Garak’s throat at the horrific prospect. “I don’t need to beat you,” the captain surmised, “You’re already beaten. And that is the message I want you to go back and tell your masters.” She approached him, and he stepped back. The woman didn’t stop until she was in his face, their noses nearly touching. Up close her scar looked even more vicious and he could see that it was…pulsing, as if something alive was burrowed within her skin. “Inform your superiors that whatever designs they have on the Terran Empire should be forgotten, or else, an assault fleet with similar metaweapons will be waiting for them.” So close, she sniffed and scrunched up her face. “Understood.” Garak nodded, forcing the lump down his throat. “Clearly.” The captain nodded. She smirked, causing the scar to ripple again. She gestured toward the door. “My guards will escort your escape pod.” “Wait,” Garak said. “You-you can’t expect me to make it back to Terok Nor in an escape pod. Limited oxygen, no provisions…” “Would you rather stay with us?” The captain asked. Garak looked at the eager guards and then at the smirking captain. “No-no, I’ll take my chances,” the Cardassian said. She clapped his back and Garak’s skin crawled. “That’s the warrior spirit. Never thought I would be saying that about a spoonhead.” The guards chuckled. Garak buried his anger at the slight. Making a stand here, now, would be suicide. “Since I am magnanimous, your escape pod will be stocked with some provisions to ease your journey. What good is a dead messenger after all?” The woman laughed at her own failed attempt at humor. She soured after no one else joined in. “Now, go,” she pointed to the door again. “The guards have been given explicit instructions that no harm will come to you.” Garak nodded, believing the woman. Though the guards were larger, built like Klingons, the tall, athletic captain had a fierceness that frightened him more. It reminded him of the Intendant when she wasn’t seeking pleasure. The guards hustled him out of the room. Before the doors closed, the captain said, “Safe travels.” Garak shivered. He wouldn’t feel safe again until he was in his quarters on Terok Nor, and even then, he would have to explain himself to Kira. The rough journey awaiting him in the cramped escape pod might be the most blissful time he’s going to have for a long while. ********************************************************************** ISS Alexander Shuttle Bay Captain Dryer could tell that both the human and his Trill were groggy. The effects of the Veritrax-12 serum hadn’t worn off yet. She assumed that the two were well enough to pilot the shuttle she was giving them. The gruff human certainly claimed so. Truthfully Nyota didn’t care if they were or not. But she had her orders. Command thought there might be some value in releasing these rebels back into Alliance space, with weapons and supplies to further the cause of their revolt against the Alliance. Dryer was skeptical that a ragtag group could do much to overturn an Alliance that had defeated the Terran Empire and even know kept it caged. But if they could soften up the Alliance until the Empire could deliver the killing blow; the captain was content to allow the admirals and the rebels their fantasies. “You’re just going to give us all this?” The human scoffed. Dryer certainly didn’t want to part with the shuttle. She ran her fingers along its stenciled lettering. As soon as they reached the nearest Starfortress she would requisition for another. The Trill put a restraining hand on the man’s shoulder. “Julian, what was that human saying, about looking a gift horse in the mouth?” Julian considered his partner. “These aren’t horses Jadzia, these are tigers.” “Very much so,” Dryer smiled, “And it’s getting close to feeding time, if you catch my meaning.” The Trill looked confused, but the human’s eyes narrowed. “Come on Dax,” the man said. “Let’s get out of here while we still can.” **************************************************************** ISS Alexander Main Bridge Several Days Later… Captain Dryer looked as uncomfortable as Terrence felt. She was perched at the edge of her command chair, tapping one boot incessantly, her pinched expression just hiding her apprehension. Glover couldn’t help stealing glances at the helm. The young helm officer, Auguste, was piloting the ship with assurance, certainly, but not the style that Glover brought to the endeavor. Terrence was certain that Dryer didn’t like that Command had ordered Alexander remain in Alliance space until they found the Diego Grillo or evidence of its destruction. The woman wisely knew they were tempting fate, but Glover didn’t care. Of course, he hadn’t told Dryer that he had personally pushed to prolong the sojourn, leaning on his mother’s influence. Dryer’s displeasure pleased Glover. He was in no mood to forgive the woman after she had him injected with Veritrax-12 to draw the truth from him about what had happened aboard the Travis Mayweather and with the rebels. “Captain, we’ve picked up the warp signature of the Diego Grillo again,” Ensign Pollard informed Dryer. They were lacking a science officer, some nasty business Terrence had heard, and Dryer had placed Noelle in that position, and she was doing her duty competently. “On screen,” Dryer said. The main viewer focused on a speck that looked adrift. Glover’s heart sank. He had been eager to find the shuttle, but hoping that he would find Shelby, and their child, safe and sound. He had had to come clean to his mother about why he was adamant about remaining in Alliance space. It wasn’t just because he wanted to rectify his failure to secure the Bajoran artifact or the prototype. His mother’s reaction to the news of his child had been offputtingly muted. She had taken a wait-and-see approach, already convinced that Shelby had left him, or worse. Glover wanted to prove her wrong, as well as himself. As the Alexander eased up on the listing shuttle, Dryer ordered it beamed into the main shuttle bay. Terrence jumped from his chair. He cleared his throat. Dryer didn’t even look at him. “Yes, yes, go on. Henshaw, Pollard, go with him.” Glover quickly saluted the woman before racing to the turbolift. *********************************************************************
********************************************************************* ISS Alexander Main Shuttle Bay Ensign Pollard jumped at the banging against the console. She turned to see Glover flexing a hand, blood was already starting to drip from it. “I’m sorry sir,” the science officer said. “But these headings, they just don’t make sense.” “She had to be transported somewhere,” the man fumed. “I’m not disputing that sir,” Pollard replied. “It would be easier if we had the prototype. I could reconfigure whatever Solok did to it, and find out where they were beamed to, but all we have is the calculations inputted into the propulsion system. “Yes,” Glover said, looking around the cramped shuttle. He folded his arms, though Pollard could tell he wanted to throttle something else again. “Perhaps the bastard just scrambled the readings to hide where he took Shelby?” Pollard nodded. “That makes more sense than what the propulsion computer says. I mean, it’s readings are extradimensional. It would be like beaming outside of space-time. Impossible.” “Yeah,” Glover said slowly, his mind rolling over the thought. He remembered what Shelby and that bastard Solok had told him, about alternate realities, and the insidious Federation. A domain beyond space-time was preposterous, but this other reality…the one where the Federation reigned, there had contact with it. What if Solok had taken Shelby there for some reason, to aid his rebellion, or something? His thoughts turned like a knife twisting in his brain. And what if Liz had been conspiring with him all along? That Bajoran artifact had made her off kilter, susceptible to Solok’s lies. He plumbed his memory and recalled that Liz had said the Vendorian had ‘mind-melded’ with her. Somehow the shapeshifter had mimicked green-blood telepathy, and who knew how he had influenced Shelby’s thinking? “Commander Glover?” Pollard’s concern poked through the dark wool of his thoughts. He felt a spike of gratitude, but more disgust that she would display such weakness. She would not survive long under a harsh captain like Dryer. “Forgive me,” he muttered. “Excuse me sir?” She asked. He answered by cuffing her temple. Before the woman dropped, Terrence had turned, his phaser already out and aiming at Henshaw as he charged from the cockpit. Glover needed the scientist. He didn’t need the extra muscle. Henshaw’s grimace was the last thing that floated into particles. He felt a pang of regret for hitting Pollard. He recalled the strange grip of that Bajoran orb and wondered if it was lingering. But there was no time to concern himself over whether Solok had played with his mind like Liz’s. The deed done, now there was no turning back. Terrence took the pilot’s chair, relishing the idea of testing his skills against the younger Auguste. He started the engines and quickly checked the shuttles systems. He wasn’t thinking, he was feeling, running on instinct. He wondered if this was what fatherhood felt like, the desire, the need to do anything, go anywhere for his offspring? Somehow he didn’t feel either of his parents felt such compunction. Even if they disowned him, they would be coming after him for what he was about to do. All of the Empire would, and he didn’t care. He needed time, space, to figure out the readings Solok left behind. To unlock their meaning and find his child. And he would face the whole of the Terran armada to do so. Glover just wished he had thought to bring a change of clothes and more provisions than the shuttle’s measly replicator could provide. But there was no time to think about any of that anymore. He had a legacy to secure…out there. ********************************************************************** Sector 04-70 It had been days, how many, Garak didn’t know. He had run out of food almost two weeks ago and had been without water for days. He had become so rank that he was immune to his odor. His facial hair itched, his mouth dry as his favorite vacation spot on Prime. He had hoped that an Alliance vessel would’ve picked up the distress beacon by now, but so far, he hadn’t even felt a ship pass near him. All he had felt was the buffeting of plasma storm currents pushing him along, but it had been days since his pod had even been manhandled in such fashion. He had begun to contemplate that this could truly be the end for him. He wished that the Terrans had given him one of their phasers, but even their arrogant captain was too cautious to do that. And he couldn’t very well slit his own throat, even though his nails had grown disgustingly too long. There was nothing to do but wait for death, by thirst, hunger, or hopefully some swift cosmic phenomena. He buried his head between his knees, overcome by the thought of it. Of how that leering libertine Kira would celebrate his death. Or what if she didn’t even think of him at all? That would be worse. That he wasn’t even worth despising. He was still sobbing with self-pity when the transporter took him. It left him on the floor in the middle of an oasis. Around him there was food, beverages, and revelers. All laughing, some at him, most paying him no attention. “Elim,” Kira grinned. The woman was lounging on a long couch. Behind her stood a shirtless Ferengi comfort servant, holding a tray of grubs. Every few seconds he dropped one of the squirming insects, a very fat one, into Kira’s mouth. Garak had learned through hard experience to wait until Kira finished a thought. But even without that experience, he was still so stunned that his brain was about to shut down. Still chewing, bug juice staining her lips, the intendant continued, “So happy you could join us.” ********************************************************************** Sector 04-70 Hours Later… Even after the shower, which Kira had allowed the comeliest of her comfort servants to administer, fresh clothes, and a literal buffet of food and drink, Garak still felt empty. He sat before the master of Terok Nor. The lithe woman was still on the long couch, though she was sitting up now. It was just the two of them. She had sent everyone else away, to party in one of the several other chambers on the Orion pleasure barge. The Klavaatu had been a gift from one of their merchant-princes but named by the intendant for one of the rarest fruits on Bajor. Kira took a long drought from a hookah pipe and coughed. She held it out for Garak. The purple smoke tickled his nostrils. He declined. The woman shrugged before putting the pipe nozzle back in her mouth. She inhaled again, coughed once more, and then said, “You know I don’t believe half of what you just told me.” “It’s true,” Garak was empathic. He was well practiced. “Elim, Elim,” Kira shook her head. She placed the hookah on the table separating them. “I love how you underestimate me. It’s one of your most enduring traits.” The man glowered, and Kira chuckled, throwing back her head. Dozens of ways to kill her ran through his mind in that instant, but he knew the woman’s guard wasn’t as down as it appeared to be, and the Bajoran knew that he knew. “I knew you were feeding the rebels information, that you were conspiring with Intendant Lang and her toady Orta,” Kira said. “What-What?” Garak sputtered. The surprise was genuine. “This trifling little rebellion has been fun,” Kira crowed, her eyes sparkling. “It’s made the me the talk of Qo’noS and Cardassia Prime. It’s reinforced the importance of Bajor to the Alliance, and when I wipe away this rebellion it will show how strong and decisive I am as a leader. The Regent might even make me Overseer.” “I-I,” Garak was at a loss for words. He didn’t know how much of what the intendant was saying was true, how much she truly knew, or had figured out after picking through his recounting. He did underestimate her intelligence and cunning, Garak had to admit. “It’s been so amusing watching you and Benjamin and Natima, even Orta, skulking around like krutu, scampering away whenever I shined a light on you. Professor Sisko is a big light, and soon it will bring Benjamin to me, once again, though I don’t know if that analogy is apt, but it doesn’t matter.” Kira waved away the musing. “What is important is that now, now I can claim an important victory against the rebels, thanks to you, and implicate Lang and Orta as traitors, also thanks to you.” “I…don’t understand,” the man shook his head. The intendant’s eyes crinkled in delight. “Of course, you don’t Elim. I’ve been recording all of your communiques with Orta. Did you think you could bypass me?” “Well,” the man began. He just couldn’t believe it. But he couldn’t be sure. Kira was damnably resourceful. “Certainly, you did,” she finished his sentence, wagging her finger at him. “And that’s why it’s been so easy to keep tabs on you and your shenanigans. I’ve already sent the correspondence, doctored of course, directly to Legate Gabet at Central Command. Old Gabby is a friend of mine,” she paused to slide her hand down one jutting hip while sighing with delight. “That man has magic hands.” “Why, why are you sparing me?” Garak nearly choked on the words. “I told you before, but you refuse to listen,” Kira nodded her head like a disappointed parent. “You amuse me Garak, and I want you to continue amusing me…for the time being.” “Thank you,” was all the man could say. Kira’s mirth evaporated instantly. Garak pulled away from her, wishing he could ditch his chair and run from the room. “You know what I don’t find amusing,” the intendant’s voice was frosty. “Are people from Central Command interfering in our affairs.” “Thrax,” Garak said, the name creaking out of his dry mouth. Kira shook her head, “Sometimes you get ahead of yourself Elim. You think too many steps ahead, you get caught in your own webs of intrigue. You thought requesting Thrax would cover your tracks, would not be considered the act of a guilty man, but that old grint could uncover how you’ve helped the rebellion, among, other things. Everything we’ve built could come crashing down as a result. There was nothing even Gabby could do to dissuade Central Command from sending Thrax.” “I’ll deal with it,” Garak promised. “You will,” Kira said, her gaze colder than a winter’s night on Andor. “And your constant scheming has put us all in jeopardy, and now I’ll have to be less forgiving when I deal with the rebels. I’m not pleased by that Elim. They would’ve gotten bored playing soldier and returned to ore processing eventually. I have faith in the Terrans that they know their place. But now, now, they won’t have that chance, will they?” She looked sad. Garak knew it was a rhetorical question. “They are like my children, Smiley, Benjamin, and all the rest. Unruly little scamps, but truly crying out for a firm, but loving hand. But perhaps I’ve been too nice, too giving as a parent, and they have become incorrigible.” The intendant shook her head. “Could this be my fault?” Garak sat through the woman’s soliloquy. He knew not to intrude. As the hours drug on, Garak started to miss the escape pod. *****************************************************************
I really enjoyed this story. It made me miss United Trek stories by their associated authors. Keep up the great work, DarKush.
Not done yet Admiralelm 11. ***************************************************************** Sector 04-70 Bashir couldn’t help but smile. Their hideout had never been so enticing, or welcoming. Many of their compatriots flocked around them, just as happy to see that he and Dax were alive, but Julian also suspected their mirth was buoyed by the shuttle and the provisions within it. Some of the rebels were already rummaging through the provisions, supervised by Sakonna who was cataloguing the items on her electronic clipboard. Bashir soured quickly on all the well-wishers and began pushing them away. “Hey Pally,” Fontaine, of course, groused about that. “Everyone’s just happy to see you made it back in one piece, well Dax at least,” he added with a leer. The gaunt, white-haired rebel was one of the newest recruits, and Julian had taken an instant dislike to the man, and Fontaine shared that antipathy. Bashir didn’t trust him, but Sisko had been amused by him. And O’Brien and Jadzia trusted the captain. It was the only thing that had stayed Julian’s hand, but he was eager for Fontaine to make the wrong move. “Leave him alone Vic,” Dax said. She placed a hand on Julian’s shoulder, and her touch settled him. “We’ve been through a harrowing time.” Fontaine’s eyes flashed with challenge, and then he sensed the deeper meaning beneath the woman’s words. Fontaine hung his head and slunk off back into the throng. After the crowd had moved on from them, Bashir pressed his lips close to Dax’s ear. “And how are you holding up?” He reached across his upper body to pat the woman’s hand that was still on his shoulder. The Trill sighed. “I’m glad we made it,” Jadzia answered. “I just wish we all had.” The loss of Solok’s base and many of their fellows weighed on her. Chakotay and Haas could not be replaced. Julian did not look forward to informing Tuvok of their loss. However, Julian wasn’t grieving Solok or the loss of some of his men, because he wondered how many of them were also shapeshifters. He looked out with suspicion at their own comrades. How many shapeshifters were hiding among them at this moment? How many others had allegiances to the Alliance, Terran Empire, or some other nefarious power? It was enough to make Bashir want to take Dax, get back in the shuttle, and make for the Borderland where they could take their chances. Though he knew if he stayed he was guaranteed a fight, and that’s all Julian wanted in the end, to pour out his anger, his rage at something, someone, to pay back the spoonheads and foreheads for what they had done to him, what they had taken from him. And Bashir knew that this ragtag group of ‘freedom fighters’ needed a stronger leader than the tenderhearted Smiley, especially now, after… “Benjamin would’ve been pleased with our haul,” Jadzia said wistfully. Bashir hadn’t cared much for the brash captain, so he hadn’t mustered much emotion for his passing, but what little grief he did experience was over Jadzia’s mourning for the late Sisko. “We needed this win, I needed it.” “We can still leave,” Julian suggested. “You don’t mean that,” the Trill replied. “This rebellion means more to you than it does to me. I’m only in this fight because of Benjamin. His fights always became my fights. We had been together for quite some time, had quite some times…He treated me well.” She paused and smiled at that. Bashir bristled at what the woman might have been remembering in that moment. He knew it was silly to be jealous of a dead man, but he couldn’t deny he was. “Yes, I was a slave,” Bashir said, pushing away the memories of his bondage as best he could, “While you sailed the space lanes as a soldier of fortune. To you I have a vested interest, a personal reason to destroy the Alliance, and you’re right. But I also hate slavery enough to know I don’t want to be around it, ever again.” “Wherever we go, it’ll be there, waiting for us in some form or fashion, and this war will still be going on,” the Trill countered. “This is our chance to do something meaningful.” “I know,” Bashir said bitterly. “And these people need you,” Dax added. “They need us,” Bashir replied. “Your know-how…” “And your ferocity,” Jadzia finished. “It seems we have no recourse but to stick it out, stay the course,” Bashir’s smile was grim, but it was the second time he had done so today, and for him that was a record. “Now that’s settled, I think it’s time we show O’Brien,” Dax declared. She spotted the man trudging down the shuttle’s gangplank, holding a toolbox with the Imperial emblem. Sakonna, clipboard under one arm, was talking to him. Bashir frowned, “I was already imagining selling it for an enormous sum to one of the merchant-princes in the Borderland.” The gleam in the Trill’s eye revealed she had been contemplating something along the same line. Jadzia blew at one of brown locks hanging over her eye. “Sure you were.” Bashir rolled his eyes. “If you insist.” He half-cupped his mouth, before shouting the tinkerer’s name. True to his appellation, O’Brien smiled as he made his way over to them, leaving the Vulcan woman standing by the shuttle. He dropped the toolbox, almost on Bashir’s feet. O’Brien wrapped his arms around them both and smooshed them together. Both Bashir and Jadzia wiggled free from his embrace. O’Brien’s cheeks reddened, the man was abashed by his emotional response. Bashir was mortified. “I’m so glad you both made it back,” O’Brien said, his smile becoming sad. “We really couldn’t stand to lose you now that the captain’s gone.” “We’re here to stay,” Dax promised. “For now,” Julian corrected. “For however long it takes until the Alliance is defeated,” the Trill riposted, “And we have something that might hasten their defeat.” “Oh?” O’Brien was intrigued. Jadzia pulled a small blue translucent rectangular strip from her tunic. The curly-haired putterer’s eyes zeroed in on it. Holding it between her thumb and index finger, Dax handed it carefully to O’Brien, dropping it in his outstretched palm. The man held it so close to his face, for a moment Bashir thought he was going to swallow it. The thought brought up a very queasy memory. “It’s an isolinear chip,” Jadzia explained. “I know,” Smiley replied. “I’m just wondering, how did you get hold of one?” “You know, our encounter with the Terran starship,” Julian replied. “Their ship was bursting with them.” “So, what’s so special about this one?” O’Brien said, still looking hard at it. “It belonged to one of the Terrans we encounter, a science officer named Pollard,” Jadzia explained. “It contains all the information she was able to record of a device, a prototype, of a multidimensional transporter.” O’Brien stumbled backward as if Julian had slugged him. “What did you say?” “It’s a way, to the other reality,” Bashir said. “The one where you said you met that other…me.” “And-and, the Terrans just gave you this?” Smiley was disbelieving. “It’s not that simple,” Dax explained. “Pollard hid it among the supplies Captain Dryer gave us. Before that, we had been captured by another Terran crew.” “Long story,” Julian cut in. “Pollard had recorded the information about the prototype before we were taken by Dryer’s crew,” Jadzia cut back in. “She handed me the chip for safe keeping. She wanted the rebels to have the information.” “I see,” O’Brien nodded. He looked reverentially at the chip. “I’ll get to work on this immediately.” The man was so excited he forgot the toolbox. Alone again, Bashir nudged Dax with an elbow. “You forgot to tell him the best part.” He chuckled with devilment. “The real story.” Jadzia glowered at him. “If you know what’s good for you, you’ll keep that between us.” “Well, only you, me, and that shuttle’s refresher know how you really were able to get that isolinear chip past the Alexander’s security guards,” Julian smirked. Dax made a face. “You wouldn’t dare.” Bashir rolled his eyes and shrugged, “Oh, I don’t know. Perhaps if my lips were otherwise occupied.” Jadzia’s smile was limned with sadness. “I might take you up on that, but not today, not yet.” Julian was disappointed, but he understood. “And not yet, could easily turn to never, if you whisper one word about how I carried that chip,” the Trill added. Bashir ran a finger over his mouth. “Lips sealed,” he promised. **********************************************************************
********************************************************************** Dytallix-B Three Months Later… “Can Ebnal be trusted?” Octavia Glover asked her mother. Admiral Deidre Glover glanced upward, into the deep rust-red sky of the mining planet visible from the cave opening. “Ebnal wouldn’t have the Venture if not for me,” Glover replied. “He’s as loyal as it gets.” As the years passed, Octavia was coming to resemble her mother more and more. Both possessed tall, athletic frames, with their hair styles being the most notable difference between them. Diedre’s hair was shaved off both sides and was gray on the top. Octavia wore hers shoulder-length. If not for Diedre’s proud smattering of gray, many would mistake them for sisters, and not mother and daughter. “Which means he’s not loyal at all,” Septimius Glover piped up. Her shorter, clean-shaven brother had never found a uniform with sleeves he liked. In his sleeveless red uniform, the youngest Glover was unfazed by the cavern’s chilled air. “I am pleased to see you remembered your lessons,” the admiral beamed at her youngest. Octavia bristled at the praise her parents, particularly Diedre, ladled onto Septimius. Both believed him to be the star of the family. No matter how far she went, how many accomplishments she achieved, or medals pinned to her uniform, the eldest Glover sibling would never be the brightest star to her parents. It chafed her, but Terrence had stewed hotter in their disfavor, so much so he had likely destroyed himself, and threatened the reputation of the entire family. But at least they hadn’t suffered the disgrace of the Shelby clan. After the death of David and the mutiny led by her former sister-in-law, the Shelbys were barely hanging on to their place at the Imperial Court. “It’s been three months,” Septimius said. “And no sign of Terrence. Maybe he’s dead, or a prisoner of the Alliance.” “If he had been captured, the Alliance would’ve made some overture to us, either to gloat or to seek ransom,” the admiral said, shaking her head. “He’s still out there.” “How can you be so sure Mother?” Octavia asked. The admiral pinned her with a hard glare. “A mother knows,” she rasped. “Something you could understand if you weren’t barren.” The words burned like plasma. All Octavia could do was look away, and bite down on the retort. Even Septimius was taken aback by their mother’s vehemence. “I’m sorry Daughter,” Deidre said tightly, her coldness belying her words. “It’s just-with Terrence missing.” “As far as Command knows, no one knows what happened to anyone on that pilfered Klingon shuttle, that Bolian included,” Septimius pointed out. “And I paid Captain Dryer handsomely to keep what she knew about this sordid affair to herself,” the admiral replied. “One can only hope that the tempestuous young Dryer will bite off more than she can chew, and soon.” “I can arrange something,” Octavia offered. “No,” the admiral was emphatic. “Right now, Dryer is a hero of the Empire. Grand Admiral Leyton presented the Garth Medal of Valor to her personally. She’s untouchable…for the foreseeable future.” “So, what are we supposed to do?” Septimius demanded. Her youngest brother’s most annoying flaw was his impatience. Instead of biting his head off, their mother smiled sympathetically. Deidre tapped her insignia. “Beam down,” she ordered. The golden sparkles faded to reveal a tall, statuesque woman. Septimius attention perked up immediately. The dark brown woman, with hard, caramel-colored eyes, looked at them coldly, before saluting the admiral. “Captain Mendes,” Deidre’s smile was slight. “Of the Kill Devil. I’m so glad you joined us.” “I didn’t have much choice,” the woman admitted. Octavia realized that the woman hadn’t sat long in the center chair, to not be wise enough to realize she was in the presence of a sinoraptor like her mother. “You knew Terrence better than anyone, or so I’ve heard,” the admiral said. “You will find him.” Mendes was surprised by the order. “I thought Commander Glover was missing, presumed dead.” “That is the official story,” Admiral Glover said. “But there is more there, and you will find it.” “Admiral,” the woman started to protest. “Why do you think the lecherous Chief Rojas finally relented to your plan to off Captain Awokou?” Diedre asked. Mendes was at a loss of words. “It was either going to be Rojas standing here taking orders from me, or you,” the admiral said. “I would consider myself lucky if I were you.” “Yeah,” Septimius added. Though to Octavia it seemed the man just wanted another reason to leer at the voluptuous captain. “You may go now,” the admiral told Mendes, “I will be sending your further instructions in the coming days. And when I call, you answer.” The younger woman was angry, but also afraid. So, Octavia could see she learned quickly. “Care to add anything Captain Mendes?” The admiral’s voice was falsely sweet. Mendes buried whatever retort was on her tongue. She fired off a sharp salute. Admiral Glover sent her away. “Perhaps I could help look for Terrence with Captain Mendes?” Septimius offered. “She seems a bit…new to this, wet-behind-the-ears.” “Her ears were probably the only place you weren’t looking where she was concerned,” Octavia said. Septimius scowled, before grinning. “Got me there, Sis.” “No,” Diedre said, shaking her head. The woman straightened her long service jacket. “I have something else in store for you, both of you.” Octavia exhaled, stilling herself. She realized many of the questions that had been swirling in her head since her mother had summoned them to this backwater mining planet were about to be answered. “It’s about your father,” the admiral began. Octavia held her breath. “Yeah, I was wondering where Dad was,” Septimius, obtuse as ever, interrupted. The admiral glowered at the man silently until he tucked his head between his shoulders as if trying to make himself smaller to avoid her gaze. “As I was saying,” Deidre began again. “I brought you out here, because you are the only people I trust.” Octavia wanted to laugh at that so badly but held back. “There’s something going on, at Starfleet Command. Suspicious orders being issued, people dying under mysterious circumstances, including Vice Admiral Fujisaki…even Norah Satie. Before her death, Satie passed her findings on to me. We’re being…infiltrated.” “Mother, that sounds…” Octavia couldn’t even finish her thought. “Don’t you know I know that,” the admiral retorted. “But Satie’s investigation was disturbing. Norah had uncovered that some of the highest officials in the Empire had seemingly changed, some merely acting strangely, others taking on different personalities all together. I felt I had to share it with someone, so first I took it to your father.” Diedre shook her head. “He listened calmly to everything I shared with him, he promised to look into it from his end, and then he, he, kissed me.” “Whoa,” Septimius blew through his teeth. “He what?” Octavia was stunned. “Your father hasn’t kissed me in years, and we haven’t lived in the same house for even longer. He openly parades that green-blood whore of his around Romulus,” Deidre didn’t hide her bitterness at that affront. “Samson would never kiss me, but whoever was controlling him, or masquerading as him, apparently didn’t know of the rift between us.” “My God,” Octavia reached out to her mother, but the older woman pulled away. She pulled two isolinear rods from inside her uniform’s jacket. “This is the information that Satie passed on to me. If…anything happens to me, the information won’t die with me. Be circumspect with who you breathe a word of this to, make sure you trust them completely.” “Which means no one,” Septimius replied. The admiral gave him a slight smile at that. “If all of this is true,” Octavia said. Her mother glowered at her. Octavia grimaced. “With this being true, what are we supposed to do?” “That’s obvious,” the admiral replied, twisting her lips in disapproval that Octavia would ask such a question, “We find out who has designs on the Empire and we destroy them.” THE END ********************************************************************
Thanks for reading and commenting SolarisOne. Good question. Yes, I think there is a similarity between the Intendant and Dukat in how they view their subjects. I can't say that was at the surface of my thoughts, but perhaps in the subconscious. Though I feel that Kira's approach seemed more 'friendlier' toward certain people than Dukat's, where his 'love' and 'kindness' talk was more professed than seen, except when it came to women he was looking to seduce or people he was trying to deceive like Ziyal. The Intendant also had that motivation, but she also displayed a kind of maternalistic (paternalistic) attitude toward Mirror O'Brien in "Crossover" that I based my take on her on.
Thanks for the roller coaster ride, DarKush! A great story that leaves an opening for more storytelling in the future. Could the Romulan Republic in this reality be working with Species 8472, for example. They both have similar interests in that they fear both the Empire and the Alliance. How will the Rebellion shake out? Will it be able to shed its savage roots under Smiley's guidance or will it revert to seeking payback, continuing the cycle of revenge? All sorts of possibilities...
Congrats on completing one hell of a tale. Like we've come to expect from Dark Territory, the story was jam-packed with twists and turns, a ship-load of characters, each seemingly with their own secret agendas. I may still not be a huge fan of the mirror universe but this story certainly came close to make me a believer. It certainly feels like you set this up for a sequel some time down the road with a number of unanswered questions left, including the fate of Glover, Shelby, Garak and the rebellion, and of course the mysterious infiltration of Imperial Command (Parasite Invasion, perhaps?)