Dark Territory: Dancing with the Devil

[DarKush]

Author's Note: This story is a work in progress. This latest Dark Territory entry takes place during the Dominion War, and serves as a companion piece to the DT story "Dust to Dust" and the Sutherland story "Absent Friends", both of which can be found at the United Trek website. http://www.unitedtrek.org/​

DARK TERRITORY:


DANCING WITH THE DEVIL​

Dominion Battle Cruiser
Dreon System
Early 2374

Sarkos smiled with unrestrained glee at news from the Jem’Hadar commander on the ground. “The enemy has been eliminated,” the pebble-skinned warrior’s terse response was transmitted through the bridge’s intercom.

“Excellent,” Sarkos clapped. “The Maquis nuisance in this sector has been dispatched.”

“Don’t be so certain,” Gil Tarim darkly remarked. “These Maquis have proven as resilient as voles.”

“Perhaps for the Cardassian Militia,” Sarkos sniffed, “but not for the Dominion.” Tarim scowled, but didn’t reply. Sarkos’s smile widened.

“I must alert the Founder about this new victory at once,” he said. “She will doubtless be heartened by the news.”

“Yes, another feather in the cap,” Tarim couldn’t quite hide her skepticism. Sarkos looked at her askance, blinking his nearly translucent blue eyes.

“What an interesting turn of phrase, what does it mean?”

Tarim’s dark gray skin blanched slightly. “It…umm….it was a phrase I learned from one of the human Maquis we captured. An acknowledgement of a superior enemy,” the woman quickly lied, “that is what the phrase infers.”

“Interesting,” Sarkos said slowly. “But what does the acknowledgement of a superior enemy have to do with avians?”

Before Tarim could reply, Sarkos dismissed the question with a wave. “These humans are intriguing creatures. I look forward to exploring more of their idiosyncrasies once they have been brought to heel.”

“As do I,” Tarim said, breathing a sigh of relief.

“If you will excuse me,” Sarkos bowed gracefully before he departed to the ship’s stateroom.

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

Dominion Battle Cruiser
Stateroom

The warship was one of the few in the Dominion fleet with such a private conference chamber. Most business aboard Dominion ships was conducted in the open on the main bridge. However, Sarkos had been impressed with the private room on the Cardassian vessels he had toured and felt the need for some privacy from the Jem’Hadar under his command.

Though his loyalty to the Founders was bred into him, the Jem’Hadar’s obedience was more conditional and tied to the ketracel-white enzymes he provided them. Despite their near total loyalty, Sarkos never felt they could be completely trusted. Plus he felt the reptilian warriors were merely the foot soldiers and fodder of the Dominion, and shouldn’t be privy to the conversations of the gods and the Vorta, their chief emissaries.

Sarkos already had his head bowed in respect when the transmission on his databoard pinged to life. “Merciful Founder,” he began. He was startled by a very familiar laugh. He looked up quickly, the surprise still on his fair-skinned face. A similar face cruelly grinned back at him. “Keilan,” he said, his tone chilly, “where is the Founder?”

“Attending to more important matters than stroking your ego,” Keilan replied. “I assume you are reporting that the Maquis infestation in the Dreon System has been taken care of?” Sarkos regarded her stonily.

“I take that as a yes,” Keilan chuckled. “I will make sure she is aware of it.”

“I can do that myself,” Sarkos snapped before closing the link. He didn’t know why the Founder had blessed Keilan with access to her private link, but it disturbed him. Though Sarkos knew he could never extricate Weyoun from the Founder’s proverbial teat, he had hoped to make a place for himself as a great strategist and war leader for the gods.

However, his accomplishments had been trumped at every turn by Keilan, the mastermind of the Federation’s defeat in the Tyra System. Before that her diplomatic skills had been lauded when she persuaded the Miradorn to sign a non-aggression pact with the Dominion. She received continued praise from the Founder and even the damnable Cardassians for her efforts, and it boiled him inside. He was cleverer, more cunning, and he would find someway to prove it to Keilan, and to everyone else; but unfortunately not today. “But one day,” he bitterly promised. “One day soon.”
**************************

 

[DarKush]

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

Author’s Note: The following scenes in Dancing with the Devil take place after Operation Return but before the First Battle of Chin’toka.

USS Cuffe
Captain’s Ready Room
Mid-2374


Captain Terrence Glover leaned forward, his eyebrows knitting in disbelief. “Did I hear you correctly sir?”

“Are you certain this is a secure line?” Vice Admiral Byram Canfield asked again, his bushy white brows, hair, and beard making his hooded gaze even more obsidian.

“Yes sir,” Glover repeated for the umpteenth time, but this time he couldn’t keep the annoyance out of his voice, or his concern. “You know what you are asking me to do correct?”

“I am asking you to do your duty,” Canfield said tightly. “For the good for the Federation and all of the Alpha Quadrant.”

“But sir…” Glover began, but the admiral cut him off.

“Despite Operation Return, we haven’t had a major victory since, and the Dominion juggernaut remains intact. If the Dominion finds an alternate route back to the Gamma Quadrant this war ends quickly, and not in our favor.”

“But sir,” the captain began again. “You seriously think that a stable pathway back to the Gamma Quadrant can be found in one of the wormholes littering the Segomo Vortices?” Glover couldn’t keep the disbelief out of his voice. The Segomo Vortices contained an interminable number of wormholes. It was a wild, unstable region of space that no one traversed. “Why not let the Dominion take possession of it. They would probably just lose a lot of men and materiel in vain.”

Canfield frowned. “You’re missing the point Captain,” he huffed. “We must deny the Dominion ground on all levels, diplomatic as well as military. If they sign some type of non-aggression pact with the Phalkerians, or God forbid, the Phalkerian
Domain joins the Dominion, that gives them not only access to the cluster but free passage throughout Sector 443.”

“The Alshain Exarchate borders the Domain in Sector 443,” Glover countered. “The Dominion still wouldn’t have an easy backdoor into Federation space.”

“You’re right,” Canfield conceded. “However, it’s anyone’s guess what the Exarchate might do if the Dominion is breathing down their necks. So far our intelligence indicates that they remain resistant to the Dominion’s entreaties to sign on. That might change with the Jem’Hadar next door.”

“I see,” Glover rubbed his stubble chin. The Cuffe was just coming off a rough stretch in the Kabrel system, defending the ketracel-white rich planets from Dominion clutches. The Dominion had sued for peace in a sly attempt to gain control of the Kabrel system. If they had been successful, it would’ve netted them an unlimited supply of the white, the enzyme that fed their Jem’Hadar legions. After talks broke down, the Dominion had decided to take Kabrel by force. The Cuffe had been part of the taskforce that prevented that from happening, but they had incurred heavy losses in the process.

And Glover had found himself, and many in his crew becoming unhinged, forgetting or forgoing small things at first, like shaving or hygiene, or common courtesy. By the end of the last assault Terrence had been distressed by the growing lack of morale and even discipline. Though he hated leaving the front on one hand because he felt he was shirking his responsibilities and leaving his fellow warriors in a lurch, he knew his crew needed a break. But now it appeared the break he had hoped for would be short lived. “Sir, I think having the Romulans joining our alliance trumps the Phalkerians any day,” he said, hoping that the attempt to stave off the admiral’s request worked.

He had a bad feeling about this mission. Earlier in the war, Admiral Ross had sent him on a similar clandestine mission into the Lamenda System to assist an assassination plot against Gul Dukat, then the leader of Dominion-occupied Cardassia. It had been a trap and the Cuffe had barely escaped. The mission Canfield was proposing felt a little too familiar for Glover’s tastes. In fact, it made him feel queasy.

“The Romulans have been a great help to us, but we are still stalemated with the Dominion,” the admiral volleyed back. “We need a game changer, a major stumble for the Dominion. They’ve racked up the Cardassians, the Miradorn, the Tholians, and the Bajorans. They’re failure to secure the Romulan Star Empire in their column followed by another failure with the Phalkerians might keep the rest of the quadrant powers on the sidelines, and potential allies for us.”

Terrence sighed. “All right sir, what do you want us to do again?”
********************


Starbase 116
Sector 443

Admiral Canfield composed himself before transmitting his next message. Going rounds with a man as strong-willed and skeptical as Terrence Glover wasn’t an easy task, but he hadn’t made admiral by going the easy route in anything he did. Especially in the alliances he had made along the way.

“Are you certain that Vorta is telling the truth?” He asked his contact. “I don’t like the idea of sending one of our best crew’s into a deathtrap.”

“Our source is reliable,” the woman crisply replied, her face in shadow. Her face was always shadowed, obscuring her features. Canfield wasn’t even sure that what species she was, but he knew it really didn’t matter. He had had several handlers over the years. Some had been more open than others.

“And you’re certain that the taint of this won’t come back on the Federation?” the admiral asked, with an exaggerated sense of hope. “If news of this gets out, we’ll have a severe public relations problem, not to mention a tarnished image.”

“It is a sacrifice we must be willing to make,” his handler said after a pause. “Image without substance is nothing. So long as the ideals of the Federation remain, the galaxy’s opinion of us means little.”

“But missions like this might erode the ideals you claim we are defending,” Canfield protested, surprised that he had finally voiced some of the concerns that had been bubbling inside him ever since Section 31 had revealed themselves to him.

“This debate is moot if the Dominion wins,” the handler said. “The rest of the galactic community appreciates strength above all. Once we have defeated the Dominion they will come around…because they’ll have no choice.”

“I suppose,” Canfield replied, his worries still needling him. He saw just a hint of a smile, or what he thought was a smile on the woman’s face. He knew for certain he heard a smile in the woman’s voice.

“That’s why we came to you admiral,” she said. “We knew your sense of right and wrong would never waver, and that your moral compass would help us hold fast to ours. Disagreement makes us stronger, not weaker, so long as we all realize that the defense of the Federation, which allows such free expression, is paramount.”

“I’ve pledged my life to defend the Federation,” Canfield said with fierce pride. “I will do anything to see us prevail….even if it damns me in the process.”

“We’re all damned…in time,” the woman replied with perhaps a bit of honest reflection.

“Truer words…” Canfield didn’t finish the statement before he shut down the link. He didn’t need to.
***********************

 

[DavidFalkayn]

An auspicious start. I like the glimpse into Vorta politicking that you've shown us here. Also, it looks like another admiral has begun selling pieces of his soul.

 

[Dnoth]

This is off to a good start. A Dark Territory story and a Dominion War story! What could possibly go wrong?

 

[Mistral]

I'll say it again-I don't like Glover. He is one of the most interesting characters in UT, though. You've got a war story here but knowing how you do things-it won't be typical. Waiting for more....

 

[DarKush]

I hope this story lives up to your expectations. Thanks for reading and commenting.

 

[DarKush]

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

USS Cuffe
Captain’s Quarters

“I don’t like this,” Lt. Commander Pedro Rojas admitted as he lounged back on the captain’s amber-colored Aaamazzarite couch. He held a frosty mug of Meridor beer in one hand. Terrence polished off his glass of Arcturian Fizz before continuing.

“I don’t like it either,” the captain said, placing the glass on the table. He rubbed his eyes. “But do you think I could turn down the admiral’s request?”

“Yeah,” Rojas said without hesitation. “We’re explorers forced to be soldiers, but we’re not assassins.”

“We’re whatever Fleet Command tells us to be,” Glover replied sternly. “And in this instance we have been assigned a mission to halt a Dominion diplomatic venture.”

“We’ve been ordered to destroy a vessel where Dominion representatives will be meeting with their Phalkerian counterparts,” Rojas riposted. “What happened to the idea of capturing the enemy and plumbing information from them? Also, how can you be all right with the idea of killing Phalkerian envoys? They aren’t combatants.”

Glover ground his teeth. “I’m not. But you know that civilians are often collateral damage in war.”

“If that trite explanation helps you sleep at night,” Pedro said with a sneer. The larger man sat forward on the couch. He slammed the mug down, it sloshed on the captain’s table. “Sir, if I might be excused? I have a cloaking device to figure out.” Admiral Canfield had transmitted the classified schematics of a cloaking device, which was a violation of a long-standing treaty with the Romulans, but what was one more violation on a black ops mission?

“Pedro,” Terrence said quietly, taken aback. “You know they’re no ranks right now. It’s just us.”

“Fine,” Rojas sighed loudly. “If I can be frank, I think this is bullshit. We would be of better service back on the front. This is another crazy snipe hunt that will go badly if we get caught. Right now we don’t need to sacrifice our principles to win this war. It’s our ideals that will lead us to win this frinxing war!”

“That’s all fine and good,” Terrence said, leaning back in his chair, “but we’ve got to be real about this. If we are successful we can distract and entangle the Dominion in the Segomo Vortices, saving Federation lives.”

“At the expense of Phalkerian ones?” Pedro challenged. “That doesn’t wash for me.”

“Listen Pedro,” Glover said more coarsely than he wished. “I need your support on this.”

“So, now you’re pulling ranks again?” Rojas said, standing up. “You know you never could take much debate…or criticism.”

“Pedro don’t be like that,” Terrence urged, standing up too.
“May I be excused now, sir?” Glover kept silent for a moment, weighing his options. Eventually he relented. Pedro did a quick about face and stomped from his quarters.

“Damn,” the captain whispered to the closed door. “This mission is starting off lovely.”

**********************
Phalkerian Corvette Levena
En route to the Segomo Vortices

“Raise your spirits,” Archduke Davgan urged, raising his goblet. “Today the Phalkerian Domain finally steps out of the shadows of the giants and onto their shoulders.”

“I wish your optimism could infect me like it has the rest of the Privy Council,” Baron Sampath glumly replied, his elfin ears twitching. “I just don’t trust these Changelings. How can we trust someone who is a shape-shifter? Their very being is transient. Perhaps they’re word is as well.” The man’s jowls shuddered as he shook his large, hairless head. He shifted his bulk uncomfortably on the chair facing the archduke, a table filled with liquors and fruits separating them.

“That hasn’t been born out by the facts,” Davgan countered before swallowing the contents of the goblet. His attendant quickly used a glimmersilk napkin to wipe the amber
liquid dribbling off the archduke’s purple chin. Davgan waved the servant away. “Not only have the Dominion made the Cardassians a player again, but they have held to their agreements with the Bajorans, Miradorn, and Tholians.”

“What about the Romulans?” Sampath challenged. “They assassinated a pro-Dominion Senator. Clearly that was a terrible miscalculation on their part.”

Davgan nodded curtly. He hated being upended, but Sampath had been one of his most trusted advisors and an ally to his family for decades. “You are correct in that regard. But you can’t deny that the Dominion’s offer of technology and weaponry is too good to ignore. It will make us stronger.”

Now it was Sampath’s turn to nod. “Well, the rest of the Council agrees with you,” he conceded.

“But you do not?” Davgan asked, though he knew the answer. Sampath merely smiled.

“What do you need my support for? The Despot authorized this mission,” the baron replied.

“Yes, he recognized immediately the potential benefits of an alliance with the Founders,” Davgan replied with satisfaction.

“It is my fondest wish that his wisdom prevails yet again,” Sampath sagely intoned.

“That is my wish as well,” Davgan said, a shadow crossing his face. “Not only for the Domain, but for our sakes as well. It is a long way back to Phalkeria.”

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

 

[DarKush]

**********************
USS Cuffe
Observation Lounge


Captain Terrence Glover swiveled in his chair to gaze out the port windows at the streaking stars. He calmly waited for his First Officer to speak.

As was her fashion, Commander Dhalamanisha zh’Shakobheto gently waded in. “Captain, I waited until after the meeting to express my reservations.”

The captain smiled mirthlessly. He continued looking at the stars. “Thanks for not ripping me a new one like Mr. N’Saba or glaring at me like Pedro.” The just concluded briefing had been heated to say the least. He turned around slowly, to look at the pensive Andorian woman. “Take your best shot.”

“Captain, I know this war has taken a terrible personal toll on you. First, Jasmine’s injuries during the Tyra campaign, and then Lt. Dryer’s death….” Glover’s face closed as he remembered both heart rending events, particularly the memories of when he had learned about Nyota Dryer’s death at Caernarvon IV only a couple months ago. Nyota had been a close friend, and a former lover, and it had been her loss that had been the real thing driving him to take on the Lamenda mission.

“I promise you Amanisha, this isn’t about that,” the captain began.

“Don’t be so quick to make that promise,” the Andorian shyly smiled, and the frankness shocked Terrence. He still sometimes couldn’t believe that his once reticent Operations Officer had blossomed into a strong, independent, and essential advisor to him.

“You’re right,” Terrence admitted. “I guess, I can’t really get over what the damn Jem’Hadar and snakeheads have done to my family and friends, but also to so many others. That anger, that outrage, keeps me going. It…it’s like a fuel I suppose.”

“It can be poisonous to rely on such negative emotions,” Commander Bheto warned. “It can blind you to what remains good in your life; it can turn you into a hollow shell.”

Glover frowned. “I’m far from a shell. And this isn’t about revenge, at least not totally for me. This is about shortening this war.”

“By possibly sparking a conflict between the Dominion and the Phalkerian Domain? Our actions here might result in widening this war, not hastening its end.”

“I can’t deny that, but I’m not crying too many tears for the Domain,” Terrence said. “The Domain is a plutocracy, with a small clique of aristocrats grounding their people and a few other worlds under their heels.”

“At least they’re still breathing, which might not be the case if they go to war with the Dominion,” Bheto countered. “It could lead to millions of more deaths.”

“Don’t you think I know that?” Terrence found himself pleading, and not liking that. “I hate what we’ve had to do these past several months, but it has to be done. We are fighting for the entire Alpha Quadrant and that means sacrifices have to be made. It’s quite possible that both the Dominion and the Phalkerians will think that their representatives fell prey to the wormholes littering the Segomo Vortices. They wouldn’t be the first victims of that patch of space.”

“Well, at least you’re still capable of hope,” Bheto smiled. Terrence laughed softly.

“It’s a miracle isn’t it?” The captain’s grin broadened.

“I think this mission is too risky and unnecessary,” Bheto hit her main argument. “For all the reasons already expressed during the brief. However, I want you to know that you have my support and this crew stands with you.”

“Thank you,” Terrence nodded, “but this mission didn’t spring from my admittedly fertile imagination. Someone else cooked this up and Admiral Canfield presented it to me. I couldn’t turn it down. To be honest, I don’t think I could trust another crew to do this right and covering up Starfleet’s involvement as best as possible.”

“Don’t you realize how wrong that sounds,” Bheto asked.

“Yeah, I do, but we’ve got to do everything to protect as many Federation lives as possible,” Glover replied.

“At the price of our souls?” Bheto challenged. Terrence paused, considering the question.

“Yes,” he quietly replied. “I think our souls are a small price to pay.”

“I’ll ask you again once this is over,” Amanisha said. “And we’ll see if your answer is the same.”

“We’ll see,” Glover said, with faltering confidence.

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

Cuellar Nor
Commanding Officer’s Post
Cuellar System


Sarkos gazed out of one of the many port windows in the station’s main office. The devastation just beyond the station was breathtaking. A metallic ring of debris, from the allied starships that had just been repulsed, surrounded the station like a crown. A halo or nimbus of good fortune from the gods, the thought, with just a smatter of humility, for the awesome blessing the gods had chosen to bestow upon him.

True, the defense of Cuellar from a furious allied assault wasn’t as glamorous as Weyoun’s capture of Deep Space Nine, or of Keilan’s many ‘accomplishments’, but with the track record the Dominion had been on lately, his actions were sure to receive a positive response from Cardassia Prime.

The door chime’s ringing intruded on his thoughts. “What is it?” He asked sharply, not wishing to savor this moment of triumph with anyone. He left the door closed.

“Sir, we have a Cardassian cruiser Selqet inbound,” Sarkos recognized the voice of his Cardassian aide Tarim. “They are requesting to speak with you immediately.”

Sarkos’s stomach twinged. That didn’t sound good, he thought sourly. He squared his shoulders and exhaled softly, before calling out, “I’ll take it in here.”

“Yes sir,” Tarim said. He detected a smile in her voice. She must’ve sensed his discomfort somehow, Sarkos realized, and it pleased her. He would have to do something about that later, the Vorta resolved. When the wedged shaped screen inset on the bulkhead near his desk came on, all thoughts of victory or Tarim were burned away.

Keilan’s smirk grew into a wide predatory smile. “It’s good to see you again too Sarkos.” She laughed. “Surprised to see me?”

“Keilan,” Sarkos bowed, mainly in an attempt to wipe any surprise, bewilderment, or fear off of his face. When he faced her again, he was confident that his visage was bland and neutral. “What do I owe the pleasure of your visit? I thought you were bringing more allies into our victorious coalition?”

“You’re talking about the Phalkerians,” Keilan said. “One of the Founders decided to take my place. They wanted to gauge the efficacy of the wormholes in the Segomo Vortices themselves, and who am I to argue with the wishes of a god?”

Sarkos nodded weakly, unable to speak.

“So, the Founder on Cardassia Prime decided to send me here to clean up your mess,” Keilan added.

“‘Mess’?” Sarkos squeaked out.

“Yes,” Keilan beamed. “This latest assault from the Federation alliance almost succeeded. If they had captured Cuellar Nor the entire system would’ve been vulnerable.”

“We held the line,” Sarkos said tightly, his defensiveness rising. “We turned back the enemy, inflicting mass casualties in the process. They will think twice about attacking this station again.”

“Not from where I sit,” Keilan said. “I see a significant number of Jem’Hadar and Cardassian hulks along with the allied derelicts. These types of victories we can’t afford. At first I was confused by the Founders’ request that I take over at Cuellar, but now….” She let the statement hang.

“I want to see those orders,” Sarkos demanded.

“Sending them to you now,” Keilan replied. The Vorta’s stomach dropped.

“And what about me?” He asked after he was finished.

“The Selqet will transport you back to Cardassia Prime,” Keilan said. “The Founder wants to talk to you personally about your new assignment.”

Oh gods she knows, Sarkos realized, his heart thumping in his chest. But how could the Founder not know about his treachery, she was divine. What had he been thinking? How could he have let his hatred and envy so blind him? And now a Founder was going to their death, a death sentence he had set in motion. Sarkos realized he had damned himself and now had no choice but to accept the punishment. Unless…..

“I will transfer the station’s command codes immediately,” he said with renewed, though feverish energy. “I will be ready for transport as soon as you are within range.”

Keilan looked at him askance. She had certainly expected a more glum response, but Sarkos didn’t have time to engage in games with her now. He truly had a mess to clean up in the Segomo Vortices and time was of the essence.

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

 

[DarKush]

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

USS Cuffe
Operations Officer Cabin


“I can’t believe I let you talk me into this,” Lt. Meldin said as he cautiously entered the cabin. The Benzite Security Officer couldn’t help but scan his surroundings, prompting a laugh from Commander Amanisha Bheto.

The normally reserved Benzite never had gotten used to how relaxed his Andorian lover could be once she was off duty. He also still thought he was dreaming at times. Meldin would never have imagined engaging in an intimate relationship with a non-Benzite, and particularly Amanisha, a person almost as fastidious as him.

However he was coming to realize that war did strange things to people, sometimes breaking them and pushing them over the edge, and other times making them reach out and cling to as much life and experience as possible because they had finally seen the fleeting nature of such things. He suspected such was the case with Amanisha, and he knew that once the war was over, so would be their relationship.

She walked over, grabbed one of the man’s slightly clammy hands and pulled him close. She kissed his lipless mouth. Instantly his coiled muscles relaxed and he slowly wrapped his arms around her. “We shouldn’t be doing this…not now,” he mumbled between kisses. “There is so much work to do to make sure we are ship shape for our mission into the Vortices.”

“Oh please,” Bheto said, “we both know we have a tendency to overcompensate and micromanage. We can’t keep going over and over our station’s systems again and again. That will likely create more of the problems that we’ve already solved. Plus it might knock us off our game. The captain was right to order the crew to take some downtime.”

“It’s about the only thing he’s been right about on this mission,” Meldin muttered. Bheto frowned, her nose crinkling as if she smelled something bad.

“Let’s not do this, okay?” She urged. “We all had our say in the briefing, there’s no need to rehash it.”

“I was just saying…” the Benzite began, but Amanisha placed a finger to his mouth. Meldin’s tongue darted out, licking the tip. Bheto cooed in spite of her self.

“Okay,” Meldin said, with a surprising lack of reluctance, “We’ll play it your way,” he said, and Bheto couldn’t believe that the Security Officer had relented so easily. He sucked her finger into his mouth, and her surprise was replaced by more pleasant and urgent considerations.

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

USS Cuffe
Holodeck One

Terrence Glover ignored the pandemonium around him. He concentrated on his target instead. He held the redcoat firmly by the throat; the man had long since given up his will to fight. Instead the British soldier glared up at Terrence, his blue eyes full of resignation and impatience.

Terrence didn’t hesitate. He drove the assegai spear into the man’s stomach several times, hoping to release the man’s spirit in the best imitation of the Zulu tradition called the ‘washing of the spears.’ And then he threw the body to the ground and looked for his next target.

He normally disliked holodecks, and had used this program sparingly. It had been an early gift from his wife Jasmine, during their dating phase before she learned of his distaste for holographic games. But with the Cuffe now under subspace silence he couldn’t contact her, or his father, and Pedro still wasn’t speaking to him. He needed something to do to occupy his time, and he could think of no other way than to take a visit to Earth’s Battle of Isandlwana.

He ducked when he heard the report of a rifle. The Zulu warrior beside him grabbed his raw, bloody throat before falling to the ground. “Too close for comfort,” Terrence muttered. He had turned off the program’s safeties. Even though the bullets, weapons, and men in this Anglo-Zulu War recreation were photonic they could still kill him, so he had to stay sharp.

The captain lunged forward, using his cowhide shield to protect as best as possible against knives, hands, and boots of the enemy. He had to admit that if Jasmine had never given him this program he never would’ve gained the appreciation of the magnitude of the Zulu’s victory. It was something reading a book could never really provide.

He was dressed only in a loin cloth, with a shield, spear, cudgel, and a musket he had long since discarded because it was ineffective, and the Zulu were facing far more technologically advanced British forces, but under the leadership of inDuna Ntshingwayo Khoza, the Zulu were on the verge of victory.

He gave himself over to the fray, eventually taking a rifle from another British soldier he killed. He had a hard time taking aim in the midst of fierce hand to hand combat, so he used the rifle mainly as a club, beating back any redcoat foolish enough to try to take him on.

“You humans call this a war?” The snide comment snapped Glover out of combat mode, almost causing him to get ran through by a charging British soldier. Glover sidestepped, and held out a stiff leg, mainly on instinct. The redcoat fell to the ground. Terrence moved quickly, stabbing him in the spine. But his focus and ire were completely elsewhere.

“Computer freeze program.” Instantly the war raging around him stopped, soldiers on both sides locked in a death struggle. Lt. Seb N’Saba sauntered through the carnage, shaking his wooly head. The lupine sucked his sharp teeth. He looked completely out of place, a two-meter plus talk walking black furred wolfman, stuffed in a black and blue Starfleet uniform in the midst of a 19th century battlefield.

“Humans know nothing of war…of blood shed…or real savagery,” the Alshain remarked. “The Exarchate’s wars against the Menthar, not to mention the Klingons,” he shivered. “Quite ghastly affairs.”

Terrence fought hard to rein his breathing in. His almost naked body was covered in sweat and blood. “What are you doing here lieutenant?”

“I’ve always been curious about ancient Earth history,” N’Saba said. “I had heard it was more violent than one would suspect. But this pales in comparison to my people or even the Vulcans.”

“Check out a World War I, II, or III scenario, and then get back to me.” Glover quipped. “This war took place in Earth’s 19th century, a far less advanced time period, ergo a relatively minimal lack of casualties.”

“I do find it a bit odd that you would order us to take a break from real war preparations and then indulge in some holographic bloodshed,” the Science Officer remarked, a curious expression on his wolfish features. “A might strange wouldn’t one think?”

“If you’ve got something to say, spit it out,” Terrence demanded. He had never cared much for the prickly canid Science Officer, though the captain could never deny the man’s brilliance. As much as he found N’Saba annoying he knew it would be foolish to ever ignore him.

“Captain I’ve known you a long time, long before you got that fourth pip,” N’Saba said. “When we first met, you were a callow young lieutenant trying to play the role of a future captain to be. Now you’ve achieved that, and the responsibility and burdens are terrifying you to death.”

“Alright, that’s enough psychoanalysis,” Glover snapped. N’Saba’s words were cutting close to home, but he would never give the Science Officer the satisfaction of knowing that. “If I needed a hug I would go to Counselor Ellan,” the captain frowned, thinking of the ship’s mushy Deltan counselor.

“Sir,” N’Saba replied with a surprisingly deferent tone. “Doubt is gnawing at you like a heart worm. The briefing compounded it. It’s very apparent. I would advise you to slay that instead of holographic soldiers. It might make you better prepared for the coming battle.”

“And how do you propose that?” Terrence asked before he thought about it.

“Lt. Simus…he taught me about Vulcan meditation techniques,” the Alshain began carefully. Lt. Simus had been the Security Officer on the Cuffe when Terrence had been the First Officer. The two men had formed a close friendship. When the Vulcan had been lost on a mission in the Tong Beak Nebula several years ago it had impacted Terrence almost as deeply as Nyota’s more recent death. Simus had also taught Glover meditation techniques, but he had quit using them. Every time he had tried since, he had found himself thinking about Simus, at times even imaging the man, or his spirit, calling out to him from the beyond. It had been too unsettling. “I think they might be of some use to you.”

“I’m…not so sure,” Glover said, averting his gaze back to the frozen battle.

“And you think this will?” N’Saba challenged. “If anything this might leave you more keyed up and prone to make a bad, stress-induced decision when we reach the Vortices.”

“Well, I don’t think Vulcan meditation will work either,” Terrence replied.

“Why not?”

“I….I’d rather not discuss it,” Glover’s voice hardened. “Care to enlighten me with any other ideas?” He asked, trying to capture the Alshain’s normally snide tone. “If not, I have a battle to finish.”

“I…see,” N’Saba said, taken aback. “I should let you return to it.” He turned quickly on his heel and made his way back through the melee.

Once he was gone, Glover sighed, collecting his thoughts and pushing back down his doubts. He returned with renewed fury to the battle.

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

 

[Gibraltar]

Fantastic stuff! It's great to see Terrence in so deep that it's beyond even his comfort level. I'll be anxiously awaiting whatever morally ambiguous deeds Glover & Company will have to carry out before this black ops mission is over.

 

[DavidFalkayn]

Glover and Cuffe are in it so deep here. He pulls this off, he loses a piece of his soul. He gets caught and the Dominion gets a new ally. Problem is...once you start down that path, it's hard to pull back out again.

 

[TheLoneRedshirt]

Not much I can add to what Gibraltar and DF said, except "very well done!"

Bring on the next segment!

 

[CeJay]

I'm a big sucker for Dominion War morality tales. How do you win a total war against somebody with little to no moral values? How do you stay true to your own in face of such determined opposition?

I guess the answer is, sometimes you have to jettison your own values and in the end you are left to figure out if it was worth it or not.

Great to see Glover and Cuffe in a Dominion War story. This is going to be a lot of fun (to read).

 

[DarKush]

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

Phalkerian Corvette Levena
Segomo Vortices

“A quaint vessel,” The Changeling remarked. Though there was a lot of similarities to the Founder that had recently been driven from her perch on the Federation base Deep Space Nine back to Cardassia Prime, Archduke Davgan’s eye was more discerning. The Founder, flanked by two sturdy Jem’Hadar soldiers, rifles at the ready, stepped gracefully off of the transporter pad.

The creature that slinked forward was more voluptuous, more definitely feminine, with a sharper, pointed chin, and a bit more definition to her face. She was dressed plainly, in a form fitting, full length dress that was the same amber color as her face and hair. A member of the Privy Council wouldn’t be caught dead in such drab attire, the thought off handedly. However the aristocratic bearing was very much like the Founder on Prime that he had studied from the files collected by Phalkerian spies. Davgan gave an exaggerated bow. Baron Sampath and the rest of their retinue quickly followed his lead.

“It is an honor that such an illuminant figure has graced our vessel,” he replied. The Founder regarded him coolly, her slash of a mouth upturning slightly at the edges.

“You may refer to me as Ipotane,” she said, her husky voice alarmingly alluring.

“Honored Ipotane, I am Archduke Davgan and this is my court.” Ipotane briefly acknowledged them all.

“Let us dispense with the formalities,” the shape-shifter said abruptly. “I want to view the Vortices.”

“Of course,” Davgan replied gamely. He had set aside an elaborate feast for the Founder. It was Phalkerian custom to treat potential valued allies with a sumptuous feast. His people believed that a lot could be learned in an ostensive social setting. It also could provide an easy way to poison a potential threat. Their intelligence was far too scant to conclude if a Changeling could in fact be susceptible to poisoning, and Davgan would not attempt to do so this time, but a feast might give him an opportunity to discover what types of sustenance, if any, these unusual creatures enjoyed. “Right this way to our command perch. I had planned a welcoming feast, but….”

Davgan and his retinue had turned toward the door, but Ipotane and her sullen troops remained rooted by the transporter pad. “Is something wrong?” The archduke asked.

“I wish to conduct the investigation aboard my vessel,” the Changeling said. “You will accompany us.”

“Our ship is more equipped for travel in the Vortices,” Davgan lied.

“And you can share that information with us,” Ipotane said, “To ensure our safety of us.”

Sampath growled in the back of his throat. The Baron didn’t like this change of events either. They had thought that the negotiations would commence ship-to-ship after initial greetings, with a joint tour of the Vortices.

“Your ship will hold position, and we will maintain constant communication with them through a string of communication buoys,” Ipotane said. “It makes little sense for both vessels to go into the Vortices where communication might be hampered or lost completely. We in the Dominion take few chances and we are appreciative of the perilous nature of this patch of space.” Davgan nodded. He couldn’t deny the woman’s logic, even if he didn’t care for her solutions.

The archduke squared his shoulders. He pointed to two of his top aides. “Prepare my wardrobe for transport. You will be accompanying me.”

“We only want you to travel with us,” Ipotane said.

“That’s out of the question!” Sampath said. “Your suggestion is a violation of Phalkerian protocol, of tradition! The Archduke is a member of the Privy Council. He will not be dictated to!” The Jem’Hadar soldiers tensed, their eyes burning holes into the feisty baron. Davgan placed a calming hand on the hefty man’s shoulder.

“It’s all right old friend,” Davgan said. “I’m among friends…correct?” The Founder dipped her head slightly.

“We will ensure the archduke’s security,” she promised.

“That’s not good enough!” Sampath said. The Jem’Hadar stepped forward.

“How dare you question the Founder!” One snapped. Sampath and the other Phalkerians moved to protect Davgan.

“Stand down First!” Ipotane quietly, yet firmly commanded. The reptilian fell back, but his eyes continued to smolder. The archduke stepped through the protective circle.

“I will go with you,” Davgan said.

“Please bring what amenities you need,” Ipotane offered. “And two of your aides. We don’t have space for any more than that.”

“You are gracious,” the archduke nodded. He turned to Sampath. “You are in command until I return.” Suspicion and doubt were roiling off of the baron, but he held his peace.

“May the Hallowed Matre guide your steps,” he said eventually.

“I wish the same of you,” Davgan said, before he snapped his fingers, jumpstarting his aides to get his things.
******************************

USS Telamon
Guest Quarters


“How did you receive that information?” His handler tried to sound harsh and accusatory, but Admiral Canfield was pleased by the hint of fear he heard.

“I have…my sources,” he said coyly. “But what I want to know is if it’s true?” The woman stared at him for almost a minute, unnerving the admiral because he couldn’t make out her features since she remained in shadow, but he felt her eyes staring at him across subspace, dissecting him, probing for weakness. “You are correct.”

“Did you know this when you had me send the Cuffe on its mission?” He asked, hoping for a negative answer.

“We did not,” she said, her voice frayed with annoyance. The admiral had thought to ask the woman how she couldn’t know, but he quashed the question on his tongue. He had just learned that the section’s reach wasn’t as far as he thought. It was something he might be able to use for some advantage later.

Instead Canfield asked, “What are we going to do? If Starfleet Intelligence already has an undercover agent on the Segomo case, the Cuffe’s mission is unnecessary.”

“No it isn’t,” his handler responded. “We have no guarantee that agent will be successful, and even if they are, the destruction of both the Dominion and Domain vessels will drive a permanent stake in the Dominion’s quest for an alternative portal to the Gamma Quadrant in the Segomo Vortices.”

“I thought we were all on the same team?” Canfield said. “I signed on to your section to protect Federation lives and interests, not to sacrifice them.”

“What is one life? Or a hundred? Even Federation citizens, even proven patriots, in the face of saving billions of lives? That equation has not changed,” his handler coldly responded. “Don’t forget that.”

“And if I do,” the admiral challenged, his stomach twisting in knots. The woman paused, observing him again. Canfield fought the urge to clutch his rebellious stomach. There were days he wished he had never accepted Section 31’s offer, but he had been a much younger, foolish, and ambitious man then. By the time he realized what he had truly gotten into, he had received his fifth pip, but had completely lost his soul.

“You are aware of the consequences of such disloyalty,” the woman’s voice was frigid. Canfield swallowed several times before he was able to push down the lump in his throat. He nodded. “Good,” his handler said. “There will be no deviation in the mission. Understood?” The admiral nodded again. The woman ended the communication without preamble.

Canfield sat back in his seat, running the conversation back over in his mind. He had sent the Cuffe on a mission that might damage the prestige and by extension the war aims of the Federation Alliance when Starfleet Intelligence had already put in a plan in place to sabotage the talks. He couldn’t help but wonder if Section 31 was engaging in some turf battle with the venerable, official intelligence agency of Starfleet, and used him as a tool in their snit. He had been around enough to know that pettiness was no respecter of organization. He also knew that the section rarely practiced the purported ideals they claimed to be defending.

He pulled off the fifth pip on his red collar. He pinched the circular pin between his thumb and forefinger. “This wasn’t worth the price,” he muttered, throwing it into one of the room’s dark corners. More loudly, he said, “Computer, get me Captain Stallings.”

Seconds later, the woman answered, sleep still evident in her voice. “Yes sir.”

“My apologies, but I’m taking command of your vessel."

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

 

[DarKush]

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

USS Cuffe
Main Bridge


Captain Glover’s fingers ran like skittish spiders down the sides of his armrests. “Activate the cloaking device.” His stomach fluttered as the ship’s interior lighting blinked and then dimmed. The normal computing sounds of the bridge also were muted.

“The cloak is up and working well with our systems,” Operations Officer Gralf said. There had been some compatibility issues with the cloaking device, but apparently Pedro had worked it out.

“Good job Pedro,” Glover said. He was pained by the silence that answered him.

“I do my duty, nothing more sir,” Rojas’s voice was chilly, and overly formal.

“Keep it up,” was the only thing Terrence could think to say. He toggled off the armchair intercom and turned his attention back to his Operations Officer.

“Is the transponder working well too?” Graf held up a fur-covered finger, running his hand through his course stock of brown fur while checking the transponder. Terrence had had Gralf and N’Saba rig a false transponder signal on the Cuffe, masking its ship recognition codes. Once they dropped the cloak any vessel they encountered would record the starship as an unknown vessel. Glover didn’t intend to give them enough chance to transmit any information that would contradict that, so if any sensors were recovered the false data would be found.

“Of course it is,” N’Saba gloated at his station on the aft upper deck, behind Glover. The captain swiveled partway in his seat to regard the Alshain with a skeptical glance.

“Pretty confident of your abilities eh Mr. N’Saba?”

“Yes.”

“In this case, I’m almost regretful to agree with him,” Gralf replied with a sigh. “But the transponder signal is functioning within parameters as well.”

“Great, all everyone has to do now is sit back and enjoy the ride,” Helmsman Henri Desvignes remarked with a grin. Glover allowed the young man his attempt at levity. Normally he would’ve hit him with a reproachful glare for intruding on his conversation, but the captain didn’t want to do anything to make the crew tenser and on edge than they already were.

“Try to avoid getting speeding tickets,” the captain weakly joked, drawing out a loud groan from Commander Bheto, of all people. Her antennae drooped.

“I’m glad you’re a captain sir, because comedy is not your forte,” the Andorian deadpanned.

“So I’ve been told,” Glover chuckled.

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

Central Command Vessel Selqet
Stateroom

Glinn Javor buried his intense distaste. “Sir, we have entered the Segomo Vortices,” he informed the Vorta sitting in the seat once occupied by Gul Dijana. Dijana had met her end at the hands of barbarous Klingons only a few weeks ago.

The Selqet had been pulled from the repair yards to escort the Vorta Keilan to the Cuellar System, and now another Vorta, Sarkos, had ordered them on a secret mission into Sector 443. It made little sense, but scaling the heights of the Central Command, once under the watchful eyes of the Obsidian Order, Javor had learned not to ask questions. But that didn’t mean he didn’t have them, nor did it mean that he had sacrificed his honor along with his bluntness.

Dijana had earned the right to sit in the chair that the Vorta now lounged in simply due to their alliance with the Dominion, an alliance many in the Cardassian officer corps felt placed them behind the Vorta and Jem’Hadar. Many also expressed private misgivings about how that dire arrangement would portend for the Union once they had conquered the Alpha Quadrant.

Javor wasn’t too worried. The Union was the backbone of the Dominion forces in the quadrant; they were proving how essential they were to the Dominion’s victory. If anything, the glinn was confident that Cardassia would factor as a major power within the Dominion’s umbrella by the war’s end.

Sarkos nodded, a ghost of a smile on his alabaster face. “Set long range sensors to detect any Dominion, Phalkerian, or other ship transponder signals.”

“It will be done,” Javor said. The Vorta began to turn away, but stopped once he realized Javor hadn’t moved. The glinn himself came to that realization about the same time.

“Something else Glinn Javor?” Sarkos’s pale-blue gaze scoured him.

“Sir…well, the soldiers….” Javor found himself stammering, trying to figure out how best to frame his thoughts. Gul Dijana had always preferred honesty and directness, but these Vorta were creatures of appearances and double meanings. He didn’t want to say anything that could be used against him at some other time.

“Continue,” Sarkos prodded.

“Some of the soldiers have expressed curiosity about this mission. They don’t quite see its value, and…want to return to Prime to complete final ship’s inspections so they can return to the front.” He felt foolishly relieved to get that off his chest.

The Vorta leaned back in Dijana’s chair, pondering what he said. “And do you share those sentiments?” Javor wanted to say no, but he found he couldn’t speak.

“I see,” Sarkos said softly. He leaned forward, his expression hardening. “I see that you are inviting insubordination on this vessel. The Dominion does not look kindly on insubordination.”

“I am not doing any such thing!” Javor said hotly.

“Are you questioning my assessment?” Sarkos’s voice was colder than a Breen winter.

Javor paused, working out a less emotional response. “Yes,” he said simply.

“So noted,” Sarkos replied, before he pulled a disruptor from underneath the desk and fired.

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

USS Cuffe
Main Bridge

Captain Glover was on his feet. The Phalkerian vessel on the main viewer before them reminded him of a Pacifica marlin, one of the many aquatic species Jasmine had shown him on his last visit to her birthworld. He would give anything to have another opportunity to go back there with her again. But first, he had a mission to complete and a war to win.

“Any Dominion or additional Phalkerian vessels in the vicinity?” Terrence pondered.

“No sir,” Lt. Meldin answered.

“But fading ion trails indicate that another vessel had been in the vicinity of the Phalkerian corvette hours ago,” Lt. N’Saba added.

“Any Dominion life signs on that ship?”

“No,” Meldin crisply replied.

“The ion trails are consistent with Dominion vessel exhaust,” the Alshain Science Officer added again. The captain nodded in approval.

“Quick, good analysis Lt. N’Saba,” Terrence said. “Get a permanent lock on that trail. We’ll pursue it after we’re done here.” He turned around to look at Lt. Meldin. The Benzite stood even more at attention. “Mr. Meldin, ready our weapons. Target their engines and weapons systems first.”

“Aye sir,” he said, immediately setting to work. Glover then walked over to the Ops station. He softly patted Lt. Gralf’s shoulder. The prickly Xindi-Arboreal tensed.

“Lieutenant, as soon as we drop the cloak, I want you to jam that ship’s communications.” He nodded abruptly.

Glover walked back to his seat, but he found himself unable to sit down. He sighed, squared his shoulders, and tapped the compin on his chest. “Pedro, drop the cloak.”

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

USS Cuffe
Main Bridge

As soon as the Cuffe dropped the cloak, its forward phaser banks let loose a hail of fire, slicing into the unprepared Phalkerians. The Nebula-class starship swooped past the reeling ship, curving back around to face them bow to bow.

“Direct hits to propulsion and weapons systems,” Meldin said, as emotionally restrained as a Vulcan.

“What about their communications systems?” Glover asked, leaning forward in his seat. He had finally forced himself to sit down.

“The jamming is holding up,” Commander Bheto replied.

“They’re hailing us,” Gralf said. He looked back at the captain, awaiting his order. Their orders were to destroy all traces of the mission. Terrence knew he shouldn’t even be entertaining taking the hail, but cold-blooded murder didn’t set right with him. He was a starship captain, a soldier in a war he didn’t want to fight, but he wasn’t an executioner.

“Audio only,” he commanded.

“Unidentified vessel,” the voice wheezed over static. “We mean you no harm….we are a ship under the rubric of the Phalkerian Privy Council, on official business. Please desist from your attack. We are not your enemies.”

“Yeah right,” the captain heard a bridge officer at the engineering auxiliary console mutter. Glover pinned the man with a stare.

“Unidentified vessel,” the voice repeated again. Glover motioned for Gralf to cancel the link.

“What are your orders sir?” Commander Bheto asked quietly, the words loaded with hidden meaning. He looked at her, and the Andorian held his gaze.

“We’re not murderers,” he said softly, so that only she heard him. He swiveled around to the loose lipped bridge officer.

“Did Pedro get a trace on those ion trails?”

“Yes sir,” the penitent officer said sheepishly.

“That’s the fish we want to fry,” Terrence quipped. “Take out the Phalkerian’s communications system and let’s go fishing.”

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

 

[DarKush]

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

Dominion Battle Cruiser
Segomo Vortices


Archduke Davgan’s head ached terribly, but he did his best not to show it. It appeared that Dominion vessels weren’t equipped with large view screens of any sort. They used virtual display headsets to view outside their vessels. Ipotane had instructed her Vorta liege to supply him with one.

He stood beside the shape-shifter, squinting fiercely as he gazed out at the sea of beautifully chaotic wormholes spread before them. “In times long past, we often sent our soldiers into the Vortices to train. If they came back to Phalkeria we knew they were ready to serve.”

“That is a sound training tactic,” the Founder, the lens of her own virtual display device hanging out in front of her left eye. “Why did you stop it?”

“We were losing too many of our soldiers,” Davgan laughed. Only his two attendants joined him. “Some still use the Vortices to dispatch of their enemies though, or so I have been told.” That bit of humor fell flat on the Changeling as well.

She turned smoothly to the Vorta standing dutifully by her side. “Prepare the singularity scans.” He bowed.

“At once,” he promised, before scuttling away.

“My, are your servants wonderfully obsequious,” Davgan marveled, eyeing his two, a lovely lavender female and a hulking deep purple-hued male. “How do you do it?”

“I am their god,” the woman replied, matter of fact. Davgan already knew something of the weird religious hold the shape-shifters had instilled in both the Founders and Jem’Hadar. Unfortunately his servants hadn’t been privy to such information. They looked at the Founder with gazes of shock and anger at such blasphemy. Davgan scowled and redirected their glares to him. He held them until both his servants looked away.

“Perhaps there is something I can learn from you,” the Changeling said, a note of genuine appreciation in her tone. “Who ever thought a solid could teach me something new.”

“Is that all we are to you?” Davgan said, more miffed than he should’ve been. “Are we nothing more than another inferior species to you?”

“That was not the intention of the statement,” the woman calmly stated.

“Then what was it?” The archduke challenged, ignoring the Jem’Hadar starting to inch toward him. Fokus, his purple hulk, moved to Davgan’s side.

“A random thought, merely spoken aloud,” Ipotane said. “It means nothing…however this patch of Vortices might be extremely fruitful in our quest to forge a new way home.” She placed a halting hand up for her Jem’Hadar and Davgan did likewise for Fokus.

“And the Phalkerian Domain wishes to provide as much as assistance in that endeavor as possible,” the archduke interjected smoothly.

“And profitable as well,” Ipotane smirked. She placed a hand over Davgan’s, eliciting nasty looks from both camp’s servants. “Perhaps we can speak somewhere more privately….alone.”

Davgan hesitated only a second, before he realized how such hesitancy made him look weak. “Of course.”

“Please, follow me,” the Changeling said, continuing to hold onto his hand as she glided toward a corridor off the bridge.

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

Central Command Vessel Selqet
Main Bridge


“Sir, we are picking up an intermittent tachyon pulse, some type of coded message,” Gil Horgan, a far more amenable sort than his predecessor said from his station. Sarkos leaned forward in his seat.

“Decode it,” he ordered.

It took several minutes, but Horgan began reading slowly. “Archduke Davgan, any Phalkerian vessels….this is the Levena…we were attacked by an unknown assailant and left listless in space….” Horgan paused. “The message repeats sir, and then it relays coordinates.”

“Follow those coordinates,” The Vorta snapped, his stomach bottoming out. More cautiously, he broached, “Did the rest of the message say anything about a second vessel being attacked? Or anything about a second vessel at all?”

Horgan shook his thick head. “No sir.” Sarkos nodded, more fearful than relieved. He had to find out what happened to the Founder, he had to make this right, not only for reasons of faith, but perhaps more importantly, for reasons of survival.

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

USS Telamon
Captain’s Ready Room

“I wish I had never told you about the undercover agent now,” his old friend said, a sour expression on her slightly aged features. When had that both found the time to get so old? He wondered. “I should’ve known you would go off half-cocked.”

Admiral Canfield grinned. “Yeah, you do know me.”

“Just be careful, okay, and I’m not talking solely about navigating the Vortices, this Section 31 is a lethal organization,” she remarked.

“I’m a little better acquainted with 31’s methods than you are,” Canfield chided her.

“I know, which still makes me shake my head in disbelief that you would ever get wrapped up in something like that,” she replied. Canfield didn’t really have a reply. He had been wondering the same thing for far too long now.

Eventually he lamely replied, “Desperate times…and all that jazz.”

“And all that jazz,” she repeated with a sad smile. “Please take care Byram,” she urged him.

“You do the same Alynna,” he said. He sat back for a moment, reflecting on his life and how it might very well end in the next few hours, either at the hands of the Dominion or Section 31. He shivered, and then he exhaled heavily, his body sinking into his chair as he let go of all his tension and fears.

Even if his time had come, he still had enough time to do a couple things right. He sent off the information packet he had been compiling, and then he placed one more call.

“Dad,” Cadet Bryce Canfield didn’t try to erase the annoyance from his voice. “I’m busy right now.”

“I know son,” Admiral Canfield fumbled, before he decided to cut right to the chase. “I’m sorry.”

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

 

[CeJay]

It wouldn't be a Dark Territory tale without a large supporting cast and everyone with their own angle. As usual I will probably not quite keep up with everything that's happening here but damn ... , this is one fascinatingly complicated mess for sure.

 

[DavidFalkayn]

I am enjoying this story. Looks like Canfield is suffering from buyers remorse here, but, unlike Ross, it appears he's going to do something about it. Also, why do I get the feeling that if the Founder underestimates the Archduke she might be in for an ugly surprise?

 

[Gibraltar]

Canfield’s walking a thin line. A man can’t serve two masters, especially when one of those masters is as proficient at ‘disappearing’ people as Section 31.

Glover exercising his conscience and not destroying the Phalkerian ship was commendable, but that act of mercy might now come back to bite him in the ass. I bet he’ll wish he’d shot out their comms array when he had the chance.

And am I the only one who thinks that the Founder has some nefarious plans for the Phalkerian sovereign?

 

[DarKush]

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

Dominion Battle Cruiser
Auxiliary Control Room


“The female in your employ, she is a shape-shifter,” Ipotane said, her dry words spiced with a healthy dose of curiosity.

“Impossible,” Davgan said. “I’ve known Nixe since she was a child. She is Phalkerian.”

“I am a Changeling,” the woman said, as if that was proof enough of her veracity. “I know a morphogenic being when I see one. Centuries ago, we sent one hundred unformed Changelings out into the galaxy to learn and explore. Once they completed their travels they were to return to the Great Link and broaden our knowledge and experiential base. So far, we’ve recouped only a few, the most recent being Odo…” she paused, as if to remove the taint of the Founder who had sided against them off her tongue, “it is possible that this Nixe might be one of the Hundred. And if one of ours has chosen to live among your people it is a great honor indeed. If she is in fact one of the Hundred, and she validates the Domain, you will receive a vaulted place in the Dominion.”

“Ahead of the Cardassians even?” Davgan was licking his dark purple lips. He had thought the best he could do was negotiate a deal and receive some weaponry and advanced tech, but Ipotane was offering him membership in the Dominion itself, and a select position too. The Despot would reward his family handsomely for such a prize. But he hid his enthusiasm behind a blasé veneer. “And how might you go about identifying Nixe as one of your so-called Hundred?”

“We have ways,” Ipotane demurred, bowing her head slightly in a shocking sign of deference, “If you will allow me to demonstrate.”

“Yes,” Davgan said. “I will bring Nixe to you at once.”

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

Dominion Battle Cruiser
Auxiliary Control Room


Nixe’s hackles were understandably raised, but Archduke Davgan coaxed her forward. The woman gingerly stepped to the waiting Changeling. Ipotane held out her hands. “Take them in your own,” she prodded gently.

Nixe reared back. “Why?” She asked nervously, looking to Davgan for guidance.

“Do as she says,” he urged. “She won’t hurt you.” Or he hoped she wouldn’t. Nixe slowly began reaching out. The Changeling’s arms slightly elongated to meet hers, but then Ipotane stopped. She glanced at Davgan.

“Out,” she said. “This is a private meeting.” Davgan planted his feet. He was curious about what was about to happen.

“Nixe is my servant,” he declared. “She is my property and I have a responsibility to ensure her well being.”

“It-it’s okay master,” Nixe looked at him, a small smile on her face. “I-I think I understand now. It will be all right.”

“We will call on you when we are finished. Perhaps you should return to the bridge and assist in directing the scan for suitable wormholes,” Ipotane suggested/ordered. Davgan didn’t like the woman’s tone, but he knew better than to make a row about it. Even Fokus couldn’t take on a whole shipload of Jem’Hadar.

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

USS Cuffe
Main Bridge

“There’s the big bug ship right there,” Lt. Desvignes pointed at the main viewer. “She’s a monster.” The large, swept-wing craft stood in stark relief against the colorful backdrop provided by the multiple wormholes behind it, each emitting various radiation and gases.

“And we’re monster killers,” Glover boasted, before his anger consumed him. He hadn’t been able to work up enough hatred at the Phalkerian ship, despite their collusion with the Dominion, but the sight of the Jem’Hadar vessel brought back memories of facing similar ships only a few weeks ago, not to mention the death of Nyota and his wife’s nearly life threatening injuries. “Deactivate cloak, and hit that bastard with everything we’ve got!”

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