Dark Territory: Shadow Puppets
- Thread starter DarKush
- Start date
Thanks again for the comments. Galen I'm glad you're cool with my take on Zorek. As for Walker, you'll have to decide that yourself as the story unfolds. BB, I'm glad you also like the Visala scene. You provided a great idea for it. Gibraltar, prepare for more confusion and darkness.
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Federation Legation
Benzar
Ambassador Dotsavi Shanthi did his best to rub the frustration from his bunched shoulders. It had been another trying day. Despite his best efforts the Benzite leadership had stalled the negotiations on creating a plebiscite to address the continued occupation by Romulan forces. The diplomat was certain that their Romulan “liberators” had a hand in their reticence.
He actually thought the referendum was a dangerous idea, especially with the possibility that the Romulans might subvert the vote. They were practiced in suppressing the will of others, he knew. Dotsavi felt ashamed that he could so easily paint an entire species with such a broad brush, but after spending weeks with the crafty Ambassador Ovida, he couldn’t help but give into bias, and the few exchanges had had with the chauvinistic military advisor Commander Volok had been even worse.
And now with Bethany ill, Shanthi felt isolated and in the dumps. The younger woman’s enthusiasm had rubbed off on him, more than he realized. It had been hard holding fast to the ideals of peace in the midst of the devastation of total war. The Dominion War had destroyed lives and weakened the institutions of civil society in a way not even the Borg incursions had. The Federation needed Benzar back in the fold, they needed a win. The idea of the Romulans so close on the border would only fuel the anger and fear that had yet to recede in the wake of the armistice.
He knew that Carnes would have a chipper retort to his sour musings but unfortunately she was in severe distress in a Benzite medical facility. The ambassador didn’t understand why Bethany had reacted so vehemently to the Benzite cuisine. He had traveled with the woman across the Alpha and Beta Quadrants and could personally attest to her cast iron stomach.
A systems check of Bethany’s quarters had revealed that her food processor had malfunctioned, and had allowed contaminated food through the bio-filter. The Benzites, in addition to being generally compassionate, were perfectionists and having the ailing Carnes around was a reminder of their failure. They had halted all talks until they could conclusively determined what had caused the ailment as well as cure her.
It had forced Shanthi to come up with a compromise, returning Carnes to Federation space where she could get proper medical attention, mollifying the Benzites’ concerns for her. The investigation would continue but it would no longer be tied to providing possible life-or-death answers for Bethany, since Dotsavi had assured them that Federation science could cure the food poisoning. The ambassador prayed that he was right, though he never showed his doubt in front of the Benzites or the Romulans.
As a sign of his confidence, he had also requested that the Diplomatic Corps provide him with a replacement. He didn’t know Steen, but the Vulcan’s record was impressive for a relatively young man. Dotsavi looked forward to meeting him.
But the Nagasaki wouldn’t arrive for several more days. And Shanthi would just have to wait. He had spent most of his down time at Bethany’s bedside. The woman still looked pallid, but her condition had stabilized. The medic had assured him that that state of affairs wouldn’t change, and Shanthi had eventually relented and decided to retire for the evening.
Back in his quarters, he couldn’t sleep. His body was bone tired, but his mind was restless. He plopped down at the room’s small computer terminal. He turned the machine on. It took a few minutes, but his wife finally appeared. He knew it was early morning on Earth, his wife’s one concession to the hour was that she hadn’t put on her black and gray duty jacket. However, she remained crisp in her red undershirt, with her chevron-shaped communicator pin fastened attached. Her admiral bars were prominent on her collar. She smiled slightly, before yawning. “Are you being a night owl again, or is this a case of the early bird catching the worm?” Thuosana Shanthi asked.
“My apologies for…well,” the ambassador paused, with a sheepish grin, “I can’t really say I woke you up. When do you sleep anyway?”
“Shouldn’t you know that?”
“I have to wonder, if you just weren’t fooling me all those times, perhaps watching me as I slept,” Dotsavi chuckled.
“You’re not that handsome for me to be admiring while you snore,” Thuosana teased, and Dotsavi’s laughter grew. This was just the tonic he needed.
“So, how are you doing my dear?”
“Well, Starfleet Administration has proven quite the beehive,” Thuosana remarked. “I am doing my best to bring order to some of the chaos.” Dotsavi nodded as she recounted some of her recent travails. He had been very disappointed when his wife had told him that she was resigning from the C-in-C position to address major problems at the Fleet’s administrative department. Thuosana had worked hard to reach the top and even though she told him otherwise, it felt like a demotion. He knew there was more behind the move than the Federation Council needing her reforming skills for a wayward department. But Thuosana had remained tight lipped and Dotsavi had not pressed her. He had learned the hard way many years ago and he knew when to back off.
“So, how is Kuenre?”
“Our son is doing well,” Thuosana said with quiet pride.
“The Gibraltar remains to his liking then?” Dotsavi asked, regretful that he hadn’t had much time to keep in touch with his son since he had graduate the Academy.
“Yes, it appears so,” the admiral remarked, “But you know how he is, even if it wasn’t, he would keep it to himself. He is so like his father.”
“No, I beg to differ, that trait definitely is maternal in origin,” Dotsavi rejoined with a grin.
“I’ve missed you husband,” Thuosana said, “How much longer will it take for you to drive those Romulans from Benzar?”
The ambassador sighed. “The plebiscite negotiations are slow going.”
“And you’re confident that a referendum is the best way to go? What if the Benzites vote to join the Star Empire or not return to the Federation?”
“I don’t see how either could occur.”
“Really Dotsavi,” Thuosana was disbelieving. “How could you say that with the Romulans involved?”
“I know, I know, but one has to have hope. I think the Romulans would be reluctant to be blamed for voter irregularities at this point. They are trying to reestablish themselves on the galactic stage much as we and the Klingons are post-war. The thuggish tactics have been pushed to the background for the time being as the Romulans seek new trade partners and allies to rebuild their economy.”
“And there’s Remus and several other subject worlds clamoring for greater recognition,” the admiral pointed out.
Dotsavi nodded, “Yes, there is that. There are some in the Romulan leadership who are eager to rid the Empire of the expense of the Benzite occupation. Others have seen it as a way to remove the Remans and other undesirables from their nation, by having them repatriate to barren worlds in the Benzar System in exchange for the Romulans leaving the system completely.”
Now Thuosana nodded. “Of course there are surely just as many among the leadership would view possession of Benzar as a matter of honor, of national pride. Just as some would see an alliance with the planet, if not its complete subjugation as parcel with the Empire’s standard expansionist program.”
“Yes, a program that it can no longer afford,” Dotsavi countered.
“The Romulan Guard, perhaps the best funded outfit in the entire Empire, with the exception of the Imperial family. It’s doubtful that their military chiefs can really understand living within their means. From what we know of the Romulans, that has never been much of a concern for the military.”
“I know,” Dotsavi shook his head, his smile dimming, “but still I must persevere.”
“And that is why I love you,” Thuosana said, “You never knew when to give up.”
“I never shall,” Dotsavi replied, yawning afterwards. “Excuse me.”
“No, I think that was a sign from your body, telling you to get some sleep,” Thuosana said. “And I want you to follow it, admiral’s orders.”
“Well, how could I disobey a direct order?” Dotsavi asked with good cheer.
“You can’t,” his wife riposted with mock sternness.
“I can’t find it in me to turn off the computer. This conversation has rejuvenated me. Thank you so much dear.”
“I’ll make it easier for you,” Thuosana smiled before signing off.
“Take care my love,” the ambassador said to the black screen.
****************************************************************
*******************************************************************
Federation Legation
Benzar
Ambassador Dotsavi Shanthi did his best to rub the frustration from his bunched shoulders. It had been another trying day. Despite his best efforts the Benzite leadership had stalled the negotiations on creating a plebiscite to address the continued occupation by Romulan forces. The diplomat was certain that their Romulan “liberators” had a hand in their reticence.
He actually thought the referendum was a dangerous idea, especially with the possibility that the Romulans might subvert the vote. They were practiced in suppressing the will of others, he knew. Dotsavi felt ashamed that he could so easily paint an entire species with such a broad brush, but after spending weeks with the crafty Ambassador Ovida, he couldn’t help but give into bias, and the few exchanges had had with the chauvinistic military advisor Commander Volok had been even worse.
And now with Bethany ill, Shanthi felt isolated and in the dumps. The younger woman’s enthusiasm had rubbed off on him, more than he realized. It had been hard holding fast to the ideals of peace in the midst of the devastation of total war. The Dominion War had destroyed lives and weakened the institutions of civil society in a way not even the Borg incursions had. The Federation needed Benzar back in the fold, they needed a win. The idea of the Romulans so close on the border would only fuel the anger and fear that had yet to recede in the wake of the armistice.
He knew that Carnes would have a chipper retort to his sour musings but unfortunately she was in severe distress in a Benzite medical facility. The ambassador didn’t understand why Bethany had reacted so vehemently to the Benzite cuisine. He had traveled with the woman across the Alpha and Beta Quadrants and could personally attest to her cast iron stomach.
A systems check of Bethany’s quarters had revealed that her food processor had malfunctioned, and had allowed contaminated food through the bio-filter. The Benzites, in addition to being generally compassionate, were perfectionists and having the ailing Carnes around was a reminder of their failure. They had halted all talks until they could conclusively determined what had caused the ailment as well as cure her.
It had forced Shanthi to come up with a compromise, returning Carnes to Federation space where she could get proper medical attention, mollifying the Benzites’ concerns for her. The investigation would continue but it would no longer be tied to providing possible life-or-death answers for Bethany, since Dotsavi had assured them that Federation science could cure the food poisoning. The ambassador prayed that he was right, though he never showed his doubt in front of the Benzites or the Romulans.
As a sign of his confidence, he had also requested that the Diplomatic Corps provide him with a replacement. He didn’t know Steen, but the Vulcan’s record was impressive for a relatively young man. Dotsavi looked forward to meeting him.
But the Nagasaki wouldn’t arrive for several more days. And Shanthi would just have to wait. He had spent most of his down time at Bethany’s bedside. The woman still looked pallid, but her condition had stabilized. The medic had assured him that that state of affairs wouldn’t change, and Shanthi had eventually relented and decided to retire for the evening.
Back in his quarters, he couldn’t sleep. His body was bone tired, but his mind was restless. He plopped down at the room’s small computer terminal. He turned the machine on. It took a few minutes, but his wife finally appeared. He knew it was early morning on Earth, his wife’s one concession to the hour was that she hadn’t put on her black and gray duty jacket. However, she remained crisp in her red undershirt, with her chevron-shaped communicator pin fastened attached. Her admiral bars were prominent on her collar. She smiled slightly, before yawning. “Are you being a night owl again, or is this a case of the early bird catching the worm?” Thuosana Shanthi asked.
“My apologies for…well,” the ambassador paused, with a sheepish grin, “I can’t really say I woke you up. When do you sleep anyway?”
“Shouldn’t you know that?”
“I have to wonder, if you just weren’t fooling me all those times, perhaps watching me as I slept,” Dotsavi chuckled.
“You’re not that handsome for me to be admiring while you snore,” Thuosana teased, and Dotsavi’s laughter grew. This was just the tonic he needed.
“So, how are you doing my dear?”
“Well, Starfleet Administration has proven quite the beehive,” Thuosana remarked. “I am doing my best to bring order to some of the chaos.” Dotsavi nodded as she recounted some of her recent travails. He had been very disappointed when his wife had told him that she was resigning from the C-in-C position to address major problems at the Fleet’s administrative department. Thuosana had worked hard to reach the top and even though she told him otherwise, it felt like a demotion. He knew there was more behind the move than the Federation Council needing her reforming skills for a wayward department. But Thuosana had remained tight lipped and Dotsavi had not pressed her. He had learned the hard way many years ago and he knew when to back off.
“So, how is Kuenre?”
“Our son is doing well,” Thuosana said with quiet pride.
“The Gibraltar remains to his liking then?” Dotsavi asked, regretful that he hadn’t had much time to keep in touch with his son since he had graduate the Academy.
“Yes, it appears so,” the admiral remarked, “But you know how he is, even if it wasn’t, he would keep it to himself. He is so like his father.”
“No, I beg to differ, that trait definitely is maternal in origin,” Dotsavi rejoined with a grin.
“I’ve missed you husband,” Thuosana said, “How much longer will it take for you to drive those Romulans from Benzar?”
The ambassador sighed. “The plebiscite negotiations are slow going.”
“And you’re confident that a referendum is the best way to go? What if the Benzites vote to join the Star Empire or not return to the Federation?”
“I don’t see how either could occur.”
“Really Dotsavi,” Thuosana was disbelieving. “How could you say that with the Romulans involved?”
“I know, I know, but one has to have hope. I think the Romulans would be reluctant to be blamed for voter irregularities at this point. They are trying to reestablish themselves on the galactic stage much as we and the Klingons are post-war. The thuggish tactics have been pushed to the background for the time being as the Romulans seek new trade partners and allies to rebuild their economy.”
“And there’s Remus and several other subject worlds clamoring for greater recognition,” the admiral pointed out.
Dotsavi nodded, “Yes, there is that. There are some in the Romulan leadership who are eager to rid the Empire of the expense of the Benzite occupation. Others have seen it as a way to remove the Remans and other undesirables from their nation, by having them repatriate to barren worlds in the Benzar System in exchange for the Romulans leaving the system completely.”
Now Thuosana nodded. “Of course there are surely just as many among the leadership would view possession of Benzar as a matter of honor, of national pride. Just as some would see an alliance with the planet, if not its complete subjugation as parcel with the Empire’s standard expansionist program.”
“Yes, a program that it can no longer afford,” Dotsavi countered.
“The Romulan Guard, perhaps the best funded outfit in the entire Empire, with the exception of the Imperial family. It’s doubtful that their military chiefs can really understand living within their means. From what we know of the Romulans, that has never been much of a concern for the military.”
“I know,” Dotsavi shook his head, his smile dimming, “but still I must persevere.”
“And that is why I love you,” Thuosana said, “You never knew when to give up.”
“I never shall,” Dotsavi replied, yawning afterwards. “Excuse me.”
“No, I think that was a sign from your body, telling you to get some sleep,” Thuosana said. “And I want you to follow it, admiral’s orders.”
“Well, how could I disobey a direct order?” Dotsavi asked with good cheer.
“You can’t,” his wife riposted with mock sternness.
“I can’t find it in me to turn off the computer. This conversation has rejuvenated me. Thank you so much dear.”
“I’ll make it easier for you,” Thuosana smiled before signing off.
“Take care my love,” the ambassador said to the black screen.
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And another layer ... like we didn't have enough of those.
No but seriously, the future of Benzite is a really interesting subject (and if I'm not mistaken, unique to UT) that could have far reaching, geo-political consequences. (Can you say geo-political in space?) I'm really curious to see how this is going to develop.
And you just know the Romulans are up to something here.
No but seriously, the future of Benzite is a really interesting subject (and if I'm not mistaken, unique to UT) that could have far reaching, geo-political consequences. (Can you say geo-political in space?) I'm really curious to see how this is going to develop.
And you just know the Romulans are up to something here.
This installment gave us some terrific insights into the complexity of this delicate political issue and the significant stakes involved for all the interested parties.
It’s nice to see a Federation power-couple like the Shanthi’s who are actually still in love after decades together. Their playful banter and obvious emotional connection seemed to rejuvenate both of them… no small feat considering the enormous stress both of these people face in their respective careers.
Wonderful stuff, DarKush!
It’s nice to see a Federation power-couple like the Shanthi’s who are actually still in love after decades together. Their playful banter and obvious emotional connection seemed to rejuvenate both of them… no small feat considering the enormous stress both of these people face in their respective careers.
Wonderful stuff, DarKush!
Hi Guys,
By the time I'm done this story will have more layers than an onion or a big wedding cake. Though I am trying to keep it focused mainly on the Monarch, Hinode, Romulans, Remans, and Benzar. There's also a surprise I might throw in, courtesy of a little trip to the STO website. After reading an aside in the Trek Encyclopedia about the Romulans liberating Benzar-I don't remember that line in DS9-I thought it would make sense for the Romulans to not want to give it up after the war. They are into expansion after all. I also thought it might be neat for the Benzites, many still rapturous about Romulan heroics and skeptical of the Federation's ability to protect them, might consider joining with the Romulans, which would give the Empire a good foothold into Federation space.
I also wanted to use the situation to start building toward the Reman crisis in Star Trek Nemesis. I'm not sure yet what role DT will play with the Nemesis story line and the fall out from it, but I wanted to set the stage.
Gibraltar I'm glad you're liking the Shanthis. I thought it would be nice to show Admiral Shanthi in a less severe light for once.
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Imperial Romulan Warbird Avengeance
Stateroom
Merias III Battle Site Reclamation Project
(Former Benzite Defense Perimeter)
Commander Volok touched the frigid port window. He glanced out at the endless, pitiless void behind it. He felt just as empty, just as cold. “They are dead,” he remarked.
“Sir, this was only our fifth attempt at raising them,” Subcommander Volantis remarked, unwilling to accept reality.
“No,” Volok shook his head. “The Menaulion is lost to us. And its buoy has yet to be discovered?”
“No sir,” Volantis’s disappointment was palatable. “Shall I send a ship to retrieve it? And to discover the fate of the Menaulion?”
“Negative,” Volok finally turned around. He stared through the diminutive woman, eyes boring into the door behind her. “Sending another ship would arouse suspicion. And that is the last thing we should do with one of the Tal Shiar aboard. So far, we haven’t raised their hackles.”
“Understood sir,” Volantis said.
“Not quite,” Volok pulled her up short. “This mission is too vital to leave to inferior officers. I want you to take the Bateleur. Recover the admiral and the Iconian probe, and be quick about it. I am certain that the Monarch wasn’t called away for routine business. If a similar fate hasn’t befallen them they should be at the edge of the Scarab Nebula by now.”
Volantis brightened at the chance for action, and Volok could tell particularly to against the Monarch. Defeating a Sovereign-class vessel would be a high honor, plus he was certain that Volantis wanted to humble the arrogant Starfleet officers crewing her. “I will prepare for departure at once.”
The commander held up one finger. Volantis’s back stiffened even more as she remained at attention. “But first, I have another assignment for you. Bateleur must depart without the Tal Shiar leaders on Romulus being informed.”
Volantis nodded curtly. “I will take care of it.”
“See that you do.”
*****************************************************************
Romulan Embasssy
Benzar
Ambassador Ovida didn’t mind serving two masters, because she knew that she would be the ultimate beneficiary. “Has Commander Volok been exhibiting any…unusual or suspicious behavior,” Lt. Colonel Vakis of the Tal Shiar asked, her full lips twisting into a frown.
“No,” Ovida shook her head. “He has performed his duties admirably thus far.”
“Too admirably?” Vakis asked, tilting her head, and studying the diplomat as if she were a specimen…or a traitor. Though Ovida had worked with the Tal Shiar for decades she had never been infected with their paranoia. The Tal Shiar leadership was extremely suspicious of Volok, owing to him being the former head of their once biggest rival, the now defunct Tal Arcani. The Tal Shiar had pushed for the man’s execution, but even they didn’t pull all the levers of power on Romulus. Volok had been spared, though he had spent hard time on Cloaca Maxima, one of the harshest prison planets in the Empire.
So far he had seemed to be maximizing the second chance the Dominion War had given him. He had never displayed any lingering hostility over his imprisonment or the dissolution of his agency in front of Ovida, but an espionage master of his years was certainly a great actor.
“Where you aware that one of our patrol vessels in the Benzite system has gone missing?” Vakis asked.
“Yes, yes of course,” Ovida fluttered her hand in front of her face. “Volok’s subcommander informed me about the Korvix several days ago,” she added.
Vakis shook her head. “A second ship, the Menaulion, was declared missing only hours ago.”
“That is unfortunate,” Ovida didn’t know what else to say, though she did little to hide her lack of concern. Tragedy was sometimes a part of military service.
“And this doesn’t concern you?”
“Why should it?” The diplomat asked. She had spent the majority of her waking hours coaxing the skittish Benzite leadership toward greater ties with the Empire and deflecting the attempts at inroads the equally dogged Federation ambassador continued to make.
“So, you don’t suspect that Commander Volok sent the ship on a clandestine mission? That he is attempting to undermine the Empire?”
Don’t you mean undermine the Tal Shiar, Ovida thought but would never dare say. To people like Vakis, the Tal Shiar and the Empire were synonymous. She carefully chose her reply, “Commander Volok thus far has shown me no reason to doubt him. The reports I have submitted are accurate…to my knowledge.”
Vakis gazed at the woman for a few moments, her dark skinned face tightening. Ovida had sat across the table from dozens of more hardened characters than the young Tal Shiar agent, but it didn’t stop the sweat from sliding down her shoulder blades. “Continue reporting on Volok’s activity.”
“I will continue to do so,” Ovida said quickly, “though I am hampered by the fact that the commander remains stationed at Merias III for the moment. If I might suggest relying on your contacts there?”
The corner of Vakis’s mouth twitched, almost imperceptibly, and Ovida finally grasped the reason for this call. The Tal Shiar had lost contact with their agent inside Volok’s command. But they didn’t want to admit it. They couldn’t show weakness or fallibility. Perhaps Volok had dispatched them? Maybe he was up to something after all? “We are continuing to do that,” the Lt. Colonel lied. “But we would also request a redoubling of efforts on your part. We must all contribute to the well being of the state.”
“Of course, of course,” Ovida remarked, keeping the joy at Vakis’s distress out of her voice. She thumped her chest and thrust her hand forward, her fingers forming a spear. “Long live the Empire!” She hadn’t served in the military in decades but certain things one never forgot.
Almost absently, Vakis returned the salute. “If you notice anything unusual regarding Volok, contact me immediately.”
“I will do,” Ovida promised, nodding. She knew how to deceive much better than the younger woman. First the ambassador would find out if Volok was plotting and if his plans were a threat to the Empire, which she would not countenance. But if he was engineering some bureaucratic revenge against the Tal Shiar, the diplomat might assist him or allow him to dispatch her lesser master.
*******************************************************************
Imperial Romulan Warbird Avengeance
Stateroom
Merias III Battle Site Reclamation Project
(Former Benzite Defense Perimeter)
“Is the Bateleur ready for departure?” Commander Volok asked, without looking up from his view screen.
“Yes sir,” Subcommander Volantis said crisply.
“And what about Sublieutenant Elanus?”
“He won’t be accompanying us on this mission,” Volantis said, with just a hint of relish.
“Excellent, carry on,” Volok replied.
********************************************************************
By the time I'm done this story will have more layers than an onion or a big wedding cake. Though I am trying to keep it focused mainly on the Monarch, Hinode, Romulans, Remans, and Benzar. There's also a surprise I might throw in, courtesy of a little trip to the STO website. After reading an aside in the Trek Encyclopedia about the Romulans liberating Benzar-I don't remember that line in DS9-I thought it would make sense for the Romulans to not want to give it up after the war. They are into expansion after all. I also thought it might be neat for the Benzites, many still rapturous about Romulan heroics and skeptical of the Federation's ability to protect them, might consider joining with the Romulans, which would give the Empire a good foothold into Federation space.
I also wanted to use the situation to start building toward the Reman crisis in Star Trek Nemesis. I'm not sure yet what role DT will play with the Nemesis story line and the fall out from it, but I wanted to set the stage.
Gibraltar I'm glad you're liking the Shanthis. I thought it would be nice to show Admiral Shanthi in a less severe light for once.
****************************************************************
Imperial Romulan Warbird Avengeance
Stateroom
Merias III Battle Site Reclamation Project
(Former Benzite Defense Perimeter)
Commander Volok touched the frigid port window. He glanced out at the endless, pitiless void behind it. He felt just as empty, just as cold. “They are dead,” he remarked.
“Sir, this was only our fifth attempt at raising them,” Subcommander Volantis remarked, unwilling to accept reality.
“No,” Volok shook his head. “The Menaulion is lost to us. And its buoy has yet to be discovered?”
“No sir,” Volantis’s disappointment was palatable. “Shall I send a ship to retrieve it? And to discover the fate of the Menaulion?”
“Negative,” Volok finally turned around. He stared through the diminutive woman, eyes boring into the door behind her. “Sending another ship would arouse suspicion. And that is the last thing we should do with one of the Tal Shiar aboard. So far, we haven’t raised their hackles.”
“Understood sir,” Volantis said.
“Not quite,” Volok pulled her up short. “This mission is too vital to leave to inferior officers. I want you to take the Bateleur. Recover the admiral and the Iconian probe, and be quick about it. I am certain that the Monarch wasn’t called away for routine business. If a similar fate hasn’t befallen them they should be at the edge of the Scarab Nebula by now.”
Volantis brightened at the chance for action, and Volok could tell particularly to against the Monarch. Defeating a Sovereign-class vessel would be a high honor, plus he was certain that Volantis wanted to humble the arrogant Starfleet officers crewing her. “I will prepare for departure at once.”
The commander held up one finger. Volantis’s back stiffened even more as she remained at attention. “But first, I have another assignment for you. Bateleur must depart without the Tal Shiar leaders on Romulus being informed.”
Volantis nodded curtly. “I will take care of it.”
“See that you do.”
*****************************************************************
Romulan Embasssy
Benzar
Ambassador Ovida didn’t mind serving two masters, because she knew that she would be the ultimate beneficiary. “Has Commander Volok been exhibiting any…unusual or suspicious behavior,” Lt. Colonel Vakis of the Tal Shiar asked, her full lips twisting into a frown.
“No,” Ovida shook her head. “He has performed his duties admirably thus far.”
“Too admirably?” Vakis asked, tilting her head, and studying the diplomat as if she were a specimen…or a traitor. Though Ovida had worked with the Tal Shiar for decades she had never been infected with their paranoia. The Tal Shiar leadership was extremely suspicious of Volok, owing to him being the former head of their once biggest rival, the now defunct Tal Arcani. The Tal Shiar had pushed for the man’s execution, but even they didn’t pull all the levers of power on Romulus. Volok had been spared, though he had spent hard time on Cloaca Maxima, one of the harshest prison planets in the Empire.
So far he had seemed to be maximizing the second chance the Dominion War had given him. He had never displayed any lingering hostility over his imprisonment or the dissolution of his agency in front of Ovida, but an espionage master of his years was certainly a great actor.
“Where you aware that one of our patrol vessels in the Benzite system has gone missing?” Vakis asked.
“Yes, yes of course,” Ovida fluttered her hand in front of her face. “Volok’s subcommander informed me about the Korvix several days ago,” she added.
Vakis shook her head. “A second ship, the Menaulion, was declared missing only hours ago.”
“That is unfortunate,” Ovida didn’t know what else to say, though she did little to hide her lack of concern. Tragedy was sometimes a part of military service.
“And this doesn’t concern you?”
“Why should it?” The diplomat asked. She had spent the majority of her waking hours coaxing the skittish Benzite leadership toward greater ties with the Empire and deflecting the attempts at inroads the equally dogged Federation ambassador continued to make.
“So, you don’t suspect that Commander Volok sent the ship on a clandestine mission? That he is attempting to undermine the Empire?”
Don’t you mean undermine the Tal Shiar, Ovida thought but would never dare say. To people like Vakis, the Tal Shiar and the Empire were synonymous. She carefully chose her reply, “Commander Volok thus far has shown me no reason to doubt him. The reports I have submitted are accurate…to my knowledge.”
Vakis gazed at the woman for a few moments, her dark skinned face tightening. Ovida had sat across the table from dozens of more hardened characters than the young Tal Shiar agent, but it didn’t stop the sweat from sliding down her shoulder blades. “Continue reporting on Volok’s activity.”
“I will continue to do so,” Ovida said quickly, “though I am hampered by the fact that the commander remains stationed at Merias III for the moment. If I might suggest relying on your contacts there?”
The corner of Vakis’s mouth twitched, almost imperceptibly, and Ovida finally grasped the reason for this call. The Tal Shiar had lost contact with their agent inside Volok’s command. But they didn’t want to admit it. They couldn’t show weakness or fallibility. Perhaps Volok had dispatched them? Maybe he was up to something after all? “We are continuing to do that,” the Lt. Colonel lied. “But we would also request a redoubling of efforts on your part. We must all contribute to the well being of the state.”
“Of course, of course,” Ovida remarked, keeping the joy at Vakis’s distress out of her voice. She thumped her chest and thrust her hand forward, her fingers forming a spear. “Long live the Empire!” She hadn’t served in the military in decades but certain things one never forgot.
Almost absently, Vakis returned the salute. “If you notice anything unusual regarding Volok, contact me immediately.”
“I will do,” Ovida promised, nodding. She knew how to deceive much better than the younger woman. First the ambassador would find out if Volok was plotting and if his plans were a threat to the Empire, which she would not countenance. But if he was engineering some bureaucratic revenge against the Tal Shiar, the diplomat might assist him or allow him to dispatch her lesser master.
*******************************************************************
Imperial Romulan Warbird Avengeance
Stateroom
Merias III Battle Site Reclamation Project
(Former Benzite Defense Perimeter)
“Is the Bateleur ready for departure?” Commander Volok asked, without looking up from his view screen.
“Yes sir,” Subcommander Volantis said crisply.
“And what about Sublieutenant Elanus?”
“He won’t be accompanying us on this mission,” Volantis said, with just a hint of relish.
“Excellent, carry on,” Volok replied.
********************************************************************
********************************************************************
USS Nagasaki
Captain’s Dining Room
En Route to the Benzar System
Captain Zorek was surprised at how badly Steen was keeping his emotions in check. His displeasure for the woman sitting beside him was as noticeable as a homing beacon. The young diplomat was quietly smoldering like a growing blaze. He was certain that T’Prell was aware of the man’s displeasure with her. But the woman continued munching on her Kleentanta, slathered with a heaping portion of forati sauce, and covered with redspice. The captain was certain that the spicy aroma was probably assaulting the younger man’s nostrils.
But he was just as confident that the diplomat was displeased that Zorek had held up disembarking from P’Jem until T’Prell arrived. He had known T’Prell for a long time, and he didn’t need an order to hold orbit for her, even though she had produced one.
Steen also couldn’t be pleased that T’Prell had altered the ship’s course. Nagasaki wouldn’t be taking a direct route to Benzar, they would skirt around the system’s Scarab Nebula first. T’Prell had been tight-lipped about what she was looking for, but Zorek knew it would be distasteful to allow his curiosity to come to the fore, and pester her about it.
“Your food replicators are top notch,” T’Prell remarked. “This tastes as fresh as if it came from homeworld itself.”
“It was merely a practical matter to ensure efficiency on part of the crew. Lessening disquiet about food quality would allow the crew to focus more on their various tasks,” Zorek offered.
“And retaining the comforts of home had nothing to do with it, eh?” T’Prell smirked at him. Though the woman had been v’tosh ka’tur since he had met her, he didn’t think he would ever get used to her open displays of emotion. His eyes shifted to his Executive Officer. Disapproval seemed etched on Commander T’Chaya’s darksome face.
T’Prell took getting used to, but Zorek felt that the woman’s friendship had been worth the occasional headaches she gave him. T’Chaya caught Zorek looking at her, and the woman broke her gaze and glanced down at her half-eaten plate of mollusks.
Zorek had decided on a Bajoran dish himself, on T’Prell’s recommendation. The spices in the hasperat felt as hot as coals in his mouth, but the flavor was…agreeable. Steen barely touched his Bertakk soup.
“The soup not to your liking Mr. Steen?” Zorek asked, endeavoring to make conversation with the man. He hoped an act of civility would engender a similar response.
“It is agreeable,” was all the man said. He took a breath before standing. “Captain, may I be excuse. I have become…fatigued.”
Zorek’s eyebrow wanted to arch in skepticism, but he forced it down. “Of course, Mr. Steen.” The diplomat bid everyone farewell before he hastened from the room.
“What was his problem?” T’Prell voiced the question on everyone’s mind. T’Chaya, never one to mince words, was about to answer, but Zorek stepped in.
“He was very eager to get to Benzar to continue the negotiations,” Zorek said.
“This detour will only put back our arrival at Benzar by a day, a few at the most. I hard think that the fate of galactic peace rests on Mr. Steen’s shoulders,” T’Prell replied.
“Does it rest on your clandestine mission into the nebula?” T’Chaya asked.
“Maybe,” T’Prell shrugged, her face now inscrutable. That answer did not mollify T’Chaya one bit. She had become more protective of the crew during the war.
“Commander,” Zorek interceded again. The first officer turned to him, a pinched expression on her face.
“But captain,” she began.
“You know as well as I do that Agent T’Prell is under orders.”
“I understand…,” T’Chaya replied.
“There is no but,” Zorek cut her off. “She is under orders, end of discussion.”
“I have no desire to be a burden on your crew,” T’Prell said, honestly, “but Nagasaki was the nearest vessel.”
“You have nothing to apologize for,” Zorek remarked. “We were given orders, we follow those orders.”
“But sometimes we must question those orders,” T’Chaya riposted. “If they are illogical… or illegal.”
“Which these are not,” T’Prell said, unfazed by what many might consider an accusation from T’Chaya. Zorek was aware of the woman’s displeasure with the V’Shar, she felt their mission was antithetical to the Vulcan creed. She was a bit more sanguine about Starfleet Intelligence’s mission, but she felt that Vulcans alone should not engage in cloak and dagger operations, that logic demanded honesty and transparency at all times. Zorek had lived long enough to know how unfeasible that was, and how dangerous it could be.
T’Chaya, like Steen, had a lot more living to do.
******************************************************************
USS Nagasaki
Captain’s Dining Room
En Route to the Benzar System
Captain Zorek was surprised at how badly Steen was keeping his emotions in check. His displeasure for the woman sitting beside him was as noticeable as a homing beacon. The young diplomat was quietly smoldering like a growing blaze. He was certain that T’Prell was aware of the man’s displeasure with her. But the woman continued munching on her Kleentanta, slathered with a heaping portion of forati sauce, and covered with redspice. The captain was certain that the spicy aroma was probably assaulting the younger man’s nostrils.
But he was just as confident that the diplomat was displeased that Zorek had held up disembarking from P’Jem until T’Prell arrived. He had known T’Prell for a long time, and he didn’t need an order to hold orbit for her, even though she had produced one.
Steen also couldn’t be pleased that T’Prell had altered the ship’s course. Nagasaki wouldn’t be taking a direct route to Benzar, they would skirt around the system’s Scarab Nebula first. T’Prell had been tight-lipped about what she was looking for, but Zorek knew it would be distasteful to allow his curiosity to come to the fore, and pester her about it.
“Your food replicators are top notch,” T’Prell remarked. “This tastes as fresh as if it came from homeworld itself.”
“It was merely a practical matter to ensure efficiency on part of the crew. Lessening disquiet about food quality would allow the crew to focus more on their various tasks,” Zorek offered.
“And retaining the comforts of home had nothing to do with it, eh?” T’Prell smirked at him. Though the woman had been v’tosh ka’tur since he had met her, he didn’t think he would ever get used to her open displays of emotion. His eyes shifted to his Executive Officer. Disapproval seemed etched on Commander T’Chaya’s darksome face.
T’Prell took getting used to, but Zorek felt that the woman’s friendship had been worth the occasional headaches she gave him. T’Chaya caught Zorek looking at her, and the woman broke her gaze and glanced down at her half-eaten plate of mollusks.
Zorek had decided on a Bajoran dish himself, on T’Prell’s recommendation. The spices in the hasperat felt as hot as coals in his mouth, but the flavor was…agreeable. Steen barely touched his Bertakk soup.
“The soup not to your liking Mr. Steen?” Zorek asked, endeavoring to make conversation with the man. He hoped an act of civility would engender a similar response.
“It is agreeable,” was all the man said. He took a breath before standing. “Captain, may I be excuse. I have become…fatigued.”
Zorek’s eyebrow wanted to arch in skepticism, but he forced it down. “Of course, Mr. Steen.” The diplomat bid everyone farewell before he hastened from the room.
“What was his problem?” T’Prell voiced the question on everyone’s mind. T’Chaya, never one to mince words, was about to answer, but Zorek stepped in.
“He was very eager to get to Benzar to continue the negotiations,” Zorek said.
“This detour will only put back our arrival at Benzar by a day, a few at the most. I hard think that the fate of galactic peace rests on Mr. Steen’s shoulders,” T’Prell replied.
“Does it rest on your clandestine mission into the nebula?” T’Chaya asked.
“Maybe,” T’Prell shrugged, her face now inscrutable. That answer did not mollify T’Chaya one bit. She had become more protective of the crew during the war.
“Commander,” Zorek interceded again. The first officer turned to him, a pinched expression on her face.
“But captain,” she began.
“You know as well as I do that Agent T’Prell is under orders.”
“I understand…,” T’Chaya replied.
“There is no but,” Zorek cut her off. “She is under orders, end of discussion.”
“I have no desire to be a burden on your crew,” T’Prell said, honestly, “but Nagasaki was the nearest vessel.”
“You have nothing to apologize for,” Zorek remarked. “We were given orders, we follow those orders.”
“But sometimes we must question those orders,” T’Chaya riposted. “If they are illogical… or illegal.”
“Which these are not,” T’Prell said, unfazed by what many might consider an accusation from T’Chaya. Zorek was aware of the woman’s displeasure with the V’Shar, she felt their mission was antithetical to the Vulcan creed. She was a bit more sanguine about Starfleet Intelligence’s mission, but she felt that Vulcans alone should not engage in cloak and dagger operations, that logic demanded honesty and transparency at all times. Zorek had lived long enough to know how unfeasible that was, and how dangerous it could be.
T’Chaya, like Steen, had a lot more living to do.
******************************************************************
It seems everyone here is involved in the dangerous game of brinksmanship as wheels turn within wheels and various plots and machinations unfold.
One has to admire Volok’s tenacity, especially in the face of the Tal Shiar’s disdain for him and his now defunct sister-agency.
As fond of Zorek as I am, I hope he’ll not be forced to undermine his own ideals in order to combat the multiple nefarious schemes underway in the Benzar system.
Continued excellence, DarKush!
One has to admire Volok’s tenacity, especially in the face of the Tal Shiar’s disdain for him and his now defunct sister-agency.
As fond of Zorek as I am, I hope he’ll not be forced to undermine his own ideals in order to combat the multiple nefarious schemes underway in the Benzar system.
Continued excellence, DarKush!
Am reading from the beginning here as I begin to catch up on everything I've missed recently. As always, I find the strengths of your stories to be in your characterizations not only of the humans and other Federation characters, but especially of those that could be called the "other"--Romulans, Remans, Benzites, etc. making them come across as living, feeling individuals and not cardboard cutouts.
A "Dark Territory" story is a great way to return to reading and helps to inspire me to writing.
A "Dark Territory" story is a great way to return to reading and helps to inspire me to writing.
Thanks DF, I'm glad you like the characterizations. I try to make the characters as distinct as I can. CeJay, I hope you got your notepad ready because it's about to get more complicated.
******************************************************************
USS Monarch
Astrometrics Lab
“What’s the status of the resonance scans?” Commander Leza Astar did her best to reign in her impatience. The frustration started from the top, Captain Walker was like a walking cauldron, barely restraining the emotions boiling within him. And Leza was just as frustrated. She didn’t like going to anything so blind, especially if it involved a cloaked Romulan ship.
Lt. Commander Liyange had been able to determine the origin of the ship fragments they had found fairly easily. Walker had ordered the fragments beamed aboard after a scan for life signs had proven nil. Science Officer Leya’s tall Caldonian frame was hunched over a scanning rig, her nose almost pressed against a corrugated piece of green metal. She worked with quiet grace. Leza realized she should take a page from how composed the Caldonian was before addressing her. “Lt. Leya?” She called softly. The woman sat up slowly and turned around just as slowly to peer at the commander.
She slid off of her stool and stood at attention. “Yes Commander?”
Leza was about to tell the taller woman that she didn’t mean to interrupt, but stopped herself. Of course that’s exactly what she meant to do. “What’s the status of the resonance scan?”
“What destroyed the Romulan vessel, do you mean?”
“Yes,” Leza said, trying hard to roll her eyes.
“The Romulans attempted to utilize their cloaking device perhaps in an attempt at evasion, but it proved untenable due to the nature of emission nebulae, which the Scarab Nebula is.”
“I don’t need a lesson in astronomy Lieutenant,” Astar snapped. “I need to know what destroyed that ship.”
“Of course Commander,” Leya said, unfazed by Leza’s ire. The Trill was at least glad that Leya didn’t take it personally. “It appears that the ship was destroyed by a phased polaron beam,” the ponderous Science Officer finally remarked.
“Excuse me?” Leza said, her blood running cold. The Astar symbiont twisted uncomfortably in her gut. The only ships that utilized phased polaron-based weapons were the Dominion. It was a good possibility that this ship was one of the unfortunate ones that didn’t make it back from the blood soaked Romulan victory over Dominion forces in the Benzar System. “How old is this fragment?” Astar asked, wondering what could make Command, and by extension Walker, so skittish that they were keeping quiet about a battle that had happened half a year ago.
“I already ran the fragment through quantum dating to ascertain the exact age,” Leya said, without a hint of pride or satisfaction at anticipating Astar’s query.
“So, what is the date? How old is this fragment?”
Leya’s ridged brow crinkled and she wrung her three-fingered hands. Before Leza ordered the woman to speak, the Caldonian said, “Three months. I ran the scan twice more and the results were consistent with the first scan.”
The revelation felt like a kick in Astar’s stomach. She clutched her belly to calm the frightened symbiont within her. Her own memories of the devastation she had witnessed during the war against the Dominion merged with far older memories passed down from the Astar symbiont’s other hosts. It was a mental kaleidoscope of carnage that Leza had hoped she would never have to experience again.
“Are you unwell Commander?” Leya asked, stepping forward. Astar put up a hand to stop the woman.
“I’m fine, I’ve got to tell the captain immediately,” Astar remarked. “Because if I am comprehending you correctly, there’s a Dominion ship still out there?”
“Yes,” Leya concluded, her voice now somber. “Actually there is probably more than one.”
“And the war…it isn’t over?” Leza asked, more to herself, and the symbiont than the Science Officer, but oblivious, Leya answered.
“No Commander, for some it appears that it is not.”
********************************************************************
******************************************************************
USS Monarch
Astrometrics Lab
“What’s the status of the resonance scans?” Commander Leza Astar did her best to reign in her impatience. The frustration started from the top, Captain Walker was like a walking cauldron, barely restraining the emotions boiling within him. And Leza was just as frustrated. She didn’t like going to anything so blind, especially if it involved a cloaked Romulan ship.
Lt. Commander Liyange had been able to determine the origin of the ship fragments they had found fairly easily. Walker had ordered the fragments beamed aboard after a scan for life signs had proven nil. Science Officer Leya’s tall Caldonian frame was hunched over a scanning rig, her nose almost pressed against a corrugated piece of green metal. She worked with quiet grace. Leza realized she should take a page from how composed the Caldonian was before addressing her. “Lt. Leya?” She called softly. The woman sat up slowly and turned around just as slowly to peer at the commander.
She slid off of her stool and stood at attention. “Yes Commander?”
Leza was about to tell the taller woman that she didn’t mean to interrupt, but stopped herself. Of course that’s exactly what she meant to do. “What’s the status of the resonance scan?”
“What destroyed the Romulan vessel, do you mean?”
“Yes,” Leza said, trying hard to roll her eyes.
“The Romulans attempted to utilize their cloaking device perhaps in an attempt at evasion, but it proved untenable due to the nature of emission nebulae, which the Scarab Nebula is.”
“I don’t need a lesson in astronomy Lieutenant,” Astar snapped. “I need to know what destroyed that ship.”
“Of course Commander,” Leya said, unfazed by Leza’s ire. The Trill was at least glad that Leya didn’t take it personally. “It appears that the ship was destroyed by a phased polaron beam,” the ponderous Science Officer finally remarked.
“Excuse me?” Leza said, her blood running cold. The Astar symbiont twisted uncomfortably in her gut. The only ships that utilized phased polaron-based weapons were the Dominion. It was a good possibility that this ship was one of the unfortunate ones that didn’t make it back from the blood soaked Romulan victory over Dominion forces in the Benzar System. “How old is this fragment?” Astar asked, wondering what could make Command, and by extension Walker, so skittish that they were keeping quiet about a battle that had happened half a year ago.
“I already ran the fragment through quantum dating to ascertain the exact age,” Leya said, without a hint of pride or satisfaction at anticipating Astar’s query.
“So, what is the date? How old is this fragment?”
Leya’s ridged brow crinkled and she wrung her three-fingered hands. Before Leza ordered the woman to speak, the Caldonian said, “Three months. I ran the scan twice more and the results were consistent with the first scan.”
The revelation felt like a kick in Astar’s stomach. She clutched her belly to calm the frightened symbiont within her. Her own memories of the devastation she had witnessed during the war against the Dominion merged with far older memories passed down from the Astar symbiont’s other hosts. It was a mental kaleidoscope of carnage that Leza had hoped she would never have to experience again.
“Are you unwell Commander?” Leya asked, stepping forward. Astar put up a hand to stop the woman.
“I’m fine, I’ve got to tell the captain immediately,” Astar remarked. “Because if I am comprehending you correctly, there’s a Dominion ship still out there?”
“Yes,” Leya concluded, her voice now somber. “Actually there is probably more than one.”
“And the war…it isn’t over?” Leza asked, more to herself, and the symbiont than the Science Officer, but oblivious, Leya answered.
“No Commander, for some it appears that it is not.”
********************************************************************
Just what they need, lol.
DarKush, I'm beginning to think that you aren't planning on letting any of my crew survive this????
DarKush, I'm beginning to think that you aren't planning on letting any of my crew survive this????
BB, the Dominion are expert at clones, just keep that in mind. CeJay, do you want the Borg thrown in? I'm sure I could whip something up.
*******************************************************************
Scarab Nebula
Samson Glover opened his eyes slowly, wincing in pain as intense white light invaded them.
“This one is conscious,” the voice was gruff and completely unfamiliar. His eyelids fluttered open, and the admiral’s fear overtook any momentary discomfort. A gray, pebbly, reptilian face stared back at him, with eyes as void as the space around them. It was a Jem’Hadar!
Samson clamped down on his fear and tried to move, but realized he was bound. Not only by the tight restraints at his wrists and ankles, but the snug surgical support frame draped over his chest. He was in a biobed, he realized, and one not of Federation design. The dark gray finish of the equipment didn’t give him any clues as to its designers. Despite his immobility, he struggled, straining his neck to gain as much information as he could about his captors.
The Jem’Hadar was unconcerned about Glover’s struggling. Instead his eyes flicked to a spot just above his head. Despite himself, the admiral’s gaze also trailed the warrior’s. Samson made out the curved bottom of what he guessed was a biofunction monitor. The Jem’Hadar nodded with satisfaction, “Excellent work doctor.”
Samson tried to see around the Jem’Hadar to identify who the man was talking to, but the reptilian’s frame was too massive. Even when the Jem’Hadar turned around to speak to the mystery medic, Samson couldn’t see them.
“I do my best First Torak’Clan,” the voice was female, and strained. Samson’s curiosity was piqued further. Before he asked a question, the Jem’Hadar spoke again.
“And what of the Romulan?” Torak’Clan asked. Samson’s heart swelled with hope. Ousanas was still alive. He breathed a sigh of relief. But his hope was dampened with concerns about the fate of Daneeka.
“Where is Daneeka?” Samson asked. “Is she…”
Torak’Clan turned back to the admiral with lightning speed. He frowned, clearly not pleased that Samson had spoken. “The female…the Bolian?”
“Yes, she is alive, as for how well she is…”
“What happened, what did you do to her?” Samson pushed against the restraints to no avail.
“The Bolian is tough, much tougher than our files about her species suggests. She is unique,” Torak’Clan said with a hint of pride. “Once she has been healed up, she will provide great sport for our warriors.”
“Hostilities between our peoples have ended,” Samson replied, trying to keep the tremor out of his voice. “Who is in charge here? I demand to speak to your Vorta superior!” Glover saw no need to maintain niceties. The Jem’Hadar were genetically bred warriors. Manners were just an example of weakness to them and they brutalized the weak.
Torak’Clan puffed out his barrel chest. “I am in charge here.”
“Where is the Vorta?” Samson asked again. He knew that Vorta often served as the commanders of Jem’Hadar units and parceled out ketracel white, the drug the reptilian soldiers needed to survive.
“I butchered him, like the animal he was,” Torak’Clan admitted. Samson gasped so loud that the Jem’Hadar smirked, shocking the admiral further. Killing a Vorta, and gloating about it, this was not a typical Jem’Hadar, and that frightened Glover even more.
“I don’t understand,” he admitted.
“It doesn’t matter if you do,” Torak’Clan said. “If you do not do exactly as I say, you will soon join him, as will your colleagues.”
********************************************************************
USS Monarch
Captain’s Ready Room
Commander Astar’s revelation had shaken Captain Walker almost to the core. Since he had made his Faustian deal with Petrov the muck had been rising ever higher. It had taken every impulse he had no to charge right down to Engineering and demand an answer from her, but he knew going public could possibly threaten the lives of his crew and his family, in addition to his own.
He encrypted the message he sent to Main Engineering. Sofia responded immediately. “Captain,” she said coolly.
“Just what the hell is going on here?”
“You’re talking about the phased polaron beam I presume?” The captain shrugged his broad shoulders.
“No, I’m talking about the latest score of the Pike City Pioneers game! Of course I’m referring to the destruction of that Romulan ship,” he paused, nearly out of breath. He was sure his face was as crimson as the fur of an Andorian redbat. “And I’m not even going to ask you how you knew about that information.”
“Good,” Petrov said, not even pretending to be cowed by his outrage. The chain of command had already been upended when he had compromised himself. “Truthfully Benjamin, I don’t know.” The engineer said. “It’s more than likely an anomaly. Perhaps someone raided the battle site for Dominion weaponry. It wouldn’t be the first time the Orions, Cardassian militants, or others made off with weapons and other technology from those orbital graveyards.”
Walker was unconvinced and Petrov knew it. She added, “We received the same orders at the same time. I was with you, remember? Our mission is to find the S.S. Hinode and secure it, its passengers, and its contents, before they fall into Romulan hands.”
“And who is on that ship and what is so precious about its contents?”
“I don’t know,” Sofia said. “I’ve been a member of the section long enough to know that it’s often better to know less.”
“Even if that puts your crew, your colleagues, your friends in harm’s way?” Walker challenged.
“When are we not in harm’s way?” Petrov parried skillfully. Damn, she does have a point, the captain hated to admit.
“Captain, Section 31’s methods might be questionable and sometimes even I am abhorred by them, but they have helped keep Earth and the Federation intact.”
“So, the section predates the Federation?” Walker asked, surprised.
“Yes,” the engineer nodded. “The organization origins derive from the original Starfleet Charter, Article 14, Section 31.”
“The one granting extraordinary authority to address extreme threats?” Walker asked. Petrov nodded with a smile.
“You were always good with those regulations.”
“I’m a captain remember? I have to be,” Walker remarked, prompting a chuckle from the engineer. Her laughter reinforced how far out on a cliff he had gone. Here he was, bantering with Sofia as if nothing had changed, when nothing could ever be the same again. She was telling him about a super secret bureau that seemed to act with broad and likely extralegal authority, and basing that on a vague section of a document hundreds of years old, that existed before the Federation.
“Is the Charter the Section’s only justification for existence? Surely there is institutional support of some kind? Is this really just some deep, dark arm of Starfleet Intelligence?”
“If that answer would make you feel comfortable about what we have asked you to do, then yes,” Petrov replied.
“It’s too late to be coy with me,” Walker demanded.
“Yes, it is,” Sofia wouldn’t back down. “You’ve already signed on the dotted line. The deal is done, and you’ve got to live with it. Once this mission is over, you will see the value of working with Section 31.”
“If this mission doesn’t get us all killed first,” he groused.
“There is that,” the engineer conceded.
********************************************************************
*******************************************************************
Scarab Nebula
Samson Glover opened his eyes slowly, wincing in pain as intense white light invaded them.
“This one is conscious,” the voice was gruff and completely unfamiliar. His eyelids fluttered open, and the admiral’s fear overtook any momentary discomfort. A gray, pebbly, reptilian face stared back at him, with eyes as void as the space around them. It was a Jem’Hadar!
Samson clamped down on his fear and tried to move, but realized he was bound. Not only by the tight restraints at his wrists and ankles, but the snug surgical support frame draped over his chest. He was in a biobed, he realized, and one not of Federation design. The dark gray finish of the equipment didn’t give him any clues as to its designers. Despite his immobility, he struggled, straining his neck to gain as much information as he could about his captors.
The Jem’Hadar was unconcerned about Glover’s struggling. Instead his eyes flicked to a spot just above his head. Despite himself, the admiral’s gaze also trailed the warrior’s. Samson made out the curved bottom of what he guessed was a biofunction monitor. The Jem’Hadar nodded with satisfaction, “Excellent work doctor.”
Samson tried to see around the Jem’Hadar to identify who the man was talking to, but the reptilian’s frame was too massive. Even when the Jem’Hadar turned around to speak to the mystery medic, Samson couldn’t see them.
“I do my best First Torak’Clan,” the voice was female, and strained. Samson’s curiosity was piqued further. Before he asked a question, the Jem’Hadar spoke again.
“And what of the Romulan?” Torak’Clan asked. Samson’s heart swelled with hope. Ousanas was still alive. He breathed a sigh of relief. But his hope was dampened with concerns about the fate of Daneeka.
“Where is Daneeka?” Samson asked. “Is she…”
Torak’Clan turned back to the admiral with lightning speed. He frowned, clearly not pleased that Samson had spoken. “The female…the Bolian?”
“Yes, she is alive, as for how well she is…”
“What happened, what did you do to her?” Samson pushed against the restraints to no avail.
“The Bolian is tough, much tougher than our files about her species suggests. She is unique,” Torak’Clan said with a hint of pride. “Once she has been healed up, she will provide great sport for our warriors.”
“Hostilities between our peoples have ended,” Samson replied, trying to keep the tremor out of his voice. “Who is in charge here? I demand to speak to your Vorta superior!” Glover saw no need to maintain niceties. The Jem’Hadar were genetically bred warriors. Manners were just an example of weakness to them and they brutalized the weak.
Torak’Clan puffed out his barrel chest. “I am in charge here.”
“Where is the Vorta?” Samson asked again. He knew that Vorta often served as the commanders of Jem’Hadar units and parceled out ketracel white, the drug the reptilian soldiers needed to survive.
“I butchered him, like the animal he was,” Torak’Clan admitted. Samson gasped so loud that the Jem’Hadar smirked, shocking the admiral further. Killing a Vorta, and gloating about it, this was not a typical Jem’Hadar, and that frightened Glover even more.
“I don’t understand,” he admitted.
“It doesn’t matter if you do,” Torak’Clan said. “If you do not do exactly as I say, you will soon join him, as will your colleagues.”
********************************************************************
USS Monarch
Captain’s Ready Room
Commander Astar’s revelation had shaken Captain Walker almost to the core. Since he had made his Faustian deal with Petrov the muck had been rising ever higher. It had taken every impulse he had no to charge right down to Engineering and demand an answer from her, but he knew going public could possibly threaten the lives of his crew and his family, in addition to his own.
He encrypted the message he sent to Main Engineering. Sofia responded immediately. “Captain,” she said coolly.
“Just what the hell is going on here?”
“You’re talking about the phased polaron beam I presume?” The captain shrugged his broad shoulders.
“No, I’m talking about the latest score of the Pike City Pioneers game! Of course I’m referring to the destruction of that Romulan ship,” he paused, nearly out of breath. He was sure his face was as crimson as the fur of an Andorian redbat. “And I’m not even going to ask you how you knew about that information.”
“Good,” Petrov said, not even pretending to be cowed by his outrage. The chain of command had already been upended when he had compromised himself. “Truthfully Benjamin, I don’t know.” The engineer said. “It’s more than likely an anomaly. Perhaps someone raided the battle site for Dominion weaponry. It wouldn’t be the first time the Orions, Cardassian militants, or others made off with weapons and other technology from those orbital graveyards.”
Walker was unconvinced and Petrov knew it. She added, “We received the same orders at the same time. I was with you, remember? Our mission is to find the S.S. Hinode and secure it, its passengers, and its contents, before they fall into Romulan hands.”
“And who is on that ship and what is so precious about its contents?”
“I don’t know,” Sofia said. “I’ve been a member of the section long enough to know that it’s often better to know less.”
“Even if that puts your crew, your colleagues, your friends in harm’s way?” Walker challenged.
“When are we not in harm’s way?” Petrov parried skillfully. Damn, she does have a point, the captain hated to admit.
“Captain, Section 31’s methods might be questionable and sometimes even I am abhorred by them, but they have helped keep Earth and the Federation intact.”
“So, the section predates the Federation?” Walker asked, surprised.
“Yes,” the engineer nodded. “The organization origins derive from the original Starfleet Charter, Article 14, Section 31.”
“The one granting extraordinary authority to address extreme threats?” Walker asked. Petrov nodded with a smile.
“You were always good with those regulations.”
“I’m a captain remember? I have to be,” Walker remarked, prompting a chuckle from the engineer. Her laughter reinforced how far out on a cliff he had gone. Here he was, bantering with Sofia as if nothing had changed, when nothing could ever be the same again. She was telling him about a super secret bureau that seemed to act with broad and likely extralegal authority, and basing that on a vague section of a document hundreds of years old, that existed before the Federation.
“Is the Charter the Section’s only justification for existence? Surely there is institutional support of some kind? Is this really just some deep, dark arm of Starfleet Intelligence?”
“If that answer would make you feel comfortable about what we have asked you to do, then yes,” Petrov replied.
“It’s too late to be coy with me,” Walker demanded.
“Yes, it is,” Sofia wouldn’t back down. “You’ve already signed on the dotted line. The deal is done, and you’ve got to live with it. Once this mission is over, you will see the value of working with Section 31.”
“If this mission doesn’t get us all killed first,” he groused.
“There is that,” the engineer conceded.
********************************************************************
I don't think that is Samson, probably a Jemmie clone. If he starts snorting White we'll know for sure.
********************************************************************
USS Monarch
Main Bridge
“Commander Astar,” Lt. Commander Demetrius Nash’s tone was laden with questions. In the center chair, Astar looked beyond the command well and in the direction of the turbolift. The tall, lithe, brown skinned human stood anxiously by the lift’s doors. It was unusual for the ship’s Security Chief to leave the confines of his department unless it was important. And whatever Nash had to say, Leza knew the man didn’t want to discuss it over the public intercom system.
“Commander Nash,” Astar said evenly, trying to read his body language to get a head’s up on how deeply the Security Officer was concerned. She and Nash had been friends a long time, and had been something more once…a lifetime before. That youthful ardor had long since cooled, but gelled into one of Leza’s most valued friendships. “Is everything all right?” She finally asked, now troubled that she couldn’t get a good bead on the man’s mood.
“Sure,” he tried to smile, and the Trill knew the gesture was just to throw off the rest of the bridge crew. “Though I do need to discuss something with you…in private.”
“Of course,” Astar said. “The observation lounge is empty.” She nodded in the direction of the main meeting area for the ship’s senior officers. It was on the opposite side from the lift.
“Good, it won’t be two shakes,” Nash said, sometimes his human idioms were mystifying.
“If…you say so,” Astar replied. She stood up and gave the conn to Lt. Commander Liyange. She gestured for Nash to precede her and she fell quickly in line behind him. Once the doors had closed, Nash turned to her.
“What’s this about Demetrius?” Leza asked, dropping the formality around him.
“Leza,” he started, his brow furrowing, before he stopped speaking. “I’m not sure,” he confessed, rubbing his neatly trimmed goatee. “Something fishy is going on, that I’m sure of.”
That human phrase she was aware of, and she agreed wholeheartedly, but she didn’t tell Nash that. Despite their close friendship, she wouldn’t tell him about her creeping doubts about Captain Walker. “What’s troubling you?”
“You know I’ve been tweaking the ship’s communication security protocols, to limit the access of any saboteurs or potential spies to the ship’s communication network,” Nash said. It had been a precaution that Captain Walker had approved, though Leza had been less sanguine about it. It was the first argument she had with Demetrius in a long time. She thought periodic sweeps of all shipboard communications, seeking out encrypted, encoded, or piggybacked messages was a major violation of privacy.
However, in an era where Changelings could perfectly mimic anyone, a little paranoia had to be expected, and Astar wanted to increase the crew’s safety just as badly as Walker and Nash did. After their fight, Leza had reluctantly come to the conclusion that the Security Chief’s idea was a sound one, despite the distaste it left in her mouth.
“Go on,” Astar encouraged.
“I netted something,” Nash said.
Both of Leza’s eyebrows rose in shock. “What?”
“Yeah, the sweep picked up an encrypted message, an intraship message,” he added.
“Why would anyone need to send a protected message onboard this ship?” Astar asked, still reeling from the Security Chief’s revelation.
“Oh, that part was easy,” Nash’s smile was less nervous this time, “Captain Walker sent a message to Chief Engineer Petrov,” he said, his smile dimming, “I’m just curious as to why?”
“That’s a damn good question,” Astar said, moving toward the door. “And I’m about to find out.” Though the captain was certainly within his purview to leave Leza out of the loop, the Trill was going to ask anyway. Walker was cutting her out too much lately. And it was par for the course of their normal working relationship. Nash gently reached out and touched her shoulder, stopping her.
“I’m not done yet,” Nash said. “We caught this message by luck, though the Captain hadn’t helped himself by sending the system directly to Engineering, without redirecting it through a subroutine, like a C-47,” he replied. The innocuous C-47 software was responsible for non-critical systems.
“You didn’t listen to the conversation did you?” Astar knew the accusation would piss Demetrius off, but she had to ask it.
He huffed, “Of course not. I just thought it was suspicious,” he said, his war-honed doubts coming to the fore. Leza imagined that her eyes reflected the same mistrust. She turned away from him.
“I instituted a level five recursive search algorithm to see if any other encoded messages had slipped by me,” Nash said, “and this is where it gets really interesting. Right before we set off for the Scarab Nebula, someone aboard the ship sent out a communication using a phase-divergent carrier wave, making it nearly impossible to trace. Now, this person or persons did use a piggyback signal, hiding the message in the daily stream of messages. The divergent carrier wave shifts phases, and apparently it caused a slight variance in data flow. It was almost imperceptible and it would’ve worked if we hadn’t been actively searching.”
“Do you know who the message went to?” Astar asked, facing him again. Nash shook his head, frowning.
“No, is the short answer,” he said. “And we don’t know who sent it.”
“Could it have been the captain?” Nash shrugged.
“I’m not sure, but I don’t think so,” the Security Chief finally offered. “The captain isn’t the most tech savvy person in the galaxy. Even the message he just sent didn’t have enough protections on it to avoid casual detection. Whoever sent this message definitely knew what they were doing, not to be insulting of course.”
“Of course,” Astar said, nodding as she tapped her temple, thinking. “Petrov perhaps?”
“That would be my bet,” Nash said, “Listen, Leza, I know it isn’t any of your business, but I have to wonder if this isn’t a serious threat, but part of their tryst.”
Leza’s expression hardened. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Sure you don’t,” Nash said. “Hey, the captain and Sofia are two adults. I could care less, but if they using encrypted communications to carry on their affair, that’s a serious waste of resources that could come to endanger this ship. If it happens again, I’m going to have to address it with them for the safety of the crew. I would rather not do that, and I was wondering…since you have a gentler touch…”
Astar groaned, “Let’s not go back there shall we?”
The Security Chief nodded, rolling on. “If maybe you could at least hint that there is less, recordable ways to send messages back and forth.”
“I’ll see what I can do,” the Trill promised.
“I know your answer, but if you need backup,” Nash offered. Leza smiled and patted the man on his shoulder.
“I can handle it,” she remarked.
“I know,” Nash said. “I just want you to be careful. This could all just be part of an illicit affair, or it could be something far more dangerous.”
“I’ll tread softly,” Astar promised, finally mollifying the Security Officer.
“I’ll follow your lead,” he declared.
Just wish I knew where I was going, the Trill thought, but wisely kept to herself.
********************************************************************
Starfleet Administration Headquarters
Earth
Admiral Thuosana Shanthi was not pleased. She hadn’t been able to contact Garth Logan for days. His very perky assistant, Violet Fairweather, kept feeding her a line that Logan had gone on a long fund raising jaunt for President Santiago’s reelection campaign. And that he would be incommunicado for at least a week.
It seemed highly irregular that Logan would shut himself like that, especially from her. There was something going on, there had to be another angle Logan was working, and she didn’t like surprises.
In fact she had wanted to inform him of her own modifications to their plan. Shanthi’s trepidations about the mission and her concern for Samson’s safety had prompted her to act without consulting him. The Hinode hadn’t checked in, and then the USS Carson, which wasn’t supposed to be in system had gone missing in the Scarab Nebula.
The Monarch had been reassigned to the nebula, according to her sources, and Shanthi was certain the Hinode’s disappearance was the impetus. Shanthi didn’t know what was going on. But she needed someone in the system that she could trust, that she knew cared about Samson as much, or more than she did. It was ‘fortuitous’ that her husband’s assistant got food poisoning and that the Benzites had halted negotiations. It had provided her an opportunity to insert a trusted player onto the board. When she had contacted T’Prell, the Vulcan was already working toward the same thing.
Shanthi used her pull and T’Prell her contacts among the V’Shar and Starfleet Intelligence, to gain entrée onto the Nagasaki, and Shanthi had ordered the ship to skirt the nebula on its way to Benzar.
Thuosana knew that Carnes’s condition wasn’t life threatening, and was further heartened by her conversation with Dotsavi. The woman was in serious discomfort, and would doubtlessly benefit from medical attention calibrated more to her biology, but the poisoning wasn’t life threatening. The admiral felt terrible about having the young woman lingering in pain and of extending Dotsavi’s anxiety. But it had to be done.
The admiral just prayed that she hadn’t acted too late.
********************************************************************
USS Monarch
Main Bridge
“Commander Astar,” Lt. Commander Demetrius Nash’s tone was laden with questions. In the center chair, Astar looked beyond the command well and in the direction of the turbolift. The tall, lithe, brown skinned human stood anxiously by the lift’s doors. It was unusual for the ship’s Security Chief to leave the confines of his department unless it was important. And whatever Nash had to say, Leza knew the man didn’t want to discuss it over the public intercom system.
“Commander Nash,” Astar said evenly, trying to read his body language to get a head’s up on how deeply the Security Officer was concerned. She and Nash had been friends a long time, and had been something more once…a lifetime before. That youthful ardor had long since cooled, but gelled into one of Leza’s most valued friendships. “Is everything all right?” She finally asked, now troubled that she couldn’t get a good bead on the man’s mood.
“Sure,” he tried to smile, and the Trill knew the gesture was just to throw off the rest of the bridge crew. “Though I do need to discuss something with you…in private.”
“Of course,” Astar said. “The observation lounge is empty.” She nodded in the direction of the main meeting area for the ship’s senior officers. It was on the opposite side from the lift.
“Good, it won’t be two shakes,” Nash said, sometimes his human idioms were mystifying.
“If…you say so,” Astar replied. She stood up and gave the conn to Lt. Commander Liyange. She gestured for Nash to precede her and she fell quickly in line behind him. Once the doors had closed, Nash turned to her.
“What’s this about Demetrius?” Leza asked, dropping the formality around him.
“Leza,” he started, his brow furrowing, before he stopped speaking. “I’m not sure,” he confessed, rubbing his neatly trimmed goatee. “Something fishy is going on, that I’m sure of.”
That human phrase she was aware of, and she agreed wholeheartedly, but she didn’t tell Nash that. Despite their close friendship, she wouldn’t tell him about her creeping doubts about Captain Walker. “What’s troubling you?”
“You know I’ve been tweaking the ship’s communication security protocols, to limit the access of any saboteurs or potential spies to the ship’s communication network,” Nash said. It had been a precaution that Captain Walker had approved, though Leza had been less sanguine about it. It was the first argument she had with Demetrius in a long time. She thought periodic sweeps of all shipboard communications, seeking out encrypted, encoded, or piggybacked messages was a major violation of privacy.
However, in an era where Changelings could perfectly mimic anyone, a little paranoia had to be expected, and Astar wanted to increase the crew’s safety just as badly as Walker and Nash did. After their fight, Leza had reluctantly come to the conclusion that the Security Chief’s idea was a sound one, despite the distaste it left in her mouth.
“Go on,” Astar encouraged.
“I netted something,” Nash said.
Both of Leza’s eyebrows rose in shock. “What?”
“Yeah, the sweep picked up an encrypted message, an intraship message,” he added.
“Why would anyone need to send a protected message onboard this ship?” Astar asked, still reeling from the Security Chief’s revelation.
“Oh, that part was easy,” Nash’s smile was less nervous this time, “Captain Walker sent a message to Chief Engineer Petrov,” he said, his smile dimming, “I’m just curious as to why?”
“That’s a damn good question,” Astar said, moving toward the door. “And I’m about to find out.” Though the captain was certainly within his purview to leave Leza out of the loop, the Trill was going to ask anyway. Walker was cutting her out too much lately. And it was par for the course of their normal working relationship. Nash gently reached out and touched her shoulder, stopping her.
“I’m not done yet,” Nash said. “We caught this message by luck, though the Captain hadn’t helped himself by sending the system directly to Engineering, without redirecting it through a subroutine, like a C-47,” he replied. The innocuous C-47 software was responsible for non-critical systems.
“You didn’t listen to the conversation did you?” Astar knew the accusation would piss Demetrius off, but she had to ask it.
He huffed, “Of course not. I just thought it was suspicious,” he said, his war-honed doubts coming to the fore. Leza imagined that her eyes reflected the same mistrust. She turned away from him.
“I instituted a level five recursive search algorithm to see if any other encoded messages had slipped by me,” Nash said, “and this is where it gets really interesting. Right before we set off for the Scarab Nebula, someone aboard the ship sent out a communication using a phase-divergent carrier wave, making it nearly impossible to trace. Now, this person or persons did use a piggyback signal, hiding the message in the daily stream of messages. The divergent carrier wave shifts phases, and apparently it caused a slight variance in data flow. It was almost imperceptible and it would’ve worked if we hadn’t been actively searching.”
“Do you know who the message went to?” Astar asked, facing him again. Nash shook his head, frowning.
“No, is the short answer,” he said. “And we don’t know who sent it.”
“Could it have been the captain?” Nash shrugged.
“I’m not sure, but I don’t think so,” the Security Chief finally offered. “The captain isn’t the most tech savvy person in the galaxy. Even the message he just sent didn’t have enough protections on it to avoid casual detection. Whoever sent this message definitely knew what they were doing, not to be insulting of course.”
“Of course,” Astar said, nodding as she tapped her temple, thinking. “Petrov perhaps?”
“That would be my bet,” Nash said, “Listen, Leza, I know it isn’t any of your business, but I have to wonder if this isn’t a serious threat, but part of their tryst.”
Leza’s expression hardened. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Sure you don’t,” Nash said. “Hey, the captain and Sofia are two adults. I could care less, but if they using encrypted communications to carry on their affair, that’s a serious waste of resources that could come to endanger this ship. If it happens again, I’m going to have to address it with them for the safety of the crew. I would rather not do that, and I was wondering…since you have a gentler touch…”
Astar groaned, “Let’s not go back there shall we?”
The Security Chief nodded, rolling on. “If maybe you could at least hint that there is less, recordable ways to send messages back and forth.”
“I’ll see what I can do,” the Trill promised.
“I know your answer, but if you need backup,” Nash offered. Leza smiled and patted the man on his shoulder.
“I can handle it,” she remarked.
“I know,” Nash said. “I just want you to be careful. This could all just be part of an illicit affair, or it could be something far more dangerous.”
“I’ll tread softly,” Astar promised, finally mollifying the Security Officer.
“I’ll follow your lead,” he declared.
Just wish I knew where I was going, the Trill thought, but wisely kept to herself.
********************************************************************
Starfleet Administration Headquarters
Earth
Admiral Thuosana Shanthi was not pleased. She hadn’t been able to contact Garth Logan for days. His very perky assistant, Violet Fairweather, kept feeding her a line that Logan had gone on a long fund raising jaunt for President Santiago’s reelection campaign. And that he would be incommunicado for at least a week.
It seemed highly irregular that Logan would shut himself like that, especially from her. There was something going on, there had to be another angle Logan was working, and she didn’t like surprises.
In fact she had wanted to inform him of her own modifications to their plan. Shanthi’s trepidations about the mission and her concern for Samson’s safety had prompted her to act without consulting him. The Hinode hadn’t checked in, and then the USS Carson, which wasn’t supposed to be in system had gone missing in the Scarab Nebula.
The Monarch had been reassigned to the nebula, according to her sources, and Shanthi was certain the Hinode’s disappearance was the impetus. Shanthi didn’t know what was going on. But she needed someone in the system that she could trust, that she knew cared about Samson as much, or more than she did. It was ‘fortuitous’ that her husband’s assistant got food poisoning and that the Benzites had halted negotiations. It had provided her an opportunity to insert a trusted player onto the board. When she had contacted T’Prell, the Vulcan was already working toward the same thing.
Shanthi used her pull and T’Prell her contacts among the V’Shar and Starfleet Intelligence, to gain entrée onto the Nagasaki, and Shanthi had ordered the ship to skirt the nebula on its way to Benzar.
Thuosana knew that Carnes’s condition wasn’t life threatening, and was further heartened by her conversation with Dotsavi. The woman was in serious discomfort, and would doubtlessly benefit from medical attention calibrated more to her biology, but the poisoning wasn’t life threatening. The admiral felt terrible about having the young woman lingering in pain and of extending Dotsavi’s anxiety. But it had to be done.
The admiral just prayed that she hadn’t acted too late.
********************************************************************
Last edited:
******************************************************************
Scarab Nebula
The bed’s gears groaned slightly as it elevated. Samson was still bound, but now he could see more of the medical bay. The room was very dim, with faint illumination coming from glow strips running along the walls. A figure, cloaked in a white, slick long smock, was bent over a tray filled with sharp, shiny implements. The medical bay was small and bare bones. It was not designed to handle a lot of patients and the lack of sophisticated medical equipment told him that the infirmary was meant to merely handle minor injuries and not to save lives.
Glover saw that Ousanas Dar was in another bed, hooked up to a ventilator. Daneeka wasn’t in the room. The sickbay’s third bed was empty. “I assume since you lifted by bed that you want to talk?” He ventured.
“You assumed correctly,” the doctor remarked, her voice a light rasp. The medic turned around. She shuffled toward him and Samson realized that the woman just wasn’t bending over the table, her spine seemed misshapen. Her features were obscured by a purple medical mask and head cap.
“Who are you?” He asked.
“That was the same question I had for you,” she said. “Though it isn’t hard to piece together that you are Starfleet. What would a Romulan, human, and Bolian be doing together?”
“Sounds like the beginning of a dirty joke,” Samson quipped. The medic was not amused. “How do you know we are not part of the Orion Syndicate or work for the Empire for that matter?”
“The Syndicate is a possibility,” the doctor admitted, “though for your sake you better hope that you aren’t working for the Empire.”
“Why is that?”
“What is the orb we found on your vessel?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“I thought you might say that,” the doctor turned back to the tray and picked up a large syringe. “Humans, so deceitful,” she muttered. “Well, I have the just the remedy for that.”
“What is that?” Samson asked, straining against his bindings. “I’ve told you the truth.”
“No you haven’t,” the woman approached him slowly, drawing out his fear. “But you will.”
*******************************************************************
Scarab Nebula
Detention Center
Daneeka had almost gone beyond pain. Imprisonment didn’t faze her. After spending time at Sundancer, this Jem’Hadar holding cell held no terror for her. She had also been in her share of scrapes and she knew the broken bones and scars would mend, if the Jem’Hadar gave them time. And it appeared that she was currently their new toy.
She also hoped that as long as she kept them entertained it would keep Admiral Glover and Commander Dar from harm. Torak’Clan was always holding out that threat so she hoped that they hadn’t acted on it yet. Her musings were interrupted by the crackling of the forcefield. Someone had turned it off. Daneeka didn’t sit up. If they wanted her, they could drag her off the metal slat that passed for a Jem’Hadar bed.
“Is she awake?” The deep voice was unfamiliar. Daneeka fought against her curiosity to see who the new character was.
“Yes,” the Second, Omara’Son, said. He was a particularly nasty bit of business. “If you want, I can show you.”
“That isn’t necessary,” the other one said. “As long as she can hear,” he said. “We know who you are, and we know about the Iconian probe.”
Fark! Daneeka thought, refusing to turn around and confirm the man’s charges. Admiral Glover told us everything.”
Daneeka whipped around, wincing at the pain flaring from her ribs. “What did you do to him?” If she hadn’t been so angry she might have gasped at the spectral figure standing beside Omara’Son. She had never seen one in person though she had read security profiles on them. The man was a Reman.
“I am Colonel Sorix,” the Reman said, stepping forward. The man was bald, with pointed ears. The muted colors of his iridescent uniform reflected in his dark eyes. “I knew the device was Iconian, I had worked on a Romulan-Federation excavation team on Iconia almost a decade ago. I developed an interest in that ancient, doomed civilization. Of course I didn’t know the nature of the device, until Admiral Glover provided it to us. An Iconian probe,” he paused, as if savoring the word. “A weapon of unfathomable power,” he said. “A weapon that could gain a homeworld for my people.”
Daneeka merely glared at him. “What did you do to Admiral Glover?”
“He lives…for the moment,” Omara’Son replied coldly.
“The admiral provided us with a lot of information, unfortunately he passed out before he could tell us how to activate the probe.”
“Screw you!” Daneeka remarked. Sorix glowered, but Omara’Son smirked.
“I think that the Bolian needs to be softened up more.” The Reman nodded in agreement.
“I concur.”
*******************************************************************
Scarab Nebula
The bed’s gears groaned slightly as it elevated. Samson was still bound, but now he could see more of the medical bay. The room was very dim, with faint illumination coming from glow strips running along the walls. A figure, cloaked in a white, slick long smock, was bent over a tray filled with sharp, shiny implements. The medical bay was small and bare bones. It was not designed to handle a lot of patients and the lack of sophisticated medical equipment told him that the infirmary was meant to merely handle minor injuries and not to save lives.
Glover saw that Ousanas Dar was in another bed, hooked up to a ventilator. Daneeka wasn’t in the room. The sickbay’s third bed was empty. “I assume since you lifted by bed that you want to talk?” He ventured.
“You assumed correctly,” the doctor remarked, her voice a light rasp. The medic turned around. She shuffled toward him and Samson realized that the woman just wasn’t bending over the table, her spine seemed misshapen. Her features were obscured by a purple medical mask and head cap.
“Who are you?” He asked.
“That was the same question I had for you,” she said. “Though it isn’t hard to piece together that you are Starfleet. What would a Romulan, human, and Bolian be doing together?”
“Sounds like the beginning of a dirty joke,” Samson quipped. The medic was not amused. “How do you know we are not part of the Orion Syndicate or work for the Empire for that matter?”
“The Syndicate is a possibility,” the doctor admitted, “though for your sake you better hope that you aren’t working for the Empire.”
“Why is that?”
“What is the orb we found on your vessel?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“I thought you might say that,” the doctor turned back to the tray and picked up a large syringe. “Humans, so deceitful,” she muttered. “Well, I have the just the remedy for that.”
“What is that?” Samson asked, straining against his bindings. “I’ve told you the truth.”
“No you haven’t,” the woman approached him slowly, drawing out his fear. “But you will.”
*******************************************************************
Scarab Nebula
Detention Center
Daneeka had almost gone beyond pain. Imprisonment didn’t faze her. After spending time at Sundancer, this Jem’Hadar holding cell held no terror for her. She had also been in her share of scrapes and she knew the broken bones and scars would mend, if the Jem’Hadar gave them time. And it appeared that she was currently their new toy.
She also hoped that as long as she kept them entertained it would keep Admiral Glover and Commander Dar from harm. Torak’Clan was always holding out that threat so she hoped that they hadn’t acted on it yet. Her musings were interrupted by the crackling of the forcefield. Someone had turned it off. Daneeka didn’t sit up. If they wanted her, they could drag her off the metal slat that passed for a Jem’Hadar bed.
“Is she awake?” The deep voice was unfamiliar. Daneeka fought against her curiosity to see who the new character was.
“Yes,” the Second, Omara’Son, said. He was a particularly nasty bit of business. “If you want, I can show you.”
“That isn’t necessary,” the other one said. “As long as she can hear,” he said. “We know who you are, and we know about the Iconian probe.”
Fark! Daneeka thought, refusing to turn around and confirm the man’s charges. Admiral Glover told us everything.”
Daneeka whipped around, wincing at the pain flaring from her ribs. “What did you do to him?” If she hadn’t been so angry she might have gasped at the spectral figure standing beside Omara’Son. She had never seen one in person though she had read security profiles on them. The man was a Reman.
“I am Colonel Sorix,” the Reman said, stepping forward. The man was bald, with pointed ears. The muted colors of his iridescent uniform reflected in his dark eyes. “I knew the device was Iconian, I had worked on a Romulan-Federation excavation team on Iconia almost a decade ago. I developed an interest in that ancient, doomed civilization. Of course I didn’t know the nature of the device, until Admiral Glover provided it to us. An Iconian probe,” he paused, as if savoring the word. “A weapon of unfathomable power,” he said. “A weapon that could gain a homeworld for my people.”
Daneeka merely glared at him. “What did you do to Admiral Glover?”
“He lives…for the moment,” Omara’Son replied coldly.
“The admiral provided us with a lot of information, unfortunately he passed out before he could tell us how to activate the probe.”
“Screw you!” Daneeka remarked. Sorix glowered, but Omara’Son smirked.
“I think that the Bolian needs to be softened up more.” The Reman nodded in agreement.
“I concur.”
*******************************************************************
Looks like Astar is probing herself towards the truth on Monarch. Problem is, she is not going to like what she will find. And the truth will put her into serious jeopardy.
So Shanthi is in on this as well? She seems to have the right intentions however so I'm going to assume that she is not just another S31 pawn.
And the rogue Jem'Hadar are working with/for the Remans. That's an interesting alliance and not entirely unfeasible. But I do wonder what the Jem'Hadar are getting out of this.
So Shanthi is in on this as well? She seems to have the right intentions however so I'm going to assume that she is not just another S31 pawn.
And the rogue Jem'Hadar are working with/for the Remans. That's an interesting alliance and not entirely unfeasible. But I do wonder what the Jem'Hadar are getting out of this.
Wow, and now we’ve got Reman and Jem’Hadar working together. That’s an unforeseen and blood-chilling proposition.
Walker’s sinking deeper by the second, and now his activities have piqued the professional interest of his XO and Security Chief. Section 31’s hooks are digging deeper into his flesh by the second, and now Walker finds himself dancing at the end of Petrov’s strings.
Shanthi had better play her cards close to her vest, because there are a lot of people interested in the outcome of this particular hand.
Walker’s sinking deeper by the second, and now his activities have piqued the professional interest of his XO and Security Chief. Section 31’s hooks are digging deeper into his flesh by the second, and now Walker finds himself dancing at the end of Petrov’s strings.
Shanthi had better play her cards close to her vest, because there are a lot of people interested in the outcome of this particular hand.
Yeah, I rather like the Reman-Jem'Hadar connection. They have a lot in common when you think about it. After taking a little break after writing Gods and Monsters-thank everyone who read it, commented, and who voted for it-I decided to delve back into this story. Here's hoping you like the following installments.
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USS Nagasaki
Main Bridge
Outskirts of Scarab Nebula
Captain Zorek leaned forward in his chair, rubbing his bearded chin absently, “This is…fascinating,” he replied, ignoring T’Prell’s chuckle. The woman stood to his left, with Steen occupying the seat the captain had ordered placed in the command well to accommodate the young diplomat. It had changed the seating to a three-seat configuration, shunting T’Chaya to the right, her console almost touching the guard rail that ran from the upper deck down into the well.
From the corner of his eye, the captain noted that Steen was as rapt by the sensor data running across the bottom of the main viewer as any of his crew. Before them, haloed in a cloud of gases and dust were jagged hunks and small specks of space debris.
“Captain,” Lt. Skell, the ship’s burly Tactical Officer grumbled, “Sensors do confirm trace elements of Romulan alloys. Also, alloys of Federation manufacture.”
“Hmmm,” Zorek replied.
“Hmmm?” T’Chaya asked, with an upraised eyebrow. He looked at her carefully, gathering his thoughts.
“Hmmm,” he finally answered. He turned away from his Executive Officer. “T’Prell, I wish to speak with you in my ready room.”
“Of course,” the venerable intelligence operative said. Both T’Chaya and Steen started to get up.
“Commander T’Chaya you have the bridge,” Zorek said sharply. “Ambassador Steen, maintain your seat.” Neither one was pleased, but fortunately it didn’t register in their expressions or responses. Another benefit of having an all Vulcan crew. Zorek was half way to his ready room when he turned back to T’Chaya who was just settling into the command chair. “Continue scanning and be prepared…for anything.”
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USS Monarch
Captain’s Ready Room
“Captain, are you ready to share what’s really going on?” Commander Astar asked. The Trill sat across from the captain’s desk, the alluring colors of the Scarab Nebula glittering from the port window behind him. She had just presented Captain Walker with Commander Nash’s findings and to his credit, the captain had disavowed them.
Instead the man looked away. “Demetrius always was a dogged one,” he muttered, with a seeming measure of regret. He sighed, before turning back to her.
Squaring his shoulders, a determined look on his face, Walker said, “No, I am not. And that should be good enough for you.”
“Permission to speak freely sir?” Astar asked, after rallying. She had been shocked by the answer. Benjamin had always pulled her into his confidence. He had long intimated that he thought she would be a great captain and in order to speed along the process Walker had allowed her into his decision making process, sharing a great deal of information with her. Perhaps more than most captains did with their Execs. But now he was closing the door, shutting her out, and Leza didn’t know what to do about it. It felt more than professional, it felt personal.
“Permission denied,” Walker said.
“But sir?”
“Permission denied,” Walker snapped, the words striking her. The captain was unfazed. “Now, resume the conn. You’re dismissed.”
The Trill shook her head. “No.”
“Excuse me?” He asked, disbelief itched on his face.
“I’m not leaving until you tell me what this mission is really about.”
“Let’s be clear, are you defying a direct order?”
“I…I guess so.” She swallowed, fear constricting her throat.
“Do you know what this could do to your career?”
“Right now, I care more about this crew,” Astar answered truthfully. The captain leaned forward, anger and shock warring across his weathered face.
“You think I would put this crew in harm’s way?”
“Of course,” Astar said. “That’s part of the job. I just want to know if we’re doing it for the right reasons or not.”
“Ha,” Walker leaned back, snorting. “The right reasons are whatever Starfleet Command says they are. You know that Leza.”
The Trill shook her head. “That’s not what you’ve told me, or showed me through your example, more times than my symbiont has had lives. Why the change now, and what does Chief Engineer Petrov have to do with it?”
The captain grimaced at the mention of Sofia and Astar knew she had struck a nerve. “Benjamin…” she paused, gathering her thoughts, her face reddening as she contemplated actually voicing the question pregnant on her tongue. “About you…and Sofia…”
Walker held up a hand. “That’s enough, stop it right there.” He stood up, and tugged down hard on his uniform’s jacket.
“Ben,” Astar began again, even more delicately.
“Resume the conn now,” Walker fumed. “That’s an order!” He said it with such vehemence that Astar jumped out of her seat, her muscles tensing as if her instincts thought the captain might attack her. But the human merely stayed behind his desk, his jaw clenching, his face a crimson bloom. “Leave my office, right now.”
Movement behind Walker caught her attention. The Trill’s eyes widened. “You heard me!” He snapped again. But she hadn’t. She pointed to the window. It took Walker a second to realize that Leza had forgotten all about him. “Wha-?”
He followed he pointed finger. “My God,” he muttered. “What is that?” A Romulan warbird had emerged from the nebula, heading straight toward them, at full impulse. The ship was so close, Astar could see its gun ports glowing like infernal eyes. Those eyes cried plasma tears. The red alert klaxon blared around them, but it was too late.
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Scarab Nebula
“Admiral, are you all right?” Daneeka asked. Samson unfolded himself to gaze at the younger woman, her face a mass of cuts and welts, her clothes ragged and hanging from an equally scarred body. They had just thrown the woman back into the cell. The Jem’Hadar was still ‘training’ with Daneeka when Samson had been bought to the cell.
“I…I should be asking you the same thing child,” he said, reaching out to her, but the Bolian pulled away.
“Don’t,” she warned, and Samson knew better than to belabor the point. He would just make it worse, like had done with everything thus far. He balled back up in the corner, turning away from her and back to his guilt. The chemicals had burned like fire ants, spreading across his body, melting his resistance to the medic’s questions. Eventually he had given in, and he had given them all, and he had never felt so ashamed.
In his weakness, he had given enemies knowledge one of the most powerful weapons the galaxy had ever known, but there was one thing he had held firm one, one shred of dignity he had retained. They still didn’t know how to operate it. He would never give that up, even at the cost of his life.
His captors had seemed unperturbed by his flare of resistance. “This one…will talk,” he remembered the medic saying, as she pointed to the still unconscious Dar. “Of that I am sure.” The admiral silently prayed for his friend.
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Scarab Nebula
“Fate is a funny thing, and the gods can be most wise in their capriciousness,” the medic said softly, as she stroked Dar’s face. The man awoke slowly, a dreamy look on his face. “It has been a long time.”
His eyes were unfocused, in part from the pain medication she had given him, in part from nostalgia. “Chalandra?” He muttered, not fully conscious.
“Yes, she nodded, tears running down her cheeks as she whispered. “Yes, brother, I am still alive.”
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USS Nagasaki
Main Bridge
Outskirts of Scarab Nebula
Captain Zorek leaned forward in his chair, rubbing his bearded chin absently, “This is…fascinating,” he replied, ignoring T’Prell’s chuckle. The woman stood to his left, with Steen occupying the seat the captain had ordered placed in the command well to accommodate the young diplomat. It had changed the seating to a three-seat configuration, shunting T’Chaya to the right, her console almost touching the guard rail that ran from the upper deck down into the well.
From the corner of his eye, the captain noted that Steen was as rapt by the sensor data running across the bottom of the main viewer as any of his crew. Before them, haloed in a cloud of gases and dust were jagged hunks and small specks of space debris.
“Captain,” Lt. Skell, the ship’s burly Tactical Officer grumbled, “Sensors do confirm trace elements of Romulan alloys. Also, alloys of Federation manufacture.”
“Hmmm,” Zorek replied.
“Hmmm?” T’Chaya asked, with an upraised eyebrow. He looked at her carefully, gathering his thoughts.
“Hmmm,” he finally answered. He turned away from his Executive Officer. “T’Prell, I wish to speak with you in my ready room.”
“Of course,” the venerable intelligence operative said. Both T’Chaya and Steen started to get up.
“Commander T’Chaya you have the bridge,” Zorek said sharply. “Ambassador Steen, maintain your seat.” Neither one was pleased, but fortunately it didn’t register in their expressions or responses. Another benefit of having an all Vulcan crew. Zorek was half way to his ready room when he turned back to T’Chaya who was just settling into the command chair. “Continue scanning and be prepared…for anything.”
********************************************************************
USS Monarch
Captain’s Ready Room
“Captain, are you ready to share what’s really going on?” Commander Astar asked. The Trill sat across from the captain’s desk, the alluring colors of the Scarab Nebula glittering from the port window behind him. She had just presented Captain Walker with Commander Nash’s findings and to his credit, the captain had disavowed them.
Instead the man looked away. “Demetrius always was a dogged one,” he muttered, with a seeming measure of regret. He sighed, before turning back to her.
Squaring his shoulders, a determined look on his face, Walker said, “No, I am not. And that should be good enough for you.”
“Permission to speak freely sir?” Astar asked, after rallying. She had been shocked by the answer. Benjamin had always pulled her into his confidence. He had long intimated that he thought she would be a great captain and in order to speed along the process Walker had allowed her into his decision making process, sharing a great deal of information with her. Perhaps more than most captains did with their Execs. But now he was closing the door, shutting her out, and Leza didn’t know what to do about it. It felt more than professional, it felt personal.
“Permission denied,” Walker said.
“But sir?”
“Permission denied,” Walker snapped, the words striking her. The captain was unfazed. “Now, resume the conn. You’re dismissed.”
The Trill shook her head. “No.”
“Excuse me?” He asked, disbelief itched on his face.
“I’m not leaving until you tell me what this mission is really about.”
“Let’s be clear, are you defying a direct order?”
“I…I guess so.” She swallowed, fear constricting her throat.
“Do you know what this could do to your career?”
“Right now, I care more about this crew,” Astar answered truthfully. The captain leaned forward, anger and shock warring across his weathered face.
“You think I would put this crew in harm’s way?”
“Of course,” Astar said. “That’s part of the job. I just want to know if we’re doing it for the right reasons or not.”
“Ha,” Walker leaned back, snorting. “The right reasons are whatever Starfleet Command says they are. You know that Leza.”
The Trill shook her head. “That’s not what you’ve told me, or showed me through your example, more times than my symbiont has had lives. Why the change now, and what does Chief Engineer Petrov have to do with it?”
The captain grimaced at the mention of Sofia and Astar knew she had struck a nerve. “Benjamin…” she paused, gathering her thoughts, her face reddening as she contemplated actually voicing the question pregnant on her tongue. “About you…and Sofia…”
Walker held up a hand. “That’s enough, stop it right there.” He stood up, and tugged down hard on his uniform’s jacket.
“Ben,” Astar began again, even more delicately.
“Resume the conn now,” Walker fumed. “That’s an order!” He said it with such vehemence that Astar jumped out of her seat, her muscles tensing as if her instincts thought the captain might attack her. But the human merely stayed behind his desk, his jaw clenching, his face a crimson bloom. “Leave my office, right now.”
Movement behind Walker caught her attention. The Trill’s eyes widened. “You heard me!” He snapped again. But she hadn’t. She pointed to the window. It took Walker a second to realize that Leza had forgotten all about him. “Wha-?”
He followed he pointed finger. “My God,” he muttered. “What is that?” A Romulan warbird had emerged from the nebula, heading straight toward them, at full impulse. The ship was so close, Astar could see its gun ports glowing like infernal eyes. Those eyes cried plasma tears. The red alert klaxon blared around them, but it was too late.
*******************************************************************
Scarab Nebula
“Admiral, are you all right?” Daneeka asked. Samson unfolded himself to gaze at the younger woman, her face a mass of cuts and welts, her clothes ragged and hanging from an equally scarred body. They had just thrown the woman back into the cell. The Jem’Hadar was still ‘training’ with Daneeka when Samson had been bought to the cell.
“I…I should be asking you the same thing child,” he said, reaching out to her, but the Bolian pulled away.
“Don’t,” she warned, and Samson knew better than to belabor the point. He would just make it worse, like had done with everything thus far. He balled back up in the corner, turning away from her and back to his guilt. The chemicals had burned like fire ants, spreading across his body, melting his resistance to the medic’s questions. Eventually he had given in, and he had given them all, and he had never felt so ashamed.
In his weakness, he had given enemies knowledge one of the most powerful weapons the galaxy had ever known, but there was one thing he had held firm one, one shred of dignity he had retained. They still didn’t know how to operate it. He would never give that up, even at the cost of his life.
His captors had seemed unperturbed by his flare of resistance. “This one…will talk,” he remembered the medic saying, as she pointed to the still unconscious Dar. “Of that I am sure.” The admiral silently prayed for his friend.
********************************************************************
Scarab Nebula
“Fate is a funny thing, and the gods can be most wise in their capriciousness,” the medic said softly, as she stroked Dar’s face. The man awoke slowly, a dreamy look on his face. “It has been a long time.”
His eyes were unfocused, in part from the pain medication she had given him, in part from nostalgia. “Chalandra?” He muttered, not fully conscious.
“Yes, she nodded, tears running down her cheeks as she whispered. “Yes, brother, I am still alive.”
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