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Dark Territory: Shadow Puppets

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Scarab Nebula

Chalandra carefully wiped the blood and sweat from Dar’s brow. She carefully held up a canteen of water for him to drink. Despite himself, Ousanas lapped up the water as best he could. Most of it splashed against his cracked lips and dribbled down his chin. She dabbed the water off his chin, as tenderly as she once had when they were much younger. “Where was I?” Chalandra asked, lost in thought, among other things.

“The mines…” Dar said sadly.

“Yes,” Chalandra’s voice grew cold, bitter. “They cast me into the mines, among the Reman vermin. But you know what I learned? The true monsters weren’t the Remans like we had been taught, but our own fellow Romulans.”

“I…know,” Ousanas shook his head, thinking of the Norkan campaigns. But Chalandra wasn’t even listening to him.

“My overseers they visited all manner of violations upon me, to defile me, to disgrace and humiliate me,” she paused, clutching herself as she rocked back and forth.

“Chal,” Dar began, softly.

“They didn’t see me as waste, they treated me more than less than. I never loved them for it, I still hated them…but I was grateful, and in time, I came to respect them.”

“I could never imagine.”

“And in time, the most unspeakable thing happened, I came to find affection for one…Volus, the chieftain of our tribe. He took me under his protection and even the Romulan guards began giving me a way berth. Thraex was our only surviving child.”

“My nephew,” Ousanas shook his head, still unbelieving. He had tried to put his family in the past, for their own protection. He knew if he contacted them the Tal Shiar might punish them to get at him, or use them as a lure to bring him back to Romulus. Dar had to pretend that his relatives didn’t matter so that they could live in peace. But the damned Empire hadn’t even allowed that.

“Yes, your nephew,” Chalandra was now looking at him with a painful intensity. “A child consigned to a life of slavery before he drew his first breath, all thanks to you.” Chalandra threw the cloth in a bowl.

“I can never be sorry enough,” Dar pleaded. “If I could make it right, I would.”

“No, you wouldn’t,” his sister spat. “Because you would never put your family before your personal honor and your damnable conscience.”

“But without those things, what would we be?”

“Alive, prosperous, free,” Chalandra said, “But you locked us all in chains, even yourself, in your ‘free’ Federation. How has it been living among a people who despise our kind?”

Dar was silent. Chalandra nodded. “That’s what I thought. You have been an outsider for decades, in the Federation, in the Empire. You are a man without a country, and without roots. Was the price truly worth it?”

“Sometimes…I…don’t know,” Dar admitted, turning away, his face burning with shame.

“And that doubt has always been there, hasn’t it brother?” Ousanas couldn’t answer again. “With this doubt, with this bit of foreknowledge of what might happen to you, you still chose the path of exile.”

“Yes.”

“You exiled us all,” she spat. It hit his cheek and seared almost as much as his shame. He turned back to her, his eyes flashing.

“Well, aren’t you going to start torturing me again?”

“No,” Chalandra shook her head. “That’s what you want isn’t it? You want to feel pain, you want the agony to wash away your guilt, but I will not accommodate you. No, I find it more fitting to let you lie here and let the guilt and shame devour you.” She pulled back, took the bowl, and hobbled away, leaving Dar with himself. The last place he wanted to be.
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USS Monarch
Main Engineering

“Damn it Demetrius!” Sofia said, ducking a blow from the larger man. “What is this about?”

“You tell me, Romulan spy!” Nash said, righting himself quickly. But he caught a deft kick in the stomach. He sank to his knees, clutching his midsection.

“Romulan spy?” Petrov stood over him. “What are you talking about?”

“I know about the coded communiqués,” he charged. Sofia’s heart fluttered. “All of them, going back at least several months,” he added.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“You’re a terrible liar,” he said, glaring at her as he slowly got back to his feet. He kept his eyes on her, and the two began circling each other.

“You’ve got things terribly mixed up, Demetrius,” Petrov said smoothly. “I’m not a Romulan spy.”

“It’s a bit coincidental that we were attacked by Romulans, don’t you think? Shortly after I discovered the coded messages.”

“Yes, it is a coincidence,” the engineer said.

“I just don’t know how Captain Walker is tangled up in it, but I’m sure you’ll tell me once you’ve spent a little time in stir.” Petrov worked overtime to keep her emotions in check. She wondered how much of the messages Nash had decoded, and she was beating herself up for being so sloppy. Or for underestimating the Security Chief’s doggedness.

“Listen Demetrius, I’m trying to save Lt. Hoss. I could use your help.” She chucked a thumb behind her. “I don’t know how much longer he has.”

“Admit the truth, and we can get to that,” Nash promised.

“There’s nothing to admit,” Sofia said. She stepped back. “Now, I’m going to help Hoss. After that, maybe I can take a look at these messages you think I sent. It’s possible that I’ve been framed, perhaps?”

“Even with the recent intraship message the captain sent to you,” Nash stated. “That was a frame job too?”

“I’m going to help Hoss now,” Petrov said.

“Don’t move,” Nash warned. “I’m not going to give you another chance to hurt another member of this crew.”

“I’m not going to stop,” Petrov said, chancing turning her back on him. Despite the hard crackling flames, she heard rustling behind her. She whipped around with a spin kick, expecting her right boot tip to connect with Nash’s jaw. The boot cut through air. The canny Security Chief went under her, grabbing her ankle and crushing it, while heaving her off her feet. He threw her backwards and Sofia’s back cracked against the railing.

While she struggled to right herself, and to overcome her pain, Sofia saw Nash cursing before rushing over to the still prone Hoss. He checked the Tellarite’s pulse. The gesture of kindness gave her the opening she needed.

Though Nash was wrong about her true loyalties, his suspicions might uncover her real presence if he was allowed to continue digging, or at the least, his charges would taint her reputation and make her a liability to the Section, and that’s the last thing she would want to be. Switching off the discomfort in her back, Sofia rushed Nash. The man scrambled back to his feet, but by then she was already in the air. This time, her boot smashed into his chest, slamming him into a wall. Thankfully, the man’s head smacked loudly against the unyielding bulkhead.

Sofia leaped on the dazed man again, laying surgical strikes on him, but Nash was able to prevent her from getting a killing blow. He moved with the punches and kicks, igniting the woman’s frustration along with her anger. And the furious action was sucking her oxygen. She could see the gauge dropping quickly.

It gave her an idea though. Petrov ripped the man’s breathing mask off. Nash gasped, before yelling in anger. His mass torpedoed at her, the unorthodox, desperation move, caught her off guard. She fell on her back, and Nash jumped at her. Petrov threw up her knees, in a desperation act of her own. The air gushed out of Nash’s lungs. The engineer strained as she pushed upward, flinging the man over her. She heard a painful clanging against the guard railing.

She turned around and saw that Nash was hanging upside down, tangled in railing, almost like she had been minutes earlier. Noticing the gauge on her mask had hit red, Sofia took a big gulp before ripping off the mask. The heat seared her nostrils, but she held onto the air puffing her cheeks.

The Security Chief had flipped over and was on his knees. Sofia charged him, but Nash rushed to meet her. The two crashed into each other, a collision of muscles, skin, and teeth. Their heads bumped together and on woozy legs, locked in a fatal embrace, they stumbled toward the railing, both still struggling for advantage as they fell off the gantry.
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Intense and troubling all the way around. I admire the spirit you've imbued the Reman with, both in contrast to and mirroring that of the Romulans in this story.

And ending on a mutual plunge from the gantry after a particularly brutal display of hand-to-hand combat.

Damn fine stuff.
 
Nothing makes for a better villain than somebody who has had to go through torture and hell before being able to turn into a monster herself.

So much for Chal, what's Petrov's excuse? Well the way things are going for her she may not play much of a role any longer. Never count out the bad guys though, right?
 
Thanks again guys for all the kind words. I'm sorry BB, but I'm not sure when I'll be finished with this tale. I want to take my time to make sure I cross every T and dot every I. If you would like to talk via IM or at United Trek about certain characters to continue your story we can do that. I have a pretty good idea of who will survive this story and who won't. Though I'm not sure yet how I'm going to kill off certain characters.

Gibraltar, glad you liked the Petrov-Nash fight. It sort of just came to me to have Nash piece it all together, but be totally wrong about Petrov's motivations. I didn't want everyone figuring out about S31.

CeJay, it's perhaps unbelievable but Chalandra was something of a last minute addition. But she seems to have become a pretty intriguing figure. I know I like her, and making her Dar's sister raises the emotional stakes. The concept of the doctor itself came somewhat late. Then I was going to make the doctor a Son'a or a Reman, then I thought about making them a Romulan. And then a question popped into my head about Dar's family. And it was something I hadn't explored. I thought him having to confront his sister would show him the awful price he made when he defected. It was about more than him and he has to face that. I might be jumping the gun, but I've got the impression that she's shaping up to be one of DT's most memorable villains, alongside Gul Aldur Keshet from my stories "False Colors", "Dust to Dust", and "The Valley of Peace" and Dnoth's "Dark Horses", all found at the United Trek website.

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Scarab Nebula

Admiral Glover felt the ground tremble beneath his feet. Far off in the distance, he heard the familiar rumble of a warp drive. He looked at Daneeka. The woman was huddled in a corner, across the room from him, nearly wrapped in a ball. She blinked several times in confusion, looking around at the trembling walls. “We’re moving,” he uttered, his tongue as rough as sandpaper.

“We’re on a ship,” she replied. “Who would’ve known?” Glover shook his head in response.

“The most important question is, where are we going?”

“And is Commander Dar going with us?” Samson nodded again. Though a more important and painful question surfaced in his mind. Is Commander Dar even still alive?
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USS Nagasaki
Captain’s Ready Room

“I’m sorry Captain, but this delay is unacceptable,” Ambassador Dotsavi Shanthi said, “Though my assistant’s condition is not life-threatening, she needs Federation medical assistance. Benzite facilities are still rebuilding from the war.” He paused, considering his next words. “And,” he said, more softly, “Bethany really wants to go home. She misses her children.”

“I understand,” Captain Zorek said. He missed his children too, though he would never admit it. It wouldn’t be proper. “But we’ve encountered a situation that bears immediate investigation. I’ve dispatched a shuttle to investigate it further and am currently awaiting its return.”

Another omission, Zorek knew. In fact he was anxiously waiting for any word from the shuttle since they had lost contact over three hours ago. He was loath to move the ship a hair for concern that T’Chaya might be using its last position to navigate out of the syrupy nebula.

“I see,” Shanthi sighed. He leaned back in his chair and ran a hand through his salt-and-pepper hair. “Do you have any idea when you will be arriving?”

“Unfortunately I do not, at the moment,” Zorek said. “We have lost contact with the shuttle, but my crew is working hard to attempt to reestablish contact.”

“Oh my,” Shanthi said, troubled. The captain admired the man’s concern. Even across subspace he could see it was genuine. “Is everything alright Captain?”

“I’m certain it is Ambassador. Communication problems are a given when traversing through nebulas.”

“I’ll take your word for it,” Shanthi said solemnly. He brightened seconds later, “Despite planet hopping as a diplomat I never was much interested in stellar phenomena or space travel for that matter. I was always more interested in the destination, than the journey, as it were. Now, Thuosana and Kuenre? Totally different.”

Zorek could relate. His mate actually got space sick and was happily planet bound on Merak II. The planet had been overrun by the Dominion during the war, forcing his wife and family to evacuate. Getting back and reclaiming her life had been one of her top priorities. As soon as Zorek completed this mission he hoped to finally be able to take some personal leave to help her.

“Well, since I know you have other more pressing matters than talking to me, I would like to talk to Mr. Steen. Bring him up to speed on recent developments on Benzar.”

“Of course,” Zorek said. The diplomat had taken to his room shortly after the captain had informed the senior staff that T’Chaya and T’Prell would be departing on the Vanik. “I’ll have my Operations Officer transfer you.”

“Thank you,” Shanthi smiled. Zorek contacted Lt. Vokketh. The man quickly initiated the transfer. Zorek leaned back and worked on loosening the tension from his shoulders. His meeting with the ambassador had gone fairly well. Shanthi had turned out to be sufficiently understanding for a human. He understood that the captain would do all he could to expedite this side mission, without having to make Zorek spell it out for him.

And the captain intended to do just that. His finger hovered over the toggle switch to the main bridge. Vokketh was in heading the effort to reestablish contact with the Vanik. Both Lt. Skell and Security Chief L’Nira had been pressing the captain to pilot another shuttle into the nebula, but he didn’t want to risk losing any more of his crew at the moment.

He was rethinking that decision when the intercom chirped. “Zorek here.”

“Captain.” It was Vokketh.

“Yes Lieutenant,” Zorek replied calmly.

“Ambassador Shanthi wishes to speak with you.”

“Patch him through to my personal terminal,” Zorek said, with the slightest of frowns.

“Captain,” Shanthi’s expression was troubled.

“Yes Ambassador?”

“I tried contacting Diplomat Steen, but he wouldn’t answer my entreaties.”

“That’s peculiar,” Zorek stroked his beard. “Give me one moment.” He said before asking the shipboard computer to confirm Steen’s whereabouts. “His life signs are in his quarters. Perhaps there was a communications glitch.”

“Perhaps,” Shanthi said hopefully.

“I’ll try to contact him.” Zorek tried, several times. The frown deepened.

“What’s going on Captain?” The ambassador asked, “Is Steen well?”

“I don’t know,” Zorek said, “But believe me, I intend to find out.”
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Shuttlecraft Vanik
Scarab Nebula

“It has been approximately 3.5 hours since we lost with the Nagasaki,” Commander T’Chaya said, her eyebrows beetling together.

“We are on our own,” T’Prell stated. She glanced out at the swirling kaleidoscopic sea before them. If Samson were here, she knew he would enjoy the view. Hopefully they could enjoy it together when found him. If, her mind had to add the damned word to ruin her fantasized reunion.

“Our sensors have not detected any additional debris or signs of anything else in the nebula,” the First Officer said. “I am reluctant to venture further into the nebula without being in contact with Nagasaki. If we encounter difficulties, we could easily get lost for a long time or worse without the Nagasaki’s support.”

“I understand that Commander,” T’Prell nodded, “but we’re not going anywhere.”

T’Chaya tilted her head at her, the curious expression on her face masking her displeasure. T’Prell was an expert at reading people and she knew that T’Chaya’s distaste for emotional displays largely stemmed from her own difficulties achieving a Surak-like poise. “With all due respect, that is not your decision to make.” The dark-skinned woman began inputting data into the computer stopped before turning slowly around.

T’Prell sighed. Her fingers ran across her own terminal. “What are you doing?” T’Chaya asked, her suspicion evident. T’Prell couldn’t help but glance down at the gleaming silver hilt of the phaser sticking out of the woman’s side holster. T’Prell also had a sidearm, and on another wild imaginative tangent, she wondered if she could reach hers before T’Chaya drew her weapon. She was good, but T’Prell knew that the Executive Officer was better. Plus T’Chaya would likely enjoy shooting her more than the other way around.

But hopefully it wouldn’t come to that. A recorded message popped up on the small screen inset into the terminal they shared. Admiral Shanthi, the former C-in-C of Starfleet, looked at them with a customary dour expression. “I record this message for T’Prell in the likely, and I stress likely, event that she will encounter resistance to whatever departure from standard procedure she is proposing. T’Prell is on a mission of utmost importance to Starfleet Command and her wishes, even the most eccentric, are to be accommodated, because the successful completion of her mission is in the interests of the Federation. I can’t elaborate what that mission is, however. But know that T’Prell has the full backing of Starfleet Command.”

“This could be doctored,” T’Chaya remarked.

As if hearing the woman’s skepticism, Shanthi continued, “To mollify any concerns that this message is false, I am relaying my authentication code.”

T’Chaya ran it as soon as the woman finished speaking. Both eyebrows rose in surprise. She looked at T’Prell with wide eyes, the shock still on her face. T’Prell knew that the First Officer had verified the code. “T’Prell, what is happening? What is the nature of this mission? What is its purpose? What could be out here in this nebula that could be in the interest of the Federation to this degree?”

“I wish I could tell, I really do,” T’Prell said, and she meant it. “But I am not authorized to do so. What you do need to know is that I have no ulterior motives outside of completing this mission.”

“I comprehend,” T’Chaya said, bringing the shuttle to a halt again. She redirected its course, back on the path deeper into the nebula.
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USS Monarch
Main Engineering

I really didn’t think this through, Commander Leza Astar thought as she covered her mouth and immediately began wiping tears from her eyes, due to the searing heat and acrid fumes from the blossom of smoke she materialized into. Through the gray plumes and crackling flames, Astar made out a large, dark shape hunched over the railing. She ran to it.

“Lt. Hoss,” she said through the smoke, coughing as it snaked into her mouth.
The Tellarite didn’t turn around. She saw that half the man’s fur was blackened and singed on one side of his face, and he was straining, groaning with effort. Both arms were over the guardrail. He was pulling something, or holding on to it. Leza looked down.

“Oh gods,” she gasped, bringing on another coughing fit. The Tellarite was holding on Commander Petrov, who was hanging off the ledge.

“Help,” the man said, through clenched teeth. Leza chanced taking in a deep breath. Unable to expel all the smoke that entered her lungs, the Trill just grabbed hold of Hoss’s wrists and helped the man pull the woman up. She fell on top of them and the three of them lay in a tangled, breathless heap.

Her vision blurring, Astar tapped her combadge. “Three…to Sickbay.”

“No…wait,” Petrov sputtered, reaching out toward her, before they all dissolved.
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USS Monarch
Main Bridge

“I would prefer that we discussed this aboard my vessel,” Lt. Bakin said.

“Fat chance,” Captain Walker replied. He wasn’t in the mood to be diplomatic.

“You don’t trust me,” the Reman nodded. “I understand. We have been at war with your kind for centuries now, a war not of our choosing, a war forced upon by the Romulans. But a new day dawns.”

“So, you say,” Walker said. “But it seems like the same type of cycle of violence to me. There was no reason to destroy that ship. You denied us valuable intelligence.”

Bakin nodded again, a small smile playing across his thin, pale lips. “If you had lived my life, the life of a slave, you would understand that I had every right, every obligation to destroy my oppressors, and I will not hesitate to do so whenever the opportunity arises. Just consider yourself fortunate that your Federation and my people share a common foe.”

“The Romulans aren’t our enemies,” Walker had to swallow hard to get that one through his lips.

“Come now,” Bakin chuckled. “One doesn’t need an actual state of war declared to know when one is in a struggle for life or death. I have been ordered to escort your vessel. My commander wants to speak with you.”

“I can speak with your commander from right here.”

“He prefers face-to-face communication,” Bakin frowned. “I am bound by honor to defend your ship and crew with my life. No harm will come to you.”

“That’s reassuring.”

“I can tell from your tone that you don’t believe me,” the Reman was disappointed. “We offer you a chance to bring the Benzar system back into the Federation, surely you are interested?”

“I…will have to discuss it with my superiors first,” Walker said.

“Of course,” Bakin nodded.

“And who might I tell them is your commanding officer?”

The Reman chuckled. “One thing at a time. It’s not like I trust you either. Secure the authorization to accompany us and all will be revealed.”

Walker huffed. “Playing hardball Lieutenant?”

Bakin pondered the man’s words for a moment. “Hardball? I am unfamiliar with this word, but I do like the sound of it.”
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Imperial Romulan Warbird Avengeance
Stateroom
(Orbiting Benzar)

Commander Volok kept his back to the door. Through the nearest portside window he watched the graceful arcs made by the Romulan warships and civilian vessels, both Romulan and Benzite, navigating around the aquamarine-hued planet. It was a careful dance, often so mundane that its participants forgot how much skill went into avoiding collisions or worse.

He was trying to keep the anger and fear at bay. His mind replayed Volantis’s last words over and over in his mind. The woman’s stoicism was commendable, though not enough to remove the eternal stain of her failure. He hadn’t gotten over the shock of her revelations. The Remans helping the Federation? Had Logan found some way to trump him?

Volok had thought he had the Remans in his pocket. He was working with amenable Remans like Vkruk and fellow Romulans like Commander Suran to peaceably end the incipient civil strife among their peoples and forge a true alliance that could become the predominant power in the Alpha Quadrant. Of course he had no desire to see the Remans become truly independent. He wanted to give them the illusion of freedom so that they would more willingly commit to the war aims of the emerging new order. A new order he had carefully insinuated himself into.

And once things fell into place, he would gladly oversee the dismantling and absorption of the Tal Shiar into a reconstituted Tal Arcani. Reviving the Tal Arcani was his major goal in life, even more important than destroying Samson Glover. Though at times, his vengefulness blotted his judgment.

His door chimed. “Enter,” he said, his back still to the door. He knew that was a lazy move on his part, but he didn’t fear the ambassador or anyone on her staff. Turning his back to them proved he was not intimidated by them, and that they should fear him instead. Even after the door swooshed open and he heard soft footfalls, Volok maintained his position. “Speak,” he commanded imperiously.

“Very sloppy Commander,” the familiar voice made Volok jump slightly in his seat. There was no time to reach for the weapon in his desk drawer. He was certain the man standing behind him already had his disruptor out and his finger on its trigger. “I see nothing has changed.”

Volok steadied himself before turning around. He slowly, carefully placed his elbows on the surface of the desk and steepled his fingers as he stared up at the tall, broad shouldered brown-hued human standing before him. To add insult, the human wasn’t holding a weapon. In fact, no weapon was evident on his person, but Volok knew that was a ruse.

“Morgan, how did you board this vessel?”

The human merely smiled.

“What do you want?”

“You and Mr. Logan have made a mess of things,” the man sniffed. “I’m here to correct them.”

“What do you mean?”

“You wouldn’t know, would you?” Morgan shook his head dismissively. “Both of you were never much for details.”

“I still don’t follow,” Volok said, his impatience getting the best of him.

“The Tal Shiar knows about our plan to disrupt the referendum,” Morgan replied. “How could you expect to keep losing starships and not tip them off?”

“How much do they know?”

“That’s what I’m here to find out,” Morgan said. “My guess is that they only have a rough idea and not any hard evidence. We must insure that that hard evidence does not exist.”

“I’ve already destroyed the log buoy for the Bateleur. Both the Menaulion and Korvix were vaporized.”

“But where is Admiral Glover, Commander Dar, or Lt. Daneeka?” Morgan demanded. “Those loose ends must be tied…permanently.”

“I’m working on that,” Volok groused.

“And you’re doing such an admirable job of it,” Morgan scoffed.

“I’m only one portion of this scheme. Why aren’t you breathing down your own man’s neck?”

“I wish I could…but he has vanished,” Morgan admitted. “I thought he was here.”

“I haven’t seen Mr. Logan,” Volok answered. “Believe me, I wish I had. I have a few choice words for him.”

“So do I,” Morgan remarked. “This plan was foolhardy from the beginning. And now we’ve lost the admiral.”

And the Iconian probe, Volok thought. But he wouldn’t voice it. He didn’t want Morgan to know what was truly addling the man and Section 31. They didn’t give a veruul’s ass about Samson Glover. They wanted the probe. Volok wanted them both. “What are we to do about recovering him then?”

“It might be too late, my sources have told me that the Tal Shiar have dispatched a vessel to the Scarab Nebula,” the human replied. Volok gritted his teeth.

“How long ago?”

“Twenty-four hours, at least,” Morgan replied grimly. “But don’t fret; the Section has operatives already in the nebula. It’s now a race.”

“Perhaps I can order another ship,” Volok offered.

“No,” Morgan shook his head. He brushed his side and Volok tensed. The Romulan thought the man was reaching for a weapon. “I’m here to insure that you don’t make more of a mess of things than you have already.” Keeping his eyes on Volok, he carefully backed into a seat. “I suggest you make yourself cozy Commander because we’ll be spending a lot of time together. You know of course, if the Tal Shiar recover Admiral Glover before the Section does…”

Volok didn’t even acknowledge the threat. He knew that the man would kill him to cover up ties of his organization’s involvement in upending Romulan control of Benzar. Volok had faced death many times. It didn’t faze him. He merely wished to see all of his enemies rotting before he began his journey to Erebus. “I recommend the jumbo mollusks while you wait,” he said coolly, leaning back in his seat. “My chef is excellent.”
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Starfleet Administration Division
Earth

Admiral Shanthi barely glanced up from her desktop screen. “Rear Admiral…Visala is it? What can I do for you?”

The stocky Andorian woman stood at attention. Shanthi gestured toward one of the empty chairs ringing her desk. “At ease, and please take a seat.”

Shanthi didn’t have much time to entertain guests. The admiral had a lot of requisitions to review before sending them to the accounting office. Not to mention, her growing concern about Admiral Glover and his ill-fated mission. The longer she went without hearing from him, the greater her fear grew that he had met a foul end, or even worse, had been captured by the Romulans. Shanthi felt the proverbial Sword of Damocles hanging over her head, the twine holding it aloft weakening by the second.

After the Andorian hadn’t spoken after a few moments, Shanthi glanced up. The blue-skinned woman was sitting awkwardly on the edge of her seat, both hands on her wide knees. “What office are you with again?”

“Starfleet Intelligence,” the woman replied dryly. Shanthi’s eyes widened slightly, and the requisitions were instantly forgotten.

“What are you here to discuss?”

Visala paused, as though gathering her words. “It’s a delicate…matter.”

“All right,” Shanthi didn’t want to reveal how eager she was for the other woman to get on with it, and how she was dreading what might come next. She took a breath and leaned back in her chair, forcing herself to wait the Andorian out.

“It appears that Chief of Staff Logan has gone missing,” Visala said.

“What?”

“Yes,” the Andorian nodded. “As you can tell, we are keeping this information close to the vest, due to the highly sensitive, highly political climate we are currently in.”

“Of course,” Shanthi said, leaning forward, her gaze boring into the woman. “How long as Logan been missing?”

“That’s what we are trying to determine,” the Andorian said. “And we thought you might be able to help us.”

“How could I be of service?”

“We know that you met Logan at Verex III. Perhaps his disappearance is related to that? Or maybe it isn’t a disappearance at all?”

Shanthi hid her shock. How could Visala know about the meeting? Logan said he had covered his tracks. Was she in on the mission as well? One of the players that Logan had conveniently forgotten to tell her about? The admiral realized that the man had to have someone on the inside of S.I. to be able to get his hands on the Iconian probe. Someone had to sign off on it, but she had no idea who that might have been. Shanthi also couldn’t be certain that Visala was truly privy to that information either. Perhaps the woman was working against their interests? Perhaps she was fishing for information?

“I’m sorry,” Shanthi said coolly, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Visala chuckled, but there was no humor in her voice. “Come now Admiral. There’s no need to prevaricate. I can easily produce the flight records linking both you and Logan to Verex III. You didn’t cover your tracks as well as you thought.”

“I didn’t cover anything at all,” Shanthi’s voice hardened.

Visala shrugged. “Listen, I know that Verex III isn’t the most scenic locale, but if you and Logan wanted to get away for a while…”

“Just what are you saying?” Shanthi was mortified.

“What do you think I’m saying?” Visala’s voice became duranium hard.

“You’re implying…an illicit relationship?”

“Of some sort…yes,” the Andorian replied. “Rest assured we will find Mr. Logan, and when we do, the truth will come out. It’s best you tell us what you know, right now. It will lessen the fallout.”

“I want you out of my office, right now!” Shanthi stood up. She jabbed a finger at the door. Visala didn’t move an inch. “You heard me!”

The Andorian looked nonplussed. “This is your last chance.”

“Out now! The nerve of you, accusing me of something so…unseemly.”

“So, you had nothing to do with Mr. Logan’s disappearance?” Visala asked as she slowly stood up.

“I will not entertain this interrogation any further, if you wish to speak to me again, you will do so through proper channels,” Shanthi snapped.

“Fair enough,” Visala shrugged. “I was trying to avoid a circus, but if that’s what you want…”

“Out! Now!” Shanthi’s body was quivering with anger.

“I’ll be seeing you,” the Andorian said.
*****************************************************************
Mexico City
Earth

“Didn’t go well I take it?” the raven-haired woman asked. She gazed up in wonder at the Angel of Independence that still soared above the bustling city’s skyline.

“Well, in addition to gaining a new adversary, I know that Admiral Shanthi doesn’t know where Laurent took off to,” Admiral Visala remarked. She too looked up at the golden, winged figure, a symbol of victory from Earth’s past. At the close of the Dominion War this spot, among dozens on Earth, had been rallying points of celebration. A few of the citizens who had died fighting the Dominion had been interred in the mausoleum at the base of the monument. It was sacred ground for her. The Andorian liked to visit the Angel to restore her confidence on the rare occasion that it lagged and to recommit to her mission.

“That’s a problem,” the other woman replied, her lips forming a tight line. “Gennaro is too much of a loose cannon. He’s bound to make the situation worse.”

“A situation he created, all to get some foolish revenge,” Visala snarled with such vehemence that it startled a couple of the passerby. She immediately turned away from them and reined her emotions. The other woman threw an arm around her shoulder and Visala began to feign sobbing. Her colleague said a few consoling words to her. Dressed in civilian garb, she hoped the visitors would just think that she was there mourning the dead.

Once they passed by, Visala’s tears stopped and the other woman removed her arm. They went back to business as usual. “There are too many wheels spinning now. Even Mr. Morgan has been activated,” the human remarked.

“I know,” Visala said. When Morgan became involved, the situation usually was dire. “So you suggest that I set another wheel to spinning.”

“If you want to maintain control, yes, I do,” the woman replied. “I know how much you like control.”

“Yes, I do,” Visala remarked, with a grim smile. “So be it. I’m activating you. But your mission is only to observe and intervene if only absolutely necessary.”

“I understand,” the woman nodded curtly.

“And you are not to reveal yourself, even to Sofia, and especially to Captain Walker. Even if the man’s life is in danger. If it doesn’t further the mission to save him, his death is an acceptable loss.”

“I understand,” the human repeated, her face expressionless. But Visala saw just the flicker of doubt in the woman’s dark eyes, and that gave her concern. However, not enough to scrap the mission. The Andorian needed an insurance policy, and she could think of none better.
***************************************************************
 
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Oof! Everybody's started bringing out the big guns to safeguard their positions in this power-play. This is going to quickly become a casualty-rich environment. :eek:

This was some very well-drawn chess being waged between the multiple factions here.
 
What I continue to enjoy about this story is the fact that it really all revolves around one thing .. or maybe just a couple of things. Benzar and the mysterious Iconian probe. And yet there are so many different threads, so many people involved at cross purposes. It makes for one seriously entertaining tale.
 
Why do I get the feeling we're reaching a tipping point very soon? Can't wait to see how this comes to a head.

Great stuff, here!

Oh, and great tidbits on Zorek as well. His backstory continues to grow...
 
Thanks for the kind words again everyone. I'm glad you're continuing to enjoy the story. Yeah, I am heading towards the tipping point, not quite sure when it will all come together just yet, but hopefully it will be explosive and satisfying for everyone.

Thanks Galen for allowing me to fill in some backstory for Zorek.

Also, wanted to mention that Morgan and Visala both come from fellow UTrekker Dnoth and figure prominently in his ST: Independence series.

****************************************************************
Location Unknown

Admiral Glover’s face itched. He ran his hand over the rough, gray stumble covering his chin. “I need a shave,” he rasped, mainly to just to make sure his mouth still worked. It had been hours since he had last spoken to Daneeka. The woman had balled up in a corner and went into something akin to a trance. At first Samson had been worried that it was something worse, but after checking her vital signs every few hours, he had reasoned that the woman was in a deep meditative state.

He knew little about Bolian physiology, but he speculated that the woman’s body might be healing itself. He rubbed the scorched tips of the fingers on his right hand. Samson had made the mistake of touching the wrist covered in a patina of drying blood. It had burned him something fierce. The Jem’Hadar had been right about Daneeka’s blood being corrosive.

The next time Samson made sure to check the woman’s other wrist. He hadn’t called the Jem’Hadar because he was afraid they would make the problem worse, or take her back to that twisted doctor. Lord knew what the woman was doing or had done to Ousanas.

“I’ve got to figure out if he’s still alive,” Samson told himself. Though he didn’t know how he was going to do that. He had searched every corner of this cell and hadn’t figured out a way to breach its walls or deactivate the force field keeping them within it.

He knew that the chances to escape would probably be even less once the ship arrived at its destination. Wherever that might be. But Samson was resolved to escape. He had to stop the Jem’Hadar and Remans from using the Iconian probe. In the wrong hands it could bring down civilizations.

He laughed at the thought. The ‘wrong hands’? The Benzites who would likely suffer once he unleashed the probe on their planet might consider him possessing those hands. What gave the Federation the right to so fundamentally subvert the will of a sentient species? With the resultant casualties to boot?

But Samson had to remind himself that the Romulans would never allow the Benzites to vote freely. That they would ensure that the vote went the way they wanted it. He had studied them since he was a teen, inspired by his great grandfather’s stories about fighting the Romulans during the Earth-Romulan War. He knew their modus operandi better than most.

Despite that, his conscience and his guilt gnawed at him. He had been dreading this mission, even though he knew it had been necessary, vital even to securing a lasting post-war peace. His worst fear had been that the mission would turn him into a monster, that it would make the Glover name, a storied one predating the Federation’s formation, synonymous with mass murder. Benzar coming so soon after Terrence was forced to relive his destruction of the Cardassian planet Loval, would create demons that would haunt future Glovers for generations to come.

Samson hadn’t even conceived of a greater fear, that terrorists would gain possession of the probe. Glover had thought he could control the destruction the probe would wreak, but he had no idea what the Remans and Jem’Hadar had in mind.

“I wish Terrence were here,” he croaked. “He would know what to do.” Samson was a scholar, a desk rider, he wasn’t a warrior like his son, or even Daneeka or Dar. But fate had left him the only chess piece still on the board. Perhaps the Remans and Jem’Hadar knew of his reputation and had treated him accordingly. He promised to find a way to make them regret their dismissal.
***************************************************************
Jem’Hadar Battle Cruiser 115
Main Bridge

Colonel Sorix held the small blue orb in his hands. He marveled at its simplistic look that masked an intricate design. Within the simple sphere rested enough power to destroy a world and hopefully topple an empire.

“It is an adequate replica?” First Torak’Clan asked. Sorix regarded the Jem’Hadar. The man stood rooted in the center of the bridge, seemingly he remained at permanent attention. He wore a shoulder-mounted virtual display device. The square box over the warrior’s eye shimmered. Sorix had tried wearing the device once but the illumination had been too bright for his taste.

“We shall see,” Sorix remarked. They had taken the data gleaned from both Admiral Glover and the Romulan Dar to reconstruct the probe. Now they would test it to see how accurate the information was.

“We have arrived at our destination,” one of the Jem’Hadar warriors called out. Sorix regretted not having a main viewer. He wanted to see the show.

A bit reluctantly he handed over the probe to his science officer. The woman gingerly took it and placed it on the transporter pad in the aft section of the bridge.

“Energize,” Torak’Clan ordered. The probe slowly disappeared in the transporter beam. The Jem’Hadar turned to face him. “Colonel Sorix, I have taken the liberty to reconfigure one of our sensor consoles so that you can see the successful completion of this mission with your own eyes.”

Sorix almost smiled. “I thank you.” Torak’Clan gestured to the terminal. Sorix, with the science officer almost on his heels, strode over to it. He almost mowed down the peeved Jem’Hadar soldier who smoothly stepped out of the way. Squinting, Sorix bent down to watch the probe as it made its way into the mass of the silvering hulks of derelict starships. He noted small ripples of energy across its hull as it made contact with the mainframes of some of the ships, reactivating, withdrawing data from them, but leaving a deadly computer virus in its place.

The plan was for the probe to turn the entire debris field into a pyre. Bakin would, or should, be bringing the Monarch along to witness it, and to know that they possessed a powerful weapon, one they would be willing to trade for a planet of their own.

“Probe is changing course,” the Jem’Hadar at the sensor officer called out. Sorix’s science officer looked at him alarmed. But Sorix was more intrigued.

“Where is it headed?” Sorix called, beating Torak’Clan to the punch.

“It’s heading toward the planet…toward Merias III.”

“No doubt drawn by the power source emanating from the space station orbiting it,” Torak’Clan reasoned. Sorix nodded, agreeing with him. His science officer’s expression grew more troubled.

“Sir,” she replied. “We’ve got to recall it.”

“No,” Sorix shook his head. He glanced at Torak’Clan, and his Jem’Hadar counterpart was just as resolute. “I would prefer to see what happens next.”
****************************************************************

USS Nagasaki
Guest Quarters
Deck Nine

Security Chief L’Nira was peeved, though she didn’t reveal it of course. She cocked her head quizzically and ordered the ship’s computer to override the block Diplomat Steen had placed on the door. As soon as the door swished open, Lt. L’Nira reached for the phaser at her hip.

“Ambassador Steen,” she called out into the darkened room. There was no response. After calling a second time, she stepped across the threshold. Captain Zorek had ordered her to check on the man’s well being after he hadn’t answered the captain’s summons.

The captain had checked the main computer and it had informed him that Steen was in his quarters. Before coming to the room, L’Nira had double checked to see if he was still in the room and the mainframe had confirmed it.

It was possible, though unlikely, that Steen was meditating and had gone under so deep that he hadn’t heard the captain’s hails. Though it was also possible that the man was sick and needed help, or even more distasteful, the man might be experiencing pon farr.

She gazed around the living quarters. It barely looked like anyone had been living there for the last several days. Though her room was immaculate, it was perfumed by the scent of plomeek broth. There was no sign at all that Steen even occupied the quarters. Not even a candle for meditation, one of the few acceptable personal mementos, was on the coffee table, a standard location.

Perhaps the man keeps everything in his bedchamber, L’Nira speculated. She walked toward it. Unlike the main entrance, the door opened without protest. She spied a lump on the bed, covered by a pale blue bed sheet. “Ambassador,” she said softly, walking over to him. She reached out to shake the man’s shoulder. Her hand sunk into the sheets. Ripping it back, she saw an artful arrangement of pillows in the shape of a man’s body. “What in Surak’s name is going on?” She muttered. She tapped her compin.

“Zorek here.”

“Captain…” she began, before pausing. She just caught a flash of red beneath one of the pillows. She tossed the pillow aside and saw the small device beneath it, its top blinking a furious crimson.

“L’Nira, L’Nira,” Zorek called, his tone becoming insistent.

“Captain,” the woman backed away, her mind paralyzed with shock and fear. She found her voice again. “Captain, there’s a bomb…”

“A what?”

“No time,” she muttered, slapping the combadge off. “Computer, scan and place appropriate containment field around these…” Her words were swallowed by the detonation.
*************************************************************************
 
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Excellent installment!

FYI, I'm going to go out on a limb and assume you mean, '...her hand sunk into the shift.' ;)
 
Oops!

I meant 'sheets', and I've changed it. Thanks for the catch. Also pleased that you liked the recent installment.
 
Thanks TLR for the Border Service. Here are two more ships, briefly referenced earlier, to throw into the mix.

***************************************************************
USS Shuttlesworth
Soyuz-Class
Merias III Battle Site Reclamation Project
(Former Benzite Defense Perimeter)

Captain Emil Bouchet wiped the last bit of sleep out of his eyes as he stepped onto the bridge. “What’s up?” He asked, after stifling a yawn.

“It could be nothing,” Lt. Commander Sibeko, his Executive Officer, replied as he easily slid out of the center chair. Bouchet grunted. He had known the Saurian long enough to know that when his tone belied his words.

“What’s really on your mind, eh Sibeko?” Bouchet asked as he took the command chair. Sibeko had already claimed his normal station at the port side standing console just behind the captain’s chair.

“Our sensors picked up unusual energy readings from an unidentified object. We’ve been tracking it for several minutes now. The object is on a trajectory toward Merias III.”

“You think it could be space debris, a piece of ordnance?”

“No, the way it is moving, it has a propulsion system or is being guided,” the Saurian reasoned, his face taking on a darker shade of brown, and his large, bulbous yellow eyes flashed with fire. His Exec was clearly perturbed, and that didn’t sit well with the captain.

“Do we have a visual on this UFO?”

“On screen,” Sibeko ordered. The main viewer shifted from the debris field to a tiny object streaking toward the planet. “Magnify.”

Bouchet leaned forward in his seat. He ran a hand over his face and shook his head. “What is that?” It was a small blue globe, with bright flashes running across its surface.”

“Not sure sir,” The Operations Officer said. “I’m still scouring the database to see if Starfleet has encountered anything like it before.”

“What about the energy readings?”

“Still unknown sir,” the Ops Officer replied, her voice fraught with disappointment.

“Keep at it Debbie,” Bouchet replied for encouragement.

“Will do sir,” the woman replied.

“So, Sibeko, you think this thing could be a threat?”

“Until we know otherwise, I would say so, yes,” the Saurian answered gravely.

“What is its ETA to Merias III?”

“It will reach the planet in five minutes,” Sibeko replied.

“Move to intercept,” Bouchet ordered.
****************************************************************
USS Falconer
Miranda-Class
Merias III Battle Site Reclamation Project
(Former Benzite Defense Perimeter)

“Very intriguing,” Captain Lilaea replied as she leaned over the chair, gazing at the sensor screen “Dangerous is more like it,” Lt. Riordan remarked, folding his arms across his broad chest. He stood beside her.

“Ken, you’re too paranoid,” she half-joked. The man didn’t seem to catch the humor in her tone, her statement made him look even more flummoxed. Then again, how could he gather anything from her voice, with the breathing apparatus she had to wear in order to function among air breathers? The Aquan captain would never get used to how the breathing apparatus covering her nose and mouth altered her voice, despite donning it for over twenty years now. She always sounded so robotic, so removed.

“You don’t think there’s something nefarious about all of these previously deactivated systems suddenly springing to life, many of them weapons systems not demolished during the war?” The Tactical Officer asked, disbelieving. “First we got weird energy spikes and when we track them down it leads to a trail of reactivated systems.”

“Yes,” Lilea shook her head, giving up attempts at levity. “It is unusual.”

“I would say it’s a bit more than that,” Her First Officer, Victoria Lau spoke up. “Many of those weapons systems are overcharging?”

“What?” Riordan almost blew a gasket.

“Can we shut them down?” Lilaea asked more calmly.

“Not enough time,” Lau replied. Riordan had literally leaped back to his station. Lilaea didn’t move. She merely took another glance at the sensor terminal. As if reading her mind, Ensign Effad, the Arin’Sen Ops Officer, had shifted the sensors to sweep over the debris field, registering at least a dozen ships with active weapons systems.

“How much damage do you think multiple explosions might cause?” Lilaea asked the Ops Officer. The pale-skinned woman skimmed the readout before replying. “The radius would be significant. Especially if it ignited ordnance or fuel from the other ship fragments.”

“Could Merias III or the Benzite space station be affected?” Lilaea asked.

“At this distance, doubtful, if we can contain the explosions,” the officer quickly responded.

“Helm, move us to a safe distance, away from the blasts,” Lilaea ordered, while her mind worked. “Yellow alert,” she added, the bridge’s lighting changing to accommodate the heightened alert.

“What do you have in mind?” Lau asked. She knew Lilaea well enough to know when the woman had fastened on to an idea.

A finger scraped against her pointed green chin as Lilaea made her way back to the captain’s chair. She moved to sit down and then changed her mind as the idea fully formed in her mind. “Mr. Riordan, work with Ops to reverse our forcefields.”

“Excuse me captain?”

“We’re going to reverse our forcefields, turn them inward to contain the blasts. I want all auxiliary power transferred to shields.”

“Aye,” Riordan said reluctantly. Lilaea ignored the man’s tone. She knew he wanted to find, contain, and if need be destroy it. “Commander Lau, where is the Shuttlesworth?”

It took only a quick peek for Victoria to reply, “On the other side of the debris field.”

“Contact them and transmit what information we have about the orb and its affect on deactivated systems. Also, contact Administrator Malmak and tell him we’ve got…,” she paused, trying to find the right phrase, “…a situation.”
***********************************************************
 
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****************************************************************
USS Monarch
Sickbay

“I’m so sorry, so sorry,” Lt. Commander Petrov cried, sitting up on the biobed. She reached out to Astar, who was lying on an adjacent bed. Dr. Zammit rushed to the woman’s side.

“Lie back down right now!” He hissed, “Or I will be forced to restrain you. You’ve suffered severe smoke inhalation and some first degree burns.” He placed strong hands on her biceps and attempted to push her back down. But the engineer wouldn’t budge. Her eyes were locked on Astar. Astar turned around to gaze at her, her vision blurry from the sedative a nurse had already given her. Said nurse was just picking herself off the floor beside Petrov’s bed. She nurse dusted herself off and rushed to help Zammit restrain the thrashing woman.

“Don’t care,” Petrov yelled, “Commander, Leza, I tried to hold on, I really did, but Demetrius, he was just too heavy, and I was…I was so weak.”

“Demetrius?” Astar asked, not quite understanding. She looked from Petrov to Zammit. “Zam, what is she talking about?”

“Nothing of consequence at the moment.”

“How could you say that? How could you be so callous?” Petrov charged. She pushed up, throwing both Zammit and the nurse back.

“That’s enough Sofia!” Captain Walker thundered, charging into the medical suite. The woman paused, looking at Benjamin wistfully. “Oh Ben,” she said, a sad smile forming on her lips. “What have I done to you? To us?”

The questions stopped Walker in his tracks. He opened his mouth, but no words came out. Petrov calmed down, as if waiting for his response. Zammit moved quickly, pressing a hypospray against the woman’s arm. Her eyes rolled back in her head and she fell backward onto the biobed. “Is she going to be okay Doctor?” Walker finally asked.

“Yes,” Zammit replied, looking down at her. “Fortunately she received only minor burns. Lt. Hoss, now that is a more severe case. He is going to have to undergo multiple skin grafts.”

“What about Commander Astar?”

“Minor smoke inhalation. After she gets some rest, she’ll be functional.”

“What was Petrov talking about?”

The Bzzit Khaht frowned, his gaze becoming even more baleful. “She was prattling about Security Chief Nash.” The medic paused, his expression growing somber. “Demetrius is dead.”

“What?”

“Yes, he took a fall off of the gantry in Engineering. Apparently from what I can gather, Petrov was holding onto him, but wasn’t able to maintain her grasp.”

“God,” Walker muttered, shaking his head. “Why was he in Engineering?”

“I am assuming he was helping clear out people from the conflagration. What is the status of the fire by the way?”

“Oh,” Walker said, after a few moments. “It’s contained.”

“Once we’ve patched up Sofia, I’m sure she can fill us in on the details.”

“I see,” Walker looked back at the dozing woman. Even in sleep her face was contorted, as if she was suffering from a nightmare. “How long will that be Doctor?”

“Hard to say,” Zammit answered. “Right now, I have instituted a triage policy. We are dealing with the most injured first, and the Chief Engineer’s injuries are shockingly middle of the pack.”

“The fire was pretty bad I take it?” Walker paused to glance around the packed medical bay. The stench of burned flesh and clothing permeated the room. It overpowered the myriad antiseptics the medical staff was using to ameliorate as many burns and injuries as they could. They were being overwhelmed, but working their way through it. Walker wished he had extra help to give Zammit, but they were hard pressed everywhere on the ship, putting out fires, effecting repairs, sealing hull stress points.

“You have no idea,” the Bzzit Khaht said, shaking his head.

“Keep me informed,” Walker said.

“I will sir.”

Turning away from the frenzied scene, the captain’s combadge chirped. He activated it. “Walker here.”

“Captain, it’s the Remans,” Liyange remarked. “They are insisting they converse with you.” Damn, Walker thought. He had tried contacting Visala, but the Andorian hadn’t returned his call. He didn’t know what to do or how to proceed, but he knew that if he went through proper channels and alerted Starfleet Command about what as transpiring in the Scarab Nebula, that it could have lethal repercussions, mainly for himself and his loved ones. He wished he had Visala’s backing on this, but now he was going to have to wing it.

“I’m not transporting to their ship,” Walker groused. “I’ve got too many things to do here.”

“Captain, I don’t think you have to worry about that. The Remans are on our bridge,” the Ops Officer said.
************************************************************
 
Just caught up--looks like things are about to come to a head. Samson, Daneeka, and Ousanas, Walker and the Monarch, the Remans, Volok, Visala, and the dilemma of the Shanthis. You're juggling a lot of balls and keeping them all up--no mean feat!
 
It's always a bad sign when new ships and crews show up in the middle of your stories. Also, the poor Border Service tends to keep getting the raw end of the stick. I hope these folks fare better against what ... an unstoppable Iconian drone of destruction? Good luck, folks.

I like that Petrov seems to be out of it for now. That means all this cloak and dagger stuff will fall onto Walker and he's really kind new at this. Not good.

Nerve-wracking stuff here. I think I'm going to sigh in relief when all this over.
 
Guys,

Your comments are always welcome. Good point CeJay, ships that come in the middle of a story probably don't have much of a shot of surviving it in the DT universe, then again, you never know.

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

Shuttlecraft Vanik
Scarab Nebula

The shuttle rocked as it rode the astral eddy. T’Prell’s teeth chattered as the cabin shook from the rough ride. She grabbed onto the terminal in a vain attempt to steady herself. In comparison, Commander T’Chaya was a model of composure. The Exec carefully input piloting instructions, shutting off the engine and allowing the force of the energy stream to carry them along. “We can’t break free of it without putting tremendous stress on our engines and reducing our power greatly in the process,” T’Chaya explained. “We might as well let it take us further into the nebula.”

“Do you think it’s wise to shut down the engine completely?”

“It’s on standby,” the brown-skinned woman answered. “I can jumpstart the propulsion system if necessary, and I am using the deflector shields to smooth out our journey somewhat.”

Doesn’t feel like it to me, T’Prell thought, but decided not to say. She knew when it was best to shut her trap and allow the experts to do their job. The fact that she couldn’t detect even a hint of concern from T’Chaya was a sign that the woman had things well under control. She wished she could actually enjoy the ride though. Her stomach was turning flips. She just hoped she didn’t toss her lunch.

T’Prell was falling deeply into a calming trance when T’Chaya said quietly, “We’re being followed.”

“What?” T’Prell asked, instantly alert. She turned to the commander. T’Chaya was busy looking at her instruments. T’Prell then swept over her sensor board. “I don’t see anything. It’s not registering.”

“Their cloak is too good,” T’Chaya shook her head. “But not good enough.” The engines coughed to life and the Vanik rocketed forward. T’Prell grabbed onto her console before she smashed against it. “What the Forge are you doing?”

The engines whined in protest as the Vanik struggled to free itself from the eddy. T’Chaya angled the ship downward and it shot forward like a bullet at maximum warp. It exited the current with such a shrieking whine that T’Prell knew that serious damage had been done to the propulsion system.

T’Chaya seemed oblivious to that. Her fingers ran across the terminal. T’Prell felt the thump of the aft weapon’s array. “Explain yourself, right now Commander!” She demanded. T’Chaya merely shifted the viewer hanging above T’Prell’s station aft. She barely caught the entry of the phaser beams into the astral eddy. T’Chaya had set them at wide dispersal she quickly realized, not concentrated enough to do any damage. “I don’t under…” the woman never finished as she saw that the beams had lit up the astral current and counteracted the cloaking device of the ship following them, giving away its location.

The second round of phaser fire was much more furious. “Ship is breaking the astral stream,” T’Chaya intoned. “Prepare for evasive maneuvers.”

The warning brought T’Prell fully out of her stupor. She quickly took over weapons. “I’ll handle this. You just keep us in one piece.” T’Chaya nodded as she released firing control.

The vessel exited the eddy far easier than the Vanik had. However, the strafing had caused their cloak to malfunction. Tiny ripples ran across it, rendering it ineffective. “Ship is decloaking,” T’Prell said, though both women could see that on their respective screens. A small green compact vessel, with curved nacelles, a long neck, and bird-shaped bow appeared before them.

“Shields at maximum,” T’Prell said.

“I don’t think that’s going to matter,” T’Chaya replied. After a beat, she added, “They’re hailing us.”

“On screen,” T’Prell said. A beautiful, dark-skinned woman glared at them with cold eyes. A smile played across her full lips.

“I am Lt. Colonel Vakis of the Tal Shiar, and I’ve come to ask for you assistance.”
****************************************************************
USS Nagasaki
Main Bridge

The bridge was a storm of activity. Captain Zorek could barely get his bearings. “Hull breaches on Decks Nine, Twelve, and Forty-two,” Lt. Vokketh replied. “We’re getting reports that in addition to the perforations the biomedical lab and the nursery on Deck Nine were severely impacted.”

“What about Deck Forty-Two?” Zorek asked, trying not to think about the possible infant deaths from the bomb blast on Deck Nine. “If the antimatter storage pods on that deck are compromised…”

“Engineering has sent in a team to secure the pods,” Vokketh quickly replied. Zorek was pleased with the stoic efficiency of his crew, though there were times he wished he were back aboard a ship not crewed by Vulcans. He wished he could wallow in the shock and anger at the wrongness of it all, at the violation that had visited his vessel. Someone had did this to his ship, someone had murdered his crew, and possibly presented a threat to his entire vessel.

He wanted nothing more than to find that person and slowly apply tal-shaya to them. He knew it was wrong to feel such hatred, and in time he would be ashamed for his lack of control, but at the moment, Zorek just held tightly to the rage. He would draw on its strength to compel him forward, to sharpen his focus and strength to keep his crew alive.

“Lt. Skell, I want you to go to Deck Nine and confirm if there are any survivors,” he ordered.

“Aye sir,” Skell said, clearly pleased to be given something to act on.

“But captain,” Vokketh interjected, “The sensors indicate…”

“It’s obvious that the ship’s sensors missed the explosives planted throughout our ship,” Zorek replied sharply. “It’s quite possible that they have been altered by the saboteur,” he had almost slipped and said Steen. He was certain it was Steen, though he didn’t have conclusive proof of it. It was not unfeasible that the saboteur had kidnapped the diplomat. However it was more likely that Steen had never boarded Nagasaki to begin with. “Be careful Mr. Skell, it’s quite possible that we are dealing with a Changeling,” he warned, shushing the room instantly.
***************************************************************
 
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