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USS Nagasaki
Captain’s Ready Room
Captain Zorek had holed up in his office after scouring the ship without finding the Changeling. He knew his presence was starting to distract the valiant effort of his crew to save lives and repair the ship. He knew that he could direct both efforts just as ably from the Ready Room as he could from the Bridge.
Plus, he didn’t want anyone to see the vein throbbing on his temple as he struggled to control his rage. Before Surak, Vulcans had been a species capable of great passion and extreme violence. Many non-Vulcans often thought that his kind had no emotions, but they merely buried their volcanic emotions behind a cool veneer of logic. His facade had slipped when he saw the level of devastation the saboteur had done to his ship, and he was having a hard to time putting the mask back on.
So, he sat in his office, a candle burning as he recited calming chants in between issuing orders. It wasn’t quite working. And he wasn’t the only person afflicted among his crew. Dr. Sevda had been vigorous in expressing her displeasure with his orders to split up the medical team to administer blood screenings to the entire crew, including patients. He understood the woman’s arguments and he even empathized with her fierce presentation of them, but he had stood firm. If there was a Changeling onboard, it could be anyone. It could also be anything. So far, the quantum stasis sweeps throughout the ship hadn’t snared the shape-shifter.
The captain was starting to wonder if the saboteur was in fact a polymorph. Perhaps the culprit or culprits had a different motivation than revenge for a lost war. To that end, he had also dispatched another security team to Ambassador Steen’s quarters to see if there was any evidence that hadn’t been vaporized in the explosion. Part of the team was operating on the ship, behind the forcefield protecting them from the hole in the hull the explosion had caused. While other team members had donned EVA suits and were conducting the investigation outside the starship.
His compin chirped. The captain tapped his small device over his breast, activating it. “Captain Zorek here,” he said.
“Captain, this is Lieutenant Tassos,” the man’s voice sounded tinny, even coming from the delta-shaped communication badge. “We have completed our scan of the debris outside Ambassador’s Steen’s room. We have found trace elements of infernite…”
“Just like in the other bomb wreckage throughout Nagasaki,” Zorek said.
“Correct,” the junior officer said without missing a beat. “We have also found genetic residue that matches Lt. Commander L’Nira.”
“What about Ambassador Steen?” Unfortunately Zorek had put restoring the communication system at the low end of immediate priorities. So far, he had yet to inform Starfleet Command or the Diplomatic Corps directly about what had happened. However, he had hastily sent out a message buoy, in the event that the saboteur’s blow had been fatal.
“Captain,” the young man paused, causing both of Zorek’s eyebrows to lift.
“Go on Lieutenant,” he urged.
“Captain, I am…confused, there’s no trace…no sign of the Ambassador’s remains. The explosive could not have completely vaporized him. And it is unlikely that the debris was flung into space. Even if the majority of it had been, there would still be residue left.”
Zorek stroked his beard. “There is another possibility,” he spoke quietly, not wanting to voice the dark thought sprouting in his mind.
“What could that be sir?” Tassos asked.
“That the ambassador was not in the room,” Zorek said, leaning back in his seat, feeling both relieved and dreadful at the same time. The winning kal-toh pattern was starting to emerge. “Lieutenant, Ambassador Steen is the saboteur.”
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USS Monarch
Captain’s Ready Room
Captain Walker felt like he had been slugged. Admiral Visala had been incommunicado before Petrov had left Sickbay and now the Andorian returned with one hell of a revelation. Hellish more like it, he thought, his heart tugging at him to break orbit and gallop to the Merias system to assist in the rescue effort.
But he had restrained that impulse. And he had graciously acceded to the Andorian’s request for a private meeting. Much to Liyange’s consternation, Walker had asked Petrov to join him.
Behind the safety of the closed doors, he had dispensed with pleasantries. “Let’s talk turkey, shall we?” He said coldly, clasping his hands as he leaned forward, staring hard at the small display screen inset into his desk. Petrov stood behind him.
Visala shrugged. “Of course captain. I pride myself on being as candid as possible with my operatives.” His stomach roiled at her claiming him like he was a pet. Her pet.
“The Remans had something to do with this, didn’t they?” He demanded. “This was a demonstration of that weapon they are offering us?”
The admiral nodded. “Yes,” she said, without preamble. “And we must recover this weapon, at any cost.”
“What is it, exactly?” Petrov asked. Visala’s gaze slithered to her.
“I’m not at liberty to say,” Visala remarked. “Needless to know, it is paramount that that weapon not fall into Romulan hands, or that it no longer can be used as weapon of terror.”
“Well, how exactly do we do that?” Walker asked.
“Whatever they demand, give it to them.”
“Excuse me?” Walker coughed.
“Do I need to repeat myself?”
“No, no,” Petrov slid in, playing the peacemaker. “We understand.”
“No,” Walker shook his head vigorously. “No, we don’t. And we don’t negotiate with terrorists.”
“Starfleet doesn’t negotiate with terrorists, and that is the current Administration’s policy as well,” Visala said. “But we are not Starfleet.”
“But you serve under President Santiago,” Walker countered.
Visala chuckled. “Section 31 is more important than any one politician. We are an institution that predates the Federation.”
“And you’re saying all that to say you’re above the law?”
The Andorian nodded, “When that law is shortsighted or puts Federation citizens at risks, yes.”
Walker pushed away from the desk and folded his arms. “I won’t do it. I won’t negotiate with terrorists.”
“What do you think the Federation is doing right now, with the Cardassians?” Visala scoffed. “Mintof Urlak, a man with ties to shadowy militant groups stands poised to take the reins of control there, after Premier Lang’s assassination. An event that perhaps bore his imprimatur.”
“Do you have proof of that?” The captain challenged.
“Not exactly,” the Andorian admitted.
“Then it has nothing to do with this argument!”
“The Romulans are terrorists!” Visala snarled, losing her poise. “They are slavers, and we negotiate with them. I didn’t see you waving your humanistic flag when they joined the fight against the Dominion. Santiago negotiated with them, because it was in the best interests of the Federation. You will do no less.”
“What if I don’t do anything at all, except contact Command!” Walker flared. Visala pulled back, though her jaw remained set and her gaze steely.
“Talked to your wife Emmanuelle lately?” She asked sweetly. Blood rushed to his face.
“You leave my wife out of this,” he demanded.
“I will…if you do your duty,” the Andorian replied. Walker jumped slightly when he felt a hand on his shoulder. Petrov leaned down, strands of her perfumed hair touching his cheek.
“She’s right,” she whispered. “Do you really want the Remans to remain in control of a superweapon? If they don’t trade it to us, don’t you think there will be others willing to purchase it? The Breen, the Alshain, the Son’a, the Orions, the Romulans, or even the Klingons? We can’t afford not negotiating with them.”
“This isn’t right,” Walker groused, shrugging Sofia’s hand off. “We-we’re better than this.”
“No, we’re not,” Petrov replied, pulling back from him.
Visala made a sad face and feigned crying sounds before adding, “Grow up and do your job.” She deactivated the link before Walker could reply.
He remained at his desk, mulling his options. To her credit, Petrov didn’t interrupt him. She remained posted up by the wall behind him. Finally he jabbed his combadge.
“Liyange here.”
“Commander…” he paused, his face contorting, “Inform the Remans that I wish to see them in the Observation Lounge, ASAP.”
“Aye sir.”
He glanced back, looking at a contrite Petrov. “Just what did you get me into,” he asked, shaking his head.
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Scarab Nebula
“Did you hear that,” Visala asked the woman. “What a sanctimonious prick!”
“He’s not so bad,” the woman replied. “Once you get to know him.”
“How far out are you?” The Andorian admiral asked.
“I am five hours away from Monarch,” the woman answered. The Andorian snorted in response.
“Well, get there fast. Walker might have another crisis of conscience and ruin this for us.”
“I’ll make sure that we get the probe,” the woman promised.
“Even if Walker proves an obstacle?” Visala asked.
“I will not fail,” the woman declared. "Benjamin will be no obstacle at all.”
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