Dark Territory: Shadow Puppets
- Thread starter DarKush
- Start date
Thanks again for reading and for the comments.
********************************************************
Starbase 336
Lounge
“You did what?” T’Prell asked, clearly surprised, as she pulled away from Samson’s embrace.
“I elbowed him,” the admiral admitted, mimicking the gesture. “Right in his stomach.”
“Samson,” T’Prell chided gently, arching her eyebrows in disbelief. “That doesn’t sound like you at all.”
“Maybe I’m not myself right now,” Glover replied, a bit wistfully, as he took a seat. They had found a table pushed up against a bulkhead in a far corner of the lounge. For some reason T’Prell hadn’t wanted to meet in either of their quarters. He guessed she needed to be around people, and Samson couldn’t blame her. The hustle and bustle, the clinking of glasses and the din of conversation, were normal, and soothing. “This assignment…has not gone well,” he said after waving off the waiter that had rushed to their table.
“Tell me about it,” T’Prell remarked. She leaned forward, and lowered her voice, “I go into the Scarab Nebula looking for you, and I found something…else.”
“And that would be?”
The woman’s brows knit together and her expression pinched. “I’m not sure yet…but I’m going to find out.”
Samson reached out to her and patted her hand. “Are you sure you’re all right?” T’Prell shook her head.
“I can’t say just yet,” she admitted truthfully. She shivered slightly, piquing more of Samson’s concerns. His hand closed around hers.
“What happened in the nebula?”
“I can’t talk about it,” T’Prell said. “It’s not something I want to involve you in.”
“Now you know I’m going to want to be involved,” he said.
“And that’s exactly why we’ll discuss this no further,” T’Prell stated, drawing a line in the proverbial sand.
“It doesn’t work that way,” Samson smiled grimly. “I’m an admiral remember, I give the orders.”
“And I’m a freelancer, orders aren’t my favorite things,” T’Prell chuckled, the musicality of her voice seizing Samson’s heart. Stuck in the hold of that Jem’Hadar ship he wondered if he would ever hear that laughter again, or see her face. He had known T’Prell for decades, and it had taken that long for him to arrive at that point where she had become an essential part of his life, where he couldn’t bear the thought of losing her.
“Whatever it is, we can face it together,” he declared. He paused, unable to find the right words. T’Prell waited patiently as his mouth opened and closed. She touched his temple, her fingers electric. She gasped in surprise and Samson jumped.
“Sam,” she muttered. “I know, I feel the same way, but…we can’t, not now,” she said.
“Why not?”
“I have to investigate what happened in the nebula,” she said. “I have to find out who this Steen character truly was, and I won’t endanger you.”
“I’m not as fragile as I look,” Samson remarked, puffing out his chest, and drawing another peal of laughter from T’Prell.
“I’ve missed you so,” she intimated, leaning across the table to give him a peck on the cheek. With his free hand, Samson’s gently grabbed her chin and planted her with a solid kiss on the lips.
“Whatever you need to do, I want to do it with you,” he said.
“What about your current assignment?”
The man shrugged, “It’s in shambles, and from the looks of things, I doubt we’ll be given another crack at it. And I will not be a part of something like this again,” Samson shook his head. He had seen the footage of the destruction wrought in the Merias system, devastation that he felt responsible for. Sensing his discomfort, T’Prell stroked his cheek.
“It wasn’t your fault,” she said. He cradled her hand in his and kept it at his cheek.
“If we had never…if I had never went along with this, if I had just listened to you,” Samson stammered, his guilt and pain robbing him of coherence. He eventually muttered, “Now I know how Terrence feels.” In the closing days of the war Terrence had laid waste to the Cardassian planet Loval to clear the way to the invasion of Cardassia. That action would forever haunt him, and the Glover legacy. Samson’s actions in Merias, though his culpability would never see the light of day, would stain him for the rest of his life. Not to mention they had let loose a metaweapon on the universe without knowing its fate. If it hadn’t been destroyed in the conflagration it unleashed, it could be anywhere, and fall into anyone’s hands.
“Besides, I’m getting too old for that kind of thing,” he huffed, trying to lighten the mood. T’Prell knew him well enough to let him do so.
“I’m thirsty,” she said, “Care for that drink now?”
“Yeah,” Samson agreed, “I’ll signal the waiter.” He turned halfway around in his chair, searching for the waiter. Instead he found a security team, with Singleton right behind him. And they were heading his way.
*************************************************************
Starbase 336
Detention Center
“My apologies sir,” Captain Rodrigues said, embarrassment etched on her face. “I had suggested to Captain Singleton that this was unnecessary, but he insisted on pressing charges.”
“It’s alright Melinda,” Samson remarked. He hated being back in a cell, but he didn’t blame the space station’s commander. Singleton was pulling her chain like he did with Samson, Captain Walker, and everyone else.
Samson hadn’t resisted when the guards came to escort him away, and he directed a sharp gaze at T’Prell not to interfere. She was steamed that Singleton made a spectacle of it, having him taken into custody in such a public forum, but Glover wasn’t too miffed. He had dealt with supercilious men like the intelligence agent his whole career and weathered them all. Once Singleton felt he had his pound of flesh, he would move on to bother nettle someone else.
T’Prell, her face flushed with green, wasn’t so sanguine. “I have lodged a formal complaint through the V’Shar about this. Minister Satok assured me that he would address Singleton’s unseemly behavior with his counterpart.”
Samson merely nodded. He was grateful for the gesture, but he didn’t see what good it would do. The ‘damage’ was already done, and Glover would just have to cool his heels in stir until the base’s Judge Advocate General heard his case.
The room’s doors hissed open and a stout Andorian woman, with admiral bars strode through them. Behind her trailed Singleton.
“Captain Rodrigues, please release Admiral Glover immediately,” she said. Rodrigues grinned, and nodded to her security chief.
“You heard the lady,” she said, prompting the Nuvian man to deactivate the force field. Samson stepped through the opening.
The Andorian stepped forward, offering a hand, “Rear Admiral Visala, Starfleet Intelligence.” Samson took it. The woman had a strong grip.
“Samson Glover,” he replied.
“Nice to meet you sir,” she smiled, giving his hand a quick pump before releasing it. “My apologies for Captain Singleton’s behavior.” Her gaze shifted over to the reddening man. He swallowed hard, before looking away. “He can be a bit overzealous in his approach, but he is a good officer.”
“Of that I have no doubt,” Samson remarked, with just a hint of droll. If Visala was playing nice he saw no need to be difficult.
“Admiral,” Visala said more softly, “If I might have a moment of your time, alone…”
“Of course,” Samson said. “My quarters…”
“Actually,” Visala said, tapping her combadge, “Visala to Chiron, two to beam up.”
***************************************************************
USS Chiron
Ready Room
Admiral Glover put on his best poker face. Captain Tryla Scott saw right through it. She stood up from behind her desk. “Didn’t expect to see me again, so soon,” she said with a big smile. The walnut brown woman laughed at his shocked expression.
Several months ago Scott had come to him at the behest of Section 31, with a devil’s bargain to help free Terrence from the clutches of the Cardassian militants, the True Way. Samson had felt he had no choice but to collude with them.
Scott’s presence here was no coincidence, Samson realized, the pieces starting to come together. Section 31 had to be behind this Iconian probe business, he realized.
Since their fateful meeting, Glover had been digging into the history of the rogue outfit, trying to separate fact from fiction, and now that he thought about it, this type of mission had their black fingerprints all over it. My God, he thought, what have I done?
He glanced at Visala. The woman seemed completely oblivious to the silent exchange between him and Captain Scott. The admiral wondered if the Andorian was tied to the section, or if she was just another pawn. Samson didn’t want to risk exposing what was really going on for fear of endangering Visala’s life.
He cleared his throat, “Captain Scott…it is good to see you again.”
“Let’s get down to business shall we?” Visala suggested, taking one of the two empty seats placed in front of the captain’s desk.
“Excuse me, Admiral Visala,” Samson ventured, “But shouldn’t we have our discussion…alone?”
“My apologies Admiral Glover,” Visala said, charitably, “but Captain Scott is part of your new mission.”
“I beg your pardon?” He asked, dumbfounded.
“Yes,” Visala said, her antennae coiling about her head like serpents. “The Chiron will be escorting you back to Benzar space. We can’t bear a repeat of this current fiasco.”
“I refuse,” Samson said bluntly. Visala’s smile was all clenched teeth.
“That is not an option sir,” she said. “Our databanks were attacked, our information about the probe lost, and most of our knowledgeable personnel eliminated,” she replied. “We only have scraps of data left.”
“Who could do such a thing? How?” Samson asked, floored.
“That’s a very good question,” Visala’s expression darkened. “We are investigating that.”
“That’s not good enough,” Samson demanded. “I want to know what happened and when?”
“With all due respect sir, that’s not your bailiwick,” Visala said, with just a coating of velvet over her steel.
“Oh?” He asked mockingly, not willing to let the matter drop. He outranked Visala, at least on paper, and he wasn’t a fan of subordinates defying his commands. “And just what is my bailiwick?”
“That’s what we are here to discuss,” the Andorian said, “You are one of the few people we have left with knowledge of the probe.”
“Fragmented knowledge at best,” Samson admitted.
“It will have to do,” Visala replied. “The Benzite system must not go into the Romulan camp. A modified Iconian virus, one not as destructive as the Merias incident, could be of tremendous assistance in furthering that goal.”
“I can’t take that risk,” Glover said emphatically. “I can’t guarantee that it won’t be a repeat of Merias. And the death toll there was miniscule compared to what could happen on Benzar. I won’t be a party to mass murder.”
“No more than before,” Visala slid her dagger in sweetly, giving Samson pause. “The truth of the matter is sir, you’re in too deeply already. You are the Federation’s best hope for heading off an eventual war with the Romulans. You know that if the Romulans secure a foothold into our space via the Benzite system they’ll make a play for more, forcing our response.”
Samson sat back, scratching his chin, as he reflected on the Andorian’s words. He was a student of history, particularly the Romulans. Though generally they preferred mind games to outright naked brutality when it came to taking on equal or superior powers, if the Romulans sensed weakness they would come in force. Before that they would test the waters, like they had with during the 22nd century Babel Incident or their attacks along the Neutral Zone a century ago.
In this war frayed, heightened tension environment, Samson didn’t know how the Federation Council, or a president fighting for reelection might respond to such provocations. It was his duty to protect the Federation…at all costs, even if the price was his soul, Samson realized. His shoulders slumped as he resigned himself to what he had to do, what he must do. “What is the new mission?” He asked.
***********************************************************
********************************************************
Starbase 336
Lounge
“You did what?” T’Prell asked, clearly surprised, as she pulled away from Samson’s embrace.
“I elbowed him,” the admiral admitted, mimicking the gesture. “Right in his stomach.”
“Samson,” T’Prell chided gently, arching her eyebrows in disbelief. “That doesn’t sound like you at all.”
“Maybe I’m not myself right now,” Glover replied, a bit wistfully, as he took a seat. They had found a table pushed up against a bulkhead in a far corner of the lounge. For some reason T’Prell hadn’t wanted to meet in either of their quarters. He guessed she needed to be around people, and Samson couldn’t blame her. The hustle and bustle, the clinking of glasses and the din of conversation, were normal, and soothing. “This assignment…has not gone well,” he said after waving off the waiter that had rushed to their table.
“Tell me about it,” T’Prell remarked. She leaned forward, and lowered her voice, “I go into the Scarab Nebula looking for you, and I found something…else.”
“And that would be?”
The woman’s brows knit together and her expression pinched. “I’m not sure yet…but I’m going to find out.”
Samson reached out to her and patted her hand. “Are you sure you’re all right?” T’Prell shook her head.
“I can’t say just yet,” she admitted truthfully. She shivered slightly, piquing more of Samson’s concerns. His hand closed around hers.
“What happened in the nebula?”
“I can’t talk about it,” T’Prell said. “It’s not something I want to involve you in.”
“Now you know I’m going to want to be involved,” he said.
“And that’s exactly why we’ll discuss this no further,” T’Prell stated, drawing a line in the proverbial sand.
“It doesn’t work that way,” Samson smiled grimly. “I’m an admiral remember, I give the orders.”
“And I’m a freelancer, orders aren’t my favorite things,” T’Prell chuckled, the musicality of her voice seizing Samson’s heart. Stuck in the hold of that Jem’Hadar ship he wondered if he would ever hear that laughter again, or see her face. He had known T’Prell for decades, and it had taken that long for him to arrive at that point where she had become an essential part of his life, where he couldn’t bear the thought of losing her.
“Whatever it is, we can face it together,” he declared. He paused, unable to find the right words. T’Prell waited patiently as his mouth opened and closed. She touched his temple, her fingers electric. She gasped in surprise and Samson jumped.
“Sam,” she muttered. “I know, I feel the same way, but…we can’t, not now,” she said.
“Why not?”
“I have to investigate what happened in the nebula,” she said. “I have to find out who this Steen character truly was, and I won’t endanger you.”
“I’m not as fragile as I look,” Samson remarked, puffing out his chest, and drawing another peal of laughter from T’Prell.
“I’ve missed you so,” she intimated, leaning across the table to give him a peck on the cheek. With his free hand, Samson’s gently grabbed her chin and planted her with a solid kiss on the lips.
“Whatever you need to do, I want to do it with you,” he said.
“What about your current assignment?”
The man shrugged, “It’s in shambles, and from the looks of things, I doubt we’ll be given another crack at it. And I will not be a part of something like this again,” Samson shook his head. He had seen the footage of the destruction wrought in the Merias system, devastation that he felt responsible for. Sensing his discomfort, T’Prell stroked his cheek.
“It wasn’t your fault,” she said. He cradled her hand in his and kept it at his cheek.
“If we had never…if I had never went along with this, if I had just listened to you,” Samson stammered, his guilt and pain robbing him of coherence. He eventually muttered, “Now I know how Terrence feels.” In the closing days of the war Terrence had laid waste to the Cardassian planet Loval to clear the way to the invasion of Cardassia. That action would forever haunt him, and the Glover legacy. Samson’s actions in Merias, though his culpability would never see the light of day, would stain him for the rest of his life. Not to mention they had let loose a metaweapon on the universe without knowing its fate. If it hadn’t been destroyed in the conflagration it unleashed, it could be anywhere, and fall into anyone’s hands.
“Besides, I’m getting too old for that kind of thing,” he huffed, trying to lighten the mood. T’Prell knew him well enough to let him do so.
“I’m thirsty,” she said, “Care for that drink now?”
“Yeah,” Samson agreed, “I’ll signal the waiter.” He turned halfway around in his chair, searching for the waiter. Instead he found a security team, with Singleton right behind him. And they were heading his way.
*************************************************************
Starbase 336
Detention Center
“My apologies sir,” Captain Rodrigues said, embarrassment etched on her face. “I had suggested to Captain Singleton that this was unnecessary, but he insisted on pressing charges.”
“It’s alright Melinda,” Samson remarked. He hated being back in a cell, but he didn’t blame the space station’s commander. Singleton was pulling her chain like he did with Samson, Captain Walker, and everyone else.
Samson hadn’t resisted when the guards came to escort him away, and he directed a sharp gaze at T’Prell not to interfere. She was steamed that Singleton made a spectacle of it, having him taken into custody in such a public forum, but Glover wasn’t too miffed. He had dealt with supercilious men like the intelligence agent his whole career and weathered them all. Once Singleton felt he had his pound of flesh, he would move on to bother nettle someone else.
T’Prell, her face flushed with green, wasn’t so sanguine. “I have lodged a formal complaint through the V’Shar about this. Minister Satok assured me that he would address Singleton’s unseemly behavior with his counterpart.”
Samson merely nodded. He was grateful for the gesture, but he didn’t see what good it would do. The ‘damage’ was already done, and Glover would just have to cool his heels in stir until the base’s Judge Advocate General heard his case.
The room’s doors hissed open and a stout Andorian woman, with admiral bars strode through them. Behind her trailed Singleton.
“Captain Rodrigues, please release Admiral Glover immediately,” she said. Rodrigues grinned, and nodded to her security chief.
“You heard the lady,” she said, prompting the Nuvian man to deactivate the force field. Samson stepped through the opening.
The Andorian stepped forward, offering a hand, “Rear Admiral Visala, Starfleet Intelligence.” Samson took it. The woman had a strong grip.
“Samson Glover,” he replied.
“Nice to meet you sir,” she smiled, giving his hand a quick pump before releasing it. “My apologies for Captain Singleton’s behavior.” Her gaze shifted over to the reddening man. He swallowed hard, before looking away. “He can be a bit overzealous in his approach, but he is a good officer.”
“Of that I have no doubt,” Samson remarked, with just a hint of droll. If Visala was playing nice he saw no need to be difficult.
“Admiral,” Visala said more softly, “If I might have a moment of your time, alone…”
“Of course,” Samson said. “My quarters…”
“Actually,” Visala said, tapping her combadge, “Visala to Chiron, two to beam up.”
***************************************************************
USS Chiron
Ready Room
Admiral Glover put on his best poker face. Captain Tryla Scott saw right through it. She stood up from behind her desk. “Didn’t expect to see me again, so soon,” she said with a big smile. The walnut brown woman laughed at his shocked expression.
Several months ago Scott had come to him at the behest of Section 31, with a devil’s bargain to help free Terrence from the clutches of the Cardassian militants, the True Way. Samson had felt he had no choice but to collude with them.
Scott’s presence here was no coincidence, Samson realized, the pieces starting to come together. Section 31 had to be behind this Iconian probe business, he realized.
Since their fateful meeting, Glover had been digging into the history of the rogue outfit, trying to separate fact from fiction, and now that he thought about it, this type of mission had their black fingerprints all over it. My God, he thought, what have I done?
He glanced at Visala. The woman seemed completely oblivious to the silent exchange between him and Captain Scott. The admiral wondered if the Andorian was tied to the section, or if she was just another pawn. Samson didn’t want to risk exposing what was really going on for fear of endangering Visala’s life.
He cleared his throat, “Captain Scott…it is good to see you again.”
“Let’s get down to business shall we?” Visala suggested, taking one of the two empty seats placed in front of the captain’s desk.
“Excuse me, Admiral Visala,” Samson ventured, “But shouldn’t we have our discussion…alone?”
“My apologies Admiral Glover,” Visala said, charitably, “but Captain Scott is part of your new mission.”
“I beg your pardon?” He asked, dumbfounded.
“Yes,” Visala said, her antennae coiling about her head like serpents. “The Chiron will be escorting you back to Benzar space. We can’t bear a repeat of this current fiasco.”
“I refuse,” Samson said bluntly. Visala’s smile was all clenched teeth.
“That is not an option sir,” she said. “Our databanks were attacked, our information about the probe lost, and most of our knowledgeable personnel eliminated,” she replied. “We only have scraps of data left.”
“Who could do such a thing? How?” Samson asked, floored.
“That’s a very good question,” Visala’s expression darkened. “We are investigating that.”
“That’s not good enough,” Samson demanded. “I want to know what happened and when?”
“With all due respect sir, that’s not your bailiwick,” Visala said, with just a coating of velvet over her steel.
“Oh?” He asked mockingly, not willing to let the matter drop. He outranked Visala, at least on paper, and he wasn’t a fan of subordinates defying his commands. “And just what is my bailiwick?”
“That’s what we are here to discuss,” the Andorian said, “You are one of the few people we have left with knowledge of the probe.”
“Fragmented knowledge at best,” Samson admitted.
“It will have to do,” Visala replied. “The Benzite system must not go into the Romulan camp. A modified Iconian virus, one not as destructive as the Merias incident, could be of tremendous assistance in furthering that goal.”
“I can’t take that risk,” Glover said emphatically. “I can’t guarantee that it won’t be a repeat of Merias. And the death toll there was miniscule compared to what could happen on Benzar. I won’t be a party to mass murder.”
“No more than before,” Visala slid her dagger in sweetly, giving Samson pause. “The truth of the matter is sir, you’re in too deeply already. You are the Federation’s best hope for heading off an eventual war with the Romulans. You know that if the Romulans secure a foothold into our space via the Benzite system they’ll make a play for more, forcing our response.”
Samson sat back, scratching his chin, as he reflected on the Andorian’s words. He was a student of history, particularly the Romulans. Though generally they preferred mind games to outright naked brutality when it came to taking on equal or superior powers, if the Romulans sensed weakness they would come in force. Before that they would test the waters, like they had with during the 22nd century Babel Incident or their attacks along the Neutral Zone a century ago.
In this war frayed, heightened tension environment, Samson didn’t know how the Federation Council, or a president fighting for reelection might respond to such provocations. It was his duty to protect the Federation…at all costs, even if the price was his soul, Samson realized. His shoulders slumped as he resigned himself to what he had to do, what he must do. “What is the new mission?” He asked.
***********************************************************
**************************************************************
Starbase 336
Infirmary
T’Prell waited until Captain Zorek finished speaking with the station’s head counselor, a striking, statuesque bronze-complexioned Risian woman, before she approached. “How is Commander T’Chaya?”
“Better,” Zorek replied. “She experienced a powerful psychic feedback while onboard the Stiletto,” he added. Pausing, his expression grew darker. “It revealed that T’Chaya had undergone neurogenic restructuring at some point in her past.”
The revelation stunned T’Prell. Someone, or something had altered the energy that transmitted information throughout the Vulcan commander’s brain at some point in the past. T’Prell had a good inclination whom it might have been.
T’Prell really wished she could tell her old friend the cause of the psionic injury, but she had been ordered to remain silent about the events that had unfolded in the Scarab Nebula. Just like Zorek had been sworn to secrecy regarding the procurement of the Stiletto, a veritable boon that should narrow the technological gap the Romulans had hoped to create.
Starfleet Intelligence had had the ship removed from Nagasaki and placed in sealed cargo hold on the starbase until their agents could pick it up. No one else was supposed to see the inside of that cargo hold until after the ship was gone, including the station’s commanding officer.
“Can I speak with her?”
“I do not think that would be prudent at this time,” Zorek intoned. “Dr. Yusra just informed me that T’Chaya needs rest. She hasn’t fully recovered from the surgery to correct the neurogenic imbalance.”
“It’s imperative that I speak with her,” T’Prell pressed. Perhaps with her memories fully restored, T’Chaya could confirm the agent’s suspicions.
“I must insist that you give her time,” Zorek replied, his voice hardening.
“I’m sorry Zorek, but I can’t do that,” T’Prell slipped past the man. She hit the door’s release button before he could grab her. The door slid open. T’Prell frowned. The bed was empty, the sheets weren’t even ruffled.
“T’Chaya,” she called out gently. Perhaps the woman was in the refresher.
“T’Prell,” Zorek said reproachfully as he entered the room behind her. The V’Shar operative ignored him. She called out the first officer’s name again. No response.
She made her way to the refresher unit. “Don’t you think you are taking this too far?” Zorek asked. “Perhaps Commander T’Chaya desires her privacy.”
“T’Chaya,” T’Prell called more softly before she entered the refresher unit. Alarmed, she ran out, raising her voice, “Computer, locate Commander T’Chaya!”
“Commander T’Chaya is not aboard the station,” the station’s main computer droned seconds later.
“Maybe she went back to Nagasaki,” Zorek offered, tapping his combadge. His lips drew into a tight line after he learned that she had not returned to his ship. A horrible thought crept into his mind. He contacted his ship again. “Scan the cargo hold where we dropped our package.”
“Sir, the forcefields surrounding that section are impervious to our scanners,” Lt. Skell replied. Both Zorek and T’Prell exchanged puzzled looks.
“Thank you Lieutenant,” Zorek said before signing off. “I suggest we check the cargo hold,” he remarked, but T’Prell was already out the door.
*************************************************************
Starbase 336
Infirmary
T’Prell waited until Captain Zorek finished speaking with the station’s head counselor, a striking, statuesque bronze-complexioned Risian woman, before she approached. “How is Commander T’Chaya?”
“Better,” Zorek replied. “She experienced a powerful psychic feedback while onboard the Stiletto,” he added. Pausing, his expression grew darker. “It revealed that T’Chaya had undergone neurogenic restructuring at some point in her past.”
The revelation stunned T’Prell. Someone, or something had altered the energy that transmitted information throughout the Vulcan commander’s brain at some point in the past. T’Prell had a good inclination whom it might have been.
T’Prell really wished she could tell her old friend the cause of the psionic injury, but she had been ordered to remain silent about the events that had unfolded in the Scarab Nebula. Just like Zorek had been sworn to secrecy regarding the procurement of the Stiletto, a veritable boon that should narrow the technological gap the Romulans had hoped to create.
Starfleet Intelligence had had the ship removed from Nagasaki and placed in sealed cargo hold on the starbase until their agents could pick it up. No one else was supposed to see the inside of that cargo hold until after the ship was gone, including the station’s commanding officer.
“Can I speak with her?”
“I do not think that would be prudent at this time,” Zorek intoned. “Dr. Yusra just informed me that T’Chaya needs rest. She hasn’t fully recovered from the surgery to correct the neurogenic imbalance.”
“It’s imperative that I speak with her,” T’Prell pressed. Perhaps with her memories fully restored, T’Chaya could confirm the agent’s suspicions.
“I must insist that you give her time,” Zorek replied, his voice hardening.
“I’m sorry Zorek, but I can’t do that,” T’Prell slipped past the man. She hit the door’s release button before he could grab her. The door slid open. T’Prell frowned. The bed was empty, the sheets weren’t even ruffled.
“T’Chaya,” she called out gently. Perhaps the woman was in the refresher.
“T’Prell,” Zorek said reproachfully as he entered the room behind her. The V’Shar operative ignored him. She called out the first officer’s name again. No response.
She made her way to the refresher unit. “Don’t you think you are taking this too far?” Zorek asked. “Perhaps Commander T’Chaya desires her privacy.”
“T’Chaya,” T’Prell called more softly before she entered the refresher unit. Alarmed, she ran out, raising her voice, “Computer, locate Commander T’Chaya!”
“Commander T’Chaya is not aboard the station,” the station’s main computer droned seconds later.
“Maybe she went back to Nagasaki,” Zorek offered, tapping his combadge. His lips drew into a tight line after he learned that she had not returned to his ship. A horrible thought crept into his mind. He contacted his ship again. “Scan the cargo hold where we dropped our package.”
“Sir, the forcefields surrounding that section are impervious to our scanners,” Lt. Skell replied. Both Zorek and T’Prell exchanged puzzled looks.
“Thank you Lieutenant,” Zorek said before signing off. “I suggest we check the cargo hold,” he remarked, but T’Prell was already out the door.
*************************************************************
**************************************************************
USS Monarch
Ready Room
“Captain Walker, it’s a pleasure to finally meet you in person,” Rear Admiral Visala said, with a ghost of a smile. The woman had beamed directly from the Chiron onto his ship. Walker forced himself to stand. He nodded tersely at her greeting, unable to respond. With a curt head nod he directed her toward an empty seat, but the Andorian preferred to stand.
“You did decent work for us in the Scarab Nebula, preventing that renegade alliance from upending the power balance,” the admiral said, “a pity though that we couldn’t retrieve the probe or more data on it.”
“And what about Sofia,” he said, staring daggers at the woman, “her life, her death not worth a mention?”
“Of course Commander Petrov’s death affects me and the entire section greatly,” Visala said insincerely. “But she knew the risks and she did her duty. This is not a game for the overly sentimental.”
“This is far more than a game!” He snapped, his temper getting the best of him. He had been coiled tightly for days now, guilt intertwining with grief in his gut. Petrov’s death made it easier for him to deceive his wife and his crew, and Benjamin’s relief about that made him feel even lower than he previously did.
“No, it really isn’t,” Visala coolly countered. “Someone wins, someone loses, that’s all there is to it. I’ve dedicated my life, as did Commander Petrov, to insuring that the Federation remained in the winner’s circle. If you want to honor her memory, continue her cause.”
“Like I have a choice in the matter,” Walker muttered, the surge of anger already receding.
This time Visala’s smile was sincere, “No, you don’t.”
“What do you want?” He said, no longer even attempting a modicum of decorum. The Andorian was unfazed by his insubordination.
“The records have been wiped, per your wishes,” Visala said. “Both Petrov and Nash were officially killed in action, in the service of the Federation.” Walker sniffed. At least he hoped to do right by them in death than he had in life.
“And what’s the price I have to pay?” He asked.
“For the moment, nothing,” Visala replied. “It doesn’t work like that. When we need you, we’ll call on you. In the meantime, I think you and your crew have earned some vacation time. I know that Vancouver is beautiful this time of year. Go home, see your wife. Emmanuelle isn’t it?”
The mention of his wife’s name, from the lips of this monster, chilled Benjamin. “So that’s it?” He finally managed to ask.
“For you,” Visala said, “for now.”
**************************************************************
USS Monarch
Ready Room
“Captain Walker, it’s a pleasure to finally meet you in person,” Rear Admiral Visala said, with a ghost of a smile. The woman had beamed directly from the Chiron onto his ship. Walker forced himself to stand. He nodded tersely at her greeting, unable to respond. With a curt head nod he directed her toward an empty seat, but the Andorian preferred to stand.
“You did decent work for us in the Scarab Nebula, preventing that renegade alliance from upending the power balance,” the admiral said, “a pity though that we couldn’t retrieve the probe or more data on it.”
“And what about Sofia,” he said, staring daggers at the woman, “her life, her death not worth a mention?”
“Of course Commander Petrov’s death affects me and the entire section greatly,” Visala said insincerely. “But she knew the risks and she did her duty. This is not a game for the overly sentimental.”
“This is far more than a game!” He snapped, his temper getting the best of him. He had been coiled tightly for days now, guilt intertwining with grief in his gut. Petrov’s death made it easier for him to deceive his wife and his crew, and Benjamin’s relief about that made him feel even lower than he previously did.
“No, it really isn’t,” Visala coolly countered. “Someone wins, someone loses, that’s all there is to it. I’ve dedicated my life, as did Commander Petrov, to insuring that the Federation remained in the winner’s circle. If you want to honor her memory, continue her cause.”
“Like I have a choice in the matter,” Walker muttered, the surge of anger already receding.
This time Visala’s smile was sincere, “No, you don’t.”
“What do you want?” He said, no longer even attempting a modicum of decorum. The Andorian was unfazed by his insubordination.
“The records have been wiped, per your wishes,” Visala said. “Both Petrov and Nash were officially killed in action, in the service of the Federation.” Walker sniffed. At least he hoped to do right by them in death than he had in life.
“And what’s the price I have to pay?” He asked.
“For the moment, nothing,” Visala replied. “It doesn’t work like that. When we need you, we’ll call on you. In the meantime, I think you and your crew have earned some vacation time. I know that Vancouver is beautiful this time of year. Go home, see your wife. Emmanuelle isn’t it?”
The mention of his wife’s name, from the lips of this monster, chilled Benjamin. “So that’s it?” He finally managed to ask.
“For you,” Visala said, “for now.”
**************************************************************
I thought you were wrapping this story up...
...But now I'm not so sure.
Do you plan to reveal any of your secret characters? Or keep us guessing?
...But now I'm not so sure.
Do you plan to reveal any of your secret characters? Or keep us guessing?
Dnoth, there's no such things as breaks when you enter Dark Territory. Samson has gotten himself entangled with a hydra. As for Visala, I'm glad you don't like her. That's the goal I suppose. Though I do enjoy writing her. DC Comic's Amanda Waller always comes to mind when I envision her, and I guess CCH Pounder's wonderful rendition from the Justice League cartoons.
BB,
This story is most definitely wrapping up, but in its own way of course.
***************************************************************
Starbase 336
Infirmary
“I don’t know if your sister will ever recover,” the medic answered truthfully, a mournful expression on his scaled face. “She has suffered a severe psychotic break. It will take years of therapy, not to mention reconstructive surgery for her physical injuries, for your sister to reclaim a semblance of her former life.” Ousanas Dar nodded stoically; he had expected as much.
Though he wasn’t sure he wanted Chalandra to return to the bitter, vengeful woman she had been aboard the Jem’Hadar battle cruiser. He hoped that life in the Federation might give her a new chance, though he knew it would be up to her. And she would have a lot to overcome, decades of abuse, the loss of everyone she had ever loved, Thraex’s murdered right in front of her. He shook his head. It was almost too much to bear just thinking about, much less experiencing first hand.
“I’ll make certain that she gets the best medical assistance the Federation provides,” an unfamiliar voice snaked into the conversation. Ousanas turned toward the source. It was a portly Andorian woman, dressed in an admiral’s uniform. “Rear Admiral Visala,” she said by way of introduction. “May I speak with you privately Commander Dar?”
************************************************************************
Starbase 336
Sealed Cargo Hold
“How did you just do that?” Captain Zorek asked as the doors parted and the force field behind them sizzled off.
T’Prell grinned, “Do you really want to know?”
“Perhaps not,” the Vulcan captain said as he stepped through the entrance. The green, hawkish Shadow-class vessel had been beamed to the center of the bay, bathed in spotlights, as if ready for inspection.
“T’Chaya,” T’Prell called out again. The room was deathly quiet. Zorek perhaps knew he was overreacting but he wished he had brought a phaser along. Something about this didn’t feel right.
Oblivious to his concerns, T’Prell made a beeline to the vessel. She pressed a palm against the hull’s side, activating a ramp. It slid down to the floor as a hatch opened. “After you?” The woman gestured.
“You’re too thoughtful,” Zorek said drolly as he took point. Unbidden, he crouched, his muscles tensing, his senses alert as he stepped up into the craft. He glanced around, his eyes quickly adjusting to the darkness.
“I’ll search the aft quarters, you the cockpit,” T’Prell suggested. Zorek nodded in agreement.
He walked slowly down the corridor, content not to turn on the lights. He didn’t want to disturb anything or set anything off. For all he knew the Romulans had built booby traps into the ship’s systems.
The captain paused, collecting himself as he entered the cockpit. He glanced around. No one was there. He turned back toward the corridor. T’Prell was in the doorframe. Her face was lined with concern. “The ship is empty,” she remarked.
“If Commander T’Chaya is not here,” Zorek said, “Where could she be?”
*************************************************************************
BB,
This story is most definitely wrapping up, but in its own way of course.
***************************************************************
Starbase 336
Infirmary
“I don’t know if your sister will ever recover,” the medic answered truthfully, a mournful expression on his scaled face. “She has suffered a severe psychotic break. It will take years of therapy, not to mention reconstructive surgery for her physical injuries, for your sister to reclaim a semblance of her former life.” Ousanas Dar nodded stoically; he had expected as much.
Though he wasn’t sure he wanted Chalandra to return to the bitter, vengeful woman she had been aboard the Jem’Hadar battle cruiser. He hoped that life in the Federation might give her a new chance, though he knew it would be up to her. And she would have a lot to overcome, decades of abuse, the loss of everyone she had ever loved, Thraex’s murdered right in front of her. He shook his head. It was almost too much to bear just thinking about, much less experiencing first hand.
“I’ll make certain that she gets the best medical assistance the Federation provides,” an unfamiliar voice snaked into the conversation. Ousanas turned toward the source. It was a portly Andorian woman, dressed in an admiral’s uniform. “Rear Admiral Visala,” she said by way of introduction. “May I speak with you privately Commander Dar?”
************************************************************************
Starbase 336
Sealed Cargo Hold
“How did you just do that?” Captain Zorek asked as the doors parted and the force field behind them sizzled off.
T’Prell grinned, “Do you really want to know?”
“Perhaps not,” the Vulcan captain said as he stepped through the entrance. The green, hawkish Shadow-class vessel had been beamed to the center of the bay, bathed in spotlights, as if ready for inspection.
“T’Chaya,” T’Prell called out again. The room was deathly quiet. Zorek perhaps knew he was overreacting but he wished he had brought a phaser along. Something about this didn’t feel right.
Oblivious to his concerns, T’Prell made a beeline to the vessel. She pressed a palm against the hull’s side, activating a ramp. It slid down to the floor as a hatch opened. “After you?” The woman gestured.
“You’re too thoughtful,” Zorek said drolly as he took point. Unbidden, he crouched, his muscles tensing, his senses alert as he stepped up into the craft. He glanced around, his eyes quickly adjusting to the darkness.
“I’ll search the aft quarters, you the cockpit,” T’Prell suggested. Zorek nodded in agreement.
He walked slowly down the corridor, content not to turn on the lights. He didn’t want to disturb anything or set anything off. For all he knew the Romulans had built booby traps into the ship’s systems.
The captain paused, collecting himself as he entered the cockpit. He glanced around. No one was there. He turned back toward the corridor. T’Prell was in the doorframe. Her face was lined with concern. “The ship is empty,” she remarked.
“If Commander T’Chaya is not here,” Zorek said, “Where could she be?”
*************************************************************************
***************************************************************
Rigel X
Two Weeks Later…
T’Prell canvassed the room, her intense gazing obscured by the hood she had pulled up over her head. To the untrained eye it would appear that all she cared about was the large, steaming stein in front of her, but she could care less about the toxic concoction she had ordered. The events in the Scarab Nebula and aboard Starbase 336 had started her down a path she knew she had to trod, though she dreaded her destination.
She felt a faint breeze and then a figure slid into the booth. With saying a word, the shadowy shape slid a data rod across the table. T’Prell didn’t even look up. By the time she grabbed the rod, the figure was gone.
The Vulcan woman pocketed the data and eased out of her seat. She forced herself not to run as she made it back to the shuttle bay. Once inside the relative safety of her vessel, T’Prell rushed to her cockpit and inserted the rod. The information scrolled across the screen, chilling her blood. “The Bodai Shin are real after all,” she muttered, suddenly afraid of the shadows.
**************************************************************
Adigeon Prime
Medical Facility Twelve
Lt. Daneeka held her arms out in front of her, marveling at them. “I never imagined myself green before,” she remarked, before running a hand over her head, “Or with hair.” She combed through the thick shock of dark green curls. The Adigeons had been unable to combine Bolian and Romulan DNA to give Daneeka a new look, but Orion genes had been more compatible. Her angular body now filled out her medical robe with supple curves. “I think my love life’s about to improve.”
Admiral Glover gave the woman a once over. Though Orion women had never been his thing, he had to admit that the Adigeons had done good work. The only hardness left was in the woman’s eyes. If anyone gazed too long into them, they would realize what a hardened soldier she was. However, he striking green allure and the artificial pheromones that had been added to her genetic soup wouldn’t give them much chance to react before Daneeka struck.
But hopefully that scenario wouldn’t occur. Hopefully the new mission would be more successful than the last. Embarrassed, Samson asked, “Does it hurt? The resequencing?”
“Frinx yeah,” the new Orion remarked. “But I’m a big girl, I can deal with pain.” The admiral swallowed hard. He had yet to undergo the procedure. He would be converted into a passable Romulan, with cosmetic and genetic alterations. The Adigeons were masters at genetic manipulation. The planet existed outside of Federation jurisdiction, which allowed them to practice their dark arts for profit.
He sighed, realizing that he was breaking another Federation law in order to safeguard the Federation entire. “So when is Dar going to join us, so we can get this show on the road?” Daneeka asked. “As much as I’m enjoying this new body, I want to get back into my own skin.”
“Dar has been granted a short leave of absence,” Samson replied, thinking of his old friend and Chalandra. He shook his head in regret. All those years, he thought miserably. The wall between them must seem insurmountable, and he had argued with Visala to give Ousanas at least a little time to try to scale it before he put his life back on the line. The Andorian had reluctantly agreed. “He will be arriving next week and once he has his procedure Chiron will escort us back to Benzar.”
“Ah summertime on Benzar,” Daneeka said sarcastically, “what more could one ask for?”
The door to the chamber of horrors clanked open then and a tall, mottled gray avian stepped out. He was dressed in pale blue medical scrubs, a mask hanging from his thin neck. His large, lidless eyes were mounted on the sides of his head. He blinked several times before speaking, “Patient #006, we will see you now.”
Samson set his jaw and prepared himself for what was to come. He nodded at Daneeka who gave him an encouraging smile. No going back now, he thought as he medic led him into the darkened corridor.
*************************************************************
San Francisco
Earth
The operative fell on top of him, their sweat mingling as their passions cooled. He kissed her roughly before lifting her off him. The man known as Morgan sat up in the bed and gazed down at her, the rapture evident on his face only seconds earlier now replaced by a frigid detachment. “You should go home. If you’re out much longer your husband might suspect something is amiss.”
The woman smiled lazily, still glowing from their lovemaking. “Hey, I’ll just tell him the store was out of milk or something, and I just did some cross hopping to Buenos Aires.”
“This isn’t a joke,” Morgan said. “The good Captain Walker must never suspect you are nothing more than his dutiful, homebound spouse.”
“I am,” she muttered, “well, most of the time.” Emmanuelle Walker stretched, the drenched sheet falling away from her. She stared at him, pleased that his cold façade broke as he admired her lithe nakedness. Morgan was a hard man, but he was still a man.
“This changes nothing…between us,” Morgan said, but she knew he was trying to convince himself of that. “This shouldn’t have happened.”
“But it did,” Emmanuelle replied, running a hand down her side, “and it should’ve happened years ago. I don’t know why we waited so long, do you…Morgan?” He didn’t reply. Instead, he looked away and she knew she had him.
“You can’t kill me, just like I couldn’t eliminate Sofia,” the woman said.
“That was your assignment,” he replied, still not meeting her gaze.
“She’s my half-sister,” Emmanuelle said, “My little sister. I’m not going to play Visala’s twisted little loyalty games. I’ve proven my loyalty time after time for the section. I didn’t see the need to dot my contract with Sofia’s blood.”
“I see,” Morgan said.
“And it’s obvious you didn’t see the need to indulge Visala for my disobeying her orders,” Emmanuelle pressed on. “The mission was a success. We saved the Federation, we recovered a good deal of the probe’s data, and even one of the Romulan’s most advanced vessels.”
“Where is Agent Petrov now?” Morgan asked.
“I don’t know,” Emmanuelle said, truthfully, “And I don’t want to know. She’s went off the grid.”
“I see,” Morgan replied. He slid out of bed and now it was Emmanuelle’s turn to admire his taut buttocks and muscled dark skin. He quickly put on his uniform. Today, Morgan was a Starfleet commander. He adjusted his pips and communicator pin as he turned around to face her again.
“When can we schedule another session?” The woman asked, with a lusty grin.
“Soon,” Morgan promised, feeling the need to no longer pretend he wasn’t interested. Without asking, Emmanuelle knew that Morgan would square things away with Visala. The Andorian could be vengeful, but she was also practical. Given some time and distance, she would remember how valuable Emmanuelle had been to the section over the years and would bring her back into her good graces.
In the meantime, it was back to domestic life. Which wasn’t a bad thing, she realized. She needed a break every now and then, and her family was as good a respite as any. Morgan admired her again before he beamed out.
Emmanuelle picked up her clothes from the floor, and smoothed them out before and after she put them on. She checked the room before exiting. Clucking, she muttered, “Better make sure I don’t forget the milk.”
*******************************************************************
Von Bellingshausen Research Complex
Antarctica, Earth
“Reminds me of home,” Rear Admiral Visala replied as she gazed out at the frozen wastes. Morgan repressed a shiver. Despite the safety of the transparent dome the encapsulating the complex, he still felt a deep chill. This section of the complex Visala had cleared out, just for them. The large empty space felt eerie, and Morgan knew that the temperature wasn’t the only contributor to his trembling.
Her back to him, her focus still on the ice mass outside the windows, the Andorian said, “She’s not dead, is she?”
“Sofia,” Morgan offered, “but you already knew that.”
Visala snorted, throwing back her head, “Men!” She sighed. “You know who I’m referring to. Emmanuelle is still alive.” Morgan didn’t say anything. He couldn’t. She finally turned around, her nostrils flaring, her antennae waving menacingly.
Her fists clenched, as if she was going to strike him. “One simple order, just one.”
“Despite your admiral bars, I have been part of this organization far longer,” he said coolly.
“But the Directorate entrusted me with oversight of this mission,” she retorted.
“A mission that was a success,” he said. “Consider some our more recent noticeable failures, particularly the Founder virus.”
“All that concerns me is that two agents under my supervision countermanded my orders,” the Andorian snapped. “Now, what am I going to do about that?”
Her hand flew at Morgan, but he caught it, and forced the fist open. He kissed the palm and the woman sighed, this time more heavily.
“Perhaps I can think of a way for you to punish me,” Morgan remarked, pulling Visala too him. The woman fell into his arms. His lips to his ear, “Sofia Petrov is a loose end I have tied, but her sister is too valuable to us. Keeping her alive, keeps Captain Walker in our pocket.”
“I know,” Visala said before nuzzling his neck. “But she’s going to have to pay a price for her disobedience.”
“Eliminating Sofia won’t be enough?” Morgan asked, panting slightly as Visala found her way to his pant’s zipper.
“No,” she said, her hands finding purchase. “Her son…the goalie…arrange a shuttle accident, a year or so from now. That way she will be less likely to suspect.”
“Done,” Morgan was able to get out before Visala’s ministrations robbed him of speech.
************************************************************
Rigel X
Two Weeks Later…
T’Prell canvassed the room, her intense gazing obscured by the hood she had pulled up over her head. To the untrained eye it would appear that all she cared about was the large, steaming stein in front of her, but she could care less about the toxic concoction she had ordered. The events in the Scarab Nebula and aboard Starbase 336 had started her down a path she knew she had to trod, though she dreaded her destination.
She felt a faint breeze and then a figure slid into the booth. With saying a word, the shadowy shape slid a data rod across the table. T’Prell didn’t even look up. By the time she grabbed the rod, the figure was gone.
The Vulcan woman pocketed the data and eased out of her seat. She forced herself not to run as she made it back to the shuttle bay. Once inside the relative safety of her vessel, T’Prell rushed to her cockpit and inserted the rod. The information scrolled across the screen, chilling her blood. “The Bodai Shin are real after all,” she muttered, suddenly afraid of the shadows.
**************************************************************
Adigeon Prime
Medical Facility Twelve
Lt. Daneeka held her arms out in front of her, marveling at them. “I never imagined myself green before,” she remarked, before running a hand over her head, “Or with hair.” She combed through the thick shock of dark green curls. The Adigeons had been unable to combine Bolian and Romulan DNA to give Daneeka a new look, but Orion genes had been more compatible. Her angular body now filled out her medical robe with supple curves. “I think my love life’s about to improve.”
Admiral Glover gave the woman a once over. Though Orion women had never been his thing, he had to admit that the Adigeons had done good work. The only hardness left was in the woman’s eyes. If anyone gazed too long into them, they would realize what a hardened soldier she was. However, he striking green allure and the artificial pheromones that had been added to her genetic soup wouldn’t give them much chance to react before Daneeka struck.
But hopefully that scenario wouldn’t occur. Hopefully the new mission would be more successful than the last. Embarrassed, Samson asked, “Does it hurt? The resequencing?”
“Frinx yeah,” the new Orion remarked. “But I’m a big girl, I can deal with pain.” The admiral swallowed hard. He had yet to undergo the procedure. He would be converted into a passable Romulan, with cosmetic and genetic alterations. The Adigeons were masters at genetic manipulation. The planet existed outside of Federation jurisdiction, which allowed them to practice their dark arts for profit.
He sighed, realizing that he was breaking another Federation law in order to safeguard the Federation entire. “So when is Dar going to join us, so we can get this show on the road?” Daneeka asked. “As much as I’m enjoying this new body, I want to get back into my own skin.”
“Dar has been granted a short leave of absence,” Samson replied, thinking of his old friend and Chalandra. He shook his head in regret. All those years, he thought miserably. The wall between them must seem insurmountable, and he had argued with Visala to give Ousanas at least a little time to try to scale it before he put his life back on the line. The Andorian had reluctantly agreed. “He will be arriving next week and once he has his procedure Chiron will escort us back to Benzar.”
“Ah summertime on Benzar,” Daneeka said sarcastically, “what more could one ask for?”
The door to the chamber of horrors clanked open then and a tall, mottled gray avian stepped out. He was dressed in pale blue medical scrubs, a mask hanging from his thin neck. His large, lidless eyes were mounted on the sides of his head. He blinked several times before speaking, “Patient #006, we will see you now.”
Samson set his jaw and prepared himself for what was to come. He nodded at Daneeka who gave him an encouraging smile. No going back now, he thought as he medic led him into the darkened corridor.
*************************************************************
San Francisco
Earth
The operative fell on top of him, their sweat mingling as their passions cooled. He kissed her roughly before lifting her off him. The man known as Morgan sat up in the bed and gazed down at her, the rapture evident on his face only seconds earlier now replaced by a frigid detachment. “You should go home. If you’re out much longer your husband might suspect something is amiss.”
The woman smiled lazily, still glowing from their lovemaking. “Hey, I’ll just tell him the store was out of milk or something, and I just did some cross hopping to Buenos Aires.”
“This isn’t a joke,” Morgan said. “The good Captain Walker must never suspect you are nothing more than his dutiful, homebound spouse.”
“I am,” she muttered, “well, most of the time.” Emmanuelle Walker stretched, the drenched sheet falling away from her. She stared at him, pleased that his cold façade broke as he admired her lithe nakedness. Morgan was a hard man, but he was still a man.
“This changes nothing…between us,” Morgan said, but she knew he was trying to convince himself of that. “This shouldn’t have happened.”
“But it did,” Emmanuelle replied, running a hand down her side, “and it should’ve happened years ago. I don’t know why we waited so long, do you…Morgan?” He didn’t reply. Instead, he looked away and she knew she had him.
“You can’t kill me, just like I couldn’t eliminate Sofia,” the woman said.
“That was your assignment,” he replied, still not meeting her gaze.
“She’s my half-sister,” Emmanuelle said, “My little sister. I’m not going to play Visala’s twisted little loyalty games. I’ve proven my loyalty time after time for the section. I didn’t see the need to dot my contract with Sofia’s blood.”
“I see,” Morgan said.
“And it’s obvious you didn’t see the need to indulge Visala for my disobeying her orders,” Emmanuelle pressed on. “The mission was a success. We saved the Federation, we recovered a good deal of the probe’s data, and even one of the Romulan’s most advanced vessels.”
“Where is Agent Petrov now?” Morgan asked.
“I don’t know,” Emmanuelle said, truthfully, “And I don’t want to know. She’s went off the grid.”
“I see,” Morgan replied. He slid out of bed and now it was Emmanuelle’s turn to admire his taut buttocks and muscled dark skin. He quickly put on his uniform. Today, Morgan was a Starfleet commander. He adjusted his pips and communicator pin as he turned around to face her again.
“When can we schedule another session?” The woman asked, with a lusty grin.
“Soon,” Morgan promised, feeling the need to no longer pretend he wasn’t interested. Without asking, Emmanuelle knew that Morgan would square things away with Visala. The Andorian could be vengeful, but she was also practical. Given some time and distance, she would remember how valuable Emmanuelle had been to the section over the years and would bring her back into her good graces.
In the meantime, it was back to domestic life. Which wasn’t a bad thing, she realized. She needed a break every now and then, and her family was as good a respite as any. Morgan admired her again before he beamed out.
Emmanuelle picked up her clothes from the floor, and smoothed them out before and after she put them on. She checked the room before exiting. Clucking, she muttered, “Better make sure I don’t forget the milk.”
*******************************************************************
Von Bellingshausen Research Complex
Antarctica, Earth
“Reminds me of home,” Rear Admiral Visala replied as she gazed out at the frozen wastes. Morgan repressed a shiver. Despite the safety of the transparent dome the encapsulating the complex, he still felt a deep chill. This section of the complex Visala had cleared out, just for them. The large empty space felt eerie, and Morgan knew that the temperature wasn’t the only contributor to his trembling.
Her back to him, her focus still on the ice mass outside the windows, the Andorian said, “She’s not dead, is she?”
“Sofia,” Morgan offered, “but you already knew that.”
Visala snorted, throwing back her head, “Men!” She sighed. “You know who I’m referring to. Emmanuelle is still alive.” Morgan didn’t say anything. He couldn’t. She finally turned around, her nostrils flaring, her antennae waving menacingly.
Her fists clenched, as if she was going to strike him. “One simple order, just one.”
“Despite your admiral bars, I have been part of this organization far longer,” he said coolly.
“But the Directorate entrusted me with oversight of this mission,” she retorted.
“A mission that was a success,” he said. “Consider some our more recent noticeable failures, particularly the Founder virus.”
“All that concerns me is that two agents under my supervision countermanded my orders,” the Andorian snapped. “Now, what am I going to do about that?”
Her hand flew at Morgan, but he caught it, and forced the fist open. He kissed the palm and the woman sighed, this time more heavily.
“Perhaps I can think of a way for you to punish me,” Morgan remarked, pulling Visala too him. The woman fell into his arms. His lips to his ear, “Sofia Petrov is a loose end I have tied, but her sister is too valuable to us. Keeping her alive, keeps Captain Walker in our pocket.”
“I know,” Visala said before nuzzling his neck. “But she’s going to have to pay a price for her disobedience.”
“Eliminating Sofia won’t be enough?” Morgan asked, panting slightly as Visala found her way to his pant’s zipper.
“No,” she said, her hands finding purchase. “Her son…the goalie…arrange a shuttle accident, a year or so from now. That way she will be less likely to suspect.”
“Done,” Morgan was able to get out before Visala’s ministrations robbed him of speech.
************************************************************
I did not see that coming, DarKush, and now I have another trick up my sleeve for Emmanuelle when the time comes.
BB,
Glad this story still has some surprises.
****************************************************************
Wrigley’s Pleasure Planet
Sofia Petrov’s skin crawled, and it had nothing to do with the half-cooked Bolian dish on her plate. The cosmetic alterations she had made to her appearance weren’t working out as she had hoped. It appeared her skin was allergic to the spots she had dotted her body with, so that she could easily pass for a Trill or a Kriosian.
She wished she could’ve had the bird beaks on Adigeon make the alterations, but she knew that they had long ties with Section 31, so she had done the job herself. In addition to the dots, she had darkened her skin, but lightened her hair, and cut it in a short, spiky style. Her accent had changed along with her name and her whole life story. Now she was an archaeologist, but tomorrow she would be a young lieutenant eager to get away from the war in the Nyberrite Alliance.
Sofia had already booked passage out of the quadrant to the Alliance. She just had one more night to go and she would be home free.
She picked up her wineglass, brought it to her lips, but then changed her mind. Her thoughts weighed heavily on her. She didn’t want to think about all that she would be giving up tomorrow, actually, had already given up.
She would miss Emmanuelle, her mentor, her blood, and she would miss Benjamin. Both women sometimes compared notes about him, she remembered, chuckling. Her sister generally had good taste in the men department. And she would regret not being part of the Monarch. For a brief period it was the closest she had come to finding a real home and real friends, even though she had known it was a lie all along.
But it had been a good deception, one that she had almost believed herself. But she wouldn’t regret leaving Section 31 behind, nor did she think she could ever wash off all the blood on her hands. Demetrius’s death was the final straw.
Despite her regrets, her sadness, there was an inkling of hope that she could find a new start in the far flung Nyberrite Alliance. They were always looking for talented officers, particularly Starfleet, and the service record she had ginned up for her new identity would ensure a choice assignment.
There was light at the end of the tunnel, she told herself, though it was hard to believe it. Even here, among the revelers, she couldn’t let go, and join them. There was very little to celebrate.
Lost in her thoughts, Sofia didn’t sense the other person until the hand touched her shoulder and ran down her arm. Petrov nearly leaped out of her seat, prompting a startled gasp from the other person. “Who are you?” She asked, suspiciously.
“Wow, that wasn’t the greeting I was expecting,” the woman remarked. Sofia scanned her. She was a slender, fair-skinned woman, a brunette, with pleasant, but largely nondescript features.
“Who are you?” Sofia repeated, though with less hostility.
“Olivia Juneau,” she said, “May I have a seat?” Petrov gave the woman another once over. She was still dressed in a Starfleet uniform, with lieutenant pips, gold division. She had a glass in her hand, with what appeared to be a nearly finished Tenarian Glow. Sofia surmised the woman had just hit the bar after disembarking from her ship. She seemed harmless enough, but so did Sofia.
“Go ahead,” Sofia allowed. “What ship are you on?”
“Gibraltar,” the woman replied, smiling, “Are you Starfleet?”
“No,” Sofia said without pause. “But I do thank you for your service. Perhaps I can buy you a drink?”
“That sounds nice,” she said. “I’m not disturbing you am I?”
“No, I could use the company,” Sofia said, and she realized she was telling the truth. “So what brings you to this dump?” Juneau laughed.
“I know it’s not the top of the line resort planet like it used to be,” Olivia replied, with a wistful expression, “but I have an affinity for things past their prime.”
“Really?”
“Well, I guess you wouldn’t be aware, but the Gibraltar is a refit Constitution-class, you know the kind Captain Kirk was on.” Sofia’s eyes widened, as she feigned comprehension just at the mention of the legendary captain’s name. Of course she knew about the Connies, and the engineer in her was fascinated by the idea of seeing one up close, especially with the refits.
She knew it was a risk, but maybe if she could finagle Juneau to let her come aboard, just to get a peek before she departed for the Nyberrite Alliance. Her smile widened, as she leaned forward. “Has all the Gibraltar crew descended on Wrigley’s?”
“Nah,” Juneau replied. “Most of them hit Risa or other planets. I’m riding solo.”
“Oh?”
“That a problem?”
“No, no, of course not. I’m enjoying the company just fine, though I must admit that I wouldn’t mind seeing your vessel.”
“Well,” Juneau said, “I do have some holos of the ship in my quarters.”
“Really?”
“Well, yeah,” Olivia paused, gathering up her nerve. “Would you like to see them.”
“Why not,” Sofia said. She could think of less pleasant ways to wile away the night.
**************************************************************
Glad this story still has some surprises.
****************************************************************
Wrigley’s Pleasure Planet
Sofia Petrov’s skin crawled, and it had nothing to do with the half-cooked Bolian dish on her plate. The cosmetic alterations she had made to her appearance weren’t working out as she had hoped. It appeared her skin was allergic to the spots she had dotted her body with, so that she could easily pass for a Trill or a Kriosian.
She wished she could’ve had the bird beaks on Adigeon make the alterations, but she knew that they had long ties with Section 31, so she had done the job herself. In addition to the dots, she had darkened her skin, but lightened her hair, and cut it in a short, spiky style. Her accent had changed along with her name and her whole life story. Now she was an archaeologist, but tomorrow she would be a young lieutenant eager to get away from the war in the Nyberrite Alliance.
Sofia had already booked passage out of the quadrant to the Alliance. She just had one more night to go and she would be home free.
She picked up her wineglass, brought it to her lips, but then changed her mind. Her thoughts weighed heavily on her. She didn’t want to think about all that she would be giving up tomorrow, actually, had already given up.
She would miss Emmanuelle, her mentor, her blood, and she would miss Benjamin. Both women sometimes compared notes about him, she remembered, chuckling. Her sister generally had good taste in the men department. And she would regret not being part of the Monarch. For a brief period it was the closest she had come to finding a real home and real friends, even though she had known it was a lie all along.
But it had been a good deception, one that she had almost believed herself. But she wouldn’t regret leaving Section 31 behind, nor did she think she could ever wash off all the blood on her hands. Demetrius’s death was the final straw.
Despite her regrets, her sadness, there was an inkling of hope that she could find a new start in the far flung Nyberrite Alliance. They were always looking for talented officers, particularly Starfleet, and the service record she had ginned up for her new identity would ensure a choice assignment.
There was light at the end of the tunnel, she told herself, though it was hard to believe it. Even here, among the revelers, she couldn’t let go, and join them. There was very little to celebrate.
Lost in her thoughts, Sofia didn’t sense the other person until the hand touched her shoulder and ran down her arm. Petrov nearly leaped out of her seat, prompting a startled gasp from the other person. “Who are you?” She asked, suspiciously.
“Wow, that wasn’t the greeting I was expecting,” the woman remarked. Sofia scanned her. She was a slender, fair-skinned woman, a brunette, with pleasant, but largely nondescript features.
“Who are you?” Sofia repeated, though with less hostility.
“Olivia Juneau,” she said, “May I have a seat?” Petrov gave the woman another once over. She was still dressed in a Starfleet uniform, with lieutenant pips, gold division. She had a glass in her hand, with what appeared to be a nearly finished Tenarian Glow. Sofia surmised the woman had just hit the bar after disembarking from her ship. She seemed harmless enough, but so did Sofia.
“Go ahead,” Sofia allowed. “What ship are you on?”
“Gibraltar,” the woman replied, smiling, “Are you Starfleet?”
“No,” Sofia said without pause. “But I do thank you for your service. Perhaps I can buy you a drink?”
“That sounds nice,” she said. “I’m not disturbing you am I?”
“No, I could use the company,” Sofia said, and she realized she was telling the truth. “So what brings you to this dump?” Juneau laughed.
“I know it’s not the top of the line resort planet like it used to be,” Olivia replied, with a wistful expression, “but I have an affinity for things past their prime.”
“Really?”
“Well, I guess you wouldn’t be aware, but the Gibraltar is a refit Constitution-class, you know the kind Captain Kirk was on.” Sofia’s eyes widened, as she feigned comprehension just at the mention of the legendary captain’s name. Of course she knew about the Connies, and the engineer in her was fascinated by the idea of seeing one up close, especially with the refits.
She knew it was a risk, but maybe if she could finagle Juneau to let her come aboard, just to get a peek before she departed for the Nyberrite Alliance. Her smile widened, as she leaned forward. “Has all the Gibraltar crew descended on Wrigley’s?”
“Nah,” Juneau replied. “Most of them hit Risa or other planets. I’m riding solo.”
“Oh?”
“That a problem?”
“No, no, of course not. I’m enjoying the company just fine, though I must admit that I wouldn’t mind seeing your vessel.”
“Well,” Juneau said, “I do have some holos of the ship in my quarters.”
“Really?”
“Well, yeah,” Olivia paused, gathering up her nerve. “Would you like to see them.”
“Why not,” Sofia said. She could think of less pleasant ways to wile away the night.
**************************************************************
**************************************************************
Wrigley’s Pleasure Planet
Sofia switched on the last hologram, already bored. As much as she loved 23rd century engineering, a tiny holographic reproduction was nothing like seeing the real thing. She leaned back on the sofa, letting her muscles relax. Her mind was thinking of other interesting things to do to spend her time. Juneau had exchanged her uniform for an alluring, close fitting black vest top and matching boy shorts. “So, got anything else in mind?” She asked her host.
Juneau was looking at her intently. “What’s wrong?” Sofia asked. The other woman cocked her head to the side, as if Sofia were a puzzle she hadn’t quite figured out yet. The woman’s demeanor was making her uncomfortable.
“Interesting,” Juneau finally said.
“What’s interesting?”
“The poison was supposed to penetrate your clothing and be absorbed by your skin,” she said, matter-of-factly, “You should be writhing on the floor by now, spitting up blood.”
“Excuse me?” Sofia laughed, but she knew it wasn’t a joke. She was already looking for the best way to attack the woman when Juneau struck first, bringing a blade from behind her back. Sofia jumped off the couch, crashing into the coffee table to avoid the slashing knife.
Her head smacked against the table, momentarily disorienting herself. All Juneau needed was a second. Sofia felt the sharp point of the blade at her neck and then fiery agony the other woman pushed it through both pliant flesh and protesting bone.
****************************************************************
Somewhere in the Beta Quadrant
“I can’t stay here,” Steen said. He was kneeling in the dark room, his head turned toward the ground. He knew better than to raise his head. “I know my absent has already raised too many suspicions.”
“Let them speculate,” was the simple reply.
“That’s easy for you to say,” Steen remarked. “But I’ve built a reputation, contacts, people who need to see me, hear from me, in order for me to operate effectively. Especially now, with this probe debacle.”
“You performed admirably,” now the voice was charitable. “The Herald knows this. You have served the Void well. We observed the events in the Merias system and we took data from your Starfleet to test for ourselves. The probe is not the way to the Twilight Gate. Without you, this we would not know.”
“I am grateful, believe me,” Steen said, trying to hide his exasperation. “But I have to go.”
“And so you shall,” the darkness now took form. The living shadow was in front of him. “We found you in the Tong Beak Nebula and you pledged your life to the Void.” Oily tendrils touched his mind. “Your thoughts are still as black as they were when we encountered you. We know of the vengeance feasting upon your soul. We know that your actions weren’t for the Void alone, but that doesn’t bother us.”
“It doesn’t?” Steen surprised himself by asking. But what could it hurt now, he realized. The Bodai Shin had long ago scoured his mind. They knew every recess of it, every dark corner, especially the murkiness.
“Of course not, darkness calls to darkness, that is how we found you. That is why the Herald knows that you remain a useful vassal.”
“I do, I do,” Steen said a bit too quickly. The shadowed form seemed oblivious to the insincerity limning his bootlicking.
“A ship is waiting to take you back to Federation space,” the shape said, its voice receding. Steen could tell that it was already returning to the shadows. “Continue to serve us Gennaro Laurent and you shall have your revenge.”
THE END
Wrigley’s Pleasure Planet
Sofia switched on the last hologram, already bored. As much as she loved 23rd century engineering, a tiny holographic reproduction was nothing like seeing the real thing. She leaned back on the sofa, letting her muscles relax. Her mind was thinking of other interesting things to do to spend her time. Juneau had exchanged her uniform for an alluring, close fitting black vest top and matching boy shorts. “So, got anything else in mind?” She asked her host.
Juneau was looking at her intently. “What’s wrong?” Sofia asked. The other woman cocked her head to the side, as if Sofia were a puzzle she hadn’t quite figured out yet. The woman’s demeanor was making her uncomfortable.
“Interesting,” Juneau finally said.
“What’s interesting?”
“The poison was supposed to penetrate your clothing and be absorbed by your skin,” she said, matter-of-factly, “You should be writhing on the floor by now, spitting up blood.”
“Excuse me?” Sofia laughed, but she knew it wasn’t a joke. She was already looking for the best way to attack the woman when Juneau struck first, bringing a blade from behind her back. Sofia jumped off the couch, crashing into the coffee table to avoid the slashing knife.
Her head smacked against the table, momentarily disorienting herself. All Juneau needed was a second. Sofia felt the sharp point of the blade at her neck and then fiery agony the other woman pushed it through both pliant flesh and protesting bone.
****************************************************************
Somewhere in the Beta Quadrant
“I can’t stay here,” Steen said. He was kneeling in the dark room, his head turned toward the ground. He knew better than to raise his head. “I know my absent has already raised too many suspicions.”
“Let them speculate,” was the simple reply.
“That’s easy for you to say,” Steen remarked. “But I’ve built a reputation, contacts, people who need to see me, hear from me, in order for me to operate effectively. Especially now, with this probe debacle.”
“You performed admirably,” now the voice was charitable. “The Herald knows this. You have served the Void well. We observed the events in the Merias system and we took data from your Starfleet to test for ourselves. The probe is not the way to the Twilight Gate. Without you, this we would not know.”
“I am grateful, believe me,” Steen said, trying to hide his exasperation. “But I have to go.”
“And so you shall,” the darkness now took form. The living shadow was in front of him. “We found you in the Tong Beak Nebula and you pledged your life to the Void.” Oily tendrils touched his mind. “Your thoughts are still as black as they were when we encountered you. We know of the vengeance feasting upon your soul. We know that your actions weren’t for the Void alone, but that doesn’t bother us.”
“It doesn’t?” Steen surprised himself by asking. But what could it hurt now, he realized. The Bodai Shin had long ago scoured his mind. They knew every recess of it, every dark corner, especially the murkiness.
“Of course not, darkness calls to darkness, that is how we found you. That is why the Herald knows that you remain a useful vassal.”
“I do, I do,” Steen said a bit too quickly. The shadowed form seemed oblivious to the insincerity limning his bootlicking.
“A ship is waiting to take you back to Federation space,” the shape said, its voice receding. Steen could tell that it was already returning to the shadows. “Continue to serve us Gennaro Laurent and you shall have your revenge.”
THE END
Author's Note: The Bodai Shin and the Void are creations of writer Scott Ciencin ("The Killing Shadows" comic miniseries). Ever since I've read that story I've been wanting to see if they would pop up elsewhere. Since they haven't so far I decided to borrow them for this story, with the intention of giving them more focus in a future work. Also Star Trek Online and their storyline-I guess-about renegade Jem'Hadar were a big inspiration for this story.
I want to thank everyone for reading and for the comments. They kept me going through this very long story. It's been a bit of a slog. I hadn't expected it to go as long as it did, but overall I'm pleased at least with getting to play around with so many wonderful UT characters. I want to thank BrotherBenny for the use of the Monarch crew and the Ghosts of the Night, Galen for the use of the Nagasaki crew, TLR for creating the Border Service, Dnoth for Morgan and Visala, CeJay for the Tenarian in Tenarian Glow, and Gibraltar for Olivia Juneau. If I forgot someone please forgive me.
I'm also happy to have had a chance to give Samson Glover an adventure, a follow on of sorts to the events of "The Needs of the One". And to build on his relationships with T'Prell and to some extent with Ousanas Dar. This story also provided me an opportunity to spotlight Dar a little so that was cool.
I want to thank everyone for reading and for the comments. They kept me going through this very long story. It's been a bit of a slog. I hadn't expected it to go as long as it did, but overall I'm pleased at least with getting to play around with so many wonderful UT characters. I want to thank BrotherBenny for the use of the Monarch crew and the Ghosts of the Night, Galen for the use of the Nagasaki crew, TLR for creating the Border Service, Dnoth for Morgan and Visala, CeJay for the Tenarian in Tenarian Glow, and Gibraltar for Olivia Juneau. If I forgot someone please forgive me.
I'm also happy to have had a chance to give Samson Glover an adventure, a follow on of sorts to the events of "The Needs of the One". And to build on his relationships with T'Prell and to some extent with Ousanas Dar. This story also provided me an opportunity to spotlight Dar a little so that was cool.
Very nicely done, DarKush.
I love the way you tied things up at the end, and it gives me places to go in the future with some of my open storylines.
Looking forward to your next piece, whenever that shall be.
I love the way you tied things up at the end, and it gives me places to go in the future with some of my open storylines.
Looking forward to your next piece, whenever that shall be.
BB,
Thanks again for allowing me to use your Monarch characters and for allowing me to drag some through the proverbial mud. Hopefully I cleaned them back up enough for you after I was done. I'm glad I left you with some interesting stuff to play around with.
Dnoth,
Thank you as well. I'm sorry I didn't include Chase in this story. I pretty much tossed in every UT Section 31 person I knew about, except for her
. I hadn't necessarily intended to do that, but I believe Gibraltar had suggested using Juneau a while back, so I went with her for the closer.
It's funny that you feel that this story was well-planned out. It was some fly by the seat of your pants writing, but I think it came together well enough. I knew I had a lot of ends to tie up and I got to most of them.
Though I didn't really say anything more about the Shuttlesworth crew. I didn't think I needed to. However, they will probably wind up in one of my future stories in some form or fashion. As you might can tell, rarely do I just use characters once. Either I feature them again or at least they get a mention in another story.
About the deceit and deception, I'll give you that one. I think I'm a Romulan.
Thanks again for allowing me to use your Monarch characters and for allowing me to drag some through the proverbial mud. Hopefully I cleaned them back up enough for you after I was done. I'm glad I left you with some interesting stuff to play around with.
Dnoth,
Thank you as well. I'm sorry I didn't include Chase in this story. I pretty much tossed in every UT Section 31 person I knew about, except for her
. I hadn't necessarily intended to do that, but I believe Gibraltar had suggested using Juneau a while back, so I went with her for the closer. It's funny that you feel that this story was well-planned out. It was some fly by the seat of your pants writing, but I think it came together well enough. I knew I had a lot of ends to tie up and I got to most of them.
Though I didn't really say anything more about the Shuttlesworth crew. I didn't think I needed to. However, they will probably wind up in one of my future stories in some form or fashion. As you might can tell, rarely do I just use characters once. Either I feature them again or at least they get a mention in another story.
About the deceit and deception, I'll give you that one. I think I'm a Romulan.
The End? Not really, at least not for most of the characters who had the unfortunate pleasure of being somehow involved in the events of this multifaceted adventure.
Petrov finally got her comeuppance and, quite frankly, I was not sad to see her go. I liked how you got Gibraltar's Juneau to be her executioner. But seeing that she fell out with her former masters, her demise isn't much of a loss to Section 31 which continues on with it unscrupulous activities seemingly undisturbed.
Steen was a surprise revelation. Interesting how you managed to incorporate the Void from your previous and unfortunately aborted project. They embodied a terrific concept for a villainous race and I'm glad you brought them back. And who better to ally with them then your most nefarious character.
I'm not sure what good came out of all of this, considering the unfortunate events many of these characters have to look forward to, especially Glover, Deneeka and Dar. And Walker is obviously never going to have a restful night's sleep again as long as he is alive, especially if/when he learns the truth about his wife.
In any case, it was a hell of a story, both greatly entertaining and wildly unpredictable.
Terrific!
Petrov finally got her comeuppance and, quite frankly, I was not sad to see her go. I liked how you got Gibraltar's Juneau to be her executioner. But seeing that she fell out with her former masters, her demise isn't much of a loss to Section 31 which continues on with it unscrupulous activities seemingly undisturbed.
Steen was a surprise revelation. Interesting how you managed to incorporate the Void from your previous and unfortunately aborted project. They embodied a terrific concept for a villainous race and I'm glad you brought them back. And who better to ally with them then your most nefarious character.
I'm not sure what good came out of all of this, considering the unfortunate events many of these characters have to look forward to, especially Glover, Deneeka and Dar. And Walker is obviously never going to have a restful night's sleep again as long as he is alive, especially if/when he learns the truth about his wife.
In any case, it was a hell of a story, both greatly entertaining and wildly unpredictable.
Terrific!
Hey CeJay,
Glad you were able to finish this story and I always enjoy your comments. I always had intended for this story to shed more light on events behind the previously written vignettes and "Dearest Blood" than to be conclusive in and of itself. It really didn't end I suppose. It just set things up for those vignettes and the Void/Bodai Shin is something I want to explore in my 2377-set batch of stories.
I do intend to break apart the rest of the aborted 'Pandora's Jar' and use many of those subplots for bigger stories. I had always liked the name the Void, but was concerned about using something similar since it had already been established in the comics. However, since I remembered this is fan fiction, I decided to sort of just mix my idea with the comics idea, since the Void was left a mystery, and the comic left it hanging if the Void would ever show up. I also thought the Bodai Shin were pretty cool, deadly enough to be a real threat, but perhaps not legion enough to get into an invasion or war-type storyline. I sort of liked how their modus operandi. I think our UT has several mega-level adversaries and I didn't want to add to that list. Even though I guess I just did, just throwing the Void into it.
Using Juneau was an idea from Gibraltar. I was on the fence about it, but decided to go with it. I wasn't sure if I was going to kill Petrov or let her live, but decided she deserved to go. She had done too much. As for Walker I get the joy of breaking things and letting Brother Benny pick up the pieces. I'm just glad he seems cool with where I left Walker, Emmanuelle, Leza, and the other Monarch characters.
Glad you liked what I did with Steen. I had established Gennaro Laurent as a master of disguise in an earlier story, an idea which Gibraltar also built on. He's my Krychek, always reappearing at mysterious times, with his own agenda. In a way I guess he's like ENT's Silik, however with Laurent it's far more personal to him. I thought this would be a good story to expand on his role in his current identity as Garth Logan, chief of staff to Federation President Santiago.
Glad you were able to finish this story and I always enjoy your comments. I always had intended for this story to shed more light on events behind the previously written vignettes and "Dearest Blood" than to be conclusive in and of itself. It really didn't end I suppose. It just set things up for those vignettes and the Void/Bodai Shin is something I want to explore in my 2377-set batch of stories.
I do intend to break apart the rest of the aborted 'Pandora's Jar' and use many of those subplots for bigger stories. I had always liked the name the Void, but was concerned about using something similar since it had already been established in the comics. However, since I remembered this is fan fiction, I decided to sort of just mix my idea with the comics idea, since the Void was left a mystery, and the comic left it hanging if the Void would ever show up. I also thought the Bodai Shin were pretty cool, deadly enough to be a real threat, but perhaps not legion enough to get into an invasion or war-type storyline. I sort of liked how their modus operandi. I think our UT has several mega-level adversaries and I didn't want to add to that list. Even though I guess I just did, just throwing the Void into it.
Using Juneau was an idea from Gibraltar. I was on the fence about it, but decided to go with it. I wasn't sure if I was going to kill Petrov or let her live, but decided she deserved to go. She had done too much. As for Walker I get the joy of breaking things and letting Brother Benny pick up the pieces
. I'm just glad he seems cool with where I left Walker, Emmanuelle, Leza, and the other Monarch characters. Glad you liked what I did with Steen. I had established Gennaro Laurent as a master of disguise in an earlier story, an idea which Gibraltar also built on. He's my Krychek, always reappearing at mysterious times, with his own agenda. In a way I guess he's like ENT's Silik, however with Laurent it's far more personal to him. I thought this would be a good story to expand on his role in his current identity as Garth Logan, chief of staff to Federation President Santiago.
DarKush, I really am happy with the way you left my characters, because it gives me a chance to look at their darker sides when they have the luxury of doing so. We saw what happened to Leza and Emmanuelle's relationship in the Pytheas story Secrets and Lies, and Gonzales will uncover some interesting information about Xeris and what happened to him in the upcoming Pytheas story Shakedown. But I can satisfy everyone's curiosity when I say that Captain Walker will find out about his wife...
Wow, finally had a chance to catch up. Great tale! There were times when I thought I had this figured out only to be surprised again. I love cloak and dagger, but only if it can keep me guessing.
Also, it gave me a chance to get more familiar with UT characters like Glover and Walker. It was also gratifying to see Zorek fleshed out.
Well done all around!
Also, it gave me a chance to get more familiar with UT characters like Glover and Walker. It was also gratifying to see Zorek fleshed out.
Well done all around!
