Olympus Mons: Cat and Mouse

[pio1776]

*
Bashir barely managed to refrain from rolling his eyes at the summons, and succeeded as his normal poker face reappeared. Still, orders were orders.

“Commander,” he started while stepping into Tactical.

“Chief Bashir?” Hernandez looked up. “All systems set in. Your people geared up?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Bashir nodded as he glanced around. A rectangular compartment, every part of its station was filled by tactical and electronic warfare specialists. “Captain Furry would like an update before we breach the outpost.”

“Really?” Vera raised an eyebrow. “Surprised the Captain hasn’t tried to tag along.”

“I believe he understood his responsibilities were here, ma’am,” said Bashir in a solemn tone.

“And he went along with it?” asked Vera.

“Of course, Commander,” said Bashir easily. “He is the Captain.”

Vera couldn’t fault the logic, but got the sense that there was one Ambler Furry sulking in his room. Amused at the mental picture in her mind, she placed it aside and nodded to the airlock.

“Guess you better report upstairs, Chief,” she encouraged.
Bashir’s expression fell for just a second, before he nodded. “Aye, aye, Commander.”

 

[pio1776]

CHAPTER EIGHT

Starfleet Communications Outpost 4
Half a kilometer from Balmacewen District
Helensburgh, New Scotland Desert, Dunedin

Bashir shook off the effect of the transporter beam, and quickly raised his assault rifle at the ready. Wearing a helmet whose design hasn’t changed in over 137 years, and sporting a portable sensor recorder over his left ear, the chief took a step forward.

“Olympus Mons, you got visual?” he asked, speaking via a throat-microphone that linked him to the communicator.
“Got visual five by five, Chief,” Furry sounded in his ear.

As the captain spoke, two more figures materialised into the heavily armed forms of Petty Officer 3/c Tom Kirk and Crewman Franek Barnwell. Bashir waited until they solidified, and waving them.

“Chief, be advised that Petty Officer Ford is two levels up,” Furry then advised, and Bashir responded with a double-tap. “There’s a stairway twenty meters behind you.”

Bashir allowed a small hint of a smile. Furry was thinking like an infantry tactician.

“Tom, Franek,” hissed Bashir next, “on me.”

The two Rangers moved into position alongside and behind him, and the trio moved quickly towards the the doorway that led to the stairs. As they moved, Furry updated them that the rest of Second Team, Bravo Troop were in place. That was good news as far as Chief Warrant Officer 4 Jamal Bashir was concerned.

*
Glenn Ford was not one to fidget, but having his query so close was getting to him. It didn’t help that he had heard several shots being fired from the other side of a locked door, followed by a scream.

First Dave and now whoever was in that office with the infiltrator. Ford shook his head, annoyed. He may have not thought much of the team’s second-in-command, but to get killed the way he had been, no way . . . Dave didn’t deserve it one bit.

Suddenly, the door from the office slid open. Without thinking, Ford raised his assault rifle as a young looking and curly haired Vulcan stepped out, holding onto an assault rifle outwards before dropping them onto the floor.
Ford remembered himself, and took a step towards her with rifle primed and ready. “Ri tor dvun!” he snapped in Vulcan, telling her to not move.

She looked at him, and raised a single pointed eyebrow at him

“Yeah, so what?” growled Ford, “I speak Vulcan. Fi' ish-veh mal-nef!”

The Vulcan woman complied by going to her knees, just the first of Bashir’s team emerged.

“What you got there, Glenn?” asked Barb with casual informality that looked at odds with the assault rifle in her hand, just as equally aimed at the Vulcan woman.

“Check the office,” replied Ford, “heard screams.”

Barb nodded and moved around . . .

*
The brown cap reappeared on his head as Ambler Furry leaned forward from the throne-like command station that overlooked the Tactical compartment. From here every defensive and offensive weapons system was controlled, and away missions were planned.

His attention was on the main screen, which was split into ten digital windows. Each of those windows showed a video feed from ten individual sensor pods, which were attached to helmets of the away team, and giving Furry a pretty good idea what they were seeing.

“Oh hell no!” sounded Vera through the intraship connecting Tactical with the Bridge, and then addressed Furry excitedly. “That’s a Vulcan, Amb!”

Furry frowned, not wanting to be forced to conclude. “Sure looks Vulcanoid,” he countered, his eyes glued to the screen belonging to one Petty Officer 3/c Barb Caffrey. Yes, the woman had pointed ears and those eyebrows reminded him of a Vulcan, but her brow looked too big. For all he knew, she could be a Vulcanoid Jelna from the Rigel System.

He absently licked his lips, watching as Barb stepped into the office.

“We got a man down!” she snapped, and hurried over. “Shit.”

Furry agreed with the sentiment, glaring at the Vulcanoid woman now.

“Away team, this is Olympus Mons Actual,” he announced once toggling the comm to their frequency. “Secure the prisoner and prepare to beam her over.

“Commander Hernandez,” Furry than rose to his feet. “Tactical is yours.”

“Want the team to do a thorough sweep of the outpost?”

“Consult with Chief Bashir, Commander,” replied Furry after a moment’s hesitation.

“Where are you going to be?” asked Vera.

“I’m going to wake me up an Admiral.”

 

[pio1776]

Reth Koros Compound
ch'Rihan, 128 Trianguli Binary System
Sunday, 24 November 2154

Consul Elima sighed as he looked out of his office window and out onto the quadrangle, slumped back in his chair and sighed with resignation.

Every other time the compound would have had new recruits and veterans training alongside one another, but with the resources committed to the exploration and continued study of humanity. With operatives committed, recruitment into the Reth Koros had become non-existant for the better part of thirty standard years. It was something Consul Elima was fully aware of, and knew that something had to be done.

If nothing was to be, than his late master’s dream of a commando force free of the Tal’Shiar would die with this mission. That Elima did not want. The intelligence agency was too political for his liking, a sentiment shared by his superiors in the military.

The annunciator sounded, making the older man jump and glare at the door.

“Enter,” he snapped after collecting the robes around him, and watched as the door slid open and reveal his Field Operations Director. “Legate. To what do I owe this honour?”

“We have received word from Sirius, Consul,” announced Legate Landos the moment he walked in, saluted and came to attention. “She’s managed to forward us all we need to know about the primary colony there, military strength and outposts.”

“Is she the only one?”

The legate considered the question, frowning slightly as he did.

“She is the only one who managed to get in contact, Consul,” the legate then declared. “I am assuming one or two more may have survived, and have to ground.

“All going well, they will get in touch with Hornblower,” the legate continued, and referring to the contact that the Teth Koros had worked hard to turn and keep away from the Tal’Shiar. “But for now we have what we need.”

“And she let herself be captured I take it?” Elima asked after a careful nod.

“As was the plan, Consul.”

“Plans generally fall apart the moment it goes live, Legate,” countered Elima as he snorted, and relaxed as he turned his attention back to the courtyard. “Who would have though . . .”

“Consul?”

“She is Vulcan,” Elima told Landos.

“Not that she is aware,” Landos reminded him. “The reconditioning she underwent had been thorough. As far as she is aware, she is as much Rihannsu as you and I, Consul.”

“Indeed,” Elima inclined his head in agreement, and then turned to face Landos. “We must show our worth to the Praetor, Legate. How long would it take to send a full battalion to the primary colony in Sirius?”

“It’ll take some time, Consul,” Landos replied candidly.

“See to it and give me the numbers,” instructed Elima, sounding as if he was about to dismiss the other man. “Dunedin is smaller than Coridan Prime, and I think our dear leader needs a demonstration of the effectiveness of this agency.”

“I will see to it personally, Consul,” replied Landos, and started for the door.

“Oh . . . and Legate?”

Landos stopped. “Yes?”

“This will be a one way mission,” said Elima. “Victory at all cost.”

Landos nodded his understanding.

The story continues in
Olympus Mons:
A Prelude to War . . .
Coming in early 2017​

Thank you to everyone who has read and commented on this story.

Also a thank you to Cejay, who did the following for me. . .

​

 

[CeJay]

Well the final confrontation was a bit anti-climactic but as it turns out, it was meant to be. Her capture was all part of a much larger plan. Interesting that the Romulan agent is in fact a conditioned Vulcan after all, that's a double deception right there. I wonder if her true nature is going to play a role in later stories.

Solid story of the days leading up to what we know will eventually be the Romulan War.

 

[pio1776]

Yes, it was a little anti climactic, and I debated long and hard for it. Hopefully all will be revealed in the third and hopefully last installment of this story arc.

Well the final confrontation was a bit anti-climactic but as it turns out, it was meant to be. Her capture was all part of a much larger plan. Interesting that the Romulan agent is in fact a conditioned Vulcan after all, that's a double deception right there. I wonder if her true nature is going to play a role in later stories.

Solid story of the days leading up to what we know will eventually be the Romulan War.