PROLOGE
Stardate: 53703.8 (14 Sep 2376)
Federation Merchant Ship, SS Ethiopia
Sappora Star System, In Orbit of the Independent Planet New Sydney
“We’ve been boarded!” screamed one of the Listeners. His voice could barely be heard over the klaxons and phaser fire.
Michael Hall saw the man in a junction down the corridor. His thoughts turned to his duty. He had to get Uhura out of there.
For several years he had worked with the admiral when she was in charge of Starfleet Intelligence. She hand-picked promising officers to become her “Listeners,” an elite group of spies; he was lucky enough to be one of them. Nyota engendered a rare type of loyalty. An entire generation of SI personnel came to see her as their grandmother and mentor rolled into one.
After she retired in 2361, he and several others, continued to serve her. Mike mused to himself. Retired, yeah right. Uhura didn’t understand the concept. ‘Retirement’ merely meant, she wasn’t taking orders from Command anymore.
Hall found himself in Nyota’s quarters, though he didn’t remember the trip getting there. The woman’s dark skin was crisp like rice paper. Her body no longer reflected her mind. A frail façade hid a formidable, yet tranquil woman. Her thin, white hair bobbed slightly as she turned from a monitor.
Michael reached out for her fragile arm, “Nyota, we have to get you out of here!”
She looked up with calm eyes, “Let’s go.” Uhura moved well for a human of 137 years.
As they reached the threshold, he paused just long enough to hear the sounds of battle down the corridor. Michael ushered the elderly woman as fast as her body would allow. A deathly howl forced the duo to look back. Both knew what it signified. Without a word, they speed up their pace.
The transporter room seemed like an oasis. Hall immediately darted for the controls as Uhura stepped onto the dais.
“I don’t see why you had to come here in the first place, Nyota,” complained Mike as he manipulated the controls. He was hesitant about starting a conversation. They had half a minute, at best.
Nyota knew it was a comment born of frustration, but answered it anyway, “My contacts here won’t talk to anyone else. The details I got about the assassination plan will save Satie’s life.” She added with a mild sarcasm, “Assuming we can get it to her in time.”
Hall had never figured out how she could joke in situations like this, “Doing my best,” he rejoined without looking up. “I’m more concerned about protecting you,” he continued.
“Such a nice man,” bantered Uhura.
The comment was well received. Unfortunately, Mike didn’t have time to smile. “I’m beaming you near a safe house on the surface. They won’t be able to find you.”
“I’ve heard that before.”
“I’m sorry we’ve failed you, Uhura,” said Hall, with remorse on his face.
The retired admiral tilted her head. Her voice was that of a grandma, “You’ve done nothing of the sort. The fight continues.”
Michael broke into a small grin as he slid the energizer. Nyota faded away in a flurry of light.
Hall took a deep breath, secure in the fact that he had done all he could. What happened now didn’t matter. He waited several seconds for the inevitable. He was comforted as he thought of what his last words would be.
The hatch parted. A small group of Starfleet security personnel wearing tactical garb pinned him to the bulkhead with brutal swiftness. He had at least three phaser rifles pointed at his head. Mike didn’t struggle. He already knew his fate.
One of the attackers checked the transporter logs. A human male commander slowly strode in the room. He had a chiseled face. His eyes were as cold as a shark’s. Short, black hair topped his head. The man glanced at the officer going over the logs.
“Sir,” reported the security officer, “he routed the signal through several relays and scrambled it. There is no way to tell where she transported to.”
“Very well,” said the obvious leader of the assault team. The commander nodded at another officer who was now holding Hall. Immediately, the security officer pulled Mike’s right arm over his shoulder and yanked down hard.
The sound of gristle snapping and bone cracking filled the room. Hall screamed in agony as his arm made an unnatural shape. The officer let go, allowing Michael to examine the malformed appendage as he cried out.
The commander then walked up and grabbed Mike by the jaw with substantial force. “Stop screaming,” said the man in a dispassionate tone.
Surprisingly, Hall did. He was ashamed of his lack of dignity in the face of torture.
“That’s better,” began the man in a viciously, methodical voice, “I’m Commander Collins. Now, I’m going to ask you a few questions.”
In all his years in SI, Michael had never been face to face with someone as cold and collected during an interrogation as the man before him.
Collins proceeded, “Where did the old woman transport to and what does she know?”
Mike was proud when he managed, “Do you know what you’re doing to the Federation?”
Without any hint of agitation, Collins raised his foot and crashed his boot into the side of Hall’s left knee. His body fell as fragments of his tibia jetted out of his leg. Before he could reach the deck, the commander grabbed him and propped him up against the bulkhead. Mike’s mouth was quivering in pain, but the scream was restrained this time.
Holding Hall by the shirt, Collins leaned in, and said calmly, “You’re in no position to question me.”
Michael now welcomed the end. He tried to stand on his uninjured leg, but the floor was slippery with his blood. “My answer to both questions is: go to hell.”
Collins actually grinned and nodded. He whispered into Mike’s ear, “I want you to know, my respect for you just went up.” He then backed away and gave a palm strike to Hall’s nose, forcing it into his brain cavity with a crackle. Michael’s lifeless body lingered for a moment before it slid to the deck.
Now uninterested in the corpse, Commander Collins tapped the communicator on his tactical vest, “Away team to Captain Russell.”
*****
The bridge was filled with red alert lighting. Captain Russell stood vigil in the center of the room. “This is Russell, report.”
“We’ve secured the ship, but the main target transported away.”
Russell looked over to his advisor. The stocky Andorian woman wore a slick, black suit. She looked none too pleased at the news.
“Beamed to where?” followed up the captain.
The Security Chief responded, “There’s no way to tell, the signal was routed through several orbital relays.”
The Andorian simply folded her arms as she huffed.
“Any recommendations, Agent Visala?” offered the captain. He used the word, ‘recommendation,’ but Russell knew who was in charge of the bridge. It wasn’t him.
Visala snapped as she addressed the ceiling, “Commander Collins, get a fighter, go to the surface and begin hunting her.”
“Understood.”
“But he doesn’t even know where to start?” interjected Russell.
The agent had little patience for explaining herself, “Collins has considerable skills. It’s why he was recruited for this assignment.” Her arms still crossed, she said, “Recall your team and destroy the ship.”
Russell nodded, “Away team, beam back over with any prisoners you may have and…”
“No,” said Visala. She looked at him as if disciplining a child, “I said recall your team.”
Slowly, the captain understood the impact of her command, “You want me to kill Federation citizens?”
“Not citizens,” countered Visala, “dissidents.”
Until that point, Dalton Russell could pretend the people who approached him for this command had the best interests of the Federation at heart. What had he gotten himself into? He knew his face betrayed his doubts.
The agent clasped her hands behind her back as she approached Russell. “Carry out your orders.” She stood on her tip toes so her mouth could reach his ear, “Unless, of course, you want everyone to know you raped that man.”
The captain visibly gulped and his eyes glossed over with fear. In a raised voice he ordered, “Away team, come home on the double. Leave the prisoners on their ship.”
“Aye, sir.”
“Should …um, we stay in orbit?” fumbled Russell.
The grinning Andorian replied, “No, Collins will do his work here, but we need to patrol the route between New Sydney and the Saurian system, so we can intercept any messages… or messengers.”
*****
The simply designed SS Ethiopia hung silently in space. A ball of white and blue light came hurtling toward it. The quantum torpedo easily ripped into the hull of the civilian freighter. A few secondary explosions later, there was nothing but debris.
In its wake, the majesty of a Sovereign-class ship appeared. On its hull, it read: USS Philadelphia.
No other term is applicable. Nicely done. In the space of a few short pages, I was left wanting to visit terrible vengeance upon the cowardly Captain Russell, the icily brutal Commander Collins, and the cold blooded Agent Visala. I look forward to getting to see the great karmic wheel come around and crush these three into dust.
