Bleeding Edge - Part 2 of 2

Return to Bleeding Edge - Part 1

Station Salem One, Deck R2 – Command Centre:

Hrelle realised early on how much he missed having a centre seat, like he had on the Surefoot and other starships. Now he had to stand, and walk around and feel like he was getting in everyone’s way. Maybe a raised platform, overlooking everyone. Yes, and probably some flags and fanfare playing in the background every time he appeared, to stroke your big, fat ego.

Now, however, he stayed focused on the status board, barking, “Well?”

Nearby, Kate Sternhagen, newly reinstated to her former Starfleet rank of Captain in order to fully and permanently resume her duties as Station Chief. “Nothing, Commodore. Too much local subspace interference.”

“Why?” He studied the system map; the black star’s orbital position around the red giant shouldn’t be producing this amount of static. He signalled to one of the Communications Officers nearby. “Alert Captain Arrington, she should be approaching the edge of the system, maybe she can cut through the interference locally.” Back to Sternhagen, he asked, “The nearest subspace beacons; can we run remote scans of the local area through them?” 

“We could,” she agreed sardonically, running a hand through her mass of curly, pepper-black hair. “If they weren’t thirty years old. They were never on anyone’s priority list to get replaced when I was last working here.”

“It is now. Lt Dassene-”

Nearby, Zir barely glanced up from her PADD as she reported, “Priority One Requisition Order for eighteen Type-9 Subspace Beacons, with your authorisation, already on its way to Deep Space 12, Commodore. And I’m sure I can find a few Squabs to press-gang into helping get them installed.”

He allowed himself a smile and looked to Commander Haluk, who was hunched over a nearby station, the light from its screens accentuating the gaunt, bearded Vulcan face. “Anything?”

The officer, who officially served at the station as the Superintendent of the cadets – but had other, unofficial roles – straightened up. “The Orion vessel Green Death has been active in the sector following your… absence. No outstanding Federation warrants, however.”

Hrelle grunted. “Daalan Sur was always a lucky bastard.”

“Not that lucky, Commodore; he committed ritual suicide five years ago. His son Nesrac took ownership of the Green Death, and the Shipmaster title of Sur.”

Hrelle blinked, seeking some token moment of remorse for his former adversary… and finding none. “Then his son is out looking for revenge or honour or some other bullshit. The danger is still real, whether from Daalan or Nesrac. That ship was strong, fast and stealthy, and has probably had upgrades since then.” He bared his teeth at nothing in particular. “T’Varik and the rest of them are sitting ducks out there.”

“Your former First Officer and shipmates are hardly sedentary water fowl,” the Vulcan replied, softly and dryly. “And they have benefited from your inestimable influence and training for many years. And Captain Arrington is a seasoned officer with extensive combat experience. They will prevail.”

Hrelle nodded in appreciation- then started as his hearing picked up his name mentioned from the Communications Officer, and he turned. “What was that, Mr Ajis?”

The young Bajorn male with crew-crutted chestnut hair started at the sound of his bark, the D’ja pagh earring dangling from his left ear jangling. “Commodore? Sorry, Sir, I didn’t mean to disturb you-”

“Just tell me who’s trying to reach me.”

“Sir, it’s a Mr William Buford, he says he’s with Zorin Interstellar.”

Hrelle glanced at Haluk, before looking back at Ajis. “Put it through to my office.”

Seconds later, he was leaning against his desk, arms crossed, looking up at the image of a large, jowly human with a broad nose, straw-blonde hair and dimpled chin, with a smile that Hrelle had seen before… on Ferengi. “Howdy, Pardner!”

Hrelle blinked, waiting for more, before echoing, “Howdy. William Buford, I believe?”

The human nodded. “Call me Billy. I’m the Head of Research and Development for Zorin Interstellar. I thought I might drop you a line and help y’all out some, as one Good Old Boy to another.”

Hrelle’s gaze narrowed; Buford’s accent reminded him of his CMO Doc Masterson, raised on the colony world that embraced the trappings of the American Wild West… but this one added his own sleazy garnish. “Help us out, Mr Buford? How so?”

“Well, I’ve been on a tour of some of Zorin Interstellar’s facilities in your neck of the woods, and heard some of your people were having a look around our labs at Ucarro Major. You know, if you wanted a tour, you could have just called, I could have met your people there and put out the works.”

Hrelle felt his hackles rise. “My people aren’t there for a tour, Mr Buford. They’re investigating what really happened to Mr Kolchak and the Whisper.”

Buford chuckled. “Y’all need to catch up some, Pardner. I’m pretty sure our folk there told you we cancelled his visit. They never arrived.”

“I know. As I said, Mr Buford, they’re investigating what really happened.”

The human regarded him, some of the humour draining from his eyes. “You know, Admiral-”

“It’s Commodore,” Hrelle corrected.

“Keep your nose clean, Pardner, and that can change.”

Hrelle’s tail twitched against one of the legs of his desk. “Are you attempting to bribe me with a promotion, Mr Buford?”

“Bribe? Me?” He laughed again. “Of course not! How could I do something like that? You must have just misunderstood. I just wanted to pass on to you my assurances that everything Zorin Interstellar is doing on Ucarro Major II is completely legal and copacetic, and that you don’t need to linger there any longer than absolutely necessary.”

Hrelle uncrossed his arms and rested his paws on the edge of the desk behind him. “Well, thank you very much for those assurances, Mr Buford. I promise you I will give them all the value they deserve. Now, if you’ll excuse me…” He reached for the control panel on his desk, cutting off the transmission – but not before seeing the change in the expression on Buford’s face.

Someone doesn’t like not having control of a situation, he opined… admitting to himself that he at least shared that feeling.

*

The Surefoot’s Brig was full: thirty-six captives, spread out evenly over the six cells, a temporarily acceptable measure until measures could be completed.

T’Varik and Bellator entered, looking to C’Rash. “Status?”

The coal-furred Caitian female grunted as she drew up to her partner. “Most of them have been quiet and compliant since arriving. Mr Vada has compensated by nearly going hoarse threatening lawsuits on all of us.” Then, she added in a murmur, “Rexxil’s guilty scent has been thickening… as has Reiser’s fear. Something is scaring him, and I don’t think it’s fear of facing prosecution for whatever it is they’ve been doing.”

T’Varik nodded in understanding as the three approached the cell holding Vada, Paul Reiser and several others. The Zakdorn lawyer drew up. “Well, Captain, I hope you’ve enjoyed your career in Starfleet, because I promise you, it will soon be over! You’ve broken the terms of the Security Agreements you voluntarily assigned, reneged on the promise you made when we first spoke not to interfere once you confirmed that we did not breach the Genesis Protocols! And now you’ve blatantly abducted us!”

The Vulcan remained composed as she folded her hands behind her. “We voluntary signed those, in the knowledge that Starfleet Regulations supersede any private Security Agreements… as do our obligations. And you have all been arrested, not abducted.”

Beside Vada, an agitated, sweating Reiser looked to her. “Arrested? On what charges?”

“Murder, specifically the crew of the SS Whisper; the attempted murder of Darren Kolchak; providing false statements and data to Starfleet personnel in the course of a criminal investigation; and conspiracy to violate Federation Environmental Protection Laws.”

Everyone in the cells reacted in varying degrees to the announcement, but still left Vada to respond, “You have no proof whatsoever of any of that!”

“We have all the proof,” Bellator informed him, the Nova Roman’s face taut. “We located the records you attempted to conceal from us. We found the wreckage of the Whisper on the surface of the planet. We have testimony from Mr Kolchak, and the evidence of the drones you sent to try to find and murder him.”

“Mr Reiser,” T’Varik continued coldly, catching his attention. “You headed Project Alkemy on Ucarro Major. You were informed by your scientific team of the inherent flaws behind it: that the transmuted organic and inorganic matter would eventually break down into toxic subcomponents, eventually irreparably poisoning any terraformed ecosphere after 30-40 years.

Rather than shelving the project, however, you and your associates in Zorin Interstellar conspired to hide the truth and market the new Alkemy Terraforming Process without a caveat, relying on the inevitable discovery of the toxic contamination decades later to be classified as ‘Bleeding Edge Technology’: technology with unforeseen design flaws... and the contracts being designed now by your Legal Division would minimise ZI’s culpability under Bleeding Edge Technology clauses. The profits you would gain would far outweigh the cost of your legal liabilities.”

“Hundreds of thousands of innocents,” C’Rash growled, “Maybe millions, could have been poisoned on your terraformed worlds, or displaced from the lives they would have built there when their worlds, their homes, soured. All for short-term profits. Bleeding Edge, for sure.”

Reiser trembled. “You have to release us, return us-”

“Slander!” Vada declared angrily. “Lies! If there is a conspiracy here, it is Starfleet’s doing! You planted false evidence, wove this fanciful tale so that you could steal our technology! If some doctored data is all you have to offer to support your allegations, then you will be gravely disappointed.”

T’Varik moved to another cell, focusing now on Rexxil, who had been listening intently. “Doctor… you had been part of the survey team that had discovered Alkemy. We have seen the communications evidence where you alerted your superiors to the long-term dangers.”

“You’re still under contract with Zorin Interstellar!” Vada barked at him from his own cell. “Don’t say another word, Doctor!”

“Doctor,” T’Varik echoed, more softly, recapturing the Bolian’s attention. “You are a scientist. Truth and integrity should be your motivation, not profit or fear of prosecution. 

But then you are already aware of this, as you are the whistleblower who alerted the Federation News Service.”

“What?” Reiser exclaimed now, as did others. “No! Odas! How could you? We’ve worked together for years-”

“Dr Rexxil has been under a great deal of stress lately because of our work,” Vada informed them. “Clearly any statement he makes now cannot be taken seriously… and Zorin Interstellar will have a phalanx of legal and medical experts on hand to support that.”

T’Varik ignored them, drawing closer to Rexxil from her side of the invisible force field. “And, I suspect, you sabotaged the refinery.”

Rexxil swallowed and shook his head, his azure features darkening. “No. Alkemy is inherently unstable in large amounts; once it reached critical mass, one careless drone triggered the explosion, Alkemy spreading up and outwards, contaminated with the testing samples of plants, animals, liquids we were preparing for the controlled experiments in the pressure domes. But I used the chaos it generated to backup the original data, waiting to take it with me when Kolchak arrived.”

“Doctor!” Vada snapped. “If you ever want to get out of prison-”

“I don’t!” he barked back, purple eyes narrowing in anger. “I don’t care anymore! I’m sick and tired of the secrecy, the lies and cover-ups! The needless killing! The potential millions more who could die to line Max Zorin’s pockets some more!” He faced T’Varik again. “I’ll testify, fully! But I want protection! Zorin Interstellar is ruthless, homicidal-”

“So I have noticed,” the Captain observed dryly, turning to C’Rash. “Have Dr Rexxil moved into protective custody elsewhere immediately. We are returning to Salem One.”

As T’Varik and Bellator moved to depart, Reiser called after her, sounding almost panicky. “Captain! You need to return us to the planet, right now! You can’t keep us onboard!”

The Vulcan spared him a final cold look, and, “The evidence points to the contrary, Mr Reiser.”

*

On the way back to the Bridge, the ship rocked under fire, and the Red Alert lights and klaxons filled the air as T’Varik and Bellator raced the rest of the way, entering as Giles rose from the Captain’s chair. “Captain! Orion blockade runner, it appeared from a sensor blind over the polar cap- shields at eighty percent!”

“Take the position at Tactical until Lt Shall arrives.” Bellator and she took their respective seats as T’Varik studied in the data: Nathav-class blockade runner, heavily-armed, fast. “Helm, Evasive Pattern Alpha, then take us out of the system and back towards Salem One, Warp 8.” She stayed focused ahead as she heard C’Rash enter the Bridge. “Tactical: strengthen aft shields, prepare aft-”

“Incoming!” C’Rash snapped.

The viewscreen momentarily switched to aft view, as the Orion ship shot a large white beam in the Surefoot’s direction, rocking the ship again.

“Particle beam!” Bellator reported. “Jacketed streams of heavy leptons and baryons, 200 gigawatt firepower! Shields at sixty-five percent!”

“Firing aft torpedoes!” C’Rash announced, adding, “Their shields are holding!”

“Particle beams are sublight weapons,” Giles called out, gripping the sides of his console. “Not like phasers and torpedoes! How can they be hitting us- Incoming message from the Orions, Captain!”

“Onscreen.”

The view of the outside was replaced by a crowded-looking blood-red Orion Bridge, and a sneering, decorated Orion male, whose sneer dropped upon seeing T’Varik. “Who the Hell are you?”

“Captain T’Varik, USS-”

“WHERE’S HRELLE?”

“I command this vessel now. You are ordered to stand down-”

He spat. “It is no victory to defeat a woman! It is barely worth the money they paid us to come here!”

T’Varik leaned forward. “Then I strongly advise you to cease your attack and surrender. There will be no victory for you today.”

He glanced at each side of him, as if seeing or hearing reactions from others, before he bared jewelled teeth at her. “You think so, bitch?” He ended the transmission. 

“Another one incoming!” The ship lurched, harder this time. “Shields at forty percent!”

“Giles, alert Salem One!” T’Varik shouted over the chaos. “Helm, increase speed to Warp 9.5!”

*

On board the Al-Razi, Lucille Arrington frowned to herself. “It’s quiet.”

Beside her, First Officer Bill Franco jutted out his chin, his pearly teeth bright against his bronzed, bearded skin. “Quiet as the grave?”

She rolled her eyes; as a team-building exercise, she had agreed to join the senior staff in an old-fashioned murder mystery Holodeck program, where one of the characters, some cadaverous-looking English butler, kept intoning that phrase. She turned in her seat. “Anything from the Surefoot yet, Mr Surrolk?”

“No, Captain – the interference is increasing the more we enter the system.”

“Tactical, any sign of the Orions?”

Lt Neraxis Ostrow punched in a command on her console, her bald blue Bolian head creasing, her voice sharper than usual. “Nothing, Captain. I can’t see a damn thing.”

She ground her teeth. Their sensors were fine, they were quadruple-checked along the way. There just wasn’t any sign of either ship; and without communications or sensors, it was going to be a long search.

Arrington looked over at the Engineering station, where Neraxis’ husband, Lt Jonas Ostrow, was working away. “Mr Ostrow, can we get some more power?”

“On it, Ma’am,” came his distracted reply.

She stared for a moment at the back of the young man’s head, aware of how closely tied the Ostrow couple were to the Surefoot, when Commodore Hrelle had been a Captain and in command.

Since they joined her crew on this new command, ‘Hrelle’s Cubs’ had exceeded her expectations of them: Neraxis was a tough but canny Chief of Security, maintaining a perfect balance of assertiveness and temperance that belied her youth. And Jonas was a genius Chief Engineer, one of those ‘miracle workers’ every Captain hopes to get under their command. 

And in a career that was, to put it charitably, ‘chequered’, recruiting those two was one of her better decisions… even if she could never quite forget that her first meeting with Jonas was him punching her in order to save Hrelle from being murdered by Ferasans. 

But still, they were only human- well, one of them was, anyway. “They’ll be okay, Lieutenant. Captain T’Varik is an experienced officer-”

From the Helm, Lt Train reported, “Approaching recorded site of Zorin perimeter satellites- no signal due to interference-”

Suddenly Jonas spun in his seat to face Arrington, so quickly it made her start, his pale face turning bone-white as he caught her gaze. “Captain, take evasive action! NOW!”

She almost questioned him, before thinking better of it. “Helm! Evasive Pattern Alpha!”

On the viewscreen, the image of the red giant was eclipsed by a more intense white flash, as if it has suddenly gone Nova, accompanied by a jarring turbulence as the Al-Razi banked hard to port, the Red Alert klaxon filling the Bridge.

Arrington gripped the arms of her chair. “Damage Report!”

“Minor damage to the shields,” Franco responded. “No injuries.”

“Tactical, scan for the Orion ship-”

“Captain,” Jonas interrupted. “It wasn’t the Orions. It was the Zorin satellites.”

Arrington rose to her feet. “The satellites? What are you talking about?”

He turned back to his station, calling up data on his screens. “I was examining the nature of the subspace interference to find a way to augment our signals through the satellites and reach the Surefoot.”

“I thought you were busy squeezing some more power from the engines?” Franco asked.

“I was doing that as well, Commander.” Jonas replied absently as he brought up a map of the outer system. “Anyway, I saw that someone moved the satellites from their former positions and grouped them together in front of us, overheating their isolytic cores to produce the subspace interference we’ve been experiencing.” He pointed to one spot. “Deliberately lined up to keep the most intense interference between this system and Salem One, and still at least superficially look like it was coming from the black star.”

Arrington frowned at the image. “Doing that would have rendered local space unstable. Our rapid approach at high warp straight at it triggered a subspace tear that would have swallowed us up. A trap.” She straightened up. “Good work, Jonas. Now, let’s track down the Surefoot and the Orions.”

*

“Commodore!” Sternhagen called out. “Explosion detected at the edge of the Ucarro Major system, near the last reported location of the Al-Razi!”

He raced over to the Tactical station, taking in the readings and computer enhanced images. “Mother’s Cubs… a subspace rift? What in the Seven Hells could cause that? A warp core breach?”

“No… isolytic elements involved… our readings are limited because of the subspace interference… but I think whatever caused the rift might have also been causing the interference, because I think it’s beginning to ease!”

He nodded, still staring at the readings, cursing being here, instead of out there. “Can we raise the Al-Razi or Surefoot?”

“Negative, Commodore… but we are getting their transponders. They’re both moving towards each other.”

Hrelle breathed out. That was something, anyway. “Lieutenant Dassene, while you’re doing the shopping, put in a Priority Order for some of the new Tactical Beacons. As many as can be spared.”

“Already on it, Sir.”

“Commodore,” Lt Ajis spoke up. “There’s a Message for you from Admiral Raner.”

Hrelle’s heart quickened, as he glanced at Sternhagen, before replying, “I’ll take it in my office, Lieutenant.”

Seconds later, he was startled by the image of Marija Raner, the tough-as-nails Head of Starfleet Security... on a sunny balcony, clad in an orange bikini. He was about to make a joke about it, when the expression he saw on the human’s face warned against it. He leaned back in his chair behind his desk. “Admiral, I wasn’t expecting you. I was told you were on leave.”

“I am,” she responded curtly. “I was on a beach in Dubrovnik sipping a frozen strawberry daiquiri with my wife, when I somehow got an urgent message from one of our more important civilian contractors telling me that his people in Salem Sector were being harassed by you.”

He breathed out, letting his claws extend while keeping his paws out of sight. “Let me guess: the message was from Mr Billy Buford, a Good Old Boy from Zorin Interstellar.”

“Yes, as a matter of fact. Care to tell me why I’m getting calls from him about you?”

“We’re investigating a missing civilian transport ship, the SS Whisper. There’s evidence that the ship visited the Zorin facilities on Ucarro Major II, despite the statements they submitted, and further investigation has uncovered potential evidence that they’re employing Genesis technology. And subspace interference has cut us off from contact with our ships, and Orions have become involved.”

Raner’s brow furrowed. “And do you have proof that Zorin Interstellar is definitely using Genesis? And are responsible for the interference and the Orion involvement?”

“No, not yet. That’s why we conduct investigations in the first place.”

Now her frown became a scowl. “Do I look like I’m in the mood, Hrelle?”

“Apologies, Admiral… but with respect, I didn’t ask Buford to contact you.”

“Perhaps not, but he did, and he reminded me of the level of support Zorin Interstellar has given to supplement Starfleet losses during and after the War. Perhaps you should just downscale whatever you’re doing there for now, and I can arrange an outside investigator to come in and check things out?”

Hrelle considered the suggestion, and then shook his head. “No.”

“Excuse me, Commodore?”

“I said No, Admiral. I’m in charge of Salem Sector, Ucarro Major is in Salem Sector, and my people are more than capable of managing things here.” 

Raner leaned forward, and her commanding persona shone through despite her very casual clothes. “And suppose I upgraded that suggestion to an order?”

He shrugged. “Then I’ll respectfully refuse that order, Ma’am.”

Her eyes flared. “Just who in the Hell do you think you are, Hrelle?”

Suddenly he slammed his fist against his desktop, raising his voice to a yell. “Damn it, Admiral, you called me in the middle of the night and forced me to take this damn post! I didn’t want to come here, but you gave me no choice! Now either leave me alone and trust me to do my job, or fire me so I can retire to Cait and go fishing with my son!”

They stared at each other, before Raner conceded, with the hint of a smile, “Well, no one can accuse you of hiding your feelings, Hrelle.”

He forced himself to calm down. “I’m sorry, Admiral. I’m worried about my people… and I’m angry that Zorin Interstellar thinks it can get its way with Starfleet. I’ll send you a full report as soon as it’s ready.”

She leaned back in the balcony chair. “You’ll send it to my office. I’ll be busy working on my tan, getting drunk and making it up to my wife for all the time I spend working. Good luck. Raner out.”

Hrelle allowed himself a chance to calm down, before returning outside.

*

Another blast struck, C’Rash reporting, “Aft shields at twenty percent! Minor damage to Aft Decks 4 and 5!”

“Damage Control parties to Aft Decks 4 and 5!” Bellator ordered. “Mr Madison, get those aft shields shored up! Mr Arrington, hail the Orions, order them to stand down!”

T’Varik stayed focused on the tactical data coming in. They had been unable to shake the Orion ship, and they were employing a weapon at high warp speed that somehow was successfully reaching them. Physically, logically, it was impossible. And the Orions were deliberately matching their speed to an exact degree, prolonging the chase-

No, they weren’t. “Helm, on my mark, you’ll take us hard to port alee, and drop us out of warp. Tactical, prepare to take advantage.” She checked the seconds coming up to the next firing cycle, and- “Now!”

The Surefoot dove sharply, and then lurched back into real space, letting the Green Death continue ahead.

“Astrid, continue out of the system, but constantly shift velocity,” T’Varik continued. “C’Rash, the Orions will try and get behind us again, and send their particle beams along our warpfield wake.”

The Caitian growled. “They won’t be doing that again.”

“They’re doubling around!” Astrid shouted.

“Take us in,” T’Varik ordered. “Head on. As Commodore Hrelle is fond of saying, ‘If you can’t be the strongest or the fastest, be the most ferocious’.”

The Starfleet vessel shot ahead at warp speed once more, the Orion ship dead ahead and now heading towards them.

Suddenly, Giles shouted, “Captain! There’s another ship coming in to intercept- the Al-Razi!”

Outside, another Sabre class ship ripped through space, sending a volley of quantum torpedoes to strike at the Orion ship, making its shields flare crimson.

From the Surefoot, T’Varik shouted, “Fore torpedoes, now!”

Another swarm of torpedoes shot forth and attacked the Green Death, this time from the front.

*

The Green Death tumbled. Nesrac Sur clung to the arms of his chair, his head spinning over the turn of events. This should have been easy: destroy the Caitian and his ship, and reclaim some of his father’s lost honour.

Instead, in short order, he was robbed of the sweet victory of destroying Hrelle by discovering that he allowed his ship to be commanded by some Vulcan female, who managed to escape his assault. And now, another Starfleet vessel has arrived. Could this day get any worse?

“Shipmaster!” his First Mate Mollar barked. “A message from the other ship!”

Seconds later, a female voice filled the air. “Orion vessel: this is Captain Lucille Arrington of the USS Al-Razi, you are ordered to stand down and surrender-”

Nesrac Sur spat. Another woman shipmaster? What was wrong with the kafirfir Starfleeters? Letting their bitches have such power? “RETREAT! This is not worth the paltry money offered us! Throw a Wrench!”

*

The Green Death spun, as from its aft section a torpedo-like projectile launched, not towards either Starfleet vessel but between them, exploding as the Orion vessel jumped to warp.

The viewscreen of the Surefoot Bridge flared white, T’Varik ordered, “Damage Report!”

“Matter-antimatter reaction chamber compromised,” Giles reported. “That last weapon released some sort of resonance particle wave. Engineering is realigning the dilithium matrix, but we won’t have warp drive for a couple of minutes.”

She frowned openly; another advanced weapon in Orion hands. “Prepare all relevant data on this and the particle beam for the Commodore. Hail the Al-Razi.”

Lucille Arrington appeared in the centre of her own Bridge. “Surefoot, do you require assistance?”

T’Varik rose to her feet. “You have already provided more than enough with your timely intervention, Captain Arrington. Thank you.”

Lucille smirked. “Thank Commodore Hrelle; he recognised the ship and the Shipmaster, and ordered me here at top speed. But we almost bought the farm at the edge of the system; it looked like the Orions had hijacked the Zorin satellites and rigged them to generate the subspace interference, and then almost pull us into a subspace rift.” She indicated Jonas Ostrow, beside and behind her. “Fortunately, I have a Miracle Worker in my crew.”

T’Varik raised an eyebrow. “I wholeheartedly agree with the assessment regarding my former cadet, though I do not believe the Orions were responsible for the actions of the satellites. I am assuming that their parting weapon temporarily disabled your reaction chamber as well as ours; I suggest we make repairs and proceed to Salem One. Surefoot out.” She stood there for a second later, before announcing, “Number One, continue with Damage Control and proceed to Salem One, Warp Nine. I have a visit to make.”

*

Moments later, she had returned to the Brig, noting that Dr Rexxil had been removed since her last visit, before drawing up to Reiser. “You should know that in addition to your previous crimes, there will be additional charges of Conspiracy to Commit Murder, specifically the crews of the USS Surefoot and the USS Al-Razi; Conspiracy to Destroy Starfleet equipment, specifically the aforementioned vessels; Employment of Mercenary Operatives for Criminal Activity-”

“Are you insane?” Reiser exclaimed. “I don’t know what you’re talking about!”

“Your fear,” T’Varik continued. “Your fear of being confined onboard this ship, a fear beyond incarceration, was suspicious in itself. The subsequent events confirmed the reason behind it: you reconfigured Zorin Interstellar satellites to emit subspace interference and prevent us from contacting Salem One. You have employed mercenaries, first to destroy the SS Whisper, and then to try and destroy us. Our continued existence, and our contact with Salem One, proves the inefficacy of your efforts.”

The human turned away, shaking his head. “You’re crazy- deluded-”

Vada stepped into view now. “No one will be saying anything more to you or anyone else, Captain! We are invoking the Fifth Amendment of the Federation Bill of Rights, to refuse to answer any questions or make any statements that could be used in a criminal proceeding to help establish that the person committed a crime.”

T’Varik nodded. “And what if I were to tell you that we have captured the leader of the mercenaries, who is currently negotiating with the Federation Commissioner at Salem One for a reduced sentence, in exchange for testimony regarding your activities on Ucarro Major II?”

Vada, Reiser and the rest of the captives in the cell, turned to face her.

Reiser shook his head. “You’re full of shit-”

Vada blocked him, drawing up to the force field until it flared in warning. “It was Reiser! He’s had the Orions on his private payroll for months now, he sent the codes to the satellites, he’s planned to market Alkemy without revealing the toxic side effects all along!”

“Vada, you bastard!” Reiser cursed, held back by the others from attacking him.

The Zakdorn lawyer ignored him, focusing on T’Varik. “I can be a valuable asset, if you can offer me the same protection as you’re giving Dr Rexxil. I wish to begin negotiations with the Federation Commissioner-”

“There will be no negotiations.” She folded her hands behind her. “You have provided the confirmation I needed of your complicity, by your mentioning without prompting that the mercenaries were Orion.”

Vada blinked, eyes wide. “B-But you said the Orion Shipmaster was making a deal-”

She raised an eyebrow to him. “I did not. I merely asked you how you would react to the possibility of such a scenario.”

As she turned to depart, she declared over her shoulder, “I cannot be held responsible for how you interpret my words.”

*

Nam-Seon considered herself an adept judge of a person’s state of mind from a moment’s glance – at least, most humanoid people’s. She had been taking courses in reading other races, and it proved a continuously fascinating subject, the more new peoples she met, even beyond the obvious advantages it gave her in her work.

Now, however, she wished for a little bit of ignorance, as she stared at the face on the viewscreen in her office, and what it told her before a single word was spoken. Still, she had to Play the Game, and wait for him. “We have all facilities running on Deck 7 of Salem One for the arraignment of the Zorin Interstellar personnel in the coming days and the collation of evidence and witness statements, and there will be a Starfleet Security vessel coming to collect them by the end of the week. 

We also have a member of the Federation News Service on station, asking for an official statement; word has gotten out from Salem Sector, so I’ll be preparing something soon to temper the rumour storm.” She paused, catching her breath and gauging her superior’s response.

Federation High Commissioner Antonio Delgado was a gaunt, silver-haired, silver-bearded man with an aquiline nose and blue-grey eyes that could, when warranted, give off the warmth of a log fire… or cold like a snowstorm in the dead of winter. She was getting the latter. “Commissioner Nam-Seon, this is a very serious matter.”

She blinked, remaining calm as she steepled her fingers together. “I agree, Sir. From what I have seen and heard, Zorin has much to answer for-”

“I mean allowing Starfleet to handle this matter so clumsily.”

“Sir?”

“Of course. Having them raid Ucarro Major II, arrest Zorin’s personnel, allowing a member of the FNS to release the story. The level of overreaction on their part is frankly appalling.”

Nam-Seon leaned forward, frowning, not believing what she was hearing now. “‘Overreaction’? Sir, Zorin Interstellar arranged for the destruction of the SS Whisper and the deaths of her crew, attempted to do the same to two Starfleet vessels, and that’s not even taking into account this conspiracy with their faulty terraforming technology, threatening untold millions-”

“Commissioner,” Delgado cut in, in that familiar way that she knew – and hated – since he had been her mentor. “Ryo... we are not permitted the indulgence of sensational hyperbole. We are the custodians of law and order for the Federation… not Starfleet.” Now he leaned in on his side of the viewscreen. “And you need to remind Starfleet of that. We are no longer at War, and militant minds like Hrelle need to be kept under control.”

She fought to control her breathing, her expression and tone, to put aside the history she shared with the older man. “Sir… Commodore Hrelle does not strike me as militant by nature. Far from it. Terrible acts have been committed here by Zorin-”

He raised a finger to cut her off. “The men and women who work for Zorin Interstellar and who are currently incarcerated at your station must be presumed innocent until proven otherwise… and as far as has been determined to date, Mr Zorin has not been directly involved in the alleged incidents. As part of your duties in that sector, you will serve as a Federation Arbiter, you should be well aware of that.”

She nodded. “You’re right of course, Sir. My apologies.”

Delgado leaned back again, folding his hands on his desk. “A senior representative of Zorin Interstellar, William Buford, is on his way to Salem One, and in fact is due momentarily.”

Nam-Seon frowned. “For what purpose?”

“His team will be proceeding to Ucarro Major II to secure Zorin Interstellar property, and will require you to override the Starfleet restrictions placed on the facilities there. You will also remand the senior operatives into his custody at their arraignment.”

“Excuse me? You expect me to release the prisoners?” 

The High Commissioner shook his head. “Not release, Commissioner, remand. And I only refer to the senior operatives, Mr Reiser and Mr Vada. I have been assured by Mr Buford that they will deliver these gentlemen to their trial on Deep Space 12, and that they are able to pay any bail you set for them.”

She felt her self-control slipping from the weight of her incredulity at the request. “And what could possibly compel me to offer these men such an option?”

Now it was Delgado’s turn to frown. “Consider it a gesture of good will, to a company that has, and still does, provide a significant amount of service to the Federation.” He regarded her. “Is that going to be a problem, Ryo?”

Nam-Seon breathed in, anger beginning to eclipse disbelief. “Frankly, Sir, yes. You almost make it sound like we should be apologising for catching them committing crimes- sorry, alleged crimes. And that Zorin Interstellar has been providing all this… service… to the Federation out of the goodness of their hearts, instead of for profit.”

“Ryo-”

She felt her face tighten as she continued. “And that senior employees of a powerful corporation should be given special treatment in the eyes of the law…. Which, here, is myself. Frankly, I find that obscene. That may have been the case centuries ago, when corproations wielded actual political power in governments, and existed in an economic system that made us dependent on their financial strength. No longer.”

“Commissioner-”

“No, Sir. I will not remand those prisoners to the custody of anyone but Starfleet personnel, who will escort them, and the others, to their trials. And I will not rescind Starfleet’s restrictions on any Zorin property on Ucarro Major II.

Delgado thin, colourless lips scowled. “You need to think about this, Commissioner. I know you, trained you, taught you. You’re young, and this is your first real assignment, one I personally approved for you… but only because I believed it would be safe, where nothing of significance would occur. Life is more complicated than what the classrooms teach you. Don’t jeopardise your career when it’s only just beginning.”

Nam-Seon swallowed again, feeling like a child again, being scolded once more by her elders. No. Not anymore. “To paraphrase your own words moments ago, we are the custodians of law and order for the Federation… not Starfleet, and not any private corporation, not matter how powerful or influential. My decision stands.

You, of course, can override my decisions, or have me censured, or even removed from my position. I, of course, will follow the guidelines you taught me, and file an appeal with the Federation Council, where everything will be revealed.”

Delgado stared at her without moving, to the point where she almost checked to see if the transmission had frozen. But then he leaned back in his chair. “I sincerely hope for your sake, your family’s sake, that you understand the ramifications of your choices, before it’s too late.”

She leaned back in her chair, not realising how coiled her entire body had become since the conversation began. Well, Ryo, you’ve done it now. You’re not here one week and already you’ve antagonised your superior and threatened your career. What will you do for an encore, sell the station to the Ferengi?

Maybe Delgado was right. She was no child, no matter how much others might make her feel otherwise. Life was more complicated than one might expect. And the weight of responsibility she felt now seemed to rival Atlas’ burden.

*

In Salem One’s Hospital, Masterson peered down at the jackalope in the container, currently on its side, its chest rising and dropping slowly as it slept. “Incredible… that this little critter was some toxic chemical just a few weeks ago…”

Kit continued to study the readings on the surrounding panels. “I must concur, Respected Doctor. I have barely begun to study the lifeform, and though I fear more qualified personnel will soon take over the task, I have been most intrigued in the limited time I have been allowed.”

“But can we even call it a lifeform?” Chief Nurse Eydiir Daughter-of-Kaas challenged. “Perhaps it perfectly mimics a biological entity at the cellular, even the genetic level. But beyond that, it is merely a simulacrum, like a hologram.”

“A difference which makes no difference is no difference,” Masterson opined.

“If it looks like a duck, swims like a duck, and quacks like a duck, then it probably is a duck,” Kit added as well, finishing with, “Although I hope no one finds my abstraction too… fowl.” He wheezed with laughter at his own pun, Masterson joining him with a chuckle and Eydiir with a roll of her eyes.

“A debate for philosophers,” Professor Tallus offered, reading from a PADD, the diminutive Roylan female moving around the station’s Biology Lab. “And ethicists: even if Alkemy hadn’t proved to be as flawed in its own way as Genesis was in the last century, I’d find the idea of Instant Life, Just Add Water, owned and marketed by corporations like cheap souvenirs…”

She shuddered. “Anyway, based on the information provided by Dr Rexxil, the planet where they found the Alkemy material was in a sector of space very close to the region of space once inhabited by the Tkon Empire, over half a million years ago. 

That means the entire project will fall under the Pandora Protocols, and the Federation Archaeological Bureau will soon take control of it all, locking it all down and marking it as Classified.” She set aside the PADD. “For which I will be thankful. The existence of the Alkemy Fluid raises too many questions, opens too many doors, we may not be equipped now to handle. Imagine if Zorin Interstellar had taken it further, and attempted the creation of intelligent life?”

“Instant, intelligent… disposable life,” Kit mused, shuddering, “I trust that the corporation will be penalised for their actions to date?”

Masterson nodded. “With that reporter Kolchak having broken the story now, word is getting around. I hear Starfleet Security is coming to collect them for trial. Whether or not the long arm of the law will reach the Head Honcho, well…” He shrugged. 

*

T’Varik was completing her report when her Ready Room door slid open, unannounced, and Srithik entered, carrying a tray of food. “Aunt, am I disturbing you?”

“No, Nephew. But as I am busy, you may not find me amenable company while you eat.”

He set the tray down on her desk. “The food is for you. Aunt C’Rash confirmed this was permissible.” He set out a small bowl of salad and fruit juice. “I wanted to order your favourite, Terran Vegetarian Pizza-”

She looked up. “I would not profess to having a ‘favourite’ food. How did you come to that conclusion?”

The boy straightened up. “I ran a replicator log statistical audit for your preferences. Terran Vegetarian Pizza appeared the most frequently-ordered evening meal for you.”

She nodded in concession. “A logical tactic. But it does not address why you provided this offering instead?”

“It was Aunt C’Rash’s suggestion. She stated that your waist and posterior had grown to such a degree of late that you would benefit from salad.”

She looked up. “Indeed? I must discuss her concerns later.” She indicated the chair opposite, and as he sat down, she asked, “And how has your time with Lt Kitirik been?”

“Most enlightening, Aunt. Kit is an intelligent and engaging individual, with a subtle sense of humour.” Then his expression sobered. “May I ask a question, please? You may consider it inane of me to ask but-”

“There are no inane questions in my household, whether they are from cadets or relatives. Proceed.”

Srithik’s brow furrowed in thought. “As I understand it, the employees of the Zorin Interstellar corporation were willing to sell and use a technology that would potentially cause long-term ecological damage to many worlds where it would be employed, affecting untold numbers of people, all for short-term profit for themselves. It is not logical.”

She nodded. “Nor ethical.”

“Then what would compel them to do this?”

“Greed, Nephew. Simple greed. Greed can often drive individuals to commit terrible acts, to conceal those acts, to detach or delude themselves from the consequences of those acts, or to seek justification for them by claiming beneficial side effects that might arise from those acts. It is not without precedent, in the history of Earth and other worlds… including Vulcan. This is why there are regulatory checks and balances now in place, and corporations do not hold the levels of power they once held before the birth of the Federation.”

He nodded at that, but then admitted, “Aunt T’Varik, I am at a loss as to understand greed. I recognise on an intellectual level that greed once served as a survival instinct with many sentient species, as an impetus for competition and development. But we live in a post-scarcity, post-mass consumption society now, so the desire to seek fulfilment through material possessions or wealth rather than through service to others or self-improvement should be all but extinct.”

“In a society of billions, there will inevitably be those who desire to accumulate phantom wealth or possessions of dubious value,” she informed him. “Even though we are no longer suffused with advertisements, entertainment and even people of note who promote such desires as natural, even desirable. 

And it is perhaps insightful to acknowledge that such zeal, at the expense of others, can be seen applied in other directions: faith, fame, power… your own mother, for instance, with her career as a politician on Vulcan. When one focuses too much on one goal, it skews perspective.”

Srithik’s olive skin darkened. “I… had not considered that.”

She regarded him, before retrieving her salad bowl. “We will not dwell on the subject and its implications any longer. I wish to discuss the living arrangements for you on Salem One.”

He frowned. “You do not wish me to live with you and Aunt C’Rash on the Surefoot?”

“There will of course be opportunities for that, but as I am certain you have already experienced, the nature of our work in Starfleet will not always make that practicable. I intend for you to spend the majority of your time on the station, where you will benefit both from a stable educational base, and contact with others, who will keep you safe.”

“Will I live alone while you and Aunt C’Rash are away?”

“No. You will be cared for by Commodore Hrelle and Counselor Hrelle.”

He raised an eyebrow. “They would be willing to do this for a stranger? Why?”

“They are Family. We are bound not by blood, but by something I daresay is much stronger.”

*

“You know,” Hrelle opined, “We’ve only been running for a few days now, but between the Marauders and the Zorin personnel, our Brig is almost full. We can’t let this continue. Any suggestions?”

Sitting opposite him in his office, Station Security Chief Lt Salvo crossed her arms. “There’s plenty of space just outside the station, Commodore.”

Hrelle blinked, noting the reactions from Nam-Seon and Zir. “Yes, lots of space. Empty, cold, airless space.”

Salvo shrugged. “I’ll give them some blankets and they can hold their breath.”

He looked at Nam-Seon. “She’s joking, of course.”

The young human offered him a smile. “Even I gathered that, Commodore.” Her smile dropped again. “Sir, you haven’t given me your opinion of the conversation I had with the High Commissioner… and my decision.”

He leaned back in his chair. “It’s a little disturbing, but not surprising. Based on the intelligence you’ve provided, Like many companies, such as Michel Shipping, Dytallix Mining, OCP and Delos, Zorin Interstellar does seem to have manoeuvred their way into some low-key but important positions provided logistical support, security, exploration and research, while Starfleet rebuilds its numbers following the War.

As for your decision, I’ve supported it fully, both in my own official logs, and personally. That doesn’t mean the repercussions will disappear… but at least you’ll sleep better at night.”

His intercom buzzed, and Sternhagen announced, “Commodore, William Buford has arrived.”

Hrelle rose from behind his desk. “Show him in.”

Seconds later, his door slid open, and Buford walked in, the same large-framed, jowly human male with broad nose, dimpled chin, and Ferengi smile he saw onscreen before, as he drew right up to Hrelle, offering his hand. “Commodore! Well, this is a thrill to finally meet you in the flesh! I’ve been reading up on you! You’re quite the Hero!”

Hrelle hesitantly accepted the hand in his paw, feeling the subtle but unmistakable attempt by Buford to demonstrate his strength and establish his dominance. Yeah, Bubulah, good luck with that. You’re in my territory now… He drew back, indicating the others. “Mr Buford, this is Federation Commissioner Ryo Nam-Seon, my Station Security Chief Lt Arcanis Salvo, and my Adjutant Lt Zir Dassene.”

He tipped an imaginary hat to each of them. “A fine stable of ladies you’ve got here, Commodore!” He winked at Zir. “I see you know how to enjoy the finer things in life even out here in the Boondocks.”

Hrelle saw the subtle disgusted reaction from Zir, as well as her professional composure hiding it, and took back command. “Mr Buford-”

He grinned. “Call me Billy.”

“Mr Buford, I’m sorry you’ve made this long trip out here for nothing. We will not be releasing anyone into your custody, and we will not be allowing Zorin Interstellar to take away anything from Ucarro Major II.”

“Hmm?” He looked over at Nam-Seon. “Didn’t your boss call you before now to tell you what was supposed to happen, Sweetie?”

The human female bristled, but like Zir stayed cool. “My… boss… forwarded your requests, Mr Buford. I denied them.”

Hrelle saw the man’s expression waver, just a little. “And why would you do that?”

“The potential danger of the Alkemy chemical, the seriousness of the crimes for which your people have been arrested, and the duplicitous nature of Zorin Interstellar in general, make releasing your men and your material back to your company inappropriate.”

“Commissioner Nam-Seon has my full support,” Hrelle informed him.

“Well, I’ll want to see my men, talk to them, make sure they’re safe.”

Salvo crossed her arms. “They are safe. Much safer than if we handed them over to you, to mysteriously disappear before they reach trial.”

Now Buford looked at her, chuckling. “Now, what did I do to earn such hostility?”

“You’ll have to excuse us, Mr Buford,” Hrelle explained. “We’re all still reeling from the enormity of the deaths on Ucarro Major II. Millions of innocent lifeforms, created and then left to slowly suffer and die.”

The executive faced him, looking disbelieving now. “Our lawyers will argue that they weren’t really lifeforms to begin with, just simulations that would never have existed without Zorin Interstellar’s doing! And anyway, it was an industrial accident! They've always happened, everywhere!”

Hrelle nodded. “Bhopal, India, Earth, 1984. Io Mining Colony, Jupiter, 2081. Grugnagh Toxic Waste Plant, Tellar Prime, 2177. Heliopolis Island, Ingari IV, 2244. Praxis, Qo’nos, 2293. All industrial accidents. All causing untold death and suffering. All caused by greed, or carelessness, or short sightedness. Mostly greed.

And what happened to the crew of the Whisper was no accident. Neither was the attack on my ships. Nor the conspiracy to market technology you were aware had long-term environmental and health hazards.”

Buford seemed to regard him for a moment, before asking, “Can you and I have a word alone, Commodore?”

“No.”

He nodded… as Hrelle smelled the growing indignation in the human, despite his attempts to hide it. “You know something? I like you, Hrelle. You remind me of me.”

“I’ll try not to take that personally.”

“No, really, I mean it. Some youngsters running around believe all the idealistic naive bullshit about life being fair and truth prevailing and all that. But you and I? We’re old enough to know better.”

“Are we, now?”

“Sure. You and I both know I can just make a few calls to the right people, and you can find yourself being ordered to cooperate. What will you do then?”

Hrelle shrugged. “You’ve already tried that, with my superior. I told her my career isn’t worth my principles.”

Buford smirked. “A cute statement. Are you sure it’s not being said for their benefit?” He thumbed at the others in the office for punctuation.

Hrelle straightened up. “No. And since I’m still in a job, that should tell you how that was received.”

Buford stepped back, glancing at Hrelle’s desk, seeing his framed image of a smiling Kami, Sasha, Misha and Sreen. He picked it up without asking permission. “Nice looking family. Naturally you want to do good by them. I know you got some perks being in Starfleet: modest stipend, pension, discounts, shiny boots.

But you could do a lot better in the private sector, Pardner. Better for you.” He held up the photo. “Better for them.” He dropped the photo.

Hrelle felt his tail smack the side of his desk. “You attempted to bribe me once before, Mr Buford. You should know it’s an offence under Federation law.”

“I’m not trying to bribe you, Commodore… just show you what’s on offer if you join the Zorin Interstellar family.” He indicated the lapels of his jacket, a shiny, elaborately-tailored dark blue jacket. “You see this suit? Pure Orion silk, from the Ngazorc Province. The finest silk available in the Galaxy, even better than the Tholian brand.” Buford looked to Zir. “You can vouch for me on that, can’t you, Darling?”

Hrelle looked to Zir, whose olive skin darkened as her jaw tightened and her eyes flared. “Oh, yes. Ngazorc is the finest silk ever spun by the hands… of child slaves. Children as young as five, working fourteen hours or more a day, every day, in damp, dark rooms. Dipping their hands in boiling water that burns and blisters them. Breathing smoke and fumes from machinery. Handling dead worms that cause infections. Cutting their fingers while guiding threads through looms. Beaten and abused by their owners if they fall behind quota. By the time they reach adulthood, assuming they haven’t been killed, they are emaciated, blind, disabled. 

Did you know the true price of your suit, Mr Buford?”

He stared at her… and then smiled. “Well, Darling, I guess the least I can do to honour their hard work is keep looking this good.”

“Are you being intentionally disgusting?” Nam-Seon asked, looking appalled.

“I think it comes natural to him,” Salvo glowered.

“It does make you look good,” Hrelle admitted, staring at the jacket, drawing closer to reach out and touch the material, before looking up at the owner. “Is it really that expensive?”

Buford smiled at his reaction. “I could buy your whole family twice over with what this cost. And I’ve got a whole closet of them. 

You see, Hrelle, I know Starfleet likes to think of themselves as the movers and shakers of the Federation. But, no offence intended... you’re all grunts. Pawns. 

It’s men like Max Zorin. Companies like Zorin Interstellar. And this jacket is a symbol of what we have, of what we can offer men like you.”

Hrelle kept looking back at the jacket, before reaching for the lapels of his own Flag Officer’s jacket, his eyes wide with interest. “May I?”

Buford stared back, before chuckling again. “Why not? We’re about the same size. But I promise you: once you get a taste of it, Pardner, you’ll be ready to throw away your Starfleet badge.” He slipped out of his jacket, handing it over to Hrelle, watching, as if expecting Hrelle to remove his own jacket to try it on.

Hrelle didn’t.

He carefully folded Buford’s jacket once, and then again.

Buford’s smirk dropped. “Hey, Buddy- you’re gonna get it creased.”

Hrelle ignored him, folding the jacket one more time into a square, before letting it drop to the floor before him.

Buford’s eyes widened. “Hey! Weren’t you listening? What are you, some kind of animal?” He started towards it.

Hrelle never looked at him, but raised a finger at him to stop him in his tracks. The Caitian kept his back to the others, his gaze fixed on the jacket at his feet, as he then undid the front of his trousers, thankful now that he hadn’t gone to the toilet before this meeting.

The sound of his peeing on the jacket filled the office.

When he was done, he tucked himself away and turned back to an astonished and dismayed-looking Buford. “Consider that a message from the child slaves who suffered so that you could keep looking this good.

Your name appears at the top of just about every Zorin Interstellar document connected to the project at Ucarro Major II. The probability is high that you were aware of the illegal events. William Buford, you are under arrest for Conspiracy to Commit Murder, Attempted Murder, Attempted Destruction of Starfleet Vessels; Providing False Statements and Data to Starfleet Personnel; Conspiracy to Violate Federation Environmental Protection Laws and Conspiracy to Employ Mercenary Operatives to commit crimes within Federation Space. Lt Salvo will escort you to our Brig to await arraignment; she will inform you of your rights along the way.”

Buford now focused away from his jacket to the one who ruined it. “You… You have no idea of the trouble you’ve stirred up. When Max Zorin hears about this, he’ll be coming for you.”

Hrelle nodded at that. “Knowing the history of crimes committed by corporations, more than likely he’ll be happy to throw you and the others to the wolves. That’s the power of conglomerate entities: their total lack of loyalty allows them to excise subordinates like you to save those at the top.

Still, if he does want to come along, I’m sure we’ll find a place in our Brig for him, too. Lieutenant?”

Salvo drew up, smirking. “Are you going to resist arrest? Please say Yes.”

Buford looked up at the tall, intimidating Nova Roman woman, letting himself get taken by the arm and drawn to the office door.

“Wait.” Hrelle bent down, carefully lifted up the jacket and brought it over, slapping it into his chest with a wet sound and making him hug it against him. “Now you can really piss off.”

*

Outside the office, in Operations, Darren Kolchak looked around the stations, his newly-purchased reporting drones floating silently behind him like hummingbirds, recording as he followed Captain Sternhagen around. “So, Commodore Hrelle had served in this sector before?”

“Yes, as did I. He commanded the Furyk, protecting us. They called him The Lion of Salem Sector. They called me things you can’t broadcast.”

Kolchak kept glancing back at Hrelle’s office, where he had seen Buford enter minutes before. “He’s gonna give in, isn’t he?”

Sternhagen continued to pretend to examine the various stations, hoping the journalist would take the hint and depart. “You should remain in the waiting area until Commodore Hrelle is ready to give you an interview.”

But now he stopped, staring at the office door, his drones reacting to his attention by focusing there as well. “Hrelle’s gonna do whatever Zorin wants, isn’t he? Drop the charges, let their employees go, and it doesn’t matter what they’ve done. That’s the power that men like Max Zorin wield.”

Sternhagen stopped and looked at his back. “Starfleet doesn’t take orders from men like Max Zorin. And I think you’ll find that applies especially to the Commodore.”

Kolchak grunted. “We’ll see, Captain. We’ll see. Anyway, I hope it won’t be too long, I have a transport back to Triacus I have to catch-”

He stopped as the office door opened, and Buford emerged, clutching his jacket to his chest as Salvo strong-armed him, reciting his rights to him as he led him to the turbolifts.

Kolchak immediately motioned for his drones to fly forward, recording all angles as he followed, unable to keep the delight from his voice as he asked, “Mr Buford, is there something wrong? Care to make a statement? What’s with that smell? Is that what guilt smells like?”

Buford and Salvo ignored him as they departed in a turbolift. Kolchak looked back at Sternhagen with genuine surprise. “Captain, who can I talk to about arranging quarters on the station for myself?”

She frowned. “I thought you had to get back now that your story was done?”

He beamed. “That story may be done… but I have a feeling there’ll be more here… many more…”

*

In Hrelle’s office, he tugged at the sleeves of his jacket as he turned to Nam-Seon and Zir, his demeanour sober. “Commissioner, Lieutenant, I acknowledge that you have just witnessed me perform an indecent act that is clearly unbecoming of a Starfleet officer, for which I sincerely apologise. Should either or both of you wish to file a complaint against me, I will not contest it.”

Nam-Seon regarded him for a moment, before noting, with a sly smile, “It will be a pleasure to continue working with you, Commodore. If you’ll excuse me, I have to add Mr Burford to my arraignment schedule.”

“Of course, Commissioner.” He watched her depart, before turning to Zir. “Lieutenant?”

The young Orion woman swallowed. “Sir, I’m the one who must apologise.”

“You? What for?”

She breathed in, her gaze lowered. “When… When I saw you showing interest in Mr Buford’s jacket, for a moment I thought- I thought-” Now she looked up at him, smiling despite herself. “That was awesome, Sir.” 

He smiled. “Thanks, but don’t tell the wife, I’ll get scolded for setting a bad example to the cubs. Well, we have an interview now with Mr Kolchak, and a few other things ahead of us today, now that we can put this Zorin business to bed.”

*

Gstaad, Switzerland, Earth:

The owner of the huge, luxurious chalet chose his place to stand well, ensuring the house, and the Swiss Alps behind it, were in view of the media cameras.

Max Zorin stood tall, his body ramrod straight while still appearing casual, his receding blonde hair slicked back and immaculate, his hands folded behind him, and his eyes hidden behind his sunglasses as he addressed the semi-circle of reporters. “I have worked tirelessly for over half my life, making Zorin Interstellar a model of efficiency, of versatility and dependability and, above all else, integrity. Our government and private contracts, and the public, have relied on us for decades.

It is therefore with great sorrow that I must confess to having uncovered the actions of a cabal of senior Zorin Interstellar employees, led by an old and close associate of mine, William Buford, to conceal the hazardous effects of an experimental terraforming technology from myself, my Board of Directors, and the regulatory agencies of Starfleet and the United Federation of Planets, in the name of profit.

This conspiracy led them to murder, to attempted murder, to the employment of criminal mercenaries in Federation space, to the creation and destruction of ecosystems on a planet not equipped to sustain them.

I, and Zorin Interstellar, wholeheartedly condemn their actions, and fully support the efforts of both Starfleet and the Federation to bring them to justice. Effective immediately, we are making available to the authorities all data relating to the flawed technology, shutting down ZI’s Terraforming Division and reassigning all personnel to other areas, and donating all related equipment to Terraform Command.”

He breathed out, shaking his head. “I am deeply saddened by the scandal brought into the Zorin Interstellar family. And I swear to you, on my honour, on my family’s honour, that you will never have to see me stand before you like this again. Further updates will be distributed through our Media Offices as and when appropriate. Thank you for attending.”

He didn’t stay for the inevitable further questions. He was certain he could not get through that without breaking.

He strode inside his chalet, his staff stepping aside, saying nothing, knowing better.

One individual, however, followed him silently as he passed, as expected. Her name was Sara Mathys. She was twenty-four, born in Slaskow, Poland, had been working as Max Zorin’s personal assistant for the last eight months. She had a burr of honey-blonde hair, and heterochromatic eyes, her left eye chestnut-brown, her right eye aquamarine.

And from an early age, growing up in her tiny village, she had learned to stop feeling self-conscious about this latter genetic quirk and use it to her advantage, such as making her stand out in job interviews to normally-unmoved men like Max Zorin.

She had thought this would be her dream job: travelling the Galaxy with a dynamic, handsome and charismatic entrepreneur, learning about the business world. She had soon learned that it was no dream, it was a nightmare, one she couldn’t escape… not if she wanted to protect her family back home.

The worst part was the unpredictability of all. He lost control when the mood took him, whether the object of his anger deserved it or not, and the extent of this loss of control could range from a slap across the face to… well, to what happened to her predecessor. The only common denominator was that he never lost control in front of others. He would never risk harming that carefully-crafted public image. 

So, each day, Sara waited. Worked and waited like some prisoner in one of those old videos when they put them in places called Death Row, awaiting the day when the execution order finally came. What else could she do?

But maybe that day wouldn’t be today. It depended on where Max led her now: upstairs and to the right, to his offices, or upstairs and to the left, to his bedroom.

He stopped at the foot of the grand staircase, still not looking at her as he asked, “You have the intelligence on him?”

She swallowed, gripping the PADD in her slim hands like a lifeline. “Yes, Mr Zorin. All of his Starfleet records, everything from the Federation News Service, public databases on Cait. Everything available.”

“Good.” He ascended briskly up the stairs, never stopping to check if she was following, fully expecting her to do so.

She did, watching him. Left or right, left or right-

Left.

She said nothing further as they entered, the strong bright lift of the summer morning from the balcony illuminating the 500-year-old mahogany four-poster bed dominating the room.

He said nothing further as he undressed, his back to her, carefully setting each item of clothing in its designated place on his dressing table, lined up perfectly. His lean muscular body was perfect, flawless.

For a brief, mad moment, she contemplated striking the back of his head with the PADD, and then running away. Enough, Sara. Stop thinking like a child who believed in happy endings. At least you’ll soon stop feeling this unending fear.

Still, as she undressed, she clung to hope. Hope that it might just be sex this time, like the previous times, and his need to vent his anger over the debacle with the teraforming fluid wouldn’t extend beyond leaving her beaten and raw.

She saw him gesture to the sensors in the bedroom; the curtains slid shut, conjuring a more intimate darkness to the interior. Then he took off his sunglasses.

Sara made sure she was ready for him by the time he turned and faced her. She remained passive, knew to let him do what he wanted, letting him maintain absolute control over the proceedings.

He was quick. He was always quick. Rough, but quick. What pleasure she might have gotten from these times was a matter of complete indifference to him; she may as well have been a sex hologram. But pleasure wasn’t a concern for her anymore. Survival was. So Sara accommodated him, until he was finished and removed himself from her, lying there staring up blankly at the silk canopy of the bed, eyes narrow and unblinking.

Sara lay there beside him, ignoring the pain of the session, terrified to move, to say anything, waiting for him.

Finally, he declared, “I’d love a coffee.”

Sara felt her pulse quicken with relief, and he had to suppress a smile as she replied, “Yes, Mr Zorin.” She sat up and rose from the bed, to get his order and live another day-

Pain shot through her as Max Zorin leapt up from the bed like a panther and tackled her to the plush white carpet, before turning her onto her back so she could see him drive his fist into her face, the power of muscles secretly augmented by the finest geneticists money could buy delivering a blow so strong it shattered her skull internally and drove bits of bone into her brain, killing her instantly.

He continued to straddle her, still nude, still aroused, as if in some twisted parody of sex. And he continued to punch her, again and again, his genetic augmentations also allowing him to switch off his pain receptors. That she was already dead was irrelevant. He didn’t even care enough about her to want to keep feeling pain.

Max Zorin continued until he was really spent, and there was nothing recognisable of his former Personal Assistant.

Finally he stopped, stared down at the mess he had made on his carpet, and rose, flexing his fingers and rolling his wrists, the anger passed… for now. It always came back, eventually, inevitably.

He threw Sara’s clothes onto her battered, bloodied body and activated the Cleaners, the small housekeeping robots that emerged from hiding, devices adapted from industrial models that still possessed phasers that could cut and disintegrate matter, including all incriminating evidence, rather than just take it away for recycling. The top-shaped machines immediately identified the mess on the carpet and went to work, as Max Zorin went next door for a long, hot shower.

When he emerged, clad in a thick white robe, the mess on the carpet was gone, as if it had never been there. He retrieved his sunglasses and opened the curtains, taking in the fresh air and the magnificent vista of the mountains surrounding him. Aloud, he announced, “Mr Stamper.”

Seconds later, a man’s voice responded from the bedroom communicator. “Yes, Mr Zorin?”

“Have Jules bring up a pot of raktajino. Oh, and contact the Pool, I need a new Personal Assistant. I had to terminate Sara. She then died in a tragic transporter accident in our facilities in Singapore; send the usual condolences and Death Benefit package to her family in… whatever peon village they live in.”

“I’ll arrange everything, Mr Zorin.”

The communicator channel closed. The reminder of Sara made Max Zorin turn and retrieve the woman’s PADD, taking it out with him onto the balcony, ignoring the cold air on his exposed skin as he accessed the data she had retrieved and collated for him, on Commodore Esek Hrelle. 

He saw a picture of a brown-furred fat Caitian, with a female and some offspring around him. They looked happy.

He imagined what he would end up doing to the wife and brats, while he made Commodore Hrelle watch helplessly, and fully appreciate the costs of interfering in Max Zorin’s plans.

And he grew aroused again at the thought of it…

 

THE ADVENTURES OF THE SUREFOOT UNIVERSE WILL CONTINUE…