Deck 1, Officers’ Residential Section:
Zir entered her quarters, weary, wound up like a clockwork toy, her head pounding from the past several hours, compounding a dilemma she could tell no one about-
“Busy night?”
She spun in place, arms raised in a defensive pose, her heart triphammering. “You!”
Surinh Dag stood there, dressed in the leathers and furs of a stereotypical Pirate Lord of their people, the older Orion male smirked. “Me.”
She swallowed, hoping she could keep her cool, any desperate hopes that her earlier encounter with him had just been a nightmare. No, no such luck. How did he know when she was in her quarters anyway? “Get out! Get out, or-”
“Or… what?” He stepped forward, reaching out to pass his ephemeral hand through her desktop. “I’m an isomorphic projection operating over a subspace channel undetectable by your station’s sensors. You can’t touch me, I can’t touch you.” His eyes narrowed. “I can, however, touch others here with me. So, who shall I touch? Your dear Mama? Or maybe beloved Papa? Or Little Brother?”
Mention of her family, and the memories of her last encounter with Surinh Dag in her quarters, froze her. “You’ve no right to kidnap them! Taking them into Federation jurisdiction is a violation-”
He snorted derisively. “‘Right’, ‘jurisdiction’, ‘violation’... you talk like one of the kafirlir Starfleets.” Now he leered over her. “Tell me, how is it, serving under my former slave Hrelle? He enjoyed getting sweet little things like you sent to him after a particularly profitable victory. Does he still indulge? Split your little cuksir in two while his wife stays home and takes care of the kids?”
Zir’s stomach twisted at his taunts. “Don’t you dare talk about him like that! You’re not fit to lick his boots!”
He chuckled. “Such fire; save it to keep yourself warm later, Lieutenant. For now, let’s talk about what we require from you on Salem One.”
She steeled herself, Yes, she knew from the earlier visit from Counselor Hrelle that Surinh Dag’s visits were already detected, that his attempts to obtain classified data were already being countered, and that Zir should play along with whatever the Orion pirate wanted. She trusted the Counselor, and of course the Commodore, but still, her family remained at risk. “No.”
“No?” He chuckled. “You care so little for your family, now in our tender hands?”
“Assuming you’re not trying to deceive me; I wouldn’t put it past scum like you. I want proof, I want to confirm it’s them, and not some holograms or other deception. So, either convince me, or get the fuck out of here, I have work to do.”
The Orion male glowered… but then half-disappeared from view, returning to full view, and with someone else, another male, in more modest clothing, looking unsure, anxious – until he focused on her, his voice dry as dirt… but still recognisable. “Zir? Is that really you?”
She focused on him, ignoring Surinh Dag. He looked… he looked so much like Papa, and she had a million, million things to say to him, to Mama and her brother Haikv. It was all she could do to keep her composure, raise a hand to the image, as if she could touch him and pull him away from his abductors. “Papa… when I was nine, I read a book that was much too old for me, Tazzuc Fin’s Death By the Dozen, and it scared me so much I wouldn’t get out of bed to go the toilet-”
He frowned at her, shaking his head. “N-No, it wasn’t Death By the Dozen, it was Tazzuc Fin’s later novel, Fiend Without a Face! I was reading it at the time and you snuck it away when I was in the shop and you should have been studying!”
She nodded. “Yes… Mama was so mad when she heard I’d wet the bed-”
Now he breathed in, looking suspiciously at her. “She never found out; I made sure she took Haikv for his checkup with the paediatrician while you washed your bedsheets and clothes! How could you forget?”
“She didn’t,” Surinh Dag guessed, “She was testing to see if you were really her Papa.” He looked at her now. “Well, Lieutenant? Are you convinced?”
Zir ignored him, focusing on her father. Yes, yes it was him; that embarrassing private moment in her life would hardly be in any records that Surinh Dag could exploit. “Papa, I’m so sorry about this, but I promise you, I’ll get you all out of this and-”
Then Papa was rudely shoved out of view again, as Surinh Dag took prominence once more. “There, satisfied? Now, will you cooperate, or will I flush your family out of the nearest airlock to let one of your Starfleet find their corpsicles floating in the void?”
Zir glared at him. “What do you bastards want?”
“Mind the tone, Sprout. And we want Hrelle’s Command Authorisation Codes.”
Zir stared hard at him. “The Codes are only made available on a daily basis, at the start of Alpha Shift at 0800 Hours, from an algorithmic block generator in Commodore Hrelle’s office, His Eyes Only. They can’t be accessed beforehand. Believe me, it’s true.”
He nodded at that. “I believe you, Lieutenant, because you believe me when I tell you that if you betray me, I’ll start by cutting off your little brother’s balls, and then I’ll get very cruel with the rest of your family. Now, each morning, after the Codes become available to you, you’ll find an excuse to return to your quarters at 0815 Hours. If I appear, you’ll provide me with the Codes. That doesn’t necessarily mean that I’ll be using them that day, because I don’t want you to be tempted to warn the Caitian about our imminent action.
But for your own sake, I suggest you be ready to leave at any time. That station of yours will soon fall into our hands… or just fall. If you’re smart, you’ll assist us, save yourself as well as your family, and maybe give up this pathetic dream of life among the kafirlirs and return to the open, loving arms of your family and people.” He chuckled. “And if you’re a good little girl, I might keep you around, and have a piece of what you’ve been serving Hrelle.”
Her jaw tightened. “If we meet in the flesh… you won’t walk away. I’ll kill you. Like I killed the last Orion cuksir who thought he had power over me.”
Surinh Dag grunted, unintimidated. “I know about Hazaak Sur. He was a fool. I’m not. Be back here at 0815 Hours with the newest Code.”
His image vanished.
Zir’s stomach twisted into knots, threatening to bring up her last meal, and she forced herself over onto her couch. Oh Gods, what was she going to do? Even if the Commodore and Counselor were aware of what was happening, how could they rescue her family? And what about the attack on the Counselor tonight? Did it have anything to do with it, or was it just a terrible coincidence? And how did Surinh dag know whenever she was alone in her quarters? Where did he get that subspace technology? Too many questions, and she wasn’t smart or confident enough to find any answers-
Her door chimed, and she bolted to her feet, her heart skipping a beat. “Yes?”
The door responded by sliding open, revealing the figure of the new Intelligence Officer, Commander Somerset, the older Terran male standing formally outside. “Leftenant Dassene, forgive me for disturbing you at this late hour, but you left before I could speak with you.”
She straightened up; he was new, literally arriving a few hours ago, but had already proven to be a more than competent officer, and seemed to have earned the respect of the Commodore, someone who Zir knew had a chequered past with other members of Starfleet Intelligence. “That’s okay, Sir, I have some tasks to perform for Commodore Hrelle, so technically I’m still on-duty. How may I help you?”
“I have a task of my own to perform for the Commodore: he believes an imposter of Counselor Hrelle was active after the real one had retired for the evening at 1800 Hours. I am making enquiries among the senior officers, before widening my search parameters.”
She frowned at the idea. Could it be true? That timeframe- was the Counselor she’d seen earlier, before the attack, be this imposter? But why? Just to convince her to cooperate with Surinh Dag’s demands? She wouldn't put it past him… but the threat to her family was real enough.
“Leftenant,” Somerset continued curiously. “Is there something wrong?”
She glanced around her quarters; there must be something in there, perhaps secretly monitoring her. How else could Surinh Dag know to visit when she was alone?
Could she trust this stranger she hardly knew? What if he was a Bel-Zon operative?
She had to speak to someone. Someone with authority. And the Commodore was far too distracted with his wife.
She brought her finger to her lips, a gesture she knew many humans recognised, and hoped that Somerset would be among them.
He regarded her with a raised eyebrow, but then noted, “Leftenant, it’s obvious you’re still angry over our earlier disagreement tonight, and I would like to repay you. Would you care to join me at the Starjammers Cafe for a late night coffee? And perhaps you can tell me a bit more about yourself? I'm sure you have an interesting story to tell.”
Argument? What- Oh. “Yes, thank you, Commander, it’s going to be a long night, and I think I can do with some caffeine.”
*
Boladede groaned, wincing as he tried to open his eyes but found the light too bright. Then he felt a hypospray press against his neck, and the pain eased immediately. Leaving him lying wherever he was, with an awareness that he was alive, knowing that the dead would not feel the way he did now.
He heard the voice of Commander Haluk speak coldly. “Is he conscious enough to be aware of what we’re saying, Nurse?”
A young woman – Chief Nurse Eydiir, Boladede instantly recognised – replied, “Yes, Commander. And the physical damage inflicted upon him, by Misha Hrelle and by his own actions, has been fully repaired, and is part of the Arraignment report.”
“Thank you, Nurse. Open your eyes, Mr Boladede. Demonstrate a minimum of courage.”
The young cadet opened his eyes and sat up on his elbows, taking in the room: Haluk and Eydiir stood there, alongside Lt Cmdr Salvo, a young bronze-skinned, snow-haired Efrosian male with Lieutenant Commander’s pips, and an older, sober-looking Denobulan female, the last two of which he didn’t recognise. Two station Security crewmen stood on either side of the door to the room.
“Cadet Ange Boladede,” Haluk proceeded, “As you will no doubt have concluded already by your continued existence, your attempt at suicide failed; the power cell in your weapon was depleted enough only to deliver a light stun.” He looked to his left. “Mr Maraud?”
The Efrosian stepped forward. “Mr Boladede, I am Lt Cmdr Xan Maraud, the station’s Judge Advocate General Officer. I am here to inform you that you are under arrest for the attempted murder of Chief Counselor Kami Hrelle, in violation of Article 118 of the Starfleet Code of Military Justice. There will be a formal arraignment tomorrow at 1600 Hours, following an assessment by a qualified Counselor – Doctor Bas Vestri here, assigned to the USS Katana – of your fitness for trial, and a meeting with your appointed legal counsel to prepare and advise you.
Until then, I am obliged to instruct you that you have the right to remain silent, the right to submit only evidence that is relevant to the accusation, and the right not to have unlawfully obtained evidence used against you in court. Can you please verbally acknowledge that you understand these rights, Cadet?”
Boladede kept his gaze on the wall past all of them, clearing his throat to reply, “I do.”
Haluk responded. “In the meantime, Lt Cmdr Salvo is investigating an ongoing security incident peripherally connected to your actions. Lt Cmdr Hrelle filed a statement regarding your apprehension, reporting that you allegedly indicated to her that Counselor Hrelle had approached you and made statements regarding you. We believe this was some form of imposter sowing disorder. Further evidence is being gathered, but your input into this matter would be valuable.”
Boladede controlled his visible reaction to the news. He had assumed that Sasha’s story to him when she found him had been a ruse, to get him to surrender. Could it be true? Had some outside force goaded him, manipulated him into doing what he did?
Had he nearly killed an innocent woman?
Had he thrown away his career, his life?
What had he done?
“Mr Boladede,” Maraud added, “I am obliged to confirm for you that at this time, prior to the arraignment and your assessment by Counselor Vestri, anything you may say that might potentially incriminate yourself during your court martial will not be admissible, but in fact your cooperation towards resolving this will be taken into account-”
He refused to look at any of them. “It was her, Lieutenant Commander; I will attest to that, and you will not convince me otherwise. She appeared at my quarters at 1945 Hours. She told me that our earlier meeting had been a sham, that I never had a hope of remaining in Starfleet. She humiliated me. She tormented me.” Anger suffused him as he recalled the memory, and he finally looked up at all of them. “I know what you are trying to do: by claiming she is not responsible for what happened to her, you make my justifiable response appear more criminal.”
“That doesn’t require help from any of us,” Eydiir sneered.
Boladede looked away now. “I invoke my right to remain silent.”
From the corner of his eye, he saw Vestri step forward. “I believe you have obtained what you needed. Let me have some time with him now.”
Hrelle suppressed another yawn, and the urge to down more coffee, as he sat at the head of his conference table; he had at least managed to set aside his guilt at leaving Kami, as she’d fallen back into a much-needed, much-envied sleep.
Even if it meant facing further complications to the current crisis. “Surinh Dag? You’re certain it was him?”
Nearest him at the table, Zir’s olive skin darkened, and her scent altered with guilt and embarrassment. “Yes, Sir. I… I remember seeing him when I was younger, hosting the… shows he would present to the Orion people.”
“Shows?” Salvo asked, bemused.
“Deathmatches,” Hrelle clarified briskly, trying not to show how rattled he was at the news. “What Lt Dassene is being unnecessarily coy about for my benefit, is that Surinh Dag was a former Orion Gamesmaster, who organised and broadcast armed and unarmed fights to the death, and kept a large stable of gladiatorial slaves… of which I was one of them. One of the best, in fact; they called me the Beast, a moniker I well earned.” He focused on Zir now. “Perhaps you’re afraid I might panic about having him resurface from my past.
Don’t. Right now, he’s the one who should be panicking.
Are you certain he has your family?”
Zir nodded. “Yes, Sir. He let me speak with my father, and I’m certain of him. But I have no contacts left with Orion Prime since I fled years ago, so I can’t verify it.”
“I have some,” Somerset declared, “And I’ve sent some discreet transmissions there already. And I have confirmed that there is a hidden device in Lt Dassene’s quarters, that we’ve covertly scanned: a booster receptor for the isomorphic communication, and a sensor to confirm whenever the Leftenant is present, and alone.”
“Can we trace the signal to wherever they’re holding the hostages?”
“We’ve refined the station’s long-range sensors,” Sternhagen reported, “Based on what we learned from that device. The next transmission from them should give us that opportunity.”
“Commodore,” Salvo interjected, “The next transmission, this Surinh Dag cur will be expecting the next Command Code from you. If they gain that, they can override our systems, even initiate the self-destruction protocols.”
“She’s right, Sir,” Zir agreed, looking anguished but still resolute. “As much as I want to save my family, it won’t be at the price of any more innocent lives.”
“It won’t be,” Hrelle agreed, “Because it won’t happen. We have one advantage over them: they don’t know yet that we know about them. We can place hidden secondary safeguards within our network to alert us to any use of the Command Codes before they’re allowed to be implemented. Also, I doubt if they’ll launch any kind of attack in the next few hours, not with their boss Zorin being brought here.
So, at 0815 Hours, Lt Dassene will return to her quarters, provide Surinh Dag with the latest Command Code, we trace the signal, and launch a rescue.”
“It’ll be tricky,” Weynik offered, “But we might get the Katana up and running in time for that, Commodore.”
“Thank you, Captain, but while I want you to get back out there as soon as possible, it’s to join the rest of Sabre Squadron One, to be ready for whatever the Bel-Zon are preparing for us; I think that whatever they’re doing, it’ll be soon. No, the rescue will be carried out with Lt Cmdr Hrelle’s flyer, the Tailless.” He looked at Sasha, who had been pensive at the end of the table since they’d left Kami together to attend this meeting. “You’ll be in command, put together a small team, take anyone you need… I recommend including Lt Dassene.”
As Sasha nodded to that, Somerset spoke up. “Forgive me, Commodore, but would a private flyer be adequate to confront whatever forces the Orion might muster?”
“It’s no ordinary flyer, Commander,” Sasha informed him, “It’s equipped with many little extra features, mostly secret and illegal, from my grandmother, Ma’Sala Shall, current First Minister of Cait, and former Head of the Caitian Secret Service. Do I need to say any more?”
Somerset raised an eyebrow at the name, clearly recognising it. “You most certainly do not, Leftenant Commander. I’ll just sit here in a pool of my own envy.”
Hrelle looked back at Zir. “I wish I can guarantee that we’ll retrieve them, safe and sound. All I can guarantee is that we’ll do everything we can for them.”
The young Orion woman nodded gratefully. “Thank you, Commodore. I swear I’ll repay you for all of this.”
“Don’t talk about repayment, I'm shit at maths. And we have other issues on paw right now: this business with the alleged duplicate of my wife.”
“I believe we can confirm that a duplicate exists, Sir,” Somerset concluded, “Based on interviews with Lt Cmdr Hrelle, Lt Dassene, and personnel who were on duty in the Hospital and off-duty in Tarot, Counselor Hrelle was seen and interacted with. And examining the logs on the entertainment station in your quarters, I can confirm that the real Counselor was at home at these times. And the fact that we have other sightings of other people acting strangely suggests that the imposter has the ability to assume other forms.”
“A Changeling?” Sternhagen conjectured with alarm. “I thought they all had to return to the Gamma Quadrant as part of the Treaty of Bajor?”
“Assuming they could be trusted to comply,” Salvo muttered dourly.
“And what would they have to gain from causing chaos here?” Weynik asked. “What would that gain the Dominion to want to see the Counselor hurt?”
“There are other shapeshifting individuals besides the Changelings,” Somerset pointed out. “Suliban mercenaries, Chameloids, the Cult of Garth, and there’s those employing technological gimmicks such as holosuits-”
“In the meantime,” Hrelle interrupted, “We’ll escalate to General Quarters Four: complete lockdown except for essential personnel, redundant security checks at every juncture and level.
Then we institute a Changeling Sweep, using Starfleet protocols established during the Dominion War: sweeping top to tail, every room, every Jefferies Tube, toilet and closet, using phaser compression rifles. Captain Weynik and Lt Cmdr Salvo will lead the two sweep teams.
Alongside this, we’ll be running ID checks on every individual encountered, collating the data in real-time with internal bio- and environmental sensors, communications, duty logs and the combadge locator network to look for anomalies.” He tapped on the tabletop with a foreclaw. “When the Surefoot operated as an ambulance ship during the War, Ensign Stalac proved to be ideal at the collation of massive amounts of data on the incoming wounded, because of the unique structure of his Horta brain. Have an Engineering Team set up an interface for him like we had on the Surefoot.”
“Sounds like a plan,” Weynik noted. “But how do you know one of us isn’t the shapeshifter right now?”
“Because except for Commander Somerset, I know all of you intimately-”
“I hope Kami doesn’t get jealous,” Sternhagen quipped.
“-And that I’ve run my own personal ID and sensor check of our new Intelligence Officer, a small-scale version of the audit I want to run during the Sweep.” He returned to Sternhagen. “What’s the status of the rest of the sector?”
She reached for her PADD with one hand and her coffee with the other. “Captain Neheru on the Tangshan is following up on reports of sightings of Kzinti ships slipping across the border near Nepenthe; the Prospero is moving to rendezvous and plan a coordinated search – and hopefully not an attack – operation. Captain T’Varik on the Surefoot confirms the ceasefire with the Paserak seems to be holding, and the aid is continuing to be provided to those who were attacked by parties as-yet unconfirmed. Captain Blum on the Ulynaov reports an increase in traffic from Zorin Interstellar ships to that new project facility of theirs, they still haven’t worked out what is being built, but are sending their accumulated data to us for analysis.”
She paused for another sip of coffee. “And the al-Razi should be here in fourteen hours with their Very Important Putzes; Captain Arrington offered to take them back to the Moonraker, but apparently Zorin insisted that he come here… to thank you personally for all the hard work you’ve done here.”
Weynik snorted at that.
Hrelle suppressed his own derision. You’re finally coming to get the measure of me, eh, Zorin? Tired of hiding in the shadows? “I want our current crises dealt with before their arrival, if possible; if I’m going to have a pissing contest with someone, I’ll want to have time to take a shower and wash my piece.”
“Classy, Dad,” Sasha smirked.
“Are we not going to arrest Zorin and his ilk for their criminal involvement in the Bel-Zon activities?” Salvo demanded.
“We have no evidence of his involvement,” Somerset reminded her. “Yet.”
“Let’s focus on the more immediate threats,” Hrelle ordered, rising. “I want the Sweep initiated within the hour. Dismissed… except for Lt Cmdr Hrelle.”
Sasha sat there, staring at him, while the rest filed out. He waited until the door slid shut before he walked around to her. “Will you be okay handling this mission?”
She frowned as she rose to her feet. “Jesus, I‘m not drunk, Dad!”
He raised a conciliatory paw to her, his voice gentle. “I’m not asking because of that… I’m asking because I’ve been where you’ve been, when I’ve stumbled, and I’ve given in to my own demons, and knocked myself back to Day One. And I remember how it left me unsure of myself. What if it happened again? How could I trust myself, let alone anyone else trust me?” He reached out, took her hand in his paw and drew her into an embrace. “I trust you, Sasha. One hundred percent. And I love you. One gazillion percent.”
She made a sound against his chest. “A gazillion percent? You really are shit at maths, aren't you?” She sighed, hugged him back, and then announced, “I want to take Mru with me on this mission, he's most experienced handling the controls of the Tailless. Who will watch Misha and Sreen?”
“I’ll handle that. And then later, we’ll talk about names for my grandcub.”
“Shut up, or the name’ll be Grandpa's-An-Asshole Hrelle.”
Guest Quarters 47:
“This is intolerable!” Turai Kaldron declared for the twentieth time.
Or so his mother, Battle Major Nanda Kaldron, believed, having lost count. The massive pachydermoid, having divested herself of her armour plates and the rest of her uniform, knelt on the floor in meditation… or at least, attempted meditation, her children keeping her too distracted, Turai with his pacing and complaining, Gaia with her attempts to navigate the station’s computer network to scry more information about the current alert status on Salem One. They had been locked in here for hours, since the alert announcement regarding medical and security teams being summoned to the Commodore’s quarters.
Turai punched his huge fist into his huge open, waiting hand. “This is some conspiracy! A deception, designed to keep us imprisoned here!”
“Why?” Nanda said, more a challenge than a question.
He faced her. “To keep us from rescuing my Baby Brother from their enforced servitude! This is-”
“If you say this is intolerable once more, I’ll box your ears.” She helped herself back to her feet, rolling her neck to work out her muscles. “Urad does not need our ‘rescue’. Love, support, encouragement, yes, all that. But not rescue.”
Gaia turned in her seat by the desk computer to face the others. “Then why keep us locked up? Unable to communicate with Urad or Hrelle or our ship, or inform us of what’s happening?”
“Because we are in the midst of a security alert, Bottlehead. Were we to instigate such actions, we would be blocking movement and communication as well. Calm down, both of you. My baby is in safe hands here.”
“You really believe that?” Turai sneered.
“Watch that tone with me, young man; I am a senior officer as well as your mother. And yes, I do believe it. The Counselor and the Commodore are genuine, in their love for Urad, and in the strength and patience they both possess to help him-”
The door chimed, but slid open before anyone could respond. Urad stood there, wearing his modified Starfleet uniform to bare his arms. Flanking him were two Security crewmen, carrying large phaser rifles.
Nanda breathed in sharply, surprised and pleased to see her son back on duty – and apprehensive about everything else. “Urad, what’s going on-”
Urad held up his hand. “Please, Mother, Turai, Gaia- stay exactly where you are, don’t move. My Comrades here need to sweep your quarters with phaser beams.”
“Phaser beams? Why?”
“There is the possibility that we have a shapeshifter onboard. These phaser rifles can project wide beams on a frequency that will not damage organic or inorganic material, but can still disrupt the quantum signature of shapeshifters, breaking them from whatever disguise they might be hiding behind, even a wall or machine part. Are the gravimetric controls set to our own homeworld levels?”
Nanda straightened up formally, recognising the serious nature of her son’s appearance – and secretly pleased by his return to form. “Yes, Ensign.”
He looked to his comrades. “Proceed.”
The crewmen raised their weapons, and immediately twin wide, thin beams of electric blue phaser light danced over every surface, covering every point on the ceiling, before moving downwards, passing over every surface. Nanda endured it, having heard some terrifying stories about the Changelings of the Dominion and their insidious abilities. The Hroch Confederacy was still independent, wasn’t involved in the War or even threatened… but they kept tabs on what was happening.
As they finished, Urad turned to the one on his right. “Both of you, remain on this side of the doorway; these quarters have been modified to project an increased gravimetric field comfortable for my people’s physiologies, but can literally weigh heavily on others.” He retrieved the phaser rifle and entered, moving to the bathroom and the closet, sweeping through each, before returning to the main room. “There will be a formal notification on the public network shortly regarding the security alert. Thank you for your cooperation at this time.”
Nanda nodded. “Thank you, Ensign. Good luck.”
Urad nodded back and left with his comrades, the door sliding shut and locking.
Turai harrumphed. “Look at Baby Brother, acting all grown up-”
Nanda reached up and smacked her son’s muzzle. “You show him respect! He has been through more than any of us can ever understand! And it’s obvious that he’s not yet fully recovered. It will take him time.
But he is in the right place for that, I think…”
“Celestials: We come to you with heavy hearts and tearful eyes, seeking your comfort and strength for a beloved and respected woman who is recovering from an attack upon her person. It is a source of immense pain and grief to see her suffer, and we pray for her healing and restoration. Ease her pain and soothe her wounds, both physical and emotional. Grant her the strength to overcome this traumatic experience, and fill her heart with hope and peace. Surround her with your divine protection, shielding her from any further harm.
We pray also for the doctors and nurses who are taking care of her, that you may bless them with the knowledge and skills to aid in her recovery. May their hands be guided by your love and compassion.
Lastly, we pray for all those who have been affected by this senseless act of violence. May they find comfort in your presence and strength in their time of need-”
The chime at his door made Sre Gyver Timbrel end his prayer, rise from his knees to his full height, slip on his outer robes and walk to the doorway, just as it opened of its own accord, revealing Commodore Hrelle and two Security crewmen with rifles. Gyver stopped in place, arms crossed and hidden in his sleeves. “Commodore.”
“Mr Timbrel, please remain still and where you are, while this team runs a sweep.”
“Of course, Commodore.”
He stayed focused on the Caitian, trusting that the Security team’s actions would be quick and painless. They departed without a word, leaving Hrelle to offer, “Sorry about that, Mr Timbrel. Someone has posed as my wife last night, causing disruption, and could now be impersonating other people, or even as an inanimate object.”
Gyver nodded. “So I have gathered.”
He frowned. “You know who the intruder is?”
“No, Commodore, not specifically. But the calling of my Order has helped hone certain perceptions about what is around us.
For millennia, the Order of Paladel have ventured out from our world to perform acts of good. And we have long since learned that there are some corners of the Universe which have bred the most terrible things. Things of shadow, illusion, deception. Things of pain and cruelty. Things which act against everything that we believe in. They must be fought.”
Hrelle appeared unsure of how to respond to that, instead raising his muzzle and announcing, “I’ve come to ask a favour of you: with my wife in hospital and Sasha and myself busy-”
“-You require a guardian for Misha and Sreen at this time.” He moved to a stand and retrieved his staff. “I swear to you, on my honour as a Knight of Paladel, that I will protect them with my life.”
Hrelle breathed in. “Thank you, Mr Timbrel, though I am certain it will not come to that.”
I wish I had such faith, Gyver thought to himself. But his intuition, honed and heightened by training, told him something else.
Simon Latrelle sat at the table in the back of the Tarot Club, working the deck in his hand, pretending to not notice the flood of Security crewmen enter without warning, flooding the main room, the bar and tables, and the neighbouring toilets, replicator stations and the holographic stage equipment room with phaser sweep beams.
He only looked up at the approach of two humans in Starfleet uniforms: a older, pale-skinned, muscular man with auburn hair greying at the temples, and a taller, statuesque, dark-skinned woman with a severe crewcut and a scowl that looked sharp enough to scar neutronium.
Then he indicated the crewmen with the phasers. “While you’re over there, can you pour us a shot of Crescent City Bourbon, please?”
“Mr Latrelle,” the man announced, even as the woman signalled for one of the crewmen to approach. “We’d like you to come with us, please.”
The club owner felt himself tremble. A little. But he had been in such situations before, with local authorities on other worlds, and had charmed his way out of those. “I thought that we were under Lockdown at the moment, Mister… ?”
“Commander Somerset, Station Intelligence. This is Lt Cmdr Salvo, Station Security.” As a crewman approached with a phaser rifle, he explained, “A beam will be passed over you, Mr Latrelle. It will not be harmful… unless you aren’t what you appear to be.”
He grinned. “That’s not much reassurance; how many of us are truly who we appear to be?”
Salvo drew her phaser and aimed it at him. “Just shut up and don’t move.”
He smiled and complied, allowing the phaser beam to pass over him and his surroundings. Afterwards he began shuffling his cards again. “Do you like my deck?” He fanned them out fluidly in one hand, displaying the backs, all displaying a black and gold Art Deco design around a classic full moon. “Almost five hundred years old, these, one of the last surviving Clair De Lune decks as commissioned by Madame Malfaiteur herself. Alastair Crowley himself once received a very promising reading from them.”
“I do not know who those people are,” Salvo declared, her Nova Roman accent harsh. “Nor do I care about them, or about your children’s game.”
He looked up at her again. “This is no game, Mamselle. These are tools of divination.” He shuffled them once more. “They offer insight, revealing more than even your high-falutin’ gadgets and gimmicks can ever do.”
She looked to Somerset. “Does he need to be examined for mental competency?”
Somerset waved off her remark, staying focused on Latrelle. “We’ve examined your record, and have discovered enough to take you into custody.”
“Custody, Monsieur? Clearly you don’t fear the inevitable censure you’ll receive when I take legal action against you for harassment.”
“Clearly.”
He regarded Somerset as he dealt out cards, one at a time, looking up at him. “The Knight of Wands: you’re a man of action and adventure… but prone to recklessness. The Tower – I know this one very well – you have brought upheaval, disaster-”
Somerset continued. “Your records indicate you are Human, born in New Orleans, Louisiana, on Earth.”
“The Big Easy, Monsieur. Have you been?”
“Yes, actually… which is more than you can claim. You’re actually half-Halanan, born on New Paris, and in a life of petty crimes and deception, the one truly redoubtable feature has been an ongoing association with another New Parisian: Bastien Dumont – a long-standing senior operative in the Bel-Zon.”
Latrelle shrugged. “Never heard of him.”
“You’re a liar,” Salvo declared.
Latrelle’s gaze narrowed at her. “And you’re quite a spitfire. But you have things to hide, too, I wager.” He threw down another card. “The Queen of Wands: courage, determination, and a fine complement to our Knight of Wands standing beside you…” He threw down another card. “But Strength, Reversed? You doubt yourself, you fear failure, weakness. And what of the two of you, together?”
He threw down a final card: the Lovers.
Latrelle smiled again. “See? The cards speak for themselves.”
“And you appear to be a few cards short of a full deck,” Somerset countered. “Come with us, or my associate here will divine a very painful immediate future for you.”
Salem One’s Deck 5 was colloquially known as the Academy Deck: a self-contained section that could operate fully independently from the rest of the station, to afford maximum protection for the cadets who studied and worked there as part of the Advanced Work Experience program. It had classrooms, Holodecks, dining, living and recreational quarters, with forcefields over all accessways and even transporter shields to prevent unauthorised beamings in or out – lowered only twice since lockdown, to allow Security teams to sweep everyone and everything within. It was meant to offer the comfort of safety and security.
Rachel felt neither, as she and the rest of Macbeth Squad sat quietly in the dining hall. Which wasn’t atypical, except for Gela, whose default mood would be verbal effusiveness over the latest Engineering exam or a potential business opportunity whetting his Ferengi appetite. Except that other cadets in the hall were almost equally quiet, except for streams of murmurs and rumblings that ran through them at random like energy through conduits.
“What is going on?” she finally asked in a whisper.
“They’re talking about us,” Gela informed her.
“And the Counselor,” C’Riir added, the Caitian looking withdrawn and not touching his shuris salad.
“And the general consensus appears to be hostility towards us,” Denek finished, the mood even affecting her usual composed Vulcan female. “For not stopping Mr Boladede.”
Rachel’s jaw dropped, and she looked across the table at Spychalski. “Do you believe that?”
The young Polish man shrugged. “Why not? Ferengi, Caitians and Vulcans all have superior hearing.”
“I don’t mean that! I mean- they can’t blame us! That doesn’t make any sense!” She looked at C’Riir. “Who’s leading this? It’s Th’kirat, isn’t it? I mean, I don’t know why I’m even asking, he was born with a spoon in his hand to stir up trouble-”
He reached out with his paw. “Rachel, calm down, everyone’s just feeling claustrophobic and emotional over the shooting. It doesn’t matter-”
She stood up, turned and walked over to the other tables, stopping in the centre of the room and looking around her at all the bemused, accusing faces. She steeled herself, surprised at how easily the words. “Listen: I’m genuinely sorry for what happened to Counselor Hrelle. We all are. But none of us had any idea that Ange would do what he did. If we had, we would never have left him alone-”
“A Commanding Officer,” raised a voice behind her. “Is responsible for the actions of the officers and crew under them.”
She turned, seeing Othello Squad’s Command Cadet Shrys Th’kirat, an ever-scowling Andorian male, his azure skin darkening and his antenna pointed at her. “Yes… in the performance of their duties in Starfleet. What Ange did to the Counselor was done of his own accord, and not something anyone could have predicted-”
Th’kirat jumped to his feet, dark eyes flaring. “She almost died last night! Thanks to your squad! You should have known!”
He stepped forward, but before he took a step C’Riir knocked his chair aside and was at Rachel’s side, claws and fangs bared, while the rest of Macbeth Squad quickly joined him… and others around them rose as well. Rachel glanced round, trying to find the words to de-escalate the tension in the room.
Fortunately, someone else took charge of that. “I believe that will be quite enough.”
All heads turned to Lt Cmdr Idrisi, striding in, not looking at anyone in particular, but somehow making everyone feel the object of scrutiny. Rachel, however, felt the urge to speak up. “Lieutenant Commander, we were just discussing-”
“I believe I caught the gist of the discussion, Cadet.” She stopped at Th’kirat. “Thank you, Squad Leader.”
The Andorian started, his antennae turning up suspiciously at the declaration. “I- I don’t understand, Ma’am. Why are you thanking me?”
Her coffee-skinned face creased with what could have been a mirror of his expression. “Why? Why, for volunteering to use your free time to produce a dissertation on Command Responsibility as Applied to Starfleet Regulations, of course. That is why you brought up the subject, isn’t it? I made that assumption, since the alternative would be that you were making a formal accusation of negligence on the part of Squad Leader Nash and Macbeth Squad – a very serious action by yourself – and one I doubt will end favourably for you.”
Th’kirat’s azure skin darkened further. “I… If you’ll excuse me, Ma’am, I will get started on that dissertation.”
“Do so; you have until 1600 Hours to complete and forward it to my Inbox. As for the rest of you, I advise – in the strongest possible terms – to focus your energies on more productive activities than seeking to assign blame to your fellow cadets for perceived faults. If one of you has done something wrong, rest assured, I will let you know.”
She turned to depart, until Rachel drew up to her. “Ma’am, is there any word on Ange?”
The older woman regarded her coolly, softening her stony expression somewhat. “Cadet Boladede was located by Lt Cmdr Hrelle; he attempted suicide rather than be taken into custody.”
Rachel’s stomach dropped into subspace, and she felt the reaction from her Squad to the news. Suicide? “Is he-”
“He survived, has recovered and is being held in custody in the Hospital until he can be transferred to the Brig to face a court martial for his actions. And before you ask, if you do: No, he will not be permitted visitors. He is undergoing an assessment, as it appears he was affected by an outside force to commit his acts, a force we are currently seeking. If you’ll excuse me…”
Macbeth Squad drew together as the Assistant Superintendent departed, Rachel lost in her thoughts. An outside force? Why? Why attack Ange? Or was the actual target the Counselor?
“That is disquieting,” Denek declared.
“You said it,” Spychalski concurred. “Wonder what’s onboard this time? Another Dragon, maybe?”
“Odds favour a Romulan,” Gela announced, tapping quickly onto his PADD. “With Changelings and a time traveller a close second and third, I’m taking bets now-”
He stopped as C’Riir snatched the PADD from him.
Weynik gripped the phaser in both hands, feeling more like a Squab sent to microscrub the Academy Hangar Bay as a punishment, as his team moved methodically from room to room on the latest deck, sweeping their phaser beams from ceiling to floor, even opening cabinets and crates that could barely contain someone his size. It was slow, it was boring… it was absolutely unnerving.
He had never encountered a Changeling in all his time fighting in the Dominion War. In truth, he knew that very few actually did, that the vast majority of the shapeshifting race remained on their homeworld in the Gamma Quadrant, allowing their Vorta and Jem’Hadar races to act as their voices… and their fists. But he knew that the real strength was just the very idea that the Changelings could be hidden among them, disguised as an associate, a family member, even a chair or painting. They were quintessentially insidious.
They reached Deck 11’s largest Cargo Bay, a multi-tiered section consisting of varied-sized sealed containers, mostly equipped with cold storage or stasis field generators. Weynik saw his breath escape from him, feeling like he had entered a morgue.
“Spooky,” Security Crewman Jayden Robins, a lanky, young human male with curly blonde hair and a soft face that seemed to flush as red as the Red Alert lighting strip on the Bridge of the Katana. Like now, when he glanced over at him. “Sorry, Sir.”
Weynik grunted; when did the crewmen start getting so young? “No, it is spooky down here, even with all the lights on.” He looked to the other members of his team. “Fenetry, Irving: Take the Upper Level. Glenn, Beaton: cover the doorway.” To Robins, he finished with, “You’re with me this time, Beanpole.”
“Beanpole?” He smirked. “I’m not that tall, am I, Sir?”
“You’re asking that while you’re looking down at me?” He gestured to the corridor running down the long axis of the Bay, curving to match the cylindrical shape of the station. “Let’s go.”
They moved together slowly, side by side, phaser beams sweeping up and down. He suppressed a shiver; his people preferred warmer environments with thicker atmospheres. “Slow down a little, Mr Robins, we don’t want to miss anything.”
“No, Sir. Sir, may I ask you a question?”
“Go on, it’s gonna be a long day.”
“Thank you, Sir. Sir, do you really think there’s a Changeling on the station?”
Weynik ground his teeth, wondering if he should be reassuring, or truthful. “I don’t know if it’s an actual Changeling, because I can’t imagine the Dominion would be interested in destabilising Salem Sector. But it does look like there’s a shapeshifter.”
“And do you think these beams can flush them out?”
“Well, they definitely work on Changelings, and possibly other shapeshifting species with unstable structures like Chameloids, as per the assessment from some of the finest minds available. I suppose if a wall suddenly dissolves into goo and says ‘Boo!’” to us, we’ll know it works.”
“I suppose, Sir… but what do we really know about why it’s here? Has the Commodore any idea who sent it?”
“Well, it’s obviously another Bel-Zon operative, like the Dragon, and the thief that stole the classified data. All part of a master plan.”
“Yes, Sir… but surely there has to be more to this shapeshifters goals than getting Counselor Hrelle shot and playing mind games with the Commodore’s daughter?”
Weynik tensed… doing his best to hide his reaction from the one beside him. He kept watching his own breath ghost in the cold air.
Then he glanced up at his companion. Seeing no breath escaping from his mouth.
Weynik stopped, spun in place and pointed his phaser rifle at Robins. “Drop your weapon.”
Robins frowned at him, looking confused, afraid. “Sir? What are you doing? You’re scaring me, Sir-”
“Shut up!” Never taking his eyes off him, Weynik tapped his combadge. “Ops! The intruder’s in Cargo Bay 11-3, disguised as Crewman Robins! I have him covered!”
“Bet you don’t,” he suddenly countered, smiling.
“Stand by, Captain,” Sternhagen’s voice responded, “We’re sending reinforcements.”
“Take your time, Katherine,” the imposter taunted in a mocking sing-song voice.
“Shut up!” Weynik gripped his rifle more as if for dear life, his heart pounding. “I said drop the weapon! And the disguise! NOW!”
Robins let go of the phaser – it vanished before it hit the ground – and raised his hands up slowly, his eyes wide… as his features, his clothes, everything about him morphed… into a tall, beautiful, dark-skinned human in black and gold leathers and a cape, her voice silken. “Indulge me, Captain… Tell me where I slipped up. Enquiring minds want to know.”
Weynik grunted. “You mentioned playing mind games with Lt Cmdr Hrelle. No one outside the senior staff knew about that… except for the Imposter, of course. Your lack of warm breath in here clinched it.”
The imposter snapped her fingers, like some character in a hack mystery having been caught out by the detective. “Of course! And I would have gotten away with it too, if it weren’t for you meddling kids!”
“Where’s the real Crewman Robins?”
Her mouth curved downwards in a mockery of sorrow. “Oh, yes, poor Jayden. It seems the ghosts of his family visited him during the night and blamed him for their deaths during the War, convincing him that the only way to make amends was to join them. He’s still in his quarters now.” She shook her head. “I don’t think he’ll be going back on duty anytime soon.”
Weynik ground his teeth in fury. “Who are you?”
“I’m anyone you want me to be.” She morphed into a terribly familiar image: another Roylan, a female, in a Starfleet uniform. “Even your late wife Fala. Miss me, Weynik? How dare you continue to remain in Starfleet, and risk leaving our children without any parents? Have you no decency?”
He froze, stunned at seeing the metamorphosis before his eyes. It looked so much, so very much, like Fala. Sweet Bloody Hemra…
Then he quickly recovered. “Nice try. But they’re my children. I birthed them, not Fala. She never knew them, had nothing to do with them. So… you’re not infallible, are you?”
He fired.
The beam went through the image of Fala. She vanished.
He froze in place, staring at where the imposter had stood, until his combadge chirped again, and Sternhagen’s voice ordered, “Captain, report!”
He finally responded. “The imposter’s gone. And it’s definitely not a Dominion Changeling.”
In Ops, Sternhagen nursed another coffee, watching the Horta Science Officer Stalac sitting like a fused-together pile of coal and assorted minerals on the square metal plating of his interface to the network, adeptly monitoring and analysing multiple systems as the Sweep continued, as his efforts displaying in dizzying rows of data and images on screens overhead for the benefit of the fragile carbon-based lifeforms he worked with. You’ve an amazing body, Rocky: strong, durable, free of muscular aches and pains and fading eyesight and memory. I’d take a body like yours any day, as long as someone could be around to scratch my ass.
She saw Hrelle nearby, conversing with his human daughter and his Orion almost-daughter in the implementation of their own plans, while Somerset monitored Stalac’s output with the Sweeps, and Haluk…
She approached the Vulcan. “Coffee?”
He stared in the direction of a wall. “No thank you.”
“So, what do you think? A painting, or maybe a mural?”
He turned to her. “Excuse me?”
She indicated where he was looking. “I was assuming that you were considering some decorating tips for us.”
“I was not.”
She held up her mug. “Coffee?”
“My declination has not changed since you asked 14.6 seconds ago.”
Sternhagen smirked. “Probably for the best to keep the caffeine from you; you’re already wound up tighter than Dick’s Hatband.”
He raised an eyebrow at her. “I am unfamiliar with that person, but I suggest he revisit his milliner.” He raised his chin now. “Is there a reason you’ve approached me?”
She paused to sip, before replying, “You look guilty.”
“Guilty?”
She nodded. “Like when my ex-husband left the back gate open and our dog escaped to chase after the neighbourhood cats and squirrels for the afternoon.”
Haluk’s gaze narrowed. “You believe I should feel responsible for Cadet Boladede’s actions against Counselor Hrelle, as he was under my authority?”
“Me? No. But that doesn’t mean you don’t feel that.”
“You are correct. And I do.”
Sternhagen blinked. “Really? I was expecting some logic-spouting Vulcan bullshit denial.”
He breathed in, subtly composing himself – and turning so that he faced her fully, and away from everyone else present. His voice dropped to a confidential whisper. “We have no bulls on Vulcan to produce faeces… but I believe I am too old to deny my capacity for emotion, however irrational. I recall my last meeting with Counselor Hrelle, after administering Boladede’s punishment, and a self-aggrandising joke I made about my success at producing cadets of such high calibre. Had I known then that he would react in such a way-”
“And if a frog had wings, it wouldn’t bruise its ass hopping around all day.”
“That… is undeniable.”
She sighed, sipping at her coffee again. “Twelve years ago, I let what appeared to be a Vulcan freighter, one that claimed to have critically-injured crew from a pirate attack get close enough to transmit stolen command codes that led the former incarnation of the Bel-Zon sweep in, steal a consignment of trilithium resin other valuables, and along the way kill several of my people… including Commodore Hrelle’s first wife. Had I been more by the book, more careful, I could have kept them at a distance until I awaited a response from Hrelle on the Furyk… which by this time had been destroyed and Hrelle captured and tortured for those command codes.”
Haluk regarded her. “I was aware of the Commodore’s past at this station, but not of those specifics involving yourself. But you can hardly blame yourself for what happened.”
“Well, I did, and quit for several years and exiled myself to that little mining colony on Scesity. Then Papa Cat pulled me back in, reminded me that if we knew everything that could happen, we’d be Gods and not who we are… and he said he didn’t blame me for losing his wife. I’m sure he’d say the same to you, if you asked him.”
He appeared almost at a loss for words, finally settling for, “Thank you.”
She shrugged, holding up her mug again. “Coffee?”
Suddenly Stalac broke through the moment between them. “Security Alert!”
As Sternhagen and Haluk approached, the young Horta piped in Weynik’s alert. “Ops! The intruder’s in Cargo Bay 11-3, disguised as Crewman Robins! I have him covered!”
“Bet you don’t,” responded another voice near him.
“Stand by, Captain,” Sternhagen responded, “We’re sending reinforcements.”
“Take your time, Katherine,” the other voice taunted in a mocking sing-song voice.
She ignored it, and the chill its casual tone gave her. “Mr Stalac, focus on nearby personnel onto that location.”
“I have, Ma’am… and I have a report from Crewman Robins’ quarters. He’s reported deceased, from self-inflicted injuries.”
Her jaw tightened, and she flung aside her mug, letting it shatter against the nearest wall. She leaned in. “Captain, report!”
Weynik finally responded. “The imposter’s gone. And it’s definitely not a Dominion Changeling.”
She looked at Haluk, before turning back to Stalac. “Those sensor modifications you did to track the Orion signal – can you redirect them to the Cargo Bay? Give us some clue as to what we’re facing?”
*
Urad Kaldron, entered his family’s guest quarters, his mother rising and approaching, as his siblings flanked her. “Son, what is happening? Do you need our help?”
He raised a hand to her to cut her off. “Thank you but no, Mother. I have come to inform you that I am about to join a rescue mission off-station. My good friend Comrade Lieutenant Zir Dassene’s family is being held hostage by Orions. I have been asked to accompany and assist.”
Nanda Kaldron looked at him with concern. “Are you… are you sure you’re ready to face the challenge?”
He breathed in, admitting truthfully, “Not… entirely, Mother. I didn’t know that first time I tried bodysurfing at Chattarak Beach, if I was ready to face the challenge. I drank much seawater, but I quickly found my way.”
His brother Turai stepped forward. “We should come with you, watch over you!”
Urad shook his head. “Thank you, Big Brother, but our vessel is small, and it will be crowded enough with my presence alone.” He focused on his mother again. “I am sorry, all of you have come such a long way to visit me, and now I feel like I am abandoning you-”
Mother reached out and pulled him into an embrace. “You are not. Go, perform your duty, and we will still be here when you return.”
Zir entered her quarters, breathed in, counted the seconds. Stay calm, stay calm, you can do this, you can do this…
“Good morning, Lieutenant.”
She turned, looking at Surinh Dag’s image, standing there looking so smug. “You’re very prompt.”
“I’m very busy, Lieutenant. What is today’s code?”
Stall him, she had been told, as long as possible, in order to trace the transmission. “Not just yet. I need assurances about my family’s safety.”
He sneered at her. “I can assure you that if you refuse to cooperate, they’ll suffer for it! Is that enough, you arrogant little bitch?”
She swallowed letting the fear within her rise to the surface, something she could use. “Please- I beg of you, Sire-”
His dark green lips curled into a half-smile. “‘Sire’, is it now? You’ve changed your tune, Starfleet. Not so sanctimonious and superior this morning. Feeling guilty over betraying your oath to the kafirlirs around you?”
“P-Please- if I could have something, anything-”
“On your knees.”
She blinked. “What?”
He pointed to the floor of her quarters between them. “You’re not begging properly. Get on your knees. Like I’m sure you’ve done to many a Starfleet male. Maybe even the Beast?”
Zir’s stomach twisted, and her expression tightened. Slowly, reluctantly, drawing it out as much out of her genuine chagrin as to draw out their communication, she sank to her knees, looking up at him.
“Very appealing, from my angle. If only I was there in real life to offer you my piece. Now take your combadge off and put it in your hand.”
“My combadge? Why?”
He frowned. “If you question me again, I’ll cut off one of your little brother’s fingers.”
Zir trembled, but blindly reached up to her jacket and removed it, feeling the warmth of the metal, the shape of the arrowhead insignia resting on the rectangular frame.
He smiled. “Now spit on it, and throw it away.”
She ground her teeth. He was really enjoying this… She worked up some saliva in her mouth, and then spat onto the combadge, before casting it aside. “Is that all you want?”
“No, I was thinking of making you strip and work your little cuksir for me until your hand fell off, but sadly I don’t have time for that. So instead, I will graciously offer you a Trader’s Deal: continue to provide us with Hrelle’s Command Codes each day until we no longer need them, and I will take your family, alive and unharmed, back to Orion, returning them to their lives. What you do after this – follow them home, give yourself up to Starfleet for your treason, kill yourself – is up to you. Will that satisfy you?”
Zir swallowed again. A Trader’s Deal was meant to be binding between Orions… but in truth she didn’t trust him any further than she could throw him. On the other hand, “Do I have a choice?”
“No. Today’s Command Code?”
She stuck out her chin, milking it out a little longer. “Hrelle-Alpha-4-7-7-Delta.”
He smiled, holding out his arms as if to embrace her. “You see? Now, will you be a good little girl from now on?”
Her face creased. “Yes.”
He kept smiling at her. “Say it fully, so I know you understand.”
She swallowed one more time, the words forced from her. “I’ll be a good little girl from now on.”
“And on that little note of progress, I bid you farewell. If we decide to attack and destroy you today, however, tomorrow will be cancelled.”
He disappeared.
She let out the filthiest curse she could muster, before crawling over to where she threw her combadge, wiping the spit from it, fitting it back onto her jacket and smacking it. “Lt Dassene to Lt Cmdr Hrelle: for your sake you’d better have traced that signal.”
She expected the Commodore’s daughter to respond, even as she regretted her threat – only to hear the Commodore himself. “She’s too busy to respond, but she has confirmed the trace was successful, Zir.”
She felt her skin turn shades of dark green she never thought possible. “Sir! I didn’t mean to sound the way I did to Lt Cmdr Hrelle, I promise you, please apologise to her on my behalf-”
“You can do it yourself, she’s ready to launch, so get down here.”
Hope lifted her spirits like never before, and she rose back to her feet. “I’m on my way, Sir! Dassene out!” She gathered herself, then looked back at the spot where Surinh Dag’s image stood.
I’m coming for my family. And if I can, for you too, you bastard...
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