The Dragon Gambit

(Warning: Graphic Violence, Profanity, Sexual Situations)

SS Moonraker, Nepenthe System, Salem Sector:

Dawn and Dusk Bauer moved as one down the corridor of the starliner towards their employer’s quarters. The blonde twins dressed in identical suits, albeit in contrasting colours, a habit adopted from childhood, seemingly allowing others to tell them apart without asking them – and on occasion, allowing them to exploit that by wearing each other’s clothes, a trick they kept to themselves, like the telepathic bond they shared, courtesy of their Betazoid mother.

Dawn, however, couldn’t keep the anxiety from her mien. God, I can’t do this any longer.

Matching her stride, Dusk glared at anyone they passed who dared look at them strangely. Yes, you can. He’ll be quick. And I’ll be there, ready to kill him if he goes too far, especially with his bodyguard off the ship now. Besides, he might just want to deliver orders to the Bel-Zon.

Dawn’s stomach continued to twist into knots. Then why summon us to his quarters? Why not just deliver them over the intercom?

Dusk reached out and took her hand, augmenting the support she was providing telepathically. Because he’s as crazy as a drunk mugato, and wants to keep his involvement with a criminal organisation like the Bel-Zon to a minimum, even among his crew here on the SS Penis Compensator.

The rude thought momentarily broke Dawn out of her anxiety, and she slowed in her pace long enough to giggle like a schoolgirl.

Dusk smiled… but tugged on Dawn’s hand to ensure they weren’t late. It’s been a long time since I heard that. Pacifica, I think; that scam we pulled on the Regent of Asceris, right?

Yes. Good times. I hope we live long enough to have some more.

Before Dusk could react, they were at their employer’s quarters, their status as his Personal Assistants allowing them immediate access. The interior was as plush and expansive and expensive-looking as the finest suites in the finest hotels on Earth, with large observation windows facing the beautiful, pristine blue-green planet of Nepenthe they currently orbited.

From the open doorway into the bedroom, Max Zorin called out, “In here.”

Dawn breathed in, accepting her twin’s feelings of support as they complied, expecting to have to undress and join their employer in bed, as they had done many times before-

-Then stopped, as they saw he already had company with him.

Zorin remained a tall, lanky, imposing figure even reclining naked in bed, the silk bedsheets draped casually from waist down, his bleach blonde hair slicked back, his gaunt face unreadable, bright blue eyes staring ahead at nothing in particular. The Bauer Twins knew him all too well.

Beside him, a more animated but still tall and muscular female figure, was newer but also known: Colonel Ilsa Wölfin, a genetically-Augmented terrorist from Ekos, a planet whose people once embraced Terran Nazi ideology, symbols and tactics, but when they subsequently rejected these, Wölfin refused to reform. Like Zorin she was naked, but she wore her proverbial heart on her sleeve, or at least her right arm, in the form of a swastika tattoo, as she snapped her fingers. “Champagne!”

She indicated the bottle of Dom Pérignon 2147, chilling in the brass bucket, less than a metre away from the bed.

Dusk made only the slightest of sounds as she walked around to comply with the instructions, even if they didn’t come from their employer, but his apparent new object of attention, who had ostensibly been hired to join the new incarnation of the Bel-Zon, but since then had obviously found another way to serve Zorin.

Dawn meanwhile stayed on Zorin’s side of the bed and focused on him. He was by nature more subdued, less flamboyant than Wölfin… but no less psychotic and dangerous than her. “The Telamon Project is falling behind schedule. Remind them of my plans for a media demonstration of the Impeller.” He picked at his perfect teeth with a fingernail. “Remind them of how much I hate disappointment.”

“Yes, Mr Zorin.” She stepped back as Dusk brought a glass to him, and then Wölfin. “Will that be all, Sir?”

He emptied his glass in one go. “What’s the update from Dumont?”

Dawn drew up the PADD in her hand, glad for an excuse to look away from the couple in the bed – especially Wölfin, eyeing her enigmatically. “Mr Dumont confirms that Surinh Dag and his Orion crew have collected the isolytic warheads from the Klingons-”

“More!” Wölfin demanded loudly, holding up her now-emptied glass.

Zorin reacted to her interruption, but that was all, staying focused on Dawn. “They didn’t let the Klingons get away, did they?”

“No, Sir – they dropped Metal Mickey onto their ship to finish them off, and then remotely piloted the Bird of Prey into the nearest star. Bele and Jet Jaguar are in Kzinti space, making overtures towards some of the more prominent Prides, news to follow. And Dr Orlok and Lady Fantomax have reached their destination.”

Zorin stared ahead, as Dusk refilled the glasses. “The pieces are moving into place.”

“Pieces, Sir?”

Wölfin finished her latest drink. “Chess, Underling. Your employer is referring to chess.”

Dawn looked straight at her now, scowling. “I know what he’s referring to!”

Dawn, her sister warned her in her mind.

The Ekosian smirked in amusement. “Your menials have poor attitudes. You need to keep them in line better than-”

She never finished her critique, Zorin moving with lightning speed to drive his fist into her face. Then he was sitting up fully over Wölfin, punching her again and again.

Dawn and Dusk instinctively drew together, Dawn thinking urgently, Let’s go, please-

No. Not unless he dismisses us.

Dusk-

But then Zorin stopped, half-facing Wölfin, half-facing the Bauers, his bedsheets fully cast aside, his nudity – and excitement – evident as he glared down at the Ekosian, declaring softly, “Don’t tell me how to conduct my business.”

Wölfin half sat-up on her elbows, her face bloody… but otherwise looking remarkably intact for someone who had been dealt an assault that would have killed most other people. She licked the blood from her lips as she looked up with her own obvious arousal at him. “My body heals quickly… and my pain receptors shut down before I feel anything. Is that the best you can do to me, Mein Führer?”

Zorin shot the Bauers a look as intense as a phaser beam. “Go.”

The twins didn’t have to be told twice, as they heard the assault, and the laughter, continuing.

They were halfway down the corridor back to their offices before Dusk thought, Well, maybe now with his new indestructible plaything, we’ll get some rest…

Maybe. Or he’ll get bored with not being able to actually hurt someone, and call us back.

Always with the negativity, Dawn. Things could be worse. We could be Commodore Hrelle, with what’s being delivered to him now…

*

Station Salem One, Deck 4, Starjammers Cafe:

Hrelle smiled at the dish delivered to him, breathing in the aroma and purring. “Lovely. Delightful. Exquisite. A thing of beauty, a joy forever. My heart quickens now that you are finally here…”

Sitting across the table from him, his wife Kami watched with amusement. “Should I leave you two alone?”

“Don’t worry, Sugartail, I’ll be thinking of you throughout.” He felt his mouth water as he took in the freshly-cooked, hand-prepared pizza with grilled shuris mince and pepperoni. Now he looked up at the chef, still smiling. “You’ve exceeded my expectations, Maggiore. Thank you.”

The elderly female Paserak hissed with delight, clapping her clawed hands together. The normal juniper colour of her mottled skin had greyed some with age, and she was missing some of the horns along the length of her muzzle, but she retained her youthful strength and vibrancy in the gleam of her ruby eyes. “Such a pleasure to cook for someone who appreciates culinary skills! These hatchlings are too enamoured of the instant gratification that comes from replicator food!”

Hrelle indicated the dish. “Who couldn’t appreciate the skill required to take some base ingredients and craft – and it is a craft, an artistry unparalleled – something that appeals to all the senses?” His stomach grumbled in punctuation, compelling him to add, “Excuse me.”

Maggiore chuckled and patted his shoulder like a mother with a son. “Enjoy, and remember to stop when you get to the plate.” She nodded at Kami. “Say Hello to your charming cub, Counselor, and tell him I look forward to his visiting me again and helping in the kitchens.”

Kami smiled, her tail swishing behind her at the compliments about Misha. “Thank you, Maggiore, I will.” As she watched the Paserak depart, she focused on her husband again, as he quickly ran a cutter across the pizza, sectioning it into slices, drawing a slice away from the others, sending the strands of melted cheese pull and break, before folding the slice and lifting it up with one paw. “There is a knife and fork beside you.”

Hrelle made a sound. “A knife and fork, to eat a pizza. What a charming notion.” He chomped into the pointy end of the pizza slice, making sounds as he chewed and swallowed.

Kami stopped eating herself to sit and watch with mock wonderment, resting her chin on her fist. “Amazing. I don’t think any of it is actually touching the insides of your mouth.”

Hrelle nodded in agreement. “I eat like a folk legend. Literally: a Klingon once wrote a ballad about me facing off in an eating contest against Chancellor K’mpec.” He stopped to wipe tomato sauce from his snout. “I won, of course.” He attacked another slice with gusto.

“Of course.” Kami began eating again. “You did please Maggiore just now, asking if she could make something special for you. Among the Paserak living here, she’s less technically adept than the younger ones, so she doesn’t feel like she gets the chance to ‘earn her keep’, as it were.” She pointed her fork at him. “If you ever get around to finalising the work on the Creche, she’d be ideal to run it. And, since we’re currently on Storm Alert and not doing anything else…”

Hrelle, his mouth full of pizza now, looked up at her with eyes wide. “Mmgfh, thsmps m gmdmmp hmphfr!”

“Your Adjutant should be here, recording all these pearls of wisdom of yours for posterity.”

He nodded in agreement, adding, “Ymhg thsmps mmhm.”

“Sweet talker.”

*

Just outside the entrance to the Starjammers, a middle-aged Vulcan female in civilian clothes peered inside in the direction of the Caitians at the table. “Is that Commodore Hrelle? I will meet with him now.”

Beside the Vulcan, Lt Zir Dassene, the aforementioned Adjutant to Commodore Hrelle, leaned in as well, nodding, “Uh, no, Doctor. I mean, yes, it is him, with his wife, our Chief Counselor, Kami Hrelle. But I, ah, I wouldn’t want to approach him without making a prior request-”

Then the Vulcan’s companion, an older-looking human with pepper-grey hair and a posh British accent, drew closer, placing a hand on the Vulcan’s forearm as she smiled at ZIr. “We’ve no need to disturb the Commodore while he’s dining, Darling. We just wanted to express our gratitude for his hospitality in taking us in when the ion storm erupted.” She looked to the observation windows, at the miasma of turbulent pastel colours sweeping over Salem One like a wild river. “We barely made it here in time.”

Zir’s gaze followed theirs, the young copper-haired Orion suppressing a shudder at the sight of the storm, wanting to appear professional in front of civilians. “Yes, you and everyone else caught out there were fortunate to reach shelter here before the wavefront struck.” She indicated the public service announcements on the holoscreens overhead, displaying maps of the plasma mass. “The station will remain on Alert for the duration of the storm, but you can keep track of its progress through this part of space, and all the amenities will be at your disposal. 

In addition to the Starjammers, Deck 5 also has a Arboretum, a Commissary with Replimat features, a grooming salon, an Emporium with all sorts of pre-owned goods-”

“These are Paserak?”

Zir paused. Of the two older women – Dr Visaj, a microbiologist from Vulcan here to run studies on the biosphere on Nepenthe, and her partner, Sylvia Anderson, a pilot and flight engineer for hire, according to their introductions – the latter was friendly enough, charming even, but in contrast Visaj had seemed brusque, even by Vulcan standards. “Yes, Doctor. There is a small community currently living here-”

Visaj faced her accusingly. “The Paserak are noted to be nomadic, anarchic, and distrustful of establishments such as Starfleet and the Federation. They would not live here. What is the reason for your deceit, Orion?”

Zir felt her face blush at the response, though thankfully Sylvia interceded, smiling with affable charm. “You’ll have to excuse her lack of manners, Lieutenant, it’s the Romulan half of her.”

“Romulan?” Zir tried to cover her initial reaction at the admission; despite the current political climate, there remained a habitual distrust of the former allies.

Sylvia nodded, smiling still as she squeezed Visaj’s forearm. “On her mother’s side, though before the War she kept it quiet, for obvious reasons.” She chuckled. “How I managed to marry her and not kill her before now is anybody’s guess.”

“I… see. Well, to respond to Dr Visaj, when Commodore Hrelle arrived here to reopen Salem One, he found a group of refugee Paserak living secretly here; apparently there’s been some sort of civil war among their people, no one knows why, their tribeship had been destroyed and they had nowhere to go, so the Commodore offered them a place here, work in exchange for shelter.” She looked to Visaj, as if for approval at the explanation.

And the Vulcan – well, Vulcan/Romulan – frowned, but made a noise of acceptance, removing her partner’s touch as she declared deadpan, “We are thoroughly enjoying our time with you, Lieutenant. Continue with the tour now.”

“And tell us more about yourself,” Sylvia added. “An Orion in Starfleet must have an interesting history…”

*

Deck 3, Hospital:

As Chief Nurse Eydiir, Daughter of Kaas, passed an autosuture over the broken arm awaiting treatment, she considered the merits of writing a paper on the apparent reckless stupidity triggered by testosterone. Outwardly, however, she maintained the professional decorum expected for one of her rank and position. “Keep still, Cadet, we will have this repaired shortly. Inform me if you change your mind about accepting pain neutralisers.”

Sitting stoically in the treatment cubicle beside her, Security Cadet Ange Boladede, a bald, muscular Terran male from a country in the United States of Africa, merely wrinkled his broad, flat nose. “I feel no pain, Nurse.”

“Chief Nurse, Mr Boladede. And the biosensors monitoring you tell a different story. However, it is your choice to continue to suffer needlessly.”

He continued to stare at the blank wall in front of him. “Pain is a crucible, one that grinds away weakness, leaving only pure strength.”

She grunted. “You could be mistaken for one of my people.”

“Thank you.”

“It’s not a compliment. Capellans enjoy enduring pain; I have lost the taste for it however, for myself, and for others. Pain exists to alert one of danger to the body, to remove oneself from harm… and to urge oneself to avoid needless harm in the future. Like, for instance, playing Rollerball.”

To his credit, Boladede made a valiant effort to hide his reaction. “You are mistaken, Chief Nurse. Commander Haluk has prohibited cadets from engaging in Rollerball matches, for safety reasons, even in the Holosuites.”

“I am well aware of this; I helped treat the cadet who had injured her spine following one match, the injury that prompted his ban. That does not mean certain stubborn and foolish cadets will not play in secret makeshift courts around the station so as not to be caught, despite the greater risk of serious injury under such unsupervised conditions and without safety equipment. Look at me.” 

When he did, she announced, “I will not report you specifically to Commander Haluk. But I will inform him that cadets have been engaging in such activity. You may wish to pass on this warning to the other strutting peacocks to avoid further matches, and risk expulsion from the Academy.”

His expression softened, though his voice remained crisp and dry. “I continue to deny being injured from such activity… but it will not harm me to forward your warning to others.”

“Certainly not harm you as much as you have already been today. Continue to keep still.”

He did. Seconds later, he asked, “How is Lt Cmdr Hrelle keeping?”

Eydiir raised an eyebrow. Her history with Boladede since the cadets arrived from Starfleet Academy on Earth to study, live and serve on Salem One has painted a picture of a young man who was as intense and taciturn as he was gifted in combat; she had only been half-facetious in comparing him to her people. He never made ‘small talk’, or, worse, tried to be charming with her. This was as friendly and sociable as he had ever been… and it focused on her best friend Sasha. “Why do you ask about her?”

“I was impressed with the Lieutenant Commander’s fighting prowess last month, when we engaged with the Kzinti to rescue Commodore and Counselor Hrelle. I have been anticipating further training from her. I would learn a great deal.”

“I would agree. She is well, though as you can imagine, her duties as the Katana’s First Officer occupy much of her time.”

His face tightened. “And her business with the Caitian Second Officer, Mori?”

Eydiir stopped treating him, her gaze narrowing. “Her business with Lieutenant Mori is just that: hers. You would do well to keep that in mind, Cadet.”

Boladede looked up at her. “No offence was intended, Ma’am. I was merely making conversation.”

“Eydiir?” It was the CMO, Doctor Masterson, from outside the cubicle. “If you’re done in there, we could use you.”

“I have no doubt.” Eydiir called back, looking to Boladede for the final time. “You are healed, but you will continue to feel discomfort for the rest of the day… so enjoy it while it lasts.” 

She stepped out without waiting for a reply, seeing her supervisor at the far end of the Treatment Wing, near the Intensive Care Unit, and quickened her pace. “What’s the emergency?”

Masterson, a tall, rugged, moustachioed male, with a penchant for an obscure Terran patois prevalent on the colony where he was raised, glanced around furtively, before gesturing inside. “No emergency as such, we just need some privacy for your next patient.”

Eydiir strode inside, finding several Paserak, including Levatrice, a medic who assisted in the Hospital as part of his tribe’s arrangement with Commodore Hrelle, Turikana, the young tribal leader, and his mate Constante. All were clustered around a dome-shaped module that Eydiir approached, noting the bioreadings on the outside of the transparent dome – and the oval, brown-green organic structure nestled within. She recognised it immediately, turning to the obvious parents. “My congratulations to you both on a successful oviposition. When do you expect your egg to hatch?”

Both parents seemed fixed on observing their offspring within the incubator, leaving Levatrice to answer. “That is the question we face, Chief Nurse. Our people normally wait to conceive on our Birthworld, where our eggs will absorb the unique gravitic, atmospheric and radioactive properties of the planet through the porous shells, allowing them to develop properly and hatch when they are ready. But for now, this option is not available to our young couple here.”

“So we slapped together this little life support unit,” Masterson completed. “Simulating the conditions of their planet as described by Levatrice as best we could. It should do the trick.”

“If it doesn’t,” Turikana declared, his sibilant voice breaking with anguish as his clawed hand rested on the dome. “It will be my fault. My selfish impatience to demand now, in the midst of our people’s crisis, a hatchling of my own.”

“Of our own,” his mate corrected softly, glancing at him and leaning in to rub her muzzle against his. “There were two of us involved in the conception, in case you have forgotten. We must both bear the choice – and the consequences for what will come.”

“Yeah, well, as far as I’m concerned, this rodeo ain’t over,” Masterson assured them with a warm smile, “And your little critter’s gonna have all the chance it can to put its brand on the rump of the Galaxy.”

At their bemused reactions, Eydiir clarified, “He has said a positive thing. Believe it or not.”

“Bet yer bottom dollar on that, Pardner,” he agreed jovially, facing Eydiir now. “Levatrice will be making the appropriate refinements to the environment within the unit, but I figured with your experience dealing with reptoid races, you would be ideal to take over the assignment.”

She crossed her arms. “I would not disagree with that assessment.” She frowned now. “Is there a reason behind the obvious call for secrecy regarding this process?”

She saw the Paserak exchange glances, as Turikana explained, albeit tentatively, “There are… societal complications for our people when we have hatchlings off-world, and we would rather not reveal this to the rest of our tribe at this time. If you require further explanation-”

She shook her head. “You have said enough. I can be as quiet and discreet as a knife in the dark.”

At their bemused reactions, Masterson clarified, smiling, “She’s said a positive thing. Believe it or not.”

*

Deck R2, Operations Centre:

Captain Kate Sternhagen sat in her favourite place in Ops: on the elevated observation dais in the rear, offering a clear view of the circle of workstations below, the windows and holoscreens above… and a railing where she could rest her feet while she leaned back in her chair, coffee mug in her lap, watching the storm rage outside. It reminded her of her childhood days on Benecia, a backwater world without a planetary weather control grid, and thus subject to some fearsome storms, which she would watch from the family porch, imagining being up in the centre of it, having lightning sheet and snake around her.

It was well over half a century ago, but such memories remained potent-

A sound to her left drew her attention. “Hello there, Lieutenant. What can I do for you?”

Chief of Security Lt Arcanis Salvo stood inside the entrance to Ops, surveying the activity, and the view. The tall, muscular, coffee-skinned Nova Roman female scowled, her spade jaw jutted out. “You can tell me when this accursed storm will end.”

Sternhagen shrugged. “How long is a piece of string?”

“That is not an answer… with respect, Ma’am.”

The human smirked to herself; Salvo had been practically press-ganged into serving on the station by Commodore Hrelle, and Salvo’s haughty, abrasive attitude had cost her her Lieutenant Commander’s pips early on. But Sternhagen had seen the changes in Salvo’s attitude since then, no doubt assisted by the patience shown to her by Hrelle and his Counselor wife in helping her mature, almost despite herself. She sipped from her mug again – Klingon coffee was slightly more palatable cold than hot – and regarded the storm outside, making sounds of assessment. “Another twenty hours. Twenty-five, tops.”

Salvo looked up at her accusingly. “You cannot know that! Ion storms are unpredictable! You just conjured that answer out of the aether!”

“Then why’d you ask?” She nodded at the display. “And it’s not just an answer I made up. This is my ninth ion storm, almost all of them serving here. I’ve developed an instinct for these things.” 

She lifted up the hand holding her mug, in the direction of one Ops station, reconfigured to accommodate the squat, pancake-shaped figure of the newly-promoted Lieutenant Stalac, a Horta and the station’s Chief Science Officer, rumbling to himself as his body interfaced with Salem One’s sensors. “Now, Rocky has been studying the physics behind the static abrasion between spatial and subspatial layers that causes ion storms, and claims to have worked out some new algorithms to predict their duration. He says he thinks it’ll abate in under twelve hours. We’ve got a bet going. Wanna join in?”

Salvo breathed out with irritation. “This is intolerable. The Storm Alert protocols mean the power devoted to our weapons pods are diverted to shields, structural integrity and inertial dampening. We are defenceless.”

“But to be fair, right now the storm is a better protector than our phasers and torpedoes. Any enemy vessel strong enough to get through a Level 5 Ion Storm to get here deserves to spank us.” She beckoned to her. “You’re bored. Come on up.”

“Why?”

“So you can sit down and put your boots up and learn how to relax for a while. You don’t have to fill every waking hour of the day with intensity.” She beckoned again. “Consider it an order, if you like.”

Salvo harrumphed… but ascended the three steps and grabbed a spare chair, drawing it closer to Sternhagen as the Nova Roman almost sat down in protest, putting her feet up on the middle rail, her arms crossed again, before finally sighing as if in defeat.

Sternhagen chuckled. “It’ll happen.”

The Nova Roman glanced at her. “What will?”

“The return of your honour… and your former rank. But you don’t have to earn it with another battle. You’re earning it now, every day, by performing your duties, keeping your nose clean, staying disciplined and dependable, attending Counseling, and earning the respect of your peers. And all your efforts are being noticed, by Hrelle… and by me.” She held out her mug to her.

Salvo screwed up her face in mild disgust and shook her head. “Raktajino. It’s constipating.”

“I’ve never noticed myself – I’m as regular as a pulsar – but it would explain the Klingons’ attitudes. Tell me about yourself.”

“Why?”

Sternhagen chuckled. “Because that’s what co-workers do to pass the time when there’s nothing to do. That, and screw. So, unless you wanna find a room-”

“I was born on Nova Roma,” Salvo replied quickly. “The world where ancient Terrans from the Roman Empire had been relocated by the race known as the Preservers. My brother and sister chose to stay at home and serve in our Imperial Defence Fleet. I chose to follow others of my people beyond our system, and serve in Starfleet, in order to find excitement and glory through combat with alien threats.”

The older woman nodded at that. “And did you?”

“Did I, what?”

“Find excitement, and glory?”

Salvo leaned back in her chair, not answering at first, her expression sobering as she stared upwards at the images of the storm outside. “Yes. And much more than I expected.”

And left it at that.

*

Many decks below, at an airlock connected to the private flyer that had brought Dr Visaj and Sylvia Anderson to Salem One, a dozen grey and grey-black rats milled and swarmed over each other as they manipulated miniature decouplers over the magnetic locking mechanism, their collective consciousness allowing them to operate with a single mind, having waited for the right time.

Now they completed their work, and the airlock slid open, allowing the rats access to the station. But they held back, in fact flattened themselves against the airlock wall, as something invisible swept in past them from the flyer, its passing creating a wake in the air, leaving a residual scent detectable only to those with sufficiently keen senses.

The largest of the rats, calling himself Ben for the benefit of the huge bipeds in the Galaxy he was forced to work with to obtain what he and his Pack wanted, poked its head out of the airlock and in the direction of the invisible invader, its whiskers twitching with its nose as it called after it, said in an electronically-generated male voice, “No, no, don’t stop to thank us, all in a day’s work, you go on. And we can forget about the two children of mine you ate on the way here, don’t give them a second thought, either. Asshole.”

Then Ben regained his composure, summoning control to call out the rest of the Rat Pack from the flyer, ready to perform their part of the operation on Salem One, hoping that everyone else involved was on time to do theirs.

*

Not that far away, Engineering Crewman Brad Wyatt was making a strange, sibilant sound, before breaking down in laughter, a sound accompanied by a hiss of amusement from his Paserak friend. “Sorry, I probably said something very rude in your tongue.”

Climbing down the vertical Jefferies Tube ladder and uncurling her short tail, Fraqueza clicked her claws. “Yes, Uniform, but it was so charmingly uttered you would probably get away with it in most civilised circles.” She checked her duty PADD. “The plasma conduit malfunction detected is in Access 1138-E. Shall we attend to it together, or is your monkey brain capable of handling it on your own while I drop down to take care of the fault in 1155?”

Wyatt ran slender fingers through his blonde locks, unoffended by his friend’s banter as he smiled back. “That’s fine, Scales, you can buy the first round in the Starjammers tonight.” He patted her shoulder as they parted, moving in opposite directions with their tool kits. Wyatt tried to speak Paseraki again as he crawled into the horizontal Tube.

“Stop flirting, we’re just good friends!” Fraqueza called back, hissing again at her own jest.

Wyatt chuckled, pushing the kit ahead of him, ignoring the dust and organic residue – this place was a breeding ground – as he emerged into a wider enclosure that extended upwards for several metres. He straightened up and set his kit on the edge of the Tube to begin the checks, finding more organic residue. 

It may not have been the cleanest of environments, but it was better, and safer, than the time he served on the New Hampshire during the War. After more than one near-miss from the Jem’Hadar, he would be happy to have a long, boring, safe career here-

A sound made Wyatt look up, as a huge object blocked the overhead lights, and then dropped down upon him, crushing his legs and hips, sending him into a merciful oblivion that spared him from seeing what his attacker did next…

*

In her own workspace, Fraqueza was running checks on a faulty EPS grid, contemplating a temporary patch that would satisfy Chief Sakai until a replacement could be replicated, when a blast of heat and noise travelled down from above to make her duck and cover instinctively. When it abated, she called down the Tube. “Brad! Are you okay?” She leaned in and listened, repeating, “Brad? BRAD!”

Immediately she began crawling back out, along the way tapping the combadge supplied to her and the other Paserak. “Technician Fraqueza to Chief Sakai: something’s happened to Brad- Crewman Wyatt! There was an explosion, he’s not responding!”

Sakai’s concerned voice resonated within the narrow accessway. “We detected a plasma fire in 1138!”

Fraqueza’s hearts competed with each other in a race. “Brad was alone in 1138!”

“We’ll be right down! Stay where you are, don’t put yourself at risk!”

She ignored the orders, knowing how her friend would do the same if the situation was reversed, smelling the smoke as she emerged into the vertical crosswalk, and then seeing it pour out of 1138 hatch. “BRAD!”

She tried to enter, but was driven back by the smoke… and the smell.

*

Hrelle caught both of this long before he descended and reached the accident site, his stomach churning as he kept back, not wanting to get in the way of the Medical and Engineering crew in the cramped quarters, as thoughts scrambled over each other like puppies since being informed of the accident. 

Brad Wyatt, 26, born in Topeka, Kansas, Earth. Served with distinction onboard the New Hampshire, survived by a father and younger sister… Hrelle knew it was inevitable that someone would die under his command here. Nothing took away that sting, however.

A familiar sound and scent behind him caught his attention. “What are you doing down here?”

“My job.” Kami emerged from the vertical hatch, professionally controlling her reaction both to the sensory input and their shaken crew, as she studied those around them, moving over to the one she obviously thought most needed her Counseling – the Paserak technician, Fraqueza, in the far corner, arms wrapped around herself, tail dipped and still, eyes milked white in her people’s instinctive reaction to fear and trauma. 

Hrelle resisted the urge to interfere in the proceedings, focusing on the figures of Chief Sakai and Doc Masterson, the two men emerging from the accident scene and removing the filter masks they were wearing, looking disturbed despite their age and experience. Hrelle kept this in mind as he addressed them, “Report.”

They glanced at each other, Sakai taking the lead. “I- I don’t know what might have happened, Commodore. It has all the signs of a plasma discharge, but there were no warnings prior to it.”

“What was Brad doing down here? Could he have accidentally caused it?”

The Chief Engineer blanched. “He was replacing some ODN relays in the section! And he was too experienced to do something like that! With your permission, I want to keep the power down in this section and call in off-duty personnel, and Engineering cadets, to run full diagnostic sweeps on all conduits. We might have parts left over from before the station was shut down that missed being replaced.”

Hrelle nodded at that, looking to Masterson, who took over the conversation. “If it helps any, Commodore, I’m sure death was near-instantaneous for Crewman Wyatt; the remains are being transported to the Morgue for the autopsy.”

“Thank you, Zeke. Carry on.” He looked over at Kami, who was kneeling beside the young Paserak technician, talking softly to her… and surreptitiously signalling to him that she was busy, but could handle it.

He departed, already preparing the condolence message in his mind for Brad’s next of kin.

*

The one responsible for the murder moved swiftly away from the scene. It was large, but could compress itself quite easily, and when necessary could crawl through tight passages by sheer musculature control, as well as shedding its skin to increase viscosity.

It moved now, by instinct, though it possessed internal cybernetic mechanisms that awaited data about the schematics of its new hunting grounds, and the identities and locations of those who resided here. Until then, it moved now by instinct alone, something that had made it the Apex Predator on its homeworld, before being recruited by Max Zorin. Recruited… and enhanced.

It didn’t get nearly enough to eat from that first kill.

Luckily, food was plentiful on this station.

*

The hulking, grey-skinned pachydermoid male in the Starfleet Security uniform, modified to bare his huge arms, stepped before the challenging crowd. He raised his broad muzzle, his round ears twisting and round eyes narrowing at the faces looking up at him, as he crossed his arms and cleared his throat to announce, “I am Ensign Urad Kaldron, Assistant Security Chief of Station Salem One. My race calls themselves the Hroch. My homeworld is in a system in a region of space known to the Federation as the Typhon Expanse. And I am the strongest, toughest, fiercest warrior you will ever face.

Now: what are your questions?”

The collection of children sitting at desks in the classroom raised their hands or other appendages at once, and Urad allowed himself a smile. He was familiar to many of the little ones here already, but for the newer ones, he remained an intimidating figure, and he welcomed the chance to introduce himself – especially now, while they were weathering the ion storm and he had little else to do.

In the back of the classroom, Misha Hrelle, the Commodore’s cub, had stood up on his chair, still raising his paw to be higher than the other students, his tail swishing behind him excitedly as he called out, “Ooh! Ooh! Ooh! Me first! Me first! I’m the Commodore’s Cub, I outrank you all!”

To Urad’s right at the front of the classroom, the teacher, Mr Talbok, a dark-suited swarthy young humanoid male with a mop of truculent sable hair and an aquiline nose, barked, “Misha! Off the chair right now! I will choose who will ask! Now sit down, all of you, or I will feast on your bones!”

Immediately the Caitian cub hopped off his chair, as he and the others took their seats once more. Urad spared a glance at Talbok. He knew the teacher was Klingon, though he did not look like any Urad had ever encountered, but rather a darker-skinned human. But his demeanour seemed aggressively Klingon enough, and it brought out Urad’s protective instincts at such times, having a history with the Hrelles’ cub from when they all lived on the Surefoot.

But he reminded himself that Talbok, apparently a minority among Klingons for having human genes, proved to be a good and dependable teacher, cleared by the Commodore and Counselor to live and work here as the station’s Chief Teacher. And given how rambunctious these little scallywags can get, a Klingon might be an ideal authority figure. 

Then he pointed to a young Andorian. “You first, Thykras.”

The blue-skinned, white-haired boy rose, his antennae dipping accusingly at the visitor. “Is your world a member of the Federation?”

“A good question, Comrade,” Urad responded, smiling, “And the answer is No: the Hroch Confederacy remains an independent power, but we have treaties with the Federation, and provided security in our sector of space during the War. As a non-Federation citizen, I was sponsored for Starfleet Academy by Captain Tryla Scott of the USS Renegade.”

The Andorian boy continued to stare suspiciously, but sat down again. 

Talbok then pointed to a more familiar face: Abby Boone, the daughter of Urad’s close friend Peter, from Alpha Squad. The ruddy-faced blonde cherub grinned as she stood and asked, “Is everyone on your planet as big as you?”

He made an amused sound; she probably knew more about him than any other child here, except perhaps Misha, but she wasn’t going to be let out of a chance to join in. “Actually, Comrade Abby, in my family, I am considered quite small. They call me Baby Boy.”

That notion made many of the children laugh, as Talbok next chose a Tellarite girl, who pointed her hoof at Urad, “Why are you all so big? Are you doing it on purpose?”

“I am this size because my homeworld has a stronger gravity than many other planets, and we evolved to have great strength and durability to compensate.”

“Like the Roylans!” interrupted Naida, the daughter of Captain Weynik of the Katana, the diminutive child’s eyestalks bouncing as she spoke.

“That’s right, Comrade! And being a Heavyworlder grants us great strength and stamina in environments with lighter gravity.” 

Talbok then chose a taller Vulcan male, one Urad recognised as Srithik, the nephew of Captain T’Varik of the Surefoot. The boy stood and folded his hands behind his back. “How do you compensate for the long-term deleterious effects of living in a gravity environment lower than your accustomed level?”

Urad made a sound; trust Vulcans, even their children, to ask sensible questions. “Well, Comrade, the gravity in my quarters have been adjusted to Hrochi levels, so my body can avoid muscle, cardiac and bone deterioration.” He chuckled. “But call ahead before you come visiting.”

“I will endeavour to remember, Sir,” Srithik promised solemnly as he sat down again.

“Ooh! Ooh!” Misha reminded him of his presence. “Me next, Mr Talbok! Please, please!”

“You will be next,” Talbok promised the cub. “If your question isn’t about breaking wind.”

Misha lowered his paw, pouting.

“Are you stronger than a mugato?” asked Cal Meacham, a human male whom Urad had seen running around the station with a scruffy tan Terran dog.

“I think so, Comrade. I can comfortably lift six hundred kilograms; more if I lift with my back and legs.”

Then Nipote, one of the Paserak children, wrinkled his budding headfins as he asked, without being prompted, “Are you stronger than Commodore Hrelle? Can you beat him?” 

Immediately Misha growled and declared loudly, “No he can’t! My Papa can beat anyone!”

Now Nipote faced the Caitian, clouding his eyes in anger. “Your Papa’s a fat old cat!”

Misha hissed and bared his teeth, taking an aggressive stance until Srithik reached out and rested a warning hand on Misha’s shoulder.

“Misha! Nipote!” Talbok snapped. “That’s enough! Behave, or you will both get extra homework!”

Urad watched the children calm down, before he chose to speak up again. “As it happens, Little Comrade, I could not beat Commodore Hrelle. Yes, I am bigger and stronger and have tougher skin than nearly everyone around me. But I learned soon after joining Starfleet that these qualities do not make me unstoppable. Commodore Hrelle is strong, fast, flexible, and very, very skilled.” He looked towards Misha. “He is a mighty warrior, and I am learning much from him.”

Misha beamed at the compliment to his father.

Urad took in the rest of the class. “And being able to fight is all well and good, but one must also be able to find a peaceful solution to problems-”

The classroom door suddenly slid open – Urad noticing the instinctive protective stance that Talbok took – as an adult Paserak male in a crimson utility jumpsuit entered, eyes and fins flaring as he glared at Urad. “So, it’s true – you are here, spreading your propaganda!”

The Hroch drew back, confused by the reaction. “Excuse me, Comrade Engineer?”

Talbok stepped forward. “Mr Scortese, you can’t just burst in here-”

The Paserak ignored him, his tail snapping behind him as he faced Urad once more. “You Uniforms are all alike, trying to indoctrinate our hatchlings into your statist Federation regime! How dare you? Have you no shame?”

“Comrade Engineer, I can assure you-”

“Mr Scortese,” Talbok interjected, stepping between the Paserak and Urad, his expression stern and protective. “I can assure you that Ensign Kaldron is here strictly to talk about himself, as a member of a race unfamiliar to all of us. He is not on some recruiting drive for either Starfleet or the Federation… I would not allow it, as both a Klingon and an educator charged with the welfare of these children.”

Scortese hissed through clenched rows of razor teeth. “You would say that; you are in their employ!” 

Talbok’s gaze narrowed. “As are you and your people here, it would seem.”

The Paserak hissed again. “Not by choice, but by the foolish naivete of our tribal leader! But that will change!” He moved past the Klingon to look at his child. “Nipote! Come! You will not be misled here any further!”

The child hissed back. “No! I don’t want to go!”

Now Talbok joined in, his voice and expression sympathetic as he looked at his student. “Nipote, you cannot remain here without your parents’ permission. You must obey your father.” He turned back to Scortese. “Your son is welcome back here at any time, however. He is a bright and welcome addition to our class.”

“Such sweet words, Teacher,” Scortese sneered with naked contempt. “Your Klingon ancestors must be turning in their graves at how readily you bow and scrape to your Federation masters.”

Talbok bristled, his hands balling into fists, and for a moment Urad feared he might have to intervene. But then the teacher responded only with a curt, “Klingons have no graves; they are typically cremated or interred when they die. Had you been here last week with your son, Mr Scortese, you would have learned that, when I talked about my people. I believe you know the way out.”

He did, taking his offspring with him. Talbok looked out at the stunned, confused faces, before announcing, “We have taken enough of Ensign Kaldron’s valuable time. Let us offer him our thanks for his visit.”

The children thanked him in chorus. Urad nodded, silently not feeling deserving of any praise.

*

Deck 8 - Astrometrics Lab::

Engineering Crewman Arno Van Heerden smiled to himself as he completed the removal of the final gel pack, carefully setting it in the storage and transplant container “Take it easy, little liefling. We’ll get you to your new home soon enough.”

Of course, the blue-black pack didn’t answer, nor did any of the others. Nor did he expect them to; the organic circuitry was intelligent compared with isolinear circuitry, but hardly sentient. But he liked his humour dry, even if none of his colleagues seemed to appreciate it.

He glanced around; most of the equipment here had already been removed, transplanted to the new Tactical Room near Ops, under Commodore Hrelle’s orders, but the bio-neural gel packs needed someone qualified to install and uninstall them, and there were few people on the station available to do that besides himself.

His mind went back for a moment to his childhood, to some song about a talking reindeer ridiculed and ostracised by his family and friends for his glowing bulbous nose, until his particular ability made him useful one foggy Christmas Eve for Santa Claus. And the moral of that story? People will only want you around if you’re useful to them.

Van Heerden shook off such cynicism – wasn’t his colleague and friend bringing back a late lunch for them both from the Starjammers? – as he slid back under the main console, to retrieve the final packs, just as he heard the lab door slide open, and smiled to himself. “Jennifer! Your timing is digital! I’ll be right out, and then we’ll pack these up and you can see I’m right about Andorian sushi!”

He listened for her reply, which never came.

His fingers fumbled with the final connectors to one pack. Why was it being so stubborn, it hadn’t been in place for that long? He chuckled. “I hope you’re hungry, my friend.”

“Oh, yes…”

The sibilant voice barely registered, before Van Heerden felt huge, hot, strong clawed hands grasp his shins, savagely dragging him out from under the console. Such was the speed and ferocity that he didn’t have time to manoeuvre his right arm out, and it broke along the way.

The agony he felt at that time was brief. But only because it was eclipsed by so much more.

*

Hrelle had been back in his office, composing the condolence message for the next of kin of Crewman Wyatt, when his eyes picked up the Fire Alert from Ops. He startled Zir, sitting nearby assisting with the Death in Service administration, though she quickly recovered and followed him out into the main room. “What’s happened?”

Sternhagen was leaning over Lt Arik at one of the Engineering stations. “Plasma fire in the Astrometrics Lab!”

“Another one?” He looked past her to the readings, his pulse racing. “Why aren’t the suppressors working?”

“I don’t know, I have Fire Control, Engineering and Medical parties converging over from Shuttle Stores.”

Astrometrics… he recalled his idea to transplant the equipment from there to up here for Sector Tactical Analysis- “Was someone in there?”

He felt the scent change on his Station Master. “Engineering Crewmen Van Heerden and Mellor. Mellor’s reported in, stating Van Heerden had been alone in the Lab. We’re not getting a signal from Van Heerden’s combadge-”

She stopped as Hrelle raced to the turbolift, Salvo joining him.

*

They held back as they rounded the corridor and saw the support crew at work, even as the filters above fought to clear out the acrid smoke that was still pouring out of the open door of the Lab. Hrelle’s hackles rose as he caught unwelcome scents, but he controlled his reactions as he saw Chief Sakai’s Assistant. “Mr Nalak?”

The young Vulcan male was standing to one side, eyes closed, and too late Hrelle realised that Nalak had experienced something that shook his normal composure. But then the olive-skinned Petty Officer straightened up and approached Hrelle formally. “Sir, forgive me, I was momentarily overcome-”

Hrelle raised a paw to cut him off, maintaining a conciliatory tone. “Tabakau ish-veh vo'ektaya. Your reaction is logical under the circumstances, Mr Nalak. Where’s the Chief?”

Nalak seemed to take strength from Hrelle’s deliberate use of the Vulcan mantra. “Chief Sakai had returned to Engineering to coordinate the inspection teams. I was already in the Shuttle Storage Bay on this deck when the alert sounded, and was first to arrive. Crewman Van Heerden… was beyond saving. Crewman Mellor was taken to the Hospital for shock.”

Hrelle nodded. “Another plasma fire, like on Deck 11-”

“Commodore,” Salvo interjected. “I want my people to run Security scans for explosives.”

He looked at her. “You suspect sabotage? Not just a coincidence, or faulty parts causing malfunctions?”

The Nova Roman jutted out her chin. “I’d suspect malfunction, if we had just reopened the station after two years. But not now, after all this time, especially with the Paserak having been here before we arrived.”

He nodded again in agreement. “Do it.” Then, as Salvo turned away to use her combadge, he turned as Sakai rushed up, seeing the expression on his Chief’s face, Hrelle explaining, “Another plasma fire… and another death: Crewman Van Heerden.”

The older Asian man’s eyes openly displayed shock. “God, no… I was qualified to handle the gel packs as well as him. I should have been here…”

“Don’t go that route, Dave. Any idea about what might be happening?”

“Not yet, Sir. I was planning to do a full inspection of all the conduit hubs…” He glanced in the direction of the Lab. “But Astrometrics doesn’t have the configuration I would have expected to trigger a plasma fireflash.”

“Hold off taking any action,” Hrelle ordered. “In fact, hold off on all maintenance until further notice. I don’t want anyone on their own.” When his combadge chirped, he tapped it. “Hrelle here.”

Masterson’s voice, and the anxiety lacing it, carried over the surrounding activity. “Commodore, we’ve finished the autopsy on Crewman Wyatt. You need to get up here, now.”

“I’m on my way. Hrelle out.* He looked around. “Lt Salvo, get your scanning party in there before the Medical Team beams Mr Van Heerden’s body to the Morgue. Chief, I want parallel scans run on the cause of the flashfire in Astrometrics, while Mr Nalak runs a systems diagnostic for anomalies from Engineering.”

The Vulcan turned to him. “Commodore, I ask that you please not take my initial reaction on seeing Mr Van Heerden’s body as an inability to perform my duties-”

He raised a paw to cut him off. “I’m not, Mr Nalak. But I want a more experienced pair of eyes up here. Yield to the logic of the situation.”

*

He caught Kami’s scent in her office in the Hospital as he entered, and heard her conversing with someone else. And she obviously heard him, as she emerged and followed him silently towards the Morgue, as Masterson and Eydiir emerged, removing their ruby-red scrubs, headgear and gloves and setting them on an adjacent trolley, Masterson looking ashen. “Thank you for coming, Commodore.”

“You have something that can’t just be put into a report?”

The human nodded, as Eydiir moved to a wallscreen and activated it, displaying multiple images and data screens while Masterson reported, “Crewman Wyatt’s body was extensively burned by plasma fire… but that’s not what killed him. Not the fire, nor any impact or debris from an explosion triggered by the fire.”

Hrelle felt Kami tense beside him, as he asked, “What did?”

More images, some from a near-microscopic level, showing jagged parallel grooves in tissue and bone. “There is evidence of antemortem tissue evisceration, ventral thorax fragmentation… claw marks… and teeth marks.”

“Mother’s Cubs…” Kami murmured.

Eydiir nodded soberly. “I have seen very similar trauma on Capella, with hunters who were overwhelmed by local predators.”

Hrelle stared numbly at the grisly evidence. “We have pests on the station that would scavenge- rats, naphrulls-”

Masterson shook his head. “Those critters are too small and scittery to have caused this level of damage, and there wouldn’t have been time anyway. We also found traces of foreign DNA in some of the tissue that hasn’t been burned.”

Hrelle looked at him again. “Can you identify the killer?”

“No, Sir, as either an individual or a race… but there are genetic strands within the DNA’s introns that are reptoid in origin.”

“Reptoid?” He looked back at the claw and teeth marks in the images. “There’s been another accident, another body – Crewman Van Heerden. There’ll be a meeting in Ops in fifteen minutes; I want someone there with a report.”

Masterson nodded, looking at Eydiir. “You ready, Chief Nurse?”

Eydiir grunted, retrieving fresh scrubs for them both.

Hrelle left them at it, departing with Kami, even as he slapped his combadge. “Hrelle to Ops: I’m ordering General Quarters Two with immediate effect, but be ready to upgrade to GQ Three. Once GQ2 is in place, I want an Intruder Scan, top to tail. And all Department Heads are to report for a meeting in 15 minutes. Hrelle out.” He stopped, glancing around to ensure no one was nearby, before facing his wife. “Who’s minding Sreen today?”

“Sre Gyver Timbel.”

He nodded. “Good, he can handle himself. The classes will be cancelled with GQ2, see if he’s willing to mind Misha and Srithik too for the duration. I want you at the meeting as well.”

“Of course.” She crossed her arms, frowning. “No.”

“No, what?”

“It’s not one of the Paserak.”

“I never said it was.”

She glared at him.

“I’m running an Intruder Scan. I wouldn’t be doing that if I thought otherwise, now would they?”

She glared at him.

He was ready to respond, when he saw two Security crewmen appear at the Hospital entrance, taking position as per GQ Protocols, and looked in their direction. “Crewman Lamont, open up the Hospital Weapons Locker, ensure the doctors – and the Counselor here – are equipped with a phaser. No exceptions, understood?”

“Yes, Sir.”

Hrelle spared a final glance at Kami. “Get our cubs secure, and then get up to Ops.”

And then left before she could argue further.

*

Deck 2, Guest Quarters 047:

“There is no cause for alarm. Station Salem One is now under Security General Quarters Two. All civilians and non-essential personnel are to return to their quarters and remain until further notice. Communications are restricted. Updates will be available on the public broadcast channels as and when appropriate. There is no cause for alarm.”

The two women entered their quarters as the public address repeated itself, the Vulcan immediately removing her black robes and approaching her luggage. “I could have made contact with Hrelle and completed my part of this operation immediately if you hadn’t interfered. You are attempting to sabotage our operation here. I will inform Zorin.”

The Terran shucked off her jacket, moving to the replicator. “I saved this operation, Doctor; your bulldozer style of dealing with others will get us exposed. We have time to get what we need without raising suspicion with his underlings. And anyway, how would you tattle to Zorin with the interference from the ion storm?”

“You told the Orion that I was half-Romulan. It was insulting to be associated in any way with the likes of them.”

“But it made sense, to explain your suspicious behaviour. And someone with your criminal record has no moral high ground.” To the replicator, she ordered, “Tea, Darjeeling, Hot. And sixteen shortbread biscuits.”

As these materialised, Dr Visaj, aka Dr Orlok, renegade Vulcan and criminal biologist, made a dismissive sound. “You will put on weight if you continue to sate such gastric indulgences.”

Sylvia Anderson, aka Lady Penelope Creighton-Ward, aka Lady Fantomax, the Galaxy’s Greatest Cat Burglar, picked up her replicated cup and plate of biscuits, and carried them over to a nearby table and chair. “No need to show such concern. We’re not married for real, Dr Orlok… a truth I’m certain we both find comforting.”

“Agreed. You are, however, at risk of reducing your overall physical efficacy to the operation by indulging in such fattening comestibles yourself.”

“I concur.” Fantomax began setting twelve of the biscuits down in a row on the carpet at her feet. “Assuming they were all for me.”

Orlok observed her activity, and noted, “The rodents. You indulge those mutant scavengers too much.”

“They’re colleagues in the Bel-Zon, intelligent and highly valuable ones. Even a scientist as twisted as yourself should be able to appreciate their uniqueness.”

“You have a point,” Orlok finally conceded. “I hope to vivisect one or two of them to study that collective mind they share.”

From floor level nearby, a mechanically-generated male voice warned, “Try that and you’ll regret it, Ears.”

Both women turned as the sound of a tiny phaser burned through the grid of an air vent, toppling the covering, and a dozen rats of different sizes and colours poured through, swarming to the proffered biscuits and feeding in an eerily orderly fashion, the largest rat, wearing an equipment harness, looking up at Fantomax and nodding, “The Rat Pack thanks you, Milady.”

She raised her teacup in salute. Orlok remained unamused, asking, “The enablement of General Quarters would indicate Jaws has already made his first kill. Did you complete your own assignment?”

Ben, aka the Prolocutor for the Pack, nibbled away at some more of his biscuit before replying, “Datalinks and isolinear points set up in the key locations. You’ll be able to tap into their real-time internal communications, but not their secured files.”

Fantomax reached for her portable computer. “That access will come, if Jaws completes the next steps of the operation successfully.”

Then the announcement repeated. “There is no cause for alarm. Station Salem One is now under Security General Quarters Two. All civilians and non-essential personnel are to return to their quarters and remain until further notice. Communications are restricted. Updates will be available on the public broadcast channels as and when appropriate. There is no cause for alarm.”

Ben looked up, as if he could see the speaker. “‘No cause’, huh? Someone’s in for a rude awakening…”

*

Deck R1, Helle’s Office:

“We’ve examined Van Heerden’s body,” Masterson reported coolly, “And can confirm he died the same way as Wyatt: trauma following a physical assault by a large predator with pronounced teeth and claws. And there was evidence of flesh being consumed with him as well.”

Hrelle heard, felt and scented the collective shudder from those around him at the round table beside Hrelle’s desk. He kept an eye on Turikana, present in his capacity as the leader of the Paserak community on Salem One, as he asked, “And the traces of reptoid DNA you found in Wyatt, was the same found in Van Heerden?”

“Yes, Commodore.”

Turikana reacted to this news, his headfins thickening and turning a deeper red of alarm… but then Hrelle was distracted by Kami, sitting to Turikana’s left, giving her husband a reproving look as she asked Masterson, “But there’s still no evidence of who or what left those traces, is there, Doctor?”

“No, Counselor. The burns from the plasma flashfires didn’t leave enough evidence to confirm the origins of the attacker.”

Hrelle made a sound, looking towards Sakai. “What about those plasma fires themselves? Have you determined the cause?”

His Chief Engineer looked up, his face taut. “Definitely not from malfunctions, or in fact anything to do with the surrounding systems. They’re being externally generated.”

“A plasma weapon?” He turned to Salvo.

The Nova Roman nodded – staring openly in Turikana’s direction as she replied, “Agreed, Commodore. The plasma residue we detected at both scenes is of a mixture different to any of the power conduits on the station, and the blast patterns would indicate a directed energy weapon rather than a plasma charge or anything else that might cause an explosive pattern.”

“And there are many races out there who use plasma-based weapons,” Hrelle noted. “Klingons, Romulans, Cardassians, Ferengi, Orion, Kzinti, Federation civilian organisations-”

“Paserak,” Salvo added.

Turikana’s eyes clouded over in anger, his voice accentuating the normal hiss. “How dare you? We had nothing to do with the horrible deaths of your men!”

Kami rested a paw on his forearm. “No one is saying that, Turi.” She looked back at Salvo challengingly. “Are you?”

Salvo remained steely, her gaze fixed on the Paserak. “Your people have sophisticated technical expertise, have knowledge and access to many parts of this station, in fact you were on board for months prior to our arrival to resume command. There are no other reptoids register onboard apart from yourselves. And incidents have been logged, involving members of your race being openly hostile towards Starfleet.”

“You call us killers?” Turikana rose to his feet, hissing openly, teeth bared. Salvo rose as well, her hand moving to the phaser on her hip, and everyone tensed.

Then Hrelle rapped on the table, his own hackles raised as he saw how close Kami was to the young enraged reptoid. “Sit down.” He eyed Salvo. “Both of you.” Once they complied, he indicated Sternhagen. “You ran the Intruder Scan, and found nothing. But we have refugees from the ion storm here, along with their ships, within our deflector bubble. What do we know about them?”

His Station Master picked up her PADD. “24 in total: six crew from the Norkova-class freighter Volgagrad, along with two representatives from mining operation on Scesity, all human; six Ferengi from the Speculator-class scout ship Short Sell, part of their people’s Colony Project on Axyllus III; a human and Vulcan couple from the private flyer Thunderbird One; and two crew from the the runabout Shannon, along with six passengers from the Federation Science Council, scheduled to relieve the covert observation team on Bandera, totalling three humans, four Denobulans and one Vulcan.”

“The four vessels are secured at the airlocks? No evidence of anyone entering or leaving since they docked?”

Sternhagen shook her head. “I’ve triple-checked the logs.”

“Run background checks on all our guests.” To Salvo he added, “I want their vessels searched as well, prior to a physical sweep of the station interior.”

Salvo nodded, but then added, “Commodore, I must also recommend at this time confining the Paserak contingent together.”

“Again you condemn us?” Turikana rasped loudly, facing Hrelle. “We have lived and worked among you for months now! Yes, some among us retain the anti-establishment attitudes of my race as a whole, but that’s a great leap from that to committing these vicious, horrible killings you have described!”

“Yes, “ Kami agreed, fixed on Salvo. “You’re out of line, Lieutenant.”

“No,” Hrelle disagreed resolutely, recapturing his wife’s and everyone else’s attention. “She’s not. Lt Salvo is performing her duty.”

Then Salvo offered, in a conciliatory tone, “Just to clarify, Counselor, I do not wish to inter the Paserak community, just keep them together temporarily in a single area, such as the Arboretum, while we sweep the rest of the station and avoid their proximity triggering false alarms.”

Kami stared back, as if seeking deception, before turning to Turikana. “Will your people accept an arrangement like this?”

The Paserak leader looked around him, his eyes beginning to uncloud but his voice retaining a bitter sting. “It appears we have little choice.”

Hrelle leaned back in his chair. “Once the Paserak are together in the Arboretum, we’ll institute the search of the station and the visitor’s ships. Capt Sternhagen, Lt Salvo, you’ll recruit all non-essential Starfleet personnel you need for the security support – except for the cadets; those cubs stay locked up and safe. Any idea about when the ion storm will dissipate?”

Sternhagen checked her PADD again. “Lt Stalac figures it’ll ease up to the point where travel will be safe in about six hours, but communications to the outside should clear sometime before that.”

“I want the killer apprehended before there’s any chance of their escaping. Dismissed… would you please wait behind, Turi?”

The Paserak tribal leader hesitated, but sat down again. Hrelle exchanged a glance with Kami, exchanged far more between them, but said nothing further until he was alone with the younger figure, and adopted a calmer, less threatening tone. “I’m sorry that this crisis requires us to take such actions, Turikana. You’re correct: you and your tribe have lived and worked with us for some time, without any major problems arising. And your assistance has been invaluable in keeping us at optimum levels in record time, and I would regret damaging our relationship.”

“And yet, Commodore, we both know these actions will only serve to reinforce the attitudes among members of my tribe regarding Starfleet and the Federation: that you are statist, fascist, militaristic, no different to the Dominion or the Cardassians or any other galactic power.”

Hrelle nodded, conceding, “It could happen. But I have a responsibility to my people, a responsibility over and above all other matters, and it’s a risk I’m willing to take. Anyone who thinks command is easy has never really commanded.”

Turikana hissed. “On that, we can agree, Commodore. Between you and me, since my father’s death left me in charge of what remains of our tribe, I have… struggled… to do what is right. Always second- and third-guessing every decision I make, knowing I could turn to no one else for counsel. It is like a weight on my tail, dragging on me all the time…”

Hrelle grunted in sympathy. “You have never informed me or anyone else of the reason behind the civil war, the Schism, amongst the Paserak, or what drove your tribe to seek refuge from your people on Salem One. I’ve respected your desire for secrecy… now, however, I can’t help but wonder if these murders might be connected.”

“They are not!”

Hrelle regarded him for a moment, before finally responding. “I’ve known you since you were a hatchling, accompanying your father Maquedan whenever we secretly met to exchange information about activities and threats within the Sector. I respected him, and I respect you, especially with the accomplishments you have made in keeping your tribe alive by living and working with us. But this can’t continue, not unless you trust me with the problems of your people.”

“I- I can’t-” Then he hissed, slapping his clawed hand down onto the tabletop in frustration. “More weight upon my tail! There are secrets that could put my whole race in jeopardy, should outsiders learn of our vulnerability!”

“Turi… if your people have reached a level of internal conflict where you are literally killing each other and are forced to reside here, it sounds like you’re already vulnerable.”

Turikana remained tense… before finally breathing out, “My father spoke of you with great respect and trust… a respect and trust you have earned from me as well more recently.

You know we live as nomads, Commodore: generations of us growing up, working and dying on our tribeships, and have done so for many, many millennia. We make no permanent settlements on any planet, for we believe no being can lay claim to any world like you and so many other powers in the Galaxy seem to do.”

Hrelle nodded. “But it couldn’t have always been the case, could it? You didn’t evolve in space.”

Turikana nodded back. “You are correct. There is a planet within our territories, its location known only to our tribes, from which we originated. Long ago, we were a different people, much more like yours and many other races, with cities and installations and infrastructures… and our ways nearly poisoned our planet. Until our Renaissance changed our way of life, our attitudes to permanently living on our world, on any world, and we left it to recover, left our cities to crumble and be reclaimed by nature.

But it remained our Birthworld, not just because we came from there, but because we must return there and reside for a short time when we seek to produce offspring, because the unique combination of temperature, atmosphere and radiation permeates the egg upon oviposition, allowing the life within to successfully come to term and hatch. No matter how distant our travels may take us, every tribe finds the time to return every few years, to help bring forth the next generation.”,

Hrelle took it in, aware of how privileged he was to be made aware of the secrets of these people, secrets he never expected, though it explained much about the Paserak’s attitudes to those who lived permanently on planets. “And you can’t recreate the conditions on our Birthworld onboard your tribeships, to bring the hatchlings to term?”

Turikana bristled. “It can be done, albeit with difficulty; here on your station, my mate and I are secretly attempting against the odds to do this, and we hope that your people and technology can help. But the problem lies with my people’s beliefs. Many believe that we receive more from our Birthworld than just atmospheric particulates and metaphasic radiation; we receive our spirits. A hatchling born off our Birthworld would be considered a soulless science-bred abomination by many. I suspect that should my own hatchling survive to term, that there are those even among my tribe who will not consider it a true Paserak.“

Hrelle nodded, having heard similar issues raised among other races. “So what’s changed, to bring about this Schism among your tribes?”

The Paserak breathed in sharply. “Our Birthworld’s sun has undergone a nova, its radiation levels increasing and altering the planet’s ecosystems, destroying our ozone layer and preventing many successful hatchings.”

“But it would be easy enough to construct atmospheric compensators to-” Hrelle caught himself. “Your people’s prohibition against permanent construction on any planets, even your own...”

Turikana nodded. “Yes. Those Doctrinals among us have refused to allow it, even at the cost of our race’s survival. My father led those who believed an exception should be made, but the arguments quickly turned bloody. We were attacked not far from here… the rest, you know. We have tried to covertly monitor our shared communications bands for any progress on the Schism, with little success.”

Hrelle leaned back, taking it all in. It seemed absurd to him, that a people would risk self-extinction over a matter of dogma… but Galactic History presented more absurd examples, like the black/white insanity of the Cheronites, or the activities of the Thermians driven by ancient Terran entertainment transmissions treated as historical documents. “Thank you for your trust you have shown me by revealing this.”

The Paserak male looked up at him. “And what will you do with this information? Inform your superiors?”

“No… unless your people’s conflict begins affecting us – assuming that what has happened today isn’t connected. Otherwise, our Non-Interference Policy would keep us out of your internal conflict anyway.” He rose up, walking around until he stopped at the display on his wall, of his Kaetini sword and other traditional Caitian weapons and pieces of Kaetini armour, mounted surrounding a round tritanium shield with a lion head in the centre, a birthday gift from his old buddy Weynik.

Then he turned back. “Unless, of course, we were asked for assistance from you or your people. Then we could apply the combined scientific expertise of over 150 worlds towards your problem, and all without asking for anything in return.” He shrugged. “Not that I’m trying to influence you or anything…”

Turikana hissed again, albeit with some amusement now.

*

Deck 6, Gymnasium 2:

“There is no cause for alarm. Station Salem One is now under Security General Quarters Two…”

Security Crewman Tox Garrell cursed as he nearly tripped over a discarded barbell. Holy Hraxor, he knew it was an alert, but didn’t people have enough sense to put away the equipment before departing for their assigned stations? And didn’t you have enough sense to look up from the tricorder screen to see where you’re going, Tox?

The room, one of several in the Gymnasium, was lined with walls of mirrors which reflected endless rows of weight racks, exercise machines of many varieties… and himself. He glanced at one reflection, seeing the bald blue bisected face glance back, and he instinctively sucked in his gut a little more, despite being in decent shape already as part of his job. On the other hand, of late he’d been favouring the shimmershell pasta at the Commissary-

“Crewman Garell,” came the voice of his superior, Petty Officer Thassis, over Tox’s combadge, the accusing monotone making Tox’s teeth itch. “You should have completed the visual sweep of that section by now.”

Tox was about to reply, albeit not the one he first thought – he was certain Andorians were born accusing their parents of making a poor delivery of their offspring – when he saw something from the corner of his eye. He stared in a corner of the room, where gravity pulleys hung from the ceiling, the thick black styrolite cables fixed with grips swinging-

What made them swing?

“Crewman Garell, respond.”

He stared at the mirrored corner, only seeing his own reflection. Absently he reached up and touched his combadge. “Stand by, Mr Thassis. I’m investigating something.”

“Crewm- fmfmms- tfskllw-”

The combadge went silent. Tox was too distracted to think about it, as he raised his tricorder in the direction of the corner: no one else was detected in the surrounding area. But he was certain he could feel the presence of someone else.

As he turned to leave, he heard the voice, soft and croaking like a Bolian swamphopper, the type he would always hear in the background of those horror vivids he used to watch as a child. “Don’t go…”

He spun around again, drawing his phaser now, his heart pounding. “Starfleet Security! Show yourself and surrender!” Weapon raised, he dropped his tricorder and reached up to his combadge. “Intruder in Gymnasium 2! I need backup! I NEED BACKUP!”

From the corner of the room, where he only saw himself, the disembodied voice replied, “And I need a palate cleanser…”

And then Tox saw it: the fog appearing on one of the mirrors, as if someone or something was breathing on it. 

Something big.

Then it came into view and charged.

Tox resisted the urge to run, or to do nothing, and instead followed his training, ensuring his phaser was set on the expected power level as he squeezed the trigger, fully expecting to bring down the monster he saw before him.

He didn’t expect the phaser not to function.

He had no time to react to that. as he was tackled and his killer cracked his head open like an egg.

*

It was seconds later when two more Security crewmen raced down one end of the corridor outside Gymnasium 2, drawing their phasers as the door slid open, and a huge, slate-grey tailed reptoid with spinal fins emerged… throwing up, coughing and sputtering from its muzzle, snarling, “Disgusting!”

They attempted to fire… and failed.

It looked up at them and breathed blue-white fire in their direction…

*

Moments later, Hrelle and Salvo had joined those already at the scene of carnage, medical personnel examining the burned Security crewmen in the corridor, though one of them – Joan Leslie, Hrelle recognised, one of the transfers from the Surefoot – appeared still alive.

Then his nose alerted him to the remains of someone else, someone with a Bolian scent, ahead. He pushed through the crew surrounding it, confirmed that someone else had definitely died here, and was definitely Bolian. And had definitely been at least partially consumed. A look into Gymnasium 2 sealed that confirmation.

He suppressed his protesting stomach as he turned back to Salvo, who was being briefed by Petty Officer Thassis. “Crewman Tox Garell was running a visual clearance of Gymnasium 2, when we lost contact with him; some type of local subspace interference.” He indicated Leslie, who was being loaded onto an antigrav gurney. “Crewman Leslie was still conscious when I arrived; she identified the attacker as a large, tailed reptoid, possibly Paserak.”

Salvo looked at Hrelle, who struck his combadge. “Hrelle to Ops: General Quarters Four, lockdown Deck 6, and make sure all Paserak are accounted for in the Arboretum.” He closed the channel, his anger and anxiety rising further. More deaths under his command…

“You’re convinced the Paserak are responsible now?” Salvo asked him.

“Yes… but not necessarily any of the ones we know. We may have one of them onboard trying to drive our Paserak off the station as part of their conflict.”

“Why would you think that?”

“That doesn’t matter. I just want ours accounted for so they don’t get caught in the line of fire.” He noticed the dropped phasers from the fallen crewmen, knelt down and picked one up, examining it. “Our people are experienced, they would have fired… the power cells are still at 100%...” He set the phaser on minimum and fired at the floor, producing an orange-red beam that struck harmlessly. “Unless something prevented them.”

Then he rose again, stepping slowly towards the far end of the corridor, which curved around past several storage rooms before reaching one of the cargo turbolift shafts, before stopping again. “Mr Thassis, you indicated there was subspace interference affecting the local combadge network as this attack occurred. We may have a killer with sophisticated technology to block our sensors, communications, and phasers.

I want at least one member of every Security equipped with a ballistic weapon from the Armoury. I also want TMP-4 communicators; they’re short range but work on chemical batteries and EM frequencies.”

Salvo waited for more, before finally ordering Thassis to obey. Then she saw him standing still, but subtly signal for her to approach him. She did, stepping aside his twitching tail, Salvo tensing as she saw his expression. “Sir-”

“Shhh….” With a low voice, he muttered, “Don’t react. Clear the Medical and Support teams – quietly – and leave the bodies and the remains, we’ll clear up later. When Thassis gets back with our ballistic weapons and communicators, I want the bulkhead behind us locked down, along with that cargo turbolift down there.”

“What-”

Then she seemed to understand, and walked away again to fulfil his orders.

Hrelle stepped forward, approaching the remains of Crewman Garrell, and what was digestive juices, bile, dropping to one knee as he focused his senses on the unfamiliar scents, awakening his predatory instincts, instincts he would need to be awake and alert in the coming hunt.

Because those instincts told him the intruder never left this area. It was still here. Maybe watching them right now.

Didn’t like the taste of Bolian flesh, did you, you murdering bastard? Too caustic for your tastes? Leave you with a bellyache?

He unsheathed his claws. I can cure you of that.

*

Deck 2, Guest Quarters 47:

Orlok stared at her computer and confirmed, “They have instituted General Quarters Four.”

Nearby, Fantomax rechecked the equipment harness on her scattersuit and adjusted her multispectral goggles. “That means Auxiliary Command on Deck 13 should be cleared and locked down by now. Any word on Jaws’ present location?”

“He’s reached the Cargo Turbolift shaft on Deck 6- wait, he’s pausing, hesitating-”

At the table, picking at the biscuit crumbs on Fantomax’s face, Ben wrinkled his nose. “Probably eyeing his next meal. They must have installed a black hole in his belly with all his other cybernetics.”

Fantomax ran one final check on her personal transporter unit, wishing she had a communications link with her ship’s computer, Parker, to watch her back. Him, she trusted, more than her current partners in crime. Well, she trusted the Rat Pack anyway. 

She paused. Zorin’s cybernetic bodyguard Jaws was brutal, literally making meals out of innocent crewmen as part of his master’s stratagem. Fantomax was a thief, avoiding violence whenever possible. Now she was an accomplice to murder. Unwilling, perhaps, but still an accomplice. It was an arrangement that didn’t seem to bother most of the others in the Bel-Zon – especially not psychopaths like Orlok – but it weighed on her like a millstone around her neck. And if she could escape from Zorin’s influence alive, she would.

But she couldn’t. Not now, anyway. “Tell me you placed the isolinear tag in a location in Auxiliary Command that isn’t only rat-sized.”

Ben was tossing the rest of the crumbs down to his Pack now. “I chose their toilet; it’ll provide you additional cover in the event they have additional security measures we can’t detect remotely.”

“Astute thinking, thank you. Wish me luck.”

“Luck is a superstition,” Orlok declared. “A practice unworthy of civilised individuals.”

“As opposed to a lifetime spent concocting poisons and diseases to commit genocide? Spare us your hypocritical sanctimony.” Fantomax locked onto the isolinear tag and activated her transporter, vanishing.

*

Deck 3, Hospital:

“NO!”

Eydiir had been following protocol and arming herself with some of her own personal weapons from Capella IV, when the cry came from the ICU Room where they were keeping the life support unit for Turikana and Constante’s egg. She quickened her pace when she saw two Security crewmen begin struggling with the mother and the medic Levatrice. “What’s going on?”

The crewmen stepped back, hands resting on their holstered phasers, one of them, a swarthy sable-haired Terran named Lamont, explaining, “We have orders to isolate all the Paserak together in the Arboretum! One of them’s been running around killing our people!”

“That’s a lie!” Constante hissed. “We would never harm you!”

“They can’t be moved,” Eydiir confirmed. “We need the equipment here to keep the egg alive.”

The crewmen exchanged glances again, before Lamont responded with, “Fine, but the adult will have to come with us.”

Constante bared her teeth. “I’m not leaving my child!”

“It’s an egg, not a child!”

“Enough of this knavery!” Eydiir stood between the guards and the Paserak, feeling her face heat up from the crewmen’s obstinacy and ignorance. “No one’s leaving here! You have orders to stand guard outside the Hospital, now do so!”

Lamont raised his dimpled chin. “If we have to call Lieutenant Salvo-”

“-Then y’all be in for a hard fall from your saddles,” interrupted Doc Masterson, striding towards them and tucking his thumbs into the pockets of his uniform jacket. “‘Coz before all this brouhaha stirred up, I informed Commodore Hrelle of the need for our patient and their mother and medical specialist to remain here. He had no burr in his britches over doing that. Now, why don’t y’all skedaddle?” He shooed them off, looking back at Constante, tipping an imaginary hat. “Sorry about that, Ma’am. Y’all be safe in here now.”

*

Deck 4, Arboretum:

Turikana tried his best. He really tried. His place was among his tribe, almost all of them having been gathered here, among this huge living enclosure on Salem One, trying to keep the peace between them and Starfleet. But all he really wanted to do was be updeck in the Hospital with his wife and egg.

What was he thinking of? Stranded on this station, homeless, and having a hatchling now, at this most critical time in their people’s lives? Even if his child comes to term, how many of his people, his own tribe, will accept them as one of their own kind, instead of Hollow, soulless-

“Turikana! Aren’t you paying attention?”

He turned back to his cousin Scortese. “I am. But you haven’t said anything new, just retraced old trails expecting different outcomes: a definition of insanity.”

The male hissed, eyes clouding in anger as he raised his voice, drawing more of their people closer into the argument… and more on his side than Turikana’s. “Better insanity than perfidy! You’ve allowed these Uniforms to imprison us, condemn us, and to keep your mate hostage elsewhere to ensure your compliance!”

Turikana glanced over at the entrance, where several Starfleet Security crewmen stood, including that huge one Urad, the one whose size belied the gentle soul within, and who had made an impression on the hatchlings of their tribe. “Keep your voice down, Scortese! My wife is not a hostage to Starfleet! She’s in their Hospital! And Levatrice is with her!”

“Why? What is wrong with her? What can they do for her that we can’t do for our own people?”

Turikana hesitated; did he tell them all now, and risk further conflict? Or would it be worse for them all if he kept the truth from his tribe and they learned of his duplicity later?

Then Maggiore stepped up, the eldest Paserak among them regarding Scortese critically. “What is wrong with Constante is none of our affair. And the Starfleet medical team can do much for us; their Chief Doctor and Nurse assisted with realigning my spine.“ She swished her tail behind her in demonstration.

Scortese clouded his eyes at her as he sneered, “No one is interested in what you have to say, old crone!”

Suddenly every Paserak surrounding him hissed back at once, making him shrink back instinctively and curl his tail around himself protectively, leaving an outraged Turikana to point a clawed finger at his cousin. “Remember how we treat our Elders!” 

Scortese remained in a defensive stance, glancing around. “I- I-”

Nearby, the merchant Sirizo raised a clawed hand of his own at the younger male. “The word you seek to end that declaration is ‘apologise’.”

Scortese hissed again, but offered, “I… apologise.” 

Turikana lowered his voice again as he drew closer. “Starfleet has been nothing but hospitable to us since they returned, when we were left stranded here!”

“Yes,” Scortese growled now through clenched teeth. “Yes, so very hospitable: exploiting our expertise, learning our secrets, indoctrinating our hatchlings in their statist ways! And now that they have taken what they can from us, they have corralled us here, waiting to be exterminated!” As his supporters behind him made sounds of agreement, he continued, bolstered. “And you are conspiring with them!”

Turikana hissed, raising his claws. 

Until Maggiore raised her own claws literally between them. “Enough! People have died, and everyone is afraid!”

“Then we should leave,” Scortese suggested. “We have the numbers and the technology to steal one of the docked ships!”

“Were you dropped much when you were still in your shell, Cousin?” Turikana exclaimed. “Those ships are docked here because they weren’t strong enough to resist the ion storm or fast enough to flee it! We have lost so many of our tribe, you would condemn the rest of us to join them? Go! Go sit beneath a tree and calm down!”

Scortese hissed again, but turned and walked away, trailed by his supporters like freshly-imprinted hatchlings. Turikana watched them depart, starting as Maggiore rested a clawed hand on his arm, capturing his attention again as she guided him away towards a collection of some sweet-smelling blossoms, her voice soft. “You are doing well, under trying circumstances. Your father would be proud of you.”

He ground his teeth, but remembered his etiquette. “Thank you, Elder. I wish he was still with us.”

“As do I; Maquadan had an appetite that appreciated my cooking.” She paused and asked, more softly, “How is the egg doing?”

He reacted again. “How- How did you know?”

The older Paserak made an amused sound. “At my age, one could see the signs that she was Bearing; she is in good, safe hands with our friends. And I know why you both are reluctant to reveal your blessing, and understand. But you cannot keep it secret indefinitely.”

He nodded, his scales flushing. “I know. Those among us who still embrace the old beliefs must cast them aside; too much has occurred to afford us such luxuries any longer. We may never set tail on the Birthworld again!”

He breathed out, looking at some of the younger Paserak scampering about the foliage, playing games, ignorant of the reasons why school was cancelled for the rest of the day. “But I couldn’t bear to have relatives, people I have known all my life, grown up with, look upon my hatchling and only see something… soulless.”

Maggiore squeezed his arm… as theirs, and others’ attentions, were drawn to the Arboretum doors opening, and several familiar individuals entered, led by the Commodore’s wife, Kami, dressed in civilian gear, and carrying her daughter Sreen in one arm, and leading her son Misha by the paw in the other.

She faced the suspicious Paserak glaring back… and smiled, calling out, “Hello there! I hope you don’t mind us staying here with you, but my littlest daughter here has learned a new song and is just demanding an audience!” She glanced down at her son, who was cradling a bright red ball. “Go on, Cub of Mine, and keep the play out of the azalea bushes!”

“Okeedoke, Mama!” Laughing, he rushed to join his friends. 

The Elder Paserak chuckled. “Oh, she’s good. She discards her uniform and sidearm, and brings her cubs along to show her trust in us and deflect tension.”

As if in demonstration of Maggiore’s assessment, Kami boldly approached the most intimidating group of Paserak, and when he saw the reactions of his people, and the reactions of the Starfleet Security as well, Turikana almost intervened. Until the Caitian female adjusted the infant in her arms to face the crowd, and announced loudly, “Go on, Sweetie, let them hear you…”

The cub Sreen looked out, holding out her arms and began crooning, “Kui soovid tähte, pole vahet, kes sa oled, kõik, mida su süda ihkab, tuleb sinu juurde…”

Turikana started at it, almost immediately, as did others, as they recognised the song. “That’s Bright Star! One of our own lullabies!”

“I know, I taught Sreen that. Which among us could hear that song coming from that adorable little bundle of fur and remain hostile?” Maggiore chuckled. “The Counselor is very, very good. You could learn a few things from her, Mighty Tribal Leader…”

*

The first time that Hrelle had become aware of the tactical advantage his senses afforded him among non-Caitians was almost forty years ago, back at the Academy, during his training as a Security officer. It, along with his innate strength and speed, gave him an edge over many others in his class. And it had served him well since, even if lately they weren't as acute as they once were.

But they had to be, now. Too many of his people had died today already.

He could hear the shifting of Salvo and the Security team just outside in the corridor, behind freshly-erected barricades, their weapons ready for when he finds and drives out the intruder… assuming he wasn’t going senile and was deluding himself. Or that the intruder is a shapeshifter  –  a Founder? Could they still be in this Quadrant after the War, causing havoc?  –  or has technology to transport away or phase through walls and floors…

He put aside such thoughts, letting his senses focus on nothing but detecting the undetectable, his nose, ears, eyes and skin working as one, blanking out the known sensory inputs, the distractions, the dead ends. He moved silently, stealthily, carefully stepping through each open doorway, his body a coiled spring, as he entered the storage and utility facilities supporting this section of the station deck.

The soft cool breeze of air from the open shaft.

The pungent tang of cleaning fluid.

A rat scittering behind a tiny vent.

That scent he picked up from the digestive fluids and bile.

A slight rise in temperature, the shift of air currents.

A scratch of a sharp claw against the bulkhead.

Oh, there was definitely something else near. Something that shouldn’t be here.

It was in Storage Room 6-1, where outdated or broken exercise equipment was placed for repair or recycling, that he heard the breathing. Not his own, not those outside, not some tiny scavenger. Something big.

He drew his pistol, feeling his fur stand on end like it always did when he was in the midst of a planetary thunderstorm. He glanced around the room, the various mechanical bits and pieces offering no place to hide.

Then he called out, “Are you detecting anything, Lieutenant?”

Seconds later, Salvo called back, “The tricorder is experiencing interference now, Sir! You were right about that! Are you sensing anything?”

He cocked the hammer. “Oh yes. The bastard’s right in here with me. The coward just doesn’t have the balls to come out of hiding.”

“Sticks and stones…”

Hrelle spun around, raising his pistol as the air before him shimmered like heat patterns… or a cloaked vessel decloaking, as a huge slate-grey dragonoid figure with spinal plates and a thick tail appeared into view, neon-blue eyes glowing.

Hrelle fired, striking the intruder in the head and chest, seeing some bullets pierce the hide, but most bounced off like pebbles.

The Dragon ducked with a speed and dexterity belying its size, spinning around to let its tail whip round and strike Hrelle in the gut, sending him slamming into the wall. He struggled to stay conscious and hold onto his pistol, but the Dragon grabbed it and flung it aside, its breath hot and mephitic as it snarled, “Orders are to leave you alive, Kitty Cat. Everyone else here, however, is on the menu… Ta Ta!”

Hrelle struck out with a clawed paw at its muzzle, but the result was pitiful, and he could barely call out a warning to his people, as the Dragon rushed out into the corridor. He looked up as he heard the gunfire, saw the bullets strike the Dragon uselessly as his own had, and felt the fur stand up again from as he saw a neon-blue glow on the Dragon’s spinal plates, before the Dragon opened its muzzle and breathed plasma fire in the direction of the gunfire.

“NO!” Desperate to save his people, Hrelle glanced around, picking up a long durasteel bar, part of some discarded exercise machine, and pushed back his pain to help himself up and charge ahead, striking the side of the Dragon’s head.

The attacker stopped breathing fire to roar, “Mind your own fucking business!”

Hrelle attacked him, again and again, driving him back down the corridor until the Dragon spun in place and rushed off. Hrelle cautiously glanced out from the storage room, knowing the Dragon had nowhere to go down there with the turbolift shut down, before rushing in the opposite direction. “Lieutenant!”

He was coughing now from the smoked scorched walls and floors, gratefully hearing coughs from the others, who were struggling to rise from behind their barricades. Salvo looked as furious from her body’s struggles to breathe as from the attack. “S-Sir- the In-Intrud-”

All heads turned at the sound of screeching metal from the far end of the corridor, Hrelle wincing as he recognised the clamour. “It’s ripping into the shaft!” He raised his communicator. “General Quarters 4! The intruder is a Dragon, with cybernetic enhancements, personal stealth technology and plasma weaponry! It’s in Cargo Turbolift Shaft 4-” He paused, cocking his ear. “Heading updeck! All units converge on every access above Deck 6!”

Now Salvo joined in on her own communicator. “Thassis! We need the T300s, all levels! The T100s aren’t strong enough! All units, keep your channels open, I want to know where the intruder appears next!” She lowered her communicator, reached out and took the bar from him. “Get to Ops, Sir, lock it down fully and coordinate the hunt from there.”

He glared at her angrily, baring his teeth, his pulse racing, wanting to remain on the hunt... before accepting she was right. He handed her the bar. “Bona Fortuna – maybe you can sharpen this into a spear-” 

He stopped and spun around again as he heard the sound of more tearing metal from the shaft, as Salvo and the others rushed into action. And Hrelle rushed back updeck, needing to protect his people in the best way he can.

*

Eydiir turned, as did everyone else in the Hospital, to the shredding of metal from the adjacent room, and then the shredding was joined by screams, as a huge, tailed creature burst out of the Jefferies Tube: a Dragon, a reptoid race reminiscent of the Gorn, but considered more legendary than real. A part of Eydiir’s mind studied its actions, noting the glistening along its hide, reminiscent of the shedding properties that certain reptoids employed to fit through confined spaces, even as segmented fins expanded upwards along its spine. Fins that glowed as part of some sort of cybernetic enhancement, as described in Commodore Hrelle’s assessment of the intruder.

She continued to study the creature, but still sprung into action, sending Constante into the Isochamber to be with her egg, locking them both in, and shooing other medical staff away, before joining the Security team who ran into the main Hospital room, Lamont raising his phaser rifle and calling out, “Intruder! Drop your weapons and surrender!”

The creature looked at him – and laughed. “I hope you’re tastier than the bald blue bastard I had in the gym!”

“Fire!” Eydiir shouted at the team. “It has no interest in surrendering!”

The Dragon beckoned mockingly to him, “She’s right, kid! Come on, let’s see what you got!”

That steeled Lamont. “FIRE!”

He tried – his phaser didn’t work. His colleagues, however, had ballistic weapons, and were more successful, the gunfire filling the enclosed spaces, the bullets striking the creature and the surrounding wall, even as the creature knocked over equipment and roared.

Lamont watched the engagement, but glanced at Eydiir, saying over the noise, “Get back, Nurse, this is too dangerous for you!”

“Clearly you’re new here,” she replied, drawing one of her crescent Capellan kligat throwing blades from her bandolier and flinging it in the direction of the creature, as it was opening its mouth in their direction, a deep blue glow rising from the back of its throat. The blade whistled through the air, striking the Dragon’s jaw and knocking several sharp teeth from its jaw.

It spat out blood and turned, even as another Security guard entered from outside carrying a new weapon, but the guard was knocked aside by the creature escaping. Lamont, Eydiir and the others chasing after it into the corridor  –  only to find it empty.

Lamont slapped his combadge. “Ops! The Intruder attacked the Hospital! We drove it off, but lost it in the corridor! Should we pursue?”

Hrelle‘s voice responded. “Negative, Crewman, remain at your post, protect the Hospital! Ops out!”

Lamont nodded at that, looking to his colleagues with barely-disguised relief. “You heard the man. The staff and patients need us!”

Eydiir grunted, returning inside to retrieve her kligat. “I feel safer already.”

*
In Ops, Hrelle stood before the Station Tactical Display, watching alongside Sternhagen and Zir as images of various Security teams were moving from different decks to either secure vulnerable positions, or move to the last known location of the Dragon, Sternhagen breaking the momentary silence to bark, “I’m getting a red light on the force fields protecting the Crew Quarters on 3-Port!”

“Is it the Intruder?” Zir asked.

Hrelle kept fixed, his whole body tense, wishing he was back down there, hunting this bastard once more, even if his efforts to actually defeat it felt pitiful. Face it, Esek, you’re well past your prime. “No; there’s tertiary damage to the power couplings in that area causing fluctuations.” Louder now, he ordered, “Divert secondary power from the Airlock Controls - if it wants to use one of them to go for a walk in the ion storm outside, let it.” 

“What’s the damn thing here for, anyway?” Sternhagen cursed.

“Not to kill me, apparently,” he muttered. “Just everyone else.” Louder again, he ordered, “Bravo Team, Echo Team, converge on Deck 3! The Intruder’s still there!”

“You’re moving people from guarding the entrances to Deck 5, Sir?” Zir asked.

He nodded absently, never taking his eyes off the schematics. “The Academy Deck was once the Evacuation Deck, with blast doors, independent systems, shelters; it’s the most protected section, except for our deck and the officers’ quarters below us.” Where my wife and cubs are safe and secure, he added to himself.

Then his attention locked on one section of Deck 3, the Crew Lounge, with Engineering notations appearing beside the schematic. “What work was being done in there?”

Zir checked her PADD. “Chief Sakai had the Lounge closed down yesterday to replace some faulty below-deck gravity plating that was affecting the Holostage-”

She jumped, as Hrelle suddenly roared, “All available Teams, converge on Deck 3’s Crew Lounge! The bulkhead’s opened up there! The Intruder can force its way down to Deck 4!”

*

The irony didn’t escape Urad Kaldron that, despite being literally the strongest one in the room, he felt such a heavy weight upon him. As the senior ranking Security officer present, he led this team currently guarding the Arboretum  –  and those within, including the Paserak, many of whom remained openly hostile to Starfleet, despite the protection they were receiving here. And he had to keep up with what was happening in the rest of the station, and offer a reassuring presence for his people.

Crewman Grash stood close, leaning against the wall, his rifle at his side as the Tellarite pressed the earpiece so deep into his ear that Urad feared it might get lost in there. “Commodore Hrelle has declared the Intruder to be… a Dragon? With cybernetic stealth and plasma weaponry? Has he been eating rotten shuris?”

“Stow the insults, Grash.” Crewman Trinity Evans snapped, gripping her phaser rifle, but looking nervously in the direction of the Paserak, gathered further down on a clearing surrounded by foliage. “I don’t like the sound of their talk, Ensign. Maybe we should separate them into smaller groups, keep a closer guard on them?”

Urad avoided following her gaze to the scene behind him. “No, Comrade Evans. Counselor Hrelle is managing matters.”

“Yeah, but what if she loses control of them, and they, like, take her and her children hostage or something?”

The pachydermoid grunted. “I do not believe such an occurrence is likely. They are good people.”

“I wish I had half your confidence, Ensign,” declared Crewman Koga Horumu, the lithe young man of Terran Asian descent. “Or at least a tenth of your muscles.”

“Or your experience,” Evans added. “You’re the only one of us who has seen real action, out there during the War. You’re lucky.”

Images, memories, flashed unbidden in Urad’s mind: of the boarding of the Surefoot by Cardassians and Jem’Hadar during the Battle of Khavak. Of his best friend Tori Emoto being attacked. Of him rushing to her rescue, his rage at the assault upon her making him forget his Starfleet training to crush, literally crush Cardassians within his grip, or beneath his feet. Feeling their pulverised remains under his skin, the splatter of dirt-brown Cardassian blood and guts everywhere everywhere and the taste in his mouth-

“No, Comrade Evans,” he finally replied. “I was not. Please join Crewmen Fazi and Plage, and recheck the security lock on the doors-”

He paused as something struck the side of his head. The others started, but he caught a glimpse of the object that hit him, and chuckled as he walked over to where the ball had landed, bending down and picking it up.

One of the Paserak children  –  in fact the one he remembered from his visit to the classroom  –  was rushing up to retrieve it, but then skidded to a halt and looked up at him apprehensively.

Urad looked past him, to the other Paserak, and to Counselor Hrelle, all them watching, with varying expressions, waiting for his reaction.

He held out the ball in a huge open hand. “Here you go, Little Comrade.”

Tentatively the Paserak child drew up, his stubby tail twitching behind him, before he swiftly grabbed the ball, calling back, “Thank you!”

Urad smiled, just as Grash spoke up again, his beady eyes narrowing. “The Intruder’s appeared in the Hospital, attacked Lamont’s team! It’s escaped into another part of Deck 3! And it’s resistant to the T100 bullets!”

He frowned now. They had already been warned about the Intruder being able to disrupt their phaser weaponry. What were they going to do now? “We need ballistic upgrades.”

“T300s are on their way now.”

“What are we going to do?” Horumu asked nervously.

The Hroch looked around, trusting in Starfleet protocols. “Comrade Grash, inform me when our upgrades have arrived. I want all of us paired, phasers and ballistic weaponry mixed.”

“And if neither work?” Grash asked.

“Then we use them as clubs. We do whatever it takes to protect these people-”

All heads turned as a noise came from the ceiling at the far corner of the Arboretum, where panelling and tubing burst outward from an environmental maintenance nodule over a large clump of trees. The ceilings here were twice the height of nearly every other deck on Salem One, and the debris rained down onto the trees, making them burst forth leaves, branches and birds in all directions.

And something else dropped down as well, disappearing from view.

Urad moved into action, slapping his combadge. “Intruder in the Arboretum! Evans! Plage! Get the civilians out of here! Fazi! Grash! You’re with me!”

He charged ahead, stampeding towards the trees even as he waved the Paserak and the Counselor and her cubs to one side. He would be okay.

No, more than Okay.

Today, he would be Invincible.

*

Like many Caitians, Hrelle was good at managing multiple audio stimuli, and in his younger days had been known to listen to up to twenty different sounds or voices simultaneously. That part of him had waned with age  –  like so many other qualities  –  but he could still impress others.

Now, however, as he was coordinating the Security to converge onto Deck 3, his attention jumped to the sound of his own wife from his combadge. “Esek! The Intruder’s in the Arboretum-” Then the transmission scrambled with interference.

His heart triphammered, and he ignored wasting time wondering why Kami was there, or whether or not she had the cubs with her, ignored the simultaneous reports from Ensign Kaldron, and turned to Sternhagen. “The transporter-”

“There’s some damn inhibitor field being generated! We can’t beam anyone out!”

But that won’t prevent someone beaming in… “Salvo! All Units! Get to the Arboretum! Evacuate it, and contain the Dragon!”

Then he turned and torpedoed into his office.

*

Mors Vincit, Sed Semel Tantum: Death Wins, But Only Once. It was a phrase Salvo had learned from an early age on Nova Roma, from her mother, a Captain of the Ninth Legion. It was never meant to be a fatalistic philosophy, but an empowering one, a reminder that Death may win the final battle, but all the ones before it can belong to the rest of us.

Salvo led her team down the corridor, still carrying the long metal bar that Hrelle used on the lower deck; it would do until she got her hands on something more effective, and it reminded her of the lancea, upon which she had trained, along with many other melee weapons. If only she had time to sharpen one end, to shove up the ass of that Dragon…

They reached the entrance to the Arboretum just as the doors opened, and Paserak began pouring out…

*

Inside the Arboretum, Chaos Reigned, and Kami clutched a crying Sreen close to her, as Paserak panicked around her, and she called out, “MISHA!” He had been off playing with his friends, as per her plans to lessen the tensions among the more hostile of the community. And now, instead of remaining in their quarters with Sre Gyver Timbrel and T’Varik’s nephew Srithik, her selfish foolishness has put Misha, all of them, in danger, however unintentionally.

“MAMA!” Misha snaked his way around the various legs and tails of the reptoids, to grab her free paw and pull her towards the door. “You come, I protect you and Baby Sreen!”

Kami let him, even as she turned and saw Maggiore stumble, before Turikana picked up the elder Paserak, leading her and others around and away from the trees. 

*

Urad saw the Dragon’s face first, its eyes and inside of its mouth glowing bright blue, as did the plates running along its back, as it emerged from the foliage surrounding the trees. “Ooh, come to me, Jumbo Platter!”

Urad balled his hands into fists. “SCOUNDREL! MEET YOUR-”

Something else emerged from the side, between the larger figures: the Paserak child.

It stopped between them, freezing.

The Dragon opened its mouth, and the blue glow from its outside grew from within.

Urad almost tumbled over himself in his effort to keep from trampling on the child.

The Dragon breathed plasma fire.

Urad grabbed the child and twisted around in place to shield him, turning his back on the Dragon. A tactically foolish move, he knew, but he had to protect the little one. He would be Invincible. He would be Invincible. He would-

“AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARRRRRRRRRRRRRGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGHHHHHH!!!”

*

The bellowing, blood-curdling scream filled the Arboretum.

Salvo entered in time to see the Dragon standing there, pouring fire from its mouth onto the  crouched form of Ensign Kaldron. Setting his hide on fire.

Instinctively she drew her phaser and tried to fire, confirming the Dragon’s disruption field was still functioning. She threw the useless weapon aside and clutched the bar in both hands, screaming as she continued charging towards the killer, demanding its attention.

The Dragon stopped breathing fire and drew back, flinching as Salvo’s and Urad’s people fired with their ballistic weapons. Urad was a blackened, smouldering heap… but somehow he was still alive, rising enough to let the Paserak child he had protected slither out from under him.

“Hold your fire!” Salvo called out, not wanting the child shot. She raised the bar over her head and spun it, drawing the Dragon away and letting her people retrieve the child, though they couldn’t do anything about Urad, not at the moment.

Rage and fear drove her onward. “FACE ME, SERPENT!”

The Dragon turned, baring teeth. “I’ll do more than that, bitch!”

It opened its mouth again.

She pressed forward, somehow moving faster than she ever had before  –  and swung out, striking the side of its head with one end of the bar, almost losing her grip on the other end, before reaffirming her hold with both hands as she struck and stabbed at it, again and again, keeping it off balance and unable to stop long enough to breath fire again.

Her people took their cue from her and flanked either side, firing at the Dragon without risking hitting each other.

The Dragon snarled and spun in place, letting its tail whip out and catch Crewman Evans, sending her sprawling.

Crewman Horuga continue firing until he emptied the magazine on his rifle, before rushing up to try and slam the butt of his spent weapon against the Dragon’s head. Alarm raced through Salvo at the action. “No-”

Too late: the Dragon bared a clawed hand and slashed Horuga’s face and throat, drawing sprays of blood and making him drop the rifle and stagger back.

Salvo redoubled her efforts, praying to the Gods to show her how to defeat this demon and keep further people under her from being hurt, or worse.

*

At the Arboretum doors, the Paserak who hadn’t left completely watched as Crewman Grash rushed up with the rescued child, letting him leap out of his arms and into his father’s. The Tellarite huffed, out of breath, but urged, “Go- All of you- we’ll keep it in here as long as possible-”

“No!” Turikana and several others, clutching various tools taken from the Manual Fire Suppression Kit in the corridor outside, racing back into the Arboretum to join the fight.

*

“Ensign Kaldron’s been badly burned! We need him transported to Sickbay!”

In Ops, ZIr started at the report, her heart racing, but pushed back the shock at the news of her friend’s condition to respond, “The local disruption field’s still in place! Transporter Team, we need pattern enhancers in the Arboretum-”

“Belay that,” Sternhagen interjected. At her reaction, the Station Master explained, “Not while there’s a hostile still active. Have them on standby, alert Medical to prepare to receive the Hroch.”

Zir almost protested, but knew the human was right, that she couldn’t allow her personal feelings to influence her. Still, she’d feel better if Commodore Hrelle was here to support them, instead of having rushed into his office for some inexplicable reason-

“Lieutenant-”

She turned at Hrelle’s voice, feeling like he had somehow been listening to her thoughts about him, but instead gasped at what she saw.

*

Salvo jabbed repeatedly at the Dragon’s throat, hoping to somehow damage whatever cybernetic mechanisms within might control the fire generator-

It caught one end of the bar with one clawed hand, tightening its grip and knocking her down.

She hit hard against the corner of rock in the corner of a fixture, but ignored the pain to fight to pull the bar from the Dragon’s grip, and keep it from using it against her the way she had used it against him. But his strength was superior, and she had lost her leverage-

A sharp blast of bone-white gas to its head caught the Dragon off-guard, and Salvo looked up to see Turikana wielding a portable fire suppressor, as other Paserak worked to retrieve the wounded Horuga, though their attempts to do the same for Urad proved impractical - and left them vulnerable.

The Dragon snatched the bar fully and flung it at the Paserak, striking several of them as it roughly wiped spray from its eyes. “You little shits! Fuck off!”

Salvo grasped the distraction, leaping back to her feet and onto the Dragon from one side, wrapping one arm around its throat and reaching up to jab at its eyes.

The Dragon roared and spun around in place, letting its thick tail knock aside Turikana and other Paserak and sending them sprawling in every direction.

Salvo tightened her grip on her opponent, getting dizzy and feeling the Dragon’s spinal plates heating up, knowing if she slipped, if she faltered, she would be killed, even as she knew she couldn’t hold on forever-

The sparkle and whine of an incoming transporter beam in the centre of the Arboretum drew everyone’s attention, and the Dragon froze as well.

Salvo looked up to see the beam coalesce into the figure of Hrelle, clad in the elaborate chest, arm and leg armour he kept displayed in his office, carrying the embossed round tritanium shield on one arm, and his black Kaetini sword in the other.

*

On beaming into the Arboretum, Hrelle had been glad to have seen it mostly cleared out, so he knew Kami and their offspring were safe. Then he saw and scented Urad Kaldron on the floor, his body still smoking  –  Mother’s Cubs  –  but he was still alive. For now.

The Dragon stared at him  –  and guffawed. “Back to join the Game, Kitty Cat?”

Hrelle kept his gaze fixed on his opponent, letting his rage galvanise his limbs. “This is no game. You butcher my crew. You threaten my home.”  He pointed the sword in the Dragon’s direction. “I’m taking your head.” He caught Salvo’s gaze, motioning with the tip of his sword.

Salvo took the hint and leapt off the Dragon, backing away, even as she signalled for the Paserak to do the same.

Hrelle shifted, further away from Urad. The Dragon followed suit, though Hrelle’s motivation behind it would have been obvious. It looked back at Urad. “You don’t mind if I have a quick bite first? Crispy Minion is so appetising!”

Hrelle growled through bared, clenched teeth. “Who sent you here? Max Zorin? WHO?”

The Dragon offered a rictus grin of its own. “Fuck You, that’s who.”

Hrelle roared and charged. Here goes everything…

The Dragon opened its mouth, its body glowing once more, and spat a stream of plasma fire.

Hrelle kept charging, but held up his shield. He knew a little something about the melting properties of tritanium, that it wasn’t as strong as the Caitian arakanium that comprised his sword and armour, but should still-

He staggered back from the force of the blast, and he crouched down to minimise his profile as the fire poured over his shield and around him like a wave. He gritted his teeth  –  Seven Hells, the heat was overpowering! –  and was sure his exposed fur was being singed. But he counted the seconds until the point when he expected the blast would dissipate. Three, two…

It died out, and he charged, recalling his previous encounter with the Dragon, and how long it seemed to take to recharge. And he saw the surprise in his opponent’s eyes, and how it began stepping backwards, glancing on either side, its tail twitching behind it nervously. Its skin, and the air around it shimmered, as it began to cloak itself.

No, Bubulah, you’re not getting away again… with a roar he ignored his protesting heart and doubled his speed, driving forward with his sword as he leapt up, plunging the point of the blade into the shifting air, feeling resistance, and then seeing coal-black blood spurt into view. The Dragon screamed and turned visible again, roaring back as it spun in place trying to claw and bite Hrelle.

Hrelle slammed into the body of the Dragon, keeping his shield up to block the razor-sharp claws and teeth as he withdrew his sword and stabbed again, piercing hide, muscle, bone. He felt blood spurt on him, and spat some out from his mouth, as his body moved instinctively.

The Dragon fell backwards, its tail whipping up again towards him  –  until he cut off half a metre of it. The Dragon screamed again until it began choking on its own blood, its eyes rolling into the back of its head as it struggled beneath his relentless assault. I’ll learn who sent you through via your autopsy, Kussik…

It dropped, spasming, onto the bulkhead, the life in it fleeing with the fight.

Hrelle staggered back, catching his breath, his nostrils filled with the scent of the Dragon’s innards, his limbs aching, his sword and shield hanging limply on either side of him.

He turned to see Salvo kneeling beside Urad, dismayed by the sight and scent of the wounded man, but remaining composed as she tapped her combadge. “Ops, are you still reading the transporter disruptor field?”

“Negative, Lieutenant, it’s gone now.”

“Beam Ensign Kaldron to Sickbay!” Hrelle ordered hoarsely before Salvo could respond first, turning to face the rest of his crew. “All the wounded! Secure this area!”

*

In Guest Quarters 47, Fantomax and Orlok swiftly packed up the last of their equipment, the thief’s pulse racing since discovering the defeat of their colleague by Hrelle and his people, sooner than expected. “Well, so much for Jaws.”

“You are wasting time making pointless observations,” Orlok informed her. “We must return to your ship and depart before the station authorities learn of our involvement.”

“Now who’s making pointless observations? What’s the status of the ion storm?”

Ben, sitting on top of one of the cases, cocked his head at the monitor, the rat’s whiskers twitching. “It’s subsided to Force 1, they’re saying normal travel can resume in 2 hours- no, wait, they’ve announced a delay in the release of the vessels from the station!”

“Of course,” the Vulcan pointed out archly. “No one will be allowed to depart pending a full investigation of the events of today. Can your little luxury yacht manage to safely navigate us out of what remains of the storm?”

Fantomax locked the case and set it down with the others on the floor. “The Thunderbird One is no mere ‘luxury yacht’, and the inroads we made into the station’s control systems will allow us to shut down their tractors, uncouple and escape before they can stop us.” She looked back at Ben. “Where’s the rest of your Pack? I don’t want to leave any of your people behind.”

“They’re all already onboard your ship, Milady.”

Orlok lifted up the last of the cases and set it down with the others, within the circle created by their transporter enhancers. “I would hardly classify rodents linked in a collective hive mind to be ‘people’.”

“No one asked you.” Fantomax reached out to allow Ben to race up along the length of her arm to sit on her shoulder, before retrieving the last of the cases, ensuring that the self-destruct devices they were leaving behind to eliminate any forensic evidence were activated. 

She secretly hoped that none of the Starfleet personnel entered before they were triggered. Enough blood had been shed today  –  including Zorin’s executioner –  and all just for the opportunity to gain some valuable intelligence on Hrelle and his operations here. It was sickening.

And she was just as culpable as the rest of them. She activated her communicator. “Parker, beam us over, then power up the engines and prepare for a quick getaway.”

*

Zir was gripping the edge of one of the stations at Ops, as she assisted Sternhagen in managing the station operations in the aftermath of the Dragon attack, fielding reports and communications. Urad will be okay, she tried to convince herself. He’s too big and tough to be seriously hurt-

“Lieutenant?”

Too big and tough and lovable and decent and kind and generous-

“Lieutenant!”

The Orion woman started as Sternhagen was practically beside her, reaching in front of her to reroute the communications that Zir should have been answering, instead of just standing there. The older Terran woman straightened up, looking annoyed… and sympathetic. “Lieutenant-”

Zir felt herself flush a deep dark olive, and she straightened up as stiffly as a freshman cadet on her first inspection. “Captain! I’m sorry! I- I-”

Sternhagen raised a bony, wrinkled hand to cut her off. “Lieutenant… go to Sickbay and keep us updated as to the condition of the wounded; the Commodore will want someone there. And Ensign Kaldron might need specialist equipment replicated, make sure they get whatever they want, Commodore’s Authorisation.”

“Captain?”

Zir and Sternhagen turned as Stalac slithered up, the Horta’s Voder-generating voice expressing concern. “Captain, request permission to accompany Lt Dassene to the Sickbay-”

“Sorry, Lieutenant, I know Mr Kaldron’s a good friend of yours, too, but you have a job to do first: get a multispectral scanner down to the Arboretum and scan the remains of the intruder.”

“Me? I would have expected a Security team to perform that task.”

“Normally, yes, but they’ve got to run further Security sweeps… and they’ve already lost several people.” She thumbed towards the exit. “Get going, both of you-”

An alert came from an adjacent station, drawing everyone’s attention, as Lt Ajik reported, “Captain! The Terran flyer Thunderbird One has just disengaged from the Airlock Nine!”

Zir froze. That was the vessel of that couple she escorted around before all this started!

She watched as Sternhagen barked, “Hail them! Get a tractor beam locked on that ship!”

“They’re not answering! And I’m reading a malfunction on the tractor arrays!”

Zir rejoined them. “Could it have something to do with the ion storm?”

“No, Zir,” Stalac responded. “Not at its current force level.”

She looked down at him, and then back at the screen, recalling the two women who came here in that flyer. They seemed ordinary enough, despite the hostile behaviour from the Vulcan/Romulan. Could they have really been involved in today’s horrifying events? And if so, was there something she should have seen about it beforehand? Something she missed? Is it her fault that Urad, that everyone else had been wounded, killed? No, please don’t let it be so-

“Lieutenant!” Sternhagen snapped, dragging her out of her thoughts. “Forget what’s happening here, you and Rocky have jobs to do, now move it!”

Zir shook, her breath quickening, but she nodded. “Yes, Ma’am…” She turned, following Stalac out, without fully losing those thoughts, that guilt.

*

Eydiir and Masterson worked together, having more practical experience than most of their staff, immediately assessing the extent of the injuries and diagnosing and assigning. Their professionalism acted as a buffer for the nurses and technicians around them.

Still Eydiir could barely contain her alarm at the sight of Urad Kaldron, his back, the back of his head, arms and legs charred, blackened and smouldering around the exposed inner tissue, as he beamed onto the pre-prepared biobed, the readings above seeming to voice her suppressed shock. He had always seemed so… indestructible…

Then she snapped into action, as Masterson moved swiftly around the biobed, his drawl louder and more pronounced whenever he was stressed. “Dawson, prep three packs of the kelotane, we’ll need all of them at once- Eydiir, 500ccs triptacederine- no, go for the jugular, you won’t pierce his hide in the usual places-”

She complied, catching sight of Zir Dassene, entering and struggling to control her reaction on seeing her friend… but to her credit, holding back and not interfering. Eydiir looked back at the readings. “The burns are too extensive for the usual dermaline or Nanite therapies-”

“Yeah, and he’s too damn big to survive long enough for the normal treatments.” He rubbed his dimpled chin. “And we’ll have to compensate for his Heavyworlder physiology. I’d recommend putting him in an induced coma and letting him heal in a hydrostasis chamber within a liquid breathing medium like parafluorocarbon, but we don’t have a chamber big enough to accommodate him.”

“Then we’ll make one.”

Eydiir and Masterson turned to see the Paserak medic, along with Turikana, Constante and several others, draw up, Levatrice continued to offer, “We can adapt a decompression chamber on one of the spare airlocks, those would be big enough.”

Masterson glanced at Eydiir, before asking, “You think you can get something together quick?”

One of the Paserak, wearing engineering colours, stepped forward, looking at Urad’s condition in anguish… and, to Eydiir, guilt as well. “That man… saved my hatchling’s life, at the risk of his own, and did so without hesitation. We  –  I  –  shall do everything possible for him.”

The doctor nodded. “Alright, then, but you’re gonna have to parlay with the Chief on all that, we don’t have time-”

“You focus on your patients, Doctor,” Zir suddenly announced, stepping forward and straightening up as she addressed the group. “I’m acting with the authority of Commodore Hrelle. Whatever you need, you’ll have.”

*

Hrelle strode into Ops, dropping his sword, shield and armour along the way, his face and paws still bloody from the Dragon as he approached Sternhagen. “Status!”

She barely reacted to his appearance. “The flyer Thunderbird One broke free, they had obvious access to our systems to disengage the clamps and shut down our tractors and sensors, as well as transporters to get them to their ship. I have Security outside the guest quarters they were using.”

“Leave the quarters unopened, until we can get some drones in to check for booby traps. Which Squadron ship is the closest?”

“The Katana, if they‘re keeping to their schedule: an hour away at Warp 6.”

He nodded, looking to Arik. “Hail them.” As he breathed heavily, wincing in pain from his injuries, Sternhagen stared at him until he challenged, “What?”

“You want to get fixed up, Commodore? Or even cleaned up?”

“Later. You sent Zir down to Sickbay?”

She nodded. “Kami and the Cubs okay?”

He grunted; after defeating the Dragon, he caught a glimpse of his wife and offspring outside the Arboretum, but was too busy with the ongoing crisis to do more than confirm they were unharmed  –  which was probably for the best, or he might have bitten off Kami’s head for not being safe in their quarters… and then regretted it.

“I have Captain Weynik, Sir,” Ajik reported.

“Onscreen.”

The main screen above them changed to that of a Roylan male in a Starfleet uniform, his beady black eyestalks dropping with concern as he regarded the state of his superior officer and best friend. “Bloody Hemra, Esek, what’s happened?“

Hrelle’s jaw tightened. “An assassin was brought onboard the station hiding among the ion storm refugees. We’ve had casualties.”

“I’ll increase our speed, we’ll be there in twenty minutes-”

“Belay that. The assassin is dead, but its accomplices have escaped in their vessel: a modified Opulent-class private flyer designated the Thunderbird One. We’re sending you all the data we have on it and the passengers, and what’s happened here.” He took a step forward, pointing up at the screen, baring his teeth and his rage. “They do not get to go home. You bring them back… in irons, or in boxes. Is that understood, Captain?”

Weynik nodded curtly. “Yes, Commodore. We’ll keep you posted. Katana out.”

The screen darkened.

Hrelle continued to stare up, before turning and following back along the path he had taken, bending down and retrieving his discarded armour, shield and sword, even as he heard Sternhagen draw up to help. “So, didja have fun playing King Arthur fighting your Dragon?”

He grunted. “King Arthur never fought a dragon. Sir Gawain did. And Lancelot, and Tristan.”

“Hmph. Didn’t know you were into that classical lierature crap.”

He walked back into his office, setting the pieces down onto a table, as Sternhagen copied him. “The Knights of the Round Table reminded me of the Caitian Kaetini.” He turned to her. “Status?”

“The wounded have been transported to the Hospital, Salvo has regrouped the remaining Security personnel and are conducting sweeps of the station as well as the vessels still docked, and Chief Sakai is running diagnostic sweeps of his own on station systems. So far, they’ve found transporter enhancers in Auxiliary Control, and some data bypass units in several junctions. What were they looking to do?”

He winced at the smell of the blood on his uniform, and stripped off his jacket, flinging it into the corner, before entering his adjacent toilet. “The Dragon was a diversion, a diversion of our attention and resources, while its accomplices did whatever in the Seven Hells they came here to do.” He ran the water in the sink, washing his face and paws. “I know the Dragon had orders not to kill me.”

“And who gave him those orders?”

He returned, still wiping his muzzle with a towel. “Someone with the money to find a Dragon, and cybernetically enhance him, and get his murderous ass here.”

“Zorin?”

Hrelle didn’t answer. He didn’t have to. “Who checked the Thunderbird One occupants into the Guest Quarters? I want to talk with them.”

“Zir. I sent her to the Hospital to check on her friend. You want me to call her back?”

“No. But maintain the current General Quarters, and arrange for security checks and questions for the other storm refugees before they’re released; I doubt if anyone else was involved, but we can’t be too careful.” He looked over at his drinks cabinet, resisting the urge to visit. “How many?”

Sternhagen breathed out, knowing what he meant with the question. “Five: Engineering Crewman Brad Wyatt, on Deck 11; Engineering Crewman Arno Van Heerden, on Deck 8; and Security Crewman Tox Garrell, Paolo Neves and Joan Leslie on Deck 6.”

“Joan died? She was still alive when I last saw her…” He swallowed. Five deaths under his command… “I want a status report from all departments in thirty minutes. And I don’t want the Dragon’s remains examined until we can get them scanned remotely.”

She started. “I sent Lt Stalac down there...”

*

In the ruins of the Arboretum, Stalac slithered along, a part of his brain focused on recalling Hroch physiology and current Starfleet Medical treatments for burn injuries, hoping to offer some assistance to the Hospital staff in treating Urad. He sensed the surrounding damage, drawing up to what was obviously the remains of the being that had caused such terrible mayhem. His Horta senses, which allowed him to perceive the mineral content of everything around him, focused on the iron-copper rich blood, bones and tissue, and the artificial components woven within. Nothing too appetising there.

Come on, Pebble Brain, you can’t give a report based on your gastronomic tastes. He drew closer, switching on the tricorder he had embedded on his side next to his combadge, which now chirped to life as if woken by the scanning, as Hrelle’s voice piped up. “Lieutenant, hold off on doing any-”

An explosion from within the body of the Dragon erupted outwards.

*

Outside the Arboretum, Salvo was reassigning people towards scanning the remaining ships, when they heard and felt the explosion within. She drew her phaser. “Secure the doors!” Then she rushed inside, racing towards the far end, the obvious heart of the explosion. Unlike before, however, there was nothing interfering with the station’s safety systems extinguishing the flames on the trees and foliage, and extracting the smoke from the air. She knew that only Lt Stalac had been there, sent inside to study the Dragon’s corpse. If the young officer had been killed as well today- “LIEUTENANT!”

From the remaining smoke, the Horta slithered into view, covered in blackened ash and burning debris, but seemingly unaware of it as he approached. “Lieutenant Salvo… hello there…”

The Nova Roman stared down at him in astonishment, fully expecting him to be in literal pieces. “Are you hurt?”

“A… little shaken, but nothing worse than anything I’ve felt in a seismic shock back home. A micro-explosive within the remains of the Dragon reacted to my tricorder scans and detonated. I’m so sorry about that.”

Salvo holstered her phaser. “I’m not. There’s been enough death today.”

*

“Station Salem One, Commodore’s Log, Stardate 54133.45, Esek Hrelle Recording: the cleanup of the station, and the investigation behind the attack, continues. The Dragon possessed a self-destruct device to eliminate all potential traces of its origins… but there was enough of its remains on my sword and armour to hopefully provide evidence of the source of the cybernetic enhancement. A similar device destroyed the interior of the guest quarters used by the occupants of the Thunderbird One, who fled the station; hardly a coincidence there, especially after the further information obtained by my Security Chief…"

*

He stared up at the two images, both female, one a gaunt elderly human, the other an austere Vulcan, as Salvo indicated each. “The first is a thief, code-named Lady Fantomax, wanted on many worlds for many thefts, including the Crown of Volterra, the Ice Jewels of Frigia, the Third Imperial Faberge Egg, the Kappalodis Mechanism, the Last Surviving Banksy, and others.

The other is Dr Orlok, a bioterrorist wanted by Starfleet for inflicting the Phyrox Plague on Cor Caroli V in 2366, for the assassination of the Troyian Plutarch with a DNA-tailored virus in 2370, and for the theft of Plasma Plague samples from the Darwin Genetic Research Station on Gagarin IV in 2372.”

He continued to regard them. “How have they managed to evade the authorities to arrive on a Starfleet facility?”

“Official records appear to have been altered, possibly with a hidden masking virus during a routine Intelligence updates.”

He looked to the Nova Roman. “And where did you find the unexpurgated data?”

Salvo faced him. “I have contacts in Klingon Intelligence; they’re less likely to receive official SI updates.”

“Did you have to pay for this information?”

Her expression tightened. “Yes, Commodore. I am aware that is not strictly protocol, but I paid for it from my own savings-”

“I don’t want to see you do that again.”

Her face flushed. “I understand, Sir.”

Until he continued with, “Because from now on, the funds will come from a station account I’ll set up.”

She blinked. “Sir?”

“It’s obvious we can’t rely solely on Starfleet resources. I want an information network built up in this sector, from multiple sources, official and unofficial, with cross checks and redundancies to prevent more Masks. I’ll also make a call to the Motherworld, and see what the Caitian Secret Service can offer as well. For now, get the information on Fantomax and Orlok to the Katana, they might need it.”

Salvo nodded. “Yes, Sir.”

She started to depart, but then Hrelle added, “Wait.” He rose to his feet, picked up something from his desk and walked around to face her. “Under other circumstances I’d arrange for a celebration to follow for this, but that’ll have to wait for a later date. In the meantime…” He opened the object in his paw, a small box, and produced several pips.

She watched him, confused and unsure of what she was seeing, but straightened up formally as he reached up and fixed the pips on her collar. “You’ve earned these back, Lieutenant Commander.” He stepped back and offered his right paw.

Salvo looked as moved as he had ever seen her, swallowing and accepting his paw. “I thank you, Sir. And I swear I will not disappoint you again.”

He withdrew his paw and nodded. “Dismissed.” As she left, he checked the chronometer; it was late, very late, and he was still expecting a communication with Admiral Rayner to brief her on the incident. His stomach rumbled; the last meal he had was lunch, that lovely pizza, over fifteen hours ago. Sleep had been even more distant.

He needed both.

*

He chose instead to visit the newly-assembled chamber within Airlock 3, now filled with fluid and containing a floating, comatose Urad Kaldron, surrounded by tiny machines swimming slowly around him like fish, while outside, Eydiir and several Starfleet and Paserak technicians were working on ensuring the mechanisms continued to function without any problems.

Also in attendance were Zir, Lt Stalac and Counselor Peter Boone - all friends and squadmates of Urad in Alpha Squad from back on the Surefoot. And they all looked exhausted  –  even the Horta  –  a feeling he could appreciate. “How is he?”

The others looked to Eydiir, who explained, “He is in an induced coma, his body in suspension to take the weight off his frame. We are employing Nanites to manage the subdermal damage, and the Paserak teracycler units you see in there are removing the dermal damage and regenerating the tissue.”

“‘Teracycler’?”

Eydiir nodded, indicating the thumb-sized objects within the tank. “Like many reptoid races, the Paserak have endemic medical issues with desquamation  –  shedding skin  –  and have developed technology to assist in this, technology we’ve adapted for large-scale skin regeneration for Mr Kaldron.” 

Hrelle watched some more with fascination. “How long will you keep him under?”

“At the current pace, 8-10 days.”

The Caitin nodded himself, and turned to the others. “Then there’s no need for you to remain here. Go to bed. Your fatigue will do nothing for him.”

Zir looked to Peter and Stalac, before finally nodding in capitulation, the three of them departing, and leaving Hrelle to turn back to Eydiir. “You, too.”

The dark-skinned Capellan stiffened. “I am perfectly capable of continuing to function for days if necessary, Sir.”

“I don’t doubt it, Daughter of Kaas. Fortunately, it’s not necessary, we have more than enough eyes and paws covering here. You need your strength to keep the doctors looking good.” He paused and clarified, “It wasn’t a suggestion, by the way. There’s more work ahead, for both of us. And I should head to bed as well.”

*

He didn’t, finding himself in the Hospital’s Morgue, standing by the stasis pods that held those lost today.

No, not lost. Taken. And he knew that it wasn’t by the Dragon, or its accomplices. It was Max Zorin. He had no proof about it, not yet. But he would. Soon. And then… 

Then, what? He’d have justice? Revenge? No. Neither of those would help these five, or the ones wounded and recovering from the attack. Assuming they do recover-

He started at the familiar scent and sound behind him. “What are you doing up? Do you know what time it is?”

Kami drew up to him, standing at his right side, seemingly regarding the pods. “I was about to say the same thing to you. You’ll have many unpleasant tasks ahead of you in the coming days. It’s not fair to make me get up to find you and scold you like a cub.”

He slipped an arm around her, leading her around towards the door, glad for her presence. “And who said you had to get up? You could have just called me by combadge.”

“And miss an opportunity to scold you? Mother Forbid.”

TO BE CONTINUED…