Arcana - Part 3 of 3

Hrelle looked back at Sasha and Mru in the cockpit, sensing the continued tension between the couple, but knowing there was simply no time or patience at this stage to help them resolve it… even if he had any right to interfere. Which he didn’t.

But the thought of Sasha being a wife, a mother, making him a grandfather, lingered with him. He had already played that role, with Kami’s firstborn Mirow and his new cub, Baby Jnill… and he liked it, alot. But he couldn’t possibly say anything to influence Sasha one way or another about that, and if he did, Kami would recover enough to kill him. “Who have you selected to accompany you?”

Sasha never looked up from her cockpit controls. “Apart from Mru and Zir, I asked Eydiir, Cadet C’Riir because he’s Caitian, Ensign Emoto because of her proficiency with analysing alien engineering systems, and Ensign Kaldron.”

Hrelle started. “Are you sure about him? He’s only just come back on duty.”

“I asked him, gave him the opportunity to refuse, he didn’t. I think he wants to get away from things around here now.”

Hrelle breathed in, looking to argue, but suppressing the urge. “You do whatever it takes to rescue Zir’s family… but not at the expense of yourself or your team. Is that clear?”

“Does a chicken have a pecker?”

He smiled. “Good luck. Both of you.”

Mru looked up gratefully at him, smiling. “Thank you, Sir.”

Hrelle nodded, mouthing Watch over her.

Mru nodded back, as Hrelle departed, out into the cooler air of the Hangar Bay, now unoccupied with the Lockdown continuing. Yes, Esek, ignore the imposter running around and your wife in Hospital and your son possibly traumatised and your Adjutant’s family being held hostage, and instead focus on being a grandfather?

“Commodore?”

He turned, seeing Weynik emerge from the nearest turbolift, approaching him rapidly, noting the fear he saw. “Captain?”

“We’re in trouble! Deep trouble! I think we’re dealing with some super-powered being: a Thasian, a Metron, maybe even an Organian or a Q! We have to contact it, offer terms of surrender before it gets nasty-”

Hrelle kicked the figure in the gut, sending it flying backwards onto the Hangar Bay floor. “There’s my terms, fucker.”

The figure of Weynik lay there, trying to sit up in pain, clutching its gut. “ARE YOU- ARE YOU OUT OF YOUR BLOODY MIND?”

Hrelle drew his phaser, increasing the setting and moving closer, hackles raised, teeth and claws bared. “Not yet I’m not. What mission did Zorin send you to do here? Murder my wife, my cubs? Me?”

“YOU’RE CRAZY!”

Never taking his eyes off his target, Hrelle tapped his combadge. “Hrelle to Ops: where’s Weynik?”

Stalac’s voice replied, “He remains in Cargo Bay 11-3, Sir. Do you require him?”

“Stand by,” To his target, he growled, “Who are you?”

The image of Weynik shifted, morphed and grew into a standing human figure, the same dark-skinned woman the real Weynik had described when he encountered it. She winced, as if the kick he had delivered had some genuine impact on her, and glared back at him angrily. “The Mesopotamians called me Tiamat. The Egyptians, Apophis. The Greeks, Eris. The Norse called me Loki. The Irish, Balor. The Chinese called me Hundun, the Hindus, Rakshasa.

I am the Gremlin that sat on the plane and brought Nightmares at 40,000 Feet. I am the misheard order that started the War. I am the lost cry for help that doomed the sinking ship.”

She began to glow as she raised her arms to him, and the air whipped around her, as if one of the outer doors had opened and the Bay was decompressing.

“I AM DISCORDIA!” she declared. “GODDESS OF CHAOS-”

Hrelle dropped as he felt his fur react to a sudden spike of static electricity in the air, and he ducked and dived as a red plasma bolt struck Discordia, disintegrating her entirely.

The wind died away immediately, and Hrelle returned to his feet to face Sasha, standing there outside the Tailless with a large Caitian plasma cannon cradled in both hands, and an equally-lethal look on her face. “Frick me… did I kill it?”

Hrelle shook his head. “I don’t think so. It wasn’t corporeal, at least not in the normal sense.” He tapped his combadge. “Ops: the Intruder was in Hangar Bay 2! I have more information about it!”

“As have we, Sir,” Sternhagen informed him. “You might wish to meet Lord Fauntleroy in the Brig.”

He strode up to Somerset, alongside Salvo and Doc Masterson, in front of a cell, which contained a human Hrelle recognised as the new owner of the Tarot, standing behind the invisible forcefield, arms crossed, expression defiant. Hrelle’s hackles raised. “What have you got?”

“You’ve got a complaint ready to be sent to your superiors for harassment and illegal confinement, Commodore,” the prisoner warned loudly.

Somerset ignored the man and turned to Hrelle. “This is Simon Latrelle, wanted for fraud, corporate espionage, data theft, identity theft, and other types of theft. He was born on New Paris, and is a known associate of Bastien Dumont.”

The name made Hrelle tense, remembering his previous encounter with the Bel-Zon leader. “Latrelle’s the shapeshifter?”

“In a manner of speaking. He is half-Halanan.”

“Never heard of them.”

Now Masterson contributed to the conversation, his archaic Wild West accent a contrast to the sophisticated nature of his talk. “Halanans are a humanoid race with psionic abilities, Commodore, which for them principally manifest in something they call psychoprojective telepathy, a form of bilocation where, when they’re asleep or unconscious, they can send out into the world solid images of themselves that can act out subconscious desires and personality traits, which the host experiences as if they’re dreaming.”

He indicated Latrelle. “Our saloon owner here’s Halanan on his mother’s side, and has enough of her people’s ability to let him pull the same trick… with a few variations.”

Hrelle glanced at Latrele, who showed no reaction. “The image I saw was of a woman, not him. Looked a little like him, but-”

“This woman?” Salvo held out a PADD, with a recorded image displayed.

He glanced at it. “Yes, that’s her.”

“She’s been seen at various locations – Argelius II, Rigel IV, Deneb II – with him, though never together, though always during unsolved criminal incidents. Some local records identify her as Simone Latrelle… with no actual verifiable records of such an individual.”

Hrelle looked to Latrelle. “Simone Latrelle? Any relation?”

The human smiled. “Twin sister… imaginary. The one I always wanted. The one who could take the blame for any trouble I caused. And when my abilities manifested, so did she. She has an identity, a life of her own.” 

“And an ego, to boot. She claimed to be a Chaos Goddess.”

Now Latrelle held out his arms. “What can I say, Commodore? My sister and I share an undeniable love of theatre.”

“And criminal acts,” Somerset added crisply. “Your so-called ‘twin’ is responsible for murder, attempted murder-”

The prisoner raised a finger towards him reprovingly. “No, no, Monsieur, you can’t pin such violent crimes on us. I make sure she can never directly kill or hurt anyone-” 

Hrelle strode up to him with uncanny speed, smacking the field between them with a terrible shriek of energy feedback that made everyone around him jump back, friend and foe alike. “MY WIFE NEARLY DIED BECAUSE OF YOU! YOUR BULLSHIT WILL NOT SAVE YOU!”

Latrelle stepped back, recovering as quickly as he could, “It’s- It’s nothing personal, Monsieur, just business!”

The Caitian baked his teeth. “Not to me, fucker. Whatever Zorin and the Bel-Zon are paying you won’t be enough!”

Now the criminal smiled. “And how can you stop her, Commodore? You can’t imprison or confine a discarnate psionic entity. She can appear anywhere, do anything, appear as anyone she wants. The personal files they supplied us with let us get under the skins of the most powerful… and most vulnerable.”

“There are limitations,” Masterson pointed out, holding up a medical tricorder. “You’re not a full Halanan; your psilosynine and acetylcholine neurotransmitter levels are dangerously low. I reckon you can only let her out for short times now, and short distances, but any more and you risk brain damage.”

“And we have security checks in place,” Salvo added. “To identify anyone being duplicated.”

“Doctor,” Masterson offered, “Starfleet Intelligence medical operatives will employ chemical suppressants of areas of the brains of dangerous prisoners to dampen telepathic activity.”

Masterson nodded. “Yeah, that’ll work, though I’m not all fired up to do that if I can help it.” He looked at Hrelle. “Unless I’m ordered?”

Hrelle never took his eyes off Latrelle, who had taken out his deck of cards and was shuffling them nervously in his hands. “Consider yourself ordered, Zeke.” To Latrelle, he added, “You might want to consider your options and cooperate with us. Your future looks bleak.”

Latrelle chuckled, though it felt forced, hollow. “My future? You should be looking to yours, Hrelle.”

He pulled one card out, holding it up to the Captain: a skeletal figure in a cloak, holding a scythe.

“Death is coming for you.” Latrelle declared.

Hrelle growled, unintimidated. “Then I’ll kick his bony ass after I do yours.”

*

“Masterson to Dr Mixx: we need a 100 millilitres of synaptizine and a psychotricorder brought down to the Brig, on the double.”

In the Hospital, the Bolian doctor responded, “On its way, Zeke.”

Before anyone else could respond, Nurse Georgia Galloway drew up, her eager young face alight. “May I go, Doctor? I wrote an Academy paper in my final year about the use of synaptizine to treat Betazoid patients with uncontrollable telepathy due to Zanthi Fever, and I even developed a sensor algorithm for the psychotricorder to better monitor the level of efficacy of the drug on-”

Mixx waved a beefy hand at her. “Enough, you passed the audition, now go and save all that puppy dog enthusiasm for Doc Cowboy.” As he watched her rush off, he shook his head. “I was never that young and enthusiastic. Now-”

“Ziras?”

He looked up, bolting to his feet at the sight of Counselor Hrelle standing at the doorway to the Intensive Care Unit, leaning against the frame for support. “Kami! Holy Hraxor, what are you doing up and about? You only had surgery yesterday!”

The Caitian, dressed in red scrubs, made a sound. “Yes, and I’m certain Zeke might have put some neutronium implants in me, my limbs feel like they weigh a tonne.”

Mixx slipped an arm around hers and guided her back towards her room. “Yes, if only someone could invent an item of furniture that postoperative patients could lie down upon and recuperate.”

“I’d tell you to save your sarcasm for your nurses, but they wouldn’t appreciate it either. I’ll go back to bed if you fill me in on what’s happening? Where’s my family?”

“Well, we’re still on Security Alert, because some shapeshifter has been imitating people, including you, spreading lies and mayhem.”

“Shapeshifter? Me?” Then her expression sobered. “Cadet Boladede… is he alright? Did they find him?”

“Yes, to both questions. He’s recovering from self-inflicted injuries in the Isochamber.”

“The Isochamber?”

Mixx nodded. “It’s the most secure place to detain him until he recovers enough to face prosecution for what he did to you.”

Kami nodded absently. “I want to see him.”

“No one sees him: Commodore’s Orders. He specifically mentioned that includes you.”

She grunted. “We’ll see about that.”

“See about it back in your bed. Maybe you can call your cubs, as there’s no School or Creche while the Security Alert continues-”

“Doctor?”

Mixx turned to see Nurse Galloway standing there. “You were quick, Georgia. There’s no prizes for speed in this business.”

“Sir?”

*

Hrelle turned to see Masterson’s nurse enter the Brig and stride up quickly, preparing the hypospray even as Salvo was dropping the force field to Latrelle’s cell, and the doctor was intercepting her. “I’ll administer the synaptizine, Nurse, you monitor the activity of his hippo-”

Hrelle’s hackles rose, but before he could call out, the nurse shoved Masterson aside and rushed up to Latrelle, the man staring in disbelief as she slammed the business end of the hypospray into his neck, emptying its entire contents into his bloodstream.

Even as Salvo and Somerset tackled the nurse, Masterson followed to catch Latrelle, the other human spasming and stiffening as he collapsed to the floor. “What in Tarnation- Georgia-”

“It’s Simone,” Hrelle declared, staring at the phantasm, being physically restrained by Salvo even as it morphed into Simone, not looking too aggrieved by being caught… Hrelle turned to see Masterson scan the fallen figure. “Doctor?”

Masterson never answered, instead tapping his combadge. “Emergency Medical Team to the Brig! Bring a Neurostasis Unit and an Overdose Kit!” Now he looked up at Simone in fury. “You gave him pure psilosynine! That’d kill him! And yourself!”

Hrelle turned back to Simone as well. “Murder-suicide?”

Simone met his gaze now, grinning cruelly. “Oh, I’m sure Doc Cowboy will pull him back from the brink, Yippee-Kai-Yay and all that… in the meantime, Simon will sleep deep, his brain amped up with fluid to keep me going – making me stronger than ever, and also free of his inconvenient, hypocritical morality.”

Hrelle tensed. “Wait- if you want to kill me, kill me! Leave everyone else alone!”

“Kill you?” She laughed. “My orders aren’t to kill you. They’re to hurt you. And I know how to really hurt you…”

Then she vanished out of Salvo’s grip.

“What did she mean?” Masterson asked.

Hrelle knew, slapping his combadge even as he was racing out. “Hrelle to Security: All available personnel to my quarters!

Misha held up his PADD to show his minder. “There!”

Gyver paused in wiping the porridge from Sreen’s muzzle to examine the colourful picture. “Excellent, Master Misha. Your mother will be most pleased to receive it. Now finish your breakfast.”

The cub chuckled, returning to his plate of shuris strips. “I protect Mama. I fight everyone.”

“I know, Master Misha. You have a Protector’s Heart. You would make a welcome addition to my Order. Perhaps maybe you might even become a Caitian Kaetini, like your sister and father-” The equinoid stopped as Sreen pushed aside his washcloth. “Young Miss, I need to clean your fur.”

She pointed to the replicator unit in the wall. “Shuris Burger!”

Gyver smiled. “You have already had a nourishing breakfast, and a shuris burger would not be appropriate for you at any time.”

She scowled, imitating her father’s voice, “You have your orders, Mister!”

Now he chuckled. “Yes, I do, from the real Commodore Hrelle.”

“I wanna go see Mama,” Misha declared.

Gyver lifted up Sreen and set her down, the infant using her exoframe to let her waddle over to the couch and her toy shuris Babaloo. “If you complete the homework that your teacher transmitted to you this morning, and if the Security Alert is dropped, that might... might be…” He grew still.

Misha looked up now from his breakfast. “What’s wrong?”

It’s coming… “Misha, take Sreen into your bedroom and hide under your bed.”

“Why? Is the Bad Cadet coming back?”

Gyver moved over to his staff, remaining calm, requiring focus. “No. But I need you to please do as I say. You will better protect your sister in there, should I fail. I am counting on you.”

The front door chimed.

Gyver pointed to the bedroom doors. “Go, now.”

Misha made rumbling, curious sounds, but obeyed, taking his sister’s paw. “Come on, Baby Sreen, I protect you in here.”

“Shuris Burger!”

“You eat too much, Baby Sreen, you break your exoframe…”

Gyver gripped his staff as he moved to the door, waiting for the cubs to depart and their bedroom door close before responding to the chime. “Open.”

The image of a Denobulan woman in a Starfleet uniform in Medical Blue stood there, smiling politely. “Good morning! You must Gyver Timbrel, the children’s sitter! I’m Dr Bas Vestri, Counselor for the USS Katana. Commodore Hrelle asked me to interview his son to confirm his emotional state.”

Gyver stepped forward. “I must disagree.”

The visitor blinked, stepping back out into the corridor, bemused. “You don’t believe little Misha might need some Counseling after his ordeal yesterday?”

“Perhaps… but he would benefit more from a real Counselor than the Shade standing before me.”

The Shade blinked. “Well, then, there’s no use flogging a dead horse. Unless you’re the horse.”

She struck out with lightning speed.

Gyver blocked the blow with his staff and struck back.

The Shade morphed before Gyver, even as the assault continued, becoming a dark-skinned human female, and then other images – some Gyver recognised, others he didn’t – all the while fighting.

Gyver kept up his defences, staying focused even as a part of him became aware of Security crewmen appearing on either end of the corridor, with Commodore Hrelle finally appearing.

Gyver’s opponent seemed aware of him too, but continued to fight and taunt the Paladel. “You know I’m only toying with you, don’t you, Horsey? I could pop into the kids’ bedrooms anytime and turn them inside out.”

“Is that truly your intention here? And there is nothing I can do to dissuade you?”

“What, miss out on leaving some tiny corpses for Papa Cat-”

She never finished her threat; Gyver shot his hand out and clasped her forehead, immobilising her, even as his thoughts aligned with hers-

what are you doing you cant do this to me its impossible impossible

Not as impossible as you might think, Shade.

you cant do this im a goddess of chaos chaos CHAOS

You are no Goddess, you are a fragment of thoughts and desires that should never have been allowed to coalesce into an identity of its own. I am sorry, truly sorry for what I have to do.

no no no NO NO NO NO-

*

Gyver’s awareness returned to the external, as Commodore Hrelle and his Security crewmen rushed up, the Caitian looking around for the imposter. “Mr Osaka, go into my quarters, make sure it didn’t go in there-”

The equinoid raised his hand. “There is no need, Commodore. The entity has been neutralised.”

Hrelle frowned at him. “It’s a psychic projection from a humanoid in custody, Mr Timbrel, it’s not an entity in its own right-”

Gyver gripped his staff more tightly, feeling his limbs ache. “Forgive me, Commodore, but my people and I have experience in dealing with similar phenomena; its host will no longer be able to feel its presence in their mind, or project it to cause more harm. They will need Counseling to deal with such a profound loss.”

The Caitian regarded him, as if wondering to believe his explanation, before replying with, “I’ll make sure the Federation Penal Colony will provide him with proper Counseling. In the meantime, we can stand down from the Security Alert, and I can collect my cubs and visit their mother.”

Gyver nodded, smiling. “Misha has prepared a particularly colourful picture for her.”

“Station Announcement: General Quarters One will resume at 0900 Hours. Please do not attempt to leave your assigned quarters or workstations, or use communication facilities, before then. Station Announcement: General Quarters One will resume at 0900 Hours…”

Sasha switched off the comlink as she completed the pre-flight checks, listening to Mru moving silently beside her, distant emotionally if not physically. He had been that way since they boarded the Tailless, to prepare for this impromptu rescue mission, wordlessly following her orders, talking only to the others coming along, before they moved to the aft section of her flyer.

This has gone on long enough, you stupid bitch… She closed the cockpit door to the rest of the flyer, turning in her chair to face the Caitian. “Mru…”

He stopped his checks, glancing at her. “Yes, Lieutenant Commander?”

She winced, but knew she deserved that. “I’m sorry, Mru. In the last twenty-four hours I have fucked up more times than I can count, and that’s even if I take off my boots and include all eleven of my toes.”

She paused, breathing in. You owe him the full truth, no matter how it may ruin your relationship… “After that battle the Katana had, when you were blown out into space and I had to get you back… I realised that I didn’t want to live without you. I love you, Mru. I want to marry you, and have cubs with you, and not spend another day risking losing you without telling you all this.

But I wasn’t sure what you’d think about any of this, and then there’s my addictive personality. I’m still in the early days of learning to cope with it, and Kami – the real Kami – tried to warn me about that. But then, that night at the club, the Kami Imposter found me, and said…” She swallowed. “She knew the right things to say to shake me to my core. I blame her for that… but I blame myself for how I reacted, by breaking my sobriety, and by taking my anger, my embarrassment, and all the fuck-ups I did after that, on you, the male I profess to love.

And I’m so, so sorry for how I treated you. And… if you want a transfer to another ship, away from me, I can arrange it, with no detriment to your career whatsoever.”

Sasha finally stopped, unable to say anymore, unable to do anything but wipe the tears she felt welling up at the sides of her eyes.

Mru sat there, still, even his tail, his eyes taking her in… before answering, “Yes.”

She nodded, her mind already thinking ahead to an alternate ship posting for him, the necessary admin work, anything to keep from facing the anguish she knew was there with this-

“Yes,” he repeated, “I’ll marry you.”

She froze now, not quite sure what she heard, managing only, “Huh?”

“I’ll marry you, Sasha Brunhilde Hrelle,” he declared, more resolutely. “I love you with all my heart, and it’d be my honour, my pleasure, and my privilege to be your partner in life… and father to our cubs. I know that you have issues you’re struggling to deal with – as do I – and that if you wish to wait until they are resolved, then I will wait as long as it takes, and help you, as I know you would help me. Seven Hells, I’d marry you now, if I thought we could get away with it without your parents and mine smacking our arses for not giving them warning-”

Sasha jumped up into his arms, barely giving him a chance to rise as well as they embraced with a fierce, undeniable passion and relief.

Outside the cockpit, there was a knock, and the voice of Eydiir seeped through. “Is there a reason for the delay in our departure?”

Still clutching Mru for dear life, Sasha called out, “Give us a minute, Goddammit!”

A pause, and then Eydiir responded with, “There are drugs at my disposal to help you curb your carnal appetites…”

*

“Station Log, Stardate 54013.72, Commodore Esek Hrelle, Recording: the current Security threat has ended, thanks to the combined efforts of the intrepid band of Starfleet and civilian personnel onboard. Simon Latrelle is currently continuing to receive telepathic suppressants despite the assurances of Sre Gyver Timbrel that Latrelle’s anarchic alter ego no longer exists, and Cadet Ange Boladede has healed from the injuries inflicted upon him by my son in his defence of his mother.

Lt Cmdr Maraud has recommended that both criminals be transported to Deep Space Twelve to face charges, rather than here, to ensure they are seen to receive fair trials, a recommendation I concur; I will be pleased to see the back of both of them.

My daughter has left on her current assigned mission, with my best wishes; I have full faith in her. And the al-Razi will soon dock at Salem One with Max Zorin’s ‘rescued’ party, and while I would give anything just to have him locked up upon his arrival, I have been assured that we have no evidence to link him to the recent criminal acts committed here, and in the rest of the Sector.

Yet.

Before then, my wife and I are meeting with the Counselor assigned to interview our son and determine the extent of the trauma he has undergone in attacking Boladede..”

“Nothing,” Vestri offered.

Hrelle blinked, glancing at Kami, sitting up in her bed in Post-Op Recovery, letting her reply with, “Nothing?”

The Denobulan nodded, offering her the PADD in her hands. “I spoke with him, and ran a psychotricorder during the process, looking for the expected verbal, visual or neurological clues that would indicate signs of post-traumatic stress following the incident. There is none.”

“I don’t understand, Counselor,” Hrelle admitted. “Regardless of how necessary it was for him to take the actions he did, there should still be some trauma, some shock. He must be suppressing it.”

“Under normal circumstances, Commodore, I would agree with you wholeheartedly. Admittedly, though Lt Mori is one of my patients on the Katana, and your daughter is practically one of your people already, I’m not an expert on Caitian psychology, and it may take longer to show even the initial PTD signs for him, especially at his age. But on the face of it, Misha has processed what he did with a remarkable level of acceptance. For him, defending his mother is as natural an act as breathing, and he displays no obvious signs of shock, anger, fear, guilt, not even subconsciously. Perhaps you need to consult a specialist?”

Kami kept staring at the PADD, before handing it back. “Perhaps. Thank you for doing this, Bes, and for covering for me in the interim. We’ll talk when I’m ready for my own Counseling.”

When the other woman acknowledged this and departed, Kami stared ahead, frowning, prompting Hrelle to ask, “What did you see that she didn’t?”

“Anomalies in some of Misha’s neural clusters. It could be a side effect of the harmonic telepathic treatments he’s received from Dr Hwii’’!!’’II’!’iei in the times they had been together; Delphine Counseling can have unusual effects, especially on the young, and it may have made him far more resilient.”

Hrelle nodded at that, remembering Dr Hwii’’!!’’II’!’iei, aka Doctor Wheelie, and how the dolphin had helped all of them in the past. “And if it isn’t?”

Now she looked at him. “He could be developing his own Beast, his own coping subpersonality; it runs in the family, after all. You certainly have it, and I know I’ve seen it rise in myself. I might get in touch with Jhess back on the Motherworld and ask for his expertise.”

Hrelle felt his stomach twist. His Beast had been a part of him for years, during his captivity on Orion under Surinh Dag, and it resurfaced later on, more than once: a savage, atavistic shadow of himself. Even after surgery had killed off the old version of it, severe trauma experienced during the Occupation of Cait had generated a new incarnation.

To think that his gentle, loving son might end up following in his father’s footsteps… “This life we lead… this dangerous life I’ve dragged him, Sreen, you, into… a life that could help conjure up the same type of monster I carry inside me-”

“Esek, I’m too tired to remind you, yet again, that it’s not down only to you that we’re here, that we both chose to live this dangerous life, and that the threats which could carve and shape such Beasts into existence could be found anywhere, such as when the Ferasans invaded Cait, and that if I had any notion that my cubs shouldn’t be here, you would have heard from me before now.”

Hrelle breathed in, then out, before responding. “Well, then, I’m glad you’re too tired to remind me.” He reached out and clasped her paw. “What about you? After what happened to you, how are you feeling?”

Then it was Kami’s turn to pause before replying. “I barely remember it, but I know that I will have to, in order to help myself move on. And I do feel sorry for Ange.”

Hrelle bristled. “Boladede? You feel sorry for him, after what he did?” 

She sighed. “I’m not excusing his actions, but he was manipulated, the way others were… like Sasha.”

Mention of his daughter, and the memory of his earlier argument, made Hrelle sigh. “You think she’ll be okay?”

“Yes. Oh, I don’t imagine you’ll be doting over any newborn cubs in the very near future, but maybe you’ll be walking her down the aisle, sobbing your eyes out.”

“I wouldn’t-” Then he stopped himself. “Maybe I would.”

His combadge chirped, as Sternhagen reported, “The al-Razi has arrived, Captain. And that communications channel to Cait you requested will commence in ten minutes.”

“I’m on my way. Hrelle out.” He growled. “I know Zorin staged this, just to come here. Why? What’s the purpose of it? He’s sent operatives against us, why risk a direct encounter? It feels like he just wants to size me up, look me in the eye, some macho bullshit like that. What do you think?”

“I think you have something there. Because you’ve defied him. Because his ego has been bruised, and we wants to regain some pride by facing you directly, with an audience, maybe goading you, knowing you know he’s responsible but you can’t do anything about it. It’s not enough to kill you outright; he could have done that at any stage. He wants you to suffer, psychologically as well as physically.”

“And how do I counter that?” 

She looked at him. “Well, normally I would discourage male bravado and braggadocio, but in this case, I expect you to remember that you are the Lion of Salem Sector, and that this is your territory. Try not to kill him, no matter how he provokes you.”

He rose to his feet. “That’ll be fun. You can handle that call with your mother?”

“Of course. Better for her if she hears it directly from me anyway, and sees I’m not that bad, especially if I have the cubs with me.” She smirked. “I think you’d rather face Zorin than have to explain to Mama what happened to me.”

Hrelle bent down and rubbed the side of his muzzle against hers. “I’d never admit to that… in case she’s listening.”

Bel-Zon Headquarters, Planet Elba II:

“Monsieur?”

Bastien Dumont sat alone at the table in his quarters, still relishing the scent of the beautiful, freshly-grilled fillet mignon and sauteed truffles and other vegetables before him, but now was taking in the exquisite rich colour of the wine, a recently-acquired vintage from Betazed. It was an extravagant indulgence, one he shared with no one else, but he justified it to himself as partial recompense for the years of imprisonment, abuse and hardship by the So’Na, thanks to the efforts of Starfleet in general, and Commodore Esek Hrelle – then Captain – in particular.

He had worked hard all his life to enjoy the finer things, and it had all been cruelly ripped from him… and all because Hrelle couldn’t remain professional, and took the actions of the previous incarnation of the Bel-Zon against him personally.

Now, he allowed himself these indulgences, and was typically unforgiving of interruptions. Now, however, he guessed the reason behind it. “Yes, Relee?”

The voice of his personal assistant Relee Baulahl responded with her usual crisp Trill efficiency. “Sorry to interrupt, Monsieur, but you wanted to be notified when Monsieur Zorin and his party were ‘rescued’ by Starfleet. They’re about to arrive at Salem One.”

“Merci.” He had to admit, to himself if no one else, that Zorin’s decision to confront Hrelle now had come out of the proverbial blue… but no amount of warning on Dumont’s part about how it might interfere with the overall plans of the organisation in this sector could persuade that psychopathique Zorin. Still, his presence might distract Hrelle enough to allow the operatives already present to complete their work without incident.

Then Dumont sensed the hesitation on the other end of the comlink. “What else, Relee?”

“I’m sorry, Monsieur Dumont, but the Assassin is refusing to leave for her new assignment.”

The man sighed, setting down his glass, staring longingly at his meal. “Where is Mademoiselle Obscura?”

“Outside your office, alongside the Ferasan.”

Moments later, he was there, regarding the two females: the ebon-furred Ferasan tracker known as Jet Jaguar, her sabreteeth surgically removed to make her appear more like one of her racial cousins the Caitians, and the most reluctant member of the Bel-Zon: Kamra Obscura, a Tandaran nomad with a phenomenal weapons aptitude, psychic abilities that aided her work… and a personal code d'honneur that could be damned inconvenient at times. Like now. “Mademoiselle? How may I help you?”

The young, coffee-skinned humanoid female in her native robes stood, arms crossed. “You may release me from my contract. I am done with you.”

Dumont regarded her coolly. It had initially seemed like acquiring her services would be of great advantage – but then it felt the same way for the thief Fantomax, and the collective called the Rat Pack, both of which had since escaped, their current whereabouts unknown. “I am sorry to hear that, young woman. But we are not yet done with you. We have one more task requiring your singular skills.”

“Indeed? Another attack on an innocent Paserak tribe? I will not do that again.”

Dumont’s jaw tightened, but he forced himself to smile politely. “That… was an unfortunate choice of tasks for one such as you, who sees herself as a Nemesis, a Spirit of Vengeance. Perhaps if I told you more about the intended target? One which may prove to be the most important target you have ever faced?” He glanced at Jet Jaguar. “Both of you, in fact, would benefit from this knowledge.” He motioned to his office door.

Kamra hesitated, but then relented, Jet following, Dumont moving behind his desk and activating his wallscreen, projecting the image of an older, black-furred felinoid female in a military uniform. “This is Ma’Sala Shall, from when she was Fleet Captain of the Caitian Planetary Navy. Since then, she has used her power and influence, and the chaos following the end of the Ferasan Occupation of their world, to seize power and become First Minister of her planet. She is also Matriarch to Commodore Hrelle and his family on Salem One. She keeps a watchful eye on her distant family, and has been employing her considerable resources to interfere with our plans for him.”

The woman glanced at him, her psychic abilities no doubt allowing her to question the veracity of his words, perhaps confirming whether or not he was being a little… creative with his interpretation of the facts. But she responded with, “If I dispatched every politician in the Galaxy who used their influence for personal gain, that Vulcan mad scientist now in your employ would have to equip me with immortality.”

“True,” Dumont conceded, “But few politicians have achieved the level of infamy that Shall has.” He called up other images, of what appeared to be a subspace instability, like an open wound in the Universe, bleeding energy from hidden folds into other dimensions. “This was the Ferasa Prime system, the original home of the Caitians. They fled their planet over a millennia ago to avoid the Augmented factions that had taken over, but the Ferasans pursued them several times to conquer them, with the latest attempt successful, at least temporarily.”

He saw Jet react, her muzzle bristling and her tail twitching. “I… I read the news, about the supernova of our sun ripping into subspace, destroying the system. I… I hadn’t seen the images-”

“The news media declared it a natural disaster,” Dumont informed them. “But it wasn’t. In response to the Occupation, First Minister Shall had launched an Omega Bomb, a weapon of mass destruction prohibited by all galactic powers. She committed genocide, the genocide of almost two billion Ferasans. Male and female. Old and young. Military and civilian. Infants. All snuffed out. And the damage to the local space means any survivors from outside the system cannot even return home.”

He watched them both react, Jet naturally on a more personal level than Kamra, who appeared focused on scanning him again, for signs of deceit. He left his mind open, inviting scrutiny, even as Kamra asked, “Two… billion lives? How is that even possible? What weapon could be so powerful? And how could she get away with that?”

He sighed. “The secrets of the Omega Bombs are so classified, even our own attempts to uncover them have proved fruitless, and all we could discover was her act… and the results of it, as you can see. And Starfleet and the Federation declared the destruction of the system to be a natural disaster, part of a conspiracy to keep Omega a secret from the Galaxy at large, both to minimise confirmation that such a weapon can be made and employed, and to assuage their own guilt at not coming to the aid of the Caitians sooner.”

“Two billion…” Jet repeated in a shocked whisper. “I had... I had accepted a disaster wiping out my people… they were dying anyway, from genetic decrepitude, so I had allowed myself to be almost comforted by it… but now, now you say they were murdered…” 

He indicated the image on the screen. “I am aware of the atrocities committed by the Ferasans when they occupied Cait… but still, what could possibly justify the extermination of an entire race of people?”

Kamra faced him fully again, and he could almost feel her mind in his. He stayed calm. That was the beauty of this deception; it was truthful enough for his purposes. In reality, Dumont agreed that Shall had no choice in the matter, given their depleted resources, Starfleet’s continued focus on the threat of the Dominion, and the Ferasans grouping to send a second fleet that would let them retake Cait.

But the young assassin, the one he needed to get to Cait with Jet’s aid, didn’t need to know that.

Kamra drew back finally. “You’re telling the truth.”

“Yes. I acknowledge that candour is a rare indulgence in my line of work, but if you require, I can provide you with the technical and intelligence data we have gathered. But the fact remains: Ma’Sala Shall is perhaps the greatest living mass murderer in galactic history. And because of political expediency and Intelligence protocols, she will get away with her crimes. I am perhaps not the most ethically-minded of individuals, but even I recognise naked injustice when I see it.” He lowered his arm. “I give you my word, Mademoiselle, this will be the last assignment you will have to perform for the Bel-Zon. Well?”

The Tandaran looked back and forth between him, and the viewscreen, turning to Jet. “I am sorry for your loss.”

The felinoid bristled again, but quickly composed herself. “A small loss. In truth, I had left behind my people and their patriarchal oppression years ago, and never thought about going back to them, even before their demise. That they died at this Caitian’s paws is not surprising… but still, to allow such an act to go unchallenged, for any reason…”

Kamra looked back at Dumont, before finally deciding, “This will be the last.”

He smiled gratefully. “Most generous. Now, if you would please proceed to the spaceport? Your transport awaits.”

She nodded curtly and departed with Jet.

He stared at the closed door.

Yes, you sanctimonious cow, once you deal with Shall, this will definitely be your last task.

Capitol Building, First City, Planet Cait:

First Minister Ma’Sala Shall used to think she had a game face: when she was in the Planetary Navy, rising to the supreme rank of Fleet Captain, defending the Motherworld against outside threats, inspiring (or threatening) subordinates into achieving the impossible, ensuring that the latest tail-chasing politician to try and reduce the military budget gets their asses handed to them.

Then she entered politics, and realised how much of an amateur she had been. And the popular high she had ridden in on following the victory against the Ferasan Occupation didn’t last forever, leaving her facing scores of problems that couldn’t be defeated with a missile volley, or at least a few tactically-launched expletives.

But she was learning as she went along: learned to negotiate, learned to compromise, learned to choose her battles. And learned to put on a real game face.

Even to her daughter, with the image of her reaching out across hundreds of light years, lying in that hospital bed in Salem One, ensuring Ma’Sala that yes, she would be fine, that yes, Esek was managing the crisis, that no, the cubs were not in danger, and no, there was nothing Ma’Sala needed to do about it.

And Ma’Sala had offered the required nods and entreaties and reassurances to her daughter, thanked her for the call and the consideration in letting her know, and wished her a speedy return to visit the family soon.

She waited until the communication ended before letting her true feelings surface, making Shall’s Chief of Security Hass Sgrier, standing outside her office, immediately draw his plasma pistol and burst in, ready to defend the First Minister.

And then stand down and found Shall’s desk overturned, but the female herself alone, safe… but with a scent that definitely warned against anyone getting closer to her. “Summon the Security Cabal.”

Twenty minutes later, Shall’s scent only increased with the response she received from her subordinates – chiefly, Commissioner Nenjo Canri, Head of the Caitian Security Services. “I’m sorry, First Minister, but I must refuse your request.”

Shall bristled. “No, I’m sorry, Commissioner… for letting you misinterpret this as a request. It wasn’t. I’m ordering you to-”

Canri raised a paw to cut her off, reacting to Shall’s scent and tone, but standing her proverbial ground. “Don’t, First Minister… Ma’Sala… I respect and honour you, but don’t try going there. I have nothing but the highest admiration for your daughter, for Commodore Hrelle, his human cub; their efforts to save the Motherworld from the Ferasans will always be remembered and honoured.

But they remain members of Starfleet, living off-world, outside of our jurisdiction and capable of protecting themselves. And our responsibility to our people remains paramount. I cannot authorise the use of our now-limited resources to act as your family’s bodyguards… or avengers.”

Ma’Sala bared her teeth. “My daughter was shot in the chest! My grandcubs could have been killed! They still could be, from what I’ve learned!”

Canri nodded. “Yes, from Captain Nrari of the Crooked Tail.” She glanced over at Fleet Captain Csara Nrorr of the Caitian Stellar Navy, who kept a stony expression. “I understand he was recently assigned to perform certain unauthorised activities deep within Federation space on your behalf, in direct violation of Federation and Starfleet law.”

Ma’Sala glanced at Nrorr, who indicated Canri. “For what it's worth, Ma’Sala, I never said anything to her; she’s the Spymaster around here.”

“Yes, I am,” Canri agreed, without irony. “And you appointed both of us to take on your former responsibilities, because we have laws against one person wielding too much power for their own ends, however noble. We are relying on Federation aid to help us recover from the Occupation, and rebuild our off-world markets, our colonies; your actions threaten that.”

“Ma’Sala”, Fleet Captain Nrorr added sympathetically, “In another time, when you were my Commanding Officer, I would have eagerly led the charge into battle against anyone threatening your family… especially the Hrelles, given their immeasurable service towards the Motherworld.

But this is not another time. We have different, greater responsibilities, and Starfleet has resources of their own to deal with potential threats. On their return, I will be reassigning the Crooked Tail to authorised duties… and I will have to refuse any further personal requests. I'm sorry.”

Ma’Sala looked to each of them in turn… understanding their points of view, even if she was suffused with a desire to roar them down again, for all the futility behind that. No matter how much you saw yourself as the Matriarch of your Clan, the moment you took the Oath of Office, you knew that this would have to take a back seat to your greater responsibilities… “Thank you both. And I would appreciate it if this stayed between the three of us, and not reach the ears of Minister K’Trierr.”

Canri snorted. “Fuck, no! The last thing we want is for that kussik to have any ammunition to claw for the First Minister post!”

“No,” Nrorr agreed, nodding, “I’d sooner have a sand newt take over.”

Grateful for their honesty and support if not their compliance, Ma’Sala was on her way back to her office, wondering how she was going to explain what had happened to Kami to her husbands, when her private comm chirped. She stopped, frowning to herself – had Mi’Tree or Bneea heard something already? – and answered, “Yes?”

It was neither of her husbands. “First Minister, this is Tarim Bey.”

She tensed. “How did you get on this private channel?”

“I’ll be happy to explain, if you come down to the sublevel. And tell no one that you’re coming.”

She glanced around; Tarim Bey was, in theory, the former leader of the Sypher cybercriminals, the Sypher King himself, responsible for various thefts and smuggling operations for years, but joined the Resistance to the Ferasan Occupation in the fight to free the Motherworld. He had since turned legitimate, working to assist in the rebuilding of the Caitian Intelligence Services behind the Mother’s Claws, becoming the Government's Minister for Cybernetics… but she had no doubt he retained mercenary motivations. “I’m on my way.”

Moments later, she was far below the surface of the Capitol building, in a large bank of workstations, displays and operatives, some off-worlders but most Caitian, examining government, military and private communications networks for threats and trends.

Tarim Bey awaited her, sitting in his hoverchair to provide the male with mobility to compensate for his Neurodystraxic paraplegia, smiling. “First Minister, thank you for visiting the Dungeon, as my Syphers have begun calling it.” He held out his arms. “I guess that makes me the Dungeonmaster.”

Ma’Sala frowned. “I have little time and less desire to banter, Mr Bey. How did you manage to access my private channel?”

The male regarded her, before gesturing to a nearby office. “Please, First Minister; we will be unmonitored and undisturbed in there.”

He glided into the room, which Ma’Sala determined was for his use, given the adaptations for Bey to move about and reach for things from his chair. The door slid shut, and a computer announced, “Security Measures Activated.”

Bey turned to face her. “First Minister, I accessed your private comlink in the same way I monitored the conversation between yourself and your colleagues upstairs, but that is not as relevant as the reason for my wishing to speak privately with you.”

Ma’Sala leaned in closer to him, baring her teeth. “I don’t appreciate eavesdroppers.”

He smiled, unintimidated. “Coming from the former Head of the Mother’s Claws, that statement simply drips with irony. But I am certain you appreciate even less the response from your colleagues. Many a cub might dream of becoming First Minister someday, imagining the power they might yield, never understanding how little of it they will actually possess, with the checks and balances rightly in place.

I am on your side, Madame. And I can assemble and employ a select group of individuals to meet your needs.”

“Individuals?”

He nodded. “Individuals with, shall we say, very particular sets of skills?” He activated a control on the arm of his chair, bringing up images on the walls behind him, of males and females, all felinoid… but not all Caitian. “Individuals of many different origins and sensibilities, but united to perform tasks that one cannot openly, or legally, acknowledge. I coined it a ‘Caitian Crisis Counterteam’.” He smirked. “I like alliteration. Perhaps it is better simply to refer to them as Adventurers.”

Ma’Sala frowned at the images. A couple of them she recognised – Captain Nrari, that telepathic Ferasan Hunter Prime, Valtiri, and even the Hrelles’ former nanny, the Sabrecat Lt Jhess Furore – but a couple more stood out on their own simply for their uniqueness… was that a Kzinti among them? And a cyborg as well? “You’ve given this some thought.”

“Thought is a primary activity of mine, in lieu of rutting and running marathons. And as I have said, I can assemble and deploy this group, equip them with ships, weapons, resources, anything they might need to deal with any threats to Cait and Caitians that can’t be officially and openly managed by the Militia, the Stellar Navy or even the Secret Services… and the most immediate threat is to the Hrelles. And I can do this without any direct accountability to you or your office.”

She faced him now, tail twitching with suspicion. “Why? Why are you doing this?”

He looked up at her. “Because unlike your colleagues, I do place value on the service your family provided during the Occupation. And because I have contacts beyond what Commissioner Canri and her burgeoning new Secret Service operatives possess. And my contacts confirm that the Terran industrialist Max Zorin is behind the formation of the new Bel-Zon… and that Zorin’s ultimate goal is the deaths of Commodore Hrelle and his family. Including your grandcubs. Even little Sreen Hrelle, who shares my disability.” He breathed in. “And since the Occupation, I have found a need to make recompense for the sins of my past, in my own inimitable manner.”

Ma’Sala grunted – there would be more to it; there is always more to it with this male, she had soon guessed after meeting him – and glanced back at the display. “And you can assure me that in the future your… Adventurers… won’t be employed for strictly criminal ends?”

“If I can’t, then the potential inclusion of the likes of Captain Nrari and Lt Furore certainly will. We will have honourable people in command, ensuring the integrity of the team.” He folded his paws onto his lap. “Or… we can forget all about this as just a fanciful notion on my part.”

She stared hard at him. All of this could come back on her; in fact, it almost certainly would, despite Tarim Bey’s promises. How could it not, with this team going after the very same threats to her own family? Her involvement would be uncovered, she would face condemnation, impeachment, even criminal charges and imprisonment.

And she wouldn’t contest it, either. Assuming of course that she would approve of this.

Thoughts returned to the time she employed the Omega Bomb to wipe out the next Ferasan Fleet readying to re-invade the Motherworld. Almost no one knew of her involvement in that, an immeasurably more serious and terrible act than what was being considered here… but at least she could justify those actions to defend her people. 

This, however, gave her no justification. It would be seen for what it was, an abuse of her power. And rightly so.

Fuck it. “Do it “

He smiled. “Adventurers… Assemble.”

*

Boladede stood in the centre of his cell. Waiting. Waiting. He could wait all day. He has more strength and discipline than anyone else around him, and would always rise above them, no matter what they choose to throw at him-

“Cadet?”

He looked up. Counselor Hrelle stood there, resting her weight on an antigrav cane held in her right paw. She regarded him, awaiting an answer.

“No longer ‘Cadet’, Counselor,” he reminded her archly. “Thanks to you.”

“Thanks to me? Perhaps I should apologise for allowing you to try and kill me?”

“Why are you here? Looking to see if there is any lingering damage to me caused by your savage little son?”

She bristled at his insult. “No, Mr Boladede… I came because I know it was explained to you that I did not visit you in your quarters the other night, that it was an imposter who spread lies in order to goad you into taking extreme actions. I was wondering if that news has made you reassess the wisdom of your subsequent actions. I was hoping that, with that revelation, you might be able to put yourself on the road to rehabilitation, that would better help you.

And maybe I was also hoping to help put myself on a similar road. I had nothing but the best of intentions in assisting you reach your full potential within Starfleet. Regardless of the provocation, what you did to me was unforgivable-”

He faced her. “I am not interested in hearing you continue to bleat. Leave me… but watch your back. You will never know when I will return to finish what I started, only I will also kill your beastly child.”

Kami stared hard at him, before drawing closer to the invisible cell door between them, her voice low and forced through clenched, bared teeth. “Oh, but I will know, because I can smell and hear you coming from a kilometre away. And if you ever, ever return, you won’t just face my son, or me, but my husband, one who has truly earned the moniker of Beast.

And you will not live long enough to regret your actions.”

She turned to leave.

Across from Boladede, the only other occupant of a cell here, Latrelle, regarded her as he sat on his bunk and shuffled the deck in his hand. “No goodbye for me, Madame Chat?”

She never looked at him as she suggested, “Mets ta tête dans ton trou du cul…”

Latrelle chuckled shallowly as they were left alone, before he focused on the younger prisoner. “How easily one’s fortune can change, eh, Monsieur?”

Boladede glared across at him. “I do not associate with criminals.”

Latrelle laughed now, drawing individual cards from his deck. “Oh, dear boy, I don’t need precognition to know how your immediate future will make that declaration very difficult to achieve!” He held up a card: The Hanged Man. “Not that you’ll spend much time at a penal colony…”

Boladede frowned. “What do you know that I do not?”

“Oh, I know my employers… they might see potential in you, and offer you a place with them when they come for me.”

The former cadet drew closer to the cell force field. “You believe they will liberate you?”

More wistfully now, he drew another card: Death. “No, Monsieur. With my sister dead, I am more of a liability than an asset to them now. My future is certain.”

He let his cards scatter to the floor of his cell.

*

This was it, Rachel decided, standing outside the Superintendent’s Office. She would have her bags packed within the hour, and be on the next transport home. There was no alternative, not after her failure at spotting the problems with Ange. As far as she was concerned, it was as if she had handed him the phaser to shoot the Counselor.

The door slid open, and Commander Haluk’s voice reached out to her. “Enter, Squad Leader.”

She obeyed, cursing herself for not rechecking her dress uniform before she was called in. She stood at attention before his desk. “Sir, Cadet Squad Leader Rachel Nash reporting as ordered.”

The older Vulcan never looked up from his PADD as he responded, “At ease. Squad Leader, I wanted to inform you personally of the actions being taken following the expulsion of Cadet Boladede-”

“I’m ready to leave, Sir,” she suddenly blurted out.

The interruption made Haluk look up at her now. “Excuse me, Squad Leader?”

Rachel swallowed, feeling her skin heat up like the surface of a star. What was wrong with her?

“Squad Leader?” he repeated, more forcefully.

She breathed deeply; in for a penny… “I- I said I am ready to leave, Sir. I can have my belongings packed in ten minutes.”

He raised an eyebrow. “A laudable skill, Squad Leader. But your Academy schedule for the rest of the semester will hardly allow you to go anywhere.”

Rachel swallowed again. “Sir?”

Now he rose to his feet and walked around to her. “I summoned you here to inform you of the replacement for Cadet Boladede as Macbeth Squad’s Security Cadet. Her name is Lock Trythi, of Sancarus II; the planet is one of many on a fast-track process of Federation membership, initiated during the War when the need for securing territory was predominant. Ms Trythi is already on her way to Salem One, but you will have ample opportunity to learn about her, her people and their particular characteristics and needs, in order to brief your Squad and make her feel welcome. I have already sent an information pack to your Inbox.”

Rachel nodded numbly. Cheese and Crackers, Rachel, could you have been more melodramatic?

“Will this be a problem, Squad Leader?” Haluk asked mildly.

“Wha- No! I mean, no, Sir! Sorry, I- I just feel... stupid.”

“Indeed? And why is that?”

“Well, I… I came here thinking I was being removed from the program because of Ange’s actions! I mean, if I had been alert enough to anticipate what he might have done-”

“Then you would possess greater skills than the rest of us, myself included. A desire to hold oneself responsible for the actions of those under us is commendable, but it is best not to get rapacious about it. Unless, of course, you disagree, and believe I should resign from my position here because of what happened?”

She flushed again. “No, Sir. I don’t feel that stupid.”

Hrelle stayed in the background of the Arboretum, the tranquil scents of the foliage not offering their usual calming influence on him, as he focused on the activities of the newcomers to Salem One.

The media that Zorin had brought with him, now joined by the station’s resident correspondent Darren Kolchak, were surrounding the industrialist, as he stood on a dais alongside Federation Commissioner Ryo Nam-Seon, the young woman maintaining a composed presence – but then, Hrelle reminded himself, she wasn’t totally aware of the danger that he knew Zorin presented, even without any evidence.

Keeping his eyes on Zorin, he leaned in closer to Salvo, standing on his right. “Double check.”

The Nova Roman made a sound. “I have done so already, Commodore. No weapons, no contraband. It corroborates Captain Arrington’s own Security report.”

He nodded towards Zorin’s bodyguard, a hulking humanoid male in a tight-fitting old-fashioned mourning suit and an almost comical bowler hat, like some character from an ancient English drawing room comedy. “What about Man Mountain there?”

“Nothing… but the bioscans picked up some strange readings from him, some levels of genetic and cybernetic enhancement. He’s listed on the Moonraker’s records provided to us only as a ‘Mister Uberman’, an ‘odd job man’.”

“And we’re still on Full Alert?”

Salvo made another sound, prompting Sternhagen, on Hrelle’s left, to comment, “If we weren’t, Esek, you’d be the first to know. Don’t worry, we have all eyes on Zorin and his party while they’re here, and once the publicity bullshit is over, we’ll escort them back to the airlock and Lucille can take them to meet the ship coming for them.”

Their attention was drawn back to Zorin, who signalled to one of the twin blonde women acting as his personal assistants, who activated a holographic device, presenting an image of a starfield overhead, and a ring-shaped array in the centre. “And here you go, what you’ve all been waiting to see! Zorin Interstellar is honoured to present… the Ballista, what will certainly be the next step in transport and shipping for the Quadrant for generations to come!”

It triggered a flurry of increased interest among the correspondents… and in Hrelle. So that was what Zorin’s people were working on in his sector.

And Zorin lapped up the interest, as he continued. “Our engineers have perfected a means of catapulting ships and even cargo containers into a level of subspace called Null Space, a region which bypasses many of the energy and stressor limitations of normal high-warp travel.

What will this mean in practical terms? Many of you travelled with me from Starbase One to this sector; it took us two weeks… and that’s not even taking into account the frequent stops that self-indulgent types like myself always demand.” He paused while the small crowd responded with amusement. “But with the Ballista, that same journey could be accomplished in… two hours.”

He paused again, before accepting some questions from the group. In the rear, Hrelle frowned. “Could it be true? Could something like that work?”

Sternhagen shrugged. “I wouldn’t have thought so, but then I would have laughed at the quantum slipstream and transwarp drives being developed. It’ll be years before it passes all the required tests, but when it does, Zorin will be making more money than God.”

And we may all be having Max Zorin to thank for getting us around the Galaxy quicker, he mused. Assuming I don’t end up killing him first.

“It’s a shame,” Zorin himself was continuing. “That our first visit here must be short, but I do hope that this will not be our last. But before we adjourn to the al-Razi, I wanted to get to the real reason I insisted on our coming here: to thank the Starfleet officer responsible for the safety and security of this sector, and everyone and everything within it.” He raised a hand towards the rear of the Arboretum. “Commodore Esek Hrelle, could you do us the honour of joining me up here, please?”

Hrelle started, as all eyes and recording devices turned to him. His hackles rose, but he steeled himself as he started forward, Sternhagen whispering to him, “Try not to maul him in front of the cameras.”

He growled under his breath as he continued onward, ignoring everything else around him while keeping his eyes on Zorin, the man responsible for so much of the recent death and carnage in his new home. Closer now on the dais, he took in Zorin’s scent, smelled the genetic enhancements the man kept hidden from the public at large… and imagined smelling the psychosis behind the eyes as well.

Zorin, however, acted in full control of the proceedings, continuing to speak to the crowd. “Commodore Hrelle, I must admit to having a keen interest in meeting you in the flesh.”

Hrelle narrowed his gaze. “Should I be flattered or worried?”

Zorin offered a shallow laugh. “Flattered, I promise! You have an exceptional career behind you, a veteran commanding officer responsible for saving thousands of lives during the Dominion War, not to mention your achievements in saving your homeworld. And now you’re here, at the edge of the Federation borders, ensuring that any threats from the Kzinti, the Orions and who knows what else are kept at bay.  

I deeply regret the criminal actions taken by renegade members of my corporation involved in the Alkemy Project at Ucarru Major, and I wanted to declare publicly that from this day forward, there will be a new relationship between Zorin Interstellar and Starfleet.”

His expression shifted, grew more serious as he drew closer. “Commodore, upon our arrival here, I was made aware of a heinous attack on your wife, in your own home, by one of your own cadets. It drives home how precarious your lives are out here… and I wish you all the best.”

He held out his hand.

The attention from the media seemed to jump exponentially.

Hrelle felt the seconds stretch out to infinity.

Hrelle stepped forward and reached out his own paw.

They clasped.

He felt the hot iron strength, far greater than an ordinary human, beneath the skin.

The grip tightened, almost painfully.

Then Zorin suddenly leaned in closer, his mouth turned away from everyone’s view, as he whispered, “When I come back, I’ll disembowel your cunt wife personally, before I rape your daughter and skin your other kids alive.”

Hrelle froze.

And for a heartbeat, imagined tearing into Zorin’s throat, in front of everyone around the consequences.

Instead, he leaned back in, bared his teeth and growled in return, “Bring friends. A lot of them.”

Zorin kept smiling.

*

Zorin kept smiling as he and his party were escorted back to the al-Razi and her on their way. He kept smiling as he was left alone in his guest quarters with his personal assistants Dawn and Dusk Bauer, and his new bodyguard. He still held his open right hand away from his body as he ordered, “Scan.”

Uberman withdrew a scanner and moved quickly around the quarters, before reporting, “No monitors.”

He sat down at the room’s desk and rested his right hand, palm side upwards. “Get it off me.”

Dusk produced the concealed medikit from among the belongings taken from the Disco Volante, setting the equipment out. “It’s okay, Mr Zorin; Dr Orlok assured that the virus was tailored for Commodore Hrelle’s genetic signature, and won’t affect you or anyone else.”

Zorin grunted. “I’m not afraid; I simply don’t want any evidence left behind here to help him, or point back to us.” He looked up to see the twins exchange glances. “If you keep employing your telepathy in my presence, I’ll have one of you lobotomised.” 

They looked away, Dusk focusing on carefully removing the nanoderm patch on Zorin’s right palm, the patch containing Orlok’s latest creation, activating and transmitting to Hrelle when they shook hands – or is it hand and paw?

Zorin smirked to himself; he supposed it wouldn’t matter over the next couple of days. He knew there were safer ways to deliver the virus to Hrelle, but none more satisfying to Zorin, having the opportunity to meet him face to face.

Knowing he was killing Hrelle, even if Hrelle didn’t realise it at the time…

TO BE CONTINUED…