ACT 3
LATER, ABOARD THE FANTASY YACHT, IN THE LOWEST HABITABLE DECK
“Hey!” the deep, thickly accented voice echoed around the landing strut recess bay from several metres above.
Yip’s heart sank, half loathing, half petrified of this sudden if expected confrontation. She’d managed to put it off by physically avoiding Commander Struckchev for the last few days, but knew that he would catch up with her at some point. Yip realised how alone she was – she had hoped that the next time their paths crossed it wouldn’t be in such private, secluded surroundings as this.
The young Japanese Cadet – recently commissioned to the rank of Ensign ahead of her time – ordered herself to be confident and brave and looked up as the huge Commander slid down the ladder, naval-style, and his muscular frame powerfully superior. It was one of the things that had attracted her.
“At last I get to speak to you alone,” he said, sounding angry and threatening. He then grinned lewdly and advanced toward her.
Yip’s feelings about Struckchev had dramatically changed since coming aboard the Fantasy. She’d tried to make it obvious, several times, but he just wasn’t getting the message. ‘Attack is often the best form of defence’, she instructed herself and took a deep breath.
“Well, Commander, here we are again,” she almost spat the words, causing him to pause. Good move, she thought, time for a swift follow through. “When will you realise that there is nothing for you here? Whatever happened, it’s over now. And I don’t want to go back there.”
The Kosovan looked pained and surprised her with his emotive reply. “I thought you liked me?”
Yip stared into his dense brown eyes, briefly seeing the man she’d so admired and looked up to. “For a short while, I did. But not now, Commander, at least not in that way. I’m sorry if that hurts, but it’s the truth.”
“But we were so good together – you know that as well as I do. And we had a great time, didn’t we?” he beamed, his eyes ripping her clothes of with some nostalgia. The man was clearly hung up on her, and finding it hard to let go for some reason. “In fact, we had a REAL good time, no? You said so yourself – when we were in the pod together. Said you’d never thought that it could ever be that good between two people. There were times when even I thought that we might…well, never mind about that.”
Yip dropped her head – it was true she indeed had a deep infatuation for him. And there was no escaping the fact that Commander Struckchev was an attentive and adept lover. But there was also no getting away from the painful fact that ninety per cent of her enjoyment had come from the idea of secretly making out with a senior officer – and an Executive Officer at that. He was a great man to be with – but there was very little they actually had in common beyond sex. When she’d spoken those words to him, he was more than her lover; he was also her saviour and protector. It had taken several days alone with him for her to realise how little she actually liked him, and what a huge and stupid mistake she had made. The full sense of shame was only tempered by her acceptance that she was naïve in the art of love, and that her lust for the first man to truly make love to her had clouded her judgement beyond reason.
Everything, therefore, was different now. The fact that she and the Commander had survived the Papillon’s destruction had brought her nothing but feelings of shame and remorse. By association she couldn’t continue being his lover.
“But we could feel that again?” Struckchev pleaded, pathetically hopeful – almost textbook obsessed. Curious, Yip thought, for a man of his experience and maturity, but she could only then think of Struckchev’s initial dealings with Lirik. The way he had behaved, it just reaffirmed all of her realised feelings about him. There was no doubt in her mind that his ‘problem’ with her was more about the loss of their ship.
“No, Commander,” Yip insisted calmly. “And that’s final.”
“But we have a bond,” Struckchev retorted, sounding a little threatening again. “Something that no-one else on board has. Had we not been in that pod together, you and I, we would have been as utterly destroyed as everyone else. But instead, as we were making love we simultaneously cheated death-“
“I know what we were doing!” she screamed at him, the memory disgusted her now. The pinnacle of her humiliation was the very personal memory she carried of the auto-ejection of the pod, its acceleration driving him deeper inside as the ship had exploded behind them. During those first few seconds Yip had thought the Commander was merely playing with the environmental controls in order to heighten their experience.
How wrong she had been. As her shipmates – including her beloved cousin – had been incinerated, crushed, imploded and a whole host of other ghastly deaths, she’d experienced at the same moment the best ever climax. Worse, as she had been in the throws of passion, she felt Struckchev stop and withdraw – she had begged him to continue as he pulled away from her. She hadn’t believed him when he told her what had just happened – thought he was making some kind of brutal joke for some reason.
Her throat had grown a lump, but she pushed the words out. “It’s true…” Yip struggled, nodding back a tear defiantly. “It’s true that it’s something I’ll never forget. And it’s also true that I shared the event with you and no other. But that’s as far as it goes. In every other way, I feel unconnected to you now. Please, let this be in the past. It’s not something I want to be reminded of any more.”
The Kosovan studied her, oblivious to what she’d been saying. She shook her head – would he never understand?
“Look, Yip, it’s just…” he paused, fishing for the right things to say. He half smiled at her in a desperate attempt to win her over. “I feel so strongly about you. If …if we can’t be in love with each other any more, could we not just…keep each other company every now and again? I need you, Ensign.”
Yip stared at him in disbelief – she knew that her infatuation had felt like love, perhaps she even had loved him for a moment. But not now. Looking back, he’d never given her any indication that he loved her – so why say it now? Had he indeed fallen for her?
“It…it’s just a physical thing I’m talking about, you understand. You’re right, I don’t think that either of us could cope with more than that for the time being,” he reached toward her face. She pulled away slightly, his big knuckles softly brushing her cheek.
“Please, Commander,” she gently pushed his hand away, “you’re not listening to me. It’s OVER. Let’s just let things be.”
For a few moments, Yip didn’t know what to expect. Her heartbeat increased – he was looking at her so strangely she wasn’t sure if it was hate, but it scared her.
He launched toward her, thrusting a once-familiar thick finger almost into her face. “You’re too much, you know that?!” he bellowed – Yip let out a whelp at his violent outburst and jumped back.
The Kosovan just stood there, fists clenched and body shaking, staring at her hard. Yip became terrified, not sure of what he would do next.
“Fine!” he spat, turned and walked back to the ladder. She relaxed only slightly. He turned as he stepped onto the first rung, pointing his thick finger at her again. “You just made a BIG mistake, little lady.”
“Commander…” Yip pleaded, but he had already scaled beyond her eye line. “For God’s sake!” she shouted, more at herself than at him. She shook her head, wondering perhaps if she should report this, maybe confess to their method of escaping the Papillon and get everything out in the open. No, that would probably just make things worse, especially for Struckchev, and he was pushed to the limit as it was. She scoffed at herself – how could she feel such compassion toward him after his behaviour to her?
Then again, not coping with the situation on his part could mean a distraction – perhaps at a crucial moment. He could be a danger to the ship as much as to himself. In that respect, she had a duty to speak to someone about it.
* * *
B’DET OUTER BURBS
“Where are we going?” Lirik asked the young woman Vikris who sat opposite, weapon drawn and pointed right at him. She turned her head to look out through a crack in the drapes across a side window, ignoring him. The weasel-like youngster he’d come to know as Gradcuk was up front with an older man, directing him through the winding streets of the outer suburbs. From what Lirik had learned, the capitol was vast, as big as Helub, stretching so far across the planet that it almost joined up at the other side.
They journeyed in the same van that brought him to the hideout, and he’d been made to endure the long return journey in equal discomfort. Lirik studied Vikris. She was beautiful, a well sculptured face and the gait of a refined, proud woman soon to take up the mantle of Matriarch, he guessed.
“I’ve been thinking,” Lirik studied her, concentrating on every nuance. “Why would the gene clone have killed that woman Hauruk spoke of? Surely she would have been of more use alive – and I can’t believe that the K’Tani don’t have efficient methods of extracting information.”
Vikras humphed at Lirik’s ignorance. “It was a message. To the rest of us that our cards were marked. She’d stayed to keep an eye on us and ended up paying the ultimate price.”
“And she was the only one who stayed behind..?” Lirik asked quickly, nudging her along.
Vikris looked away – her body language answering his question.
“But Hauruk believes she was the only one?” Lirik probed.
“What does it matter to you what Hauruk thinks or doesn’t think?” she asked spitefully.
“Do you trust him?” Lirik fired another question.
“Of course I trust him!” she yelped – Gradcuk glanced through the curtain into the rear of the van.
“So why not tell him about the others?” Lirik asked. “Why keep such a thing from him?”
“Where fam… where certain matters are concerned,” Vikris gulped, realising her faux pas, “you learn to keep your lips firmly together.”
Lirik sat upright at this. “Can I meet with them?”
“What?!” Vikris was confused.
“Your family, whoever was involved in the former resistance,” Lirik urged quickly.
Vikris fell silent and stared out the window again. “You can’t. They disappeared,” she said, a tear welling in her eye. “Either killed, captured or possibly escaped, I’ve no idea.”
Lirik regarded her for a moment. “Well, you’re all alive,” he thought, “so if they were captured it’s doubtful you were compromised by them.”
Vikras shot him a dark look. ‘Who was it – her father? A brother?’ he wondered. She was strong, he realised, but there was pain and a youthful innocence – made worse by the fear of the unknown.
“From what I’ve seen your cell’s activities aren’t that effective,” Lirik changed his tac. “It must have been very hard carrying on where the former Cell left off.”
Vikras paused then nodded slowly. After several moments she decided to talk. “We tried gaining intel, but lacked the contacts. We’d hoped to somehow reach the Resistance network, but none of us was able to operate the comm. device. So we resorted to sabotage and divisive action, disinformation and any kind of remote protest we could manage. Just trying to stir up trouble and bring the matter to people’s attention. The Government weren’t going to. We weren’t short of helpers among our peer group, but we were short of direction, didn’t really know how to make a real difference. At least, until Hauruk came along.” Clearly she was enamoured by him.
Lirik looked forward at her two comrades. “Oh,” he said cautiously. “I assumed you all knew each other from before…when your parents were in the resistance?”
“Mostly, yes,” Vikras said. “But some were attached to other splinter groups who we’d never met. As he told you, Hauruk had come looking for us several months back, either to try and find his father or exact his revenge upon the gene clone...”
The half Medusan nodded slowly. “So,” he said slowly, “when did you decide to try and…er…’ping’ the resistance?”
Vikras looked him in the eye, trying to read him. “We’ve told you already, we didn’t,” she said clearly.
That changed everything for Lirik. If the young resistance cell hadn’t pinged Bel’s network, then who had? The old resistance were gone. It had to be the Gene Clone. But something didn’t add up.
“Then how?” he asked.
“How what?” she replied flatly.
“How was the resistance contacted?” Lirik asked. “I thought the devices the resistance used were unique – could not be reproduced?”
The B’Det woman shook her head. “I don’t know. Perhaps one of the devices remained intact. Or the K’Tani developed a way of synthesising the transmission.”
Lirik thought for a moment. Bel hadn’t suspected that might be the case, and if anyone would now, surely she would? Then: “This one of the three you mentioned, who was killed, did she have a device?”
Vikras looked at him bewildered. “I wouldn’t have thought so. It was thought too risky for the devices to be kept in one’s personal care. But if they weren’t all destroyed, it is possible that she may have known of its location.”
The Commander bit his lip and said urgently. “We need to find out for sure.”
The young woman opened her mouth to respond, but instead she looked down and then turned to stare out of the window at the passing scenery again.
“What..?” Lirik asked with a little trepidation.
She paused, and then turned to him. “I’m taking you to…some friends of ours, on the outskirts of the port.”
“For what purpose?” Lirik asked. He had been curious as to why they’d not be keen to talk more to him – at the least to interrogate him further about his identity and reasons for being on Apniania.
Vikris just looked at him, a pained expression on her face.
“What?!” Lirik snapped, shocked to the bone. “You can’t be serious…?”
She lifted her weapon partly as confirmation, and partly for her own reassurance. “I’m sorry,” was all she afforded him.
“Sorry?!!!” Lirik was stunned, and suddenly furious. “I came here to help the Resistance, not be killed by them!”
“We can’t be sure, we can’t take that risk,” Vikris apologised further. “I have my orders.”
“Your… orders…”Lirik flushed – it had been an order direct from Hauruk, then. It wasn’t her decision. The Englishman had faced similar peril before and lived to tell the tale – his Medusan energy had seen to that. He could easily have stopped Vikris in her tracks here and now, but decided on a different course of action for the present. There was always a risk in talking rather than acting, but there was more at stake here than his own personal safety. “It’s a bit harsh, don’t you think? You said yourself that I could be telling the truth,” Lirik didn’t want to sound pleading, but he did feel an affinity with Vikris and hoped she’d listen. “Look, I know it’s difficult to trust me, but frankly we have more pressing matters to deal with. I really can help you.”
“Even if I were to trust you, how exactly could you do that?” she demanded incredulously, knowing all too well that this alien had nothing to offer her right now except the risk of exposure. She trusted Hauruk implicitly. True, she’d only known him for months, but Lirik, this odd alien, she’d only known for a few hours. She had her orders and she meant to carry them out, even though they made her feel very uncomfortable.
Lirik slumped into the wall of the vehicle, his powers of persuasion were about to be tested to the limit.
“Why do you think your parents decided to put their lives on the line?” He watched her stare at him defiantly. “Look, I’m not patronising you. I’m just saying they had to take risks, make gambles often based on trust alone. Can you not afford me the same? If you kill me, that’s one less person willing to stand up and fight against the K’Tani. Alive, I could help you forge links with the resistance anew – get more communication devices to –“
“Hauruk has convinced us all that this latest K’Tani occupation is far worse than the previous one. Given the Gene Clone incursion and what happened to the former resistance, he thinks that for the present we should limit our cause to issues concerning only the B’Det,” she repeated. “So why should we bother contacting the outside at this point?”
Lirik stared at her hard – she sounded like she was trying to convince herself that Hauruk was right. “Because your parents thought it was important enough to risk their lives for. In the fight against the K’Tani, you cannot stand alone. Surely you realise that? So… what, you’re going to listen to just one man’s vision of what should be done? Kill an ally in cold blood just because he says I can’t be trusted?” It was true, Lirik realised. This Hauruk wasn’t good for the resistance if he was going to be so xenophobic. Or was there more to it than that? A thought then occurred to him.
“Vikris,” he said as gently and heartfelt as he could. “I’m pleading with you. For the sake of all our futures you need to trust me.”
She shook her head, near breaking point but clinging on to the things that were simple and familiar. “I can’t…I’m sorry.”
“Stop being sorry,” Lirik barked angrily, “and start acting, woman! Good grief, you’re no murderer. And that’s what you’ll be if you take me to that place.”
The two men at the front of the vehicle were aware of the tension rising behind them and began peering into the rear.
“Everything all right?” the driver said, reaching for a weapon.
Vikris paused, staring at Lirik with a wicked look. “No,” she said harshly, leaning toward the curtain. Lirik swallowed – this could be it, his final journey. She beckoned Gradcuk into the back of the van and to one side and began whispering with him frantically. He seemed surprised – outraged even. They argued, thrusting fingers in Lirik’s direction. She seemed to win the argument as Gradcuk dropped his eyes and nodded. She picked up some kind of data/telecom device and entered in a number of commands and keyed code words. She gave it to her associate. He paused and she urged him to agree. Reluctantly he took the device and nodded.
“There’s a change of plan,” she called to the driver, but turned to face the Englishman. “Take us back into town, to the space port’s main docking dome.”
It surprised the big man. “Are you sure, Vikris? I thought Hauruk had made it clear we were to-“
“Never mind that,” Gradcuk said as he climbed into the passenger seat in the cockpit once more. “We have an urgent matter to attend to first.” The driver still hesitated.
“I gave you an order, Jellus,” she snapped.
“Okay, okay,” he supplicated, “you’re the boss.”
Lirik felt the vehicle turn and Vikris half smiled at him.
“Thank you,” he said. “So where are we going now?” he asked, more hopeful of an answer that involved more longevity.
“To meet someone,” she said conspiratorially. “She’ll be able to determine what best to do with you.”
The Yeoman Commander was confused. “But… who? I thought you said that all the former resistance had gone?”
“All the operatives have gone, yes,” she said honestly.
Clearly this was someone else then, Lirik realised, someone with close ties to the former resistance and someone trustworthy.
“Will she want to see you?” he asked, thinking her logic may be flawed.
“We are still their children,” she replied cryptically. Gradcuk glanced back through the curtain at this, giving Lirik a violently challenging stare.
Lirik nodded slowly. “Thank you – both of you.”
He thought about the use of possible countermeasures, even now. Vikris had been open and honest with him, but it was important the Commander didn’t drop his guard. As in poker, he liked to have as many ‘outs’ as possible. Undoubtedly there was more afoot than at first appeared, possibly risking not just himself but the other members of the away team, and he had no time for complacency.
Vikris, despite her change of heart, still had her weapon trained on him. She noticed Lirik glance at it. “Look, I may have given you a reprieve,” she explained, “but really, I can’t go against Hauruk just on your say so.”
“So… you don’t trust him absolutely then?” Lirik challenged her.
She tensed up, annoyed. “Don’t forget who is holding the weapon,” she growled. “I can tell what you’re trying to do, and frankly I would rather make up my own mind.”
“One last question, then,” Lirik pushed.
She groaned at his persistence but waved the weapon at him. “What?”
“Why do you suppose Hauruk ordered me to be killed?” Lirik had been mulling this question and had his own ideas.
She gritted her teeth. “You are obviously trying to tell me your own theory, so why don’t you just get on with it?”
“No need to get huffy, miss,” Lirik snapped at her. “You’ve intimated already that you don’t trust him completely yourself, am I right?”
Her lips tightened. “I’ve known Hauruk for long enough to know that he wouldn’t have made the decision unless he thought it absolutely necessary. Now let’s leave it at that for now.”
Lirik nodded. The seed had been planted, that was enough for the time being. Vikris would probably mull it over in her head – if she were clever, she might just see the truth. If not, hopefully this more experienced person they were about to visit would have a good deal more judgement.
* * *
UITALI ARIDAY
Jackson stared back at the slightly swaying bloated female.
“What was that?” she stared at her hand where the hypospray had contacted her.
“A drug to counteract the effects of White Temple,” Jackson said in half truth. “My name is Sarah Louise Jackson, ma’am,” Jackson wouldn’t hide any more. “Despite appearances I’m Human, one of many races that belong to the Federation of Planets-“
“The Federation, yes,” the Matriarch nodded. “I read about the many races that were coming through the wormhole to Vekaria.” She looked Jackson up and down. “You may be built like a Matriarch but I can see your military training just in the way you carry yourself. So if you are military and a part of the Federation, then I’d guess that puts you in your Star Fleet, then?”
Jackson was stunned. “Forgive me, Matriarch, but I’m shocked that you know us in such detail – I thought you had been under the influence of White Temple for some considerable time?”
The Matriarch hung her head. “That is true. But the effects don’t lessen the sharpness of the mind, or the ability to absorb and retain information. For many a day I sit in front of the newscasts for hours on end – the B’Det reported widely on the alien ship configurations and alternative technologies and how they may benefit our trade industry.”
“I see,” the Commodore wondered how she’d kept sane.
“And what was your designation in this Star Fleet?” the woman scrutinised Jackson.
“Tell me, do you have Admirals in the B’Det Fleet?” Jackson hinted.
The Matriarch was impressed. “Well, of course – so you are..?” she had an expression that didn’t quite believe Jackson.
“Well I’m a Commodore, a bit like a very low-ranking Admiral. I was assigned to Helub in the second wave of ships to come through the former wormhole, to head up the establishment of temporary Starfleet Headquarters in the Outer Zone, and act as regional base commander until a more permanent staff could arrive,” the Commodore noticed the Matriarch hide a smirk at the colloquial name for the region. “I brought with me a staff of 57, with dozens of additional administrators to support the various services. Our residence was part of an elevated section of Helub, in the old Fortress, and so I presume was one of many primary targets when the K’Tani attacked. Due to a strange quirk of fate, I wasn’t there at the time. I believe that I am the only survivor of my group. In fact, it’s a miracle that anyone survived,” Jackson drifted slightly. “I…I lost my son in the invasion, Matriarch. At least, I believe I did. He may have survived, and while I live in hope, I have also come to terms with the fact that he may well have been killed, or indeed captured by the K’Tani.”
Politely not dwelling on the subject, the Matriarch prompted further: “And you came to be in B’Det space, how exactly?”
Jackson swallowed, focusing on the mission once again. “Several weeks after our initial escape we made contact with the former Resistance. Or rather, they made contact with us. Sort of…anyway, the point is that in a sense we have by default allied ourselves with what’s left of the Resistance. Our ultimate goal is the liberation of our people. And to that end I am here with a small team to re-establish contact with the Resistance Cell on B’Det.”
“Are you mad?!” she spat haughtily – there was still a whiff of alcohol about her, her eyes still mildly glazed from a combination of medication and emotion. “If any of you are found, there’s no telling what might become of you, let alone the plight of any of the Cell’s members.”
“Matriarch-” Jackson began.
“Please, address me by my name, Deviga,” the Matriarch instructed.
“We strongly suspect that the Resistance is still at large, but that they may be in danger from a K’Tani gene clone,” Jackson explained. “While I can perfectly understand the need to remain anonymous, the Resistance won’t be able to function against the K’Tani without feedback from the B’Det cell. Moreover, Deviga, I believe that the K’Tani may be attempting to fuel the rift between the Border regions and the Home world systems. The cell must re-form and try everything it can to prevent this from happening. If they could start a civil war, then they could possibly invade B’Det space as well.”
“A gene clone… so it finally happened,” Deviga stood and paced the room. “I understand, of course, but I’m afraid you’re talking to the wrong person. I was never a part of the Resistance – it was… my husband.”
“Can you not contact his associates?” Jackson asked.
The Matriarch began to sob. Jackson went to her to comfort her. Despite their enormous differences and the level of risk involved, both women felt a moment of humanoid bonding – a female link borne of motherhood and loss. ‘Was that it?’ Jackson wondered, glancing at the photograph of Keylar and her two brothers on the side table.
“What happened to your sons?” she asked carefully, thinking them the key to getting some answers.
The Matriarch rubbed her eyes dry and shook her head. “Ah…” she sighed heavily, looking for the strength to talk, but couldn’t find the words. She nodded toward the closed doorway. “My daughter is a saint,” she said croakily, choosing it as the most important subject right now, one that pained her on a daily basis. “She keeps me going, gives me the strength to carry on, even though I just want to fall apart. That’s why I can’t tell her the truth about her brothers. She would… never forgive me..” she sobbed again.
The Commodore peered at the older woman over her glasses. Did she mean they were dead? She waited for Deviga to continue of her own accord.
“Like any good parent, I simply wanted to protect my children,” she said in weak justification. “My husband, though, he was… well, he was different; passionate, with deep convictions. He didn’t believe in hiding from the truth. When our children were small, he sat me down one night and tried to tell me all he had learned about the K’Tani from his associates and cousins. I didn’t believe him, of course, but then I didn’t worry because even if what he talked about was true, well, I foolishly felt it didn’t concern us, that it was all happening so far away. If anything, I was grateful to the Border Regions for making a pact with the K’Tani that would keep us apart from what was happening across all of Qovakia,” she shook her head mournfully.
“How wrong I was. Still, my husband was determined to be involved and wouldn’t be persuaded otherwise. He joined the Resistance movement and there was nothing I could do or say to stop him. I didn’t understand at first. It felt like he’d joined some mad sect that I had no sympathy for or understanding of. To be honest, my only concerns were for the business and our children – and to that end at least I had his agreement that we would keep his true identity and his activities a closely guarded secret.”
“Then, some time later, when the official reports of the atrocities began to reach the main populace, well, I saw then that he had been right all along. And of course, I loved him so much,” she smiled at the memory of him as her lover, friend and the man she bonded to – despite her own beliefs in the Matriarchal society. “I couldn’t abandon him, it wouldn’t have been right. But neither could I involve myself. So I turned a blind eye, pretended he had nothing to do with the Resistance, though I constantly remained concerned for our children of course. As did he.”
The next question was so obvious Jackson felt it hard to ask. “So… where is he now?” Mulcro hadn’t gone into detail so she hoped the Matriarch would fill her in.
“Despite being a covert operative, an information peddler mostly, he did occasionally carry out singular activities of direct action,” she explained, her face deadpan and angry. “In fact, I believe in time he became the best operative they had. His involvement was never compromised, and we successfully lived the lie for some years. But when the tide had begun to turn against the K’Tani, he came to me early one morning, clenched me tight and told me that despite things seeming to look like they were getting better, the Resistance had become aware of activities in the Border Regions involving the creation of Gene Clones.
“They knew they would be coming to central B’Det one day, even if the K’Tani fell, so the Cell decided that if that situation arose then they would go to ground, and just leave a group of three of the most senior members to maintain contact with the Resistance. But because he was my Concubine, it wouldn’t have been right for him to just leave me, it would have caused a lot of gossip and intrigue. The only option was to go away – but as that may raise as much suspicion, the best way he felt was to arrange his own death – and before the K’Tani fell. It would be the perfect cover for him to disappear and continue his work. He told me it was the only way, and no-one was to know except myself and Mulcro. I objected very strongly, of course, but he insisted – for the sake of our children. He hoped that one day things would change and we could be together again.”
“I had no choice in the matter. I couldn’t live on B’Det’s home world after that. So I moved with my children and employees as far away as I could. But I have returned occasionally for business, hoping that he would come visit me or send me a message somehow. He never has.
“Then, some months ago, on a trip to Apniania, my sons befriended other children of parents who belonged to the Resistance. They learned of their father’s involvement with the Resistance and of his true fate. Needless to say their reaction was… well, it was awful. They hated me for hiding the truth from them, and decided they wanted to join the Resistance Cell and find their father.
“They told me they’d learned that he had ‘disappeared’ at the same time as one other, and a female called Tulana Yarid. Despite all my attempts at persuading them otherwise, they turned their backs on me and the family business. I begged and pleaded with them not to commit themselves to such a dangerous cause… but there was no stopping them,” she hung her head. “Eventually I had to concede but only on the condition that they did not and would not jeopardise their sister’s future. So they finally agreed to pretend to go to the Border regions, and that’s what she still believes. When I’d heard of Tulana’s death, I assumed the worst. And I feared for my sons, as much as for my husband, which is partly why we are here now.”
“Do you have a way of contacting them?” Jackson asked.
Deviga shrugged. “Possibly. I requested a mutual contact to try and request a secret meeting, or at least learn if they were still alive, but since then the effects of the White Temple have been getting worse.”
Now was the moment, Jackson realised. “Look, she said, “I know things are very hard for you. I sympathise totally. But I really need to make contact with the Resistance. Without an information conduit from B’Det the rest of the Resistance may as well pack up and go home to wait the for the K’Tani to come calling.” She saw the approach wasn’t working. “Please, you are my only hope.”
The Matriarch considered her for a moment, and then took time to blow her nose hard. She reached for a nearby bottle of alcohol and poured two glasses. “I tell you what,” she said in a manipulative pleading tone. “I’ll make a deal with you.”
“A... a deal?!!” Jackson was outraged.
“If you help my daughter with her contract negotiation, I’ll see what I can do,” Deviga half smiled, a pathetic look to the Commodore.
Jackson snatched the two glasses and tossed them across the room, jolting fear into Deviga. “Your daughter needs you,” Jackson said sternly, “you’ve seen the stress she’s under. Only a Matriarch can do this – and you know for a fact that I’m no Matriarch.”
“I…I can’t, I’m sorry,” she said, looking hungrily at the bottle. “I just can’t do it anymore.”
“Please, even if you won’t help me, then help your daughter,” Jackson pleaded. “You owe her that much.”
The Matriarch stared at her, weighing up the possibilities, but shook her head. “Even if I wanted to, it’s too late. I am now dependent on White Temple and the side effects will return soon enough, if not death.”
Jackson pursed her lips. “Deviga, how do you feel?”
“What?” the Matriarch looked puzzled. But then she realised, there were no craving feelings for the drug. Her mind was as clear now as it was minutes ago. “I don’t understand,” she looked at the back of her hand, trying to spot where the hypospray had invisibly connected.
“It’s not temporary countermeasure, ma’am. It was an antidote.”
* * *
INDUSTRIAL DISTRICT
O’Hara and Souveson sat upright, hands tied behind their backs. They were on the damp floor of an automated municipal waste disposal plant immersed in a fog of foul smelling decay. Any normal Starfleet officer would have wretched, but both women had experienced worse: Souveson had grown up on a collective and all the farmyard smells that went with it, while O’Hara had inhaled more than her fair share of death and sceptic wounds. The facility’s small docking bay was set high up in the processing tower, and remained open to the elements, and so available for their assailants to make use of. O’Hara wondered if the men were planning to throw them into the waste grinders below and instinctively fantasised about how it might feel to die that way.
“Come on then,” Chell stood a few feet from them, silhouetted by the golden dusk outside, gripping his weapon tightly, but not pointing it at them. “Let’s have it. Who are you?”
The women remained silent. Chell looked to his mate and they both chuckled. “Okay, I’ll tell you, shall I?” he beamed sadistically. “You’re part of Starfleet, come here to make contact with the Resistance. Well,” he held his palms toward them, “you’ve found us.”
Souveson and O’Hara exchanged a look of surprise, but still neither commented.
“We know that your vessel is transmitting false ID,” the other man said in that distinct tone of someone who held all the aces. The two women visibly balked at this. “Oh yes, we’ve been watching you since you arrived. You’re taking a huge risk in coming to our world, you know.”
“And it’s a risk that’s not limited just to yourselves,” Chell growled angrily. “You’ve put us all in danger.”
“Hey!” Souveson snapped, unable to contain herself. “We were responding to YOUR hail…” too late the French Canadian rookie realised she’d perhaps been tricked into divulging information, albeit limited.
“We didn’t send that call,” Chell strode back and forth in front of them, agitated. “That came, we believe, from the gene clone. He took the device from an associate of ours after he’d slowly murdered her.”
“’He?’” O’Hara blurted – she was annoyed with Souveson’s lack of restraint, but these men were her main focus right now. She wasn’t convinced they were who they said they were, and she wasn’t about to give any more away than necessary. Still, with their hands tied, she felt the need to gain some room for manoeuvre.
“We believe we’ve correctly identified the Gene Clone,” the other man said, scowling at Souveson, “and it is a male.”
“Why would the K’Tani want to Ping the Resistance?” O’Hara asked, having several plausible answers lined up in her head.
“Obvious,” Chell warned her, moving in close to her face. “To lure as many resistance members out into the open as possible.” He looked between O’Hara and Souveson, then produced a device and ran it over them. “Just to be absolutely sure,” he verified. Done, he moved behind them and untied their hands – an act of good faith, it seemed. “Even before the clone arrived on Apniania our organisation agreed it best to go to ground. Unfortunately, our offspring had other ideas. The three of us agreed to keep an eye on the youngsters, try and carry on the work as best we could and hone them to take our place. But it didn’t last long. The clone was too clever for us and we were exposed. So we two…disappeared, although our associate wasn’t so lucky. We watch the cell as much as we can, feed them information occasionally via unsuspecting third parties. Your missing man…” Chell watched both faces look at him in surprise. “He’s been taken prisoner by them.”
* * *
UITALI ARIDAY
“Are you well, Matriarch?” Keylar asked as Jackson approached her.
“I’ve done my best,” the Commodore said mischievously. “But I don’t think there’s any getting through to her.”
Keylar hung her head, and then looked up gratefully – the pain all over her face. “Thank you for trying. I’m sure if she had been able she would have.”
“There’s life in the old bint yet, young lady,” the older Matriarch walked into the low seating area, beaming.
“Mother!” Keylar was genuinely shocked and pleased, as was Jackson. Not least because it seemed the mother had both applied make up and changed into a more business like suit of black and grey. It took decades off her.
She approached her daughter and placed both hands on either side of her head. She bent forward and kissed her on the forehead. “That’s just to tell you that I love you very much.” She pulled away. “I’m so sorry I’ve not been myself lately.”
“It’s okay mother, I-“ Keylar didn’t care about any explanation, but the Matriarch had her pride and interrupted swiftly.
“No, it’s not okay, my daughter,” she said. “Not at all. Now, I believe we have a business meeting to attend. Matriarch…Yarid will accompany us.”
The old woman steadily walked toward the ship’s exit, allowing Keylar to provide much needed physical support.
The Commodore smiled and followed.
* * *
USS FANTASY, NOW BACK IN B’DET SPACE
“Here we go then,” Christian pressed the relevant keys and felt a brief scan-beam pass over him. The turbocar gave two gentle bongs and descended a short way, doors swishing open to reveal a glossy, bright corridor; walls and ceiling panels a brilliant white, the floor a glassy black.
“According to the database, this is Alpha Deck. It contains maximum security VIP quarters with a number of adaptable rooms for all manner of purposes,” Leonard gabbled eagerly, his German accent sharply cutting through. “It also houses an emergency bunker with Bridge capability and… conventional access to the Captain’s Launch at the forward most part of the deck.”
Christian led the way, a part of him wishing he’d armed himself. The corridors were cushioned with soft panels of a shiny plastic looking material, all controls and plant accesses hidden behind, giving a hollow, almost eerie feel to the deck. In either direction the corridors turned sharp corners a short distance away. The Captain walked cautiously ahead, going forward, following a double bend into a longer, curved corridor. Although he hadn’t seen any, he was sure they had passed doorways, also presumably cleverly concealed behind the uniform panelling. The corridor angled inwards and then straight forward again, ending in a very obvious looking armoured door – presumably access to the bunker. The duranium super reinforced access had been similarly lacquered in a clean white coating.
The Captain was scanned a second time from a probe carefully hidden in an overhead crack between the cushioned panels and the main overhead lighting strips, There was a very short hiatus before the local net successfully patched into the newly installed command codes and recognition sequences. Nevertheless, the computer wanted more, asking for a retina and a palm scan before it acceded (cross-referencing with the current Medical database as updated by O’Hara and her team – Ed).
The thick, triple-reinforced bulkhead doors slid slowly apart, internal lights flickering on as powered by a crude, independent power system. It was stale and austere inside – and clearly not meant for more than a handful of personnel. Leonard was entranced by the strange, ultra-tamper-proof mechanics and control systems harking back to pre-Daystrom computing. Though not the most efficient technology, it was the most sturdy, built for longevity. Accessing schematics, it seemed that the bunker was a tablet-shaped hunk of super-strong alloy that could potentially withstand catastrophic failure. ‘A habitable black box,’ the Captain mused.
A rapid fifteen minutes later the entire deck had been scantly searched by Leonard and Christian. There was little obvious booty in the bunker, though they expectedly found a number of packs of emergency rations, along with all the usual standard survival equipment, and all Starfleet in origin. Having swiftly worked out how to identify doorways, elsewhere they discovered the deck was mostly empty – although they found a curious box of children’s toys in one room, and stacks and stacks of ancient Earth paperback books in another, trash fiction mostly.
“Lirik will be disappointed he missed this discovery,” Leonard commented wryly to the Captain. “There are still all the storage compartments to search. And we still have a good few hidden decks to explore, Captain. Do you have a preference which one shall we go to next?”
“Sadly I have other duties to perform right now, Commander,” Christian replied. “And with the Commodore and Chief Purser off the ship, I’m the only one able to gain direct access for you.”
“Oh..?” Leonard didn’t follow.
“As in, further exploration will have to wait until their return. Besides, I would rather all crew remain at their posts for the time being – the longer we hang around here, the greater the chance of discovery.”
* * *
MAIN DOME, APNIANIA
Lirik was frogmarched from a vehicle park just outside the dome some three hundred metres to a subterranean transport tube. Vikris made sure to walk the group to the back end of the platform so as to be on an empty carriage. The Commander couldn’t quite believe his luck that they had brought him all the way back to the location of his ship, though he couldn’t help wonder where exactly he was being taken.
A short journey later they debarked. The group hung back, allowing all the other occupants of the travel cars to disperse ahead of them. They headed straight up into the ground floor of the outer ring, passing through the inner ring, and then descended a couple of flights onto the main dome floor and the walkways crisscrossing the many births. Lirik got his bearings straight away and eyeballed his ship. He wondered whether Narli might be able to see him.
However, the group hurried apace in the opposite direction, finally reaching a boarding conduit. While Lirik was kept close at hand by the others, pretending to be a tourist party gawping at the ships above and around them, Gradcuk rushed over to the comm. panel. After a couple of minutes he returned.
“She’s not here,” Lirik heard him say, “she left a short while ago with her General, my sister and another Matriarch.”
“Do you know where they’ve gone?” Vikris asked, looking all around as if trying to spot them.
“Pilot thinks they have gone to the old Negotiating Temple,” he said quickly.
“That’s not far, come on,” Vikris snapped and they continued to walk toward the other side of the dome.
As they hurried along, Lirik decided to try and engage with Vikris again – he’d had some time to deliberate all the facts accrued so far.
“This leader of yours,” Lirik stated in observational tone, “he’s not like the rest of you, is he?” He saw Vikris stiffen slightly, she was clearly uncomfortable with the subject, perhaps because she was disobeying his orders, partly he guessed because she felt something for him, and yet the seed of distrust planted some time ago was clearly sprouting some doubt in her.
“As I told you, Hauruk is from the Border Regions,” she said, her voice immediately raising an octave. “He grew up with different freedoms, a totally different perspective on life as a B’Det. He was apart from his father most of his life, it’s natural that he seems different to us.”
“But you haven’t known him for that long?” Lirik probed.
She looked sideways at him, half smiling. “Trust me, he’s one of us.”
Lirik fixed a look of serious compassion on his face. “How can you be so very sure?” she looked away and swallowed – she was uncertain, Lirik felt encouraged by that. He wondered about the next statement and decided it would be as far as he would push on this occasion. Any more and she could suspect he was over egging the pudding. “Tell me, has Hauruk been tested with your device?”
“What?!” she shot him an angry glare. Again, the swallow. “Why should we test it on our own?”
“In fact, how do you even know it’s genuine?” Lirik went over the brink. “Have you ever successfully identified a gene clone with it?”
*
As the group continued toward the outer wall of the dome, a small black shuttle silently swooped through an outer conduit nearly a kilometre behind them and skimmed above the surface of the dome following a standard taxi lane. It paused to descend near to ground level, dropping a half dozen black-clad figures next to the entrance of the Uitali Ariday before turning and making its way to the G’Vorn Spring where it dropped a half dozen more, and then sped off out through the nearest exit.
ACT 4
Bored within minutes of his colleagues’ latest departure, Lt Cmdr Narli had been relieved to discover a head-mounted monitor in the pilot’s booth that patched in to the ship’s sensors and presumably allowed the pilot to leave his post while still monitoring those and other controls. He configured the device to additionally stream the various media channels he’d been studying onto the device’s eyepiece and went about exploring the ship. Starting at the lowest level, he’d wiled away a long time pouring over a number of curious alien artefacts in the cramped hold space, particularly one amusing antiquated anti-grav back pack. But it was the galley stores that had proven the greatest distraction.
The large flat box of sugary confection had prompted him to slip into cosiness on the saloon sofa on the deck above and continue to scan through the local media channels in a more relaxed, reclined fashion. Narli had eaten seventeen of the fondant filled candy. They were completely delicious, and he deeply regretted his race’s inherent sweet tooth.
Beep beep beep beeeeeeeeep!
Narli bolted up from the sofa, nearly choking on the melting candy, and feeling a little pain in his belly. The noise, one of several he and his shipmates had been instructed on, had been the unmistakable sound of the proximity alarm.
He quickly fiddled with the control on the head-mounted panel and patched into the ship’s security system, watching on the eyepiece as the images scanned around the perimeter of the ship. Instantly his heckles went up. Five short but slender, fully masked, black-clad humanoids surrounded the ship from various positions, three of them armed, two carrying larger devices of some sort. He zoomed in on one individual: its eyes were hidden behind a black visor, although he could clearly see the clothing was padded and constructed not of one piece of material but many, a patchwork of sorts – much the same as the K’Tani uniforms but without any colour; presumably this was some kind of stealth field uniform, Narli thought. He was very surprised that a contingent of K’Tani would be so bold as to expose themselves in the B’Det’s capitol city. But then again, he mused, that’s exactly what he and the others of the Fantasy away team were doing.
The image fizzed and turned to static as a muffled clunk-thump sounded on the outer hull – not a knock, as such, but rather something metallic attaching itself magnetically. A second clunk-thump followed the first.
The Andorian darted for the ladder and scaled it to the cockpit as fast as he could manage and ditched the headpiece. He checked the internal systems. The devices were somehow disrupting the ship’s power, the drain concentrating around the main airlock. The veteran thought for several moments – he afforded the rarest of smiles, thinking this to be just like the old days. But as he thought, he also chastised himself as precious seconds were passing.
Narli’s plan of action fell into place instinctively. He disabled all the vessel’s safety settings, set the main engine and all internal systems to catastrophic overload, then activated the environmental systems to vent all the hydrogen available, before isolating the retro engine systems and setting them on a timer to fire in 90 seconds. As soon as the clock began its countdown he flew into action.
He descended the ladder to the saloon, hearing the exhausts begin to chuck out huge billows of gas from the ship’s underside. It must have caused his would-be attackers to retreat, at least to the ladder on the side of the wall, he guessed. Unless, he thought, their uniforms were designed for hazardous areas – which, on balance, they probably were.
The Ambassador took his opportunity, grabbed the anti-grav back pack plus a large hooded cloak and gloves he’d discovered in the clothing locker and donned them quickly. He slipped under the deck into the hold below, choking slightly on the poisonous atmosphere, and then manually opened the emergency access hatch on the ship’s underside.
As he dropped under the ship, he felt the heat instantly, the moist air soaking his clothing. He slipped the back pack over his shoulders, a split second after which he sensed with his antennae a figure move sharply toward him, a weapon being used as a club. The Andorian intercepted the weapon with ease, kicking the individual sharply in the chest and disarming him at the same time. He cleared the side of the ship and activated the anti grav to full power. The straps near cut through his armpits as he shot straight up, high above the dissipating cloud of steam and almost into the path of an advancing tug.
Too soon, the device bleeped wildly and Narli realised that the power cell was almost totally out. Amazingly, his tall, be-cloaked flying form had not been noticed as it arced up and over several docking bays before dropping him down to a walkway dozens of metres from his ship’s birth. He touched down and turned in time to see the vessel flash white and orange and explode upwards and outwards. Auto containment force fields immediately deployed to restrict the powerful blast radius and sirens erupted all around him.
Narli didn’t want to hang about as he looked suspicious enough just by his attire – if he hadn’t been spotted already. He looked around frantically. Two choices, he felt – disappear into the port and try to make contact with his shipmates, or try and find the ship the Commodore had gone to. The first way he felt too dangerous – a tall blue man with antenna would stick out a mile, and he couldn’t stay covered up indefinitely. So with a speedy but hopefully not too obviously hurried stride he headed toward the vessel Jackson had described to them.
* * *
MAIN MEDICAL FACILITY, PASSENGER SECTION, THE FANTASY
Christian walked casually into the triage glancing around. It seemed empty, but presently a duty orderly came scurrying out of an ante-room – more so when she saw who it was.
“Captain,” she said, worried, “what’s wrong?”
“I’m fine, Crewman…?” he prompted the fifty something Chochoban.
“Avlis,” the woman responded, her seemingly two-dimensional features attempting something akin to a smile.
“I’m looking for Nurse Wheezy,” he said, dropping his voice slightly.
“She’s in the morgue with the Professor,” Avlis gestured to the rear of the facility. “They’re expecting you.”
“Thank you Crewman,” he said, then as gently as possible added: “but please, refer to our Science Chief by her rank in future.”
“Of course,” she said in abject apology, “I’m so sorry Captain.”
“No harm done,” Christian said, “you’ll get used to Starfleet protocol soon enough.”
She nodded and turned, with the look that she would go and study it right there and then – which was more than likely knowing the keen-to-please Chochoban race. A single star system they boasted some of the most intelligent individuals in all of Qovakia. Though they were often bumbling, awkward and socially introverted, they were also uniquely adaptable, almost empathic, to new situations. And since coming aboard all the Chochoban had changed to suit the situation, becoming have-a-go-at-anything types and as such total team players. Not a single Chochoban failed to volunteer for duty, and their contribution was having a significant impact.
The morgue was located one deck down, surprisingly large for essentially a Luxury Passenger vessel – although his reaction was immediately justified by Lieutenant Karnak, explaining that the morgue doubled up as a species and botany analysis centre.
With systems back on line, in O’Hara’s absence and on Christian’s instruction, Nurse Wheezy and the Professor had carried out a more detailed autopsy on the Qovakian individuals murdered and stashed in the turbocar discovered on Deck One shortly after their flight from Helub. Each appeared to have been killed by a humanoid hand that had penetrated their chests and squashed their hearts.
“In short,” Wheezy explained the complicated data displayed on the main viewscreen, “the hand may be Humanoid but it’s far from Human-like.”
She tapped several controls and a holo-image of a claw-like hand appeared – though it seemed metallic.
“Is that a glove?” Christian asked, “Or are the image generators not functioning?”
“No,” Wheezy said, “this is how the hand would look. We’ve been able to conduct in-depth analyses on the three Vekarian Senate corpses, and despite their state of decomposition the data is most conclusive. From what we can extrapolate, the hand or hands that killed them looked just like this. It may look metallic, but it’s more likely some kind of chitin or armour plating – much like that of an Armadillo or the Humanoid equivalent.”
* * *
APNIANIA, MAIN DOME
Chell, Souveson and O’Hara stepped out of the small transport which they had temporarily parked some distance from their intended destination in a short-stay area. Better to approach on foot, Chell had recommended. As they mounted the network of walkways crisscrossing the ground births, the smouldering ship in the distance gave both women a sinking feeling – more so when they couldn’t spot the pinnacle of their distinctive cone-shaped ship in the same area.
“Oh my God,” Souveson whispered, realising it was the remains of the G’vorn Spring.
O’Hara wondered if Narli had been aboard – she turned to Souveson and saw the younger officer was ashen.
“Your vessel is unlikely to have been destroyed by a bomb,” Chell informed them. “And conventional weapon discharge would have immediately triggered alarms.”
“Our colleague may have self destructed the vessel,” O’Hara guessed, hoping to at least give Souveson a little hope from the situation. “I mean, from what the Captain, Commodore and Lirik have said about him, I hardly think that Narli would have been caught off guard.”
The short Canadian barely nodded, watching the wisps of white smoke billowing from the pit in the distance. Hours earlier she’d thought of the quirky ship as her only way off the planet – now that it was gone she felt even more vulnerable and sick to the pit of her stomach.
O’Hara placed a reassuring grip on Souveson’s shoulder, but the security officer just stared at the scene. Curiously, there were no sirens or any appearance of panic, just a gaggle of approaching small worker-type craft joining the fire control teams. Traffic passed as normal above and around them, and other people walked casually along the many walkways – as if this was completely normal.
Chell pre-empted her. “It’s possible the Gene Clone may have done this – though it’s unlikely the authorities would guess at foul play. In a port this size with so many vessels coming and going, occasional disastrous accidents aren’t uncommon.”
“So… what do we do now?” Souveson asked the older Starfleet officer.
The Lieutenant looked at her, feeling that curious maternal rush when a rookie lets you know they’re relying on you. O’Hara then thought of her unborn child, and felt a distant pang of guilt.
“We continue as planned,” Chell answered for her. “This way.”
* * *
DOME – SOME MINUTES EARLIER
Narli’s heart pounded. He had made good, unimpeded progress across the walkways of the dome’s floor – but his keen eyesight quickly spotted another small figure dressed in black, lurking in the shadows to the side of the access ramp beside the ship he was heading for. The fact that the figure didn’t seem to be reacting to the blast in the distance made Narli realise that blowing up the G’Vorn Spring had been his K’Tani comrades’ intention all along.
Perhaps the same was transpiring now on the alien vessel. Briefly he thought of the Commodore, and wondered if he should rush to her aid. But given the precariousness of his situation and the main mission directive, he knew his first priority was to remain undetected.
Quickly, he turned on his heel and headed away from the K’Tani to the nearest dome wall. Some hundred metres from it, he came across one of many antigravity travel platforms that provided access to the inner ring avoiding all shipping lanes. The rapid, arcing ascent made him feel a little queasy, although a mild inertial dampening field prevented him from being toppled off the two metre square ‘transport’.
Luck stayed with him as he disembarked in an empty portal. He made his way along dozens of short corridors as casually though swiftly as possible, hoping to chance upon a viewing gallery where he could assess the situation from above. He had made several wrong turns en route, but thankfully this part of the inner ring appeared sparsely populated and the few people he passed paid no attention to him in his be-cloaked state.
Eventually he found a small relaxation courtyard, with a short open balcony overlooking the inside of the dome’s vast atrium. From his distant vantage point he could make out the smouldering wreckage of their former ship, many local authority and emergency service anti grav transports now converged around it.
As his eyes worked their way toward the Commodore’s possible location he noted several groups of individuals moving around the walkways, although when his eye reached the vessel he’d been heading for, it was still intact. Indeed, the figure in black he had seen had also gone – perhaps inside?
Or possibly in pursuit of him?
Voices approached and Narli’s adrenalin kicked in. As chance would have it he spied what looked like a plant room to the side of the balcony. Its unobtrusive door was fitted with a simple lock which he bypassed with ease using one of the few tools he constantly carried on his person – Lirik had on occasion guffawingly referred to this familiar pen-like device as his ‘sonic screwdriver’, though he had never explained to the Ambassador why.
It stank of cleaning fluid inside the cramped, warm space. With no means of alternative escape, Narli resigned himself to a long wait until the people departed. Carefully he cupped one antenna onto the door and ‘listened’ to the presumably middle-aged couple debating the many issues of their lives and work.
* *
OUTSIDE THE ENTRANCE TO THE UITALI ARIDAY, NOT FIVE MINUTES LATER.
Chell shook his head.
“What is it?” his associate asked, looking furtively around.
“No response,” Chell shrugged. “The comm. device must be malfunctioning, there’s no reason why someone shouldn’t answer.”
In a split second, the two men exchanged a knowing glance. O’Hara and Souveson felt their stress levels rise and realised the possible danger also.
Both men drew what looked like projectile pistols.
“Got any more of those?” O’Hara quipped, hanging back with Souveson as they peered up the ramp and proceeded inside.
“Sorry,” Chell apologised, taking point.
O’Hara boldly trotted up beside him. He had been about to warn her back, but seeing the glint in her eye and the careful, comfortable gait of a trained professional, he thought better of it.
As they reached the ship’s airlock at the top of the ramp Chell held a hand up. Everyone halted. Slowly he peered round the door, and then pulled back. He looked wide-eyed, shocked.
Slowly he looked around again, and then turned his body to walk over the threshold, more relaxed but weapon still held aloft.
The others cautiously joined him. There, just over the doorway, lay the bodies of two young men, quite still in a pool of their own blood, their heads not quite intact. Souveson gasped out loud. O’Hara didn’t need to examine them to see they were dead.
“Projectile weapons fire to the face at close range,” Chell observed, “classic K’Tani hallmark.”
Souveson swallowed – the fallen had cute, young, honed bodies, each scantily clad. Such barbarism to steal their lives.
O’Hara glanced up and down the corridor.
“Don’t worry, they’re not aboard any longer,” the other man said interpreting her reaction.
“How can you be so sure?” O’Hara asked, not seeing any obvious clues.
“The blood is coming out toward the door,” Souveson pointed at the sprayed contents fanning out from both sets of wounds, “indicating they were shot from behind.”
“The K’Tani often employs a tactic we call the Outburst,” Chell holstered his weapon. “A small team infiltrates a location, like a ship, and as a group they make directly to the control centre, as quickly as they can, from where they scatter and kill everyone on their way out.”
“There could be survivors,” O’Hara said hopefully, moving off down the ship in no particular direction.
Souveson glanced at Chell who just shook his head sadly.
* * *
OLD TRADING TEMPLE
The temple was in fact a very large ruin contained within a larger, more modern underground structure, just outside of the main trading dome. To Jackson, it resembled the uncovered remains of the 21st century underground car parks on the East Coast of America that she’d been taken to see by her parents when she was a little girl on vacation there.
Small groups of people were standing or sitting throughout the sprawling structure, Generals constantly walking between them. Jackson’s group made for the farthest and most intact wall, a huge stained glass rose window restored and backlit high up in the centre – a graphical design of many colours representing old deities long since passed into myth and legend.
Without any word, Keylar and Deviga stopped. Jackson kept walking a few paces but was called back sharply. Mulcro continued to stride ahead and the Commodore noticed another General in the distance striding directly toward him. The two men stopped when they reached each other and exchanged words for some minutes before returning to their respective groups.
“The Matriarch sends her warmest greetings and … and says it is agreeable to see you here for the final negotiation in person,” Mulcro recounted the words spoken to him by the other General.
“Hah! A likely story,” Deviga chuffed and turned to Jackson. “The Matriarch Peliolas is neither warm nor agreeable, though she seems to have acquired a silver-tongued General since last we met.”
“I am sure the same is being said of you, Mother,” Mulcro half grinned, glad to have his Mistress back to her old self.
Deviga laughed for the first time in many months and it felt good, if slightly against her normally strict rules of protocol.
“So what’s the bottom line?” Deviga asked him, cutting to the chase.
“Seven point five million flat rate for the shipment,” he said more quietly.
“We had agreed on twelve!” Keylar protested sharply.
Deviga smiled at her daughter then turned to Mulcro. “Tell her it’s twelve or the deal is off.”
Mulcro was staggered by the reaction.
“What’s the problem?” Jackson couldn’t help but ask. She noticed Keylar frown at her.
“Humph!” the Matriarch sneered at her General. “He thinks my blank refusal is a mistake, don’t you old friend?”
Mulcro felt a little embarrassed, but couldn’t hide his true feelings. “We need the cash input, Mother, and well you know it. Granted, she was a little reserved in her first offer, but-“
“Reserved?!” Deviga exploded, then instantly calmed. She turned to a confused Jackson. “While it is almost unheard of for a Matriarch to reply in the first instance with a price not less than the first offered, her opening offer of 4.5 million below the agreed pre-negotiating price of 12 million is nothing short of insulting.” She chuckled. “But then again, that’s Peliolas’ true style.”
“How can you not know the rules of the Temple?” Keylar asked Jackson curiously.
“She told you, my daughter,” Deviga smiled warmly. “She is from B’Tra.”
“But-!” Keylar began to protest.
“No arguing with your Mother in the Temple,” Deviga chastised her then waved Mulcro away. He hesitated, but begrudgingly walked off.
As he did, Jackson noticed with her enhanced spectacles that the other General also began to walk forward to meet him. She peered further back and appreciated Deviga’s judgement on the Matriarch Peliolas – a hulking, man-ish woman with over-garish clothing, flanked by a surly looking Daughter and a handsome, lithe Concubine less than half her age. Clearly she was a woman of many means.
*
Lirik’s group trotted lightly down the wide steps into the foyer of the Old Temple. As they reached the bottom stair, a dozen figures emerged as one from behind structural support columns ahead of them, blocking their path.
They stopped in their tracks – it was Hauruk and other members of the young Resistance, some armed.
“Hauruk!” Vikris gasped, shocked. She fleetingly glanced at Gradcuk and Jellus, wondering if they’d somehow sent a message to their leader, but neither reacted as such.
“Well, well,” Lirik said tauntingly, “fancy seeing you here.”
Hauruk locked eyes with Lirik – the blank look on his face told the Commander he was in enormous danger. He instinctively hadn’t trusted the man since their first meeting, and since suspected him of being the Gene Clone, but he couldn’t expose the others to his potentially lethal Medusan energies in this confined space.
“K’Tani scum!” Hauruk spat and flicked his wrists, gesturing his associates to move on them – but rather, they assembled on Lirik and clamped his wrists into a bulky restraining device that encompassed both hands and forearms.
“What’s this?” Lirik asked. “What are you doing?”
Hauruk then smiled, held up some kind of remote and clicked it.
Instantly, Lirik’s world turned upside down. He felt dizzy, sick, and unable to focus – and the source seemed to be his own Medusan energies. Too late, he realised he was collapsing to the floor, all voluntary posture muscle control gone.
Lirik was vaguely aware of being dragged across the floor and into a large room of some kind, though he couldn’t open his eyes. Momentarily, he tried to remember his training and relaxed. At least he had some semblance of consciousness, he told himself. He tried to focus his energies into the hand device, hoping that they would overload the mechanism. But as he did, he felt a rush of nausea again. Somehow, the device had an inhibitor field that caused his energies to feedback into his brain. He heard laughter; it was Hauruk, aiming his amusement at the helpless Starfleet Officer. Lirik tried to focus on what was being said.
Vikris was protesting. He heard her whelp as Hauruk slapped her, then replied in harsh tones and told his friends to restrain the traitor and keep her here with the K’Tani agent (Lirik) until he returned. The other men and women were keeping quiet, blindly following their new leader, although Hauruk was now questioning the man called Gradcuk.
Lirik felt helpless. Concentrating on what was happening was helping him to not panic, but it was a huge strain.
* * *
ACT 4