Disclaimer: I do not own Star Trek or its related properties. All such rights and considerations belong to CBS/Paramount.
This is the 15th installment of the Special Investigations Division series. Enjoy, `cause there's more on the way!
The downtrodden Cardassian prisoners filed into the sports arena. Armed Militia troops watched their every move with sharp eyes. The prisoners, most of whom had already been beaten, dutifully entered the arena without protest. After all, obedience beat in the heart of every true Cardassian.
Gul Maret gazed across the arena and his face twisted in rage. Hatred consumed him. Monarchists were parasites from a bygone age. It was better to be rid of them entirely so that the collective whole of Cardassia could thrive once the diseased portions were carved out.
First these monarchists and then those damned democrats. Maret fought the urge to spit; All of the retrograde elements threatening Cardassia's glory will be destroyed.
Bodies were lined up against a wall and shot. A list of charges preceded the executions but there were no trials. Cardassian justice, it seemed, had leapt backwards.
Maret and his sponsors wanted to return the Union to the perceived golden age under the troika of the High Command, the Obsidian Order, and the Detepa Council. Each member coordinated with the other but effectively controlled their respective portion of the government without interference from another member. The Cardassian Union had functioned in this way for hundreds of years. In the uncertain future of the democratic age it was seen as a panacea by many.
The competing utopian vision was that of the monarchists. Besotted by their dim recollections of a monarchy that died before the birth of the Union, they propelled the advent of their fabled Chrysalis child. The problem was that this heir to the throne was very much alive and she was on her way to Cardassia to assume the throne in a newly minted constitutional monarchy. If a Unionist's soul cringed at the thought of elections and constitutions, imagine the stark terror it felt at the thought of royalty.
Maret ruminated on these topics as the latest round of prisoners was marched before the firing squad. One of them, a boy of nine or ten defiantly stared at his would be killers in the face. With a blend of courage and conviction he began to sing a song. It was a ditty taught to schoolchildren to mock the former ways of king and country but the boy sang it proudly.
It was an ancient ballad full of eldritch power. As its notes filled the air spirits lifted and other voices were raised. Soon an anthem echoed through the streets of Kildana on Carbel VIII. Maret activated his comm and screamed into it, "Kill them you fools! Kill all of them!"
The hand selected troops raised their riffles and fired. Particle beams lashed out at the crowd, decimating it. Once the screams and the whine of the disruptors faded all that was left was silence. Maret surveyed the scene and called his lieutenant over, "Dispose of the bodies. I want them cleaned up before dawn."
"It will be done."
A smile played at Maret's lips, It isn't much but it's a start.
"Are we really leaving for Cardassia Prime tomorrow?" Katreen Dervin earnestly implored.
Katreen's father, Feist, proudly smiled. Her only desire was to return to Cardassia even though she'd only been technically born in Cardassian territory. Katreen had been whisked away to the Federation and the safety it offered on the very eve of her birth. Katreen's destiny had literally been scripted hundreds of years before her birth and now the moment of fruition was about to arrive.
Katreen was the Chrysalis child of Cardassian legend. Hundred of years before it had been prophesied that a child bearing the royal birthmark would be born and would restore the royal family to power. Katreen bore the mark. The Purple Peppercorn was emblazoned on her royal derriere.
Katreen's gender had proven to be a sticky point. Most adherents to the legend had assumed the child would be male. Fortunately, in a rousing show of Cardassia's ongoing social evolution they'd forgiven her for being female and heartily embraced her.
Dervin watched his daughter as she checked and rechecked her luggage. Her life had not been an easy one. Aneesh, her mother, had passed when Katreen had been three. She was the victim of an assassin which Katreen had barely survived.
Katreen's survival was the direct result of Lyoti Mariska's handiwork. Mariska was Katreen's sworn protector. A former officer aboard a Cardassian cruiser, Mariska provided security expertise and bodyguard services for Katreen.
Dervin considered the reasons for their impending move. Eight years of democracy had taught the Cardassian people that they desired a more stable system. Hence a constitutional monarchy. In essence, the President would run the daily affairs of office but the liege would have oversight and veto authority. The monarch would also not leave office every six years when the President did.
Of course, Castellan Ghemor had just been elected to his second six year term as Cardassia's president. Part of that election had been bought on his promise of reforming the constitution. Thus Katreen was to be crowned Monarch on the evening of her twelfth birthday. Dervin would act as her advisor and handle her affairs until she reached her majority in her seventeenth year.
There was a discreet clearing of the throat from behind Dervin and he turned to find Mariska standing there. As always, she wore her body armour and her phaser, "Your Majesty, the transports have been prepared and the security arrangements aboard the liner have been taken care of. We're ready for departure."
Dervin grew melancholy, "It's been twelve years. Can we ever truly go back?"
Mariska nodded, "Of course we can…for her sake."
Dervin grew ashamed, "Yes. Yes, of course. We'll be ready at the appointed time."
Mariska smiled, "As you say, sir."
As the exiled soldier strode away Dervin wondered if he'd ever had as much faith in his daughter's future as Mariska had. Mariska had been a source of inspiration for Dervin and had silently guided the negotiations with Ghemor. He hoped that she found her reward for her faith to be adequate. He himself still had grave doubts…
Brin Macen moved from the auditorium to the outer lobby. Refreshment kiosks were set up there and he was dying for a latte. The last speaker had been dry beyond words. The Annual Conference of Security Consultants and Private Investigators was never lively but it usually avoided tedium.
Generally, Macen was involved with a case and had to send a proxy to these events. Owing to the severity of injuries sustained during his last mission Admiral Amanda Forger had put Macen's Outbound Ventures firm on suspension from receiving new contracts from Starfleet's Special Investigations Division for just over nine months now. Macen had an appointment with her tonight after the conference wrapped up to amend the situation.
Physically, there were no lasting repercussions from what Bertram Sindis had done to Macen. Psychologically it was a different story and that's what Forger was afraid of. Macen already had a documented case of Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. Being beaten nearly to death would undoubtedly add to the layers of emotional scarring wrapping Macen's soul.
Macen was one of the best irregular agents hired by Forger but he was also unpredictable. His responses to threats were wide and varied. They tended to be lethal and Starfleet's governing authorities frowned upon that.
The entire reason Macen wasn't in Starfleet any longer was the fact that he had decided to summarily execute an entire shipload of pirates. Only his decades of meritorious service had spared him from prosecution…in exchange for early retirement. And since Macen was an El-Aurian early was the operative word.
Macen was human in appearance and only seemed to be in his mid-thirties. Truth be told, he'd lived for over four hundred years and was still going strong…as he was determined to prove to Forger. He'd had enough of resting on his laurels.
As his mind rested on his likely approach with Forger his eyes drifted across the milling crowd. He drank his coffee with satisfaction and was considering a second cup when he thought he recognised a woman's profile. This startled him because he couldn't believe that person would be here of all places.
He manoeuvred across the lobby in order to get a better angle. All that proved was that it was who he'd thought. He couldn't believe Annika Ryst had the brass to come here for this conference.
He made his way towards her and silently crept up behind her. She honestly seemed engrossed in the conversation that she was having with Glick Gutterman. Macen couldn't imagine anyone enjoying Gutterman's company.
"I do believe someone is trying get your attention, Ms. Rockford." Gutterman pointed out.
Celeste Rockford smiled, "Yes, Captain Macen is an admirer of mine. Could you excuse us?"
"Of course." Gutterman sniffed and strolled away.
Rockford turned, "What do you want Macen?"
"What are you doing here?" he asked.
"I'm a member." Rockford replied, "I come every year."
"Annika Ryst is not on the membership rolls." Macen snapped.
"No," Rockford replied, "but Celeste Rockford is. Now keep your voice down. I've gone legit. I'm working full time as an investigator."
"You're a bloody fugitive!" Macen whispered.
"A mere technicality." Rockford countered, "I was never convicted. A judge sent me to Arcadia on the recommendation of a psychiatrist. In the raid where I was arrested, I didn't actually kill anyone. Forensics backed me up on this so they couldn't go to trial."
Macen's empathic senses could taste the veracity of her words. Furthermore, his ability to detect probability shifts was working overtime. Macen could literally see potential futures and he chose one that seemed most likely based upon number of concurrent occurences. Rockford shook him, "Snap out of it!"
"Where will you be tomorrow?" he asked with a new determination.
"On my way back to Laos V." she answered, "Why?"
"Would you be willing to meet me for lunch?" Macen enquired.
"Maybe." Rockford was growing wary, "Why?"
"If what you say checks out I want to offer you a job." Macen said, "I'm willing to triple your daily rate."
"I'm not a merc any more." Rockford warned him, "And I'm not Annika Ryst. I'm Celeste Rockford. Get used to it."
"All right Celeste." Macen surrendered, "I hear and obey."
"Where do you want to meet?" Rockford asked.
"Ever here of a pub called the Dark Man in Belfast?" Macen wondered.
"No." Rockford admitted.
"Ask for directions." Macen instructed, "Noon, Greenwich Mean Time, okay?"
"Fine." It was Rockford's turn to capitulate, "I'll be there."
"See you tomorrow then." Macen grinned and went off in search of another latte and a scone.
"What the hell have I just agreed to?" Rockford asked herself.
Macen rang Forger's door buzzer and waited. He'd never been to her flat before. He knew this was a new place of residence for her. Ever since she'd been crippled she required a home that was antigrav chair accessible.
The door slid open to reveal a spacious living area. It was all one story and most of the objects in the room were sensibly placed. With the antigravs her chair could levitate her all the way to the ceiling so retrieving objects was no challenge. The only thing missing was Forger.
"I'm in here." A muffled voice called out. Macen pushed past the living room and went down the hallway. He heard noise up ahead and came to stop at a doorway that led to an exercise room. Forger was working out her upper body on a resistance machine.
"Sorry." Forger said as she finished her final reps, "I got a late start."
"It's all right." Macen assured her, "I was late because of doing some research."
"If you'd wait in the main room, I'll shower and get dressed." Forger suggested.
Macen complied and waited for his employer. After a time she came floating out. Her skill with the chair's controls had drastically improved over the last nine months.
"Looking good, Amanda." Macen cheered.
"Stop it." Forger blushed, "I'll run into something."
"Heavens forefend." Macen teased.
"Okay," Forger sighed, "enough of that. Would you like a late supper?"
"Sounds good." Macen admitted.
"Good." Forger began formulating plans, "I know a great Chinese place that does take out. They're so good people from Beijing travel here to have a meal."
"That makes sense." Macen opined, "The food in Beijing sucks. You have to go to Shanghai or Hong Kong for an outstanding meal."
"You're just prejudiced." Forger countered, "And your prejudices are out of date. It's been fifteen years since you spent any real length of time on Earth. A lot of top drawer restaurants have opened in Beijing since then."
Macen conceded, "I bow before your greater knowledge and infinite wisdom."
Forger rolled her eyes, "If only."
"Alas, you know me too well." Macen said theatrically.
"Would you shut up and let me order?" Forger called from the comp/comm.
"But of course." Macen continued in the same vein, "You need but ask."
"Spare me." Forger requested.
Forger knew the restaurant's staff by name and quickly ordered a veritable feast. She moved into the kitchen and called out, "What's your poison?"
"What do you have in the way of fruit juice?" Macen wondered.
"White grape." Forger answered, "It's pretty old though."
"I'll take it." Macen replied, "Thanks."
"So where's the other half of your particular combo?" Forger asked.
"You mean T'Kir?" Macen smiled.
"Who else is constantly attached to your hip?" Forger enquired.
Macen's smile blossomed, "So we're a little co-dependent. Where's the harm?"
"I suppose there isn't any." Forger relented, "So where is she?"
"Mountain climbing in the Italian Alps with Hannah Grace." Macen said, referring to his SID team's resident pilot, "They'll be rejoining me in two days."
"They'll be in the mood to party." Forger loosed an evil chuckle, "Are you ready for that?"
"I've girded my loins." Macen promised.
"You'd better have." Forger's eye held an evil twinkle, "Those girls can get down. Their exploits have reached Earth."
"We'll be okay." Macen assured her.
"All right." Forger became more sombre, "You said you wanted to talk. What's on your mind?"
Macen hesitated. Using his paranormal senses he scrutinised Forger. She'd been dealt a harsh blow but it hadn't broken her. She was saddened and there were regrets but she was fiercer and more stubborn than ever.
"I was wondering when my team would be going off suspension." Macen said.
"You mean you want to know when you will be getting off suspension." Forger corrected for him.
"It amounts to the same thing." Macen admitted.
"You've stayed busy by taking non-Starfleet contracts. Dr. Blink had a devil of a time trying to coordinate with your schedule." Forger pointed out.
"Has the good doctor made her recommendations?" Macen asked.
"She has. You're to be considered an extremely dangerous man. You're also to be reinstated by order of Admiral Nechayev and your records sealed at the highest level. Congratulations, you can go back to work." Forger revealed, "So, how's my sister doing?"
Shannon Forger, Amanda's younger sister, was the Executive Officer of Macen's ship. Macen grinned, "The Obsidian wouldn't function without her. Tom Riker was a brilliant tactician but he was a horrible administrator. Shannon is five times the XO that he was."
"And no signs of a drug problem?" Forger wanted to know.
Macen shook his head, "She's clean. She just needed to do the job in order to realise that she was more than capable of doing it in the first place."
Forger wore a rueful expression, "That sounds like Shannon."
"Still," Macen added, "She's a natural when it comes to personnel matters. She's a top notch ship handler and she's beginning to relish the job. Personally, I can't ask for more."
Forger smiled, "Thank you, Brin. You didn't have to give her a second chance. It was good of you."
"Yeah right." Macen countered, "I just didn't want to lose an officer with her potential."
The door rang and Forger instructed it to open. The delivery man brought in their food and set it out on the table. Forger went to the side of the table without a chair. Macen took a seat opposite of her.
They dove into the food and hungrily ate for some time. Later, Macen picked at his food but barely partook. Forger watched this for several minutes and finally intervened, "Something's on your mind and it isn't the food."
His eyes intently met hers, "You spoke of second chances. Would you give a second chance to someone who'd tried to kill you?"
"You mean Richard don't you?" Forger apprehensively asked. Her ex-husband, Richard Drake, had been the man to put her in the antigrav chair. He'd been psychologically conditioned to do it and did it without meaning to but the net result was the same: she couldn't walk.
"Not necessarily Richard." Macen replied, "But he could prove to be the most useful example. He's freshest in your mind."
"Richard had no choice." Forger admitted, "I can't fault him for that. His predicament, however, came as a result of decisions he willingly made. I can't forget or forgive that. It's all a moot point anyway. Richard's programmed to kill me on sight. We have to be kept separated or one of us dies."
Forger studied him for a moment, "That wasn't an idle question, was it?"
Macen told her of meeting Ryst in her new identity. He relayed what they'd discussed and his offer of tomorrow. Forger frowned.
"You're not honestly thinking of employing her are you?" she asked.
"I'm offering her Rab Daggit's empty slot on the team." Macen revealed.
"Ye Gods, Brin." Forger exclaimed.
"I've made up my mind, Amanda." Macen warned her.
"Heaven help us all." Forger muttered, "I'll start processing her security clearance tomorrow."
Macen brightened, "Thanks. I knew you'd understand."