16
Disclaimer: I do not own Star Trek or its related properties. All such rights and considerations belong to CBS/Paramount.
This is the twelfth SID installment. I hope you enjoy because more is on the way!
Hal Dracas came off of his shift at Starfleet Intelligence's Special Project Yards. He waited in the queue for a ride on a shuttle back to Earth. An hour later, he'd made the commute from Mars to Earth. He'd landed in San Francisco and headed for the nearest transporter station to spirit him away to Soho, where he lived.
He was met at the transporter facility's door by two armed Starfleet Security officers, "Master Chief Hal Dracas?"
"Yes?" Dracas replied to the older officer that had asked the question.
"I'm afraid you must come with us, Chief." the officer requested.
"Why?" Dracas asked, "What am I suspected of?"
"I don't know the particulars, Chief. You'd have to ask these gentlemen."
From behind Dracas, four burly, uniformed security agents moved up to take position. They were Troglyte United Clan Police. With all avenues of escape blocked, Dracas surrendered.
"Come with us, Deviant." the lead Police officer commanded as he placed binders on Dracas' wrists.
"I'm only considered a deviant by narrow minded officials back home." Dracas replied, "I'm accepted here."
"Their shame is not ours." the policeman retorted, "Our honour is intact and you will be punished for your unnatural acts."
"I still have the right of trial before the clans." Dracas insisted.
"Your punishment was decided before we left Ardanna." the officer informed him, "You are going to die the death of the long knives."
Dracas remained silent, pondering the brutal nature of his sentence.
At Dracas' Soho flat, his boyfriend, Kiv Rever relaxed and prepared to watch the evening news. He was on furlough from the cruise line he worked for and was anticipating Dracas' return. Then the lead story of the news opened with a Starfleet officer getting arrested by Ardannian Troglyte Police. They had a picture of Dracas shown with a snippet from his personnel jacket.
Rever knew what he had to do, he had to get to Barrinor and alert Dracas' former commanding officer, Brin Macen. Macen ran a privateer firm out of Barrinor. Dracas had hinted that he was really an agent for a top secret division of Starfleet Intelligence. Whatever the rumours might be, Rever knew from Dracas' stories that Macen was extremely loyal to his officers and crew.
Rever was counting on that sense of loyalty to help Dracas in his hour of need. He just had to get to Barrinor. There was no direct route there since the recent upheavals that nearly toppled the Federation. In order to avoid two week's worth of travel, Rever would have to charter a flight. Fortunately, Rever had heard of a man that didn't ask too many questions and always delivered his cargo. He immediately set out to find the good captain and hire him.
Five days later it was the evening of the Grand Ball in the capital of Barrinor. As a capitalistic society, Barrinor favoured its wealthy citizens and tonight was the favourite event of the elite. Brin Macen and T'Kir were attending as the owners of Outbound Ventures, Inc. The company had brought a great deal of trade Barrinor's way and the invitations were the locals way of thanking the couple for the good press.
For all its rebellious spirit and progressive measures, Barrinor was highly conservative at heart. This was reflected in the dress code for the Grand Ball. Men wore their finest suits and woman their most spectacular gowns. T'Kir had had a gown made just for the occasion.
Since the dress code spanned the width and breadth of the Federation and beyond, her selection was entirely up to her. Once again, as in her wedding, she chose an Ikebana kimono. This one was sapphire blue with black embroidery to set off her crystal blue eyes. Included were black silken slippers.
She wore her raven hair shortened tonight, highlighting her elegantly curved, elfin ears. The top and bangs were long, covering her eyes but swept back by a jewelled hairband. The back was short, ending at the nape of her neck. It was a look reminiscent of when the couple first met.
Her generous mouth puckered at the sight of all the competing dancers on the floor. She and Macen had practiced ballroom dancing but they were beginners at best. T'Kir's competitive nature demanded that she be the best at every enterprise she undertook. That would be an impossibility tonight.
Macen sensed her mood and squeezed her hand reassuringly. The El-Aurian was competitive as well but knew when to concede defeat. He would dance for the sheer joy of it not for recognition. After a brief chat with his wife, she agreed to do the same.
Macen wore a suit of the finest Bajoran fibres. Barrinor was only a sector away from Bajor and Macen preferred to support his poorer neighbour when he could. Besides, the Bajoran textiles industry was second to none. Their natural fibres could be homespun or transformed into the most elegant attire…and it was exceptionally comfortable. Bajor's Vedeks and the wealthy had known of these properties for millennia.
Macen's suit consisted of Charcoal grey wools. His Venetian collared shirt was a dark turquoise that enhanced his eyes. His Starfleet issue boots and belt were black. Unbeknownst to the Ball officials, Macen wore his phaser in a shoulder holster and T'Kir retained hers in her silk handbag.
Barrinor was lenient towards personal firearms. Most of the citizenry was armed. Where the law stiffened was that only the stun setting of phasers was allowed. Disruptors were illegal. Both Macen and T'Kir had their Bajoran Militia surplus phasers set on maximum stun.
Macen's phaser bore an engraved L for "Laren". Macen had named his phaser for Ro Laren, claiming the two were the only friends that had never let him down. T'Kir found this amusing and let it pass unchallenged. She didn't rank amongst the infallible since she'd once tried to kill Macen.
Macen and T'Kir met during their time with the Maquis. Macen had been sent to infiltrate Ro Laren's cell and T'Kir was already a member. Macen had confessed the purpose behind his recruitment and became a double agent working for both Starfleet and the Maquis. For Ro's cell, he created a top-flight intelligence unit. T'Kir was assigned to that unit.
Macen's involvement capped off ten years at the front of the Border Wars with the Cardassians. T'Kir had joined when her home colony of Shial had had every man, woman, and child slaughtered by the Cardassians. The colony was comprised of Sybokian Vulcans and defected Romulans. It did not fall easily. The entire 5th Order had become involved by the end.
The grief and rage felt by T'Kir released her latent telepathic abilities and she soon became capable of reading minds throughout an entire sector. Her inability to shut these "voices" out led to her ever increasing instability. Macen became a lifeline of sorts because she couldn't read his thoughts unless he allowed it. Fed up with T'Kir's erratic behaviours, Ro transferred the Vulcan to Macen's command.
There was an instant, visceral attraction between the two but Macen had been in a relationship with another undercover Starfleet officer, Lisea Danan. Both of them denied their feelings until after the Dominion War. Macen's relationship with Danan had been terminated for some time and T'Kir had come to grips with her feelings. Now she merely waited for Macen to come to the same conclusions.
That moment came during his captivity in the gladiatorial pits of Nova Roma on the quarantined planet of 492 IV. The couple's reunion had been something to behold. They'd been a couple ever since. After six years as lovers, they married and things were proceeding apace despite bumps along the road.
The duo loved to argue and banter with one another. Sometimes these encounters went too far and feelings were hurt. Fortunately, Macen's mild empathic abilities and T'Kir's powerful, but heavily medicated, telepathy had fused to form a permanent telepathic rapport between the pair. Much to T'Kir's chagrin, Macen could still block her probes but he rarely chose to do so. T'Kir's medication kept the universe at bay.
An early bone of contention that had long since been resolved was Macen's decision to allow Lisea Danan to rejoin the SID team after an absence. Danan, like the rest of the team, had showed unwavering loyalty to Macen and had remained on as his crew after Starfleet ceased employing privateers. Now they all had their commissions or brevet ranks restored and were the senior officers of the Nova-class surveyor, the SS Obsidian.
The shipyards decision to start producing civilian model Novas had enabled Starfleet to "sell" Outbound Ventures, Inc a starship with all of its Starfleet specifications intact. The Special Projects Yards had even redesigned the warp nacelles, allowing the ship to exceed warp 8. The SPYards had also enhanced the shields and the sensor pallets. The ship was now an ideal investigative platform. Only the weapons systems had remained untouched.
Macen's irreverence toward rank and protocol filtered down to the lowest levels of the crew. Although a Commander in Starfleet, Macen was the Captain. His word was law aboard the mini-nation that comprised the ship. Tom Riker was the Executive Officer or XO. Rab Daggit was the Tactical 1st. T'Kir was the OPS Specialist and Lisea Danan was the Sciences Specialist. Hannah Grace was the Lead Pilot, the Klingon, Kort, was the Doctor, not the EMH, and Parva was the Chief Engineer. Radil Jenrya was the Chief of Security. Everyone else had titles made up for them by their Department heads.
T'Kir stopped entering the Grand Ballroom and whistled. Macen followed her gaze and had to admit what she was marvelling was stunning. Suspended fifteen metres in the air was a massive chandelier. The marvel of the thing was that it wasn't hung, it literally floated in mid-air.
Discreetly mounted antigrav generators in the ceiling kept the crystalline beauty afloat. Propulsor units rotated the chandelier so that it caught the spotlights mounted alongside the antigrav units. It was a floating jewel that sparkled like a perfect cut diamond.
Above the chandelier was a domed skylight composed of pure leaded crystal. The weather outside was inclement so the sheets of rain could be seen cascading down the dome's sides. The ceiling and walls of the great room were panelled in the finest fabrics from across the quadrant. They were interwoven to create an opulent pattern.
The floor contained concentric patterns composed of the most exotic hardwoods latinum could buy. The floor was sealed yearly in order to prevent environmental harm and damage from use. People from across three sectors attended. It was the greatest gathering of the affluent and influential to be found in the vicinity of Bajor.
Macen led T'Kir into the ballroom. Off to one side was a buffet table. The tables were made if duranium and as hardened as a starship's hull. It was another ostentatious display.
Fresh foodstuffs of every description were located on the tables. At the end of the tables was a full service bar. One of the rules of the ball was sobriety but synthahol was banned. It was a test of self-restraint.
Life on Barrinor was a series of tests. The planet had required decades of terraforming in order to be habitable by humanoids. It had been a test of wills considering the proximity of Earth style M-class worlds. That same sense of will and purpose permeated daily life on the colony.
The colony had separated itself from the Federation following the Border Wars and the DMZ treaty. The Federation's Colonial Office had angered Barrinorians by constantly advising them to abandon their terraforming efforts. The handover of Federation worlds to the Cardassians was the final straw. The citizens of Barrinor had no intention of becoming the next sacrificial lambs.
That proud spirit of self-sufficiency affected every facet of life on Barrinor. They had a self developed defence force. The arming of the citizenry was only the first step. Only the young and the infirmed were exempt from Barrinor's military reserve. Universal conscription kept the ranks of the spaceforce and the ground forces swelled. Volunteers were encouraged to stay on and form the basis of the officer corps.
Macen and T'Kir stepped onto the dance floor and began a traditional waltz but T'Kir soon tired of that so they shifted to a Bajoran honelee. It was like Irish figure dancing. Others took note and joined in. Soon the entire ballroom was filled with honelee dancers as the band shifted its style.
The dance judges were beside themselves. Macen and T'Kir shifted to a freeform style of honelee and began throwing in proper Irish figure dancing. The music notched up to a lively step and the crowd went wild. They began line dances and partner exchange routines.
The judges surrounded Macen and T'Kir and demanded that they leave the floor. Any other couple that continued with the proscribed style of dance was also asked to leave the floor. Twenty or so couple left but the rest resumed the allowed waltzing.
"Well, it was fun while it lasted." T'Kir sighed.
"We definitely changed the rules for a while." Macen laughed and looked up to view the chandelier and skylight. That's when he saw a shadow move behind the skylight.
"Get down!" he yelled as he grabbed T'Kir and got her to the ground and covered her body with his. Seconds later, the skylight exploded. The shockwave unbalanced the antigrav generators and the chandelier came crashing down on half a dozen paralysed revellers.
Macen already had his phaser out when the first ropes descended from the gaping hole in the roof and six humanoids repelled to the floor below. It took them a moment to gain their footing in the piles of broken crystal and bodies. Macen fired from a crouch and struck the closest masked and armoured figure. The others began firing into the crowd and at him.
Macen ducked and rolled under the buffet table and then came up on one knee and fired again. Once again he struck down another assailant. Meanwhile, T'Kir had rolled under the tables and was now making her way to the coat and bag check-in. Ducking into the diminutive room, she ignored the cowering check-in girl and shrugged off her kimono. Revealed underneath were a pair of silken "pyjamas". Next she found her handbag and pulled her phaser free from it. Hefting it in her left hand, she set out to stop this terrorist attack.
Macen had tipped over one of the duranium tables and was using it as cover. All of the attackers' energies were now focused on him. There were only three left standing and T'Kir decided to even up the odds. She fired, stunning yet another terrorist and took off at a dead run for Macen's position.
She slid into place beside him, "Miss me?"
"Terribly." Macen replied, "You have a clue as to why this is happening?"
"No." she admitted, "D'you?"
"You're the telepath. Read some minds." Macen suggested.
T'Kir's recently enlarged dose of medication limited her to an effective range of the size of the ballroom. They'd experimented with gradually lessening her doses but she'd suffered a breakdown and was once again at the maximum proscribed dosage. One benefit, or a negative depending on how you looked at it, was that she seriously had to concentrate to kill someone with her mind now.
T'Kir shuffled off to the left of the table and Macen took the right. Now both of them could use their strong hands to shoot around the corners of the table. T'Kir surprised one of the attackers and stunned him. Macen shot the last one but she remained upright.
The only humanoid species that Macen knew could shrug off a heavy stun blast was an augmented Angosian. Rab Daggit was just such a creature and he'd shared many of his kinds' secrets with his Captain. Macen reset his phaser to medium disrupt while T'Kir vaulted over the table and disarmed the attacker with a backspin kick. The Angosian dropped into a fighting crouch and waited for T'Kir's next parry.
Instead, Macen stood and shot her squarely in the chest, "Get anything?"
T'Kir shrugged, "Some reference to Solarian Security Systems. Nothing tangible though. She was pretty focused on the fight. I can tell you this is our old friend Annika Ryst."
"I thought she was serving time in some penitentiary on Angosia." Macen confessed.
"Apparently she got out." T'Kir deadpanned.
Annika Ryst was a name neither of them had ever wanted to hear again. The former super-soldier had turned mercenary and had aided in the capture of the pair on their honeymoon for an Orion crime lord named Daveed B'nner. B'nner's subsequent death had left Ryst without an employer. She'd found a new one in the form of Macen and T'Kir's former comrade in arms, Aric Tulley.
Tulley had reformed and reorganised the Maquis. This time, instead of fighting a strictly guerrilla war, he aimed for a terrorist campaign. The Cardassians hired Macen to locate and apprehend Tulley. Macen succeeded in the first part of the mission but was circumvented in the second part by the intervention of a powerful alien race known as the Omicrons. Macen had only survived the encounter thanks to a timely rescue by the extragalactic Kelvans.
Ryst had been captured as had a Maquis lieutenant named Deirdre Armstrong. Deirdre had been liberated from a penal colony by Tulley himself. Ryst, on the other hand, had been sentenced to a prison facility on Angosia's moon. It had previously housed the augmented soldiers that Angosia did not know what to do with for a decade. Apparently, as before, she'd escaped.
Given her past history and her rancour towards Macen and T'Kir, they were, in all likelihood, the evening's targets. The question was, if these were indeed employees of Solarian Security Systems, why would they be targeting Macen and T'Kir? More to the point, why would they risk their letter of marque in such an overt attack? The SSS was a privateer company like Outbound Ventures, a competitor in fact. Would the Solarians push the limits of competition to include direct violence?
There were too many questions and not enough answers. T'Kir couldn't engage a mind probe while they were unconscious and all of their attackers were stunned. Macen would've given his left arm at that moment for a hypospray filled with a stimulant.
"Freeze!" came a shouted command from behind the couple, "Put down your weapons."
"No, you idiot!" rang out the voice of the planet's Police Commissioner, "They're innocent. They saved our lives. The suspects are stunned and on the floor."
Macen and T'Kir cautiously turned around to see a dozen members of Barrinor's Hostage Rescue Team. The HRT was the best of the best drawn from every precinct. It had been created to combat the tendency of Barrinor's wealthy to be kidnapped and held for ransom. In its hundred-year history, the HRT had successfully brought out scores of hostages unharmed and lost only a handful. The unit was so good at their job that kidnappings were mostly a relic of the past.
"Are you certain?" the Captain of the HRT asked.
"Yes." the Commissioner nodded, "In light of the extenuating circumstances, I'm certain we can forgo arresting these fine people and ignore the usual fine for carrying weapons into the Grand Ballroom."
"Yessir." The Captain snapped off a healthy salute when the planetary prime minister came up behind the Commissioner and nodded.
"Do what the man says, Captain." the PM instructed.
"May I make a request?" Macen asked as he approached the triad.
"Name it." the Prime Minister answered.
"I'd like my people to sit in on the interrogations of these individuals, if at all possible."
"I'm sure that can be arranged, can't it Commissioner?"
"Of course. See to it, Captain."
The HRT captain looked as though he were eating something very sour but he nodded, "We'll begin at 09:00 tomorrow morning."
"Perfect." Macen said, "Now what about the casualties?"
The Emergency Response teams were racing into the building and treating wounds, severe and mild. Those under the chandelier when it fell were dead, as were another eight patrons gunned down by the potential assassins. Others bore disruptor burns or cuts from shattering crystal shards.
"We'll do all we can, Commander Macen." The PM assured him.
"Wait a minute, the Commander Macen, captain of the Obsidian?" The HRT Captain enquired.
"Yes." Macen replied simply.
"You and your personnel are welcome to assist our investigation however you choose." the Captain assured him.
"I think for now, we've done all we can." Macen told him, "My wife and I will transmit complete reports of what transpired here before morning."
"Of course." The Captain stammered, "That would be most kind. I don't want to detain you any further."
Macen and T'Kir excused themselves and made their way to the coatroom. It was deserted now. The check-in girl was being interviewed by a local police officer supporting the HRT investigation. They gathered their belongings, including T'Kir's kimono, and vacated the building. It was still raining outside so they signalled for a ground car to pick them up.
T'Kir threw back the hood of her leather slicker as she entered her and Macen's flat. Macen came in behind, his head and face soaked,
"Told ya you should've worn something with a hood." T'Kir scolded him.
Macen stripped off his flight jacket, "At least this is waterproof and at least my pants are water resistant."
"Sure, rub it in why don'cha?" T'Kir mouthed off as she bustled off to change out of her sodden pants.
Macen passed by the office/study and activated the lights. He wanted to finish his report for the police as swiftly as possible. That was when he noticed that both the computers were displaying the comm screen. Someone had tried, repetitively and unsuccessfully, to reach someone in this flat. Macen checked the sender's terminal ID and was surprised to find that it was Christine Pike's desk back at Outbound Ventures' headquarters.
Pike was a former Starfleet administration officer who now ran Macen's corporate interests and served as their liaison with Starfleet's Special Investigations Division. Macen wondered if the SID Director, Admiral Amanda Drake had another burr under her saddle as he opened a connection with Pike's terminal.
Pike's mahogany face sagged in relief when she saw Macen, "Brin! Thank God! I've been trying to reach you for two hours."
"I've been at the Grand Ball, Chris. Had quite the evening."
"The holovid news reports are starting to come in now." Pike admitted, "Are you and T'Kir all right?"
"Never better." T'Kir said as she entered the room wearing loose sweatpants and a pullover hoodie, "Why? What's up?"
"Hal Dracas has been arrested." Pike announced.
"For what?" Macen laughed.
"For moral deviancy." Pike answered, "He was picked up by Troglyte authorities five days ago on Earth. They've taken him back to Ardanna IV."
"What's Starfleet doing about it?" T'Kir demanded, "Sitting around with their thumbs up their collective…
"Ardanna is outside of the Federation." Pike reminded the couple, "The Prime Directive forbids them from interfering."
"Didn't stop James Kirk." Macen replied bitterly.
"Times have changed since Kirk's era. Now he'd be court-martialled."
"We'll go." Macen decided, "It won't be an SID mission. It'll be an Outbound Ventures' rescue of a former employee. We'll cover the costs."
Pike knew the reasoning behind Macen's decision. Dracas was under a death sentence. Homosexual Troglytes like Dracas were put to death by their clan. His only hope of reprieve was escape and the Obsidian and her crew were the likeliest means of escape.
"Put out the recall, Chris." Macen instructed, "I want the crew ready to sail at 09:00."
"Yes, sir." Pike acknowledged and signed off.
"There goes our interrogations." T'Kir said.
"Can't be helped." Macen replied, "Hal's life is worth more. We'll put in a request for transcripts when we send in our reports."
"We're still sending in reports?" T'Kir complained.
"Pull up a seat and get busy. The sooner we finish the sooner we can pack and get some sleep."
"What sleep?" T'Kir groused.
"I thought Vulcans could go for days without sleep, just relying on meditation." Macen teased.
"I prefer sleep." T'Kir said with finality but got busy on her computer working on the required report.
