10 Salvation
Celeste Rockford strolled into the corporate office shared by Brin Macen and Tom Riker. The outer desk, which was adjacent to Riker's private office, was manned by Bryce Fanning. Fanning smiled and alerted Rockford to the fact that Macen had no pressing appointments. Fanning watched her go into the inner office with a sigh. She still missed T'Kir after the last 18 months since her death and nothing would change that, even if Macen was moving on.
Rockford found Riker was in the space as well. T'Kir's desk had been removed from the area and a couch and a bookshelf had been brought in in its place. Riker sat straddling one of the chairs that were typically in front of Macen's desk but Riker had moved it so it was alongside Macen's spot so that they could easily pass padds back and forth as they reviewed potential contracts.
Macen usually propped the reinforced glass door open and today was no exception. Realizing she'd entered the area without the notice of the two men, she smiled. Placing her fingers into her mouth, she let out a shrill whistle. It was a calculated risk seeing as how Macen was armed and might react strongly. She trusted his instincts as she had on countless occasions. She'd also faced him down on three separate occasions before joining the SID and she knew his reactions were under a modicum of restraint. She'd hate to see what he'd be like unleashed.
Riker was still surprised by the interruption but Macen grinned, "Aren't you needed at Rockford Investigation's hub office?"
She smiled as she swept on over to the couch and took a seat, "Been there and done that. This serving 'on an advisory capacity' is a lot easier than it sounds. My people are good. They don't need willy nilly interference from me. When they need help they'll ask for it."
Riker was a little uncomfortable with the way she looked at him when she said "willy nilly interference." Macen had obviously picked up on it as well because he shook his head.
Rockford frowned, "Why are you looking like you're ready to thrash me for my cappuccino?"
"Because I am," Macen admitted.
"Hold on to your seat and restrain yourself," Rockford warned, "I will hurt if you come between my coffee and I."
"You could always get me one," Macen playfully suggested.
"And leave my couch?" Rockford faux complained, "I just got comfy."
"I'd owe you," Macen said suggestively.
Rockford's eyebrow arched, "Oh really? You'd be my willing slave?"
"I don't know if I'd go that far," Macen hedged.
"Slave or nothing," Rockford demanded, "Your coffee is on the line here. Just think about that. It'll be a caramel vanilla latte made the way that only Roberta can do it."
"Roberta's working?" Macen perked up.
"It is her shift," Rockford remarked dryly.
"One of Roberta's lattes, eh? Might be worth it after all," Macen opined.
"So we have a deal?" Rockford asked in a chipper tone.
"We have a deal," Macen conceded.
Rockford wore a knowing expression, "Well, you're in luck. This week I'm taking applications for a love slave."
"I've got this nailed," Macen joked.
Rockford wagged her finger, "Not so fast, buster. You'll have to get in line with the rest and fill out an application and then I'll have to see your résumé. After that comes the interviews and, of course, the auditions."
"Of course. The auditions," Macen deadpanned.
"Come prepared for anything," Rockford winked and exited the Macen's office.
"I'll be back!" she called out as she exited the main office.
"You two seem very happy," Riker observed.
"I hear a 'but'," Macen surmised.
"She's not T'Kir," Riker pointed out the staggeringly obvious.
"Really? Is that what happened to her ears?" Macen quipped.
"You know what I mean," Riker said.
"I'm not sure that I do," Macen admitted.
"It's just, what would T'Kir do? About you and Celeste?" Riker blurted.
"Ah, the age old WWTD," Macen got it, "You do know I'm carrying her katra?"
"That's another thing…" Riker began to huff.
"T'Kir's happy," Macen revealed, "She's very much alive within my head and she'd let me know if she were unhappy. Trust me. As it is I get waves of contentment radiating from the portion of my psyche that she occupies."
"How can you know that?" Riker wanted to know.
"Because she's there, beneath the surface all the time. It's like maintaining our telepathic rapport. She's with me in essence but not in body," Macen tried to explain.
"You people weird me out," Riker confessed, "Even when you're dead."
"Does seem to happen quite a bit," Macen philosophically mused.
"But aren't you supposed to take a katra to Vulcan?" Riker suddenly blurted.
"That's one option," Macen slyly smiled.
"Lees did some research into this. Holding onto a katra too long can melt your brain," Riker warned.
Macen was amused. Lisea Danan would look up the Vulcan rituals out of concern for him. They'd shared a lot in the past and now in the present but it didn't mean she was right.
"Yes, T'Prynn told me the stories," Macen said obliquely.
"Who?" Riker was befuddled.
Macen waved it aside, "It was before your time."
"With you everything was before my time," Riker grumped.
"The joys of a relatively long life," Macen grinned
Macen's comm/comp chimed. He toggled it and Fanning's face appeared, "Chris Pike has cleared a window for you to talk to Admiral Forger. The Admiral will be contacting you in fifteen minutes. Chris is uploading the contract proposal now so you can be prepared for the admiral."
"Thanks Bryce. I'll be ready," Macen replied jovially.
The screen shifted to a series of file folders. Each was labeled differently and accessed different aspects of the proposed case. Macen counted the sheer number of folders and whistled.
"Someone's got a burr under their saddle," Macen opined. He handed Riker an empty padd and keyed it to copy the files into it. After it dinged he handed it to Riker.
"This way you can keep up," He relayed.
Riker and Macen both opened the folder marked "Overview". As he read it, Riker suddenly exclaimed, "Oh my God."
Macen's guts clenched as he took in the information.
72 hours before…
The Federation starship Intrepid was leaving orbit from around Felkor III. The ship and crew had been there for four hours. Their usual passenger, Admiral Robert Tavar Johnson, was acting in his capacity as Starfleet's Diplomatic Envoy. That position essentially boiled down to being Chief Cook and Troubleshooter. The Intrepid was essentially the giant gun behind the diplomacy.
Captain James McKinley was used to being at the short end of the stick when it came to crisis management. The standard protocol was for the Intrepid to put out brush fires while Johnson brought to conflicting sides together for mediation. That was pretty much what was happening this time around but the difference lay in the fact that the opposing sides both dwelt on the same planet rather than separate star systems.
If this had occurred on a non-aligned world, the Federation Council would have declared it off limits and Starfleet wouldn't have gotten involved. But since Felkor was one of the numerous protectorates that the Federation had signed up in the wake of the Dominion War, it was now obligated to quell the brush fire before it erupted and possibly interfered with Starfleet's primary interest these days, the expansion into the Taurus Reach. That effort had stalled over a hundred years ago with the destruction of Starbase 47 and the end of the Vanguard mission but events were in motion that were drawing the power back into the region.
That meant a backdoor conflict like Felkor, which threatened to draw in its neighbors, couldn't run unabated. Adding to the escalation of tensions was the planet's proximity to Ekos and Zeon. The Nationalist Socialist coalition that ran the sibling worlds were grave opponents to ethnic cleansing. Have succumbed to such madness a century before, they knew the danger to even the subtlest prejudice. Their newfound wealth in latinum and their trade agreements with the Ferengi and the Federation made them well equipped interlopers.
Their incursions into the system grew bolder every day. The Intrepid spent most of her time on patrol aiding the Felkorian authorities. Once a week, the ship returned to Felkor for a few hours so Johnson could brief Starfleet and the Federation Council. His security detail would also be rotated then. The only constant on the team was Lt. Commander Ian Delaney, the Intrepid's Chief of Security and Chief Tactical Officer. He was Johnson's appointed bodyguard.
Delaney's deputy was handling her responsibilities with a flourish but she still wasn't Delaney. McKinley was used to having his Tactical Officer's knowledge and wisdom on tap. Added to the losses this trip was Commander Jonathan Striker, the ship's XO. McKinley and Johnson had tasked the 1st Officer to use his connections inside of Starfleet Intelligence to flesh out the picture they were facing. Both the Felkorian authorities and the opposition were nebulous on some details and flat out lying on others.
Striker had been the Chief Intelligence Officer aboard the Galaxy-class incarnation of the Intrepid. He'd been replaced in that capacity by Lt. Commander Jennifer Marie Massolli aboard the latest Akira-class carrier. She'd proven invaluable as Striker's right hand and had originally been slated to brief the admiral. Striker had been elected due to his rank and position aboard the ship. The Felkorians did love rank and titles.
"Mr. Pedrossi, set course for the Ekosian border, warp 6," McKinley ordered Lt. Alesandro Pedrossi, the ship's Chief CONN Officer.
Pedrossi's fingers danced over the touch screen LCARS interface and the ship surged forward. McKinley got up and stretched his legs. He noted that Massolli seemed extremely interested in her signal intercepts. He couldn't help but notice that the blonde had returned to her naturally raven hair color. He decided it was none of his business, either way she was a striking woman.
The newly minted Lt. Commander Elizabeth "Liz" Liefers sat at her Flight Operations console talking to the equally newly minted Lt. Emily Johnson. Both women had earned their elevation in rank through hard work and excellence. So why were they sitting around swapping cock and bull stories? McKinley thought he'd find out.
"At ease ladies, or are you already there?" he asked.
Liefers looked perturbed, "Permission to speak freely, sir?"
McKinley thought about it. He could regret this, "Granted."
"Just what the frinx am I supposed to do until we roll fighters?" she asked in exasperation.
McKinley realized she had a point. A damn good one too. What were his fighter jocks and their Flight Leader doing but resting on their backsides?
"I suppose we could run a few patrols after we get to the border," McKinley offered.
"Yes!" Liefers bounced out of her seat and kissed McKinley's cheek, "That's from the squadrons."
McKinley wiped his cheek in mock protest, "Just don't let Chief Caplan see you do that. He's liable to place an unstable warp core under my bed."
"Robert wouldn't dare!" Liefers defended her man.
McKinley chuckled. It had taken nearly five years to get Commander Robert Caplan and then-Lieutenant Liz Liefers to admit they had feelings for one another. Now they were inseparable. Thoughts of Caplan naturally shifted to those of his protégé.
"And you, Lt. Johnson? Do you feel you've earned a right to lolly gag on my bridge? McKinley jested.
"Technically I'm not here, sir," She quipped.
"You mind explaining that, Lieutenant? You certainly look here," McKinley countered.
"I'm shadowing Ensign Thiroz. She complained that I was badgering her. I'm now on stand-by in case a consultation is needed." Johnson explained.
McKinley looked to the Engineering station. The young Andorian zhen looked bewildered. He turned to Johnson, "You're up, Lieutenant."
Johnson blushed and she scurried off to aid Thiroz. McKinley called after her, "And Lieutenant, I expect you to be more aware in the future or I'll have to write you up."
Johnson was thoroughly chastised. Except for that incident in the bar on Rigel III her record was spotless. He'd like to see it remain so.
"Captain?" Massolli called out to him, "I think you need to see this."
He approached her station and saw that she was rapidly downloading files to a padd. She finished up and handed him the padd. He reviewed the first file folder. It contained a lot of traffic between to classified sources. That irked him because his clearance rating exceeded hers.
"What am I looking at, Commander?" he asked.
"I can't be positive but certain key indicators show a potential for movement," She reported.
McKinley stared at her for a moment. Had the treatment that restored her hair color also addled her mind? "You mind explaining that?"
"I think they're going to kidnap Admiral Johnson," She came out and said.
"The rebels?" he asked.
"No sir, the government," She clarified.
"But why?" McKinley couldn't quite wrap his mind around this. The government had asked for their presence.
"To quote intercept 17, 'to gain an advantage over the next negotiator'," Massolli said.
"Pedrossi, full stop! Bring us about and return us to orbit." McKinley ordered as he headed for his seat. Sensing the urgency, the crew got busy.
Admiral Johnson strode forward. Delaney flanked him on his right and Striker was on his left. That left Gorag and Mozz behind them. Like Delaney, they were both armed.
As they entered the Great Hall, they saw the leaders of the two respective sides standing beside each other. More to the point, they looked smug. The honor guard to either side of the Starfleet personnel suddenly lowered their rifles into a firing position and had them aimed at the negotiators and their security detail.
Delaney and the two crewmen had their phasers drawn. Johnson shook his head, "I only wish this was a surprise. Commander Striker had just finished explaining to me that you were on the verge of an agreement, one consolidating the Orion Syndicate's power on this world."
Grezz, a native Daldan, one of the ethnic alien minorities in the dispute proudly confirmed the news, "Yes, my people are to become enforcers. The Syndicate has been so impressed with us and we will project its will across the quadrant."
"And you, Blek, what do you get?" Johnson asked the native Felkorian.
"Freedom from this accursed struggle and the revenue from gaming centers," Blek happily declared, "Of course, there is also the bounty on your head."
Johnson knew there was a bounty on his head but he'd long ago stopped keeping track of its worth. With all of the Syndicate strongholds he'd liberated and shut down over the last 18 months since Sindis's death, it had to be quite a sum by now.
"If I surrender, will you let my men go?" Johnson counter proposed.
"No. But I will let them live as prisoners," Blek issued his rebuttal.
"Stand down everyone." Johnson ordered.
"Sir, I can get you out of this." Delaney insisted.
"Ian, these weapons don't have a stun setting. You'll only get yourself and your two crewmen killed. Alive we may escape," Johnson argued.
Delaney hesitated. Johnson intervened as the honor guard took aim, "Think of Hannah, Ian. You're to be married in six months. Don't make her a widow before she's a bride."
That got through. Delaney tossed his phaser to the closest guard. His two Security officers did the same. They surrounded the Starfleet team and marched them out of the Hall.
"You have enough transport inhibitors to guard them?" Grezz asked.
"You were never able to break into the prison, now were you?" Blek taunted, "Come, now we make a joint statement to Captain McKinley ordering the Intrepid out of the system and make our demands to the Federation Council."
"I think I could learn to appreciate working with you after all." Grezz laughed.
"Thank the prostitute that took over after Sindis's death," Blek deflected the praise, "It was she that showed me the wisdom of cooperation with both you and the Syndicate."
Grezz chortled, "And like me, it took a lot of latinum to grease the wheels."
"Of course. Am I a fool?" Blek laughed as well.
McKinley swore as the transmission ended. He ordered a comm channel be opened to Starfleet Command. Particle beams suddenly lanced from the surface into orbit and penetrated the hull in seven locations. Explosions rocked the ship. Photon torpedoes also came at the crew as they struggled to raise shields. McKinley ordered them to break orbit and set an exit vector at max impulse.
"Talk to me, Jameson. Why didn't our sensors warn us of those disruptor bursts and torpedoes?" McKinley queried his Deputy Tactical Officer.
Heather Jameson met him unflinchingly, "They weren't using target locks. The disrupters must have been visually guided and the torpedoes were on ballistic courses. Our sensors aren't set up for that."
"Johnson! Shag ass over here and calibrate the sensors so they alert us from now on." McKinley ordered.
"Umm…I'm not sure that's possible," she replied.
"You're the whiz kid engineer Caplan's always bragging about. It's time to prove he's right." McKinley demanded.
"Yessir." Johnson said crisply and she moved to the tactical station.
"Get me Starfleet Command." McKinley requested, "I need to report a hostage situation."
72 hours later…
"Have no fears, I'm back," Rockford said as she entered the room carrying Macen's coffee. She saw the looks on Macen and Riker's faces and her mood fell, "Why do I get the feeling the other shoe dropped?"
"It did and it landed on Bob Johnson." Macen said as he gratefully accepted the cup from her.
"The Admiral?" she wondered, "Your ambassador friend?"
"The same." He explained, "They also have Ian Delaney and Jonathan Striker amongst others."
"Delaney? Hannah's not going to like that. More to the point she may destroy the planet looking for him," Rockford whistled.
"We'll keep her reined in." Macen promised.
"Oh, you are so not dumping that on me," she warned.
"Never say never," Macen replied.
"Argh." Rockford growled as she headed for the door, "I'll be at my agency squaring everything away so we can sneak off on another secret mission."
"Now what?" Riker asked.
"Now we sift through the data and start planning on how we're going to pull Bob out of there while we wait for Amanda's call," Macen answered.
"Can't Starfleet do its usual shtick and negotiate ad nausaem until the bad guys release them just to shut the negotiator up?" Riker wanted to know.
Macen grimaced, "You know it isn't that easy. Bob's on the Council of Five. The bad guys obviously don't know that or they'd have him strapped to a surplus Klingon mind sifter and be tearing his brain apart while we sit here."
Riker stood, "I'll get Bryce working on the crew recall and alert Parva that we're taking the Obsidian out."
Macen toasted him with his coffee cup, "I'm not going anywhere."
As the taller man departed, Macen began opening file folders, "Okay guys, how'm I going to get you out of there?"