Beneath It All, Part 3
by Satinette
Cole has returned to Migar and resumed being Daggon. His mission on Earth may be over, but he's now on a mission of his own. Takes place during the period after Cole leaves in "Remember When" and follows my "Beneath It All" fics, Parts 1 and 2, as the third part of the story arc.
References to my previous fic, "Hot Pursuit." Serious spoilers for "What Lies Beneath" and "Remember When," plus more or less minor ones for the Pilot episode, "Roswell," "The Beast," "Breach," "The Miracle," "Eye of the Storm," "Dark Road Home," "Back Into the Breach," and likely some others.
Author's Note: The Beneath It All' arc consists of several interconnected stories (four or five of them; my muses are still busy working it out) on a time-line taking place during the latter part of "Remember When" and immediately thereafter which pull in many loose threads, both from other episodes and from the official series bible' (much of which was either altered during the course of the series or never used at all). Although each story may be read as a stand-alone they're actually part of a whole and are best followed in sequence. This arc will be the foundation for all my after-season stories to follow.
Chapter 1
"Sir?"
Daggon started.
"I'm sorry. What was that again? I was woolgathering."
"Woolgathering, sir?" the Lifeforce Technician tentatively repeated, giving him another strange look. "What is wool'? And how would you go about gathering it? And why?"
"Never mind," Daggon sighed, too depressed and edgy to want to explain himself yet again. That had been the fourth time since his shuttle docked from Vardia that he'd uttered a Human expression no one else knew the meaning of and everyone's cluelessness was only serving to blacken his already dark mood. "Your question?"
"Oh. I was beginning to scan the readouts of these cells and commented that several of the escapees seem to be missing. I can't seem to locate the signatures of Rigna, Dreakos, Lontoria, Krax, Sa–"
Daggon almost snarled with irritation as he reached over the containment vessel and across the much smaller Cirronian to enter a code on his terminal.
"–Again! You'll find everything is in my report!" he growled, exasperation momentarily getting the better of him as the holo-imagery resolved on the stage. "The Hierarchy requires these Collection reports be detailed! If you would properly perform your job you..."
He abruptly brought himself up short. He had no right inflicting his mood on the young Rylar, who was only doing his best. It was the height of the Orsian rut and the Enixian breeding season had just begun. As Orsians and Enixians accounted for well more than half of Sar-Top's personnel, the staff was severely short-handed as a result. Rylar was now a lone Technician, not only heavily overburdened and overworked in having to screen and process all the lifeforces he'd brought in all by himself, but having to man the com as well.
"I apologize for my disgraceful behavior and ill manners," he formally said with a deep bow of his head, lowering his ears in contrition. "My only excuse is that it was an unusually long and difficult undercover Track and I'm still destabilized from it. Please grant me your indulgence."
It wasn't far from the truth. He had definitely remained in Human morph for far too long and now his entire nervous system was subtly short-circuiting, his signature mix of charges in a high state of flux at the molecular level, roiling and sparking in an attempt to revert back. It was a conscious effort to not allow it to happen.
It was strange, he thought. It had taken him months to fully adjust to having a Human body. Now his own body was behaving as if the Human form was the natural one for him.
And just as strange, although he'd never fully adjusted to the Human habit of wearing clothing, it now felt very odd to have dispensed with them, wearing only his usual cloak against Sar-Top's always-present chill.
"I can't even begin to imagine," Rylar softly responded, his tone one of near awe. "To be all alone and on Track in a primitive world as alien and hostile as that one ... And up against so many ... We all thought you dead."
"Not yet," he wryly replied, a part of him at least slightly amused by how things were so far progressing.
Daggon's return had caused a major stir that had ended up burning the subspace channels with conversation, argument and counter-argument as everyone involved tried to reach consensus as to what to do with him and exactly how they should proceed. Officially having gone AWOL from his post nearly a year ago in pursuit of Rhee, he was deemed to be a fugitive himself.
Many, pointing out his friendship with Zin, had theorized that he may even have been a party to the escape, if for no other reason than to finally get his hands on the one who had slaughtered his family. Others – those few who truly knew him – discounted that theory as nonsense, noting that Zin had fooled and mislead many.
But regardless, most all had come to believe that he had to be dead, that the odds were far too stacked against him and he was far too outnumbered to have survived.
Thus, the multi-planet task force watching over the artificial wormhole's origin on Varda since the prison break hadn't known what to do when he had so shockingly and unexpectedly come through, alive and well. As a fugitive they all knew that procedure demanded he be Collected. But they also knew that it would be the worst form imaginable to just summarily Collect a returning Tracker of his rank and reputation – especially since he was laden with the lifeforces of the recaptured escapees, plus several dozen of the System's most wanted criminals.
It had been a tense few hours but the decision had finally come down from the Council, three to one with Varda against and Orsus and Enix both (understandably) absent and thus abstaining. And the Hierarchy not very happy about any of it and demanding an immediate hearing.
As the Hierarchy's authority over him only held sway in the Migar System and this had clearly been an interstellar Track, it was determined that he would deliver his prisoners and then be answerable and accountable for his actions only to Sar-Top's Chief Warden (an Orsian currently on leave for the hormonally-drunken orgy of his species' rut) and to his own High Prime before any decision would be made as to a hearing, just as he'd gambled it would be.
He'd beaten the first set of odds he was up against, Daggon thought, simply due to timing. He could only hope that his luck would continue to hold for the rest.
"Zin is in cell one-seventy-one," he informed the other Cirronian "If he's willing, I wish to speak with him as soon as he's been restored. Make it your first priority after completing the scanning."
Rylar looked at him uncertainly.
"That will likely take at least the rest of the day, sir. Probably several days. Once he's been returned to his body he'll be placed in holding and his lifeforce won't be taken until the Vardian appeal clears–"
"–I said as soon as he's been restored," Daggon quietly reiterated, knowing that his order was highly irregular and went against usual practice and protocol.
Moreover, not only might such a thing reinforce the still simmering suspicion of his own suspected involvement and be used against him if a hearing did come to pass, Zin could well trump him by refusing the one-on-one interview until he had council, thereby leaving him with nothing. The Tribunal may have tried the Vardian in absentia and found him guilty on numerous counts, including high treason against the Migar Council, but until he was actually incarcerated he still had his rights.
But he had to risk it. There were just too many troublesome loose ends about this Track that he couldn't reconcile. It was contributing to his edginess and he needed answers.
"On your order, sir," Rylar acknowledged, adjusting his headset to receive the report's synapsial download. "I'll see to it shortly. Conference Two?"
"No, make it Conference Six," Daggon told him. It was the least institutional of Sar-Top's interrogation chambers and the most private.
"Then in about an hour and a half. Will I be able to reach you in your quarters?"
Daggon nodded, mumbling under his breath, "That's if I still have quarters."
A strobe of amusement pulsed through the other Cirronian.
"Of course you do, sir. Bendel never lost hope and made certain of it. Will there be anything else?"
"Speaking of Bendel, what's his ETA?"
Rylar checked his array.
"Twenty-seven point eight seven one minutes, sir."
"Good!" he replied, tightening his cloak about his shoulders as he prepared to leave. "Notify me as soon as his shuttle comes to dock."
"Er, sir?" Rylar called out, stopping him. "It might be best if you allowed him to see you at his convenience. He'll be needing some recovery time in sickbay."
"Recovery time?" Daggon repeated with alarm, turning back from the doorway. The Nodulian was a good and true friend, once his partner and now Sar-Top's Chief of Security and second in command. He had only gone to Desseria to pick up the prisoner because no one else had been available. "What happened? Is he badly injured?"
"No, sir. He hasn't been injured at all. It's just that his shuttle's environmental system isn't functioning properly. The new prisoner he's escorting is an Orsian male and..."
"You don't have to say any more!" Daggon said, relieved, knowing that few of the environmental systems on the Hierarchy's robotically piloted inner-system ships functioned properly. "I well understand."
He'd had the same experience himself the time he'd partnered with Raahm on an interstellar. He had no doubt at all that poor Bendel had likely vomited until there was nothing left within him to vomit and was now at the point of helplessly dry heaving. Everyone on Sar-Top would be doing the same if all the imprisoned Orsian males weren't kept heavily drugged at this time of year to stem their raging hormone levels.
It just so happens that the pheromone odor of an adult, sexually potent Orsian male at the height of musth, while a compelling lure and an irresistible aphrodisiac for a receptive Orsian female, was considered by virtually all other species with any sense of smell at all as being one of the most nauseating and disgusting stenches in the entire known universe.
"Yes, sir," Rylar agreed, his autonomic strobing belying his respectful tone and revealing how amusing he actually found his superior's situation to be. "Most of those shuttles should've been retired – or at least received drastic overhauls – a good many years ago. It's a wonder that some of them are still space-worthy."
Daggon briefly entertained the dark but tempting notion of having Rylar locked in a small room with the new Orsian prisoner when he arrived as an abject lesson, then grudgingly decided against it. It was more important Rylar try to set up his interview with Zin. And he himself had plenty to take care of before then.
"Inform Bendel it's imperative I speak with him on a security matter as soon as he's able," he said with a dismissive flick of his left ear, briskly leaving before Rylar even finished uttering his on your order, sir.'
To be continued