Here we go again, Brax thought to himself as he stepped into the interrogation room. This time, there was no cell, no forcefield or anything like that-- instead, Rugan Skyl had been brought before a simple table in an isolated room, with a pair of security officers on either side of him. The bruise Vorak'Utaur had left him with still showed, an ugly purple on grey, but otherwise his face retained its usual, impassive arrogance. A far cry from his earlier outrage at Quark's, but then, as a diplomat and politician, he no doubt had experience at playing a good poker face.
His stomach growled, and he realized he hadn't had a proper meal since this morning. Rule 214: Never begin a business negotiation on an empty stomach. And a criminal interrogation was simply another, unkinder version of a business negotiation.
Ignoring the gnawing pains in his stomach, Brax gave a theatrical stretch and a tug of his uniform as he sat down opposite Skyl. Vorak'Utaur stood behind him, and Brax saw Skyl's eyes flicker briefly up at the Jem'Hadar. "Sorry for the wait," Brax said. "I had some forms to fill. You know how these things can be."
"Oh, quite," Skyl replied smoothly. "I'm no stranger to arrest, Mr. Brax. At one point, the previous regime on Cardassia had some very...pressing questions to ask me." He folded his hands calmly. "Oh well. It was amusing while it lasted."
Brax raised an eyebrow. "What was? You arrest?"
"No." Skyl's lips turned upward ever so slightly. "Your Federation's pretense that it is any better than the old Union, now that you've started rounding up people like me on flimsy pretexts." He glanced up at Vorak'Utaur. "You even have Jem'Hadar thugs doling out violence for you, just like Dukat did in the good old days."
Vorak'Utaur said nothing, but Brax leaned back in his chair. He could see now why so many of DS9's staff hated this guy. "Oh spare me the sob story, Skyl. We both know you were a happily active part of that old regime-- you've admitted as much on several occasions. And before you complain about that assault, you were resisting arrest, and I have witnesses to back me up." Before Skyl could mouth a protest, Brax slammed a PADD down on the table. "And I'm sure you'll find that our warrant for your arrest is anything but 'flimsy.' Care to explain it to him, Third?"
Slowly, Vorak'Utaur began to pace around the table, his tall form casting a shadow over Skyl. "Where were you," he said, "between 2400 and 0200 hours yesterday?"
Skyl's gaze shifted up to the Jem'Hadar. If the old Cardassian was afraid, he was doing a good job of not showing it. It figured-- a politician like him would have to be made of stern stuff, especially in a political environment as notoriously cutthroat as Cardassia's. "Why, I was in the Promenade, where I usually am on these nice visits to Terok Nor." He glanced back to Brax and smiled. "Sorry, Deep Space Nine. Old habits, I'm afraid."
"Really?" Brax leaned forward on the table. "Because our security records don't indicate you as being anywhere near your usual Promenade spots. In fact, you weren't seen anywhere. You'd think a prominent ambassador like yourself would be a little more noticeable."
Skyl gave an insoucient shrug. "I try not to stand out whenever possible. You have no idea how irritating it is to have people interrupt your day for every single minor diplomatic detail--"
Vorak'Utaur's fist came slamming down on the table. For the briefest of seconds, Skyl's dropped as he jumped in alarm. "You weren't in the Promenade at that time," the Jem'Hadar growled, bringing his head close to Skyl's. "I will ask you again, Cardassian. Where were you?"
The Cardassian looked at the Jem'Hadar, and Brax could see he was doing his best to keep a brave face on. "I don't have to tell you anything, you mass-produced, genetically engineered abomination," he hissed. "I realize the meaning of this term may escape you, but I have diplomatic immunity. As far as I'm concerned, this entire proceeding is illegal."
"By your laws, Cardassian," Vorak'Utaur growled. "Not mine."
"Easy Third," Brax warned. If Vorak'Utaur started physically threatening Skyl again, that could land them both into a thicker grub's nest than they were already in. He turned back Skyl and smiled. "Unfortunately, Ambassador, diplomatic immunity only extends so far...especially when the murder of another ambassador is involved."
Skyl chuckled. "Ah yes, of course. You think a frail old Cardassian like myself murdered the dearly departed Eraun."
"Yes," Brax replied with a nod. "Specifically, we think a frail old Cardassian like you paid a known hacker to tamper with the dearly departed Eraun's replicator, enabling him to remotely create a murder weapon and key a transport signiature. A frail old Cardassian like you then arranged a secret meeting with Eraun, where you then replicated the weapon, stabbed Eraun before he could react, and then beamed out so that you wouldn't be caught by Eraun's guards."
For a moment, Skyl stared at Brax, before slowly straightening up. "Oh my, you're actually serious." He frowned. "Do you have any idea how ludicrous that all sounds?"
"Humour me," Brax replied as he tried to read Skyl's face. He had to admit, the old Cardassian was pretty good at masking any shock or surprise he might have otherwise been feeling.
"Well for starters, if I had killed him, no doubt some of Eraun's...hair, or other DNA would have shown up on my clothes!" Skyl sputtered. "Even an ignoramus could figure that out!"
Brax nodded. "Which is why my team is busy scouring your quarters. I'm sure they'll let me know when they find something."
Skyl's face momentarily twisted with outrage. "Those quarters are ambassadorial territory, you--" He paused, took a deep breath, and composed himself. "If I had entered Eraun's quarters last night, wouldn't his guards have seen me enter?"
It was Vorak'Utaur's turn to answer. "At 2400 last night, Eraun ordered his guards to leave the entrance of his room and make a patrol of the adjoining hallways for ten minutes," he said. "More than enough time for you to enter and leave unseen."
Brax perked up. He hadn't expected Vorak'Utaur to suddenly volunteer information like that, though it seemed to explain how someone could have gotten in. "Except you didn't leave normally," Brax added. "You had keyed a transport signiature to Eraun's replicator so you could beam directly back to your quarters. And because Eraun had ordered most of the remote scanning devices around his quarters disabled, no one was able to detect you enter the area in the first place. It was the perfect crime."
"That's preposterous!" Skyl blurted, though it he seemed to be becoming more flustered. "You have nothing connecting me to Eraun's murder other than blind supposition!"
"No, Cardassian," Vorak'Utaur said, "we have proof." He started to circle the table again-- Brax had to admit, the Jem'Hadar was effortlessly menacing. "The man who was contracted out to hack Eraun's replicator gave as an IEF signiature matched to the username of the man who hired him. That IEF signiature led directly to your personal terminal."
The ambassador gaped, and Brax followed up before he could protest. "And before you start complaining that you're the victim of some elaborate frame-up," he said, "you and I both know how hard the personal computers of ambassadors are to hack." He leaned closer to Skyl. "Unless you conveniently loaned that computer out to someone, this little murder has your name all over it."
Skyl's expression tightened. He was on the defensive now. "This is ludicrous," he said. "What motive would I possibly I have for killing Eraun? He was annoying, yes, but hardly worth the effort of murdering!"
"You tell me," Brax said, folding his hands. "Ever since the talks began, you went out of your way to mock Eraun and Loriss at every opportunity. You repeatedly insulted them, insulted the Dominion, and at one point openly wished for them to 'contract Vendikan pox and die.'"
The old Cardassian shifted uncomfortably at this. "If I had truly wished them dead, Mr. Brax, I would have been a little more inventive with my threats," he replied. "Besides, if you were stuck in the same room as those two wheedling, insufferable clones, you would wish death on them as well."
"Really?" Brax quipped. "Sounds more to me like you have a lot in common with them." This earned him a truly venomous look from Skyl.
"Have a care for your tone, Cardassian," Vorak'Utaur growled. "Those are two servants of the Founders you are referring to." He stopped next to Skyl's shoulder and glowered down at him. "It is a well known fact that your people hate and despise the Dominion. Do not try to deny this."
Skyl glanced up at the Jem'Hadar. "If hating the Dominion is a crime, then why don't you just arrest everyone on this station then," he retorted, "and leave me in peace?"
"The Third has a point, though," Brax said, leaning back in his chair. "You Cardassians aren't exactly known as the forgiving type...and what the Dominion did to your homeworld isn't exactly forgiveable either."
At this, Vorak'Utaur looked at Brax, a mixture of surprise and disappointment on his grey features. Well, Brax thought, that was one unpleasant argument they were going to have later.
"So you think this is revenge?" Skyl suddenly chuckled. "Really. You think that I would avenge a thirty-year-old atrocity committed against my people by stabbing one easily-replaced Vorta?"
"One Vorta who happens to be the Dominion's representative," Brax replied. "Killing him may not have struck a grievous, irrecoverable blow against the Dominion...but be honest, it would have made you feel better, wouldn't it?"
Skyl's expression became smoothe and hard to read at this point. "You don't know me at all, Mr. Brax," he replied. "I don't like to wallow in the past as much as my countrymen. And besides, I was never on Cardassia when the bombardment occurred. My family and I were safe and sound on Goralis, so..." he glanced up at Vorak'Utaur "...as undoubtedly tragic and needlessly brutal as the bombardment was, it didn't affect me in the slightest."
Brax shrugged. "True," he said. "While your fellow Cardassians were dying and then dealing with starvation, poverty, etc etc, you were happily drinking kanar on Goralis. But..." Brax's eyes narrowed "...you had a mistress who was living on Cardassia, didn't you?"
That certainly got to him: Skyl's eyes widened as he instantly straightened up in his seat. "What?"
"That's right, a mistress," Brax went on. "Her name was Ajora Girol. She was an artist, a member of the lower strata of Cardassian society, and, whenever it was the most convenient to you, your lover."
Skyl's jaw twisted ever so slightly as he read its contents, and Brax saw his already grey face seem to become more ashen. Slowly, he looked up at Brax. "How did you know?"
Brax tapped a few buttons on his PADD. "Rule of Acquisition #74: knowledge equals profit," he said, sliding the PADD towards Skyl. "There are a lot of loose tongues on this station, and I had latinum to spare. A few people in the Union knew about you two...but a select fewer people knew that you loved Ajora more than you loved your own wife, or that you were hiding the fact that she was a member of the Oralian Way." He watched as Skyl read the PADD. "But it is widely known that she was one of the people killed by the Dominion's bombing of Lakarian City."
A part of Brax felt dirty about this. By rights, he should have been openly condemning the bombing, and telling Skyl that he was absolutely right to hate the Dominion as much as he did. But being in the justice business meant you never had the luxury of picking sides.
As Skyl stared down at the PADD, Vorak'Utaur paced around to the edge of the table. "The username of the man who contracted the hacker was Zeylat," he said. "I am not completely ignorant of your world's culture, Cardassian. I know that Zeylat means 'revenge' in your world's Hebitian language, and that this language is frequently used by the Oralian Way cult."
"That's what this is all about, isn't it?" Brax added. "Revenge. You don't care about hurting the Dominion in a big way...but you did want to hurt one of them, just as they'd hurt you. You wanted to take all of your pent up anger and sorrow out on one, easily-replaceable Vorta."
Slowly, Skyl looked up from the PADD. The calm, insoucient facade was gone-- Skyl's eyes now burned with a cold fury, one that intensified when it fixed on Vorak'Utaur.
"I'm glad Eraun is dead," he finally said. "I hope his next clone dies an equally horrible death, along with that she-dog Loriss, and you, you drug-swilling brute." With a deep inhalation, he leaned back in his chair. "But you have the wrong man. I didn't kill Eraun. And if I had, I wouldn't have been so foolish as to do the deed myself."
"Then give me something," Brax said. Every negotiation had to have an offer. "Tell me where you were at 2400 hours, last night."
Skyl shook his head. "No, Mr. Brax, I am done talking with you and your...friend here." He folded his hands on the table. "I refuse to say anything more until my barrister gets here. And if you continue to harass me in this manner, I will be certain to mention it when this inevitably goes to trial. After all..." His lips turned up in a smile. "...we Cardassians have very long memories."
And just like that, the interrogation had hit a brick wall. Sighing, Brax nodded and stood up. "Enjoy your stay for the time being, Ambassador Skyl, he said, stretching as he made his way for the exit. "I understand that the brig here on DS9, just like most other things on the station, haven't changed much since the Occupation, so you'll feel right at home."
*****
"Well that could have gone better," Kurland muttered as he looked at the screen on the wall panel.
"It's not like they were going to get a confession out of him the first time around, anyway," Arkos pointed out. "Skyl's a diplomat, he knows how to weave his way out of a tough conversation."
Kurland shook his head. "Maybe, but we won't get another chance for a confession now," he said. "Not if this goes to trial. And knowing Skyl, he'll probably find some way of swaying the court in his favour."
Arkos grimaced. As a starship captain, his duties usually enabled him to be able to avoid the murky world of politics, but this was one of those instances where that murk caught up with him, and he was unpleasantly reminded that there was a sticky bureaucratic world beyond Starfleet. In such instances, he would have preferred to stare down the Borg than deal with political intrigue and courtroom dramas.
The door of the interrogation room slid open, and Brax and Vorak'Utaur stepped through. "He's definitely hiding something," Brax declared as he walked up to his captain. "He was being honest about how he felt about Eraun, but I could tell, there was still something he was trying to hide."
"Like his involvement in the murder?" Kurland asked. "Or is it something else that he's hiding?"
Brax gave a tired shrug. "Who knows? He's invoked his right to silence, and I can't press him any more without breaking the law. He has us at a dead end, and he knows it."
Vorak'Utaur shook his head in disgust. "This is pointless. Surely you, as Starfleet, are above the Federation's law?"
There was a short, awkward silence as the three Starfleet officers stared at the Jem'Hadar. "Um...no, Third, we're not," Brax said. "We're just as accountable to the law as everyon else. Just as...you know, just as you Jem'Hadar are bound to follow the rules of the Founders."
"Hm." Vorak'Utaur said nothing more on that, but he seemed to accept the argument. "If you cannot interrogate him directly, then simply do so indirectly. If you have a telepathic officer on hand, bring them in here and monitor his thoughts--"
Kurland waved his hands. "No. Out of the question. Use of telepaths in interrogations is permissable only with prisoners of war." He glanced at the screen, and noted how Skyl continued to sit patiently "It is allowed in some criminal cases, but most times the accused can invoke their constitutional right to freedom of privacy. And our Cardassian friend there may not be a Federation citizen, but he is a diplomat, so no matter what, he gets special treatment in the eyes of the law."
"You mean your law, Captain Kurland," another voice spoke up. The four of them turned in time to see Loriss come gliding up the hallway, a bemused smile on her face. At her side strode Ambassador Sorel, his own handsome features much more sombre. As usual, there was a quartet of Jem'Hadar forming a semicircle at Loriss' back.
"Ambassador," Kurland said with a respectful nod to Sorel, though he grimaced as he turned to Loriss. "Ambassador."
"Captain," Loriss returned with a nod. "As I was just saying to dear Ambassador Sorel here, were are quite pleased at how this investigation turned out. Not only was Eraun's murderer found, but he was found through the successful cooperation of Starfleet and Jem'Hadar personnel!" She clapped her hands together. "I think this bodes well for any formal alliance between us, don't you?"
"With all due respect, Ambassador Loriss," Kurland said, "the evidence against Rugan Skyl is hardly airtight. An incriminating IEF led to his personal terminal, yes, but we still need to establish what his whereabouts, how exactly he carried out the murder...and as a diplomat, he does have the right to a fair trial."
Loriss' smile didn't waver, but her eyes narrowed ever so slightly. "In your system, he has that right, Captain Kurland," she replied, "but do remember that he is guilty of killing a Dominion ambassador. As I was telling Ambassador Sorel here, we are the injured party, therefore I think it is only fitting that Rugan Skyl be brought back to the Gamma Quadrant to face Dominion justice."
Sorel gave the group an uncomfortable look. "The Dominion does have a valid claim," he agreed, "but the Cardassian government will contest this if you try to take him to the Gamma Quadrant. They will demand that he be fairly represented."
A mirthful laugh escaped Loriss' lips. "Oh Ambassador, we are not overly concerned about Cardassia's opinion," she said. "As far as I'm concerned, they share partial responsibility for the actions of their ambassador anyway." She turned slowly to Vorak'Utaur. "Third Vorak'Utaur?"
The Jem'Hadar instantly stiffened into attention. "Yes, Loriss."
"Your conduct during this investigation was admirable," Loriss said, "and worthy of your devotion to the Founders. You are effectively released from this duty: return to your unit."
Vorak'Utaur slammed his forearm against his chest in a salute. Without a further word, he strode down the hallway, leaving the flabbergasted Brax behind.
"Wait, you're releasing him, just like that?" Brax exclaimed. "But the investigation is still ongoing! We still have evidence that we need to collect."
"We are satisfied with the evidence you have collected already, Mr. Brax," Loriss replied. "I, for one, consider this matter closed. On behalf of the Dominion, I thank you for your diligence and persistence in this investigation. You have done us a great service."
"But--" Brax started, but by that point, Loriss was already turning away from him back to Sorel. "Please inform us when Rugan Skyl is ready for extradition," she said. "My ship will take him as soon as he is ready."
"Of course," Sorel said with a nod. "Barring mitigating circumstances, of course."
There was a brief, hostile glimmer in Loriss' purple eyes. "Of course," she replied. And without a further word, she turned and walked off down the hallway, her bodyguards stomping after her.
As soon as they were out of eyesight, Kurland exhaled a deep breath. "I hate that *****," he muttered.
"Gee, I wonder why, she seems like such a nice person," Brax muttered dryly.
Arkos turned to Sorel. "Ambassador, we aren't actually going to give Rugan Skyl to the Dominion, are we?" he asked.
Sorel gave a tired sigh. "That's one of the things I came here to talk to you about," he said. "We have more problems than just Loriss. The Cardassian government is demanding that Rugan Skyl be released and returned to them."
"What?" Brax exclaimed. "I thought they hated him!"
"As I undertand it, many of Skyl's enemies on Cardassia are using this opportunity to discredit him," Sorel admitted. "And by the sounds of things, he has many enemies. But there are many more who are trying to string him up as a martyr, in an effort to sour relations between the Cardassian Union and the Federation. The fact that we arrested him while helping the Dominion just makes us look worse in their eyes."
"Great," Kurland grumbled as he leaned against the wall. "So if we hold on to Skyl or give him back to the Cardassians, then we risk starting another conflict with the Dominion. But if we give Skyl to the Dominion..."
"...then we risk destabilizing our good relations with the Cardassian Union," Kurland finished with a nod. "And given the tense political situation down there, this will give the True Way even more ammunition to use against us."
"Then we don't give him to either," Arkos said. "We keep him here on Deep Space Nine, and have a fair trial held here, one where the Dominion can prosecute and the Cardassians can send someone to represent him."
Sorel took a deep breath. "That's the other thing I wanted to discuss with you," he said. "If this goes to trial, we won't have a leg to stand on, because the evidence was acquired unlawfully."
The statement made Brax jump. "What?" he cried. "Ambassador, I ran this by the book."
Patiently, Sorel looked down at the Ferengi and shook his head. "I know about the incident where Joreg was threatened, Lieutenant Commander Brax," he said. "Before you get defensive, I am not condemning you-- I realize that you attempted to stop Third Vorak'Utaur from physically threatening Joreg. But a court won't see it that way: they will see that the primary piece of evidence we have against Skyl-- the confession of being paid for a hacking job and the IEF he supplied us with-- as having been gained through coercion, and thus tainted. Any case against Rugan Skyl could be thrown out the window for that alone."
Brax swore out loud. "So this was all for nothing, is that what you're saying?" He gestured to the viewscreen, where Skyl continued to sit bored. "You're saying he'll get to walk after all this?"
"What I'm saying, Mr. Brax," Sorel said, "is that if we want to make a case against Rugan Skyl, we'll need more evidence. And I fear I can not say much more than that."
Arkos grimaced. "Then we don't have time to waste," he said, before turning to his chief of Security. "Brax..."
"Yeah, I know Captain, I'm on it," Brax sighed as he turned to head back to the crime scene. He had no idea where else to look, or where to even start looking, but his initial gut instinct was right, it seemed-- this investigation wasn't over, not by a long shot.
Dang, HOW did I miss Rugan Skyl getting his sorry butt arrested? :eek:
In my own headcanon, Berat hates him so badly for the "Bajoran-distilled kanar" remark that Berat either threatened or actually assaulted him, and the incident caused a big kerfuffle through both of his chains of command (who ultimately let him off the hook for it).
Of course, the condition of the new Eraun clone has not been explained, so there is definitely more going on here.
The only thing that seems a bit...out of character...is the notion that a fanatic like Skyl would have ever covered for an Oralian. He never struck me as the type. I am curious as to your thinking there.
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Dang, HOW did I miss Rugan Skyl getting his sorry butt arrested? :eek:
In my own headcanon, Berat hates him so badly for the "Bajoran-distilled kanar" remark that Berat either threatened or actually assaulted him, and the incident caused a big kerfuffle through both of his chains of command (who ultimately let him off the hook for it).
Of course, the condition of the new Eraun clone has not been explained, so there is definitely more going on here.
The only thing that seems a bit...out of character...is the notion that a fanatic like Skyl would have ever covered for an Oralian. He never struck me as the type. I am curious as to your thinking there.
See, I never saw Skyl as a fanatic, but as a self-serving opportunist. He supported the old regime on Cardassia purely because he benefited from doing so, just as he now serves the current Cardassian Union. The main reason he behaved so rudely towards the PC and towards Bajorans isn't because he dogmatically believes in Cardassian superiority (though I'm certain he was raised to believe that), but simply because he's a smug, self-important ******* who enjoys getting a rise out of people.
As for why he would help an Oralian...bear in mind that on DS9, almost every villain (especially the Cardassian ones) had a soft spot. Dukat had Ziyal, Enabran Tain had Garak (and, arguably, Mila), and in my mind, Skyl had his mistress. Of course, him not telling anyone she was an Oralian could simply have been his way of maintaining leverage over her.
Hmmm...I guess when I played the missions, I took him to be an old-style Cardassian "patriot"/bigot, who bought, bribed, or threatened his way into his position, possibly with the backing of the True Way with an eye towards TRIBBLE up relations with the Federation somehow, because quite frankly I couldn't see why the Cardassian government would have allowed him into that role without him having pulled something hinky. (A suspicion that also contributed to the altercation with Berat. Berat MIGHT have also told Skyl--though he won't swear to it--to STFU on the Dyson sphere when I played that mission. After all, since it's coming from another Cardassian, it's not like he has to worry about causing an interstellar incident as he would with any other ambassador--merely getting in trouble for "disrespect." :evil grin: )
I can see where you get your interpretation though I don't totally agree with it.
I'd lean towards the "leverage" over the Oralian mistress idea, probably.
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This is just an update, the next bit might take a while. I am right in the middle of exam season now, an have the tail end of several stressful group projects to get done. (Good job, Cryptic, introducing Delta Recruits right when I can play STO the least). Also, something rather distressing recently happened at work, so...long story short, expect delays.
As an aside, in case people haven't noticed by now, [REDACTED, PENDING LINK APPROVAL]
PS, is Shevet OK with that link? If so, ignore this remark.
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There were a hundred different reasons Brax shouldn't have been here right now, seeping in toxins like so many others at Quark's. He knew this even as he leaned back in his seat, took another gulp of alcohol-laced snail juice, and crunched down another handful of gree-worms. Technically, he was still on duty, and more importantly, he still had a case to solve. But he had long ago lost the will or energy to continue in this case: he felt exhausted, drained, fed up, and above all hungry. He needed a break, and more importantly, he needed a stiff drink to unwind his lobes.
He had set Vasquez and his team to work, telling them to find something, anything incriminating and suspicious other than the IEF signal that had led right to Rugan Skyl's personal terminal. That had been their one big breakthrough in the case the one thing that had allowed them to nab Skyl, and now they couldn't even use it. But at this rate, unless something equally incriminating popped up from out of thin air, Skyl would walk free.
If he was even the killer, a nagging voice at the back of Brax's mind said. So much about this situation seemed wrong-- Skyl had been all too willing to admit to his dislike of Eraun. Moreover, something about the way the IEF had led to his terminal had seemed too convenient-- a terminal with diplomatic access restrictions should have been a lot harder to backtrace for a regular engineering team. No, something about this whole case felt rotten, and it had felt that day the moment he had been stuck with Jem'Hadar oversight.
The Dominion were hiding something. Even an idiot could figure that much out. Every time Brax had tried to ask Vorak'Utaur questions about Eraun and what he had been doing that night, the Jem'Hadar had simply stonewalled him. And then there was Loriss and the way she had abruptly concluded the case. It had felt like she had wanted to bring the investigation to a premature end. What didn't she want Brax to find? If history was anything to go by, then the Dominion were no doubt up to something sneaky and underhanded, and he was coming very close to finding out what.
And then there was Eraun. Surely, the Dominion would have cloned him by now? If so, then where was he? Why weren't they examining his memories of the incident so that they could get an actual, eyewitness account? Brax was beginning to suspect that they had, and that whatever they had found was something they didn't want to see the light of day. No, there was definitely a cover up of some sort going on here.
The problem was, he had no idea where to go from here. Joreg and Halo had given him the biggest leads on the investigation, but without either of them, he had no idea where else to look. He couldn't very well go poking around on the Dominion ship without sparking a diplomatic incident and/or getting shot. And the forensics details from Skyl's quarters were still going through his personal files. This entire case had thrown him back into one frustrating dead end, and he had no idea what else he could do. Other than to try drinking himself into an unprofessional stupor, that was.
"Mind if I join you, Mr. Brax?" The voice that spoke was female, carrying a tone and tenor that reminded Brax of crystallised winter lake. He glanced up from his meal, and was greeted by the site of a Romulan woman standing on the other side of his table, looking down at him intently. She was roughly mid-height for her species, and wore a dark leather coat and bodyglove that hugged her slender form. Her short auburn hair had been swept artfully to one side, and thin face framed a pair of intelligent eyes that looked like miscoloured chips of stone-- her left was the colour of sharp-cut emerald; her right was the grey of flecked ice, and glimmered with the telltale signs of augmetic prosthesis. The tiny, lined scars sweeping outward from the corner of that eye told Brax that it was a replacement for an old injury, one that she had never bothered to conceal.
Scars and augmetic eye or no, the woman was quite attractive by non-Ferengi standards-- Brax involuntarily found himself imagining her in an oo-mox situation.
He also quickly realized he'd seen her face before. A name sprang up-- Ta'nara Velar, commander of the warbird that had brought the Romulan delegation to Deep Space Nine.
"By all means," Brax replied, gesturing to his chair. "I could use the company." A part of him was secretly thrilled that an attractive female wanted to share a table with him. The more experienced part of him, however, knew that Romulans were rarely straightforward with their motivations.
With a nod and a single, languid movement, Ta'nara slid into the opposite chair. "I trust your investigation is faring well?" she asked, taking a delicate sip of her drink.
Brax raised an eyebrow. "What investigation?" he asked. "In case you haven't heard, Commander Velar, the Dominion has declared the case to be closed."
"And yet the Federation has not," Ta'nara replied smoothly. "I know full well that Captain Nair has ordered your investigation to continue, Mr. Brax, so there is no need to be coy." There was something effortlessly seductive about the way she had said that last sentence.
Involuntarily, Brax edged back in his seat a little, not lowering his guard. Somehow, it made sense that the Romulans already knew about this. "And you're here to check up on me?" he asked warily.
Ta'nara gave a slight tensing of her body that might have been a shrug. "The Republic is as invested in these talks as the Federation is, Mr. Brax," she said, "so we desire a satisfactory conclusion as much as your people do."
"Ah." With a tired sigh, Brax relaxed his own posture a little, to indicate that he wasn't intimidated in the slightest. "Well, I'd hate to disappoint one of the Federation's closest allies, but I have nothing to give you. I've tried everything, and looked everywhere I could. At this point, I've exhausted all my leads. It's a dead end."
For a moment, Ta'nara was quiet. Her one organic eye had the intense, focused look of someone in deep thought. Her augmetic looked glassy and unreadable, aside from a brief telltale flicker across its pale surface. Brax tensed, wondering, for a brief moment, what the inbuilt sensors on that eye were scrying about him.
"Perhaps you aren't looking in the right places," Ta'nara finally said, raising her glass and swirling it absent-mindedly.
Brax suppressed a brief surge of irritation. He couldn't tell if Ta'nara was intimating that she knew something, or was being deliberately obtuse. "Maybe," he said, reaching forward and munching down another couple of fried gree-worms. "A man like Rugan Skyl has to have left a trail somewhere, and as soon as my team finishes scouring his quarters--"
"Don't bother," Ta'nara cut in, taking a quick sip of her drink before continuing. "Skyl didn't do it."
The statement almost made Brax choke on his meal. It took him a few seconds to avoid gagging to death, after which he looked up at Ta'nara in bewilderment. "Are you saying you know for a fact that Skyl is innocent?"
Ta'nara's eyes narrowed. "'Innocent' is hardly the word I'd use, Mr. Brax," she said. "Rugan Skyl is guilty of a great many sins. But killing Eraun is not one of them."
Brax gave Ta'nara a hard stare. "And how would you know this?" he asked, though he suspected he already knew the answer.
"We have been monitoring Skyl ever since he arrived on Deep Space Nine," Ta'nara replied, matter-of-factly. "Certain parties wished to know what he was up to. If he had moved against Eraun during that time, we would have known."
Of course, Brax realized. You wouldn't have the diplomats of the major powers of three quadrants gathered here without them bringing their respective spies along for the ride. And the Romulans, for better or worse, were renowned for their spies. The fact that Ta'nara had admitted it so brazenly, however, surprised Brax. This admission came with a price tag, he figured: she either wanted something from him in return, or was currying a future favour from him.
"Well, that's...rather honest of you," Brax said guardedly. Always inspect the merchandise, Rule #218 echoed in his memory. "But it still leaves me with a few unanswered questions. If you claim you were monitoring him, why was he clamming up so much when I questioned him about his whereabouts?"
"Because he was engaging the services of courtesans in his quarters at the time," Ta'nara replied, her tone remaining icy and indifferent. "I'm sure your people will have found a frilly undergarment or two by now."
Brax felt his ears sag a little. "Oh," he said. That actually made a lot of sense-- information like that could have ruined Skyl's name, if not his reputation, back on Cardassia. Even with the threat of a murder conviction hanging over his head, Skyl must have decided it was better to be falsely accused of killing a Vorta-- one of Cardassia's old enemies-- than to be literally caught with his pants down.
"Well," Brax finally muttered, "I won't say I don't appreciate you telling me this, Commander Velar, but...why couldn't you have told me sooner? You know, like...before we tried to have Skyl charged?"
He saw the Romulan woman's expression harden slightly. "Because then we would have had to admit that we were monitoring him in the first place," she replied, "which would have made continued talks impossible if the Dominion ever found out." Brax noted that Ta'nara did not say or the Cardassians. "Here, in a private conversation between the two of us, there is less room for adverse diplomatic consequences." She set her glass down on the table. "I will trust, of course, that you will be discreet about this."
"And what if I don't?" Brax challenged. "What if instead I bring this to my Captain, or to Ambassador Sorel, and tell them about what your Republic has been up to?"
Ta'nara's expression softened a bit, though it remained as cold and inscrutable as ever. "Do so if you wish, Mr. Brax," she said, "though I assure you, Ambassador Satris will deny everything, as will I. Then it will simply be your word against mine, at a time when our two peoples should be working together as allies rather than pointing fingers in full view of the Dominion."
A sour feeling rose in Brax's gut. Some allies, he thought bitterly. He knew Ta'nara and her people had to be spying on the Federation delegation as well, but he kept his mouth shut. For better or worse, Ta'nara was right: he had to keep a lid on this. And at the moment, if he was honest with himself, he'd preferred to have a Romulan spy on his side than against it.
"Alright, fine," he muttered. "So...given how...perceptive your people are, I don't suppose you know who did kill Eraun?"
Ta'nara frowned and shook her head. "The Dominion's internal security was far too potent," she said. "It was impossible for us to monitor Eraun or his surroundings at the time."
Any security too tough for Romulan intelligence had to be good security indeed, Brax thought to himself. "Any leads then?" he asked. "Any information you can give me at all?"
"Only the obvious," Ta'anara replied. "The Dominion knows more about the truth than either of us."
Brax gave Ta'nara an annoyed frown. "With all due respect, Commander, that really doesn't help me at all."
Ta'nara raised an eyebrow. "Doesn't it?" she asked. Her voice was raised slightly in something that might have approached amusement, as though this were all a game to her. "You know where to get your answers, Mr. Brax. How you choose to get them is up to you, but you are a resourceful man. I'm certain you'll think of something."
Slowly, the Romulan woman stood up. "By the way, it might interest you to know, Mr. Brax," she said, "that that Jem'Hadar friend of yours is still on the station."
"He's not my friend," Brax retorted. He was surprised at how abrupt his answer had been.
Ta'nara cocked her head to the side in a bemused gesture. "No, of course not," she replied smoothely, before giving him a curt nod. "Good day, Mr. Brax." And with that, Ta'nara turned and walked away. In a matter of seconds, she had disappeared back into the crowd of people around the counter.
With an irritated sigh, Brax slumped back in his seat. He hated this case. He hated the fact that it led nowhere, he hated all the lies and secrecy in it, and he now hated the fact that it was getting him mixed up in espionage, counter-intelligence, and the dirty laundry of at least five interstellar nations. He just wanted this miserable case to end so that be rid of the perpetual ache in his lobes that it was giving him.
Setting his cup down, he stretched and stood up. As much as he hated to admit it, there was one obvious approach he'd been missing this whole time. "Frigging Romulans," he grumbled to himself.
*****
Less disciplined races would have balked at the idea of guard duty. They might have seen it as demeaning, or as a waste of their talents, or as a menial job that they were, for some reason, undeserving of. But that was why they were less disciplined races. The Jem'Hadar had no such weaknesses. They knew that no duty done in service to the Founders was ever demeaning. It was because of this unwavering fidelity that the Dominion had endured for thousands of years, and would continue to endure long after the Federation and their kind were dust on the wind.
Vorak'Utaur paced before his squad, who stood in front of the airlock with statuesque rigidity, carbines braced and ready. He had trained these younglings himself, and knew that they were more than ready to deal with any would-be hostiles. A small part of him, admittedly, was disappointed that there were no serious threats on this station that his squad could test themselves against-- nothing, that is, save for disorganized civilian rabble and a murderous Cardassian elder. Even so, the entire episode with Eraun had illustrated the importance of vigilance.
"You know your duty," Vorak'Utaur said to his squad, letting his footfalls drag as he paced back and forth. "The First has commanded that you will undertake regular rotations to stand guard before the airlock. Regular biometric sweeps shall be undertaken to scan for contaminants, evidence of subterfuge, or anything that may be deemed as an irregularity.No one may approach without proper clearance, and no non-Dominion personnel are allowed with five feet without express permission from Loriss. Any who do so without any express permission, or who approach with apparent hostile intent, are to be treated as hostiles, and to be terminated with lethal force."
He paused, taking a quick look at his soldiers' faces. Like proper Jem'Hadar, they all stared directly ahead, stone-faced and unflinching. He could have swung his katarkin at that moment, and relieved the closest soldier of his head, and the rest of them would not so much have blinked.
"What happened last night shall not be repeated," he went on. "We will not allow another servant of the Founders to be killed by Alphan cowardice. We will be vigilant. We will take every reasonable procaution to guard those who speak for the Founders. And when this delegation is concluded, we will make sure that they return to our home territory in one piece."
He took a brief moment to look in his squad's eyes, and felt a brief surge of pride when he saw the stern resolve in each pair. "Remember," he finished, "our duty is to serve, and in service to the Founders, there is victory."
"Victory is life," his squad answered in unison. Almost immediately after they said this, however, Vorak'Utaur something change in all of their expressions-- alarm and surprising flickering from face to face like wildfire.
He barely had time to register this change before, in unison, they all raised their carbines and pointed them at him.
"Whoa, whoa, hey!" An irritatingly familiar voice cried behind him. Vorak'Utaur spun, and saw, to his relief, that his soldiers were not acting out of some irrational disloyalty: rather, they were all doing their duty and pointing their weapons at an intruder. A short, big eared, lump-headed intruder in the grey, black and red of a Starfleet security uniform.
Vorak'Utaur raised an arm, signalling his squad to lower their weapons. "Ferengi," he breathed out the word. "What are you doing here?"
Brax took a step back, visibly doing his best to regain his composure. "Hey, I just wanted to check up on you Third," he said. He glared at the squad. "I wouldn't have done it if I'd known I'd get shot in the process."
Vorak'Utaur glared down at Brax. He smelled the sickening smell of intoxicants on the Ferengi. "This area is off limits, Ferengi," he growled. "And you should know by now that Jem'Hadar do not engage in...pleasantries. Leave."
For a moment, the Ferengi looked like he wanted to do just that. He visibly steeled himself, however, and met Vorak'Utaur's gaze. This did not surprise Vorak'Utaur-- Lieutenant Commander Brax had repeatedly demonstrated that he was not as craven as the rest of his species. "Look, Third...you dislike me, and I'm not a big fan of you either. But I need to talk to you, in private if possible. I think there may still be a security risk to your delegation."
Vorak'Utaur's first instinct was just to turn and walk away, and maybe let his squad vapourize Brax for good measure. But something about what Brax was saying gave him pause. He did not seem to be lying...and while Vorak'Utaur hated the idea of private conversation, there was an unspoken rule among all Jem'Hadar: the Vorta don't need to know everything.
Turning back to his squad, Vorak'Utaur gave them a simple nod-- a signal for them to carry out their duties. Wordlessly, his soldiers divided themselves into their assigned tasks, some setting up guard-posts and monitoring stations while others exited back through the airlock to await their rotation. Knowing that his soldiers would know better than to listen in on the conversation, Vorak'Utaur turned back to Brax. "You have my attention, Ferengi," he said, "but not my patience. Be brief."
Brax nodded. "I'll get to the point then: Skyl didn't do it. Eraun's killer is still out there."
Vorak'Utaur's scaled face remained stony and impassive, but even he couldn't supress the brief flicker of surprise in his eyes. "And how do you know this?"
The Ferengi suddenly looked uncomfortable. "Our forensics teams have found...evidence in Skyl's quarters that place him there at the time of the crime," he said. "This means he can't have done it." There was something else, Vorak'Utaur knew. Something about Brax's demeanour gave Vorak'Utaur the strong impression that the Ferengi knew more than he was letting on.
"Even if he did not commit the crime himself, the evidence still points to him," Vorak'Utaur said. "His terminal was used to hire Joreg and Halo, and he has a motive. As far as I am concerned, Ferengi, Skyl is still guilty, and he will face the judgement of the Founders soon enough."
"And what if you're wrong?" Brax retorted. "What if the killer has framed Skyl for this crime? It fits-- the man has no friends on this station, and has plenty of motive to strike against the Dominion. Both of us were willing to believe that he did it. What if we've been dancing to the murderer's tune the whole time?"
Vorak'Utaur felt his patience wearing thin. "It does not matter, Ferengi," he said, allowing a little more steel into his voice this time. "Even if Skyl did not commit the crime, someone must be punished for this murder. The Dominion cannot allow the death of one of its servants to go unanswered."
Brax seemed taken aback by this. Taken aback and, Vorak'Utaur noticed, disappointed. "Of course," he muttered. "The Dominion doesn't care about justice, does it? It just cares about saving face, about not looking weak when the Alpha Quadrant is watching." He took a step forward. "But, Third, if you're willing to admit that Skyl might not have done it, then you must also admit that the real killer is still out there, and is still a threat to your delegation."
"If he tries again, he will fail," Vorak'Utaur said. "We have redoubled the security around the delegation. If the killer makes another attempt, then we will stop him."
"You were pretty confident about your security the last time," Brax replied, "and the killer didn't even leave a trace when he killed Eraun. Look...Third, I don't doubt you, or your men, or your ability to guard Loriss and the other Vorta, but...do you really want to take any chances at this stage?"
Vorak'Utaur went quiet. He knew enough about the Ferengi to know that their greed made them shrewd negotiators and manipulators, almost rivalling the Vorta in their skill at wordplay. Still, he could not deny that the Ferengi had a point. "Be that as it may," I said, "I have my orders, Ferengi. I will not disobey them."
It was at this point that Brax flashed him a needle-toothed grin. "Yeah, I overhead that little speech of yours," he said, gesturing to his large, elephantine ears. "In your own words, you said you and your squad need to take 'every reasonable procaution' to maintain security." He shrugged. "Isn't following a suspected lead on a known killer a reasonable procaution?"
Vorak'Utaur's glower intensified. He allowed himself a few seconds to consider what Brax had said, to ponder his options. Then, finally, he nodded. "Very well, Ferengi," he said. "If you suspect that my delegation is in danger, then I will assist you in investigating this danger."
Brax blinked in obvious surprise. It was evident that he hadn't expected to actually be able to convince Vorak'Utaur. "You...you will?" he echoed.
The Jem'Hadar nodded. "You have demonstrated skill and expertise in investigations of this nature, Ferengi," he said, "and your judgement has been...accurate, so far. It is for this reason that if you say my delegation is still in danger, I believe you."
He took a deliberate step forward so that he was now towering over Brax. "But," he added, glaring down at the Ferengi, "know that I am abandoning my post to aid you in this...hypothesis. If you are wrong, Ferengi, and we find nothing, then I will kill you myself."
The Ferengi visibly paled at this promise, but, as Vorak'Utaur had expected, didn't flinch. Not for the first time, Vorak'Utaur wondered if the Federation weren't the weak, degenerate cowards that the First had made them out to be.
"We will find something," Brax promised. He glanced warily at the few Jem'Hadar guarding the airlock before continuing. "This time, I know exactly where to look, Third. The answers have been staring us in the face the whole time."
Vorak'Utaur was a little unsure about the phrase staring us in the face, but was able to guess at its meaning. "You are saying you have a lead, Ferengi?"
Brax nodded, and headed for the exit, gesturing for Vorak'Utaur to follow him. "Yeah. Whoever the killer is, they knew about your delegation's security patterns before they struck. That means they must have known Eraun would be alone in his quarters that night."
In truth, Vorak'Utaur had suspected the same thing. He followed Brax towards the exit. "What is your lead, then?" he asked. "One of the station's staff? Someone from one of the other delegations?"
"No." Brax turned on his heels abruptly and stared up at Vorak'Utaur. "You."
Jem'Hadar did not gape, or sputter, or do any of the things weaker species did when they were surprised. Nonetheless, Vorak'Utaur felt the sparse colour on his face drain at the comment. He was conscious that they were now far enough from the airlock that his squad wouldn't have heard Brax's comment. The Ferengi planned this.
"I am not unfamiliar with your concept of humour, Ferengi," he said, his frown tightening into a scowl. "This is not funny."
"I'm not joking," Brax replied. "Ever since this case has begun, Third, the Dominion has been keeping secrets from us. Its practically a fact now that Eraun had dismissed most of his guards. He was expecting a visit from someone, but whenever I ask you about that, you just keep stonewalling me."
"That information is--"
"Save it, I'm not done!" Brax cut in sharply. "Not only have you been hiding Eraun's actions and motivations from me, but you've also been tight-lipped since then about Eraun himself. We all know how fast the Dominion's cloning process is, so why haven't we seen Eraun walking around again? Why hasn't anyone been able to question Eraun's new clone to ask him what happened?" He levelled an accusing finger up at Vorak'Utaur. "And to top things off, Loriss practically buried the case when we brought in Skyl. If I didn't know any better, she was afraid we were actually going to find something."
Vorak'Utaur balled a fist and gritted his teeth. Involuntarily, he felt a surge of the White run through his veins. It was so very tempting to break Brax like an eggshell right about now. "You are making blind suppositions, Ferengi," he growled. "You are making connections where none exist."
Brax lowered his finger. "Am I?" he asked. "I don't think so. Everything is tied down to Eraun and why he dismissed his guards last night-- the killer knew about that, don't you see? Whatever secrets the Dominion is keeping, the killer knows about them. Third, we won't be able to find out who did this unless you tell me why Eraun did what he did last night!"
For a few seconds, Vorak'Utaur was silent. Slowly, though, he cooled his anger, and unclenched his fists. He quickly contemplated several different options for removing Brax, and noted that none of them would work without causing an incident.
"I cannot tell you," he finally said. "I have been ordered into silence on the matter."
Brax stared up in surprise at the Jem'Hadar's admission. "By who? Loriss?"
"I cannot say."
A low, untranslatable word was hissed out from Brax's needle teeth. "Damn it, Third, whatever information you're hiding, it could help is find this killer! Surely the safety of your kind, benevolent Vorta overlords is more important than your frigging orders!"
"Nothing is more important than my orders, Ferengi," Vorak'Utaur replied in a low tone. "You do not know what it is to be Jem'Hadar. We are loyal from the moment of our inception. We do not disobey orders. Until I am countermanded, Ferengi, I cannot--"
He was cut short by the sound of the airlock opening behind him with a deep, bass growl. He immediately turned, as did his squad at their positions, all no doubt expecting Loriss or one of the other Vorta to step through.
But it was not Loriss. Rather, it was another familiar figure-- a female humanoid with a shuffling, nervous gait, wearing a smock-like grey and blue dress. The woman hurried past the Jem'Hadar and approached them.
"Excuse me," she said, calling in their direction, "are you Lieutenant Commander Brax?"
Brax seemed genuinely confused by this new arrival. "Um...yes," he said slowly. "Who are you?"
The woman gave a courteous bow. "I am Netra, chief medical officer of Vessel 5673, and I need to speak to you..." she turned her worried blue eyes to Vorak'Utaur "...both of you...in private."
I wonder if Ta'nara's failure to mention the risk of pissing off the Cardassians is because she knows they are no military threat to the Republic--or because she knows there are probably Cardassians who recognize what a nuisance Skyl is and would be glad that someone put him out of play? Heck, my own Berat is an example in his timeline, considering that in legal terms, he openly assaulted Skyl even though he inflicted no injuries.
(For other readers, legal "assault" does not require laying your hands on someone..."battery" does. Legally speaking, even grabbing him and hauling him out of his chair would count as "battery" even with no injuries done. I have not decided if Berat actually carried it through to that point, but he definitely got as far as assault. All I know is that he did not send Skyl to the infirmary with anything he did.)
I like seeing Vorak'Utar's increasing respect for Brax. Perhaps he is coming to realize that there are non-physical types of strength and boldness? Maybe even extra points for exercising such boldness when coming from a species even more ill-equipped physically than most, to stand up to a Jem'Hadar?
Now this mystery--what he is withholding...this I can't wait to see.
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I wonder if Ta'nara's failure to mention the risk of pissing off the Cardassians is because she knows they are no military threat to the Republic--or because she knows there are probably Cardassians who recognize what a nuisance Skyl is and would be glad that someone put him out of play?
Well, bear in mind that Ta'nara didn't explicitly mention who the "interested parties" were who wanted her to monitor Skyl. Also bear in mind that in one LC, I wrote her having a rather interesting encounter with a certain Councilor Garak. Of course, you can draw what conclusions you will from this, but I couldn't possibly comment.
Well, bear in mind that Ta'nara didn't explicitly mention who the "interested parties" were who wanted her to monitor Skyl. Also bear in mind that in one LC, I wrote her having a rather interesting encounter with a certain Councilor Garak. Of course, you can draw what conclusions you will from this, but I couldn't possibly comment.
Glad you like it!
Hah!
Talk about a purloined letter technique for hiding the murderer.
Possibly. Maybe.
I admit, I'm a sucker for the point in the noir story where the detective's at its lowest point and a clue from an.... 'interested party' appears.
I've been enjoying the ride a lot.
Fate - protects fools, small children, and ships named Enterprise Will Riker
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My forum single-issue of rage: Make the Proton Experimental Weapon go for subsystem targetting!
It was roughly mid-afternoon, Bajor solar time, and all of the medical staff of the cloning bay had been sent to other duties. This left the bay in a desirable state of emptiness, the gentle hum of diagnostic motors and the soft babble of suspension fluids being the only sounds to disturb the quiet. In a way, Loriss appreciated the silence. It was nice, every once in a while, not to have Jem'Hadar bodyguards hovering over her shoulder, or scurrying underlings calling for her attention, or the insufferable diplomats of lesser powers making petulant demands. It was at moments like these, that she could take a few nice, contemplative moments to consider where the universe had taken her thus far.
She had always believed that the Founders had favoured her. All those months...no, she corrected herself, years ago, they had selected her to lead the Second Invasion Group and sweep aside what was left of the Alpha Quadrant powers. Even when that plan had been foiled by temporal anomalies and the resistance of the Alphans, the Founder had still favoured her in spite of her failure, and had rewarded her for her loyalty. She had never been prouder than that moment, to have her faith and her dedication so rewarded, and yet...
Loriss folded her hands together as she looked at the amniotic tank that housed Eraun. Her fellow Vorta seemed so peaceful, floating suspended in the blue-grey fluid. It was preferable to the fits of panic and wild terror that kept occuring whenever he woke up. Thus far, no one-- not Nettra, and none of the other medical staff-- had found an answer for this aberrant behaviour. And that, more than anything else, disturbed Loriss. She had known Eraun only a short time, but it had been long enough to know that he was a competent and dedicated servant of the Founders. He deserved better than whatever had so ruined his mind past the ability of Dominion science to heal.
A lump rose in her throat. She wanted to believe that she was favoured, that her existence had a special purpose, but now...now she was going to return to the Gamma Quadrant with her fellow Vorta neurologically maimed, and with no justice enacted against his killer. Oh, Rugan Skyl would do for a scapegoat, but it wouldn't change the fact that someone had hurt a servant of the Founders, and had gotten away with it. And this had all happened on her watch, on the delegation she had been tasked to lead alongside Eraun. Could she still honestly say she was favoured after a failure like this?
With a tired sigh, she turned away from the tank towards the doorway...and froze.
Something had moved.
She had almost missed it at first-- a flicker of movement, a brief impression of a humanoid figure at the corner of her eyesight, in the further reaches of the room. She blinked immediately, and paused. There was nothing there.
"Hello?" she called out. She immediately felt stupid for having done so: there was nothing there. She was alone in this room, with no company save for the slumbering form of Eraun.
She immediately felt a flush of embarassment. Of course there was no one else here. The security on this ship was flawless, and the doors to this facility were guarded by a squad of Jem'Hadar outside. No intruder could have gotten on board without the Jem'Hadar immediately knowing about it. She was safe here, even safer than Eraun had been on that accursed Alphan station.
She took a deep breath, inwardly chastising herself. It was unbecoming of her to jump at shadows. If that fop Weyoun were here, she knew, he'd jump at this opportunity to undermine her further, to make her look like a fool.
A lump tightened in her throat. She felt like a fool. Ever since she had emerged from the Wormhole all those months ago, her world had been turned upside down. The revelation that she had missed the war, and that she and her fleet had become an earmark of history, had been a shock enough. But even though the Founder herself had blessed her, Loriss still felt out of place in this new future. The Dominion was a much different place than the one she had left, and her clone brothers and sisters, while courteous, all treated her as some sad oddity when she wasn't looking. And if all of that hadn't been bad enough, the first person she had met on her return to the Gamma Quadrant had been herself-- another Loriss, the fourth clone of her genetic line, whose predecessors had been awakened after she herself had been presumed dead.
The temporal anomaly in the Wormhole had done more than just deny her the war she had prepared for and make her fail in her duty to the Founders: it had forced her to return to a Dominion where she had already been replaced.
Her hand tightened into a fist. She couldn't bear returning again, not if it would be to announce another failure on her part. Slowly, she took a deep breath, and looked up again at the slumbering face of Eraun. A reflection of her own face stared back at her from the plexiglass of the tank-- narrow features, violet eyes, all looking a lot older than she had once remembered.
She froze. In the reflection, she saw a figure standing behind her.
Her heart stopped. In the dim lights of the med-bay, she could make out very little of the figure...save for a face. A pale, bloodless face, framing a pair of inky black eyes that stared, pupil-less and pitiliess, directly at her.
"GUARDS!" she shrieked, spinning around and whipping a polaron pistol free from the hem of her dress. The pistol met empty air-- there was no one behind her. No menacing figure, no intruder with a blade. Nothing.
A split second later, the doors opened, and her Jem'Hadar guards came bounding into the room, carbines at the ready. They immediately fanned out, scanning the area for danger. "Loriss, what happened?" the Third leading the squad asked.
Slowly, Loriss lowered her pistol, realizing only now that her arm was shaking. "It was..." She wasn't in danger, she slowly realized. She must have simply imagined the intruder. Perhaps her fellow Vorta were right-- perhaps she was becoming defective.
"It was nothing, Third," she said, sheathing her pistol and trying her best to regain her composure. "A trick of the light, that's all." Taking a deep breath, she brushed her hair back. "Remind me, my next meeting with Ambassador Sorel is in a few minutes, correct?"
The Third nodded. "That is correct, Loriss."
"Good. Then we might as well be on our way." She glanced back at the slumbering form of Eraun, once again grateful that he hadn't seen that shameful display. "I think I've lingered here long enough."
*****
It didn't take long for Brax to find a secluded backroom of the docking bay for Nettra to speak to him in. The Dominion science officer seemed skittish and nervous even as she stepped into the room, and kept wringing her wrists and casting nervous glances at Vorak'Utaur all the while. It didn't take a genius to figure out that Nettra wasn't supposed to be talking to him, and Brax found himself wondering what it was that Nettra was afraid Vorak'Utaur might do.
A part of Brax wondered at Nettra's species. She didn't have the dark hair or long-lobed ears of the Vorta, and her smoothe facial features were more similar to those of a Human. He soon remembered the mission briefing he'd been given before the conference, which had included details of all the known Dominion member species. Based on that, Nettra, with her ornate hairstyle and the needles that held it in place, best fit the description of the Yaderans, one of the many species that Benjamin Sisko and his crew had found in the Gamma Quadrant decades ago. Little was known about the Yaderans, save that they had been absorbed into the Dominion fifty-odd years ago, and that they had advanced holographic technology. Obviously, then, they served a scientific and engineering role in the Dominion, though if that was the case, then it made Brax wonder all the more why a Dominion scientist wanted a secret meeting with him.
After a few more seconds of silently wringing her wrists, biting her lip, and glancing around the room as though scanning for listening devices, Nettra finally seemed to relax a little. "Before I say anything, Mr. Brax," she said, "I want you to know that nothing I am going to say is...official in any way."
Brax nodded. "In other words, Loriss doesn't know you're here," he said, "and you're going to tell me things she doesn't want getting out?"
This made Nettra fidget even more. "In a manner of speaking, no," she replied. She glanced at Vorak'Utaur, and her expression became more anxious. "Third, you won't...tell Loriss about this, will you?"
Vorak'Utaur's face became more stony. "I must, Nettra," he replied solemnly. "It is my duty." He seemed to notice Nettra's downcast expression at that point. "But if you have information that can help us, then you must tell us. The delegation may still be in peril."
For a moment, Nettra seemed torn on what to say next, before she finally let out a defeated sigh. "I suppose I must," she said, before turning back to Brax. "Mr. Brax, as I'm sure you know, Eraun's...previous body was removed before Starfleet medical personnel could do a thorough autopsy. This was done not only so that we could conduct a more thorough autopsy ourselves, but also so that we could immediately begin engrammatic scanning to prepare a clone replacement."
Brax nodded. "Yes, I knew as much," he said. Do the Yaderans get cloned as well? he wondered. The fact that Nettra seemed so fearful of Loriss' wrath made him think otherwise. "Why? Did you find anything in your autopsy that could help us?"
The Yaderan woman shook her head. "No. Nothing that your people don't know already, Mr. Brax," she replied, before grimacing. "Eraun died of fatal asphyxiation after having his throat slashed open. It was probably the only merciful thing his killer did. If the murderer had simply left him, then he would have been in quite a lot of pain before he finally succumbed to blood loss." Slowly, she reached under her robes and pulled out what looked like the Dominion equivalent of a PADD. "I didn't come to talk about how Eraun died, though, Mr. Brax. I'm here to talk about his current state."
The comment made Brax blink. "Current state? You mean your people did clone him after all?" He warily accepted the PADD. "Why haven't we seen Eraun at all, then? Where is he?"
Nettra's soft face tightened with discomfort. "At present, Eraun is not fit for active duty." She gestured to the PADD, which lit up, showing endless rows of numbers, journal entries, and medical data that Brax couldn't even begin to understand. "When we revived him in his new body, there were...complications."
"What sort of complications?" Vorak'Utaur asked.
There was a pause as Nettra looked up at the Jem'Hadar. "He...he began screaming."
A chilled silence fell over the small room. Brax felt his skin crawl. A quick glance at Vorak'Utaur told him that the Jem'Hadar was just as surprised.
"Screaming?" Vorak'Utaur repeated.
Nettra gave a humble bow of her head. "Yes. As soon as he woke up, Eraun began screaming and thrashing in his tank. He was afraid of something-- the neural activity in his amygdala, and his adrenaline levels, both spiked almost immediately. We sedated him, but all subsequent attempts at revival have met with the same result-- an outburst of fear and wild panic."
For a moment, Vorak'Utaur stared at Nettra in visible disbelief. No, Brax realized, it wasn't simple disbelief, it was shock. Vorak'Utaur was actually taken aback by all of this. "How is this possible?" Vorak'Utaur asked. "What is causing this?"
The Yaderan woman shrugged. "We still don't know," she replied. "We haven't been able to determine a root cause, but all neural scans suggest lingering neural trauma."
The Jem'Hadar's face twisted-- in anger or fear, Brax couldn't tell, but he definitely wasn't taking this information well. "Impossible," he said. "The cloning process is supposed to erase pre-death trauma."
Nettra shook her head. "I performed several backtraces, Third, but there were no visible errors in the cloning process. I have almost no explanations for this...anomaly."
Slowly, Vorak'Utaur stared down at the PADD in Brax's hand, looking at it as though it were something malignant. "It is no anomaly," he muttered. "It is an abomination."
Brax had no idea what was surprising him more-- the news about Eraun, or Vorak'Utaur's reaction. Aside from his display of anger in the Promenade, the Jem'Hadar had never shown any strong emotions in the short time Brax had known him. To see him reacting like this was both surprising and unnerving.
It took Brax a few seconds to realize why: to the various species of the Dominion, the cloning process had to be the closest thing they had to an afterlife. For all Brax knew, the Jem'Hadar and Vorta were brought up with the expectation of having their memories transferred into a new body after death, or of their skills and experience being transferred to another servant of the Founders so that they might still be useful after death. To hear of a fault in the Dominion's memory-transferral process must have been utterly horrifying for Vorak'Utaur, a perversion of the natural order he had been bred to uphold.
Slowly, Brax handed the PADD back to Nettra. "You said 'almost' no explanation," he said. "By the sound of things, you at least have a faint idea."
Nettra's cheeks reddened, and she bowed her head slightly. "A faint idea, yes," she replied. "I noticed that whenever he lapsed back into unconsciousness, Eraun's sleeping patterns were much more erratic than those of his previous bodies. The sleeping patterns of Vorta brains, Mr. Brax, often follow fairly uniform patterns, but Eraun's have been downright chaotic."
"Almost as though he's having nightmares," Brax observed.
Nettra nodded. "Precisely, which is an abnormality in and of itself. Vorta don't typically have nightmares, Mr. Brax, unless their thought patterns violate the safeguards built into their genetic coding." She tapped the PADD, and a moving diagnostic of waving, squiggling lines shimmered to life. "It seems like more than just nightmares, though, Mr. Brax. His Delta and Theta waves are operating on patterns that should be impossible for Vorta."
Vorak'Utaur shifted uncomfortably. "What are you suggesting? Are you saying that Eraun's engrams have been tampered with in some way?"
"That is the best explanation I can come up with," Nettra admitted. "Somehow, Eraun's killer didn't merely kill his body: he also did something to alter his memory engrams, so that when they were transferred to a new clone body, they would cause something like...this."
Brax shuddered. An ugly picture was being painted now: whoever had killed Eraun hadn't been content to merely kill him, but also to inflict mental anguish to his next clone. Whoever had done this had had a lot of preparation and resources, and must have really hated the Dominion, or Eraun in particular, to want the Vorta to suffer like this."
Vorak'Utaur straightened up, as though trying to steel himself against the horror of what had been described to him. "How was this accomplished, then?" he asked. "Some sort of mental conditioning?"
"It's possible," Nettra replied with a nod. "There are...several known technologies in the Alpha and Gamma Quadrants that are used for mental conditioning, though none in such a short time span, and none that can alter neural engrams in the way we're seeing." She tapped her PADD again. "I don't think what happened to Eraun was technological in nature, but psionic."
"Psionic?" Brax echoed. "You mean a telepath did this?"
"Possibly," Nettra replied, "but it would have to be a highly skilled and powerful telepath to achieve something like this."
Brax went silent, as his mind started racing. There were literally hundreds of species with psionic abilities on this station-- Betazoids, Vulcans, Ferasans, Remans-- almost all of whom might have had motivation to do this. This could have been the work of a terror cell, or of a spy ring, or possibly even an infiltration by the Undine...
Come to think of it, he realized, many Vorta were bred with psionic abilities. How deep does this case go?
As though in answer to his unspoken question, Brax's communicator suddenly beeped. "Sann to Brax," a familiar voice said.
Hearing the voice of one of his shipmates did a bit to put Brax back at ease. "Brax here."
"Brax, you may want to come down to the crime scene," Lieutenant Commander Neazri Sann said. "We've been able to decode some fragmented surveillance footage from the night of the murder. We now know who killed Eraun."
Well, hopefully the camera footage helps, since the suspect list just expanded wildly. Also - why target Eraun over any other Vorta to hate in particular?
Fate - protects fools, small children, and ships named Enterprise Will Riker
Member Access Denied Armada!
My forum single-issue of rage: Make the Proton Experimental Weapon go for subsystem targetting!
Also - why target Eraun over any other Vorta to hate in particular?
Because Eraun is a fantastically annoying character.
I know Jesu LaRoca would love to have his own Dominion cloning tank to make Erauns. He'd shoot Eraun in the face, wait for him to be regrown, and shoot him again. I don't think he'd ever get tired of it.
...Oh, baby, you know, I've really got to leave you / Oh, I can hear it callin 'me / I said don't you hear it callin' me the way it used to do?...
- Anne Bredon
Maybe someone who was on, or knew someone who was on, the Rapier?
That'd make some sense - I always felt Eraun was more whiny (he's an often-failing Vorta) than say, Loriss, who could raise smugness to sell to people wholesale.
Fate - protects fools, small children, and ships named Enterprise Will Riker
Member Access Denied Armada!
My forum single-issue of rage: Make the Proton Experimental Weapon go for subsystem targetting!
It also "helps" that Eraun's name sort of rhymes with "You're wrong"...and he often is.
Christian Gaming Community Fleets--Faith, Fun, and Fellowship! See the website and PM for more. :-) Proudly F2P.Signature image by gulberat. Avatar image by balsavor.deviantart.com.
Okay, next chapter may wind up taking a while. At the moment, I'm kind of bogged down prepping for a major exam that may give me formal HR certification. Will try to get the next chapter done as soon as possible, but...please bear with me.
If you study the prep materials well, the PHR is not a horrible exam. At least, it was not 10 years ago when I took it. I am not in the HR field (decided I didn't like it pretty quickly out of school), but I think you'll be fine. Still, definitely take your time.
Christian Gaming Community Fleets--Faith, Fun, and Fellowship! See the website and PM for more. :-) Proudly F2P.Signature image by gulberat. Avatar image by balsavor.deviantart.com.
The crime scene was a lot quieter now, at this time of the day. It was late, and most of the officers involved had either been rotated to other duties, or had ended their shifts. A token team of security officers remained on hand to stand guard, and a few specialists here and were still conducting rudimentary analyses. Two of those specialists were already waiting for them.
"Glad you could make it, Brax," Neiazri said with a smile. The Archimedes' chief science officer looked as she usually did-- brown hair tied back in a professional ponytail, tricorder in hand, cheeks slightly rosy from excitement, though her usually bright and inquisitive eyes had an undercurrent of dread and unease. Understandable, given the current situation. "I see you keep making friends."
Vorak'Utaur stiffened. "We are not friends," he said gruffly.
Nettra seemed to shrink a little. "I'm...just here to observe, nothing more." Brax could tell she had stopped just short of saying not supposed to be here.
Brax sighed. "Vorak'Utaur, Neiazri. Neiazri, Vorak'Utaur and Nettra. Nettra, Neiazri. I'm sure you'll all get along just fine." His eyes turned the figure standing at Neiazri's side. "I'd ask about your new friend as well."
The figure in question was a Lethean, one whose matchstick-thin figure was clad in a simple black shirt, vest and pants, along with an armband with the insignia of the KDF. His mottled, scaled face was the colour of treacle, and his deep red eyes peered at the newcomers with hooded interest.
"Ressic, Chief Science Officer of the I.K.S. Notqa'," the Lethean said with a voice like running oil. "I've been assisting Lieutenant Commander Sann in scanning for transporter traces, as well as in reconfiguring the local sensor logs."
A quick glance at Sann confirmed the reason for unease. Letheans had a grisly reputation as telepathic predators, one that hadn't been helped by their roles as interrogators and mind-hounds in the KDF. Personally, Letheans had never bothered Brax too much, though that might have been because Ferengi were generally immune to telepathic assault.
"And you've found something?" Vorak'Utaur asked. "You mentioned that you found the identity of Eraun's killer.
Neiazri nodded. "We did...eventually. Ressic?"
Ressic folded his arms behind his back, in a gesture that gave Brax the impression that he too was a skilled investigator. "Prior to the crime, the Dominion had set up an effective security system that hampered monitoring efforts," the Lethean said. "All sensor scans and audio-visual monitoring from outside sources was blocked, and that which wasn't was scrambled beyond recognition. I have been able to determine, however, that one visual scan did manage to get a feed through before the Dominion scrambled it."
Alarm bells went off in Brax's lobed head. "What?" He raised his hands. "Wait wait wait wait...are you telling me that you've been hacking Starfleet security systems?"
Ressic seemed nonplussed. "All within full view of Lieutenant Commander Sann, here," he said. Neiazri visibly cringed at the comment. "She can attest that I have only been working in specific sections of the station's network, and that I have been staying away from sensitive areas."
"Even so, that's a violation of our diplomatic arrangement, and you know it," Brax said. "And you can be sure that Ambassador Krogh will hear about it!"
The Lethean raised a withered, hairless eyeborw. "Rule of Acquisition 181: Not even dishonesty can tarnish the shine of profit," he repied smoothly.
Ressic gave a nonchalant shrug. "You are welcome to oversee my removal of the programs later on if you wish, Mr. Brax, but in the meantime, regardless of how you feel about my methods...they have been successful."
Fuming, Brax turned to Sann. "Neiazri?"
Neiazri shook her head. "He's right, Brax. I don't like it either, but he's managed something none of us have so far," she said. "He's found the scrambled video files from last night and reconstructed them. we can't afford to turn this evidence away."
Brax sucked in air through needle teeth. If Ambassador Sorel heard about this, then there was a chance they might run into the same problem that they ran into with Skyl: the evidence might be deemed inadmissable due to the way in which it had been gathered. Brax was fed up enough with tripping over red tape, but he was even more fed up with not having a lead. At this point, they would have to risk it.
He glanced at Vorak'Utaur. "This okay with you, Third?" he asked. "Technically, this may constitute a breach of privacy of your delegation. If Loriss finds out about this--"
"Then she will rightly accuse the Alpha Quadrant powers of spying," Vorak'Utaur said sternly. "And I will have no choice but to tell her of what I have seen." Slowly, he glanced at Sann and Ressic. "But I will have answers all the same. Who killed Eraun?"
There was a short, uncomfortable pause as Sann glanced at Ressic. For a brief second, the Lethean looked uncomfortable as well.
"Perhaps you should see for yourself," he said, before turning and tapping a nearby terminal.
As Brax watched, the terminal's screen flickered into grainy life, showing a ceiling view of Eraun's quarters. Eraun was there, pacing back and forth in the middle of the room. A counter at the bottom corner of the screen read 0615 hours. The time of the murder.
There was no sound, and the colour was muted, but the image, aside from an occasional flicker of static, was clear and unmistakeable. Brax felt his throat dry up as he watched the screen. He waited for something to happen-- for the telltale flicker of a transporter signiature, or for a stranger to enter from the doorway. Instead, Eraun continued to pace, with a frenetic, impatient energy.
Something was wrong. By this point, the attacker should have entered the room and revealed himself. But Eraun, at this point in the film, was still alone.
Brax's instincts told him to focus on Eraun. The Vorta seemed anxious about something as he paced back and forth, wringing his wrists together. On closer inspection, Brax noticed that the Vorta seemed to be muttering things to himself. He got a fleeting glimpse of the Vorta's face, and was a little surprised by what greeted him. Eraun wore an expression of dread, of fear...no, of sorrow. Eraun wasn't simply anxious, Brax realized, he was in a state of anguish.
For a brief second, Eraun stopped in his pacing and buried his face in is hands, his fingers bending and digging hard into his temples. It looked like he was on the verge of crumbling then and there, of bursting into an uncontrollable flood of tears.
And then, there was a shimmer of light as something appeared in the replicator.
On the screen, Eraun paused, and looked in the direction of the replicator. Slowly and cautiously, the Vorta approached the replicator, a strange sense of purpose now visible on his face. From this angle, Brax could see the object in the replicator clearly-- a thin, glimmering sliver of use, cut into a perfectly sharp triangle.
Slowly, Eraun picked up the ice-knife. Brax's blood ran cold as Eraun slowly stepped back in front of his bed, staring at the icy blade as though hypnotized by its glimmering surface.
Brax had a horrible feeling of what was coming next. He knew he had to watch everything, to catch every single important detail. Even so, his head turned aside abruptly as Eraun drove the icy spike up into his left eye.
"We've replayed the video several times over, Brax," Sann said solemnly. "We conducted a careful frame by frame analysis. There's no sign of the feed having been altered, or of anyone else having been in the room with Eraun last night."
Brax said nothing. Internally, he was busy counting the bars of latinum he earned on his last pre-latinum job, as he always did when he was trying to keep his head together.Thirteen...fourteen...fifteen... With a deep breath, he looked at the feed again. It was over: Eraun was lying spread-eagled on the bed, his body sporting fresh mutilations, a dark halo of blood spreading on the bed underneath him. He looked exactly as he had been found at the crime scene in the first place.
It explained why no signs of an intruder or forced entry had ever been found: there was no intruder. Eraun had done all of this to himself. But what disturbed Brax the most about this wasn't the fact that Eraun had somehow managed to blind and impale himself several times before slashing his own throat, but that he had deliberately positioned himself over the bed to do it. It was almost as though he wanted his body to be found like that.
He was suddenly conscious of Vorak'Utaur next to him. He looked up at the Jem'Hadar, who was staring transfixed at the screen, a look of sheer and utter horror on his face.
"It is..." the Jem'Hadar breathed. "...it is...wrong."
"Third..." Brax began.
"It is WRONG!" Vorak'Utaur snapped. He gestured incredulously at the screen. "He couldn't...it's not...no servant of the Founders would do this!"
"He's right, Mr. Brax," Nettra spoke up. The Yaderan woman looked paler than usual, but seemed to have forced herself into a voluntary state of calm. "The genetic coding of the Jem'Hadar and the Vorta is supposed to prohibit self-harming actions, unless they recieve a direct command to take their own lives." She looked to Sann and Ressic and shook her head. "What Eraun...did to himself...should be impossible."
Ressic raised a hairless eyebrow. "Perhaps," he said. "The sentient mind is a complicated machine, however. Sometimes it disobeys its genetic predispositions, and acts in ways we cannot explain or understand."
Vorak'Utaur whirled angrily on Ressic. "No. I will not accept that!" he hissed. "It is unnatural! There must be some other explanation!"
A thought buzzed in Brax's lobes as things began to click into place "There is," he said. "Nettra, you suggested that there was evidence of psionic assault in Eraun's brain patterns?"
Both Sann and Ressic glanced in surprise at the Yaderan woman, who nodded. "It is the most likely explanation I can think of," she said.
With a slow nod of his own, Brax gestured to the screen, and Eraun's spread-eagled form. "Well, maybe this is what the killer did. Maybe the killer influenced Eraun's mind in some way...made his emotions spiral out of control, or planted a kill-command in his head. And then, when an ice-knife was conveniently beamed into his quarters, the thought of killing himself must have seemed...natural."
"But why an ice knife?" Sann asked. "Why go to all the trouble of making a weapon that would melt later?"
"Well, firstly, because it would be easier to replicate," Brax replied. "Remotely replicating an actual knife would no doubt trigger alarms from DS9's main sensor controls; ice, at least, seems fairly innocent. But more importantly, the ice-knife was a distraction. The killer wanted us to go looking for an actual, physical murderer, and using a weapon that leaves no physical trace would convince us that the killer didn't want to leave any evidence behind." He gestured to the screen. "That also may be why Eraun stood in front of the bed before he...did that. Whatever psionic weirdness was going on here, it made sure that Eraun's body was left on display for us to find."
Vorak'Utaur's grey face tightened into a rigid mask of controlled hatred. "And it worked," he growled. "We have been chasing a man who never existed, who was never even in the same room as Eraun." He looked away from the screen. "It never once occurred to us that a psionic...trick made Eraun kill himself."
For a moment, the room was silent. Brax's gaze drifted uncomfortably to the bed, which had been cordoned off and still bore dark red/brown splotches on its mattress. How conscious had Eraun been, when it had happened? Had he been lost in a haze of anguish, or had he been fully aware, a prisoner in his own body, as it proceeded to turn on itself? The more Brax wondered, the less he wanted to find out.
It was Ressic who finally broke the silence. "If this is the result of psionic influence, Mr. Brax," he said, "then it couldn't have been done remotely. The killer would had to have gotten close enough to Eraun to leave an imprint."
Brax looked in surprise at the Lethean. "An imprint?"
"A lingering mental signiature that would latch on to Eraun's mind," Ressic explained. "An incredibly powerful telepath could have done this from a long range, but it seems more more likely that a mental suggestion was planted...one which took root, grew, and then enacted itself when Eraun could no longer resist it."
Nettra suddenly took a step forward. "Mr. Ressic, how long would such an...imprint...last, and how could you get rid of it?" she asked. Noticing the stares she was getting, she gave a frustrated sigh. "Alright, I shouldn't be telling you this, but Eraun's last clone is still showing signs of instability. Every time he wakes up, he screams, and yells 'They're hurting us.'"
Ressic's red eyes narrowed ever so slightly. "Us?" he repeated. "Has he actually been using the word us and not me?"
"Wait, wait, wait, wait," Brax cut in frustratedly. "We're getting sidetracked. You said that someone would have had to be in close contact to form this imprint?"
The Lethean turned back to him. "Fairly close proximity, yes," he replied. "Ideally, they would have had to have made physical contact in one form or another."
Brax's mind raced as he tried to think of all the people that Eraun would have met since arriving on Deep Space Nine...and then, suddenly, everything snapped into place.
"Sweet, glittering latinum," he gasped. "Loriss."
In an instant, he was turning and running for the door. "Third, we've got to move!" he yelled.
"What is it, Ferengi?" Vorak'Utaur growled in his wake.
"It's Loriss!" Brax yelled back. "We have to get to her, and fast!"
Loriss ignored the stares she knew she was getting as she made her way through the Promenade, taking a much-needed shortcut to Deck Two and Ambassador Sorel's quarters. The Jem'Hadar squad surroundng her ensured that no one would be foolish to dare attack her, but even so, Loriss could practically feel the fear, confusion and hatred of DS9's civilian population focusing on her. The last time she had been here, they had all regarded her differently. They had all looked at her with fear, and maybe a little awe, and a self-conscious awareness of just how much their lives had been in her hands. Now...now they were free from her, and resentful for their brief period of Dominion occupation.
Let them stare, she thought to herself as she continued her walk, the Jem'Hadar parting the crowd ahead of her. The Dominion could have given these people everything that the Federation couldn't, been everything that the Federation wasn't...but in their small-mindedness, these people instead chose to hate the Dominion, and her, for it. That didn't bother her in the slightest: the Founders neither wanted nor needed wretched ingrates like these, so they could go on hating her. And if Eraun's killer was hiding somewhere in these crowds, then Loriss silently dared him to even try taking her life-- then the Jem'Hadar would finally be able to shoot him down like the scum that he was.
She could already see the turbolift in the distance as she and her escort turned a bend. Soon, she thought to herself, she'd be able to conclude the final details with the Alpha Quadrant powers, get Skyl turned over to her authority, and leave this forsaken station. Then they could all finally...
She paused as she passed a merchant's stall, with a distant set directly behind the counter. She caught a brief, fleeting glimpse of herself in that mirror, looking regal and graceful as befitted an ambassador of the Founders.
She also, ever so briefly, saw a reflection of a face in the crowd, just behind the Jem'Hadar. A pale, bloodless face, with eyes like glossy jet.
Loriss whirled around, her heart racing, a command to her bodyguards forming on her lips. The command died in her throat: there was no one there. No one, that was, except the myriad, bustling faces of the crowd, and the confused expressions of her bodyguards.
She caught her breath, and composed herself. "Let's keep moving," she said. It was a figment of her imagination, she told herself, nothing more. She was overworked, and stressed, and as soon as she got this meeting over with she would hopefully be forwarded to more relaxing duties--
She instantly stopped in her tracks, the Jem'Hadar immediately stopping around her. There was a figure waiting for her at the turbolift.
The breath froze in her lungs, and her legs took a step back on their own. From this distance, she couldn't make out too many details on the figure...save, that was, for a pale, bloodless face, and a pair of black, lightless eyes that were staring directly at her.
"Loriss?" She was dimly aware of First Ixana'rax, the head of her detail, asking a question. "Is something wrong?"
For a moment, her mouth seemed unable to move. Something-- possibly a spark of terror-- finally snapped her into action. "There!" she cried, pointing an accusing finger at the distant figure. "That man over there, he was stalking me earlier in the med bay! Apprehend him!"
In an instant, Ixana'rax turned in the direction of the intruder. Loriss' skin crawled as she saw the figure begin to approach, moving with the slow, listless gait of a sleepwalker as he continued to stare at her.
"What man?" Ixana'rax finally asked.
Loriss was incredulous. "THAT man!" she snapped, pointing again. Her heart raced as the figure got closer and closer. She couldn't tell what species this creature was, but something about it filled every corner of her being with dread.
"Loriss," Ixana'rax said, "there is no one there."
Fighting back the urge to curse, Loriss shoved herself past her bodyguards and turned, breaking into a run. The Jem'Hadar parted from her, as did the crowd-- a crowd which, she noticed, was beginning watch her outburst. She paid them no heed. She had to get out of here, to find someplace safe...
She stopped in her tracks. There were more of them behind her. Men, women, children...all clad in clothes that looked old and ragged. All of them had the same, deathly pallor and the same, void-like eyes. Some were stepping from around corners, or emerging from the crowd, or standing up from chairs and stalls where they had been seated all this time. All of them were staring at her, and making a slow, direct approach.
"No..." Loriss sobbed, "no!" She spun back towards her bodyguard, but they were gone. Instead, more of the strangers had surrounded her. They were hemming her in now, advancing on her from all sides, until all she could see was a wall of pale faces and black eyes.
Even before they all started raising their hands to grab at her, Loriss suddenly understood what these strangers were, and what they wanted.
"I'm sorry!" she sobbed. "I'm sorry!"
*****
The chime of Ambassador Avran Sorel's door sounded a little earlier than expected. Given how the Dominion delegation had thus far made a point of being late to every meeting, this was Sorel's first clue that something was wrong. He looked up from the report he was reading on the daily diplomatic strains of the new Alliance. "Come in," he said.
It was not Loriss or her entourage who stepped in. Instead, the squat, big-eared form of Lieutenant Commander Brax strode into the room instead, taking a quick view to appreciate the many, and valuable, artefacts that lined Sorel's walls. Small statues, gems, paintings...all gifts from various embassies, the hallmarks of a long and successful diplomatic career.
Brax quickly brought his attention back to the man himself. "I'm sorry to bother you, Ambassador Sorel," he said, "but there's been an incident. Ambassador Loriss has just been attacked in the Promenade."
Sorel's handsome face paled slightly. "Attacked?" he asked, suddenly straightening in his chair. "By whom?"
Brax shook his head. "We're still trying to figure that out ourselves, Ambassador," he replied. "We had reports of Loriss calling for aid from her guards in the Promenade, and of some sort of commotion breaking out. All we can say for certain at this point is that we believe this was an attack, and that it was perpetrated by the same person who killed Eraun."
Slowly, Sorel closed the screen of his terminal, his black eyes alert and attentive. "This is a serious matter indeed, Mr. Brax. Thank you for bringing this to my attention-- I will have to make an official statement as soon as I have all of the facts." He folded his hands. "What is Loriss' condition right now?"
*****
Vorak'Utaur shoved another civilian aside, ignoring the weakling's feeble protests as he forged a path through the crowd. He was conscious that time was against him, and was resisting every urge to fire into the crowd to make them disperse faster. His standing orders not to harm any of DS9's residents unless provoked were the only thing that stayed his hand. Instead, he had been forced to resort to more physica method-- shoving, throwing, elbowing and sometimes even kicking his way through a crowd that was growing thicker and thicker the more he ploughed through it.
As he finally shoved his way to the centre of the crowd, he finally discovered what it was that had attracted all of their attention...and at that point, he knew that he was too late.
"Loriss," he saw First Ixana'rax say, "put the pistol down."
Loriss didn't seem to hear him. Vorak'Utaur saw her, standing in the middle of the crowd, holding a polaron pistol to her temple. She looked visibly distraught, the corners of her eyes damp with tears and her breathing visibly erratic. Her eyes were staring dead ahead, lost in a haze of terror and sorrow. Around her, her Jem'Hadar escort was forming a tight, protective ring, some levelling their rifles at the crowd while some levelled them at Loriss. None of them seemed certain of what to do-- any sudden movement of theirs might provoke Loriss into doing the unthinkable. Vorak'Utaur understood their hesitation all too well: a situation like this was virtually unheard of in the Dominion's long and glorious history.
The crowd, however, was anything but hesitant. Already, many of them were pelting Loriss with jeers and curses.
"Do it, Vorta TRIBBLE!"
"Come on! Pull the trigger! Give us a show!"
"Changeling lover!"
Knowing that he had to work fast, Vorak'Utaur moved, shoving members of the crowd aside as he forced a path towards Loriss. As he closed the distance, Loriss' violet eyes suddenly fixed on him. He saw a roiling cloud of emotions in those eyes-- sorrow, terror, and helplessness. It was the same way that Eraun had looked, on the video of his death.
"Don't come any closer!" she sobbed, the pistol in her hand shaking. "They're hurting...they won't stay quiet! They...they want to hurt me...hurt us...hurting us, hurting us..."
Pulling free from the crowd, Vorak'Utaur came up almost an arm's length away from Loriss. He could see her finger on the pistol's emitter quivering agitatedly, and he knew what he had to do.
"I'm sorry, Loriss," he said, before drawing his sidearm and shooting the Vorta in the chest.
****
"I don't know," Brax replied. "Dominion personnel got to the scene of the attack before we did, and took Loriss back to their ship at the first opportunity." He gave a tired shrug. "They've been refusing to answer any of our questions about the incident, and are keeping tight-lipped about her current status."
Sorel's expression became grim-- for a few brief seconds, he looked his actual age as his face's usual energy and vigour seemed to dissipate. "I see," he said. "I will make an official diplomatic request regarding Loriss' status, but...given how reclusive the Dominion tend to be, I doubt that would achieve much." He looked back up at the Ferengi. "But tell me honestly, Mr. Brax, are you certain that this attack was orchestrated by the murderer?"
Brax nodded as he took a seat opposite Sorel. "Yes, Ambassador. It came in the wake of significant evidence that my team and I uncovered. I have reason to believe that the murderer is still on the station, and is currently attempting to kill Loriss." He paused, and gave an uncomfortable shrug. "That is, if...you know...he hasn't done so already. We may never know until the Dominion releases a statement."
Slowly, Sorel gave a grave nod. "I see. If you feel that this is a lead you can follow, Mr. Brax, then please do so. I fear our time table is growing smaller by the minute." Absent-mindedly, he picked a small stone-- one hued with numerous shades of pleasant blue-- and began to roll it in his palm. "At this rate, regardless of what we do, the Dominion seems adamant in taking Rugan Skyl back to the Gamma Quadrant as a prisoner. Unless you find another culprit, we risk fracturing our relations with the Cardassian Union. If we try to challenge this decision at all, we risk fracturing what few good relations we have left with the Dominion instead. I'd like to avoid both possibilities, if at all possible."
"Yes, Ambassador," Brax said with a curt nod. He paused, noting some of the sculptures in Sorel's office. "You're really committed to this peace process, aren't you?"
The weariness in Sorel's face seemed to melt away for a moment as he gave Brax a warm smile. "Of course. I understand there is a steep gulf between our cultural values and the Dominion's, Mr. Brax, and I also know it won't be easy for either them or for us to forget what happened in the Dominion War. But I believe that an alliance...and hopefully, long-lasting friendship...with the Dominion will be an invaluable asset to the Federation."
Brax nodded. "Oh, I agree, Ambassador, it's just..." He shifted uncomfortably. "As I understand, you experienced the war first-hand. Your biography states that you were a boy on Betazed during the Dominion occupation."
The warm smile disappeared, as Sorel's expression became visibly disturbed. "Yes," he said solemnly. "I was. It was an...unpleasant experience for any child to grow up in, as you might imagine."
"I've read the history books, Ambassador. I can imagine quite vividly." Brax folded his hands in a businesslike manner. "I know all about the labour camps, and the executions, and the neural dampeners that they set up to keep the Betazoids from using their gifts." He tapped his lobes. "Obviously, I can't begin to imagine what that last part must have been like, but I doubt it was pleasant. And it got worse the more your world resisted."
Sorel shook his head gravely. "But that is what the history books forget, Mr. Brax. We didn't resist." He cast a glum look at a set of jewels on his desk. "At least, not at first. Before the war, ours was a culture of peaceful coexistance, and our resistance was largely a passive one. It was only after the Dominion started repaying our nonviolent disobedience with executions, and by robbing us of our ability to commune with one another, that we started resisting in a different way-- with bombings, with murders, and by using our abilities in sickening, aberrant ways." His hand balled into a fist around the stone in his hand. "That was worse than anything the Dominion could have done to us, Mr. Brax. We lost more than our freedom or our lives: as a people, we lost our souls."
Brax nodded slowly. "I can understand how that must feel, Ambassador." Which was true, sadly enough. Brax did know what it was like to lose one's innocence. "And yet...despite all of that, here you are trying to establish peace with your former oppressors?"
The Betazoid looke up and gave Brax a sad shake of his head. "I don't think of them as that, Mr. Brax," he said. "They are people, and they are flawed, just like us. If you've read my biography, then you'd know that my father was a diplomat as well. He was utterly committed to peace, and nothing saddened him more than seeing his people descened into savagery." He set the stone down and folded his hands together. "I won't deny that forgiving the Dominion has been difficult. Nothing worth doing isn't. But I've seen what people turn into if they let themselves be consumed by hatred and vengeance. I believe that we, as a Federation, can be better than that. The first step to being better, though, is extending a hand to those who wronged us, and making friends of enemies. That is the first and most important step to ensuring that the Dominion War is never again repeated."
Brax nodded. He could see now why the Diplomatic Corps had sent Sorel on this mission instead of Sugihara. The sincerity of Sorel's words, and the emotional weight with which he carried him, stirred something inside of Brax. It was one heck of a sales pitch.
He leaned back in the chair. "Sorry, Ambassador," he said, "but I'm not buying it."
*****
Everything seemed to stop at that moment. Vorak'Utaur could see the eyes of the Jem'Hadar and the crowd mirror one another in total, perfect shock, as Loriss was hit by his shot. Her entire body seemed to spasm and it was hit, and her eyes went wide with disbelief. Then, inevitably, the pistol clattered out of her hand, and she toppled backwards, her silken blue dress billowing around her as she fell.
The reaction time of the Jem'Hadar was immediate, as well it should have been. In an instant, Vorak'Utaur's own fellow warriors were surrounding him, levelling their rifles at him. Vorak'Utaur made no show of fear or defiance as he was surrounded. Inwardly, he readied himself for the kill-shot that would end his life, short and dutiful as it had been.
"Hold!" came a shout. In an instant, the squad surrounding Vora'Utaur parted, and First Ixana'rax strode through, and stepped in front of Vorak'Utaur. The First towered over him, glaring down at him with eyes of icy violet. Vorak'Utaur didn't flinch as he met the First's gaze, nor did he resist as Ixana'rax took the weapon from his hand...a Starfleet phaser, one that Brax had hurriedly tossed to Vorak'Utaur before rushing to another part of the station, declaring that he had to deal with something urgently.
For a few seconds, there was silence as Ixana'rax inspected the phaser, before looking down at Vorak'Utaur again. "A stun setting?" he asked.
Vorak'Utaur nodded, and Ixana'rax nodded in return. There were no congratulation, no praise for Vorak'Utaur's quick thinking, just a nod. This was all that was needed: the Jem'Hadar did not bask in praise, nor did they ask for rewards beyond what portion of the White was allotted to them. The knowledge of a job well done was the only reward that was needed.
"Return to your post," Ixana'rax told Vorak'Utaur, before turning to his squad. "Take Loriss back to the ship, and begin immediate quarantine procedures. We will neither enter nor leave the station until we have determined the cause of this."
All of the assembled Jem'Hadar nodded, and hoisted up the unconscious form of Loriss with them. The crowd pulled back to allow them to depart, and this time, not one of them was saying a word.
"What?" Sorel blinked in surprise at the Ferengi's bluntness. "I beg your pardon?"
Brax ignored the question and folded his hands professionally. "I may have mentioned this to you before, Ambassador," he said, "but the username of our murder suspect was originally interpreted as the Human word 'Zealot.' One of my fellow crew members from the Archimedes, though, suggested the word might instead be Zeylat, or 'vengeance' in old Cardassian." He shrugged. "That would make sense, right? The Cardassians would want revenge for everything that the Dominion had done to them during the war."
Sorel was silent. Brax could tell that the Ambassador was trying to read him-- an act that must have been difficult, given the Ferengi immunity to telepathy, and Brax's twenty years of experience in maintaining a good salesman's face.
"Well as it so happens," Brax went on, "I did some digging recently, just to see if there are any other phonetic matches. And I found one that caught my interest-- a Betazoid word, Zeyi-laht.. Tell me Ambassador, seeing as you're a Betazoid and I'm not, do you any idea what that means?"
The ambassador gave Brax a perplexed expression. "Zeyi-laht? It's an old word, one from our mythology. The best modern translation I could give you is ghosts, or unquiet souls."
Brax nodded. "Yes, that's more or less what I found as well," he said. "Except there's also a ritual significance to the word, isn't there?" He leaned forward a little in his chair. "The sources I found say that whenever Betazoids were dying or suffering from some great injustice, that they would sometimes transfer...echoes, or imprints, of their consciousness into the minds of their loved ones." He waited on Sorel's reaction before continuing. "This was highly taboo, of course, but the stories say that these loved ones would carry the zey-ihlat of the departed in their minds, often for years, until they found the person responsible for their death. Then, somehow, they would transfer these...imprints...into the mind of the guilty party." He leaned back in his chair. "The stories say that the guilty person would be tormented by these 'ghosts' and driven mad, as vengeance for their crime."
A quiet chill fell over the room. For a fraction of a second, Brax saw Sorel's perplexed expression slip-- a cold glint briefly shone in the Ambassador's black eyes as he regarded the Ferengi.
"Mr. Brax," he finally said, "I do not like what you seem to be implying."
Brax shook his head. "I'm not implying anything, Ambassador Sorel." He folded his arms on the table. "I'm accusing. You killed Eraun."
This time, the Ambassador's facade nearly dropped completely. His face stiffened into a deep, indignant frown, but Brax could see hints of something more dangerous just underneath the surface, something that Sorel was doing his best to keep hidden.
The Betazoid took a deep, angry breath. "Before I inform your Captain of this...outrageous behaviour of yours, Mr. Brax," he said stiffly, "I will humour you. Assuming I did do something as ludicrous as utilize some taboo ritual to kill Eraun, what motive could I possibly have? Eraun has done nothing to me."
Brax shrugged. "He's Vorta, isn't he?" he asked. "One of the people who enslaved an brutalized yours decades ago. He'd be a convenient release for any telepathic echoes you had locked in your mind...of people who had died, in agony, at the Dominion's hands." He leaned forward a little. "Your father, your mother, your younger sister, your friends...how many people did you lose, Ambassador, when the Dominion used your home town to test a weaponized virus? How many of your loved ones died all around you, asking you to avenge them?"
Sorel's hands balled into fists. "That is enough Mr. Brax," he said sharply. "I would ask you to leave my family out of this." Slowly, his hands unballed again as he regained his composure. "I have already told you that I have no desire for vengeance. Even if I did, how am I supposed to have killed Eraun? I was in the conference room with Captain Kurland at the time of the murder-- your records will tell you as much."
"Oh, you didn't kill him physically, Ambassador," Brax replied. "We now have solid proof that Eraun was made to mutilate and kill himself by a telepathic impulse. The killer...you...didn't have to lift a finger."
"I am not the only telepath on this station," Sorel pointed out.
"No," Brax replied, "but you are the only telepath to come into close contact with him, aren't you? When he and Loriss both came aboard this station, you were the first to shake his hand and greet him." Brax gesture to Sorel's hands. "Those few seconds of physical contact were all you would have needed to establish a telepathic link with him. A link that you would used to transfer the zey-ihlat into his mind, and torment him until he killed himself. This alone makes you the prime suspect for Eraun's murder."
Sorel's mouth twitched. "You have no proof," he replied stiffly. "Your only evidence is circumstantial."
Brax gave a nonchalant shrug. "Well, if you're so confident of your innocence, Ambassador, then perhaps you wouldn't mind letting my team take a look at your personal terminal?"
At this, Sorel's black eyes widened ever so slightly. "We both know you cannot do that," he replied. "My terminal is Federation ambassadorial property. You do not have the security clearance to touch it, let alone access it."
Brax nodded. "True," he said, "but this is an unusual situation, and there is precedent for security clearance being waved for unusual situations. I'm certain that if I were to inform Captain Kurland of my suspicions, then he'd send the proper requests up the ladder, and I'd have clearance in no time." He tapped his finger against the terminal. "Then we'd be able to see whether or not you had actually hired Joreg an Halo, and how much of your story actually adds up." He moved to stand up. "Of course, Ambassador, I'm certain that a fine, upstanding Federation representative like yourself has nothing to fear, so--"
He didn't get to finish. In the blink of an eye, Sorel had pulled a phaser out from under his desk and was pointing it at him. "That won't be necessary, Mr. Brax," the Betazoid said. "Please, sit down."
Brax's air froze in his lungs. For a moment, his limbs were rooted to the floor, and he could only stare numbly at the phaser. His instinct for self-preservation won out, however, and he slowly sank back into his seat.
"Good," Sorel replied. "I regret having to do this, Mr. Brax. You are a fine and committed Starfleet officer, But you have left me with no other option."
Slowly, Brax built up the willpower to speak. "A...Ambassador, don't be stupid," he stammered. "If you kill me, everyone will wonder what happened to me. They'll find out I was heading to your office, and they'll figure everything out."
Sorel raised an eyebrow. "On the contrary, Mr. Brax," he said. "The killer, no doubt attempting to destabilize the peace talks further, struck here in my office, not realizing that you were here. I was gravely injured, but you...you took a phaser blast that would otherwise have killed me, and died doing your duty."
"They won't buy that!" Brax sputtered. "My Captain will have his suspicions, and when the Dominion finds out--"
"They won't find out," Sorel said, "because by then it will be too late." The Betazoid leaned back in his seat, the faintest edge of a grin now on his face. The facade had dropped, and now that it had, Sorel seemed a lot more comfortable and at ease. "I must commend you, Mr. Brax, you were right about the zey-ihlat. What you don't know, however, is that they will not be content with just one death. They are the lingering emotions of dozens of people who were murdered by the Dominion, Mr. Brax. You have no idea what is like to carry that weight for decades, to hear them howling in the back of your mind every day. After all this time, they won't be content with one easily replaced Vorta. They will spread, from host to host, seeking vengeance and justice wherever they can find it now."
Brax felt the blood drain from his face. "Loriss..."
Sorel nodded. "She is the second, but there will be more. Once the Dominion ship returns to its home territory, the zey-ihlat will have more minds to jump to, and more to torment. Vorta, Jem'Hadar, Changeling...all of them will suffer, Mr. Brax, for what they did to my people."
Brax couldn't believe what he was hearing. He had had his suspicions about Sorel, but he had never imagined that the Ambassador would have wanted to do something like this. This was beyond murder: it was attempted genocide.
"This is insane!" Brax exclaimed. "Do you have any idea how many people will be affected by this? And what about Skyl-- you're just going to let the Dominion take him, to let him suffer for your crime? You said it yourself, this could end our relations with the--"
"The Cardassians are just as guilty!" Sorel suddenly snapped, causing Brax to jump. "They were there as well, Mr. Brax. Crell Moset and other Cardassian scientists were there, performing sick experiments on my people! Their hands will never come clean, Mr. Brax, no matter how much they pretend to be our friends! We are better off without them." Slowly, Sorel seemed to calm down. "You may think me mad, Mr. Brax, for what I have done. You may think me a murderer. But everything I have done, I have done for the sake of justice. Almost a third of our population was left dead at the end of the war, our society was in ruins, and our dignity and pride as a people were forever tarnished by the things we had to do to resist. But the Dominion never apologized, never repaired the damage they did beyond some token reparations, and never acknowledged their crime. For almost forty years, the crimes of the Occupation have gone unanswered."
A lump settled in Brax's throat. He knew that he'd have to choose his words carefully if he was going to survive this. "What about what you said earlier, Ambassador? About forgiveness, and not being consumed by hatred?"
Sorel gave a grim shake of his head. "Some things are unforgiveable, Mr. Brax," he said. Slowly, he set the phaser down on his desk-- it was no longer pointed at Brax, but still within easy reach of Sorel. "I meant what I said, Mr. Brax. You are a good and upstanding Starfleet officer, and your commitment to this case was admirable. I don't want your blood on my hands. But if you truly care about justice, then I must ask you to look the other way. The Dominion is guilty, you know this as well as I do." He shook his head as his expression suddenly became painfully sad. "Please, Mr. Brax...let Betazed have justice."
For a brief moment, the room was quiet. Brax stared at Sorel. The proud, respected man who had been heading the Federation delegation was gone-- Brax could see him now for the weary, broken old man that he was. His gaze drifted down to the phaser on Sorel's desk, and he sighed.
"You get all of that, Captain?" he asked.
"Every word, Mr. Brax," Arkos Nair's voice replied from his communicator. "We're forwarding this conversation to DS9 Ops even now."
Sorel's eyes widened. In that one moment, Brax saw him realize just how ruined he truly was-- that the bridge crew of a Federation starship had just heard him confess to murder and attempted murder, and had heard him threaten a Starfleet officer.
With wordless fury, Sorel snatched up the phaser and pointed it at Brax.
"NO--!" Brax cried, throwing himself sideways. In that one split second, he expected some something profound to happen-- something like his life flashing before his eyes, or a vision of a dark tunnel with a bright light at the end, or his dearly departed Grand-Moogie coming to lead him to the golden halls of the Divine Exchequer and the endless latinum within.
But what he got instead was one final, taunting epiphany: a sudden realization as to why the Dominion had been so secretive. Why Vorak'Utaur had been actively stonewalling him this whole time, why the Vorta had been doing their best to prevent being monitored, and why Eraun had arranged to meet with a mystery guest on the night of his murder. It all made perfect, crystalline sense now: Eraun and Loriss weren't the actual ambassadors of this delegation.
There was a sharp, energized shriek as the phaser fired--
--and an orange beam hissed over Brax's head, almost singing his lobes as it missed him. Rolling as he hit the floor, Brax rolled and sprang up to return fire...and then stopped when he saw the scene in front of him. A potted plant in the corner of Sorel's room was grabbing Sorel.
Brax blinked, making sure he was seeing this correctly. A long, brownish tendril was extending from the plant and had wrapped itself around Sorel's phaser arm, wrenching it back and preventing a potentially fatal shot. Even from here, Brax could see that there was nothing solid about this tendril, that it was instead made from an amber-coloured liquid that shimmered and gelled like treacle. As Sorel gazed down at horror at the substance grabbing at his arm, the plant suddenly turned a similarly amber colour and grew.
"NO! Sorel screamed as he struggled to get free. "You can't--" He was silence as another tendril shot out from the steadily-growing liquid mass that was once a potted plant. Brax gazed in horror as the tendril wrappe itself around Sorel's moutth, blocking off his nostrils and flooding his passages with amber liquid as it oozed around his skull. The Betazoid flailed and twisted, fingers prying and clawing uselessly through the liquid tendril that was now suffocating him.
And then, after what felt like an eternity, it was over. Sorel's body toppled over limply, and with a sit, wet squelch, the tendrils retracted. As Brax watched, the liquid mass began to move forwards, slimming down into a vaguely humanoid shape that shimmered like golden amber. Slowly, there was a sound like the crackle of dry bark, and the shape solidified. Brax stared, gaping, at the humanoid figure that now stood in the room-- a tall figure in a loose white robe, with smoothe, faintly orange skin, rounded features, and thin, golden hair. The figure turned to face him, dark intelligent eyes staring out from a pair of large brows.
"Are you alright, Mr. Brax?" the figure asked, with a voice that was unlike his smoothe, unmarked features-- deep, craggy, and with heavy a note of sternness.
Brax gave a hurried nod. "Yes," he said. It was at that moment that everything suddenly clicked into place, and he realized who the stranger was. "I'm fine...Constable Odo."
Something twinkled in the alien's dark eyes. "Constable?" Odo's face seemed to brighten for a moment. "Hrmn. No one has called me Constable in a very long time."
OK, I can't quantify how happy I am to see (a) an update to this fantastic story, (b) ODO!!!!! My precious little ball of ooze!--and a real idea of the culprit. A Betazoid, eh? Very nice.
Well, that was interesting to see Odo again, and it makes sense that the Dominion would want us to think he was the real ambassador. That said...based on the attitudes of his minions and the fact that he willingly played these shadow games and exposed the people he's supposed to care about in the same selfish way as a typical Founder instead of taking the risks himself like he did in Starfleet, I am not convinced this is the same Odo, character-wise, that was on the show. As far as I am concerned, either another Changeling is taking advantage of the Federation's warm fuzzies towards Odo, or Odo himself is no longer the same person, and not trustworthy or upstanding as he was before. If I saw actual change in the Dominion, and if I hadn't seen him lie, deceive, and act in this cowardly manner, as you can (mostly) see in the Cardassians, I would feel differently about it. Then again it could well be there's another wrinkle to this or grounds for a sequel.
(As for the Cardassians, they can start by firing Rugan Skyl for racism and a bad attitudea nd quite possibly shilling for the True Way--a step I have them eventually take by 2411/2412 in the Masterverse. But I think they are overall on the right path compared to the Dominion.)
I'd had a story I wanted to write for this LC for a long time, but I am not sure I can go forward with it anymore in light of this one even though it explained a significant event in Alyosha's continuity. A shame. That said, this was a VERY impressive story.
My only criticism would be that choosing a stereotypically Vulcan name for Sorel made it hard to remember what species he was (Betazoid instead). But overall, great work!
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...based on the attitudes of his minions and the fact that he willingly played these shadow games and exposed the people he's supposed to care about in the same selfish way as a typical Founder instead of taking the risks himself like he did in Starfleet, I am not convinced this is the same Odo, character-wise, that was on the show. As far as I am concerned, either another Changeling is taking advantage of the Federation's warm fuzzies towards Odo, or Odo himself is no longer the same person, and not trustworthy or upstanding as he was before.
Well, he has been part of the Great Link for what, 25, 30 years? It would be surprising if he hadn't changed in all that time.
Comments
His stomach growled, and he realized he hadn't had a proper meal since this morning. Rule 214: Never begin a business negotiation on an empty stomach. And a criminal interrogation was simply another, unkinder version of a business negotiation.
Ignoring the gnawing pains in his stomach, Brax gave a theatrical stretch and a tug of his uniform as he sat down opposite Skyl. Vorak'Utaur stood behind him, and Brax saw Skyl's eyes flicker briefly up at the Jem'Hadar. "Sorry for the wait," Brax said. "I had some forms to fill. You know how these things can be."
"Oh, quite," Skyl replied smoothly. "I'm no stranger to arrest, Mr. Brax. At one point, the previous regime on Cardassia had some very...pressing questions to ask me." He folded his hands calmly. "Oh well. It was amusing while it lasted."
Brax raised an eyebrow. "What was? You arrest?"
"No." Skyl's lips turned upward ever so slightly. "Your Federation's pretense that it is any better than the old Union, now that you've started rounding up people like me on flimsy pretexts." He glanced up at Vorak'Utaur. "You even have Jem'Hadar thugs doling out violence for you, just like Dukat did in the good old days."
Vorak'Utaur said nothing, but Brax leaned back in his chair. He could see now why so many of DS9's staff hated this guy. "Oh spare me the sob story, Skyl. We both know you were a happily active part of that old regime-- you've admitted as much on several occasions. And before you complain about that assault, you were resisting arrest, and I have witnesses to back me up." Before Skyl could mouth a protest, Brax slammed a PADD down on the table. "And I'm sure you'll find that our warrant for your arrest is anything but 'flimsy.' Care to explain it to him, Third?"
Slowly, Vorak'Utaur began to pace around the table, his tall form casting a shadow over Skyl. "Where were you," he said, "between 2400 and 0200 hours yesterday?"
Skyl's gaze shifted up to the Jem'Hadar. If the old Cardassian was afraid, he was doing a good job of not showing it. It figured-- a politician like him would have to be made of stern stuff, especially in a political environment as notoriously cutthroat as Cardassia's. "Why, I was in the Promenade, where I usually am on these nice visits to Terok Nor." He glanced back to Brax and smiled. "Sorry, Deep Space Nine. Old habits, I'm afraid."
"Really?" Brax leaned forward on the table. "Because our security records don't indicate you as being anywhere near your usual Promenade spots. In fact, you weren't seen anywhere. You'd think a prominent ambassador like yourself would be a little more noticeable."
Skyl gave an insoucient shrug. "I try not to stand out whenever possible. You have no idea how irritating it is to have people interrupt your day for every single minor diplomatic detail--"
Vorak'Utaur's fist came slamming down on the table. For the briefest of seconds, Skyl's dropped as he jumped in alarm. "You weren't in the Promenade at that time," the Jem'Hadar growled, bringing his head close to Skyl's. "I will ask you again, Cardassian. Where were you?"
The Cardassian looked at the Jem'Hadar, and Brax could see he was doing his best to keep a brave face on. "I don't have to tell you anything, you mass-produced, genetically engineered abomination," he hissed. "I realize the meaning of this term may escape you, but I have diplomatic immunity. As far as I'm concerned, this entire proceeding is illegal."
"By your laws, Cardassian," Vorak'Utaur growled. "Not mine."
"Easy Third," Brax warned. If Vorak'Utaur started physically threatening Skyl again, that could land them both into a thicker grub's nest than they were already in. He turned back Skyl and smiled. "Unfortunately, Ambassador, diplomatic immunity only extends so far...especially when the murder of another ambassador is involved."
Skyl chuckled. "Ah yes, of course. You think a frail old Cardassian like myself murdered the dearly departed Eraun."
"Yes," Brax replied with a nod. "Specifically, we think a frail old Cardassian like you paid a known hacker to tamper with the dearly departed Eraun's replicator, enabling him to remotely create a murder weapon and key a transport signiature. A frail old Cardassian like you then arranged a secret meeting with Eraun, where you then replicated the weapon, stabbed Eraun before he could react, and then beamed out so that you wouldn't be caught by Eraun's guards."
For a moment, Skyl stared at Brax, before slowly straightening up. "Oh my, you're actually serious." He frowned. "Do you have any idea how ludicrous that all sounds?"
"Humour me," Brax replied as he tried to read Skyl's face. He had to admit, the old Cardassian was pretty good at masking any shock or surprise he might have otherwise been feeling.
"Well for starters, if I had killed him, no doubt some of Eraun's...hair, or other DNA would have shown up on my clothes!" Skyl sputtered. "Even an ignoramus could figure that out!"
Brax nodded. "Which is why my team is busy scouring your quarters. I'm sure they'll let me know when they find something."
Skyl's face momentarily twisted with outrage. "Those quarters are ambassadorial territory, you--" He paused, took a deep breath, and composed himself. "If I had entered Eraun's quarters last night, wouldn't his guards have seen me enter?"
It was Vorak'Utaur's turn to answer. "At 2400 last night, Eraun ordered his guards to leave the entrance of his room and make a patrol of the adjoining hallways for ten minutes," he said. "More than enough time for you to enter and leave unseen."
Brax perked up. He hadn't expected Vorak'Utaur to suddenly volunteer information like that, though it seemed to explain how someone could have gotten in. "Except you didn't leave normally," Brax added. "You had keyed a transport signiature to Eraun's replicator so you could beam directly back to your quarters. And because Eraun had ordered most of the remote scanning devices around his quarters disabled, no one was able to detect you enter the area in the first place. It was the perfect crime."
"That's preposterous!" Skyl blurted, though it he seemed to be becoming more flustered. "You have nothing connecting me to Eraun's murder other than blind supposition!"
"No, Cardassian," Vorak'Utaur said, "we have proof." He started to circle the table again-- Brax had to admit, the Jem'Hadar was effortlessly menacing. "The man who was contracted out to hack Eraun's replicator gave as an IEF signiature matched to the username of the man who hired him. That IEF signiature led directly to your personal terminal."
The ambassador gaped, and Brax followed up before he could protest. "And before you start complaining that you're the victim of some elaborate frame-up," he said, "you and I both know how hard the personal computers of ambassadors are to hack." He leaned closer to Skyl. "Unless you conveniently loaned that computer out to someone, this little murder has your name all over it."
Skyl's expression tightened. He was on the defensive now. "This is ludicrous," he said. "What motive would I possibly I have for killing Eraun? He was annoying, yes, but hardly worth the effort of murdering!"
"You tell me," Brax said, folding his hands. "Ever since the talks began, you went out of your way to mock Eraun and Loriss at every opportunity. You repeatedly insulted them, insulted the Dominion, and at one point openly wished for them to 'contract Vendikan pox and die.'"
The old Cardassian shifted uncomfortably at this. "If I had truly wished them dead, Mr. Brax, I would have been a little more inventive with my threats," he replied. "Besides, if you were stuck in the same room as those two wheedling, insufferable clones, you would wish death on them as well."
"Really?" Brax quipped. "Sounds more to me like you have a lot in common with them." This earned him a truly venomous look from Skyl.
"Have a care for your tone, Cardassian," Vorak'Utaur growled. "Those are two servants of the Founders you are referring to." He stopped next to Skyl's shoulder and glowered down at him. "It is a well known fact that your people hate and despise the Dominion. Do not try to deny this."
Skyl glanced up at the Jem'Hadar. "If hating the Dominion is a crime, then why don't you just arrest everyone on this station then," he retorted, "and leave me in peace?"
"The Third has a point, though," Brax said, leaning back in his chair. "You Cardassians aren't exactly known as the forgiving type...and what the Dominion did to your homeworld isn't exactly forgiveable either."
At this, Vorak'Utaur looked at Brax, a mixture of surprise and disappointment on his grey features. Well, Brax thought, that was one unpleasant argument they were going to have later.
"So you think this is revenge?" Skyl suddenly chuckled. "Really. You think that I would avenge a thirty-year-old atrocity committed against my people by stabbing one easily-replaced Vorta?"
"One Vorta who happens to be the Dominion's representative," Brax replied. "Killing him may not have struck a grievous, irrecoverable blow against the Dominion...but be honest, it would have made you feel better, wouldn't it?"
Skyl's expression became smoothe and hard to read at this point. "You don't know me at all, Mr. Brax," he replied. "I don't like to wallow in the past as much as my countrymen. And besides, I was never on Cardassia when the bombardment occurred. My family and I were safe and sound on Goralis, so..." he glanced up at Vorak'Utaur "...as undoubtedly tragic and needlessly brutal as the bombardment was, it didn't affect me in the slightest."
Brax shrugged. "True," he said. "While your fellow Cardassians were dying and then dealing with starvation, poverty, etc etc, you were happily drinking kanar on Goralis. But..." Brax's eyes narrowed "...you had a mistress who was living on Cardassia, didn't you?"
That certainly got to him: Skyl's eyes widened as he instantly straightened up in his seat. "What?"
"That's right, a mistress," Brax went on. "Her name was Ajora Girol. She was an artist, a member of the lower strata of Cardassian society, and, whenever it was the most convenient to you, your lover."
Skyl's jaw twisted ever so slightly as he read its contents, and Brax saw his already grey face seem to become more ashen. Slowly, he looked up at Brax. "How did you know?"
Brax tapped a few buttons on his PADD. "Rule of Acquisition #74: knowledge equals profit," he said, sliding the PADD towards Skyl. "There are a lot of loose tongues on this station, and I had latinum to spare. A few people in the Union knew about you two...but a select fewer people knew that you loved Ajora more than you loved your own wife, or that you were hiding the fact that she was a member of the Oralian Way." He watched as Skyl read the PADD. "But it is widely known that she was one of the people killed by the Dominion's bombing of Lakarian City."
A part of Brax felt dirty about this. By rights, he should have been openly condemning the bombing, and telling Skyl that he was absolutely right to hate the Dominion as much as he did. But being in the justice business meant you never had the luxury of picking sides.
As Skyl stared down at the PADD, Vorak'Utaur paced around to the edge of the table. "The username of the man who contracted the hacker was Zeylat," he said. "I am not completely ignorant of your world's culture, Cardassian. I know that Zeylat means 'revenge' in your world's Hebitian language, and that this language is frequently used by the Oralian Way cult."
"That's what this is all about, isn't it?" Brax added. "Revenge. You don't care about hurting the Dominion in a big way...but you did want to hurt one of them, just as they'd hurt you. You wanted to take all of your pent up anger and sorrow out on one, easily-replaceable Vorta."
Slowly, Skyl looked up from the PADD. The calm, insoucient facade was gone-- Skyl's eyes now burned with a cold fury, one that intensified when it fixed on Vorak'Utaur.
"I'm glad Eraun is dead," he finally said. "I hope his next clone dies an equally horrible death, along with that she-dog Loriss, and you, you drug-swilling brute." With a deep inhalation, he leaned back in his chair. "But you have the wrong man. I didn't kill Eraun. And if I had, I wouldn't have been so foolish as to do the deed myself."
"Then give me something," Brax said. Every negotiation had to have an offer. "Tell me where you were at 2400 hours, last night."
Skyl shook his head. "No, Mr. Brax, I am done talking with you and your...friend here." He folded his hands on the table. "I refuse to say anything more until my barrister gets here. And if you continue to harass me in this manner, I will be certain to mention it when this inevitably goes to trial. After all..." His lips turned up in a smile. "...we Cardassians have very long memories."
And just like that, the interrogation had hit a brick wall. Sighing, Brax nodded and stood up. "Enjoy your stay for the time being, Ambassador Skyl, he said, stretching as he made his way for the exit. "I understand that the brig here on DS9, just like most other things on the station, haven't changed much since the Occupation, so you'll feel right at home."
*****
"Well that could have gone better," Kurland muttered as he looked at the screen on the wall panel.
"It's not like they were going to get a confession out of him the first time around, anyway," Arkos pointed out. "Skyl's a diplomat, he knows how to weave his way out of a tough conversation."
Kurland shook his head. "Maybe, but we won't get another chance for a confession now," he said. "Not if this goes to trial. And knowing Skyl, he'll probably find some way of swaying the court in his favour."
Arkos grimaced. As a starship captain, his duties usually enabled him to be able to avoid the murky world of politics, but this was one of those instances where that murk caught up with him, and he was unpleasantly reminded that there was a sticky bureaucratic world beyond Starfleet. In such instances, he would have preferred to stare down the Borg than deal with political intrigue and courtroom dramas.
The door of the interrogation room slid open, and Brax and Vorak'Utaur stepped through. "He's definitely hiding something," Brax declared as he walked up to his captain. "He was being honest about how he felt about Eraun, but I could tell, there was still something he was trying to hide."
"Like his involvement in the murder?" Kurland asked. "Or is it something else that he's hiding?"
Brax gave a tired shrug. "Who knows? He's invoked his right to silence, and I can't press him any more without breaking the law. He has us at a dead end, and he knows it."
Vorak'Utaur shook his head in disgust. "This is pointless. Surely you, as Starfleet, are above the Federation's law?"
There was a short, awkward silence as the three Starfleet officers stared at the Jem'Hadar. "Um...no, Third, we're not," Brax said. "We're just as accountable to the law as everyon else. Just as...you know, just as you Jem'Hadar are bound to follow the rules of the Founders."
"Hm." Vorak'Utaur said nothing more on that, but he seemed to accept the argument. "If you cannot interrogate him directly, then simply do so indirectly. If you have a telepathic officer on hand, bring them in here and monitor his thoughts--"
Kurland waved his hands. "No. Out of the question. Use of telepaths in interrogations is permissable only with prisoners of war." He glanced at the screen, and noted how Skyl continued to sit patiently "It is allowed in some criminal cases, but most times the accused can invoke their constitutional right to freedom of privacy. And our Cardassian friend there may not be a Federation citizen, but he is a diplomat, so no matter what, he gets special treatment in the eyes of the law."
"You mean your law, Captain Kurland," another voice spoke up. The four of them turned in time to see Loriss come gliding up the hallway, a bemused smile on her face. At her side strode Ambassador Sorel, his own handsome features much more sombre. As usual, there was a quartet of Jem'Hadar forming a semicircle at Loriss' back.
"Ambassador," Kurland said with a respectful nod to Sorel, though he grimaced as he turned to Loriss. "Ambassador."
"Captain," Loriss returned with a nod. "As I was just saying to dear Ambassador Sorel here, were are quite pleased at how this investigation turned out. Not only was Eraun's murderer found, but he was found through the successful cooperation of Starfleet and Jem'Hadar personnel!" She clapped her hands together. "I think this bodes well for any formal alliance between us, don't you?"
"With all due respect, Ambassador Loriss," Kurland said, "the evidence against Rugan Skyl is hardly airtight. An incriminating IEF led to his personal terminal, yes, but we still need to establish what his whereabouts, how exactly he carried out the murder...and as a diplomat, he does have the right to a fair trial."
Loriss' smile didn't waver, but her eyes narrowed ever so slightly. "In your system, he has that right, Captain Kurland," she replied, "but do remember that he is guilty of killing a Dominion ambassador. As I was telling Ambassador Sorel here, we are the injured party, therefore I think it is only fitting that Rugan Skyl be brought back to the Gamma Quadrant to face Dominion justice."
Sorel gave the group an uncomfortable look. "The Dominion does have a valid claim," he agreed, "but the Cardassian government will contest this if you try to take him to the Gamma Quadrant. They will demand that he be fairly represented."
A mirthful laugh escaped Loriss' lips. "Oh Ambassador, we are not overly concerned about Cardassia's opinion," she said. "As far as I'm concerned, they share partial responsibility for the actions of their ambassador anyway." She turned slowly to Vorak'Utaur. "Third Vorak'Utaur?"
The Jem'Hadar instantly stiffened into attention. "Yes, Loriss."
"Your conduct during this investigation was admirable," Loriss said, "and worthy of your devotion to the Founders. You are effectively released from this duty: return to your unit."
Vorak'Utaur slammed his forearm against his chest in a salute. Without a further word, he strode down the hallway, leaving the flabbergasted Brax behind.
"Wait, you're releasing him, just like that?" Brax exclaimed. "But the investigation is still ongoing! We still have evidence that we need to collect."
"We are satisfied with the evidence you have collected already, Mr. Brax," Loriss replied. "I, for one, consider this matter closed. On behalf of the Dominion, I thank you for your diligence and persistence in this investigation. You have done us a great service."
"But--" Brax started, but by that point, Loriss was already turning away from him back to Sorel. "Please inform us when Rugan Skyl is ready for extradition," she said. "My ship will take him as soon as he is ready."
"Of course," Sorel said with a nod. "Barring mitigating circumstances, of course."
There was a brief, hostile glimmer in Loriss' purple eyes. "Of course," she replied. And without a further word, she turned and walked off down the hallway, her bodyguards stomping after her.
As soon as they were out of eyesight, Kurland exhaled a deep breath. "I hate that *****," he muttered.
"Gee, I wonder why, she seems like such a nice person," Brax muttered dryly.
Arkos turned to Sorel. "Ambassador, we aren't actually going to give Rugan Skyl to the Dominion, are we?" he asked.
Sorel gave a tired sigh. "That's one of the things I came here to talk to you about," he said. "We have more problems than just Loriss. The Cardassian government is demanding that Rugan Skyl be released and returned to them."
"What?" Brax exclaimed. "I thought they hated him!"
"As I undertand it, many of Skyl's enemies on Cardassia are using this opportunity to discredit him," Sorel admitted. "And by the sounds of things, he has many enemies. But there are many more who are trying to string him up as a martyr, in an effort to sour relations between the Cardassian Union and the Federation. The fact that we arrested him while helping the Dominion just makes us look worse in their eyes."
"Great," Kurland grumbled as he leaned against the wall. "So if we hold on to Skyl or give him back to the Cardassians, then we risk starting another conflict with the Dominion. But if we give Skyl to the Dominion..."
"...then we risk destabilizing our good relations with the Cardassian Union," Kurland finished with a nod. "And given the tense political situation down there, this will give the True Way even more ammunition to use against us."
"Then we don't give him to either," Arkos said. "We keep him here on Deep Space Nine, and have a fair trial held here, one where the Dominion can prosecute and the Cardassians can send someone to represent him."
Sorel took a deep breath. "That's the other thing I wanted to discuss with you," he said. "If this goes to trial, we won't have a leg to stand on, because the evidence was acquired unlawfully."
The statement made Brax jump. "What?" he cried. "Ambassador, I ran this by the book."
Patiently, Sorel looked down at the Ferengi and shook his head. "I know about the incident where Joreg was threatened, Lieutenant Commander Brax," he said. "Before you get defensive, I am not condemning you-- I realize that you attempted to stop Third Vorak'Utaur from physically threatening Joreg. But a court won't see it that way: they will see that the primary piece of evidence we have against Skyl-- the confession of being paid for a hacking job and the IEF he supplied us with-- as having been gained through coercion, and thus tainted. Any case against Rugan Skyl could be thrown out the window for that alone."
Brax swore out loud. "So this was all for nothing, is that what you're saying?" He gestured to the viewscreen, where Skyl continued to sit bored. "You're saying he'll get to walk after all this?"
"What I'm saying, Mr. Brax," Sorel said, "is that if we want to make a case against Rugan Skyl, we'll need more evidence. And I fear I can not say much more than that."
Arkos grimaced. "Then we don't have time to waste," he said, before turning to his chief of Security. "Brax..."
"Yeah, I know Captain, I'm on it," Brax sighed as he turned to head back to the crime scene. He had no idea where else to look, or where to even start looking, but his initial gut instinct was right, it seemed-- this investigation wasn't over, not by a long shot.
I'm always a sucker for police procedurals. :cool:
And I mean that in a very good way. I'm enjoying this thoroughly.
In my own headcanon, Berat hates him so badly for the "Bajoran-distilled kanar" remark that Berat either threatened or actually assaulted him, and the incident caused a big kerfuffle through both of his chains of command (who ultimately let him off the hook for it).
Of course, the condition of the new Eraun clone has not been explained, so there is definitely more going on here.
The only thing that seems a bit...out of character...is the notion that a fanatic like Skyl would have ever covered for an Oralian. He never struck me as the type. I am curious as to your thinking there.
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I regret not including a two-way mirror in that interrogation scene, or having everyone perpetually drinking steaming cups of coffee.
Well, it looks like this story...
[Puts on Intel glasses]
...goes where no cop drama has gone before.
Push button.
In all seriousness, I'm glad you're enjoying it!
See, I never saw Skyl as a fanatic, but as a self-serving opportunist. He supported the old regime on Cardassia purely because he benefited from doing so, just as he now serves the current Cardassian Union. The main reason he behaved so rudely towards the PC and towards Bajorans isn't because he dogmatically believes in Cardassian superiority (though I'm certain he was raised to believe that), but simply because he's a smug, self-important ******* who enjoys getting a rise out of people.
As for why he would help an Oralian...bear in mind that on DS9, almost every villain (especially the Cardassian ones) had a soft spot. Dukat had Ziyal, Enabran Tain had Garak (and, arguably, Mila), and in my mind, Skyl had his mistress. Of course, him not telling anyone she was an Oralian could simply have been his way of maintaining leverage over her.
I can see where you get your interpretation though I don't totally agree with it.
I'd lean towards the "leverage" over the Oralian mistress idea, probably.
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As an aside, in case people haven't noticed by now, [REDACTED, PENDING LINK APPROVAL]
PS, is Shevet OK with that link? If so, ignore this remark.
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That's...um...a good question. Link removed pending confirmation.
He had set Vasquez and his team to work, telling them to find something, anything incriminating and suspicious other than the IEF signal that had led right to Rugan Skyl's personal terminal. That had been their one big breakthrough in the case the one thing that had allowed them to nab Skyl, and now they couldn't even use it. But at this rate, unless something equally incriminating popped up from out of thin air, Skyl would walk free.
If he was even the killer, a nagging voice at the back of Brax's mind said. So much about this situation seemed wrong-- Skyl had been all too willing to admit to his dislike of Eraun. Moreover, something about the way the IEF had led to his terminal had seemed too convenient-- a terminal with diplomatic access restrictions should have been a lot harder to backtrace for a regular engineering team. No, something about this whole case felt rotten, and it had felt that day the moment he had been stuck with Jem'Hadar oversight.
The Dominion were hiding something. Even an idiot could figure that much out. Every time Brax had tried to ask Vorak'Utaur questions about Eraun and what he had been doing that night, the Jem'Hadar had simply stonewalled him. And then there was Loriss and the way she had abruptly concluded the case. It had felt like she had wanted to bring the investigation to a premature end. What didn't she want Brax to find? If history was anything to go by, then the Dominion were no doubt up to something sneaky and underhanded, and he was coming very close to finding out what.
And then there was Eraun. Surely, the Dominion would have cloned him by now? If so, then where was he? Why weren't they examining his memories of the incident so that they could get an actual, eyewitness account? Brax was beginning to suspect that they had, and that whatever they had found was something they didn't want to see the light of day. No, there was definitely a cover up of some sort going on here.
The problem was, he had no idea where to go from here. Joreg and Halo had given him the biggest leads on the investigation, but without either of them, he had no idea where else to look. He couldn't very well go poking around on the Dominion ship without sparking a diplomatic incident and/or getting shot. And the forensics details from Skyl's quarters were still going through his personal files. This entire case had thrown him back into one frustrating dead end, and he had no idea what else he could do. Other than to try drinking himself into an unprofessional stupor, that was.
"Mind if I join you, Mr. Brax?" The voice that spoke was female, carrying a tone and tenor that reminded Brax of crystallised winter lake. He glanced up from his meal, and was greeted by the site of a Romulan woman standing on the other side of his table, looking down at him intently. She was roughly mid-height for her species, and wore a dark leather coat and bodyglove that hugged her slender form. Her short auburn hair had been swept artfully to one side, and thin face framed a pair of intelligent eyes that looked like miscoloured chips of stone-- her left was the colour of sharp-cut emerald; her right was the grey of flecked ice, and glimmered with the telltale signs of augmetic prosthesis. The tiny, lined scars sweeping outward from the corner of that eye told Brax that it was a replacement for an old injury, one that she had never bothered to conceal.
Scars and augmetic eye or no, the woman was quite attractive by non-Ferengi standards-- Brax involuntarily found himself imagining her in an oo-mox situation.
He also quickly realized he'd seen her face before. A name sprang up-- Ta'nara Velar, commander of the warbird that had brought the Romulan delegation to Deep Space Nine.
"By all means," Brax replied, gesturing to his chair. "I could use the company." A part of him was secretly thrilled that an attractive female wanted to share a table with him. The more experienced part of him, however, knew that Romulans were rarely straightforward with their motivations.
With a nod and a single, languid movement, Ta'nara slid into the opposite chair. "I trust your investigation is faring well?" she asked, taking a delicate sip of her drink.
Brax raised an eyebrow. "What investigation?" he asked. "In case you haven't heard, Commander Velar, the Dominion has declared the case to be closed."
"And yet the Federation has not," Ta'nara replied smoothly. "I know full well that Captain Nair has ordered your investigation to continue, Mr. Brax, so there is no need to be coy." There was something effortlessly seductive about the way she had said that last sentence.
Involuntarily, Brax edged back in his seat a little, not lowering his guard. Somehow, it made sense that the Romulans already knew about this. "And you're here to check up on me?" he asked warily.
Ta'nara gave a slight tensing of her body that might have been a shrug. "The Republic is as invested in these talks as the Federation is, Mr. Brax," she said, "so we desire a satisfactory conclusion as much as your people do."
"Ah." With a tired sigh, Brax relaxed his own posture a little, to indicate that he wasn't intimidated in the slightest. "Well, I'd hate to disappoint one of the Federation's closest allies, but I have nothing to give you. I've tried everything, and looked everywhere I could. At this point, I've exhausted all my leads. It's a dead end."
For a moment, Ta'nara was quiet. Her one organic eye had the intense, focused look of someone in deep thought. Her augmetic looked glassy and unreadable, aside from a brief telltale flicker across its pale surface. Brax tensed, wondering, for a brief moment, what the inbuilt sensors on that eye were scrying about him.
"Perhaps you aren't looking in the right places," Ta'nara finally said, raising her glass and swirling it absent-mindedly.
Brax suppressed a brief surge of irritation. He couldn't tell if Ta'nara was intimating that she knew something, or was being deliberately obtuse. "Maybe," he said, reaching forward and munching down another couple of fried gree-worms. "A man like Rugan Skyl has to have left a trail somewhere, and as soon as my team finishes scouring his quarters--"
"Don't bother," Ta'nara cut in, taking a quick sip of her drink before continuing. "Skyl didn't do it."
The statement almost made Brax choke on his meal. It took him a few seconds to avoid gagging to death, after which he looked up at Ta'nara in bewilderment. "Are you saying you know for a fact that Skyl is innocent?"
Ta'nara's eyes narrowed. "'Innocent' is hardly the word I'd use, Mr. Brax," she said. "Rugan Skyl is guilty of a great many sins. But killing Eraun is not one of them."
Brax gave Ta'nara a hard stare. "And how would you know this?" he asked, though he suspected he already knew the answer.
"We have been monitoring Skyl ever since he arrived on Deep Space Nine," Ta'nara replied, matter-of-factly. "Certain parties wished to know what he was up to. If he had moved against Eraun during that time, we would have known."
Of course, Brax realized. You wouldn't have the diplomats of the major powers of three quadrants gathered here without them bringing their respective spies along for the ride. And the Romulans, for better or worse, were renowned for their spies. The fact that Ta'nara had admitted it so brazenly, however, surprised Brax. This admission came with a price tag, he figured: she either wanted something from him in return, or was currying a future favour from him.
"Well, that's...rather honest of you," Brax said guardedly. Always inspect the merchandise, Rule #218 echoed in his memory. "But it still leaves me with a few unanswered questions. If you claim you were monitoring him, why was he clamming up so much when I questioned him about his whereabouts?"
"Because he was engaging the services of courtesans in his quarters at the time," Ta'nara replied, her tone remaining icy and indifferent. "I'm sure your people will have found a frilly undergarment or two by now."
Brax felt his ears sag a little. "Oh," he said. That actually made a lot of sense-- information like that could have ruined Skyl's name, if not his reputation, back on Cardassia. Even with the threat of a murder conviction hanging over his head, Skyl must have decided it was better to be falsely accused of killing a Vorta-- one of Cardassia's old enemies-- than to be literally caught with his pants down.
"Well," Brax finally muttered, "I won't say I don't appreciate you telling me this, Commander Velar, but...why couldn't you have told me sooner? You know, like...before we tried to have Skyl charged?"
He saw the Romulan woman's expression harden slightly. "Because then we would have had to admit that we were monitoring him in the first place," she replied, "which would have made continued talks impossible if the Dominion ever found out." Brax noted that Ta'nara did not say or the Cardassians. "Here, in a private conversation between the two of us, there is less room for adverse diplomatic consequences." She set her glass down on the table. "I will trust, of course, that you will be discreet about this."
"And what if I don't?" Brax challenged. "What if instead I bring this to my Captain, or to Ambassador Sorel, and tell them about what your Republic has been up to?"
Ta'nara's expression softened a bit, though it remained as cold and inscrutable as ever. "Do so if you wish, Mr. Brax," she said, "though I assure you, Ambassador Satris will deny everything, as will I. Then it will simply be your word against mine, at a time when our two peoples should be working together as allies rather than pointing fingers in full view of the Dominion."
A sour feeling rose in Brax's gut. Some allies, he thought bitterly. He knew Ta'nara and her people had to be spying on the Federation delegation as well, but he kept his mouth shut. For better or worse, Ta'nara was right: he had to keep a lid on this. And at the moment, if he was honest with himself, he'd preferred to have a Romulan spy on his side than against it.
"Alright, fine," he muttered. "So...given how...perceptive your people are, I don't suppose you know who did kill Eraun?"
Ta'nara frowned and shook her head. "The Dominion's internal security was far too potent," she said. "It was impossible for us to monitor Eraun or his surroundings at the time."
Any security too tough for Romulan intelligence had to be good security indeed, Brax thought to himself. "Any leads then?" he asked. "Any information you can give me at all?"
"Only the obvious," Ta'anara replied. "The Dominion knows more about the truth than either of us."
Brax gave Ta'nara an annoyed frown. "With all due respect, Commander, that really doesn't help me at all."
Ta'nara raised an eyebrow. "Doesn't it?" she asked. Her voice was raised slightly in something that might have approached amusement, as though this were all a game to her. "You know where to get your answers, Mr. Brax. How you choose to get them is up to you, but you are a resourceful man. I'm certain you'll think of something."
Slowly, the Romulan woman stood up. "By the way, it might interest you to know, Mr. Brax," she said, "that that Jem'Hadar friend of yours is still on the station."
"He's not my friend," Brax retorted. He was surprised at how abrupt his answer had been.
Ta'nara cocked her head to the side in a bemused gesture. "No, of course not," she replied smoothely, before giving him a curt nod. "Good day, Mr. Brax." And with that, Ta'nara turned and walked away. In a matter of seconds, she had disappeared back into the crowd of people around the counter.
With an irritated sigh, Brax slumped back in his seat. He hated this case. He hated the fact that it led nowhere, he hated all the lies and secrecy in it, and he now hated the fact that it was getting him mixed up in espionage, counter-intelligence, and the dirty laundry of at least five interstellar nations. He just wanted this miserable case to end so that be rid of the perpetual ache in his lobes that it was giving him.
Setting his cup down, he stretched and stood up. As much as he hated to admit it, there was one obvious approach he'd been missing this whole time. "Frigging Romulans," he grumbled to himself.
*****
Less disciplined races would have balked at the idea of guard duty. They might have seen it as demeaning, or as a waste of their talents, or as a menial job that they were, for some reason, undeserving of. But that was why they were less disciplined races. The Jem'Hadar had no such weaknesses. They knew that no duty done in service to the Founders was ever demeaning. It was because of this unwavering fidelity that the Dominion had endured for thousands of years, and would continue to endure long after the Federation and their kind were dust on the wind.
Vorak'Utaur paced before his squad, who stood in front of the airlock with statuesque rigidity, carbines braced and ready. He had trained these younglings himself, and knew that they were more than ready to deal with any would-be hostiles. A small part of him, admittedly, was disappointed that there were no serious threats on this station that his squad could test themselves against-- nothing, that is, save for disorganized civilian rabble and a murderous Cardassian elder. Even so, the entire episode with Eraun had illustrated the importance of vigilance.
"You know your duty," Vorak'Utaur said to his squad, letting his footfalls drag as he paced back and forth. "The First has commanded that you will undertake regular rotations to stand guard before the airlock. Regular biometric sweeps shall be undertaken to scan for contaminants, evidence of subterfuge, or anything that may be deemed as an irregularity.No one may approach without proper clearance, and no non-Dominion personnel are allowed with five feet without express permission from Loriss. Any who do so without any express permission, or who approach with apparent hostile intent, are to be treated as hostiles, and to be terminated with lethal force."
He paused, taking a quick look at his soldiers' faces. Like proper Jem'Hadar, they all stared directly ahead, stone-faced and unflinching. He could have swung his katarkin at that moment, and relieved the closest soldier of his head, and the rest of them would not so much have blinked.
"What happened last night shall not be repeated," he went on. "We will not allow another servant of the Founders to be killed by Alphan cowardice. We will be vigilant. We will take every reasonable procaution to guard those who speak for the Founders. And when this delegation is concluded, we will make sure that they return to our home territory in one piece."
He took a brief moment to look in his squad's eyes, and felt a brief surge of pride when he saw the stern resolve in each pair. "Remember," he finished, "our duty is to serve, and in service to the Founders, there is victory."
"Victory is life," his squad answered in unison. Almost immediately after they said this, however, Vorak'Utaur something change in all of their expressions-- alarm and surprising flickering from face to face like wildfire.
He barely had time to register this change before, in unison, they all raised their carbines and pointed them at him.
"Whoa, whoa, hey!" An irritatingly familiar voice cried behind him. Vorak'Utaur spun, and saw, to his relief, that his soldiers were not acting out of some irrational disloyalty: rather, they were all doing their duty and pointing their weapons at an intruder. A short, big eared, lump-headed intruder in the grey, black and red of a Starfleet security uniform.
Vorak'Utaur raised an arm, signalling his squad to lower their weapons. "Ferengi," he breathed out the word. "What are you doing here?"
Brax took a step back, visibly doing his best to regain his composure. "Hey, I just wanted to check up on you Third," he said. He glared at the squad. "I wouldn't have done it if I'd known I'd get shot in the process."
Vorak'Utaur glared down at Brax. He smelled the sickening smell of intoxicants on the Ferengi. "This area is off limits, Ferengi," he growled. "And you should know by now that Jem'Hadar do not engage in...pleasantries. Leave."
For a moment, the Ferengi looked like he wanted to do just that. He visibly steeled himself, however, and met Vorak'Utaur's gaze. This did not surprise Vorak'Utaur-- Lieutenant Commander Brax had repeatedly demonstrated that he was not as craven as the rest of his species. "Look, Third...you dislike me, and I'm not a big fan of you either. But I need to talk to you, in private if possible. I think there may still be a security risk to your delegation."
Vorak'Utaur's first instinct was just to turn and walk away, and maybe let his squad vapourize Brax for good measure. But something about what Brax was saying gave him pause. He did not seem to be lying...and while Vorak'Utaur hated the idea of private conversation, there was an unspoken rule among all Jem'Hadar: the Vorta don't need to know everything.
Turning back to his squad, Vorak'Utaur gave them a simple nod-- a signal for them to carry out their duties. Wordlessly, his soldiers divided themselves into their assigned tasks, some setting up guard-posts and monitoring stations while others exited back through the airlock to await their rotation. Knowing that his soldiers would know better than to listen in on the conversation, Vorak'Utaur turned back to Brax. "You have my attention, Ferengi," he said, "but not my patience. Be brief."
Brax nodded. "I'll get to the point then: Skyl didn't do it. Eraun's killer is still out there."
Vorak'Utaur's scaled face remained stony and impassive, but even he couldn't supress the brief flicker of surprise in his eyes. "And how do you know this?"
The Ferengi suddenly looked uncomfortable. "Our forensics teams have found...evidence in Skyl's quarters that place him there at the time of the crime," he said. "This means he can't have done it." There was something else, Vorak'Utaur knew. Something about Brax's demeanour gave Vorak'Utaur the strong impression that the Ferengi knew more than he was letting on.
"Even if he did not commit the crime himself, the evidence still points to him," Vorak'Utaur said. "His terminal was used to hire Joreg and Halo, and he has a motive. As far as I am concerned, Ferengi, Skyl is still guilty, and he will face the judgement of the Founders soon enough."
"And what if you're wrong?" Brax retorted. "What if the killer has framed Skyl for this crime? It fits-- the man has no friends on this station, and has plenty of motive to strike against the Dominion. Both of us were willing to believe that he did it. What if we've been dancing to the murderer's tune the whole time?"
Vorak'Utaur felt his patience wearing thin. "It does not matter, Ferengi," he said, allowing a little more steel into his voice this time. "Even if Skyl did not commit the crime, someone must be punished for this murder. The Dominion cannot allow the death of one of its servants to go unanswered."
Brax seemed taken aback by this. Taken aback and, Vorak'Utaur noticed, disappointed. "Of course," he muttered. "The Dominion doesn't care about justice, does it? It just cares about saving face, about not looking weak when the Alpha Quadrant is watching." He took a step forward. "But, Third, if you're willing to admit that Skyl might not have done it, then you must also admit that the real killer is still out there, and is still a threat to your delegation."
"If he tries again, he will fail," Vorak'Utaur said. "We have redoubled the security around the delegation. If the killer makes another attempt, then we will stop him."
"You were pretty confident about your security the last time," Brax replied, "and the killer didn't even leave a trace when he killed Eraun. Look...Third, I don't doubt you, or your men, or your ability to guard Loriss and the other Vorta, but...do you really want to take any chances at this stage?"
Vorak'Utaur went quiet. He knew enough about the Ferengi to know that their greed made them shrewd negotiators and manipulators, almost rivalling the Vorta in their skill at wordplay. Still, he could not deny that the Ferengi had a point. "Be that as it may," I said, "I have my orders, Ferengi. I will not disobey them."
It was at this point that Brax flashed him a needle-toothed grin. "Yeah, I overhead that little speech of yours," he said, gesturing to his large, elephantine ears. "In your own words, you said you and your squad need to take 'every reasonable procaution' to maintain security." He shrugged. "Isn't following a suspected lead on a known killer a reasonable procaution?"
Vorak'Utaur's glower intensified. He allowed himself a few seconds to consider what Brax had said, to ponder his options. Then, finally, he nodded. "Very well, Ferengi," he said. "If you suspect that my delegation is in danger, then I will assist you in investigating this danger."
Brax blinked in obvious surprise. It was evident that he hadn't expected to actually be able to convince Vorak'Utaur. "You...you will?" he echoed.
The Jem'Hadar nodded. "You have demonstrated skill and expertise in investigations of this nature, Ferengi," he said, "and your judgement has been...accurate, so far. It is for this reason that if you say my delegation is still in danger, I believe you."
He took a deliberate step forward so that he was now towering over Brax. "But," he added, glaring down at the Ferengi, "know that I am abandoning my post to aid you in this...hypothesis. If you are wrong, Ferengi, and we find nothing, then I will kill you myself."
The Ferengi visibly paled at this promise, but, as Vorak'Utaur had expected, didn't flinch. Not for the first time, Vorak'Utaur wondered if the Federation weren't the weak, degenerate cowards that the First had made them out to be.
"We will find something," Brax promised. He glanced warily at the few Jem'Hadar guarding the airlock before continuing. "This time, I know exactly where to look, Third. The answers have been staring us in the face the whole time."
Vorak'Utaur was a little unsure about the phrase staring us in the face, but was able to guess at its meaning. "You are saying you have a lead, Ferengi?"
Brax nodded, and headed for the exit, gesturing for Vorak'Utaur to follow him. "Yeah. Whoever the killer is, they knew about your delegation's security patterns before they struck. That means they must have known Eraun would be alone in his quarters that night."
In truth, Vorak'Utaur had suspected the same thing. He followed Brax towards the exit. "What is your lead, then?" he asked. "One of the station's staff? Someone from one of the other delegations?"
"No." Brax turned on his heels abruptly and stared up at Vorak'Utaur. "You."
Jem'Hadar did not gape, or sputter, or do any of the things weaker species did when they were surprised. Nonetheless, Vorak'Utaur felt the sparse colour on his face drain at the comment. He was conscious that they were now far enough from the airlock that his squad wouldn't have heard Brax's comment. The Ferengi planned this.
"I am not unfamiliar with your concept of humour, Ferengi," he said, his frown tightening into a scowl. "This is not funny."
"I'm not joking," Brax replied. "Ever since this case has begun, Third, the Dominion has been keeping secrets from us. Its practically a fact now that Eraun had dismissed most of his guards. He was expecting a visit from someone, but whenever I ask you about that, you just keep stonewalling me."
"That information is--"
"Save it, I'm not done!" Brax cut in sharply. "Not only have you been hiding Eraun's actions and motivations from me, but you've also been tight-lipped since then about Eraun himself. We all know how fast the Dominion's cloning process is, so why haven't we seen Eraun walking around again? Why hasn't anyone been able to question Eraun's new clone to ask him what happened?" He levelled an accusing finger up at Vorak'Utaur. "And to top things off, Loriss practically buried the case when we brought in Skyl. If I didn't know any better, she was afraid we were actually going to find something."
Vorak'Utaur balled a fist and gritted his teeth. Involuntarily, he felt a surge of the White run through his veins. It was so very tempting to break Brax like an eggshell right about now. "You are making blind suppositions, Ferengi," he growled. "You are making connections where none exist."
Brax lowered his finger. "Am I?" he asked. "I don't think so. Everything is tied down to Eraun and why he dismissed his guards last night-- the killer knew about that, don't you see? Whatever secrets the Dominion is keeping, the killer knows about them. Third, we won't be able to find out who did this unless you tell me why Eraun did what he did last night!"
For a few seconds, Vorak'Utaur was silent. Slowly, though, he cooled his anger, and unclenched his fists. He quickly contemplated several different options for removing Brax, and noted that none of them would work without causing an incident.
"I cannot tell you," he finally said. "I have been ordered into silence on the matter."
Brax stared up in surprise at the Jem'Hadar's admission. "By who? Loriss?"
"I cannot say."
A low, untranslatable word was hissed out from Brax's needle teeth. "Damn it, Third, whatever information you're hiding, it could help is find this killer! Surely the safety of your kind, benevolent Vorta overlords is more important than your frigging orders!"
"Nothing is more important than my orders, Ferengi," Vorak'Utaur replied in a low tone. "You do not know what it is to be Jem'Hadar. We are loyal from the moment of our inception. We do not disobey orders. Until I am countermanded, Ferengi, I cannot--"
He was cut short by the sound of the airlock opening behind him with a deep, bass growl. He immediately turned, as did his squad at their positions, all no doubt expecting Loriss or one of the other Vorta to step through.
But it was not Loriss. Rather, it was another familiar figure-- a female humanoid with a shuffling, nervous gait, wearing a smock-like grey and blue dress. The woman hurried past the Jem'Hadar and approached them.
"Excuse me," she said, calling in their direction, "are you Lieutenant Commander Brax?"
Brax seemed genuinely confused by this new arrival. "Um...yes," he said slowly. "Who are you?"
The woman gave a courteous bow. "I am Netra, chief medical officer of Vessel 5673, and I need to speak to you..." she turned her worried blue eyes to Vorak'Utaur "...both of you...in private."
(For other readers, legal "assault" does not require laying your hands on someone..."battery" does. Legally speaking, even grabbing him and hauling him out of his chair would count as "battery" even with no injuries done. I have not decided if Berat actually carried it through to that point, but he definitely got as far as assault. All I know is that he did not send Skyl to the infirmary with anything he did.)
I like seeing Vorak'Utar's increasing respect for Brax. Perhaps he is coming to realize that there are non-physical types of strength and boldness? Maybe even extra points for exercising such boldness when coming from a species even more ill-equipped physically than most, to stand up to a Jem'Hadar?
Now this mystery--what he is withholding...this I can't wait to see.
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Well, bear in mind that Ta'nara didn't explicitly mention who the "interested parties" were who wanted her to monitor Skyl. Also bear in mind that in one LC, I wrote her having a rather interesting encounter with a certain Councilor Garak. Of course, you can draw what conclusions you will from this, but I couldn't possibly comment.
Glad you like it!
Hah!
Talk about a purloined letter technique for hiding the murderer.
Possibly. Maybe.
I admit, I'm a sucker for the point in the noir story where the detective's at its lowest point and a clue from an.... 'interested party' appears.
I've been enjoying the ride a lot.
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My forum single-issue of rage: Make the Proton Experimental Weapon go for subsystem targetting!
She had always believed that the Founders had favoured her. All those months...no, she corrected herself, years ago, they had selected her to lead the Second Invasion Group and sweep aside what was left of the Alpha Quadrant powers. Even when that plan had been foiled by temporal anomalies and the resistance of the Alphans, the Founder had still favoured her in spite of her failure, and had rewarded her for her loyalty. She had never been prouder than that moment, to have her faith and her dedication so rewarded, and yet...
Loriss folded her hands together as she looked at the amniotic tank that housed Eraun. Her fellow Vorta seemed so peaceful, floating suspended in the blue-grey fluid. It was preferable to the fits of panic and wild terror that kept occuring whenever he woke up. Thus far, no one-- not Nettra, and none of the other medical staff-- had found an answer for this aberrant behaviour. And that, more than anything else, disturbed Loriss. She had known Eraun only a short time, but it had been long enough to know that he was a competent and dedicated servant of the Founders. He deserved better than whatever had so ruined his mind past the ability of Dominion science to heal.
A lump rose in her throat. She wanted to believe that she was favoured, that her existence had a special purpose, but now...now she was going to return to the Gamma Quadrant with her fellow Vorta neurologically maimed, and with no justice enacted against his killer. Oh, Rugan Skyl would do for a scapegoat, but it wouldn't change the fact that someone had hurt a servant of the Founders, and had gotten away with it. And this had all happened on her watch, on the delegation she had been tasked to lead alongside Eraun. Could she still honestly say she was favoured after a failure like this?
With a tired sigh, she turned away from the tank towards the doorway...and froze.
Something had moved.
She had almost missed it at first-- a flicker of movement, a brief impression of a humanoid figure at the corner of her eyesight, in the further reaches of the room. She blinked immediately, and paused. There was nothing there.
"Hello?" she called out. She immediately felt stupid for having done so: there was nothing there. She was alone in this room, with no company save for the slumbering form of Eraun.
She immediately felt a flush of embarassment. Of course there was no one else here. The security on this ship was flawless, and the doors to this facility were guarded by a squad of Jem'Hadar outside. No intruder could have gotten on board without the Jem'Hadar immediately knowing about it. She was safe here, even safer than Eraun had been on that accursed Alphan station.
She took a deep breath, inwardly chastising herself. It was unbecoming of her to jump at shadows. If that fop Weyoun were here, she knew, he'd jump at this opportunity to undermine her further, to make her look like a fool.
A lump tightened in her throat. She felt like a fool. Ever since she had emerged from the Wormhole all those months ago, her world had been turned upside down. The revelation that she had missed the war, and that she and her fleet had become an earmark of history, had been a shock enough. But even though the Founder herself had blessed her, Loriss still felt out of place in this new future. The Dominion was a much different place than the one she had left, and her clone brothers and sisters, while courteous, all treated her as some sad oddity when she wasn't looking. And if all of that hadn't been bad enough, the first person she had met on her return to the Gamma Quadrant had been herself-- another Loriss, the fourth clone of her genetic line, whose predecessors had been awakened after she herself had been presumed dead.
The temporal anomaly in the Wormhole had done more than just deny her the war she had prepared for and make her fail in her duty to the Founders: it had forced her to return to a Dominion where she had already been replaced.
Her hand tightened into a fist. She couldn't bear returning again, not if it would be to announce another failure on her part. Slowly, she took a deep breath, and looked up again at the slumbering face of Eraun. A reflection of her own face stared back at her from the plexiglass of the tank-- narrow features, violet eyes, all looking a lot older than she had once remembered.
She froze. In the reflection, she saw a figure standing behind her.
Her heart stopped. In the dim lights of the med-bay, she could make out very little of the figure...save for a face. A pale, bloodless face, framing a pair of inky black eyes that stared, pupil-less and pitiliess, directly at her.
"GUARDS!" she shrieked, spinning around and whipping a polaron pistol free from the hem of her dress. The pistol met empty air-- there was no one behind her. No menacing figure, no intruder with a blade. Nothing.
A split second later, the doors opened, and her Jem'Hadar guards came bounding into the room, carbines at the ready. They immediately fanned out, scanning the area for danger. "Loriss, what happened?" the Third leading the squad asked.
Slowly, Loriss lowered her pistol, realizing only now that her arm was shaking. "It was..." She wasn't in danger, she slowly realized. She must have simply imagined the intruder. Perhaps her fellow Vorta were right-- perhaps she was becoming defective.
"It was nothing, Third," she said, sheathing her pistol and trying her best to regain her composure. "A trick of the light, that's all." Taking a deep breath, she brushed her hair back. "Remind me, my next meeting with Ambassador Sorel is in a few minutes, correct?"
The Third nodded. "That is correct, Loriss."
"Good. Then we might as well be on our way." She glanced back at the slumbering form of Eraun, once again grateful that he hadn't seen that shameful display. "I think I've lingered here long enough."
*****
It didn't take long for Brax to find a secluded backroom of the docking bay for Nettra to speak to him in. The Dominion science officer seemed skittish and nervous even as she stepped into the room, and kept wringing her wrists and casting nervous glances at Vorak'Utaur all the while. It didn't take a genius to figure out that Nettra wasn't supposed to be talking to him, and Brax found himself wondering what it was that Nettra was afraid Vorak'Utaur might do.
A part of Brax wondered at Nettra's species. She didn't have the dark hair or long-lobed ears of the Vorta, and her smoothe facial features were more similar to those of a Human. He soon remembered the mission briefing he'd been given before the conference, which had included details of all the known Dominion member species. Based on that, Nettra, with her ornate hairstyle and the needles that held it in place, best fit the description of the Yaderans, one of the many species that Benjamin Sisko and his crew had found in the Gamma Quadrant decades ago. Little was known about the Yaderans, save that they had been absorbed into the Dominion fifty-odd years ago, and that they had advanced holographic technology. Obviously, then, they served a scientific and engineering role in the Dominion, though if that was the case, then it made Brax wonder all the more why a Dominion scientist wanted a secret meeting with him.
After a few more seconds of silently wringing her wrists, biting her lip, and glancing around the room as though scanning for listening devices, Nettra finally seemed to relax a little. "Before I say anything, Mr. Brax," she said, "I want you to know that nothing I am going to say is...official in any way."
Brax nodded. "In other words, Loriss doesn't know you're here," he said, "and you're going to tell me things she doesn't want getting out?"
This made Nettra fidget even more. "In a manner of speaking, no," she replied. She glanced at Vorak'Utaur, and her expression became more anxious. "Third, you won't...tell Loriss about this, will you?"
Vorak'Utaur's face became more stony. "I must, Nettra," he replied solemnly. "It is my duty." He seemed to notice Nettra's downcast expression at that point. "But if you have information that can help us, then you must tell us. The delegation may still be in peril."
For a moment, Nettra seemed torn on what to say next, before she finally let out a defeated sigh. "I suppose I must," she said, before turning back to Brax. "Mr. Brax, as I'm sure you know, Eraun's...previous body was removed before Starfleet medical personnel could do a thorough autopsy. This was done not only so that we could conduct a more thorough autopsy ourselves, but also so that we could immediately begin engrammatic scanning to prepare a clone replacement."
Brax nodded. "Yes, I knew as much," he said. Do the Yaderans get cloned as well? he wondered. The fact that Nettra seemed so fearful of Loriss' wrath made him think otherwise. "Why? Did you find anything in your autopsy that could help us?"
The Yaderan woman shook her head. "No. Nothing that your people don't know already, Mr. Brax," she replied, before grimacing. "Eraun died of fatal asphyxiation after having his throat slashed open. It was probably the only merciful thing his killer did. If the murderer had simply left him, then he would have been in quite a lot of pain before he finally succumbed to blood loss." Slowly, she reached under her robes and pulled out what looked like the Dominion equivalent of a PADD. "I didn't come to talk about how Eraun died, though, Mr. Brax. I'm here to talk about his current state."
The comment made Brax blink. "Current state? You mean your people did clone him after all?" He warily accepted the PADD. "Why haven't we seen Eraun at all, then? Where is he?"
Nettra's soft face tightened with discomfort. "At present, Eraun is not fit for active duty." She gestured to the PADD, which lit up, showing endless rows of numbers, journal entries, and medical data that Brax couldn't even begin to understand. "When we revived him in his new body, there were...complications."
"What sort of complications?" Vorak'Utaur asked.
There was a pause as Nettra looked up at the Jem'Hadar. "He...he began screaming."
A chilled silence fell over the small room. Brax felt his skin crawl. A quick glance at Vorak'Utaur told him that the Jem'Hadar was just as surprised.
"Screaming?" Vorak'Utaur repeated.
Nettra gave a humble bow of her head. "Yes. As soon as he woke up, Eraun began screaming and thrashing in his tank. He was afraid of something-- the neural activity in his amygdala, and his adrenaline levels, both spiked almost immediately. We sedated him, but all subsequent attempts at revival have met with the same result-- an outburst of fear and wild panic."
For a moment, Vorak'Utaur stared at Nettra in visible disbelief. No, Brax realized, it wasn't simple disbelief, it was shock. Vorak'Utaur was actually taken aback by all of this. "How is this possible?" Vorak'Utaur asked. "What is causing this?"
The Yaderan woman shrugged. "We still don't know," she replied. "We haven't been able to determine a root cause, but all neural scans suggest lingering neural trauma."
The Jem'Hadar's face twisted-- in anger or fear, Brax couldn't tell, but he definitely wasn't taking this information well. "Impossible," he said. "The cloning process is supposed to erase pre-death trauma."
Nettra shook her head. "I performed several backtraces, Third, but there were no visible errors in the cloning process. I have almost no explanations for this...anomaly."
Slowly, Vorak'Utaur stared down at the PADD in Brax's hand, looking at it as though it were something malignant. "It is no anomaly," he muttered. "It is an abomination."
Brax had no idea what was surprising him more-- the news about Eraun, or Vorak'Utaur's reaction. Aside from his display of anger in the Promenade, the Jem'Hadar had never shown any strong emotions in the short time Brax had known him. To see him reacting like this was both surprising and unnerving.
It took Brax a few seconds to realize why: to the various species of the Dominion, the cloning process had to be the closest thing they had to an afterlife. For all Brax knew, the Jem'Hadar and Vorta were brought up with the expectation of having their memories transferred into a new body after death, or of their skills and experience being transferred to another servant of the Founders so that they might still be useful after death. To hear of a fault in the Dominion's memory-transferral process must have been utterly horrifying for Vorak'Utaur, a perversion of the natural order he had been bred to uphold.
Slowly, Brax handed the PADD back to Nettra. "You said 'almost' no explanation," he said. "By the sound of things, you at least have a faint idea."
Nettra's cheeks reddened, and she bowed her head slightly. "A faint idea, yes," she replied. "I noticed that whenever he lapsed back into unconsciousness, Eraun's sleeping patterns were much more erratic than those of his previous bodies. The sleeping patterns of Vorta brains, Mr. Brax, often follow fairly uniform patterns, but Eraun's have been downright chaotic."
"Almost as though he's having nightmares," Brax observed.
Nettra nodded. "Precisely, which is an abnormality in and of itself. Vorta don't typically have nightmares, Mr. Brax, unless their thought patterns violate the safeguards built into their genetic coding." She tapped the PADD, and a moving diagnostic of waving, squiggling lines shimmered to life. "It seems like more than just nightmares, though, Mr. Brax. His Delta and Theta waves are operating on patterns that should be impossible for Vorta."
Vorak'Utaur shifted uncomfortably. "What are you suggesting? Are you saying that Eraun's engrams have been tampered with in some way?"
"That is the best explanation I can come up with," Nettra admitted. "Somehow, Eraun's killer didn't merely kill his body: he also did something to alter his memory engrams, so that when they were transferred to a new clone body, they would cause something like...this."
Brax shuddered. An ugly picture was being painted now: whoever had killed Eraun hadn't been content to merely kill him, but also to inflict mental anguish to his next clone. Whoever had done this had had a lot of preparation and resources, and must have really hated the Dominion, or Eraun in particular, to want the Vorta to suffer like this."
Vorak'Utaur straightened up, as though trying to steel himself against the horror of what had been described to him. "How was this accomplished, then?" he asked. "Some sort of mental conditioning?"
"It's possible," Nettra replied with a nod. "There are...several known technologies in the Alpha and Gamma Quadrants that are used for mental conditioning, though none in such a short time span, and none that can alter neural engrams in the way we're seeing." She tapped her PADD again. "I don't think what happened to Eraun was technological in nature, but psionic."
"Psionic?" Brax echoed. "You mean a telepath did this?"
"Possibly," Nettra replied, "but it would have to be a highly skilled and powerful telepath to achieve something like this."
Brax went silent, as his mind started racing. There were literally hundreds of species with psionic abilities on this station-- Betazoids, Vulcans, Ferasans, Remans-- almost all of whom might have had motivation to do this. This could have been the work of a terror cell, or of a spy ring, or possibly even an infiltration by the Undine...
Come to think of it, he realized, many Vorta were bred with psionic abilities. How deep does this case go?
As though in answer to his unspoken question, Brax's communicator suddenly beeped. "Sann to Brax," a familiar voice said.
Hearing the voice of one of his shipmates did a bit to put Brax back at ease. "Brax here."
"Brax, you may want to come down to the crime scene," Lieutenant Commander Neazri Sann said. "We've been able to decode some fragmented surveillance footage from the night of the murder. We now know who killed Eraun."
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I know Jesu LaRoca would love to have his own Dominion cloning tank to make Erauns. He'd shoot Eraun in the face, wait for him to be regrown, and shoot him again. I don't think he'd ever get tired of it.
...Oh, baby, you know, I've really got to leave you / Oh, I can hear it callin 'me / I said don't you hear it callin' me the way it used to do?...
- Anne Bredon
That'd make some sense - I always felt Eraun was more whiny (he's an often-failing Vorta) than say, Loriss, who could raise smugness to sell to people wholesale.
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"Glad you could make it, Brax," Neiazri said with a smile. The Archimedes' chief science officer looked as she usually did-- brown hair tied back in a professional ponytail, tricorder in hand, cheeks slightly rosy from excitement, though her usually bright and inquisitive eyes had an undercurrent of dread and unease. Understandable, given the current situation. "I see you keep making friends."
Vorak'Utaur stiffened. "We are not friends," he said gruffly.
Nettra seemed to shrink a little. "I'm...just here to observe, nothing more." Brax could tell she had stopped just short of saying not supposed to be here.
Brax sighed. "Vorak'Utaur, Neiazri. Neiazri, Vorak'Utaur and Nettra. Nettra, Neiazri. I'm sure you'll all get along just fine." His eyes turned the figure standing at Neiazri's side. "I'd ask about your new friend as well."
The figure in question was a Lethean, one whose matchstick-thin figure was clad in a simple black shirt, vest and pants, along with an armband with the insignia of the KDF. His mottled, scaled face was the colour of treacle, and his deep red eyes peered at the newcomers with hooded interest.
"Ressic, Chief Science Officer of the I.K.S. Notqa'," the Lethean said with a voice like running oil. "I've been assisting Lieutenant Commander Sann in scanning for transporter traces, as well as in reconfiguring the local sensor logs."
A quick glance at Sann confirmed the reason for unease. Letheans had a grisly reputation as telepathic predators, one that hadn't been helped by their roles as interrogators and mind-hounds in the KDF. Personally, Letheans had never bothered Brax too much, though that might have been because Ferengi were generally immune to telepathic assault.
"And you've found something?" Vorak'Utaur asked. "You mentioned that you found the identity of Eraun's killer.
Neiazri nodded. "We did...eventually. Ressic?"
Ressic folded his arms behind his back, in a gesture that gave Brax the impression that he too was a skilled investigator. "Prior to the crime, the Dominion had set up an effective security system that hampered monitoring efforts," the Lethean said. "All sensor scans and audio-visual monitoring from outside sources was blocked, and that which wasn't was scrambled beyond recognition. I have been able to determine, however, that one visual scan did manage to get a feed through before the Dominion scrambled it."
Alarm bells went off in Brax's lobed head. "What?" He raised his hands. "Wait wait wait wait...are you telling me that you've been hacking Starfleet security systems?"
Ressic seemed nonplussed. "All within full view of Lieutenant Commander Sann, here," he said. Neiazri visibly cringed at the comment. "She can attest that I have only been working in specific sections of the station's network, and that I have been staying away from sensitive areas."
"Even so, that's a violation of our diplomatic arrangement, and you know it," Brax said. "And you can be sure that Ambassador Krogh will hear about it!"
The Lethean raised a withered, hairless eyeborw. "Rule of Acquisition 181: Not even dishonesty can tarnish the shine of profit," he repied smoothly.
"Rule 53," Brax shot back. "Never trust anyone taller than you."
Ressic gave a nonchalant shrug. "You are welcome to oversee my removal of the programs later on if you wish, Mr. Brax, but in the meantime, regardless of how you feel about my methods...they have been successful."
Fuming, Brax turned to Sann. "Neiazri?"
Neiazri shook her head. "He's right, Brax. I don't like it either, but he's managed something none of us have so far," she said. "He's found the scrambled video files from last night and reconstructed them. we can't afford to turn this evidence away."
Brax sucked in air through needle teeth. If Ambassador Sorel heard about this, then there was a chance they might run into the same problem that they ran into with Skyl: the evidence might be deemed inadmissable due to the way in which it had been gathered. Brax was fed up enough with tripping over red tape, but he was even more fed up with not having a lead. At this point, they would have to risk it.
He glanced at Vorak'Utaur. "This okay with you, Third?" he asked. "Technically, this may constitute a breach of privacy of your delegation. If Loriss finds out about this--"
"Then she will rightly accuse the Alpha Quadrant powers of spying," Vorak'Utaur said sternly. "And I will have no choice but to tell her of what I have seen." Slowly, he glanced at Sann and Ressic. "But I will have answers all the same. Who killed Eraun?"
There was a short, uncomfortable pause as Sann glanced at Ressic. For a brief second, the Lethean looked uncomfortable as well.
"Perhaps you should see for yourself," he said, before turning and tapping a nearby terminal.
As Brax watched, the terminal's screen flickered into grainy life, showing a ceiling view of Eraun's quarters. Eraun was there, pacing back and forth in the middle of the room. A counter at the bottom corner of the screen read 0615 hours. The time of the murder.
There was no sound, and the colour was muted, but the image, aside from an occasional flicker of static, was clear and unmistakeable. Brax felt his throat dry up as he watched the screen. He waited for something to happen-- for the telltale flicker of a transporter signiature, or for a stranger to enter from the doorway. Instead, Eraun continued to pace, with a frenetic, impatient energy.
Something was wrong. By this point, the attacker should have entered the room and revealed himself. But Eraun, at this point in the film, was still alone.
Brax's instincts told him to focus on Eraun. The Vorta seemed anxious about something as he paced back and forth, wringing his wrists together. On closer inspection, Brax noticed that the Vorta seemed to be muttering things to himself. He got a fleeting glimpse of the Vorta's face, and was a little surprised by what greeted him. Eraun wore an expression of dread, of fear...no, of sorrow. Eraun wasn't simply anxious, Brax realized, he was in a state of anguish.
For a brief second, Eraun stopped in his pacing and buried his face in is hands, his fingers bending and digging hard into his temples. It looked like he was on the verge of crumbling then and there, of bursting into an uncontrollable flood of tears.
And then, there was a shimmer of light as something appeared in the replicator.
On the screen, Eraun paused, and looked in the direction of the replicator. Slowly and cautiously, the Vorta approached the replicator, a strange sense of purpose now visible on his face. From this angle, Brax could see the object in the replicator clearly-- a thin, glimmering sliver of use, cut into a perfectly sharp triangle.
Slowly, Eraun picked up the ice-knife. Brax's blood ran cold as Eraun slowly stepped back in front of his bed, staring at the icy blade as though hypnotized by its glimmering surface.
Brax had a horrible feeling of what was coming next. He knew he had to watch everything, to catch every single important detail. Even so, his head turned aside abruptly as Eraun drove the icy spike up into his left eye.
"We've replayed the video several times over, Brax," Sann said solemnly. "We conducted a careful frame by frame analysis. There's no sign of the feed having been altered, or of anyone else having been in the room with Eraun last night."
Brax said nothing. Internally, he was busy counting the bars of latinum he earned on his last pre-latinum job, as he always did when he was trying to keep his head together.Thirteen...fourteen...fifteen... With a deep breath, he looked at the feed again. It was over: Eraun was lying spread-eagled on the bed, his body sporting fresh mutilations, a dark halo of blood spreading on the bed underneath him. He looked exactly as he had been found at the crime scene in the first place.
It explained why no signs of an intruder or forced entry had ever been found: there was no intruder. Eraun had done all of this to himself. But what disturbed Brax the most about this wasn't the fact that Eraun had somehow managed to blind and impale himself several times before slashing his own throat, but that he had deliberately positioned himself over the bed to do it. It was almost as though he wanted his body to be found like that.
He was suddenly conscious of Vorak'Utaur next to him. He looked up at the Jem'Hadar, who was staring transfixed at the screen, a look of sheer and utter horror on his face.
"It is..." the Jem'Hadar breathed. "...it is...wrong."
"Third..." Brax began.
"It is WRONG!" Vorak'Utaur snapped. He gestured incredulously at the screen. "He couldn't...it's not...no servant of the Founders would do this!"
"He's right, Mr. Brax," Nettra spoke up. The Yaderan woman looked paler than usual, but seemed to have forced herself into a voluntary state of calm. "The genetic coding of the Jem'Hadar and the Vorta is supposed to prohibit self-harming actions, unless they recieve a direct command to take their own lives." She looked to Sann and Ressic and shook her head. "What Eraun...did to himself...should be impossible."
Ressic raised a hairless eyebrow. "Perhaps," he said. "The sentient mind is a complicated machine, however. Sometimes it disobeys its genetic predispositions, and acts in ways we cannot explain or understand."
Vorak'Utaur whirled angrily on Ressic. "No. I will not accept that!" he hissed. "It is unnatural! There must be some other explanation!"
A thought buzzed in Brax's lobes as things began to click into place "There is," he said. "Nettra, you suggested that there was evidence of psionic assault in Eraun's brain patterns?"
Both Sann and Ressic glanced in surprise at the Yaderan woman, who nodded. "It is the most likely explanation I can think of," she said.
With a slow nod of his own, Brax gestured to the screen, and Eraun's spread-eagled form. "Well, maybe this is what the killer did. Maybe the killer influenced Eraun's mind in some way...made his emotions spiral out of control, or planted a kill-command in his head. And then, when an ice-knife was conveniently beamed into his quarters, the thought of killing himself must have seemed...natural."
"But why an ice knife?" Sann asked. "Why go to all the trouble of making a weapon that would melt later?"
"Well, firstly, because it would be easier to replicate," Brax replied. "Remotely replicating an actual knife would no doubt trigger alarms from DS9's main sensor controls; ice, at least, seems fairly innocent. But more importantly, the ice-knife was a distraction. The killer wanted us to go looking for an actual, physical murderer, and using a weapon that leaves no physical trace would convince us that the killer didn't want to leave any evidence behind." He gestured to the screen. "That also may be why Eraun stood in front of the bed before he...did that. Whatever psionic weirdness was going on here, it made sure that Eraun's body was left on display for us to find."
Vorak'Utaur's grey face tightened into a rigid mask of controlled hatred. "And it worked," he growled. "We have been chasing a man who never existed, who was never even in the same room as Eraun." He looked away from the screen. "It never once occurred to us that a psionic...trick made Eraun kill himself."
For a moment, the room was silent. Brax's gaze drifted uncomfortably to the bed, which had been cordoned off and still bore dark red/brown splotches on its mattress. How conscious had Eraun been, when it had happened? Had he been lost in a haze of anguish, or had he been fully aware, a prisoner in his own body, as it proceeded to turn on itself? The more Brax wondered, the less he wanted to find out.
It was Ressic who finally broke the silence. "If this is the result of psionic influence, Mr. Brax," he said, "then it couldn't have been done remotely. The killer would had to have gotten close enough to Eraun to leave an imprint."
Brax looked in surprise at the Lethean. "An imprint?"
"A lingering mental signiature that would latch on to Eraun's mind," Ressic explained. "An incredibly powerful telepath could have done this from a long range, but it seems more more likely that a mental suggestion was planted...one which took root, grew, and then enacted itself when Eraun could no longer resist it."
Nettra suddenly took a step forward. "Mr. Ressic, how long would such an...imprint...last, and how could you get rid of it?" she asked. Noticing the stares she was getting, she gave a frustrated sigh. "Alright, I shouldn't be telling you this, but Eraun's last clone is still showing signs of instability. Every time he wakes up, he screams, and yells 'They're hurting us.'"
Ressic's red eyes narrowed ever so slightly. "Us?" he repeated. "Has he actually been using the word us and not me?"
"Wait, wait, wait, wait," Brax cut in frustratedly. "We're getting sidetracked. You said that someone would have had to be in close contact to form this imprint?"
The Lethean turned back to him. "Fairly close proximity, yes," he replied. "Ideally, they would have had to have made physical contact in one form or another."
Brax's mind raced as he tried to think of all the people that Eraun would have met since arriving on Deep Space Nine...and then, suddenly, everything snapped into place.
"Sweet, glittering latinum," he gasped. "Loriss."
In an instant, he was turning and running for the door. "Third, we've got to move!" he yelled.
"What is it, Ferengi?" Vorak'Utaur growled in his wake.
"It's Loriss!" Brax yelled back. "We have to get to her, and fast!"
Though what sort of mind would be twisted enough to break someone coded against thoughts of self-harm is kind of disturbing when dwelled upon.
The game, however, is clearly afoot.
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Let them stare, she thought to herself as she continued her walk, the Jem'Hadar parting the crowd ahead of her. The Dominion could have given these people everything that the Federation couldn't, been everything that the Federation wasn't...but in their small-mindedness, these people instead chose to hate the Dominion, and her, for it. That didn't bother her in the slightest: the Founders neither wanted nor needed wretched ingrates like these, so they could go on hating her. And if Eraun's killer was hiding somewhere in these crowds, then Loriss silently dared him to even try taking her life-- then the Jem'Hadar would finally be able to shoot him down like the scum that he was.
She could already see the turbolift in the distance as she and her escort turned a bend. Soon, she thought to herself, she'd be able to conclude the final details with the Alpha Quadrant powers, get Skyl turned over to her authority, and leave this forsaken station. Then they could all finally...
She paused as she passed a merchant's stall, with a distant set directly behind the counter. She caught a brief, fleeting glimpse of herself in that mirror, looking regal and graceful as befitted an ambassador of the Founders.
She also, ever so briefly, saw a reflection of a face in the crowd, just behind the Jem'Hadar. A pale, bloodless face, with eyes like glossy jet.
Loriss whirled around, her heart racing, a command to her bodyguards forming on her lips. The command died in her throat: there was no one there. No one, that was, except the myriad, bustling faces of the crowd, and the confused expressions of her bodyguards.
She caught her breath, and composed herself. "Let's keep moving," she said. It was a figment of her imagination, she told herself, nothing more. She was overworked, and stressed, and as soon as she got this meeting over with she would hopefully be forwarded to more relaxing duties--
She instantly stopped in her tracks, the Jem'Hadar immediately stopping around her. There was a figure waiting for her at the turbolift.
The breath froze in her lungs, and her legs took a step back on their own. From this distance, she couldn't make out too many details on the figure...save, that was, for a pale, bloodless face, and a pair of black, lightless eyes that were staring directly at her.
"Loriss?" She was dimly aware of First Ixana'rax, the head of her detail, asking a question. "Is something wrong?"
For a moment, her mouth seemed unable to move. Something-- possibly a spark of terror-- finally snapped her into action. "There!" she cried, pointing an accusing finger at the distant figure. "That man over there, he was stalking me earlier in the med bay! Apprehend him!"
In an instant, Ixana'rax turned in the direction of the intruder. Loriss' skin crawled as she saw the figure begin to approach, moving with the slow, listless gait of a sleepwalker as he continued to stare at her.
"What man?" Ixana'rax finally asked.
Loriss was incredulous. "THAT man!" she snapped, pointing again. Her heart raced as the figure got closer and closer. She couldn't tell what species this creature was, but something about it filled every corner of her being with dread.
"Loriss," Ixana'rax said, "there is no one there."
Fighting back the urge to curse, Loriss shoved herself past her bodyguards and turned, breaking into a run. The Jem'Hadar parted from her, as did the crowd-- a crowd which, she noticed, was beginning watch her outburst. She paid them no heed. She had to get out of here, to find someplace safe...
She stopped in her tracks. There were more of them behind her. Men, women, children...all clad in clothes that looked old and ragged. All of them had the same, deathly pallor and the same, void-like eyes. Some were stepping from around corners, or emerging from the crowd, or standing up from chairs and stalls where they had been seated all this time. All of them were staring at her, and making a slow, direct approach.
"No..." Loriss sobbed, "no!" She spun back towards her bodyguard, but they were gone. Instead, more of the strangers had surrounded her. They were hemming her in now, advancing on her from all sides, until all she could see was a wall of pale faces and black eyes.
Even before they all started raising their hands to grab at her, Loriss suddenly understood what these strangers were, and what they wanted.
"I'm sorry!" she sobbed. "I'm sorry!"
*****
The chime of Ambassador Avran Sorel's door sounded a little earlier than expected. Given how the Dominion delegation had thus far made a point of being late to every meeting, this was Sorel's first clue that something was wrong. He looked up from the report he was reading on the daily diplomatic strains of the new Alliance. "Come in," he said.
It was not Loriss or her entourage who stepped in. Instead, the squat, big-eared form of Lieutenant Commander Brax strode into the room instead, taking a quick view to appreciate the many, and valuable, artefacts that lined Sorel's walls. Small statues, gems, paintings...all gifts from various embassies, the hallmarks of a long and successful diplomatic career.
Brax quickly brought his attention back to the man himself. "I'm sorry to bother you, Ambassador Sorel," he said, "but there's been an incident. Ambassador Loriss has just been attacked in the Promenade."
Sorel's handsome face paled slightly. "Attacked?" he asked, suddenly straightening in his chair. "By whom?"
Brax shook his head. "We're still trying to figure that out ourselves, Ambassador," he replied. "We had reports of Loriss calling for aid from her guards in the Promenade, and of some sort of commotion breaking out. All we can say for certain at this point is that we believe this was an attack, and that it was perpetrated by the same person who killed Eraun."
Slowly, Sorel closed the screen of his terminal, his black eyes alert and attentive. "This is a serious matter indeed, Mr. Brax. Thank you for bringing this to my attention-- I will have to make an official statement as soon as I have all of the facts." He folded his hands. "What is Loriss' condition right now?"
*****
Vorak'Utaur shoved another civilian aside, ignoring the weakling's feeble protests as he forged a path through the crowd. He was conscious that time was against him, and was resisting every urge to fire into the crowd to make them disperse faster. His standing orders not to harm any of DS9's residents unless provoked were the only thing that stayed his hand. Instead, he had been forced to resort to more physica method-- shoving, throwing, elbowing and sometimes even kicking his way through a crowd that was growing thicker and thicker the more he ploughed through it.
As he finally shoved his way to the centre of the crowd, he finally discovered what it was that had attracted all of their attention...and at that point, he knew that he was too late.
"Loriss," he saw First Ixana'rax say, "put the pistol down."
Loriss didn't seem to hear him. Vorak'Utaur saw her, standing in the middle of the crowd, holding a polaron pistol to her temple. She looked visibly distraught, the corners of her eyes damp with tears and her breathing visibly erratic. Her eyes were staring dead ahead, lost in a haze of terror and sorrow. Around her, her Jem'Hadar escort was forming a tight, protective ring, some levelling their rifles at the crowd while some levelled them at Loriss. None of them seemed certain of what to do-- any sudden movement of theirs might provoke Loriss into doing the unthinkable. Vorak'Utaur understood their hesitation all too well: a situation like this was virtually unheard of in the Dominion's long and glorious history.
The crowd, however, was anything but hesitant. Already, many of them were pelting Loriss with jeers and curses.
"Do it, Vorta TRIBBLE!"
"Come on! Pull the trigger! Give us a show!"
"Changeling lover!"
Knowing that he had to work fast, Vorak'Utaur moved, shoving members of the crowd aside as he forced a path towards Loriss. As he closed the distance, Loriss' violet eyes suddenly fixed on him. He saw a roiling cloud of emotions in those eyes-- sorrow, terror, and helplessness. It was the same way that Eraun had looked, on the video of his death.
"Don't come any closer!" she sobbed, the pistol in her hand shaking. "They're hurting...they won't stay quiet! They...they want to hurt me...hurt us...hurting us, hurting us..."
Pulling free from the crowd, Vorak'Utaur came up almost an arm's length away from Loriss. He could see her finger on the pistol's emitter quivering agitatedly, and he knew what he had to do.
"I'm sorry, Loriss," he said, before drawing his sidearm and shooting the Vorta in the chest.
****
"I don't know," Brax replied. "Dominion personnel got to the scene of the attack before we did, and took Loriss back to their ship at the first opportunity." He gave a tired shrug. "They've been refusing to answer any of our questions about the incident, and are keeping tight-lipped about her current status."
Sorel's expression became grim-- for a few brief seconds, he looked his actual age as his face's usual energy and vigour seemed to dissipate. "I see," he said. "I will make an official diplomatic request regarding Loriss' status, but...given how reclusive the Dominion tend to be, I doubt that would achieve much." He looked back up at the Ferengi. "But tell me honestly, Mr. Brax, are you certain that this attack was orchestrated by the murderer?"
Brax nodded as he took a seat opposite Sorel. "Yes, Ambassador. It came in the wake of significant evidence that my team and I uncovered. I have reason to believe that the murderer is still on the station, and is currently attempting to kill Loriss." He paused, and gave an uncomfortable shrug. "That is, if...you know...he hasn't done so already. We may never know until the Dominion releases a statement."
Slowly, Sorel gave a grave nod. "I see. If you feel that this is a lead you can follow, Mr. Brax, then please do so. I fear our time table is growing smaller by the minute." Absent-mindedly, he picked a small stone-- one hued with numerous shades of pleasant blue-- and began to roll it in his palm. "At this rate, regardless of what we do, the Dominion seems adamant in taking Rugan Skyl back to the Gamma Quadrant as a prisoner. Unless you find another culprit, we risk fracturing our relations with the Cardassian Union. If we try to challenge this decision at all, we risk fracturing what few good relations we have left with the Dominion instead. I'd like to avoid both possibilities, if at all possible."
"Yes, Ambassador," Brax said with a curt nod. He paused, noting some of the sculptures in Sorel's office. "You're really committed to this peace process, aren't you?"
The weariness in Sorel's face seemed to melt away for a moment as he gave Brax a warm smile. "Of course. I understand there is a steep gulf between our cultural values and the Dominion's, Mr. Brax, and I also know it won't be easy for either them or for us to forget what happened in the Dominion War. But I believe that an alliance...and hopefully, long-lasting friendship...with the Dominion will be an invaluable asset to the Federation."
Brax nodded. "Oh, I agree, Ambassador, it's just..." He shifted uncomfortably. "As I understand, you experienced the war first-hand. Your biography states that you were a boy on Betazed during the Dominion occupation."
The warm smile disappeared, as Sorel's expression became visibly disturbed. "Yes," he said solemnly. "I was. It was an...unpleasant experience for any child to grow up in, as you might imagine."
"I've read the history books, Ambassador. I can imagine quite vividly." Brax folded his hands in a businesslike manner. "I know all about the labour camps, and the executions, and the neural dampeners that they set up to keep the Betazoids from using their gifts." He tapped his lobes. "Obviously, I can't begin to imagine what that last part must have been like, but I doubt it was pleasant. And it got worse the more your world resisted."
Sorel shook his head gravely. "But that is what the history books forget, Mr. Brax. We didn't resist." He cast a glum look at a set of jewels on his desk. "At least, not at first. Before the war, ours was a culture of peaceful coexistance, and our resistance was largely a passive one. It was only after the Dominion started repaying our nonviolent disobedience with executions, and by robbing us of our ability to commune with one another, that we started resisting in a different way-- with bombings, with murders, and by using our abilities in sickening, aberrant ways." His hand balled into a fist around the stone in his hand. "That was worse than anything the Dominion could have done to us, Mr. Brax. We lost more than our freedom or our lives: as a people, we lost our souls."
Brax nodded slowly. "I can understand how that must feel, Ambassador." Which was true, sadly enough. Brax did know what it was like to lose one's innocence. "And yet...despite all of that, here you are trying to establish peace with your former oppressors?"
The Betazoid looke up and gave Brax a sad shake of his head. "I don't think of them as that, Mr. Brax," he said. "They are people, and they are flawed, just like us. If you've read my biography, then you'd know that my father was a diplomat as well. He was utterly committed to peace, and nothing saddened him more than seeing his people descened into savagery." He set the stone down and folded his hands together. "I won't deny that forgiving the Dominion has been difficult. Nothing worth doing isn't. But I've seen what people turn into if they let themselves be consumed by hatred and vengeance. I believe that we, as a Federation, can be better than that. The first step to being better, though, is extending a hand to those who wronged us, and making friends of enemies. That is the first and most important step to ensuring that the Dominion War is never again repeated."
Brax nodded. He could see now why the Diplomatic Corps had sent Sorel on this mission instead of Sugihara. The sincerity of Sorel's words, and the emotional weight with which he carried him, stirred something inside of Brax. It was one heck of a sales pitch.
He leaned back in the chair. "Sorry, Ambassador," he said, "but I'm not buying it."
*****
Everything seemed to stop at that moment. Vorak'Utaur could see the eyes of the Jem'Hadar and the crowd mirror one another in total, perfect shock, as Loriss was hit by his shot. Her entire body seemed to spasm and it was hit, and her eyes went wide with disbelief. Then, inevitably, the pistol clattered out of her hand, and she toppled backwards, her silken blue dress billowing around her as she fell.
The reaction time of the Jem'Hadar was immediate, as well it should have been. In an instant, Vorak'Utaur's own fellow warriors were surrounding him, levelling their rifles at him. Vorak'Utaur made no show of fear or defiance as he was surrounded. Inwardly, he readied himself for the kill-shot that would end his life, short and dutiful as it had been.
"Hold!" came a shout. In an instant, the squad surrounding Vora'Utaur parted, and First Ixana'rax strode through, and stepped in front of Vorak'Utaur. The First towered over him, glaring down at him with eyes of icy violet. Vorak'Utaur didn't flinch as he met the First's gaze, nor did he resist as Ixana'rax took the weapon from his hand...a Starfleet phaser, one that Brax had hurriedly tossed to Vorak'Utaur before rushing to another part of the station, declaring that he had to deal with something urgently.
For a few seconds, there was silence as Ixana'rax inspected the phaser, before looking down at Vorak'Utaur again. "A stun setting?" he asked.
Vorak'Utaur nodded, and Ixana'rax nodded in return. There were no congratulation, no praise for Vorak'Utaur's quick thinking, just a nod. This was all that was needed: the Jem'Hadar did not bask in praise, nor did they ask for rewards beyond what portion of the White was allotted to them. The knowledge of a job well done was the only reward that was needed.
"Return to your post," Ixana'rax told Vorak'Utaur, before turning to his squad. "Take Loriss back to the ship, and begin immediate quarantine procedures. We will neither enter nor leave the station until we have determined the cause of this."
All of the assembled Jem'Hadar nodded, and hoisted up the unconscious form of Loriss with them. The crowd pulled back to allow them to depart, and this time, not one of them was saying a word.
*****
"What?" Sorel blinked in surprise at the Ferengi's bluntness. "I beg your pardon?"
Brax ignored the question and folded his hands professionally. "I may have mentioned this to you before, Ambassador," he said, "but the username of our murder suspect was originally interpreted as the Human word 'Zealot.' One of my fellow crew members from the Archimedes, though, suggested the word might instead be Zeylat, or 'vengeance' in old Cardassian." He shrugged. "That would make sense, right? The Cardassians would want revenge for everything that the Dominion had done to them during the war."
Sorel was silent. Brax could tell that the Ambassador was trying to read him-- an act that must have been difficult, given the Ferengi immunity to telepathy, and Brax's twenty years of experience in maintaining a good salesman's face.
"Well as it so happens," Brax went on, "I did some digging recently, just to see if there are any other phonetic matches. And I found one that caught my interest-- a Betazoid word, Zeyi-laht.. Tell me Ambassador, seeing as you're a Betazoid and I'm not, do you any idea what that means?"
The ambassador gave Brax a perplexed expression. "Zeyi-laht? It's an old word, one from our mythology. The best modern translation I could give you is ghosts, or unquiet souls."
Brax nodded. "Yes, that's more or less what I found as well," he said. "Except there's also a ritual significance to the word, isn't there?" He leaned forward a little in his chair. "The sources I found say that whenever Betazoids were dying or suffering from some great injustice, that they would sometimes transfer...echoes, or imprints, of their consciousness into the minds of their loved ones." He waited on Sorel's reaction before continuing. "This was highly taboo, of course, but the stories say that these loved ones would carry the zey-ihlat of the departed in their minds, often for years, until they found the person responsible for their death. Then, somehow, they would transfer these...imprints...into the mind of the guilty party." He leaned back in his chair. "The stories say that the guilty person would be tormented by these 'ghosts' and driven mad, as vengeance for their crime."
A quiet chill fell over the room. For a fraction of a second, Brax saw Sorel's perplexed expression slip-- a cold glint briefly shone in the Ambassador's black eyes as he regarded the Ferengi.
"Mr. Brax," he finally said, "I do not like what you seem to be implying."
Brax shook his head. "I'm not implying anything, Ambassador Sorel." He folded his arms on the table. "I'm accusing. You killed Eraun."
This time, the Ambassador's facade nearly dropped completely. His face stiffened into a deep, indignant frown, but Brax could see hints of something more dangerous just underneath the surface, something that Sorel was doing his best to keep hidden.
The Betazoid took a deep, angry breath. "Before I inform your Captain of this...outrageous behaviour of yours, Mr. Brax," he said stiffly, "I will humour you. Assuming I did do something as ludicrous as utilize some taboo ritual to kill Eraun, what motive could I possibly have? Eraun has done nothing to me."
Brax shrugged. "He's Vorta, isn't he?" he asked. "One of the people who enslaved an brutalized yours decades ago. He'd be a convenient release for any telepathic echoes you had locked in your mind...of people who had died, in agony, at the Dominion's hands." He leaned forward a little. "Your father, your mother, your younger sister, your friends...how many people did you lose, Ambassador, when the Dominion used your home town to test a weaponized virus? How many of your loved ones died all around you, asking you to avenge them?"
Sorel's hands balled into fists. "That is enough Mr. Brax," he said sharply. "I would ask you to leave my family out of this." Slowly, his hands unballed again as he regained his composure. "I have already told you that I have no desire for vengeance. Even if I did, how am I supposed to have killed Eraun? I was in the conference room with Captain Kurland at the time of the murder-- your records will tell you as much."
"Oh, you didn't kill him physically, Ambassador," Brax replied. "We now have solid proof that Eraun was made to mutilate and kill himself by a telepathic impulse. The killer...you...didn't have to lift a finger."
"I am not the only telepath on this station," Sorel pointed out.
"No," Brax replied, "but you are the only telepath to come into close contact with him, aren't you? When he and Loriss both came aboard this station, you were the first to shake his hand and greet him." Brax gesture to Sorel's hands. "Those few seconds of physical contact were all you would have needed to establish a telepathic link with him. A link that you would used to transfer the zey-ihlat into his mind, and torment him until he killed himself. This alone makes you the prime suspect for Eraun's murder."
Sorel's mouth twitched. "You have no proof," he replied stiffly. "Your only evidence is circumstantial."
Brax gave a nonchalant shrug. "Well, if you're so confident of your innocence, Ambassador, then perhaps you wouldn't mind letting my team take a look at your personal terminal?"
At this, Sorel's black eyes widened ever so slightly. "We both know you cannot do that," he replied. "My terminal is Federation ambassadorial property. You do not have the security clearance to touch it, let alone access it."
Brax nodded. "True," he said, "but this is an unusual situation, and there is precedent for security clearance being waved for unusual situations. I'm certain that if I were to inform Captain Kurland of my suspicions, then he'd send the proper requests up the ladder, and I'd have clearance in no time." He tapped his finger against the terminal. "Then we'd be able to see whether or not you had actually hired Joreg an Halo, and how much of your story actually adds up." He moved to stand up. "Of course, Ambassador, I'm certain that a fine, upstanding Federation representative like yourself has nothing to fear, so--"
He didn't get to finish. In the blink of an eye, Sorel had pulled a phaser out from under his desk and was pointing it at him. "That won't be necessary, Mr. Brax," the Betazoid said. "Please, sit down."
Brax's air froze in his lungs. For a moment, his limbs were rooted to the floor, and he could only stare numbly at the phaser. His instinct for self-preservation won out, however, and he slowly sank back into his seat.
"Good," Sorel replied. "I regret having to do this, Mr. Brax. You are a fine and committed Starfleet officer, But you have left me with no other option."
Slowly, Brax built up the willpower to speak. "A...Ambassador, don't be stupid," he stammered. "If you kill me, everyone will wonder what happened to me. They'll find out I was heading to your office, and they'll figure everything out."
Sorel raised an eyebrow. "On the contrary, Mr. Brax," he said. "The killer, no doubt attempting to destabilize the peace talks further, struck here in my office, not realizing that you were here. I was gravely injured, but you...you took a phaser blast that would otherwise have killed me, and died doing your duty."
"They won't buy that!" Brax sputtered. "My Captain will have his suspicions, and when the Dominion finds out--"
"They won't find out," Sorel said, "because by then it will be too late." The Betazoid leaned back in his seat, the faintest edge of a grin now on his face. The facade had dropped, and now that it had, Sorel seemed a lot more comfortable and at ease. "I must commend you, Mr. Brax, you were right about the zey-ihlat. What you don't know, however, is that they will not be content with just one death. They are the lingering emotions of dozens of people who were murdered by the Dominion, Mr. Brax. You have no idea what is like to carry that weight for decades, to hear them howling in the back of your mind every day. After all this time, they won't be content with one easily replaced Vorta. They will spread, from host to host, seeking vengeance and justice wherever they can find it now."
Brax felt the blood drain from his face. "Loriss..."
Sorel nodded. "She is the second, but there will be more. Once the Dominion ship returns to its home territory, the zey-ihlat will have more minds to jump to, and more to torment. Vorta, Jem'Hadar, Changeling...all of them will suffer, Mr. Brax, for what they did to my people."
Brax couldn't believe what he was hearing. He had had his suspicions about Sorel, but he had never imagined that the Ambassador would have wanted to do something like this. This was beyond murder: it was attempted genocide.
"This is insane!" Brax exclaimed. "Do you have any idea how many people will be affected by this? And what about Skyl-- you're just going to let the Dominion take him, to let him suffer for your crime? You said it yourself, this could end our relations with the--"
"The Cardassians are just as guilty!" Sorel suddenly snapped, causing Brax to jump. "They were there as well, Mr. Brax. Crell Moset and other Cardassian scientists were there, performing sick experiments on my people! Their hands will never come clean, Mr. Brax, no matter how much they pretend to be our friends! We are better off without them." Slowly, Sorel seemed to calm down. "You may think me mad, Mr. Brax, for what I have done. You may think me a murderer. But everything I have done, I have done for the sake of justice. Almost a third of our population was left dead at the end of the war, our society was in ruins, and our dignity and pride as a people were forever tarnished by the things we had to do to resist. But the Dominion never apologized, never repaired the damage they did beyond some token reparations, and never acknowledged their crime. For almost forty years, the crimes of the Occupation have gone unanswered."
A lump settled in Brax's throat. He knew that he'd have to choose his words carefully if he was going to survive this. "What about what you said earlier, Ambassador? About forgiveness, and not being consumed by hatred?"
Sorel gave a grim shake of his head. "Some things are unforgiveable, Mr. Brax," he said. Slowly, he set the phaser down on his desk-- it was no longer pointed at Brax, but still within easy reach of Sorel. "I meant what I said, Mr. Brax. You are a good and upstanding Starfleet officer, and your commitment to this case was admirable. I don't want your blood on my hands. But if you truly care about justice, then I must ask you to look the other way. The Dominion is guilty, you know this as well as I do." He shook his head as his expression suddenly became painfully sad. "Please, Mr. Brax...let Betazed have justice."
For a brief moment, the room was quiet. Brax stared at Sorel. The proud, respected man who had been heading the Federation delegation was gone-- Brax could see him now for the weary, broken old man that he was. His gaze drifted down to the phaser on Sorel's desk, and he sighed.
"You get all of that, Captain?" he asked.
"Every word, Mr. Brax," Arkos Nair's voice replied from his communicator. "We're forwarding this conversation to DS9 Ops even now."
Sorel's eyes widened. In that one moment, Brax saw him realize just how ruined he truly was-- that the bridge crew of a Federation starship had just heard him confess to murder and attempted murder, and had heard him threaten a Starfleet officer.
With wordless fury, Sorel snatched up the phaser and pointed it at Brax.
"NO--!" Brax cried, throwing himself sideways. In that one split second, he expected some something profound to happen-- something like his life flashing before his eyes, or a vision of a dark tunnel with a bright light at the end, or his dearly departed Grand-Moogie coming to lead him to the golden halls of the Divine Exchequer and the endless latinum within.
But what he got instead was one final, taunting epiphany: a sudden realization as to why the Dominion had been so secretive. Why Vorak'Utaur had been actively stonewalling him this whole time, why the Vorta had been doing their best to prevent being monitored, and why Eraun had arranged to meet with a mystery guest on the night of his murder. It all made perfect, crystalline sense now: Eraun and Loriss weren't the actual ambassadors of this delegation.
There was a sharp, energized shriek as the phaser fired--
--and an orange beam hissed over Brax's head, almost singing his lobes as it missed him. Rolling as he hit the floor, Brax rolled and sprang up to return fire...and then stopped when he saw the scene in front of him. A potted plant in the corner of Sorel's room was grabbing Sorel.
Brax blinked, making sure he was seeing this correctly. A long, brownish tendril was extending from the plant and had wrapped itself around Sorel's phaser arm, wrenching it back and preventing a potentially fatal shot. Even from here, Brax could see that there was nothing solid about this tendril, that it was instead made from an amber-coloured liquid that shimmered and gelled like treacle. As Sorel gazed down at horror at the substance grabbing at his arm, the plant suddenly turned a similarly amber colour and grew.
"NO! Sorel screamed as he struggled to get free. "You can't--" He was silence as another tendril shot out from the steadily-growing liquid mass that was once a potted plant. Brax gazed in horror as the tendril wrappe itself around Sorel's moutth, blocking off his nostrils and flooding his passages with amber liquid as it oozed around his skull. The Betazoid flailed and twisted, fingers prying and clawing uselessly through the liquid tendril that was now suffocating him.
And then, after what felt like an eternity, it was over. Sorel's body toppled over limply, and with a sit, wet squelch, the tendrils retracted. As Brax watched, the liquid mass began to move forwards, slimming down into a vaguely humanoid shape that shimmered like golden amber. Slowly, there was a sound like the crackle of dry bark, and the shape solidified. Brax stared, gaping, at the humanoid figure that now stood in the room-- a tall figure in a loose white robe, with smoothe, faintly orange skin, rounded features, and thin, golden hair. The figure turned to face him, dark intelligent eyes staring out from a pair of large brows.
"Are you alright, Mr. Brax?" the figure asked, with a voice that was unlike his smoothe, unmarked features-- deep, craggy, and with heavy a note of sternness.
Brax gave a hurried nod. "Yes," he said. It was at that moment that everything suddenly clicked into place, and he realized who the stranger was. "I'm fine...Constable Odo."
Something twinkled in the alien's dark eyes. "Constable?" Odo's face seemed to brighten for a moment. "Hrmn. No one has called me Constable in a very long time."
To be concluded...
Awesome as usual, do continue!
(As for the Cardassians, they can start by firing Rugan Skyl for racism and a bad attitudea nd quite possibly shilling for the True Way--a step I have them eventually take by 2411/2412 in the Masterverse. But I think they are overall on the right path compared to the Dominion.)
I'd had a story I wanted to write for this LC for a long time, but I am not sure I can go forward with it anymore in light of this one even though it explained a significant event in Alyosha's continuity. A shame. That said, this was a VERY impressive story.
My only criticism would be that choosing a stereotypically Vulcan name for Sorel made it hard to remember what species he was (Betazoid instead). But overall, great work!
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