Thrang had assigned Angelica to the special console on the bridge. She knew why.
Thrang was in a foul mood, muttering to himself and periodically typing things into his command console. Angelica knew each command set in motion a crisis, somewhere in the quadrant - an equipment failure, a vehicle crash, a cybervirus outbreak, anything that would cause disruption and divert resources. For some reason, he was starting a lot of these things just now.
"In position," Tom Tallidge reported. He sounded nervous. He'd borne the brunt of Thrang's anger when the protomatter weapon hadn't been ready in time. Angelica almost felt sorry for him - she knew, better than anyone, that it hadn't been his fault.
"About time," Thrang snapped. "We're on a deadline, here. I almost wish she hadn't taken the bait. It'd be easier to take her out the same way we took Hengest. But, well, she knows her two gentleman friends are at risk.... It would have been better to have the bomb ready," he added, glaring at Tallidge. "To detonate it when she died... oh, she'll know it'll happen, she'll realize she's failed... but to detonate it just when her ship went, to know that her ultimate failure was the last thing she'd ever see... it would be more artistic. I like artistry."
"Sorry," said Tallidge. In his position, Angelica thought, she'd have kept her mouth shut.
"Druzga," Thrang snapped. "Confirm those movement orders from ESD."
"I did that already!" the Tellarite protested.
"Confirm them." Thrang's voice was ominously calm.
"Admiral Shohl is outbound for the Vel Tarsus system. In her personal vessel, it says here. No escorts."
"Exactly as I anticipated." Thrang frowned. "Except she's dawdling. The King Estmere's drive should have had her here hours ago. As things stand... it's uncomfortably close to my deadline. I do like to leave a little slack in these things." He leaned back a little in the command chair. His face was pensive.
"I have a sensor contact," the Vulcan Turet announced. "A vessel just dropped out of warp, position consistent with an inbound vector from Sol System."
"Finally," said Thrang. "Helm. Get us in there. Special board -" he glanced at Angelica "- ready on my command."
"Everything's ready," said Angelica. She hoped Admiral Shohl was, too.
There was a dot on the tactical display. It was at extreme range, there was no way to resolve details... but it could only be Shohl's ship. Thrang was smiling again.
"Only a few minutes left. We'll give her time to close in... then we'll send our little surprise." His gaze flicked over towards Angelica again, confirming that she was ready.
"Do better to kill her now," Druzga muttered.
"In my own time," said Thrang. "I like these things to be artistic.... It's unfortunate, I suppose, that so many of them are on their guard, now. The first ones worked out to perfection, it was exquisite. This one, I fear, won't be exquisite. Merely satisfying."
"Something is wrong," said Turet. "Emissions profile is not as predicted."
Thrang raised an eyebrow. "Maybe she thinks she has protection," he said. "Well, let's test that. Angelica, enter the prefix codes, please."
Dutifully, Angelica tapped out a series of numbers on her board. Her finger hovered for only a fraction of a second before she pressed the TRANSMIT icon.
And it was only a fraction of a second before the board flashed red. "Prefix codes rejected!" she said.
"What?" Thrang reached for his own console. His eyes narrowed as he scanned the data stream. "Those were the right codes. King Estmere's prefix codes. So why -?" He turned to face Angelica. "Never mind the codes. Switch the resonant field through the main deflector dish. At the very least, it will shake those Jolciot alloys of hers severely - we'll finish her with conventional armament."
Again Angelica's fingers danced rapidly across the console. And, again -
"Resonant field's being emitted... but there's no feedback," she said. "It's as if - I don't think that ship has any Jolciot alloys."
"I have a transponder ID reading," said Turet. "That vessel is not the USS King Estmere. I have an NCC number...." His emotional control slipped enough for disbelief to creep into his voice. "NCC-1934?"
Angelica was using the sensor functions of the special board, now. "That's - that's consistent. The configuration - that ship looks like a twenty-third century Constitution-class cruiser. It's not the King Estmere, that's for certain. But the power levels, the emissions profile, they're very high -"
"We're being hailed," Druzga said.
"Very well," said Thrang. "We still have a couple of minutes in hand. On screen."
And the viewscreen filled with a face, a scarred Andorian face, and behind it the distinctive look of an antique Starfleet bridge. "Kalevar Thrang. This is Admiral Tylha Shohl aboard the temporal light cruiser USS Gustav Holst. You're wanted on a charge of genocide. Surrender. Now."
Thrang laughed. "Just the genocide? Admiral Shohl, you wound me."
"I'd list everything else," said Shohl, "but, as you keep on reminding me, I don't have all day. Now, you've already seen that you can't make this ship fall apart at the press of a button - so, are you going to surrender, or do I have to do this the hard way?"
"You're very confident in that little antique of yours, aren't you?" said Thrang. "All right. Show me what it can do. Screen off." And the tactical display flicked back into place.
"That only looks like a Constitution-class," said Angelica. "Maybe we -"
"Maybe we should take precautions," said Thrang. "Bring the drones online."
Despite herself, Angelica shuddered. The modified cannon drones were among Thrang's most effective weapons - robot weapons with self-aware AI. Self-aware, and homicidal.
She keyed in the commands, and guttural synthetic voices spoke along the comms channels.
"Moloch online. I hunger for destruction."
"Astaroth online. My enemies shall know fear and death."
"Lucifer online. Death follows where I walk."
"Azrael online. All who face me shall perish."
Thrang smiled. "I love it that they're task-focused."
The four drones shot out from their launch bays and corkscrewed erratically towards the Gustav Holst, swerving and jinking in rapid evasion patterns. The cruiser was making no attempt to avoid action, barreling straight in towards Thrang's ship. A multi-coloured nimbus flared around it as the drones' phaser cannon blasts savaged its shields.
"Forward tetryon arrays, fire as they bear," said Thrang. He sounded almost bored.
Then Cherenkov-blue light slashed across the sky as the Holst's phasers opened up. Astaroth emitted a metallic screech as a phaser beam found it and tore through its shields; on the tac display, damage icons blossomed around it. And then the cruiser spat out a volley of quantum torpedoes, and Moloch erupted into white-hot fragments, its appetite for destruction permanently sated.
Thrang swore under his breath. "Update the evasion patterns. Remaining drones, go wide, bracket her with fire. Weapons. Double-shot the torpedo launcher."
The Holst changed direction, just a trifle - enough to bring its main deflector square on with Thrang's ship. A brilliant beam of light shot out to envelope the Hirogen battlecruiser in a glowing fog. The ship lurched.
"Some kind of quantum phase effect," said Angelica, reading off the special console. "It's inhibiting our power generation - and I'm reading distributed damage to all systems."
"War of attrition," said Thrang. "She can't afford a war of attrition, she hasn't got time. Drones, close in."
The remaining three drones spiralled inwards, towards the Holst, their cannons hammering at her wavering shields.
"She's rotating shield frequencies," said Druzga.
"Like a good little engineer," said Thrang. "All she's doing is prolonging the agony. Helm -"
Then alarms shrilled as something shot out from the Holst. The special console display was almost unintelligible, flashing warning icon after icon - radiation, subspace interference, gravitic disruption -
"Evade!" shouted Thrang. "Hard about, one niner five mark six! Run evasion pattern Iota!"
The ship turned sharply and jinked from side to side - not fast enough, though, to avoid some phaser shots from the Holst that made their own shields flare and shiver. "Get me a readout," said Thrang, firmly. "I need to know what that weapon is -"
"Working on it," said Angelica. "But it doesn't make sense - it's radiating on all frequency ranges, but I'm not getting any power readings from it -"
Thrang swore, aloud this time, and slammed his fist into the arm of his chair. "It's nothing but a decoy!" he shouted. "Hard about! Drones, back into range!"
But the damage had already been done. The drones had broken formation to flee the sudden threat - and their escape courses had been sadly predictable, and the Holst's gunners had taken full advantage. Astaroth was dead, Lucifer was a smoking hulk with wrecked drives, and even as they came about, they saw the cruiser's phaser banks lock on to Azrael and blast the drone into cinders.
"Roll replacement drones!"
"That's a negative," said Tallidge. "We're getting some sort of interference on the EPS grid - precision fabricators are offline. Working to clear it -" Then he jumped out of his chair, as his console shot sparks and smoke from a transient overload.
"This is becoming annoying," said Thrang. "All right, we'll do this the straightforward way. Helm, get us in close. Maximum power to all forward weapons. Synchronized fire on my command." He smiled. "The full firepower of an Apex battlecruiser at point-blank range. Try decoying your way out of that, Admiral Shohl."
The ship rocked, and more flash-bangs sounded on the bridge, as the Holst fired again. "She's not attempting to evade," Druzga said. "She's closing fast. We're taking damage. Shields are down to twenty-six per cent. We have a hull breach on deck six."
"EPS grid keeps going out of sync," said Angelica. "She's doing something to take it out of phase."
"Good little engineer, again," said Thrang. "Ignore it. It'll stop when we blow her out of space."
The shape of the Holst began to expand, on the screen. The cruiser's shields were patchy and wavering, fire was bleeding from her saucer and secondary hull from a number of breaches... but her power levels were still high, Angelica noticed, and her weapons were still hot.
"Range three thousand and closing," said Druzga. "Two thousand five hundred. Two thousand."
"Ready," Thrang whispered. "Ready...."
"One thousand. Five hundred."
"Fire!"
And the ship shivered as the torpedoes screamed out of the launcher, and the full fury of the tetryon beam arrays lashed out -
At nothing. Where the Holst had been, a moment before, was only empty space.
And then the ship rocked, and Angelica felt a sick sensation as the gravity plating wavered, and there was no light on the bridge except the white sparks flying from the exploding consoles. The Holst had cut loose with her full armament against the weakly shielded stern of Thrang's ship, and the results were devastating. Angelica held tight to the arms of her chair, and waited, either for death, or for an end to the barrage.
Red emergency lights flickered on. The deck steadied. The air was full of smoke.
"Starboard nacelle is down." Tallidge's voice, weakly.
"Get it back online!" snapped Thrang.
"She severed the pylon! It's gone!"
For an instant, Thrang's face and body were completely still, the only point of stillness in the chaos on the bridge. Then he rose from his seat.
"I'm going to main engineering," he said. "I'll fix the fabricators and get a set of replacement drones up. Keep us alive until I've finished that. You." He gestured to a bulky Hirogen Beta. "Take the conn."
The special console was still working. Unobtrusively, Angelica tapped in a command sequence as Thrang strode off the bridge.
The Holst had passed over them, was circling, coming about. Deciding, no doubt, if there was even any point in making another attack run.
The results from Angelica's command sequence flashed up on her console screen. She took a deep breath of smoke-scented air, and stood up.
She crossed the deck to the command chair in three quick steps, grabbed the Beta by his armoured collar and snarled, "Move." The Hirogen resisted. Angelica slapped him, backhand, across the face. "Move." This time, he complied.
Everyone was looking at her. Angelica sat down, checked the command console, saw what little was still working. She thumbed the open-hail icon.
"This is Angelica Moreno aboard Thrang's ship," she said. "We're dropping shields and ejecting our warp core in token of surrender. Be aware, the core's been damaged by a chemical explosion, approach it with caution." She ran her hand through her hair. "I already siphoned the antimatter out of Thrang's scuttling charge. Thrang's running, he's armed, and he has a Tzenkethi protomatter device on the planet's surface which he'll try to use, somehow. I've got his beam-down coordinates. Transmitting them now."
Nice of Angelica to anticipate that familiar trick of Thrang's. Our boy's getting far too predictable.
Looking forward to the endgame. Particularly if it involves Shohl forcing Thrang to choose between canceling the countdown, or being right next to her when it hits 00:00.
The lift door hisses open, and I race for the transporter room.
There are no signs of damage. The Holst took some heavy hits, but she rode them out - and the special systems worked, exactly to specification. The "Corbomite" device, in particular, worked beautifully.
"Do you have the coordinates?" I gasp at Lieutenant Jenro as I reach the transporter.
"Affirmative." He remains imperturbable. "I have contact with the pattern enhancers on the ground. I can put you safely within two hundred metres."
"Good." I hit my personal buffer and pull out my phaser pulsewave. "Stand ready to send assault squads to the surface, but I'm taking point on this one, and I'm going in alone, first." Thrang will run from a full team, I'm sure of it. But if I'm there, alone, he might just be tempted to take the bait. I step on to the pad.
"Sir!" The door hisses open, and Anthi is there. "Sir, you have to wait -"
"No. I'm going in first. Help secure Thrang's ship, work with Klerupiru on its computer core. Get whatever help you can from this Moreno - she's Pexlini's contact. I'm going in first," I repeat, and my gaze locks with hers. "I'm going in, and I'll be coming back. Because I love you."
It's true. It's also the only thing I can say that will stop Anthi in her tracks. Before she's finished gaping, I snap at Jenro, "Energize."
The world sparkles around me, and I am gone.
And I'm down, under a louring grey sky, in a thin rain that tastes of acid. There are buildings all around me, grey and dirty and lightless. I pull out my tricorder and check my bearings. I'm close to Thrang's beam-down point -
Two figures come loping towards me, through the rain. Two familiar figures.
"What the hell are you two doing here?"
"Nice to see you too," says Koneph Phoral. Beside him, Osrin just grins. "This is pretty much the only place on the planet where it's safe to transport," Koneph continues, "so, hey, we knew where you were coming."
"And we have a positive track on a human life sign," Osrin adds.
"Fine. Feed it to my tricorder, and then get out of the firing line!"
"That won't work," says Koneph. "This place is a mess, you need native guides."
"You're the wrong colour for natives. Now get out of my way."
"Funny thing," says Koneph. "We never did join Starfleet. So you can't give us orders. Now, if we were married, we might give in to you, just for the sake of a quiet life, but -"
I have helpers. I don't want helpers. If they don't scare Thrang off, they might get hurt when he tries for me. But every second I stand here arguing, Thrang gets further away. "All right," I snap. "Keep up. If you can." And I check the tricorder, and set off at a run.
They keep up with me easily. Damn all augments, everywhere.
"I think he's headed for the subsurface systems," says Osrin. "There's a subway entrance -" He points, at a metal arch over a descending stairway. It looks dark and uninviting.
"He's got a protomatter device. He can't set it off while he's standing on the same planet, but he's bound to have some use for it." We reach the arch, clatter down the stairs into a dank, dark space. Part of some mass transit system, at a guess. Once bustling with people, now deserted.
I check the tricorder. Its interface is the brightest light around. "This way." I point down a tunnel. Osrin and Koneph both have tricorders out, too. The three of us move as one. It's... oddly gratifying.
"By the way," I say. "About marriage."
"Oh, this is the perfect time," says Osrin.
"Might not get another chance. Um. Anthi and I -"
"Finally," says Koneph with immense satisfaction.
I sigh. "I gather I'm the only person who didn't know how she felt?"
"Might be some slime molds under a rock in the Delta Quadrant that haven't heard," said Osrin. "Relax. We both like Anthi."
"Assuming she's still speaking to me when all this is over," I mutter. There is light up ahead. I close the tricorder. We slow down, our feet making thin splashes in the shallow puddles of water on the cracked floor.
"That looks iffy," says Koneph.
There's a cubby off the main tunnel - storage space for tools and supplies, once, I'd guess. Now it's got a complicated-looking device inside it, a thing of metal pipes and wiring and flat-panel control interfaces, all wrapped around a hollow transparent container with a familiar dire glow inside.
"Protomatter device all right," says Koneph. His eyes are narrowed, his antennae twitching. "That's not a standard Tzenkethi interface, though."
"You know about these things?" I ask him.
"Nausicaan intelligence had us gather some data on protomatter weapons, one time," he answers. "Before the Tzenkethi started making themselves unpopular, but hey, I keep up with the literature. I recognize the anti-tamper devices, too," he adds. He goes up to the device, kneels beside it, flexes his fingers. "I reckon I can make this safe."
I give him a hard stare. "How sure are you?"
"Kon did a lot of work with bombs, for the Nausicaans," says Osrin.
"Nothing's ever a hundred per cent," says Koneph. "But this.... I don't think your guy's as good as he thinks he is."
"Thrang's a megalomaniac," I say, "but he's a talented megalomaniac. Don't underestimate him."
"Yeah," says Koneph. "Yeah, I can see he's got talent." He whistles tunelessly through his teeth. "Thing is, I've got talent too, and experience. This'll take a while." He makes a minuscule adjustment to his tricorder, frowns, makes another. "Leave me to it. Go after your man. Maybe you can bring him back, and he can turn it off."
Osrin touches my shoulder. "Human life sign, off to one side and below us." He points down the tunnel, to a metal hatch set in the concrete floor. "I think he's taken to the sewer system. He could navigate through that, double back, get to a shuttle landing pad."
"Then we'd better stop him." I heft the phaser pulsewave, lope off towards the hatch. Osrin follows me.
"By the way," he says, "you can't use the gun."
"What?"
"The last sabotage attempt ruptured the city's hydrocarbon gas pipes. There's pockets of flammable gas all through the sub-levels. A phaser blast could -"
"Oh, great." I transfer the gun back to my transporter buffer. "Up against Thrang, bare handed."
"Two of us. In tunnels." Osrin bends down, lifts the hatch open in one easy movement. "How's your th'kara?"
"Passable." I stare into the wet darkness. There is liquid down there, and it smells foul. "Should've brought Anthi after all, she's master-grade." There's a metal ladder. I start down it.
I'm at the bottom, shin-deep in something cold, wet and smelly, when my combadge bleeps. "Shohl."
"Sir." Anthi's voice, brisk and professional. "We've taken Thrang's ship. Deploying assault teams to the surface now. Starfleet and other ships are entering the system in support - including the privateer vessel Anita, under diplomatic protection from the Reman dreadnought Saraswati."
Pexlini and Heizis. "OK. We've located Thrang's protomatter device and have someone working on it. We're after the man himself now. Secure local shuttle pads, he might be aiming for them - We'll talk when we get back, OK?"
"Damn right we will." She sounds more amused than angry, which I guess is good. "Good luck, sir."
"Thanks." I look around. There's very little light. But I'm an Andorian, I don't need light.
In my ears, in my antennae, the sewer tunnel is a huge thing glimmering with echoes. The surface of the water ripples, its liquid sound bouncing off the crumbling walls and making them a weird, ghostly presence. Osrin is a solid warm shape beside me, his pulse and his breathing registering his presence. Somewhere ahead of me -
Concentric ripples of sound mark his course, every footstep giving him away. I'm close enough, even, to feel the disturbance his body makes in the air, a solid discontinuity in the hollow of the tunnel. Thrang.
"Thrang!"
The movement stops. I move, myself, rapid footsteps making splashes whose echoes hang in the air.
"Admiral Shohl. Late to your own funeral, I see. And you've brought a friend. How nice." Thrang laughs. We're getting close. "This is the part where I shoot at you and blow myself up, isn't it? Pardon me if I don't oblige."
"It's over, Thrang. We've got your ship. We've cracked your computer virus. Troops are closing in right now. You don't have a chance."
"Is that really the best you can do? I make my own chances, Admiral."
He isn't showing any lights. His low-light vision must be very good. As good as Andorians, in a tunnel fight? I think we're about to find out.
"Give up. Now." I move into th'kara stance, forcing my awareness into the dark air around me... feeling my opponent, out there in the black.
"You have no idea what you're dealing with."
And he lunges towards me, so quick I can't perceive the motion -
But Osrin is there, and suddenly he's in front of me, and there is a slap of flesh on flesh as he blocks Thrang's blow.
"Neither do you," says Osrin, and he launches a flurry of blows, a precise pattern of strikes in the th'kara style, the martial art devised for the dark tunnels beneath the Andorian ice. I hear the thud of blows striking home, hear Thrang gasp.
"Corodrev. Of course." There is an unpleasant edge to Thrang's voice. Air shifts as he lashes out with another lightning-fast blow. Osrin dodges it. I move, circling, trying to find an opening.
"That the best you can do?" Osrin manages a laugh.
"I know you. An inferior augment. Put together centuries ago, by an Andorian amateur."
More punches fly, and Osrin laughs again. "Maybe. But I trained against other augments, every day, for years. You didn't, Thrang. I can tell. You're slow, Thrang, slow and sloppy."
"We'll see how fast you are," Thrang snarls, "when I've ripped your damned antennae off."
He's moving fast, faster than he should be able to, in the water, in the dark. But I know where he is - I dispense with the initial probing touches of a th'kara fight, and snap-kick him in the middle of his back.
It's like kicking a block of wood. He grunts, and his hand comes round, fast enough to brush my leg, not fast enough to catch it. Osrin punches him again, and again. I move in for another blow, a chop to the neck -
His fist catches me in the ribs, and he is strong, so much stronger than a human has any right to be. I'm knocked off balance, stagger breathless, back through the water, to collapse against the curving wall of the tunnel. I paw at the crumbling brickwork, seeking handholds.
Something moves under my right hand, with a thin metallic grating sound.
Abstract patterns of displaced air mark the path of the fight, Osrin and Thrang battering at each other with fists and feet. Osrin is good, but Thrang is tireless, seems just to soak up the damage from each blow. My fingers explore the thing beneath my hand. Metal. I tug at it.
And it comes loose.
Piping, maybe from the gas lines Osrin mentioned. A length of metal pipe, perhaps a metre long, narrow enough to fit into the palm of my hand. It comes out of the wall with a high-pitched shriek. I feel Thrang's head turn, then rock abruptly as Osrin takes advantage of the opening to land another punch. I grip the pipe with both hands, and I swing it with all my might.
The clang sends jangling echoes all the way down the sewer tunnel. The blow would cave in an ordinary human skull. There's a splash, and confusion in the air as Thrang topples and falls into the water. I move over, and stand on his chest.
"Thanks," says Osrin. There's a wheeze in his voice. I don't know how badly hurt he is. "Can Thrang breathe water?"
"I don't know. I don't think so."
"You'd better let him up to the surface, sometime soon, then."
"I want to be sure he's unconscious."
Osrin kneels down beside me. Droplets dazzle and dance in the air as he punches through the water, into Thrang's face.
"He is now."
---
An ordinary human would be dead or permanently brain-damaged by any one of those blows. In the event, we have to knock Thrang out three more times before we reach the ladder to the upper level.
The hatch is open, and there is dim light shining. A shape swarms down the ladder - a vaguely familiar shape, dressed in an iridescent purple uniform. "You have Thrang," says Heizis's voice. She sounds slightly disbelieving.
"We do," I say, and hit him again, just for good measure.
"Excellent. He is needed alive." Her face, in the dimness, looks horrific, savage eyes glittering in a skull-like mask. Above her, someone else starts to descend the ladder. Someone in massive, clanging, over-sized boots.
"Hey, good to see you," says Pexlini. "I brought something." Metal is jangling in her right hand. "Latest model android restraints. Should hold anything organic, yeah?" She stomps over to us, her boots setting off a torrent of vibrations in the air.
Despite everything we've done to him, Thrang is regaining consciousness again. His eyes open as Pexlini stoops over him.
"Thrang. Heya. About that job offer, yanno?" Pexlini snaps the restraints into place around his wrists. "Take that as a no."
Tylha's cleaned up good. You'd never guess she'd been wrestling in a sewer a few hours ago, as she slides into her seat in the Gustav Holst's briefing room and reads the stardate into the log. "Also attending this preliminary interview, Commander Heizis of Reman Intelligence, Admiral Pexlini of Starfleet Intelligence." Well, if she's telling the truth, that's a nice surprise. "And, just as a reference point, we are plus six hours, fifteen minutes and forty-five seconds at my mark. Mark." She smiles thinly across the table at Thrang.
Thrang has been cleaned up a bit. You'd never guess he'd been sewer-wrestling, either. Nor would you guess that he'd taken a beating that would leave a normal human fit to be spread across slices of bread. He sits there, looking at Tylha, a faint smile on his full lips. Occasionally, his shoulders tense, just a little.
"So," says Tylha. "We've got your ship, we've got your computer virus, we've got your protomatter bomb, and we've got you. I think that counts as a clean sweep. There'll be formal charges and formal interviews, of course, but... indulge me. Who have we got? Kalevar Thrang isn't your real name, naturally."
"It will do," says Thrang. "Do you expect me to give up all my secrets? Really?"
"Oh, yes," says Tylha. "It'll take time, but... yes."
"Such confidence," says Thrang. "Well, I suppose there's no reason not to be civilized. No, Kalevar Thrang isn't my real name. But, then, I'm an illegal genetic augment, I don't really have a legal name, do I?"
"What would your mother call you?" Tylha asks.
"Test tubes make remarkably undemonstrative parents," says Thrang. "There's no harm in you knowing where I was... constructed, I suppose is the best word. You might have heard of the Calloway Institute."
Tylha taps in the name on her console. She raises her eyebrows. "High energy physics research?"
"With a sideline that isn't in the official documentation. Alistair Calloway wanted an heir to his fortune. One who was worthy. And he didn't care for the complications of human romance, not to mention the genetic lottery of selecting a partner." Thrang's smile grows broader. "I was code-named Alexander in the laboratory. A fitting name. As for my family name - well, a lot of my augmentation was based on the designs for the famous Dr. Bashir, but I very much doubt the noble salutatorian would appreciate having me grafted on to his family tree. No, I think the Calloway surname would suffice."
"It's impressive work." Tylha's fingers have been dancing rapidly across the console interface. "And then the high energy physics research... failed, rather spectacularly."
"Quite."
"Taking out the whole asteroid base, in fact. One of those unexplained tragedies."
"I heard him talking." Thrang's shoulders flex again. "He was talking about improvements. A new version, an improved version. I did not choose to be replaced."
"After Alistair Calloway's death, control of his company passed to his daughter Georgina... a recluse, who hasn't been seen in years." Tylha's voice is dry. "I take it we'd have a lot of difficulty finding her?"
Thrang laughs. "Dear sister. I prefer to think of her as being untrammeled by the tiresome necessities of physical reality."
"A software false front. One of many. Using her, you acquired patents for software applications, bought up isolinear chip manufacturers... laid the groundwork for infesting the data networks with your shadow OS, in fact." Tylha sighs. "It's going to take months to unravel all that, and as for the cost - well, it's lucky the Federation is a post-scarcity economy." She shakes her head. "And using that - any system in Federation or Imperial space can recognize your face, and know that you're in charge of it. Who was the one who wore your mask? The holographic disguise? When you blew a hole in Earth Spacedock to get Paul Hengest?"
"An agent. An effective agent. Find him yourself." Thrang's shoulders are tense, and his smile is starting to slip.
"We will," Tylha says. "Oh, I know we don't have your genetic advantages. But we're skilled and we're thorough. We'll find your agent, we'll find all the extra bolt-holes you're not telling us about, all the shell companies and secret holdings and sequestered funds. You might be able to outsmart any one of us, individually... but we're all working together, and you're all alone. We're going to turn over all your rocks until we've found everything."
"So you think." Thrang's shoulders are very tense now.
"Hey," I speak up. "You know the latest model Federation androids? They've got a limited shape-change ability built in. I mean, not liquid metal or anything weird like that, but they can manipulate their appearance, or do things like slimming down their limbs." Thrang's gaze snaps towards me. "'Course, that means the latest series of android restraints have to compensate for that, don't they? I guess you might be able to thin your wrists down enough to slip those cuffs, buddy, but you'd have to snap your hands off to do it. Puts you at a disadvantage, yanno?"
Thrang's shoulders, gradually, relax. His smile is completely gone, now.
"You," he says to me, "are very, very dead."
I shrug. "Heard that before, buddy. Still breathing."
"Enjoy it while it lasts," says Thrang. I am absolutely sure he means it. Dead sure, to coin a phrase.
"You need not be concerned," says Heizis. "The computer subversion will be undone - a mammoth task, as Admiral Shohl says, but it will be undone. And the Actionist Movement is already in pieces. Rather literally, in the case of the Klingon and the Breen arms. The Federation must go through its legalisms, of course." She shrugs. "As must we. The process for the impeachment and imprisonment of a Tribune is complicated and annoying. But it will be done."
"Do you think those are my only allies?" says Thrang.
"Well," I say, "you're not exactly attracting the best and brightest, are you? I mean, Xerek should've had all the advantages over Heizis, right? But here she is, and her boss is -" I don't know what Reman Intelligence has done with Xerek, and I'm not gonna pry. "As for the rest of them - Starfleet and Klingon rejects, and the Thexemians, I mean, come off it. This is the trouble with killing off the help, Thrang. After a while, the quality help gets wise. They stop knocking on your door."
"You think I have to make do with inferiors," says Thrang. "You forget, though, I always have to make do with inferiors. By definition."
"You say that," I say, "but who's wearing the android restraints, huh?"
Something goes beep on Tylha's console. "You do love the sound of your own voice, Thrang," she says.
"Well," says Thrang, "I say such clever things."
Tylha smiles at him. "We love the sound of your voice too," she says sweetly. "That was my data warfare expert, telling me she's captured enough of your phonemes to crack your last storage vault. We've got all your biometric data, too, naturally. We know enough about you to build a new one, in fact." Her smile goes away. "Though why we'd want to -"
She presses a button on the console, and people start to come in. Security troops - a black-eyed Betazoid, a burly Vulcan, a surly Tellarite - and others: a Borg drone, a security hologram in mirror-finish MACO armour, a pallid Aenar, two different androids, and a voluptuous figure wearing a crop-top, booty shorts, and a maniac smile. Tylha has access to that holo-simulation program for the infamous Admiral Leeta. She crowds round Thrang with the rest of them. It's about the sort of team I'd put together for moving Thrang, in fact.
"Take him away," says Tylha in a voice like a tomb slamming shut.
Thrang rises to his feet. His glare sweeps over me, Heizis, and Tylha.
"You think you've won," he says, "but you have no conception of my abilities and my resources. I will be back for all of you. And you will die."
I'll give Tylha credit, she doesn't turn one white Andorian hair. "I'll keep this countdown running, then," she says. "Just so you know how late you are."
---
There's a heck of a lot left to organize, of course. Thrang's ship, the Anita, and the Holst are all tangled up together in a knot of docking tubes, while the Saraswati hangs off to one side, ready to do something necessary but regrettable with its thalaron weapons if Thrang looks like getting loose.
I wander around the Holst, looking for Tylha and some confirmation about my own status with Starfleet - I'm almost sure I'm OK, but it would be kind of nice to know. I wander past the briefing room again, and I see her.
She is standing, and her exec is standing in front of her, and they are standing very close to each other. In fact, when I look closer, their faces are almost touching, and their antennae are actually twining together. I didn't know Andorians even did that. It's pretty clear they're having a moment, so I back away quietly, or at least as quietly as I can in my mining boots. I don't think they notice me, regardless of the boots.
So I whistle a little ditty between my teeth, and find a docking tube, and wander back to the Anita. "Admiral on the bridge," I say, as I stroll onto the command deck and plump down on my chair.
Nurnos rolls his eyes. Nyesenia says nothing. Rozilai flashes me a quick smile.
"Roz," I say. "Set my mind at rest, will you? You are Zorik's plant from Starfleet Intelligence, keeping an eye on me, aren't you?"
She just gives me another quick smile. "If I were," she says, "I certainly wouldn't say so. And if I weren't, I'd certainly deny it."
"Oh. Yeah. Quite."
"Unless I wanted to mess with your head," she carries on, "in which case I'd say yes, but you still wouldn't know if it was true or not."
"'Course not. God, I love intelligence work." I stand up again. "Come on, people. Let's all go have a drink."
Thrang remained perfectly motionless, even as he regained consciousness. After a minute, when he was sure no one was near, he opened his eyes.
He glanced around. Metal walls, standard gravity and atmosphere, standard Federation lighting. He was lying on a very basic single bed. His temples were tingling where an electro-sedation patch had been applied. He concentrated, banished the sensation.
He sat up, swung his legs off the bed. A cell. He was in a cell. A cell of a very familiar, very predictable design. He stood up.
"Thrang," he said. "Override two niner seven Dumas." He turned towards the cell door, smiled as he saw the security field wink out.
He went to the door, and it slid open at his approach. Beyond it, he could see a short stretch of corridor. He flexed his fingers. Facility 4028 combat holograms would be tricky opponents -
He went to the doorway and peered carefully around the edge. Then he frowned.
There were no other cell doors in the corridor. To his right, it ended in a blank metal wall. To his left, there was a doorway. There were no light bridges, no cameras, no holographic guards.
He went up to the doorway, and it opened. Beyond it -
His frown deepened. A black space with yellow grid lines. A holodeck?
He stepped through the door, grinned as he saw the control panel in the holodeck arch. He could do a lot with one of these - "Thrang. Override eight seven seven Tolkien," he said.
And he felt, rather than saw, the presence materialize behind him. He whirled round.
The figure was that of a human male, thin and pallid, wearing a Starfleet medical uniform. It smiled at him.
"Hello, Kalevar," it said. "Welcome to Facility 4029. I am the Holographic Rehabilitation Unified System, you may call me Horus for short. I can see you have been using command codes that you expect will enable prohibited access to Facility 4028 systems. They won't work here, I'm afraid."
Thrang raised a fist. "If you think you can keep me here -" he began.
"I'm only here to help you, Kalevar," said Horus. "Facility 4029 has been designed and built entirely with you in mind. I'm afraid I haven't been programmed with all its security information, but it is embedded in an asteroid somewhere near Facility 4028, and communicates with that facility on an irregular and long-duration basis. If you have complaints as to your treatment, you may rest assured they will be heard, but I cannot guarantee exactly when. I must also caution you that there are no liveable areas outside the immediate facility. I know you are very strong and resilient, but even you could not survive outside, so escaping from here would certainly prove fatal."
"What are you doing?" Thrang asked. "I demand to see legal representation."
"Your demand has been noted and will be assessed at an appropriate time," said Horus. "I must inform you, however, that your position is somewhat equivocal. The Klingon Empire has already tried you in absentia and pronounced a sentence of death. The Federation would not, of course, surrender one of its own citizens in such a case, but it is doubtful whether you possess valid Federation citizenship, due to the irregular nature of your birth and your activities. The Federation, however, respects the inalienable rights of all sentient life forms."
Thrang lowered his fist. "Explain yourself."
"Gladly. Your legal status remains unresolved. It may continue to do so indefinitely. While it is unresolved, you are detained in this facility. Every effort will be made to ensure your continued well-being, but security restrictions are in place. The holodeck -" Horus gestured at the grid-lined room "- is fully featured, with every sort of program to stimulate, amuse, divert and educate. You will have every practical facility to maintain your physical and mental well-being. Certain holodeck facilities will not be available to you. In particular, it will not be possible for you to override its safety features, or to create a strong AI. The only AI permitted here is myself." Horus gave a slight bow. "I look forward to a long and productive working relationship with you, Kalevar."
"Long and... productive?" Thrang glared at the hologram. "Productive, how?"
"We have secured data records from off-site backups kept by the Calloway Institute. Now we know their full context, and are able to decipher them, they are highly revealing. Did you know, for instance, that your creator was planning a series of epigenetic therapy sessions to adjust your genome?"
"What?"
"Alistair Calloway was not planning an improved successor to you, Kalevar. He was planning an epigenetic process which would improve you as a person. We have developed a prototype of this process and, with your consent, we can implement it at any time. Or, we have a full library of conventional criminal rehabilitation therapies available to us." The hologram's faint smile, to Thrang, seemed the most odious thing in the universe. "We can begin your therapeutic sessions at any time of your choosing, and work through them at whatever pace you feel is appropriate. I appreciate, of course, that it will take time." The hologram would never stop smiling. "But we have all the time we need, Kalevar. We have all the time in the world."
Angelica gazed out over San Francisco Bay, again. This time, it was night, and a thin rain was falling, glimmering in the coloured lights of the city.
There was a footstep behind her, and she turned.
"Ms. Moreno." The speaker was a Vulcan, in civilian clothing, with quite the blankest face Angelica had ever seen. "I am Admiral Zorik. Thank you for agreeing to meet with me."
"I don't have any choice," Angelica said. "You can do whatever you like with me -"
"That is not, in fact, the case. Your involvement with Action Black and with Kalevar Thrang has, of course, linked you to several serious criminal endeavours. Your cooperation with Federation agents in exposing and apprehending Thrang and his co-conspirators has also been noted. The appropriate authorities have considered your case and decided that no charges can or should be brought against you. You are, in fact, to be commended for your actions overall."
"But what does that mean?" Angelica asked. "Where does it leave me? What am I supposed to do, now?"
"If I may make an immediate practical suggestion," said Zorik, "I think you should follow me, to a sheltered place, out of the rain."
"Sometimes," Angelica muttered, "out in the rain is the right place to be."
"A human emotional reaction. I understand it, but I do not share it. Please follow me." And he turned and walked away, at a slow, steady pace. Angelica swore under her breath, then hurried to catch up with him.
"Your overall position is somewhat equivocal," Zorik said, as she reached his side. "Your interrupted career as a Starfleet cadet could be resumed, though there might be some social friction with your classmates, insomuch as your activities have become a matter of public record since your testimony was recorded."
"I had to tell everyone about -"
"Of course. It is your duty as a Federation citizen, and it is gratifying that you understand that duty." Zorik shot a sideways glance at her. "I gather that you left the Academy due to ideological differences over the Prime Directive. It is not uncommon for people to feel the Prime Directive is obsolete, or ineffective, or counter-productive. Thrang used the pretext of reform to lure people into his organization, but the opinion in itself is not unreasonable. If strongly held, it would pose something of a problem with regard to a career in Starfleet, though."
"I'm not sure what I believe any more," said Angelica.
"Understandable. You have passed through a trying experience." They were coming up to a small cafe, an island of light under the dark rainy sky. Zorik led her through the doorway, out of the rain, into the warmth and the light.
"Your actions have been noted," Zorik said. "You may find that several career paths have opened to you. You kept your head in a dangerous situation, and provided valuable intelligence to the Federation at considerable personal risk. This is commendable."
"Commendable to who?" Angelica asked.
"To the Federation, and to the agencies which protect the Federation. Starfleet is only one such. There are several others, and you may find them more... congenial to your temperament." Zorik led her to a table, indicated to her to take a seat. She sat. He remained standing.
"I am a senior official within Starfleet Intelligence," he said. "If you do not choose to resume your career in Starfleet, then I am not an appropriate person to influence your choices. However, as I have said, there are other agencies. I am here to effect an introduction to one such."
And a heavy-set man in black clothes glided into the seat across the table from Angelica. He had close-cropped sandy hair, and disquieting light brown eyes - almost yellow - but the first thing she noticed was the scar that wound across one side of his face.
"Hello, Angelica," he said. "My name's Franklin Drake. I have a proposition for you, and I hope you'll consider it carefully."
And the very best part? Thrang has a choice. He can continue as he is, and find out how long Calloway designed him to live. Or he can cooperate, be rehabilitated by the best the UFP has to offer - and become a different person in the process. In effect, it's a very, very congenial death sentence, and one that fits perfectly with established Federation mores.
Angelica gets a new job, and we know from experience that if she disagrees with her boss' orders, she has no problem with circumventing them and turning said boss in. She did it to Thrang, doing it to Drake wouldn't even be an issue for her.
And Tylha gets a family, and some temporally-displaced technology to play with. Such a deal!
Comments
Assuming, of course, that "Lyle Anson" is really Lyle Anson, and not - ah - someone else wearing a Robert Heinlein mask...
Thrang was in a foul mood, muttering to himself and periodically typing things into his command console. Angelica knew each command set in motion a crisis, somewhere in the quadrant - an equipment failure, a vehicle crash, a cybervirus outbreak, anything that would cause disruption and divert resources. For some reason, he was starting a lot of these things just now.
"In position," Tom Tallidge reported. He sounded nervous. He'd borne the brunt of Thrang's anger when the protomatter weapon hadn't been ready in time. Angelica almost felt sorry for him - she knew, better than anyone, that it hadn't been his fault.
"About time," Thrang snapped. "We're on a deadline, here. I almost wish she hadn't taken the bait. It'd be easier to take her out the same way we took Hengest. But, well, she knows her two gentleman friends are at risk.... It would have been better to have the bomb ready," he added, glaring at Tallidge. "To detonate it when she died... oh, she'll know it'll happen, she'll realize she's failed... but to detonate it just when her ship went, to know that her ultimate failure was the last thing she'd ever see... it would be more artistic. I like artistry."
"Sorry," said Tallidge. In his position, Angelica thought, she'd have kept her mouth shut.
"Druzga," Thrang snapped. "Confirm those movement orders from ESD."
"I did that already!" the Tellarite protested.
"Confirm them." Thrang's voice was ominously calm.
"Admiral Shohl is outbound for the Vel Tarsus system. In her personal vessel, it says here. No escorts."
"Exactly as I anticipated." Thrang frowned. "Except she's dawdling. The King Estmere's drive should have had her here hours ago. As things stand... it's uncomfortably close to my deadline. I do like to leave a little slack in these things." He leaned back a little in the command chair. His face was pensive.
"I have a sensor contact," the Vulcan Turet announced. "A vessel just dropped out of warp, position consistent with an inbound vector from Sol System."
"Finally," said Thrang. "Helm. Get us in there. Special board -" he glanced at Angelica "- ready on my command."
"Everything's ready," said Angelica. She hoped Admiral Shohl was, too.
There was a dot on the tactical display. It was at extreme range, there was no way to resolve details... but it could only be Shohl's ship. Thrang was smiling again.
"Only a few minutes left. We'll give her time to close in... then we'll send our little surprise." His gaze flicked over towards Angelica again, confirming that she was ready.
"Do better to kill her now," Druzga muttered.
"In my own time," said Thrang. "I like these things to be artistic.... It's unfortunate, I suppose, that so many of them are on their guard, now. The first ones worked out to perfection, it was exquisite. This one, I fear, won't be exquisite. Merely satisfying."
"Something is wrong," said Turet. "Emissions profile is not as predicted."
Thrang raised an eyebrow. "Maybe she thinks she has protection," he said. "Well, let's test that. Angelica, enter the prefix codes, please."
Dutifully, Angelica tapped out a series of numbers on her board. Her finger hovered for only a fraction of a second before she pressed the TRANSMIT icon.
And it was only a fraction of a second before the board flashed red. "Prefix codes rejected!" she said.
"What?" Thrang reached for his own console. His eyes narrowed as he scanned the data stream. "Those were the right codes. King Estmere's prefix codes. So why -?" He turned to face Angelica. "Never mind the codes. Switch the resonant field through the main deflector dish. At the very least, it will shake those Jolciot alloys of hers severely - we'll finish her with conventional armament."
Again Angelica's fingers danced rapidly across the console. And, again -
"Resonant field's being emitted... but there's no feedback," she said. "It's as if - I don't think that ship has any Jolciot alloys."
"I have a transponder ID reading," said Turet. "That vessel is not the USS King Estmere. I have an NCC number...." His emotional control slipped enough for disbelief to creep into his voice. "NCC-1934?"
Angelica was using the sensor functions of the special board, now. "That's - that's consistent. The configuration - that ship looks like a twenty-third century Constitution-class cruiser. It's not the King Estmere, that's for certain. But the power levels, the emissions profile, they're very high -"
"We're being hailed," Druzga said.
"Very well," said Thrang. "We still have a couple of minutes in hand. On screen."
And the viewscreen filled with a face, a scarred Andorian face, and behind it the distinctive look of an antique Starfleet bridge. "Kalevar Thrang. This is Admiral Tylha Shohl aboard the temporal light cruiser USS Gustav Holst. You're wanted on a charge of genocide. Surrender. Now."
Thrang laughed. "Just the genocide? Admiral Shohl, you wound me."
"I'd list everything else," said Shohl, "but, as you keep on reminding me, I don't have all day. Now, you've already seen that you can't make this ship fall apart at the press of a button - so, are you going to surrender, or do I have to do this the hard way?"
"You're very confident in that little antique of yours, aren't you?" said Thrang. "All right. Show me what it can do. Screen off." And the tactical display flicked back into place.
"That only looks like a Constitution-class," said Angelica. "Maybe we -"
"Maybe we should take precautions," said Thrang. "Bring the drones online."
Despite herself, Angelica shuddered. The modified cannon drones were among Thrang's most effective weapons - robot weapons with self-aware AI. Self-aware, and homicidal.
She keyed in the commands, and guttural synthetic voices spoke along the comms channels.
"Moloch online. I hunger for destruction."
"Astaroth online. My enemies shall know fear and death."
"Lucifer online. Death follows where I walk."
"Azrael online. All who face me shall perish."
Thrang smiled. "I love it that they're task-focused."
The four drones shot out from their launch bays and corkscrewed erratically towards the Gustav Holst, swerving and jinking in rapid evasion patterns. The cruiser was making no attempt to avoid action, barreling straight in towards Thrang's ship. A multi-coloured nimbus flared around it as the drones' phaser cannon blasts savaged its shields.
"Forward tetryon arrays, fire as they bear," said Thrang. He sounded almost bored.
Then Cherenkov-blue light slashed across the sky as the Holst's phasers opened up. Astaroth emitted a metallic screech as a phaser beam found it and tore through its shields; on the tac display, damage icons blossomed around it. And then the cruiser spat out a volley of quantum torpedoes, and Moloch erupted into white-hot fragments, its appetite for destruction permanently sated.
Thrang swore under his breath. "Update the evasion patterns. Remaining drones, go wide, bracket her with fire. Weapons. Double-shot the torpedo launcher."
"We're hurting her," said Druzga. "I'm reading hull damage, atmosphere leaks -"
The Holst changed direction, just a trifle - enough to bring its main deflector square on with Thrang's ship. A brilliant beam of light shot out to envelope the Hirogen battlecruiser in a glowing fog. The ship lurched.
"Some kind of quantum phase effect," said Angelica, reading off the special console. "It's inhibiting our power generation - and I'm reading distributed damage to all systems."
"War of attrition," said Thrang. "She can't afford a war of attrition, she hasn't got time. Drones, close in."
The remaining three drones spiralled inwards, towards the Holst, their cannons hammering at her wavering shields.
"She's rotating shield frequencies," said Druzga.
"Like a good little engineer," said Thrang. "All she's doing is prolonging the agony. Helm -"
Then alarms shrilled as something shot out from the Holst. The special console display was almost unintelligible, flashing warning icon after icon - radiation, subspace interference, gravitic disruption -
"Evade!" shouted Thrang. "Hard about, one niner five mark six! Run evasion pattern Iota!"
The ship turned sharply and jinked from side to side - not fast enough, though, to avoid some phaser shots from the Holst that made their own shields flare and shiver. "Get me a readout," said Thrang, firmly. "I need to know what that weapon is -"
"Working on it," said Angelica. "But it doesn't make sense - it's radiating on all frequency ranges, but I'm not getting any power readings from it -"
Thrang swore, aloud this time, and slammed his fist into the arm of his chair. "It's nothing but a decoy!" he shouted. "Hard about! Drones, back into range!"
But the damage had already been done. The drones had broken formation to flee the sudden threat - and their escape courses had been sadly predictable, and the Holst's gunners had taken full advantage. Astaroth was dead, Lucifer was a smoking hulk with wrecked drives, and even as they came about, they saw the cruiser's phaser banks lock on to Azrael and blast the drone into cinders.
"Roll replacement drones!"
"That's a negative," said Tallidge. "We're getting some sort of interference on the EPS grid - precision fabricators are offline. Working to clear it -" Then he jumped out of his chair, as his console shot sparks and smoke from a transient overload.
"This is becoming annoying," said Thrang. "All right, we'll do this the straightforward way. Helm, get us in close. Maximum power to all forward weapons. Synchronized fire on my command." He smiled. "The full firepower of an Apex battlecruiser at point-blank range. Try decoying your way out of that, Admiral Shohl."
The ship rocked, and more flash-bangs sounded on the bridge, as the Holst fired again. "She's not attempting to evade," Druzga said. "She's closing fast. We're taking damage. Shields are down to twenty-six per cent. We have a hull breach on deck six."
"EPS grid keeps going out of sync," said Angelica. "She's doing something to take it out of phase."
"Good little engineer, again," said Thrang. "Ignore it. It'll stop when we blow her out of space."
The shape of the Holst began to expand, on the screen. The cruiser's shields were patchy and wavering, fire was bleeding from her saucer and secondary hull from a number of breaches... but her power levels were still high, Angelica noticed, and her weapons were still hot.
"Range three thousand and closing," said Druzga. "Two thousand five hundred. Two thousand."
"Ready," Thrang whispered. "Ready...."
"One thousand. Five hundred."
"Fire!"
And the ship shivered as the torpedoes screamed out of the launcher, and the full fury of the tetryon beam arrays lashed out -
At nothing. Where the Holst had been, a moment before, was only empty space.
"What the hell - ?" Thrang shouted.
"Subspace jump!" yelled Druzga. "She's behind us!"
And then the ship rocked, and Angelica felt a sick sensation as the gravity plating wavered, and there was no light on the bridge except the white sparks flying from the exploding consoles. The Holst had cut loose with her full armament against the weakly shielded stern of Thrang's ship, and the results were devastating. Angelica held tight to the arms of her chair, and waited, either for death, or for an end to the barrage.
Red emergency lights flickered on. The deck steadied. The air was full of smoke.
"Starboard nacelle is down." Tallidge's voice, weakly.
"Get it back online!" snapped Thrang.
"She severed the pylon! It's gone!"
For an instant, Thrang's face and body were completely still, the only point of stillness in the chaos on the bridge. Then he rose from his seat.
"I'm going to main engineering," he said. "I'll fix the fabricators and get a set of replacement drones up. Keep us alive until I've finished that. You." He gestured to a bulky Hirogen Beta. "Take the conn."
The special console was still working. Unobtrusively, Angelica tapped in a command sequence as Thrang strode off the bridge.
The Holst had passed over them, was circling, coming about. Deciding, no doubt, if there was even any point in making another attack run.
The results from Angelica's command sequence flashed up on her console screen. She took a deep breath of smoke-scented air, and stood up.
She crossed the deck to the command chair in three quick steps, grabbed the Beta by his armoured collar and snarled, "Move." The Hirogen resisted. Angelica slapped him, backhand, across the face. "Move." This time, he complied.
Everyone was looking at her. Angelica sat down, checked the command console, saw what little was still working. She thumbed the open-hail icon.
"This is Angelica Moreno aboard Thrang's ship," she said. "We're dropping shields and ejecting our warp core in token of surrender. Be aware, the core's been damaged by a chemical explosion, approach it with caution." She ran her hand through her hair. "I already siphoned the antimatter out of Thrang's scuttling charge. Thrang's running, he's armed, and he has a Tzenkethi protomatter device on the planet's surface which he'll try to use, somehow. I've got his beam-down coordinates. Transmitting them now."
Looking forward to the endgame. Particularly if it involves Shohl forcing Thrang to choose between canceling the countdown, or being right next to her when it hits 00:00.
The lift door hisses open, and I race for the transporter room.
There are no signs of damage. The Holst took some heavy hits, but she rode them out - and the special systems worked, exactly to specification. The "Corbomite" device, in particular, worked beautifully.
"Do you have the coordinates?" I gasp at Lieutenant Jenro as I reach the transporter.
"Affirmative." He remains imperturbable. "I have contact with the pattern enhancers on the ground. I can put you safely within two hundred metres."
"Good." I hit my personal buffer and pull out my phaser pulsewave. "Stand ready to send assault squads to the surface, but I'm taking point on this one, and I'm going in alone, first." Thrang will run from a full team, I'm sure of it. But if I'm there, alone, he might just be tempted to take the bait. I step on to the pad.
"Sir!" The door hisses open, and Anthi is there. "Sir, you have to wait -"
"No. I'm going in first. Help secure Thrang's ship, work with Klerupiru on its computer core. Get whatever help you can from this Moreno - she's Pexlini's contact. I'm going in first," I repeat, and my gaze locks with hers. "I'm going in, and I'll be coming back. Because I love you."
It's true. It's also the only thing I can say that will stop Anthi in her tracks. Before she's finished gaping, I snap at Jenro, "Energize."
The world sparkles around me, and I am gone.
And I'm down, under a louring grey sky, in a thin rain that tastes of acid. There are buildings all around me, grey and dirty and lightless. I pull out my tricorder and check my bearings. I'm close to Thrang's beam-down point -
Two figures come loping towards me, through the rain. Two familiar figures.
"What the hell are you two doing here?"
"Nice to see you too," says Koneph Phoral. Beside him, Osrin just grins. "This is pretty much the only place on the planet where it's safe to transport," Koneph continues, "so, hey, we knew where you were coming."
"And we have a positive track on a human life sign," Osrin adds.
"Fine. Feed it to my tricorder, and then get out of the firing line!"
"That won't work," says Koneph. "This place is a mess, you need native guides."
"You're the wrong colour for natives. Now get out of my way."
"Funny thing," says Koneph. "We never did join Starfleet. So you can't give us orders. Now, if we were married, we might give in to you, just for the sake of a quiet life, but -"
I have helpers. I don't want helpers. If they don't scare Thrang off, they might get hurt when he tries for me. But every second I stand here arguing, Thrang gets further away. "All right," I snap. "Keep up. If you can." And I check the tricorder, and set off at a run.
They keep up with me easily. Damn all augments, everywhere.
"I think he's headed for the subsurface systems," says Osrin. "There's a subway entrance -" He points, at a metal arch over a descending stairway. It looks dark and uninviting.
"He's got a protomatter device. He can't set it off while he's standing on the same planet, but he's bound to have some use for it." We reach the arch, clatter down the stairs into a dank, dark space. Part of some mass transit system, at a guess. Once bustling with people, now deserted.
I check the tricorder. Its interface is the brightest light around. "This way." I point down a tunnel. Osrin and Koneph both have tricorders out, too. The three of us move as one. It's... oddly gratifying.
"By the way," I say. "About marriage."
"Oh, this is the perfect time," says Osrin.
"Might not get another chance. Um. Anthi and I -"
"Finally," says Koneph with immense satisfaction.
I sigh. "I gather I'm the only person who didn't know how she felt?"
"Might be some slime molds under a rock in the Delta Quadrant that haven't heard," said Osrin. "Relax. We both like Anthi."
"Assuming she's still speaking to me when all this is over," I mutter. There is light up ahead. I close the tricorder. We slow down, our feet making thin splashes in the shallow puddles of water on the cracked floor.
"That looks iffy," says Koneph.
There's a cubby off the main tunnel - storage space for tools and supplies, once, I'd guess. Now it's got a complicated-looking device inside it, a thing of metal pipes and wiring and flat-panel control interfaces, all wrapped around a hollow transparent container with a familiar dire glow inside.
"Protomatter device all right," says Koneph. His eyes are narrowed, his antennae twitching. "That's not a standard Tzenkethi interface, though."
"You know about these things?" I ask him.
"Nausicaan intelligence had us gather some data on protomatter weapons, one time," he answers. "Before the Tzenkethi started making themselves unpopular, but hey, I keep up with the literature. I recognize the anti-tamper devices, too," he adds. He goes up to the device, kneels beside it, flexes his fingers. "I reckon I can make this safe."
I give him a hard stare. "How sure are you?"
"Kon did a lot of work with bombs, for the Nausicaans," says Osrin.
"Nothing's ever a hundred per cent," says Koneph. "But this.... I don't think your guy's as good as he thinks he is."
"Thrang's a megalomaniac," I say, "but he's a talented megalomaniac. Don't underestimate him."
"Yeah," says Koneph. "Yeah, I can see he's got talent." He whistles tunelessly through his teeth. "Thing is, I've got talent too, and experience. This'll take a while." He makes a minuscule adjustment to his tricorder, frowns, makes another. "Leave me to it. Go after your man. Maybe you can bring him back, and he can turn it off."
Osrin touches my shoulder. "Human life sign, off to one side and below us." He points down the tunnel, to a metal hatch set in the concrete floor. "I think he's taken to the sewer system. He could navigate through that, double back, get to a shuttle landing pad."
"Then we'd better stop him." I heft the phaser pulsewave, lope off towards the hatch. Osrin follows me.
"By the way," he says, "you can't use the gun."
"What?"
"The last sabotage attempt ruptured the city's hydrocarbon gas pipes. There's pockets of flammable gas all through the sub-levels. A phaser blast could -"
"Oh, great." I transfer the gun back to my transporter buffer. "Up against Thrang, bare handed."
"Two of us. In tunnels." Osrin bends down, lifts the hatch open in one easy movement. "How's your th'kara?"
"Passable." I stare into the wet darkness. There is liquid down there, and it smells foul. "Should've brought Anthi after all, she's master-grade." There's a metal ladder. I start down it.
I'm at the bottom, shin-deep in something cold, wet and smelly, when my combadge bleeps. "Shohl."
"Sir." Anthi's voice, brisk and professional. "We've taken Thrang's ship. Deploying assault teams to the surface now. Starfleet and other ships are entering the system in support - including the privateer vessel Anita, under diplomatic protection from the Reman dreadnought Saraswati."
Pexlini and Heizis. "OK. We've located Thrang's protomatter device and have someone working on it. We're after the man himself now. Secure local shuttle pads, he might be aiming for them - We'll talk when we get back, OK?"
"Damn right we will." She sounds more amused than angry, which I guess is good. "Good luck, sir."
"Thanks." I look around. There's very little light. But I'm an Andorian, I don't need light.
In my ears, in my antennae, the sewer tunnel is a huge thing glimmering with echoes. The surface of the water ripples, its liquid sound bouncing off the crumbling walls and making them a weird, ghostly presence. Osrin is a solid warm shape beside me, his pulse and his breathing registering his presence. Somewhere ahead of me -
Concentric ripples of sound mark his course, every footstep giving him away. I'm close enough, even, to feel the disturbance his body makes in the air, a solid discontinuity in the hollow of the tunnel. Thrang.
"Thrang!"
The movement stops. I move, myself, rapid footsteps making splashes whose echoes hang in the air.
"Admiral Shohl. Late to your own funeral, I see. And you've brought a friend. How nice." Thrang laughs. We're getting close. "This is the part where I shoot at you and blow myself up, isn't it? Pardon me if I don't oblige."
"It's over, Thrang. We've got your ship. We've cracked your computer virus. Troops are closing in right now. You don't have a chance."
"Is that really the best you can do? I make my own chances, Admiral."
He isn't showing any lights. His low-light vision must be very good. As good as Andorians, in a tunnel fight? I think we're about to find out.
"Give up. Now." I move into th'kara stance, forcing my awareness into the dark air around me... feeling my opponent, out there in the black.
"You have no idea what you're dealing with."
And he lunges towards me, so quick I can't perceive the motion -
But Osrin is there, and suddenly he's in front of me, and there is a slap of flesh on flesh as he blocks Thrang's blow.
"Neither do you," says Osrin, and he launches a flurry of blows, a precise pattern of strikes in the th'kara style, the martial art devised for the dark tunnels beneath the Andorian ice. I hear the thud of blows striking home, hear Thrang gasp.
"Corodrev. Of course." There is an unpleasant edge to Thrang's voice. Air shifts as he lashes out with another lightning-fast blow. Osrin dodges it. I move, circling, trying to find an opening.
"That the best you can do?" Osrin manages a laugh.
"I know you. An inferior augment. Put together centuries ago, by an Andorian amateur."
More punches fly, and Osrin laughs again. "Maybe. But I trained against other augments, every day, for years. You didn't, Thrang. I can tell. You're slow, Thrang, slow and sloppy."
"We'll see how fast you are," Thrang snarls, "when I've ripped your damned antennae off."
He's moving fast, faster than he should be able to, in the water, in the dark. But I know where he is - I dispense with the initial probing touches of a th'kara fight, and snap-kick him in the middle of his back.
It's like kicking a block of wood. He grunts, and his hand comes round, fast enough to brush my leg, not fast enough to catch it. Osrin punches him again, and again. I move in for another blow, a chop to the neck -
His fist catches me in the ribs, and he is strong, so much stronger than a human has any right to be. I'm knocked off balance, stagger breathless, back through the water, to collapse against the curving wall of the tunnel. I paw at the crumbling brickwork, seeking handholds.
Something moves under my right hand, with a thin metallic grating sound.
Abstract patterns of displaced air mark the path of the fight, Osrin and Thrang battering at each other with fists and feet. Osrin is good, but Thrang is tireless, seems just to soak up the damage from each blow. My fingers explore the thing beneath my hand. Metal. I tug at it.
And it comes loose.
Piping, maybe from the gas lines Osrin mentioned. A length of metal pipe, perhaps a metre long, narrow enough to fit into the palm of my hand. It comes out of the wall with a high-pitched shriek. I feel Thrang's head turn, then rock abruptly as Osrin takes advantage of the opening to land another punch. I grip the pipe with both hands, and I swing it with all my might.
The clang sends jangling echoes all the way down the sewer tunnel. The blow would cave in an ordinary human skull. There's a splash, and confusion in the air as Thrang topples and falls into the water. I move over, and stand on his chest.
"Thanks," says Osrin. There's a wheeze in his voice. I don't know how badly hurt he is. "Can Thrang breathe water?"
"I don't know. I don't think so."
"You'd better let him up to the surface, sometime soon, then."
"I want to be sure he's unconscious."
Osrin kneels down beside me. Droplets dazzle and dance in the air as he punches through the water, into Thrang's face.
"He is now."
---
An ordinary human would be dead or permanently brain-damaged by any one of those blows. In the event, we have to knock Thrang out three more times before we reach the ladder to the upper level.
The hatch is open, and there is dim light shining. A shape swarms down the ladder - a vaguely familiar shape, dressed in an iridescent purple uniform. "You have Thrang," says Heizis's voice. She sounds slightly disbelieving.
"We do," I say, and hit him again, just for good measure.
"Excellent. He is needed alive." Her face, in the dimness, looks horrific, savage eyes glittering in a skull-like mask. Above her, someone else starts to descend the ladder. Someone in massive, clanging, over-sized boots.
"Hey, good to see you," says Pexlini. "I brought something." Metal is jangling in her right hand. "Latest model android restraints. Should hold anything organic, yeah?" She stomps over to us, her boots setting off a torrent of vibrations in the air.
Despite everything we've done to him, Thrang is regaining consciousness again. His eyes open as Pexlini stoops over him.
"Thrang. Heya. About that job offer, yanno?" Pexlini snaps the restraints into place around his wrists. "Take that as a no."
Tylha's cleaned up good. You'd never guess she'd been wrestling in a sewer a few hours ago, as she slides into her seat in the Gustav Holst's briefing room and reads the stardate into the log. "Also attending this preliminary interview, Commander Heizis of Reman Intelligence, Admiral Pexlini of Starfleet Intelligence." Well, if she's telling the truth, that's a nice surprise. "And, just as a reference point, we are plus six hours, fifteen minutes and forty-five seconds at my mark. Mark." She smiles thinly across the table at Thrang.
Thrang has been cleaned up a bit. You'd never guess he'd been sewer-wrestling, either. Nor would you guess that he'd taken a beating that would leave a normal human fit to be spread across slices of bread. He sits there, looking at Tylha, a faint smile on his full lips. Occasionally, his shoulders tense, just a little.
"So," says Tylha. "We've got your ship, we've got your computer virus, we've got your protomatter bomb, and we've got you. I think that counts as a clean sweep. There'll be formal charges and formal interviews, of course, but... indulge me. Who have we got? Kalevar Thrang isn't your real name, naturally."
"It will do," says Thrang. "Do you expect me to give up all my secrets? Really?"
"Oh, yes," says Tylha. "It'll take time, but... yes."
"Such confidence," says Thrang. "Well, I suppose there's no reason not to be civilized. No, Kalevar Thrang isn't my real name. But, then, I'm an illegal genetic augment, I don't really have a legal name, do I?"
"What would your mother call you?" Tylha asks.
"Test tubes make remarkably undemonstrative parents," says Thrang. "There's no harm in you knowing where I was... constructed, I suppose is the best word. You might have heard of the Calloway Institute."
Tylha taps in the name on her console. She raises her eyebrows. "High energy physics research?"
"With a sideline that isn't in the official documentation. Alistair Calloway wanted an heir to his fortune. One who was worthy. And he didn't care for the complications of human romance, not to mention the genetic lottery of selecting a partner." Thrang's smile grows broader. "I was code-named Alexander in the laboratory. A fitting name. As for my family name - well, a lot of my augmentation was based on the designs for the famous Dr. Bashir, but I very much doubt the noble salutatorian would appreciate having me grafted on to his family tree. No, I think the Calloway surname would suffice."
"It's impressive work." Tylha's fingers have been dancing rapidly across the console interface. "And then the high energy physics research... failed, rather spectacularly."
"Quite."
"Taking out the whole asteroid base, in fact. One of those unexplained tragedies."
"I heard him talking." Thrang's shoulders flex again. "He was talking about improvements. A new version, an improved version. I did not choose to be replaced."
"After Alistair Calloway's death, control of his company passed to his daughter Georgina... a recluse, who hasn't been seen in years." Tylha's voice is dry. "I take it we'd have a lot of difficulty finding her?"
Thrang laughs. "Dear sister. I prefer to think of her as being untrammeled by the tiresome necessities of physical reality."
"A software false front. One of many. Using her, you acquired patents for software applications, bought up isolinear chip manufacturers... laid the groundwork for infesting the data networks with your shadow OS, in fact." Tylha sighs. "It's going to take months to unravel all that, and as for the cost - well, it's lucky the Federation is a post-scarcity economy." She shakes her head. "And using that - any system in Federation or Imperial space can recognize your face, and know that you're in charge of it. Who was the one who wore your mask? The holographic disguise? When you blew a hole in Earth Spacedock to get Paul Hengest?"
"An agent. An effective agent. Find him yourself." Thrang's shoulders are tense, and his smile is starting to slip.
"We will," Tylha says. "Oh, I know we don't have your genetic advantages. But we're skilled and we're thorough. We'll find your agent, we'll find all the extra bolt-holes you're not telling us about, all the shell companies and secret holdings and sequestered funds. You might be able to outsmart any one of us, individually... but we're all working together, and you're all alone. We're going to turn over all your rocks until we've found everything."
"So you think." Thrang's shoulders are very tense now.
"Hey," I speak up. "You know the latest model Federation androids? They've got a limited shape-change ability built in. I mean, not liquid metal or anything weird like that, but they can manipulate their appearance, or do things like slimming down their limbs." Thrang's gaze snaps towards me. "'Course, that means the latest series of android restraints have to compensate for that, don't they? I guess you might be able to thin your wrists down enough to slip those cuffs, buddy, but you'd have to snap your hands off to do it. Puts you at a disadvantage, yanno?"
Thrang's shoulders, gradually, relax. His smile is completely gone, now.
"You," he says to me, "are very, very dead."
I shrug. "Heard that before, buddy. Still breathing."
"Enjoy it while it lasts," says Thrang. I am absolutely sure he means it. Dead sure, to coin a phrase.
"You need not be concerned," says Heizis. "The computer subversion will be undone - a mammoth task, as Admiral Shohl says, but it will be undone. And the Actionist Movement is already in pieces. Rather literally, in the case of the Klingon and the Breen arms. The Federation must go through its legalisms, of course." She shrugs. "As must we. The process for the impeachment and imprisonment of a Tribune is complicated and annoying. But it will be done."
"Do you think those are my only allies?" says Thrang.
"Well," I say, "you're not exactly attracting the best and brightest, are you? I mean, Xerek should've had all the advantages over Heizis, right? But here she is, and her boss is -" I don't know what Reman Intelligence has done with Xerek, and I'm not gonna pry. "As for the rest of them - Starfleet and Klingon rejects, and the Thexemians, I mean, come off it. This is the trouble with killing off the help, Thrang. After a while, the quality help gets wise. They stop knocking on your door."
"You think I have to make do with inferiors," says Thrang. "You forget, though, I always have to make do with inferiors. By definition."
"You say that," I say, "but who's wearing the android restraints, huh?"
Something goes beep on Tylha's console. "You do love the sound of your own voice, Thrang," she says.
"Well," says Thrang, "I say such clever things."
Tylha smiles at him. "We love the sound of your voice too," she says sweetly. "That was my data warfare expert, telling me she's captured enough of your phonemes to crack your last storage vault. We've got all your biometric data, too, naturally. We know enough about you to build a new one, in fact." Her smile goes away. "Though why we'd want to -"
She presses a button on the console, and people start to come in. Security troops - a black-eyed Betazoid, a burly Vulcan, a surly Tellarite - and others: a Borg drone, a security hologram in mirror-finish MACO armour, a pallid Aenar, two different androids, and a voluptuous figure wearing a crop-top, booty shorts, and a maniac smile. Tylha has access to that holo-simulation program for the infamous Admiral Leeta. She crowds round Thrang with the rest of them. It's about the sort of team I'd put together for moving Thrang, in fact.
"Take him away," says Tylha in a voice like a tomb slamming shut.
Thrang rises to his feet. His glare sweeps over me, Heizis, and Tylha.
"You think you've won," he says, "but you have no conception of my abilities and my resources. I will be back for all of you. And you will die."
I'll give Tylha credit, she doesn't turn one white Andorian hair. "I'll keep this countdown running, then," she says. "Just so you know how late you are."
---
There's a heck of a lot left to organize, of course. Thrang's ship, the Anita, and the Holst are all tangled up together in a knot of docking tubes, while the Saraswati hangs off to one side, ready to do something necessary but regrettable with its thalaron weapons if Thrang looks like getting loose.
I wander around the Holst, looking for Tylha and some confirmation about my own status with Starfleet - I'm almost sure I'm OK, but it would be kind of nice to know. I wander past the briefing room again, and I see her.
She is standing, and her exec is standing in front of her, and they are standing very close to each other. In fact, when I look closer, their faces are almost touching, and their antennae are actually twining together. I didn't know Andorians even did that. It's pretty clear they're having a moment, so I back away quietly, or at least as quietly as I can in my mining boots. I don't think they notice me, regardless of the boots.
So I whistle a little ditty between my teeth, and find a docking tube, and wander back to the Anita. "Admiral on the bridge," I say, as I stroll onto the command deck and plump down on my chair.
Nurnos rolls his eyes. Nyesenia says nothing. Rozilai flashes me a quick smile.
"Roz," I say. "Set my mind at rest, will you? You are Zorik's plant from Starfleet Intelligence, keeping an eye on me, aren't you?"
She just gives me another quick smile. "If I were," she says, "I certainly wouldn't say so. And if I weren't, I'd certainly deny it."
"Oh. Yeah. Quite."
"Unless I wanted to mess with your head," she carries on, "in which case I'd say yes, but you still wouldn't know if it was true or not."
"'Course not. God, I love intelligence work." I stand up again. "Come on, people. Let's all go have a drink."
He glanced around. Metal walls, standard gravity and atmosphere, standard Federation lighting. He was lying on a very basic single bed. His temples were tingling where an electro-sedation patch had been applied. He concentrated, banished the sensation.
He sat up, swung his legs off the bed. A cell. He was in a cell. A cell of a very familiar, very predictable design. He stood up.
"Thrang," he said. "Override two niner seven Dumas." He turned towards the cell door, smiled as he saw the security field wink out.
He went to the door, and it slid open at his approach. Beyond it, he could see a short stretch of corridor. He flexed his fingers. Facility 4028 combat holograms would be tricky opponents -
He went to the doorway and peered carefully around the edge. Then he frowned.
There were no other cell doors in the corridor. To his right, it ended in a blank metal wall. To his left, there was a doorway. There were no light bridges, no cameras, no holographic guards.
He went up to the doorway, and it opened. Beyond it -
His frown deepened. A black space with yellow grid lines. A holodeck?
He stepped through the door, grinned as he saw the control panel in the holodeck arch. He could do a lot with one of these - "Thrang. Override eight seven seven Tolkien," he said.
And he felt, rather than saw, the presence materialize behind him. He whirled round.
The figure was that of a human male, thin and pallid, wearing a Starfleet medical uniform. It smiled at him.
"Hello, Kalevar," it said. "Welcome to Facility 4029. I am the Holographic Rehabilitation Unified System, you may call me Horus for short. I can see you have been using command codes that you expect will enable prohibited access to Facility 4028 systems. They won't work here, I'm afraid."
Thrang raised a fist. "If you think you can keep me here -" he began.
"I'm only here to help you, Kalevar," said Horus. "Facility 4029 has been designed and built entirely with you in mind. I'm afraid I haven't been programmed with all its security information, but it is embedded in an asteroid somewhere near Facility 4028, and communicates with that facility on an irregular and long-duration basis. If you have complaints as to your treatment, you may rest assured they will be heard, but I cannot guarantee exactly when. I must also caution you that there are no liveable areas outside the immediate facility. I know you are very strong and resilient, but even you could not survive outside, so escaping from here would certainly prove fatal."
"What are you doing?" Thrang asked. "I demand to see legal representation."
"Your demand has been noted and will be assessed at an appropriate time," said Horus. "I must inform you, however, that your position is somewhat equivocal. The Klingon Empire has already tried you in absentia and pronounced a sentence of death. The Federation would not, of course, surrender one of its own citizens in such a case, but it is doubtful whether you possess valid Federation citizenship, due to the irregular nature of your birth and your activities. The Federation, however, respects the inalienable rights of all sentient life forms."
Thrang lowered his fist. "Explain yourself."
"Gladly. Your legal status remains unresolved. It may continue to do so indefinitely. While it is unresolved, you are detained in this facility. Every effort will be made to ensure your continued well-being, but security restrictions are in place. The holodeck -" Horus gestured at the grid-lined room "- is fully featured, with every sort of program to stimulate, amuse, divert and educate. You will have every practical facility to maintain your physical and mental well-being. Certain holodeck facilities will not be available to you. In particular, it will not be possible for you to override its safety features, or to create a strong AI. The only AI permitted here is myself." Horus gave a slight bow. "I look forward to a long and productive working relationship with you, Kalevar."
"Long and... productive?" Thrang glared at the hologram. "Productive, how?"
"We have secured data records from off-site backups kept by the Calloway Institute. Now we know their full context, and are able to decipher them, they are highly revealing. Did you know, for instance, that your creator was planning a series of epigenetic therapy sessions to adjust your genome?"
"What?"
"Alistair Calloway was not planning an improved successor to you, Kalevar. He was planning an epigenetic process which would improve you as a person. We have developed a prototype of this process and, with your consent, we can implement it at any time. Or, we have a full library of conventional criminal rehabilitation therapies available to us." The hologram's faint smile, to Thrang, seemed the most odious thing in the universe. "We can begin your therapeutic sessions at any time of your choosing, and work through them at whatever pace you feel is appropriate. I appreciate, of course, that it will take time." The hologram would never stop smiling. "But we have all the time we need, Kalevar. We have all the time in the world."
There was a footstep behind her, and she turned.
"Ms. Moreno." The speaker was a Vulcan, in civilian clothing, with quite the blankest face Angelica had ever seen. "I am Admiral Zorik. Thank you for agreeing to meet with me."
"I don't have any choice," Angelica said. "You can do whatever you like with me -"
"That is not, in fact, the case. Your involvement with Action Black and with Kalevar Thrang has, of course, linked you to several serious criminal endeavours. Your cooperation with Federation agents in exposing and apprehending Thrang and his co-conspirators has also been noted. The appropriate authorities have considered your case and decided that no charges can or should be brought against you. You are, in fact, to be commended for your actions overall."
"But what does that mean?" Angelica asked. "Where does it leave me? What am I supposed to do, now?"
"If I may make an immediate practical suggestion," said Zorik, "I think you should follow me, to a sheltered place, out of the rain."
"Sometimes," Angelica muttered, "out in the rain is the right place to be."
"A human emotional reaction. I understand it, but I do not share it. Please follow me." And he turned and walked away, at a slow, steady pace. Angelica swore under her breath, then hurried to catch up with him.
"Your overall position is somewhat equivocal," Zorik said, as she reached his side. "Your interrupted career as a Starfleet cadet could be resumed, though there might be some social friction with your classmates, insomuch as your activities have become a matter of public record since your testimony was recorded."
"I had to tell everyone about -"
"Of course. It is your duty as a Federation citizen, and it is gratifying that you understand that duty." Zorik shot a sideways glance at her. "I gather that you left the Academy due to ideological differences over the Prime Directive. It is not uncommon for people to feel the Prime Directive is obsolete, or ineffective, or counter-productive. Thrang used the pretext of reform to lure people into his organization, but the opinion in itself is not unreasonable. If strongly held, it would pose something of a problem with regard to a career in Starfleet, though."
"I'm not sure what I believe any more," said Angelica.
"Understandable. You have passed through a trying experience." They were coming up to a small cafe, an island of light under the dark rainy sky. Zorik led her through the doorway, out of the rain, into the warmth and the light.
"Your actions have been noted," Zorik said. "You may find that several career paths have opened to you. You kept your head in a dangerous situation, and provided valuable intelligence to the Federation at considerable personal risk. This is commendable."
"Commendable to who?" Angelica asked.
"To the Federation, and to the agencies which protect the Federation. Starfleet is only one such. There are several others, and you may find them more... congenial to your temperament." Zorik led her to a table, indicated to her to take a seat. She sat. He remained standing.
"I am a senior official within Starfleet Intelligence," he said. "If you do not choose to resume your career in Starfleet, then I am not an appropriate person to influence your choices. However, as I have said, there are other agencies. I am here to effect an introduction to one such."
And a heavy-set man in black clothes glided into the seat across the table from Angelica. He had close-cropped sandy hair, and disquieting light brown eyes - almost yellow - but the first thing she noticed was the scar that wound across one side of his face.
"Hello, Angelica," he said. "My name's Franklin Drake. I have a proposition for you, and I hope you'll consider it carefully."
How would prison be a punishment in the Federation? Existentially. Your confinement facilities are pleasantly ominous.
Member Access Denied Armada!
My forum single-issue of rage: Make the Proton Experimental Weapon go for subsystem targetting!
Angelica gets a new job, and we know from experience that if she disagrees with her boss' orders, she has no problem with circumventing them and turning said boss in. She did it to Thrang, doing it to Drake wouldn't even be an issue for her.
And Tylha gets a family, and some temporally-displaced technology to play with. Such a deal!
Bravo.
Your father was captain of a starship for twelve minutes. He saved 800 lives, including your mother's, and yours.
I dare you to do better.