Mission to Daleth IV - Chapter 10
Title: Mission to Daleth IV
Author: Soledad
For disclaimer, rating, etc. see the index page
Chapter 10 - Aftershocks
Author’s notes:
I know that Elba II - as I describe here - doesn’t exactly match the image from the episode “Whom Gods Destroy”. It’s a deliberate thing. I simply didn’t buy the idea of the Federation having penal colonies for the insane. Not to mention ones that could get taken over by the inmates so easily. So, here is my interpretation about the whole thing. You don’t have to agree with it. *g*
The events Haiduk is referring to happened in the episode “Court-Marital”.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Clearing up after the big fight took several days. Barely was the fighting over, a ship of Starfleet Intelligence arrived - no name, just a naval construction number, and more likely a fake one - to take S’Bysh and his… associates into custody and to transport them off-station.
“Were are they being brought?” Thrae asked. As the representative of the local law, he did have the right to know.
“Starbase 11, on Minerva,” Haiduk replied, “since they will most likely end up on Limbo.”
“Limbo?” Thrae repeated with a blank expression that would have made a Vulcan proud. The name apparently said him nothing.
“A penal colony and a dilithium mine on Magna II, a rather life-threatening planet,” Haiduk explained. “Only prisoners with a life sentence are sent there. S’Bysh will never leave that place again.”
“Assuming he gets sentenced to begin with,” Thrae said dryly.
“Oh, trust me, he will,” Haiduk assured him with a shark-like grin. “The Judge Advocate Officer of Starbase 11 is Lieutenant Areel Shaw - one of Starfleet’s best attorneys. That woman has nearly managed to get James T. Kirk sentenced for a crime he didn’t even commit. She’ll break S’Bysh’s neck with one hand strapped to her back.”
“Are you really sure she can do it?” Thrae asked doubtfully.
Haiduk nodded. “I am sure. Don’t worry. It’s not just about Lieutenant Shaw being a damn good attorney - although, as I said, she is. But we’ve been collecting evidence against S’Bysh for years. We’ve got everything documented accordingly. And we have a storeroom full of smuggled kireshet. This time S’Bysh won’t be able to worm himself out of the trap.”
“I hope so,” Thrae said pessimistically. Then he suddenly grinned. “You’ve made a fool of me… all of you. That’s not something that happens too often. You are really good - and not just as an Intelligence agent. We never had a chief technician quite like you.”
“I was an engineer before Starfleet Intelligence hired me,” Haiduk grinned. Then she rose. “Well, Constable, I have to go now. It was a delight to serve with you.”
She waved good-bye and left the security office. There was still so much to be done - ad they couldn’t count on Jon any longer.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Lieutenant Tathar, the leader of the Tellarite unit was waiting for her in her study that had served as temporary headquarters of the last phase of the mission.
“We’ve received new orders, Ma’am,” the Tellarite said. “My unit will be transferred to the Tholian border tomorrow.”
Haiduk nodded. “Good luck, Lieutenant.”
“Thank you, Ma’am,” Tathar saluted and left. Not that a salute would have been necessary; in fact, the custom had been abandoned decades ago. But Tellarites were rather old-fashioned in some things.
Haiduk sighed. She hated this part of her job… of Jon’s job, actually. Under different circumstances, Jon would be dealing with the aftermath, and all she’d have to do would be to write her own report. But now, that Jon was lying in a stasis chamber, waiting to be transported off to Starfleet Medical, he had to take over his tasks as well.
Her comm unit beeped. She switched it on - and looked directly into the eyes of her immediate superior, Commodore Didier Drake Reed - Jon’s father. She stiffened in her seat immediately.
“Commodore… what can I do for you?”
“I got your report,” the Commodore said neutrally. “Good work. As soon as everything’s cleaned up, you’ll return to Annapolis for debriefing… and to take all of your accumulated leave for the last three years. All of you.”
Haiduk closed her eyes. Returning to Earth, followed by an extended leave, sounded wonderful. “Thank you, sir.”
“You’ve earned it,” the Commodore smiled briefly, then he became serious again. “However, I do have the nagging feeling, Commander, that you haven’t told me everything.”
“My report was very detailed, sir,” Haiduk could hear the defensive tone in her own voice and suppressed a groan. If Drake Reed hadn’t been suspicious before…
“As far as the mission itself is considered, it was,” the Commodore agreed. “But not about what really happened to your commanding officer.”
“Everything of importance is noted in my report, sir,” Haiduk said evenly. “I’m sure that Jon… Commander Drake will tell you the other details if he thinks it’s necessary.”
“That’s not good enough, Commander,” Drake Reed said sternly. “There obviously are things that you do know - and other members of your unit possibly too - but I don’t. That’s not acceptable. I need to be informed about everything. And if you are incapable of providing necessary information, I’ll find someone who is more… cooperative.”
Haiduk stood the piercing stare of those dark eyes without a blink. “By all due respect, sir, I very much doubt that.”
Drake Reed shook his head in reluctant amusement.
“Why is it that every time an officer is about to become disrespectful, he or she starts the sentence ‘With all due respect?’” he mused. “Very well, Commander. Have your way… for the time being. But this isn’t over yet. We’ll continue this discussion in person. Annapolis out.”
Haiduk terminated the connection on her end and gave her stunned ex a wry grin.
“What was that supposed to be?” Aguilar asked.
“That was a concerned father, thinking that showing his concern would be unseeming for a high-ranking Intelligence officer, and so he tried to pull rank to find out the details we chose to keep for us,” Haiduk explained.
Aguilar, not being a Fleet brat, rolled his eyes. “Is that a common thing in military families?” Haiduk’s grin broadened.
“Afraid so. My Dad isn’t any better. Luckily for me, he’s just a humble engineer, so when he wants to know something, he has to ask nicely.”
“Well, in that case, I’m almost glad that we don’t have children,” Aguilar said. “The poor kids would have a miserable life, with two Starfleet officers in their family.”
“You’re probably right,” Haiduk patted his arm affectionately. She didn’t think that Ben could have ever behaved like the Commodore or her own father, but saying so might not have been a good idea. “Are Jon’s transfer papers ready?”
“Yes. He’ll be sent directly to Starfleet Medical, and afterwards to Elba II, for rehabilitation. The doctors say it’ll take at least two years to cure him completely. Probably even longer. This new sort of kireshet is an unknown factor for them.”
“Two years on Elba II?” Haiduk shuddered. “Couldn’t they have done better than that?”
“I don’t think so,” Aguilar replied grimly. “Elena, you know as well as I do that Elba II isn’t really the asylum for the criminally insane most people think it to be. There are more of our kind than in any other rehab hospital. And, what’s more important, they can continue their work there. Between therapeutic sessions, those two years will be barely enough for Jon to analyze all the data we’ve collected about the Orion Syndicate - and to work out the plans for our next mission. He won’t be shut away!”
“I know,” Haiduk sighed, “but the thought of Jon caged there, isolated, makes me uncomfortable.”
“We’ll be allowed to visit, after the first phase of rehab is completed,” Aguilar reminded her, “and we’ll be allowed to send subspace messages any time we want. Besides, Miguel is going with him… for a while anyway.”
“Are his senses out of control?” Haiduk asked worriedly. Aguilar shrugged.
“Not yet… but he’s close to sensory overload. He decided to spend some time in a Vulcan monastery while Jon is at Starfleet Medical, which could take weeks, and then accompany him on Elba II. He needs additional training to be able to deal with his senses again. The headaches are killing him.”
“I’ve been worried about Miguel for a while by now,” Haiduk admitted. “A break will do him good… will do all of us good. What are your plans, by the way?”
A huge grin practically split Aguilar’s face in two. “Surfing season starts at home in two weeks’ time. I haven’t seen a surfboard for what? Four years? I won’t leave the water until I grow gills and scales like a fish. What about you?”
“I’m going to visit my Dad at the Utopia Planitia shipyards,” Haiduk became positively misty-eyed by the mere thought of it. “Refresh my engineering knowledge. Take a good, hard look of the new ship designs. That sort of thing.”
Aguilar raised an eyebrow. “All work and no play? You’re a freak, Haiduk.”
“I’m not the one who wants to grow gills,” Haiduk pointed out. “If one of us is a freak of nature, it’s you.”
They were both still laughing when a big, enraged Rigelian stormed in, grabbed Aguilar by the throat and slammed him against the bulkhead.
“Where is he?” Mondral demanded. “What have you done with him?”
Aguilar was in no shape to answer, and the agitated ‘champion’ probably would have broken his neck, had Haiduk not interfered. She grabbed Mondral’s arm with bruising force (growing up on a high-gravity planet came handy in such situations) and wrenched him away from his prey. Then, still holding Mondral in an iron grip, she looked at Aguilar in suspicion.
“Care to explain me this, Ben?”
Aguilar rubbed his abused throat and grimaced. “He’s looking for Madame Vithra’s kid hubby, I guess.”
“Ishul is not a child,” Mondral growled. “He’s an adult, and he’s very important for the clan. I entrusted his safety to you - where is he?”
“I took him where he wanted to be taken,” Aguilar replied enigmatically.
“He’s not at home,” Mondral said. “Spaceport records affirmed his arrival on the homeworld, but he can’t be found anywhere.”
“Of course not,” Aguilar shrugged. “That was not where he wanted to go.”
“And where is he then?” Mondral demanded. “The family must find him, before news of his disappearance become widely known.”
“I’m afraid I can’t tell you,” Aguilar said. “He doesn’t want to be found. Not before the year of separation is over.”
To Haiduk’s surprise, the Rigelian suddenly relaxed. “I see.”
“But I don’t,” Haiduk said warningly. “Ben…?”
“Rigelian marital law is a bit… complicated,” Aguilar explained. “Theoretically, divorce is possible, assuming that the spouse in question hasn’t had intercourse with any of his or her spouses for a full year. But since junior spouses don’t have the right to refuse their senior partners, they practically can’t leave the clan in the first couple of decades. If they try to run away, the senior spouses are entitled to hunt them down and bring them home by force.”
Haiduk felt nauseous. “How… barbaric.”
“Not entirely,” Mondral said. “Originally, the law was created to ensure the junior spouses’ safety, so that the seniors can’t send them away at a whim. And to avoid them being abducted and sold to prostitution by an enemy clan. Today, this is a right the clans rarely execute anyway. But in Ishul’s case, they would. They don’t care for him, personally, but he’s an important pawn for the clan, due to his family ties to a famous numerologist. They’d do anything to bring him back - and he’d be severely punished for tying to run away.”
“In this case I’m surprised that you’re not trying to get more information out of Lieutenant Aguilar,” Haiduk said. “Is it not your duty to defend Madame Vithra’s interests?”
“Usually, it is,” Mondral replied calmly. “But in this particular case, I have my own interests to defend.” He bowed towards Aguilar slightly. “I never met you,” he added then, and left.
Haiduk stared after him, wide-eyed. “Ben, does this mean what I think it means?”
“I think it is,” Aguilar grinned. “The Rigelian version of Romeo and Juliet… only that in this case Juliet is a guy, too.”
“And you are Fra Lorenzo,” Haiduk added. “Well, it’s not our concern. I wish them good luck… they’ll need it. Let’s see now what else has to be done.”
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Having spent almost his entire life on his rural homeworld, Ishul found Alicante Nuova absolutely fascinating. The city lay in the northern moderate zone, on the coast of the deep blue western ocean, encircled by evergreen woods. People lived here in airy mansions, which stood in large gardens, adorned with abstract sculptures and other pieces of highly original artwork, and while the main population originated from Earth or other human colonies, there were large groups of Rigelians, Vulcans and even Deltans. The latter made twelve per cent of the entire population and were mainly responsible for the architecture and art, which gave the city a decidedly exotic touch.
The garden in which Ishul was standing now belonged to a not very elegant but rather large mansion, built in traditional Rigelian style. It lay in one of the living areas on the outskirts of the city. The front of the house was decorated with Rigelian clan symbols, although the clan that lived in it was a mixed one, containing members of various races. Two of the senior husbands were actually humans, but they seemed to have adopted to the Rigelian way of life rather nicely.
B’Atha, the senior wife of the clan, was a short, stocky and rather grumpy Rigelian woman - no outsider would have guessed an artist in her. She and a human male, whom everyone just called Ozzie, had founded the clan some five years earlier. Ishul hadn’t met this ‘Ozzie’ yet, but understood from what he’d heard that the man was a Starfleet officer, and thus rarely at home.
As the clan was a relatively new one, they hadn’t reached yet the ideal number of ten husbands and ten wives, as advised in the Doctrine of Lollo, but they didn’t seem to worry about it. Apparently, both B’Atha and her co-wife, the shrew-faced, pointy-nosed, good-natured Sealon, were agnostics, and the other members of the family weren’t Rigelians anyway. They just took advantage of the institution of clan marriage to give their children a solid family background.
From the three male spouses only Balan Jashin lived here permanently: a rotund human engineer with curly blond hair and a ruddy face. He was a very calm and pleasant person - and, as Ishul figured out, a good conversationalist, once one managed to lure him out of his shell with some topic of his interest. The clan had only two children so far, Tessa and Jorik, both very young, and everyone seemed to accept Ishul’s presence with a shrug.
“We often put up people Ozzie’s comrades bring to us,” B’Atha explained, while she and Sealon were busy with cutting Ishul’s hair short, making it curly and bleaching it ash blond, in order to change his looks and avoid him being recognized by the wrong person. “In fact, we are part of Starfleet’s unofficial refuge project. People stay with us until they are out of danger or find a better hiding place. Some even chose to marry into the family, after a while,” she added with an unexpected grin.
Ishul looked at Sealon, but she shook her head. “Nah, not me. I came because I fell in love with Ozzie. But don’t worry, we’d never force anyone to marry us.”
Both women giggled, and remembering the hilarious situation, Ishul - now a short-haired, curly blond with artificially coloured azure blue eyes - smiled at the memory. He had only been here for a few days, but he liked this place already. The family accepted his voluntary help in the household, and in exchange they let him use their vast library of vids and data chips. Barely been taught anything else but the Doctrine of Lollo in his childhood, Ishul was about to discover what a pleasure knowledge could be.
He still missed Mondral very much, but he knew he could not risk contacting him. As long as the year of separation - which had barely begun - wasn’t over, he was in great danger. His spouses were powerful and ruthless. Had they managed to find him, he’d pay a horrible price for his rebellion.
But this was a good place to hide and wait. And with all the new things he could see, do and learn, perhaps the year of waiting wouldn’t be that long.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
In Thorev’s Cantina, half of the Andorian personnel were packing their Starfleet-issue bags as well. Thorev himself, an elderly male, watched them sadly. He had become used to so much competent help in his little establishment and was not looking forward to do most of the work alone again.
“Are you sure you don’t want to change your mind?” he asked his favourite. “You are a fertile female, you’ll have to found a family and have offspring one day. This is a good place, it brings in honest money.”
Ensign Lamia Ar’rhaniach wiggled her antennae in apology.
“Forgive me, honourable Thorev, that I can’t accept your generous offer,” she said politely. “I’m a Starfleet officer, and I have my orders. But I’ll come back to visit you when I can.”
“I could adopt you, if that is what you need,” Thorev offered. “It’s not the same as being accepted by a swarm-mother, I’m just an old male without a family, but as my adopted daughter, you at least wouldn’t be an outcast any longer. It would heighten your chances to find a proper mating group.”
“That’s very sweet of you,” Lamia replied, truly touched. “And perhaps I’ll accept your offer in due time. Right now, I have to return to Earth, though. I’m scheduled to join advanced security training in Annapolis.”
“Just don’t take too long,” Thorev warned. “I’m old and not very healthy.”
Lamia smiled at the saddened old male fondly. She’d never experienced so much kindness from anyone, since the swarm-mother - the tirja - exiled her for wanting a career of her own, instead of marrying and breeding busily, as it was expected from a fertile female. It would have been grossly ungrateful to reject Thorev, now that she was about to move on.
“I’ll visit you, after my training is complete,” she promised. “We’ll discuss everything in a proper manner then, with the necessary witnesses. May the songs of the home seas send you pleasant dreams.”
Thorev replied with another traditional blessing, happy that he might have acquired a daughter for his old days - which also meant someone who’d take care of him when he couldn’t do it alone any longer - and Lamia darted off to catch the Starfleet transport vessel back to Earth. Several other Andorians jogged after her.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
At about the same time, back on Earth, Commodore Drake Reed had arrived to the headquarters of Starfleet Security, in Annapolis, and was about to enter the office of his immediate superior, Admiral Benei. In the foyer he was greeted by the admiral’s secretary - a civilian Vulcan woman by the name of T’Rya. She was a Vulcan one rarely saw: not only blonde and blue-eyed, but due to a rare hormonal condition also massively overweight. The latter fact made her unfit for a career in Starfleet - thus she had made a logical choice and became a civilian employee of the same organization.
She spoke eight languages, had several degrees in computer sciences and other archiving techniques, an eidetic memory and very pleasant, yet reserved manners. Consequently, she was considered a true jewel not only by Admiral Benei but by many other members of Starfleet Command, who’d have loved to lure her away from Annapolis. But like all Vulcans, T’Rya was absolutely loyal - and not interested in a change of jobs.
“Commodore,” she greeted Drake Reed with a neutral nod. “The Admiral is waiting for you.”
As the black-clad Intelligence officer thanked her and entered the admiral’s office, T’Rya rose and walked over to the kitchenette to prepare the admiral’s favourite tea. Commodore Drake Reed was a personal friend of the admiral’s - offering them tea, even for an official meeting, was the proper thing to do.
Admiral Horace Llewell Benei, also known as the sixteenth Earl of Lancashire, was British to his bones, and had great respect for things considered proper. Therefore, it wasn’t surprising that he’d chosen the scion of a family with a long military history as his friend. The Drake Reeds had been naval intelligence officers for four generations, with the commodore and his older son following the noble tradition in Starfleet. Jon had dropped the second surname, though, so that people wouldn’t connect him with his father at once. He wanted to fight his own battles and warn his rank like everyone else.
“The preliminary report on the Daleth IV-mission, Admiral,” Drake Reed said, handing Benei a data chip. “Just the basics, of course. A complete analysis will take months.”
Benei nodded. “Thank you, Commodore.” Then he switched to a more personal tone and added. “I’m sorry about Jon.”
“It was a calculated risk,” Drake Reed shrugged, “but yeah, so am I. It wasn’t how I imagined a family reunion after three years.”
“No, I think not,” Benei said, understanding. “How’s Marie-Soleil taking it?”
“Not well,” Drake Reed shrugged again, “but that’s understandable. She’s a mother. For her Jon will always be a child. We had an… argument when the news came in.”
“Who won?” Benei asked with false joviality.
“No one,” Drake Reed replied bluntly. “I lost, though. Marie-Soleil returned to her project for a while and took Benjamin with her.”
“Again?”
“She says her work helps her to calm down and adapt. And it keeps her from breaking my arm for giving Jon and his unit this mission.”
Benei smiled involuntarily. Marie-Soleil Devereaux, a marine biologist and still a charming Caribbean beauty, despite her age, might seem fragile compared with her 6’4’’, big-boned, intimidating husband, but she could be worse than a drill sergeant when angry. Hearing her curse in French sounded like music, almost, but she had a fey glint in her eyes in those times that could make the strongest man shiver with fear.
“Well, the dolphins won’t argue with her, at least,” the admiral said. “But I thought she’d want to see Jon first.”
“She does, and she will,” Drake Reed replied wryly. “It’s me she doesn’t want to see for a while.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.”
“It’s not the first time, you know. That’s her way to deal with my job. And Jon’s job. Once she worked through the current issue, she’ll return. Or so I hope.”
“Well at least she’s still trying,” Benei sighed. “I wish Genevieve had seen me worth the effort. But we can’t change these things.” He paused, then he returned to the official topic. “I assume Jon comes to Elba II now?”
“Not immediately,” Drake Reed said. “Starfleet Medical wants to make a complete physical on him first, and they want to keep him and watch over his condition for a while.”
“Is that wise? He’ll need therapy, and soon, if what I’ve heard about this new drug is true.”
“It is. But I trust Dr. Piper. He’s one of the most experienced physicians in the entire Fleet. I served with him. He knows what he’s doing,” Drake Reed shrugged. “Besides, as long as Jon is on Earth, it’ll be easier for Marie-Soleil and Benjamin to visit him.”
“And for you,” Benei said quietly. Drake Reed nodded.
“If he wants to see me - which is by no means certain. He’s always been hesitant to show any weakness in my presence.”
“I wonder where that might come from,” Benei commented dryly, remembering their Academy years. “What about the rest of the unit?”
“First they’ll take their accumulated leave,” Drake Reed said. “That’s six months, at the very least. Then they’ll be sent to advanced training, learn to use the newest equipment. They’ve been out of the loop for three years, after all. The rest depends on Jon’s recovery speed. But I think I’ll have to give them assignments without him for a while. Commander Haiduk is perfectly capable of leading the unit in Jon’s absence.”
“But would she be willing to step back again, once Jon’s back?” Benei asked. “She’s one ambitious woman - and we should support her ambitions. She deserves it.”
“We can always give her a unit of her own,” Drake Reed said, “although she’s best when she doesn’t need to bother with all the daily decisions and can concentrate on the actual work. Or she can be transferred to the engineering section, to work on the new designs; she’s a brilliant engineer. It will be her decision, in the end.”
T’Rya came in with the tea and the best old china of the Lancashire’s. She placed everything on the small coffee table, and discretely left again. Benei sent a fond smile after her.
“She’s a gem, a true gem.”
“The ideal company for an admiral,” Drake Reed commented cynically. “Works a lot, speaks little, never gets upset, can’t be bribed or intimidated…”
“You can find a Vulcan secretary, too,” Benei said. “I’m sure there are many ambitious young ladies - or young men, speaking of Vulcans - who’d like to work for Starfleet, without becoming and officer themselves.”
“Nah,” Drake Reed said with a nasty grin. “I can’t have a secretary I wouldn’t be able to frighten to death once a week. I have a reputation to keep up, you know.”
And though it was spoken jokingly, the admiral knew there was a great deal of truth behind that joke. Commodore Drake Reed was considered one of the most dangerous people in Starfleet - and not by humans alone. His Andorian secretary lived in constant terror of him, and was probably not the only one.
There must have been a reason why his younger son, Benjamin, adamantly refused to have to do anything at all with Starfleet, and chose to become a marine biologist, just like his mother. Their only daughter, Desiree, went even further, moving to a colony of artists on Rigel VI, although she maintained contact with Marie-Soleil. Families with a generations-old military tradition weren’t always fun to live in. Benei should know it. His own children reacted to it badly enough.
“Give Jon my regards,” he said. “I’d like to visit him, while he’s on Earth, but when you’re not sure he’d want to se you, he’d want to see me even less.”
“Probably,” Drake Reed admitted. “I’ll ask him… he always respected you very much.” He drank his tea and stood. “Well, Admiral, I must go now. I’m up to my ears in the preparations for a new mission, and Admiral Nogura is waiting for my suggestions.”
“A new mission? A sensitive one again, I presume.”
“You can say that,” Drake Reed made a wry face. “I love to visit the Tholian border - but this time, it seems, I’ll have to go personally. For some reason, the Ambassador is willing to tolerate me… to a certain extent.”
“And while you distract the Ambassador, your agents can move into place,” Benei added with a grin.
Drake Reed nodded. “Precisely. I’ll keep you informed. Good day, Admiral.”
With that, he left, leaving a slightly disturbed admiral behind. Movements along the Tholian border were always a tricky thing, and Benei knew he’d have to keep an eye on those events.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
The hégemón of Rigel VIII, the supreme leader of the Orion Oligarchy - and, by default, the head of the Orion Syndicate as well - listened to the latest reports with great dismay. Accidentally, she was a female - a fact unknown even among most other subjects. A fact that would have caused great bewilderment among off-worldlers, as it was commonly (and mistakenly) believed that all Orion women were illiterate breeding machines. She found the ‘pregnant and barefooted’ cliché widely spread among humans particularly amusing - although for the majority of Orion women it was quite matching, of course.
A the moment, however, the hégemón was not amused at all. The spectacular failure of S’Bysh annoyed her to no end. The loss of Daleth Station, so shortly before the takeover was completed, caused a severe setback in the Syndicate’s long-term plans to extend their influence over territories that were either under Federation protectorate or Federation property. Small and insignificant worlds and space stations these might be, but they offered excellent footholds for further expansion.
Now they had lost one of those footholds, before they could have fully established it, and they lost one of the sixty potentates. This could cause severe problems in the function both of the Oligarchy and that of the Syndicate, as the rank and position of a potentate were hereditary. Each of the sixty leading families elected the most able and worthy member as the potentate - not necessarily in the linear way.
The main problem was, in this particular case, that S’Bysh hadn’t nominated his successor yet. For the simple reason that there were no passable candidates in the family. He had some very young nephews and nieces, twice removed, but they weren’t capable of filling in for him - yet.
Which meant that the hégemón had to find a way to keep permanent contact with S’Bysh, so that S’Bysh would be able to maintain family business from prison, wherever he might end up. That, again, was an interesting logistic problem as the most likely chance was the Limbo penal colony on Magna II - not an easy place to sneak in and virtually impossible to sneak out.
“Keep an eye on the trial,” she instructed her First, who happened to be her illegitimate half-sister. Not that it’d mean any advantage. A First was always selected for her abilities, not for her bloodline. “Make sure that we establish permanent - and secured - communications with him. We’ll need him for quite a while yet… although I’d prefer to get rid of him. Apparently, he isn’t as able and shrewd as I thought him to be.”
“Where do you want to switch focus now, that we’ve lost Daleth Station?” her senior business advisor, also invited to this meeting, asked. “We’ll need a seemingly insignificant place where we can prepare our next step carefully. Another setback would be very dangerous for our organization.”
“Show me the possibilities,” the hégemón ordered. His advisor - a first grade cousin, actually - handed her an electronic notepad, and she studied the date carefully for quite some time.
“This one,” she finally said, marking the planet Thimsel. “Our operatives have been working there for several years. Our base of operations has been fully established and armoured, and we have a low-ranking local member who can take over the leading of the colony without raising any suspicions - if we can arrange a convincing ‘accident’ for the current Federation governor.”
Her advisor called up the data concerning the two persons in question, and nodded. “That can be easily arranged.”
“Good,” the hégemón dismissed him with a wave of her small, fleshy hand. “See to it that he gets removed in a believable way. The last thing we need is a Starfleet investigation there. Does this Marouk alFaisal keep the colonists firmly in hand? I don’t want any resistance when he’s elected as the new governor. That could raise too much unwanted attraction.”
There won’t be any difficulties, hégemón,” her advisor assured, on his way out. “Our joy machine works beyond expectations.”
“I hope he’s right,” the hégemón said to her Second, after the senior advisor had left. “The first group of workers from Mu Leonis II is due to arrive within days. We can’t use any trouble from the side of the locals.”
“There won’t be any,” the Second said. “Most of the locals are deliriously happy with their city-building in the middle of the ocean and sing the prise of the government of Mu Leonis II for building it for them. That was a stroke of genius from the Ardanans, anyway. A completely closed society enables the government to extend complete control over the citizens. I wish we could have something like that.”
“I don’t,” the hégemón said. “The same system, that makes complete control over the subjects possible, also makes the leaders vulnerable. I wouldn’t want to be spied upon… or become completely dependant on technology. The absolute loyalty of well-chosen servants is the only thing one can truly count on.”
“It seems to work for the Ardanans in Stratos City,” her Second said respectfully. She nodded.
“Because they are weak. We are not. That’s why, in the end, we won’t only own the rare metal alloy of Thimsel but also the zienite mines of Mu Leonis II… and any other things that are currently Federation property.”
She dismissed the Second, too, and leaned back on her pillows wearily. Leading an organization of the size and complexity of the Syndicate, plus ruling an entire planet, was tiring business. Especially in times like these, when her seclusion got interrupted repeatedly by unexpected events. Like all members of the Orion ruling caste, she greatly disliked dealing with outsiders. Even if they belonged to her family.
“You need to take some time off, my Lady,” her First suggested respectfully.
“I know,” she said, “and I will. Have my bath prepared, and some light dinner… fruits, sweets and wine only. I’m not particularly hungry today.”
“Any company for the night?” the First asked. The hégemón nodded.
“Yes, but I’m too tired to play tonight, so don’t send me any of the boys. I want to be serviced properly before I go to sleep.”
The First thought over the possibilities for a moment. Finding the right bed partner for her lady wasn’t always an easy task. The hégemón was choosy - well, she could afford it, after all.
“We’ve got a young slave from the planet Ligon,” the First said. “Tall, smooth, dark-skinned, well-built and hung like a gnuta bock. I deem he might suffice.”
“Good; I’ll give him a try,” the hégemón took a piece of fruit from a small table on her right and ate it absent-mindedly. “I assume you’ve already told him what to expect, should he displease me?”
“Certainly, my Lady,” the First smiled thinly. “And as proud as his people are of their manliness, he’d be extremely eager to please you.”
“He should, if he wants to keep his pride and joy,” the hégemón said. “But I want a massage after my bath first. Don’t send him in before Tarlik is done with me.”
The First bowed. “As my Lady wishes.”
She left to prepare the hégemón’s bath and arrange a massage and the proper bed companion for the Lady. The hégemón sipped wine in the meantime and plotted the next step in the grand scheme of the Syndicate.
Next chapter
Previous chapter
Back to the index page
Author: Soledad
For disclaimer, rating, etc. see the index page
Chapter 10 - Aftershocks
Author’s notes:
I know that Elba II - as I describe here - doesn’t exactly match the image from the episode “Whom Gods Destroy”. It’s a deliberate thing. I simply didn’t buy the idea of the Federation having penal colonies for the insane. Not to mention ones that could get taken over by the inmates so easily. So, here is my interpretation about the whole thing. You don’t have to agree with it. *g*
The events Haiduk is referring to happened in the episode “Court-Marital”.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Clearing up after the big fight took several days. Barely was the fighting over, a ship of Starfleet Intelligence arrived - no name, just a naval construction number, and more likely a fake one - to take S’Bysh and his… associates into custody and to transport them off-station.
“Were are they being brought?” Thrae asked. As the representative of the local law, he did have the right to know.
“Starbase 11, on Minerva,” Haiduk replied, “since they will most likely end up on Limbo.”
“Limbo?” Thrae repeated with a blank expression that would have made a Vulcan proud. The name apparently said him nothing.
“A penal colony and a dilithium mine on Magna II, a rather life-threatening planet,” Haiduk explained. “Only prisoners with a life sentence are sent there. S’Bysh will never leave that place again.”
“Assuming he gets sentenced to begin with,” Thrae said dryly.
“Oh, trust me, he will,” Haiduk assured him with a shark-like grin. “The Judge Advocate Officer of Starbase 11 is Lieutenant Areel Shaw - one of Starfleet’s best attorneys. That woman has nearly managed to get James T. Kirk sentenced for a crime he didn’t even commit. She’ll break S’Bysh’s neck with one hand strapped to her back.”
“Are you really sure she can do it?” Thrae asked doubtfully.
Haiduk nodded. “I am sure. Don’t worry. It’s not just about Lieutenant Shaw being a damn good attorney - although, as I said, she is. But we’ve been collecting evidence against S’Bysh for years. We’ve got everything documented accordingly. And we have a storeroom full of smuggled kireshet. This time S’Bysh won’t be able to worm himself out of the trap.”
“I hope so,” Thrae said pessimistically. Then he suddenly grinned. “You’ve made a fool of me… all of you. That’s not something that happens too often. You are really good - and not just as an Intelligence agent. We never had a chief technician quite like you.”
“I was an engineer before Starfleet Intelligence hired me,” Haiduk grinned. Then she rose. “Well, Constable, I have to go now. It was a delight to serve with you.”
She waved good-bye and left the security office. There was still so much to be done - ad they couldn’t count on Jon any longer.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Lieutenant Tathar, the leader of the Tellarite unit was waiting for her in her study that had served as temporary headquarters of the last phase of the mission.
“We’ve received new orders, Ma’am,” the Tellarite said. “My unit will be transferred to the Tholian border tomorrow.”
Haiduk nodded. “Good luck, Lieutenant.”
“Thank you, Ma’am,” Tathar saluted and left. Not that a salute would have been necessary; in fact, the custom had been abandoned decades ago. But Tellarites were rather old-fashioned in some things.
Haiduk sighed. She hated this part of her job… of Jon’s job, actually. Under different circumstances, Jon would be dealing with the aftermath, and all she’d have to do would be to write her own report. But now, that Jon was lying in a stasis chamber, waiting to be transported off to Starfleet Medical, he had to take over his tasks as well.
Her comm unit beeped. She switched it on - and looked directly into the eyes of her immediate superior, Commodore Didier Drake Reed - Jon’s father. She stiffened in her seat immediately.
“Commodore… what can I do for you?”
“I got your report,” the Commodore said neutrally. “Good work. As soon as everything’s cleaned up, you’ll return to Annapolis for debriefing… and to take all of your accumulated leave for the last three years. All of you.”
Haiduk closed her eyes. Returning to Earth, followed by an extended leave, sounded wonderful. “Thank you, sir.”
“You’ve earned it,” the Commodore smiled briefly, then he became serious again. “However, I do have the nagging feeling, Commander, that you haven’t told me everything.”
“My report was very detailed, sir,” Haiduk could hear the defensive tone in her own voice and suppressed a groan. If Drake Reed hadn’t been suspicious before…
“As far as the mission itself is considered, it was,” the Commodore agreed. “But not about what really happened to your commanding officer.”
“Everything of importance is noted in my report, sir,” Haiduk said evenly. “I’m sure that Jon… Commander Drake will tell you the other details if he thinks it’s necessary.”
“That’s not good enough, Commander,” Drake Reed said sternly. “There obviously are things that you do know - and other members of your unit possibly too - but I don’t. That’s not acceptable. I need to be informed about everything. And if you are incapable of providing necessary information, I’ll find someone who is more… cooperative.”
Haiduk stood the piercing stare of those dark eyes without a blink. “By all due respect, sir, I very much doubt that.”
Drake Reed shook his head in reluctant amusement.
“Why is it that every time an officer is about to become disrespectful, he or she starts the sentence ‘With all due respect?’” he mused. “Very well, Commander. Have your way… for the time being. But this isn’t over yet. We’ll continue this discussion in person. Annapolis out.”
Haiduk terminated the connection on her end and gave her stunned ex a wry grin.
“What was that supposed to be?” Aguilar asked.
“That was a concerned father, thinking that showing his concern would be unseeming for a high-ranking Intelligence officer, and so he tried to pull rank to find out the details we chose to keep for us,” Haiduk explained.
Aguilar, not being a Fleet brat, rolled his eyes. “Is that a common thing in military families?” Haiduk’s grin broadened.
“Afraid so. My Dad isn’t any better. Luckily for me, he’s just a humble engineer, so when he wants to know something, he has to ask nicely.”
“Well, in that case, I’m almost glad that we don’t have children,” Aguilar said. “The poor kids would have a miserable life, with two Starfleet officers in their family.”
“You’re probably right,” Haiduk patted his arm affectionately. She didn’t think that Ben could have ever behaved like the Commodore or her own father, but saying so might not have been a good idea. “Are Jon’s transfer papers ready?”
“Yes. He’ll be sent directly to Starfleet Medical, and afterwards to Elba II, for rehabilitation. The doctors say it’ll take at least two years to cure him completely. Probably even longer. This new sort of kireshet is an unknown factor for them.”
“Two years on Elba II?” Haiduk shuddered. “Couldn’t they have done better than that?”
“I don’t think so,” Aguilar replied grimly. “Elena, you know as well as I do that Elba II isn’t really the asylum for the criminally insane most people think it to be. There are more of our kind than in any other rehab hospital. And, what’s more important, they can continue their work there. Between therapeutic sessions, those two years will be barely enough for Jon to analyze all the data we’ve collected about the Orion Syndicate - and to work out the plans for our next mission. He won’t be shut away!”
“I know,” Haiduk sighed, “but the thought of Jon caged there, isolated, makes me uncomfortable.”
“We’ll be allowed to visit, after the first phase of rehab is completed,” Aguilar reminded her, “and we’ll be allowed to send subspace messages any time we want. Besides, Miguel is going with him… for a while anyway.”
“Are his senses out of control?” Haiduk asked worriedly. Aguilar shrugged.
“Not yet… but he’s close to sensory overload. He decided to spend some time in a Vulcan monastery while Jon is at Starfleet Medical, which could take weeks, and then accompany him on Elba II. He needs additional training to be able to deal with his senses again. The headaches are killing him.”
“I’ve been worried about Miguel for a while by now,” Haiduk admitted. “A break will do him good… will do all of us good. What are your plans, by the way?”
A huge grin practically split Aguilar’s face in two. “Surfing season starts at home in two weeks’ time. I haven’t seen a surfboard for what? Four years? I won’t leave the water until I grow gills and scales like a fish. What about you?”
“I’m going to visit my Dad at the Utopia Planitia shipyards,” Haiduk became positively misty-eyed by the mere thought of it. “Refresh my engineering knowledge. Take a good, hard look of the new ship designs. That sort of thing.”
Aguilar raised an eyebrow. “All work and no play? You’re a freak, Haiduk.”
“I’m not the one who wants to grow gills,” Haiduk pointed out. “If one of us is a freak of nature, it’s you.”
They were both still laughing when a big, enraged Rigelian stormed in, grabbed Aguilar by the throat and slammed him against the bulkhead.
“Where is he?” Mondral demanded. “What have you done with him?”
Aguilar was in no shape to answer, and the agitated ‘champion’ probably would have broken his neck, had Haiduk not interfered. She grabbed Mondral’s arm with bruising force (growing up on a high-gravity planet came handy in such situations) and wrenched him away from his prey. Then, still holding Mondral in an iron grip, she looked at Aguilar in suspicion.
“Care to explain me this, Ben?”
Aguilar rubbed his abused throat and grimaced. “He’s looking for Madame Vithra’s kid hubby, I guess.”
“Ishul is not a child,” Mondral growled. “He’s an adult, and he’s very important for the clan. I entrusted his safety to you - where is he?”
“I took him where he wanted to be taken,” Aguilar replied enigmatically.
“He’s not at home,” Mondral said. “Spaceport records affirmed his arrival on the homeworld, but he can’t be found anywhere.”
“Of course not,” Aguilar shrugged. “That was not where he wanted to go.”
“And where is he then?” Mondral demanded. “The family must find him, before news of his disappearance become widely known.”
“I’m afraid I can’t tell you,” Aguilar said. “He doesn’t want to be found. Not before the year of separation is over.”
To Haiduk’s surprise, the Rigelian suddenly relaxed. “I see.”
“But I don’t,” Haiduk said warningly. “Ben…?”
“Rigelian marital law is a bit… complicated,” Aguilar explained. “Theoretically, divorce is possible, assuming that the spouse in question hasn’t had intercourse with any of his or her spouses for a full year. But since junior spouses don’t have the right to refuse their senior partners, they practically can’t leave the clan in the first couple of decades. If they try to run away, the senior spouses are entitled to hunt them down and bring them home by force.”
Haiduk felt nauseous. “How… barbaric.”
“Not entirely,” Mondral said. “Originally, the law was created to ensure the junior spouses’ safety, so that the seniors can’t send them away at a whim. And to avoid them being abducted and sold to prostitution by an enemy clan. Today, this is a right the clans rarely execute anyway. But in Ishul’s case, they would. They don’t care for him, personally, but he’s an important pawn for the clan, due to his family ties to a famous numerologist. They’d do anything to bring him back - and he’d be severely punished for tying to run away.”
“In this case I’m surprised that you’re not trying to get more information out of Lieutenant Aguilar,” Haiduk said. “Is it not your duty to defend Madame Vithra’s interests?”
“Usually, it is,” Mondral replied calmly. “But in this particular case, I have my own interests to defend.” He bowed towards Aguilar slightly. “I never met you,” he added then, and left.
Haiduk stared after him, wide-eyed. “Ben, does this mean what I think it means?”
“I think it is,” Aguilar grinned. “The Rigelian version of Romeo and Juliet… only that in this case Juliet is a guy, too.”
“And you are Fra Lorenzo,” Haiduk added. “Well, it’s not our concern. I wish them good luck… they’ll need it. Let’s see now what else has to be done.”
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Having spent almost his entire life on his rural homeworld, Ishul found Alicante Nuova absolutely fascinating. The city lay in the northern moderate zone, on the coast of the deep blue western ocean, encircled by evergreen woods. People lived here in airy mansions, which stood in large gardens, adorned with abstract sculptures and other pieces of highly original artwork, and while the main population originated from Earth or other human colonies, there were large groups of Rigelians, Vulcans and even Deltans. The latter made twelve per cent of the entire population and were mainly responsible for the architecture and art, which gave the city a decidedly exotic touch.
The garden in which Ishul was standing now belonged to a not very elegant but rather large mansion, built in traditional Rigelian style. It lay in one of the living areas on the outskirts of the city. The front of the house was decorated with Rigelian clan symbols, although the clan that lived in it was a mixed one, containing members of various races. Two of the senior husbands were actually humans, but they seemed to have adopted to the Rigelian way of life rather nicely.
B’Atha, the senior wife of the clan, was a short, stocky and rather grumpy Rigelian woman - no outsider would have guessed an artist in her. She and a human male, whom everyone just called Ozzie, had founded the clan some five years earlier. Ishul hadn’t met this ‘Ozzie’ yet, but understood from what he’d heard that the man was a Starfleet officer, and thus rarely at home.
As the clan was a relatively new one, they hadn’t reached yet the ideal number of ten husbands and ten wives, as advised in the Doctrine of Lollo, but they didn’t seem to worry about it. Apparently, both B’Atha and her co-wife, the shrew-faced, pointy-nosed, good-natured Sealon, were agnostics, and the other members of the family weren’t Rigelians anyway. They just took advantage of the institution of clan marriage to give their children a solid family background.
From the three male spouses only Balan Jashin lived here permanently: a rotund human engineer with curly blond hair and a ruddy face. He was a very calm and pleasant person - and, as Ishul figured out, a good conversationalist, once one managed to lure him out of his shell with some topic of his interest. The clan had only two children so far, Tessa and Jorik, both very young, and everyone seemed to accept Ishul’s presence with a shrug.
“We often put up people Ozzie’s comrades bring to us,” B’Atha explained, while she and Sealon were busy with cutting Ishul’s hair short, making it curly and bleaching it ash blond, in order to change his looks and avoid him being recognized by the wrong person. “In fact, we are part of Starfleet’s unofficial refuge project. People stay with us until they are out of danger or find a better hiding place. Some even chose to marry into the family, after a while,” she added with an unexpected grin.
Ishul looked at Sealon, but she shook her head. “Nah, not me. I came because I fell in love with Ozzie. But don’t worry, we’d never force anyone to marry us.”
Both women giggled, and remembering the hilarious situation, Ishul - now a short-haired, curly blond with artificially coloured azure blue eyes - smiled at the memory. He had only been here for a few days, but he liked this place already. The family accepted his voluntary help in the household, and in exchange they let him use their vast library of vids and data chips. Barely been taught anything else but the Doctrine of Lollo in his childhood, Ishul was about to discover what a pleasure knowledge could be.
He still missed Mondral very much, but he knew he could not risk contacting him. As long as the year of separation - which had barely begun - wasn’t over, he was in great danger. His spouses were powerful and ruthless. Had they managed to find him, he’d pay a horrible price for his rebellion.
But this was a good place to hide and wait. And with all the new things he could see, do and learn, perhaps the year of waiting wouldn’t be that long.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
In Thorev’s Cantina, half of the Andorian personnel were packing their Starfleet-issue bags as well. Thorev himself, an elderly male, watched them sadly. He had become used to so much competent help in his little establishment and was not looking forward to do most of the work alone again.
“Are you sure you don’t want to change your mind?” he asked his favourite. “You are a fertile female, you’ll have to found a family and have offspring one day. This is a good place, it brings in honest money.”
Ensign Lamia Ar’rhaniach wiggled her antennae in apology.
“Forgive me, honourable Thorev, that I can’t accept your generous offer,” she said politely. “I’m a Starfleet officer, and I have my orders. But I’ll come back to visit you when I can.”
“I could adopt you, if that is what you need,” Thorev offered. “It’s not the same as being accepted by a swarm-mother, I’m just an old male without a family, but as my adopted daughter, you at least wouldn’t be an outcast any longer. It would heighten your chances to find a proper mating group.”
“That’s very sweet of you,” Lamia replied, truly touched. “And perhaps I’ll accept your offer in due time. Right now, I have to return to Earth, though. I’m scheduled to join advanced security training in Annapolis.”
“Just don’t take too long,” Thorev warned. “I’m old and not very healthy.”
Lamia smiled at the saddened old male fondly. She’d never experienced so much kindness from anyone, since the swarm-mother - the tirja - exiled her for wanting a career of her own, instead of marrying and breeding busily, as it was expected from a fertile female. It would have been grossly ungrateful to reject Thorev, now that she was about to move on.
“I’ll visit you, after my training is complete,” she promised. “We’ll discuss everything in a proper manner then, with the necessary witnesses. May the songs of the home seas send you pleasant dreams.”
Thorev replied with another traditional blessing, happy that he might have acquired a daughter for his old days - which also meant someone who’d take care of him when he couldn’t do it alone any longer - and Lamia darted off to catch the Starfleet transport vessel back to Earth. Several other Andorians jogged after her.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
At about the same time, back on Earth, Commodore Drake Reed had arrived to the headquarters of Starfleet Security, in Annapolis, and was about to enter the office of his immediate superior, Admiral Benei. In the foyer he was greeted by the admiral’s secretary - a civilian Vulcan woman by the name of T’Rya. She was a Vulcan one rarely saw: not only blonde and blue-eyed, but due to a rare hormonal condition also massively overweight. The latter fact made her unfit for a career in Starfleet - thus she had made a logical choice and became a civilian employee of the same organization.
She spoke eight languages, had several degrees in computer sciences and other archiving techniques, an eidetic memory and very pleasant, yet reserved manners. Consequently, she was considered a true jewel not only by Admiral Benei but by many other members of Starfleet Command, who’d have loved to lure her away from Annapolis. But like all Vulcans, T’Rya was absolutely loyal - and not interested in a change of jobs.
“Commodore,” she greeted Drake Reed with a neutral nod. “The Admiral is waiting for you.”
As the black-clad Intelligence officer thanked her and entered the admiral’s office, T’Rya rose and walked over to the kitchenette to prepare the admiral’s favourite tea. Commodore Drake Reed was a personal friend of the admiral’s - offering them tea, even for an official meeting, was the proper thing to do.
Admiral Horace Llewell Benei, also known as the sixteenth Earl of Lancashire, was British to his bones, and had great respect for things considered proper. Therefore, it wasn’t surprising that he’d chosen the scion of a family with a long military history as his friend. The Drake Reeds had been naval intelligence officers for four generations, with the commodore and his older son following the noble tradition in Starfleet. Jon had dropped the second surname, though, so that people wouldn’t connect him with his father at once. He wanted to fight his own battles and warn his rank like everyone else.
“The preliminary report on the Daleth IV-mission, Admiral,” Drake Reed said, handing Benei a data chip. “Just the basics, of course. A complete analysis will take months.”
Benei nodded. “Thank you, Commodore.” Then he switched to a more personal tone and added. “I’m sorry about Jon.”
“It was a calculated risk,” Drake Reed shrugged, “but yeah, so am I. It wasn’t how I imagined a family reunion after three years.”
“No, I think not,” Benei said, understanding. “How’s Marie-Soleil taking it?”
“Not well,” Drake Reed shrugged again, “but that’s understandable. She’s a mother. For her Jon will always be a child. We had an… argument when the news came in.”
“Who won?” Benei asked with false joviality.
“No one,” Drake Reed replied bluntly. “I lost, though. Marie-Soleil returned to her project for a while and took Benjamin with her.”
“Again?”
“She says her work helps her to calm down and adapt. And it keeps her from breaking my arm for giving Jon and his unit this mission.”
Benei smiled involuntarily. Marie-Soleil Devereaux, a marine biologist and still a charming Caribbean beauty, despite her age, might seem fragile compared with her 6’4’’, big-boned, intimidating husband, but she could be worse than a drill sergeant when angry. Hearing her curse in French sounded like music, almost, but she had a fey glint in her eyes in those times that could make the strongest man shiver with fear.
“Well, the dolphins won’t argue with her, at least,” the admiral said. “But I thought she’d want to see Jon first.”
“She does, and she will,” Drake Reed replied wryly. “It’s me she doesn’t want to see for a while.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.”
“It’s not the first time, you know. That’s her way to deal with my job. And Jon’s job. Once she worked through the current issue, she’ll return. Or so I hope.”
“Well at least she’s still trying,” Benei sighed. “I wish Genevieve had seen me worth the effort. But we can’t change these things.” He paused, then he returned to the official topic. “I assume Jon comes to Elba II now?”
“Not immediately,” Drake Reed said. “Starfleet Medical wants to make a complete physical on him first, and they want to keep him and watch over his condition for a while.”
“Is that wise? He’ll need therapy, and soon, if what I’ve heard about this new drug is true.”
“It is. But I trust Dr. Piper. He’s one of the most experienced physicians in the entire Fleet. I served with him. He knows what he’s doing,” Drake Reed shrugged. “Besides, as long as Jon is on Earth, it’ll be easier for Marie-Soleil and Benjamin to visit him.”
“And for you,” Benei said quietly. Drake Reed nodded.
“If he wants to see me - which is by no means certain. He’s always been hesitant to show any weakness in my presence.”
“I wonder where that might come from,” Benei commented dryly, remembering their Academy years. “What about the rest of the unit?”
“First they’ll take their accumulated leave,” Drake Reed said. “That’s six months, at the very least. Then they’ll be sent to advanced training, learn to use the newest equipment. They’ve been out of the loop for three years, after all. The rest depends on Jon’s recovery speed. But I think I’ll have to give them assignments without him for a while. Commander Haiduk is perfectly capable of leading the unit in Jon’s absence.”
“But would she be willing to step back again, once Jon’s back?” Benei asked. “She’s one ambitious woman - and we should support her ambitions. She deserves it.”
“We can always give her a unit of her own,” Drake Reed said, “although she’s best when she doesn’t need to bother with all the daily decisions and can concentrate on the actual work. Or she can be transferred to the engineering section, to work on the new designs; she’s a brilliant engineer. It will be her decision, in the end.”
T’Rya came in with the tea and the best old china of the Lancashire’s. She placed everything on the small coffee table, and discretely left again. Benei sent a fond smile after her.
“She’s a gem, a true gem.”
“The ideal company for an admiral,” Drake Reed commented cynically. “Works a lot, speaks little, never gets upset, can’t be bribed or intimidated…”
“You can find a Vulcan secretary, too,” Benei said. “I’m sure there are many ambitious young ladies - or young men, speaking of Vulcans - who’d like to work for Starfleet, without becoming and officer themselves.”
“Nah,” Drake Reed said with a nasty grin. “I can’t have a secretary I wouldn’t be able to frighten to death once a week. I have a reputation to keep up, you know.”
And though it was spoken jokingly, the admiral knew there was a great deal of truth behind that joke. Commodore Drake Reed was considered one of the most dangerous people in Starfleet - and not by humans alone. His Andorian secretary lived in constant terror of him, and was probably not the only one.
There must have been a reason why his younger son, Benjamin, adamantly refused to have to do anything at all with Starfleet, and chose to become a marine biologist, just like his mother. Their only daughter, Desiree, went even further, moving to a colony of artists on Rigel VI, although she maintained contact with Marie-Soleil. Families with a generations-old military tradition weren’t always fun to live in. Benei should know it. His own children reacted to it badly enough.
“Give Jon my regards,” he said. “I’d like to visit him, while he’s on Earth, but when you’re not sure he’d want to se you, he’d want to see me even less.”
“Probably,” Drake Reed admitted. “I’ll ask him… he always respected you very much.” He drank his tea and stood. “Well, Admiral, I must go now. I’m up to my ears in the preparations for a new mission, and Admiral Nogura is waiting for my suggestions.”
“A new mission? A sensitive one again, I presume.”
“You can say that,” Drake Reed made a wry face. “I love to visit the Tholian border - but this time, it seems, I’ll have to go personally. For some reason, the Ambassador is willing to tolerate me… to a certain extent.”
“And while you distract the Ambassador, your agents can move into place,” Benei added with a grin.
Drake Reed nodded. “Precisely. I’ll keep you informed. Good day, Admiral.”
With that, he left, leaving a slightly disturbed admiral behind. Movements along the Tholian border were always a tricky thing, and Benei knew he’d have to keep an eye on those events.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
The hégemón of Rigel VIII, the supreme leader of the Orion Oligarchy - and, by default, the head of the Orion Syndicate as well - listened to the latest reports with great dismay. Accidentally, she was a female - a fact unknown even among most other subjects. A fact that would have caused great bewilderment among off-worldlers, as it was commonly (and mistakenly) believed that all Orion women were illiterate breeding machines. She found the ‘pregnant and barefooted’ cliché widely spread among humans particularly amusing - although for the majority of Orion women it was quite matching, of course.
A the moment, however, the hégemón was not amused at all. The spectacular failure of S’Bysh annoyed her to no end. The loss of Daleth Station, so shortly before the takeover was completed, caused a severe setback in the Syndicate’s long-term plans to extend their influence over territories that were either under Federation protectorate or Federation property. Small and insignificant worlds and space stations these might be, but they offered excellent footholds for further expansion.
Now they had lost one of those footholds, before they could have fully established it, and they lost one of the sixty potentates. This could cause severe problems in the function both of the Oligarchy and that of the Syndicate, as the rank and position of a potentate were hereditary. Each of the sixty leading families elected the most able and worthy member as the potentate - not necessarily in the linear way.
The main problem was, in this particular case, that S’Bysh hadn’t nominated his successor yet. For the simple reason that there were no passable candidates in the family. He had some very young nephews and nieces, twice removed, but they weren’t capable of filling in for him - yet.
Which meant that the hégemón had to find a way to keep permanent contact with S’Bysh, so that S’Bysh would be able to maintain family business from prison, wherever he might end up. That, again, was an interesting logistic problem as the most likely chance was the Limbo penal colony on Magna II - not an easy place to sneak in and virtually impossible to sneak out.
“Keep an eye on the trial,” she instructed her First, who happened to be her illegitimate half-sister. Not that it’d mean any advantage. A First was always selected for her abilities, not for her bloodline. “Make sure that we establish permanent - and secured - communications with him. We’ll need him for quite a while yet… although I’d prefer to get rid of him. Apparently, he isn’t as able and shrewd as I thought him to be.”
“Where do you want to switch focus now, that we’ve lost Daleth Station?” her senior business advisor, also invited to this meeting, asked. “We’ll need a seemingly insignificant place where we can prepare our next step carefully. Another setback would be very dangerous for our organization.”
“Show me the possibilities,” the hégemón ordered. His advisor - a first grade cousin, actually - handed her an electronic notepad, and she studied the date carefully for quite some time.
“This one,” she finally said, marking the planet Thimsel. “Our operatives have been working there for several years. Our base of operations has been fully established and armoured, and we have a low-ranking local member who can take over the leading of the colony without raising any suspicions - if we can arrange a convincing ‘accident’ for the current Federation governor.”
Her advisor called up the data concerning the two persons in question, and nodded. “That can be easily arranged.”
“Good,” the hégemón dismissed him with a wave of her small, fleshy hand. “See to it that he gets removed in a believable way. The last thing we need is a Starfleet investigation there. Does this Marouk alFaisal keep the colonists firmly in hand? I don’t want any resistance when he’s elected as the new governor. That could raise too much unwanted attraction.”
There won’t be any difficulties, hégemón,” her advisor assured, on his way out. “Our joy machine works beyond expectations.”
“I hope he’s right,” the hégemón said to her Second, after the senior advisor had left. “The first group of workers from Mu Leonis II is due to arrive within days. We can’t use any trouble from the side of the locals.”
“There won’t be any,” the Second said. “Most of the locals are deliriously happy with their city-building in the middle of the ocean and sing the prise of the government of Mu Leonis II for building it for them. That was a stroke of genius from the Ardanans, anyway. A completely closed society enables the government to extend complete control over the citizens. I wish we could have something like that.”
“I don’t,” the hégemón said. “The same system, that makes complete control over the subjects possible, also makes the leaders vulnerable. I wouldn’t want to be spied upon… or become completely dependant on technology. The absolute loyalty of well-chosen servants is the only thing one can truly count on.”
“It seems to work for the Ardanans in Stratos City,” her Second said respectfully. She nodded.
“Because they are weak. We are not. That’s why, in the end, we won’t only own the rare metal alloy of Thimsel but also the zienite mines of Mu Leonis II… and any other things that are currently Federation property.”
She dismissed the Second, too, and leaned back on her pillows wearily. Leading an organization of the size and complexity of the Syndicate, plus ruling an entire planet, was tiring business. Especially in times like these, when her seclusion got interrupted repeatedly by unexpected events. Like all members of the Orion ruling caste, she greatly disliked dealing with outsiders. Even if they belonged to her family.
“You need to take some time off, my Lady,” her First suggested respectfully.
“I know,” she said, “and I will. Have my bath prepared, and some light dinner… fruits, sweets and wine only. I’m not particularly hungry today.”
“Any company for the night?” the First asked. The hégemón nodded.
“Yes, but I’m too tired to play tonight, so don’t send me any of the boys. I want to be serviced properly before I go to sleep.”
The First thought over the possibilities for a moment. Finding the right bed partner for her lady wasn’t always an easy task. The hégemón was choosy - well, she could afford it, after all.
“We’ve got a young slave from the planet Ligon,” the First said. “Tall, smooth, dark-skinned, well-built and hung like a gnuta bock. I deem he might suffice.”
“Good; I’ll give him a try,” the hégemón took a piece of fruit from a small table on her right and ate it absent-mindedly. “I assume you’ve already told him what to expect, should he displease me?”
“Certainly, my Lady,” the First smiled thinly. “And as proud as his people are of their manliness, he’d be extremely eager to please you.”
“He should, if he wants to keep his pride and joy,” the hégemón said. “But I want a massage after my bath first. Don’t send him in before Tarlik is done with me.”
The First bowed. “As my Lady wishes.”
She left to prepare the hégemón’s bath and arrange a massage and the proper bed companion for the Lady. The hégemón sipped wine in the meantime and plotted the next step in the grand scheme of the Syndicate.
Next chapter
Previous chapter
Back to the index page