Surefoot 28: Dead Man's Hand

In her Embed, T'Varik's voice asked, "Your assessment, Black?"

C'Rash willed her anxious tail from smacking the roof of the duct. The exographic sensor let her peer through the walls to the ceramic interior of the Vault, as the triselenide mist pumped into it swirled lazily around, like a school of tiny sea creatures slowly driving themselves insane inside an aquarium far too small for them.

"Leaving out profanity?"

"Preferably."

"Then I have nothing to say."

"I must insist on a more professional response, Black."

"Oh, okay." She breathed in before continuing. "White's data on the security specifications doesn't do justice to seeing it all together. Multiphasic antitransporter shielding completely surrounds the Vault, as does a metre of duranium. The interior is filled with a mist that will turn me into tasty Caitian pâté, and the floor contains weight-sensitive gravitic traps that will instantly quintuple the local gravity and shatter my bones under my own weight."

"The duonetic pulse will disable the shielding if not the gravitic trap," T'Varik reminded her. "And your personal transporter unit should provide sufficient power to allow you to beam in and out. The mist will remain, however, necessitating the use of your Life Support Belt, and the tractor clamps for your hands and feet will keep you off the floor."

C'Rash glanced down at the wide belt strapped around her waist. "You really expect me to put my life in the proverbial hands of an experimental piece of century-old technology?"

"The Life Support Belt you are wearing is not in itself that old, but admittedly the principle behind it is; prototypes were tested by the USS Enterprise between 2269 and 2270. It will generate a force field that will provide protection and atmosphere for a limited period."

"And tell me again why we haven't been using them all this time?"

"The final assessment from the Science Officer and Chief Engineer of the Enterprise was that standard environmental suits provided protection for a significantly longer period of time than the belts, and that suits offered a longer window of opportunity for escape or rescue in the event of suit breach or systems failure, whereas an immediate death was more likely in the event of a failure with the belts."

"Oh. Wonderful. Why don't I just get a suit on instead?"

"An environmental suit would offer only slightly greater protection from the triselenide mist than the belt, and much less flexibility. Also, you will need to use your force field to protect the Orb once you open the storage container and expose it to the mist."

"While also keeping off the ground until I'm ready to beam out, and hope that I get out with what we're after before the gravitic traps crush me to death, or the force field fails and I'm shredded into a billion tiny sexy pieces, or whatever else might kill me."

After an unusual pause, T'Varik finally responded. "Black, I will not ask anyone to do anything on this mission if they believe there is a substantial possibility of death or injury to themselves. Our standing orders only ask us to take reasonable risks to obtain any Orbs... and I would consider putting you in jeopardy to be very unreasonable."

C'Rash lay there, smiling. "No. I'll be okay, I'm just shaking off nervous energy, but thanks for the offer anyway. I love you, Green."

"That is not an appropriate announcement at this time, Black." After a pause the Vulcan added, "It is not unreciprocated, however. Stand by. Green, out."

*

Captain DaSilva stood in the doorway to Engineering, jaw dropped as he took in the sight of Sasha and Weynik, though he focused on the latter, obviously recognised from the Pleasure Palace. "You! The Pimp!"

Weynik launched himself at the human, striking out at his kneecap, the man crying out as Weynik sent him to one side before flipping the man over Weynik's shoulder and striking the nerve clusters near his neck, stopping to peer outside.

Sasha listened to sounds down the hallway. "Two more coming- no, three, male, heavy-"

"Stay back," he ordered. "I'll deal with them." He raced out, focusing on the figures moving towards him, obviously attracted to the noise -- but then speeding up at the approach of the Roylan.

Weynik dodged a clumsy attempt by one to grab him, reaching back and twisting the man's arm and striking his throat, before ducking around the second, punching him in the groin even as he moved to the third -- but couldn't avoid the third delivering a sucker punch. The first one returned and tackled him into the nearest wall-

But then their attention was drawn to Sasha, who leapt into the fray, her Caitian K'Gressor martial arts moves throwing off the Corsaire crewmen and giving Weynik a chance to recover and regain the upper hand, assisting in ending the fight.

The trio of crewmen lay at their feet, Sasha looking to Weynik. "Sorry for disobeying orders, Sir."

He shrugged. "I don't remember any such orders. How did you judge them so well by their sounds?"

"A trick from Dad. It'd be better if I had his ears, of course."

"At least you don't have his belly. Come on, let's find another toilet to lock them up in and get back to work."

*

In the hotel room, Jonas glanced up from his display. "Commander, the recordings are finished and inserted into the appropriate timecodes."

T'Varik never looked up from her PADD. "Good work, Mr Ostrow. Are you still reading the signals from the phaser grenades planted by Ms Nemm?"

"Yes, Ma'am."

She nodded. "You and Ms Nemm continue to monitor the security traffic."

Sitting next to Jonas, Neraxis smiled. "Can we order some more pizzas, Ma'am?"

"No."

"But this is hungry work!"

The Vulcan raised a slight eyebrow. "You have already had three pizzas delivered. You are meant to be a honeymooning couple alone in here."

"Exactly! Scrappy is working up an appetite in me! He's like a wild stallion!"

"Continue monitoring the security traffic, Ms Nemm. Quietly."

Neraxis turned back to her own display, until she acknowledged Jonas glaring at her, his pale skin flushing as he whispered, "Don't tell the Commander I'm like that!"

She chuckled. "But you are, Lt Studmuffin."

"Shut up, or I'll ask you to marry me for real."

The Bolian paused, regarding him soberly. "You shut up... or I'll say Yes."

Now he flushed further, looking away -- to see Kami at the other end of the room, facing the wall viewscreen but now looking over at them and grinning, before rising up and announcing, "The Romulan has left the Tournament, and I believe I have an appointment back at Security... and maybe I should shop for a new dress along the way. You know, just in case I get invited to some formal ceremony in the near future." She laughed as she felt Jonas' glare follow her departure.

*

As a new deck was opened for the final round of hands between Hrelle and Dumont, Zad'ik approached. "Gentlemen, it has been a most entertaining evening, and I am almost sorry to see it end." Then his expression and tone tightened. "Though I have been concerned about the obvious tension between you two. Tension which has been deliberately provoked on both sides."

Dumont leaned back in his chair, eyes fixed on the Caitian opposite him. "It's all part of the Game, Adhar. A little verbal sparring, to shake the resolve of the opponent, to put a crack in their pokerface and reveal the tells. You hosted enough of these Tournaments to have seen such tactics before."

"Yes -- but always between players who are merely professional rivals. Not between two people with an obvious... tempestuous history between them. I'd rather not end this evening in a bloody fight."

"Oh, I'm sure that won't happen," Dumont taunted. "Will it, Captain? All's fair in Love and War, yes?"

"I'm glad you said that, Monsieur," Hrelle growled. "Because what we have here definitely isn't Love. Let's get going."

*

In the Station Security Centre, Naa'len was focused on investigating the assault on the Son'a in his own quarters, when a subordinate approached. "Subadhar, that Caitian who was here earlier has returned-"

Naa'len rose and turned, facing Kami. "I'm sorry Ms Dal, I'm rather busy-"

Kami stood formally, dressed in an equally formal outfit, lacking any flirtatiousness. "My name's not Dal." She produced a gold ID badge shaped like a feline pawprint. "Caitian Security Services. And you're about to get a lot busier."

*

In the Tournament Room, T'Varik's voice reached Hrelle's inner ear. "All units in place, Brown, and ready. I believe 'Good Luck' is an apropos offering."

Hrelle nodded to himself as he reached for his drink, feeling like he was swimming through the thick tension in the air. Dumont had grown silent when it had been pared down to just the two of them. But it wouldn't be long before the bastard started up again-

"Is he walking, Mon Capitaine?"

Hrelle looked up. "Pardon?"

Dumont looked back, smiling affably. "Your son? Misha is his name, isn't it? Is he walking?"

"Yes. Yes, he is."

"Excellent. I'd wondered if he had suffered any ill effects from his encounter with the Vlathi. According to the accounts I'd read, his injuries must have been excruciating. No adult should have to suffer so, let alone a child."

Hrelle tensed, as the glass in his hand was looked near to breaking, "My son is strong. It'll take more than a pack of filthy snakes sent by a coward to finish him off."

Dumont's smile broadened. "Still, it couldn't have been easy for him. Or for you, for that matter, being there, letting him be crushed like that, and doing nothing about it."

Hrelle set down his glass and cards and stared unblinkingly at his opponent, acknowledging how their dealer had stopped as well, keeping still, as if afraid of getting caught in the imminent, inevitable bloodshed. Security staff drew closer.

Dumont matched Hrelle's stare. "What did it sound like?"

"What did what sound like?"

"Your baby's bones, as they broke? What did it sound like? Was it like cracking your knuckles? Was it like stepping on twigs in a walk through a forest? Was it a thundercrack? Or did his screams drown all that out?"

Hrelle stared back, seemingly shaking with rage.

*

In the hotel room, Jonas and Neraxis were packing up their equipment, but now stopped and watched the exchange between Hrelle and Dumont on the viewscreen, Jonas' hands balling into fists. "Son of a bitch..."

"I could kick that asshole out the nearest airlock," Neraxis growled.

"Get in line. I'm glad the Counselor isn't here to hear that bastard."

T'Varik looked to them. "I suggest you focus on your tasks, and be assured that, should this operation succeed, Dumont will not get away with his actions, or words." She activated her Embed. "Green to Brown: we're ready."

*

"Green to Brown: we're ready."

In the Tournament Room, Hrelle kept perfectly still, staring hard at Dumont.

Nearby, Zad'ik drew closer. "Captain, if you require a break-"

"NO!" He flung his drink aside and swept all the chips off the table, creating a multicoloured plastic avalanche. "I'm tired of this crap!"

Dumont smirked -- but still looked rattled. "Are you forfeiting, Mon Capitaine?"

"No, I'm bored and I'm offering you a chance to finish this off, here and now! All our chips in the pot, fresh deck, Orion One Card Draw, Winner Takes All!"

Dumont stared back, pensive... before finally nodding. "Pourqupi pas, Capitaine? However..." He looked to Zad'ik. "I must insist on more guards in our presence, in case our Caitian friend chooses to forget himself. You guaranteed my safety."

Zad'ik grunted. "I could insist that you two continue as per the Regulations... but it has been an entertaining -- and profitable -- evening already." He motioned to his left, towards the men at the end of the corridor leading to the Vault. "One of you will walk away with the Prize anyway momentarily, so their presence down there is no longer required." He waved to the table. "Proceed. And may the luckier man emerge victorious."

The dealer cleared away the old deck, as Hrelle and Dumont stood at opposite poles of the table. Then the dealer broke open a fresh pack and began shuffling, moving quickly -- probably wanting to get away at the first possible opportunity.

The deck was set between them.

The players looked to each other, Hrelle offering, "You first."

Dumont reached across, grasped part of the deck and lifted it up, smiling at the exposed card in his hands. "Ace of Diamonds."

Hrelle reached out now, took part of the remaining deck and lifted it up. "Three of Clubs."

The Frenchman grinned. "Mes condoléances."

The Caitian frowned, setting down his card. "Why, Monsieur? I won."

"What? In what Universe does a Three beat an Ace in One Card Draw?"

"When it's Orion One Card Draw. I was quite specific about what variation of Draw I wanted to play. And in the Orion variation, Ace is always the lowest card, because the letter A closely resembles the Orion pictograph for Slave. I saw enough of them when I was one. Didn't you know of the variation?" He looked to the dealer for confirmation.

The Tarlac paled as he looked at Dumont, and then to Zad'ik, nodding.

Zad'ik spread his arms out, smiling. "Congratulations, Captain Hrelle!"

Dumont turned a ghastly colour as the full realisation sank in. "You... you played me!"

Hrelle smiled. "You ain't seen nothing yet, bubulah..."

*

In the hotel room, T'Varik touched her Embed in her neck. "Green to Red: Begin."

In the Corsaire, Sasha activated the commands. "Pulse activated!"

From the cruiser's warp core, energy travelled out through the docking and refuelling conduits, as the phaser grenades around the station detonated, disabling the surge protectors and shutting down lights and power on one side of the station, including the casino and the surrounding areas.

*

From inside the duct above the Vault, C'Rash switched on the Life Support Belt, feeling the warm spongy energy flow out over her fur and outfit like water, even as she heard an interior voice, not like the transmissions from her Embed, but still unnervingly under her skin: FIELD POWER AT 98%.

She aimed her exographic sensor to peer down through the Vault ceiling, adjusted her equipment harness, and reached for the controls of her personal transporter unit, bracing herself for the jump-

-into the air, her hands and feet shooting out to the nearest wall, the tractors in the clamps allowing her to cling to the ceramic surface...

Except that they didn't. The material proved resistant to the clamps, and she began sliding down the wall to the floor. Frantically she realised that the force field was interfering with the effectiveness of the clamps, and she twisted in place, buying herself precious seconds until she could increase the power on the clamps to compensate.

It worked... when she was just a few centimetres from the floor.

FIELD POWER AT 72%

"I'm in!" She reported, forcing her tail to stay raised and cursed, not expecting such a rapid power drain; no wonder the Belts were consigned to history with the beige pyjama uniforms. She began her ascent to the level of the storage unit that contained the Orb, retrieved her phaser cutter and began cutting through the lock.

FIELD POWER AT 60%

Her muscles ached from the exertion required holding herself in place while also operating the cutter. She imagined the swirls of cutting crystals around her, imagined how they would shred her when her field finally gave up.

FIELD POWER AT 52%

The lock burned away, and she pocketed her cutter and opened the door, spying the Ark within. Some of the mist already began scouring the surface of the Ark as her own movements made the air churn. She readied her other equipment, not knowing if the mist would have an effect on the Orb, but not wanting to take the chance. "Stand by for beam out!"

FIELD POWER AT 48%

She opened the Ark doors, as the Orb's incredible, unignorable light streamed out, touching her, caressing her through her force field, calming her sense of urgency.

Mother's Cubs, it was the most beautiful thing she'd ever seen... she could stare at it for... for hours...

FIELD POWER AT 32%

FIELD POWER AT 28%

FIELD POWER AT 25% SHUTDOWN IMMINENT...

*

There was fear and confusion in the darkened casino, with curses and cries about a possible attack from outside forces. But Dumont was more concerned about an attack closer, much closer to him. Hrelle! Hrelle had somehow caused all this! He'd rigged the game to win, and now he was going to make good on his promise to kill him!

He rose and manoeuvred through the darkness, his mind picturing the route out of the Tournament Room, the casino, and back to his ship.

He never even sensed Hrelle, his enhanced vision unimpaired by the darkness, draw up and slip the Son'a communicator from C'Rash into one of Dumont's jacket pockets.

Until Hrelle leaned in and murmured in his ear, "Run, Stroke-off. Make the Hunt interesting for me."

*

In the hotel room, lit only by their Starfleet torches after the pulse disabled the power, T'Varik started at the Embed transmission. "Black to Green; all done, I'm on the Opal Eye, preparing for Phase Six."

The Vulcan indulged in a luxuriant 1.6 seconds of sheer relief, before responding calmly with, "Acknowledged, Black." She looked to Neraxis and Jonas, confirming they were ready with their equipment. "Green to Red: Collect Blue, White and myself and initiate appropriate evasion."

"Stand by, Green." Sasha replied.

The Vulcan looked to Neraxis and Jonas, who stood close with their equipment, looking relieved that the operation was almost over, but still concerned for those remaining behind for the final gambit.

A concerned T'Varik mirrored.

*

At the Corsaire's Docking Bay, some passers-by caught in the confusion of the blackout stopped and cried out in response to the horrible screeching and grinding of metal from the docking bay door, then panicked and ran as the cruiser's engines powered up, and the ship departed... ripping itself free of the docking clamps.

*

Dumont was halfway through the blacked out casino, shoving aside patrons and staff, certain Hrelle was about to pounce on him from behind, when power was suddenly restored - and he ran into one of Zad'ik's men -- and a female Caitian Dumont quickly recognised. "You! You're his mate!" He looked fearfully to the Son'a. "Protect me! Please! Something is going on!"

Naa'len grunted, grabbing Dumont by the arm. "Yes. We know."

*

The lights returned in the Tournament Room, Hrelle having returned to the table unnoticed, but then glancing around and noting, "Where's Dumont? I was hoping to give him a hug goodbye."

Zad'ik had other things on his mind, as an alarm sounded off from the direction of the docking bays. He looked to a subordinate. "Contact Ops, find out what's happening!" To the guards he barked, "Get back to the Vault, make sure it's still secure!" Now he looked back at Hrelle. "What did you do, Captain?"

Hrelle blinked. "Me? Nothing. I've been here all the time. Weren't you paying attention?"

The subordinate returned. "Adhar, a ship just ripped itself from its docking bay and is fleeing! It's the Corsaire!"

"Dumont's ship?" Zad'ik looked around. "Where did he go?"

Just then Dumont returned, albeit helped along by Naa'len, Kami, C'Rash, Rrori and several Tarlac security guards entered the room, Naa'len looking to Zad'ik. "Check your Prize! Hurry!"