Surefoot 78: Bleeding Edge

He grinned. "Call me Billy."

"Mr Buford, I'm sorry you've made this long trip out here for nothing. We will not be releasing anyone into your custody, and we will not be allowing Zorin Interstellar to take away anything from Ucarro Major II."

"Hmm?" He looked over at Nam-Seon. "Didn't your boss call you before now to tell you what was supposed to happen, Sweetie?"

The human female bristled, but like Zir stayed cool. "My... boss... forwarded your requests, Mr Buford. I denied them."

Hrelle saw the man's expression waver, just a little. "And why would you do that?"

"The potential danger of the Alkemy chemical, the seriousness of the crimes for which your people have been arrested, and the duplicitous nature of Zorin Interstellar in general, make releasing your men and your material back to your company inappropriate."

"Commissioner Nam-Seon has my full support," Hrelle informed him.

"Well, I'll want to see my men, talk to them, make sure they're safe."

Salvo crossed her arms. "They are safe. Much safer than if we handed them over to you, to mysteriously disappear before they reach trial."

Now Buford looked at her, chuckling. "Now, what did I do to earn such hostility?"

"You'll have to excuse us, Mr Buford," Hrelle explained. "We're all still reeling from the enormity of the deaths on Ucarro Major II. Millions of innocent lifeforms, created and then left to slowly suffer and die."

The executive faced him, looking disbelieving now. "Our lawyers will argue that they weren't really lifeforms to begin with, just simulations that would never have existed without Zorin Interstellar's doing! And anyway, it was an industrial accident! They've always happened, everywhere!"

Hrelle nodded. "Bhopal, India, Earth, 1984. Io Mining Colony, Jupiter, 2081. Grugnagh Toxic Waste Plant, Tellar Prime, 2177. Heliopolis Island, Ingari IV, 2244. Praxis, Qo'nos, 2293. All industrial accidents. All casuing untold death and suffering. All caused by greed, or carelessness, or short sightedness. Mostly greed.

And what happened to the crew of the Whisper was no accident. Neither was the attack on my ships. Nor the conspiracy to market technology you were aware had long-term environmental and health hazards."

Buford seemed to regard him for a moment, before asking, "Can you and I have a word alone, Commodore?"

"No."

He nodded... as Hrelle smelled the growing indignation in the human, despite his attempts to hide it. "You know something? I like you, Hrelle. You remind me of me."

"I'll try not to take that personally."

"No, really, I mean it. Some youngsters running around believe all the idealistic naive bullshit about life being fair and truth prevailing and all that. But you and I? We're old enough to know better."

"Are we, now?"

"Sure. You and I both know I can just make a few calls to the right people, and you can find yourself being ordered to cooperate. What will you do then?"

Hrelle shrugged. "You've already tried that, with my superior. I told her my career isn't worth my principles."

Buford smirked. "A cute statement. Are you sure it's not being said for their benefit?" He thumbed at the others in the office for punctuation.

Hrelle straightened up. "No. And since I'm still in a job, that should tell you how that was received."

Buford stepped back, glancing at Hrelle's desk, seeing his framed image of a smiling Kami, Sasha, Misha and Sreen. He picked it up without asking permission. "Nice looking family. Naturally you want to do good by them. I know you got some perks being in Starfleet: modest stipend, pension, discounts, shiny boots.

But you could do a lot better in the private sector, Pardner. Better for you." He held up the photo. "Better for them." He dropped the photo.

Hrelle felt his tail smack the side of his desk. "You attempted to bribe me once before, Mr Buford. You should know it's an offence under Federation law."

"I'm not trying to bribe you, Commodore... just show you what's on offer if you join the Zorin Interstellar family." He indicated the lapels of his jacket, a shiny, elaborately-tailored dark blue jacket. "You see this suit? Pure Orion silk, from the Ngazorc Province. The finest silk available in the Galaxy, even better than the Tholian brand." Buford looked to Zir. "You can vouch for me on that, can't you, Darling?"

Hrelle looked to Zir, whose olive skin darkened as her jaw tightened and her eyes flared. "Oh, yes. Ngazorc is the finest silk ever spun by the hands... of child slaves. Children as young as five, working fourteen hours or more a day, every day, in damp, dark rooms. Dipping their hands in boiling water that burns and blisters them. Breathing smoke and fumes from machinery. Handling dead worms that cause infections. Cutting their fingers while guiding threads through looms. Beaten and abused by their owners if they fall behind quota. By the time they reach adulthood, assuming they haven't been killed, they are emaciated, blind, disabled.

Did you know the true price of your suit, Mr Buford?"

He stared at her... and then smiled. "Well, Darling, I guess the least I can do to honour their hard work is keep looking this good."

"Are you being intentionally disgusting?" Nam-Seon asked, looking appalled.

"I think it comes natural to him," Salvo glowered.

"It does make you look good," Hrelle admitted, staring at the jacket, drawing closer to reach out and touch the material, before looking up at the owner. "Is it really that expensive?"

Buford smiled at his reaction. "I could buy your whole family twice over with what this cost. And I've got a whole closet of them.

You see, Hrelle, I know Starfleet likes to think of themselves as the movers and shakers of the Federation. But, no offence intended... you're all grunts. Pawns.

It's men like Max Zorin. Companies like Zorin Interstellar. And this jacket is a symbol of what we have, of what we can offer men like you."

Hrelle kept looking back at the jacket, before reaching for the lapels of his own Flag Officer's jacket, his eyes wide with interest. "May I?"

Buford stared back, before chuckling again. "Why not? We're about the same size. But I promise you: once you get a taste of it, Pardner, you'll be ready to throw away your Starfleet badge." He slipped out of his jacket, handing it over to Hrelle, watching, as if expecting Hrelle to remove his own jacket to try it on.

Hrelle didn't.

He carefully folded Buford's jacket once, and then again.

Buford's smirk dropped. "Hey, Buddy- you're gonna get it creased."

Hrelle ignored him, folding the jacket one more time into a square, before letting it drop to the floor before him.

Buford's eyes widened. "Hey! Weren't you listening? What are you, some kind of animal?" He started towards it.

Hrelle never looked at him, but raised a finger at him to stop him in his tracks. The Caitian kept his back to the others, his gaze fixed on the jacket at his feet, as he then undid the front of his trousers, thankful now that he hadn't gone to the toilet before this meeting.

The sound of his peeing on the jacket filled the office.

When he was done, he tucked himself away and turned back to an astonished and dismayed-looking Buford. "Consider that a message from the child slaves who suffered so that you could keep looking this good.

Your name appears at the top of just about every Zorin Interstellar document connected to the project at Ucarro Major II. The probability is high that you were aware of the illegal events. William Buford, you are under arrest for Conspiracy to Commit Murder, Attempted Murder, Attempted Destruction of Starfleet Vessels; Providing False Statements and Data to Starfleet Personnel; Conspiracy to Violate Federation Environmental Protection Laws and Conspiracy to Employ Mercenary Operatives to commit crimes within Federation Space. Lt Salvo will escort you to our Brig to await arraignment; she will inform you of your rights along the way."

Buford now focused away from his jacket to the one who ruined it. "You... You have no idea of the trouble you've stirred up. When Max Zorin hears about this, he'll be coming for you."

Hrelle nodded at that. "Knowing the history of crimes committed by corporations, more than likely he'll be happy to throw you and the others to the wolves. That's the power of conglomerate entities: their total lack of loyalty allows them to excise subordinates like you to save those at the top.

Still, if he does want to come along, I'm sure we'll find a place in our Brig for him, too. Lieutenant?"

Salvo drew up, smirking. "Are you going to resist arrest? Please say Yes."

Buford looked up at the tall, intimidating Nova Roman woman, letting himself get taken by the arm and drawn to the office door.

"Wait." Hrelle bent down, carefully lifted up the jacket and brought it over, slapping it into his chest with a wet sound and making him hug it against him. "Now you can really piss off."

*

Outside the office, in Operations, Darren Kolchak looked around the stations, his newly-purchased reporting drones floating silently behind him like hummingbirds, recording as he followed Captain Sternhagen around. "So, Commodore Hrelle had served in this sector before?"

"Yes, as did I. He commanded the Furyk, protecting us. They called him The Lion of Salem Sector. They called me things you can't broadcast."

Kolchak kept glancing back at Hrelle's office, where he had seen Buford enter minutes before. "He's gonna give in, isn't he?"

Sternhagen continued to pretend to examine the various stations, hoping the journalist would take the hint and depart. "You should remain in the waiting area until Commodore Hrelle is ready to give you an interview."

But now he stopped, staring at the office door, his drones reacting to his attention by focusing there as well. "Hrelle's gonna do whatever Zorin wants, isn't he? Drop the charges, let their employees go, and it doesn't matter what they've done. That's the power that men like Max Zorin wield."

Sternhagen stopped and looked at his back. "Starfleet doesn't take orders from men like Max Zorin. And I think you'll find that applies especially to the Commodore."

Kolchak grunted. "We'll see, Captain. We'll see. Anyway, I hope it won't be too long, I have a transport back to Triacus I have to catch-"

He stopped as the office door opened, and Buford emerged, clutching his jacket to his chest as Salvo strong-armed him, reciting his rights to him as he led him to the turbolifts.

Kolchak immediately motioned for his drones to fly forward, recording all angles as he followed, unable to keep the delight from his voice as he asked, "Mr Buford, is there something wrong? Care to make a statement? What's with that smell? Is that what guilt smells like?"

Buford and Salvo ignored him as they departed in a turbolift. Kolchak looked back at Sternhagen with genuine surprise. "Captain, who can I talk to about arranging quarters on the station for myself?"

She frowned. "I thought you had to get back now that your story was done?"

He beamed. "That story may be done... but I have a feeling there'll be more here... many more..."

*

In Hrelle's office, he tugged at the sleeves of his jacket as he turned to Nam-Seon and Zir, his demeanour sober. "Commissioner, Lieutenant, I acknowledge that you have just witnessed me perform an indecent act that is clearly unbecoming of a Starfleet officer, for which I sincerely apologise. Should either or both of you wish to file a complaint against me, I will not contest it."

Nam-Seon regarded him for a moment, before noting, with a sly smile, "It will be a pleasure to continue working with you, Commodore. If you'll excuse me, I have to add Mr Burford to my arraignment schedule."

"Of course, Commissioner." He watched her depart, before turning to Zir. "Lieutenant?"

The young Orion woman swallowed. "Sir, I'm the one who must apologise."

"You? What for?"

She breathed in, her gaze lowered. "When... When I saw you showing interest in Mr Buford's jacket, for a moment I thought- I thought-" Now she looked up at him, smiling despite herself. "That was awesome, Sir."

He smiled. "Thanks, but don't tell the wife, I'll get scolded for setting a bad example to the cubs. Well, we have an interview now with Mr Kolchak, and a few other things ahead of us today, now that we can put this Zorin business to bed."

*

Gstaad, Switzerland, Earth:

The owner of the huge, luxurious chalet chose his place to stand well, ensuring the house, and the Swiss Alps behind it, were in view of the media cameras.

Max Zorin stood tall, his body ramrod straight while still appearing casual, his receding blonde hair slicked back and immaculate, his hands folded behind him, and his eyes hidden behind his sunglasses as he addressed the semi-circle of reporters. "I have worked tirelessly for over half my life, making Zorin Interstellar a model of efficiency, of versatility and dependability and, above all else, integrity. Our government and private contracts, and the public, have relied on us for decades.

It is therefore with great sorrow that I must confess to having uncovered the actions of a cabal of senior Zorin Interstellar employees, led by an old and close associate of mine, William Buford, to conceal the hazardous effects of an experimental terraforming technology from myself, my Board of Directors, and the regulatory agencies of Starfleet and the United Federation of Planets, in the name of profit.

This conspiracy led them to murder, to attempted murder, to the employment of criminal mercenaries in Federation space, to the creation and destruction of ecosystems on a planet not equipped to sustain them.

I, and Zorin Interstellar, wholeheartedly condemn their actions, and fully support the efforts of both Starfleet and the Federation to bring them to justice. Effective immediately, we are making available to the authorities all data relating to the flawed technology, shutting down ZI's Terraforming Division and reassigning all personnel to other areas, and donating all related equipment to Terraform Command."

He breathed out, shaking his head. "I am deeply saddened by the scandal brought into the Zorin Interstellar family. And I swear to you, on my honour, on my family's honour, that you will never have to see me stand before you like this again. Further updates will be distributed through our Media Offices as and when appropriate. Thank you for attending."

He didn't stay for the inevitable further questions. He was certain he could not get through that without breaking.

He strode inside his chalet, his staff stepping aside, saying nothing, knowing better.

One individual, however, followed him silently as he passed, as expected. Her name was Sara Mathys. She was twenty-four, born in Slaskow, Poland, had been working as Max Zorin's personal assistant for the last eight months. She had a burr of honey-blonde hair, and heterochromatic eyes, her left eye chestnut-brown, her right eye aquamarine.

And from an early age, growing up in her tiny village, she had learned to stop feeling self-conscious about this latter genetic quirk and use it to her advantage, such as making her stand out in job interviews to normally-unmoved men like Max Zorin.

She had thought this would be her dream job: travelling the Galaxy with a dynamic, handsome and charismatic entrepreneur, learning about the business world. She had soon learned that it was no dream, it was a nightmare, one she couldn't escape... not if she wanted to protect her family back home.

The worst part was the unpredictability of all. He lost control when the mood took him, whether the object of his anger deserved it or not, and the extent of this loss of control could range from a slap across the face to... well, to what happened to her predecessor. The only common denominator was that he never lost control in front of others. He would never risk harming that carefully-crafted public image.

So, each day, Sara waited. Worked and waited like some prisoner in one of those old videos when they put them in places called Death Row, awaiting the day when the execution order finally came. What else could she do?

But maybe that day wouldn't be today. It depended on where Max led her now: upstairs and to the right, to his offices, or upstairs and to the left, to his bedroom.

He stopped at the foot of the grand staircase, still not looking at her as he asked, "You have the intelligence on him?"

She swallowed, gripping the PADD in her slim hands like a lifeline. "Yes, Mr Zorin. All of his Starfleet records, everything from the Federation News Service, public databases on Cait. Everything available."

"Good." He ascended briskly up the stairs, never stopping to check if she was following, fully expecting her to do so.

She did, watching him. Left or right, left or right-

Left.

She said nothing further as they entered, the strong bright lift of the summer morning from the balcony illuminating the 500-year-old mahogany four-poster bed dominating the room.

He said nothing further as he undressed, his back to her, carefully setting each item of clothing in its designated place on his dressing table, lined up perfectly. His lean muscular body was perfect, flawless.

For a brief, mad moment, she contemplated striking the back of his head with the PADD, and then running away. Enough, Sara. Stop thinking like a child who believed in happy endings. At least you'll soon stop feeling this unending fear.

Still, as she undressed, she clung to hope. Hope that it might just be sex this time, like the previous times, and his need to vent his anger over the debacle with the teraforming fluid wouldn't extend beyond leaving her beaten and raw.

She saw him gesture to the sensors in the bedroom; the curtains slid shut, conjuring a more intimate darkness to the interior. Then he took off his sunglasses.

Sara made sure she was ready for him by the time he turned and faced her. She remained passive, knew to let him do what he wanted, letting him maintain absolute control over the proceedings.

He was quick. He was always quick. Rough, but quick. What pleasure she might have gotten from these times was a matter of complete indifference to him; she may as well have been a sex hologram. But pleasure wasn't a concern for her anymore. Survival was. So Sara accommodated him, until he was finished and removed himself from her, lying there staring up blankly at the silk canopy of the bed, eyes narrow and unblinking.

Sara lay there beside him, ignoring the pain of the session, terrified to move, to say anything, waiting for him.

Finally, he declared, "I'd love a coffee."

Sara felt her pulse quicken with relief, and he had to suppress a smile as she replied, "Yes, Mr Zorin." She sat up and rose from the bed, to get his order and live another day-

Pain shot through her as Max Zorin leapt up from the bed like a panther and tackled her to the plush white carpet, before turning her onto her back so she could see him drive his fist into her face, the power of muscles secretly augmented by the finest geneticists money could buy delivering a blow so strong it shattered her skull internally and drove bits of bone into her brain, killing her instantly.

He continued to straddle her, still nude, still aroused, as if in some twisted parody of sex. And he continued to punch her, again and again, his genetic augmentations also allowing him to switch off his pain receptors. That she was already dead was irrelevant. He didn't even care enough about her to want to keep feeling pain.

Max Zorin continued until he was really spent, and there was nothing recognisable of his former Personal Assistant.

Finally he stopped, stared down at the mess he had made on his carpet, and rose, flexing his fingers and rolling his wrists, the anger passed... for now. It always came back, eventually, inevitably.