Surefoot 81: Murderers' Row

Biosphere Three, Starbase One, Sol System:

It was a feeding frenzy among the media, to get their imagers and recorders in the best place for the object of their l'attention du jour.

Max Zorin stood on the dais in the centre of the biosphere, the lithe, middle-aged man with the slicked back, dirty-blonde hair and sober black suit looking immaculate and in control. He was smiling affably, the shades he always wore in public reflecting the strong artificial sunlight from the geodesic dome overhead, illuminating the crowd and the surrounding parkland.

He made a show of regarding the surroundings as if for the first time, nodding in deep scrutiny at the Terran flora and fauna. "One hundred and fifty years ago, this, the first major off-world installation built by Starfleet, was constructed. These biospheres had been shipped into space during the Third World War, to preserve their genetic integrity, but had grown too large to be returned to Earth, so they found a home here, to remind those who ventured out into space of the ineffable diverse beauty of our Motherworld.

We may have since constructed grander, more impressive facilities elsewhere, but this one remains one of the most revered. And rightly so."

He focused on the media representatives again. "But, as laudable as Starbase One is, I didn't gather you here for that. I am announcing a major shift in the operational policies of Zorin Interstellar Industries."

Zorin paused, allowing the audience to react, before continuing. "The recent Dominion War has illustrated that we need to set aside tradition and take a less parochial approach to how we interact with the Universe. The Terracentric model that many of our contemporaries, such as Michel Shipping, Omni Consumer Products and Cyberdyne, have maintained, has, frankly, become outdated."

Zorin Interstellar intends to lead in a new direction. And as a first step in that direction, with immediate effect, ZI's corporate headquarters will be mobile."

He raised a hand, cueing the appearance of a hologram overhead, a hologram of a starliner: a large, cylindrical hull with the Zorin corporate logo on the side, its aft section surrounded by a coleopteric warp drive ring housing, glowing baby blue.

"This is the Moonraker, my private vessel," Zorin continued, as the images rotated, producing other images of the vessel's interior. "It has since been extensively remodelled, providing the same facilities as could be found in our former headquarters in Geneva, along with the latest propulsion, sensor and communications technology."

Everyone was looking up and taking in the images.

Except for one, a blue-skinned, white-haired male Zorin recognised from past encounters as Thevris Thys of the Andorian New Agency. He kept looking directly, challengingly, at Zorin, dipping his antennae and displaying his perpetual sneer as he asked loudly, "Quite an expensive little PR stunt of yours. That little fiasco in the Salem Sector last month must have been a lot worse than you've admitted to the public."

Zorin's dark lips tightened into a broader smile as he focused on the journalist. "This is no publicity stunt, Mr Thys. I will be making the Moonraker my new, permanent home, and I will be accompanying it in this genuine endeavour on our part to find a new way to serve the Galactic Public, to provide more direct oversight to our corporate projects everywhere, and to ensure that the highest legal and ethical standards are maintained."

"And maybe also recruit some replacements for those many, many Zorin personnel arrested for murder and ecoterrorism?" Thys quipped.

That produced titters among the audience, and provoked a laugh from Zorin. "You know, Thevris, I might set up a division just to come up with a way to break that notorious cynical veneer of yours... though I fear such a feat might require more than even my money can buy."

That produced laughter from Thys' surrounding colleagues. The Andorian, however, continued to sneer, and take notes.

*

From the sidelines, two women stood, watching and waiting. They were identical in features - tall, Nordic, with short-cropped sable hair, ruddy cheekbones and thin colourless lips - but their suits, while also identical in cut, were opposite in colour, with one bone white, and the other coal black, making them appear like opposing pieces on a chessboard.

They watched and waited, the one in white fighting to control her anxiety as she saw their employer turn and step away from the group, leaving subordinates to mill through the group providing information packs and further pre-prepared information. He approached.

Inside her head, the welcoming mental voice of her sister invited her, Stay calm, he's not mad at us.

She swallowed. That won't protect us. It didn't save his last assistant.

But Zorin strode past them, announcing, "I'm bored with this. Contact the Moonraker, Dawn. We leave within the hour."

Dawn and Dusk Bauer followed dutifully, flanking either side of him, Dawn slipping her PADD out from under her arm to send the appropriate commands to the waiting ship, even as Dusk reminded him, "That's ahead of schedule, Mr Zorin. They're still loading up the additional antimatter containers you ordered, they may not complete their work in time."

"Then they'll have plenty of time looking for new employment." The corridor between the biosphere and the main section of the starbase had a clear observational ceiling, allowing Zorin to glance up. "Any word from our field operatives?"

Dusk felt the continued anxiety from her twin, and responded first, "Yes, Mr Zorin: Surinh Dag has secured himself a transport and crew, and is entering the Casperian Sector for the acquisition from the Son'a. Mr Kazan has already obtained the acquisition from Zeta Arcanis and is moving onto Risa, and then Ekos. Mr Kobayashi and the team we sent to Minos for the acquisition there ran into trouble."

"What sort of trouble?"

"The local acquisition killed them."

Zorin nodded at that. "Have our Technical Division look at the problem, and send Surinh Dag there after he makes his collection near Bolius. What about the Cosmostrator?"

"She's declined the offer to join, Mr Zorin," Dawn answered this time.

"She knows who we were going after?"

"We made it quite clear to her, Mr Zorin. She says she made her peace with him long ago. And she advised us not to pursue him. She referred to him as 'The Cat With Ninety-Nine Lives'."

He grunted. "Forget her. What about Bad Ronald?"

"We're still looking for him," Dusk replied.

Dawn suddenly blurted, "Mr- Mr Zorin-"

He suddenly stopped in his tracks, making them stop as well, and turned and faced her, studying her expression, his own taut as a wire. "What?"

She visibly fought to control her resurgent anxiety, her grip on her PADD tightening as she swallowed. "M-Mister Zorin, do you- do you really want to employ something like Bad Ronald-"

Suddenly her sister drew closer, resting her hand on Dawn's shoulder. "What Dawn means, Mr Zorin, with all due respect of course, is that, given Bad Ronald's particular... modus operandi... whether or not it might be worth the effort to recruit him. I know the individuals we're acquiring for your latest project are of varying degrees of threat... but Bad Ronald is in a class by itself. It might be too dangerous to control."

Zorin looked between them suspiciously, before focusing on Dawn. "I don't want to control him. I want to unleash him." He glanced at Dusk. "Keep looking for him.

It can't be that difficult; just follow the trail of dead children."

Dusk nodded again. "Of course, Mr Zorin. Whatever you say."

He nodded back. "'Whatever I say'. A philosophy to live by. Literally." He turned back to Dusk. "And forward my condolences to Mr Thys' employers, for the tragic accident he's about to have."

Both women blinked, answering as one, "Sir?"

Now he looked over his shoulder. "Jaws?"

The air shimmered beside them, something coalescing from nothing, as a huge, hulking reptilian bipedal figure with olive-green ribbed skin, beady black eyes, and a massive muzzled maw appeared before them as if beamed there, flexing his thick, sharp claws as it hissed.

Zorin looked up at his henchman. "Find Mr Thys. See that some harm comes to him. And be quick, I want you with us."

Jaws hissed again, and started towards the biosphere, cloaking himself once more.

Dawn watched it vanish, her heart racing- and then started again as Zorin reached out, touching her chin to recapture her attention. He smiled at her. "You look tense. Maybe we should relax for a while until Jaws returns from his little chore?" He took in Dusk as well. "Both of you?"

He turned and continued on to the residential section of the starbase, not checking to see if the women agreed and were following.

They did, of course, their psychic link, a genetic gift from their Betazoid mother, and one that had allowed them to prosper criminally and otherwise throughout their adult lives. Fuck, Dawn thought, what have we got ourselves into with this psycho?

Something we had no choice in getting into, let alone getting out of. Not now. Dusk squeezed her hand. We'll be fine. He likes us. We just do our jobs, earn our money, be ready to leave at a moment's notice... and hope that one of those crazies he's gathering for his Criminal Club will be more than he can handle and just kill him...

*

Lupin Valley, Risa:

Lady Penelope Creighton-Ward was emerging from her bathroom, shaking the residual shower water from her hands and tying the cord to her silk burgundy dressing gown, when she saw the big ash-grey rat sitting at her bedroom desk, tiny paws resting on the edge as if ready to dictate a letter, looking over at her with beady black eyes, its nose making its whiskers dance.

She smiled at it. "My apologies; if you told me your name when I brought you home last night, I was too in my cups to retain it."

The rat chittered at her.

She sank her hands into the deep pockets of her dressing gown. "Oh, Parker?"

Above her, the voice of her villa's computer responded in a Terran Cockney accent, "You rang, M'Lady?"

She regarded the rat, who was now picking up her PADD from the desk, as if genuinely trying to access it. "Parker, as much as I enjoy small furry animals, I'm afraid I must draw the line at Rattus Risanus, or whatever the scientific nomenclature is for the local species. Would you care to switch on the repellant?"

"Yes, M'Lady."

Lady Penelope imagined more than heard the ultrasonics, and almost immediately the rat dropped the PADD, hopped off the chair and scurried out through the open balcony doors and into the brilliant sunlight streaming through the diaphanous curtains.

"Thank you, Parker. You may prepare breakfast. The usual."

"Certainly, M'Lady."

She slipped out of her dressing gown and dressed at a leisurely pace, noting how she remained fit despite her advanced years, though her hair had lightened into a snowy shade, and there were aches in places that would have been unthinkable just a few years ago. Still, not a bad result, given the... colourful... life she had led.

Her aquiline nose sported a tiny scar on the bridge, a scar she obtained almost half a century ago on Myrmidon, during the start of her former career. She could have had it removed way back then, but kept it as a reminder that, as much as she enjoyed her work, it came with its own risks. Also, it was cute.

She stepped out onto the balcony, squinting at the early morning sunlight. Her villa sat in a secluded valley of the planet, far away from the tourist attractions and accommodations that fuelled Risa's economy, in a lush glade of colourful tropical foliage near the lake where she would swim every afternoon. It was part of her daily routine: breakfast, a walk through the estate, perhaps travelling further into the local village for a hand-brewed coffee and hand-baked pastry, before returning for the swim, then settling in for the evening, watching a broadcast play or concert. It was all relaxing. All...

She leaned forward over the balcony railing, seeing the rat down on the carefully-manicured rear garden, along with several others, around the base of one of the security towers on her property.

She frowned; they looked like they moved with purpose. "Parker... are you still operating the sonics?"

There was a distinct, disquieting pause, before the computer replied, "There is a malfunction in the environmental systems, M'Lady; I will order a maintenance- strange, my communications access is blocked. While I run a diagnostic program, why don't you sit down to breakfast?"

She heard the whine of the house transporter before she could refuse, too distracted by both the activities of the rats and the malfunctions. Then she caught the unexpected scent, and turned to see the expected chair and table... but, instead of her tea and crumpets, a huge platter filled with scores of tiny brown sizzling sausages. "Parker, have you taken leave of your senses?"

A noise from the garden drew her attention once more, and she turned to see the four rats below now joined by dozens more, moving like a stream up to the house, clambering up the walls and bushes towards her.

Instinctively she backed into her bedroom. "Parker! Emergency Protocol Fab One! Raise Forcefields! Parker! Answer me!"

He didn't respond, and she watched as the rats swarmed over and through the railings of the balcony... practically covering her chair and table, the rats on top grabbing the miniature sausages and throwing them down to the surrounding rats.

Lady Penelope pressed against her bedroom door, watching in alarm. None of the rats appeared interested in her, however.

Until one, the one that she had seen in here on its own moments ago, hopped up onto her bed, regarding her with a tilt of its head, and then in a small but unignorable male voice said, in clear English, "The bald Russian downstairs will explain everything, Milady."

She froze, her heart quickening even further than it had before. In her salad days, she had indulged in recreational drugs, including some rather potent hallucinogens, her youthful braggadocio laughing off the caveats about the drugs potentially triggering relapses years, even decades later. Now it was coming back to taunt her-

A noise downstairs snapped her out of her shock, and she slipped out of the room and descended.

Her living room, like the rest of her villa, was built and decorated to resemble her summer home back on Earth, in Iceland, even down to the huge stone hearth, though the carefully-controlled tropical climate on Risa meant the fires Parker lit within it were only holographic.

Of greater interest was her collection: the paintings, sculptures, tapestry fragments, and displays of jewellery, pottery, glassware, manuscripts and other relics. If she ever had visitors, they could spend hours perusing what was on display here - and what was in her hidden vault underground. But she never had visitors.

Until today. A man, humanoid, tall, broad and bald, dressed in a suit that he seemed uncomfortable wearing. He had helped himself to some of the cognac from her drinks cabinet, and stood with his back to her, studying one of her paintings, his voice deep like oak. "Nice. Who did this one? Renoir? Van Gogh?"

She stopped at the foot of her stairs, judging the distance to the phaser she had hidden inside a tankard on her mantlepiece. "Monet: Woman With a Parasol. The original was painted in 1875; this is replicated, as is everything else here. I wasn't expecting visitors. Especially ones with such talented pets."

The bald man made an amused sound. "They're partners, Lady Creighton-Ward, not pets."

She made a leisurely move towards the fireplace. "The correct form of address is 'Lady Penelope'."

He still never turned around. "Forgive me, Lady Penelope, I'm not accustomed to outmoded notions of unearned nobility."

"Nor basic manners, it seems." Deftly she lifted the pewter tankard, reached inside and withdrew the miniature phaser, pointing it in his direction. "You haven't even faced me and introduced yourself."

He complied, smiling affably, now displaying a thick face and lips and a broad nose, noticing the phaser in her hand but otherwise not reacting in the way she had expected. "Oh, forgive me once again, My Lady. My name is Kazan. I represent an individual who wishes to employ you."

She raised her arm, to emphasise the phaser. "I'm afraid you and your little partners have committed a needless criminal trespass; I retired from commodities investment long, long ago, and I'm not accepting new clients. Now, why don't you reverse whatever sabotage you inflicted upon my house computer and depart, before I contact the local authorities?"

Kazan downed his cognac and moved to the drinks cabinet for another. "Oh, I doubt you'd do that, even if we did restore your computer. They might grow curious about who might actually own all of these wonderful little objects d'art.

Then they might learn your true identity: the mysterious Fantomax, whose talent for legerdemain and disguise, for overcoming the most stringent security systems, made her the Quadrant's most successful uncaught... I believe the old term is 'cat burglar'?"

He waved his hand around the room. "And all of these lovely things here - and in that vault downstairs you think no one can detect - are genuine. The only thing replicated in this place is your identity, 'Lady Penelope'."

She smiled, even as she fought to control her pulse, her visible reactions. She knew that this could happen, anytime, and admittedly had grown soft, and obviously careless, since retiring; the life of the idle rich induced torpor. "A fanciful notion, Mr Kazan, but I have a busy schedule ahead of me today. I must insist that you leave, now, or-"

"Or, what?" The retort came from the stairs, from the big grey rat poking its head out from the bannister midway. "We detected the phaser, and disabled it."

Kazan raised his refilled glass in salute. "Thank you, Ben."

She kept her sight on both of them as she carefully checked the settings on the phaser, confirming the rat's claims. She set it aside, nodding to the rat. "An animatronic rat? Or one with cybernetic implants to project a voice and control its movements, operating it remotely-"

"Neither, Lady," Ben answered. "Just a survivor. All of us, which is me."

Kazan drew up to the stairs and raised his arm, allowing the rat to crawl through the bannister and up along the man's shoulder like some Vaudeville act. "My associate is quite correct. Ben and the rest of the Rat Pack are natives of Zeta Arcanis III, a planet with a pre-Warp civilisation in the Beta Quadrant. The humanoid race there tragically instigated a nuclear war eighty years ago, one that devastated the population and the planet's biosphere. It also triggered numerous mutations, most interestingly producing sentience, intelligence, and a collective hive mentality in certain members of the rodent population.

The Rat Pack escaped their world, hidden onboard a Starfleet shuttle that had landed to secretly conduct a survey of the post-Holocaust environment, and they have since moved outward, surviving by any means necessary while seeking a new home - a goal we have agreed to assist them with, in exchange for their services."

Ben sat up and gave a mock salute. "They did give us a bunch of goodies designed for our grasp: tools, vocalisers, phasers, communicators. They're a bit stingy with the booze, however."

Lady Penelope continued to stare, but quickly recovered, having seen a plethora of stranger things in her lifetime. Of more immediate concern was this breach in her personal security. She had retired from thievery over a decade ago, decided she had tempted fate for far too long, and could now relax in luxury with those ill-gotten gains she hadn't sold onward.