Surefoot 81: Murderers' Row

This crewman now seemed to focus on him. "Leave me alone! Go away! Leave me alone! Go away! Leave me alone! Go away-"

"He's delivered his message," Zorin informed him. "Do whatever you have to do for him." Then he turned and departed Sickbay, Dawn and Dusk following in tow. "Order replacements for those crew."

"Already on it, Mr Zorin," Dawn responded, working her PADD.

"Shall I order the Bridge to proceed to Elba?" Dusk asked. "As it seems Bad Ronald is not entertaining visitors at this time?"

He stopped and turned to the twins, his expression taut. "Check the sensor readings on the Pallasso again."

Dusk looked ready to argue the matter further, before accessing her own PADD. "Class D planetoid, no atmosphere, but the Pallasso is apparently intact enough to retain its own. No humanoid life detected, just that indeterminate one..." She frowned at what she read. "The Science Officer had a hunch, and altered the sensor algorithms to focus on the lifeform's quantum signature. Whatever Bad Ronald is, he's not from our universe."

Zorin made a sound, and continued down the corridor, the Twins looking to each other before quickly catching up, Dusk asking, "What are you going to do, Sir?"

"I'm going to talk to him myself."

The sisters looked at each other again, just as they reached the Moonraker's Transporter Room, Dawn pointing out, "Sir, the last people that went down there either went mad... or didn't come back at all. What if the same happens to you?"

Zorin seemed to regard her warning, before ordering, "Computer: record the following declaration."

From above, the ship's computer responded, "Recording, Mr Zorin."

He drew in a breath, watching the women's reaction as he declared, "Add this addendum to my Last Will and Testament: 'I, Maximilian Zorin, being of sound mind and body, do declare that in the event of my death or permanent mental disablement, that in addition to the previous instructions in this document, that the sum of 100,000 bars of gold-pressed latinum be bequeathed to Dawn and Dusk Bauer, in recognition of their tireless work...and their unfailing devotion and concern for my well being."

Holy Rings of Betazed, Dawn thought telepathically to Dusk. I hope Bad Ronald fucking eats him alive down there.

Keep your expression fixed, Dusk warned her. Show nothing.

"File that," he concluded, smiling. "Fortune Favours the Bold. I'm beaming down. If I don't return or respond within an hour, assume I'm dead." He stepped onto the pad.

The women started as Jaws decloaked beside them, moving to follow. But then Zorin held up a hand to him. "No. Stay here." He indicated the Bauers. "And keep them here. If I don't return or respond within an hour, kill them both." He spared the twins a final smile. "At least your next of kin will be rich."

Dawn and Dusk looked to Jaws, who hissed delightedly, and hungrily, at them.

*

The seconds moved like hours.

At 47 minutes, Zorin signalled. "Beam me up."

He appeared, looking paler, almost shaken, more than Dawn or Dusk had ever seen in him. He didn't look at anyone as he announced, "He's coming. Lock onto him, beam him into a spare cargo hold, institute full security measures around it. Nobody goes in... not if they want to keep their minds or lives." He strode past them, calling out, "No meal for you today, Jaws. Come."

The huge reptoid looked to the women, hissing in disdain, before following him out.

Dusk swallowed. That was close. Fuck. Fuck that lunatic.

I peed my pants, Dawn confessed.

I know. Come on, let's go, so you can change. We have another monster to tend to.

*

Cory Rehabilitation Centre, Elba II, Delta Corsica System:

Fantomax stared out through the observation window at the endless craggy rocks, half-hidden in swirls of poisonous lime-green methane and craylon gas that covered the planet. Under her breath, she muttered, "Charming. And they thought it had been a good idea to build a rehabilitation centre here for people, in the middle of nowhere?"

Inside her head, her Embed buzzed as Parker replied, "One cannot account for the capricious logic of organic life, M'Lady, if I may be so bold as to comment?"

"Did you find out anything more?"

"Only that the Centre was closed in 2302, the automated orbital transit station I am currently parked against with all these garish vessels around me was operational for another four decades after that, before being abandoned, like the Centre now serving as your base of operations."

She glanced around surreptitiously, at the collection of humanoids and non-humanoids at the various buffet and drinks tables.... And the huge black machine sitting in the far corner of the room, a domed cylinder with various eyestalks and appendages, watching the proceedings with an undeniable air of menace. "How apropos that we're employing a former insane asylum as our headquarters."

"Is that not a little politically incorrect, M'Lady, if I may be so bold as to comment?"

She smirked to herself. "Candour ill-suits you, Parker."

"Forgive me, M'Lady. It must be the company I've been keeping of late."

She looked around again: humans, holograms, robots, Orions, Ferengi, the Rat Pack, the sullen black and white minstrel, the Nazi woman - she'd sooner break bread with the Rats than with Nazis - and understood her computer's sense of disdain.

On the other hand, there was Kamra Obscura, whom Fantomax had collected and brought here. The young coffee-skinned woman, who seemed more honourable than venal, stood apart, not with disdain but caution, watching everything, probably wondering what she had gotten herself into by accepting the offer.

I understand the feeling, girl-

"Hey, Granny."

She gritted her teeth and braced herself. "Yes, Sonny?"

Julian Zorin drew up to her, drink in hand, his face flush with inebriation as he chuckled. "I'm glad to see that you've lost that sour face you normally wear. You should smile more, it looks good on you."

"I'll give your advice all the consideration it deserves. What can I do for you?"

Julian leaned against the window ledge, glancing out idly at the deadly exterior. "Well, I guess I just wanted to thank you for bringing me here safe and sound, and I'm hoping that there's no hard feelings between us. You're not a bad old lady... and you have excellent taste in booze. I'll take care of you when my Dad gives me a senior position within the Bel-Zon."

She took in the name - the Bel-Zon? She thought that organisation had been wiped years ago - and nodded. "Thank you, Mr Zorin. At my advanced age one can always appreciate allies in one's corner."

He nodded in agreement, and patted her on the rear as he departed.

"You should have let Dr Orlok work on him, M'Lady-" Parker chided, before the connection unexpectedly broke. Fantomax made some subtle attempts to regain the connection, without success.

Then Kazan spoke up to the group. "We are ready to begin the meeting. As some of you might have noticed already, communications with your respective vessels will be blocked for the duration, for security purposes, and weapons will be neutralised under the duonetic fields. If you will all move away from the centre of the room, please?"

As the others complied, a transporter beam materialised a large round stone table, elaborately designed like a wheel with alternating black and white slices leading to a grey hub, and armless chairs spaced evenly around the table - with an empty space for Mickey to draw up, and an adapted pedestal for some of the members of the Pack to climb up and perch. "Everyone, please take seats."

As others complied, some bringing their drinks with them, Julian looked to the Russian. "Hey, Ivan, where's the head of the table? Where I'll be sitting with my Dad?"

"It's Arkady, Mr Zorin, not Ivan. And there are no designated seating arrangements, beyond the space for Mickey, and the place set aside for our murine associates."

"Our what associates?" the younger man exclaimed, nonplussed.

"The Rat Pack, Mr Zorin," Kazan clarified patiently. "And this arrangement is deliberate. It allegedly originated with the legendary Terran king Arthur, who wanted to ensure that none of his knights, when seated at it, had any perceived prominence over the others. Your father wants everyone here to know that they will be treated equally. Is that clear?"

Julian smirked. "Yeah, sure." Then he raised his whiskey tumbler and winked.

Frankie Nova eyed the Pack with disgust. "I ain't sitting down with no dirty rats! They'll have fleas or something!"

Ben scurried up to the top of his pedestal and offered a tiny middle digit on his right forepaw.

Wölfin sneered, indicating Jet Jaguar. "Well, best not let the Cat near them, she might lose control and chase them around the table."

The Ferasan turned to her, baring her teeth, hissing, "Say that again, I dare you."

The Ekosian looked ready to comply, when Dumont stepped in. "If anyone has any personal issues with anyone else here, it will be best for all concerned if you shelve them and behave in a professional manner. Our patron and organiser will no doubt be unappreciative, given the money and resources he has invested to assemble us."

"Mr Dumont is right," Kazan agreed. "Sit down anywhere for now, and you can sort out your favourites later."

As the rest took places around the table, Metal Mickey rolling up to occupy the appropriate spot beside the Pack, Fantomax found herself between Kamra and the bizarre humanoid male with the half-black, half-white face, and noted the final unoccupied space.

Nova noticed it as well. "And who's our Mystery Guest? Al Capone, back from the dead?"

A nearby door slid open, and a blonde human male entered, followed closely by two identical women. Fantomax recognised him immediately as Max Zorin, Julian's father. Julian himself did, of course, raising his glass to him. "Hi, Dad! You're still looking rich!"

The older Zorin ignored him, striding up to the unoccupied chair and standing behind it without sitting down, grasping the sides of the back of the chair. "Welcome, all of you. Welcome to the first assembly of the new incarnation of the Bel-Zon.

The original organisation had been one of the more successful criminal cabals in the Alpha Quadrant in the last thirty years. But it fell, with only one survivor of the original ruling council," He indicated Dumont. "To lead this latest incarnation, having learned the lessons of what brought down the previous."

Then he began walking around the table, continuing to speak. "All of you have remarkable skills, knowledge and abilities to bring to bear to the organisation. There are others, of course, but for various reasons will not be sitting with us, or even be known to you."

As he approached her side of the table, Fantomax felt her hackles rise. There was something... predatory... about the older Zorin. She had rubbed proverbial shoulders with the rich and influential - they were the ones who had the things she liked to steal, after all - and easily felt the power and privilege from Zorin.

But there was more, something more brutal about this one. Something she normally saw only in the enforcers in the employ of men like Zorin.

She felt herself stiffen further as he drew closer, still talking. "Nor will you know much about the overall operation beyond what you need to know. This will be run like a corporation or government." He paused to smile a little. "Only less bloodthirsty."

That provoked titters, as he proceeded. "I will not always be around to directly supervise the minutiae of the operations; for this, I will leave Mr Dumont in overall command, supported by Captain Kazan and Surinh Dag. Now-"

Nearby, Julian cleared his throat. "Uh, Dad, you forgot to include me in the command ranks."

Now the older Zorin paused and eyed his son directly as he kept talking. "Everyone present will benefit generously from our successes. All that I ask of you is that you don't disappoint me. You will disappoint me by disrespecting me, by deceiving me, by doing a half-assed job, or by wasting my valuable time or money."

He stopped behind his smiling son, setting his hands on the younger man's shoulders. "Julian here, for instance, was given funds when he came of age, and was sent off-world, to have the chance to prove himself to me.

And he did."

His hands moved up to Julian's neck.

"He proved... very disappointing."

Fantomax tensed, gripping the edge of the table and watching helplessly as Zorin suddenly grabbed the sides of his son's head and slammed it forward onto the stone tabletop with a sickening crack of skull.

On either side of the younger Zorin, Dr Orlok and Surinh Dag rose from their places and quickly stepped back, as the older Zorin manoeuvred his son and himself closer to the table, slamming the young man's forehead and face down rapidly, repeatedly, again and again and again, splattering blood and bone on the surface and the surrounding area.

Fantomax looked away, noting the various responses on those she now worked with: horror, shock, controlled indifference... and, in the case of Wölfin, a sanguine glee that sickened the thief, though not nearly as much as the brutal act on display that triggered it.

It seemed to go on forever.

Finally, with a savage snarl, Zorin grabbed the corpse by his jacket and flung it easily into the corner like a discarded blanket.

Then people reacted as a large reptoid appeared from nowhere, moving towards the body of the young man.

Then he moved around to the other unoccupied seat, looking at the twin women, who appeared sickened, shaken by the scene. Zorin's voice, in contrast, remained unmoved by his actions, as if it hadn't even happened at all. "Alias will arrive tomorrow; she will have my late offspring's place at the Big Table. And get me some of that vodka, neat." He glanced at the reptoid. "Jaws, eat outside, not in here."

Zorin took his place, tugging at the cuffs of his jacket and ignoring the bloodstains on the tabletop. "Sit down. All of you." As a drink was brought to him by one of his assistants, he looked around him once more. "As I hope I have just proved to you, I will play no favourites here based on race, gender, religion, politics, history... or family. And in return you will get all that you have been promised, and much more. And this venture may even continue long after we achieve our initial objective.

Do your job, play your part - and don't disappoint me."

He lifted up his glass, but didn't drink. "And now, let's talk about the principal target of our initial objective. Some of you will know him, others will know of him, and the rest will be unfamiliar."

He signalled to one of his women, who worked her PADD, and a holographic image of a brown-furred, long-tailed, rotund Caitian male in a Starfleet uniform appeared in the centre of the table.

"This is Commodore Esek Hrelle," Zorin explained. "In command of Station Salem One. Get a good look at him.

And pity him..."

THE ADVENTURES OF THE SUREFOOT UNIVERSE WILL CONTINUE...