Surefoot 83: The Dragon Gambit

SS Moonraker, Nepenthe System, Salem Sector:

Dawn and Dusk Bauer moved as one down the corridor of the starliner towards their employer's quarters. The blonde twins dressed in identical suits, albeit in contrasting colours, a habit adopted from childhood, seemingly allowing others to tell them apart without asking them - and on occasion, allowing them to exploit that by wearing each other's clothes, a trick they kept to themselves, like the telepathic bond they shared, courtesy of their Betazoid mother.

Dawn, however, couldn't keep the anxiety from her mien. God, I can't do this any longer.

Matching her stride, Dusk glared at anyone they passed who dared look at them strangely. Yes, you can. He'll be quick. And I'll be there, ready to kill him if he goes too far, especially with his bodyguard off the ship now. Besides, he might just want to deliver orders to the Bel-Zon.

Dawn's stomach continued to twist into knots. Then why summon us to his quarters? Why not just deliver them over the intercom?

Dusk reached out and took her hand, augmenting the support she was providing telepathically. Because he's as crazy as a drunk mugato, and wants to keep his involvement with a criminal organisation like the Bel-Zon to a minimum, even among his crew here on the SS Penis Compensator .

The rude thought momentarily broke Dawn out of her anxiety, and she slowed in her pace long enough to giggle like a schoolgirl.

Dusk smiled... but tugged on Dawn's hand to ensure they weren't late. It's been a long time since I heard that. Pacifica, I think; that scam we pulled on the Regent of Asceris, right?

Yes. Good times. I hope we live long enough to have some more.

Before Dusk could react, they were at their employer's quarters, their status as his Personal Assistants allowing them immediate access. The interior was as plush and expansive and expensive-looking as the finest suites in the finest hotels on Earth, with large observation windows facing the beautiful, pristine blue-green planet of Nepenthe they currently orbited.

From the open doorway into the bedroom, Max Zorin called out, "In here."

Dawn breathed in, accepting her twin's feelings of support as they complied, expecting to have to undress and join their employer in bed, as they had done many times before-

-Then stopped, as they saw he already had company with him.

Zorin remained a tall, lanky, imposing figure even reclining naked in bed, the silk bedsheets draped casually from waist down, his bleach blonde hair slicked back, his gaunt face unreadable, bright blue eyes staring ahead at nothing in particular. The Bauer Twins knew him all too well.

Beside him, a more animated but still tall and muscular female figure, was newer but also known: Colonel Ilsa Wölfin, a genetically-Augmented terrorist from Ekos, a planet whose people once embraced Terran Nazi ideology, symbols and tactics, but when they subsequently rejected these, Wölfin refused to reform. Like Zorin she was naked, but she wore her proverbial heart on her sleeve, or at least her right arm, in the form of a swastika tattoo, as she snapped her fingers. "Champagne!"

She indicated the bottle of Dom Pérignon 2147, chilling in the brass bucket, less than a metre away from the bed.

Dusk made only the slightest of sounds as she walked around to comply with the instructions, even if they didn't come from their employer, but his apparent new object of attention, who had ostensibly been hired to join the new incarnation of the Bel-Zon, but since then had obviously found another way to serve Zorin.

Dawn meanwhile stayed on Zorin's side of the bed and focused on him. He was by nature more subdued, less flamboyant than Wölfin... but no less psychotic and dangerous than her. "The Telamon Project is falling behind schedule. Remind them of my plans for a media demonstration of the Impeller." He picked at his perfect teeth with a fingernail. "Remind them of how much I hate disappointment."

"Yes, Mr Zorin." She stepped back as Dusk brought a glass to him, and then Wölfin. "Will that be all, Sir?"

He emptied his glass in one go. "What's the update from Dumont?"

Dawn drew up the PADD in her hand, glad for an excuse to look away from the couple in the bed - especially Wölfin, eyeing her enigmatically. "Mr Dumont confirms that Surinh Dag and his Orion crew have collected the isolytic warheads from the Klingons-"

"More!" Wölfin demanded loudly, holding up her now-emptied glass.

Zorin reacted to her interruption, but that was all, staying focused on Dawn. "They didn't let the Klingons get away, did they?"

"No, Sir - they dropped Metal Mickey onto their ship to finish them off, and then remotely piloted the Bird of Prey into the nearest star. Bele and Jet Jaguar are in Kzinti space, making overtures towards some of the more prominent Prides, news to follow. And Dr Orlok and Lady Fantomax have reached their destination."

Zorin stared ahead, as Dusk refilled the glasses. "The pieces are moving into place."

"Pieces, Sir?"

Wölfin finished her latest drink. "Chess, Underling. Your employer is referring to chess."

Dawn looked straight at her now, scowling. "I know what he's referring to!"

Dawn, her sister warned her in her mind.

The Ekosian smirked in amusement. "Your menials have poor attitudes. You need to keep them in line better than-"

She never finished her critique, Zorin moving with lightning speed to drive his fist into her face. Then he was sitting up fully over Wölfin, punching her again and again.

Dawn and Dusk instinctively drew together, Dawn thinking urgently, Let's go, please-

No. Not unless he dismisses us.

Dusk-

But then Zorin stopped, half-facing Wölfin, half-facing the Bauers, his bedsheets fully cast aside, his nudity - and excitement - evident as he glared down at the Ekosian, declaring softly, "Don't tell me how to conduct my business."

Wölfin half sat-up on her elbows, her face bloody... but otherwise looking remarkably intact for someone who had been dealt an assault that would have killed most other people. She licked the blood from her lips as she looked up with her own obvious arousal at him. "My body heals quickly... and my pain receptors shut down before I feel anything. Is that the best you can do to me, Mein Führer?"

Zorin shot the Bauers a look as intense as a phaser beam. "Go."

The twins didn't have to be told twice, as they heard the assault, and the laughter, continuing.

They were halfway down the corridor back to their offices before Dusk thought, Well, maybe now with his new indestructible plaything, we'll get some rest...

Maybe. Or he'll get bored with not being able to actually hurt someone, and call us back.

Always with the negativity, Dawn. Things could be worse. We could be Commodore Hrelle, with what's being delivered to him now...

*

Station Salem One, Deck 4, Starjammers Cafe:

Hrelle smiled at the dish delivered to him, breathing in the aroma and purring. "Lovely. Delightful. Exquisite. A thing of beauty, a joy forever. My heart quickens now that you are finally here..."

Sitting across the table from him, his wife Kami watched with amusement. "Should I leave you two alone?"

"Don't worry, Sugartail, I'll be thinking of you throughout." He felt his mouth water as he took in the freshly-cooked, hand-prepared pizza with grilled shuris mince and pepperoni. Now he looked up at the chef, still smiling. "You've exceeded my expectations, Maggiore. Thank you."

The elderly female Paserak hissed with delight, clapping her clawed hands together. The normal juniper colour of her mottled skin had greyed some with age, and she was missing some of the horns along the length of her muzzle, but she retained her youthful strength and vibrancy in the gleam of her ruby eyes. "Such a pleasure to cook for someone who appreciates culinary skills! These hatchlings are too enamoured of the instant gratification that comes from replicator food!"

Hrelle indicated the dish. "Who couldn't appreciate the skill required to take some base ingredients and craft - and it is a craft, an artistry unparalleled - something that appeals to all the senses?" His stomach grumbled in punctuation, compelling him to add, "Excuse me."

Maggiore chuckled and patted his shoulder like a mother with a son. "Enjoy, and remember to stop when you get to the plate." She nodded at Kami. "Say Hello to your charming cub, Counselor, and tell him I look forward to his visiting me again and helping in the kitchens."

Kami smiled, her tail swishing behind her at the compliments about Misha. "Thank you, Maggiore, I will." As she watched the Paserak depart, she focused on her husband again, as he quickly ran a cutter across the pizza, sectioning it into slices, drawing a slice away from the others, sending the strands of melted cheese pull and break, before folding the slice and lifting it up with one paw. "There is a knife and fork beside you."

Hrelle made a sound. "A knife and fork, to eat a pizza. What a charming notion." He chomped into the pointy end of the pizza slice, making sounds as he chewed and swallowed.

Kami stopped eating herself to sit and watch with mock wonderment, resting her chin on her fist. "Amazing. I don't think any of it is actually touching the insides of your mouth."

Hrelle nodded in agreement. "I eat like a folk legend. Literally: a Klingon once wrote a ballad about me facing off in an eating contest against Chancellor K'mpec." He stopped to wipe tomato sauce from his snout. "I won, of course." He attacked another slice with gusto.

"Of course." Kami began eating again. "You did please Maggiore just now, asking if she could make something special for you. Among the Paserak living here, she's less technically adept than the younger ones, so she doesn't feel like she gets the chance to 'earn her keep', as it were." She pointed her fork at him. "If you ever get around to finalising the work on the Crèche, she'd be ideal to run it. And, since we're currently on Storm Alert and not doing anything else..."

Hrelle, his mouth full of pizza now, looked up at her with eyes wide. "Mmgfh, thsmps m gmdmmp hmphfr!"

"Your Adjutant should be here, recording all these pearls of wisdom of yours for posterity."

He nodded in agreement, adding, "Ymhg thsmps mmhm."

"Sweet talker."

*

Just outside the entrance to the Starjammers, a middle-aged Vulcan female in civilian clothes peered inside in the direction of the Caitians at the table. "Is that Commodore Hrelle? I will meet with him now."

Beside the Vulcan, Lt Zir Dassene, the aforementioned Adjutant to Commodore Hrelle, leaned in as well, nodding, "Uh, no, Doctor. I mean, yes, it is him, with his wife, our Chief Counselor, Kami Hrelle. But I, ah, I wouldn't want to approach him without making a prior request-"

Then the Vulcan's companion, an older-looking human with pepper-grey hair and a posh British accent, drew closer, placing a hand on the Vulcan's forearm as she smiled at Zir. "We've no need to disturb the Commodore while he's dining, Darling. We just wanted to express our gratitude for his hospitality in taking us in when the ion storm erupted." She looked to the observation windows, at the miasma of turbulent pastel colours sweeping over Salem One like a wild river. "We barely made it here in time."

Zir's gaze followed theirs, the young copper-haired Orion suppressing a shudder at the sight of the storm, wanting to appear professional in front of civilians. "Yes, you and everyone else caught out there were fortunate to reach shelter here before the wavefront struck." She indicated the public service announcements on the holoscreens overhead, displaying maps of the plasma mass. "The station will remain on Alert for the duration of the storm, but you can keep track of its progress through this part of space, and all the amenities will be at your disposal.

In addition to the Starjammers, Deck 5 also has a Arboretum, a Commissary with Replimat features, a grooming salon, an Emporium with all sorts of pre-owned goods-"

"These are Paserak?"

Zir paused. Of the two older women - Dr Visaj, a microbiologist from Vulcan here to run studies on the biosphere on Nepenthe, and her partner, Sylvia Anderson, a pilot and flight engineer for hire, according to their introductions - the latter was friendly enough, charming even, but in contrast Visaj had seemed brusque, even by Vulcan standards. "Yes, Doctor. There is a small community currently living here-"

Visaj faced her accusingly. "The Paserak are noted to be nomadic, anarchic, and distrustful of establishments such as Starfleet and the Federation. They would not live here. What is the reason for your deceit, Orion?"

Zir felt her face blush at the response, though thankfully Sylvia interceded, smiling with affable charm. "You'll have to excuse her lack of manners, Lieutenant, it's the Romulan half of her."

"Romulan?" Zir tried to cover her initial reaction at the admission; despite the current political climate, there remained a habitual distrust of the former allies.

Sylvia nodded, smiling still as she squeezed Visaj's forearm. "On her mother's side, though before the War she kept it quiet, for obvious reasons." She chuckled. "How I managed to marry her and not kill her before now is anybody's guess."

"I... see. Well, to respond to Dr Visaj, when Commodore Hrelle arrived here to reopen Salem One, he found a group of refugee Paserak living secretly here; apparently there's been some sort of civil war among their people, no one knows why, their tribeship had been destroyed and they had nowhere to go, so the Commodore offered them a place here, work in exchange for shelter." She looked to Visaj, as if for approval at the explanation.

And the Vulcan - well, Vulcan/Romulan - frowned, but made a noise of acceptance, removing her partner's touch as she declared deadpan, "We are thoroughly enjoying our time with you, Lieutenant. Continue with the tour now."

"And tell us more about yourself," Sylvia added. "An Orion in Starfleet must have an interesting history..."

*

Deck 3, Hospital:

As Chief Nurse Eydiir, Daughter of Kaas, passed an autosuture over the broken arm awaiting treatment, she considered the merits of writing a paper on the apparent reckless stupidity triggered by testosterone. Outwardly, however, she maintained the professional decorum expected for one of her rank and position. "Keep still, Cadet, we will have this repaired shortly. Inform me if you change your mind about accepting pain neutralisers."

Sitting stoically in the treatment cubicle beside her, Security Cadet Ange Boladede, a bald, muscular Terran male from a country in the United States of Africa, merely wrinkled his broad, flat nose. "I feel no pain, Nurse."

"Chief Nurse, Mr Boladede. And the biosensors monitoring you tell a different story. However, it is your choice to continue to suffer needlessly."

He continued to stare at the blank wall in front of him. "Pain is a crucible, one that grinds away weakness, leaving only pure strength."

She grunted. "You could be mistaken for one of my people."

"Thank you."

"It's not a compliment. Capellans enjoy enduring pain; I have lost the taste for it however, for myself, and for others. Pain exists to alert one of danger to the body, to remove oneself from harm... and to urge oneself to avoid needless harm in the future. Like, for instance, playing Rollerball."

To his credit, Boladede made a valiant effort to hide his reaction. "You are mistaken, Chief Nurse. Commander Haluk has prohibited cadets from engaging in Rollerball matches, for safety reasons, even in the Holosuites."

"I am well aware of this; I helped treat the cadet who had injured her spine following one match, the injury that prompted his ban. That does not mean certain stubborn and foolish cadets will not play in secret makeshift courts around the station so as not to be caught, despite the greater risk of serious injury under such unsupervised conditions and without safety equipment. Look at me."

When he did, she announced, "I will not report you specifically to Commander Haluk. But I will inform him that cadets have been engaging in such activity. You may wish to pass on this warning to the other strutting peacocks to avoid further matches, and risk expulsion from the Academy."

His expression softened, though his voice remained crisp and dry. "I continue to deny being injured from such activity... but it will not harm me to forward your warning to others."

"Certainly not harm you as much as you have already been today. Continue to keep still."

He did. Seconds later, he asked, "How is Lt Cmdr Hrelle keeping?"

Eydiir raised an eyebrow. Her history with Boladede since the cadets arrived from Starfleet Academy on Earth to study, live and serve on Salem One has painted a picture of a young man who was as intense and taciturn as he was gifted in combat; she had only been half-facetious in comparing him to her people. He never made 'small talk', or, worse, tried to be charming with her. This was as friendly and sociable as he had ever been... and it focused on her best friend Sasha. "Why do you ask about her?"

"I was impressed with the Lieutenant Commander's fighting prowess last month, when we engaged with the Kzinti to rescue Commodore and Counselor Hrelle. I have been anticipating further training from her. I would learn a great deal."

"I would agree. She is well, though as you can imagine, her duties as the Katana's First Officer occupy much of her time."

His face tightened. "And her business with the Caitian Second Officer, Mori?"

Eydiir stopped treating him, her gaze narrowing. "Her business with Lieutenant Mori is just that: hers. You would do well to keep that in mind, Cadet."

Boladede looked up at her. "No offence was intended, Ma'am. I was merely making conversation."

"Eydiir?" It was the CMO, Doctor Masterson, from outside the cubicle. "If you're done in there, we could use you."

"I have no doubt." Eydiir called back, looking to Boladede for the final time. "You are healed, but you will continue to feel discomfort for the rest of the day... so enjoy it while it lasts."

She stepped out without waiting for a reply, seeing her supervisor at the far end of the Treatment Wing, near the Intensive Care Unit, and quickened her pace. "What's the emergency?"

Masterson, a tall, rugged, moustachioed male, with a penchant for an obscure Terran patois prevalent on the colony where he was raised, glanced around furtively, before gesturing inside. "No emergency as such, we just need some privacy for your next patient."

Eydiir strode inside, finding several Paserak, including Levatrice, a medic who assisted in the Hospital as part of his tribe's arrangement with Commodore Hrelle, Turikana, the young tribal leader, and his mate Constante. All were clustered around a dome-shaped module that Eydiir approached, noting the bioreadings on the outside of the transparent dome - and the oval, brown-green organic structure nestled within. She recognised it immediately, turning to the obvious parents. "My congratulations to you both on a successful oviposition. When do you expect your egg to hatch?"

Both parents seemed fixed on observing their offspring within the incubator, leaving Levatrice to answer. "That is the question we face, Chief Nurse. Our people normally wait to conceive on our Birthworld, where our eggs will absorb the unique gravitic, atmospheric and radioactive properties of the planet through the porous shells, allowing them to develop properly and hatch when they are ready. But for now, this option is not available to our young couple here."