Surefoot 86: Illegal Moves

He regarded her. "I am Surinh Dag. You might have heard of me."

Her mouth dried, and she nodded slightly. "You- You were the Gamesmaster once, of the Deathmatches-" She remembered the nights watching them with her family, felt residual guilt once again at the enjoyment she had felt at the time, never thinking about how these were populated by slaves, forced to kill or be killed for the profit and pleasure of others. Then her eyes widened in horror. "You owned Commodore Hrelle!"

He nodded. "Yes, to both statements. But I'm not here to talk about myself, or him, but rather you."

She surreptitiously looked around for... something, a weapon, a communicator or recorder. "Me? What about me?"

He crossed his massive arms. "Lieutenant Zir Dassene, formerly of the city of Gathol, who ran away from her world, her home and family a decade ago and underwent some considerable hardship, I hear, to forge her own destiny among the kafirlir Starfleet... never to see her world, her home, or her family again." He nodded, showing some sympathy. "It must have been most difficult for you with regards to your family: your father, the spice merchant Vissol; your devoted mother Dishu; and your younger brother Haikiv."

Zir started at the names. It was obvious, even to anyone who didn't know her, what her origin might have been. But for someone lacking access to her restricted personnel records to know the names of her family... "How do you find out about them?"

Surinh Dag didn't even seem to hear her question. "A self-imposed expatriate, isolated for years, unable to communicate with your loved ones, not even knowing if they were still alive-"

"Shut up!" she snapped. A day never passed when her family, and the loss and the guilt and the pain she had over leaving them behind, to live in a place without slavery and corruption and injustice, didn't well up inside Zir. However much she was justified in doing what she did, she could never seem to get away from it.

"Would you like to see your family again?" he asked suddenly.

That snapped her out of her thoughts. "My family?"

Surinh Dag nodded again. "They're here, with us."

"What?"

He signalled someone he could see from his end.

Then three new projections appeared before him: Orions, on their knees, hands bound behind them, hooded, their body language exuding barely-contained terror.

"You get to see one of them," Surinh Dag offered. "Though they won't see you. Any preferences?"

Her heart threatened to burst from her chest. No. No, it couldn't be happening...

"Well, then," he continued, when an answer wasn't forthcoming. "How about your father? I understand from your Counseling records that you were much closer to him than your mother."

The hood was removed from the Orion in the middle-

"POPPA!" Zir dropped to her knees in front of him, instinctively reaching out to touch him, instead nearly falling through the insubstantial image. She drew back, taking in his features: the hair had greyed more, had receded from the forehead, but the broad jaw and nose, the eyes and lips... it was Poppa! After all these years... Gods...

It wasn't a trick... it was real! She could see her mother's figure, with a few pounds added to her frame, but it was still her! And Haikiv... he was no longer the little child she remembered! He was almost as tall as she was when she had left Orion!

Gods... She looked up at Surinh Dag. "What have you done?"

He looked down at her. "We've given them a free vacation from the family business. And we'll be taking care of them... as long as you stay a good little girl, stay quiet about me, and do as you're told..."

*

Dumont stared at the Security report, barely able to contain his ire - and self-recrimination, at not anticipating that the Rat Pack might take the actions that they did to escape, and to help Fantomax to escape as well. It was inexcusable, and put the organisation's plans at risk, should either party choose to betray them.

He needed to have them found and dealt with... quietly. Fortunately, he knew of a freelance operative who would be ideal for the task-

"Mr Dumont, we have the Kasnomo online."

He dropped the PADD in his hand and turned in his seat. "Onscreen."

On his wall, the image of Commodore Hrelle, sitting in the Captain's Chair of his ship, appeared. "The ruse was successful. The Paserak tribe at Ucarro bought it all, including their being 'saved' by the Bel-Zon. Word will soon spread through the Sector about Starfleet's attack."

Dumont had winced on seeing Hrelle, the image of the Caitian and the pain he received from his encounter, and encounter that had eventually left Dumont a prisoner of the S'ona for too many years, flooded back. But he quickly forced aside the memories. "Will they sign into the Alliance against the Federation?"

Hrelle looked to the right, where the transmission included Rasmussan, who answered. "Possibly. There seems to be some internal schism among the Paserak that they were reluctant to go into detail, but this mutual threat might make them set aside their differences."

Dumont nodded at that, but finally acknowledged his feelings. "Madame, would you mind removing the disguise whenever we speak? It's rather disconcerting."

Hrelle nodded, reaching for something offscreen... and then the image of the Caitian deconstructed itself, revealing a human female with Mediterranean features, a tight bun of sable hair and a confident gleam in her hazel eyes. "I'll take that as a compliment, Mr Dumont."

"As you should, Madame." He once more appreciated the skill and technique that the woman, known only as Alias, possessed in impersonating others for criminal gains. The reputation she had earned, starting with impersonating the deity Ardra on Ventax III a decade ago, and with subsequent cons elsewhere since, appearing as Kathyrn Janeway, the Dolhman of Elas, the Borg Queen and even one of the Q, was well-founded. "Proceed with the Fleets to the next mark-"

Dumont started at the alert on his desk. "Mr Dumont, Mr Zorin has left Bad Ronald's Quarters, and is approaching!"

He turned back to the screen. "We'll speak later." He ended the transmission and rose as the door opened without preamble, and Zorin entered, his lean face a stony mask. Dumont studied him; their sponsor had an enigmatic fascination with the Chaotic entity Bad Ronald, and had, to Dumont's knowledge, been one of the few to somehow meet it and leave alive, and still sane. This was his second visit, which seemed like tempting Fate. "Monsieur Zorin, you're well?"

"Very." Zorin tugged at the sleeves of his jacket. "And eager to get this business with Hrelle moving..."

TO BE CONTINUED...