“They called everybody in.”  Captain Wren Walton muttered as she sat at the main table in Montana Station’s Squadron operations room.  Commander Park was at her side, scrolling through a PADD.  The orders had arrived late last night for all squadron members to report.

Park mused, eyes scrolling the morning headlines, “Something’s up, that’s for sure. Captain Ki has been holed up in her department for the last few weeks.”  She glanced up and clocked the command team of the Dragonfly, who were strolling in, followed by the Douglas.  “What little I’ve managed to put together is something to do with the Orion Syndicate.” She downed the remainder of her coffee.  “That was the best I could do in under `12 hours.”

Wren smiled her thanks.  They had spent much of November working with the fresh senior staff aboard the Perseverance.  Some progress had been made, and there was still more ground to cover. She gave the respective head nod to Captain Helena Dread and her XO from the Douglas while affording Captain Alexandra Pantuso and the XO from the Dragonfly similarly.  She leaned to Park, “Pantuso doesn’t look happy.”

The XO whispered back, “Apparently, she met with Captain Ki last week…and hasn’t heard anything.”  With a slight shrug, she answered the question in her CO’s eyes, “Charlie’s not sure what’s going on between them, but it’s been unusually tense.”

Wren gave her an amused look, “Charlie, eh?”  

Park’s face flashed red, “I don’t know what it is yet.  We’re…feeling it out.”  A quiet smile crossed her lips, and her CO chuckled.

“Well, better luck to you than me.”  She turned her attention back to the large room as Montana Station senior staff filled the remaining seats at the table. At the same time, a smattering group of junior officers and yeoman took the chairs outside of the circle.  The center podium remained empty while Fleet Captain Geronimo Fontana sat to the right of it, waiting.  The door to the room opened for the last time, and the imposing figure of Captain Samara Ki stalked to the speaker’s station, tapping at the console on the podium.  The doors audibly locked, and the secure shields over the expansive windows rumbled shut.

She warned, “The following mission briefing is classified.”  She tapped the console and the PADDs sitting before each of them blinked on, data scrolling, “We have been aware of a significant and concerning operation involving classified, secured, and powerful technologies from various facilities and groups.  Fourth Fleet has been tasked with investigating, searching, and recovering these items.”  She went over the general information that had been curated from the heights of Fourth Fleet Command.  Ki then tapped at the console, “This brings us to our moment as Montana Station Squadron.”  An image of a faceless Orion operative filled the display in the middle of the table, “The Syndicate has been pushing expansion into the Federation rimward.  We’ve become aware of an Orion leader who is taking the lead.  He’s not limiting himself to the rimward – recent intelligence suggests he’s been working passively to build a support infrastructure for a black market for some time now.”  She gestured to the PADDs, “The thefts have been reported from multiple Starfleet facilities from Frontier Day to the present. This network recently became active.  We must identify this mystery Orion, his group, network, and anything else. The game is to walk softly and carefully.  This is not a game of shock and awe.  The prey you’re stalking knows when it’s being watched – even from a distance.  We need information and leads, and we need to know when, where, and how.” 

She looked at the various faces at the table as she finished, “We’re not looking to bloody noses or bruise our fists – focus on the light touch.  You have your briefings for your particular starships and departments.”  She gave them all a curt nod, “This meeting is concluded.”  She turned and walked out, the doors rumbling shut behind her.  The gathered officers broke and began to filter out.

Park scanned the briefing for the Perseverance. “This sounds a lot like cloak-and-dagger stuff, Wren.”  She wondered how the crew would react to playing more of an undercover role.  They were still learning about each other.  Another thought entered her mind – what if this was part of the solution?

Wren was reading the details, “We can’t just waltz in with the Percy.  They’ll scatter and run. Look at section two – Daystrom was one of the facilities they hit…and there are several pages worth of places that were impacted. Captain Ki undersold how serious this is – this is bad beyond belief.”

Park glanced up, finding the room thinning.  Charlie was in a corner with his CO, working through their assignment.  They’d had dinner once on Montana Station out of morbid curiosity.  It hadn’t gone terribly, surprising both of them.  Now, she wasn’t sure what the next step was.  Park pivoted her attention back to the present, “Of everyone in the squadron, we’re the smallest.  More likely to have success sneaking around.”

Walton pushed the chair out and stood, “Then let’s get back to the Percy…we’ve got a crew to brief.”

“You clearly never watched the old Earth spy movies.”  Captain Alexandra Pantuso stood in the corner of the Squadron Briefing room with her XO, Charlie Hargraves.  “It’s long been called ‘the game of spycraft,’ and we’re mostly there to provide cover.”

He was still reading the details of the briefing on the PADD, “We are being sent there to help, captain.”

Alexandra slyly chided him, “You and I are there to help, commander.  We’re also there to see what we can see and hear.”

Charlie didn’t feel sold on the idea.  There was plenty that could still go wrong.  Very wrong.  “There’s a good chance we’ll get made – and then it will be an unpleasant experience.”

His CO chuckled, “That is why I’ve been trying to get Captain Ki to see me.  I’ve requested an intelligence team to be assigned to the Dragonfly.”  Her smile faded as she grumbled, “As you know, I haven’t received anything from her.  Which is why I’d like you to tell me I’m crazy for this idea.”  She handed him her own PADD.

He scrolled through, feeling the shock and awe at her plan spreading as he continued to read, “You want to bring in Hasara and his team?  I know you’re not a fan of Captain Ki, but this…this will upset her.”

Alexandra took the PADD back, “Then it’s a good thing we’re equally ranked.  We’re going behind enemy lines.  I’d rather have someone good at spycraft.  Feeling our way blind isn’t something I’m willing to do this late in my career.”  Her eyes twinkled with amusement, “Besides, Hasara needs to establish himself in the grayer areas of the Rimward.  This gives him that chance.  We need him and his team at their best.”

“You were not joking about the state of this shuttle, Hasara.”  Trov sat at the helm of the older shuttle.  Harris Transport had found it kicking around one of their small rimward stations and sent it to Starbase 406.  “It is in the roughest shape I’ve seen in quite some time.  It is no wonder Starfleet discarded this.”

Hasara stowed his gear in the passenger compartment while his other two operatives did the same.  Trov was tall and had muscles to match.  He was the Brute Squad, if they had such a thing.  Sinai, the Romulan, curled up in a corner, reading the details of their assignment.  Across from her was the money, the old and wizened Ferengi, Hagaso.  “It was reported stolen from Harris Transport a year ago.”  He looked around, a satisfied smile filling his face, “It looks lived in.”

Hagaso chortled, “Or died in, depending on your perspective.  I’ve made contact with someone on the colony.  They think they can get us a meeting.”

The former Cardassian Gul grunted, “If we were more established, I’d demand a meeting.  As it is, we will have to make a name for ourselves beyond the reputational comm traffic Montana Station’s been spreading.  It’s a careful dance to make yourself interesting but not too interesting.”

Trov plotted the course at the helm, gagging, “I hate to dance. Upsets my stomach.”  They’d named the shuttle ‘The Mad Mango.’  It had been an inside joke when they’d opened up Hasara House on Montana Station – their initial supply of fruit had gone sour and wrong – leading Sinai to call them ‘mad.’

Hasara ignored the quip, “We’ll land and unload our supplies for sale.  Haggle, but don’t get pushy.  We don’t have the weight to start fights with vendors…yet—stake out the bar we’ve marked and wait for contact.  Nobody goes off the script.”  He caught a questioning glance from Hagaso and relented, “Much off script.  We need the meeting.”

“I’ve heard a thing or two about you, Hasara.”  The Orion had identified himself as ‘Sarge’ after the group had sipped at weak beers in the bar for two hours.  Trov had been eyeing the Klingon barmaid, but the arrival of their contact cut short his staring contest with her.  Her sly smile as he turned gave him hope.  “You used to run with Starfleet…now I hear you’re on the outs.”

The Cardassian chuckled menacingly, “They were kind to me when they needed me.  Once my people disowned me, I was no longer valuable.  There is no love lost between us.”

Sarge took a long drink from his cup, “And yet you have a place of business on their newest station.  Curious.”

Hasara sneered, “Desperation in the Federation, well…it breeds strange bedfellows.  They needed someone to run an entertainment and housing facility.  I provide a need, a place of rest for the weary…and a place to conduct business.  Their hapless security teams have already attempted to surveillance my place.  They failed.”

The Orion turned to the crew, who stared blankly back, “You have a talent for recruiting the odd and eccentric…with a side of murder.”  He pointed out Sinai, “You know she’s wanted by just about everyone outside of the Federation.  Quite the body count she’s amassed.”

The Romulan stood, stepping forward.  Her sleepy eyes were transformed into razer thing rapiers, gutting anyone who dared, “Is that going to be a problem?  You and yours seem perfectly willing to tie up loose ends no matter how much blood you spill.  I’ve met your best, Klata.  She’s careless in her killings.”

Sarge kept his eyes on Hasara, his expression unchanged, “I’d hate to kill her.  She seems like she’s got potential.”  His hands rested on twin blades at his side, inching towards them.

The Cardassian stared at both of them, wondering how long to let it go on.  Sinai wasn’t a lightweight, and the ensuing fight would have been evenly matched.  He had a feeling there was a chance they’d face Sarge again.  “Sinai.”  

She feigned offense and sulked back to her seat on the couch beside Hagasi, “Goddamned Orions,” she spat out as she sat down.

Sarge chuckled as he pushed off the edge of his desk. “Well, you’re who you say you are.”  He tapped at his desk, and a holographic report appeared, “The stuff you brought in checks out.  My guy will transfer the credits within the hour.”  He walked around the ornate wooden desk, “You wanted the meeting.  You got it.  What do you want?”

Hasara leaned forward in the armchair, “We want in.  We’re good at armed transport, delivery, inspections – whatever you need. I need seed credits to feed Hasara House…and you’d get access to me and my place.”

The Orion asked, “You don’t want any of the stuff we’re selling?  Surely, you’ve heard some rumors.”  His eyebrows were raised in shock.  Or was it amusement?  Hasara wasn’t sure.

“I don’t need any more…things.  I need the money, and you need the drivers and guards.”  He stood, “Unless you don’t need us, I’ll go find the next one of you to give me a deal.  I hear there’s plenty of fools willing to part with credits for transport.”  He moved to leave, and his team started to stand.

Sarge chuckled, “You are a bastard, Hasara.  Classic negotiation tactic.”

He turned to face Sarge, “No tactic.  We are leaving.  You have until we get to our shuttle to make an offer.  Once our engines kick on, we’re onto the next.”  He led his team out and down the road.

Sinai waited until they were around a corner before asking, “You think that’ll get him?”

Hasara replied, “If it doesn’t, there’s plenty more doors to knock on. We’ll see if his fear of losing us to another team pushes his fear of regret to a tipping point.  Let’s take the long way back…just in case.”

The aging Regula station sat in orbit of an unnamed moon.  Sarge the Orion had called as they’d begun boarding the shuttle and sent them on a mission to retrieve ‘something important.’  A brief debate ensued, resulting in Trov plotting a course six hours away to a Regula station that Syndicate players had taken over.  Most recently, it had been a listening post that had stopped listening due to staff shortages.  The shuttle slid into the docking port, and Krov completed the final secure process.

As they approached the dock door, Hasara spoke to the crew, “Let’s be casual.  Sarge sent us, and we just need to pick it up and get it back to him.”

Sinai’s mouth remained straight, “And we know how much we trust good ol’ Sarge.”  Her hands rested on the twin blaster pistols on her belt.  The Romulan assassin stared at the door, “They don’t play nice; there won’t be a discussion.”

Krove gave her a side eye, “I’d rather not have to clean up any messes this time, Sin.  Can we just hear them out before you start drawing blood?”  She answered with an indifferent shrug, and the Klingon turned back to Hasara, “Lead the way, boss.”

The Cardassian answered them, “Eyes, ears, and blasters open.”

The door rumbled open, and The Mad Mango crew entered a large room.  Three rough-looking humans stood equidistant from each other, charged weapons in hand.  The one in the middle held up his hand for them to stop, “Hold it.”

Hasara frowned, partly for the theatrics.  Partly because he wasn’t entirely sure what to expect.  This scenario had been on the list of possibilities but farther down from a few others.  “Hasara and crew here to pick up for Sarge.”

The man in the middle grinned widely, “Oh, we know who you are.  Sarge did send you out here to pick something up.”  His smile faded, “But we decided we want more credits.  And he told us to screw off.  So we’re going to take you for it.”

She was fast.  Hasara hadn’t seen her in action in a few years, but Sinai Vorta Vor t’Parthok didn’t disappoint.  Her hands were fast, and the blasters faster as they spat out bright red stun shots streaking over the shoulders of Hasara and Krove.  The two on the ends dropped with a surprised shout while she, in milliseconds, adjusted her aim and took the leg out from underneath the leader, his body crashing to the floor with a frustrated grunt.  Hasara stepped forward while Sinai cleared the rest of the room, “Sarge sent us to get it.  We’ll be having it.”

The leader’s eyes were wide as he groaned, “How in the hell…who is she?””

Hasara squatted down, “Someone who doesn’t miss…and is nursing a decade of rage and fury at just about everyone, including a few gods from Vulcan to Romulus.  Once you get to know her…it doesn’t get much better.  Where is it?  Those stun settings on that funny little blaster of hers run a spectrum of pain.”  He leaned into the man’s face, “How much pain can you stand before she breaks you?”

The man’s face was sweating profusely, “I…I…it’s in the lockup in the command center.  The code is 18371937.  You gonna kill me?”  His eyes darted wildly from Hasara to Sinai, who was now cleaning her pistols while staring at him.

Hasara chuckled as he stood, “No.  You will be the lesson we use to remind people how to behave with The Syndicate and its agents. Do it again, and I won’t be able to stop her.”  Krove returned carrying a large, heavy bag, “Now that we have what we want, we’ll be leaving.  The next time we meet, do what is asked of you, and you’ll live.”  Hasara motioned his team to depart, “Let’s leave them to contemplate their mortality.” 

“There’s supposed to be a meeting on an old station a few days from here.”  Captain Helena Dread sat on one end of the couch in her ready room, PADD in one hand.  In the other, a chilled cider.  “They want us to see if we can take a look and a listen.”

Her XO, Commander Milton Ford, was bemused.  “I think I’m the one they’re looking to use as the resident expert on this operation.”  He sat on the other end of the couch, a steaming mug of black tea in his hands.

Helena scoffed, “Plenty in your dossier was on the books, Milt.  There’s also plenty missing.”  Ford had played in the security and tactical end of the pool during and after The Dominion War.  His title may have been a counselor before he was thrown into the role of XO, but the man had a rougher and tougher history.

He sipped his drink, muttering, “I don’t know how I feel about getting back into this, Helena.”  Rolling his eyes at her stare, Milton explained, “There were any number of things that were done to keep us from the brink of losing the war.”

She asked, “Do you regret any of it?”  She felt the heavy silence fall between them, watching him swirl the dregs of his tea.

Milton answered her, “We studied the war heroes and villains of the past as a part of our security training. The question was always, ‘What are you willing to do in the face of overwhelming odds?’…” He faded off, turning his eyes to the stars that blinked just outside the window, “We never quite landed on an answer in the academy or on the field.”

Dread leaned forward, her eyes searching his as he glanced up, a tired look crossing his face, “I’m not asking you to cross lines again, Milton.  I’m asking you to let me know if it comes to that on this mission.”

Ford mused, “I hope it doesn’t, Helena.”  He swirled his cup again and then tossed it back, swallowing the bitter remains of the brew, “As much as I can walk the walk and talk the talk – sometimes I feel like I’m getting tired of it.”  He stood, “I’ll get to work on briefing the senior staff.”

She watched him leave and settled back on the couch.  Whatever lay ahead, each of them would need to face it.

“That’s not stolen tech,”  Krov spoke first after they opened the bag to inspect what they had retrieved by force.  It was a long attachment with fiber wiring on both ends, dark displays, and a look all its own.

Hagasi stood over the piece, his wizened eyes searching each inch of the unit, “The Klingon is correct.  Halfway.”  He pointed at various elements, “It is an adapted and synthesized version of stolen tech.”  He motioned to Sinai, “Find me…volume two off the shelf.”  She rolled her eyes, loped over to his mobile library, and scanned the spines until she located the book and tossed it his way.  The Ferengi flipped through the pages, muttering as he went.  Moments later, he put the book on the unit, “I think we’re looking at a few things. One is something a dead friend tried to use last year.  Patra had a device designed to crack a planet.”

Hasara grumbled, “He tipped the scale on bad with a big fat thumb, Hag.”

“Then it is good he is dead.  That technology was supposed to be dissembled and destroyed by the Romulans.  According to my records, it was disassembled.  Just not destroyed. Parts of it found their way back to Starfleet lockups, and others vanished into the ether.” He pointed at the device, “Whatever this is based on came from the parts the Feds had.  Sarge and our mystery leader are ahead of where we thought they were. They stole the devices.  And they’re working to refine them into something…bigger?  Better?”  He flipped through a few more pages, “We’re going to have to expand our search.”  He closed the book and held it close to his chest, “Hasara, you’re going to have to find a way to warn the squadron.  We’re not looking for the rusty parts at auction.  We’re looking for the shiny upgrades.”

The Cardassian fought the urge to repeat his grumbling. The market was full of stolen merchandise, and he was confident the others would find it. However, he was concerned that his loosely organized and chaotic team would struggle with these new developments. “We’re due back to Sarge.  Let’s drop it off, get our next assignment, and get to our hideout.  We can update Pantuso from there.”

“Shit.”  Captain Alexandra Pantuso’s face filled the screen in their hideout on a backwater moon.  She was in her ready room with Commander Charlie Hargraves just in frame.  “We’re working on a colonial upgrade and support operation a few days from you.  Nothing so far indicates Syndicate operating here…but it’s early days.”

Hasara sat back in the chair in the roughly carved oval shape they’d hastily constructed.  The equipment was top of the line, and the encryption they were using had come from Baron Nine on the Douglas, using existing Starfleet systems while layering it with unending layers of complexity.  “I think we stumbled into this – whatever Sarge and his boss are up to – it’s just a piece of the mission puzzle.  We haven’t ruled out Changeling involvement this far out.”  He watched as his last sentence caught her attention.

“I wish you were wrong, Hasara…but we’ve been tracking some of the stories out here – I’m starting to wonder if our mystery Orion is more than he appears.  That or he’s not the head of the table.”

He replied, wondering aloud, “Or there’s more than one table…or several tables.  There’s a lot of money out here and a lot of merchandise. Everybody wants a piece of the action…and not everyone’s content to play by the rules.”  He told her the brief story of what happened on the small Regula Station.

“Those idiots could be useful in the future.”  She paused and leaned back as Hargaves asked a question.

The XO and Diplomatic Officer asked, “Would you have killed them, Hasara?”

The Cardassian smiled thinly, “The only death we deal in is a death deserved.  Keeping me and my own alive is my prime directive.” He tapped at the console, “Sarge gave us another mission – we’re to pick up a person this time.  We don’t have the why, and we’re not supposed to ask.”

Charlie glanced at his CO and then back to the screen, “Are you going to?”

Hasara chuckled, “Not if I value my life and this operation.  I think we’ve proved ourselves competent enough to keep someone alive for Sarge.  We’ll figure out who he is in the old-fashioned way – small talk.”

Hargraves did not chuckle as he warned, “Keep Sinai from being alone with him.  I don’t trust her.”

“She doesn’t trust you either, Commander Hargraves.  I’ll keep the peace – one way or another.  I’ll update you when I know more.”  He closed the channel, facing his team, who had been lounging just off camera, “We’ve got a lot to prove.  Let’s go get our man.”

Sinai stood, a quiet smile tracing her lips, “I never said I didn’t trust him, to be fair.  I just don’t like his face.  The rest of him…I could find a way to love.”

The Cardassian groaned, “The less of that I hear, the better.”

“No response.  Their communication system is operational.”  Krov reported from the pilot seat as the Mad Mango sailed toward the moon that held the station and their cargo.

Hasara leaned in from the passenger compartment, “Stay on target. Life signs?”  Sarge had told them to expect some kind of reception, but he hadn’t been clear on whether it would be positive or negative.

A tap of the console.  Krov replied, “Inconclusive.  Looks like a low-level jamming device – were we a starship, we’d be able to punch through it.”

Hasara followed the Klingon’s logic, “But we are not…and most ships that would come here wouldn’t be big enough…so everyone would have to land and step inside.  Let’s do it.  Find us a docking platform.”

The shuttle clicked into the platform as the environmental systems around them kicked online.  The lights leading to the door blinked on.  Hasara led them out of the back hatch and onto the solid ground.  Sinai slipped out her twin blasters while Krov gripped his Bat’leth.  They led the way while Hasara and Hagasi followed.  The door was ajar, and they carefully entered the intimate lobby.  Sinai grimaced, “Well, someone came looking for him.”  She gestured around to the three bodies splayed around the lobby, contorted in torture.  

Hasara slipped out a scanning device now that they were clear of the interference: “We’ve got maybe one or two life signs left. The scanner is showing a total of 13 dead.”  He motioned Sinai forward into one of the rooms and Krov into another.  He searched the bodies in the meantime, finding generic access keys and identification documents that were more than likely fake. His next step was the console at the reception desk.  Searching through the logs, he quickly copied them to an external chip and wiped the local memory when the process was complete.  He glanced up as his Klingon and Romulan team members returned empty-handed, “This target is good at hiding and keeping away, at least according to Sarge.  Let’s expand the search.”

They went as a team now, clearing corridors, hallways, rooms, and areas beyond.  They were nearing the final room.  The life sign readings were erratic.  Hasara wondered aloud, “This might be a bust – tactics like this are designed to keep a raiding party busy while the rest either escape or blow the place up.”

Krov grumbled, “Sarge is going to be pissed.”

Sinai stood at the side of the last door, her pointed ears listening before she shrugged, “Let him be pissed.  We came here – someone was ahead of us.  Maybe there’s a leak in Sarge’s house.  We could help him plug it…put some holes in the moles.”  She chuckled at her unintentional joke.  The others just stared at her.  She scoffed, “No sense of humor between any of you.”  Admitting defeat, she examined the door console, “It’s been shorted out.” She scanned the door, “Damned thick door too – can’t read much beyond it.  Schematics say it’s a storage room.”  Another scoff, “I doubt that.  The only room they didn’t get into.”  She gestured at the blast marks, “Credit to them for trying, I suppose.”

Hasara let out a low growl, “Can you rebuild the console and get it open?”  Sinai was silent as the night or talkative as the burning sun.  There was no medium on her volume control.  He’d forgotten how jarring it could be to work with her.

“It’ll take me an hour.”

“Do it.”

An hour later, they had scoured the facility for supplies.  A surprising bounty of medical supplies and scientific equipment had been left behind. Hagasi had inventoried it all and had scuppered off to load the shuttle with their discoveries.  Hasara found Sinai in the last moments of her work, a grin on her face, “I will not be beaten.”  She stepped back, weapons aimed, “Press the button, Hasara.”

He did.  The door rumbled open, revealing not a storage closet but a midsized protected panic room with a terrified Reman pushing against the wall in the corner, hyperventilating.  Sinai’s growl was not subtle, “You’ve got to be shitting me.”

The Cardassian pushed her pistols down and stepped slowly through the thick doorway, “I’m here at the behest of an Orion Syndicate Operative named Sarge.  He told us to tell you, ‘Swing Slow, Sweet Chariot.”

The Reman’s eyes never left the figure of Sinai; the fear locked on his face. He sputtered, “Coming forth to carry me home.”

Hasara continued, “Tell all my friends I’m coming too.”

“A band of angels coming after me.”  The Reman shook his head, “I wish those words felt better.  You’ve seen them…they’re all dead.  They were supposed to come with me.  Instead, they put me in here to save me.”  He stood, wobbling a little, “Those who came looking for me…they’re not going to give up that easily.  We need to leave.  Quickly.”

Hasara motioned for Sinai and Krov to lead them out, tapping his link: “Hagasi, warm the shuttle up. We need to leave…fast.”  It took them mere minutes to scamper back through the small station and into the shuttle.  The door closed with a hiss, and the shuttle rumbled into action.  The Cardassian turned to their charge, “Name?” 

“Simix.  Scientist.”  He motioned to the Romaulan, Sinai, “Is she going to kill me?”

“No.  She just hates everyone.”  He turned to the matter at hand as the shuttle climbed up and out of the moon’s orbit, “Do you know who was looking for you?”

Simix grimaced, “You’re not going to like it.  It’s another arm of the Syndicate.  At least Sarge has some…what is the human word…scruples?”  He thought for a moment longer, “Twinge of conscience is what I would call it.  I read that in a human book once. Her name is Osho Gac, and she’s…,”

Hasara sat back, annoyance creeping into his nerves, “A Cardassian.  I am familiar with the former Gul Osho Gac.  Emphasis on the former.”

The Reman nodded sagely, “When you run afoul of those who practice the darker arts in the Cardassian government, your reputation spreads.  Sarge was a safer bet.”

“We’ll get you to Sarge, no problem. The problem is…once you’re there, Osho Gac may try to take you back.”  They felt the shuttle go to warp, and Hasara leaned in, “We’re all about keeping people alive once we meet them.  We gotta know why they want you…if push comes to shove and you need rescuing…we gotta know your worth.”  He smiled threateningly, primarily for theatrics, “We all gotta get paid somehow.”

Simix stared at him. “You’re asking me to tell you why they want me?”  He looked around at the others. “That’s…not standard procedure.”

Hasara gestured to Sinai, “These are not standard times, Simix.”  Sinai pushed off the wall, slipping her hands on her holstered blasters.  “Not standard times at all.”

“Fly casual.”

Lieutenant William Prentice looked back at his captain, “Fly…casual?” He was at the helm of an aging shuttle, dressed as a mercenary pilot. They were approaching a trading station slated to host a meeting of various Orion Syndicate operatives tomorrow. Captain Helena Dread had been assigned to attempt to ascertain further details.

She was dressed similarly to her chief flight control officer. Beside her was Commander Milton Ford, completing the triad of outfits. She caught his eye, “We got lucky with their doctor.”

He chuckled dryly, “Doctor Abraham Greyson. Your history with him was the lucky bit.”

Helena rolled her eyes, “Marrying someone twice and then divorcing them twice isn’t the greatest origin story, I admit. Using him as a cover for our visit will help keep us in the background.”

The XO leaned back, “He must still love you to agree to this harebrained operation.”

The shuttle rocked as it locked into the docking port, “I don’t think it’s love. He owes me a mountain of favors.” She stood and caught his look of amusement. He’d fit smoothly into the Executive Officer position. She wasn’t sure she’d be able to let him go anytime soon.

Ford replied, “We’ll have to see what the man says, I suppose. Will, follow behind us with the goods.” On the trip, they’d discussed that they were working off the books from Starfleet, making trade with Greyson and his undersupplied sickbay. The cover story had been built on the Douglas side. The ship was three sectors over on its own supposed mission.

They all stood at the back as the door slid open, revealing a dingy docking area, a lone figure sitting back in a chair as they stepped down from the shuttle. He glanced up while Ford handed over the data chip. He snatched it from the XO’s hand and slammed into an aging reader that squawked more than it beeped. He read the data readouts, glanced at the three of them, and then went back to the readout. “Doc vouched for you. Stay in sickbay and your temporary quarters. You’ve got one night’s stay paid.” He tossed the chip back to Ford and returned to leaning back in his chair and ignoring them.

Milton scoffed, leading them out of the docking area and down a long corridor. “I forget how loose security is at these smaller stations. As long as they get their money, they’d just as much rather forget you exist.”

They turned a corner, spotting sickbay just down the way. Helena asked, “You think the meeting tomorrow will be higher security?”

He chuckled, “Not by these guys. Whoever’s meeting will bring their crew – they’ll be bossing the station’s crew around, not the other way around. We’ll need to stay below their radar since they will care a great deal more about us and whoever else is here.” He gestured to the door, “The contact is yours, Helena.”

She smiled wide and tapped the call button on the door to sickbay. A few seconds later, the door flew open, and the worn eyes of Abraham Greyson searched the faces before him before reaching out and embracing Dread, “Ah, it is so lovely to see you, my love. Welcome to my home away from home. These are your friends – William and Milton. What great names. Come, come.” He released his hold on Helena and wrapped his fingers around hers, pulling her with him through the sickbay, drawing glances from the nursing staff until he had the Douglas crew in his office, where he drew the shades. The door rumbled shut behind them, and he waited and listened—a beep, then another…and then a third. “We are secure. My apologies for the excessive physical greeting, Helena. Except for here, every part of this station has some kind of listening device or video surveillance. I sweep it three times a day.”

Dread stared at him in shock, “They weren’t kidding when they said you were a proper spook. How bad is it?”

Abraham gestured for them to sit as he slid into his chair behind the desk, “The Orion Syndicate has slowly taken this place over – bit by bit. They haven’t thrown me out simply because I manage to patch them back together and keep them healthier than any doctor has in the past.”

Helena shook her head, still in awe of her ex-husband’s transformation. “You always were a better doctor than I was…I wondered where you’d find yourself.”

Abraham told her, “You were always better at running things, Helena. I just wanted to be a doctor.” He shrugged, “I never imagined I’d find my way into the middle of an operation with Starfleet Intelligence..and you.” There was a quiet pause between them, and the other two shared a curious glance. Greyson pressed on, “The meeting tomorrow will be a lunch between the three major operators in the surrounding sectors. An Orion named Sarge, a Romulan named Argelian, and a Ferengi called Factor. I’ve got limited details on them, but Factor is not your typical Ferengi. He’s known for his violence and cutthroat negotiations…sometimes it’s literal.” He handed Helena a small spiral notepad, “There’s a fourth one in the mix – he’s higher in the food chain than these three.”

Helena opened it and began to read. She frowned as she turned the pages and handed them to Milton to examine further. “You’re trying to figure out who he is,” she said. “That’s downright dangerous, Abe.”

He leaned over his desk, “I had to do something…look, they’re getting harder on the rimward colonists – I got called out to a few just last week because they were roughing ‘em up to get answers. People are scared, Helena. There’s only so much space you and yours can cover – it’s a big backyard out here and lots of room to play in the deep grass.”

Ford turned page after page, “This…Orion dresses like a cowboy?”

Greyson clicked his tongue, “That’s the one thing I keep hearing consistently. Most of the other chatter is all over the place…and I think that’s intentional. Keep enough conflicting stories out in the ether; nobody can connect the dots.”

Milton finished reading, “And you think he might be here tomorrow.”

“I listen…a lot. In the bar, or on colonies I get called out to, or the other stations where I have to train some poor med student who’s made bad decisions…I listen. As much money as they’re looking to make with all this stuff, organizational issues are getting in the way. I think he’s coming here to set his people right.”

Helena let out a long sigh, “Well, shit. We thought we were getting in on the ground floor…looks like we might end up at the top before tomorrow’s over.” She turned to Ford, “We’re going to need a new plan.”

Milton flipped through the book, “We’re going to need to see if Hasara and his team can lend a hand…bring some chaos to the order.”

Dread chuckled, “They excel at that. What about us?”

Ford held up the notes, “We came here to get an idea of the operation and the operator. We stay true to our mission and let the grey handle the grey.”

“He wants me?” Simix was in disbelief. They had been on the way to hideout when Sarge had hailed them and ordered them to change course for a nearby trading station.

Hasara sat across from the Reman scientist, “I think whoever is in charge of Sarge wants whatever it is you know a lot about. That means he needs to put you under more protection than Sarge can provide…it at least means you’ll be safe.”

“I still don’t understand. Like I told you – I’m a genetic engineer specializing in biology. You told me they’re looking for lost equipment stolen from the Federation. I’ve never even seen such equipment.”

Hagasi turned his attention from the stacks of notebooks he was studying, “I suspect among the equipment they have stolen is something that aligns with your specialty. What other studies have you pursued in your educational career?”

Simix blinked as he thought back. “I have a background in mechanical engineering and some early work with nanotechnology. I occasionally keep up with the journals, but I haven’t worked on it in the last few years.” He threw his hands up in surrender, “I should have just fled the station and run.”

Hasara shook his head, “They would have found you. They sent us to get you – an assassin, a former Gul with a grey streak, a Klingon with a bloody history, and a Ferengi who knows how to motivate those on the other side. We’re not the B team. The B team would have failed to bring you home.”

The Reman’s face fell, realizing there were no chances at escape or freedom. “What will they do with me?”

“They won’t kill you. They need you for whatever they’ve either found or are looking for. As nasty of a reputation as they have – they don’t want it getting around that they kill scientists for fun. It makes recruiting hard and forces them to do things that hard way.” He turned to the cockpit, “Get some rest. We’ve got a few hours to go, and things will get pretty hectic once we dock.”

“You see the message?” Krov asked while he sat at the helm as Hasara slid into the OPS seat. The cockpit door closed and locked behind him.

“I did. We’re going to have to keep up appearances with them. The Syndicate will watch to see if we betray the cover we’ve built.” He had deleted the message and purged it from the systems, “The mention of the higher-up is curious.”

The Klingon growled, “It is not good timing, Hasara. If the Shadowed Man appears, he may force our hand. I am concerned for the safety of the Starfleet team. And ours.”

“It’s never good timing in this business. It gives us a chance to identify him. Ford knows how to handle himself and take care of the team.” He tapped at the console, “We’re going to have to be prepared for as much as we can. Don’t worry about the Starfleet team. They know how to survive – they keep finding ways to keep the universe from imploding.”

The station and the space around it looked very different a day later. Three Orion ships had arrived, and the larger three were armed to the teeth. Dread sat in Abraham Greyson’s office, reviewing the information he had pulled from the computer. She told Prentice to stay with the shuttle and to be ready to run. The look on his face gave her some confidence that he would be ok. She turned to her XO, Milton Ford, “You said you were worried earlier.”

He sat forward in his chair. “I’m worried this thing will involve more than just us, Hasara, and the three Syndicate stooges. The more people talk about this equipment, the more word spreads about the players…they’re not one big happy family.” He flipped through the notebook Greyson had handed him, “He’s been tapping lines of communications, breaking codes, and more. There’s mention of a Cardassian making moves in the levels – and it’s a she. Whoever she is, she’s gotten herself a little fleet of Galor class ships. The Douglas can’t hold her own against the Syndicate ships outside with the threat of these ships in the mix.”

Helena grimaced, “Whatever happens – we agreed to run at the first sight of trouble. Heroics extends to the lives we can save, not the information we might have a chance to put our hands on.”

Hasara led the group, with Simix surrounded by them, as they left the dock and headed down a corridor through several thick layers of Syndicate security until they entered a remodeled conference room. He could smell the recent paint, and the carpet looked like it had just come out of the replicator. Sarge turned from his place at the windows, a smile crossing his lips, “You found my favorite Reman! Best day ever. Simix – it’s been a bit.”

The Reman in question scowled, chewing on his bottom lip. “I had hoped never to see you again. But here I am. Better alive than whatever she was planning to do with me.”

Hasara glanced around the room, “Where are the others?”

Suddenly, twin-blaster shots echoed out of a nearby room, startling only Simix. Sarge shrugged, “They didn’t bring him anything. Empty hands lead to empty heads. Come, sit at the table. You will meet him once he’s…finished with them.”

Sinai and Krov looked to Hasara, who gestured to the seats and took one himself, adding, “We delivered him alive. Someone had already been to look for him.”

“Yes. We’re aware of Osho Gac. She has been making plays across the rimward with alarming success. You’re safe here, for now.” He checked his watch, “He must be taking his time with the bodies.”

A side door slid open, revealing a tall Orion male clad in the Western wear familiar in Old Earth films. He wore a broad-brimmed hat that hid his eyes just enough to unsettle everyone in the room. Twin blasters were at his side, and two phaser rifles were strapped to his back. His blood-encrusted boots scuffed across the carpet, leaving a ruby-red trail. He stopped ten feet before the table, tipping his hat back slightly, “It’s agreeable you brought him, Sarge. Your colleague’s forces and organizations are now yours. Don’t shit the bed like they did.” He spoke softly, and his blazing blue eyes did most of the talking. He turned them towards the others in the room, “I’ve heard a great deal about you all. Curious to see if you prove yourselves as we go forward.”

There was a pause as he met the eyes of Sinai, who stared right back, “You got yourself a pretty tough gunslinger, I’ll admit. I got plenty of offers to take care of her, to be honest.” The Romulan’s stare didn’t abate, but she didn’t speak either. “You’re smart, at least. Lesser creatures have tried to tell me I’m not as good as they are. They don’t live long.” He wiped the remains of the fresh blood off the bottom of his boots onto the carpet and pulled up a chair, “I’m Tougun, but you can just call me ‘Gun.’ You’re the team that’s been impressing Sarge. You got me Simix, so that’s one thing going for you. Your history is the thing working against you.” His attention turned to Hasara, “I don’t trust you. The word out there is that there’s been some movement of assets related to the Fourth Fleet.”

Hasara kept his face calm, “There’s no love lost with them. I’m scraping together what I can with who I have to keep my place on the station. My team is far from clean.”

Gun chuckled, “You did get some of the worst out there. That Romulan – she’s one of the few that scares my people—your Klingon – a surgeon with a Bat’leth. There’s a collection of surveillance videos with his greatest kills. I liked five through ten myself. And your Ferengi – his money is some of the dirtiest I’ve seen. He’s worked with some bastards. And now he works for you.” The Orion leaned back and thumped his boots on the table, dried blood flakes floating into the air, “I’m going to take a chance on you. You keep bringing Sarge what he asks for; I’ll have better work for you.” He cocked his head to the side, “Well, that didn’t take long.” He stood, “You have ten minutes before Osho Gac arrives. Maybe less.” Tougun stood and walked out, and his men outside left with him.

Hasara stood, “You heard him. Let’s get the hell out of here.”

The klaxons brought Helena Dread’s attention back to the present, “Sounds like we need to get out of here.” Ford stood and left through the office door, his eyes no longer soft.

He returned with Doctor Abraham Greyson a moment later, who reported, “Osho Gac is on her way—five minutes or less.” His face was ashen, and his hands were shaking. “I need to ask you for your help, Helena. I need to get out of here.”

Milton piped up, “His staff took off as the reports came in – everyone’s getting off the station as fast as possible.”

Helena didn’t need to debate, “Tell Prentice we’re coming.” Greyson pulled a bag from his desk, stuffed a few more books, and followed them as they hustled through the hallways. Everyone around them was running and shouting. Ford led at the front, pushing forward as they cleared into the docking area, making a beeline for the shuttle.

Greyson checked his watch, “One minute.”

Dread slid into the ops seat next to a wide-eyed William Prentice, “Get us on our way.”

He tapped through an abbreviated checklist. He waited for the ‘thunk’ of the dock and smiled wide as they floated free, “Getting us on our way, captain.” The shuttle rumbled forward and angled away from the station.

Helena’s console beeped and alarmed, and she grumbled, “Here she comes.” Three Galor class ships dropped from warp, turning towards the station, weapons hot. “They’re demanding all ships heave to and prepare to be bordered…in their Cardassian way.”

Will tapped in a course for the Douglas, “This is what I say to that.” His finger stabbed the engage button, and the shuttle jumped to warp five, leaving empty space behind.

Osho Gac stood on the command bridge, her eyes staring at the fleeing ships and the small station hanging in space before her, taunting her. “How many are left on the station?”

“Thirty.” Her second maniacally grinned from the tactical station, “I do need some target practice.”

She considered his suggestion before waving it off, “No. Board the station. Kill anyone who resists. The rest – interrogate and test them for their usefulness. The station will become ours, for now. Taugun is as slippery as he is arrogant. I’ll have him and his Reman soon enough. I will live forever, I swear it.” She turned to the bridge, “Make it so – painfully.”

Hagasi sat at the table in the middle of their hideout, his books spread across the surface, “Every record I have suggests he started about five years ago – making his name with his guns. He would kill, blackmail, kill, subjugate, and kill to get what he wanted. He went silent for six months last year. Some figured fate had caught up with him. Apparently not.” He slipped through a few more pages, “Plenty of sightings and reports make more sense now that we’ve met him. He was careful to keep his reputation spread across different names.”

Hasara returned to the table with a mug, “You think that may extend to faces, too?” The others stared back at him.

Sinai was halfway through cleaning and maintaining her pistols, “He didn’t smell like a Changeling.” She brushed aside some heavy scoring, “That look in his eyes when he tried to push me – that’s a solid look.” The Romulan thought for a moment, “You said he started up five years ago?” Hagasi nodded, curious. She pointed at his books, “You keep records of Orion slave revolts?”

The Ferengi shuffled off to his shelf, returning with a heavy leather-bound book. He asked, “You think he is a product of one?” as he flipped through the pages.

She replied, “I think he was the one putting them down and putting them down hard. I remember one of my old Orion boyfriends used to talk about it – a couple of ‘em were the best at it because their brutality was unmatched. I didn’t put it together until I saw his guns. The sigils on the hilts of his pistols are an image of a three-headed dragon. It’s probably the same on the rifles. Old boyfriend never forgot that image.”

Hasara tapped at his data device, searching. Hasagi beat him to the answer in another one of his books, and he furiously turned the pages. The Ferengi gasped, “That son of a Vorta.” He turned the book around, “He’s taken a page from the old Earth tales. Cerberus, the three-headed dog – that damned beast stood at the gates of hell to keep the damned inside.” He asked Sinai, “You think he’s still involved in it?”

She shrugged, “They’re better served to have him crush skulls out here in the rimward. He’s getting results. If he is who we seem to all think he is, he’s as bad and bloody as they come. Whatever he’s up to now, he’s motivated.”

Hagasi returned to his records of Orion slave revolts, “You may be right. Up to five years ago, there was a pretty uneven ratio of those put down versus the ones that succeeded. Since then, the ones getting free are having a modicum of success.” He closed the book, “They must really want the objects he’s chasing to let things drop.”

Hasara took a last drink of the dregs from his mug. “Well, he knows us and will be watching us. We’ll have to perform if we’re going to get deeper into this mess. Sarge has the next thing for us.” He tapped at his device. “He wants us to find the Holy Grail.”

Sinai stopped her weapons work, “The what?” Krove looked confused, and the Ferengi, Hagasi, had a growing smile on his lips. She asked, “What does the big-eared one know we don’t?”

Hagasi’s smile didn’t fade as he rolled his eyes at his antagonist, “It is a long story. Suffice it to say, it is something of enormous power that has been rumored to grant immortality, heal the wounds of the injured, restore the body of the sick, and any number of vulgar miracles.” He chuckled, “That this Sarge is giving us this task makes me think they don’t trust us…or think we’re the only ones who can get it done.”

Krov rumbled, “Or they want us to die in search of this…unholy thing. What exactly is this thing to them?”

Hasara held up his handheld device, “They are searching for a device that is Borg in nature and has been or can be adapted to service other species safely. Among what little Sarge sent along is the wild claim that this device may assist in prolonging life to immortality or healing the most ravenous of injuries or diseases.  I wonder if they read Hagasi’s notes.”  He smiled at his Ferengi friend, who rolled his eyes again.

Sinai returned her pistols to their holsters, “I know enough about those who attempt to play god—it rarely comes without a consequence.”

Hagasi began to collect his books to return them to their case, “We now understand why they sought out Simix. His hands will be used to perfect this…Holy Grail. It is good that I negotiated our fees in advance to lock into contracts. At least our balance sheet will be healthy. When do we leave?”

The Cardassian stood, “Within the hour. We’re not the only ones chasing this – Osho Gac is in play.”

Krov secured his Bat’leth, “I am really starting to dislike this Cardassian woman.”

Hasara agreed, “Let’s try to stay ahead of her—her dislike of us has probably grown in the last day or so.”

“I hate the Borg.” The Ferengi, Hagasi, sat before the makeshift holo board they had set up in the hideout.

Sinai lay languidly against the rough wall, feasting on the replicated meal. “I suppose they are the only ones you don’t do business with?” she smiled menacingly, to no effect.

He adjusted the glasses perched on his nose, “The collective makes that impossible. I’ve tried. They don’t operate as most species do when it comes to this kind of thing.” While looking at the open notebook in his other hand, he rotated the map display, “They do mean it when they say ‘Resistance is Futile.’ It is an interesting paradox – plenty of their technology has gone missing by being stolen or found. They are infinitely creative in what they build and how.”

The Romulan raised an eyebrow, “You make it sound like it’s beautiful.”

Hagasi tapped at several points on the map, “I’m allowed to be impressed by how they create and still absolutely fear them coming for me in the same sentence. I’m in the business of knowing as much as I can about everything, Sinai. You ever meet an ex-Borg?”

She sat up, curious. “I haven’t.”

“Their beauty is in their struggle. To be scorned by the universe first because of their history and second because of their appearance…it is not an easy life.” He marked several more locations and turned to Sinai, “You and I know who we are – and have known for some time. Our darkness exists because we made it. We chose it. An ex-Borg doesn’t know…and may never know who they are – and they had no choice in the life they have to live now.”

“And yet you hate the Borg.”

“I hate what they have done to this universe. Resistance isn’t futile – it keeps the balance between us and the good guys. They keep us sharp and on our toes; the reverse is true for us. The Borg is a monolithic evil that portends no escape, grace, or give. I hate them because I can’t use them or protect against them. You?”

Sinai considered his words. “I have kept to myself far and away from them. I’ve known accomplices who went missing over the years, hearing they’d been sucked up into The Collective.” She turned her eyes to his, “They are the only thing in this universe I fear.”

“That’s quite an admission for you, Sinai.”

She thought about it for a moment, “We all have our fears.  Like you said – we know who we are. Our identity is what we are. The Borg murders us through assimilation. Death is preferable.”

Hagasi solemnly replied, “I hope it never comes to that, Sinai.”

She stood, a serene look passing across her features, “Nobody chooses when, Big Ears.” She headed down a hall to her bunk.

Hagasi muttered to himself, “Can’t argue with that.”

“You’re serious.”  Fleet Captain Geronimo Fontana sat at the desk in his ready room. Across from him sat the new Director of Intelligence, Captain Samari Ki.  The reports from Hasara’s team via the Dragonfly were blunt – they were on the hunt for The Holy Grail.  Samara hadn’t smiled since she’d handed the classified PADD over and reviewed it with Montana Station’s CO.

Ki replied, “I am not known for my sense of humor, Captain Geronimo.  Based on our research, contacts, and growing intelligence network – such a thing exists.  Captain Pantuso’s use of Hasara and his team irritates me on every level, but I cannot dispute the results.  They’ve managed to identify our mystery leader in just under five days while confirming what we’ve long suspected – neither side has yet secured this device.  This device is a dangerous tool in the wrong hands…or any hands.”

Geronimo scrolled through the PADD.  Her request was buried near the bottom of the report.  “You’re asking for the use of one of our ships to assist in the search for the object?”  He sat forward, “You were the one that told us to tread softly, sneak around, and get spooky.”

Her face remained passive, “Those were not my exact words.  I believe I said…,”

He stopped her, “I know what you said, Captain Ki.  You suddenly wanting a taxi ride into the rimward doesn’t fill me with confidence.”  He stared at her, “The Director of Intelligence reports to someone.  And that someone…is me.  So, talk.”

“Against my wishes, I must note.”

“Noted.  Talk.”

Samara leaned back in her chair, “The device in question is Borg…but it is more than that.  We suspect the device appears to do what it says – but there’s evidence to suggest a cost to the treatments, healing, and general miracles it offers.”  She pulled out a secure PADD, entered her code, and handed it to him, “It’s locked to that document, so don’t get any ideas.” He read, his eyes widening as she explained, “We think it’s an early prototype for Frontier Day preparations.  We believe it slowly inserts Borg nanoprobes into the body with each activation until there’s enough in the body to activate assimilation. If enough people were to use this – we’d have a minor Borg infestation on our hands…only it would be in Syndicate territory.  That alone has us concerned.  If Osho Ga gets her hands on it, we’re not sure if she’d try to return it to fringe Cardassian forces, which would present problems once the assimilation kicks in.”

Geronimo shook his head in shock, “I can see why you’re asking for a ship.  Cardassians to the left, Borg to the right…stuck in the middle is not where I’d like to be.”  He tapped at his desk console, pulling up records of where the squadron ships were currently.  “Dragonfly is on assignment supporting Hasara – she’s a pretty heavy weight to throw around anyway.”  His fingers focused on the other two, “Perseverance and Douglas would be good choices.  Wren Walton’s ship can do the deep scanning and long-range work – she’s small enough to get in and look…if things get hot, Douglas can lend some hands.”  He tapped out the orders to both captains, “I’ll have them meet you at a rendezvous point.”  Geronimo turned back to Captain Ki, “Are you willing to let Hasara guide Walton?”

Samara’s lips tightened, “I do not think I have a choice in the matter.”

“You do not.  You’ve no doubt read our files.  Wren Walton or Helena Dread are not captains I would recommend trifling with, never mind Alexandra Pantuso.”

A rare, thin smile crossed Samara’s lips, “You say this like the choice of the contents of your squadron was purposeful.”

“It isn’t like it..it was and remains purposeful.  The rimward is full of aliens and humans born to test the boundaries.  I wanted captains’ who could return the favor.  Good luck.”  Samara stood to attention and departed.  As the door clicked shut, he muttered, “You’re gonna need it.”

“Why does he keep it all in books?” Captain Samara Ki sat in the passenger section of the old shuttle while Hasara charted their course. “I’ve known my share of eccentric Ferengi in my time, but he seems…different.”

The Cardassian tapped the command, and the shuttle jumped to warp speed. He rechecked the systems and returned to his seat across from the Director of Intelligence, “I’m rather amused you don’t know, captain.”

She stared at him silently for several minutes before answering, “I am aware of most of your crew. Hagasi is known only by reputation compared to the hard facts and figures I have on your associates. A reputation, I must reiterate that is quite unsavory…to put it lightly.”

Hasara remained amused, “I’ll tell you only because you don’t strike me as someone who would give up searching for the answer…and Hagasi can be violent when needs must.” He leaned forward, “Eighty years ago, he got his start. Ran it all electronically. Two years in, his partner turned on him. Stole all his data, wiped the computer cores, and left Hagasi to die on a planet in the Rimward. He survived by scrounging plants and insects…found some dirty water, and held it together for a month until someone came looking for him. He never put another piece of data into a computer again.”

Samara sat back in a rare state of awe. “He’s been keeping records of transactions, intelligence, and who knows else in those…books? It is remarkably archaic.”

He shrugged, “It’s served him well. He codes the books in his encryption model, so good luck with trying to understand it. He’s a shadow financier and keeps mainly out of sight. You don’t know about him because there’s more like him out there who prefer to remain out of sight, sound, and mind.” He pulled his legs up and shifted onto his back, “And if you want to keep on living and doing what you’re doing, you should keep it that way, captain.”

She frowned, “You’re threatening a Director of Intelligence. Not sure that’s…,”

He stopped her, “No threat—just facts. The rimward is one of the wilder places in the universe…but folks like Hagasi are all over. They won’t take kindly to Starfleet Intelligence stepping into their kitchen.”

She mused, “Literal or metaphorical?”

He smiled, “Both.”

“This was once a research facility.” Samara mused. She wasn’t in uniform and walked a step behind Hasara. The Ferengi had identified three possible locations for the device. They were one of the teams, while Krov and Sinai were another. Hagasi had chosen Commander Milton Ford to round out team three with him.  Each team had been dispatched to a possible location.

The Cardassian swept his scanner as he walked, “It’s changed hands plenty over the years…and purposes. The last owner was a slightly eccentric scientist working on a plan to create life from death.” He reached the door, eying the blasts that scarred the doorway, “He failed – died on his table.” The door clicked and swung creakily open, revealing a long corridor. “Do you subscribe to the idea of a sixth sense?”

Samara shared in staring down the long hallway, “Personally and professionally, yes…why?”

Hasara grumbled, “Because I have a bad feeling about this. Time for some cowboy diplomacy.” He slipped out his twin phaser pistols, and she did the same. They inched down the hall, sweeping with weapons and scanners alike. Nothing. They reached the large door, and he tapped at the console, incurring a beep and then a whir as the door groaned open, exposing the expansive interior. Both stepped inside, sweeping the room.

Her voice was calm as she reported, “We’ve life signs…but they’re not moving. Reading ten of them, all stable.” She tapped at her device, “I’m starting to think the device was more powerful and faster acting than we initially thought.” She showed Hasara the screen, “They’re in some kind of stasis.”

The Cardassian narrowed his eyes as he searched the floors below, “Waiting for orders? Waiting for victims?”

She searched the doors around them, finding empty offices. Hasara waited and did some additional scanning work. He was able to pinpoint most of the life signs. They appeared to be two decks below. He looked up as she returned, a curious look on her face, “I don’t think they knew what they had. The limited records I could access made it seem like they’d discovered the greatest thing in the universe…and began immediate testing.”

Hasara scoffed, “What kind of scientists are they?”

Samara’s face remained intractable, “There was always this rumor that the device had never left where it had been built and tested – that somehow it just…sat in the back of a storeroom.” She gestured to the facility, “This may be where part of the Frontier Day attack plans began.”

He kept a grip on his phasers, “So some down on their luck group stumbles onto this place, spends time searching for whatever was done here…and finds the thing…and starts playing with it.” Hasara shook his head, “Those life signs are a lie…or at least…an earlier version of the young assimilated.”

Samara finished the thought, “An imperfect assimilation. Their real selves could be beneath the surface.” She turned at the long stare her Cardassian partner gave her, “I’ve done my share of work with the Borg. I’ve seen it when assimilation fails. I’ve seen the person screaming out from the inside.”

He asked, “What was to be done?”

She shrugged, “Death was the only way to ease their pain.”

“It never bothered you?”

Samara swiveled her head to face him. “Assimilation is death, Hasara. We don’t get to be as lucky as Jean Luc Picard and his intrepid team of miracle workers. For each one we saved, we lost hundreds. Death was the only way to ease their pain.” She nodded at the stairwell, “Does it ever bother you?”

Hasara returned her shrug, “I protect mine and my own – killing to keep those lives in the balance doesn’t bother me. Today, those lives include you.”

She asked, “And tomorrow?”

“That is another day and another conversation. Shall we?” He thought he spotted a slight smile on the placidly paced Intelligence Director’s face but decided to let it go. She replied with a nod, and they began their descent.

The stairs dropped down into an expansive space. To their right was a darkened laboratory, lit by the occasional flash of flickering lights. They could not see what lay in the space, only the nightmarish hints of bodies of some kind – biological or mechanical. To the left was a more spartan space, with small steps leading up to a second level. You would need to start up the steps to see what was up there, and both were staring at the laboratory space.

“Weapons hot.” Captain Samara Ki’s voice was even with traces of a concerned tightness. “Slow and steady. Don’t hesitate to kill, Hasara.”

The Cardassian’s lips remained locked in a sour position, his eyes searching ahead as they inched closer and closer. The lights continued to illuminate with flashes. Suddenly, he stopped, “Borg.” The sounds had reached his ears. The mechanical whirring was unmistakable. The ambient sound of a Borg drone had never been known to put anyone to sleep, at least willingly. That sound had been the opening overture to terrible nightmares for nearly every species in the known universe. He felt his pulse quicken. His hands tightened their grip on his pistols at his side.

Ki slid over to the wall and tapped the lighting control. She didn’t share in Hasara’s audible gasp when the horror show was revealed. At each station, the body of a Borg drone was mounted in various states of decay, repair, or experimentation. They all twitched in the braces as if trying to return to the collective. Various body parts were arrayed on the benches. Heads, arms, legs, feet, hands…macabre wasn’t quite the word Samara would have chosen.

“You’re too late.” The monotone voice startled both of them, and they spun. A lone body was interred in a full regeneration chamber. He stood tall, and his face was a sickening mix of humanity and Borg. “She’s taken the best of us…and locked herself in there.” His eyes were bright blue, and his mouth moved independently of the rest of him.

Hasara approached. The body had been strapped into the chamber by a wretched metal contraption. Whoever he was, there was no escape. “What happened?” he asked.

“It turned us quickly…some more than others. They are all dead…she pulled me out to experiment and to understand how quickly it moved. More than it had been reported or originally theorized.” He struggled to speak, clearing his throat, “She perfected off of all of us. My name was Nathanial…and I was a scientist here. I can feel the other side of me…the Collective side of me trying to finish the job of assimilation. It’s…as if my skin won’t stop crawling…and their voice…is just far enough I can’t quite make out what they’re saying.” He clenched his fists tightly, “I’m not going to escape this. I’m going to die here; I know it. I’ve known it since she went in and left me behind. I need to warn you – she’s grown strong with the parts of the rest of them. She’s been…perfecting herself. She knows the Syndicate is after her…and she wouldn’t go willingly.” His breath came at a fight now, and his face began to lose what color it had. “Someone else is coming…you need to hide. There are a lot of them. You need…to hide.”

Ki didn’t hesitate. She took off running down a corridor, and Hasara followed her. Ten minutes later, a great group of Cardassians and Syndicate operators came thundering down the stairs, all with weapons raised. As the phalanx spread around the room, a lone figure descended the stairs. She was tall and broad-shouldered but walked with a smoothness that sent shivers ahead of her. A Cardassian, she walked with a staff, ornate and golden. It was thick and doubled as a melee and an energy weapon when the time called for either. She glanced at the laboratory and held her eyes on the restrained drone. “Hello, Nathaniel.”

He spat back, his breath throaty as sweat poured down his brow, “You can go to hell, Osho Gac.”

She cackled and strolled to him, “You first, little man.” She unsheathed her sword from her staff and stabbed him in the center of his chest, smiling at his surprised gasp. Her smile remained as his lips gurgled. His eyes became vacant. Gac pulled the sword, chuckling as his body shuddered, “Always hated that man. Even the Borg didn’t want him.” She walked to the base of the stairs, “Search the rest of the facility. Take anything useful. Set the charges. Once I have our girl and the chamber…this place will never have existed.”

Nathaniel’s body hung limply in the flashing light, and his eyes drooped. Blood flowed from the wound in his chest, and his breath had faded. Hasara and Captain Samara Ki slipped out from the long corridor where they had taken refuge after waiting an excruciating time for the sounds of the invading forces to fade. Ki walked up the stairs to the altar while Hasara inspected the body. He ran his scanning device, “He’s not dead.”

Ki had knelt to examine the outline of what had been installed previously, “She would have set timers to take this facility off the board. We don’t have much time. She has the device, and she has…her.” Her eyes searched the room, and she stalked over to a console in the corner, “I estimate three to five minutes.”

Hasara examined the body. Whatever Borg implements had become a part of him were working to keep him alive, but barely. Nathaniel would die. The drooped eyes flickered momentarily, and his mouth struggled to speak, “She is…Osho Gac’s daughter.” A cruel smile crossed his lips, “She…thinks she has her controlled…but it is not the way of things.”

Samara walked back down the stairs, listening to the sputtering words, “Was this her plan all along?” Her mind was spinning at the possibilities. None of them were good.

His body shuddered as the light of life began to dim, “Only recently. Her daughter made the discovery a year ago and kept it hidden.” He coughed, and oily blood spat from his turgid lips. A dark chuckle reverberated from his blighted body, “Nothing stays hidden forever.” The smile returned to his lips, “I die knowing they both will suffer in the end. Cruel begets cruel…” his last words were followed by a frenzy of convulsions and a fading hiss from his lips. Silence returned to the room.

Ki stared at Nathanial’s body as it sagged, “We need to leave. Now.”

The shuttle cleared the base and soared into orbit as the explosions rocked the moon-based facility, tearing it apart. Ki sat in the ops chair while Hasara piloted them away from the moon, his eyes watching the limited sensors, “She’s long gone…but her warp trails won’t be hard to follow.” He felt sick. Osho Gac had the device. They needed to stop her or, at a minimum, snatch and grab the device back. He turned to his partner, “There are two options. I take my team, and we get it back by any means necessary.” The Cardassian continued, “Option two – you bring the full weight of the Montana Squadron down on Osho. You upset the Orion Syndicate even more, and The Gun makes the Federation’s life out here more of a living hell than before.”

The blackness of space stared back at Samara as she gazed into the stars outside the window. “You doing it would be the bidding of The Gun. It keeps you relevant and avoids being made a key Starfleet ally. How will you keep the device away from him—assuming you can get it from Osho Gac in the first place?” She saw various paths and choices before them, all covered in grey sticky mud – ugly on ugly.

He tapped at the console absentmindedly, the constructed plan coming together, “We don’t have to keep the device from him. We just have to show him the truth of what it does.” He tapped in coordinates, and the shuttle shuddered into warp, “What if we bring him to Osho Gac – in some kind of bidding war?” The Cardassian picked up a spare PADD as he typed out his idea, “The Syndicate loves money and making more of it – it helps fund their operations. If we can apply the right pressure…we might be able to get her trapped into putting the thing up for bid.”

Her eyes uncharacteristically widened, “You want to set up an auction for the highest bidder for a Borg assimilation chamber that is unstable and liable to give us Borg problems where we didn’t have them before?”

Hasara admitted, “When you put it that way, it might sound a little…,”

She narrowed her eyes, “Crazy? Out of control? Ludicrous? Like a death trap?”

Hasara chuckled, “You didn’t mention that it takes us from a bad position to a worse position.”

“It was more or less implied.” The two fell into silence as the shuttle raced forward. Samara calculated other moves in her head. The time it would take to put something together with her resources wasn’t feasible. There wasn’t enough time. A long sigh escaped her lips. “I don’t have a better option. I don’t say this often, so treasure it in your little Cardassian heart while it lasts. What do you need for this to work?”

“I will take great pleasure in that you will not like most of it.”

“That is more or less implied.”

Hagasi was hunched over his console, his fingers mashing the console carefully as he confirmed each step, “There’s plenty of interest in this thing. I love a pretty lie or an ugly lie – but this one nearly puts a fat finger on my damned scale.” The Ferengi did a few more taps, “Nearly, to be precise. I love some good old-fashioned bait-and-switch. Not sure how I feel about adding the Borg into that equation.” Three days had passed since the initial idea had been born out of necessity. They had returned to their hideout, and in the intervening 72 hours, Hagasi, Krov, Sinai, and Hasara had worked tirelessly on every hustler, two-bit loser, villain, scum, and reprobate in, around and beyond the rimward.

Hasara was working on his console across the table. “Osha Gac isn’t going to like any of us when it eventually gets back to us as the founders of the feast.” Another beep brought a smile to his face. “That’s ten bidders, including Tougun. We didn’t give her much of a choice.”

Sinai walked in, languid and disinterested, but perked up at Hasara’s last line, “This will probably go sideways within ten minutes. The Syndicate groups are falling over each other to consolidate representatives. Nine isn’t a big group. You should see all the messages. Bunch of pretty boys trying to preen and prance.”

Hasara glanced up from his console, “Alliteration – those studies must be doing some good.” She rolled her eyes and slid into a smooth rock outcropping, sipping at a mug and reading off a device. The Cardassian tapped at his console as he finished the last of the messages. “Tougun wants us to join him and his delegation.”

Hagasi closed his mobile console, “We’ll need to keep him happy. Otherwise, he’ll stomp a hole or two in us. His bid will be for show. Having a name and a face to put to my notes has helped build a larger profile.” He stood and tottered over to his shelf, picking out a fresh-looking journal. He flipped through a page or two, “He’s going to ask us to run the op to get the device. We’re disposable, and he cares less for anyone who hasn’t been with him for at least six months. There’s a trail of failures to discourage stupid attempts to join his merry band. You have to want to get into bed with the man. Metaphorically, of course.”

Sinai cackled, “He’s not bad looking.” All three of them turned to stare at her. She shrugged, “I can have wants, too. I call ‘dibs’ as the humans say.”

Krov rumbled from the other corner of the room, “Do they, though?”

She replied, “In the Earth films I watch.”

Hasara said, “Moving on. Hagasi’s correct. We’re the perfect patsy for Tougun. We’ve got rough schematics for the station where the auction is happening. Sinai will run interference if we have to get constructive; otherwise, she’s going to…circulate with her eyes and ears with Krov. Hagasi and I will work on getting into the viewing area. I’m hoping I can bring Tougun with me so we can show him the truth about this device.”

The Ferengi asked, “Do you think he’ll walk away from such a thing? It’s tempting enough to bring a lot of angry Syndicate groups together with enough credits to bankroll some serious operations.”

Hasara leaned back on his heels, wondering that himself. “Even with Hagasi’s expanded profile, we don’t know. At a minimum, we have to hope he’s brighter than Osha Gac.” He turned back to the group, “We leave in the morning – pack up what we need, destroy the rest. Whatever happens next…we’re going in with what we have on our backs.”

The large mercenary ship carrying Tougun and his group was as large and slim as an Intrepid Class. Armed to the teeth with overpowered phaser banks, rippling with four torpedo bays. Hasara and his team had been quartered in a large bunk. Tougun had met with them briefly, revealing that he did indeed wish for them to get the device. Hasara had convinced him to join them in verifying the package. The ship dropped from warp, and they could feel it angling for a docking port. There was a requisite thump, and the door to their room slid open.

Tougun stood with his pistols in holsters and rifles strapped to his back, “Let us begin.”

Hasara led the team, with the Orion leader walking beside him. “I understand you are acquainted with Osho Gac,” he said offhand.

The Cardassian held his face’s movement as he replied, “Tangentially. I suspect she’s more aware of me – she may be harboring feelings towards me or the groups I ran with in the past.” He did not share details, and the Orion did not ask.

“Well, she’s selling something I want, so she’ll have to get over whatever encrusted grudge that is hanging on.” The dock door slid open, and a young Orion woman stood at the door, her eyes wide. “Uh, greetings, Master Tougun. If you’ll follow me, I will guide you to the bidding floor.” Hasara watched her flinch as The Gun pointed his eyes at her, holding a stern gaze until she cast her eyes to the ground in instinctual deference.

He spoke, a renewed menace in his words, “Take us.”

It took a few minutes to traverse the medium-sized Syndicate station, and they turned a corner. A large meeting room had been converted into a bidding hall with rows of chairs facing a stage. Some arrivals had taken seats and were casting glances around the new guests. Hasara cast his glance, irritating as few. His lips curled into a cruel smile, and Tougan nodded approvingly, “You have to make them know who you are. Asserting dominance and ownership – whatever it takes. It’s never pretty, but it delivers on results.”

“Hasara.” They turned to face Osho Gac as she approached with her staff. “I can only wish we were in a more… more accommodating place. Then I could kill you for your treachery and treason.”

The former Gul bowed slightly, “That day may yet come. I’m not sure what the betting pool would have on our chances, but I’d like to think we’d give them a show.” Her eyes squinted. Hasara could sense the raw rage flickering behind her eyes. He motioned to his partner, “I believe you are familiar with Tougun.”

She spat out a barely contained reply, “I am. I make him a similar offer for the future.”

For his part, Tougun remained placid, observing it all as if it were a mild amusement. His eyes indicated his true feelings, and it continued to unsettle Hasara how much raw menace was being projected from them. He spoke gently, “My schedule is full for today. I’ll have my people work with yours – do dinner and settle our feelings for each other.” He looked around, the first inklings of irritation crossing into his voice, “I was told we could see the item in question and make an inspection of it.”

Gac grunted, “Yes. Kroc will escort you.” With that, she stalked off, entourage in tow. Hasara nearly laughed but held it in reserve. She was haughty and prone to a deep personal anger as he remembered her. Good qualities in a Cardassian, he admitted to himself, but the rest of her violent and dangerous record had driven her further mad.

Kroc was a young Cardassian, and Hasara watched him as he led them haltingly through a side corridor, down a stairwell, and into a large cargo bay room. In the center sat the device. Two guards on either side, armed and ready. It was a rectangular device that was about four feet tall. A rough console was embedded, and the lights blinked. Tougun walked up and began to scan the unit. Hasara joined him with his device. They stepped away to compare notes quietly. Hasara first revealed what he had: “There’s still someone in there.” He shared his suspicions about the who, which earned an unusual eyebrow-raising from Tougun in response.

“Her daughter? I find new ways to admire Osha Gac at every turn of this tale. What aren’t you telling me?” He glanced at the scans Hasara was bringing up.

“Whatever her daughter was…it’s not her anymore. Look at this.” He scrolled, “I’m unable to detect any Cardassian DNA or life signs inside that thing. It’s all…Borg. And more – I’d need a better scanning device, but there’s more than just her daughter in there. I think there are a few more cowboys with her in there.”

Tougun read the data, chewing on his lower lip as he did so. His eyes moved from the scanner to the capsule, “This isn’t what she described to us, is it?”

Hasara didn’t feel anything about the subterfuge he had engaged in with Tougun. The game of chess he was playing on the side with Starfleet required his scruples and integrity to be paper thin. Guilt was not part of him for today. The death and destruction that had been rained down from the gathered Syndicate operatives on the station required some form of justice. Those they had killed, enslaved, injured, and destroyed – there had to be a balance in the universe somewhere.

He had a terrible idea about what to do next. He turned to Tougun, “She lied to us…all of us.” He stared at the box and then returned his eyes to the Orion who had a look of confusion on his face before he had a realization.

“You want to…oh, you Cardassians are cruel to a degree I so do adore.” He pondered the idea and shrugged, “In truth…I had a different plan coming here.” He glanced around. They were alone, besides the guards, who were more interested in watching the area five feet in front of them. He led Hasara some distance away before he said, “I planned to kill them all and take their people.” A wide smile crossed his lips, “But your plan… of releasing that thing…that makes it less about me and my plans…and introduces an act of the universe to even the scales. I get what I want, and they all die. Probably.”

Hasara had operated in the grey. He’d seen and done things that would have sent Captain Samara Ki running…maybe. What Tougun had planned… was far closer to the inky blackness that he’d long strove to avoid. He was at the mercy of Tougun and would have to make his amends with himself after they’d escaped this corner of hell. He suggested, “We’ll have to lead it to the hall. We’ll have to fight our way out from there.”

Tougun’s smile remained as it took a sly turn, “Then let’s wake her up.” He strove straight for the console, startling the guards who moved to intercept him. His pistols were out before they could aim, and their bodies dropped with a crunch to the ground. Shouts were heard as the noise sounded alarms. The Orion tapped quickly, and the lid began to hiss, a klaxon sounding as it opened. He walked quickly towards Hasara, “Get ready to run.”

The lid opened halfway before what was contained, and asleep, woke up with a roar. What had once been a young Cardassian woman was a horrifying, macabre creature.  It slammed into the heavy lid, sending it whistling over their heads. Four spindly arms swung from the main body, and four legs served as the rolling base for the beast. Borg implements covered every inch of the body. At the top was an oblong head that was an amalgamation of at least four or more – the size had been expanded with the additional materials of skin, brain, and skull – a throbbing brain rumbled beneath a mechanized cage. The roar resounded again, and four mechanical eyes landed on Hasara and Tougun.

Hasara shook away the shock and awe, “Now we leave.” They both took off running, the guttural growling booming through the station.

The station was in chaos. The creature had torn into the walls and ceiling, snapping ancient power cables and conduits. The lights had gone out for thirty seconds while the old backup power struggled to activate. Shouts of pure terror followed screams of surprise. The bloodcurdling shrieks were the last phase of the twisted symphony of horror. Hasara followed behind the Orion, Tougun, who had both blaster pistols out and fired at whoever he could get in his crosshairs.

The Borg creature was murdering its way from the lower level into the main hall, assimilating. The initial attack had sufficiently frightened everyone. A new wave of half-drones was rising from the floor and advancing on the feeling crowds. Hasara tapped his communication device, and within thirty seconds, Krov and Sinai were at his side, standing ready. Sinai was picking off anyone who attempted to get near them. Tougun’s entourage reached him and began to escort him back to his ship. The reverberating sounds of phasers and blasters were a mortifying rhythm punctuated by the drowning screams and shouts. The Orion looked to Hasara, “You could come with us.” Two Orion Borg drones dropped to the ground at his feet, one cut down by Sinai’s staccato firing and the other sputtering blood from the deep cut from Krov.

“We’ve secured a shuttle. You got what you wanted.” He shot two more, and the groaning drones spun like pinwheels as they slammed into the ground. “I will expect payment.” Tougun gave him a quiet nod amid the chaos and motioned his team to retreat to the ship. Hasara motioned his team, “Let’s get on our way. Montana Squadron is on its way under the guise of responding to a distress signal.”

Sinai dispatched a group of drones advancing on them, “So they’re on clean-up duty? Good for them.” As they moved back and around, Hasra spotted the young Orion woman huddling in fear near their dock. He ran to her and grabbed her hand, “Come with me.” Her eyes went wide, but she didn’t hesitate or resist. She followed him as the rest jumped into the shuttle, slamming the door closed. Hagasi didn’t hesitate – the shuttle jumped from the station and pulled away.

Hasara slipped into the ops seat, “No Borg made it out?”

The Ferengi chuckled, “The transporters on the station were easy to sabotage—a couple of small explosive charges will make it hard, even for the Borg, to repair them.” He moved them behind a moon, “All of the ships made it out clean – Tougan made his power moves to unify the others under his flag.” He lowered their power levels to avoid further detection, “Better the devil we know.”

Hasara didn’t reply as he sat in silence. Tougun wasn’t their friend. They knew more about him than they had when they started. He wasn’t sure if that made the mission a success or not. He supposed only time would tell.

In the passenger cabin, the young Orion stared at Sinai, who stared back at her, annoyed. “Why did you bring her along, Hasara?” she shouted towards the cockpit.

Hasara appeared in the arch, “Why did I bring you along back then?” She scowled at his implication. “She’s as lost as we all out here. Help her see what you were able to see.” He returned to the cockpit, leaving Sinai staring at her new charge.

She accused, “What is your name?”

The young Orion shrugged, “I don’t have a name. I was called 9932.”

Sinai understood, “Well, what do you like to do?”

A hesitant smile appeared. “I like…to draw. They never really let me…, so I had to do it in secret.”

The Romulan shouted at Hagasi in the cockpit, “Give me a famous woman artist!”

There was a growl from the Ferengi before he snarled, “Catharina.”

Sinai turned to the Orion, “That’s your name.”

Catharina’s smile broadened as she said it out loud a few times. “I like it.”

The Dragonfly thundered through space, followed closely by the Douglas and Perseverance. It had been a plan hatched in haste—the technology had to return to Starfleet’s hands. Most agreed the thing needed to be destroyed. It would eventually fall to the Daystrom Institute and others to decide the ultimate fate. Captain Alexandra Pantuso sat in the center chair, the lights a subtle ruby hue. The last report had been a station filling with Borg, including a creature of terrifying power. “Time to intercept?”

Ensign Gabriela Castillo tapped at her console, “Five minutes. Long-range sensors show no ships in the area. The station is showing plenty of Borg life signs.” Her heart rested just below her throat. She was fighting to remain calm.

Pantuso drummed her fingers on the arm of her chair. The three ships had activated their respective Hazard Teams to investigate the situation at the station. Caution had been stressed to each of them.

“Captain?” She turned at the voice of their two-month chief of science, Ensign Lita Morrison. She’d come up through the ranks quickly. Her adjustment and learning curve was a process. Pantuso left her chair and stood behind her. Lita brought up the scans she was working on, “Normally, when we quantify Borg, we can detect a signal with The Collective.” The data on the screen rotated several times, “I’m not picking up any connection. Many attempts to reach out…but nothing’s responding.”

Alexandra slid into the chair next to the science chief, “So whatever Borg drones are on the station…they’re not getting orders or updates? They’re just getting…silence?”

Morrison matched her CO’s contemplative stance as she ran through various scenarios in her head. The connection to the collective was notoriously powerful and could reach distances that beguiled Starfleet scientists. She sat forward with a start, “These aren’t Borg…at least…the Borg of the Delta Quadrant that we know. That device was an early design with the Changeling conspiracy for Frontier Day and was probably tuned specifically to the Borg Queen.” She tapped her console anew, “They’re not receiving a signal back because The Borg Queen they are tasked with connecting to is dead.”

Alex blew out a low whistle of appreciation: “So they don’t have direction or leadership telling them what to do. The initial attack and ensuing assimilation spree were instinctual. Once their version of order was restored…they’d ask for their next step, which is never going to come.”

Lita drummed her fingers on the edge of the console. “What if we could…deprogram them or something? Send a shut-down code? Then, we’d only have to worry about the creature from the Borg lagoon. Hazard team only has to worry about one versus all of them.”

Pantuso snapped her fingers, “Get to work. We’re going to have time to scan and figure out what we’re looking at when we arrive in two – work with the other two science departments…and work quickly. You might end up saving some lives by the end of this, Ensign Morrison.”

Baron Nine sat next to the empty science station on the bridge of the USS Douglas. Sadie Fowler remained in the care of the Montana Station hospital, and he had been the next best option to assist with science. He had stoutly refused to sit in her chair. The data from the Dragonfly was on the screen, and he worked at an event pace. His knowledge and experience with Borg had been a benefit for Starfleet at large. It had been over two months since he had come under the wing of the Montana Station Squadron. He had spent that time learning all he had missed and all that existed outside of where he had lived. There had been so much to learn. So much context had filled his mind, and he was still learning in his downtime.

“Baron?” He turned in the chair to face his captain, Helena Dread. She asked, “Thoughts so far?” She had accepted him early on. Not feeling judgment staring at him from across the bridge had been a welcome relief.

“The initial concept is within the limits of the technology they had used in the incident. We have the research and data from the Frontier Day experience. It is a matter of taking that and putting it to work with the scenario we face now.” He returned to the console, “Given that it was an earlier concept, it helps. Finding a way to infuse them with a new collective signal may be the more advantageous path.”

Dread appeared lost in thought for a moment. She shook her head, “You don’t seem to think we’ll be able to save anyone from their assimilated fate.” He observed a sadness in both her voice and face.

Nine agreed, “Whatever they discovered as flawed with this device and then proceeded to perfect it – the flawed nature precludes anything from surviving the mangled process it has created. The nature of the reformulated process was that with the destruction of the Queen and the signal that was exerting control over people, they returned to their normal state. I do not wish to think of what would happen if we attempted to return those on the station to their original state. The reports of Nathanial and his group are evidence enough.”

Helena felt a coldness in her chest. She had been hopeful, perhaps foolishly, that maybe they’d manage to find someone they could save. Whether they were hero, villains, or somewhere in between, they deserved to at least live according to their terms. She was frustrated with Hasara. Tougun had grown his power base with an act of mass murder. There was too much wanton death weighing the equation down to attempt to make the excuse that those who had been assimilated were terrible and evil. Her mind returned to the present, “You’re suggesting we create a pseudo-collective to accept the signal and…what? Shut them down?”

The ex-Borg put it plainly, “We would need to instruct them to deactivate permanently. The next step would be to…”

She raised her right hand, “I know what the next step is, Baron. We would need to process the bodies and ensure their complete and total destruction.”

“It is current protocol, Captain Dread.”

Helena clamped her mouth shut. He was new to this as both ex-Borg and human. Telling him off would do neither of them any good. After a minute of silence, she found her words, “Get to building it. We’ll determine the signal once the fake collective system has been built and tested.” She watched as he stood and headed for the science offices. She hoped they would find a way to save some of them.

“You sound skeptical, Park.” Captain Wren Walton sat in her ready room on the Perseverance, her XO across the desk. The plan had been agreed on—the process of building a collective with which to reply was underway.

Commander Park wasn’t sure how she felt. There were far too many variables to handle, and her science background made her equally fascinated and horrified by the possibilities ahead. “I don’t know if skeptical covers it, Wren. You read Helena’s report. She is less than thrilled.”

Walton sat back in the chair, “The problem is – she’s not wrong. If they were Federation citizens, Starfleet officers, or a race that was a member of the Federation – we wouldn’t hesitate. We’d do everything we could to save them.” She grumbled, “But any of them that we find with a remote chance of recovery will have to be routed through JAG, Starfleet Security, and everybody else. They’ll have to be secured at Montana Station until someone can make it out here to pick them up.”

Park mused, “Sounds like you just talked us into doing the right thing, Wren.”

Walton grimaced, “Sometimes I hate it when I’m right. I’ll loop in Fontana. He’s going to hate this too.”

Sickbay was a macabre sight.  Bodies of half-assimilated lay twitching on biobeds as the combined medical staff of Dragonfly, Douglas, and Perseverance worked through the survivors, the dying, and the dead.  A cargo bay had been transformed into a massive medical operations center.  The quiet hum of medical equipment – life support and otherwise – kept a quiet drumbeat as the staff shuffled from bed to bed.

Jordan Reid stood tall in the middle of the organized chaos. Once the pseudo-collective framework had activated and connected, they had pulled twenty-five bodies from the station.  She watched as Dragonfly’s Doctor Henry Longfellow worked his way through the survivors who had the best chances of survival.  Head Nurse Asato assisted him in the painstaking process of removing the Borb implements while the rest of the Dragonfly medical staff worked around them.

She glanced across the bay.  They’d lost five on the tables – the physical bodies had been battered beyond the Borg repair process.  She was a doctor first.  The sadness at a life lost, no matter the story, weighed on her heart each time.  She completed her rounds with each patient and went to the other bay across the hall where the beast had been moved.

“Mother.” The mechanical voice of the Borg creature was human and robotic, giving Reid pause as she stepped into the containment room that had been quickly assembled when the beast that had once been Osha Gac’s daughter had surrendered to the Hazard Team.  “I killed my mother,” it wailed.

Jordan caught the eye of Commander Sergio Clemente, the chief medical officer on the Perseverance. He motioned her to the console he was working on, “Welcome, Doctor Reid. When the signal came through, it broke her away from the programming the device had done.  She may look like a metal monstrosity, but whatever malicious programming loaded into her…it is all gone.”  He shook his head, “The mind of Jarica Gac remains…broken as it may be.”

The mournful wail from the murderous creation moaned, her spindly metallic arms dragging across the floor of the cargo bay.  “I am sorry, mama.”

Reid flinched at the sound. She looked away from the uncomfortable sight. “We have a similar situation playing out across the hall. Once we disconnect the Borg elements, not enough of their biological bodies are left to retain life.  They did not care about who or what they did with that device – if only they could find a way to perfect it even more.”  She asked, “What are we going to do?”

Sergio picked a PADD off his console, explaining as he handed it over, “The Vinculum.” Jordan began to read as he continued, “At last report, it was being stored at Starbase 72 for research.”

She replied, “You’re suggesting we transfer those that survive into a Vinculum transfer device…and add them.  JAG is going to have some questions about this.”  She amended that statement, “They are going to have many questions about this.”

He shrugged, “I may hold the rank of commander, but those decisions are in the hands of higher ranks with much larger responsibilities.”  He turned to what remained of Jarica, “She killed her mother.  She tried so hard to stop the programming from taking her life…but resistance was futile.  We will need to consider some kind of…counseling for her before we consider where her mind is going to end up.”

Jordan kept her eyes on Clemente, “I think she’ll need to be transferred to a Vinculum holding before she can be dealt with rationally.  She’s going to have a hell of a complex seeing all that she is while talking about processing the death of her mother…by her own hands.”

Sergio’s eyes widened in realization, “My goodness…I had never thought about that. We would have to do that.  I will begin my process immediately.  You must report this to Fleet Captain Fontana and the others.  Such decisions will take time for everyone involved.”  He walked off to return to the task at hand.  

Reid chewed on her bottom lip.  It could never be easy, could it?

“It’s certainly innovative.”  Fleet Captain Geronimo Fontana was on the screen in the briefing room onboard the Dragonfly.  Captains Wren Walton, Helena Dread, Alexandra Pantuso, and their respective XOs were around the table.  Lieutenant Jordan Reid stood at the front of the room, her presentation finished.  Beside Fontana was Commander Archibald Davidson from JAG.

He had plenty to say: “This is highly irregular. We’ve identified all twenty of them as wanted men and women with multiple charges pending and investigations open.  They should be handed over to the JAG department for immediate processing.”  Reid’s dislike for the man wasn’t improving.

Dread saved her from saying what was on her mind, “Commander Davidson, it would be impossible to hand them over to you with this expedited timeline.”  She kept her eyes on the JAG officer, “We’re not opposed to turning them over to you when we’ve found a way to stabilize them.”

Reid could see the JAG officer shift in his seat next to Fontana. “How long will that take?” she asked, fighting the urge to laugh as Fontana’s gaze shifted from the camera to Davidson.

The Fleet Captain spoke gently, “It will take as long it takes, Commander Davidson.  Justice delayed is still justice delivered.”  He turned his attention back to the gathered group on the Dragonfly.  He asked, “Can they remain on life support systems for an extended period?”

Reid realized he was speaking to her.  She had forgotten his medical background.  Turning to face the fleet captain, she said, “They could.  They are only alive because of our interventions.  When the signal cut out the Collective induced programming…the Borg parts of them began to shut down.”  She began to see what he was asking, “In theory, they could remain on life support through the judicial process.  It will require the station’s level of care to ensure each makes it – stabilization could become a moving target the longer they remain on life support.”

Helena scoffed, “Commander Davidson, these people have suffered enough at the hands of this device.”

The face of the Sector Judge Advocate reflected his opinion of her suggestion, and his words left little doubt, “They have subjected plenty of people in the rimward to their reign of terror, murder, and anarchy.  I will file my immediate requests for them to be transferred to the station once stabilized.  I will require Fleet Captain Fontana and Captain Halsey to verify any attempts at slowing the process down in writing.”

Reid watched Fontana lazily side-eye his JAG officer, “Careful, Archibald.  Nothing’s official until you file it.”  The JAG officer appeared to swallow his words and made excuses as he left the screen.  Geronimo’s face flashed amusement, “He’ll get his way only because he’s right, and I agree with him.  He’s still learning commanders don’t get to tell Fleet Captains what to do without a signature or two.”  He leaned in, “You have your orders.  Get here as fast as you are able – a FNN reporter has been here since the middle of November.  Captain Walton – you’ve been assigned to complete the final inspection and examination of the station.  Starfleet has ordered the place scuttled once that’s complete.  The rest of you – we’ll see you soon.”  The channel closed.

Pantuso told Reid, “Work with Longfellow. Let us know once everyone is stabilized.” She stood and left with her XO.  Soon, the room was empty, except for Jordan and Wren.

Reid spoke first.“Captain Walton.”

“Lieutenant Reid.”  Wren let the pause hold before she asked, “Commander Clemente has submitted his retirement paperwork once this mission is completed.”  She watched Jordan’s face carefully.

Reid’s eyes widened, “You’re…you’re asking me to apply to the Perseverance.”  She shook her head, “Why would I ever want to leave the Douglas?”

“I need a good doctor, Jordan.”

She scoffed, “Plenty of those around.”

Wren smiled, “Someone who is not afraid to say that to my face.  Park can help our science teams grow up, but I need a doctor and a leader in my sickbay.”

”You think I’m going to say yes?”

“I think you’re damned good at what you do, Jordan.  I think you want a place that will challenge you…and maybe give you a taste of command.  You were an XO at one point.”

Jordan felt her face grow hot at the memory, “That’s a deep cut.  You know full well how that all ended.”

“What if Ambrose Harris was right about you?  What if you were meant for bigger things down the road?”

Jordan pushed out a chair and sat roughly down, “You practice that speech?”

Walton slid into the chair opposite her, “It’s a speech I used when my job was to get people out of the wrong positions and into the right ones.  You’re a damned good doctor.  I’ve also been told you can talk to people and help them see themselves.”

Reid didn’t initially reply, but she slowly sat back in her chair. Her mind was awash with competing ideas, thoughts, and directions; it would take time to reconcile them all. She said, “I have until this mission ends.”  Wren nodded. “You’ll have your answer then.”  Reid pushed up from the chair, heading for the door. She stopped as it opened into the corridor. “You meant what you said?”

“I always do, Jordan.”  Reid gave her one last look before diving back into the hallway.  Walton sat back in her chair.  Waiting was the hardest part.

“Syndicate operatives are being held in the custody of the Judge Advocate General’s office here on Montana Station and will be processed through the justice system.  All twenty of them have been identified.  Starfleet Security and the JAG office did not answer questions beyond the announcement press conference early this morning.  A specialized medical team is currently ensuring the ongoing treatment of the suspects. We do not know the condition of the alleged Borg Monster and have received ‘no comment’ across the board from anyone we ask, including the commanding officer of this station, Fleet Captain Geronimo Fontana.  You may recognize his name – formerly a Task Force XO and CO, his assignment here is a curious one…”

Fontana muted the screen in his office.  The FNN reporter, Craig Syracuse, had a reputation and had upheld it since arriving at the station a month ago.  The good news was Geronimo had a stellar public relations officer who had taken over the media-facing responsibilities.

The door to his office opened, and Captain Helena Dread walked through, not taking the seat he’d offered.  “What have you done?”  Her voice was strained, and her eyes were wide.

“News travels fast” was the best he could offer.  She stared at him, her fists balled tightly at her sides.

“It does, Fleet Captain Fontana.”  Her fury was wrapped within her words, terse and tense.  “I would have the reason.”

He decided against asking her to sit.  Dread’s reputation was not a violent one.  She simply did not suffer fools gladly.  He answered her, “Tougun, Sarge, and the increasing activity of the Orion Syndicate in the rimward have put significant pressure on us.  The Gagarin has teeth where it matters.  Our meeting this afternoon was going to cover this.  I’m sorry.  How did you find out?”

Her fists were unclenched and clenched several times before she slid into the chair opposite him, “The docking operations team had her on the list as incoming.  They also had the Douglas as being in line for some work and eventual transfer.”  She leaned back in her chair, “Is this one going to stick?”

“Are you asking me or asking yourself?”  He flinched when her eyes returned their burning stare.

Dread didn’t speak right away.  She turned her attention to the window into space across the room, “I wish we had been given more time with the Daedalus.”

Fontana replied, “I wish you had too.  You’re still in the center chair, Helena.  I trust you…and more importantly, Fourth Fleet trusts your ability to command.”  He tapped at his PADD, “She arrives tomorrow morning.  One last thing…Pantuso has asked for Commander Ford as her XO.  Commander Hargraves has been tasked to assist with diplomatic operations here.”  He handed over the PADD, “We’re working on finding you an XO.”

Dread read over the screen while she said, “I have a thought about that.  Fowler.”  She thought out loud in response to his raised eyebrows, “We’re a young crew, Ger – ensigns and lieutenants. She can take the command courses onboard and cycle off when classroom time is required.  We’ve got XOs she can work with on both ships to mentor her – not to mention Walton’s previous position.”

The station CO had been nodding as she explained, “The well is pretty dry at this point – bottom of the barrel is where we’d be starting from, and I didn’t like their chances.  You need to be sure about this, Helena.”

She chuckled, “With me or the Gagarin?”

“Both.”

“And I’m sure, Ger.  Like you said – the barrel’s pretty bottomed out.  We need good officers we can count on.  We can count on Fowler.”

Fontana replied, “Then I’ll be counting on you.”

Dread stood, a sense of relief cooling her initial annoyances, “I’ll take that, Ger.”

The door closed behind her, and Geronimo sat back in his chair.  Risk was their business, he reminded himself.  What kind of explorers would they be if they played it safe?

Jordan Reid stood awkwardly at the dock doors for the USS Perseverance in Montana Station.  She’d spent the last week thinking about what she would do.  The question that Walton had put to her hadn’t faded.  It had stuck in the back of her mind, digging around her thoughts.  She’d tried to put it out of her mind with every trick she knew.  Yet…it kept crawling out of whatever hole she’d buried it in.  Her conversation with Dread had been comforting in ways she always knew but had worried about anyway.

“Jordan.”  The door had opened, and Captain Wren Walton stood in the doorway.  “Dread called ahead.”

Reid fidgeted with her hands, “I don’t like admitting when I’m wrong.”  She pushed her eyes to meet those of Walton’s, “But I was wrong.  Ambrose…he did see something in me.  He didn’t ever do anything by half measures…and he didn’t hesitate to promote me to XO.”  She swallowed, her heart climbing her throat, “I think I didn’t want to see it because I lost him…and I didn’t want to have that happen to anybody around me.”

Walton stepped through the doorway and stood beside Jordan. “I had a feeling, ” she said, her smile reassuring Reid. Wren continued, “Your journey is your own…and it won’t be easy.”

“I suppose you’re going to tell me you’ll be with me along the way?”

“Got it in one, Lieutenant Reid. Commander Park was pretty thrilled when I mentioned my idea to her.”

Reid frowned, “She’s not worried I’m going to replace her?”  She’d been in that position before.

“Park has grown a lot and learned a lot.  I don’t want my XOs to be XOs forever.  You’re meant for more, Lieutenant Reid. So is Park.”

“What about you?”

Wren chuckled, “I’d like to move up in the universe someday, too.  You can keep me accountable to that if you like.  Park’s already like my mother…what’s another one to keep me honest?”

Jordan glanced around the station docking area one last time.  New adventures.  New crew.  New sickbay.  New mission.  It felt like a new day.  She said, “Then I request permission to board, Captain Walton.”

Wren’s smile broadened as she led her towards the open door, “Welcome aboard the Perseverance.”

“Personal log, Fleet Captain Geronimo Fontana, Starbase Montana.” He lounged on his long couch beside the warming fireplace in his expansive quarters. The final reports had been submitted to Fourth Fleet Command. “I can’t shake the feeling that this thing is over. Tougun expanded his growing Orion Syndicate empire, and we had to watch it spin madly and out of control.” He sipped slowly at his Montana whiskey, feeling the warm burn comfort his conflicted mind. “Hasara tells me he believes we did the right thing…but I don’t think he’s telling the whole truth.” In his other hand was a PADD with Hasara’s unredacted dossier, “There was something in his eyes when we talked…I don’t know if it was regret, guilt…or something else. Cardassians aren’t known for any of those feelings…and yet…,” he jumped up and refilled his glass, “I can’t shake that what he and his crew saw on that station…what they heard…has left a mark he can’t scrub off.”

He ambled around the room, his feet shuffling over the polished floors. He could see the splatters of blood that had littered the Syndicate station decks, frantic and furious patterns scattered all around. “I also am having a hell of a time shaking the loss of life on the station…five lives is still too much, as evil as they were. I’m getting hourly reports on the prisoners’ conditions…and so far, the twenty remaining are alive.” He drank lazily from his glass, “We didn’t lose anyone.” When they’d received the initial assignment, he feared the losses he would have to bear.

He mourned, “We were one of the lucky ones.” The initial reports of crew losses had grown to include familiar names on ships across the Fourth Fleet. He sat quietly for a few minutes, long enough for the computer to chirp at him. Geronimo roused out of sadness, “I used to agree with Kirk’s assessment that ‘Risk is our business.’ I’m starting to understand what believing in that line can mean for our friends across the fleet.” Another refill and he sat back on the couch, “I was a fool to think we’d get a respite after Frontier Day. There will always be someone…or something out there that wants to remind us they don’t believe in our shared future – that they know better.” He tossed back his drink, clicking his tongue at the kick, “And somehow…we keep pushing back.” Memories of the past filtered through his mind. The Lost Fleet. Underspace. Frontier Day. The Borg’s shadowy appearances of late.

“We pay the price…every time. We were the lucky ones this time. We all get to come home.” He pushed himself out of the couch and wandered towards the floor-to-ceiling windows that looked out into the blinking stars and suns, “There will be beds out there that will be empty. A place at the table is waiting.” He was quiet again, reflecting on his career and the officers he had worked with and led into the unknown. Loss had found him early. “It never gets any easier,” he said more to himself. “Loss and Grief stalk our steps. They wait…they watch. You can only dodge it for so long before it…extracts from you what they always come to take.”

He played with the empty glass in his hands, “We helped a madman get a foothold in our backyard. I’m still wrestling with it…and I won’t soon be able to forgive myself.” He leaned against the thick window, “You grow up thinking the adventure in space will be full of the good and right things in the universe, that you’ll be saving people and putting a stop to the bad guys who lurk in corners.” He laughed dryly, “What you find out pretty quickly in the academy…there’s a lot of grey out here. Then, when you get your first posting…you start to figure it out. The universe is much better than it used to be…but plenty of work remains to keep all our people safe.” He pushed off the window, “I was talking to a friend this morning…he’s been retired a year…and the stories he tells me of the places he’s been, the alien races he’s met…the universe he’s just getting started exploring…he told me he wished he’d chosen Starfleet instead of the private sector.” Another dry chuckle escaped his lips, “If only he knew what life was like on the other side. If only he knew.” Geronimo walked to the console in his living room, “We were lucky this time. I hope we’ll always be that lucky.” He turned back to the windows, searching the lights that littered space. Where would the next threat come from? Who was plotting their downfall? What lay beyond that next horizon? He poured a small amount of whiskey into his glass.

“Someone once told me, ‘We’ll know when we get there.’ To the luck of the Montana Squadron. And to each of us coming home… every time.” He tossed back the drink, gritting his teeth. “Computer, end and save log. Mark as private for now.” The chip of the computer replied. He returned to the windows, watching the comings and goings. He whispered, “Bring me that next horizon…whatever may come.”  He felt his chest tighten.

“Whatever may come.”