When a carbon – based body is suddenly exposed to the merciless rigors of space, a number of interesting things happen, and they tend to happen fast.

Of course, when I say ‘interesting’, you must understand that I do so from a purely academic perspective. From the perspective of the unfortunate that is suddenly confronted with the inevitability of vacuum, it instantly becomes their pervading and only interest.

Who they were, what they did with whatever life they had left, who they loved, who they wronged, what they hoped for in their future – even their children, had they any – all forgotten in an instant. In that moment of premature consignment to the void, their attention is firmly fixed upon the immediacy of what is happening to them physically.

Space is kind of a bitch like that.

The environment that is unimaginatively named by the Human Race as “Space” is noted for both its vastness in volume and conversely its total lack of oxygen and pressure. It’s also very, VERY cold – around about 2.7 Kelvin (-270.45 degrees Celsius or -454.81 degrees Fahrenheit). This temperature is just slightly above absolute zero, the theoretical lowest temperature possible, where all molecular motion is at its minimum.

So, the first thing a body begins to experience the instant it encounters vacuum without the sensible precaution of a starship (or at the very least an EVA suit), is what can only be described as a terminal case of frostbite.

Brrrr, right?

But our misfortunate traveler amongst the stars has little time to contemplate this frigid state of affairs. You may remember that we started off with the not – inconsequential fact about space being about as lacking in oxygen and pressure as a Vulcan lecture on applied physics at the Sortek Academy? If you’ve ever survived sitting through that experience, then sudden exposure to the harshness of space might begin to seem appealing.

But I digress.

This loss of atmospheric pressure once outside the airlock in one’s birthday suit is already doing two things. Both of them extremely painful and distressing to our subject. Both of them inevitably fatal – but not straight away.

Firstly, the lack of atmospheric pressure causes Ebullism in the body – the bodily fluids actually beginning to boil within the vessels and confines of the body.

Not – much – fun.

Secondly the distinct lack of oxygen also does two things simultaneously – our unfortunate friend begins to suffer from Hypoxia as the lack of oxygen gradually leads to unconsciousness.

Now. I can hear you thinking “Well, surely that’s a blessing, right?”. The reality is that it’s a bit more of a “Column – A” and “Column – B” affair really, because as you slip into unconsciousness in your drift towards oblivion – your body is also experiencing the phenomena of Hypocapnia.

The reduced carbon dioxide levels begin to exponentially affect your ability to breathe, to – whit your lungs start to drown in the nothingness of space.

Now, at this stage – any reasonable person would think that our exposee is done, dusted and destined for the dumpster. And you wouldn’t be wrong, ultimately, but our feckless friend has a couple of more distressing experiences to cram into their infinitesimally – short life before they get to whatever’s behind that door.

While all these fun and games are transpiring as they are expiring, the body begins to experience Decompression – sickness and brother – that ain’t pretty!

The body begins to swell like a particularly cantankerous balloon, the pressure within the body forcing its way outwards with gusto – causing soft organs to bulge (eye – caramba!) and the fluids from the body to force themselves with pin-point eruptions from the skin, before the skin itself begins to tear from the pressure.

All of a sudden, a 3 – day Vulcan Science Symposium doesn’t seem so bad after all, amiright?

There are other unpleasant attendant effects, such as exposure to cosmic radiation and the effects of microgravity of whatever bodily systems aren’t completely junked at this juncture, but basically our pal’s goose is well and truly cooked and the last look on their face tells us that they didn’t exactly have a swinging time as they span through the cosmos.

Which is exactly the look that Ghaeykesh had on what remained of his face when his body impacted on the cockpit screen of Worker – Bee #25154 and scared the living bejesus out of Leading Crewman Samuel Hart as he made his way across the operating space of Starbase 72 on his way to his morning shift in the outer spaceyards.

How can I be so sure of this detail?

Well, firstly it was noted in Leading Crewman Hart’s official account in the incident report prepared by Starfleet Security (which was ludicrously easy to come by, I may add) right before he went for a nice lie down and a little chat with the Station Councilor and a hypo of something more soothing.

Secondly, well I know this because I am responsible for putting the Nausicaan out of the airlock (much against his will) in the first place.

Now, at this point, it’s inevitable that you all find yourself wondering who I am exactly and clamoring for exposition?

And where is the fun in that, I ask you?

Although the more shrewdly intuitive amongst you might think that you have arrived at the answer to this conundrum, given enough time (and bully for you – probably keep you out of mischief) you might congratulate yourself with just how clever you think you are – but I hate to disappoint you in saying that you will invariably be wrong.

Let’s just say, for the sake of good intentions and so that you elect to stick around for the “Big – Finale” (and boy, it’s a doozy), that I am probably the most unreliable ‘unreliable – narrator’ that you have ever had the misfortune to meet and leave it at that.

But to get to the end, you have to start at the beginning and that has already happened.

Whilst it may be where you think you came in, instead you join our melliferous tale near it’s mid – point and whilst I have not the time nor inclination to trot back to the true beginning of the events that led us hence and don my tour – guide hat to point out each tedious plot development and trope that got us to the now of things – it’s only fair to take you back a few weeks to when the unfortunate Nausicaan in question took a sudden trip through one of Starbase 72’s airlocks and started a chain of events that would ensnare the innocent, expose at least one liar , start a small war and threaten to bring down one of the most powerful criminal syndicates that modern times had even known.

Not bad for a morning’s work but, you know what they say, “from Little Things, Big Things grow.”

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(*Authors note – this story takes place 2 weeks after the events aboard the USS Savannah, in the story “Denouement”- part of the Mission “All along the Watchtower)

A thin rivulet of water coursed its damp journey down the back of the collar of the civilian jacket that she wore, and Kennedy Zhao cursed in Cantonese.

“𨳒”. (Dui – “Fuck”).

Frowning, Kennedy moved her position behind the cargo container and lamented the choice of meeting point – but levelly accepted that, for the type of transaction about to be enacted, that one of the more public spaces of Starbase 72 was hardly the most appropriate of locales to conduct business such as this.

No stranger to nefarious dealings, the resourceful the Starfleet Special Services crewman had staked her reputation and career on being able to procure the unprocurable in her efforts to satisfy the whims and desires of her clientele.

Now, the young woman had cause to wonder if the price of revenge was one transaction that she would end up paying for, for the rest of her life.

Irritated, she attempted to push the guilty thought from her mind and instead tried to focus by remembering the face of Aldus Coe and remind herself of the real reason why she came to be where she currently was.

Aldus’s death was still fresh in her mind and her sense of responsibility for his death, even though it had not been at her hand, was deep rooted in the conviction that he was one of her people and she had been raised with a pervading sense of responsibility for such things.

The darndest thing was, try as she might, she just couldn’t properly form a picture of what her colleague had looked like – without the image of his frozen face in the ‘O-Bar’s’ walk – in freezer injecting itself where is living face should be.

Her reverie was thankfully interrupted by the arrival of her visitors.

Kennedy stepped out from the shadows where she had been waiting for hours and spoke tersely.

“You’re late.”

The motley collection that tramped into the little – used cargo bay came to a semblance of a halt and the largest of their number rumbled.

“Hard to move fast when you have one of these.”

With that, the fearsome looking Angosian mercenary shoved the figure his large hand had been resting on – rudely forward, the restraints and hood making it impossible for the unfortunate to do anything else than plunge face – first into a puddle of pooled water on the deck and groan.

“The Green – woman sends her compliments.” The genetically & chemically engineered veteran of the Tarsian Wars shrugged diffidently.

“Charmed, I’m sure.” Kennedy smiled thinly and without humor, as she approached the recumbent form and pulled the hood off to reveal the slightly battered face of a male Nausicaan, who cringed at the sudden light and peered fearfully around.

“This is him?” she peered from the terrified Nausicaan to the towering Angosian.

The merc spat on the deck, before nodding slowly.

“That’s him.”

Kennedy looked down at the cringing Nausicaan. If this really was the hacker that had been responsible for unleashing the compromised Special Services Hologram aboard the USS Savannah, tasked by the terrorist organization – the New Marquis – with the mission to destroy the New Orleans – class frigate and everybody aboard it (whilst murdering & assuming the identity of Aldus Coe), then the Gods truly had delivered the instrument of that crime into her hands.

But not the architect.

Dispassionately, she addressed the prisoner.

“What is your name?”

“…Ghaeykesh..” The Nausicaan managed before hawking up a glob of thick, dark blood onto the deck plates.

Kennedy glared at the Angosian, who looked unconcerned and pretended to inspect his fingernails.

“Didn’t come quietly.” The Merc explained, already bored with the proceedings and eager to spend some of his pay on the promenade deck.

Kennedy returned her attention to Ghaeykesh, trying to contain her emotions and pressed the Nausicaan Hacker for answers – unsure if they would be sufficient to assuage her anger.

“You were paid by the New Marquis to program and plant a doctored holo – emitter aboard the USS Savannah, with instructions to destroy that ship and everyone aboard her.” There was a venom in Kennedy’s voice that was even sufficient to make the Angosian pause to consider her for a while.

“Yes….” The Nausicaan managed as he squirmed uncomfortably on the deck of the cargo bay.

Kennedy grabbed Ghaeykesh by his throat, her fury coming unbidden and sudden. She shouted in his cringing face.

“WHO PAID YOU!? TELL ME !!” she roared. Now the remaining mercs began to take notice.

“I can’t tell you!” Ghaeykesh wailed pitifully, “I never met the client! That’s not how it works! They contacted me anonymously and left the payment in an encrypted account! I swear I don’t know!!!”

Kennedy swore again and let go of the Nausicaan, who slumped back to the deck. She stood, bristling with frustration and planted her hands on her hips.

“You want that I should…you know…?” The Angosian began to unholster a particularly effective – looking disruptor pistol that hung at this hip, looking meaningfully at the prisoner with one scarred eyebrow raised.

Kennedy shook her head quickly and violently as she stared down at Ghaeykesh coldly.

“No, as much as it would give me very great pleasure to see this piece of filth spread across the bulkhead walls, he has answers to questions that I need answered and I intend to get those answers.”

Looking mildly disappointed, the Angosian Merc shrugged his massive shoulders and slipped the murderous disruptor back into the holster.

Looking down at the cowering Ghaeykesh, Kennedy’s voice was as ice.

“Please thank D’Taani Varada for keeping her side of the bargain.” Kennedy instructed the Angosian to relay back to the shadowy Orion Bar – owner on Terminus Station. “Tell her that I consider our transaction complete and paid in full.”

The Angosian Merc nodded like he really didn’t give a shit.

“I’m about to summon Starfleet Security to take this vermin into custody and something tells me that you would rather not be around when they arrive?” Kennedy raised an appraising eyebrow at the dubious group of Guns – for – Hire.

“Damn straight, ya’ got that right.”

The Angosian circled a fat – finger in the air and called to his crew “C’mon boys, let’s leave the Dragon – Lady and her pal here to their fun and go and grab us a few drinks.”

Kennedy folded her arms as the Mercs departed, not without a thin-looking Andorian Merc, missing one antenna, smiling nastily down at the Nausicaan in passing and to Kennedy before commenting.

“Good luck buddy, something tells me you’re really gonna need it!!”

Laughing the group departed the cargo bay, leaving Kennedy and Nausicaan alone.

For the longest time, Kennedy Zhao looked at the Nausicaan and considered the Airlock that led from the cargo bay to the hard vacuum outside, inner torment conflicting with her morals.

Eventually though, she sighed and keyed her COMM badge.

“Station control, this is Special Services Crewman Kennedy Zhao, I am currently in Cargo Bay 262. I have apprehended and have in custody the person suspected of sabotaging the USS Savannah and the Murder of Special Services Crewman Aldus Coe. I need a Security team to my location to take the suspect into custody.”