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.”