The heavy scent of the Djosen Maru’s incense-laden air eased as the fireflies withdrew from Lykal’s eyes and the filtered air of Ascension’s atmosphere filled his nostrils. The blue motes clear a tad too slowly for his preference, especially when they could be discovered in the belly of the beast at any time.

“Did we land on target?” Lykal whispered, wafting a rogue transporter flare from the corner of his field of vision.

“Deck four section six, right on target,” Kyoma replied in equally hushed tones as she consulted a small screen in the crook of her arm. Unfamiliar glyphs and symbols danced across its surface as pulses of light wafted across the screen in slow, repeated sensor sweeps. “We’re less than a hundred metres from the VIP quarters.”

“And the exit plan?” Lykal asked, with a touch more nervousness than he would have liked.

“Ten metres, just up ahead.” Kyoma nodded down the long corridor that banked away to the left, following the curve of Ascension’s saucer section.

“Then it’s time to go before-” Lykal was cut short by a shrill whistle that chased his words down the corridor. “What in the hell?”

A heavy, red glow consumed the section as the already scarlet wall panels turned a vibrant, angry crimson. The piercing whistle was quickly becoming intrusive in tone as Kyoma tapped a nearby wall console.

“Intruder alert, we’ve been spotted,” she announced as she set off down the corridor.

“Guess the first surprise is out the window,” Lykal groaned as he set out at a sprint behind his green-skinned collaborator.

Tribolus tapped the small console by the doorway, sending the wide doors sliding closed and activating the magnetic locks with a barely audible click to secure the Divine and her retinue within the VIP quarters.

“Safe,” she whispered under her breath, eliciting a sideways glance from the tall Bolian security officer who stood nearby. “Extra safe.”

“Commander Atil’ika has confirmed the intruders materialised nearby,” Nemros announced as he strode over from a nearby wall console, slotting a phaser into his belt. “Additional security is on the way, but be on guard.”

As the pair of security officers checked their phasers with practised skill, Tribolus could feel the weight in her stomach beginning to grow; it wouldn’t take much to root her to the ground, and she could feel a leaden weight already threatening to anchor her to the deck. Should she stay? Despite the colour of her shoulders, she had little in common with the gigantic security officers who loomed over her. Would she be expected to join in some sort of defence?

The weight lurched at the thought of being in a firefight.

“Ensign, you don’t have to stay here,” Nemros nodded towards a nearby empty stateroom, causing Tribolus a twitch of shame. Was he already sensing her reticence? “You’ll be safe in there.”

“I’d like to be of use if I can, Captain,” Tribolus replied with an unexpected confidence. Perhaps it was the adrenaline, perhaps it was the ghostly presence of her veteran father breathing down the back of her neck from across the galaxy. In either case, she had already said the words.

“I don’t expect you to provide an armed guard ensign, Keswick and Fern are very capable of doing that. You should head to safety.” There was a heavy paternal tone in Nemros’s voice, like she had just offered a heavyweight champion assistance with cracking a box of eggs.

The stoic, blue-skinned Fern smiled down at her, a condescending smugness creeping across his face as he set the long handle of the phaser in his enormous hands. The leaden weight in Tribolus’s stomach lifted slightly at the man’s smug grin, it’s foot rooting effect eased by a sudden fire that was swelling within her.

“I wouldn’t be much of a Starfleet officer if I didn’t do my duty,” Tribolus replied curtly as she grabbed a phaser from the nearby wall locker and sent it spinning shut with a pass of her hand over the controls.

Nemros’s eyes momentarily flashed with surprise, but it was quickly dismissed into the reaches of his characteristically stoic face. For a brief moment, Tribolus expected him to order her into the suite, but instead the man simply looked her over with his dark golden eyes. The young woman hadn’t expected to be weighed and measured by such experienced eyes; in truth, she had expected to spend the day continuing her mind-numbing adventures in plasma conduit 17-D. Breakfast with a prophet had been a surprise; volunteering for a firefight had seemed an impossibility.

“Very well then,” he replied, satisfied in his unspoken assessment of the young officer.

“Set phasers to stun.”

“Four targets ahead, possibly a security escort,” Kyoma confirmed as her fist lowered from a stop signal back to her in-built scanner. “We are outnumbered.”

“How about Bridget’s tango?” Lykal mused with pursed lips.

“I didn’t bring the gravity mine,” Kyoma replied with an apologetic tap of her empty belt loops. “What about Grundar’s leap?”

“We’d have to get in the jefferies tubes.” Lykal scratched the end of his disruptor on his forehead, hoping to call forth the perfect gambit. “We weren’t expecting them quite this quickly.”

A lifetime of less-than-legitimate business activities presented itself to his mind’s eye like a criminal inventory, long sheets of past ploys both successful and unsuccessful drawn forth from the depths of his memories.

Not a Golden Trident, they’d need a third person.

A Little Iroh might work, but they’d probably get boxed in.

Chomp Chomp would be great, but unless Starfleet had taken to keeping Sehlat’s aboard, they were out of luck.

A flash of insight jumped into his brain as an imaginary spotlight fell onto a possible tactic on his oversized imaginary list.

“Did you bring those holo-costumes?” Lykal asked, a mischievous grin eeking its way across his face.

“Yeah, but they only last about sixty seconds.” Kyoma frowned. “And they won’t stand up to much scrutiny from even a junior officer.”

“We won’t be speaking with an officer.” He pointed to a nearby alcove where a discreet doorway stood, bundled in the shadows cast by the crimson pulsing light. “That’s a service access to a function room. Signal the ships for another close pass as a distraction and signal T’Kal she’s up. We’ve got to get into costume.”