“Jesus christ.” Ensign Mazev called from over the comms.

Sylvester Mikhailov clutched his rifle just a little bit tighter as the three members of the away team walked through the halls of the abandoned ship they had stumbled upon. It wasn’t hard to figure out the cloaking frequency–but it took up precious time that the Kiznti didn’t like wasting. The ship itself was almost primitive like. Older models outdated by many, wires and old ways of formatting sensors, tubes, and more. The air felt stale–like a part of the filtering hadn’t been fully perfected. No matter what the problem was, another one was rearing it’s ugly head. Truthfully, Sylvester was astonished the ship hadn’t collapsed in on itself yet.

Part of the ship–the non-loading bay part–had the stench of blood and three corpses strung along the walls of the smaller area. All Kaelthri, all showing signs of struggle. Notably, though, each had the same modified tech and clothing. Most importantly; a similar brand. Three triangles, two lines through them, and a dot in the middle, and two on the top and bottom of the brand.

“Commander.” Velau muttered as she glanced upwards. The ceiling had been retrofitted in a crude way to include what seemed like the cloaking device. Sraal’s ears flattened against his skull and his eyes narrowed as he stared.

“This has to be illegal in some sort of way.” The cat hissed. “How does anyone let their technology get this bad?” Sylvester kicked at a piece of debris on the floor and sighed.

“Well, it’s one of two things. We’re uncovering a lot more than what we’ve been told–” The Commander crouched over and lifted up one of the Kaelthri’s arms, letting it drop with a dull thud. “–or these are some seriously primitive people.”

. . . .

It didn’t take long for the rest of the group to search the whole spaceship–but with each moment, Sylvester found himself getting more and more frustrated. Two life forms, such a small ship, and yet they couldn’t find a trace of any of them.

“This cannot be true.” Mazev spoke over the comms as Sylvester angrily paced.

“It is. Are you positive the scans are accurate?” Velau groaned as she leaned against one of the panels in the wall. With a small hisssss, it popped open. . . .

. . .and a small figure lunged forward, slamming itself onto Sraal’s face and began to maul him.

“GET IT OFF! GET IT OFF!!!”

A smaller Kaelthri girl–most likely a child–was scrambling and clawing at Sraal’s space, screaming as her claws cut into his flesh. The cat was positive he was cut out for anything; but right now? Right now, he was screaming his head off. Velau, meanwhile, was dealing with an older woman. The other Kaelthri had a striking look akin to the little girl, and it was soon very apparent the two were mother and daughter. She had Velau in a headlock, choking the poor girl out as she tried desperately to plead to the mother’s humanity.

Quick thinking on his part, Sylvester lunged forward and ripped the child off Sraal–which, he was not thrilled about–and held her up high as she tried to squirm and bite him. That got the mother’s attention, who snarled at Sylvester and dropped Velau. The Ensign coughed violently as she doubled over, holding her throat.

“We don’t want to hurt you.” Commander Mikhailov slowly lowered her daughter. “We’re here to help. Do you understand?”

Finally getting a good look at her, Sylvester quickly realized how rough the woman and her daughter looked. Beaten, bloody, tattered clothing and what looked like discoloration under bumps in the skin. Whatever the hell was going on with this ship, it was clear they weren’t benefiting from it. With a shaky sigh, the mother slumped her shoulders and held out her hands for her daughter.

“…Thank you.” She let out a sigh of relief. “Starfleet, correct? The men, they were speaking of you.”

“Speaking about us? Why?” Sraal narrowed his eyes as small droplets of blood fell down his chin. There was a pause as the woman looked between Velau, her daughter, Sylvester, and Sraal. She slow blinked a few times before scoffing, but just as she was about to say something, she stopped herself. A moment later, she spoke.

“You seriously don’t know? About this?” She motioned to nothing in particular. “ALL of this?”

“All of what??” Velau spoke, voice raspy as she glanced upwards. “We don’t…have any idea of what you’re talking about.”

“The Ikathen.” The woman hissed. Her words dripped with malice so potent even Sylvester noticed. “The criminal underworld of our people.”

“I’ve–we were never told about any of that during our de-briefing. What the hell is this ‘criminal underworld’?” Mazev called from over the comms.

“I’m sorry, miss…?” Sylvester started.

“Wivvi.” Wivvi muttered. “This little darling is Julla’nna.”

“Miss Wivvi.” He frowned, walking forward. “We’ve only been here for a short amount of time. I’m sorry, we have no clue what you’re talking about. We have a starship you can come too–someone has been looking for you.”

“Of course you’d have no idea what we’re talking about.” Julla’nna suddenly spoke up, anger brewing within every word she spoke. “It’s controlled! The big fat lizards get all the money from the good guys and the bad guys! It’s all happening on Drekar V!”