“The method was that taking and bending of materials and people to one purpose, the outlook that everything could be used in the fight; that nothing could be excluded, that everything was a weapon, and the ability to handle those weapons, to find them and choose which one to aim and fire; that talent, that ability, that use of weapons.”

Iain Banks, Use of Weapons (1990)

 

Captain Samantha Hyland hated this place and everyone in it.

 

She shifted uncomfortably in her seat, whilst Administrator Cejuc delivered the daily situation report, droning on with that infuriatingly monotone timbre that the Tamarian seemed to favour and tried to surreptitiously massage some blood back into her numb posterior, whilst distracting herself with a daydream of gouging out Cejuc’s eyes with the blunt end of her writing stylus.

Sam was, even if she admitted it to herself, a woman with an almost infinite inner – reserve of hatred and her near – constant state of irritation was not just confined to this exasperatingly – dull man before her. Her hatred was well founded and festered without a legitimate target to excise itself upon.

So, it was with a considerable sense of relief when her comm – badge chimed softly and the station’s computer gently reminded.

<<“Captain Hyland. Your scheduled appointment with the Station – Councilor is starting in 5 minutes.”>>

Samantha winced inwardly. Bad enough that that sanctimonious bastard, Captain Trevenan Williams, had stripped her of her command and consigned her to the equivalent of career – euthanasia, when he had had her re-assigned her to Joint – Base Dathon in the role of a Liaison – Officer (of all things!), but what the old bastard had termed as “significant concerns as to your mental verisimilitude” had seen her lumbered with a series of compulsory sessions with the pathetically apathetic station Counselling Officer.

Sam’s hands were formed into tight fists under the desk, that did not translate up to her face, which managed a tight smile as she rose and excused herself.

“My deepest apologies, Administrator.” She lied, “But we will have to complete this briefing at some other time. I’m afraid I’m going to be late for my next appointment, I’m sure you understand.”

Cejuc blinked, his broad, repulsive alien features seeming to take an age to catch up to what the Tamarian’s sluggish mind was processing. Eventually neuron aligned with verbalism and the Administrator nodded, replying in the wincingly predicable and obtuse metaphorical babble that his kind insisted on communicating in.

“An opportunity suspended leaves a gulf between understandings. Until next time, Captain Hyland.”

A tic animated Hyland’s smooth cheek, directly below her left eye, but she kept her thin smile even as she replied.

“Yes. Well. Quite. Until next time, Administrator.”

She hated this place and everyone in it.

As she exited the briefing room and entered the corridor of the Jupiter – class station that had been positioned exactly on the line of delineation that bordered Federation & Tamarian space (a symbolic gesture as banal and pointless as everything the UFP did, in her opinion), several Starfleet ratings did well to avoid the glowering Captain and wisely got out of her way.

Captain Samantha Hyland was an officer with a reputation for her ill – temper and petty vindictiveness. More than one junior officer or subordinate had learned this the hard way in the few months since she had transferred to duty aboard the station.

She found herself in an even darker mood than usual and had no intention of sharing her innermost thoughts with that simpering milksop that awaited her in the counsellors officer. That kind of weak – minded abasement of your inner turmoil was to waste the potential that unresolved anger could lend to an individual. It was a strength to be cultivated, not a weakness to be cropped.

So, Sam turned in the opposite direction from the path of travel that would take her towards her appointment and turned instead towards her quarters and the half – finished bottle of Islay malt that lay in her desk – drawer.

She didn’t think for a moment that the burning, tawny liquor could sufficiently eviscerate the futility of her current situation, but at least she would have the small, petty satisfaction of defying the old man and drinking a toast to his (hopeful) demise as he undertook his 5 – year mission to the Gamma Quadrant.

She fervently hoped that the Dominion would capture Captain Williams and torture him mercilessly. It’s what she would have done.

It was his fault that she was in this place, having to undergo the ultimate humiliation of being a Captain without a ship. For the former CO of Task Force 72, Hyland fomented nothing but the deepest hatred in the blackness of her heart of hearts.

Hadn’t she had it all?

A brand-new ship. A compliant crew. A command – structure entirely unaware of who she was, what she was capable and with a whole new Universe to explore and exploit.

She could have done great things. GREAT things.

A person with the will and the means to put this galaxy in order. To restore mankind to the pinnacle of influence that their sure genetic birthright had bestowed on them. The wonders she could have brought about.

Yet she was laid low by the very nauseating egalitarianism of the United Federation of Planets.

As much as she had tried to ape and emulate the person who’s place and position she had so effortlessly supplanted, to smile and bow and spew platitudes in an effort to evade detection – all Sam seemed to have achieved was to draw more attention to herself and place herself in jeopardy.

First, it had started with differences of opinion with her Executive Officer, who had had the temerity to question her orders on several occasions. If she had been in her previous position, she would have dealt with such insubordination with a swift knife to the guts –let the entire crew witness the rewards for challenging her authority.

Then, questions were raised about the changing makeup of her crew roster. Task Force command considered that the migration of crewmembers with non – Terran backgrounds was of concern. Those who did not directly apply for a transfer off the USS Valley Forge, seemed to be assigned to duties contrary to their ability or preference and were soon forcibly removed from the crew to serve elsewhere.

As it should be.

This cycle of behavior intensified until such a point as her command was taken from her and her dreams were effectively quashed as they posted her to this backwater shithole to serve as nursemaid and caretaker to these ridiculous aliens that spoke in riddles.

Sam reached the doorway to her personal quarters in a dark mood and, when she entered, made straight for the desk and the whiskey.

As she ranged around for a clean glass, she suddenly froze when an unfamiliar voice asked.

“Bad day at the office, eh?”

Hyland’s eyes narrowed and instinctively her hand closed around the antique letter-opener on her desk.

In the shadows of her room, an indistinct figure sat in the chair in the corner of the modest quarters. Sam was convinced that they had not been there when she had entered.

Her other hand stretched out to activate the desk lamp, so she could see the figure more clearly and evaluate the threat.

“Oh! Let’s leave the lights down low, shall we?” The shadowy figure smirked with a somehow familiar female voice.

“I think that you cast one shadow too many as it is, don’t you Samantha?”.

That decided it.

With a quickness born of desperation, Sam whirled around and let loose the letter-opener in one fluid motion, the blade flashing across the intervening darkness in a moment and embedding itself squarely in the intruders chest.

A feral grin stretched itself across Sam’s face as she saw the blade strike true. That acid rush of victory.

“Well, that wasn’t very friendly was it?” The figure pouted mockingly and added. “Ouch, I guess?”

Samantha’s nostrils flared defiantly as the figure put their hands on the arms of the chair and made to rise , her voice annoying familiar and her overfamiliarity even more annoying.

“If you’re that set on the lights thing, then spark ‘em up girly, but I guarantee you won’t like what you see.”

Samantha Hyland sneered at the figure and her hand activated the desk – light.

And she found herself face to face with herself.

Her mind balked at the shock and some part of her wondered how this could be possible.

“You’re dead.” She whispered.

The doppelgänger that wore her face looked down to where the ornamental dagger protruded from the chest of the identical red – shouldered Starfleet uniform that she wore and shrugged diffidently.

“From this?” The other Hyland smiled innocently and when she looked back up, there was an unreadable look in her eye as she grinned impishly . “Tis but a scratch. But YOU –  you don’t look so good, Sammie, you look like you’ve seen a ghost, babe?”

Hyland’s eyes narrowed, she didn’t know how this other Hyland had managed to escape the Hive. The cuspal moment when her own defeat had seemed assured had turned to unexpected victory when the USS Valley Forge had swooped in and plucked her from the disintegrating deck of Hull 3185 and her other had been snatched away by the Collective.

“But how…?” Sam made pretense of being more confused that she was, when in reality she was stalling for time and inching her way around the desk to reach the hand phaser she had secreted under it. She did not care who this interloper was. She might well be the other Samantha Hyland, somehow freed from both the Hive and the Mirror Universe, but she would die all the same.

The woman who wore her face looked beyond amused and regarded her with a cocked and indolent eyebrow as she stepped forward into the light.

“How did I get into your room? How am I you? How did I know (and sister, do I ever know!)? How do I get my hair so shiny and look so fresh all day long?” The other Hyland laughed lightly, as she eyed Sam with a rapturous interest.

“Aw! Shitsticks! I had this all planned out to deliver all steely – eyed, but honestly –  the look on your face. I don’t think I’m gonna be able to keep this up!”

The she flapped her hand dismissively and the strangest thing began to happen.

Where the letter-opener met her chest, the flesh that it protruded from began to warp and flow sluggishly like hot – wax as the blade was slowly, gruesomely drawn further into her body, as if by some invisible and utterly compelling internal – force.

All the while, the other Hyland held her gaze with a mocking twinkle in her eye.

Sam was nearly at the point where she reckoned that she stood more than an even chance of being able to roll backward over the desk, grasp the phaser and be able to let off a shot in the intruders face.

She could explain the signature of an accidental weapons – discharge to the station security team when they arrived.

Incredibly the blade of the letter-opener began to issue forth from the palm of the other Hyland and with a sudden grace that mirrored Sam’s initial throw, the intruder sent the letter-opener thudding into the desk between her and the hidden weapon.

Sam’s eyes flashed with frustrated rage.

“Neat trick, huh?” The other Hyland smiled thinly. “Why don’t you grab that fabulous Islay from that desk of yours and pour two glasses, we’ve got a lot to discuss, you and I?” The other Hyland inclined her head reasonably and brought something from her pocket and hefted it into the air and caught it again.

“And don’t worry about that phaser, they work a lot better with the power cell connected, I find.”

Sam narrowed her eyes accusingly and her voice was like bile as she made the connection.

“A Shapeshifter!” The xenophobic former Imperial Starfleet officer spat, her voice dripping with derision and contempt.

The other Hyland smiled easily and nodded.

“Guilty as charged Milud! Of course, we prefer the term “Changeling”, put ‘potatoe – potato’, I guess?”

Sam narrowed her eyes.

On one hand she was eminently relieved that this was not her Prime Universe twin, somehow escaped from the Mirror Universe and returned here to expose her as the interloper she most assuredly was. On the other hand, this abomination obviously knew far more about her than she cared for or knew. It might be prudent to gauge exactly how exposed she really was, before she resolved to disintegrate it.

She withdrew the half empty bottle from the desk and, taking another glass, proceeded to pour a finger of the fiery spirit into each.

“Attagirl!” Her doppelgänger grinned.

Sam cautiously pushed one glass across the cluttered desktop towards the creature, unwilling to have the infernal creature that wore other’s faces even touch her.

“Who are you and what do you want?” Sam asked guardedly, her tone neutral.

The Changeling took up the glass and rolled in around in the palms of it’s hands. When it replied, it did so in that same smug, self – assure and infuriating way that made Sam want to give the letter-opener another try.

“Well, for the sake of appearances, you can call me “Bora” although, of course, that’s not my real name.” She took a sip of the single – malt and sighed reflectingly. “When you’ve lived as long as I have hon and worn as many names and faces as I did, the whole question of identity becomes sort of…well…murky.” She smiled a little sadly, the brightened so quickly that Sam was sure this was all just a show.

“But I guess that’s something you know all about, isn’t it Sammie?”

The irritated tic returned to Sam’s cheek, but she kept her anger in check, persisting carefully.

“And what do you want with me?”

The creature that wore her face smirked and knocked back the last dram.

“Sister, what don’t I want?” It laughed, rolling her eyes as if finding this all extremely funny. “But, without a bush to beat about, I want you. I want your help!”

Samantha frowned so deeply that her eyebrows formed a steeple above her nose.

“You want my help?”, she asked incredulously.

The creature reached across the desk and took up one of the data – pads there at random and pretended that she was interested in whatever was on it, which she was not.

“M’hmmm.” Bora nodded absently as she sat on the edge of Sam’s desk &  fiddled annoyingly. “Or more to the point, I want you not to help. I want you to do your job and sort of ‘look the other way’, when the time is right?”

Intrigued (though still resolved to murder this mendacious, meddling monster), Sam took a sip of her own whiskey (that had remained untouched until this moment) and asked in a voice that sounded more causal than she felt.

“I see.” She commented shortly. “When the time is right for what? What am I not going to see? What’s going to happen?”

The Changeling stopped its meddling with the contents of Sam’s desktop and she smiled a megawatt smile.

“Something’s going to happen.” Bora smiled, as if this was self – evident.

Sam’s frown deepened. This loathsome creature was far too casual and self-assured and it set that reptilian part of her brain that had always seen her survive, into cautious alarm.

“What’s going to happen?” her voice now betrayed her impatience and annoyance, just a little bit.

The Changeling’s gnomic smile only broadened as she replied.

“Something wonderful, Sammie.”

Sam retained her composure and took another sip.

“But how will I know what it is, if you won’t tell me?” she prompted, trying to gain some indication of the shapeshifters intent, that would give her the advantage.

The creature that called itself Bora, suddenly leapt up from the desk and tipped her head back and proclaimed happily.

“Oh Sister! When it happens, you’ll know. Believe me! Everyone  everywhere will know. It’s going to be inescapable!”

Samantha’s patience with this posturing, preposterous creature was nearing it’s limit and she was beginning to draw on everything she had learned about this species since she had came to this Universe (know your enemy) and she challenged.

“Why should I help you? What’s to stop me from reporting your presence on this station and upsetting these wonderful plans of yours?”

Bora stopped her exhortations, her hands still frozen in mid – air.

She blinked.

“Why nothing at all, Sammie.” The Changeling said in a perplexed voice, then she continued.

“But quid – pro – quo. If you did do that, then I’d have to tell everyone that you aren’t who you seem to be either. I’d have to tell them that you’re not the Samantha Hyland that they love and know, but rather you are a sociopathic imposter from another universe that has done for poor ol’ Sammie and has slipped into her shoes and is up to no good.” Bora pouted and put on a ‘sad’ face.

Hyland sneered at the creature.

“They’d never believe you. They don’t even know the Mirror Universe exists. You couldn’t prove a thing!”

Bora blinked again and her voice was deathly quiet, as she drew an item out of her pocket and whispered.

“Could I not?”

She ignited the Starfleet – issue emergency flare and it’s incandescent light filled the tiny space like a supernova erupting.

Sam screamed and collapsed to the floor, shielding her eyes in agony.

The Changeling stepped around the desk, holding the blinding flare aloft like a punishing Promethean – torch.

“You’d be surprised what I know Sammie.” Bora spoke with iron in her voice now. “You’d be surprised how long I have been amongst these filthy people. How a person with my ‘talents’ can worm their way into the very heart of their institutions and delve so deeply into what they imagine to be their most secret revelations.”

She straddled Samantha momentarily as she passed, the flare burning into Sam’s retinae.

“I spent some time in the secure vaults of the Daystrom Institute recently. As you would know full well if you were the ‘real’ Samantha Hyland, because I ‘rode’ her unsuspecting ass down there.” Bora continued as she made a victory lap around the desk with the flare.

“Fascinating place, if not a little ridiculous to get into.” Bora smiled .”Turns out that Starfleet knows all about your ‘Mirror Universe’ and the Terran Empire but, in typical fashion, chooses to bury that truth deep in a vault. They know all sorts of interesting facts and titbits, for example, like how the background radiation of your Universe makes the stars dimmer and that you people are particularly sensitive bright lights.”

She snapped the flare off and the blessed darkness began to return to the room.

“Ain’t that a thing?” Bora smiled pleasantly.

Sam groaned as she tried to exorcise the burning imprints of the light from the back of her retinae. When she had first come here, she had replicated a pair of polarizing contact – lenses to ensure that she could tolerate the radiance of this Universe and not expose herself, but the Changelings assault had been unexpected and overwhelming.

“Now, don’t get up, I’ll see myself out.” Bora’s sing – song voice persisted. “It’s been a blast, it really has, but places to go, people to kill – you know how it is Sammie. Just keep on keeping on and be yourself….well…you know what I mean? Ciao bella! We’ll be in touch, soon.”

Samantha Hyland heard the door hiss shut and her fingers found the edge of her desk. She hauled herself up into her chair, her reddened eyes streaming and her vision dappled with the after – image of the flare’s searing incandescence.

Her commbadge chirped.

=^= “Captain. This is station ops. Ma’am, we read a sudden temperature spike emanating from your quarters, is everything alright there?” =^=

Samantha winced as she replied, everything was pretty damned far from alright, yet she still had to retain the semblance of normalcy, whilst she worked out a way to upset the Changelings plans and take her revenge.

=^= “Hyland here. Negative Ops. I was just trying my hand at cooking the old-fashioned way.” =^= she managed as she massaged her tortured eyes with the heels of her palms.

The reply from the station – ops duty officer carried a tone of respectful amusement.

=^= “Copy that ma’am. Tried that myself once. Did not work out well. Maybe stick to the replicator in future? Take care Captain. Ops out.” =^=

Sam tilted her head back, her eyes on fire and her mind seething in impudent rage.

She had been discovered! This loathsome alien now had her under its spell and she felt trapped by the compulsion to serve its will, whatever that may prove to be! It would have been better if the Sam Hyland that she had supplanted had been here, instead! She at least could be killed and disposed of efficiently and quietly.

Captain Samantha Hyland hated this place and everyone in it.

As her vision cleared and she could again see the wavering stars outside of the viewport of her quarters, Sam cursed her luck and swore.

 

“Well…shit!”