Chapter Six​
Amon Homeship Transcendent
In orbit of Planet Krowtanai
Delta Quadrant
The Krowtonan Ascendancy had not been destroyed, but it had been humbled.
The Amon now controlled the homeworld. The species’ most venerated religious icons had been publicly destroyed, the recordings of which had been broadcast by the Amon throughout the Ascendancy over subspace.
On Zeischt’s command, warp-propulsion cargo modules had been dispatched to dozens of Krowtonan subject worlds, each containing numerous advanced weapons, replicators, and instructions on how to manufacture more. With these, it was hoped, the vassal species of the Krowtonans would be able to rise up en mass to eventually overthrow their overlords.
Verrik found Zeischt intently observing a holographic map of the surrounding sectors, the outbound trails of the cargo modules delineated in blue.
“Have you tallied the Krowtonan casualties from your campaign?” the Vulcan asked dispassionately.
Zeischt’s reply was equally aloof. “Just over seventy-thousand dead, with another three-to-four-hundred thousand wounded. From a planetary conquest perspective, that’s an admirable level of precision warfare.”
“Given that this world's population is nearly eight billion, I would have to agree,” Verrik noted reluctantly. “However, you doubtless realize that having loosened the Ascendancy’s iron grip on its conquered worlds, you are plunging eight cubic sectors of this quadrant into what will likely be decades of bloody warfare.”
“If their freedom from a genocidal theocracy is what those species desire, they will have to fight for it. Nothing worth attaining comes without cost.”
Verrik stepped forward, and now abreast of Zeischt, looked askance at the man. “Are you certain honing the tribe’s martial skills is all this campaign was about?”
A cloud of emotion briefly darkened Zeischt’s features. “I can’t abide bullies, Lieutenant.”
Verrik’s eyebrow crested inquisitively. “I trust you are not blind to the irony of that statement, given what has just occurred?”
“Of course I’m not,” Zeischt answered, a hint of irritation finding its way into his voice. “That’s the whole point behind this, Verrik. The Amon can become a positive force in our galaxy, a catalyst for change on a scale as yet undreamt of.”
“You speak of the antithesis of the Prime Directive,” Verrik observed.
Zeischt turned to face him, his eyes bright with enthusiasm. “Think of it! A people whose purpose is to intervene in destructive conflicts anywhere in the galaxy! Despots would be toppled, uncounted sentient species freed from the shackles of slavery and oppression.”
“Such is the ebb and flow of humanoid civilizations,” came the Vulcan’s response. “Freedom from such tyranny must be realized by each species for itself, according to its own culture, beliefs, and specific circumstances. A one-size-fits-all approach is worse than naïve, it is willful ignorance anchored in a foundation of arrogance.”
“I disagree,” Zeischt countered. “Those who would strive to become the next Borg or Dominion of this galaxy should have something concrete to fear. They should suffer the knowledge that somewhere out there is a force that can sweep down upon them without warning and lay waste their dreams of empire.”
“True freedom must be earned; it cannot be given away. History has proven that axiom time and again, on countless planets. Our Federation would not exist had it not been for the earlier conflicts between the founding member worlds. It was their desire to avoid the warfare of the past that forced our ancestors to the negotiating table, and encouraged them to place the collective good above the selfish interests of their individual species.”
Zeischt’s expression was tinged with pity, as one might direct at a child unable to grasp a particularly vexing adult concept. “I have given the Amon a purpose, Verrik. After untold millennia of aimless wandering, they have a cause to live for.”
“I am less concerned with what the Amon live for,” Verrik answered, “than how many must die to see their new destiny realized.”
The Amon BattleMaster was considering his response to this when A’lasha, the resurrected Vulcan, entered the chamber. The woman was undeniably beautiful by either Vulcan or human standards, and her new body was devoid of the sundry scars she’d suffered in her original form. Verrik turned to face her as she approached, his features hardening ever so slightly and giving voice to his disapproval.
A’lasha was adorned in Amon battle armor, the surfaces of which rippled and swirled with myriad colors and patterns. She nodded casually to Verrik in passing, knowing full well that the spontaneous gesture would cause the traditional Vulcan male added discomfort. To him, she was a throwback to a bygone age, a dinosaur from their species’ shamefully violent past. “BattleMaster, I believe someone is trying to get our attention.”
Zeischt turned to face her. “How so?”
“Someone is subjecting our collection arrays in orbit of Alanthal to transphasic probing,” A’lasha informed him. “That’s the first step in identifying the precise subspace dimensional coordinates they occupy. It’s likely a precursor to an attack on the arrays themselves.”
“Starfleet,” Zeischt assessed.
“Very likely,” A’lasha concurred. “Regardless, we’ll need the collected bio-essence from those arrays to heal our wounded from this little foray, especially since you refuse to allow us to deploy arrays around Krowtanai.”
Zeischt canted his head slightly, his piercing eyes delivering a silent rebuke to A’lasha. “We will not feed off those we slay in battle ourselves. To do so would make us no better than our cousins who’ve terrorized the Alpha Quadrant.”
“As you say,” A’lasha conceded, sidestepping the argument. “My point is that we cannot allow those arrays to be tampered with or destroyed.”
“Agreed.” Zeischt moved to a control interface, placing his hand upon its surface and closing his eyes. “I’ll notify Warlord Jalahar and the Congress of Elders and request permission to set a course for Alanthal immediately.”
Verrik took a step closer to Zeischt, prompting A’lasha to tense in anticipation of an attack. None was forthcoming. Instead, Verrik inquired, “And if Starfleet awaits us, what then?”
“Let us hope they exercise restraint,” Zeischt replied darkly. "It would be unfortunate if we had to defend ourselves."
The Vulcan officer pressed, "Europa is likely among their number. You would cut down your former comrades? Is that how you would have Donald Sandhurst remembered?"
"I can't play favorites, Lieutenant. Too much is at stake here. If we are to make war upon our fellow tribe, we cannot suffer distractions from Operation Vanguard or from anyone else." Zeischt opened his eyes to regard Verrik. "And Donald Sandhurst is no more. How he will be remembered is of no consequence to me."
USS Europa
“I can’t fix it.”
The sturdy Bolian was never one to mince words, and these were the first out of Ashok’s mouth after he’d sat down across from Lar’ragos at the ready room’s desk.
Lar’ragos nodded fractionally. “I’d feared as much, Lieutenant. I’m guessing that our Bynars haven’t had any luck in—“
“I didn’t say it couldn’t be fixed, sir,” Ashok cut him off mid-sentence, an unheard of event for the fastidiously polite engineer. “I said I can’t fix it.”
A brief silence passed as Lar’ragos paused to absorb the full weight of Ashok’s revelation. “Then who can?”
Ashok’s bald head tilted slightly, his expression incredulous. “Respectfully, sir, we both know that only one person can make the drive work as designed. Sandhurst.”
Lar’ragos eased farther back into his chair, blowing out a slow breath. “Right. Well, that’s clearly beyond my ability to arrange at the moment.”
“There is one other possibility… though I hesitate to bring it up.” Ashok looked almost pained at his own admission.
Lar’ragos caught a flash from the ether, a split-second image of a face. “Wait… what? Really? I thought he was out. Gone, I mean, on some kind of interdimensional walkabout.”
Ashok’s eyes widened. “Sir, I really hate it when you do that. It’s like having my mind read without my consent.”
An actual blush colored Pava’s cheeks as the captain appeared suitably mortified. “Yeah, sorry… it just sort of happens. So… uh, the boy-genius is back in uniform?”
“The rumor through the fleet’s engineering grapevine is that Crusher’s just finished his academy qualifications. Of course, even if we could somehow get him assigned to Vanguard, it’d be six-to-nine months before he’d make it out here.”
“And even then we’d have no guarantee he’d be able to figure it out.” Lar’ragos drummed his fingers on the table top absently while he mulled that over. “Faster and more efficient to just request his assignment to Starbase Bastion. He can troubleshoot the drive equations from a holodeck there, and we won’t waste half a year with him on ice.”
“Agreed,” Ashok said simply.
“Here’s hoping the wunderkind lives up to his reputation,” Lar’ragos muttered.
Ashok smirked. “He’s actually thirty years old now, sir.”
“You’re all kids to me, Lieutenant.”
“Fair point, Captain,” Ashok allowed. “Permission to take the transwarp modifications offline? Even limited to conventional warp, we’re still one of the fastest starships out here.”
“Permission granted.”
The yellow alert tell-tails began to flash overhead and Pell’s voice called out, "Yellow alert. Senior staff to the bridge.”
Lar’ragos led Ashok out of the compartment and onto the bridge, assuming the command chair as Pell moved to an auxiliary console. The Bajoran reported, “Sensors have detected what looks very much like a Borg transwarp conduit forming one-point-seven million kilometers from Alanthal, Captain.”
“On screen,” Lar’ragos ordered, finding himself looking at a non-descript volume of space after a moment.
“The aperture isn’t visible yet, sir,” the ensign at the Science station noted as Shanthi stepped off the turbolift behind him.
Georgia Kirk arrived and slid into the Ops chair, checking her readings as she ran a series of diagnostics on all sensor systems. Dominic Leone manned the Tactical station just behind Pava’s seat and inquired, “Defensive posture, Captain?”
“Shields up, and bring all weapons online. Warm up one of the Alpha Weapons, one of the gravitic pulse ones…” he brought his hands together theatrically. “…the crushy thingies.”
Leone smirked. “Aye, sir. Withdrawing one gravitic distortive pulse initiator from the armory. I’ll need you and Commander Wu’s access codes.”
“Here,” Wu announced as she exited the fore ‘lift and made a beeline for her seat to the right of Lar’ragos.
“XO, enter our Alpha release authorizations while I coordinate with the Klingons.” Lar’ragos gestured to Ops. “Open a channel to their flagship.”
“Channel open,” Kirk advised.
“Brigadier Gan’Louk, our sensors indicate the likely opening of a Borg transwarp corridor near us in the next few minutes. We’re uploading our telemetry to our joint TacNet. Be advised, this is probably Sandhurst’s tribe, and our goal is to make friendly contact with them. Please order your troops to hold their fire unless fired upon.”
The general’s voice, as gruff as ever, replied, “My men have standing orders to that effect, Captain. No one dares fire without my express permission.”
“Acknowledged,” Lar’ragos replied, “Europa, out.”
A full three-quarters of the Klingon armada vanished behind their cloaking fields as they redeployed in a defensive picket opposing the projected Amon route of advance.
And suddenly, there it was, a mammoth Borg cube that seemed to have extruded into the universe with scarcely a ripple.
“Sensor contact, Borg cube,” Kirk alerted, managing to keep her voice even.
“Cube measures twenty-eight cubic kilometers in volume, sir,” Shanthi called out from Sciences. “By size, it’s identified as a standard assimilation vehicle, but its power readings are several orders of magnitude greater than other observed cubes of this size.”
“How do those readings compare with our logs of the previously encountered Amon cube?” Wu inquired pointedly.
A brief pause followed, broken by Shanthi’s assessment, “Exact match, sir.”
The cube continued to approach Alanthal at sublight, the facets of the mighty vessel radiating a riot of colors bleeding through the superstructure from deep within.
“It’s certainly more colorful than a standard Borg vessel,” Pell noted from the chair to Lar’ragos’ left.
Lar’ragos spared her a disbelieving look. “Really? ‘It’s pretty’ is your contribution to our First Contact assessment?”
Pell grinned. “We haven’t got them talking yet, Captain.”
Kirk touched a hand to the tiny earpiece in her right ear. “Incoming hail from the cube, audio only.”
“Put it through,” Lar’ragos instructed, sharing a brief, hopeful look with Pell.
“Klingon and Federation vessels, our intent is non-hostile. Do not interfere in our recovery operations, and we will leave you in peace.”
Lar’ragos toggled the comms interface on his armrest. “Amon vessel, this is Commander Lar’ragos of the starship Europa. I have been authorized by the Federation to make contact with your species and to open negotiations for a potential pact against the Amon tribe that is carrying out attacks on the Alpha Quadrant.”
A long silence followed.
A sliver of light appeared along one facet of the cube, a growing opening that revealed itself to be a docking bay. “Federation ship Europa, you may dock within our vessel after we have recalled our collection arrays. We will hear your proposal.”
Pell’s countenance was troubled, despite the invitation. “That seemed too easy.”
Lar’ragos nodded slowly. “Legitimate or not, it’s what we came here to do. Get Liu to meet us at Airlock Three.” He stood, making eye contact with Leone. “Dom, you’re coming with. No weapons,” he added.
Leone’s objection died in his throat as Lar’ragos gestured to the outlandishly large cube dominating the viewscreen. “We’re not shooting our way out of this if it goes badly.”
* * *​
Amon Homeship Transcendent
In orbit of Planet Alanthal
Delta Quadrant
The swirling holographic sensor display would have confounded the visual cortex of most humanoid species, given the overlapping layers of compressed information contained within its helical pattern.
Zeischt of the Amon experienced no such confusion, and he could clearly discern the positions of nearly sixty percent of the cloaked Klingon warships in orbit of Alanthal. Transcendent’s translation to normal space had caused quite the commotion as the expeditionary force’s ships sought to assemble some kind of viable defense against the threat of Amon firepower.
From behind him, Nestrala whispered, “Your friends, they are on that ship?”
For a moment, Zeischt did not reply. When he finally acknowledged the question, it was as though he’d been pulled away from some matter of great consideration. “Aboard Europa, yes.”
“This will not be easy for you,” she offered, voice laden with sympathy. “They will insist on seeing you as the man you were. It is only natural. They will doubtless try and convince you to return with them.”
“They won’t succeed,” he replied heavily. “That person is gone, irretrievably.”
“That is cause for celebration, not sorrow. The essence has healed the wounds of your past, both physical and spiritual.”
He inclined his head, conceding her point. “Yet it has burdened me with this new sight, the curse of foreknowledge.”
She answered patiently, having long before accepted the role of teacher on the why’s and wherefores’ of life among the Amon for her alien mate. “The life-essence affects every individual differently, and being as you are of an entirely different species, your gift has proven far more accurate than that of native Amon prognosticators. It has been of invaluable benefit to our people. Would that you had possessed it before the betrayal of our sister tribe.”
“Woulda, shoulda, coulda,” he murmured, the merest hint of a smile flitting across his countenance before vanishing. He turned to find her looking at him curiously. “Just something Pava was fond of saying,” he explained.
“You miss him,” Nestrala observed.
“I do. In many ways, he was my mentor.”
She reached out to touch his shoulder gently, their energies merging, intertwining, as they shared thought and emotion in the delicate dance allowed by their mutual dependance on the essence. “Let us hope your mentor is willing to be taught,” Nestrala wished aloud.
"Even if he does agree to the course we've decided, the best-case scenario would involve stranding them so far from home that they could never return."
Nestrala stepped forward to embrace him. "You have told me the final outcome is far from certain. 'Too many variables' you claimed."
"I speak of potentialities," Zeischt corrected lightly. "In many of the streams, all the Starfleet participants are destroyed outright. In all that I've witnessed, the best my friends can hope for is banishment."
"Either is a small price to prevent what is to come, beloved."
* * * ​
Lar’ragos paused on the cusp of entering the turbolift, casting a look back at Wu.
“The Amon have engaged a tractor beam,” Kirk announced. “We’re being drawn into the docking aperture.”
Wu appeared hesitant to ask the question in front of the assembled bridge crew, but given time constraints, asked regardless. “Sir, why aren’t we simply beaming over? Isn’t going inside their vessel with Europa an unnecessary risk?”
“First, the Amon probably feel safer knowing the Klingons are less likely to attack with us inside,” he replied evenly. “Second, it qualifies as mutual assured destruction. We’ll be within the Amon ship itself with our full complement of Alpha Weapons.”
Wu’s eyes widened slightly as she absorbed the revelation.
Lar’ragos’ expression grew flat, as if he had suddenly banished all trace of emotion. “Commander, if we fail to return, or the Amon attempt to board the ship, I’ve pre-authorized you to detonate every Alpha device in our armory. I’d suggest you start, however, with Weapon Alpha Seven, which is located in cryogenic suspension in Sickbay. Its use may preclude the necessity of the other, more… aggressive options.”
She inclined her head fractionally in response. “I understand.”
“I know you’ll do whatever needs to be done, Wu.” With that Lar’ragos turned and stepped into the ‘lift, followed by Leone and Pell.
Wu walked over to the captain’s chair and seated herself, announcing, “Computer, log a temporary transfer of executive officer authority to Lieutenant Georgia Kirk. Authorization, Wu Epsilon-Sierra-Jyo-Suh-Yee-Uhr.”
* * * ​
Amon Homeship Transcendent
In orbit of Planet Alanthal
Delta Quadrant
The incomparable beauty of the Amon ship was beyond Lar’ragos’ wildest imaginings. He had dreaded setting foot inside one of the Borg’s monstrous cubes, perhaps one of the very same that had assimilated his homeworld centuries earlier. Whatever the vessel's pedigree, however, no visible trace of the Collective remained within.
Gardens and forests abounded, interspersed with buildings possessing a grace and symmetry that only accentuated the pleasing aesthetic. Parks and water features glistened beneath the radiant simulated sunlight, while crowds of people shopped, ate, and recreated in an unhurried manner. This was not a vessel that appeared to be at high alert, despite the presence of a Klingon battle fleet surrounding it.
The Federation emissaries had been greeted with polite deference, as honored guests rather than as potential combatants coming to parlay. Led by an unarmed escort to an exquisitely decorated outdoor meeting venue, they were seated around a large, circular table bearing the helical crest of the Amon. Surrounding the conference area were various sculptures and pieces of statuary, nestled among the vibrantly exotic flowers of a dozen different worlds. The works of art seemed to radiate a conscious presence of their own, a subtle emotive aura, at least to those species among Europa’s away team sensitive to such phenomena.
Lar’ragos took his seat, with Pell and Leone seated on either side of him. Next came Counselor Liu and the deceptively youthful looking Dr. Reskos.
The arrival of the Amon negotiators was without ceremony, they simply approached on a stone pathway winding through the garden surrounding the conference table. Sandhurst was immediately recognizable, but Pell emitted a sharp intake of breath at the sight of him. Lar’ragos had very nearly done the same.
Since Lar’ragos had begun serving with Sandhurst some three years earlier, he had seen the captain both overweight, and after the depredations of the Baron, gaunt and nearly skeletal. Sandhurst had never quite recovered physically from that ordeal, and had remained thin and somewhat brittle looking until his apparent defection to the Amon.
Donald was now some fifteen centimeters taller, his body having filled out to embrace that inexplicably larger mass. He was clearly both bigger and more robust, his limbs and torso well muscled beneath the folds of his loosely fitted tunic. His face was full and expressive, his eyes fairly shining with vitality. His hair, which he’d typically kept shaved close to his scalp, was now a wavy brown medium length, bearing not a hint of the grey that had previously dominated his coloring.
With him were two women, one a statuesque brunette, dressed in similar attire. Her hair was cut short on one side in a severe, militant-looking style that clashed with the long tresses flowing from the other side of her head.
The other woman was somewhat smaller in stature, more compact, and clearly Vulcan. Her manner of dress favored darker colors, an almost military-style jumpsuit ensemble, though devoid of insignia. Her dark hair was colored with muted streaks of green, and was tightly coiled into a single braid in back.
Following in her footsteps was Lieutenant Verrik, still clad in a spotless Starfleet uniform, his combadge fairly gleaming in the bright sunlight.
“My friends,” Sandhurst called out in a sonorous voice that was, and yet was not his. “Welcome to the Amon homeship Transcendent.” He turned to introduce the others, “This is BattleLeader Nestrala; hers is a strong voice among our people. And this is Warrior A’lasha of Vulcan, formerly a non-corporeal katric agent of Section 31 who shared consciousness with both Olivia Juneau and Mister Verrik. And of course, Lieutenant Verrik himself, more than ready to be returned to the fold.”
A’lasha directed a mischievous look at Lar’ragos. “Looking good, Listener. Sorry about having to stun you… twice. Nothing personal, you understand, just business.”
For the first time in a long while, Pava Lar’ragos was speechless.
* * *​
Amon Homeship Transcendent
In orbit of Planet Alanthal
Delta Quadrant
Zeischt’s introductions had begged explanation, so for the next ten minutes, the former Starfleet captain described A’lasha’s exotic origins. His tale, confusing and improbable as it was, was obviously designed to absolve Verrik of any complicity in their mutual escape from Europa.
As he observed Zeischt’s recitation, Lar’ragos trained his specially attuned senses on his AWOL friend. He discovered, as before, that when Sandhurst was in the grip of the Amon life-essence, the man was immune to Pava’s El Aurian insights. There were no images to be culled from Donald’s subconscious, no epiphanies to be had from dissecting what he said or how he said it. Sandhurst had become a cipher, a phantom.
When Zeischt had finished his remarkable tale, he looked to Lar’ragos and then cast a questioning glance at those among the party he did not know.
Thus urged, Lar’ragos introduced the others and highlighted the presence of Dominic Leone as Verrik’s replacement, as well as Dr. Reskos.
Zeischt frowned, the first demonstration of genuine emotion Lar’ragos had seen register on his old friend’s features. The Amon glanced down the table at Reskos, who was blatantly scanning A’lasha with his tricorder, oblivious to the others’ attention. “I’d hoped Lieutenant Taiee could have remained the CMO,” Zeischt spoke with a hint of sadness.
Lar’ragos shared an awkward glance with Pell before turning to face Sandhurst. “Donald…” he began.
“Zeischt,” the former captain corrected. “That is my name now, Pava.”
“Zeischt, then,” Lar’ragos continued. “I’m sorry to inform you that both Issara Taiee and Olivia Juneau are dead, both killed in the line of duty.”
Zeischt’s features grew taut, conveying both shock and anguish. “What? When—how?”
The El Aurian allowed the slightest of sighs to escape his lips. “We’ve talked before about how the Baron was plotting something…”
Zeischt’s face colored and he rose from his seat, bracing his arms atop the table with his hands clenched into tight fists. The mention of his nemesis, the being who had tortured him beyond endurance, breaking him spiritually and emotionally, had ignited something deep within whatever remained of Donald Sandhurst.
Lar’ragos continued. “His plan came to fruition while he was captive aboard Europa, after your departure. He died and nearly took the entire ship with him when he expired. However, it appears that before his death he managed to exact vengeance upon you… upon us all, really.”
“He’s dead then?” Zeischt asked pointedly. “Why do you speak of his revenge as though it’s still taking place?”
Heedless of the question, Lar'ragos continued, “He somehow abducted Liana Ramirez prior to her death. He’s twisted her into a monster, a murderous sociopath who now commands a rogue Defiant-class ship. Ramirez attacked and crippled Europa, killing Juneau and several others in the process. She allowed the rest of us to live to serve as warning to you. Ramirez intends to find you and kill you face-to-face.”
Zeischt sat heavily, as though his legs had given out. The female Amon looked at him with a mixture of concern and sadness, an expression that turned many degrees colder when it shifted to Lar’ragos.
“Gods,” Zeischt breathed, “if there was one person who could wound us from beyond the grave, it would be him.” He raised his gaze to meet Pava’s eyes. “Ramirez, where is she now?”
“Unknown,” Lar’ragos replied. “Since our last encounter there haven’t been any reported sightings of her ship. We believe hers was the Starfleet vessel that was making hit-and-run attacks on incoming alien fleets. She likely sparked the confrontation with the Voranti that cost us so dearly.”
“If that’s the case,” Pell noted, “she’s responsible for the deaths of tens of thousands.”
Zeischt bowed his head, emitting a soft moan as he reached out to grasp Nestrala’s hand, a gesture that was not lost on Pell. “I should have seen this,” he practically gasped. “Why didn’t I see this?” Zeischt looked up at Nestrala, his eyes now shimmering with tears. “This wasn’t supposed to happen.”
Nestrala had observed enough. Prompted by her lover’s distress, she stood. “This gathering is concluded. Zeischt must rest.”
Lar’ragos stood as well, prompting Leone to rise to his feet. "This is a delicate situation, Nestrala,” Lar’ragos said, holding up a hand to delay the Amon party’s departure. “You are surrounded by a Klingon battle fleet, a fleet whose actions I can only influence, not control. The longer our negotiations drag on, the greater the chance of the Klingons overreacting to something and escalating the situation.”
Nestrala’s expression was one of iron will. “That would be unfortunate… for them.” She turned and gestured to two of her party’s escorts, who moved to spirit Zeischt quickly away, the man still visibly overcome with grief and shock.
“They should not be underestimated, BattleLeader,” Lar’ragos urged. “We are aware of your recent losses to your fellow tribe. Surely you can’t wish to provoke further unnecessary conflict with the Klingons?”
The Amon warrior countered, “We’ve no quarrel with the Klingons, Captain, but should they wish to engage in battle with us, we will accommodate them.” Nestrala appeared about to turn away, but then seemed to think better of it and directed her heated gaze back on Lar’ragos. “You came here deliberately to undermine Zeischt’s fealty to the Amon.”
Counselor Liu stood and called out before Lar’ragos had a chance to reply, “That isn’t true. All we’ve done is inform him of what’s happened in his absence.”
Nestrala pointed to Pell. “The data chip you’re carrying, what does it contain?”
Pell looked surprised, moving her hand to a pocket of her uniform trousers to produce an isolinear chip. “It is no threat to you. It holds only messages from Donald’s parents and his sister.”
“Your intentions are all too transparent,” Nestrala seethed. Armored Amon warriors stepped from the dense tropical foliage surrounding the conference table, emerging like soundless wraiths with their battle-staffs gripped tightly. “Seize them and place them in the diplomatic complex under guard.”
Leone tensed, but he was held in check by a firm hand from Lar’ragos. He turned to see the captain shake his head fractionally, the El Aurian’s expression an unreadable mask. “No resistance,” Lar’ragos announced.
Addressing the female Amon, Lar'ragos said, “You’re making a mistake, Nestrala. We’re here to help bring your cousins under control, and we have no designs on testing Zeischt’s loyalties. However, we cannot and will not be prevented from acknowledging our ties to someone so dear to us.”
Nestrala held his gaze for a brief moment before turning her back on him, her decorative robes dancing with the speed of her departure.
* * *​
USS Europa
Shanthi entered Sickbay’s cryo-stasis ward, joining Wu who was standing in front of an otherwise unremarkable stasis unit. Two security specialists stood by, armed with phaser rifles.
“The bridge says no further contact with our team and comms are still being jammed,” Shanthi updated the XO. “High powered shields snapped up around our mooring clamps, so we’re not going anywhere without a fight. No activity at the airlock, however, sir.”
“So, not an outright attack,” Wu muttered, manually inputting the last of a long string of digits into the stasis chamber’s interface. “I suppose that’s something.”
Shanthi looked on, obviously confused about their presence in Sickbay during a red alert. He was experienced enough, however, to keep his reservations to himself.
Sensing the science officer’s puzzlement, Wu explained, “Before he left for the Amon ship, the captain told me in case things went sour during the negotiations that the contents of this stasis unit should be the first Alpha Weapon I activated.”
The lanky African’s eyes widened in response. “Uh… what the hell is an Alpha Weapon doing in a stasis tank, sir? I thought they were all locked away in the torpedo magazines?”
“No idea, Lieutenant, but I wanted you here to help me assess whatever the device is.”
Shanthi studied the stasis unit’s status display suspiciously. “What kind of super-weapon needs to be kept in cryonic suspension?”
Wu met his gaze with a dark cast to her almond-shaped eyes. “My guess? A biological one.”
It almost seemed as if something died in Shanthi’s own eyes, as though the last faint glimmer of innocence was suddenly extinguished. He sighed heavily. “Right. Because we’re doing that, now.”
Wu grunted in response as the unit hissed open, white vapor escaping as the long cabinet-like container slid out of its housing.
As the cryonic vapors dissipated, a shape became visible, that of a humanoid male dressed in some manner of dark attire. Given that persons coming out of cryogenic suspension took many minutes if not hours to come around, Wu and Shanthi were both startled when the figure sat bolt upright after just a few seconds.
He appeared vaguely human, but was completely hairless and possessed a sallow complexion and deeply set dark eyes. His clothing was reminiscent of a mid-22nd century business suit, made from a black form-fitting material that gave him a strangely formal appearance.
The man swung his long legs over the side of the shelf and stood abruptly. Wu moved to support him, expecting his legs to give out so soon after emerging from cryonic-fugue, but the man remained on his feet without any sign of discomfort or weakness.
“Good day,” he spoke in a deep, resonant voice. “Please indicate the target parameters and rules of engagement.”
Wu shot Shanthi an expression equal parts wonder and skepticism. The young scientist offered only a similarly quizzical look and a subtle shrug in response. The XO turned back to the man, only to discover to her dismay that she was now facing an entirely different person.
The tall, gaunt man Wu had been addressing was now a significantly shorter, darker-skinned male with neatly trimmed brown hair. Where his eyes should have been were empty, lidless sockets. He was clad in an anachronistic suit that appeared to hail from Earth’s 19th century, if not earlier.
Wu frowned and only barely restrained herself from drawing the phaser holstered at her hip. “Who or what are you?” she demanded.
“You may address us as Mister Oddfellow,” the smaller man replied. “It has grown to become our designation over time, one we’ve come to appreciate in an ironic sense,” said the larger man, who had not so much replaced his smaller counterpart as rather having somehow been there all along.
“We?” Wu asked, struggling to control the timber of her voice. Behind her the two security specialists had raised their phaser rifles to a low ready as both of them fought to comprehend the conflicting messages their eyes were sending to their brains.
“How many people do you see?” asked the shorter man, his face radiating a pleasant, relaxed smile.
“Two,” Wu blurted. “I mean… one?” She blinked, trying to clear her head. “I’m—I’m not sure.”
“Precisely,” the taller man answered. “You may verify our security credentials, authorization code ‘Enigma five-zero-eight-nine-three-echo-echo.’”
Shanthi plugged away furiously at his tricorder before offering Wu a helpless shrug. “The security code checks out, sir, but as for scans… aside from reading the displacement of air in this compartment, there’s no readings from him… them, whatsoever.”
The sallow, towering Oddfellow looked down at Wu. “If we’ve been activated, we must assume the situation is serious and time is of the essence.” The shorter man, inhabiting the same space as his counterpart, lifted his sightless gaze and squinted at Wu. “Is that accurate?”
“Yes,” she answered numbly.
“Then please explain your predicament as quickly as possible,” they said in unison, though Wu could swear only one voice had spoken the words.
* * *​
Amon Homeship Transcendent
In orbit of Planet Alanthal
Delta Quadrant
The Starfleet contingent was escorted under guard to what Nestrala had called the ‘diplomatic complex,’ essentially an elegant circular housing structure built around a lovely gardened courtyard.
After briefly reconnoitering the various spacious rooms, which rivaled those of any of the Federation’s finest hotels, the group met back in the atrium
Lar’ragos returned to the beautiful garden courtyard, an area favored with a small babbling brook that bisected the greenspace. Among the sun-dappled trees and flowers was a large stone patio graced with tables and chairs that appeared to have grown out of the very rock substrate itself. It was here that Lieutenant Verrik had been left in the custody of Lieutenant Leone while the others explored the structure.
“At least it’s a gilded cage,” Pell remarked dryly as she emerged from the structure into the simulated sunlight filling the atrium.
“Mister Verrik,” Lar’ragos began, “I think I’m supposed to place you under arrest at this point, given the charges leveled against you in absentia. Something about going absent without leave and assisting in the escape of a fugitive. Oh, yes, and I believe you also shot me, if I’m not mistaken.”
Verrik seemed unmoved by that declaration. “I understand, sir.”
“Therefore, I am remanding you into custody,” Lar’ragos added with a smirk. “Given that we’re all presently in custody, that really doesn’t mean much at the moment.”
Lar’ragos took a seat at one of the tables, gesturing for the others to join him. Verrik, Leone, Counselor Liu, and Dr. Reskos assumed places around the table while Pell stood off to the side, clearly fretting internally.
“Lieutenant Verrik,” Lar’ragos directed his focus on the Vulcan officer. “Counselor Liu has confirmed that you came to him prior to your assisting in Sandhurst’s escape, complaining of suffering memory lapses and memories that you didn’t believe to be your own.”
Verrik inclined his head. “That is correct, sir.”
Lar’ragos cocked his head to one side, absorbing every vocal inflection and non-verbal nuance that Verrik emitted, however unintentionally. True, Vulcans were far more in control of such tells than your average human, but if one looked hard enough, they could still be detected.
“Do you believe you were being controlled somehow by this A’lasha individual when you engaged in those illegal acts?”
Verrik met Lar’ragos’ gaze unflinchingly. “I do, sir. Without reservation.”
Images flooded Lar’ragos mind suddenly, and he saw the sun-baked Plains of Gol awash in fire, combat lasers flaring as deadly missiles lanced through the thin Vulcan air. The vision was so potent, so visceral, it was as if he himself were there, witnessing the carnage of the Vulcan Schism first hand.
“Okay…” he breathed shakily, murmuring, “…that’s good enough for me…” He blinked, missing the concerned expression being directed his way by a skeptical Leone.
“Sir,” Leone cleared his throat. “Respectfully, Captain, I’m not sure that just the lieutenant’s word is sufficient under the circum—“
“It’s fine,” Lar’ragos cut him off. “I’m the aggrieved party, after all.”
“As you say, sir,” Leone allowed, falling silent.
Lar’ragos appeared lost in thought for a long moment, and then addressed Verrik again. “Lieutenant, what level of access have you been allowed to the Amon?”
“My access has been quite extensive, Captain,” Verrik answered. “Commodore Sandhurst apparently believes that transparency in that regard would be of benefit to our forming an alliance to oppose the other Amon tribe.”
Lar’ragos nodded distractedly. “Ah, yes. As it happens, his temporary promotion to commodore was rescinded when Admiral T’Cirya assumed command of the task force.” Back on topic, he added, “Do the Amon know what’s behind the other tribe’s more aggressive posture? After he’d returned from his first abduction by the Amon, Sandhurst told me the Amon were both surprised and appalled by the ambush their cousins launched against them at In’Drahn station.”
Verrik inclined his head in response. “That is accurate, sir. One of the Amon’s highest laws is a prohibition against taking up arms against another of their tribes. When the other tribe launched its unprovoked attack on this group, they became what the Amon refer to as, ‘Skorrah’, loosely translated as ‘outcast.’”
Lar’ragos cocked his head. “Skorrah. Well, good, constantly calling both tribes ‘Amon’ was becoming confusing.” He sat back in his chair, taking a moment to drink in the surrounding beauty. Even the fierce blue sky overhead looked and felt completely realistic, like a perfectly simulated holographic environment. Lar’ragos focused his attention on Verrik once again. “Lieutenant, my chief concern with our remaining here for any length of time is our potential exposure to the life-essence energy the Amon feed on. I don’t sense any significant changes in you, which leads me to suspect you haven’t been ingesting that energy.”
“Correct,” Verrik said. “Zeischt has made it possible for me to have access to food sources uncontaminated by the life-essence.”
“Why the exception for you?” Liu inquired.
“Zeischt explained to me that he realizes that ingestion of the life-essence binds a person to the Amon irrevocably. If the exposure continues for more than a few weeks, the individual’s dependence on the life-essence becomes permanent. Once that happens, they will die without regular infusions of the energy.”
Dr. Reskos quirked an eyebrow, taking notes on his tricorder. “So, you’re saying Sandhurst is now inseparable from the Amon?”
Verrik’s expression darkened so slightly that it may have been obvious only to Lar’ragos. “Yes.”
“There’s nothing we can do?” Pell asked sharply from where she remained standing nearby, her arms folded defensively across her chest.
“Unknown without further examination and research,” Reskos replied. “We know Sandhurst was successfully weaned off the bio-essence once after a month of exposure.” He turned to look at Pell. “I’m certainly willing to try.”
“The problem is convincing Zeischt to cooperate with that process,” Liu added, looking dour.
Lar’ragos checked a thin wrist chronometer before looked skyward, as if awaiting something. He looked back to Verrik. “Tell us what you know about these Skorrah, Lieutenant. Anything you’ve gleaned from the Amon could be useful, such as their numbers and strength, relative to that of the Amon.”
“From what I’ve been told, as well as what I’ve overheard, the Skorrah have a population several times that of the Amon, and have apparently traveled throughout our galaxy for much longer than their kinsmen.”
This piqued Lar’ragos’ interest, and he leaned closer to Verrik. “Do the Amon know why the Skorrah have suddenly initiated hostilities between their tribes?”
“Zeischt and I have discussed this matter on more than one occasion,” Verrik said. “The Skorrah had developed a taste for more ‘exotic’ life-essence energy in recent times. When the Amon first discovered the Borg and seized control of this assimilation cube, the Skorrah proved endlessly fascinated with Borg research into extra-dimensional travel. The Amon had no such interest, and gave all the data gleaned by the Borg to the Skorrah. It was shortly afterward that the other tribe began to behave atypically, demonstrating heightened aggression and even paranoia.”
Liu shot a glance to Lar’ragos. “Something they ate, perhaps?”
“Precisely,” Verrik agreed. “Zeischt believes that the Skorrah consumed the life-essence energy of another species that somehow altered the very fabric of their culture. They were already more inclined to attack other civilizations in order to harvest their needed energy, but whoever the Skorrah fed on this time, it appears to have twisted them somehow, making them hyper-predatory.”
Pell scowled. “That’s a charming thought, a species so evil that even their cast off souls can poison another species. Perhaps they fed on the Cardassians?”
Lar’ragos shot the Bajoran a frosty look, but held his tongue. It was obvious to him that Pell was in distress after seeing her former lover so utterly transformed, and clearly involved with the female BattleLeader Nestrala.
“Our first order of business is escape. The longer we’re here, the more we have to depend on Klingon patience, a substance rarer than latinum.” Lar’ragos turned to Dr. Reskos, once again taken aback by the youthful android body fashioned for the Medusian physician. “Doctor, is there any chance you can use your non-corporeal form to assist us in an escape?”
Reskos’ face contorted briefly before settling on a look of vague cynicism. “Respectfully, Captain, I’m a non-corporeal entity aboard a ship of humanoids who feed on life-energy. Given that in my android housing, I probably appear to them as inviting as a can of Slug-o-Cola, I’d rather not tempt fate.” Reskos offered a wan smile, an expression he was pleased to have mastered after much practice. “Additionally, seeing one of my kind outside a containment vessel drives most humanoids into a psychotic state. Doing so conflicts directly with the Hippocratic Oath I’ve sworn.”
Lar’ragos mimicked the physician’s lukewarm smirk. “It never hurts to ask, Doc.” Again, he paused to check his chronometer.
“Expecting someone, Captain?” Liu asked.
“Let’s just say that unless Zeischt comes to pay us a visit soon and stops jamming our comms, the next hour or so is going to get very interesting.”
Pell sighed audibly. “I hate it when you say things like that,” she groused.
The peculiar little smile Lar’ragos gave her evidenced almost no humor, though it came close to standing up the hairs on the back of her neck.
* * *​
USS Europa
Wu, Shanthi, and a security team that had grown to six members escorted Oddfellow to the airlock leading to the Amon ship. Wu consciously averted her eyes from the being to prevent the sense of vertigo that accompanied his continually changing form. The closer they came to the airlock the more conflicted she became about their course of action.
“What precisely are you going to do over there?” Wu asked.
“Whatever is required,” the smaller Oddfellow replied, somehow able to keep pace with the group despite having no eyes.
“That’s a bit vague,” Wu pressed. “Our diplomatic team’s safety is of primary importance. If you destroy the Amon ship, you destroy ours as well.”
“We are capable of… finesse, when it is needed,” responded the larger of the two beings. “Though some might argue the point.”
“Ha! Yes, just so,” chuckled the smaller one, seemingly to reply to his own statement. “The Tkon, for instance.”
“Pity about their star,” the tall Oddfellow offered with what certainly appeared to be wry humor.
They came to the inner airlock hatch, itself guarded by a combined Marine and security detail.
“I’m not sure how this is going to work,” Wu said. “If we open the airlock to let you out, we may well be inviting an Amon reprisal.”
“We cannot use your transporter,” Oddfellow reiterated, a fact that they had discussed earlier. “If the Amon intended to take your ship, they would not need to limit themselves to boarding via your airlock.”
“Fair point,” Wu conceded. She turned to the Marine lieutenant in charge of the airlock security detail. “Stand ready to provide covering fire when we breach the outer pressure door.”
“That will not be necessary,” they said in unison as they stepped forward and passed through the hatch like a ghost.
“Well…” Wu remarked. “Shit.”
* * *​