Bridges Burned to Light the Way
Posted on Sat Jan 26th, 2019 @ 11:45am by Lieutenant Karna Zsan
1,245 words; about a 6 minute read
Mission:
S1E3: Barbarians at the Gates
Location: Chin'toka IV
Timeline: MD 00
Screaming.
What began as an admirable resistance for the sake of Legate and Union soon crumbled into a blood and spittle soaked affair, filled with little more than shouts and curses. Stiff upper lips just weren't what they used to be.
"I will ask again," the Betazoid said as he wiped the blood away from his jackal knife. "What is the gentleman's name?"
The Cardassian, bound hand and foot to a desk top with industrial clamps taken from the factory floor below, groaned in relief as the spike of pain finally relented to a dull throb. "I said I don't know!" he gasped.
"Hm." Unconvinced, the Betazoid set his knife against the scaly oval crater on the Cardassian's forehead. He had already cut the smallest of incisions, though the slit had proven to be a gusher.
The mere sensation of the blade's return made the Cardassian squeal in terror. "No! No, no, please! I'm just a production manager!"
Pulling the blade back, the Betazoid smiled kindly. "You must understand that I was with the former Obsidian Order for some time. Even if I couldn't read your thoughts, I would still know when you were lying..." He traced the tip of his knife down the Cardassian's scaled cheek toward his neck. "... and where to inflict the most pain." He ignored the whimpering as he rested the cold flat of his knife on the Cardassian's immobilized body and pulled down the overhead light. "The funny thing about Cardassians is that for cold-blooded reptiles, you lot really seem to love dark rooms." It took a moment to cross a few wires, which pulled sparks from the ceiling. The Betazoid cursed at his singed finger. "An axiom I've found in many cultures is that light is the best disinfectant. Shall we see for ourselves?"
He hopped down, dragging the cross-wired overhead light down with him. Its luminescence was easily tripled, though it flickered intermittently. Despite the blood-curdling screams of protest, the Betazoid held the overhead light mere inches from the Cardassian's face.
"Wakey, wakey." The Betazoid plunged his jackal knife into the Cardassian's side, between the fourth and fifth rib, making him gasp in pain and open his eyes on instinct. The blinding light forced his eyes shut again. His cries were enough to wake the dead, if not for the hoarse timbre that soon signaled his failing larynx. "No, that will not do," the Betazoid said with a disapproving tisk. "How will you be able to identify your colleagues if your voice gives out? So help me, if I must pull the identity out of your puny mind with my very well-endowed mind, there will be nothing left of you to simper and cry."
"Kill me..."
"Say 'please' first," the Betazoid taunted. "And by 'please,' I mean the names and last known whereabouts of your colleagues."
"They'll... they'll kill..."
"Kill you?" the Betazoid queried. "Yes, but I will do it first, and so much more kindly than this messy business at the present. We're both forestalling the inevitable -- you not telling me what you need to tell me, and me standing between you and your sweet and fluffy Oralian psychopomp."
"No." The Cardassian dry swallowed between gasps for air. "Not True Way."
That caught the Betazoid off guard. It had the ring of truth to it. "Then who are you?"
"B... bu..." The Cardassian wheezed, his lungs and diaphragm giving out from hyperventilation. "Bureau."
"Intelligence Bureau?" The Betazoid started giggling at the unexpected but not unwelcome revelation. "No kidding! Now that just makes this even more interesting, because I found in your possession the call signs for a Cardassian operation in the Pentad systems of the Lagashi, which is well within Federation space. If the Cardassian Intelligence Bureau is mucking about in Federation space rather than the True Way, then that's of even greater concern."
"I don't know," the Cardassian managed to say. "I'm... just the controller."
The Betazoid nodded solemnly. "I understand. You clearly cooperated to the fullest extent of your ability. In another life, we may have been allies." With a quick flourish of his wrist, the Betazoid had drawn his dagger across the Cardassian's throat and planted it hilt-deep in his chest. It took more strength than he cared to admit to pull it free. "In death..." He trailed off, finding himself at a loss for words. Well, he never was one for eulogies. The Betazoid waved his hand in futile resignation and turned away. He cleaned his knife before sheathing it, then made confident strides toward the office door, stepping over the fallen security detail he had dispatched on entry. The rooftop access still hung open at the corridor's end, just as he'd left it, and after a brisk climb to the open air, he activated his combadge.
"Energize."
Beaming back aboard his shuttlecraft, the Betazoid took immediately to the comms and dialed in his private encryption. In a moment's time, the display screen lit up with the SFI logo. And, for the love of Rixx, did his head hurt.
"Oversight." With the sudden word spoken, the SFI logo was displaced by a shadowed silhouette. And, as per usual, the silhouette did not waste time with pleasantries or formalities.
"This is Iruhe," the Betazoid replied. "Negative contact."
The silhouette visibly flinched. "Did... was the contact neutralized?"
"Do you really want to know?" the Betazoid chuckled.
"Negative contact confirmed."
"There's more," the Betazoid said. "The contact claimed CIB affiliation."
That gave Oversight pause. "Stand by." The SFI logo returned briefly, though not long enough for the Betazoid to respond. When it flashed back, the silhouette filled in with the hi-def face of a no-nonsense woman with a muddled accent. "This is Commodore Banduka, SFI Central. Tell me precisely what the contact said to you."
"Well, between the gasps and gurgles, my target said he was not a member of the True Way as was profiled, but an operative for the Bureau." The Betazoid gave a challenging sidelong glance to the commodore as if anticipating a look of disapproval. One he would prefer to savor. "He confirmed that his role as controller for an op in the Pentad, which suggests a decentralized team."
The look never came. "I know exactly what it suggests, Lieutenant. This investigation has just escalated the entire quadrant's defense readiness condition up another level. Return to your regularly assigned ship. The CO will have received orders by the time you arrive."
"Oh?" The Betazoid raised a curious eyebrow. "And what of my orders?"
"Unchanged," Banduka said. "Just the AO. Pursue the investigation into the Pentad."
"And my RoE?" It had been awhile since the Betazoid had been let off his leash.
"Do whatever is necessary," the commodore replied, "but do not leave a trail of bodies in Federation space. You can and will be disavowed if you do so."
The Betazoid shrugged. "Understood."
Commodore Banduka sniffed at him. "See that you do. Central out."
Ingratitude was the worst. No, torture was the worst, but at least that was at the hands of an adversary. Usually. Sometimes allies felt the need to "aggressively question." The Betazoid decided that being grilled by an ungrateful ally was definitely the worst thing ever. Alas, here he was. At least he could finally get some sleep while the shuttle ferried him back to the ship on autopilot. Speaking of which...
"Computer. Set a course for the Kitsune. Warp 7."
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