Amos Kyrd is standing in the doorway now, regarding me with evident disapproval in his rheumy eyes. He is small and stooped and very old, a few strands of white hair combed over his scalp, his Trill markings almost lost in the wrinkles and liver spots. His voice is weak and gravelly. "You really should know better," he says.
"I was set up," I snap at him.
"I know. By this Premaratne fellow.... But you shouldn't have been, Quon, not someone with your experience."
"Oh, have I let the side down? Failed to uphold the honour of symbiotes everywhere?" I pace irritably across the cell.
"You've certainly caused us some trouble," says Kyrd. "Look, we all know what it's like. You take on a new host, you feel young again, invincible, unstoppable.... We all know." He scratches his head. "I'll know it myself, soon enough. Amos and I have had eighty good years, but it's really come to the end of the road.... I have my next chosen. Charming young woman in Starfleet Academy. Amos approves of her, the old goat."
"Well, then, you'll - Wait." A frown crosses my face. "Starfleet?"
"One can't always sit on the sidelines," says Kyrd.
I stare at him. Amos Kyrd is visibly ancient... more importantly, Kyrd, the symbiote, is one of the oldest of us, almost an elder statesman, if we have such a thing. And Kyrd has, for centuries now, been a commentator - a journalist, an observer, a historian. If Kyrd is now taking on a host that will be an active participant in events... what sort of events must it be expecting? It's a sobering thought.
"Returning to our current practical problems," says Kyrd, after a pause, "your situation... well, it could be worse. We've submitted a formal protest over your treatment by Captain Surella of the Amphicyon, which of course has been politely rejected."
"She had no jurisdiction -" I begin.
"Starfleet is allied with the Orions, these days, and you were implicated in the destruction of an Orion asset. Then, too, you were also connected with an incident which damaged a Federation cruiser, and you acted suspiciously when challenged. The only surprise is that Captain Surella acted with as much restraint as she did. Klingons." Kyrd shakes his head. "Anyway, the Amphicyon's crew interrogated your logs and pronounced you blameless in matters concerning the Federation... meaning that your difficulties with the Rikilsa Array's owners are purely an internal Imperial affair. And, of course, Starfleet does not interfere in such."
"Apart from crippling my ship and leaving me helpless when the next wave of Orions comes calling!" I yell at him.
"It's a nuisance, I know," says Kyrd. "We've communicated, discreetly, with the House of Anaat, setting out the true version of events. I think you'll find that their attention is now concentrated on your client, the egregious Mr. Premaratne.... I suppose it hasn't done your reputation for ruthless efficiency any particular good, but it will stop you from being hounded by Orions. Unless you do something to irritate them further, and my advice there is simple - please don't."
I continue my pacing. "What about my ship?"
"Yes. Well. Starfleet are being quite reasonable, all things considered. Your ship is in the orbital drydock, awaiting repair... of course, it's not a Starfleet vessel, and it requires a lot of unusual components, so you might find it takes a few weeks to finish those repairs. In the interim, you and your crew are to be assigned guest housing on Starbase 114. There's no need for you to stay in detention -"
"Weeks?"
"Quon." Kyrd fixes me with a rheumy stare. "Take the hint. Take a break. Slow down. Find your centre, your personal balance point. If you don't recover that -" He shakes his head. "We're all concerned about you."
My fists are balled at my sides, my fingernails digging into my palms. I force myself to take a deep breath, to relax. "Very well."
Of course, he knows I don't mean it. He smiles at me. "Very good," he says. "Let's get you out of here, at any rate. And let me introduce you to...." He turns and gestures to someone.
A female figure appears in the doorway, just behind him. At least, at first glance it is female. The face, though, is almost entirely cybernetic, dead metal eyes peering out of a mask of circuitry. "This is Secoo," says Kyrd. "We thought it best that you should have some additional... assistance, and guidance."
"I am - pleased to make your acquaintance, Captain Quon," says the android in a dead level voice.
"Oh, I see," I say. A mechanical chaperone, courtesy of the Symbiosis Commission. "Thank you all so much."
"Our pleasure," says Kyrd. "Stay safe, Quon." And he walks away.
---
Starbase 114's guest quarters are down near the commercial sector of the space station. I stalk grimly across the concourse, Secoo trotting obediently at my heels. I spot Rissmo and Morak in an open mess area, and head for them. Rissmo looks glum. Morak has an empty bloodwine mug in front of him, and looks semi-conscious at best.
"Who's -?" Rissmo begins, and then, as Secoo's face registers, she amends it to, "What's that?"
"We have acquired the services of a highly sophisticated android," I say sourly. "Thanks to the Symbiosis Commission." Morak raises his head slightly and blinks at me. "Get some alcohol antagonists," I tell Rissmo.
She frowns at me. "What's the point? We don't have a ship."
"So I gather. Sober him up." I drag a chair over to their table, sit down. Secoo comes to stand behind me. "Repairs to the Beauregard will take a long time to complete. I do not propose to spend the time sitting here and getting sodden with bloodwine."
"Unless you can pull a ship out of somewhere," says Rissmo, "that might be our only option." But she goes to a wall replicator and starts to punch in an order.
I turn to glower at Secoo. "You. What are you good for?"
"I am - programmed in multiple functional areas. My specialization is in - starship engineering and operations. Comparable to a - KDF Academy graduate with - Commander rank experience."
"Can you handle communications?"
"I am - qualified in that area."
Rissmo returns, with a packet of pills in her hand. "Datapad and com badge," I snap at her. She frowns, and hands them over. I pass the combadge to Secoo. "Modify that to transmit on subspace band Gamma 192. And bypass the Starbase comms exchange. I want to talk directly to a remote station without any Starfleet eavesdroppers."
"I will require - details of the - remote station."
"Obviously." I enter the details I need on the datapad, hand it to her. Rissmo stares at me. She has two alcohol-antagonist pills cupped in her right hand, and is shaking them around, uncertainly. "How much of my activity are you required to report?" I ask Secoo.
"I am not - required to report," the android says, her fingers moving rapidly over the combadge. "I am required to - act in your best interests." As perceived by the Commission, or Kyrd, no doubt. "I have - completed the required task. You may - communicate without accessing Starbase 114's network. I cannot - guarantee that this frequency will not be - monitored by Starfleet or other - intelligence agencies."
"I will answer for its security." I take the combadge and the datapad back. Rissmo has been watching me carefully; now, she seems to come to a decision. She hands Morak the pills, helps him lift one to his mouth.
The datapad's interface comes alive in my hands. I smile as I study the options. I make a choice, stabbing my finger down decisively.
"What -?" Morak winces as the pill starts to clear the alcohol from his bloodstream.
"The Beauregard is out of action," I say, "so I have acquired another ship. A backdoor to a ship broker in the former Neutral Zone. They have some interesting choices, and I have the funds - or had."
"What did you just buy?" Rissmo asks.
"A Theta-class raider. Not as stylish as the Beauregard, but it will do the job. We will need to charter a shuttle flight to collect it - that should pose no problems."
"What's the job, then?" Rissmo asks. The android says nothing. Her face betrays nothing. No doubt Kyrd left off the humanoid finish, precisely for that reason.
"We will track down Denver Serton and the Arcturus Sunfire, before Captain Surella and her antique battlewagon can get to him," I say. "Once we have him, we will have Mr. Premaratne. I propose to take that gentleman, and kick him up his cybernetically-enhanced backside until Sinhalese cooking comes out of his nose." I grin at Morak and Rissmo, and they grin back. "All those in favour?"
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