I reach out with my mind, seizing the Tal Shiar guard's nervous system, feeling his life force flow into me. He yelps, a feeble cry, muffled by his breather mask. He falls to his knees, but he is not yet dead - A blow from my rifle butt finishes the job.
I lope down the narrow passageway. Even through my own breather, the air of the Elachi base tastes foul: bitter and sulphurous. How the Tal Shiar can stand the stench - how they can stand working for the Elachi at all -
I put such thoughts from my mind. I have a task to accomplish here.
The intersection with the next corridor is monitored. Video surveillance only, according to our intelligence. I blink and squint at the helmet's optical menu, call up the armour's integrated systems, engage the distortion field. I am nothing but a shimmer in the tainted air as I sprint across the intersection. Omega Force technology - it has its uses, against enemies besides the Borg.
One such enemy confronts me now, guarding the door at the corridor's end: the tall spindly form of an Elachi soldier. No way to communicate with such a being, to reason with it - not that I have any desire to. In the last instants of the distortion field's life, I raise the rifle to my shoulder and take aim.
The field's capacitors are drained of energy; I flicker back into visibility. Before the Elachi can react, though, the sniper rifle makes its weird sneezing noise, and a hypersonic tritanium slug travels the length of the corridor in a fraction of a second. The Elachi's bulbous head implodes around the projectile, and fungoid brain matter sprays across the wall behind. More anti-Borg technology, Starfleet in origin. Useful.
The Elachi was guarding the door to the maintenance node. Of course, the door is locked and secured.... Love, they say, laughs at locksmiths. I finger my specialist tools lovingly as I bypass the security circuits and open the door.
Inside, it is dark by the standards of most species. I can see perfectly clearly. Fortunate, for time is not on my side, now. Elachi technology, even when purely mechanical, follows organic lines; this maintenance node is something like an organ, a gland or a lymph node, perhaps, in the body of the asteroid base. There is little room to move, among the piping and the wiring. I key commands into my wristband, transfer the sniper rifle back into my transporter buffer, bring out the antiproton carbine instead. The carbine is squat, compact, and murderously efficient. I unsling the padded backpack, open it, take out the canister.
Carefully.
There is an access port here, allowing for connections to the central pipe. I have several adaptors in my backpack; the third one fits. I connect the canister. My hands want to shake; I will not let them. I test. The seal is firm. I draw in a breath -
"Attention." The harsh voice speaks from all around me. "To the Republic sabotage squad aboard this station. Escape is impossible. Capture is certain. Surrender yourselves now and your deaths will be merciful. No further warnings will be given."
They have found one of the bodies. And, apparently, I am a squad, all by myself. I snarl at the thought. I am an army - Then, I steel myself. I have a task, here.
I touch the handle at the end of the canister. I give it a quick, sharp twist to the right.
I do not hear a hiss. That is good. If I heard a hiss, the seal with the adaptor would not be secure, and I would be dead. I make myself wait until the indicator shows the canister to be quite empty.
Elachi incubation chambers are grown more than made, grown of rare and delicate materials at immense expense of time and labour. Now, the radioactive biotoxin in the canister is diffusing into the central nutrient line that supplies this base's chambers - a biotoxin that is lethal at levels of one part per billion. It will penetrate every chamber, every tube, killing and contaminating, rendering the whole expensive installation utterly useless. The fungus monsters will not be pleased. Perhaps they will take out their unhappiness on the Tal Shiar -
And if the Tal Shiar find me, they will make their displeasure known to me, in many definite ways. Time to move.
The capacitors in the Omega Force suit have rebuilt their charge. I engage the distortion field again, become briefly invisible as I leave the maintenance node. Two Tal Shiar troopers are advancing cautiously down the corridor - not cautiously enough -
There is a dark joy in being aehallh, monster-ghost, sudden death out of the darkness. The carbine spits scarlet fire as I become visible, burning into their bodies. I regret the need, now, for the breather, for the suit's helmet. I would wish my bared fangs to be the last thing they saw.
Stealth is no longer possible; I need speed. I run down the corridor, boots clanging on hexagonal Elachi deckplates. They must catch sight of me on the video screens, now -
"Republic saboteurs!" The voice over the speakers is louder and angrier now. "You have been warned! Surrender now and -" Then, it cuts out. Already, Elachi tissues will be withering and dying in the contaminated pods. The scale of the damage will be apparent in only a few more minutes. Whoever is speaking, now, has some explaining to do.
Shrill screams of disruptor shots - not aimed at me, but close at hand. Someone is shooting at shadows. Well, shadows have always been my people's allies.
I run. The net must be closing tight about me, now, and there is a timer on the HUD inside my helmet, a timer counting down, and it show precious few seconds remaining. I run. There are shouts nearby, and another shot, green light stabbing suddenly past me -
I run, and then I am facing a blank wall of rock, and there is nowhere left to run. Behind the breather and the helmet, I smile.
I turn around. Tal Shiar troops are advancing, weapons in hand. I could kill several of them with the carbine, but the rest would then kill me. Better to wait, for those last few seconds.
The lead centurion raises his rifle. "Give yourself up -" he begins.
The timer reaches zero.
The deckplates shiver, and I duck down to avoid any snap-shots from the Tal Shiar disruptors, and then the rock wall behind me shatters and vanishes in a spray of rubble into space. The shaped charges, placed when I began this mission, have functioned precisely as planned. A roaring wind seizes me and blasts me into darkness -
Cold and vacuum pull hard at my skin. A silently screaming Tal Shiar soldier spins across my line of vision and vanishes. I reach up and trigger the beacon on my suit. I exhale. If I do not, the pressure differential will rupture my lungs - but now I have no breath left, and the vacuum of space is draining me, draining me of heat and thought and life itself -
Green light sparkles around me, and there is light, and gravity. I crash down heavily onto the transporter pad.
"Sir!" A shape, by the transporter console; I blink away tears from my space-chilled eyes. A female Romulan, small, neat, carefully groomed; N'aina, chief engineer. Naturally, she would trust no one else with the transporter for this operation. "Sir!" she repeats. "Are you all right?"
I lurch to my feet, tear off the helmet and the breather, spit blood across the transporter pad. "Status report!" I rasp at her.
"Pass complete. We are cloaked and proceeding out of the system. Their forces are on alert but have not detected us - Sir, are you all right?"
There is blood coming from my nose and my ears. It will pass. "Everything went well," I croak at her. "I need to be on the bridge." And I stumble off the pad and out of the transporter room. N'aina makes as if to offer me her arm, for support - then, she thinks better of it.
By the time I reach the bridge, my breathing is almost normal again. All heads turn as I stagger out of the turbolift. The command chair is vacant. Naturally. I settle into it with a feeling of relief.
"The base has sealed the localized breach." E'Maon is reporting; the intelligence officer is sharp-featured, foxy-looking, as Reman as I am myself. "Gun emplacements and satellite defences are engaged and actively targeting. Support vessels are patrolling at maximum alert status." I can see them on the tactical display for myself; swarms of Scorpion fighters, the saw-edged triangles of S'Golth escorts, the nightmare spiny shape of a Llaihr-class destroyer. "I recommend," E'Maon continues dryly, "that we leave the system and warp out before they bring their tachyon detection grids online."
"Make it so," I grind out. My chest hurts. I will not let it show.
E'Maon's eyes glitter, but he says nothing. It is left for Bi'or, my exec, to ask with typical Klingon tactlessness, "Were you successful? Did it work?"
I glare at her. I can only imagine how my eyes must look now. "Of course it worked."
---
We escape. I am glad of that. The Palatine is a fine ship, but a single Aelahl-class warbird is no match for the forces now gathered around the dying Elachi base. All that firepower, so useless.... The thought gives me a warm glow of satisfaction.
Medical officers fuss over me, but the brief exposure to vacuum has left no significant marks. Still, though, I will be glad to return to base, to relax -
"Sir." Kaxath, the operations officer at the comms station, breaks into my reverie. "I am receiving a priority transmission from New Romulus," he says. "I do not recognize this priority coding -"
My ears twitch. "Then it must be interesting," I say. "On screen."
The face that appears is that of a woman, dark-haired, pale-skinned, fine-boned. I snarl at her. "What do you want, Romulan?"
"Jolan tru." It will take more than I can do, to dent the imperturbability of T'Laihhae. "There is a situation requiring assistance from a KDF liaison."
Her dark eyes give nothing away. "What situation?" I demand. "You are allied with the Federation, what have you to do with the KDF?"
"This situation potentially affects all of us," T'Laihhae says. "It appears that the Rehanissen Archive is now live. Both Starfleet and the KDF need to be apprised of this development, as a matter of some urgency."
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