The bridge of the captured Astika-class artillery vessel is pretty grim. Vaadwaur design aesthetics, well, kinda aren't very aesthetic, much. Lots of gloom, lots of slanting support columns, lots of exposed metalwork clanging under my mining boots. Hal Welti follows me about as I stroll around. I swear he's getting more worry lines on his dark-skinned, aged face.
"You are never going to convince anyone you're a down-on-your luck dilithium trader in this thing," he says. "The Hazari destroyer was bad enough, but this -"
"So, OK," I say cheerfully, "we have to think up a better cover, yeah? We can do that. We can be something badder and butcher - mercenaries, maybe. You think you could be a mercenary, Hal?"
"Cry havoc and let slip the dogs of war," Hal mutters. He's into quotations. "Anyway, it'll depend if Starfleet Intelligence even thinks you're ready to be fed back into the Delta Quadrant, yes?"
As a Talaxian, one of very few in Starfleet - at least before the Iconian gates gave us quick access to that part of the galaxy - I was kind of a natural choice to be played in the Delta Quadrant as an undercover agent. Unfortunately, a few events, mostly relating to an intelligence leak, a psychotic Vaadwaur commander and a very dangerous Hazari invention, made me, well, slightly sneak out from under my cover. People notice if you're around when all the explosions are happening, even if you're trying to look inoffensive. So I was pulled back to the Federation's side of the galaxy, at least for a while... which turned out not to be entirely restful, either, but never mind. Still. I figure, well, I know the Delta Quadrant - as much as anyone can know a quarter of the galaxy - I can be the most use over there.
And in a Vaadwaur ship.... I stroll back along the raised section of the bridge. We had enough opportunities to look down the nasty ends of these things, when the war was at its height. Now, when I get the chance to command one... I can do some serious damage in this thing.
"I'll keep the bosses sweet. Let's face it, by now, they'll be glad to get rid of me, right? Back to the Delta Quadrant... I could stop off at New Talax, say hello to my peeps...."
"Better warn them in advance what you're flying," Hal says. He frowns. Well, he's usually frowning, but this time he's frowning some more. "Too many people shoot first when they see a Vaadwaur ship."
"Sensible people run when they see a Vaadwaur ship," I reassure him, although it's maybe not so very reassuring, because the Delta Quadrant is full of people who aren't even a bit sensible. It's why I fit in so well.
I'm about to do some more reassuring when my combadge bleeps at me. "Pex," I say.
"Admiral Pexlini?" I don't recognize the voice. It's calm and measured, maybe too calm and measured - Vulcan, probably. "This is Admiral Zorik." Nailed it. "It is necessary to discuss some matters with you. I would be obliged if you would meet me in room 182 of level 467 of Earth Spacedock. Please bring your Intelligence verification PADD so that you can confirm my clearances."
"OK, when?" Zorik? I don't know the name. Of course, when you're working in Intelligence, you don't know any more than you're supposed to.
"Your earliest convenience would be appreciated. I am at that location now."
I raise an eyebrow. Practice, for talking to a Vulcan. "On my way, then. Pex out." I glance at Hal. "Well, you're in charge. Try and look tough."
Hal sighs.
---
Earth Spacedock is huge. Even my new ship is lost inside its docking bays. Level 467 is quite a way from the docking bays, though, and it's a very quiet, almost disused, section of the station. There isn't another person in sight, even, when I reach room 182. OK, so Zorik wants to see me somewhere quiet and out of the way. There could be many reasons for that, I guess.
I touch the access panel, and it bleeps, and Zorik's voice says, "Come in," so in I come.
Zorik is a short-ish male Vulcan with black hair in a pudding-basin crop, and quite the blankest face I have ever seen on anyone, even a Vulcan. He's sitting behind a desk which is bare except for a single PADD. "Admiral Pexlini," he says in a voice so level you could play snooker on it. "Thank you for your prompt compliance with my request."
There's a seat across the desk from him: I slide into it. "OK, so what's it all about, and how can I help?"
"Please review my clearance codes before we proceed," says Zorik. "You should be aware that I have authority to ask the questions which I will ask."
OK, fair enough. I fish my confidential PADD out of my cargo pocket, and go through the little rigmarole of activating my own command clearances. All of a sudden, my PADD is talking to Zorik's along a set of comms channels most people don't know ESD has, and they are confirming that I am me, and Zorik is Zorik, and his clearance codes are -
Oh. He only has one clearance code, and it just reads Unrestricted. I'm not Vulcan, but I raise an eyebrow at that. There's only one person I know of who's meant to have completely unrestricted access to classified information... and Zorik doesn't look like the Federation President.
"So, um," I say, "looks like you can ask whatever you want. Ask away. Sir."
"There is no necessity for formality," says Zorik. "Please explain, in your own words, how you came into possession of the artifact known as the Mask of Dhalselapur."
Damn, I thought I was finished with that particular foul-up. "Um. We had a situation in the Delta Quadrant, we figured - well, OK, mostly I figured - we needed some kind of leverage on a Hazari captain to sort it out. So we trawled the public data channels until we had a picture of his business, and we found out he had a contract to guard this Mask thing for a private owner. So, we - that's, um, me and Admiral M'eioi, science division - we roughed out a plan, staged a break-in, stole the Mask. We figured we could trade it back to the Hazari captain in exchange for the information we needed. OK, it was kind of, um, not exactly above board, but Delta Command's communications were compromised, we couldn't get authorization or use diplomatic channels -"
"These facts have been noted," says Zorik. "What became of the artifact?"
"Um." I try to get the story straight in my head. "Turned out the Hazari, N'Drask, was more involved in the situation than we thought. So I decided to hang on to the Mask in case we needed to put more pressure on him. Just insurance, yanno? Only, well, while it was still on my ship, we got jumped by a renegade Vaadwaur commander. We beat him - somehow - but in the process my quarters took a direct hit, secure storage was breached - hell, when I got down there, the whole bulkhead was gone - so, bottom line, no Mask."
"Could the artifact have survived the damage done by the Vaadwaur?"
I have to think about that. "I don't know. Doesn't seem likely. I suppose it's just about possible - the thing was in a secure safe, and it was still in an impact-gel protective package itself. But, well, even if it survived, it'd be lost, right? Thrown out into space on a random trajectory. Precious little way to tell it from all the other debris, and that was scattered over a wide area -"
"You made no attempt to trace or recover the artifact?"
That one gets my goat, a bit. "We'd just fought off a ship about four times our size! We had massive damage and crew casualties, I think virtually everyone on the damn ship was injured! And we still had the Hazari and the Vaadwaur commander's partner to worry about! We did not have time to go searching for souvenirs!"
"I see." Zorik's glacial calm is... infuriating. His eyes are little chips of grey glass. "Did you take detailed scans of the artifact at any point?"
I take a deep breath. "We confirmed its identity when we brought it aboard. Comparison with public records, again, just to make sure we hadn't been sold a dummy. I don't think we did anything more than those basic checks, though, unless the guys in the science lab did some testing I don't know about, and I think they had plenty of other stuff to keep them busy."
"I see." Zorik hasn't taken any notes, hasn't consulted a PADD, hasn't even moved the whole time. Now he says, "Thank you for your time, Admiral Pexlini. This interview is now concluded."
"Sir, what is all this about?" I ask, though I know damn well I shouldn't.
"Possibly nothing. Thank you for your time. You are dismissed."
---
I fume all the way down ESD, in the turbolift to my guest quarters. What the hell was that about? OK, pinching an ancient artifact, maybe that wasn't in the best traditions of Federation diplomacy - and losing the damn thing, well, that wasn't the best move either. But -
At this point, my various Intelligence instincts start to leak through my annoyance, and ask some serious questions like: what was all that about? Evidently, someone has been making a noise about the Mask of Dhalselapur, but who and why? The owner, the guy I stole it from, was a big cheese on his homeworld in the Delta Quadrant, but there's no way he could put pressure on the Federation. The Hazari, N'Drask, got sort of assimilated by the Borg and then killed, so he's in no position to be making waves.
But someone is... and the waves are wavy enough to attract the attention of someone very high up the Starfleet Intelligence food chain. Intelligence tends to be compartmentalized, on a need-to-know basis... if Zorik has unrestricted clearance, then that means he needs, or might need, to know everything. Who needs that level of clearance?
I reach my quarters, slump into a convenient chair, and stare out of the viewport at the blue curve of the Earth while I think. And my thoughts aren't comfortable ones.
Investigators. The JAG's office can get unrestricted clearance, and Starfleet Intelligence has its own internal audit and compliance procedures... this Zorik might be the head of our internal affairs division. Which would explain why I've never heard of him. Because you never would hear about someone like that... until it was too late.
The Mask. Does he think I've done something with the Mask? Hidden it, or made a duplicate, for sale later? Silly thought. I'm a Federation citizen, the Federation is a post-scarcity economy, people don't need money....
I frown. Except, some people still want money. Sure, everyone gets the necessities of life for free - but lots of people want more than just the necessities, some of them a whole lot more. An Admiral's nominal salary has always been more than enough for me, but... does Zorik see things that way?
Just for the hell of it, I decide to do a very basic check. Suppose Zorik thinks I've sold, or am selling, the Mask. What would I do with the money? How would I take payment? I don't have a pile of dilithium crystals or a bottle of latinum in a vault somewhere, and he can probably check that himself... probably. Or would he think I might hide it in plain sight? So I call up my personal accounts on the room's console, and ask for a statement of my energy credit balance.
The console pauses a bit as it verifies my identity, and then displays my current balance.
It reads 500, 022, 367 energy credits.
I think I have a problem.
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