Tylha's cleaned up good. You'd never guess she'd been wrestling in a sewer a few hours ago, as she slides into her seat in the Gustav Holst's briefing room and reads the stardate into the log. "Also attending this preliminary interview, Commander Heizis of Reman Intelligence, Admiral Pexlini of Starfleet Intelligence." Well, if she's telling the truth, that's a nice surprise. "And, just as a reference point, we are plus six hours, fifteen minutes and forty-five seconds at my mark. Mark." She smiles thinly across the table at Thrang.
Thrang has been cleaned up a bit. You'd never guess he'd been sewer-wrestling, either. Nor would you guess that he'd taken a beating that would leave a normal human fit to be spread across slices of bread. He sits there, looking at Tylha, a faint smile on his full lips. Occasionally, his shoulders tense, just a little.
"So," says Tylha. "We've got your ship, we've got your computer virus, we've got your protomatter bomb, and we've got you. I think that counts as a clean sweep. There'll be formal charges and formal interviews, of course, but... indulge me. Who have we got? Kalevar Thrang isn't your real name, naturally."
"It will do," says Thrang. "Do you expect me to give up all my secrets? Really?"
"Oh, yes," says Tylha. "It'll take time, but... yes."
"Such confidence," says Thrang. "Well, I suppose there's no reason not to be civilized. No, Kalevar Thrang isn't my real name. But, then, I'm an illegal genetic augment, I don't really have a legal name, do I?"
"What would your mother call you?" Tylha asks.
"Test tubes make remarkably undemonstrative parents," says Thrang. "There's no harm in you knowing where I was... constructed, I suppose is the best word. You might have heard of the Calloway Institute."
Tylha taps in the name on her console. She raises her eyebrows. "High energy physics research?"
"With a sideline that isn't in the official documentation. Alistair Calloway wanted an heir to his fortune. One who was worthy. And he didn't care for the complications of human romance, not to mention the genetic lottery of selecting a partner." Thrang's smile grows broader. "I was code-named Alexander in the laboratory. A fitting name. As for my family name - well, a lot of my augmentation was based on the designs for the famous Dr. Bashir, but I very much doubt the noble salutatorian would appreciate having me grafted on to his family tree. No, I think the Calloway surname would suffice."
"It's impressive work." Tylha's fingers have been dancing rapidly across the console interface. "And then the high energy physics research... failed, rather spectacularly."
"Quite."
"Taking out the whole asteroid base, in fact. One of those unexplained tragedies."
"I heard him talking." Thrang's shoulders flex again. "He was talking about improvements. A new version, an improved version. I did not choose to be replaced."
"After Alistair Calloway's death, control of his company passed to his daughter Georgina... a recluse, who hasn't been seen in years." Tylha's voice is dry. "I take it we'd have a lot of difficulty finding her?"
Thrang laughs. "Dear sister. I prefer to think of her as being untrammeled by the tiresome necessities of physical reality."
"A software false front. One of many. Using her, you acquired patents for software applications, bought up isolinear chip manufacturers... laid the groundwork for infesting the data networks with your shadow OS, in fact." Tylha sighs. "It's going to take months to unravel all that, and as for the cost - well, it's lucky the Federation is a post-scarcity economy." She shakes her head. "And using that - any system in Federation or Imperial space can recognize your face, and know that you're in charge of it. Who was the one who wore your mask? The holographic disguise? When you blew a hole in Earth Spacedock to get Paul Hengest?"
"An agent. An effective agent. Find him yourself." Thrang's shoulders are tense, and his smile is starting to slip.
"We will," Tylha says. "Oh, I know we don't have your genetic advantages. But we're skilled and we're thorough. We'll find your agent, we'll find all the extra bolt-holes you're not telling us about, all the shell companies and secret holdings and sequestered funds. You might be able to outsmart any one of us, individually... but we're all working together, and you're all alone. We're going to turn over all your rocks until we've found everything."
"So you think." Thrang's shoulders are very tense now.
"Hey," I speak up. "You know the latest model Federation androids? They've got a limited shape-change ability built in. I mean, not liquid metal or anything weird like that, but they can manipulate their appearance, or do things like slimming down their limbs." Thrang's gaze snaps towards me. "'Course, that means the latest series of android restraints have to compensate for that, don't they? I guess you might be able to thin your wrists down enough to slip those cuffs, buddy, but you'd have to snap your hands off to do it. Puts you at a disadvantage, yanno?"
Thrang's shoulders, gradually, relax. His smile is completely gone, now.
"You," he says to me, "are very, very dead."
I shrug. "Heard that before, buddy. Still breathing."
"Enjoy it while it lasts," says Thrang. I am absolutely sure he means it. Dead sure, to coin a phrase.
"You need not be concerned," says Heizis. "The computer subversion will be undone - a mammoth task, as Admiral Shohl says, but it will be undone. And the Actionist Movement is already in pieces. Rather literally, in the case of the Klingon and the Breen arms. The Federation must go through its legalisms, of course." She shrugs. "As must we. The process for the impeachment and imprisonment of a Tribune is complicated and annoying. But it will be done."
"Do you think those are my only allies?" says Thrang.
"Well," I say, "you're not exactly attracting the best and brightest, are you? I mean, Xerek should've had all the advantages over Heizis, right? But here she is, and her boss is -" I don't know what Reman Intelligence has done with Xerek, and I'm not gonna pry. "As for the rest of them - Starfleet and Klingon rejects, and the Thexemians, I mean, come off it. This is the trouble with killing off the help, Thrang. After a while, the quality help gets wise. They stop knocking on your door."
"You think I have to make do with inferiors," says Thrang. "You forget, though, I always have to make do with inferiors. By definition."
"You say that," I say, "but who's wearing the android restraints, huh?"
Something goes beep on Tylha's console. "You do love the sound of your own voice, Thrang," she says.
"Well," says Thrang, "I say such clever things."
Tylha smiles at him. "We love the sound of your voice too," she says sweetly. "That was my data warfare expert, telling me she's captured enough of your phonemes to crack your last storage vault. We've got all your biometric data, too, naturally. We know enough about you to build a new one, in fact." Her smile goes away. "Though why we'd want to -"
She presses a button on the console, and people start to come in. Security troops - a black-eyed Betazoid, a burly Vulcan, a surly Tellarite - and others: a Borg drone, a security hologram in mirror-finish MACO armour, a pallid Aenar, two different androids, and a voluptuous figure wearing a crop-top, booty shorts, and a maniac smile. Tylha has access to that holo-simulation program for the infamous Admiral Leeta. She crowds round Thrang with the rest of them. It's about the sort of team I'd put together for moving Thrang, in fact.
"Take him away," says Tylha in a voice like a tomb slamming shut.
Thrang rises to his feet. His glare sweeps over me, Heizis, and Tylha.
"You think you've won," he says, "but you have no conception of my abilities and my resources. I will be back for all of you. And you will die."
I'll give Tylha credit, she doesn't turn one white Andorian hair. "I'll keep this countdown running, then," she says. "Just so you know how late you are."
---
There's a heck of a lot left to organize, of course. Thrang's ship, the Anita, and the Holst are all tangled up together in a knot of docking tubes, while the Saraswati hangs off to one side, ready to do something necessary but regrettable with its thalaron weapons if Thrang looks like getting loose.
I wander around the Holst, looking for Tylha and some confirmation about my own status with Starfleet - I'm almost sure I'm OK, but it would be kind of nice to know. I wander past the briefing room again, and I see her.
She is standing, and her exec is standing in front of her, and they are standing very close to each other. In fact, when I look closer, their faces are almost touching, and their antennae are actually twining together. I didn't know Andorians even did that. It's pretty clear they're having a moment, so I back away quietly, or at least as quietly as I can in my mining boots. I don't think they notice me, regardless of the boots.
So I whistle a little ditty between my teeth, and find a docking tube, and wander back to the Anita. "Admiral on the bridge," I say, as I stroll onto the command deck and plump down on my chair.
Nurnos rolls his eyes. Nyesenia says nothing. Rozilai flashes me a quick smile.
"Roz," I say. "Set my mind at rest, will you? You are Zorik's plant from Starfleet Intelligence, keeping an eye on me, aren't you?"
She just gives me another quick smile. "If I were," she says, "I certainly wouldn't say so. And if I weren't, I'd certainly deny it."
"Oh. Yeah. Quite."
"Unless I wanted to mess with your head," she carries on, "in which case I'd say yes, but you still wouldn't know if it was true or not."
"'Course not. God, I love intelligence work." I stand up again. "Come on, people. Let's all go have a drink."
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