"Only the dead have seen the end of war."
-Plato
"Eternal Father, strong to save
Whose arm hath bound the restless wave
Who biddest the mighty ocean deep
Its own appointed limits keep
Oh, hear us when we cry to Thee
For those in peril on the sea!"
The choir finished the hymn as Colonel Tarik approached the small podium that had been set up in one of the many cargo bays on Starbase 901. Captain Mallory and Admiral Wallace sat in chairs near the podium. It was empty, except for the United Federation of Planets flag to the left of the podium and the Starfleet and Starfleet Marine Corps flags to the right. He was in his full dress uniform, buttons polished, uniform pressed, and a stack of ribbons seemingly up to his shoulder. "At ease," he said. The assembled group of Marines and Starfleet personnel stood at ease, and then took their seats. A single casket was placed inbetween the podium and the congregation. The United Federation of Planets flag lay across it.
Tarik cleared his throat, and reviewed the small speech he had prepared. After a moment, he took the notecard he had his speech prepared on, and put it in the inside pocket of his dress coat. "Sergeant Major Douglas Mitchell lies here before his fellow servicemen. There is no fanfare or video documentary; no major acclaims or legacies that are attributed to his name. One thing that does stand out, however, is his life and his relationships with his fellow co-workers." Tarik paused for a moment and then continued. "Mitchell was a productive and valuable asset to the Marine Corps. His list of accomplishments, recommendations, and awards to his name are what every serviceman aspires to be. It is individuals such as Sergeant Major Mitchell that push us to be better, make us want to do more, and make us realize that we are working for a greater cause; not so much for the Corps, but for our friends around us."
Gunnery Sergeant Corran sat quietly in his dress uniform, listening to the words that were being spoken about the Sergeant Major that had passed. He didn't know him well, being on the station for only a little over a month. He did respect the man, however. From what Corran knew, he was probably one of the oldest enlisted members of the Corps at sixty-eight. ~It's a shame for someone like that to die at an early age,~ he thought. He thought about the ceremonies like this he had attended over the years during his time in the Corps. They were never a pleasure to attend. He snapped back to attention as the Colonel's speech came to a close.
"On your feet," Colonel Tarik commanded. The assembled group rose from their seats and came to attention. "Present... Arms!" He snapped to attention with everyone following suit. They held the salute as taps was played. "Order... Arms!" Everyone's arm crisply returned to their sides as they stood at attention. "Dismissed." The assembled group relaxed, and started to move freely about, mingling and talking. Some made their ways out of the cargo bays, and others walked towards the casket to say their final words before moving on.
The funeral had been a somber event. Tarik had found the human hymn very uplifting, however. He made a note to seek out the human sect whose order of service included the hymn. He returned to his office to process the paperwork necessary to ensure that the late Sergeant Major Mitchell's sole heir--a nephew on Deneva--received his death benefits. He was interrupted by a chime at the door.
"Enter," Tarik said absently. Gunnery Sergeant Corran entered the office.
"Ah, Corran! I'm glad we can still keep our appointment given recent events," Tarik said. "Have a seat. Cigar?"
"Don't mind if I do," Corran said, taking one of the replicated Cuban cigars from the humidor on Tarik's desk. The cigars formerly known as Coronas had been renamed Fidels after the death of Cuban leader Castro in the early 21st century, but retained their popularity on Earth and beyond.
"Have a look at this, as well," Tarik said, handing Corran a PADD. Corran scanned the PADD and found the picture of a Mulluran officer well up in years and rank, along with a vast quantity of biographical data.
"This is Brigadier Mazon Durlav, of the Mulluran noble house of Durlav. He's in command of a labor camp our intelligence network has found operating just outside the revised Mulluran boundary line. Our information has it that he's producing warp coils and small arms on a planetoid five parsecs from here named HA-322 on our catalog."
"Okay, he's running a labor camp. Why don't we clean it out?"
Tarik sighed. "Current Federation policy is one of appeasement with the Mullurans. We can't formally do anything against this camp without creating a major diplomatic incident. Formally, that is."
"I see the picture. So you want something, ah, informal done about him?"
"You see the picture most clearly. Brigadier Durlav is even more brutal than the average Mulluran camp commander. Our estimates have nearly a thousand civilian deaths in his camp a month, mainly Nausicaans but also a few Mulluran political prisoners and subject races as well. The Order Police send cutters to and from that camp rather frequently and we suspect there may be an intelligence-gathering operation at work.
"Your mission is to take out Durlav, and as much of his command staff as possible. Be discreet--in no way can this station or the Federation be connected to the job. By the time the Mullurans can get someone else to run the camp, we hope to have it evacuated. Assemble a team at your discretion; I'll arrange transport to and extraction from the strike zone. Be prepared to leave by 1700 tomorrow."
"And the Order Police?" Corran asked.
"Leave them to me. As I said, we have arrangements," Tarik said as he smiled a death's head grin.
Corran finished his cigar while he and Tarik talked about everything and nothing, then left. He smiled. Suddenly his life had a purpose!
Corran chewed on the end of a cigar that Tarik had given him as he left the office. The idea of an assassination on an asteroid labor camp was not a pleasant thing to think about. He would have to assemble a team for this mission. He'd have to find the right breed for this mission, however, and he knew where to find them.