A'dal Francona tossed and turned restlessly on his divan. He'd been plagued by the same nightmare over the past few days. A vision of small gray men and a bright operating theater light, and a small animal with pincers and multiple legs not unlike the parasites known to infest the Order Police's dungeons...
Suddenly he bolted up, his thoughts clearer than they had been in days. He went to his personal terminal and accessed the Mulluran fleet deployment statistics. A Federation task force of seven ships had arrived at Ferenginar, with one of the vessels further detached to a small planet about fifteen light-years from the Ferengi homeworld. Whoever is in charge of this deployment is an idiot, Francona thought. One ship to hold off a major attack force???
His personal yacht had been drydocked for repairs (strictly routine maintenance, he'd been told) but Francona knew of still another avenue for his subterfuge. He summoned his majordomo.
"Bring me a slave -- preferably one with no family, immediately!" he ordered.
The half-awake head servant nodded, then departed. Moments later, he reappeared with a rather frightened-looking kitchen drudge.
"Perfect! This one will do just fine! Now depart!"
The majordomo left. Francona looked over the slave. "Boy, how would you like your freedom in exchange for one minor task?"
The young slave nodded eagerly.
Francona stepped into his wardrobe and found a spare uniform without rank markings. Digging in one of his many jewelry boxes, he found the rank insignia for subaltern third class. "Put this on -- and make haste!"
"Sire?"
"Do you want your freedom or not?"
The slave changed from his kitchen whites into the uniform.
"Your name is Dastor Themis. You're going to report to the Federation embassy and tell them you wish to defect. Ask for a Vulcan named Sapek and give him this," Francona said, handing the slave an isolinear chip. He then hurriedly wrote out a note, then handed it to 'Dastor'. "This is a six-day pass. No one who sees it will question my signature. Now go!"
The slave, still quite bewildered, hurried out the door of Francona's private chambers.
His wife stirred on the divan. "What was that all about?" she asked, still very sleepy.
"I had a craving for a snack, so I sent for a cook."
She turned over and returned to sleep.
Francona would return to bed after a suitable interval (and after actually eating something, to avoid rousing suspicion) but he would not sleep.
"They what????" Lieutenant Seamus Flannigan asked in utter disbelief.
"Upon orders from Admiral Simmons, the heavy weapons squad is to stay aboard the Greystoke in reserve until needed," Captain Luigi Grimaldi told the young Marine platoon leader who was busy assembling his troops to land on Rostella IV. "He feels that the heavy weapons may be too provocative at this point." Grimaldi was careful to hide his utter contempt for Simmons' orders.
"Beggin' yer pardon, sair, but this is absolute bullshit!"
"I'll note your objection, Lieutenant. The landing force will deploy with standard infantry kit only. Upon landing the shuttle will stay on station until you've secured the objective." Even an officer as green as Flannigan (only six months out of the Academy) could tell this was a set-up. "I'm sorry to do this to you. I don't know what Simmons is thinking right now."
"Understood, sir. Can we at least count on heavy fire support from the Greystoke?"
"Unless we're engaged, we'll give you all the firepower we can spare."
Flannigan looked doubtful. "At least that's something. Okay, our team will be ready in thirty minutes."
Flannigan's briefing of his troops was somewhat less congenial.
"You've got to be out of your damn mind!" Lance Corporal Robert Benson yelled. "Do we even have an estimate of how many hostiles are down there?"
"We have nothing yet, Corporal. We haven't heard from the Ferengi garrison either. If we're lucky they left all their heavy weapons where we can get to them. I've asked the Captain to contact Task Force Command to confirm the orders. In the meantime, you know our motto!" he said with a sigh.
"The difficult we do immediately -- the impossible takes a little longer!" the platoon said in unison.
"Okay, form up! We disembark in twenty minutes!"
Benson broke off to ready his squad. One young private appeared to be having trouble securing his gear -- namely because another, older private was taking his gear and hiding it from him.
"Is there a problem here, gentlemen?" he asked as he rolled his eyes. PFC Beckham had endured the bullying of PFC Damon since Benson had become squad leader, perhaps longer.
"Yeah -- Bookworm here can't get his shit together!"
"Maybe he'd get his shit together better if I kicked your balls up your spine, Damon!" Then, to Beckham: "Get your gear ready, Private, and don't let me see this happen again!" he growled. Internally, he sympathized with Beckham. Outwardly, he had to appear to hold all of his squad in equal contempt.
Both of the privates immediately saw to their own tasks. Within minutes, the squad was ready for deployment.
Sergeant Paran reviewed the platoon. The old Andorian nodded in approval as they boarded the shuttle.
Benson could sense the nervousness of the green lieutenant. He could sense everyone's nervousness over leaving a quarter of their manpower and better than two thirds of their firepower behind.
This was not going to come out well.
"So you're telling me that this platoon is going down without its heavy weapons squad, into an area that we have no intelligence about?" Tarik asked with disbelief.
[That is exactly what I'm telling you, General. The orders were signed by Admiral Simmons himself. He said he didn't want to appear too provocative.]
"The damn Mullurans are swallowing the Ferengi whole and he doesn't want to appear provocative?" Tarik sighed. "Good God, why didn't he just send them down naked and unarmed and finish the job! Captain, has the shuttle departed yet?"
[Yes, sir. The platoon should be disembarking now.]
"Get the heavy weapons squad on your transporter pads now and beam them down wherever Lieutenant Flannigan wants them. On my authority. This situation is falling apart badly enough without us sacrificing good men and women needlessly. What's the situation in the system look like?"
[So far, all clear -- wait. My tac officer tells me that there are twenty-five Type III heavy cruisers entering the Rostella system!]
Against one Akira-class. Terrific. "Do whatever you have to, Captain. It looks like someone's deliberately throwing this game."
[My sentiments exact---]
Then, silence.
"You will place General Tarik under arrest immediately," Admiral Lewis Simmons informed the two Security crewmen he'd brought with him. The admiral had entered the Combat Information Center while Tarik was speaking with Luigi Grimaldi. "He is charged with gross insubordination and unauthorized comm channel use!"
"Unauthorized? I'm the damn CIC watch officer and your Chief of Staff! And Grimaldi contacted us!!!"
"You were the CIC officer and my Chief of Staff. Now you're in the brig! Get him out of here!"
The security officers complied, albeit more than confused about the situation.
"What is the meaning of this?" General Schneider shouted as he entered the CIC.
"General Tarik is under arrest. I'm removing him from the chain of command and placing him in the brig."
"Tarik is my subordinate, you should have informed me first!" Schneider growled, his fair Prussian features flushing with anger. "There is much about this operation that makes no sense, and it all starts with you!" he said, pointing at Simmons.
"You are relieved, General Schneider. Do not make me put you under arrest as well."
The crew looked around, bewildered.
"Get out of here, now!" Simmons shouted, utterly out of control.
The security officers led Tarik away. Schneider left the CIC.
"Landing party to Greystoke, come in... come in, Greystoke," Lieutenant Flannigan kept calling. But there was no answer. A brilliant flash of light in the sky told the story for everyone.
"Okay, Marines, it looks like we're digging in until someone comes for us. Let's secure the mining compound."
The platoon moved forward from their dispersal point toward the mining compound. They'd heard nothing, not even native wildlife, since landing. Nothing but their own heartbeats. Benson, at point, became extremely tense. Something is coming down, and it's coming down soon!
He caught a whiff of something extremely foul in the air. He held his hand up, halting the platoon. Flannigan activated his combat tricorder. "I've got nothing, Corporal---" suddenly ending with a bloodcurdling scream!
"Lieutenant down! All squads disperse and return fire!" Sergeant Paran yelled. The platoon began to break up as the Andorian, too, went down in a fit of screams.
The area was filled with random phaser fire as Marines began taking aim and firing at any random movement in the foliage. Benson glanced over at the dead officer. His head had been completely removed from his body, leaving a hole where his neck and spine used to be.
Suddenly
something hit him across the face! He turned, and saw a horrid monstrosity with
fangs and large, dreadlock-like growths out of its skull. "Oh, you wanna
play, do you?" he growled as his berserker mutation took over and he grabbed
the creature's fist. He wrenched it over and heard the creature howl in pain
as bones snapped. Then Benson shoved the muzzle of his phaser rifle into the
beast's mouth and fired single-handedly. The creature's head exploded.
"Cease fire! Platoon, cease fire!" he barked. Suddenly, silence prevailed as the Marines found someone giving an order. "Platoon, report!"
Sixteen Marines out of twenty-four were dead... including the platoon leader, the senior NCO, and the other two squad leaders. "This thing ain't native to Rostella IV, that's for sure, so it's got to be something the Mullurans brought My guess is that this isn't the only one, either. We'd better assume that the Ferengi are all dead and we've lost the mining compound."
"Brilliant, Benson, what do we do now?" Damon asked.
"You will listen to me and do exactly as I say, when I say it -- that's an order, Private! Our tricorders aren't worth shit against these guys."
"And what makes you so special?" Damon -- ever the smartass and trouble-maker -- asked.
"See him?" Benson asked, pointing to the dead alien. "Did you do that? Case closed. Now shut your damn trap!"
"Sir, I really regret having to do this," one of the security officers told Tarik as they led him to the brig in manacles.
"You were given an order, and you are carrying it out. There's nothing for you to regret, Ensign."
"No, sir, you don't understand. I know you can't tell, but I'm a Betazoid. There's something not right with Admiral Simmons -- I can sense it! It's almost as if he's lying to everyone. You and General Schneider, the ship captains, the Ferengi, maybe even Starfleet Command. I can't put my finger on it, but this man is hiding something big!"
Tarik turned toward the ensign. "If you've got an allegation to make, man, then make it! I may be a prisoner, but I'm still a ranking officer in this expeditionary force. And Schneider is not as yet under arrest."
The ensign thought for a moment. His companion, a human, was completely confused.
"General Tarik, Admiral Simmons is either collaborating with the Mullurans, insane, or quite possibly both at the same time."
"Then you know what to do, son."
The Betazoid security officer removed the manacles.
"Thank you. This is for your own good!" Tarik said as he punched the Betazoid in the gut, knocking his wind out and rendering him unconscious. He turned to the human guard, who tried unsuccessfully to parry a Vulcan nerve pinch. If things go badly, I'll say I escaped them. They'll end up working at a penal colony the rest of their careers, but it's better than being dead.
Tarik grabbed one of their hand phasers and ran back to CIC.
He arrived just in time to see General Schneider arrive with a squad of Starfleet security officers. "I see you are just in time for the party, Tarik!" the older man said with a smile.
"You know I never miss these things! There's another security officer, Ensign Bramen I believe, down Corridor C with an interesting story to tell once he leaves Sickbay."
"You'll never get away with this!" Simmons shouted. "Starfleet will never support you!"
"And why are you so sure?"
"This little expeditionary force is nothing more than a ruse! The Federation has a deal with the Mullurans to split the Ferengi holdings and end this nonsense! Peace with honor!"
And I thought Neville Chamberlain died 400 years ago! Tarik thought. "A traitor, a coward, and an idiot all in the same package! Even if you do have a deal do you think Francona's going to honor it? Did you learn anything from what happened to the Nausicaans?"
"A debased, debauched race if ever one existed! Together, the Mullurans and the Federation shall dominate the quadrant! After Ferenginar, Cardassia. After Cardassia, G'kra -- and who knows? Maybe even Rihan and Qo'noS!"
"Get this trash out of here!" Schneider ordered the guards.
The security team advanced. Simmons drew his phaser and fired at Schneider -- only to be cut down by a phalanx of security officers. Nothing was left of either Simmons or Schneider but a fine ash on the deck.
"Your orders, sir?" one of the security guards asked Tarik as the rest of the CIC staff looked on.
[We've received some rather interesting intelligence from our embassy on Mullura Prime,] Admiral Zultok informed Tarik. [A defector presented us information on Mulluran agents and outright collaborators operating in Starfleet, the Federation, and the Ferengi Alliance. Simmons was right at the top of the list.]
"As we discovered on our own, sir."
[Quite. Admiral Sinchak and Senator Dalrymple have been arrested, and every major Fleet element between here and the Gamma Quadrant is being informed of the situation. Now, I have some information for you.]
Dalrymple... yes, he was that Earth senator who tried to block our equipment appropriations. "How about Admiral Wallace, sir?"
[Admiral Richard Wallace has been restored as Chief of Strategic Operations. However, he has been requested by the Senate Fleet and Intelligence Subcommittees to testify regarding his dealings with Admiral Simmons. I am afraid he is unable to join the task force at this time.]
"Then who can you give me to manage Fleet operations out here?" Tarik asked. "Commodore Doublet perhaps?"
[Irwin Doublet is currently in command of Starbase 717. I will dispatch him immediately, but from SB717 it could take him as long as three weeks to reach the Briar Patch Sector or Ferenginar.]
"So who's in charge?"
[You are, General. In light of recent events I am certain the Senate will confirm your brevet promotion]
Holy shit! "Yes, sir," Tarik said as he tensed up. This operation is doomed, and now it's doomed on my watch. I'm the scapegoat. "Any orders?"
[Stay at Ferenginar for now. We will advise on an appropriate plan of action within twelve hours.]
"Acknowledged. Tarik out."
To hell with that! We've got people dying out there! Tarik opened the all-fleet circuit. "Attention all fleet commanders, this is General Tarik. Due to the untimely deaths of Admiral Simmons and General Schneider, I have assumed command of this task force. All ship captains to report to USS Patton CIC in twenty minutes."
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