It was with some considerable sense of trepidation that Commander Samantha Hyland threaded the borrowed Type-9 Shuttlecraft through the ponderous bulk of wrecked vessels as she made her way from the relative safety of the USS Henry Hudson towards the absolute certainty of danger aboard the faded glory of the liner “Tonino Delli Colli”, where she was to sell her metaphorical soul to the Devil herself – all in the vain hope to right a wrong and save a friend.

As she passed under the skeletal superstructure of a Bajoran Ore – hauler of a foundered – vintage, it’s ribs and strut-work bared to the unforgiving cold embrace of the firmament as automated drones and worker bee’s slowly reduced her once – industrious hull to lucrative recyclable materials – Sam had the chance to reflect on the chaotic chain of events that had led her to this point of no return.

It seemed hardly credible that a scant five days ago, she was comfortably settling into her new role as Executive Officer aboard the USS Albion, gauging the metronomic rhythm of everyday shipboard life and finding her way with a whole new crew and adjusting to being the ‘Second – seat” to a whole new commanding officer.

In those 5 days she had caused that new crew to become embroiled in a seditious plan to steal some of the Federation’s most feared and jealously guarded technology, had participated in an arguably – treasonous covert operation designed to steal that forbidden technology, had literally had a heart attack and now was destined for a rendezvous with some of the worst criminal elements in the entire galaxy.

All so that she could hand the destructive power of Project Genesis into the conniving green hands of D’Taani Varada – herself an unprincipled blackmailer and extra-legal fugitive from the very Orion Cartel that had put a death mark out on her life – in response to her treachery.

And Samantha thought that a backlog of paperwork was the worst thing that she had had to tackle this week.

As her fine Nordic – features were suffused with the gentle glow of the shuttle’s instrumentation panel and her only companion was the muted sounds of telemetry being gathered by the tiny craft’s sensors, a frown creased her fine brow-line.

Something was nagging at her. Something that had been at the back of her mind, but with the cascade of tumultuous events that had recently overtaken her, refused to properly take hold.

Sam thought back to the moment that she had discovered the Holo-recording that summoned the malignant shade of D’Taani Varada into her small office and had literally turned her life upside down.

How had it got there?

The Ships Yeoman, Senior Crewman Groves, certainly hadn’t known.

That Luther Groves (one of the most organized people that Sam had encountered during her brief time aboard the Inquiry – Class Exploratory Cruiser) couldn’t explain how an Orion criminal mastermind had managed to smuggle an item of illicit technology aboard a deployed Starfleet vessel spoke as much to D’Taani Varada’s capability for subterfuge, as it was a monumental failure of operational security.

When Sam had departed the USS Albion in the company of Lieutenant Commander Sonak, bound for the Daystrom Institute and the commencement of their own heinous crime, Lieutenant Alicia Prado (the Albion’s stern Security Chief) had been fervently seeking the answer to that very conundrum.

As Sam had received no update to that investigation, she could only assume that Chief Prado’s search had so far come up empty.

Sam sighed, looking out of the cockpit as the Type – 9 ducked under the retreating bulk of the Bajoran – wreck and into the even larger shadow of its adjoining neighbor. The Cattivo Industries Recycling Facility seemed to stretch on into the distance in every vector – ostensibly crammed with the remains of a thousand vessels in varying degrees of their death – throes.

Sam knew that, somewhere off in the darkness – the Captain Robert Carrington held the USS Albion at a distance – ready to warp in to spring their own trap on the unsuspecting D’Taani Varada and close their dragnet around her extra-legal auction and arresting the scum that had been lured by the promise of obtaining Genesis.

There were so many moving parts, so many opportunities for things to go disastrously wrong so very quickly, that Sam harbored serious reservations as to her own chances of seeing the day out alive.

As she crested the broken spine of a Groumall – class Cardassian Freighter, Samantha suddenly identified the distant hull of the “Tonino Delli Colli”, the once – great ship surrounded by a veritable rogue’s gallery of craft that obviously belonged to Varada’s criminal guests.

Sneaking a holo-emitter aboard the USS Albion was a neat trick to be sure, Sam could only surmise that the device had been smuggled aboard by some proxy of Varada before the ship had embarked Starbase 72. Which also meant that that had taken place before the Orion had betrayed and framed Kennedy Zhao for the murder of The Nausicaan – Sam realized – which spoke towards a conspiracy of greater depth and preparation than she had first anticipated.

But then D’Taani Varada had somehow managed to replicate that trick by somehow placing a second Holo-emitter on Sam’s unconscious person as she was being medevac’d from the reception at the Daystrom Institute to the USS Henry Hudson. Certainly, Varada knew that Sam and Hazard Team Albion would be there – after all, it was Varada herself that had set the nebulous task.

What Sam couldn’t work out, was how Varada had known the exact detail of the plan to use Sam’s body as the vehicle to smuggle the Genesis Data out of the Daystrom Institute in the ensuring confusion that followed her “collapse?”

Didn’t that seem to suggest that, somehow, Varada still had a proxy hidden amongst the crew of the USS Albion?

The warble of a proximity warning dragged Samantha’s attention back to the very immediate task at hand as the shuttle’s computer received docking permission and the tiny shuttlecraft’s autopilot was taken over and was gently guided to mate with the airlock an available docking port.

“She’s not allowing anyone to teleport into the Auction, I wonder why?” Sam pondered as the Type – 9 came to rest and she readied herself for what was to come.

Rising from the pilot’s couch, Samantha checked the Isolinear – storage device that contained the data to Project Genesis (for literally the hundredth time) and the Hand phaser that hung heavily inside the inner – pocket of the civilian jacket she wore.

With one last prayer to whoever may be listening she keyed the hatch and stepped out into the interior of the “Tonino Delli Colli”.

Where once, guests and worthies had stepped out into the gilded magnificence of the opulent (some argued over-the-top tasteless) receiving deck of the grand – liner, to be greeted by liveried crew that were extensively trained and poised to pander to their every whim and conceive need, Commander Samantha Hyland alighted into a cavernous space that had been methodically stripped of anything of commercial worth and was greeted by the intimidating bulk of a genetically engineered Angosian Mercenary, flanked by a cohort of similarly disreputable – looking soldiers of fortune.

The massive Angosian fixed Sam with a neutral stare that gave not two fucks and ran a tricorder over her without comment. Sam noticed the hypnotic beat of very loud music reverberating through the rusted deck – plates, coming from somewhere deeper inside the ship.

Very carefully, Samantha withdrew her Hand phaser from her inside pocket, holding the sidearm by the barrel.

Unlike the Hazard Team Leader, Lieutenant Hask, Sam did not consider herself so martially – adept that she fancied her chances engaging a heavily armed and primed team of cut – throat mercenaries. She offered the weapon carefully to the towering Angosian.

“I think you’re looking for this?” Sam commented, trying to sound more confident and self – assured than she actually felt.

The Angosian looked at the weapon for a moment and then his big, very scarred, face split into a wide grin, and he chuckled, shaking that huge dome of his cranium with amusement.

“Oh, hell no, Doll-face.” The Merc rumbled, “Considering whose waiting in there,” He jerked a massive thumb over his broad shoulder and his milling crew – towards where the music was coming from, “ya’d better hang on to that Popgun, Sister. Not that it’d do you much good anyhow.”

It was Sam’s turn to look surprised and she eased the weapon back into her pocket.

“The Green – Woman’s been expecting you, Starfleet.” He reached into a pocket and brough out a small box, tastefully inlaid with lapis lazuli, and handed it out to Samantha.

“She said that you had to wear this and not take it off – or else the deals off, okay?” The Merc explained.

Frowning, Commander Hyland took the box and opened it.

Inside was a garish name – badge, like the kind you might wear at a cheap convention. It read.

“Hi! My name is ‘Sammie’.”

Sam peered at the badge with a sour expression and then up to the Angosian.

“Really?” She asked acidly.

The Merc peered down and shrugged massively.

“Don’t ask me lady, I just work here.”

Sam sighed and affixed the mocking – badge to the lapel of her jacket and indicated to it sarcastically with a flourish of her hand.

The Angosian towards the accessway, “Go right on in – enjoy the party….” If anyone had looked more thoroughly bored with their job, Sam had yet to meet them.

As the remaining mercs chuckled nastily and made lewd comments, Sam steeled herself for her rendezvous with the underworld and progressed further into the ship – following the increasingly volumatic and vibrating thrum of painfully loud crash – trance – dance music.

Soon the light ahead began to strobe and the tell – tell mélange of spice and other illegal narcotics began to permeate the skeletal corridors as Sam had to work hard to track her progress through a dark confusion of cables and ducting hanging from overhead panels like the disemboweled entrails of a beast on the butcher’s block.

More than once, the yawing chasm of removed deck plates threatened to confound her path and send her hurtling down in the darkness, to a painful end many decks below.

Suddenly the nightmarish maze of the corridor opened up and deposited Samantha onto the remains of a once regal balcony that had formerly overlooked the opulent main – ballroom of the liner.

Where, in her heyday, this wide – sweeping space of many levels and gentle fountains had hosted the very best people in the Alpha and Beta Quadrants, now it resembled a scene from Dante’s “Inferno” as it played court to the Galaxy’s very worst.

An inverse mockery of its salubrious heyday, the Grand Ballroom pulsed with a cacophony of pounding noise, strobing lights and a persistent fugue of drug – haze hung like a recalcitrant fog, giving the motley inhabitants of the ruined space an even more nightmarish aspect.

Sam steeled herself and made down the broken staircase.

There at the bar, probably the ugliest Tellerite that Samantha had ever seen, lounged indolently – trying (and mostly succeeding) to project malevolent power and threat as he was surrounded by a similarly unscrupulous crew of pirates and corsairs.

Overhead a troupe of performers in G – Harnesses enthralled the crowd below as they contorted and enthusiastically threw themselves wholly and bodily into a series of vigorous sex acts with each other that Samantha was sure was as inadvisable gynecologically, as they were socially.

Honestly, Sam though that the whole display had more than a little air of desperation and thought that maybe they should tone it down a little, but she kept her council and pressed deeper into the throng.

Directly opposite from the Tellerite Corsair was encamped a tight knot of Grey – Skinned Remans, all clad in black.

If Sam though that the Tellerite and the Sex – Troupe had been trying to outdo each other in the field of reverse virtue – signaling – then the assembled Remans were as a Subspace Transmitter Array – when it came to broadcasting insecurity.

The Remans watched her pass, whispering furtively (or probably screaming in each other’s ears – given the crescendo of noise echoing off the denuded walls of the ballroom) and Sam was not glad for their attentions at all – as she made her way towards the narrow stage that bisected the space – to its midpoint.

She started as a hand reached out and grabbed her shoulder.

Sam reached for her Hand phaser but suddenly thought better about that when she saw the lean, cruel face of a Cardassian – surrounded be a cohort of equally reptilian peers.

“Commander Samantha Hyland.” The man stated – not a question. Cold derision dripped like scorn from his words and his eyes were as cold as night.

Sam marshalled what bravado she had in reserved and coolly replied.

“I don’t believe I’ve had the pleasure?”

The smile that creased the sneering face of Legate Gohiarr Dac was entirely devoid of humor.

“Gul Yomat Ghallir sends his regards, Starfleet.” the Legate warned unkindly.

Samantha blinked, her mind racing back to the battle of wills she had endured with the True Way terrorist and his crew – when the USS Savannah had been marooned with them in the hell of The Labyrinth.

“That’s lovely.” Sam rejoindered, her expression flat as a gravity – well. “I’m surprised that he has time to compose greeting cards at all, in between his busy ‘getting-buggered-in-the-prison-showers’ schedule.” Her riposte as equally barbed.

There was some small satisfaction watching the True Way Legate try to retain his composure and not rise to her jibe – not wanting to look weak in front of his men.

“Maybe when we get what we come for,” Gohiarr Dac hissed with venom, “the Green Woman will throw you in to the bargain as a gesture of her good faith?”

Sam surprised herself when she threw her head back and laughed, clapping a hand on Legate Dac’s thin shoulder and making his eyes bulge with fury.

“Jesus Christ Legate.” Sam grinned impishly, “If you think that D’Taani Varada has an iota of “Goodwill” in her entire, rotten body – then you really haven’t ever met her in the flesh, have you?”

Wiping a tear from her eye, Samantha left the Cardassian gawking and fuming as she pressed past him saying,

“Good luck with the auction losers, you’re obviously going to need it!”

Sam wasn’t sure what had gotten into her? Maybe she was just sick at being left in the dark and living with the constant threat of fear and danger – but she was beginning to adapt to her surroundings and frankly she didn’t give two hot – shits for the True Way and their threats. At their core, she knew them to be sadistic cowards and bullies, and she realized that she wasn’t remotely scared of them anymore.

As she neared the stage, with her newfound resolve intact for now – Sam noted the remaining two factions that had gathered to make their bid to control the Genesis particle.

Nearest the stage was arrayed a defiant knot of Klingon warriors. At their midst stood a female officer with her iron-grey dreadlocks shorn on one side of her head and a fearsome array of plasma burns crowning an empty eye socket.

Sam noted that the woman, who obviously seemed to be in command – judging by the deference of the others around her – eschewed the wearing of an eyepatch. She was obviously a person who refused to hide her wounds – wearing her battle scars with pride.

Samantha steered in the opposite direction, figuring discretion was a policy that best served her survival.

This course brought her closer to the other side of the wrecked ballroom and she was surprised to note a single Orion Male, who sat alone at a table in an alcove – calmly sipping a Saurian Brandy.

What was instantly remarkable was that, unlike the rest of the criminals assembled in the room, the Orion had no entourage. It was a conspicuous and assured statement of power – that he needed no such protection and required no such retinue.

The Orion smiled when he saw Sam regarding him and raised his drink nonchalantly enough.

He made no attempt to approach Samantha to either woe or threaten and somehow that made the hairs on her neck stand up even more.

Sam was about to reverse course when, all of a sudden, the crashing, discordant music suddenly slammed to a halt – leaving her ears ringing and a spotlight sprang to life at the edge of the stage – just feet away from where she stood.

Startled, Sam’s attention was inexorably drawn to the figure who strolled out of the darkness, with an easy gait and sauntered into the circle of illumination with a wry, challenging look on her face – before she spoke.

A murmur of voices bubbled through the crowd and a palisade of harsh stares were throw up in some quarters.

D’Taani Varada made a show of looking around the crowd before her amplified voice spoke with amusement.

“Psychopaths, rapist, murderers, misunderstandees and ne’er-do-wells! WELCOME!” D’Taani grinned and held her hands out wide in greeting.

As the hubbub of disgruntled noise lessened from the crowd, Samantha noticed the Orion man narrow his eyes when he saw Varada and mutter something into his sleeve.

“NOW!” Varada commanded the room, and she knew it.

“I know that most of you hate each other’s guts and there’s not even a lot of love in the room – astoundingly not for even little old me? Yes! Yes! I know that there has been some little ‘misunderstandings’ in the past. Harsh words were said in anger. Certain cargo’s may not have changed hands with inventories quite as expected. Certain margins may have been shaved slightly, due to the vagaries of changing market forces and that cruel mistress fate may have even taken some of your compatriots to her bosom, before their allotted time?”

“Some people have even overreacted and rushed to place Death Marks on people’s heads, when a civil chat between like-minded professionals may have just sufficed?” Varada looked pointedly at Shadreck Deen as the Orion man smiled easily and made a “what – can – you – do?” gesture with one green hand and no love in his cold eyes.

“For Khaless’ SAKE – will someone please shut this Green – Baktag’s stinking mouth and get to why we are all HERE!” Swore the Klingon, Marshall H’odahl shak’Mad. Her rowdy crew of Klingon renegades roared with approval.

D’Taani Varada rolled her green eyes theatrically and muttered, off – mike.

“Hard room.”

She brightened and then snapped her fingers – suddenly another spotlight enveloped Samantha, making her blink in its harsh glare.

“Well, since there is obviously no appetite for foreplay! Let’s get down to the hard-fucking, already!” Varada mugged, illciting laughter from the pirate crew of Onkem – Pog.

“Without further ado! Ladies and Gentlemen! I know why you’re here! You know why you’re here? Of course you do! You’re here for GENESIS!”

The mood in the room altered dramatically at this mention and Varada gestured to Samantha.

“Created by the Federation under the guise of a tool for righteous peace! “ D’Taani leaned into her schtick with all the flare of a consummate showman. “When in reality they secretly created a weapon of unparalleled destructive potential! And, true to their boundless hypocrisy – what did they do? THEY STOLE IT AWAY!”

The crowd roared their approval, warming to Varada’s routine and Samantha winced as she mounted the stage and Varada held out her hand towards her.

“BUT TONIGHT! This night of nights! I offer you the chance to hold the power of death in your very HANDS!”

The Orion grinned wolfishly with a flourish and took the Isolinear chip containing Genesis data from Sam’s hand.

Sam begrudgingly handed the chip over and felt a small part of herself, the part that was Starfleet, die a little as she did so.

“TONIGHT! Purloined from the smug heart of their fastest fortress, plucked from under their stuck – up noses by one of their own hands! I give you all…..”

D’Taani slotted the chip into the reader before her and suddenly the entire Grand Ballroom was lit up with a massive holographic representation of the Genesis Particle!

“PROJECT GENESIS!”

A heavy silence hung pregnant in the room as greedy eyes all were drawn to the potential for death, destruction and endless riches.

The silence pervaded and lingered as D’Taani Varada stood grinning.

Eventually, it was Comrade R’Kirad of the Reman Remnant that called out impatiently.

“ENOUGH OF THIS FARCE, VARADA! LET THE BIDDING COMMENCE!!”

The armored fist of Marshall H’odahl shak’Mad slammed down onto the edge of the stage with frustration and the former Sovereignty of Kahless officer demanded.

“YES! Get on with it – you green – skinned Ha’DIbaH !!!” shak’Mad warned furiously.

Still D’Taani Varada stood smiling on the stage, entirely unconcerned with the growing outrage.

From his seat in the corner, the Orion Syndicate Underboss Shadreck Deen was no longer smiling his easy smile but was not sat forward suspiciously – still talking to someone on the communicator on his wrist.

“FUCK THIS! LET’S JUST CUT THIS BITCHES HEAD OFF AND TAKE THE DAMNED THING, I SAY!” Roared the Tellerite Pirate – King, Onkem – Pog, with characteristic bombast and outright thuggery.

D’Taani Varada’s smile did not slip an inch, but now the Orion woman raised her slim hands in a placatory gesture and spoke.

“Ladies and Gentlemen, there appears to be some sort of misunderstanding.” Varada spoke with seeming – sincerity, as if explaining a simple concept to a busload of schoolchildren on a day – excursion.

“Let a collection of psychotic maniacs like you get your grubby little – mitts on a prize like Genesis?”

D’Taani looked genuinely amused. Far less could be said for the other inhabitants of the room.

“Do you think that I am fucking INSANE?” She tipped her dark hair back and laughed uproariously with genuine mirth.

“SHE MEANS TO KEEP GENESIS FOR HERSELF!!” Cried Onkem – Pog, his crew already reaching for their weapons. Realizing that the room was about to transform into a bloodbath, Sam began to look around for cover.

“FUCK ME, NO!” Varada laughed with relish. “You can fucking KEEP Genesis, for all I care!”

That certainly sent a ripple of confusion and consternation through the assembled criminals.

“I mean – who gives a SHIT about some dusty old piece of tech from the 23^rd century, honestly! There are so many more juicy prizes in this Galaxy ripe for the taking! That’s the problem with you bloody people, you have a breathtaking lack of IMAGINATION!!”

“Explain yourself Varada!” Legate Gohiarr Dac commanded, a warning note of danger in his voice – but also a wary self – interest.

“Well,” D’Taani sat herself at the edge of the stage and swung a leg idly over the edge as she spoke.

“I knew that to get a basket of deplorables, such as yourself, to come and scratch your balls together in the same doghouse – then I had to get a particularly juicy bone to wave in front of your faces – something that you just couldn’t resist wrapping your greedy chops around!” D’Taani explained brightly.

“WHAT !!!” Comrade R’Kirad recoiled, her grey Reman features betraying inner – fury.

Varada waved her hand dismissively.

“You’re all so fucking predictable!” The Orion laughed and Sam decided that Varada really had lost her mind, but the Orion continued, undeterred.

“And that’s the problem really, boys and girls!” She looked around at them all.

“Sure, for a while it was useful having you all doing your separate things, spending all your time and energy fucking each other over for a percentage of the profit. For a while, that suited me just fine! But then you all went and got greedy!”

Shadreck Deen was on his feet now, speaking more urgently by the moment and reaching inside of his coat – drawing something out.

D’Taani Varada ploughed on, obviously enjoying herself immensely as she continued her diatribe.

“Now I know Greedy is in your collective nature, but when you got so greedy, that you attracted the attention of the Federation and predictably they sicced their bloodhounds – Starfleet – on you all and well that would have been fine normally – but now it has reached the point where your shenanigans are getting in the way of Progress and THAT – CAN – NOT – HAPPEN!!”

D’Taani stood and made a show of dusting off her pants and nodded to all assembled.

“So that’s when I decided that I would be taking over…well…. everything really!” She smiled brightly.

Before anyone could react, a searing line of focused energy stabbed out from the Disruptor – pistol that the Orion Syndicate Boss Shadreck Deen. It lanced straight through Varada’s chest and Samantha’s heart skipped a beat.

D’Taani Varada looked down at her chest and then her gaze met that of Shadreck Deen.

“You didn’t honestly think that I was stupid enough to actually be here in person, like you retarded pack of assholes, did you?” The hologram grinned insolently.

Like most people in the room, Sam stood dumbfounded in the face of D’Taani Varada’s audacity.

D’Taani sighed, as if disappointed.

“Like I say, you people are utterly predictable. When I stipulated that no one could transport into the Auction, your suspicious little minds just assumed that was so I couldn’t just steal Genesis back from whoever won the bidding – when they beamed out.” She winked.

“And I confess, I did consider it – but where’s the fun in that? Instead, you all docked your ships like happy little piggies – eager to get your snouts in the trough – I’m looking at you Onkem – Pog.”

The room exploded into chaos as some of the assemble criminals attempted to beam – out and discovered, to their horror, that they were unable to do so.

“Ships that are now locked tight and as you’re now cottoning on to – a very powerful transport inhibitor is in place that will keep you here just long enough.” The Hologram shrugged diffidently.

“YOU LIE VARADA!” Shadreck Deen spat. “My people scanned this vessel from prow to stern and there is no such device aboard!”

D’Taani regarded Deen patronizingly and smiled “I never said that the inhibitor was aboard this ship, silly wabbit!”

Shadreck Deen’s murderous eyes widened with shock.

“Oh! Tish! Paf! That’s really the LEAST of your problems baby – boy!” The hologram tittered, “What’s really gonna cook your noodle, quite literally, is the collapsing Warp Core on the derelict deuterium freighter out on the rim of the yards that should be going critical…right…. about…..”

“NOW!”

There was a corresponding rumble and the entire length of the “Tonino Delli Colli” shook massively as the breakers yard was suddenly enveloped in the event horizon of the quantum singularity and corresponding black hole that sprang into being as the aforementioned warp – core went nova.

In the ensuing madness, as some of the Underworld denizens tried in vain to flee and some – realizing the futility of their position – decided to throw caution to the wind & settle old debts -starting to open fire on nearby rivals, the languid hologram of D’Taani Varada could barely be heard to opine with much satisfaction.

“It’s like I always say – you can’t stand in the way of “PROGRESS!”