Desperate Measures

Posted on Tue Apr 16th, 2024 @ 4:28pm by Lieutenant Xex Wang

Mission: Stardust and Sin
Location: Hukatuse Tugamik
Timeline: Mission Day 2 at 2050

[Hukatuse Tugamik]
[The Exchange]
[Immediately Following 'Exchange Rates' and 'The Gov', Approx. 2050]

… seven... eight... nine…

Mia counted her breaths as she melted into the busy press of people and crowded stalls of the Exchange. Once freed of the commbadge-- Starfleet tracing device, more like, she thought triumphantly, glad to be rid of it-- it was not difficult to match her stride and movements to those around her. She swayed with the ebb and flow of the crowd, pausing as knots of people formed and disintegrated, casting her eye over just enough merchandise to blend with the other shoppers, while keeping a careful eye out for any pursuit.

Not that she expected any. Her associates had been a matronly diner owner and a bartender, albeit a long-lived one. Neither were likely to have the skills to find her if she did not want to be found. And since they'd picked up the nervous Hukatuse native, she didn't think their typical Starfleet altruism would allow them to abandon Brokesh and search for her.

...eighteen, nineteen…

Still no pursuit. As she reached twenty, Mia finally allowed herself to relax somewhat, reveling in the press of alien bodies as the babble of their unfamiliar tongues washed over her, the fug of their mingled scents easily overpowering her own.

She'd gotten away.

Now, she just had to wait.

That shouldn't be difficult. In fact, she'd been intending to wait much longer before making her move in the first place-- her mission was deep cover and her brief allowed her to take all the time she needed--but the away teams on Hukatuse Tugamik had been too tempting to pass up. The place was a lawless warren of who knew what; claiming an accident had befallen Bridgeport would be child's play.

And what better way for an accident to befall Bridgeport than when he was chasing down a security officer gone AWOL? As part of the extensive research and familiarization she had done to prep for her mission, Mia felt like she knew Bridgeport almost as well as she knew herself. She felt quite certain that when he learned of her erratic behavior, he would feel duty-bound to get to the bottom of the anomaly himself.

Perfect, she thought as she stepped to one side to let a pair of large, many-limbed aliens with an unwieldy gravcart pass.

Now to set up the ambush. Peering around the wiggly motion of the aliens' limbs, she cast her eye over what portions of the Exchange she could see. It would need to be somewhere public enough Bridgeport could find her-- not so well hidden it took him too long, not so obvious he became suspicious-- but also private enough that she could do what needed to be done. From their limited briefing on Hukatuse Tugamik, an unexplained body would not raise too many eyebrows, but she couldn't imagine full-scale homicide in the middle of their marketplace would go entirely unremarked upon.

As the aliens and their gravcart passed, she was able to get a better look at the stalls across the narrow aisle. Something there had caught her eye, a vendor who had claimed a corner cubby and set out his wares in an L-shaped pattern spilling out into the walkway. They were rugs, or maybe hangings of some kind-- she couldn't tell their intended use; interior design was not her area of expertise-- textiles that seemed to have some kind of photonic element to them. The colors moved and coruscated in a way that made her feel vaguely ill. Sternly swallowing the nausea, she made sure she had a solid grip on her rebellious stomach and crossed the aisle, meandering past the rugs-- or whatever-- to confirm her earlier guess. The L shape of the vendor's wares meant the long leg of the L would be fairly easy to lose oneself in, particularly amongst the constantly shifting colors of the hangings-- or whatever-- themselves.

The spot was almost too perfect; she would be taking a risk of spooking Bridgeport, but it was a calculated one. And if there was one thing Mia had taught herself, it was calculating risks to come out in her favor.

Location chosen, she now simply had to make it through the tedious part: waiting. Casually, pretending to pick up something on the ground, she checked over her weaponry: the phaser Bridgeport had issued her; the tiny disruptor she always had to hand; the knives at boot and thigh; the little explosive charges in the pocket in the small of her back, and so on. Some might have called it overkill. Those some weren't attempting to assassinate one of the Syndicate's most wanted.

Assured of her armaments, Mia straightened and began once again to stroll through the Exchange. This time, rather than looking for a where, she was looking for a who, that outline of form, that profile, that gait she had spent so long memorizing. She took care to make sure she herself was visible enough to be remarked upon; no doubt Bridgeport would begin sleuthing around as soon as he got here. He wouldn't be able to help himself. After all, it was that penchant for sticking his nose where it didn't belong that had gotten him here, in Mia's crosshairs, in the first place.

Mia spied a likely vendor and paused to buy herself a milky-looking drink with long, noodle-like objects in it. At least, if the other patrons' behavior was anything to go by, it was a drink. It smelled savory, of just the right strength of umami to appeal to her Orion palate. She hadn't even haggled for it; she didn't plan to be on Hukatuse Tugamik long enough for the strips of metal the Sojourner had replicated to run out. Taking a cautious sip through the oversized straw, she found the noodles to be gel-like and chewy– surprisingly good. Pleased with her find, she took her unexpectedly tasty prop in hand, and resumed her slow meander through the Exchange.

In the end, she had to wait longer than she thought. In fact, she was beginning to think perhaps she had miscalculated his likely reaction to her disappearance when a disruption in the Exchange's traffic flow made her pause. Glancing back over her shoulder, she caught a glimpse of a dark-haired head and then the commotion grew more frenzied and Bridgeport's familiar voice called out, “Mia!”

Gotcha, she thought with triumph. Discarding her drink-- the dregs were not nearly as appetizing as they had been at the beginning-- she turned casually as though she hadn't heard him and pushed into the crowd.

“Mia! Wait!”

Slipping between two large groups of unidentifiable aliens and ducking around the edge of a corner stall establishment, Mia paused just long enough to make sure Bridgeport was still following her, and continued to lead him toward her rug-- or whatever-- merchant. She ignored his next cry of, “Mia!” and then evidently getting the hint, he stopped calling to her. He was still following her though, of that she was certain, both because she knew him-- better than he could have imagined-- and because she checked regularly as she wound her way through the crowd.

At long last, her rug-or-hanging-or-whatever merchant hove into view and putting on an extra burst of speed to assure her lead, she ducked in between two rows of hanging textiles, sternly throttling down her unsettled stomach, brought on by their moving colors. It's just the colors, she told herself harshly, that's all. She even believed it. Mostly.

Once shielded from view of both Bridgeport and any random bystanders, she checked her little disruptor, and made sure it was set to maximum stun. There were plenty of ways she could kill Bridgeport, but most of them were either slow, noisy, messy, or some combination of all three. Better that he ended up one more body to be discovered some time much, much later. A hefty stun should just about do it, and then she could take her time with the particulars.

A familiar tread slowed, then stopped outside the stall, hidden from view by the coruscating hangings. “Mia?” He didn't even seem to be breathing hard after this pursuit. Well, that was fine. She had the element of surprise, after all. Making sure the textiles moved obviously enough to catch the eye, she pushed deeper into them, her body hidden from view, but the movement visible from outside the stall. She nearly held her breath but, as though on cue, the rasp of moving fabric told her Bridgeport had taken her careful bait, slipping between the hangings in pursuit.

Taking meticulous care not to move the hangings now, she reached the end of her row and circled around, treading light and silent, listening intently for Bridgeport's progress, while keeping tabs on the proprietor of the shop, who was apparently still involved with another customer around the corner of the L.

“Mia,” Bridgeport said, as though he had forgotten any other words. “I don't know why you're doing this, but we can--”

She would never know what tiny noise, what small disturbance in the air alerted him to her presence. He hadn't seemed in the least aware of her proximity and so she had taken her chance, stepping from between two rugs to swing up her disruptor and catch him square in the center mass.

Except she hadn't. His hand had chopped down, catching her forearm before it made its entire arc, causing the shot to go wide, splashing harmlessly against the wall of the shop, lost amidst the other cascading colors of the textiles.

“--talk,” Bridgeport finished, his intent expression closing as his brows drew together in a frown. “Why--”

Before he could finish the query, she twisted free and fired off a series of rapid-- but hastily aimed-- shots and he dove to the side, shouldering into a hanging and using it to rebound him swiftly back toward her. Mia did not have time to regret the missed shots, as he was coming back for her. Before she could spin far enough to bring the phaser to bear, Bridgeport reached her. Unwilling to give up on her original plan, she jabbed an elbow back into his face, hoping to gain herself enough space to use her disruptor again.

Bridgeport managed to twist enough to take the elbow into the meat of his chest, but it threw him off-balance and he stumbled. Somehow, the blasted man still managed to swing out a leg, sweeping one of her feet out from under her. She fell, but turned it into a roll, using her momentum to gain her feet again, only to find she was right inside Bridgeport's reach. His face was unreadable, set in a hard mask of intention and concentration. Gone was the open curiosity, the desire to talk and understand. Somewhere in the last few seconds, she realized, he'd understood there would be no talking. Somewhere in the last few seconds, she'd lost what advantage she had; he would try to kill her now.

She drove her knee up toward his groin, but too late. He'd already anticipated her move and twisted his hips, taking the blow in the meat of his thigh. He grunted, but seemed otherwise unaffected, and she felt his hand close, vice-like, on her wrist. He squeezed and twisted, and she felt the fine bones of her arm grind together. Gritting her teeth, she fought to hold onto the disruptor. It took only a heartbeat before her hand betrayed her, her fingers opening and the weapon clattering to the deckplates. Snarling, she spun in an effort to wrench her arm from his grasp, but his hand held firm and she only succeeded in wrapping herself closer to his chest, facing away from him. He took the opportunity to wrap his own arms around her, as though they were two lovers in an embrace.

“Mia,” he finally said again, regret in his tone, “You don't have to do this.” Though she couldn't see his face with her back to him, his mouth was close to her ear, his breath tickling the fine hairs on her neck.

Mistake, Mia thought triumphantly in the quiet of her own mind. She did not know whether it was her own physiology that caused him to take that one momentary pause, or whether there really might have been something between them, in a different place, in a different life. She might not have known those things, but she did know a chance when she saw one, and she took it. Without warning, she jerked her head back and slammed it into Bridgeport's face, feeling the satisfying crunch that could only be his nose breaking.

With a gurgling cry, he released her and stumbled backward, clutching his face as blood began to pour down it. Drawing a blade, Mia stepped forward to press her advantage.

The best laid plans never survive the first shot. Her father's words, which had always seemed so pedantic before, now rang clear in her mind. He was right, damn him.

The time for subtlety had passed. She would have to kill him here and now.

Bridgeport had reeled backward into a hanging and stopped, still clutching his face, blinded by pain and his own bloody hands. She stepped forward, readjusting the grip on her knife so that she would have the leverage she needed. Just to the side, with a slicing upthrust--

“Oh hi there, how can I help--” a voice began, and then cut off. “Hey now,” the voice continued and Mia spun, tucking her knife hand into the small of her back, “what's all this?” The voice belonged to the being she recognized as the proprietor, a many-limbed creature whose syntax at least the universal translator managed to render without too much difficulty. They had taken a step back against the wall, their limbs moving in a tangle of distress. Their huge, limpid eyes shifted from the bleeding Bridgeport, who seemed to be gathering his wits somewhat as he pressed a sleeve to his nose in a futile effort to stem the bleeding, to Mia who was wearing her most innocent expression. She opened her mouth to begin an excuse when one of the being's limbs lifted, forestalling her.

“No, no, I don't want to hear it,” they said, “I want no trouble in my shop. The Enforcers have already been called.” Mia silently cursed herself; she should have kept a better eye on those waving limbs. What little she knew about this station did not lend itself toward leniency for disruptions to its commerce, and she couldn't complete her mission if she was rotting on some hidden station deep in the Delta Quadrant. Already, she was considering an alternative. Sometimes, you had to run to be able to fight another day. “You there,” the proprietor continued with concern, turning to Bridgeport, “Watch your bodily fluids! If you stain that, you will have to purchase it...”

The moment the being turned from her, Mia made up her mind. She spun away from both the proprietor and Bridgeport and took off at a full sprint down the aisle of hanging rugs, ducking past one and into the next aisle. She heard a muffled curse behind her, and then the heavy tread of bipedal footsteps; Bridgeport must have decided to give chase.

Of course he did. She would have expected no different, but it did add an unwelcome element to her escape. Evading a trained investigator like Bridgeport would not be nearly so simple as dodging the station's own law-enforcement.

Don't think, just do. she told herself as she ducked out of the hangings-or-rugs-or-whatever and into the main Exchange thoroughfare, nearly colliding with a gaggle of fishy-smelling beings who were clearly tourists here; they'd stopped to gape at some kind of gemstone on display at a stall across from the rug-or-hanging dealer. Mia pulled up short and dodged around the side of them, using their noisy group as cover to at least try to delay Bridgeport while she made her escape.
Her movement through the Exchange was not as swift as she would have liked, hampered by the constant current of shoppers and gawkers alike. Still, she reasoned, Bridgeport would be as impeded as she was. She risked only a couple of glances back, and though she thought she had glimpsed him early on, as she reached the edge of the Exchange, she was quite certain she hadn't seen him in several minutes.

Nevertheless, she was unwilling to let her guard down. Once free of the Exchange, she moved as quickly as she dared without drawing attention to herself, keeping to cover as much as possible, blending with the edges of large groups, or shadowing the movement of gravsleds stuffed with all manner of commerce, from goods clearly bound for the Exchange to pieces of machinery whose purpose and destination she had no time to consider.

Mia moved through the station with confidence, and if she wasn't quite as assured as a resident, she certainly wasn't as useless as a tourist. She had memorized its layout assiduously, and used her knowledge now to make her way toward the docking ring. The Sojourner was there, of course, though that ship would never again be her home, now. Having abandoned her communication devices in favor of stealth, she now had no idea where any of the v'draysh were; but in any case, they should be easy enough to avoid. Too trusting, most of them, she'd found. Not enough suspicion in them. They would trust Bridgeport to take care of whatever was happening with 'his people,' they would trust it was a misunderstanding. They would trust it to all work out in the end.

She snorted derisively at this idea, startling a short, scaled creature just in front of her. It turned its wide, opalescent eyes on her and she bobbed an apologetic motion at it before pushing past. No, she was not bound for the Sojourner. After all, the Sojourner was not the only ship docked with the station currently.

She paused just long enough to consult a current directory, glancing along her backtrail as she brought up the 'ships for hire' section on the terminal screen. With no sign of Bridgeport-- or any pursuit-- she scrolled through the ships, their types and destinations, rejecting any that were strictly cargo, too small, or departing too late. She frowned at her short list. If Bridgeport did guess her plan to escape the station, which would he think she went on? For what seemed the millionth time since she'd been given this assignment, Mia tried to place herself directly inside Bridgeport's brain. What would he choose? Her hand hovered in the air, hesitating for another heartbeat before confidently choosing a ship. The screen informed her that payment was taken aboard-- which suited her fine-- and she closed the directory. One last glance at the Bridgeport-free promenade behind her made her lips curl up in a satisfied smile. With a confident sway to her hips, Mia strode swiftly toward the far side of the docking port, and her escape.


Deep in the shadows of a tributary corridor, Bridgeport waited, still as a hunting cat, trying to control his breathing. Finally, the flash of green skin passed the entrance, glancing back over her shoulder, and he smiled grimly. She passed his corridor without even a glance. His gamble on her final destination paid off-- sometimes, you just had to think like the perp-- and now all he had to do was follow her onto her chosen ship. Now that she assumed she'd lost him, it would be simple to tail her on board and--

Well, he wasn't sure what and he intended. He lifted a hand to his face and probed gently around his freshly broken nose, trying not to grimace and disturb it further. No, he wasn't sure what the and would be, but he was certain there would be one.

----

A post by:

Lieutenant Charles Bridgeport
Former Chief Security Officer
USS Sojourner

Petty Officer Mia
Former Security Officer
USS Sojourner