The Shadow of Subrek

Posted on Thu Sep 11th, 2025 @ 8:21pm by Lieutenant JG Sheldon Parsons & Kaldri & Lieutenant Commander Victoria Cross & Lieutenant Axod Qo & Ensign Noah Balsam & Ensign Mei Ratthi & Andrew Munro & Lieutenant Irynya & Lieutenant Bailey Good

Mission: Seven Souls
Location: Kordra-Lisrit
Timeline: Mission Day 1 at 2011

[Shuttle Bay]
[Kordra-Lisrit]
[MD 1: 2011 Hours]

The Kazon shuttle tore through the Kordra-Lisrit's bay doors like a spear through parchment. Well, perhaps not parchment exactly; paper didn't sputter and spark in the aftermath of being torn. But the bay doors most certainly did. With all the speed Kaldri's shuttle had built up on approach to Subrek's ship, the breach had been horrendously violent. But the shock-troop-delivering shuttle had done the job it was designed to do well enough. The segmented bay doors had buckled inward with a metal-on-metal shriek that shivered through the entire superstructure. Debris scattered in every direction—slabs of alloy, bent framing, sparks and smoke and the sudden, hollow roar of exposed space.

But the forcefield that sprang into place held. It had shimmered to life just a breath after the shuttle breached, catching the atmosphere with a concussive whump and sealing the bay with flickering golden light. Inside, the shuttle’s maneuvering thrusters fired hard—too hard—trying to slow its inward thrust and the vessel struck the deck plating nose-first. It skidded, its undercarriage shrieking like a tortured violin string as it ricocheted off a fuel loader, then proceeded to crush several storage containers before finally grinding to a halt near the far bulkhead.

The silence that followed in the cockpit was breathless. But it didn't last long.

“Still counts as a landing,” Parsons muttered, amazed to be alive but still somehow reaching for and finding sarcasm. "Running scans for our people," he commented then, nimble fingers racing across Kazon controls. Now that they were inside the Kordra-Lisrit, the sensor scattering effects of the Shaddam dust--as well as those of the nebula they were in--no longer served as a blockade to finding their friends.

"Not reading any combadges," Sheldon said, which was no surprise. Subrek had likely had them all destroyed or scrambled after capturing the Sojourners. But after several long moments of more scanning, he looked back at Good and Daryx with a shaky but sincere smile. "I--I've got them," he gulped with visible relief.

"Reading two groups," Sheldon said, turning again to face the console, pulling up a diagram to accompany his report. "One group's in a large room at the crown of the ship," he said, pointing to the glowing diagram of the Kordra-Lisrit where several dots blinked in and out of existence. "Reading three humans and a Kazon female...with several Kazon males standing nearby. Hard to tell who's who," he pursed his lips, "but my bet is it's Kaldri with a few of our people."

As for the second group, he reconfigured the diagram on his screen to show what appeared to be a hallway with more blinking blips inside. "The other group's not too far away from the first, but a few decks down. Reading a Risian and a human/Catullan," Sheldon's voice broke with relief to see Iry and Noah still alive. "Also got another human and...a Ferengi and a Trabe?" He momentarily looked back at Good with a very "WTF?" expression before shaking it off his face. "It looks like Irynya's group is trying to get to Kaldri's but there's several Kazon between them and the room up top."

"Ferengi?" Good's brows rose with a slow-blink. "I knew the Barzans were letting a few Alliance ships through because they were willing to pay. This Subrek is attacking Ferengi ships now?" Her eyes widened sardonically, "Making all sorts of friends with that approach. Burn the world philosophy."

"Not exactly great for winning new people over, that's for sure. But I-I think I can help them, though," Parsons said, standing up from his console. He moved towards the right auxiliary bench--where he'd earlier stashed his overly-sized engineering kit--but after a cursory look around, he dramatically sighed. "The crash must have thrown it. Have to find..." he trailed off, kneeling to lift up some other debris that'd apparently flown around when they collided with the shuttle bay doors. "Ah!" came an exclamation as Sheldon rose once again, the kit now recovered and held in hand. He moved back to the bench, opened the case, and withdrew what appeared to be a slip of paper and an ink pen. He quickly scribbled something on the paper, folded it, and then buttoned everything back up again.

"This is a prototype field-combat drone," Parsons explained to Good and Daryx. "Well," he corrected himself, "it's a field-combat drone housed inside an engineering kit full of tools. Noah and I came up with the idea after Shaddam IVa and its bugs and panther-likes. We've been working on it for a while now," he outlined while tapping at a set of controls built into the exterior of the case. "And it's got a micro-transporter built in. I'm setting it to beam to Noah's coordinates and I told them where to find us." Ah, the paper he wrote on. "Hopefully he's not gun shy after last time," he swallowed hard, remembering the disastrous, pre-mature eject-ulation of PhaserBeak in their quarters several days prior.

With a final button stab, the case disappeared into a sky-blue haze of transporter sparkles.

"Wait is this the attack drone Security confiscated?" Bailey narrowed her eyes, her irises dashing like she was re-reading a memory, "I swear I saw a report and recorded testimony about a couple of ensigns and an... explosion? Deck four? Or something? Damage to interior bulkheads?" Bailey shook her head with reluctant dismissal. This was hardly the time. "I'm sure I saw it cross my desk... but... if you think it'll work, Parsons." Her brow rose and she looked directly at him, "However, see me after."

"That's uh...that's the one," Sheldon gulped, a flash of 'Meet me after class, Mr. Parsons' Academy anxiety spiking in the wake of Not-Drummer's brow raise. With the engineering kit/drone now dematerialized, he turned back and returned to his console to take stock of the shuttle's post-breach condition.

Daryx puffed up, his shoulders rising with the tension knotting in his chest. Were they really about to stake everything on that, a patchwork piece of homemade tech, cobbled together and only just pried out of security’s hands. The thought gnawed at him, each beat of worry louder than the last. How reliable could it truly be?

The Denobulan drew a long breath through his nose, the practiced rhythm of it steadying him, if only slightly. He turned his attention away from the prickling, anxiety-inducing exchange between Parsons and Bailey, their words echoing like flint striking stone. Better to focus elsewhere, anywhere. His cerulean eyes wandered to the viewport. He let his gaze rest there, lazy in appearance, though his mind hummed with restless unease.Then he caught sight of it. The sleek lines, familiar hull plating, the faint shimmer of landing lights illuminating the area. He blinked, leaned forward a fraction, and raised a hesitant finger toward the platform.“Umm… is that ours?” he asked, voice pitched somewhere between hope and disbelief, pointing toward the Starfleet shuttle.

"Is what ours?" Parsons asked out of the side of his mouth around the micro-caliper now dangling from it. He was busy lowering himself under the main flight control board, opening its access panel to get at the unfortunately now-damaged innards. "Also, I'm going to need a few minutes here. This shuttle may be designed for breaching but that doesn't mean it's impervious," the engineer reported. "We've got several patch jobs needed before we can fly out of here again. I know, I know," he grumbled, caliper and hands now up inside the console as sweat formed on his brow, "be quick, Parsons. We don't have all day..." It wasn't the voice of his companions who demand such, but rather that little voice inside who constantly chatted and chided at him about not being good or quick or smart enough.

"Ok, that's... unexpected." Bailey's confusion was fueled what what she was seeing. They were inside the shuttlebay- that was the plan. But while they peered out of the shuttle's minuscule windows, she also saw it. "Parsons, any idea why Subrek would have one of our shuttles?" She asked. "Because that seems bad." Her brow rose, she looked at Sheldon and his awkward position within. "Also unexpected, unless I missed a memo." Again her eye searched as if scanning her memory. Was there another missing Federation ship? "I can't see the markings from here."

Daryx pressed himself closer to the viewport, his palms braced against the cool frame as he craned his neck, straining to make out any distinguishing details on the distant vessel. His cerulean eyes narrowed, unfocused in their search for something, anything, that might give him clarity. When nothing revealed itself, he let out a soft huff of air, his brow furrowing.

“Me neither,” he admitted at last, the words edged with a frustration he didn’t quite manage to hide. His voice carried the restless impatience of someone who wanted answers now, not later, and the way his shoulders tensed betrayed just how much the uncertainty gnawed at him.

Parsons didn’t answer right away. Partly because he was wrist-deep in a tangle of burnt relays, gripping his micro-caliper between his teeth like a pipe, trying to stop a cascade failure in the shuttle’s primary flight control board. But mostly because what Bailey had said didn’t make a lot of sense. “One of ours?” he muttered around the tool, yanking free a melted connection node and immediately reaching to swap it. “Define ‘ours,’ because unless the Sojourner transported a shuttle ahead without telling us, I don't really see that being possible.”

He twisted his body back up from under the console, sweat plastering his hair to his brow. The micro-caliper clattered to the floor as Sheldon grabbed his tricorder and shuffled over to the port-side viewport where the others were clustered. Through the dim lighting and the haze of particulate in the air, it was hard to read the shuttle's markings but the lines of the vessel were unmistakable. Starfleet design. Squat, solid, with nacelles flaring from its sides. But it was an older craft than those carried on the Sojourner.

“Okay… yeah. That’s not one of ours,” Parsons confirmed, tapping the tricorder, though it picked up no registry data. “No transponder ping. No power signatures. It's just sitting there, totally powered down and not responding.” He frowned and leaned in closer. “Is that maybe how our unexplained Ferengi got here? Could be they came in on that. And," he held up an excited finger for emphasis, "if so, we might’ve just doubled our shuttle count.” He hesitated, then made a face. “Assuming it actually flies, of course."

[Throne Room]
[Kordra-Lisrit]
[MD 1: 2018 Hours]

The kill was clean. But nothing else about the moment was.

Kaldri stood over Subrek’s broken body, her breathing rough and uneven, her hair damp with sweat and blood. Her hands were still clenched into fists, the blade she’d used to finish him slick and trembling in her grip. Her chest heaved with every breath, each inhale scraping across bruised ribs that might’ve been cracked—or worse. But she was still standing. That, in the end, was all that mattered. Subrek’s corpse lay sprawled at her feet, his limbs twisted, neck at an unnatural angle. One of his eyes had partially closed; the other stared blankly into the smoke curling above the throne room’s arching ceiling. Around the body, blood pooled in sick, lazy spirals—Kazon blood, hers and his, had commingled and already begun to cool against the cold floor.

And for a breath, there was silence. A few of the guards had lowered their weapons. Others hadn’t moved at all, still stunned by what they’d witnessed. The Ritual of Ascent was sacred, but Kaldri had broken it—and then somehow won. There was no protocol for this. No agreed-upon succession. No clear path forward. And then the shouting began. It erupted like a fissure cracking through volcanic stone—violent, uncontainable. One voice cried out that the Rite had been corrupted. Another screamed that Kaldri had earned the seat. Someone else drew a blade and lunged, not at her, but at a rival—some other would-be heir to Subrek’s fractured legacy. Another followed. Then another.

In seconds, the calm disintegrated into a riot. Kazon warriors collided in clusters around the room—fists, knives, and disruptors flashing in every direction. Two fought atop the low stairs leading to the dais, slipping in the blood as they wrestled for footing. A third was hurled bodily into the base of one of the support columns and did not rise again. Kaldri didn’t move. Let them come. Let them decide which of them was Maje enough to try her next. She’d already proven she could win. And if any of them thought to test her, they’d learn quickly that the fight hadn’t taken everything she had left—it had only sharpened the blade.

Off to the side, beyond the reach of the fray, the Starfleet women found themselves behind one of the structural braces. Cross and Mei had been tending to and guarding Andrew—Subrek’s favorite new chew toy--and had moved him somewhat away from the action. He twitched now, eyes fluttering, pain dragging him back to consciousness like a hook dragged through water. None of the guards spared them a glance. Not yet. The rest were too consumed with their own desires to claim the throne—or crush the one trying.

And across the chaos, one of the newcomers who'd entered just before the room exploded was moving too. But not away from knot of violence. No, he was moving towards it. It was the Trabe of the group. He wasn’t shouting. Wasn’t fighting. Just… moving. Quick, purposeful, eyes locked not on Kaldri, but on Subrek’s body. He seemed intent on reaching the corpse, slipping on the blood that had leaked from their bodies even as he lowered into a crouch at the former Maje's side. Kaldri didn’t know what he was doing, nor did she particularly care, but she did watch him for a moment, frowning. Then another of the Kazon—one who hadn’t yet chosen a side—lunged toward the body too, and everything began to tilt again.

The violence doubled back toward the dais. Toward her and the Trabe. Subrek was dead. But his corpse had started another war.

The nightmare held Andrew fast. A corridor stretched before him that was familiar, yet wrong. Starfleet officers and Kazon wrestled in violent silence, their movements sluggish, unreal. He should have joined them, should have done something, but his body would not obey. The frustration gnawed at him, hollow and bitter. Faces shifted, uniforms melted together. He couldn’t tell who was winning. He couldn’t even tell who needed saving.

Then the dream split open. Pain drove into him like a blade, radiating from every limb, tunnelling deep into his belly. Fingers — imagined or real — clutched at his organs, twisting. He gasped, a sound he barely recognised as his own. The agony ebbed, but left its mark, heavy and lingering.

Shapes loomed above him, blurred and wavering. His mind scrambled for meaning. Shadows became outlines, outlines became faces he recognised as Cross and Mei. Relief tried to surface, but it broke apart against the noise of battle still echoing around him. The dream hadn’t ended; it had only revealed itself for what it was: his mind trying to interpret the chaos around him.

He needed to move. He needed to escape. The instinct pressed hard, a command pulsing through every nerve. He tried but pain answered, flooding back, raw and merciless. His body locked. All he could do was lie still, willing the torment to subside, praying that stillness might buy him a moment’s reprieve.

The battle for the corridor had been, almost strangely, easy. Or not so much easy as straightforward. The handful of Kazon augments who stood guard were, clearly, distracted and Phaser Beak had more than done its job of creating chaos. Two of the augments had moved off immediately and between herself and Cassian as well as more shots than Irynya could count, they'd been downed. The other two had moved to the door, blocking bodily. They clearly hadn't expected their comrades to fall and as Phaser Beak's fire pinned them down, making it difficult for them to maneuver once they'd closed ranks so close to the door, it was a fairly quick process for the group to take them out.

And then the corridor was silent.

The slim engineer had lowered Phaser Beak's controls to an idle position, with a quick harsh breath. Noah's eyes, widened, observed the damage of the drone to the surrounding bulkheads and space. Mostly, three centimeter wide pitted, blackened craters that radiated carbon black thermal damage for nearly another 10 centimeters. He looked at Irynya and Cassian then Tork in the silence. Ikade was already on the move and that shook Noah from his fugue.

For a moment Irynya felt a dissonant wave of uncertainty. After everything they'd experienced this obstacle felt like a farce. Deep in her gut she felt sure that something else would come through the door, now blocked by two slumped Kazon, that would turn the tables back the way they had been. But no movement came and after a long minute she stepped out into the corridor and made a quick line to the two nearest Kazon doing her best to confirm that they were, in fact, incapacitated.

She hesitated to check for vital signs. Even for breathing. Perhaps it was the adrenaline of the moment or maybe some kind of mental self preservation, but she didn't want to know if they were dead.

When they'd finally moved the two dead Kazon from the front of the door and opened it, the scene that they found was so foreign that they'd stopped just inside the door. No one seemed to notice them and, after a brief moment, it didn't matter as the room erupted into noise and more violence.

Ikade was the least confused of the bunch, however, and Irynya watched as he made a beeline for the crumpled form of a Kazon that lay before Kaldri. She wanted to follow him and nearly did before her eyes settled on Cross, Mei, and Andrew and her heart lurched. Indecision warred in her chest--the desire to follow through with the plan to get the kill switch, and the deep rooted need to gather the other three and do... something... anything...

Designate: Friendly. Protect.
Designate: Friendly. Protect.
Designate: Friendly. Protect.
Designate: Friendly. Protect.

Relinquish Non-Lethal Directive?: No.

The amber of the portable LCARS holographics glowed and blinked responsively while Noah pinged Mei, and Munro, and Cross. And finally, Kaldri who stood bloodied but defiant. Already a Kazon was making a move toward Subrek's body- and Ikade.

Threat detected. It flashed in red on Noah's hand-screen.

With a fling forward, Phaser Beak went in to motion over the heads of battling, infighting Kazon. The Kazon that approached Ikade and Subrek found themselves cut short with the shrill cry of phaser fire at his feet. Then one near his ear. And one that sizzled some of his upstyled frizzy hair.

When the Kazon flinched back and protected his face with hands up, Noah met eyes with the Trabe and nodded once.

Noah's quick work with Phaser Beak gave Irynya the confirmation she needed. Knowing that Ikade's back was covered she sprinted across the space, coming to a sliding stop where she dropped to her knees next to Andrew. Her eyes fixed on him first, scanning his battered and bruised figure and cursing herself for using up all of the medical supplies she had gathered. What they had experienced was bad, but Andrew... For a moment her hands fluttered over him as if looking for someplace safe to touch, to reassure, but not being confident of just how extensive his injuries were, she couldn't bring herself to cause him any more pain. She dropped them to her lap and looked to Mei and to Cross.

"Commander," she said with a nod to the 2XO, "Ensign." The formality felt wrong in her mouth, but now wasn't the time to let herself dive deep into the emotions that roiled beneath the urgent need to get away. "Parsons is here," she stammered in a rush, "I mean... I think it's Parsons. Some of our people for sure. They're in the shuttle bay. We need to get to them if we want to get off this ship."

Now that escape was within reach, lying there like dead weight was no longer an option. Andrew forced himself onto his front, the motion grinding fire through his ribs. He planted his palms and dragged them back inch by inch, elbows trembling as he levered himself upright. Every movement was a negotiation with pain—shift an arm, ease a knee, redistribute the weight until it was almost bearable.

The effort looked clumsy, desperate, but it worked. Bones held. The real damage was in the muscles, torn and screaming, and he catalogued the worst of them by feel, learning what he dared not use again. Sweat stung his eyes as he steadied himself on his knees.

He swallowed against the dryness in his throat. “Can you… help me up?” The words rasped out toward the three shapes looming above.

"Lieutenant, so pleased that you've been able to join us." She nodded to Irynya, "The proverbial has hit the fan, unfortunately. We - priority is getting our people out of here." Andrew's stirring to his knees caused a spark to shine in Victoria's eye. She took in a breath, processing her possible options, before crouching down and slinging one of his arms around her neck, and stood with the extra weight pulling down on her. She coiled an arm around his waist to stabilize him, and soon, she had him standing. Hopefully. "Andy, you're with me, mate."

"Lieutenant Irynya, truth be told, I don't know the layout of the ship. I trust you know the way to the shuttle bay?" She spoke as if she wasn't in searing pain. That her head wasn't on fire from the earlier injury of the rifle butt against it. The 2XO's makeshift headband and bandage was dark crimson, with streaks of blood having cascaded and dried down her face. The adrenaline was long gone. What was animating her was willpower and stubbornness. She had to be awake. Had to be there for her crew. She could collapse and die later. First she had to see Mei and the others through.

"The drone-" Victoria peered out from behind of cover to get a better look at Phaser Beak, "Is a sight for sore eyes."

"Are we– are we getting out of here? Or something else?" Mei's eyes were wide as she took in the drone and her crewmates who had appeared as if by magic. She let her arms drop to her sides, though the disruptor was still tightly clenched in one hand. "Is Andrew…? And Kaldri?" She looked around, gaze landing first on Andrew and then on Kaldri. She moved one way, then the next, unsure of who to go for first. "What are we doing?"

Irynya ducked underneath Andrew's other arm once he was standing. She wasn't particularly tall, but he could at least lean some weight on her and, thus, redistribute some of that weight from Cross. To the taller woman she said, "We have a plan, but I can't say I'm the expert here." She scanned the room and pointed first to Ikade and then to Tork. "They know the way."

She wished she'd thought to grab Tork in her dash over to the group. Suddenly any leadership that she'd offered her own group felt paltry in the light of such a ramshackle plan. Instead she twisted her neck so she was looking at Mei. "Hey," she said. "We are getting out of here. Just stick with me." She recognized her friend's indecision--it was the same torn sensation she'd had when faced with whether to follow Ikade or run to them. Or... on so many occasions during this nightmare... the deep rooted need to lay eyes or hands on Noah and know he was ok. She held her hand out to Mei, offering the only comforting gesture she could think of with Andrew's arm slung around her shoulders.

"Shields. Compromised. Rerouting to battery backup. Shields at twenty-seven percent." The tinny voice of Noah's hand controller said. The little Phaser Beak drone had taken hits of opportunity from the angry and abuzz Kazon, particularly as it had been swooping and protecting Ikade and Kaldri in a figure eight of arcs. It was very possible that they'd discovered the little drone-like terror was not actually shooting to kill, and was protecting. One protected target seemed ready to take on all challengers. The other was a pain in the ass Trabe hovering over Subrek's corpse.

"Would you hurry up?!" Noah shouted toward Ikade. Noah had taken cover behind some sort of dais screen. It felt like it was for pomp and circumstance, ready for Subrek's semi-divine entrances and exits. Right now, it provided cover from line of direct sight. He stayed ducked and hobbled along the curve of its run toward where he hoped to find his people. Sparks. Heat. He flinched- either he'd been spotted or it was a wayward shot. The beam was Kazon. And it wasn't set on stun. Noah dropped to supine, in a ready push up position.

He panted with anxiety and Noah flinched his eyes shut for a moment as the drop and roll hit pangs of fresh pain over dull old pain and exhaustion. A flick of his wrist to check the data from Phaser Beak. It was arcing away from Kaldri and back on a run toward Ikade and then the team. Shields down to nineteen percent. Multiple systems failures. He had to make a decision: save PhaserBeak and order it to retreat. Or use it to clear a path.

He pinged his team. He pinged Ikade, And Noah slipped PhaserBeak's ailing computer new orders. "Protect Retreat." And he drew the line path he wanted from the team to the room's exit. PhaserBeak responded.

A few moments prior—while Cross, Mei, and Andrew were still gathering themselves and the group was weighing escape options—Ikade had ducked low beside Subrek’s still body, the shadows of riot and disruptor fire flickering across his face. “Kill switch,” he muttered up to Kaldri as she loomed above him, panting, bloodied, but unflinching. “Somewhere on his body," the Trabe explained, hands already beginning to rifle through the former First Maje's pockets. "Can't leave this ship without it. Someone," he nodded at the throng of fighting Kazon, "will find it and activate it."

Kaldri’s frown deepened, but she said nothing for the moment. While she hadn't known about the Trabe or Subrek's power over him, she had known of the Maje's love for remotely-triggered power. He built remotes into everything he could, even the shuttle she had commandeered and fled with a month prior. Kaldri had been proactive enough to gut the remote technology before launching, otherwise Subrek would have simply recalled her little ship back to the Kordra-Lisrit.

But she'd witnessed the First Maje using his little remote to torture his own warriors when they disobeyed at times. And while she never regretted harm coming to those brutes, she did despise the idea of Subrek not causing the harm himself, directly with his own hands.Triggering the warriors' implants to sear them with pain at a button's touch seemed cowardly and overtly cruel. But that was Subrek and it did not surprise Kaldri that he held similar power over the Trabe now crouching down to search his body.

"Find it quickly!" she hissed down at Ikade, eyes flicking back up to continue scanning the crowd as she shifted her footing, taking up a protective stance over the corpse and Ikade. Her timing had been fortuitous because it was, at that moment, that one of the Kazon broke from the chaos and rushed toward them, blade drawn. Kaldri met him head-on, snarling, blade raised—but PhaserBeak’s shriek split the air first, the little drone flashing overhead with a splash of blue-white thruster jet-wash.

A scorching beam lanced down between Kaldri and the attacker, stopping him cold as it sliced just shy of his foot. Another bolt flashed past the warrior's face, hitting the floor slightly to his right. A third singed his arm as he tried to move forward again, the drone's warning shots clearly packed with intent. The guard threw up his hands and fell back into the melee, now more interested in self-preservation than legacy.

Ikade kept working, fingers scraping aside knife-slitted, blood-slicked fabric in his wild search of Subrek's little remote. What had the Maje called it? His "Master Controller?" The Trabe knew the device had been programmed with all manner of remote capabilities, but for the moment, the only one that concerned him was the function that governed his continued existence.

His fingers encountered all sorts of things within the Maje's clothing: everything from the pleasure drugs Subrek was known for enjoying to sexual protection films. While the Maje loved his concubines, he did not put it past them to poison their own genitalia to strike back at him in an intimate moment. Kaldri herself, the Trabe knew, had employed such a tactic once.

“Come on, come on…” Ikade hissed with frustration before, at last, his fingers closed about the rounded shape of the remote concealed within Subrek's right boot sleeve. “Got it,” he stood suddenly, holding the remote up in astonished victory, not believing that--after years of threats about remotely exploding his head--Subrek's hold over him as was finally at an end.

“Then move,” Kaldri snapped, having just fought off an attacker that the drone was unable to deter. The warrior who'd dared dart at she and Ikade was now stumbling back, hands cloying at the blood-spilling slice across whatever passed for a Kazon Adam's apple. She grabbed at Ikade's tunic, clutching a hunk at the shoulder and pull-swinging him forward, away from the Maje's body. She ran in his wake, the fray still unfolding behind them as they sped towards the Starfleet officers knotted ahead.

PhaserBeak spun to cover their retreat, spitting fire in short, calculated arcs as they ran—first behind the drone, then under it, Kaldri keeping pace beside Ikade, her blade still drawn. They weaved through overturned benches and bodies, finally reaching the cluster of Starfleet allies, Kaldri's arms and shrill call urging them forward through the open doorway back into the corridor beyond. The cloud of clashing warriors continued to roil behind, though a few had noticed the newly minted Maje Kaldri making an escape and now followed.

Flashes of disruptor lanced across the distance, one altogether too well-aimed to miss. Only it hadn't been directed at Kaldri, Ikade, or any of the Starfleet officers. No, the target had been the chaos-causing phaser-drone that had so cleverly been directed to stymie efforts to reach and kill Kaldri, thus anointing yet another new Maje. The warrior whose beam hit PhaserBeak in three quick successive blasts whooped with delight as the drone's shielding failed and it exploded in a glittery shower of sparks and parts.

"Get them!" the warrior roared, himself no match for the seven Starfleeters and their Trabe and Kazon allies. But the throng, now seeing Kaldri fleeing with the group in the wake of the destroyed drone, surged forward, abandoning their infighting to give chase. One by one the warriors arrived the door--which had closed behind the prisoners--and, one by one, each yelled their frustration. Somehow, someway, the escaping party had sealed the hatch in their wake, preventing the door's mechanisms from groaning open to allow further chase.

[Shuttle Bay]
[Kordra-Lisrit]
[MD 1: 2026 Hours]

Five minutes later, the survivors of the throne room burst into the shuttle bay, breathless and battered, their boots echoing across scorched duranium as the heavy doors sealed behind them. Tork had done his work well, his device locking the corridor hatches behind them as they'd run through the ship. And now, newly arrived at the shuttle bay, it had also sealed the entrance behind them with a grinding finality that left the remaining pursuers pounding fists against the sealed metal in vain.

Ahead of the Starfleet group, the bay was smoky and dim, damaged from the earlier breach but still functional. And as the group moved further in, eyes adjusting, breaths still coming hard, they found themselves greeted by the strange symmetry of two shuttles waiting on the deck. One was the scorched, pitted Kazon vessel Kaldri had stolen some months back. It'd clearly been used to breach the ruined shuttle bay doors, its hull covered in scratches and soot. The other shuttle was unmistakably Starfleet: clean lines, angular grace, and hull markings catching the low light in a soft Federation gleam. Had the Sojourner sent both the Kazon ship and one of its own?

Emerging from the smoking heap of the Kazon shuttle clad in a black tactical vest with a phaser rifle, Bailey Good appeared. Her bracing hand under the phaser's barrel came away quickly to wave the people aboard! "Move! You're covered! Run if you can!" She called out. The security officer advanced with a double-quick pace, her dark gaze focused on the doorway and corridor from which their people were coming. Fingers re-wrapped the barrel of her rifle. With the taps of her fingertip lights scaled from green to yellow. "Lieutenant!" She called, gesturing at Irynya. "Take the Starfleet shuttle. Parsons has the Kazon shuttle. Balsam! Go help him!"

"Velthana Zel!" The expletive-laced phrase managed to confound the universal translators, though the enthusiasm that Irynya's tone conveyed got the point across well enough. Her eyes had zeroed in on the shuttle the minute she'd passed the threshold of the cargo bay and she diverted that direction now, throwing a glance over her shoulder as she passed the short haired security officer who was just then directing Noah to the other vessel. A spike of anxiety at being separated now, after all they'd been through, shot through her, but there wasn't time to do anything about it. Even if there had been it wouldn't have been appropriate.

"Tork!" she called, waving at the Ferengi so he would follow her. This had to be his shuttle. Unless there were other Starfleet officers aboard. Surely someone would have already said something if there were. "You're with me," she called when she got the man's attention, and then steeling herself against exhaustion and a thrumming adrenaline fueled anxiety she ducked into the shuttle and made a beeline for the cockpit.

A Starfleet shuttle! "Starfleet! Leg it to the shuttle, crew! Injured take priority, able bodied assist those you can! We are going home!" She strained forward, making sure Andrew was keeping pace with her.
"Irynya, you're a hero. Surefire." She turned to the other woman, giving her a wide smile.

Bare feet on transport ramp steel, and after what felt like days, Victoria was aboard a Starfleet shuttle. Taking Andrew from under her arm, she helped him to a seat and quickly made her way to the back of the shuttle.

The shuttle was ransacked. Sloppy and disheveled, and banged up inside and out. "Oh, Sheila, I got a black eye too," she said, looking through various shelves - nothing. The replicator. The replicator!

"Standard emergency first aid kit!"

A shimmer. A black box appeared on the rack. Analgesic hypo spray in a small tube with a trigger. She gave herself a minor dose, shooting it into her neck, and made her way to the considerably more injured Andrew and gave him a larger, measured dose in the upper bicep. A painkiller. Something to help the man endure the horrors that had been inflicted on him.

The drug in her system was already taking effect. Her sore head went numb, and she allowed herself to breathe.

Andrew sank into his seat, muscles trembling as if they might give out even now. The painkiller in his bicep spread like a slow fire under the skin, taking the sharpest edges away, but leaving him hollow, bruises throbbing in dull rhythm with his pulse.

Around him the shuttle was alive: boots on the deck, voices trading clipped reports, the hiss of a panel being opened and sealed again. The noise came in bursts, too sharp, too close, but his mind held it at arm’s length, muffled like sound through water. He didn’t try to follow the words. Couldn’t.

His hands lay heavy on his thighs, fingers twitching now and then with leftover tension. He wanted to move, to say something, but the thought slipped away before it reached his mouth. Better to stay still. Let them work.

He closed his eyes for a moment, only to find the throne room waiting there—steel walls, restraints, the burn of pain. He opened them again, gasping. The bustle of the shuttle reassuring him that the rescue was real.

The thunder of boots on deckplate signaled their arrival—Ikade and Kaldri, breathless and bruised but very much alive, breaking from the corridor just as the doors sealed behind them. They’d run the length of the Kordra-Lisrit with the others, ducking through smoke and sealed passageways, PhaserBeak buying them time before its final, glittering sacrifice. Now, just steps behind the others, they split—Kaldri beelining toward her battered Kazon shuttle, Ikade angling toward the Federation one where Irynya had already vanished inside. The Trabe engineer's fingers were white-knuckled around the remote clenched in his grip, a slick of blood smeared across its casing.

The device was warm, almost pulsing in his hand, as if the thing itself could sense the peril of being removed from its master’s corpse. Ikade had spent the sprint from the throne room furiously working through every override he could think of—anything to disable or spoof the biometric locks that Subrek had likely programmed to restrict its use. The First Maje had been many things—cruel, petty, obsessively possessive—but he hadn’t been stupid. He knew the day might come when someone pried the device from his dead hands. And Subrek, in all his monstrous foresight, had apparently planned accordingly.

Ikade was still at it—palming at the surface, trying an override code he'd once prized from a loose-lipped lieutenant who couldn't hold his drink--risking a little more pressure to see if it would crack the remote's security protocols. And that was when it happened.

The remote chirped once, then twice. Then the interface went dark save for a thin red beam that shot out into the air and then expanded into a holographic projection of the First Maje himself. Even in death, his presence filled the Starfleet shuttle like smoke—sharp, acrid, impossible to ignore. The hologram crackled slightly, its emitter shaken from the escape run, but the voice was unmistakable. Rich, theatrical, smug. And even as the voice spoke within the confines of the shuttle, it also boomed through the air of the bay itself, apparently broadcasting through the Kodra-Lisrit's comms systems as well.

The First Maje's voice was drenched in smugness and disdain. It was rich, oily, and triumphant even in death:

“Ahhh… so. The day has come. If you’re hearing this transmission, then I am either dead or I have been taken captive by some clever little traitor who fancied themselves worthy of my throne. I must offer my congratulations. After all, it’s not entirely easy to kill a god. But you’ll forgive me if I don’t celebrate your victory. Because while you were busy playacting at conquest, wrenching this remote from my cold, magnificent fingers…I was making arrangements.”

A sharp snap echoed through the audio, followed by a subtle, rising hum in the walls as the Kordra-Lisrit began to respond to whatever cruel contingencies had been set in place. Subrek’s voice returned, now laced with iron:

“You tried to bypass the remote, didn’t you? Oh yes. You thought yourself clever. You thought you had won. But power does not belong to the one who seizes it. Power belongs to the one who defines it. And I do not recognize you. Not as Maje. Not as heir. Not even as worth the oxygen in your lungs. You think I would allow this ship—full of my weapons, my concubines, my legacy—to pass into the hands of mutineers and cowardly second-sons? This recording would not have been triggered but those whom I chose to succeed me in the event of my death or capture. So I can only assume you are not one of my chosen."

Somewhere deep in the ship’s core, klaxons began to beat—slow, deliberate, heartbeat-like pulses, not screaming yet, but lurking. The lights built into the walls of the shuttle bay slowly flashed amber in time sync with the alarms.

“No. I will not be your stepping stone. My legacy was not meant for you. And so I will leave you this final gift. Not my empire. Not my toys. Not my throne. But my judgment in all its righteous fury. Know this: there is no countdown to race. No way to halt the fall. It has already begun. The systems have engaged. The end is coming, and none of you will know when—only that it will. And it will be glorious. This ship will die screaming before it ever serves another. You have failed the test. And now… so shall this ship fail you.”

The hologram vanished and the speakers cut to silence. And in that silence, the world around Ikade resumed, the weight of what he'd accidentally triggered so utterly heavy around his shoulders now.

"We have to go. NOW!" the Trabe shouted, not even bothering at an attempt to quell the panic rising inside.

[One minute later...]

With the last of the survivors aboard and the shuttle bay doors sealed behind them, both vessels shuddered to life. Parsons’ hands flew across the Kazon controls as the retrofitted shuttle groaned through its systems check, while Irynya’s fingers danced across the Starfleet interface with practiced urgency. There was no time for pleasantries, no chance for formalities. The voice of Subrek still echoed in memory, his smug proclamation now replaced by the rising shriek of structural alarms and failing power relays. The Kordra-Lisrit was coming apart.

The shuttles lifted in unison, their drives blazing trails of white and blue through the thick, smoke-laden air. Below them, the fractured throne room and bloodstained corridors began to collapse inward. The ship’s belly split in violent flashes as core overloads chained together in a cascade of self-destruction. Kaldri’s stolen shuttle was the first to breach the remnants of the bay doors, its battered hull punching through with a final howl of scorched duranium. Irynya’s shuttle followed close behind, more graceful but no less urgent. Together, the vessels fled the ruins of the Kazon dreadnought, rising through fire and shrapnel into the nebula’s chaotic veil.

Behind them, the Kordra-Lisrit died.

A searing pulse of white-hot plasma erupted from the ship’s core, swallowing decks, weapons bays, and holding cells in a burst of unrelenting fury. The sound, in the vacuum of space, was silent. But the visuals needed no accompaniment: the shockwave rippled outward like a collapsing sun, scattering the nebula’s glittering haze and tossing debris into its cascading clouds. The shuttles shook, jostled by the force of it even at a safe distance. And then the stars broke through. The haze of the nebula thinned. And as the survivors cleared the final drift of gas and particulate ash, a new sight emerged on the scanners: the Sojourner. Whole. Intact. Beacon-bright against the black, her shuttle bay doors already yawning open like welcoming arms.

One by one, the battered ships crossed the threshold and returned home.

Inside the bay, teams were already moving—medical, security, command—all rushing forward to greet those emerging from the scorched hulls. For some, there would be tears. For others, silence. But all of them bore the marks of survival. And as boots touched down, and eyes met across the space between arrivals and rescuers, something began to shift. The pain wasn’t gone. The wounds hadn’t vanished. But the seven souls who'd been stolen were back. Together. Alive. And they'd unexpectedly returned with two new souls.

The shadow of Subrek had followed them all through captivity, torture, and blood. But in the wake of the Kordra-Lisrit’s death, with its smoke and flame now fading in the distance, that shadow began—at long last—to lift. Though whether it would ever fully dissipate was anyone's guess.

One thing was clear, though: Counselor Qo was going to have his work cut out for him. But that was for tomorrow. Today was for tears and laughter. Today was for coming home.


=/\= An incredible joint-post by... =/\=

Literally Everyone. <3