Spin-off 2H

Resurrections, Part VIII

The Klingon Toron-class shuttle IKS Aramaki de-cloaked in front of the Nausicaan space station, Hekacos. Several computer components were transported from the Aramaki into a science lab on the station. Lore beamed over once the transfer was complete.

"Excellent work," commented a seemingly 80-year-old Human man named Terence, who walked over and quickly began examining the equipment.

Lore approached, "Mission complete. I do have one question though. Why are some of my memory engrams deactivated?"

"That was a modification by me. You see, I would have erased them completely, had I the time," Terence replied. "But the alterations won't last. Your own systems will no doubt fix itself."

The Soong-type android was under self-repair sooner than expected: He fell to his knees in pain, as an intense purge went underway, "AAUUGGHH!"

"Huh," Terence observed, "Right on the money, so to speak."

Lore climbed a nearby console, attempting to get to his feet, "You son-of-a--- I remember everything now. You broke my parts out of Starfleet two years ago and re-assembled me. But when I left you to rot, you somehow survived and helped the Federation re-capture me."

"I thought I was redeeming myself for breaking you out. But I know now that my redemption lies elsewhere. You'll note I broke you out again just this month."

The android stood up and approached Terence, "I don't care what I should note. I discovered a group of Mudd-type androids, who I was going to join before your anti-heroic recapture. I should kill you right now," but when he reached for Terence's neck, he was compelled to stop.

"Perhaps the only programming I was successful in modifying on you," Terence boasted, "You aren't able to harm me."

Lore dropped his hands, "It doesn't matter. I'm free now, and I'm leaving for my own goals."

"Fine then," the old man said, "Your services are no longer required."

Hitting an arm communiqué, Lore transported out in a disgusted glare; never to be seen again.

"I have everything I need now," Terence finished; glancing over at the force field-contained Starfleet Doctor Melzine.


Brent sat in his quarters on Starbase 78. It was late at night. He had turned down another date with Steph so he could be alone with his thoughts-- those very same thoughts which were suddenly interrupted by an incoming communication.

He tapped his personal computer and a Tarkalean named Tevahn appeared on its screen, "Greetings again. You were the one asking for information, correct?"

"Yes," Brent confirmed, "I'm looking for a man named Chivaul. He's a Vulcan, and---"

Tevhan interrupted, "And a Starfleet officer. Yes, I know. Well, I can tell you he was kidnapped on his way to a vacation last week. If you have the money we corresponded, I will tell you what happened to him."

"The money has been transferred," Brent confirmed as he tapped at his controls. "Starfleet's emergency reserves."

Tevahn checked, "Perfect. --Now for your information. You see, your Vulcan teacher was taken by the Orion Syndicate. If you want him back, you'll have to track down an Orion Corsair Cruiser called the Yuria, run by a Human named Golex. Some friendly advice; it was last seen in the Sierra sector."

"What do they want with---" but before Brent could finish, the communication was cut out by the Tarkalean. Brent then stood up, more determined than ever.


After a quick shore leave request, Brent transferred himself to the Ferengi Marauder Fortune's Gold. There, after entering into warp, he was met with its commanding operator.

"You certainly are ambitious, Humaannn," Cide observed. "No one in their right mind would ever approach the Orion's on a mission like yours. That is, unless you are going to buy your friend back, in which case I must insist we have a business meeting of our own."

Brent shook his head, "You've got the rest of my money, Cide."

"Ah, but if I'm not mistaken, a rescue such as this should at least be accompanied by a Federation starship," Cide paced, working through his Ferengi logic, "So, either you're going undercover, or you have personal reasons for going against Starfleet Command-- in which case, them finding out is not in your best interests."

Brent rolled his eyes, "All of which is irrelevant."

"Perhaps," Cide postulated just as two of his own men held up phasers at Brent, "But perhaps not. It's my understanding you have access to an almost infinite amount of money through Starfleet emergency funds. And if my latter theory about your Command finding out about you is correct, then one may think another withdrawal is in order-- considering the circumstances."

The out-of-uniform Starfleet officer nodded, realizing the developing situation, "You know, Cide, you're right: I am doing this for personal reasons. That Vulcan taught me everything I know about, not only combat, but also myself, and those Syndicate dealers think they can just get away with taking someone like that against his wishes. Well, I'm going to show them there are consequences to their dismissals... in much the same way I'm going to show you."

He immediately leaned to the side, prompting one of the Ferengi men to shoot out of mere impulse. The other Ferengi officer was hit and knocked down, shocking the shooter and giving Brent an opportunity to force-kick the shooter in the chest. 

The Ferengi was sent, ricocheting off a far console, and Brent caught the released phaser in mid-flight. He quickly shot all the other Bridge crew down and held his aim at Cide, alone.

"Ah," Cide hesitantly smiled while slowly raising his hands up, "Then I see we have a deal."


Later, the Fortune's Gold rendezvoused with the Orion Corsair Cruiser Yuria in the Sierra sector. 

"So, Ferengi," spoke Golex to his bridge's main viewer, "Do you have my shipment of computer cores? Or are we going to have a problem here?"

Cide, continuing his nervous smile, replied, "No, no. Of course not! We were able to obtain everything you needed from those Pakled ships. They were practically stripped dry."

"It was my understanding they would at least be Talarian cores!"

The Ferengi on screen knocked over a few padds in shock from Golex's raise in voice, "Heh, heh. No, no, we only said those would be a benefit. But I assure you, Pakled cores are just as good, if not better considering what they have to make up for."

"Complete the transport, but this is coming out of your fees," Golex shut off the screen and left his bridge.


From a rafter in the Yuria's lab, Brent watched as Golex entered and was met with frustrated Orions. His Vulcan teacher, Chivaul, was tied to a nearby console.

"This just won't work, Golex," Targis charged, "The Pakled cores aren't even close to enough of what we need to build this weapon. Besides the fact we require detailed instructions on how to execute the procedures."

Golex examined the cores, "Those Ferengi are going to pay the next time I see them. As for our instructions, I've been able to locate our interfering party as hiding out inside a well hidden Nausicaan space station."

"That's still not enough! Your continued failures have plagued us for far too long now and my superiors have given me permission to handle any problems with you as I see fit. I question your command of this vessel," Targis pointed.

Golex then took out a Klingon disrupter, "Then perhaps you'd be better served off vessel?"

But before he could shoot, Brent dropped down and force-palmed the weapon out of his hands. Shocked, Targis pulled out his own disrupter, but was too slow for Brent's quick grab of his wrist. 

Redirecting the shot, Brent made Targis unintentionally fire into Golex, knocking him out and back into a bunch of crates.

Brent then kicked Targis out and ran over to Shivaul, "Sir, are you alright?"

"They... they drugged me with an overdose of tetrovaline, so I could not defend myself," he said wearily, "The effects of which is not even enough for a Vulcan to withstand."

Brent fired into Chivaul's restraints and broke him out, "They're going to pay for this."

"No," Chivaul grabbed his wrist, "Getting off this ship is more important. Your rash nature has always led to unintended results, Brent. Logic dictates we must use this opportunity for our escape."

Deep down he knew the Vulcan was right, "Understood." He then shook his head, "I don't get it. Why you? What is this weapon they're trying to build?"

"It is called the Genesis Device."