Return to Part Four
“Whatever this investigation of yours is, Daffodil,” Jeremy Paget announced unceremoniously as he entered the chemist’s quarters.
Since the last unexpected visitor to her cabin had been Martha Landon and the next could very well be Pavel Chekov, Daffy Gollub had taken the precaution of getting up from where she was sitting cross-legged on her bunk instead of just calling out permission to enter. She'd tugged her uniform tunic straight, attempted to tame her messy bun into something approaching regulation, and composed her expression before opening the door.
“You gotta shut it down, pronto,” the Security Officer informed her, unimpressed.
“I don’t want to,” she automatically retorted, blocking the doorway.
He shouldered past her anyway. “Did I ask if you wanted to?”
Without invitation, the Security Officer made straight for her desk where a bottle of Saurian brandy sat next to her half-empty glass. He helped himself to a fresh tumbler from her shelf—of course he knew where she kept them—and poured two fingers of the jade liquid.
"No." The chemist let the door hiss shut behind her and crossed her arms, watching him settle into the chair opposite her bunk like he owned it. "As usual, you barged in like Security King of the Universe and just said 'Shut it down, girl!' No reasons given. I guess I'm supposed to be mid-air leaping to obey before I think to ask why."
Paget stretched his long legs out in front of him and gave her an impudent grin, raising his glass in mock salute. "Got that right."
Gollub planted her hands on her hips, refusing to be charmed. "Why?"
His grin faded. "While making inquiries on your behalf, I got rumbled."
The chemist crossed back to her desk and picked up her own glass. “Given what Max Rostov told us, I’m not surprised.”
"It doesn't matter who told you what, you should still be surprised." Paget leaned forward, his elbows on his knees, the casual air completely gone now. "When you ask me to check something out for you, I don't just go to the computer and type questions. I am as ghostly as Jacob Marley. My sources are as off the grid as the landlady's house cat. I don't get rumbled. Ever."
“You are insanely talented at what you do. This is why we come to you.” The chemist raised her glass to him in homage that was only slightly sarcastic. “All hail, Sultan of Stealth.” She dropped back onto her bunk, shoving aside a pile of notes about Russian fairy tales and Haven trading practices. “So who do you think is on to you? Starfleet Intelligence?”
“I’m hoping it was them.” Paget shook his head in rueful memory and took a sip of brandy. “I didn’t stick around to find out.”
“Hoping?”
"SI is by a very thin margin the least gruesome of some pretty hair-raising options—but only in a 'Better the devil who works for same people who sign your paychecks' sort of way." He fixed her with a look that was equal parts concern and exasperation. "Why are you not surprised about Starfleet's spook division taking a shockingly intense interest in your charming little Russian-rings-and-ex-girlfriends story?"
"According to dear, sweet, old Uncle Max..." She started clearing datapads from the space beside her, stacking them on the nightstand with deliberate care. "There was some major weirdness going on with Barilon, the Haven trader who commissioned the rings. Even though he had put down a dilithium mine's worth of credits for the deposit, he was visibly freaked out when he came to look at the samples. Acted like he was scared someone was following him."
"Cover was blown." The Security man's assessment was swift and certain. "Lost his cool."
“I didn’t think that happened to Havens. They always seem to think they can negotiate their way out of any situation. I’ve known Havens who would haggle over the price of their own execution if it came down to it.”
Paget shrugged, rolling the brandy glass between his palms. "Even a Haven can get themselves into extreme circumstances."
“Well, this Barilon guy seems to have gotten himself “extremed” out an airlock, because after he leaves Rostov’s shop – without his rings – he vanishes… Unless you’ve found some trace of him?”
The Security Officer made a gesture with his free hand that indicated vanishing in a puff of smoke. "Poof."
The casual gesture shouldn't have been chilling, but it was. People didn't just disappear in the Federation. Not without someone noticing. Not without records, death certificates, something.
“Afterwards Max starts to suspect that his shop might be under surveillance,” Daffy informed her friend, then speculated, “Maybe by SI?”
"Hopefully." Paget's voice was tight, clipped. "According to Max, Barilon made some strange comments." Daffy picked up one of the datapads, scrolling through her notes. "Asked some odd questions."
“Such as?”
"'Can silver keep secrets?'" She read the words slowly, frowning at them like they might rearrange themselves into sense if she stared long enough. "It seems that the rings are supposed to be a sort of message. He said that Admiral Brezhnova would understand the meaning—that she would know the story of the swan geese from her childhood, maybe? Something in it was a personal symbol that she would recognize immediately."
“Nothing I recognize.” The Security Officer shook his head and took another long sip of brandy. “What’s this ring story about?”
“These farkakteh geese that steal kids for Baba Yaga.”
“Hmmm… “ Paget tapped his lip thoughtfully. “Brezhnova does have a daughter.”
“Christy Chaz? Yeah. I was going to try to get in a call to her.”
“That might be a hard trick to pull off. Her ship, the High Stakes, has been off to parts unknown for a couple years now.”
The chemist snapped her fingers. “Maybe the rings are a clue to locating Christy!”
“Yeah… but probably no,” the Security man concluded. “Wherever the High Stakes is, they’re there because Brezhnova sent them there. She’s very likely to be the only person in the Federation who does know where they are.”
"And wouldn't need a decoder ring message." Gollub sighed in disappointment, deflating back against the bulkhead. Of course it couldn't be that simple. She re-checked her notes, scrolling through the datapad. "There was another creepy thing Barilon said: 'The geese flew home, but the hunter followed.'"
Paget lifted an eyebrow. “Given the circumstances, that’s pretty ominous as Russian epigrams go.”
“Yeah, never thought I’d have a reason to prefer the meshuga quips Chekov’s always coming up with about turnips, cabbage, and getting a good night’s sleep.”
“Hunter, huh?” Paget paused a moment as he consulted his mental files. “Now, that has a possible connection to Brezhnova. She was a racer – one of the best. At the Clave, her handle was Artemis.”
“The huntress,” Gollub said, wincing at not making this connection sooner. “Ciobanu told me that. I forgot.”
“Maybe she’s the hunter?”
The chemist shook her head and gestured to her notes discontentedly. “That doesn’t make any sense, though.”
“The message is not aimed at us,” Paget reminded his friend. “We’re not the ones who are supposed to get it.”
“That part of the plan is certainly working,” Gollub confirmed sourly.
“I was looking into Barilon when whoever got offended by my poking around gave me a nice hard shoulder bump to let me know my unwelcome presence had been noted.”
"No reflection on the undoubted magnificence of your skill set," the chemist began with exaggerated deference, "but I was surprised you couldn't find more on him. Surely there would be more of a paper trail on a Haven trader?"
“That…” The Security man pointed a finger at her. “…is why I don’t think he was a trader.”
“No?”
“Not all Havens are traders, you know,” he reminded her, taking on a teasing tone. “Although you might not get that from talking to one. They do all sorts of things – bricklayer, cook, chemist…”
“Oh, I am fully briefed on the wonders of the Havani pharmaceutical industry, thank you very much.” She assured him.
Paget grinned, “Still got that recruitment speech ringing in your ears, huh?”
“An answer of ‘no’ merely indicates that one has not yet proffered a satisfactory offer,” she replied, quoting the familiar Haven maxim in a credible imitation of one of their mutual acquaintances.
“Well, whatever Barilon was, he seems to be gone without leaving a ripple. I was looking into his connection to a mercenary named Charles Donne when I got rumbled…”
Daffy straightened, her interest sharpening. "Who's Donne?"
"Pretty much just a big question mark at this point." Paget shrugged and drained the last of the brandy from his glass in one smooth motion. He set the empty tumbler down on her desk with a decisive clink that sounded like a door closing. "That's what I'm here to tell you, Daf. This thing has gotten too hot for me. Donne has done me in."
“But…”
"But nothing." The Security Officer rose in one fluid movement and turned toward the door, his body language shifting from relaxed friend to operational mode. "Stick a fork in this investigation. It's Donne."
"Spare me," the chemist groaned at the pun, but there was no real humor in it. She pushed herself off the bunk and followed him toward the door. "Listen, Jer..."
"No, you listen to me, Daffodil." He paused before the door, turning to face her fully. "If whoever rumbled my inquiries knows about me, they know about you. You're about to get shut down.” In the narrow space of her quarters, Paget seemed suddenly larger, more imposing. The easy camaraderie had evaporated, leaving only hard professional concern. “I’m telling you nicely. I don’t know how they’re gonna tell you, but this is over."
“Jer…” she protested.
"Whether you like it or not." He stepped through the opening door without looking back. "It's just a matter of time now."
"Jer...!" she called down the corridor, standing in her doorway and watching his retreating back. A passing ensign glanced at her curiously before hurrying on.
"Tick tock, tick tock," he said without turning around, his voice echoing off the bulkheads as he disappeared around the corner. “Tick tock, tick…”
“Daphne, dearest,” Ambassador Lane Gage greeted the chemist jovially. “So good to speak with you again. And to what do I owe this pleasure?”
Uhura had chosen to call the Havens from her quarters. Daffy was seated next to the Communications Officer at her desk.
Lane Gage looked exactly as he always did —impeccably groomed, his black hair pulled back in the traditional Haven style, his neat beard framing a face that managed to be both handsome and somehow predatory. He wore black, of course, with a silky, gorgeously trimmed, deep burgundy shirt underneath that probably cost more than her monthly salary. His expression held the sort of cordial curiosity one might associate with professor waiting to see if a bright student would ask an interesting question… or a spider taking note that something had just touched its web.
Tomor Rand, by contrast, appeared as though he'd just finished a light workout. His muscular frame filled his side of the screen. He was lighting one of his signature cigars. Where Gage was smooth sophistication, Rand was blunt, physical practicality.
“I, uh… have some questions I was…uhm…” the chemist stammered.
She simply could not help it. Although she’d known Lane Gage since she was a teenager, he always disconcerted her. Too many times when she was at the Clave, he’d materialize out of nowhere with that urbane smile of his, asking about her latest experiments in creating the recreational chemicals the Havens so loved. ‘Such potential,’ he’d say. ‘What wonderful use the Empire could make of someone with your talents.’ It was like being circled like a very polite shark.
Daffy swallowed and started again. “I was…uhm… hoping you could answer a few questions about a Haven named Luk Barilon.”
"Oh, an informational request." Something flickered behind Gage's black-on-black eyes—recognition, maybe calculation. The corners of his mouth turned up fractionally. "A favor, in other words."
"Uh.. Yeah, sure," Gollub replied, trying and failing to sound casual.
The ambassador smiled and spread a hand in her direction, palm up, as if he expected something to be placed there. His fingers were long, elegant, adorned with three silver rings that caught the light. "Then I assume you have something of value to offer me?"
Pure panic seized the chemist. She could picture herself in thrall to the Haven Trading Empire's pharmaceutical industry for the rest of her natural existence, synthesizing designer drugs in some luxury laboratory while Gage smiled benevolently and collected his percentage. "I...uhm... uh..."
"I think," Uhura prompted at her side, her voice calm and deliberate, "the Ambassador would like us to offer to tell him what we uncovered in exchange for the information he has."
Gage narrowed his eyes as if he preferred the thralldom option. “Is that what I’m asking?”
"A deal," Rand interjected, grinning around his cigar. Smoke curled lazily upward, partially obscuring his face. "She tells you what she knows, you tell her what you know about Barilon. Even exchange."
Gage shot his security specialist an un-amused glance, his entire body going still in that particularly unnerving Haven way. "Are we sure of this?"
"Aren't we?" Rand's grin took on a pointed edge, his eyes locking with his employer's. The unspoken message was clear: giving my lady-love's friend a hard time is exceedingly ill-advised. "These ladies want information. You want to know why they're asking. Seems like a standard exchange to me."
The temperature in the transmission seemed to drop ten degrees as the two Haven men stared at each other. Then Gage gave Uhura a sour glance, one eyebrow arching. "Seems like you've been teaching someone Haven negotiation tactics, haven't you, Tomor?"
"Beauty's a quick study," Rand agreed, his voice warm with unmistakable pride.
Uhura's expression remained perfectly neutral, but Daffy saw the tiny smile playing at the corner of her friend's mouth.
"Oh, very well..." The Ambassador sighed dramatically and shook his head. "Really, one would think I intended to abduct the child or something equally nefarious..." He turned a scolding glance on his Security Advisor. "And I hardly think all this side coaching is business-like, is it?"
Uhura leaned forward slightly, her smile widening. "Well, honey, you know what they say about love and war..."
"That Humans prefer to cheat in both?" Gage speculated dryly.
"Close enough," the Communications Officer replied, with a deliberate wink for her paramour.
Rand's answering grin could have lit a solar system.
“Since you have approached me...” The Ambassador spread a generous hand towards the chemist. “I will do you the honor of letting you begin the tale. What exactly is your interest in Luk Barilon?”
Daffy felt Uhura's presence beside her like a steadying force. She took a breath and plunged. "He commissioned a piece of jewelry from Pavel Chekov's uncle Max Rostov several years ago and then disappeared before the job was completed. I'm trying to understand why."
Gage leaned back in his chair, steepling his fingers. "Jewelry? How... specific," he said in a tone that indicated he meant the opposite. "This wouldn't be related to certain silver rings currently in circulation among Enterprise crew members, would it?"
The chemist’s stomach tightened. Of course he knew. Havens always aimed to be two steps ahead of the game.
She glanced at Uhura, who gave her an almost imperceptible nod. Tell him.
"The rings were commissioned for Admiral Rhonda Brezhnova," Daffy said, her voice steadier now. "They may contain some sort of coded message. They're tied to the disappearance of Barilon." She took in a deep breath and decided to lay all her cards on the table, even the ones she wasn't quite sure of. "They may also have a connection to a mercenary named Charles Donne and the location of a ship called the High Stakes as well."
Gage's expression grew serious. "I see. And how much of this does Admiral Brezhnova know you've uncovered?"
"Nothing yet."
"Then you're fortunate," the Haven concluded quietly. "And also in more danger than you realize."
Daffy spread her hands and gave a half-laugh. “Everybody keeps telling me that.”
“Everyone is right.”
The finality in his tone sent a chill down her spine.
Gage stood, moving off-screen for a moment. When he returned, he was holding a glass of black scotch. He took a sip before speaking again.
"Luk Barilon was a physician," the Ambassador began, his tone far more somber than usual. "As you may know, Haven physicians are chosen for their profession primarily because of their ability to keep secrets. Luk was exceptional at this —perhaps too exceptional. He served aboard several trading vessels, including one captained by Bek Mokalian."
"The High Stakes," Daffy murmured.
"One his rust-buckets,” Gage confirmed with a light wave of his hand as if the name of the ship were of no importance. “During the border conflicts between the Federation and the Haven Trading Empire, Mokalian's ship was involved in... let's call them 'sensitive operations.' Activities that, if they came to light, could have severely complicated the eventual alliance between our peoples."
"What kind of activities?" the chemist pressed.
The ambassador blinked at her as if he couldn't believe he should need to explain such things to an adult. He set down his glass with deliberate care. "The kind," he said, leaning close to the screen and speaking slowly, each word precisely enunciated, "that involve mercenaries being paid by both sides to create incidents that would justify further military escalation. Profitable for those running the operations, politically convenient for hardliners on both sides… and catastrophic for anyone caught in between."
Gollub sat back, drawing in a sharp breath. She and Uhura exchanged glances of alarm mixed with a kind of intellectual satisfaction. Both knew that they had arrived at the heart of the mystery.
Suddenly the involvement of Starfleet Intelligence made sense. The warnings made sense. The abrupt, unexplained disappearances made terrible, perfect sense. Daffy's search for pretty rings had unexpectedly led them to an explosive story of intergalactic espionage and double-dealing that potentially had damning implications for both members of the Federation and the Haven Trading Empire.
"And Barilon knew about this?" Uhura concluded.
"Barilon didn't just know, my dear — he documented it.” Gage gave an incredulous half-laugh as if he could not believe unfathomably unprofitable act of rebellious daring he was describing. “As a physician, he had access to personnel records, communications, medical files that detailed injuries sustained during these manufactured conflicts. He was, in essence, a walking testimony to what might be determined to be war crimes committed by actors on both sides of the border."
Rand crushed out his cigar in a sharp, violent motion that spoke volumes. "But then the doctor got cold feet. Started making inquiries about defection, about providing testimony to Federation authorities."
"That's when things became...very tricky for the poor doctor." Gage swirled the beverage in his glass contemplatively, watching the liquid coat the sides. "There were powerful interests—Haven and Federation both—who had profited enormously from those border conflicts. Fortunes built on blood and fire. The last thing they wanted was an experienced physician with an eidetic memory and documented proof speaking to investigators."
"So they killed him," Gollub concluded flatly.
"One could make such an assumption," the ambassador confirmed carefully. "Though his body was never found. He simply... vanished. Along with his personal effects, his medical records, and any evidence he might have been compiling."
"But before he disappeared, he commissioned a ring for Admiral Brezhnova," Uhura said, leaning forward. "Why?"
Gage set down his glass with a soft clink that seemed unnaturally loud in the silence. "That, my dear, is a very interesting question. One that I suspect has an answer you won't like."
"What do you mean?" Daffy demanded.
"Consider," Gage held up a finger, sketching invisible lines in the air as if drawing a map of Barilon's final days. "A Haven physician, in possession of dangerous secrets, knowing his life is in danger. He arranges a meeting with a jeweler in Moscow—a city with significant Haven surveillance, where his movements would be noted and reported to multiple interested parties. He commissions an elaborate ring design, insisting it must be perfect, making multiple visits over weeks to check on the progress. He specifically mentions 'keeping secrets in silver.'"
Understanding dawned cold and sharp in the chemist's mind. She saw Barilon's story with new eyes now—not a tale of art and craft, but of espionage and desperation. "It wasn't a gift. It was a dead drop."
"Or an attempted one." The Ambassador nodded. "Though we'll never know for certain, I believe Barilon was trying to pass information to Admiral Brezhnova through the ring itself. The design, the materials, perhaps microscopic engravings—something in those rings contained data he wanted her to have."
"But why her?" Uhura asked. "What was Brezhnova's connection to all this?"
Gage's smile was mirthless. "That's where Charles Donne enters the picture. Donne was one of the mercenaries involved in the border conflicts. He was also, by all accounts, in love with a certain Starfleet commander who would later become an admiral. Perhaps Barilon believed that if he could get the evidence to Brezhnova, she would have both the motivation—protecting Donne from retaliation—and the authority to bring it before the right people."
"So he commissions these rings, seven practice versions while working toward the final design," Daffy said slowly. "But he gets nervous, realizes he's being watched more closely than he thought. He cancels the commission before the final ring can be made—the one in which the actual data will be embedded."
"Precisely. And the seven practice rings, worthless as evidence, but potentially identifiable, end up in the hands of Max Rostov, who gives them to his nephew as romantic tokens, where they're scattered across the quadrant to people who have no idea they're connected to a conspiracy."
"Until I started asking questions," Daffy said quietly.
"Until you started asking questions," Gage confirmed. "Which brings us to your current predicament."
Rand crushed out his cigar, his expression grim. "Listen carefully, Gollub. The people who wanted Barilon silenced—some of them are still in power. Federation and Haven both. They've spent years making sure this stays buried."
"The alliance between our peoples is young and fragile," Gage added, sounding like an actual diplomat. "Evidence of pre-alliance war profiteering, of manufactured conflicts and conspiracy? That could rip open old wounds, destroy careers -- maybe even destabilize the peace we've worked so hard to build."
"So I should just stop?" The chemist's voice rose despite herself, frustration and anger warring in her chest. "Let them get away with it? Barilon tried to do the right thing and probably died for it. Donne's been in hiding for years. And Admiral Brezhnova—"
"Is well aware of what happened," the ambassador interrupted firmly. "And has been conducting her own investigation for years, very carefully, very quietly. Listen to me carefully, Commander. You're not uncovering new information. You're stumbling into the middle of an ongoing operation that involves flag-level officers and classified intelligence."
"That's why Starfleet Intelligence… or somebody on that level… was getting ready to shut me down," Gollub concluded, half to herself.
Uhura’s eyebrows climbed to their limits. “What?”
“Jer came to me about an hour ago,” she confessed to her friend. “Told me that someone was on to our investigations… That we should be ready to be shut down at any moment.”
The Communications Officer frowned. “And when were you gonna let me in on any of this?”
"I was going to tell you after this call," the chemist said apologetically. "I swear. I just... I needed to know more first." She shook her head and turned back to the viewscreen, to Gage's knowing expression. "Now I understand. It wasn't to cover it up, but because Brezhnova is still actively pursuing this." She frowned at another piece of the puzzle refusing to fit. "I still don't understand about the rings, though. Why did Chekov give them away if they're potentially evidence?"
"Because as far as he knew, they were just pretty trinkets his uncle gave him," Gage answered easily, spreading his hands. "The rings your friends now wear? They're just silver and craftsmanship. Barilon never completed the actual data-embedded ring. That one, if it exists, is still out there somewhere."
"Never existed or destroyed," Rand concluded firmly. "Most likely never existed."
"So all of this — my entire investigation—has been for nothing?" Daffy felt anger and frustration warring in her chest.
"Not nothing," Gage said, his tone surprisingly gentle. "You've proven you have excellent investigative instincts. You've connected dots that were deliberately left disconnected. That's impressive work, my dear."
"Dangerous work," his Security Advisor added bluntly, pointing at her through the screen. "People have killed to keep this quiet. People will kill again if they feel threatened. Drop your investigation. File a report with Brezhnova directly. Let her handle it."
"And the rings?" Daffy asked. "The ones we already have?"
"Are harmless," Gage assured her. "Keep them, wear them, give them away—it doesn't matter. They're just beautiful jewelry with an interesting story.”
Gollub slumped back in her seat, feeling weakened by the revelations almost to the point of tears. “A little too damned interesting.”
“And thus we reach the end of our bargain.” The ambassador clasped his hands together. “I hope you found it a satisfactory exchange?”
The chemist nodded numbly. “Definitely got more than I bargined for.”
“Then you won’t object in my adding a small surcharge?” the Haven said, seizing on this opening with a sharp smile.
Panic hit Gollub. “I… uh…”
The Ambassador held up a finger, forestalling her protest. "In the form of a promise that you will not pursue these dangerous inquiries further?"
The chemist shrugged her assent, too tired to fight anymore. "I guess I really don't have a lot of choice at this point."
Gage gave her as close as he could get to a kind smile—although Daffy still thought it might be because he hadn't given up on recruiting her for his pals in some pharmaceutical company. There was still calculation behind those dark eyes.
"That is the most profitable path, my dear Commander," he said, leaning forward. His hand reached toward the control panel. "Do take care of yourself."
The screen went dark.
Daffy did not look her friend in the eye.
“I should have told you that Jer got rumbled by Special Intelligence,” she confessed without further delay.
“Yes,” the Communications Officer agreed adamantly.
“And then you would not have placed this call,” Gollub said, tapping the screen in front of them.
Uhura laughed without humor. “Oh, yes.”
“Because it turns out that instead of having a harmless conversation with some old pals about some dumb rings, we were talking to the Haven-Fucking-Ambassador about some heavy-duty Inter-fucking-galactic espionage shit.”
The Communications Officer crossed her arms and nodded. “Hell-to-the-freaking-yeah.”
“And now we have got to type up some pretty convincing reports to headquarters super quickly about how we had no idea that was going to happen before we lose our fucking commissions.”
“Oh, yeah,” Uhura confirmed beginning to clear her desk of the datapads of information associated with the investigation. She stacked them with sharp, accusing clicks.
“I am sooooooo sorry,” the chemist said contritely. “And soooooo stupid.”
Her friend waved an acceptance of this apology. “Yeah.”
Gollub sat back in her chair with a sigh. “And despite everything, I do really, really want to talk to Admiral Brezhnova now.”
Uhura snorted. “I think you gonna get the chance.”
“When she bawls me out?” the chemist speculated glumly.
“Yep.”
“I just feel like I need to hear from her that this is really being handled. That Barilon's death—if he is dead—won't just be filed away and forgotten."
“Honey, I don’t think there’s much hope that Barilon’s alive… And as far as his being forgotten…” Uhura paused and shook her head. “That’s complicated. We both know that the universe isn't divided into people who let criminals go free and people who pursue justice at any cost. Sometimes justice means protecting a fragile peace. Sometimes it means trusting that people like Admiral Brezhnova are working behind the scenes to make things right without tearing everything apart in the process."
The chemist nodded. “I know.”
Her friend took her hand and gave it a supportive squeeze. “I know that you do.”
After letting this warm moment glow between them for a few seconds, the Communications Officer took the chemist’s other hand as well and then filled both with a stack of datapads from her desk. “That is why…” She added another pad to the stack. “You are going to go to your quarters…” Another pad. “…Right now…” And another. “…And start doing…” And another. “…Ev-er-y…” And another. “…And I do mean, EV-ER-Y damned thing in your LIVING power…” And another. “… to get my sweet ass…” And another. “…out of this God-forsaken MESS…” And another. “…your daffy ass…” And another. “…has somehow managed to get us into.” And one more on the towering top of the pile. “Do I make myself clear?”
“Very clear,” Gollub replied meekly, using her chin to stabilize the teetering stack.
“Good.” Uhura pointed to the door. “Go.”
“Yes, ma’am.” As the chemist humbly obeyed, she heard Uhura opening a private channel behind her, the soft chirp of a connection being established.
"Tomor? Hey, baby..."
The warmth in her friend's voice—the immediate shift from professional officer to woman speaking with her lover—made something in Daffy's chest ache. Some people, she thought as the door slid shut behind her, knew how to navigate complicated situations with grace. They knew how to balance duty and desire, secrets and honesty, justice and mercy. Maybe it was time she learned that skill herself.