Chapter Text
Part Two (Cont’d)
Security Chief Tylor Ral surveyed the scene in front of him, gritting his teeth with a mixture of annoyance and regret.
He was getting too old for this kind of crap.
The rain continued to lash down from above, the peaked rim of the cap on his head and the thick waterproof jacket over his shoulders doing little to protect him from getting thoroughly soaked. In front of him, the gaudy blinking neon sign of the Ktarian Moonrise continued to flash on and off, illuminating the puddles around his feet and serving to contribute to an ever-developing stress headache that was building in his weathered temples.
Tylor had worked in the Ktarian security force since he was old enough to get a job, back before his people had even heard of the Federation, or the Alpha Quadrant.
He had developed a reputation as a solid, no-nonsense investigator back on the homeworld, and was once talked about as a future Head of Ktarian Security. After Ktaris had officially joined the Federation, he had even been offered a chance to lead a delegation of officers to liaise with Federation Security and help draft a new planetary defence program.
But instead, much to the surprise of most, he had turned down those sorts of opportunities. And as he had neared retirement, he had instead volunteered for the post of security chief on the Varris IV colony.
It was by no means a plum assignment for a man of his pedigree. In fact, given the state of the colony these days, it was pretty much as grim and thankless as they came.
But Tylor was an old school operator. Too much so for Ktaris’s forthcoming enlightened future inside the cosy ranks of the Federation. He knew he would operate on a need to accumulate wealth until his dying day, and with his retirement on the horizon, and the overly generous salary available for as uninspiring a post as this, the decision to come here had been an easy one.
Varris IV had been, in a strange way, the perfect way to wind down his career and make sure that he and his wife had a big enough nest egg to spend their golden years in comfort somewhere in the cosmos. Plus, with the central Ktarian government having all but given up on the place, there was no real pressure for him to deal with the crime levels to any serious extent.
Or at least, there had been no pressure. Before his new second in command had arrived.
“All strike teams are in position, Chief. All units report ready. Comms are clear.”
The soaked security chief turned to regard the younger uniformed Ktarian woman standing next to him behind the cover of one of the atmospheric shuttles they had arrived in.
Deputy Jalon Sep had, like Tylor himself, volunteered for assignment on Varris IV. But she hadn’t come here to escape responsibility and secure a final payday before retirement. She had come here to make a name for herself.
Determined to work her way up the long ladder of the Ktarian Security Force, she had found her career losing momentum once she had risen as high as regional section head. And so she had jumped at the chance to take up the deputy role on Varris IV. Where else could she truly prove herself to her superiors on Ktaris than by taking on and beating the runaway criminal elements across their least impressive colony.
And ever since she had arrived, she had done her best to get her new boss back up to scratch as well, much to Tylor’s continued frustration.
“We’re waiting on your orders,” she added to the grizzled chief, as the rain hammered down on the hull of the shuttle.
“Good work, Deputy,” Tylor replied with a grim nod, before turning his attention back to the Ktarian Moonrise itself.
For a moment, only the sound of the relentless downpour filled the air. But Tylor could sense his deputy still standing rigidly next to him, wanting more from her superior.
“What…are your orders, Chief?” she persisted eventually, “For the record, I would recommend a frontal assault, keeping the guards at the rear in position to cover those exits.”
Tylor took a moment to wonder whether the neon sign or his own deputy was now contributing more to the growing stress headache, then shook his head. “No assaults. Not until we know what we’re assaulting.”
The level one alert back at the Varris IV Security Headquarters had come as a shock. While many businesses across the main settlement still had their emergency alert systems up and running, most were barely used these days. Bar brawls and robberies were so common, and the usual security response so slow and ineffective, that there was usually very little point in raising any sort of alarm.
Indeed, when the alert first showed up, Tylor’s first instinct had been to ignore it. After all, the bartender could have just leaned on it by mistake. That had happened before.
But his new deputy had insisted that they follow official procedure when a level one alert was reported by a business on a Ktarian colony. As she insisted that they follow official procedure for everything.
And so, strike teams had been assembled, shuttles had been prepped, and here they were. Standing in the rain, in front of an apparent hostage crisis. And now Tylor was supposed to do something about it.
“With all due respect, Chief,” Jalon continued, “We know enough. The intelligence drone has already conducted a primary scan of the building.”
She handed him a small padd. And although the results were on screen for him to browse, she also felt the need to vocalise the report, much to the dissatisfaction of Tylor’s aching head.
“Eleven Ktarian hostages confirmed, located near the front of the premises. Three, possibly four hostiles located away from the main group. And we have confirmed energy signatures for three disruptor weapons. One Type-J Klingon design, one Ferengi D’Tak pistol—”
“Wait, wait, wait,” Tylor replied, only half-listening and gesturing to the padd, “What the hell are these life form readings all about?”
Jalon looked confused by this, having deemed such information to be irrelevant to procedure during a hostage incident. “All lifesigns are stable. No casualties have been detected—”
“No, not lifesigns, Deputy. Life forms. Who the hell are these people? A Vulcan? An Orion? A…Klingon? On Varris IV?”
Jalon paused for a moment, contemplating this as the rain dripped off the peak of her own cap.
“I didn’t consider that information relevant, Chief,” she admitted eventually, “When dealing with a level one emergency alert, and a potential hostage situation, regulations are to secure the perimeter of the building and isolate hostile targets. Regardless of the shape of their ears.”
In an almost Vulcan-like manner, she raised an eyebrow to emphasise her final point. Despite her continued regurgitation of regulations, Tylor couldn’t help but stifle an amused grunt at that.
“You know, Deputy,” he replied, waving the padd at her, “Regulations are all well and good, but they’ll only get you so far. You’re missing something.”
Jalon’s second eyebrow joined her first as she reacted to this comment. Tylor didn’t wait for her next query before he continued. “You need instincts in this job, as well. And right now, my instincts are telling me something’s up with this whole situation. This isn’t just a bunch of junkies looking to lift some latinum for their next score. This is…something else.”
“Then what do you advise, Chief?”
Tylor stared back over at the bar, migraine-inducing neon sign and all, and grimaced.
In truth, part of him just wanted to go with her plan. To allow procedure to be followed and to send the strike teams in, phasers loaded. Whatever happened after that, at least it’d all be over quickly, and his deputy could handle the paperwork.
But somewhere in the back of his tired mind, his old detective brain was kicking into gear. The one that had made him such a renowned security officer back in the day. And there was more than enough of a mystery in front of him for that part of his brain to take over.
“Get me a comms unit,” he said eventually, gesturing to the bar, “And patch me in there. Let’s see who we’re actually dealing with.”
Deputy Jalon Sep nodded and hurried away to carry out his request. He managed a slight smile that her diligent belief in rules and chains of command meant that she was always willing to follow his orders. Regardless of whether she agreed with them.
After a moment of contemplation, he returned his full attention to the bar, squinting slightly against the fresh thud of pain in his head from the blinking sign.
He could tell it was going to be a long night.