cadere a' gratia, Part Five

Posted on Wed Jun 22nd, 2022 @ 9:21pm by Lieutenant Commander P’rel M.D

Mission: Ares Ascending
Location: Rondac. Genetic Seed Code Labs.
Timeline: During DS9 S06E1
1913 words - 3.8 OF Standard Post Measure

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USS Warspite. The day of the briefing. Two weeks ago.

"...and with the seventh fleet heading to Tyrus, we should be able to bottleneck the Dominion advance for at least the short term..." finished the Tellarite Captain she'd come to know as Grick. He was some kind of Strategic Operations officer based at San Fransisco and P'rel suspected that this was probably one of the few times he'd actually ventured into space, or been anywhere near any kind of front line. Looking around the room, there were a great many red collars and pips; many Captains, Commanders and Flag Officers had joined them on the Warspite, having rendezvoused at Starbase 395 near the Tamarian border. The far wall behind a section of the circular table absent of any chairs was covered in a large screen divided into smaller sections, each filled with either a Captain or some level of Admiral - most had some angle of the Goldengate Bridge behind them through a window.

Around the table sat Captains and Admirals, and next to them their various aides. P'rel and other more junior personnel sat in basic chairs which lined the walls of the room; she was roughly lined up behind Captain Bennett and he new aide de camp Commander Renlar, a strangely grim looking Bolian; and so she assumed that the other officers in those seats were also roughly lined up with whatever officer they were here with.

"Thank you Captain Grick" one of the Admirals on the screen acknowledged, finishing by wishing luck to the seventh fleet. At that one of the screens darkened to the UFP logo, and several Captains with their officers also rose from the briefing table and left the room. They had been in there now for over an hour, and it all seemed rather routine to P'rel. Certainly very interesting and, she would have otherwise presumed, above her clearance level; but routine nonetheless. "Captain Bennett" the Admiral said, indicating the meeting was moving on, nodding from the screen to the Captain.

Clearing his throat, Bennett shuffled in his chair a little and began to speak. "Ladies and gentleman. As we are all well aware, the key to maintaining control over the Jem'Hadar is Ketracel White. Without the drug, the Founders would simply have no direct means of control over their military." He held a hand up to silence a colleague on the opposite side of the table who was about to speak; a Commander in a teal collar. "Now I know. Numerous independent studies have concluded that we cannot cure the Jem'Hadar of the addiction. That much was deduced by Doctor Julian Bashir of the USS Defiant, and has been concluded over and again". He turned his head to wink at P'rel, completely missing her mood on the entire topic it seemed. "However. What if we could make them even more addicted?" he posed the rhetorical question, and prompted a murmuring chatter in the room.

"Delegates please..." a balding Andorian male admiral said as he raised a hand to silence the crowd. "I must stress that the two projects you are about to hear are classified. Captain Bennett will continue to present to you his operation, and we will shortly thereafter hear about a second project regarding the main Ketracel White storage facility in the Alpha Quadrant". He surveyed the room, almost as if he making a mental checklist that everyone was rapt with attention. "Captain, please..." he finished, lowering the hand.

"Thank you, Admiral K'lkath..." Bennett continued. "Ketracel White is in short supply. Since the Bajoran Wormhole was mined, no fresh supplies have been able to brought from across the galaxy. Only a limited production infrastructure exists, alongside that which can be supplied by the Son'a..." P'rel noticed that Bennett was gesturing with his hands as he spoke, and decided that the uncharacteristic behaviour might be telling of his nervousness in presenting this horrific plan to a room full of Starfleet's finest. She was confident that his nervousness was well placed, and that the genetic decimation of a species would see the man thrown from Starfleet.

"...and indeed as much as we don't want to acknowledge it publicly, we all know the Bajoran minefield will come down at some stage. A brief but grim murmur rippled through the crowd again. "We must decisively act before that happens, to destroy the threat whilst it can still be contained. To that end, my team have devised a method of altering the seed code of the Jem'Hadar to raise their addiction by around five hundred percent. We plan to alter this seed code of the Jem'Hadar hatcheries at their source on Rondac; based on Jem'Hadar rates of casualty we estimate that within three months their ranks will be full of defective soldiers who are hyper addicted. Regrettably we cannot alter existing soldiers, so we'll just have to intensify operations to kill as many of them as we can, to promote using replacements from hatcheries..." he chuckled anxiously and was met with silence.

Recovering, Bennett carried on; "With a tremendous strain placed on the White, there simply will not be enough to go around. The Founders will lose control and the Jem'Hadar...well..." he shrugged in an exaggerated manner.

Another Captain from across the table, someone she recognised from Starfleet Medical as an MD of some kind, spoke up. "Without the White the Jem'Hadar won't be able to function..."

Bennet quickly shot back; "Without the White, the Jem'Hadar will die".

Another officer, an Admiral also in teal, interjected "I won't shed any tears..."

The room momentarily descended into further murmuring and P'rel looked on in shock. Did they understand what they were saying...did they actually appreciate the plan....?

Breaking all protocol, P'rel rose and inserted her voice loudly into the room without quite shouting. "So we are talking of genocide then?" she asked. The room fell dead silent. Every pair, trio and quad of eyes in the room was now looking straight at her.

"You have something to contribute, Doctor P'rel...?" The Andorian Admiral asked her.

Tugging hur uniform jacket down, P'rel walked forward until she was stood directly behind Bennett. "We are at war. We are not mass murderers. We don't have the right to eliminate a species for our own survival..."

Many faces stared back at her, some she sensed agreed but wouldn't say anything, a small handful nodded thoughtfully, most simply looked blank. How had it come to this, she wondered is dismay, how had it come to genocide to survive. The Federation started this war in the first place, punching it's way through it's own hubris and self righteous determination as usual, except this time something punched back, and a damn sight harder too.

The Andorian cleared his throat. "Shall we move on? Starfleet has identified an asset designated 345-447, the main Ketracel White storage facility located at coordinates 254 mark 220. Starfleet Tactical Operations will be despatching a mission to simultaneously destroy this facility..."

P'rel turned off as the Admiral continued, she couldn't listen to any more of this. She looked at the back of Bennett's head; desperate for him to turn around, offer her some kind of reassurance, some comforting word or glance...but he didn't. He acted as though she wasn't even there, and continued watching the scripting of armageddon. Perhaps her forefathers and foremothers were correct, perhaps humans were deserving of pity and the Andorians were blue demons. But such thoughts, she decided, were unbecoming a Starfleet Officer. Turning silently, she dropped her PADD of notes on the floor and walked out of the room. Just before she crossed the threshold, her hand found her comm badge and it too hit the floor a second later.

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Coming back to the moment and out of the memory, P"rel smiled through her Romulan disguise as the Vorta made another derogatory remark about the Federation. She studied the computer screen in front of them, and took a discreet step to look at it closer and stand within arms reach. One of the control and command consoles for the seeding process. Exactly what she needed. The resequencing would have to be done later - Starfleet Intelligence had concluded that chances of being left alone long enough to alter the actual seed code in the facility was too small - and so the hypospray hidden on her contained a modified vile of what was essentially a bio-neural gel pack. Once injected into valve, it would remain dormant until an altered genomic sequence could be beamed into it later on, from there it would activate and alter the primary seed. P'rel wondered whether the humans who saw Nuclear power perverted into weapons of mass destruction felt the same way as she did now, and if S'lar of Vulcan had considered the logic of developing a warp drive which could easily be turned into anti-matter weapons for those who marched under the raptor's wings...but she had no time for that. It was now or never. Seriously considering not pushing the hypospray against the inspection valve, she watched for the Vorta to look away as he addressed the delegation.

His arrogant, smiling face warmly took in everyone, gesturing to the facility and mentioning many interesting facets she had already been briefed on before concluding with "Shall we move on?". Sensing her moment, the hypospray in her hand moved from beneath her cloak and held over the valve. The Vorta turned his back, and others followed, her hand held there - as if some other other hand was holding it in place. She couldn't move it. It was like two halves or herself were fighting each other. Her moment was lost as the Romulan Captain, Slotan, turned and stood next to her facing the console. Her back to the console, and her hand poised above the valve, she felt her heart rate begin to increase; how could he not see her hand and the ominous hypospray?

"Doctor Misal and I would like to remain a moment if you don't mind Ambassador? These readings are fascinating...shall we join you in the next chamber in a moment..?"

The Vorta gave a long nod with a falsely kind smile. There was clearly a rapport and some level of trust between the pair, or he would't have allowed the Captain the be left unguarded. As the others filtered through a door and into the next room, P'rel felt her blood run cold. She looked Captain Slotan in the eyes, they were filled with anger. One hand slowly raised and came towards her arm as if to grab it, instead the open hand traced it's way down her forearm and towards he hand. Their eyes still locked, P'rel braced for the hypospray to be ripped from her hand, and for a disruptor beam to find her torso shortly after.

His hand grabbed hers, and thrust it downwards until the hypospray clicked into the valve and hissed the contents into the chamber. P'rel gasped, almost whimpered, the sum of the emotion in her was smashing through her control mechanisms.

Still having not broken eye contact with the fearsome Romulan Captain Slotan, she felt one of his hands grip her throat firmly - but not firm enough to harm her. In a cruel voice, with lips which furled at the corners with raging hatred, he practically growled at her in a low voice; "Captain Bennett suspected you didn't have it in you...".