FRIDAY, December 8th, 2401

The bridge shuddered ever so slightly as the Ju’Day class vessel took another potshot at the Resnik. Captain Anna Caldwell rolled her eyes as she shifted herself around in the captain’s chair; she’d had enough of this woman’s shenanigans over the last 4 days.

“Sheilds are holding.”

Caldwell did her best not to shoot a look at the Ensign currently at tactical; she didn’t need the extraneous updates. There was no reality in which a Ju’Day could inflict much damage on a brand-new Gagarin class ship and she really could care less what it was currently doing. The Resnick was filled with young junior officers who had barely hit 12 months of service. Most of them knew nothing beyond their experience on Academy training ships. Instructors filled them with ideas that they’d be a failure and kicked out of the fleet if they didn’t perform perfectly. She hated temporary assignments.

She glanced over to the science station, struggling to remember the name of the Ensign that sat at the console. Brad? Tom? “Ensign, any progress on the away team bringing down the shield around the estate?”

The young man shook his head. “Negative. Phasers are too strong and would cause a wide area of collateral damage; they are currently working on using the shuttle’s deflector to try and overload the estate’s systems. The transport scambler is still active as well. However, I am picking up a large and growing subterranean energy signature on the estate.”

“Put the area on screen.” Caldwell looked forward. She assumed that the Ju’Day ship currently flitting around like a fly pestering a horse was nothing more than a distraction and it seemed like that assumption was about to be proved correct.

The large viewscreen shifted to show an area of bright green grass, the area enclosed with a fence as small, white, animals milled about the area, munching on grass.

“What I am looking at?”

“Sheep.” Replied the Ensign at science. “My parents have a whole flock of them. They’re surprisingly lovely to own.”

Caldwell sighed, closing her eyes as she rubbed her forehead. She could feel the headache forming behind her eyes. “I don’t care about the animals. I care about the location and energy reading.”

“Oh.” Provided the Ensign. “It’s roughly two and a half kilometers from the main estate, right at the edge of the shielding. I’m also picking up localized antimatter readings, so I would guess it’s a warp capable ship.”

“Lovely.” Muttered Cladwell. “Can we target the area with anything? There isn’t anything out there; collateral damage would be limited to the estate grounds.”

“It’d kill the sheep.”

Caldwell shot a look at the Ensign, a blush immediately rising on his face before he quickly lowered his face, pretending to focus on sensor readings.”

The Ensign at tactical cleared her throat. “Ma’am, I would advise against it. Sensors are having a difficult time cutting through the interference. I can’t guarantee the grounds are empty except for De’Jamon.”

She sat back in her chair with a grunt. Despite her habit of skirting around protocols at times to get the job done, this was one she wasn’t going to budge on.

“Very well. Return fire on that Ju’Day but keep the power levels down. I want her to think the distraction is working but I don’t want to blow up the poor soul stuck on that ship.”

“Aye, ma’am.” Soft beeps came from the tactical console as the weak beams hit their target.

“Caldwell to Shuttlecraft 2, any progress?”

The voice of Lieutenant Jackson Cabot came over the comm. She had sent the kid on the shuttle since he was the most senior Engineering officer she had but the kid was still out of his element. Thankfully he had a good head on his shoulders and some experience in tricky situations.

“Well, I’ve got an idea. I can overload the deflector in just the right way and turn it into a giant EMP device. It’ll knock out the shield, scambler, and pretty much every electrical based power source there. The downside is it’ll take the shuttle out too, you’ll have to beam us up and do a manual recovery.”

The shuttle was immaterial to her. Getting De’Jamon was the important part. “I don’t care about the shuttle. Do it.”

“Yes, Captain. Give me thirty seconds and the shield will be down.”

She cut the comm line, redirecting it to transporter room 3. “Caldwell to Broska, the shield and scrambler will be down in 30 seconds. So will all power in the estate. Beam into the estate as soon as it goes down and bring our friend straight to the Brig. The away team will need to be beamed up.”

In the transporter room, Lieutenant Commander Isabella Broska set her hand phaser to heavy stun as she stepped onto the pad, a full security team surrounding her. “It will be my pleasure, Captain.” She turned to the transporter crewman. “As soon as the shield is down transport us to the closest life sign and bring up the away team.”

The man nodded. “The shield is going down, initiating transport.”

The security team was whisked away in a blue shimmer only to appear seconds later in the main hall of the massive estate. Cloaked in darkness, except for the natural light from the massive windows at the back of the room, it looked markedly different than it did days 3 days ago when Caldwell, Broska, and Cabot arrived at the most elaborate and ridiculous party she had ever seen. The scorch marks left by the phasers from the altercation the morning after were even still dotted around the room.

“Spead out and find her. Hopkins and T’Ner take the north wing, Grety and Potea take the….”

Her orders were interrupted by the clack, clack, clack of high heeled shoes running down a hall, and moments later Abigail De’Jamon burst through the open door that connected the south wing of the estate. She was in what appeared to be a flowing, stark white, nightgown despite it being three in the afternoon but after the last few days of chasing the women around half of Herath, nothing about her surprised Broska anymore.

“Abigail De’Jamon, halt!” She raised her phaser and pointed it at the women. “You are under arrest for murder, conspiracy to pirate stolen goods, and being an accessory in the theft of Federation property.”

De’Jamon whipped her head around to face Broska, her eyes wide and almost crazed, as she clutched her outfit, wrapping some of the trailing fabric around her as if it would protect her. “Lies! You have no authority here! This is MY HOME on MY PLANET. You will leave at once and rest assured the Federation will pay for every last repair to my home!”

Broska rolled her eyes. She wished De’Jamon would make some sort of threatening move so she could just phaser the damn woman. “We’ve been over this. Your Prime Minister signed the extraction papers. The parliament signed off on it. Just surrender and be done with it.”

De’Jamon strode forward, her clack, clack, clacking. “You fucking people.” She spat out the last word with clear hatred. “I have built an empire! I do the work you are too weak to do. I, and the rest of the business associates, keep the galaxy safe while you dither about scanning some random cloud of gas. How dare you come into my home and tear down everything I built? You know nothing of what I do.”

Broska leaned forward. “You deal in smuggled goods, De’Jamon. You can delude yourself into thinking that you do what must be done but that’s a line every criminal uses. You made your bed with the Orion Syndicate. Then you went and stole something from the Federation, something so classified none of us know what it is. You pissed off the people who would legally protect you and now all I have to do is say that little strut you just made towards me was threatening; gives me every right to drop your ass with a phaser shot. You’re a smart woman, I know that much, so drop the airhead act and make the right choice.”

De’Jamon froze for a moment and that was all Broska needed. She dropped the phaser to the ground, swiftly grabbing the woman’s left arm before she slid behind her and pulled the other arm around. She glanced at one of the security officers with her. “Cuffs.”

De’Jamon had come to her senses by that point, grunting and struggling as she tried to get out of Broska’s grasp as the cuffs were placed. “Unhand me! This is Vanuvian silk! If there is so much as a single tear I will see to it that you personally pay for the replacement!”

Broska grunted. “Good luck with that, I don’t get paid. Post scarcity economy and all that. Part of the reason why I don’t have to steal things.”

De’Jamon panted, out of breath from her little act that didn’t help anything, the gears in her brain spinning as she worked on a solution. Broska reached up to tap her commbadge but De’Jamon shouted to get her attention.

“Wait! Omega! Tell your Captain. Omega.”

Broska arched an eyebrow in confusion. Maybe the last few days had gotten to De’Jamon and she was, legitimately, going crazy. “What?”

“You heard me. Tell her Omega. She’ll know.”

With that, for the first time in her life since the age of 4, Abigail De’Jamon stopped talking.