Save Me: Part 3

Posted on Tue 9th Dec, 2025 @ 9:55am by Lieutenant Damion Ildaran & Commander Heriah Rex & Commander Anslo Tol
Edited on on Tue 20th Jan, 2026 @ 11:45pm

2,909 words; about a 15 minute read

Mission: [MAIN] From The Ashes
Location: SB109
Timeline: Current

The nice thing about being in Ops was, you could get to other parts of the Starfleet-controlled decks of 109 very quickly from there. Even so, as the turbolift descended, Damion counted the seconds and wished he could make it move faster. At last, he exited at the deck where the Intelligence department was located and entered. A part of it was dedicated to disguises. He went there and spoke with a cosmetics specialist.

"Hello, Lt. T'ren. I have three hours to be made to look like a specific joined Trill. The make-up will have to withstand an intense hand-to-hand fight almost immediately after I leave this department. It might also have to respond realistically to Type 1 phaser fire. If I access the Trill's medical records, can you create the disguise?"

The Vulcan officer he spoke to lifted one elegant eyebrow. "I cannot judge that until I see the Trill in question, Lieutenant."

Damion pulled out his PADD and entered a message to Commander Rex, requesting that Anslo Tol release his medical records to him. A few minutes later, a ping sounded on Damion's device, and he had access. In the intervening time, Damion looked up the refugee transport, got its name, flight plan and its location in the docking bay, and memorized the route he would take to reach it. Fortunately, there were display screens along his route, showing arrival and departure times and docking locations. That would save him the trouble of having to pretend confusion about where he needed to go to find a means of escape.

As Commander Rex had said, there was no list of passenger names, only a capacity percentage. The refugee transport Sherpa was currently 78 percent filled. Damion hoped there would still be open slots left by the time he arrived. He dared not pre-pay for his passage; that could give the whole thing away.

With access to Anslo's medical records, Damion handed his PADD to T'ren. "He looks pretty bad in these images, but he's a lot healthier now," Damion said. "His musculature is similar to mine."

T'ren studied the images. "Your cranial shape is different from his, and you smell like a human, not a Trill. You also lack a few centimeters in height. These things can be modified, however. It is doable, but I will have to begin quickly. I'll use something like a permanent marker and a projector to apply the spots so they will match the ones your subject has. The spots will withstand water, but not a sonic shower, and will last for a week or more. Get your hair trimmed, and I'll start with your face."

The remaining part of three hours passed in a blur of getting his head shaved to about an inch all over, then getting foundation applied and the spots on his head and face marked, then getting the rest of his body adorned with Trill spots, as well as a prosthesis that imitated the look of a Trill pouch slit on his abdomen, where a symbiont would go. Then he requisitioned funds, arranged for his current work assignments to be handled by other people, and programmed the hydroponics set-up in his quarters to water his plants while he was gone. He was about to do one last thing--tell Elizabeth he'd be on a field assignment for a few days--when he remembered she wasn't there to tell anymore.

He was so rushed that not needing to tell her felt more like a relief than a reason for sadness to well up in him. He mentally ticked it off his task list and clothed himself in garments like the ones Anslo was wearing. When he checked himself in a full-length mirror, a joined Trill renegade stared back at him.

No, not renegade--prisoner. Damion closed his eyes and dug into his memories to project the emotions that had been the most striking in Anslo Tol, his fear, his despair.

Flashlights. They didn't arouse horror in him as they once had, but the terror of being chased by a rape gang--or maybe it had been a drug gang--came immediately to mind. Even now, he could feel his pulse racing, his breaths coming faster, and his hands growing clammy with sweat. Good. This was how desperate Anslo would likely feel if he truly thought Commander Rex was going to turn him over to a couple of men with soulless eyes. Damion fine-tuned it, adding in the exhaustion of someone who'd been fleeing pursuit for years. His normally straight posture slumped as he had seen with Anslo's.

* * *

Heriah was standing before Anslo in her office as Damion's voice came over her commbadge. "Rex here. Go ahead."

"Ildaran here. I'm in my office and ready, Commander."

"Understood," she said. Heriah kept her commbadge active on purpose so Damion could hear...record. "Computer." There came a bleep. She was glad the Alidade entity was not part of the starbase's computer system. Otherwise that AI would know everything that was about to happen. "Site to Site transport. Origin. Office, Lieutenant Damion Ildaran. Destination. Office, Commander Heriah Rex. Authorization Rex Lima Seven Theta Omega Five. Confidential Protocol - Delta. Disallow sensors from registering any transport at all. Delete transport from computer database upon transport completion. Command authorization code Rex One Zero Nine One Seven Zero Eight Six Execute."

'I like how you end your code with EXECUTE.'

She waited as the computer took the additional few seconds to register all clearances.

Damion felt the momentary queasiness in his gut as his office dissolved and the transporter beam took him. Commander Rex's office materialized in its place. The first thing he saw was the pair of lilies in a vase on her desk, red and black.

Heriah turned to look upon the lieutenant as he materialized. Astonished, she motioned for Anslo to stay where we was. Having them two side by side, she might forget who is who.

'Oh he's good. This one is a definite keeper.'

"Lieutenant," she said as she stepped up to him. Heriah did her best to hide her astonishment. This was a mission and time was short. "I take it you know full well what you need to do, where you need to go...who you need to take down."

"I'm to take down the two security guards outside, and you. I'm to board the freighter Sherpa, docked in Bay 5, enroute to Acamar," Damion said. "I'll make my way back here in a few days."

Heriah grinned, enjoying the sound of this coming together.

'This whole thing rides on his ability and willingness to actually fight and cause injury...to make this look real. Best not call on Refkin's abilities.'

"If there is nothing else..." she said, looking back and forth between Damion and Anslo.

Anslo remained motionless, seeing a doppleganger and contemplating the realities of what was about to happen because of it. He was at a loss for words, until Tol sagaciously provided moral support. Trust...the wellspring came and he knew Tol was right.

"Thank you, Damion. Thank you, Heriah. I was convinced Starfleet had abandoned me. Please be so very careful on this. Do not fight them if you can help it."

"The only people I intend to fight will be Commander Rex here and the two guards outside. Any other fights, I'll do my utmost to avoid," Damion said to Anslo. "Every bit of martial arts training I've had tells me to avoid a three-on-one fight the way I'd avoid suicide, and I fully agree with that advice."

Heriah pointed Anslo to the forward corner of her office to keep him out of sight as she lead Damion out. For this plan to work, everyone had to think Damion was Anslo. He had to remain hidden. "Give me a few hours Anslo...a trip to Sick Bay...and I will be back. Stay in here and do not let your presence be known. I am afraid you have to stay confined here for the next 24 hours."

Anslo nodded, "I've been a ghost for twenty years, what's one more day."

'Oh, here it comes. I know you are about to show him who's boss.'

And..." she got in position behind Damion, turning him around and pointed toward her door. "Once this is done and you are a lieutenant again. You will regard me as 'Commander.' Move you," she said as she pushed Damion forward.

The show was on. Damion assumed the shell-shocked demeanor of a desperate, exhausted man whose last hope of escape had just been crushed.

The door to Cmdr. Rex's office opened and the Security personnel posted there took up an attentive stance. Captain Francis was off shift and not in the vicinity of Central Ops and, with Anslo out of sight, this was going so far, so good.

Damion didn't look directly at either guard but kept his gaze downward and affected a dazed, hopeless posture. As he recalled from earlier, there was a Bajoran on his left and a human on his right. Both carried themselves with the confidence of trained fighters who knew their jobs. That was good, as far as Starfleet was concerned, but it meant he'd be going onto that refugee transport in a world of hurt. Damion let the pair of guards take him by the upper arms and escort him to a secured carriage in the tram. They weren't cuffing or shackling him because Rizhkyn and Rautha weren't official Trill law enforcement.

Being weightless without being able to grab hold of a strap felt precarious and awkward, but Damion kept quiet about it; the guards wouldn't be interested in hearing his complaints, and it was better for his cover that he remain silent. The door shut, and the tram sped downward, bypassing the Promenade and main docking bay on its descent. Several stops later, they exited the tram and entered a turbolift for the final descent to the refugee decks.

It was about ten minutes later that the turbolift door opened then deposited them in the Garden District. Heriah paraded Damion/Anslo down the corridor toward the civilian brig area. Of course, they had to march by the docking area first. Heriah did not look over her shoulder more than she had to. She knew the two enlisted security personnel were flanking Damion/Anslo on either side. They were completely unaware of what was about to happen. She needed their reactions to be authentic, but not impenetrable.

Heriah looked at her PADD and tapped at it. "We will have you secured in the brig in a moment," she said, but was looking at the maintenance logs. Her request for communications and sensor arrays on this deck to be recalibrated was underway. Comms would be sketchy at best. Sensors would get little information of use.

Because of the comms recalibration, the Sherpa navigator was standing in the docking area just on the station side of the umbilical bridging a link between 109 of the Sherpa.

"Refugee Transport Sherpa departing in six minutes," he called out. As he was repeated himself Heriah, with her ward in tow started upon the docking area. She had checked, double-checked, and triple-checked that the Sherpa was for refugee transport only. There was no manifest and they did not care who came and went or who was aboard as long as the ship stayed on schedule more or less.

Heriah was getting her hand ready to go for her phaser when Rex stepped in and calmed her down.

'Keep this authentic. You are not to expect this.'

The Sherpa navigator called out a third time that the ship was about to depart, just as Heriah was parading Damion/Anslo and the two, hopefully undertrained, security enlisted personnel by.

Damion silently thanked the Sherpa's crewman for verbally announcing the imminent departure; otherwise, Anslo as he was playing him would have missed the overhead arrivals and departures display board. Now, Damion shot a look at the guy, and suddenly, he burst into motion, swinging his arms in two mirroring circles and freeing himself from the guards' grasp.

Startled, the Bajoran seized hold of his arm again, but not in the upper-arm restraint hold. Damion bent his left arm at the elbow and twisted his torso, extending his right hand toward the Bajoran's face and shoved hard, pushing the man's jaw up and backward. He delivered a vicious chop to the Bajoran's throat, which knocked the Bajoran off balance, sending him to the deck.

Turning around, head first, Heriah saw the commotion out of the corner of her eye. One, the Bajoran, was already descending to the floor. The other security personnel was a mere human. And, as Damion/Anslo was twisting that human's arm behind his back, dislocating that shoulder with a sickening pop, Heriah started advancing upon the two. The human's phaser flipped in the air after Damion/Anslo forced it free. He also dislodged the battery pack and it came sliding out as the phaser hit the floor, rendering the phaser useless for the moment.

Heriah came upon Damion/Anslo quickly and moved her hand up for the Vulcan neck pinch. Because of the placement of the jugular in Trills, the neck pinch worked a bit more easier and was more effective against the Trill. She went for his neck while, simultaneously, sending a fist toward his thigh. A nice solid hit at the joint would give him a nice limp for a few hours.

Damion, however, was not standing still. The thigh punch landed, but nearer to his liver. Damion gasped with pain. That blow would leave a bruise. Meanwhile, he slapped Heriah's hand away from his neck, and then his hands became a blur as he read her body movements and moved his arms to counter her strikes as she began them.

It had to end fast, though, as time was passing. When Heriah moved in for a neck punch, Damion knocked that arm aside and dug his fingers into her free arm, grasping her skin through her uniform sleeve. It was dirty, Turkana IV tunnel fighting, meant to bring down gang members who were hopped up on joydust, and he'd saved it for last. He kicked the side of one knee and heard a faint crunch. Then he swept that leg out from under her and shoved her to the deck, where her head hit the deck plating. She moved a shaking hand to tap her badge and summon help. Damion snatched the badge off her uniform, slipped it into a pocket, and then sprinted to the docking bay, breathing hard.

"Is there still room on the Sherpa?" he asked the ship's crewman, who gave him a wide-eyed look and backed away a step. Damion raised his hands in a quelling gesture. "I won't fight anyone onboard," he said. "I'll keep to myself; you'll barely even know I'm there. Please." He paused. "And if you do need someone to end a fight, I'm your guy."

The other civilians about the area were all agasp or running or otherwise minding their own business. The Sherpa crewman saw no further violence ensuring and "Name?" he asked. "We don't ask questions, but I'm keeping an eye on you. I don't want any trouble."

"You won't have any from me," Damion promised. "I'm Anslo Tol--but I'd appreciate you keeping quiet about that if two Trill nutjobs contact the ship, asking about me in a few hours."

The crewman gave him a nod. "Welcome aboard the Sherpa, Mr. Tol. I don't like nutjobs, either. We're leaving in five minutes."

It seemed almost forever, similar to when she was waiting for Rex to find her nerve cluster when she went to be Joined, but Heriah watched, bleary eyed, until the docking door slid shut. Depressurization was undergoing and the door would not open again. She knew she was not alone in that forever-ness. A voice kept itself alive in her mind.

'You did good. You are certainly concussed. So, no going to sleep. Possibly a brain bleed. He broke your knee though. You can't straighten your leg, can you?'

"No," Heriah said, "I can't."

"That's ok Commander," said a Starfleet crewman. Help is on the way. He smashed at his commbadge.

Heriah could only hear faint echoes and could see on swirling lights. She was dizzy and confused but kept her eyes wide. "Comms are...comms are down."

"You," the Starfleet crewman pointed, "Come help me."

It was the human security crewman, come to find out, helping Heriah up with his good arm. Another random person appeared and both helped her up and got her into a double carry-assist.

Heriah dizzily looked at the docking doors and watched as Sherpa was drifting away.

"We need to stop that ship," the crewman's voice reverberated in her consciousness.

'Too late. Inside 5 seconds, that ship will be at warp. Now to break the news to those two religious nutjobs.'

"Find Ryshkyn," Heriah said with a heavily slurred voice. "Find Rautha. I need...I need..."

"We will get to that commander. Sick Bay first. You need to stay awake. That's an order ma'am. Stay awake."

"You're handsome when you're commanding," she smiled weakly.

 

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