Disappearing Act

Posted on Wed 14th Jan, 2026 @ 3:04pm by Lieutenant Pampo Gnu & Commander Heriah Rex & Lieutenant Damion Ildaran

2,367 words; about a 12 minute read

Mission: [MAIN] From The Ashes
Location: Starbase 80
Timeline: After "Save Me, Part 3"

-Start-

{Starbase 80}

Damion winced as he pulled the hooded robe he'd replicated over his clothing. One of the Sherpa's crew had announced a few minutes before that they were about to dock at Starbase 80 and that debarking would take place in half an hour. It couldn't happen soon enough, as far as Damion was concerned. He was fully dressed by the time he felt the ship connect with the docking clamps.

At last, the call came to queue up. Damion carefully climbed down the ladder from his sleeping pod, pulling his overnight bag with him. He stepped into place with a group of Gatherers who regarded him curiously.

Damion noticed the looks and shifted his posture to match theirs. At last, the hatch opened, and the line of people, mostly Gatherers, all filed out. Damion shifted his pace and allowed others to pass him until he was at the end of the line. He turned down the first intersection he came to and waited there until the Gatherers had moved far enough ahead that they couldn't see or hear him.

"Computer," Damion said in a low voice. There was no response, at which point he remembered that much of SB80's technology was a century old. How had Starfleet officers communicated with each other before combadges? There'd been communicator devices, but those had only been used for away teams or landing parties. He wracked his brain to recall the History of Operations class he'd taken before transferring to Intelligence. Finally, he remembered; he'd have to find a wall communicator to access the computer.

He passed two before finally realizing what they were. Damion walked back to the second one he'd passed and pressed the button. "Computer."

Working, the voice replied.

"From this location, direct me to the main Food Court in the Promenade."

The computer chimed. You are currently on deck 1200, ring E. The Promenade is comprised of decks 550-650. The main Food Court is located on Deck 600. To reach Deck 600, walk forward to Corridor S, then turn right and walk forward until you reach the central concourse and tram station. Take the tram up to Deck 600. The tram will stop every 100 decks. Should you require a turbolift, they only travel 50 decks but can stop at each one.

"Thank you," Damion replied and started walking. The movement felt good, loosening his stiff muscles some. The tram was a lovely oasis of weightlessness for 600 decks until he had to get off at the Food Court and reacclimate himself to his body's aching weight again.

Once in the Food Court, Damion glanced about until he found Corridor NW. He took a meandering course toward it. Just as Damion passed Earl's Sandwich Shop, someone barged into him from his right side. His world exploded into white-hot pain for an instant, and Damion sucked in his breath as his eyes watered. Then he noticed hands brushing against him.

Pickpocket.

Damion seized the hands just as they were being drawn away. Yep, Gatherer kid, he thought, seeing the clan tattoos above and below the kid's left eye.

Pain made him more irritable than he would normally have allowed himself to show. "If you're not careful, you're going to walk away with three pairs of undershorts and a toothbrush," he snarled. "If you are careful, I might let you live. Clear?"

"The f--!" the Gatherer boy retorted.

"You're not being very careful," Damion said more calmly, but through gritted teeth. "Be. Elsewhere." He let go of the teenager's hands. The kid took off running--as quickly as one could run in an area this crowded. Damion cursed under his breath and put a lot more effort into vanishing among the crowd.

He walked swiftly by several eateries, including Sisko's Creole Kitchen and the Famous Chunky Sauce kiosk before, almost as an afterthought, slipping into the hallway. About halfway down, he stopped at a door labeled 'Authorized Personnel Only.' A numerical keypad was placed beside the door.

Just as he was about to enter the code, running footsteps echoed in the hallway. Damion froze in spite of himself and glanced to his right, preparing to take on the pickpocket and whatever thug was with him. Instead, he saw a mother was chasing after her child. Damion let out his breath in relief and keyed in the code: 15550080. He was, after all, authorized to go through this particular door. It pinged and slid aside. Damion crossed the threshold and waited to ensure that the door was secured before entering the express lift inside the small room the exterior door concealed. As the lift doors slid closed, he let out a long, shuddering sigh and sagged against one corner of the lift carriage. He wanted to sink to the floor but feared he might not be able to get to his feet from there.

Damion grasped the old-fashioned handle control. "Computer--Intelligence Department," he said and felt his ears pop as the carriage shot upward, rattling a bit. Bars of light in the progress screen blurred into each other as the lift ascended through the starbase.

At last, the lift slowed and came to a stop. Damion released the control handle and straightened with a groan. He exited the lift as the doors opened. In front of him was yet another door, and Damion walked into a dingier, older-looking replica of a lobby he knew on Starbase 109. This lobby had sea-green walls decorated with what looked like Acamarian landscapes. A middle-aged blonde woman with her hair swept into an elegant updo looked him over. Her uniform was the yellow of Operations. Command staff, in red tunics, could be intimidating, as could Sciences staff in blue. Operations staff could be anyone, but were most definitely not Intelligence officers--nope, never.

"Good afternoon, sir. May I help you?"

Was it Bond, Phelps, or Westen, this month? "I'm Alec Leamas. I have an appointment with Lt. Phelps," Damion said.

The woman nodded. "I'll let him know you're here. Please have a seat."

As the receptionist paged "Lt. Phelps" to meet a visitor, Damion sank down into the chair with a grateful sigh, too tired to keep his eyes open any longer. For a journey that had been mostly spent in a sleeping pod and then in lifts and a tram, he shouldn't be this exhausted, Damion thought fuzzily.

A voice sounded off to his left. "Mr. Leamas?" The crisp, cool tone and the code name jarred Damion out of a half-doze. His eyes snapped open. A Vulcan man, also wearing an Operations uniform, stood in the doorway that led to the interior offices, studying him. The Vulcan's uniform clashed unfortunately with his complexion, Damion noted as he curled his fingers around the armrests of his chair and levered himself upright. He grasped the handle of his overnight bag. "Thank you for seeing me, Lt. Phelps," he said and followed the man past the door, hoping he wouldn't pass out before they got to the debriefing room.

"My name is Sevrek," his Vulcan host informed Damion as they walked. "What is yours?"

Somehow, the man's mere introduction put Damion at ease. This wasn't a rigid adherent to logic, but someone considerate and personable--though, of course, debriefers were trained to be that way.

"I'm Lt. Damion Ildaran of Starbase 109 Intelligence."

Sevrek glanced at him and arched an eyebrow, seeing what appeared to be a male Trill. "Indeed."

Damion didn't elaborate. The debriefing room Sevrek led him to was set up like a comfortable lounge, with a couple of sofas, some chairs, a potted plant or two, and the scent of coffee from a dispenser off to one side, next to a replicator.

Once the door was closed, Sevrek looked directly at him. "I am Lt. Commander Sevrek. Your name sounds Terran. Would I be correct in surmising that you are not a Trill, Lieutenant?"

"Correct. I'm human, sir," Damion said, "My mission required me to impersonate a joined Trill."

Something like amusement lit in Sevrek's eyes. "I became a debriefer because I enjoy a good story, Lieutenant. I trust you will not disappoint me." He gestured to the counter, where some fruit, chilled beverages, and other snacks awaited. "Please help yourself to refreshments or make use of the replicator."

He simultaneously wanted to devour a gallon of stew and retch at the thought of food. Damion selected an apple, which he cored and sectioned, and a glass of iced water. Anything else, he feared, would make him feel worse than he already did. He joined Sevrek at a grouping of several chairs and a sofa, all arranged around a central table, and seated himself.

Sevrek joined him with a mug of steaming hot chocolate, which he set on the coffee table next to a PADD. The aroma made Damion's mouth water. "Now that you are in from the cold, Lieutenant, how may we at Starbase 80 assist you?"

Damion swallowed some water. "Primarily, I need medical attention, restoration of my normal appearance, and then I need to return to 109."

Sevrek nodded and sipped from his chocolate. "You do appear jaundiced, and you are moving stiffly. Were you in physical combat?"

"Oh, yes," Damion replied, grimacing at the memory. "As the Trill I was impersonating, I had to break free from two armed guards who were escorting me to 109's civilian brig and fight off the base's executive officer, who is no slouch at combat, herself. But I had to fight a lot more brutally than I normally would, to incapacitate the three of them before they could do the same to me. My mission was to get aboard a refugee transport that was traveling to Acamar by way of Starbase 80 and lose the Trill's pursuers. There are two of them--not nice people. The refugee transport docked here about 30 minutes ago."

"How long ago was the combat?" Sevrek asked.

"Two days. I came in on the Sherpa."

Sevrek picked up the PADD and began sliding and tapping his fingers over it. He paused and glanced at Damion. "What is your subject's name?"

Damion paused. "Lt. Anslo Tol," he said after a moment.

"Hm. Two Trills, claiming to be agents of Trill government security, have already contacted this station, inquiring as to Lt. Tol's whereabouts. We were unable to provide any useful information to them when they inquired."

Damion looked back at Sevrek. "They don't waste time, do they? They're probably hot-footing it here now. If they're named Rizhkyn and Rautha, that's bad. Anslo was deeply afraid of them. That's half of why I accepted this assignment. No one should be put into the custody of abusive people."

He sighed. "I was planning to return to 109 by my own efforts, but I may have to request an extraction--those two are tenacious. Are you familiar with someone named Pampo Gnu?" Damion lifted his hands in a gesture of uncertainty. "I have no idea if that's how to pronounce his name. I was told to mention him."

"I am familiar with him," Sevrek said. "If you will excuse me, Lieutenant, I will talk with my people and make arrangements for you to be seen in Sickbay."

"Thank you; I appreciate that," Damion said.

{Starbase 109}

Pampo let out a whistle as he finished reading, before replying to the Vulcan on his screen and saying, "I'm happy to arrange it Commander; there's a small Acamarian population, a few hundred or so, here on 109 I'm trying to resocialize to return home. I'll send an ID packet, full ride, full bio, and get them back to here. These Trill agents are bad news, eh?"

So it would seem, if Lt. Ildaran is to be believed, Sevrek replied. Thank you for your assistance, sir. I will inform him and get him to Sickbay..

"Listen I've known a few other situations adjacent to the Symbiosis Commission. They shoot to kill. I'll also prepare one of my contacts on Acamar and give 'em a goose to chase into Hell and back. I'd expect they'll backtrack the bad intel to you at some point, so make what changes you deem fit on your end." Pampo felt a rush, a new situation developing meant he had field work ahead of him again. The paunch on his belly was able to be denied only to a point. He had gotten soft running a desk, literally.

Sevrek gave the ghost of a frown. Were I to read between the lines of the little that Lt. Ildaran told me, I tend to agree about the shooting to kill aspect. He said his subject was deeply afraid of his pursuers. I will inform our CIO, and we'll take precautions. Thank you for the warning, sir.

Pampo nodded in earnest, "Thanks for helping our bird fly home; you've got a favor waiting whenever you need it. Expect a message from my department within the hour, and call me if anything comes up."

I think, at the very least, we owe you a case of something alcoholic, Sevrek said. We are pleased to assist, Commander. Sevrek out.

As the screen winked closed, Pampo began typing out the macros for a quick-build quick-burn ID packet. He sent a skeletal version of the profile to SB80; he'd let their department decide how the T's were crossed, along with a fake itinerary to Acamar to lead the dogs off the trail. It might have also been a slight violation of their standards, but Pampo knew anyone coming in hot like Damion was, had probably encountered some discomfort. So he paid the customer freighter for first-class accommodations, earmarking Corin Durant as a VIP of SB109 deserving of such treatment. He wrote a small welcome back card, signed only with his name. It would be enough to prompt Damion to seek out his benefactor, so now all that was left was to wait.

Wait.

Pampo realized he had more to do. Who was chasing Anslo, and why was Anslo being chased?

Smiling at the fantasy forming in his head of intrigue and derring-do, he opened his black book interface and began to dig.

-End-

 

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