“It’s bad.”  Commander Milton Ford from the USS Dragonfly spoke from within his environmental suit as he worked methodically through the large room with medical and science teams from his ship and the Franklin D. Roosevelt.  “We’ve identified blood that is a match for Nathan Rutherford.  The engineers are removing pieces of the room with…more extensive evidence.  We’ll continue to search for any sign of his body.”

Captain Peter Crawford grimaced as he stood a good distance from the door, now secured with a decontamination bay.  He closed the channel and turned to the recently arrived Captain Alexandra Pantuso, “She’s going to deny everything.”

A snort was her first answer.  “That’s a her problem, not an us problem.”  She handed a PADD over to him, “Medical teams with security escorts and counselors are making their way through the two smaller ships—lots of burns.  Most of them didn’t heal well.  Some are recent.  We’re clearing the severe cases for transport to Dragonfly.” She shifted on her feet, annoyed that she had to return to their original subject.  She asked, “What are you going to do with her and the others on the bridge?  They’re guilty as hell.  Archie’ll bury ‘em in motions, trials, and everything else.”  She spoke of Commander Archibald Davidson, the station’s Sector Judge Advocate.  He was relentless.  “I’m up for a fight, but those six ships aren’t going to be the first course – you know there’s more coming.  Whatever she sold them – they will want to make whatever they paid worth it.”

Crawford checked his watch.  Ten hours until the ships reached the sector.  It meant they had five hours before they needed to leave.  It might need to be sooner, he realized.  “I promised Fontana I wouldn’t let the Franklin get a scratch on her first mission out.  We’ll take the crew from the two smaller ships – we can make it work with the brig and secure quarters.”

A knowing grin crossed Pantuso’s lips, “And you want me to take Leanna Dorl and her idiot squad?”

Peter returned the smile, “Your brig is bigger.  Besides, when was the last time you got to do a good old interrogation?”

She frowned, “You don’t want to take point?”

“She’s going to be mad at me for everything we’ve done.  She might like you.”

Pantuso cackled, “That’ll be the day.”

Sickbay on the Franklin D. Roosevelt was busy.  Lieutenant Oswald Mika was thankful the ship had been launched in a hospital setup as the wards were filling up, and they’d started processing the tags from triage on the civilian ships.  “Burn unit with those four,” he ordered, and the nurses pivoted the biobeds in the new direction.  He accepted a PADD from the Dragonfly’s Chief Medical Officer, Lieutenant Henry Longfellow.  He read the updated reports, “I had a feeling they were hiding the injuries and infections from us.”

Henry grumbled, “Too afraid to admit what happened to them and afraid of the propaganda they were sold. That damn woman made a mess of them – mind, body, and spirit.”  He picked up a PADD from another group, moving a gathering of beds, “Shit.  These two need to get to surgery – the team’s waiting on them.  Go!”  The orderlies scrambled their patients along, disappearing around a corner.  

Mika handed the PADD back, “They’re bringing more of the burn patients to us.  You’ve got triage and intensive care?”

Longfellow answered, “This is just another Tuesday, Doctor Mika.  Get the burn patients sorted.”

Oswald walked down the corridor and around the corner.  An orderly spotted him and tossed him a PADD, “We’ve got twenty-five so far – they’re finishing up triage on the two ships.  We’re running rounds, vitals, and reports.”  Mika stepped in and began to work.

“You dare.”  Leanna Dorl sat on a chair behind a thick transparent wall in the Dragonfly’s brig.  Her eyes were flashing menace, and her voice dripped with disdain.  Her thick white hair had been bound up in a bun, and her wrinkles reflected in the soft light above.

Pantuso sat across from her, amused.  “Leanna Dorl.”  She held up a PADD, “Not your real name.  We took your fingerprints, blood, hair, and other relatively important biological markers.  You’re not even El Aurien.  You’re human.” Dorl sneered but said nothing.  “Your real name is Polly Bouragard.”  She paused, glanced up, and smiled at the woman, “Hello, Polly.”

The grin on Polly’s face faded.  The menace in her eyes, however, remained.  “I was this close to making it.  Why the hell did you Starfleets have to take a shit all over it?  Too smart for your own good, I say.”

Alexandra stared at the woman, trying to understand her.  Polly’s record was long – from Earth to Mars and beyond.  According to the files, theft, and burglary had been her mainstays for years.  Then, something changed.  “What did Raymond Louark do to deserve to die?”

Polly spat at the ground, “That’s a deep cut..which is how he died.  Lots of cuts. He double-crossed me. Took a little off the top and the bottom of our deals.  Wasn’t much in the big picture…but I knew he’d probably keep doing it.  I sat in it for two weeks, waiting for him to confess or give it back.  Jackass never did.”

Pantuso asked, “So you killed him.”

The smile returned, “It felt good.  It felt really good.”  She shifted in her chair, admiring her rugged and worn hands, “I’ve done some good killing with these hands.”  Her eyes shifted up to stare at Pantuso, “I’m rather miffed I won’t get a chance at your old ass.  Or maybe I will.”

The CO rolled her eyes, “You’re not going to see daylight or space for a long time, Ms. Bouragard.  Intelligence at Montana Station has been working overtime on your record…putting all the aliases together, figuring out who was who and where…, and they had quite a time sorting it all out.  But they did.”  She held up the PADD again, “Each of your crew will be charged and prosecuted for the innumerable assaults, injuries, and acts of murder.”

Polly’s brow bent downward, hard.  “Acts?”

Alexandra watched her face work through the accusation and replied, “You probably told them to get rid of the bodies.  They probably told you that they did.  They didn’t.  You assembled a terrible team of people, Polly.  We took your ship apart – room by room, wall by wall.  We found the bodies.”

The woman had one last play, her mouth twitching as she spoke, “I suppose you’re not worried about who you’ve pissed off by taking me and my plans off the board?  They’re still coming.”

Pantuso stood, “I’m sure they’ll keep coming.  The rimward’s a big place, Ms. Bouragard.  I’m sure we’ll run into them eventually.  We’re returning to Montana Station with you and your conspirators.  You’ll face justice.  I hope it’ll be enough for your victims.”  She reached the brig door, “You’ll be disappointed to know they stopped believing in you and your brand of belief.  When they learned of your real identity…the trust you built was broken.  It’s over, Ms. Bouragard.”  Alexandra walked out, and the door slid shut.

In her cell, Polly Bouragard gritted her teeth as she mumbled.  Her mind refused to accept she had been beaten.  She growled, “It’s never over.”  Her voice echoed in the empty cell, the silence its own kind of punishment.