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Guest Fiona Weber

"Unwelcome Guests"

Thirty-six hours ago...


The insignia of Starfleet Intelligence took up the screen for a moment before shifting to the image of a smiling man with captains' pips.


"Hello, Comman-- Lieutenant," he amended, nodding slightly.


Did they do it on purpose? Weber wondered. Even if DeMarzio was a long-time friend and as of a few weeks ago, only informant within Intelligence Headquarters, Fiona often thought that they made the error just to rub in the demotion. Bastards..


"Hello, Sir," she answered in turn. "I take it this isn't a call to catch up with old, exiled friends, hmm?"


"Now, I'm not going to argue, but you haven't been exiled, exactly..."


Fiona bristled slightly. "Not exactly, no."


"At any rate... I've come across some... well it's not exactly classified, but... interesting information that concerns you."


"Have you now."


DeMarzio glared for a second, then continued. "You needn't be so bitter, Commander. Your work's been attracting some positive attention recently..."


The brunette visibly perked, straightening up in her chair. "Positive?"


He nodded. "Your last tests impressed the assistant director. I think she mentioned something about moving you to the Vega Colony facility..."


A slow grin began to spread. "So in other words, I should keep doing what I'm doing."


"I never said anything at all." He winked at her, then reached towards his comm panel. "Good luck, Fiona."


"Thank you."


Two hours later...




Some anonymous ensign jogged after her as she was about to exit the facility, foisting a padd in her hand. "You'd better see this, Sir. Just in from Starfleet Command."


Transfer orders? It was too soon, and even if she had been doing amazing work, it wasn't likely that they would reassign her without prior...


She stared at the ensign, who was still awaiting dismissal. "Pirates?"


"Apparently so."


"Oh, that's just lovely." She nodded, heading off to her transit pod to finish reading the report. It didn't take her long, once she'd settled, to unleash a loud volley of profanity that they likely heard back in the facility.


"That bloody son of a rutting bitch," she hissed through her teeth. "Literally."


The dog was trespassing in her space. Why didn't she just guess it? Only that good-for-nothing cur would have the audacity to... to... not only steal one of the best ships in the Fleet, but to then go pirating in their trafficking lanes. That. Bastard.


And... oh, that was just typical of the mongrel. Now he'd picked up some little green ex-Syndicateer, who was undoubtedly a complete slut who went around dripping pheromones and doing everything in her path. No wonder she was on Corizon's ship.


If she caught him near her facility, she would explain to him in detail what happened to bad little dogs who made messes of other people's lives. In great, bone-crushing, castrating, detail.






The dark-haired woman glanced over at the ensign who was disturbing her morning raktajino, glowering silently at him over a sip before deigning to respond. "Yes?"


"I... I... uh..."


Ensign Tomas was stuttering. It didn't happen very often -- in fact, she couldn't recall it happening before. Nonetheless, it rather annoyed her. "Out with it," she commanded, gesturing that he should continue.


"I have your morning reports, Sir," he finally mumbled out, depositing the padds on her desk and scurrying away like suddenly his superior officer had been replaced by a demonic entity. Last she'd checked, she hadn't.


And it was also unlike Tomas. Usually he lingered, hoping to glean some information about her current projects or attempting to "schmooze". Clearly, the boy wanted a higher rank, and simply did not understand that such behavior was only likely to win him disfavor from his superiors.


She skimmed through the padd's contents, suspiciously. Energy consumption reports. Supply requests. Nothing out of the ordinary. Incoming equipment and supplies...


The mug fell from her hand, coffee sloshing out onto the immaculate floor tiling as the cup smashed into little shards. The padd soon followed its violent fate as it slammed it into the desk, barely able to contain the urge to go call up a Defiant for herself and personally see to the destruction of the problem on her own.


He did it on purpose. He just... he existed to irritate her, antagonize her, destroy her career, and ruin her life. He couldn't be sated by getting her shipped off to this... hell-hole of a backwater weapons facility -- he had to stick his snout into her affairs there, too!


If she ever had her hands on that filth of a subhuman, she would kill him. No, she wouldn't kill him. Just killing him was far, far too good for slime like Corizon.


It'd been a long while since she'd conducted a good interrogation. Even if her knives were rusty, Fiona was quite self-assured that her skills were not.

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