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Date: Mon, 21 Jun 2004 19:16:13 -0400
Subject: [ASC] NEW DS9; Crazy Breen, PG13, 1/1, Great Lines Challenge
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On 20 Jun 2004 00:20:17 GMT, in alt.startrek.creative
gojirob@aol.comendspam (Rob Morris) wrote:


Title : Crazy Breen

Author : Rob Morris 

Contact : gojirob@aol.comendspam

Archive : www.southroad.com/brightfame 

Series : DS9, Post-WYLB

Type : Response to my own 'Great Lines' challenge

Characters : The Syndicate, O'B, others

Part : 1/1

Rating : PG13

Summary : Ever cross exactly the wrong people?
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------

Crazy Breen
by Rob Morris


2378


No one but no one betrayed or crossed The Syndicate. Mounted in a
cryo-stasis
tube on the HeadMan's wall was proof of this, in the form of the
frozen living
form of Miles O'Brien. When asked why he simply didn't kill him, the
HeadMan
merely quipped : 


"Well, I've heard this guy's been through just about everything. But
he's never
been through this."


That was the way of The Syndicate. Death had lost some of its edge,
and so
living deaths had come into vogue. Not that some of the old means had
been
entirely abandoned. Hostage-taking and ransom was always lucrative.
The new
prize was one of great worth. No less than the Federation Ambassador
to the
Klingon Empire.


"He's in your cargo hold?"


Through the rough fiter and the translator, the Breen spoke.


"Waiting. Bound. Valuable. My reward?"


The life-signs and specific bio-metric signature were greedily
checked, and
confirmed.


"He could escape."


"Heavily sedated. All controls on my ship set to self-destruct,
anyway."


Crazy, but very Breen. But craziness had its price.


"Amabassador Worf could simply be beamed out of your hold, you know.
Your
shields and other safeguards can be gotten around."


The Breen nodded.


"I know."


The crowd, so bold and full of laughter at the newcomer, gasped. The
HeadMan's
aide pointed.


"That's a Class-3 phaser grenade. Enough to expose us to open
space--those of
us that aren't wiped in the first blast."


To everyone's surprise, The HeadMan laughed.


"You're a rare one, Breen. I meet all kinds of scum, here. But you. my
friend,
are my kind of scum. Fine, let the Klingon stew. If he blows himself
up, we can
ransom the body parts and DNA fragments. But no reward until receipt
of goods.
And even a Class-10 Phaser Grenade couldn't change that."


The Breen deactivated its weapon, and then tossed it to The HeadMan.


"Tomorrow. When he wakes up. Want to see his face."


Chuckling again, the Headman agreed. After a great party, marred only
by the
death of a few of the entertainers--well, marred by the bad
performances that
led to their deaths, anyway--all fell into the sleep of the unjust who
knew
they were in their ultimate stronghold, protected by killers and by
corruption.
They were safe.


They were wrong.


Two guards entered The HeadMan's room, having dispatched many of the
others.
Behind the forcefield that surrounded his bed, The HeadMan looked at
the young
dark human and the young Ferengi.


"Boys, I don't know and don't care how you got in here. But know that
before
you die, you will know that you have caused the deaths of every last
member of
your families. And yes, you will watch them die. Your family, that
is."


Jake Sisko's eyes glinted deep blue.


"Meet my family."


The HeadMan found himself in an unfamiliar valley. Surrounding him on
all sides
were those whose deaths he'd caused in some way, shape or form. They
pointed as
they came at him.


"Betrayer!"


They were as endless as he'd once joked of, and the slashes they made
at his
flesh were savagely real.


"Caves in the distance. I'll be safe in there."


Where were his weapons? Where was his personal guard? Still, inside
the cave
entrance, he saw that not only was it empty, but the dead things kept
back.


"If I had fire, I could seal the entrance."


Fire rose then, to seal the entrance. The HeadMan laughed, until he
heard
weeping. An older woman, Bajoran to see her, kept reaching for an
ornate hat
and a set of robes that vanished everytime she reached them. Another
woman,
looking dehyrated, tried getting water from a replicator that not only
did not
give it to her, but lectured her on the evils of relying on
technology.
A crazier-than-normal looking Klingon whimpered as first a bald human
and then
another Klingon stripped a cape from him, then proclaimed that he was
a slave
with no name, one that even Grethor did not want. Dozens of
shapeshifters were
made to melt without ever reaching liquid form.
Lastly, a grinning Cardassian who almost seemed to like his
surroundings wrote
the HeadMan's true name--a name he had taken vast pains to erase--in a
leather-looking book.


"Welcome to the new Terok Nor. Please excuse the place. We are
remodeling,
after all."


The HeadMan found himself morphing painfully into a chair. Something
others
would sit on. Dukat nodded as this occurred.


"Getting the right furniture is always the hardest part. Poor
worksmanship on
this one. Well, maybe Jake will run up against some Tal Shayar
operatives--for
the love seat, you understand."


The HeadMan of The Syndicate could no longer even scream.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------
----------------------------------------


Miles' cryo-stasis tube was taken off the wall. The Breen decativated
and
opened it. O'Brien's eyes were not yet able to bear the light.


"WHo-who's there?"


Keiko whipped off her helmet and kissed her husband.


"Someone who loves you, hotshot."


--------------------------------------------

"Your would-be attackers don't like you. Your would-be rescuers don't
like you.
Harry, *most* people don't like you." - Peter Kirk to Harry Mudd,
'Lawful
Warrant' 


Constable Katie, ASC* Archive team
ASC* archive: http://www.trekiverse.org or http://trekiverse.crosswinds.net
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