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Bob Moreton served as lower level security officer at Cryer, as such, he went relatively unnoticed as he made for the personnel data centre. Ruthlessly ambitious: Bob had agreed to betray one of his corporate superiors, in order to get noticed by the board and elevate his status.
Little did he know of how his actions would indeed attract the boards attention, with dire consequences.
Arriving at the complex maze of supercomputers, cables and conduits Bob tried to look inconspicuous as he looked for a secluded spot amidst the gently humming labyrinth. He began access via terminal.
The stolen passcard was still valid, he thanked his lucky stars as visions of life of excess filled his mind. Quick as he could he grabbed the data and did what he could to sweep his path. One more task and his money worries would be over.
Bob Moreton couldn't believe his luck. He'd reported to the big wigs about his 'Heroic' cardamine shipment interception, and already things had improved. With a suite already booked for the Hawaii, he strode through the hallways confidently and very sure of his own genius. Making his way to Tamsin in personnel, he tapped at his pocket in mirth, reassuring himself that the gift to the materialistic secretary would make him a shoe in.
The woman busy tapping at a screen distractedly replied '€œHello welcome to '€¦ O hey Bob: Yeah, you like? Only a million, by Freida. It's all the rage on Baden-Baden this summer!'€
'€œWell, it's obviously worth it Tamsin, you look great! Anyway, I got this ball-ache assignment coming up for an escort job: one of the higher-ups families from A to B; but you know me, butter-fingers here lost the Brief, I don't suppose you would be a total Doll and get me a copy of the itinerary could you?'€ he slid an illuminated pad across the desk. Before she had a chance to answer, Bob produced the box from his pocket. '€œOh! I almost forgot, I got you these: should go nicely with that fabulous new hair-do.'€ he opened the box to reveal a pair of iridium diamond-earrings, cut by one of libertys top jewellers.
'€œSo, can you help me out Tamsin?'€
'€œWhat? O Yeah honey, you just hand me your pad there...'€ she placed the pad on the desk, and fluttered her fingers over her keypad in a matter of seconds. '€œOh! You aren't listed as Primary on this one Bob: It says Worthington is the registered officer on this one.'€
'€œYeah that's right but I'm flying under him, he's laid up at the moment: got banged up in thirty seven apparently; so he sent me to you. Guess they aren't as good at their jobs as you, down at his end.'€ He smiled, hoping his jibe at the other employees would give his excuse enough credence to float.
'€œAh, alright then...there you go Bob, now, is there anything else I can do for you?'€ She hinted as she handed the pad back to him.
***
Julian did his best to maintain a calm demeanour as he walked, stiff-backed through the warren of corridors to lab six. Sweating profusely, he smiled nervously at the medical staff he passed. His thoughts reeled with disbelief as he tried to imagine how this had happened. He known that the ship would have a good escort, so what could have gone wrong?

They must have been many, career criminals...
Did this distorted figure know Jennifer would be travelling? If so: how?
There had to have been a leak, he was sure of it. Probably some other poor sap whose family were under threat too...Whoever it was: they were stupid enough to betray the board, which mean they would probably be dead or worse soon.
Why did this 'Scene' want medical information about subjects reproductive systems?
The figure had a re-breather, so they were probably Maltese or working for them. They couldn't possibly hope to cure this defect, could they?
Oh god, what are they doing to little jennifer?!

He breathed a sigh of relief as he entered the empty terminal room, glad that no one would see his selfish theft. Acutely aware of the cameras that he assumed present, Julian had commissioned a slightly modified data-pad which contained a recording lens at the rear. He moved to the terminal, holding the data pad at chest height, initiated recording, and began flicking through those records that would interest the kidnappers as he feigned normality.

Julian knew a moment of panic, and took a moment to physically restrain himself, as he realised a portion of his studies had been allocated a higher security clearance. He tried the old codes before checking again with the system to see if his clearance was out of date. His face went slack and sickly pale as he realised that the only way he could access that portion of the pertinent data, was to request a higher security clearance (which he was shocked to realise existed) or find someone within the corporation to hack it for him.

He paced before the terminal, desperately trying to think of who could help him without raising suspicion, all the while thoughts of his daughter being tortured assailed his minds eye. Malcolm would probably shout out defiance in impotence as he wrestled with his restraints whilst poor Jennifers pristine flesh was seared and cut. The possibilities were too horrible to imagine.
Julian shook his head and focused once more on the data-terminal. With resignation he continued to take image recordings of the data on screen.

Sometime later, Julian quickly paced to his office nodding to his secretary as he passed '€œno calls'€ he uttered as he entered the dim room. After dumping the contents of his medical journals to a portable, he quickly grabbed the handful of pads from his desk and strode back to the Hangar '€œI'm going out for a bit, clear my schedule please Brandi'€.

***

Unseen by Julian, in a security office two people observed his activities: focused on the one screen of many that spanned the wall.
'€œHe's awfully jittery huh?'€
'€œyeah, he looks like he just had an enema.'€
'€œHis file access checks out Miss: it's all within his clearance. O wait, we got one request for something above his clearance '€“ you want me to flag this?'€
'€œNo, it's alright, let's see what mister Bashir is up to...keep your eye on him.'€

As instructed Julian had made his way to the Tau 31 system as carefully as a fretting doctor could, his mind afire with a barrage of worries.
Had he missed the rendezvous with the captors of his dear daughter and brother?

Did they know at the corporation? Was there even now a world of pain ready to fall upon him?
Understandably, Julian was twitchy as a jack-rabbit in heat and three times as tense: his focus darted from rock to rock; suspicious of what could lie behind every asteroid.

He almost missed the still formation of five sabres on the same vector as they spread and surrounded the ship.

A deepened, distorted voice sounded over the comms.

"The data, Mr. Bashir."

'€œOf '€“ Of Course, but please: can't you give me some assurance that Jennifer is alive?'€
He quickly smeared his sweaty palms across the controls, sending the contents of the data
disk to the lead ship.

Scene One quickly skimmed over the terabytes of research data.

"Very good Mr. Bashir. We can do better than give you assurance. You're going to see her in person. You will power down your ship's engines and place yourself in your ship's escape pod. You will then eject. Your brother will be put on board your ship and be set free.

Of course, if you refuse, both your daughter and your brother will die."

'€œThis wasn't the deal Mister '€ Julian protested as he angrily stabbed at the controls, opening An escape pod into which he grudgingly climbed.
A Snap and hiss later, the doctor floated outside the relative safety of the transport, five deadly sabres loomed menacingly as he clung desperately to the thought of seeing his daughter safe again.

Scene One maneuvered his Sabre and beamed Bashir's pod into the cargohold. Scene One went into the cargohold, opened the escape pod, and seized Bashir's neck in a vice-grip. Bashir went bug-eyed at the sight of the holoprojected face, and the distorted voice in-person.

"I have altered the deal. Pray I don't alter it further."

Bashir blacked out. Scene One secured him in the cargohold and set course for the nearby Metropolis.

Upon landing, Bashir's unconscious body was thrown into the same prison cell as Jennifer.

Jennifer awoke to the unmistakeable sound of a body hitting the floor. The incessant gnawing of hunger, soon followed. She emitted a cracked squeak in an attempt to force words from her parched, raw throat in vain.
Righting herself against the wall, she attempted to open her eyes. Pain bloomed anew as her right eye strained against the clotted blood which had sealed it shut.
'€œDaddy?!'€ she attempted in disbelief, succeeding little more than a strained whisper. Struggling against her restraints, she lurched toward the form to confirm her fear. Moments of torturous wriggling brought her close enough to realise that the unconscious man was indeed her father, her lone eye widened in horror as the tentative hope of rescue by her wise protector died within her.

Malcolm awoke to find himself in a pilot seat, sitting in the dark. He reached over to the control panel and powered up the ship, turning on the lights. The cockpit was a familiar site - it was an Armoured Transport. Malcolm did a quick scan of the area. He found that he was sitting adrift in Tau-31. No ships were in sight. He wondered how he could have gotten there, the last thing he remembered was being held in a dark room for a long period of time.. and.. the screaming... Jennifer... His resolve hardened - he had to get back to Liberty and report what happened to the LPI. He set a course for Los Angeles at best speed.

A lone Arrow Interceptor, equipped with the latest in stealth technology, tailed Malcom's transport at a distance.


Many hours later, Malcolm landed at one of the platforms on Los Angeles. The inconspicuous Arrow Interceptor landed at another launchpad not too far away. A man with grey hair, clear blue eyes, wearing plain dark clothing stepped out of the cockpit. The man's darting eyes immediately found the frame of Malcolm, scurrying towards the exit of the spaceport. The man drew closer and closer. The man was now no more than three feet behind Malcom in a medium-density throng of travellers. When they reached the top of a long staircase, the man gave Malcolm an ever-so-subtle push. Malcolm, off balance, went tumbling down the stairs head-over-heels, crashing into people on the way down. At the bottom of the very long staircase, Malcolm lie still, with a small pool of blood growing behind his head.

Adder smiled.


---------


Julian awoke by being hauled to his feet. He felt a rough, dark sack being pushed over his head, overtop of some kind of filtration mask. He felt himself being dragged out of... Wherever it was they put him. He heard many footsteps behind him. He felt himself being dragged into another room, and dropped onto the ground. The all-too familiar distorted voice of Scene One spoke.

"Good day Mr. Bashir. We have an additional task for you to complete for us. You are going to develop a new kind of drug. This drug will be a liquid cardamine suppressant. Meaning, this drug must stop the extremely potent liquid cardamine from killing the subject. This drug must be able to "water-down" a dose of liquid cardamine that already exists in the subject's bloodstream. The addictive qualities of the cardamine must remain present. As for motivation for you to work for us..."

A meaty-sounding impact was followed by a short female scream - Jennifer?!


"You can figure out what will happen when you refuse to work for us. You will be provided with all the necessary research equipment, computers, liquid cardamine, and an unlimited amount of human test subjects - courtesy of Mr. Fierceshot - to test your prototype drugs. What'll it be, Mr. Bashir?"

Barely controlling his bubbling fury Julian knelt, head hung in defeat, and assimilated the demands of what had become his personal Satan.
'€œWhat?! I .. I'll do what you ask: I'll try and make what you want...I'm not sure if it's even possible: but I will do this work."
'€œAnd when I undertake this task, will you let Her go? Is Malcolm free? Did you let ~him~ go?'€