Chapter XXVI: Stacked High
The auxiliary security office was well locked down. The two Orion security officers made only gruff acknowledgements of each other as they carried out their duties - monitoring the intruder boarding parties. Both were engrossed enough in their duties for the ventilation grate to barely register as it quietly pivoted open above them. Both noticed the small object rolling down onto the floor from the open grate with a thud - peering with interest.
Only after the hiss of gas began escaping from the grenade did they action - staggering through their ragged coughs, neither had any chance of reaching it. Both Orions - tall, green, and musculuar - were little match for the dense cloud of toxin, slumping over into their faces on the hard metal floor grating.
Semil lowered himself from the ventilation grating, his engineered lungs immune to the neurocine. He set to work on the consoles quickly, running through a rapid checklist of pre-planned steps.
Encrypting the door locking mechanism.
Check.
Initiating false intruder signals throughout the Marauder.
Check.
He reached for an isolinear control chip in his pocket, inserting it into a spare slot, keying commands to work through the Orion security protocols as he went.
His superior Vorta hearing could pick out the gentle shift in the sound of disruptor fire outside the door. He took a moment to tab open an encrypted channel on his wrist communicator. "Vaq'ghol, come in. Fire Team 1 needs to stay on the starboard side. These sensor ghosts aren't going to keep the Orions fooled for very long, and we need time."
K'vot intoned from the communicator, brusque as ever. "Your status?"
"Scanning now." Semil watched as his program executed, hijacking the Orion's own internal sensors to his own end. "Not the first four decks... five." He input more commands, tuning the sensor frequencies, adjusting their scan width. "I think... there." The program chimed, recognizing the faint but distinct signature of Dominion power cells. "Secured cargo, deck 8 - portside forward."
The Vorta pulled his chip from its port, keying in a quick series of commands to try and cover his tracks. He steadied his hand on the wrist communicator. "Team 2 is go. I'll meet you at the extraction point."
Tabbing his communicator off, he hoisted himself back up into the ventilation, as a loud knock banged on the sealed door.
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The corridor in this part of the ship was quiet, save the alert klaxon periodically blaring, before K'vot beamed in with his security team. He drew his disruptor pistol, the others their rifles. A quick nod to his Bekks, and the team started along the corridor.
A junction lay ahead. K'vot held up a battle gauntlet-sheathed arm to signal his Bekks to hold, as he crept to peer around the corner. Silently, using only the trained tactical gestures each Bekk had learned in their first days at the warrior academies - he signaled two guards. As expected.
Along with his Bekks, K'vot readied his disruptor - raising his arm again in the readiness signal as the warriors positioned themselves in positions of attack preparedness.
With a drop of his wrist, five disruptors opened fire - leaving two Orion bodies slumped face down in the corridor, singe and scorch marks still smoking hot.
K'vot knew that the weapons fire would immediately attract attention from the bridge, no matter how many sensor ghosts and false alarms the Vorta had deployed on the Orion's security grid. The plan hinged on their quickness.
The team descended on the formerly guarded, reinforced door.
K'vot brought out a device, affixing it to the doorframe. No matter the galactic reputation of Klingon's predilections for open combat, and loud warrior posturing - he knew and trusted the Empire's engineers. Throughout the Empire, Imperial Engineers prided themselves on their ability to break through the most reinforced doors - whether through magnetogravitic tumbler uncouplers, like this, or brute explosive force.
The door yielded readily.
K'vot strode in, two Bekks sweeping the room for more security forces, the other two Bekks turning to guard their rear from arriving security forces.
Already knowing what the cargo looked like made the job of locating it, in the small, stuffy room easier. Smaller than most cargo bays, the room was stacked high with a ragtag assortment of cargo containers - plundered loot, no doubt. Still, only one crate, smaller than most, was coated with the fine dust of decades in a mineshaft.
The Orions, in their haste to break orbit, had even done them the courtesy of leaving an anti-grav pallet nearby.
