The Scene of the Crime

Posted on 23 Sep 2025 @ 8:06pm by Commodore Harvey Geisler & Lieutenant Commander Joey Geisler

4,941 words; about a 25 minute read

Mission: Imposters Among Us
Location: Confederation Command Ship
Timeline: July 8, 2390 || 0730 hours

Harvey's eyes fluttered open, the initial glaze disappearing once he realized that his surroundings had changed. The room was still dimly lit, but the air seemed crisper, fresher, and even lighter than it had been the last few days. His eyes struggled to focus as his left hand fumbled in the dark, tracing the edge of metal slab that served as an inflexible bed to roost on. He was still in a cell, or so he could tell by the hum of a forcefield generator, though it sounded much more stable and far less lethal than the one he was accustomed to.

He sat up slowly, wondering if Joey was nearby. He wanted to whisper her name, to discover whether or not she was with him in the cell or in a nearby unit, but he also didn't know the time. He didn't remember being moved, so it must have happened while they were sleeping off the torture back on Starbase Unity. But why go through all of the trouble of moving them? Unity, although dangerous, was a hopeless environment for them with only one method of escape, and that was death by torture, or death by asphyxiation should one decide to try an escape pod or shuttle.

There had to be some matter of import if at least Harvey was being moved. Time would soon tell, he supposed. But for now, he had to find out if Joey was with him. He started to feel around in the cell, trying to be as soft or gentle as he could. Sleep was a commodity these days, and the longer either of them could sleep, the better off they'd be.

His hand brushed against something warm—soft fabric, then skin. Joey was there, curled on her side not far away, her breathing shallow but steady. Her thumb was still visibly dislocated, the joint swollen and angry-looking, but exhaustion had claimed her before she could tend to it.

At his touch, she stirred. A soft sound escaped her lips—half sigh, half groan—as she shifted slightly, her body protesting even the smallest movement, the puckered skin around her burns protesting. Her eyes fluttered open, hazy and rimmed with fatigue, and she turned her head just enough to meet Harvey’s gaze.

“Hey,” she whispered, voice hoarse and cracked. A faint wince crossed her face as she adjusted her arm, the pain still lingering like a dull flame beneath her skin. “I'm sorry I got us caught.” Joey wanted them to get home and back to their children.

Harvey felt a twinge of guilt at her apology. If he'd been a betting man, then perhaps he'd point out the one-to-one odds that their escape had been engineered, purposely dangled in front of their heads to give them a sense of hope and then snatch it away. "It's not your fault," he said, brushing his fingers across her back.

"Looks like we got an upgrade though," he said, leaning against the wall. "I think we're on one of their ships." The evidence was undeniable. A forcefield that didn't flicker, no scent of burnt wiring. In fact, the air seemed rather fresh, not as crisp as one would find on a planet, but it did indicate circulators were working properly.

Joey hissed through clenched teeth as she sat up, her body was thankful for the rest it received, but the raw stretch of her burned skin sent a ripple of agony down her spine. She paused, her breathing shallow. Her thumb still hung at an unnatural angle, swollen and angry. With a grimace, she gripped it tightly and forced it back into place. The sickening pop echoed in the quiet room, and though she didn’t scream, her face twisted with the effort of holding it in.

His touch was gentle, and for a moment, grounding. She leaned into it slightly, grateful for something that didn’t hurt. "Yeah," she finally muttered, glancing around. "Definitely not the hunk of junk we were being held in." Her eyes scanned the sleek walls, the hum of the forcefield, the clean scent of recycled air.

Her gaze flicked to Harvey. “If this is an upgrade, I’m not sure I want to see what the deluxe package looks like.” She tried to smirk, but it faltered. The pain was too fresh, and the uncertainty too thick. "Why do you think they moved us?"

Suddenly, bright lights came to life, temporarily blinding both Harvey and Joey. "We thought you would like to have a front row seat," came a stern, yet confident voice. As Harvey's eyes adjusted to the bright light, he was able to make out six silhouettes standing outside the cell. Four of these belonged to Hunter guards, each holding those batons that the Selamat used to torture Joey. The fifth form was their Selamat captor, but he was not the source of the voice.

It belonged to the sixth person outside the cell, one whom Harvey had some familiarity with. "We meet again, Harvey Geisler," he said with a smile. "Though, I must say it's a pleasure to actually meet you face-to-face."

Harvey frowned. Until this moment, he had speculated who else might have crossed over from the other side with the clone version of his wife. "D'rimo," Harvey simply said, his words more of a statement than a greeting.

The Karemma held onto his smile, and clapped his hands together once, before responding with exaggerated hand movements. "You remember! I'm genuinely touched. That is going to make what is about to happen all the more meaningful."

Joey flinched as the lights blazed to life, instinctively raising her arm to shield her eyes. The sudden brightness stabbed through the haze of pain and exhaustion, forcing her to blink rapidly until the silhouettes sharpened into recognizable forms. Her gaze swept past the guards and the Selamat captor—until it landed on the sixth figure.

D’rimo.

Her breath caught, then turned ragged with fury. The sight of him—smiling, smug—ignited something primal. She surged forward, stopping just short of the forcefield, fists clenched and body trembling with restraint. Her pain forgotten. The hum of the barrier was a cruel reminder of her limits, but her voice cut through the air like a blade.

“You’re a monster,” she spat, eyes burning. “You think this is meaningful? You’ve stolen lives, corrupted families, and for what?" Her voice cracked, not from weakness, but from the weight of what she didn’t say. Her twins—her babies—were out there, being raised by a hollow imitation of herself. A clone crafted by this man’s ambition. She could almost feel their tiny hands, hear their laughter, and the ache of separation threatened to drown her.

D'rimo clasped his hands and looked over at Joey. His smile slowly faded, not because he was challenged by her statement, but because he knew a serious response would be needed. "For freedom, my dear. For freedom." His hands were extended again as he gestured to the company behind and beside him. "You see, we have all lived happy lives outside of changeling interference."

The Karemma turned to Harvey. "Commodore, I know you know what life was like before they came along." D'rimo approached the forcefield, stopping just a inch from it. He raised a single finger. "Just imagine, Harvey, for one brief moment. If the changelings did not exist, then there would not have been a Teplan blight. There would be no Jem'hadar. No Vorta."

A smile then crept onto his face. "Alison would still be alive, and there would be little Harveys and little Alisons nipping at your ankles." The smile remained as D'rimo looked back to Joey, and he added, "That is the kind of family everyone deserves, even if I have to break a few more to rid this universe from these shapeshifters."

Joey’s jaw tightened, but she didn’t flinch. Not when D’rimo invoked Alison’s name like a weapon. Not when he painted his crusade in the colors of freedom, as if the blood he’d spilled was just collateral for a noble cause.

Inside, the words stung. They scraped against old and new wounds—her own losses, her stolen children, the twisted mockery of her family he’d built with a clone of her. But she refused to let him see it. Her expression remained cold, unreadable, like steel forged in fire.

“You talk about freedom,” she said, voice low but steady, “and yet, you keep us locked away in here like animals.”

She stepped forward, just close enough that the forcefield hummed between them. “You think playing god with people’s lives makes you a liberator?” Her eyes locked onto his, unwavering. “Whatever you’ve planned—whatever twisted finale you think you’re building—it will fail. You will be stopped.”

Her voice sharpened. “And when that happens, when the dust settles and the truth comes out, you won’t be remembered as a savior. You’ll be remembered as the monster who tried to rewrite the universe to fit his own image.”

"History," D'rimo replied, his tone turned cold, "is written by those who are victorious. And when the truth comes out, yes, the truth will soon be revealed, every species in this Gamma Quadrant will be cheering in their streets. As for humanity? Well, you have your quadrant to litter and pervert."

The Karemma chuckled. "Too bad neither of you will get to see it!" He clapped his hands twice, prompting the Hunters to step forward. Two of them held out handcuffs while the others raised their pistols, ready to fire at the first sign of resistance. "But, as a consolation prize, you are about to find out part of the reason why you've been kept alive. I am going to drop this forcefield, and you are going to be bound. Once the show is over, you'll have another session with our Selamat friend here."

Harvey looked over at Joey, sensing more than a vengeful fire behind her eyes. There was a fire burning in his chest as well, especially since it seemed that D'rimo was painting an image of hopelessness. But, this was a chance to see their surroundings, find out what D'rimo was planning, and spot a way or two off of the ship. If there was any hope of escape, it would have to be through cooperation.

As he eyed his wife, Harvey wondered if Joey recognized the chance before them as well.

Joey’s eyes didn’t leave D’rimo as he spoke, but her mind was already racing ahead. His arrogance had finally cracked open a door—a sliver of opportunity buried beneath his theatrics and threats. She could feel Harvey’s gaze on her, and without turning her head, she cast him a subtle glance. A confirmation she did recognize it.

She took a slow step back from the forcefield, then another, her movements deliberate. Her arms rose in front of her, fists closed, a gesture of surrender that was anything but. Her posture softened, but her eyes remained sharp, calculating. Let him think she was broken. Let him believe his words had landed.

Inside, she was already plotting and planning, letting her time as a CPO come to play. Nothing would go unnoticed. Joey would memorize everything. Every detail mattered now.

Her gaze flicked once more to Harvey, just enough to confirm they were aligned. She wasn't submitting, but letting D'rimo think he'd won. Whatever came next, D’rimo thought this was the end, he was going to learn how wrong history could be.

Harvey blinked in response to Joey, adding just a glint of recognition. Internally, he was relieved, and he allowed that feeling to linger for only a moment. The next few minutes would be critical and would most likely determine their real chances for survival. D'rimo expected an act of submission, and while Harvey would not submit, he placed his trust in an ounce of hope. He balled up his fists, turned them upside down, and turned them back, indicating that he would accept the wrist binders.

D'rimo stepped aside, still wearing a confident smile. The Selamat warden then stepped forward, brandishing his sharp teeth with a snarl as he lowered the forcefield. Two Hunters stepped forward to clasp the binders on the captives. One of Harvey's wrists was immediately bound before his arm was twisted behind his body. The action forced Harvey to turn around. The Hunter seized the free arm and pulled it behind Harvey into the binders as well.

Joey didn’t resist as the Hunter approached, though every fiber of her being screamed to fight. Her arms were yanked as the Hunter twisted her them behind her back. She winced as the motion tugged at her burned skin—but her eyes never left D’rimo, her wrists being locked into the cold restraints with a mechanical finality.

She stared at him with a quiet fury, her gaze sharp enough to cut through the smugness on his face. “You think you’ve already won,” Joey said, her voice calm but laced with venom. “You think your twisted crusade will rewrite the quadrant, but you’re wrong. You won’t succeed. You’ll be stopped. That's a promise."

D'rimo looked over to Harvey and smiled. "I hear your Paradans are excellent cloners, but the Dominion have really stunted their growth. The clone we created of your wife, well... our cloners certainly captured her fiery spirit." Harvey could not contain himself with that simple taunt. He struggled against his restraints and was about to lunge towards D'rimo when a pistol was pointed directly at his face.

The Karemma chuckled, savoring the moment. "Really, Commodore? I am a patient man, but I can only tolerate so much." His smile morphed into a sneer, and his tone shifted, removing all sense of joviality. "One more outburst, and I promise you both you will not live to see the end of the day."

Without waiting for a response, the Karemma snapped his fingers. He about-faced on his heels and led the group out of the confinement area.

Joey’s breath caught for just a moment as D’rimo spoke, her mind going back to the imposter that was living her life. His words echoed in her mind, uninvited and cruel. She pictured it—her clone—living the life that had been stolen from her. Raising her children. Sleeping beside Harvey. Laughing in her place. The image twisted in her chest like a blade.

But she shoved it down. Hard. There would be time to unravel that pain later—if they made it out. Right now, survival demanded clarity.

She steadied herself and fell into step behind them, her bound arms pulling at her burned skin but her eyes were sharp. As they moved through the corridors of the ship, she cataloged everything: the subtle hum of the engines, the layout of the corridors, the placement of control panels and security nodes. The air was clean, recycled with precision. The walls gleamed with a sterile efficiency that suggested advanced tech.

Joey glanced at Harvey briefly, just enough to confirm he was still with her, still grounded. Then her gaze flicked forward again, landing on D’rimo’s back.

Let him gloat, she thought. Let him think he’s won.

Because the moment he slipped—she’d be ready.

It did not take long to reach the ship's bridge. Harvey raised an eyebrow, realizing how closely it resembled that of a Jem'hadar control room. Nowhere to sit, save for a single chair in the center of the bridge. Another notable difference, beside the use of browns instead of steel gray, was the large viewscreen to the far end.

But what surprised Harvey the most was not the layout of the room and its minor differences to Dominion interior design. It was instead what the viewscreen projected. Floating in a familiar muddy sea of pink, purple, and blue nebulae gases was a broken and battered Akira-class starship. His heart skipped a beat, fearing the immediate worst. Harvey had lost all track of time since becoming a prisoner, and he had no doubt that anything was possible in however long that timeframe was.

What brought Harvey back to reality was that he recognized the damage on the vessel. The missing weapons pod and the twisted pylons leading to absent nacelles could have only been one vessel, the USS Gaittithe. Interestingly enough, the ship had one characteristic that Harvey hadn't seen during his last encounter with the wreck. The ship had power, and a working warp core, which he could tell by the warp plasma bleeding from the pylons.

Joey froze the moment her eyes landed on the viewscreen. Her breath hitched, and for a heartbeat, the pain in her body vanished beneath the weight of recognition. The swirling nebulae, the fractured silhouette of the Akira-class vessel—it was unmistakable. It was home. It was the Black Hawk. But how? How did they get their hands on it? And what happened to everyone on board? Did he hurt them? Were they dead? Her twins... She couldn't seem to breathe as her mind reeled.

"You really should clean up after yourselves more," D'rimo remarked, speaking for the first time on this bridge. He stepped forward to stand in front of the bridge, as if he were some business man about to give a presentation. No, this was far more dastardly, a villain's monologue.

"Two years ago, when we chased you and your brethren back to this nebula, we saw the portal you used to cross from your dimension into ours. And just before we could enter your portal, it collapsed." D'rimo chuckled. "Or so we thought. Just a few weeks ago, we returned to the nebula to find that your portal was still there, just a lot smaller. Our scientists were curious, and as I was overseeing, there was a flash of light. When it faded, we found ourselves here."

Harvey found himself confused, an expression which he allowed to be plastered on his face. "I don't understand. Is... all of this just because you wanted to go home?" The Commodore shook his head in disbelief. "If that's the case, you could have just asked."

D'rimo laughed. "Home?" The laugh disappeared, but the smile remained. "No, it's more than that. You see, centuries ago, we battled forces that you are familiar with. Dolmoqour. Shapeshifters. Both were threats to our existence, and what we could not bend to our will, we annihilated. And, until you arrived in our dimension, we were not aware that they still lived. We aim to finish what our ancestors started."

The Karemma raised a finger, then pointed to the screen. "But, as you see, there is no more portal. This time, it is closed for good. So, I aim to open a new one. And, thanks to you, your wife, and the information your counterparts have collected, we have what we need to open a new one. The nebula. An active warp core. And, some of your precious tricobalt weapons, conveniently retrieved from your recent home, Starbase Unity."

Joey’s vision tunneled, unable to hear what was being said as the edges of the bridge blurred, her focus narrowing to one thing—him. D’rimo stood there, smug and composed, as if he hadn’t just shattered her world. The Black Hawk—her ship, her crew, her family—reduced to a puppet in his twisted game. And her twins… the thought of them aboard that vessel, or worse, not aboard it, sent a surge of white-hot rage through her chest.

She stared at D’rimo with pure, unfiltered hatred. Her mind raced with violent possibilities—how she’d break his nose with her elbow, how she’d drive her knee into his ribs, how she’d make him feel even a fraction of the pain he’d caused. Her hands were bound, her body burned and bruised, but none of that mattered.

With a guttural cry, Joey lunged.

The restraints yanked against her shoulders and burned flesh, but she didn’t care. She threw herself forward, teeth bared, fury spilling out in a snarl. “You bastard!” she shouted, the curse echoing across the bridge. “I will fucking end you!”

She didn’t reach him—of course she didn’t. The guards were faster, stronger, and she was already half-broken. But the message was clear. Her rage was not a weakness. It was a promise.

"Oh!" D'rimo exclaimed, snapping his fingers as he realized what was happening here. "My dear, I apologize. There are times I forget that you have missed all of the excitement. That ship out there is not your home." He waved ever so slightly at the screen. "That is... or was... the USS Gaittithe. I have something much more special planned for the Black Hawk. But first, we have to take care of a little business."

Turning to the weapons station, he gave the officer a nod. "Fire the tricobalt."

Harvey's eyes widened, and it was his turn to vocally protests. He wrestled against the restraints and the guards holding him as a defiant shout exited his lungs, but it was worthless. On the viewscreen, he saw the blue glow of the powerful weapon charge from the tube to strike the Gaittithe's exposed heart.

The reaction was instant. Matter and antimatter ignited, streaking back to their stores which both exploded in a brilliant flash of light. The force from the explosion was powerful, pushing back what remained of the nebula to leave an empty pocket of space. The Commodore stopped his resistance as he watched this spectacular event unfold.

Joey flinched as the blue glow lit up the viewscreen, her breath catching in her throat. The Gaittithe—not the Black Hawk, but close enough to twist her gut—was obliterated in a flash of light and fury.

She felt only a flicker of relief that it wasn’t their ship. But that flicker was quickly drowned by dread. I have something much more special planned for the Black Hawk, D’rimo had said. The words echoed in her mind like a death sentence waiting to be carried out.

Her eyes darted to Harvey. She wanted to do the same—scream, fight, stop the madness—but her body wouldn’t move. Her hands were bound, her strength depleted, and her voice felt trapped behind the weight of helplessness. Not to mention there were guards far too close for her liking.

Still, she forced herself to stand tall, even as her heart pounded in her chest. She watched the empty pocket of space where the Gaittithe had been and felt the chill of what could be coming next. D’rimo wasn’t just destroying ships. He was on a mission. One she felt he would stop at nothing to achieve, and the Black Hawk—their home, her children’s future—was going to play some role in his twisted plan.

As the light dimmed, Harvey could not help but sense something amiss amongst the crew. As he dared to glance around, he noticed that many had been smiling, but those smiles were waning. His eyes darted back to D'rimo, whose expression matched those on the bridge.

"Where is it?" the Karemma whispered softly. The lively and jovial persona he had worn was soon discarded once he turned to approach one of the workstations. "Where is it!?" his demand grew fierce, almost desperate.

"It's..." stammered the technician, who was frantically tapping away at the controls. "It's not forming. There's no rift!"

Joey watched the panic ripple through the bridge like a slow-moving fire, devouring the smug confidence that had filled the room moments ago. The silence after the technician’s stammered admission was almost sweet. She tilted her head, lips curling into something between a smirk and a sneer. “Well,” she said, voice cutting through the tension like a scalpel, “that was... dramatic.”

Her eyes moved onto D’rimo, who now looked less like a mastermind and more like a man watching his empire crack. “No rift. No portal. Just a very extravagant light show and a lot of disappointed faces.”

She took a step forward, well as far as the guards around her would allow, and raised an eyebrow. “So tell me, D’rimo—what’s your next move now that your grand plan just went up in plasma?” There was amusement in her tone, but beneath it, a simmering fury remained, and being front row to watch his failure unfold in real time gave her a flicker of hope that he could be stopped.

D'rimo growled at her, just before he gestured to the Selamat to approach Joey with his torture rod. Without waiting to see the Selamat start to move, D'rimo crossed the bridge to stand directly in front of Harvey.

And then something happened on the bridge that no single person saw coming.

It started softly, and then Harvey's laughter slowly grew. "This?" he asked. "This was your grand plan?"

D'rimo didn't wait for the Selamat to act. Instead, he punched Harvey in the stomach. Harvey fell forward, caught by two guards who forced Harvey to remain somewhat upright as he struggled to regain his breath. "What did you not share!?" he demanded. "What is the missing piece?"

Harvey suffered another blow, but this was lower on his abdomen, not one that drove more air from his lungs. "You never asked the right questions," he said, laughter starting again, though it was strained and wheezy. "Next time you should ask how the rift was created in the first place."

Joey let out a furious cry, raw and guttural, as she watched Harvey double over from the blow. Her body surged with adrenaline, overriding pain and restraint. She twisted against the guards flanking her, and with a sudden burst of defiance, she drove her leg toward him in a vicious kick.

It wasn’t graceful. It wasn’t calculated. It was rage—pure, unfiltered, and desperate.

Her voice rose, fierce and unwavering. “No matter what you try—you're never going to win. The rift will never reopen."

She thrashed against the guards, trying to reach Harvey, her eyes locked on him with a mix of anguish and determination. “You’re not a visionary, and you will never rewrite history,” she snarled at D’rimo.

Her breath came in ragged bursts, but her fire hadn’t dimmed. If anything, it burned hotter.

The Karemma's patience now fully expired, he looked back to Harve, grabbed a fistful of matted, greasy hair, and yanked hoping to ground the laughing man. D'rimo attempted to calm himself by uttering only a couple words at a time. "All right... Commodore... how was the rift... created?"

Harvey grimaced at the tug above his head, realizing how sensitive his dirtied and bloodied scalp was, though the grimace didn't deter his laughter. "A tricobalt was the catalyst. But there's two other pieces, none of which you'll find in the quadrant. A Romulan warbird equipped with a thalaron generator. Thalaron's been outlawed by everyone, even the Romulans destroyed all their generators."

"Romulans?" D'rimo asked, his tone disappointed. "Thalaron? Commodore, by now I thought you would be smart enough to cooperate." D'rimo locked eyes at the Selamat and then pointed at the human woman.

Joey’s eyes snapped to the Selamat as he stepped toward her, torture rod in hand, its cruel hum already vibrating in the air. Her breath caught, but she didn’t flinch. Instead, she turned her gaze back to D’rimo, her expression fierce and unwavering. “Stop,” she said, voice sharp and commanding. “He’s telling the truth.”

She took a step forward, as far as the guards would allow, her body tense but her eyes locked on D’rimo. “You think he’s lying? He’s not. You wanted to know how the rift was created—he just gave you the answer. And you don’t like it because it's impossible to replicate. Because it means your plan is broken before it even begins.”

Her voice dropped, low and dangerous. “You can torture me all you want, but it won’t change reality. It won’t conjure thalaron or a warbird out of thin air. You’re chasing impossible dreams, D’rimo. And you’re too arrogant to see it.”

She glanced at Harvey, then back to the Selamat. “Touch me with that rod, and you’ll only prove how desperate you’ve become.” Joey said, tone becoming icy. “You lost the moment you thought you could bend reality to your will.”

D'rimo, still gripping Harvey's hair, looked over to Joey, noting the defiant and determined energy in her eyes. He'd seen that many times before, thanks to his time working with her clone. After a moment of thought, he pushed Harvey's head back, almost violently, before letting go of his hair. Then he pointed at the Selamat. "Take them below, and make sure that there's nothing else they're hiding."

The doors to the bridge opened, and both humans were dragged away. As soon as they closed, D'rimo stood still, just staring at the blank panels. A voice behind him said, "My lord, we have an update from our ships at the refinery."

D'rimo turned to face the officer, who then said, "Sir, you're not going to like it."

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