After all these years there was no mistaking that high pitch, sickly sweet voice. Even over the chatter of the patrons in the crowed bar on Narendra Station, Stahl could hear that shrill tone. The timbre of her voice permeated through his Starfleet uniform and his usually impenetrable guise, shaking him to the bone. Not even the sub-zero winds of his home world of Andor could freeze him so. His body was petrified, yet he could still feel his bones reverberating from her piercing tones.
It was definitely her.
After what seemed an eternity, Stahl turned back towards the source of the sound. Slowly, they came in to view. Several Starfleet officers sat around a table sharing drinks and laughter. A Vulcan, a Bajoran, a Trill, a Betazoid, a Tellarite, and a Human wearing captain’s pips. But they didn’t matter. Sitting in the middle, standing out with her antennae and blue skin. Laughing. Happy.
It was her.
Throlo Sh’shirros.
The Butcher of 706.
It had been four years since Stahl had endured the ‘pleasure’ of her company. That had been in a mining facility on Andor 706. As a fellow servant, he had seen her work first hand. The medical facilities in the mine were limited. There were no medicines or pain killers, let alone surgical facilities. Any injuries that were not able to be mended with a bandage or a splint were amputated, and the good Doctor Sh’shirros was very good at amputation.
Stahl had been lucky, if you could call it that. He had never needed the services of Doctor Sh’shirros for more than a few cuts and abrasions. Others in the mine were not so lucky. Stahl could only look on in horror as once proud Andorians were mutilated by the Doctor. He knew there was no other treatment for them, but that did stop his feelings of anguish upon seeing his fellow broken both physically and mentally by the process.
But that wasn’t the worst of it.
When Doctor Sh’shirros arrived they vowed to use their position to help the people in the mine. During their time in the mine, Throlo helped as best she could. Eventually though, she left the facility, as all do one way or another, and there ended her responsibility to those left behind. She had promised to help them, but it seems promises mean nothing once you leave.
The slaves continued working under those abysmal conditions for several more years. It was only through the efforts of another doctor, Doctor Vreeza, that the mining facility was shut down. Doctor Vreeza had stayed in the mine, and despite increasing age and ill health, worked hard to bring the plight of those indentured there to the Andorian government. Eventually the mine was shut down, and Doctor Vreeza was a hero. Sadly he did not survive long past the closure of the mine, the increased labour of freeing the people there taking its toll on him. Perhaps if Doctor Sh’shirros had kept her promise, Doctor Vreeza…
Lost in reverie, Stahl had not noticed that his hand was bleeding. He had been clutching on to something so tight that he had sliced open his palm on the metal attached to the wooden handle. Blood slowly flowed across the serrated blade of the Ushaan-tor. The mining tool, also used in Andorian honour duels, reflected Stahl’s face back at him. Looking back at himself, he wondered if he was right to do this. He had killed before, but only out of necessity. This was revenge. How could he take revenge and yet still wear his Starfleet uniform? How could he maintain his own value of not letting anyone else get hurt unnecessarily, yet still satisfy his yearning for vengeance? Was it vengeance? Or was it justice?
Justice for all those Doctor Throlo Sh’shirros left behind.
Justice for those that died unnecessarily.
Justice for Doctor Vreeza.
The butcher’s bill comes due.
