The Scent of Betrayal

Posted on Tue Sep 8th, 2026 @ 4:34pm by Captain Connor Nolan & Lieutenant Grace Sternwood PhD

1,555 words; about a 8 minute read

Mission: Rekantha
Location: Cargo Bay 2, USS San Jose
Timeline: Stardate at 00:00

Ramer rubbed the spot on his forehead where his ‘spoon’ would normally have been.  Before going undercover he’d been subject to significant modification, both cosmetic and genetic, in order to let him pass as a Bajoran.  However, he’d never managed to rid himself of this habit when he was nervous.  

“What do you mean they’re investigating the stasis fields?” He snapped at his companion, another Cardassian member of the true way who had also found themselves deep undercover posing as Bajorans.  “You told me it was impossible that they’d find the sabotage”, he snarled before throwing the table he was sitting at over. 

Grace had turned toward Ramer when he'd yelled and saw him move for the table and was able to force herself to not flinch when the table collided into the wall. Grace hated this, she hated her job, she hated being here, she was afraid... there was no denying it. There was no amount of training that would make it so she'd like this, could she survive? Sure. She was smart, she could make it work... but she was meant to be an analyst not an operative.

"Nothing is impossible, he was very diligent, but we have no way of knowing how intelligent the engineers they have are," Grace said, in a calm tone.

Here she was known by two names, Tessa Nahl, the bajoran and Naret Terek the Cardassian who had been genetically and medically altered to appear as the Bajoran. She thanked god that not much needed to be done to alter her actual human self to be a believable Bajoran.

She knew that no matter what the consequence she'd never allow herself in the position to go to Cardassia or leave New Bajor with this group.

Luckily their overly cranky leader seemed to have a warm spot for her and usually allowed her to serve as voice of reason. And it wasn't like she particularly cared for any of the terrorists in this group but she was a good person how could she not try and keep someone safe from a violent outburst.

The third in this trio, a younger man named Minut, recoiled as the table crashed into the bulkhead. "Normally they wouldn't. But we had to adapt the field to ensure the timing of the release doesn't happen until the animals are with the rest of the herd on the planets surface."

Ramer stood, moving to the table he overturned and began resetting it, he let out a bluster, "I apologise for my outburst."

The other two let out, what sounded to Ramer as a sigh of relief. Minut pulled a chair over and sat in front of him. He shot a look up at the young woman with them. "The first two shipments went just fine and they never caught on. Did you do it right?"

"I am certain that I did it correctly," Grace said, with a little waver to her voice. As much as she wanted to pretend that it was part of the character she was truthfully and honestly teriffied.

"Someone must have been paying attention this time. For all I know someone was doing maintenance as the changes were made, there could be a ton of reasons and none that could be foreseen," Grace sighed. "How many battles have been won or lost because of luck or coincidence?" she mused.

“They won’t be able to trace to us anyway,” the younger one said. “From what I heard them saying they think one of the bovine is ill…” 

The conversation continued to bounce between ‘they’re going to get caught’ and ‘they’ll never trace it to us’. Little did they know one member of the group had specifically engineered this scenario so they would, in fact, get caught.

"Well there isn't anything we can do about it at this point anyway," Grace suggested. "So what's next?"

“We stay the course,” Remar grunted. “We’ll reach New Bajor in a few days. Once we’re there, we meet our contact and make the exchange.”

He looked from Tessa to Minut, letting the silence sit between them.

“This batch will be enough to poison the entire herd. Within two months, every Bato on that colony will be dead. After that, New Bajor fails on its own.”

He was about to say more when he stopped. His nostrils flared, causing an immediate change in his demeanour. Small, at first. A tightening around the eyes. A slight lift of the chin. Then he drew in another breath, deeper this time, and something cold moved across his face.

Grace watched silently not sure what exactly it was that had suddenly gotten Remar's attention. She knew it was bad, but she didn't know why.

Remar stood slowly. There was a scent in the air. Familiar, but impossible. Something he should not have been able to detect, not here, not from one of them. He moved towards Tessa first, his eyes never leaving hers. He inhaled once, close enough now that she likely had to resist the urge to step back. Then his head snapped towards Minut.

Minut’s expression changed too late.

Remar crossed the compartment in three hard strides, seized him by the shoulders and drove him back against the bulkhead. The impact rang through the small room. Minut gasped as Remar lifted him, his boots kicking uselessly six inches above the deck plating.

“Don’t you smell that, Tessa?” Remar growled, his eyes fixed on Minut. “That is what betrayal smells like.”

Minut tried to speak, but Remar tightened his grip.

Few outside Cardassian circles knew how much of the old biology had survived from the days that their ancestors had been desert predators, before they had evolved to become soldiers, administrators and conquerors. Evolution had left traces behind. Glands beneath the neck scales, chemical signals released under stress, fear, arousal or anger. Most species could not detect them. Most Cardassians preferred to pretend they did not exist.

But some could smell them. Remar could.

Every operative sent on this mission had undergone genetic reconfiguration before leaving Cardassian space. The Bajoran ridges, the altered skin tone, the softened eyes and reshaped hands were only the visible parts of the work. The deeper procedures mattered more. Blood markers. Bone density. Organ signatures. And, most importantly, the blocking or removal of the glands that could betray them before a tricorder ever did.

Minut had cut corners and Remar could smell the fear leaking out of him. He leaned in closer, his voice dropping.
“You were told what had to be done.”

Minut shook his head as much as Remar’s grip allowed. “I did what they gave me. I passed the scans.”

“You passed a border check,” Remar said. “Not me.”

“Remar—” he heard quietly from the young woman behind him. He did not look at her. “Why can’t you smell it?”

"I'm not sure what you mean," Grace said, the indignation evident in her voice. As soon as she said it she mentally kicked herself realizing that he was picking something up from glands that weren't removed from Minut.

That was enough. Remar turned his head slightly, still holding Minut against the wall. “You should be able to smell it.”

"Biology," Grace answered. "Just like some people no longer have working glands others are not able to pick up on the scent. Evolution, I guess is really the answer," she said, doing her best to keep her cool though she could feel herself starting to sweat and her heart rate accelerating.

“Maybe.” The word was quiet and dangerous.

Minut was now clawing at Remar’s wrists. “I didn’t betray you. I swear it.”

Remar’s lip curled. “You brought your weakness into this cell. You brought risk onto this mission. You brought a trail any trained investigator could follow.”

“No. Please—”

“This is not about whether you meant to betray us.” Remar shifted his grip, clasping his hand around the young mans neck, “It is about whether you can.”

There was a sharp crack as Minut’s body went slack. For a moment, the only sound in the compartment was Tessa’s breathing. Remar held the corpse against the bulkhead for another second, as if confirming the matter was settled, then let it drop to the deck. Minut landed badly, one arm twisted beneath him, his head at an angle no living thing could survive.

With the snap she jolted and swallowed hard as Minut hit the deck, it was time to run.

Remar turned to her, calm now, composed, “Help me move him.”

Grace looked to the body on the floor and then up at Remar.

His eyes hardened, “Now.”

"That was needless," she said, stepping forward to the body being sure to move to the lighter half. Her strength was not there to lift the much heavier male. She reached up and tugged at the ear that held the religious earring worn by Bajorans and pulled it off. She made it seem like it was a nervous tick and then followed it up. "This damned thing," and tossed it on the ground. Between the yank from the ear and the throw on the floor it activated an untraceable beacon to signal that she needed to make an escape.

 

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