Borrowed Flesh

Posted on Thu Jan 15th, 2026 @ 10:27am by Vice Admiral Sidra MacLaren & Rear Admiral Cintia Sha'mer & Rear Admiral Indi Hawk

3,153 words; about a 16 minute read

Mission: Dreamdust
Location: SB 369

// Indi's Temporary Quarters, SB 369 //

For most of the time, Indi had been sedated. Off in dreamscape country where nobody could reach her. But sometimes, very sporadically at first, she was conscious and awake. It was during one of such times that something wondrous had happened. Something that changed everything. Something that explained everything. Something she was still relieved, angry, glad and confused about. One of such times, she had slammed her fist into the cupboards again and felt no pain. That in itself wasn't so special, it had been happening since she had been on the starbase. No pain whenever she should have hurt herself. But more than that, not only did she not feel any pain, her fist morphed into goo just before the impact, only to change back into a fist once the impact had been realised. It happened in a flash. If you didn't pay close attention, you missed it while it was happening. 

She was a changeling. 

Once that realisation had sunk in, everything had changed. She practised the impact of her fist on the cupboard several more times, observing as the goo made the exact same impact as a fist would have. There was no distinction to be made. While they left her alone, she practised more shapeshifting. Into every surface she could find in her quarters. It was tricky, because once anybody entered her quarters, she had to go back to the gorked self she had been ever since this Sidra person had ordered this regimen on her. No, 'this Sidra person' was supposed to be her friend. She had to keep up that appearance as long as she was aboard. She remembered now why she was here. She had to gather as much intelligence as possible, and from what she'd been able to send over the past few months, she'd more than succeeded on that already. Apparently, she'd subconsciously been sending reports and asking updates on Indi's personal life in order to keep up her alter ego, and in return, she'd been getting secret returns. Security on this starbase really needed to be tightened. Luckily, she was the one in charge about that. They'd find out sooner or later, but by that time, she planned to be long gone. 

At first, she'd been angry about her situation. How they had left her in the dark about her true self, how they'd suppressed her changeling self. But, she slowly came to understand that it had been a necessity for her to keep up the facade as long as possible. The drug abuse had been an unfortunate side effect, and even though  the human body, whenever she took that form, still craved them pretty badly, she was glad she knew who she was now and could control it. 

As she heard someone approach her quarters, she changed back into Indi and lay down on the bed. 

The door opened to her after a muted chime.

Sidra stepped inside first, unhurried, the way she always did when she wanted a room to settle around her rather than react. She didn’t scan the quarters overtly, didn’t let her gaze linger on anything long enough to suggest suspicion or assessment. She simply took it in, the way she took in everything, quietly, completely.

She stopped a few steps from the bed.

Indi was where she expected. Awake. Still. Sidra didn’t speak, didn’t move closer yet. She folded her hands loosely behind her back, shoulders relaxed but unmistakably squared, occupying the space without claiming it. Whatever authority she carried wasn’t pressed forward. It was just there, patient, immovable.

Sha’mer came in after her, the door closing softly behind them.

Sidra shifted then, just enough to angle herself so Indi wasn’t boxed in, so the room remained open rather than crowded. She remained silent, eyes steady, waiting, not for compliance, not for explanation, but for whatever came next.

And she would stay there as long as it took.

It was strange: the closer Sha'mer came to Indi's quarters, the more she felt her inner awareness of her fading. The connection, faint as it was, became dimmer still. As if the Indi-within tried to recede, withdraw even further from… From what?

She entered the room after Sidra and looked at the figure lying on the bed. Her heart skipped. The connection within was all but imperceptible now, quivering. Afraid?

It was Indi, the person on the bed. Everything was right, the way she looked (too thin, tired, fading, but still, Indi), the way she smelled. The soft sound of her breathing.

At the same time, all Sha'mers instincts screamed WRONG WRONG WRONG!

Dull eyes. Indi made sure to avoid direct eye contact with both women. First, Sidra. Cautious Sidra. Not what the briefings she'd received about Indi's past would suggest. Over the past few months, Indi had pondered what the cause had been. Guilt? The most likely reason. She'd been able to play the other woman - subconsciously until very recently - because of a feeling of guilt or misplaced feelings of past debts that couldn't be paid. She hadn't been worried about Sidra finding out the truth, but that had now changed.

Her focus shifted to the other woman. A threat. But just how much of a threat? There was no recent history between the two. All history was at least a year old. Most was far, far older. How much changed in a year? What was her play here? Was it time to retreat while she still could? Wait. See. It wasn't up to her to make the first move. Dull eyes. No immediate reaction to their presence. How much longer was this an option?

Sidra watched them both.

She didn’t pretend otherwise, didn’t busy herself with a console or a scan that didn’t exist. Her attention stayed where it belonged, on the space between Sha’mer and the bed, on the silence stretching longer than it should have. She couldn’t read it, not cleanly, but she felt it all the same. The way Sha’mer had gone still. The way the room seemed to hold its breath.

Something was off.

Sidra shifted her weight, just slightly, the movement enough to make her presence felt again. “Well,” she said at last, her tone even, almost dry, “someone’s going to have to say something.”

The tension didn’t break.

If anything, it sharpened.

Sidra didn’t comment on that either. She simply stayed where she was, alert now in a way that had nothing to do with rank and everything to do with instinct, eyes moving between them, already braced for whichever way the moment decided to fall.

It seemed a standoff, of sorts. A deadlock which nobody chose to break… until Sha'mer heard, from the very thin link in her mind, a soft whimper. Imagination? Perhaps. Or perhaps it was the Indi at the other side of the link, huddled and folded in on itself, which sensed this situation and reacted to it.

Either way, that almost imperceptible sound within her mind was enough for Sha'mer to break out of that odd deadlock. She stomped forward and glared at the still form lying on the bed. "Who are you, really?" she snarled, and sent the question as a mental probe at the same time: narrow and precise, designed to slide through shields like a mental dagger. Her time in Vo'Sh'un space had been well-spent.

The hand not holding the cane slid down to her brace, to the place where a weapon sat concealed. Back when she was still in active duty, the disguised weapon was a type I phaser, which could, at best, stun someone. These days, it was a Vo'Sh'un handgun, which had a much wider array of possibilities. Her thumb rested on the modifyer, her index finger on the trigger. Ready to pull and shoot at a moment's notice – for those who knew it was there. For anyone else, it just seemed she had her hand pressed against her bad leg, aching after a long walk.

It wouldn't surprise Sha'mer in the least if the person lying on the bed knew it was there.

The question drilled into the mind of Changeling-Indi. It rang loudly and was impossible to ignore. She couldn't resist turning her attention with her eyes on Sha'mer. Like a bolt of lightning, she sat upright. The game was over, that much was certain. Game over, but for whom? She quickly calculated her options. The hand on the weapon she knew the brace concealed. The other woman standing a way's off, but still too close for comfort. There were preciously little options left. Would she make it into the ventilation conduits? And what if she did? They'd lock down the station and not give up until they found her. Was that worth it? Was that an option she wanted to explore? Needed to explore? 

Over the past few months, she'd come to know these people. She had always known the game would come to an end. Deep down, there'd been the knowledge that this was a one way mission. Starfleet didn't treat their prisoners that bad. Not like they did. She'd seen far worse than what she'd come to know from the Federation. 

"You know what I am," she finally replied. With a quick motion, her hand shot out, twisted and twirled, and hit Sidra square in the chest. Enough to knock the Admiral around a bit, to show what she was, but hardly more than that. She didn't know how fast she'd be compared to the weapon, so she didn't try the same trick on Sha'mer. "You know what I am," she repeated, holding up both hands now before any weapon would actually be used. 

The words landed almost a heartbeat before the understanding did.

Sidra stumbled back into the bulkhead, the impact jarring enough to rattle her teeth, and for a fraction of a second her mind insisted on physics that didn’t make sense. The distance had been wrong. The angle worse. The thing on the bed hadn’t moved.

Then the moment replayed itself in her head with brutal clarity.

Not a strike.

An extension.

Something had reached her.

Her hand was already at the small of her back as she caught herself, phaser clearing the holster in one smooth, instinctive motion. As she brought it up, her eyes never left the changeling, but her thumb flicked across the controls by feel alone, the setting chirping softly as it rolled to maximum stun.

“You know what I am,” it had said.

The realization settled like ice down her spine.

“Where the fuck is Indi.”

The demand was low, stripped raw of rank or diplomacy, her stance locking as the threat redefined itself in real time. This wasn’t just impersonation. This wasn’t containment gone wrong. This was a hostile entity capable of closing distance without moving an inch.

Sidra didn’t hesitate again.

She tapped her comm badge without lowering the phaser. “MacLaren to Security. Lock down this deck. Now. Full containment.” Her voice was sharp, absolute. “I want armed response outside my location immediately.”

The doors sealed with a heavy hiss, forcefields snapping into place as the deck went into lockdown.

Sidra shifted just enough to keep herself between Sha’mer and the changeling, phaser steady, eyes hard.

“Don’t move,” she said flatly. “You’ve already crossed the line.”

Sha'mers hand had come up as well, the weapon still mostly concealed. She noted that even though Sidra had moved, she still had been careful not to step directly in the line of fire. If the creature before them didn't hold the answer to Sidra's question, it would have been dead already.

Now, with the lockdown in place, variables had changed. Indi was a prisoner of the Dominion (but where?!). Now they held Fake Indi in turn. There was time to ask questions, gather information.

"Don't even think of changing. I will know where you are, no matter what you transform into. And I won't hesitate to shoot. If you have learned anything from Indi, you'll know I'm not bluffing." Sha'mers voice was icy. That one small whimper had been enough to release the cold, cold fury.

This was going south quickly. Fake Indi let out a sigh. She'd resigned herself to not escaping the moment she had chosen to strike and not to go for the ventilation duct, but that didn't mean she had to like it. As the two women changed their stance in front of her, she made sure to keep her hands in sight. Not that it mattered much, she could still shapeshift at any given time, but if it gave them a false sense of security, she'd take it.

"I don't know," she finally spoke, aiming her answer at Sidra. The threats from Sha'mer hardly got them anywhere, and she wasn't too impressed with them. The fury was hard to miss, but the worst that could happen, is that she would wind up dead. Right?

// Elsewhere //

Meanwhile, the fury was hard to miss. Very hard to miss. Somewhere, physically far away, the fury hit home as well. It was like a blasting headache that came out of nowhere and settled itself between Indi's eyes. Fury. Through the link. Sha'mer! It took a moment to register that the link had finally opened itself somewhat. Over the past few months, she'd tried a couple of times, but her own mind was too weak. Or Cintia had been out of range. Or both. But now, the fury was unmistakable.

The headache made it hard to think. She had to send a message back, but it had been so long since they'd used the link. Instead of focusing on a concrete message, she sent everything. cold/hurt/anger/loneliness/hatred/desperation/survival/failure/hope/hopelessness. One burst, sent more subconsciously than anything.

// Starbase 369 //

Sidra felt it, not through any link she could name, but in the way the air in the room shifted when the situation crossed into something that could not be walked back. Whatever answers the changeling possessed, they were not coming freely, and they were not coming now.

Her jaw tightened.

“Security,” she said sharply, eyes never leaving the figure on the bed. “In. Now.”

The forcefield dropped with a hiss. Armored security officers flooded the doorway in disciplined formation, phasers raised but held, containment protocols snapping into place with practiced precision. Sidra did not look back as they took positions. She did not need to. She trusted them to do exactly what they had been trained to do.

She trusted Sha’mer as well.

That much, at least, was clear. Whatever stood in front of them was not Indi, and Sha’mer had known it before any of them could name it. That mattered.

“Contain it,” Sidra ordered, voice clipped and absolute. “Maximum stun protocols. No lethal force. If it attempts to change, breach containment, or cross a security line, stun it immediately.”

Only then did she lower her phaser a fraction. Not enough to relax. Just enough to shift.

Her focus pulled away from the thing wearing Indi’s face.

This was not the fight that mattered most anymore.

Indi was somewhere else.

The disbelief came late, sharp and unwelcome. After years with no confirmed changeling activity, one had surfaced here, on her station. Logic followed immediately on its heels. Frontier operations. Rapid deployment. Corners cut in the name of momentum. Security compromises accepted because they had to be, because expansion demanded speed.

That logic did nothing to dull the anger.

Captain Rucker was there.

Sidra registered him in her peripheral vision and felt a flicker of relief that surprised her with its intensity. It vanished just as quickly, replaced by something colder. He had arrived by ship. Had he been through their transporters at all? Right now, trust was not a given. It had to be proven.

She turned toward him, phaser still trained on the changeling even as her attention split.

“There’s something you know,” she said, voice low and tight. “Something that never made it into a record. Never into a log.”
Her eyes locked onto his.

“I need it. Now.”

Rucker did not hesitate. He did not posture. He did not soften.

He met her gaze and, seriously, with the faintest glint in his eye, said, “Volan III. Targ wrestling.”

The words landed with weight.

Sidra’s breath caught once. Not enough for anyone else to notice. Enough for her to know.

She had never logged that incident. A muddy shore leave ring. A furious targ. A lieutenant who had stepped in because someone else had frozen. She had buried it under discretion and silence and the unspoken understanding between officers who protected their people from consequences they could not afford.

Her shoulders eased slightly, tension releasing that she had not acknowledged until that moment.

Rucker inclined his head, just enough.

“It’s me,” he said quietly. “I’m solid.”

Sidra turned back to the changeling, hesitation burned away completely.

“Good,” she said flatly.

She raised her voice without turning. “Secure the entity. Level ten containment. No transport access without my authorization. I want it isolated, monitored, and unable to shift.”

She waited, phaser steady, until the creature was restrained and removed under guard. Only then did she allow herself to breathe.

Sidra turned toward Sha’mer.

“We’ll find her,” she said, the promise ironclad. “I swear it.”

And this time, she meant to tear the truth into the light, wherever it had been buried.

Sha'mer hadn't moved, she just kept her weapon trained on the not-Indi with cold precision. She hadn't moved at the 'I don't know' which could have been a death sentence. (It wasn't a lie. Her mental probe told her that.)

She hadn't moved at the sudden influx of emotions from the abruptly expanding link either. Her time spent in the Vo'Sh'un Empire had done wonders for her training in that regard – and in many others. Splitting her attention between the outside world and the inner one wasn't a difficult feat, not anymore. So she still kept her attention on the fake Indi, kept it as the door opened and the security team entered, kept it until the intruder was contained, only relaxing once it was gone.

At the same time she sent a wordless message back through the link: warmth/comfort/reassurance/love/determination. A wordless message which nevertheless conveyed: You are not alone. I will find you.

She nodded at Sidra. "We will."

Come hell or high water, she would.

The Indi Skin
&
Rear Admiral Indi Hawk
&
Rear Admiral Cintia Sha'mer
&
Vice Admiral Sidra MacLaren
Fleet Commander
Epsilon Fleet

 

RSS Feed