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"I'm sorry." Ensign Richard Amund mumbled apologetically, flushing as he stepped back from the officer he had collided with. He had been lost in thought when he rounded the corner, only half paying attention to what was on the other side. He was certainly paying attention now, craning his neck at the Amazonian figure who now stood before him wearing security gold. Her facial features were softened, feminine, yet distinctly Klingon, and framed by a mass of long, dark curls. He had only seen her once or twice--in the messhall, in a corridor-and he couldn't help but stare now that they were in such physical proximity to each other.
Amund had seen Klingons before, but never a female. Not in person. And certainly not one that was a Starfleet offricer who wore Lieutenant's pipsl
Irritatingly aware that she was being scrutinized, Seyla Ta'quith looked down at the human who seemed barely old enough to dress himself, and growled,
"Ensign, may I pass?"
Belatedly, Amund became aware that he was blocking her path and hastily stepped aside.
"I'm sorry, Lieutenant." he stammered.
Ignoring him, Seyla impatiently brushed past, feeling his eyes on her back as she advanced down the corridor. Although most of Prometheus' crew had accepted Seyla's presence unphased, she occasionally encountered an Ensign Amund, and today she wasn't in a tolerant frame of mind. She had worked on her report for Turek all morning, only partially satisfied with the performance of her staff on his specially prepared 'drills'. She had then spent the bulk of the afternoon running her favorite holodeck program with unsatisfactory results. She had only slain 7 holodeck opponents--her running average was 13. A poor showing, and quite unlike her. She had allowed herself to become distracted, her thoughts focused more on her job duties than on the angle of her bat'leth. As she continued down the corridor, another voice halted her.
"Lieutenant."
Seyla stopped abruptly and waited with some curiosity while Naeve Sevril approached. THe other woman smiled as she came closer.
"How's the security department running these days? Is everything alright with Lieutenant Commander Turek away?"
Seyla stiffened at the implied insult. "Of course. Did you expect there would be a problem, Sir?"
Naeve was unaffected by the Klingon's prickly response. She had been watching the aCSO with interest, and had recognized the kindred dissatisfaction and resentment of her secondary role. And so she had made it a point to seek her out before Turek returned from his assignment.
"Not at all, Leutenant." Naeve said mildly. "Turek spoke highly of your abilities in his last departmental report."
Ignoring Seyla's look of surprise, she added, "Very impressive. Keep up the good work."
She nodded and continued down the hall, a trace of a smile playing about her lips. It wasn't every day that you could make a Klingon speechless.
********
The large Bolian recounted his stack of credits, chuckling as he took a swig of the pale pink liquid in his mug. He slammed it down, hard, on the wooden table, scattering some of his credits in the process.
"Agreed." he boomed.
Seated across from him, Turek, expressionless as always, didnt flinch while Mark managed to look boared and impatient at the Bolian's display at the same time. Thier table was in a darkened corner of the bar, away from the music and raucous laughter of those at the dabo tables.
Behind Mark, Garn shifted nervously from foot to foot, his eyes riveted on the large phaser rifles worn by the Bolian's motley assortment of bodyguards. He had been virtually ignored all evening by all piarties, and wanted nothing more than for the Bolian to leave so that he could claim his share of the profit and do the same. At last, he noticed the Bolian rise, murmur a few words to the still seated traders, and disappear into the shadows with his entourage close behind. Eagerly, Garn slipped into his still warm seat and signaled to a waitress.
"So are we successful?" he asked eagerly as a glass of Aldebaran whisky appeared in front of him.
"It appears that way." Mark answered nonchalantly.
"We have agreed to purchase several cases of Talosian wine, Aruthian emeralds, and Derenian mood stones at a discounted rate. In return, we promised him one third of our next shipment of Romulan ale." Turek added.
"Romulan ale?" Garn echoed, his eyes lighting up. His business practices could accurately be described as suspicious, outright illegal at times, and he could certainly appreciate a rare commodity such as Romulan ale. He had hoped the recent treaty would grant him access to the Star Empire's markets, but a trade agreement was slow in coming, and likely far in the future.
"As we agreed, you will recieve 10% of our profit." Turek promised.
"Excellent." the Tellarite chuckled. Rescuing the pair had been his good deed for the month, he had never dreamed they would be fellow traders. Nor had he imagined the lucrative profit he would make introducing them to his contacts.
"Is your business on Naare concluded then?" Garn was careful not to seem to eager. Although thier gain was his as well, he would not have welcomed thier presence on Naare as a permanent fixture. Competition was fierce, and although he welcomed them as friends today, he would prefer they not become his rivals tomorrow. The best thing for all concerned was to help them finish thier business and hurry them offworld as quickly as possible.
Mark leaned forward and spoke quietly. "Almost. There is one more thing we need."
He could feel Turek stiffen beside him. They had argued last ight about the best course of action to take in this matter. Turek felt they should wait and watch the black market traders in hopes of a clue in which direction to take to ply themselves into the local drug trade. But Mark disagreed. Thier time was limited and he felt they needed to be more direct to learn what they needed. It would raise suspicion but he was confident in Starfleet's ability to provide them with airtight identities.
"And what is that?" Garn asked curiously.
Glancing around quickly to ensure they couldn't be overheard, Mark leaned even further across the table.
"Medicines."
"Medicines? What kinds of medicines?" Garn repeated, almost scornfully.
"Mood altering drugs. Many of our clients are unable to obtaina physician prescription and we try to help them out."
Garn sobered. Jewelery, precious stones, even stolen artifacts--he would deal with these commodities--but he had drawn the line at weaposn and drugs. The penalty if caught was not worth the risk, and he wasn't powerful enough to stand up to some of the dark elements of Naare society.
"That's a bit out of my realm of expertise." he stammered.
"But surely you know someone we could talk to." Mark pressed him.
"It's a dangerous game you aim to play." Garn warned.
"We are aware of the risks." Turek interjected. "And our bargain still stands. You will recieve a share of the profit."
Garn glanced unwillingly towards the far wall, where a hooded figure sat, draped by two barely dressed Caitan females. He had never spoken to the figure before, although everyone on Naare knew him by name.
Mark shrugged. "If you cant help us, I understand. I'll ask around, we'll find out some other way."
"I wouldn't recommend that. You'd soon be dead." Garn said sharply.
He shifted in his seat, no longer enjoying the taste of the drink in his glass. Unhappily, he said,
"I can tell you who to speak to...but if you mention me I'll deny knowing you. Do you understand?"
"Perfectly." Mark sat up straight in anticipation.
Garn flicked a finger in the hooded figure's direction. "That's Tingal. You want to ask him about your medicines. But his friends are dangerous people."
"We'll take that under advisement." Mark glanced at the figure thoughtfully, formulating a plan in his mind.
Garn followed Mark's gaze and shivered. "Then it's time for me to leave." He tossed several credits on the table. "You know where to find me."
Without another word, he scurried nervously away from them.
"I agree with Garn." Turek said quietly. "It would not be wise to approach this Tingal."
Mark sighed in exasperation. "Then what would you suggest? That we wait? We've got 48 hours to complete our mission. If not this guy, then who?"
Turek said nothing for a moment. At last, he nodded. "Then we must proceed with caution."
"I agree. I'll talk to him, you stay here."
Turek eyed him with obvious disapproval but did not object.
"You look Rigelian from afar, but up close they'd know you were Vulcan. That would raise too many questions. If you stay here, you can cover me if there's trouble."
"Very well." Turek sighed heavily, and with reluctance.
"Good." Mark stood up and swiftly made his way to the hooded figure. The man must have sensed his approach, for he looked up, his face hidden in shadow but his eyes, blacker than his robes, glittered from beneath his hood. Mark stopped directly before him, pausing to allow Tingal to make an assessment.
"May I sit down?" he asked politely.
"Why?" The Rigelian asked. "I dont know you."
"True enough. But it could be to the benefit of both of us if you did." Mark said casually, aware of the flicker of interest beneath the hood.
"How enigmatic. I can't refuse to hear you out after such a bold statement." Tingal gestured briefly and the women reluctantly stepped away, slipping into the shadows after an irritated glare in Mark's direction.
"So." he began. "What can we do for each other?"
Aware that he still hadn't been invited to sit, Mark leaned over the table and said quietly, "I've heard you can procure medications--pain killers, mood enhancers and the like."
The black eyes turned as cold as onyx. "From whom?"
Mark shrugged casually. "I've been asking about several items that I need. Your name was dropped multiple times by various traders."
"I see. and what medicines are you looking for specifically?"
"Koma." Mark met Tingel's level gaze with his own.
To his surprise, the Rigelian laughed. "Koma? Are yo not aware that is a hallucinogen and an illegal substance within Federation borders?"
"True." Mark agreed. "But so is the disrupter beneath your cloak."
Tingel fell silent and the obsidian eyes scrutinized him once more.
"Sit down." he said at last.
Turek watched the pair silently, a slight frown on his face as Mark sat across from the Rigelian whispering and using hand gestures to communicate. The human was too impatient, irrational in his thinking. There was no logic in his plan. "Let's wing it." he had said. Turek did not approve of the Commander's methods, but he reluctantly had to admit that so far, things were going better than expected.
After only a brief stay at the Rigelian's table, Mark returned, his face betraying nothing.
"Well?"
"Outside." Mark murmured, adn did not speak again until they had left the warmth of the bar behind.
It was quite and dark that starless night, Naare's twin moon offering scant illumination. A chill wind whistled past a street lamp and Mark shivered, his breath visible in the frosty air of the thin atmosphere. THe faint strains of music and laughter came from the string of establishments further down the strip, and several drunken figures staggered and swayed past the silent pair. Overhead, several transports hovered in a holding pattern, waiting thier turn to land in the makeshift spaceport. It was a lucrative business to offer passage to Lyad's other wealthier colonies to the groups of Rigelian emigres fresh from the homeworld.
"Commander, are you going to reveal the content of your conversation?" Turek whispered, obviously vexed.
"We talked. We negotiated. I bought some koma. He'll deliver tomorrow." Mark whispered back.
"Indeed? The ease with which you succeeded disturbs me."
"Me too, Turek. And that's why we'll be careful. We dont have to arrest him. We just have to buy the koma and pass the information on to the proper authorities."
"It is not as simple as you make it sound, Commander."Turek warned.
"But we're closer to completing our mission than we were yesterday."
Turek could not disagree, recognizing that what bothered him most was the fact that Mark's illogical, haphazard method was successful. They hurried across a deserted street, away from the strip of bars and shops. Turek heard the footsteps before Mark did, the faint sound of heel against stone matching thier pace. Within moments, he could sense the fleeting image of a figure slipping in and out of the shadows behind them.
"Commander, I believe we are being followed." he said in a low voice.
Mark tensed but Turek gripped his arm. "Do not turn around. Keep walking."
They continued in silence for several hundred feet, slowing thier pace. Mark could no longer hear thier pursuer, but he knew the acuity of Vulcan hearing and he trusted Turek implicitly. Suddenly, Turek spun around and lunged at what seemed to be nothing but shadows. A figure materialized out of the darkness and attempted to flee. Alarmed, Mark hadn't realized how close thier pursuer had been. The figure was quick, but Turek was faster. With one swift move, he had wrestled the intruder to the ground.
The hood fell away, revealing a feminine face with close cropped brown hair, high cheekbones, ears which tapered gracefully at the tips, and dark, almond shaped eyes. The Rigelian woman regarded them silently, and without fear, as she lay pinned beneath Turek's strong grip.
"Are you going to let me up?" she asked calmly.
The two men ignored her. Mark knelt beside her, searching through her cloak for a weapon. Finding none, he aimed his phaser levelly at her chest.
"At the moment, I'm not particularly inclined to. Who are you?"
"Malaki Sorel, Starfleet Intelligence. And Lieutenant Commander, I would truly appreciate it if you would release me. I prefer to know a man better before he gets me on my back." She spoke in low tones, but could not disguise her amusement.
Mark quickly masked his laugh with a coughing fit as he holstered his phaser.
Turek had the grace to look uncomfortable as he released her wrists. She had addressed him by rank--logic dictated she most probably had ties to Starfleet.
The Rigelian got to her feet, brushing off her cloak, and drew the hood up again. Mark watched her through narrowed eyes.
"Ms. Sorel, do you mind my asking you what you're doing here? We were never told we had a contact on Naare." Mark asked suspiciously.
"That's Commander Sorel, Mr. O'Conner. And you may not have been told about me, but I know all about you. And your mission." she said lightly. "I was told to keep an eye on you, make sure you stayed out of trouble."
"We don't need a baby sitter." Mark responded stiffly.
"I'm not implying that you do." She switched subjects abruptly. "I noticed you were with Tingal tonight. What was that all about?"
"We were told he's the one to get what we need."
"You're doing business with Tingal?" she asked incredulously. "THat's either very brave or very foolish."
"I agree." Turek spoke up, disregarding Mark's glare.
"Weve suspected him for a long time. He isn't stupid--nailing him will be tough. Be careful. I'll try to be close by, but most of the people he does business with end up dead. Good luck."
Without waiting for a reply, she tightened the cloak around her shoulders and walked briskly away from them, into the wind, the pale moon of Kest offering feeble illumination in the starless night. Her footsteps receded as she melted into the shadows.
"Charming woman." Mark remarked.
"Her concerns are valid. We should heed her warning." Turek whispered, his eyes still staring in the direction she had gone.
"Oh, dont you start too." Mark sighed.
************
Colin Becker stood outside Sickbay, shifting his weight from one foot to the other as he mentally rehearsed what he was planning to say. He stared balefully at the entrance doors and just as he was gathering the will to pass through, they slid open without warning. THe expression on Mirana Keset's face most likely mirrored his own, Colin thought. Surprise, mingled with alarm,and an underlying wariness.
"Captain. What are you doing here?" she asked abruptly. "I mean--of course you can come here. It's your ship. I'm just surprised." She stopped herself before she began to babble.
Clearing his throat, Colin put on his most pleasant expression. "I was coming to see you actually, Doctor. I trust you have recovered from your injuries?"
He was referring, of course, to her escapades several weeks ago when she had disrupted a plot to take over a Federation mining colony. She had been injured in the process, requiring extensive surgery followed by days of recuperation. Needless to say, the incident had somewhat dampened her desire for further adventure. For now, she was grateful for things the way they had been since her return--dull and quiet. Mark O'Conner and Turek were now on an away mission and for once, she did not envy them.
"I'm glad to be back to work, Sir." she said firmly.
"Have you had lunch, Doctor?" He asked quickly, before he could change his mind.
Mirana stared at him, and Colin looked back steadily.
"No, sir." she admitted.
"Would you join me then? Two of my senior officers are off ship and Lieutenant Commander Sevril is unable to pull away from her duties."
Mirana did not answer immediately. "Permission to speak freely, sir?"
"Granted."
"Captain, with all due respect, our last lunch ended in disaster." she pointed out, unnecessarily.
On that occasion, she had unintentionally brushed by his mind and he had been furious with her for days.
"Precisely why I'm asking again. I'd like to remedy that. A good relationship with my staff is important to me." The well rehearsed lines came easily to his lips now.
"Alright, sir." she agreed, tentatively.
"Provided, Doctor, " he interjected. " that we dont discuss my mental health or your psi talents."
"I will keep myself tightly sheilded at all times and I wont even mention Betazed." Mirana promised. She was intensely curious about his aversion to her abilities. Sometimes she thought he was afraid of her, at other times he had radiated hostility, but had never offered an explanation for his behaviour. It had made for a very rocky relationship from the start. But if he was offering another olive branch, who was she to reject it?
"Let's go, Captain. I'm starved."
********
mark O'Conner firmly banished all doubt from his mind as he ascended the steps to the entrance of the old building where they had agreed to meet. It was too late to get nervous, he reminded himself firmly. His part was almost finished, except for the last act, and he planned a flawless performance. As they drew closer, he could see two Nauscican guards scrutinizing them, arms crossed as they surveyed the approaching human and Vulcan suspiciously.
Mark strode past them but when Turek made to follow, a hand was planted firmly in his chest.
"NOt you." It's owner sneered, gesturing towards Mark with his head. "Just him."
"But he's my partner." Mark objected.
The Nauscican's expression brooked no argument. "Tingal's orders specify only you." he repeated. Jabbing Turek once in the chest, he said firmly, "This one stays."
"I will wait for you here, Jack." Turek said quietly. "Do not be long."
Mark nodded slowly. "Alright, Merek. I'll be back soon."
More apprehensive now, Mark passed through the next doorway, alone. Stooping so as to avoid hitting his head on the low archway, he entered a large room. It's single source of light hung over a circular table, at which Tingal sat, alone. Further back, in the shadows, Mark could make out several figures, most likely guards.
"You're on time." Tingal grinned mirthlessly. "I like a man who is punctual."
Mark waited until the Rigelian gestured for him to move closer, further into the light.
"Do you have it?" his voice echoed in the large chamber.
"I do." Tingal pushed a large silver case towards him from across the table.
"May I?" Mark asked, and at the other man's nod, he opened the case. Three hundred packets of powdery white koma awaited him in neat, orderly piles.
"Is everything in order?" Tingal asked, his eyes on Mark.
"Seems to be." Mark said casually, snapping the case closed. "And now, my end of the bargain." He reached beneath the folds of his tunic and placed three bars of latinum on the table.
Tingal looked thoughtfully at the latinum and slowly brought his gaze back to Mark's face. The silence grew until it became awkward. Mark sensed the attack too late to ward off the blow. As the floor rushed up to greet him, his eyes met those of the cowled figure behind Tingal. His last waking thought before darkness descended was of betrayal.
At his signal, several of Tingal's guards began to search Mark's unconscious form.
"You'd better be right. If you've ruined a genuine deal, I'll take it out of your pay." he warned the hooded figure.
"I am right." she said calmly.
"Tingal, look!" One of his guards held up an object, his expression triumphant. He was clutching a Starfleet issue recording device, its small green light indicating it was still active.
Tingal glanced sharply in the female Rigelian's direction. Commander Malaki Sorel looked back at him and smiled.
*************
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