Thick serpents of warm rolling smoke coiled over their secluded booth, their listless floating forms unwilling or unable to disappear into the permanent miasma of the bar’s hazy upper atmosphere. The twin shapes chased each other in ever-expanding circles, their lazy pursuit reflected in the burnished table of the booth where Eyma tapped the tip of the hooka pipe nervously.

“Remind me why I’m here.” She fiddled with the pipe’s golden tip, rubbing her delicate thumb back and forth across the aperture; the minute changes in pressure causing tiny wisps of green smoke to spill from its tip.

“You said you were tired of doing loops around K-74,” Mitchell replied in a barely audible mutter, his attention focused on the borrowed Klingon tricorder hidden strategically beneath the table on his thigh. In the dim light of the bar, its jagged rust-red form looked even more cruel than it had done in the back of the well-lit transport.

“That didn’t mean I wanted to come and hang out…” she cast a wary eye across the dimly lit lounge, its numerous booths filled with traders and criminals in equal measure, “…here.”

Letting out a stream of smoke from his own tail of the hooka pipe, Bib gave her a cheeky smile from across the table. “It’s not that bad, there hasn’t been a fight for almost an hour. I’ve been in worse bars.”

“We’ve been here for 4 hours waiting for this contact.” Eyma eyed the Commander suspiciously, he was worryingly comfortable.

“We have been here a while.” Bib leant forward, his body shielding the Lieutenant who continued to interrogate the jagged device beneath the table. “Any luck David?”

“These things aren’t exactly designed for advanced scanning.” The tricorder emitted a faint beep before a large red failure notification appeared on the small screen. Mitchell hissed in frustration. “There’s so much interference here, I can’t see anything.”

“Nothing?”

“Correction, I can see lots of things but nothing useful,” he clarified tossing the small device to the side in frustration. “I would have better luck just asking someone if they happened to see a group of lost xBs wandering around.”

“Would that get us out of here quicker?” Eyma shuddered slightly as she felt something crawl over her boot.

“In a shipping container perhaps.” Bib joked, eliciting a barely stifled gasp from Eyma. Reaching out, he stilled the young Orion woman’s twitching hand beneath his large palms. “I’m joking Eyma, you’re safe with us.” She looked back at him with a barely convinced look of concern, her large brown eyes edged with perceptible worry. Sensing his reassurances were unlikely to calm her further he offered a smile before leaning back into the worn leather of the booth’s corner and lifting the pipe to his lips, the secreted mic in the cuff of his civilian jacket rising with it.

“Bahir, any luck on your end?” he whispered to the shared comm link as he took a drag on the colourful smoke, the taste of exotic berries rippling across his lips.

“Unfortunately not, we have been unable to locate any useful information. K’Sal is currently speaking with the last contact on Oshira’s list, but they are the last option on a very short list.” The voice of Helios’ Saurian security chief replied over the secure comms, his frustration audible over the kilometres that separated the two teams. “We have had no luck with the scanning equipment either, it is…” There was a noticeable pause as Bahir searched for the most suitable word, “… inefficient. A proper tricorder would be much more useful.”

“Agreed.” David commiserated as he took a sip of his drink, a frothy concoction with lashings of fragrant spices.

“Then it’s a shame we don’t have any isn’t it?”

“I still don’t see why-”

“-You know what the brief said, no Starfleet tech.” Bib interrupted, his voice barely a whisper “We’re not meant to be here.”

“The syndicate would not be happy at the idea of Starfleet poking their nose around. That’s for sure.” Eyma re-commenced her tapping against the table, eliciting a rhythmic ting as the pipe’s metal struck the worn surface as she resumed surveilling the bar’s single access door.

“They wouldn’t hit us here in the open would they?” David’s voice was tinged with panic as he turned towards Bib, who waved him off with a barely reassuring shake of the head. Reluctantly, he lifted the Klingon tricorder back to its hidden position on his leg, once again attempting to wrangle an answer from the unhelpful device.

“I wouldn’t put anything past the Syndicate, especially not the groups out on the borders. They’re all looking to make a name for themselves, disappearing some…” she paused midsentence, making a quick assessment of their surroundings before continuing. “Disappearing some nosy visitors wouldn’t be at all unusual.”

David looked up from the device, another failed scan eliciting a frustrating sigh from the man as he rubbed his brow. “Where did you get all this experience from?”

Eyma smiled coyly, her natural charisma peeking through her nervous visage. “Not everyone spent their teenage years with the nose buried in their books.”

“That is why you are here.” Bib acknowledged as he tipped his imaginary cap.

“My nose wasn’t buried-”

“-K’Sal has returned.” Bahir interrupted from across the other side of the base. On the far side of the mining outpost, the tall Bajoran woman shook her head towards the Saurian. “She has not had any success.” 

“Okay Bahir, head back to the transport, perhaps it’s time to consider a different tactic.” Bib took another suck on the golden pipe, allowing the warm smoke to fill his lungs. “It doesn’t look like our contact is going to show.”

“Assuming they haven’t disappeared.” David took another long sip from his mug, gulping the dregs down, his face contorting from the spiced sludge that came with the last sip. “Or been made to disappear.”

“There was no suggestion that they were under any suspicion.”

“There never is but the informant is always caught out.”

“Since when?” Bib scoffed, “You’ve been reading too many holo-novels.”

“Luridan? Ascar Minor?” David replied, his head tilting smugly.

“Luridan? Now, he went on the run and Ascar Minor?” Bib furrowed his brow attempting to find a suitable summary of the mission. “He… encountered some local fauna.”

“And disappeared.”

“Guys.” Eyma had stopped tapping the table, her body now still as the proverbial deer in the headlights. “I don’t think this one has disappeared.”

She nodded down the long corridor that formed the centre of the bar towards the entryway where the angular form of a woman had appeared, her body cast into silhouette by flashes of leaping orange molten metal struggling to escape the nearby foundry. In the dim front light of the bar only the golden glimmer of her tattoo was easily visible, a winding gilded serpent that coiled across her chest before climbing up her throat to a fanged mouth that framed her head. Where the snake began and the woman ended was unclear but its message was obvious. Danger.

“Remind me what her codename was again,” David whispered, unable to draw his eyes away from this woman who looked like she could stand carefree on the surface of a sun.

“Aspis. Her codename is Aspis.”

“So tell me,” Aspis sighed, her lilting voice rolling through a stormcloud of smoke that tumbled from her lips. “Why would a bunch of xB’s be so interesting to a group of…” She smiled as she looked around the small bar table at the trio, the tip of her tongue dancing over her blinding white teeth, flashing a forked tongue in the shadowed bar light. “…mercenaries?”

“The same as anything else.” Bib returned her smile confidently. “Latinum.”

Aspis let out a short laugh as she took a sip from a tall stemmed glass filled with vibrant red liquid. In the bar’s dim light, the drink’s natural glow cast her face in a morbid visage, the golden serpent tattoo appearing to drink down the thick blood-like liquid with pleasure. David shuddered reflexively, every inch of his skin begging to escape.

“I assumed Latinum was involved, are you being paid to find them or kill them?”

“Does it matter?”

“Sometimes, it depends on who is doing the asking.”

Eyma took a data padd from her small bag nested beneath the table and slid it across the table. “An old guy heard his son might be back from the Borg. He will pay most of his life savings to see him back on Earth.” She tapped the padd indicatively, causing it to spring to life with the fake cover story the team had created. Silently the three shared a moment of hope that it wouldn’t fail under scrutiny.

Aspis didn’t even lift the padd to take a look, instead swinging her head, cobra-like, her attention settling on the young Orion woman. A wicked smile crept across her lips as the serpent’s head flickered in the shadows of the bar; beneath the table, Mitchell reached for the small phaser pistol hidden at the bottom of his bag. The cold surface calmed his nerves momentarily.

“There’s a lot of people who would like to see loved ones they lost to the Borg.”

“Do they all have Latinum?”

“Rarely enough.”

“Then we’re not interested in them.” Eyma’s face was an emerald statue, cool and inscrutable. Mitchell felt a shudder up his spine once again at her sudden poker face, the young woman was normally so vibrant and friendly, this was not a side he had ever imagined could exist beneath her signature wry grin.

Aspis leant back into the patchy leather of the booth, seemingly satisfied or bored with baiting Eyma.

“As luck would have it, I have heard a rumour that several xB’s have been sighted planet side. Looking for work in the refinery.” She swirled the red liquid once again, the viscous drink slopping slowly against the crystal glass. “Poor things were desperate apparently, you’d have to be to take work there.”

“And did they get work?” Bib leant forward, the refinery was a lead at last but not a big one.

“Probably, though whether they survived it is a different matter.” She lifted the glass in a mock toast. “Few who enter come back out, it’s deadly work.” She took another deep sip from the glass, her forked tongue reaching out to lap the scarlet liquid moments before it reached her lips.

“They die in there? That’s awful.” Mitchell blurted out. Across the table Bib’s eyes narrowed at him in a silent scold.

Slowly Aspis turned all her attention to the mousey man, her body uncurling from its reclined position to bring her face inches from his own. The scent of her perfume crept around Mitchell’s neck, filling his nostrils with whispers of unnamed spices as the golden serpent hovered a breath away, he could almost taste the remnant of thick red drink that stained her lips. Mitchell went to reach for the small phaser pistol but found his body locked in place, petrified before this medusa.

“People die all the time my love, is it always awful?” Her breath was warm on his skin.

A parade of faces danced in the reflection of his eyes, looking back from the steely crystal of her piercing orange eyes.

T’sal, lost attempting to find the Lost Fleet’s hidden base, for what was eventually a great ruse.

A waste and thus doubly awful.

Zaya, lost aboard the Exodus sphere trying to stop a madman from resurrecting the Borg.

A heroine, heartbreakingly awful.

Uncle Saul, lost to the false promises of rebels and anarchists who sought to raise another war.

A fool but no less awful.

“Yes, it’s always awful,” David whispered.

The last face lingered painfully clear. His father, lost on Frontier Day through no fault of his own.

Awful. Indescribably, eternally awful.

“Such delicious sadness for such a young man.” Aspis slipped closer, her whole body now rising over Mitchell as she lifted herself onto the booth’s seat. In panic he attempted to look to Bib or Eyma, offering a desperate plea for help beyond the serpentine woman; but there was nothing beyond her scent, her tongue, her all-perceiving eyes.

She pressed herself closer, the heat of her body brushing against Mitchell’s soft, fearful skin.

“My, my, my do all young men suffer such loss? Or is it just those in Starfleet?”

He shuddered again, from fear or excitement he wasn’t sure.

“I’m not Starfleet.”

His pulse thundered in his ear like the hoofbeats of a charging stampede, a deafening betrayal of his obvious lie.

“That’s not what I heard.” She took a deep breath, drawing in the young man’s fearful scent. “Lieutenant. Mitchell.”

Mitchell’s heart stopped, and the deafening sound of his pulse fell away as his breath caught in his throat. He would be the cause of the mission’s failure and worse, likely the team’s demise. Here in the shadows of a dark syndicate bar, he would end his days in service of the great Starfleet. Just as his mother had feared, just as he had secretly feared ever since returning to service aboard Nestus over a year ago.

And then there was a flash of brilliant light.

And then there was darkness.

And Mitchell took a breath.

“This is a complication,” Bahir mused, knitting his brows together, the scaley crests that equated to the Saurian’s eyebrows smashing together with tectonic effort as he assessed their options.

“Master of the understatement as ever Bahir,” K’sal muttered from across the squat, dimly lit room as she peered through the dusty blinds. The apartments of Silica Heights were less than glamorous but the proprietors didn’t ask many questions and didn’t track their comings and goings. All positive attributes for a temporary safe house.

“This could be the end of the mission.” Her keen eyes stalked up and down the wide avenue outside the squat building, watching for suspicious activity. So far her list of dubious loiterers comprised of three; a shifty-looking Telleraite who had been perusing the food stall for too many minutes and a pair of Andorian urchins with suspiciously good footwear. “Or the end of us.”

“If we were in particular danger, I suspect we would already have enforcers at the gate.” Bahir glanced at the dented set of doors in the corner, its surface bearing telltale signs of more than one previous violent encounter.

The room held its breath, waiting to see if the security chief had tempted fate.

“We’re safe for now,” Bib reassured the room from the small kitchenette where he trawled through a field kit, searching for the equipment he needed. The assembled officers let out a communal, shallow breath despite his unconvincing confidence.

Satisfied they were not likely to be facing a disruptor imminently the group’s attention returned to the figure of Aspis who lay unconscious on the small apartment’s bed. A thin hum of the portable forcefield generators suffused the stuffy air as motes of ever-present dust drifted through the dim shadows, causing the field to spark and stutter with familiar blue light that danced across their assembled faces.

“What are we going to do with her?” Mitchell asked, his shaggy form barely visible against the dark cotton of the worn couch. “She knew I was Starfleet.”

“There’s a good chance she could know about us all,” K’Sal added from the window. “It’s a small rock.” Her eyes lifted from the grimy streets visible through the cell-like bars of the blinds to the sky, its inky black filled with a sea of pinprick lights; their interstellar rays uninterrupted by Pamack’s barely-cohesive atmosphere. In the distance, a flicker of dense green light pulsed erratically as the base’s forcefield shell struggled to maintain cohesion, an ominous reminder of how precarious their situation was. “Why anyone would want to live here is beyond me. Syndicate on one side, waiting void on the other.”

“It’s free,” Eyma answered. The first words she had said in the half-hour that had passed following the incident at the bar. “It’s theirs.”

“She speaks!” K’Sal cried mockingly her stern eyes darting to the young Orion woman.

“Yes. She speaks.”

Mitchell was quickly at her side, emerging from the safety of the threadbare cocoon. “Eyma, are you okay? We thought you she might have done something, some mind game.”

“No David, I shot her myself, there was no mind control.”

“Are you sure? My scans indicate some Betazoid lineage. That is how she was able to distract Lieu…” Bahir caught himself as he slipped into old habits. Even here in relative safety, it paid to maintain pretences, “… distract Mitchell.”

“Even part Betazoids can affect weak minds,” K’Sal added, her frustration palpable. “Maybe that explains why you jeopardised the whole mission by firing on her.”

Bib shot her a warning look. ‘Enough’. With a small eye roll, the frustrated Bajoran woman returned her attention to the window and the suspicious passersby.

Seemingly unaware of the exchange Bahir continued. “A quick scan shows she likely doesn’t have full telepathic abilities, most likely a low-level aptitude that she has refined over the years. You said you felt-”

“-entranced, yes. That’s the only word for it. She had my complete attention.” David’s eyes glazed over for a second as his mind fell back to the bar; the leather beneath his fingers, the scent of spiced perfume in the air, the hypnotic hyper-focus of her eyes.

“I doubt she would have been able to convince Eyma to fire her weapon at the same time. Regardless what would that have achieved?” Bahir mused, his brows knitting further into a coral-coloured mountain range.

“It brought her into our safe house didn’t it?” K’sal spat from the window. “Could have been the plan all along. And someone gave it to her.”

A second warning look from Bib silenced her.

“She did not appear to have any form of tracking device on her person.” Bahir motioned to the nondescript grey cube on the nearby table, a small control panel glowing dimly. “And if she knew we were Starfleet she would know we have the ability to block an outgoing signal.”

“She has nothing to gain by being captured,” Bib added as he continued to focus his attention on the kit; lifting vials of liquid and inspecting them before shaking his head and putting them back.

“Then why did you fire your phaser Eyma?” Mitchell asked quietly.

“I thought she was going to hurt you,” she answered matter of factly. Her eyes began to fill with tears as she recollected the panic that had set in as the snake woman had leered over him menacingly. Before she had time to think the phaser pistol was in her hand, her slim green finger depressing the trigger.

Mitchell looked back, his own eyes feeling damp at the edges as he fell into the dark pools of her fearful eyes. Between the pair an unspoken understanding began to dawn, there was more to their friendship than either had realised. He reached out to take her hand reassuringly.

“Found it!” Bib exclaimed, holding a hypospray aloft.

Mitchell’s hand quickly withdrew.

“These kits aren’t designed for it but I think I’ve managed to assemble something that will wake her up.” He closed the lid on the small tan briefcase they had acquired on K-74, its surface bearing the angular emblem of the Ferengi Alliance. “Bahir, cover me.”

As he crossed to the forcefield barrier that marked the edge of their makeshift brig Bahir took his pistol from his holster, training it on the unconscious woman. In the corner, K’Sal also surreptitiously drew her pistol but held it to her side, white-knuckled. With a press of a small control unit, the field fizzled away. Bib took a few tentative steps towards Aspis, the hypospray in one outstretched hand as his antenna twitched suspiciously. Everyone present held their breath once again as a familiar hiss slid across the silent room, followed by a sudden intake of breath as Aspis returned to consciousness.

“What the hell?!” Aspis screeched, followed by another heaving breath as she flailed in surprise. Bib took several steps back, allowing Bahir’s weapon full line of sight as he settled into an authoritative stance, positioning himself in the low illumination of the room to lend him a suitably ominous air.

“This is very simple. I will ask questions and you will answer them.” Bib’s baritone echoed across the small room, bouncing threateningly between the grey walls, the threadbare sofa and the cracked doorway.

Aspis suddenly bolted upright, her eyes slowly scanning the assembled faces.

“Oh no, Commander. It’s just got very complicated.”

Mitchell caught Bib’s antenna twitch minutely in the corner of his vision, for a moment it was possible K’Sal might be right.

Wiping a mote of spittle from the corner of her mouth Aspis allowed a smile to spread across her lips, her smug satisfaction barely contained.

“I’m Klingon Intelligence, you idiots.”

“You’re Klingon Intelligence,” K’sal hissed incredulously, her fingers still hovering over the trigger of her phaser pistol.

“What? Not enough cranial ridges for you?” Aspis spat back from behind the hum of the forcefield as she rubbed her forehead. Her golden serpent tattoo writhed in discomfort, its fangs twitching at her pulsing headache.

“But you’re Betazoid, Betazed is part of the Federation.” Eyma interrupted from the small table, her face heavy with a look of confusion. “Why would you serve the Empire?”

“That’s a shockingly narrow-minded view, especially for an Orion serving in Starfleet.” Venom dripped from the woman’s tongue, creeping across the small room to chastise the young Lieutenant. “Not every Betazoid subscribes to the fluffy utopia of the Federation, filled with starry-eyed, naive idiots.”

“That still does not explain why you would be working for Klingon Intelligence,” Bahir added.

Aspis’ eyes narrowed towards the tall coral security chief, a wicked smile tugging at her top lip, “I have a thing for pain sticks.”

An awkward silence hung over the tiny apartment, each party assessing the other. Aspis continued to rub her temples, seemingly attempting to squeeze the headache from her body.

“But the Empire?” Eyma resumed, the confusion on her face undiminished.

“They are as good a boss as anyone else.” Aspis shrugged her shoulders. “They had work and I had skills. Plus it’s never boring being a spy for the most unsubtle people this side of Romulus.”

Bib took a step forward, his face cast into stark shadow by the low streetlights wrestling to peek through the window blinds. His chiselled chin and strong brow producing a predatory silhouette.

“If what you say is true-”

“-And it is.”

“Then we would have no way of proving it.” Bib took another step forward, his nose inches from the static buzz of the barely perceptible forcefield. “It could all be a ploy.”

“You’re right, I could be lying about the whole thing as an elaborate ruse to escape and report you to the Syndicate!” Aspis threw her hands to her slender cheeks in mock surprise. “You’re far too smart for me Starfleet!”

“We should stun her again,” K’sal announced from the window where she kept watch. “She hasn’t got anything useful to say.”

Bahir threw a chastising look toward the Bajoran woman who simply rolled her eyes before resuming her overwatch.

“I’m here because we have a shared interest.”Aspis took a small step towards Bib, the pair now separated by less than a metre and several hundred joules of energy.

“You’re here because Eyma shot you with a phaser pistol,” Bib corrected through the forcefield, it’s surfacing fizzing with potential energy.

“So literal Commander. Oshira said you were direct. She did, however, neglect to inform me you were so handsome, I’ll have to tell her off.” Aspis flicked an eyebrow coyly.

“You know Oshira?” David blurted out, standing suddenly from his seat at the table. The former comrade was thousands of light years away aboard Daedalus, to hear her name here was unexpected.

“Who do you think relayed the tip about your xBs? I couldn’t deliver it through normal channels.”

“Through the Empire?” Bib interrupted, drawing her attention back to the stoic Andorian.

“In case you missed it Toral has made some changes to our relationship. Helping the Federation isn’t quite at the top of the Empire’s priorities anymore.”

“Then why are you helping us here?”

Aspis paused, her previously confident demeanour falling away momentarily as she considered her reply. “The people here are simply looking for a life of their own. Most of them are good people. They all deserve the opportunity to start a new life, regardless of their past.”

“Then why are you here?” K’sal sniped.

As quickly as Aspis’ moment of vulnerability had emerged it disappeared once more, swallowed by the golden maw that framed her face. “Because someone is offering boatloads of Latinum for Borg tech and the Empire doesn’t want that sort of thing in their backyard.”

“They’d rather it in their own armoury,” Bib noted.

“Can you blame them? Or is it only Starfleet that’s allowed a secret weapons locker?”

“Daystrom isn’t a weapons locker.”

“Tell that to all the weapons that were stored there.”

The awkward silence returned to the room as those assembled struggled to justify the recently revealed Daystrom Station, rumours abounded throughout the fleet of its contents. All of them agreed they were dangerous.

Aspis’ smug smile grew wider as she continued, “Someone wants all the Borg stuff they can get their hands on and it seems the Syndicate is happy to facilitate it as long as they get a cut. I was here investigating when I found out that there was an offer for living xBs, that’s when I reached out to Oshira.”

“Out of the goodness of your heart?” Bib asked, his voice still full of disbelief.

“My handlers in the Empire don’t particularly care about the lives of a few former Borg drones. I feel differently.” Her eyes narrowed imperceptibly as she turned her attention momentarily to the young Orion officer on the far side of the room. “Maybe it’s the Betazoid in me,” she teased.

“I can’t accept any of this without some proof.”

Aspis sighed as her eyes rolled in frustration, the whites of her eyeball a stark contrast to the dark olive of her skin in the dim light. “Fine,” she groaned.”Starfleet still have friends in House Koloth, if I give you proof they will be able to confirm it.”

“That depends on the proof.” Bib’s acknowledged with a nod. “But yes, I suppose they could.”

Aspis rang a long finger along the side of her cheek, drawing the sharp talon of her nail down the side of the golden tattoo, a tear of shining liquid forming on its tip. Matter of factly she presented the outstretched finger towards the forcefield and the assembled officers.

“In the genetic base code, you’ll find a signature that your contacts will recognise. It should be sufficient to prove my identity.”

“But not your intent.”

“For that, I can only offer my word. I do not wish to see Borg technology in the hands of the Syndicate any more than you do. It would not end well for anyone.”

Bib glanced towards Bahir, the Saurian’s focus and aim still fixed unfalteringly on the untrustworthy visitor. The raising of Bib’s brow was enough to relay an entire question, the two officers communing in the stuffy silence of the dingy room, a few seconds later Bahir nodded curtly.

“David, please collect the sample and prepare the data for transmission to Helios via K-74. The Captain will be able to confer with our contacts.” Bib took a small control unit from his pocket and with a few button presses caused a small portal to appear in the forcefield.

Mitchell offered up a small vial, accepting the golden droplet from Aspis’s extended hand before rushing back to the counter and slotting it into the small computer terminal fitted to the med kit. The forcefield closed with a boiling fizzle as Aspis took several steps back.

“What will we do in the meantime Commander?” Aspis asked with a smile. “I’m surprisingly good at t’Sang.”

“You’ll stay quiet, or I’ll let K’sal try some target practice.”

Across the room, the Bajoran woman tapped her phaser pistol and smiled.

Thick beads of sweat continued pooling in the cleft of K’Sal’s back as she twitched uncomfortably beneath her sopping wet t-shirt, a symptom of the almost overwhelming heat that flooded the large room. Even her hair suffered at the hands of the unrelenting atmosphere, the normal flourish of a golden mohican drooping like an underwatered plant.

“I don’t like any of this,” she muttered from the corner of her mouth, flicking a weary forelock away from her face.

“I suspected the temperature might be a problem. We can move back towards the air conditioning if you suffer too greatly.” Bahir nodded towards the pair of air handling units that offered a paltry attempt at reducing the room’s ambient temperature. Several of the room’s other occupants crowded the units, desperately attempting to cool themselves. At the centre of the group a squat Ferengi slapped a nearby Naussican bodyguard who resumed wafting a large golden fan with reluctance, his indecision over whether the Latinum was worth it written across his face. Of the forty or so people present only a pair of Tellerite’s several metres from the main group seemed unphased by the relentless heat.

“This position, however, offers excellent tactical options,” Bahir concluded. From their position near the large structural beam, they had unobstructed views across the room; with a slight elevation and clear line of sight to the symmetrical entrances, it had many positive attributes. Unfortunately, it also meant they were closer to the large tubes of runoff from the forge which radiated heat and further from the struggling air conditioning.

“I can handle the heat.” K’Sal grimaced, the white lie sneaking through her gritted teeth as she felt another bead of sweat roll down her back. “Who doesn’t love a good sauna?”

Bahir smiled as he flexed his wide shoulders momentarily, allowing the warmth to creep into his spine. It was rare that he was able to feel truly warm in the cosmopolitan environment of a starship.

“I was talking about the fact we’re in an underground Syndicate auction. Alone.” K’Sal twitched uncomfortably again.

“We aren’t alone, Bib is only over there.” Bahir subtly nodded to their fellow undercover officer covertly hovering at the edge of the air conditioner’s range. The Andorian commander looked uncomfortable in the thick heat, his antenna drooping limply against his sweat-slick hair.

K’Sal allowed a barely impeded snort of derision to slip from the corner of her mouth. “I’m not sure I’m a fan of this new comedic lizard-man.”

“What is there not to like?”

“The half dozen enforcers I’ve seen around the room.”

“Agreed, they are not being subtle.” Nearby a hulking Orion syndicate enforcer cracked his gigantic knuckles in response to the repeated probing of a slippery Ferengi trader, supposedly the operator of this supposed market. Bahir clocked a rather obviously holstered disrupter at his belt and a dozen cruel-looking knives slotted into the bandoleer on his chest.

“Aspis said the market would have started by now.”

“We’re only a few minutes behind, I don’t think the Syndicate is considered the paragons of punctuality.” Bahir snuck a look at the chronometer hidden beneath his jacket sleeve. His Bajoran compatriot was correct, things were running late. Perhaps they had been given away?

“It also could be a trap. A messy one.” K’Sal grumbled giving form to Bahir’s concerns. “We let that woman go, we should have at least tracked her.”

“I have no doubt Aspis would have discovered any tracking device we placed upon her. She is extremely competent.” Bahir mused, his eyes surveilling another Orion enforcer who had entered the ovoid room from a small door, this one clad in heavy leathers and wielding a trilling tricorder unsubtly ahead of him.

“Careful, sounds like you almost like her.” She allowed a wry laugh to escape her lips, a barely melodic chant chasing after it. “Bahir and Aspis sitting in a tree…”

“I will admit she is knowledgeable and confident. Both are positive traits in my eyes.”

“And the possibility she’s playing us?”

“Helios was able to confirm her codes were in the Klingon database via our contacts.”

“She could have stolen those.” K’Sal turned toward the tall Saurian and tugged at his jacket, causing the man to cease his surveillance and face her.

“Bahir, I have a very bad feeling and I have spent a long time around bad feelings. This isn’t me being paranoid,” she implored, her tone suddenly solemn and focused. Her eyes were large and absent her normal playful glint.

The Security Chief considered her statement in his usual fashion, stone-facedly. He was aware of K’Sal’s history before Starfleet where, as a young woman, she had worked between the trade lanes of the Bajor sector. ‘Between’ had been the operative word and though never charged, her service history included reports of several run-ins with the Bajoran Militia and later Starfleet Security. Other commanders had bawked at her fiery attitude and chequered history; on Helios, it had never mattered. In fact, it had been one of the reasons Bib had chosen her for the mission. Perhaps her ‘feelings’ had merit, it would be foolish to dismiss intuition garnered from experience.

“I will admit, her trustworthy status is questionable. We should keep our options available.” Bahir finally answered.

“Open.”

“What is?”

“You keep your options open.” K’Sal corrected with a smile. Universal translators were a modern miracle but still left much to be desired.

The deep rumble of the far bay doors interrupted Bahir before he could respond, the pitted metal barriers sliding away with a dramatic, titanic groan to herald the entrance of the four tardy figures. A pair of tall Nausicaan goons led the small procession, the echoing thuds of their studded boots in rhythmic counterpoint to the clatter of metallic chains strategically laced across their bare chest. With each plodding step, the deck plates quaked, causing a loose grate nearby to clatter in panic through the suspicious silence that had descended upon the room. Behind them, a shorter figure followed, taking two steps for every one of their giant paces. Smaller by almost a full metre, its form was obscured by the swaddling fabrics wrapped around its body; thick woven layers of dark heavy wool accentuating its eerie effortless glide across the room.

Last to enter, Aspis. Her familiar golden serpent head tattoo twitched restlessly in the dull lights of the meeting room, sipping in the drama of her own entrance. Behind her a halo of orange light from the ever-dominating forge slid into the room, raising the ambient temperature several degrees solely with its magmatic glow. With a satisfied smile, she surveyed the room. A slow and deliberate pass, her face acknowledging the trio of Starfleet officers with the same predatory gaze as the other assembled traders.

A thin, pale arm reached out from beneath the sentient pile of fabric and lightly clicked its fingers, summoning Aspis; the paltry snap carrying a palpable wave of authority through the tense room. All eyes tracked the woman’s journey to heel. Step by clinking step, her red leather boots echoed across the metallic surface of the deck; till they too fell silent behind the unassuming pile of wool.

“Bahir, the hand?” K’Sal whispered beneath her breath, her visceral dislike for Aspis guarding her against the woman’s siren nature.

Bahir caught sight of the ghost-like appendage as it retreated beneath the woollen folds. A shimmer of metal splayed out from the back of the palm, arterial tendrils creeping along the lengths of gnarled and twisted fingers. In the opposite direction, metallic roots twisted around the thin branch of an arm before writhing deep beneath the skin into dark bulges like the mounds of burrowing worms.

Bahir shuddered as he recognised the tell-tale bio-mechanical augmentations. With a barely audible whisper, he confirmed K’Sal’s suspicions.

“It seems our buyer is a former Borg drone.”

The stellar sea surrounding K-74 sparkled with a swarm of yellow workbees; their tiny hulls darting back and forth between the slender sensor platforms that formed the starbase’s perimeter. Nearby, the catamaran hull of Helios floated lazily through the airless ocean as the tiny craft slipped nimbly in and out of its expansive landing bay, fetching materials and tools for their myriad of jobs. Like bees at the hive face, they buzzed about the forward and aft aspects of the ship’s rotund main hull, the air filled with the chittering conversations of the flight control team. The flight wing was a marvel to behold as they went about their business, dozens of nimbly buzzing insects dancing in balletic unison. Each second it seemed another dangerous collision was narrowly avoided as one workerbee tilted minutely upward, another downward; their pilots grinning as they passed within a hair’s breadth of each other.

Captain Tanek loved to watch the buzz of activity whenever possible. He was gifted a clear line of sight aftward from the briefing room windows, towards the ship’s internal void and over the virtual highway to the shuttle bay. It was a rare opportunity on a starship where almost all eyes pointed outward from the ship’s round main body. So much so that Tanek had unofficially adopted the briefing room as his de facto office in the last few days so that he might enjoy the spectacle of Helios’s now-busy shuttle bays whilst he worked. Each flash of yellow buoyed his heart, grateful that the crew were once again back to helping the Federation. Beneath him, the duritanium bones of Helios hummed with satisfaction to be building rather than fighting.

“Captain?”

The voice of Lieutenant Commander Nikashri stirred Tanek from his pleasurable daydreaming. With a small start, he turned to see her offering a padd across the table.

“I’m sorry Nikashri, I was completely in my own world.” He confessed, taking the proffered padd.

“It’s okay sir.” She cast a quick look towards the wide windows as a flight of worker bees departed Helios and nimbly rolled to port, narrowly missing the ship’s wide nacelle struts before disappearing into the inky black. “It is an excellent view.”

“Yes, it feels good to be doing some good again.”

“And ahead of schedule,” she nodded towards the padd that Tanek still hadn’t activated to read. “We’re fifty per cent of the way through the sensor upgrades, a few more days and we should have improved K-74’s long-range sensitivity by fifteen per cent.”

“That much?”

Nikashri nodded, the dark pattern that dotted her hairless Kelpian head catching the light. “And that’s just bringing the sensor buoys in line with our own palettes and they’re not exactly top spec anymore.”

“The old girl is certainly behind the times a bit,” Tanek sighed. In the corner of the pleasant vista, the grey shape of K-74 slowly spun on its axis, its triple-limbed hull shining with the smooth bright colour palette that spoke to the hulls of a different era; a simpler era filled with hope. It was good to be getting back to hope. “She’s a classic though, I suspect there’s a fair bit of work to bring her up to date. You and your team are to be commended!”

“Well, it was all them, sir. I’m afraid I haven’t been able to get out there and help.” Her usually positive demeanour dropped slightly, her frustration at being tied aboard ship clear.

“So we won’t be seeing you in red anytime soon?” Tanek teased with a smile. “I’m sorry for the extra admin work but with Bib and Bahir both off ship on this Pamack mission, you are next in line as temporary XO.”

“I think I’ll stick with mustard sir, I don’t mind covering for a bit but I’m not planning on redecorating Commander Bib’s office any time soon.” Nikashri turned the palms of her hands over and searched them for the normal spots of grease. “I’ve barely had to wash my hands all week.”

“If it’s any consolation, there are days when I miss the grease between my fingers.” Tanek smiled, it had been several long years since he had yellow shoulders and dirt under his fingernails after a long day’s work.

“You’re always welcome down on deck 11 sir, we’ve got a a pretty frisky deuterium injector that we can’t seem to keep in line.”

Tanek’s smile stretched almost to his ears. “I had a similar problem on Yarrow, have you tried…”

A sharp chirp interrupted the pair.

“Captain, urgent message for you. It’s Captain Molkor.”

“House Lorkoth?” Nikashri queried, her innate sense of danger already sending a shiver up her long spine.

“One of the more friendly Captains, yes,” Tanek nodded. “I only spoke to them this morning about getting some credentials confirmed for Bib’s contact.”

“And?” Nikashri shuddered again, she had only managed to read the initial brief alongside her current XO duties. A mystery asset would lead them to several missing xBs, all taking place on a pirate-infested refinery moon located in unaligned space. She could already think of a hundred ways the mission might have gone wrong.

“Apparently above board,” Tanke raised a furry eyebrow. “As much as a Klingon spy can be above board.”

The pair shared a concerned look as the desk console chirped again, a reminder of the waiting Klingon officer. With a press of the glowing button the Starfleet sigil on the wall screen was replaced with the face of Captain Molkor, the young officer’s lips pursed tightly in concern.

“Captain Molkor! I wasn’t expecting to-” Tanek began before a hand rose on the screen to silence him.

“My apologies captain, I must be quick. I can only spare a second.” The young captain had an edge to his voice, sharp as the tips of the bat’leth. The room behind Molkor was unusually dark even by Klingon standards, with several officers milling between stations with hushed whispers.

Tanek nodded his understanding. The tension aboard the Bird of Prey was palpable over the lightyears, something was clearly amiss.

“I am en route to Pamack base. I would suggest Starfleet deploy its own assets.” Molkor’s lips pursed even tighter.

“Is there a situation?” Tanek was already leaning forward, his fingers beginning to prepare a sequence of instructions into his panel. His eyes remained fixed on the Klingon, he knew the amount of information Molkor could give was limited, any hint behind the captain’s eyes might be vital.

“The credentials you requested have flagged a Defense Force memo.” Molkor rose from his seat and stepped forward in the small bridge. The screen was filled with his face, the concern now clear as day.

“The agent known as Aspis was declared a renegade after she betrayed her team on a raid to secure Borg technology almost a month ago.”

“The Empire was chasing Borg tech?” Nikashri began, her mouth falling open with surprise but the concerning implications were quickly side-lined by a wave from Tanek.

“I understand Molkor. Thank you.” Tanek pressed the small button causing the Klingon captain’s stern face to disappear, replaced with scrawling ship status information.

“I’m sorry Captain… I don’t understand.” Nikashri continued, her slack jaw reflecting the confusion that fogged her brain.

“Aspis does not work for the Empire, someone else has their hand on her leash. Most likely since before she sent the tip-off. This has all been a ploy.”

A weighty realisation landed with an ear-splitting thud against the smooth glass top of the briefing room table.

“Recall the workbees and prepare to depart as soon as possible.” Tanek was on his feet, collating the padds that covered his corner of the table as his heart sank; they had spent so little time building.

“Depart for where sir?” Nikashri asked, scooping her pile of padds into her lithe arms.

“Pamack Base, number one. The team are in grave danger.”

The incessant chattering of the Ferengi’s sharp teeth grated frustratingly against K’Sal’s ear, his spit-soaked sibilance filling the hot room with an infuriatingly wet noise. From his barely authoritative position atop a battered yellow crate, which he had summoned with a wave to a waiting enforcer, the little trader held his paltry court. A clatter of golden rings and bangles from his greedily wringing hands accompanied his spittle-laden patter as he waxed lyrical over his illicit goods on offer. K’Sal took a deep breath, forcing her pulse to slow and subduing the horse gallop of a heartbeat in her ears as she created a mental checklist of the illegal goods on sale for later reporting.

Da-rum, Da-rum, Da-rum.

A bay full of plasma torpedoes, stolen from beneath the eyes of the Romulan Free state. Not the target. Sold to a Naussican pirate who salivated over the offer like a dog over a fresh stake.

Da-rum, Da-rum, Da-rum.

A cargo crate of ‘attack’ tribbles, ready for release. A perfect weapon against the resurgent Klingon Empire. Not the target. Sold to a pair of Romulan twins who giggled to each other behind their thin, underfed hands.

Da-rum, Da-rum, Da-rum.

A dozen Quantum torpedoes, snatched from a wreck orbiting Earth as Starfleet mourned Frontier Day. Not the target. Sold to a tall Klingon woman, her sharp teeth emerging devil-like behind a wicked smile.

Da-rum, Da-rum, Da-rum.

“K’Sal. Are you alright?” Bahir whispered through the corner of his mouth, the majority of his attention still fixed on the tiny black-marketer.

“Why wouldn’t I be?” K’sal snapped defensively, the curt edge of her tongue audible only to the tall Saurian security chief.

“You are…” Bahir chewed his cheek for a moment, considering the consequences of his next statement. “Fidgeting.”

“No, I’m not.”

Bahir pointed with a long coral finger from the crook of his crossed arms towards the Lieutenant’s feet, which twitched back and forth as she rocked subconsciously.

“Maybe a little. When will he get to…” K’sal bit her tongue, suddenly aware that in the quiet of their small corner of the room, there may be unwelcome ears at play. “Just impatient to get this done.”

“Maybe you should go outside and check in with the others.”

“But what about the-”

“-You are causing a distraction, go check in with the others. I will await the item we are interested in.” Bahir’s voice was barely a whisper but echoed in her ears with the volume of a drill sergeant. She felt her pulse surge again as she realised several eyes amongst the nearby bidders were alighting on them. From the far side of the room, Commander Bib’s darted towards her disapprovingly.

“Fine,” she muttered moving towards the nearby exit with a series of quick steps before coming to a sudden stop.

A gigantic muscular emerald arm suddenly blocked her path, extending from the titanic Orion enforcer who acted as a door guard. With a single raised eyebrow he questioned her sudden departure from the clandestine marketplace before the bidding had finished.

“I need to go outside.” She pulled at her loose jacket collar, revealing a sodden white vest beneath, grungy sweat marks forming dark continents across the thin cotton.

The Orion man stood unmoved, his arm still outstretched across the doorway as the Ferengi chattered in delight with a slippery spray of spittle at a successful sale.

“Or I could just collapse here and you could catch me in those big strong arms?” K’Sal played with a lock of her deflated mohawk, wrapping it around a single finger semi-seductively. A change of tact, one she was not normally comfortable with, but possibly enough to earn her exit from this prison of heat and disgustingly slippery consonants. She waited, hoping her acting had hit the mark, this was far from her skill set.

Da-rum, Da-rum, Da-rum.

With a snort of derision at her unconvincing flirting, the door guard lifted his arm out of the way. An unseen control caused the door to slip aside as K’Sal exited the room quickly, emerging out into the barely cooler adjoining street as the door thudded closed behind her.

In the depths of the base’s night cycle the streets were mostly empty, save a few foundry workers who stumbled home a few hundred meters away. A barely melodic tune tumbled from their lips as they bounced along the nearby wall, fueled by alcoholic airs, palpable even from this distance.

With another deep breath, K’Sal attempted to still her heart once again as she crossed the small square, taking a seat at the base of a large pile of crates that formed a curious yet statuesque centrepiece. A plethora of icons from across the quadrants were emblazoned on the battered and bruised crates; the three razor trefoils of the Klingon Empire, dulled to rounded tips by wear and age. Beneath it, the great all-encompassing bird of the now-defunct Romulan Star Empire lay crumpled and dejected at the mouth of a cracked crate. Off to the side, a damaged lid bearing the peculiar and inexplicable needle blades of the Breen Confederacy sat alone, as unknowable and isolated as the people it represented.

Da-rum. Breathe. Da-rum.

She pressed her commlink.

“K’Sal to Eyma.”

“This is Mitchell.” The unexpected baritone of the human lieutenant responded.

“David? I was trying to reach Eyma.” K’Sal’s eyes narrowed in a useless attempt to reach out across the small base to spy on the pair in the safe house.

“Eyma is… Indisposed.” A barely suppressed giggle snuck at the edge of the comm link.

“Really?” K’Sal sighed internally, she suspected the pair’s recent discovery of their mutual affection may be the source of the young Orion woman’s indisposition.

“Yes. She just stepped away.”

“And left her comm link with you?”

“Yes?” The man sounded unconvinced by how own lie.

“Anything to report?” The pair were lucky she was not Bahir, the Lieutenant Commander may be turning a new leaf on his social skills but if he suspected fraternization whilst in the field? Well, there were plenty of transporter padds to de-gauze with a micro-resonator.

“The channels have been quiet. A minor scuffle in one of the cantinas and a small fire near the foundries west loading padd.”

“And on the channels Aspis provided?” K’Sal shuddered even in the warm ambience of the night-time square. The woman’s name was enough to put her on edge, her physical presence was almost intolerable. She gave herself a mental wrist slap, her codes had checked out and Bib seemed to trust her. It was their only verifiable lead, even if the unreliable informant made her sick to the stomach.

“Some general chatter, redeployment of enforcers, some discrete shuttle launches. Nothing particularly interesting.” A soft female voice joined the conversation as Eyma finally picked up her commlink.

“So no useful leads?”

“Nothing we’ve noticed.” The woman’s silky voice confirmed. “Anything at the sale?”

K’sal chewed her lip, was it worth informing the pair about the suspected xB buyer that had appeared with Aspis? In the 20 minutes K’Sal had been in the room the cloaked figure had barely moved, they had simply watched with complete, unsettling stillness.  It could be another dead end. Or it could be the key that opened up the mission, especially if the Ferengi trader was offering xB drones for sale as Aspis had promised. As her mouth went to open, the large bay doors to the market room slid open with a dull groan, interrupting her train of thought.

A wave of bodies spilt forth from the wide portal as it squealed aside, the small waterfall of beings flowing out into the small square before quickly dispersing down the dark side streets back to their respective hiding holes. As the dregs of the small market floated away the cloaked figure of the xB buyer glided effortlessly from the room, its short legs barely touching the metallic surface as it sped away with the two Nausiccan enforcers. Aspis trailed in its wake, a momentary concealed smug smile transmitted across the courtyard to the watching K’Sal.

“Standby, both of you. The market has just ended.” With a subtle press of the comm link, K’Sal closed the channel, her attention focused on Aspis as the tall leather-clad woman disappeared down a dark avenue at the heels of the unsettling buyer.

“K’Sal. It’s done.” Bahir was at her shoulder, his tall coral-pink form staring down at her.

“And did they…?”

“Yes, a few moments after you left the merchant offered the xB refugees up for sale.”

K’Sal looked up towards his narrow, scaled face. Minute dark patches of red had begun to spread in the shadows of his high cheekbones, interrupting his normally stoic visage with their crimson tint.

“Bahir, are you okay?” She motioned to her own cheeks by way of clarification.

“Yes. I apologise, I am finding my frustration difficult to manage.”

“At the mission?”

“At the fact we have allowed sentient beings to be purchased like cattle.”

K’Sal allowed a smile to play at the corner of her lips, the man was sometimes more complicated to understand than Kal-toh. Simultaneously he was blissfully simple, good and evil were extraordinarily clear concepts in Bahir’s mind.

“We’ll find them Bahir.” Bib appeared, an open Klingon tricorder in one hand as he swept his profuse sweat from his brow with the other. “Promise.”

“We have a lead?” K’Sal’s heart jumped, finally something actionable.

Bib held up the tricorder in his hand, on its screen a blinking red dot slipped down narrow paths, twisting and turning as it travelled deeper into the shadowed labyrinth of Pamack base.

“Aspis has activated her beacon,” Bib informed the pair with a small smile.

Da-rum, Da-rum, Da-rum.

K’sal’s heartbeat picked up once more.

“It’s been fifteen minutes since they went in there.” Bahir nodded towards a tall narrow building, its tall windowless sides rising like an obelisk from the concrete slab that formed the foundation of the district.

“Any indication of what’s inside?” Bib’s eyes were laser-focused on the tall building, scanning for any clue to its purpose.

“Probably long-term storage. Most of these places are warehouses of some sort,” K’sal advised, her eyes narrowing at a distant shadow that slipped around a darkened corner. When it didn’t return her attention returned to surveying the street from their sheltered position in a wide doorway.

“It would make sense for a base, not a lot of traffic to see your comings and goings. Not breathing traffic anyway.” K’Sal cast a glance upwards. Above the team several small automated drones glided diligently on anti-gravity units, carrying crates of varying sizes and shapes.

“Robots can still be spies,” Bib noted.

“Not if you’re using starship-level tech to obscure prying eyes.” Bahir lifted the tricorder in his hand, a blur of patchy data filling the screen as he proffered it towards the Andorian Commander. “There is a massive damping field around the building.”

“Anything familiar?”

“Without the ship’s library, I don’t have much in the way of reference but I’ve seen these frequency modulations before. I am, however, struggling to put my fingers upon it.” The tall coral security chief flashed with frustration at his uncooperative memory.

Bib allowed his attention to wander to the tricorder as he took it from Bahir’s outstretched arm, the long cruel-looking Klingon device danced with a melee of conflicting data. The snippets of frequency modulation did look familiar, rotating and oscillating with a familiar waltz of sequences. Bib could feel the answer just out of reach, buried amongst a brain full of memorised technical data.

“Mitchell’s eyes would be helpful on this. As would the transport’s sensors,” K’Sal suggested. “He and Eyma should be back at the landing pad by now.”

Bib allowed a sigh to escape his lips, despite being an old rust-bucket the borrowed transport would clear the picture, as would Mitchell’s keen scientific eye. Utilising the ship’s sensors would involve flying the transport over the warehouse district and that would bring unwelcome attention, for now all they could do was relay the data to more astute eyes.

With a flick of his wrist Bib opened the team’s encrypted comm channel secreted in his cuff, “David, we’ve identified a disruption field over the warehouse Aspis and her colleague entered. Could you take a look?”

“Certainly, though my analysis will be fairly limited. We’re hardly using top-spec computers here.” In the background, a deep thud echoed across the comm link as the Eyma shut the airlock doors to the transport that sat on the landing padd several miles away.

“There’s something familiar about it but we’re at a loss,” Bib confessed, entering a command to bein the encrypted stream of data.

“Standby, I’ll be in contact once I’ve had a look.”  The comm channel closed with a quiet click, returning the trio to silence.

“Aspis didn’t give any clues as to what’s next did she?” K’Sal’s lips dripped with venom as she reluctantly uttered the name of their shady contact.

“No, merely that we should follow her and that would lead us to the xBs.” Bib allowed another sigh to escape his lips. The team were in dangerous territory, at the mercy of a multitude of unreliable factors.

“Movement,” Bahir whispered, silencing the pair with another nod towards the tall pillar of a building.

Across the wide avenue, the pair of Nausicaan henchmen stepped into the warm night air, now bereft of their metallic costumes. Even from several hundred metres away, it was obvious their demeanour was different. Gone was the ominous and terrifying body language,  instead their steps were light and energetic, filled with friendly joviality. Across the wide empty avenue, their barrel-chested voices echoed between the metallic walls in the dim light. A loud laugh escaped their lips as they clutched slips of metal in one hand, congratulating one another on an easy night’s work with the other.

“Actors?” Bahir whispered.

“Apparently.” Bib’s antenna twitched in frustration, none of this scenario added up. Aspis had suggested the buyer was a powerful figure with a massive and lethal influence. What need would such a being have to pay actors to play terrifying enforcers?

“Well, they played the role well. I believed it.” K’Sal’s eyes tracked the pair as they took each other by the shoulder and began to move down the shadowed alleyways in the direction of the base’s meagre leisure district. In the distance the omnipresent red glow of the refinery seeped lazily over the buildings, squeezing through the alleyways with magmatic viscosity.

“Perhaps this buyer isn’t as powerful as she made them out to be,” she mused as the Nausicaans finally disappeared from view.  “Perhaps it’s all a ploy.”

“You said the buyer appeared to be an xB?” Bib’s attention turned towards the Bajoran officer.

“Yeah, those were Borg implants on the arm I saw.”

“And you’re certain you saw it.”

“As clear as my own,” she offered her own bare forearms in demonstration. “Bahir saw it too.” K’Sal threw the tall Saurian a wave, who nodded in confirmation.

“What would an xB want with the missing refugees?” Bib’s antenna twitched again in frustration.

“Maybe he’s rescuing them?” Bahir offered hopefully, his focus still not straying from his surveillance.

“He did seem particularly invested in their purchase.” The market flashed back to Bib’s mind, the tall figure of Aspis smugly offering increasingly higher bids on behalf of her employer. The Ferengi auctioneer could barely hide his glee when her sultry voice had offered what could be a lifetimes supply of Latinum.

“That’s some major resources to have available for buying up xB’s,” K’Sal mused. “And in my experience, Syndicate auctioneers don’t take kindly to made-up offers. He must have the latinum to spend. Or at least good enough standing to make the offer on credit.”

“That suggest they are as powerful as Aspis made out. Only a major player would have that level of resources or sway.” Bahir allowed his attention to waive from the windowless obelisk across the road. “Bib, perhaps we are in over our heads.”

“What do you mean?” The twin antennas atop Bib’s head twitched in agreement, the mission was quickly in danger of being more than the small team could handle with their limited assets.

“The buyer is clearly wealthy or at the very worthy in the eyes of the Syndicate. Both are indicative of someone with a great deal of power. These things are not-.”

A trill of the tricorder interrupted Bahir’s concerned advice as a large red spot that indicated Aspis’ tracking beacon was active again within the warehouse. It glowed angrily on the screen, piercing through the dancing waves of dancing disruption frequencies. At the bottom of the screen, a sequence of passcodes appeared carried on the beacon’s signal.

The trio fell silent as Aspis digitally summoned them into the nondescript building.

“Darly a subtle message,” K’Sal finally said with a snort of derision.

“I suspect they are the passkeys to the entrance.” Bahir indicated the small pass door the Nausicaans had exited from earlier. “Bib?”

With another flick of his wrist, the commander reopened the comm channel to the transport.

“David, any updates?”

“You’re right, there is something familiar about the frequency patterns and the algorithm but I can’t remember where I’ve seen it before.” Across the base in the safety of the transport, David Mitchell swept back his unruly fringe in frustration. “I’ll keep trying but without Helios’ database I can’t say for definite.”

“Can you at least tell what it’s blocking?”

“Everything as far as I can tell. Comm traffic, scanning, transporter signals, you name it. It’s a pretty wide net to cast, the generator must be massive. Or very advanced.”

“Within the realms of the Syndicate?”

“Hard to say, with all the stolen tech that’s coming to light. It’s definitely starship-grade, and an advanced one at that. It’s similar to some of the tactics we use during combat engagements, blinding enemy sensors with too much data. Without the algorithm, you can’t filter the noise and send any signals through.”

“Aspis must have the key then,” K’Sal muttered.

“She’’d have to, I don’t think I could break it with anything short of a Starbase’s computer core.”

“Then our choice is to leave… or go in.” Bib’s tone was as tense as his body.

“If we leave, these xB’s are lost to us. As is any chance of finding out what this buyer is doing.” K’Sal’s tone was a clear vote to investigate.

Bib offered Bahir a questioning look.

“We have the key, as long as we keep an open door to our backs…” The coral-skinned officer replied with a look of caution.

“David, keep looking at the scans, see if that big brain of yours can remember something. We’re going in for a look.”

“You’ll be out of contact and out of reach of transporters. That seems like a bad choice.” Mitchell’s voice quivered with concern across the comm link.

The tricorder pinged again with the red glow of Aspis’ transponder.

“A quick look, quietly. Eyma get the transport off the deck and be ready to come get us.”

“Yes Bib, I’ll bring us into a stationary orbit.” The young Orion pilot’s voice spoke quietly across from the distant cockpit, her tone barely concealing her own concerns.

With a curt click the comm link closed and the trio were left alone once more.

“No time like the presence, we’re off to meet the Syndicate.” K’Sal joked, her mock joviality laced with well-concealed nerves.

Bib’s antenna twitched a third time as the three officers subtly unclipped their phaser pistols and began to cross the square towards the dark metallic citadel.

In his palm, the red beacon of the serpentine woman glowed rhythmically, summoning the three blind mice into her lair.