The fit of laughter drowning out the cries of multiple alarms wasn’t helping at all.

“Oh shut up,” Sidda barked over her shoulder as she righted the runabout Paralus on its course and waited for the numerous alarms to silence themselves. Once they were free of any possibility of colliding with anything, she spun in the runabout’s flight chair to face the woman behind her.

Cat Saez’s face was flushed with laughter as she threw her head back once more, taking nearly half a minute to get herself under control. “Where the hell did you,” she paused for a short laugh she couldn’t control, “learn to fly?”

“I had the finest tutors thank you very much,” Sidda fired back in defence.

“Obviously not,” Cat replied. “Seriously, you’re command track. You had to have done basic flight at the Academy.”

Sidda glared at Cat, then spun around in haste back to the controls, looking over the setup in front of her. She’d read that the original Delta-class runabout was some hack job of a ship with a truly anachronistic control scheme but was thankful that the production runs had been standardised with controls more in common with the rest of Starfleet’s small craft designs.

Which it turned out wasn’t helping at all.

It had been so long after all since those childhood lessons. And then she hadn’t needed to ever fly herself. Being escorted somewhere, or just part of an away team, or just another hand in someone else’s operations. By the time she had a chance to pilot again, she’d had her own crew of miscreants and ne’er-do-wells and captains didn’t fly themselves.

And especially not Orion pirate captains. Now she was cursing herself for living up to that particular image for so long.

“Seriously boss,” Cat continued, using the honorific she’d heard Trid using at some point, “how did you pass the Academy’s flight requirements?”

“I didn’t,” Sidda admitted after a minute of silence. A minute that she’d spent concentrating on the controls before her, eventually setting the runabout’s course and bringing the warp drive online, launching Paralus on its little excursion.

“Ahh,” Cat said, her tone giving a sense of understanding and knowing. I see, it said, the implications evident. Or at least felt by Sidda anyway.

“Not like that,” Sidda continued. “I didn’t go through the Academy. I transferred to Starfleet from the Vondem planetary guard. There was…a lack of confirmation on flight qualifications.”

“Someone in Starfleet just took the word of a planetary guard at face value and went with it?” Cat sounded only mildly shocked. “Please tell me the Vondem guard folks can fly better than whatever that departure was.”

“Yes,” Sidda said exasperatedly.

“So how the hell did they qualify you to fly?”

“Look, they just did, okay?” Sidda snapped back. She stood up and started stalking towards the rear of the runabout’s flight deck. “Want anything?” she asked, no animosity in her voice at all.

“Could murder a latte,” Cat answered. “Couple of hours to get to this rendezvous, a couple of hours back. Want to squeeze in some actual flight practice?”

“You know this flight is just a cover right? There’s no need to actually do a flight check.”

As she accepted the latte brought to her, Cat’s smile told Sidda everything she needed to know. Which just made what she said next all the more damning. “And if the captain goes to check the paperwork?” Cat asked in answer. “Best do this one by the books, ma’am.”

“Should have stayed a pirate,” Sidda grumbled before submitting herself to the trials arrayed before her.

Beaming aboard the Ferengi freighter Profit Touched was less the start of some shady deal about to go down and more like two shoppers just arriving at a reputable emporium for a day’s shopping. The ship hadn’t been lurking in some backwater, skulking behind moons and asteroids, but parked in orbit of a pleasant enough little world, the centre of a small gathering of ships all answering its siren call of bargains and trades to be had.

“It’s like a travelling mall,” Cat said as she looked around the large space aboard the ship as they stepped off the transporter pad, a Ferengi operator standing there with an outstretched hand for their payment.

Stalls, booths and full of pavilion stands had been set up in a converted cargo bay, making the Profit Touched some sort of travelling exhibit hall. What the relationship between the ship’s owner and the store owners was, Sidda couldn’t even begin to guess at, but predatory was definitely on the list. The visitors were of at least a dozen different species, all visiting and making deals in unclaimed space and more importantly away from authorities that might take exception.

But with an element of class and sophistication.

The civilised criminals. Or ‘procurers of fine products’ as some likely envisioned themselves.

“I’m already getting a headache,” Sidda complained as she paid the transporter attendant, then offered further payment for directions to expedite their visit. “Find the seller, get the gift, leave.”

“Not even a lap around the stores?” Cat asked. “’Proficient in warp navigation,’” she continued, offering a bribe to her commanding officer.

An eye roll, a muttering of ‘fine’ and they were off through the crowd. Cardassians openly traded with Breen, with a Ferengi as the middleman. A Tzenkethi was towering over a Ferengi merchant who had no fears for his life – just his profits. Two human men were in deep discussions with an arms trader, talking about crates of rifles, the Ferengi offering incentives to sweeten the deal.

“We could bring Republic back and bust this place wide open,” Cat whispered as they kept walking, earning glares simply for their uniforms.

“No legal jurisdiction out there. Perfectly honest transactions, or so the books would say,” Sidda replied. “Smart business model.” But she did offer a smile to Cat. “We’ll get a good scan of the ships on our way out. Those two,” she nodded at the humans buying weapons, “likely New Maquis.”

“Ah, space rogue chic,” Cat said as they continued. “Seriously, they should just get uniforms at this rate.”

“Don’t knock it.”

Eventually, they found the stall they were looking for. And stall it was, crammed between two larger venues that looked eminently more successful. A bored-looking Ferengi sat behind a small counter, a rack of bottles behind him. Vintage Alcohols the sign read above him. The man’s attention was on the padd before him, playing some game, then the crowd passing in front of him.

“You Lek?” Cat asked as they stepped up, still not having got the Ferengi’s attention.

“Hmm,” he answered, fingers still gliding over the screen before him, cheerful little noises coming from the device.

“We’re here to pick up a package for Blake Pisani,” Cat continued.

“Huh?” Lek looked up, glanced over Cat, then Sidda, down to his padd, then did a doubletake of Sidda. “Oh no! No no no!”

“Know this guy?” Cat asked immediately.

Sidda just shrugged in response before looking over the crowd, seeing a pair of Nausicaans nearby who had taken in Lek’s outburst, but shrugged it off.

Never underestimate the economy of action that underpaid guards can achieve.

“She’s a pirate!” Lek half-screeched. “Attacked my cousin’s ship, crippled the warp drive. Divine Exchequer, if it wasn’t for the Deputy Director taking over, we’d be dead!”

“Oooh,” Sidda said with dawning realisation. “Delta Quadrant right?” she asked with a snap of fingers and a point, which Lek nodded to. “Hilke had it coming, okay? And you’re alive.”

“I almost wasn’t thanks to you!” Lek shouted. “I got nothing out of that whole venture!”

“You’re alive though. That’s something, right?” Cat asked.

“Pah! Better dead with a fortune than alive and broke!” Lek seemed to collect themselves, brow furrowing. “What do you want, pirate?” he charged, emphasising the last word heavily.

“Package. Blake Pisani,” Sidda answered.

“What’s it to you?” Lek immediately shot back.

“Oh come on, it’s paid for already,” Cat said. “Look friend, just give us the package and we’ll be on our way.”

“Holding fees, transfer to courier fees, I don’t like her fees,” Lek replied, pointing to Sidda. “Ten slips and a promise I never, ever have to see this woman again!”

Cat turned to Sidda, head tilted to the side questioningly. Sidda was instead staring right past the Ferengi at the collection of bottles behind him. “How old is that bottle of Romulan wine?” Sidda asked, the question throwing Lek off balance.

“Uh, which one?” he asked in reply, turned to face the one Sidda was pointing at, went to say something, stopped himself and then answered when he’d arrived at a number he was happy with. “Pre-supernova. That’s all collectors care about now. Two bars of latnium.” The grin that accompanied the gouged pricing verged on malicious.

“I care. How old?”

Lek huffed, hopped off his stool, grabbed the bottle and read the label, then gave up and returned to his tablet, consulting some sort of inventory on it with the bottle firmly in his grip. “Thirty-eight years old. Price still stands.”

“One bar, ten strips. And wave the stupid fees for the package.” Sidda locked eyes with Lek. “It’s a fair deal and you know it.”

Lek’s brow furrowed further, his brow threatening to collapse his face in on itself. “Pah, not like you have any latnium anyway.”

Sidda’s smirk should have been all the answer Lek needed. Her order to Cat to ‘stay here’ and disappearance more so. But Lek didn’t seem to believe it until Sidda returned ten minutes later with a bar of gold-pressed latnium and ten strips as she had bargained.

“I didn’t agree to this!” Lek protested as the currency was slammed onto his counter and Sidda snatched at the bottle of Romulan wine, stealing it from his grasp with ease. “I didn’t agree to this!” he repeated as she stepped around and looked under the counter, finding a single package and grabbing it. “Security!”

“Oh don’t bother,” Sidda countered as she handed Blake’s package to Cat. “I pay better than you.”

It took Cat nearly three steps to realise Sidda had started walking away before she offered an apology to a screeching Lek and turned, jogging to catch up. “Okay, I have questions,” Cat stated.

“Save it for the ship. We need to leave.”

“Did you rob someone?” Cat asked.

“No, but Lek isn’t just selling vintage alcohol,” Sidda answered, eyes locked straight ahead as the two women walked. “He’s selling something much, much worse.”

“Are you sweating?” Cat asked, concerned as she took in her commander’s state.

“Yes.” Sidda’s response was curt. “What did Blake pay for anyway?”

As they walked, Cat examined the white cloth bag she now held, opening the drawstring and pulling it down over the bottle contained within. “Oh, oh wow.”

“What?”

“Scotch whiskey. Bottled 2320. Product of Scotland.” Cat’s whistle as emphasis at the end told Sidda all she needed to know.

Mac was extremely, extremely lucky to have Blake.

And Blake had some serious resources somewhere.

“I need a picture of that bottle,” Sidda said, lightening the mood as they got near the transporter pad. “Got to make a commodore somewhere jealous.”

“I’m game for tweaking the brass,” Cat replied. “If you don’t crash us on the way home that is.”

“Oh shut up.”