The aging Regula station sat in orbit of an unnamed moon.  Sarge the Orion had called as they’d begun boarding the shuttle and sent them on a mission to retrieve ‘something important.’  A brief debate ensued, resulting in Trov plotting a course six hours away to a Regula station that Syndicate players had taken over.  Most recently, it had been a listening post that had stopped listening due to staff shortages.  The shuttle slid into the docking port, and Krov completed the final secure process.

As they approached the dock door, Hasara spoke to the crew, “Let’s be casual.  Sarge sent us, and we just need to pick it up and get it back to him.”

Sinai’s mouth remained straight, “And we know how much we trust good ol’ Sarge.”  Her hands rested on the twin blaster pistols on her belt.  The Romulan assassin stared at the door, “They don’t play nice; there won’t be a discussion.”

Krove gave her a side eye, “I’d rather not have to clean up any messes this time, Sin.  Can we just hear them out before you start drawing blood?”  She answered with an indifferent shrug, and the Klingon turned back to Hasara, “Lead the way, boss.”

The Cardassian answered them, “Eyes, ears, and blasters open.”

The door rumbled open, and The Mad Mango crew entered a large room.  Three rough-looking humans stood equidistant from each other, charged weapons in hand.  The one in the middle held up his hand for them to stop, “Hold it.”

Hasara frowned, partly for the theatrics.  Partly because he wasn’t entirely sure what to expect.  This scenario had been on the list of possibilities but farther down from a few others.  “Hasara and crew here to pick up for Sarge.”

The man in the middle grinned widely, “Oh, we know who you are.  Sarge did send you out here to pick something up.”  His smile faded, “But we decided we want more credits.  And he told us to screw off.  So we’re going to take you for it.”

She was fast.  Hasara hadn’t seen her in action in a few years, but Sinai Vorta Vor t’Parthok didn’t disappoint.  Her hands were fast, and the blasters faster as they spat out bright red stun shots streaking over the shoulders of Hasara and Krove.  The two on the ends dropped with a surprised shout while she, in milliseconds, adjusted her aim and took the leg out from underneath the leader, his body crashing to the floor with a frustrated grunt.  Hasara stepped forward while Sinai cleared the rest of the room, “Sarge sent us to get it.  We’ll be having it.”

The leader’s eyes were wide as he groaned, “How in the hell…who is she?””

Hasara squatted down, “Someone who doesn’t miss…and is nursing a decade of rage and fury at just about everyone, including a few gods from Vulcan to Romulus.  Once you get to know her…it doesn’t get much better.  Where is it?  Those stun settings on that funny little blaster of hers run a spectrum of pain.”  He leaned into the man’s face, “How much pain can you stand before she breaks you?”

The man’s face was sweating profusely, “I…I…it’s in the lockup in the command center.  The code is 18371937.  You gonna kill me?”  His eyes darted wildly from Hasara to Sinai, who was now cleaning her pistols while staring at him.

Hasara chuckled as he stood, “No.  You will be the lesson we use to remind people how to behave with The Syndicate and its agents. Do it again, and I won’t be able to stop her.”  Krove returned carrying a large, heavy bag, “Now that we have what we want, we’ll be leaving.  The next time we meet, do what is asked of you, and you’ll live.”  Hasara motioned his team to depart, “Let’s leave them to contemplate their mortality.”