“No response.  Their communication system is operational.”  Krov reported from the pilot seat as the Mad Mango sailed toward the moon that held the station and their cargo.

Hasara leaned in from the passenger compartment, “Stay on target. Life signs?”  Sarge had told them to expect some kind of reception, but he hadn’t been clear on whether it would be positive or negative.

A tap of the console.  Krov replied, “Inconclusive.  Looks like a low-level jamming device – were we a starship, we’d be able to punch through it.”

Hasara followed the Klingon’s logic, “But we are not…and most ships that would come here wouldn’t be big enough…so everyone would have to land and step inside.  Let’s do it.  Find us a docking platform.”

The shuttle clicked into the platform as the environmental systems around them kicked online.  The lights leading to the door blinked on.  Hasara led them out of the back hatch and onto the solid ground.  Sinai slipped out her twin blasters while Krov gripped his Bat’leth.  They led the way while Hasara and Hagasi followed.  The door was ajar, and they carefully entered the intimate lobby.  Sinai grimaced, “Well, someone came looking for him.”  She gestured around to the three bodies splayed around the lobby, contorted in torture.  

Hasara slipped out a scanning device now that they were clear of the interference: “We’ve got maybe one or two life signs left. The scanner is showing a total of 13 dead.”  He motioned Sinai forward into one of the rooms and Krov into another.  He searched the bodies in the meantime, finding generic access keys and identification documents that were more than likely fake. His next step was the console at the reception desk.  Searching through the logs, he quickly copied them to an external chip and wiped the local memory when the process was complete.  He glanced up as his Klingon and Romulan team members returned empty-handed, “This target is good at hiding and keeping away, at least according to Sarge.  Let’s expand the search.”

They went as a team now, clearing corridors, hallways, rooms, and areas beyond.  They were nearing the final room.  The life sign readings were erratic.  Hasara wondered aloud, “This might be a bust – tactics like this are designed to keep a raiding party busy while the rest either escape or blow the place up.”

Krov grumbled, “Sarge is going to be pissed.”

Sinai stood at the side of the last door, her pointed ears listening before she shrugged, “Let him be pissed.  We came here – someone was ahead of us.  Maybe there’s a leak in Sarge’s house.  We could help him plug it…put some holes in the moles.”  She chuckled at her unintentional joke.  The others just stared at her.  She scoffed, “No sense of humor between any of you.”  Admitting defeat, she examined the door console, “It’s been shorted out.” She scanned the door, “Damned thick door too – can’t read much beyond it.  Schematics say it’s a storage room.”  Another scoff, “I doubt that.  The only room they didn’t get into.”  She gestured at the blast marks, “Credit to them for trying, I suppose.”

Hasara let out a low growl, “Can you rebuild the console and get it open?”  Sinai was silent as the night or talkative as the burning sun.  There was no medium on her volume control.  He’d forgotten how jarring it could be to work with her.

“It’ll take me an hour.”

“Do it.”

An hour later, they had scoured the facility for supplies.  A surprising bounty of medical supplies and scientific equipment had been left behind. Hagasi had inventoried it all and had scuppered off to load the shuttle with their discoveries.  Hasara found Sinai in the last moments of her work, a grin on her face, “I will not be beaten.”  She stepped back, weapons aimed, “Press the button, Hasara.”

He did.  The door rumbled open, revealing not a storage closet but a midsized protected panic room with a terrified Reman pushing against the wall in the corner, hyperventilating.  Sinai’s growl was not subtle, “You’ve got to be shitting me.”

The Cardassian pushed her pistols down and stepped slowly through the thick doorway, “I’m here at the behest of an Orion Syndicate Operative named Sarge.  He told us to tell you, ‘Swing Slow, Sweet Chariot.”

The Reman’s eyes never left the figure of Sinai; the fear locked on his face. He sputtered, “Coming forth to carry me home.”

Hasara continued, “Tell all my friends I’m coming too.”

“A band of angels coming after me.”  The Reman shook his head, “I wish those words felt better.  You’ve seen them…they’re all dead.  They were supposed to come with me.  Instead, they put me in here to save me.”  He stood, wobbling a little, “Those who came looking for me…they’re not going to give up that easily.  We need to leave.  Quickly.”

Hasara motioned for Sinai and Krov to lead them out, tapping his link: “Hagasi, warm the shuttle up. We need to leave…fast.”  It took them mere minutes to scamper back through the small station and into the shuttle.  The door closed with a hiss, and the shuttle rumbled into action.  The Cardassian turned to their charge, “Name?” 

“Simix.  Scientist.”  He motioned to the Romaulan, Sinai, “Is she going to kill me?”

“No.  She just hates everyone.”  He turned to the matter at hand as the shuttle climbed up and out of the moon’s orbit, “Do you know who was looking for you?”

Simix grimaced, “You’re not going to like it.  It’s another arm of the Syndicate.  At least Sarge has some…what is the human word…scruples?”  He thought for a moment longer, “Twinge of conscience is what I would call it.  I read that in a human book once. Her name is Osho Gac, and she’s…,”

Hasara sat back, annoyance creeping into his nerves, “A Cardassian.  I am familiar with the former Gul Osho Gac.  Emphasis on the former.”

The Reman nodded sagely, “When you run afoul of those who practice the darker arts in the Cardassian government, your reputation spreads.  Sarge was a safer bet.”

“We’ll get you to Sarge, no problem. The problem is…once you’re there, Osho Gac may try to take you back.”  They felt the shuttle go to warp, and Hasara leaned in, “We’re all about keeping people alive once we meet them.  We gotta know why they want you…if push comes to shove and you need rescuing…we gotta know your worth.”  He smiled threateningly, primarily for theatrics, “We all gotta get paid somehow.”

Simix stared at him. “You’re asking me to tell you why they want me?”  He looked around at the others. “That’s…not standard procedure.”

Hasara gestured to Sinai, “These are not standard times, Simix.”  Sinai pushed off the wall, slipping her hands on her holstered blasters.  “Not standard times at all.”