‘I don’t like this,’ Tiran said as the Rooks piled out of their quarters with carry-alls. ‘Going on some Syndicate girl’s ship? It isolates and exposes us.’

Nallera winced, though it was unclear if this was because of Tiran’s point or the bulging bag slung over her back. ‘Sure, but – what else are we gonna do? Mosey up in the Blackbird, with all her Starfleet markings?’

‘Excellent use of the word “mosey,”’ Rosewood complimented. ‘But Tiran’s right. Can’t we pick up a ship from Command that’s better prepared for undercover? Surely Intel has something unmarked with a souped up interior lying around. This way, we’re leaving support staff like Falaris behind, and she saves our asses all the time.’

Cassidy, stood at the door to the Rooks’ section aboard ship, folded his arms across his chest. He’d looked indulgent, even concerned, as Tiran spoke, but now his expression sank to granite. ‘This is the deal,’ he rumbled. ‘Blackbird will withdraw to SB-38, and we’ll signal her to rendezvous with us at Kalviris on our way back. Otherwise, we’re in this Q’ira’s ship there and back. We don’t get to split hairs. Torrad-Var knows this situation and we don’t.’

Did you make us shut up because you believe that, Rosewood wondered, or because I was speaking up? He still grimaced. ‘Does the girl?’

‘Don’t worry about the girl,’ Cassidy grunted. ‘She’s a dumb hanger-on, but if she couldn’t get us through the door, Torrad-Var wouldn’t bother with any of this.’

Their arrival at the docking port on Kalviris where Q’ira’s ship, the Diamond Dust, was nestled did nothing to reassure Rosewood. She was a Kaplan F-17 freighter, with silvery highlights on the trim to evoke, he presumed, the shine of gemstones. The interior was modified; padded and carpeted and upholstered, comfy and cosy like a Galaxy-class, if the overriding design motif had been pastels instead of beige.

‘You’ve all got your own rooms,’ Q’ira drawled as she led them in, waving a lazy hand towards the port side row of doors. ‘That one’s my room; you get keel-hauled for sticking your noses in uninvited.’ She glanced over her shoulder, and at their nonplussed expressions, gave a playful, wry smirk. ‘Yarr.’

‘Oh,’ said Rosewood tonelessly. ‘Like a pirate.’

Q’ira pouted. ‘You could all be more fun. I thought you off-the-books types were the fun Starfleet? You don’t have to play nice, but we’re going to be stuck together for a while. We might as well make the most of it.’

Nallera’s head snapped around. She’d been looking up and around, soaking in the interior of the Diamond Dust, but the reaction that Rosewood had assumed to be horror was soon made plain to be awe. ‘The refurb job on this baby is sweet. Full holo-capabilities and a souped up job on the amenities, and those thrusters look like she pulls some serious manoeuvring at impulse, which is gonna take a big power hit; what’s the cargo capacity?’

‘Oh, ah, reduced.’ Q’ira waved another dismissive hand as her nose wrinkled. ‘Torrad-Var had it all done for me. The Dust was a gift from him. He’s such a sweetie.’

‘Yeah,’ grunted Cassidy. ‘A real charmer, that Syndicate crime boss. Can we move? We all know the layout of a Kaplan.’

‘Fine,’ sighed Q’ira. ‘I was going to show you the features on the resequencer but you can figure out how to eat something better than spacer swill for yourselves. Get comfy and the holo-team and I will get you underway.’

‘Assume we’re being listened to,’ Cassidy said the moment Q’ira was gone and the Rooks were left on the Diamond Dust’s habitat deck. ‘We got a few days’ travel to Ilior. Use it as best you can to prep. Remember, we’ll be going somewhere with top security; don’t pitch me a plan that includes any object you wouldn’t let a dodgy bastard board your ship with.’

‘That’s pretty much all my plans,’ Nallera protested.

‘You can do something other than blow them up,’ Rosewood said soothingly. ‘I believe in you, Chief.’

Nallera beamed. ‘Thanks, Rosewood.’

‘I’ve put out some feelers,’ said Aryn. ‘Trying to find out what I can about the Kairos Regulator.’

Rosewood’s eyebrows went up. ‘More than the absolute nothing of our briefing package?’

‘I worked at the Daystrom Institute, and I’ve done my time in a few R&R facilities that were less prestigious but, ah, maybe a little more exciting in the nature of information that flows. I have contacts.’

‘Again,’ mused Rosewood, ‘what don’t you know about?’

‘You say I’m bad with women,’ Aryn protested, ‘but I think Miss Q’ira is being overlooked; if she has the skill-set to get us through the door at Ilior -’

‘Torrad-Var has the connections to get us through the door at Ilior,’ grunted Cassidy. ‘Her talent is fucking Torrad-Var.’

‘That’s… enlightened,’ Aryn said awkwardly.

‘If we were enlightened, we’d be doing this job from the bridge of a starship, telling all the good folks of Ilior to put ‘em up on arrival and watching every single bit of tech or powerful criminal slip out the back door.’ Cassidy rolled his eyes. ‘Enlightened won’t get this job done.’

‘Maybe,’ said Rosewood, frowning, ‘but what is it you think Starfleet captains do, exactly?’

‘I don’t know; I work for a living,’ Cassidy growled, and stalked off to his designated room.

Rosewood turned to the others and swept back his hair. ‘We’re all in agreement that this is a very bad idea, right?’

Tiran hefted her bag. ‘Maybe it was a bad idea on the Blackbird. Now we’re here? It’s the mission. Time to focus up.’

‘Yeah,’ sighed Nallera as the two of them turned for their own rooms. ‘I gotta figure out what devices I need so I can implant ‘em under my skin and still use or extract later, or… something.’

Rosewood looked at Aryn. ‘And you have reading to do.’

‘And, apparently, time to ruminate on the nature of life’s great mystery: women,’ Aryn said wryly. ‘You know you’re sometimes just as much of a caricature as Cassidy, right?’

Rosewood didn’t think that was meant to be a devastating comment, and yet he was left unable to summon a reply as Aryn left for his room.

The quarters were opulent and luxurious, enough even to make him, a veteran of Federation comfort, blush. The shower was always the first thing to try, under the circumstances, and while Rosewood could imagine Cassidy chastising him – putting himself in a vulnerable position when he’d barely familiarised himself with the place – it was probably worth getting murdered for water pressure that good.

In more dressed-down clothes than the clubbing gear he’d brought to Redoubt, wet hair slicked back, he headed up afterwards for the bridge section of the Diamond Dust to find Q’ira sprawled languidly in the command chair and three scantily clad, muscle-bound Orion men at the controls. They’d taken off while he changed, and were now heading away from the gravitic pull of Kalviris’s star to head to warp.

‘Tell me those are holograms,’ Rosewood said bluntly.

Q’ira turned and put a hand to her mouth as if horrified. ‘You mean you didn’t agree we’d be accompanied by three gorgeous hunks? Again, you need to be more fun.’ After a beat, she rolled her eyes. ‘Of course they’re holograms. Best feature of this ship.’

‘I’ll try to not think too hard about that.’ He went to one of the empty stations and turned the chair to sit facing her. ‘So I expect it’ll be you and me on face-duty when we get to Ilior.’

‘Is that what we call “talking to people” in Starfleet?’

‘Yeah, you know – when we’re undercover in a criminal auction of illicit, stolen technology but need to buy a device of mysterious capabilities, and if we get found out, we won’t be tried or imprisoned, they’ll just slit our throats and toss us into the back alleyway.’

‘One: Ilior is way too nice for them to dump bodies in the street, even the back alleys. Two: That sounds like your problem more than mine.’

‘I – you’re here to help us!’ Rosewood protested.

‘That doesn’t mean I’m here to freak out and worry so much I use five words to say the auction’s illegal,’ said Q’ira, rolling her eyes again. ‘I get to go to a nice party and have canapés. Once you’re through the door, my work is done. Nobody’s got a skincare routine robust enough to deal with the kind of stress you’re taking on.’

‘I don’t…’ He stopped. It had been so long since he’d worked with anyone who wasn’t not merely Starfleet, but some sort of professional, that it took him until that moment to realise his approach was, perhaps, flawed. Rosewood drew a deep breath. ‘You’re right.’

Q’ira paused. ‘I am?’

‘Most of this isn’t your problem. You’re helping us out, and I appreciate that.’ He gave a soft smile he knew could be sweet and winning, and tried to make his eyes a little bigger to give off more of the look of the boy-next-door. ‘I don’t go to events like this often. I expect you do loads.’

She tilted her nose up. ‘I know what I’m doing.’

Does that extend beyond finding where the free bar is? His smile didn’t fade. ‘Then you’re right. Even if the stakes are high, this should be fun. You can help make it fun.’

Fun, of course, was code for convincing. Had she been more interested in the operation, more engaged with the reality that the hosts would probably murder her, too, if the Rooks were found out, he might have tried to get more out of her: more of an idea of her knowledge of the place, the people, the operation.

But if all Torrad-Var had given him was a pretty airhead to get him through the door, he didn’t need to waste his time. He could, at least, turn this vapid Orion into as useful an asset as possible, and it turned out she was like anyone else: easily placated with a little attention.