The main auction hall managed to blend opulence and menace. Rosewood wasn’t sure if the menace came from the threat of being smothered in gold filigree, a centrepiece of this atmosphere of elite indulgence onto which crystal chandeliers cast a warm glow. He was accustomed to demonstrations of wealth from Ferengi, but this one came with guards at the doors, drinks that could only be acquired from the bar inside, and even devices for the auction provided by Nank’s attendants. It was more than everything they could need being provided for; it was a statement of Nank’s control.

Nallera turned the handheld bidding device over, a shaped PADD-like object in sleek, polished silver with a few limited, embedded control buttons. ‘Short-range encrypted signals,’ she mused, and scratched a point behind her ear where Rosewood suspected she’d injected something of her own. ‘The only signals in here not being blocked.’

‘Bid with these, and these only, and nobody gets to mess with the process,’ Rosewood said, accepting it back. ‘Time to take it for a play.’

Aryn’s nose wrinkled. ‘Do we really need some objet d’art?’

‘I need to know how the bidding works and who the big dogs are,’ said Rosewood, ‘and it obfuscates our primary interest.’ He cast a quick glance at Cassidy to confirm.

The big man grunted. ‘Just make sure you lose. There’s only so much spending I can justify.’

‘No, I really wanted to cart a wall-sized painting out of here,’ Rosewood drawled.

As he and Q’ira turned to the main room, she leaned in closer, eyes scanning the surrounding faces. ‘It’s still Nank’s regular crowd, mostly. Which means the people to really worry about, even here, are the ones with bodyguards.’

Rosewood eyeballed the suited Romulan he’d seen arguing outside, who had a muscular young man on his arm. ‘Are bodyguards always obvious?’

‘No. That’s why I try to give off an air of danger at all times.’

He looked her up and down, hardly about to move fast in that dress, barely armed with her wits, and his diplomatic training told him to stay silent. That meant he wasn’t fully looking where he was going, and his shoulder bumped with a robed Orion woman as he passed.

‘It’s crowded,’ came a curt chastisement. ‘Watch yourself.’

Rosewood turned, an apology on his lips – and swallowed quickly as he found himself face to face with the sharp-eyed, regal figure of the Orion Syndicate arms dealer, Aestri. Black and emerald robes flowed with each step, trailing fabric whispering across the marble floor, while behind her, he counted no fewer than three bodyguards. That he could see.

The only thing to do was to roll with his surprise, and he dropped his gaze. ‘My apologies. Mistress Aestri, is it not? It’s an honour to be in your presence.’ At her nonplussed expression, he put a hand on his chest, adopting the most obsequious air he could. ‘I represent Torrad-Var, Master of the Bleak Shadow.’

Now she looked him up and down with something approaching interest, but merely said, ‘Hm. Of course. I had not known he would care for minor art.’

‘My master has many interests and many clients. I had not known you would show an interest, Mistress.’

‘Some treasures,’ said Aestri in a lighter tone, ‘are worth any price.’

As she left in a sweep of robes, emerald, and superiority, Q’ira gave a small huff. ‘We’ve met,’ she mumbled, indignant. ‘About four times.’

‘Typical power move,’ Rosewood assured her, though he wondered if ‘met’ actually meant ‘were in a room at the same time.’

Indeed, Q’ira tilted her nose skyward. ‘She’s used to ignoring people she doesn’t consider a threat. Guess that means I’m playing my part right.’

Better than you know. Rosewood shrugged. ‘Let’s hope I can fly under the sensors, too. Come on, best way to blend in is to participate.’

Even with the devices, bidders had to advance to the rows of seats towards the front of the hall, chairs with low but wide, curved backs where they could all be seen by Nank and his attendees on the dais. Rosewood and Q’ira slid into one, with the broad Nausicaan warlord on one side, and the Romulan – who by now Rosewood was sure was an arms dealer – on the other.

‘Everyone wants this art,’ he muttered.

The room fell silent as Nank and his platform hovered six feet in the air, the little Ferengi raising his arms. ‘Folk of the wide galaxy, we are here tonight to celebrate the beauty of wealth and power. And what better way to begin than with these exquisite pieces from the late Romulan Senator Talor’s personal collection, the Porten Dillig?’

Holographic displays hovered above the platform, showcasing the wares. In the centre was the first, an ancient Romulan sculpture, delicate and timeless. For a heartbeat, Rosewood thought of Ireqah and the preservation of her people’s culture, but then Nank was pressing on, describing the piece, and a moment later the bidding had begun.

Rosewood hesitated for a moment, thumb on the bidding device, before tapping in what he thought would be a respectable bid – that was eclipsed in a heartbeat. His mouth went dry at the staggering quantities of latinum being at once thrown around, and realised that rather than watch the money, he’d do better to toy with amounts and focus on watching the people.

It was the Bolian magnate who showed the most interest, his thumb tapping at almost every instant a winning bid went up so he could best it. At first he slouched back in his chair, indolent as he frittered away vast wealth on what felt increasingly to Rosewood like a block of marble, but moment by moment he sat up.

Throughout, Nank narrated and updated the bidding with both the practical usefulness of a professional auctioneer, and the flourish of a showman who knew that for every person who wanted to spend big money in that moment, another ten were here for the thrill of participating or merely watching. And as the numbers raced up and certain names began to eke ahead on the figures on his screen and the updates spilling from Nank’s lips, Rosewood’s eyes landed on one frontrunner: Aestri.

The Bolian was frowning by now, but she lounged in the wide seat, cool and collected. Her gaze flickered from stage to device without letting in any intrusion or distraction, her bidding automatic, fluid. Her hand barely moved as she raised the bids with almost casual disdain.

‘Why does she want this?’ Rosewood hissed to Q’ira. ‘Does she have a client who likes art?’

‘I don’t know – maybe she’s just showing off.’

But as the numbers rose and bidders fell off, Rosewood’s chest tightened before Aestri, too, paused – and the Bolian did not, throwing in one additional swing of wealth. For a moment, Nank was silent, finger raised, poised for another escalation, another surge in the staggering wealth being thrown around. Then –

‘Sold!’

In the raucous applause that followed, Rosewood wondered if Q’ira was right – there was power to winning the first bid. But the Bolian was sweating in his victory, and he wasn’t sure the man’s pockets were deep enough for him to make another demonstration. He wasn’t the only one who’d been pushed to the brink, a half-dozen bidders falling off, and all of them prodded and cajoled by Aestri raising the price. She’d never blinked. Even folding at the end had seemed like a casual concession.

‘She was fishing,’ he said to Q’ira, his voice low to be muffled by the applause. ‘Yes, she flexed her muscles, showed what wealth she has to splash around. But she was also dangling bait to see who bit. Who’s got pockets.’

The rest of the Rooks didn’t look as concerned once they’d filtered out of the auction hall and back into the gardens of Nank’s estate and he’d updated them.

‘It’s just art,’ sniffed Nallera. ‘That’s not a test of much. Also, can’t she just lie about her bids?’

‘No,’ said Cassidy, more stony-faced. ‘We had to let Nank check our accounts in advance. Can’t bid higher than what you got. But it is art.’

‘When we’re talking about incredibly high-end products like this, does it matter what it is?’ wondered Aryn. ‘Someone who could sell the Regulator can surely find someone who’ll pay enough to turn a profit on that sculpture.’

‘It doesn’t matter,’ said Rosewood, a bit impatient. ‘Not about the rest, though I know more than I did before I got in there. But this was just a sculpture, and she might have misjudged and won it. Which means she has deep enough pockets for this thing, and deep enough pockets for the Regulator, which is the whole reason we’re here.’

It was Tiran who sighed first, corners of her eyes pinching. ‘Meaning, her pockets are deeper than ours.’

Rosewood nodded. ‘If she’s here for the Regulator and is prepared to spend to get it, our little rainy day fund isn’t going to cut it in a straight fight.’

They turned, as they always did when they weren’t sure what to do, to Cassidy. His gaze was still flat, which would have cast a comical contrast to the ridiculous feathered hat had the circumstances been less dire.

He shrugged. ‘Never did like a straight fight, anyway.’