“He wants me?” Simix was in disbelief. They had been on the way to hideout when Sarge had hailed them and ordered them to change course for a nearby trading station.

Hasara sat across from the Reman scientist, “I think whoever is in charge of Sarge wants whatever it is you know a lot about. That means he needs to put you under more protection than Sarge can provide…it at least means you’ll be safe.”

“I still don’t understand. Like I told you – I’m a genetic engineer specializing in biology. You told me they’re looking for lost equipment stolen from the Federation. I’ve never even seen such equipment.”

Hagasi turned his attention from the stacks of notebooks he was studying, “I suspect among the equipment they have stolen is something that aligns with your specialty. What other studies have you pursued in your educational career?”

Simix blinked as he thought back. “I have a background in mechanical engineering and some early work with nanotechnology. I occasionally keep up with the journals, but I haven’t worked on it in the last few years.” He threw his hands up in surrender, “I should have just fled the station and run.”

Hasara shook his head, “They would have found you. They sent us to get you – an assassin, a former Gul with a grey streak, a Klingon with a bloody history, and a Ferengi who knows how to motivate those on the other side. We’re not the B team. The B team would have failed to bring you home.”

The Reman’s face fell, realizing there were no chances at escape or freedom. “What will they do with me?”

“They won’t kill you. They need you for whatever they’ve either found or are looking for. As nasty of a reputation as they have – they don’t want it getting around that they kill scientists for fun. It makes recruiting hard and forces them to do things that hard way.” He turned to the cockpit, “Get some rest. We’ve got a few hours to go, and things will get pretty hectic once we dock.”

“You see the message?” Krov asked while he sat at the helm as Hasara slid into the OPS seat. The cockpit door closed and locked behind him.

“I did. We’re going to have to keep up appearances with them. The Syndicate will watch to see if we betray the cover we’ve built.” He had deleted the message and purged it from the systems, “The mention of the higher-up is curious.”

The Klingon growled, “It is not good timing, Hasara. If the Shadowed Man appears, he may force our hand. I am concerned for the safety of the Starfleet team. And ours.”

“It’s never good timing in this business. It gives us a chance to identify him. Ford knows how to handle himself and take care of the team.” He tapped at the console, “We’re going to have to be prepared for as much as we can. Don’t worry about the Starfleet team. They know how to survive – they keep finding ways to keep the universe from imploding.”

The station and the space around it looked very different a day later. Three Orion ships had arrived, and the larger three were armed to the teeth. Dread sat in Abraham Greyson’s office, reviewing the information he had pulled from the computer. She told Prentice to stay with the shuttle and to be ready to run. The look on his face gave her some confidence that he would be ok. She turned to her XO, Milton Ford, “You said you were worried earlier.”

He sat forward in his chair. “I’m worried this thing will involve more than just us, Hasara, and the three Syndicate stooges. The more people talk about this equipment, the more word spreads about the players…they’re not one big happy family.” He flipped through the notebook Greyson had handed him, “He’s been tapping lines of communications, breaking codes, and more. There’s mention of a Cardassian making moves in the levels – and it’s a she. Whoever she is, she’s gotten herself a little fleet of Galor class ships. The Douglas can’t hold her own against the Syndicate ships outside with the threat of these ships in the mix.”

Helena grimaced, “Whatever happens – we agreed to run at the first sight of trouble. Heroics extends to the lives we can save, not the information we might have a chance to put our hands on.”

Hasara led the group, with Simix surrounded by them, as they left the dock and headed down a corridor through several thick layers of Syndicate security until they entered a remodeled conference room. He could smell the recent paint, and the carpet looked like it had just come out of the replicator. Sarge turned from his place at the windows, a smile crossing his lips, “You found my favorite Reman! Best day ever. Simix – it’s been a bit.”

The Reman in question scowled, chewing on his bottom lip. “I had hoped never to see you again. But here I am. Better alive than whatever she was planning to do with me.”

Hasara glanced around the room, “Where are the others?”

Suddenly, twin-blaster shots echoed out of a nearby room, startling only Simix. Sarge shrugged, “They didn’t bring him anything. Empty hands lead to empty heads. Come, sit at the table. You will meet him once he’s…finished with them.”

Sinai and Krov looked to Hasara, who gestured to the seats and took one himself, adding, “We delivered him alive. Someone had already been to look for him.”

“Yes. We’re aware of Osho Gac. She has been making plays across the rimward with alarming success. You’re safe here, for now.” He checked his watch, “He must be taking his time with the bodies.”

A side door slid open, revealing a tall Orion male clad in the Western wear familiar in Old Earth films. He wore a broad-brimmed hat that hid his eyes just enough to unsettle everyone in the room. Twin blasters were at his side, and two phaser rifles were strapped to his back. His blood-encrusted boots scuffed across the carpet, leaving a ruby-red trail. He stopped ten feet before the table, tipping his hat back slightly, “It’s agreeable you brought him, Sarge. Your colleague’s forces and organizations are now yours. Don’t shit the bed like they did.” He spoke softly, and his blazing blue eyes did most of the talking. He turned them towards the others in the room, “I’ve heard a great deal about you all. Curious to see if you prove yourselves as we go forward.”

There was a pause as he met the eyes of Sinai, who stared right back, “You got yourself a pretty tough gunslinger, I’ll admit. I got plenty of offers to take care of her, to be honest.” The Romulan’s stare didn’t abate, but she didn’t speak either. “You’re smart, at least. Lesser creatures have tried to tell me I’m not as good as they are. They don’t live long.” He wiped the remains of the fresh blood off the bottom of his boots onto the carpet and pulled up a chair, “I’m Tougun, but you can just call me ‘Gun.’ You’re the team that’s been impressing Sarge. You got me Simix, so that’s one thing going for you. Your history is the thing working against you.” His attention turned to Hasara, “I don’t trust you. The word out there is that there’s been some movement of assets related to the Fourth Fleet.”

Hasara kept his face calm, “There’s no love lost with them. I’m scraping together what I can with who I have to keep my place on the station. My team is far from clean.”

Gun chuckled, “You did get some of the worst out there. That Romulan – she’s one of the few that scares my people—your Klingon – a surgeon with a Bat’leth. There’s a collection of surveillance videos with his greatest kills. I liked five through ten myself. And your Ferengi – his money is some of the dirtiest I’ve seen. He’s worked with some bastards. And now he works for you.” The Orion leaned back and thumped his boots on the table, dried blood flakes floating into the air, “I’m going to take a chance on you. You keep bringing Sarge what he asks for; I’ll have better work for you.” He cocked his head to the side, “Well, that didn’t take long.” He stood, “You have ten minutes before Osho Gac arrives. Maybe less.” Tougun stood and walked out, and his men outside left with him.

Hasara stood, “You heard him. Let’s get the hell out of here.”