Thick beads of sweat continued pooling in the cleft of K’Sal’s back as she twitched uncomfortably beneath her sopping wet t-shirt, a symptom of the almost overwhelming heat that flooded the large room. Even her hair suffered at the hands of the unrelenting atmosphere, the normal flourish of a golden mohican drooping like an underwatered plant.

“I don’t like any of this,” she muttered from the corner of her mouth, flicking a weary forelock away from her face.

“I suspected the temperature might be a problem. We can move back towards the air conditioning if you suffer too greatly.” Bahir nodded towards the pair of air handling units that offered a paltry attempt at reducing the room’s ambient temperature. Several of the room’s other occupants crowded the units, desperately attempting to cool themselves. At the centre of the group a squat Ferengi slapped a nearby Naussican bodyguard who resumed wafting a large golden fan with reluctance, his indecision over whether the Latinum was worth it written across his face. Of the forty or so people present only a pair of Tellerite’s several metres from the main group seemed unphased by the relentless heat.

“This position, however, offers excellent tactical options,” Bahir concluded. From their position near the large structural beam, they had unobstructed views across the room; with a slight elevation and clear line of sight to the symmetrical entrances, it had many positive attributes. Unfortunately, it also meant they were closer to the large tubes of runoff from the forge which radiated heat and further from the struggling air conditioning.

“I can handle the heat.” K’Sal grimaced, the white lie sneaking through her gritted teeth as she felt another bead of sweat roll down her back. “Who doesn’t love a good sauna?”

Bahir smiled as he flexed his wide shoulders momentarily, allowing the warmth to creep into his spine. It was rare that he was able to feel truly warm in the cosmopolitan environment of a starship.

“I was talking about the fact we’re in an underground Syndicate auction. Alone.” K’Sal twitched uncomfortably again.

“We aren’t alone, Bib is only over there.” Bahir subtly nodded to their fellow undercover officer covertly hovering at the edge of the air conditioner’s range. The Andorian commander looked uncomfortable in the thick heat, his antenna drooping limply against his sweat-slick hair.

K’Sal allowed a barely impeded snort of derision to slip from the corner of her mouth. “I’m not sure I’m a fan of this new comedic lizard-man.”

“What is there not to like?”

“The half dozen enforcers I’ve seen around the room.”

“Agreed, they are not being subtle.” Nearby a hulking Orion syndicate enforcer cracked his gigantic knuckles in response to the repeated probing of a slippery Ferengi trader, supposedly the operator of this supposed market. Bahir clocked a rather obviously holstered disrupter at his belt and a dozen cruel-looking knives slotted into the bandoleer on his chest.

“Aspis said the market would have started by now.”

“We’re only a few minutes behind, I don’t think the Syndicate is considered the paragons of punctuality.” Bahir snuck a look at the chronometer hidden beneath his jacket sleeve. His Bajoran compatriot was correct, things were running late. Perhaps they had been given away?

“It also could be a trap. A messy one.” K’Sal grumbled giving form to Bahir’s concerns. “We let that woman go, we should have at least tracked her.”

“I have no doubt Aspis would have discovered any tracking device we placed upon her. She is extremely competent.” Bahir mused, his eyes surveilling another Orion enforcer who had entered the ovoid room from a small door, this one clad in heavy leathers and wielding a trilling tricorder unsubtly ahead of him.

“Careful, sounds like you almost like her.” She allowed a wry laugh to escape her lips, a barely melodic chant chasing after it. “Bahir and Aspis sitting in a tree…”

“I will admit she is knowledgeable and confident. Both are positive traits in my eyes.”

“And the possibility she’s playing us?”

“Helios was able to confirm her codes were in the Klingon database via our contacts.”

“She could have stolen those.” K’Sal turned toward the tall Saurian and tugged at his jacket, causing the man to cease his surveillance and face her.

“Bahir, I have a very bad feeling and I have spent a long time around bad feelings. This isn’t me being paranoid,” she implored, her tone suddenly solemn and focused. Her eyes were large and absent her normal playful glint.

The Security Chief considered her statement in his usual fashion, stone-facedly. He was aware of K’Sal’s history before Starfleet where, as a young woman, she had worked between the trade lanes of the Bajor sector. ‘Between’ had been the operative word and though never charged, her service history included reports of several run-ins with the Bajoran Militia and later Starfleet Security. Other commanders had bawked at her fiery attitude and chequered history; on Helios, it had never mattered. In fact, it had been one of the reasons Bib had chosen her for the mission. Perhaps her ‘feelings’ had merit, it would be foolish to dismiss intuition garnered from experience.

“I will admit, her trustworthy status is questionable. We should keep our options available.” Bahir finally answered.

“Open.”

“What is?”

“You keep your options open.” K’Sal corrected with a smile. Universal translators were a modern miracle but still left much to be desired.

The deep rumble of the far bay doors interrupted Bahir before he could respond, the pitted metal barriers sliding away with a dramatic, titanic groan to herald the entrance of the four tardy figures. A pair of tall Nausicaan goons led the small procession, the echoing thuds of their studded boots in rhythmic counterpoint to the clatter of metallic chains strategically laced across their bare chest. With each plodding step, the deck plates quaked, causing a loose grate nearby to clatter in panic through the suspicious silence that had descended upon the room. Behind them, a shorter figure followed, taking two steps for every one of their giant paces. Smaller by almost a full metre, its form was obscured by the swaddling fabrics wrapped around its body; thick woven layers of dark heavy wool accentuating its eerie effortless glide across the room.

Last to enter, Aspis. Her familiar golden serpent head tattoo twitched restlessly in the dull lights of the meeting room, sipping in the drama of her own entrance. Behind her a halo of orange light from the ever-dominating forge slid into the room, raising the ambient temperature several degrees solely with its magmatic glow. With a satisfied smile, she surveyed the room. A slow and deliberate pass, her face acknowledging the trio of Starfleet officers with the same predatory gaze as the other assembled traders.

A thin, pale arm reached out from beneath the sentient pile of fabric and lightly clicked its fingers, summoning Aspis; the paltry snap carrying a palpable wave of authority through the tense room. All eyes tracked the woman’s journey to heel. Step by clinking step, her red leather boots echoed across the metallic surface of the deck; till they too fell silent behind the unassuming pile of wool.

“Bahir, the hand?” K’Sal whispered beneath her breath, her visceral dislike for Aspis guarding her against the woman’s siren nature.

Bahir caught sight of the ghost-like appendage as it retreated beneath the woollen folds. A shimmer of metal splayed out from the back of the palm, arterial tendrils creeping along the lengths of gnarled and twisted fingers. In the opposite direction, metallic roots twisted around the thin branch of an arm before writhing deep beneath the skin into dark bulges like the mounds of burrowing worms.

Bahir shuddered as he recognised the tell-tale bio-mechanical augmentations. With a barely audible whisper, he confirmed K’Sal’s suspicions.

“It seems our buyer is a former Borg drone.”