In the cold reality of the white overhead lighting in Daedalus’ small lounge, one could stand against the forward bulkhead of the room and hit the aft one with a well-thrown feather. Barely twenty meters long and tucked into the short aft curve of the ship’s saucer section, the one-time officer’s mess was a small corner on a small ship.

Yet through the tactical placement of tall paper screens and the shadows of the dim recessed amber light, the small room was transformed. In the faux-carved corridors and alcoves, bulls and beings danced across Minoan-style frescos, leaping over one another in colourful displays of perpetual athleticism. When the lights were low and the hubbub of laughing voices suffused into the air, it was easy to believe yourself back on Earth amongst the cool alabaster of the Cretan palace. At any moment you could turn a corner and find yourself on warm sands, the stars twinkling over a vast azure sea. ‘The Labyrinth’ was an easy place to get lost in, especially when the drinks were flowing.

This evening the hubbub was absent as the dim lights cast sharp-bladed shadows across the frescos. Two tall tankards of thick red blood wine stood untouched, still and unmoving as their drinkers stared across the table at one another, whilst the bull dancers watched with bated breath.

“I do not like being summoned…” Mordic’s voice gave way to a low growl, his deep baritone sending ripples across the surface of the undrunk blood wine in the metallic tankards.

“I apologise if there was some confusion. This wasn’t a summons, it was an invite.” Mellasitox clarified, her voice hovering on the fine line between welcoming compatriot and reluctant host.

Mordic flicked his head back towards the two security officers who hovered in the shadows of the lounge’s doorway, barely distinguishable from the tall painted figures on the wall.

“Do all your invitations come with phasers?”

“Sometimes, when our visitors come replete with disruptors.” Mellasitox darted her eyes to the Klingon captain’s thigh, where she knew the long cruel shape of a disrupter pistol hung beneath the table.

“I would not need this disruptor if injury were my intent,” Mordic allowed his lips to slip apart, revealing a pair of particularly sharp wolf-like canines.

“And I would not need the security officers.” Mellasitox shrugged in an attempt at indifference, allowing her telepathic abilities to flex slightly, pressing them lightly against the Klingon’s mind. Whilst she would never willingly use her abilities to cause harm, the seed of doubt was sufficient.

Mordic’s brow twitched at the pressure, her point was made. He let out a barely perceptible growl, his lip curling at the corners.

“Then why have you extended this invitation?”

“Because I need your help in understanding, Captain Mordic. Why do you keep holding us up with inspections?” Mellasitox considered the cup of wine on the table, her mouth was already dry and playing the part of the iron-willed captain always left it Saharan.

“You know our mission is to pursue a fugitive, their path leads through this sector.” Mellasitox relaxed slightly back into her chair, choosing not to take a sip. “Your constant inspections delay us, if I didn’t know better I would suspect it was intentional.”

Mordic scoffed loudly, causing the contents of the tankards to shake again.

“You wish to pass through Klingon-controlled space. I have already informed you that the searches are part of our security procedures, to ensure you are not carrying anything dangerous.” Mordic’s eyes flicked momentarily to his own cup but he did not reach for it. For a brief moment, Mellasitox saw a flash of frustration in his eyes, perhaps he too was uncomfortable with this performance of border security.

“With each inspection, our fugitive’s lead increases. Soon they will be beyond our reach, the trail is already thinning and then we will have lost them.” She offered a padd from her lap, the latest sensor data filling the screen as the transport’s warp trail pulsed in and out of existence.

The Klingon captain remained motionless, save for his sharp eyes that darted towards the small device taking in the data quickly.

“If any more inspections are in our future, we might as well give up the chase,” Mellasitox allowed a sigh to escape her lips. Perhaps sharing her frustrations might engender some sympathy from her fellow captain.

“Maybe you should anyway, people are not as friendly towards Starfleet here as they once were,” Mordic offered a similar sigh.

The pair shared a moment of silence across the table. They both knew he was alluding to Chancellor Toral’s recent galactic cold shoulder as he pursued his campaign into Romulan space. Though it currently remained theoretical hostilities between the two galactic governments had resumed over less.

“Are you suggesting that we are in danger?”

“We are not enemies. Though I cannot promise all Klingons you will encounter here are allies.”

“I thought House Koloth were allies?”

“There are a hundred captains from a hundred minor houses on this path.” Mordic tapped the padd lightly with a long nail. “Some of whom would gladly remind you of the Chancellor’s opinions whilst the eyes of House Koloth are focused on greater concerns.”

A flash of interest raced across Mordic’s brow as he drew the padd closer, his long fingers scrolling through the offered data.

“You have come from Pamack Base?”

Mellasitox felt a sudden chill in the pit of her stomach as she remembered that Klingon assets had been at the base when Aramook’s transport had escaped. She had no way of knowing how much information had been garnered and then relayed by those observant eyes.

“It is where we started yes, our fugitive was last seen there. My colleagues failed to arrest him before he could flee aboard a stolen transport.” Mellasitox danced around the sharp horns of the truth, hoping to channel the deft athletics of the dancers painted on the lounge’s walls.

“Does your fugitive have a name?” Mordic’s eyes were still fixed on the padd but Mellasitox could feel his focus drilling into her forehead.

She took a sharp breath, holding the air in her chest in the hopes it appeared to be one of consideration rather than worry. Daedalus’ mission was not clandestine but there was information that was delicate, particularly Aramook’s attempts to resurrect his lost Unimatrix Zero companions. There was little information about Klingon interest in Borg technology, but the captain had no doubt it would certainly garner attentions that would complicate matters.

“Commander Bib, a Starfleet officer who has gone rogue during an operation to disrupt a Syndicate black market. We have been sent to retrieve him.” Mellasitox allowed her held breath to finally escape with the half-truth.

“Was he alone?” Mordic’s eyes now levelled across the table, all thought of the padd dismissed.

“No.” Another truth, though swimming in an ocean of omissions.

“There have been reports that a rogue Klingon Intelligence operative escaped from Pamack Base,” his eyes narrowed, probing deeper. Had Mellasitox not known better she could have sworn that she felt a familiar pressure against her consciousness as a laser of hot focus leapt from his dark eyes.

“We have seen similar reports. An agent by the name of Aspis? There were a number of fugitives aboard, she may be one of them.” Sweat began collating at the nape of her neck, Mordic’s focused attention was as intense as the sun.

The room fell still once more as the pair locked eyes, their shallow breaths bouncing across the frescos.

“Securing that woman is important to the Empire.”

“I would expect so.”

“My superiors would be grateful.” Mordic’s laser focus shifted, his attention flipping inward to a litany of unknowable considerations.

Across the table, Mellasitox felt the sudden heat abate momentarily, the haze caused by his attention giving way to a possibility carried on fresh air. She lept on the opportunity, desperate to push through her stifled thoughts.

“We could work together, you could escort us through Klingon space and we could pool our resources in the hunt. We’re not particularly interested in Aspis, the Commander is our target.” Another half-truth slipped from her lips, one in service of a greater good.

Mordic continued his internal computations, his eyes darting across imaginary futures filled with possibilities. The seconds passed achingly slow as Mellasitox watched him consider a multitude of avenues, exploring endless choices in the labyrinth of Klingon politics.

Suddenly his eyes stopped, settling on a spot on the table where the balance of his opportunities lay.

“Fine. We will pursue this transport with you.”

“And the inspections?”

“Will no longer be necessary whilst you proceed under our supervision.” Mordic stood suddenly, causing the full tankards of blood wine to rattle on the table.

A cool wave of relief washed over the Starfleet captain as she stood to meet him but the Klingon was already turning away, making his way back to the nearby security officers and the door out of the lounge.

“Should we toast to the hunt?” Mellasitox called after him, but his light footsteps disappeared into the corridor before the doors had finished their familiar swish.

Captain Mellasitox stood alone in the dim light of the Labyrinth lounge, the hundred eyes of painted dancers the only witnesses as she lifted the mug to her lips and drank down the thick red liquid.

As she swallowed the last drop she grumbled in frustration, fearful that not even a barrel of the wretched liquid could quench her mouth made dry by half-truths.