Never question your orders. It was the first thing Ensign Jackson Smith learned about being a security officer.

That said, he was pretty sure there would be a time when he would have to question his orders. Not all orders were good orders. But he figured that most other officers he worked with knew more about each mission than he did, so following order was well within his comfort zone.

But to question why he, the newest assigned security officer on the ship was on the away team to protect Lt. Commander Roix was foolish. Therefore, he wasn’t going to ask it out loud.

But inwardly? Oh yes, he was running through a million overthinking questions as to why he would be an escort for an important mission and not one of the other officers who had served with Roix before. But Lieutenant Haynes had to know what she was doing, and she was leading the escort no less. Jackson had to trust her even though he barely knew her – and she barely knew him.

So here he was, less than twenty-four hours from stepping foot on the Calistoga, getting ready to beam off the Calistoga as they carefully approached Spaceport Mireya VII. It was horrifying, he didn’t even have a chance to unpack his hydroponics. He barely had a chance to get his good boots on. And because he was nervous, he decided to smile a lot.

“You seem to be in a good mood, Ensign.” Lieutenant Haynes looked over as she checked her equipment for the third time.

Mentally he kicked himself for smiling too much, continued to smile and nodded gently. “I’m pleased to get a chance to prove myself, Ma’am.”

“Your record shows you have experience with escort duty, on Killim VI and in the Yarvis sector.” She returned.

Jackson nodded. Escorting diplomats was a pretty common task on the Kaladar. He was always just a member of the team, good at being a rear lookout. He didn’t think anything of it. “Yes, Ma’am. Rear guard.”

“Good. Exactly what I need. Keep your eyes open, we don’t know how well we’ll be received.”

They went back to their preparations in silence. They were permitted to carry sidearms here, which he wasn’t sure if that was strange or not. Jackson realized he never even considered what missions the Calistoga usually ran. Maybe he was more experienced in escort than most of the department? He had a hard time believing that, but Lieutenant Haynes seemed to think so.

It took some of the edge off the tension that was welling inside him, but he had the misfortune of overhearing the discussion – he might even call it an argument – between the first and second officers. Something about anomalous readings and the pirates were hiding something. He didn’t like the sound of that.

Ominously he could feel the slow, metered shift from warp to impulse, a slight change in the vibration and hum of the ship. It wasn’t a blackout cutting power but a deliberate slowing. They were getting close.

The doors opened with a metallic swipe that sounded like two blades being sharpened, and Commander Roix walked in, gazing at her escort. Lieutenant Haynes, Lieutenant JG Velix and Ensign Smith.

“I hope everyone is ready. We’re moving into position alongside Mireya VII, and we’re expected.” Roix opened, fixing her dark eyes and Betazoid empathy on each officer in turn.

Jackson held himself very still, but no amount of muscle training could quench the uncertainty welling inside of him.

“Briefed and ready, Commander.” Lieutenant Hayes rose and gathered her officers together.

Jackson was very good at following orders, but the next few minutes were a blur, as he finished every standard check, followed his team to the transporter room and wondered if he should be the one to go down.

No time to wonder. The blue haze of the transporter room whisked him away.

~*~

He didn’t know what to expect when beaming down to a civilian spaceport filled with merchants and pirates, but didn’t expect it to be so clean.

He was expecting debris, cargo, maybe something looted, maybe space voles. But they arrived in a circular transport area that was dimly lit by golden mood lighting. The entire interior was painted a strange warm rusty-brown color, which was a few shades too close to human blood to feel comfortable.

Outside were some decorative plants and a piece of artwork depicting Grand Nagus Rom. As if he was sitting peacefully in a lovely hallway that was bathed in dried blood that had been covered with very expensive varnish.

Jackson shook his head and tried to clear that thought from his mind. Commander Roix didn’t seem to be bothered by it, and as far as he knew the people who built this place had some other color of blood and they found this color relaxing.

A tall and weedy-thin Klaestron man strolled forward wearing a very expensive suit that was rimmed in gold braiding. He offered a polite, if ostentatious gesture of welcome. Two Nausicaans armed and armored backed him up. “You must be Commander Roix and Lieutenant Haynes?” he ignored the others assuming that Smith and Velix were the counterparts to his two Nausicaans. The much shorter, smaller counterparts.

“We are, and may I assume you are Darin Jaroo?” Roix opened with an easy diplomatic tone.

The man fanned his hands to the sides, presenting himself as if he was walking into a spotlight. “The one, the only!” He waved the small group forward. “Come! Negotiations should be done in a nice room with nice chairs and good liquor.”

All of that sounded difficult to properly guard and protect. Fortunately Jackson was picking up that he was not considered part of the diplomatic team and he could probably get away with standing to the side, not having to drink, eat or do anything but watch for danger. Good.

“Lead onwards Mr. Jaroo.”

“Please, call me Darin.”

Commander Roix kept up the pleasant conversation – small talk Jackson would call it – during the entire walk, and he was impressed by her ability to pick up on what Jaroo was saying and respond in a pleasing manner. He wondered if she would coach him in conversation arts.

But mostly he was focused on what was around them. The hallways of Mireya VII were narrow – almost claustrophobic. And they weren’t straight. The station was pieced together with parts bought, stolen or pirated from various governments over the years.

Paint, artwork, floor coverings, everything had been done to hide the hodgepodge construction, but Jackson caught bits of old Klingon panels, Orion styled computer interfaces, Ferengi commerce machines and even some Romulan technology, almost certainly scavenged post-Hobus.

The narrow, jagged hallways opened up into a commerce center, with modular shops, a few appearing to be permanent fixtures, many looking to change with whatever trade ship was in the area. They took a turn down the first hallway that was comfortably wide (the Nausicaans were still walking single file, one in front and one in back) and towards what must have served as the command center for Mireya VII.

Jackson was silent, trying to absorb as much as possible when he passed what, at first, seemed to be a beautiful sculpture of a tree that was covered with growing crystals on the branches. Delicate crystal spikes of deep pink and red, with some tiny buds of luminescent orange. It was breathtakingly beautiful, and sealed behind a solid force field – you could look but not touch.

And he did a double take. The orange buds… were those… Chimerium?

Couldn’t possibly be. It was rare, only found on a select few planets in the Alpha and Beta quadrants, highly controlled by the Federation, and horrifically expensive. You wouldn’t just put it on display, that would be a death sentence.

It must be an artistic forgery, to add to the aesthetic. If it was real someone else would have noticed, he was sure. He was the lowest rank and he assumed his imagination was playing tricks on him. He took one last look at the beautiful art and then moved forward, trying to keep pace and not get distracted.

Jaroo brought them to a large circular room that had viewport windows on one side and a large hardwood carved bar on the other. In the middle rested an oval table with six chairs, all carved from Korvarian rosewood, which shone with deep pink, mauve and red tones when it was properly cut and stained. Both the chairs and the table had inlay of Korvarian cherry trees, and they were covered by sheets of Kriosian silk.

It was artistic, gorgeous and at the same time clearly expensive. Jaroo welcomed everyone and bid Roix and Haynes to be seated.

“You have a lovely station, Darin.  And quite an eye for artwork.” Commander Roix opened with a smile.

“Thank you my dear.” Darin was pouring drinks for the ladies. “We are more civilized than most think. I hope you see that.”

Jackson and Velix tried to find the most out of the way places to stand guard that were not too close to the Nausicaans, not in front of the bar and not blocking the windows. The pickings were slim.

Roix took the drink with a slender hand and waited until Jaroo offered a toast before politely sipping. “We counted on you being educated and civilized, Darin. That’s why we wanted to discuss protecting this area of space.”

“Protecting?  From whom?” either he was playing dumb, or he was naïve. Jackson guessed someone who amassed enough money to live in such luxury was not naïve.

“The Vaadwaur. Have you heard of them?”

Darin Jaroo sat and considered the drink in his hand. “The boogeymen that pop up in the black?”

“The aliens from the Delta Quadrant who can travel through Underspace. Subspace corridors only they know how to control.” Roix leaned forwards, trying to get a read on Darin.

He considered that and shrugged. “Mighty convenient that the long dead empire shows up on our doorstep.” He paused and considered, gesturing toward her. “Or should I say your doorstep.”

“Ours, the Klingon Empire, the Romulan factions, the Cardassian Union, the Ferengi Trade Alliance, even the Orion Syndicate. None of the major governments and factions were excluded.” She returned evenly.

Only places that were too small or too out of the way were spared, like Mireya VII. Which of course Roix couldn’t say because it would insult Jaroo. Jackson was thinking it and then he realized this was why he wasn’t a diplomat. Better to shut up and stand guard.

“We must have gotten lucky, out here on our own.  The trade ships have gotten pretty good at navigating the blackouts.” Jaroo took a drink and considered Roix carefully.

She levelled a steady gaze back at him, “That won’t last forever, they will expand their war efforts, and no place will be safe.”

The cat and mouse game of negotiating had begun. Jackson paid attention to point and counterpoint, trying to pick up on the cues Commander Roix used to level her arguments. From the briefing Lieutenant Haynes led for the escort team, Jackson understood that there was solid evidence that the independent merchants had gathered a considerable force to defend themselves. But that force was nowhere to be seen, and Darin Jaroo wasn’t forthcoming in the slightest.

“My dear, what if you are the reason they come here. If they follow you and it is our downfall…” Jaroo shook his head slowly. “I would hate to see that happen.”

Roix bristled at the verbal manipulation, but she kept her tone calm. “We were not followed. But we do see an area of blackout that is disturbingly close to your trade routes, that was there well before we left spacedock.”

As they sparred, Jackson found his eyes scanning every nook and cranny of the room.  The artwork, the furnishings, the bar, the glasses and liquors, the windows…

His eyes narrowed, seeing a shimmer of light catch something out there, but only for a moment.  He stared and trying to catch it again, and he might have kept on staring if one of the Nausicaans didn’t move directly in front of the window, and for a moment the big creature stared at him with a baleful gaze.

Jackson straightened up again and ripped his eyes away from the windows, focusing on the conversation.

His mind was playing tricks on him. The fanciful part of his brain said there were Chimerium crystals outside, grown into the most artistically gorgeous cloaking device he had ever seen, and the play of the light was something Darin Jaroo wanted to keep hidden. Cloaked even.

And part of him wanted to speak up, so badly. To be the clever one, to be the one who put all the puzzle pieces together, even if the puzzle pieces were all circumstantial and he had no real evidence.

But there was no way he could pick out those details without anybody else noticing. And there was no way he could speak up without causing a diplomatic incident. No, his mind was playing tricks on him.

Never question your orders. Be quiet, be observant, and be unnoticed.