There had been enough weapons pointed at her and her people that Sidda’s surrender hadn’t taken long at all. Her expletive had drawn attention, and then weapons came her way and very quickly she had her hands in the clear for all to see. Then she was disarmed and forced to join her people in the middle of the courtyard on their knees while the Orion gang mulled about. While the whole exchange hadn’t been gentle, it hadn’t been impolite either.

It hadn’t taken long for their true numbers to be revealed when a handful more appeared from the surrounding buildings, all of them armed with standard-issue Romulan weaponry. Fifteen Orions in total, all answering to a man of about average build and height. This lot, unlike the Remans, seemed more orderly, in control, and organised. 

“You okay?” Trid asked when Sidda had joined them and her escort had backed off a bit.

“For now. Once the adrenaline wears off I’ll be all sorts of not fine,” Sidda answered back. “What happened?”

“Ambushed clearly,” R’tin answered before Trid could. “And three against a courtyard full of proper weapons wasn’t a winning idea.”

She glared at him before looking at Sidda. “About the gist of it really. They’ve been polite enough.”

When Sidda looked over her shoulder, Trid turned herself to see what was so interesting, spotting the runner who entered the courtyard at a sprint. “She said,” the woman got out as she stopped, bending over as she caught her breath. “She said to bring them in, she wants,” more deep breaths, the woman desperate for air, “to talk to them.”

And with that they ended up being marched through the city, their escorts watching them and the streets in equal measure until they passed a makeshift checkpoint staffed by a motley mixture of people and species. A handful of Orions, a few Romulans, a Reman and one other that Trid didn’t recognise at all. She chalked it up to some species of the Empire that the Federation had clearly never encountered. Curiosity about their origins could wait.

Their escorts relaxed however once past the checkpoint, their guard lessened but not enough she felt any of them could make a break for it, not without weapons that was for sure. People here seemed to be going about their lives, what they had at any rate, with no real interruption, though she spotted most intersections had at least a couple of armed individuals, be they with real weapons or hastily manufactured melee weapons.

“Boss,” she said moving up beside Sidda, the escorts not stopping her.

“Yeah, I noticed. Safeish part of town. Bet we’re going to meet with someone who knows something.”

“Got a plan?”

“Yeah,” Sidda said calmly. “Listen to what they have to say, lay on the charm and try to talk our way out of it.”

“We’re fucked,” R’tin joked from behind them.

It took a few hours of walking to get to their destination, allowances made for water stops, a break or two for their slightly injured. But eventually, they ended up on another one of the beautified streets, clearly meant for visitors, and shown through to a building with no signage, but a rather impressive facade. Inside the decor took a turn for the dark and sumptuous and the building’s likely purpose just a day before was obvious enough to Trid. Lounges however had been turned into war rooms, the bar was an impromptu armoury and the stairs leading up were guarded by two people at the top and bottom.

She couldn’t help but chuckle at the idea of the brothel turned revolutionary headquarters, but fiction had to borrow something from reality right?

As they stopped in the foyer, an older woman, though that wasn’t entirely fair, stepped into view upstairs and looked them over. While everyone else here was wearing rebellion chic, she’d opted to maintain Orion madam vogue with a piece she herself wouldn’t have even blinked at if they’d been visiting Kyban or some other Federation core world had been going out on the town. The woman looked perhaps on the other side of middle-aged, but she couldn’t tell with Orions, especially those that put some effort into maintaining their appearance.

“That one,” the woman pointed at Sidda, the only Orion in their group, then at her, “and that one. Keep the others comfortable and get the poor dears a drink.” Her voice was verging on husk as she lazily spoke, then turned and disappeared from view once more.

“Hey,” R’tin tapped her elbow with his own, “keep the boss safe yah?”

“Duh,” she answered. “Keep Revin safe.”

“I’d rather die keeping her safe than die for not keeping her safe,” he joked, a touch nervously.

She caught the end of Revin and Sidda speaking, though keeping their exchange rather plain from what she saw, before being escorted upstairs. Soon enough they were in a lavishly appointed office, only two guards at their back, the Orion madam seated rather comfortably in a tall chair behind a desk. All in all, this was better than being chased by a pack of Remans, but at least they were honest. This felt like a den of snakes waiting to strike.

“Who are you?’ the woman asked.

“Sidda, Trid,” Sidda said, stepping forward without invitation and sitting herself down like she owned the chair she had just taken. Sidda wasn’t in someone else’s office, they were in her office, they just didn’t know it. She couldn’t help but close her eyes and whisper a prayer to the Prophets, asking for their guiding hand. “And you?”

The woman eyed Sidda up, then looked to her and offered the other chair with an idle hand gesture. The invitation wasn’t one she was going to ignore, not after someone tried to blow them up, being tossed in a car, chased by Remans, captured and finally marched through a city. It was the little gifts of the Prophets, right?

“Serti,” the woman finally offered. “I don’t know you, which means you’re visitors to my world. Poor timing on your behalf.”

“It’s kind of my thing,” Sidda said calmly.

“What my friend means to say,” she spoke up, “is that we were here to do some business with a merchant lord when the spaceport decided to…expand operations.”

That earned a slight chuckle from Sidda. “Expand operations…” she whispered.

“Who?” the woman asked without missing a beat.

“Andik Hotet.”

“Perverted slime,” Serti spat out. “One of my boys personally shot him in the back. You’ll have some difficulty getting information out of him if you find him.”

“We found him alright, but we didn’t find any data storage in his room at the Lamec Spa. I’m willing to pay for it,” Sidda said. “Weapons, torpedos, a ride off this rock.”

“What type of weapons?” Serti asked all attention on Sidda now.

“An entire ship’s armoury of Klingon ground assault weapons. Disruptor pistols, rifles, grenades.”

Trid turned to look Sidda over. They knew nothing about what was taking place on Ta’shen and here she was willingly discussing selling weapons to one group. Her training was conflicting with her cover and her heritage right now. Part of her said you don’t just arm an insurgency without information, but Sidda wasn’t Starfleet and these people from what she’d seen had been slaves up until a few hours ago. And as a Bajoran she was culturally predisposed to fight oppressive regimes.

“Huh, well, I can’t help you with that I’m afraid. My people say he boasted about his friendship with the Governor and storing his most sensitive data in the palace vault while he was here. And the palace is protected by its own personal shield.”

“You have a communications system? Something powerful enough to get past what I assume is the governor’s jamming?” Trid asked.

“It’s of limited use,” Serti said with a shrug. “None of the personal communicators we’ve seized have the power to respond and it’s not powerful enough to broadcast interstellar distances with the jammer in place, else I would have already called for assistance.”

“Can we use it?” She looked to Sidda. “Our ship should still be in the system, there’s a chance we could contact them”

Serti sat forward in her chair, eyes squinting somewhat. “Who are you really? And don’t give me names, I want more. Tal’Shiar? Republic Intelligence? Imperial Security? Did Rasek send you?”

That she only listed off Romulan intelligence apparatus’ was telling. The lack of serious interstellar travel was another as well. She was beginning to think that knowledge of the universe outside of the Romulan cultural sphere was perhaps somewhat lacking here, likely attempts by the Romulans to keep control.

“No, Rasek didn’t send us,” Sidda said. “We came here actually trying to find a way to make contact with Rasek actually.” She watched Sidda reach into her jacket and fiddle with the stitching around the left side zip for a moment, working open a very well-hidden little pocket. 

Green fingers carefully withdrew, slowly and in full view so as not to give Serti cause to summon her guards. The first glint of silver was followed by matt steel as the commbadge was brought out and tossed gently on Serti’s desk, just landing on the edge.

“Captain Sidda Sadovu, this is Commander Jenu Trid. We’re with Starfleet Intelligence. How about you tell me what’s going on here?”

“Starfleet?” Serti half exclaimed, half asked. “Here? How?”

Trid closed her eyes again. There was no prayer to the Prophets this time, but a muttered curse. Then she drew in a slow breath and opened her eyes. “Unofficially,” she said. “But we’re here to help, it‘s what we do. But we need to talk with our ship.”

Serti looked past both of them at the guards by the door. “Delip, go tell Vin to bring the comms system back online and send Fig in here right away.” The guard nodded and then left. “It’s going to take a bit to bring the system back online.”

“Then perhaps,” Sidda said, “you can bring us up to speed with Rasek’s plan as you know it and what’s going on here on Ta’shen?”