A lone man, dressed in dirty civvies with a backpack, hunched shoulders, and a tired expression, made his way down the dark streets. He walked slowly, taking his time, as would be expected of a man who’d spent the day pushing pallets at the spaceport. But that labored gait, as much as it would throw off any wandering eyes that might steal a look his way, was also a tactical choice as it allowed him plenty of time to observe his surroundings.

He stepped into a small, dimly lit tavern where a few tired men drank their miseries away over a large pitcher.

“Can you believe what they’re making us do?” asked one man to the others. “Mines, man, mines. I used to make circuit boards for medical equipment…”

“Quiet,” one of his colleagues cautioned, stealing a glance around. “They’re always watching. Don’t forget what they did to Jerimiah. Just be quiet and drink your beer.”

The new arrival passed by the patrons without so much as looking up, coming upon the barkeep in the back who also doubled as innkeeper. “I’m with the Ferengi,” he said gruffly, sounding more like a man who smoked three packs a day than one who ran twenty kilometers a day.

“Oh yes, more of his help,” remarked the barkeep. “It’s mighty nice of you he puts you all up. I hear most Ferengi just have their help sleep below deck.” The man said nothing, just looking down as if disappointed over how his life had turned out. “Your sorry lot, all looking as miserable as you, are upstairs, the suite at the end of the hall.”

The man nodded silently and made his way up the stairs and down the hall. His pace never changed, his eyes never gave any hint to his malintent. He was just another forgotten laborer lost among a sea of forgotten laborers.

When he came upon the suite at the end of the hall, he knocked twice and waited. Inside, he knew phasers would be drawn as they checked the surveillance feed. One could never be too careful. 

After a few moments, Lieutenant Commander Brock Jordan opened the door, and the new arrival stepped through the threshold. As soon as the door was safely shut, the demeanor of the new arrival changed, Commander Lewis back to his usual alert and engaged self.

“Sitrep?” Lewis asked. “Everyone get in alright?”

“No one drew even a hint of attention from our Jem’Hadar overlords,” reported Lieutenant Commander Jordan. “They were far too busy roughing up a few teenagers who’d gotten a bit rowdy.” This occupation must have been so strange for the kids to process. Their parents still had to go to work in the great factories of Nasera City, but the schools were closed, and the little ones certainly weren’t allowed the freedom of mischief that was central to growing up. The Jem’Hadar sense of order didn’t allow for that.

Commander Lewis looked around the room. Ensign Rel was by the door on guard duty, phaser rifle resting on her lap. In the middle of the room, Crewman Nam Jae-Sun and Petty Officer 2nd Class Jason Atwood were unpacking equipment, and Lieutenant Kora Tal had her medkit laid out across a table, working with a hypospray.

Commander Lewis stepped by them and opened the double doors to the master bedroom. Lieutenant J.G. Jace Morgan was situated in the far corner at a makeshift surveillance suite, watching camera angles of the hall, the bar, and the area directly outside, while Ryssehl and T’Aer messed with some sort of device on the floor. Lewis had no idea what it was, but it was probably one of the toys Ryssehl had brought along – which meant it would make a big boom when the time came. And Dr. Hall sat on the bed, calmly reading a PADD.

“Where the hell are Grok and Shafir?” He’d been the last one to leave the spaceport. They should have been here by now.

“Where do you think?” T’Aer answered as she looked up. “They went out for a night on the town, something about wanting to check out the nightlife.”

“Of course they did.”