Chapter Three

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Matthew Harrison was not surprised by the sensor alert emanating from the tactical station.  After thirty-two hours, he knew it was inevitable one of the many mercenaries dealing with the Romulans would dare to cross into the Neutral Zone.  Their desire for latinum (or whatever the Romulans used to pay off their hires) undoubtedly blinded them to the dangers of violating the zone without authorization… and now, they would face the consequences.

 

Slowly, Harrison rose from the Captain’s chair and turned his attention to Lieutenant Bator.  “Report.”

 

The Phobian, however, appeared more than a little perplexed by the data before him.  “There is an… entity crossing into the Neutral Zone very nearby,” he said.

 

“It looks very much like a ship,” Erin Keller quickly continued, “but they are probably using some sort of cheap cloaking device to hide themselves from sensors.”

 

“What kind of vessel are we dealing with?” asked Harrison.  The exact specifications were not likely available, but Harrison knew that Keller could, at the very least, provide a rough estimate.

 

She glanced at her console.  “It’s a small ship,” she guessed.  “Probably a raider of some sort—lightly armed and quite maneuverable.  Still, I very much doubt it could outrun us…”

 

“Especially in this sector,” mused Drayge.  “There’s nowhere for them to hide, even if they wanted to.”

 

That was one advantage of being stationed in the Jan’tral Sector; any search for the enemy would be brief.  Still, Harrison hoped that the situation wouldn’t deteriorate to an all-out manhunt for a simple raider.  “Open a channel,” he ordered.

 

“Channel open,” said Bator a moment later.

 

Since Harrison knew the mercenaries wouldn’t answer the hail, he decided to just start speaking.  They might not talk, but they would have to listen.  “This is Commander Matthew Harrison of the Federation Starship Starlight.  By order of the United Federation of Planets, all starships passing through this region of space must submit to Starfleet forces for inspection…”

 

Nothing.

 

“If you fail to comply with this order, we will intercept your vessel and, if necessary, use force to conduct our inspection…”

 

Still nothing—and Harrison didn’t exactly blame them.  The words rolling from his tongue sounded like poison.  But he had his orders…

 

“Commander,” interjected Drayge, “the vessel has increased to warp 9.4.  They’ll cross into the Neutral Zone in less than a minute.”

 

Harrison wasn’t concerned about the Neutral Zone.  The recently established Treaty of Talon rendered the zone a nonentity; the only thing keeping it alive was tradition.  Thus, any violation on the Starlight’s behalf didn’t even constitute an infraction.  “Set an intercept course,” Harrison ordered.  “Maximum warp.”

 

Drayge’s deft fingers danced over the helm controls, and within seconds, the twinkling stars on the viewscreen streaked into the verdant hues of a transwarp conduit.

 

Harrison settled back into the command chair—but he didn’t dare get too comfortable; given the Starlight’s superior engines, their journey was more than likely going to be brief.  “How long until we intercept the mercenary vessel?”

 

Drayge glanced at the helm.  “Five minutes, five seconds.”

 

“Most excellent,” said Harrison.  That gave them just enough time to execute phase two of his plan.  “Mr. Bator, assemble your away team.  Once we intercept the mercenary vessel, I want you to begin searching for any contraband.”

 

There was a glint of hesitation in the Phobian’s eyes, but his strong sense of duty quickly canceled out any trepidation on his behalf.  He simply nodded his understanding and headed into the turbolift to assemble his crew…

 

 

 

Alan Christopher continued to be unimpressed with Romulan cuisine.  During his first visit to Tomalak’s home, Christopher had imbibed more than a few dreary meals—but he allowed himself to assume that the Romulan leader was simply a bad chef.  Unfortunately, now that he had access to a replicator, Christopher knew that was not the case.  Romulan food was just wretched in general… 

 

Over the course of the last few days, he had sampled nearly everything Jerras had suggested and then some.  And he almost always found himself picking at a thick, lumpy stew, a pungent roast, or something called aruval, which was a brownish-green entity so utterly unpalatable that it was beyond description.

 

Today’s thrilling entrée was no different.  According to the Romulan database, vilnyraa was a delectable soup from Tisharus II—but in Christopher’s opinion, it looked more like a bowl of phlegm than anything else.  Unable to bring even a spoonful of the stuff to his lips, he pushed aside the bowl in disgust and turned his weary eyes upon Jerras, who sat opposite him glancing at a padd.

 

“How can you eat this stuff?” asked Christopher only half-seriously.

 

Jerras shrugged.  “I suppose you would find the cuisine more enjoyable if you were a Romulan,” she said.  “But many outsiders have found much to enjoy about Romulan food in the past…  Perhaps you are an aberration?”

 

Despite the incredible insult, Christopher suddenly smiled, glad he was making the trip to Talon IV alone.  Had anyone else been privy to that particular statement, he would have heard about it for years to come.  “Let’s just say… I’m very particular about what I eat.  And it would seem that Romulan food is too much for me to handle.”

 

Jerras smiled thinly, but made no effort to continue the conversation.  Instead, she tapped a few commands into her padd, and then slid it across the table.

 

Christopher intercepted the padd with the palm of his hand, and then glanced at its contents—most of which was displayed in Romulan text and therefore indecipherable.  “What is it?”

 

“A heavily encoded transmission,” said Jerras evenly.  “We intercepted it earlier this morning; it appears to have originated aboard the Starlight.”

 

“What did they want?”

 

Jerras shook her head.  “I don’t know,” she admitted.  “It took the computer most of the morning to decipher the transmission—but when I went to access the message, authorization was required.  Since my codes didn’t work, I assume the message is intended for you.”

 

“Obviously,” said Christopher.  He glanced back at the padd to input his authorization code, but the mass of Romulan text limited his actions to a dumbfounded gaze.  “You think you could translate this into Federation Standard?  I don’t read Romulan very well.”

 

“A shame,” said Jerras.  “You don’t appreciate our finest delicacies… you are blind to the intricacies of our native tongue.  I almost pity your ignorance, Captain.”

 

He handed her the padd.  “Thanks.”

 

With a few quick motions, Jerras translated the bulk of the text into the more familiar curves of Federation Standard.  She briefly reviewed her work and, once satisfied with its quality, returned the padd to Christopher.  “It loses something in the translation.”

 

Christopher arched a brow.  “It was in Federation Standard to begin with!”

 

“I know,” said Jerras with a smile.  “But the graceful Romulan tongue makes even this crude little message seem eloquent.”

 

And crude it was.  The message consisted of little more than an authorization prompt and eighteen as-of-yet unspecified characters.  His curiosity piqued, Christopher tapped his authorization code into the padd; it happily accepted the code and within seconds, the message appeared: “Tuvok wants peace.”

 

Jerras immediately smiled.  “That’s good news.”

 

It was certainly better than the plethora of worst-case scenarios that had flitted through Christopher’s mind (he cursed his overactive imagination), but the cryptic message didn’t yet constitute good news—at least not without further analysis.  “Of course Tuvok wants peace,” said Christopher plainly.  The cogs within his mind were already beginning to churn.  “He is one of the biggest proponents of unification with Romulus…”

 

“He is,” affirmed Jerras, already on a similar wavelength.  “But the way President Makar presents things, it seems he has the entire Federation Council behind him…”

 

“But if Tuvok wants peace, that means the Council—at least a small portion of it—is divided.”  Christopher smiled at his fleeting moment of genius.  One mystery solved in a matter of seconds.  Not bad…

 

“Tomalak will be pleased,” said Jerras, slowly rising from her seat.

 

“Oh?” asked Christopher. His bright teal eyes followed Jerras to the replicator, where she stood for a moment contemplating what to have for lunch.  Christopher was tempted to suggest his bowl of vilnyraa, but Jerras ordered something called tabhal before he mustered the nerve to do so.

 

The petite Romulan carefully grabbed her plate from the steely gray replicator basin and returned to her seat with a sandwich that almost looked appetizing.  “The last message transmitted by your government was a bit more aggressive than usual,” she continued.  “I don’t want to steal all of Praetor Tomalak’s thunder—but that message was the sole reason he wanted to speak with you.”

 

Though he hadn’t heard the message in question, Christopher could begin to imagine the outlandish accusations made by Makar this time around.  “We’re going to have a lot to talk about,” he promptly realized.

 

 

 

After five minutes at high warp, the Starlight was trailing the ‘mysterious entity’ by little more than a few thousand kilometers.  And while sensors were still confused by the low-grade cloaking device, Matthew Harrison had long ago deciphered the silhouette of a Ferengi shuttle wandering across the starfield.  Still, the Ferengi refused to acknowledge the Starlight.

 

“Their course and heading are unchanged,” said Neelar Drayge.

 

Apparently, the Ferengi believed their cloaking device would save them.  They were certainly in for a surprise.  “How much closer must we venture to lock them into a tractor beam?” asked Harrison.

 

Erin Keller glanced at her console.  “We are already in range,” he replied.  “You want me to grab them?”

 

Harrison nodded his approval.  “Proceed.”

 

An instant later, a beam of vivid blue light shot across the viewscreen and captured the little Ferengi craft.  It tried to dart away, but the strength of the Starlight’s tractor beam kept the shuttle firmly in place—and thusly angered its commander.

 

“They’re hailing us,” said Keller.

 

Harrison smiled.  “I thought that might make them a bit more talkative,” he mused.  “On screen.”

 

Moments later, the shuttle flitted away, replaced by a sneering little Ferengi.  “What is the meaning of this, hewmon?” he tersely demanded.  “I have deliveries to make!”

 

Harrison flashed the Ferengi a diplomatic smile.  “Perhaps you are unaware of the new Federation policy?  All vessels attempting to enter Romulan space must first submit—”

 

The Ferengi raised a dismissive hand.  “I assure you, Commander, I am well aware of these new policies.  But the Romulans—they are in dire need of the food and medical supplies in my cargo bay, and any delay is completely unacceptable!”

 

“I sympathize with your cause, however, I cannot let your vessel go until it is inspected,” said Harrison evenly.  “The sooner you allow my team aboard your vessel, the sooner you shall be on your way…”

 

The Ferengi hesitated for only a moment.  He didn’t look particularly concerned, but then again, Ferengi were excellent liars—and this one was of particular interest, since he was lurking around with a cheap cloaking device.  “I’ll allow you to scan the cargo from your ship,” he conceded, making great efforts to sound both genuine and accommodating.

 

“Unacceptable,” said Harrison without a moment’s though.

 

The Ferengi threw his hands into the air.  “That was my final offer!” he said.

 

Harrison shrugged off the threat.  “Then I suggest you get comfortable, because you aren’t going to be going anywhere for a long while.”

 

A pang of concern suddenly flitted across the Ferengi’s face.  “Perhaps something can be arranged,” he quickly stated.  “How does… ten percent of the profits sound?  Let me tell you, Commander, that’s a whole lot of latinum…”

 

“No.”

 

“Twenty percent?”

 

“I am not interested in your latinum,” Harrison clarified before the Ferengi had a chance to up his bribe to a very generous thirty percent.

 

The Ferengi shook his head in disgust.  “You hewmons are all alike!” he muttered under his breath.  “You can search the cargo bays as much as you’d like…”

 

Harrison promptly opened his mouth, ready to deliver yet another tart reply, when he suddenly realized the Ferengi had given permission to perform the search.  “How… generous of you.”

 

“I was suddenly reminded of the 76^th Rule of Acquisition,” said the Ferengi with a forced chuckle. “‘Every once and awhile, declare peace.  It confuses the hell out of your enemies.’”  And on that note, the Ferengi reached for some unseen control and ended the transmission.

 

Harrison prompted tapped his communicator.  “Harrison to Bator.”

 

“Yes, Commander?”

 

“You may begin your search at any time—but I suggest you make it brief.  I am uncertain how long our Ferengi friends will cooperate.”

 

“Understood.”

 

 

 

Thirty-seconds later, Bator and his team materialized in a dank little cargo bay in the aft section of the Ferengi shuttle.  Containers of every shape and size were stacked to the ceiling—and probably ten or eleven containers deep.  Manually searching every container was definitely out of the question, but unless he found something terribly suspicious, Bator didn’t believe such an invasive search necessary.

 

With his initial survey of the bay complete, Bator turned to his three subordinates and said, “Begin the search.  Scan for everything on the list provided by Starfleet Command, and anything else that might seem unusual.  And try to work quickly.  Commander Harrison does not believe the Ferengi will lend their cooperation for very long.”

 

The three officers very quickly scattered throughout the cargo bay in search of contraband, leaving Bator alone with Megan Reinbold, who had come along to analyze any findings that fell into the ‘unusual’ category.  Much to Bator’s chagrin, everything about this mission was unusual.  “I do not like this,” he whispered to her.  “We are Starfleet officers.  We shouldn’t be slinking around the Neutral Zone seizing cargo from lowly mercenaries…”

 

Reinbold expelled a weary sigh.  “Tell that to the Federation Council…”

 

Bator shook his head.  “It would do no good,” he said.  “The Federation has been growing corrupt for many years; the Council has its own agenda, and there is very little we can do to stop it…”

 

Reinbold expelled a faint chuckle as she started a few tricorder scans of her own.  “It sounds like you’ve got a conspiracy theory, Bator.”

 

“It is no theory,” he quickly corrected.  “Just think of all the deception we have seen in recent decades.  Admiral Dougherty collaborated with the Sona… Admiral Leyton imposed Martial Law…  then there was the blight imposed upon the Founders during the Dominion War… and the massacre in the Beremar System during the Elorg War…”

 

Reinbold raised a curious eyebrow.  “How do you know all of this?  I mean, I knew about the massacre because I was there for it… and everyone knows about Martial Law—but the Founders?  And the Sona?”

 

Bator gulped, fearing he might have revealed a bit too much about his alleged conspiracy theory.  “I have connections,” he said quickly.

 

“Obviously.”  And much to Bator’s relief, Reinbold continued scanning the Ferengi cargo without another word.  “Nothing so far,” she said a moment later.

 

“And you’re not going to find anything, either.”  The strident voice belonged to the devious-looking Ferengi standing near the cargo bay doors.  He was incredibly short, well dressed, and had perhaps the worst set of teeth Bator had ever seen.  “I’m just an honest Ferengi, trying to make a little profit, that’s all…  I would never deliver weapons or any contraband to the Romulans!”

 

Bator grunted.  “Right.”  Even though he frowned upon the Federation’s policy toward the Romulans, Bator found himself oddly pleased by the lowly Ferengi’s detainment.  In fact, he almost hoped they would find something extralegal within the cargo bay, just so he wouldn’t be able to conduct business for a long, long while.  “I have never met a more charitable Ferengi.”

 

“There’s nothing wrong with charity,” said the Ferengi, “as long as it winds up in your pocket—the 144^th Rule of Acquisition.  I live by it.”

 

“I’ll bet you do,” said Bator.  He was about to suggest the Ferengi depart for the remainder of the search, but the moment he opened his mouth to speak, a loud strident squeal emanated from the far side of the cargo bay—followed by a plethora of frightened screams, and then phaser fire…

 

An instant later, Bator sprinted across the cargo bay and reached the source of the strident squeals just in time to see a thick, gelatinous substance ooze from one of the smoldering cargo containers.  All three of his officers stood nearby, phasers still trained upon the container in question.

 

“We found something,” said Marizex nervously. 

 

The substance under discussion gracelessly cascaded from its container and plodded onto the floor with a splash, leaving a trail of thick goop in its wake; it flailed a few weak tendrils into the air, squealed a few more times, and then fell over dead.

 

“What is that?” exclaimed the Ferengi as he and Reinbold approached the scene.

 

Reinbold glanced at her chirping tricorder.  “A sunil,” she readily explained.  “Of course, you already knew that.”

 

The Ferengi raised his hands defensively.  “Why, I have no idea what you’re talking about!  This… this thing”—he gestured toward the gelatinous remains oozing about the decking—“I’ve never seen anything like it!”

 

Reinbold nodded agreeably.  “I believe the 266^th Rule of Acquisition could apply to this situation, then.”

 

The Ferengi paused as he recounted his rules—or at least pretended to recount them.  Bator suspected the Ferengi had every last rule committed to memory.  “Beware the man who doesn’t make time for oo-mox?”  He shrugged.  “I don’t see how that applies, unless of course, one of your friends here, has a ‘problem’ … but that isn’t really any of my concern.”

 

Bator sternly grabbed the little Ferengi’s shoulder.  “If you value your tongue, Ferengi, I would suggest you keep it hidden behind your teeth…” Bator smiled deviously, and closed the distance between the two of them.  “And for the record, I have no problems…”

 

Reinbold tactfully cleared her throat, and took a few steps closer to the oozing puddle of tendrils and sludge.  “The sunil is highly valuable—and endangered—Romulan invertebrate.  I’m sure you could turn quite a profit off one of these.  Unfortunately for you, they are also very dangerous and quite illegal to possess outside of Romulan space…”

 

The Ferengi tried to take a step backward, but Bator’s firm grasp kept him in place.  “I… I have no idea how it got aboard my ship, Commander!”

 

Reinbold nodded.  “Which brings us back to the 266^th Rule of Acquisition: ‘When in doubt, lie.’”

 

“You were smuggling,” Bator said sternly—and his devious smile suddenly widened as he realized what this meant.  “I’m afraid the Romulans will have to live without your shipment of food and medical supplies.”

 

The Ferengi’s eyes widened.  “What?!”

 

“Smuggling endangered species is not condoned by the Federation.  In fact, that’s a mandatory two-year sentence,” said Bator pleasantly. “I understand the penal colony in New Zealand is quite nice.”

 

The Ferengi started to protest, but Bator would hear none of it.  He promptly motioned for Marizex to take the annoying little Ferengi into custody.  Realizing that there was little he could do to secure his freedom, the Ferengi ultimately relented, and returned to the Starlight with Marizex and his two companions.

 

Once they were gone, Bator turned his gaze back to Reinbold.  “If there is one good thing about this new policy, it’s that,” he mused.  “I was hoping we could nail that little Ferengi on something.”

 

Reinbold readily nodded her agreement.  “The black market is going to take a nosedive, that’s for sure.  Hell, the Orion Syndicate might even suffer.  Maybe the Federation is going about this the right way after all?”

 

Bator grunted.  “Keep telling yourself that, Commander…”

 

 

 

Proceed to Chapter Four