Criminal Acts

“USS Surefoot-A, Captain’s Log, Stardate 49611.84, Captain Esek Hrelle, commanding: we were en route to join the Fleet at the Sherman sector when we detected something strange while passing the Farius system: a vessel with obvious difficulties but not broadcasting a distress signal. Our initial contact with them produced a response assuring us that everything was fine and that we didn’t need to approach them.

As this response sounded remarkably like my cub assuring me that he wasn’t flooding the bathroom and that I didn’t have to come in and investigate, I’ve decided to ignore them and draw nearer anyway.”

“What the Hell...?”

Lt Commander Zawati had transferred over to serve as temporary First Officer a week ago, and in that time the Wakandan had proved to be of dry wit and general unflappability. Thus her uncharacteristic exclamation drew Hrelle’s attention, making him turn his chair to face her station. “What’s up?”

Her walnut-skinned brow furrowed with alarm. “Captain, we’re close enough now to get better readings on the vessel... I’m reading about 3000 people over there, and based on the carbon monoxide levels they’ve had a total failure of their life support systems!”

He spun back in place, his tail twitching in alarm through the hole in the back of his seat. “Red Alert! Initiate Emergency Aid Protocols, send a Priority Three distress signal to any vessels in the immediate area!”

As his crew snapped into action and the apple-red lighting strip running around the perimeter of the Bridge ceiling flashed to life, he stared at the vessel onscreen: a basic carrier design, with a crescent shape wrapped around a much larger detachable cylindrical module, like a bird attempting to fly away with a pipe. It looked vaguely Ferengi in design, and more for industrial use than ferrying people. “Identification?”

“Its registry beam IDs it as the Ferengi ore carrier Easy Money,” Zawati reported.

An ore carrier? he asked himself, setting that aside for now. “Prepare Away teams, Medical, Security and Engineering complements with environmental masks; they’ll identify the most critical to beam over to us. And hail them again.”

“They’re hailing us, Sir. Onscreen.”

The image of the carrier was replaced by the less-appealing image of a bulbous, peach-coloured head with fangs, beady eyes and DaiMon rank insignia. “What are you doing? This is a violation of Intergalactic Law! Leave or suffer the consequences!”

“Excuse me, DaiMon...?”

“Plent! I told you, go!”

“Firstly, DaiMon Plent, there’s no such thing as Intergalactic Law. Secondly, if we leave, you’ll be suffering the consequences. The life support systems in your carrier module have failed, and three thousand people are going to suffocate.”

“We didn’t ask you to assist! There was no agreement finalised!”

Hrelle’s furred brow furrowed – and then he understood. “There is no charge to be levied on you for this rescue effort.”

Plent blinked. “No charge?”

“Not one thin slip of latinum. All we want to do is help.”

Then the Ferengi’s face broke into a jagged smile. “Then by all means, come, come! Praise Starfleet! Praise the heroes of Surefoot! Praise-“

“Praise later. Just come to a full stop and we’ll be there in a few minutes. Surefoot out.” Louder now, he ordered, “Continue on course, full speed ahead.” He turned to face Zawati, who was staring up at the screen as if still seeing Plent there. “Your first interaction with Ferengi, Olivia?”

The woman seemed to snap herself out of her distraction. “Sorry, Sir. Yes, I- I’ve heard a lot about them, their obsession with profit. But to see how willing he was to risk the lives of his passengers over the thought of having to pay us to help them... I didn’t expect them to be so heartless-“

“They’re not generally like that,” he admitted, “Killing customers and potential customers tends to be frowned upon by them as bad business sense. Unless they’re in the arms business, of course.”

Then her attention was drawn to an alert on her board. “Captain, we’re receiving a response from a Starfleet vessel, coming to assist, ETA 8 minutes.”

”Which vessel?”

“The USS Starsong, commanded by Captain-“

“Weynik!” he finished, allowing his Happy Tail to swish behind him. His old buddy was coming! That was just the cure for his funk following his absence from his wife and cubs! “Lt Commander, send my thanks, as well as the following message: ‘Glad you’re coming, Short Round, you can stay for dinner, and use one of Misha’s old high chairs’.” At her expression he added, “Go on.”

The woman looked at him while she added the text and transmitted. They shared glances, until a reply arrived.

“Well?” he asked, grinning. “What did he say?”

Zawati stared in disbelief at her screen, before throwing her hands up in surrender, shaking her head and walking away.

Curious, he took her place at the station and read.

And nearly peed from laughing.

*

“Captain’s Log, Supplemental: with the combined efforts of both the Surefoot and the Starsong, we have managed to identify the source of the life support malfunction and treat those most seriously affected, thankfully with no reported fatalities. Not that listening to the reports from my staff was any more reassuring.”

“I’d like to take the ones responsible for that mess over there and make them sit on a red-hot branding iron,” Doc Masterson declared in disgust. “They were slowly choking to death over there! And those damn Ferengi were happy to let them do it!”

“And if they hadn’t died from suffocation,” Chief Grev continued beside him at the conference table. “They would have from theta radiation poisoning; they damaged their own auxiliary power cores in the conversion to passenger ferrying, and their radiometric converters couldn’t handle the output enough to prevent contamination. We removed some of the more dangerous cores, and will dispose of them per procedure when we’re done here.”

Hrelle glanced out the windows at the Easy Money, whose module dwarfed even the adjacent Starsong. “Where were they headed?”

“Regulus,” C’Rash replied. “The nearest inhabitable system.”

“They wouldn’t have made it,” Grev added. “If they had continued any farther from Farius Prime, they would have been too late to even return to their starting point.”

“But why? Why were they so desperate to flee that they would risk their lives in a converted ore carrier module?”

“The War,” C’Rash informed him sourly. “They’re fleeing from the War with the Klingons.”

He turned to face her. “What? Farius Prime isn’t on the front lines! Yes, they’re relatively close to the Imperial Border, but the Klingons have made no move to take over this sector!”

“I interviewed more than a few of the passengers,” the sable-furred Caitian continued. “They all paid huge amounts of money for passage. The news services on Farius are filled with sensationalist warnings about an imminent Klingon invasion, death camps, theragen nerve gas bombs. There’s panic on the planet, apparently.”

“But the Federation News Service operates there, they must be reporting the truth!”

“Apparently that’s just considered propaganda.” She shrugged. “Fake news.”

Hrelle shook his head. “What about DaiMon Plent? What does he have to say about his ship?”

“Surprisingly, he doesn’t own the ship. The Easy Money is one of eight in a fleet owned by Maractor Movers on Farius Prime. They had a long-running contract supplying topaline to the Klingons until the War started. Then a month ago they moved into the refugee business, moving people from here to Regulus – for a price, of course.”

“A needless price.”

The door slid open, and Zawati entered with several Starfleet personnel. “Captain Hrelle, I’ve brought-”

“A puppy! You brought me a puppy!” He rushed up to the one with Captain’s pips on his collar, a metre-high Roylan with swept-back aquamarine scales on his head, beady black stalked eyes and a hooked nose, and swept him up in his arms, spinning in place. “I’m gonna call him Scraps! I’ll teach him tricks and we’ll go off and have adventures together!” He grinned at the man in his arms, before setting him down again. “Hello, Little Buddy! How are ya?”

Captain Weynik grasped the side of Hrelle’s desk, shaking the dizziness from his head. “I hope you don’t hold your piece as tightly as you do me.”

“No, mine’s much bigger than you. And been held by more women.”

“Now there’s an image to have trapped in your head,” C’Rash quipped.

Hrelle hadn’t noticed, however, still grinning at his fellow captain. “Look at you! It’s been ages!” He made a measuring gesture with his hand over Weynik’s head. “I told you, you need to work on gaining height, not weight! I could barely lift you up!”

“Next time wrap me in pitta bread, I bet you’ll have no trouble then, Squab.”

“Me, Squab? You’re the Squab!”

“No, you’re the Squab!”

“No, YOU’RE the Squab!”

“What’s a Squab?” Masterson asked Grev, who responded with a shrug.

“No, YOU’RE the Squab!”

“No, YOU’RE the Squab!

“Captain,” Zawati attempted.

And was ignored. “No, YOU’RE the Squab!”

“No, YOU’RE the Squab!”

Zawati looked to one of the Starsong crew, a Vulcan male with Lieutenant Commander’s pips and Operations Gold colours like herself. “Will this be much longer, Mr Sorek?”

“Not in my experience, Ms Zawati, no.”

Suddenly Hrelle held up a hand, beaming. “Family Time Out! How’s Naida?”

“Fine, thanks, apart from her questionable taste in boyfriends. You make sure that son of yours remains a gentleman with her.”

“Don’t worry, Short Round, Kami will teach him how to curb that raging charisma he got from me.” 

“Good to hear. Perhaps we can finish this up and continue on our way to the Fleet before my father starts calling looking for us?”

Hrelle returned to business. “Have the repairs been made to the transport ship?”

Weynik looked to his Operations Officer. “Mr Sorek?”

The Vulcan turned to the group. “Our Engineering crew have completed fabricating additional life support recyclers to supplement the repaired equipment on the vessel.”

Chief Grev grunted. “We could have done that.”

Sorek looked to him. “Undoubtedly, Chief. But not with our speed. The Starsong’s fabricators and resources are superior to your own.”

“Eh? Boastful pup!”

“With respect, Sir, it is not boastful to state the facts-”

The Tellarite offered an elaborate curse that the Vulcan seemingly understood, given his raised eyebrow.

A curse that Weynik obviously understood, too. “I’d pay real money to see that attempted, Chief, but maybe another time. If we’re done here-”

“We’re not,” Hrelle announced. As attention returned to him, he continued. “The company that owns this ship has others, all ferrying people from Farius Prime in the mistaken belief that the Klingons are about to sweep in and take over. And if the rest of the ships in their fleet are as crappy as this one was, another potential disaster is just around the corner. I intend to head in and try to straighten things out before we go.”

“Captain,” Zawati ventured. “We are required in the Sherman Sector-”

“We’re required where lives are at risk, Lieutenant Commander,” he clarified, leaning against his desk. “And the last report from the Fleet indicates that the Klingons haven’t made any moves into that sector – yet. They can spare us a day or two here.” He looked to Weynik. “Thanks for the help here, Captain. You don’t have to stick around.”

The Roylan regarded his friend, before shaking his head. “I think we’ll come along, Captain. You might need our help… again.”

Hrelle smiled. “When have I ever refused help?”

“Every time I offered to help you finish a shuris-topped pizza.”

“Too true. Let’s head to Farius Prime. Ms Zawati, show our guests back to the Transporter Room. Everyone else: dismissed.”

He watched his crew and guests file out, Weynik giving him a Thumbs Up as he was the last to leave. The door slid shut.

But not before the Roylan called back in, “You’re the Squab!”

“No, YOU’RE-” But the door slid shut, leaving Hrelle to finish in a curse.

*

“Captain’s Log, Supplemental: The Surefoot and Starsong have entered orbit around Farius Prime, where our analysis of the planet’s most popular media channel confirms the scaremongering mentioned by the passengers on the Easy Money. It is disturbing that so many people might be swayed by just one source of information, without seeking to gain corroboration from other sources.

It is doubly disturbing to learn more about that one source of information...”

“Maractor Media?” Hrelle repeated. “Maractor? Why is that familiar?”

“It’s the same name as the company that owns the transport ships,” Zawati reported, calling up the image of an older Ferengi male on her screen. “According to the planetary financial database, he owns both, and a few other diverse businesses here. In fact, he is one of the wealthiest individuals on the planet.”

Hrelle grunted; Farius Prime was an independent world, but that meant the likes of the Orion Syndicate would have a hold here, and no doubt someone with that amount of power and influence would be connected to them in some way. “What a coincidence. Try to contact Mr Maractor. I’d like to have a word with him.”

The Wakandan woman started to reply, but then examined an update on her board. “Actually, Captain, he’s sent us a message: you’re invited to his corporate headquarters in Crescent City in one hour, to have him thank you for your help with the Easy Money.”

Hrelle grunted; when he had obtained further information from the DaiMon of the Easy Money, they detected that the Ferengi had sent a coded message back to Farius Prime, no doubt warning his boss of their imminent arrival. “Send confirmation of my arrival. And invite Captain Weynik to accompany me.”

“Aye, Sir.”

“Oh, and also: inform him that he’s the Squab.”

She looked to him. “Sir, may I speak freely?”

“Of course.”

“Sir, don’t you think that, given the level of responsibility both you and Captain Weynik bear, that you should act a little more… adult?”

Hrelle smiled. “As a hero of mine once said, ‘There’s no point being grown up if you can’t be childish sometimes.’”

*

He beamed down into a business plaza that festooned with the images and name of Maractor, along with floating holoadvertisements for his various enterprises, with Weynik appearing beside him. The area was clean – but if he looked outside of it, he could see squalor, kept back by armed guards.

An advertisement caught his eye. “Opiods? Aren’t they addictive, illegal?”

“Not here,” Weynik noted with a scowl. “Maractor Medicines is apparently booming with tranquiliser sales, given all the anxiety about the War. Of course, according to my Operations Officer’s research, there’s also an 80% increase in deaths reported from overdoses, but Maractor Media is convinced that’s just a coincidence.”

Another commercial made his jaw drop. “And personal firearms, from Maractor Munitions?”

Weynik nodded. “With a 62% rise in deaths from accidents and incidents.”

“Another coincidence?”

“If you listen to the right news, yes.”

The Captains’ attention was drawn to the approach of a tall, thin human in a dark sober suit and receding silver hair, who smiled politely. “Gentlemen! I am Mr Elchee, Mr Maractor’s assistant! He wanted to welcome you to Farius Prime personally, so he sent me!!” He beckoned them. “Please, Mr Maractor is eager to thank you!”

They entered a pristine, spacious lobby with more images of the Ferengi, before proceeding to a private lift. Once inside, Weynik asked, “And how long have you worked for Maractor?”

“Oh, for the last three years. He’s an amazing businessman. Such lobes on him. I’ve learned a lot.”

“Really?” Hrelle asked. “And you don’t mind that he’s deceiving and fleecing your people?”

The man twitched, but continued to stare ahead as the lift’s transparent windows offered a view of the city outside during the ascent. “Oh, I’m sure you’re wrong, Captain. Mr Maractor offers a wealth of products and services to his customers, all at reasonable costs.”

Hrelle studied the man’s scent and body language; he was clearly concerned, if not agitated by the notion, but kept his true feelings hidden as best he could. “Reasonable? Three thousand people, innocent families, almost died in one of his ships, needlessly evacuating them from a planet that is not in imminent danger of invasion!”

Elchee kept his poker face fixed. “I’m sure you’re wrong, Captain. Mr Maractor is an amazing businessman.”

Hrelle was ready to argue further, until Weynik nudged him, his eyestalks pointing upwards to a corner of the lift ceiling. Hrelle glanced up, seeing the monitoring devices in place.

They emerged into an open-plan area that was as much a further shrine to the owner as it was a business area. And at the centre, on a low plush couch of crushed velvet that was raised enough so visitors still had to look up, a Ferengi with greying tufts of ear hair and rich Tholian silk robes reclined, attended by scantily-clad females of many races offering him wine, grub worms or a massage of his huge lobes. He sat up, beaming, his arms wide. “Ahh, the heroes of the hour! Come, come! Sit, take off your boots, let my women attend you! Wine for our guests! Vraxoin! Grubs!”

“Thank you, no,” Weynik said in disgust. “I am-”

“Captain Weynik,” Maractor finished, pointing at him. “Of the Starsong, and your big-boned companion is Captain Hrelle of the Surefoot.”

Hrelle let himself get distracted by the scent of the two hulking Hupryians standing nearby, silent but present. “You know of us?”

“Of course! And why not, after all you’ve done for me and those poor unfortunate people on my transport? I owe you...” But then he quickly added, “My gratitude. Nothing more, of course, I didn’t ask you to step in, no contract was stipulated-”

“We didn’t come looking for payment,” Weynik informed him. “We came to find out if the other ships you’re using to transport people are just as bad as the one we helped fix.”

The Ferengi peered at him. “Why? Are you looking to help upgrade those as well? If so, then by all means, I’ll arrange-”

“No,” Hrelle cut in. “We’re not. We came to the assistance of a vessel in immediate need. We’re not going to provide you with free maintenance and valeting for the rest of your ships. Especially when these people have no need to leave. There’s no danger of invasion.”

Maractor shrugged, stopping to shovel some wriggling grubs into his mouth before replying. “So you say, Caitian. Of course, you wouldn’t want Starfleet’s image to be tarnished with the reports of massive defeats and loss of life along the Elasian and Antares Fronts-”

“Nothing’s happened there!” Weynik snapped. “That’s just more lies you’re spreading, to scare people into paying exorbitant fees to risk travelling in your clapped-out ore freighters!”

“I’m not responsible for what people choose to believe without corroborating it!”

“No, but you’re responsible for spouting it in the first place! And those who can’t afford your evacuation fees still go broke buying your drugs, your guns-“

“And our survival kits!” Maractor added helpfully. “We’ll convert any room in your home into a shelter, provide suits to protect against Klingon nerve gas-“

Revulsion twisted Hrelle’s guts. “How can you get away with that? The planetary government must realise that you’re feeding the people lies!”

The Ferengi regarded him for a moment, before turning his head and barking, “Venear! Bring me my beetle snuff!”

From the corner of the room, a shockingly young-looking human female with pinned-up sable hair and clad in clothing as skimpy as the others rushed up, clutching an elaborately-engraved gold box, ascending the dais but dropping her head to hold up the box to him, as he explained, “Here, a Deal is a Deal. Look at Venear here.”

He took the snuff box from her, and then reached out, took her chin between thumb and forefinger and raised it up to show a face of a girl still in adolescence, who obviously did not like being touched. “Venear wanted to get her family offworld. They couldn’t afford the full fees... so she agreed to remain behind and... work off what was owed.“ He looked at her. “Isn’t that right, my dear?”

She swallowed, flushing with obvious humiliation at the attention of the men from Starfleet. “Yes, Sir.”

Maractor grunted – then slapped her face, sending her sprawling.

Hrelle and Weynik stepped forward, hands balled into fists as Maractor chuckled.

But the young woman looked up. “No! I’m okay! Please!”

Weynik held up a hand to her. “You don’t have to stay with him! He’s lied, cheated-“

“She knows, Little Man,” Maractor informed him gleefully. “She’s no idiot. But like I said, a Deal is a Deal. If she reneges now, the results for her would be... most unfortunate.”

As Venear helped herself back to her feet, the Ferengi continued. “Gentlemen... this is Paradise for one such as I. It’s the Ferengi Dream made flesh: a place where you can rise to make a fortune, through proper exploitation and bribery to the right people.

Of course the government knows what I’m doing! But I’m feeding the local economy! And I have the blessing of the Orion Syndicate! I can do what I want! No one has to book passage, or buy my drugs or guns or survival equipment!

And as this is an Independent World, the Federation has no say here. And neither do you.

That is why I invited you here, Starfleet: because I know how your kind think, and I wanted to give you fair warning not to interfere here. Mr Elchee, show them out.”

The human stepped up – reluctantly. “Gentleman- please-”

They stared at him – until their attention was drawn to the Hupryians stepping up to them.

Hrelle and Weynik exchanged glances, before turning and following Elchee back to the lift. Once inside, Hrelle ignored the monitoring devices to focus on Elchee. “It seems you were right; Maractor is an amazing businessman.”

“Yeah,” Weynik agreed. “Such a role model. Though I think he’s missing out on a lucrative market: funerals. He’s certainly making a demand for those here.”

Elchee kept his gaze fixed on the cityscape outside as they descended, though he did speak, albeit in a soft, embarrassed voice. “He, ah, has Maractor Morticians.”

The Captains were striding away in disgust from the building and the man without further ado, but then stopped when he called after them, “I have family.”

They stopped, looked at each other, and then turned around to face him, Hrelle asking, “Pardon?”

Elchee swallowed, the conflict clear on his face. “I- I have family. A partner, and we, ah, plan on having a child in the future. I- I don’t necessarily like some of the things Maractor does. But what can I do?”

“I don’t know,” Weynik countered. “What can you do?”

“I’ll tell you,” Hrelle added, before the man could respond, assuming he would. “You can stay part of the problem, or you can be part of the solution. Still, why should you change now? I bet you have a nice comfortable life for you and your family. Enjoy it.”

The Caitian turned away, Weynik making an effort to catch up with him. “A little harsh on him back there, weren’t you? He’s just a subordinate.”

“No he’s not. He’s an accomplice. I’ve seen his type on Orion and elsewhere: people who might not make the hits or produce the drugs, but they support the people who do. And they’re just as bad in my books.”

“Are you planning on launching yourself back into orbit on the sheer power of your righteous anger?”

“No, I’m going to the Federation News Service offices here in Crescent City, and let them know what’s going on. They can do something about this.”

*

Federation News Service Building, Crescent City:

“We can’t do anything about this.”

The Captains stared in disbelief at the Editor, Weynik replying, “Mr Vincenzo, Maractor is killing hundreds, thousands of people with his businesses, and threatening so many more-”

Tony Vincenzo was a stocky, middle-aged human with swarthy, hangdog looks, receding black hair, and the harried expression of a man eternally late for an appointment. He rose from behind his desk. “You think I don’t know that? It disgusts me that so many people here are buying into his garbage! His so-called news service is sensationalist, paranoid propaganda! We do our best to counter it with the facts, but when some people have their minds made up about a subject, they tend to stick with those sources that support it, rather than challenge it. Especially when they have a minimal education, like so many people on Farius Prime.”

“But he’s putting it out simply to make profits in his other ventures! Evacuations, guns, shelters, medicines-”

Vincenzo nodded. “And drugs. And prostitution. And insurance. I’ve had reporters looking into it since I was posted to this cesspit! But I have nothing, no proof, just allegations!”

“What about the Farius Prime authorities?” Hrelle asked, though he suspected he already knew the answer.

“Which ones? The government, or the Orion Syndicate who own them?” Vincenzo shook his head. “Gentlemen, I’m very busy.” He moved to his office doorway and called out, “Carl! Where’s Carl?” He looked back at them. “I’m sorry you wasted your time here. Just… forget about this place. If people want to buy into alarmist crap, you can’t stop them.”

Hrelle looked to Weynik, before silently departing. Once outside, Weynik blinked into the afternoon light. “Well, we tried, Wide Load. We can’t change the Galaxy.” he slapped Hrelle’s rear. “Come back with me to the Starsong for dinner. Naida’s been asking about her furry uncle. She has such affection for you.”

*

“Fatso!” The little Roylan’s eyestalks fixed on Hrelle and he entered with Weynik, and raced into the Caitian’s outstretched arms as he knelt to pick her up and hug her.

Despite his foul mood, Hrelle couldn’t help but smile at the love radiating from the child – and amusement at the reminder that his old friend was both the child’s father and mother, having been born parthenogenically during a time of personal stress.

Then Naida wriggled in his grasp, looking around. “Where’s Misha?”

“Oh, he’s still on Earth with his Mama.” At her crestfallen reaction, he added, “But they’ll be joining us soon. Then we can arrange some sleepovers, okay?”

She nodded. “Okay, Fatso.”

He set her down again to return to her toys on the floor, Hrelle looking at Weynik, who shrugged. “I don’t know where she gets that sort of disrespectful talk from, Tubby.” He moved to his drinks cabinet, opening a whiskey decanter and pouring some dark amber liquid into two tumblers. 

“Oh, I think you do, Fun Size.” He accepted the glass. They drank, Hrelle making appreciative sounds at the fiery taste. His combadge chirped. “Hrelle here.”

“Captain, Commander Zawati here. Chief Grev is about to commence purging of the Ferengi theta power cores, but believes he can speed up the process by shutting down the warp core and using its own transkinetic chamber.”

Hrelle nodded, his good humour evaporated at the reminder of the Ferengi. He turned to the windows, seeing the planet below. A planet that, as far as he was concerned, was as much under attack as if the Klingons were in orbit alongside the Starfleet vessels.

“Do you need our help?” Weynik offered. “Our chambers are bigger than yours.”

“Boaster.” Louder now, he replied, “Tell the Chief to hold fire until I return, Commander. I’ll be beaming back in a few moments. Hrelle out.” He rose. “You go eat with your cub, Brother. We can do this another time.”

Weynik frowned. “You’re going? You barely got here.”

He waved them off. “I’ll make my own way to your Transporter Room. Catch ya later, Short Round. See ya, Princess!”

Weynik watched him depart, while Naida waved and announced, “Bye, Fatso!”

*

USS Surefoot, Security Suite:

C’Rash marched into her workplace, tightening the cord around her dressing gown once more as she strode up to the Equipment Lockers, where Hrelle was standing, retrieving items and placing them in a satchel. “What do you think you’re doing?”

He never looked at her. “I’m being a commanding officer who doesn’t have to answer to subordinates. How am I doing so far?”

“What’s going on? I heard earlier you not only stopped Grev from purging those power rods quicker, you’ve ordered a Level 1 Diagnostic of the ships computers! That’ll keep us hanging around here for at least another six hours if not more! And now I get an alert to an unauthorised access of the special Starfleet Intelligence equipment locker!”

He still didn’t look at her. “It’s not unauthorised. I’m the Captain.”

She drew closer. “Omnikeys, data leeches, non-Starfleet issue phasers- what are you going to do with all that?”

“Misha keeps a diary detailing all of his romantic conquests. I was going to break into it and learn the secrets of his success.” He closed the locker, slung the satchel under his arm and started out. “Good night, Lieutenant.”

But she reached out and grabbed his arm, finally capturing his gaze with her own. “Uncle Esek, I’m worried about you. Being away for so long from Aunt Kami and your cubs, that business with the Klingons. You’re getting more and more reckless.”

He stared at her, wanting to bark at her for her reminding him of the recent past… except that he saw the concern, the love, in her eyes. He reached up and gently patted her hand… before removing it. “Thanks, Cub. But you don’t have to worry, I’m just on a little intelligence gathering mission. No one is going to get killed. No one is even going to see me. And if I’m successful, we can prevent another potential tragedy like what we almost had with the Easy Money.”

“This is an independent planet; if you get caught down there committing a crime-”

“It’s no different from when we were gathering intelligence against the Bel-Zon on the So’na station.”

“No? That was an authorised action by Starfleet. Is this?”

He paused, before smiling and patting her on the shoulder. “Good night, C’Rash.”

He felt her eyes on the back of his head as he departed.

*

Grev couldn’t beam him directly into his target – there were anti-transporter and communicator security screens around the top floors of Maractor Tower – but he managed to get Hrelle in a supply room on one of the lower floors, and his borrowed equipment allowed him to open the doors and find the stairwell to the upper floors, while his Caitian vision let him see in the dark, his other senses and memory letting him move around Maractor’s office, taking him to the computer on the huge marble desk. He set up his equipment to attempt to bypass the security-

A sound made him freeze, draw his compact phaser and aim it towards the stairwell… only to lower it when his nose told him it was- “Weynik?”

The diminutive Captain approached, his voice low. “Esek, what the hell are you doing?”

Hrelle returned to his work, noting the device’s apparent success, as it sought out the necessary files. “The News Service needs proof about Maractor’s actions, the faking of the news on his media channels, the full scope of how he’s profiting on fear...”

“We can’t be here!”

But Hrelle was only half-listening, frowning at the screen.

Weynik drew up next to him. “What is it?”

“This was… easy. Very easy.” He peered at the data scrolling down as it fed into his Siphon.

“False data? A diversion?” Weynik prompted.

Hrelle nodded, setting off a computer virus and packing up the equipment. “I think we should get out of here-”

Suddenly from the shadows, huge figures emerged, charging…

“GORN!” Weynik shouted, pushing the desk chair in the direction of one of them.

The huge, olive-skinned reptoids charged, moving faster than any Hrelle had ever encountered before, as he raised his phaser and fired point blank.

The beam went through the Gorn racing towards him, and the lack of scent confirmed, “They’re holograms!”

His Gorn torpedoed into him, its silvery, segmented eyes glowing as its jaw opened and his heavy body slamming him down and knocking the phaser from his hand. He had encountered them in hand to hand combat decades ago, as a Security officer on the Gorn border, and he could barely hold his own even them. These weren’t even real, they were immune to his weapon and their strength could be multiplied to any degree!

Beside him, Weynik was faring better, using his size and his own particular skills to flip over his Gorn attacker, the hologram tumbling over and knocking down a display of glassware, setting off piercing alarms.

Disruption- Grasping the Gorn by the wrists, he called out, “Phaser- Emitter-”

Despite the noise from the alarms, the Roylan understood, racing to find and retrieve the fallen phaser even as the second Gorn hologram rose and pursued him. Above Hrelle, his own attacker was increasing its mass, crushing him-

And suddenly both holograms flickered and disappeared. Hrelle gasped and helped himself up, ignoring the sprains he felt in his back and tail as he collected his satchel, racing up to where Weynik stood, phaser in hand, and a smoking hologram emitter unit hanging on the wall. “Thanks, Half-Pint, now let’s scram-”

But there was a force field blocking the archway to the stairwell – and sounds of one of the interior lifts rising from the lobby below.

“Any more bright ideas, Jumbo?” Weynik asked.

Hrelle turned, seeing the scenic lift that Elchee had used to bring them up here today and racing towards it. “Maractor wouldn’t let the help use his personal transport.” His Omnikey gave them access, as Weynik shot out the monitoring equipment they encountered previously. “Now, let’s descend just enough to escape the inhibitor fields.” He attempted to activate the controls. “Come on… come on...”

Weynik started as he heard pounding on the lift doors. “Captain… we have to do something!”

He found the suspensor field controls, activated his distress beacon. “Okay...”

He disabled the suspensors.

The lift began plummeting.

Weynik cried out, until Hrelle turned to face him, knelt down and lifted him up, as the lift accelerated towards the ground…

...And Weynik was still crying out as they appeared in the Surefoot’s Main Transporter Room, Grev staring in confusion as Hrelle continued to hold him in his arms.

Weynik stopped crying out, and slid out of Hrelle’s arms.

Hrelle smiled at his bemused Chief Engineer. “He saw a spider and got scared.”

*

Weynik continued to scowl despite the generous drink Hrelle placed before him when they repaired to Hrelle’s quarters. The Caitian picked up a protoplaser and twisted to reach his tail to heal some of the crinks he’d received in the fight with the holograms. “You’ll like that, Short Round. Spican Flame Whiskey, unreplicated. You can take the bottle back with you. And anything else, really.”

Weynik leaned back in his chair as he regarded his friend. “Lieutenant Shall told me about you suffering from Caitian Pheromone Withdrawal. It’s affected your judgement.”

Hrelle stopped and pointed a finger at him. “Doc Masterson’s been treating me for that, suppressing the more acute side effects.”

“Did he start treating you before or after you killed all those Klingons?”

Hrelle’s hackles rose, and he set down the medical device to lean across his desk and stare at his friend, pushing down the memories of his actions, and the resulting shame – and the anger he now felt at Weynik for bringing it up. “Those Klingons had beamed over into our Morgue after we destroyed their ships. They were armed with blades, disruptors, grenades. They were using the bodies of those members of the Tsukuba crew who we couldn’t save as a barrier – including that of a young woman who had suffered horribly trying to save others.

Yes, I killed some of them myself, rather than let C’Rash and her Security team try and take them out with a minimum of casualties. I lost control. Haven’t you ever lost control before, Weynik?”

The Roylan’s eyestalks focused on him. “To the point of killing people? Thankfully, no.” Then he relaxed his stance and leaned forward for the glass of whiskey, downing it in one. “But I’m not going to judge you.” His scales paled from the alcohol. “That’s good stuff. I might have to take the rest of it back with me.”

“You’re welcome to it.” He returned to trying to fix his tail. “Can I assume that my niece warned you about what I was doing?”

“Yes. I hope you don’t put her back on the Naughty Step.” He rose and came around the desk, taking the protoplaser from Hrelle. “She has your best interests at heart – and she came to me rather than your temporary First Officer. Now, show me where you’re sprained.”

Hrelle smirked, pointing here and there, letting Weynik proceed. “Thanks.”

Weynik passed the device over the area, feeling the tension in his friend’s tail muscles release. “This isn’t the first time I’ve done this. Remember when Lucille Arrington stomped on it? You screamed so much I think you even shocked her into realising how much it would hurt for a felinoid.”

“I’m talking about coming after me tonight.”

“Oh. That.” Weynik smiled. “Someone has to take care of you in Kami’s absence.”

Hrelle grunted. “Well, since you feel that way, you can always stay over and keep her side of the bed warm-”

“No. No. No. No. No. It was bad enough sharing a room with you at the Academy.”

Hrelle’s combadge chirped before he could respond. “Hrelle here.”

“Captain, it’s Lieutenant Velkovsky on the Bridge. There’s a private call from the planet surface for you. They refused to identify themselves, but he did say that he was a… well, a family man.”

Hrelle looked to Weynik, before replying, “Put him through.”

The Captains moved to Hrelle’s desk monitor in time for the image of Elchee to appear, looking even more agitated than when they last met. “Mr Elchee, what can we do for you?”

The man kept glancing to either side of him; as he did, Hrelle could see he was calling from a public communications booth. “Captain, did you invade our offices tonight?”

Hrelle looked to Weynik again, before replying, “I’m a nice guy! Would I do something like that?”

“Captain, someone invaded us, attempted to access Mr Maractor’s records!”

“Imagine that,” Weynik opined. “Maybe the local authorities are finally getting sick and tired of being exploited, and are taking action?”

“That’s-” Elchee shook his head. “The security computers were damaged, there’s no evidence of-” He shook his head again. “Captain Hrelle, Captain Weynik, I- I want to help. If you can ensure the safety of my husband and myself, Maractor’s men are constantly watching everyone, everything, they have contacts with the local government, the security services-”

Hrelle’s spirits rose. “We can help you, both of you! You can beam onboard one of our ships, you’ll be safe with us, and we can arrange for your passage to anywhere you want to go!”

“But we need proof,” Weynik added. “Proof that Maractor is faking the news items about an imminent Klingon attack.”

“I have it,” Elchee assured him. “The falsified reports about the Starfleet losses, secured memos from him to our Media Department… everything you’ll need to implicate him, and a lot more! But- you have to promise to keep us safe!”

“We will,” Hrelle affirmed. “Where are you, we’ll come now, send Security-”

“No! I need time, time to break it to my partner, get him ready, and to get the data together for you! I’ll call you back in an hour’s time!”

“Wait,” Weynik interjected. “It’d be safer if we send-”

But Elchee cut off the transmission.

The Captains looked to each other, Hrelle admitting, “I didn’t expect us to get through to him.”

“If he can get us the evidence, we can pass it on to the FNS, and they can expose Maractor. And we can be back on our way before my father puts us in the Naughty Step.”

Hrelle reached for the whiskey, pouring them both another drink. “Well, you don’t have to stick around, Fun Size. Beam back to the Starsong and resume your course, I’ll finish things up here.”

Weynik took the glass. “What, and miss the fun of seeing Maractor face the music? Not a chance.” He sat down again. “Assuming he does.”

“You’re very cynical for someone who looks like a Munchkin.”

“Munchkin? What’s that?”

“Have you not watched Wizard of Oz with Naida?”

“Never heard of it.”

“She’ll love it! Misha does, he loves growling at the Wicked Witch of the West!”

Hrelle then launched into a lengthy list of recommended things for his friend to watch with his cub, enjoying this additional bond between them – until his combdage chirped again, and a voice announced, “Captain, it’s Lt Shall.”

Hrelle smirked. “Ahh, the Ship’s Snitch. I want to have a word with you-”

“Sorry to interrupt, Sir, but I thought you’d want to know this.”

Her tone sobered him. “What is it?”

“The Level 1 Diagnostic you ordered for our computers was completed some time ago, and I ran a standard security audit of our communication logs. You received a private transmission 32 minutes ago-”

Hrelle rose to his feet, his hackles rising. “What about it?”

“Our end was secure, but not the unit your caller used. I detected it had been piggybacked planetside to a government channel-”

Weynik set down his glass and rose as well. “Lieutenant, access the Farius Prime Directory, we need to get the address for the residence of a Mr Elchee in Crescent City, he works for Maractor!”

“I’m on it, Sir.”

“We’re on our way to the Transport Room,” Hrelle announced. “When you find it, send the coordinates! Hurry!” As the signal closed, he cursed. “We should have insisted on sending Security to him right away!”

“Well, maybe we’ll get lucky and get there before Maractor’s goons do...”

*

They weren’t lucky.

It was a luxurious apartment in what looked like one of the better districts in the city. Not that one could tell from the chaos within: furniture overturned, breakables broken, disruptor burns in the walls.

And the bodies.

Elchee and his husband, with the same disruptor burns in their bodies as on the walls.

Weynik knelt and checked each of them in turn, but Hrelle’s nose and ears already told him that there was no point, his stomach twisting in revulsion… and guilt. “I did this.”

Weynik looked up at him. “What?”

“I did this. I goaded him into helping bring down his boss. I put him and his husband at risk.”

“You didn’t do this. Maractor did. And Elchee chose to put him and his husband at risk in the first place. And he chose to not take our immediate help.”

Hrelle shook his head. “I should have just moved on after saving the Ferengi ship. Minded my own business.”

“To be honest, Esek, I thought that too... at first. Then I listened to that wretched Ferengi, and saw the scope of his crimes here. You were right.”

Hrelle looked to him in appreciation – and then saw the neighbours at the open doorway, peering in. “Let me guess: none of you saw or heard anything, right?” When no one responded, he moved towards them. “RIGHT?”

They backed away fearfully, prompting Weynik to admonish, “You’re scary when you’re angry, Captain.” He knelt down beside Elchee again, as klaxons were heard in the distance. “The local Constabulary will be here soon, we at least get to make a statement.”

“Yeah. Some statement: we interfered here, we got a couple killed and have nothing to show for it.”

“Esek, don’t wallow, I told you- wait.”

Hrelle turned and joined him, as the Roylan moved Elchee’s body onto its back; he was clutching something in his hand, something on a chain. “What is it?”

Weynik pried the hand open, revealing a pendant, with a picture of Elchee and his husband. “Tragic...”

Hrelle frowned, glancing around at the murder scene. “He made an effort to keep that safe. Not to save his partner, or to call for help...”

Weynik considered the words, and examined the pendant – making it spit a datarod out.

*

“Captain’s Log, Supplemental: Captain Weynik and I gave our statements to the Farius Prime authorities; they refused to accept our implicating Maractor in the murders, and are intent on treating this as a random crime, despite the obvious evidence against it.

We didn’t tell them about the datarod we found on Elchee, instead analysing its contents and providing them to Mr Vincenzo at the News Service offices. It might not directly implicate him in the murders of Elchee and his family, but I believe it will certainly blow the lid off of his other schemes here.”

*

Hrelle burst through the courtroom doors, aware that the locals were giving him a wide berth like he was a rampaging mugato, but he didn't care. “I don’t believe it!” He strode up to the railing overlooking the atrium below, where some art deco statue of the local interpretation of Justice stood, her back to them, and looked ready to fling the PADD in his hand at it to get her attention. “I don’t believe it!”

Weynik moved to catch up with his friend. “Believe it, Wide Load. Maractor is one of the richest men on the planet. It shouldn’t be too surprising that he could buy an injunction to prevent the broadcast of the truth.”

“Quite right, Starfleet.”

The Captains turned to see the Ferengi catch up to them, flanked by his hulking Hupryian guards and Zakdorn lawyers, his beady eyes glinting at the officers as he approached, wriggling his fingers as if to show off his many jewelled rings. “Never be afraid to pay top money for justice, gentlemen.” He held out his arms as if to embrace them. “Awww, why the long faces? You did your best. Now go back to your ships, fly off and forget all about me.”

“You have some sweet operation going on here,” Hrelle snarled at him. “Your media stokes the fear of war in the local population, and then you sell them unnecessary weapons to protect themselves, unnecessary narcotics to keep them dulled, and unnecessary passages on your defective ships to escape. And those who challenge you end up dead.”

Maractor waved a scolding finger at him. “Careful, Captain Kitty! You have no proof about any connection between me and my poor unfortunate assistant! Any more false allegations like that, and I’ll sue Starfleet!”

“You won’t get away with this,” Weynik informed him darkly.

The Ferengi regarded him derisively. “Weren’t you paying attention in there, little man? I just did. Seriously, boys, take my advice and leave Farius Prime. It’ll be better.

And not just for you...”

He walked away, the guards glaring at the Starfleet officers before following their employer and his lawyers out of the building.

“I’d hate to have that guy’s nerve in a tooth,” Hrelle muttered, slapping his combadge in annoyance as it signalled him. “Yes?”

“Sir, we’ve received an encoded message for you,” Neheru reported, “Captain’s Eyes Only.”

“From Starfleet Command?”

“No, Sir. It’s from some planetary source, but we can’t identify or trace it.”

“Send it to my PADD.” He lifted up his device as he remarked to Weynik, “Maybe one of the local government agency people here can’t be bought after all, and they want to help us bring him... down...” He gasped as he stared at the display. “Mother’s Cubs... WEYNIK!”

The Roylan approached quickly, alarmed by his friend’s reaction, taking the PADD from Hrelle, expecting some text message.

Instead there were two images, side by side, of Hrelle’s son Misha and Weynik’s daughter Naida, images taken separately but recently, both children looking happy, smiling.

And oblivious to the sniper crosshairs superimposed on their heads...

*

The holographic image of Admiral Tattok focused his beady black eyes on the two Captains, as if he was in the room instead of light years away. “Gentlemen, I understand your feelings about this Ferengi, and the threats he has made to your children – one of them being my grandchild. But we need to be objective, rational: are they in any immediate danger?”

“No, Admiral,” Hrelle admitted reluctantly. “Naida is safe onboard the Starsong, and my son is with his mother and grandparents on Earth. I’ve alerted them, on the off-chance that Maractor might hire someone local to get at them.”

“Good.”

“Dad!” Weynik snapped. “He threatened Naida!”

Tattok ignored his son. “And you provided the Federation News Service with the evidence of Maractor’s actions?”

“Yes,” Hrelle replied. “But Maractor has ordered an injunction to prevent its broadcast on Farius Prime-”

He held up a hand to cut him off. “So basically you fulfilled your duty in alerting the local authorities to the potential threat to life by the Ferengi, and thus you’re free to return to your assigned duties and join me and the rest of the Fleet at Sherman?”

Hrelle swallowed, glancing at Weynik. “Almost, Admiral. My Engineering team still needs to purge the Ferengi power rods of theta radiation. We’ll need another six hours, at most.”

Tattok nodded, looking to Weynik. “Captain, see what you can do to expedite the work here and reduce that estimate. Not one minute later than six hours, Captain Hrelle.”

He nodded. “Yes, Sir.”

As the image faded from the holocommunicator pad in Hrelle’s Ready Room, the Captains looked to C’Rash and Zawati, who had stood by, the temporary First Officer relaxing a little as she announced, “I’ll get Chief Grev to finally begin what should have been done before now... Sir.”

She started towards the door, but Hrelle said, “Hold it.” When she did, he asked, “Do you have a problem, Lieutenant Commander?”

Zawati straightened up again formally. “No, Sir. No problem.”

“Then I’ll let you carry on. Dismissed.”

“Yes, Sir.” She shot a dirty look at C’Rash, but then departed.

The female Caitian watched her leave, before looking to the men. “She wasn’t pleased when she heard about all those planetside trips you two have been making without her knowledge. I think she’s one of these Execs who want their CO to stay onboard and out of trouble.” She shrugged. “She wasn’t pleased when I didn’t mention anything to her either.”

“Well, I’m sorry to put you in her bad books, C’Rash.”

She shrugged again. “She’s a good officer... but she’s not family, and she won’t be long with us.”

Weynik looked to Hrelle. “Well… I guess that’s that. Like Tattok said, we’ve done all we could to try to change things.”

“Not all we could.” He looked back at C’Rash. “You examined the data we retrieved?”

She nodded. “It was more than just his people’s efforts to fake the news. It detailed his relationship with one of the Orion Syndicate crime lords, a Mister Zaddo Natale.”

Hrelle’s heart skipped a beat. “Zaddo Natale? Seven Hells...”

“You know him?” Weynik asked.

“I know of him, from my… time on Orion. Zaddo Natale is one of the nastiest bastards alive. He’s one of the red-skinned Orion minority, and he’s made it to where he is now by being more ruthless, merciless and sadistic than his green-skinned counterparts.” He shuddered. “If Maractor’s partnered with Natale, then his influence, and his threat, is greater than I thought.”

“I wouldn’t exactly call them ‘partners’,” C’Rash offered, moving to the desktop display and calling up some schedules. “Natale provided some initial capital to Maractor, and has been receiving regular repayments from him ever since.”

“How much?”

“Two thousand bars of gold-pressed latinum every four weeks, paid promptly.”

Hrelle nodded. “Very promptly. The Syndicate has a zero tolerance policy towards late payments – as in, you’re late by one second, and your life expectantly drops to Zero.”

“What, no compounded interest or late fees?”

“That’s a sign of weakness.” A thought made him ask, “When and where’s the next payment?”

She read again. “Tomorrow, from Maractor’s private estate on the Kalpol Archipelago, where he keeps his private vault. I’ve got the building and security schematics to the estate here, too.”

Hrelle smiled. “And I’ve got a plan.”

Weynik nudged him. “Didn’t you hear my father? You have to get those Ferengi power rods purged and I have to help you-”

He raised a finger. “And you will.”

“So will I,” C’Rash declared. At their expression, she elaborated, “I don’t like people who threaten cubs.”

Hrelle grinned now. “You’re not coming down with us-”

“Captain-”

He pointed at her now. “But you will study those schematics and come up with a means of our breaching the defences on Maractor’s estate. Especially the vault. I want to get in there.”

Weynik looked up at him. “We’re robbing him?”

Hrelle patted him on the shoulder. “Sort of.”

*

The Kalpol Archipelago was in a balmy, temperate part of Farius Prime, with a constant warm breeze even approaching midnight, as it was now. The Maractor Estate was a sprawling kidney-shaped enclave surrounded by a high wall blocking the tall, swaying trees beyond.

The guards and monitoring devices at various points along the wall noted the repeated flashes of light from the storm clouds on the Western seas, distant but powerful enough to affect the internal generator for a few seconds. Seemingly. A quick diagnostic from the Security Booth found nothing wrong, and would continue to find nothing wrong.

Not even a Black Ops phaser beam, on a frequency producing only a silent black light, cutting into the wall in a far distant point, creating a hole just big enough to allow two figures to enter silently, staying in the shadows, their backpacks tight on them as they moved towards the main house.

As they reached one of the rear doors, the larger shadowy figure whispered, “Internal?”

The smaller shadowy figure looked at a Security tricorder. “Ten, most concentrated in the West Wing, Game Room, First Floor. Access to the Vault is in this wing, past the Kitchens. And no, you can’t stop in there for a snack, Fatter-Than-I.”

“Thanks for the reminder, Low Rider. You just get on some stilts and keep a watch on our backs, okay?”

They unlocked the rear entrance and entered, Hrelle’s night vision and Weynik’s goggles allowing them to see in total darkness and make their way downstairs. Here, past supply rooms and maintenance closets, they found the tritanium door, Hrelle setting up power bypasses and the Omnikey. “This shouldn’t take long; C’Rash loaded up some algorithms for Ferengi security devices.”

“If you ever want to give up Starfleet, you’d make an excellent cat burglar.”

Hrelle grunted. “I bet you’ve been waiting your entire short little life to make that joke.” The door beeped, and began sliding aside, revealing a long, narrow interior, lined with- “Mother’s Cubs!”

Weynik turned to see what elicited the oath from his friend… and made a similar one.

Gold-pressed latinum bars. Thousands of them. Stacks and stacks, on pallets ready for antigrav units or transporter enhancers to override the inhibitors surrounding the vault.

“He must have his entire fortune down here,” Hrelle murmured, chuckling.

“How many bars does he have here?” Weynik asked, astounded.

“Eighteen thousand, four hundred.”

“How’d you work that out so quickly? Pretend they’re nacho chips?”

Hrelle spun in place, as if outraged by the joke – but focused on his twitching ears. “Men. Two-no three-”

Weynik slipped off his backpack and drew out his phaser and short sword. “Get back to work, I’ll deal with them.”

Hrelle unpacked the transporter enhancer stands, racing into the vault to set them up and activate them, trusting in C’Rash to be monitoring and responding. As he raced back out, he heard the transporter whine behind him, looking ahead to see Weynik crouching down, firing his phaser, the black light invisible but the effects on those he hit audible.

Then he drew out his phaser grenade, set a ten-second delay, and threw it into the Vault, activating the vault door to close.

It rolled shut. Slowly. Very slowly.

Mother’s Cubs, hurry up!

Six seconds, Five – it was still open! - Four, Three – hurry up, HURRY UP, GODDAMIT! - Two, One-

It shut and locked again, just in time. He felt a shudder through the thick door.

Hrelle breathed out.

“Is that it?” Weynik asked.

“Yep,” Hrelle replied, smiling. “Without a hitch.”

“Can we go now?”

Hrelle frowned. “No! Not until we let Maractor know what we’ve done for him! Don’t you want to be there to have him thank us?”

The Roylan regarded him, before smirking. “It would be nice to see the gratitude on his face.”

*

They were detected as they ascended to the first floor, and human and Hupryian guards emerged to charge at him. But the Captains were together, and ready, forgoing their weapons to dodge, deflect and disable the guards.

And then a real Gorn appeared, growling and hissing.

Weynik looked to Hrelle. “Fastball Special?”

The Caitain blinked. “It’s been a while, but...” He reached behind Weynik, grabbing him by the back of his Black Ops outfit, lifting him up, spinning in place and flinging him towards the charging Gorn, the Roylan’s heavyworlder mass slamming into the reptoid and sending him sprawling backwards, before Weynik struck the Gorn in the throat repeatedly.

Hrelle huffed, his arms aching. “You’re- You’re putting on the kilos, Mini Bar.”

The Roylan rose, flexing his hands and leaving the Gorn on the floor, hising but unconscious. “You’re lecturing me about putting on weight, Captain All Meat And No Potatoes?”

“Wow, short people really are insensitive. Come on, lets find our host.”

They emerged into a well-lit, ornately-furnished games room, dominated with trophy heads of various animals on the walls, billiards and dom-jot tables, and an ordinary round table where a number of humans and Ferengi sat, playing poker, with Maractor at the farthest end, while some women, including Venear, attended him. The Ferengi was entirely nonchalant, never even looking up from his cards as he noted, “Gentlemen! I can’t seem to see the backs of you! Is it Love, perchance?”

“No,” Hrelle promised, indicating the phasers in his and Weynik’s hands. “Definitely not Love.”

Maractor looked up at Venear, who was holding the box of beetle snuff for him, and took a sample, snorting it loudly. “You found flaws in my Security, and made a meal of my guards. I obviously need improvements… thank you for alerting me.”

“You’re going to have other concerns than Security,” Weynik assured him.

The Ferengi sneered at him. “Are you going to try and convince me that you’re here to assassinate me? I don’t think so. You’re Starfleet.” He indicated the others at the table. “And I have witnesses here, some of them from high-ranking positions in the government here. Are you going to assassinate them, too? Hold a coup on Farius Prime?”

Hrelle holstered his phaser and folded his arms across his chest. “We’re not here to kill anyone; even your guards will wake up, eventually. We’re simply fulfilling the obligation we started when my vessel first came to the aid of yours. We removed the leaking power cores from it. And now we’ve returned them to you.”

“We beamed them into your vault downstairs,” Weynik informed him.

Maractor’s sneer dropped. “What?”

“With all the theta radiation leaking from them, it was the safest place we could think of,” Hrelle continued.

The businessman shook his head. “No… You can’t get into my vault. It’s impregnable.” But he signalled to one of his subordinates to rush out and obviously investigate.

“Funny thing about the word ‘impregnable’,” Weynik told him. “It’s like ‘unsinkable’ or ‘impossible’. They’re all absolutely accurate – until they’re not.”

The subordinate returned. “Sir, the Vault’s controls have been fused!”

Maractor dropped his cards. “Fused?” He glared at the Captains. “You think you could keep me from my latinum that easily? I’ll have the door removed in an hour!”

“Oh, I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” Hrelle warned him mildly. “You see, after we beamed in your power rods, we accidentally dropped in a phaser grenade before the door closed. It won’t damage your latinum, of course, but the rod casings will be shattered from the explosion, and all your latinum will be contaminated with theta radiation.”

Maractor’s beady eyes widened with horror. “C-Contaminated? B-But there’s nineteen thousand bars down there!”

Weynik looked to Hrelle. “You said 18,400.”

Hrelle shrugged. “Me Big Dumb Cat.” He looked back at Maractor. “Don’t worry, the half-life of theta radiation is only about 470 years. You might be able to get it scrubbed clean sooner, of course… if you can afford it.”

“Maybe you can save some money by not running unsafe evacuation vessels?” Weynik suggested.

The Ferengi shuddered, breathed hard. “Nineteen thousand bars, untouchable, useless… Zaddo’s expecting to collect his payment tomorrow...” He glared furiously at the Captains. “You’ve ruined me! YOU BASTARDS!”

“Well, there’s gratitude for you,” Weynik growled. “And here we came, returning your defective equipment, despite all you’ve done.” He raised the phaser in his hand. “Personally, I’m ready to burn a hole through your brainpan for threatening my daughter. I don’t care how many witnesses might see.”

Hrelle kept his eyes on Maractor – but his hackles rose as he listened and scented his friend… Mother’s Cubs, he’s being serious… “We’ll just take our leave now and let you sort out your money problems with the Orion Syndicate. I’m sure they’ll be very accommodating.” He patted Weynik on the shoulder. “Come on, let’s go.”

But Maractor and Weynik had locked gazes with each other, the Ferengi rising to his feet, shaking with outrage. “I’ll blow your ships out of the sky… I’ll put your heads on pikes...”

“Weynik,” Hrelle warned, feeling the rising rage in the Roylan.

Now the Ferengi bellowed, “AND I’LL MAKE YOUR DAUGHTER THE HARDEST-WORKING WHORE IN MY STABLES!”

Weynik tightened his grip on his phaser trigger-

-As Venear raised a slim, compact weapon of her own to the side of Maractor’s head, punching a hole at her end that followed through to the other side, sending a spray of purple and white bone and brain matter outwards, spattering his guests and other subordinates as the body collapsed to the floor, sending more gore and blood into the carpet.

The Captains drew back, aiming their weapons at the girl, who straightened up and lowered her firing arm, her posture and expression fully changed; Hrelle even noted a change in her scent as she regarded them. “Relax, Captains. It’s over.” She made a gesture to one of the guards, who nodded and departed the room.

“You killed him,” Weynik muttered blankly. “No one can blame you… after all he’s done to you-”

“No,” Hrelle corrected, staring hard at Venear. “This isn’t revenge, is it? You’ve killed before.”

“Correct on both counts, Captain Hrelle; I’m an operative of Zaddo Natale. I was assigned to infiltrate Maractor’s organisation with my story of a family that needed to leave but couldn’t afford it. My job was to stay close and watch him, ensuring he maintained his side of the bargain and didn’t try to cheat us.”

She regarded the body of the Ferengi. “Our concerns were already raised by his greed pushing him to take risks with his customers... and to draw attention of individuals such as yourselves. Your actions tonight guaranteed that he wouldn’t fulfil his repayment to Mr Natale on time, allowing me to step in and initiate a… hostile takeover.”

She looked to the guests. “Gentlemen, when you leave here, you will tell the rest of the world that Maractor tragically died of a heart attack, and that his organisation will be managed by a consortium to be selected in the immediate future; the Orion Syndicate will frown heavily if they hear of anything else being said. Leave. Now.”

Quickly, compliantly, and still covered in Ferengi brain and blood, the guests rose and left.

Venear set down her weapon, stepped over Maractor’s corpse and reached for an untouched glass of alcohol on the table. “I genuinely thank you for your creative intervention, Captains; I found the Ferengi’s presence… and touch… excruciating.”

“Our pleasure,” Hrelle said dryly, “So what now, Zaddo takes over where Maractor left off? Endangering more passengers?”

She finished off the drink in her hand and smacked her lips. “I’m not privy to Mr Natale’s plans, of course, but I believe he’ll not continue the Ferengi’s reckless, short-sighted business strategy. There’s sufficient long-term profit here to run most of his businesses legitimately.”

“Does that include the fake news?” Weynik snapped.

The young woman looked at each of them in turn. “Captains, I thank you once again. But I must insist you leave, and consider this matter finished for you. And in return, we’ll forget you were ever here, and not inform Starfleet Command of your criminal acts.”

Hrelle stared back at her for a moment, before tapping his hidden combadge. “Hrelle to Surefoot: two to beam up, and prepare to leave orbit.”

*

“Captain’s Log, Supplemental: the Surefoot and the Starsong have left the Farius system and are continuing on our course to the Sherman sector. We’ve heard on the reports from the local news media of the untimely death of Maractor; hopefully this will mean a change to his unscrupulous business practices.

Hopefully.”

*

Hrelle was in his Ready Room, catching up with work, when the intercom chimed. “Sir, there’s an incoming transmission from Captain Weynik.”

Hrelle set aside his PADD and leaned back in his chair. “Put him through, Olivia.”

Seconds later, Weynik’s face filled the screen. “Captain Hrelle.”

“Knee High. What can I do for you?”

The Roylan’s aquamarine face darkened. “You can accept my apologies, Esek.”

“Apologies? For what?”

“For my judging you before, over your actions with the Klingons.”

Hrelle’s ears twitched. “You said you weren’t judging me over that.”

“I lied. Secretly I criticised you for your loss of control… and down on Farius Prime, facing Maractor in his home… I was ready to kill him, an unarmed man.”

Hrelle nodded. “I know.”

“You did?”

“I’m not just a pretty face, Weynik. I have a nose for these things.”

“And you didn’t say anything to me?”

Hrelle shrugged. “You’re my brother.”

Weynik breathed in. “Thank you.”

“So, when are you gonna invite me back for a proper dinner? I have a few more curse words to teach Naida.”

Weynik smiled. “Thanks, Squab.”

THE ADVENTURES OF THE SUREFOOT WILL CONTINUE IN… MAELSTROM