Everything around here seems to be made of wood. It looks kinda weird, well, it does if you grew up on a spaceship and then went to Starfleet Academy, neither of which is up to much in the wood stakes. But Eta Meridia V is big on wood. Most of the planet's northern continent is still virgin forest, it's a whole lot of trees. The shuttle landing strip is just a long cleared patch of ground with forest all the way around. And the buildings are all made of wood. Big logs, mostly.
The forest surrounds us, but the trees don't seem to do much of a job blocking the wind. The wind feels like it comes straight from the planet's north pole, and then halfway across the landing strip it meets up with another wind that comes from the south pole, and they kinda frolic about together for a while. I'm feeling a distinct urge to get indoors, and I hope these big log cabins aren't as draughty as they look.
Beside me, Pingood makes a snuffly sort of noise. She isn't really much on the cold; her ancestors came from warm, swampy sorts of conditions, and right now the corners of her wide batrachian mouth are turned down, and her big moist eyes are blinking repeatedly. The frolicking wind stirs up her green hair, and I decide it's really time to get out of it, and to hell with the contact procedure.
"Which one's the bar, again?" I ask, and Pingood points at a big loggy thing. "Right. Stuff making ourselves known to the local contact at the field, we're going to wait in the warm."
And we amble off along the grass, which is just this side of frozen, so it goes squelch beneath our boots and not crunch. It ain't far off crunch, I'm pretty sure of that.
It's one thing I am sure of. I don't have nearly as much information as I'd like on the contact we're supposed to meet. I don't even have a decent recognition signal for them, all I know is that they'll "make themselves known" when I've stood around long enough. OK, I reckon I've stood around long enough. Besides, I know stuff my contact doesn't. I hope.
We push open the double doors to the bar. Inside, it is full of noise and people, my sort of place, in fact. There is a big fireplace on one wall that is made of stone, not wood, and there is a brightly blazing fire in it. Logs, again. Logs have lots of uses. I check out the bar as I move towards that fireplace. There are lots of bottles racked behind it, most of them things that look like they'd repay investigation. I could spend a few happy hours or days here, if I didn't have a job to do.
"Talaxian. You are here," says a deep voice behind me and a bit above. I turn around. The speaker is about seven feet tall, with the general physique of a dump truck. I don't recognize the species. He has greyish skin and jet-black eyes, and there's a sort of scaly shield on his forehead that makes him look like he's constantly frowning. "You were supposed to wait at the field," he says.
"Yeah, well, it's kinda not the weather for hanging about," I say. "And you are?"
He grins at me, revealing an unlikely number of sharp pointy teeth. Flossing must take him forever. "I am Mirankar Ostrogolus," he says, "and when I speak my name, men faint and women gather up their offspring and flee."
"Pleased ta meetcha," I say. "I'm Pexlini, and when I speak my name, uh, people say 'hi Pex', kinda thing."
"Ha!" he says. He sounds like he relishes the opportunity to say things like "Ha!" He waves a shovel-sized hand at Pingood. "And you?"
"I am Pingood." The warmth of the bar seems to have done her some good already, the green is coming back into her cheeks.
"A native of Sveyalsa VII," Ostrogolus says. So, he's done his homework, even on obscure Delta Quadrant species. "I know nothing to your kind's discredit. I am less certain about the Talaxian - but, at least, you are not the rabble of the Alpha Quadrant. See them!" He waves that big hand in a gesture that encompasses half the bar. "Tellarites, venal and argumentative. Ferengi, venal and cowardly. Humans, the omnipresent scum of the quadrant. Bajorans, loud and insubordinate. Pakleds, morons and nothing more. Vulcans, arid pacifists. I do not even recognize that species -"
Ah, right, a test. He has been working steadily along a line of the nearest groups in the bar, and he's pointing to one I do know, but shouldn't if I've just blown in from the Delta Quadrant. He's indicating a Rigelian. In fact, a female Rigelian. To be more specific yet, he's indicating my science officer Voesyy, and he's been working through my crew for a bit now, loud enough for them to hear him. Vebanillo doesn't look like she likes being called a moron, and Umaro Ajbit definitely doesn't like being called loud and insubordinate, even though I kinda agree with him on that one. Hal Welti is the philosophical type, he can cope with being omnipresent scum. As for Unity, she isn't Vulcan anyway, though she can pass for one with cosmetic covers over her metal eyes, and with the circuitry in her head covered up.
"OK, so," I say, "leaving all that aside for a minute, I'm supposed to be meeting someone here, and I'm guessing it's you, right?"
"Follow me," Ostrogolus says, and strides off towards a booth in the corner of the bar. So I follow, and Pingood follows with me. The rest of the guys at least have the sense not to pay us any more attention. Since I'm supposed to be fresh in from the Delta Quadrant, I figured it'd make sense to have a bunch of my not-Deltan peeps down here in advance, just in case things kick off a bit nasty. I only hope they're all still reasonably sober.
"So," says Ostrogolus, in tones a few decibels softer, when we're all sat down, "you represent the Hazari government, yes?"
"Nuh-uh," I say. Another test. "First off, Hazari government is kinda a contradiction in terms, the big guys are freewheeling anarcho-capitalist types. Second off, I'm not anything that formal. We do represent a consortium of Hazari operatives, though, and they're the guys you want to do business with."
"So you say. Give me a name."
"Senior Hazari captain in the group is a guy called Y'Nadan."
He grunts. "Another."
"N'Larl."
"And why are they not here?"
"Hazari and Starfleet, they don't get along so well. Oh, sure, they were both in the anti-Vaadwaur alliance, but that was then and this is now, and Hazari are not flavour of the month with the Feds, and vice-versa, kinda thing. Us Talaxians, now, we can go anywhere. Omnipresent scum of the Delta Quadrant." I'm embroidering the truth, but not by enough to set any alarm bells ringing. But we got on okay with Y'Nadan, and N'Larl owes us big time, so if Ostrogolus can cross-check with Delta Quadrant sources, they'll back up the story. Probably. If my messages got through.
"So," says Ostrogolus. "What are you offering?"
"Good question." I decide not to ask what he's selling, right now. "I guess we've got Delta Quadrant commodities on offer, we can rough out a deal based on those, if that's what you want. Or, well, Hazari take contracts all over the quadrant, and they network together. We can pay you information for information."
"What information do we need in the Delta Quadrant?"
"I give up. What information do you need? It's a quarter of the galaxy, the Iconian gates have put it practically on your doorstep, it ain't going away any time soon. You want to go into it blind, fine by me. You want information about it, we got it."
Ostrogolus pulls a sour face. "I believe," he says, "we may have the basis for a deal." He pulls a PADD out from under his thick jacket - he's dressed for the cold, probably better than me and Pingood. "Here. Instructions for a second meeting. This time, no need for your aide." He shoves the PADD at me, stands up, and swaggers out. Didn't even buy us a drink. Cheapskate.
"I am no longer needed?" says Pingood.
"Doesn't look like it." I study the PADD. "A strange man's just given me instructions to meet him in a secluded spot after midnight. No way this is any sort of a set-up. Oh, well." I gaze wistfully at the interesting bottles behind the bar. Something tells me I really shouldn't, though.
---
By the time I'm supposed to meet Ostrogolus, the grass is definitely going crunch. I'm behind a row of warehouses at the side of the landing strip, and freezing wisps of mist are flickering through the harsh arc lighting over the field, but over here it's black as pitch and hellishly cold, and the forest is at my back. The silent trees are a brooding presence. Trackless forest. It rouses primordial fears in many species, mine included. Who knows what's lurking in between those trees? There could be any sort of horror in there -
Actually, right now, I know what's lurking in there, and I wish I felt happier about it.
"Ostrogolus is moving," Ajbit's voice says in my earpiece. The guys got a good solid read on him at the bar, and Unity calibrated the biometric sensors herself, with her usual mechanical precision. We're not a hundred per cent sure what he's been doing, but at least we know exactly where he is.
"On his way here?" I subvocalise into my throat mike. I think bits of me are going to start dropping off if I get any colder.
"Moving in your direction. We still have a solid lock on him."
"Hope you've got a solid lock on me," I grumble.
"You must be kidding, Pex. They'll have transporter scramblers ready."
"Yeah, yeah, great. What about ghoul-girl? She good to go?"
"Palatine confirms backup is ready."
I feel clumsy in the thick fur coat. Not least because I've got full battle armour on, underneath it. It's still not enough to keep the cold out, though.
"Energy surges. Movement," says Ajbit's voice. "Near you." There's a click and a pop in the earpiece. "Transporter inhibitors and comms scramblers just kicked in." Her voice sounds a little tinny. The opposition must have fairly decent comms scramblers, though not nearly as good as our comms.
Crunch goes the grass beneath booted feet - not my booted feet.
The squad comes marching around the corner of the warehouse, straight at me. It is too dark to make out colours - but I see the bald heads, the style of the clothing, the disruptor pistols in their hands, and my imagination fills in the green skins. "Well, what have we here?" the lead Orion says with a staggering lack of originality.
"Hey, there," I say, with no great originality myself. It's too cold to be getting original.
He raises his disruptor. "You're going to tell us what you want from the Rehanissen Archive," he says, "and then -"
At this point, the lurking horrors come out of the forest.
Heizis and her Reman commandos don't seem to be bothered by the cold, and they positively like the dark. They fall on the Orions, hard and fast. The looks on their faces are enough to give me nightmares, and they're supposed to be on my side. Heizis herself is wearing jet-black Omega Force armour, and has an antiproton carbine in her hand. Her first burst takes out the Orion goon's disruptor and the hand holding it. He screams and falls over. Shock, I guess.
I duck to one side and shed the fur coat, pulling out my own AP carbine as I do. One of the Orions gets a disruptor bolt off. It goes wild, out into the darkness. I blast him with a volley of heavy stun. It makes me feel better, anyway.
"Can we get some of them a bit alive?" I ask.
"No problem." The Reman who's spoken is tall, female, quite tanned for a Reman - her skin tone approaches that of a very pale normal humanoid. She has disarmed one Orion, and now drops him with what looks like a Vulcan nerve pinch, but probably isn't. There are some more miscellaneous thumps and zaps, and the Orions are all down on the deck, not moving. Heizis is grinning. I really, really wish she wasn't.
"Ostrogolus is still moving," Ajbit's voice says. "In company. Two hundred metres from your current position, north by north east."
I get my bearings. "My contact's over there." I point. "We need him, too. I don't know if these guys are Syndicate enforcers or Thrang's men -"
"They will talk," Heizis assures me. "And your contact."
Suits me. I'm not going to worry about her methods. I gauge my directions, pick north by north east, and start jogging. Heizis and four of her Remans lope along beside me.
"Still interference on local comms," one of the Remans says. "I cannot get clear tricorder readings."
Makes sense. Ostrogolus, and-or the Syndicate, will want to keep local law enforcement off balance, and stop us using our comms and sensors. Local law, they can deal with, but top-line Starfleet and Republic equipment, well, that's another matter. We have comms, but hand-held sensors are iffy. Not bad going, I suppose. "Ajbit. Who's with him?"
"Reading six lifesigns total. Possibly all the same species," Ajbit reports. I relay this to Heizis. "What species is he, anyway?" I ask.
"Thexemian," Ajbit tells me.
"Never heard of them. Never mind." I can hear movement up ahead. Which I guess means Ostrogolus can hear movement too. Drat this crunchy grass.
"Talaxian! Show yourself!" Ostrogolus's voice bellows in the night.
"And that's Mirankar Ostrogolus," I say to Heizis. "Better gather up your offspring and flee."
"I have other plans," Heizis says, and she touches her wrist controls, engages the suit's distortion field, and fades away into the night.
I carry on jogging forwards. Shapes loom up beside another warehouse, big shapes. Thexemian shapes, I guess. Never met a Thexemian before today, don't much care if I never meet another one. "Hey!" I yell at them. "The whole set-up thing, I just want you to know, it's not appreciated!"
"Talaxian vermin! You think you deserve to know our secrets?" Hoo boy, I think to myself. Tact is not the guy's strong suit. Behind me, the rest of the Remans are unobtrusively going to ground. They can do that easy, this is like broad daylight to them.
"We could still do a deal here, like, yanno?" I say.
"You will tell me all your agency's plans, and I may let you live," Ostrogolus shouts back.
"Chee," I say, "big of you."
He's standing in the middle of his own five goons, each one at least as big as him, all carrying what look like Orion disruptors, though it's hard to tell in this light -
Heizis steps out of the distortion field, back into visibility, and drops three of the Thexemians with a sustained burst of AP fire. Blue-green bolts hiss past me; the other Remans pick off the remaining two with plasma-disruptor fire. They have set heavy stun, which is a relief. Ostrogolus looks wildly at me, at his fallen guards, at the snarling Remans holding guns on him. He makes an abortive gesture towards Heizis with his pistol, thinks better of it, and lets the gun drop to the grass.
"Wait," he says. "As you say - you have proven your ability - we can come to an arrangement -"
Then there is a distinctive snap, and a line of scarlet light flashes out of the darkness, and Ostrogolus falls with most of his skull blown away.
Heizis and I both drop to the ground in the same instant, spinning around to face in the direction of the beam. I aim my carbine, or I would, except I can't see anything to aim at. More surprisingly, to judge from the absence of weapons fire, neither can the Remans.
"Where the hell did that come from?" I yell.
"I have no visual," Heizis hisses back.
"No tricorder reading," calls out another Reman.
"I'm trying to triangulate - sir, it came from somewhere outside our sensor footprint," Ajbit's voice says. "Trying to get a read - there's jamming somewhere along the line. Can't get a fix on anything out there."
"Hold on," I say. "Sensor footprint has a one-kilometre radius, right?"
"Centred on you, sir, yes," says Ajbit.
"Someone out there is one heck of a shot," I say. "OK, gang, I suggest we keep large solid objects between them and us. The rest of the goons ain't going nowhere, let's circle round behind those warehouses, then plant transporter enhancers and get some engineering types down here with cover shields."
"I must agree," says Heizis, in a slightly muffled voice, possibly not unrelated to the way she's hugging the ground. "But whoever is out there will be gone before we can regroup -"
"Can't be helped. If they can shoot like that, we'll be gone." I don't trust my personal shield against someone who can headshot like that. I've only got one head, and I want to keep it safe.
So we wriggle cautiously around the side of the nearest warehouse, an all too literal example of Napoleon's dictum about an army marching on its stomach. Not exactly dignified, but I will take undignified over dead any day of the week.
"You are more correct than you know," a voice hisses at me. It's the faintly-tanned female Reman. She sounds a bit out of breath, but then wriggling isn't a good situation for talking.
"Correct about what?" I whisper back.
"The shot. I got a reading. Not enough to determine the point of origin - but I have data on the beam itself." She waves a tricorder in my general direction. I try to peer at it intelligently, but, honestly, it's all just a lot of blinky lights to me right now.
"Sonic antiproton," I mutter, shuffling along a bit on my elbows, "I got that much -"
"Yes," says the Reman. "A sonic AP pistol."
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