Alauta Mala is crowded - or, at least, the inhabited part is; the planet is class L, and the terraforming engines have made only a small part of its surface liveable, as yet. The central settlement - too young even to have a consistent name, as yet - has a population density approaching old Earth's Asian cities. It is a bewildering hubbub of noise, of people talking, machines grumbling - and a mixture of scents, of people and perfumes and, most importantly of all, of food.
There are familiar sounds and familiar smells nearby, right now. I stroll, as casually as I can, towards the door of the spaceport bar. Familiar territory. With a familiar face, half-glimpsed in profile, as I approach. He's on the move. Excellent. I touch my wrist comm, send the pulse signal to Vekna, the one that means get ready.
The man who comes out of the bar is smaller than the average human male, neat in his dress and appearance, with a pale, rather handsome face, light hair conservatively styled, and blue eyes that gleam as his gaze darts about, watching, assessing, cataloguing and recognizing, everywhere he goes. In his profession, it pays to be watchful. But, today, he is not quite watchful enough.
I weave through the crowd, come up from behind him, and cup his elbow with my hand in what might look like an affectionate gesture. "Hello, Denver," I say sweetly.
The captain of the Arcturus Sunfire glances at me, and a wry smile tugs at one side of his mouth. "Quon. I didn't recognize you without your navel on display." I'm wearing the woven undersuit from Omega Force battle armour; it's discreet and protective. "Silly of me. I presume you've people on call? - Ah." Vekna has emerged from the alleyway, one hand in the pocket of her overcoat, as if she is training a powerful disruptor pistol on Denver Serton - which, of course, she is. "Well, I hope we can keep this civilized."
I touch my wrist comm again, alerting Rissmo and Morak - and the android, too, damn her. "I don't see why not," I say in light, conversational tones. "I don't have a quarrel with you, after all."
"Just with our mutual fare, I suppose," says Serton. He pulls a disgruntled face. "No point me asking what led you here, then."
To the one planet in the sector where authentic Sinhalese spices are to be found. "Mr. Premaratne skipped out on me, left me to face the music with Starfleet and the Orions. I want some words with Mr. Premaratne, yes. You can help."
"And what's in it for me? - I know, I know, I don't get any bones broken. You used to have more style, Quon."
"I used to have an Ouroboros-class raider, too. You should worry about that, Denver. Can you afford to replace the Sunfire, if Premaratne decides it's expendable? Or if that Klingon captain from Starfleet catches up with you?"
"Starfleet." Serton sniffs dismissively. "I've been evading Starfleet for longer than your current body's been alive, Quon."
"Rat-running through the Neutral Zone? Times have changed, Denver, or hadn't you noticed? I caught you, so Starfleet can."
"You had luck, and a touch of inside knowledge." And he can see - and smell - where I'm steering him, he knows very well what my inside knowledge is. "All right, Quon, I'm in no hurry to get myself hurt. We've been doing very nicely since we picked up your passenger - on schedule, no embarrassments with Orions, all very smooth and professional. We had enough time for a stop-off here. As you evidently though we might."
"And Premaratne?"
"Exactly where you think he is. Follow your nose, Quon."
I smile at him. "I love it when things go to plan."
"You must enjoy the novelty of it." Serton gently disengages his elbow from my grip. "You don't mind if I fade into the background, do you? I'd rather not have Premaratne know I stood by and let you take him. Or try to."
"How many of your crew are with him now?"
"Oh, please, Quon. Did he let you sic bodyguards on him when he went on one of his shopping trips?"
"We didn't have time." But it makes sense - Premaratne was close-mouthed with me, he'd maintain the same privacy with Serton. "All right, Denver. Thank you for all your help. If I were you, I'd head back to the Sunfire and start looking at the 'Help Wanted' ads."
"You're very sure of yourself, Quon." He gives me a dirty look. "As far as I know, there's only one more stop before - whatever he's doing - is finished. I don't think he'll appreciate you getting in the way. You know him, he's all about removing inconveniences."
"I know him. And I'll deal with him."
"As you wish. You won't mind if I don't wish you luck." And he stalks away, rubbing his elbow in an aggrieved manner, and is lost in the crowd.
I turn and face the spice market.
---
The market is about a hundred metres square, covered with brightly-coloured awnings that filter the harsh light of this world's sun. Under the awnings, the air is redolent with scents, of ingredients and condiments from a hundred different worlds, a thousand different cultures. Including the Sinhalese culture of Earth.
There are many people here, too, but I spot the burly figure waddling up to a stall almost immediately. I glance around. Vekna is flanking me, Rissmo and Morak are approaching from different positions on the perimeter... and Rissmo has Secoo with her. The android is supposed to act in my interests, so let her protect me today. I touch my wrist comm, send the signal that means: close in.
And we do. Bracketing him, blocking the aisles of the market, giving him no way to escape that does not take him past one of us. Not that he notices. He is obliviously haggling with a merchant over some tub of highly-priced dust when I walk up to him and say, "Mr. Premaratne. I'd like a word."
He straightens up, his immense bulk swivelling slowly round, his mismatched green eyes alighting on me. He blows out his cheeks in an exaggerated sigh. "Captain Quon. I am occupied at present."
"I'd like you to clear your diary, Mr. Premaratne."
He turns his head, noting, assessing. Hopefully, he's noting how outnumbered he is. I'm glad he hasn't managed to enlist Denver Serton's loyalty, anyway. If we had to fight the Arcturus Sunfire's crew as well, things would get... interesting.
"This would not be convenient for me at present," he says gravely. "I am sure you recall that I am anxious to avoid inconvenience."
"Nevertheless." Taking Premaratne, apart from any personal pleasure it might give me, would be a big bargaining chip to buy my way back into Starfleet's good graces. "I'm afraid I have to insist."
He raises his voice. "I must warn all those uninvolved that there is likely to be unpleasantness." It won't help him - this overcrowded settlement doesn't have an effective police force, yet. Nearby merchants start ducking behind their stalls, shoppers start to back off. My crew and I remain in place.
Premaratne turns and looks at Secoo. "Klingon Imperial series android. Model KDF-1500 or later. Very impressive."
"More than the equal of a combat cyborg," I say.
Premaratne purses his lips. He turns to the stallholder, now, who has almost sunk out of sight behind his merchandise. "I will revise my order, please. I will take a quantity, twenty grams, of this -" he points to a tub of curry powder "- and a peanut." He keys something into a PADD, which he slips into his sarong. "There. Payment has been made and the transaction logged." Then he looks me directly in the eye. "Captain Quon. I do not wish to antagonize the Symbiosis Commission, so I must take careful measures if I deal with you. I would rather not submit to the inconvenience. You will be compensated at a later date for your own difficulties, if you desire it. Matters can be arranged. Please be reasonable, Captain."
I frown. I'm puzzled, I have to admit. "One peanut? What can you do with just one peanut?"
"I regret very much that I must demonstrate." And he picks up the nut from another tub. The stallholder is now entirely hidden from view. Premaratne pinches the peanut between finger and thumb -
And it's gone. There is a click, of an impact somewhere, and then another click. The nut has ricocheted, hit something else -
Her metal face not even registering surprise, Secoo falls over, to lie full-length on the floor.
Damn it. Every android since Data has come with an emergency deactivation switch. Premaratne knows where Secoo's is... and he could judge the trajectories to hit it. Very impressive.
I'm moving already, lunging - but Premaratne is moving faster, much faster than me. And he's thrown something else, too. Rissmo suddenly screams, a hoarse choking scream. Her green face is masked with violent-coloured spice. Coughing and gasping, she falls to her knees. Premaratne is moving. Morak is nearest, but his movements are uncertain, confused. Damn it. With curry powder in her eyes and nostrils, Rissmo is broadcasting distress with her Orion pheromones - and every humanoid-pattern male within fifty metres is responding. The distraction is enough for Premaratne to come up beside Morak, and hit him, once, with one big meaty fist. The Klingon folds up and crumples to the ground.
Vekna is snarling, and moving fast. She hits Premaratne in the back, with a textbook-perfect martial-arts kick that should shatter his spine. He just grunts, and punches her. She crashes to the floor. Rissmo is sobbing, on her knees, trying to regain control of herself. Premaratne simply touches the side of her head, and she topples over unconscious.
Just me left.
"Captain Quon," Premaratne begins.
I lash out with a taekwondo kick that should take his smug head from his shoulders. It doesn't connect. Nothing human could react that quickly -
Premaratne's big hand reaches out, touches the side of my neck.
Stun field inducers, built into his fingertips. The shock burns along my nerves, and the world goes black. I feel a wrenching dissociation of identity. Carayl is gone, unconscious or dead, and Quon is trapped, helpless in the warm dark, unable to avoid whatever fate awaits.
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