[Write a Captain's Log entry about your experiences on Risa during the Lohlunat Festival. What did you do while you were there? Did you find anything interesting? Maybe met new friends? Let us know! (Just keep it appropriate )]
Personal log: Tylha Shohl
Wind whistles over my antennae, dragging my ponytail out like a white banner behind me, as I accelerate over the sea. I flick the controls, and the floater descends, until my bare feet touch the crystal waters, sending up rooster-tails of spray as I speed on. The breeze, and the spray, combine to make me feel, briefly, cool again. I smile.
Risa is lovely... but so damned hot.
The racing-grade floater is an extravagance, an indulgence... I've done so many scheduled events, dancing and hunting for horga'hn statuettes in the jungle... it feels good just to get away, to hurtle over the sea by myself, or take the floater up to its maximum height and gaze down at the caldera of the old volcano, a green jewel in the glittering sea....
The floater beeps politely in my ear. The backpack is down to five per cent charge; time for me to take it back to the resort, unless I want an unscheduled swim. I turn back towards the beach. I'm not really dressed for swimming - I found a pair of white shorts, and a Ferengi entrepreneur's jacket in red, which Klerupiru, the Ferengi traditionalist, says is completely inappropriate for a female. Even on Risa, though, I'm not dressing in traditional Ferengi style.
Beneath my feet, glass-clear shallow water gives way to dazzling white sand. I slow down for a graceful landing on the beach, and pause for a moment, adjusting to the heat. I wiggle my toes in the soft sand. The resort is not a long way off; I decide to walk back. The floater doesn't weigh all that much, and it's a nice day for a walk. Of course, it's always a nice day on Risa.
It's so hot, though. Once the floater's recharged, I will make my next flight at night, I think, under the light of the twin moons. People do that; you can see the white lights of the floaters' propulsors, winking like fireflies deep in the night.
I hum an old Tellarite marching song, quietly, as I walk along the beach.
There is a hooting sound in the air above me; I glance up. Someone is flying overhead, using a standard low-powered rental floater. I give them an amiable wave. The floater swings round, and the flier seems to study me briefly. It's a humanoid female, pink-skinned and dark-haired - I have an impression of Vulcan pointed ears behind her mirrored visor. She waves back, turns, and shoots away.
I don't give it another thought as I walk back to the resort.
---
"Dh'syara tunnel wine," I say.
"What is ours, is yours," the Risian hospitality officer murmurs, but she frowns faintly. "It... will have to be replicated, I'm afraid. We don't have enough... um, enough interest... to keep stock on hand -"
"That's fine," I say. "It's - kind of a specialist taste, I guess."
She smiles and turns away. I look around the bar. It's not busy, at this time of day; most of the resort's guests are out playing games in the jungle, or relaxing on the beach. The bar, though, has the advantage of being air-conditioned.
Still, there are people around - several humans or humanoids, clustered hopefully around a dabo table; a Ferengi looking as though he's calculating how much his drink is costing him; a dark-haired Vulcan woman with her face turned away from me - Is that the woman with the floater, earlier? I wonder, idly, as the hospitality officer comes back with my drink.
Then the Vulcan woman turns her head, and there is a sudden double-click of recognition. The woman from the floater, yes - but not Vulcan.
Romulan.
I take my drink and walk over to her table. "Subcommander T'Laihhae?"
She looks up, and favours me with one of her switch-on, switch-off smiles for a millisecond. "Vice Admiral Shohl... I thought I recognized you, on the beach, earlier." She gestures at a chair. "Please, feel free to join me."
"Thank you." I take a seat. She sips her drink - some fruity concoction - and seems to study my face for a moment.
"Incidentally," she says, "I am now a Vice Admiral myself. The Republic navy is expanding rapidly... promotions come quickly. I'm sure I haven't done enough to merit it, but...." She makes a non-committal gesture.
"Congratulations," I say. I take a sip of my own drink. It's fine - I never have understood all this snobbery about non-replicated food, anyway. Despite some lengthy lectures, and demonstrations, from several ship's chefs...
"Is that the infamous tunnel wine?" T'Laihhae wrinkles her nose. "Very... Andorian."
"I like it. Are you enjoying Risa?"
"Yes - though briefly. I am here while my new command is refitting."
"I'm doing much the same myself."
"It is a popular choice." T'Laihhae seems to be studying my face, in a way which makes me feel slightly uncomfortable. Her expression is unreadable.
I decide to be direct. "What's the matter?" I ask.
"I was just considering something," she replies. "I don't see any marks, from your... misadventure, last time we met, on Nimbus III."
I touch my face, self-consciously. "Standard dermal regeneration took care of everything." Last time I saw T'Laihhae, a good percentage of my skin was falling off, courtesy of a Tal Shiar bio-weapon.
She nods. "You asked me, once, about mourning tattoos," she says. "The markings we make - or acquire - express things about us. I... was rather expecting to see you had kept some scars, from that experience."
"Why would I do that?" I'm genuinely puzzled.
"Some - warrior cultures - value such things," she says. "And you do retain some old scars - I thought that might be your motivation."
Self-consciously again, I brush my fingertips over the looped marks on my right cheek. "This is, well... the relic of a very old injury. There's not much to be done about it, now."
T'Laihhae raises an eyebrow at that. "I would have thought that modern medicine could erase such marks easily."
"Not that easily," I say. "There's a lot of underlying damage, and even a cloned-tissue replacement - well, it would take a series of complex operations to put one in place, and then there's all the nerve connections that would have to be made... I'd be looking at weeks of surgery and months of neural therapy, possibly learning to speak all over again. It's not worth it, just for a - a cosmetic procedure."
"I think I see," says T'Laihhae. She gives me another flash of smile, and this time it looks a little wry. "I'm afraid I may have misjudged you," she says. "I thought you might be one of those warriors who wear their scars... proudly and showily...."
"I don't want to send any messages with this." I run my finger over the whorls again. "Except, possibly, that it's not a good idea to get hit in the head by a disruptor bolt."
"Sound advice." Then T'Laihhae's eyes narrow, and her gaze darts past me, at something else. I look in that direction.
Three men have come into the bar: Romulans. One is tall and dignified, with hair greying at the temples; one is dark, gaunt-faced, with darting, watchful eyes; the third is merely big and brutal. All three are wearing gaudy uniforms - Romulan Imperial uniforms. T'Laihhae's mouth compresses into an ugly line.
"Risa is open to everyone," I say.
"What is theirs, is ours," T'Laihhae replies. "Don't worry. I'm not about to start a diplomatic incident."
But she doesn't look the least bit diplomatic.
---
Bulpli Yulan looks completely at home, stretched out on a Risian sun-lounger, her bronze skin turning a deeper shade in the blazing sunlight. She moves her head slightly, raises one hand languidly, and removes her sunglasses, turning her black Betazoid eyes at me.
"All I'm saying is," I say, "I'd be happier if I knew for certain nothing was going on."
My security commander lets out an exasperated sigh. I suppose, after all, she is on leave. "I'm sure we'd know if there were something going on, sir."
"You don't... sense anything, in the air? That sort of thing? Undercurrents?"
"Of course there are undercurrents." Bulpli snorts. "This place is heaving with psychic tension - almost all of it from sexual intrigues of one kind or another. Personally, I have every intention of getting in on some of that." She regards me critically. "And, frankly, sir, a sexual intrigue would do you some good, too. I'm sure there must be two compatible Andorian men and an Andorian woman in the vicinity...."
"That's really not -" I begin.
"Or two Andorian males and a... sufficiently adventurous... humanoid female, even," Bulpli adds. She can, quite clearly, feel my discomfort.
"Can we stay on the subject, here?"
Bulpli sighs again. "Starfleet Intelligence has given Senator Parlok a low significance rating," she says. "His two minders are undoubtedly Tal Shiar... but the mere fact that he's here on Risa suggests that he's not important to the Imperial government. He has no known family, so the Romulan government can't hold them as hostages... so, since he's here with no levers to prevent him defecting, it's obvious the Imperials don't care if they lose him or not. If he's not important enough to warrant protection, it's equally obvious the Republic isn't interested enough to capture him. That, at least, is Intelligence's assessment of the situation."
"You didn't get all that just now," I say.
"I checked up," says Bulpli. "Because I knew you'd worry. Now, sir, please get on with some sort of intrigue. I have something in mind," she adds, "a Caitian, with a cute tail... and long, impressive, tickly whiskers... and a rough, wet tongue...."
"All right." I stand up. "I know when I'm licked." And I make my retreat, before she can find something to throw at me.
---
The three Imperial Romulans keep themselves to themselves, rather. Of course, Senator Parlok is a little too old and dignified to be waving his hands in the air at the dance competitions.... His two aides are always with him, the gaunt one even checking his food as they eat together, at a corner table in the common dining room, away from everyone else.
I watch them idly for a little while, as I finish my own meal. They don't look like they're enjoying themselves, much. The Risian staff seem to get that impression, too, and I can see it bothers them. They hang, nervously, in the background, ready to offer help at a moment's notice. Risians pride themselves on their hospitality; they must feel this situation keenly.
I finish my meal about the same time as Parlok gives up on his; I'm following them out of the dining room when I see T'Laihhae coming in... and my antennae twitch. She's giving the Imperials a wide berth, but I go over to speak to her.
"I'm trying to avoid any, ahh, tensions," she says, before I speak.
"Keeping out of their way?"
"As much as is... reasonable. I don't intend to change my own plans just because of them."
"What are your plans? I thought you weren't going to be here all that long."
"I will leave as soon as the Messalina is ready."
"Messalina? You've switched ships from the Octavia, then."
"Oh, yes. I believe, frankly, the Messalina might be a match even for your impressive King Estmere."
"Well," I say, "I'm not anxious to test that." And I mean it. There is a real core of steel to this enigmatic young Romulan.
"I must take my meal," she says. "Excuse me." And she goes to her table, with a cheery little wave, which I return.
Everything she says makes sense, of course. But -
Andorian antennae are sensitive to a number of things, and one of them is ionization in the atmosphere. We can taste energies in the air, and I have tasted many, and grown to recognize some of the flavours. And there is a taste I know in the air right now; faint and elusive, but definitely there. The taste of a high-frequency biochemical sensor beam.
Somebody has been using the active sensor functions of a pretty sophisticated medical scanner or tricorder - recently, and nearby.
I don't know for sure it's T'Laihhae, of course. But does it make sense for it to be anyone else?
---
One afternoon, I take a long, luxurious, cool shower in my suite, washing away the feeling of the omnipresent heat. My hair is still damp a little while later, when there's a knock at my door.
"Come in."
T'Laihhae enters, flashing a quick smile. "I hope I'm not intruding."
"Not at all. What can I do for you?"
"I was wondering...." Four quick strides take her to the window, looking out onto a curved metallic roof, with the trees beyond. "Yes... I'm in one of those round rooms on the seventh floor. This window, though, might be suitable...."
Oho, I think to myself. "For someone to climb out of?"
"It might prove convenient." T'Laihhae looks at me, her expression distinctly thoughtful.
"Let me guess," I say. "This is all part of some harmless game, right? Some merry little Risian romp."
"That... would be a reasonable assumption."
"And so it's nothing to do with Senator Parlok, or those scans you've been running."
That one rocks her; her eyes widen. I grin at her. "Can't fool these antennae."
"Evidently not." T'Laihhae bites her lower lip. "I thought I was being discreet... evidently, not discreet enough. And if you spotted me... Veblius and D'Gron might have done likewise."
She must mean Parlok's pair of Tal Shiar minders. "What can I do to help?" I ask.
"I'm not sure. My plans must become... fluid." T'Laihhae looks hard at me. "There may be an interruption in the resort's power supplies tonight," she says. "During a brief interval of confusion, you will receive a visitor. It would help if you, ahh, assisted their egress."
"All right," I say.
---
I'm reading peacefully by my bedside when the lights go out. All of a sudden, there is nothing but the faint glow from the PADD and the twin moons shining through the window. After a moment, dull orange emergency lights spring into life along the skirting boards, giving the room a peculiar subterranean quality.
All right, I think to myself. I stand up, go to the door, make sure it's open. I listen carefully, intently. I can hear a few sounds of confused motion, and, far off, a Risian voice saying, "Honoured guests, there has been a malfunction. It is being attended to. Please, remain calm while the difficulty is resolved."
What I don't hear is anyone approaching my room.
I think for a moment. Of course, T'Laihhae said her plans had to be fluid. And I can't discount the idea that her whole visit was simply some piece of misdirection, to get the Tal Shiar looking at me while she spirits Parlok away by some other route....
On the other hand, something could have gone very wrong.
Technically, the Federation is not currently at war with the Imperial Romulans, but if something on Risa goes very wrong, that could easily change. In any case, I'm very bad at staying in my room and remaining calm.
I slip out of my room. The corridor is lit by the same floor-level emergency lights, casting distorted shadows from the many trinkets and knick-knacks on display along the walls. My bare feet make no sound on the carpeted floor. T'Laihhae said her room was on the seventh floor -
I get as far as the sixth before the lights go out completely. I stand there for a moment in pitch darkness, thinking to myself: well, that shouldn't happen.
Then, I make my way up the stairs to the next floor. There isn't enough light to see by, but I don't necessarily need it. My antennae tingle, sensing air currents, changes in pressure, the few residual flows of energy. I reach the seventh floor corridor. There's a very faint glow; there's some sort of light in one room... and I can hear voices.
Something blocks the light.
I have only a very vague glimpse of an outline, but it's enough to convince me: one of the Romulans. The big one. I take a deep breath, then move forward on silent feet.
The Andorian martial art of th'kara isn't widely known; it's a style very specifically developed for in-fighting in the cramped and lightless environment of the deep tunnels. Some humans who've seen it in action compare it to that game of theirs, anbo-jyutsu. I suppose I can see the similarities. Anbo-jyutsu is very like th'kara, in the same way that a water pistol is like a phaser rifle.
I call my lessons to mind, bringing myself to a total awareness of the presence of my opponent, of his position, of the space he takes up in the darkness....
A th'kara bout begins, always, with light, probing touches, aiming to establish the location of the enemy, and to confuse them about the direction of your attack. Seen in visible light, it looks more than a little ridiculous. But that's the point, it's not meant to be seen.
So, from the Romulan's point of view, someone nearby is touching him, gently, quickly, in the darkness, now on one side of him, now on the other, the touch gone before he can react -
He makes an inarticulate, questioning noise. I have his position, now, fixed as firmly in my head as if I could actually see him. I hit him with a classical double-strike to the neck; flawlessly executed, my instructors would be proud of me. It'd kill an Andorian, but Romulan anatomy is different... still, it's enough to drop him, temporarily paralyzed and unconscious. The raised voices in the lighted room are enough to cover the sound of his fall. I sneak up to the door, reaching out along the way for any sort of weapon - I think I will need an equalizer, of some sort. My hand closes on something rounded and wooden, and I smile in the darkness.
I reach the door of the lighted room.
---
"I have heard enough," a snide voice is saying as I push the door with my fingertips; it's a little ajar, and it swings smoothly and silently at my touch. "You cannot suborn the Tal Shiar, and you are foolish to attempt it."
Three people in the room, the light coming from a portable lantern set on a table. T'Laihhae and Parlok are standing facing the door; they both have the good sense not to react as it opens. The thin Tal Shiar officer is facing them, covering them both with a nasty-looking nanite disruptor pistol. His back is to me.
"Your attempt at defection was doomed from the start, Senator," he is saying. "I have deployed Agent Gamma in the lower region of the resort, so you would not survive to leave the planet. And, once transporter functions are restored, my assault group will take both you and your traitorous Republic cohort, here. Centurion T'Laihhae, you may look forward to trial and execution under your correct rank. Now, you will move, over there."
He gestures with the gun. Of course, that means the gun's no longer pointed at them, for a moment, but that never bothers the people who make speeches like that one. People like him always gesture with the gun. That's when people like me hit people like him very hard over the head with a horga'hn.
He drops. The Senator blinks. "Much obliged," says T'Laihhae dryly. "Where's D'Gron?"
"The big guy? Lying down on the job."
T'Laihhae pulls something out of her belt. "Drop that," she tells me. I let the horga'hn fall; she aims some sort of spray at it. "Biolytic compound. It will remove any DNA or other forensic traces." She frowns. "We still have problems...."
"So I gather. Who's Agent Gamma?"
"Not a who. A what." She glances quickly at Parlok. "The Senator's loyalty to the Tal Shiar has been... reinforced... by infecting him with a biological agent. Veblius was here to administer a regular dose of a palliative that holds it in check. Agent Gamma is an airborne substance that will activate and accelerate the bio-toxin."
"It's heavier than air," Parlok says, in a deep, disgruntled tone, "so it won't reach up here... but the damn stuff will be pooling at ground level. Going into the jungle would be suicide for me."
"So that was what all your scanning was about," I say. "Getting a reading for the molecular structure of the palliative?"
"No," says T'Laihhae firmly, "for the toxic agent itself. I was alerted today that my science team has formulated a complete cure. We do not use Tal Shiar methods."
"Okay," I say. "So, we transport him out."
"If only," says T'Laihhae. "The... fallback option... which damped down the power supply for the emergency lights, also engaged a transport inhibitor. It prevents the Tal Shiar from transporting personnel... but restricts us, as well."
"And, by the time the Risians have figured out the problem and unblocked everything," Parlok adds, "Veblius's people will be ready to deploy in force - and they'll be tracking every transporter signature in and out of the area."
"It's vitally necessary that the Senator's, ahh, departure should be quick and clean," says T'Laihhae.
"It was." Parlok sits down heavily on T'Laihhae's bed. "I don't see any way out, now."
"I do," I say with a grin. "All we have to do is keep you above ground level, right? T'Laihhae, do you have communications with a shuttle?" T'Laihhae nods. "Senator, how much do you weigh?"
---
There are still a few fliers out at night, unaware of the power loss at the resort, their floaters' propulsors twinkling in the darkness. And, if one of those lights is twinkling a little brighter, as the propulsors labour under a heavy load... no one will pay attention. I hope.
"Will you hold tighter?" Parlok hisses at me.
"I have to hold the controls," I hiss back. "Keep a grip, damn it! I thought Romulans were meant to be strong...."
"Well, I thought Andorians were meant to be sane!"
We are entwined together, lashed rather insecurely by strips of T'Laihhae's bedclothes, Parlok gripping me tightly around the upper body, me holding him as tightly as I can, given that my hands are occupied by the control grips. The floater isn't making any warning noises. Of course, I've seen Gorn using these things, it should hold a Romulan and an Andorian... should.
Below us, the jungle is a vague tangled mass in the moonlight, full of animal noises and heady scents. I just hope that none of those scents is "Agent Gamma"....
A pocket of turbulent air catches us, and we wobble for a worrying moment. "Eneh hwau' kllhwnia na immirrhlhhse!" Parlok yells. I can think of a few choice phrases myself. The control handles seem very slippery in my hands, all of a sudden.
We steady, and start to climb again. Parlok's face is inches from mine, his limbs tightly wrapped around mine. It occurs to me that, in other circumstances, Bulpli Yulan might approve of this. I don't laugh.
"We'll never make it," Parlok moans. "This was... this was stupid. I don't want to die stupidly."
"We'll make it," I tell him, grimly. The tall lighthouse is in sight already, its coppery domed roof gleaming in the moonlight. I steer towards it, grimly, trying not to think about the drop below us.
"The Tal Shiar will pick up the shuttle," Parlok groans at me. "It will all be for nothing, for nothing -"
"They won't spot the shuttle." I spit the words out. "T'Laihhae's people are very good at cloaking operations. I've seen them. Or, rather, I haven't."
We are getting close to the lighthouse; I try to angle upwards, towards the domed top. T'Laihhae said she'd point her shuttle at the most obvious landmark.... Parlok wails wordlessly and hugs me tighter as we ascend. I just hope the shuttle's there... he is starting to crush the breath out of me. Wind whistles around us as we climb towards the dome.
I keep telling myself I can't hear the floater protesting under the load.
We rise until we're level with the roof of the lighthouse, then above it. The moons' light strikes gleaming highlights from it. The sky is full of stars, and the two moons, and it would be beautiful, if it weren't so empty....
"I don't know how long I can hang on," Parlok croaks.
Then there is a gleam of a different light on the dome below us....
The shuttle's hatch opens, apparently in thin air; T'Laihhae's people really are good with battle cloaks. I hit the controls and draw one more spurt of power from the floater, taking us through the doorway. It clangs shut behind me. T'Laihhae's hulking science officer is there, taking hold of Parlok as he slumps out of my arms. My muscles ache as though I've been beaten.
"Thank you," says Parlok. I can tell he means it.
The science officer has a hypo in his hand; he applies it to Parlok's neck. "That'll do it," he grunts. "Gonna be a rough few hours, though, while you sweat all that muck outta yourself.... We brought a bucket. You'll need it."
Parlok manages a wan smile. "It will be worth it," he says. He undoes the last of the wrappings that bind us together, steps back, and manages a formal salute. "You have my thanks, Vice Admiral Shohl."
"You're welcome," I say. I look at the science officer. "You don't need me, do you?"
"Nah." He glances towards the pilot, a Romulan tactical officer with a careworn look. "We clear?"
"No scanning beams, cloak is steady," the pilot answers. He touches a control, and the hatch opens behind me.
"That's my cue." I throw a sketchy salute at them. "See you guys around." I step backwards, out of the hatch, into the air.
The hatch closes and vanishes as I fall. I squeeze the control grips, and the floater pushes me hard in the small of the back as its propulsors kick in. I check its charge; still fine, good for some hours yet. There is a faint ripple in the air as the cloaked shuttle moves off. If I wasn't Andorian, I'd never have spotted it.
All of a sudden, I feel immensely relieved.
I spin, slowly, in place, above the lighthouse, drinking in the view of the ghostly landscape in the moonlight, the crystal sea shimmering as it laps at the dark bulk of the island. It really is a beautiful sight....
And if the Tal Shiar come looking... all they will see, now, is me. Out for a night flight by myself. Dancing in the air, by the light of the moons....
---
"Reman terrorists!" Veblius's voice is clearly audible across the resort's hallway. There is a dressing on his head, and his face is pale in the early morning light, but he seems to be making a good recovery. "No one else attacks under cover of darkness, spirits away our people! I tell you, this is the work of Obisek's fanatics!"
"Honoured guest," the senior Risian hospitality officer says, patiently, "there are no Reman visitors currently on our planet, nor have any departed recently. We would honour them if they came, as we do all, but the Remans do not favour us with their presence." I don't think he knows I'm standing close enough to hear him.
"I tell you, the Remans have kidnapped Senator Parlok! There must be immediate action!"
"We do not restrict the arrival or the departure of our guests," the officer murmurs. "The circumstances are... strange, I must with justice concede. But we are sure of one thing, that there have been no Remans here for an indefinite but lengthy time. However -"
"You people are incompetent! There must be a full investigation!"
"However," the officer continues, with as close to asperity as the Risians ever come, "there are issues which must be considered. For instance, the equipment failures at the resort last night - the computer tampering bears hallmarks, I am informed, which strongly suggest a Tal Shiar data-warfare software package."
"Technology stolen by the Remans!"
"Perhaps. But then there was the unexpected advent of your associates." I was still dancing in the air when the transporters came back online and the Tal Shiar troops beamed in. The other guests at the resort have talked of nothing else, all through breakfast. "And, also, there is this -" The officer holds up Veblius's disruptor pistol with every appearance of distaste. "Honoured guest, we know that some cultures attach great significance to personal weapons, and we make accommodation for these beliefs... but we do insist, for the safety of all, that personal arms be properly registered, and borne only in appropriate circumstances. Yet, this weapon is yours, it carries your biometric signature for security - do you deny that?"
"Of course not -"
"And yet it is not registered to you, and was found fully charged and unsafed where you suffered your... mishap. Honoured guest, together with the interference with the resort, this matter reflects poorly on you. We sorrow to rebuke you, but we must. And it is our desire that you convey our sorrows to your government. Transportation has been arranged to make your homewards journey swift, and we beg you to avail yourself of it."
I don't think I've ever heard someone being deported more politely. Veblius looks distinctly ill. Going to Risa with a Senator, and coming back with a diplomatic protest instead, isn't going to do his standing in the Tal Shiar much good. I decide I've seen enough, and sidle discreetly out of the hall, into the sunlight by the beach.
I look out over the sea. It's so bright out there, so hot....
"Shaoi dan." T'Laihhae comes to stand beside me. She looks faintly dishevelled, more than faintly tired, but still pleased with herself.
"The Risians seem to be putting most of the blame on Veblius," I say.
"I, ahh, arranged matters so that it seemed plausible he'd met with an accident," she says. "It took a little time to place him and his weapon realistically... but it seems to have worked."
"Won't Risian security get a little suspicious when they find DNA-free blank patches from your biolytic spray?"
"I didn't use it. I covered myself in a dermal sealant so that no traces of me would be left." She shifts, embarrassed. "I've spent half the morning scrubbing it off. I will concede that I was lucky, in that no one encountered me, wandering the corridors in the darkness, wearing nothing but a plastic coating and an unconscious Tal Shiar officer.... There would have been questions."
"Well, maybe not. This is Risa."
T'Laihhae's smile flashes on and off. "The notion that this is some Tal Shiar... internal struggle... seems acceptable to the Risians," she says. "I think they expected Veblius to try to implicate me. Fortunately, they didn't insist on questioning under verifier scan or psychotricorder."
"They take the privacy of their guests pretty seriously, here."
"And D'Gron and Veblius have helped, unintentionally, by their baseless accusations against the Remans." She glances sharply at me. "So, you fight in the dark like a Reman. It's useful to know... the capabilities of one's allies."
"Like I said," I say with a grin, "you can't fool these antennae."
"Indeed." T'Laihhae sighs. "It's good when a complex intelligence operation runs precisely to plan, without problems. Or so I'm told, at any rate. Someday I may find out for myself."
"At least it worked," I say.
"Quite. Well, I must now return to the Messalina and proceed to Mol'Rihan. I understand I have a passenger, in a somewhat delicate, but steadily improving, condition." She throws me an informal salute. "Until we meet again, Vice Admiral Shohl."
"I'll look forward to it."
"Enjoy the rest of your stay on Risa." And she strolls off, towards the resort's transporter pad.
"I think I will," I say to myself, softly.
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