The incessant chattering of the Ferengi’s sharp teeth grated frustratingly against K’Sal’s ear, his spit-soaked sibilance filling the hot room with an infuriatingly wet noise. From his barely authoritative position atop a battered yellow crate, which he had summoned with a wave to a waiting enforcer, the little trader held his paltry court. A clatter of golden rings and bangles from his greedily wringing hands accompanied his spittle-laden patter as he waxed lyrical over his illicit goods on offer. K’Sal took a deep breath, forcing her pulse to slow and subduing the horse gallop of a heartbeat in her ears as she created a mental checklist of the illegal goods on sale for later reporting.

Da-rum, Da-rum, Da-rum.

A bay full of plasma torpedoes, stolen from beneath the eyes of the Romulan Free state. Not the target. Sold to a Naussican pirate who salivated over the offer like a dog over a fresh stake.

Da-rum, Da-rum, Da-rum.

A cargo crate of ‘attack’ tribbles, ready for release. A perfect weapon against the resurgent Klingon Empire. Not the target. Sold to a pair of Romulan twins who giggled to each other behind their thin, underfed hands.

Da-rum, Da-rum, Da-rum.

A dozen Quantum torpedoes, snatched from a wreck orbiting Earth as Starfleet mourned Frontier Day. Not the target. Sold to a tall Klingon woman, her sharp teeth emerging devil-like behind a wicked smile.

Da-rum, Da-rum, Da-rum.

“K’Sal. Are you alright?” Bahir whispered through the corner of his mouth, the majority of his attention still fixed on the tiny black-marketer.

“Why wouldn’t I be?” K’sal snapped defensively, the curt edge of her tongue audible only to the tall Saurian security chief.

“You are…” Bahir chewed his cheek for a moment, considering the consequences of his next statement. “Fidgeting.”

“No, I’m not.”

Bahir pointed with a long coral finger from the crook of his crossed arms towards the Lieutenant’s feet, which twitched back and forth as she rocked subconsciously.

“Maybe a little. When will he get to…” K’sal bit her tongue, suddenly aware that in the quiet of their small corner of the room, there may be unwelcome ears at play. “Just impatient to get this done.”

“Maybe you should go outside and check in with the others.”

“But what about the-”

“-You are causing a distraction, go check in with the others. I will await the item we are interested in.” Bahir’s voice was barely a whisper but echoed in her ears with the volume of a drill sergeant. She felt her pulse surge again as she realised several eyes amongst the nearby bidders were alighting on them. From the far side of the room, Commander Bib’s darted towards her disapprovingly.

“Fine,” she muttered moving towards the nearby exit with a series of quick steps before coming to a sudden stop.

A gigantic muscular emerald arm suddenly blocked her path, extending from the titanic Orion enforcer who acted as a door guard. With a single raised eyebrow he questioned her sudden departure from the clandestine marketplace before the bidding had finished.

“I need to go outside.” She pulled at her loose jacket collar, revealing a sodden white vest beneath, grungy sweat marks forming dark continents across the thin cotton.

The Orion man stood unmoved, his arm still outstretched across the doorway as the Ferengi chattered in delight with a slippery spray of spittle at a successful sale.

“Or I could just collapse here and you could catch me in those big strong arms?” K’Sal played with a lock of her deflated mohawk, wrapping it around a single finger semi-seductively. A change of tact, one she was not normally comfortable with, but possibly enough to earn her exit from this prison of heat and disgustingly slippery consonants. She waited, hoping her acting had hit the mark, this was far from her skill set.

Da-rum, Da-rum, Da-rum.

With a snort of derision at her unconvincing flirting, the door guard lifted his arm out of the way. An unseen control caused the door to slip aside as K’Sal exited the room quickly, emerging out into the barely cooler adjoining street as the door thudded closed behind her.

In the depths of the base’s night cycle the streets were mostly empty, save a few foundry workers who stumbled home a few hundred meters away. A barely melodic tune tumbled from their lips as they bounced along the nearby wall, fueled by alcoholic airs, palpable even from this distance.

With another deep breath, K’Sal attempted to still her heart once again as she crossed the small square, taking a seat at the base of a large pile of crates that formed a curious yet statuesque centrepiece. A plethora of icons from across the quadrants were emblazoned on the battered and bruised crates; the three razor trefoils of the Klingon Empire, dulled to rounded tips by wear and age. Beneath it, the great all-encompassing bird of the now-defunct Romulan Star Empire lay crumpled and dejected at the mouth of a cracked crate. Off to the side, a damaged lid bearing the peculiar and inexplicable needle blades of the Breen Confederacy sat alone, as unknowable and isolated as the people it represented.

Da-rum. Breathe. Da-rum.

She pressed her commlink.

“K’Sal to Eyma.”

“This is Mitchell.” The unexpected baritone of the human lieutenant responded.

“David? I was trying to reach Eyma.” K’Sal’s eyes narrowed in a useless attempt to reach out across the small base to spy on the pair in the safe house.

“Eyma is… Indisposed.” A barely suppressed giggle snuck at the edge of the comm link.

“Really?” K’Sal sighed internally, she suspected the pair’s recent discovery of their mutual affection may be the source of the young Orion woman’s indisposition.

“Yes. She just stepped away.”

“And left her comm link with you?”

“Yes?” The man sounded unconvinced by how own lie.

“Anything to report?” The pair were lucky she was not Bahir, the Lieutenant Commander may be turning a new leaf on his social skills but if he suspected fraternization whilst in the field? Well, there were plenty of transporter padds to de-gauze with a micro-resonator.

“The channels have been quiet. A minor scuffle in one of the cantinas and a small fire near the foundries west loading padd.”

“And on the channels Aspis provided?” K’Sal shuddered even in the warm ambience of the night-time square. The woman’s name was enough to put her on edge, her physical presence was almost intolerable. She gave herself a mental wrist slap, her codes had checked out and Bib seemed to trust her. It was their only verifiable lead, even if the unreliable informant made her sick to the stomach.

“Some general chatter, redeployment of enforcers, some discrete shuttle launches. Nothing particularly interesting.” A soft female voice joined the conversation as Eyma finally picked up her commlink.

“So no useful leads?”

“Nothing we’ve noticed.” The woman’s silky voice confirmed. “Anything at the sale?”

K’sal chewed her lip, was it worth informing the pair about the suspected xB buyer that had appeared with Aspis? In the 20 minutes K’Sal had been in the room the cloaked figure had barely moved, they had simply watched with complete, unsettling stillness.  It could be another dead end. Or it could be the key that opened up the mission, especially if the Ferengi trader was offering xB drones for sale as Aspis had promised. As her mouth went to open, the large bay doors to the market room slid open with a dull groan, interrupting her train of thought.

A wave of bodies spilt forth from the wide portal as it squealed aside, the small waterfall of beings flowing out into the small square before quickly dispersing down the dark side streets back to their respective hiding holes. As the dregs of the small market floated away the cloaked figure of the xB buyer glided effortlessly from the room, its short legs barely touching the metallic surface as it sped away with the two Nausiccan enforcers. Aspis trailed in its wake, a momentary concealed smug smile transmitted across the courtyard to the watching K’Sal.

“Standby, both of you. The market has just ended.” With a subtle press of the comm link, K’Sal closed the channel, her attention focused on Aspis as the tall leather-clad woman disappeared down a dark avenue at the heels of the unsettling buyer.

“K’Sal. It’s done.” Bahir was at her shoulder, his tall coral-pink form staring down at her.

“And did they…?”

“Yes, a few moments after you left the merchant offered the xB refugees up for sale.”

K’Sal looked up towards his narrow, scaled face. Minute dark patches of red had begun to spread in the shadows of his high cheekbones, interrupting his normally stoic visage with their crimson tint.

“Bahir, are you okay?” She motioned to her own cheeks by way of clarification.

“Yes. I apologise, I am finding my frustration difficult to manage.”

“At the mission?”

“At the fact we have allowed sentient beings to be purchased like cattle.”

K’Sal allowed a smile to play at the corner of her lips, the man was sometimes more complicated to understand than Kal-toh. Simultaneously he was blissfully simple, good and evil were extraordinarily clear concepts in Bahir’s mind.

“We’ll find them Bahir.” Bib appeared, an open Klingon tricorder in one hand as he swept his profuse sweat from his brow with the other. “Promise.”

“We have a lead?” K’Sal’s heart jumped, finally something actionable.

Bib held up the tricorder in his hand, on its screen a blinking red dot slipped down narrow paths, twisting and turning as it travelled deeper into the shadowed labyrinth of Pamack base.

“Aspis has activated her beacon,” Bib informed the pair with a small smile.

Da-rum, Da-rum, Da-rum.

K’sal’s heartbeat picked up once more.