“Attention passengers. We will soon arrive in orbit of Pergamon V. When vacating your cabins, please ensure you take all your belongings with you. Proceed to your designated transporter room and await further instructions. Thank you for travelling with Bolian Astral, and we wish you a pleasant onward journey.”

Gideon’s throat tightened as he caught his first look at their destination. Sixteen years ago, he’d vowed never to return to this godforsaken world. He’d left that life behind and made a fresh start far away. But as the transport slipped into orbit above Pergamon V, Gideon realised that he’d never really left. He’d carried this planet with him all that time.

Absently rubbing his right shoulder, his fingers found the scar that constantly reminded him of his previous life. He could still remember the smell of industrial solvents that permeated the air near the river. He took a deep breath in an attempt to control the rising tide of bile in his stomach. He needed to focus on the mission at hand.

Fleet Captain Thomas Forrester had disappeared without a trace almost a year ago. Declared missing, presumed dead by Starfleet, the crew of the USS Ark Royal had received intelligence months ago from a Romulan defector that Forrester was still alive and being held captive by the Romulan Tarnek Oreth.

Challenger’s crew had spent the time since looking for any lead on Oreth’s whereabouts, with little success. That was, until a month ago. Starfleet Intelligence had learned that Oreth’s top lieutenant, Niran Syral, was on Pergamon V trying to procure weapons for his boss, so Gideon and Alexander Mitchell were sent to get close to Syral.

“Ready to go, sweetheart?”

Gideon spun round to find Mitchell standing there with a smirk on his face.  

“I told you to stop calling me that,” Gideon complained.

Mitchell rolled his eyes. “Lighten up.”

“Or maybe,” Gideon replied hotly. “You should take this seriously.”

“You think I’m not?”

“I know you’re not,” Gideon shot back. “You’re incapable of taking anything seriously.”

Mitchell shrugged. “If you mean that I don’t walk around with a stick up my ass like some people, then yeah. Guilty as charged.”

It was a familiar jibe that Mitchell, among others, regularly deployed. Gideon would be lying if he said it didn’t still sting a little after all these years. He would love to be able to relax and be as carefree as Mitchell, but he’d been looking over his shoulder for so long that he wasn’t sure he’d ever truly know peace in this life.

“I’d think, given the reason we’re here, that you might at least be able to take this a little more seriously.” Gideon continued, aware he was wading into dangerous territory. “I thought you and Forrester were supposed to be tight. Doesn’t getting him back mean anything to you?”

A tense silence descended briefly until Mitchell said, “Tom Forrester is my best friend, my brother.” His voice had a sharp edge. “I’ll do whatever it takes to get him back, even if that means pretending to be in love with a frigid prig like you.”

“I’m…I’m not,” Gideon stammered. Unable to defend himself against the accusation, he went on the attack, “Just because I’m not an unashamed man whore luring junior officers into his bed left and right, dosen’t make me a frigid prig.”

The smirk on Mitchell’s face only caused Gideon’s anger to burn more ferociously. He wanted nothing more than to wipe it off Mitchell’s face before turning around and heading back to the Challenger, but a man’s life was at stake. He had no choice but to continue.  

Gideon’s shoulders slumped as he mumbled, “This is never gonna work.”

“Not if you keep acting like you hate me,” Mitchell told him firmly. “You’re not Gideon Hayes anymore, and I’m not Alexander Mitchell; they don’t exist. You’re Nathaniel Pierce, weapons dealer, and I’m your husband, Marcus.”

“I know that,” Gideon snapped.

Mitchell raised his voice, “Then start acting like it.”

“I just,” Gideon’s shoulders slumped. “I don’t know why our cover had to include us pretending to be married.”

“Cause Axelrod’s an asshole who hates us,” Mitchell pointed out. “And he knows you and I hate each other. So obviously, he found it amusing to force us together like this.”

Gideon didn’t reply. He didn’t hate Mitchell, per se. The Challenger’s former chief CONN officer and now senior officer of the watch wasn’t a bad guy, but his arrogance and casual attitude towards life rubbed Gideon the wrong way.

“You’ve been on edge ever since we left Challenger,” Mitchell said softly. “And I don’t think it has anything to do with pretending to be married to me.” His brown eyes met Gideon’s. “What’s going on?”

“Nothing,” Gideon replied quickly, attempting to brush him off. “I’m fine.”

Mitchell blew out a frustrated breath. “If you say so.”

Gideon turned back to his case and finished packing in silence, placing everything in the position he’d predetermined.

“They’re gonna start beaming people down soon,” Mitchell announced. “We need to get going.”

Gideon watched as Mitchell moved to the cabin door and stood in the doorway, waiting.

“Yeah, okay.” Gideon nodded. He closed his bag and picked it up, following Mitchell out the door.

They emerged from their cabin, luggage in hand, and walked the short distance to their designated transporter room in an uncomfortable silence. The Cerulean Star had been a luxurious passenger transport at one time. Those days were long behind her. The once-white bulkheads had turned a light mustard, odd marks stained the carpets, and the smell of wet dog permeated the corridors, but Gideon hadn’t seen a single dog in his week onboard. It had done its job and got them to Pergamon V, though Gideon would much prefer to remain onboard than beam down.

Once inside the transporter room, the pair were grouped with others. When their group finally reached the transporter, they quickly stepped up onto the pad and moved into position. Gideon closed his eyes and took a deep breath just as the transporter was activated. When he opened them again, he found himself in the dark, dingy transporter station. They were promptly herded off the pad by a Tellarite who smelled like he hadn’t washed in months.

Gideon stepped out onto the street and was instantly transported back in time. Little had changed. The mid-morning sunlight was being filtered through a cloud of pollution that hung over the city, spewing from the industrial district. The aroma of street food filled the air, causing bile to rise in his throat. He could still hear the shouted threats of the vendor after stealing some food, could remember the panic he felt as he ran as fast as he could, with stolen food in hand.

“Our apartment’s this way,” Gideon said, pointing down the street.

They set off down the street, Gideon setting a brisk pace. He didn’t like being out in the street like this; he felt exposed. His eyes constantly darted around, looking for signs of danger. He couldn’t shake the feeling he was being watched, that familiar faces lurked in the shadows and followed his every move.

He thinks you’re dead, Gideon scolded himself. He’ll never know you were here.

If Mitchell had concerns with Gideon’s pace, he kept them to himself. “How do you know you’re going the right way?”

Gideon didn’t reply. The further they got from the transporter station, the nicer the streets got. The apartment that had been acquired for them was in one of the city’s upscale neighbourhoods. Grungy streets gave way to regularly cleaned pavements. Sickly trees gave way to neatly manicured shrubbery. Even the air smelled fresher here, and the cloud of pollution seemed thinner here.

They eventually stopped in front of a high-rise building that Gideon estimated to be about fifteen stories high. Even from the outside, it was clear this was a building which contained luxury apartments.  Fifteen-year-old Gideon would often sit in the park across the street, wondering what kind of person lived in a building like that. He would spend hours dreaming of being one of them.

“This is us,” Gideon announced.

Mitchell let out a low whistle. “Only the best for us, I guess. Huh, sweetheart?”

Gideon led Mitchell inside. The floor of the lobby was marble, with lashings of gilded gold highlights on the wall fixtures and doors, and a pleasant floral scent filled the air from freshly cut flowers. They greeted the young man sitting behind the concierge desk before entering one of the two lifts.

“How did you know where to go?” Mitchell asked as the lift doors closed.

Gideon shrugged nonchalantly. “I studied the route before we arrived.” It was an easy lie to tell, just another lie added to a long list of them.

When the lift reached its destination, the doors opened to reveal a large entryway leading deeper into the apartment. Several doors led off it into various rooms.

The place was breathtaking. Both men wandered around the apartment, exploring their new home for the first time. There were two bedrooms, each with an ensuite bathroom. A large, well-apportioned kitchen with ceiling-to-floor windows provided a spectacular view over Pergamon V’s capital, and of the pollution that filtered the sun.

“You can take the master bedroom,” Gideon announced when he walked into the living room. “I’ll take the smaller bedroom.”

“You’re not sleeping in the same bedroom?” A new voice asked.

Both men spun in the direction of the voice to find a nondescript man with salt and pepper hair and drab grey clothes standing in the doorway. The salt in his hair made him look older than he was. He was the sort of man you would easily look past and never notice. Gideon thought that was rather the point.

“Who are you?” Mitchell demanded. “How did you get in here?”

“The same way you did,” The new addition replied. “I came up in the lift.”

“That doesn’t answer my first question.”

Having watched their back and forth, Gideon finally stepped in. “I was wondering when we’d see you.”

Mitchell’s head snapped around. Surprise on his face was unmistakable. “You know this guy?”

“Commander Sevrin Tolas, Starfleet Intelligence,” Gideon announced. “I didn’t know you were on Pergamon now.”

Tolas’s grey eyes hardened. “Starfleet Intelligence isn’t in the habit of broadcasting the whereabouts of its operatives.”

“What happened to you? After-”

Tolas cut in before Gideon could finish his question. “You still haven’t answered my question.”

“Not all married couples share a bed,” Gideon told him with a shrug.

Mitchell quickly jumped in. “How are our sleeping arrangements any of your business?”

“I’m your handler,” Tolas replied. “The success of this operation is my business.”

“I doubt our success hinges on whether we share a bed or not,” Gideon said.

Tolas silently studied them with his cold, grey eyes. “You’d better hope you’re right.”

“Nice place you set us up with.” Mitchell folded his arms.

“You’re supposed to be successful arms merchants,” Tolas told him, taking a seat in a wing-backed armchair that looked like it was upholstered with real leather. “You need to live accordingly.”

Mitchell perched on the arm of a comfortable-looking couch. “What about the bar?”

“We’ve secured a place on the edge of the industrial zone,” Tolas pulled a PADD from a bag that rested by his feet. “It’s an area that your target is known to frequent and do business.”

Gideon accepted the PADD and studied the data contained within. The bar would be a front from which they would operate their arms business. “Speaking of our target, is there anything new on Syral?”

“He spent the past few weeks off-world,” Tolas replied. “We don’t know where. He returned two days ago and contacted the Ferengi arms merchant he does business with, Gintak.”

Tolas pulled a pair of PADDs from his bag, “These contain the details of your new bar. Everything’s ready for you to open two days from now, on Monday.” 

“No pressure,” Mitchell joked weakly.

The humourless Trill ignored Mitchell. “I’ll be in touch.”

“Let me walk you out,” Gideon said. When they reached the lift, he gently touched Tolas’ arm. “Do you have anything on-”

“Francisco Bianchi,” Tolas began, preempting Gideon’s question. “Is still alive. His organisation is now one of the largest and most powerful on the planet.”

The news took a few seconds to sink in. “Frank’s gone up in the world. His family used to be a small fish in a big pond.”

“The Orion Syndicate made impressive inroads here the past decade or so,” Tolas told him. “The Bianchi family was one of the first to do a deal with the Syndicate, which has paid dividends.”

Gideon’s eyes widened. “Frank swore up and down that he’d never do business with ‘those Orion bastards’.”

“You’d be surprised how quickly the principles of these people disappear when enough money and power are offered to them,” Tolas pointed out grimly. “The Syndicate’s presence on this planet presents an extra challenge for us.”

“What do you mean?”

“The only reason Gintak’s been able to do business on this planet is because he pays a percentage of his profit from the sales to the Syndicate,” Tolas explained. “We can’t allow the Syndicate to get wind of your operation.”

“Why not?”

“Because if you end up on the Syndicate’s sensors, then you’ll end up on the Bianchi family’s sensors,” Tolas told him. “And if that happens, you’ll have a target on your back so big, it’ll be visible from orbit.”

“Oh,” Gideon glanced down. “Okay. Well, we’ll need to tread lightly then.”

Tolas nodded. “Exactly. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Gideon watched Tolas leave. When he returned to the living room, he found Mitchell watching the door, waiting for him to return. “What was that about?”

“Just,” Gideon hesitated. “Catching up.”

“How do you know him?”

“We’ve worked together before,” Gideon replied.

Mitchell nodded slowly. “He seems like a fun guy.”

“We can’t all be the life and soul of the party,” Gideon replied bitterly.

“So he’s not a man whore luring junior officers into his bed?” There was a sharp edge to Mitchell’s words that cut.

Gideon wasn’t able to meet Mitchell’s gaze. “No. He just a frigid prig who walks around with a stick up his ass.”

“Explains why you two are friends.”

“I’m gonna go have a shower,” Gideon let out a long sigh. It had been a long day, and it wasn’t even half over yet. “I need to wash that transport off me.”