Lies And Lost Causes

Posted on Mar 05, 2015 @ 10:27pm by Commander Jacob Crichton
Edited on on Mar 05, 2015 @ 10:28pm

Mission: Limbo

= Lies and Lost Causes =

(cont'd from "Meetings")



LOCATION: Orion Trade Association, LIMBO

SCENE: Harad-Sar's Office

STARDATE: [2.15] 0304.1819



Harad-Sar swirled wine in his glass, only half-listening as Navaar made the usual complaints. It was an old routine of theirs, had been since Harad-Sar had taken over Orion operations aboard LIMBO, and in truth Harad-Sar had grown tired of it over the years. Navaar would come in, purporting to speak for the rest of the Orion Trade Association, and he would spend an hour chewing off Harad-Sar's ear on anything from reduced slave importations to perceived insults from the other major organizations on LIMBO. Harad-Sar would smile, would nod occasionally to show that he was following the conversation, and when Navaar had finally run out of bluster, Harad-Sar would calmly reassure him that business was good, money was flowing in, and everything was well under control.



Harad-Sar's control, specifically.



It sounded like Navaar had finished his latest round of complaints- something about reduced profit projections because the Federation-Romulan war threatened smuggling routes- and so Harad-Sar set his glass of wine down and sat forward, putting on his most placating smile.



"Navaar, I hear your concerns, and I understand them," he said. "And I assure you, steps have been taken to insulate us against any unpleasantness brought on by the war. As I'm sure you know, the unrest will create many opportunities for new revenue streams, whatever the damage is to us in the short term."



"And how will we secure those profits if we're stuck in a war of our own?" Navaar countered. This caught Harad-Sar off guard; Navaar usually responded to his placating tone and backed down with a minimum of fuss. Now, however, it seemed as if Navaar wanted to press the issue. Harad-Sar fixed his fellow Orion with a cold stare and frowned.



"And what war are you referring to, Navaar?" he asked.



"Our enemies surround us and multiply every day, Harad-Sar," Navaar said with a sneer. "If I must point them out to you, perhaps you're no longer suited to the burdens of leadership."



"Careful, Navaar. You overstep yourself."



"My sincerest apologies," said Navaar. "I asked only out of concern for you, of course."



"I'm sure," Harad-Sar said. "But my time as leader of this organization has only just begun."



"And what an illustrious tenure it's been so far," Navaar said, his tone still mocking, displaying none of the craven self-interest that Harad-Sar had come to expect. "The Ferengi have carved out a significant portion of our business for themselves. The Shadow Master operates under our very noses with no fear of reprisal. And after all these years, we're still begging after Tella Yavin's scraps."



Harad-Sar said nothing. His cheek twitched slightly. If Navaar saw it, he didn't say anything. Perhaps he was too enamored of this newfound self-confidence to notice.



"Forgive me for saying, Harad-Sar, but your achievements might look very much like failures to the uninitiated."



"Then it is fortunate neither of us is... 'uninitiated'," Harad-Sar said, borrowing Navaar's own word. "We know what can happen when we forget our place."



But even though Harad-Sar filled his tone with as much menace as he could manage, it seemed Navaar would not be cowed.



"We also know that your position is not permanent," Navaar said. "You serve at the pleasure of the Orion Trade Association. If you can no longer ensure our growth, there are others waiting to replace you."



Harad-Sar was about to reply- exactly what he would say, he didn't know, but he had a strong feeling his comments would be accompanied by several inches of cold steel to the base of Navaar's brain- but he never got the chance. The intercom on his desk chirped, drawing the attention of both Orions, breaking the tension that had filled the room.



[[Master, there is someone here requesting to speak with you.]]



"Who is it?" Harad-Sar asked.



[[She calls herself Aella. She said you have business with her.]]



Despite his anger at Navaar, a smile spread across Harad-Sar's face. It was the Romulan girl from the Sanctum, probably back to request payment for the tidbit she'd provided about the USS PHOENIX. Maybe she had more information to sell about that repulsive little toad DaiMon Snek. Even if she didn't, Harad-Sar would surely find her much more diverting than the present company.



"Tell her I will be out in a moment," Harad-Sar said. He closed the channel, then looked back to Navaar. "You'll have to forgive me. My position carries with it a very demanding schedule."



"Perhaps someday I will know first-hand," Navaar said.



"Perhaps," Harad-Sar said, gesturing towards the door. "But not today."



As he ushered the other Orion out, Harad-Sar made a mental note to have Navaar killed by the end of the week. Some dissent among the lower ranks was to be expected, but Navaar's complaints had grown far too specific for Harad-Sar's liking.



=[/\]=



SCENE: Lobby



Aella stood, admiring the plasma fountain set prominently at the center of the lobby. Atmospheric dampeners and force fields mounted in the ceiling above the fountain contained any errant sprays of plasma, which fired in pulsing jets of blue, purple, pink, and red, coalescing together in magnificent swirls that seemed to dance above the fountain before slowly dispersing. Aella watched the dance quietly, a slight smile the only hint of emotion on her otherwise passive features.



Raxl Dreyton didn't share the peaceful vibe. He was feeling downright restless, pacing back and forth behind her, occasionally stopping to stare with annoyance at the plasma fountain and Aella perched motionless before it.



"How long are you gonna stare at that thing?" he grumbled.



"Until I see something more interesting," Aella said coolly. "You don't appreciate art, Mr. Dreyton?"



"Is that what it's supposed to be?"



"The plasma is superheated in chamber below the fountain," Aella said, her gaze not moving away from the shimmering spirals. "The atmosphere inside the field reacts with the plasma to create the different colors and patterns while helping the plasma to hold its shape as it disperses into the chamber. You could watch this fountain for a thousand years and never see the same configuration twice."



"Why would someone want to do that?" Raxl asked. He'd stopped looking at the fountain and had resumed his nervous pacing.



"It's beautiful," Aella said. "Dangerous, and exotic. Not unlike the Orions themselves."



"Oh please," Raxl grumbled. "The Orions are all schmaltz, no waltz, if you catch my drift."



"I'm not sure I do."



"Their pheromones do all the heavy lifting," Rax said. "Once they get you to bed, what are they going to do? Lay there and smell good at you?"



"I thought we were talking about art, not sex," Aella asked, turning to look at Raxl. Behind her, the plasma fountain flared a bright purple, as shifting tendrils of blue and pink coiled around each other, deliciously close together but never quite touching.



"I don't think the Orions think there's a difference," Rax said.



"You're not jealous, are you?" Aella asked, her tone playful.



"No," Rax said, a little too quick. He cleared his throat and looked around. "So. Where's the boss? You sure he'll remember you?"



"He'll remember," Aella said.



It seemed she was right. A turbolift door swished open at the other end of the lobby, and Harad-Sar stepped out. His eyes fell on Aella and he smiled and started over. When he noticed Raxl standing near her, Harad-Sar's step faltered. He stared at Rax for a moment, then turned back and nodded at one of the guards that flanked the main entrance. The guard stepped over, and shadowed Harad-Sar as he approached.



Raxl pretend like he hadn't watched the whole exchange, and kept in the background as Harad-Sar stepped up, pulling Aella into an embrace.



"My dear," Harad-Sar said, kissing her cheek. "What a pleasure to see you again."



"Thanks," Aella said. She seemed like a different person. Her face lit up in a look of dizzy amusement, as if she were greeting an old lover she'd never quite gotten over. Rax thought he might have even seen a blush color her cheek, but decided that he'd imagined it.



"You've come for your payment," Harad-Sar said. "And, I hope, for dinner?"



"Actually, I'm still selling," Aella said. Harad-Sar followed her gaze to look at Rax, who stepped forward and smiled.



"Who's your friend?" Harad-Sar asked. His tone had become far less genial, and he made no move to kiss Raxl's cheek. Raxl decided that was probably for the best.



"Raxl Dreyton," Aella said. "He's got information you'd *definitely* be interested in."



"Really?" Harad-Sar asked, though he didn't look convinced. "Well, Mr. Dreyton, I would be more than happy to direct you to one of my subordinates, they will evaluate the worth of your information and discuss our rates--"



"Don't foist me off on some intermediary," Rax said. "You're going to want to hear this directly from me."



"I'm not a very patient man," Harad-Sar said.



"I know who the Shadow Master is," Rax said.



This got Harad-Sar's attention.



=[/\]=



LOCATION: Warehouse District, LIMBO

SCENE: Kalenda's Storehouse



Jake and Russ followed the Klingons through the markets towards the hangar level. Not far past that was a section of the station designed for storage, everything from goods brought in by visiting traders to back stock for the various business that operated aboard the station. Jake couldn't help but notice that the black-clad security forces he'd seen around the station had noticeably thinned as they moved deeper into the rows of containers and makeshift structures. Power seemed spotty in this part of the station as well; lights and consoles would occasionally flicker, and Jake noticed the faint vibrations of a malfunctioning orbital compensator operating somewhere below the floor panels beneath their feet.



There were people living in here. Jake saw signs of the people more often than the people themselves, but the ones he did see looked wretched: torn , dirty clothing hanging off bodies that looked rail thin and wracked with withdrawal symptoms from whatever drugs they'd been doing. The Klingons called these people rats and treated them the same, kicking aside the few that were unfortunate enough to be in their path.



"Nice part of town," Russ said at Jake's side.



"Kalenda prefers her solitude, and she pays Tella Yavin well for her privacy," one of the Klingons said. "Because the Black Stars have a reduced presence in this area, it attracts vermin."



"So why doesn't Kalenda clear them out?" Russ asked.



"Killing rats is no job for a warrior," the Klingon said, glaring back at him. "As long as they stay out of the way, they may keep their lives."



"They don't have a place for these people?" Jake asked. "Somewhere else on the station who might take them in?"



The Klingon didn't answer, merely spat a large wad of phlegm on the floor and continued walking. Jake glanced at Russ.



"I don't think they're very big on community outreach," Russ said.



They came finally to a bulkhead, which hissed open as they approached. A tall, imposing Klingon woman stepped out, clad in armor similar to that worn by the Klingons that had led Jake and Russ here. She bared a mouthful of sharp teeth in what Jake guessed was supposed to be a smile.



"Are you lost, little ducklings?" Kalenda said, her voice mockingly solicitous and she approached Jake and Russ. "Looking for the nightclubs, maybe? Perhaps a restaurant?"



"We've come to see you," Jake said, stepping forward.



"That's impossible," Kalenda said, waving this off. "I sell tools of conquest. You look too soft to need them."



"And yet here we are," Jake said. "Will you deal with us?"



Kalenda laughed, a deep and hearty laugh that her comrades joined in on. Kalenda stepped forward and looked down at Jake, her smile still wide and sharp as ever.



"You have courage, little duckling," Kalenda said. "Now tell me: who is it you plan to kill?"



"No one, hopefully," Jake said.



"Then you *are* lost," Kalenda said. "I sell instruments of death, little duckling."



"You said tools of conquest," Jake corrected. "You don't have to kill your enemies to defeat them."



"If that's true, then you have weaklings and cowards for enemies," Kalenda said. "Which doesn't say much for you."



Jake met her stare, though he desperately wanted to look away, to look back at Russ for support. But Kalenda towered over him, her brown eyes fixed coldly on him, and Jake knew that the last thing he wanted to do right now was blink.



Suddenly, Kalenda's demeanor seemed to change, and she laughed again, giving Jake's shoulder a neighborly squeeze that was so hard it left a bruise.



"You're brave, human, I'll give you that!" she said. "Most of your kind starts tripping over themselves to appease me when I test them like that. No backbone at all."



"So you'll deal?" Jake asked.



"Come in, come in," Kalenda said, gesturing for Jake and Russ to follow her. "Tell me what you need for this bloodless conquest you have in mind. I must admit I've always been fond of lost causes."



=[/\]=



Shawn Putnam

a.k.a.

Jake Crichton

Chief Engineering Officer

USS PHOENIX