27
Deanna Troi adjusted her jacket one last time, ensuring that her combadge was well secured in a pocket. Worf had created their identities—black-market treasure hunters, with ready latinum.
“It’s been a while,” Virox said, smoothing her hair back into a severe bun. She smiled at her reflection and Troi felt a radiance of contentedness spilling out of her.
“You’re looking forward to this,” Troi said.
Virox smiled slyly. “You have no idea how dull my life has been. Dinner parties, high teas, and ceremony after ceremony, sitting in the garden waiting for something to happen.” She turned back to her reflection and gave it one last appraising glance.
“Is that why you used doubles?” Troi said. “So you could—” She couldn’t actually think of how Virox’s doubles would have alleviated her boredom.
Virox laughed. “Training them to hide their thoughts was one of the only ways I kept myself sane.”
It was still strange to hear Virox speak. Her audible laughter was at odds with the old grand madam image she had cultivated on Betazed.
Of course, Virox said. No one suspects an ultratraditional daughter of the Third House to have been a spy.
Virox whirled away from the mirror. She was wearing a shabby outfit, a bland brown skirt with work boots, and a canvas vest. “Your grandmother pulled me out of any number of sticky situations when I was younger.”
“What?”
Virox winked and strolled across the room. “Is Mister Worf ready?”
Troi shook her head. She dug into her pocket and tapped her combadge. “Troi to Worf,” she said. “We’re ready.”
“I’m ready.”
“I hope you didn’t put him in anything too absurd,” Troi said as they stepped into the corridor.
“Absurd?” Virox’s eyes twinkled. “Of course not. He looks like a proper Klingon.”
Troi resisted the urge to roll her eyes.
They stepped into the transporter room. Troi let out an audible gasp.
She had seen him in Klingon dress before, but usually a Klingon uniform, with the imposing shoulder pads and the House sashes and the various decorations. Virox had dressed Worf in dark leather trousers and heavy black boots, a fur-lined cape tossed over one shoulder.
“You look—” Troi started.
“Ridiculous,” Worf grumbled. “No Klingon warrior would wear this.”
“I was going to say impressive.” She smiled up at him, feeling a rush of affection from him.
“You are not a warrior,” Virox said. “You are a criminal.”
Worf glowered at her. Still, he had been on undercover missions before, so he knew how important it was to blend in.
The commander also felt the barest hint of vanity. She suspected that Worf liked how he looked, and the fact that he liked it embarrassed him. Troi could feel that just beneath the surface.
It was unexpected and quite charming.
“Weapons?” Worf said as they stepped up onto the transporter pad.
Troi pulled out her type-1 phaser from a pocket. Worf gave it an approving nod. As fitting his role as their Klingon bodyguard, his mek’leth was strapped to his back, and a Klingon disruptor hung from his hip.
Worf had refused to arm Virox. “You have a bodyguard,” he pointed out. “I will protect you.” He smiled. “Energize.”
They were back on Issaw II, in the thick of the forest. “Ready?” Worf asked.
Troi nodded. Virox just smiled, looking—and feeling—excited.
“Very well.”
It was about a five-minute walk to the edge of the forest. Troi felt her heart flutter as they got closer, the Essar ruins towering over them.
Their appearance was immediately noted by a Ferengi standing near the entrance. He leaped to his feet and hurried over to greet them, energy whip in one hand, a disruptor in the other.
“Who are you?” he demanded.
Worf sneered at him. “You speak to the great collectors of antiquity, Dorota Cusk and Amica Cossio!”
“Who?” The Ferengi stepped closer and Worf pulled his disruptor. The Ferengi stood his ground.
He’s enjoying this, Virox said.
Yes.
“Forgive our bodyguard,” Troi said, moving up alongside Worf and putting her hand softly on his arm. “As he said, I am Dorota Cusk, dealer of ancient curiosities, and this is my associate, Amica Cossio.”
“Never heard of you,” the Ferengi snapped. Immediately his eyes flashed up to Worf, then back to Troi.
Troi smiled. She stepped closer to the guard. He swallowed nervously. “Your knowledge gaps are not my concern,” she said haughtily. “I’m not here to see you.”
You would have made a good intelligence operative, Virox thought.
“Bryt’s never heard of you either,” the Ferengi said, pointing to Worf’s disruptor. “Could you please lower that thing?”
“No,” Worf said.
“I heard from an acquaintance that your employer has recently acquired items of immense interest to my associate.”
The Ferengi’s eyes settled on Virox. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Worf growled.
“We both know that’s not true,” Troi said. They had rescanned the planet. Now the ship sensors only recorded a dead spot in the middle of the Essar ruins. Worf was certain that Xiomara’s treasures were there.
Virox’s voice in Troi’s head was warm and oddly disconcerting. This is all about the big lie to get what we want.
Troi had to resist the urge to share her disgust with Virox. But she had to admit that the House leader was right.
“Look,” the Ferengi said. “Bryt’s not seeing anyone. Situation’s hot.”
Troi raised an eyebrow. “Hot? Is it because Bryt recently acquired three items of cultural significance?”
The Ferengi’s eyes went wide, and Troi knew she had him. Suddenly, Worf yanked the energy whip out of his hand and tossed it away, out of reach.
“Hey!” the Ferengi protested. “That’s not your property!”
“But this is yours.” Worf slipped a half slip of latinum into his pocket.
The guard looked insulted.
Virox lifted an eyebrow. Worf pulled out a whole slip.
Before he could grab it, Troi stepped in front of the guard, aware of Virox following behind her. “Take us to see Bryt the Baron.”
The Ferengi gazed up at her, something like panic in his eyes. “You don’t know much about Bryt, do you?”
You don’t have to lie about everything when you’re under cover, Virox offered.
“No,” Troi said finally. “I am bound and determined to obtain those artifacts.”
Virox stepped forward. “Profit enough for everyone.”
“That’s well and good,” the Ferengi said. “Bryt doesn’t see anyone.”
Troi frowned. “He is not interested in our latinum?”
Good, said Virox.
“He’s very interested,” the Ferengi said, and Worf stepped back. “Finally. Thank you.” He smoothed out his shirt. “Bryt doesn’t let anyone see him face-to-face. Not me, not his contractors, and not even clothed fe-males.”
Troi narrowed her eyes at him. “Can we speak to him?”
The Ferengi hesitated. Worf slipped the latinum into his pocket. “Uh, that I can probably manage. No promises.”
Troi felt her shoulders soften. She hadn’t realized how tense she was.
“Bryt will be very interested in hearing from us when he finds out what we can offer,” Virox said, sweeping her arm about grandly. “Unless the Ferengi are no longer interested in profit.” She leaned down and traced her finger along the Ferengi’s ear, making him tremble.
Worf watched Virox’s display stone-faced. Troi stepped over to him while Virox whispered something into the Ferengi’s ear.
“Is that really necessary?” Worf murmured.
“Hija’,” Troi answered.
“You’ve been practicing.”
Troi winked at him.
The Ferengi let out a shivery little noise of delight while Virox grinned wickedly and Troi schooled her expression.
“Fine, fine!” he yelped. “You can wait inside. I’ll see what I can do about getting you in contact with Bryt.”
Virox peeled away from the guard, looking pleased with herself. “Thank you, darling,” she purred. “I know Bryt won’t be disappointed.” She smiled slyly. “Nor will you.”
Worf made a sound like a strangled cough.
Aviana Virox looped her arm into the guard’s as he led them over to the entrance. He slapped his hand on the identity pad while he gazed dreamily up at her. The door slid open, releasing a sweet, heady scent. Some kind of incense. It smelled expensive.
“I have potential buyers,” the Ferengi announced to an Orion woman lounging behind an ornately carved desk, positioned at the entrance to the structure. She looked up at the group appraisingly as they stepped inside. The space was small and dark.
“Bryt’s busy,” she cooed, picking up a slim silver nail tipper and then fitting it over her index finger. It buzzed and when she slid it off, her nail had been transformed into a sharp, curling black talon. She held her hand out and admired her work.
“I know that,” the Ferengi said, scuttling up to the desk. “They can wait until he’s ready.”
The Orion dropped her hand in her lap. “Fine,” she said. “But the Klingon has to give up his disruptor.” She frowned. “And run them through the weapons scanner.”
“You heard the lady.” The Ferengi turned to Worf with a grin, although it quickly vanished once Worf met his eye.
“I’m keeping my mek’leth,” he snarled.
The Ferengi looked nervously at the Orion woman, but she just waved one hand dismissively. “Fine,” she said, returning to her nails.
Worf glowered. He dropped the disruptor on the Orion’s desk.
“Right this way,” the Ferengi said solicitously.
“Weapons scanner,” the Orion called out without looking up.
The Ferengi scowled at her, but he did pull out a scanner and waved it apologetically over Troi and Virox. It beeped at Troi’s hip, and she sighed and gave him her phaser. Then he scanned Worf.
“All clear,” he said. “Now—” He held out his hand toward a darkened staircase.
“Absolutely not!” Worf barked out. He put his hand on Troi’s shoulder. “I am not allowing them to go down in the dark.”
The Orion woman was now watching them with bemused interest.
“What do you care?” the Ferengi said. “You’ll be with them.”
Worf growled. The Ferengi skittered backward, bumping up against Virox.
“Oh, don’t mind my Klingon associate.” Virox drew the Ferengi closer to her and brushed her fingers over his ears. “I’m sure it’s perfectly safe.”
To Troi, she sent a thought: Tell Worf not to be so overprotective.
Troi touched Worf’s arm. “It’s fine,” she said in Klingon.
She felt Worf’s worry and his frustrated distrust of the Ferengi, of Bryt the Baron, and the inky darkness waiting at the bottom of the stairs.
“Yeah, nothing to worry about, big guy.” The Ferengi eyed the mek’leth as he squeezed past them and started down the stairs. Worf stepped right behind him. Troi followed, with Virox right behind her.
This Bryt is apparently reclusive, Virox thought, although our Ferengi friend there won’t tell me much more than that. No one knows much about him, only that he’s terribly rich and feared in the criminal underworld.
Troi glanced back at Virox. You got all that?
Virox smiled, her thoughts sparkling.
She was having fun, Troi realized.
What do you think I was talking to him about? If this Bryt the Baron is as reclusive as our friend says, we’re going to have our work cut out for us.
They reached the bottom of the stairs. The air was cooler down here, lit by pale lights that traced a path through the stony walls. A cave deep underground was exactly what Troi pictured when she imagined the lair of a wealthy Ferengi criminal.
“The VIP lounge is right this way,” the Ferengi called out, stepping sideways to avoid Worf.
“If this is a trap—” Worf started.
“It’s not!” The Ferengi looked over his shoulder. “The baron just prefers his spaces dark.”
Eventually, they came to a door set into the rock of the wall. “Here we are,” the Ferengi said. “The VIP lounge, for VIPs.” He grinned at Virox for half a second before whirling around and pressing his hand against the ID pad.
The door whisked open, and Troi was grateful to see that it was well lit with warm golden lights. Soft, tinkling music spilled out into the hallway.
The Ferengi gestured for them to go in, still beaming at Virox. Worf stepped inside. Troi tried to check out the room.
Recognition shot through Worf.
Troi reached into her pocket, ready to call the Enterprise for an extraction.
There was another person in the lounge. She sat in an elaborate brocaded chair in the corner, her legs kicked up on what looked like a rather expensive and very old Bajoran-style table.
She looked up, a smile curved across her lips.
Thuvetha.
She’d spotted them, and it was clear from her expression and from the sense of giddy delight pouring out of her that she recognized them.