The docking agent had taken a long time to clear her, asking more than the usual questions.  She’d smiled tersely throughout the conversation, accepting her boarding clearance with barely concealed annoyance.  She walked through the new station’s larger and more secure upper decks.  Her knowledge of the crew was limited, and her homework had only given her so much.  At 30 years old, Tareya Khorlett walked with the intensity of an older Cardassian.  Her journey to this moment had been intentional and accidental – she had her godfather Hasara to thank for that.

She stepped out of the turbolift and down the corridor. The deck where Hasara House was located was just out of the security net’s reach. Frontier Day had not been kind to the Federation and its Starfleet forces, and she was quietly thankful that she was out of their sight.

“Tareya Kholett.”  

She had seen him waiting at the expansive doorway and replied warmly.  “Hasara.”  

He motioned her to follow him, “The trip uneventful?”  They spoke as he led her through the first floor and to the turbolift to the second floor.

“I wasn’t followed, if that’s what you’re asking.”  She handed him a tablet, “That last job forced me to tie up some loose ends.  Could have used Sinai.”  The turbolift they were in gasped open, and they turned a corner into the office of the operator of Hasara House.

“You’re still learning.  Four years of mercenary work is like the human’s version of graduating high school.”  He slipped into the chair at his desk, and she sat across from him, arms crossed.  He glanced at her posture, “You’re annoyed.”

“Godfather doesn’t mean father.”  She rolled her eyes at his scoffed reply, “We have this conversation every damn time.”

The older Cardassian didn’t immediately answer.  He drummed his fingers on the desk, his stare unrelenting.  She sighed and corrected her posture, sitting more at attention.  He replied, “Your father is dead by your own hands.  The least I can do is keep you from giving Death a reason to take you off the board early.”

“You never tire of reminding me of what I did, do you?”  Her posture remained professional, and her tone was steady.

“You had your reasons.  They were on the losing end…as you’ve put it so eloquently in the past – it was bound to happen…you just helped move it along.”  He tapped at the console on his desk, “I remind you of it as a way to remind you that there are plenty of names who would have little reason to turn down a chance to kill you.”  A holo display flicked on, displaying a long list of names, “You managed to take two more off the list…a little sloppily.  There’s some whispers about you in Syndicate circles.”

She threw up her hands in mock surrender, “Fine.  I wasn’t as practiced as I could have been.  Hasn’t the Syndicate been shaken up and thrown out into the waste?  Word on the street is the Pirate Queen is doing some house cleaning.”

Hasara chuckled darkly, “That’s putting it mildly.  Scattered as reports have been – it’s been a massacre.  We’ve heard nothing from Tougun and his sprawling kingdom in the rimward.  He may just be licking his wounds…he’s a tough Orion bastard.  They hold grudges and have long memories.” He scrolled through the tablet, accepting her report.  “Payment will be released within the hour.  You said you had something else.”

Tareya pulled out a notebook, flipping through the pages.  The intrepid Ferengi, Hagasi, had taught her early.  “One of your old friends is either coming or already here.”  She handed the book to him, “Picked it up from an old Klingon I know – he thinks all Cardassians talk to each other…I think he’s just lost his damned mind being so damned old.  Out of all the nonsense he told me, that stuck out.”

The former Cardassian Gul read the written page three times and handed the book back, “I wondered if it was him.  We’ve got people down in the lower decks to monitor things.  Much as chaos and anarchy suits me, it doesn’t suit me in a place as big as this.  There have been whispers over the last few days about a group who’s moved in, looking to do something…what it is…I don’t know.  If it’s him, it’s nowhere near good.”

The younger Cardassian smiled sweetly, “You need a buddy to dig up some dirt?”

It was Hasara’s turn to roll his eyes as he stood, “Keep it up, godchild, and I’ll be burying you under twelve feet of that dirt.”

“That’s a lot of dirt.”  Her smile slipped into a sly grin.

“I put someone down, they stay down.”  His smile faded as he reached the door, “Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that.”

“He’s been seen, and he’s here to sell.”  Hagasi sat at a table in the back of one of the bars in the depths of Montana Station.  A half draft of rough ale sat before him as he scribbled into his notes, thick glasses resting on the edge of his Ferengi nose.  “I was working a few deals and found myself talking to his money worker.  I didn’t get much out of ‘em and wasn’t about to raise suspicion.”  He indicated Sinai, who sat across the room working an angle with a fellow Romulan, “She’s poked around, and they’re being plenty careful and protective.  Nobody’s talking…aside from letting it slip that he’s here and up to something.  It’s just idle chatter, but you know as well as I do it’s designed to flush out whoever’s here to work with him.”  Hagasi finished his notes and secured his book, “It’s a bit like old Earth and using the classifieds to send messages.  Instead of risking the Montana catching on, they’re using word of mouth – no paper, no comms.  I’m a little impressed.”

Hasara eyed him curiously, “Only a little?”

The Ferengi had a slight smile on his lips, but his tone was unwaveringly serious, “The day someone moves beyond that, you should start looking for a door to the Mirror Universe.”  He picked up his books, “I’m off.  You did your bit, showing up here.  Someone’ll notice you and report back to him – put him on his heels a bit, I suppose.”  He stood and ambled out of the darkened corner and was gone.

“I suppose we should stand out there and give them the full view?  If Hagasi hasn’t been able to find out, we won’t have any luck unless we throw a stun grenade in the mix…metaphorically, of course.”

Tareya grinned, “I do love me a stun grenade…or two.”

Her godfather stood and walked towards the promenade hallway, “I read five in your report.  Quality versus quantity, I always say.”  They stepped out and glanced around quietly, sipping at their drinks.  They soon sat at an outside table in full view, talking briefly and quietly to each other.

Across the promenade, two figures remained in the shadows, peering at the two Cardassians.  They knew both – one more than the other.  Both remained watchful until they saw the two stand up and begin to walk deeper into the promenade.  One turned to his partner, “This changes things. Narek needs to know.”