The transport liner Ro Faan rose from the dark gray tarmac of Morgan township’s colonial starport just after local sunrise. Pale golden light glinted along the torpedo-like hull of the largest variant of the Ferengi shuttle. This model was refitted for long-haul civilian transport. It would never be mistaken for one of the standard orange freighters or market traders more commonly seen in most sectors. This ship had been repainted into an acidic green. Its hull was streaked with grime in places where recent polishing hadn’t reached.

From the front, two forked prongs jutted forward along angular pylons. They gave the ship the appearance of a bulbous clawed insect as it left the atmosphere and leapt into the void at warp. The ship’s curvy, angular lines were broken by the enormous logo painted across the port and starboard fuselage. Glezorb’s Ferry Service was stylized with a grinning Ferengi head frozen mid-laugh. The face was cartoonishly round, with polished lobes, a glinting forehead and sparkling teeth. Above the image arched Glezorb’s name in wide, purple Ferengi script. Each embellished symbol was fat and decorative. Smaller Federation Standard beneath the image read ‘Glezorb’s Ferry Service’.

Rows of black-tinted portholes ran along the shuttle’s flanks. Some were blocked off with atmospheric heat-plating shields that no longer worked properly. The Ro Faan was part tourist trap, part armored container.

The narrow corridor that led through the ship’s boarding section opened into a multi-use interior that gave the distinct impression of a waiting room wrapped in Ferengi minimalism. The spartan area only carried the illusion of luxury. Stark metallic walls carried a sickly pearl color. Old service panels linked to nearby informational displays. Passengers could study diagrams that highlighted the ship’s speed and orientation on a galactic map.

Airflow was maintained through coarse filters that barely disguised the musky aroma lingering in the air. The odor was synthetic and faintly burnt. The problem was likely recirculated coolant that hadn’t been entirely flushed in an effort to save operating costs.

In the common lounge, seating was arranged beside one of the larger starboard viewing ports. Hard polymer rows of three seats were padded with cloth-covered foam cushions. Each chair sported an energetic pattern built around two tones of blue. Gaudy streaks of red, yellow, and orange danced along the geometric sea. Bright neon triangles and loops were thrown into the pattern of every first and third seat respectively. The stiff seats squeaked slightly under the slightest movement. Everything suggested Glezorb had spent the absolute minimum in his attempt to ensure things were presentable.

A galley alcove that consisted of a dining hall and flickering replicator kiosk were next, when moving towards the rear of the craft. A communal bunkroom that housed half a dozen stacked pods was built into the aft section, along with a second exit. One pod currently rumbled with the guttural snores of a Tellarite in deep sleep. The portly man had boarded the ship two stops earlier.

Several officers had gathered to watch the stars slip past in the lounge. They rested against a curved sofa opposite of the passenger seats. It faced the room’s large window.

Lt. JG M’Row sat relaxed against the curved sectional. His long legs stretched forward as his boots crossed at the ankle. Cream-colored fur rippled along his neck as he twisted his head. Slightly darker tabby markings crossed his exposed arms and along his dancing tail. His multi-hued glances seemed happier than most of them had seen him in months.

“So this is your first time back in how long?” asked Crismarlyn Ruiz. Her head tilted toward him with genuine curiosity. She sat cross-legged on the bench. Her auburn highlighted hair was worn up in a high bun.

“Four years,” M’Row purred. “It’s been too long. Starfleet never seems to send me anywhere near Cait. I’m always rimward near the core worlds or out to some Federation border that needs charting.”

“So,” Ruiz asked as she nudged his knee with hers. “What are we in for? Give us a glimpse. Are there big cities? Festivals? Bars?”

M’Row’s smile deepened. “Theaters. That’s the heart of many Caitian cities. Every city center has a domed amphitheater, or three. A lot of stadiums are for games, but there’s always at least one major auditorium for plays. The stage tradition goes back centuries before warp travel. There’s opera, martial drama.. even silent dance. My mother says it all started with hunter rites. They used to mimic prey to teach the kittens.”

“Now that sounds like something I’d like to see,” said Lt. JG Sarah Overson. A grin spread across her wide facial features. Fair Scandinavian skin met a cascade of red-gold hair pulled into a tight braid over one shoulder. Her angular jaw gave her an almost androgynous beauty. Dark eyes approaching the color of uncut sapphire glowed with warmth.

“I used to act in a theater club on the Mellstoxx III campus,” she added quickly. “You all have to come with me to a show. We’re going to one of those amphitheaters. I’m not letting any you off the hook.”

Lt. JG Overson had kept quiet about her work as an infiltration specialist with the intelligence department. She had only told them she was ‘command branch’.

Ruiz laughed. “Yeah, M’Row. No sneaking off to stay with your family and skipping all the fun.”

The Caitian officer raised his hands in mock defeat. “All right, all right. I haven’t gone to a show in years. If I end up crying, I’ll blame you, Overson.”

A soft voice entered from nearby.

“I vote for sports too,” said Lt. Cmdr. Moon Ji-hee.

She had been sitting alone on the hard seats. She was the only one who still wore her uniform. Her day was spent volunteering to calibrate power flow. She knew if she didn’t take a trip away from the ship, she’d never truly have time off. Ji-hee’s arms were folded as she listened. “I saw some Caitian martial competition back at the hotel. Are there still matches happening now?”

“Definitely,” M’Row said. His tufted ears flicked up with pride. “The semi-finals just ended for the Caitian Kickboxing Championship. Black Fury won with a knockout slap in the eighth round.”

Overson blinked. “Knockout slap?”

Ruiz laughed. “I saw it live. I was shocked. I thought the Silver Whirl would win with all his acrobatics.”

“Whirl leapt like a treetop glider,” M’Row said with a nod. “Black Fury didn’t fall for a single fake though. His style is pure technique. He anchors his feet in a wide stance. He’s got power and patience.”

“Are matches like that easy to get tickets for?” Ji-hee asked.

“There are events every other day in the major city quadrants,” M’Row answered. “You’ll have your pick.”

“I hope we can play some sports too”, said Lt. Cmdr. Moon.

“We should be able find games ranging from kockhek to Terran kickball. There are a lot of parks and recreational facilities too.” M’Row chirped. “Caitians love to play.”

Overson leaned forward with interest. “I’m not great at kochek. We played on a holosuite once at the Academy. It’s hard to play a game on ice when you’re not wearing skates. Every course has different challenges you have to complete to win. I used to play hockey back home. Do you think I’ll find a rink too?”

M’Row gave a satisfied hum. “Probably. Some neighborhoods build full skating plazas under domes that simulate winter.”

Moon chuckled. “Great. I’ll sign a waiver first.”

Ruiz stretched her arms and yawned theatrically. “We’ve got a show, a game, and now a skating face-plant. What about food? Someone better tell me there’s something tasty to eat there.”

M’Row’s whiskers twitched.

“I hope none of you are vegetarians,” he said with a sharp-toothed grin. His voice carried a playful chirp as he spoke. “If you like seafood, you’re about to step into a dream.”