Surefoot 28: Dead Man's Hand

"If you can't spot the sucker in your first half hour at the table, then you are the sucker." - Mike McDermott, Rounders/

Space Station Ta'Landra, Casperian Sector:

The Caitian male strode into the casino as if he owned the place, his mahogany tail swishing with anticipation, and his ears twitching as he listened to the sounds of the flashing gambling machines, the music from the distant speakers, and the cheers and jeers of the gamblers and their supporters and detractors, as a thousand ephemeral dreams were cultivated and burned with mercurial speed.

The casino, like the station around it, was designed and owned by the Son'a, which meant it was even more decadent and hedonistic than most civilian-run facilities, and there was a scent of many substances that would be banned in Federation space. The actual number of Son'a present, however, seemed tiny, compared to that of their servant races the Ellora and the Tarlac, one of the former approaching him with a polite smile. "Good evening, Sir, and welcome to Zad'ik's. May I help you?"

He took in her scent, tugged at the sleeves of his tailored tuxedo, his tail twitching with anticipation as he replied, "I hope so. I'm here for the Tournament."

The Ellora hostess, a dark-skinned saurian with patterned, swept-back bone plates on her hairless head, widened her smile a little more. "Your name, please, Sir?"

"Esek Hrelle, of Cait."

She nodded, quickly and fluidly checking a small display unit in her hand, before looking up again. "Here we are. It is fortunate that you arrived when you did, Sir; many hopefuls are on hand to take the place of potential latecomers."

He grinned. "Here's hoping my luck continues."

She handed him the display unit. "Please confirm the credit transfer of fifty bars of gold-pressed latinum for your buy-in."

He nodded and accepted the unit, confirming the transfer from the station's bank, where he had deposited the money following his arrival, before handing it back. She motioned for him to follow her towards the rear of the casino as she did her spiel. "The Tournament will consist of three rounds, with breaks for complimentary food and hygiene room visits, and the House game is Terran Hold 'Em. You'll receive the same amount of chips for your stake as everyone else, in denominations of Ten, Twenty and Fifty; you cannot add to it from outside sources, and your place in the Tournament will end when your stake is depleted, if you leave the casino at any point, or if you are caught cheating. If you make it to the subsequent rounds, whatever you have accumulated to that point will be converted to higher-value chips."

She led him into a room as large as the main casino, but dominated by a series of round tables topped in green felt, where Tarlac dealers sat, warming up their hands with shuffling cards, and Ellora hostesses brought drinks to the participants already sitting down, eager to get started. Other players and spectators sat at the long, dark bar, and several Son'a, with their grey, stretched faces and cowled, brown-gold clothes, stood near a dais.

He also caught a familiar scent near the bar, but didn't look in that direction.

*

At the bar itself, a sepia-furred Caitian female in resplendent blue sipped cautiously at her drink, watching the Tournament players through the mirror behind the bar-

"Someone, call Station Security."

She took in the scent of the Son'a male approaching her, and then his reflection, before turning, facing him and smiling. "And why should Station Security be alerted?"

He drew up, leaning against the bar and smiling, oblivious to how sepulchral the expression appeared to her; his age was hard to determine, given his people's proclivities towards crude cosmetic therapies, but his voice sounded young to middle age. "Because it's a crime that a beautiful woman like you should be drinking alone." He chuckled at his own quip. "Good evening. My name's Naal'en."

She turned, holding out her hand. "Mleni Dal."

He accepted her hand, kissing her knuckles in an antiquated gesture. "A sincere pleasure to meet you, Ms Dal. And what brings you to our little corner of space?"

She sighed, making the remaining amber liquid in her wide-brimmed glass swirl and fizz. "I'm a ship's doctor-for-hire, and I just finished a contract on a Tellarite ore freighter. Six months of dealing with Iridium Lung, hoof infections and insults." She rolled her eyes at that. "Now I'm between engagements, as they say. You don't know of any vessels currently docked who might be looking for medical staff, do you?"

He seemed to consider the question, as he signalled for a drink of his own. "Well, I have some friends who work in Customs, I can ask around." He smiled again. "Though I have to confess to being reluctant to let you get away. I've never met a Caitian before."

She smiled back -- letting her tail draw up and brush against his leg. "And I've never met a Son'a." She raised her glass to him as he received a drink. "Here's to getting to know each other better."

*

In the hotel complex situated opposite Zad'ik's, a young couple in formal wear walked into the hotel, dragging several large suitcases behind them on antigrav leashes. They drew up to the Reception desk, the harried-looking Tarlac male clerk behind the desk asking, "May I help you?"

The male of the couple, a slim, silver-haired Terran in his early twenties, grinned as the female, a large-framed Bolian, nibbled at his ear. "Yes, we reserved the Honeymoon Suite: Mr and Mrs John Smith."

The Bolian stopped nibbling to beam at the clerk and declare loudly and boisterously, "I'M MRS SMITH!" She shoved her beefy hand with the tiny diamond ring on her fourth finger into the clerk's face. "HIS MOTHER HATES ME, BUT SHE CAN'T DO ANYTHING ABOUT IT NOW, THE OLD COW! HAH!"

The clerk winced at the booming voice, but recovered quickly, providing them the key to their room.

They continued their effusive affection for each other until they entered the suite, before disengaging and silently retrieving two Starfleet security tricorders, quickly and thoroughly scanning every room, before finally looking to each other, nodding and shutting down their instruments, Neraxis declaring, "No monitoring devices. Let's get to work."

Jonas set aside his tricorder and grinned cheekily. "I wouldn't call it work."

"Horny bastard. Now come on, I want to be ready when Kami and Sasha do their thing."

As they began unpacking the equipment, Jonas pointed out, "She wouldn't hate you."

She looked up. "Huh? Who?"

"My Mom. She'd love you."

"Oh. Thanks." She flushed a little darker blue now. "I, ah, didn't mean to call her a cow, by the way."

He grinned. "Don't worry, I've called her worse. In my head, anyway..."

*

At Docking Bay 14, a private Caitian pleasure craft designated the SS Opal Eye had arrived, and after the usual protocols, opened to release its one -- official -- passenger: a young, handsome, white-furred Caitian male, clad in a most expensive hand-tailored suit, complete with gold tail bands and earring in his pointed right ear. He approached the Ellora Customs clerk and smiled charmingly at her. "And hello to you, sweet lady."

"Hello, Sir," she asked, smiling despite herself. "Name, Origin, and Reason for visit?"

He leaned in. "Meow Rrori, of Clan Rrori on Cait; you'll have heard of us, of course." He glanced down at the claws extended on his fingers, idly rubbing them together. "And after four months scouting this side of the Quadrant for potential business enterprises for my clan, I am in dire need of companionship." He leaned in closer, his chocolate-brown eyes fixed longingly on her. "Soft, inviting companionship."

The Ellora clerk smiled back politely. "Then, Mr Rrori, I would recommend Lar'ame's Pleasure Palace on Level Nine. They cater to only the finest of clientele."

He affected a look of disappointment at the suggestion. "Oh? But what if I like what I see in front of me right now?"

"I'm sorry, Mr Rrori," she replied. "But only the entertainers in Lar'ame's are allowed to fraternise with visitors."

He made a disappointed sound. "Such a pity; I'd love to have given you a tour of my ship, maybe even take you on a quick trip to Casperia Prime. Level Nine, did you say?"

She nodded. "The casino, hotel, restaurants and holosuites are also located there. Enjoy yourself during your stay, Sir."

As he strode towards the lifts, a voice in his inner ear spoke up. "Red to Orange: are you a stroking idiot? What was that all about? What if she had decided to take you up on your offer?"

He stopped, reached up and touched the area behind the right side of his jaw where his Embed lay under his furred skin, making sure no one was nearby as he replied, "Calm down, Red. I'm an expert at these things; I could sense she wouldn't have been interested in me, as difficult as that may be to believe." He peered at the adjacent docking bay, where a Son'a transport ship had arrived, and noticed an alcove in the corridor. "Ideal beam-in point, approximately eight metres in the direction of the transport, no station staff or security devices in the vicinity. Hurry, their passengers are about to disembark, you can blend in with them."

"I'm on it, Orange. Get going. And keep it in your pants; you're here to work, not rut. Red out."

Rrori sighed. His Squad Leader had been wound up like some ancient clockwork device since learning she was going to be Valedictorian at their graduation in a month's time, an honour he would have once craved for himself, to meet the supremely high standards expected from his clan. But since then, he had relaxed some, decided to just be the best he could be, and remain humble.

Sasha needed a good rutting herself. And more than once, he had considered forgoing protocol and offering her his superlative services. Except that he respected her, her embrace of Caitian culture... and her single-handed defeat of a Vlathi assassin.

Then he headed off for the Pleasure Palace to make himself available... though not to those he would prefer.

*

At the adjacent docking bay, the figure who had beamed into the alcove waited until the passengers were leaving, and surreptitiously joined them. She was dressed as a Son'a female in a decorated cowl and robes, and she glanced around, taking in her surroundings immediately, before spotting several male Son'a congregating near the access to the lifts. They conversed among themselves as she approached -- suddenly straightening up as they saw the rank of SupraAdhar on the visitor's clothes. A Subadhar spoke up. "Ma'am! I, ah, can I help you?"

The female saw his friends slink away, as she replied, "I hope so. What's your name?"

"Um, Subadhar Cul'kin, Ma'am. How may I be of assistance?"

She regarded him -- and then softened her posture, smiling as best she could with her restricted facial muscles. "Cul'kin? That's a manly name. Well, Cul'kin... I've just been transferred here from Son'a Command, I don't know anyone here, and I could do with someone to show me around. Would you like to show me around, Cul'kin?"

"Me? Yes, yes of course!"

"Good. Do you live alone?"

"Alone?" He swallowed. "Um... yes, yes I do. Why?"

She moved in closer, reaching up and lightly stroking his face. "Well, I thought if we were going to have a tour of the station, we could start... in your quarters?"

He laughed softly. "Oh yes, that's an excellent idea... um..."

She realised his hesitation, and offered, "Sa'sha."

He was practically skipping to his quarters, opening the door and ushering her inside. She tensed, readied herself for when the door slid shut.

Then she struck him in the solar plexus, driving her hand into his nose as he doubled over, before reaching up to his neck and squeezing, hoping her training sessions with Commander T'Varik bore fruit-

Cul'kin collapsed.

Sasha flexed her hand. "'Start a tour of the station in your quarters'. Seriously, how do any of you guys fall for that porn dialogue crap?" She found some spare material used for their cowls, tying the male's hands behind him before gagging him and dragging him into his closet. Then she found his communicator and ID and retrieved them, before touching the Embed just under the skin of her neck. "Red to White: I've got them."

"Acknowledged, Red, Violet has a side entrance to the hotel accessible for you, come up to Room 409."

"Acknowledged, White. Over and Out." Then she began stripping off her Son'a disguise, her relief at being out of that claustrophobic gear eclipsed by her general nerves over all of this. She was certain everyone else was handling this mission better.

*

At another docking bay, Weynik stepped out through the airlock with the other disembarking passengers, trying to suppress his nerves as he tugged at the lapels of his jacket, trying not to glance up at his tall, coal-furred Caitian companion in her attractive blood-red outfit -- or to acknowledge the tail that brushed up against him, or her hand as it touched the swept-back aquamarine fins on his head.

He was definitely out of his comfort zone here. He missed his ship, his crew... and especially his daughter Naida. He should be on his Bridge, barking orders, saving the Galaxy and coming home to sing and dance with his baby, not running around like this. If it had been that smug bastard Admiral Trenagen who had come up with this, he would have told him to fu-

Beside him, Lt C'Rash made a sound, getting his attention, as they approached a bored-looking Son'a behind the Customs desk. The boredom lifted as he took in the sight of C'Rash, never even acknowledging the diminutive Roylan beside her as he asked, "State your business -- and please tell me you're here to see me."

Weynik waited for the man's attention, replying when he realised that he was never going to get it otherwise. "She can be... if the price is right."

The Customs official glanced down with veiled confusion and more open contempt. "And who, or what, are you?"

Weynik produced the fabricated identification. "Nik Furee, of Roylan Talent Management. Call me Big Nik." He indicated the silent, glowering C'Rash. "And this little lady is the hottest new star since the Beta Aquilae Nova: Pretty Kitty!" As more interest was generated, Weynik felt himself get more into character, his words becoming theatrical, flamboyant and enticing. "And when you get off duty and pop down to Lar'ame's Pleasure Palace, you'll see moves that you never knew existed! They talk about her all the way back to Argelius! And our hot little Caitian is here for a limited time only! Come early, or don't bother coming at all!" He reached up, took her by the elbow and guided her along.

He saw one of the onlookers, a burly human male, reach out and try to touch C'Rash's tail -- until Weynik stepped in, grabbing the man by the wrist, twisting until the man was brought down in pain to his knees, before Weynik struck the man's throat with the outstretched tips of the fingers of his free hand. Everyone watched the man collapse fully to the floor, as Weynik looked around, warning, "Look, but don't touch, gentlemen! My Kitty doesn't give it away for nothing!" He started off, gesturing for her to follow.

She did, waiting until they were alone in the corridor before muttering, "'Your Kitty', Captain? I think you're enjoying your role too much."

"Me? No, Lieutenant, absolutely not," he lied, touching the Embed just behind his right headfin. "Green to White: Black and I are onboard."

*

In the Tournament Room, a Son'a male stood on a dais, overlooking the 200-plus players and spectators, his voice carrying through the room as he announced, "Welcome, one and all, to the Fourth Annual Ta'Landra Poker Tournament! I am your host, Adhar Zad'ik.

Now, some of you I've seen here before, others are first-timers. But all have a chance to win the Prize, because as we all know, poker is not just a game of skill, but of luck. And what is the Prize? I know many of you have been asking my staff since you arrived." He raised a wagging finger as he laughed and many in the audience joined in. "Naughty, naughty! Only the final six will get a glimpse... and then, they'll understand why we keep it a secret."

Hrelle stood in the back, half-listening, instead scanning the crowd of other participants. He knew his target was here, but of course it wasn't guaranteed that he would make it to the Final Round -- for that matter, it wasn't guaranteed that Hrelle would make it, either. He'd played enough poker to know that nothing was certain.

Fortunately, the Vulcan who planned all this seemed confident enough...

*

USS Surefoot, Deck 2 Fore -- Conference Room, Two Weeks Ago:

The hologram rotated slowly over the table, looking more like a spiny organic sea creature than a space station, as Commander T'Varik stood aside and briefed the assembled. "The Son'a outpost is designated Space Station Ta'Landra, situated in open space near the Horvian Cluster in the Casperian Sector, at the borders of Federation, Cardassian and Tzenkethi territories.

There are standing orders from Starfleet Command for vessels not to dock here for shore leave, due to the sanctions the Federation have currently levelled against the Son'a for their various illegal activities, including dealings brokered between themselves and criminal and terrorist organisations such as the Orion Syndicate. The station is heavily fortified by all accounts, and can accommodate any number of different vessels.

One of the station's chief administrators, a Son'a Adhar named Zad'ik, operates a casino on the station, and holds an annual poker tournament, with participants from throughout the Quadrant and beyond attending. The Tournament winner does not get a monetary Prize, but an object which remains a secret until the Final Round. Previous Prizes have all proven to be items stolen from various sources within the Federation or beyond: an intact and complete Kurlan Naiskos, the Jewelled Sword of the Third Hur'Q Emperor, and Van Gogh's Starry Night."

She changed the image on the display, to one of a pale-skinned human male of middle age, with receding dark hair and an aristocratic bearing. "One of the regular participants, one who has made it to the Final Round at every Tournament without actually winning, is this man: Bastien Dumont, formerly of of the New Paris Colonies in the Omega Aurigae system. He runs a legitimate interstellar shipping network... but Starfleet Intelligence confirms he is also a senior operative for the Bel-Zon, managing their transport and smuggling operations. He is considered their Right Hand Man." She looked to one member of the assembled. "In fact, Captain, it is believed he organised the Vlathi incident."

Hrelle nodded, tense. Misha was sitting on his lap, content to chew on one of the sleeves of his father's uniform, until he sensed Papa's gaze and anger fixed on the image of Dumont, and stopped chewing to turn and growl at it.

Sasha lifted her little brother up off of Hrelle's lap to scratch behind his pointed ears and cast out any aggression. "If we know all this, why hasn't he been arrested?"

"Lack of evidence, Ensign, despite the efforts of Starfleet Intelligence -- hence the mission assigned to us, not by Admiral Trenagen, but Admiral Tattok, and not officially an SI operation. Bastien Dumont lives and operates from his private cruiser the SS Corsaire, which will be docked at Ta'Landra for the Tournament. Our mission will be to take advantage of this short period to board the ship when it is minimally occupied, and surreptitiously obtain all available intelligence on the Bel-Zon, its operations and associates."