Surefoot 28: Dead Man's Hand

"And not apprehend him as well?"

"No, Ensign. We will be in Open Space, on a Son'a facility, and the Federation currently holds no extradition treaties with them. Legally we cannot arrest him."

"Okay, how about we just kick his ass a little before we go?"

Hrelle grunted, understanding and sharing the feeling.

"Our presence there should ideally remain covert," the Vulcan confirmed dryly. "For our own safety, if nothing else. Once the intelligence from Dumont's ship is fully analysed and simultaneous operations can be launched to shut down as many aspects of the Bel-Zon's operations as quickly as possible, then Dumont can be apprehended."

"And what about the Son'a?" Kami asked. "And these stolen items they use as prizes? They seem as criminal as the Bel-Zon."

T'Varik nodded. "They are. But our focus must be on the Bel-Zon, and Dumont."

Hrelle nodded absently, still staring at that holographic face...

*

In the Pleasure Palace, Rrori leaned back in his chair, surrounded by buxom women of many races, all attracted to his good looks and charm -- and liberal application of credits -- and motioned for a refill of his champagne glass, trusting in the alcohol suppressants he'd taken before disembarking the Opal Eye to keep him sober and clear-headed.

He diverted his attention between the women fawning over him, the dancers on the stage -- and the front door to the Pleasure Palace, waiting for Captain Weynik and Lt C'Rash to arrive. They should have been there by now, and he was tempted to go off somewhere and find out what was going on.

So he settled for a quick Update tap, reaching up to touch his Embed twice. Seconds later, Jonas' voice reached his ears. "White to Orange: Green and Black are on their way, all clear."

Next to him, oblivious to the subdermal implant or the message it just delivered, one of the Palace women, a bald, crimson-skinned humanoid from a race Rrori didn't recognise, drew up to his ear, making it twitch as she implored in a sultry voice, "Let's get a room, my Cat-Man; I want you inside me so much, it hurts..."

"What was that, Orange?"

Rrori sat up, gently pushing the woman back. "Maybe later." He finished his glass and handed it to her. He could get used to all this secret agent business...

*

The Tournament Room had been hot and claustrophobic during the First Round, despite its size and the valiant efforts of the station's environmental controls. Dumont endured it, however, focusing on crushing the deluded dreams of those two hundred-odd fools who thought they had a chance at the Prize -- and to build up his own winnings, seeing him through the Second Round, when they were pared down to just 36.

It was more comfortable now, but this round took longer; these were the hardier, the better-skilled, the luckier. Still, it served to whet Dumont's appetite, playing against others of comparable acumen. He made it through, of course, along with five others, and he was eager to commence the Third and Final Round.

Their host Zad'ik attempted a welcoming smile, though the slate-grey, stretched-taut face of the Son'a made it look ghastly. "We have separated the wheat from the chaff, ground the away the unworthy in the crucible of competition -- and now we have our six finalists: Henry Gondroff of Terra; Achatch of the House of Khibh; Tala of Romulus; Hazo of Ferenginar; Bastien Dumont of New Paris; and Esek Hrelle of Cait."

Dumont had been stepping forward when his name was called, but now he stopped in place, his heart skipping a beat. "W-Wait- what was that last name?"

Zad'ik looked at him. "Esek Hrelle of Cait."

Now Dumont's heart triphammered, as the full realisation of what Zad'ik said sank in. He glanced around the crowd, frantically searching- no, it couldn't be, it couldn't-

"Here, bubulah," offered a growl from nearby.

Dumont staggered backwards, bumping into others as the large, brown-furred Caitian stepped into view, clad in a tailored tuxedo. His cold, steely-blue eyes fixed on the human. "Bonsoir, Monsieur Dumont. We meet at last. It's nice to put a scent and a face to the name I've seen in Starfleet Intelligence reports."

Dumont backed away even further, drawing up to Zad'ik and pointing a shaking finger at Hrelle, loudly declaring, "You- You can't have him here!"

The Son'a frowned, or at least did his best. "Why not?"

"Because he's a Captain with Starfleet! He's not here to play poker!"

Zad'ik smirked. "He's certainly done a good impression of someone otherwise, having made it this far."

Dumont swallowed, still glaring fearfully at Hrelle, as if waiting for the Caitian to bare his teeth and claws and attack him. "You don't understand! He's here for ME! He knows who I work for! We have a... a history with him!"

Zad'ik now looked to Hrelle with suspicion. "Is this true, Captain?"

Hrelle had been distracted by a beautiful Ellora waitress offering him a refill of his whiskey, but now he turned back to their host. "Hmm? Yes, I suppose you could say I've crossed paths with the Bel-Zon once or twice over the years."

"Don't play coy, Captain!" Dumont sneered, drawing closer to Zad'ik, his voice lower. "We were responsible for the deaths of Hrelle's first wife and the crew of his first command. We sold him into slavery. And more recently, I... I personally arranged for the transport of Vlathi assassins onto his current ship in order to kill him and his new family. With all that, can you still believe he's just here for the Tournament?"

The Son'a looked back with increased concern at Hrelle, who had been listening and drinking casually while Dumont spoke. But now the Starfleet officer shrugged. "Yeah, that's all true. But I'm sure it was nothing personal, just business. Happens all the time, especially in our line of work. Besides, even if I did hold a grudge, this station is Son'a territory. I have no legal standing here."

"As if that would stop you!" Dumont exclaimed. "You're a savage, an animal! What you did to the Vlathi, what you did to my associate Lur Dissak and his men on Skaros-"

Now Hrelle sighed wearily and look to Zad'ik. "You know, when I was a cub learning how to play, my loving Papa used to tell me, 'Nothing matters but the cards in your hand and the chips in the pot; everything else is a distraction'.

And he was right. Look at us all here tonight: we've had Klingons sitting with Romulans, Selay with Anticans, Morlar with Tzenkethi. With none of them killing each other, and all willing to put aside politics and history for the sake of the Game."

As several of the other players made sounds of agreement, he continued, indicating Dumont. "Of course I know what this man and his organisation did to me and my family, but do you hear me asking for him to be removed? No! Because I'm willing to be professional about it! We came from all over the Quadrant and beyond to play poker. Let's just play poker!"

That brought on applause from the crowd. Zad'ik regarded Hrelle some more, before nodding and finally announcing, "You will be allowed to participate in the Final Round, Captain. But you will be closely watched; any sign of trouble, and your Starfleet credentials will not save you from Son'a justice."

"Fair enough!" Hrelle exclaimed cheerfully, finishing his drink and depositing the glass on a passing tray.

"NO!" Dumont drew closer to Zad'ik, whispering, "Adhar... the Bel-Zon will reward you handsomely if you-"

"If we what? Remove one of your competitors without good cause?" Zad'ik grunted with contempt. "If the rest of the Bel-Zon are as craven as you, perhaps we should rethink any potential alliance with you? And if you are that fearful for your life, then you may leave. Your buy-in will remain unreturnable, of course, as per the Rules."

Dumont's stomach plummeted. He had done well tonight, very well. To drop out now... even at the risk of his own life... surely even Hrelle wouldn't be so foolish as to try something, here, alone? The man had too much to lose.

He shook his head. "I... withdraw my objection."

"Glad to hear it!" Hrelle beamed jovially, stepping forward and offering his hand. "No hard feelings?"

Dumont stared at it warily, aware of everyone's attention on them.

He drew in with his own, feeling the strong, furred hand clasp around his as they shook warmly.

Zad'ik smiled. "There, all settled amicably! Now, if we may proceed..."

But as the Son'a departed, Hrelle suddenly pulled Dumont closer and whispered, "Have no illusions, Stroke-off:

You're not leaving this station alive..."

*

Near the bar, Naal'en leaned in closer to the brown-furred Caitian female. "Ms Dal, since we've become better acquainted, I was wondering if I could ask you something... personal?"

She smiled, letting her tail drift across to stroke his hand. "Well... you can always ask. There's no guarantee that I'll answer, but as they say, Nothing Ventured, Nothing Gained."

The Son'a chuckled. "So tell me... what are you doing with all the electronic equipment attached to your arm?"

She froze, gasping as he reached out and drew the sleeve of her blouse up, revealing the devices.

Still holding onto her, he produced a hexagonal ID card. "Subadhar Naa'len, Station Security. I think you should come with me."

*

When the hotel room door chimed, Neraxis approached, phaser in hand as she scanned through the door with her tricorder, before opening it. "Eeeuw, I thought you were gonna take off that hideous Son'a makeup."

"Very funny." Sasha pushed past her as she spotted the pizza boxes on a nearby table, flipping open a lid -- and cursing. "What in the Seven Hells-"

Jonas grunted from his seat surrounded by monitors and other equipment. "Bolian Special: rotted meat topping. Remind me not to let her do the ordering next time. Try the other one."

Sasha took his advice, nodding with approval at the double pepperoni offering, tossing him the Son'a communicator and ID before helping herself to a slice. "I'm famished. All this spy stuff makes me ravenous."

"Yeah, because normally you have a bird's appetite," Neraxis pointed out, setting down the phaser and tricorder.

"What about the others?" Sasha mumbled between bites. "How are they doing?"

As Jonas busied himself scanning and modifying the captured Son'a equipment, Neraxis replied, "Rrori's at the Pleasure Palace, somehow keeping his piece strapped down, and Captain Weynik and Lieutenant C'Rash have arrived. But we don't have a signal from Kami yet."

"What about Dad?"

"Once he entered the Casino, the shielding around the premises blocked transmissions to his Embed." Neraxis nodded to the viewscreen on the wall facing the bed, as it displayed various shots of some of the poker tables in the Tournament Room. "Luckily they've been broadcasting it throughout the station. I'm surprised at how quickly so many of them dropped out. I thought only the best played in this?"

Jonas shook his head, never taking his eyes from his work. "Anyone can play if they can afford the buy-in. It's only the best who survive to the final round. And the House ends up with over ten thousand bars of gold-pressed latinum."

"Ten thousand? Holy Hraxor! The Son'a didn't even have to pay for the Prize, whatever it is, they just stole it!"

Jonas smirked. "In gambling, the only sure winner is the House."

Sasha caught a quick shot of her father, eyeing one of the hostesses in a way that she knew was meant to be part of his persona, but still disturbed her, knowing how devoted he was to Kami. So, he'd made it to the Final Round, something he assured them that he could do. She never expected him to be such a cardsharp, and made a note to ask Captain Weynik about some of the adventures he had with him when they were Sasha's age, long before Dad met her mother Hannah. "Shouldn't Kami have done her bit by now?"

Neraxis helped herself to another slice of Bolian Special, knowing no one else would. "There's still time, according to T'Varik's schedule. Why don't you keep yourself occupied with writing your Valedictorian speech?"

"Stroke off."

"Here, let me help." The Bolian pretended to ponder it, before contributing, "I owe it all to my best friend Neraxis, for being such an inspiration in my sad, sex-free life-" She dodged the cushion Sasha threw in her direction.

*

In the station's Security Centre, Naa'len's attitude had changed, become all business, as he motioned for Kami to take a seat in the centre of a stark interrogation room, one of his uniformed female associates removing the electronic gauntlet from her left forearm for examination. He crossed his arms as he regarded her. "So, Ms Dal, assuming that's your name, care to confess now and save us some time? Was it the Caitian you were helping?"

"Why, because he happens to be the only other Caitian in the place?"

"No, because you kept looking over in his direction."

She matched his posture. "I'm not helping anyone here. I don't even know him."

"There are rules against bringing in electronics to communicate with the players."

She kept her expression mild, cooperative. "I told you, Naa'len, I'm not helping anyone here. I'm not even interested in gambling! It bores me to tears-"

He slammed his fist down on the desk beside him, making her jump. "Enough! Start telling me the truth, or else!"

She looked up at him nervously, before finally nodding, shaking a little. "O-Okay... I- I do know him. Captain Hrelle, I mean. He's... my brother-in-law."

He frowned at her. "Your brother-in-law?"

She nodded again. "He married into our clan. My sister Kami loves him. Our Matriarch... doesn't. She suspects he's unfaithful to her when he's away on shore leave, and asked me to follow him here and keep a secret eye on him, catch him in the act, record his behaviour in order to confront him later." She swallowed, looking down at the floor. "That's what that equipment you found on me is for. I had to keep a distance from him, so he didn't pick up my scent."

He studied her, glancing at the monitor screens, where the Tournament was being watched, and smirked. "I'd heard that Starfleet Captains were tomcats- no offence."

She looked up again at him. "Caitians take fidelity in marriage seriously. He might think he can gallivant around the Galaxy rutting with every curvy piece of tail that he meets. But he's wrong."

Naa'len's assistant returned with the confiscated equipment, reporting. "It's just one-way long-range multispectral recorders, Subadhar. She has vivids of Captain Hrelle flirting with the hostesses."

The Son'a looked back at Kami. "Is flirting considered a No-No with your people?"

Kami's face went taut. "Yes-Yes." Now she rose to her feet. "Subadhar, may I please have a word with you... privately?"

He didn't take his eyes off her, but shooed his assistant away. When they were alone, he announced, "I won't charge you with conspiracy to cheat, but I can't let you back in there with this."

"I understand, and I appreciate your wisdom and commitment to your job; I have a better idea, and a proposition." She smiled. "You obviously have recording equipment of your own in here, and can gather much more evidence than I can on my feckless brother-in-law down there."

He nodded pensively, but then asked, "And at the risk of sounding mercenary, what would be in it for me?"

She reached up and lightly touched his face. "Well, my gratitude for one thing." As she drew in closer, purring now at a frequency more felt than heard by Naa'len, she added, "And then there's the rest of my expense account given me by the Matriarch to secretly travel here. Would 47 slips of Gold-Pressed Latinum sway you as well?"

It did, and seconds later, he had her sitting at one of the monitors, away from the rest of his staff -- and never seeing her slip another device from a hidden pocket on her belt and under the monitor station.

*

In the hotel room, Jonas was staring blankly at one of his screens, when it suddenly came to life, making him start and straighten up. "We're in! Kami's got the Leech attached!" His fingers danced over the controls, accessing the station's security and personnel records, and amending and adding to them, nodding. "There, Phase 3 complete: our own communicator signals will be completely ignored now, the appointments have been added, and now I'm accessing the Customs manifests, identifying crew from the Corsaire."

Nearby, Neraxis nodded and touched her Embed. "Blue to Violet: Phase 3 Complete. Blue to Green: you're on."

*

In Lar'ame's Pleasure Palace, Weynik felt the buzz on his neck, and heard the voice vibrating. "Blue to Green: you're on."

He didn't acknowledge the announcement, focusing on the Son'a female who obviously managed the establishment. Lithe, slinky figures wearing nothing or next to nothing orbited and gyrated around light poles on raised platforms around the club as patrons negotiated for more private sessions in the adjacent rooms, but many of the onlookers were busy glancing over at the new arrivals -- well, the Caitian female, anyway.

But the Palace manageress was all business. "Mr Furee, you should have arranged for an appointment before travelling all the way out here with your..." She glanced at C'Rash. "Act."

"I did!" Weynik insisted. "Check your agenda again!" His heart was racing; he hadn't intended to approach the woman until it was confirmed that they had hacked into her records and added the appointment, but she had approached them first, forcing him to begin early. "Unless of course I should go complain to Station Management about this breach of contract! It cost us to get here, you know!"

Reluctantly she accessed the display unit in her hand -- grunting. "Oh. Apparently you did make an appointment." She looked at him. "No doubt my idiot Tarlac assistant didn't think to acknowledge it verbally, so I could prepare. Please excuse me."

He waved off the apology. "The important thing is that we're here now, and my Pretty Kitty is ready to show you what she can do."

The manager looked C'Rash over, before pointing to a door near the bar. "The dressing room's in there, find yourself something suitable and get out there, the crowd's growing."

C'Rash looked to Weynik, who smiled lasciviously and confirmed, "Get going, Sweetie, show them what Big Nik's Pretty Kitty can do."

She glared at him, but nodded and departed. Weynik made a note to profusely apologise to the Lieutenant the next time they were alone, before she took a swipe at his eyestalks.

*

In the Security Centre, Kami watched the monitor as the six finalists in the Tournament Room drew together, led out of view by Zad'ik. "What's happening? Where are they going?"

Sitting uncomfortably close, Naa'len smiled. "Zad'ik's taking them into the Vault to see the Prize before the Final Round begins."

"Oh?" She affected an insouciance. "And what is the Prize?"

He chuckled. "Sorry, no one apart from Zad'ik and the finalists get to know before the Tournament finishes. He has a flair for the dramatic."

"But you know what it is, don't you?" she ventured flirtatiously. "He couldn't keep something like that from the station's Head of Security."

"No," he admitted, smiling. "He couldn't."

Then one of his assistants approached. "Sir, a Subadhar from the Docking Bay has been found assaulted in his quarters! His communicator and ID have been taken!"

His amusement was eclipsed by business. "Get an investigation team together." He looked to Kami. "We'll need to do this another time."

She rose to her feet. "Oh, but, couldn't I stay here a bit longer? Our business and all?"

"Sorry, I'm afraid not. You may return to the bar, if you wish, and keep an eye on your brother-in-law from there. I will provide you with the requested recordings later."