Welcome to Port Royal, Mr Smith (Part 1)

Posted on Wed Mar 18th, 2015 @ 10:41am by N'alae t’K’manatran & Khiy Tal'ehrihn

1,874 words; about a 9 minute read

Mission: Trader Games
Location: Port Royal Station, border of the Kassae and Donatu sectors
Timeline: Current (back-post)

[ON]

To use a human phrase, the place was a dump. The old Cardassian ore processing station had seen better days. The artificial gravity worked and the air recyclers functioned, but the air still smelled a little sour and the grav plating malfunctioned in section twelve and upper pylon two. There were hull breaches in several sections that had simply been sealed off instead of repaired. N’alae had it on good authority that those sections were not always kept that way.

The station’s shields had long ago been destroyed, and there were no weapons systems left to speak of. If it hadn't been ‘salvaged’ decades before, it wasn't worth taking. The systems which were operational were thrown together with the type of engineering that only smugglers could call acceptable. It was a way-station and transfer point for pirates, smugglers and shady businesses deals. The many docking ports and cargo bays of the old station made it nearly perfect for their needs, and the large promenade offered ample space for the types of trade that went on inside.

This station, renamed ‘Port Royal’ after an infamous port favoured by pirates and smugglers from ancient Earth, was a busy place. Ten years ago it had been hauled to the borders of the Kassae and Donatu sectors, between the Cernan and Ke’rat systems. The Klingons left them alone for the most part - an arrangement which no doubt cost the consortium who owned the place a considerable amount - and the Federation kept a minimal presence in the area to avoid any incidents with the Klingons.

Among the many businesses which operated on the station (for a fee of course) there were three bars, an uncounted number of small gambling establishments and back-room tables, several houses of ill-repute, a clinic (if you were desperate), four repair shops, one large maintenance service (which made no pretense about it’s rates or the cost of ship parts - no questions about how where they were obtained), and a multitude of hawkers and merchants selling just about every type of ware. Docking fees were steep, and many captains chose to transfer their cargo outside the station rather than pay it, but despite this the station’s bays and docks were constantly in use. All-in-all, the run-down wreck was making it’s owners quite rich.

N’alae walked down a littered corridor from the quarters she had rented on the habitat ring. She had paid the extra fee on top of the already exorbitant price to have the room sterilized before even stepping in the door. Her ship was parked outside in a rented berth maintained by the consortium who owned to station. They provided modest security, and a shuttle to and from your ship - again for a fee. She disliked the place; it smelled bad, the food was terrible and the clientele was not at all to her liking. Currently there were three pirate vessels docked to offload their cargo. She did her best not to think of where they got it, as she was in no position to do anything about it. Unfortunately, places like this were the best place to find work, and with the recent Federation crack-down on the illegal transportation of goods, it might be the only place. N’alae wished she could find some other way to get work, but it was far from the Romulan Star Empire, and that suited her more than the the company she had been made to keep of late.

She had been there for three days, trolling for businesses or individual who were looking to hire a transport pilot or for someone to make a small supply run. Her ship wasn’t very big, but it was fast. She’d left her name with bartenders, dock masters and traders, and had visited not a few gaming rooms, in case any should provide a lead for work. Most of those whom she had spoken to waved her on with a non-committal gesture, or suggested that she provide some payment for the service. She had paid a few, but it did little good. Unfortunately there were likely fifty other pilots who had come through recently doing the same thing.

This morning did not portend to hold any more luck than the ones before it. With deliberate slowness, she made her way to the first of the three bars, where she took the first available stool and waved to get the the bartender’s attention. The heavy Bolian male looked her way and huffed his displeasure.

“Haven’t heard anything I didn’t hear yesterday.” He shuffled in her direction, pulled out a glass, wiped it with a small towel which he flung onto his shoulder and filled it with a drink that was an unhealthy yellow color. He placed it in front of her and nodded in the direction of a table farther inside the establishment where five men were sitting, drinking with the determination of those who have nothing to do and nowhere to go. “They’re waiting, same as you. But say, if you’re serious about looking for work I’m sure we could come to some arrangement.” He gave her a lurid look.

A disgusted look crossed N’alae’s face, which did not even try to hide and she stood back from the bar. “Keep your drink. It smells almost as foul as you.” Without looking back she turned and walked back out into the corridor.

The next bar was rather busy for the early hour. This time, instead of going to the bar N’alae found a seat nearer some of the occupied tables in hope of overhearing a conversation that might turn up a lead or two. She lounged in the worn chair nursing a drink, which like everything else on the station, cost way too much and left much to be desired.

Khiy had always been a gambling man; but he never bet more than he was prepared to lose. The current situation he found himself in, however, was a bad bet and there was nothing he could do to dissuade the voice in his head telling himself so.

He had arrived in Port Royal several hours before and had to be extra cautious about his actions. Port Royal was a dangerous place at its best. For Khiy, however, there might be no more dangerous place in the galaxy. He was in the heart of 'pirate country' and his defense contracts with freighting companies made him the pirates direct opposition. A vast majority of the people in this wreck of a station had a giant bulls-eye on Khiy's head.

As much as he wanted to go alone, his board of directors refused to allow it. As such he was currently flanked by two bodyguards, a Gorn and a Nausicaan who growled at anyone who moved to close to Khiy. The two tended to draw attention but what they lacked in subterfuge they made up for in raw aggression. These two would bend a man in half and laugh at the sounds of their breaking bones. He doubted he needed to advertise this fact as most people kept well clear of approaching them. Still, the added attention didn't bode well for Khiy's chances. All he had to disguise himself was the heavy cloak he was wearing, cliche, he knew, but it was the best he could do on short notice. The contact he was looking for moved around a lot and he didn't know how long it would be before he could track her down again. Time was definitely a factor.

Khiy had put the word out that he was looking for someone and although he got more than a few suspicious looks from the bartenders and shop owners, the credits used to grease their palms had the desired effect of loosening their lips. The last bartender, a Bolian, had some choice remarks about a Romulan woman who left a few minutes before. Judging from his comments, Khiy wasn't surprised that she left.

With that last bit of information Khiy found himself walking into the bar on the next lower level. As was the case in every other bar he walked into, his two bodyguards drew the gaze of a number of its patrons. A few even tried to peer under his hood from a distance. The Gorn growled and the Nausicaan stepped forward dissuading any further attempts to even look at the hooded figure. Many of the patrons got the message this guy is off limits.

It wasn't difficult to spot who Khiy was looking for. She was close enough to the other tables where she could overhear information but far enough away not to draw attention to herself; classic runner technique.

Khiy turned to his companions. "Buy yourselves a drink…and play nice." The two nodded and slowly walked over to the bar. There was plenty of stools available, however, they walked over to a pair of occupied spaces and not so kindly demanded that they be vacated. They were. Khiy shook his head and laughed to himself. Those two were just the right amount of trouble.

Free of his entourage, Khiy walked over to the table the Romulan woman was sitting at. "Mind if I take a seat?" He asked.

Something was nagging at the corner of her mind; a presence which ghosted in and out among the many others in this place. N'alae gave it little thought however. It was more than likely that she knew a few of the people here, and she was focused on other matters at the moment. However she was becoming increasingly bored with the conversations of those nearby. So far her eavesdropping had been less than informative. In fact, most of the discussions were more than a little perverted. The more they drank, the worse it got.

N'alae had noticed the hooded figure when he entered the bar - who wouldn't with an entourage like that. Most of the patrons were watching the goons at the bar instead of the man as he crossed the room to stand before her. Curiosity overcame her dwindling desire to follow the conversions any further, and she looked up at him; all her focus now in one place.

"Sure, have a..." She paused as she looked at the man. His face was shrouded by a large hood, so that she could not make out his features, but there was something about his presence that was familiar to her. This was the one she had sensed earlier. It only took her half a second to remember where she knew it from. Her eyes grew wide in surprise, and for a moment forgot caution. N'alae reached across the table and pulled him into a chair.

"Dammit Khiy!" She hissed low enough so as to not be overheard. N'alae glanced around to be sure no one was watching, but the Gorn and the Nausicaan were still holding most people's attention. "What in the...are you mad? There are pirates three tables over! What are you doing here?!"

(to be continued)

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Khiy Tal'ehrihn
Trans Galactic Trading, Owner and C.E.O.

N'alae t’K’manatran

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