Star Trek - The Shadowdancer [IC | Semi-Open]

[Mincaldenteans]

Azara was taken aback by the accusation of - well, sabotage, since that's what it was. "Excuse me?" she asked, incredulous. "What did I do? I've not even been in here five minutes and already I'm responsible for your nacelles buckling?" Just to get her point across, she glared right back at Nathan. "Maybe you want to ask your pilot why he disobeyed the distance limits on Karaboudjan's quarantine. It's not my fault your power systems are ridden with nitrium parasites." Azara's subconscious reminded her of the urgency of their situation and she coughed to try and break the staring contest.

"Though maybe Kara's beacon was broken by then. I dunno," she said, shrugging, and motioned for Nathan to come over. "Like, look at this display. Power levels are dropping quickly and the EPS manifolds are being eaten alive. I'm sure a diffraction polarimetery scan would show them up but we don't have time for that. We studied an instance where the same thing happened to the last Enterprise, but their ship was bigger so it wasn't having half the problems you are." Oh yes, she was in her element now. "We need to find a source of nitrium or the warp core reaction will stall and they'll start on batteries. There's the Pelloris Field the Enterprise used but that's lightyears and lightyears away." Azara waved her arms helplessly. "I'm trying to come up with something, captain, but I don't have time."

"Nitrium, huh? No idea what that is or what it looks like, but I'm sure I can get you some."

Sirco limped into the engine room, medkit in hand.

"When there's a rocking in the engine room, someone usually winds up with a face-full of exploding console...that doesn't appear to be the case here. Anyway, you're in luck, Spots. In addition to being the guy who can sew your leg back on when it gets blown off, I happen to be an old hand at stealing things. If one of you morons has a decent criminal connection, I can have you some nitrium within the week."

"Captain's prerogative to assume you dun it," Nathan said with a shrug and continued to listen to the rest of what she had to say, cleverly avoiding her glare. He perked his eyebrows when he heard about the distance limits. He hadn't heard it himself, but what was surprising in that? "I think Will would have if we actually got a warning," he said with a slight frown etched into his features, "It's not like him to put the ship at risk. But it is typical of Rahm Izad not to put proper warnings. That joke of space station is run by thugs, not people who actually care. I should know, we have one on board with us."

"I don't need more Nitrium, you moron, I need to get it out of me!" 'Dancer spat out overhead. The captain sighed, reaching over a console and instantly shutting her up. "That should hold her for a good five minutes," he said calmly. One problem at a time.

"Doc, do me the dubious favor of contacting anyone you know that can deal with Nitrium parasites. You find them, you have them talk to her," he pointed at Azara but looked at both the girls, "I need you to start doing damage control on and keep them from being eroded with the rest of the ship. Cut power of all affected areas and do you best to contain the spread."

He stared at the Trill, "The next station has a decent enough repair facility. Not sure what it's got but it's the best you're gonna get at short notice. Coordinate with the good doctor, find a contact and don't bankrupt us in doing so. That is to say assume we have nothing, yes, work from nothing in the coffers. I'm going to the bridge and increasing our speed and shortest route to Sharmekor."

[Tiltjuice]

Arelle had begun to speak as Sirco and 'Dancer had their short-lived tete-a-tete, but paused as Nathan turned to look at her. Pushing off the wall, she swept a strand of hair back and gave the scarred Bajoran a significant look.

"Meet me when we're almost to Sharmekor," she muttered, and headed up to the bridge to check the equivalent of the operations station that a 'Fleet vessel would have. She hoped here weren't too many of the critters. At least they didn't reproduce or consume very fast...right?

[Ameriganastan]

"I do know a Bolian engineer who owes me a favor. Cured him of...well, let's just say he caught something from someone who wasn't his wife. I think he knows a thing or two about whatever a nitrium parasite is...or he may be a botanist. Honestly, all Bolians kinda look alike to me anyway."

He rapped the wall with his cane.

"Don't worry your digital head off, Dancy. We'll have you cured of these things in no time flat...or we could just get a new ship. One that doesn't talk...I'm a fan of that option if it's on the table."

[Mincaldenteans]

"She'd just find a way to get into the new one," Nathan said with a knowing smirk.

Tapping on a beaten up antique looking communicator that somehow managed to still work, the device chirped in activation as he called for Will and Sect to head to the bridge immediately. Will especially as the pilot needed to find the shortest and fastest route to Sharmekor before the walls dissolved and the crew were just flotsam and jetsam. Nathan himself would be up shortly but figured he'd stay in engineering and lend a hand with getting the systems diverted.

"Don't suppose we could use the neutronium we have in the cargo hold, could we?" He asked Azara, his attention focused on the secondary backup, deflector control and the shield generator.

[Maltropia]

"I don't want to be a party pooper, doc, but the only 'Dancer your Bolian's likely to see will be a bit of rusting space junk if he's not already on Sharmekor." She turned back to Nathan, running her fingers through her hair idly.

"To protect systems, you mean, or to haggle? The parasites managed to get into life support already, sir; we can prop up the deflector and cut the infected systems off of main power and hook them up onto reserve but it won't buy us a whole lot of time. Though," she cut off, looking thoughtful. Whatever time they could buy would be essential; even if they made it to the station in one piece, it might take a while to negotiate for nitrium. Sitting over the leak would be as good as anything.

"Couple of options I can think of, captain. One: we hold the station to ransom and keep beaming parasites over one at a time until they give us the nitrium." She grimaced. "Two: we divert all auxiliary and battery power to one unused system and then beam it out into space with as many 'passengers' as possible, but you'd still have a few parasites. Best thing right now would be a hologram projector."

[Mincaldenteans]

"I don't want to be a party pooper, doc, but the only 'Dancer your Bolian's likely to see will be a bit of rusting space junk if he's not already on Sharmekor." She turned back to Nathan, running her fingers through her hair idly.

"To protect systems, you mean, or to haggle? The parasites managed to get into life support already, sir; we can prop up the deflector and cut the infected systems off of main power and hook them up onto reserve but it won't buy us a whole lot of time. Though," she cut off, looking thoughtful. Whatever time they could buy would be essential; even if they made it to the station in one piece, it might take a while to negotiate for nitrium. Sitting over the leak would be as good as anything.

"Couple of options I can think of, captain. One: we hold the station to ransom and keep beaming parasites over one at a time until they give us the nitrium." She grimaced. "Two: we divert all auxiliary and battery power to one unused system and then beam it out into space with as many 'passengers' as possible, but you'd still have a few parasites. Best thing right now would be a hologram projector."

‘Sir’. That was an odd way to address him but Nathan didn’t bother to correct her for it. He was used to a first name basis. The word “captain” was usually uttered with annoyance or sarcasm; that he was certainly used to. Well, that was his last crew anyway.

He smirked, “We can’t possibly hold a station hostage. This ship wouldn’t last one hit from the weapons Sharmekor has. Granted, they’re old, but ‘Dancer’s small and currently dissolving; either way I’m not taking that sort of risk. The second option will have to do but only if it doesn’t cost us our lives or ‘Dancer’s core; what system hasn’t been infected? And holograms,” he shook his head, “No, we don’t even have holotech on this ship.”

“Doc, get on the comm and see if you can get that Bolian friend of yours anyway. No sense putting all our eggs in one basket. I want to know what he knows.”

[Ameriganastan]

"I'll get a hold of someone who may know his current location...I'll hail them privately and get back to you."

Sirco hobbled off to sick-bay, pulling a small device from his pocket and plugging it into the computer console when arrived.

"Pick up, Cashard. I know you're in the neighborhood somewhere. I need some assistance here."

He sat there for a few quiet minutes before another Bajoran man appeared on screen.

"Been a while, Fuliar. It's not like you to contact us out of the blue. Make it fast. I don't like being in contact very long."

He leaned back in his chair.

"This isn't a social call. Is Aulder there with you? I know he was on your ship last time I checked. And I need to call in that favor he owes me."

Cashard scratched his chin, looking around the room.

"He's here. I trust you didn't tell whoever you're with how you know him?"

"I'm not stupid, Cashard. I told them I fixed an STD he caught from someone. Anyway, I know you're nearby. You always go hiding out here when the Spoonheads are breathing down your neck. And I heard a Cardi weapons depot got hit last week by a ragged looking Bajoran ship. Chased you off pretty good."

He grimaced at the mention of that incident, but quickly shook it off.

"Well, we can't all live the easy life of a station doctor...when do you need him?"

"Make sure he's waiting for me at Sharmekor. I'll be sending a Trill woman to speak with him. That's all I needed. Keep fighting the good fight out there."

He terminated the connection, ringing up Nathan on the comm system.

"He'll be waiting for us there. You're welcome."

[Tiltjuice]

There were only about a dozen of the things so far.

A quick buzz had her reporting in what she'd found to Nathan. "Is Azara still there? I can try to see what I can do from here. Will force fields work?"

They were still some ways out from Sharmekor, and her contact wouldn't be pleased that she was late. Then again, he wouldn't be pleased if she didn't show up at all.

[Mincaldenteans]

"That certainly didn't take long," Nathan muttered after the grumpy Bajoran had clicked off.

"I like him," Dancer said with a smirk, "He's got spunk, he does. Get the parasites outta me yet?"

"Not with all that talking, no, I don't," he mumbled, fixated on the screen before him. Azara was right, too many systems were going haywire or just blacked out entirely from the infection.

"Is Azara still there?" Arelle piped only a couple minutes after. Nathan shifted his glance to see Azara at her own console, no doubt tinkering with methods to delay the inevitable.

"Yeah, she's here. 'Zara, it's for you."

"I'm not feeling so great, Nate," 'Dancer followed right after, her voice was suddenly cracked and Nathan looked up at the ceiling as though trying to find the physical ailment itself. "Y-y-you mind sppppeeding this up some?"

"I hear you," he shook his head and increased the speed to Sharmekor. He jabbed his communicator, "Will! Get your ass on the pilot's seat or so help me, the first person I throw into the quarantine sweep at Sharmekor is you!"

[Maltropia]

Azara was running a fairly simple model of the ship's systems and how they'd cope with the 'flush' she was planning. It didn't look too great, but then neither did the idea of the floor beneath her giving way and dropping her into the cold void of space. At least this way looked like it might delay the seemingly inevitable. She'd originally planned to empty battery power on the replicators and then beam them out, but the model seemed to perform a bit better if she did it the other way and drained all non-essential power into the reserves and then beamed those off. She was about to try a model with neutronium shielding when the console flickered, made a "boop" sound and went black, only to turn back on a moment later. Blank.

"Great," she muttered, and then realised Nathan had spoken to her. "What's for me?" she asked, turning around. Then she buffered further and processed what Arelle had said. She shook her head at no one in particular. "They won't, no. It's an older system; it can't tell the difference between energy and energy parasites. I'm gonna have to try flushing infected systems' power into the batteries and disposing of them cleanly."

[Gibberan]

"Will! Get your ass on the pilot's seat or so help me, the first person I throw into the quarantine sweep at Sharmekor is you!"

The reply came back to Nathan thorugh the communicator, and frantic shuffling and beeping alarms could be heard in the background: "I hear you, Cap! I'm trying to do my best to get this thing along to Sharmekor without blowing up, however that's kind of hard when you've got nitrium-suckers feeding off every major system! Navigation's going crazy...forcefields are up, but from what I can see here they aren't doing much...hold on...Sectator will you grab that for me? Wait, what?...that's not supposed to be...oh shit...they're everywhere...Cap, I don't think we'll be able to stay in warp much longer..."

[Mincaldenteans]

'Dancer's hull began to rumble, the bulkheads of the ship began groaning and there was a tremor that ran through the vessel. Lights and systems began to flicker and the fact 'Dancer hadn't so much as made a peep was a worse indicator. "Arelle, transfer 'Dancer's program to the Klingon shuttle. Before the she left, Bella had made a few adjustments to the shuttle, it should still be functioning."

"Gibbs, prepare to launch the emergency beacon, broad spectrum. Keep the ship going as far as possible, the moment we lose the propulsion system, launch the beacon and our projected heading. You know the drill," he then transferred the channel to the other crew, "Sirco, Sect and Mara, get your things and get to the shuttle. Prepare it for launch."

With almost pleading eyes, he looked at the engineer. "Tell me you've got something we could do, Azara?"

"W-w-w-we are a few-few 'ours... Sharme... ere's Arelle...?"

[Tiltjuice]

"Dancer? I'm here."

An edge of something ineffable and unnamable found its way to tithe tip of Arelle's tongue. For all her crooked ways, there was still a bit of ingenuousness to her, and she pressed the palm of her left hand to the console whilst tapping frenetically away with her right. She paused before entering the final command. "What is it?"

She glanced up at Nathan for a moment, trying to see what he thought.

[Ameriganastan]

"Oh, great."

Sirco had started hauling ass the second the lights flickered.

"Station life may have been boring, but at least the damn thing didn't suddenly start falling to pieces like the U.S.S. Rustbucket here! If that damn Klingon shuttle is as poorly designed as this heap, I'm gonna shove that idiot human out of the nearest airlock."

[Maltropia]

This wasn't how things were meant to work.

Azara kept trying to enter the command that would divert all the ship's power into its batteries, but the only response she got from the console - when she got one at all - was an error sound. The parasites had obviously multiplied quickly, even since Arelle had counted only twelve of them a short while before, and presumably one was now occupying the circuits hooked up to the console. There wasn't time to set up another one for the flush. It had to be this one. She cursed loudly, kicked open the circuit covering and whipped out her laser. Press a button, switch beam frequency to the power system's inverse, pull the trigger and -

There was an explosion below the console. A small one, just the right size. The panel made a happy 'ping' and the warp core started to make a buzzing sound.

She turned to Nathan and Arelle. "I'm trying to flush the whole system but it'll draw power out of everything else, including transporters, so we've less than a minute before something important overloads. Someone'll have to beam the batteries into space and I can do a hard reset."

[Mincaldenteans]

"Pro-pro'am tr-ns-r ini-ini-ated, awaiting authorization," the default ship voice chirped. 'Dancer had taken its own steps to escape her demise but it could only go so far; it needed somebody to permit her programming to move ahead onto the shuttle, the only other vessel on 'Dancer that had yet to be affected. It was capable of warp 1 and it would take days to reach the station if forced to do so, but they'd live.

Tapping on the communicator, "Will, get down to engineering and transfer all controls down here for yourself and launch the beacon; you've got two minutes. Sirco, Maras and Sect, you guys should be in the shuttle, remain there, this might get bumpy," the captain clicked off.

Glancing over at Arelle and Azara, "I'll get the transporter locked on the batteries for as long as possible, so do it quickly. Arelle, see if 'Dancer's program can be transferred to the shuttle. Once Will gets here, do the flush and we'll cross our fingers if it works."

[Tiltjuice]

"Yes, boss," Arelle answered, and tapped the "YES" on the flashing dialogue box with the middle knuckle of her index finger. A terse gesture, insofar as gestures could be terse. The computer responded with that chirruping hum which, on vessels of Federation origin, meant the intended operation had gone through successfully.

"She should be good to go. Anything else?"

[Mincaldenteans]

Once Will came in, all power except life support into the batteries as Azara had said. Immediately the ship shuddered in the sudden lost of power, the vessel coming out of warp and looked adrift. Power relays on three decks blew at the overtaxing of its system, feeding so much raw power at one go. A few console burned out in engineering, one close to the captain who instinctively shielded himself. "Do it! Do it now!" He heard from someone, though he couldn't tell who exactly as a few more explosions in the room drowned out the rest of the commotion.

Not wasting another second, Nathan beamed the battery into space. The ship lost all power then, even its emergency batteries were depleted and it would be ten minutes before they lost oxygen. He walked over to the emergency box, breaking open its flimsy covering and tossed the few emergency oxygen masks at his crew. "Get started on the reset. Once we have power to spare, I want the sensors online. No use being picked off by pirates or scavengers."

Arelle's communicator bleep silently. "...Everything okay there? Hello?" It was 'Dancer, soft, distant and worried.

[Mincaldenteans]

Collab w/Lyryn, Bella’s handler

The only saving grace about Sharmekor was the semi-clean floors and breathable air throughout the hallways. The fact it also had an adequate repair facility brought it up a few points higher than Rahm Izad. Still, it had its usual fair of shady personalities and the sooner the ‘Dancer was out of here, the better. 'Dancer had hobbled to Sharmekor for two and half days under low warp as Azara had done what she could to rid the ship of the parasites. The rest, she had mentioned, would have to be done at the station with proper tools and not the sorry half-cobbled things they had on board. With the ship's system more-or-less purged of the parasites, and 'Dancer dubiously ecstatic that she wasn't going to lose her nacelles after all, Nathan projected a few days on this station before she was spaceworthy again. He gave Azara no more than 4 days: cut corners where she could but get her flying. He had Will gather the neutronium cargo for sale, which surprised the Captain, as he found Maras and Sect had taken off the moment 'Dancer had opened its hatches. Part of him couldn't blame them; barely into their first job and already the ship was coming apart at the seams. He wondered who else would leave, finding an odd empty feeling about it. Wasn't the first time.

But good riddance anyway, he thought to himself. Maras was nothing but trouble and the big guy kind of radiated danger with just an eyebrow twitch. Or whatever passed for eyebrows on the hairless Hirogen. Digging into his jacket, Nathan popped a cigarette in and lit it quickly. The bar he was in was quiet this afternoon, but he had hoped she would have taken his call. Given the situation, and as much as he loathe to do it, Nathan was at his last ropes. Part of him wouldn't be surprised if she didn't answer, sort of a knife twist at him. Petty, but effective.

"Those things fuckin' stink," said a voice to his right. "Put it out." The tall, slender brunette slid into the seat opposite him and her green eyes bored into him same as always.

"Can't say the same about your lack of manners, can we Isabella? Then again whatever was new on that front?" He did as she demanded, instantly regretting not defying her request. He only took it up a year after everything had gone awry, and only then on occasion under extreme stress. "Wanna dispense with the small talk or...?"

A waitress came by asking them their drink order. He turned it down with a shake of his head, but his grey eyes remained still and met Isabella’s stare. Two could play at this.

"Saurian Brandy. On his tab," she told the waitress without looking her way. "I go by Bell here. Bell Manson." She waited for the flicker of reaction in his eyes, knowing that one would hurt.

The fuck? Nathan thought, bristling inwardly but carefully deflecting any emotions that may have crossed his features. He wasn’t going to give her the satisfaction of knowing just how personal that was. “Make it two then,” Nathan told the waitress just before leaving.

“Call yourself whatever blows your skirt, Isabella, don’t really care what pet names you’ve got these days,” Nathan said with a forced smile. “So, if ‘they’ know you, it means you’re running some part or all of this heap called a station. No wonder Maras ran away.”

"Since when do I step up to fuckin' run anything? I'm just the power behind the power and sittin' pretty. So what'd you do to my ship?"

“Naturally, the worm, how forgetful of me,” he said derisively. The drinks came, he paid and the waitress left them be. Nathan picked up his drink, swirling it around slowly as he wondered just how much he should tell her. What good would it do to lie anyway? It’s likely she knew if she really was pulling the strings around here. He’d have to make another a note somewhere to avoid this station the next time around.

“She’s intact, but she needs a few days to get things patched up,” Nathan answered around the question even if it was true. “Don’t suppose you have any use for refined neutronium, would you? I’ve got a cargo hold full of it.” He didn’t mention it was Maras’ cargo to begin with, but she had departed quickly, not particularly caring what she left behind. Finders’ keepers and all that.

Bell shrugged. "Might. Might not. What's it worth to you to find out?"

Perkin his eyebrows, Nathan did his best not to grit his answer out, “Considering I’m actually offering it for a price, you’d think you’d give me a straight answer. Or did you lose that particular knack also?”

“Only thing I lost since we walked was my goddamn ship."

“You mean your dignity,” he bit back instantly. He took a swig of the brandy right after. The alcohol burned down his throat as he spoke, “‘Dancer ain’t yours just because you programmed a reflection of you. Though I admit, all things considered, I rather prefer ‘Dancer’s persona. She could never be as two face as you.”

"Says the snake who stole the ship we elected you in charge of. If you weren't such a jackass, it would have been the three of us all along. The way it was supposed to be. Now Dan's run off to fuck knows where and I'm stuck on this piece o' shit station dealing with the likes of you." She swiped her brandy back and finished it off. "Fuck you."

So he’s not here after all. Figures. “Not if you were the only living person in the ‘verse, Isabella. Not for anything, frankly. I stole the ship? I didn’t have to steal anything, you two fucking left!” His voice boomed and he froze in place for a moment. Several eyes stared at his way, Nathan ignored them and settled back into his seat. He took a breath before continuing, “The neutronium,” he said, frightening in his quiet anger, “Need it or not? I’ve got Will looking out for buyers, but if you’ve got the money it’s all yours and we can pretend this meet never occurred. I’ll even go as far as saying you’ll never see me step foot on this hell hole you’ve cooped yourself in.”

"You didn't give me much choice. We fucked up. Once. You turned your back on us, so," she shrugged, wishing there was more brandy. "Lemme make a few calls and I'll see about your cargo. Is it clean?"

“Oh this is rich,” Nathan said exasperated. Naturally. He was to blame. Nevermind they… he shook his head, he was just done fighting and couldn’t care less anymore about the past. Nevermind it kept coming back. “Yeah, it’s clean,” he said shortly. “How soon can I hear back from you?”

"Gimme 18," she told him, standing. "And stop with the smokes. You look like shit."

[Ameriganastan]

"Gimme a bottle of spring...you know what, forget that. Gimme a glass of Chech'tluth. And make it snappy."

Sirco flopped down on the nearest bar-stool.

"Two days. Two days in space on a ship that crawled along at a snails pace, blind stinking sober and hoping the idiot Trill who fixes stuff doesn't accidentally terminate the life support...and where the hell is my drink!?"

The bartender set his beverage, which was smoking profusely, down in front of him. He chugged it like it was a glass of ice-tea.

BURP!

"Thanks. Gimme another."

[Tiltjuice]

"Gimme a bottle of spring...you know what, forget that. Gimme a glass of Chech'tluth. And make it snappy."

Sirco flopped down on the nearest bar-stool.

"Two days. Two days in space on a ship that crawled along at a snails pace, blind stinking sober and hoping the idiot Trill who fixes stuff doesn't accidentally terminate the life support...and where the hell is my drink!?"

The bartender set his beverage, which was smoking profusely, down in front of him. He chugged it like it was a glass of ice-tea.

BURP!

"Thanks. Gimme another."

"I think you've had one too many already," someone in a broad-brimmed Mexican sombrero said, from Sirco's elbow. "Unless you're one of the half of this dung heap's population who's running away from something. Like the man over there in the corner with the cigarette."

There was a brief pause as the woman toyed with an odd-looking cylindrical belt, before adjusting her sombrero slightly more. It was a fine line between being hiding nothing and hiding too much, and then making people wonder what you were hiding. A study in contrasts, but one she didn't care to put on display too often. Speaking of which, the Betazoid in the corner had evidently gotten over his distaste at the taut muscles that filled her shirt and begun to think about the rest of what was doing so. Not that the fabric was about to explosively unravel, though. Men everywhere seemed to be alike, fawning over waifs.

"Stop killing your brain cells with that stuff, doc," she said in an undertone, before walking away to dodge the overly attentive telepath, "and meet me back aboard ship. And bring me a synthehol. Hey, Skipper," she called in passing at no one in particular, but knew Nathan would recognize her voice.

Behind her, the bartender's accounting PADD chimed and filled up with more than double the cost of any alcohol Sirco could possibly consume. The distraction neatly covered her twisting and turning through the crowd, trailing after the woman the Captain had been meeting with. After a few minutes, though, she turned and disappeared down a corridor that bent at a 45* angle off the main hall, heading back to the ship. The entirety of her time since arriving at Sharmekor, with the exception of the past half hour, had been spent in her quarters on 'Dancer.

[Maltropia]

Azara hadn't even left the ship yet; there was too much to be done onboard and her experience taught her it was better to expect to leave earlier than planned - and in a hurry. Add to that her dwindling finances and there really was no reason for her to be on that station just now. First things first: take stock of what needed fixing. As she looked around the small room with its massive warp core that passed for engineering on this ship she noted with some pain that just about everything needed fixing. Time to practice her triage.

Components would have to be replaced everywhere, there was no way around that, but some systems needed it far more than others. The nacelles, for example, urgently needed some new self-sealing stem bolts, 'new' being the operative word there; the ship might as well have been held together with bits of twine. The batteries, if they were still intact, were about a light year away and still home to more of those parasites. Without a power reserve, the ship wouldn't be able for any kind of sustained travel or combat, so she'd have to tell the captain to get some of those.

Heck, might as well write a shopping list, but more importantly...

"Computer," she said, pushing back her hair with greasy fingers - there'd be time for a shower later - "Could you do a site-to-site transport for me? Bottle of tranya next to my bed to here? There's a full systems upgrade in it for you if you do." A standard AI would be so much easier than this but it was better to work with a temperamental computer than a temperamental Gorn. So far, life on this Shadowdancer was a pleasant relief for Azara. She started on the shopping list.

[Ameriganastan]

"I think you've had one too many already," someone in a broad-brimmed Mexican sombrero said, from Sirco's elbow. "Unless you're one of the half of this dung heap's population who's running away from something. Like the man over there in the corner with the cigarette."

There was a brief pause as the woman toyed with an odd-looking cylindrical belt, before adjusting her sombrero slightly more. It was a fine line between being hiding nothing and hiding too much, and then making people wonder what you were hiding. A study in contrasts, but one she didn't care to put on display too often. Speaking of which, the Betazoid in the corner had evidently gotten over his distaste at the taut muscles that filled her shirt and begun to think about the rest of what was doing so. Not that the fabric was about to explosively unravel, though. Men everywhere seemed to be alike, fawning over waifs.

"Stop killing your brain cells with that stuff, doc," she said in an undertone, before walking away to dodge the overly attentive telepath, "and meet me back aboard ship. And bring me a synthehol. Hey, Skipper," she called in passing at no one in particular, but knew Nathan would recognize her voice.

Behind her, the bartender's accounting PADD chimed and filled up with more than double the cost of any alcohol Sirco could possibly consume. The distraction neatly covered her twisting and turning through the crowd, trailing after the woman the Captain had been meeting with. After a few minutes, though, she turned and disappeared down a corridor that bent at a 45* angle off the main hall, heading back to the ship. The entirety of her time since arriving at Sharmekor, with the exception of the past half hour, had been spent in her quarters on 'Dancer.

Sirco looked from the mystery woman in the weird hat, and then back to his drink. Which he proceeded to pour out on the ground.

"I'm seeing women in those funny earth hats. I think that means I've had enough...gimme a synthehol by the way."

As he hobbled to the door, a man in a hood stopped him.

"Sirco Fuliar?"

He gripped his Spoonhead Slasher with his free hand.

"Depends on who wants to know."

He passed the old man a PADD.

"From Casharn. Read it in private. Good day."

Whoever the guy was, he vanished into the crowd. Leaving a confused Sirco with a PADD. Shrugging, he stuffed it in his coat.

One time saving skip later...

"Uh, possible hallucination hooker? I'm here. I got your drink too."

[Tiltjuice]

"I think you've had one too many already," someone in a broad-brimmed Mexican sombrero said, from Sirco's elbow. "Unless you're one of the half of this dung heap's population who's running away from something. Like the man over there in the corner with the cigarette."

There was a brief pause as the woman toyed with an odd-looking cylindrical belt, before adjusting her sombrero slightly more. It was a fine line between being hiding nothing and hiding too much, and then making people wonder what you were hiding. A study in contrasts, but one she didn't care to put on display too often. Speaking of which, the Betazoid in the corner had evidently gotten over his distaste at the taut muscles that filled her shirt and begun to think about the rest of what was doing so. Not that the fabric was about to explosively unravel, though. Men everywhere seemed to be alike, fawning over waifs.

"Stop killing your brain cells with that stuff, doc," she said in an undertone, before walking away to dodge the overly attentive telepath, "and meet me back aboard ship. And bring me a synthehol. Hey, Skipper," she called in passing at no one in particular, but knew Nathan would recognize her voice.

Behind her, the bartender's accounting PADD chimed and filled up with more than double the cost of any alcohol Sirco could possibly consume. The distraction neatly covered her twisting and turning through the crowd, trailing after the woman the Captain had been meeting with. After a few minutes, though, she turned and disappeared down a corridor that bent at a 45* angle off the main hall, heading back to the ship. The entirety of her time since arriving at Sharmekor, with the exception of the past half hour, had been spent in her quarters on 'Dancer.

Sirco looked from the mystery woman in the weird hat, and then back to his drink. Which he proceeded to pour out on the ground.

"I'm seeing women in those funny earth hats. I think that means I've had enough...gimme a synthehol by the way."

As he hobbled to the door, a man in a hood stopped him.

"Sirco Fuliar?"

He gripped his Spoonhead Slasher with his free hand.

"Depends on who wants to know."

He passed the old man a PADD.

"From Casharn. Read it in private. Good day."

Whoever the guy was, he vanished into the crowd. Leaving a confused Sirco with a PADD. Shrugging, he stuffed it in his coat.

One time saving skip later...

"Uh, possible hallucination hooker? I'm here. I got your drink too."

"Really, Doc?"

Arelle took the ludicrously oversized straw hat off her head and put it on Sirco, then took the glass off his hands. "Possible hallucination hooker? I hope that's not in my medical file."

She examined it with a close eye, then nodded and threw it back just as readily as the Bajoran had done with his own, in the bar.

"You know, you really do good work. Isn't repairing teeth supposed to be hard? You managed to fix mine from when I went sideways into that console, after Will did his thing with the batteries. So tell me - can you disguise someone with plastic surgery, without too many questions?"

[Ameriganastan]

"Really, Doc?"

Arelle took the ludicrously oversized straw hat off her head and put it on Sirco, then took the glass off his hands. "Possible hallucination hooker? I hope that's not in my medical file."

She examined it with a close eye, then nodded and threw it back just as readily as the Bajoran had done with his own, in the bar.

"You know, you really do good work. Isn't repairing teeth supposed to be hard? You managed to fix mine from when I went sideways into that console, after Will did his thing with the batteries. So tell me - can you disguise someone with plastic surgery, without too many questions?"

He set the hat aside and stabbed it with the Spoonhead Slasher for good measure.

"I suppose I could. Plastic surgery isn't my major expertise, but I did disguise a few fighters during the resistance to look like Cardassians...only 4 out of 6 got found out in the end...never did like Ristak anyway."

He pulled his knife out of the hat.

"Give me the species and I'll have you looking like it by lunch."