A/N

Awhile ago I encountered news articles about space-based shows Syfy is developing. To say the least, I'm skeptical that any of them will actually be produced, but still, gave me food for thought. This one is based on the Orion synopsis.

Among Thieves

"Are you using your pheromones?"

"Yes."

"Ah. No wonder I have a headache."

Was there an orion gene that made them pre-disposed to their own gender? Orion couldn't help but wonder as Dalia winked and strode off into the cantina, a relic of what was once called Deep Space Station K-7, and now referred to as "the Hub." She wondered because males of the human species would consider Dalia quite attractive, and her orion friend was willing to let them think she thought the same about them. But in the event that Dalia swung the other way, and found a human that did likewise…what then?

Guess love's even more of a headache.

Orion wouldn't know. And love tended to get you killed in this universe, so why even bother?

And why the hell am I even with orions? Bad enough their pheromones give me headaches, then there's the whole name thing.

Sighing, the relic hunter lay back in her chair, looking up at the head of a tribble mounted on the far wall. Or what she thought was its head, provided tribbles even had heads. Centuries ago they'd been cleaned out from this station by the efforts of Starfleet, a long defunct organization that could have done humanity some good now as it fought for survival. A war that had served herself quite well, as she recovered artifacts and sold them to the highest bidder. Whether they be human, orion, or-

"Nuq'nuh."

Klingon.

"Nuq'nuh to you too," Orion said, leaning back in her table and looking at the ridge-head before her. "We'll use English from now on if you don't mind."

"Sil-vak."

"Yeah yeah, I'm a whore, blah blah blah," Orion said. "My rules, my language."

The klingon grinned at her…seemingly. There was a whole lot of meat between his teeth and it might have been some form of intimidation. But he sat down anyway.

"You know my language," he said. "But I shall use yours."

"Good." A silence passed between the two beings. "What? You think I'm going to renege on this?"

"No. I think you're going to give me the means to kill my enemies."

"Oh, of course. What else?"

"Honour. That is why I'm willing to pay you rather than take it from your corpse."

Orion raised an eyebrow as one of the klingon's men dropped open a bag of gear. Two dilithium crystals and a mobile replicator. Perfect for someone like her. The type of person who found it hard to rely on money with no standardized currency in this blasted galaxy, and was more concerned with staying alive.

"Alright," Orion said, taking the relic from her belt and putting it in front of the klingon. "An iconian holo-store, taken from the continent of Ithoir on Iconia itself.

"Does it work?"

"Dunno. That wasn't part of the deal."

"Tohzah!"

"Hey, you're about honour, right? Not part of the deal, not in my job description to get alien tech to work. I'm just the delivery girl."

Out of her left eye, Orion could see one of the klingon's cronies fiddle with his disruptor. Out of her right, she could see his counterpart do the same.

"There a problem?"

"No," her contact growled eventually, pocketing the device. "There is no problem."

Actually, there was. Orion knew enough Klingonese and enough about psychology to hear and see that her contacts were considering frying her right here, right now. She wished universal translators were still around, but times had been tough. Great for hotshots like her, the type of people who thrived on the misery of the galaxy, but still…

The klingons drew their disruptors.

"Come on boys," Orion said, lying back in her chair. "It doesn't have to end like this."

"I have shown you honour," her contact said. "What guarantee do I have that you'll do the same?"

"Well, I can show you a good time."

One of the klingons licked his lips.

"Which is why I'm going to hook you up with my friend Dalia." She let out a whistle. "Oi! Dalia! Get your green arse over here!"

It took the orion a few seconds to arrive, and she did so with a betazoid in her arm. Likely arms, at this rate.

"Dalia," Orion smiled. "I was just telling these fine gentlemen that you'd be willing to show them a good time."

"I…but I-"

"I said," Orion repeated, putting a phaser on the table, "that you'd show them a good time."

Dalia glanced at the klingons, looking as if Orion had told her to shag a borg. As if to say, "least the borg don't smell as bad."

"Fine," Dalia said, smiling at the klingons and leaving her betazoid friend a broken man. "Want some fun?"

Orion got another headache. Bloody pheromones.

Still, it was worth it as she watched the orion walk off with the two cronies. Dancing, drinking…stuff that she'd hopefully do outside the cantina, but if not…well, it wouldn't be the first time.

"Strange."

Orion looked up at her contact. "Pardon?"

"Your human name – Orion. Your partner – an orion." He grinned. "Some confusion, no?"

"We're all thieves," the human named Orion said, holstering her phaser and watching as the betazoid staggered off, free of Dalia's influence. "I tend to associate with my own kind."

"I see. And how does your own species feel about that?"

Orion sighed. "Don't try the guilt trip pal. People more persuasive than you have tried."

The klingon chuckled. "I'm not here to persuade you." The smile vanished. "I'm here to ensure that your betrayal of your own species does not extend to mine."

Orion drew her phaser. "Here's my guarantee. You turn around. And my honour dictates I don't shoot you in the back."

"Or is that your cowardice?"

"Wanna find out?"

The klingon growled, and uttered a series of words that Orion recognised as expletives. Funny how those were the easiest of klingon speech patterns to pick up.

"I will trust your honour, and your cowardice," her contact said. "Farewell."

"Yeah," Orion sighed, leaning back in her chair. "Farewell indeed."

Klingons, she reflected. Not the worst species to deal with in the galaxy, but not the worst either. According to legend they'd once been humanity's enemies, turned allies, turned indifferent. But Orion liked dealing with them at the end of the day – it provided a challenge. Every time she dealt with a human they tried to coerce her into fighting the good fight, saving her species, blah blah blah.

"Yes! Yes!"

Sighing, Orion watched as Dalia and her friends began the time-honoured tradition of making love on the cantina counter.

Why help humanity when aliens were so much more interesting?