Chapter
1
"Captain's log: Stardate 54622.4. I've come with Mister Erram to Graccus VI. Our goal is to find a woman named Ashley Jones, as we believe that she is involved in a smuggling ring that has been operating in this quadrant for the last year. Starfleet wants it stopped before the operation spreads any further than it already has."
Captain David Blakeney's eyes swept the murky interior of the pub. There were few patrons; those that were there tended to hover in the shadows towards the rear. What were clearly prostitutes lounged in a bored fashion along the bar, but there were no takers. He was aware of Lieutenant Erram at his side, studying the room as intently as he was. Both of the Starfleet officers were wearing tough civilian clothes. It had taken the two of them nearly an hour to find this sordid little den, but Blakeney had been told that this is where he could find Ashley Jones. The Captain had spotted the owner behind the bar the moment they'd come in. She was notable because of her four arms, but even without those, she'd have still stuck out. She was blowsy and plump, with frizzy dyed black hair and too much makeup; cheap-looking artificial jewellery adorned her fingers, her hair, and her nose. Her pink sequinned gown was loose and flowing, but it did not conceal her ample girth. Physical appearance aside, however, she was the owner, and if anyone knew anything about Jones, she would.
"Erram," Blakeney turned to the Bolian, "I want you to mingle with the customers. See if they know anything about Jones."
"Aye, sir," nodded Erram, wondering what Blakeney would be doing.
"I'm going to see what I can get out of the woman behind the bar," explained Blakeney, as if in response to Erram's thoughts. "She's obviously the owner, maybe she knows something." The two officers parted company and Blakeney moved towards the bar. The owner was sucking on a salt stick and seemed oblivious to his approach, though the Captain's instincts told him she was very aware. He sat in one of the unoccupied stools at the bar, and the owner gave him a quick, noncommittal glance.
"A new face," she drawled in a husky voice.
"Same one I've always had," countered Blakeney. He thought that humour might take the edge off the situation and so was pleased to see a ready grin spread to her lips.
"What can I get for you?" the owner asked. As the pub was called Y'marr's, Blakeney assumed that she was called Y'marr. In response to her question, the Starfleet officer resisted the urge to say nothing, as that would appear suspicious. No one comes to a bar if they don't want a drink, unless they're looking for someone.
"Aldebaran whiskey," Blakeney ordered. Two of Y'marr's hands set about pouring a shot of the whiskey into a glass, another worked the salt stick in her mouth, and the fourth offered the Captain one from a nearby bowl.
"Suck salt?" she queried.
"Never cared for it," replied Blakeney. He thought it a disgusting habit, and wondered if the people who were caught up in it realised what it did to their mouths. He remembered that during his time at the Academy he'd dated a woman who loved her salt sticks, and every time he kissed her he felt his own mouth pucker and dry; it was like kissing a desert floor.
"Good for you. Nasty habit," Y'marr took a few more licks whilst placing Blakeney's drink onto the bar. "Who are you looking for?"
Caught a little off-guard, Blakeney felt his reply was bumbling, "Who says I'm looking for anybody?"
"Come on pal," the woman acted offended, "no one comes in here anymore unless they're looking for someone. Plus it's written all over your face." Blakeney took a sip of his beverage. This woman was clearly not going to be easily fooled.
"All right," he told her. "I'm looking for a woman called Ashley Jones."
"Really? She hasn't been here for days," Y'marr seemed coy. "Why?"
"We had business dealings," Blakeney told her a prearranged story. "I was supposed to meet her to finalise the deal."
"What 'business dealings'?" Y'marr asked, dropping her salt stick back into the bowl.
"That is between Miss Jones and myself," Blakeney was adamant.
"Well you might as well tell me," another grin appeared on Y'marr's generous mouth, "because you won't be telling Ashley Jones."
"What do you mean by that?" wondered Blakeney. Was it some sort of threat perhaps?
"There's a reason she hasn't been in here for days," Y'marr's delivery was dry, but Blakeney felt there was a touch of regret in her voice.
"Why is that?" Blakeney gently prodded. Y'marr sighed faintly and looked down.
"She's dead," she said softly.
"Excuse me?" Blakeney didn't think he'd heard her quite right.
Her head shot back up and looked Blakeney straight in the eyes, "You heard me! She's dead! Murdered!"
"Murdered?" Blakeney was disappointed, but couldn't say he was surprised. The smuggling ring was rumoured to be very very dangerous.
"Right here in this bar," Y'marr went on. "She got into a fight with another so-called 'business partner'. This partner pulled a disrupter on Ashley. I can remember looking down at her after that bitch had shot her. Her face was so full of pain." It was obvious that Y'marr had had a soft spot for this woman. "It took me hours to get the stains out of the carpet!" Blakeney realised that humour was obviously this woman's way of coping with things, but she was definitely troubled by the death of Jones. He decided to try and find out who this 'business partner' had been. Maybe she knew something about the smugglers.
"Do you know who it was that killed her," Blakeney gently asked.
"Not by name," Y'marr began to revert back to her friendly but elusive self. "I've seen her a few times though." The bar owner pulled out a jar and shook it, making a rattling sound. "Why don't you drop a few coins in the jar. I'll see what I remember." Blakeney reached into the jacket he was wearing and pulled out a couple of strips of Gold Pressed Latinum. The Captain had prepared for this eventuality. "Let's see now," Y'marr went on, "She's Human, like yourself. Long brown hair. She has a ship but I can't remember what it's called." Blakeney dropped another strip into the jar.
"Jog any memories?" he asked.
"It's slowly coming back to me," Y'marr moved closer to Blakeney and he got a whiff of her salty breath. Seeing that she had also moved her pot closer, he put another strip into it. He hoped that she wouldn't have many more memory lapses, or he'd be out of money! "The Armageddon," Y'marr stated. "Her ship was called the Armageddon."
"Armageddon?" Blakeney jumped off his barstool. "Are you sure?"
"I'm always sure," Y'marr confidently told him.
"Do you know where she went?" demanded the Starfleet Captain.
"Afraid not," Y'marr shook her head. Noticing that Blakeney was reaching for more Latinum, she said, "No really. This time I have no idea. She made some remark about returning to paradise. But that was it. Maybe it's some sort of code."
The corners of Blakeney's mouth turned up, "That's no code." He made to leave, "Thank you for all your help, madam."
"You're welcome, pal," Y'marr replied, taken slightly aback by Blakeney's hurried departure. She watched as the stranger approached his Bolian friend and motioned him away from the conversation he was having with one of the prostitutes.
"Anything?" Blakeney asked.
"Either no one knows anything, or no one is willing to disclose anything," Erram reported. The two incognito Starfleet officers headed for the door. "Did you have any luck?"
"I think so," stated Blakeney. "We need to go to Paradise."
Erram paused, "Captain?"
"So who is Nyah Khan?" Erram asked. He and Blakeney exited the transporter room and made their way down one of the many corridors aboard U.S.S. Warrior.
"She's an old… acquaintance," Blakeney explained. "A mercenary Captain. She has no morals and for a high enough price she'll work for anyone."
"She sounds charming," scoffed Erram.
Blakeney continued, "We've had numerous dealings with her before."
"And it was she who killed Ashley Jones?" Erram wondered.
"I believe so," Blakeney confirmed.
"Did the owner of that bar tell you where to find Nyah?" inquired Erram.
"Indeed she did, Mister Erram," nodded Blakeney. "In Paradise." The Bolian Lieutenant shook his head in confusion. He feared that his Captain had finally gone mad. The two of them reached the end of a hallway, and Blakeney pushed the keypad to call a turbolift.
Blakeney activated the intercom system, "Blakeney to bridge. Miss Phillips, would you contact Starfleet Intelligence. I want to talk to their operative on Constantius III."
"Yes, Captain," Lieutenant Commander Jennifer Phillips responded. The automatic doors then opened so Blakeney and Erram stepped into the turbolift.
"I didn't know Starfleet had an undercover operative on Constantius III," admitted Erram.
"He's not been there long," Blakeney explained. "Deck 3," he told the computer. Beeping, the turbolift closed its doors and made its way to the deck above. "He was sent there last month."
"May I ask why?" Erram asked as the turbolift car came to a stop and the doors opened.
"He's doing the same thing we are," stated Blakeney, walking out of the lift, "trying to find out information about this smuggling ring." The Captain heard the doors behind him close and he headed for his quarters to change back into his duty uniform.
"So what exactly is it that you don't understand, Erram?" Commander Michelle Fortescue asked from her chair on the bridge. Erram, who had also changed back into uniform, was seated at his post at the security/tactical station.
He explained, "I understand who Nyah Khan is, but what I don't understand is how the Captain figured Constantius III, by simply being told that Nyah was going to 'Paradise'. I'm sure you'll agree that there are other planets in the quadrant that better fit the description of a utopia."
"True," Phillips responded, "but the Captain knows something you don't."
"What's that?" the Bolian asked.
"Well," continued Phillips, "having dealt with Nyah before, we know that she frequents a particular bar on that planet."
"And that bar fits the typical description of paradise?" Erram was as confused as ever.
"Not at all," Lieutenant Shannon Wilcox put in. "As I recall, it was a smoke-filled hole. Only the scum of the universe ever go there."
"Wait a minute," Erram stopped them. "This is doing nothing to alleviate my confusion."
"The bar itself is called the Paradise Lounge," Phillips finished.
"Suddenly it all becomes clear," Erram smiled. "Though I'm sure it was a lot more complicated than it needed to be!" At that moment, the doors to Blakeney's ready room opened and the Captain stepped out.
"I've spoken to the operative on Constantius," he said, making his way over to the Commanding Officer's chair. "He informs me that Nyah was there yesterday morning, but before long she left again."
"Does he have any idea where she's gone this time?" asked Fortescue.
"In fact he does," nodded Blakeney. "Apparently she has some 'business' to take care of on planet Marridon IV."
"Does Starfleet happen to have another operative on Marridon?" Phillips wondered. "Someone who can tell whether or not she's still there."
"I'm afraid not," sighed Blakeney, seating himself in his chair. "We'll have to go there ourselves."
"Captain," Fortescue said, "you realise that we don't know for certain that Nyah knows anything about the smuggling ring."
"I'm aware of that, FO," Blakeney reasoned, "but we do know that she killed Ashley Jones, and we suspect that she had something to do with the smugglers."
"But how can we be sure that her death was anything to do with smuggling?" Wilcox put in.
"We can't, Lieutenant," answered Blakeney, "but Nyah is our only lead at the moment. Besides, this is Nyah Khan we're talking about. She seems to know about every illegal, underhand thing that goes on throughout the quadrant. Mister Parson, set a course for Marridon."
"Course plotted and laid in, Captain," Lieutenant Joseph Parson reported from the conn.
Blakeney ordered, "Engage at maximum warp." The Warrior moved out of orbit of Graccus and gracefully zoomed off into the dark night of space.