Chapter 2

The Tokatlian Hotel

At the Tokatlian, Hilus Plormot asked for a room with a bath. Then he side-stepped to the concierge's desk and inquired for any messages.

There was a subspace communication. The subspace comm read:

'Development in Prinakq case. Please return immediately.'

"Something has come up," muttered Plormot, vexed. He glanced up at the clock. "Instead of a room with a bath, I need to travel on tonight," he amended to the concierge. "At what time does the Orion leave the Uoldims station?"

"Nine o'clock, sir."

"Can you get me a compartment?"

"Certainly, sir. There should be no difficulty at this time of year. The vessels are usually almost empty."

"Excellent. Book one for me."

"Very good, sir. How far are you going?"

"To Iser." One of the major planets of Federation space, the Iserians were proud Federation members.

"Very good, sir. I will get you a ticket to Iser and reserve your sleeping berth accommodation from St'aldor to Sioloc, where the Orion Express stops. From Sioloc, you will be able to take a shuttle to Iser."

Plormot checked the wall clock again. It was just before eight. "Do I have time to eat?"

"Of course, sir."

The little Xoisk nodded. He canceled his room order and crossed the hall to the restaurant. As he gave his order to the waiter, a hand tapped on his shoulder.

"What a wonderful surprise!" a voice spoke from behind.

The speaker was a short, stout, younger man, his hair a bit fuller than Plormot's own. He smiled with delight as Plormot sprang up.

"Douqh!" Izu Douqh was a Xoisk, a director of Agate Incorporated, an intergalactic company of merchant ships. Douqh's friendship with the legendary Xoisk dated back many years, to his days with the Xoisk police force.

"You find yourself far from home, my friend," said Douqh.

"A little affair in Sy'xenia."

"Ah!" Douqh knew what that meant. Plormot often used the term 'little affair' to infer a case. "And when do you return home, then?"

"Tonight."

"Excellent! So do I. That is, I go as far as Eusal, where I have affairs. You travel on the Orion, yes?"

"Yes. I have just asked them to book me a berth. It was originally my plan to stay here for some time, but I have received a subspace communication recalling me to Federation space on a little affair."

"Woah," Douqh exlaimed. "Affairs, affairs … you are in such high demand!"

"I have had some small success, I suppose." Hilus Plormot made an attempt to look modest but, as was typical for him, decisively failed. Douqh laughed in response.

"I'll leave you to your meal, and I'll see you soon." He bade his old friend goodbye for now and Plormot started on his dinner.

Having eaten, he sat back and settled into watching other patrons, a favored pastime. There were several others in the restaurant, but two in particular took his interest.

These two sat at a nearby table, quite mismatched. One was younger, and the other older. The younger was an agreeable-type, and gave an aura of likability. He was a young Axanar man of perhaps thirty or so, clearly a Federate. It was, however, not him but his table-mate that took the little Xoisk's attention.

He was a human, hovering somewhere between sixty and seventy. From afar, he could be easily dismissed as a typical bland businessman. He was slowly balding, had a domed forehead and a smiling mouth that revealed very white teeth that he estimated were false. He gave the impression of a benevolent personality. It was his eyes – humans and their eyes – that belied this assumption. They were small, deep-set and crafty. As the man made some remark to his young companion, his gaze stopped on Plormot for a moment.

Just for that moment, there was a primal alien malevolence, an unnatural intensity in his glance.

Then he stood.

"Pay the bill, Wroe'bex." he said, his tone slightly husky. His voice was soft, with a dangerous quality.

When Plormot rejoined his friend in the lounge, the other two men were just leaving the hotel. Their luggage was being brought down and the younger man supervised the process. He opened the front door and called in:

"Ready now, Mr. Evered."

The older man grunted an assent and followed.

"Well," Plormot said, nudging his friend and gesturing. "What do you think of those two?"

"They are Federates," responded Douqh. "Returning to Federation space." As unimaginative as ever.

"Certainly they are Federates. I meant what did you think of their personalities?"

"The young man seemed quite agreeable."

"And the other?" Plormot pressed Douqh.

"Well, I honestly did not care for him. He gives off an unpleasant impression for me. And you?"

Hilus Plormot took a moment to reply.

"When he passed me in the restaurant," he began at last, "I had a visceral feeling. It was as though an animal, a wild beast, you understand, had looked me in the eye. And passed me by."

"But he is dressed so well and walks like one of the upmost esteem." He had the diplomacy to leave 'for a human' unsaid.

"Exactly! His clothing, his body, is a mask or sorts. Everything is affixed and just so, but through the bars, the wild animal looks out."

"You are being dramatic," said Douqh. "Humans have been wandering about for a small while now, and despite fear mongering from some in the Federation," he graciously left Vulcans unnamed, "I have met only the most upstanding of specimens from humanity."

"Perhaps. But I could not shake myself free from the feeling that evil had come round, considered, then just brushed past me."

"That old, respectable Federate gentleman?"

"That old, respectable Federate gentleman."

A beat.

"Well," said Douqh rather cheerfully, "perhaps you're right. There's always a grain of it. There is so much evil in the galaxy."

The door opened and the concierge came towards them, his tail twitching.

"Sir," he said to Plormot. "There is no sleeping berth available for purchase on the Orion Express."

"What?" cried Douqh. "At this time of year? There must be some party of journalists, or politicians passing through…?"

"I don't know, sir," said the concierge respectfully. "But that is how it is." It was clear he was not fully comfortable delivering bad news to one of the directors of Agate Incorporated, but it was what it was and there was no way around it.

"Well."Douqh turned to Plormot. "Don't worry, my friend. We will arrange something. There is always one compartment, which is kept empty for moments like these. The purser sees to that! Come." He became brisk, having reverted to his professional mode. "We should get going."

At the Uoldims station, Douqh was greeted with respectful deference by the uniformed Agate Incorporated purser.

"Good evening, sir. Your compartment is the No. 1." He called to the porters and they wheeled their load halfway along the platform. The vessel's hull plate, located underneath it's proudly emblazoned name, Orion Express, was programmed to update at each station. It currently read:

St'aldor – Tristan III – Sioloc

"You are full up tonight, I hear?" Douqh inquired of the ship's purser.

"Yes, sir. It seems all the sector has decided to travel tonight, it's unbelievable."

"Regardless, you must find room for this gentleman here. He is a personal friend of mine. He can take the No. 16."

"It is taken, sir."

"What?" A pause. "The No. 16?"

"Yes, sir. As I say, we are absolutely full. Everywhere."

"How could this be?" Douqh demanded. He spent several minutes making grandiose hand gestures as he explained to the purser just who his friend was. Mr. Plormot, he was wonderful, famed and distinguished. "No one travels in this sector this time of year!" He had finally blustered himself up and gotten angry. "Is there a conference somewhere? A wedding?"

"I don't think so, sir. It seems to be chance. It just happens that many people have booked travel this evening. We had to turn other passengers away as it is."

Douqh clicked his tongue in annoyance.

"At Epuhled," Douqh reasoned aloud, "there will be the coach from Phixulis. There will also be the Gaboly – Yenes coach. But we do not reach Epuhled until tomorrow evening. The problem is for tonight. There is no second-class berth free, you are certain?"

"Well, there is a second-class berth, sir-"

"Well, then-"

"But it is a lady's berth. It is shared. And there is already a Betazoid woman in the compartment – a lady's maid, I think."

"Oh, that is awkward," said Douqh.

"Don't worry yourself, friend," said Plormot. "I can travel in one of the staff quarter berths." It was unheard of for all staffing berths to be filled at a single given time. The purser had started nodding in agreement to Plormot's suggestion, but Douqh cut in.

"No. I won't hear of it." He turned again to the purser. "Has everyone arrived?" The purser deliberated over his manifest. After staring at the screen for a rather long time, he looked up.

"It seems," he said at last, drawing out his words, "that there is one passenger who has not yet checked in." He spoke slowly, hesitating.

"Go on!"

"No. 7 berth – a second-class. The gentleman has not yet come, and it is four minutes to nine."

"Who is it?" Douqh, as determined as he was, could not boot just anyone from their reservation.

"A Federate," the purser consulted his list again. "A Mr. Harris."

"Stow Mr. Plormot's luggage in No. 7," Douqh said, all business now. "If Mr. Harris arrives, he will be told he is too late and that berths cannot be retained so close to departure. We handle it if it comes to that. What do I care for a Mr. Harris?" He winked at Plormot.

"Of course, sir," the purser replied. He turned and spoke to a waiting porter, now assigned to Plormot's luggage, directing him where to go. Then he stood aside from the gangway to let Plormot enter the train.

Plormot passed along the corridor with stilted progress, since most of the people traveling were standing outside their quarters. His polite "Excuse me" was repeted many times as he sidled around many obstacles. Finally he reached his assigned compartment. The axanar, the tall young Federate man from the Tokatlian was reaching up to a suitcase. He frowned as Plormot peered in.

"Excuse me," he spoke in Common, a language designed for Federation usage. Then he stopped himself, continuing laboriously in stumbling Xoisk: "I think you have made an error."

Plormot replied in Common: "You are Mr. Harris?"

"No, my name is Qozz. I-" But protestations he was preparing were cut off by the Agate Inc. purser, who spoke from over Plormot's shoulder.

"There is no other berth on the ship, sir. The gentleman has to come in here." The purser spoke in a deeply apologetic but firm voice. He squeezed by Plormot to enter the compartment and began to lift Plormot's luggage.

Plormot noticed the measurable regret in the purser's tone with some amusement. If he were to guess, the man had been promised a good tip if he could keep the compartment for the sole use of this Mr. Qozz. However, even the most hefty tips lose their weight when a director of the company is on board and personally gives the orders.

"There we go, sir," the purser announced. "Your things are stowed, and we take off in one minute."

The purser hurried off down the hall. Plormot entered the compartment. His bunk mate smiled that affable smile. He had apparently gotten over his initial indignation and concluded that the matter was best handled philosophically.

"The ship is remarkably full," he commented in a conversational tone.

The ship's lift off tone whistle sounded over the comm, the engine groaned and the vessel trembled with exertion against the planet's gravity. The trembling smoothed into a shiver which in turn smoothed into a purr.

"We're off," said Mr. Qozz. There was a sudden jerk. Both men swung round into the window, looking out at the planet falling away from them. The Orion Express had started on its journey through the void.