Disclaimer: I do not own Star Trek or any of the characters created therein.

A/N: Each of the characters in this story is representative of something I particularly like or find important in the Star Trek universe. Chief Engineers are always central to any Trek story: to paraphrase, "they make things go." We've seen cheery, boisterous, or even hotheaded Chiefs but Arima adds another dimension to the engineer character: he is a sea of calm, unflappable in any crisis.

-

First Impression, Chapter 5: To Market, To Market

A hand clad in a metallic glove landed a hefty blow across his face, sending him backwards into a nearby computer panel. It was on standby, thank god, but his right hand broke through the paneling and was torn on sharp edges.
He was pulled around by the front of his jumpsuit and braced himself for another blow.

"You…" his attacker's face was contorted in rage. "You…Romulan!" the burly Nausicaan spat.

VeJack straightened himself as best he could and tried to look nonchalant. "Look, you were the one who said we had a deadline. I did exactly what you asked—I don't question orders, remember?" He pointed to a partially healed cut that ran from his left temple behind his ear and into his hairline. The ear was in fact not pointed as a Romulans should be, nor were any of his features discernibly of that race; he looked plainly human. He was always amused by the way people emphasized one side of his heritage or the other depending on their opinion of him at the time.

"How many people saw the transports?" demanded the captain, unable to contain his fury. "Starfleet will investigate!"

"They haven't yet," VeJack shrugged. "They're lazy, you said so yourself. Even if they look into it they can't track—"

The sound of footsteps and the crash of machinery being dropped—and broken—interrupted them. Another Nausicaan and an angry looking Tellerite, their hands full of VeJack's belongings, joined their colleagues on the bridge. The rest of the crew—a Bajoran, a Trill (one of the common Trill, sans symbiant), and a Laeverian looked on passively. They were used to their captain's rage as well as VeJack's incompetence.

"This was everything—we searched his quarters thoroughly," the Tellerite dumped the computer viewscreen he was carrying onto the deck.

"Hey, hey, there's no need for that!" VeJack whined. "You have no right—"

He was silenced by another blow across his face. "I have every right! This is my ship, or have you forgotten?" VeJack nodded, nursing a bloody lip with a bloody hand. This "right" had been outline in the contract he had agreed to before coming aboard.

"It's useless anyway. This computer must be 40 years old. Nothing on it but his personal logs and some engineering plans for his ship," the Tellerite grinned over the last word. He thought the half-breed's aspirations of owning his own ship were hilarious.

The Nausicaan captain turned back to VeJack. "We dock at Par'at Nor in an hour. You're off this ship."

It suited VeJack just fine.

-

The Paulson Nebula, beautiful and mysterious, filled the main viewer. Sovak was seated in the captain's chair, waiting patiently while Taurik and Japel finished running a scan on the outer edge of the phenomenon.

To his left Minister Yale say quietly, to his right Commander Bohemir fidgeted as he waited for the results of the survey. The first officer was not good at being idle.

"Sir!" Japel called out from his station. "I think we have something!"

"Engineering, report," ordered Sovak.

Arima answered, his tone even. "I have Commander Japel's data and am running it through the second set of scans." There was a brief pause. "It does appear to bear the signature we have been looking for."

Sovak was relieved and apprehensive at the same time underneath his stoic veneer. They had found what they were looking for, but the nebula would cause subspace distortion that would greatly hinder both sensor and communication ability.

"A perfect place to hide," Bohemir seemed to echo his thoughts. Sovak raised one eyebrow in agreement.

"Ensign, take us into the nebula at half impulse. Mr. Kordant, continue to scan the area. Commander Arima: adjust the sensors to the interference in the nebula as best you can."

Slowly, carefully, they headed into the unknown.

-

"So what exactly did the Romulans and the Klingons say to you?" Bohemir asked before sipping the scotch the captain had offered. Sovak preferred tea himself but felt his first officer would appreciate something stronger to ease the tension of waiting. The alcoholic content had been altered so as to be negligible, but that was not really the point.

It had been almost two days since they had entered the Paulson Nebula and the going was slow. The distortions that prevented subspace communications also made it difficult to read the quantum particle changes on the same level. The sensors needed to be re-calibrated almost every hour, Arima and his team were working around the clock. They had found several possible signatures and were spending valuable time tracking each of them.

Beside Bohemir, Mirista Yale also waited for the captain's answer.

"I told you. They were not interested, they called it a Federation problem. The Klingons have sent information regarding a few possible incidents in their space and the data seems to fit into Lt. Vesta's model. Other than that there is no significant change to the information we already have."

"What about this notion of the Romulan warp reactor?" his first officer asked. "It appears that Lt. Taurik was right about that…what do you think that means?"

"Is it possible the Romulans sold this technology?" asked Mirista.

"It is possible," Sovak told her, "but we must not discount the possibility of Romulan involvement."

"Why would the Romulans be involved in a black market in Federation space?" Bohemir asked. "It seems like small potatoes for them."

" 'Small potatoes?' " Mirista asked.

"Not significant enough to warrant concern," Sovak supplied. "I do not know why they would be involved, but we must consider the chance."

"Sir," a voice broke in, "this is Commander Japel. Sir—we've found them."

Sovak rose and strode onto the bridge, where the tension of the past two days had been replaced by a buzz of excitement. "On screen," he ordered.

He expected to see a ship—perhaps of surprising or unusual design—appear before his eyes, but what showed up against the nebular backdrop of space was far more complicated and staggering than that.

It was an entire space station, a narrow cylinder with tapering edges. A central ring that was connected to the main structure by what appeared to be "spokes" encircled it. Along this ring several ships were obviously docked, though enormous doors probably indicated that many more ships had docked inside the ring as well.

"I'm going to bet that's our market," Bohemir grinned.

-

This was why Una loved being in Starfleet, she told herself as she got ready for the away mission. She was selecting what might be an appropriate outfit for a smuggler or thief from the quartermaster's extensive collection. Beside her Vesta was doing the same, though the Andorian seemed to be enjoying it a lot less. She was scrutinizing three costumes on the computer, obviously at an impasse. Una peeked at the viewer.

"That one looks good," she pointed to the one on the left.

Vesta's head whipped around to look at the human. "I do not require assistance," she said curtly.

Una refused to be put off. She didn't want to go on a mission with someone she'd never even spoken to before—it wasn't a matter of politeness, it was common sense.

"I just say that because it has more pockets than the other two. More places to hide a weapon—and with an outfit like that, people will be expecting you to carry some kind of…protection."

Vesta glared at the screen, not wanting to take the advice. Out of her peripheral vision she saw Una shrug and go back to her own screen. Vesta considered the interaction over.

"Although the one in the middle looks a little like what a Maquis might wear." Una, apparently, did not.

Why was the human going on? Vesta wondered. She looked at her companion, this time really seeing her. Una was flipping expertly through screen after screen, looking for just the right costume. It dawned on the Andorian that of course Una had an interest in what Vesta was wearing…as well as what she would carry, how she would interact—with everything that Vesta and the other members of the team would do on the surface. It was her job. She felt a sudden surge of camaraderie towards Una, even if she was friends with the Vulcan. Taurik had made Vesta wary; she could not let that stand in the way of the mission.

"What if I use the top element from that one and the lower half of the one on the left?" Vesta asked in a businesslike tone.

Una sensed a change in the weather and answered in kind. "I think it's good. It's unique but doesn't stand out too much. Perfect," she approved. She motioned to her own screen, where she had built her own outfit. "If I change the coloring of this then it will look like we got the style or material from the same place. As shipmates, that's believable."

Vesta nodded and decided that Una was okay.

"Now what about boots?" Una asked, starting another search.

-

In the main launch bay Taurik was going through a similar process but with shuttlecraft instead of shoes.

The Temura was by necessity a ship of disguise: it could put out sensor data that would make a pre-warp industrial society believe its presence was merely solar radiation, it could use holotechnology to turn into an asteroid, even the shuttlecraft could be physically reconfigured to become an alien vessel.

At the moment Taurik was trying to match the exterior of the shuttle to that of the holographically generated ship's hull, which conveyed a style something of a cross between Nausicaan and Tamarian. Beside him worked the Chief Engineer. His face was expressionless, a direct contrast to his fingers, which conducted their own lively dance over the console before them. The Vulcan and the human worked with little conversation but great understanding between them.

Taurik was checking the nacelle emissions when his comm badge sounded and his friend's voice emerged.

Magis to Taurik.

"Taurik here." He knew it was not a social call.

Come to the quartermaster's immediately to be outfitted for the away mission. You're coming with us.

"That is…highly irregular," he answered. It was an understatement—he never went on her away missions.

I know, she told him, but we won't be able to scan the station adequately from the ship. I need someone down there who can look for the warp signature of the vessel we've been tracking. We don't have a field engineer yet so you're our man.

Arima, who had overheard the conversation, gave him a nod of confidence. Taurik returned it and headed for the doors.

"On my way."