MISSION TO DALETH IV
by Soledad
For disclaimer, rating, etc., see the Foreword.
Author's notes:
Again, Arrhae is not identical with Diane Duane's character in "The Romulan Way". She is genuinely Romulan and has different family and clan names. Diane Duane established in her book that 'Arrhae' is a fairly common female Romulan name, and I borrowed it because I couldn't think of anything better. The character is based on a Real Life friend, who helped me developing it (it was her alias in a Star Trek RPG) and allowed me to use it. Thanks, Andrea!
Madame Vithra, on the other hand, is a semi-canon character that appears in John Vornholt's book "Mind Meld". In this story, she is considerably younger and less wealthy than in the novel, but already on her way to become the rich industrial she would be in that book which takes place after "The Undiscovered Country". The strange collar of her dress, that actually could be buttoned together to hide most of her face, was originally planned by William Ware Theiss for the dress of Amanda, Spock's mother in "Journey to Babel" but was never realized. I found a picture about it in the Star Trek Sketch Book.
Rigelian Kasaba fever was a fake illness mentioned by Dr. McCoy to fool some malevolent aliens. But I found the name so cool that I decided to make the disease real.
I adopted some of Vornholt's ideas about Rigelian culture (for example the clan marriages, the numerology and a few other aspects), but not all of them. Since Vornholt was the only one who ever cared for the Rigelians, I felt it proper to keep as close to his concept as possible.
CHAPTER 04: A FAIR WARNING
It was on the fourth day after his return to Daleth Station that Captain Vierchi finally found the time to make a visit in Madame Vithra's establishment, where his protégée worked. Madame Vithra's was situated in a particular segment of the trade and entertainment ring called The Quarter – for reasons unknown to everyone. About two dozens of such establishments were there, servicing various purposes and demands, from human interest to the strangest alien kinks.
Madame Vithra's was he largest and cleanest of all, designed as an elegant Rigelian villa. Twenty prostitutes worked here, ten males and ten females, as Rigelian numerology demanded a balance in all things. They were all very young – the average Rigelian pleasure house only dealt with tender flesh – and they were all Rigelians, trained to behave as Vulcans or Romulans as well, should their customers have a particularly exotic taste. Vierchi knew that actually surprisingly many people had. After all, finding a true Vulcan or Romulan willing to satisfy their needs wouldn't have been an easy task. Madame Vithra had an excellent sense for business and knew very well what she was doing.
Entering Madame Vithra's, one first came to a foyer that looked very much like the anteroom of a noble house. Madame herself – a voluptuous lady, slightly beyond her first youth, with flowing jet-black hair and so much make-up in her face that it came close to cosmetic alterations – was resting on a low, plush sofa on which four people would have found enough place, watching the entrance like a hawk. Another woman, this one considerably younger and clad in simple back, stood behind the circular desk to welcome customers and do the actual work.
Madame wore an eccentrically-cut, long green dress, interwoven with thin golden threads and with a high collar up to almost her dramatically shaded and lined green eyes. The dress was open on the left side till mid-tight, revealing the Rigelian equivalent of black silk stockings and high-heeled ankle boots. The outfit seemed decadent, but Vierchi had known Madame Vithra for years and knew that she could put up a mean fight, even in that less than practical garment.
Recognizing the smuggler who often provided her with small amounts of semi-legal cargo, Madame Vithra rose from her sofa and swept forth to greet him in the manner of a benevolent aristocrat who welcomes a useful but insignificant servant.
"Captain Vierchi!" she purred with a low, throaty voice, "How good of you to visit my humble establishment again! It has been too long…"
"Too long indeed," Vierchi took a small, deceivingly soft hand that could have broken his neck with minimal effort and kissed it gallantly.
Given the right angle, Madame Vithra was very much capable of killing a man twice her size. Vierchi had seen it with his own eyes. Not that the victim had deserved anything better, trying to kill one of Madame's "boys" in a drug-induced frenzy. But the sight had still been disturbing, and that was the time when Vierchi started to understand that Madame Vithra was a lot more than she seemed.
During the recent years, he had collected a great deal of data about Madame's activities. It had not been easy, as she was cautious, secretive and full of mistrust. But what could one expect from a woman who had been taken from her clan by force and sold into one of the bigger cities to become a child prostitute at the age of ten?
Madame had gone through seven hells, and it had made her hard and merciless as steel. Vierchi knew that the heavy make-up she wore was not only meant to make her look younger – beyond a certain age she wouldn't have a choice in her trade anyway. The cosmetics served to cover the damage the dreaded Rigelian Kasaba fever had caused, an illness similar (though less virulent) than leper had been on Earth. A disease that only spread through sexual intercourse.
Discovered in time, it could be cured completely, but the traces remained for life. One of these traces was tissue scars, too deep to remove with a dermal regenerator. Why Madame hadn't had removed them by cosmetic surgery (she was wealthy enough to afford it) was a mystery. Maybe she kept them as a warning – for herself and her employees.
Another trace was the hoarse, throaty voice of the cured victims, as the illness frequently affected the vocal cords. Despite all this, Vierchi still found that Madame Vithra was a sight for sore eyes. He told her so, and she grinned broadly.
"Still the old flatterer, aren't you, Captain? But I thank you nevertheless. Would you care to take a light early meal with me and my spouses? Business is a little low at this time of the day, so I can allow myself a break and leave things in Spiria's capable hands for a little while," she added, giving her co-wife behind the circular desk an appreciative look.
"I'm honoured, Madame, I really am, but…" Vierchi couldn't finish his lame attempt to excuse himself. Madame Vithra upped her offer immediately.
"Did I already mention that we have just got some cargil mussels, fresh from Rigel V?" she asked sweetly. "I'd be delighted to share them with you."
Truth be told, Vierchi was less than eager to waste his precious time with Madame and her junior spouses who had accompanied her on Daleth Station (while the older ones tended to clan business back home). He came her to talk with Arrhae, and it was urgent. But he knew how unwise it would be to fall from Madame's good graces.
"Well, originally I have come to look after Arrhae once again," he admitted; honesty was the best way to keep out of trouble, even though Rigelians didn't share the telepathic abilities of their Vulcan cousins. "But this is not an invitation I could ever reject. I haven't had cargil mussels in ages. My low budget wouldn't allow them"
"Oh, we can have them quite often," Madame Vithra took his arm and navigated him into her private dining room that was adjoining the foyer. "One of my older and richer spouses, Bonkuyo, owns several mussel banks along the coasts of the southern continent."
Vierchi nodded absent-mindedly. Bonkuyo was rather well known across the Rigel system, as he belonged to the very few wealthy industrials of Rigel V. After a plague had wiped out the major cities and industrial centres of the planet some twelve hundred years earlier, the survivors formed a very different culture – one that was rural and decentralized.
This culture – that had lived on ever since – included the custom of clan marriages, to avoid having the families decimated again. The different clans lived scattered across the whole planet, trading in various biomedical products, and their technology was majorly based on solar energy. The natural flora of the planet conquered the ruins again, turning Rigel V into some sort of paradise – well, almost.
As environmental-friendly as this low-technology lifestyle was, it came with a price. The planet remained poor, compared with other Federation worlds. In fact, Rigel V's economy was to a great extent based on the financial strength of wealthy citizens who had migrated to the other Rigel Colonies and invested into industry, trade and mining.
Only a few decades ago had some more progressive clan mothers realized that their homeworld would become completely dependant on the rich industrials on the colonies, if nothing was done to prevent it. So they decided to act. They persuaded some of those rich industrials to marry into their families and secretly, behind the backs of fanatical numerologists, were working on the reforms that had to be made.
A few tentative steps had been made already, to fire up industrial production on the homeworld itself. Ambassador T'Sedd, their representative in the Federation Council, was one of the driving forces behind the new development. Married to a Vulcan, she had adapted to the logical ways of her husband's people, and was not afraid to take radical action, if needed.
Needless to say that she had taken up residence on Rigel II, instead of the homeworld (when she wasn't on Earth, that is). Although a native to Rigel V, she was an agnostic, and traditionalists could be rather aggressive when it came to religious issues. As far as numerology could be considered a religion, of course.
Only a few of the richer, more important clan leaders supported T'Sedd's economical ideas. Bonkuyo, who controlled food production in an entire region, was one of those. He was one of the Elders of their clan – meaning that he was one of its founders – and so other wealthy members followed him.
Madame Vithra didn't belong to the clan Elders – in fact, it had been less than ten standard years that Bonkuyo had bought her out of her "contract" and made her the head of this particular business area. She proved very skilled in running their extensive chain of pleasure establishments, but that came as no surprise. She was an insider and a consumed professional, after all.
Vierchi knew from rumours that the marriage group had outgrown its comfortable numbers and split a few years ago. While the senior members remained on the homeworld, keeping financial issues firmly in hand, small groups of the junior spouses had been sent to the colonies and to Daleth Station, to organize business right on the spot.
At the moment, Madame Vithra had two husbands and a co-wife with her at Daleth Station – an even number of males and females, as the rules of numerology required. She, personally, was more superstitious than a true believer, but one had to follow the rules of Rigelian society to be accepted; even the foolish ones.
Her senior husband present, Denkahr, was a rugged-looking man in a tailored suit – or what went as a suit for Rigelians. He was considered a ruthless businessman with a keen sense for opportunity, and, unlike most Rigelians, was not a particularly friendly person.
Ishul, her other husband looked almost obscenely young and somewhat… artificially pretty, with long, wavy hair tumbling over his shoulders, long eyelashes and a fine-boned face that would have put any woman to shame. Vierchi hadn't met him before but knew from reliable sources that Ishul was the last spawn of the family of Rigel V's most famous numerologist – a highly respected but very poor family that had practically sold him into marriage.
Consequently, he had nothing to say in the family and was nothing but a pretty toy, decorated with fine clothes and expensive jewellery. Nominally, he was supposed to oversee the male prostitutes, but he'd never have been able to keep Madame Vithra's "boys" firmly in hand.
That task was in reality assigned to Madame's "champion" – a tall, muscular Rigelian man named Mondral, whose impassive face would have suited any Vulcan or Romulan. Though young and handsome as well – good looks being part of the business here – Mondral had the cold eyes of a professional killer. Which was fitting for a "champion" – the bodyguard of an important person.
Vierchi was offered a seat between Madame and Denkahr, and a slim and obviously frightened girl, whom they called Chorin, served them some purple liquid in small cups. Vierchi sighed. Of course they had to offer him Trijelian tea – one of the most awful-tasting beverages of the whole sector. And of course they had to serve it scalding hot. He sometimes wondered if all vulcanoids had a digestive tract made of asbestos. Right now, he could only hope that he wouldn't spill the tea over himself, as that would have required plastic surgery afterwards.
Fortunately for him, his hosts were occupied with their own tea (Rigelians had an obscure passion for the horrid blend), and when the girl servant returned to offer the mussels, conversation had turned to business already.
Denkahr proved surprisingly familiar with Federation trade practices… well, not that surprisingly, actually, as he used to be the ambassador of his region, sent to Rigel VI for some years. But he also seemed one of the more conservative people who valued the rural lifestyle of his homeworld very much and was willing to defend it against anyone.
Madame Vithra seemed just the opposite, and soon enough, they got engaged in a bitter fight about economics and finances. Obviously not for the first time, judged by the bored expression of Ishul's too-pretty face.
"We need open trade," Madame argued, forgetting even about the delicacies on her plate. "We need investors from other Federation worlds, we need their credits and markets for the wares produced by our craft guilds. It's not like we would have anything else to offer!"
"But we don't need to become dependant from the other Rigel Colonies," Denkahr replied, cold anger glittering in his dark eyes. "We don't need the Free Merchants' Guild to take over our economy and deliver it directly into the hands of the Orion Syndicate."
Madame Vithra gave a derisive snort. "Bah! You and the others are hysterical."
Denkahr shook his head in exasperation. "You've been in our family for almost ten standard years by now, but you still don't seem to understand what Bonkuyo and the other Elders are working towards, do you? Sometimes I think it was a mistake to buy you free. You just don't have the instinct for the really important things."
"Was it not you who suggested the Elders to start business on this station?" Madame riposted. "Or did you not realize back then who is truly running this place? Who is the one with no instinct for really important things?"
Denkahr rolled his eyes. "Of course I knew about S'Bysh! I'm a little longer in this business than you are. And I suggested establishing this outpost to be informed about trade opportunities, to get contact with the representatives of many worlds and to keep an eye on the Syndicate. Your little brothel isn't our ultimate goal here, in case you haven't realized yet. It's a useful tool, but only that: a tool. You should better get used to that thought and not overestimate your own importance."
The bickering continued like that for an hour or so. After a while, Ishul excused himself and curled up on the spacious sofa in the background, taking a small, leather-bound book with very thin, gold-rimmed pages out of his pocket and began to read. A quick look at the book made it clear that it was a pocket edition of The Doctrine of Lollo, the famous book of numerology – the closest thing Rigelians had to a holy script.
A mildly amused smile on the blank face of Mondral revealed that the bodyguard had little respect for any present member of the family that paid him for his services, though certain looks he gave Madame made Vierchi think that there were at least a few of her attributes he could value. The argument itself didn't seem to interest him a bit. He had most likely heard the same thing over and over again since coming to Daleth Station.
Vierchi, on the other hand, listened carefully, making mental notes about the important pieces of information the two Rigelians unintentionally dropped in the heat of their argument. He would have to compare facts with his associates later, but he slowly got the impression that Denkahr's concerns were well-founded. It seemed that the Orion Syndicate had, indeed, begun to infiltrate the disorganized economy of Rigel V.
It shouldn't have come unexpected, actually. The Syndicate had always thrived in chaos, and Rigel V had practically no large government bodies – only the local prefects, who all sent their so-called ambassadors to wherever they needed to establish trade contacts. And the Assembly, of course, but that only met twice a year. Such a decentralized society practically begged the Syndicate to establish footholds wherever it wanted.
The Elders of Madame's clan apparently wanted to keep the Syndicate off their homeworld, as they planned to take over the organization of industry and trade themselves. In a manner, they were about to create their own little syndicate and didn't want a bigger shark in the pond. Vierchi found the whole thing fascinating; he'd learned more about the inner struggles of Rigelian society in this one hour than during the years before.
Denkahr finally realized that they shouldn't be discussing sensitive issues in front of a stranger. He ended the argument with a word of authority – being a senior spouse gave him the right to do that – and they finished the meal in icy silence. Despite the usefulness of his visit, Vierchi was utterly relieved when he could finally leave and do what he had really come for: to find his protégée and warn her about the things to come.
He found Arrhae in her small office that opened directly from the foyer, right on the left side of the main entrance. The young Romulan woman wore a simple, Rigelian-style combination of dark blue trousers and a loose dark tunic, since she was pretending to be Rigelian for her own safety. Her slightly broad features made her very different from the aristocratically sharp-faced Romulan officers of higher rank who usually came from the patrician circle of great Houses. But for the human eye she still looked pretty enough, and her pointed ears gave her simple face an exotic touch.
She greeted Vierchi in her customary, subdued manner. Romulans were just as disciplined as Vulcans, although for different reasons. For Vulcans, discipline was a matter of philosophy. For most Romulans, it was the only way to survive in a society based on spying and personal vendetta and constantly watched by the ruthless Tal'Shiar.
"It's good to see you," Captain," Arrhae said in grammatically correct, almost accent-free English (the only accent she had was Rigelian already) and offered Vierchi a seat. "I didn't know you were at Daleth Station again."
She had even learnt to use contractions since their last meeting.
"I only arrived four days ago," Vierchi answered, "and I had to make… certain arrangements before seeking you out."
Arrhae frowned. She might have been a housekeeper of common birth back home, but he had not got that job for being a fool. Running the day-to-day affairs of a great House's main estate was not an easy task in Romulan society.
"Is something wrong?" she asked.
"Nah, just business as usual," Vierchi replied smoothly, well aware of the fact that the small office was most likely watched. Madame Vithra never left anything or anyone uncontrolled. That would be suicidal at Daleth Station. "Have you had lunch already?"
"I require little nourishment," Arrhae said truthfully; the things he could not help but see during work time had completely ruined her appetite. "But if you are offering to buy me a drink, I won't say no. All these numbers make me thirsty sometimes."
Vierchi nodded. "Consider yourself invited. Any choice of place?"
"What about Thorev's Cantina?" Arrhae asked. "That is the only place on the whole station that serves real Andorian ale… I've grown fond of that beverage since I am here. It has such a spicy touch."
It was an excellent choice, of course. The extremely sensitive antennae of the Andorians registered the slightest electronic buzz of listening devices immediately. Plus, Andorians were suspicious, paranoid and lightly irritable. Consequently, it was virtually impossible to bug a bar run by Andorians and full of Andorian personnel for longer than a standard hour. They would register the bug within ten minutes, order a search immediately and find it wherever it was placed.
"Sounds good," Vierchi nodded, wondering if Arrhae had ever drunk Andorian ale. She probably had. Romulan camouflage practices were nothing if not thorough – they had to be. "Say, in ten minutes?"
"Make it twenty," Arrhae said. "I have to finish this sheet first."
Twenty minutes later, they were sitting at a table in Thorev's Cantina, far enough from the bar, so that they could not be overheard – Andorians were notoriously noisy and had very good hearing. Arrhae was sipping her ale, while Vierchi had ordered Altair water, as usual.
"So," Arrhae said after the waiter was far enough, "let's cut to the case, shall we? I only have a thirty-minute lunch break. What's up?"
"Several things, none of which would influence your life directly; not under normal circumstances," the human replied evasively. "Nevertheless, you shouldn't remain here any longer. This place might become… unpleasant"
"Unpleasant for me personally or for people in general?" Arrhae asked, knowing all too well that Romulan spies – sent by the enemies of the House she had served all her life – could and did slip through the controls occasionally, disguised either as Vulcans or as Rigelians.
"It's not about you," the smuggler answered. "It's about your employer. Or, more accurately, about that 'protector' of hers."
Arrhae nodded her understanding. There was no need for names; they both knew that Madame Vithra could never have opened her brothel at Daleth Station without signing a contract with S'Bysh in the first place. Nobody could have. Bonkuyo might have bought her free from her Rigelian 'protector' back home, but at Daleth Station, everybody was in S'Bysh's pocket. Even some members of the civilian constabulary. And everybody had to pay considerable sums for the right to have a business existence – and to keep it.
"Starfleet has had an eye on him for quite some time," Vierchi added.
Of that Arrhae had heard already. News travelled faster than warp 10 on a station like this. But it didn't seem as if the Orion pate had been worried about Starfleet.
"That's nothing new," she said with a shrug. The human nodded.
"True. But they say, this time it's serious. You shouldn't be here when the big showdown begins."
"When?" Arrhae asked, truly worried now. She knew all too well that Starfleet would treat her as a Romulan spy. That meant endless investigations and most likely a lifelong sentence on some penal colony, as she didn't have the means to prove her innocence. For her own people she was dead already.
"Soon," the smuggler replied grimly. "You should leave while you still can."
Arrhae felt all her hopes dwindle; and there had not been much to begin with. She had always been a realistic person, so he had expected to get into trouble.
"Where could I go now… and how?" she asked. "Can you get me somewhere else? I can't pay much, but…"
"That's not the issue," the human interrupted. "The places I'm going to visit in the near future won't be the right ones for you, to put it mildly. But I might be able to help you – if you still trust me."
"I don't have much of a choice, do I?" Arrhae replied soberly. "Besides, so far your suggestions have always been helpful."
"You really are a brave one," the smuggler nodded, clearly impressed. "Very well. Go to S'Bysh's tonight. Dress up as a man, just like you did upon your arrival here – and don't even think of going unarmed! Once there, ask for a man called Sdan."
"Sdan?" for some reason, the name sounded familiar to her. "That's a Vulcan name, isn't it? Is he a Vulcan?"
"Well, he looks like a Vulcan and probably even has some green blood in his veins," the human said thoughtfully. "But nobody really knows who or what exactly he might be. He is said to have extraordinarily... exotic ancestors – and to be a very dangerous man."
"And yet you are sending me to him," Arrhae said.
"I've made business with him a few times," the smuggled shrugged. "He might be a mercenary, but he is reliable. And he has a fast ship. A very fast one. Tell him I've sent you. One of my associates has already spoken with him, and he agreed to get you away from here."
"For what price?"
"He owes my associates a favour, a big one. As for the route and destination, that's something you'll have to bargain for yourself."
"But how can I get my savings without drawing attention?" Arrhae asked in concern. "Granted, they are small enough, but I'll need every credit until I find a new hiding place and a new job."
"Leave it to us. We'll see that they are transferred to the Central Bank of Rigel II," Vierchi promised. "My associates have certain contacts that would work in that area. The account will have your given name and the serial number of my ship; you know that number, don't you?"
Arrhae nodded. "I do. Now, tell me one more thing, Captain. Why are you going such lengths to help me?"
Vierchi shrugged again. "I brought you here. My associates helped you to get your current job. You are our responsibility now.
That was an almost Romulan attitude; one that Arrhae could understand very well.
"Thank you," she said sincerely. "I'm deeply in your debt. Whenever you might need my help, I'll be honour-bound by mnhei'shae to provide it."
Vierchi nodded in acceptance. He knew what mnhei'shae was: the strange Romulan concept of honour that might force someone to kill a friend or a family member to save them from shame – or to wield mercy towards an old enemy. He also knew that mnhei'shae was not limited to the upper classes; it was something every Romulan had in their blood. From now on he could count on Arrhae's help, whenever required.
"I'll keep that in mind," he said seriously. "But you should go now. Your lunch break is almost over, and this isn't the right time to raise suspicions. Go. I'll pay for the drinks. You have been invited, remember?"
"Thank you – for everything," Arrhae rose and emptied her glass. She still found the taste of Andorian ale horrible, but that hadn't stopped her from drinking it in exchange for the relative safety of Thorev's Cantina.
"Thank me when you are safely off the station," Vierchi replied soberly, knowing that even with Sdan's help, it wouldn't be an easy task. One could never know where and when S'Bysh's spies were watching. Should the pate of Daleth Station have noticed Arrhae for some reason, trying to leave could prove risky business.
But he had done for the girl everything he could. He was not allowed to risk more. There were bigger issues at stake than the safety of one innocent Romulan fugitive, regardless of how much he might like her.
Vierchi sighed, paid for the drinks and headed back to his ship. He liked cargil mussels very much, that was not a lie – unfortunately, his stomach didn't agree with them. He needed a hypospray quickly, or he would become sick.
"The universe hates me, it really does," he stated, not for the first – and most likely not for the last – time, hurrying towards the docking ring.
TBC
