It was a sheer coincidence that she found him: Vekal had just finished her tour of sickbay and was rounding the corner that would lead to the turbolift when she nearly collided with Crewman Octet.

For a few seconds they stared at each other. Octet was an old man now, white-haired and shockingly thick about the middle. He wore a Starfleet uniform with a blue jacket and he held a PADD, but it might as well have been his prison uniform and a knife for all the difference it made. He had changed more than his clothes, too; she remembered a lean young man with a dark, leering face. Sharp as the knives he used and keenly ambitious. Now that visage was wrinkled and tired. There was no sign of arrogance anywhere about his features. In fact those features had been altered, too. With the help of a surgeon, probably several surgeons, Octet had become Human. But Vekal recognised him all the same. She had recognised his eyes and the distinctive set to his mouth from his photograph on the crew manifest, and now a thousand other details screamed at her. His posture, his mien, even his scent triggered the memories. Vekal froze. Octet was equally startled. In shock, he took a step backwards, and Vekal knew that he didn't recognise her. He saw only her uniform. Knew what she was, but not who. If he knew who she was, he wouldn't have shied away.

He would have turned tail and fled. "Can I help you?" he asked, somewhat resignedly. Maybe he was holding out the faint hope that she didn't know who he was, what he was, but it didn't show in his voice.

Vekal looked him up and down, this fat old man looking at her without any idea of who she was. "Cel-dar skrach mel dorek, ghencadas," she spat venomously. Then, collecting herself: "That wound be a start."

Shocked by the outburst of profanity, Crewman Octet stared. Fool, Vekal thought contemptuously, but the old man was also afraid. Perhaps not such a fool. His hands shook as he raised one in a futile gesture of self-defence. "K'dor a tebr?" he whispered. Who are you?

"Pav'rovat gulinn azrel Gul cek-Narat." An aide to Gul Narat. It was best to establish her rank first, though it was also on her uniform, to tell Octet that she was no longer someone to be trifled with. "Jemovat nazev cea-Vekal," she added, identifying herself. Now there was understanding underneath the fear, which had intensified and sharped into desperation. Like a trapped wompat, Octet glanced frantically around him. They were absolutely alone, as if there were a forcefield around them. The crewmen who had been walking past had vanished. Octet stared at her in absolute terror. "Thiko'la-" he began, quickly.

"Not who?" Vekal was unable to keep her face from twisting into a cruel smirk. Octet was trapped and he knew it. Helpless. Anything he could say would be an admission of guilt. He'd confessed the instant she'd said her name.

Now, he took another step backwards. "You- you must-"

"I must nothing!" she hissed, stepping forward, invading his personal space to show her dominance. "You- you are in no position to make demands," she said, forcing her voice to be calm. Gul Narat's words came, unbidden, into her mind. You're not to make any mistakes. You're going to be an ambassador for the Cardassian Union. She shook her head, wishing she could forget. Wishing she could even pretend to have forgotten. But she was here on a mission. She had her orders, and she couldn't jeopardise the plan for this... person. "You are nothing but a pathetic ghencadas. I have work here, and believe me that is the only reason you're still alive. Or at least," she said, flicking her eyes down his quivering, thick form in contempt, "here. If it were up to me I'd have you sent to Romulus for execution. Certainly nothing we can do would be fit punishment for you, but I hear the Romulans can prolong death for weeks, even months! And they would be quite pleased to get their hands on you, wouldn't they?"

"I-I've changed, I swear!" Octet held both hands up now, still backing away. "I've never done any of the things they think I did! I..." Vekal advanced threateningly. "Shut up!" she roared. Again she had to force her raging emotions down. "Don't... say another word. As far as our friends across the border are concerned, I know you're innocent, but I can as easily prove your guilt. Remember that." Octet opened his mouth to speak; she headed him off angrily. "Remember it! And while there's nothing I'd like better than settling the score with you, I won't. Not here, not now. You're not worth it." Be calm, she reminded herself. "I will, however, be here for several more days. And I promise you, the next time I see you-"

"You won't!" Octet interrupted hastily, clapping a hand over his mouth just as quickly as soon as he realised he'd spoken against her direct order.

"You will die," Vekal finished. "As slowly and as painfully as can be arranged." She smiled genially and dipped her head. "Do we understand each other?"

"Yes!" Octet cried. "Yes, absolutely! I-I'll stay out of your way! It won't happen again!"

Vekal nodded firmly, driving her point home: I hope not. "As you were, Crewman." She swept past him and strode into the turbolift without a backwards glance. "Deck Seven."

The doors closed and the turbolift accelerated. Vekal closed her eyes and tried to banish the memories Octet had awakened. If she never saw that scum again, it would be too soon. She closed her eyes. "Stop," she ordered. Obligingly, the turbolift slowed and halted. Vekal opened her eyes again and straightened her shoulders. "Engineering," she said.

Aboard the Gavran, she hadn't spent much time in engineering, only enough to familiarise herself with the systems well enough to be able to handle an emergency. It was one of the requirements of her job; she had no interest in dealing with the various malfunctions of mechanical equipment on a daily basis. It was far too repetitive for someone like her. She was a scientist more than an engineer, an explorer more than a problem-solver, but she didn't want to run into anyone in the science departments.

Besides, she hadn't quite memorised all the ship's secrets yet.

Crewman Octet looked left and right and saw no-one. He took an all-purpose communicator from under his jacket and tapped it once. "It's done," he said in a shaky voice. The woman's threats had rattled him; he knew how easily they could be carried out. And the Romulans would tear him apart. But he had other concerns, too.

"Good," said a voice over his communicator. It was so distorted he couldn't tell whether it belonged to a man or a woman, or what language the voice was speaking. "I want you to stay away from her from now on."

"I understand." Staying away wouldn't be a problem; Octet would be only too happy never to see the woman again.

The connection went dead.