Thanks to Yuri Sisteble, captainkodak1, JPMod, Zaratan, JMAN2.0, Moss Royal, Txlonestar, daywalkr82, kemiztri, calamite, campy, Parareru, swiglo3000, surfost, strength-91-possibility-none, Louis Mielke, vanillalilies, momike, Commander Argus, Markv1.0, whitem, jasminevr, Ezbok58a, TexasDad, WhiteLadyoftheRing, kpandron, Wanderer3, conan98002, Cabriel, mattb3671, Taechunsa, Emerald Dark Knight, MichaelCross, Ace Ian Combat, Goinghome, Dixon-San, and Molloy for reviewing.

A special thank you, as always, to campy for his invaluable beta and proofing work; since he didn't enjoy the gagh, I've sent him some heart of targ.

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Just a reminder: if you haven't checked out The Darkness Within, the collaborative GWA effort in which I'm participating, do so now. You won't be disappointed.

KP belongs to Disney, TNG to Paramount.

I.

Ron looked over at the sleeping figure of his best-friend-turned-girlfriend. He took in the expression of peace and contentment on her face, the auburn hair spread about the pillow – and the bare shoulder and arm visible above the edge of the covers. Ron was feeling many things: love, lust, happiness, satisfaction. But most of all he felt awe. Hours before, Kim Possible had invited Ron Stoppable to go where no man had gone before.

It had been a wonderful, if unexpected, evening. Ron helped Kim with her uniform, then she helped him with his clothes; they began kissing and passion led them along. Then things grew awkward. So sitting there in an advanced state of undress, they talked: about things they had done with other people, their new relationship, their hopes for the future, the challenges of being in two different places, making the most of the time they had together. And then they agreed that they were playing for all the marbles. Once they had reached that understanding, Kim broached the topic.

"I know its been less than 24 hours since we told each other how felt for each, but I feel like we've been together forever," Kim said.

"I know what you mean, KP," Ron replied, before chuckling. "Remember how Bonnie Rockwaller used to taunt you about us being a couple? Maybe she was right, after all."

Kim stroked Ron's face. "I wish I'd been smart enough to date you in high school."

Ron got a funny look on his face.

"What? Spill!"

"I, uh, had the biggest crush on you. Man, that cheer outfit," he said sheepishly, turning red.

"Why didn't you say anything?" Kim asked, both relieved and disappointed he hadn't. If she'd turned him down, that would have affected their friendship – and then they wouldn't be here together at this moment. And for all her good qualities, Kim Possible could now admit that when it came to guys, especially back when she was a teenager, she'd wanted to be with the 'hotties' – and sixteen-year-old Ron Stoppable was not a hottie. Yet the thought that she and Ron could have gotten together romantically years earlier left her feeling wistful.

"Didn't want to chance a rejection. Our friendship was too important to me. So I decided that I was just a healthy teen-aged male with the hots for you and you know the rest of the story. It was probably all for the best, though, gave me a chance to grow up …"

"Me too, Ron. Though if I had a time machine, I'd go back and tell my teen-aged self what a great BF you'd be. But I'm glad we're together now, when I can handle a real relationship with you …" she smiled.

He returned the smile then said with an exaggerated wink, "Then I guess you really are the girl who can do anything!"

They looked at one another. Eighteen years had led them to this moment.

"Ron," she said huskily, "would you like to … take home base?" Kim, with a certainty she'd never before experienced, knew what she wanted, but she was still unused to talking about it. She may have dated other men, even been with Tom Carter for three months, but she'd only been willing to go so far. With Ron it was different. She was ready to share everything with him.

"Home plate, Kimbo, home plate," he corrected breezily, without thinking. "The bases are at …" Ron stopped mid-sentence as he realized what Kim had just asked. "Eeep." Ron could now see that Kim was smiling seductively at him. "Uh, wow, I mean, are you sure, KP …"

"So sure, Ron. But only if you want to, too," she said, moving closer to him, in a way that she hoped would help him make the decision she preferred.

"Well, uh, yeah! I mean I'd love to. With you. Wow," Ron's rambling was cut off by Kim's lips.

"Shhh. Let's try communicating a different way …"

Ron's willingness to risk talking about his feelings fed Kim's confidence – she was raised, after all, to believe that anything was possible for a Possible – in moving their relationship to a new level of intimacy. That, in turn, inspired greater confidence in Ron, which she, in turn, found highly attractive. And so it went. It was the first time for both Kim and Ron, and with it all the usual clumsiness, fumbling and discomfort, but the experience was more fulfilling than either of them ever imagined possible. That was why Ron was surprised when she looked into his eyes afterwards and remarked, "I think we can do much better, don't you?"

"What?" he asked, suddenly deflated, "I thought it was pretty good."

"Actually, it was terrific, Ron," Kim said earnestly. "But don't you think we need to practice? A lot?" she asked, grinning.

The proverbial ancient-earth light bulb went on over Ron's head. "Oooooh. Practice! I'm all about practicing. Gotta do my best for my KP!"

Kim looked hungrily at Ron. "See, Potential Boy? I always told you you'd be happy if you just applied yourself …"

And so Ron applied himself until both he and Kim, overcome by exhaustion, finally fell asleep. Now he was awake, marveling at his good fortune. He noticed the clock; in an hour they'd have to get up so Kim could go on duty. Ron settled back into the bed and was quite pleased when Kim rolled onto her side and snuggled up to him.

Ron really was loving this ship.

II.

Growing up on Mars, and then studying at the Academy on Earth, Kim had always had trouble waking up in the morning. So it was a great surprise to her when she discovered after boarding Enterprise that she could wake up without an alarm; in fact, each morning, she woke up at 0555, ship's time. Sometimes, on an off-duty day, she'd go back to sleep. But not today; she was on duty, with lots to do.

She gazed at Ron. His mop of hair was a mess and he snored. Yet she couldn't help but smile as she found him to be irresistibly cute. Slowly, she began to move her hand down his stomach to his Essential Ron-ness. Once she found what she wanted, she let her fingers linger; Ron soon began to wake up.

"Oh, man, no, can't wake up. Dream too good to end," he moaned.

Kim smiled languidly, pleased with the effect she was having on Ron.

He looked over and, through sleepy eyes, saw her grinning visage.

"Morning, Ron," she purred.

"Morning, KP. Oooooo," he said as he fully comprehended what was happening. "You can wake me up anytime!"

She kissed him. "Thanks. I think I'll take you up on that offer. Now I hate to run, but I'd better work out before my shift."

"Hey, we could, uh, work out here, burn off some calories …" he suggested hopefully.

"I like the way you think," she replied as her cheeks reddened. "But I don't think that kind of workout will help me fend off an attacking Cardassian."

"Yeah, I guess you're right," Ron acknowledged, disappointment in his voice.

She gave him a peck on the tip of his nose. "Don't fret – we can 'work out' tonight. And you can think of this during the day." Kim then threw off the covers and gave Ron a sight to remember her by.

"Wow," Ron said in an awe-filled whisper. "KP, you are so beautiful."

"Thanks, Ron," she said demurely, as she blushed again. Then she tugged the covers off Ron and looked at him. "And you're not bad yourself," she added with a girlish giggle.

Not surprisingly, after looking at Ron in all his essential glory, Kim changed her mind and decided that a much abbreviated workout session that morning would be acceptable.

III.

"I must say that this would be highly unorthodox," Picard said to the three officers standing in his Ready Room.

"That may be, sir, but I believe that Ensign Possible's idea is with merit and should be considered," Data noted.

"I agree," Worf added.

"But he has no training …" Picard countered.

"True, sir, but I reviewed the personnel records. Ron has significantly more experience dealing with Ferengi traders than anyone else on board Enterprise," Kim said, unable to hide a hint of pride.

"Even if that is the case, Ensign, he is also a loose cannon who might well say something incredibly inappropriate," the Captain said, ice in his voice.

Kim began to fume. "Permission to speak freely, sir."

Picard arched an eyebrow and pursed his lips. "Permission granted, Ensign."

"You're holding his bathroom comment against him." Kim stated this as fact, not as a question. "That is ferociously unfair."

"Ensign, I gave you permission to speak freely, not flippantly," Picard admonished her.

"Yes, sir. I'm sorry, sir. But I stand by my point. Ron had never been on board the bridge of a starship. How was he supposed to know that this was your office? It really wasn't unreasonable for him to think that this was a restroom. The bridge is the center of everything that happens on the ship, after all; having a bathroom nearby would make sense"

"Ensign Possible makes a reasonable point, Captain," Data offered.

"And I know he babbled, sir. But he was so nervous and worried about embarrassing me in front of you that he, well, dug a hole for himself. I feel very confident saying that Ron would not intentionally do anything that would jeopardize this ship, if only because he wouldn't want to make me look bad."

Picard saw the expression on Kim's face as she talked about Ron. "You realize that you need to set aside your personal feelings when you are on your mission?" Picard asked.

"Yes, sir. And so does Ron. He knows that this is business. We're not a couple of kids looking for an adventure."

Picard thought about the matter for a few moments, then made his decision. "Very well, Ensign," he said before pressing his comm badge. "Number One, set a course for Ras T'klar."

IV.

It was less than an hour after Picard had given the order to head for Ras T'klar when the distress call came in from the medical transport; Enterprise would have to rendezvous with the ship to salvage its supply of serum, which was needed on Paxel IV.

Kim and Ron now stood before the captain.

"Ensign, if I am correct, you are rated to fly a shuttle solo."

"Yes, sir."

"Good. Then you will deliver Mr. Stoppable to Ras T'klar." Picard looked at Ron. "Do what you need to do, and get out of there as quickly as you can."

"Will do, Captain," Ron agreed, trying to look as professional as he could before Kim's commanding officer.

"Good. Dismissed." The captain watched as Kim and Ron left his inner sanctum, then smiled. Ah, he thought. To be young, in love, and alone in a shuttle for seven hours. Jean-Luc Picard was fully confident that the two young people would do their best. As sure as he was that they'd enjoy the trip to and from their destination.

V.

Ron sat nervously on the bed in Sickbay. To ensure that Kim could maintain a lock on Ron's position at all times, he was going to be injected with isotopes that could be tracked from up to three klicks away by a specially modified tricorder. The isotopes would react to changes in blood pressure, respiratory rates and cardiac activity; if Ron was in danger, the readings on the tricorder would change and Kim would know that he was in need of assistance. Since he was going undercover he couldn't risk a comm badge or any other equipment that could tie him to Starfleet.

"It's so not the drama, Ron. You'll be fine," Kim chided.

"But Kim, I hate shots," Ron whined.

"Hey, at least we don't live in the 20th century when they used needles."

Ron's eyes popped open wide and a look of panic spread across his face. "N-needles?"

"Chill, Ron. I'm right here," Kim said as she squeezed his hand.

"Yeah, sure, KP. No reason to be scared. The Ronman can handle this," he said, sounding unconvinced.

"C'mon, Ron. It's no big. I mean, you volunteered to go on an Away Mission to meet with a suspect Ferengi black marketeer."

"That's different, KP."

"How so?"

"Ferengi don't scare me. Shots do." They had every since that horrible summer at Camp Wannaweep on Earth's moon.

VI.

Picard wouldn't have been surprised to learn that Kim was sitting on Ron's lap, kissing her boyfriend slowly and passionately. She reluctantly broke off when the computer announced, "One hour to arrival at Ras T'klar." She gave him a light peck on the forehead, then said, "Sorry, Ron, but time to get our heads in the game."

"Fair 'nuff, KP," he replied, ready to do his job. He really wanted Kim to crack this case so she could get the promotion she deserved.

"So, you know the plan?"

"Yeah, I beam down, spend some time looking like a tourist and make my way to the rendezvous point. You'll beam down later and at a different location, but begin tailing me three blocks from Bunt's ten minutes before I'm ready to go in. I talk with him and try not to let him steal my shoes and sell them back to me …"

Kim chuckled.

"… Oh, you laugh now, Kim Possible. But wait till you have a Ferengi try Rule of Acquisition 5 on you."

She looked at Ron with curiosity.

"'The highest form of profit is to get something from someone for nothing, then sell it back to him.' I'm telling ya, Kim. If there's a way to turn a Cochrane, they've got all their bases covered."

"You almost sound like you admire them, Ron."

"In a weird way, I do. They lie, cheat, steal, and swindle. But they're refreshingly honest about it!"

Kim laughed again, then mussed Ron's hair.

"Anyway, after I get out we meet at the beam-out point. Once you see me there, you'll beam us both out. If that place doesn't work, we try point B and so on until we can get back to the shuttle."

"You're going to do great, Ron. Now, it looks like we've got a little time before we arrive in orbit. I want to do a check on some of the systems and if we have any time left, I think I may have some ideas on how to spend it …"

Ron approved of the look on Kim's face as she said that.

VII.

Ron was glad that Kim had chosen a back alley as his beam-in point. The moment he materialized in Coscobbia, his trousers fell to his ankles. He looked down, shaking his head. With a grin, he reached down, pulled up his pants, and then, feeling particularly smart, put on the spare belt he'd brought along.

Ron looked at his chrono. He had 97 minutes to make his way to Bunt's; he could head there in a leisurely fashion. He made his way out to a street and began heading towards the Grand Bazaar. He was impressed by the diversity of species he saw coming and going; it made the crew of Enterprise look homogenous.

Ras T'klar, the Treaty Planet, lay near the point where the Federation, and the Klingon and Romulan Empires converged. Through a combination of diplomatic cunning, the occasional threat to deploy mutagenic weapons, and a willingness to serve as a neutral ground where any and all governments, enterprises, and individuals could meet, palaver, and deal, Ras T'klar was able to maintain its independence. In addition to being a place where diplomacy could play out, the Treaty Planet now served as an entrepot for hundreds of races from across the Alpha Quadrant. One could buy anything – or anyone – there.

Ron was in the Old City. He marveled at the ancient stone buildings, the reddish sky, and the three moons, plus the exploded debris of two others, which faintly dappled the daytime sky. The place was beguiling. He thought that it would have been cool to explore the city with Kim. He grinned, thinking that there were a lot of places he wanted to visit with her. He looked forward to doing that. For now though, he had a job to do and he wanted to do it well. He now had a girlfriend to impress, after all.

Ron passed a number of stalls and shops selling all sorts of things. But one shop in particular caught his eye; it was as if the store was calling him.

He wandered into a place filled with clutter, junk really. An old Tellarite sat behind a counter and warily eyed Ron, who waved and made sure his hands remained visible so the shopkeeper wouldn't suspect him of wanting or trying to steal anything. Ron was about to leave when something in a dusty corner of the shop caught his eye. He wandered over and reached back to withdraw the object. It was a bat'leth.

He picked it up. The wood of the handle was dry and cracked. Yet it fit Ron's hands perfectly. And he'd have sworn he felt a slight frisson of energy when he first gripped it. The blade was tarnished and rusted. Yet Ron could discern a delicate, wondrous filigree etched into the surface. He lifted the weapon, which seemed to be perfectly weighted.

"Ah, I see you have found something!" the shopkeeper growled.

"Huh? This?"

"Yes, it's the Sword of Kahless."

Ron had to think for a moment. Then a scowl appeared on his face as he remembered the name from his Klingon Mayhem games. "Dude, don't play me."

"What are you talking about?" the trader asked, a note of hostility in his voice.

"You heard me, you ugly thief," Ron snapped back. He was glad that Henri had taught him how to deal with Tellarites, in addition to Ferengi. The only way to gain their respect was by being insufferably rude. "There is no way a bat'leth belonging to the greatest warrior in Klingon history would be sitting in a dump like this!"

"Like you'd know, you scrawny human!" the shopkeeper spat back.

"I know when someone's trying to cheat me, you lousy robber," Ron snapped. "But I guess I need a trinket from my trip. What do you want for this rusted piece of junk?"

"Five bars of gold-pressed latinum."

Ron started laughing. This guy is nuts! he thought. I wonder if he actually thinks it's real. "Oh, man, that's rich. Tell you what. I'll give you two strips ..."

The Tellarite snorted. Given the size of his snout, it was an impressive sound.

"Four bars."

"Too rich for my blood, dude. I'm outta here." Ron walked to the front door. The blade was neat, and he did like holding it. But four bars of gold-pressed latinum was out of the question.

Ron had just exited the shop when he felt a hand grab his arm. Great, a pickpocket, he thought.

He found himself looking into the cloudy eyes of an aged Klingon. The stranger was wearing a dirty, hooded robe, vaguely reminiscent of the garb worn by an old Earth monk. There was something unsettling about his gaze, even more so than Worf's when he was drunk.

"You really should not leave Ras T'klar without a … memento of your visit."

"What?"

"Let me tell you a story, human, about Kahless the Unforgettable …"

The coincidence was just too freaky for Ron. The monk had his full attention.

"… He was a warrior, brave and true, one who always sought out similar men, forging bonds with them, choosing to fight by their side." The aged man paused. "It is said that he sought to do so even after his death."

"How? By haunting people?" Ron asked, thinking this was one of the weirdest conversations he would ever have; he didn't expect to be hearing Klingon ghost stories while helping his best friend/girlfriend with Starfleet business.

"Do not be a fool!" the Klingon spat out. "Kahless had a bat'leth. It was not the most elegant weapon, nor the most beautiful, but with it in hand, he was always victorious in battle. Kahless treasured that blade; it was his most prized possession – and this was a man who forged an Empire. Legend has it that he impressed his memory engrams into the steel of its blade, enabling the weapon to sense those with whom Kahless would wish to be brothers, to find those who are pure of heart, who are willing to sacrifice themselves for those they hold dear. Kahless' bat'leth has not been seen in generations, though there are rumors that it is … here."

"What? In there?"

"Yes," the Klingon stated. "You should acquire it."

"Why?" Ron asked. This situation was getting increasingly bizarre by the moment.

"One finds a treasure like that once in a lifetime. If one is lucky. Men would kill for it."

"Why? Would it give me super fighting powers?" he asked sarcastically.

With a dead serious face the Klingon answered. "Only if you were the Chosen One."

"Uh, yeah. Chosen One. Sure. Right. Um, let's just say I didn't know what you meant by that?"

"The Sword would tell you."

"O-kaaaay. And how would you even know you were the Chosen One?"

"The Sword would …" the monk began.

"Yeah, yeah, tell me," Ron concluded.

The old man stared at Ron, who felt like holes were being bored through his skull. "Think carefully, human."

"Why are you even telling me to buy this thing? I'm not even Klingon!"

"It matters not, human. The fates of your people and mine have long been joined, have they not?" The ancient Klingon cackled, then turned and hurried away from the shop.

Ron watched skeptically as the man disappeared into the crowd. It was a crazy story. But it was kind of cool. And that would make having the bat'leth, which he was sure had to be a fake, a lot more fun.

He went back into the shop and found the tarnished weapon.

"You have returned," the Tellarite snarled.

"Yeah, I've got nothing better to do with my day than haggle with you. Two and a half strips."

"Two bars."

"C'mon, Dude. You know it's not real. Maybe it's a reproduction, but it's in crummy shape."

The Tellarite narrowed his eyes. He really knew nothing of the weapon's provenance, other than the fairy tale he'd been told by the seller, a decrepit, half-crazed Klingon monk, who had sold it to him and who had been loitering in the street by the shop for days. The merchant knew the human was negotiating; the Tellarite knew he could make a sale. And business had been slow in recent weeks …

"One bar and it's yours."

"Two and a half strips and no more," Ron countered. He hoped the Tellarite would agree; Ron found himself really wanting the bat'leth.

"Five strips."

Ron smiled. He was about to stand his ground, but he couldn't ignore the feel of the wooden handle against the palms of his hand. Man, it feels good, he thought. Like it's a part of me. So much better than the trainers Worf had me work with. Besides, Kim will think it's really cool and I know she'll like the story. I've gotta have it. "Deal."

A couple of minutes later, Ron walked out onto the teeming streets of Coscobbia with his very own bat'leth. He couldn't help but think it was pretty badical. Who's da man? he asked himself. I'm da man. I'm dating Kim, I'm on a secret mission, and now I've got this bon-diggity blade!

VIII.

The Old City reminded Kim of a place she'd seen depicted in an old Earth film that she and Ron had watched back in high school during one of their cultural history classes. What was it called? she asked herself, wracking her memory. That's it! Casablanca! For a brief moment, she imagined Ron wearing the white dinner jacket with black tie that the star of the movie had worn, and smiled. He'd actually look quite dashing, she decided; she'd have to suggest a historical role play on the holodeck to him when they returned to Enterprise.

Kim was now in position. She picked up Ron as he turned the corner. Where did he get that? she wondered as she noticed he was carrying what had to be a sheathed bat'leth. She smiled. Ron was so weird. Not many people would buy a Klingon weapon as a souvenir. But in addition to being weird, he was now hers and she wouldn't have it any other way. Okay, head in the game, Possible. You can daydream about him later.

Kim discretely confirmed that her tricorder was still operational as she wove her way through the crowd. It wasn't unusual for a Starfleet officer to be wandering the streets. Starfleet, Klingon Imperial Forces, crews from Romulan warbirds could all be seen in the city. None of them, however, were armed. Directed energy weapons had been rendered useless by a series of dampening fields located throughout the city. And other weapons were generally not seen because of the horrible punishments the government meted out for their use. Ron's bat'leth, as long as it remained sheathed, would attract no notice. If it was used and the authorities learned about that, things would be much different.

The T'klarians had no qualms about dealing harshly with any violators of their laws, and that included members of the uniformed services of the three great interstellar empires. The T'klarians were determined to maintain their independence and their status as one of the galaxy's premier trading and meeting stations; that required keeping the peace, whatever the cost. Despite the mercenary nature of commerce on the planet, Ras T'klar remained remarkably safe.

Kim saw Ron enter Bunt's premises. She looked around and found a café where she could occupy herself with a cup of the local equivalent of tea while Ron did his business. She went in, found a table, placed her order and settled in with a book padd while she waited for Ron.

IX.

This was where Kim and Ron were gambling. Ron had to just show up at Bunt's establishment; they didn't have time to stage a full-fledged surveillance of the Ferengi and they could not afford to tip him off to their presence and give him a chance to go into hiding. If Bunt suspected he was being watched, he would be on guard when Ron appeared. Kim and Ron agreed that Ron had to simply walk through the front door and hope their quarry was there to do business; Ron was fairly confident that Bunt, if he wasn't off-planet, would be at his place of commerce during business hours. Ferengi always liked to do business, and they preferred to do it on their own turf.

Ron reached for the old-fashioned doorknob and turned. The door was unlocked. He opened it and walked through.

The space was huge, though nobody would have guessed that from looking at the building's exterior. Bunt, or one of his predecessors, must have acquired a number of properties and knocked down the interior walls while keeping the façade. From the outside, Ron had thought he would be going into a very small building. Instead, Ron found himself looking around a cavernous space. Large crates were stacked all around the room; he was sure that he saw the nose of a shuttlecraft in the rear of the warehouse.

"Yo, anybody here?" he asked.

Nobody replied. Ron found the silence unnerving, but he didn't get scared. Bunt might be giving him the once-over from a concealed location, deciding whether he wanted to do business with the visiting human. After what seemed an eternity, a fat, aged Ferengi emerged from the shadows.

He cocked his head and looked suspiciously at Ron.

"What do you want?" the merchant asked warily.

Ron ignored his host for a moment and looked around. Nonchalantly, he asked, "Information."

The Ferengi hissed. "Look around you, Hoo-mon. I do not sell information. I sell things."

"That's too bad, dude. I'm not looking for things. I need information. I guess I'll just have to go and take my gold-pressed latinum with me."

Ron turned back to the door.

"Wait …"

A small smile played across Ron's face. Greed had won out over suspicion.

"… What do you want to know?" the Ferengi asked.

Ron had turned back to face Bunt. "I need to know about someone …"

The Ferengi craned his neck.

"… Someone you helped with the sale of a Duotronic Memory Capacitor." Ron's heart was racing. Though he was relieved that he'd not misspoken when he named the stolen part, he knew that this was the moment of truth and he didn't want to let Kim down.

Bunt's eyes opened wide. The merchant looked like he'd just been hit.

Booyah! Ron thought. This guy knows. But wait. He seems … scared. Not good. Booyah denied?

"Leave. Now." the Ferengi ordered.

"Did I mention that I'm willing to pay you twenty bars of pure gold-pressed latinum?" Ron once again began to turn away from Bunt, again hoping that greed would prove to be the most powerful of Ferengi impulses, this time stronger than fear.

Bunt was torn. To tell this human about Shego would not be wise; he still remembered being slammed against the wall. But the human wasn't with Starfleet or GJ or any other law enforcement agency; Bunt had scanned the visitor's image the moment he walked into the warehouse, checked it against the Federation databases to which Shego had gained him access, and found nothing. And he was offering a tremendous amount of money. Perhaps the silly-looking human actually worked for one of Shego's competitors. And he was carrying a bat'leth. What, the Ferengi wondered, if he was crazy and decided to use it?

As if sensing Bunt's concerns, Ron unstrapped the sheath from his back.

"Twenty-five bars," the Ferengi demanded.

"Twenty-one," Ron countered.

"Twenty-four," Bunt suggested.

Ron paused. "Twenty-three, dude, and no more haggling."

"Deal." For that kind of money, Bunt was willing to be beaten up a second time. He'd have enough for hospital costs and to pay someone to permanently take care of Shego.

Ron handed the merchant two bars of gold-pressed latinum and began the process of transferring the rest to the Ferengi's account. "I'll complete the transaction when I've received the information"

"Her name is Shego."

"Shego?"

"Yes. She's very, very dangerous, hoo-mon. You would best stay out of her way."

"How much did she get for the Capacitor?"

"That will cost you more, hoo-mon."

"Fine. I'll throw in an extra five."

The Ferengi's eyes opened wide.

"Don't get any ideas, dude," Ron cautioned, suspecting the Ferengi was beginning to wonder if he should try to kill the wealthy human and make off with his riches. "I go missing, people will come looking for you. Big, ugly Nausicaan people who will hurt you, then kill you. Slowly and painfully." Ron had never even met a Nausicaan, but he knew that at heart, most Ferengi were easily cowed; only the possibility of profit helped them summon courage and he suspected that even this Ferengi's cupidity would have its limits.

"Nothing ..."

That surprised Ron.

"… We effected a trade. She wanted a Verteron Array Trigger."

Ron began repeating that information to himself. He hadn't a clue as to what the Ferengi was talking about. Then, he decided to ask a question to which he suspected he'd get no answer.

"You have any idea what she was going to do with it?"

Ron was right. He wasn't going to get an answer. But that was because Bunt was struck in the chest by a bolt of plasma energy.

He looked up at the source of the strike: a very attractive, raven-haired woman with green tinted skin. And two freakily glowing hands.

X.

Kim, who had always been interested in interstellar diplomacy, was re-reading the Memoirs of Vulcan Ambassador T'Pol. Kim had always been most engaged by the redoubtable Vulcan's adventures during and after the Romulan War, when she made the transition from explorer to trouble-shooter to diplomat, ultimately becoming Vulcan's ambassador to the Federation. But what now fascinated her were the chapters about T'Pol's time on the first Enterprise, and specifically her relationship with Charles Tucker, the Chief Engineer who had sacrificed his life to ensure that Jonathan Archer would be present for the founding of the Federation. Tucker had become T'Pol's closest friend on the ship; they had even had a brief affair. What struck Kim, however, was that in a life that spanned more than 200 years, T'Pol expressed only one regret: her failure to reignite her relationship with Tucker when she had the chance. After their brief romance, they spent seven years as friends. Then, when they tentatively began exploring the possibility of resuming their relationship, he died. Kim was grateful that she and Ron had acknowledged their feelings for one another; she hoped that things would work out better for them than they did for T'Pol and Tucker.

As she was thinking about the Vulcan and the Terran, her tricorder began beeping. Kim looked at the readout. She turned off the padd and bolted from her seat.

Ron was in danger.

XI.

Ron may not have been the smartest citizen of the Federation, but it didn't require genius to figure out who he was facing.

He began to make a break for the door. He was stopped in his tracks as plasma bolts exploded in his path. As he quickly looked around, trying to decide what to do next, Shego blasted a stack of crates; Ron dodged out of their way as they toppled over. Though he was safe, getting to the exit was now going to take a lot more effort.

"So, who sent you? Starfleet?" Shego asked menacingly.

"Uh, Starfleet? Don't know what you're talking about," Ron lied. "I'm just a cook."

"A cook. You honestly expect me to believe that?" she sneered as she advanced on him.

"Uh, yeah, actually. Sous chef at Mistral in San Francisco. Uh, if you come I can get you a good table. I'll even make you a free dinner. Heh heh." Ron was terrified. Dickering with a venal Ferengi was one thing; facing down this woman who could shoot plasma from her hands was a wholly different matter.

"Look, cupcake, I don't have time for this." Shego then did something that shocked Ron. She launched into a triple flip and landed right in front of him. Somehow, he quickly found himself with his back against a crate. He regretted that the bat'leth was still sheathed as Shego held a glowing hand in front of his face. "Now tell me. Who sent you?"

XII.

Kim very quietly opened the front door. She cursed as she found her way blocked by a barrier of crates. Then she heard voices. A woman. And Ron.

"So, who sent you? Starfleet?"

"Uh, Starfleet? Don't know what you're talking about, I'm just a cook."

Kim surveyed the barrier; moving with the sure-footedness of a mountain goat, she quickly bounded to the top of the stack then crawled to the edge, just in time to see Shego land in front of Ron.

"Who sent you?"

Kim jumped off the crates and landed on Shego, knocking her to the floor. Kim looked up at a stunned Ron. "Run! Now!" she ordered.

Ron did as he was told, assuming Kim would follow him. She began to get up, but Shego, who had regained her composure, grabbed Kim's leg.

"Nuh uh, Not so fast, Princess," Shego admonished Kim as she twisted Kim's calf, bringing the young officer down roughly. Kim grunted as she hit the hard surface of the warehouse floor; the sound caught Ron's attention. He instinctively stopped and turned to his girlfriend. As he did, Shego blasted Ron with a plasma bolt.

Kim, now on her hands and knees as she was getting up, watched as Ron, struck by the ball of energy, was spun around from the impact before collapsing to the cold, hard warehouse floor. Kim felt a surge of horror as she realized she might have just watched her boyfriend die.

TBC …