Sickbay, Wednesday 28th August 2391
Coming awake to find himself on an unfamiliar, all too soft bed, with a glaring white light above him, Moragh quickly discovered, in no particular order, that he had a monster headache, was no longer in his uniform but a flimsy, cloth gown, and had no idea where he was. Groaning, he sat up, fighting off the wave of dizziness and blinking in the over-bright light. Well, wherever he was, he decided once his vision had settled enough to let him see properly, at least he did not appear to be in a prison cell. That was always a bonus in his line of work. Rather, it looked very like Krang's hospital room.
All right, so he was in sickbay then. But why…? Forcing himself to think, he groaned again as the memories started to return. Kahless and the Fek'lhr! He would be in so much trouble if the Operations Master found out about the debacle of the last few days – which he undoubtedly would because Lorgh knew everything. He was going to have to apologise profusely to a lot of people and would no doubt die of embarrassment and end up on a one-way trip down the River of Blood to Gre'thor!
It had all started with the flowers, Moragh thought morosely, those g'dayt lilies Leandra had sent him. Not that there had been a name on the card tucked into the display, just a brief, two-word message saying, 'Thank You!'
He sighed, knowing that he was fooling himself if he insisted on blaming the flowers, although certainly they'd been a large part of what had happened and were not entirely without blame – and whose idea had it been anyway to sell flowers that were poisonous to Klingons on a joint Klingon starbase?
Still, he had no choice but to admit that the real problem had been his own behaviour. He was not like Krang, was not accustomed to being amongst humans for such extended periods – having to constantly restrain himself and think about whether his intended course of action or what he wanted to say was culturally appropriate, or for that matter, even legal. It was wearing and he didn't know how his old friend managed it day in day out.
FedKIN Offices, Starbase 24
Three days earlier, Sunday 25th August 2391
Moragh had just finished filing the paperwork for the funds he'd allocated to Leandra – an admittedly large amount of credits but nothing that was beyond his remit as a security captain of Imperial Intelligence. He would admit to some concern for Leandra; being stuck for a significant amount of time on Axxi, a non-aligned world that relied on the sex trade for its income, would be less than pleasant for her even if by her own admission, she'd done worse. The planet was a cheaper, seamier version of Risa – nothing illegal as such, and being non-aligned, neither the Federation, nor the Klingons could legally interfere. There was, actually, little point in interfering; much as shutting the place down (or better still, blowing it to Gre'thor) would be entirely satisfying, all it would do would drive the 'tourists' elsewhere.
Her mission was unfortunately necessary, but that did not mean he liked it. He'd made her memorise his personal comm number, along with coding that would ensure that any message sent remained encrypted and undetectable. If she needed it, help would be sent and be damned with international laws.
Scowling, Moragh shut down the file and opened up the one relating to Krang's abduction. This too was concerning. They still did not have all the answers they needed; so many pieces of the puzzle were missing, and it was possible that the mystery might never be solved. The question still burned in Moragh's mind – how had they got Krang away from the park? He had been beamed, certainly, but where to? A ship, he supposed, but every ship in the system had been stopped and searched. His friend must have been held somewhere undetected until the search had died down and the system opened up again. If he could only figure it out, the information might lead to further breakthroughs and confirm his suspicions as to who was responsible. There were only so many crime syndicates out there with the sophistication to carry out an operation as professional as this one. Nobody was perfect, he told himself; even if it took years, eventually they would make a mistake – and when they did, he would be there waiting. Revenge, as the proverb went, although in his mind it was justice rather than vengeance, was a dish best served cold.
He was distracted from his thoughts by a muffled knock on the door. Calling out to whoever it was to enter, he looked up in time to see the human receptionist… well, he was a security guard really, a watchdog as Moragh had heard the man called, although he did sort of double as a receptionist. Not that FedKIN got many visitors and most of them were accidental, people who were lost and looking for somewhere else, although there was the occasional delivery of a parcel or takeaway food. What was his name…? Ah yes, Arthur… probably spent much of his time redirecting people and sending them to where they'd meant to go.
The human, Arthur, was struggling with a huge vase, full of bright pink lilies, his arm around the vase and one knee raised to support it as he used his free hand to turn the door handle. This office had an old-fashioned wooden door that opened inwards on ornate brass hinges. Moragh had no idea why, but he knew that Krang liked it that way.
"These have just arrived," the watchdog said rather unnecessarily as he let go of the handle and got a better grip on the vase. "They're for you. The note just says, 'thank you'. There's no signature or anything, but I've put them through a scan, and the flower shop confirmed the order, so…"
Moragh was already laughing. I rather like those Terran lilies by the way… That was what he'd told her… Not those awful, white things, the large, pink ones... "I know who they're from," he said. "No need to investigate. There's only one person who knows that I like Terran lilies."
The watchdog raised an interested eyebrow. He would never have guessed that his temporary boss knew anything about Terran flowers, let alone be able to express a preference. "You like lilies, sir?"
"Only the pink ones," Moragh said. "Stargazers, I think they're called. I looked them up after my conversation with… Oh, never mind that… yes, I do like them. Don't you?"
"Not really, sir," the watchdog said. "I've never been keen on them. I have a cat and the pollen is poisonous to them. I've always preferred roses. Anyway, where do you want me to put them?"
"Here on the desk will be fine," Moragh said, clearing a spot as he spoke. Glad to put them down, the watchdog did as he was instructed, and stepped back, brushing the bright, yellow pollen off his otherwise immaculate black uniform as he did so.
"Thank you, Arthur." He turned his attention back to his work, barely noticing when the Terran let himself out and returned to the front desk. He carried on working until late at night, looking up occasionally to admire the flowers, and finding himself laughing every so often. Trust Leandra to remember his words and go and buy him the biggest bunch of lilies she could find. It wasn't that he was working on anything desperately urgent, and was in fact, catching up with some of his I.I duties, but his temporary quarters were cold, impersonal, and lonely, and he did not particularly like spending time in them when he could be doing something productive and keeping his mind busy enough to not think about how much he was missing his mate. Not for the first time, he thought that he should call Karella and invite her to join him on the station.
It was only when his head began to pound that he realised how late it was, and after taking a couple of analgesics, decided it was time to head out.
He was exhausted and not feeling at his best, but he had one last thing to do before he could go 'home' for the night. A cryptic message had come in a little earlier from one of Krang's agents, and it needed to be dealt with before he could consider himself officially off duty and go and try to get some rest.
Leaving his office, Moragh headed over to docking bay five, the part of the starbase where privately owned ships were moored. Reaching the ship he was looking for, the interestingly named Millennium Falcon, he studied the vessel, wondering what the story was behind the name, because surely there was a good one.
He placed his palm on the access panel and the door obligingly opened. Obviously, it had been pre-programmed to allow him entry, although if it hadn't, breaking into a ship like this would not be difficult and would not have delayed him for long. Going inside, Moragh entered the main cabin looking about him appreciatively. It was a nice little ship, inside and out, and…
His host, the human named Gray-ham, stepped into the cabin and instantly froze, obviously not having heard Moragh's entrance. He moved slightly and Moragh saw him surreptitiously slide a small phaser from his pocket to his hand – as if that would stop a Klingon warrior! "Who the hell are you?"
The Klingon bared his teeth. "Someone who is going to take that ridiculous little phaser right out of your hand if you come a step closer. Easy, human, I am Moragh. I'm in charge while Krang recovers. What he knew, I know."
The human agent slid the weapon back into the concealed pocket and motioned to his 'guest' to sit down. He moved to a built-in grouping of cupboards and shelves. "Bloodwine?"
It was unusual for a tera'ngan to have a stock of bloodwine, and with some surprise, Moragh nodded his acceptance. The human poured out two measures into authentic looking tankards and offered one to Moragh, who took a cautious sip. Recognising the flavour, he relaxed, and took a larger mouthful, savouring the high-quality vintage which was very clearly not the targ swill he'd expected. "Ah, Inigan wine; you have good taste for a human. Why have you requested a meeting? Is there a problem?"
"There is. As you know, I have been, er, retired from active duty for some time so to speak. My network still functions, but someone else now maintains it. I'm happy to pass along bits of information if they come my way, but things have changed, and it is going to become harder for me to do this."
"Ah, yes, the girl that you met three weeks ago and have been bedding like a rutting targ since you recovered from your unfortunate accident."
The human put down his tankard with such force that some of the liquid inside sloshed over onto the table. Never breaking eye contact with Moragh, he growled in a convincingly menacing manner. "You will not speak of her in that fashion. She is my mate. We are going to be... we will take what you would call the oath soon. Be respectful or get out and any information I come across will never reach you. Continue to insult her and I'll kill you."
Ah, Moragh thought, Krang was right about this one. He was good. It would be a shame to lose him over a woman, but if it was as he said and she was his mate, there was no more to be said. He drained the tankard and got to his feet, ignoring the weapon. "Not today, human. No disrespect was meant to your mate. I believe the custom on your world is to offer 'congratulations', is that correct?"
Graham lowered but did not stow the phaser.
"I will tell Krang that information will in future come from the woman who has taken over your network and that you will not be as available as before." Moragh continued, and he could not resist adding, just to see the look of fury on the other man's face, "Does your mate know about the woman?"
"She does." The Terran's face remained impassive, something that impressed Moragh considering how rude and insulting he'd been. It was another indication of the training he'd received from Krang. "There is nothing between us in that way," the Terran was saying, "so it is of no consequence. Send my regards to Krang for his recovery and show yourself out."
Turning to leave, Moragh grinned. "Krang said you had balls for a human." He'd already decided that he liked this man, and it was, he thought, easy to see why Krang had chosen him as his protégé.
FedKIN Offices, Tuesday 27th August
Waking very early, Moragh found that the headache had eased slightly but was still not completely gone, took a couple more painkillers and returned to the office. The flowers were lasting well, he was pleased to see. He'd been enjoying them for two days now. One or two of the older blooms had died back and he removed them from the bouquet and tossed them in the waste bin. There were still plenty of them left, and overnight, a few more of the buds had opened.
Obeying its biological imperative, the flower unfurled its beautiful pink petals, exposing the heavily laden stamens and releasing its pollen into the air currents…
Noting that the lily perfume seemed a little bit strong this morning, probably because there were more blossoms open and they'd been sitting in an enclosed room overnight, Moragh took a moment to admire them before increasing the ventilation in the room and settling down to get on with his work. Mildly annoyed to notice he'd managed to get some of the bright yellow pollen on his uniform, the Klingon brushed it away and thought nothing more of it.
A grain of pollen, one of many, travelled through the respiratory passages and came to rest on the inner lining of the lung. As it broke down, the toxins it contained found their way into the bloodstream, the powerful contractions of the great, eight-chambered heart pumping them around the body until inevitably, they found their way into the Klingon's brain…
He'd been at work maybe half an hour to forty minutes, when the watchdog arrived to say he had a visitor demanding to see him. Inclined at first to have the intruder sent away, he changed his mind when he learned his identity.
Seated behind his desk, Moragh did not immediately look up or acknowledge his visitor. "Balls indeed, human," he said eventually. "People do not turn up here unannounced. State your business or get out. I'm surprised to see you here so early; girl not keeping you busy enough? Sorry, my mistake," he added at his opponent's deep and very Klingon-like rumble. "Mate, wasn't it, not girl?"
Still growling, the human slipped a small paper packet from inside his sleeve and tossed it on the desk. "You left this at my bar. Can't imagine how it got broken."
After a moment, Moragh picked it up somewhat warily and unwrapped the complex folds that formed the packet and kept it closed. He had a fairly good idea what was inside since the bug he had requested be placed in Gray-ham's office had stopped transmitting, although the ones placed quite illegally in the human's home were still working, – and were providing him with some very interesting, albeit non-work-related data. "Is there anything else?" the Klingon growled, unaccountably annoyed by the unruffled appearance of his visitor.
"Actually, yes. I have some intel for you." The Terran agent passed over a data chip before asking if he wanted a meeting with his contact, since she'd just arrived on the station.
Moragh did very much want to meet the woman, but made a show of disinterest, finally agreeing to a drink at Han's at 02:00 hours.
"If that is all..." Moragh did not finish the thought, because a long knife had appeared against a spot on his neck where Klingons did have a major artery, although this was in a different location than on humans, a mistake many made to their cost. He had barely registered that his visitor had even moved, never mind pulled a knife from somewhere not visible, and despite himself, he was impressed.
"Next time, do not insult my mate. I will not warn you again, Klingon."
"You will not kill me on a Federation starbase." Moragh was not foolish enough to move or try to draw his own knife, but he allowed his tone to imply a sneer.
The human bared his teeth in something that no one would mistake for a smile, again in a way that was very recognisable to a Klingon. "There are worse things than killing," he said smoothly, slipping the knife back into his sleeve and straightening up. "My bartender will see that you connect with the right woman, although I think she'll find you before you locate her. She likes Klingon males. And knives," he added as an afterthought. Without saying another word, he left, leaving Moragh with the uncomfortable and irrefutable impression that he'd not had the last word, but strangely he was grinning.
By mid-afternoon, Moragh was beginning to feel a little odd. It was just the headache, he told himself, which was stubbornly refusing to go away. He continued to ignore the symptoms until he got up and found himself swaying slightly as a dizzy spell took him. Enough was enough. He hadn't bothered with breakfast, and it was now way past lunchtime. Obviously, his body was telling him that he needed to eat something.
A burger would be good, from that place he'd visited a couple of days ago to meet with one of Krang's freelance agents who happened to be its owner. TB24. Texas Burger it stood for, apparently… and the number 24 was an obvious nod to the starbase. Yes, a burger was a good idea. They knew how to cook them for Klingons, and if he was lucky, the agent would be there. Gray-ham Mor'ghan… For a tera'ngan, he was interesting and a worthy adversary. He'd enjoy another encounter with him. Yes, that's what he would do… get some food, maybe bait Gray-ham a little more, and then go and see Krang. His friend would enjoy the story of his two exchanges with his pet human.
