Double Helix 06_ The First Virtue - Michael Jan Friedman [11]
Crusher was a naturally gregarious fellow. Picard could see him struggling not to step forward with hand outstretched. Instead, imitating their new temporary crewmember, he inclined his head.
“A pleasure, Ensign Tuvok,” said the commander. “I must say, I’m looking forward to hearing about your service on the-“
“Captain,” Tuvok cut in smoothly, “our mission, as it was described to me, is one of the utmost urgency. I suggest we dispense with”-he straightened, unable to hide his contempt for the word- “pleasantries, and call an immediate meeting of your senior staff. It will be necessary to share information and plan a strategy.”
Picard was a bit surprised. Vulcans were certainly not ones for idle chitchat, but most were not quite as … prickly… as Tuvok seemed. Courtesy was actually a logical concept, as it improved relations between species and individuals, and most Vulcans practiced it religiously.
Tuvok, on the other hand, seemed to be more Vulcan than any of his fellow Vulcans. His posture had not relaxed a single iota.
“Very well,” said the captain. “You make a good point, Ensign. Let’s go to my ready room and we can bring everyone up to speed.”
Without further ado, Tuvok crossed the room and preceded Picard out the door. As the captain and Crusher followed, their eyes met-and the commander pretended to shudder with cold.
Picard didn’t want to smile, but he couldn’t help himself.
The world officially known as Debennius VI had the intimidating nickname of “the Last Stop to Nowhere.” Entering the shoddy establishment where he and his employer were scheduled to meet, Bin Nedrach had to admit that the ancient label was well deserved.
Debennius VI was the outermost planet in a system that in itself was not exactly a well-known destination for space travelers. Any hint of a thriving community was manifested on the other planets, with the main cultural center located on Deben-niusll.
Out here on the sixth planet, only the lost, the poor, and the incurably antisocial were welcomed. Bin Nedrach allowed himself a passing worry about how he was going to get out of here with both his latinum and his skin, but he quashed the thought.
After all, his employer had seen to everything thus far. No doubt, he would see to Bin Nedrach’s safe departure as well.
The establishment in question-if one could dignify it with that name-had none of the orderly precision of a Melacronai equivalent. It was dark and smoky inside, and patrons were visible only as dim shapes. Apparently, the owner of the place could not afford proper lighting. That, or else he or she simply didn’t care to install it.
Reflexively, Bin Nedrach’s wide single nostril clamped shut against the stench of the place. He was mildly irritated by his body’s automatic response, but resigned himself to breathing through his mouth until he could get out of there. It was a small enough inconvenience, considering the amount of latinum he was about to collect.
Finally, his eyes adjusted to the light. But once he got a good look at the place’s “customers,” his six-fingered hand fell automatically to the weapon at his side. For the first time since undertaking the mission, Bin Nedrach experienced a genuine flash of doubt.
Was it possible that someone as powerful as his employer truly enjoyed a place like this? Or, the Melacron wondered, was this whole meeting some kind of set-up?
Nedrach knew it would be easy enough… hire a hungry assassin, let him undertake a dangerous mission for you, and then lure him to this “Last Stop to Nowhere.” (Now that he thought about it, the nickname did have an ominous ring to it.) And finally, while your hungry assassin is salivating at the thought of how rich he’s about to become, have another assassin dispatch him.
And who would suspect? No one.
With that in mind, the Melacron looked around some more… but couldn’t discern any real threats. Finally, his gaze fell upon two humanoids in a dark, almost hidden corner