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The human had no trouble catching up with him. “Impatient, aren’t we?” he asked his companion.

Tuvok stopped and turned to him, obviously a little surprised. “Not really. I simply saw no reason to delay.”

Crusher smiled at the ensign’s expression. “My fault. You’re absolutely right-there isn’t.” And as he started walking again, he reminded himself that he couldn’t joke with the Vulcan as he might Joseph or Simenon-not even about the clothes they had to wear.

Gone were the tailored, maroon tunics that marked them as members of Starfleet. Also gone were the ribbed, white turtleneck pullovers they were used to wearing underneath.

Crusher was now clad in a multicolored vest and black trousers-both of them made of high-quality material and pleasant to the touch, marking him as a man of means. And the style, he had been assured, was the most up-to-date for the system.

Unfortunately, the boots were new and pinched him a little, and the voluminous red shirt he wore beneath the vest made him feel a bit like a pirate from Earth’s turbulent fifteenth century. But on the bright side, the full sleeves of his shirt actually turned out to be a bonus; Crusher found they were handy for concealing pouches bulging with latinum, not to mention a small, handheld phaser.

Tuvok was clad in a tight-fitting jumpsuit of black and gray. His belt bristled with weapons, none of them Starfleet issue-but unlike Crusher, he made no attempt to hide them. The unforgiving cut of the garb accentuated his lean, powerful muscles, pointed ears and dark skin.

People would talk to Crusher-but they would be wary of his grim-looking companion. At least, that was the plan.

“Fascinating,” said Tuvok as they came in sight of a low, dark building that seemed on the verge of falling apart.

“Fascinating?” the human echoed. For the life of him, he couldn’t see what the ensign found intriguing about the place.

“Yes,” said Tuvok. “Last time I visited this sector, this was a gaming establishment called The Den.”

Crusher grunted. “Lovely.”

The Vulcan spared him a glance. “At the time, Commander, it was a well-known meeting place for the members of the crime clan to which Bin Nedrach’s grandfather belonged.” He eyed the ramshackle structure again. “Although the Melacronai species is short-lived in comparison to my own, this edifice has changed little in more than fifty years.”

“It always seemed to be on the verge of collapse?” Crusher wondered.

“Indeed,” came the reply. “I must confess, I marvel that it has not completed the process.”

“That makes two of us,” said the commander. “Well, come on, Sulak. It looks like we’ve found our first stop.”

Tuvok frowned at the use of his pseudonym. “Of coarse… Marcus.”

As they approached The Den, Crusher took a deep breath. Relax, he thought. If there’s trouble, you’ll be able to handle it. That was what the phaser was for, though he wouldn’t use it if he didn’t have to.

Assuming an air of boldness, even arrogance, the commander pushed open the door. It was dark and musty inside The Den, and he had to pause for a moment to let his eyes become adjusted to the light. Then he went in. Naturally, his companion followed him.

Noise that was undoubtedly meant to be music assaulted Crusher’s ears. Smoke from various burning substances attacked his nose, his eyes and his mouth. But instead of giving into an urge to choke on it, he forced himself to inhale deeply and fashion a grin.

The commander was glad of Tuvok’s solid presence behind him as he made his way through the room. The place was a lot bigger than it had looked from the outside, he reflected.

“Dabo!” came a cry from some corner, followed by a chorus of groans and cheers. “All right, everyone,” said the same voice, “double down, double down, let’s get this game going!”

In another corner, a handful of Orion traders were playing a heated game of dom-jot, which was similar to Terran billiards. The Orions looked up at Crusher and the Vulcan as they passed by, their sparkling green eyes wary in their green-skinned faces.

Casting about for someone to speak with, the