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Barrh shifted his considerable bulk in the water. “Then you might as well enjoy the soak, friend Marcus. You’re out of luck.”

Crusher chuckled and fixed the Melacron with a look-alerting Tuvok that they were in for more of the same nonsense displayed at The Den. He felt the familiar sensation of disapproval stir within him. Humans were irksome, no question about it.

“No, I don’t think we are out of luck,” the commander told Barrh.

The Melacron looked at him. “What do you mean?”

Crusher shrugged. “Someone’s got to be riding Nedrach. Who would let a steed of that caliber go unsaddled for long?” He leaned toward Barrh. “I’m willing to bet you can tell me who that someone is.”

The Melacron laughed out loud at Crusher’s brazen behavior. Tuvok thought of Old Scowly, standing just behind the gilded door, ready to burst in at a moment’s notice. It would be bad enough for them to be shown the door, he reflected. To be shown the door without the benefit of their clothing would be even less acceptable.

“It is obvious to me, friend Marcus,” said Barrh, and this time there was a distinct edge to his words, “you don’t place much value on your life or the life of your friend, or you wouldn’t be threatening a fellow who handles assassins for a living.”

Crusher fell still for a moment. He smiled easily, but his eyes had gone quite hard and cold.

“It is obvious to me, friend Barrh,” he replied, “that you don’t place too much value on your life either, or else you wouldn’t be threatening a man with the wealth to hire assassins in Nedrach’s price range… not to mention the precaution of a Vulcan bodyguard.”

Tuvok was startled by the comment and the sudden hard look Barrh gave him, but he played along with the commander’s charade. He tilted his head and cast a sidelong look at the Melacron. Let Barrh make of the gesture what he will, he thought.

The Melacron looked from the Vulcan to the human and back again, his eyes sharp and alert. Finally, he sighed.

“Bin Nedrach has caused me sufficient irritation,” he said. “He’s not worth ruining a good, hot soak over.”

Crusher nodded. “That’s the spirit.”

“The fellow you want,” Barrh continued, “is Bidrik Onaggh. He’s a Benniari. He runs a dance hall on the other side of me city-just the thing to entertain a gentleman after spending some time at The House of Comfort.”

“Onaggh is Nedrach’s rider?” the commander inquired.

“No,” said the Melacron. “But he speaks with him from time to time. He’ll know more about Nedrach’s whereabouts right now than anyone.”

Tuvok was surprised to hear that a Benniari was involved with crime on this depressing planet. The Benniari were known for their culture and gentleness, after all.

Then again, he reminded himself, even a Vulcan occasionally forsook logic and turned to unsavory pursuits. Given that, Barrh’s revelation wasn’t necessarily all that surprising.

Crusher rose from the pool. Green slime clung to his body for a moment, then oozed off and plopped back into the clogged bath water. As he reached for a large towel on a nearby wall rack, he said, “Thanks, friend Barrh.” Wrapping the towel around him, he turned around slowly to meet the Melacron’s gaze. “Of course, if you’ve lied to us, we’ll be back.”

“Naturally,” said Barrh.

The commander gave his host a perfunctory smile, tucked the loose end of the towel into the area around his waist, and nodded brusquely to Tuvok. However, the Vulcan hesitated for a fraction of a second before he followed Crusher out of the pool, and therefore saw what the human did not: a subtle change in their host’s expression.

It had started out as affable as when they entered. But for a moment, it was clearly filled with scorn.

Making note of it, Tuvok rose, secured another towel and wrapped it about himself, then trailed Crusher out of the room. Before long, he found himself back in the dressing facility-and relieved to be there indeed.

To his dismay, the commander seemed inordinately pleased with himself. “We got what we came for,” he crowed,