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“Yes, my overseer, it will,” the worker said without hesitation or surprise. After all, he was the overseer. If he said it would be fixed in an hour, then it would be done. That was the way of things. If the worker somehow failed to bring the overdrive back to proper efficiency within that time frame, Biron would instruct Claris to have the worker disposed of and replaced.

Within five minutes Biron had removed his sleeping clothes and put on his overseer’s jumpsuit, tied his waist-length hair back, and put in the five nose rings that symbolized his position. This last he did in front of a small mirror; the reflection that gazed back at him was of a male Androssi with light sepia skin, slightly wavy golden hair with a full brown beard, and an unusually bulky build for one of his kind. The latter was due more to his weakness for anprat, a particularly fattening delicacy from the homeworld.

As he prepared himself, he went over the day’s schedule in his head, and also thought of a better way to integrate the new weapons systems they had obtained with Cardassian technology.

He left his quarters—which were the same size as every other cabin on the ship—and went to the flight deck. Sub-Overseer Howwi stood up upon Biron’s entrance, as did the other four workers. They remained standing until Biron took his place at the front left seat of the rectangular deck.

Biron turned his head slightly to look at the darker-skinned Howwi in the seat to his right. The sub-overseer had trimmed his golden beard down to almost the skin, an affectation that Biron had never understood. Such attention to irrelevancies tended to interfere with the work. Still, Howwi had proven to be competent at his job, and perhaps he would learn the uselessness of trying to groom himself as if he were a member of the Elite. Like Biron, Howwi was of the officer class—which meant, if nothing else, that he was entitled to eye contact when Biron spoke to him.

“Have we heard from the client?”

Howwi blinked his eyes four times. “Negative. We will receive a communication via subspace within the hour.”

“No more specific time than that?”

“Negative. The client is . . . elusive with regards to punctuality, as usual.”

Biron sighed. He entered the idea he had earlier into the ship’s vast database.

“Overseer,” one of the workers said.

“Speak,” Biron said without looking back. Those of the worker class were only worthy to be spoken to on duty-related issues, and then only when given leave.

“The security on the Cardassian station has been breached.”

“Specifics?”

“The triovar field around the fusion core has been activated and the panshar has been disabled.”

Frowning, Biron turned to Howwi. “Starfleet?”

“Possibly. They have proven to be most resourceful.”

Again, Biron sighed. This was all the client’s fault. Biron had not wanted to leave the Cardassian station, but the client had insisted on this face-to-face meeting, and also insisted it take place here in the Vlugta system. It left the Cardassian station exposed to other salvagers.

But the client needed to be kept happy, in this particular case. This client was providing the upgraded holo-emitters that Biron’s sponsor among the Elite had been wanting for so long. As with every member of the officer class, Biron’s sole purpose was to provide technology for the ship’s Elite sponsors. He had been particularly skilled at doing so for his sponsor—it had led to his quick promotion to overseer. In fact, Biron had achieved that rank faster than anyone in recorded memory, mainly because he knew how to properly exploit the clients. In this case, it was best to give in to the client’s peculiar whims.

However, now the security on the target had been breached.

“Set navigational course 44491,” he said without looking up. “Set FTL at 7.2. Send a subspace communication to the client. Message to read: ‘Must investigate security breach on target. Will reschedule rendezvous when difficulty is solved.’ ” He did not give the orders to anyone specific—he knew that someone would carry them out. If they did not, he would