The Check

Posted on Fri Jul 18th, 2025 @ 8:34am by Ambassador Drusilla Creon

3,135 words; about a 16 minute read

Mission: Histories
Location: Quark's Bar, DS9
Timeline: 2388

Murane was in trouble. He was roundly blamed for failing to convince Freeman that sticking to their plan was the wisest course, with the result that a very simple hit had cost him his two most reliable Anticans. Lazlo's unexpected death was still unsolved, and Uzz'rr was hidden away aboard a certain low- visibility Lissepian transport, for his own safety; only the war profiteer Ghorbanifar and the mercenary Hiram were left to assist, and Ghorbanifar was on monitored probation.

They could not risk using the club any longer, so Hiram had told him to wait at the bar and relax. The Ferengi who ran the place were not happy about it, or to see anyone from the Afsanjoori organization hanging around, not since security officers had come asking about Lazlo's final visit. If they had not been busy with a hundred other guests, Murane might not have been allowed to stick around.

When Hiram finally showed up a couple of hours later, the music and noise was giving the Evora a headache. He was with a woman, small, dark-haired; for a moment Murane thought it was Freeman, but then he could see it wasn't. Twice in the time it took them to reach the booth Hiram turned far enough to murmur something to her.

Murane was not happy to see another woman involved. Not just because of what Freeman had cost him; there was the Betazoid who had probably cost them everything; Rona Serkis, who had also betrayed them, and Ysil Keren, whom he had never trusted - not for a moment. Every time a new woman entered the picture it was trouble.

"You look like you're in pain," Hiram said as they slipped up to the booth. The burly mercenary seemed as unconcerned as it was possible to be as he gestured for their guest to join the pale, turtle-like little fixer.

"Tired of dealing with humans," Murane muttered, scowling at the new arrival.

"As am I." Drusilla offered the barest hint of a smile, turning briefly to Hiram, then back to Murane. "However, they can be valuable. Sometimes. I find their most insufferable trait to also be their most useful. They just can't help but make friends." She spoke with a sultry, almost flirtatious tone. She couldn't afford to lose another job to poor people skills. She brushed back her hair, revealing her pointed ears. "Some friends are more talented than others." Her tone became much more even. She'd only briefly surveyed the bar, but this situation wasn't exactly textbook. Some caution was warranted.

There were so many people at this time of day it was hard to know who to keep an eye on. A few of them were too close-cropped to be anything but Starfleet, and the fact that no one appeared to be paying close attention was reassuring. The music, some combination of dulcimer and wobble bass, was helpfully loud, too.

Hiram smoothed his thick mustache as he sat down on her side of the table, taking up far more of their seat than the undersized Romulan. He was big, with the unmistakable build of a fighter, for all that he must have been tilting into middle age.

"The last one talented too," Murane grumbled, turning his moist, resentful black eyes on the mercenary. "Talented enough to fuck you up good. Wonder - what you bringing us this time...?"

"A qualified professional," Hiram smoothly answered. He hadn't given a toss about the Anticans, and if he still maintained an interest in the Bolian who had killed them, it was a professional interest. "From out of town. You'll need that."

Murane was not impressed. He knew what they needed better than some Central Bank mercenary did. Hiram had too many friends for his own good, if he could dig up a bounty hunter in just a few hours.

"Tell us a story, then, eh," the Evora prompted Creon in his weird, creaky voice. He wanted to know what qualified her to clean up this miserable mess Ghorbanifar had gotten them into, a mess that had cost the lives of half of Kaiser's crew and forced them to plan an emergency relocation. "Can't afford to hire another con artist. Too much at stake."

"I'm not much of a storyteller." Drusilla hesitated, reaching into her long, navy blue coat slowly. "I hope that my work speaks for itself." She removed a slender PADD, and after tapping a few commands, a list of two dozen old bounty entries appeared. She slid the PADD across the table to Murane. "All cleared and certified by Starfleet Security." Each Bounty would show the suspect when selected, along with a small set of details. Drusilla's stone-faced picture appeared next to it, with the name S'Lah, and her Bounty Hunter's license number.

"Starfleet Security," Murane repeated with slow, measured distaste, looking at it like a dead rat. He did not touch it, and his watery black eyes turned coldly on the mercenary.

"That's only the official list, and as much as I have in the way of a resume. The unofficial is much longer, and much more colorful. Obviously I wouldn't be very good at what I did if I or anyone else kept records. I'm no mere con-woman, however I realize that there's no direct way to convince you of that. I've worked extensively with semi-legitimate businesspersons like yourself. I can assure you that if you've got problematic individuals, you would be much wiser to employ somebody with my skill set and experience before anyone who might have a problem with you does. I won't be here for long, and I intend to find work before I go." She smiled demurely. The Evora was difficult to read, but making career criminals paranoid was not a difficult task.

"Starfleet Security," Murane repeated again in his creaky wicker-basket voice, still looking at the mercenary with resentment.

"This could be useful," Hiram calmly asserted. He leaned a thick forearm on the table and nudged the PADD back in Creon's direction; it was not something with which Murane, in his temper, would bother with - even if it was real. "A frisson of legitimacy is necessary in this business. One can not avoid the federal government at every turn. I would think someone in your business would appreciate that."

"Someone in my business," Murane coldly replied. He lifted a clear glass of some green bile-colored froth and set it on a cocktail napkin with care; for a moment it seemed like a vaguely metaphorical gesture, until a stout Ferengi waiter suddenly materialized at their booth.

"Whaddayawant - dear friends," he mumbled around a thick stick of something like cinnamon, directing his blunt question at Hiram and Creon.

"Triticale," Hiram said politely. Like Kaiser, his were the manners of a kind neighborhood sociopath. "'Soledado,' if you don't mind. Single malt."

"Passionfruit tea, please." Dru smiled to the Ferengi, folding her hands in front of her.

The Ferengi made a mumbling noise and drew away to the next table with his tray. Hiram reached across the table and plucked a toothpick from out of a dispenser. "I'm the only one who knows the fourth target, Murane, so maybe you ought to defer to my judgement when it comes to an agent. Don't tell me you trust Laurent's taste in helpers. A lot of them haven't panned out lately - eh."

"No thanks to you," Murane muttered darkly. "You reason there a fourth target in the first place. You think this one can beat him, after he beat you?"

"I let him go," Hiram said, a little less friendly. "It wasn't a safe place to continue."

Murane snorted disdainfully. "Safe enough for him. Your friend here all checked out with SS? How she going to handle SS informant? This not about recovering witnesses any more. This about cleaning up big mess."

Hiram turned his big, scarred, balding head just enough to glance casually at Creon. "He's right about that much," he grunted. "This isn't about witnesses, and there could be a whole boat-load of them waiting for you. Can you still get around that? Some not-so-mere con-woman work."

"If your money is good, I will get it done. It won't be immediate, but it will be clean." Dru looked into Murane's wet little eyes. "So long as my instructions are complete and I have all the information I need, you will have what you need done."

Murane was still shut down. "Confident as the first one."

"This is different," Hiram said, with a brief look around the taproom before he leaned in closer to the bounty hunter. "Information is hard to come by because at least one of the targets is almost certainly an informant. There is some argument about which it is. My money is on the Trill, Ysil Keren. Joined, and a liar. Dangerous." Murane grunted in agreement. "Murane's bosses don't agree - they think it's a Betazoid grifter, an ex-con from outside the organization - but you'll want to find out."

"All the same now," Murane muttered. "All in it together."

"The Trill and the Betazoid are working with a human who sometimes poses as a Starfleet lieutenant commander," the mercenary explained. He had learned a lot in the past few days from Kaiser and Caton. "The fourth target is a Bolian protection man employed by a Ferengi liquidator - physically the most dangerous of them all, but unaffiliated with the other three. The Bolian at least is confirmed as having gone aboard a cargo freighter moored down Pylon Four; it's possible some or all of the others are there, too, but we have no confirmation."

The waiter materialized again to surrender up their orders; he would not go until Hiram guaranteed that he would be looking after the check with a Central Bank of Lissepia carbon card. That was good anywhere, even in a Ferengi joint; soon they were alone again.

"Bolians are simple, so many arteries in easy places. Betazoids sometimes emit a sort of psychic scream when they die, but unless there are others around it isn't likely to be a problem. Joined Trills are wary, but rarely dangerous. Humans, well, humans." She trailed off there, the point made itself. She smelled her tea, but did not drink any. Too many additives that might disagree with the child.

"I saw a Groumal at Pylon four, did I not? Groumals are slow. Anywhere we go, I should have at least a week." She stared down into the tea for a moment as she thought. "Four isn't a small number, but I have some faith in your enterprise and its resources. Anything else I should know?" She was confident, and it wasn't just for appearances.

Hiram didn't say anything at first; he glanced ever so briefly at expressionless Murane - who caught it. "Assurances are not necessary yet. Have a look first, then decide how easy it is. You can't risk taking weapons through the gate."

"Or helpers," Murane said abruptly.

"That isn't a problem." Dru said, and that was all she would say about it. Her time with the Tal Shiar had taught her all she needed to know about getting weapons where they needed to be.

"You'll need a reason for approaching them," Hiram said. "Have you thought of that? They will all be suspicious. A report suggests the Betazoid's powers are weak, but it isn't guaranteed. You'll have to avoid her until the last moment."

"So long as I have a reason to be aboard the same ship as them, I will be able to approach them. Charisma can be as valuable as a disruptor, in the right circumstance. And unless the Betazoid is an exceptional telepath, she won't be an obstacle." If she were to be honest, her ability to avoid and conflict telepathy was theoretical and had never been tested, but what she knew about extra-sensory perception lead her to believe she'd not be troubled by it. She couldn't afford to not get this job, she'd blown off two potential clients to meet with Hiram, and the contact who'd introduced them had very unclear loyalties.

"A reason," Hiram mused. He reached into his jacket and produced a stenographer's notebook and began flipping through his notes until he found something he could use. "Kristiana Petrovna. Retired Starfleet tactical officer. Hired aboard Fawkes in 2386 as boatswain for Materiel Droz. Returning to gather her belongings."

Murane did not look impressed. "This Red's idea. Pretty risky if she know nothing about Droz or the vessel."

"She has a somewhat similar look, though," Hiram said. "Close enough. Dark hair, blue eyes. Unarmed combat training. Do you know anything about SS Fawkes?"

"Other than that it is a Groumal-class freighter, no. And that is merely an assumption. In my professional opinion, it would be better to use my own available identities than a pre-established one I have no experience with. We cannot be certain that the person you speak of is entirely unfamiliar to the crew. I can only be so convincing when dealing with a living person. A bounty hunter seeking lodging or transport is an easier cover to maintain, and requires much less proof." She found the dynamic strange, suddenly agreeing with the deeply unpleasant Murane.

"It is under ordinary circumstances, maybe," the mercenary replied, "but the Trill at least will be expecting a response from us, and a bounty hunter will look like a response. I'm not sure she doesn't have friends around here who will be able to check you out." There was something in that last remark that made her think he might be nervous about someone else; someone he had not mentioned. He covered it by testing the quality of the whiskey he had ordered.

"Ferengi procurer says liquidator intends to take ship to planet Regulon," Murane observed. He was not surprised by Creon's dismissal of the Petrovna plan - it was far too risky for him, too - although it didn't improve his opinion of her versatility, either. "Terrorist fighting there. Wealthy residents nervous of them. Could pose as protection officer going there for work."

Hiram thought this over. "Maybe," he admitted, "but none of this group is associated with any of Droz's people, we made sure of that. They wouldn't know anything about Petrovna in advance. We know a great deal of the crew's possessions were never taken into evidence, are still stored aboard the freighter. We even know where. It would make some sense if an old crew member showed up to collect her forgotten possessions, now that Fawkes is out of impound."

"Too much gambling," Murane insisted again, his black eyes narrowing angrily. He jerked his head at the Romulan. "Better as a passenger. Doesn't know the layout. Dead giveaway."

"It's a Groumal. She can study that," Hiram said with a shrug. "We can give her information about Droz and the crew, enough to play them for a few hours. They won't let her out of the passenger area if she poses as a fucking mercenary, Murane! This is just a recon job. We have time to develop a better emplacement plan once we know whether the targets are viable."

"Collecting possessions only allows for a small length of time aboard, if they don't simply insist on locating them themselves or beaming them out. It would be limiting. If this ship is freshly out of impound, they will likely be looking for crew and capital. I've never met a Freighter Captain who would turn down a paying passenger. They will have no reason to suspect me." Dru looked around the room, it was true, so long as the crew weren't presently watching them.

Hiram looked slightly unsettled by this assertion, but Murane was still and listening.

"Unless they are so overburdened with crew that they would refuse me, a Bounty Hunter offering to pay her way and assist on the side would be the most logical scenario, and allow me maximum versatility." She paused, smelling the tea once again. "Give me the previous crew's information anyway, it may still be of use. Obviously we all need to trust each other to a certain degree if this is to work, so I ask that you trust my judgement. If not, then this has been for naught." She felt confident being bold now, she had sat with them long enough, if they didn't want her, then she knew she was wasting time. If they did, then she lost nothing by pushing.

Hiram thoughtfully rubbed the whiskey from his mustache. If he was suddenly having second thoughts about this plan, he was not in a very good position to voice them; he had brought her, after all, and he only had so much credit left with these smugglers.

Murane was pretentious and appreciated professional-sounding terms like 'maximum versatility.' He was also beginning to think that if she didn't work out, he could always pin responsibility on the Central Bank mercenary, who was trusted by Goteborg and therefore accountable for his own ideas.

"Days of blind trust over," he said flatly. "First you find them, give us a plan - then we trust your judgement. Too many bluff talkers around here. Wouldn't need you if there weren't."

Hiram could see the direction the discussion was taking. He pushed his pad of notes towards her. "Don't put this information onto anything with a modem, understand? The minute you pass the pylon check point they could very well be watching you. There are too many bodies in the morgue for them to ignore. If they're not moving against us, it might be because they're waiting for us to make a mistake." No need to explain who 'they' were.

Dru nodded slowly. "Very well. I will make contact with the crew of the Fawkes, then report back to you with the plan." She took the notebook, and with the same reach, the PADD she'd passed to Murane earlier. She slipped them into the inner pocket of her long navy coat. "Then, we will discuss trust."

"And money," Hiram assured her. "There is a great deal at stake here; the clients are exposed. You can come out of this very well if you play it smart."

"And straight," Murane warned her. "Don't be too ambitious, eh? We can hire a lot of bounty hunters, and the government will be watching soon, if they not already."

"As you wish." Drusilla smiled a lukewarm grin at the men as she stood up. She turned on her heel and walked away, scanning the environment for anyone who might be watching. None of them seemed to be, unless they were very good at looking like a standard drunkard. It was time to found what out exactly she could get through the checkpoint.

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