Chapter Four

AFTER BEAMING DOWN to an isolated location near a shuttle landing strip, Riker, La Forge, and Dorn made their way to the spaceport buildings and the office of the Merchant Spacefleet Union. In a busy spaceport city like K’trin, there were always openings for crew members listed with the union. Merchant spacers were a transient lot, and few of them ever stayed with the same ship for very long. However, when the union secretary brought up their carefully manufactured records on his monitor, he simply looked at the screen for a long moment, then slowly raised his eyes to Riker.

“This . . . uh . . . last evaluation,” he said, clearing his throat slightly, “from your previous commander, the captain of the Phoenix . . .”

“Yeah, what about it?” Riker said, in a challenging tone.

“Mr. Stryker, you realize I have nothing to do with these things. . . .”

“I know what it says,” Riker replied, curtly. “But there were never any formal charges filed.”

“Yes, sir, I realize that,” the secretary replied. “However, despite the fact that there were no charges filed, your commanding officer’s evaluation report, all by itself, will make getting you another berth somewhat, uh, problematical.”

“Are there listings or aren’t there?” Riker demanded.

“Well, yes, there are listings,” the secretary replied, “but at this point, all I can do is enter your names for consideration and allow the listing captains access to your files. If I receive a positive response, I’ll be sure to let you know.”

“And how long is that liable to take?” Riker asked.

The secretary shrugged, uncomfortably. “Ordinarily, I’d say anywhere from a few hours to a day or so, but given your, uh . . . recent diflficulties . . .” He cleared his throat again. “I simply couldn’t say. I mean, surely you realize the situation you’re in. It’s really out of my control.”

“Yeah, right,” said Riker, with a grimace.

“If you could check back with me tomorrow, perhaps there might be something. . . . I mean, you never know, sometimes, if a ship is shorthanded and the captain can’t afford to wait in port, then . . .” The man hesitated.

“He might get desperate, is that what you’re saying?” Riker asked.

“I didn’t say that, Mr. Stryker. I will certainly do what I can for you, but under the circumstances, it’s going to be rather difficult. Perhaps if you insisted that your previous captain file charges . . . given his report, you certainly have that right . . . then at least you could contest it, and if you won your case, or the captain failed to prove his, then this report could be expunged and—”

“There’s no possibility of doing that,” said Riker. “The Phoenix has already departed this sector.”

“Oh . . . yes, I see that,” said the secretary, glancing back at his screen. He sighed and shook his head. “Well, I’ll see what I can do. But to be perfectly frank with you, it could take quite a while.”

“How long?” asked Riker.

The secretary shook his head. “Days, possibly weeks, or even longer. I’m sorry.”

“Yeah,” said Riker, sourly. “By then, we’ll be flat broke.”

“I really wish there was something more that I could do,” the secretary said. “Look . . .” He cleared his throat again and leaned forward, speaking in a low voice. “. . . I’m not supposed to say this, but you might stand a better chance trying to make connections in the Zone. There are a few bars down there—the Ramjet, the Derelict, the Flying Dutchman . . . just ask anybody, they’ll tell you where they are. You never heard it from me, you understand, but word is if you’re in a hurry and looking for warm bodies to fill out your crew, and you’re not too particular, then you can always find some people there who are anxious to ship out and don’t really care what their next port of call is, if you know what I mean.”

Riker nodded. “Yeah, I think I do,” he said. “Thanks. I appreciate it.”

“A word of caution,” said the secretary. “We’re out on the frontier here, and even though we’ve got a starbase in this sector, you won’t find any Starfleet Security Men down there. And the local authorites don’t give a damn what happens in the Zone, so long as it doesn’t spill out into the rest of the city. In other words, watch your backs. Especially in those places.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” said Riker. “Thanks again.”

“Don’t mention it,” said the secretary. “And I do mean don’t mention it.”

“Well, that worked like a charm,” said La Forge, as they left the union office.

“And we picked up a few possible leads, as well,” said Riker. “Now if anyone happens to check with the union office, the secretary will remember us and confirm that we were really looking for a ship.” He turned to Dorn. “You know anything about those bars he mentioned?”

“I’ve heard about them,” she replied. “They’re bad news. Real slaughterhouses. People have been known to go in there and not come out again. Our jurisdiction does not extend beyond the spaceport. And even if we had permission to police the Zone, we simply lack the personnel to conduct regular shore patrols. T’grayn wouldn’t allow it, in any case. The city makes a lot of money off the Zone.”

“So what you’re saying is we’re on our own in there,” La Forge said.

“We’ve been on our own ever since we set foot outside the spaceport gates,” Lieutenant Dorn replied, dryly.

The area they were walking through as they moved away from the spaceport was composed of a mixture of warehouses and bars, with various other business scattered up and down the street. Most of the buildings along the crowded street were no more than about five or six stories tall, and just about all of them were garishly illuminated with signs advertising bars and nightclubs, tattoo and piercing emporiums, cyberentertainment salons, and exotic show clubs, some of which openly advertised acts that were illegal throughout most of the Federation. Looking at one of the signs, which displayed a colorful and shocking digital representation of what went on inside, La Forge could only shake his head and mutter, “I definitely get the feeling we’re not in Kansas anymore.”

Riker nodded as he glanced around. “I’ve seen some pretty wild liberty ports,” he said, “but this one is in a class all by itself.”

K’trin was a busy port city and the streets of the Zone were crowded with merchant spacers from all over the Federation, on liberty from their ships stationed in orbit, as well as locals and various transients who made their living from them. In most spaceport cities of the Federation, Riker knew, there was usually a “Combat Zone,” a small section of the city where spacers could find the sort of entertainment that would allow them to unwind from their long voyages. Spacers were usually paid when they made port, and when they took their liberty, they had money to spend. Many of them liked to spend it in drinking and gambling and other diversions, and areas like the Zone existed to supply them.

The laws governing the existence of such districts varied with each world. In some cases, local authorities had an agreement with the Federation to allow Starfleet security personnel jurisdiction to police the area and keep things under control. In others, local law enforcement took care of that job, and if spacers got themselves in trouble, they were answerable to local laws. In a few ports, the local authorities tended to look the other way for all but the most serious infractions, tolerating activities that might be illegal elsewhere on their world. However, on D’rahl, it seemed that to all intents and purposes, no laws applied. So long as whatever happened in the Zone stayed within the Zone, the authorities didn’t seem to care one way or the other. And Starfleet had no jurisdiction. Riker could not imagine a more ideal environment for criminals, particularly freebooters like Blaze.

As they approached the center of the Zone, the streets became more crowded. Small groups of gyro sleds with helmeted riders astride them zoomed up and down above the streets, executing aerobatic maneuvers overhead, then swooping down with alarming speed until a frightening crash seemed inevitable, only to pull out of their dives at the last moment and level off or else zoom back up again. Local youths, thought Riker, out for a bit of hell-raising. He wondered how many of them got killed or maimed performing their daredevil antics, and how many innocent pedestrians they killed or injured in the process.

As they passed a side street, a cloaked figure suddenly stepped out into their path, pulled back her hood, and struck a provocative pose. “Looking for a real good time?”

Riker stared, startled, and his hand instinctively reached for the phaser that wasn’t there before he caught himself. For an incredible moment, he thought he was confronted by a female Borg, but then he realized that the modifications were considerably different. This woman had extensive cybernetic augmentation surgery, but in addition to that, she’d had biomods, as well.

The upper part of her face, from just below her eyes on up into her thick, lush hairline, was covered with nysteel alloy, so that it looked as if she were wearing a gleaming steel mask through which bionic optics fixed him with their electronic gaze. Through her parted lips, he could see artificial tooth implants extend, resembling the fangs of a vampire. Her right hand and arm were natural, but the left arm, from the shoulder down, was robotic, with unusually complex-looking, articulated fingers. Beneath her cloak, she wore barely enough for modesty, revealing a startlingly muscular body. She wore high, over-the-knee boots and her legs were bare up to what amounted to little more than a thong, above which were washboard abdominal muscles and large, firm breasts encased in a brief halter top. She had thick, lustrous black hair down almost to her waist, but the left side of her head had been shaved and covered with gleaming nysteel alloy studded with tiny microcircuitry receptors and interface jacks. She held up her natural right hand, palm toward her face, and Riker saw an example of her biomods as three-inch needles slid out from beneath her fingernails.

“Natural endorphins, adrenochrome, enhanced biopeptides,” she said, with a predatory smile. Then she held up her robotic hand with a flourish, and Riker saw that where the fingernails would be on a normal hand, there were small hypospray injectors built in. “Chinese heroin, K’tralli ice, Rigelian cerebrocain, laboratory-grade morphetomine, Orion ambrocide, I’ve got it all.”

The tip of her tongue flicked out to touch her upper lip, and Riker saw a small gland surgically implanted in its underside. She secreted a tiny drop of cerulean blue saliva that glistened on her lower lip. Riker repressed a shudder. The woman wore no weapons, but she didn’t need any. All she had to do was trail her robotic fingertips across somebody’s skin and she could inject an entire pharmacopoeia of lethal drugs, or else use the needles implanted in her natural hand to wreak havoc on a nervous system with her bioengineered glandular secretions. He had no idea what a love bite or a kiss could do, and he wasn’t sure he really wanted to know.

“Uh . . . no, thanks,” he said.

“Are you sure?” she said, her fangs retracting as she smiled and reached out for him. “For you, I could arrange a special discount. I could take care of your friends, too.”

Riker stepped back. “I said . . . no, thanks.”

“Too bad,” she said, looking him over. “I could really enjoy doing you.”

“Nothing personal,” said Riker. “It’s just not my cup of tea.”

“Tea is the one thing I don’t have,” she replied with a smile, stepping aside for them. “If you should change your mind, ask for Katana at the Flying Dutchman.”

“The Flying Dutchman,” Riker repeated. “Where’s that?”

“Straight down this alley, last door to your left,” she said. “One of the best bars in the Zone. Check it out. Tell the bartender I sent you. He’ll give you a free drink, on me. Maybe I’ll see you there later.” She snicked out her needles once again. “If this isn’t your cup of tea, there’s lots of other things that I can do.”

‘I’ll think about it,” Riker said.

“Do that,” said Katana, over her shoulder, as she turned and walked away.

La Forge gave a low whistle. “What was that?” he said.

“They’re called ‘shooters’ around here,” Lieutenant Dorn said, tersely, “but the proper term is cybrid, for cybernetically augmented, biomodified hybrid.”

“What? I’ve never even heard of such a thing,” said Riker, with a frown.

“Not many people have,” said Dorn, staring hard at the departing cybrid. “They’re very rare. Fortunately.”

Riker noted her marked stiffness, a hostile reaction indicating there was probably something personal involved. “Come on, let’s go,” he said, turning down the alleyway. “We’ve still got work to do.”

“What would make people want to do something like that to themselves?” La Forge asked.

“It wasn’t really their choice,” Dorn replied. “Ever hear of Diversified Biotronics Corporation?”

“Wait a minute, that rings a bell,” La Forge said. “Wasn’t that one of the old industrial conglomerates out in the Belt? I seem to remember reading something about their cybernetic engineering patents back in the Academy.”

“That’s the one,” said Dorn. “They perfected a new generation of cybernetic bioaugmentation procedures, originally intended for medical applications. But then somebody in the corporation decided to diversify into a whole new area. They came up with the idea of cloning biohybrids and augmenting them with various cybernetic implants at key stages in their physical development.”

“Wow. Was that legal?” asked La Forge.

“I suppose it was a matter of interpretation,” Dorn replied, as they walked. “Cloning human cells for commercial purposes has been outlawed for years, but DBC maintained that the cybrids were not, technically speaking, human and therefore they were a patented, bioengineered life-form. The project was already well under way when an injunction was issued against them while the matter was thrashed out in the courts. It took years to settle the whole thing, and by the time it was all over, DBC had lost their court battle and their stock had plummeted. The company did not survive, and several of its officers were convicted on numerous felony charges.”

“When did all this happen?” Riker asked, finding it curious that he had never heard of it.

“About sixty years ago,” said Dorn.

“Sixty years ago?” said Riker, with disbelief. “But that woman didn’t look a day over twenty-five!”

“Looks can be deceiving,” Dorn replied, “especially with cybrids. Remember, they’re bioengineered. If she was one of the last ones DBC produced, she’d have to be at least fifty years old.”

“If she’s a biological hybrid, then what exactly is she?” Riker asked.

“I have no idea what went into the matrix,” Dorn replied. “Chances are she doesn’t even know herself.”

“How many of them were there?” asked La Forge.

“No one seems to know for sure,” said Dorn. “When DBC was brought up on charges, somebody panicked and destroyed all the records. Nobody even knows for certain what their purpose was supposed to be. DBC maintained they were designed for medical applications, and that might even be true for all I know, but there was a widespread belief that they were designed as a mercenary force that the company could hire out. It sounds plausible to me. They certainly fight well enough.”

“How do you know that?” asked Riker, glancing at her sharply.

“Same way I know the rest of it,” said Dorn. “It was all part of the job. We had some trouble with a few of them on Artemis VI not long after I was assigned here. They came over from N’trahn and there was no law barring them from entry. There is now.”

“What happened?” Riker asked.

“Three of them killed twenty-seven colonists and seriously injured another dozen or so.”

“My God. Why?” asked La Forge.

“We never could quite figure that one out,” said Dorn. “None of the cybrids survived to be questioned. They wouldn’t be taken alive.”

“What became of all the others?” Riker asked.

“According to my research, when DBC went down, all the cybrids simply disappeared. Rumor had it they were terminated, but some of them obviously got away. And a few apparently came here. We learned that General H’druhn used a number of them in the K’tralli revolution. Now they’re K’tralli citizens. Legally, we can’t touch them. We don’t even know how many of them there are. J’drahn claims he has no idea and hasn’t seen any of them in years. He believes they’re probably all dead by now. Apparently not.”

“Well, they’re not really our concern,” said Riker.

“They are mine,” said Dorn, with a hard edge to her voice. “I lost six of my people taking down those three shooters on Artemis VI.”

“Lieutenant . . .” Riker said, stopping and staring at her pointedly, “I said . . . they’re not our concern. We’ve got a job to do. Is that clear?”

“Yes, sir,” she replied, stiffly.

“I can understand how you feel, Lieutenant,” Riker said, sympathetically. “It was your first field command, wasn’t it?”

She stared at him. “Yes, sir, it was.”

“Believe me,” Riker said, sincerely, “I know how you feel. I’ve been there. But if you keep carrying it around with you, it’ll eat your guts out. It’s over. Let it go.”

“Is that an order, sir?” she said, flatly.

“No, Lieutenant, it’s merely good advice,” he said. “And if you’re smart, you’ll take it.”

“I hate to interrupt,” La Forge said, “but we’ve got company.”

They were almost at the end of the alleyway, not quite to the Flying Dutchman, and three figures had suddenly stepped out of the shadows. Their attitude as they stood in the center of the alley to block their way was unmistakable.

“There’s three more coming up behind us,” La Forge said.

Riker glanced over his shoulder.

“That damn shooter set us up!” said Dorn.

The three in front of them were human. Riker couldn’t tell about the ones who had stopped a short distance behind them, cutting off their retreat. The one standing in the center of the group before them spoke.

“We can do this easy, or we can do it hard,” he said. He pulled out a double-bladed spring knife and six inches of gleaming nysteel snicked out at each end. “How do you want to play it, mate?”

“I’ll see you and raise,” said Riker, drawing his bowie with its twelve-inch blade.

The man’s eyes grew wide at the sight of the huge knife, and he also saw La Forge pull out his stunner. Dorn had slipped on her alloy knucks and she also pulled a whip baton out from beneath her vest. She pressed the control stud and the flexible alloy whip sprang out to its full length of two and a half feet. It was standard issue to security personnel, and Riker hadn’t known she’d brought it with her, but now was not the time to worry about that. The other two men had also pulled out knives, and Riker heard movement behind him, as well. He sincerely hoped that none of them had phasers or projectile weapons.

La Forge quickly turned to face the ones behind them. Riker faced the men in front, and Dorn stood slightly sideways, so she could quickly go either way. Suddenly, the men they were facing didn’t look so sure of themselves.

“There’s only three of you and six of us,” said the one who had spoken before. “What do you think your odds are?”

“Oh, about even, I’d say,” said another voice, and two of the men behind the landing party grunted and stiffened as Katana came up and injected them from behind. As the two men collapsed to the street, the third one turned quickly, but the cybrid grabbed him by the throat with her robotic hand and effortlessly snapped his neck before he could even make a sound. The remaining three men bolted, apparently not caring for the sudden change in odds.

Dorn turned toward the cybrid, holding her whip baton ready. Riker put his hand on her upper arm and squeezed gently. At the same time, he sheathed his bowie. “Thanks,” he said. “I owe you one.”

“You owe me three,” the cybrid replied, glancing down at the bodies at her feet. “I saw them from across the street, going down the alley after you. I just didn’t want you thinking that I’d set you up.”

La Forge glanced down at the three bodies lying on the ground. “What did you give those two?” he asked, referring to the men she had injected.

The cybrid shrugged. “A mixed cocktail,” she replied, with a smile. “And I don’t water down my drinks.”

“I guess not,” said La Forge, uneasily.

“That was fast work,” Riker said. “I’m impressed.’’

“So am I,” Katana replied. “I waited to see what you would do. You three don’t back down, do you?”

“I never got into the habit,” Riker said. “Besides, we haven’t got much money, and it’s got to last us till we find another ship. I have a feeling this place could get expensive.”

“Well, in that case, why don’t you let me buy you a round?”

“Thanks, but you’ve already done more than enough,” said Riker.

“Forget it. Like I said, I didn’t want you to think I was involved in this. The Zone’s not all that large, and I’ve got a reputation to protect. Come on, hotshot, I’ll buy you that drink.” She reached out to take his arm. Involuntarily, Riker pulled back. She fixed him with a gaze from those unsettling, crystal clear bionic optics. “Don’t worry, lover. I won’t sting.”

“Yeah. That’s what the scorpion said to the frog,” said Riker.

“How’s that?”

“It’s from an old folktale. Forget it.” Riker allowed her to take his arm. “Sorry,” he said. “Nothing personal. It’s just that I’ve never met anyone like you before.”

“There isn’t anyone like me,” she said, then added softly, “not anymore.” She glanced at the weapon still in Dorn’s hand. “That’s a Starfleet security baton,” she said.

“Yeah,” said Dom. “I took it off one in a fight on Abraxis IV. Kept it ever since. It comes in real handy sometimes.”

“Abraxis IV, eh?” said Katana, as they walked toward the bar. “I hear that’s a pretty rough port.”

“I’ve seen rougher,” Dorn replied.

“Well, sister, they don’t get much rougher than this,” the cybrid said. As if to punctuate her words, as they approached the bar, the door was thrown open and a body flew out into the alley. The spacer landed in a heap on the ground and lay them, moaning. Katana merely stepped over him without giving him a second glance. Riker and the others followed.

From the outside, the Flying Dutchman was marked only by a carved wooden sign hanging over an unpainted steel doorway, illuminated by a small light above the doorframe and displaying the bar’s name along with a crude representation of an ancient sailing vessel. Nothing more. No digitronic displays, not even any windows. It was the sort of place that one would have to look for, located as it was at the back of an alleyway, isolated from the glittering main strip of the Zone. But inside, it was another story.

Riker had expected a dark and grim-looking saloon, with men hunched over their drinks at the bar and passed out at corner tables. Instead, as they came in, they were assaulted by flashing lights and the throbbing sounds of loud music played by a live band on a stage protected by a shatterproof polymer shield. The reason for the shield became apparent almost immediately, as a bottle sailed toward the stage, aimed at one of the musicians. The synth player did not even react as the bottle smashed harmlessly on the protective shield, splattering it with foam and amber-colored liquid. There were several raised stages placed around the room, on which both human and K’tralli females danced, stripping provocatively for the customers seated around them. There were several dancers on the bar, as well. No shields separated them from the patrons, and contact between the dancers and the customers was apparently allowed—for the price of a tip, the size of which seemed to determine the degree of contact. However, as they came in and made their way between the tables, one of the patrons got a bit too friendly for a dancer’s taste. She began to struggle, and immediately two very large men descended on the rowdy customer, seized him, and smashed his head against the stage apron. He collapsed, bleeding and unconscious, and the other customers at the stage immediately began to tip the dancer generously.

“Want a table with a view?” Katana asked, raising her voice so Riker could hear her.

“I’d rather have one away from all the noise,” he said loudly, in reply.

“Right this way,” she said, heading toward the back, where there were private booths enclosed on three sides by dividers, forming small alcoves. The dividers were apparently accoustic mufflers, for the noise decreased enough for them to talk when they sat down.

“So, what do you think?” Katana asked. “Straight-ahead, no-nonsense spacer’s bar. No tricks, no gimmicks, no holos, just good booze, good food, and honest entertainment.”

“You call that entertainment?” Lieutenant Dorn asked, looking with distaste at the gyrating strippers.

“Honey, if that’s not your style, say the word and I’ll get you some nice beef for a private table dance.”

“I think I’ll pass,” said Dorn, sourly. “And don’t call me ‘honey.’”

“Suit yourself. What’s your pleasure, hotshot?” she said, turning to Riker.

“You’re buying,” he said. “I’m not too particular.”

“Is that right? You could have fooled me,” Katana said, with a wolfish grin. She signaled a server. A young K’tralli woman wearing not much more than the dancers came up to their table.

“Hey, Shooter,” she said. “What’s up?”

“A pitcher of bahari, S’bele, and four chilled mugs.”

“Coming right up.” S’bele’s gaze slid over Riker appreciatively and she smiled suggestively before she left.

“I think she likes you,” said Katana, nudging Riker. “If she’s more your style, it could be arranged.”

“No, thanks,” said Riker. “That isn’t what I’m after.”

“Really?” said Katana. “Wrong gender?”

“Right gender, wrong priority,” said Riker.

“Yeah? So what are you after?”

“A ship,” said Riker. “For me and my crewmates.”

“No listings at the union?”

“There are listings, all right,” said Riker, “just not for us.”

“Uh-huh. I think I’m beginning to get the picture,” said Katana. “What’d you do, hotshot? Pull a bad efficiency report?”

“Something like that,” said Riker. “Not that it’s any of your business.”

“Now, is that any way to talk, when I’m the one who’s buying?” she asked.

“You’re right,” said Riker. “I’m sorry. Guess I’m just a little edgy. No offense.”

“None taken.” She glanced around at them. “All three of you get grounded from the same ship, huh? You facing charges?”

“No,” said Riker. He grimaced. “Too much bureaucracy involved. Our captain didn’t want to be delayed.”

“So he just grounded you and screwed you with his evaluation report, right?”

“You seem to know a lot about it, for a hooker,” Dorn said.

Katana turned her bionic optics toward her. The gaze was expressionless and impossible to read, but it was very direct. Dorn did not flinch from it. “I know about a lot of things,” Katana said. “It comes with the territory. It’s just possible that you might even benefit from some of what I know, if you backed off some on your attitude.” She turned toward La Forge. “You don’t say very much, do you?”

Geordi shrugged. “I do, when I’ve got something to say.”

Katana nodded with approval. “Smart.” She turned to Dorn. “You could take a lesson from your mate, here.” She turned back to La Forge. “That’s a VISOR, isn’t it?”

“That’s right,” La Forge said. “I was born blind.”

Katana nodded. “Company I used to work for patented some of that microcircuitry. What’s your rating?”

“Chief engineer,” said Geordi.

“Really? And your captain grounded you? Good engineers are hard to come by. What the hell did you do, try to start a mutiny?”

“You know, you ask a lot of questions, but you don’t volunteer much,” Riker said.

“No, I just killed three rollers for you, hotshot,” she replied. “I figure that entitles me to a few answers. What do you think?”

“Point taken,” Riker replied. “What do you want to know?”

“How about your names, for starters?”

“Bill Stryker, formerly executive officer of the Federation merchant ship Phoenix. And my crewmates, George LaBeau—” Geordi nodded at her. “—and Angie Thorn, supply officer and med rating.”

“With qualifications like that, you must have really stepped over the line to get grounded,” said Katana. “So give. What did you do?”

“We got caught diverting cargo,” Riker said.

“Diverting, huh? I guess that’s one way of putting it,” the cybrid replied, with a grin. “Let me guess. You were exec, and with Thorn here a warrant rating, that put you in position to alter cargo manifests and fake damage reports, right?” She glanced at La Forge. “And as chief engineer, you were in an ideal position to stash the hijacked cargo in the tubes until you could make port and arrange to transport it to some buyer. Was it something like that?”

“It was exactly like that,” said Geordi. “How the hell did you know?”

Katana grinned. “I’ve been around, LaBeau. I didn’t always work the Zone, you know. I’ve crewed some. It sounds like a pretty good scam to me. How’d you get caught?”

“Submitting too many insurance claims for damaged cargo,” Riker said. “Someone got suspicious and planted a tracking device in one of the shipments.”

“And cargo that was supposedly damaged or destroyed turned up somewhere it wasn’t supposed to be,” Katana said. She nodded. “That’s where scams like that usually go wrong. People get too greedy. Not that there’s anything wrong with being greedy,” she added, quickly. “It’s just that you have to know when you can get away with it.”

“If you’re such an expert, then how come you’re working the streets of a liberty port?” asked Dorn.

Katana fixed her once again with that implacable, crystalline gaze. “Because I choose to, honey,” she said, stressing the word purposely. “Good times aren’t all I sell. I deal in information, too. Besides, I’m not the one who’s grounded and stranded in K’trin, am I?”

“Take it easy,” Riker said. “She’s just a little tense, that’s all.”

“No, it’s not all,” Katana said, flatly. “You don’t like me, do you, Thorn? You think I’m some kind of freak, don’t you?”

“I didn’t say that,” Dorn replied, curtly. “You did.”

“I said, take it easy,” Riker interjected sharply. “Both of you. This isn’t going to get us anywhere.” He turned to Katana. “Look, you seem to know your way around here. And you said you deal in information. We don’t have a lot of money, but we’d be willing to pay for a connection that would get us a ship off-planet.”

“Yeah? And then what?” asked Katana. “With what you three pulled, any captain that would sign you on would either have to be desperate or crooked. If he’s desperate, then you’re history as soon as he can find replacements for you in another port, and then you’re right back where you started. If he’s crooked, he’d have to have his head examined to sign you on, because with your records on file, it would be like a red flag on whatever operation he’s running. Face it, Stryker, you three just scammed yourselves right out of the Merchant Spacefleet.”

“So what you’re saying is there’s nothing you can do to help?” said Riker.

“Are you listening to me, Stryker?” she replied. “Wake up and smell the coffee, hotshot. It’s over. You three have flushed your careers right down the tubes. About the only chance you’ve got is to sign on with some rustbucket freighter skippered by an independent who can barely make ends meet, hauling toxic waste or something no one else will touch. You’ll wind up on a route so far removed from merchant space lanes that the only liberty port you’ll ever see will be some dome planted on an asteroid. Face it, you gambled and you lost.”

“Don’t hold back,” said Riker. “Tell me what you really think.”

She smiled. “I’m just giving you it to you straight, hotshot. But who knows, maybe it’s not the end of the world.”

“What do you mean?”

The cybrid shrugged. “Hell, this is the frontier. Look around. This is a wide-open Zone. There’s a lot of opportunities here for people who know how to take advantage of them.”

“You mean like those rollers who just tried to jump us?” Riker said. He snorted with derision. “That’s not exactly my idea of a growth career.”

“Hell, I wasn’t talking about anything like that,” Katana said. “That’s strictly small-time. With your qualifications, I think you could do better.”

“If you’ve got something in mind, I’m listening,” said Riker.

The server brought their drinks, rewarded Riker with another sultry smile, and left.

“Drink up,” Katana said, getting to her feet. “Let me go make a few inquiries.”

“What’s in it for you?” asked Riker.

She grinned. “I’m sure we can work something out. Don’t go away. I won’t be long.”

They watched her move through the crowd. “You’re not going to trust that cybrid bitch?’ said Dorn.

“Only to look after her own interests,” replied Riker. “And in this case, her interests might turn out to be ours, as well.”

“Just so long as she keeps her hands where I can see them,” said La Forge, uneasily. “That lady makes me very nervous.”

“She’s no lady,” Dorn said.

“So far, she’s the best lead we’ve got,” said Riker.

“What do you think she’s going to do?” asked La Forge.

“Try to broker a connection and collect from both ends,” Riker replied.

“Yeah, but what kind of connection?” asked La Forge.

“We’ll just have to wait and see,” said Riker. “My guess is she’s got an in to the local black market. Those drugs she loads into her built-in hyposprays are not easily available. Laboratory-grade morphetomine is a black-market pharmaceutical, and it wouldn’t come cheap.”

“You’d be surprised at what you can pick up in the Zone,” said Dorn.

“Maybe,” Riker said, “but you don’t pick up exotic drugs like cerebrocain and ambrocide just anywhere. To manufacture those would require a state-of-the-art pharmaceutical laboratory. And something like that would be a little tough to hide.”

“Unless you had a government that looked the other way,” La Forge said.

“Or maybe a cloaking device,” said Dorn.

“You mean Blaze’s ship?” said La Forge.

“Think about it,” Dorn said. “If J’drahn or T’grayn were allowing illegal drug manufacture on D’rahl or one of the other K’tralli worlds, they’d still have to worry about the problem of distribution. They’d have to ship the drugs from the plant to some distributing point, and from there, ship them off-planet.”

“They could cut deals with crooked merchant fleet captains, or maybe small-time independents,” said La Forge.

“Maybe,” Dorn said, “but it would be risky. If anyone got caught, they could blow the whistle on the entire operation. On the other hand, if you subsidized a plant that was operating aboard a ship, then even if something went wrong, you wouldn’t get caught with an illegal plant in your own backyard. And if you were charged with being an accessory, it would be difficult to prove. You’d have plausible deniability.”

“You’ve got a very devious mind, Lieutenant,” said La Forge.

“You hang around here long enough, you’ll have one, too,” she replied dryly.

“I suppose it’s possible,” said Riker, thoughtfully. “On a Constellation-class ship, he could get by with a smaller crew and fewer amenities, which would leave him space to convert crew quarters to laboratories. And he could trade hijacked cargo for the raw materials he’d need.”

“And what better place to hide an illegal drug- manufacturing plant than aboard a cloaked ship?” asked La Forge.

“We may be reaching here,” said Riker. “But either way, Katana’s got to be getting her supplies from somewhere. And whoever her supplier is, he’s not small-time. I think we may be on to something.”

“How do you want to play it?” Dorn asked.

“We’ll have to follow her lead,” said Riker. “You can bet that whoever she’s calling is going to have us checked out first.”

“And what they’ll find in the official records will back up everything we’ve said,” La Forge replied. “We’ll look like three crooked spacers who got caught and have flat run out of options.” He grimaced. “I’m almost starting to believe it, myself.”

“If we’re going to pull this off, you’ll have to believe it,” Riker said. “We’re moving into dangerous territory. We can’t afford any slips.”

A few moments later, Katana returned. “You may be in luck,” she said. “It’s just possible that my contact might have something for you.”

“What are we talking about, exactly?” Riker asked.

“It’s too early to talk about the details,” she replied evasively. “I don’t really know what my contact has in mind, but it sounded like he might have something that could interest you.”

“What I’m interested in right now is knowing what I might be getting into,” Riker said.

“Have a little patience, Stryker,” she replied. “These things don’t happen right away. Calls and arrangements have to be made. As soon as I hear from my contact, we’ll set up a meeting and you’ll get all the details then.”

“Suppose I don’t like the details?” Riker asked. “Then it goes no further,” said Katana. “But it’s not as if you have a lot of options, is it?”

“No,” Riker said, “I guess it’s not. Okay. What do we do in the meantime?”

“Keep yourselves available,” she said. “You can get a room upstairs. It’s liable to be a little noisy, but it’s cheap, if you don’t mind sharing. I can talk to the manager and have him move in a couple of extra cots. And you can get food from the kitchen. It isn’t bad.”

“And you get a kickback for renting us the room, right?” Riker said.

She shrugged. “Everybody’s got to make a living. Of course, if you don’t like the deal, you can always go someplace else. But it’ll cost you more.”

“And while we sit around and wait and spend our money, you just disappear, right?” said Dorn.

“I could,” Katana agreed, “but then I’d lose out on what I’d get for making the connection. And that wouldn’t be good business, would it?”

“How long will we have to wait?” asked La Forge. She shrugged. “I’d say till tomorrow, or the next day, at the latest. But if my contact says he’s got something, then he’s got something. If you don’t like the deal, then at most you’re out two days’ room rent. You’d have had to pay that anyway, unless you don’t plan on sleeping while you’re here.”

Riker nodded. “Okay, we’ll take the room. But until I hear something more specific, that’s all we’re going to take.”

“Fair enough,” Katana said. “I’ll go set it up. You can hang out here and get some food, or go upstairs. But don’t go wandering off. If I get the word, things will move fast and I’ll want you where I can find you.”

She left the table once again to get a room for them.

“How do we know she’s not going to set us up to get rolled?” asked Dorn.

“She could’ve done that outside,” Riker reminded her. “Anyway, we’re not going to get anywhere by playing it safe. What we do is try to minimize the risks. We make sure there’s no one waiting for us in that room when we go in, then we check it out carefully and sleep in shifts, one of us awake at all times.”

“I sure would feel better with a phaser,” said La Forge.

“So would I,” said Riker, “but if we’re searched —and we can probably count on that to happen at some point—it would be hard to explain where we happened to come up with phasers.” He glanced at Dorn. “You don’t have any more surprises like that baton, do you? If you do, I want to know about it now.”

“I’m not packing anything else,” she replied.

“If I find out you are, I’ll have you brought up on charges of insubordination,” Riker said.

“I said, I’m not packing anything else, sir,” she said.

“That wasn’t smart, Lieutenant,” Riker said. “You jeopardized the safety of this mission.”

“She bought my explanation of how I got it,” Dorn said, defensively.

“That’s not the point and you know it,” said Riker. “I don’t have any tolerance for mavericks, Lieutenant. Especially on a mission like this. You understand me?”

“Yes, sir.”

“She’s coming back,” said La Forge, spotting Katana returning to their table.

“Okay, it’s all set,” she said as she came up. “I got you a room on the fourth floor, so it shouldn’t be too noisy. It’s got a bed and a couple of extra cots. It’s not exactly a luxury suite, but like I said, it’s cheap.”

“All right, let’s go check it out,” said Riker, getting up.

“No hurry. Stay and finish your drinks.”

“We’ll go now,” said Riker.

Katana smiled. “What’s the matter, you don’t trust me?”

Riker smiled back. “Frankly, no,” he said. “Lead the way.”

They had to go through a door at the back, walk down a short corridor, and climb the stairs to get to the fourth floor. There was no lift. The stairwells were dimly illuminated and not very clean. On their way up, they passed one of the dancers coming back down, counting money as she went. She glanced at them and raised her eyebrows, but made no comment. Riker didn’t have to guess what most of the rooms upstairs were used for.

When they came to the fourth floor, Katana led them down a hallway a short distance and stopped before a door about halfway down. “This is it,” she said. She gave Riker the key.

He opened the door with it, then stood aside. “After you.”

She glanced at him, no expression in those unsettling, artificial eyes. “Whatever you say.” She turned to walk through the door and Riker shoved her through, then came in fast after her, knife drawn. There was no one in the room.

“Satisfied?” Katana said, wryly.

Riker looked around, noting that there were no connecting doors. He sheathed his blade, then signaled the others, and they gave the room a quick but thorough examination. “I guess it’ll do,” he said when they were finished.

“You don’t take many chances, do you, Stryker?” said Katana, with a smile.

“Not if I can help it.”

She nodded. “I think you’ll do.”

“I’ll do for what?”

She smiled and came up to him. “You’ll find out.”

Two men suddenly appeared in the doorway behind her. Riker quickly reached for his knife, but she moved even faster. Her hand came up to his cheek and there was a soft, chuffing sound as she injected him with one of her built-in hyposprays. As La Forge and Dorn reached for their weapons, the men in the doorway fired stunners. La Forge and Dorn both collapsed to the floor.

“You . . .” Riker grabbed Katana by the throat, but she took his hand and effortlessly pried it away. He sank to his knees.

“Don’t fight it, hotshot,” she said. “If I give you a stronger dose, it’ll only make you sick.”

“Damn you . . .” Riker said, thickly, and then the room started spinning violently. His eyes rolled up and he fell to the floor.