Star Trek: Theurgy

Day 03 [ 1330hrs ] Back Channel Operations

May 22, 2026, 09:56:39 PM

[Lt. Cmdr. Cross | Civilian Freighter Merchant's Folly | In Transit — Triangle Region] Attn: Open to pertinent writers

The seat was not designed for comfort, though Cross had sat in worse. The Merchant's Folly was an Antares-class freighter that had seen better decades, operated by a Tellarite named Ghovek who had made clear within the first three minutes of boarding that he didn't care who they were, didn't want to know what they were looking for, and expected payment in Federation credits with no questions about the exchange rate. Cross had agreed to all three conditions without argument, which had visibly unsettled Ghovek, who seemed to have prepared for a negotiation. The Tellarite had spent the first hour of transit finding small reasons to walk past the passenger compartment and look at them.

He'd stopped after the third pass. Cross hadn't looked up from his PADD once.

The orders from Stark had been verbal. Unofficial in every way that mattered legally and entirely official in every way that mattered practically. The back-channel lead had come through Lieutenant Enyd Madsen, Theurgy's Chief Diplomatic Officer, who had produced three names and a waystation coordinate. Cross had taken the data chip, thanked her, and then spent a longer moment than he intended looking at the chip and thinking about what it meant that their diplomat had that information ready to hand.

Madsen was good at her job. That was not in question. What Cross found himself quietly turning over was the specific way she was good at her job — the contacts she kept, the speed at which she'd produced the lead, the way she'd offered it without being asked twice. Diplomatic work required a certain fluency in back channels by definition. He understood that. He had enough operational experience to know that the line between cultivating sources and running them was one that people in sensitive positions crossed regularly and not always with full awareness that they'd done so. Whether Madsen was aware was the part he couldn't settle.

He transmitted two of the names to Stark and kept the third for this run. The contact was a Bolian freight broker operating out of a waystation three hours from the Triangle at civilian speeds. Her name was Merra, and she had a reputation for moving medical supplies, EPS components, and weapons-adjacent materiel to parties the Federation preferred not to formally acknowledge doing business with. Which meant she had inventory, she had discretion, and she had pricing that would make the Theurgy's quartermaster wince.

Cross pulled up the ship's current inventory deficit on his PADD. Torpedo casings. EPS relay stock. Bioneural gel packs. Exosuit components. Blood plasma — though that one was moving through other channels and he'd been told not to worry about it, which meant he was worrying about it.

The away team he'd selected was smaller than what he’d like, considering they were moving into potentially hostile territory. But he’d chosen people he trusted to keep their mouths shut and their hands steady if the conversation with Merra turned complicated. It almost certainly wouldn't. Freight brokers with reputations to protect didn't generally allow conversations to turn complicated. But Cross had stopped assuming things wouldn't turn complicated sometime around the third day aboard the Theurgy, and he saw no reason to revisit that policy now.

He set the PADD face-down on his knee and looked out the narrow viewport. The Triangle where they'd rendezvoused was already behind them, reduced to a navigational notation in Ghovek's system. Out here, there was nothing to indicate that three major powers had just finished shooting at each other, that a president had broadcast a pardon across subspace, or that a Starfleet vessel was struggling to replace components because certain people within the institution had decided procedural compliance outweighed a functioning starship.

He picked the PADD back up. Merra's dossier was thin on personal detail and thorough on professional history. She had never failed to deliver what she'd contracted to deliver. She had never been formally charged with anything. She had, on two separate occasions, been interviewed by Starfleet Intelligence and released without incident. Cross noted that and moved on. He had two hours and forty minutes until arrival and intended to know exactly what he needed and exactly what he was willing to pay before the Merchant's Folly dropped out of warp.

Re: Day 03 [ 1330hrs ] Back Channel Operations

Reply #1 – May 27, 2026, 12:14:23 PM

[Lt. Cmdr Thane Va'rek | Civilian Freighter Merchant's Folly \ In Transit - Triangle Region] Attn: @Ellen Fitz Pertinent Writers

Thane's experience in underworld dealings and questionable ventures had landed him a spot on this mission to acquire specialist materials for the Theurgy and her crew. The Ferasan had dressed down and out of his Starfleet Uniform and opted for something more practical. He wore black slacks and boots, a black form-fitting shirt, a grey vest and a leather jacket. His personal phaser sat tucked in a holster under the jacket, and Thane looked like your average Ferasan out in the galaxy. Only thing that remained was his face paint.

Every time Ghovek walked by, Thane made a note of it, and on one of the final passes, he shot the Tellarite a side-glare in a fairly typical passive-aggressive manner that Earth felines mastered centuries ago. Once the Tellarite stopped coming by with every little excuse, Thane passed Cross what data he could provide from S.I on Merra, at least what was at the classification level that Cross had access to and a little extra from Thane's own access credentials. He checked his satchel for all its bits and a the few toys he had brought along, just in case, and retrieved a PADD. This one was a personal one and looked like it had seen some life. Chunky, older, not Starfleet issue. He pulled up a game to occupy himself on this long flight.

"To those who haven't met me, I am Thane. That is all you will know me by here. He was only lightly paranoid and careful about how much he shared and when. Hours prior when this away mission had been arranged, Thane had made it known to Cross that he was an active telepath and if needed, would ply his skills to their negotiations and to potential threats. Any edge is a good edge in his book, even if it was kind of against regulations.

Re: Day 03 [ 1330hrs ] Back Channel Operations

Reply #2 – June 10, 2026, 01:35:45 AM

[PO2 Knox | Civilian Freighter Merchant's Folly \ In Transit - Triangle Region] Atten: Pertinent Writers @Ellen Fitz @Krajin

Knox is in human male form, riding along with them, eager to get things. Thrift is fun. Actually paying for stuff would also be an enlightening experience. Knox is happy to be on a field trip. He is, however, completely unaware that Thane, sitting across from him, is a telepath.

He hoped that his brown cargo pants and dark leather trench coat would help him fit in on this mission. He chose to appear unarmed. But he had four phasers hidden inside his body internally. Just in case things got fun…

Knox absently stares at the ceiling, wondering how much fun he is going to have helping his boss’s boss acquire new shiny things that their ship needs. Everything he had hoped for was slowly coming true. He had finally fallen in with the more corrupt, underhanded, morally bankrupt, murder hobo, pirate thieves he had yet encountered after leaving the collective. His mind raced, imagining fun new adventures that awaited him and his new solid friends as he blankly stared at the ceiling. Knox, for the first time in a long time, felt at home and happy.

Re: Day 03 [ 1330hrs ] Back Channel Operations

Reply #3 – August 15, 2026, 04:57:41 AM

[Ens Mia Dunne | Civilian Freighter Merchant's Folly \ In Transit - Triangle Region]
ATTN: @Ellen Fitz  @Krajin  @Hans Applegate  & Pertinent Writers

Ens Dunne once again wondered what the hell she was doing on the freighter. From what she’d been told, there was nothing scientific on the shopping list that Cross apparently had received. And add that to the uncomfortable feeling she got from the freighter’s Tellarite captain every time he passed her seat, made her wish that she’d turned down this assignment. It also didn’t help that she’d been asked not to wear her uniform, but something with a bit more, shall we say viewing area. Every time that captain walked past, she had the urge to find a jacket and cover herself.

Other than Cross, she really wasn’t familiar with the others from their ship except in passing. Meaning she may have seen them, but she didn’t know them. Well Maybe she knew Knox a little better than the others. Which wasn't saying much. She just hoped that whatever they were getting themselves into, the others would keep it from going sideways. But the way life had been lately, she figured that sideways was almost guaranteed. She let out a heavy sigh. Maybe she should have kept searching for more vole. Even if only one had been in the lab. But two days of crawling through the tightest spaces on the Theurgy was more than enough for her, and they had found the repugnant rodent.

Mia looked around at her travelling companions. Lt Cmdr. Cross seemed to be absorbed in his work, barely looking up from the PADD, if at all. Knox appeared to be enjoying the outing, although Mia could not fathom why, it wasn’t like this was a glamorous ship to be on, nor was shopping high on her list of fun things to do. But, to each his own! She glanced at the Ferasan officer. She remembered seeing him once or twice on the Theurgy, even if he was dressed in more civilian clothing. He was sort of hard to forget.

She gave him a brief nod when he had introduced himself “Hello Thane,” she smiled in greeting, even those his sharp green eyes made her nervous, “I’m Mia, Mia Dunne.”

Re: Day 03 [ 1330hrs ] Back Channel Operations

Reply #4 – August 20, 2026, 10:53:39 PM

[Ensign Jaya Thorne | Civilian Freighter Merchant’s Folly | In Transit – Triangle Region]
Attn: @Ellen Fitz, @Krajin, @Hans Applegate, @Eirual & pertinent writers

Ensign Jaya Thorne hadn’t been entirely at ease since she boarded the Merchant’s Folly. For most people, the freighter was just that; a civilian freighter that hauled cargo from point A to point B, possibly with several additional stops along the way to maximize profit. For Jaya however, who had piloted a civilian freighter herself during the Dominion War and was experienced enough to look at the freighter in a different way, the Merchant’s Folly was something else. She knew that the Antares-class freighter was a sturdy ship if properly cared for. A stubborn piece of equipment that downright refused to die and took one from A to B without questions asked. The Denevan ex-freighter pilot could hear the hum of the freighter’s engines; that monotonous, droning sound of an overhauled, revised engine that was probably older than she was. The humming briefly paused every so often though and, when it did, the engine sent a soft vibration through the freighter’s hull.

It was a sign that the engine overdue for maintenance, but that hadn’t been the only detail that caught Jaya’s brown eyes though. She had noticed several reddish-brown patches of rust when the small team boarded the Merchant’s Folly and the Denevan Assistant Chief CONN Officer knew that rust usually formed in environments with excess air moisture. To see rust aboard a ship not only hinted at an issue with the life support systems, which should regulate the air moisture in the first place, but also hinted at a lack of maintenance altogether, given how the Captains she’d known back in her days wouldn’t have condoned rust aboard their ships.

The bigger picture made Jaya increasingly uncomfortable, and left her to conclude that the owner of the Merchant’s Folly, possibly the Tellarite, was serious financial trouble. It definitely made sense given that the Tellarite had made demands without asking questions, and it left Jaya with the unsettling conclusion that the Captain wasn’t unfamiliar with handling cargo without asking questions. The man was probably a smuggler at best, and Jaya considered the distinct possibility that the Tellarite wasn’t even the Captain at all given the fact that she’d hide her identity behind a figurehead as well if she were running the Merchant’s Folly as a peddler of illicit goods.

In fact, she’d done just that during the height of the Dominion War, and it was a bitter irony that wasn’t lost on Jaya. She had smuggled illicit goods, but she’d made sure to stay as far away from Starfleet as possible during those days; if you were engaged in the procurement and trade of certain goods that might lead to certain kinds of questions being asked, you didn’t want anything to do with goody two-shoes Starfleet.

So why did the Tellarite agree to help them?

That was the question which kept repeating itself in Jaya’s head over and over again. It was true that they weren’t wearing Starfleet uniforms, but that was beside the point. As Jaya looked at her own clothing, she knew that it made her stand out. She was wearing a tight olive tank top that accentuated her frame, an old-fashioned necklace with a piece of metal on it (something the replicator had named a dog tag, though Jaya had no idea what it had to do with dogs), a pair of brown leather arm guards and matching fingerless gloves, a brown utility belt with several pouches and a copper-coloured belt buckle, a disruptor pistol holstered on the outside of her upper right leg, a pair of dark brown cargo pants and brown boots that matched the colour of her utility belt, arm guards and fingerless gloves. While it made her look like a typical mercenary, at least according to the replicator database and what limited experience she’d had with mercenaries during the Dominion War, it all looked too… clean. Like this was her very first mission as a mercenary. Her bang didn’t match her buck.

And that’s what worried Jaya. Any smugger would have been able to look right through them. Still, the Denevan decided to place her faith in Lieutenant Commander Cross; the man handled himself with the calm posture of someone with a plan, someone who made absolutely sure that he was dealt a good hand before sitting down at the table. That’s why Jaya had tried to calm herself down by leaning backwards in her uncomfortable seat and trying to sleep. She had a feeling that she was going to need every minute of sleep she could get.

And it was that same feeling that prevented her from getting any.

Re: Day 03 [ 1330hrs ] Back Channel Operations

Reply #5 – August 21, 2026, 08:02:52 PM

[ Ghovek, son of Gharrek | Helm | Civilian Freighter *Merchant's Folly* | Halkar Anchorage, Triangle Region ] ATTN: @Nesota Kynnovan , @Krajin , @Hans Applegate , @Eirual  & pertinent writers

The anchorage got uglier every year, and Ghovek had been coming here for nineteen of them.

Halkar had built it out of a gutted ore tender back when the Triangle still had ore worth tending, welded three docking rings onto the spine, and died owing money to four species. The rings were still there. Only two of them turned. The third had frozen at a list some decades ago and now housed whoever could tolerate walking on a deck that insisted, gently and permanently, that it was a wall. The hull plating had been patched in every alloy known to commerce and a few that were arguably not alloys at all, so the whole structure came up on the viewscreen looking like something assembled by committee, which it had been, and badly, which it also had been.

He liked it. But we wasn't going to say so.

The approach lane was thick. A Klingon merchantman sat athwart the beacon line venting drive plasma at everyone behind it, no house transponder, which meant a house that preferred not to be named. Two Ferengi shuttles pinned an Orion crew hauler between them, negotiating either a cargo transfer or a hostage situation. A Boslic freighter with her name painted over twice. A surplus Romulan tender with the raptor scoured off the bow, though the paint underneath remembered it well enough that Ghovek could still read the wingspan from four hundred kilometers out. Yridians on the outer moorings, always, sitting there doing nothing and charging for it.

Traffic control demanded a berth fee, a docking fee, a fee for the tug he had explicitly refused, and Ghovek paid all three while telling the woman at the other end exactly what he thought of her mother's business practices. She sounded pleased. Everyone did decent trade here as long as the insults were sincere.

He put the Folly on her mooring clamps himself, because he didn't trust anyone else with her and had told them so at length, then went aft to where his passengers were pretending they hadn't been listening to all of it.

He stood in the hatchway and made them turn around.

"Station clock says 1345. I break moorings at 2015. Not 2020. Not 2016." He held up a thick finger before anyone could open a mouth. "There's a Klingon convoy coming through the far side of the well at 2035 and I intend to be behind it, not in it, and the window doesn't wait on you or your credits or whatever arrangement you think you've got with me. You're not aboard at 2015, I undock with your empty seats, and you can explain to your people why you're buying passage home off an Yridian." He began past them, grunting as he went. "Bring your goods with you or don't bring them at all. I'm not sending crew down that ring to fetch crates for you. And if station security walks anything of yours back up my ramp, you'll be walking with it, and off it."

He turned to go, then didn't.

"There's a hot-cell dealer on the second ring sells relay stock that's ninety percent Cardassian scrap wrapped in Federation casing. Bald. Sweats. Calls himself Onnek." He shrugged with his whole upper body. "Buy from him if you like. I've made my money either way."

---

[ Lt. Cmdr. Cross | Docking Ring Two, Halkar Anchorage ]

Cross let the hatch cycle shut behind them before he started, so nothing he said went out into the ring.

The air here ran four degrees warmer than the freighter and carried the scrubber failure common to old stations, that flat mineral taste at the back of the throat. Somewhere below them a gantry crew was working with hand tools instead of tractor units. Cheaper. Slower. Loud enough to talk under, which suited him.

"Three groups." He didn't raise his voice. They came in closer to hear him, which was the point. "Engineering procurement takes the second ring with Ops. Medical and Science procurement, third ring, and mind the deck angle before you commit your weight to it.  I'll be on the first ring with the broker."

He turned his hand over. The prosthetic caught the overheads and threw the light back at nobody in particular.

"Your list is already on your personal devices. Each of you has the portion your department would recognize on sight, because I'd rather you spend your time judging quality than working out what a bioneural gel pack is supposed to look like when it hasn't been sitting in a cargo hold at forty degrees for two years. If something on your list looks wrong to you, it is wrong. Walk away. We are not so short that we need to be cheated politely."

Fingers went to ears without his asking. Good.

"Subdermals. One tap opens the channel, two closes it, and I want them open from the moment you clear this hatch. Open means every one of you hears every other one of you, so the channel is not for conversation. Contacts, locations, problems. Nothing about the ship, nothing about where we came from, and nobody says a rank out loud where a stranger can hear it. If you need to piss without me listening to you, two taps, and two taps to come back."

He put his own hand out and turned it over, wrist up, and tapped the soft place below the heel of it.

"Left wrist. Distress beacon, subdermal, and it doesn't care whether your channel's open or closed. Press it and every one of us knows, and every one of us knows where you are. It is not a last resort. It's the first thing you do when a situation stops being a negotiation, before you draw, before you talk your way out, before you decide you can manage it alone. I would very much rather cross a docking ring for nothing than find out afterward that you were being polite about it."

He held his hand out flat, and one of his security officers passed him a weapon, and he raised it so the whole group could see the emitter ring.

"Civilian grade. Purchased, not issued, which means the detents are worn on some of these. Thumb the selector to the first stop. The ring reads amber. If you see red, you are one setting past where you need to be, and you will check it by eye every time you draw, not by feel, not by memory." He set the selector, showed them the amber, and handed it back. "Check your partner's as well. Now, before we split."

He waited while they did it.

"Understand what failure looks like on this run. It is not an empty cargo pallet. It's a body." He let them sit with that while the gantry crew hammered away underneath. "There is no enemy on this station. There are people who will overcharge us, people who will lie to us, and people who would very much like to know who we are, and none of that makes them our enemy. If someone decides to become one, you subdue, and you leave. You do not hold ground. There's no ground here worth holding, and every one of you is more expensive to replace than anything on your list."

He glanced up the ring toward the first-level concourse, where the traffic was already thickening.

"We break moorings at 2015. The captain means it, and I don't intend to test him on it. Be aboard by 2005 with whatever you've got in hand." His attention came back down to them. "Questions."

---

Haven't decided who, but I figured we could have some NPCs with us as well to use.

Re: Day 03 [ 1330hrs ] Back Channel Operations

Reply #6 – August 22, 2026, 01:53:52 AM

[Ens Mia Dunne | Docking Ring Two, Halkar Anchorage ]
Attn: @Ellen Fitz  @Krajin , @Hans Applegate, @Nesota Kynnovan

Mia had almost shrunk back in her seat when the Freighter captain addressed them. She didn’t like him much, and trusted him even less, but this wasn’t her rodeo. One the gruff captain left, she turned to Cross. She, and everyone else had automatically drawn closer to hear him, as he kept his voice low so only those nearby would be able to hear.

She was assigned to ring three, which from what she’d heard was not going to be comfortable. Medical and science would work together, so at least she would not be on her own. She blinked as light reflected into her eyes for less than half a second. It was just something she found annoying, but that really didn’t matter in the grand scheme of things.

 She nodded as she looked at the old style PADD she’d been given. They had nothing that would give away where they were from. It was a good thing she was good with older languages, this one looked like it was pulled from a Cardassian dump. But it worked and the list of goods was definitely on it.

She felt rather than actually heard the subdermal initiate, She put a finger to her ear in reaction rather than action, then listened to Cross further advise them on it use. She was a little more nervous about the implanted distress beacon. The way Cross was talking made it sound like he was expecting trouble. The only question was who would be the target, or would they all? If things looked like they were not going as planned, she would need to activate this before it got bad, or worse before she got dead, and she would really like to avoid that.

Next, they were testing their weapons. She constantly had to pull the selector back slightly to pull it from red to amber.  She’s had to check over her partner’s weapon as well. That went a little better, and the selector wasn’t quite as worn as hers was. Finally, she disarmed it and stored it in a side pocket. No one really needed to know she was armed, although she figured that almost everyone on the station probably was.

Cross wanted them back by 2005. She set an alarm on her old PADD for 1950, figuring that would get her back in plenty of time. If she was in the middle of a purchase, she would have a few minutes to complete before she absolutely had to head back.
She shook her head when Cross asked if there were questions. Hell yes she had questions, but there was no way she was going to waste precious time asking, ‘what if’s’. They would just have to deal with it as they went. That’s was why they had the subdermal and the distress beacons implanted.

Once Cross ended the meeting, Mia turned to her partner and took a deep breath, “Well, lets see what miracles we can make.” Moving off the freighter, tapping the subdermal once she stepped to the side and waited till everyone was linked. She vaguely wondered if this was what it felt like being in a collective. She couldn’t hear their thoughts so probably not. She moved off towards the third ring, looking forelorn and abandoned, even though it wasn’t.  I didn’t take long to reach the ring.

[Docking Ring Three |  Halkar Anchorage]

 She took a tentative step in and found her feet pulled by the gravity to what felt like the side of the corridor. It meant she would be forced to take wide steps across doorways. She almost wished some of the others, with longer legs, had gotten this assignment. She progressed a short distance before coming to the first shop.

---

OOC: don’t know if there is another science or medical officer for me to team with.  NPC perhaps?

Re: Day 03 [ 1330hrs ] Back Channel Operations

Reply #7 – September 07, 2026, 03:07:02 AM

[Ensign Jaya Thorne | Docking Ring Two, Halkar Anchorage]
Attn: @Ellen Fitz, @Krajin, @Hans Applegate, @Eirual & pertinent writers

Jaya realized that her mood improved considerably after she disembarked from the Merchant’s Folly. As she stood there, tasting the familiar stale air and listening to the muttered curses of the gantry crew somewhere below them, the Halkar Anchorage felt not only like a trip down memory lane, but also strangely… familiar. While several years had passed since the Denevan had last visited anchorages like these, both as a smuggler, a freighter pilot and a little bit of both during the rowdy years of the Dominion War, Halkar Anchorage made Jaya feel like she’d never truly left that part of her life behind.

As Lieutenant Commander Cross briefed them on what was expected of them and the dangers of their mission, Jaya focused on the Chief Tactical Officer. While she listened to the Vulcan, the Denevan heard how a member of the gantry crew below them dropped a can of penetrating oil used for maintenance work. She could hear a metallic clang as the canister fell onto the metallic surface of the deck, followed by a loud curse as the canister apparently broke on impact and spilled its contents. Just a fraction of a second later, Jaya could hear a softer thud followed by loud laughter, prompting the Assistant Chief CONN Officer to believe that someone had slipped in the puddle of penetrating oil; much to the amusement of the gantry crew. It was such a common occurrence that Jaya could clearly visualize it and, as the gantry crew laughed, she couldn’t help but grin as well.

When the meeting ended and the various members of their little team began to disperse, Jaya couldn’t help but look around. While the Lieutenant Commander had told them about the subdermal implant and the civilian-grade weapons he’d passed around, which she’d checked properly before concealing it within one of the pockets of her dark brown cargo pants, her limited attention span had led to Jaya missing the part where Cross explained where she was supposed to go. With people heading off in various different directions however, Jaya shrugged and decided to follow the one person she recognized; Ensign Mia Dunne. She’d met the blonde-haired Scientist during the vole hunt two days earlier and, given how shared adversity breeds instant chemistry, Jaya had taken a liking to the woman.

Thus, she now followed Mia from a distance as the woman began to walk away with a Bajoran.

[Docking Ring Three, Halkor Anchorage]

As they made their way across the bulkhead of a corridor, with the floor to their left-hand side and the ceiling to their right-hand side, Jaya couldn’t help but chuckle as she watched Mia and the Bajoran woman. While the Assistant Chief CONN Officer didn’t knew the Bajoran, it was fairly obvious to Jaya’s more experienced eye that the two women who were walking in front of her weren’t part of the crowd usually found aboard these kinds of Space Stations.

When they finally came to a stop in front of the first stop, Jaya decided to walk up on them with her usual signature grin on her face. ”Want to bet that they’ll try to sell us a vole?” As she spoke, Jaya placed her left hand on Mia’s right shoulder and gave it a friendly squeeze. ”I think I’ll stick with you two boffins if you don’t mind.”

Re: Day 03 [ 1330hrs ] Back Channel Operations

Reply #8 – September 21, 2026, 07:49:30 PM

[PO2 Knox | Docking Ring 2 - Halkor Anchorage]
Atten: Pertinent Writers @Ellen Fitz @Nesota Kynnovan @Eirual @Krajin

Everyone seemed to be going to Docking Ring 3. Knox realized that he had not been told where to go. He was neither science, medical, or engineering. Knox was intelligence, so he decided that Cross wanted him to use his own intelligence and choose where to go. So, Knox had chosen to go to docking ring 2. It was in the middle and he could quickly get to 1 or 3 with equal speed if the need arose. But he could get to a problem on ring 2 the quickest…since that is where he would already be. Also, if he ran into trouble, he would not have to wait on people to come all the way across the station to render aid should he need help carrying something large if he made a big purchase. Yep, it all made sense to him. Knox was intelligent because he was intelligent! With this happy realization, Knox looked at the shopping list on his PADD. Then he realized he had no idea what half the stuff listed even was. But, it would be a wasted shopping trip if he didn't buy something! Putting the PADD away, Knox smiled absently as he walked among the solids pretending to be one of them enjoying his leisure day out. The air was stale, the gravity slightly off, and there was so much to see.

Soon Knox found what he was looking for. Armor. It looked a little worn. But it was still functional. It didn’t look like the exosuits on the Theurgy, but it was nifty none the less. Thick heavy protection across the chest and back. Large joints at the shoulders. Thick upper arms. But it was missing parts covering the forearms and one leg was missing as well.

“How much for the suit?” Knox asked the Tellarite female at the booth as he gestured toward the object of his affection.

“1,000 credits. Firm.” She said gruffly.

“Minus the missing arms and leg of course. I’ll buy it for 500. Along with the user’s manual too.” Knox fired back.

“You must be the most ignorant son of an Orian dancer! This thing is old and has no user manual and it is 1,000 because it is missing the arms and leg!” Now visibly hostile Tellarite woman stood up from her chair behind the table full of her wares for sale. Her round belly now showing she was very pregnant.

Knox then remembered that Tellarites loved to insult each other. With negotiations now in full swing he decided to attempt a few insults to see if his briefing was correct. The worst that could happen was that he simply have to leave without the armor. “If you didn’t eat so much and get so fat you wouldn’t need 1,000 credits to feed yourself each day!” 

“You horrible and hideous human! If you had half a brain you would know that 1,000 credits is a steep discount for a Gorn Mark VIII combat exosuit.” The woman crossed her arms.

Knox bent down and picked up a loose piece of deck plating. “I’ll give you an incomplete anchorage for 1,000 credits. It is missing a few pieces though.”

“That is a piece of scrap.” She yelled, drawing the attention of two more Tellarites, that approached the heavy negotiations Knox had started.

“You are a piece of scrap! I guess you are what you eat. Your teeth aren't even filed into points and your shirt doesn't fully cover your belly fat. You have holes in your trousers. Not to mention, most of the stuff you are selling is scratched up. Looks like you have been so hungry you have been gnawing on your own merchandise. Please uncross your eyes when you are looking at me you wrinkle faced waste of recycled air. And just know that I am not trying to look at your tits, it is just hard to maintain eye contact with someone that has that unsightly of a unibrow. Now I say we swap my piece of an anchorage for your piece of an exosuit, or you take the 500 credits I offered.” Knox finished, wondering what was going to happen next.

Re: Day 03 [ 1330hrs ] Back Channel Operations

Reply #9 – September 22, 2026, 02:21:09 PM

[Ens Mia Dunne |Docking Ring 3 – Halkar Anchorage]
ATTN: @Ellen Fitz @Krajin @Hans Applegate @Nesota Kynnovan

Mia looked back at the Conn officer and chuckled, “Who you callin a boffin, Jay?” She looked at her Bajoran partner, “So Lisel, do we let her tag along or send her off to Ring two play with the others?”

Shechuckled as she turned to make her way into the first shop, looking for anything on the list. While there were a few things, none of them looked in very good shape. Among the items for sale were older tricorders, an ancient looking neural scanner and something that looked like it might have once been a small stasis chamber. She seriously doubted that any of them worked, or if they did it wasn’t well. She looked at the Bajoran medical officer with her and whispered, “I don’t see anything I would consider in even moderately good shape, what do you think, move on to the next shop?”


[Ens Lisel Korto (Med NPC) | Ring 3 -Halkar Anchorage]
Lisel smiled and jokingly replied, “We can always make her carry everything. And maybe she’s better at negotiations.” She gave the Denevan a quick nod, “welcome to the club,” then followed Mia into the establishment that looked like it was called ‘Moab Medical Supplies’.

Looking round she could almost agree with Mia, but there were a few items on her list that she saw here that looked promising. “Maybe, but let me see about this,” she held up what looked like a surgical kit, “Although it does seem way overpriced.”  She carried the kit to the counter, and frowned at the Tellarite standing behind it, “This is way too much, are your eyes so little they cannot see it?” She really hoped she was doing this insulting thing right.

Re: Day 03 [ 1330hrs ] Back Channel Operations

Reply #10 – September 26, 2026, 01:11:56 PM

[Lt. Cmdr Thane Va'rek | Civilian Freighter Merchant's Folly  In Transit - Triangle Region] Attn: @Ellen Fitz Pertinent Writers

Thane inclined his head to Mia with a light smile to try to appear friendly and responsive to her introduction. "A pleasure to meet you." When Cross began his brief, the cat listened. His eyes fell on the civilian hand phaser that was being issued out to each of them. When one was offered to him, he raised a hand and waved the Security Officer off about it. These weapons were crude and ugly compared to his own. His own weapon didn't look Starfleet-issued and worked with his own aesthetic, which he conveyed well. He did check other folk's Phasers, though, making sure they were set to stun, and swapped out one that wouldn't accept the setting.

As everyone moved out to pursue their tasks, Thane watched as Knox, a member of the Intelligence Branch on Theurgy, headed out to the ring. He set his alarm on his chrono and headed out to the ring last, after everyone else had gone off to pursue their own leads. The smell and the sound hit him first: the recycled air, the smell of many different sentient beings who have and have not put on deodorant, or who possess more subtle musks. As he began to walk through the crowds keeping his hands to himself, Thane slowly eased himself into reading various emotions and thoughts of those around him. He looked this way and that, catching glimpses of surface thoughts, emotions, as well as the unreadable minds of Ferengi who dotted the station.

He had a small list of his own to acquire for the Intel side of things and to acquire some information from someone he knew on station. He blended in with the people here, even if he was cleaner than most. Thane focused his gaze forward, and his ears constantly twitched as he listened all around him. He had a mind for pickpockets and other sorts of ne'er-do-wells. He hoped that the others would be aware and mindful of the risks of this place. He paused by a weapons merchant and looked over the wares. Bajoran Phaser pistols and rifles, Cardassian Phase-Disruptors, even Kzinti Phasers among other things. Anything here could be useful for undercover operations, as long as the quality was decent and the weapons unmarked.

Re: Day 03 [ 1330hrs ] Back Channel Operations

Reply #11 – September 30, 2026, 07:29:15 PM

[Ensign Gruzhak | Docking Ring Three, Halkar Anchorage] Attn:  @Krajin , @Hans Applegate , @Eirual , @Nesota Kynnovan  & pertinent writers

The noodle stall on Ring Three fried everything in the same oil, and by the smell of it the oil had been in service since before the ring froze, dark as tea and faintly singed where somebody's hair had come too close to the vat. The noodles tasted of it, salt-heavy, with a sourness underneath that Gruzhak had decided not to ask about, and he had eaten two bowls standing and paid for one, boots braced against what Halkar's builders had meant for a bulkhead and one shoulder propped on what they had meant for a deck, because the stall's only stool was sized for a Yridian and he had no wish to buy the Yridian a new one.

He had been aboard the anchorage since 0900, long enough to learn which merchants on the ring sold what their signs claimed and long enough for the ring to stop looking at him. In truth, the second part took less time than the first. A Nausicaan eating fried things in a corridor was scenery on a station like Halkar, and no one asked what he was waiting for, because on Halkar the answer was usually a fight.

The three women came up the ring a little after 1400 by the station clock, and he had them picked out before they reached the first shop. Everyone walked badly on Ring Three, but the regulars walked badly with the ease of long practice, and these three crossed the doorways in the wide, deliberate steps of people who had spent more time on plating that stayed where it was put. King's message had reached him through a relay three jumps removed from anything Starfleet would admit to owning, and it had said what King's messages always said, in fewer words than a man would need to argue with: a freighter's name, a berth, a manifest, and SEE THEY GET IT. Gruzhak had read the manifest twice over his first bowl. Bioneural gel, EPS relay stock, torpedo casings, exosuit parts. Suffice it to say nobody bought those in that quantity for a hobby, and he had spent the morning pricing all of it along the ring so that whoever Theurgy sent would not have to learn the hard way which dealers were thieves and which were merely greedy.

Inside Moab Medical Supplies, the Bajoran had begun insulting the proprietor's eyesight. Gruzhak listened with some professional sympathy. The Tellarite behind the counter received it with the wounded dignity of a connoisseur served a bad vintage, and he was drawing breath to explain at length how it ought to have been done when a smell came down the ring on the scrubber draft, sour leather and the sweetish ketone breath of men who had not eaten in a while, and behind it two voices he knew, arguing about lettuce.

"Nobody on this station has a salad," Grorgei was saying, in the aggrieved Nausicaan of a man who had checked.

"The Bolian on Ring One grows lettuce."

"In a boot."

"It's a clean boot." Yurdz ducked under a conduit the listing ring had brought down to head height and came out the other side still making his case. "He showed me."

They came down from the spoke with the rolling, impecunious swagger of mercenaries who had nothing left to sell but the swagger. Gruzhak had worked a Boslic escort contract beside them two years back, under a name he had since let lapse, and it had been long enough to learn that Grorgei led with his left, that Yurdz did the thinking for both of them and was more cunning than clever, and that neither had ever once been in on a joke, including the ones they told. Every hired gun on Halkar had heard about the Orion outpost by now. Federation women had walked out of that business with their jobs and their friends intact, and Yurdz and Grorgei had walked out with neither, and the story had traveled a good deal faster than they had.

He watched Yurdz find the three women in the shop and read them the way he had, only quicker, because hunger shortens the road between noticing a thing and deciding what to do about it. Grorgei got there a moment behind and planted himself in the doorway of Moab Medical Supplies with one arm braced along the frame, which on this deck ran sideways above his head, filling it so thoroughly that the corridor light had to go around him. Yurdz stepped past his partner's elbow, reached for the dark haired woman's collar, and hooked one thick finger under the chain of the tag she wore.

"What's this?" He tilted the tag toward the light. "Federation tags its women now? Like cargo?"

Grorgei leaned in from the doorway to look, earnest as a scholar. "Or in case she wanders off. So they know where to send her back."

"Grorgei. I'm doing this."

"I'm helping."

"You're not helping." Grorgei, undeterred, drew a long breath through his teeth and announced that it smelled like Federation in here, clean, like the boot. Behind the counter, the Tellarite abandoned his lecture halfway through a sentence, which from a Tellarite was about as good as a scream, and one of his hands slid under the counter toward whatever he kept there for occasions like this one.

Gruzhak set his bowl on the lip of the stall. He could see how the next ten seconds would go without him: the dark-haired woman reaching for that clean holster, Yurdz breaking her wrist for it, the Tellarite's hand coming up with something worse, and station security arriving afterward to walk the lot of them back up the Folly's ramp. He crossed the corridor along the seam where wall met deck, where the footing was surest and five hours of loitering had taught his knees the angle, and he sent his voice ahead of him in Nausicaan, loud and flat, with the contumely that passed among his father's people for a greeting.

"Yurdz. Who let you off the leash?"

Yurdz let the tag drop and turned. "You."

Grorgei squinted past his partner's shoulder. "Who is it?"

"The Boslic job."

It took Grorgei longer, and Gruzhak watched it arrive on his face by stages until it reached the part that mattered to him. "You ate my eels."

"They were my eels." Gruzhak stopped close enough that Grorgei had to choose between the doorway and his partner, and Grorgei chose his partner. "And these are mine. Paid through the end of the day."

"Nobody posted a claim," Yurdz said.

"I'm posting it."

Grorgei leaned toward Yurdz without troubling to lower his voice. "Can he do that?"

"He's doing it."

Gruzhak kept his gaze on Yurdz and his hands loose at his sides. "Find your own work. Or did the Orions take that off you along with everything else?"

"We don't talk about the Orion outpost," Grorgei said.

"Grorgei."

"We DON'T."

Pride would win with Yurdz, as it generally did, and so Gruzhak gave it a door to walk through that did not open onto three Starfleet officers in bad costumes.

"You want it settled, we settle it on the ore-chute landing up the spoke. Not in here." He tipped his head at the counter. "He'll bill you for every scratch on his merchandise, and you can't pay for a bowl of noodles."

Yurdz considered this with the gravity of a man reviewing a contract. "If we win, you buy the stew."

"And if you lose?"

"Then you buy the stew." Yurdz rolled his neck until it cracked. "You'll have made us hungrier."

Grorgei shoved off the door frame to follow, put his whole weight on the downhill side of the deck, and went sideways into a rack of antique tricorders that came down around him in a long clattering avalanche of cracked casings and loose styluses. He sat up in the wreckage, pointed at the deck with a grave and accusing finger, and informed the room that it had been the floor, and the Tellarite, restored at once to full health and volume, came out from behind his counter to explain that the floor had not been for sale and the tricorders had.

Gruzhak used the noise. He leaned toward the three women, close enough to be heard under the tirade, and let his voice drop into Standard, where twelve years of Federation schooling came out in every consonant no matter how he roughed them up.

"King sends his regards. I'm here to see you get what's on your list." He angled his chin toward the back of the shop. "The gel packs in his back room are sound. Leave the cold case alone, somebody's re-crimped the seals. Stay inside until I'm off this ring, and tell whoever's running you." He straightened before any of them could answer.

Anderson had fostered him at nine years old with no one left to claim him, and in the twenty-odd years since, Gruzhak had never managed to make his Nausicaan as coarse as he wanted it or his Standard as smooth as the Admiral's, so he had made a life in the gap between the two and found it, on the whole, more useful than otherwise. Ahead of him Grorgei limped up the spoke still shedding styluses and still insisting to Yurdz that the station ought to be made to pay, and behind him the Yridian at the noodle stall was shouting that he had eaten two bowls and paid for one, and Gruzhak raised a hand over his shoulder without looking back, which on Halkar counted as a promise, then followed the Nausicaans toward the ore-chute landing, where Grorgei, if two years had taught him nothing, would lead with his left.