Chapter Text
Part One (Cont'd)
Several belated wedding presents later, the Andorian waitress in the cumbersome heels was no nearer to her least favourite table of the night settling up.
“I cannot believe you tried to bribe the Sheliak Corporate!” T’Len managed to get out through a burst of laughter as Sunek finished his latest tale of life onboard the Bounty.
“Hey,” Sunek replied as he sipped his latest drink, “The alternative was reading a five thousand page trading contract. Besides, it very nearly worked.”
“How very nearly?”
“We…may technically still be wanted felons in Sheliak space.”
T’Len laughed some more. Sunek couldn’t help but join in. There was something infectious about it.
“But,” he added, “The good news is that the warrant out in our name is filled with so many clauses, there’s not a bounty hunter in the galaxy who’ll bother to take it on!”
Neither half of the atypical Vulcan couple could remember exactly when the rest of the Bounty’s crew had called it a night. If they’d really put their minds to it, they’d have to say it had been somewhere between the shots of Aldebaran whiskey and the round of unpronounceable Klingon cocktails that Klath had taken great delight in ordering, and that had caused both Jirel and Natasha to take long separate bathroom breaks that neither of them were in the mood to talk about when they returned.
But they didn’t bother putting their minds to it, because it didn’t really matter to either of them. They had spent most of the night talking to each other anyway. After all, they did have precisely thirty years, six months and fourteen days worth of anecdotes to catch up on.
“Hey, I meant to ask you,” Sunek continued, changing the subject, “Are you still in touch with any of the old gang? Y’know, from the old days at the Learning Institute?”
T’Len slowly calmed her laughter. It sounded natural enough, and Sunek had no way of knowing that she was simply taking long enough to make her reply seem believable. “Not especially. As I’m sure you remember, I left in something of a hurry after our…”
“Right,” Sunek nodded, dismissing the latest sense of longing just as quickly as he had done with the others.
Taking advantage of the rare moment of silence that followed, the Andorian waitress shuffled over as fast as her footwear would safely allow and politely informed them that the Pride of Andor was about to close, dropping off their final bill at the same time. Without waiting, T’Len checked the bill and deposited a small pile of latinum on the table.
“Wow,” Sunek grinned, forgetting all about pursuing his previous question any further, “Do I have the best wife or what?”
“You know,” she said, more seriously, “I meant what I said earlier.”
“About how you can tie a Kaferian apple stalk in a knot with your tongue? Cos I’d definitely be up for seeing—”
“No,” she interrupted with a patient smile, “About how grateful I was for your…help back on Hexis Prime. I can see you prefer to act like it was nothing around your friends. But being able to leave that place changed my life. So much for the better.”
“Hey,” Sunek shrugged nonchalantly, quite enjoying his ego being massaged, “What’s the concept of marriage for if not to be completely undermined in order to run away from your parents?”
She stifled a chuckle and shuffled slightly closer to him, placing her hand on his arm. It was only a small gesture, but it was also one that made Sunek’s arm suddenly crackle with electricity. He suppressed a gulp.
“Well, I was thinking,” she said quietly, “I mean, it was a shame that I had to leave as quickly as I did. We never really got to say goodbye. We never got to do…many things that a married couple might usually do.”
She ran her hand slowly up his arm. Sunek completely failed to suppress the second gulp, nor the first dirty grin.
“Oh yeah?”
“Yes,” she said with a flirtatious smile, “But now we find ourselves back together. And my lodgings here on Redrax are only a few streets away…”
Sunek’s grin grew thirty percent wider, and at least fifty percent dirtier.
“Perhaps,” she concluded, running her finger back down his arm, “You would care for a nightcap?”
By the time the Andorian waitress had tottered back over to find that the most obnoxious table she had dealt with for some time had also left one of the stingiest tips, the two Vulcans had vanished into the night.
* * * * *
She was right. She knew she’d been right. Even at the time, it had been obvious to anyone how completely right she’d been. It didn’t matter who you were, staying out as late as they had, drinking the amount that they had the night before they were due to attend a trade fair was a terrible idea.
And yet, Natasha couldn’t take any real satisfaction from being so entirely and unequivocally right. Because at this precise point in time, she felt worse than any of them.
It was already after midday, and even then, they were short two of their number. Jirel had been unable to raise Klath from a gently snoring slumber, while Sunek had been nowhere to be found at all. So, instead, Natasha, Jirel and Denella had headed to the fair by themselves. And it was safe to say that they weren’t making much of an impression.
The main auditorium that was hosting the fair was a bustling hub of commerce in the middle of Redrax’s main city. It was an enormous expansive room, filled with life forms from every corner of the quadrant and beyond. The auditorium itself was situated on the top levels of the largest building in the city, spanning several floors of the building and topped off with a huge glass dome which gave an uninterrupted view of the surrounding area.
If she hadn’t been so hungover, Natasha might have taken more time to appreciate the architecture, and the view from the dome itself. But she was hungover. Very, very hungover. So all she really noted was how the glass of the dome was reflecting the harsh sunlight straight at her face.
All around them, there were elaborate stands, displays and tables staffed by Ferengi, Benzites, Gorn, Capellans and dozens of other species. At one point, she could have sworn she saw a Calamarain floating through the crowd in the distance, though she was willing to concede that may have just been a trick of the light.
Some of the stalls were decked out with samples of the wares they were looking to move. Fine fabrics, sparkling gems and fragrant foodstuffs. Some stall owners handed out padds filled with advertising material, or excitedly pointed at displays that pitched some wild new post-war business opportunity in the Gamma Quadrant. Others displayed glossy holographic projections that showed off polished fleets of transport craft, or images of their crews, men and women who looked slightly too chisel-jawed and toned to be real people working in real jobs.
Among this orgy of tacky advertisements, excessive self-promotion and elaborate promises, the Bounty’s hungover trio of dishevelled representatives at the largest trade fair in Redrax’s calendar year shuffled onwards through the crowds. They couldn’t have looked less employable if they tried.
Natasha forced herself to hurry up and catch up to Denella and Jirel, who were walking fast, but seemingly without any destination in mind.
“So, what’s the plan?”
“Plan,” Jirel mused, rolling the word around on his tongue, “Honestly? Don’t really have one. But, at a fair this big, something’s bound to jump out at us sooner or later—”
“Jirel!”
Something jumped out at them from behind a particularly gaudy stand for a delivery company whose promotional display promised the unlikely claim that they could ‘Get your parcels from Andor to Risa in two days, or your latinum back!’ in garish neon letters. Natasha noted that he was Boslic, the thick-set brow and ridged forehead above his eyes standing him out from the crowd.
“Darhall!” Jirel beamed, holding his arms out in friendly greeting, “How’s the family—?”
Without bothering to reply, Darhall stepped up to the Trill and delivered a single punch to his face, sending him flying back onto the ground.
Natasha and Denella rushed over to help their shipmate up, though the other attendees of the fair barely paid the little scuffle any attention. It wasn’t the first such disagreement that had flared up since the fair had begun, and it wouldn’t be the last.
“That’s for the stunt you pulled on Sentrick III,” Darhall spat out as Jirel gently rubbed his swollen cheek.
“I thought you said he’d forgiven you for that?” Denella asked with a wry smile.
“I have,” the Boslic replied, “Now.”
“Glad we could get that sorted out,” Jirel managed with a wince.
“Not as much as I am,” Darhall leered with clear satisfaction, “And now that we’re even for that, I have a little business opportunity for you and your crew.”
The Boslic’s leer grew wider. Jirel turned to Natasha and shrugged.
“See? Told you something’d come up.”