Chapter Text
Prologue
It was always raining on Varris IV. At least, that was how the old Ktarian saying went.
Actually, as the more well-read and considerably less interesting people at dinner parties across Ktarian space would explain, given half the chance, the planet only experienced a slightly higher annual rainfall level than the average Class M planet with similar climatic conditions and orbital periodicity. It certainly wasn’t always raining by any reasonable definition of the word ‘always’.
But what Varris IV did have was a doozy of a rainy season.
The planet’s curious geography saw it divided almost completely in two at the equator. The southern hemisphere contained one single unbroken landmass, while the northern hemisphere was a vast saline ocean. And once a year, when the ocean hemisphere had spent long enough tilted towards the heat of the system’s star, rain clouds the size of continents formed and descended across the land. And stayed there for weeks on end.
Right now, it was a particularly inclement evening in the main settlement of Varris IV, with heavy drops of rain thundering down from above and surface water cascading off the sloping streets and into the extensive drainage system that criss-crossed the entire settlement and groaned under the strain of another deluge.
Anyone remotely sensible had sought shelter indoors, or was getting to wherever they needed to go in the relative warmth and comfort of an atmospheric shuttle.
Only three individuals seemed to lack the common sense to do either of those things. A trio of figures walked down the main street of the settlement, protecting themselves from the endless downpour with thick cloaks pulled over their heads.
The weather was one explanation for the cloaks, at least. The other was that these particular visitors to Varris IV didn’t want to be seen for the time being. They kept a good pace through the rain, splashing through puddles of water in heavy waterproof boots. They clearly had a specific destination in mind.
The colony on Varris IV had once been a proud emblem of Ktarian society, one of the first mining colonies set up by the Ktarian central government after they had discovered the immense potential of faster than light travel.
Initially, it was a shining beacon out in the cosmos that represented a pioneering moment of heroic exploration. A noble symbol of what a truly united Ktarian people were capable of. But further discoveries had revealed the true extent of the teeming galaxy to the Ktarian people, and first contact with the Federation had revolutionised their society in ways the first settlers on Varris IV couldn’t possibly have imagined.
Now, as fledgling Federation members, Ktarians could travel the length and breadth of the Alpha Quadrant in the blink of an eye, visiting all manner of exotic new star systems, lush new worlds and wonders that had to be seen to be believed.
And compared to those significantly more impressive options, Varris IV suddenly became less of a shining beacon and more of a pointless irrelevance. A silly childhood doodle that had once evoked a sense of pride in the artist, but now looked more than a little embarrassing alongside the galaxy’s existing collection of masterpieces. When you could jump aboard a transport ship and be whisked off to Risa, or Betazed, or the Suspended Gardens of Callias Prime, why would anyone want to come to an old mining colony in Ktaris’s own backyard?
Especially when it rained all the time.
So now, Varris IV was a forgotten footnote. Most of the more reputable colonists had moved on, and all that was left were a few hardy mining operations extracting the last dregs of useful material from beneath the surface and a scant few crumbling settlements. And an awful lot of crime.
Illicit activities had thrived on a place like Varris IV, with what remained of the weary and understaffed security force mostly powerless to challenge them.
And that was why nobody either indoors or in a passing shuttle was really paying the three cloaked individuals too much attention as they hurried through the endless rainstorm.
Chances were that they were up to no good.
* * * * *
“Confront!”
The gleeful tone of his opponent’s voice made Tegras Pel grind his teeth with audible force. The angry sound cut through the quiet conversations around the bar, and the patter of rainfall on the windows, and made most of the other players around the table wince.
Across the table from him, Palmor Fot smiled greedily and gestured for Tegras to reveal his cards.
They were sitting with four other Ktarians around a Tongo board in the corner of a downtrodden bar of the main settlement called the Ktarian Moonrise.
Most of the other patrons that had braved the weather that night had already headed home, and the long-suffering grey-haired bartender was hoping to close up on time for once. But this particular game had been carrying on for most of the evening, and was showing no sign of ending any time soon.
“Come on Tegras,” the woman to his right, a grime-streaked miner called Evina Jix, groaned, “Just show him your hand and we can move on to another round.”
On the other side of the table, Palmor’s greedy smile showed no sign of waning from behind his stack of winnings. “Oh, I’m sorry Evina,” he offered, without a trace of sincerity, “Are we not enjoying ourselves?”
Palmor’s eyes, deep yellow in colour with a horizontal slit like all Ktarians, had a twinkle that betrayed just how much he was enjoying his winning streak.
As far as Tegras Pel was concerned, Palmor Fot was the worst person in the entire galaxy. A wealthy mining boss with a stake in just about every remaining operation on Varris IV, from the mostly legal to the entirely illegal.
His more shady dealings were an open secret, at least in the bars of the main settlement, but Palmor had cultivated a standing, and paid enough latinum to the right people, to ensure that none of it was provable. At least by the scant remaining security forces on the colony.
And his obvious successes made Tegras’s own failing business, a single exhausted magnesite mine further inland on the continent, all the more difficult for him to take.
Unfortunately, both men were also keen gamblers, and it was a small colony. Which meant that they crossed paths far more often than Tegras would have liked.
Palmor glared at him from across the table and continued to mock the older Ktarian, who had a line of thinning grey hair along the distinctive curved forehead of their species.
“Come on, old man,” he persisted, gesturing to Tegras’s game area on the board, “No more Evade tokens to play, nowhere to hide, now show me your hand. Confront!”
Tegras grimaced and reluctantly lowered the set of circular cards in his hand down to the table. He hadn’t been playing this game for long, and was still struggling with some of the intricacies of the rules and strategies, but he knew enough to suspect that a Flushed Market wasn’t an especially competitive hand given the current board situation.
“Pah!” his adversary cackled, confirming his suspicions, “Is that all you’ve got?”
He revealed his own hand with an unadulterated flourish, spreading the cards out to reveal the telltale pattern of a Full Consortium.
A chorus of groans rang out from all sides of the table. Tegras’s teeth grinding reached new levels of intensity, as his frustrations reached boiling point.
“Guess I win again,” Palmor added unnecessarily, as he grabbed the healthy pile of latinum from the centre of the table.
“I’m bored of this game,” Tegras snapped, “Why are we playing this Ferengi nonsense anyway? It’s all we seem to do any more!”
“Sounds like someone’s a sore loser,” Palmor replied off-handedly, deftly stoking the anger of his adversary with practised skill as he carefully stacked his winnings.
Tegras felt his hackles rise further, just as Palmor had intended. All night long, the younger Ktarian had won almost every hand. And while Tegras was still a novice at the game, it seemed extremely unlikely to him that one player could have a run like that. There were too many elements of chance for that to be realistically possible.
But, much like the Varris IV security forces couldn’t prove anything about Palmor’s illicit business practices, he couldn’t prove any outright cheating. And he knew that accusing him without evidence really would mark him down as a sore loser. So he settled for another round of teeth-grinding.
To his side, Evina leaned over and muttered to him. “Calm yourself, Tegras. Don’t give him the satisfaction of seeing you like this.”
It was friendly advice from one of the more agreeable regulars in the Ktarian Moonrise. But it was also advice that he largely chose to ignore.
“I’m only losing because I’m not used to this stupid game,” he persisted, jabbing a finger at his gleeful opponent, “How about we break out the old Mak-To board, hmm? Then we’ll see if your luck holds out.”
The weary bartender ambled over to the table upon hearing this, shaking his head. “No, no, no. It’s late, you’re not starting any new games now. Haven’t you people got homes to go to?”
Shaken out of their tunnel vision, the players looked around as the persistent rain hammered on the windows and noted just how empty the bar had become, with only five other customers scattered around the room, finishing their drinks.
“Ah, well,” Palmor smiled, as he began to diligently pocket his winnings, “There’s always tomorrow night. Same time?”
Tegras nodded defiantly, as a couple of the other players stood and stretched their hunched backs. “And this time,” he affirmed, “We’ll play a proper game!”
“Bring whichever game you like. I’m sure the result will be much the same as—”
Palmor paused and looked up. The others followed his gaze to see that, even at this late hour, the Ktarian Moonrise had three new patrons. The newcomers stood dripping wet in the entrance to the bar, as the door slowly slid shut behind them with a gentle hiss.
“Excuse me, ladies and gentlemen,” one of the figures called out with a little too much gusto, “Sorry to interrupt your evenings, but we’re gonna need your attention for a few moments.”
The trio removed their heavy, soaked cloaks in one swift motion, revealing themselves to the rest of the room. It was a startling enough sight to cause a few gasps of shock.
There was nothing unusual about a group of stragglers in damp overalls making it to the bar this late. Plenty of Ktarians worked long hours in the mines, and would often rush to the bars of the main settlement to thirstily grab a drink before closing.
But on a forgotten, crumbling, crime-ridden Ktarian mining colony in a dead sector of space, it was most unusual for the group of stragglers in damp overalls to consist of a Klingon, a Vulcan, and what looked to everyone present like an Orion Slave Girl.
The bartender took an uncertain step forward, looking at the three exotic newcomers with clear confusion.
“What the hell is this? Some sort of joke?”
This time, everyone gasped in unison, as the trio pulled disruptors from their belts and aimed them around the room.
The Vulcan took a step forwards, fixing the bartender with a surprisingly determined stare, accompanied by an even more surprising grin.
“Sorry pal,” said Sunek, “Guess again.”