Chapter Text
Part Three (Cont’d)
The concept of the honeypot was one of the oldest techniques in covert operations across the whole galaxy. One that seemed to be practised in some manner by just about every sentient species in one way or another.
And Natasha Kinsen hated it.
Many years ago, when she was a junior ensign in the medical staff onboard the USS Tripoli, she had been chosen for a special away mission on the planet Bravik VI, where the Tripoli had been dispatched to deal with a severe case of cultural contamination.
A rogue Idanian businessman had found the planet to be rich in latinum deposits, and had infiltrated the pre-warp society on the planet. He had ingratiated himself with a ruthlessly ambitious politician who he had helped rise to become president of the largest continent, in exchange for exclusive mining rights. All before the Idanian had fled with the latinum and left Bravik VI in chaos.
The Tripoli had been tasked with correcting the damage by returning the former president to his rightful place, and she had been delighted to have been personally selected to play a key role in such vital work, especially given her lowly rank onboard at the time.
Until she realised that she hadn’t been selected because of her advanced medical training, or her tactical skills, or the extra credits in pre-warp socio-economic theory that she had meticulously collected at the Academy. Instead, she had been selected because the former president’s head of security had needed to be distracted, and he apparently had a thing for redheads.
So, while the Tripoli’s first officer, security chief and operations officer had tooled up with weapons and infiltrated the former president’s summer house to kidnap him, posing as operatives sent by the current president as a ruse designed to turn the population against him, she had been stuck wearing a scandalously low-cut and high-hemmed dress, lying on a picnic blanket and giggling flirtatiously while she shared a bottle of the local wine with an especially unattractive Bravikian a safe distance away from the compound’s monitoring station.
It wasn’t exactly what she’d dreamed that covert operations would be. She’d rather hoped that her years of training would count for more than her natural hair colour and her ability to squeeze into a mini dress.
And yet, ten years later, here she was again. Playing the honeypot.
At least this time she was dressed with substantially more dignity, having turned up for her dinner date in her everyday tunic and trousers. But regardless, she was still having to use her looks, rather than her actual skills, to make their plan work. And she hated it.
Still, on the plus side, at least Commander Turanya hadn’t been lying about the view.
“It’s amazing,” she cooed in deliberately exaggerated awe.
Turanya’s private dining room was located on the top edge of the main rectangular body of the Reja Gar station, a little further around from the recreation area they had been in earlier.
It was a small room, containing little more than a modest table and chairs. Their food was brought to them by a diligent and discreet waitress, who occasionally scurried into the room to present the next course to the pair of diners. But the modest interior didn’t really matter when the entire outer wall of the room consisted of a single unbroken piece of transparent aluminium, affording a stunning view of the cosmos. And especially, as Turanya had advertised, of the Plavian nebula.
She stared out at the vivid green and yellow hues of the phenomenon as it temporarily hung in the middle of the starscape as the station slowly rotated. And, for a moment, she forgot all about the less pleasant aspects of her current assignment.
Her dining partner didn’t take long to remind her.
“Yep,” Commander Turanya replied, having switched into his most libidinous gear, “I’m a big fan of the view myself.”
Natasha looked over to see that the Flaxian was staring directly at her as he said that, leaning back in his chair in front of his empty dessert plate with a glass of Flaxian riesling in his hand. She suppressed the sudden urge she had to stand up, walk around to his side of the table, and tip the rest of the bottle of dessert wine over his head, and instead did the exact opposite to what her instincts told her to do.
She smiled coquettishly and tossed her hair back with a flick of her head.
And then she repressed the feeling of self-loathing that immediately washed over her, and stored it away with the other similar feelings she’d been building up since dinner had begun.
Oblivious to all of that, and only seeing her outward demeanour, Turanya leaned forwards and set his glass back down on the table. “You know, I’m very glad you reconsidered my offer. Very, very glad. I’m sure you’ll make a fine addition to the Flaxian Science Agency, Natasha.”
She added a few more helpings of self-loathing to the pyre inside of her as Turanya paused for a moment to look her up and down.
“A…very fine addition.”
In her mind, she switched the bottle of riesling she was pouring over his head for a bottle of some sort of chemical. She hadn’t decided which one. Nothing that would permanently scar him, she wasn’t going that far, but definitely something that would sting. For a very long time.
In reality, she widened her smile and gave his hand a playful tap across the table.
“Oh, Commander,” she tutted in a display of mock admonishment, “I bet you say that to all the girls you invite up here.”
Turanya’s grin widened, in a tell-tale manner that suggested he was increasingly of the opinion that he wasn’t going to be sleeping alone tonight.
Natasha compartmentalised the latest feelings of revulsion, and gently ran a finger down the back of the Flaxian’s hand, delicately curling one of the whisker-like tendrils around her finger in a way that caused Turanya to breathe in sharply. “Actually…I was wondering if you had a list of current projects,” she offered casually, “I’d love to see the sort of thing I’d be getting involved with while I’m here.”
At this, Turanya’s blissful look shifted slightly. He looked a little suspicious for a moment. She momentarily worried that she’d gone too far.
“Ah, well. You know, that sort of thing is for Science Agency eyes only. Being ex-Starfleet, I’m sure you understand that, right?”
She reacted quickly, stroking his tendrils again and focusing on distracting Turanya from thinking straight about precisely what she was asking for. “Aw,” she pouted, “But Commander, if I’m joining you, then I’m going to be part of the Science Agency anyway? Surely you can let me get a little…sneak preview?”
Summoning up all her reserves of strength, and discarding her last vestiges of dignity, she punctuated her request by idly running the fingers of her other hand down the v-shaped neck of her top, with enough of a knowing smile to convey the implication that she might be willing to offer something of a sneak preview of her own in return.
The entirely unsubtle action, coupled with another gentle stroke of the tendrils on his hand, were enough to seal the deal with the increasingly blissful Turanya. He reached into his pocket and took out a mini padd device, tapping the screen before passing it to her.
“Ah, fine, you twisted my arm,” he grinned, “There’s an overview of all current and planned projects aboard Reja Gar. But don’t tell anyone I gave you that.”
She disguised her relief as she accepted the padd, and celebrated by nailing down the precise chemical that she was pouring over his head to a particular compound of dermatological agent, used by Dopterians to treat all manner of skin conditions, but infamously known to irritate and aggravate the basal skin layer on every other humanoid species in the quadrant to the point of madness.
“Now,” Turanya continued, still oblivious to his fate in her mind and clasping her hand for effect, “I’ve shown you mine, so how about—”
Before he was able to complete the rest of that sentence, and before the corresponding rising sense of nausea in Natasha’s stomach overwhelmed her, there was a merciful chime on the door of the dining room. With visible irritation, Turanya withdrew his hand and stood up, walking over to the door. As soon as he left, Natasha slipped the mini padd underneath the table and deftly went to work as fast as she could manage.
She glanced up to check that she wasn’t being watched, and was surprised to see that the individual at the door wasn’t the waitress from earlier, but a new Flaxian dressed in a far more formal uniform of the Science Agency. And there was a muttered, but clearly serious conversation going on.
After a moment of frustrated gesticulating from Turanya, the uniformed man retreated. Natasha quickly slipped the mini padd back on the table just as the commander turned and walked back to the table.
“Natasha, my dear, I’m terribly sorry,” he offered with his usual oily demeanour, “You have…no idea how sorry. But we may have to pick this up another time.”
“Oh,” she replied, momentarily trapped between her enforced flirting and the overwhelming sense of relief that erupted inside her, “That’s, um, such a shame. How come?”
Turanya glanced back at the door and sighed. “There’s been an issue,” he managed eventually, “We’ve lost contact with the Ret Kol.”
In an instant, all thoughts of her honeypotting vanished entirely. Replaced by a pit of dread that opened up inside of her.
“When?” she demanded.
The Flaxian sighed, a little reluctant to go into too much detail. He was very much back in business mode after his more relaxed patter over dinner. “I’m sure it’s nothing,” he placated her with a weaselly smile, “It’s just…they’re supposed to check in on schedule, but we’ve heard nothing for the last three cycles. They’re probably just busy, it’s probably just an anomaly, but we’re gonna send another ship to take a look—”
“I need to be on that ship,” she snapped immediately, the pit inside her growing wider all the time, “Me and Denella.”
Turanya seemed taken aback at her tone, but she fixed him with a determined enough look to suggest that she wasn’t going to take no for an answer.
Eventually, he reluctantly nodded. And the two of them turned and strode out of the room, leaving the padd and the view of the Plavian nebula behind.
As they walked through the doors, Natasha clasped the data chip in her pocket tightly in her hand.