“Never been aboard a Lamarr before.” RJ whistled softly, looking around as Mason led the way down the corridor toward where he assumed the briefing room was. “Never seen a ship quite this sexy.”

Mason slid him a sideways look but didn’t comment as they stepped into the turbolift. Rennox, the young yeoman who followed Mason around like a puppy, felt the need to fill the silence.

“They’re kinda rare. But Captain Murphy is an admiral’s brat,” he said as the doors slid shut. “No doubt that’s why.”

Mason grumbled in the back of his throat, massive arms folded over an equally massive chest. The lift was bigger than any on the Resolute but Mason still managed to all but fill the available space. RJ did a couple of mental calculations about Mason and the Resolute’s equally huge CEO in the small space at the same time. It was a good job they didn’t have a third llanarian on the crew. They’d never all fit.

“What have I said about calling Murphy that?” Mason chided the young yeoman in a voice like a landslide.

“But that’s what he is?” Rennox sounded confused and RJ had to resist the urge to facepalm. Sometimes the kid was a few nacelles short of a starship. Like all of them.

“He might be, but there are more polite ways to refer to someone,” Mason replied, his expression severe. Then he winked suddenly. “Save a shot like that for when you want to insult someone, but…” The amusement in his eyes disappeared again. “I wouldn’t advising insulting our Division CO.”

“No sir,” Rennox said quickly. “Wouldn’t dream of it, sir.”

The doors swept open, and Mason strode out, RJ and Rennox trailing after him like baby ducks after their mama. At least, Rennox did. RJ had a little more self-esteem and followed at a sedate stroll. He winked at a pretty ensign who passed, and then grinned to see Mason already at the meeting room door, looking irritated. Well, the big llanarian’s face had that ‘side of a mountain’ look he usually wore, but RJ had been around and pushing the big guy’s buttons long enough to recognise the slight tightness around his eyes as irritation.

“Welcome aboard the Canterbury, Captain Mason… yeoman,” the deep voice issued from inside the room. RJ hurried up, half jogging the last part of the corridor.

“Holy shit, you could fit the Resolute’s whole bridge in here!” Rennox blurted out, which nicely covered the fact RJ slid in through the door just before it shut.

“I apologise for my yeoman,” Mason said, offering his hand to the other captain. “We’re a little rough and ready on the Resolute. I’m working on his manners.”

“Not a problem, I like people who speak their mind,” the other captain said with a smile, shaking Mason’s hand. RJ cast a quick look at the other guy in the room. Red uniform, commander’s pips and an implant around his left eye that said he was a whole lot more dangerous that he looked on first glance.

“Might I introduce my XO, Commander Vann?” Captain Murphy half turned to indicate the XB, who offered a small nod but didn’t speak.

“A pleasure to meet you, Commander,” Mason nodded, somehow managing to layer his gravel-like voice with a level of charm RJ had never been able to replicate. And he’d tried.

His answer was another simple nod. Okay, XB-XO wasn’t a talker. RJ cleared his throat slightly.

Mason half-turned his head. “And this is Captain Reese-Riggs, currently assigned to the Resolute for observation purposes.”

“Ahh, okay. That’s a file I haven’t come across yet,” Murphy’s look of confusion disappeared within a nanosecond as he turned to RJ and offered a smile. It was wide and honest, no guile lurking in the back of those bright blue eyes.  “A pleasure to meet you, Captain.”

“Likewise, nice ship you have here.” RJ bit back a sigh in favour of an answering smile and a polite reply. What the hell was a nice guy like this doing all the way out here, in command of a Lamarr of all things? At least he had the XB, otherwise the wolves out here would eat this guy alive.

“Well, shall we get to it?” Murphy asked, indicating the table in the middle of the room. “We’ve had some intelligence passed down the chain to us from the Fleet Outpost Corps, that they want us to check out… and I have a plan.”

“A plan, he said,” RJ Reese-Riggs grumbled as he propped the bar up, ignoring the pool of whatever it was by his elbow. Could have been verkalian rum, or it could have been blood. Between the viscosity and the dim lighting in the imaginatively named Targ’s Head, there was no way to know. What he did know was that so far, the carpet had tried to hitch a ride on his boots, the smoke in here cut the visibility by half, and the Admiral’s brat trying to be inconspicuous over the other side of the bar was about to give him a stomach ulcer. “It’s a shit plan. Why did we agree to this?”

The question was levelled at Raan Mason, leaning against the bar next to RJ, a mug of something with an alcohol content that made RJ’s liver cry just at the smell in his hand. The big guy just shrugged. “Because he’s an admiral’s brat, and he’s the boss?”

RJ blinked and grumbled some more, downing his whiskey in one shot. It burned all the way down his stomach as he glowered at Murphy again. Wide smile, perfect teeth… that hair. It was like someone had taken the stereotype of a fleet captain and thrown him into a pirate fancy dress costume. Most of the crowd in the bar were eyeing him with suspicion and the ferengi he was talking too kept trying to back away.

“God, he’s so clean cut, it makes my teeth ache. Like, literally ache. Anyone with eyes in the back of their head can see he’s Starfleet. This is such a shit idea. Someone’s going to shoot him soon, and then where will we be?”

What he meant was, where would he be? RJ wasn’t liked amongst the ranks of the admiralty for… reasons. Getting the son of an admiral shot though, that was a new one. Usually he just got caught in compromising positions with them.

Mason arched an eyebrow and just grunted, like he hadn’t a care in the world. Unlike Murphy, who didn’t seem to be able to stop smiling and looked one step away from throwing off the ratty coat he was wearing to reveal a sparkling captain’s uniform beneath, Mason looked the complete opposite.

No one in here would ever suspect him of being a Starfleet captain in disguise.

A grubby cut-off leather donkey jacket revealed brawny arms covered in tattoos RJ never knew the big guy had. Under it, a tatty vest stretched across his wide chest, tucked into combats that had seen better days. In fact, the only thing Mason was wearing that didn’t look like they should be consigned to recycling were a pair of heavy combat boots. Not federation, that was for sure. They looked like they’d been designed to crush skulls or something.

“No one’s going to shoot Murphy,” Mason rumbled, taking another swallow of the paint stripper in his mug. The dim overhead lighting glinted off the heavy silver rings on each of his fingers. RJ shuddered and motioned for another whiskey from the bartender. “That’s what I’m here for.”

He nodded. Mason didn’t appear to be watching the bar or their ridiculously happy, smiling CO–seriously, what starfleet officer was that happy about being on an away mission–but RJ knew better than to argue with Mason. He’d probably know to the millimetre where Murphy was in case he needed to shoot someone trying to sneak up on him and kill him. For that matter, he probably knew where everyone in the damn bar was and when they took a breath.

“You do realise the only stupider thing than bringing both ship CO’s out on an away mission would have been bringing Rennox as well, right?”

Mason slid him a sideways look. The skin crinkled at the corner of his eyes as amusement washed through the pale blue.

“Oh my god, please tell me you didn’t?” RJ groaned.

Mason grinned, revealing a gold tooth and nodded toward the main area of the bar again. Sure enough, Rennox was heading toward Murphy, his lip practically stuck out in concentration to avoid spilling the two pints he was carrying.

He had. He seriously had.

Two thoughts stuck out in RJ’s mind.

The first, that Mason wasn’t this stupid, led to the second. Mason wasn’t this stupid, so if he’d done this, then…

RJ turned to face him, his expression hardening.

“Okay, what aren’t you telling me?”

“Oh sweetheart,” a deep voice behind them drawled. “I suspect there’s a lot he isn’t telling you.”

RJ turned and met a pair of sea-green eyes set in the most stunningly handsome, masculine face he’d ever seen. He blinked, momentarily stunned into silence as his gaze wandered down over the rest of the man standing behind the bar. If ever there was a stereotype of ‘sexy space pirate’ he was looking right at it.

“Vayne,” Mason rumbled, draining the mug in his hand. “Meet RJ.”

Vayne’s smile widened, a predatory glint in his eyes. “Pleased to meet you, RJ.”

RJ’s gaze slid sideways. Mason just grinned at him.

“Okay, I think you need to tell me what’s going on. Who is this?” he demanded, jerking his head at Vayne. “How do you know him?”

“I thought you said he was quick on the uptake?” Vayne asked, grabbing three glasses from the shelf behind the bar. RJ tried not to notice how his shirt pulled over his powerful shoulders. No one that well built spent a lot of their time in a bar.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” he asked. Mason was completely relaxed, leaning against the bar with one elbow, feet crossed at the ankles. His gaze swept over the bar every now and then, checking on their two companions on the other side of the room. RJ left him to keep an eye on their ‘undercover operatives’ and transferred his attention to Vayne.

Vayne shrugged, dark hair dancing over his shoulders as he lined the glasses up and sloshed amber liquid into them. “Think about it, handsome. How do you think I know the big lad here?”

RJ’s brain went right to the gutter, and Vayne grinned. “Okay, maybe you’re not as slow on the uptake as I thought.”

Mason chuckled, shaking his head as Vayne slid a glass toward each of them. “Stop teasing him, Vayne. RJ, Vayne is our ‘in’ to where we need to be. Want to lay it out for him, V?”

RJ kept his expression level, turning his head to meet Mason’s gaze again. There was absolutely no way this guy was Outpost Corps.

“Well that’s the boring option,” Vayne shrugged and knocked back his drink in one go. “But that’s what you get for going Starfleet, I guess.”

RJ stilled for a heartbeat, resisting the urge to look around and see if anyone had reacted. It was all well and good having Captain Starfleet playing pirate over the other side of the bar, but they didn’t need to come right out with it and say they were fleet.

“Don’t worry, I own everyone in this bar, one way or another. Ain’t no one going to talk.” Vayne’s lips quirked at the corners. “Okay, so there’s an auction tonight. Total black market, selling off some tech shit your lot have managed to lose. Experimental weapons or some such. I can get you in so you can take it out of circulation.”

Mason turned, leaning both arms on the bar. The heavy muscles in his shoulders bunched, highlighted by the dim lighting in the bar and the black ink that crawled over his skin.

“We’re going in three groups.” He pointed his thumb over his shoulder to Murphy and Rennox. “Distraction group.”

“That’s obvious. Anyone with eyes in their head can see those two are Starfleet.” RJ inclined his head as he picked up his glass. He held it for a moment, wondering if it was actually safe to drink. Mason wasn’t human and he had absolutely no idea what Vayne was.

Vayne folded his arms and grunted in agreement. “FOC got the word out, but the group we’re hitting tracked the message, so they’re expecting fleet in some form or other.”

RJ nodded.

“So we’re the real undercover team,” he said, indicating himself and Mason. It made sense, with everyone looking at Captain Obvious, they wouldn’t look at either of them. Mason looked as rough as hell and he could easily blend into the crowd and track down the information they needed.

“Oh no, you’re not with me,” Mason rumbled, grabbing his glass and downing the contents in one go, then nodded toward the imposing figure of the man behind the bar.

“You’re going as his date.”

“So… tell me again why I have to go as your date?” RJ grumbled, just loud enough for the man with a heavily muscled arm looped over his shoulders to hear, while trying to resist the urge to pluck at the pants that were pinching in some very personal areas. Not that anyone looking at him would know that. He’d been presented with a lurid purple shirt and a pair of leather pants as part of his disguise, and by all that was holy, he knew he looked good.

Vayne grinned, sliding him as sideways look from under sinfully long lashes as they headed down a dark corridor towards where this black market auction was supposed to be taking place.

They were somewhere in the bowels of the outpost, well off the beaten track, but RJ had been paying attention. No-one brought up in the Riggs family would ever get caught out unawares in a place like this. He knew each turn and corridor that would get them back to their ride home, and the nasty little surprise he had concealed against his ribcage would ensure he got there.

“Because,” Vayne leaned in to murmur, the words washing over the side of RJ’s neck like a soft carress. “Your boss ain’t as stupid as he looks. Everyone knows the big F will send someone, it’s obligatory. So she’ll play with them, but make no mistake, she’ll be watching the rest of us like we’re under a microscope. So we’re the second distraction. The one she’ll be looking for.”

RJ’s eyebrow winged up slightly. He’d never met anyone brave or insane enough to call Mason stupid. Then his brain caught up.

“She?” He barely got the question out before Vayne nodded at the two big guards at the door. Burly, green skinned, and wearing more leather than he was, they were the absolute stereotype of ‘goon’, no matter what the species.

“Evening gentlemen,” Vayne smiled the most charming smile RJ had ever seen outside his own mirror. “Nice night for it, isn’t it?”

The two moved with split second synchronicity, blocking their way. The one on the left glared at Vayne, while the other looked RJ up and down. His back stiffened slightly at the look, but he grinned and winked. Let them see what they thought they were seeing. Bimbo arm-candy.

“Lady S don’t want the likes of you ‘ere, Vayne,” the one on the left, obviously the talker, snarled. “You ain’t got the funds for this, and she knows it.”

“Well… that would have been correct,” Vayne shrugged. “She did kind of clear me out, but, well, I’ve come into some new funds.” He pulled RJ closer. “Isn’t that right, darling?”

RJ hadn’t a damn clue what was going on, but he rolled with it anyway. Obviously Vayne knew whoever it was running this auction, and he had questions, but for now, he leaned in, his body language totally relaxed even if he wanted to throat punch Righty for that leer he had going on.

“Totally, babe. Whatever you want.” He looked around then drew a little closer to Vayne to grin and shiver. “It’s all so deliciously dangerous, isn’t it?”

“Let ‘em through,” Lefty growled, standing aside.

RJ winked at him as they sauntered past, ignoring the muttered ‘frecking danger tourists’ from the other one.

As soon as they were through the door, he pushed Vayne’s arm off his shoulders. “What on earth was that?” he hissed in a low voice. “Who the hell is ‘Lady S’? and why would she have cleaned you out?”

There was definitely shit going on here that didn’t make sense, and it seemed that Vayne, sexy as he was, hadn’t been entirely honest.

“No need to get your knickers in a twist, handsome. All will be revealed, don’t you worry.”

Vayne grinned, and beckoned him to follow. They emerged from the darkened entrance hall, which RJ assumed had been packed full of sensor equipment to make sure they weren’t packing anything too dangerous, and into a darkened nightclub.

The place was empty, almost. Rather than being packed with dancers bumping and grinding against each other, drunk enough to forget their miserable lives and live life one beat at time, a large table had been set up in the middle of the dance floor, all the spot lights trained on it.

RJ’s gaze darted around it. They were the last to arrive, only two seats left at the table. Murphy and Rennox were on one side, the captain wearing ‘pirate snarl number four’ on his face while Rennox had found a cigar from somewhere and was chewing on it like a rabbit.

Lord have mercy, they were going to get themselves killed.

RJ tried to remember the away team protocols and who got the blame if the Captain got killed on an away mission he’d insisted he come along on. It didn’t matter, he decided. He was going to get the blame if Murphy died. The admiralty would take one look at his record and decide it was his fault, he just knew it.

Mason sat the opposite side of the table, glaring across it at the two disguised Starfleet officers. His pale eyes held a level of hatred that should have truly worried RJ. If he didn’t know the big guy, he’d have been seriously worried for Murphy and Rennox’s chances of survival.

“Vayne…” A soft, melodious voice caught RJ’s attention as the chair at the head of the table turned to reveal the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen. Long dark hair surrounded a perfect face with bee-stung lips. Sultry blue-green eyes studied him for a moment before she turned her attention to Vayne.

“RJ, my love,” Vayne rumbled in deep voice. “Let me introduce my ex-wife, Lady Sinistra.”

“A pleasure to meet you, my lady,” he smiled.

All the warmth in her eyes leached away, her expression hardening as she looked between the pair of them, her gaze lingering on the arm across RJ’s shoulders.

There was a word for an expression like that.

Run.

RJ schooled his expression into surprise and realization, then added a flash of bone-deep fear before quickly covering them up. He plastered a charming grin on his face as he looked her up and down in appreciation. There was just something about a dangerous woman that always got his attention.

“Well, I can see why you’re the ex,” he drawled, a swagger in his step as he sauntered across the room and dropped into one of the only two chairs left. “You’re way too good for his ugly ass.”

Vayne barked out a laugh as he took the remaining empty seat. “Brat. You’ll pay for that later.”

Sinistra’s expression twisted like she had something foul right under her nose as she looked between the two of them. He winked at her, taking note of where everyone was sat, and the box sat in the middle of the table. It was the sort of secure case that only very expensive, or very dangerous tech came in.

“For feck’s sake, is this going to be family fecking drama?” Mason growled, slamming his tankard down on the table in front of him. The liquid within sloshed over the sides, the acrid stench making RJ’s nose hairs try and clamber further up his nose to safety.

“Absolutely not, General. I do apologise,” Sinistra said, shooting him and Vayne another hard look. “I was not expecting our latest… guests. I’m sorry, I haven’t had the pleasure Mr…?”

She pinned him with a look as two more security goons moved pointedly in the shadows behind him. RJ added them to his mental map of the room.

“Hale… Hale Roake-Smythe,” he said like it should mean something to her. “Now, this handsome hunk of mine said you were selling some trinkets? Shall we get on with it? Darling…” he leaned across to stage-whisper to Vayne. “You haven’t forgotten we have the ambassador’s function tonight have you? Bertie is an utter darling, so we really must show our faces.”

“Enough!” Sinistra’s bark was enough to have the two ferengi and Rennox jumping in their seats. “I have no idea who you are Mr. Roake and I don’t care. What I do care about is this, and, more to the point, how much the winning bidder is prepared to pay for it.”

She nodded and one of the men behind her, a tall orion with a large scar across his throat, reached over the table and opened the box. The lid fell back softly onto the table as it opened out like the petals of a flower to reveal a small, dull, rectangle of metal.

It looked… like a small, dull, rectangle of metal.

“And that is, what, exactly?” he asked, eyebrow raised as he brushed at the sleeve of his shirt, admiring the way the light bounced off the sequins. That was the problem with missions like this, they had intell that stolen weapons tech was being sold off, but not precisely what that weapons tech was. This… perhaps he could throw it at someone and give them a nasty cut on their forehead?

Mason leaned forward, meaty forearms resting on the table as he glared across, not at RJ, but at Murphy and Rennox.

“An early prototype of Starfleet’s formation mode,” he growled, his voice deeper than normal. “Which is why these assholes are here.”

Murphy raised an eyebrow, head tilted at just the right angle for his blue eyes to catch the light. RJ’s jaw tensed. Captain Starfleet was way too photogenic for his own good. “I have no clue what you’re talking about. Marion, wasn’t it?”

“Mason,” the big guy bit out. “Raal Mason.”

RJ kept the surprise off his face, both at the name Mason gave and the fact they were dealing with a prototype formation mode chip. He’d thought they were all long destroyed. They should all have been long destroyed. Frowning, he leaned toward Vayne to whisper loudly. “Who is tall, growly, and sexy as sin?”

Mason’s gaze snapped to him as Vayne chuckled and murmured. “That, my darling, is Raal Mason. Started a war on his planet because he was jealous of his older brother and managed to get his ass kicked six ways to Sunday. He’s been kicking around for the last few years trying to build an army to take ‘his’ planet back.”

The murmur was soft, but enough that everyone at the table heard it, as Vayne no doubt intended. RJ leaned back, eyeing Mason speculatively. “Owns a whole planet, you say?”

“You, keep your mouth shut,” Mason snarled at Vayne. “I did not get my ass kicked. My brother cheated me out of my birthright, and this—“ he nodded toward the device on the table. “Will let me get my revenge.”

“Oh, you have to win the auction first,” Murphy chuckled with a flash of white teeth. “And somehow, I don’t think you’ve quite got the funds for that, Mr. Mason.”

“Gentlemen, please.” Sinistra stood, holding her hand up for silence. “Shall we start the bidding? Shall we say… ten thousand bricks of GPL or the equivalent?”

The bidding started fast and furious, the ferengi in the corner glaring at everyone and trying to outbid Murphy opposite. RJ leaned back in his chair, fully in his spoilt-brat playboy persona, idly raising his hand whenever the bidding seemed to be slowing down. All he had to do was stay in character until Mason gave the signal.

What the signal was, he had no idea, but he’d been told he’d know.

“Sure you don’t want to slow it down there a little, hotshot?” Vayne leaned over to murmur in his ear, looping a heavily muscled arm over RJ’s shoulders. “Just remember I’m not made of latinum.”

His lips curved in a small smirk, and he caught the bar owner’s eye for a second. “Trust me, I know what I’m doing.”

Vayne grunted slightly and thumped back into his seat. RJ slid him a sideways glance, then turned back to the auction. Murphy and Mason were locked into a three-way bidding war with the ferengi at the moment.

He grinned. Okay, no signal yet, so perhaps he should liven things up a little.

“So, what’s this planet of your’s like?” he asked Mason as he leaned forward to pour himself a drink from the heavy decanter sat in front of each set of chairs around the table as though there wasn’t anyone else in the room.

He didn’t know that much about Mason’s background, but he did know that there had been a war, a real nasty one, and that Mason had fought in it. That the guy was a veteran was obvious, so that part made sense, but Vayne’s comment played around in his head. That the guy Mason was pretending to be—Raal Mason apparently—had had his ass kicked by his older brother… which must be Raan. Names one letter off… What was it with llanarian’s and names? Didn’t they believe in using the rest of the alphabet?

——-

Mason leaned back in his chair, rubbing at his bearded chin as he shot a look at RJ.

“Large,” he replied with a grunt, taking a mental side-step to think like his twin. “Profitable. A lot of natural resources.”

Of course, that assessment missed the sheer beauty of Llanaria, but then his brother had never focused on anything other than physical value, of anything, so it was completely in character.

He raised his hand to bid again as the Ferengi outbid Murphy. The stakes were getting higher, and he needed to pull the plug soon. But not quite yet.

“And that would make you what? A president?” RJ pressed, bright blue eyes alight with interest. “The king?”

Mason snorted a laugh. “Not a king. We don’t have a monarchy. I’d be the Premier.”

“Sexy and powerful.” RJ winked. “Just my kind of—“

He didn’t get any further. Vayne shot to his feet, his chair tumbling backward as he grabbed RJ and yanked him backward. “Stop flirting with him, you little tart!”

It hadn’t been the signal he was intending to give, but Mason wasn’t going to look a gift trevasi in the mouth. His chair crashed to the floor behind him as he surged across the gap and tore Vayne away from RJ.

“Leave him alone!” he growled, slamming a hard fist into Vayne’s jaw. The blow knocked the pirate back, sending him stumbling into his toppled chair. Mason didn’t let him get that far, grabbing him by the scruff of the neck and throwing him bodily across the table. All hell broke loose as drinks, snacks and the case with the chip went flying. The ferengi jumped up, Murphy did the same, hurling obscenities that turned the air blue.

Then Sinistra’s people started shooting…

RJ reacted without thinking, diving for cover as the first disrupter bolts whistled by his ear. Yells and the sound of shattering glass filled the air, telling him the others had done the same. Flipping a table up on its side, he crouched behind it, risking a glance to work out where Sinistra’s goons were. Shots crisscrossed the room, each beam leaving lines across his vision he had to blink away.

He spotted Murphy not far from him, crouched behind a collapsed lighting rig. Sparks surrounded his broad-shouldered figure, highlighting him like he was the hero of a damn action movie as he exchanged fire with two of Sinistra’s men. RJ gritted his teeth. Murphy’s hair wasn’t even ruffled. His grin was gone though, replaced by a focused expression that made him look far less like the admiral’s brat and far too much like Mason for comfort.

A deep bellow had his head snapping around to find Mason himself near the center of the room. He’d tucked himself in behind a pillar and RJ’s eyebrow winged up. For that cover to be effective, the big guy would need to loose a good couple of inches off his shoulders.

But he wasn’t staying still and giving their enemies a target. Instead, he wasusing the pillar as little more than a dance partner. His hulking form and tattoos caught the sparking lights as he leaned out of cover, methodically picking out his targets and dropping Sinistra’s henchmen one by one.

Then his phaser sputtered and failed, leaving him totally open on the left as he leaned back against the pillar, ducking with each shot that came his way as he tried to sort it. Movement in the shadows caught RJ’s eye. His own phaser was in his hand before he could think about it and the leering guard from earlier dropped like a stone.

Mason looked over and nodded his thanks. The next second, he was gone, peeling away to the right to where Rennox was crouched behind a speaker stack by a small stage trying to lay down covering fire for Murphy. It wasn’t great. His eyes were so wide RJ could see them from where he was, and each of his shots were so wide or high that their enemies would be safest stood right in front of him. RJ stopped paying attention to the kid the moment that Mason reached him. Rennox would be fine. Mason wouldn’t let anything happen to him.

RJ turned his attention back to the room again. Vayne was long gone, no sign of their ‘ally’. RJ snorted. The guy had probably sold them out before they’d even arrived.

He ignored the squeaking ferengi in the corner, crouched in a plush booth with velvet covered seats, and swept his gaze over the ruins of the rest of the room.

Chairs were scattered everywhere and the table they’d been sat at was little more than firewood on the floor. He kept up a constant barrage of fire, trying to keep their enemies heads down as he looked across the wreckage. Where the hell was the damn chip? The case was in the center of the chaos, but he could see from here that it was empty. It must have been thrown free.

His jaw tightened. Shit. They couldn’t lose the chip.

But the fact that Sinistra’s people were still here firing at them said the chip was still here. Somewhere.

Letting off another volley of phaser fire, he barrelled out of cover, cutting through the room in a zigzag pattern, using whatever he could as he searched for the tiniest glimmer that would reveal the chip’s location.

He made it halfway across the room but then the back of the room exploded, a thunderous blast knocking him off his feet as sparks and shrapnel from the equipment there peppered the room. Flying through the air, he grunted as he slammed into a booth wall. Agony exploded like a starburst at the back of his head, and everything went black.

A click, then a hum filtered through the blackness that surrounded RJ. Then bright light burned through his eyelids as if trying to fry his retina’s

“Dafu…?”

He grunted, reaching out to grab his pillow to cover his eyes but his hand smacked against a hard floor instead of the soft bedding he expected. His eyes snapped open and he sat up abruptly, memory snapping back.

His eyes widened as he looked around. The nightclub was completely and utterly totaled. There was twisted metal, scorch marks on the walls and floors, and shattered furniture everywhere.

“Stay alert. Section the room and clear,” Mason ordered as RJ rolled to his feet, grabbing the weapon he’d dropped when he’d hit the booth wall, but Sinistra’s goons were nowhere to be seen. They’d all vanished as if they’d never been there. Even the ones the fleet team had dropped were gone. All that was left were a few scraps of torn material, and some expended powercells from their energy weapons.

RJ stepped to the side as the two Ferengi, so aggressive during the bidding, made a break for the door, bumping into each other as they raced to be the first through it. He shook his head as one tripped the other, keeping his attention on sweeping his side of the room to make sure Sinistra’s people weren’t hiding anywhere waiting to spring a trap.

“Clear,” he called out, his voice echoed by Rennox. “Does anyone have eyes on that chip? I was heading for it when… that happened.”

“This chip?” Rennox grinned like the cat that got the cream, holding up the tech they were looking for in a hand with bloodied knuckles. Approval washed through RJ, seemed the kid wasn’t entirely useless when it came to getting in the thick of it.

“Good work, kid,” he nodded, stalking to join him in the center of the room. Rennox handed him the chip. It was battered but intact, hopefully enough for them to be able to confirm what it was and that the encryption on it hadn’t been broken. “I’d say that’s mission accomplished.”

“Clear at the back,” Mason joined them. “Vayne cleared out early, I see. Not entirely unexpected.” He frowned as he looked at the pair of them. “Where’s Murphy?”

The blood froze in RJ’s veins.

“He’d taken cover by that lighting rig when I saw him last,” he said, heading that way quickly, broken glass breaking under his boots.

“Murphy?” He called out, heart in his throat as he expected to round the corner and find the guy slumped, lifeless. There was no way they could cover up the death of an admiral’s son on an away mission he shouldn’t even have been on. “Stop pratting about, boss, and get your backside out here.”

But the floor behind the lights was empty, apart from a smear of blood in the shape of a handprint. Mason appeared at his elbow, joined by Rennox.

“Bollocks.”