“You never did tell me… Why a Klingon opera?” That’d been what originally brought Lieutenant Balan to the holodeck, the original reason for her intrusion on the Arabian night. “You don’t exactly come off as a Bat’leths and bloodwine chick.” Not that she wouldn’t look good like that, Chief Shafir thought to herself as she eyed the young officer over.

Lieutenant Balan giggled at the notion. “Hah! Definitely not! I’d probably cut myself on the blade, or you’d be holding my hair back as I lost my guts after half a goblet.” She was neither a fighter, nor a drinker, but who knew? Before tonight, she’d never thought she’d be sitting in the desert night, smoking shisha with one of Polaris’ shooters – nor that she’d have anything in common with her either. “It’s the emotion infused into the story itself, and the way it carries into the operatic form, that gets me every time.”

The way her eyes lit up as she described it, Lieutenant Balan seemed like she really meant it, but before Chief Shafir could inquire further, her combadge chirped. She sat up straight and set the hookah down. “Shafir, go.”

“Good evening, Chief. Polaris Comms here. Sorry to disturb you at this late hour, but you have an incoming subspace call, designated urgent, your eyes only.”

“Caller?”

“Link validates as Starfleet official, ma’am, but the caller info is redacted.”

Curious, thought Lieutenant Balan. Who would redact their calling info? And how? She looked over at the chief, but Chief Shafir didn’t seem the least bit phased or surprised. Was this some of that cloak and dagger stuff she’d hinted at earlier? 

“Alright, patch it through,” Chief Shafir said as she rose from her chair.

“Understood. Have a good night. Polaris Comms out.”

The chief slid the hose across the table and then stepped away. “I’ll just be a minute,” she assured the lieutenant as she disappeared into the cafe, closing the door behind her. Lieutenant Balan was kind and harmless, Chief Shafir knew. She had no reason not to trust her, but there were some conversations best had without an audience. “Computer, terminal, and connect me to the incoming call.” 

The computer chirped in acknowledgement, and a terminal materialized in the middle of the mudbrick wall before her. For a moment, the terminal was adorned only with the seal of the United Federation of Planets, and while Chief Shafir waited for it to connect, she stared out the window of the cafe, back at the lieutenant who sat enjoying the hookah. What a nice evening, she thought to herself. Emilia had such a sweet soul, and the night, it’d been soothing in a way unfamiliar to her. Plus, to top it off, Emilia was beautiful too. That was always a plus.

But then the seal vanished, replaced by a stern-faced Vulcan in drab clothing. The Vulcan was neither sweet, nor beautiful – at least not in the ways Emila Balan was – but suddenly, Emilia Balan no longer mattered, and the nice night had been extinguished from her mind. If T’Aer was calling, it was something important. “What’ve you got for me?”

“A lead.”

There were no greetings and no frivolities, for neither were necessary. “Of what variety?”

“An individual with knowledge of what happened to our friend.”

Chief Shafir didn’t need to ask. She knew of which friend the Vulcan spoke. She also knew that, if T’Aer was speaking in ambiguities, it was for a reason, so she kept her questions simple. “Where?”

“Montana Station.”

From the outside, that was good news. A Starfleet officer visiting a Starfleet facility would raise no eyebrows. However, if she’d need to go off-book, it could also present problems, although it’d be nothing new for her. “Should I expect any support from the locals?”

“Certainly not.”

Yes, that meant what Chief Shafir had already suspected. This would be off-book. “Starfleet or civvie?”

“Neither.”

That meant foreign, which meant complex. It wasn’t unsurprising though. If memory served her right, Montana Station was a backwater nearly as trailing and rimward as one could venture. “What brings them to Montana?”

“Commercial enterprise.”

She had a good many more questions, but they’d have to wait. Although encrypted, the channel wasn’t impenetrable, something she knew as well as anyone. “Would it be good to bring some friends along?”

“If you have any such friends.”

That she did. The mad scientist and the twisted psychologist would certainly join her. Dr. Brooks owned Captain Lewis his life, many times over, and Dr. Hall would welcome an escape from the petty sob stories of soft-skinned sailors. “You can count on three of us. Will you be joining as well?”

“Yes, me and our lobed friend.”

It really would be like old times again, Chief Shafir thought to herself, traipsing around with Grok and T’Aer. All they were missing were Ryssehl and Lewis. The Andorian had died over Nasera, and Captain Lewis had gone missing in the labyrinth. “We’ll see you soon.”

The channel cut without another word, and Chief Shafir was left standing alone in the night. She looked out the window again, at the young lieutenant, so sweet and so bright. What a nice night it had been. But now it was over. Now, she had work to do.

“Computer, doorway.”

She turned her back, and she was gone. Without even saying goodbye.