Instead, Chloe came down with dysentery, Vaughn’s tricorder was swiped from his backpack and everyone awoke with a profusion of deter-fly bites. The experience taught him the wisdom of the old adage: if it sounds too good to be true, it probably is.

This humiliating moment from his youth replayed in vivid detail as he listened to Minister M’Yeoh explain that for all their painstaking efforts during the last day, the desperately needed matter load eluded them. Everything M’Yeoh and Runir had said indicated that success was guaranteed; Vaughn hadn’t even conceived a contingency plan. Yes, there was something to be said for enjoying the journey, as he’d learned from his encounter with the Inamuri but with each passing day, he wondered how long the mission would be permanently bogged down in this region. If there was quicksand in the Gamma Quadrant, they’d flown into it.

As he half listened to M’Yeoh’s quasi-intelligible explanations about how and why the trade might have failed, Vaughn reviewed the day, from the beginning, and tried to figure out where he mis stepped.

Early in the Consortium’s thirty-hour day, Vaughn and Minister M’Yeoh obtained the proper permits for trading on the Exchange, the forum where loads were traded. M’Yeoh took Vaughn to meet the broker—a mild-mannered Legelian named Runir—who would represent them on the Exchange floor. Runir handled the Yrythny accounts. From the plush divans to marbled-glass light fixtures, he appeared to successfully manage the accounts of other clients as well. Maybe this is where we fell down—all the documentation we signed off on had to be translated into Federation standard. If our translators missed cultural nuances…He shook his head, knowing they had to solve this problem quickly.

“Can we resubmit our bid tomorrow?” Vaughn asked, loathing the prospect of wasting more days attempting to devise an alternative defense to the web weapons.

M’Yeoh pushed his hands up into caftan sleeves, pinching his mouth into a tight line. “I think not. We start over.”

“Runir must earn profit by the word,” Nog groused. “But the thing that doesn’t make sense…” He twisted his lobe between his thumb and forefinger as his voice trailed off. When he realized Vaughn, Prynn and M’Yeoh waited for him to complete his sentence, he grinned broadly. “Never mind. It’s nothing. I still say we should reuse the contract.”

Vaughn recognized that look. Nog was on to something. Thankfully, his chief engineer knew when not to finish a sentence.

And Nog was right. It had been a perfectly decent contract. He had examined it with an eye to every possible deceitful angle and found nothing. Initially, Nog had been invited to join Vaughn and M’Yeoh to evaluate the metallurgical quality of available matter loads. His radiant face as he’d watched Vaughn and Runir wheeling and dealing proved that you can take a Ferengi out of commerce, but you can’t take the commerce out of the Ferengi. The femtobot simulations back on the Avarilwere all but forgotten as Nog had hung on Runir’s explanations, constantly interrupting the trader with nitpicky questions: “What are the currency units?” “Who sets the exchange rates?” and the finer points of the Exchange’s bartering protocols. Nog’s willingness to do most of the talking had allowed Vaughn to keep his eye on M’Yeoh, look for any hint of impropriety. He hadn’t forgotten the tactics employed by the Yrythny back on Luthia, or discounted the fact that the Defianthad been illicitly boarded within hours of the Avaril’s launch. Surrendering the acquisition issues to Nog served both of their causes. Even the needs of their other companion, Prynn, appeared to be met as she enjoyed every hour away from Avaril.

Cabin fever had started taking root when the relentless engineering repairs, disrupted routine, and being caged aboard the Avarilbegan to wear on the crew. Morale had steadily declined since leaving Luthia and he sympathized. As a goodwill gesture, Vaughn had offered the “break” as a poker bet in last night’s game. Prynn rode a lucky streak to a win. Who’d have guessed my own daughter would turn out to be a card sharp?For the others, mini-shore leave would come after business was taken care of.

Except now it appears business won’t be taken care of,he thought. Shoulder to shoulder, aliens blocked Vaughn from being able to see how much distance separated them from the Core’s Central Business District. He leaned off to the side only to have his view obstructed by clouds of chemical coolants bursting from cracked conduits.

Behind him, M’Yeoh muttered a question that Vaughn couldn’t hear over the racket. “Excuse me, Minister, but would you repeat that?”

“Runir,” M’Yeoh sniffed, “believes that depressed interstellar commerce has reduced the demand for the starcharts and navigational data, even though the information you offered is unparalleled in this sector. Our explorations simply haven’t taken us as far as yours have.”

“What I can trade, I’ve offered. I’ve nothing else,” Vaughn said firmly.

“There’s always something,” M’Yeoh said, “If the need is desperate enough.”

The slidewalk ended. They walked with the anonymous masses into the sweltering Core quad. Stalls sandwiched between kiosks and store fronts hawked spangled jewelry and object d’artinterspersed with much less innocent contraband. Vaughn suspected the services of prostitutes and slaves were as easy to purchase as gaudy earrings. M’Yeoh led them to a booth out of the traffic flow, presumably to regroup.

Once seated, M’Yeoh twisted the sleeves of his government robe, his expression puckered; the Yrythny appeared to be legitimately miserable. Runir’s failure cast aspersions on M’Yeoh’s competency. Explaining to his superiors back home why the mission to the Consortium failed would be unpleasant. But Vaughn didn’t give a damn whose fault it was—he just wanted it fixed.

The group scooted into the half-circle booth, the rubbery seat coverings sticking to their uniforms. A dingy globe rested in the table’s center, providing minimal muddy light to see by. Nog hastily lifted his tricorder after discovering gummy residue on the table’s surface. Prynn’s hands stayed safely in her lap.

Vaughn shooed away a drink server; the time to unwind would come later. Time to reassert his authority—he’d followed M’Yeoh’s lead long enough. “Prynn, Nog. Head back to the Avaril.Rerun those femtobot simulations and see if there’s something we’ve overlooked—maybe an alternative deployment method that won’t require the degree of structural integrity we’re looking for. We may have to take our chances with whatever we have on hand.”

Nog failed to veil a dubious expression, but accepted Vaughn’s order with a nod.

His beady eyes darting from side to side, M’Yeoh hunched closer to Vaughn. “There are still some who might help you. No legal protection. Very dangerous, but you could see—”

“Belay that,” Vaughn called to Nog and Prynn, then turned back to M’Yeoh. “Back up a step, Minister. Say that again.” Vaughn interrupted, knowing if he didn’t the minister might yammer on endlessly without reaching his intended point.

He gulped and whispered, “A shadow trader.”

“You mean a freelancer. An unauthorized broker,” Vaughn guessed.

Minister M’Yeoh nodded.

Now that’s interesting,Vaughn thought. “Tell me more.”

“It’s a dangerous undertaking,” the minister stressed. “We could be duped if we link up with the wrong one.” M’Yeoh nervously scanned the crowds, presumably for hostile elements. “But they don’t trade what they don’t have. Find the right one, you’ll have your load.” Sweat drizzled off his forehead; he dabbed at it with his sleeve, his gray-brown skin took on a decidedly paler hue.

Vaughn exchanged looks with his chief engineer. He was counting on Nog’s acute listening skills to pick up nuances in the business discussions that Vaughn might miss. Nog looked intrigued, but suspicious.