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?”