A bustling marketplace on the promenade, filled with shops, kiosks, and makeshift stands where merchants and traders interact with travelers and locals. The air is thick with the scent of cooked food, the acrid tang of burning plasma from repair stalls, and a faint mustiness from leaking vents.

Walking through the crowd, a calm figure surveyed the scene, her glittering eyes taking in the lively atmosphere. It had only been a few weeks since her reassignment to this station, but Palema was enjoying every second of it. A former Romulan Republic officer, now a Starfleet diplomat, she was still adjusting to station life. However, she wasn’t here to absorb culture, she was here on a mission.

Approaching the table she had reserved at a café on the upper promenade, Palema spotted her invited guests. She settled into her seat, dressed in casual civilian clothing, blending into the surroundings.

“Mister Pash, Madam Hirni, thank you for your time and willingness to speak with me. I am Palema.”

Both Ferengi merchants looked uneasy, their posture tense. They had been hesitant to meet, but recent Starfleet actions had offered a glimmer of hope.

Pash tsked, shaking his head, glancing around nervously as if being watched. Hirni spoke first, leaning forward.

“We’ll see how this goes,” she said softly. “Business is declining for us, well, for those who don’t pay the Syndicate’s…” She made a sarcastic gesture with her fingers. “Security fees. Because if we don’t, our shipments mysteriously go missing.”

The conversation had started, slow and cautious, but moving forward.

Hecate Communication Center
The dimly lit control center was lined with LCARS consoles, where intercepted merchant transmissions and encrypted messages were decrypted and analyzed.

Asipa hummed softly, standing over one of the consoles, eyes scanning the data feed.

“These messages seem normal,” she murmured, leaning in, frowning. “But certain words… seem off.”

Some words in the message didn’t fit the context, as if embedded with hidden meaning.

Her eyes skimmed the text again:

“Loyalty is rewarded.”
“Consistency ensures prosperity.”
“Make wise decisions.”
“Without the support they once relied upon.”
Asipa’s brows furrowed. None of these phrases flowed naturally in the message. It was coded.

Then she spotted something worse, a message addressed to Hirni.

“Unexpected setbacks.”
“Choices are remembered.”

Asipa stiffened. Hirni was being watched.

With a sharp exhale, she tapped the console, encrypting a message. She had to warn Palema immediately.

Promenade – Café Meeting
Palema chuckled politely at a clumsy customer, allowing the conversation to flow naturally. Even Pash had begun to contribute, loosening his nerves.

A quiet beep from her wrist device caught her attention. She glanced at the message from Asipa, then looked back at Hirni, her expression remaining neutral.

“Would you be able to show me those fine clothes?” Palema asked smoothly. “I’ve been meaning to add something unique to my wardrobe. Mister Pash, perhaps you could join us? I’d love to hear more about the trinkets you sell.”

Hirni blinked at the sudden request but saw no harm in it.

“Oh, absolutely!” she said, standing up eagerly. “I have the best clothing in this quadrant, some pieces even favored by the Empire!” Her sales pitch kicked in as she led the way.

“Fine…” Pash rolled his eyes. “For the record, I sell the best trinkets, some quite rare.” He eyed Palema warily. “All legal in Federation space, of course.”

“Of course.” Palema smiled, keeping her posture relaxed, her mind alert.

They walked toward Hirni’s shop, and Palema carefully noted if they were being followed.

Hirni’s Shop

The shop was small but well-kept, filled with vibrant textiles and trinkets carefully displayed on shelves.

Palema kept her tone light, complimenting the decorations, but pressed forward.

“Oh, you mentioned you had exclusive pieces in the back?” She smiled. “I insist on seeing them.”

Hirni hesitated for a split second but nodded.

“Right… yes, of course. This way.”

The backroom was small, cluttered with crates and supplies, lit only by a single overhead lamp. As soon as the door closed, Palema dropped her friendly facade and became serious.

She turned, voice firm but calm. “I received a message from Communications, you’re being watched by the Syndicate. Talking to me puts you at risk.”

Hirni froze, hands gripping her arms protectively.

“I knew it! I never should have done this!” Pash hissed, turning toward the door, but Palema stepped in his way.

“Out of my way, Starfleet! I’m not risking my neck for this!”

Palema’s eyes locked onto his, steady and unwavering.

“Think for a moment, Mister Pash.” Her voice was cool. “If you rush out now, knowing they’re watching this store, they’ll know something is wrong. You’ll be their next target.”

Pash hesitated. The realization sank in. He backed up, visibly shaken.

“Rest assured,” Palema turned to Hirni, her voice gentler now. “We are here to make sure this madness stops. If you have information that can help, now is the time.”

Hirni’s hands trembled, but she slowly nodded.

“The Syndicate uses lower-deck warehouses to hoard supplies. They control the access to food, medicine, and repair materials.” She swallowed. “If you don’t play by their rules, you don’t get what you need to survive.”

“Shut it, woman! You’ll get us both killed!” Pash hissed, his fear overtaking him. He turned to Palema, his expression desperate.

“Your presence is making things worse,” he whispered, his voice shaking. “The last merchant who spoke with Starfleet was beaten nearly to death in the lower decks.”

Palema’s stomach tightened at the statement, but she kept her face neutral.

“We know the risks,” she said softly. “But if this continues, Hecate Station will collapse, literally.” She referenced the near-collapse of the promenade beams days ago. “Starfleet will not abandon the merchants.”

Hirni stared at her for a long moment, torn.

“I…” Her voice wavered. “I’ll help, limited support, but I won’t risk my business without protection.”

Pash shook his head.

“This is madness. I urge you not to return to these shops with your crazy ideas. Starfleet will turn their backs on us, and the Syndicate will punish us.”

He brushed past Palema toward the door, turning with one last spiteful remark.

“My trinkets are far better than these cheap clothes, anyway. Your loss!” He left the store in a loud huff, making a scene to cover his exit.

Palema sighed, placing a reassuring hand on Hirni’s shoulder.

“We will be here.”

Lower Decks – Syndicate Safehouse
A Syndicate lieutenant lounged in a dimly lit safehouse, watching surveillance footage of Palema’s meeting with the merchants.

He smirked, shaking his head.

“Starfleet is trying to play politics,” he mused. “Let’s remind them who really runs this station.”

He snapped his fingers. A henchman immediately left the room.

The next morning, Hirni stood frozen, her eyes locked on the vandalized shop door.

Carved into the metal in jagged, deliberate strokes were the words:

“TALK TO STARFLEET. LOSE EVERYTHING.”