Chapter 9: Marketplace of Flesh

We materialized onto the surface directly within the bustling Kestrel Freeport. Both my first officer and I maintained our disguises, consciously avoiding any posture or mannerism that might betray our Starfleet origins. We surveyed our surroundings—I scanned the crowded marketplace to the right while Garrett scrutinized the area to our left.

It was teeming with activity - markets, hotels, and entertainment districts sprawling outward in a chaotic tapestry that merchants called paradise. “Let’s get moving, Gorvak!” I shot Garrett a knowing smirk. He gestured with his hand, offering a gallant sweep toward the crowd. “After you, Kravina ... goddess of the stars,” he said, his tone laced with playful mockery.

I adopted the swagger of someone accustomed to navigating dangerous worlds dominated by men—a persona that required ruthlessness, inflexibility, and a calculated blend of audacity and allure. In other words, I became more myself than ever.

My hips swayed deliberately as I surveyed the crowd, my gaze catching on Garrett’s unmoving form behind me. He’d frozen mid-stride, his focus clearly diverted from our objective. “Gorvak!” I snapped sharply. He startled at my tone and quickly fell into step beside me.

“I have my tricorder,” he murmured, shifting uncomfortably, “but I don’t want to look like Starfleet.” His eyes darted across the crowded market as I scanned our surroundings. “There’s an alleyway beside that entertainment complex,” I noted, subtly directing our path toward the narrow passage between structures. We moved with purpose, blending into the flow of foot traffic while maintaining our disguised identities.

As we passed the complex, the establishment’s true nature became glaringly obvious. A motley assortment of patrons—Klingons, Bolians, Benzites, Trills, and even a few Humans—flowed in and out. All male. I rolled my eyes at the predictability of it all. Glancing upward, a garish sign proclaimed “Cosmic Curves” with a smaller inscription beneath that read “We do not discriminate.”

“Hey there mister, I can give you a good time for a hundred credits,” a voice propositioned suddenly. Both Garrett and I turned in unison toward the source of the offer. His eyes widened perceptibly as we took in the sight of an Andorian female whose attire made my own provocative dress seem conservative by comparison. She stood before us with practiced confidence, her antennae twitching slightly as she awaited a response to her brazen solicitation.

Her fingers slithered onto Garrett’s shoulder in a proprietary caress. My hand shot out like a striking viper, clamping around her wrist as I yanked her close until our faces nearly touched. “Get lost,” I snarled, each word dripping with venom, “or I’ll rip those pretty antennas clean off your head.” Her eyes flared wide in shock before she wrenched free. “Fine,” she spat over her shoulder while retreating. “You can have him.”

I hauled Garrett toward the alleyway. He braced himself against the wall as I pressed close, my palm flat against the rough surface near his head, my face inches from his while keeping watch. His tricorder whirred softly as he activated it.

“Anything?”

“Nothing within this range,” he murmured, eyes fixed on the device. “Long-range sensors still can’t penetrate this crowd interference. We need to keep moving.” I nodded curtly, my gaze locking onto his as I pressed closer against the alley wall. A beat of charged silence passed between us before I demanded, low and fierce, “Did you find her attractive?”

“There’s no time for that now Kravina,” he said, already moving away with conspicuous haste.

As we merged with the pedestrian flow along the sidewalk, I noted the numerous Ferengi traders operating openly among the crowd. This extraction wouldn’t be simple. “We need to locate potential dealers,” I muttered, scanning the surroundings with focused intensity. Garrett responded without breaking stride, his voice low and measured. “Direct inquiries would draw suspicion. Dealers typically approach likely customers.”

Garrett indicated another adult establishment across the thoroughfare, observing, “Numerous Ferengi frequent that location.” Following his gaze before meeting his eyes, I simply stated, “Proceed,” as we moved toward the garish neon sign proclaiming `Jiggly Bits`.

As we stepped inside Jiggly Bits, the dim interior assaulted us with strobing lights that cut through the haze of synth-smoke. The air hung thick with the scent of cheap alcohol and cheaper perfume. Patrons radiated aggressive masculinity as they clustered around small tables, their attention locked on the raised platform where a Trill and Bolian dancer moved in skimpy outfits under the harsh glare of spotlights.

“Find us a table,” I whispered sharply. Garrett scanned the crowded room before turning back to me with a tight shake of his head. “They’re all occupied.”

My eyes narrowed as I gave an exasperated roll of my shoulders. “You’re supposed to be Gorvak, remember? My enforcer. Start acting like one.”

“Fine.”

Garrett moved through the crowded tables, his sharp eyes assessing each patron. He settled on a small Orion male occupying a prime spot near the stage. Without hesitation, he grabbed the man by the collar and hauled him upright, bringing them face-to-face. “Excuse me, but you’re in our seat,” Garrett growled before shoving him aside to stumble back into the crowd.

My eyebrow arched as he pulled out the chair for me. I sat, and he claimed the one beside me. “Impressive, Gorvak,” I murmured, letting dry amusement color my tone. “For a moment there, I thought you might actually try reasoning with him.”

A large Klingon male staggered toward our table, clearly deep in his bloodwine. “Pathetic human!” he bellowed, swaying slightly. “Preying on the weak! Perhaps you could entertain me instead?” Garrett shot me a tense glance, his hand drifting toward the concealed weapon at his back as the drunken warrior loomed over us.

I gave a sharp shake of my head to stop him and fixed the Klingon with a cold stare. “You’d better leave, you peh-TAK,” I shouted over the din, “or you’ll be crawling out of here.” The drunken warrior roared in outrage and lunged forward. Garrett moved instantly, catching the Klingon in a headlock and driving a knee hard into his gut. A sharp elbow between the shoulder blades sent the warrior crumpling to the floor with a guttural groan.

“Get this peh-TAK out of my sight!” Garrett roared at no one in particular before turning to me, his expression shifting to wry exasperation. “A little warning next time you plan to provoke a Klingon would be appreciated,” he muttered under his breath.

I couldn’t suppress a satisfied smirk as I watched the drunken warrior being dragged away. “Effective, wouldn’t you agree?”

In the shadowed corner of the establishment, I spotted a Ferengi reclining while a woman massaged his ears. Something in his posture suggested more than mere relaxation—a telltale ease that often follows closing a profitable deal. I nudged Garrett and inclined my head toward the Ferengi.

As he glanced over, he remarked, “Isn’t that considered a bit taboo in a public place?” I punched his arm lightly. “That’s not what I mean—he looks too at ease, like he’s just closed a deal.”

“We need to find out his name.”

Garrett immediately grabbed a passerby by the collar and slammed him onto our table. “What the hell?” the man sputtered as Garrett gestured for me to question him. “What’s that Ferengi’s name over there?”

“N ... Nogrix Vant,” he stammered. At my nod, Garrett released him. The man stumbled backward, straightening his tunic with shaky hands as he retreated. “All you had to do was ask!” he called over his shoulder before disappearing into the crowd.