Grok sat at the conn, whistling a tune. Mara sat at her station, twiddling with a shuriken. T’Aer was there too, sitting center chair. Belowdeck, Cassius was with the cargo and Gunnar was with the engines. It was just another day in paradise.

Except it wasn’t.

This was a smuggler’s run, not of goods, but of people, twelve Starfleet officers from the USS Polaris and the USS Diligent stashed away in the cargo hold.

“I really thought there’d be a bit more firepower,” Mara offered as she looked out the front viewer at the Vaadwaur ships hanging in orbit. Three Manasa class gunboats. That was all the Vaadwar had in the skies over Kyban. “Grok, you could probably straight-run this meager excuse for a blockade if you wanted.”

“It’d make for some cheap thrills, but it’d be short lived,” Grok pointed out. “An armada would be here in a jiffy to track us down.” That was the thing about the Vaadwaur. It wasn’t their firepower that gave them strength. It was their ability to use the Underspace to project their forces from one place to another in the blink of an eye.

“Kyban also gave itself over willingly, and there’s been little resistance since they rounded up the Starfleet personnel,” T’Aer pointed out. “They have bigger problems than this backwater world.” Which was good for the team stowed away aboard the SS Lucre, since this backwater was their ticket onto Archanis Station.

“Bodes well for us once we penetrate their exterior security, I suppose,” Mara mused. “Hopefully security is just as light on the surface.” Intelligence passed along for Kyban suggested as much, that the Vaadwaur sentries were mostly there just to mind the labor camps, but you really only knew once you got there.

“Well, about that… we got one gunboat on approach,” reported Grok. “It’s showtime.” The other two gunboats were hanging back, likely protocol in case someone tried to make a dash planet-side. Not that they would try such a move. This wasn’t their first rode. Just stick to the script. They were simply a group of freewheeling merchants happy to deal to whomever was willing to pay.

“They’re hailing,” Mara announced.

“On screen,” ordered T’Aer.

A gruff Vaadwaur commander appeared before them, his beady eyes darting. A Ferengi, a Vulcan, and a human, dressed in dregs, and a ship that looked little better. He’d seen many like this freighter over the last few weeks as the Supremacy put out a call for materials, offering a kind sum of currency stolen from their conquered worlds in exchange. It was a temporary fix, until they could fully assert their supremacy over the Alpha and Beta Quadrants. “Inbound ship, identify yourself.”

“Independent freighter Lucre, registry SS-1404, on approach to Kyban to make delivery of a cargo shipment,” T’Aer said in a business-like tone.

“We called ahead,” Grok added eagerly from the conn. He could play the part of a greedy merchant when it suited their needs.

“Yes, I am aware that you did,” the Vaadwaur replied, eying the Ferengi with a scrutinous glare. He didn’t like their kind. Personally, he’d have preferred to control the entire supply chain, but right now, scum like these were a necessary evil as the Vaadwaur could only stretch themselves so far. Still, there’d come a time in the not too distant future that he looked forward to seeing all of them bow before the might of the Supremacy. “Slow to one quarter impulse, lower your shields, and prepare to be boarded for inspection.”

“Slowing to one quarter impulse and lowering shields,” T’Aer complied as the others went about making it so. Sure, they had a dozen Starfleet officers tucked away in the hold, but she wasn’t concerned. This was expected, and frankly, it was good news. An inspection in orbit meant the ground presence might be as limited as they hoped, simplifying the actual insertion.

As the shields came down, the dark bridge began to shimmer, and then, as the shimmer faded, there stood among them a half dozen heavily armed Vaadwaur soldiers.

“Welcome to the Lucre, my friends!” Grok offered in a gregarious baritone as he rose from his station to greet their guests.

But the Vaadwaur had no interest in him. 

Instead, one simply pushed him to the side and beelined it for the Vulcan, shoving a scanner in her face. A green beam projected out, mapping her face’s structure and form.

T’Aer stood there, letting it happen.

Eventually, the Vaadwaur soldier stepped away. “She’s clean,” he reported. “No match to Starfleet personnel records.” That’s what this was about. They had access to the Starfleet personnel database from the other stations and worlds they’d taken, and they were using it to limit insurgency risk.

Another soldier scanned the woman at the ops station. She didn’t look anything like a Starfleet officer between the blue hair, the crop top, and the leather jacket, and the scan reported as much. “This one’s clear too.”

Satisfied that the bridge crew was who they said they were – or at least that they weren’t undercover Starfleet officers – the Vaadwaur proceeded down into the belly of the Lucre, systematically inspecting each compartment. Their job was to confirm that the ship carried what it said it carried, and that there weren’t any stowaways that might cause them problems.

In the engine bay, they found Gunnar Androvski, but he was uninteresting. The weathered face of a man down on his luck came back without a match.

Descending further, eventually they reached the Lucre’s voluminous cargo bay. This would be the moment of truth. Cassius Stone was there, waiting to greet them. With dreads and tattoos, he certainly didn’t look Starfleet, but still, they scanned him. He too came back clean.

One of the soldiers walked up to a shoulder-high storage crate. “What’s in these?”

“Duranium, magnesite and bilitrium,” Cassius replied deferentially. “Our goods for delivery to your Supremacy.” He hovered close, though, ready to strike at the first sign of trouble.

“What’s wrong with my scanner?” the Vaadwaur soldier asked as he showed it to one of the others.

“Oh, that’s probably the magnesite,” Cassius shrugged nonchalantly, as if it was normal. “Does a number on them. Prolly why it’s in such high demand for this little war of yours.” He kept his tone ambivalent as he popped the crate open so they could look at it.

Just a pile of ore filled to the brim. Or so it was made to look.

The Vaadwaur soldier reached in and ran his hand through it, small fragments of rock and dust running between his fingers. “Alright, close it back up.”

“Same’s true for the others,” Cassius added as he walked over to another and popped it open.

Again, rocks right to the brim.

“Want to check the rest?” Cassius offered.

“No, that will be fine,” the Vaadwaur soldier stepped away. This job was quite unsatisfying, inspecting freighter after freighter, day after day, rather than fighting the finest forces the quadrant could muster. “We’re done here.”

And a moment later, in a shimmer of light, the Vaadwaur were gone, the Lucre allowed to proceed.

That was the beauty of magnesite. It distorted the lifesigns of the stowaways buried beneath it, and lulled into a false sense of confidence, and bored by the lackluster assignment, they’d failed to dig deep enough. They’d failed to find the team sent to unwind their hold on the sector.