A Nice Boy Like Me

"Do you suppose he'll need his wife?" Daffy asked Uhura.

"I don't know, but I'm guessing he'll need a servant."

"Will Gage and Mr. Beauty come into the picture?"

"The complaint is from the Havens."

"Oh goodie. My supply of Rigellian is down to just over two kilograms." Pavel Chekov sighed. He was sitting in the messhall with Uhura and Daphne Gollub and, just as they had years ago, before the mission to Kelincar, they were ignoring him. "The captain did not mention either of you," he said, mostly to himself.

"And I really think he'll have to grow his hair at least a little," Uhura continued.

"Maybe not down to the middle of his back," Daffy mused. "Styles must have changed in four years."

"Oh, I'm sure he'll do all the necessary research," Uhura stated, with a sly grin at the navigator.

"I think," Pavel announced, "that the two of you are enjoying this far too much. I will be in charge of the mission this time."

"Of course you will, bubee," Gollub soothed, then turned back to Uhura. "You can mention all this to the captain, can't you?"

"I've already included it in the day's communications," Uhura assured.

Chekov sighed again.

The official briefing was called two days later. Chekov was disheartened but unsurprised to find that Uhura and Daphne had, indeed, been included. What did surprise him was to see Security Chief Paget there as well. Commander Spock began with a repeat of the situation in general, then went on.

"The Enterprise will be in orbit around Alpha Urada III within twenty-four hours," Spock said. "The technological level of this planet is significantly higher than that of Kelincar, though they have, for as yet unknown reasons, maintained the trappings of a feudal society. The Uradans are, however, aware of other starfaring races - the Havens and Klingons, most notably."

"Oy vey," Daffy muttered.

The First Officer, as usual, ignored her comment. "You will be transported to the largest city, Nazanin," Spock continued, "which, according to the best Haven intelligence -"

The chemist snorted.

"- is a likely base of operations for the rogue traders. Your first objective will be to ascertain whether or not there is, indeed, illegal activity involved with those traders." The Vulcan paused for a moment. "While it is unlikely in the extreme that you will encounter anyone who might recognize you from Kelincar - barring, of course, the Ambassador and Mr. Rand - the name Pasol Chavask has become familiar to traders in this sector. Therefore, Mr. Chekov, you will again assume that identity, with Miss Gollub as your spouse and Miss Uhura as your former servant, now freed assistant."

"Aw, no nose ring," Gollub commented sympathetically.

Spock again let the extraneous verbiage pass in silence. "Mr. Paget will accompany you as your personal security," he said, which explained the Security Chief's presence. "Due to the political sensitivity of the region, he will be attired as a renegade Klingon."

"Shit," Paget grumbled under his breath.

"My sympathies, Mr. Paget," the First Officer acknowledged. "If your investigation does reveal unethical trading practices, you will gather all relevant and necessary evidence and return to the ship. Under no circumstances are you to initiate contact with the Havens on your own."

"And if they contact us?" Chekov asked.

"Discreetly advise them that you are on a clandestine mission and if they have questions, to contact the Enterprise," was Spock's reply. He pushed forward a data tape to each of the other officers. "These contain individual data necessary for your new identities. Pay particular attention to the details of clothing, accessories and personal belongings. Since the rogue traders know of the Havens, they may well be familiar with other Federation customs as well. It is imperative that they do not suspect your presence, as if that occurs, they will likely destroy any evidence the Havens require. As Alpha Urada III was once a nominal member of the Haven Trading Empire, they are considered a Federation protectorate, under the Empire's supervision. The last thing we desire is for the Havens to take matters into their own hands." The Vulcan glanced at each crewmember in turn. "Are there any questions?"

"I have a question, sir," Chekov volunteered. "I would like to know how my Kelincaran identity became known outside of that planet."

Spock actually frowned. "Apparently, Mr. Chekov, the Ambassador has used it on several occasions in stories indicating that the Kalee was outsmarted by a simple but extraordinarily clever merchant. It seems to have enhanced his reputation as a shrewd judge of character, since he also claims to have aided and abetted your monetary victories."

The Russian's face colored slightly at the words 'extraordinarily clever.' "But Commander Spock, what monetary victories does Ambassador Gage claim to have…"

"You found a pure source for chitalia, gave your servant to the Kalee to be his concubine, then vanished with the Kalee's trade goods, the chitalia source, and your servant - all without a trace," the First Officer replied.

"Sir," Uhura chimed in, "isn't that apt to make our reappearance a little dangerous?"

"Unlikely, unless the Kelincarans now have knowledge of off-world trading."

"And that's what I'm for," Paget said with a toothy grin.

"And Gage takes credit for our spectacular success, huh?" Daffy made a face. "Opportunistic bastard."

"Daphne, that is no way to speak about a Federation ambassador," Chekov chided. Gollub rolled her eyes.

Spock again reclaimed their attention. "If there are no more questions…" He again paused. When no one spoke, he nodded. "You have just under twenty-four hours to prepare. Mr. Paget, Doctors Han and McCoy await you in Sickbay to make the necessary surgical and cosmetic alterations. That will be all."

Jeremy Paget adjusted the leather baldric across his chest, redid the lacing of the grey tunic beneath it. He tugged at its lower edge, then at the lower edge of the short-sleeved brown over-tunic, which came barely to mid-thigh. He stomped his feet in the cuffed brown boots, then grumbled, "What kind of a name is 'Kring' anyway?"

"Klingon, I would imagine," Uhura replied off-handedly. Her costume was simple and sedate; a square-necked linen underdress with brown netting at the torso, topped by a brown, full-length jacket, its bell-sleeves cinched at the upper arms by a wide strip of linen.

"But if you put the Indiian honorific at the end, it would be 'kringe,'" Daffy put in, pronouncing it not like an Indiian 'krin-gay' but like the Anglo 'cringe.' "And you'd be all into Indiians, huh, Jer?" she added wickedly.

"Not without Kam's permission," Paget returned easily. Daffy scowled at his blasé handling of her taunt.

"It's a better name than Uhn," Uhura rejoined, returning the conversation to its original topic. "But Daffy adores being Mrs. Chavask."

Daffy smiled and primped. "And what's not to adore being the wife of a wealthy merchant?" She made an elegant turn, the full skirt of her gold-colored gown sweeping elegantly around her feet.

"Well, considering it's Tovarish…" Jeremy began.

"Besides, Kring is a good, strong Klingon name," Uhura again interjected. "Better than some of the alternatives."

"Yeah, you could've been named Krass," Daffy snorted.

"Or Krude," the Communications Officer added.

"Again with the honorifics," Daffy giggled. "How about just Krud?"

"Kallous," Uhura said.

"Krummy."

"Krazy."

"Kreepy"

"Krappy."

"Kvetch."

"I could've been Killer," Paget put in, none too subtly.

"Or Kam?" the chemist suggested innocently.

Uhura chuckled, then added slyly. "There's always Kirk."

The door to the transporter room hissed open and the mission commander stepped in. The three other officers stared. Chekov had been transformed into an obvious force to be reckoned with. His hair was slicked back, no trace of the boyish bangs he usually wore. The neat modified goatee gave him an air of authority, and the blue and gold belted tunic spoke of understated wealth. It suited him much better than had the garish shirt, vest and jacket combination of the mission to Kelincar. Like Jeremy, he wore leggings and boots, though his were of blue suede to match the blue of his tunic.

"You have all studied the tapes Mr. Spock gave you?" he asked in a firm, no-nonsense voice.

"Kring at your service, Master Chavask," Jeremy said. His voice was Klingon-harsh, stern and uncompromising.

Uhura curtseyed. "Your assistant, Uhn," she said.

"And your loving, devoted, and don't take that too literally, wife, Dasha," Daffy added.

Chekov blinked. The chemist's appearance took his breath away. The bodice of her gown was tightly cinched, its deep 'V' neckline exposing most of her cleavage and all of her upper chest. The collar swept up her neck, the short cap-sleeves coming to points of cloth that were turned up. The bottom hugged her hips over the full, flowing skirt. "Dafshka, you look lovely," the Russian managed.

She smiled, sidling over to him, obviously appraising. "You're no slouch yourself, bubee," she murmured, then held up her skirt to his tunic. "Look. We're all matchy."

"So we are," he said, smiling back at her. It took him a second, but he managed to tear his eyes away from her. He glanced at the transporter pads. "This is our equipment?" he asked.

"All checked and ready for beaming," Paget said.

"I've arranged for a carriage," Uhura added. "It will be waiting at the beam-down point."

"Excellent," Chekov said, then held out his arm to Daffy. "Shall we proceed?"

Daffy gave Uhura a significant look. Uhura shrugged. Jeremy picked up the large machete-like weapon he had set against the bulkhead and the four officers stepped onto the transport platform.

This time around, they had no trouble securing lodging, and neither Daffy nor Uhura had to bribe the innkeeper with anything. One look at their obvious wealth - and at Paget's Klingon scowl - and they were given the inn's most luxurious suite: three bedrooms and an expansive sitting room. Pavel still grunted at the outlay of local currency, and Daffy frowned at him, but apparently it was exactly the right tactic to use. As Chekov laboriously explained once they were situated in their suite.

"A merchant does not become wealthy by squandering his assets," he intoned. "The innkeeper would have become suspicious - or greedy - if I had acted otherwise."

"I told you he'd do his research," Uhura put in.

"I hope that doesn't mean I can't order room service," Daffy said.

"I don't think they have it available…" Jeremy began, but was interrupted by a knock at the door. He sighed, pushing himself up from the chair he'd sprawled in, and went to answer it.

A very pretty young girl stood there, a basket of fruit and bread in her arms, an equally pretty boy with a jug of wine right behind her. "It was thought you might be hungry after such a long journey," the girl said. Her voice was breathlessly sensual. "With the landlord's compliments."

"And wine's always good for the constitution," the boy added in a tone of charming suggestion.

Jeremy grunted, taking the basket and jug. When the two young Uradans just stood in the doorway, smiling at him, he asked, "And is there anything else?"

"If our services are needed, you have only to call for us," the boy replied, and smiled seductively up at the security officer.

Hiding a grin, Paget turned to Chekov. "Master Chavask," he said, "Do you need bedwarmers?"

Daffy snickered, and Uhura lowered her head to conceal her own smile. To their surprise, the navigator strode to the door, glancing critically at the two young people.

"Too young," he sniffed in the same superior tone with which he'd explained his earlier behavior. "And I do not care for boys of any age." He turned, obviously dismissing them both, then added, "but if you feel the need, Kring…" He let the sentence hang in the air.

Jeremy dutifully looked the two over, noting that they had both paled. "No," he stated bluntly. "Too fragile." Then he smiled wickedly at the children, which sent them scurrying away.

"Dasha, please scan that food and wine for unwanted additives," Pavel instructed.

Daffy's eyes were wide.

"My my, aren't you authoritative," Uhura commented.

"Such a gesture might only be intended to be ingratiating," Chekov told her, "but it is not out of the question for an Uradan innkeeper to want to have an opportunity to investigate a rich merchant's belongings undisturbed."

"He's right," Paget said wryly.

"Now I know why Mrs. Spock loves it when her husband talks that way," Daffy murmured.

"You've never been on a landing detail with those two, so a fair word of warning," Uhura said quietly to Paget as he inspected their rooms for unauthorized listening devices. "They bicker, they squabble, they argue until you want to kill them both. They usually make up just before it's time to go to bed."

"Convenient," Paget snorted, "but I was on a detail with them. Undercover loonies."

"Ah, yes, that's right," Uhura returned. "I'd forgotten."

"Wish I could," was the Security Officer's response.

Uhura sidled closer to him. "Was it really as bad as rumor has it?"

"Worse." Then he turned to face her, grinning. "For one thing, you weren't there."

"Don't smile," she said blithely. "It's out of character and it looks creepy."

"And here I thought you might be persuaded to give me something to smile about," Jeremy rejoined suggestively.

"I can, sugar," she said, running a sensual finger up his arm. "I will." She paused. "Unless my Haven Prince I-Love-My-Work shows up."

"Understood, ma'am," Paget said, then muttered, "not like I'm used to playin' second fiddle or nothin'."

"Oh, honey, I didn't mean it like that," Uhura sympathized. Paget grinned again.

"Just playin' the sour, ugly, irritable, easily disgruntled part, Miss Uhn."

Uhura frowned, but her eyes sparkled. Then both she and Jeremy turned at the sudden sharp sound of hands clapping together twice.

Chekov stood in the center of the room. "Kring?" he questioned.

"It's clear," Paget said, and Chekov sighed, his manner immediately becoming the efficient officer rather than the imperious master. With sudden approval, Uhura realized that that was precisely what his manner had been - the act of a supremely confident galaxy-class trader. He really did do his homework, she thought.

"The traders gather at a place called the Central Square at approximately three in the afternoon each workday," the Russian told them. "That is two hours from now. I will attend and gather what information I can. Mr. Paget, you will, of course, accompany me. Uhura, until I can ascertain whether or not aides are usually in attendance, you will stay here. I think it might be helpful for you and Daphne to go to the places where women usually gossip and see if there is anything to be learned from non-traditional sources."

"Can I buy things?" Daffy wanted to know.

Chekov reached into his belt, handing the chemist a small purse. "Do not be too ostentatious," he warned. "I am supposed to be well-to do, not have more money than God."

At the oblique reference, Daffy stuck out her tongue. Paget snorted. Uhura looked confused. "I'll explain it later, fruychik," Daffy promised and grabbed Uhura's hand. "Let's go."

'Where women usually gossiped' turned out to be an open-air bazaar centered around a beautiful fountain. Uhura and Daffy wandered around, looking at the stalls for a while, Daffy purchasing several pieces of jewelry and a well-made tunic for Pavel. Uhura was amazed at the easy way Daffy haggled with the merchants, and, when they went to the fountain to sit and enjoy a couple of cool drinks from one of the vendors, the Communications Officer said so.

Daffy shrugged. "That's the way things worked at home in the New York Jewish community," she said.

"It's an impressive skill," Uhura complimented. "And I think that tunic is going to look great on Master Chavask." She stressed the name just a little, knowing the chemist's penchant for ignoring things like secret identities. She wasn't too worried about 'New York Jewish community.' It was unlikely that anyone on Urada - even Klingons or Havens - would recognize it as Terran, even if they'd heard it.

"Yeah, you think so?"

There was en edge to her voice, and Uhura decided on the best defense.

"So," she said. "Things look like they're getting pretty serious between you two?"

"You know what they say about appearances," Daffy replied before admitting, "but yeah… there's a little serious-ish-ness.

"That's good." Uhura said, then shook her head. "You know, I'd never put the two of you together."

"You didn't," Gollub replied too quickly.

The Communications Officer recognized that tone, but passed it off with a laugh. "I guess not."

"Which is kind of funny, since you fixed him up with lots of girls," Gollub continued. "And we were friends and you had to have had some inkling that I was interested…"

Uhura shrugged. "It just didn't occur to me, honey."

"I guess I didn't fit the profile."

"There was a profile?"

"Pampered little shiksa princesses so fucking nice they sent diabetics into comas."

Uhura had to smile. "I guess you could lump them together that way."

"Which is also funny," Gollub continued. "Because that's not what he really likes."

"Oh, he liked all of them."

"But what he really likes is more of a challenge -- He likes a woman who knows her own mind."

"Like you," Uhura agreed.

"One who stands up for herself."

"Like you."

"He likes to be a little overwhelmed by a woman."

"Like you."

"What he really likes is a real ball breaker."

Uhura laughed. "Okay, sugar, I'm not going to say 'Like you' for that one."

"Why not?" Gollub turned to face her. "I'm going to say 'Like you.'"

"Oh..." The Communications Officer sighed deeply, recognizing that her best defense hadn't worked at all. "Are we really going to have this conversation?"

"At long last." Gollub nodded. "With the serious-ish-ness, I think we should."

"Why?"

"How long has he had a crush on you?"

Uhura shrugged and sighed.

"Ever since he came on the ship?"

"Three weeks before," Uhura confessed, her voice discretely lowered. "I was liaison officer for his batch of recruits... And you know how he likes to ask questions."

"He's not the only one."

"Daffy, sugar, there's no reason to be this insecure."

"Are you kidding? He and I have been together this long and there's only serious-ish-ness -- only now. Insecure is our relationship mascot."

"If I wanted him, then why would I have fixed him up with a parade of princesses?"

"Because A) you do like matchmaking that much. And B) you knew on some level that the relationships weren't going to work out and your little Russian puppy dog would come running back to you whenever you called."

Uhura frowned. "You see it like that?"

"I know whose shoulder he cries on when I kick him out."

"He's like a little brother to me."

"And your cabin door is open to this 'little brother' any time of the day… or night."

"Okay." Uhura drew in a deep breath. "He's a nice boy."

"So everyone thinks."

"And I do like him."

"Yes, you do."

"And I have always liked him."

"And he has always been willing to jump through hoops of fire for you."

"And if anything was going to happen between the two of us, it would have already happened."

"And it hasn't?"

"There's always been one little problem."

"Which is?"

"He's a nice boy."

"And?"

The Communications Officer smiled. "And I like ball breakers."

Daffy considered this, then nodded. "Security does seem to be your particular niche, bubee, what with Mr. Beauty and - uh - Kring."

Uhura laughed, glad of Daffy's discretion as a couple of Uradan women came and sat down at the fountain beside them.

"Do you believe that?" the first woman said. "Only ten creesos for this entire bolt of cloth! I'll be able to make matching dresses for all my daughters!"

The second woman nodded happily. All my Venri does is complain about the trade war and how it's ruining his business. But I swear it's a gift from Emali Himself!

"Or Devri Himself?" the first woman returned slyly.

The second giggled, flushing. "Hush, Treni, you know it's bad luck to invoke Haven deities."

"Better luck than invoking Kli…"

"Now that's enough! Don't even speak of them!"

Uhura and Daffy exchanged knowing glances: confirmation of Haven presence, Klingon presence, and the trade war.

The Central Square was actually a courtyard surrounded by the stone and brick buildings of the city's Financial District. There were more than fifty Uradan traders standing around in small groups, most of them with scrolls or small sheaves of paper, taking and exchanging notes. Chekov nodded to Paget, then took a deep breath and began meandering through the crowd, listening carefully to snatches of conversation as he moved, the Security Man his silent, protective shadow. It soon became apparent that there were a number of people grumbling about the Havens, wondering if the Off-worlders were ever going to let go of their stranglehold on the city's business. The current trade wars were, according to the Uradans, not helping the Havens' image. Others argued that, before the trade war, it had been the Havens who saw to it that business proceeded smoothly.

"Unless you happened to get caught in one of their legalistic wranglings," one Trader sniffed.

"Ah, my dear fellow, that was quite your own fault," another countered. "If you'd read the contract before signing it…"

"I did. I just assumed…"

"Never assume anything when dealing with a Haven, friend," Chekov put in. "If you get everything in writing, you can always turn the deal to your advantage. It's called negotiation."

The first trader scowled. "How is an ordinary man supposed to negotiate when the damn Havens can argue over the definition of 'is'?"

There were several chuckles and a few nods of agreement. "Perhaps," Chekov returned with just the right touch of arrogance, "by hiring someone extraordinary."

The laughter was more pointed. The man Chekov was speaking to reddened. "Sir, I'm a Senior Trader and well able to negotiate my own deals."

"No offense meant, my good sir," Pavel replied, "but it is a known fact that Havens hire independent negotiators to study important contracts before agreeing to them." He lifted a condescending eyebrow. "And you do know, of course, that even written terms aren't accepted until a Haven states 'deal' - and aren't considered binding unless the contract is sealed with a declaration of 'done.'"

The trader gawked. "Even written…?" he managed.

"Haven't you noticed that when a Haven signs a written contract, he does so while stating, 'done'?" Chekov said with a charming smile.

"I always assumed that was just a verbal affect," the man grumbled.

"Assumption," Pavel reiterated, shaking his head. "Never a good policy with Havens. I have had many dealings with them," he continued. "Some successful, some - not as profitable." He shrugged. "But I found the less successful ones were largely due to my own short-sightedness, never to Haven duplicity." Again there were murmurs of concurrence and a few disgruntled if equally agreeing snorts. "But this trade war - I'm new to the city, but I cannot imagine it was started by Haven interests."

"No one seems to know how it got started," another Uradan replied.

"All we know is the bottom is dropping out of some of our best markets," another stated. "We set a fair and decent price, and before we know it, we're being undercut, seemingly from everywhere at once."

"Is there no oversight committee to which such trends can be reported?" Chekov asked, with a rise of an eyebrow. He heard Paget disguising a chuckle with a cough and realized the TerAfrican was reacting to what Daphne referred to as his "Spock-lite impression."

"We have, and it has been," the second Uradan answered. "But the downward spiral continues unabated."

Chekov leaned forward, making his voice confidential. "Is there some unknown illegal product source?"

"If there is, no one has been able to track it down," the first man scowled.

Pavel straightened. "Hmm," he commented, stroking the neat goatee on his chin. "My thanks for an enlightening conversation, gentlemen," he said, then nodded to Paget, moving away from the group of traders.

"I think we've got confirmation that something shady is going on," Paget murmured once they were out of earshot of the group of Uradans.

"Yes, but we still have no information as to its source," Chekov returned.

"My guess is we won't find out much from the legal scene," was Jeremy's response. "We may have to look in the seedier side of this city.

Chekov sighed. "I was afraid you were going to say that."

"Who was that you were speaking with?" Yameen Renall whispered as he stepped up to the group of traders watching the stranger and his Klingon guard departing.

"He didn't give his name," one of them answered. "Why, do you know him?"

"Did he say where he was from?" Renall asked.

"No, and we didn't ask," a second Uradan replied.

"He did seem to know a lot about Haven business dealings," the first rejoined with a frown.

"Yes, I imagine he did," Renall muttered. "The hair is different, and he's dressed like a wealthy trader…." His voice trailed off.

"Do you know him yourself?" another trader asked.

"I can't be certain," Renall said, staring after the pair.

"Why so mysterious?" a third Uradan ventured. "Is he an off-worlder, like you?"

"I think he very well might be. I think I may have seen him before."

"Well, don't keep us in suspense, man!" the first trader responded. "If this has anything to do with the trade wars…"

"If he is who I think he is, it may have much to do with the wars," Renall scowled.

After a moment's pause, the three traders burst out as one. "Well?!?"

"I think," Renall said slowly, "that man is… Pasol Chavask."

"Not again," Lane Gage sighed in disgust. "Devri, can't the scabbing Federation leave Haven affairs to Havens?"

"This was the CEO's call," Tomor Rand replied. Both Havens were seated in the ambassador's office on board his private boat, the HTE Leather. Gage sat at his desk, scowling at the intel reports in front of him. Rand, on the opposite side of the desk, had his feet up on it, his perennial cigar of Rigellian between his teeth. "Besides, we're 'scabbing Federation' now too."

"Don't remind me." Gage stared at the screen again.. "Although why the Monolems think we need help in this…"

"Omm's just trying to be a good corporate citizen," Rand explained dryly. "All for one and one for all, that sort of nonsense."

"Leave the three musketeers shit to Kam," Gage growled.

Rand's eyebrow rose. "Been reading up on Terran literature, have we?"

"I am the ambassador."

"And since it just happens to be one of His Majesty's favorite novels…"

"Shut the fuck up, Rand."

The big security man shrugged, but dropped the subject. "So which bunch of do-gooders do we get to shepherd this time?" he asked instead.

Gage showed his teeth in a parody of a smile. "Your favorite, lover-boy."

Tomor grinned. "Beauty?"

"Assuming she's still on the Enterprise, what with all the changes of late."

"She is," Rand confirmed. "And while Spike and your wet dream aren't, Cobra's signed aboard."

Gage scowled. "If you know all this shit, why the fuck do you ask me?"

Tomor grinned. "I like all the pretty colors you turn, Boss." The ambassador glared at him. Rand chuckled. "So what does the CEO want us to do?"

"Check the usual sources, report to the scabbing Federation, then aid them in the investigation," Gage replied. "Apparently, there's a concern that we wouldn't be either careful enough or objective enough for our findings to hold water in Merchant's Court."

"Whose concern?" Rand wanted to know.

"The scabbing Uradans."

"Ungrateful sons of bitches. After we brought them out of the Dark Ages?"

"It's a real Saford's Hell, Tomor."

Tomor took a few thoughtful puffs on his cigar, then leaned back in his chair. "As annoying as this whole thing will undoubtedly turn out to be, there's at least some consolation," he stated, then, after a pause, said, with Gage, "Beauty." He gave the ambassador a sidelong glance and added, "Sorry about His Majesty, Boss."

Gage shrugged. "Bull markets sometimes turn, my friend. Which you can remember when Beauty becomes a bear herself."

"Won't matter," Rand returned with a wide grin from around his cigar. "I'm a grizzly."

Go To Part Two