EPISODE 6.51.5 - “Night Club”
written by Travis Cannon
Captain's Log - Stardate 59946.27:
We escorted the Romulan delegation back to Romulus. I became the second Starfleet captain to set foot in the Romulan Senate today. Commander Takaram saw to that. He introduced me to Colonel R'mor, part of the Romulan military's public relations department. It was just after the Romulan Senate was in session. I believe I caught a glimpse of the Praetor, but I can't be sure, R'mor kept me back a ways before taking me into the Senate Chambers.
Afterwards he took me to what I could only describe as a Romulan night club. I'm ashamed to admit it but I got drunk on Romulan ale. It's not as good as vodka, but it still has quite a bite.
Captain Markev Riganoff shook his head as he stepped out of his ready room and onto the bridge. Commander B'verk was already on duty. He inclined his head as Riganoff took his place in center of the bridge.
“How was your night, captain?” the Andorian commander asked.
“Rough,” Riganoff replied. “Remind me never to have Romulan ale ever again.”
“I could have told you that yesterday, sir,” B'verk said, grimacing.
“Well, you should have come with me then,” Riganoff said.
“I would have declined, captain,” B'verk answered. “Andorians and Romulans have a history, sir. I'm afraid there is still bad blood.”
“All right, I believe you,” Riganoff said, turning to look at the view screen.
The planet of Romulus hovered below. The capital coming into view.
“I think I'm going to make another visit to the night club,” Riganoff said, turning to B'verk. “You interested.”
“As I just said, there is still bad blood,” B'verk said, his antennae twitching.
Riganoff grinned. “I'm just pulling your leg, B'verk,” he said. “Though there is something I don't quite seem to remember.”
“Oh, and what's that, sir?”
“I don't remember leaving the club,” Riganoff asserted.
Dr. Lauren Barrett held her medical scanning up next to Riganoff temple.
“Well, Doctor?” B'verk asked, standing off to one side.
“Nothing unusual,” Barrett spoke in her slight northern accent. “Aye, there's evidence that the cap'n got drunk, but nothing to tell why he doesn't remember.”
“Can you do a deeper scan?” Riganoff asked.
Barrett raised an eyebrow as she eyed her captain.
“Is there something your not telling me, sir?” she asked.
“Well...,” Riganoff started.
“The captain feels that he may have been compromised, doctor,” B'verk said.
“Commander?”
“The Romulans are known to have conducted mind probes on Starfleet personnel,” B'verk asserted.
“But why would they do that?” Barrett questioned. “We're allies.”
“That doesn't stop the Romulans for spying, doctor,” B'verk said. “Believe me, Andorians know this.”
“Andorians are just paranoid,” Barrett spoke before she thought. “No offense, Commander.”
“No offense, at all, it's true,” B'verk said. “My people are known to be highly paranoid.”
“But you're not, B'verk,” Riganoff said. “You've been my XO for five years. I think that we've come to know each other pretty well over that time.”
B'verk inclined his head. “I would agree with that, captain. However, that does not change my belief that you have been the visit of some mind probing by Romulan agents.”
“But why would they?” Barrett questioned. “What would they need to know?”
“Perhaps it wasn't the Romulan government,” B'verk said. “There is the Tal Shiar. They always seem to have their own motives.”
“Are you saying I was abducted from the night club and taken to some Tal Shiar hideout, where my mind was probed.”
“Yes,” B'verk said, his antennae straightening up. “As a vulcan colleague of mine would say, that would be highly logical.”
“You know, for an Andorian,” Riganoff said. “You seem to embrace vulcan logic too much.”
“Logic does has its benefit,” B'verk stated.
“Okay,” Barrett said, looking between Riganoff and B'verk. “Then what do we do about it?”
Riganoff shrugged.
“We go back to the night club and get clues from there,” B'verk said.
The captain looked at his first officer and raised his eyebrows.
“What about that bad blood?” Riganoff asked.
“My captain may have violated,” B'verk said. “My duty is to my captain.”
“All right, so we go back to the nigh club,” Riganoff said. “But first,” he said looking to Barrett. “I want you to perform a deep brain scan. I want to know if you can find anything that might explain my loss of memory that has nothing to do with Romulan ale.”
Barrett nodded.
Lieutenant Curtis Hogan and Commander B'verk stepped through the door and into the night club. Music blaring from unseen speakers. Orion slave girls were dancing on the stage, and a small group of Romulan soldiers were gambling in a corner.
“You know, for a night club, it doesn't seem to be that busy,” B'verk said, disguised under a hooded cloak. Before they had left the ship, the commander had Dr. Barrett disguise both B'verk and Hogan as Romulan civilians. However, B'verk's antennae were not as easy to hide, so the hood was required.
Hogan stepped over to the bar and spoke with the bartender. B'verk wondered the floor. He stopped before the stage and stared up at the Orion slave girl. He continued to watch as she began to disrobe.
“Sir!” hissed Hogan.
“What?” B'verk shook his head. “Sorry, Orion females have specially abilities that...”
“Yes, sir, I can see that,” Hogan agreed, looking up a the now nude Orion girl on the stage. He then looked at B'verk.
“Even though I embrace vulcan logic,” B'verk said. “I'm still male, Mr. Hogan. I still have the capability of admiring the female form.”
“Uh, yes, sir,” Hogan said, looking around the club. “You know, I think this night club isn't exactly what the captain thought it was.”
“I agree,” B'verk said. “It is more of a strip club, than a night club.”
Hogan smiled. “I spoke with the bartender,” he reported. “According to him, he saw a Starfleet officer come in with a colonel. They sat over there.” Hogan indicated the seats across from them, on the other side of the stage. “According to the bartender, the officer got drunk very quickly on ale, and...” he hesitated.
“Yes?” B'verk encouraged.
“Apparently the Starfleet officer received a lap dance from one of the girls,” Hogan said, glancing up at the nude slave girl.
“Any idea which one?” B'verk asked.
“You're looking at her, sir,” Hogan said.
“Report?” Riganoff said as B'verk and Hogan materialized on the transporter pad.
“You're not going to like it, sir,” Hogan said.
“I don't care!” Riganoff growled, his Russian accent coming to the surface. “Dr. Barrett found evidence of a mind probe. Apparently after I had become drunk some one incerted a chip into my brain. It was removed, presumably after they learned whatever it was they wanted to learn from me.”
“That isn't the only thing that happened to you after you become drunk, sir,” Hogan said. “You're not going to believed this, sir, but apparently you received a lap dance from an Orion slave girl.”
“What?!”
“Its true, sir,” B'verk said. “A pitty you can't remember it. Many men would kill for such a memory.”
Riganoff shook his head. “Where'd this happen?”
“At your so called night club,” Hogan said.
“It was a night club,” Riganoff asserted.
“Not according to the bartender and the other customers,” B'verk said. “The club is a house of flesh, captain. A combination strip club and house of prostitution.”
“Did I...?” Riganoff couldn't finish his sentence.
“No,” B'verk said. “According to the lovely dance specialist, you passed out in the middle of her... her performance, for the lack of a better word.”
“And?”
“She said you were help out by your friends,” Hogan said.
“Friends?”
“From the description we got from the Orion,” B'verk informed his captain. “They appeared to be Romulan soldiers. And from her description of their uniforms, not part of the fleet.”
“Tal Shiar?”
“That would be my guess, sir,” B'verk said.
“I'd like to speak with a Colonel R'mor,” Riganoff said to the irritating Romulan bureaucrat on the view screen.
“I'm sorry, Captain,” the bureaucrat said. “No colonel with that name works at the department of public relations. I can't help you.”
With that the bureaucrat terminated his signal. Riganoff turned to Lt. Burton, who shrugged.
“He terminated transmission,” Burton said.
“Can you hack into their databases?” Riganoff asked.
Burton looked from Riganoff to B'verk. B'verk stepped forward. “It's time to go, sir.” He turned to Ensign Ava Ludwig. “Set a course for Deep Space Five, Ensign.”
“Sir,” Ludwig nodded and began plotting a course.
“Engage when ready,” B'verk said. He turned back to Riganoff, who stood there with his mouth dropped open. “We should speak privately, sir.”
Riganoff and B'verk entered the captain's ready room. Markev Riganoff immediately turned on his commander and pointed a finger in his face.
“What are you doing, Commander?” Riganoff demanded. “I've been violated by the Tal Shiar and your having Ava take us back to Deep Space Five.”
“There is nothing more to gain by staying here, captain,” B'verk asserted.
Riganoff turned way and starred out the window, watching as the stars began to streak by as the Ticonderoga entered warp. “Explain yourself, B'verk!”
“I'll take you though the events that lead to last night,” the Andorian said. “One; Commander Takaram invites you to the capital and introduces you to a Colonel R'mor of public relations, a man who appears to not exists. He ensures you the opportunity to stand in the Senate chambers, something only one other Starfleet captain has accomplished. Two; the aforementioned Colonel R'mor takes you to a night club, which turns out to be a brothel. At that brothel, R'mor gets you drunk on Romulan ale, and to ensure that you are out of it, he has an Onion female give you a lap dance. Three; after it has been confirmed that you are not longer conscious, R'mor and some Tal Shiar friends of his spirit you away and probe you mind with a Romulan device known to be in use by the Tal Shiar. Four; You return to the Ticonderoga, completely unaware of what has transpired, ensuring the success of whatever it is that R'mor and the Tal Shiar wanted to obtain from you.”
“So what do we do about it?” Riganoff asked.
“I'm afraid there is nothing we can do,” B'verk said. The Tal Shiar is not an organization that we can go up against alone.”
Riganoff nodded, knowing that B'verk was right. He stepped back to his desk and took a set. B'verk rotated on his heel to face his captain.
“However,” he said. “There is one thing I believe we can do.”
“And what's that?” Riganoff asked.
“Inform Starfleet Command,” B'verk said. “The Tal Shiar is obviously up to something, and I'm sure that Starfleet would like to be kept informed.”
Riganoff nodded. “All right,” he said. “But can we live out the Onion slave girl?”
B'verk raised an eyebrow and his antennae raised. “You can trust me discretion, sir.”
The door in the underground complex hissed opened and Colonel R'mor stepped out.
“Well, was the extraction successful?” the general demanded.
R'mor handed the padd to the general. “It was, sir,” he said, grinning. “We now have the coordinates.”
The general took the padd and glimpsed at its contents. “Very good. Send a ship to confirm our suspicions.”
“Right away, General,” R'mor said, saluting his superior.
With that R'mor took his leave, leaving the general alone with the coordinates of a secret that the Tal Shiar had been hunting for since the end of the Dominion War.