Masquerade Games

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Stepping into the smoke-filled room, one would not have known that it was a smuggler's den. Filmy beams of light played through the corners, capturing, for a moment, the line of one patron's shoulder or another's mask. Finally one beam caressed a crystal sphere, which absorbed the light and glowed with strands of color. It was a sign every person inside the club had learned to beware, and so the crowd parted slightly before Jareth.

Clad in a goblin costume, Masquerades' proprietor surveyed the crowd. Benaria had a new costume; he'd have to compliment her on it later. But that was not what he was looking for. His lips formed a frown beneath the brownish, wrinked half-mask. "Damn it, girl, where are you?" he whispered.

There was no sign of Shanin. Jareth tightened his grip upon the black, wooden staff which was capped by the crystal sphere. He didn't even happen to notice that the new slave girl's singing seemed to make the crowd oblivious to the fact that she was only of average beauty. As Katya had assured him when he paid for the girl. (Of course, the costume - barely more than the obligatory mask - and the slow song she was singing probably had more than a little to do with the enrapturement of the male half of the audience.)

As the pain sweeps through, makes no sense for you
Every thrill is gone - wasn't too much fun at all...
But I'll be there for you
When the world falls down...

An elaborately-gowned princess stole up behind him. "Here," she whispered, putting her arms around him.

Jareth turned around. It had to be Shanin; no one else would do such a thing. And, sure enough, there was his daughter. She was only wearing face paint, not a real mask. A breach of protocol, yes, but from his daughter such things were to be not only tolerated but expected.

Shanin n'S'aryn Betandi, daughter of Seleyn, had come out of the womb not screaming but laughing in the medic's face. The I-know-something-you-don't look was on her face again that night.

She followed him obediently to the club's second floor, which was inside a sealed-off section of another deck. Locked rooms were available there, for a price. Jareth ducked inside a storeroom and turned on the jamming devices. Normally he would want all of the recording devices on, but a meeting with his daughter was different.

"Seleyn, you are getting too soft. A Starfleet Admiral could walk in here and not be challenged."

"Aaaah, but would the Starfleet Admiral ever get anyone to talk to him? Everyone here knows everyone else. Once you take that into account, the cost of maintaining a guard is a bit unnecessary."

"I have something even better. One of my sources raided a Clan Sobhara military research vessel. They were testing a new pulser charge design, and my source managed to work out the last few wrinkles." He picked up a battered piece of tritanium from one of the shelves and pointed out the large, circular dent in the middle. "That was one shot. Nearly twice as strong, but the same size. It's also possible to get a smaller radius, and I also have a few semiautomatic pistols. Didn't you say some of your crew didn't have those yet?"

"Of course." Seleyn put down the tritanium and picked up a small box. He opened it, displaying the hypospray nodules within, then handed it to her. "I assume you'll want the rest delivered to your ship?"

Once the nodules were concealed in various parts of Shanin's costume, they simply talked for a while.

"Ah-hah...and then...then he lunged at me..." Shanin dissolved into laughter. "You should have seen it! He was even worse than a drunken Sobhara!"

Seleyn chuckled. "I take it our fierce Klingon warrior was no match for a n'S'aryn?"

"Hardly. But here's the kicker-" And she told him about the Romulan ale. "Must've trickled down from the border, and there had to be a hell of a lot for even a lowlife like T'korQ to get his share."

"Oh, I don't know...this quadrant needs a little airing out." Shanin's smile had grown as false as the faces worn by the Masqueraders downstairs.

"If the Klingons and the Romulans have allied...the H'Llarshen must be more powerful than we thought. Either they blow right through that alliance and eat Starfleet for dessert, or they get pulped destroying the H'Llarshen and Starfleet steps in to take everything there..."

"Or the alliance destroys the H'Llarshen and then falls apart due to infighting, giving Starfleet a chance to conquer the Klingons and the Romulans. Leaving us with long odds in any case." Shanin shook her head. "I know you have no influence with the High Council..."

"Mmmm...might be worth warning 'Dara. She seems to have more common sense than all the other Council members combined."

Inside another storeroom, a jester in green and pink went about her business. Removing the top from a crate, she made a slight adjustment to the contents, then replaced everything exactly as it was. Beaming out of the room, she removed the jester costume and went to pay a visit to the Arena, where a very muscular Cardassian was just delivering the coup to his opponent, a Gorn. She had money on the Gorn. Damn.

Once Shanin and "Jareth" had said their goodbyes, Jareth wandered back to his room. It was still early, but he felt completely exhausted. The bartender would just have to deal with anything that came up.

"Hi, stranger!" Katya Molokov lay on his bed, clad only in a long fall of curly grey hair. She'd done rather a good job of figleafing herself with it, but it was still too much. Jareth doubted any man on the entire rock - or some of the women, even - could see such a thing and retain cognition.

"Hold it, stranger! For one thing, I'm here to talk business. You owe me. For another, I don't even know you."

"Late fees!" Katya sang. Huntress, her voice was even better than the new slave girl's!

"Huntress save me from all women!" Seleyn moaned. It was morning and he was hung over, two points against the situation so far. Glancing as his PADD, he noticed that he'd authorized a rather large debit against his account. Third point. He couldn't remember drinking anything, or paying Katya such an extravagant amount, even if she was worth it.