Re: Semil: Agent of the Empire
It's been far too long since I've updated this. I'm hoping I can get back into the rhythm and patter of writing episodically. Bear with me while we work out these technical difficulties.
Chapter XIV: Incognito Vorta
This particular backwater world, Semil had never paid any attention to, even in the extensive dossiers on Alpha Quadrant geography he had read and read and reread in a previous lifetime. What little he had gleaned was that it was the sort of nondescript, unimportant world one escaped to, to evade notice, duty, and obligation. Or worse. Not enough agriculture, industry, commerce, or strategic value to be worth invading. Smugglers and pirates occasionally used it as a port of haven, but again - kept well beneath the threshold of political, military, or social relevance.
The name of the planet didn't matter; it rarely did. Neither did the specifics of the marketplace he had been casing for the three hours since he'd arrived. None of the merchants had been particularly helpful in his veiled inquiries about a particularly unruly Lethean hanging about; it seemed there were just enough rabble and alien detritus in this particular corner of the Empire for one lone fugitive to make quite the escape. No cover could be entirely perfect, however, given enough patience and observation.
The market stank of the crudely discarded entrails from the several butcher kiosks scattered down this particular aisle. A stall owner hosed down a particularly gory recent ablution from the pebbled gravel beneath his stall. A bewildering array of exotic fauna and fowl hung from the stall canopies - all ready for the cheap cooking fires, all for sale.
Semil himself had somehow managed to draw little attention - the hood of his cloak shielded him from the chilly air, but also hid his telltale Vorta ears. Enough humanoid species came through this sector that another random visitor didn't curry much notice. He recognized he couldn't mill about in a specific location for too long, if he was to continue going ignored.
The door of the bar he had been casing in slow, casual loops slammed open. A dark-robed figure staggered out of it, goaded along by an angry Selay female as she shouted and hissed obscenities into the night air. It was the Lethean. At least, Semil was mostly certain, based on the dossier K'vot had provided. The Lethean staggered down the alleyway, with a colorfully dismissive gesture for the Selay barkeep, who gave up on her shouting and hissing, slamming shut the door to the bar.
Securing his cloak, Semil began his tail of the Lethean, keeping his distance, but never losing sight of him. The labyrinth of alleys had just enough twists and turns to make the low-speed, meandering pursuit just a bit interesting for Semil. In spite of his focus and resolve, he couldn't help but feel his pulse gradually quicken, his senses tighten, his muscles twitch and warm with preparedness.
The Lethean was clearly far too drunk to pay heed, anyways. He lurched from the corner of one building to the next, grasping at the field stone wall for support, if not orientation. He retched into the street, dry at first, followed by a bilious splash of some noxious brew.
Semil looked around and noticed several youngish, unoccupied-looking street urchins. They were paying no heed to either him or the Lethean, caught up in what looked like some sort of gambling pasttime. Still, this was not the opportunity he was waiting for.
Patience, he told himself, shortly before catching the sideways glance of the Lethean. Dammit.
"What are you looking at?" The words belched from the Lethean, slurred, a generous string of drool running from the corner of his mouth.
This would have to change his plans. "Nothing. Just --" Semil stammered, not sure if he was found out. Reaching for his disruptor now would be too obvious. Even through the Lethean's drunken stupor, he posed just enough of a threat. Add to that, the alien children. Surely they'd make all sorts of fuss that would complicate escape. Too many options to process entered his mind. He knew he had to commit, to make it look casual and easy, without being suspicious or off-putting. "You looked like you could use some help for a moment."
The Lethean let out a broad guffaw. "Like anyooone on this forsssaken pebble would ever offer help." Semil felt himself being appraised through heavily lidded eyes. "Yooou're not from arooound here? Are yooou..?"
Semil proceeded to begin backing away slowly, cautiously, when the Lethean reached out one grimy arm to paw at him. "Wait. Youuu... you don't happen to have any beetle snuff, do you?"
This was a surprise. Semil had been hoping the alcohol had clouded the Lethean's telepathy enough, but this was making it too easy. "In my rooms. Why?"
"It's just -- beeen so long. Caaan't get the good Ferengi braaands." Semil wasn't clear who was entrapping whom.
"Yeah. I can spare a tin." Semil reached to guide the Lethean.
"Frieeend, you've made a frieeend here today."
"It's not far." Along the alleyway, the Lethean stumbled and lurched, guided by the incognito Vorta.
Chapter XIV: Incognito Vorta
This particular backwater world, Semil had never paid any attention to, even in the extensive dossiers on Alpha Quadrant geography he had read and read and reread in a previous lifetime. What little he had gleaned was that it was the sort of nondescript, unimportant world one escaped to, to evade notice, duty, and obligation. Or worse. Not enough agriculture, industry, commerce, or strategic value to be worth invading. Smugglers and pirates occasionally used it as a port of haven, but again - kept well beneath the threshold of political, military, or social relevance.
The name of the planet didn't matter; it rarely did. Neither did the specifics of the marketplace he had been casing for the three hours since he'd arrived. None of the merchants had been particularly helpful in his veiled inquiries about a particularly unruly Lethean hanging about; it seemed there were just enough rabble and alien detritus in this particular corner of the Empire for one lone fugitive to make quite the escape. No cover could be entirely perfect, however, given enough patience and observation.
The market stank of the crudely discarded entrails from the several butcher kiosks scattered down this particular aisle. A stall owner hosed down a particularly gory recent ablution from the pebbled gravel beneath his stall. A bewildering array of exotic fauna and fowl hung from the stall canopies - all ready for the cheap cooking fires, all for sale.
Semil himself had somehow managed to draw little attention - the hood of his cloak shielded him from the chilly air, but also hid his telltale Vorta ears. Enough humanoid species came through this sector that another random visitor didn't curry much notice. He recognized he couldn't mill about in a specific location for too long, if he was to continue going ignored.
The door of the bar he had been casing in slow, casual loops slammed open. A dark-robed figure staggered out of it, goaded along by an angry Selay female as she shouted and hissed obscenities into the night air. It was the Lethean. At least, Semil was mostly certain, based on the dossier K'vot had provided. The Lethean staggered down the alleyway, with a colorfully dismissive gesture for the Selay barkeep, who gave up on her shouting and hissing, slamming shut the door to the bar.
Securing his cloak, Semil began his tail of the Lethean, keeping his distance, but never losing sight of him. The labyrinth of alleys had just enough twists and turns to make the low-speed, meandering pursuit just a bit interesting for Semil. In spite of his focus and resolve, he couldn't help but feel his pulse gradually quicken, his senses tighten, his muscles twitch and warm with preparedness.
The Lethean was clearly far too drunk to pay heed, anyways. He lurched from the corner of one building to the next, grasping at the field stone wall for support, if not orientation. He retched into the street, dry at first, followed by a bilious splash of some noxious brew.
Semil looked around and noticed several youngish, unoccupied-looking street urchins. They were paying no heed to either him or the Lethean, caught up in what looked like some sort of gambling pasttime. Still, this was not the opportunity he was waiting for.
Patience, he told himself, shortly before catching the sideways glance of the Lethean. Dammit.
"What are you looking at?" The words belched from the Lethean, slurred, a generous string of drool running from the corner of his mouth.
This would have to change his plans. "Nothing. Just --" Semil stammered, not sure if he was found out. Reaching for his disruptor now would be too obvious. Even through the Lethean's drunken stupor, he posed just enough of a threat. Add to that, the alien children. Surely they'd make all sorts of fuss that would complicate escape. Too many options to process entered his mind. He knew he had to commit, to make it look casual and easy, without being suspicious or off-putting. "You looked like you could use some help for a moment."
The Lethean let out a broad guffaw. "Like anyooone on this forsssaken pebble would ever offer help." Semil felt himself being appraised through heavily lidded eyes. "Yooou're not from arooound here? Are yooou..?"
Semil proceeded to begin backing away slowly, cautiously, when the Lethean reached out one grimy arm to paw at him. "Wait. Youuu... you don't happen to have any beetle snuff, do you?"
This was a surprise. Semil had been hoping the alcohol had clouded the Lethean's telepathy enough, but this was making it too easy. "In my rooms. Why?"
"It's just -- beeen so long. Caaan't get the good Ferengi braaands." Semil wasn't clear who was entrapping whom.
"Yeah. I can spare a tin." Semil reached to guide the Lethean.
"Frieeend, you've made a frieeend here today."
"It's not far." Along the alleyway, the Lethean stumbled and lurched, guided by the incognito Vorta.
