Tarik looked both ways as he entered Aston Liteboulght's establishment. He'd made sure to dress in Vulcan civilian clothing so as to avoid drawing attention to himself or Ash. The information he sought was too valuable to jeopardize.
"Whoah, whoah there pointy ears," Ashton said lightheartedly. "I think you've got the wrong store. That Vulcan ritual store is down the strip."
Tarik removed his cowl. "Perhaps we can nonetheless make a deal," he said as he produced the PADD.
Ash walked over to a cabinet and opened it, producing another PADD and an isolinear chip. "This might not be the best quality, but it should work." He handed the PADD and chip to Tarik. "Since this is a specialty job, it might run you a little more in the area of Federation credits." Ash gave Tarik a small grin and a wink.
Tarik made a note to shift money from one of the numbered Ferengi accounts to the operating budget for the La'kon Legion as he perused the PADD. The chip was a prop; what he was paying for was the information on the PADD. "Perhaps another 600 bars of latinum?" he offered.
"Sounds like a plan there chief." Ash watched as Tarik masqueradingly transferred the fake financial information to the PADD in his right, mechanical hand. Ash placed the PADD back into the cabinet with the others. "Any other works of the great T'Nron I can find for you?"
"Yes, I am interested in Cantons 354 through 356. Particularly the Heroic Saga."
Ash whistled. "I'll see what I can pull. That's actually a hot commodity." He walked over to the computer terminal in his small establishment. "I'll see what I can do. Check back here next week."
"Will do. My customer is most insistent on obtaining 354 through 356. It is a most urgent matter."
"Good." I look forward to doing more business with you then. He extended his artificial hand. Tarik shook it, and at the same time, received, covertly, another isolinear chip. Ash nodded, and Tarik returned the nod with an understanding that it was more information on the Mulluran 'friends' on the station.
With that, Tarik replaced his cowl and left the shop. 354 and 356 were the identity numbers assigned to the Mulluran vessels shadowing Thermopylae; it was vital that information on those ships be obtained soon before the secret base of the Legion was compromised. But the chip was just as valuable, containing information on several Mulluran agents operating on the station.
Runabout Bay 32...
Gunnery Sergeant Corran stepped off of the Runabout Ohio with a single duffel containing his posessions. There was no welcoming committee. Only the humming of the magnetic containment field behind him, and past that, the silence of space inside of the cavernous docking bay. A single Steamrunner class vessel was docked, undergoing some minor repairs. He removed his cap momentarily to run his fingers through his longer hair. He then placed his cap back on, and made his way through to the corridors. His next destination, Colonel Tarik's office to see his new commmanding officer.
Tarik had just finished changing back into uniform when the door chimed. "Enter," he bade as he sat behind his desk.
Corran entered, immediatly coming to attention and saluting. "Gunnery Sergeant Corran, reports as ordered sir."
Tarik stood and returned his salute. "At ease, Gunny. Have a seat."
"Yes sir." Corran relaxed and sat down. "Sir, if I may, I have my tansfer orders and dossier here. I didn't know if my former CO had the opportunity to transfer them to you."
"As a matter of fact, I have your file here. A very impressive, if unorthodox record," Tarik said as he reviewed his screen.
"Yes sir, I suppose it could be perceived as that."
Tarik looked up from the PADD. "It says here you served with the 20th and 31st MEF and spend some time back at Parris Island. Is there anything else not on here?"
Corran shifted in his chair. "Yes sir. I spent some time with Marine Force Recon."
"Excellent!" Tarik exclaimed. "We like the unusual and unorthodox here in the 28th. It's what keeps us alive. I want you to start training additional snipers for the unit. In time I might have another, shall we say, unorthodox project for you," he said as he leaned back in his chair with a smile. He flipped open a small wooden box on his desk. "Cigar? One of my pilot's gotten me hooked on the damned things."
Corran smiled slightly as he leaned forward. "Yes sir. Thank you sir." He produced a lighter from his left breast pocket and lighted it. "I nearly forgot how they tasted sir. Haven't had a cigar in the past..." he thought for a moment, "forty years."
"These are genuine Fidels, straight from Havana," Tarik said. Having exhausted his supply of replicated cigars, he'd gone to the trouble to order the real thing. They were expensive--but worth it. "Forty years, you say?"
"Yes sir. Last back on the USS Bradley. We had just finished a now recently declassified mission into Cardassian space." He puffed again from the cigar. "They say these things will kill you, sir." He grinned slightly.
"Genetically altered tobacco," Tarik said. "Besides, if the Mullurans don't get us first I'll look forward to the lung cancer!"
"Amen to that sir," Corran replied with a grin, his cigar clenched in his teeth. "If I might ask sir, I was hoping to get to the weapons range to brush up a little. I haven't been practicing my shooting since the war with our 'neighbors'," Corran asked referring to the Mullurans.
"Be my guest! We have an outstanding holographic weapons range on the station. If you want the real thing, there's a range used by the New Canada planetary militia, complete with robotic targets."
"Aye sir." Corran rose to his feet, rendering another salute. "Requesting permission to be dismissed sir."
"Granted. Assembly at 0600 hours. Be sure to check in with Gunnery Sergeant Hartman as well."
"Hoo-ah sir. Semper Fi." Corran dropped the salute, and preformed an about face. He picked up his duffel which was laying next to the door and made his way out of the office.
"Yes, things are definitely looking up here," Tarik said as the door shut.
After checking in with Sergeant Hartman, Corran found his quarters. He was rooming with Staff Sergeant Hendricks. Hendricks was slated to be his spotter on longer missions, the ones that included the guillea suits, crawling a few yards every day to gain ground, and sleeping in the dirt. Unfortunately, Hendricks wasn't around. Corran tossed the duffel down on his bed, and began arranging his uniforms in his locker. The last thing he pulled out was his medals case. He opened it, and gave them a quick look over, as he did when he started every new assignment. The case, nearly full now, included awards from the Marine Corps, Starfleet, and a few other races, all of which he accumulated over his hundred years in the Corps. He closed the case, and placed it in the top shelf of his locker. Hopefully, this assignment would be as good as his past ones.