Fallen Angels: Chapter Two

Star Trek: Mirror Universe

Fallen Angels

Chapter Two

A section of the underground chamber's wall slid to the side allowing access to the ancient sewer tunnel. This in turn lead to a damaged grate in a more modern waterway. It was possible to avoid stepping in anything, and reach the surface in an alleyway.

The sky was greatly different from the one they had seen less than an hour before. Dark clouds were threatening rain. The ground was still damp from a previous bout. The temperature was at least ten degrees warmer as well.

Emerging from the alley, they found a city unrecognizable. Though the Seine still flowed through Kolara (as they would learn the city was named), there were no other recognizable landmarks. When the Terran Empire fell, the Alliance blasted the Earth's surface from orbit. Paris was obliterated, and slave labor was used to build the new sector capital over the ruins.

Buildings were squat, dark ferrocrete, intended to intimidate, and remind the Terrans of their place in the galaxy. Beyond the barracks and factories, there were the occasional building that employed Cardassian or Klingon aesthetics. The largest of these, built over the Palace of Conquest (the Imperial version of the Federation capital building), which greatly resembled the Imperial Palace on Klinzhai.

Every hundred meters there was a surveillance camera, though there were signs of disrepair, suggesting that some might not be operational. Despite this, they made no suspicious actions.

The found numerous elderly, and disabled humans sheltering near buildings, or begging for food. A few raved incoherently, victims of mental illnesses. Irina and Melania both agonized at the knowledge that none of these people needed to suffer. Replicators could easily provide for their needs.

Feral children roamed freely as well. Some alone, others in packs. More than a few were half-breeds.

Healthy slaves walked with shoulders bowed, and eyes down. They made every effort to avoid the attentions of Alliance soldiers. In addition to Klingons and Cardassians, there were numerous trusted Klingon servitor races, as well as Bajorans, and Nausicaans. Some were only concerned with apparent lawbreakers, while others took amusement in accosting anyone that caught their eye.

As late afternoon approached a pair of soldiers, a Cardassian and a Bajoran female decided that three females traveling together were suspicious.

The Bajoran demanded “let me see your identification.”

They offered their IDs without question, though Kexin bristled. Irina shot her a warning look.

The Bajoran, who's uniform – if its resemblance to the Bajoran militia of their own universe could be used as a reference – was that of a captain, equivalent to Melania or Kexin. She glanced at their 'papers', then passed them to her partner, a Garresh – the equivalent of a Petty officer or Sergeant – who looked them over more closely.

“So tell me, what were three Iotas doing this late in the day?”

Irina attempted to form a reasonable story. Before she could get much farther than “we were...” the officer interrupted.

“You are coming with me.”

They were lead to a large round building, and a door marked - in Klingonaase, Cardassian, and Ferengi – employee entrance. They glanced at each other curiously, while the Bajoran pressed a signal chime. And then a Ferengi in a loud suit, and an iridescent headskirt, answered the door.

He beamed, “Jaxa! My very favorite security officer. What have we here?”

Jaxa was less happy “you promised a finder's fee. Here are three slaves.”

He ushered the group inside, and into a lift. As they descended to the basement, he commented. “Well, they might be suitable. So hard to tell in those drab jumpsuits. What qualifications do they have?”

Jaxa responded, “they are Iotas. And have no assigned work duties. You do have the intendant's permission to help yourself.”

“I know all that. I meant, do they have any skills?”

“Did the last one?”

Before the starfleet officers or the Klingon could interject, the Ferengi turned to them. “Step into those sonic showers.”

Seeing no options, they did as they were told. The Ferengi ordered, “activate sonic shower, and... clothe them.” He winced in disgust at the word.

The shower chambers began by dematerializing their clothing. Though the doors were frosted, each wondered just how concealed they were from the eyes of a leering Ferengi. Sonics eradicated all dirt, sweat, and dead skin, leaving them clean in about a minute's time. Afterward, fresh clothing – or the hint thereof – was beamed onto them.

The Ferengi ordered them “come on out, and let me see.”

They did so, eyes widening at their companions. “Very nice,” he proclaimed. “Now, one at a time, turn around. Slowly.”

Irina began plotting ways she would kill whichever of her tormentors Kexin didn't finish off, but complied. She was now wearing red six-inch heels, shimmering latex hose, and a strapless corseted teddy - which left her breasts threatening to escape at any sudden movement. The ensemble was accessorized with white cuffs and a faux collar.

“Very nice, she'll do. Next.”

Kexin took a deep breath, shoving down her anger, and obeyed. She had been placed in thigh high, stiletto heeled, gold leather boots, and a golden micro miniskirt – which rode so low on her hips, and was so short, it could have been called an exceptionally wide belt (fortunately a matching thong had been included) – and bandeau top.

“A bit more muscular than the usual slaves you bring me, but she might be good for something. And you.” He pointed to Melania.

The Orion-Human crossbreed wore copper-toned leather, 12cm platform heels, with sandal straps running to mid-calf; emerald satin formed a strapless bikini bottom – held in place by an underwire, and a matching top which wrapped around her back, but barely covered her large breasts.

“I've been wanting an Orion. I might keep her for myself.” He winked at Melania, and she wasn't sure how to read it.

The Bajoran was impatient, “You've had your fun. Now, the finder's fee.”

“Twenty-five slips each.” He pulled a transactor from inside his jacket, and made a few notations. Jaxa offered a cred stick from her belt, and her touched it with the transactor.

She smiled, returning it to her belt, “they are all yours. Enjoy.”

The Ferengi lead them all back upstairs, and saw the soldiers out. Then he turned to his new acquisitions. “My name is Dursh. You work for me now. And as much as I hate the idea of clothing - or paying - females, exceptional talent will be rewarded. Also, you are late for your shift. I'll be docking you for that.”

He lead them away from the door, and into the main room. They saw an ampitheater. A dais or stage stood at the center. On their left was a bar. They had previously smelled, and heard, a kitchen at work behind it. On the other side of the bar, at a ninety-degree angle from the hall they had emerged from, was a second hallway, marked as an exit. Which suggested it was also the main entrance. The remaining portion of the circle consisted of five tiers. The lower four held tables – they would learn that there were three sections of four tables, each with five chairs, per tier. The uppermost tier held various games, though from this angle, the specifics were hard to discern. Roughly a score of scantily clad, attractive females worked the room, while male Ferengi tended bar, or served as bouncers.

Dursh called to one of the girls, “T'Priell, we have three new girls. Get them sections, and tell them the rules. I've got work in the office to attend to. And tell Krunk, that if those Holosuites aren't running tonight, I'm taking it out of his salary.”

A young Vulcan girl, wearing as little as the agents were, approached. Coolly she replied, “I will see to it Mr. Dursh.”

He turned and departed, and she looked to her new charges. “Have any of you waited tables before?”

Melania nodded, Irina and Kexin shook their heads, though the former added “we are fast studies.”

“Very good. We have approximately, three hours and six minutes until the evening rush actually begins, so I will show you around. Has the pay scale been explained?”

They shook their heads, and she proceeded. “We are scheduled in two shifts, 07:00 to 17:15, and 17:00 to 03:15, closing time. There is a fifteen minute break, unpaid, which is to be taken as time permits. Starting wages are three slips – or credits if you will – per hour, plus ten percent of any tips made. Dabo girls make five an hour, and twenty-five percent of tips.

“Your bunk is ten slips a day, seventy a week. Uniforms, including cosmetics, accessories, and any medical precautions, is another seventy a week. Food varies, depending on the quality you wish. A ration bar is five slips, as is a replicated meal. Fresh food is ten slips per meal. Any questions?”

Irina was about to ask, but Melania beat her to the punch. “How does one get promoted to Dabo girl? I have experience with most of these games.”

By this point they had reached the upper level. There were three tables with pyramidal boards resembling chess – which Kexin recognized as KlinZha. At the far end were three tables set up for Kotra. In between these were Dabo, Tongo, Fizzbin, and Dom-jot tables.

T'Priell responded, “if you prove yourself capable tonight, I will discuss your qualifications with Kamilah,” she indicated an olive-skinned Terran female currently running a Dabo wheel. “We have need of skilled Dabo girls.”

Kexin spoke up next, “what exactly are our responsibilities?”

“Take orders, serve food and drinks, get the orders correct and do not spill. Either will result in lost wages. I would advise caution around the Klingons, and be aware of fondling, in order to avoid being startled. When the holosuites are operational, encourage the customers to make use of them.

“The holosuites are in the hallways directly beneath our current position. They will be programmed with our likenesses. Dursh believes that there is greater profit in keeping the organic females on the floor, and using photonic simulacrums for sexual encounters. If you choose to engage in such encounters, it must be on your own time.

“The same holds true for the Ferengi. Though flirting, offering oo-mox, or other services, may be to your benefit. But it must be after your shift.”

Finally, Irina had a chance to speak. “What is wrong with the Holosuites? I have engineering experience.”

“There has been some difficulty in their construction. This establishment has only been operation for nine days.”

She paused, considering, then added, “several high ranked Alliance personages, including the Intendant herself, have frequented this establishment – mainly due to business arrangements between our employer and the Alliance. If they become displeased with you, Dursh can not, and will not, protect you.

“As for your experience, I will discuss it with you later. For now, I will assign your sections.”

A few hours passed, as the trio settled into their roles. Their uniforms were degrading, their heels painful, and the customers generally treated them like meat. But other than that, it wasn't much different from working a bar on any planet in either universe.

Melania made herself very popular with the customers, the bartenders, and even the other servers. She even had a chance to speak to Kamilah, a middle-eastern Terran, who's counterpart had attended Starfleet Academy when Melania was in her midshipman year. This version put on a facade, but underneath, she was defeated, with no aspirations but to keep existing.

The Orion was further shocked when the show began. The stage sank down forming a pit, and a holographic image of that pit formed in the air above it. Male slaves, and various creatures were pitted in gladiatorial combat. The highlight was a handsome Terran, she knew as Matt Decker battling a Le-matya.

Later, as she was waiting to collect an order of bloodwines, she heard two of the Ferengi grumbling. They spoke in Ferengi, but her subdermal communicator's universal translator function rendered it in Federation Basic for her.

“We came here because the old Nagus went senile, started listening to a fe-male, then appointed an idiot as his successor. But we have clothed fe-males, we are allowing them to earn profit. What are we doing here?”

His comrade shushed him, “keep it down. Someone could hear you. The bar is a front, you weak-lobed fool. The boss has a much bigger operation going on. Now get back to your programming, before you screw something else up.”

Elsewhere, Kexin had just delivered an order of saurian brandy, kis, and Orion whiskey to one of her tables when a voice called from above her. “You! Girl. Come here.”

She looked up, and saw a group of Klingons. An expensively dressed female had given the order. She ascended the nearest steps, and headed over. “May I serve you?” The phrase burned in her throat, but she maintained a pleasant face.

The woman answered, “bring your Intendant a jumbo order of Gagh, and five bloodwines.”

“As you command.” Kexin passed the server assigned to the section on the way to the bar, T'Vella. She apologized, for poaching.

The Vulcan answered, “when Intendant Ab'elanna gives you an order, disobedience is not an option. You may find an opportunity to repay me later.”

She assisted Kexin in carrying the platter of live worms and tray of drinks. Kexin remained close at hand in the event that the ruler of Earth required anything else. While they were away, one of the intendant's lackeys produced a signal jammer, which blocked any surveillance, communications, or translation devices in the area. The Klingons were speaking in Klingonaase, unaware that the “Terran” serving them, was actually a Klingon-Human Fusion.

“Why did we ever ally with these worthless patahk? My kinsman, the Regent, languishes in the Badlands. And they can't even dislodge these kuve from Bajor. Madred can't even manage to hunt down Thunderbolt and his pirates.” The Intendant was furious, and Kexin surreptitiously studied her. She was smaller than most Klingons, and had the light complexion of a Rumaiy, but had the features of a Kumburan. And there was something about her cranial ridges.

Her companions included two marine captains - likely bodyguards, an Imperial Intelligence officer, and a naval captain. The latter answered her, “get me those cloaking devices. I have almost a dozen ships, ranging from scouts to destroyers, nearly ready for launch. We can track these pirates into the asteroids, and hunt down their base. Crush them once and for all.”

“A shipyard in the Terran system. Utopia Planitia maybe?”

The II man added, “If he can eliminate them, the Maquis will lose their resources. It will make our allies seem even weaker. Certainly, Kowron will be able to claim the Regency.” He then called out in Terran, “Girl! Fetch another round of drinks!”

“As you command.”

“Wait, the Siege of AR-558? A battle of the Dominion War?” She examined the source code. “Sure enough. These programs are not native to this universe. Which means our 'employer' isn't either.”

She did further examination. The programs were all the latest editions, but the holosuites were an older model. The programs weren't compatible. Fixing the issue required replacing the programs, or improving the resolution of the emitters.

She slipped away before anyone noticed her.

After a long shift, the servers and Dabo girls cleaned up, then retreated to their barracks in the basement. While they shared complaints about their treatment, and various aches and pains, those who could afford it replicated food. Due to the finder's fee being taken out of their pay, the agents still owed twenty five credits, but were permitted to purchase ration bars – and pay interest.

Irina noted, “it would be simple to reprogram the replicators to grant food for free. It is not like the energy requirements are significant.”

Melania countered, “ah. But that would completely upset the financial system.”

They replicated three ration bars, providing sufficient nourishment for a day, and moved off to an unclaimed bunk to talk privately. Melania nodded to the Vulcans. “They can hear still us.”

Irina nodded. “I found out what the problem with the holosuites is. Compatibility issues between the hardware and software. The Siege of AR-558 was not intended to run on these older models.”

The others caught her meaning. The Ferengi had access to technology from their side.

Melania mentioned, “the bartenders don't think much of Grand Nagus Rom.” This universe's Rom was dead. “And the bar is just a sideline for a bigger enterprise.”

Kexin spoke up, “they are selling tech. The sort of thing we were looking for.”

Chekovna set their plans, “tomorrow, we get promoted. Make ourselves indispensable to the Ferengi. And find something for the blisters on our feet.”