Prologue.

Starbase 53 was a distant outpost, hanging in space at the outer edges of the Federation's reach, put there for border enforcement rather than local business. But like similar outposts all the way back through history, its presence had brought people, and then trade, and then entertainment for traders and travellers and Federation personnel alike. The starbase itself sat in an empty reach of space, equidistant between the three nearest stars – but other, private bases had soon sprung up nearby, and then they had been ratified and made safe by Federation authorities, and then they had been connected to the starbase by arms, and now the place was a sprawling metropolis in the void of space, entirely enclosed in a space-proof hull.

The Federation ship Enterprise had been at the starbase for a week, undergoing repairs to its starboard nacelle after a vicious encounter with a hostile ship. The crew had been taking full advantage of this period of relative inactivity, having been given permission to use any free time they had on the starbase. There were hundreds of other small ships moored about the station, and the opportunity to mingle with alien cultures and experience alien entertainments was too much to resist.

Two humanoid men stood near the side of the central thoroughfare in the culture centre of the base, watching the milling crowds. One, a tall and thin man with a piercing intelligence in his eyes, was standing almost at attention, with his hands clasped behind his back. The other, a younger, overweight and spoilt looking man in expensive clothes, leant against the wall behind him, picking idly at his fingernails as he stared into the crowd.

'There,' he said finally, nodding at a group of Starfleet personnel in the crowd. 'That's the one.'

The other man followed his gaze, seeing three men, two human and one Vulcan, making their way towards a nearby café.

'The Vulcan, sir?' the thinner man asked doubtfully.

'That's him. He's neat enough,' the fatter man continued. 'He's attractive, I like his hair-colour. And he's bound to be good at what I want him for. I've heard they're all perfectionists anyway.'

'He won't take it easily, sir,' the other warned him. 'He'll fight it. Vulcans are – '

'Oh, rubbish – they're pacifists,' the young man cut across him dismissively. 'He'll see the most sensible course, and take it. And if he doesn't, you'll beat him. And if he still doesn't, you'll beat him again, until he does.'

'Sir, that one in yellow – that's the captain of the Starfleet ship,' the thinner man said in a firm but respectful tone. 'Those two with him are bound to be of high rank. They won't take a disappearance lightly.'

The younger man stiffened, turning towards the other with a hard look in his eyes. Suddenly his bearing had changed from that of a spoilt, rather bored young man to a master talking to his servant.

'I didn't ask for your advice, Robbesh,' he said tersely. 'I want that Vulcan. See that you get him for me.'