Tarmok jolted awake at the hum of a transporter beam, his left hand grasping for his disruptor. The shimmering light in front of his sleep dazzled eyes coalesced into a lanky humanoid male in sedate shades of brown, wearing a coat with a hood. As Tarmok waited, ready to rip through cloth and draw the disruptor, a slim pale hand reached up to push back the hood.

Even after six years of maturation, the boy's features were still recognizable. He had a face that looked like no one else's.

"Wesley."

The boy nodded. A grim and manic amusement darkened his eyes as he smiled. "So, Tarmok. How have you been?"

The Inspector let his hand fall away from his weapon, but kept a state of vigilance. The boy didn't look too stable.

"I've been all right, Wesley. You've done quite a bit of growing in the past six years." Wes's face lost all expression, and he stood watching Tarmok for several long and uncomfortable seconds. "How did you manage to get off of your ship?" Tarmok asked, alarm bells ringing. A good bit of this venture relied of Wes's sanity. If the lad wasn't rational, there could be serious problems.

That dead smile returned. "I just walked into a cargo hold and beamed down, if you can believe it. Of course, they trusted me enough to make me an Acting Ensign, so they didn't expect me to do anything like this. I guess I showed them."

He stepped down off of the platform and began pacing the floor of the warehouse, all lanky bone and jittery nerves. "So what do we do next, uncle."

The last word was spoken in Romulen, a term of endearment and respect, but the question made Tarmok frown. "I thought you said you had a plan." Tarmok's tone was dangerous, a stark reminder that Wes was no longer in Federation territory.

Wes frowned in turn. "Of course I have a plan. I'm going to tell the Orion Syndicate that Cullagh came after me on a Federation vessel, that he used his own name and address. They'll kill him, and I'll go hide in the jungles while I arrange transport off world."
Tarmok's face shifted from a focused expression to an incredulous one. "Pardon me?" he asked, politely. He was sure he had misunderstood.

Wes smiled and turned toward him, speaking slowly, as though to an idiot child. Tarmok's blood began to boil

"I'm going to go to the Orion Syndicate. You're going to help me contact them. I'm going to tell them what Cullagh's been doing. They're going to eliminate him or I'm going to eliminate him, one of the other. They won't stand in my way. Then, I'll disappear into the jungle until I figure out a way to get off world. I brought some money with me, I'm not ignorant. Of course, Cullagh could kill me, or the Orion Syndicate could kill me, but that doesn't matter now." The boy's lips stretched again into that annoying death's head grin. "I left my combadge on the ship and I've broken Starfleet regulation and Federation law. I don't have anything left to lose."

The heel of Tarmok's right hand contacted solidly with Wesley's left ear. The blow came so fast that Wes didn't have time to react. His head snapped back on his neck and his feet slid out from under him, dumping him unceremoniously on the concrete floor. It was some moments before he could even raise his head.

When he could, Tarmok had walked back over to the chair in front of the console and was digging into the folds of his cloak. There was a brown grease stain soaked into the faded grey cloth. Wes's brain flooded with inconsequential details while he tried to find his voice.

"Wha..Why …Why did you do that?" He sputtered.

Tarmok did not even look up. "Because, obviously, no one else ever has. Ah, here we go." He walked toward Wesley, holding a black scanner in front of him. Wes scooted back across the floor. "Stay away from me!" Annoyance flashed across Tarmok's face. "Be still."

His words pinned Wes to the floor. It was almost like being under Cullagh's command. Wes didn't know what was going on. He began to truly panic, sweat glistening on his brow. The watcher was ominously silent.

A hint of compassion surfaced through Tarmok's grim expression. "I'm not going to hurt you. I'm going to scan you, to see if you've had a tracer injected into your blood."

The inspector passed the whirring machine over Wes' body as he continued, monotone. "So you're going to kill Cullagh, hmm? You've certainly grown you're your full measure of Federation grandiosity".

"You've never killed anything before. You'll find that task more difficult than expected. And you haven't lost everything. You still have your family, a mother, I believe. You have your life, and that's worth a lot more to you than you're willing to admit. You can regain the confidence of your crew. They're probably eager to believe that you beamed down under Cullagh's influence. You certainly haven't lost the privileged assumption that the universe is a kind and forgiving place if you think that you'll be able to take care of yourself after your carefully planned murder because you plan to hide in the jungle and you've got money."

The inspector's condescending tone made Wes' face sting with embarrassment, but before he could respond Tarmok frowned. "Why have you taken drugs?"

Wes let his head drop back down onto the hard, cold floor. "I didn't have a choice. The doctor gave me a sedative, so I had to take a stimulant to counter it. I didn't have any other way to neutralize it."

Tarmok looked down at Wes, his expression unreadable, then adjusted the scanner and passed it over Wes' body again. The machine beeped. "They hid a tracer in with the sedative. Apparently they didn't trust you as much as you thought. And you obviously haven't planned this out as well as you should have. You should have expected them to do something like this."

"Get up." The inspector said, cutting off Wes's defensive response. Tarmok offered Wes his hand, and pulled the boy effortlessly to his feet. Wes rubbed the left side of his face. His ear was still numb, and his jaw and neck ached.

"You didn't have to hit me, you know." Tarmok smiled. "Of course I did. You were hysterical. You were reacting, not thinking. You've forgotten what I told you six years ago: This is about more than just you and Cullagh. The fate of my people hang in the balance of our actions here, and I won't let you delude yourself into thinking otherwise."

Wes hung his head. "I did think about this, Inspector. I thought that if the Syndicate were the ones to take Cullagh out, it could circumvent the need to draw official federation attention to the Orion Syndicate operations here. That would leave the status of your community stable, and the tentative Federation… alliance with the Syndicate would remain undiscovered."

It always galled Wes when he thought about the Federation tolerance of the Syndicate here. It was a delicate balance, a "look the other way" policy that allowed small scale smuggling to go on in exchange for information and other illicit favors.

Tarmok simply regarded him, arms crossed in front of his chest, a vacant expression on his face. He didn't bring up the old argument that shone in his eyes, that the alliance between the Syndicate and the Federation was anyting but tentative. That the Federation was directly involved in Cullagh's activities, at least the main reason the Syndicate tolerated them. He'd had no luck convincing the eleven year old of that, and the sixteen year old was even more settled into his assumptions.

"Come with me." Tarmok said abruptly, shattering the heavy silence between them. "I'll take you to my place, and we'll neutralize the tracer. I don't have the tools to do that here."

Without a word the craggy inspector turned and began walking toward the front of the warehouse. Wes stood frozen, and a chilling numbness settled over him as the full weight of his situation sunk in. He was alone, and helpless, again on Tau Sigma IV. His only ally was hell bent on pursuing a plan of his own that only peripherally considered Wes' well being.

Tarmok stopped and turned back frowning. The fear and shock that held Wes in place was suddenly swept away by a familiar stoic presence. You're not alone, you idiot. I'm here. And you're not helpless. Don't let the old bastard get to you, he's just trying to shake you up to see if you can handle the stress. He's probably already contacted the Syndicate himself. A relieved smile broke through Wes' frozen expression, causing Tarmok to grit his teeth in trepidation. "Don't worry, I'm coming." Wes said, and walked quickly to catch up to the inspector. "Can we get something to eat on the way? I'll pay. I'm starving."

Wes' long legs overtook the inspector, and Wes missed the look of reserved concern that Tarmok gave him as the two men walked out of the warehouse together.

On the other side of the Wall, in an inconspicuous set of offices located three bocks away from the huge, multicolor domed building that housed the Inter Species Tribunal, Jenqua sat in front of a huge black oak desk in an office with curved lines and stark white walls that was tucked away in the rear of the building. A human male sat behind it, with brown hair and brown eyes and a forgettable face. His own personal blandness was contrasted only by the sense of understated danger that overcame the Ha'Cai every time he entered the man's presence.

The man cleared his throat, and spoke. "This is the third time this month you've been here for your medicine, Jenqua. It's possible that we need to have you come in for more experiments, so that we can refine a more effective mix of drugs for you."

The burly Ha'Cai didn't react to the implied threat. The "experiments" were necessary, but they were also one step away from torture and no effort was made to make them easier on him.

Jenqua sat still as a stone, fully aware of how his stoicism discomforted the man behind the desk even though Sloan would never show it. Finally, the Ha'Cai spoke. "No, sir. I think this will be enough. Maybe we can start the experiments again in a couple of months."

Sloan frowned. "Are you sure? We can't afford for you to be compromised."

The statement was just another ploy. Sloan was twisting the screws, trying to intimidate his subordinate with the threat of neccecary pain. He knew something out of the ordinary was happening, he just didn't know what, and he was fishing for information in his own heavy handed way.

For a man supposed to be immersed in the dark side of subtlety, Sloan would not have lasted a year in the Ha'Cai tribal alliance.

Jenqua stood, controlling his mammoth frame with a grace that supprised people who were not used to the fluid motions of the Ha'Cai. "I am positive, sir. There will be no compromise."

Wariness flickered behind Sloan's eyes, but he nodded and made a dismissing gesture before turning back to the stack of Padds on his desk. Jenqua walked out of the room, a slight smile on his face, already forgotten by Sloan by the time the doors closed behind him. It was so useful to be underestimated