The Conference Centre
You approach the Ferengi scientist who is sipping her drink, a Klingon Raktajino it smells like, and reviewing her PADD while listening to the speaker. A woman of multitasking skill. Of course, Ferengi women are often relegated to subservient roles in their culture, rarely allowed to wear clothing much less drink raktajino and hobnob with scientists.
She looks up at Drake and M'Ress, and holds up her coffee by way of a greeting. "Hello Huuu-mahn," she drawls, her sharp teeth making out sounds more sinister than it is likely meant. "Federation send you to learn from the best?"
The Suite
Aurin-Ah starts off slow but with Luna's expert assistance soon catches the moment of the murder. The feed has a strange kind of interference suddenly, and it takes some time for Aurin-Ah to interpolate the data enough to identify the two individuals. You recognize the alien captain who's body you examined. Analysis reveals the Ferengi attacker as DaiMon Krel, a free trader.
DaiMon Krel moves swiftly, his lobed head glistening under the dim corridor lights as he closes in on the alien captain. The towering, boneless officer barely has time to turn before Krel drives the shimmering synthetic blade between the plates of its powered exoskeleton, twisting it with a practiced flick of the wrist. A wet, clicking hiss escapes the captain’s helmet as it slumps against the bulkhead, its bulbous eyes dimming.
Krel doesn’t hesitate as if profit waits for no one. He kneels, his fingers deftly searching the alien’s harness until he finds what he came for: a polished data crystal, glowing faintly in the suddenly red emergency lights. Slipping it into his coat, he wiped his blade on the corpse’s uniform and vanished into the shadows, perhaps already calculating the margin on his next deal.
