Gavroche dressed in black, opened up the window to his lavish and climbed outside. He could have used the front entrance, of course, but that would have involved security, pomp and ceremony and he wanted to avoid all three of those. He heard voices and he waited, a couple were walking hand in tentacle. Love was truly universal, it seemed.

They moved through and Gavroche dropped to the ground, his misspent youth gave him skills that put him in good stead for times such as this. He set off, stopping in the odd shop on the way, to make sure he wasn’t being followed. Since becoming Governor he had developed an informal group of individuals that he relied on to tell him what was going on in the colony that was unfiltered by what people thought he wanted to, or should, hear.

This was slightly dangerous, and definitely not necessarily legal. He knew the Fleet Captain would give him a dressing down should he find out, and he thought that the Captain would as well. But, he was Governor and he would protect the colony in whatever way he thought was best. And the information he was acting on said that this was important.

It was a dangerous and run down part of the city that he was entering. He knew the risks were great, but he couldn’t take the chance that the rumours had some truth to them. After all if the others were putting themselves at risk to bring him the warning, he had to put himself in danger to respond to it and to protect the colony for which he was responsible.

He reached the building he was heading towards and entered the bric-a-brac store and looked at something that appeared to be some kind of antique, but which he knew was a cheap pakled-made ripoff.

“Can I help you hewman?” that was the Ferengi owner of this store.

Gavroche looked him up and down and said, “yes, what can you tell me about this bowl?”

“I personally picked it up from an explorer who brought it back from Dachius Prime. It was from a dig that is dated back at least 2500 years. You have a unique one of a kind object there, good Sir.”

“Dachius Prime?” Gavroche repeated, “that dig still going on? That’s in Vren space, isn’t it?”

“Yes, but the explorer reports the Vren haven’t been active there in months.”

At that point a very large and very drunk Klingon entered the store and stalked up to the Ferengi and Gavroche.

“You sold me this last week, Ferengi, it broke in my hand!” the Klingon roared, flinging the hilt of what was a knife of some kind at the Ferengi’s head.

“Satisfaction is not guaranteed,” the Ferengi replied, ducking.

“Don’t you quote those at me, Ferengi,” the Klingon said.

‘19, Vren, 2500 hours, Dachius.’ Gavroche repeated to himself.

“I’ll take the bowl,” Gavroche said, handing over some latinum he brought with himself. It was close to 2500 hours, and Gavroche knew he had to hurry if he’d get to Dachius in time.

• Governor