Chapter 3
One of those funny things about visiting several dozen worlds over two quadrants of the galaxy was how very similar certain things began to appear. Caves, for instance. Tom had long ago noticed that almost every cave on almost every planet he had visited looked essentially the same, kind of like the reusable sets of those old sci-fi television shows from the twentieth century. Also, the main business street of just about any trading colony had much the same components. Sure, there were certain variations of the theme, and reading those variations could tell you a lot about the place: the ratio of pawn shops to more legitimate venues for currency exchange; the number of shuttered windows; the amount of foot traffic. And, of course, the relative density of drinking establishments.
Ferrin III was heavy on pawn shops and drinking establishments – all clearly marked pictorially for visitors who might not read the local script – and noticeably low on foot traffic despite the brisk business which many of those bars appeared to be enjoying. It also had its fair share of shuttered windows. All of which confirmed Tom's earlier assessment as he viewed the colony from above: there was money flowing freely here but very little investment in anything - including any sort of official security. The streets were likely less than safe once night fell.
Which meant they needed to get off those streets. Any chance at tritanium would be found in the bars and not on the streets anyway. But bars required money. Tom eyed the pawn shops, and his hand went to his collar. "I have an idea," he said to Torres, heading toward one of the least disreputable looking shops. Catching on quickly, she started to remove her own rank insignia. Tom shook his head. "Don't bother. The provisional bars don't have any actual gold in them which is the only thing that anyone here might value."
The engineer chuckled mirthlessly and muttered, "Of course they don't."
Had he thought it would have been received at all well, Tom would have given her a sympathetic smile at the particularly nuanced ways that Starfleet had of adding insult to injury. Instead, he simply continued, "The pips won't be worth anywhere near enough to buy us the tritanium, but they might get us into one of those bars and maybe a place to sleep tonight." B'Elanna nodded, and Tom stopped in front of the pawn shop he had chosen. "Wait here." She nodded again, taking a position with her back to wall and clear lines of sight for any direction of possible approach. Happy that her caution matched his own and hoping they were both just paranoid, Tom entered the shop.
The transaction was quick and straight-forward, though the pilot was fairly certain throughout that he was being fleeced. He had no real choice but to trust the proprietor on the value of the local currency as well as the market value of the gold. Had they more time, he might have gathered offers from a few different shops, but he suspected that, while they might cooperate in little else, the brokers would be well coordinated in their dealings with ignorant and somewhat desperate off-worlders. Trusting his instincts that, while he was being had, it could be worse, he collected his coins and got a quick lesson on the local monetary nomenclature from the proprietor who, having made out well, was happy to provide the needed information. Then he made his way back onto the street.
B'Elanna fell into step beside him as he exited. "No excitement out here?" Paris asked.
She shook her head. "Almost nobody came by," she replied tensely, mirroring his own unease. Dusk was rapidly gathering around them.
"Time to find dinner," he suggested. "Would you like to chose the establishment, or shall I roll the dice?"
She frowned and then pointed to a relatively well lit, populated but not overly raucous tavern a bit down the street. "That one looks as good as any." Tom concurred and they made their way to the entrance.
Bars were, of course, another of those things that had begun to blend together a long time ago. They stood for only a moment just inside the doorway to get their bearings before B'Elanna tipped her head towards a table in the back corner which happened to be near what looked like a rear exit to the building, and Tom nodded. "You grab the table, and I'll hit up the bartender and see if I can find us some food – and possibly some information." She moved away, and Tom swallowed hard, regretting his decision almost immediately. While not as numerous as the males, there were enough females scattered around the room that he had thought B'Elanna might remain unnoticed on her own for a few minutes. He was wrong. As she walked to the corner, at least a half dozen pairs of eyes trailed her. Tom was tempted to follow her as well, but she would want to know why he had changed his plan and there was no answer that he could give that would not, somewhat justifiably, infuriate her. He knew she could take care of herself. He would just see about the food quickly.
Keeping the table where the engineer was now sitting in his peripheral vision, Paris made his way to the bar and caught the attention of the female bartender. Putting on an easy smile, he first ordered drinks and arranged for food and then casually asked if she knew of any possible mineral and ore suppliers. The bartender responded with a matching smile and some helpful information before, seeing that one of Torres's interested parties had made his way over to her table, Tom picked up their drinks and, assured that the food would follow, made his way through the room to the back corner table.
By the time he arrived, B'Elanna's visitor was stalking away, clearly less than happy with whatever conversation he had had with the half-Klingon. "What did you say to him?" Tom asked, handing her a drink and sliding into the empty chair.
"You don't want to know," B'Elanna growled. "Let's just say he's unlikely to be back."
"Unfortunately, I doubt he's the only male here hoping for a word or two," Tom pointed out.
The engineer grimaced. "Well, I guess you're good for something then, Paris."
He just couldn't help himself. "Should I make it clear that you are off the market?" he offered leaning in just a bit. "It could make your life easier."
"Thanks, but I think I'll take my chances," she deadpanned.
"Let me know if you change your mind," the pilot drawled, sitting back in his chair and picking up his drink. "Always happy to be of service."
Clearly deciding that a change of subject was in order, Torres asked, "Did you find out anything of interest at the bar?"
"That man over there," and Tom nodded toward a man eating alone at a table on the other side of the room. He looked to be a native of the neighboring Talen system where Voyager had been restocking. "The bartender says that he trades in tritanium – and just about everything else. She suggested that we might start with him..."
"Paris..." B'Elanna interrupted, her voice insistent, her eyes on a table near the Talenite where half a dozen males of the same species as her earlier visitor sat. Half a dozen males who had their eyes on the two Voyager officers. And who all appeared to armed with some sort of energy weapons.
"Shit," Tom muttered. "This is not our day, is it?" The men were pushing back their chairs now, still staring at Tom and B'Elanna and making no attempt to be subtle in their actions. "Stay or go?" Tom asked in an undertone. A quick survey of the room made it clear that the rest of the patrons had noticed what was happening and collectively turned their backs on the situation. B'Elanna seemed to have made the same assessment. "Go," she answered as they both moved for the door behind them.
The good news was that the door was indeed an exit. The bad news was that it opened into a poorly lit blind alley. "Definitely not our day," Torres growled. With few other options, they turned to face their pursuers, backs to the wall, phasers drawn.
"I wouldn't do that if I were you," came a voice from the shadowed darkness near the door they had exited. "We outnumber you. And, we're Trelins," the owner of the voice added as he stepped out from the shadows. "We have excellent night vision. My friends back here would kill you before you ever sighted them to shoot."
"And why would we take your word on that?" Tom asked, straining to define shapes within the movement in the darkness behind the lead Trelin.
The Trelin shrugged. "Don't then. But my friends are still in the shadows while you and your companion are quite easy to see. So unless you have particularly good vision, we are still at the advantage. And, we still outnumber you."
Paris glanced sideways at Torres. She shook her head ever so slightly; she couldn't make sense out of the shadows either. He raised an eyebrow, and she nodded: she'd follow his lead. "So what do you want from us? I was looking forward to trying the house special back there," Tom quipped.
His opponent chuckled. "Not worth the money today, but come back for tomorrow's – it's quite good."
Tom quirked an eyebrow. "I wouldn't mind. Will I be around?"
"That depends on your next move, doesn't it?" responded the Trelin. "I suggest you put down your weapons, and we'll talk."
"I don't suppose you'd put down yours as well?" As he asked, Tom caught movement from above in the corner of his eye and glanced up to see a definite flash of metal from one of the second story windows.
"I don't think so." The Trelin indicated the window. "Another friend seems to have found himself a little perch." His gaze hardened. "Your weapons. Now. Before one of my friends' fingers becomes itchy."
"B'Elanna?" he looked back over at her. She gritted her teeth, but nodded, and they both slowly placed their phasers on the ground in front of them.
"Good move," the Trelin approved.
"So what exactly did you want to talk about?" Torres broke in, apparently becoming impatient with the feigned pleasantries.
The Trelin's eyes moved over to her with interest. "Ah! You speak at last." He smiled unpleasantly. "I was hoping to make your acquaintance and discover what you said that sent Gremin scurrying off. He's usually much more persistent." He stepped towards her, lowering his own weapon though clearly conscious that the two off-worlders were still well covered. "I'm Yorgin. And you are B'Elanna, apparently?"
The engineer sent a glare the pilot's way, and Tom mouthed a silent apology. She looked back to Yorgin, her arms crossed and her jaw set. "Apparently."
Yorgin took a couple more steps forward, and Tom stirred beside her. She shot him another look clearly messaging that this was her fight and that he should stay the hell out of it. He stilled for the moment, but it was a very watchful stillness. "And what was it, B'Elanna, that you said to poor Gremin?" Yorgin persisted.
He had stepped even closer now, and her eyes flashed with a dangerous anger. "Among other things, I told him that if he so much as tried to touch me I would have him flat on his back before he could think."
Yorgin laughed, taking the last step to close the distance between them. "And he took you seriously? A little thing like you? One would think..." and then Torres had grabbed his wrist as he reached out towards her, and he found himself on the ground at her feet, her phaser back in her hands and pointed at his head.
"One would think what exactly?" Torres demanded, and Tom heard the clicks of a half dozen weapons being retrained and readied. "B'Elanna..." he warned.
"One would think that Yorgin would be able to follow through on the orders he was given," came a new voice from the back doorway of the tavern. As he came forward out of the shadows, Tom recognized the Talenite whom the bartender had pointed out to him. "At ease, everyone," the trader called out, "and come out where they can see you." In answer to the authority in his voice, four Trelins emerged from the shadows, weapons lowered, and the sniper in the window moved to the sill. "Now, my dear," he addressed B'Elanna, "if you wouldn't mind releasing Yorgin, I can assure you that he will not trouble you again."
B'Elanna eyed the newcomer for a moment before lowering the phaser and stepping away from the Trelin. Yorgin rose none to gracefully to his feet and, at the other man's curt gesture, growled and headed back to the bar, motioning for the other Trelins to follow. Relaxing ever so slightly after the last of them had disappeared through the door, Tom turned to their apparent rescuer. "Looks like we owe you some thanks. And who exactly are you again?"
"Borat," the man replied. "Your host for the night, apparently, since you have chosen my tavern, though I have many other trades as well." At which, for just a moment, he turned an odd look on B'Elanna. Then he gave them a particular smile that was universal to salesmen across the galaxy. "And I hear you are looking for some tritanium."
