Warning: Some mention of sex slavery. Also, whump begins in this chapter. Most of you came into this with open eyes about the whump, so I won't be posting warnings for it anymore at this point. But anything that might be a trigger for something, I will warn you about.


Pavel Chekov was not completely without his wits. Sure, he'd been captured by the most feared crime syndicate in the galaxy, but fear didn't usually cloud his judgment, and this was no exception. There was something moderately satisfying about seeing the disappointment on the Orions' faces when he didn't cower before them.

Defiance had always been a strong point of his, though most didn't get to see that. He was, after all, Russian.

So, since he'd had his wits about him while being marched down the corridor of the Orion ship to his holding cell, he'd taken note of the vessel as they went. The shuttle bay, where they'd started out, was five hundred paces from the cell, to the best of his calculation. The first part of the corridor consisted of doors that he assumed were part of the Orions' living and working quarters. The second half was likely for their prisoners. Of which there appeared to be quite a few.

Chekov wasn't just leaping to conclusions, of course. The fact that the second half of the corridor had locks on all of the doors told him a great deal. The first half all slid open as soon as they passed, much as they should, revealing their contents – a mess hall, the bridge, the rec room, the barracks. It might have seemed like the Enterprise, if it hadn't all been on one level and run entirely by criminals.

Mentally he ran over the details. He didn't think it would be too hard to slip past the prison cells if he was afforded an opportunity for escape. It was the ten doors he'd passed before that which concerned him. Doors didn't just open when you passed. You had to be specifically walking toward them. This led him to believe that it was some sort of guard against prisoner escape.

Then there were the other prisoners. If he escaped, there was no guarantee anyone would be able to come back for them. In the event that he got an opportunity to steal a shuttle and escape, Chekov would do that, but he didn't exactly relish the idea of leaving anyone else behind.

Finally, at the end of the corridor, Moloz stopped and stood in front of a device that scanned his eyes. A door slid open, revealing only one other person inside. Their back was turned to the door, and they sat rigidly, defiantly. Chekov decided he liked whoever it was already.

"Brought you some company," Moloz sneered. "Don't enjoy each other too much. We need this one fresh for the auction block."

The Orion who was holding Chekov's arm as they'd marched down the corridor let go and shoved him into the cell. Outside, Moloz scanned his eyes again and the door slid shut. Resigning himself to the fact that if escape was coming, he'd have to work a way out of this place first, Chekov turned to look at his cellmate, who'd done much the same thing.

It was a human girl, probably about fourteen. She eyed him up and down, and Chekov couldn't help but think that she was way too young for the hardened look in her eyes. He'd been in his second year at the Academy when he was her age, but she'd obviously had a slightly less fortunate road.

"Starfleet?" she asked, nodding at his gold uniform.

Chekov nodded. Okay, she was familiar with Starfleet, and she was obviously human. That didn't necessarily mean her home planet was Earth. She continued surveying him with that shrewd, hard gaze of hers.

"Well, I hope that says something about what kind of person you are," she muttered. "But then again, I guess you get all kinds no matter where you go."

He gave a derisive laugh. "I von't contest that theory," he said. "You're human. Are you from Earth, or one of the Federation colonies?"

"I was from Earth initially," she said. "Then my dad moved us to Alpha Eridani II when I was ten. That sucked, but Earth wasn't too bad. You're obviously from Earth."

Chekov frowned at her. "And you know zis...how?"

She raised an eyebrow at him. "You're definitely Russian. Probably from around the Black Sea. I've got a good ear for accents. Not only is yours fairly clear, but most people only have accents if they've lived somewhere under the age of six. My dad's from the American Deep South, so I know. Me, I grew up in San Francisco, so I sound like a Californian. Point is, you're from Earth. Point is, you're Russian. Therefore, it follows that you're Terran."

Chekov raised his hands in surrender. "Fair enough. Although I vould like to point out zat I did spend some time on ze Lunar Colony ven I vas ten."

She smirked, and it was the most pleasant she'd looked since he'd met her. "Fair enough," she echoed. "I'm Lauren, by the way. We're going to be cell mates until you get to Geshaash, might as well know what to call each other until then."

"Pavel," he said. "And I don't have any intent of letting zem get me to Geshaash. I vas analyzing ze corridor on my vay here – "

"You might as well forget escaping," Lauren snapped harshly. "I've already tried it. You don't just get off this ship."

Chekov eyed her. "Are you sure you've exhausted ewery possibility? How long have you been here, anyvay?"

"A year," she said sullenly, staring at the floor and tracing a circle with her foot. Chekov frowned. That would certainly explain what was with the hardened look, so out of place on one so young. But something about it didn't add up...

"How have you been here a year?" he asked. "Vy hawen't zey sold you yet?"

She looked up at him, her gaze bitter. "Because I didn't start out on this ship," she growled. "Moloz bought me. I'm...his."

Chekov let that settle in for a few moments. Okay, now the pieces were starting to come together. And they made his Russian temper start to flare. At his best guess, she would have been thirteen when Moloz had bought her, and though she hadn't stated it explicitly, it didn't take a genius to find out what he used her for. Among Orions, he thought that might be considered normal. But the idea of Moloz, who was probably at least thirty Earth years Lauren's senior, using her in such a way made his blood boil under his skin. This…this was sick, in so many different ways.

It then occurred to him that Lauren might actually be younger than she looked. He knew that often a hard life made one appear older. He could cite Dr. McCoy as a prime example of the phenomenon. That made matters even worse.

In that moment, Chekov's mind was made up. If he got off this blasted ship, he was taking her with him. But if she was going to escape with him, he needed to give her some kind of hope that it could work.

"Look," he said, leaning forward. "Ven you tried escaping, did you try disabling the doors in their engineering room?" It baffled him that a ship could operate on a room as tiny as the one he'd seen, but he knew that sometimes, powerful things came in small packages.

Lauren leaned forward, intrigued. "I don't know how," she said. "Could..." Her voice trailed off, as though voicing it out loud would make her hope real, and she feared that. "Do you know how to do it?"

Chekov grinned at her. "I'm not an engineer," he said. "I'm a nawigator. But I shadowed our ship's chief engineer a few years back. And I'm fairly good at technological things like zis."

Some of the hardness of Lauren's expression faded, and she started to look a bit more like a teenage girl should. Looking around, she said, "I know how we can get out of here."

Sighing in relief, Chekov said, "I vas hoping you vould say zat. Because my plan began once ve got out ze door."

Lauren walked over to the wall and started pulling at one of the panels. Chekov saw, upon closer inspection, that it was slightly loose. She glanced over at him, and he smiled.

"You're a smart kid," he told her, thinking how weird it was to be saying that to someone else. Actually, it was just weird being the elder of the two in this situation. But he was beginning to see why Kirk felt so responsible for the crew. Watching Lauren work, Chekov thought about his captain and friend. Hopefully they would meet the Enterprise while they were heading away from the Orion vessel. If not, he knew Kirk would go to Geshaash. He knew his captain, and there was no way he'd let them get away that easily.

However, Chekov wouldn't mind minimalizing the risk of being sold before his friends even got there.

Lauren looked up at him. "We'd better hope there's no one on the other side of that door," she said. "Every once in a while, they send patrols through. But they're arrogant. They have complete confidence in their technology."

Chekov nodded. "Vell, ve'll just have to crush zat confidence, von't ve?"

Lauren gave him a small smile and turned back to her work. Chekov leaned in and saw that she was messing with the wires that activated the eye scanner Moloz had used before. He shook his head in amazement.

"Vhere did you learn to do zat?" he asked. Not a lot of people nowadays with no engineering experience could know exactly what strings to pull in this situation.

"Honestly, I just do it when I'm bored," she said. "But the first time I tried to escape, I memorized what I did with each wire. Have you ever heard of the term 'hotwiring a car'?"

He nodded.

"Well, it's essentially like that, only with a locking device."

The door slid open, and they peered around the corridor cautiously. No Orion stirred. Chekov briefly wondered what time it was. Were most of them on sleeping shift or something?

"Okay," he whispered. "Ze first door ve'll pass is zeir veapons bay. Ve grab a pair of phasers, stun whoewer is engineering, and zen disable the doors. Once zat is done, ve'll run to ze shuttle bay."

"You can fly a shuttle?" Lauren asked, skeptically.

Chekov nailed her with a withering gaze. "I'll have you know, I've piloted a shuttle through ze atmosphere of a planet populated vith active wolcanoes. Zis vill be child's play."

Lauren raised an eyebrow at him, and he was forced to amend that statement. "Okay, I may be exaggerating a little. But yes, I can fly a shuttle."

The pair of them slunk down the hall, Chekov first, keeping an eye ahead of them, Lauren watching from behind. As they passed a cell door, Chekov heard a pang from inside, and a pang of guilt overtook him briefly. Shoving it aside, he told himself that once they escaped, they could bring an entire starship back with them to disband whatever trading ring there was on Geshaash.

They were at the weapons bay door. Chekov poked his head inside and peered around, then motioned Lauren to go ahead of him. She walked up to the phaser banks and pulled out two.

"You sure you only want them on stun?" she asked drily.

"I vish I knew vether you vere serious or not," he replied.

"A little bit of both, if I'm being perfectly honest."

Once again, they crept stealthily toward the next door, which happened to be engineering. Chekov breathed a sigh of relief that Lauren appeared to be fairly light on her feet. He peered around the corner and found that only one Orion sat at the console in the engineering room. He wished he could take a mental note of how this ship worked for Mr. Scott. The Scotsman would love to get his hands on this thing!

Slowly turning so he was facing the interior of the room, Chekov tried to calm his breath as he raised his phaser...

Looking back on it, Chekov would recall bitterly how that would be the moment the engineer chose to turn around. That would be the moment Moloz would order a patrol to come down the hallway. But in that instant, all he could do was mutter under his breath, "Chert mozvi," and push Lauren down the hallway. "Run!"

She didn't need to be told twice. Chekov knew that their chances of escape were moderately slim at this point, but what were they supposed to do, run back to the cell and hope that compliance might get them out of whatever repercussions might come? There was still a dim chance that they could get to the shuttle bay and board one before the Orions caught them –

A very dim chance. And one that Chekov felt slipping away just as sure as the phaser blast to his side. The force of it knocked him against the far wall. He slid to the floor, dazed but not unconscious.

He thought he heard Lauren calling his name, then shrieking, but everything seemed to be a blur. As his vision cleared, he saw Moloz walking out the door directly across from him – the bridge, Chekov realized vaguely through his pain. Moloz turned, and Chekov followed his gaze to where another Orion stood, holding Lauren with her arms pinned to her sides.

"Take her to my quarters," Moloz growled at the other Orion. To Lauren, he said, "I'll deal with you later."

His gaze then settled back on Chekov, and Chekov had the sinking feeling he wasn't getting out of this one with just phaser burns.

Moloz hauled him up and dragged him back to the cell. He slid the door shut behind them and shoved Chekov up against the back wall. For a good two minutes he just stood there, staring at him. Finally, the stillness in the room was broken as Moloz began to slowly advance toward him.

"Do you know what most of my customers looking to buy slaves for their mines look for in a potential candidate?" he asked. Chekov knew he probably should have seen the punch to the gut coming, but that didn't stop his eyes from widening in surprise as it hit. Doubling over in pain and groaning, he started sinking toward the floor, but Moloz dragged him upright again.

"Bruises," Moloz hissed before kneeing him in the exact same spot his punch had landed. Chekov cried out, doubled over again, and Moloz delivered what felt like a karate chop to his collar bone. This time the Orion trader did nothing to stop him falling to the ground. Chekov only briefly had time to wonder whether that was a good sign or a bad sign before Moloz continued.

"You see, human," he growled, drawing his foot back and delivering a stinging kick to Chekov's side, " – my clients – who are miners –"

With every pause, Moloz lashed out again, and every time Chekov moved to avoid him, he only found some worse place to sink his foot into.

" – want a certain amount of toughness in their slaves. So – they look for the ones with bruises." Another pause, another kick. "Because – that means they've survived beatings. The worse the bruising – the harder the beating. And the better shape you're in after – " One final kick, and then Moloz stepped away. "The more you go for on the market."

Chekov almost thought he'd be getting a respite until Moloz leaned down and wrapped a single green hand around his neck, cutting off his airway. As Chekov choked and struggled for air, Moloz bent down to whisper in his ear.

"Never doubt my willingness to punish you, and punish you severely," he growled. "I won't kill you, but I'll make sure you're just as battered as possible before we arrive at Geshaash. I want them to know how much you can survive."

Black spots began to appear in Chekov's vision, and he wondered just how true of a statement that "won't kill you" part was.

"So, can I safely assume that this won't happen again?"

Not seeing much potential for success even if it did happen again, Chekov nodded. Moloz smiled wickedly and released him.

"I'm glad we're in agreement," he said as the door slid open and he strode out.

Chekov gasped in air, savoring every breath he pulled in as he curled around his stomach wounds. Every part of his body ached. He imagined that was the goal, considering what Moloz had told him about the desirability of bruises. His thoughts strayed to Lauren, and he wondered what Moloz would do to her now. While he didn't think it would be as severe of a beating as he'd been given, he didn't want to picture what "punishment" consisted of for her.

As Chekov lay there, unable to move for the moment, he felt trapped for the first time in this entire endeavor. Looking back, he cursed himself in every tongue he knew – Standard, Russian, and some Klingon he'd picked up from Uhura – that he hadn't thought to wait a bit longer to escape. He'd just been so determined to escape and to get Lauren off with him that he'd let it cloud his judgment. Now he had paid, and she would be paying soon.

And he'd continue to pay for it for a long time. Chekov knew he'd only get one chance of breaking out, and he had blown it.

Chekov mentally calculated the distance they'd mentioned to Geshaash, and how long it would take the Enterprise to get there at maximum warp. His heart sank into his throbbing stomach as he realized that even if they'd left immediately, there was no way they'd get there before Moloz's deadline was up.

His only hope now lay in delaying being sold as long as possible until his friends got there. Because, if Chekov knew anything about this crew he'd been serving with for five years now, they were coming.

It was what he would do for any of them.