7.

An hour later, he was packed. Back to square one after over two months of sheer, stupid uselessness, he was more than ready to end that unfortunate adventure and move the hell on. Leaving a few standby credits on the table for Maryl to find-he knew she'd rummage through the room after he left-he pulled the strap of his duffel onto his shoulder and strode out.

His only regret about ditching them was leaving them worse off than when they got him. Then again, Ridge should have listened to Maryl in the first place and not picked up a drunk already guilty of neglect and made him a captain.

"Oh no, you're not getting off that easily," came that same jovial voice just as he turned for the transporter.

Tom squeezed his eyes shut. If he didn't think the man could squash him like a bug, he would probably have barreled around and hit Ridge in the teeth. Instead, he growled, "Get off my back, Ridge."

With only a few quick steps, the man was beside him, stopping him with a hand on his shoulder. Looking down at the younger man, he said, "You didn't know what you were dealing with. You pilots get to talking over drinks, just like anyone. You couldn't know your old buddy was ferreting you. It's not completely your fault."

Tom laughed bitterly. "Yeah, not completely my fault that I almost killed your ship because I was too stupid to keep my mouth shut. -And I do know better...or I should have. Now Maryl wants to kill me, Livich'll probably suck the air out of my cabin if I sleep there another night-"

"Livich traded off a full flat of warp coil casings for a bucket of pickles her first week on the job!" Ridge returned. "We've all made mistakes, Tom."

"None of you were expected to be a goddamned captain!" Tom retorted.

"Oh, that's just a formality."

"Not where I come from." His glare nailed Ridge's easy gaze at that, probably the first sure and solid look he'd given anyone in over a year. "Not where I come from," he repeated.

Ridge took that in with a slow nod. "Yeah, you were Starfleet, weren't you." He sighed. "You must have screwed up big time to run this far."

"I didn't run," Tom said. "I just didn't want the reminders. There was nothing left but that." Watching that register on the man's face, Tom secured his duffel strap. "You don't want me here," he assured the technician. "I'm nothing but bad luck for all of you, definitely not reliable, and you don't need me screwing up your deals even on an unofficial basis. You guys can send the Bolian lawyers after me if you want, but I won't stay here and kill you all off."

With that, he turned again and tapped his request for transport to Velir. Glancing back at Ridge, he gave a slow nod of goodbye. "Sorry."

"Dabo!" rolled the echo around the smoky lounge-but that time Tom was nowhere near it. He had dumped half of his few remaining credits on the bar and ordered them to fill it until the tab was up. They did just that, with Romulan ale and a bowl of salt sticks he didn't try to stomach.

Actually, he didn't want anything on his stomach but that ale. It'd been a long time coming and too much of a relief to feel his extremities lose a little sensation, his brain follow closely behind. He even sent the bar girls away. He meant to get drunk and he didn't want to pretend to enjoy it.

It was working well enough by the time he noticed in the corner of his eye someone sit by him. He didn't bother looking, though, and hoped whoever it was didn't want to talk.

"Konar," ordered the woman. It was Savan.

"Damn," Tom muttered and almost stood.

"You need not leave, Tom," she told him, then laid her credit down for the wine when it was handed to her. "I only want to make one request."

Tom's head sank. "What this time?"

"Will you remain long enough for us to find the Zalista?"

"We don't have the power to chase them," he told her, feeling the crawl in his chest to repeat it, knowing how he got them to that point. For a moment, he couldn't believe she was asking him to. "The ship's stores are all but gone. Time to give up, just try to get something else."

"Something else will not matter when we lack a pilot," Savan told him and caught his eyes before he could respond. "Your error was not unique, Paris. Maryl and Livich, I believe, forget that they have made similar ones. It is different in your position, I understand; however, we do need your skills."

"Or what's left of them."

"I believe you are a capable pilot, even in a state that Starfleet would never allow you on duty."

"You'd be surprised what I got away with," Tom replied and swallowed another gulp of ale. He looked over at the Vulcan woman, her cool brown eyes and straight posture. "Starfleet?"

Savan turned her head slightly. "The Academy. I lost interest in my studies and so chose not to complete the regimen. Thus, I sought another career." She blinked at his shock. "Because I am Vulcan does not guarantee that I will be exceptionally careered."

"But the trade circuit?"

"It offers...sufficient satisfaction," Savan answered without complication. "It would likewise bring me satisfaction to find the Zalista and...correct them for their neglecting what few rules are generally respected among our profession and status. Moreover, for their flouting of Federation regulations, I have already informed our Ulinian contractors that the ship bears no deradiative holds and that they will need to inspect the Zalista's cargo for flaws due to chemical breakdown; they should suspect what sound ore remains if they are going to use it for more than four years. I also suggested they might hold the Zalista for orbital inspections, as they are exposing themselves and all they come in contact with to hazardous conditions."

Without his wanting it, a grin pulled at the corner of Tom's mouth. "You enjoyed that, didn't you?"

"I did not lie," she stated, then looked at the young man again. "Will you help us find the Zalista? Certainly, its pilot has served you an insult. Or are you, as they say, 'too dead' to desire recompense?"

Tom sighed, returned to his drink. "Even if I wanted to, we don't have the power."

Had her bloodlines been anything but Vulcan, she might have responded with a wicked smile. Instead, she merely blinked. "I still have some stores that will trade for enough deuterium and plasma to bring us up to full power for a time." She took another sip when Tom's eyes came up again. "I have been on the circuit long enough to learn frugality."

"Why the hell didn't you say so before?" Tom demanded, suddenly feeling something that time-the desire to knock the snotty Vulcan off her stool.

Savan's brows rose. "So you are interested."

Tom gnashed his teeth, drew a breath. "I just want..." He shook his head. "I don't want to be a captain of anything. I go back on board, that title goes out the window."

Savan considered that. "As captain, as well as owner of the ship-regardless of how this came to be-you will be able to design the role as you please, while using the title when it is necessary. I think we all would like to develop a more egalitarian structure aboard the Guerdon. If you want to make those changes, then you will meet little resistance."

"Aside from Livich."

"Livich uses titles for what blame she desires to pass on," Savan informed him. "Regardless, your position's influence would be whatever you make of it."

"I don't want to 'make' anything, Savan," Tom told her.

"Then what precisely do you want, Tom? I would like to know."

He paused, swishing a sip over his tongue before swallowing it. "So would I."

"I believe you know, only it is something you believe you cannot obtain."

"If you're going to drink with me, don't psychoanalyze."

"My apologies." Savan sipped her wine; let the silence stand for a moment. "May I take you back to the ship when you are sufficiently intoxicated?"

Tom sucked down the remainder of his tumbler, then tapped it with the stirrer for another. "Just make sure Livich doesn't try to kill me when we get there, okay?"

"I will speak with Livich," Savan assured him.

Considering what else she had up her sleeve, Tom decided he didn't want to know.

As for the rest...

He blinked, focused. "I don't think we should catch up with the Zalista first, though. We should skip Kalandra-Nine Station. -That is the next planned stop, right?"

Savan turned her gaze to the pilot, intrigued. "It is."

"Okay. So we should go straight to Irtrin."

"Why would we go there? They do not regularly stock salicite ore. Would they have any, it would be minimal."

"But they deal in ore casings and a few other things the Zalista needs to take care of their stocks. If they don't have deradiative holds like you say, they'd have to make up for it by changing out their plating before they have a spill-out. Right? I know someone working on Irtrin who owes me an out from the brig and happens to work the stocks there. Meanwhile, we need to get ahead of the Zalista. If we get the power we need, do you think we can handle a short speed run?"

"I believe so." The Vulcan considered him anew. "You have a plan?"

He shrugged. "Maybe I'm more interested than I was before. -Just please take the credit for this, or else Maryl and Livich'll never go along with it."

Her eyes closed slowly, then opened again. "Let me hear what you propose."

"I still don't know why we're bothering wasting our power here," Maryl muttered as the Irtrin Station docking clamps popped and rumbled against the hull. "They don't have anything we need."

"You do not have to go into the station," Savan said, tapping on his console to acknowledge their secure hold.

"I will go," Maryl returned, clipped with annoyance. "It's my job, which I do whether or not it's a tough call."

"Nice to know that," Tom commented, then looked at Savan again. "Have a walk?"

The Vulcan moved from her seat. Before following the pilot, she leaned toward Maryl as she passed. "Only do not attempt to purchase any salicite."

"Like we can afford any at this point."

"For the first time in this run, that will be a good thing. I will make certain of that."

"You'd better. We can't keep on like this." Maryl watched them leave as she patched a line through to the station liaison. "Piece of crap Starfleet brat."

Jerod glanced down the hall from his place near the door, where the pilot and Vulcan shared a few quick, quiet words. "I dunno, Maryl. Savan's doing the talking, but I think they're both up to something."

"How relieving," the Bajoran mewed, turning back to her own work.

"Nice to see you again, Limar," Tom said, leaning on the side of the captain's seat as he regarded the other man through the viewscreen. He did not smile, his voice held no humor, but a small part of him was enjoying the angry look on the fellow pilot's face, not to mention the others' frustration. It was a pleasing irony to know his ship was enjoying adequate power while the Zalista didn't look too hot. Tom turned his attention to the captain. "Captain Higra."

"You must be Captain Paris," Higra mumbled, staring hard through the viewscreen. "I expected someone at least old enough to shave a full beard."

Tom resisted responding to the weak insult, but instead commented, "Looks like you're in need of some repairs."

The captain flinched. "We've had a full drive failure due to a radiation leak in our holds. Three quarters of the ship are sealed off."

"Radiation? That wouldn't happen to be salicite radiation, would it?" He didn't wait for an answer. "I wonder what kind of dealer would trade out salicite without ore casings, unless there weren't any to be had. Need the casings to seal the cargo, right? Sure, they could get a few light years, maybe to the next station to see if they had some casings to spare, but without proper holds, they'd never get back to Ulinas with that much radioactivity melting through unprotected bulkheads. Even with the right holds, they'd have some damage. But everyone knows you don't have the right holds." Tom looked over at Maryl. "Do you remember picking up casings at Irtrin? Maybe we can lend them a few."

"I don't know," Maryl replied. "I'm not the one who controls the inventory."

"I'd have to look," Jerod supplied with a snort.

"I think you're aware of our cargo and our dealings," Higra cut in, "so let's quit the game. I'm trying to avert a core overload and as much as I don't want your help, I'm asking for it."

"I might spare my technician for a price."

"If you think you're going to get my cargo-"

"You can't carry it as it is, and even if you do make it to Ulinas, it's likely they won't take it because it'll be half rotted by the time you get there." Tom shrugged. "But if you want to breach on top of all that, that's your choice."

"You lousy bastard, when I catch up with you-"

"After you recompile yourselves," Tom cut in. Turning, he took his seat and checked their coordinates. "We're just far enough off to enjoy the show." He looked back at Jerod, ignoring the increasing commotion on the other ship. "How much does a half-smashed nacelle go for on the open market?"

"About ten bars if all the pieces are there," Jerod told him, notably more amused than Tom looked at that point, "but that's Maryl's department."

"Ten bars sounds about right," Maryl said.

"That's enough to buy some more deuterium and me a bottle of real scotch," Tom nodded. "Any way we look at it, we win. That'll be nice for a change."

"You are not getting my cargo!" Higra snapped across the comm.

Tom looked at him again. "Since I'm new in the circuit, you might need a hint at this point: I don't give a damn if you give me your cargo or not. I've got nothing left to lose in watching your ship blow to chunks and collecting debris when the sparks sizzle down. Nothing left to lose at all. So you can do whatever the hell you want. I'll still be flying away."

With that, he pulled his hand away from the keypad, leaned back and crossed his arms.

In the corner of his eye, he saw a broad grin form on Maryl's mouth.

He didn't share the expression, but it was good to see Higra blink.

Cool drinks were poured around the large mosaic table, which was nestled in the back corner of the leaf-canopied outdoor lounge. The city facilities could not be seen or heard from there, save the occasional hum of an ascending craft. The weather had grown mild at sunset and was pleasantly moist. The respite was almost as nice as the flatcase of latinum Maryl was resting her feet on.

She wasn't about to leave it on the ship with no one else there.

"God, I love Ulinas," Jerod grinned as a busty waitress bent over to set a folded napkin on the table before him.

"You'd love any block of soil we'd to land on after the last few months," Maryl returned.

"No way. This place beats the hell out of Minjau any day."

"It is hospitable," Savan agreed, taking in the view of the gardens. She glanced at the waitress. "Are there obtainable samples of this flora?"

"In the central arboretum," the woman answered as she finished her pouring.

Once the waitress was gone, Ridge picked up his glass and raised it for a toast. "To bad luck," he deadpanned.

Maryl whacked his arm. "To a good profit and a ship that moves!"

"That's more like it," Livich said assuredly. "Now if only we can actually get it to do that."

"That's your job, Livich," Jerod smirked.

"Up yours, Treevis," she returned and clinked her glass against Maryl's.

Tom shared the toast absently, then continued to look around.

"Hey, Tom," Ridge said. "Come on, enjoy yourself. It's not often we land on a planet with actual civilization."

"It's fine," Tom dismissed. "I was just thinking..." His voice drifted off as he brought his glass to his lips.

"About?" Savan asked.

"How little it's changed. My father brought me here once when I was a boy. My sisters and I played in that park over there when he was in the conference."

Jerod peered over. That late into the evening, all he saw were long shadows beyond a row of fluffy purplish trees. "Was your dad a scientist?" he asked.

"No. A Starfleet officer."

Maryl eyed him. "Little wonder you got into all that, because your father was in it, too."

Tom nodded and leaned back in his seat. "He still is," he said, looking back down to the oblong PADD in his hand. As the others went back to their conversations, he pulled a long sip of his wine and continued to tap a few more items into the list he'd begun to put together...