Tom Paris managed to make a good impression on a Melin trader while in Allegthria. Niryelle was practically radiating when they rolled off the 5 barrels of some wine from his storage unit. The Pirate Captain even thanked and congratulated him personally, he almost started to feel bad. Although he managed to convince himself that he did it only for selfish reasons, the trader had a substantial fleet, and the ship he was to 'drive' looked pretty state of the art. It's sensors definitely able to look deep into space, likely to find even Voyager if they are still around, and why wouldn't they be... - Tom thought. To help him keep up the good impression, he was given several changes of clothes, and as a personal parting gift, he was given something that stirred up more emotions than such a small item should ever be able to: his Starfleet Comm Badge. As soon as he was alone in his quarters - more like a cabin - he tapped it and tried to contact his friends. There was no response, which was to be expected, but he smiled and hoped that once, maybe there will be.
They took off not long after the Dead Pool left Allegthria, flying 'downward' perpendicular with the axis of the Grey. His owner was quite wily and shifty, Tom couldn't help but like him from the start. Their first 'mission' promised quite a bit of tension and trouble already, even if Voyager never finds him again, this wouldn't be the worst of careers out of Starfleet. Still, Tom wanted very much to be found and rejoined with his friends, and especially B'Elanna.
He is ordered to slow to impulse power at a border base, to settle some Melin business. As his Captain leaves the bridge Tom resumes his scouting, checking out the different stations around, and the people working them. Some of them are Melins, no doubt friends of the owner, he only counts two other 'slaves'. He was never called that on this ship, he was to earn money even, it just so happened that his 'contract' on the vessel was a rather long one.
The startling screaming of the proximity alerts pull him back from his thoughts. He looks around on his console quickly, whatever is happening, it's not him driving the ship into a ditch.
- "A shuttle is decloaking right beneath us!" - a Melin officer calls out on the bridge, his voice angry and piping at the same time. Just as Tom hears him, he is enveloped in a yellow haze. He is being transported. "Oh come on..." he mutters to himself, not wishing to go through something similar quite so fast again.
It was by pure chance the Eye never picked up Voyager's parting with the Cochrane, a Type-9 shuttlecraft. They were behind a moon from the point of view of the deep space radio- & subspace-telescope. Closer watch with the subspace scanners would have revealed this, but Niryelle uses the Eye to track and spy on many things, the Starfleet vessel was only one of them. The highly maneuverable, fast, albeit small shuttle was never as interesting as the Delta Flyer, it remained unnoticed by the Pirates.
Chakotay and Seven of Nine docked at a station orbiting the small moon, attached to a substantial subspace antenna. Nor Janeway nor the Commander liked the idea of hacking into the sensor, but all things considered, they weren't doing any harm or damage, they were simply looking at the data the radar would collect anyway. There were a few shops and a bar on the station, it didn't take much to disguise themselves as weary travelers, looking to drown their sorrows. They parted with their Starfleet uniforms, donning casual clothes instead. Seven wasn't pleased, her new rags being very inefficient compared to her skintight biosuit. The First Officer wasn't so opposed, this whole operation reminded him of his Maquis days, although he hoped all they would be observing is going to be a successful rescue, and Voyager returning to the safety of Melin space unscathed.
Instead, they had to suffer through the ordeal without a way or a chance to help their crewmates. They could see on the sensor readouts that the Pool remained outside the nebula, how they destroyed the approaching fleet, and judging from the movements, how they must've captured Voyager. What they witnessed constitued plan C, attempt to track and possibly rescue whoever remains alive. Seven could quickly determine the three ships were heading back to Allegthria. Chakotay hoped it's because of the crew, going through all this just to sell Voyager itself would be largely wasteful, with the wide range of other types of ships available all around, some stronger and more powerful than their Intrepid-class vessel. There must be some ulterior motive, some special fascination with Voyager, and hopefully the reason they are flying back to arguably the largest trading post of the entire state, would be to rid themselves of her crew in a profitable manner.
Their shuttle only capable of sustaining a speed of Warp 4, they hurriedly left the station, en route to Allegthria.
Tom materialized in a tall and wide transporter bracket, in the aft wall of a shuttlecraft. No guns or blades pointing at him, no forcefields holding him in place. As he looked ahead, there were 3 large chairs at the dashboard, which was rather high up itself. He could see the center chair was occupied, when the lean figure kneeling on it turned to the side, struggling to reach different keys on the wide panels. The directed energy discharges suddenly quaking the ship made him realize he is wasting time.
He tumbles out of the tranporter, as sparks fly from a few conduits in the cockpit. Remembering the disruptor turrets lining the ship he was piloting, it's high time to get the hell away from here.
- "A little help please?!" - a girl's piping voice echoes through the room. As Tom leaps toward the chair struggling to keep on his feet in the trepidation, he sees a girl, casual clothes, shorter blonde hair barely reaching down to her shoulder, and a bandana over her eyes eerily similar to Niryelle's.
- "Who are you?!" - a pertinent albeit entirely irrelevant question in their current situation.
- "A friend, just help me get out of here before they manage to pierce the shields!" - the girl yells, tapping on the console in front of her, hinting at him. She jumps out of the chair, leaping to the one on the right, sporting tactical configuration.
Finding out what's going on will be mighty pointless if they are vaporized, Paris tries to learn how this particular shuttle flies in a matter of seconds. He isn't much larger than the girl, her way of kneeling on the chairs looks like the best way to reach the dash panels. This ship is obviously designed for a species significantly larger than them. The whole place dark, colorless and quite simply: just bulky and ugly, the controls are pushable buttons, if this girl is affiliated in any way with the pirates he got to know, it certainly isn't a close relationship. After a short while they are still under constant fire.
- "Come on! Make sure they don't hit us!" - the girl demands angrily.
Tom is baffled at the helm, not even Captain Janeway is asking him to pull off such miracles, not on a regular basis anyway. - "Yeh... I'm trying!" - he manages to form the words while pressing buttons with his fists, his arms flailing over the entirety of the massive panel.
- "If our shieldscreen can consolidate we can cloak again!" - his savior's words although a nice motivation, don't make this any easier.
Paris realizing this is very much a do or die situation, turns the vessel hard to port. The controls while feeling clumsy because they are big, actually respond rather quickly, he never saw them, but the shuttlecraft is equipped with four impulse thrusters of considerable size, joined to the aft in a slight angle, allowing for excellent maneuverability. He sends the vessel into a tailspin, approaching the station they were hanging around to a dangerous extent. The starbase is only a lean pillar, but he is using the many protruding platforms to act as 'meat' shield. The trade ship actually stops firing, unwilling to risk hitting the station. This allows the shuttle to reinitialize the cloaking device, vanishing from sight. Tom quickly flips the ship about, going the opposite way as what their last known heading would suggest.
- "That's where we are going.." - the girl points to a pad welded to a beam running across the windows, displaying a set of coordinates - "we are good 'till Warp 5!"
The Lt. enters the coordinates and after a wide curve around the station and the tradeship they zap into warp, the cloak still holding.
- "Are you sure we are safe Commander? We will surely be detected as we approach the station, perhaps we have been already." - Seven's question is echoing in the shuttle after some time spent in silence, with hints of worry in her otherwise collected and firm tone.
- "We are supposed to be safe while in Melin space." - Chakotay promptly replies, glad that a conversation is starting up again - "As far as I can contrive, these pirates respect the rules around here, you can have all the things you can steal in the world, it's meaningless if you can't trade them for the things you need."
- "A logical assumption." - Seven concedes.
- "They might be pissed they haven't captured us as well, so we should make ourselves scarce once we arrive."
- "I don't believe that to be an issue Commander, there should a vast multitude of colorful aliens on Allegthria, if it proves to be the place they described it as."
- "Indeed." - Chakotay lets out a chuckle - "Well, I think I will turn in until we arrive, maybe you should take a nap as well." - he says playfully.
- "I do not require rest at this time." - the usual robotic reply comes from the former drone.
- "I know Seven, but your alcove is still on Voyager, it might take a considerable amount of time before you see it again" - the Commander explains warmly - "And the way I see it, they less active you are, the less energy you expel."
- "I'm perfectly capable of managing my energy levels on my own Commander." - the blonde replies firmly with a cold glance.
- "Just a suggestion..." - Chakotay pulls up both of his hands in surrender, smiling. He then moves quietly to the aft section of the small shuttle, laying down on the rather plain bed.
.
After a few hours they are about to arrive in the floating city. The Pool is already in the Central Dock, its armor retracted. Voyager is holding position away from the base amongst other vessels, and the Foul Whore patroling around it. Confident or not, Niryelle is apparently not leaving things up to chance. The Melin are using a special kind of money, and being the central of commerce, it is recognised as legal tender in most of the Coveted Expanse. The notes are like thin cards, made from distinctive silicone isotopes, with several safeties incorporated against counterfeiting. Most notably, the sequence of different isotopes inside needs to perfectly match the number printed on the piece, and certain other sequences located in positions determined by the hashing algorithm need to match the records of the Central Bank of Melinica on that specific note - meaning the only way a successful fake can be created is to copy an existing note. The level of replication technology required to pull this off is way beyond what's available in most of the region. The few rare occasions someone succeeded, the Bank recorded the 'same' note in usage at different spots, when covering the distance in the allotted time would have been impossible. The Melins made sure their gruesome demise were turned into richly detailed stories told all across the expanse. While Voyager was conducting trades in preparation, they have kept a budget of cash, now in possession of Chakotay and Seven, just in case.
After they docked, they were immediately approached by security personnel, since their shuttle, and their species hasn't really been seen before, the guards wanted to make sure their stay will be paid for. Once the Commander flashed them the cash, they had no more questions at all, bidding their warmest greetings to the pair.
Rivenwell and two of her Colonels, Boss and Tinman are sitting with Allegthria's Prefect - Humbold and a wealthy businessman - Thorond. They are in one of the rather exclusive restaurants, around a circular table filled with all kinds of gourmet specialties. The ambiance is laid back, the luxurious elegance of the decoration kept at tolerable levels. The booth they are sitting in is on an elevated platform, walled off with decorative, albeit very much see-through panels from the rest of the establishment. The two stairways - they are only a few steps - leading up each feature two brickfaced bouncers, apparently only the privileged can access the upper tables.
- "It's them, I'm sure of it." - Chakotay whispers to his partner. They are sitting on the outer edge of the restaurant, discreetly peeking at the pirate entourage. Neelix managed to describe all of his captors, the portraits matching the three they see. Captain Janeway's description of the last moments of her dream confirm Niryelle, their leader. Seven keeps staring at them intently.
- "Seven, could you be a little more discreet?" - the Commander pulls on her arm gently.
- "Are we not spying on them Commander?" - Seven questions with brows raised.
- "Spying implies they won't notice." - Chakotay drowns a yell into a whisper - "Come on" - he stands up - "switch places with me, at least you won't have to turn so awkwardly..." - he sighs.
As they sit back down a waiter shows up.
- "We can find you another table if this one isn't to your liking." - he says humbly.
- "Oh that won't be necessary, thank you." - the First Officer puts on a wide smile, patting Seven on her thigh gently - "It's all settled now."
Judging by Seven's expression, she might as well have been stung with a knife. Realizing what is going on after a few seconds, she manages to curve her lips in an awkward smile - "The table is acceptable." - she adds.
Chakotay's slow blinking is telling tales about how very glad he is to be doing this with the ex-drone, instead of, well, any other crew member. However, Seven's borgified talents are going to come in very handy very soon.
- "What would you like to drink?" - the waiter asks as he finishes handing them the menus with a wry smile.
- "Forgive me for pointing, but what are those on that table?" - he points at a table along the edge of the establishment, the guests there are having something served in very tall, decorative chalices.
While the waiter and the Commander have their little banter, Seven keeps looking at their objective. She awkwardly puts her hand over her face from time to time, only making it worse. Chakotay reaches for her other hand lying on the table, he knows that the touch will provide sufficient distraction until the waiter leaves.
- "Stop staring like that Seven!" - he says as the man leaves their table. - "Two of them are facing right this way!"
- "I doubt they have noticed us Commander." - she responds firmly, hiding her hand under the table.
- "Wait for our beverages, they should grant some camouflage."
- "Where should I be looking until then?" - a slightly offensive inquiry.
- "You could look at me." - Chakotay sneers ear-to-ear.
Seven tilts her head slightly, giving him a vituperating stare, the man just chuckles.
Tom Paris springs out of the oversized chair and sits back in it normally, laying his arms on the rests, sighing heavily with his eyes closed.
- "The cloak is holding, they can't track us." - the girl declares happily, she falls back on her boots, laying into her massive highchair as well.
Since the girl still doesn't look like she will pull a gun on him anytime soon, and there doesn't seem to be anyone else on board, Tom's initial aversion to the situation is fading. While the blonde's raunchy, short-sleeved leather jacket and oversized boots featuring a dozen straps each project a certain can-do attitude, she certainly doesn't have the overwhelming, strong, sexy, edgy femme-fatale vibe that surrounds Niryelle. Tom is staring at her silently.
- "My name is Flory, I'm on your side." - she utters, instantly assuming a defensive stance.
- "In what?" - Tom asks loudly - "What is going on?!" - he can't really suppress his frustration.
- "Look.." - the girl sighs - "I've been shadowing Niryelle for quite a while now, I know what happened to you. I know what happened to your friends."
- "Voyager? Are they okay?" - the Lieutenant leans forward, very eager to find out something about his crew.
- "They are not okay, I think they have been captured..." - she replies with a sympathetic frown.
- "You think?!" - Tom asks angrily.
- "I saw them fly to the Pool" - Flory is explaining serenely - "then before I got to you the last thing I was able to find out is that your ship is flying back to Allegthria, sandwiched between two pirate ships." - she tilts her head, frowning - "I can only draw one logical conclusion."
Paris curses under his nose, before burying his head in his palms, ridden with worry and guilt. They were no doubt trying to rescue them...
- "Look I don't think they were killed, I don't think she has a personal quarrel with any of you." - the girl tries to be comforting in her tone as well.
- "Ah, so what happens now?" - Tom squeezes the words through his hands.
- "I looked into you guys a bit as well, I know you are only trying to get home. For that, you'll need your ship back." - the fact that girl seems to clearly assume the Starfleet crew is largely intact reinforces the Lt's faith in the situation - "I want to stop Niryelle. I can't do it alone, and there aren't too many around here who would help me. Sure, many would like to see her dead, but the willingness to actually do something about it themselves is... lacking." - the girl sighs bitterly.
- "But we have to, since they have our ship?" - Paris' question is harsh and accusing.
- "I didn't want this, okay?!" - Flory raises her voice as well - "I'm not happy to be telling you this, or asking for your help. But things are what they are..."
- "And will be what they will be..." - Tom whispers wonderingly.
The girl tilts her head questioning what that was, but then just continues - "With your crew sold into a binding contract, asking around for help to get your ship back, from the single most dangerous pirate of the expanse, will be met by little else than ridicule, you need me."
Paris chuckles - "What can you do?"
- "I have information, you have a capable crew; together, we might actually stand a chance." - the girl responds, swallowing the insult.
The Lieutenant lets out a drawn-out sigh, scratching his head. He has seen enough on Allegthria to know that Flory is right, and at this point, trusting her is as good an option as any, seeing how the least she can offer is a cloaked vessel, already presenting a fighting chance. - "Do you know her? What do you want to stop? Why?" - Tom suspects there is something else here, there are plenty other shady figures in this God-forsaken region.
- "I don't know her..." - the girl gets up, walking slowly to the replicator - "Our species is called Xel'Thiras, and we are both Xelths, I assume you've gathered as much." - Paris nods and blinks in agreement - "But we are very different.. she, is very different." - she turns on her heels, holding two large mugs - "Our homeworld is even further away from here as your own." - Flory hands a mug to the man, then sits back into her chair - "If she just wanted to be a pirate she could have done that elsewhere, closer. This nebula, it must've drawn her here..."
- "Okay, I'm starting to think she is magic." - Tom interrupts with a faint chuckle.
- "She isn't far from it..." - the dry response tenses up the Lt, the smile instantly fading from his expression - "She's an Archon. An ascended form of Xel'Thiras, immortal and... perfect." - Tom's eyebrows pull together, eyes narrow, he scratches his by now quite scruffy chin, indicating his interest is peaked. Flory takes a deep breath before continuing - "Thousands of years ago, we weren't very different from you, our telepathic abilities in their infancy. According to some, nature had run it's course, it was time to utilize technology to further our evolution. Tampering with DNA seemed scary and simply wrong to many, leading to wars and a truly dark period in our history." - her voice turns sour, she is really feeling the tale she is telling - "However, a certain breed emerged from the chaos, introducing a new world order, their mods allowed their minds to connect on a far deeper level than language would ever allow, giving them clarity, and an undefeatable sense of purpose and determination. They spawned the Templars, Xelths who were 'aware'. Their teachings about what our minds are truly capable of, united our species like nothing ever before. All religion and politics outlawed, we shifted from a tolerant race stuck mainly on our ancestral planet and it's two largest moons, into a superpower conquering entire starsystems. Advancements in gene technology, discovering the secret of immortality gave birth to the first Archons, most of them still alive today. Their philosophy was cruel and unforgiving, believing our species to be superior to any who are unable to challenge us." - Flory shifts in her seat, her voice getting thinner - "Why yes, that's the definition of superior, but that doesn't mean..." - unable to continue, she is reaching underneath her blindfold, fighting with her tears, attempting to stabilize her voice with a few coughs - "The Archons in our home make up the Continuum, sort of a collective hivemind. A shared vision, an eternal dream. Under their rule we flourished, they have established paradise for all Xel'Thiras." - she pauses, taking a deep breath again - "While squelching every other civilization around us, eradicating entire planets, causing stars to go nova. They created what is known today as the Xelescence, or the Void, where we live now, in a perfect, blissful utopia. Living space and energy available in vast abundance, we know not need nor want." - she wipes her tears again, sighing - "Really... I don't think I can even fathom the, the..." - Flory is apparently at a loss for words - "just the sheer, flawless sublimity of it all. But... nor can I fathom the plainly outrageous, overwhelming amount of evil, indiscriminate destruction my ancestors have effected on innocents, in order to establish it." - she is sniveling like a human would.
Tom expected many things, none of them like this. It would appear the soulless machines of the Borg pale in comparison with the Xel'Thiras, both in destructive power and in what they have accomplished with it.
After a few calming breaths Flory continues - "War and conquering are things of the past today, the few threats that rarely present themselves are nullified long before they would reach our world." - the girl shifts in her seat again, beginning a new train of thought, a bit more collected - "In order to become an Archon, you need to make it to the highest ranks of Templars, which means you have an exceptional mind, with exceptional understanding of conscious and subconscious thought, with exceptional telepathic abilities, and full control over them. You also need to perfect a Grand Discipline at the Academy; the oldest, greatest academic institution in the center of our world. Completing a Grand Discipline takes tens of cycles, more than a century in your time, becoming a fully privileged Templar is similarly demanding, although both highly depend on your natural abilities. After you had done these things, you are allowed to take the Trials, nobody really knows what you have to do there..." - Flory shrugs - "If you complete them, then and only then are you consecrated as an Archon. Your rewards are immortality, access to the Continuum and of course the immense amount of knowledge and power you acquired along the way. Our population is over a hundred billion now, the exact number of Archons isn't known, but it should be around a thousand. A thousand, out of a hundred billion. The majority stay within the Continuum, ascending from their bodies for long periods of time. Others simply just live their life as they see fit, a life that will never end by natural causes. Niryelle, she um," - Flory waves her hands - "decided to see the world, the galaxy. Her leaving the Void was big news amongst those that cared, everyone sure that she will accomplish great things. But I... I can't ignore what the Archons..." - a bitter sigh - "did all those cycles ago and... Niryelle's Grand Discipline was Conquest." - her tone switches to firm and harsh - "It wasn't Science, or Art, Engineering... it was Conquest. She is a warrior, she knows everything from fighting naked with her bare hands to organizing massive fleets in space. Infiltration, espionage, basically everything that war can possibly involve." - she takes a sip from her mug, soon arriving at her point - "She left the Xelescence alone, taking only a small, albeit luxurious and very fast shuttlecraft. Now she controls the best organized and equipped pirate crew in the Coveted Expanse, from a ship that's second to none. The 'how' should now be obvious... But Why?" - she shrugs again - "Why here? It must be the Grey, and whatever is in it. Knowing what her equals felt justified in the past, what she is apparently interested in, how she is conducting herself here, I fear she is up to no good." - she leans forward, staring directly at Tom - "I don't know what's in that nebula... what I do know is an Archon like her wouldn't be wasting her time here if she didn't believe there was something in there, and I also know that it will be better for the entire galaxy if she never finds it." - Flory lets out a drawn-out sigh, shaking her head - "I can't, I just can't allow them to unleash such peril again, regardless of who or what they are!" - she cries out in bitter angst and dismay.
Seven is now better camouflaged behind the tall glasses, chipping from her meal from time to time. Since it isn't 'Nutritional Supplement beta-3' and therefore not efficient, she isn't quite as overwhelmed by the well constructed flavors let loose in her mouth as Chakotay is, visibly enjoying himself.
- "I was under the impression we were on a mission to save our crew, Commander." - she makes a snide remark.
- "I found them Seven..." - the man ignores her insulting tone, enjoying the break from Neelix and Voyager's Messhall - "It's your turn now. Can you understand them?"
- "Species 3734, the Melin. The Borg assimilated a trading expedition on Stardate 41472. They are all speaking their language." - Seven states dryly. She is using her ocular implant and Borg-enhanced highly acute senses to try and deduce what they are talking about. - "They are talking mainly about irrelevant matters." - the word "irrelevant" causing Chakotay to smile, what else would she be regarding chit-chat after all - "I believe the one on the right is an official of this station. The one next to him wishes to acquire the Voyager crew."
The First Officer's brows pull up, he involuntarily turns to look at them, quickly realising this exactly what they shouldn't be doing, they sit in silence for a while.
- "Anything you can find out about the buyer?" - he whispers the question.
- "His name is Thorond. He is rich. He likes to brag about his past exploits." - as Chakotay glances there again, he sees the party getting up, leaving their table.
- "Make sure you scan that man thoroughly!" - he orders through his teeth.
- "Why?"
- "That's an order Seven!" - he tries to be the loudest he can be while still keeping it to a whisper. The targets are far away, but who knows who, what, and how could be spying on them.
As the Prefect and Thorond leave the restaurant, Rivenwell motions for her Colonels to follow her, and starts to walk between the packed tables toward them. Chakotay's heart skips a beat, if they know anyway, then creating whatever diversion would be pointless. The worst case scenario seems to manifest itself when Niryelle stops right next to their table. Both of them stiffen up, trying to fake some kind of perplexity in regards to what they could possibly want from them.
- "You know.." - the Pirate Captain starts off playfully - "the fact that I'm wearing a blindfold doesn't mean I'm blind, quite the contrary." - she smiles and chuckles lightly.
Chakotay in his confusion manages an - "Oh?!"
- "I will have you know, that spying on a business meeting is severely punished under Melin law." - her tone would suggest she is only teasing, not threatening. After smiling widely and enjoying their vexation she leans over the table, grabbing its edges, turning to Seven - "Have you identified me yet?" - she asks scornfully, without allowing her time to answer - "Species 676? The species that thwarted your advance in the Beta Quadrant? The species you never assimilated?" - her voice turning sinister - "The species you still dread?"
Seven rolls through a few confident answers in her mind, but only ends up saying - "I have." - Chakotay detects the uncharacteristic awe and tension in Seven's expression, whatever memories she still possesses about 'Species 676', they are dark and ugly.
- "I have to say I expected more from you." - Niryelle continues with a light tone, standing up straight - "Voyager is on high alert, shields raised and you are spending your time in a luxury restaurant..." - she taunts playfully.
- "I'm sorry to disappoint you..." - Chakotay responds slyly.
- "Mmmm" - the pirate is well amused - "I bet you are. ... Not sure you can afford this place though, so this was on me." - She pulls a decorative card above the scanner on the edge of the table, it beeps, indicating their meal has been fully paid for. Niryelle smiles, laughs convivially, before turning on her heels and leaving them.
Tinman leans over the table and takes a fruit from the basket in the middle with his robotic hand - "You should really try this!" - he suggests before biting into it, the juices splurting around. He lets out a devilish chuckle before turning to follow his Captain out of the establishment.
Seven's ever watchful ocular implant detected hints that would imply Chakotay was quite impressed with the woman, he is still following her with his eyes as she is about to go through the door. - "Commander?!" - she barks in annoyance.
The spell broken, the man looks back at the ex-drone. - "Well, she's sure got style..." - he says smiling, but then quickly changes his demeanor - "How much taller am I than that Thorond?"
Puzzled by the question, Seven takes a moment to answer. - "1 point 27 centimeters. Why?"
- "I have a plan."
...