CHAPTER NINE
"Kron, I have to agree with Neera on this. This place don't really seem like it's a friendly environment."
"Friendly environments are an unfamiliar setting for Klingons, M. . .Sir," Kron replied. "And this place, despite it's appearance, is one of the most ideal places to hire non-aligned warriors."
"Non-aligned?" Neera asked.
"Warriors who have no obligations to a House," Kron verified. She and Trip filed that away for later.
"Well, you're in charge, Kron," Trip sighed. "We'll follow your lead." Kron looked at Neera, seemingly about to say something, then appeared to think better of it. Neera hadn't missed it, however.
"What?" she didn't quite challenge.
"I was about to warn you that a place such as this was no place for a Lady of your standing," Kron admitted. "I sincerely doubt, however, that you would listen." He then grinned. "I am equally certain that you, My Lady, will not experience anything. . .undesired, more than once."
"Ya think?" Trip chuckled.
"Lady Neera makes a very strong impression, when it suits her," was all Kron would add, turning back, and entering the establishment.
"Lady Neera, huh?" Trip looked amused.
"Haven't you noticed that he has to stop himself from calling you 'My Lord'?" Neera replied seriously.
"Uh, no," Trip answered. Neera shook her head in mock sadness.
"Trip, honestly, you have got to pay more attention to your people," she chided gently.
"Okay," Trip said seriously. "But what does that have to do with you being 'My Lady'?"
"God, you are so dense sometimes, I don't know how you dress yourself," Neera snorted as the two followed Kron inside. "Everyone knows about us, Trip. To Kron, I am your woman, and thus, 'My Lady' is appropriate."
"To Kron," Trip mused, holding the door open for her. "What about to you, Neera? Are you 'my woman'?"
"Like I said," Neera sighed. "Dense. Of course I am, you idiot," she leaned in and kissed him on the cheek. "And you'll do well to remember it," she warned before stepping inside.
"I think I can remember that," Trip said to her back, following her inside.
The first thing they noticed was how huge the place was. Trip had known, from the outside, that it was a big place, but he hadn't expected to find almost the entire first floor filled with tables, a long bar, and dozens of eating, drinking, boisterous Klingons.
The second thing was that not all the patrons were Klingons. There were several races represented among the customers, and Trip didn't recognize some of them at all, even from descriptions he'd weaseled out of T'Pol on occasion.
The third thing drew a muted curse from Trip's throat, sounding almost like a growl. Neera followed his gaze, and a small gasp escaped her lips.
The 'stage' at the far end of the bar attracted a great deal of the patron's attention, due entirely to the occupants. Scantily clad females of at least a dozen races occupied the stage, one of them human.
Tall and slender, with pale skin and red hair, the human woman danced just as lifelessly as the other women on stage to the accompanying music. As they watched, a Klingon reached up and delivered a harsh slap to the woman's backside, eliciting a sharp cry from her, though she continued dancing.
Trip started forward without a thought, only to be stopped by Neera's firm grip.
"Trip, this isn't the time," she hissed softly. He turned to look at her, and Neera's heart lurched when she saw the deep, too deep, blue of his eyes.
"I you think I aim ta stand here and watch an animal like 'at abuse a human woman, then I reckon you might not know me s'well as ya think ya do." Neera sighed, hearing the accent deepen.
"Damn you, Trip Tucker, you promised me!" she almost snarled, but it was quiet, in an effort not to draw any more attention to them than they already endured.
"Huh?" Trip looked confused.
"You're on the verge," she hissed. "You have to stop, right now!"
Somehow, she managed to get through to him. Trip relaxed slightly, looking back at the human woman on the stage.
"But I. . .I can't just. . .just leave'er here," his voice was almost mournful now, rather than angry.
"I didn't say you would, or should," Neera nodded. "But going up there and tearing his. . .tearing him a new one, as you so elegantly like to say, is not the way to get it done. If she's a slave, then she might be for sale. We'll have Kron inquire before we leave, but for now, we have to stay on track."
Trip looked once more at the forlorn looking human woman, then nodded. It took all the effort he could muster not to do something, but Neera was right. He let her guide him to an empty table, and the two sat down, Neera's knees almost weak with relief.
Trip was an enigma that she had no way of understanding at present, save her own, unproven theory. His tendency toward violence was growing, and she knew of no way to stop it. All she could do was try and guide it. That had worked.
This time.
She reached up and touched the communicator hidden in her ear.
"Kron, we need a suggestion for a drink," she said softly, having made sure the Klingon wasn't engaged at the moment. "We have no idea what to order."
"Ask for the house ale," Kron replied just as quietly. "It's not too strong, and is reasonably enjoyable. Do not drink more than one," he cautioned. "Lord Tucker does not need. . .your pardon, My Lady," he cut himself off, realizing what he was about to say.
"Don't worry, it's nothing I haven't thought of myself," she replied. "There's a human slave woman on the stage, and he almost lost his. . .almost acted without thinking. He wants to try and get her out of here, if we can, once we've accomplished our mission. I suggested trying to buy her."
"I will inquire after her present owner, My Lady," Kron promised. "I shall join you shortly."
"We'll have two house ale's," Neera ordered as their waiter walked to the table. "Thank you."
"Be a minute," the built in translator in her earbug told her. "Anything else?" the short, hair covered alien inquired.
"Not at the moment," she replied. The waiter bowed, and departed. Trip was studiously not looking at the stage, trying to avoid temptation.
"I'm sorry," he apologized softly. "I'll do better, I promise."
"Trip, it was a completely understandable reaction," Neera replied. "I had the same thought, but I'm not as. . . ."
"Violent?" Trip supplied. "Reckless? Unthinking?"
"I think you've covered it," she smiled softly. "Kron is going to try and find her owner. If we can rescue her, we will, I promise." Neera didn't like it either, but was far better at hiding it. Whatever others might call her, now, she was still human. Or had been, long ago. And she hated slavers with all her being.
Their ale arrived, and the two sat in companionable silence, sipping occasionally, and watching their surroundings. Trip was cursing himself mentally all the while. What had he expected to see, anyway? He knew that slavery existed away from Earth, where it had been abolished for generations. If it didn't, then there wouldn't be a reason for the Orion Slave Syndicate.
He decided, right then, that when their mission to destroy the Xindi was over, his next target would be the Syndicate. Their time had come and gone, as far as Trip was concerned. He wouldn't stop until every last Orion was dead beneath his. . . .
He stopped short. Since when had he become judge, jury, and executioner for the universe? What the hell was wrong with him? The only race he wanted to destroy root and branch was the Xindi. He frowned even at that, remembering what he'd said to his father.
What if he got there, and the majority of the Xindi weren't the hate filled cowards he'd decided they had to be? What if most of them were just like him? Wanting nothing more than to live their lives, raise their families. . . .
That caused another shift in his thinking. He'd never have children, not now. Neera had explained that to him, not knowing that Janos, all that time ago, had already told him. He frowned again, and took another sip of his ale.
"What's wrong, Trip?" Neera asked, seeing the pensive look on his face.
"I am," he answered darkly. "I can't. . .I'm almost out of control, Neera. All the time. And it scares me. I don't. . .I don't know what to do."
"Wh. . .Trip, one incident, and not even an incident, thanks to me," she grinned, "doesn't make you out of control."
"It ain't just that," he told her glumly. "I been sittin' here, thinkin' about what we'd do when we got done with where we're goin'." He didn't want to say it aloud, less anyone overhear. "I decided our next project would be to stomp our green friends flat, and put an end to their. . .business."
"I can get behind that," she nodded firmly. "So what's the problem?"
"The problem is that my train o' thought carried me right into decidin' that I'd just kill ever last one of'em. You know, to make sure they didn't come back later, and do it again." Neera blinked at that.
"I can see where that would worry you," she said carefully. "But think about what you just said, Trip. The idea of doing so has obviously disturbed you," she pointed out. "If you really were the. . .being, you think you are, may be," she corrected, "then would it have bothered you at all?"
"No, reckon not," he admitted. "And that made me start thinkin' on where we're goin'. I been plannin' on killin' ever last one of'em, and then shuttlin' down to the planet to piss on their ashes. But," he paused, and took another sip of his ale.
"But what if they ain't all like that?" he continued. "What if most of'em is just like us? Wantin' to just. . .live their lives, and go about their business?" Neera frowned. She hadn't thought of that either, and said so.
"I got to start thinkin' more, and hatin' less," Trip told her. "But now I'm confused, and don't know what the hell to do, anymore." Neera looked past him, and frowned slightly.
"Why don't we worry about crossing that bridge when we arrive at it," she suggested, standing. "Right now, I think Kron might be in trouble."
STE
Malcolm Reed was calm as he stood before Admirals Forrest, Black, and Gardner. He was actually surprised at how calm, considering where he was, and the only possible outcome of this meeting. If he were lucky, he'd be dismissed from Starfleet.
If he wasn't, then he'd probably be spending his immediately foreseeable future in the stockade.
"I demand that you reveal the source of this information!" Gardner almost screamed.
"With respect, sir, I cannot accommodate your request," Malcolm replied, his calm demeanor in sharp contrast to the Admiral.
"Reed, I don't think you understand your situation," Black interjected. "You're withholding valuable information about an enemy of this entire planet. Hell, our entire race! That's close to treason, if it doesn't put you over the line."
"With respect, Admiral, your statement is insulting, and completely false," Malcolm kept his calm tone. "I have, in fact, turned over every single byte of data that I received, holding absolutely nothing back whatsoever. The source of that information insisted on confidentiality in return for the information, and I agreed."
"Because of that agreement, because I gave my word that the source would not, under any circumstance, be revealed, I was promised further information, if and when any became available. I will not compromise that promise. If this source can gather any additional information, we need it."
"You don't even know where they got it!" Forrest joined the fray.
"I do not, nor how it was obtained," Reed admitted. "I would note, however, that at least some of the information provided is in complete agreement with certain things we are already aware of. That in itself isn't enough to assure that the remainder is accurate, but it does raise the confidence level, in my opinion."
Malcolm managed not to wince as he realized what he'd said. It was too late, now.
"Your opinion?" Gardner scoffed. "You have a rather high opinion of yourself, don't you, Lieutenant."
Malcolm said nothing. There hadn't been a question, and he knew better than to rise to the bait. He had to be very careful, if he didn't want his future mail addressed to 'care of Starfleet Brig'.
"Nothing to say?" Gardner pressed.
"I wasn't aware there was a question, begging your pardon, sir." Not a trace of smugness, Malcolm congratulated himself.
"Reed, you are going to tell us what we want to know," Forrest warned.
"With respect, sir, no I'm not," came the even reply. He didn't add anything, much as he would have liked to.
"Captain Archer spoke very highly of you, Lieutenant," Forrest changed tactics. Reed didn't miss the flicker of anger that crossed Gardner's face at the mention of Archer. He didn't reply to Forrest's statement.
"Says that you're the best Tactical Officer in all of Starfleet," Forrest added. Again, Reed said nothing.
"You don't have anything to say about that?"
"Sir, what is there for me to say?" Reed asked politely. Respectfully. "I am gratified by my superior's opinion of my abilities and my service to date under his command, but I do not see a connection between that, and our current discussion." Again, Malcolm didn't wince, but knew that using the word 'gratified' had left him open to. . . .
"'Gratified, is it'?" Black growled. "Now you sound like a damned Vulcan."
"Hiram," Forrest warned.
"The influence of trying to communicate effectively with Sub-Commander T'Pol, sir," Reed supplied.
"Are you saying that you have a difficult time working with her?" Gardner demanded.
"Not at all, sir," Reed allowed his surprise to show, this time. "She is an exemplary officer. My reference was to our, meaning the crew as a whole, sir, attempts not to use phrases that she is not familiar with when conversing with her. The use of the word gratified, for instance, is more informative to her than 'proud', or 'pleased'."
His answer seemed to surprise all three of them, and Reed wondered why, before forcing himself back to the subject at hand.
"Reed, you leave me no choice," Forrest sighed. "Unless and until you reveal the source of this intelligence, you'll be held in the brig."
"On what charge, sir?" Malcolm asked repectfully.
"Giving aid and comfort to the enemy, for starters!" Black yelled before Forrest could stop him.
"In that case, gentlemen, I request council, and have nothing further to say."
All three looked at Reed as if he'd grown another head. Malcolm hid his smile. He'd managed to get one of them to more or less formally accuse him of a crime, on the record. That would completely change the proceedings from here on out.
"I'm sure that Admiral Black was simply expressing his frustration with your refusal to co-operate, Lieutenant," Forrest tried to salvage what he could.
"With respect, sir," Malcolm said stiffly. "Admiral Black has accused me of one of the most heinous crimes possible. He has done so in front of witness, and on the record. As the accused, I have rights that I now wish to exercise. That is all that I have to say."
Forrest glared at Black, who was stone faced. Gardner looked apoplectic, and Malcolm allowed himself five seconds to hope it pushed the man into a stroke. It would be the best thing that had happened to Starfleet since the Enterprise had left space dock.
"Lieutenant, let's all just calm down," Forrest was saying. "There's no reason for any of this to be escalate into a legal issue."
Reed looked straight ahead, eyes fixed on a point six inches above the Admiral's heads. And said nothing.
"Lieutenant, you were addressed by a superior officer!" Gardner snapped.
No, just a higher ranking one, Malcolm recalled from a movie Trip had once insisted he watch with the engineer.
And said nothing.
"Damn you, answer me!" Gardner yelled, his face suddenly a very deep shade of red.
Reed said nothing, continuing keep his eyes locked into position.
"I demand. . .deman. . . ."
Reed did move, then, looking to where Gardner, still red faced, was clutching his chest, gaping. Reed moved to the Admiral's side, regretting his earlier thoughts. He'd never imagined it might really happen.
"Medic!" he heard Forrest calling, as Black moved to Gardner's other side, helping Malcolm lower the man to the floor. Gardner's face had gone suddenly pale, and Malcolm ripped his jacket open, placing his ear to Gardner's chest.
"He's in arrest!" he announced, positioning his hands to begin chest compressions Until the medics arrived, there was nothing else to be done.
"Dammit, get the medics in here now!" Forrest screamed into his com. The dampening field around Starfleet Headquarters prevented Gardner from being beamed out to the hospital at once. Or medics being beamed in to help him.
Malcolm made ten compressions, then lowered his head to Gardner's mouth. He could neither hear, nor feel, breath from the other man. Lifting Gardner's neck, Malcolm cleared the Admiral's mouth, and administered two rescue breaths.
No response.
Malcolm went immediately back to chest compressions, counting silently as he worked. Thank God Phlox had insisted the entire crew be trained in basic life saving.
Ten more compressions, then listen. Nothing. Two more breaths. Still nothing.
Four times Malcolm repeated his efforts. The fourth time he could feel very faint breath on his skin, and immediately dropped his ear again to Gardner's chest.
"He's breathing, and his heart is beating again," he announced as three medics burst into the room, carrying a stretcher full of equipment. Malcolm explained, as quickly and concisely as possible, what had happened, and what he had done.
The para scanned Gardner's body, then looked up.
"Good work, sir," he complimented. "I think you just saved Admiral Gardner's life."
Malcolm sighed with relief, then promptly turned to vomit into a nearby trash container.
"Easy sir," the chief medic said as the other two prepared Gardner for transport. "It's a common occurrence after what you just went through. Rescue breathing is more difficult than it looks in training when you have to do it for real."
"I'll be fine," Reed promised. "See to your patient, please. And thanks, mate," he added, so as not to appear cross. The medic smiled, and returned to Garner's side. Forrest ordered the dampening field lowered, and then Gardner and the medics faded from sight, transported to the hospital.
Seeing Forrest and Black looking at him, Malcolm stiffened to attention.
"Thank you, Lieutenant," Forrest was subdued.
"Sir," was Malcolm's only reply.
"I think I owe you an apology, Reed," Black said, almost against his will.
"Yes, sir, you bloody well do," Malcolm allowed a hint of anger to creep into his voice, but then stopped.
"When you've composed yourself, Lieutenant," Forrest spoke again, "you're free to return to the Enterprise. I'll order a shuttle to be standing by for you at the port."
"Sir?" Reed blinked at that.
"If you receive any more intel, whether on the Xindi or anything else you think we should know, please inform me at once. Captain Archer can reach me at any time."
"Hold the line, Lieutenant," Black told him. "We are working on it." He didn't have to specify what 'it' was.
"Yes, sir," Reed nodded, then looked to Forrest. "By your leave, sir?"
"Carry on, Lieutenant."
Still wondering at the sudden change of events, Malcolm left the office, headed directly to the washroom, where he promptly threw up again. Once he composed himself, as ordered, he headed for the port.
He was back on Enterprise in time for dinner. Most of the crew never even realized he had departed.
STE
Kron was indeed in trouble.
A hulking Klingon held each of his arms, while a third hit him in the stomach.
"You're a lying thrarg, and an embarrassment to the entire Klingon Empire," the one who hit him accused. "This place is for warriors, you gutless, lying, cowardly scum. There's no place in this galaxy for such as y. . .ERRRK. . . ." The tirade cut off as Trip's hand closed on the offender's throat.
The Klingon holding Kron's right arm moved to defend his captain, only to find himself flying across the room, after having his haymaker blocked by Neera with an ease the larger warrior found disturbing. Until he lost consciousness, anyway, his head having left a rather deep impression in the wall he hit.
His right arm freed, Kron immediately buried his right fist into the face of the warrior holding his left arm. The warrior's head shot back, and he lost his grip. Kron's left hand promptly shot into the warrior's mid-section, doubling him over. And double a axe handle blow to the back of the neck put the warrior down for the count.
Meanwhile, Trip looked up calmly at the towering Klingon who had been assaulting his friend. His face was entirely too calm to suit Neera or Kron.
"Now that I got yer attention," Trip drawled conversationally, "let me intra-duce mahself." Neera sighed, hearing the deep drawl, but there was nothing for it now but to play this out to the end. The music had stopped, and everyone in the place was looking their way.
"Ah'm what mah people call the Grim Reaper," Trip smiled. It wasn't a pretty smile. "That's the fella that comes ta get ya when it's yer time ta see what's behind tha veil, so ta speak. And you are?"
"Urk," was the only reply as the slowly suffocating Klingon struggled to free himself from the human's iron like grip.
"Now, Kron, here, he works fo' me," Trip went on. "Top o' that, he's mah friend. I fought with'im, drank with'im, told stories with'im. So reckon it's only natch'rul, I hear some piss ain't like yaself usin' words like 'lier' and 'co'ard,', well, I take offense to that. And here I find you, all big and bad, long as you got two other idiots holdin' him, hittin'im, and threatin'im. Now how'm'Ah s'posed to take that?"
"Trip, be careful," Neera whispered.
"Ah'm just fine, darlin'," Trip replied calmly. His voice made her shiver, and not in a good way.
"My Lord, he is not worth it," Kron said easily from his other side. "I apologize that I have brought shame to your house."
"You ain't brought no shame to mah house," Trip told him flatly. "Don't never say nothin' like that ta me a'gin."
"As you wish, My Lord," Kron saluted. "May I suggest you allow him to breathe, then? So as he might make reply to your questions."
"Ah guess," Trip nodded, but then flung the Klingon in his grasp across the room to rest with his two friends. "Decided I don't care what he has to say. You aw'ight?" he asked Kron. The Warrior nodded.
"I am uninjured, My Lord."
"All right, then," Trip nodded in return. He looked around at the other patrons.
"Sorry for disturbing your evenin', folks," he smiled. "Reckon you can all get back to mindin' yer own business." Behind him, Neera released a breath she hadn't been aware she was holding. The drawl was still there, but getting better by the second. There wouldn't be a massacre tonight. Probably.
"What'n the hell was their problem?" Trip asked, as he led Kron to their table, and waved to the little fuzzy waiter.
"I'm afraid that in my zeal, I mentioned not only that I served an alien house, but that my Lord and Lady were among the most accomplished warriors I had ever had the fortune to fight alongside," Kron explained, looking chagrined. "They perceived my words to be an insult, and. . .well, the rest you know," he finished.
"Well, anyhow," Trip sat back. "Reckon we can forget gettin' any help here, after that. Sorry. I kinda got. . .carried away, like."
"I am. . .honored, sir, that you consider me your friend," Kron replied. "And do not be so sure that tonight will not yet meet with good results. Your show of strength, both of you," he looked at Neera, "did not go unnoticed. For now, I suggest we sit here, and be entertained." He accepted the ale from the little waiter, and took a sip. Turning, he motioned with his head toward the stage, speaking in a language Trip's translator couldn't follow. The waiter chittered back in the same language, and hurried off.
"What was all that about?" Trip asked.
"I have asked him to inquire of the human woman's owner," Kron replied. "He also assured me there are no other human's being held captive here, sir."
"Thanks, Kron," Trip smiled. "I appreciate that."
"So now, we wait," Neera said, rather than asked.
"Indeed."
So, wait they did, enjoying their ale, and watching what happened around them. Roughly ten minutes after their fuzzy waiter, Trip really needed to find out what that little fella was, a bluish, well, bluegreenish, well, anyway, wandered over and sat down at the one empty chair.
Three pairs of eyes settled on the stranger, though he seemed to take no notice.
"I am Trel Nee," their translator's let them hear. "The woman you sought after is mine," he informed Kron. "Are you interested in spending the evening in her company? I can arrange for that to happen, if you can afford it."
Kron looked to Trip, who sighed.
"Call me Grim," he told the pimp. "I'm interested in buying her from you, happens that we can reach an agreement."
"Why?" Trel Nee asked, looking surprised. "Why would you want such a creature. Though exotic, she is well used, I'm afraid. Highly popular." Trip's hand tightened on the table, and even Trel Nee could not ignore the sound of creaking wood beneath his grip.
"Let me worry 'bout why I wan'er, you don't mind," he managed to say, almost nicely.
"I saw your demonstration earlier," Nee told him. "You think to take her from me?"
Don't tempt me, Trip didn't say.
Please don't antagonize him, Neera didn't say.
Tear his head from his shoulders and be done with him, Kron didn't say.
"I mean to buy her from you, just like I said," Trip forced his anger down. "Well used'er not, she's a red head, and I kinda like'em skinny like'at," he smiled. His smile wasn't pleasant, as if he had nefarious uses in mind for the woman.
"I see," Nee nodded. "Well, I can sell her to you, I suppose, but, even well used, she will be expensive. She is highly popular, as I said, and I have no idea when, or even if, I'll be able to find another human like her."
"Let's cut to the chase, and you gimme a number," Trip ordered. Nee thought for a moment, and named his price. Trip glanced casually at Kron, who was glaring in open hostility at Nee. Catching his Captain looking his way, Kron nodded, once. The price was reasonable.
"All right, reckon we got a deal," Trip sighed. "Neera, would you pay the man?"
Neera had been quiet so far, gritting her teeth to keep her from ripping Nee's flesh from his bones. Now, Nee turned his attention to her. His eyes ran over her body twice without a hint of shame, eyes glittering. He turned back to Trip.
"How much for her?" he asked, his hand jerking toward Neera.
"She ain't for sale," Trip replied. "She ain't a slave, either," he added.
"Ah, so fair game," Nee smirked, looking back at what he hoped soon to possess.
"Better git that thought right on outta ya head, buddy," Trip actually laughed. "If she don't kill you, and believe me she can, then I will. In fact, if you don't find something better to be studyin' on pretty soon, I'ma kill ya anyway, for practice," Trip added, as soon as Nee accepted his payment from Kron. Neera hadn't trusted herself enough to be within arm's reach. Trip looked at her, then at Kron.
"Ya'll go git mah property," he ordered. Both nodded submissively, and left the table.
"That wasn't a proper thing to do," Nee said, once they were gone. "There was no need to insult me in front of the female."
"You're dumb as a box o' rocks, you know that?" Trip replied conversationally. "You already said you saw what happened earlier. Did you reckon she threw that big ole Klingon all that way by accident?"
"I have ways of dealing with unruly possessions," the greasy pimp assured him. "And, I tend to take what I please, Mister Grim, if it does not belong to someone else. Your Klingon does not scare me."
Trip actually snorted into his ale at that one, as he looked back at Nee with wonder.
"You think it's Kron you have to worry about?" Trip asked, trying desperately not to laugh. "You really are that stupid, I guess," he sighed. He saw Neera returning with the woman in tow, Kron deflecting interest in the former slave with a harsh glare and a hand on his dagger.
"Now you insult me," Nee's voice was suddenly stern. "You have no idea who I am, do you human?"
"Don't really care, neither, so don't get all tetchy 'bout it," Trip shrugged. "Anyway, reckon our business is con-cluded, so you can crawl back under whatever rock it was that you slithered out from under." Nee's face changed color, Trip deciding that must be his version of a flush of anger.
"Maybe I better explain myself a little better, Nee," Trip leaned forward. "If you so much as look at her wrong, let alone touch her, I will tear your oddly shaped head right off your body. If that doesn't satisfy me, then I'll likely reach down your neck, and pull ya heart out, if ya got one, and I can find it, anyway."
As he spoke, Trip picked up one of the coins that Kron had used to pay Nee. Placing it between his thumb and fore finger, he twisted his hand, and the coin snapped in two.
That did get Nee's attention. He'd seen coins bent before, and it would have been no surprise to see it here.
Snapping one in half was. . .something else. He looked up again at Trip's serene face, though he wasn't fooled. This man could, and would, kill him.
"Impressive," he managed to say, far, far more calmly than he felt.
"Nah, just a parlor trick," Trip waved it off. "Look here, Nee. We done a nice piece o' business, reckon why you can't let it go at that? Fore you get hurt, I mean," he added, smiling.
Nee, finally seeming to realize that maybe he had over reached, nodded.
"I look forward to doing more business with you in the future," he said calmly. With that, he rose from the table and departed. Trip watched him go, and fought down a desire to follow him, and tear him limb from limb.
"What did you say to him?" Neera asked as she and Kron arrived with the slave.
"Ah, well, just table talk, really," Trip lied easily, making sure he didn't drawl too much. Neera's eyes sharpened.
"This is Kara," Neera introduced the slave.
"Please to meet ya, ma'am," Trip nodded. "Have a seat." The woman sat at once, her hands folded in her lap, eyes downward.
"My L. . .Captain," Kron caught himself. "I believe we have prospects approaching." Trip followed the Klingon's look, where he saw three different people approaching from three different directions.
"Well, reckon we'll take'em as they come," Trip nodded. "Reckon you can git that little fuzzy fella to bring me a pitcher o' water." He looked at Kara.
"You hungry?" he asked. "Kron, they got any kinda food a human can eat around here, you know of?"
"Yes, sir," Kron nodded, and waved for the 'little fuzzy fella'. The waiter hurried over, and Kron placed a generous tip in his hand. He spoke to him in a low voice, and the waiter nodded, hurrying away.
"He will bring water for you, and food for the young woman," Kron stated, taking his seat. Trip looked at the three men, each watching the other was they waited for a sign they'd be welcome.
"Choose one, Neera, and wave'em over, one at a time." She chose them right to left for convenience, and indicated the first one should join them. Kara started to rise.
"Where you going?" Trip asked. The girl froze.
"You ain't got to leave," he told her. "Sit down, your food'll be here soon."
"Yes, master," the girl looked frightened, but obeyed.
"Don't call me that," Trip told her. "Got to call me, call me Grim," he smiled easily. It really was a good nickname.
"Yes, Master Grim," the girl nodded meekly, not looking up. Trip sighed. He didn't have time to reassure her right now, so he let it pass. The first offer approached just then, inclining his head slightly.
"Who are ya, and how can we help ya?"