—CHAPTER 10—
The Orions, and to a lesser extent the Nausicaans, were widely dispersed through the Borderlands like a cancer, bringing enormous wealth to the sectors in which they operated, hand in hand with the corruption and despair which their activities generated, so T'Pol simply chose a large Syndicate market, at random. It was in these larger markets that the mind probed Orion had said the Happa would be found.
Barat Gar was located on a hollowed out moon orbiting a yellow gas giant, itself orbiting the star labeled 74 Orionis. Like all Syndicate markets, it was heavily regulated. Weapons were not allowed in the markets to any but the Orions regulating the marketplace, so it was with great reluctance that Trip and Malcolm divested themselves of their phaser pistols and a half dozen or so blades between them both, while Hoshi set down a taser. T'Pol, as a slave, carried no weapons. An Orion tossed their goodies in a box.
"All of them," said the Orion, after looking at the readout generated by the banks of scanners burrowed in the ceiling, then at Trip.
The Orion's words to Trip were translated by the clip-on translation units which they were handed upon entering the market. It surprised them all that Earth's English was available as an language option, but T'Pol had told them that the Syndicate was efficient, if nothing else. The first human ships which were captured by the Orions were no doubt emptied of every bit of knowledge and technology, language among that data.
Trip sighed and tossed an electric stunner atop the blades.
"If I have to repeat myself," said the Orion, looking at the Commander once more, "I will bar you all from the market."
"Fine," said Trip, then reluctantly tossed several darts coated with a fast acting soporific which he'd concealed in his sweater sleeves, a slender garrotte wire concealed under his leather belt, a stiletto disguised as a pen, a naked blade of flexible steel fastened to the bottom of his left boot and three small balls, seemingly made of glass.
T'Pol looked at Trip with incredulity and even Malcolm seemed taken aback, for he now felt like an under-achiever.
"Now you can go in, tough guy," said the Orion with a grin, clearly amused with Trip, handing him a ticket. "You can pick these up on your way out, at any of those windows."
The Vulcan data had made it clear that the Orions were scrupulously honest in these markets, pirates though they were outside of them, for fraud here would quickly drive business away and cost them profit. It seemed they took market security seriously, so the entire team felt as safe as one could feel in dangerous territory.
Sure enough, Trip had been right and T'Pol's miminalist dress and the Vulcan within, drew a fair share of attention and Trip had to fend off a number of offers to purchase T'Pol. Hoshi had no such problems, as she wore no neural whip, so it was clear that she was in the market voluntarily. Still, Trip decided to have some fun with it all, by the time a fifth potential buyer approached them. He was a tall, thin humanoid of some undetermined species, and the fake smile on his face made Trip instinctually dislike the man.
"She's a beauty," said the alien. "What's her name?"
"Polly," said Trip, as T'Pol arched a brow at him, and Hoshi snickered.
"She's a Vulcan, no?"
"Yes. Vulcan."
"Is she for sale?"
"What's your offer?" said Trip, winking at T'Pol.
T'Pol returned the Commander's wink with a cool gaze.
"Twenty Ketsemi strips," said the man.
Trip had never heard of Ketsemi strips, nor had any idea of their value, but took it for granted that it was a low-bid.
"Twenty? Twenty strips for my little Polly! You must be joking."
The man smiled again, and said, "It was just my initial bid. I see that I'm dealing with a shrewd bargainer. Forty strips. It's a fair price."
"I was offered two hundred," said Trip, "just ten minutes ago."
"That's much too high," said the alien. "You should have taken it. The wench is not worth more than a hundred."
"She's worth less than that, my friend," said Trip, fondly, as he reached out to caress T'Pol's neck, and in order to maintain their cover, the SubCommander allowed it. "She's foul mouthed, defiant and as stubborn as a mule."
T'Pol's features did not change at the Commander's description of her, but there was a murderous glint in her eyes now, which hinted that perhaps Vulcans were not as unemotional as they'd been portraying themselves.
"Then you are too sparing in applying the kiss of the neural whip," said the alien.
That was Orion slang for the liberal application of the pain and/or pleasure giving properties of the training whip.
"I believe you're right," said Trip, moving his hand from T'Pol's neck to rub the length and width of her left ear, and secretly pleased to feel a shudder run through his superior officer, "but she's hypnotized me with those doe eyes since the day I acquired her."
"Her eyes are fetching," said the alien, before going his own way, "but it was her legs that attracted my notice."
"You were right, ok," said T'Pol after the alien had left, still flustered by the Commander's familiar touch. "You were right about the dress."
Trip just shrugged and refused to gloat, as T'Pol had expected. This infuriating human even robbed her of the pleasure of predicting his response.
"Can we get back to work, Commander?"
"Yes, Polly."
"You can use my Vulcan name next time, Commander."
"Calling you Polly keeps me grounded, keeps me in character. You wouldn't want me to slip, and call you SubCommander at the wrong time, would you?"
"And what was the purpose of your touch?" said T'Pol, after drawing the Commander a few feet away from Lieutenant Reed and Ensign Sato.
"It would be suspicious if I kept my hands off my own property, T'Pol," said Trip. "Our cover must be consistent, if it is to be believable."
"So you were acting solely for the benefit of onlookers?"
Trip smiled, and said, "It was a happy coincidence that what pleased me best, also furthered the success of our mission."
T'Pol wasn't sure what to make of Commander Tucker's words, but said, "Well, if you must do so again in the course of this mission, try to avoid my ears. It is an erogenous zone in Vulcans."
"As it happens, SubCommander, I already knew that, but we must all make sacrifices for the success of this mission."
T'Pol blinked once, twice, then three more times in rapid succession. She had no comeback to the Commander's words.
They'd spread out in the market place in teams of two. T'Pol was naturally with Trip, for he held her base unit, and it would be hard to explain to any Orion why she was wondering about the marketplace on her own. In that event she'd likely be truly captured and sold at auction. Hoshi went with Malcolm, and all of them were looking for a Happa, for the Vulcan which had mind-probed the Orions was something of an artist and had quickly sketched out a respectable drawing of a Happa for the team to study.
Fortunately, it was Trip and T'Pol themselves who were approached, two hours later, just as they'd finished a quick lunch. The Vulcan sketch had been quite accurate and Trip easily identified the alien as Happa. The alien looked surprisingly normal, other than the apparatus that looked like something a fighter pilot would wear. A black glossy helmet with an opaque face shield, from which protruded several bulbs which looked like filters. It was tall, about 6'5", well built. Two legs, two arms, five fingers, all flesh concealed by gloves or the close fitting environmental suit.
The alien looked at T'Pol, noted the neural whip patch on her neck, then saw the base unit Trip was wearing and so addressed the Commander.
"May I have a moment of your time?"
Trip looked at T'Pol, and the Vulcan stood and moved next to Trip. In an Orion market, the gesture would look like a token of respect, for both her master and his guest, but in truth it was a way for them to keep the Happa securely under their observation, while ready to attack or defend. Trip gestured towards the now empty seat.
"May I offer you a drink?" said Trip, hoping the alien would remove his face shield.
"That's kind of you," said the Happa, then tapped his helmet. "Unfortunately, I can not remove my gear. The argon in the atmosphere is an irritant to my kind, while the carbon dioxide is actually poisonous."
That could be true, thought Trip, or merely a convenient excuse to maintain its secrecy.
"In that case, what can I do for you?" said Trip.
"I would like to take a genetic sample of your Vulcan slave," said the Happa. "I'll pay you ten grams of gold, now, for that minor inconvenience. If she actually meets my standards I can pay you five, maybe six times what you'd get for her on the auction block."
"What are you searching for in her genetic code?"
"That is my business," said the Happa, voice distorted by its headgear.
"I asked," said Trip, "because I have another thirty Vulcans aboard my ship. If you do not find what you require within her genes, you might find it in the genes of another."
"Thirty," said the Happa, after a pause. "How did you come by that many?"
"I captured the crew and passengers of a Vulcan diplomatic transport, after which I blew that ship apart, using an Orion explosive device."
The Happa chuckled, and said, "Nice move. The Vulcans will be looking for payback from the Orions."
"That's their problem. So, what do you say? Come aboard, run your tests and then we discuss a deal, if they meet your standards. Or buy them all now, sight unseen, for a decent price," said Trip, placing his left hand at the small of T'Pol's back, then slowly down her buttocks, before pulling her close to him, in a gesture any Vulcan would find obscenely personal in a public place, "and I'll throw this beauty in, to clinch the deal."
T'Pol's heart was racing. She knew the Commander was trying to lure the Happa aboard the Silin and approved of his maneuver. She even approved of his familiar and possessive gesture of placing his hands on her, for it might entice the Happa to make a mistake if he found her desirable, a mistake he might not otherwise make. In truth, there was another reason she found the Commander's sure handling of her body quite agreeable, but she would rather allow herself to be torn apart by a pack of wild sehlat than admit that fact to another.
"I can't imagine why you'd want to part with her," said the Happa.
"You'd be doing me a favor," said Trip. "She's more trouble than she's worth."
"Than you are giving her too much latitude," said the Happa.
"It's a weakness of mine, I agree. I've grown fond of her, despite her rebellious attitude. This one constantly proclaims that she lives to serve me, that I am the center of her world, that she's loved no other as she loves me, yet she always does what she wants, claiming duty, logic, ancestor worship, you name it, she always comes up with a reason to disobey. I've wrestled with this wild cat every night for a month, and still I can not break her spirit, even with the aid of the neural whip."
"Perhaps you simply must try harder," said T'Pol, her tone cool, adding a belated, "master."
"See what I mean?" said Trip. "Come see my captives, make me a fair offer and take her off my hands. Perhaps you will succeed where I have failed. She's yours, but only if you buy all thirty Vulcans."
Still, the Happa was clearly suspicious, for he said, "I would bring along a few friends to help me decide."
"No," said Trip. "I have a crew of two. Your friends kill them, then you steal my slaves, my ship and most importantly, my life."
"You could bring the Vulcans here. I will pay you for your trouble."
"I can't do that. The Orions will overlook a small private sale here and there, but they won't overlook the sale of thirty captives outside of their auctions. At best I'll be heavily fined and banned from Syndicate space for five years, at worst I'll find myself on the auction block, after my ship is confiscated. No thanks."
"How do I know you won't just rob me of my gold?" said the Happa.
He was clearly wary of a trap, but Trip could tell the thought of testing and possibly acquiring thirty Vulcans was too tempting to pass up for this creature.
What the hell do they want with these Vulcans?
"Come alone aboard my ship," said Trip, "but don't bring any gold. If you find what you need, we make a deal. Look, I just want to be rid of these Vulcans with something to show for my trouble, and then move on to more profitable game. I can't be any more fair than that."