Disclaimer: I do not own Star Trek or any of the characters created therein.
A/N: Each of the characters in this story is representative of something I particularly like or find important in the Star Trek universe. Helen Kincaide is another is a long line of wonderful 24th century doctors. I've always loved how Trek made forensic meddling and medical insight cool before all the crime lab shows that are on TV today.
First Impression, Chapter 13: When Opportunity Knocks…
"From one cage to another," Vesta muttered. She and Taurik had been transferred to a holding area after their auctions as their buyers funds were checked and double-checked.
"For an illegal operation it is run quite efficiently," Taurik observed, watching the guards "process" another group of humanoids. Their new owner, a tall alien partially covered with a feathery down, was clucking over them, apparently instructing the guards not to damage her property.
"Greeeee-zaaaaoo," a low voice drawled. Outside their cage stood their new owner—a scaly, sloth-like alien. The universal translator was having trouble recognizing his speech pattern. "Greeeeeeeeee-ZAAAAOOOOO," he said more insistently, poking a nearby guard and pointing at Vesta and Taurik.
"Of course, sir. We'll have them ready for you as soon as your transfer clears," the small robed humanoid was clearly in charge of keeping order: he had a control of some sort that allowed him to activate and deactivate the doors to the cages as well as the implants in their necks.
Slothman wailed his understanding. Taurik seemed nonplussed at the prospect of becoming the property of the Slothman but Vesta's attention was elsewhere.
"They're going to make a run for it," she whispered to Taurik, pointing to the slaves with the feathered lady. Their neck devices had been removed and Taurik could see that they were indeed bracing to run, their movements quick and nervous. Free from their disciplinary apparatus, they had hatched some sort of plan. One of them, apparently jumping the gun, darted out from the others and made a mad dash for the nearest exit.
"Stupid!" Vesta whispered vehemently. "He won't make it far eno-"
She was cut off by a blaring, insistent alarm. Taurik recognized it immediately as the alarm that had gone off in the docking bay with Una. Just as before, it affected all those around him—Vesta fell writhing to the floor, as did everyone else. Everyone, that is, but the guards and Taurik. The guards seemed to have some type of aural protection against the alarm and Taurik—well, Taurik couldn't quite understand it.
He bent to help Vesta and pondered this. No one was paying any attention to him—the Orions were busy rounding up the now-prone escapees and everyone else was clutching their ears in pain. Obviously his physiology was somehow protecting him. Vulcan ears were quite different in form if not function than human or Andorian ears, to be sure, but…why install an alarm that only worked on certain people?
The easy answer must be that Vulcans were not really expected on this station and, in general, Vulcans were not expected to cause trouble. But surely there were others the alarm would not work on…if it did not work on Vulcans then…
Suddenly he understood. All of it: the kidnappings, the station, the auctions, the missing Dukin, the strange ship they had followed into the nebula…it all made sense. And a plan, stunning in its simplicity, presented itself to him.
The alarm was shut down, leaving behind a blistering silence. Vesta groaned and Taurik helped her to her feet. Shakily she allowed herself to lean on him as she got her breath back.
"Lieutenant…"
She was not listening.
"Vesta," he shook her slightly. Her head lolled around and she squinted.
"I believe I have plan."
"We will get them back—my crew has already located them. I have dispatched two more shuttles to help. It's only a matter of time!" Pevet was trying not to sound desperate but he had a feeling he was losing that battle. The figure on the round viewscreen in front of him was unmoved.
"Our sources indicate that they were both Starfleet—you failed to notice this and you let them escape? This does not speak well for you or for our partnership."
Pevet began to sweat. Starfleet? That incompetent half-breed was Starfleet? And the woman? That meant that…oh dear gods, the station had been crawling with them…A thought occurred to him.
"I still have two of them here. We can hold them, demand that Starfleet leave, get information from them…"
"If you have two of them there are likely more in the area. Starfleet officers are like vermin—where there is one there are always more. Try," Pevet winced at the sarcasm, "to keep them prisoner this time."
"I will find out how they—"
"We will interrogate them."
"You?"
"We are en route now. Do nothing to them until we arrive, if you can manage to keep them incarcerated." The transmission ended abruptly, leaving Pevet queasy…and angry.
Do nothing! This was his station, dammit, and he was going to get some answers. He would move them, first of all, to somewhere more secure…Pevet glanced over his shoulder at a partially curtained doorway.
Though the room beyond was darkened he could hear its occupants moving softly within their cages. The aliens liked it dark and had not stopped wailing until the lighting had been dimmed for them. Now they were quiet—he hardly knew they were there. If only all his charges were so easily kept.
It was the most secure spot on the station, which was really saying quite something. Yes, the Starfleet officers, if that's what they were, should be here, not downstairs where they might try to escape or cause trouble.
Calling his entourage, he left the room and descended into the common slave markets below, barking instructions into a communicator.
Bohemir and Arima, unaware of what was going on in the holding cells on the floors below and above them, were making their way through their third slave auction. The going was slow mainly because they feared that using tricorders or scans would bring them unwanted attention. So far their search had been largely visual.
"Commander," Arima murmured into his comm., "I think I've got something."
"I hope so." Bohemir was getting worried—there weren't many more places to look. They seemed to be at the top level of the station.
"There," Arima gestured toward the ceiling in a corner of the market.
At first Bohemir saw nothing but darkness, but as his eyes adjusted he could make out a narrow stairway and a nondescript door. As he watched the door opened and a well-dressed Orion flanked by two guards emerged.
Bohemir nodded to Arima. "Good work—now, how do we get in?"
"We wait for the opportunity to present itself."
The device fell onto a table beside the guard with a clatter.
"Next," he hustled her forward into the waiting neck brace of the Slothman. She struggled but was forced to the scaly alien's side.
"Brrriiiiiieeeeeet-zoooooow," it said helpfully, rattling the brace. Beside him the robed alien hovered, making sure the customer was satisfied with his purchase.
Vesta twisted to see where Taurik was—his implant was being pulled from his neck. The "doctor" that had removed it slapped a small bandage on it and shoved him forward into the waiting arms of Slothman.
It was now or never.
Bracing herself for the inevitable pain, Vesta started screaming. Screaming, crying, thrashing—she kicked the sloth in the midsection and sent it flying. A guard grabbed the chain to her brace and yanked it hard but she surprised him by kicking his legs out from under him. She gathered up the chain in her arms and started to run.
She only made it a few steps before the alarm sounded. It brought her instantly to the floor, though she tried valiantly to keep moving and fighting—to distract as many guards as possible.
The Orions converged on her and dragged her up off the ground, still squirming. Her antennae were dancing wildly as the alarm tore through her inner ear, setting off fireworks in her brain.
Suddenly she was on the ground again. Something heavy fell next to her and Vesta realized it was one of the guards, unconscious. Another dropped beside him. Above her she was dimly aware of Taurik fighting. He put the last one down with a kick to the torso and turned to the robed alien, who was frantically pushing buttons on his control box. Taurik relieved him of it and with a disdainful look delivered another well-placed neck pinch.
Vesta was on the verge of unconsciousness when the alarm blessedly stopped. She lifted her head weakly and tried to smile at the Vulcan.
"Your plan worked," she croaked.
"Indeed." He helped her up. "Where is the doctor?"
The Slothman was coughing and spluttering in a corner, trying to right himself. "Here!" he called in an uncharacteristically human female voice.
Dr. Kincaide managed to stand and readjusted her mask. "This thing was not made for a lot of action."
Taurik was examining the gadget in his hands carefully.
"Can you figure it out?" Vesta asked.
"I believe so." He hit a sequence of buttons and an alarm outside their holding area sounded. "Perhaps I should spend more time studying it."
Vesta shook her throbbing head and made her way to the door, throwing it open. The market outside was, for the second time that day, in a state of total disarray. It wouldn't take the Orions long to pinpoint the problem.
"We don't have time, we need to create some chaos—can you open the cage doors?"
The Vulcan raised an eyebrow and pushed a button. The marketplace lit up as every cage door flashed its unlocking sequence and swung open.
Vesta turned to her shipmate, her eyes wide.
"Emergency release," Taurik said.
Bohemir didn't know what was causing it, but he knew what it was—opportunity. Gratefully, he took it. He contacted Kincaide over his comm link but could not hear her answer—if there was one—over the pandemonium.
The well-dressed Orion was in a full state of panic as every alarm on the station seemed to be going off. Cage doors were opening and closing at random and the prisoners were taking full advantage of it. His guards were seriously outnumbered—he turned to abandon them and take refuge in the room above.
Without a word Bohemir and Arima charged after him, easily sidestepping the pre-occupied guards. They made their way up the stairs and burst through the door—and straight into a round of phaser fire.
Arima went down, clutching his side in pain. Bohemir could see the burn marks that seared his friend's clothing and flesh and felt a surge of anger. He started toward the attacker.
Pevet waved the phaser discouragingly. "Stay there. I'll kill him," he trained the weapon on the engineer, who had gone pale and still.
Bohemir stopped, a mask of hatred on his face.
"Starfleet, right?" the Orion was circling, putting himself between Bohemir and the door. "I was going to bring your Andorian up here but you'll do just as well. As long as I have something to hand over to my…partners, this may not be a total loss."
"Your partners?" Bohemir asked.
"Yes. They can be demanding, but I have to admit they've been good for business."
"Who are they?"
Pevet smiled. "People you don't want to get angry."