When she and Williams were brought back to the others, Hoshi flung herself at Jon. Malcolm and Trip, standing a few paces behind the captain, watched Galarn as he observed Jon and Hoshi's reunion.
"Jon! They want to see how you do surgery," Hoshi said between the kisses she was pelting him with. In her zeal, her purse slipped from her grasp and fell to the floor.
"That's enough!" Galarn shouted. Pointing at Jon, he said, "The dame says you can do the surgery here. That right?"
Hoshi squeezed Jon's arm once. "Yessss," he said, drawing out the sound.
"Show me. I'm tired of getting the run-around."
Jon looked at Hoshi. In English, she said, "Time for the demonstra--"
"Hey, none of that!" Galarn said, shaking his finger at them.
"I nee...I need...my kni...knife," Jon said in Hadian, stuttering on purpose, just as Hoshi had coached him after he'd recovered from being drugged.
"Knife? What knife?"
Jon acted as if he was about to answer, then blew out a frustrated breath and looked at Hoshi.
"His knife. You know, his scalpel," she said, speaking to Galarn as if he were a child. "It doesn't look like an ordinary knife. It's silver and shiny and kind of flat. There's a bit on one end that's black, and it has buttons on it."
One of Galarn's thugs, Slartin, stepped forward. "He didn't have anything like that on him, boss. That one did, though," he said, pointing at Malcolm.
"Get it!" Galarn said, snapping his fingers at Slartin, who left at a trot.
There was an uneasy silence broken only by an occasional whimper from Williams, who had crumpled to the floor after being pushed into the room. The two groups -- gangsters and pseudo gangsters -- stared at each other until Slartin returned, Malcolm's mini phase pistol and the communicators in his hands.
"This must be the knife," Galarn said as he took the pistol from Slartin. "Where's the blade?"
"It doesn't have one," Hoshi said. "It uses light."
"I'll believe it when I see it," the gangster muttered. Taking one of the communicators from Slartin, he asked, "What's this?"
"I'm not sure," Hoshi replied sheepishly. "I think they're for taking notes -- some kind of recording thing."
Galarn glanced at her, and she lowered her gaze to cover her lie. Looking at him from under her lashes, she saw from his condescending expression that he had taken the falsehood in an entirely different way.
"That's OK, doll," he said generously as he examined the communicator. "Apparently I was wrong about you. You aren't the brains of this group after all. You're like all dames -- you only know how to talk a lot."
"Hey, there's no reason to be rude," she said, hugging Jon's arm.
Galarn handed the communicator back to Slartin. Holding out the pistol, he said, "Come get this and give it to your boyfriend."
As Hoshi let go of Jon's arm, Galarn added, "Oh, yeah. And no funny stuff, or else."
On that note, his two henchmen raised their weapons.
A long table was brought into the room by another of Galarn's men. That meant four of the gang were now present. The odds were getting worse.
With a gesture from Galarn and a few words from Hoshi, Williams was told to lie on the table, but he balked. She had wondered how they'd get Williams to cooperate, but as his agitation grew into hysteria, Slartin hit him on the back of the head with his gun. An extreme solution, but it worked.
"You two, pick him up," Slartin ordered Trip and Malcolm, motioning with his gun.
Hoshi held her breath, worried they might not understand, but Slartin's gesture was apparently enough for her fellow officers to know what to do. They picked up the unconscious pilot and heaved him onto the table, then backed away when Slartin waved his gun at them.
Jon approached the table, the phase pistol in his hand. "Start opening his jumpsuit and then distract them," he said to Hoshi in English.
"What'd he say?" Galarn asked.
"He wants me to get his clothes out of the way," she replied. First she took off her shawl, which would only get in the way if she had to move quickly. Besides, she wasn't above using her feminine charms to distract Galarn and his men. After tossing the shawl on one of the chairs, she began to unzip Williams' jumpsuit.
"What's he going to operate on?" Galarn asked.
Hoshi took a breath. She tried to look slightly embarrassed, which wasn't too hard since she now had the pilot unzipped all the way. She eased one of his arms out of the jumpsuit as she started talking.
"He's already had his finger webs removed, and the small toe on each foot taken off, so that pretty much leaves..." She stared pointedly at Williams' briefs which were now visible, and heard one of Galarn's thugs suck in his breath.
Risking a glance at Jon, she saw he was peering nearsightedly at the mini phase pistol, adjusting the button to unlock the weapon. His apparent preoccupation was a ruse, she knew. She hoped Malcolm and Trip were ready.
"You're not...you're not going to..." Galarn began.
"Well, everything else has been cut off. What did you expect?" she asked.
By now, she had the attention of all four gangsters. They were staring at her in disbelief, and she had the impression the surgery she was implying was a little too radical for them, even by Hadian standards.
"Not the whole thing!" she reassured them, trying to imitate Doctor Phlox's bedside manner. She gave them a huge grin. "Just a little bob job -- that's my idea for the advertising slogan, by the way. A couple of little cuts. No scars, remember? The best thing is nobody will be able to tell you've been under the knife."
Galarn looked pale, and Slartin was grimacing. One of the other men had his hand over his crotch as if protecting himself, and the last one's mouth dropped open. "Hey, boss?" he said. "I don't really need to see this, do I?"
Galarn shook his head without looking at the man, who hurriedly left the room.
The odds were tilting back in their favor, Hoshi thought. They needed to make their move before any more of Galarn's goons showed up. After freeing Williams' arms from the jumpsuit, she moved to the other end of the table, distancing herself from Jon so he had a clear shot. She began to tug on the legs of Williams' jumpsuit.
Galarn was still looking at her in disbelief. "Why would anyone want to have that done?"
"You know what they say: It's not the size that matters..." She shrugged as she worked the pant legs down.
The three gangsters were looking at her again, but Jon and Malcolm didn't seize the opportunity. What was with those guys? Why didn't they shoot? Surely Malcolm had gotten to the pistol in her purse by now.
"I can understand your reluctance," she said, yanking the jumpsuit free of Williams with enough force that she staggered back a step in Galarn's direction. Turning to face him as she wadded up the clothing, she wondered how long she could keep up this prattle. "After all, it's painful. Takes about three weeks to recover."
Her remarks elicited a groan from Slartin. As he closed his eyes in commiseration, twin bolts of energy shot across the room, hitting him and the other gunman.
Her attention on Galarn, Hoshi barely registered the two thugs falling to the floor. When the gang boss made a move for the gun inside his jacket, she threw the wadded-up jumpsuit in his face.
Galarn ducked as he brushed the suit away with one hand, and Malcolm's shot at him went high. Galarn reached out and grabbed Hoshi by the arm, holding his gun to her head.
"Stop right there or she gets it!"
Hoshi held perfectly still, her mind racing. The officers froze in place, understanding Galarn's intent, if not his words. She risked raising her hand, indicating they should remain where they were. She didn't dare try speaking to them in English. That might be enough to make Galarn shoot her or one of them.
Jon was still on the far side of the table, his "scalpel" aimed at Galarn. "Hoshi, don't do anything rash."
"Shut up!" Galarn ordered. "I don't want to hear any of that 'code' or I'll shoot her."
"What are you going to do with me?" Hoshi asked, an almost-real quaver in her voice.
"I'm going to take you with me, doll," he replied with a leer. "Things are too hot for me right now."
He backed toward the door, pulling her with him as he talked. "Only a few of Poltorn's men went along with me when I took over. I can't hang around waiting for the ones who didn't back me to show up." With a grim chuckle he added, "Maybe they'll think your friends took care of Poltorn."
They reached the door and he continued backing out, the gun jammed in her ribs as he dragged her along. On the journey down the corridor, Galarn kept her between him and the others, who were following warily at a distance. Jon was at the back of the group, the unconscious, nearly naked Williams slung over his shoulder.
She kept her eyes on Malcolm. If anyone made a move, it would be him. She wondered how much experience he had with hostage situations. To her surprise, he gave her a wink as Galarn was momentarily distracted by opening the door to the stairwell. Malcolm must have something in mind, she realized.
Going down the stairs was a nightmare. Galarn kept one arm wrapped around her waist, holding her as close to him as he could. She felt his hot breath on her neck as they sidestepped down the stairs. She was always between him and the other men, and the fact that she was taller than the gangster worked in his favor. She was an effective shield behind which to hide.
At the bottom, Galarn switched the gun to the hand that was holding her so he could open the door. Hoshi tensed, hoping Malcolm would shoot now that Galarn's gun wasn't aimed directly at her. When he didn't shoot, she wondered why. If she were in his place, she'd shoot both of them. Stunning her would be a small price to pay for a successful mission.
The strange procession made its way out into the corridor, Galarn and Hoshi moving faster now that they weren't climbing down stairs. He led her to another door and pulled her through. She saw Malcolm hurry to close some of the distance between them before the door slammed shut.
She and Galarn were outside, dawn just breaking. The cool air on her shoulders and arms made her shiver as he removed his arm from her waist only to grab her wrist. The vehicle in which they'd been gassed was parked at the curb across the deserted street, and Galarn tugged her in its direction.
They were about halfway across the street when she heard the door behind them open, and she glanced back. Malcolm was standing in the doorway, aiming a mini phase pistol at them.
"Duck!" he yelled.
She immediately dropped to the pavement, breaking Galarn's hold on her wrist, and a phaser blast flew over her. Galarn, who had turned as she pulled loose, was struck in the chest and went down.
Hoshi pushed herself up from the pavement, wincing when a scraped knee made itself known, as Malcolm and the others approached her at a trot.
"You all right, Hoshi?" Jon asked as he made his way by her with his burden to the vehicle.
"Yes, sir," she answered, adding an aside for Malcolm, "Took you long enough."
"Had to wait until we found the transportation," he said. Looking up and down the street for other possible dangers, he smiled slightly. "I didn't think you wanted to walk all the way back to the landing site."
She grunted, conceding his point. She slipped out of her shoes and sighed in relief as her bare feet made contact with the cool pavement.
Trip opened one of the vehicle's back doors and Jon flipped Williams off his shoulder onto one of the bench seats.
"Trip, can you drive this thing?" Jon asked he climbed in, his communicator already open.
"Give me a second," the engineer said as he slid into the driver's seat and studied the controls. "Doesn't look too complicated."
Hoshi also got in the back of the vehicle, and Malcolm sat in front with Trip. Jon contacted Enterprise, telling T'Pol to send the shuttlepod down to their original landing site. By the time he'd closed the communicator, Trip had gotten the engine started and was putting the vehicle in gear. They moved away from the curb with a small lurch.
"Do you know where you're going?" Hoshi asked Trip.
"Yeah, sure," he said, still distracted by the controls. "Hope there aren't any stop signs, though. I'm not sure where the brakes are."
"Well, you'd better get turned around, because we're going the wrong way," she said.
"No, we're not."
"Yes, we are."
It took Jon's intervention to get Trip to turn the vehicle around, Hoshi muttering about men who won't ask for directions under her breath.
As they finally rolled out of town, heading in the right direction, Hoshi began to relax. They were actually going to make it.
"Hey," said a groggy Williams. "What happened to my clothes?"
Hoshi looked at herself in the mirror. Once again she was decked out in her gangster moll regalia, her hair curled, her lips bright red to match her dress.
Her only regret was that her red shawl had been left behind. The quartermaster had some lacy black material that she had been able to fashion into a shawl-like garment. Oh well, she thought, black went well with her red dress. Too bad she hadn't lost the shoes. It had been a week since their mission and her feet still hadn't quite recovered.
At least her hands looked normal. Phlox had removed the fake webs between the fingers the day they returned from the mission.
The captain had decided to celebrate, now that they had transferred Williams to a ship headed for Earth. She, Trip, and Malcolm had been invited to dine in the captain's mess, with one stipulation -- they were to dress as they had on Hadia. That meant she had to wear the red heels.
She smiled as she crossed the mess hall on her way to the captain's dining room. She had monitored Hadian communications for as long as possible after they left orbit, and had learned from news reports that Galarn had been arrested for the murder of Poltorn. His wild tale of guns firing beams of light and surgery without scars was not believed. With luck, Hoshi thought wickedly, the little man would spend the rest of his life in an institution.
Trip was standing just inside the captain's mess when she entered. He was dressed to the nines in his gangster suit, his hat jauntily askew on his head.
"Wow, Hoshi. You look even better with the black cover-up," he said, stepping aside for her to pass.
She batted her eyelashes at him, and was rewarded with his laugh.
"Don't you try that flirtin' on me, now. The way that gangster reacted, ya ought to be classified as a secret weapon," he said with a grin.
She sauntered over to the table. Malcolm, looking dapper in his suit, pulled out her chair. She batted her eyelashes at him, too.
"The captain said to wear our costumes for this gathering," he said with a smile. "He didn't say anything about role-playing."
As the two men took their seats, Malcolm added, "I wonder what's delaying the captain?"
"Speak of the devil," Trip said, and both men started to rise as Jon, also dressed in his gang outfit, entered.
"As you were," Jon said, motioning for them to stay seated. He took in Hoshi's appearance at the opposite end of the table. After a long moment, he said, "You look lovely, Hoshi."
Hoshi was willing to bet the captain wasn't thinking of her as a member of the crew at the moment. It wouldn't do to leave him standing, however.
"Please, take a seat, sir," she murmured.
"Um, yes, of course," Jon stuttered, a slight blush staining his face as he sat. He cleared his throat. "I've just received a message from Starfleet. You'll be happy to know that Admiral Forrest agrees the mission was a success, although he's a little concerned by the methods we used."
Trip snorted. "What's there to be concerned about? We got the pilot back, we recovered all the pieces of his ship, and those people have no clue we were from another planet."
Jon didn't answer as the steward entered with a bottle of champagne. Jon signaled for him to uncork it. When their glasses had been filled, Jon raised his. "I would like to toast the successful completion of one of the most unusual missions Enterprise has ever undertaken."
The other three raised their glasses, then sipped. If only all their missions could end like this, Hoshi thought, enjoying the bubbles in the champagne. She sighed blissfully as Trip rose to his feet.
"Here's to Hoshi's outfit," he said with a twinkle in his eye.
"Trip!" she admonished, but was overruled by the others' calls of "Hear, hear!"
Once more they all took a sip. After a moment, Malcolm cleared his throat. He slid his chair back and stood, holding his glass out as if it were a weapon. "Here's to Hoshi's tactical genius. If it weren't for her plan, we might still be tied up in that warehouse."
After the men drank to Malcolm's toast, Trip leaned toward Jon and said, "I've changed my mind. Next time, Hoshi can be the boss."
The praise and the alcohol were warming her, and before she knew it, she was on her feet.
"Ahem." She looked at each of the men in turn. Holding up her glass, she said, "If there ever is a next time, I would be more than willing to call the shots. Not that I pretty much didn't do that this time."
Trip snickered and Malcolm smirked. Jon opened his mouth, but a look from her silenced him.
"Just remember," she said, "when it comes to words, I've got you all outgunned."
They all drank to that.
--the end--
A/N: Thanks for reading. If you enjoyed this story, let me know!
