Chapter 14

Since the incident in her diner earlier today, Sal had been persistently on Thorpe's mind, and not for the usual reasons. He found himself genuinely concerned for her after seeing how disturbed she was from talking with Damoth. She had a tough exterior, so the conversation with the Orion must have been particularly jarring.

Thorpe wondered if perhaps his and Sal's flirtations had evolved beyond childish games, but into a friendship rather than something physical or romantic. It was a new experience for him - to turn an attractive woman from potential partner into platonic companion - but one he was unwilling to let go so easily.

He had made his way back to her diner, hoping that the tumultuous emotions from before had boiled over by now and Sal was more open to discussion. The lunchtime rush had died down, and when Sal saw him at the counter looking sheepish, she fixed him with a stern glare. There was none of her usual playful manner.

"Back to break more of my furniture?" she asked coldly.

Thorpe held up his hands in mock surrender. "I'm just here to talk."

Sal busied herself wiping down the countertop. "You already apologised, and I told you I don't want to talk about anything else."

"Well, something's bothering you," Thorpe said. "And I don't think it's just a few broken tables and chairs."

Sal stopped cleaning to glare at him again. "What makes you think I want to talk about it with you?"

"I just… I've seen you in here every day, listening to other people's problems… I figure maybe you could use someone to talk to for once. A friend. Nothing more, scout's honour."

The Draylaxian sighed. "I appreciate it, Captain, but you honestly don't need my troubles." She turned to Azhri, who had emerged from the kitchen. "Keep an eye on things out here for me, Azhri, I'll be in my office."

The Andorian nodded and Sal disappeared through the back door. But Thorpe was not satisfied with her responses, and took off after her, darting around the counter to little protest from Azhri.

He found Sal in a small backroom off the kitchen, sitting herself behind a desk. "Uh, diner staff only, please," she said, trying to sound forceful but her cracking voice betrayed her.

Thorpe sat down across the desk from her and tried to put on sympathetic eyes. "The things about troubles is that they're like energy: Can't be created or destroyed, only converted or transferred. And, if pent up too long, it can explode. You might find that trouble shared is trouble divided."

Sal leaned back in her chair and sighed. Her look was indecipherable, and Thorpe briefly thought she'd make a great poker player while worrying that she was about to close herself off completely.

"A while ago," she eventually said, "I told someone that I'd give anything to have my family to talk to again. I guess a friend is the next best thing."

Thorpe smiled warmly, letting her know his offer was sincere.

After another silent pause, Sal started again. "Draylaxians are a very formal, precise people. Everything we do is scrutinised to the last millimetre. But I was always a rebel." She smiled sadly at this. "I would question our procedures, do things 'improperly.' I was the bane of my teachers and parents.

"When I got older, this rebelliousness turned to petty crime. Shoplifting, graffiti, drunken behaviour, stupid stuff like that. I guess I just needed to push against the walls going up all around me.

"Then I met an Orion man…"

"Damoth?" asked Thorpe.

Sal shook her head. "I'll get to him. No, this Orion was a smuggler for the Syndicate, although I didn't know that at first. I was still young and he easily seduced me into his life. To begin with, I would just distract authorities for him at the right time. Then it escalated into transporting drugs for him. Eventually, I helped him steal a rare Spican flamegem from some nobleman's collection.

"We had to flee the planet after that. Too many people looking for us. I… I had never been off Draylax before. Few of my people had, that's why… why there's so few of us left now. My family already considered me a disgrace, and that sealed it. I never… never spoke to any of them again."

Sal went silent again, and Thorpe leaned forward to say something comforting, although he didn't know what. Sal saved him the bother by continuing.

"Once the money for the flamegem ran dry, my smuggler friend got me a job as a waitress in a Syndicate-run nightclub on Farius Prime." She shook her head. "That was probably the plan all along. See, the Syndicate like to employ non-Orions for certain jobs. Given the reputation that green skin carries in the galaxy, people might be more guarded around Orions than they would be with other species.

"But a pretty young waitress with an exotic physique…" She gestured to her chest. "Some of the Syndicate's customers were a little more loose-tongued around me. I'd report anything interesting I'd heard, and pretty soon that became my main role. Damoth's mistress would often bring her clients to the club, that's how I got to know him. I always knew he hated playing the servant, and that he secretly despised aliens. Like he was jealous of them. He was almost smug around me, as if I was just as stupid as him for getting trapped in a life of servitude. Maybe he was right."

"You were young, Sal," said Thorpe. "You were raised in a closed, staid society, the promise of more would have lured anyone in the same position. But you got out and you've made your own life now, you shouldn't let Damoth or anyone else make you feel like you don't deserve it."

Sal looked down. "There's more… See, the type of people who will drunkenly blab to a pretty waitress tend not to be trusted with high-level information, so I wouldn't hear much of value. But the Syndicate had an idea… Offered me a big pay rise to take part…"

"What was it?" asked Thorpe, morbidly curious.

"They took these people called the Adigeons… Experts at genetic engineering. They made me undergo a procedure…" There was a faraway look in Sal's eyes now, and her voice was eerily calm. "They gave me these special pheromone glands… Not like the Orions have; these were different… These pheromones didn't invoke arousal or obedience, but trust." She now stared at Thorpe intensely. "They made people want to tell me secrets. Things they wouldn't tell anyone else."

Thorpe tensed up at this. "You… You make people trust you?" This revelation unnerved him. Could this be the reason he felt such friendship for Sal? Was it ever genuine?

"As violated as you feel," said Sal, as if reading his mind, "imagine what it's like for me, knowing that no one who opens up to me is doing so of their own free will. I can never get close to anyone without wondering if I'm taking advantage of them.

"That's why I had to leave. Make no mistake; I'm as much of a fugitive from the Syndicate as those refugees - that's what Damoth was taunting me with." She now leaned forward and her voice became almost a plea. "I couldn't undo what had been done to me, but I promised myself I would only use this ability for good. To help people to talk out their problems, to give them someone who'd listen. I can never be anything more than a sympathetic ear though. That's the price I must pay."

Silence clouded the small room again as Thorpe digested this tale. It would take him some time to sort through his feelings for Sal in light of this new information, but he wanted to reassure her that he would still be a friend to her should she want someone to listen to her for a change.

He didn't get the chance.

There was suddenly a loud commotion from the diner as a rabble of angry voices became loudly audible.

"What the hell?" Thorpe said, and he and Sal both headed out of the office.

In the diner they found a horde of Orions battering on the windows while a group of Starfleet officers held the doors shut. Others were helping them to pile up a barricade of tables and chairs.

Azhri was in an embrace with Guardsman Threv, who looked battered and bruised.

"Just what in the damn galaxy is going on here!?" Sal shouted over the roar from the crowd outside.

Thorpe had a feeling that neither of them would like the answer.