CHAPTER FOURTEEN
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"Shields down to 78 percent."
Captain Jean-Luc Picard tried to ignore the shaking on the bridge. Enterprise was being hammered by no less than twelve Dominion attack ships plus one of their massive battlecruisers, and they were only five minutes into the engagement.
"Fire quantum torpedoes, full spread."
"One attack ship destroyed," Data reported a moment later. "I am not reading any noticeable effect on the battlecruiser's shields. They are returning fire."
"Change heading to 055 mark 131," Picard replied. "Evasive maneuvers, pattern Epsilon."
The bridge shook again and the lighting flickered. "Shields at 69 percent," Data observed. "At the current rate of depletion, we will lose shields in six minutes."
"We need to find a way to bring that thing down fast," Riker observed. "There's no way we're going to be able to stay in this slugging match for much longer."
"I agree," Picard replied. "Any suggestions, Number One?"
"If we concentrate our firepower on one specific section of the ship, we might be able to punch through the shields and do some damage."
After a moment's thought, Picard nodded. "Make it so."
Riker studied the readouts from the massive Dominion ship. "What do you think about hitting it here?" he asked Data, highlighting part of the Dominion ship on the LCARS display.
"Their shields appear to be weakest in that section," Data agreed. "We may be able to damage one of their warp nacelles and induce a power surge in their reactor that way."
Riker ordered a channel open to the task force. "This is Commander Riker aboard the Enterprise. Target the following coordinates and fire on my mark."
On the viewscreen, they could see the assorted ships of Task Force 11 re-orient themselves toward the Dominion battlecruiser.
"Mark."
Multiple phaser beams struck out at the Dominion ship. At first it seemed as if nothing was going to happen; the beams stopped at the purple-hued bubble of energy that surrounded the battlecruiser. Then, suddenly, they punched through and there was a flash of light as the beams struck the side of the nacelle.
"Direct hit," Data reported. "I am reading a power surge within the ship."
For a moment, the Dominion ship fell silent. Then its assault on the Federation task force redoubled and Enterprise rocked from yet another direct hit. One of the lights exploded overhead, and Picard raised an arm to shield himself from the falling debris.
"Report."
"EPS failure on deck two," Data said. "Shunting excess power through conduits on deck four. Shields holding at 53 percent."
"What's the status of the Dominion ship?" Riker asked.
"They appear to have stabilized the power surge," Data replied. "I am reading only a minor drop in their shield output."
The commander turned back to the viewscreen. "Riker to Task Force 11. Regroup and maintain fire on the same coordinates."
The USS Mateo re-targeted the battlecruiser, suffering several strong shots in return. Explosions blossomed across the hull of the Akira-class vessel as its shields collapsed.
"Lieutenant Daniels, give 'em hell," Riker said.
The lieutenant smiled. "Glad to, Sir."
Enterprise turned in a sweeping arc as it brought its armament to bear. Then Daniels unleashed the full fury of the Sovereign-class vessel. Searing phaser beams lashed out at the intruder, causing its shield bubble to glow purple where they landed. Dozens of miniature stars appeared and then evaporated as quantum torpedoes impacted the still impenetrable shielding of the battlecruiser.
If the force brought to bear by the Enterprise was like a tornado, then the reply it received from the Dominion was like a hurricane. Phased polaron beams flashed, torpedoes spat out of dozens of launchers, and the pinnacle of Starfleet engineering was battered around like the proverbial rock in a black hole.
One of the ensigns standing behind Picard was thrown forward as a plasma conduit in his console exploded, showering the unfortunate ensign and nearby crew with plastic and metal shrapnel. Fortunately for the captain, the back of his chair took the brunt of the impacts.
"Damage report?" Picard asked.
"Shields at twenty-three percent," Data replied a split second later. "Multiple hull breaches on decks five, eleven and fifteen. Damage to secondary reactor cooling system. Port phaser array is offline."
Picard pushed the comm switch on his armrest. "Mr. Laforge, report."
"I'm not sure what you just did," the engineer's voice came back over the comm, "but I sure hope you don't plan on doing it again. Another hit like that and we could lose containment."
"Objection noted," Picard replied. "Unfortunately we don't have much choice in the matter."
"Understood," Geordi answered. "I'll see if I can divert a little more power to the containment systems in the meantime."
"Captain," Data interrupted, "the Jem'Hadar have entered Benzar's atmosphere."
Picard looked down at his tactical display for a moment. "Plot a course to intercept," he ordered. "We can't allow them to land troops."
"I am detecting Dominion transporter signatures," Data replied. "We may be too late."
"Better late than never," Picard replied. "Engage."
The view from the main screen streaked slightly as Enterprise entered low warp to cover the short distance between the Dominion fleet and the planet.
Seconds later, they emerged from warp over the planet, in front of six Jem'Hadar attack ships. The tactical officer wasted no time opening fire, destroying two and damaging a third in the initial volley.
"I am detecting multiple ships approaching at high warp," Data reported as they began pursuing the remaining attack ships.
"Dominion?" Riker asked.
"Unknown," Data replied. "I cannot identify the warp signature."
Picard looked up with interest. "On screen."
The ships that appeared were fairly flat, appearing to consist of multiple shallow crescents welded together. The curving warp nacelles glowed with a green hue similar to Romulan vessels, but the design was anything but Romulan.
"Hailing frequencies," he said. "Unknown vessels, this is Captain Jean-Luc Picard of the Federation starship Enterprise. You are in Federation space. State your intentions."
Instead of replying, the ships dropped out of warp within point blank range of Task Force 11 and immediately opened fire. The Federation ships were quick to fire back, and several of the new arrivals were destroyed with multiple well-placed quantum torpedoes-but not before something happened, causing blue arcs of electricity to dance across several of the ships in Task Force 11.
"Mateo has lost all power," Data reported. "Other commanders are reporting random systems failures."
The Enterprise rocked again as two of the Jem'Hadar attack ships concentrated their firepower on the much larger ship. One of the bridge stations' consoles began smoking, and the lieutenant stationed there quickly backed away. The console exploded a second later, sending more debris flying across the bridge and widening the already large cloud of acrid smoke lingering overhead.
"Shields at fifteen percent," Data observed quietly. "Our position appears untenable, Captain."
Picard allowed his shoulders to slump forward in defeat. "As much as I wish it were not the case, you are correct. Signal a full tactical retreat. We will regroup at Arcturus-" A flash on the viewscreen interrupted his order as the Mateo exploded violently. "That is, what's left of the task force will regroup at Arcturus IV."
"Yes, Captain."
"Captain, we have another wave of torpedoes incoming," Data reported.
"Evasive maneuvers, Mr. Data," Picard snapped out. "Have the commanders acknowledged the order for retreat?"
"Yes, Sir."
"Maximum warp to Arcturus. Engage."
The android tapped the commands into his LCARS screen, then paused. "Warp drive is not responding."
Picard activated the communicator controls on his chair. "Mr. Laforge, what is going on with the warp drive?"
"Sorry, Captain," the engineer's voice replied. "That last hit was worse than I thought. We have a bad coolant leak in one of the port nacelle EPS conduits."
"How long will it take you to fix it?"
"I already have a team of engineers working on it. I think they'll be done in five minutes."
"Mr. Laforge, our shields are almost completely drained. We need warp power now. Can you do anything?"
A long, uncomfortable pause preceded Laforge's reply. "I can divert power through the secondary EPS conduits, but we'll be limited to Warp 5."
"Make it so," Picard replied.
"Captain, I am continuing evasive maneuvers but there are too many torpedoes to avoid. I estimate time to impact in thirty seconds," Data reported.
"Mr. Laforge?" Picard asked.
"Almost there!"
"Impact in twenty seconds. Shields at sixteen percent."
The tension on the bridge was palpable as the seconds ticked away. "There," Geordi's voice came over the comm. "I think that should do it."
"Engage."
Just as Data reached for the controls, the first of the torpedoes hit and nearly threw several of the bridge crew out of their seats.
"Warning. Shield overload. Structural integrity field compromised," the computer intoned.
A second impact jarred the ship again, and then the stars mercifully elongated as the Enterprise entered warp. Picard let out the breath he realized he had been holding and leaned back in his chair. "Damage report."
"Secondary deflector dish offline. Navigational sensor array has sustained heavy damage and is barely functional. We have lost atmospheric containment on decks eight through eleven... it appears that one of the torpedoes punched straight through the forward portion of the primary hull."
He nodded and thumbed the intercom. "Mr. Laforge, status report."
"We've managed to stabilize the coolant leak for now, Captain," the engineer replied. "We should be able to make warp 7. However, I wouldn't recommend trying maximum warp until we replace the damaged section of conduit."
"Duly noted," Picard replied. "Anything else?"
"No, Sir."
The captain came to his feet, turning toward Riker. "Bring us down to yellow alert, Number One. If you need me, I will be in my ready room writing reports for Starfleet Command."
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"Why did I even bother trying?"
There was a brief pause in the cockpit of the YT-2400 freighter Headwind and then a synthesized voice replied in an infuriatingly smooth tone. "I believe you were unsure if you could safely duplicate the transit of the wormhole without killing yourself."
Cathi threw a glare over at the co-pilot's seat, where Orb was sitting motionless. "Yeah, well this isn't much better. We're stuck Force-knows-where trying to find a ghost ship full of Jedi that vanished sixty-odd years ago, with no prospects of getting home anytime soon. It took us two weeks to cross this damned galaxy without killing ourselves, and because of all the extra jumps we had to make I'm not even sure if we have enough fuel to get back."
Orb leaned forward and looked at the navicomputer. "If I am not mistaken, we are still outside the region of space this Federation occupies. Shall I begin plotting our next jump?"
"Well, first off, I think it would be good to know where we are."
"If only that were possible," Orb lamented.
"Relatively speaking, I mean."
"Oh! Why didn't you say so? We are approximately one hundred light-years from the provided coordinates, with a margin of error of fifty light-years.
Cathi leaned back in the pilot's seat and stared at the ceiling in frustration. "A margin of error of fifty light-years? Do you know how long that area will take to cover?" She ran through the math in her head... "That's a hundred and twenty five thousand cubic light-years!"
"At an average speed, I estimate that we could complete a satisfactory survey of the area within eighty years. That is well within my operating parameters."
"Yeah, your parameters! What about me?"
"The average life expectancy of humans from your homeworld is one hundred thirty-five. In eighty years, you will be one hundred eleven. That is a sufficient safety margin."
"Since when do you know my age?" Cathi snapped.
"If I am not mistaken, you have been forced to provide it on many occasions for the entry forms of various planets. Although you also claim that you are a tourist in most cases, so I suppose that may not necessarily be correct..."
Exasperated, she threw up her hands. "This is absurd. If we're going to do this in any reasonable amount of time, we need to identify the most likely systems instead of just jumping from one to the next. I really wish we had the scanning power of a Star Destroyer right now..."
Orb glanced out the viewport before looking down at the console. "That won't be necessary."
Cathi laughed. "And why is that?"
The protocol droid stiffly raised his arm to point out at space. "Because we have already been found."
Cathi squinted out of the viewport at the brightening speck of light before looking down at the consoles. She quickly isolated it from the other scan results, then pulled it up on the holoprojector.
"We're a long way from the Corporate Sector," she muttered, "but I could swear that thing looks like a Marauder corvette."
"The ship's characteristics are all wrong," Orb observed. "The length is over twice that of a corvette, the aft portion is too hemispherical, and it does not appear to have standard sublight engines. Also, if it was a CorpSec ship, they would have already hailed us by now to demand we stop for a customs inspection."
She slumped back in the chair. "Thanks a lot for the datadump, Orb," she said, following her comment with a pronounced sigh. "Well, what do you suggest we do now? Run?"
"If this is representative of the local spacefaring races, then it may be beneficial to see if they know of this Federation. More importantly, they may be able to provide us with current navigational data."
The last part was what made up Cathi's mind. "Alright, we're going to try talking to them. I hope your language database is current."
"My last maintenance period was with my seventeenth master."
"Great. I'm in a new galaxy with an antique protocol droid that was last updated before the Emperor was born, about to meet locals who we know absolutely nothing about. Could this possibly get any better?"
"The ship appears to be transmitting something on subspace frequencies," Orb reported. "Would you like me to attempt to decode the message?"
"YES!"
"There's no need to shout," Orb quietly remarked with what might have been a hint of pain in his synthetic voice. "My aural sensors were not designed for such abuse. Decoding, please wait..."
"Well?" Cathi asked nearly a minute later. The ship was drawing steadily closer; the last time she had checked, the distance was down to three hundred thousand klicks. I could hit that thing practically blindfolded, she thought to herself.
"The binary encoding scheme of the audio-2D video stream is unusual, but hardly innovative," Orb replied in what might have been an absent-minded tone if such a thing was possible for a droid. "It uses a simple rotating checksum with only sixteen bits of parity per frame packet to ensure integrity..."
"I meant, what are they saying?" Cathi, almost at her wit's end, shouted.
"Oh. I believe they are claiming to be from a place called... For-ein-gen-ar," the droid attempted to pronounce. "The syntax of their language is not very complicated, although it shares no similarities to Basic it does have common traits with several extinct mid-Rim languages." The droid cocked its head for a moment. "They seem to make frequent references to money. Given the apparent context, I do not believe they are pirates, but perhaps they may be merchants of some sort."
"Just get on with it!"
"Very well," Orb said with a slightly depressed tone. "It appears to be a standard hail, if I am not mistaken. Who are you, what is your business in our space, et cetera."
"Can you respond?"
"If it would make you happy, I can," Orb responded in a weak attempt at humor.
Cathi rolled her eyes. "Yes, it would make me positively ecstatic. Tell them that we are lost and in need of accurate starmaps. We are also interested in trading for food and other essential supplies."
Barely a minute had passed when the ship abruptly lurched. Apparently the concept of a tractor beam was universal.
"Orb," she said in the same tone a mother might use with a a particularly troublesome two-year-old child, "what exactly did you tell them?"
"I told them only what you said!" the droid protested.
"Was there any chance you didn't translate it accurately?"
"I translated as accurately as was possible given the limited data I had from their language."
Cathi thought for a moment. "So what words did you use when you didn't know the right word?"
"I used words from several of the extinct mid-Rim languages as those were the closest linguistic matches to their language."
"Great," Cathi sighed. "For all I know, you told them that our airspeeder is full of eelworms."
"I am offended that you think I would say such a thing," Orb protested.
"That's not my point!" Cathi shouted. "We don't know what they think we said!"
"Actually," Orb remarked, "we will have the perfect opportunity to find out what they thought in just a moment."
"And why is that?" she snapped.
"Because they have pulled us into their hangar bay."
Cathi looked out of the viewport and wanted to laugh. The hangar of the ship was so cramped that the Headwind barely fit into it with its landing gear retracted. Unfortunately, that precluded the use of the main landing ramp, meaning they would have to use an airlock instead.
She reached down to the panel and checked the external sensors. The hangar bay doors had already closed around them, and the hangar was pressurizing with a fairly standard atmosphere. No unusual gases were detected, so at least they weren't trying to poison them either intentionally or by accident.
Then the internal doors to the hangar slid open, and she really had to resist the urge to laugh. The aliens were humanoid figures no taller than the average Bimm. Unlike the Bimmissarii, however, these aliens were rather stocky, with bald heads, orange-tinged skin and what looked like massive earlobes. They actually reminded her of some creatures she'd seen once in a children's holovid about a mad candy maker.
In stark contrast to their amusing appearance, the weapons that the aliens held looked menacing enough. Cathi couldn't tell whether they were blasters or some other type of weapon, but they had a barrel, handle, and trigger. That was enough to define their intent.
"I believe they are asking us to come out with our... legs? ... raised," Orb remarked as the apparent leader of the group of aliens began talking through a loudspeaker of some sort.
Cathi did a double-take. The aliens had two arms and two legs just like most humanoids. "I'm sure they meant arms," she told Orb.
"I certainly hope so. Unlike you, I am most certainly not capable of walking on my hands."
She allowed herself a small chuckle to break the tension. "Orb, get on the external speaker and tell them that we are not going to exit the ship until we have an assurance they will treat us with respect, and that we will only come out unarmed if they put their own weapons aside."
As soon as Orb began to respond, the aliens seemed to get agitated, brandishing their own weapons and shouting wildly. Cathi rolled her eyes and turned to the droid. "Don't tell me, you translated it literally."
"Well, of course," the droid replied.
"What are they saying?"
"They appear to be talking about anatomical impossibilities, yelling what I think are insults directed at our mothers, and claiming that we are their sole property and will be sold for a profit. Oh dear."
"What?"
"I am not looking forward to being sold to some uneducated troglodyte on a world half the universe away with no access to proper technical resources."
Cathi wanted to whack the droid in the head but past experience told her it was a bad idea. The droid's head, of course, was hard metal and her hand was merely squishy flesh.
"You're not getting sold as long as I can help it, even if you are a pain in the ass as a co-pilot and somewhat useless as a translator." She paused to regard the droid's reaction before continuing. "Now, is there some possibility that you were too literal or simply used the wrong translation?"
Orb looked back and forth between Cathi and the aliens outside. "I am learning a wealth of information about this language from their frenzied conversations," he finally said, "and I believe I may have indeed been mistaken."
"Thank the Maker," Cathi sarcastically remarked. "Now will you please say what I wanted you to tell them the first time around?"
"Of course." Orb began repeating her words back to her, and she raised her hand to cut him off.
"Tell THEM, not me! You're so kriffing literal sometimes..."
"My apologies, Mistress Cathi."
This time, the effect seemed to be slightly more calming. The leader of the aliens stepped forward and said something different over the loudspeaker.
"The Ferengi, I believe they are called, are claiming their salvage rights to our ship and cargo. They say they have no intention of harming us."
"That's a nice steaming load of bantha poodoo," Cathi remarked. "Salvage my ass. Tell them that this is a fully functional armed merchant vessel and if they wish to continue their present course of action they will greatly regret it. If they are interested in trading with us, however, we are open to discussions."
The reply this time was very quick. "What do you have to trade?" Orb translated.
Cathi thought briefly. "Well, there is that crate of blasters that the commodore left us with... Tell them that we have powerful handheld energy weapons."
The Ferengi outside bobbed their heads in discussion. "I believe they are asking if we have... ah... visors, or disruptors. I may not have translated that first word correctly."
"Tell them we have blasters. Let's see if they can understand that."
"They are... ah... requesting a demonstration," Orb managed.
Cathi considered the idea for a moment. "Have them set up a target in the hangar, and I'll come out with a blaster to show them. I want you to stay in the ship and translate. If anything goes wrong, use the chin blasters to take them out, otherwise wait for my orders."
"I'm not a battle droid! My programming will not let me intentionally harm a living being!"
"Oh save it," Cathi shot back. "I saw you deck an Aqualish back on Nar Shaddaa."
"Well, he swung first," Orb protested in a somewhat petulant tone.
"These guys are pointing weapons at our ship. Doesn't that count?"
The droid hung its head slightly. "I suppose so."
"Good. Now get on the blaster controls already!"
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While Orb checked the ship's monitors, Cathi went back into the cargo hold and opened up the crate. It was filled with mostly BlasTech civilian models, all of which appeared to be used. Probably weapons the Imperials confiscated during raids, she decided.
After sorting through the pile and putting some of the better weapons plus extra power packs into one of the Headwind's storage lockers, she pulled a BlasTech heavy pistol out, checked its powercell, and holstered it. The second weapon she pulled was a civilian hunting blaster, whose conspicuously long barrel would make it all but impossible to conceal and therefore useless for urban use. On the other hand, it supposedly offered high-powered fire even if the cycle rate between shots was very slow.
When Orb gave her the OK, she tapped the airlock cycle switch and waited for it to equalize the pressure. As soon as it was ready, she stepped through, waited for it to cycle again, and then stepped out into the hangar of the Ferengi ship.
"Hyoo-mons," one of the short Ferengi suddenly exclaimed. Cathi instantly paused - how do they know a word from Basic?
Then the babbling resumed until their apparent leader stepped forward and began speaking rapidly in another completely different language.
"Orb," she quietly spoke into her commlink headset, "what are they saying?"
"I'm not entirely sure," the droid replied, "but the language they switched to shares vowels and many syntactic references with Old Corellian. I do not understand the vocabulary, but if they continue to speak it I may be able to make contextual inferences."
"Wait," she said to the Ferengi, switching to Old Corellian. Not being a Corellian herself, she had a pretty limited vocabulary mostly picked up from interactions with other smugglers and traders. "Please, keep speaking. I do not fully understand you."
The Ferengi looked at each other and began babbling excitedly in what she assumed was their own language. Then the leader started speaking rapidly in the not-Corellian language again.
"Orb?" she asked again. "Anything?"
"I think he is asking if you are from the Federation," the droid answered.
"No," she told the Ferengi. That word, at least, seemed to be close enough for them to understand. Their leader threw another unintelligible question at her.
"Are you a smuggler?" Orb translated.
She frowned. "Why?"
"The Federation does not allow weapons to be sold," Orb translated for the Ferengi. "So you must be a smuggler."
Cathi shrugged. "Are you a buyer?"
"We are always interested in profitable opportunities," the Ferengi responded.
"Then yes."
The Ferengi looked the hunting blaster over with what Cathi could have sworn was a greedy expression. "How does it work?" he asked.
"Do you have a suitable target?"
He pointed to what looked like a packing crate on the other side. Cathi raised the blaster and sighted the target marked on the packing crate, paused for a moment to catch her breath, and pulled the trigger. Almost instantaneously, the sound of the blaster shot echoed like a thunderclap in the hangar bay and the side of the packing crate exploded into shrapnel and smoke.
While the rest of the Ferengi began chattering excitedly, their leader studied the weapon and his eyes moved down to the holster at Cathi's side. "That one?"
Setting the hunting blaster aside, she drew the blaster and in one quick motion aimed and fired it at a second packing crate. The second crate suffered the same fate, although the effects of the shot were slightly less pronounced.
The Ferengi studied her and the blasters for several more moments, then appeared to come to a decision. "How many do you have?" Orb translated.
"One crate," Cathi replied. "Sixty blasters like these."
The alien reached into his clothing and pulled out a thin bar of shiny metal. "Latinum," he said, which Cathi assumed referred to what he was holding, followed by some babble in his language. "I will offer you ten bars for the crate," Orb translated.
She eyed the metal suspiciously. "May I see it?"
"Do you think I am a cheat?" the Ferengi asked. "I am offended. Gold pressed latinum is one of the few remaining rare substances in the galaxy. It is the official currency of the Ferengi Alliance."
"We just met," Cathi pointed out. "I have never heard of this Ferengi Alliance."
The alien frowned as much as was possible given the facial protrusions. "Where are you from, anyway? You are obviously hyoo-mans, but not of the Federation. We have never seen a ship such as yours, and you have not heard of the Ferengi Alliance?"
Cathi paused to consider her answer, but made up her mind relatively quickly. "I am a citizen of the Galactic Republic," she replied. "Judging by the expression on your face, you have not heard of my government either."
He shook his head.
"Then that makes us equal. Now may I inspect this currency so I know that you're not trying to pass some inferior grade material off on me?"
Reluctantly, the Ferengi handed the piece over to her. She pulled out a small hardness tester and made several scratches on the surface of the metal, which amusingly made the alien cringe. Then she checked the reference table attached to the tester, which concluded that the material was somewhere in between gold and platinum on the hardness scale. The only other material in that category would have been lead, but her scraping hadn't removed any plating that would suggest such a blatant forgery.
Then again, the price of such an alloy wasn't as high as the Ferengi seemed to believe it to be. "Fifty bars," she replied.
"Would you have me feed scraps to my crew?" the alien objected. "Ten is my price. No more."
Cathi shrugged. "I'll just have to find another buyer." She turned and began walking back toward the airlock when the Ferengi seemed to recant.
"Twelve bars."
She made a show of considering the offer. "I still think I can find someone else."
"Fifteen!"
Cathi walked back. "Maybe you are worth talking to. How about forty-five?"
"I would still have to feed my crew scraps! Seventeen, no more."
"Thirty?" Cathi suggested.
"Nineteen," the Ferengi stated.
Several thoughts occurred to Cathi. "What do you call the human language?"
"English," the Ferengi replied. "Why do you ask?"
"I'll take twenty bars, a copy of the local starmaps and an English dictionary."
The alien paced back and forth several times with a disgusted expression on his face. "This is robbery," he spat out.
"If you want the blasters, you pay my price."
He continued pacing for several moments before finally making his decision. "Deal. Bring out the merchandise and you get your payment."
Cathi sighed; some things never changed no matter where one went. "Show me the payment and then I'll bring out the merchandise."
After some muttered curses, the Ferengi reached into his robes and pulled out a stack of the small bars.
"The starmaps and dictionary, too," she said.
He turned around and shouted something at one of the other aliens, who disappeared back into the ship for several minutes before returning with a small electronic device.
She motioned for him to wait there, and went back inside the ship for the crate. It proved heavier than expected, and when she reached the airlock, she realized that it was too big to fit through.
"Kriff," she muttered, slapping the airlock override and confirming that yes, she wanted to open the ship up to outside gases.
"Do you have an empty crate?" she asked, sticking her head outside the ship to face the Ferengi. They immediately responded by bringing several of the oddly shaped black crates forward. "OK, make a line... I'll pass them out to you."
By the time she had finished emptying it, they had filled up two of their own crates up with the blasters.
"Now hand it over," she told the short Ferengi leader. She could have sworn that his orange-hued face was twisted up in emotions as he slowly released the metallic bars.
Once he had handed the last of the bars over, along with the electronic pad, she smiled. "See? That wasn't so hard. Now, unless there's anything else we'll be on our way."
The leader frowned for a moment while Orb translated, then turned to some of the other Ferengi and had a brief side discussion before turning back.
"Would you be interested in performing a small job for us?"
Cathi raised an eyebrow. "And what would that entail?"
The Ferengi picked at one of his teeth. "There is a colony world which paid for a shipment of food, medical supplies, and arms several weeks ago. We have not been able to deliver it as the colony is currently blockaded. Your ship seems like it would be well suited for breaking the blockade and delivering the supplies; in return, we would pay you..." He paused for the slightest of instants in thought. "Another fifteen bars of gold-pressed latinum."
Do we really have to go through this again? Cathi inwardly sighed. "Let's just call it twenty-five and be done with it. I have fuel and other supplies to worry about."
The Ferengi's voice turned into a high-pitched squeal that reminded Cathi a little too much of a Gamorrean. "The latinum I already paid you was several days' worth of food for my crew!" He turned toward the other Ferengi, who nodded in agreement. "But if that is how you will have it, then we will pay the twenty-five bars. We will just have to go hungry for another week."
Cathi tried hard not to laugh. They were playing the sympathy card? Cheeky, greedy little bastards. Well, you know what? It's not going to work this time. They're still making plenty of margin off this stuff... no competent merchant would accept less than twenty percent profit on legitimate goods, much less gray or black market stuff.
"I accept," she answered in a neutral tone, thoroughly enjoying the horrified looks on their faces as they realized she had seen right through it. Oh, yes. Two can play at this game. "So, where is this colony located?"
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"What are your findings, Lieutenant?"
Lieutenant Phong Guyenn picked up his datapad in response to Captain Yates' question. "We completed the analysis of the transmissions we copied off the relay station. Over three-quarters of the traffic on the relay is related to the Hirogen and their hunting activities. In the remaining messages, we found four from the Voyager ship and the Federation. It seems that Voyager has been stuck in this region of space for the past five years and has been limping home at around 2,000 times the speed of light.
"And where is it that they call home?"
"The capital of this Federation appears to be a planet called Earth. There were no maps or any data that would identify where Earth is, but we do know from their messages that it is about fifty-seven thousand light-years away from here."
"On the other side of the galaxy," Yates said, nodding. "Well, if we knew exactly where it was, that wouldn't be much of an issue. But we don't have any good maps, so it may take us a while to get there."
"Right, Sir," Phong replied. "However, the Hirogen appear to be aware of Voyager. There were references to their boarding it on two occasions, and in the second case they actually took over the ship for a period of time. If we can locate those Hirogen, they may know the location of Earth."
"Our captive has not been very talkative," Commander Rowin remarked. "If we want him to give us the location of the others, we may need to persuade him further."
"And how do you suggest we do that?" Yates asked. "The only thing we think we know about the Hirogen is their distinct lack of social structure. Every individual seems to be on their own. I'm not even sure how they have survived this long as a species. Surely they have a need to procreate?"
"Either that or they are practically immortal," Rowin replied. "The longer the lifespan of a species, the slower the reproductive rate usually is."
"Well, if we combine that with their behavior, I would say that they've stagnated to the point of suicidal indifference. They practically live for the hunt now. So, if we want him to talk, what can we threaten him with?"
"Maybe we should approach it differently," Rowin remarked. "Instead of threatening, we could offer an incentive to cooperate."
"They're nomadic hunters," Yates replied. "What could they possibly want from us, besides mounting our heads as trophies?"
"We could always ask," Rowin said with a shrug. "Besides, unless like you feel like keeping him locked up in the brig indefinitely, we're going to have to let him go at some point. His freedom could be our bargaining chit."
"Only question now is whether he will give us what we need," Yates agreed.
Rowin gave his chair a push away from the table. "Let's find out."
.
.
When they reached the cell block, one of the guards ushered them toward the interrogation room, where the Hirogen was seated at a table, his hands bound behind him. The walls of the room were smooth and featureless, and a protocol droid was waiting in a corner of the room.
Walking around, Yates finally was able to get a good look at the Hirogen. When the captive alien had first been brought in, his features had been obscured by the metallic armor he was wearing. Now, with the armor removed and replaced by plain prisoner's clothing, he had a much clearer look at its facial features.
When Commodore Mantrel had told him that he was going to be exploring a different galaxy, Captain Yates had not quite known what to expect of the aliens there. Perhaps they would be vaguely bug-like, or maybe they would be some sort of gelatinous mass. He hadn't even tried to guess the number of appendages, tails, or other evolutionary quirks that they might possess.
Looking at the Hirogen, however, he realized that what could have easily been a near-human species was not what he had expected. Its face may have been encrusted in bony protrusions, but there was no mistaking the stereo eye arrangement, the flared nose, the mouth directly below, or the ears on the sides. The proportions were even roughly similar although the alien stood closer to the height of the typical Wookiee than a nominal human.
Shaking his head briefly, he took a seat across from the captive. Commander Rowin simply folded his arms and leaned against the wall of the room.
"So," Yates began, "how are you?"
After the protocol droid translated the question, the hunter's eyes moved back and forth between Rowin and Yates although he said nothing.
"What do you know about a ship called Voyager?"
Again, the droid translated the question and again there was no answer.
"Let me start over," Yates finally said. "I am Captain Thanan Yates of the Republic Survey Corps. We are looking for a ship lost in this region which may be Voyager."
"So?" was the droid's translation of the Hirogen hunter's reply. "How is that my concern?"
"There was a message on your relay station that was intended for Voyager. We also know that you, or other Hirogen hunters captured Voyager at some point. Where are they?"
The Hirogen seemed to slump. "I am not one of the hunters," he admitted. "I am a tech. My task is to maintain the relay station."
"Then why did you open fire on my men?" Yates retorted.
"They were intruders."
"We tried to contact you before we boarded," he replied. "You did not respond."
"It is not my task," the Hirogen tech replied. "I maintain the station."
"You mean to say that this has not happened before?"
"No. We are feared by most. They do not disturb us."
Yates walked across the room several times before speaking again. "Where can we find the other hunters?"
"I would not recommend doing so," the tech warned.
"Why?"
"They only care for the hunt," he replied. "They will treat you as prey the moment you arrive."
"Then we will have to show them that we are hunters also." Yates answered. "They are our only link to the ship we are searching for. Where can we find them?
"There is a station they sometimes meet at, concealed in a nebula thirty light-years away," the tech said. "If you take me back to the station, I can show you the location on the charts."