Thanks so much for your reviews, you've really helped me feel better, and more confident about where this story is going. :) Next time we'll see more of what Picard is up to, and there may be some action. Stay tuned!
Until then, here's:
Chapter Sixteen
The underground club pulsed and vibrated with moving colored lights and low bass thrums, its patrons huddled in close groups among the shadows. Scantily clad servers of various genders and species edged between the dingy bar and the battered tables, small, blinking implants at the base of their necks indicating they were slaves: property of the club's owner.
Two hulking figures, an Orion and a Nausicaan, burst through the heavy camouflage curtain that covered the entrance, shook the sand from their clothes and hair, and stomped down the worn, rock-hewn stairs. The Orion moved hesitantly, running his hand along the wall as he felt for each step with his heel, but the Nausicaan strode straight to the bar and slammed his armored fist on the counter, adding another dent to the stained and scratched-up surface.
"We are here," he slurred through his fangs. "Where is the Boss-man?"
"You're late. Father ain't happy with you boys."
The slinky, reptilian bartender spoke in a low, throaty voice, her narrow teeth studded with salt crystals. She ran her tongue over them, making a sucking, slurping sound that made the approaching Orion cringe.
She shot him a teasing glance, her scaly tail swaying behind her as she slunk out from under her dull, red heat lamp to join the two men.
"OK, so sucking salt's a nasty habit," she said, reaching over the counter to flick open a box about a quarter full of salt sticks and loose crystals. "But, why not try it before you knock it? Not all salts are table salt, baby, and Father stocks only the best blends. Four credits a hit."
"Get that stuff away from me, you Gorn junkie," the Orion growled and snapped the box closed.
The bartender propped her elbows on the box's lid and squinted at the Orion through the flickering, colored lights. His nose, one eye, and half his face were covered in a flexible, translucent bandage that didn't entirely hide his raw skin and newly-knitted scars.
"Naughty Rizzy, who chewed up your face?" she said. "Such a mess. No wonder you've been shuffling round here like a blind man without a VISOR."
"My face is none of your business," Rizzul snarled, and gave the Nausicaan a shove. "We'll be in the office. Let's move, 'Poug."
"Boss-man's there waiting," the bartender said in a languid sing-song, gesturing with a yellowed claw to the security board beside the credit reader. "Father's watching, always watching. 'S why Father knows everything."
The Orion seemed to pale, just slightly, and even the Nausicaan looked uncomfortable.
"Come on," the Orion grunted, and trailed the taller Nausicaan around the maze of tables and disorienting lights, past a scratched and smudged up wall mirror and through a thick, black curtain to the private room beyond.
It was dark there, and reeked of stale alcohol, vomit, and various other bodily fluids. A rustle of frantic movement met their approach, customers terrified of a raid scrambling to hide, to distance themselves from their hired Skins. The lumbering pair ignored the creeps and strode straight through, down a narrow, purple-lit passage to a tapered, sliding door.
"You do it," Rizzul said.
The Nausicaan grunted and pounded the wall buzzer.
There was a long pause.
A very long pause.
Then, a crackle of static preluded a low, quiet voice: "Enter."
The door slid open and they walked through, into a vast, high-domed cavern lit from below. Rare Ninevehan wall hangings and other expensive artifacts adorned the space in elegant, concentric circles, drawing the eye toward the room's main focal point: three interlocking rings of red couches, cushions, and computer consoles where the Boss-man held court, surrounded by his most loyal, most ambitious, and most efficient slaves.
"Well, well," the Boss-man said, his voice so quiet it forced the pair to move closer. "If it isn't Rizzul and Izjiem Poug, back from their visit to the emergency ward. I trust your face isn't troubling you too much, Rizzul."
"Father, we—" Rizzul started, but the Boss-man held up a slender, white-gloved hand.
"Your shift-partner, Nizik, was here before you, you know," he whispered, his face completely shaded by a white, brimmed hat. "He told us how you two failed to capture me that archaeologist woman I wanted, of your carelessness with that Klingon Skin - and of how the pair of you left your assigned posts to tend your resulting injuries! This is very sloppy, Rizzul. Sloppy can be dangerous to an operation like ours."
Rizzul swallowed, feeling his job security wobble treacherously and wishing he could see the Boss-man's eyes.
Everything the Boss-man wore was a crisp, clean white, from his turtleneck tunic and scarf to his polished leather boots – an affectation that made it all the harder to make out his shadowed features. Nearly all the people who saw him left with no clear image of the man, uncertain even of his species, though rumor had it he was an Orion afflicted with a rare vitiligo-like condition that turned his green skin white.
"I…I apologize, Father," Rizzul said. "I would have stayed, but 'Poug—"
"Just tell me you truly aren't aware," the Boss-man said, even more quietly than before.
"Aware of what?" Rizzul asked nervously.
"Aware of what happened," he whispered menacingly.
The Nausicaan frowned, thoroughly confused by the entire exchange.
"What has happened?" he slurred. "Why is Boss-man so angry with Rizzul and 'Poug?"
The Boss-man gestured to his entourage.
"My dears…if you would…"
"There was a quake," one of the female slaves said coldly. Her smooth head resembled a golden turtle, and there were no whites to her deep, black eyes.
"Nizik transported himself away when the shaking began," another slave said, a male with a dinosaur-like skull, rather resembling a protoceratops. "But he failed to retrieve Father's freshly ordered Skins."
The turtle-looking slave closed her eyes.
"When the tunnels collapsed, all of Father's merchandise was lost to the sands," she said. "We had an important buyer lined up. The buyer must now be told."
Rizzul and 'Poug shared an unsettled glance.
"Well, with luck, all this may not end in total loss," the Boss-man said, reclining back and folding his hands across his chest. "I'll need a couple of strong volunteers to head back to the site and determine what of mine can be salvaged. Can you volunteer," he directed his words at Rizzul, "or are you too injured to handle this task?"
"I'm fine, Father, I can work," Rizzul said. "But, where is Nizik? Surely, with his help—"
The Boss-man and his gathered slaves turned their gaze to a spot to their left.
Rizzul and the Nausicaan followed their pointed stares, and their eyes widened in horror.
What they saw hanging there…that wasn't an artifact or a tapestry. That was…
"Deities…" Rizzul gasped, and felt his stomach lurch.
The Nausicaan was still confused.
"What is it?" he asked.
"Nizik's incompetence and cowardice lost me my Skins," the Boss-man said in his soft, quiet way. "I thought it only fair I take his in return. Fail me again, and I'll take yours to keep his company. Clear?"
"Yes, Father," the pair managed to choke.
"Then leave me," the Boss-man said, turning back to his other work. "Get out of my sight. And if any of my Skins did manage to escape, make sure you round them up and bring them to me here. If they can be retrained, all the better for you. If not, the two of you will pay the cost of their disposal."
"Yes, Father," the pair muttered again, and started to back out of the room.
"Oh-one more thing," the Boss-man whispered, holding up a single, staying finger.
The Orion and the Nausicaan froze in their tracks.
"Your friend Nizik mentioned a robot. Can either of you tell me anything more about it?"
Rizzul shook his head.
"We only had one activated robot in stock - that domestic service droid, Howard."
"No, Nizik said you'd collected another," the Boss-man insisted.
Rizzul furrowed his brow.
"No, I never..."
"Robot?" 'Poug repeated thoughtfully. "Yes, I know robot! It is Federation's robot! Federation robot tried to fight 'Poug, but fell to the transporter gun!"
"Indeed..."
There was a long, uncomfortable silence while the Boss-man tapped at his console. Rizzul fidgeted, then managed: "Father? May we..."
"Go, yes, go," the Boss-man said. "And don't come back without my goods."
The pair nodded and fled, the chill in the Boss-man's voice clinging to their skin long after they'd burst back into the desert sun.
To Be Continued…
References include TNG: Unification I/II.
Is it OK? Too gross? 'Cause, I don't know, I've never written this story before. What do you think? Reviews welcome! :)