Author's note: With T'Pol still on Vulcan, a character substitution had to be made.
Sector 010
Chief Medical Officer's log, May 18, 2154. It is with a sense of shock that I am pleased to report that, although several crewmembers sustained serious injuries, no deaths occurred in our recent engagement with the Orions. Lieutenant Sato tells me that it's because of my skills as a physician…I, however, am more likely to attribute that mysterious force that protects starships named Enterprise.
On a related note, I have released Captain Archer to limited duty following his concussion three days ago.
...
Six Starfleet officers and a Denobulan doctor stared at the stellar projection in the briefing alcove at the rear of the Enterprise bridge.
By now, the map was familiar to them; each crewmember had, at various points in the preceding days, taken time to better acquaint themselves with the neighborhood's cartography. Familiar systems no longer needed marking—there was Beta Rigel, straddling the border of sectors 010 and 011, scarcely a day ahead of the Enterprise's present location; Deneva lay beyond, and in perspective, the Orion Hegemony sat to the left, its official territory easily doubled by the Syndicate's "sphere of influence," engulfing much of two full sectors.
And sitting firmly within Hegemony space—roughly eight light-years from Beta Rigel—lay the system designated Gamma Deuteron Ceti.
"So how do we get them out?" Hoshi asked skeptically, breaking the ice of silence.
"Getting them out?" Travis shook his head with an air of bewilderment. "How do we even get there? That post is a good five light-years inside Orion space. They'll light us up long before we reach port."
Phlox nodded as he followed along. "And you don't think that they'll allow us through? I mean no offense, Lieutenant—but you said that you've never dealt first-hand with the Orions."
"That's alright, Phlox," Travis replied, smiling faintly. "I'm working from second-hand information—other Earth freighters who operated out this way. But they've all said pretty much the same thing."
"If you don't mind, Lieutenant," Malcolm countered, entering the conversation abruptly. "I have—some background—with the Orions. From before I transferred into Starfleet," he hastened to add. His crewmates knew that he had been involved with Earth's Intelligence Directorate, though not in what capacity. He shifted his gaze to Phlox. "Travis is right. The Syndicate watches everything—they'll know the moment we cross the border. They'll probably know before we cross the border."
"But don't they allow other races in?" Verena queried, scrunching her brow tight.
"They do," Malcolm answered flatly. "But only some. The Hegemony—the Syndicate," he clarified, although the two were tighter than the Barbary pirates and the Ottoman Beys, "has right-of-passage agreements with their trading partners. Most others are allowed in, since they bring trade and aren't a threat." Malcolm shrugged his shoulders ruefully. "We don't bring any trade, and are a potential threat. They have no reason to let us in."
"They had no reason to let us escape," Verena countered. Though the smallest person present, the Nuristani woman pressed herself forward. "If we're a potential threat, why would they let us go?"
"I see where you're going," Smitty chimed in suddenly, rubbing the stubble on his neck as he spoke. "And the Orions are slavers, right? So why would they take ten of our crew—but only ten?"
"They must've left us for a reason." Archer spoke slowly as thoughts struggled to form in his mind. "Does Vatis'Kish want us to come after him?"
"To see if we would," Hoshi added, following through. "To see what we'd do."
"Yeah," Travis adjoined gruffly. "Humans and Orions haven't had much interaction yet. Fact is, the Orions can't know for certain if we're a threat or not, and this could be their way of finding out."
"It's a rather ghastly way of finding out," Phlox muttered.
"So they abduct members of our crew, to see if we go after them?" The captain's voice was acerbic. "That's a little Pavlovian, isn't it?"
"And yet, what choice do we have?" Malcolm countered gloomily. "There's no real question about what we're going to do so, sir. We're going after our missing crew."
"So they ring the bell, and we charge after it." It was a statement, not a question, from the captain. "We charge head-first into their nest."
"Perhaps there's more to it," Smitty countered as his mind raced through logic trees. "Going after our crew—that's only a threshold issue here. What matters is how. That's what matters here."
"In which case, they'll let us," Malcolm added, following the strand of thought. "It's a necessary prerequisite for getting to the real question."
"Exactly!" Verena exclaimed, her face beaming with the glow of realization. "We can walk right up to their front doorstep!"
"But we don't know this for certain!" Malcolm protested. "Are we willing to bet the ship, the crew—and our mission—on it?"
At the head of the table, Archer broke into a smile. "I am," he responded, flashing a gleam in his eye. "If the Orions want to know what we're made of—let's show them. And Malcolm," he added, dropping his voice to a quiet murmur, "risk is part of our business. Unless you have a better idea?"
Malcolm shook his head silently. The expression on his face still expressed discomfort, but it was the captain's decision to make.
"So." Smitty paused to cough, turning his head to spit out a wad of phlegm. "We're betting that we can get to Gamma Deuteron," he stated, ignoring the alarmed look from Phlox. "What happens when we get there?"
"I don't suppose we can just break them out?" Travis suggested, somewhat facetiously.
Malcolm answered anyway. "I doubt it," he replied, shaking his head. "We won't know for certain until we get there, and do some surveillance, but it's unlikely."
"And that's only half the problem," Travis added. "If we did break them out, the Orions could easily guess that it was us—we'd need quite a head start to get away safely."
"But how else can we recover them?" Smitty pressed. "We can't seriously try to buy them."
"I certainly hope you're not serious," Phlox added, somewhat aghast.
"We don't have the hard currency," Malcolm observed. "So it's a moot point."
Archer bit his lower lip as he frowned. "It's not completely moot. If the Orions are basing future plans on how we react—well, we have to take that into account." He stumbled over the wording, the thoughts still cloudy in his mind. "If we buy those ten back, won't we encourage the Orions to abduct more humans in the future?"
"With all due respect, sir," Malcolm rejoined, keeping his tone apologetically formal, "the Orions can already do that. Earth doesn't have the strength to prevent it."
"And if we break them out, the Orions will come after us anyway?" Despite the pessimism, Hoshi's attitude was still upbeat. "There has to be another option here."
"When you're facing a foe of superior ability, you discourage him by making combat too costly," Smitty observed thoughtfully, stroking his stubble. "Is there any place that we can hit the Orions?"
"What if we kill the prisoners?"
A cold silence filled the alcove as six pairs of eyes turned to stare at Malcolm.
"No, I'm on to something here!" Malcolm's face lit up. "Phlox, how much biomatter would you need to simulate the remains of ten people?"
"It depends quite a bit on how they were supposedly killed," Phlox replied slowly, taking time to run figures through his head. "I'd have to raid the food supplies, but I can do it."
"Right!" Malcolm exclaimed, his usual composure slipping into eager excitement. "And there's your wedge for the future, Captain—if the Orions abduct humans, we'll simply kill the captives. It eliminates any profit for them!"
"But if we 'kill' the captives, Vatis'Kish will still assume that it was us," Travis countered. "How do we get away?"
"They'll assume it was us, but they won't know for sure," Verena pointed out.
"And they won't be expecting it," Malcolm answered. "They'll have to weigh their response."
"There's still the matter of breaking in, finding our crewmates, and pulling them out." It was a statement of fact from Smitty, not a negative opinion. "And the moment a roving search-and-rescue team leaves the Enterprise, the Orions are bound to notice."
"The actual rescue—" Malcolm halted momentarily, waiting for his thoughts to catch up with his words. "We just won't know until we get there. But we can evade the surveillance by inserting the team via another ship. And then, if the Orions want to search the Enterprise—they won't find the captives."
"Malcolm, we only have one ship," Archer replied patiently.
"No, sir…follow this," Malcolm answered earnestly. "We've already swung past Beta Rigel, right?" The Enterprise's looping course was bringing them close to the Rigelian system. "We can drop the team off there. It'll be an easy matter to arrange transport back to Deneva. I can…get my hands on a nondescript ship there."
"And we have the Enterprise herself act completely normal," Smitty noted. "We go in, talk to the Orions, negotiate—throw a fit, and leave."
Hoshi was less hopeful. "But if we don't have the hard currency to buy our crewmembers, then how can we purchase a ship?"
"I have—an idea for that," Malcolm replied, his earnestness disappearing in the carefully-chosen words. "It'll cost us…just not up front."
Archer finally gave in to the urge to raise an eyebrow. "What's the idea, Malcolm?"
"I can't really say, sir," Malcolm answered cautiously.
Archer blinked slowly. "What'll it cost us?" he asked, several moments later.
"I don't really know, sir," Malcolm answered.
"I could order you to tell me," Archer added, sotto voce.
"You could," Malcolm acknowledged. "But…you might have to trust me on this one, sir."
The two men leveled a gaze at one another for several seconds before the captain spoke. "Alright, Malcolm," he stated, trying to mask the remaining clouds in his mind with an air of resignation. "Who do you want for the team?"
"Myself, of course." Malcolm glanced around the attendees. "Travis; I need someone who can pilot an alien ship. I can take O'Connell and Kossovskii, and leave Rahimi to watch tactical. Any more would draw too much attention."
"Very well." Archer sighed inwardly, wondering if his own judgment was reliable. "Travis, adjust our course for Deneva, then take off for some rest. Malcolm, make your plans. Hoshi, Verena—check the database for anything that can help us pretend to negotiate with Vatis'Kish. Smitty—we're not crossing the border until the ship is ready."
The engineer harrumphed lightly. "Don't worry about that, Cap'n. I'll have her purring like a tribble."
Gamma Deuteron Ceti
{May 21}
Safidi Hadiya—Crewman, Second Class1—could feel the turbulence even before she awoke, keeping her eyes clenched shut in desperation against the waves of vertigo crashing through her head. Dimly, she was aware of something grasping her about the waist, carelessly shaking her into wakefulness as her limbs flopped around and her head snapped back and forth, sending bolts of fire through her body.
Raggedly, she gasped for air, inhaling with stuttered bursts as she choked on the caustic air. It burned her nose, it burned her throat, it assaulted her lungs, but she had to breathe; and each gasping breath became easier as the softest tissue was eaten away, and the fiery pain dulled into that of over-burdened nerve endings.
As her head rolled forward, finally staying at rest, Safidi risked opening her eyes; and at first she thought it was a childhood dream, for the face before her eerily resembled an ogre from pre-War films. The meaty, green face was far larger than her own, and it wore some sort of leathery skullcap; below was a chest broader than a full-sized Denobulan musk ox, and given her own height above what she perceived to the be the ground, Safidi intuited the presence of two tree-trunk legs beneath it.
"You are now the property of the Orion Syndicate!" The giant shook her again, less severely this time, as if to emphasize his possession of her. "Break the rules, and you will suffer. Follow the rules, and you will suffer less."
Her head still slumping forward, Safidi bobbed it slightly upward, as if in acknowledgement; and the blurry world spun around her again as the Orion moved, his heavy feet unheard amid the torrent of voices. The verbal uproar assailed her hearing with a dozen different languages, the harsh bellows of the Orion slave masters and the desperate cries of their captives, some pleading for mercy and others hurling epitaphs at the ever-present green-skinned hulks standing guard.
Within moments, Safidi felt herself falling to the ground, flung to the floor like a piece of refuse; and she rolled over, her body curled in agony, trying to ignore the universal odor of bodily waste that surrounded her. A familiar, sharp bzzz sounded behind her, giving her an unsteady sense of relief; the ionized bars may have sealed her in, but they also sealed her captor out.
Struggling with vertigo, Safidi crawled to her hands and knees, adding her own acidic bile to the stains on the hardened concrete floor; it disgorged her sickness, clearing both her mind and gut. Gratefully, she looked up, taking stock of where she was.
She was in a holding cage, one not made for comfort; on either side of her were transparent walls, reinforced with metallic bars, which revealed her neighbors to be an alien of unknown ancestry and another human, a member of the Enterprise crew. Safidi pounded the palm of her hand against the barrier, hoping to draw her crewmate's attention; but he was unconscious, or sick, or both, and did not respond.
Spent by the effort, Safidi sank back down, slouching against the back wall of her cell. There was little she could do to free herself, except to wait patiently for Captain Archer and the Enterprise.
And she had no doubt that they would come.
...
The Enterprise's transporter alcove, normally left empty, had temporarily become the hottest location on the starship.
"Cap'n," Smitty observed in greeting as Archer arrived, bringing with him Dr. Soong and trailed by two noncoms that could charitably be described as "bruisers." The three Starfleeters were adorned in their standard uniforms—their task was to draw attention, not evade it—but Soong wore a ratty olive-green jacket, dug from some unknown corner of the ship's storage.
"Sir," Hoshi added, nodding to her captain. "Don't worry about the Enterprise, Captain. We'll take good care of her."
"I have no worries about that, Hoshi," Archer replied, flashing a warm smile at the younger woman. "Protecting the Enterprise is more important than retrieving the landing team. If you're in danger—"
"I know, sir," Hoshi rejoined, flashing a light-hearted smile of her own. "'If we're in danger, I'm ordered to leave the landing party and save the ship.' I've heard it a hundred times, Captain." It was an exaggeration, but only slightly.
"I'll keep the injectors primed, Cap'n," Smitty added. His gaze remained downward, focusing on the transporter controls before him. "Is there anything else before you leave?"
"One thing," Archer answered. "Phlox?" The physician was the final person present, and at his summons, Phlox stepped forward; as he raised a nanoprobe injector towards the tender skin of Soong's neck, the human flinched backward. "It's a transponder," Archer answered to the unspoken question.
Soong gave the physician an evil glare, but stood still as the small unit was injected. "I don't suppose I have much choice," he grumbled, scratching at the insertion point. "I think they used to call this 'assault and battery.'"
"You know what?" Archer replied, somewhat flippantly, as the two noncoms steered Soong onto the transporter platform. The captain followed them up as he spoke. "I don't really care. Smitty—keep the engines warm. When it's time to leave, I suspect we'll need all the speed we can get. Energize."
The four humans disappeared into the shimmering transporter beam.
...
"I am a man of many interests," Vatis'Kish acknowledged as he spread his arms expansively, inviting the Enterprise party to sit on the soft cushions behind the low-level table. The inner room was sumptuously decorated with sensuous appeal, more resembling an Ottoman harem than a business center, and Archer couldn't help but shake his head bemusedly.
In the center of the lush carpet—soft enough to trigger random thoughts of going barefoot—was an inlaid circle colored in carmine; like-colored rays radiated outward toward the circular walls. Heavy drapes hung downward, segmenting into a dozen sections, each one framing a display of etched glass and soft, yellow light; the etchings were highlighted in hues of ruby and emerald.
"My hospitality is renowned, Captain," Vatis'Kish continued as his guests tentatively lowered themselves to the floor. They sank into the supple pillows with surprising grace, finding an unexpected underlying firmness. The gentleness sought to alleviate their every ache and weary muscle, and the tender expulsion of air wafted around them with an ephemeral aroma reminiscent of jasmine and clary sage.
"I thought you said that you were part of the Orion Syndicate?" Archer questioned as the huge bulk of the Orion settled down in front of the captain, across the finely-carved bench of rosewood. The great size of the green alien was completely absorbed by a single pillow.
"I am a member of the Syndicate," Vatis'Kish acknowledged without hurry. "But my affairs make me a bit of a…renaissance man, if you will. I earn my living in various ways—buying, selling, trading."
Soong almost snorted; he knew that no trader could outfit such a luxurious suite through legitimate business only. "And plundering," the doctor added, speaking up beside the captain.
"When the situation calls for it." Vatis'Kish bobbed his head in recognition. His bass voice, although lowered in volume, spread throughout the room. "But piracy is a short-lived business. Commerce is the blood of life; the opportunity to meet new people, forge new ties…" he held his hands outward before the humans. "Make lasting friendships."
"We've dealt with your people before," Archer replied dubiously, repeating his earlier skepticism. "They weren't exactly interested in making friendships."
"Those were other Orions, Captain; they may be my brethren, but they are woefully ignorant of the civilized ways." Vatis'Kish picked up a bottle of blue liquid. "Would you judge me according to the actions of my cousins?"
"Of course not," Archer replied automatically. He felt slightly addled by the lush stimuli, but Soong was positively relishing in it.
Vatis'Kish tilted the bottle at a height, allowing the liquid to cascade downward in open air before swirling into waiting goblets. As the liquid flowed, it caught the glint of soft lighting; its hue shifted between indigo and ultramarine, with detectable highlights of azure. "This…" Vatis'Kish said as the flow slowed to a dribble. "Is from a planet in the Gorn Hegemony."
Archer's expression tightened. "The Gorn?" he asked, concerned. "Who are they?"
Vatis'Kish waved the question off. "The less said about them, the better," he replied nonchalantly. "But they do brew the finest Meridor in the five systems. It's quite expensive," he added, lifting his crystal goblet in the air. "But what is the point of wealth if you don't enjoy it?"
"Indeed," Archer murmured as he traded a surreptitious glance with the doctor. Soong gave a slight nod, indicating that it was safe to drink the liquid. Archer took a sip and let it rest in his mouth for several seconds before swallowing. It tasted remotely like liquid freesia, with a warm aftertaste of spicy anise. "It's delicious," he said, unbidden.
"I'm pleased," Vatis'Kish replied. He downed his own goblet in a single dram before placing it back on the bench. "You have acquired something of a reputation, Captain," he added, offering suggestive curiosity. The big man looked at Archer with wide eyes, as if hoping for a story of derring-do.
"Favorable, I hope," the captain hedged in response. The Orion's interest unsettled him.
"Come now, Captain, don't be modest." The privateer laid both hands on the table, open and palm-up. "You're wanted in the Klingon Empire. The Orion Syndicate has a price on your head. The Romulans want you killed on sight, but I suppose you wouldn't know anything about them."
"I'm quick on my feet," Archer rejoined. His mind felt sluggish as he tried to catalogue the various hints. He had barely interacted with the Orions; why would they have a price on his head? The Klingons—well, they're just unpleasant. And he could barely even place the Romulans; they were as unfamiliar as the Gorn. "You said you had something important to discuss with us," Archer added, pressing for business before his mind became too addled to reason.
"Of course," Vatis'Kish replied, smiling broadly. "It is business that brings us here, after all. But I've always believed it to be poor custom to discuss business without properly entertaining my guests." Before Archer could object, the Orion lifted a hand and snapped his fingers; three figures entered from a recessed doorway.
The sight took Archer's breath away even as he noted that Orions are, after all, completely green.
The three Orion women moved to the center of the room with a raw gracefulness that promised animalistic passion and feral delight. They were clad only in the scantiest of clothing; a bejeweled casing delicately concealed their ample bosoms, and a mere strap of silky fabric crossed their hips and down betwixt their legs. Glimmering veils hung behind them, draped low on their posteriors.
The thrum of music entered the room, surrounding the guests with alien rhythms and exotic melodies played by unheard-of instruments and written by unknown composers. The women began moving to the beat, lifting first one arm and then the other; and moments later, they were undulating wildly with vigoroso abandon, matching every movement with the dulcet paean of fervor.
As the dancers moved, their gyrations growing faster and faster, their bodies twisted and whipped about frenetically. The rip-cord lines of their abdomens flexed repeatedly, showing off the precision-toned muscles beneath; lean muscles in their bare legs clenched and unclenched in a robust display of power and beauty. Their arms flew above their heads in synchronized ecstasy.
Vatis'Kish moved beside the captain, and now leaned forward, talking over the pulsating music. "What do you think?" he asked, his tone warm and carefree.
"I can't think," Montag replied absently. The Enterprise security guard couldn't shift his eyes away from the amorous eroticism of the dancers.
Vatis'Kish drifted closer to Archer. "And what about you, Captain?"
Archer took a second to answer. "I'd have to agree with my companion," he replied at last, as his eyes followed the nearly-rapturous twisting and dancing of the women.
"I think she likes you," Vatis'Kish whispered above the captain's ear. He pointed to the center dancer, who suddenly seemed to have eyes only for Archer. Her passionate dance became only for him, and Archer swore that he could detect her sweet perfume from where he sat.
"Her name is Navaar," Vatis'Kish continued, placing the words directly into Archer's right ear. "She's the most experienced of the three. Did you know that they're sisters? I purchased them at a trading post you once visited."
Archer nodded dumbly as the amatory assoluta continued. It took no effort to imagine the raw cossetry wrapped around him in ardent heat.
"Incredible, aren't they?" Vatis'Kish's voice flowed with syrupy sweetness. "They can make you forget most of your troubles. Of course, creatures such as these come with troubles of their own. But women are the same throughout the galaxy, aren't they?"
Moments later, the dancing came to an end, and the women's movements returned to animated stillness. Their bodies still seemed to throb with licentious energy, and their skin glistened with steamy passion. As they turned and left the room, their posteriors shifting with lascivious delight, Navaar gave the captain an evocative final glance.
"There, now," Vatis'Kish commented as the last woman left the room. "Now shall we talk business?"
...
Tûrêl let his heavy mug clatter on the metallic table as he sat it down, intentionally faking the disorientation of inebriation.
Yes, he had secretly doubted their new leader—the same leader whom he had helped install, betraying and sacrificing his closest brother for the promises of rediscovered glory that flowed from Maâlîk's lips. The vision of their triumphant return was inspiring and powerful, moving the exile with a heretofore unknown strength of hope, but it was Raâkîn who had kept them alive all these years; Raâkîn who had mastered the minutiae of crop rotation in the hydroponics units, Raâkîn who had adjudicated their disputes with a cool and rational mind, Raâkîn who understood the machinations of raw survival.
And then, there was Maâlîk—ever the firebrand, ever the malcontent, ever the dreamer believing in greater things for the humiliated exiles. It was Maâlîk who told them that survival was not life—and it was Maâlîk, not Raâkîn, who remembered the words of their father: "It is better live a day as a lion than 100 years as a sheep."
Maâlîk had sent Tûrêl to Gamma DeuteronCeti to gather information, and watch for ripe targets for the exiles to plunder. The mission, up until now, had been a frustrating endeavor, causing Tûrêl to question the wisdom of his dispatch.
But then he saw a sign—a sign confirming that their father would have approved of Maâlîk's usurpation of Raâkîn. In the darkened byways of the bazaar, he had seen Arik Soong.
His father was free, and returning to his children.
...
From the exterior, the Orion post revealed no sign of the opulence within.
The trading establishment stretched on for kilometer after kilometer, sprawling across open plains and zigzagging through rocky canyons, looking little like the sector-wide hub it was; instead, it resembled a decaying industrial wasteland, with boxy structures and overhead tunnels made of beaten sheet metal, covered with the grit and dust of the polluted air.
At several stretches—mostly in the open areas where the structure rose high above semi-level ground—extensive landing pads were laid out, their surfaces kept clear of grit by a low-strength isomagnetics field. At any given time, over a hundred ships were docked, a montage of auxiliary craft serving the larger vessels in orbit and the durable interstellar travelers capable of sub-orbital flight.
In amidst the array of craft landed a sleek, arrowhead-shaped corsair registered under a Coridian flag with the name Hawke.