Chapter Sixteen
I sat in the dark, concentrating all my energy on not gagging. I found that if I thought more about the smell, the imminent danger of the situation did not seem so close. This worked for several minutes, as we all huddled in the cargo hold of the small ship. But suddenly, my fears were renewed as the lights came on in the interior. I threw a hand in front of my face, shielding my eyes against the painful burn.
Outside, I could hear a muffled noise. Voices. I slowly opened my eyes, squinting as they adjusted to the light around me. I immediately wished I hadn't. The cargo hold was a disgusting place, with numerous forms of decaying refuse scattered about. However, the room was enclosed, with only one entrance to the fore, and it did not seem that we were in too much danger of being caught at the present.
Unless, of course, they decided to open the cargo bay.
In anticipation of this, Picard began motioning for all of us to hide ourselves behind or under something. This was easier said than done, though; there was nothing in the entire cargo hold that looked remotely inviting. Johnstone was next to me, and she grabbed what looked to be a piece of an old ship, attempting to lift it quietly. I reached out to help her pull it over us. The metal was slimy, and slipped from my hands on the first try, nearly dropping. In panic I reached my arms under it, coating my sleeves with the vile slime. Slowly, we succeeded in hefting it over our heads and crouching down underneath it. Within a few seconds, everyone was hidden in a similarly unpleasant circumstance.
The sound of voices soon became the sound of a single voice. This was somewhat relieving, since I figured that at worst, all of us together could overpower one person. There was a strange scuffling noise as the person – presumably the pilot of the vessel – opened a door at the front and boarded. Also, the timbre of the voice changed somewhat. It took me a second or two of hearing it before I realized that I was hearing the pilot sing. It was very muffled, but it seemed like a lively (and somehow dirty) tune. Within a few seconds, I could hear the ship's engines coming online. A now-familiar feeling in the pit of my stomach rose as the antigrav plates kicked on. We were leaving this place.
I could feel the ship lifting off of the docking bay floor, and I heard the thrusters engage as we moved forward. I moved only my eyes, feeling Johnstone's body pressed up against mine awkwardly under the heavy piece of metal. After several long moments, I could hear the others stirring, and slowly Johnstone and I did the same. Everyone looked as bedraggled as I felt, though Spock held his bearing very well, especially for having a bluish ooze dripping down one side of his face.
"Do y'all think he can hear us?" Tex whispered. Picard shook his head, standing.
"No," he said cautiously, but out loud. "If the scow had any surveillance equipment, it would mean that its owner was looking for stowaways, and it would have already alerted him to our presence by now."
"The fact that the ship has not yet been recalled to the surface indicates that the Remans are not yet aware of our missing status," Spock said simply, wiping his sleeve across his matted hair.
"So what do we do now?" Weston asked – more to me than to Picard, I noted.
"We wait," I said, "until we are far enough away that it is safe to secure the ship." I looked askance at Picard, who nodded in agreement.
"Once we are far enough away, we ought to be able to take the vessel fairly easily, without too much risk of pursuit."
"May I remind the captains," Spock said, "that we are not in Federation territory. As of yet, the Neutral Zone has not been abolished. Nor has the Federation been granted any sort of diplomatic immunity within the Romulan Empire except upon special occasion. As such, the action of comandeering a ship under those circumstances is risky at best. It is vital that we refrain from committing actions, the end result of which might be a degree of mistrust on behalf of the Empire." There was silence for several long moments as we considered this.
"You know, Ambassador, you really do remind me an awful lot of Commander Data," Picard said wistfully.
"Thank you, Captain," Spock said sincerely.
"Where does this leave us?" I asked. "I mean, it's not very likely that this ship is even headed anywhere near the Federation, and it's even less likely that the pilot is just going to drop us off at a starbase."
"True," said Spock. "For the record, I was not indicating that the forceful taking of this ship was a bad idea. I merely meant to convey that it would be prudent to consider, if we are to do so, what the best method might be."
"Do you think we could just knock him out?" Johnstone asked hopefully.
"Perhaps," Spock said. "But we are a considerable distance from Federation space at present. It is questionable whether we could maintain a secure status for the entire journey."
"The last hostage situation didn't turn out very well," I said, remembering the still-tender spot on my head.
"Anybody 'sides me think maybe we shouldn't be leavin'?" Tex said suddenly. We all stared at him.
"Come again?" I said.
"Well, maybe we've got ourselves a chance tuh fix this problem here an' now!"
"Mr. Newman," Spock said, "how would you propose that we do that in a garbage scow?"
"Beyond that," Picard continued, "I think that it's clear that we have very little time left. The Remans will surely know that we are gone shortly, and I don't think it will take them long at all to ascertain our whereabouts. Turning this ship around and heading back toward them would be a very bad idea."
"Good try, though, Mr. Newman," I said. "That's officer's thinking." Tex smiled at the compliment.
"Thanks, Cap'n," he said.
At that moment, the door that separated us from the rest of the ship opened. The corridor beyond was dim enough that it took a moment before we could really see the pilot standing there, arms folded. He stepped boldly forward into our midst, and two things became readily apparent.
He was a she. And she was drunk.
She was a Romulan of medium build, with dark hair that fell well below her shoulders. One of her ears was pointed, but the other was rounded like a human's. To complete the look, she wore an ugly green eyepatch over her right eye. She looked at us for a moment with her inebriated other eye, and then spoke.
"Welcome to the…my ship," she said, "the whatever-it's-called…"
Even with the smell of the surrounding garbage, the pungent fragrance of liquor expelled itself from her mouth in my direction as she slurred, threatening to overwhelm my senses as I looked at her with shock. She put one arm on Picard's shoulder, and with the other she made a show of slowly pointing toward herself.
"I am Admiral Shailin," she said, belching softly between the title and the name. "An' this…is my ship. 'Sa good ship, don' ya think?"
"How can it be that you are acting under the title of Admiral," Spock asked, "when in fact no such title is used in the Romulan Empire?" Shailin smiled at him.
"My ship, my rules Mister Vulgan…no," she looked confused. "Vul-CAN," she corrected herself heartily. "I'm not with the Fleet; I do what I wanna…did I mention that this," she said, throwing her arm in an expansive gesture that threatened to topple her already unsteady position, "is my ship?"
