—CHAPTER 8—
Ten days after the Enterprise's rescue of the four hundred or so Orion captives destined for the Syndicate's slave markets, the ship was heading for Tellar. StarFleet hoped to enter serious negotiations with the Tellarites one day, but for now they were striving to build good will with that species, through more frequent contact and so the Enterprise's Chef was calling on Tellarite markets to refill they food stocks, while Trip would purchase some industrial metals and Doctor Phlox would consult with some of their physicians for some of the exotic creatures he used in his treatments of his patients.
"Captain," said Ensign Sato, from the Comm Station. "StarFleet is hailing us. They wish to speak you and SubCommander T'Pol, sir."
The Vulcan looked at captain Archer from her station and raised a brow. The captain shrugged his shoulders.
"I have no idea. SubCommander, let's go. Hoshi, route the transmission to my Ready Room, please."
"Yes, sir."
Moments later, they were seated and the wall monitor flickered to life. Admiral Ryan shared the view screen with Ambassador Soval. Captain Archer glanced at T'Pol and the look they exchanged said it all. Trouble.
"Admiral," said Archer. "Ambassador."
"Captain," said Ryan. "SubCommander T'Pol."
Jon and Ryan were friends, but Soval's presence put a bit of a damper on the social aspect of things, so Ryan got to the point.
"I know you must be having fun traipsing around the galaxy, rescuing damsels in distress," said Ryan with a smile, "but work must intrude occasionally."
"Always ready to do an honest day's work to justify the expense of having us out here, sir," said Archer. "How may we be of service?"
"Ambassador," said Ryan, looking at the Vulcan sitting next to him.
"First, let me congratulate you," said Soval, "and the crew of the Enterprise on the job you did rescuing those captives from the clutches of the Orions."
The captain nodded, and Soval continued.
"As you are probably aware, our battle-cruisers captured three of five Syndicate ships, when they returned to the planet on which their camp was located. We've sifted through all of the data collected on the site and from the captured ships, interrogated and then mind-melded with some of the Orions to find out if there were other captives outside of Syndicate space that we could find and rescue."
Jon nodded, suddenly interested. It had been good to help those people, good to do something worthwhile. It seemed they would do so again.
"I thought the High Command did not approve of mind melds, Ambassador," said Archer.
Soval nodded, and said, "That is so, Captain, but we make exceptions in some cases. This was such a case."
"So you've found some more camps," said Archer, "and you'd like us to take part in the operation?"
"Not precisely, Captain," said Soval.
He spoke to Archer a touch more respectfully than he had in the recent past. What the Enterprise had done was honorable, and though Soval still thought they were too green to be adventuring among the stars, logic dictated that he might have to revise his opinion, especially if the Enterprise proved helpful once again.
"We've come across an unpleasant bit of information," said Soval. "As you know, the Orion Syndicate traffics in many things. Drugs, prostitution, slaves, weapons, stolen technology, hired killers, you name it, if there's profit, they're involved."
Excited, Archer nodded and glanced at T'Pol, but she merely looked composed and attentive.
"For some reason," said Soval, "there is a demand for Vulcan captives among the Orions, which are later sold as slaves in the Syndicate's markets. None of the Orions we pressed knows the reason why, they only know that desirable Vulcans bring two to five times the going rate."
"Define desirable, Soval," said T'Pol. "What traits is the market looking for in these Vulcan captives?"
"The Orions have detected no pattern in the purchases, and they would have reason to pay attention to that fact," said Soval. "If they could narrow it down to certain traits, they could preselect their Vulcan captives for maximum profit, but as I said, they've noticed no patterns in the purchases."
"Ok," said Jon. "Who are the buyers?"
"The Orions call them the Happa, but that just means 'wraiths' in the Orion tongue. No one knows who they are, where they come from, or where they go."
"What do they look like?" said Jon.
"No one knows. They wear close fitting environmental suits, but some Orions think they're just worn to disguise their features. Their bodies follow the standard humanoid template – one head, two arms, two legs. One of our Orion captives saw a Happa savagely beat a Klingon before breaking his neck, when said Klingon drew a knife on the Happa, so they're dangerous."
"The Orion could have been spinning a good yarn for you, in hopes—"
"Every bit of information concerning the Happa," said Soval, "was verified through mind-melds."
Captain Archer, nodded, said "I see."
"Is there any information on the Happa from other species?" said T'Pol.
"That's just it," said Soval. "Our people believe the Happa might just be acting as secretive middle men. No one's ever heard of them before, and the ships they pilot are a hodge podge of Orion, Tellarite and Risan ships. There is nothing unique about them, other than the fact that they come to Syndicate auctions, buy and then dissapear until the next auction, so we think they just take their suits off, and blend in with their respective species, in their free time, as it were."
"That could well be true," said Admiral Ryan. "And that is where the Enterprise comes into the picture. The Vulcan High Command, has asked for our help in this matter, Captain. SubCommander T'Pol will endeavour to unmask these Happa and their motives where Vulcans are concerned. You are to give her any support she requires."
T'Pol was about to speak, but Jon spoke first, looking at Soval.
"You must be joking, Ambassador. Even I know normal Vulcans want no part of the Syndicate nasty business dealings. T'Pol will be presumed to be a spy and killed or enslaved quickly, no matter how good her cover story. You can't send her in there."
"You're half right, Captain," said Soval. "You said any normal Vulcans, and you'd be right on that score. But there are a number of Vulcan slaves in Syndicate space, controlled through a neural whip."
Ok, Jon was surprised.
"What is that, Ambassador?"
"T'Pol," said Soval, looking at the SubComander.
"The neural whip," said T'Pol, "is a compliance device used by the Orion slavers and attached anywhere close to the base of the skull. The cheapest and simplest kind simply causes an extremely painful shock that incapacitates the captive, when the handheld base unit is activated. This type is used on all new captures, and retained for the lower tier of captives.
"Those with specialized skills, training or education are usually fitted with the second type of whip which is called a training whip, which creates or transfers a tactile sensation from the base unit to the neural whip."
"It can grant pleasure, as well as pain, you see," said Soval, "the better to train the recalcitrant slaves strong enough to resist pain."
"And," said Archer, "you think to move T'Pol through Syndicate space in search of her game disguised as a slave."
"Yes," said Soval.
Archer knew better than to argue with Soval or T'Pol over this mission. If he told Soval that T'Pol was too important to risk on such a hare brained scheme, Soval would say that his point was irrelevant. If he told T'Pol that the Vulcans should get someone else, she would reply it was her duty. Fight them hard enough on this, and the High Command would remove T'Pol from his command, and send her into Syndicate space anyway, and that would never do. It was his crew that would back her up, no other.
"How can we help?" said Archer.
"The Orions will believe T'Pol a Vulcan slave," said Admiral Ryan, "but they won't believe two Vulcans acting together, as master and slave. The Vulcan High Command has requested that one of us play a role in this mission."
Captain Archer looked at T'Pol, in surprise. She said nothing, and Admiral Ryan continued speaking.
"This being so far out of the norm for us humans, new kids on the block and all, we'll have to ask for volunteers to crew a small ship and one volunteer in particular willing to pose as T'Pol's master and primary partner in this endeavor. If they screw it up, he'll face a nasty death after a strenuous interrogation and her's will likely be even worse, so it's no joke."
"If I might make a suggestion in the interest of efficiency," said T'Pol, "I'd like to speak to Commander Tucker first. I believe he would be willing to help me, ah, help us out with this mission."
"He's the Chief Engineer," said Ryan, speaking to Soval, then turning back to T'Pol. "Wouldn't you rather take someone from Security?"
"Why him, T'Pol?" said Soval.
"I've worked with Commander Tucker quite extensively since boarding the Enterprise. We work well together and I have confidence in his abilities and in his character, which could be vital in a situation like this."
"Perhaps we should take a moment to look over all the candidates," said Soval.
"You logic is sound, Soval," said Archer, "but it's her life that hangs in the balance, and Commander Tucker is a good man in a bind. Illogical as it may sound, perhaps we should let her choose."
Expecting an argument from the Vulcan, Archer was surprised when Soval said nothing. He wasn't sure what to make of that, so Jon simply looked at T'Pol.
"Ask him now, T'Pol."
T'Pol nodded and left the room for Engineering.
"Who do you suggest as a backup, Jon," said Ryan, looking at Jon, "if Trip declines to participate?"
"We don't need a backup," said Jon. "Trip will do it."
"You sure?" said Ryan.
"I am, Admiral. He and T'Pol argue incessantly with each other, hell, half the ship is already placing bets on which one will kill the other, but Trip won't let her go alone into something like this and he won't trust anyone else to watch her back. She's right to place her faith in him."
"The Tal'Kir is on its way to your coordinates, Captain," said Soval. "In her Shuttle Bay she is carrying a small Risan freighter. She's not much to look at, but her engines, armor and weapons are top notch. Such ships are common in Syndicate space, commonly used for smuggling luxury items. She will serve T'Pol and the Commander well on their mission, without drawing undue notice."
Archer nodded, and said, "Good. Even a small freighter is roomy. We can add a few people to the mix then, as backup."
"Who do you have in mind?" said Admiral Ryan.
"Ensign Mayweather is a hell of a pilot, and they might need one. Add Lieutenant Reed and maybe Ensign Sato, in case they need an interpreter. A small group like that can easily pass themselves off as smugglers."
"Sound like we have a team," said Soval. "I'd volunteer some Vulcan operatives, but the first time that freighter gets scanned for life signs, the operation would be blown, as you humans would say. Vulcans do not venture into Syndicate space, save in battle-cruisers."
"I understand, Ambassador," said Archer.
"Also, one of our doctors will have to install the training whip in SubCommander T'Pol. Your Doctor Phlox may observe, in case he should have some cause to remove the device."
Archer was surprised, and said, "I assumed we would just attach the unit on T'Pol with a surgical adhesive. Why install a working neural whip in T'Pol?"
"The Orions routinely scan for malfunctioning whips in most public spaces. If a Vulcan slave had an inactive whip, and the one in charge of her did not seem troubled by that fact—"
"It would mark them out quickly," said Archer.
"Yes. In addition, the captain of the Tal'Kir will provide you with a rather large data file with everything we know about the Orion Syndicate, so that you may start planning the mission as you see fit."
"Thank you, Ambassador."
"We should resume our conversation in a day or so," said Soval, after you've briefed your team, the Tal'Kir has dropped off your team's freighter and you've had a chance to look over the data we've provided."
"Sounds good," said Archer, and StarFleet ended the transmission, after Ryan gave Archer a friendly nod.
T'Pol entered Engineering in search of Commander Tucker.
"Ah, SubCommander," said crewman Kestre. "I was on my way to the Bridge to see the Captain and Trip asked me to pass you a note. I meant Commander Tucker."
"Thank you, Crewman," said T'Pol.
She unfolded the paper to see a drawing of a long, short legged canine, a beehive of mustard on his head, laying atop of what appeared to be a hot dog bun. Underneath, she recognized the Commander's writing. Lunch at 13:00?, it said.
"Where is the Commander?" said T'Pol to a crewman working nearby.
"In his office, sir."
T'Pol entered Trip's office a few moments later, to find the man engaged in digital firefight against three or four opponents.
"Your drawings are amusing, Commander," said T'Pol, holding up Trip's note, "but unnecessary. We seem to have fallen into a routine in which we lunch together daily, unless work intrudes. In any case, the comm unit is more efficient."
Trip grunted and T'Pol was not certain that he was listening.
"It is good to see that you are taking care of ship's business, Commander," said T'Pol, sarcasm apparent in her voice.
"Actually, I am taking care of ship's business, my fine Vulcan SubCommander," said Trip. "I do my best thinking when I'm killing digitally, and I've got a whopper of a technical issue to deal with."
"If you say so, Commander," said T'Pol.
"This is an oldie but a goodie, T'Pol. It's the first of the FarCry franchise. I'm all alone, on a tropical island paradise, hunted by mercenaries and genetically created monsters. But I'm armed now, so I'm hunting them as well."
"Challenging as that may be," said T'Pol, "I am afraid something has come up."
"Something important?" said Trip, tearing himself from the monitor to gaze at T'Pol lovely face.
"Yes, Commander."
Trip capped his last opponent with a head shot, then pushed the keyboard back to put his legs on the desk, and said, "Tell me about it."
Ten minutes later, he knew enough.
"Never a dull day in StarFleet, eh? said Trip. "Well, that's why I signed up."
T'Pol was pleased that she could count on Commander Tucker, no matter what. She was honest enough with herself to admit that she possibly, perhaps, just maybe, felt the very slightest hint of attraction towards the human, so slight it was barely there, and it was good that he had worthwhile qualities, for it meant that this very minor attraction to him was entirely reasonable, a completely logical act. Still, to make sure there was no misunderstanding...
"So you are willing to assist me in this matter, Commander? You do understand that it will be dangerous?"
"I'm with you to the bitter end, T'Pol," said Trip with a smirk. "Even hated enemies can join forces in a common cause."
T'Pol looked down, seemingly finding her hands fascinating, then said, "You are not my enemy, Commander."
The tone of her voice, bothered Trip for some reason. Did she seriously think he hated her, that he considered her an enemy? They had not known each other very long, and perhaps Vulcans didn't joke with each other, so it was possible. And it was true that he and T'Pol still seemed to argue daily, even if it was more good natured now than in the beginning, but still…
"T'Pol."
"Yes?"
"Look at me," said Trip, and T'Pol raised her eyes to meet his. "You're not my enemy, T'Pol. We argue all the time, so I was trying to make a joke. Most of them are freaking brilliant, but one in every million of my jokes is a flop. I'm sorry if what I said disturbed you."
T'Pol nodded, uncertain of what to make over the Commander's ability to read her moods so easily. Most humans were stymied by a Vulcan's inscrutable demeanor.
"It is one in nine point three, Commander."
"What?"
"I have done the math, Commander. One in every nine point three of your jokes is a flop."
"As Malcolm would say: Bloody hell!"
"It is one in nine point one now, Commander."