Part Four
"We're gonna need a plan when we get out of here."
Denella offered the suggestion as she continued to work in the corner of the Boundless Profit's holding cell. It provoked a curious look from Klath. As if the answer should be obvious.
"We fight," he grunted as he paced impatiently behind her.
Denella mustered an eye roll at this inevitable suggestion, but kept focus on the sequence of precise jabs of laser power she was sending into the shimmering forcefield with the purloined tooth scraper in her hand.
"Right. So we're back to that plan. Even though I'm still injured, you've got no weapons and there's a whole bunch of Miradorn guards onboard. Sounds like a hopeless battle to me."
Klath didn't bother correcting her. It sounded like a hopeless battle to him as well. Which was his favourite type of battle.
"How long have we been training together on the Bounty?" she continued, ignoring the pang of sadness she felt inside at the still-uncertain fate of her ship, "And how much have you taught me in that time?"
"I taught you very little," Klath insisted, "I merely—"
"Yeah, I know. You 'honed what was already there'. I've heard that compliment before, and I still don't believe it. Whether you want to admit it or not, you've taught me a hell of a lot, Klath. And I'll always be thankful for it. Everything I've learned from you has saved my life a hell of a lot of times. But I've always wondered one thing."
Klath paused in his pacing and looked back at her, awaiting her question. She paused in her work on the forcefield and looked back at the Klingon with a firm expression.
"When do I get to start teaching you?"
"I do not understand," he admitted, a little baffled by the question.
"All those long hours training in the cargo bay, not to mention all the actual fights we've been in, and none of my tactics have rubbed off on you? No sense of caution, of common sense, of discretion? Your one big tactical decision is still the great big valiant Klingon death charge?"
With a slight shake of her head, she returned her attention to her work as Klath considered her words for a moment in silence. He thought about all the times since he had joined the Bounty's crew when his Klingon instincts had told him one thing, and his instincts towards his friends had told him another.
At times, the conflict had troubled him. He feared that he was becoming soft, having spent so long away from the Empire. And that, if he ever did manage to reclaim his place with his people, that they would have no use for him now he had been so enfeebled.
But the more he had thought about what he saw from his colleagues, about their need to survive rather than race towards the gates of Sto-vo-kor, the more he had reluctantly admitted to himself that he had learned. Whether from Denella's resourcefulness, Jirel's powers of negotiation, Natasha's empathy, or even Sunek's entirely un-Vulcan streak of cowardice.
And so, he reluctantly reassessed his original plans for the Battle of the Boundless Profit.
"We need to seize control of this vessel, in order to rescue the others," he pointed out.
"Looks that way," Denella grimaced, "Except we have no idea how many Miradorn are out there. And all we've got to fight them with is a tooth scraper."
She waved the tiny device at him, whilst wondering what had become of her Orion dagger that she usually kept on her belt. Likely the Miradorn had long since taken that away.
Klath nodded again, as he continued with his plan.
"Two centuries ago, the great General Krudan wrote his famous treatise on battlefield tactics. Even to this day, it is considered a seminal work of Klingon culture."
"I know," the Orion responded with a knowing glance, "Someone made me read it."
Klath conceded this point with a slight nod, before continuing.
"In it, he argues that there is no single correct strategy or tactic in battle. Each fight must be won by playing to the strengths of your situation, and your army."
"So, what? We go out there and we give every armed Miradorn guard between here and the bridge the dental treatment of their lives?"
"No," the Klingon muttered patiently, "And we are not going to be heading for the bridge. We are going to play to our strengths of our situation."
"And those would be?"
He gestured to her hands, busily working on the forcefield. She paused for a moment, a hint of confusion crossing her own face for a moment, before her features creased into a smile of understanding.
"Main engineering?"
"Main engineering," Klath nodded in affirmation, "I understand that there is more than one way to…seize control of a vessel."
Denella's smile widened as she returned to her work.
"A retreat?" she asked with an impish tone.
"A battle plan," Klath corrected her.
Seconds later, the forcefield disappeared.
'*'*'
'*'*'
"I've just thought of another question."
Jirel managed the comment just as another burst of disruptor fire whistled past their position from around the corner.
They had gotten within sight of the door to the transporter room before they had run into Grenk's last line of defence. Another pair of Miradorn twins, from a seemingly endless supply, had raced around the corner with weapons raised, causing them to duck for cover at the previous intersection.
And now, with Natasha's destroyed disruptor no longer an option, Jirel was forced to return fire alone. Both literally at the Miradorn, and conversationally at Maya Ortega.
"Back at the start of this," he continued, "You had all that evidence of your husband, your marriage and everything else."
"Well," Maya shrugged, as Jirel fired a volley of suppressing fire back down the corridor, "I had to make it all seem plausible, I'm afraid."
"Yeah, I'm sure you did," Jirel grouched, "But…you also had a wedding photo. Of you, and a Trill, and an officiant. At a traditional Betazoid ceremony. Who the hell were those naked people?"
Despite the weight still on her shoulders from what she had done, Maya couldn't help but offer a knowing smile back, feeling her confidence returning the longer she felt she was doing the right thing.
"Well. Let's just say it's pretty amazing what people will do for a few slips of latinum on Risa."
Jirel stared back at her, even as another shot of disruptor fire thudded into the dull metal walls of the corridor next to them. And despite everything, he found himself smiling back.
"If you two could swap photoshoot advice later?" Natasha chimed in from Maya's side, gesturing back down the corridor, "We need to deal with this."
As Jirel fired off some more covering shots, Maya's brain was already ticking over.
"Ok, I think I have an idea. Remember the little trick we pulled back on Ramus Prime with those Tellarite traders?"
"Yeah," Jirel nodded back, "But where the hell are we gonna get three hundred Lissepian sting worms and access to their spare underwear?"
As Natasha raised a curious eyebrow, Maya forced another smile onto her face.
"That was the Tellarite traders on Pellia VI. I meant the other plan."
"Ah, yeah," the Trill replied after a moment, "But didn't that almost get you—?"
"Yes, it did," Maya nodded, "So this time, shoot better."
She suddenly dived out into the open corridor, and immediately ducked into a tight, precise forward roll. Her unexpected movement caused both of the Miradorn to track her with their weapons, but before either was able to get off a shot, Jirel ducked out after Maya and sent two bursts of disruptor fire back down at his quarry.
Neither shot had a deadly effect, but the left-side twin was caught on the leg with the full force of one of the shots, while the other took a heavy glancing blow to his side. Both collapsed to the ground with pained squeals.
"Let's go!" Jirel called out, racing for the door to the transporter room.
He dashed inside, closely followed by Natasha and Maya. As soon as the door closed, Maya tapped at the controls to temporarily lock them in.
"Nice trick," Natasha breathlessly offered, only partly sarcastically.
"You know," Jirel casually motioned at Maya, his old space adventurer persona now fully creeping back in, "Technically, I just saved your life."
"Yes, well," she responded primly, "You still owe me a few more."
With that, she moved over to the transporter controls and began to work. Jirel was about to follow her when he saw Natasha looking at him with a warm smile. Despite their perilous situation, that smile was still enough to make Jirel stop dead in his tracks.
"What?" he managed.
"Nothing," Natasha replied, "It's just…good to have you back."
Jirel pretended not to understand, but the slightly sheepish smile he gave back betrayed the truth.
Gone was the morose, self-pitying side which had overwhelmed him back in the mine, when all seemed lost. His confidence had made a slow but steady return. The fact that the others were still alive, the fact that they were fighting back, was all giving him fresh impetus. Even his physical side had recovered from the Class-L atmosphere.
And, as much as he didn't want to fully admit it, part of his newly energised form was down to Maya as well. Despite everything she had done.
He decided that this wasn't the best time to analyse whatever that meant in any detail, so instead he merely returned the smile of the other woman in the room that he was pretty sure he loved, before the two of them raced to join Maya at the transporter controls.
"Can we get through the dampening field with this?" Natasha asked, recalling the various security protocols Grenk had in place that had caused them so many headaches when they were trying to get down here.
"Should be easy enough," Maya replied with a shrug, "This thing is already set up to match the new frequency. That's how the guards can use this place. I just need to pick a spot on Grenk's yacht where we can beam in without being spotted."
As she worked and Jirel and Natasha waited somewhat impatiently, the Trill couldn't help but think of another question that he felt the need to ask.
"If we do get out of this," he motioned to Maya, "What the hell are you gonna do then?"
It was a question that seemed to take her off-guard. Even though it was a subject that had been playing on her mind for some time, even before her latest heel turn.
What the hell was she going to do?
"Does that mean you're not planning to shoot me?" she offered back, delaying her serious response for a moment longer.
Her question had an edge of humour, but inside all she was picturing was the look on Niki Kolak's face on Turkana IV. And latterly, the look on Jirel's from the day before. The look of betrayal that stabbed at her heart. She decided that wasn't a look she had any interest in seeing again.
"Actually," she continued, more seriously now, "I've been thinking of retiring."
Jirel's face creased into a look of confusion, as Maya looked up and continued.
"Maybe I'll find some Federation colony somewhere that'll take me in. No need to worry about latinum or anything like that. Just spend my days…bettering myself. Or whatever it is they do with their time."
Natasha chose to ignore the minor slight at her old way of life, as Jirel studied Maya's face for signs of deceit.
"You'd like that?" he asked eventually.
Maya pictured the resigned look on Niki's face when she had sold him out. She heard the sound of the beating he had received as she had made her escape.
"Yes," she nodded, "I think I might like that…"
The look of sincerity in her eyes came as a shock to Jirel. So much so that he was temporarily robbed of the ability to respond. Either way, he trusted her sincerity.
"Still," she added a second later, returning her attention to the controls, "Let's focus on getting out of this before we—"
Her comment was interrupted by the unerring sound of the transporter pad activating. But not because she was preparing to beam anyone out. Because someone was beaming in.
The three escapees looked over, just in time to see Grenk and eight Miradorn coalescing on the pad. Each of them pointing a disruptor at them.
Not for the first time in the last few days, Jirel heard a familiar cackle of victory emanating from the Ferengi's mouth.
"Well now," Grenk offered, "I think this is the part where you surrender…"
'*'*'
'*'*'
The engineering deck of the Boundless Profit was silent, save for the pulsing of the warp core. Just as Dar-Bal and Yar-Bal, the yacht's twin engineers, liked it.
Grenk didn't consider a large engineering team to be a necessary outgoing, especially with the Boundless Profit being a brand new purchase. So they worked alone, tasked with dealing with any issues themselves. And they tended to do exactly that, which is why the deck was so silent.
Until they heard a noise they weren't expecting.
After a telepathic debate as to where this new sound was coming from, they tracked it down to the other side of the main door to the engineering deck. Curiosity getting the better of them, they walked through the doors and down the corridor to investigate, leaving the deck empty.
But it was only empty for a second. Because then Klath and Denella sneaked in from their secluded locations on either side of the entrance, the Orion quickly locking the heavy doors down with an encryption as soon as they closed.
Satisfied they were safely sealed off for the time being, she looked over at Klath.
"Think that was what General Krudan meant in the chapter on the art of surprise in battle?"
"Not exactly," Klath conceded, "But…perhaps he would have approved of the idea."
"I hope so. Cos I'd really grown attached to that tooth scraper."
Without further ado, Denella hurried across to the main bank of controls, eager to get to work. She knew it wouldn't take Dar-Bal and Yar-Bal long to realise that the noise they had been distracted by was little more than the sound of a small laser-powered dental implement shorting out a section of wiring further down the corridor. And from then, it wouldn't take much longer for them to find that they were locked out of engineering, and to raise an alarm.
So she had to move fast.
As the Orion's fingers danced over the controls, and she carefully worked to isolate as many key systems from being locked out from elsewhere on the ship, Klath stood nearby with a slightly grumpy look on his face.
"Even with our new battle plan," he grunted, "I was expecting more resistance."
Denella stifled a smile as she worked. They had encountered barely any other crew on their stealthy trip from the brig to the engineering deck. Which did seem odd.
Neither of them had any idea that the Boundless Profit was down to a skeleton crew now Grenk had taken additional resources down to the planet below. But Denella wasn't about to complain. Even though her colleague seemed prepared to do just that.
"Right, I've managed to get access to sensors, security systems and life support," she affirmed, "But it looks like they're onto me now. They're locking everything else down."
"An understandable tactic," Klath conceded.
"Yep. Still, now I've got sensor control, I can start to search for—Oh, crap."
Klath wordlessly stepped over to the panel, reacting to urgency of the Orion's voice without needing to ask further questions.
"Here," she pointed at the display, "I'm picking up a Trill lifesign down on the planet, along with two humans. And they're surrounded by a dozen Miradorn. And one Ferengi."
Klath's grimace darkened into a full-on glower.
"Grenk."
Denella mustered a nod as she frantically upped the pace of her work, trying to work her way around the blocks that the Miradorn crew had put in place with the other systems.
"Can you beam them out?" the Klingon urged.
"That's what I'm trying to do. But it's gonna take some time."
Klath studied the readouts in front of him a little more, pointing a burly finger at one area in particular.
"There are a number of other lifesigns near their position as well. Nausicaan, Reman, Breen, Gorn, all behind some sort of secure barrier."
"Grenk's miners, I presume," Denella noted mirthlessly, before she looked a little more intrigued, "But that does give me another idea—"
She paused, and Klath tensed up, as they both heard something from elsewhere in the engineering deck, from the opposite side to the locked main entrance.
"Our enemies may have found an alternative way in," the Klingon muttered.
"What should we do?" Denella asked.
Klath considered their options for a moment, then smiled in apparent satisfaction.
"You should remain here, and complete your work."
"And you?"
At this, the Klingon theatrically loosened his shoulders and cracked his knuckles in the direction of the sound they had heard.
"I…will ensure you can work in peace."
With that, he moved off. Following General Krudan's age-old advice and playing to his own strengths in their situation.
The Miradorn didn't know what hit them.
'*'*'
'*'*'
"You know Jirel, I think it was the trousers that did it."
Jirel stood in the middle of the main section of the habitation dome, the fenced-off area for the captive miners behind him, surrounded by armed guards with disruptors pointed squarely at him. His own weapon had now been confiscated.
But despite all of that, and not for the first time in his dealings with Grenk, he found himself wondering if he had ever heard a more inadvertently amusing sentence.
Not that either of his captured colleagues got the reference.
"What the hell is that supposed to mean?" Natasha asked from Jirel's left.
Grenk didn't respond, keeping his ire aimed squarely at Jirel, as he recalled their fateful meeting in the Targ and Lion on the planet Hestina. When he had met to exchange a padd for a pair of trousers that Jirel insisted had latinum transported into the stitching to evade detection.
"See, I gave you everything you'd asked for, didn't I? I used my contacts, asked around, paid a thief or two here and a mercenary or two there, and I got you those precious coordinates for the debris of that Federation starship you were so interested in."
Natasha failed to prevent an audible gasp from escaping, as this piece of the jigsaw slotted into place.
They were talking about her ship. The USS Navajo.
"Yes, my dear," Grenk said, finally acknowledging her, "I understand that when they got to those coordinates, they were able to rescue you. Which, in a way, was thanks to me. And I travelled all the way to that desolate fleapit of a bar on that filthy planet. All for you, Jirel."
"Sure," Jirel replied with as much bravado as he could muster, "You're a regular altruist, Grenk."
"And what did you give me in return? Hmm? A useless pair of trousers. A lie about some crazy technique for smuggling latinum. A broken transporter. And two injured bodyguards."
He shot a displeased look at Shel-Lan and Gel-Lan at this point. The put-upon Miradorn twins kept their gazes forward, and their weapons trained.
"And then," Grenk continued, "You took the information I had painstakingly sourced for you anyway, and you left me with nothing. And when I tried to track you down, you left me marooned on that other desolate planet."
"Track us down?" Jirel countered, "You tried to shoot us out of the sky."
"Well, I guess I finally succeeded on that front," Grenk gloated, "But that was the last straw, Jirel. The trousers. That's when I decided you'd screwed me over for the last time. And really, all I've done here, how is that any different from the misery you've heaped upon me?"
"Difference is," the Trill offered, "You deserve it. You're a cheat, and a liar. And, apparently, a slave owner. And I'm sure if I hadn't snatched those coordinates from you when I did, you'd never have handed them over. Even if our latinum smuggling trick had worked."
Grenk didn't respond directly, but a flicker of recognition played across his face and suggested that he wasn't far from the truth.
"Still," the Ferengi persisted, "That was just the last straw. Every time you and your crew have crossed my path, you've done your best to ruin me. The time I've spent, the latinum I've wasted trying to get even with you. Well, now I have."
Grenk's leer grew, as Jirel did his best to maintain a defiant glare.
"You really need to do this in front of an audience?" he offered, gesturing back to the baying crowd of miners on the other side of the fence.
"Not especially," Grenk continued, "I was happy to have my revenge the usual way, whenever someone crosses me. Let you work off your debt, take your ship as a prize. Such as it is. But even then, you tried to trick me again."
He glared at Maya for a telling moment.
"All of you did."
"Glad to disappoint," she replied, keeping her stance as proud as Jirel's.
Grenk's scowl deepened a little, before he continued.
"Well, thanks to all of that. And the extra costs you've given me with all the damage you've caused, we're going to need a more severe punishment. I need to make an example out of you all. In front of your fellow miners."
His leer widened, as Jirel felt his spots begin to itch.
"Nothing like a good…execution to keep the rest of the workers in line."
Jirel tensed up, while Maya remained defiant. Behind them, the baying crowd began to bang against the metal bars, sensing that there was to be some entertainment for them this evening.
Natasha chanced a look back at the crowd. In amongst the miners, she saw a Nausicaan glaring at her and realised that it was the same one that had attacked her and Jirel when they had first stepped into the enclosure yesterday. Something that felt like it had happened a month ago for all they had been through since then.
"I had been hoping to keep you alive long enough to see that ship of yours get turned into a pitiful ore transport," Grenk mock-lamented, "But I suppose…this will have to do for my revenge."
He gestured to the Miradorn all around him. They trained their disruptors on the three escapees.
Jirel glanced over at Maya, almost willing her to have another of her schemes up her sleeve. But she just offered him a sad shrug, her mind full of the image of her childhood friend on Turkana IV.
"Well," she sighed, "We had a good run, didn't we?"
Frustrated, Jirel looked at Natasha. But she was equally at a loss.
"Guards," Grenk gleefully ordered, "Take aim."
Jirel licked his lips, his spots now itching like crazy. And in the absence of a plan from anyone else, he channelled the last of his fake captain's bravado.
"Grenk, wait! You don't need to do this!"
"Oh, I do, Jirel," the Ferengi smiled darkly, gesturing at the baying mob behind the bars, "I promised them something to watch this evening."
"But, just—You want revenge? That's fair enough. I get that. But you want revenge against me, right? So, just let the others go. And kill me."
With that, he took a deep breath and stepped towards the armed Miradorn, mentally bracing himself for them opening fire while trying to maintain his proud space adventurer air to the last.
It was only after a second that he realised that Maya had stepped forward to join him.
"Just what the hell do you think you're doing?" she asked, with an affronted tone.
Still trying to maintain his heroic last stand, he shot a half-glance in her direction.
"What does it look like? I'm saving your life!"
"Oh no," she shook her head, "You're not getting away that easily. And like hell am I having this little act of stupidity on my conscience for the rest of my life."
"But, I'm trying to—!"
"I agree," Natasha replied, stepping up on the other side of the Trill, "With all the psychological damage you've already caused me, there's no way I'm letting you add survivor's guilt to the mix."
Even under the glare of the disruptors, the guards and the raucous crowd baying for blood, Jirel felt a rush of emotion inside of him, as he glanced from one side to the other and saw the determination in the two women's eyes.
He considered making a further counterpoint, but he knew there was no point trying. They had both made their decisions.
So instead, he mustered a smile.
"You know, I had a hell of a crew, didn't I?"
"On occasion," Maya replied.
With that, they all turned back to their indifferent Miradorn executioners and the gloating Grenk. The crowd's hammering on the bars became even more pronounced.
Jirel drew a deep breath as he stared back at the disruptors. For once, there was no way out, no final twist. After a lifetime living on the cusp of being killed by something or other, Jirel recognised that they had finally run out of options.
He closed his eyes, and accepted his fate.
Maya and Natasha did the same.
In the darkness, they all heard Grenk's voice. They expected to hear the order to fire.
But they didn't.
"What the hell are they doing?!"
All three of them opened their eyes again, to see that Grenk and the Miradorn had switched their attention elsewhere. Specifically, back to the holding facilities for the miners.
And as they turned to see what had taken their attention, they saw that there was no longer a crowd watching on. There was a riot taking place.
The captive miners poured out of the entrance to the cage. And all hell broke loose.
'*'*'
'*'*'
"That should do it."
Denella looked up from the controls with satisfaction, just as the second of the Miradorn twins landed unconscious on the deck of the engineering bay with a crunch.
"Agreed," the energised Klingon growled.
Denella mustered a smile as she cast another eye over the sensor readings showing the chaos she had just unleashed.
"I couldn't access the transporters. But I did get access to their security systems before they locked down. Which gave me a way into their security measures down in the mine. Security locks, forcefields, transporter inhibitors, you name it, they just lost it."
Satisfied that the wave of Miradorn invaders had been dealt with, Klath stepped back over to the console and glanced at the blur of lifesign readings.
Nausicaan, Miradorn, Trill, Ferengi, Gorn, Reman, too many to be able to follow.
"A jailbreak," he observed.
"I guess that's accurate," Denella nodded, "I just hope that's enough of a distraction for Jirel and Natasha to get away."
"But," Klath pointed out, "We will still need access to the transporters in order to rescue them."
"I know," she sighed.
Klath's face was already twisting into another leer of battle-ready anticipation. With their cover well and truly blown, the only way they could get to the transporter room of the Boundless Profit was through the remaining crew.
"Hang on a second, big guy," Denella continued, wincing in pain at her patched up injuries, "We're still not exactly a fighting unit."
"Then you must remain here," he immediately countered, "And I will—"
"Klath, what did we say about running into hopeless battles?"
"Previously, we had an alternative battle plan. Now, we do not. We must get to a transporter to rescue the others. Even if our enemies lie in wait. I must attempt it."
Denella went to fire back again, but she knew he was right. There was no other option. And in her present condition, she would only slow him down and compromise his advance. And even though Klath's chances of making it were slim, she also knew that he had to try.
It was the honourable thing to do, after all.
She looked up at her friend's determined features and nodded. He nodded back.
Then, just as he was about to leave, they heard a familiar voice. A voice they didn't think they would ever hear again. But a voice both were surprisingly glad to hear.
"Hey, you two. Did someone order a hero?"
'*'*'
'*'*'
Natasha's world had turned upside down.
She had no idea where she was, pinned in behind some sort of structure inside the habitation dome. All around her was a scene of carnage. It wasn't clear how the miners had managed to get out, but as soon as they had poured through the heavy door of the cage, all hell had broken loose.
Grenk's guards had turned their weapons away from them and towards the more immediate threat. But they had only been able to get off a few shots before the sheer numbers of the miners had forced them back to defensive positions.
Natasha had made a break for it in the chaos, along with Jirel and Maya. But she had stumbled in the flurry of disruptor fire all around and lost sight of the other two. She had just about managed to crawl behind some cover to catch her breath.
She tried to look around for the forms of Jirel and Maya in the mass of disparate lifeforms. But she couldn't see them anywhere. She was lost. She couldn't even see any sort of weapon, or an avenue of escape. So ferocious was the pitched battle that had broken out.
Another burst of disruptor fire flashed past her position. A dozen alarm sirens flared out all around her, adding to the chaos. She heard someone cry out in pain.
And then she felt an arm grab her and pull her up. It felt cold and heavy, and she instinctively knew it definitely wasn't Jirel or Maya.
Still, she was shocked to turn around and be confronted by a familiar face.
"You are not damaged?"
The huge, unblinking eyes of Struss stared back at her. For a second, she merely stared at the towering Gorn. But another disruptor blast shooting past forced her into action.
"No," she shook her head, "I'm not…damaged. But—"
"Come."
With that, Struss virtually dragged her away from her cover, before she could even offer any sort of protest.
Using his own hulking form as cover, the Gorn shepherded her across to a set of packing crates near the far wall of the compound. As they reached the cover, she saw the surprised faces of Jirel and Maya, who looked from Natasha to the towering Gorn and back again, not entirely sure what to say.
"You should leave," Struss offered simply, as the fight continued.
"That's what we're planning on doing," Jirel responded eventually.
"What about you?" Natasha found herself asking her unlikeliest of rescuers.
"I will fight," Struss hissed back simply, "Now that we are fighting the real enemy."
Without another word, the Gorn turned and headed straight back into battle with an ungodly roar. Apparently unconcerned for his safety.
"Interesting friends you have," Maya observed with a wry tone.
"I…just hope he'll be ok," Natasha muttered as she watched Struss vanish into the crowd.
"The great big terrifying lizard man?" Jirel offered, "I think the great big terrifying lizard man will be just fine."
Natasha accepted that he was probably right, before she pointed out a more pressing issue that she could see.
"So…where the hell are we going now? How do we get out of here?"
They all looked around, at a loss. Inside the habitation dome was now a deadly firefight. Outside, the atmosphere was barely survivable. A rock and a hard place.
Jirel racked his brains for a solution, willing some sort of cavalry to ride in.
And then, he saw something through the roof of the habitation dome high above them that filled him with a rush of emotion. Joy, delight, kinship and relief. He pointed up with a widening grin, as Maya and Natasha followed where he was looking.
"I think they might be able to give us a lift…"
Through the transparent aluminium dome, with Synergy Mining Enterprise's entire defensive network now taken down, the Bounty came into view.
It was a sad, limping sight, covered in war wounds, the lacerated hull only temporarily patched-up. But as ever, it was just about holding together.
Jirel looked up at the ship he called home. And despite the carnage still raging around him, he suddenly felt safe.
'*'*'
'*'*'
Grenk was in shock.
One second, he had been about to finally rid the galaxy of Jirel Vincent and his cohorts. The next, he found himself running for his life.
As soon as the miners had come pouring through the open door to the cage, each with bloody vengeance of their own in their eyes, his Ferengi survival instincts had kicked in. Ordering his most trusted bodyguards to protect him, he had been shepherded away from the worst of the fighting by Shel-Lan and Gel-Lan.
But all they had managed to get him to was a better vantage point to watch his empire collapse.
He stood behind the two stout Miradorn at the edge of the melee, as his former prisoners and the other Miradorn guards tore into each other. Disruptor fire slammed into the walls of the habitation dome, leaving yawning holes in the metal that would cost a fortune to fix. Guards were felled, miners ran amok. The formerly all-powerful Ferengi struggled to process what he was seeing.
Still, it didn't take him long to locate someone to blame.
"You idiots!" he wailed at Shel-Lan and Gel-Lan, "You complete idiots! Look what your men are doing! They're letting them all escape!"
The Miradorn bodyguards stood their ground, maintaining a watchful silence from the cover they had found, as Grenk continued to harry them.
"You've ruined me! You useless imbeciles! You're just as bad as the rest of your species! Now, listen to me, if you don't want me to withhold you and your men's pay for the next hundred years, I suggest you get out there and fix this!"
Still no response. Grenk's anger boiled over into a frustrated snarl.
"Now!"
The Miradorn twins concluded their internal dialogue. The one that Grenk hadn't even been aware had been happening. The one where, thanks to Grenk's latest rant, and their perilous situation, Shel-Lan finally got through to his brother.
Once again, they were being asked to fix all of this mess. But that was all they had ever been trying to do. They had strongly suggested that Grenk invest in extra staff to cover the mine. They had warned him against his reliance on automation. And more recently, they had cautioned against his foolhardy pursuit of Jirel and the others on the surface.
And Grenk had ignored them all.
And now, here they were again. Being made the scapegoats. Except this time, they had reached a swift agreement on what to do next.
As one, Shel-Lan and Gel-Lan turned to Grenk, who glared at them from under his fuming brow.
"Well?" he spat, "What are you waiting for?"
Shel-Lan asked his brother the same thing. Gel-Lan concluded that it was time to act. As one, they lowered their disruptors.
"What the hell do you think you're doing?!" Grenk managed to splutter, as he stared at the two stout bodyguards in horror.
Despite their telepathic link, Shel-Lan and Gel-Lan took a second to glance at each other. Both brothers nodded solemnly, before turning back to the Ferengi.
"We quit," Shel-Lan stated simply.
Leaving their former boss staring open-mouthed into space, the two former bodyguards slash prison wardens slash mining administrators slash salvage specialists took off away from the melee behind them, racing for the transporter room to get them back to the ship in orbit and away from here.
Even as a huge Reman slammed into two other Miradorn guards a dozen feet away from his cover, Grenk took a moment to process what had just happened.
And then, out of the corner of his eye, he saw three other figures racing away towards the main airlock of the habitation dome. Two human women. And one Trill.
The ones that had truly ruined everything for him. His business, his staff, his entire operation. All because of them. And a fresh surge of vengeful anger overrode his Ferengi survival instinct.
With a murderous look in his eyes, he grabbed his own disruptor from his belt.
And took off in pursuit.
'*'*'
'*'*'
"Yee-haw!"
Sunek's latest whoop of delight filled the shattered cockpit of the Bounty as he gleefully tapped on the controls in front of him. He was back where he belonged, in the Bounty's pilot's seat. The storm was back where it belonged, on the horizon.
And he was happy.
Happy that he had been just the right amount of angry when it mattered.
"So," he called back, "Am I awesome, or am I awesome?"
Behind him, Klath and Denella shared a knowing glance.
Sunek had beamed them aboard from the Boundless Profit, now bereft of any defensive systems, a few moments ago. And they had quickly taken off after the others.
Klath sat at what remained of his weapons console. Although the Bounty's own defensive systems were also offline, he could still use the sensors to locate their friends. Meanwhile, with her own engineering console wrecked, Denella had taken up position in the battered centre chair, usually reserved for Jirel.
"We can massage your ego some other time, Sunek," she responded patiently, "Keep sweeping the area."
With a shrug, the Vulcan did just that. The battle-scarred Bounty, having only been patched up by Grenk's men, wasn't as manoeuvrable as it usually was, but he was able to bring them around in a lazy arc and swing back over the site.
"I have them!" Klath boomed out, "A Trill lifesign. And two humans. On the surface, sixty metres from the mining dome."
"On it," Denella nodded, jumping out of the chair and racing to the rear steps as quickly as her bruised body could move, heading for the transporter room.
As she left, Sunek couldn't help but glance back at the Klingon.
"You in the mood for some Vulcan ego-massaging too, big guy?"
Klath grumbled quietly under his breath. He was thankful for Sunek's arrival, given the likely suicidal option that he had been considering beforehand. But equally, he knew the Bounty's pilot would never let him hear the end of it if he actually admitted that.
"Bring us in over the lifesigns," he instructed instead, "You may…gloat later."
Sunek's grin widened as he brought the Bounty into position.
"Oh, trust me, I will. I'm gonna gloat like I've never gloated before. This is gonna be a gloating masterclass. Whatever you thought you knew about gloating? Forget it. They're gonna have to redefine the word."
As Klath suppressed another grimace at the likely truth of that statement, Sunek merely continued to grin. He was feeling good.
The storm was under control.
'*'*'
'*'*'
Down on the surface, Jirel, Natasha and Maya watched as the Bounty slowly swung back towards them.
Having escaped the habitation dome through the airlock, they had retreated across the low-oxygen surface of the Class-L planet as best they could. And now their rescue was here.
"Gotta hand it to them," Maya smiled, "They know how to make an entrance."
Jirel watched his ship, and smiled.
His ship. The only place that he'd ever really called home. Once again, that ship, and the people on it, had come through in the nick of time.
"They really do," he nodded in satisfaction.
Natasha also found herself feeling happy. She knew that if anyone had told her back in her Starfleet days that one day she'd consider a battered, thirty year old Ju'Day-type raider her home, she'd have laughed. But here she was, reassured at the sight of the Bounty.
Even Maya was smiling. At the ship she once helped Jirel to acquire, and the crew that she had mostly helped him assemble. The ship that, having rejected Jirel's final payment back at the start of this latest misadventure, she still had a significant stake in.
She had left it behind a long time ago. Just as she'd left everything else behind in her life, all the way back to Niki Kolak. But now, she wondered if it was time to stop leaving things behind. She turned to look at Jirel, and wondered if, despite everything, this was where her future had been the whole time. Whether it was time to turn over a new leaf once and for all. If the Bounty's crew would let her.
She had no way of knowing, but Jirel was thinking the same thing about her.
As the sound of the riot back inside the habitation dome continued in the background, the three figures waited patiently to be beamed back aboard.
And then everything changed.
From Jirel's perspective, it happened in an instant. One second, he was staring up at the Bounty. Then he sensed Maya glancing over at him. And then he had a sense that they were no longer alone.
He spun around, with Natasha following suit. There, a few yards behind them, stood Grenk, a disruptor raised in front of him.
"Jirel!" he wheezed in the thin atmosphere, "You've ruined everything!"
Too consumed with rage to wait for the inevitable reply, or quip, or any sort of response, Grenk fired.
Jirel barely had time to process the flare from the disruptor. But he did process the feeling of Maya Ortega shoving him out of the way. Leaving her in the line of fire.
"No!"
The Trill heard himself call out as he fell to the ground.
He saw the blast catch her square in the chest, with enough force to throw her down next to Jirel. He scrambled through the dirt to her, even as Natasha's medical instincts kicked in and she dropped down to them, pressing down hard on the gaping wound in Maya's stomach.
"Maya!" Jirel cried out, staring down at her eyes, even as the life seemed to ebb from them. Her lips began to move. She whispered something. He had to lean in close to hear it.
"...Never…leave home without it."
Jirel felt her left arm straighten, and instantly knew what to do, without the need for a Miradorn-style telepathic bond.
"Damn you!" Grenk squealed, as he brought his disruptor to bear on the Trill again, "Why won't you just—!"
He didn't get a chance to finish his sentence.
With the defences that had formerly prevented non-Synergy weapons from working now deactivated, Jirel whirled around and delivered a single blast of red fire from the tiny type-1 phaser that Maya's sleeve had deposited into his hand. And silenced Grenk forever.
He killed him. In cold blood.
Natasha didn't process what had happened, keeping her pressure on the bleeding wound.
Jirel turned back to Maya, with tears forming in his eyes. She mustered a weak smile of satisfaction in his direction.
"Hey," he managed, as soothingly as possible, "It's gonna be fine, ok? They're gonna beam us up any second now."
She nodded. Her eyes started to glaze over. She managed to mutter something else with her remaining strength.
"I'm sorry, Niki…"
Jirel had no idea what that meant. Nor did Natasha.
But Maya simply smiled peacefully, as the transporter took effect.
'*'*'
'*'*'
Jirel paced up and down the main corridor of the Bounty, just outside the medical bay.
He had barely had time to carry Maya into the bay before Natasha had urgently ushered him back outside. She needed to work fast. In peace.
To his side, Denella stood still, having rushed here with them from the transporter room. There had been no time for an emotional reunion. Instead, they waited in silence, as Jirel continued to pace.
After a moment, footsteps approached from the cockpit steps.
"Jirel," Klath boomed with relief, confused by the Trill's lack of reaction.
"Hey," Sunek added from over the Klingon's shoulder, "What the hell's—?
He was interrupted by the doors to the medical bay opening. Natasha emerged, her clothes and her hands slick with blood. She didn't need to say anything as she locked eyes with Jirel. He could already feel his heart starting to break.
She gently shook her head.
It was a point blank disruptor blast. There was nothing she could have done.
The silence in the corridor was deafening.