Part Four
Sunek was lost. Nothing made sense any more.
He was seeing thoughts and memories and experiences, and feeling a veritable cavalcade of emotions. But nothing was aligning quite as it should have been.
It was his birthday, two years ago, on the Bounty, and he was about to tuck into an enormous slice of Deltan passionberry cheesecake. And he felt suspicious.
He was in the pilot's seat of the Bounty, desperately steering the ship through the middle of a pitched battle. And he felt aroused.
Now it was a school day, back on Vulcan, and he was studying with his friends. And he felt ashamed.
He was in bed with T'Len, when he had temporarily reconnected with his wife nearly a year ago. And he felt irritated.
He felt nervous, and he felt relief. He felt jealousy, and he felt exasperation. He felt contentment, and pride, and hope, and dread, and worry, and exhilaration. He felt everything.
And it was terrifying.
Then, all of a sudden, he found himself back in the rear section of the Betazoid supply ship, shackled to the metal table raised vertically up in the middle of the room.
He heard himself gasping for air, feeling substantially weaker than before. His body was aching like he'd just run the Tellar Prime Ultramarathon. The heavy metal helmet still adorned his head and he could feel the needles piercing into him like stinging pincers.
It took him a moment to take in the rest of the room. But he soon saw the six Betazoid women, all slumped on the floor or propping themselves up against the metal walls of the room. Each of them looked like a Trellium-D junkie, surfing the crest of a wave of bliss.
Like Sunek, they were all panting breathlessly, and their eyes were glazed over above vacant, happy smiles.
It was Lyssa that recovered first, pushing herself away from the bulkhead she was propping herself up against and staggering over to the trussed-up and terrified Vulcan with quivering legs.
"Oh, Mr Sunek," she gasped in delight, "That was everything we dreamed it would be."
She reached his side and tapped the controls on the side of the helmet, as Azaria picked herself up from the deck and looked over at them.
"And more," she panted in agreement with her colleague, "Such a rush of feelings. He is a fountain of emotions."
Hearing the tapping sounds on the controls, and having no idea what Lyssa was doing, Sunek's panic levels rose higher all over again.
"W—Well, that was really fun and all, yeah? It's not every day you get to satisfy six women at once, you know what I'm saying?"
He offered a weak chuckle, but got nothing back from the Betazoids.
"Um," he continued, "But, I guess it's time to get going, hmm? Back to the colony?"
"Oh no," Lyssa retorted, her usually calm tone carrying a slight edge to it all of a sudden, "We're just getting started, Mr Sunek. With this device, we can increase the level of brain stimulation as much as we desire. To take us to an even greater high."
"Y—Yeah, but, I mean, that was already pretty intense. I mean, you don't wanna kill me, right?"
He asked the question as casually as possible, but the long, telling pause that followed didn't do anything to calm his panic levels. He gulped audibly.
"We don't want to, no," Lyssa replied eventually, "But…sometimes it cannot be helped."
With that, she stepped back and nodded at the other Betazoids, who all gleefully prepared for round two to begin.
Sunek felt the pressure from the needles building. He tried to prepare himself, not knowing how he was going to be able to handle the emotional chaos he was about to be hit with.
And then he remembered. He was a Vulcan. And what were Vulcans good for if not controlling emotions?
Granted, he would be the first to admit that he hadn't really had control of his own emotions for some time now. If, indeed, he ever had. But he was sure he still had the ability, somewhere inside him. So, as the intensity of the pain increased from the needles in his skull, he focused on controlling the sudden surge of emotions that came with it.
Like a good Vulcan should.
He strained against the feelings of jubilation. He fought the sudden rush of agitation. He stared down the entirely misplaced sense of relief.
And suddenly, he was somewhere else entirely.
He was sitting cross-legged in the sand, on top of the Cliffs of Surak on Vulcan, looking out across the expanse of Lake Yuron.
He remembered coming here on a pilgrimage during his brief and entirely unsuccessful attempt to undergo the Kohlinar ritual. He had sat here for hours on end to try and master his emotions. And everything looked how he remembered from back then.
Except, as he started to really take in the scene in front of him, maybe not exactly how he remembered.
It was hard for him to describe what he was seeing in a way that made sense, even to himself, but as he looked down at the dusty sand beneath him, he saw that the grains were made of envy.
And when he focused down on the lake below, he saw that it wasn't filled with rust-tinged water, but pride.
And the red-tinged sky was a perfect snapshot of unfiltered dismay.
"Well," Sunek managed, as a shavokh bird made from pure hysteria flew gracefully past and settled on the branch of a tree made from remorse, "This is new…"
'*'*'
'*'*'
The Bounty's cockpit was a picture of calm.
As instructed, each of the ship's crew were nestled into their own individual oases of serenity, doing their best to quell their emotions to allow Palia to work on detecting the others.
The ship itself remained at a dead stop, with even the ever-present sound of the warp core reduced to a barely-perceptible hum as a result.
Behind his console, Klath was in the middle of a hunt. He was a child, barely tall enough to grip his first dagger, stalking through the forests of Qo'noS in lockstep with his father, hunting a pack of wild mIl'oD.
He was moments away from feeling the blood lust coursing through his veins for the first time, and from slaying his first kill.
Such was Klath's happy place.
Sarina found herself picturing her garden back at the colony on Corvin III.
She was still sure her future lay elsewhere. But there was no doubt that, among everything else she had been through in her life so far, she found that sitting under the central pavilion watching the suns set to be as peaceful an experience as she had ever enjoyed.
Denella was the most experienced in finding a zen-like moment, thanks to her meditation sessions in the Bounty's cargo bay.
When she wanted to find a moment of inner peace, she had always used to picture a moment from her childhood, sitting on an old fallen tree trunk and talking with Sarina as they ate lunch. Two best friends, enjoying a quiet moment together.
But secretly, she had recently found a new image of happiness. One from a few months ago, when she and Juna Erami had shared an impromptu picnic onboard the Bajoran's shuttle, in the pink and purple glow of the Kervala Nebula.
Granted, she had only been there because Erami had knocked her unconscious and essentially abducted her from the Kervala spaceport. But that was only to aid their escape from a group of angry Pakleds, after all.
And, in a more simplistic way, that picnic had proved to be the first genuine moment of romantic connection she had enjoyed since the Syndicate had taken her.
Still, in trying to help Palia's search for calm in the cockpit, Denella elected to hide that scene away in this instance. She feared that she would give off too strong a sense of guilt otherwise, both for abandoning her usual image of friendship with Sarina while the other Orion was barely five feet away from her, and also because of the stack of unanswered messages from Erami back in her cabin.
So, to keep things straightforward, Denella was sitting on a fallen tree trunk, swinging her legs below her and laughing with Sarina.
In the front of the cockpit, Natasha found herself troubled. Because every time she tried to retreat to a happy memory, she found herself thinking about Jirel. Which couldn't be right.
Still, whichever moment she tried to pick to relax in, past or present and fact or fiction, there he seemed to be. Smiling back at her in that stupid cocky way he often did when he knew he had something to smile about.
Feeling any effort at finding inner calm giving way to inner annoyance, she decided to keep things entirely simple. And she pictured a double cheeseburger (with all the trimmings).
That seemed to do the job. Even if the distribution of the sesame seeds on top of the bun bore an unerring resemblance to a certain Trill's face.
And like that, the Bounty's cockpit became an ocean of calm. And Palia was able to channel herself into her work. Scanning for the others.
It wasn't easy. Betazoid empathy had a limited range, and there was a lot of traffic in the sector. But she also knew, based on how the ion trail had gone so cold so quickly, that they must be nearby.
She concentrated intensely, sensing for the telltale flavour of curious Vulcan emotions across the local area. And while she couldn't muster anything precise, she definitely began to sense something.
"They are here," she whispered.
Feeling slightly ridiculous, Denella maintained her calm state as best she could, keeping her eyes closed as she responded.
"Where?" she whispered back.
"I cannot be entirely certain," the Betazoid admitted as she strained for more information, "But they are close. And…they are moving."
"They would not need to move inside a nebula," Klath pointed out, feeling equally ridiculous as he communicated in a low, becalmed growl.
"Wait!" Natasha screamed out suddenly, ruining the oasis of peace and causing Palia to flinch from the sudden emotional rush, "That's it!"
The others refocused on the cockpit, even as the woman in the pilot's seat powered the Bounty back up fully and swung it around back the way it had come.
"Where are we going?" Sarina asked.
"Klath," Natasha called back as an explanation, "That star system we just skirted around. That was where we lost them. And what was in it?"
The Klingon looked down at the readings in front of him, still not entirely getting it.
"A G-Type star, five planetary bodies, several thousand smaller asteroids and meteoroids, and…a type-3 comet."
His expression switched to one of understanding as the Bounty shot forwards at warp, back towards the system itself.
"A type-3 comet with a tail large enough to hide a ship inside?" Natasha added.
"More than enough," the Klingon affirmed.
Denella smiled in satisfaction at the speed of the deduction, before she glanced back over at Palia.
"Thank you."
"Do not thank me yet," the Betazoid cautioned, "If I was able to sense his emotions with that much clarity, from this range, then…we may already be too late."
The implication of that statement brought an end to the last remnants of calm inside the cockpit.
'*'*'
'*'*'
Jevik calmly looked back at the Trill in front of him, focusing on looking him in the eye and ignoring the pouch of latinum for the moment.
The two goons eyed him up more suspiciously, while R'Asc merely coughed weakly on the ground.
"Well, Santa Claus," the Cardassian replied eventually, "You seem like a very irresponsible young gentleman."
Jirel began to think that he should have used a different name in his introduction, realising now that the loan shark and his heavies had no context for that rather Earth-centric cultural reference.
"I mean," Jevik continued, gesturing at the bloodied Kobheerian on the ground, "You've just interrupted me and my friends here in the middle of some very important business. And you've come all the way out here to see me and left your own associates outside."
"Actually," the Trill replied, maintaining his falsely confident smile, "I came alone."
"How unfortunate for you."
The implied threat in Jevik's tone was backed up by the fresh sound of cracking knuckles from the Nausicaan and the Takarian to his side. But Jirel didn't flinch at the sound. He was here to negotiate. And, despite what some people might have said about him, that was one of his strengths.
"Listen, Jevik," he offered back with a conciliatory tone, "I can see that my friend here has been causing you a lot of trouble. And I know how that feels, believe me. Has he ever tried cooking you bacon and eggs?"
This cultural reference went down about as well as the previous one.
"What on Cardassia Prime is 'baconaneggs'?"
"No," Jirel sighed, "Bacon and—You know what? Not important. Point is, I'm here to solve everyone's problems, ok?"
"Is that so?" Jevik replied, with a distinctly unimpressed glare.
"Yep. See, I've got latinum, which solves your problem. And I'm here to take my friend home, which solves his. And I'll even throw in a little extra cash for your two attack dogs over there to get dinner at Mivara II's third best steakhouse. That all seem fair?"
Neither of the goons seemed especially taken with the offer, nor of his description of them.
Jevik's eyes merely narrowed a little, as he continued to assess his new opponent.
"Well now, aren't you full of gifts tonight, Mr Claus?"
Jirel couldn't help but feel like that line was said with enough of a knowing tone to suggest that the former Obsidian Order member had gotten the reference after all. For the first time since he'd walked into the jaws of death, he felt a sliver of unease.
"I'm just a friend," he replied calmly, glancing down at the beaten R'Asc with a tinge of guilt, "Trying to help someone out."
The Kobheerian managed a slight nod through the fear still visible in his eyes, as Jirel turned back to Jevik and proffered the pouch again.
"So. We got a deal?"
The Cardassian paused for a moment, then nodded at him to pass the latinum.
Jirel obediently tossed the pouch across, then maintained as much confidence as he could as he stepped in between the leering goons and crouched down to R'Asc.
"Hey," he muttered supportively, "How're you feeling?"
"Hurt," the Kobheerian managed to cough, "Are…my bacon and eggs really that bad?"
Jirel couldn't help but crack a smile. It didn't even register with him that this was the first genuine smile he'd managed since Sector 374. He was too busy carrying out his plan. Such that it was.
"Can you stand?" he asked gently.
R'Asc nodded weakly, and gripped onto Jirel's arm as the Trill helped him up. Just as he had hoped he would, because that allowed him to silently slide the small hypospray secreted up his sleeve into position, and inject the hit of stims into the ailing Kobheerian.
"So," Jirel called out more loudly, covering the hiss of the injection as R'Asc's eyes instantly widened with renewed energy, "We all square?"
R'Asc stood up a little straighter, as Jirel turned back to Jevik, who marched back over to the pair of them and waved the pouch in Jirel's direction.
"You may want to have a word with your accountant," the Cardassian tutted, "I'm afraid this doesn't cover your friend's debt…"
Jirel gave R'Asc a stern look, hoping he could convey what was about to happen. And hoping that the stims had taken full effect.
He was maintaining his levels of confidence, as he always did in this sort of situation. But he didn't realise that he was also missing the usual support he had to temper his occasional overconfidence in his own abilities.
He was missing the backup provided by Klath's strength, or Denella's quick thinking. He was missing the honest critiques of his ideas from Natasha. And he was even missing Sunek's usual aversion to any of his more suicidal plans. He was missing all that, and only had his own faith in himself to work with.
Which meant that he was about to do something very stupid.
"Huh," Jirel sighed, turning back to the Cardassian, "Let me just check that for you…"
In an instant, his fist shot out and connected solidly with Jevik's jaw, causing him to stumble back in pain. In the same deft movement, he grabbed the pouch of latinum back and snapped an order at R'Asc.
"Run!"
The Kobheerian didn't need a second invitation. Bloodied and beaten, but now temporarily powered by the shot of stims, he bounded across the dirty floor of the warehouse towards the exit, with Jirel right behind him.
Jevik's two goons were momentarily stunned into inaction by what they had just seen. It took their boss's angry order to shock them back into action.
"Don't just stand there, you idiots! Get them!"
The Nausicaan and Takarian instantly took off in pursuit, though they had already given up some distance to their quarry.
Further ahead of them, R'Asc and Jirel burst out of the warehouse, into the early morning twilight of the Mivara II colony, and raced off into the abandoned shuttle loading area outside.
R'Asc was fleeing for his life.
Jirel was still smiling.
'*'*'
'*'*'
Sunek was confused.
He didn't understand how any of this was possible, even as he rolled the small stone made from dismay around in his hands.
He had spent some time exploring the curious version of the Cliffs of Surak that he had found himself in, and not gotten any closer to figuring it out. From the lake of pride, to the sky of dismay and the sands of envy. This was all way beyond his measly pay grade.
In the back of his mind, somewhere, he could still feel the biting pain from the needles that were burrowed into his head. A nagging reminder of where he really was, and what was really happening to him. And even though he had somehow brought himself here, he had failed to find any inspiration for how to get out of this predicament.
Reluctantly, he had come to the conclusion that there was only one option available to him. He set the stone of dismay down on a soft bed of sandy envy, and stood up.
"Come on then. You there?" he called out.
For a second, there was no response, apart from the calling of a flock of hysteria birds in the distance.
Then, his own voice replied. He couldn't see the storm. But he could hear the thunder.
"They're gonna kill you, you know."
"Yeah, I know."
"Did you ever think it would end this way?" the voice pressed, seemingly taking some delight in his predicament, "Tortured to death by a coven of hot emotion-sucking temptresses?"
Sunek rolled his eyes and shook his head patiently.
"You know as well as I do that I've always considered it a possibility," he replied, entirely honestly.
An amused crackle of thunder floated into his ears. He looked out across the prideful lake in front of him and sighed deeply.
"So," he mused, "Is this gonna work?"
"Not sure," the unseen storm offered back, "Worst case scenario, at least we'll take them down with us, hmm?"
Sunek didn't like the sound of that as a fallback plan. He suppressed a sudden memory of the two dead Miradorn, back in Sector 374.
But he also knew that he wasn't helping himself by sitting around on top of a mountain of envy, just waiting to die.
"Ok," he nodded, "They want emotions? Let's give 'em emotions."
He closed his eyes as he stood on the edge of the clifftop. All around him, the sand began to swirl, the wind picked up.
And he dived headlong into the storm.
'*'*'
'*'*'
Lyssa gripped onto the bulkhead, as she gorged on a delicious helping of contempt.
Azaria convulsed on the deck of the ship, feasting on wave after wave of resentment.
Jenna and the others had all tapped into a rich vein of compassion, and stood together, holding hands for support and staring up at the ceiling in delight.
The second, much stronger helping of Vulcan emotions was proving as perfect as they had imagined. Increasing the intensity of the stimulation of their captive's brain was causing him to give off ever more powerful feelings.
Their previous feast felt like a mere hors d'oeuvre compared to the banquet that was now all around the gleeful empaths.
All the while, Sunek's body was slumped unconscious where it was still trussed up. Unmoving apart from the occasional involuntary twitch from the strength of the brain activity that was being ignited by the metal helmet contraption on his head.
His body itself was holding up well to the stresses he was under, but his brain was in overdrive. And even given the resilience of a Vulcan's brain compared to most other humanoids, it was beginning to get too much.
Not that the Betazoids cared. They were too busy feeding.
Feeding on aggravation. And contentment. And unease. And triumph. And bliss.
And then anger. Suddenly, everything was anger, all around them. All any of the women could feel was anger.
A merciless, ferocious anger. Unbridled rage, fuelled by hate and scorn.
Each of them looked around the rear section of the support craft at each other, suddenly consumed by unrestricted fury. Jenna and the other women broke their hand-holding and turned on each other. Two of them began to claw at each other's faces with venom. Jenna grappled with the other woman as they toppled to the deck below.
Across the room, Lyssa and Azaria turned to each other and scowled with hate.
What is happening? Azaria thought through the chaos.
So much anger, Lyssa responded with a telepathic snarl. I've never felt anything like it.
We must be strong, Azaria insisted. We must focus!
Still the anger poured forth.
They looked at the other four women, still consumed with rage as they grappled with one another, at least two already bleeding from wounds on their faces.
They looked back at each other, feeling the innate desire to take out all of their new-found hostility on something. Or someone. They both felt the need to rip each other apart, limb from limb.
Lyssa knew they needed somewhere else to direct this surge of emotions. Otherwise they really would destroy each other.
Then, out of nowhere, the whole ship shook and shuddered.
And they found a focus for their rage.
'*'*'
'*'*'
The Bounty dropped out of warp with a flare of light and swept gracefully past the comet's tail at one quarter impulse.
At almost the same time, the Ju'Day-type raider's small tractor beam, a low-powered unit usually used to help manoeuvre cargo while in orbit, shot out from the rear of the ship's underside, into the centre of the tail.
Seconds later, the Bounty swept on past the comet, now dragging the smaller, sleeker form of the Betazoid supply ship with it.
"I have them," Klath reported with palpable satisfaction from his tactical console, "Tractor beam holding steady, and the prefix code has given full access to their defensive and propulsion systems. They will not be able to break free."
"Good work," Denella nodded, "Scan for lifesigns."
Klath diligently tapped his controls again.
"Six Betazoid females," he reported after a moment, "And one Vulcan. Very faint."
Denella stood from her console in an instant, calling out to Natasha at the front of the cockpit at the same time.
"Doc, looks like we need to go save a Vulcan idiot."
"That's becoming the story of my life," Natasha muttered back, as she instantly brought the Bounty to a stop and jumped out of her seat.
"Palia, we might need you on this one as well," the Orion points out, "Klath, you stay here and look after Sarina."
The Klingon nodded a little reluctantly, even as the younger Orion looked a little put out by that particular suggestion from her friend.
"I don't need someone looking after me," she insisted.
"Fine," Denella shrugged, "Then you look after Klath. Either way, we need to move."
With that, Denella, Natasha and Palia rushed down the steps at the rear of the cockpit, heading for the Bounty's transporter room. It wasn't a long journey on a ship the Bounty's size. But it was one they didn't come close to completing.
Because the hum of incoming transporter signatures suddenly filled the air.
And they were surrounded by looks of fury.
'*'*'
'*'*'
Jirel skidded around the corner of a stack of storage containers and stopped next to R'Asc.
Neither of them said anything for a moment, concentrating on getting their respective breaths back with desperate lungfuls of dirty colony air.
Once he felt a little more comfortable, Jirel chanced a surreptitious peek back around the corner, and saw no sign of their pursuers for the moment.
"W—Where did you get the stims from?" R'Asc managed eventually, keeping his voice low as the beaten Kobheerian continued to feel the strength of the shot he'd been given in his veins, keeping him as strong as possible.
"On Mivara II?" Jirel panted back with a knowing look, "The grocery store."
R'Asc conceded the point with a shrug. Mivara II wasn't exactly the sort of port that you had to dig too deep in for too long before you found some of the quadrant's more dubious treasures.
"Thank you," he said instead, with genuine gratitude, "For helping me."
"Don't thank me yet," Jirel muttered back, as he saw the Nausicaan and the Takarian appear at the end of their row of containers and began a methodical search of each hiding place they came across, "We're still not out of it."
The Trill turned back to the Kobheerian, focusing on his non-swollen eye.
"Listen," he explained quickly, "You need to keep going. Get back to the casino and talk to Tudra. He'll be waiting for you."
"W—Why?"
"Because I just promised to work unpaid overtime for the next ten weeks if he booked you passage on the Lissepian cargo ship that's leaving orbit in two hours. Take that, and get yourself as far away from here, and that Cardassian loan shark, as you can."
R'Asc's eyes widened as the extent of Jirel's plan was revealed. Before he could respond, Jirel handed him the pouch of latinum in his hand.
"And you'd better take that," he added, "Think of it as…the money I should have lent you when you first asked me. Before you went and did all this."
"B—But, I can't—"
"Yeah, you can. But promise me one thing, ok? Get some help for that gambling problem of yours, hmm? Don't let this all happen at the next port you end up at."
The Kobheerian nodded thankfully all over again and pocketed the latinum.
Jirel had no idea how genuine that nod was. In reality, he knew that the long-time addict in front of him was just as likely to fritter away the meagre quantity of savings he'd just handed over on the first Dabo wheel he walked past. But there was nothing he could do about that. At least he'd tried.
At least he'd helped.
"So," he nodded, patting his roommate on the shoulder, "You need to go. Now."
"What about you?"
Jirel mustered what was only his second genuine smile of his time on Mivara II and shrugged, aware that his own part in his highly dangerous and highly stupid plan wasn't over just yet.
"I'm the decoy," he offered back.
With that, he left R'Asc to escape, and raced out of their cover. Into the direct line of sight of both of Jevik's goons.
"There!" the Takarian bellowed.
Jirel raced on, zig-zagging through the cargo containers, hearing two heavy sets of footsteps in his wake.
So far, so good, he thought to himself with satisfaction.
Propelled forwards by his own newly-rediscovered confidence, he didn't give much thought to the fact that he hadn't really planned this idea through to the very end.
He'd had time to figure out an escape route for R'Asc, from the stims to the latinum to the transport away from here. But he hadn't put quite as much effort into figuring out where his role as the decoy would take him.
In part, that was thanks to his untempered confidence. Over time, he had become used to things just working out for him. And in his haste to put his plan into action, he hadn't really considered how that tended to happen so much thanks to the presence of Denella, Klath, Natasha and Sunek. His friends, watching out for him.
And in part, it was thanks to a significantly darker sense of nihilism inside him, buried away underneath everything else.
Part of him didn't actually care if he got through this.
So, instead of having a concrete next step, he just raced on through the shipping containers, weaving one way and the other to try and shrug off his pursuers. And even though he hadn't really thought this part of his plan through, it was working. He was increasing his lead over the Nausicaan and the Takarian behind him. He was getting close to losing them all over again.
Until he rounded another corner, and his foot caught on the corner of a discarded wooden crate that had been left on the ground.
It had been dropped from an anti-grav loader by one of the long-suffering employees of this still-functioning area of the warehouse yards earlier that night. And with it being near the end of his shift, he had simply left it for someone else to pick up.
But nobody had picked it up. And so the innocent crate sent Jirel tumbling to the ground in a painful heap.
He felt a rush of pain and the sound of a bone snapping somewhere in one of his legs. And he instantly knew he wasn't running any further.
With an agonised grimace, he looked back at the offending crate. The one that had brought his poorly planned escape to an end. And he saw the name of the intended recipient of the cargo, stamped onto the side of the container.
Lucky Casinos Incorporated.
Despite the pain from his broken leg, and the inevitable fate that now awaited him, he couldn't help but laugh.
A guttural belly laugh.
He was still laughing moments later, when the two goons rounded the corner to be met by the perplexing sight of their quarry lying prone on the ground, in the middle of a laughing fit.
And he was still laughing a few moments after that, when the first blow to his defeated body rained down from above.
'*'*'
'*'*'
Klath had fought any number of enemies during his often violent life. From Breen, to Romulans, to fellow Klingons, to Jem'Hadar, the list of foes he had battled against, and beaten, was exhaustive.
But the galaxy still had the ability to surprise him every now and again. And this was definitely feeling like one of those moments.
He roared with exertion as he swung the blunt edge of his bat'leth into the midriff of the maniacal Betazoid woman who was charging at him across the deck of the Bounty's cockpit.
The rage in her eyes barely dissipated, but the force of the blow was enough to knock her down to the deck for the time being.
The Klingon had no time to take a breath. He was immediately jumped on from behind by another of the Betazoids. A black-haired woman who clung onto his back with the strength of a fully-grown sabre bear, and growled in anger as she sank her teeth into his exposed neck.
Klath roared in pain, and immediately thundered backwards into the engineering console behind him, sandwiching the woman and causing her to release her grip.
The women had beamed in out of thin air almost as soon as Denella and the others had disappeared down the steps.
As soon as their forms had coalesced, Sarina had screamed in fright, seeing the crazed looks in their eyes. And Klath had acted on instinct, standing up from behind his console and grabbing his trusty bat'leth from where it hung on the wall behind him, as he prepared to repel boarders.
He had assumed it would be an easy fight, given the stature of his opponents. But he had discovered that the slight Betazoids were now somehow a lot stronger than they looked. And an awful lot angrier than he'd been expecting.
As he whirled back around and brought his bat'leth to bear on the third of the Betazoids, who snarled at him and prepared to charge again, he sensed that the first one he had just felled was already getting back to her feet.
All the while, Sarina watched on helplessly, cowering behind the engineering console where she had hidden away.
The battle continued to rage in front of her. Roaring Klingon versus furious Betazoids.
'*'*'
'*'*'
In the Bounty's main corridor, battle had been joined as well.
Denella parried a flying fist from Azaria, and then connected with a sharp elbow to her midriff, knocking her back. For the time being, the Orion kept her dagger clipped to her belt, not wanting to use anything so deadly unless she absolutely had to.
Further down the corridor, Natasha had fallen back on her Starfleet combat training, and was fending off the furious form of Jenna with a competent flurry of swift dodges and counterpunches.
"They're a lot stronger than they look!" Denella called out, as she dodged a particularly fierce kick.
Natasha went to reply, just as her adversary grappled her and sunk her teeth into her shoulder.
"And bitey!" she cried back as she managed to wriggle free, "Very bitey!"
Elsewhere in the Bounty's corridor, Palia Rani was fighting an entirely different battle. She stood a short distance away from Lyssa, and the two Betazoids stared at each other, in the midst of a curious standoff.
Palia could sense the anger coming from the younger woman, and the power of it shocked her. But she used her years of experience to keep the full strength of the emotion at bay.
What has happened to you? She asked telepathically.
We were feeding, Lyssa responded with venom. And you interrupted us.
You have to stop, Palia urged. These emotions are too strong. They will destroy you!
They make us stronger!
Please, listen to me. They will overwhelm all of you. I can sense it!
Liar!
The hate in the younger woman's eyes grew, as the physical confrontations continued in the corridor behind them. Palia felt Lyssa's anger threatening to consume her entirely.
Denella's legs were swept from under her, causing her to topple backwards onto the deck. Azaria prepared to rain down her fury on the Orion's prone form.
Natasha parried another blow, but caught a follow-up directly in her stomach, causing her to double over and drop to the ground as well.
Back in the cockpit, Klath continued to roar in exertion as his own battle raged on against the three ferocious women, while Sarina cowered in fear.
And then, all six of the furious Betazoids screamed in agony.
Each of them froze in the middle of their efforts to subdue the Bounty's crew, and grabbed at their temples.
Palia had been right. The anger was too strong. Their empathic senses began to overload with what they had been exposed to inside the scrawny Vulcan's mind back on the supply ship. With what they were still feasting on from afar.
As the weakened Bounty crew watched on, they each slumped to the deck in unison, writhing in pain from the sensory overload.
With some effort, Denella gingerly got back to her feet and helped Natasha up. They looked around at their suddenly fallen adversaries and turned to Palia.
"Are they ok?" Natasha asked through a wince of pain.
Palia looked back at them, sensing the agony in the other women strongly enough to bring a tear to her eye.
"No," she whispered truthfully, "But they are no longer a threat."
'*'*'
'*'*'
Moments later, Denella, Natasha and Palia materialised in the rear section of the support craft. They were confronted by the odd sight of Sunek, conscious but still manacled to the vertical metal slab, with a shiny helmet-type device around his head.
On the sliding scale of compromising positions that the Bounty's pilot had been found in down the years, this one was somewhere in the middle.
"Hey guys," he managed, a little weakly, "This isn't what it looks like, ok?"
"Really?" Denella replied, as Natasha and Palia rushed over to try and extricate him, "Cos it looks like you were kidnapped, manacled and tortured by a bunch of crazed, emotionally-addicted Betazoid lunatics."
"Oh," Sunek offered back, as Palia tapped the controls and gently retracted the needle-like prongs from the Vulcan's head, "Well, then it's exactly what it looks like. I was just worried you'd think it was a weird sex thing—"
"Let's get him down," Natasha cut in with a patient sigh, as she started to deactivate the shackles on his hands.
"So, what exactly happened?" Denella asked as the two women worked, thinking back to the chaos that had just unfolded on the Bounty.
Palia paused for a moment before responding.
"Lyssa and the others went too far," she explained, gesturing at the device, "Like all emotional addicts, they tried to extract too much from their victim, and it overwhelmed them. It would seem fortunate that your Vulcan metabolism was strong enough to take that level of stimulation."
Given that choice of words, Natasha and Denella prepared themselves for another quip from Sunek, presumably revolving around himself, the half dozen women that had kidnapped him and the word stimulation. But to their surprise, the tired Vulcan merely nodded in understanding.
As they extricated him from his incarceration, Palia paid close attention to him, a little perturbed by everything she had sensed in the others. Knowing now where those feelings had come from.
"You can really handle all of those emotions?" she half-whispered to him.
Denella and Natasha looked intrigued at this question, and Sunek was instantly thankful that the Betazoid had been so circumspect with her phrasing.
But he also reluctantly admitted to himself, as he considered the depths of the anger that had just spilled forth from inside him, that he was no longer sure he could handle it. At least, not alone.
It was time to let someone in.
'*'*'
'*'*'
"The worst part is, this isn't going to come close to covering the money I'm still owed."
Jevik made the off-hand comment as his Nausicaan goon aimed another fierce kick squarely into Jirel's midriff.
The sound of yet another rib snapping filled the air. The Trill had no idea how many were still intact.
After an initial beating where he had first been cornered, he had been dragged back to the warehouse by the Takarian. Where the Cardassian had been waiting for them. And as soon as he had realised that R'Asc had gotten away, he had been more than happy to allow his men to indulge themselves with their new target.
Jevik looked down at the bloodied face of his latest victim and tutted sadly.
"So, really, you accomplished nothing, Mr Claus. After all of this is done, I will still be endeavouring to chase down your inveterate gambler of a friend to recover my money…"
His scaly features cracked into a slight smile.
"As they say around these parts," he added, "The house always wins."
Jirel spat a hefty glob of blood onto the ground and stared back at the portly Cardassian, even as his entire body was shaking from the beating.
"I gave him a chance," he managed to croak out, "T—That's good enough."
Jevik's face contorted into a much darker leer, as he leaned in a little closer to the ailing Trill with the look of an executioner.
"And that one little chance is going to cost you your life," he hissed, "What a terrible equation that little deal is."
Despite the pain that was coursing through his shattered body, feeling his remaining energy ebbing away with every second, Jirel forced his well-used false smile back onto his battered face.
His misplaced confidence was now being entirely powered by the ever-growing sense of nihilism inside. One way or another, he had accepted his fate.
"Not so terrible," he grunted, "If that life isn't worth living anymore."
This frank statement caused a flicker of annoyance on Jevik's features. Given the frustrations he had endured today, he had been hoping to make himself feel better by drawing out the torment of this new target for a good long while.
He'd wanted to lay out a slow, but nonetheless inevitable, path towards death. He'd been looking forward to seeing the Trill beg for his life, seeing how many friends or family members he might have been willing to betray in the forlorn pursuit of mercy.
He had especially loved those parts of his job back in the Order.
But it seemed like the irritating Trill was going to deny him even the small satisfaction of kindling those happy memories. Further ruining his day.
He stood back up and gestured to his goons, seeing no reason to delay proceedings if his victim wasn't going to do him the courtesy of playing along.
"You heard the man," he offered dismissively, "Kill him."
The Nausicaan and the Takarian smiled and stepped towards the shattered Trill.
Jirel flopped down onto the ground, his head resting in the dirt, and he waited for the end.
As he began to lose consciousness, he thought of Maya Ortega. And then Natasha Kinsen. And he found himself regretting the fact that he would never see either of them again.
And just when it was too late for him to do anything about it, his overconfidence evaporated. His nihilistic streak vanished. And he regretted everything that he'd just done.
He didn't want to die.
And then, he heard an eerily familiar sound. An incoming transporter signal.
"Who the hell are you—?" Jevik began.
He didn't get any further. A piercing red beam of phaser fire hit him square in the chest, sending him flying to the ground. An instant later, the Nausicaan and the Takarian were dispatched with similar cold efficiency.
Jirel's vision began to blur. He heard footsteps approaching.
He just about managed to make out a figure, wearing a heavy cloak that obscured their entire body.
As the figure stooped next to him and looked him over, Jirel squinted to try and make out a face through the darkness inside the hood. But what he did make out didn't seem to make any sense, so his brain dismissed it immediately.
He slumped back to the ground in defeat, growing weaker and weaker by the second.
The hooded figure stood back up straight, and tapped a small control unit on his belt.
Both figures disappeared in the shimmer of the transporter effect, leaving nothing behind in the warehouse but the unmoving forms of Jevik and his goons.
And with that, Jirel left Mivara II forever.