Part Two
The warm, dry evening weather across the colony meant that conditions were perfect for dinner to be taken outside.
The Betazoid helpers had set up a long table on the stone deck at the rear of the main building, which not only allowed everyone to take in the sunset of the binary Corvin star system, but to also take in Sarina's gardens, visible in all their glory at the foot of the steps at the end of the deck.
The Bounty's crew sat with Sarina along one side of the table, their backs to the main building with the gardens in full view, while Palia, Lyssa, Azaria and three other Betazoid helpers selflessly sat on the other side, with their backs to the botanical wonders below. The table itself groaned under the weight of generous communal plates of rich, colourful food. The menu was entirely Betazoid and, to Klath's silent dismay, entirely vegetarian.
Each place setting also contained a generous glass of local wine, which were regularly topped up by several other helpers, who milled around as impromptu waitresses for the evening's proceedings.
All things considered, dinner was a lot more of an event than the Bounty's crew were used to.
"You really, really didn't have to do all this," Denella insisted, entirely truthfully, "We're just here to visit Sarina, and to relax."
"No better way to relax than with a good meal," Palia countered in her soothing tone, "And we so rarely get visitors here that we like to properly welcome them."
"It really is no effort," Lyssa added.
She smiled directly across the table at Sunek, who smiled back with a slightly lascivious edge.
She's definitely coming on to me, he mused.
He instantly tried to silence that train of thought, remembering that he was surrounded by telepaths right now. And while he was pretty sure that the woman sitting opposite him was coming on to him, he didn't want the whole dining party to know about it.
Then he remembered what they had been told on the landing pad. Betazoids don't probe anyone's thoughts like that. Nobody was inside his head.
Liar, a distant voice muttered, accompanied by a crackle of thunder.
Sunek silenced that thought even faster than the first, and returned to smiling at Lyssa. She, for her part, hadn't stopped smiling at him for nearly a minute now.
Yep, Sunek affirmed. Definitely coming on to me.
Further down the table, Sarina proffered one of the communal plates to Klath. "You have to try the blue-leaf salad," she insisted, "I'd never had it before, but it's delicious."
Klath eyed the mass of vegetation on the plate in the Orion's hand and suppressed another deep sigh, before taking a handful of the leaves and dropping it onto his own plate.
"Thank you," he nodded back, proud of himself for how little detectable sarcasm he had allowed to slip through into his words.
Sarina seemed happy enough. While Klath silently pined for a plate of gagh. Even replicated gagh would do.
Natasha smiled in amusement at the Klingon's culinary plight as she swallowed a piece of bread topped with a type of Betazoid soft cheese whose name escaped her, before she returned her attention to Palia.
"I really can't believe you don't get more visitors," she admitted as she took in the view, "It's beautiful here."
"You're very kind to say so," Palia smiled back warmly, "But perhaps a small Betazoid colony isn't quite exciting enough for most travellers."
"Mmm," Sarina muttered through a mouthful of uttaberry tart.
She stopped immediately when she realised she'd spoken out loud, looking up to see a series of curious looks being sent her way.
"Um, sorry," she managed, trying to cover for herself, "I was just—The uttaberries are really fresh today."
Palia took a troubled moment to study the expression of the Orion woman. She also noted the tinge of embarrassment that emanated from her, but in keeping with Betazoid morals, she elected not to probe any deeper into her thoughts. Leaving whether or not Sarina was indeed reacting to the uttaberries, or agreeing with her comment about how boring life could be on the colony, as an unanswered question.
It was Azaria who broke the moment of awkward silence that followed. "How are you enjoying your food, Mr Sunek?"
The Vulcan, who had barely been following the flow of the conversation in favour of continuing to rather gormlessly smile at Lyssa, suddenly jerked his head up at the source of this new unexpected query. He was a little surprised to see Azaria smiling at him as well.
"Oh, um," he managed, trying to remember what he was actually eating, "It's, yeah, good."
"You should try the steamed cavat," she offered, gesturing to a large serving bowl filled with an aromatic vegetable that looked not too dissimilar to ears of corn, "They're delicious. And, did you know that in ancient Betazoid history, it was considered an…aphrodisiac."
Sunek's gormless smile found a new target.
Next to the beaming Vulcan, the other three members of the Bounty's crew exchanged bemused glances. Even Natasha's scepticism when it came to Sunek's belief in his irresistibility to the opposite sex couldn't deny that it sounded like Azaria was flirting with him.
"An aphrodisiac? Really?" the Vulcan replied as he reached out to the bowl, "Guess I'd better take a couple, then…"
As best as Natasha could make out, it sounded like Sunek was at least attempting to flirt back. Though it was difficult to tell.
"Well," Palia cut in quickly, trying to steer the conversation somewhere more appropriate, "All ancient cultures have their curious beliefs, don't they. In fact, just the other day, Sarina was telling me about one of the plants in the gardens, and how Bolians used to believe that—"
"Would you care for some more wine, Mr Sunek?"
Everyone turned around in the direction of the new voice, to see Jenna, one of the helpers serving as a waitress for the feast, standing a little too close to Sunek and proffering a bottle in his direction, while smiling intensely at him.
"Um," he managed, his brain starting to struggle to process the unprecedented number of women around the table that seemed to be coming on to him, "Actually, just Sunek is fine—"
Knock, knock.
Sunek stopped in the middle of his sentence and looked around in confusion. He could have sworn he heard someone knocking on a door. But he couldn't possibly have heard that. They were outside, on a stone deck.
Feeling increasingly flustered, he focused back on Jenna, who was still proffering the wine bottle. "But, so, yeah. Sure. More wine would be…yeah."
Still smiling, the Betazoid woman appeared to deliberately lean into the Vulcan as she reached down to pour the wine, gently pressing her body into his back as she did so.
If Vulcans possessed sweat glands, Sunek was certain he would be in the middle of the mother of all flop sweats right now.
"Sunek?" Denella piped up in the direction of the squirming pilot, "You ok—?"
"Fine. Yep. Good. Just…having some wine over here—"
"It's an excellent wine, isn't it, Mr Sunek?" Lyssa jumped in from across the table, bringing her own glass up to her nose and taking in the aroma, "We make it ourselves, elsewhere on the Corvin III colony."
"Really? Oh. That's…interesting—?"
"Perhaps," Azaria chimed in, still smiling at the Vulcan, "We could give you a…personal tour of the vineyards later on, Mr Sunek?"
"Yeah. Um. I dunno. Maybe?"
Sunek paused his rambling by grabbing his refreshed wine glass and taking a long, steadying gulp to quell his sudden nervousness. Even though she had stepped back after topping up his drink, he could still feel Jenna's presence disconcertingly close behind him.
Once again, Palia took it upon herself to try and steer the conversation back on track. "So, Sarina, why don't you tell the others about—"
Knock, knock.
"Who's doing that?" Sunek snapped irritably, causing the rest of the group to turn back to him in fresh bemusement.
"Doing what?" Natasha asked, on everyone's behalf.
The Vulcan looked around, doing his best to keep his composure despite the ever-increasing list of reasons he had to lose it.
"You, um, didn't hear anything?" he forced himself to ask, knocking on the tabletop with his knuckles for effect, "Was someone doing that?"
He could see from the sea of confused reactions that nobody had been doing that. And despite the fact that they were outside, he was starting to feel a little claustrophobic.
Knock, knock.
"Ok," he said, jumping up out of his seat quickly enough to cause Jenna to have to take avoiding action, "It's been—I've had a great time tonight. Really. But—I just need to, um, turn in. Off to bed, y'know? Now. By myself. That cool? That's cool."
With that, and before anyone could protest, the flustered Vulcan awkwardly extricated himself from his seat and scurried off in the direction of the Bounty.
Taking with him the distinct impression that the three Betazoid women were still smiling at him as he left.
'*'*'
'*'*'
Moments later, Sunek was back in the familiar confines of his cabin. And a few moments after that, he was on the equally familiar deck of an old Vulcan sailing vessel, trying to meditate his way towards some sort of inner calm.
As he closed his eyes, he heard a telltale rumble of thunder, and he suppressed a grimace.
"I don't have time for you right now. I'm trying to meditate."
"I didn't say anything," his own voice rumbled out of the storm on the horizon with mild indignation.
"You just did."
"Well, that's not fair!"
Sunek sighed in frustration and opened his eyes, glaring out at the stormcloud. "Was that you? Messing around with me somehow?"
There was no response, same for an innocent roll of thunder.
"Ugh. You know what I'm talking about," Sunek persisted, "The whole 'knock, knock'—"
"Who's there?"
"Don't do that."
"Ok, fine. Yes, I heard it. And no, it wasn't me. I mean, you already know who it was, don't you?"
"I do?" Sunek asked, scrunching his face up in confusion.
"Ok, I swear you're getting dumber somehow," the stormcloud replied with an exasperated flash of lightning, "It was obviously the Betazoids! They're just messing with you."
"Messing with me?"
"Come on. You heard what they said about needing consent to start probing someone's thoughts? That's probably how they do it. Y'know, you answer the door and let them in. Surely, given the circumstances, you can appreciate someone getting a bit literal with these things."
Sunek took in the fact that he was in a conversation with a thunderstorm that was serving as a manifestation of internal rage, and conceded that point without argument.
"Besides," the stormcloud continued, "What's the alternative theory? That we just happen to have stumbled across three gorgeous young Betazoid women who all desperately wanna get up close and personal with a scrawny, weird-looking Vulcan?"
"Hey!" Sunek fired back, a little hurt, "I do ok with the ladies, you know."
"Really? When was the last time you heard from that wife of yours?"
That was a low blow. Sunek hadn't heard from T'Len, his wife from a marriage of convenience years ago designed to help her leave her parents and join up with the V'tosh ka'tur, since his run-in with Sokar.
T'Len had been another of Sokar's brainwashed followers. And husband and wife hadn't exactly parted on the best of terms after Sunek had helped to foil their plans. In fact, she'd made it pretty clear that she hated him.
"Either way," the stormcloud continued, "It's clearly the Betazoids. So, just, don't let them in, ok? Metaphorically, or literally. I don't want a bunch of telepaths in here with me. And let's face it, neither do you."
Sunek had to concede that point as well. Right now, his mental landscape wasn't something that anyone should be seeing. And while he still held out a sliver of a belief that the Betazoid women had genuinely been interested in him in a more lascivious way, he had to begrudgingly concede that the stormcloud's theory made a lot of sense.
In an instant, he left the storm and the Voroth Sea behind. And he was back in his cabin.
And before he settled down to try and sleep, he scurried across the room to make sure that his cabin door was firmly locked.
'*'*'
'*'*'
The silvery metal cocktail shaker glided through the air in a spinning arc, before gracefully falling down into a waiting hand. After a quick flourish, the shaker was again tossed up, heading back to the other hand in an equally graceful arc and landing with a satisfying thud.
With one final brisk shake for luck, Jirel flipped the lid off the shaker and poured two colourful Romulan starbursts into the waiting glasses on the counter, before finishing the drinks off with a cocktail stick apiece, each with a ripe icoberry on the end. It was far from the most professional display of mixology, but it was enthusiastic enough to garner a polite round of applause from the two women on the other side of the bar.
"Please, ladies, save your applause," Jirel gushed with false modesty in his voice, and an even falser smile on his face, "But if you really wanna say thanks, you can always buy your favourite barman a shot, hmm?"
The two women, one a rakishly thin Andorian and the other a more shapely human, glanced at each other with amusement, then turned back to him.
"You're cute," the Andorian ventured, her antennae waving suggestively in his direction. "But you're not that cute."
Jirel's false smile wasn't done yet. It was still early, but he could tell that there was definitely a free drink for him in this particular exchange. At least.
"I can be cuter," he offered, gently pushing the cocktails towards the women, "For a start, what if we said these were…on the house, hmm?"
The women glanced at each other again with knowing looks, but Jirel could tell he was sealing part of the deal.
This was another aspect of his new routine that he was getting used to.
In the past, his often misfiring charm tended to be used to talk himself out of danger, or to negotiate a better deal for the Bounty, or even save a friend or two. Now, he just used it to score free shots from anyone who visited the casino and was willing to put up with his unrelenting charm offensive.
"If these are on the house," the human woman replied, slipping a small credit scanner out of her purse, "Then I think I can buy the cute-ish barman a drink."
Jirel's false smile widened further. He proffered the payment terminal to her, while simultaneously grabbing a bottle of Takarian gin and pouring himself a generous measure.
With the free drink aspect of his new routine successfully secured, he set about trying to complete the rest of it. "So then," he said, as he picked up the shot, "What are you two ladies doing later—?"
"Jirel!"
He paused mid-line and sighed, downing the gin in anticipation of the impending interruption to his routine. The women watched with some amusement as a grey-haired Bajoran, his face covered in scars, marched up to the Trill behind the bar.
"How many times do I have to tell you to do your job?"
"I am doing my job," Jirel insisted, gesturing to the two women, "I'm trying to give these very important customers a—"
"I know what you're trying to give them. But put it back in your goddamn pants and get back to work!"
The simmering Bajoran gestured further down the bar, where several other customers from myriad different species were impatiently waiting for service, before turning back to the two women with a more amenable tone.
"Ladies," the wizened man offered, "Please, enjoy your drinks. And you make sure you win big on those Dabo wheels tonight, alright?"
They nodded and smiled, collected their Romulan starbursts from the top of the bar and set off into the bustling expanse of the casino itself. Soon, both were lost among the bright lights and clamour of activity.
"Great," Jirel sighed, his false veneer of charm entirely dissipating in an instant, "I really lucked out with you for a wingman, didn't I, Tudra?"
Tudra Napor, the casino's ill-tempered bar manager, fixed the Trill with a redoubtably angry glare. "You're not here to get laid, Jirel. You're here to work your ass off. People come here to drink and to gamble. And the more they do of the former, the more they do of the latter."
He jabbed his thumb back down the bar in the direction of the waiting customers.
After a tactical pause, just long enough to convey a message to Tudra that he wasn't about to instantly snap to action whenever he ordered him to, Jirel slowly slouched off. He only got a few steps before he felt Tudra's hand grab his arm, forcing him to turn back to the Bajoran with some irritation.
"You know," Tudra muttered, "I used to be like you."
"Terrifying thought," Jirel offered back sarcastically.
Tudra shook his head and smirked back, bereft of warmth. "Yeah. I see it in you all the time. Brash, cocky, full of myself. And the worst part was how I thought I was better than everyone else, above everyone around me. Until someone decided to teach me that I wasn't. And I never forgot that lesson."
To emphasise his point, he ran his free hand down the scars across his face.
Jirel forced himself to maintain an expressionless stare, despite the internal flinch that the gesture caused inside him.
"So," Tudra concluded, "Just serve the goddamn customers, ok?"
He shoved Jirel's arm away, and after an extra sullen pause, the Trill reluctantly headed off to the line of thirsty customers.
He was only a few more orders in when another familiar voice sounded out from the crowd.
"I think I've figured you out, Jirel."
The Trill finished pouring a frothy mug of ale for a stout Rigellian and glanced over in the direction of the latest unwelcome distraction. "Not now, R'Asc."
He hadn't seen his Kobheerian roommate since their paths crossed in their apartment the previous day. He had slouched back home in the early hours of the morning, and by the time he had woken up, R'Asc had already headed off to work. But now he was here, leaning casually over the bar, and apparently as oblivious to Jirel's lack of desire to have a conversation right now as he was about Jirel's regular lack of desire to eat his breakfasts.
"See," R'Asc continued, "I've been looking at you all wrong. I was studying you like I study most people around here. Trying to figure out why you were trying to escape from Mivara II. But that's not what you're doing."
The Trill ignored the Kobheerian as best he could as he presented a rotund Berellian and his wife with their requested beverages and grimaced slightly at the lack of a tip.
"No. You're not trying to escape from here. You came here to escape from something else."
Jirel paused midway through preparing another cocktail, feeling a whole host of feelings and regrets welling up inside. Forcing them all back down, he shot an angry look across the bar.
"Ah," R'Asc nodded with satisfaction, "I'm right, aren't I?"
"What the hell do you want, anyway?" Jirel fired back, clumsily sidestepping the question, "I told you yesterday, I'm not giving you any latinum."
"No need. I'm here to order one of your finest Kobheerian spice ales, and then I'm off to hit that Dabo table. Found myself some extra funds without your help."
Jirel eyed him suspiciously as he poured the ale. "From where?" he had to ask.
R'Asc's scaly face widened into an enigmatic grin as he paid for the drink and took the glass. "Let's just say I had a visit from…oh, what was that stupid old Earth character you were telling me about? Ah, yes. From Santa Claus."
"R'Asc," Jirel began with a sigh, "Don't do—"
Before he could finish his plea, the Kobheerian was already on his way to the Dabo tables in the main pit of the casino.
"—Anything stupid."
Jirel sighed and shook his head. He considered heading after him. To wrest a portion of the rent money he was owed from this new-found stash before it all vanished, if nothing else. He also wondered exactly where R'Asc had got the extra money from in the first place. Knowing that there were plenty of loan sharks around Mivara II.
But before he could start to worry, something caught his eye at the other end of the bar. A female Ktarian slid onto a bar stool and waited to be served. Her head was topped with long flowing locks of red hair.
And Jirel remembered who he was these days.
And so he stopped worrying, and started off down the bar, a false smile painted back onto his face.
'*'*'
'*'*'
Once, many years ago, when he had been a young lieutenant in the Klingon Defence Force, Klath had served aboard the battlecruiser IKS QajunpaQ.
During a skirmish with a Tholian battle wing in the Kordan Cluster, the QajunpaQ had been severely damaged and boarded by raiding squads after its warp core had overloaded. Klath had left his post at secondary torpedo control, fought his way through a dozen armed Tholians, before braving the radiation from the core to bypass the damaged relays and bring main power back online.
With the Tholian fleet having let their guard down after crippling the QajunpaQ, Captain Mekvar was able to launch a surprise counterattack using the ship's main battery, destroying two enemy vessels and causing the remainder to flee.
While Klath was initially fiercely criticised by Captain Mekvar for leaving his post at battle alert, his actions resulted in him receiving a commendation from Chancellor K'mpec himself and a promotion to full commander. Even though he was now a discommended exile, likely never to return to his people, Klath still felt a rush of pride whenever he recalled that day.
And now, a decade later, here he was. Planting flowers in a garden.
The formerly decorated officer of the Klingon Defence Force stood next to Denella and Sarina, holding eight small seeds in his hand that had been carefully harvested by Sarina from the Orpheus IV flower that Denella had brought with her.
The two Orion women were kneeling down next to an empty space in the spokes of the garden's flower beds, with a portable soil sampler next to them.
Klath waited patiently to be called on, and silently pictured the moment he had plunged his bat'leth straight through the neck of a Tholian soldier's pressure suit.
"You see," Sarina explained to Denella as she tapped the controls of the sampler, "This is the mineral composition of the soil the flower was growing in, and this is what I've put together from the nutrients I have available. It's not an exact match, but…I hope it'll be good enough."
Denella stared down at the readings on the screen of the unit, doing her best impression of someone who was entirely clear on what she was looking at. If it had been a warp core power curve, or a tricorder reading from a faulty power relay, she would have been right at home. But the spectroscopic analysis that was being presented was just a jumble of incomprehensible data.
Still, she endeavoured to offer a supportive expression to her childhood friend, amazed at how deeply she had studied this craft. And, whether she understood the exact cultivation process or not, she was definitely desperate to see it work.
"I see," she managed.
Klath couldn't see the readings from where he stood, nor was he really all that interested in what they said. But from his silent vigil, he had noted something about Sarina. He wasn't always the fastest at picking up on body language, but even to him, the younger Orion seemed distracted.
"So," Sarina added, as she began to use a small tool to hollow out eight carefully-spaced holes in the soil, "Let's just hope for the best."
Denella picked up on something in the tone of her friend's voice and looked over at her. "You sound a bit uncertain?"
Despite the gentle tone of the question, Sarina flinched slightly and avoided making eye contact, keeping her focus on her work in the soil instead.
"I…do hope they grow," she whispered, "For your sake, Denella. But…"
She paused in the middle of hollowing out hole number six, and finally looked over at her friend with a distinctly sad expression.
"You want them to grow to remind you of Orpheus IV. Of home. I guess you still have a lot of happy memories. But, when I think about that, I just remember…"
She paused, suppressing something that, despite her stronger outward appearance, still remained somewhere deep inside her.
Denella put her hand on her shoulder for support. She didn't need to hear the full details. She knew.
She remembered when the Syndicate had arrived on Orpheus IV. When she and Sarina, along with hundreds of other Orions, were rounded up and taken away. How countless more had been killed as the entire colony had been razed. She remembered how she and Sarina had both ended up in the possession of a particularly cruel Syndicate slaver called Rilen Dar.
And she remembered how much more she was still suppressing, deep inside of her.
She had rescued Sarina from Dar nearly a year ago. And in the process had gained revenge on him by killing him and destroying his entire operation to boot. But despite the catharsis of that moment, she knew she still wasn't entirely rid of the scars that the Syndicate had left behind. She was reminded of them when she even thought about replying to the messages from Juna Erami, back on the Bounty.
And she also felt fresh guilt somewhere inside whenever she looked at Sarina. She had always promised to look after the younger Orion, right back to when they were infants.
But she hadn't been able to protect her from the Syndicate.
"I guess," Sarina continued, "When I smell the scent of that flower, I just remember the bad times, not the good times…"
Denella felt the tears rising inside of her. But she held them back, for both of them. She put her arm around her friend, but struggled to find the words to say.
Unexpectedly, the words came from a different source, as Klath crouched down next to them and held out his burly hand, revealing the eight tiny seeds in his palm.
"There is an old Klingon saying. In defeat, a warrior should never think of his past glories, but of his next victory."
The two Orions looked over at the Klingon, who gestured to the seeds with a nod.
"Perhaps…this act will enable you to associate the scent with some fresh, good memories."
Denella mustered a thankful smile at the Bounty's least likely therapist, as Sarina looked at Klath and nodded in understanding. She gently took the seeds from his hand and deftly placed one in each of the shallow holes she had made in the soil.
"It still might not work," she pointed out with an air of pessimism, "But we should hopefully see some shoots growing in the next couple of days.
"You have…given them a fighting chance," Klath, the equally unlikely botanist, offered.
Sarina smiled back at the Klingon as she carefully moved the soil back over each seed and watered them with a small metal device. "I hope so," she nodded, "Besides, I think it would be a nice gift for me to leave the colony with."
At this, Denella looked confused. "What do you mean, 'leave the colony'?"
"Oh," Sarina replied quickly, "Sorry, I hope I'm not being presumptuous. But…I've decided, I want to come with you, Denella. On the Bounty."
She returned her attention to watering the seeds, as Denella stared blankly back at her childhood friend, who seemed entirely content with that statement.
And for the second time in the short conversation, she was at a loss for words.
'*'*'
'*'*'
On the other side of the Corvin III complex, Natasha stood at the top of a raised platform next to the landing pad.
The Bounty remained parked behind her, next to a trio of small support craft assigned to the Betazoid facility. Each one was a sleek design, dwarfed by the Bounty, but slightly larger than a standard Starfleet runabout.
The platform was positioned on the edge of the hilltop where the facility was located, affording a stunning view into the valley below. The green landscape that plunged away underneath her was studded by scattered buildings here and there. The Corvin III colony had elected to spread itself through the natural beauty of the planet, rather than removing a wider expanse of vegetation for a larger habitable area.
And as Natasha gazed down on the peaceful splendour of the sight below, she silently thanked whichever of the first colonists had chosen that design strategy. There was something innately relaxing about the scene. She closed her eyes and felt the gentle breeze blowing across her face, carrying crisp, fresh air right to her.
And yet, she wasn't quite able to relax.
When she had suggested the idea of some R&R to Denella, she had to admit that she had something of an ulterior motive. As overworked and in need of a break as the Bounty's new de facto captain was, she was feeling just as bad. And she was as eager to try and relax as much as anyone.
Physician, heal thyself.
She didn't feel as though the fatigue was coming from any one issue. More that it was a build up of multiple different factors.
The loss of Maya Ortega in her medical bay. The subsequent, entirely sudden disappearance of Jirel. The recent out-of-character message from Admiral Bryce Jenner, Jirel's adoptive father back in Starfleet, specifically requesting that she update him on their situation.
And on top of that, she knew that she was still weighed down by an extra slab of guilt inside her. About Daniel Cartwright. The mortally wounded young ensign she had left behind on the doomed USS Navajo.
She had sent a letter to his surviving family some months ago, to try and offer some sort of closure about his death. But while that act had at least appeased her sense of guilt to an extent, it had never truly erased it.
And she had never received a reply.
"It's a beautiful view, isn't it?"
Natasha opened her eyes with a start to see Palia Rani standing a short distance away from her on the platform, gazing out into the valley.
"My apologies," she smiled, "I didn't mean to startle you."
"No, I—You didn't," Natasha managed to lie, doing her best to suppress any strong thoughts or feelings despite what she knew about Betazoid ethics.
Palia's calming demeanour was in stark contrast to her flustered moment, but somehow the sense of tranquillity that the Betazoid woman was giving off seemed to calm her.
"The original colonists who first moved here called it Loneel Valley, after the region on Betazed. But, after a public vote three years ago, we changed it to Serenity Valley. Seemed more fitting, don't you think?"
Natasha looked back down at the view and nodded. "From up here, it looks so sparsely populated," she observed.
"This region is," Palia nodded, "There are larger conurbations elsewhere. But many of the first settlers came seeking peace and solitude. So many of them opted to build homes out here. Close enough to feel a sense of community, but far enough apart to gain a measure of isolation. For Betazoids, being alone with one's thoughts is…a rare pleasure."
"I can imagine," Natasha nodded again, still struggling to undo the fresh knot that had developed between her shoulder blades as she tensed up in the presence of the telepath.
Peace and solitude, she found herself thinking. Chance would be a fine thing.
Palia took a slow and entirely unthreatening step towards her, and Natasha found herself fighting off the urge to mirror that move with a step back. As if she could somehow keep out of range of her abilities like that.
"If I'm not intruding too much," the Betazoid offered, "May I ask a question?"
A significant part of her wanted to say no. But Natasha reluctantly realised that if she really wanted to block herself off, she would have stayed in bed. As Sunek appeared to have done today.
"Of course," she replied, not liking where this was going.
"As I told you yesterday, we do not probe thoughts without consent. But we do get a general sense of another person from the emotional cues they give off. And, please don't take this the wrong way, but ever since you arrived, we have sensed how…troubled you all feel."
Natasha forced herself to focus back on the view in front of her, willing some measure of serenity to come from the aptly-named valley below.
"I don't mean to pry," Palia continued in her ever-affable way, "But it would be remiss of me, given my profession and abilities, not to at least offer you the chance to talk about it. If you want to…let me in."
Still feeling no different, and idly wondering if she could sue the colonists who voted for the name change for false advertising, Natasha mustered her friendliest smile and glanced back to the kindly Betazoid, deciding to at least give her a sliver of the truth.
"That's a very generous offer. But I don't think that'll be necessary. We…lost someone recently, but we're getting through it. Just being here is helping."
She offered the lie out of hope more than anything. She couldn't speak for the others, but she was still feeling some record low levels of serenity. Still, whether the telepath picked up on her minor untruth, and she was sure she did on some level, Palia seemed to accept the answer.
"If that is your wish, I will of course respect it," she nodded, "But, should you change your mind, I would be available again this evening. After my day's lessons."
"Lessons?" Natasha asked, teacher to divert the conversation elsewhere.
"Yes, We have had a number of new helpers join us just recently. We're very grateful for the additional help, but we also need to make sure they are appropriately trained. Fortunately, Lyssa and the others are very fast learners."
Something deep in Natasha's Starfleet-trained brain was further piqued by that comment. Back then, before she had ended up in the more agricultural world of the Bounty, she was just like all Academy graduates. Eager to find mysteries. And answers to those mysteries.
"Lyssa and which others?"
Palia seemed a little puzzled at this sudden line of questioning from the visitor, but she calmly responded nonetheless. "Azaria, Jenna, a few more of the younger helpers. They arrived here on a transport from another Betazoid colony out in the Rasmis sector."
Natasha considered that list of names. Names that just happened to belong to the group of women that had been showing Sunek an unexpected level of interest at the dinner table the night before.
Granted, Sunek's bizarre irresistibility to a sizable portion of the female population of Corvin III wasn't exactly the sort of vast cosmological mystery that her Starfleet brain had been trained to deal with. But at this point, to distract herself if nothing else, she was taking what she could get.
"Is there a problem?" Palia pressed lightly.
"No," Natasha smiled back, "No problem. I won't keep you from your lessons. But…I might have some more things to talk to you about later, if that's ok?"
"Of course," Palia nodded.
With that, the senior helper turned and walked back towards the main complex, literally leaving Natasha alone with her thoughts. She considered the odd scenes at the dinner table the night before, and the information that Palia had just offered, as she looked back out at the serene view in front of her.
It was probably nothing.
Maybe she had just misinterpreted the situation. Maybe the women were just being friendly, in that innately Betazoid manner that often came across as flirtation. Maybe she was just in the minority of women in the Alpha Quadrant who found Sunek intensely irritating, rather than innately desirable.
But she couldn't shake a nagging thought in her Starfleet-trained brain. A thought that told her not to accept anything at face value, and to do some more digging. The universe was rarely that straightforward.
And whether there was anything to it or not, it would at least be a short-term distraction from her own internal strife.
So she considered the list of names, and their apparent origin from the Rasmis sector, and wondered how she might do some more digging.
Then, she realised that she had a potential way in. And she walked off in search of Sarina.
Leaving serenity behind.
'*'*'
'*'*'
Jirel slammed the shot back with practised ease and smacked the glass back onto the bar. At the same time, his Ktarian drinking companion followed suit with her own shot, placing her own glass back down with a little more care.
"Mmm," the red-haired woman purred at him, "Too many more of these and I might start losing my inhibitions, Mr Vincent."
"Well," the Trill replied, reaching for another bottle and pouring two more shots, "We'd really hate for that to happen, wouldn't we?"
Jirel's false smile was very much back. But it was being matched by the Ktarian. Both parties were the epitome of insincerity as they lazily flirted across the bar. And Jirel was fine with it. It was all part of his routine. The women, the fake flirting, the shots, and the hangovers. This was just who he was now. This was his punishment.
Whatever he was punishing himself for.
He ignored all of that, and focused on pouring the shots and keeping his false smile raised. And continued the routine.
Just as the Ktarian accepted the latest drink without further complaint, Jirel spotted something out of the corner of his eye. A grumpy, scarred Bajoran approaching him.
"Hold that thought," he offered to the Ktarian as he finished pouring their drinks, "I'll be right back. And that one's on the house."
The Ktarian woman's false smile widened slightly, as Jirel turned away and prepared for another admonishment from his boss.
"Jirel," Tudra grunted as he reached him.
"I know, I know," Jirel began with a sigh, "But the bar's pretty quiet right now, and I'm just being friendly—"
"Not that," the Bajoran cut him off, "But isn't that your friend over there?"
Jirel patiently followed where the Bajoran was pointing, and saw the unmistakable sight of R'Asc over by one of the Dabo tables.
"He's not my friend. But he is over there. Thank you for conveying that incredibly important piece of information to me."
With that, he started to turn back to the waiting Ktarian. But Tudra quickly stopped him by grabbing his arm.
"You should tell him to be careful."
"You don't think I've tried? The guy was probably born on a Dabo table—"
"Not the table," Tudra cut in again, "The company he's keeping at the table."
Jirel sighed again and looked closer at the scene across the room. He saw that R'Asc did indeed have some company with him this evening.
The Kobheerian was standing by one of the Dabo tables. To his side, a portly Cardassian in a black suit had his arm around his shoulder. It was a gesture that usually appeared friendly, but here seemed to carry a menacing undertone. Like the Cardassian was keeping R'Asc pulled in close. The air of menace was backed up by the visible duo of goons hanging a short distance back from the pair of them, making no attempt to blend in with the rest of the casino's patrons.
Jirel was unsurprised, but still unhappy to see that one of the goons was a Nausicaan.
Still, while his roommate didn't seem to be spending time with this Cardassian entirely voluntarily, the Trill also wasn't all that interested in what he was seeing.
He didn't help people these days, after all.
"So he's being sociable," he shrugged, "Good for him."
Again he made a move back towards his drinking companion, and again Tudra stopped him.
"That Cardassian he's with is called Jevik," the grizzled Bajoran hissed, "If you believe the rumours, he's a former agent from the old Obsidian Order. And right now, he's Mivara II's most successful loan shark."
Jirel glanced back at the scene across the casino floor, now re-assessing R'Asc's situation based on this new information. There was now little reason to try and judge the scene as anything other than threatening. The close quarters discussion between R'Asc and Jevik. The goons in the background. Clearly, the Kobheerian wasn't just being sociable.
He recalled the comment that R'Asc had made earlier about his new funds, and he began to suspect that it hadn't been Santa Claus that had paid him a visit.
"He's been making some big bets all night, by all accounts," Tudra continued, "And if Jevik is the one funding all of it, then your friend is getting in way over his head. He works down at the repair yards, right? That's not gonna cover a loan from that spoonhead over there."
The Bajoran had no way of knowing, but the Jirel of the past would have instantly leapt into action over all of this. Likely he'd have raced across the casino to try and talk R'Asc out of whatever mess he'd gotten himself into. And then he'd have embraced the inevitable brawl that would have followed when that didn't work with both fists gleefully raised.
But Jirel knew that he had left that version of himself behind a long time ago. Somewhere in Sector 374. Back with his old friends, and his old ship. So, despite everything that Tudra had just told him, he mustered up nothing more than a casual shrug of his shoulders.
"R'Asc is a big boy. I'm sure he knows what he's doing."
"And if he doesn't?"
"Then," Jirel responded coldly, "I guess I'll be looking for a new roommate."
Tudra studied the Trill's features. Even the well-travelled Bajoran found that he was a little surprised at the lack of emotion on display. "Huh," he grunted eventually, "Guess I was wrong. That guy over there mustn't be your friend after all."
On that deliberately pointed note, the grey-haired Bajoran slouched off in the direction of the bar area's back office.
Jirel stifled a grimace as soon as he was out of sight. He felt the need to help being kindled somewhere inside of him, despite everything he had changed about himself. Whatever mess R'Asc had gotten himself into, he knew he should at least try to help him out.
But he suppressed that thought almost as soon as it had appeared. And he turned away from the scene at the Dabo table, back to the waiting Ktarian woman at the end of the bar.
With practised ease, he re-affixed his best false smile to his face and walked back over to her, leaving his roommate to deal with his own problems.
"So," he said as he reached her, picking up the half-empty bottle of liquor and topping up her shot glass, "Where were we…"
'*'*'
'*'*'
Knock, knock.
"Go away!"
Sunek sighed and scrunched up his face even more in a vain attempt to focus on returning to his previous meditative state. Truth be told, that state wasn't helping him find any peace. But at least he had someone to talk to in there.
Even if it was himself.
He was still yet to leave his cabin for the day, having kept the door securely locked as he had slept.
At night, at least, the knocking on the door had stopped. He assumed that, if the stormcloud had been right, and it represented some obtuse way of one of the Betazoids trying to invite themselves into his mind, that it made sense that it had stopped while they too had slept.
Knock, knock.
But since he had woken up again, it had started again. In earnest.
Giving up on his meditation attempts, he flopped back down onto his bed and grabbed a salted snack from the open bag to his side. Hiding away in his cabin meant that he was cut off from the Bounty's only replicator, over in the ship's dining area. So he had been raiding his stash of snacks hidden around his cabin pretty hard all day so far.
As he crunched the snack, he leaned back and stared up at the ceiling. Inside him, he could feel all manner of confused emotions sloshing around. Some good and some not so good.
He was used to a certain amount of emotional turmoil. That was all part of what he had signed up for with the V'tosh ka'tur after all. But ever since the events of Sector 374, it had definitely been getting more chaotic.
And now he couldn't even meditate to try and control it.
Knock, knock.
He groaned in frustration and sat back up, not even sure what he was supposed to do now. Could he really spend the rest of the Bounty's time here locked away in his cabin? Denella had been talking about staying here for a week or more.
Definitely don't have the snacks for that, he admitted ruefully.
He considered trying to meditate again. Even a few confusing hours spent onboard a fake sailing ship with a talking cloud for company would at least pass some time.
He sighed. He felt lost.
Then he felt something else. He felt hungry. Despite, or more likely because of the nutritionally deficient feast of snacks he had been picking at since he had woken up, he suddenly had an intense craving for a bowl of plomeek soup with a side of fresh saffir bread.
In an instant, all his other worries, from the stormcloud, to the metaphorical knocking on the metaphorical door, to the ever-present emotional cacophony inside him, all paled in comparison to the upsetting fact that he didn't have a bowl of plomeek soup with a side of fresh saffir bread.
For some reason, he suddenly felt as though he would happily hand his own parents over to the Borg Collective if it would get him a bowl of plomeek soup with a side of fresh saffir bread in return.
But the only realistic way he was going to get a bowl of plomeek soup with a side of fresh saffir bread right now was if he left his cabin and made it to the Bounty's replicator.
Silently cursing himself for not thinking to at least add a packet of powdered plomeek soup and a portable water heater to his stash of cabin-based snacks, he got up from the bed and crept over to the door on his tip-toes, moving as if there was a sleeping fanged sehlat on the other side of the room that he didn't want to risk disturbing.
Knock, knock.
That was just in my mind, Sunek affirmed to himself. There's nobody actually there.
He gently put his ear to the door and used his attuned Vulcan hearing to try and sense what was on the other side. At the same time, he cursed the fact that the designers of the Ju'Day-type raider, some thirty or more years ago, hadn't thought to install a direct link to the ship's internal sensors inside every passenger cabin. After a few moments, he was satisfied there was nothing but silence outside, save for the various background hums of the Bounty's regular operations.
He unlocked the cabin door and stepped through. Bracing himself for the worst.
But the corridor was indeed empty.
He peered out, nervously looking left and right down the entirely empty main corridor, then hotfooted it over to the dining area, rushing through the doors and over to the replicator.
Seconds later, a distinctly more satisfied Sunek tip-toed back to his cabin door, clutching a tray laden down with a huge bowl of plomeek soup with a side of fresh saffir bread. He barely bothered to check that the corridor was indeed still empty.
He almost dropped the tray when he heard the voice call out.
"Sunek? That you?"
He regained a firm grip on the tray and sighed in relief. It was just Natasha. Her voice came drifting down the corridor from the Bounty's cargo bay at the rear of the parked ship.
"Yeah, it's me," he called back, "Just in the middle of something, actually—"
"Can you come here for a sec? I need you to take a look at this."
Sunek looked longingly down at the repast on his tray, and then reluctantly back down the corridor. "Can it wait?"
"Not really. I've been getting a bit worried about something here at the centre, and I need your help to do a bit of research."
"Right now?"
"It'll only take a minute," the Bounty's medic insisted.
After another glance at the feast in front of him, Sunek sighed and walked down towards the cargo bay, tray of food still in his hands. "Fine," he griped, "But if my soup goes cold, I'm gonna—"
He stopped in his tracks as he reached the cargo bay. He couldn't see Natasha anywhere.
"Hey, um, doc?" he offered, a little wary all of a sudden, "Don't really wanna spend time playing hide and seek, y'know?"
As he peered around the expanse of the Bounty's mostly-empty cargo bay, the rear ramp still deployed to allow access, a nagging thought suddenly struck him.
Why would Natasha be doing research in the Bounty's cargo bay?
He had no time to spend on wishing that nagging thought had come to him before he had entered the bay, because then he heard a noise behind him. He whirled around to see Lyssa stepping out of the shadows, flanked by Jenna and three other equally dark-eyed Betazoid women.
"Oh. Um. Hi there, ladies," he managed, his voice cracking slightly.
The five women took a step towards him in unison, all of them staring intently at him and smiling unnervingly.
Knock, knock.
"Hello, Mr Sunek," Lyssa replied, her tone landing in a singularly unsettling position somewhere between seductive and menacing, "Won't you let us in?"
"Actually, just Sunek is fine—"
The first thing he knew of Azaria standing behind him was the impact of something solid on the back of his head.
That was also the last thing he knew about anything that was happening right then in the Bounty's cargo bay.
A bowl of plomeek soup with a side of fresh saffir bread clattered to the deck.
Followed by the unconscious form of Sunek.