“Shran has already made it abundantly clear that he intends to come along with any landing party we dispatch to the surface,” T’Pol said as Archer passed.

He stopped in the open turbolift entrance for a moment, considering. “All right, T’Pol,” he said finally. “Shran can come along. I suppose he’d be pretty hard for the rest of you to live with if I were to leave him here. But Theras is definitely staying aboard Enterprise.”

T’Pol raised an eyebrow. “I’m certain that Shran will be quite pleased by bothof those decisions, Captain,” she said just before the turbolift doors closed.

“Captain, are you certain it’s wise to bring Shran along on this mission?” Malcolm asked as the turbolift began its descent toward D deck, where the transporter was located. “If you don’t mind my saying so, I’ve always found him rather lacking in…restraint.”

“Really, Malcolm. I hadn’t noticed.”

Malcolm continued, ignoring Archer’s jest. “And he’s been particularly touchy since he first brought this Orion slaver business to our attention.”

“I suppose I’ll have to take him aside before we beam down and give him a gentle lecture on restraint,” Archer said.

“Good idea, sir. I’d also recommend taking along a third MACO.”

“Why?”

Malcolm grinned sheepishly. “Just in case Shran needs a little additional babysitting.”

The landing party materialized in near darkness, standing in a tight, back‑to‑back circle. Archer’s eyes weren’t yet adjusted to the dim light, but he could feel the penetrating cold of the trade complex’s poorer quarters immediately. He could see the flicker of the fires that Rigel X’s homeless, hopeless transients were burning to cook their meals, or perhaps merely to stay warm. He could smell the pungent mixture of smoke and sweat, despair and greed that swirled in the chill air. He could feel the harsh solidity of the metal floor beneath his boots. And in the middle distance, he could hear the roar of a crowd, punctuated by the fast, terse vocalizations of a humanoid speaking into a public address system of some sort, announcing what sounded like quantities and prices in various alien currencies.

Archer ordered the team to move out, taking the point while a pair of MACO troopers–their company leader, the petite and dark‑haired Sergeant Fiona McKenzie, and the eagle‑eyed Corporal Hideaki Chang–flanked him, their phase pistols holstered to avoid provoking anyone, yet still within easy reach. Reed, Shran, and the remaining MACO, a small, wiry, shaved‑headed corporal named David McCammon, watched the rear as the group moved quickly through a twisting maze of causeways, alleys, and ramshackle galleries, toward the source of the sounds.

Although Archer had visited this trading facility before, what he saw when the team finally reached the large, crowded gallery‑cum‑amphitheater truly shocked him.

Of course, it wasn’t as though he’d never seen a slave auction before. Nine months earlier, T’Pol and several other members of his crew had briefly become trapped in just the sort of nightmare that now lay spread before him. Now as then, helpless, shackled people of every imaginable species, and members of more than a few he didn’t recognize, were being herded by armed, green‑skinned overseers toward a raised dais, where a large, bejeweled, and lightly armored Orion male vended his wares to an equally diverse group of much more finely attired sentients. These obviously well‑heeled buyers probably originated from points all over known space, if not from considerably beyond as well.

As his team insinuated itself close enough to the stage to get a clear look at the seemingly endless pageant of chained and nearly naked flesh from countless worlds, the fact that there were no humans among the captives being sold gave Archer only cold comfort. After all, no species had a monopoly on fear; in Archer’s experience, all sentient beings experienced that emotion in pretty much the same way. The stage presently abounded with ample evidence that fear was as universal as life was cheap.

At least in places like this, where those who thought that their wealth entitled them to purchase peopleseemed to be as common as hydrogen.

“There are no Aenar here, Captain,” said Shran, who was standing at Archer’s left. He, too, was studying the stage intently. Archer could see that the Andorian was as disgusted as he was by the flesh market before them.

“I haven’t seen any, either,” Archer said. The two men had to shout to hear one another over the all‑enveloping white noise made by the bidding crowd around them.

Malcolm, who had sidled up to Archer’s immediate right, consulted the scanning device in his hand. “Even at close range, I’ve found no Aenar life signs so far.”

“Perhaps they’re being sold at another slave market elsewhere on the planet,” said Shran.

“Look at the size of this operation, Shran,” Archer said. “Do you think there could be another market here capable of competing with this? Besides, Rigel X only has onecentral trade complex.”

“It’s one too many, if you ask me,” Reed said. His face was a study in distaste.

“I can certainly agree with you on that, pinkskin,” Shran said.

“My guess,” said Archer, trying to keep the team focused, “is that the slave ship we tracked here made a wholesale transfer of all the captured Aenar onto a second ship.”

“Makes sense,” Reed said. “They could have bypassed the auction block altogether if they already had a single buyer lined up.”

A buyer like the Romulan military,Archer thought with a chill.

Shran’s antennae flattened against his scalp in a clear display of anger and frustration. “If that’s true, then we’re not leaving this planet until I find out where that slave ship is now, and exactlywhat became of its…cargo.”

“Someone in charge of logistics around here would have to be able to shed some light on the matter,” Reed said.

“Then let’s not waste any more time,” Archer said, motioning to Sergeant McKenzie that it was time for the landing party to move on. Chang and McCammon immediately took up protective positions on the team’s flank as Archer directed it away from the densest section of the roiling crowd of slave bidders.

Archer stopped when he noticed that Shran was hanging back, and motioned the others to halt as he wended through a small cluster of buyers, making his way back to Shran’s side.

“Come on, Shran,” Archer said, shouting almost directly into Shran’s ear to make himself heard. “We can’t stay here.”

“We can’t let an abomination like this continue, either,” said the Andorian, a faraway, almost fanatical look in his icy blue eyes.

Although he could certainly sympathize, Archer didn’t like what he was seeing and hearing. “Remember the little chat about restraint we had earlier, Shran?”

“No one should be treated this way,” Shran said. He either hadn’t heard Archer’s words or had chosen to ignore them.

Archer noted that the Andorian’s hand was on the holster of the phase pistol that Malcolm had issued him.

He placed a restraining hand on Shran’s arm. The Andorian stiffened, but made no move either to shake Archer off or to draw his weapon.

“Shran, this thing bothers me as much as it bothers you,” he said. “I’d love nothing better right now than to shoot this place up and set all these people free. Hell, if I’d seen this the lasttime I came here, I might have actually doneit.”

Shran looked at him, his eyes flashing with passionate outrage. He shrugged off Archer’s hand and drew his weapon. Fortunately, no one in the crowd showed any sign of having noticed it, probably because of the obscuring folds of the Andorian’s field jacket.

“Shran, suppose you dofree them all instead of just getting us all killed,” Archer said in mounting desperation. “What do you think will happen to these people afterward?”