“Not that we expect to actually perform the latercarving,” MoulMa’s said, his voice distorted. “Our work today will be utterly flawless and discreet, of course, as compelled by our agreement with your superiors. But we expect that the two of you will never return once you pass the borders of the Romulan Star Empire.”

Too groggy to be alarmed, or even to comprehend what he’d just heard, Trip felt himself sinking into darkness. In his last moments of consciousness, he reverted almost reflexively to the prayers he had learned as a child.

Nineteen

Monday, February 17, 2155

Rigel X

THE HUGE MALE ORION the team had waylaid wore a uniform that marked him as a fairly high‑ranking logistics clerk, an Orion Syndicate underling charged with responsibility for many of the comings and goings of captives as they wended their way through the slave market’s complex and circuitous vending process.

Among the things Shran expected this man to know were the comings and goings of the many ships that picked up and delivered the market’s countless sentient cargoes.

Luckily enough, the fellow hadn’t raised a hue and cry when Shran, flanked by Captain Archer and Lieutenant Reed, had confronted him while a trio of MACOs cut off any possible avenue of escape. The team had caught the Orion walking alone through a darkened and empty side passage, and gently “encouraged” him–with the muzzles of their energy weapons–to enter a small nearby storeroom that both Shran and Archer had already agreed would be ideal for conducting interviews with some of the less forthcoming locals.

Once the team had escorted the Orion into the poorly illuminated and ventilated room, safely out of sight of the slave market’s roving security troopers, Archer and Reed began inquiring about the present whereabouts of the ship that had recently come to Rigel X to take custody of a large contingent of Aenar captives.

The Orion had only laughed. After repeated questioning, and after several suggestions that the human soldiers might soon take stern measures to loosen the clerk’s tongue, he actually spatat Archer. Again, the greenskin laughed.

Because heknows where that ship is,Shran thought, fuming in silence. So far, he had bowed to Archer’s earlier insistence that his participation in this mission was to be contingent upon his, Shran’s, restraint.

But now he could restrain himself no longer. The Orion’s intransigence, along with his dismissive laughter, sparked an icy blue rage within Shran’s breast, a passion so intense that he could think of nothing other than beating the man to a bloody, senseless green pulp.

The fact that the Orion was nearly twice Shran’s size mattered to him not at all.

Shran charged, hitting the Orion hard in his thick midsection, knocking the flabbergasted slaver onto his back, slamming him to the concrete floor with a nearly bone‑shattering impact. Shran landed on top of the supine Orion, wedging a knee tightly into the hollow of the big man’s throat while pressing down with all his weight.

“You know where the ship carrying the Aenar was headed,” Shran snarled into the Orion’s face, his uneven antennae lashing forward like a pair of hungry vipers. “Now you’re going to shareyour knowledge.”

The Orion coughed and sputtered as he grabbed for Shran’s throat with his huge, spatulate hands. The Andorian slammed both of his fists into the other man’s face in quick succession, and the large green hands faltered.

“Shran.” Archer’s voice, behind him, urgent. Shran ignored it and continued bearing down on the slaver’s throat.

“Talk to me!” Shran said. He pummeled the Orion again, left‑right‑left.

“Shran!” Lieutenant Reed this time.

Shran felt hands grabbing him roughly, two pairs of arms on either side of him. He turned, snarling, and saw that the intrusive arms and hands belonged to Archer and Reed. They dragged him off the stunned Orion, around whom now stood the three MACOs, their weapons poised to counter any surprise move the slaver might make.

Shran didn’t think the Orion would be doing a lot of moving in the foreseeable future, however. But he believed that the green giant was probably still able to speak.

“Release me, pinkskins!” Shran bellowed, shaking off Reed and spinning toward Archer, who did indeed release him. Archer stood his ground, facing Shran–who had instinctively adopted a half‑crouching combat stance, without showing any trace of fear.

“Why did you interrupt my interrogation?” Shran demanded.

“Interrogation?” Archer said, his expression one of incredulousness. “It looked more like an attempted grudge killing to me. We can’t learn anything from dead men, Shran.”

“When yourloved ones are those whose lives hang in the balance, I’ll play by your rules.”

“Shran, when you’re part of mylanding party, you’ll play by myrules. Regardlessof whose lives hang in the balance. Now stand down, before you force me to take off your otherantenna.”

Why did he have to bringthat up?Shran thought, his rage now almost entirely redirected from the greenskin to the pinkskin. The still incompletely healed stump of his left antenna throbbed to the beat of his racing pulse.

“I’ve already been down this path a time or two myself, Shran, during the Xindi crisis,” Archer said. “All it ever got me was blood on my hands, and stains on my conscience.”

“Until Jhamel is safely returned to me, a conscience is a luxury I can’t afford.”

“Can you imagine what Jhamelwould have to say about that?”

Shran didimagine it then, and his cheeks burned with sudden shame. As suddenly as the fury had come upon him, it dissipated.

He stood staring at Archer, abashed.

“So, what’s youridea for making him cooperate with us?” Shran said at length. “Do we prepare him dinner?”

Archer smiled that cursedly reasonable smile of his. “Let’s start by asking him a few more polite questions.”

“Polite. Wonderful. This should be veryenlightening.”

Shran took a step back, allowing Archer to approach the man who lay sprawled and in pain on the concrete floor. The Orion seemed to be whispering, trying to speak, though his swollen, bloodied lips and damaged windpipe were obviously giving him no small amount of difficulty.

“What’s he saying?” asked Reed, who stood at the captain’s side, far closer to the Orion than was Shran.

“‘Adigeon Prime,”’ said Archer. “The slavers rendezvoused with a ship bound for Adigeon Prime. Looks like the Aenar captives were to be delivered to their…buyers through an Adigeon business agent.”

“The Adigeons are nonaligned,” Reed said. “They could act as a third‑party broker between anybody and just about anybody else.”

“Including the Romulans,” Shran said, his anger stoked anew, but not yet to the point of frenzy. “Who better for the Romulans to use to cover their traces than both the Orion slavers andAdigeon Prime’s paper‑pushers?”

“Let’s get back to Enterprise,” Archer said, nodding in agreement. “We’ll head straight for Adigeon Prime, and there we can–”

Archer was interrupted by an amplified, mechanically augmented voice that rattled the storeroom’s steel‑and‑concrete walls. “Freeze right where you are!”

Shran glanced at the Orion, who was trying to sit up. Although Shran’s blows had evidently cured the clerk of his laughter, he was smiling triumphantly, his outsize white teeth smeared liberally with his own green blood. It occurred to Shran then that choosing an empty storeroom equipped with only one way in or out had been a spectacularly bad idea.

No wonder the Orion showed so little fear,he thought. He must have summoned help with a concealed transmitter of some kind.