“Throw down your weapons,”said the voice from beyond the storeroom’s closed door. “Come out of the room with your hands raised, and kneel in the outer corridor. You are in violation of Orion Syndicate Economic Protocols, and are therefore subject to immediate arrest and confiscation.”
Shran quickly took up a low defensive position along the wall beside the door, while Archer, Reed, and the dark‑clad MACOs spread out across the small room, taking cover behind the various crates and boxes. None of those objects amounted to any serious protection, though they might serve to obscure everyone’s position for the few crucial moments the team would need to effect their escape.
Archer pulled his com device from his belt and flipped its grid open. “Archer to Enterprise. Emergency beam‑out. Now.”
“Commander T’Pol here, Captain,”came the Vulcan woman’s crisp response. “Request acknowledged. Stand by for emergency beam‑out.”
“‘Confiscation,’” Shran said to Archer. “Do you understand what that means?”
He nodded. “I think so, unless something’s gone hay‑wire with our translators. Sounds like they’re looking to add to their slave inventory.”
“When aren’tthey?” Shran said.
Shran tried to adjust the setting on his phase pistol, but found that it had been locked into a stun setting. He shook his head in disgust. Coddling slavers such as these made no sense to him whatsoever. Pinkskins,he thought. I hope this Coalition they’re trying so hard to build doesn’t fall victim to their own timid natures.
“T’Pol already tried a stint as an Orion slave, Captain,” Reed said dryly. “I don’t think she enjoyed it all that much.”
“It’s not a job I’d recommend, either,” said Archer. Addressing T’Pol again through the com device, he said, “T’Pol, where’s that beam‑out I asked for?”
“Please stand by, Captain. Lieutenant Burch is presently trying to establish a positive transporter lock. However, the Orions appear to be attempting to deploy some sort of scattering field to prevent it.”
“Then tell Burch he’d better hurry it the hell up,” Archer said.
“Unless you present yourself for confiscation within the nextalik , we will use lethal force,”intoned the harsh voice from outside the storeroom.
“It would be a shame if they damaged otherwise perfectly salable stock that way,” Reed said. “Think they mean business, Captain?”
Archer shrugged. “I don’t intend to stay here long enough to find out, Malcolm.”
“Then let’s just hope we don’t discover exactly how long an ‘alik’lasts,” Reed said.
Wearying of the battlefield banter, Shran raised his weapon with one hand and held it pointed directly toward the door. With his other hand, he reached into his sash and withdrew the gleaming Ushaan‑Torblade he reserved for occasions such as this.
“If I am to be enslaved, then the slavers will purchase my servitude with large volumes of their own blood.”
“They won’t want you,” Archer said, scowling at the blade. Gesturing with his com device toward Shran’s truncated left antenna, he added, “After all, you’re still damaged goods.”
Shran’s angry response was interrupted by the roar of an explosion. The blast broke the door into several neat pieces and swiftly began to fill the room with thick, black smoke. Fortunately, the initial blast had caused no one any apparent injuries, which confirmed Shran’s belief that the Orions were more intent on capturing than on killing–at least for now.
Through the choking haze of smoke, Shran saw a pair of armed Orions dash in via the suddenly open doorway. Before Shran could fire, the pinkskin soldiers mowed them down, apparently stunning them rather than killing them outright. Though Shran was sorely tempted to finish the slavers off with his Ushaanblade, he concentrated instead on remaining vigilant for the next wave of intruders.
The hum and shimmering light of Enterprise’s transporter cheated him of even that small satisfaction. After a brief moment of disorientation, he was standing on the narrow, circular transporter stage along with the other five members of the landing party, all of whom had been begrimed at least to some degree by their close call.
Shran’s eyes swept the transporter stage while everyone else stepped off into the small corridor alcove that housed it. He approached Archer, who had walked to a com panel in the corridor to instruct his bridge crew about the ship’s new course and heading. The tension in the deck plates beneath Shran’s boots changed immediately, signaling that Enterprisewas already on its way toward Adigeon Prime.
And Jhamel.
“You should have brought along the Orion,” Shran said to Archer as he walked beside him toward the turbolift, with Reed following along behind. “In case he lied to us.”
“I don’t abduct people, Shran. I’ll leave that sort of thing to the Orions.”
“Your softness will be your undoing one day, pinkskin.”
Archer nodded. “That’s entirely possible, Shran.”
“I don’t think the Orion was lying to us,” Reed said.
Shran stopped and turned to face Reed, his antenna undulating forward in curiosity. “Why do you say that, Lieutenant?”
“Because I think you really frightened him. I’m quite certain I heard him say, ‘Keep that blue lunatic away from me’ right before he broke and told Captain Archer about Adigeon Prime. I believe on Earth the interview technique is known as ‘good cop, bad cop.”’
Or perhaps it’s ‘good captain, bad captain,’Shran thought.
The trio resumed walking, then entered the turbolift, which immediately began making its swift ascent toward the bridge. Shran beamed triumphantly at Archer. “It seems that my preferred interrogation method has been vindicated after all.”
Archer scowled, shaking his head ruefully. “No, Shran. It hasn’t. You would have killed him.”
“It would have been no less than he deserved, Captain. But I know I wouldn’t have killed him,” Shran answered with certainty. “You see, I may lack Jhamel’s kindly instincts, but I always know my limitations.”
“I saw blood in your eye, Shran. How can you be so sure you would have stopped short of killing him?”
“Because you were with me.” Shran smiled. “And I know that you would never have permitted it.”
Twenty
Tuesday, February 18, 2155
Somewhere in Romulan space
TRIP AWAKENED TO A SENSE of mounting panic.
For starters, he seemed to be blind. He struggled to get into a sitting position from the hard yet yielding surface on which he lay in the darkness, and began clawing at his eyes. He calmed slightly when he realized that they were covered with some sort of cloth or gauze.
A hand gently clasped his shoulder, and he tried to shove it away. “Easy, Commander,” a voice said. Soothing. Familiar.
Trip stopped trying to pull at whatever it was that was covering his eyes, and fell back onto his elbows. “Phuong? Where am I?” And why does my voice sound so different?
“We’re both back on the Branson,Commander,” Trip heard Phuong say. “We left Adigeon Prime a couple of hours ago. We’re already headed for Romulan space.”
“I hope that means that the surgery was a success,” said Trip, his bare feet finding the deck plates as he worked himself into a sitting position. He realized he must be sitting on one of the narrow cots in one of the Branson’s small aft sleeping areas.
“One thing’s for sure, Commander; their anesthetics are certainly effective. Evidently more on you than on me. Let me help you get this bandage off your face.”
Trip felt Phuong’s hands gently set about doing just that. “Why’d they have to cover up my eyes?”
“The Adigeons said something about having to install a protective inner eyelid. Something unique to Romulans, apparently. They wanted it left covered for at least an hour after they gave us the last of the tissue regeneration treatments.”