by S. D. Perry
The turbolift moved. As it did, Ro removed another of her tassels. There was a small button on it, which she pressed.
“What’s that do?” Quark asked.
“Scattering field. It should block any attempts the Orions make to divert the turbolift.”
“Should?”
Ro shrugged. “If this were an ordinary Vulcan ship, it would, but I don’t know what kind of modifications they made.”
Soon, the question was academic. They arrived on deck seventy-one—the ship’s lowermost deck—and the doors opened.
Half a dozen Orions were waiting for them.
Ro immediately put the disruptor to the female’s neck. “Let us go or the slave gets it.”
“Are you insane?” Quark whispered. “She’s just a female.”
Snarling, one of the Orions said, “Lower your weapons.”
Slowly, and to Quark’s abject shock, the Orions did so.
“Try anything,” Ro said, “and I blow her pretty head off, understood?”
“Just don’t hurt her,” the Orion said.
Ro moved down the corridor, guiding the female in front of her with the disruptor still at her neck, and pulling the male along behind her. Quark followed behind the male.
As soon as they got close to the Orions—who parted to let them pass—Ro tossed the male in the direction of three of the Orions.
One of them immediately punched Ro’s former hostage in the gut. “Alhan, you idiot!” another one said. “How could you let Treir be captured like that?”
Alhan was unable to reply, as he was too busy coughing up blood.
Quark quickly followed Ro and Treir. Now he understood Ro’s logic—Treir was valuable merchandise. The Orions couldn’t afford for her to be harmed. Alhan, on the other hand, was just another Orion male, and by allowing himself to be captured, his value to his fellows had plummeted to nothing. Once again, he admired Ro’s grasp of business matters. So rare to find a female who understands—especially a female Bajoran.
From behind him, Quark heard one of the Orions’ voices. “Malic, they’ve got Treir.” A pause. “I know she’s not to be harmed, but they’re going to get away.”
They turned a corner, out of sight of the Orions. Quark could still hear the Orion talking to Malic.
“All right,” the Orion was saying as Ro stopped walking and—still holding the disruptor to Treir’s neck—removed the last two tassels from her waist. She threw the first one back around the corner toward the Orions. The one speaking to Malic was suddenly cut off by a noise that sounded to Quark like five phasers firing at once.
Then silence.
“What was that?”
“Concussive grenade. Should keep those six out for a while.”
“You couldn’t do that before he told Malic we were here?”
As she pressed a control on the final tassel, which caused its base to split open, Ro said, “You really can be a whiner, can’t you? We had to get out of range.”
Ro removed a Bajoran communicator from inside the tassel and tapped it.
As soon as she did, the corridor shimmered, faded, and re-formed into the flight deck of a small spacecraft of Bajoran design. About the size of a small Starfleet shuttlecraft, the ship seated two fore and two aft.
A Bajoran woman in a red Militia uniform and with the rank insignia of a sergeant vacated the pilot’s seat. “Who’s your friend, Lieutenant?”
“She was a hostage,” Ro said, removing the disruptor from the woman’s neck. “Luckily, they didn’t call my bluff when I said I’d blow her head off.”
Treir, for her part, had kept a remarkably calm expression on her face from the moment she first saw Ro with the disruptor. Once she dropped out of the role of being Alhan’s lover, her face had gone surprisingly neutral.
Quark asked, “Where are we?”
“A Bajoran Militia flitter,” the sergeant said.
“I know it’s a Bajoran Militia flitter,” Quark said impatiently. “I mean where?”
“Farius Prime’s innermost moon.” Ro touched the flame gem on her necklace. Her hair returned to its natural black color. “Ychell Mafon, this is Quark—Quark, this is Sergeant Ychell. I had her hide out here as our escape route.”
“Nice of you to tell me ahead of time,” Quark muttered.
“Don’t push it, Quark, or so help me—”
Quark rolled his eyes and shut up.
Turning to Treir, Ro said, “As for you—you’re free to come with us. You can start over in the Federation or on Bajor. You don’t have to be a slave anymore.”
Treir smiled. “Did it even occur to you that I liked being a slave?”
Ro blinked. “Honestly? No, it didn’t.”
“You’re lucky, then, that I didn’t. On the other hand, no one ever gave me a choice in the matter. Besides, Malic treated me very well.”
“Well, Malic doesn’t own you anymore.”
Again, Treir smiled, this time a wry one. “Malic may have something to say about that.”
Ro settled into the pilot’s seat. “He has to find us first.” She indicated the two rear seats. “Get in the back. You too, Quark. We need to get back to DS9.”
“What’s the point?” Quark asked, taking his seat. “I’m doomed anyhow. You may as well give me back to the Orions.”
“What are you talking about?”
“You heard Malic. All it takes is one command into his padd, and Garak will know all about my role in that land deal.”
Ro reached behind her back and took something out from under the rear part of her waistband. She smiled broadly. “You mean this padd?”
Quark saw fighting Aldebaran serpents and a nude Orion woman. His mouth fell open.
So did Treir’s, but unlike Quark, she was still able to formulate words. “That’s Malic’s padd! How did you—?”
“I grabbed it out of his pocket when I knocked him down in the meeting room. Not only are you safe from the Orions, Quark, but I’m betting there’s enough information in this thing to bring Malic down—and maybe the whole syndicate.”
A huge sense of relief spread over Quark. “So Garak won’t find out?”
“Well, I never said that.”
Quark’s eyes went wide. But before he could pursue the matter, Ychell announced, “Lieutenant, the Orion ship has started a search pattern. They’re going to find us soon. We need to get out of here. I’ve got a course set for that hole that your transport came through—the one that goes to the Clarus system.”
“Let’s do it,” Ro said, getting into the pilot’s seat. She touched a few controls, then turned back to Quark and smiled. “I wonder if Malic made a copy…”
Quark felt his lobes shrivel.
Chapter Fourteen
The Delta Quadrant
“They were diverting prey.”
The giant indicated the fallen aliens with one gauntleted hand. Kira looked once again at the three butchered corpses she shared the floor with. Diverting wasn’t the first word that came to mind. It was possible, of course, that these aliens were tougher than they looked, but Kira couldn’t imagine they were so vicious that it was necessary to slaughter them.
“But only just,” the being amended. “It was their ship that was the true enemy. I had hoped that a vessel capable of withstanding an attack such as mine and causing my own vessel’s destruction would be crewed by the worthiest prey.”
That explains the debris, Kira thought.
He started to pace around the bridge. “Instead, I found them to be soft and weak. Not worthy of a hunt.” The creature pounded a fist on a nearby console, denting the metal. “My ship was destroyed. My trophies, my weapons, my life—all of it wiped away by these insignificant creatures.”
“They were fighting for their lives, what do you expect?” Kira found herself saying.
As if she hadn’t spoke, the alien went on. “After I killed them all, I waited. I knew this ship would not stay unmolested for long—not with such volatile cargo. So I awaited
fresh prey.” He once again looked down at Kira. “Then you came.”
“You tie up all your prey before you ‘hunt’ them?” Kira mocked, testing her bonds. “Some predator.”
The insult slid right past the alien. “No, you are bait. Just as this ship sat idle as a lure, so will you.”
“A lure for what?” Kira asked angrily, already knowing the answer.
“The other one. I beamed two over from your ship, but only one is here. The other one is somewhere on the ship. Eventually it will show itself.”
Taran’atar, Kira thought. He must’ve shrouded when we were beamed off the Euphrates. Jem’Hadar were born with the ability to cloak themselves, rendering them invisible both to the naked eye and most scans. The ability required most of their concentration, which meant they couldn’t actually fight while shrouded. Kira hoped Taran’atar was scouting the ship, then waiting for the right moment to attack. “You’re wasting your time,” she said. “He’s probably long gone.”
“He’s near,” the hunter said with certainty. “I can feel it in the—Ooof!”
That last word was spoken as he was tackled from behind by Taran’atar, who solidified half a second before striking.
While both aliens crashed against the deck and began struggling for the upper hand, Kira managed to roll over to a nearby console. Bracing her back against it, she pushed herself upward to get into a crouching position, and then stood upright, quickly taking stock of her surroundings.
The room, which she assumed was the tanker’s bridge, had two entrances—one, a closed door on the far side, the other, an open hallway right behind her.
A very large handheld weapon, easily twice the size of a Starfleet phaser rifle, was lying on the deck beyond the combatants, out of her reach. Not that I could use it with my hands tied behind my back, but…
The alien had gained the advantage, pinning Taran’atar to the deck. Kira saw an opportunity and sprang forward, pivoting on her left leg, spinning and landing a kick to the alien’s helmeted head.
Her teeth clenched. It was like kicking a stone wall, and she suspected only her boot’s padding kept her from breaking her foot.
It did, however, surprise the alien enough so that Taran’atar could fling him off. The alien crashed against an instrument panel, sending sparks flying. The Jem’Hadar leapt and stood in front of Kira, deliberately placing himself between her and their foe.
The alien slowly rose and faced them. Now that they were all standing up, Kira saw that the self-styled hunter was indeed tall, but not quite the giant she had thought him to be—Kira estimated he was a bit more than two meters in height.
The alien smiled in a manner that reminded Kira far too much of Dukat. “At last,” he rumbled. “Worthy prey.”
To Kira’s annoyance, Taran’atar had thrown the alien closer to where his rifle lay. If he grabbed it while they were in the room, they were dead.
“Move!” she barked, leading Taran’atar to the open hallway behind them.
Without an instant’s hesitation, Taran’atar followed.
“I had the chance to explore this deck before I attacked the Hirogen,” the Jem’Hadar said as they ran side by side down the corridor.
So that’s what he’s called. “Fine, take point.”
He led them through a maze of corridors. Everywhere they went, Kira found more bodies like the three on the bridge: gold-skinned, wearing the bulky uniform, and bleeding from dozens of wounds each.
Taran’atar led them into what appeared to be a maintenance tunnel. He shut the hatch and locked it, showing an impressive aptitude for equipment he’d never seen before today.
Once the door closed, Kira turned around. “Can you do something about these bonds?”
Taking Kira’s wrists in his scaly hands, Taran’atar said, “I believe so. This may hurt.”
“Just do it.”
Taran’atar grabbed the bonds, the sides of his hands pressing up against Kira’s wrists. He pulled for several seconds. She gritted her teeth against the pain that shot through her shoulders as the bonds finally gave in to the Jem’Hadar’s strength, and her arms were suddenly wrenched apart.
She flexed her shoulders. “Thanks. Now then, you obviously know who this guy is.”
“I know of the species from an encounter a Jem’Hadar unit had with a Hirogen ship several hundred years ago. Back then, they were nomadic hunters with an impressive level of technology.”
“Judging from what I’ve seen and heard, I’d say they still are,” Kira said. “I take it from the way you shut the door so easily that you had a chance to examine some of the ship’s systems?”
“Those that still function, yes. It did not take long, as very few of the systems are functioning at all. Propulsion, weapons, and tractor beams are inoperative.”
“So we can’t try to draw the waste back into the cargo hold?”
“No, Colonel.”
Kira pounded the bulkhead with a fist. “Dammit!” She reached for her phaser—and found that it wasn’t there. “I don’t remember him taking my weapon.”
“He didn’t. My rifle didn’t materialize with me when we were taken to this ship. Our energy weapons are either still on the Euphrates or dispersed.”
Kira tapped her badge. “Kira to Euphrates. Computer, two to transport to the runabout.”
The computer’s voice was barely audible through a burst of static. “Unable to comply due to theta radiation interference.”
Kira muttered an Old High Bajoran curse that her brother Reon had taught her when they were kids. “Computer, scan this vessel. Is there anywhere aboard we can go where the interference is weak enough so transporters can penetrate?”
“Negative.”
She thought a moment. Obviously the transporters on this ship could penetrate the theta radiation, otherwise the Hirogen could never have beamed them over. Besides, these people had reason to make their transporters more resistant to radiation interference than Starfleet ever did, if they lived with this toxicity every day. “Can you locate the transporters here?”
“Affirmative.”
Kira looked around. There were no working terminals, and she didn’t have a tricorder. “Locate the nearest one to these coordinates.”
“The nearest transporter to your location is in the fore section of deck twelve.”
“And where are we right now?” Kira asked impatiently.
“In the middle section of deck two.”
“Can you read any life-forms aboard this vessel?”
“Life-sign scan inconclusive. Two life-forms are assumed based on combadge signals of Colonel Kira Nerys and Taran’atar.”
Kira repeated the curse, and cut off the transmission. Then she looked at Taran’atar. “Do you still have your kar’takin?”
“Yes.” Taran’atar reached behind his back and unsheathed the thin-bladed weapon that Jem’Hadar generally carried as backups in case their energy weapons failed or were sabotaged.
“Good. We don’t have any way to track the Hirogen—and he’s a trained hunter. Do you know any way to go down ten decks from here?”
“No,” Taran’atar said, “but I believe it should not be difficult to find one. With respect, Colonel, I should take the point.”
Kira was unaccustomed to letting others put themselves in danger on her behalf. Unfortunately, in this particular instance, Taran’atar was the only one who was armed. “After you.”
Taran’atar led them down the corridor, his kar’takin held in a defensive position. Kira followed close behind, feeling naked without a weapon. No rifle, no hand phaser, not even a blade. Hell, at this point, I’d take a club.
Finding access to the lower levels proved easier than she expected; they discovered a narrow, vertical shaft that was propped open by the corpse of one of the tanker crew.
“Were you able to find any working terminals?” Kira asked as she and Taran’atar moved the body out of their way and onto the deck. “Find out who these people are?”
“No.”
Shaking her head as she peered into the shaft, she said, “It’s ironic. When we first arrived, I wanted to kill these people. Now that they’re dead—I actually feel sorry for them.” A ladder on the far wall of the shaft went up one level to deck one, and went down farther than Kira’s eyes could see. The shaft was illuminated only with the same dim green lights that the rest of this deck was bathed in.
“Whoever they are,” Taran’atar said, “their battle is done, and they did not reclaim their lives. Our battle is not yet over.”
“Damn right it isn’t,” she muttered as she clambered into the hatch and set her feet down on one rung of the ladder. Taran’atar followed a moment later.
Kira couldn’t read the writing on the shaft wall—in the dim light, she could barely even see it—but she counted her way down past each of the identical hatchways until she reached what should have been the twelfth deck from the top.
Unfortunately, this hatch was not propped open by a gold-skinned corpse. Simply pushing on the handle didn’t budge it. She tried pulling it, but that didn’t work, either.
“Give me your blade,” she said, reaching up.
Taran’atar handed the kar’takin down, hilt-first, without comment. There are times when his unquestioning obedience is really refreshing. For all that Starfleet insisted on military protocol, their officers had a tiresome tendency to question everything. It was a nice change to work with someone who just did what he was told.
Hooking one arm and one leg through the ladder’s strut, she used the thin blade to try to pry the door open. Her leverage was awful, and the best she could do was bend the metal slightly outward.
That should be enough, though. Handing the Jem’Hadar his weapon back, she asked, “Taran’atar, do you think you can pry the door open with that handhold?”
“I believe so.”
Kira climbed down several more rungs to allow Taran’atar access. Grimacing slightly, the Jem’Hadar grabbed at the bent metal and pushed against it. He peeled back the hatchway, the sound of the distorting metal disturbingly loud in the shaft. He then went through the opening he’d made, the edges of the torn metal tearing at his dark coverall. Kira, who was much smaller, was able to get through a moment later without any damage to her uniform.