Chapter Text
Part One (Cont’d)
A few moments later, after Jirel and his footwear had clinked their way out in front of the homestead, he finished laying down the bones of his plan to the rest of the residents of Goodlife Ranch.
The looks on the faces of the assembled throng suggested that they weren’t overly impressed with what had been said.
“Is that really your best idea?” Zesh griped.
“Again,” Natasha chimed in, “Really important that you clarify to me, a medical professional, that you know this isn’t a holosuite program.”
Despite the largely predictable reactions, Jirel fronted up in defence of his plan. “Trust me. This makes total sense. If this guy Toxis is causing all our problems, then me and Klath’ll just head into town and, y’know, talk it out. Reason with him. Smooth this whole situation out. For long enough for Zesh to make his sale, at least.”
“If all you’re gonna do is talk it out,” Denella asked with a pointed look, “Why do you need Klath?”
“In case we don’t completely talk it out,” Jirel offered with a shrug, “And while we’re doing that, the rest of you can help Denella fix the water pump for when the buyer gets here.”
“Oh,” Sunek managed, his sarcasm levels approaching critical mass, “Great.”
“Plus, you can keep an eye on the ranch. All that make sense?”
Everyone immediately began to call out at once. Jirel sighed and held his hand up. “Bad choice of words. All that clear to everyone?”
This time there was a more reluctant chorus of nodded responses.
“Toxis isn’t exactly the reasonable type, you know,” Zesh cautioned, “I’ve tried the diplomatic approach myself.”
“Yeah, but he’s never met Klath. He can be very persuasive.”
The burly Klingon mustered a nod at this.
“So, trust me,” the Trill added, “Everything’s gonna be fine.”
“And what makes you so sure of that?” Zesh griped.
Jirel grinned and took the opportunity to strike the newest space cowboy pose in his arsenal, the one he’d been practising in his cabin earlier in the morning. “Because,” he drawled, “We’re the good guys.”
Before Natasha could contest that particular point any further, Klath held up the stubby Nimbosian pistol he had been furnished with. “I still have concerns about these weapons.”
“Not enough sharp edges?” Sunek quipped.
“They are far too crude. The sights appear to be crooked, the barrels are of poor construction, and the delivery method of the projectile is inefficient. I believe we should use some weapons from the Bounty if we are going to—”
“Ah, ah, ah,” Zesh tutted, wagging his finger at the burly Klingon, “No energy weapons on Nimbus III. It’s a universal law. One that even the Ferengi Alliance has never been stupid enough to break. And we’re the idiots who sold the Pakleds their first warp drive.”
Natasha found herself warming to Zesh a little more. It was indeed a rule for anyone dealing in or around Nimbus III. Given how much damage and destruction was caused on the planet with the simple projectile weapons already available to the Nimbosian residents, giving them access to anything more powerful would be devastating.
To some extent, it was a self-regulating rule. Occasionally the odd phaser or disruptor might find its way here through the black market, but with no reasonable means of keeping the power cells charged, energy weapons were not only prohibited, they were also largely useless. Still, there was no point in risking breaking that particular rule. So, even though there were several energy weapons on the Bounty, that was where they had all agreed they would stay. Regardless of Klath’s withering assessment of the local alternative.
“So, it’s settled,” Jirel nodded in support of Zesh’s point, “We’re gonna do this like proper cowboys.”
He pulled his own pistol from its holster and went to spin it round his finger. Only for it to immediately fall from his hand on the sandy ground below.
“Well,” Sunek said, “I’m feeling a lot safer already.”
Jirel sheepishly retrieved his gun, before nodding at Klath. “Let’s get moving—”
“I’m gonna come too.”
The Trill and the Klingon stopped and turned back to where Natasha had stepped towards them.
“Come on,” Jirel tutted, “We’ve got a job to do. We don’t need you spreading your Starfleet guilt all around town.”
“That’s not what I’m doing. I just want to help. Besides, you’re about to head into a lawless town of renegades and bandits dressed like that. You’re gonna need the backup.”
Jirel glanced down at his outfit. Along with the spurs, he had also spent the morning replicating a cotton shirt complete with deep red piping and an embroidered pattern across the front, and a weathered leather belt with a holster for his Nimbosian pistol, topped off with a thick silver buckle.
He felt a slight tinge of embarrassment, but that was overridden by a greater belief in how awesome it all was. So he fronted it out.
“You wish you looked this good,” he fired back with a grin, “But fine. If you wanna come, you can come. Just promise me you’re not gonna guilt trip us all the way there and back, ok? Cos that’s gonna get really boring.”
Before she was able to respond, Jirel and Klath turned and continued on their way. Though Klath stopped suddenly when he realised Jirel was heading in a completely different direction.
“Where are you going?” he called out at the Trill, “If we are going into the town, then the transporter is this way.”
Jirel spun around on his heels, his grin wider than ever before. “Heh. We’re not gonna need the transporter today, buddy.”
“Then how do you intend to—?”
The Klingon stopped in the middle of his question, as Jirel excitedly gestured to something on the far side of the ranch.
Klath looked over and saw what he was referring to. A gaggle of blue-tinged animals standing together in an enclosure, gently grazing on the meagre patches of scrub at their feet.
The Klingon immediately turned back to the beaming Jirel.
“You cannot be serious.”
* * * * *
From a distance, Goodlife Ranch was the picture of tranquillity. Nestled in a dusty valley between two gently rolling mountain ranges, with a natural pass flowing into and out of it, the whole area was mostly cut off from the harsh winds that tended to be whipped up across the deserts of Prosperity County.
And while the dust bowl of a valley did suffer under the blazing Nimbosian sun, the high mountains did at least offer some possibility of a touch of shade either side of high noon.
As Prosperity County went, it was one of the better places to live. Even if that wasn’t exactly saying much.
Right now, from high up on the mountainside, even the activity within the ranch itself seemed sedate and tranquil through the binoculars that Rutox held up to his eyes.
He and several other members of Toxis’s gang that had been sent to do what Breshk had failed to do had concealed themselves behind an outcrop of rocks, with their Nimbosian horses tied up some distance away, equally out of sight.
Rutox blinked away the sand that was blown into his face by a sudden gust of dry wind and kept his focus on the ranch.
It hadn’t taken long to establish that Breshk and his cohorts had been telling the truth. The signs of the presence of off-worlders were there. Specifically, the squat form of the Ju’day-type raider parked in the valley next to the ranch. That was more than enough to confirm that Zesh was definitely not the only off-worlder in Goodlife Ranch right now.
The good news continued moments later, when Rutox spied the sight of several figures preparing to make their way out of the ranch on horseback. And if they were leaving, that would leave a significantly smaller number at the ranch itself.
“Huh,” Rutox grunted to himself with a satisfied smile.
He dropped the binoculars away from his face and turned back to the other men, gesturing at the one that was carrying a burly old-fashioned communicator on his belt.
“Get to it,” he snapped, “Tell Toxis that he’s got some company heading his way.”
He glanced back into the valley and smiled even more darkly.
“And tell him that our odds out here just got a hell of a lot better…”
Rutox took a moment to consider that luck seemed to be on his side all of a sudden. Which didn’t happen often on Nimbus III.
Breshk might have let his master down. But Rutox wasn’t about to make the same mistake.
End of Part One