Chapter Text
Part Three (Cont’d)
Klath liked to think of himself as a patient man. He worked onboard a ship with Sunek, after all.
He knew that Klingons had a reputation for being short-tempered and antagonistic at the best of times, and from dealing with his fellow officers during his time in the Klingon Defence Force, he knew there was some truth to that. But he also believed that there were exceptions, and that he was one of them.
Still, even Klath’s own Sunek-approved levels of patience were being tested as he stalked down the streets of the Makalite village.
“And tell me, is it true that the spotted man has the power to make sure we will never go hungry again?”
Klath rolled his eyes to the heavens. In his wake, Sister Ryna had attached herself onto his impromptu tour of the village as he searched for the missing Natasha.
He hadn’t asked her to join his search. In fact, he had been very careful not to ask her anything. But the Makalite woman, who had been entirely taken with Jirel throughout the feast and the impromptu massage earlier, was showing no sign of losing that interest.
“That is not for me to say,” he managed to reply, as he turned a corner and walked on down the next street, looking this way and that for any sign of the red-haired human.
He had offered a similarly straight bat to all of Sister Ryna’s questions so far, but the complete lack of any sort of concrete information didn’t seem to be putting the curious Makalite off from continuing her overly polite and cloyingly friendly interrogation.
“Some have said that the spotted man’s skyship will allow us to pay a visit to the Great Hereafter, where our ancestors now reside. Is that true?”
Klath growled slightly and glanced back at the innocent face of Sister Ryna.
“Unlikely.”
Undeterred, Sister Ryna followed him as he turned down yet another street.
“You are sure that nobody has seen my colleague?” he continued, turning the questioning back on his Makalite shadow for a moment.
She shook her head. Klath growled unhappily again. He was beginning to wonder if he had already searched this section of the village. To him, all of the huts and buildings around him looked pretty much the same. One street of wood and metal huts were the same as the others.
“And when we get to our utopia,” Sister Ryna began to ask, “Will we—?”
His carefully curated patience now exhausted, Klath whirled around and glared fiercely at the Makalite, baring his teeth in anger.
But she didn’t react how people usually reacted in the face of his aggressive side. There was no fear or concern on her features, just the same happy smile. After all, she was in the presence of one of the spotted man’s colleagues. No harm could come to her here. The prophecy was quite clear on that.
The Klingon quickly recovered from his surprise at her complete lack of reaction, and despite part of him really wanting to double down on his aggressive side to try and scare her away, he reluctantly opted for diplomacy. “I cannot answer your questions,” he insisted, “Now, if you have not seen my colleague, then perhaps you could leave me to—”
“Hey! Klath! There you are!”
It was an instantly familiar voice, and one that told Klath that his levels of patience were not finished being tested just yet.
He turned to see Sunek, tousled hair, garish Hawaiian shirt and all, bounding over to him from one of the side streets. The Vulcan had his trademark grin plastered on his face, despite being faced with the deepening glower on Klath’s own features.
“Stupid transporter set me down half a mile away,” he continued as he stifled a yawn, “And you could have made yourself easier to find.”
“I was not aware anyone was looking for me,” the Klingon noted.
“Ugh, fair point,” Sunek continued, “Anyway, the ship’s fixed and we’ve figured out the radiation issue, so Denella’s sent me to round you guys up.”
He paused, and ran over his phrasing of that comment in his head, before correcting himself.
“I mean—I say Denella sent me to do that, but it wasn’t, y’know, an order or anything. Cos she’s not, like, my boss. Right?”
Completely unaware of, and unconcerned with, the reasons behind Sunek’s interest in the Bounty’s pecking order, Klath kept his attention on the more pressing issue. “Jirel has already departed. I am…still searching for the doctor.”
He gestured around with a note of frustration, as Sunek shook his head patiently and unclipped the tricorder from his belt. “Honestly,” he chided, “I have to do everything around here.”
“The tricorders are not—”
“This one is, cos I fixed it,” Sunek grinned back, skipping over some of the details and misappropriating all of the credit for the retuned device.
After a moment, the tricorder began to beep gently.
“There we go. One human. Thattaway.”
He gestured down one of the side roads that led towards the outskirts of the village.
“So now,” he continued, “We just need to—”
It was then that he saw Sister Ryna. And he suddenly looked perturbed. Klath followed the Vulcan’s gaze to the Makalite. She had been with them throughout their exchange, and had been so silent that Klath had forgotten that she was still there. Which was somewhat surprising given her previously irritating omnipresence.
But she had been there. Silent, and completely fixed to the spot.
Frozen in fear.
“Oh,” Sunek offered as he made his own first contact with a Makalite, “Hey there.”
Sister Ryna stared back at the Vulcan.
And then she screamed.
* * * * *
Jirel grimaced as he walked through the forest undergrowth.
A few hours ago, aside from the occasional interaction with some of the native fruits and vegetables, his initial walk through the same forest had been a pleasant enough way to waste a bit of time as they waited for Denella to finish her repairs. But now, as he plodded on and left the Makalite village behind him, the sharp grasses around his legs and the hard soil under his feet felt altogether rougher and more unyielding, and there was something a little foreboding about the towering trees around him.
He wondered how much of that was down to the company he was now keeping on the return leg of the journey. Because instead of his friends, he was now stuck with the only person who apparently wanted to be in the forest less than he did right now.
Except for maybe Denella. She hated forests, after all.
“Ugh. If I ever so much as hear about this place again, I’m looking for someone to sue.”
Martus Mazur walked awkwardly alongside the Trill, finding the going even more difficult in his outlandish costume, not to mention the heavy knapsack slung over his shoulder.
“You could have changed, you know,” Jirel pointed out, “Don’t tell me you crash landed down here dressed like that.”
Mazur decided not to go into too much detail about how he’d been clothed when he’d first got here, before he’d managed to get one of the elder Makalite Sisters to stitch him something a tad more befitting of his character. Admitting that he’d been dressed in an Edosian prison uniform when he’d unceremoniously arrived on the Makalites’ planet might rather have given the game away.
Jirel noted the silence, but didn’t put too much thought into it. As he walked, he found himself more worried about what might be going on back at the village, and wishing that he’d ignored the logic of Mazur’s plan and insisted that he stayed behind to look for Natasha.
He knew that she could more than handle herself. She’d proven that on countless occasions since teaming up with him and his motley crew. But he knew he’d rather be looking for her than stalking back through the forest with his present company.
“How much further is it to that ship of yours?” the El-Aurian at his side grouched, as he clambered over a tree root.
“Does it matter?” Jirel retorted, “You got somewhere to be?”
“Yes, actually. A little place called ‘anywhere but here’.”
Jirel managed a mirthless smile as they stumbled on through the undergrowth, but remained a little intrigued about Mazur’s wider plans. “Seriously, though, where is it you’re headed, Mazur? Just so I know how long I’ve got to put up with you.”
The El-Aurian tutted as the sleeve of his robes snagged on an errant tree branch, and he stopped to untangle himself. “If you could get me to the Exigan system, I’ll make sure you’re suitably reimbursed,” he shrugged offhandedly, finishing extricating himself and gesturing to the knapsack on his shoulder.
“Afraid we don’t accept stolen gems as payment. And before you ask, we don’t accept kooky fancy dress costumes or the concept of listening either.”
The robed figure snapped an irritated look at Jirel, looking increasingly annoyed with his perpetual attempts at not especially friendly conversation. “Don’t worry. I’ve got plenty of latinum stashed away across the quadrant as well,” he replied, “And the sooner we’re off this godforsaken rock, the more there’ll be for you.”
As they walked on towards the Bounty, and Jirel began to contemplate how many different ways Mazur might attempt to scam them out of payment between here and his destination, a thought suddenly occurred to him. “Hang on, the Exigan system?” he said cautiously, “I thought you said the transport ship was taking you to Ventriss IV?”
A con artist as seasoned at juggling lies as Mazur took the oversight in his stride. “Change of plans,” he said quickly but calmly, gesturing to the knapsack again, “I know a jewel guy on Exigan II.”
“Of course,” Jirel scoffed, “You’ve got a jewel guy—”
Before the debate could proceed any further, Jirel was stopped by a chirp from the communicator on his belt. Keeping his eyes on Mazur, and hoping for news from Klath, he grabbed it and clicked one of the buttons on the side.
“Yeah?”
“It’s me,” Denella’s voice crackled over the comms link, “Where the hell are you all?”
Jirel internalised the fresh pang of worry he felt about the ongoing radio silence from the village before he responded. “We’re heading back now. Me and, um, Martus Mazur.”
“The con artist?” Denella asked immediately, eliciting a withering tut from the El-Aurian.
“Everyone’s a critic,” he muttered.
“I think he prefers ‘village mystic’ these days,” Jirel replied with a smile, “His transport ship crashed here, so we’re gonna give him a lift back.”
“Huh,” Denella replied with an edge of concern, “Um, me and Sunek found a crashed ship. That was where all the radiation was coming from. But it wasn’t a transport. It was a prison ship.”
Jirel glanced down at the communicator in his hands in shock. Which, he instantly realised, was a huge mistake on his part.
For one thing, the device was audio only, so it really didn’t matter where he was looking. But more importantly, looking down meant that he had taken his eyes off Mazur. By the time he looked back up, he saw that there was now a stubby disruptor pistol pointed directly at him. Mazur grabbed the communicator and flicked the channel closed.
“Yep,” Jirel sighed in defeat, “There’s always a disruptor…”