Chapter Text
Part One (Cont’d)
“Latinum.”
Tegras’s voice echoed around the confines of the Ktarian Moonrise as he continued to mock Palmor despite his own hostage status.
“Of course,” he continued, “It always comes back to latinum with you—”
“Be quiet.”
Klath didn’t deliver the comment with any particular menace or threat, but the grunted remark from the towering Klingon was more than enough to silence Tegras’s gloating.
As he shrank back in his seat amongst the other hostages, Evina subtly leaned over and hissed at him. “Why do you keep doing that?”
“Because I’ve waited years for the day that Palmor Fot finally got what’s coming to him.”
“We all have,” she pointed out, keeping her voice low and her focus on the Klingon that was guarding them, “But you’re going to get yourself killed if you’re not careful.”
Tegras shook his head as he regarded the unlikely trio of criminals that had barged their way into their evening. “I don’t know, Evina,” he muttered, “Don’t you think there’s something a little unusual about these people?”
Before she could point out precisely how ludicrous a question that was, he pressed on.
“You know what I mean. They clearly just want Palmor. Not us. And these people don’t strike me as the hostage-taking type.”
Evina paused to take in the Klingon, the Vulcan and the Orion. And this time, she had to silently concede that there may be some truth to his last point.
While they continued their surreptitious debate, Palmor himself was engaged in a substantially louder conversation as he wriggled uncomfortably under the gaze of their captors.
“Listen, I don’t know what’s going on here, but there’s clearly been some sort of a misunderstanding. I don’t—”
“He has a safe,” Mizar’s calm voice came back over the comms link, “In the basement of that fleapit of a bar. It’s where he stashes his winnings at the end of every night. Whatever he tries to say, trust me. It’s down there.”
“That true?” Denella motioned at the quivering Palmor.
“I—I mean, it’s not as simple as—”
“It’s true.”
The voice came from the bartender, silencing the defeated Palmor once again. It seemed that there was no end to the number of people in the room willing to sell him out at this point. The Orion shrugged in satisfaction at this second-hand confirmation. She wasn’t entirely sure why everyone was so keen to rat this particular Ktarian out, but it was definitely making their job a lot easier.
“Alright,” she nodded at her colleagues, “I’ll take our friend here down to the basement. You two keep an eye on the others.”
“But—!” Palmor began.
“Save it,” she grunted with a wave of her disruptor.
With his latest protestations silenced, she grabbed him by the arm and marched him away.
Klath returned his focus to the remaining hostages, fixing them with enough of a glower to suggest to every Ktarian present that he would prefer it if they waited in silence, aside from the sound of the rain hammering down outside.
Sunek didn’t get the same message, and instead returned to what he was increasingly convinced was an award-winning performance as Trelok, the Vulcan vigilante. And, seeing as he was enjoying role-playing so much, he decided to help his gruff colleague out with a clever cover story of his own.
“So, ladies and gentlemen, while we wait, I should introduce you to my friend here. This is Korgan, Son of Bretath, a fearless warrior from the depths of the Empire. And the first thing you should know is that, while we don’t have a formal rank structure, I’m kinda his boss…”
Klath began to grumble under his breath, as Sunek’s latest insufferable monologue continued.
* * * * *
“Listen, I’m telling you, you don’t need to do this.”
Denella ignored the latest protest from Palmor as she roughly shoved him in the back to force him further down the metal steps into the basement. The Ktarian reacted to the shove by picking up the pace. Both of his steps and his protests.
“Ok, you’re working for someone, right? Whoever that was on the comms link back there. Well, whatever he’s paying you, I can double—No, no, I can triple it!”
“Sorry friend,” Denella replied, “Really not that kind of situation.”
“S—So, what sort of situation is it? Who are you working for? A Ferengi consortium? Karemman traders? The Orion Syndicate—?”
“Definitely not them,” she fired back with a grimace.
“Then who?”
She didn’t bother to reply, even as they reached the bottom of the steps, surmising that there was little point trying to explain the situation now.
The basement itself was a gloomy rectangular room directly underneath the bar itself, with dirty stone walls and a drab metal floor. Various crates and other supplies were piled around the room, and the air smelt unmistakably musty.
“Come on then,” Denella motioned, “Where’s this safe of yours?”
“I’m telling you, there’s nothing down here!”
She prodded him in the back with her disruptor, and the Ktarian slowly and reluctantly walked over to the far side of the room.
“Ok,” he continued, trying a different tactic, “You don’t want money, then what? Hmm? Supplies? Weapons? Drugs? I can get you anything you need!”
“All I need is that safe of yours.”
They reached the far wall, as Palmor turned back to his captor. “Yes, well, you see, the thing with the safe is that—”
“Look, Mr Fot, I’m sorry this is happening to you. It sucks that we’re here, and we’re holding you hostage, and we’re gonna take all of your latinum. But trust me when I say that there’s nothing you’re gonna be able to say or do that will stop any of this from happening. So…the safe?”
The Ktarian stared into the Orion’s determined eyes, and then looked down at the disruptor in her hands, and admitted defeat. He reluctantly gestured over to a particularly dark corner of the basement with a nod of his head.
Denella impatiently dragged him over there, and they were soon standing in front of a metal door recessed into the wall, with a shiny black touchscreen access panel embedded next to it. For a moment, Palmor made no attempt to do anything, his brain still running at warp speed trying to think of another angle to talk his way out of what was happening.
“Come on,” Denella motioned eventually, “Open sesame, already.”
“L—Look, before I do that, I just want to say—”
“No time for that.”
“But, after I open it, what’s to stop you from—”
“I give you my word, I didn’t come down here to kill anyone, ok? I’m just here to do a job. So, please, just open the goddamn safe and let me do it.”
Despite the pacifist angle to her comment, Denella accompanied her latest request by jabbing the disruptor pistol firmly into the small of the Ktarian’s back.
After a final glance around the confines of the basement, looking for some form of salvation to present itself from amongst the scattered crates, Palmor finally crouched down and tapped a sequence of commands into the touchscreen panel. Feeling the pistol muzzle at his back, he held his breath as he completed the process, and the door to the safe opened with a telltale hiss.
Behind him, Denella looked over the Ktarian’s shoulder expectantly. And gasped in shock.
Palmor’s shoulders sagged in resignation.
“I did say there was nothing down here.”