Chapter Text
Part One (Cont’d)
“This is all your fault.”
Sunek grumpily gestured at Klath with a wiry accusing finger. The Klingon looked suitably unimpressed at his action.
“How?” he grunted back.
The five Bounty crew members sat around a small table situated in the recreation area of the Reja Gar station, which was positioned down the length of one edge of the station’s main rectangular habitation section. They had retreated here after leaving the commander’s office, ostensibly to figure out what they were going to do next. But it had quickly and predictably turned into the setting for an argument.
“Because,” Sunek griped, “We could still have been here almost on time if you hadn’t hooked up with that stupid princess!”
Klath growled unhappily back across the table. “We did not ‘hook up’,” he retorted, “She accidentally allowed herself to imprint on me during a brief moment of weakness, that was all. As I explained to her betrothed’s family before respectfully submitting to the…eighteen stages of the memory wipe ceremony.”
“Besides,” Natasha added with a wisp of a smile, “It’s really not Klath’s fault that he’s so irresistibly attractive.”
Sunek scoffed loudly at this, even as Klath nodded back at the doctor, in complete agreement with her that such a thing was not something that was under his control.
“Psh,” the Vulcan retorted, “Looks have got nothing to—She was a Kriosian metamorph! She’d have imprinted on a hasperat soufflé if it had looked at her the right way!”
“Funny,” Denella mused, “Cos she met you in the transporter room and didn’t seem to—”
“I’d just woken up! I hadn’t fixed my hair! Besides, you know I’ve got more of a cute, understated, boyish thing going on. Some women are so shallow…”
Jirel was loath to break up his crew’s bickering. It was one of their favourite pursuits, after all. But after remaining silent for most of the debate so far, he reluctantly leaned forwards. “Ok, come on. What the hell are we gonna do here?”
The question brought the argument shuddering straight into a miserable silence.
The Bounty, and all of their belongings, had been well and truly seized before they had even had a chance to get back. Commander Turanya had sent out instructions to seal off the docking bay they had landed in as soon as Jirel had left his office.
“There’s not a chance in hell we can pay what they’re asking,” Denella admitted with a sigh, doing her best to keep her full feelings under the surface.
Though, in truth, she didn’t really need to make the effort. Everyone else knew just how badly the Orion was taking their current plight. After all, as an engineer, she had imprinted on the Bounty with the same level of commitment that the Kriosian princess had with Klath.
And now it was lost.
As another unhappy silence descended, Sunek’s face lit up with a flash of inspiration. “Steal the ship back!” he eagerly exclaimed, before pointing around the table at the others in turn, hunting for some affirmation, “Steal the ship back? Steal the ship back? Steal the—?”
“Ok, sensible ideas only,” Jirel cut in, “This might only be a science station, but Turanya’s got half a dozen Flaxian cruisers out there at his disposal, don’t forget.”
They had seen the extent of the fleet protecting the station as they had arrived. Whatever research was being conducted on Reja Gar, it was being well protected. And while a Flaxian cruiser wasn’t an especially terrifying prospect in and of itself, it was still a match for the Bounty. And half a dozen of them would finish off any escape attempt before it had started.
“In which case,” Natasha shrugged, “We’ve got to reason with him. I dunno, work out a repayment plan, or something.”
“Sure,” Sunek snorted, gesturing at the padd in the middle of the table that still displayed the extent of their debt, “At the rate we rake in the latinum, that should all be squared up just in time for the heat death of the universe.”
“Besides,” Jirel added, “Turanya’s not exactly in a negotiating mood.”
Undeterred, Natasha stood up from the table and grabbed the padd, firing a knowing glance in the Trill’s direction. “He wasn’t in a negotiating mood with you. That’s not the same thing.”
“And what is that supposed to mean?”
“It means you’re a terrible negotiator, Jirel.”
This comment hit him hard for a couple of reasons. One, because of who it was that said it, which he decided to file away in the recesses of his mind along with the rest of his ever-conflicted feelings for the human doctor. And two, because of what she said. After all, he was a brilliant negotiator.
“Um, I’m a brilliant negotiator,” he shot back to emphasise that particular point.
“Not really,” Natasha replied with a patient smile, which Jirel also swiftly filed away in the recesses of his mind, “I’m sure you think you are, but you definitely have your limits. It’s one of your many, many weaknesses.”
“Yeah,” Denella chimed in, “Like when you tried to talk things out with those Nausicaan pirates last month?”
Jirel snapped a defensive look at his engineer and wagged a finger at her. “Ok, granted, not my finest hour. But, after that little incident, who successfully talked us into a discount on a replacement shield grid from that Ferengi outpost on Darvan IV?”
“Kinda feels like you’re missing the larger point.”
“So,” Natasha said, waving the padd at the group as Jirel gently simmered in his chair, “Seeing as I’m guessing the rest of you are all just planning to sit around in this bar, drinking and feeling sorry for yourselves all night…?”
She paused to allow any of the other four to offer a counterpoint. But all she got back was four slightly guilty looks.
“I guess I’ll go…negotiate our ship back,” she concluded with a roll of her eyes.
With that, she turned and walked off out of the recreation area. For a moment, Jirel considered following her, but then he turned back to the others with a defiant look.
“I am a good negotiator, you know.”
“Cool,” Sunek yawned, jabbing a thumb in the direction of the bar, “So how about you go negotiate us a round of shots, hmm?”
* * * * *
“What the hell do you mean ‘no contact’?”
Commander Turanya snapped the question at the face displayed on the small screen on the desk in front of him.
The female Flaxian on the screen, Captain Sonaya of the cruiser Sud Yot, stared impassively back at her superior. Not entirely sure how she could make her report any clearer. “I mean we’ve heard nothing from the crew since the last scheduled check-in, fourteen hours ago. All we have is a sensor trace. Three sectors away.”
Turanya grimaced and nodded, before smacking a balled fist onto the polished top of the desk. After leaving a short gap for any further reaction from her commander, Sonaya diligently continued with her report.
“From this distance, long-range scans aren’t going to tell us a lot, but we’re not even getting signs of an impulse pattern. Looks like they’re drifting. I would suspect that they’ve suffered a serious power failure of some kind.”
“Power failure? You really think so?”
At this question, Sonaya raised a curious eyebrow. “What else could it be?” she asked back, entirely reasonably, “It is an older ship, after all. It was due for a refit of its warp core next month.”
“Right,” Turanya nodded, “Lifesigns?”
“Indeterminate. At this range.”
Turanya’s fist made a second impact with the desk as he began to grind his teeth. He could definitely have done without this today. First the collapse of the spore sample research, and now this. “Ok,” he sighed, quickly composing himself and switching back to business mode, “I guess we’ll have to assume the worst for the time being. I’ll put together a recovery operation and get them ready to ship out asap.”
“Commander,” Sonaya replied, “The Sud Yot is ready for immediate departure—”
Turanya stopped her in the middle of her volunteering with a sharply dismissive wave of his hand. “No. I’m not risking the Sud Yot. That’s the newest cruiser we’ve got out there.”
Sonaya’s eyebrow raised once again. “What exactly would we be risking on a simple recovery mission?”
In his rise up the ranks of the Flaxian Science Agency, Turanya had become so used to covering his lies that he barely skipped a beat before he replied. “I mean that I’d rather have the Sud Yot on patrol back here,” he explained with an entirely believable expression, “We had another report of Kressari raiding parties in the sector last week, so I don’t want to take any chances.”
Sonaya hadn’t seen any such report, but she knew that her superior would be privy to more detailed security briefings than she was. So she merely nodded in understanding.
“I’ll have a word with Captain Grinya on the Ret Kol,” Turanya continued, “I know he’s short a few crew members right now, but he’s a salvage expert.”
Sonaya nodded again, then cocked her head slightly, mulling over whether she should be forward enough to ask her next question. In the end, she decided to proceed. “Commander, if I may. There have been some rumours around here about the cargo that—”
“I’m aware of the rumours,” he fired back tersely to shut her down, “And I’ll deal with them. You just tell Captain Grinya I want to talk to him.”
A short pause. As if she wanted to push the matter further.
“Understood,” she said eventually, “Sud Yot out.”
The screen went blank, leaving behind a reflection of Turanya’s scowling face in the reflection. As he mulled over the fresh complications in his head, he noted a message pop up from his secretary, indicating that someone was waiting for him in reception.
“Send them in,” he sighed as he tapped the intercom controls.
The door opened and a human woman walked in, dressed in a simple dark tunic top and holding a familiar padd. It didn’t take all of Turanya’s powers of deduction to figure out where she had come from.
“Hi, Commander Turanya,” Natasha began with a friendly smile, “Sorry to bother you, but I—”
“Yes, yes, you’re one of Jirel’s lot, aren’t you. Here to pay what you owe me?”
Natasha was a little thrown by his directness, but she didn’t let it show. Keeping her Academy lessons on diplomacy and mediation at the forefront of her mind, and treating this particular exchange with the delicate touch of a first contact. “I am here to discuss our…financial situation, yes. So, if I may—”
“There really is nothing to discuss,” Turanya cut in again, “You either have the latinum, or you don’t. And unless you and your colleagues won the Lissepian lottery in the last couple of hours, I’m going to assume that you don’t.”
Natasha wasn’t sure precisely what it was about this particular Flaxian’s demeanour. Whether it was his superior, dismissive attitude. Or the way he kept cutting her off and talking over her. Or simply the fact that he had impounded all of her worldly possessions.
But whatever it was about Commander Turanya, she suddenly found herself dropping her carefully honed Starfleet diplomacy and striding across to the commander’s desk, before slamming the padd down onto the surface with a surprising amount of force.
“Ok, let’s cut the crap,” she fired off, “You know as well as I do that there’s no chance we’re gonna be able to pay this off. Especially when you’ve made so completely sure that we’ve lost the use of our ship.”
Turanya went to retort, but she persisted, not giving him a chance to interrupt her this time.
“And, on top of that, I’m sure you’re also aware of the state of our ship. Collateral or not, you know that’s not even gonna cover the down payment on the amount that you’re asking for. Way I see it, neither of us are getting anything out of the current situation. So…this is where we negotiate.”
She folded her arms in satisfaction and nodded down at the Flaxian. It was his move.
For his part, Turanya looked more than a little irritated at the impudence of her entrance. But he also had to admit that she had a point. His repair crews had delivered an initial report on the state of the collateral down in the landing bays. And to put it mildly, it was no Lissepian lottery prize.
And then, he had a sudden brainwave. A way to combine the twin headaches that he was dealing with right now. His irritation gave way to a more typically insincere leer.
“Perhaps you’re right. And you know what? There might be a solution to all of this, staring us right in the face.”
Natasha’s face betrayed a modicum of uncertainty. Regardless of how she had planned to approach this particular negotiation, she definitely hadn’t expected it to be quite that easy to win the Flaxian over. “Oh,” she managed, “Well, that’s good to hear.”
Turanya’s smile widened further, as he realised that Captain Grinya and the Ret Kol wouldn’t be short of crew members for much longer.
The universe worked in mysterious ways sometimes. And Commander Turanya had just been delivered a consignment of useful idiots. Right to his doorstep.
“Yes,” he nodded, “I think I’ve got the perfect way for you to work off your debt…”