Chapter Text
Part One (Cont’d)
She was sitting in the same seat as the night before when he found her. Still looking entirely out of place amongst the rest of the grizzled miners, travellers, criminals and other ne'er-do-wells that populated the Journeyman’s Rest. He couldn’t help but notice that, on the bar in front of her, sat a fresh martini and a fresh Andorian brandy.
She knew he was going to come.
He ignored that little detail she’d been sure to leave in plain sight for his arrival and slid onto the bar stool next to her. She didn’t bother to look over at him.
“You know,” he said, “I’m really not a fan of this place. Seems to attract the very worst the galaxy has to offer.”
She acknowledged his pointed comment with a trace of a smile, as she slid the waiting brandy over in front of him. “So, you believe me now?”
There was a confidence in her tone that riled him further, on top of the drink that had been waiting for him. A whole range of temptations flooded his mind. The temptation to walk away, the temptation to laugh, the temptation to grab a weapon and shoot her, and the temptation to get down on his knees and profess his undying love for her.
The rudimentary psychiatrist in him was forced to admit that his feelings towards her were still somewhat mixed.
“I’m not sure what I believe,” he replied, in lieu of any other response he was considering, “You’ve screwed me around plenty of times.”
“Never heard you complaining—Oh, screwed you ‘around’. I see. Carry on.”
“Very funny,” he replied, without amusement.
She shrugged unapologetically and sipped her drink, as Jirel made a deliberate show of pushing the brandy that had been waiting for him to one side.
“So,” he continued after a pause, “Let’s say - for the moment - that I believe you. You’re married, your husband’s in trouble for embezzling funds from this Synergy Mining Enterprises. And apparently, you think I can help.”
“More like: Your crew can help,” she offered back, “You were always a bit of a…figurehead on that ship of yours, darling.”
“Got you out of trouble enough times.”
“Touche,” she shrugged, “Either way, if I’m going to get Toren back, I’m going to need a particular set of skills. Denella’s engineering know-how, Klath’s strength, Sunek’s piloting, and you and…what you have.”
“Cute. You know, you’re throwing out all these insults pretty casually for someone who needs me on their side.”
“You’re right. I’m sorry, force of habit.”
She tried another disarming smile, but he maintained his glare, and fought off the persistent desire he felt to smile back. “So,” he said instead, “What’s the full story?”
Her smile faltered slightly. She drained her cocktail, signalled for another from the Lurian bartender at the other end of the bar, and then began.
“Fine. Like I said, Toren’s in a lot of trouble. And if I’m going to get him back from where they’ve taken him, I’m going to need you all.”
“Where have they taken him?”
“The owner of this mining company has a simple, but particularly…ruthless approach to anyone he feels has crossed him. Once he’s caught you, he sends you straight to one of his mines themselves, to work off your debt. Brutal, back-breaking work on whatever mineral-rich asteroid they happen to be stripping at the time.”
“Huh,” Jirel offered, “Doesn’t sound especially legal?”
“You don’t get to be as rich as he is by doing things legally. His mining operations are more like prisons, or slave trading. Just about everyone there is his prisoner, until he considers that the debt has been worked off. Every slip of latinum. And you can bet that they’re all kept well guarded from the outside world.”
“Neat. Sounds like a fun trip already.”
“I never said it would be fun,” she pointed out, “But, with my contacts and your crew, I think we can rescue him. In return for the rest of that latinum I promised you.”
Jirel stared back at her, still trying to size her up. Trying to figure out why she was looking so sincere about all of this.
“You’re really—?”
He didn’t get any further before he felt a burly hand grab his shoulder. He spun around to see a familiar unwelcome face staring down at him.
“Hello, Trill,” the Nausicaan doorman from the day before scowled at him, “No disruptor today?”
Jirel’s face dropped a little further as half a dozen more Nausicaans loomed into his view over the doorman’s shoulder.
“Friends of yours?” Maya enquired from behind him.
Jirel kept his attention on the lead Nausicaan. He had drunk in enough bars like the Journeyman’s Rest to recognise a bar fight when one was about to happen. With as much confidence as he could muster, he eased himself down from the bar stool, and sized up the significantly taller Nausicaans in front of him.
“Don’t you work here?” he asked their ringleader, who from this angle appeared to be the tallest of them all.
The Nausicaan stretched his armour-plated face into a wider leer and cracked his knuckles in greedy anticipation. “Day off,” he grunted.
Jirel sighed and nodded in acceptance. “Figures.”
He knew what he had to do, if he had any chance of getting out of the Journeyman’s Rest, he couldn’t allow the Nausicaans the luxury of a proper fight.
So he shot first.
He swung his right fist at the Nausicaan doorman with all of his might, straight into the hulking monster’s midriff. As soon as it connected, Jirel felt like his fist had exploded, as it impacted with some force squarely into some very thick body armour.
“Ow!” he cried out, loudly enough for everyone else in the bar to turn around, “Son of a—!”
That was as far as he got. Because then the enormous Nausicaan part-time doorman hit back with a firm backhanded flick of his hand, delivered with enough power to send the Trill flying backwards onto the filthy floor of the Journeyman’s Rest.
Jirel barely had time to process the extent of the pain the undignified landing had caused him before he saw the entire gang of Nausicaans descending on his position.
He rolled away across the floor in a despairing motion, but felt one of his adversaries grab his left leg and pull him back. He looked down and aimed a sharp downward kick into the face of the Nausicaan that had a hold of him, connecting with enough force to stun him into releasing his grip.
He forced himself back to his feet, but as soon as he did so, he saw the rest of the Nausicaans closing in, each with their hefty fists raised.
Why was it always Nausicaans, he bemoaned, not for the first time since arriving on Golos III.
Then, out of nowhere, a familiar voice called out.
“Excuse me, boys.”
The gang of Nausicaan thugs stopped on the spot, entirely thrown off by the silky female voice that had crashed into their old-fashioned pummelling. They turned to see Maya standing behind them, her hands casually affixed to her hips.
“Me and my friend were right in the middle of a conversation. This is all very impolite of you.”
The Nausicaan nearest to her leered darkly, and stepped towards her.
In a flash, her left arm dropped from her hip, and a tiny vintage type-1 phaser rolled out of her sleeve and into the palm of her hand. Before the Nausicaans could process what was happening, she fired off three bursts of energy, stunning half of the brawling gang, who each dropped to the floor with a heavy thud.
“You see,” she purred at the remaining three, “That was heavy stun. Now that’s polite.”
Just as the lead Nausicaan took another half-step towards her, she thumbed the phaser’s controls.
“And now, it’s set to kill. Even my manners only stretch so far.”
The Nausicaan stopped on the spot, and eyed the weapon uncomfortably, as the pained Jirel awkwardly hobbled over to where Maya stood, gesturing at the object in her hand.
“You had that the whole time? And you let me try to fight them?”
“Never leave home without it,” she reminded him, “But I like to watch you fight. You never did know when to give up.”
Jirel sighed and shook his head, as her face twisted into a knowing smile.
“Now,” she continued, “Are we leaving, or not? Because I suspect it might be in our best interests not to stick around for last orders.”
The sudden intervention of the Nausicaans seemed to have put a lot of Jirel’s previous worries into immediate perspective, and he nodded back.
Moving together, the human and the Trill slowly but surely stepped towards the exit of the bar, with Maya keeping her phaser raised all the way to the door, warning off the remaining conscious Nausicaans, along with any of the other patrons in the Journeyman’s Rest who decided that they wanted to get involved in the evening’s drama.
“Just like old times, hmm?” Maya couldn’t help but smile as they backed away.
Jirel, for the time being, stayed silent. As the two of them made their escape from a sticky situation, together.
Just like old times.
* * * * *
Moments later, they raced down to the end of the street outside and paused for breath around the next corner. Jirel glanced back around the corner, back towards the bar, but saw no evidence that they were being followed by any Nausicaans.
“You know,” Maya opined from his side as she slipped the tiny phaser back up her sleeve, “I don’t think I’ll ever get bored of bailing you out of trouble.”
Satisfied that they weren’t being followed, Jirel steadied his breathing as he ducked back behind cover and glared at her. “You picked the bar,” he pointed out.
“Yes, but you picked the Nausicaans.”
Before he realised what he was doing, he felt the beginnings of a smile crossing his face. He managed to stop it before it fully blossomed, but the twinkle that appeared in her eyes suggested that she had seen it.
“Still,” she continued, “Even if we’re not being followed right now, I suggest we get moving. So, are you going to help me?”
He stared back at her, as his mind raced. But ultimately, he reluctantly knew there was only ever one answer to that question.
“I always do, don’t I?”
She smiled in silent victory as she went to move off down the side street.
“Glad to see you’re finally starting to trust me—”
The rest of her sentence was cut off when Jirel suddenly stopped her with a firm outstretched arm that shot out in front of her.
“Let’s get one thing straight, Maya,” he growled, “I’m bringing you along for now because you just saved my life back there. And because if what you’re saying about your husband is true, then I feel like we need to help you. But don’t think for a second that means I trust you. Because I don’t. And the second I think you’re messing me, or my crew, around again, I’m gonna drop you off on the nearest asteroid and I’m never gonna respond to one of your messages ever again. Clear?”
He was silently impressed with himself for the level of menace he managed to get into his words, his usual affable air nowhere to be seen. But whatever he personally thought about his impromptu threat, she didn’t flinch at all. Instead, she kept her knowing smile firmly on her face.
“Well well,” she smirked, “That’s more like the Jirel I used to know.”
He didn’t relax the best shot at a menacing leer that was on his face, but he did allow her to idly lower his arm from in front of her as she continued.
“But believe me, darling. I’m on your side on this one.”
With that, she walked off down the side street. After a second Jirel found himself diligently following behind. Still no closer to truly believing her.
* * * * *
Back in the Journeyman’s Rest, the Nausicaans hadn’t even attempted to follow the Trill and the human after they had made their escape. Instead, their ringleader had reluctantly told them to take a seat.
The three that had been stunned hadn’t taken long to regain consciousness, and they had joined their colleagues at one of the tables inside the bar. With the impromptu bar fight over, the other patrons had all returned to their own drinks and idle conversations.
The mood at the Nausicaan table wasn’t exactly conducive to idle conversations, however. Even through the silence, the ringleader could tell that the others were angry.
And he was angry too.
Regardless of why it had happened, he really didn’t like losing fights. And this was now two he had lost in as many days, if you counted the minor altercation with the Trill and his disruptor on the previous evening. And his ego insisted that he did count that.
He could sense similar feelings from the others as they silently licked their wounds. Whether or not they had been one of the trio that had been stunned by the human’s phaser, they had all been well and truly shown up in front of every last patron of the Journeyman’s Rest this evening.
But the ringleader, and part-time bouncer, also knew that his men were aware that it had all been worth their while.
Or, at least, it soon would be.
* * * * *
Over at the bar of the Journeyman’s Rest, the Lurian bartender kept an uncertain eye on the table of Nausicaan troublemakers as he polished a shot glass with a dirty rag.
He was thankful that the earlier fight hadn’t caused too much lasting damage to an establishment that was already rife with lasting damage. But he wasn’t entirely sure the action was over for the night, especially when the Nausicaans were still there.
Then, he watched as two newcomers entered the bar. He had trouble telling the two figures apart, but he definitely recognised them both. He was the sort of bartender that never forgot a face.
He watched on, his glass-cleaning duties temporarily forgotten, as one of the newcomers handed a stout and clearly heavy briefcase to the leader of the Nausicaans, who readily accepted it without so much as a word exchanged. And then, just as soon as the newcomers had arrived, they turned and walked straight back out again.
The Lurian half-considered chasing after them to give another non-paying pair of customers a piece of his mind. But, much like the table of Nausicaans, they didn’t strike him as the sort of visitors to Golos III that he wanted to be giving a talking to.
So instead, he looked back at the lead Nausicaan, who was now dutifully doling out the latinum inside the briefcase to his men, splitting it evenly.
The Lurian wasn’t surprised to see the transaction being completed. In fact, he had overheard the deal being set up a few days ago, during a quieter night in the bar. A deal that involved the Nausicaans allowing the Trill and the human to escape from them, to ensure that they left Golos III together.
He wasn’t really sure why it was so vital that they did that. But he would have been happy to warn either the Trill or the human about what he had heard. He’d have talked to them at great lengths about it, if only they had asked him.
But they hadn’t asked him. For all that he observed from behind the bar of the Journeyman’s Rest, nobody ever asked him about anything.
And that, as far as the Lurian was concerned, was the real tragedy here.
End of Part One