Roose was galvanized by the old man's remarks. As the officers spoke in low voices, his hand went down to his boot. He pretended to scratch his ankle, and there felt the imprint of the long knife Sulu had handed him. Too busy to return it to his cabin, and worried that if he left it anywhere it might hurt someone, he had slid it into the leather of his boot as he rode the turbolift to the bridge with Sulu. In all the excitement since, he had forgotten about it. He started to pull it out, then hesitated. What if they are monitoring us in here? he thought. Instead, he stood up and walked casually over to Sulu, who was standing with Svenson nearer the door.
"Captain, uh, how are you doing on your hobby? You know, the ivory carving?"
Sulu looked at him curiously.
"Fine, when I can get to it. Right now—"
"I've taken it up too. Just like you suggested." Roose smiled, feeling like an idiot.
"That's interesting, Lieutenant Roose. Perhaps if we can get back to the Excelsior in the near future, we can—"
"With the tool you gave me. Remember?"
"Lieutenant, right now ivory carving doesn't—"
"In fact, I couldn't put it down."
Roose saw Sulu's face lose the look of bemusement at last, and stare penetratingly at him.
"The tool I gave you?" Sulu asked.
"Yes." He raised his foot and adjusted his boot. "I thought it might come in handy."
Sulu looked at Roose's feet. Then he looked up at Roose.
"And you've still got what I loaned you?"
"Yes," Roose nodded.
"You're right, it might come in handy. Be cautious."
"Yes, sir."
The door opened as Roose was crossing back to his uncomfortable seat near the bulwark. Half a dozen Beta Prometheans came in with their weapons drawn. Maldari came in behind them, followed by a tall, thin, agile alien Roose didn't recognize, but whose home system must have featured a blistering sun, for the alien had leathery, scaled skin.
The pirate crew moved forward and prodded the officers with their weapons, moving them back against the far wall. Maldari gave instructions in his guttural sounds, but the Starfleet officers, without their Universal Translators, didn't understand them. Maldari and the lizardlike fellow seemed to be discussing something. And then Maldari pointed to Violet Bays. He gestured for her to come forward. She held her ground.
He gave more instructions, and two of his men pulled her away from the others and brought her to the center of the cargo hold. As the other hostages moved forward, the pirates raised their weapons threateningly.
"Maldari," Sulu shouted and moved between Maldari and the woman. "If you harm any Starfleet officer—" Sulu suddenly felt the immense strength of the Beta's upper body as Maldari shoved him back. He sprawled on the floor.
Maldari said something to Violet Bays. Roose and the others were listening carefully, but the Beta Promethean language was impossible to fathom. Maldari raised his weapon and pointed it at her. He shouted something in a harsh voice. Roose wanted to reach for his knife, but in the tense room, any kind of movement would have attracted the attention of the well-armed pirates. Everybody waited. Maldari shook his weapon. The alien put his hand over Maldari's and gently pushed the weapon down.
"I don't want damaged goods," he said to Maldari in the Beta Promethean language. He looked at the tall woman. "We want you," he said in a halting, lisped English, "to take off your clothes."
"Up yours," Bays said in a forceful tone. Maldari didn't understand her at all, and the lizard-man puzzled over the meaning of the phrase.
On the way back to the bar, Maldari tried to reassure Licus. "Probably female humans are allowed more modesty than our females are accustomed to. I doubt if she was hiding any significant blemishes."
"You should have insisted. Your men could have stripped her," Licus said.
"When I have been paid, you can do what you like with her. In the meantime, the others looked like they may have caused trouble. I can't start shooting them, they're valuable."
"Not to me," Licus said. They had crossed through the junkyard and come to the clearing. "The men aren't worth much at all and, considering the belligerence of the United Federation of Planets, will probably be too hot to handle. But I'll take the women off your hands. Forty thousand kerns for the two of them." He pushed through the steel doors of the bar and left Maldari standing outside in the gloom and fog.
Maldari swore a Promethean oath to himself. He was going to be stuck with nine male humans if he wasn't quick about it. He hurried inside after Licus and followed him to the table in the corner.
"I am anxious to get back into space. I'll throw in the men for just ten thousand kerns. Surely you can sell them on a slave planet somewhere."
"It isn't so easy." Licus frowned. "Human females are well known throughout the universe for their durability, their adaptability, and their common sense. But the men will be obstinate and argumentative. As servants they'll be truculent and moody. And they will breed not for intelligence or even strength, but for valueless commodities such as beauty. Besides, the whole Starfleet will be looking for them. Slave planets don't want trouble from Federation Starships. I'll tell you what. I'll give you fifty thousand kerns for the two women. That's my best offer. Make up your mind, because I want to transport them quickly."
Maldari sat on the stool and rubbed his face with his open hand.
"All right," he said. "All right. The women are yours. Now what in Hades am I going to do with nine males?"
"I can help you with that," a familiar voice said.
Maldari swiveled around and found that Dramin was standing behind him. There were two more Clerics with him, one of them much older. Great, Maldari thought, more fanatics to deal with. But the figure that made him most suspicious stood just next to the Clerics. He was tall and powerful-looking, and had an angry visage. Though Maldari had seen many of them on his home planet, there were few in this low-life establishment in a barren spot in the far corner of the Beta Promethean star system. And this one was well dressed in a military-style uniform. He was a Klingon.
"Dramin, I don't know if I want to get involved with Klingons," Maldari said, after he had moved aside with his religious officer. And I don't know if I want to get involved with you Clerics either, he thought. "Besides, they don't subscribe to the Only Way, do they?"
"Sometimes we have to work with disbelievers," Dramin said. "You've lost your ship. Your shuttle will be easily spotted, is unarmed, and is much too slow. They are willing to transport you, your crew, and your freight back to Archnos. They have a B'rel-class Bird-of-Prey right here on this moon. It is commonly used to carry cargo in and out of Archnos. As they have their own freight warehouses and facilities, no one will question its manifest. The spaceport there is full of opportunity."
"And what do they want for this help, exactly?"
"Only to use the Starfleet officers for a few days. After that, you can do whatever you want with them."
"I can't sell dead Starfleet officers, Dramin."
"You can't sell live ones either, Maldari," the Cleric said.
So Dramin understood the situation. Maldari reminded himself to stop thinking of Clerics as quite so unworldly.
Maldari glanced around the bar. He ran his eye over a number of offworlders. Few were traders in species, he knew. If Licus wouldn't take the men, no one would. What did he have to lose?
Then he spotted a Beta Promethean he knew. The odd figure sat alone at a table, but was staring straight at Maldari. His Beta Promethean features were ugly, smooth, with straight white teeth and even skin. His hair was silky, his eyes blue. Maldari remembered that he was a half-breed. If the other half was descended from any of the Federation species, then … Maldari told Dramin to meet him outside the shuttle with the Klingons. After they left, Maldari went straight over to the curious Beta Promethean.
Before Maldari could introduce himself, the man rose on his four short legs. "Please, sit down." He smiled, and the milky white tee
th annoyed Maldari. "My name is Taras Tarquin. We've traded once before, some years ago. You probably don't remember. It doesn't matter."
"No, I remember. Vaguely." Maldari wanted to recall whether he had gotten the best of the swap or not.
"I can imagine you are having a bit of trouble getting rid of your current cargo," Tarquin said.
"Sometimes the market is good, sometimes not," Maldari said evasively.
"Perhaps I should explain. You're wondering about my heritage. My mother was Beta Promethean. But my father was a human. He was part of an early colony in a neighboring system."
"I'm not a bigot," Maldari said. "I leave that to the Clerics."
"Your cargo. I may be able to help you."
"I don't need any help," Maldari said.
"In placing it," Tarquin went on politely. "I have a number of contacts among the people, probably the only people, who would buy. Or trade. Or, say, even if you just wanted to give it back without causing an intergalactic incident. Which might be the best thing."
"You represent the Federation?"
"No, not at all. I am merely a trader, like yourself. But because of my, shall we say, unattractiveness, I am more welcome outside the Beta system than in it, and I am in the habit of traveling freely in Federation space. I often visit their starbases. That's why interspecies trading has become something of a specialty with me."
"I've already unloaded the women. I'm transporting the men back to—to somewhere else. But I haven't made a deal for them yet."
Tarquin shrugged. He let Maldari think.
"In a few days, the men might be available," Maldari said. "Where can I reach you?"
"Here," Tarquin said. "I'm here often. Or you can leave a message with the bartender. An ancient but useful alternative."
"And you could find a buyer for nine human males? Even if they were Starfleet officers?"
"I can find a buyer for anything." Tarquin smiled, his straight teeth once more reminding Maldari he was dealing with a perversion of the Beta Promethean species. "It is a special talent of mine," he appended, looking at Maldari.
Caught staring at the odd half-alien, Maldari was not embarrassed.
As soon as the pirates locked them in again, Sulu hurried to reassure Violet Bays that she would be safe.
"We'll be out of here soon," he said to her. "In the meantime, we'll all stand together."
"Something has to happen," Lieutenant Roose added. "They could have killed us by now if that's what they wanted to do."
"Somehow that doesn't give me a lot of hope. They look like a murderous bunch of thugs to me," Bays said.
"You mustn't judge aliens by their cosmetology," Dr. Hans put in. "What do you really think our situation is, Sulu? What do these villains want from us?"
"I wish I could answer that," Sulu said seriously.
Roose spoke up. "If these pirates want to call themselves traders, I hope they'll trade us for something."
"A ransom?" Sulu said. "That would be difficult for the Federation to swallow. Think what it would open up. I'm sure Sencus is moving forward on some front or another. We can count on him to do his very best. He's enormously resourceful. We can trust him with our lives."
"At this point," Dr. Hans said simply, "I believe we are."
The little group broke up. Dr. Hans waited until he could join Sulu in the corner of the hold.
"Can we really expect to be rescued?" Hans said.
"That depends," Sulu said, measuring his own thoughts. "I can imagine that Starfleet cannot move on this without authorization from the Federation Council. They may be unwilling to trigger any kind of military action. There could be political delays, negotiations. Then too, the Starfleet is spread very thin around an infinite universe. We pay a certain price in exchange for the almost limitless autonomy that an Excelsior-class cruiser has so many million light-years from headquarters. I think we're paying that price now. We are, functionally if not theoretically, on our own, as is usually the case."
"In other words, we're expendable."
"Surely you knew that," Sulu said as calmly as he could.
"It wasn't exactly in the Basic Orders." Hans smiled and put his hand on Sulu's shoulder.
On the other side of the room Lieutenant Roose looked closely at Ensign Bays. He had always liked her. She was efficient on the bridge, dedicated and anxious to learn off it, and eternally ebullient socially. Now he saw for the first time the strain starting to show in her pale face. He tried to reassure her.
"Don't worry, we're going to be all right. It's just a matter of a few days' patience."
"I may not have a few days," the young woman answered. "I'm sure there's a reason Maldari brought that man to look at me."
"Listen," Roose said, feeling protective. "We wouldn't let you become separated from us. If it comes to that—"
"If it comes to that, Lieutenant Roose," Bays said, her confidence returning, "I can take care of myself. It would not help for any of you to get yourselves hurt or killed, on my account. Don't try to do anything foolishly gallant."
"Tell you what," Roose said, bending down as if to rebuckle his boot, then straightening up. "You take this. Put it in your pocket or something. Just in case." He slid the sharp knife into her hand. Her face showed surprise. "I happened to have it on me when we were ambushed."
Sulu saw the maneuver, and knew at once that the lieutenant had given Bays his knife. If it came to hand-to-hand combat, Sulu thought, this crew could take these pirates, and the idea gave him some relief—a feeling that faded as quickly as it came. The Prometheans had murderous weapons. He'd need a better idea than that. He looked around at the hold, and saw that there were numerous panels and tubes holding the controls. He approached Svenson.
"Sven," Sulu said in a low voice. "Look at the walls. They're loaded with systems."
"I've noticed that," the taciturn Norwegian said. "We could probably disable this ship from here. Disrupt all of the power. But then what?"
"What about communications?" Sulu said.
"What do you mean?"
"What do you think you could fashion out of some of these wires and things? There must be a power source in the walls somewhere."
The tall blond man stood up. "You mean, could I contact the Excelsior? Probably not without a voice sensor. But I'll bet I could fashion a simple signal transmitter. By tapping into the shuttle's own power source, I could broadcast our coordinates on the Excelsior's coded emergency frequency."
"Give it a try."
"If I start tearing up the facilities, the ship might not function."
"Let them worry about that."
Svenson scouted the walls. He opened a number of ducts and found an archaic amount of wiring, a few sensors, and some hardwired boards. Then he found the subspace receiver the ship would depend on for long-range communication. In less than half an hour he had a signal-transmission device ready. He called Sulu over.
"Just press this, and a low-frequency signal on Excelsior's emergency band will go out from it. If they're listening, they will be able to identify our coordinates by tracing the source."
"They're listening," Sulu said. "Ship's regulations require constant monitoring of the emergency frequency if anyone is missing." Some of the other officers had gathered around and were admiring Svenson's handiwork.
"Hey, Sven," Spiros Focus said jovially. "Why don't you build us a transporter and beam us the heck out of here?"
"What's the matter, Spiros, don't you like the frontier life?" another officer said.
"To be honest, I have yet to see anything up here that compares with my islands. I think when my tour of duty is over, I will go back and sit on my hillside, watch the starships land in the Mediterranean ports, and be glad the only aliens I deal with are fish from the sea."
"Just one thing," Svenson said to Sulu. "I'm fairly certain that this will be a one-time-only transmission. By diverting the main power source on the shuttle, I'm fairly certain I've got enough range to reach the Excelsio
r, provided she hasn't left the region."
"She hasn't," Sulu said quietly.
"But when the surge of power needed is monitored by the shuttle's main onboard computer, it will recognize a renegade and unauthorized use of its propulsion boost by the electromagnetic field, and probably—if their systems resemble ours even slightly—shut down automatically until it defines the loss of power as necessary. Since the main communications in the control cell do the same thing, the computer will probably either reroute the power on its own, or at least sound a warning on the main control panel that our captors might see or hear."
"In other words," Sulu said thoughtfully, "let's hope it works the first time. All right, Sven, give it a try."
Svenson touched a couple of loose wires together, then pushed a small metallic button he had rigged. Nothing happened.
"Well, that was pretty anticlimactic," Spiros said.
"It's only a subspace transmission, Spiros," Sulu said. "It wasn't supposed to be bells and whistles." He turned to Svenson. "Think it worked?"
The tall Norwegian shrugged. "Hope so," he said.
Silently all the officers agreed with him.
Sounds outside caused the men to break up. The door opened. A dozen men came in, half of Maldari's pirate crew, the other half versions of the lizard-man who had visited earlier. They prodded the crew back again, and this time without words pulled both the women forward. Holding them by the arms, they turned to go out the door.
Instinctively several of the officers jumped toward the guards. A scuffle broke out. The guards hit two of them hard with the butt of their weapons. Sulu hurried up and tried to insert himself between the women and the door. He reached for Bays.
"Wait a minute," he yelled. "We are Federation citizens. I demand—" A blast from Maldari's weapon knocked him backward. The last thing he saw before he blacked out was the door closing after the two women were pushed out.
The Fearful Summons Page 6
