Chapter 11: First Contact

Trip sat behind the engineering console feeling morose, but trying to hide it to the best of his abilities. The situation between him and T'Pol felt a little awkward at the moment since he had fled her quarters last night. Anna had collected his abandoned tools, and her worried looks told him that she was quite aware of the tension between him and the science officer.

Intellectually speaking, T'Pol had of course been right; and in a way it was pathetic that he of all people, the 'good ol' boy' who had never spurned a night of sex with a lovely lady, was now looking for ways to evade just that. But something about her blunt request that he look after himself and 'have his tensions eased' felt just too weird. Something about her knowing that he would hop in the sack with another woman (and not even minding if he did) just served as a big honking cold shower.

Finding a willing partner would be the easiest thing in the world. Anna Hess, his second in command, had tried to get him into her bed using hints as subtle as a dropped grand piano: showing that massive cleavage of hers, for instance, or 'walking in' on him in the shower. But what would that lead to? He had to work with her every day, and the last thing he needed was having sex with someone who couldn't deal with the fact that it would be just that for him – sex and no relationship afterwards. He wasn't really in the business of breaking hearts. His own was already broken enough. He felt no need to do that to someone else's, too.

He shook off his thoughts to concentrate on the job at hand. They were on approach to Starbase 74 and several systems would be tested under realistic conditions – the docking clamps, the maneuvering thrusters and others. He couldn't really afford to be distracted by his messed-up love life. He directed his concentration back at his work.

"On screen," he heard the captain order when their hail was answered.

Trip gave the screen only a cursory glance. He knew Commodore M'Gambe all too well. The man wasn't here for his administrative skills. He had been a Captain of Starfleet Engineering until he'd become embroiled in disciplinary action against several officers – including himself – who'd sold engineering components to civilians and pocketed the money for themselves.

In a demented bit of 'logic', not wanting to overshadow the launch of their first warp five ship, Starfleet had actually promoted the man and removed him from the spotlight, parking him conveniently on this decrepit starbase where he could make use of his 'business sense' to fill Starfleet's coffers as well as his own.

"Captain, it's good to see you."

"Commodore."

"Our docking system is currently in a maintenance cycle, but you should be able to dock in about twenty minutes."

Trip looked up. That was a bit weird. Their ETA had been known for over twenty-four hours and he checked with the chronometer – yep, they were smack bang on time. Why would the starbase go into a maintenance cycle now? Even if the maintenance had been planned for a long time, they could have just rescheduled it by a few hours. Something was definitely fishy.

"We will await your signal," the captain said, but Trip was on the case as soon as the view screen cleared.

"Cap'n, something's not right. They've known we're comin' since yesterday and we're not a minute too late."

"The Commander's right, sir, and I think I know what's wrong."

All eyes turned to Travis, who had turned from the helm with an expression of eagerness.

"Can we play the recording of the Commodore, in slow motion?" he went on.

After a nod from the captain, Hoshi replayed the message.

"Stop just there, Hoshi," Travis said excitedly. "Magnify the wall behind the commodore and sharpen it."

"Son-of-a-bitch! What the hell is that?" Trip said. The stern look from the ship's resident Vulcan told him that she didn't care much for his language.

Reflected in one of the inactive display panels behind the commodore was some big bodybuilder type, and he was bright green with weird piercings in his face. Starbase 74 was known to have business dealings with some races that so far were little known back home, but a bright green one? He would have remembered hearing about something like that.

"Travis?" he heard the captain ask.

"Orions, sir." The young helmsman's face now reflected dismay and disgust. "They're space pirates, who deal mainly in slavery. They raid ships, kidnap young crew members and sell them on slave markets throughout the sector."

"Something must be wrong with my hearin'," Trip said in disgust. "For a moment I thought you said 'slave markets'."

Travis was about to answer, when he was interrupted by Malcolm.

"Captain, I should inform you that there have been no less than six missing person reports on Starbase 74 over the last six months. All between seventeen and twenty-five, all female."

"Why weren't we informed about that earlier?" the captain asked, clearly irritated and with a good amount of naked shock on his face.

"I have the distinct impression that the Commodore was not planning to volunteer that information, sir," Malcolm replied dryly.

Trip remembered that most of the Brit's service record was classified, reminding him that they were dealing with some sort of former spook. He had come to know Malcolm well enough to know that this meant the lieutenant had tapped into the station's system without prior permission – an ability that was not among those officially listed on his CV.

"Okay, Lieutenant, what's your take on this?" the captain asked.

Reed stared narrowly at the screen for a moment longer, then sat back and folded his arms as he delivered his professional opinion. "The Orions have not boarded the station by force, in fact as you can see the individual is not even wearing a weapon. I'd say the Commodore has some questions to answer."

"Proposals," the captain demanded.

"I suggest insertion of a small security team – just three of my best people and myself. The station has no transporter technology, so their sensors should not be able to pick up a matter transport either. There must be a ship in the vicinity. I would advise that you shadow that ship while my people and I secure evidence on the station. I believe the twenty minutes of 'maintenance' is the time they need to let the Orions slip out of the back door."

"You want to beam in there, Lieutenant?" Trip asked. "That thing has never been tested on living beings other than a few rats and chickens. And some were reconfigured in the worst way in the process."

"Nobody ever said that a job in security is a particularly safe one, Commander."

"Lieutenant," Travis interrupted, "I'd suggest that you take breathing masks with you. Our ship was once boarded by Orions and everybody went crazy over their females, except one guy, who was still in an EV suit. They must release some sort of drug or something."

"Quick thinking, Ensign," the captain said appreciatively.

On his commanding officer's nod, Malcolm left the bridge to prepare for his mission.

"Permission to handle the transporter controls, Cap'n," the chief engineer requested. "If we're going to use that thing on people for the first time, I think an officer should take the responsibility for what happens."

Captain Archer nodded again, and he prepared to go. His glance met T'Pol's and they held each other's gaze for a moment. Her eyes were as enigmatic as ever, but even if it was just his imagination, it felt to him as if she was trying to convey a 'good luck' message.

On his way out he casually touched Hoshi's shoulder. Seeing her nervous smile, he knew she would have liked to wish Malcolm 'good luck' as well.

Jonathan Archer forced himself to sit down. While he wanted to pace the bridge to hide his irritation and nervousness, he knew it would send the wrong signal to his bridge crew. It irked him that, while they had shipped out to introduce humanity to a wider interplanetary community, they'd ended up running straight into what looked suspiciously like a case of slave trafficking. And Starfleet was right in the thick of it.

"Captain, I believe I have located the Orion ship."

T'Pol's report shook him out of his dark reverie, and he asked her to call it up on screen. A dark greenish contraption hung in space, mostly hidden behind an asteroid. He asked T'Pol for details.

"Warp capable, but from the antimatter readings, I would submit it is capable of no more than warp three. The craft is, however, very well armed."

"Can we follow them at a safe distance?"

"We have their initial position. We should be able to track their warp trail while staying out of sensor range."

"Prepare to do that as soon as Lieutenant Reed and his team have been transferred. Ensign Mayweather, can you tell us anything about their battle tactics?"

"They rely on brute force, sir. Their ships don't seem to be very maneuverable, at least the few I have seen in person."

"I take it you can keep us moving so we won't find out how brute their force is, Ensign?"

"Nothing easier than that," the young man said with a wide grin. If the results Jon had seen from the ensign's flight test were anything to go by, his confidence was everything but misplaced.