Chaper 10: Ferengi Fugitive

“Captain Vance!”

“Hi Vorlag!”

I braced myself, my throat tightening around the horrific truth I had to deliver about his slaughtered people.

“What have you found?”

“We tracked the Ferengi responsible for your people’s disappearance to Pelara III,” I began, my voice tight with the weight of what I had to reveal. “It’s a trading hub known for entertainment venues - the kind of place where smugglers operate freely.”

“Did you find any of my people?”

I fixed my gaze on the deck plating beneath my boots, the cold metallic sheen suddenly feeling like the only solid thing in this moment. “We did,” I confirmed, the words scraping against my throat.

A heavy silence descended upon the bridge, thick enough to choke on. Even Vorlag’s end of the comm channel fell deathly still. My eyes found Garrett’s steady gaze across the expanse of humming consoles, his subtle nod offering a lifeline in this suffocating moment.

“Go on, Captain.”

I exhaled heavily, forcing the next words out. “Vorlag, we discovered cargo containers in a storage unit...” My voice fractured slightly. “ ... and inside were severed limbs of your people.”

There was no response for a long while. “Vorlag?” I said softly, then without warning, a searing pain shot through my implants. My hands snapped to my head as I crouched down in agony. Around me, the rest of the crew cried out, similarly afflicted.

This wasn’t intentional cruelty - it was the raw, unfiltered echo of Xylothian anguish flooding through our connection. We were drowning in their collective grief, a shared torment so intense it stole my breath.

“Vorlag!”

I screamed through the agony, “y ... you’re hurting us!”

The agony abruptly ceased, leaving me gasping for air as my chest heaved with each ragged breath. My watering eyes swept across the bridge, checking on my crew through the lingering haze of pain.

“We apologise Captain!”

My breath trembled as I responded, “I ... I understand.” Even as the words left my lips, I grappled with the terrifying realization of just how profoundly interconnected we truly were. And the depth of that connection, the sheer intensity of shared sensation—it frightened me.

“Have you caught this ... Ferengi!”

I shook my head slowly. “Not yet. We located him, but he slipped away during pursuit. That’s when we found the cargo.”

“We will find him, Vorlag,” my voice steadying with resolve. “That’s our next move.”

“Please Captain ... we need you now more than ever.”

I nodded, aware the transmission carried only my voice. “It’s not over yet, Vorlag. We’ll secure sanctuary for you and your people ... I promise.”

“Thank you.”

I gave a nod to Lieutenant Brennan and he cut the transmission. For a moment I remained motionless, absorbing what had transpired. Then I turned to Garrett. “Commander,” I began, keeping my voice steady, “gather senior staff and bridge crew in the observation lounge. One hour.” I then added, “You have the bridge,” before retreating to the sanctuary of my ready room.

“Aye, Captain.”

I slammed my fist on the table as I glared at my computer screen, frustration boiling over. Our databases had been severed from Starfleet’s network since we went rogue, leaving us with precious little information on Nogrix Vant. All we knew for certain was that he operated as an independent trader, motivated solely by profit, and traveled in a small Ferengi scout ship.

I didn’t know whether he operated alone or had a small crew, but I doubted we’d locate him on Pelara III after the scare we must have given him.

It would be challenging to locate him, especially since he likely employed cloaking technology—but not impossible. Though we’d begun as a mere research vessel without the sophistication to track cloaked ships, everything had changed since the Xylothians’ organic matter fused with our systems.

The door hissed open to reveal the observation lounge where my senior staff sat assembled around the conference table. I moved to the head position, my focus sharpening as I prepared to address them.

I swept my gaze across the assembled officers. “I imagine we all felt it,” I stated, receiving nods of grim acknowledgment from every seat at the table.

“I won’t pretend otherwise—it shook me, feeling their suffering so viscerally. But it raises a critical question: can the Xylothians inflict pain on us at will?”

I looked to Elias, “Doctor?” I asked hoping he’d have an explanation.

“It’s possible, Captain.”

I turned to our physicist. “Dr. Thal, I want you and Lira to determine how these implants translate the Xylothian language. Use any crew members necessary for analysis—I’ll participate if required.”

Dr. Thal inclined his head in agreement. “I’m sure any crew member would suffice, Captain,” he assured me.

I leaned forward, resting my elbows on the polished surface as I steepled my fingers. “Finding Nogrix remains our top priority,” I stated, my voice steady despite the lingering unease from Vorlag’s psychic cry. “Can the organic material assist us in detecting cloaked vessels?”

“Lieutenant Michaels to the Captain!” The urgency in his voice cut through the tension like a knife. I tapped my commbadge immediately. “What is it, Lieutenant?”

“There’s something wrong with our prisoner, Captain. He’s acting erratically—screaming and shouting.”

“We’re on our way!”

I hurried down to deck four with Garrett at my side. We reached the brig to find the Joran writhing on the floor, hands pressed tightly over his ears as he screamed, “Make it STOP!”

I stared at the terror contorting his features, utterly bewildered by whatever unseen torment had seized him.

“Joran! What’s happening?”

“Captain please, make it stop.”

“Make what stop?”

“The pulses, the anger.”

I started to speak again when Garrett suddenly stepped forward. “Joran! We can make it stop,” he said urgently, “but you need to help us.” My brows drew together as I shot him a questioning look, but he gave me a subtle nod of reassurance - Trust me, his expression seemed to convey.

“Do you hear me Joran?!”

“Yes! Just make it stop ... please.”

Then Garrett did something astonishing - he closed his eyes, his eyelids moving rapidly as if focusing inward. To my amazement, Joran began calming down. The Betazoid’s frantic breathing eased as his hands slowly lowered from his ears, leaving him blinking in bewildered confusion.

As soon as Garrett opened his eyes, I seized his arm and pulled him out of the room. In the corridor, I rounded on him with a sharp stare. “What the hell was that?” I demanded, my voice tight with confusion and concern.

“Joran was being bombarded by the ship itself through his telepathic abilities,” he explained, his expression grave. “It must have channeled the Xylothians’ rage. I simply redirected it, Captain.”

“You’re saying we can control the ship with our minds?”