The Nausicaan mercenary is called Nurnos. He's about forty centimetres taller than me, and big-built with it; he's dressed in KDF-surplus combat armour, and right now he's making a pretty creditable attempt to knock my head off.
He comes towards me now in a fighting crouch, clawed hands extended. If he gets a grip, his superior weight and strength are going to finish me off pretty quick. So, don't let him get a grip, Pex, I tell myself. I feint to the left, dodge to the right, trip over some random piece of junk on the cargo bay floor, and somehow convert the stumble into a shoulder roll that leaves me out of his reach for a scant few seconds.
Nurnos gnashes his tusks, scoops up the thing I tripped on - looks like an empty packing container - and throws it at my head. I duck, but it still catches me a glancing blow on the scalp. I dodge his next rush and throw my elbow into his kidney as I pass. No luck there, though, his armour is too solid. I already tried kicking him in the knees, same problem.
If this was some cheesy martial arts movie, I would use Master Blah's Astounding Leaping Flamingo technique to kick him in the head right now and finish it. Sadly, in the real world, a move like that will more likely leave me flat on my back with an angry Nausicaan standing over me, which is kinda not the sort of place I most want to be. There are no magic one-shot moves that will take him down....
Although -
I find a fraction of a second to think while he sidles around, trying to get on my flank. He's wearing Klingon body armour... and Klingon armour doesn't quite fit Nausicaan bodies. I remember, dimly, a combat instructor at the Academy, droning on about that back plating and how it could dig into some nerve cluster at the base of the spine.
Well, it's worth a shot.
So, the next time he darts forward to get me in grappling range, I let him - and, as his arms close around me, I reach around his torso with my arm, find the lacing for that row of plates down the back, and give it a sharp tug downwards.
He screeches in my ear and relaxes his grip. He's only startled and pained, but it gives me enough of an opening to slam my elbow into his jaw, then follow up with a punch to the throat.
He goes down. I roll away, come back up in a crouch. Nurnos is on his hands and knees, coughing and retching. He turns his head towards me, and there is pure murder in his eyes.
Then those eyes glaze over, and he shivers, and subsides gracelessly onto the floor. It's as if the strength has been suddenly drained out of his body - which, as it happens, it has.
"Enough." Heizis unfolds herself from her perch high up on one wall, and drops lithely down onto the deck. Her eyes remained fixed on Nurnos, ready to put another Reman psychic whammy on him if she needs to. Nurnos makes some incoherent mumbling noises, then says in a hoarse voice, "Yes, enough." He gets back to his feet. I'm sorta pleased to see it takes him a couple of tries.
Heizis hands him a datapad. He turns towards me, and his mouth and tusks contort in something that I realize, after a second or so, is meant to be a smile. "You fight dirty," he says. "I like that, in an employer."
"Glad to hear it," I say. I'd say something wittier, but I'm trying not to look out of breath.
Nurnos's horny thumb comes down on the datapad. "Congratulations," Heizis says, "you have a first officer." She stalks off towards the cargo bay door. "Let me introduce you to some more of your new team," she says over her shoulder.
I follow her. Behind me, Nurnos picks up his gun, one of those Nausicaan things with the blades that look like the Grand High Chieftain of the Can-Opener Clan. Normally, having a Nausicaan mercenary behind me with one of those things would make me worry... but Nausicaans are sticklers for their contracts, and I have this guy's contract, so right now having a Nausicaan merc at my back just means I have a very well-guarded back. It's enough to cheer me up, a bit.
Heizis leads us through several corridors and docking latches, to another semi-autonomous capsule, one of many in the tangled Medusa coils of the Suliban cell ship. Two figures stand up as we come through a door.
The first one - My eyes widen at the sight of her. Heavy, drab clothing; grey mottled skin, conical skull, eyes of a smoky orange colour... you really don't see many Kobali this side of the galaxy.
"My name is Nyesenia," she says. "Engineering officer." Surprise must be showing in my face, since she adds, "I hope you're not one of those people who have problems with the post-mortal."
I'm tempted to say hey, I get on fine with the undead, just ask Heizis, but with Heizis standing right beside me, that would be kind of tactless. Besides, I'm not sure the ghoulish Reman counts as a friend, exactly, just as someone who takes me seriously enough not to hand me back to Starfleet. "Just wondering what you're doing this side of the Iconian gates, is all," I manage to say.
"I could ask you the same," she replies tartly, and then she smiles. "I suppose we will have time to get to know each other. This," she adds, pointing to the other person in the room, "is your science officer, Rozilai."
Rozilai is tall and slim, wearing a simple blue dress. Her skin is so dark it's hard to make our her Trill spots, and, as I look closer, one side of her face seems to be scarred, or wrinkled, or even withered. Old radiation burn, maybe? It doesn't seem to bother her. "I have heard a great deal about you from Commander Heizis," she says, holding out a hand.
I shake it. "And you're not running?" I ask.
She laughs. "Commander Heizis speaks highly of your talents." I turn to Heizis and quirk a quizzical eyebrow at her. She just glowers.
"Well," I say, "I'm sure you're all talented, too. In fact, you better be, since as far as I can see we've got some pretty serious challenges. Like, for instance, we're gonna have to walk everywhere...."
Heizis sighs. "You asked for transport. I have provided transport." She walks across the room, to a transparent aluminium porthole. She points. "There."
I join her, and squint to see where she's pointing. The cell ship is floating free in one of the vast interior hangars of the Vault; the ancient space station is big enough to make Earth Spacedock look like a potting shed.
The thing Heizis is pointing at is a stubby cylinder, like a can of condensed milk or something. Except it's a can with serious Goth pretensions; it's black, it's got a module on top that looks like a big pointy hat, its warp nacelles are sheathed in sharply angled protective covers that look like capes. A Goth vampire wizard condensed milk can. Or, in conventional language, a Hirogen hunter escort.
"Yep, OK," I say. "I guess I can do some damage in that. Keep the change."
"I did," says Heizis. She frowns. Well, she frowns worse. "I had hoped to obtain something larger - there were rumours that an Apex battlecruiser was coming onto the market. But those rumours came to nothing." She glares at me. "No doubt you believe that was Kalevar Thrang's fault, too."
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