Saving Mar

02 ATTACK

Once Mar and her women found their lost balance, they fanned out, each off to complete their assigned tasks. T'Pol announced that the ship's shields were up, so they were unable to beam out for the time being.

Jon let out a deep sigh and decided that their best chance was to help these women shake off whoever was shooting at them. He beckoned his away team to follow one of the crew to the bridge.

They didn't take five steps before his communicator sprung to life.

"Archer here," he answered curtly.

Trip's voice came back through, slightly worried.

"Sir, what's going on down there? Do you need backup?"

"I'll get back to you on that in a minute. Stand by."

"A'ight, Cap'n."

When they reached the bridge, Mar was already perched in the captain's chair, body rigid, her fingertips boring into the handles. She was barking out orders like a seasoned officer.

The enemy ship on the screen was enormous, though. The old boat they were trying to defend had a few nasty tricks up its barrels and it looked like Mar was not willing to go down without a fight, but their realistic chances could not be high.

"How are we looking?" he asked casually as he stood next to her chair.

"Against that beast?" she cackled bitterly. "Seems like they sent the best arsenal they had. We could actually use the help of that big tin can of yours, Captain Archer."

"I'm sure," he nodded. "But we're not in the business of starting fights we can't finish. Not if it could be avoided."

"Great, that's just great," she muttered under her breath. "Thanks for oh-so-gallantly coming to our rescue, then. It doesn't make sense!" She yelped suddenly, punching one of the handles with her fist. "Someone must've tipped them off. The guys we captured are not even Orions, what do they care? No distress signal got out, we made sure of it. Is it possible you brought them with you, Captain?"

"Maybe they caught Mury," Sevon spoke up before Jon could answer. Her tone was no longer calm and confident.

"Or he betrayed you," Mar spit out venom and, to Jon's surprise, Sevon slumped her head in desperation. "He could've sent Sir Starfleet here to find us, just so these guys could stay on their tail and let you do the work for them. Bet he made some sweet cash selling us out."

"I don't know about that," Jon shrugged. "He looked genuinely worried."

"Well then, I guess that makes it okay," Mar seethed. "So will you just stand there, being witty, or are you gonna help? If not, you can get the fuck off my bridge."

Jon barely managed to suppress a wry smile. He learned not to judge books by their covers, but there was something fascinating in the contrast between Mar's soft, delicate looks, and the intensity of her character. Now that Jon had witnessed both, he could see her regal side visibly showing in each of her orders, but something clearly jagged the fine edge of her upbringing; throwing such crude words around did not seem lady-like at all. He could not help but wonder what kind of life she had led.

"She might be right," Hoshi said, clutching a console to keep herself steady. "But we should take these guys with us. We can give them a ride, can't we, Captain?"

"We can only beam four at a time," Malcolm shook his head. "If we lower the shields for that long, that thing will shred us all to pieces."

"We're not leaving this bucket of bolts without our spoils," Mar protested, clearly capable of following their conversation while evading enemy fire. "This score will keep us fed before we can find another, without it we're done."

"Maybe it would help to ask them what they want," T'Pol suggested with a touch of her own brand of sarcasm.

"You really think they've come to talk?" Mar snorted derisively.

"Worth a try, Your Grace," Malcolm threw her a disarming smile.

Mar gritted her teeth for a second or two, but then hit the com pad on the handle of her chair.

"This is, uh," she paused and quickly looked up the ship's manifest, "slave freighter G'Raan. Why have you engaged in battle with us and what can we do to make you leave us alone?"

The shaking stopped. There was silence for a long stretch of time.

Just as Mar inhaled to drop another snarky comment, the com pad beeped. She hit it again and the ship resonated with a deep masculine voice.

"Evening, ladies," he said smugly. "You have something that belongs to us. A few more of our torpedoes and not even your human friends will be able to save your skin. I sincerely recommend that you surrender and willingly join us on our ship. You see, we're getting paid for your heads, whether they are still attached to your bodies or not."

"What do you want with us and how the fuck did you find us?" Mar grated into the com, hands balled into fists.

"If you're still alive when we get back to Orion, you can ask your pal Mury," the voice cackled and cut the transmission.

"Son of a –"

Mar screeched, but the next hit knocked her off the chair. Jon landed next to her and they exchanged distressed looks. They didn't have many options left.

"Trip," he yelled into his communicator, "how well are they equipped? Can we afford to tickle them a little?"

"Sure thing, Cap'n, I like our odds on that. But I advise you to get back on board asap, because we might have to step on gas. This ain't no plaything we're up against."

"That might be tricky," Jon grunted, trying to get back to his feet. "Any ideas on how to get all of us out before we're space debris?"

"We'll get to work on it, Cap'n."

Mar pulled herself up and cast Jon a blank glance.

"We do have one last trick left," she said, voice flat.