Half an hour after receiving the ransom note -- at 11:30pm local time -- four shapely, female figures hit the streets of the Starfleet Quarter of Serenity City. The night had turned out to be overcast and chilly, with the smell of rain in the air.
They'd left their uniforms back at the apartment. Jo was wearing blue denim pants and a khaki shirt, topped by a tough denim jacket. Alex had obviously taken her lead from Jo, and was dressed similarly, adding only a bright red bandana tied around her forehead to keep her long, blonde hair out of her eyes. Max was decked out all in dark leather -- leather pants topped by a soft leather shirt and brown, leather bomber jacket, and her long, brown hair was back in a ponytail. She looked ready to take on the entire underworld. Carter wore beige cargo pants with pockets covering the front of her upper legs, and a blue button-down shirt with more pockets, while a brown leather bomber jacket completed the ensemble.
Dressed in civilian attire, they stuck out like four sore thumbs among the brightly-uniformed Starfleet personnel still going busily about their business despite the late hour, but where they were ultimately headed they'd blend right in. Or so Carter hoped.
They all had a hand phaser stashed somewhere, of course. Just in case. And Carter was pretty sure Max had a few other weapons concealed about her person as well, in case their phasers were scanned and confiscated somewhere along the line.
"So, where to?" asked Alex, impatient to get going.
"The 'Salty Spittoon'," replied Jo. "Wherever that is."
"Why don't you find out?" suggested Carter pointedly.
Jo cast about for a city directory and quickly spotted one, just across the street. The ladies followed her over to the distinctive kiosk and watched as she worked the simple keypad. It didn't take Jo long to come up with the answer. "It's in the Warehouse District, down by the docks," she announced flatly.
"Of course it is..." sighed Max, rolling her eyes. "I think we all saw that coming. I'm sure it'll turn out to be in a dark alley too."
"All right, let's go," said Carter. She wasn't in the mood for Max's attitude. Stepping to the curb, she held up a hand, signaling for a taxi.
A yellow-and-black checkered vehicle drifted down from the leaden cloud deck above, and the four women piled in. Carter told the automated driver their destination. The door closed and the taxi rose on its magnetic lifts into the all-concealing fog above the rooftops, vanishing from the gaze of any onlookers. It pivoted to face in the direction of Serenity City's waterfront, then quickly accelerated through the murk.
The sky-cab deposited them at the end of a long, dark alley. Max cast a 'see-I-told-you-so' look at Carter, but otherwise kept her mouth shut.
Fog slithered across the ground like living tendrils, enfolding anything in its path in a smothering embrace. Its chill touch wrapped around the four women's legs, inviting them to step further into its domain. Ahead, the alley was darksome and sinister in a very cliché sort of way. A single, dim streetlamp could be vaguely discerned though the mist at the far end of the block, while about halfway down the street a flickering, dilapidated, red neon sign hung crookedly from a dirty wall demarking the entrance to the Salty Spittoon.
Jo and Alex looked at each other uncertainly. They'd been in their share of dive bars, but never one quite as rough-looking as this one looked. Max had put on her poker face, keeping her feelings to herself, while Carter remained resolute.
They cautiously made their way down the alley, trying their best to avoid the noisome puddles in the street. Carter nervously fingered the phaser in her pocket.
The entrance to the place was an open doorway, covered only by a ratty curtain, one low step up from street level, through which riotous shouting, raucous laughter and the occasional scream could be heard. Along with the noise, thin wisps of foul smelling smoke drifted into the night outside.
There was no point stalling, so Carter bravely plunged on inside. The others crowded close behind her.
The inside of the place was every bit as cliché as the outside. Acrid smoke tinged everything blue, and curls of haze swirled lazily around the two sluggish ceiling fans overhead. Half a dozen tables crowded the main floor, while a long bar could dimly be made out through the smoke along the back. A beat-up, old jukebox leaned against a wall, silent, out-of-order.
The clientele was also cliché. Huge, brawny men, tattooed every one of them, with arms the size of Klingon targs. Dock workers, loaders, cargo handlers, longshoremen, sailors. Probably a fair share of murderers and cutthroats too, thought Carter grimly. They were grimy, rough, hardworking men. Everyone had a mug of beer before him, and most were talking and boasting loudly with their comrades, and anyone else who would listen, about their exploits with women or about how they'd've given the Mullurans or Zanderans a good thrashing if only they'd been in charge of the war.
Surprisingly though, not many heads turned at the sudden appearance of four beautiful women in their midst. Given the crowd, Carter would have expected the opposite, and she felt strangely insulted by the lack of attention. She heard Max harrumph behind her, obviously thinking similar thoughts.
"Looks like a great place for a little R&R," commented Jo.
"'Rest and Relaxation'?" asked Alex dubiously.
"I was thinking 'Rum and Regurgitation', but we can try yours," replied Jo dubiously.
Carter led her group over to a table in the shadows near the rear. A few leering, lecherous stares followed them, but no one bothered them. They've probably never seen a woman in here before, thought Carter. It'll take them a few minutes to decide what to do about us. She hoped whoever had left the ransom note in her quarters would show up soon. She scanned the faces around her, wondering if he wasn't here already, but her gaze was met everywhere by indifference and resentment.
"We're going to the bar," announced Jo. "It's too close in this corner. If something's gonna happen, I want some fightin' room." She grabbed Alex by the lapel and dragged her along. "Come on, kid."
The two weaved off between the tables. Someone at the other end of the room threw a poorly-aimed glass mug at someone else, and although it hadn't been aimed at them, they had to duck to avoid getting brained. The makeshift projectile brained someone else though, and it started a fight. Jo and Alex had to rush out of the way or get trampled in the minor melee that ensued. Luckily, the fracas thrashed its way back to the far end of the room, leaving the denizens on this side to pick up their tipped tables and resume their drinking. No one bothered to clean up the broken glass shards.
Carter was a little worried about Alex -- she doubted the young rookie had ever been in a place like this -- but she knew Jo. Though a brainiac, she could take care of herself in a brawl, and would look out for the youngster.
That left Carter and Max sitting at the table. The lighting back in their corner was even dimmer than in the rest of the joint; dim enough so that to a passerby out in the main portion of the bar they would appear as nothing more than shadowy wraiths. Lee had chosen this spot for exactly that reason -- to give them first look at anyone who approached, ransomer or otherwise. But it was not a ransomer that swaggered unsteadily up to their table, rather, a gruesome gang of grizzly Nausicaans.
"Hyoo-mons play dom-jot!" their leader bellowed with typically odd Nausicaan pronunciation. He leaned his knobby knuckles heavily on their table and glared at them in turn, challenging them to take him up. Lee and Max returned the Nausicaan's glower with cool, steady expressions. These morons aren't the ransomers; they're just looking for trouble.
She could never understand the Nausicaans' strange fascination with such a stupid game like dom-jot, but every Nausicaan she'd ever met shared it. "No thanks," she said calmly but firmly, then turned her attention deliberately away.
Unfortunately, the Nausicaan was either too dimwitted to get the hint, or too drunk -- probably both -- and he wasn't going to take 'no' for an answer. He slammed his dom-jot stick down on the table with jarring force and bellowed even louder. "No!" He straightened to his full height, gnashed his mandibles and pointed at Carter. "You play!" Apparently he had decided she was the leader of this pair of humans.
Regardless of who was perceived as leader, it was Max who lost her temper first. She made to stand, and Lee tried to hold her down, fervently praying the situation didn't degenerate into another fight.
Unfortunately, the Nausicaans had the opposite feeling. If there was anything a Nausicaan liked more than dom-jot, it was a good knock-down-drag-out barroom brawl, and the Nausicaan leader was already eagerly peeling off his outer garment in anticipation of Max's attack. Carter knew Nausicaans had no qualms about fighting women, as long as they perceived them to be worthy adversaries. In an odd way, this made up for being ignored when they first entered the joint.
Just as the Nausicaan was about to bellow forth another challenge, someone's hand clamped an iron grip on his massive shoulder from behind, stopping the brute in mid-posture. The Nausicaan spun in surprise, Max temporarily forgotten, to see who would dare such a blatantly suicidal act and to teach him the error of his ways, but when he caught sight of the face of the man who was spoiling his fun his eyes widened in recognition and fear and he froze.
Carter tried to peer around the massive Nausicaan to see for herself who could elicit such a reaction from the towering alien. It was a human man.
He was relatively average looking -- about six feet tall -- light brown hair that was slightly curly and looked like it was permanently mussed. He was well-proportioned, and wore nondescript brown pants, a sky blue shirt, and cowboy boots. His skin was tanned and tough-looking, as though he spent a lot of his time out in the sun, and wrinkled around his eyes -- but Carter could tell they were wrinkles from smiling, not frowning.
His eyes struck her though -- they captured her gaze and wouldn't let go until she seemed to fall into them. His eyes were the eyes of a Hero of Legend. Blue as ice and rock steady as they stared down the three Nausicaans, each twice his size; they spoke of a quiet self-confidence, yet at the same time hinted at a self-assured cockiness of the sort that would walk right up to Death and laugh in its face.
Unaware of the effect he was having on his rescuees, the stranger removed his hand from the Nausicaan's shoulder, but remained standing in silence facing the three, staring them down, a titanic battle of wills. After what seemed like an eternity, the Nausicaan leader grunted and averted his gaze from the stranger's unblinking stare. He'd had enough. He retrieved his dom-jot stick and jacket and motioned his fellows to follow him. They departed, walking past the stranger without looking at him, and disappeared back into the smoky haze from whence they came. Carter found she'd been holding her breath, and now exhaled in relief.
The stranger sat down at the ladies' table as if nothing had happened and seemed not to notice their shocked and amazed stares. He looked at Carter, then Max, sizing them up, then addressed Carter. "Commander Carter, I presume."
He took their continued silence as confirmation and dropped his bomb. "I know what happened to Sam Beckett."
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