Rhaan Velik strode into the cell just as the guard he has posted outside it had an opportunity to alleviate his anger. He briefly looked over the Andorian’s body, finding that his orders had been disregarded – there were several injuries he had not approved of.
With a cold smile, he turned towards the guard. “Did he talk?”, he asked, if this was the only way his actions could be redeemed.

Shahr said a mental thank you to himself for the brief reprieve. Spitting blood, he tried to straighten up in his chair. His left antenna was bent at an unnatural angle, and wasn’t responding to stimuli. It made it difficult for Shahr to glare back at the guards through the blinding light they had aimed at his face, but he fought through the nausea and put on his best mean mug.

“Talk? Mother told me not to speak to strangers, and your friend here has yet to introduce himself. It’s the principle of the thing, really. Speaking of, I don’t know you, so…” Shahr trailed off and figured the new face would get the hint. Or get annoyed. Either way was fine with Shahr.

“Which of your mothers?”, asked Velik. “As far as I know, your species has two. I wonder… which of your parents do you believe will be more distraught when they learn of your early demise.” There was a long pause, and then he added “Personally, I dislike my family. I would still not want to put theme through it, especially not when matters can be sorted so … easily.”

Shahr attempted his best Vulcan impression and raised a single eyebrow. “That’s an incredibly long name… I’m not repeating all of that. I shall call you Blorg.”

He found a chair to sit on, and regarded the Andorian. “How about you start by introducing yourself – and no games. Let me make one thing very clear – whether you admit being part of Starfleet, or not, your future right now depends on your usefulness to me.”

A shiver ran down Shahr’s spine. He wasn’t certain if he was hiding his fear at the moment. Shahr was doing his best to put on a brave, defiant front, but he knew he couldn’t hold out forever. Who was he kidding? Shahr had never seen combat, obviously never captured, and the single week of pep talks from Starfleet about resisting interrogation just weren’t going to cut it. The truth was, Shahr was afraid. He’d feel a lot better if he knew the fate of his friends.

“My name is Charl. Pleased to meet you, Blorg.” Shahr threw in a little of the drawl he’d been using with his undercover persona. It probably wouldn’t matter, he admitted; this jig is up. But, that didn’t mean Shahr had to start sharing his deepest, darkest secrets quite yet.

“Might I inquire as to the status of my business associates?”

“Your crew is doing fine. And you can drop the charade, I am not interested.”, stated the Reman as he regarded Charl. “I know plenty of places where the accent alone would have gotten you thrown out of an airlock.”

Still reeling from the busted antenna, Charl focused his will to keep his composure. Switching back to his own accent, he replied “Well, technically, they are my business associates. We were trying to make a purchase.”

Charl looked back into the man’s eyes, searching for a clue. A hint of motive… anything to work with. Charl saw nothing. “So what are we doing here? Your associates still want to hurt me, I can see it in their eyes. But I don’t know what you want.”

“I think this is the moment where you tell me how you can be of use to me.”, he shrugged, and leaned in. “It is, right now, in your best interest. And in that of the two women who accompanied you. You wouldn’t want them to get hurt, would you.”

This time, there was no doubt in Charl’s mind that his interrogator saw Charl’s reaction. He’d flexed against the cuffs pretty hard when the Reman man had suggested Charl’s companions could be hurt. Cursing himself for falling for that easy trap, Charl could do nothing but stare back. He decided to still be bold, while he had the strength of body and mind to resist.

“So… they’re still alive, and they haven’t told you anything. Otherwise you wouldn’t bother threatening me. Sounds to me like my use to you is the possibility I’ll talk, eventually. Have you ever been to Andoria? I’m a cold man from a cold world, Blorg. Best bet is to hurt me.” Charl knew he was risking his friends by taunting the man. Inside, he was worried sick about them. But they weren’t just friends; they were his crew. Crew he’d worked with to get out of scrapes before. He had to trust they could handle themselves. But, Charl figured, maybe he could take some heat off of them by trying to take the interrogator’s focus all for himself.

The other man let out a deep, drawn-out sigh. “I am not terribly interested in hurting anyone. Many of the people I work with might be of that mindset, but I prefer to deal in assets and information.”

Charl was a bit confused at this point. Was this a trap? Was he trying to lull Charl into a false sense of safety? It was hard to tell; Charl had no experience reading Reman body language. Actually, to be totally honest, Charl wasn’t even that good at reading the body language of his own people. He just hadn’t ever bothered to work on that particular social skill. Charl decided to at least admit to his affiliation, since the Reman clearly knew.

“Why pick us up at all then? Why stop a few Starfleet personnel from making a purchase?”

He gave a very light, but still very dismissive shrug. “There are… how do humans say? Bigger fish to sear, than what my business here is. That you were sent here, and ‘looking to make a purchase’ tells me that you were after something specific – and with what is being sold here, that could be nearly anything. For all I care, unless there is a conflict of interest with the items I am here for, Starfleet can have it.”

Thinking furiously, Charl considered what to say here. How much should he admit? If the Reman was being truthful, then there was at least a small possibility he could talk his way out of this. But if he was simply fishing for information, then Charl would be playing into his hands, betraying his team and his mission.

Aware he was a lowly Ensign who might not have the big picture of Starfleet’s mission here, Charl took another risk. Not necessarily a risk to the mission, but possibly a risk to Charl’s career if he got out of this alive. He spoke slowly, but confidently. “I’m looking for some… holographic equipment.”

The Reman nodded. “I have little interest in that. But as I have mentioned, I deal in assets and information. We have established that your information is likely insignificant to me. Your survival depends on whether or not you convince me that you can be an asset.”

“What kind of asset are you looking for? If you’re looking for an inside man in Starfleet, I’ll save us some time – it won’t be me. I’m not in it for the attire.” Charl immediately regretted his straightforward defiance. He was hoping to get some information of his own out of this exchange… But that information would be useless if it died with him. He probably should’ve played along… Charl shrugged mentally, and decided his next move would be to pretend to be interested, if the Reman’s next actions weren’t to just shoot him.

“I prefer not to cross paths with Starfleet, if I can avoid it.”, the Reman shrugged. “What are you, then? Intel? No, you are too inexperienced for that. Security? Your species seems to thrive in that department.”

“My skill with a blade notwithstanding, I am a scientist. But if your brutes need a demonstration, toss me a knife.” Charl up-nodded towards the guards who had previously beat him. They needed a lesson or two, and Charl would like to be the one to give it to them.

“That won’t be necessary.”, Velix shook his head.

“Well, another time then. Are you looking for security? You want a man with a phaser? I never looked good in red. Clashes with my skin.”

“No, as a matter of fact, I need a scientist. Someone with a brain they can actually make use of.”, he paused. “This is my offer. Work for me. Refuse, and your fate will be much more dire.”

He probably wouldn’t kill him, but he’d strand him on some M-class planet.

Shahr took a moment to consider. “I assume you have a specific field of science in mind. I can’t build you a Soong android. Are you looking to build something in particular, or is this more of a general position?” Shahr doubted this man would just reveal his plans to him, but at this point, he had little to lose by asking.

“It’s a general … position.”, Velik indulged.

“I see. You can’t find an independent scientist to meet your needs? I would imagine there are plenty out there, who are unaffiliated with Starfleet. Or, am I just your opportunity hire, so to speak? Is there a retirement plan?” Internally, Shahr braced himself for a beating. He was certain the Reman would see his fishing attempt, and punish him for it. But being cheeky about it made Shahr feel better, and he needed something to feel better about. His outlook was grim, sitting tied to a chair, isolated from his crew, unsure of his lifespan.

“We offer a dental plan.”, he shrugged. “Healthy employees are happy employees. Everyone knows that.”

Clearly, Shahr wasn’t going to get anything of substance to take back to Starfleet. If he made it back to Starfleet. Throughout this conversation, he’d been straining his ears, hoping to pick up any sounds that he might recognize as the voices of his shipmates. No luck so far. He looked up at the Reman again.

“Yes, well… they also like a nontoxic work environment. I’m not sure I would feel safe working for your organization, knowing I might end up right back in this chair if I stumble.” Shahr could feel the nausea coming back from his busted antenna. All this talk, trying to put on a brave face… He was emotionally exhausted.

“I will let you think on it. Just… not too long.”

Shahr watched his captor get up and exit the room. The guard remained behind, casting a sadistic grin in Shahr’s direction. Shahr slumped in his chair, the bonds keeping him from collapsing to the floor altogether. It was strange, he thought. Despite the underlying threat of murder, in a weird way, the conversation had kept Shahr somewhat distracted from the reality of his situation. Now that Shahr was once again alone with his thoughts (and a malicious guard), the intrusive thoughts came rushing back. Was his team dead? Did they suffer? Was he going to suffer?

The last question, at least, had already been answered. Yes. Shahr was suffering here, both physically and mentally. He wanted his team back. They could get through this together, he was sure of it. Of course, the pirates had undoubtedly separated them to maximize the shock and fear. Shuddering, Shahr closed his eyes and began a mental exercise a friend had taught him. It was the only action he could take. Visualizing his own willpower as a towering wall, he began to rebuild it. Brick by brick. He had to remain strong.

Another brick.

Shahr had to hold out for rescue. He had to hold out for his team. He had to hold out for Starfleet.

Another brick.