Enterprise: The Measure of a Man

Trip, Hoshi, and T’Pol huddled together, trying not to breathe in the smoke that billowed around them until the shed they were crouching beside caught fire along with so many other courtyard structures.

“Come on,” Trip said, pulling both women to their feet, one in each hand. “We’ve got to get out of here!”

“But the captain—I know I saw him!” Hoshi protested.

“Nothing we can do about it now. He’ll be taking cover, too. We won’t be able to look for him at all with third-degree burns.”

“Agreed,” T’Pol said. “I suggest moving away from the villa would be the most prudent course of action.”

Keeping close together, the three of them fled the heat, the screams, the crush of rioting aliens. Trip marveled at how many different species there seemed to be—obviously Venda and her friends had raked the entire sector in their quest for slaves. Ultimately, though, very few of them had proven reproductively useful, which explained the special treatment he and Archer had received. It didn’t, however, provide much of a clue to Malcolm’s whereabouts, except to reassure him of their tactical officer’s probable well-being.

They took cover on the opposite side of the ruined wall, lying on their stomachs between two fallen beams, the polished wood now pitifully scorched and gashed. From that vantage point, they could see into the ruined courtyard, though it was difficult to make out anything more than running feet, smoking piles of debris, and the occasional falling body as someone stumbled or was injured.

It seemed like hours passed before the smoke cleared enough that they were able to lift their heads and look around.

Finally, Trip broke the silence.

“Holy crap,” he whispered. The foulest-looking ragtag army of male aliens he had ever seen surrounded them, jostling and snorting. Almost immediately, grubby hands were reaching out to haul them to their feet. Hoshi’s face turned deathly pale, and even T’Pol looked a little green as the two of them were shoved from one captor to the other.

“You did a good thing by capturing these wenches,” a tall reptilian grunted at Trip, his narrow lips flecked with drool. “Now they’ll know firsthand what we have suffered all these years.”

Quickly Trip pulled Hoshi and T’Pol away from the others and stepped in front of them. “Well, I’m all for revenge, but like you said, I caught these two myself, so they’re mine. I’m not ready to share them with anyone until—uh, until I’ve finished with them myself.”

The reptilian’s yellow eyes narrowed with cold fury. “We shall see about that.”

He was reaching toward them again when someone else—a human wrapped in a makeshift garment of cloth and chains—pushed through the crowd and forcibly pushed his thick, scaly arm back down to his side. “It isn’t for any of us to choose their fate. Our commander will decide what is to be done with them.”

“Malcolm,” Trip breathed with relief. Malcolm paused to flash him a quick, reassuring glance before turning his attention to the rest of the gathering. He raised his voice and spoke in an authoritative tone that immediately caught and held their attention.

“The rest of the women in this compound have all fled. The compound is ours, and we’re going to set up a temporary headquarters here until we can decide what to do next. For the time being, there is to be no more violence. You’re all safe now—and free.”

Cheers drowned out the reptilian’s continued grumbling. Malcolm spoke to Trip and the woman without looking around at them.

“Follow me,” he said, “and I’ll take you to the Captain.”