Title: Only Human Part IV Author: Alara Rogers Series: TNG Rating: NC-17 Codes: Q/f, AU Part: 1/12+1 Summary: Q and T'Laren are taken captive aboard their own ship by the Ferengi. Only Human Part IV: Ketaya Q sat quietly, fuming with impotent rage and fear, kneeling by T'Laren's fallen body. She was breathing, at least; the Ferengi had said they'd only stunned her, but the sight of her chest rising and falling slightly, the terribly quiet sound of her breath, reassured him more than words from people who might have motive to lie. From the computer readouts, he could tell that they were moving away from *Yamato* at high warp. Without being able to address the computer, he couldn't get any more detail than that. It infuriated him that the Ferengi had locked him out of the computer—he hadn't bothered shoring up the security of the system, because it had just been himself and T'Laren. Stupid, stupid. And not nearly paranoid enough. What made him think he and T'Laren had the resources and experience to protect him? He should have stayed on Starbase 56. What were the fools on *Yamato* thinking of, to let the Ferengi invade *Ketaya* while it was still docked with *Yamato?* The ironic thing was that if he could only get access to the keyboard, he could get everything back. He was fairly sure they couldn't have rooted out his back door—but if his voiceprint had been disabled to the computer, the only way to get in to his back door would be through the keyboard. And there was a computer-linked padd right in front of him, attached to the captain's chair, which currently was occupied by DaiMon Dar, and if the damnable Ferengi weren't pointing their phasers at him, he could reach it, log in and lock them out. That, however, wasn't going to happen. T'Laren stirred slightly, her head lifting the smallest amount. Q let out a deep breath he hadn't been aware of holding. She was coming around, which meant she hadn't been badly hurt in the first place. He lifted his head to address the DaiMon. "I do hope you realize you've sealed your fate by doing this," he said. "The Federation won't take kindly to you kidnapping one of their most valuable resources. I hope you like the cuisine they serve at penal colonies, because that's most likely where you'll end your days." DaiMon Dar laughed. "You're very naive, human," he said, mispronouncing "human" as "hyuu-mon" the way most Ferengi did. "Your precious Federation will do nothing. If they're willing to be the highest bidder, we'll demand from them a pardon signed into the contract before we hand you over. And if the Romulans or Cardassians or some other party are the highest bidders, we'll have *them* contract to offer us sanctuary from the Federation." "You know I don't know why someone hasn't annihilated your pathetic species. You run around kidnapping innocent people, exploiting lower-tech civilizations and stealing things from your more intelligent betters. You're laughable as fighters and even more so as scientists, and there's no question but that if any of the great powers *wanted* to destroy you, it could be done easily. You're not going to be able to blackmail the leaders of the real powers in this quadrant with sordid sexual secrets forever, you know. Sooner or later, there'll be a leader who either isn't corrupt or gets his vice quotient satisfied without any need to turn to you for aid, and then you'll be crushed like the small annoying insects you are." "How dare you!" one of the Ferengi-- Q recognized him as the one who'd been ludicrously overprotective of Yalit when she came aboard, though he couldn't remember the man's name-- snarled, and jumped to his feet. "Ril, he's just trying to upset us. Stand down," Dar said. "You've got a big mouth on you, human. You might want to watch it. Don't forget you're our prisoner." T'Laren sat up. "Don't... antagon... ize them, Q," she said slowly, her speech slow and slightly slurred as she came up from stun. He was desperately relieved to see her recovering, but didn't dare show it in front of the Ferengi. Q contented himself by quickly squeezing her hand. "What can they do to me, T'Laren?" he asked. "They can't very well sell me into slavery if they've beaten my head in, now can they?" "There's a *lot* of things we could do to you that wouldn't damage your value," Dar said. "Though I figure a soft, pampered human wouldn't know much about that." "Get it through your bony skull, *Ferengi.* My humanity is a biological accident-- by name and by species, I am Q." The truth was that he *wasn't* Q any more, and probably should have changed his name, but it was too huge, too painful a step. He'd had a million names in a million languages, but the vast majority of them had been translations of the untranslatable name of his species. The idea of breaking that tie, of being anything else, bothered him deeply. He stood up. "And I'm hardly soft and pampered. Even if we ignore for the moment the fact that I've been watching you mortals torture each other since before your solar system formed, I've survived no less than twenty-one assassination attempts. I realize you think that the mere fact that you've taken me captive is supposed to have me on the floor groveling in terror, but frankly I've seen any number of terrifying things in my tenure as a mortal, and you don't even make the top fifty." "I'm sure we could find *something* that would frighten you," the DaiMon said. Q was sure of it too, which was why he was working so hard to convince them that they couldn't. Having been terrorized numerous times by experts at it turned out to have some advantages after all; he was well aware that he was alone but for a half-stunned Vulcan, surrounded by captors with phasers, and probably a lot more than these five somewhere else in the ship or in the Ferengi vessel. He would be a fool not to be afraid. But he wasn't going to let them see that, and his extensive experience with being in frightening situations was making it much easier for him to pretend to be in control. "Oh, please. I pick fights with Klingons for fun. Do you seriously believe you could do anything, short of causing me the sort of severe and permanent harm that would drastically lower my price, that I'd even *notice?*" For the first time in his life he wished he knew Ferengi better. The kind of bravado he was displaying would impress Klingons and Romulans into leaving him alone, he knew, and would probably inspire the Cardassians to go out of their way to disprove his statement. He didn't know how the Ferengi thought in matters of war, though, whether it was more important to them to coerce obedience or to respect bravery. "So you wouldn't mind if we fed you good healthy bugs for your meals." "Not if you don't mind me going on a hunger strike." "I would advise that you do not attempt to make life unpleasant for Q, DaiMon, at least not moreso than the circumstances require," T'Laren said, getting to her feet. "He is much better than anyone else at making life unpleasant for others, and he is also perfectly capable of harming himself to spite you." "Female, if I'd wanted your advice I would have beaten it out of you already," the DaiMon said, with such casual vitriol that it shocked Q. He'd known intellectually that the Ferengi didn't consider women to be people, but the thought of anyone casually dismissing T'Laren's intelligence and personhood with such an unwarrantedly vicious remark, just because she happened to be female, enraged him on a visceral level. "Your ability to judge fellow sapients as unworthy to talk to solely on the basis of their possession of uteri is nothing short of staggering in the stupidity it displays. Sooner or later you're going to torque off some Romulan Commander and she'll blow up your planet, you know." "I'm not interested in speaking to your female," Dar said. "And I'm not interested in speaking to you, but we all have to make our little sacrifices." Q considered. "I know what you could do to me to make me quake in my boots. You could threaten to breathe on me. I think the stench of your unhygienic teeth would paralyze a Breen, and they have excellent air filtration systems in their environmental suits." "What about a neurowhip?" the pilot said to the DaiMon. "That's an excellent idea, Bej." He had to chase them off *that* one fast. "That's an incredibly stupid idea. Direct neural stimulation? Hello? Has it occurred to you that my only value is my brain? Damage *that*, and you'd be lucky to get a carton of cigarettes in trade for me." "This is a pointless exercise," T'Laren said in her coldest voice. "Your objective is not to torment Q, but to make money from him. Lock us away where Q can no longer insult you and your crew, and the problem is solved." "Didn't I tell you to keep your mouth shut, female?" DaiMon Dar said. "Women are only good for one thing." And then he smiled, a horrible crooked smile full of bad teeth. "There we go," he said. "I know what will make you think twice about insulting us, *Q.*" He stood up and walked over to T'Laren. "We don't need to touch you. We have *her.*" "I am a Vulcan. It is ludicrous to think you can influence me, or Q, by threatening to torture me." "Oh, I'm not thinking about *torturing* you, female. I had a much more pleasant use for you in mind." He grasped one of her breasts, squeezing it. T'Laren stepped back against the wall, her arm raising, and then the pilot, who had also been the one to stun her in the first place, pointed a phaser at her. "Don't move, female," he said. "Unless you'd rather I stunned you first." He was openly leering at her, but his hold on the phaser looked steady. At least, steady enough that Q saw no way to get it away from him, or that T'Laren could without getting stunned, even with the fighting skills he'd seen from her. He felt close to overwhelmed with helpless rage, that they could *do* this, that they would treat her this way. His only friend in the universe, and he couldn't protect her. He'd been gambling that he could intimidate them out of harming *him*, and he'd won, and lost. "This is ridiculous," T'Laren said, looking down at the Ferengi manhandling her as if he were an annoying small child tugging at her shirt. "You might as well copulate with a rubber doll for all the stimulus I will give you. Do you truly think you can harm either myself or Q by such a foolish thing?" "She's got a point," Q drawled, grateful to T'Laren for giving him the opening. If they didn't think he cared, and they didn't think it'd be fun to assault her, they wouldn't do it. "I hadn't heard the Ferengi were so desperate they'd sleep with *Vulcans*. Can't you afford a good whore? I'm sure your mother must have the names of some good ones from her professional association. T'Laren hasn't got emotions to care what you do to her, and if she doesn't care why would you think I would?" Ril had gone absolutely purple at the remark about Yalit, and even Dar, who seemed to be better at controlling his emotions, had narrowed his eyes menacingly at Q. Then he smiled. "Oh, she'll care," he said, and leered. "We have on board a fine supply of Romulan aphrodisiac. What do they call that stuff? 'Far togan', wasn't it, Gon?" The fifth Ferengi, the one that hadn't yet spoken at all, nodded. "Far togan, that's the name of it." "The Roms swear by it. We hear it gets their Vulcan cousins even more riled up." He ran his hands over T'Laren's breasts again. "If she auditions well, we might even be able to sell her to a brothel for a high price. Not as high as we'll get for you, of course, but then she *is* only a female." This was very bad. Q wasn't exactly sure what they were talking about-- well, a drug that was supposed to make Vulcans sexually responsive, that was obvious, but not the details. But he could read T'Laren, and she'd gone into that same absolute ice mode he'd seen from her when she'd threatened to throw him out the airlock and they'd had that vicious argument afterward. She was absolutely still, her face an empty mask, nothing alive in her at all but a pair of eyes like black ice, glittering. Q didn't know whether it meant she was terrified, enraged, or both. Either way he wasn't going to let it happen. But he didn't know what to do. If he made empty threats, declaring that they would suffer if they touched her, they'd know it was getting to him, and they'd go ahead with it to punish him. If he groveled, he'd feed their desire to see him humiliated, and they'd go ahead anyway to humiliate him the worse. If he pretended he didn't care... they were Ferengi. They didn't see T'Laren except as an attractive *thing*, an object to be used for their pleasure, and if they had a way to break her Vulcan control and humiliate her while raping her, they'd do it because they thought it was fun, regardless of whether or not Q seemed to care. He felt lightheaded with fear and rage, and he wanted to grab the DaiMon and rip the man's ears off with his bare hands like the most barbaric sort of primitive. And doing that would get him stunned immediately and wouldn't save T'Laren. He needed something else, he needed something else... "Let her go," he said, a plan forming in his mind. "She is *my* employee. I won't tolerate you manhandling her like this." "What do you know! Something that actually bothers the great Q!" the DaiMon said. "Tell me, human, what bothers you worse: the thought of us having her, or the thought of us having her *first?*" "The gross disrespect to my person in abusing my possessions without my permission, actually," Q said. "I mean it, Ferengi. Let her go, or I'll destroy your pretty visions of vast sums of latinum with a thought." "Oh, and how exactly are you going to do that?" "Simple." Q smiled coldly. "I'll kill myself." "With what? Your bare hands?" "My bare thoughts, actually, but close enough." He sat down on the floor again, taking a meditative position. "You may know that Vulcans know how to stop their own hearts through meditative discipline. It's not generally known as a skill of humans, but as I pointed out, I am not truly human. There's no ability petty little mortal minds can encompass that *my* mind can't manage, once taught to do it. And in order to give me a means of protecting myself from being tortured by all those assassins I mentioned that, unlike you, actually *do* frighten me, T'Laren here trained me in the ability." "Q, no!" T'Laren sounded genuinely frightened for him, an especially enormous contrast given the intensity of her previous masking. "Do not do this for me." He hoped she was faking it, that she knew this was complete and utter claptrap. How could she not know? She'd never taught him any such thing. But she *had* taught him how to slow his heart rate through meditation. "Sorry, darling, but this isn't about you. I refuse to live as a captive of anyone who shows so little respect for my wishes." "This is ridiculous!" the DaiMon exploded. "You can't possibly intend to kill yourself because we wanted a little fun with your female!" "Of course not," Q said. "I intend to kill myself because I despise you, and this is the absolute worst thing I can think of to do to you." He smiled mockingly. "Of course, you could probably persuade me to stop by telling me you'll leave T'Laren alone and accede to my other demands if I generously refrain from doing myself in until you've had a chance to sell me, but I think you're too stupid to do that." Deep cleansing breath. Again. What he was preparing to do would be difficult in the face of all these distractions; he was good at meditation and biofeedback control because it was very similar to Q control over their own minds and physical forms when they had them, but the fact that this body *could* experience pain and fear was very disruptive to attaining the proper state. "You're bluffing. You wouldn't kill yourself over something this trivial!" Q focused on Dar. "Didn't do your research, did you, rodent boy?" The mocking smile, lost as he had prepared for an inward focus, came back full strength. "I drank a bottle of acid less than two months ago because I was angry at being forced to try to teach Klingons. I have very, very little interest in maintaining this pathetic sham of an existence, and most especially I dislike being a prisoner with no control over my own fate. I've been a god, Ferengi; the joys of mortal survival, such as they are, pale in comparison. So yes, I am perfectly willing to kill myself to spite you. You should have listened to T'Laren." He closed his eyes. "You can't do this!" "Watch me." He shut out anything further the Ferengi might have to say. For this bluff to work he had to focus entirely on his objective. He leaned his head back against the bulkhead. As he breathed deeply, he focused on the sound of his own heartbeat, transmitted from his back to his ear through the bulkhead. It was the sound of mortality, the sound of time passing and his own dependence on that time, every throb binding him to a life that was barely living and counting down the time until even that was gone. Slow. He was Q, even if he was human; he should be able to control this shell, bend it to *his* will. Slow. Imagine the net of neurons firing through this body, imagine the electrochemical impulses, the sodium channels opening and closing and the muscles responding, contract, expand, contract. Slow. The universe reduced down to the pulsing sound, slowing, slowing. No fear, no pain, no adrenal shock here in the depths of the mind. He was bodiless again, he was everywhere in this small universe, expanding like a gas to fill the space around him and there was nothing here but himself and the sound, slowing. And then pain completely broke his concentration. He blinked, dizzy. Light flooded in, and for moments he wasn't sure of where he was or what surrounded him. "Q. Come back. They've agreed to your demands. You must come back." Q blinked again. T'Laren was in front of him. "My... demands?" "Yes. You don't need to kill yourself. They'll agree to leave us unmolested." Now he was remembering. "But it was so nice," he said deliberately, sounding wistful. It was true, but he was only admitting it to give himself better negotiating advantage. "So peaceful... no rodents with bad teeth. Maybe I'll go back there anyway." "Q, you cannot. Please." She raised her hand, and he realized she was the one who'd hit him to bring him out of it. "No hitting. I'm awake." He looked up at several rather shaken-looking Ferengi. "So you've decided to be rational. How delightful for you. Though I'm still not sure I'm not getting the raw end of the deal." "If you live, we will not touch your female," Dar said. "If you kill yourself, you leave her free for us. Is that what you want, human?" Q considered. "While under most circumstances I expect T'Laren to take care of herself, I'm really entirely too nauseated by the thought that you people actually mate with *anyone*, let alone an employee of mine, to tolerate the thought. So I suppose I'll live." He got to his feet. "I don't trust you people, so I am going to insist that you allow T'Laren to room in my suite, where I can keep an eye on her and make sure you're keeping your deformed paws off her. And I want keyboard access to the computers, so I don't expire of boredom." "You can have your female in your rooms; where else would she go?" Dar said, sneering. "But you can't have computer access. Mother was very explicit about that." "And you still take orders from your mommy?" Surprisingly, Dar didn't appear angry over that. "The Lady Yalit is the greatest Ferengi woman ever to live, with a mind for business the full equal of any man's, including the Grand Nagus. I follow my mother's instructions because she's brought wealth and power to our family, and I'd be a fool to think I could do as well. She says you're too dangerous to be given any computer access." He smiled toothily. "You should be flattered, human. The Lady Yalit doesn't consider many people bright enough to be a danger to her." "I am thrilled at the honor of being seen as intelligent by a decrepit old prostitute, believe you me." "You should be." Dar motioned at two of his men. "Antek, Bej, escort our guests to their room and lock them in." &&& *Control*. She wanted to rip their ears off for daring to threaten her with *farr t'gahn*, for manhandling her as they had, for looking through her and treating her like she was nothing. She wanted to hug Q for saving her from what would have been a fairly horrible death, had the Ferengi gone through with it. But she had to maintain her facade of control-- she couldn't give them the ammunition to know how badly they'd frightened and enraged her. Once they were in the cell, however, she did hug Q. They might well be being monitored by now, but that was all the more reason to come close enough to him to speak without being overheard. She had to tell him what the stakes were, since it seemed only his ability to bluff was saving her. "What was that for?" Q asked, a bit bewildered-sounding. "You saved my life," she said, almost whispering in his ear. "The drug they spoke of would have killed me." "Killed you?" Q's eyes hardened. "I think that when they sell me off to whoever, I'm going to make it a term of whatever agreement they make me sign that these Ferengi get their ears sawed off with a dull knife. I thought they were talking about *raping* you. Which is bad enough, don't mistake me, but not even I thought they were so psychotically misogynist as to *kill* you." "They wouldn't know. Vulcans do not speak of such things, and the effect on Romulans is different." She breathed deeply, performing a mental exercise to try to calm herself. It wasn't working very well. "A drug that makes Romulans drop drawers for anything in sight kills Vulcans?" She opened her mouth, intending to explain how even though women didn't generally undergo *pon farr* without being bonded, they did have the triggers in their brain, and the Romulan aphrodisiac *farr t'gahn* worked by triggering the cycle. And that it would require sex with a mindmelded partner, and Ferengi were immune to telepathy, so she couldn't meld with them. They would rape her, and she would need it, long for it, beg for it, but without the mindmeld the cycle would never end, and she would die, mad with need. But she couldn't say any of that. She'd internalized too much of the Vulcan shame of the *pon farr*. She might have been able to tell Q-- she'd told him something of Vulcan cycles already-- but not when the Ferengi might be listening. Vulcans didn't speak of the cycle to outsiders. She'd told Q when she was telling him about murdering Soram-- she'd already made the decision, then, to lay herself completely bare to him, to tell him the most shameful thing she could think of about herself. Speaking of Vulcan biology was little, next to that. But she would not, could not, so shame herself in front of the Ferengi. Their hearing was excellent, and with computer assistance, even whispering might not keep them from overhearing her. T'Laren stepped back, releasing him. "I cannot... I can't discuss this any further, Q. But yes. A drug that makes Romulans feel desire, kills Vulcans. I cannot explain." "Oh, come now. You've told me all sorts of outrageous things about your past, and your species, before. I hardly think--" She interrupted before he could say anything too revealing. "Q, I must warn you. There is a good chance we are being monitored. I can speak of such things to *you*, but not when they might hear." "Monitored?" He frowned. "Why do you think we're being monitored?" "Because I had Lhoviri place monitors in this room, and the Ferengi may have found them by now." "*What?*" He was on his feet, striding over to invade her personal space, in moments. "You *know* how I feel about monitors! How dare you invade my privacy like that?" T'Laren put up a hand. "Calm yourself. I wanted the monitors in place because you were suicidal, but I didn't use them to invade your privacy. There was a life sign monitor which would register if you seemed to be in distress-- cries for help, weakened life signs, that sort of thing-- and I would only activate the room monitors to see and hear you if the life sign monitor indicated that you were in trouble. In fact the one time it did indicate you were having a problem, I found it faster to go to your room than to activate the monitors." "That's not the point. You knew I would find such an invasion of my privacy unbearable, but you didn't *care.*" "No, not particularly. You'd just drunk a bottle of acid. If you remember correctly, Q, I was willing to do almost anything to ensure that you didn't try to kill yourself again. I was also concerned for invading assassins; though I can't imagine how anything could invade a ship traveling at warp without tripping all sorts of sensors, that doesn't mean it's not possible for any of your enemies, and I don't have a whole security staff here, only myself. I needed some way to know if you were in danger, from yourself or other threats." "And now you've handed the Ferengi a marvelous tool to use against us. Good going, T'Laren." "They might have bugged the room anyway." He shook his head. "We're going to have a *long* talk about this when we get out of here. But if the Ferengi are monitoring us I really don't particularly feel like putting on a show for their entertainment. Are there monitors in the bathroom?" "Only life-sign monitors. No sound or visual." "Good. I'm going to wash up." She sat down on the couch, trying to focus her mind, to rein in her emotions and achieve discipline again. This was rudely interrupted by Q stomping out of the bathroom. "The replicators don't work! How am I supposed to get cleansing solvents if the replicators don't work?" "You can use a sonic shower without cleansing solvents if you have to," T'Laren said. "Certainly, if I want to stink to high heaven. I imagine Vulcans haven't much sense of smell, but unfortunately, humans aren't so blessed." "Vulcan women have much better senses of smell than human, actually. It's simply a matter of ignoring unpleasantness." "Well, whoop-de-doo for Vulcans, then, but *I* don't have the ability to simply 'ignore unpleasantness'." "We should check to see if we can get food out of the main replicator." "Mm, yes. That could be a *big* problem." He stormed over to the replicator. "Cheese sandwich." Nothing happened. "*Damn* these Ferengi. What do they expect us to eat?" "They may bring us food." "If they feed me bugs, I *will* go on a hunger strike. I won't have bugs in my room. Dead ones, live ones, I don't care. I won't have them." She remembered him telling her that since being attacked by the Maierlen assassin's swarm, he had a phobia of insects. "You are letting them have too much control over you," T'Laren said. "By antagonizing them as you have, you've inspired them to find ways to humiliate you. Now there are too many factors they have control over, and you have only one threat to hold against them-- you cannot use it on everything, or it will lose its power." "You mean that if I kill myself over bad food, there's nothing to stop them from molesting you." "Actually, if you kill yourself, I will as well. I did train you in the ability, although you *did* promise me you would not use it... though under the circumstances I can't say I don't understand the motivation. It is unreasonable to assume I would not myself be capable of the same feat." T'Laren really wasn't entirely certain how Q had managed to so thoroughly bluff the Ferengi-- they'd howled in terror when their tricorders indicated that his heart rate was dropping, and had immediately given in. She knew perfectly well that that was the limit of Q's ability, but somehow the utter confidence and arrogance with which Q had proclaimed his ability to kill himself, coupled with his incredible value to their Ferengi captors, must have thoroughly spooked them. If they were listening in, and they very likely were, T'Laren wanted to reinforce Q's bluff and protect herself at the same time. "But it is still ridiculous to kill yourself over bad food." "Ridiculous to you, maybe. I despise eating at the best of times." Q started banging on the door. "Hey! Hey, I need some service, here!" "Do you think that will do any good?" "If no one responds, we'll know there are no guards, which would mean the Ferengi are bigger idiots than even *I* thought, and we can pick the lock and walk out at our leisure." He banged on the door again. "I demand replicator access!" The door opened, and a Ferengi with leveled phaser-- not a Ferengi T'Laren recognized-- stepped into the room, just a single step. His eyes were focused on Q, but T'Laren could guess from his alert stance that he was probably just as aware of her location. Ferengi might not attach much value to women as people, but they knew better than to underestimate Vulcans of either sex. "What do you want?" he snapped. "Replicator access," Q said. "No," the Ferengi said, and started to step backward out of the room. "How do you expect me to take a shower without cleaning solvents?" Q demanded. "You need cleaning solvents?" "And food. And changes of sheets for the bed. And depilator for my face. And a laundry list of items too long to name, so why don't you just be a good little rodent and give me replicator access?" "No," the Ferengi said obstinately, and this time left the room despite Q's spluttering. "Q, I think we'd be better off if you didn't call them rodents when you're asking them for favors," T'Laren said. "*Favors?* I demand my basic rights as a sentient being!" "But they have the power to grant them or not." She shook her head. "If you had not gone out of your way to antagonize and humiliate Yalit, we would not be *in* this situation. Do you learn nothing?" "Don't you start with me," Q warned. "I didn't want to have an argument with you with our oh-so-charming hosts listening in. But don't push me." "Don't push you? Both our lives, and certainly our comfort, is at stake. They won't *listen* to me, or I could play diplomat and smooth things over. But they don't even see me as a person. You are the only one who can win concessions from them, and if you insult and abuse them, we won't get anything we want or need from them." "I know what I'm doing, T'Laren." "Do you? What good has *any* of what you've done accomplished? You were nearly tortured, I was nearly raped and killed, and both of us were confronted with the possibility of being forced to suicide to avoid such fates. I don't see how any of this has been constructive!" "Don't shout at me." "I am not shouting." "Tsk, tsk. Bad Vulcan. Your temper is showing." She was possessed of a sudden profound desire to smack Q. Which meant, unfortunately, that he was absolutely right-- her temper was getting control of her. T'Laren took a deep calming breath. She was Vulcan. She would master her feelings. Never mind that she was a prisoner of beings who treated her as a complete non-person, sexually harassed her every chance they got and had shown willingness to rape her, trigger her Time, and thus kill her horribly, and the one person whose value to the Ferengi made them listen to him at all wanted to antagonize them into tormenting him. She would not feel fear. She was Vulcan and fear was illogical. "Very well, then. What possible value could your actions gain? If you have a plan, could you see fit to enlighten me?" "Delighted to. Ever read O. Henry's 'Ransom of Red Chief?'" Yes, she had. It was a story about kidnappers who took a little boy captive, only to find that the boy was such a monstrous brat that they ended up paying his parents to take him back. "Q, that will not work. The Ferengi are far too enamored of their profits." "No, no, no. Of course they'll want to make money off me. But if they want to make it as quickly as possible--" he smirked-- "that's to our advantage. We're deep enough in Federation space that it'll take a week or more to reach the kind of neutral space where they could easily hold an auction inviting representatives of all the great powers. So if they decide to sell me off *before* that point, it'll most likely be to the Federation. And if I make their lives as unpleasant as possible, then they'll be that much more motivated to sell me quickly." He grinned. "You are overlooking the fact that they hold power over us. If you make their lives unpleasant, they'll take it out on us." "If I grovel, they'll also take it out on us. It's too late to play nice, T'Laren. I'll admit that I probably could have been more circumspect about my behavior with Yalit in the first place, but then, who would have foreseen that a supposedly civilized being would do *this?* But having done that, we're no longer in any kind of position that playing nice with them will get us what we want. They're going to abuse us whether we treat them deferentially or insultingly. So our best strategy, given that they're going to abuse us *anyway*, is to give it back to them as much as we can." "But we can't do anything. Your usual repertoire of sarcasm isn't exactly the equivalent of refusing to feed us, or assaulting us..." "T'Laren." His expression grew serious abruptly. "I won't let them touch you. I have a weapon I can invoke if they try, and I don't think they'll risk losing their precious latinum. You don't have to worry, all right? I *will* get them to feed us something edible, and I *will* get them to give us replicator access or the toiletries we need, and I *will* keep them from touching you. I can't promise that my plan is going to work, but I can promise you that I won't let them do what they threatened to. No Ferengi would put the kind of profit I represent at risk for the opportunity to humiliate a woman." "I'm not worried about that," T'Laren said, lying, because of course that was exactly what she was worried about. Q didn't know what it was like to lose his mind, to be totally at the mercy of his body. He thought he did, since for him any demands of the body were overwhelming, but truly, he knew nothing of it at all. And he had some experience with being a nonperson, but he was always a *valuable* nonperson. Not like this. Not like... like she had no value except as a walking masturbatory toy. T'Laren was quite experienced with, and capable of handling, broader male attention than where her interests lay, but she'd never been anywhere where anyone with power over her could treat her like a toy to be used. The man who'd raped her had done so as an assault, quick and brutal, physically pinning her where her superior strength was less of a concern than her relatively slight mass, taking great care to make sure she couldn't threaten him. He hadn't been able to walk right up to her and fondle her breasts and brag about what he was going to do to her with her helpless to stop him. He hadn't talked through her. He hadn't ignored her and treated her like she wasn't there. It had been bad, but it hadn't been like what the Ferengi had done, and threatened to do. He hadn't been able to threaten to make her lose control. "So what are you worried about?" "That they will think of something to hurt us that won't be worth killing ourselves over, and they'll keep doing it." "They probably will. Not much we can do about that, except make their lives hell for it." "But if we negotiated with them-- if we back down, and *stop* trying to make our lives hell, they'd be far more inclined to do as we ask." He shook his head. "They won't listen to you, T'Laren, so we're doing it my way whether you like it or not." Q turned away. "I'm going to try to take that shower. At least I don't need to be *completely* filthy." She sat staring at the wall, trying to meditate and regain control over herself, for several long minutes as he ran the sonic shower. After a few minutes, she stood up. Meditation wasn't working. She needed it desperately, but couldn't quiet her mind enough to enter a meditative state. Instead, she decided to prepare to take a shower after Q was done. With the controls set properly, so that the high-pitched whine of a badly set sonic shower was absent, she could find them quite relaxing, although nothing was as pleasurable and decadent as a hot water shower. She focused on the thought of a relaxing sonic shower, vibrating her tense muscles, brushing away the dead skin and dirt of the day-- --she had no clothes. Her daydream about showers came to an abrupt halt. She couldn't gather up clean clothes to change into after a shower-- she didn't have any. This was *Q's* room. Unlike the suite they'd shared on *Yamato*, her own quarters didn't adjoin this room in any way. The large walk-in closet was stuffed full of clothes, but they were Q's clothes, and hadn't a prayer of fitting her. And she doubted there was any way to persuade the Ferengi to give her clothes. For one thing, their culture mandated that women go naked, and for another she doubted they'd resist the temptation to inflict such a great humiliation on her. Without access to the clothing cleanser on the lower deck, she couldn't clean these clothes, and without access to the replicator she couldn't make new ones. T'Laren fought down a rising tide of panic as she inventoried what they did have. She could sleep on the couch in the living room part of Q's suite, but there were no blankets, and the temperature of *Ketaya* was human-comfortable, not so pleasant for a sleeping or meditating Vulcan. No food. Nothing to clean anything with. There were books aplenty-- Q had stored most of his antiques in the storage rooms on Deck 4 of *Ketaya*, but he had kept his book collection in his bedroom-- but no active padds, not without computer access. It was a two-room suite, luxurious enough for one person to spend time in when he also had the freedom of the ship, but for two to be trapped together... No. No. She would get control. This was not the most unpleasant captivity she'd endured-- she would not complain that it was too cold and she had no change of clothes. That was absurd and unworthy of a former Starfleet officer, let alone a Vulcan. And it wasn't what was really bothering her, anyway. What was really bothering her was that she had no control over the situation and she was being held prisoner by people who didn't consider her sentient and she had to rely on *Q* of all people to protect her, when she was fairly certain that his tactics would only make matters worse. Q stuck his head out the bathroom door. "T'Laren! Get me a bathrobe!" "Why didn't you bring one in with you?" "I forgot the replicators don't work. Well, I didn't forget exactly, but I didn't think about the fact that I wouldn't be able to get a bathrobe when I needed it. Come on, T'Laren, be a dear. I have no desire to parade around the room in the altogether while I'm trying to dig up something to wear." She went through the clothes in his closet, finding a dark purple velour bathrobe, as well as things she didn't really want to dwell on, like spandex pants covered in shiny sequins, a shirt made of black leather strips covered with pointed metal studs, or a leopard-print loincloth. T'Laren carried the robe over to the door of the bathroom and handed it in without going close enough to the bathroom to see inside. "We may have a problem," T'Laren said as Q sauntered out in his robe. "I have no clothes." "No clothes?" His voice carried more startlement than she expected. He looked at her. "Oh, you mean no *other* clothes. For a moment I thought I was going to have to have some words with some Ferengi." "No other clothes. That's correct." "Oh, we can fix that. Let me just get dressed." "Fix it? How do you propose to do that?" "We have plenty of clothes, they just don't fit you. So we'll have to adjust them." He rummaged through his closet, and started tossing things on the floor. "These shirts should fit you as tunics. We'll have to find you an attractive belt of some kind." She picked up a shirt and held it to her chest. "I appreciate the gesture, but this would be shorter on me than a 23rd century Starfleet uniform." "Oh, we'll get you some pants, never fear. The last thing I want you to do is give the Ferengi a thrill. I'd give you an evening gown or two, but I'm afraid there's no way I could adjust that well enough to keep it from falling off your chest." T'Laren raised an eyebrow. "An evening gown? You own one?" "*Chère* T'Laren, I own several." "May I ask *why?*" Q started laughing. "Oh dear. Have I landed on another of your illogical cultural taboos again?" "It's not one of *mine,*" T'Laren said shortly. She wasn't awfully fond of being laughed at during the best of times, and under the current circumstances it seemed like salt in the wound. "It is, however, a very powerful human taboo, and likely to cause you a great deal of trouble for violating it." His grin got bigger. "I know. That's why I did it." Q stuck his head in the clothes again and started pulling out pants and shirts and tossing them on the ground. "I'll admit that I'm entirely fed up with humanity's stupid taboos, and that, as I am male for good and logical reasons that have nothing to do with feeling 'manly' or whatever humanity's idiotic notion of masculinity is, I find it quite offensive that they would try to prohibit me from doing *anything* on the basis of my gender. But, you see, there are laws against that. They *don't* try to prohibit me from doing anything; they attempt to exercise social control, and I think you know how well that works on me. And I have to admit that, if I'd realized when I still had my powers how much it bothers humans when men dress in traditional female costume and how hilariously inept they are at hiding how much it bothers them, despite the fact that by their own cultural ideals it shouldn't make a damn bit of difference, I would have dressed in drag for Picard at *least* once. I think that could have been very entertaining." He looked back at T'Laren. "It's the simplest thing. One dresses in an exotic evening gown with high heels and a stuffed bra to make the line fall correctly, and every human one has to deal with either thinks it's hilarious, or is utterly shocked and bothered. And they can't *do* anything about it because their laws guarantee that men and women have absolute equality." Q returned to his search for clothes. "Poor Eleanor couldn't throw me in the brig for attending conferences in drag with the idiots she inflicted on me... she couldn't even *reprimand* me, because by law I had every right to wear women's clothing. It was delightfully funny. Of course, the third time I did it everyone had figured out how to hide their reactions, which made it much less entertaining, and when I tried to wear 20th century gigolo pants Anderson found some sort of statute mandating that civilian employees of Starfleet must dress professionally, which meant that clothing designed to be sexually provocative *could* be forbidden." He pulled out a deep red two-piece suit with black trim. "This'll do for me. As soon as I come back, we'll try to fit some of these pants to you." "Q, you are significantly taller than me, have wider hips, and your pants are cut for a man. How can we possibly get any of them to fit short of mutilating them and resewing them together?" "O ye of little faith. Just watch." He retreated to the bathroom, and returned with a small device, similar to a tricorder. "Hold still. Let me take your measurements." He walked around her with the tricorder extended. "There we go. That'll work." "What will?" Q knelt down on the floor. "Watch." He lifted a pair of pants and began to fold the fabric, making lengthwise folds of two centimeters wide or less, and pressing them down. To T'Laren's surprise, the folds held almost invisibly. "I didn't expect to shrink, so I'm afraid everyone will be able to see where I rolled your hems up," he said. "What did you just do?" "Try them on. I want to see if it worked before I set up any others." Puzzled, she peered inside the pants. It seemed that Q had somehow managed to create small folds in the pants to decrease their width, and made them hold. She carried them into the bathroom and tried them on. They weren't comfortable-- the folds inside pressed against her skin, and the crotch was far lower than her actual groin-- but they stayed on her legs and didn't drag on the floor. She left the bathroom. "How did you do that?" "Perfect! It looks quite splendid on you." "I have no interest in looking splendid. How did you do that?" "Internal polarized magnetic fibers. Most of my clothing is tailored, not replicated, and it was tailored when I first became human. When I started losing weight, I didn't want my clothes to sag, but I didn't want to admit to Anderson that I needed my clothes adjusted, and I knew if I went to a tailor it would get back to Anderson. So I had all my clothes impregnated with polarized magnetic fibers, so I could adjust them myself if need be. Of course I never expected to have to adjust them *this* much, but I had it done symmetrically so that it wouldn't change the way the clothes hang, so I was able to get them adjusted for you." "Can the folds be made on the outside rather than the inside? They are getting in my way." "Well, yes, but you'd look ridiculous." "I really don't care how I look, Q." "Fine, fine. I'll fold them on the outside. If you want to look absurd that's your prerogative." The door slid open then, and a Ferengi-- not one they'd seen before-- entered with a pair of bowls. He sneered. "Here's food for you and your female, human," he said. From the smell, T'Laren could already tell this was a humiliation ploy. Q walked over, glanced in the bowls, and stepped back. "That's disgusting. I'm not eating that." The Ferengi grinned broadly. "It's good Ferengi meal grubs! There's nothing wrong with it, human. Have a taste." He set the bowls down and grabbed a handful of the grubs, waving them at Q's face. "Should I give them to your female to chew for you?" Q was looking decidedly pale. "Get those things away from me!" She didn't know how severe his phobia of bugs was or what it would lead him to do, but despite the fact that she felt he was practically bringing everything that could happen to them down on himself, she didn't want him to suffer, or to reveal too much of his fear of insect-like things to the Ferengi, who'd use it against him. T'Laren stepped up and retrieved the bowls from the floor. "Put the grubs in here." "Are you really going to chew them for him, female?" the Ferengi asked mockingly, putting the grubs in the bowl. "No." T'Laren carried the bowls to the bathroom and dumped the contents down the toilet. As they entered the tiny tube at the bottom, she pressed the fresher button, and the grubs were disintegrated by the waste reclamation system, transformed into raw matter to be reconstituted by the replicator system. She returned with the bowls. "Q will not eat insects and I will not eat animal matter. If you wish him to survive until you can sell him, you will feed him food appropriate for humans." "Grubworms are perfectly good food for humans," the Ferengi said snidely. "But... maybe we could work something out. I could bring some food you'd both like... if there was something in it for me." Q's color was back. "Like what? We don't happen to have a large store of latinum on hand. I'd trade you some antiques, but frankly I can't imagine barbarians like you valuing them properly." "I don't want anything from *you*, human." The Ferengi licked his lips. "I want your female. How about it? Tasty human food in exchange for a little tasty Vulcan?" Very deliberately, T'Laren smiled. This was territory she was familiar with. If she could do what she'd done with Melor, she could certainly do what needed to be done here, get a weapon and escape. "We can make such arrangements, yes." She traced her own exposed ear with a fingertip. "I have heard that Ferengi ears are exquisitely... sensitive. Is that the case?" "I'm going to throw up," Q announced. "T'Laren, food isn't worth this. I couldn't even eat it if you continue this disgusting display." "I'll do what needs to be done for our survival," T'Laren said to him, then turned her attention back to the Ferengi. "Oh, yes, very sensitive." The Ferengi licked his lips again. "I think we can come to an arrangement." "Very well. Bring food, and I'll see what I can do for you." The Ferengi shook his head. "No, no. Oo-mox first, then food." "If you insist." She'd known, of course, that the Ferengi would insist on that. It made no difference-- she wasn't after food right now. "Come in." The Ferengi took two steps, and then another Ferengi appeared at the door. "Brill! Are you insane?" Brill turned toward the newcomer. "What do you mean? Didn't you hear what she was offering?" "Of course I heard, you idiot. She's lying! Do you really think a Vulcan's going to give you oo-mox? She's after your *neck*, not your lobes, you fool! She'll knock you unconscious and take your phaser!" This was, of course, exactly what T'Laren had planned, and she felt a surge of irritation that the newcomer had interfered. "I assure you," she said coldly, "I had no such plans. Vulcans do not lie or practice deceit. I intended only an honest business transaction, acceptable by both our cultures, in order to obtain edible food for myself and my client." "Then why don't you do it now?" the newcomer asked, brandishing a phaser at her. "Let's see if you'll go through with the transaction when there's a phaser that says you won't break your word." "No. You have disparaged my honor as a Vulcan. I am no longer willing to do business with you." "Oh, for the sake of *everything* that's holy," Q said disgustedly. "Listen up, you two. She's not giving anyone oo-mox because I said no. Instead, you are going to bring me edible food, or as soon as I get tired of being hungry, I'm going to *kill* myself. Am I making myself clear enough? And you don't touch T'Laren. I don't care what she tells you." "If you can't control your woman, that's not *our* problem," Brill sneered. "It's certainly going to be your problem if you lose your investment, isn't it? Now run off like good little rodents and get my food. And while you're at it, get cleaning solvents too." "Come on, Brill," the other Ferengi said. "It was very funny, but we need to feed the human something he'll eat." "I think he should pay us for his upkeep," Brill said. "Why should we feed him and take care of him for nothing?" "Because he's worth *latinum*, you idiot. Now come on." The Ferengi left. Q looked at T'Laren. "Did you really think that would work?" "I thought it might well get us edible food, yes," T'Laren said blandly, willing him to remember that they might very well be monitored. "Suuure." Q tossed the suit he'd already taken out back into his closet and started rummaging through his clothes again. "I'm going to get dressed. Amusing as that little interlude was, I really don't have any intention of continuing to entertain Ferengi in my bathrobe. And I want something nicer looking than that red thing."