"You're joking," Xander complained. "You absolutely, positively have to be joking. All this, and we can't even get through?"

Xander and Suzan had somehow worked out a way for Xander to hold the unconscious Yulia without their skin touching, and he'd carried her through the halls as the siblings had searched for the flight bay. Unfortunately, they had found it—and the reason for Xander's dismay was the lock on the door. "We need one of the slavers' eye pattern," Suzan explained. "Probably Rulon's. Otherwise, we're not getting a ship and we're not getting out of here."

Xander would have punched the wall if his arms hadn't been full with Yulia. "We're dead," he moaned.

"Not necessarily." A mischievous sparkle entered Suzan's eyes. "It's said that Veerna's shapeshifting abilities can copy everything from fingerprints to mind signatures ... and eye patterns."

"We left her in the branding room!" Xander cried in a barely-restrained voice.

Suzan patted the top of her brother's head. It was one of her weird and annoying habits that drove Xander nuts. "Then we'll just have to get her out," she said matter-of-factly. "You've got a gun, and I've got ... wires. We're not totally defenseless, big brother. After all, we're members of the Federation, remember?"

Xander heaved a sigh. This whole business was spinning far beyond his control, and he didn't feel comfortable asking Veerna for help. The two of them did not have a good relationship. Unfortunately, since he really didn't see Rulon lending them his eye pattern to escape, Veerna was their only viable option. "Okay," he said. "Let's go and save that space pirate."

. . . . . . . . . .

Don and Melody pressed themselves against the wall, hardly daring to breathe as a patrol walked past them. The young doctor was trembling against Don's arm, and it occurred to him for the first time that she had never done anything so dangerous before. The fact that he hadn't either failed to enter his mind, and he squeezed Melody's hand reassuringly.

The patrol passed by without seeing them, but they waited for several minutes until they were sure the men were gone. Finally, they relaxed and Don released Melody's hand. "Hopefully, we'll find them soon," she whispered. "I can't imagine what they're doing to poor Chris ..."

Don said nothing, unable to reassure her. Ear-piercing shrieks interrupted them, and Melody jumped, instinctively snatching Don's hand again. The psychologist grimaced at both the blood-curling screams and the intensity with which Melody was clinging to him. "We follow the screams," he decided. "Come on, Melody."

At some point, he'd stopped referring to her as "Doctor Chase" and now just called her Melody. The other doctor still insisted on calling him Doctor Collego, though, and he wasn't sure why. They continued through the dark and gloomy metal hallways, Don's loafers making muted thuds against the floor. Melody's boots sounded even louder to his overworked mind.

The screams stopped as suddenly as they had come. Melody's wide eyes met Don's, but he motioned for silence. In his mind, he pictured the screams and followed them through the halls, turning when he wanted to and going straight on other paths. Others would have been disoriented, but he had a single need fixated in his mind. For some reason, the desire to find the person who had screamed in such agony was becoming almost an obsession in his mind.

Their path took them around for more than ten minutes, until finally Don put up his hand, stopping Melody in her tracks. "In there," he whispered, pointing at the door before them. Melody's wide eyes looked at him, and she said nothing. He motioned for her to stay there and crept towards the door. However, to his severe annoyance and displeasure, the girl followed him.

The door slid open. Don stared as a man stepped out, looking immensely satisfied with himself. However, his expression turned to shock when he saw Don and Melody standing there. He drew breath to bellow a warning, and Don reacted without even thinking. The psychologist lunged at the slaver and punched him in the face, the shock running up his arm and jarring his wrist.

Despite the pain, the tactic was surprisingly effective. The man toppled to the ground, unconscious, and Don turned to Melody, shaking his aching hand ruefully. "I've never punched anyone before," he admitted, viewing his bruised knuckles with some confusion.

Melody giggled. It occurred to him that her laughter stemmed mostly from nerves, but she seemed amused. "I can tell," she told him. "You're supposed to strike with an open palm. It leaves you less open to bruised knuckles and can have more force behind it."

Don sighed. "Now you tell me. Come on." He led Melody through the door and into the room beyond.

Sure enough, Don and Melody found themselves in the branding room. The room stunk of burnt flesh and smoking flames. Tied down to the bed with restraints was Veerna Vold, her white skin covered in sweat. From her neck to the beginning of her collarbone, black burned flesh was increasingly obvious against the pale pallor of her skin. The snake wound its way from the top of her neck and downwards, flaking dead skin.

"Veerna?" Don said, going up to her and laying a hand on her shoulder. A strap covered her mouth, gagging her. "Melody, start looking for a way to release all these things."

As Melody obediently started examining the bed, Veerna's eyes flickered open, looking past Don before focusing on him. Several things happened in one instant. There was a click, Melody gave an excited, "Got it!", Veerna's restraints came free ...

And the space pirate's foot came up and slammed into Don's abdomen. The psychologist staggered backwards, the breath knocked from his lungs, wheezing. Melody jumped backwards, squeaking as Veerna gasped in pain and curled up. "That's—that's—what you get ...!" she snarled.

"Veerna!" Don panted, getting control of his breath somewhat. "It's—it's me! Don Collego! I'm not one of the slavers ... I came to rescue you."

Veerna raised her head, fixing her admittedly-frightened look on him. "You ... but you're dead," she pointed out.

"Sareen saved me," Don said. "I'm not a ghost, trust me. We're here to rescue you."

She blinked once, regaining her self-control. "Well, you're not doing a very good job of it," she told him.

"I'm ... I'm not?" he said. "I thought I was doing pretty well."

"Luck," Veerna said. "How in the name of the stars do you plan on getting me out of here?"

"And where's Chris?" Melody asked tentatively.

Don bit down on his lip hard, wondering when in the world he'd become the leader of the group. It wasn't a position he was comfortable with, that was for sure. However, he bent down and lifted Veerna into his arms, hefting her up with a little grunt. "Be careful," the Voldinian snapped.

Don chose not to respond to that, sensing any sarcastic response he gave would simply antagonize her further. Thankfully, Melody interrupted them. "What about Chris, and the others?" she asked.

"The Wenis and Yulia are in the process of escaping, if Suzan's plan went right," Veerna said. She paused to wheeze a little and made a face. "Don't get branded. It's not fun." Although her tone was casual, Don sensed a waver in her voice when she spoke of the brand. Not that he could blame her—getting branded would scar anybody, even a hardened space pirate like Veerna. He wanted to say something, to comfort her, but he sensed that any sympathy would further turn her against him.

Instead, he carried her in silence, following behind Melody as they went through the hallways in search of Captain Chris Chase.

. . . . . . . . . .

Chris was laying on a bed in the infirmary, chained down to the bed. Her side was bandaged and blood was being pumped into her veins to replace what she'd lost. At the moment, the captain would have preferred to have been allowed to die in peace. Her sister had been blown up, their mission had failed, and she would be enslaved. She stared at the ceiling of the infirmary, the blinding white lights shining down at her. "Blasted things," she muttered, turning her head to the side.

The door slid open, and she changed her gaze to look at the intruder. Her nose wrinkled in irritation when she saw Rulon. "What the heck do you want?" she demanded.

Rulon held up his hands in a calming gesture. "I just want to talk," he explained.

"Then talk from there, you swine," she snapped. "And if you've got nothing useful to say, than just get out of here."

At that, Rulon's slimy smile grew a little wider. "You act as if this is your ship and your infirmary, when it's actually mine," he reflected. "What would you say if I told you that your commander is turning her back on the Federation and disobeying direct orders?"

Chris snorted. "Commander Sareen?" she said. "Don't be stupid. If she turns her back on Federation orders, I'd ... I'd kiss you, the odds of that happening are so slim. Why bother trying to convince me otherwise, Rulon? It's pointless."

The slaver shook his head mockingly. "Your faith is disappointing. For you, at least, when you find out that it's unfounded. I'll enjoy the pain in your face then, Christine. Because then you'll have lost everything. Your ship, your fame, your sister, and your commander. And I will have broken the best pilot in the whole solar system. Good-bye, Christine Chase." With that, Rulon turned on his heel and went out the door.

The screamed curses from his prisoner seemed to faze him little.