Go to Part Two
Return to Valjiir Stories
Return to Valjiir Continum
Kevin Riley, Lieutenant and Chief Navigator of the U.S.S. Enterprise did not want to leave. As the Chief of Security and Chief Helmsman, Lieutenant Sulu Takeda, and the Assistant Science Officer Ruth Valley, and Engineering Lieutenant Jilla Majiir dragged him from the bar, he kept trying to explain that this was the first civilized planet he'd been on in years. "Guinness, you don't understand, they stock Guinness!" None of the three bothered to ask him what Guinness was. They were already late for their scheduled return to the ship. They had to run half a mile through a raging thunderstorm to the beam up point, and they were giddy enough to begin with. Ruth kept trying to teach Jilla to skip. Kevin kept complaining about people who weren't Irish.
They were soaking wet and laughing at nothing and everything by the time they'd covered the half a mile. The communication with the ship was difficult, full of static and breaks, but they managed to convey that they were drenched and needed towels and dry clothing unless Bwana Jim didn't mind if they tracked water all over his ship. Upon being informed - by the Captain himself - that he certainly did mind, they straightened up, apologized to him and requested beam-up.
Commander Spock, First Officer and Chief of Sciences stood in the transporter room of the I.S.S Enterprise. He kept his arms folded, controlling his fierce anger; channeling it, waiting. He could sense Chief Kyle's fear, but had no time for it. The storm was a bad one, he knew, but the Transporter Chief could be disciplined later if mistakes were made. There were more important matters to be taken care of. He wasn't sure why Lieutenant Commander Sulu was allowing this, beyond the sheer pleasure it would give the Security Chief. He could speculate on several possibilities. One: Riley was becoming a problem. Sulu either had reasons for keeping him around and so wanted the First Officer to take him down, or was too bored with the man to want to deal with him personally. Two: Sulu could be after the enjoyment of what would be done to Ruth. She'd been cockteasing too blatantly lately. Three: It could be at the kal'aroun's insistence, out of jealousy and spite for the First Officer's woman.
No matter, Spock thought grimly. Mr. Riley will learn how dangerous it is to toy with a Vulcan's woman, and Ruth will learn the dangers of toying with a Vulcan.
The shimmer of the transporter beam began to coalesce, then faded. Spock turned to Kyle silently, who winced and worked feverishly at his controls. One error, Spock noted. Shimmer reappeared and solidified, and Kyle sighed in relief.
Before the four figures could even begin their salutes, Spock's rage exploded into violent action. He gave Riley no time to reach for a weapon. Moving toward him with lightning speed, he clamped his agonizer to the Human's shoulder even before he slammed him against the bulkhead at the back of the transporter alcove.
There were exclamations from the others and Spock heard Ruth shriek his name. In a moment, beloved, he thought as he let Riley fall to the floor. He turned, ready to use the agonizer again and saw Ruth staring in anguish at Riley. Sulu held her arms, preventing her from rushing to the Human. Sulu, becoming protective? Why? Spock grabbed Ruth away from him and pushed her off the platform. "To my quarters," he ordered her, then turned to the Chief of Security. "Mr. Sulu, I want Riley disciplined." Spock noted the kal'aroun cowering behind Sulu. So you are involved. I will have words with you later, slut.
Sulu hesitated several seconds before answering, "I'll see to it, sir."
The first thing Sulu noticed was that he was no longer wet, the second, that he was in uniform, the third, the man who furiously pinned Kevin to the far bulkhead with a rage that was tangible even to him.
Spock, bearded, wearing a dress-tunic of dusky-blue silk with a gold sash.
Impossible.
A swift glance at the transporter room only confirmed the impossibility, followed closely by terrible realization. The dagger-penetrated globe emblazoned on the far wall. Kyle in coveralls, cowering. Then Kevin was screaming, Ruth crying Spock's name, Jilla gasping with an inrush of emotion. He heard his own exclamation of dismay even as his arm shot out, grabbing Ruth's, frantically stopping her. His terror-filled gaze silenced her. He felt Jilla moving quickly to him, shrinking against him, clutching to his back with trembling fingers.
Kevin's screams stopped abruptly, and Spock turned, his face cold and satanic. Jilla's sharp hiss was nearly inaudible, Kevin's name a silent whisper of agony from Ruth's lips. There was a small, oddly shaped device in Spock's hand and though he had no idea what it was, Sulu had no doubts as to what it could do. He expected suddenly to feel its power, or to watch it used on Ruth or Jilla. Spock only grabbed Ruth, pulling her away and off the transporter platform. Jilla flinched, and Sulu quickly, unobtrusively pulled her closer. He tried to hold Ruth's eyes as Spock ordered her to his cabin, but her confusion and fear were too great and she raced from the room. Then Spock told him he wanted Riley 'disciplined,' and to his infinite surprise, he found a voice to answer him.
"I'll - see to it, sir."
"Do so," came the harsh reply, and Spock strode from the room, casting a withering glance at Kyle, who paled considerably. Sulu found himself staring, his thoughts dominated by the overwhelming realizations. Ruth, also not wet, had not been wearing the simple halter and skirt she'd had on planetside. Instead, her slender body was encased in a green and gold skin-tight mini-dress. Green eye shadow adorned the lids over her huge purple eyes, emerald earrings pierced her earlobes, two gold bracelets encircled each of her arms. But Ruth never wore makeup, or jewelry. He himself was in a uniform instead of the civilian slacks and tunic he'd been wearing, but his shirt was red and it was cinched at the waist by a gold sash. That sash held a communicator, a dagger, a phaser, and a device identical to the one Spock had used. His glance shifted to Jilla, and he swallowed the shock. Black boots with five-inch spike heels of silver covered her legs to just above her knees. A tunic of silky black clung to her like a second skin, sheer from just below her breasts to just below her navel; as short as a uniform, but there were obviously no matching briefs beneath it. Her fingernails and lips were painted a deep burgundy that matched her wild, loose hair, her eyelids a sparkling smudge of the same color.
Still, none of that caused the shock, even though Jilla never wore that kind of make-up, nor the silver bands that circled her wrists and throat. The hem of her tunic was notched at her right thigh up to her waist, and it revealed a tattoo - a perfect miniature, no more than two inches in height; a naked, voluptuous, crystalline female figure, edged in silver, surrounded by a halo of flame. The figure was kneeling, legs apart, hands clasped behind the head that was thrown back, with eyes closed and mouth open in obvious ecstasy. And the tattoo still wasn't all. Jilla's tunic plunged between her breasts all the way to the sheerness, and above her breasts, just below her throat were the dark, unmistakable lines of a brand.
She was too frightened to notice his stare. She gazed at Kevin, shuddering, then glanced at the door. When she turned to him, he spoke as harshly as he thought Kyle would expect.
"Go home, Jilla. I've got Riley to see to."
"But..." she began, as he knew she would.
"Woman, go on!" he snapped, his eyes frantically begging her to understand. She started to glow, but nodded and left the room. Sulu made his movements casual but direct as he went to the com and ordered a security team to come and take Kevin, hoping that they'd give some clue as to where. He glared at Kyle, who whimpered, waiting.
Security was very prompt and they didn't disappoint him. "The Booth, Chief?" one red-shirted man asked. Sulu nodded and prayed Kevin would stay unconscious.
It wasn't as bad as it could've been. The operation of the torture device known as "the Booth" was fairly straightforward, and Sulu managed to chase the guards away with a stroke of good fortune. He'd said something about "personal discipline", and they'd covered discomforting shivers with knowing chuckles and left him alone. He didn't know if the device was monitored, and so silently begged Kevin's forgiveness and turned it on.
After bare seconds he hurriedly switched it off. Kevin had started screaming. He moved to the cylinder of glass, opening it. Kevin slumped into his arms. "I'm sorry, Kev," he whispered. He closed his eyes, his mind filling with memory. Years ago, a strange ion-storm related accident had created an exchange of life-essence. Four people from some parallel universe had inhabited the bodies of Dr. McCoy, Mr. Scott, Uhura and Captain Kirk. After only four hours, Spock had affected a re-transfer, but Uhura had acted oddly around him for days, seeming angry and cold one minute, and almost gratefully affectionate the next. When, in confusion, he demanded to know why, she'd told him about the Empire; the frightening differences and more frightening similarities. She told him how they - she had been expected to act, how savage and ruthless his counterpart in particular had been. She explained how she'd had to play up to him, and how close he had come to preventing their return. And while he hadn't looked in a mirror, or touched his own face, the tightness of skin along his right temple and cheek gave him a good idea of the scar that he bore.
No. God, Buddha, Aema, no!
He waited as long as he dared, then dragged Kevin along the corridor to a cell in security. He slapped him awake.
"Kevin," he whispered, "we're in the Empire, Uhura's Empire. Stay unconscious and they'll leave you alone."
"Ruth?" Kevin managed. Sulu winced.
"I know, I'll do what I can, just stay alive!"
Kevin fell back and Sulu wondered just what sort of neurological damage had been done, then left him and somehow made it to his office.
The Security office was much larger than the one Sulu was used to. There were more data tapes than he thought he would ever use. Data on what? he wondered. He picked up a cassette and put it in the reader. Then he grimaced. This was a personnel tape, one of 430. He countered the automatic indignation with the thought that at least he might be able to use the information they contained.
It took him a few minutes, but he found the six that were most important, only mildly surprised that there was one on himself: the four of them, Kirk, and Spock.
He inserted the first, scanning quickly.
"Costain, Jilla. Indiian. On board as per the wish of First Officer Spock. Trained at House Crystal Flame at request of Senator Joel Costain. Served on Vulcan, presently residing with Lieutenant Commander Takeda." There was a pause, then Sulu had the eerie experience of hearing a voice that was harsh, silky, contemplative and unmistakably his own adding a personal touch to the computer tape. "Spock intends her to keep tabs on me. She's marvelous for keeping tabs on him. Thank you, Don, for the training. She's one of your best."
"Kirk, James Tiberius - Succeeded to command I.S.S. Enterprise through assassination of Captain Christopher Pike. First action: suppression of Gorlan uprising, through destruction of rebel home-planet -" Sulu switched off the tape. "That's enough," he said decisively.
"Riley, Kevin Thomas. Security, Lieutenant, subordinate body-guard of Lieutenant Commander Takeda, operative of Kirk, used in hired assassinations. Expert in blunt weaponry. Instrumental in elimination of -" He pulled out the tape, suppressing a shudder.
"Spock, Commander, First Officer, Chief of Science. Half-breed: Father, Sarek, Head of the Vulcan Clan Telanlrn; Mother, Amanda Grayson of Terran Interstar Corporation Family. Became First Officer on succession to command of Captain Kirk. Expert in computers, intelligence, strategy, unarmed combat. Instrumental in assassination of Captain Christopher Pike." Again came his own voice. "Spock claims he is uninterested in command. I suppose he's also the Regent of Londinium." The sarcasm was thickly amused.
"Valley, Ruth - Antari. On board as gift to First Officer Spock from Senator Jonathan Valley. Assassinated Nurse Christine Chapel to replace her as First Officer's woman." A personal note added, "Spock indulges her. She's very spoiled, but she might prove useful in eliminating him. She's jealous of Jilla's brand. That might also be useful."
Sulu felt almost sick, and he had to steel himself to put in his own tape.
"Takeda, Sulu no Jiro, Lieutenant Commander, Chief of Security. Chief Helmsman. Succeeded to security post by assassination of Lieutenant Commander Charles Simpson. Commands personal loyalty of security section. Expert in interrogation, martial arts, weaponry, indoctrination. Sexual predator. Apprentice of Duce Ruis Calvario." At the name, Sulu shuddered with revulsion. "Personal friend of Don Noel DelMonde of Rigel." A pause. "Kirk calls me a dangerous, deviant, malignant sadist. He doesn't know how right he is." The words echoed within him in sick recognition. No wonder he'd been left alone for "personal discipline'. Who else had the stomach for it?
He put the tapes back and approached the panel of viewscreens on the opposite wall. He hesitated at the control board, studying it, trying to think Imperially. Monitors, for what? Major ship functions, of course, but what else? Communications had to be bugged, so did Engineering. And the Bridge. And Sciences. And Defense and Weapons. And the Helm. And Security itself. My god, how can anyone keep track of all that? You have to try, don't you.
He reached out, touching a switch. One of the screens came to life with a picture of the Bridge, and as it did, a recorder light came on to the left of the switch. Did that mean he recorded all this data as well? He touched the switch again. The picture blanked, but the light didn't go out. Then all the other recording lights came on as the intercom buzzed. He swallowed, answered it.
"Sulu."
"Lieutenant Baker, sir, acknowledging return of monitor controls. The data tapes will be in your office by 1800 hours. I hope you enjoyed your leave, sir.
Sulu groped for something to say. "Don't I always, Lieutenant? Carry on."
A chuckle. "Yes, sir."
He closed the com thoughtfully. Every moment on tape. That just might give them the technical details of what went wrong with the transporter. And with that, Valjiir can fix it, can't they? Reverse the effect. Get us home. Assuming of course, that they stay alive long enough to review the tapes. Jilla should be all right, Kevin's under 'personal discipline', and Ruth...
He shuddered at the memory of the display of Spock's temper. She was the Vulcan's woman, and she had been with Kevin. Shit!
His thoughts raced. She had to be warned, told where they were, made to understand what she'd done and how important it was that she make it through the night. He had to risk calling her. Were his communications monitored by another part of the ship? He hoped fervently for a negative, and opened the intercom.
Ruth rushed past the very tall, dangerous looking Vulcan guard outside Spock's door. His eyes didn't even flicker as she ran into the room. She stopped cold as the door hissed closed behind her. She shut her eyes and saw only Spock's livid, angry face, anger that was directed at her. The force of his emotion had driven all other thoughts from her mind. She hadn't even questioned it when he'd sent her to his quarters. But now that she was here...It all registered; Spock's beard, the uniform he wore, the globe-and-dagger that was painted on every bulkhead, every turbolift door. "We've got to get out of here," she whispered hoarsely and forced herself to walk calmly across the room. She looked at the computer annex terminal then shook her head. Not just yet, she thought, and turned to inspect the rooms.
She found plenty of evidence that a female shared these rooms. Cases of expensive jewelry, and a closet half full of dresses made for a slender figure - in colors, if not styles, she would have chosen. And make-up, along with a cut dylithium decanter full of a rare perfume. She seemed to be a very pampered young woman. I'm a very pampered young woman, Ruth corrected herself as she picked up a guitar that was unmistakably her own. "Zehara, get us out of this," she whispered fervently. Her eyes swept across the display of weapons on the bedroom wall, and she shuddered. She put down the guitar, returning to the desk. "Computer," she ordered.
"Ready," a harsh masculine voice answered moments later.
Ruth blinked in surprise, but before she could respond, the communicator buzzed and she hurriedly switched the terminal off.
"Ruth?" It was Sulu. The scar made him look evil, but his eyes were anxious. "I know where we are."
"In trouble?" Ruth asked, knowing it was the most feeble joke she had ever made.
"Shit," he replied with no trace of amusement. He shut his eyes for a second. When he opened them they were full of concern. "Spike, no jokes. I know that's how you react to being scared, but I don't think Spock will give a damn."
"Okay, sorry," Ruth replied seriously.
Sulu nodded briefly. "Good. Do you remember hearing about the parallel universe? The one Uhura and the Captain and McCoy and Scotty were transferred to."
She nodded. "I know, Sulu," she returned quietly. "We're there." She saw him battle his own anxiety.
"I'm Chief of Security here too," he said at last, "and my office has monitors for all major areas of the ship. We might be able to get out of this. Especially with Valjiir."
"Is Kevin all right?" she interrupted.
Sulu swallowed before answering. "I had to put him in something called the Agony Booth. It's a big version of that thing Spock used on him. But he's safe for now, in a cell in the brig. Jilla and I will be okay too. Our problem is keeping you alive through the night. Your counterpart is Spock's mistress, and we've already seen what a bad temper he has. And he's very angry with you for daring to be seen with Kevin. I'm sorry I have to make this an order, but - " He took a deep breath. "Lieutenant Valley, I want you to take whatever he gives you. Act like - well like - I don't know how to say this - wheedle, apologize, seduce... Do what you have to do to live through the night."
Ruth closed her eyes until she had forced down the panic. Her throat was so dry that she had trouble answering. "Yes, sir. Goddess, I'm scared,"
"Me too."
"You want me to start working on the computers?"
Sulu shook his head. "Let me figure out how security works first. I suspect that everything is bugged."
Ruth was glad that she hadn't had time to use the terminal. "Makes sense," she agreed. She tried to smile. "Wish me luck."
"Luck, Spike. And more."
After the small screen went blank Ruth stared at it for awhile, very tempted to call Jilla. No, she thought, no use worrying her any more than Roy will have to. You'll handle it, Lieutenant Valley - somehow. She looked and finally grabbed the only thing in the room that was familiar, and held onto it for dear life.
Jilla raced past the guards in the corridor trying to ignore both the emotions around her and her own confused terror. That she wasn't anywhere she'd ever been before was frighteningly obvious. She'd never felt such cruelty or arrogance or lust - except for Kor... She quickly pushed the thought away. Where are we, goddess, what has happened? She closed her eyes and saw again the scar on Sulu's face, the sensual mask painted on Ruth's - and Spock, bearded, fury coming from him in unconquerable waves. She nearly collapsed in the turbolift, finding it somehow more difficult to force the Vulcan calm from her mind into her body. She brought her hands to her face.
The scream caught in her throat, her thoughts swirling in pain and confused anguish. She fell to her knees, voices screaming blasphemy within her memory. There was no scar on her left palm.
She clutched at her wrist, terrified of the heresy and the effrontery to Aema. How did she dare to rid herself of the sign of her damnation? How dare she try to conceal the truth of her sin? She begged forgiveness, pleading ignorance, and the sight of the color on her nails pierced through the panic. She had seen Terran women paint their nails, but she had never...
The turbolift door opened and she gathered her wits. She tried not to run to her quarters, though the emotions that made no sense assailed her. There was a tall TerAfrican outside her door, and as he saw her she felt a rush of wistful, amused desire coupled with quite serious caution. He stepped aside as she approached, smiling.
"Ma'am," he said, and it was almost an insult.
She made no response, and slipped into her rooms.
She looked twice to make sure these were her rooms. Fierce oriental warriors guarded the bed, blades of every description covered the walls, a huge array of screens waited over the desk. But the collection of dylithium jewelry Sulu had given her was on the dresser, and the wardrobe held clothes for both a man and a woman. She tried in vain to clear her head of the warring sensations, shaking it slowly, and caught the gleam of a reflection. She turned to the mirror.
And choked back another cry at her appearance. The make-up the jewelry, the clothing - she would never adorn herself in such a fashion, no Indiian would! She stared, moving toward the glass, unable to shake the feeling that she was looking at a stranger. Yet it was her, some twisted version of herself. She stared at the vivid marking on her thigh. What sort of degradation was...
Her eyes suddenly focused on the skin just above her breasts. The lines of dark scarring were clear and precise. An asymmetrical design; a line with one end a hook, crossing a straight line which was anchored to a third, horizontal yet not parallel to the hook. Below that was a curl, again asymmetrical, the loop to the left of center as she looked at it. Her thoughts ceased as horror sped through her. The design was one she recognized. The hook was the curving arc of the ahn-woon in perfect deployment The anchored straight line represented the thrust of the lirpa. The horizontal base was the ground, and the curl was an eddy of calm water in a river. The family and personal symbol of Selar Seliklrn Vtkrhgdantm.
The scream welled up in her throat, a cry of terror and shame and burning humiliation. She slid helplessly to the floor, wailing in self-loathing agony. She was kal'aroun, a thing, slut, concubine, property. Selar had marked her as owned, nothing but that which her tra'feean commanded. It was an ancient Vulcan custom, branding slaves with a searing, white-hot blade. She had been taken, could be given as her owner saw fit, no choice, no rights, nothing, nothing, Aema no, NO!
Sulu nodded at the man outside his quarters. Personal guard, he told himself, and repressed a shudder. He'd done as much research as he could on the structure of officers and crew on the Enterprise. All Senior Officers had bodyguards, men who were personally, unquestionably loyal. Since they were the final layer of protection for any officer, they had to be. After what he'd found out, the thought that Lieutenant Jeremy Paget was as completely loyal to the Chief of Security as his own best friend and former lover was to him gave him a very sick feeling.
The door opened, and Jilla's voice screamed "NO!" Then Paget chuckled.
"Miss Costain was a bad girl, was she, boss?" he asked.
"Is it any of your fucking business?" Sulu snapped, and Paget paled, swallowing.
"No, sir, none at all," he replied quickly. Sulu went through the door, grateful when it slid closed behind him.
Jilla was on her knees before a full-length mirror, crying hysterically. Helpless tears sprang to his eyes. He moved to her, taking her in his arms. "Honey, I know," he murmured, "but it'll be all right..."
She struggled wildly, shrieking a word he didn't understand. Her left hand was tightly clenched, held over the scarring at her throat, the elaborate make-up streaking her face with her tears. "Kal'aroun!" she cried. "Look at me, kal'aroun!"
Frantically Sulu wiped at her face, not knowing what else to do. "It'll come off!" he told her, "Jilla, please..."
She wailed, a sound of irredeemable horror. "Kal'aroun!" she shrieked and tried to crawl away from him. He grabbed her and she crumbled, sobbing, moaning.
"Jilla, baby, what is it!?" he asked, the strength of her terror beating at him. She only cried out in anguish and he took her shoulders, forcing her to face him. "Jilla!" he demanded.
Her eyes were alive with fear and panic and she jerked her hand away from the marks. She was trembling and her voice was a tortured rasp. "Branded," she whispered.
"You - " he faltered, "you understand -"
"Branded!" she repeated in a shriek. "Selar's brand, Selar's property, kal'aroun, Sulu, my hand!"
Swallowing the despair, Sulu grabbed her left wrist, turning her hand. The palm was unmarked. An incredulously fierce wave of joy rushed through him. Not wed, not damned, Jilla you can be mine!
"I am property!" she screamed, and he knew his joy had cut her like a knife. He crushed her in an embrace.
"I'm sorry, god, Jilla, I'm sorry... I just don't understand..."
She wept more violently and he held her and let her cry until her hysteria was dulled by weary inevitability. Then she looked up at him and clung to him, murmuring desolate apologies.
"Honey," he said softly, "I know how confused you are, but you have to listen to me. We're not where we're supposed to be. You know the theory of parallel universes. It's happened. We're in a place called the First Terran Empire, on board an Imperial Enterprise. These bodies we're in - they aren't ours. Counterparts, Jilla, you weren't branded. She was. It isn't you, it doesn't touch you. I don't understand what it means, but it isn't you!"
"It means," Jilla broke in tonelessly, "that during pon farr I was fought for, taken by the victor, sexually used, and branded as a legal whore. Property. And the brand - " she touched it gingerly, "- is Selar's."
Sulu shuddered. He knew he could never fully comprehend what the thing meant to Jilla, but he had seen branded Orion women. He knew how slaves of that sort were treated. He closed his eyes, fighting the helpless revulsion. "I'm sorry," he managed. "Honey, you have to forget it, I need you and Ruth to help us get back home."
"Forget it?" Jilla was trembling again. "I can't, I can't!" Sulu saw the hysteria returning.
"Control it!" he pleaded.
"I can't!" she cried.
He reached for her, his fingers automatically seeking through her hair to stroke and caress her sensitive ears. He touched them, felt along the curve to the delicate points -
And pulled away sharply at the rounded tips. "My god, your ears!" he rasped.
Panic came into Jilla's face and she reached up. Then she started screaming again. Sulu slapped her, and she wildly began hitting him back. He grabbed her wrists, shouting her name. The shrieks of fear and anger turned to sobs of laughter and she moaned, "I can't - control because - it is in my mind but - my body is not - Aema, Sulu, I'm Indiian!"
Sulu held her tightly. No genetic alteration. How was she going to cope? I have to get her out of here, have to get us all out of here. "Jilla," he said fiercely, "listen to me. We're in danger here. Kevin's been seen with Spock's woman - Ruth. Vulcans are Pre-Surakian here. Antaris are nymphomaniacs, Indiians untutored barbarians. I'm - " he choked. "I'm a sadistic monster and you're my woman. I'm keeping Kevin alive, praying Ruth can keep Spock from killing her. But you're mine, and as long as I stay safe, you'll be safe. I need Valjiir, Jilla, you're our only hope. Help me, get a hold of yourself. Baby, would I let anything hurt you?"
Jilla shuddered, sobbing, trying to breathe deeply. "I'll try," she whispered. "There is so much emotion, cruel, hard, uncaring - " She inhaled sharply. "I'll try."'
He kissed her, then helped her stand. "Go wash that trash off your face," he said quietly. She nodded, and he turned to contemplate the screens above the desk. He found that they seemed to cover a great deal more territory than the ones in his office. He waited for Jilla to help him before he did too much experimenting, but from what he could tell with only a perfunctory inspection, he thought that from here he could monitor the entire ship. "God, I hope so," he murmured to himself. If they had this, and Valjiir, their chances were much better.
Jilla returned from the bathroom, clean of make-up, but with her hand again clenched over the brand. Her voice was tremulous. "Sulu, what is this?" she asked, the fingers of her right hand gingerly touching the marking on her thigh.
"It's a tattoo, color inserted under the skin," Sulu explained as unemotionally as he could. "I don't know what it means." The words 'House Crystal Flame' ran through his mind, and he repressed a shudder, damning himself for the sudden fascination that came with it. "Come here," he said quickly, to cover it. "I need your help." She came, trembling, and he hugged her reassuringly. "Can you trace the wiring of this system?" he asked, indicating the security panel. "I need to know what controls what and where the transmitters for all this are."
Jilla shook her head once, a sharp jerking motion, then exhaled slowly. "Yes, of course, if I can..." She let the sentence drop.
Sulu gently stroked her head. "It's all right, hon," he murmured. She knelt to open the panel. If she can keep her mind on engineering she'll be okay, Sulu thought fervently. And I've got plenty for her to do, so she can stay lost in her work and won't absorb so much of the hostility this place radiates. I have to try to keep from worrying, I have to be hopeful, confident so she'll pick that up. I can't lie to her, so I'm going to have to believe it. And how the hell do I do that? "I love you Jilla," he whispered, but not loud enough to distract her from what she was doing.
The screens flicked on one by one as Jilla traced the circuits. Sulu glanced over each one in turn. He noted uneasily that they mostly showed the interiors of living quarters. Old dread welled up within him and he purposefully paid no attention to the activity that was presented. Then Spock's quarters flashed onto the screen directly in front of him. He clenched his fists but stood very still, not wanting Jilla to know he had seen anything disturbing. He should have known it wouldn't work. She gasped, "What!" and bolted up to stare fearfully at the screen.
"Ruth."
Ruth looked up with the hiss of the door and Spock's voice. She was still sitting in the middle of the floor, her guitar clutched in her arms.
"You will explain your behavior." Spock stood over her, staring at her with cold, relentless eyes.
"My - behavior?" Ruth repeated in confusion.
The eyes hardened. "Your sudden predilection towards suicide, beloved." He reached down, grabbing her wrist, pulling her to stand. The guitar resounded with a bang as it hit the floor, and she gasped. "Kevin Riley," Spock growled angrily.
Ruth fought panic. "I just - beamed up with him - and Sulu and Jilla," she added quickly. "I ran into them planetside, I wasn't..."
"First names?" Spock interrupted with harsh amusement. "I had not thought you so friendly with the Chief of Security and his whore."
Ruth stared blankly.
Spock's grip loosened somewhat. "Or have you a reason? Is there something being planned, Ruth? Do you hope to guarantee your position against possible rivals? You employed the same tactic against the previous occupant of my quarters - gain confidence, then destroy utterly." He smiled grimly. "Poor stupid Christine. She hardly had a chance against you." His eyes locked onto Ruth's. "Is that it, beloved?"
Ruth grabbed at the explanation while her stomach twisted uneasily inside her. "Of course, what else?" She turned, but was pulled back with renewed viciousness.
"Which does not explain Mr. Riley," Spock informed her coldly.
Ruth took a deep breath. "Spock, I told you. It was a chance meeting."
"There have been too many of these 'chance meetings'," Spock replied. "I have been lenient with you. This time your defiance will not go unpunished." He released her, and took a step back. "Remove your halter."
"What?" Ruth stammered.
"I do not repeat myself, woman. Do as I say."
With trembling hands Ruth complied, her mind remembering the vehemence with which Spock had punished Kevin in the transporter room. She glanced up, and saw Spock removing his sash and tunic. She swallowed hoarsely.
"Kneel," Spock ordered.
Ruth did, and lowered her head, her eyes closing as she tried not to think. She heard his footsteps as he walked around her.
"You grow too confident, beloved," he said. "I would suggest you remember that you do not wear my brand. Yet. And situations change."
An image of the careful scarring just at the base of Jilla's throat flashed into Ruth's mind, only to be swept away by the sharp crack and sting of leather across her back. She lurched forward, catching herself with her hands. Then she gasped as Spock pulled her back up by the hair.
"You have been concerned with brands, have you not?" he said, his voice softly malevolent. "Ever since my brother's kal'aroun came on board, I think. Does she worry you, Selar's barbarian whore? Because she is trained to serve, and wears the mark of the Empire's best training house? Or because she is more than knowledgeable in the ways Vulcan men need to be satisfied? Or simply because she was my kindred's property and I find her attractive, as my brother did?"
Ruth kept back the bitter tears of disbelief, as well as the cries of pain. Spock continued to beat her as he spoke.
"You fear I find her too attractive, Ruth? And I have the power to take her from Sulu if I so desire. For one night, or several, or permanently, as I see fit. Perhaps tonight."
"No!" Ruth gasped out. "You can't, not - " Goddess, help me, this can't be real, it can't be happening. Spock jerked her head up to face him.
"I will do as I please, slut," he growled.
"Please, not - you can't - " Ruth pleaded, then sobbed, trying desperately to collect her thoughts. Remember who this is, where you are, she told herself. Don't beg for Jilla, make it jealous and selfish. "You can't want her, I'm your woman! Spock, please, she'll -" What to say? " - turn on you! She'll betray you to Sulu!"
Spock laughed. "You fear her, golden one."
Ruth clenched her teeth in helpless fury and pain. "All right, damn you, yes, I fear her! Barbarian whore, arrogant silver slut! Such an obedient, scheming little bitch! I fear her beauty and her eagerness and I won't lose you without a fight!"
Spock stared at her, his expression richly amused. "Will you kill her as you killed Miss Chapel?" he asked.
Ruth gasped, but her shocked surprise was covered by another blow, across her face this time. Tears of pain blinded her and it was some time before she could answer him. It gave her time to think of the right answer. "Do you want me to kill her?" she asked, as silkily as the pain would allow.
He laughed grimly. "No, beloved. In fact, I forbid it. The kal'aroun is too amusing."
"Bastard!" Ruth spat jealously. If I've gambled wrong, she thought wildly, he's going to kill me. "Is it any wonder I find Riley interesting? He doesn't compare me with that Indiian whore." The leather cracked across her back again and she screamed, terrified that her admission of jealousy hadn't been enough to placate his ego. But she didn't try to escape the blows. Think I admit I deserve this, she pleaded, think I'm pleased with the attention, think anything, just let me live! After a few more blows, he stopped. She cowered, waiting, then heard him toss the strap to the floor.
"Enough," he said, "for now." He paused, then ordered, "Come."
Relief flooded her. She'd gambled correctly and she was going to live. She tried to clear her head of the pain, then realized that she couldn't. She beat down the panic with relentless - oh goddess - logic. Different body, no training. You can assimilate it but it will take time. Zehara it hurts!
"Woman," Spock said warningly. She swallowed, pushing herself to her feet, and looked up at him. He stood next to the bed. "I did not tell you to stand," he added harshly. Shivering, she dropped back to her knees. His eyes bored into her and she could almost hear his annoyed 'I do not repeat myself'. She crawled to him. He grabbed her hair. "Serve me," he growled.
Ruth held her breath, and looked up at him. His bared chest was a pale jade covering of perfect muscle tone, the darker olive nipples erect through the mass of silky black hair. His shoulders were broad, strong, the arms corded power. All the years of fantasy and futile longing welled inside her as the warmth of his loins pressed against her. The fear still pulled at her, but she couldn't shake off the growing hunger that was attacking -
Attacking. It wasn't coming from within. Dark, greedy desire flowed from Spock, taking no notice of her, forcing its way into her, a deliberate, determined controlling of her will. And she had no shielding to put in his way, nothing she could use to stop him. She was powerless, defenseless, and he fed on the knowledge, pouring more into her with cruel, confident amusement. His telepathic abilities were far stronger than the Spock she was used to. He was obviously well-trained and just as obviously completely uninhibited by any moral or ethical considerations. A flash of fear, that he could discover who she was, was countered by the realization that this was totally selfish. He wouldn't even think to receive from her. Then the hunger he forced at her shot through her with haughty, animal insistence and she reached for him.
Panic-stricken, Jilla buried her screams in Sulu's chest as she clung fiercely to him. He swallowed tightly. The screen gave a vivid picture of Ruth, naked from her waist up, kneeling at Spock's feet, caressing his cock with wet, ardent lips. His hands were entangled firmly in her hair, holding her to her task, controlling her with harsh jerks. But what had made Jilla scream was the look of amused domination in Spock's eyes, and the welts covering Ruth's back. Welts that weren't healing.
Shit, she can't! Sulu thought agonizingly. It's not her body and none of her keheil abilities are working! I should have realized it, why else was she so scared? I'm sorry, Ruth, I'm so sorry…
"Turn it off!" Jilla was shrieking. "Turn it off!"
Sulu quickly reached out, touching the switch, and the screen went dark. Jilla collapsed, sobbing hysterically. He knelt with her, holding her head, stroking it. She wept, moaning Ruth's name fearfully, her voice filled with unspoken questions that he was loathe to answer. Must I be like that? her tone cried. Do I have to act as the whore I look like, untutored barbarian, slut, slave, property? Will I have to give, as she is giving? She shook with the terror and Sulu burned helplessly. You can't lie to her, he groaned. But how can I tell her, what do I say?
"Honey, you're safe," he began in a hoarse whisper. "You're mine, no one is going to cross me. You don't have to - not like that..." God, help her! "In public, around the people here - you don't have to do anything, but - god, I'm sorry baby! - you have to act like..." Say it! "...the whore they think you are." It was a tight grimace and he crushed her more fervently to him. Her sobs became shrieks of fear and panic and she started struggling again, fiercely hysterical. Sulu tried desperately to stop her, calm her, but she broke out of his arms and raced across the room, throwing herself into the bed, screaming into the dark covering. He followed her, rolling her back into his arms, ignoring her furiously clawing hands.
"Stop it, Jilla," he pleaded, "stop it! Honey, I'm here, please, Jilla..." He grabbed her head, kissing her ardently - and her clawing changed to ferocious clutching. She was all over him seconds later, kissing, caressing, violently passionate, her body snake-like and seductive in its writhing, sensuous fury. She was beckoning and enticing, a hedonistic flame of need and arousal, but hard, demanding. Indiian, his head told him, pure Indiian, no Vulcan calm or restraint or patience, no strangeness from a telepathic deflowering. Indiian!
His fierce joy fed her, he knew, as much as it hurt her, but he couldn't stop the feeling. He didn't want to. Here, he knew he could comfort her, complete her. Here, he could control and ease the raging terror within her. Submission came naturally to her in bed, and with her submission he could make her believe that no one would hurt her, that she was safe.
He responded to her, giving as he always gave, loving her perhaps more freely than he'd ever done before. But she didn't melt under his touch. She yielded eagerly, too eagerly, groping for more, the insistent fire begging for it, the hardness demanding it. Fire and hardness. Fire, like dylithium. Hard, like dylithium. Crystals. Crystal Flame. Trained. My god what did they do to you!