Ancient Queen

by Cheryl Petterson and Mylochka
with special thanks to David C. Petterson

(Standard Year 2251)

Return to Valjiir Stories

Return to Valjiir Continum

Go To Part Seven

Return To Part Five

PART SIX

There were Russians in the coffee shop. Daffy had assumed there would be – surly Russians, mustachioed Turks, wizened Asians, and Andorians so wrinkled you could barely see their eyes. It always seemed to be the same crowd. Mostly Human. Mostly men. About as un-Lorelei as you could get.

The shop was a strictly local hangout. The type of people the tourists ignored or never saw – janitors and shuttle drivers, accountants and cooks, maintenance men and middle managers, were the only ones who frequented it. The décor was strictly functional. Tables, chairs, mugs, and silverware may have all coordinated a couple decades ago, but now were a hodgepodge record of the most affordable replacement items available on the day a cup had been chipped or a chair leg had been broken.

“How’d you ever find this place?” Sulu asked, with the same sort of wonder that he might have had if she’d managed to wrangle them past the bouncers of the most exclusive club in town.

Gollub shrugged and took another sip of hot black coffee. She had bought a thick sweater on the way to wear over her thin glittery dress, but nothing seemed to knock the chill out of the air.

“Even on Lorelei, you need to sober up once in a while,” she said, neglecting to mention that the Jewish couple who ran the place had in their youth been neighbors of an aunt’s friend’s cousin’s optometrist and therefore were nearly family.

Sulu gave a rueful laugh as he placed a piece on the gaming board between them. “If sobering up was my only problem…”

“Still cruising?” she asked as he won their fifth straight game of Go.

“Go on amber.” The helmsman shook his head and asked with self-mocking sarcasm, “Wonder why I never tried this before?”

“I could probably get you a better partner,” Gollub offered as he set the board up again.

“No.” Sulu shivered as he brought the steaming mug of coffee up to his lips. “Not yet.”

No one else in the place seemed to be as cold as the two of them were. Daphne didn’t want to think too deeply about why this was true. She was determined to enjoy this refuge as long as they could. When Aunt Rosalie had suggested Daffy put the shop near the top of her list of must-sees for her first visit to Lorelei, she’d rolled her eyes and sworn never to go. Somehow, though, it was the one place where Daffy always ended up on every visit – a little slice of New York in space. It was horribly wrong that the Ghost Bitch’s cold fingers were able to reach her even here.

“How were you able to pull out of it this time?” she asked to distract herself from that line of thought.

“Pull out of what?”

“When we came into the casino, you weren’t…” Gollub cast about for a way to express her thought without directly invoking Kam by name. “…in the pilot’s seat, right? Now you are. How were you able to make that happen?”

Sulu shook his head. “No idea. Everything once I started to walk out of the hotel room is kind of a fog… There was something about him, I think…”

Chekov was playing chess at a nearby table with a compatriot. When the two of them found they were in complete agreement about the perfection of Tolstoy, they’d almost immediately switched to debating the merits of Pushkin – on whom they violently disagreed.

“Yeah,” the chemist said tightly. “A little something out of the ordinary.”

“Sorry about the kiss,” Sulu apologized.

Gollub shrugged her acceptance. “Wasn’t you.”

“There was something else though…” The helmsman’s voice trailed off as he tried to reconstruct his memories. “A feeling…”

As if sensing their eyes on him, Chekov turned in their direction and checked his companions’ status with a quick, protective glance before returning his attention back to chess and Pushkin.

“When you’re with him,” Sulu asked the chemist, “do you ever get… odd thoughts?”

Gollub sighed ruefully. “All too often...”

The helmsman couldn’t quite put his half-memory of contact with the navigator into words. “For some reason, I started thinking about my mother…”

“That odd, no,” the chemist assured him, sipping her coffee.

“No, not like that. It was a sense of …of something strong… something very deep…”

“Well...” Gollub smiled crookedly. “As Del used to like to say, he’s not as dumb he seems…’Cause nobody be that dumb.”

“It was not exactly a safe feeling…” Sulu continued as if she hadn’t spoken, his eyes never leaving the navigator. “…I could feel it pull me…Drawing me in somehow…”

Chekov looked up at them again over the top of his mug.

“Something dark pulling me inside…” Sulu didn’t seem to notice that he was shivering. “Terrifying really…”

Daffy pulled her sweater closer around her. It was getting miserably cold.

“...Although I wasn’t exactly scared…” the helmsman continued. “In fact…I think I might… want…. More…”

Chekov looked up again. Although his cheeks looked flushed, she could see that the hand that held his mug shook slightly from the cold.

“I’m even starting to get the feeling…” Sulu was continuing as if mesmerized. “…that he… wants…more… too.”

“Oh, hell,” Gollub swore between her chattering teeth. “Stella!” She signaled the aging waitress. “Another round of extra black for everybody… And make it plenty hot!”

~~~!~~~!~~~!~~~!~~~!~~~!~~~!~~~!~~~!~~~!~~~

“I’ll require some preparation before I can contact the influence of Devri,” Loki said as she rose from her chair in Spock’s office. She gave Ruth a small smile. “I’ve heard keheils have it much easier with the Zehara.”

Ruth frowned but said nothing as Spock asked, “And why is that, Vakesha?”

“She’s still got corporeal form,” the Haven replied easily. “Is there a secure, quiet room I can use, Captain?”

“The ship is empty,” Uhura put in. “What kind of space to you require?”

“Anything with a small table and a bed,” Loki returned.

“VIP quarters have that, if I remember correctly,” Gage suggested.

“Miss Uhura, if you will escort the Ambassador and Vakesha,” Spock asked.

Uhura nodded, and Tomor sighed. “See you later, Beauty.”

She blew him a kiss, then rose and led Gage and Loki out of the office.

“So I’ll just hang around and keep the silver streak from blowing anything up, shall I?” Rand said with a grin.

Jilla frowned at him, and Spock gazed at her with warm regard. “If you would keep her company, Mr. Rand, that will be sufficient.”

The large Haven nodded amiably.

“Spock?” Jilla said, clearly ill at ease.

“It will be all right, rilain,” he vowed softly. “I will assist Ruth and we will find an answer.”

The Indiian sighed, trembling, and Spock followed Ruth from the office to their quarters.

“I really don’t need assistance,” the Antari informed him as the door to their cabin hissed closed.

“I know, my wife, but I did not think it a good idea to leave any of us alone while we are still in Lorelei orbit.”

Ruth gave him a brief smile, gently caressing his face. “You’re so smart,” she complimented. Then she sighed, and sat on the bed.

“Ruth,” Spock began again before she could call to the Zehara, “why is it that there is a corporeal form for Zahara, but not for Devri?”

She scowled. “How the hell should I know?”

“And what is the familial relationship between Devri and the Seeders that Miss Monolem spoke of?”

“Do I look Haven to you?” Ruth shot back irritably.

“Aside from the color of the hair and the size and color of the eyes, yes,” Spock returned calmly.

Ruth opened her mouth for a retort, then snapped it shut. Spock sat beside her on their bed. “My wife, this is a dire situation. I need as much information as possible, from both you and the vakesha…”

“Stop calling her that!” Ruth exclaimed heatedly.

Spock’s eyebrow rose. “Why does the title disturb you so?” he asked.

“Because it’s Willow!” Ruth answered. “It’s Loki Monolem, Clavist, racer, all-around slut and good-time girl! No one who knows her would ever believe she was some kind of religious nut!”

“And would not many of your friends from your youth say the same about you?” Spock countered gently.

Ruth’s eyes narrowed. “Are you calling me a…?”

“Of course not. I am simply pointing out that the face one presents at places such as the Clave is not necessarily all there is to the one doing the presenting.”

“But a priestess…?”

“And is that not essentially the definition of a keheil’s relationship with Zahara?”

“So?” Ruth returned warily. “What has that to do with Haven priestesses?”

“I think, my wife, that you know the answer to that far better than I do.”

“Yeah, well, you can think all you want…” the Antari mumbled.

“Ruth – Dei’larr’ei, just tell me.”

Ruth glared stubbornly at him for a moment, then sighed and pushed her hair away from her face. “Okay,” she said at last. “These are just rumors, mind, just myths and stories and legends…”

“I will take them with the appropriate grain of salt, my wife,” Spock assured her.

“It’s said that a long, long time ago…” In a galaxy far, far away, Spock heard her adding to herself and repressed his sigh. “…the Koltiri and the Havani had a – well – sort of a common ancestor. Some people believe that this previous race had all the rudimentary psychic talents, and for some reason those who became Antaris decided to use these abilities, whereas those who became Havens didn’t – at least, not in the same way. And before you ask, no, I don’t know what that means, exactly.” With a scowl at the Vulcan, Ruth took a deep breath and went on.

“It’s said that the use of our talents sort of – transformed our appearance – having kind of a bleaching effect on the cells that govern certain pigmentation…”

“Hence Havens have very dark hair and eyes, and Antaris have very light hair,” Spock mused. “But your eyes…”

“Haven eyes aren’t black, they’re midnight purple,” Ruth muttered.

“Ah,” the Vulcan said.

“Anyway, because we exercised our minds and gifts, and the Havens just went into the business world, the Zahara was able to – uh – possess – certain keheils, and so – um – kept a physical presence, Zehara. I have no idea what happened with the Havens and Devri,” she added stubbornly. “Zehara is who I can contact, not Zahara.”

“Because Zahara is the true divinity of which Zehara is the physical form,” Spock said.

“Something like that,” Ruth admitted.

“Much like the Terran myth of Jesus being the incarnation of the spirit which is Yahweh…”

“Don’t go there, Spock,” Ruth warned.

“Does this mean that Kenesh and Kenesha are for Havens what Zehara is for Antaris?”

“How would I know?”

“Which would place them in a position equal to that of Zehara…”

“She’s not gonna like this, Spock…”

“…which would mean the Havens suspect – or suspected – Sulu of being…”

“Shut up, shut up, shut up…!!!”

“My wife, this is quite extraordinary,” Spock, murmured, his voice awed.

“Yeah, no shit,” Ruth replied glumly. “If there’s any truth in it. Which there can’t be, because I know Roy and while he’s damn good, he’s not a god.”

“And the Ambassador made several references to Miss Monolem having done – or not done – something which interfered with…. what?” Spock turned to stare at Ruth, his eyes hooded. “With Sulu’s transformation into a god, my wife?”

“That’s the most ridiculous thing I ever heard,” Ruth snapped. “He’s Human, for one thing, not Haven.”

“And the Seeders wish us all to think of ourselves as brothers,” was Spock’s only comment.

“Aren’t you deliberately upping the ante here, Spock?” Ruth asked tightly. “I mean we’ve gotta make a deal with the Ghost Bitch, why make her bird in the hand worth even more than it already is?”

“Because Resha Lorelei is now Havani,” Spock answered. “And when dealing with them, one had best make certain one knows all the information available to the other side.”

Ruth stared at him, then shuddered. “Z’s not gonna like this, Boss. Not one little tiny bit.”

~~~!~~~!~~~!~~~!~~~!~~~!~~~!~~~!~~~!~~~!~~~

When Uhura left them to return to Tomor, Loki glanced around the bare VIP quarters. “I’ll need a few things from Leather,” she told Gage. “Can you have Rani beam them over?”

“You’re gonna get Kam out of this,” Gage returned fiercely. “You’re gonna stop the games of this damned Terran resha and you’re gonna tell him how you fucked up and…”

“One thing at a time, Gage,” Loki cut him off. “Just tell Rani to send my bag over.”

Gage scowled, but reached for his small communicator and gave his officer Loki’s instructions. When the small leather bag materialized, Loki went to it, setting it on the bed and beginning to take things out of it.

“You’re going to have to help me,” she said as she set a small bowl, a vial of oil, a censor, and a small bottle on the bedside table.

“Yeah? How?” Gage said.

“There’s a ritual involved. You need to anoint me with odoin and light the zomare – “ She took a breath, “ – and then make very passionate, very skilled love to me.”

Gage blinked. He knew the oil and incense she’d mentioned were secrets of the priesthood. He knew their scent – all Havens did – but he’d never seen them used. Before he could ask, Loki turned to him.

“It’s important that we put aside any anger or fear or doubt, Lah’nei,” she said, giving his name its Havani pronunciation. “I must create a clear channel to Devri’s essence.”

“Then maybe you’d better call Tomor,” Gage returned, folding his arms. “Because I’m not exactly feeling all warm and fuzzy towards you at the moment.”

“I’ll need your connection to Kam,” Loki insisted. “Just remember that this is for him. Sha zevran’in, Lah’nei.”

Gage closed his eyes. She’d told him to remember that his heart was open. It was a direct reference to the thunderbolt that had struck him nearly fifteen years earlier. The fact of it made much more sense to him than it had then, and the automatic implication – that if things had gone how the Monolems had planned, he would be in a far different profession than Dealer Extraordinaire and Ambassador to the Federation – made him shudder with a heady combination of dread and desire. He let that override his fury at the priestess, at Cal, at the others who had betrayed the young Terran, and filled himself with the idea of divine sexual ecstasy. For Kam, he could do it.

He nodded. “Okay, La’okei,” he said. “Let’s get this show on the road.”

Both Havens stripped off their clothing. Lane pulled back the blankets on the bed while Loki prepared the censor and filled the small bowl with clear, cold water from the cabin’s bathroom. Then she lay down and motioned Lane to sit beside her.

“I’m going to go into a light trance,” she told him. “When I start chanting, light the incense, then begin applying the odoin – first to the soles of my feet, then my forehead, then my calves, throat, knees, breasts, thighs, abdomen and finally to my genitals.” She grinned at him. “I think you’ll know what to do after that.”

“And if I haven’t gotten in the mood by then, Priestess?” Lane said with a smirk.

“Somehow, Lah’nei,” Loki returned, her hand caressing his hip, “I don’t think that’s going to be a problem.”

~~~!~~~!~~~!~~~!~~~!~~~!~~~!~~~!~~~!~~~!~~~

What does a Haven enforcer say to a distraught Indiian? Tomor wondered as he stood staring down at Jilla Majiir. She had taken the seat Uhura had vacated and was holding tightly to her left wrist, her pretty, innocent face hardened with both fear and fury.

“Hey, little one, it’s gonna be all right,” he tried, echoing the words the Vulcan captain had said to her. “Loki knows her shit, and I can only assume Spike does too.”

“She must not live,” the Indiian whispered. “She must not live.”

Tomor squatted down next to the chair. “I don’t know if they can give you that,” he said, “but if you get Kam back, that’ll be enough, won’t it?”

“No,” was the succinct response.

The large Haven sighed. “It may have to be, Mrs. Majiir.”

“No, it is my right, and my duty to Aema!” Jilla snapped. “You cannot understand, it is our law, our one inviolate…”

“And you’re not dealing with Indiians, or with Aema,” Tomor countered. “This is Havani and I’m sorry, but your rules don’t apply.”

Jilla’s icy eyes glared at him, then she dropped her gaze, her shoulders beginning to tremble with her sobs.

“Oh shit, I hate it when women cry,” Tomor muttered, and he placed his arms around her in warm comfort. She resisted for only a moment, then leaned against him, weeping openly. He tried murmuring innocuous things, vacuous promises and only-half-meant assurances. He knew that she’d be able to tell his heart wasn’t exactly in it, but knew, too, that she’d understand his honest intent. When Uhura came back into the office, he gratefully released Jilla to her much more soothing embrace.

He leaned against Spock’s desk and re-lit his cigar, inhaling the calming smoke with deep, deliberate breaths. He’d heard a lot that he didn’t need and didn’t want to know – even though, as the bodyguard assigned to Lane Gage, he’d had to learn all he could about his boss’s thunderbolt. But in his book, memorizing a dossier and having to deal with the realities of that information were two very different things. He’d always wondered if the name that had been given to Kam’s needle and its Terran meaning was coincidental or simply Cajun’s hilariously ironic sense of humor. But he wasn’t wondering anymore.

Devri preserve us, he thought in sudden, absolutely sincere entreaty.

~~~!~~~!~~~!~~~!~~~!~~~!~~~!~~~!~~~!~~~!~~~

“Oh, no you don’t!” Daffy Gollub said, abruptly taking Sulu by one arm and Chekov by the other and inserting herself between them. “We walk boy-girl-boy. Got it?”

Chekov drew in a deep, embarrassed breath and avoided eye contact with passersby. “Really, Daphne,” he said between chattering teeth. “Must you make a scene? This is humiliating.”

Gollub had decided it was best to walk back to the hotel in hopes that the exercise would warm them up. Thus far the reverse had proved true. Daffy had stopped to buy a winter coat from a surprised vendor. Sulu was now wearing her sweater. Even Chekov had purchased a jacket.

“I’ll give you a choice, bubee,” she growled. “Humiliation or castration. Take your pick.”

“I am so very sorry about this, Sulu,” the navigator apologized. “She overreacts at times.”

“It’s okay,” the helmsman replied uneasily. He smiled to cover his quickly hidden glance of longing. “I know she’s just trying to keep the situation under control.”

“Stop! Stop! Stop!” the chemist demanded, leveling a warning finger at each of them. “No devastating smiles. No wrongly accused puppy dog eyes. I know all your tricks,” she warned. “Both of you. So stop it, dammit!”

“Really, Dafshka,” the Russian reproved indignantly. “The very notion that Sulu and I would…”

“Oh, really?” she retorted. “The notion that LeRoi, Sex King of the Western Arm of the Spiral Galaxy and you, Mr. I’ve-Been-Humping-Like-A-Dog-In-Heat-Since-I–Got-to-Lorelei might both suddenly come to the conclusion that what you both really want to do is jump each other’s bones is what? Ridiculous? How about frighteningly plausible? ‘Cause that’s what I’m thinking, pals.”

“Daphne, that’s… that’s…”

“Preposterous and offensive?” she finished for him.

“Yes.”

“I’d like to point out that the last time you said that, thirty seconds later you were on top of me begging to have sex.”

“I…I…” The Russian blushed crimson. “I wasn’t begging…”

“Oh?” Gollub rebutted unsmilingly. “I quote, ‘Please, Dafshka, Please. I need to make love to you right now.’ Unquote.”

“That’s asking, not begging…” Sulu broke in, his voice tight, then added, with another enigmatic smile, “technically.”

The beeping of the communicator in Gollub’s bag interrupted them. “Please let that be Spock,” the chemist begged the sky above them. “Gollub, here.”

“Hey, Daffy,” From the sound of her voice it was immediately apparent that Yeoman Sakura Tamura was more than a little tipsy. “We’re at the R-Bar waiting. Where the hell are you?”

“Sorry, Saki, something’s come up,” Gollub frowned at Sulu and Chekov, using two fingers to point at her eyes then at them in an a stern ‘I’m watching you two’ gesture. “I don’t know if we’re going to be able to make it…”

“I am so very sorry about this, Sulu,” Chekov apologized sincerely, keeping his gaze carefully forward so as not to incur more of the chemist’s unjustified suspicions.

“It’s okay,” the helmsman replied – though clearly, it was not.

The Russian pulled his collar up uncomfortably. “I don’t know where she got this ridiculous notion…”

There was a hesitation and a sound that could’ve been a cough before Sulu answered. “It might have been from something I said,” he admitted slowly.

Chekov seemed to stop breathing as he looked over into his helmpartner’s eyes.

“Look Saki, I’ve really got to…” Gollub was saying into her communicator.

“But Daffy, we’re doing tequila shots.” Tamura protested. “You promised if I was able to find tequila you’d do shots with us…”

“Saki, listen…” Unthinkingly Gollub turned away from the noise of the traffic on the road beside them as she continued to argue with the yeoman.

Although a part of him knew it was absolutely the wrong thing to do – the other part nearly salivating at the idea - Sulu couldn’t stop himself from asking. “What Daffy said about you being… overstimulated since you got here. Is that true?”

Chekov looked down, his blush deepening. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

“It’s all right, Pavel,” the helmsman said, reaching out to him reassuringly “Don’t be embarrassed. It’s just Li’s way of trying to control you…”

He meant to just put his hand on Pavel’s shoulder. Instead he found it sliding sensually down the navigator’s arm to entwine his fingers with Chekov’s. Pressing against the warm flesh of the Russian’s palm, Sulu could immediately feel the mysterious dark thing inside Chekov pulling him in. It was thrilling and terrifying, like standing up to your waist in the waves at night and feeling the undertow try to sweep you out to sea. Sulu closed his eyes and let the cool, dark drag rush through him in a cleansing, startling, exhilarating wave. He opened them to see the navigator staring at him, his round eyes wide with the same combination of thrilled fright.

The Russian’s soft lips dropped open to whisper his name with wondering hunger. “Sulu, I…”

“Dammit!!!”

They were both snapped back into reality by Daffy’s sharp smacking apart of their hands. “Stop, dammit, stop! Right now!”

Sulu’s eyes flashed absolutely black at her, then he shuddered, rocking a half-step away from the Russian before deliberately moving back.

“We weren’t doing anything.” Chekov protested.

“You were holding frigging hands and making google eyes at each other,” Gollub accused furiously.

“In Europe, men hold hands in public,” her boyfriend muttered, rubbing his hand with affronted dignity.

“Well, this ain’t friggin’ Europe, bubee,” she informed him, sternly pushing them to either side of her and dragging them forward again.

“Daf, you don’t understand,” Sulu remonstrated, both pleading and warning. “I think this… whatever it is… between me and Chekov – it might be a good thing. I think it might be best to let it happen…”

Gollub whirled on him furiously. “He and I are here because no one trusts what you think right now. Remember that? Remember the hotel room? You thought that was a good thing too.”

“Yeah, but this is different…”

“LALALALALALA,” the chemist said, putting her fingers in her ears. “Not listening to you. LALALALALA!”

“Chekov,” Sulu half-pleaded, half-demanded. “What do you think?”

“I... I…” The navigator’s mouth worked mutely as a look of confused panic crossed his face. He blinked and stared at a point beyond them. “I... I think that’s Monique and Ramon.”

Bienvenue, mes amis!” Monique called, sounding only a little less drunk than Sakura had. She and Lieutenant Ordona made a very dashing couple in their evening clothes. They looked as though they might have been at the theatre earlier in the evening.

“Oh, great,” Daffy growled. “More company.”

“Are you on your way to R-Bar?” Ramon’s smile flashed brightly as they approached.

“Not exactly.” Gollub replied unenthusiastically.

“Monique, you look lovely.” Chekov said, then suddenly found that he was the object of displeased glances from everyone except Lieutenant Dubois.

The Frenchwoman tilted her head to one side quizzically. “Why are you all wrapped up like the mummies?”

“Because we’re freezing,” Daffy replied impatiently. “And cursed. So you may not want to hang out with us, okay?”

“Cursed?” Ramon repeated.

Sulu sighed. “It’s a long story.”

“You all look so unhappy,” Monique said, then laughed. “How can anyone be so unhappy on Lorelei?”

“We’re cursed, remember?” Gollub replied. “I just told you.”

“Is there some trouble?” Ordona asked seriously. “Can we help?”

The helmsman shook his head, the movement an odd combination of sad and fierce. “No.”

“Well, actually…” Daffy eyed her two male companions. “A shift change might help right now.”

“What are you talking about?” Ordona asked, bewildered.

"Okay, do you remember Ensign L…” Gollub’s voice was suddenly cut off. “Li…. L…L…”

“Daphne!” Chekov grabbed the chemist who had began to jerk her head weirdly from side to side.

Mon Dieu!” Monique cried out in alarm. “Her lips are turning blue!”

“Daffy! Stop!” Sulu pleaded desperately

“She’s like ice,” Chekov reported.

“Take her in here,” Ramon suggested, pointing to the entrance of the bar they were passing.

They guided the chemist who was still making garbled noises from behind her unnaturally clenched jaw to the end of the bar nearest to the door.

“Bartender, we need something hot over here,” Sulu ordered. “Hot coffee or a hot toddy… Anything warm… And hurry!”

“Dafshka, are you alright?” Chekov asked rubbing the chemist’s icy fingers.

“Mruurrr,” the chemist was trying to say from behind her frozen lips.

“What’s the problem, folks?” the bartender, a large Haven, asked as he delivered a steaming cup.

“She just got cold,” Sulu replied, his tone curtly dismissive. He tossed the bartender a credit piece. “Keep the change.”

The Haven raised an eyebrow as Chekov helped Gollub rub the mug against her mouth. “Warm night to be cold.”

Sulu smiled facetiously. “No. Really?”

The bartender started to scowl, and the expression stopped at one glare from the Terran’s dark eyes.

"Dafshka, can you speak?” Chekov was murmuring.

After a moment, Gollub was able to pry her lips apart enough to down the steaming drink. “Bitch!” she spat. “She froze my fucking lips!”

“What are you talking about?” Ordona demanded.

“It’s that damned Li…Lurl….llll,” The chemist’s eyes went wide with fury as her mouth seized up again.

“Stop trying to say her name, Daffy!” Sulu instructed, his tone warring between plea and disdain.

“Llllll…lll..” she continued stubbornly.

“Dafshka, stop!”

“Code blue,” the bartender reported discretely into a com unit behind the bar. “Station 12. Code blue.”

Immediately two men in the easily identifiable white and grey striped garb of Lorelei medics burst through a door behind the bar.

“What’s the situation here?” the first one demanded as the second one broke out a medical scanner.

“She’s… cold..” Chekov explained helplessly.

“Step back, sir.” The medic ordered.

“But…”

“We’ll handle this, sir,” the second medic assured the navigator as he pried his hands from around the chemist’s shoulders.

“But…” Chekov protested.

“Sir.” Politely but firmly, the Russian was conducted away from the bar.

“Chekov,” Sulu advised, taking his friend by the shoulders before he decided to fight back. “Let them do what they can.” His touch was both reassurance and caress.

“What’s going on?” Ordona demanded for a third time as the medics took an inarticulately protesting Gollub with them through the doors from which they’d entered.

Sulu sighed deeply, getting his jumbled emotions back under control. “Apparently we can’t explain it to you,” he said.

“Does the Captain know about this?” Monique asked, her large blue eyes full of concern.

“Yes, he’s working on a solution,” the First Officer assured them with more confidence than he felt.

Ordona looked back and forth between his fellow officers and the door where the medics had exited with Daffy. “Is there anything we can do?”

“I don’t think so.” Sulu made himself let go of Chekov’s shoulders. “And like Daffy said, it may be dangerous to be with us right now. So…”

Monique and Ramon exchanged worried glances. Finally, with a resigned sigh, the couple seemed to come to a silent decision.

“We’ll have our communicators with us,” Ordona offered as they gathered their things to leave. “If you need help…”

“Yeah, thanks, Ramon.” Sulu replied.

“Should we call the ship?” Monique asked.

“Spock knows,” the helmsman assured her. “He’ll figure something out. Don’t worry.” He forced his half-smile to be friendly, and nothing more.

Bon chance, mon cher,” the Frenchwoman said, giving each of them a kiss on the cheek. It was harder not to respond to that, but Sulu managed. He didn’t think Chekov even noticed.

“We’ll call later to check on you,” Ramon promised.

“Thanks,” Sulu called as the couple reluctantly exited.

When they were alone, Chekov took a seat at the end of the bar. Sulu followed him.

The navigator slowly shook his head, staring off into the far end of the smoky room. “I cannot believe this is happening.”

“I wish I couldn’t,” Sulu agreed, although he wasn’t sure if Chekov was talking about the situation with LiLing, Daffy’s frozen lips, or the sudden, incredibly irresistible attraction growing between them.

“It’s happening so fast,” the Russian said.

“Yeah,” Sulu nodded to which ever topic his helmpartner was referring. “Chekov…” he began a few moments later with no idea what he was about to say.

The navigator turned to him, his eyes looking large and vulnerable.

“I can’t help what I feel,” he found himself admitting.

Chekov turned his gaze resolutely back to the smoke at the far end of the bar. Sulu watched the delicious movement of the navigator’s lips and throat as he swallowed deeply.

“You feel it too, don’t you?” he asked quietly.

The navigator closed his eyes. His dark lashes stood out against his pale skin and flushed cheeks. “Sulu, please…”

“The pull,” the helmsman couldn’t help but continue. “You’re feeling it too, aren’t you?”

The Russian’s inviting lips opened. “I… I…”

“Chekov,” Sulu gently turned his helmpartner’s face towards him. “You’ve got to tell me.”

The navigator’s expression was touchingly conflicted. “I do not know what to say.”

The helmsman caressed his warm cheek tenderly. “Say yes, Pavel,” he instructed.

“Sulu…” the Russian pleaded.

The helmsman slid his hand to the back of the navigator’s neck. “I need to hear it now, Pavel,” he said with quiet firmness. “If you can feel it too, say yes…”

Chekov closed his eyes very slowly.

“Yes,” he whispered tilting his head back.

Sulu pulled those soft, upturned lips towards his, closed his own eyes, and plunged headfirst into the swift black undertow…

~~~!~~~!~~~!~~~!~~~!~~~!~~~!~~~!~~~!~~~!~~~

Uh… Z?

What exactly do you think you’re doing, ani Ramy?

Ruth sighed at the amused chastisement in the Zehara’s voice. It was always bad when Z was amused.

Trying to undo something the Seeders did, in order to save a dear friend, she answered.

Evan Midori?

Yeah. Ruth sighed again, knowing how much Sulu would protest the designation. They’d had numerous arguments about the ‘fact’ that Antari males had no names. She’d always insisted that, yes, they did, and he’d always countered with “calling someone son of your mother isn’t a name.” The idea that a name in any culture was merely a way to uniquely identify an individual, and that since Antaris only ever had one son, calling the male in question ‘son of this particular Antari’ was an unique as one could get – far more than Terrans with their uncounted numbers of John Smiths – was one that never got much play with his touchy Samurai pride.

And the Havani are involved because…? the Zehara interrupted her thoughts.

The Seeders made the spirit of a deservedly dying Terran bitch into a resha – while apparently not doing a damned thing to negate her former personality.

And you question Their motivations?

No, just Their methods. But that’s not the issue. This resha has demanded that Su – evan Midori remain with her, and he’s Bonded - She gave the emotional reality of the Vulcan tie - and telmnori – she did the same for the Indiian concept - to and with Jilla ani Karina. As a final explanation of the seriousness of the problem, Ruth sent the emotional reality of Jilla’s sad marriage and genetic alteration and the complications that arose because of it.

Hmmm, that does sound like a problem, the Zehara agreed. And you’re contacting me because…?

I’m working with Vakesha La’okei Monolem to try and find a loophole.

I see. And you tell your potential salish our secrets in order to elicit his help in this.

Well, since he IS my potential salish…

If you would perform the ritual, ani Ramy, he would know all he needs to.

Ruth nearly gasped. She hadn’t really seriously considered that step before – and she wasn’t at all sure she was ready for it. After all, there was still her undeniable attraction to Del, and to Sulu if she was going to be honest – and to the memory of the half-Indiian racer who had so transformed her life….

Which would all disappear in salish, as you know very well, the Zehara again interrupted her thoughts.

If it was right, Ruth countered uneasily. And until I’m sure…

Of course, ani Ramy. But that leaves open your very real discarding of eons of tradition.

The Seeders started it, Ruth returned. They’re the ones who showed up with their ‘trash the Prime Directive, save the universe’ shit.

We needn’t discuss the merits of the family now, ani Ramy.

Yes, Mother, Ruth subsided sourly.

And now, child, what do you need to know? What do you need me to do?

Tell me if there’s any way to convince the Bitch Ghost to let Sulu go.

Resha Lorelei, ani Ramy, and evan Midori.

Yeah. Them.

I will contact the Seeders and see what can be done.

Thank you, Mother.

One more thing, ani Ramy.

Yes?

Your Vulcan may have to learn to live with a mystery. Can you ensure that?

Ruth gulped. I – I don’t know. We’ve promised not to keep things from one another.

And you say you’re not ready for a salish, the Zehara tsked. Grow up, ani Ramy.

Ruth was about to protest when she felt the presence of the Goddess receding. She opened her eyes to see Spock, still sitting on the bed, watching her.

“She’s gonna talk to her sources,” she said. “She’ll get back to me.”

~~~!~~~!~~~!~~~!~~~!~~~!~~~!~~~!~~~!~~~!~~~

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