Return to Valjiir Stories
Lane collapsed next to Loki, his heart pounding in his chest, his skin sticky with sweat and the odoin oil. The scent of the zomare incense was like a thick fog around him, earthy and green and somehow very, very alive. He started to move away, and Loki’s hands grasped his shoulders. She murmured a few low words – Havani that Lane didn’t know, which was shocking enough – then wiped at some of the oil/secretion mixture from between her legs and coated his lips with it. Before he could even register his astonishment, Something jolted his brain far back into his head, and he was speaking in a low, deep, gentle voice that was most definitely not his own.
“What is it you wish from me, daughter?”
“Father, the Oldest have installed a resha on the planet below,” Loki answered, and to Lane’s ears, it was the softest of lovers’ caresses.
“She is well suited to the task, child,” came the answer. It was more than bizarre to be participating in a conversation that he wasn’t involved in – and Lane didn’t let himself think about Who was using his mouth.
“She has imprisoned one who is zevresha, Father,” Loki said – a heart open to the ultimate profit of all Havani – “and he cannot remain. He has another path he must walk first and, indeed, may never come back to us. She must be entreated to give him up.”
“This other path is your doing, La’okei,” the voice of Devri said. “You must bear the consequences.”
“And so I will – but there is another who should not, who must not. Her heart is open to zevresha, through no fault of her own. She has a great role to play. It is as the Oldest ordains, Father.”
“Your words have much profit, daughter. But I cannot simply gainsay the Oldest.”
Loki frowned. “They are as subject to your authority as I am, are they not?”
“Not only mine, child. But I will speak with their mother and perhaps we can reach an accord after all these centuries.”
“My body is yours, Father,” Loki murmured and kissed Lane’s lips, licking the oil from them. With a rush that was sharper and more total that the most complete of exhalations, the divine presence was gone and Lane again collapsed, this time falling into abrupt unconsciousness.
Loki murmured the words of thanks and honor, then drank from the small bowl of water. It was customary for a couple who had successfully completed the rite to share it, but Lane didn’t look like he was going to be getting up anytime soon. She left it half full, then went to the bathroom and the shower. It was usual for the two participants to wash together as well, but the oil was getting sticky on her skin and the lingering smell of the zomare in her hair kept pulling her back into trance. And Keheil ani Ramy will no doubt want a report as soon as possible, she added to herself, then giggled at her own formality. I wonder what Mother had to say to her? she mused, then giggled again and went to the bathroom. She took a short but thorough hot shower, washing her hair and skin efficiently, then returned to the bedroom to dress. She packed up her ritual equipment – all but the bowl – and carefully placed her bag under the small table. Then she gave Lane’s forehead a fond kiss, and left the VIP cabin.
Uhura had been talking to Jilla for some time, letting her own emotions of protectiveness and fondness for Sulu help to calm the Indiian’s fears. She knew her hatred of the former ensign couldn’t possibly match Jilla’s, but that, too, would be a comfort. Knowing that her shipmates were completely on her side could only do the engineer’s sense of righteousness good. When the door that connected the Captain’s office to his quarters opened, she and Jilla both stood.
“Well?” the Indiian asked, and to Uhura’s ears it sounded far more demanding than she had ever heard from the younger woman.
“The Zehara has taken the matter under advisement,” Spock answered as he entered the office. Ruth moved swiftly past him.
“She’ll come up with something, Jilla,” the Antari promised. “Come on, let’s get some coffee.” She led the Indiian back toward the cabin, brushing two outstretched fingers against Spock’s sleeve as she again passed him.
Uhura let out a tremulous sigh and stepped across the office to where Tomor was leaning on the desk.
“Was that bullshit?” the Haven asked, his question directed at Spock.
“If you mean will the Zehara truly give us her aid, I do not know,” the Vulcan replied. “There are apparently delicate matters to be considered – and she is doing just that.”
“Deities,” Tomor grunted unenthusiastically.
“It’s only that they see a far larger picture than we are capable of,” Uhura said to him.
“Yeah, the concerns of us mere mortals may not be in accordance with The Big Plan,” he returned. “Blah, blah, blah.” When Uhura frowned, he grinned at her. “Never figured you for a religious person, Beauty.”
“There’s a lot you don’t know about me, Tomor,” she replied.
“Well, then, why don’t we go back to your cabin and get to know each other?” His leer was so brazen that the communications officer had to laugh.
“Captain,” she said, turning to Spock, “if it would be all right…”
“No, I’m sorry, Miss Uhura, but I think it best if no one is left alone just yet.” A faint smile pulled at his lips. “Including me.”
Uhura flushed, lowering her head. "Yes, sir,” she murmured, and gave Tomor a quick slap on his arm when he scowled.
Ruth and Jilla took seats on the floor on Ruth’s cabin after getting two large cups of coffee from the replicator. “I’m feeling very Antari,” Ruth said as explanation for eschewing furniture, and Jilla, of course, acceded to her preference.
“What did the Zehara say?” Jilla asked.
“Well, she mostly nagged me – as usual,” Ruth replied, sipping the hot, brown liquid, “but she did say she’d talk to the Seeders and see what she could do.”
“I do not understand these – beings,” Jilla confessed, her anger muted but still present. “Aema would not so easily give way to their manipulation.”
Ruth debated the merits of pointing out that everyone gave way to Seeders, seeing as how they were responsible for all sentient life in the galaxy, then considered the rather narrow, provincial view of deity Indiians had, and how upsetting it would be for Jilla to realize that since the Ghost Bitch wasn’t screaming in the Indiian equivalent of hell, that proved Aema did give way, and decided against it. Instead, she merely shrugged.
“There’s a Terran saying,” she offered. “God works in mysterious ways.”
Jilla’s head jerked up. “Are you suggesting that this was Aema’s intent?” she blazed.
“No, no, of course not,” Ruth backed off. “Just that it might be the mysterious ways of the Seeders. Maybe it’s a trap. Maybe they’re trying to get whoever the bitch was supposed to report to to see the error of not sending her to the hell she clearly deserves.”
“Report to?” Jill asked, her confusion as sudden as her indignation.
“I meant whoever her god is – was,” Ruth clarified. “You know, the being who decides a person’s fate?”
The engineer frowned. “Indiian religion is much less convoluted,” she stated at last.
And much more inflexible, Ruth added privately, but kept the thought to herself. They drank in silence for a while, then Jilla quietly cleared her throat. “Ruth, may I ask you for a promise?”
“You want me to blast her back into atoms if Z won’t help?” Ruth guessed.
Jilla flushed. “While that would be very satisfying, I could not allow you to bear a burden which is my right,” she answered. She gazed into her cup. “No, I would like to ask you – if a way cannot be found – to give me a swift end to my suffering.”
“No,” Ruth replied automatically. “I can’t do that and I’m not gonna let you think like that. We’ll get him back, Jilla, even if I do have to blast her back to…”
“You know that would not be possible,” Jilla interrupted.
Ruth scowled. “I don’t know what I can do until I do it. And if I can’t take on a hot-shit resha, I can blow up the whole damned planet! Then let her be goddess of space dust!”
“Am I to believe you would destroy millions of lives for my vengeance?”
The quiet voice stopped Ruth’s fury. She wouldn’t, and Jilla knew it. She closed her mouth in frustration.
“Damn it,” she muttered, then glanced at Jilla. “I’m sorry, but damn it!”
“You were telling me there would be no need for drastic measures?” the Indiian prompted with a sad smile.
Ruth’s anger and her irritation and her unhappy dissatisfaction melted into shared sorrow and helpless wonder. She knew beyond any doubt the strength that was at the core of Jilla’s being, but the engineer was so quiet and reserved that she tended to ignore it. Then she goes and takes a situation where she has every right to fall completely the fuck apart and she ends up bolstering me. She shook her head in awe, then leaned over, giving Jilla a warm, tight hug.
“There won’t be,” she vowed, “and that I will promise.” And Z, if you crap out on me, I swear I’m taking my soul over to Jerusalem.
“Captain, where’s Ruth?” Loki said as she entered the office. Spock looked up from his seat at the desk, where he was again doing research. Tomor took his attention from Uhura long enough to give the priestess a long, hard look-see. She appeared her usual cocky self, and he was privately awed that the recent divine contact wasn’t glowing all over her. Not that I could actually tell, he commented wryly to himself.
“You spoke with Devri?” the Vulcan asked.
“I did,” Loki returned.
“And?”
“I’ll have an answer when He’s ready to give one.”
“Which is what Ruth said about the Zehara,” Uhura put in with a sigh.
“Vakesha, where is the Ambassador?” Spock rejoined.
“Resting,” Loki said with the hint of a smile. “And where did you say Spike was?”
“She is in our cabin with Mrs. Majiir.” Spock rose. “I don’t believe it is wise to leave Mr. Gage alone.”
“Why? He’s a big boy…”
“And Resha Lorelei has proven she can – contact – those who are open… as I assume the Ambassador now is.”
Loki’s eyes widened. “Oh shit, you didn’t tell me that.” She turned, moving quickly back out the office door.
“Hey, Captain, now that you’re not gonna be alone, can Beauty and I…?” Tomor began.
“Not now, Tomor,” Uhura said, placing her fingers against his lips.
Tomor sighed.
Lane shivered and reached for the blankets that were bunched at the foot of the bed. His arm froze in the act as he opened his eyes and saw his breath misting. “La’okei?” he said hesitantly. “Am I still…”
No, my dear Lah’nei, a cool, sensual voice sounded in his head. I am much, much closer than Father Devri.
Shit! Lane breathed, and when the voice chuckled, he realized she could hear his thoughts. Resha Lorelei?
Very perceptive. You will tell me what the bitch vakesha is trying to do, won’t you?
Lane quickly veiled his thoughts with the sharp ecstasy of the sexual act with Loki. Uh… fuck me into shutting up about her and Kam?
Doesn’t she want my gratitude, Dealer?
I think she doesn’t want Spike’s righteous fury. He didn’t think it would be a good idea to mention someone else’s righteous fury.
More concern for a little keheil than a resha, the voice tsked. How very un-Havani of her.
Well, she’s spent a lot of time among Humans, Lane offered conciliatorily.
As have I, the resha agreed. Lane shivered with her amusement. Would you like a taste of my favor, Lah’nei?
Favor?
Come down to the planet and I can give you the thing you most desire – if you’ll keep me within you and let me enjoy him as well.
The shudder of longing that took him was overwhelming in its intensity. He had years ago resigned himself to never knowing Kam’s touch again, and now here was a way he could. The memories of the young, strong body, the skilled hands and mouth, the taste and scent and feel of the exquisite talent burned in him, making him achingly erect. His eternally opened heart yearned for just one more kiss, one more caress. To see Kam smile at him, for him, to watch the passion building in those night-dark eyes…
You could bring him back to Havani, the voice whispered. You could set right what La’okei let go astray. Think of the profit, Lah’nei, to all Haven. Think of the profit to him. She gave a sultry, caressing laugh. Think of what you and he together will share, and what profit will befall you for returning zevresha to his people.
Devri help me, Devri help me… Lane began chanting in his head, desperate to fend off the hunger that was rapidly taking his will.
Father Devri will be pleased with you, Lah’nei, the resha promised. Father Devri would want you to reclaim him.
Reclaim – satiny skin, velvet voice, urgency and need and soaring, devastating completion…
Like you’ve had with no other. Sha zevran’in, Lah’nei. Let me bring your heart back to you.
With a defeated cry, Lane shot out of the bed, fumbling for his clothing, then glanced up as the door to the cabin hissed open and Loki rushed toward him.
“No!” he shouted, and she was pushing him back toward the bed. He fought her, cursing her, and she hooked one leg around his, making him drop into a sitting position on the mattress.
“Captain, hold him,” she called, and Lane renewed his struggles when he saw the Vulcan striding toward him. But there was no breaking Loki’s hold, and even less chance of breaking Spock’s. It didn’t keep him from fighting, and his eyes went wide when Loki told Spock to hold his head still. Then she was pressing the small bowl of water to his lips.
“Drink it, Lah’nei,” she ordered sternly. “All of it.”
Don’t you dare! the resha screamed, and the water started to freeze.
Loki jerked his lips open with her other hand, pouring the icy liquid down his throat. He swallowed convulsively and the sense of Resha Lorelei began to fade. With sudden gratitude, he gulped the rest of it down, his own hands coming up to the bowl to tip its contents into his mouth. He closed his eyes, relaxing in the Vulcan’s grip and was let go, both Spock and Loki stepping back. When he opened them again, he noticed that Loki was shivering, and Spock’s ears and fingertips were a bright, olive green.
“She almost had you,” Loki said, her hands rubbing at her arms.
“No shit,” Lane returned. He gave her a wry smile. “And someday I’ll get you for it.”
“But today is not that day,” she replied, and he shrugged, nodding. “Go shower, and make sure the water’s nice and hot. Spock and I will wait here.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Lane said smartly and headed for the bathroom door. At it, he turned.
“Loki,” he said. “Thanks.”
“I’ll add it to the ledger,” she replied.
“You should be okay, ma’am,” The medic assured Daffy.
The little room behind the bar was equipped with a full emergency medical setup, including the scanner bed they had her laying on.
“I’m fine,” Gollub insisted, although her lips still felt like they had thousands of tiny pins sticking in them.
“And you have no idea why your jaw froze shut?” the second medic asked.
“None,” the chemist lied with bitter reluctance.
“Nothing in her system but some Rigellian,” the first medic reported, clicking off the instrument he’d been running over her.
“Look,” she said, trying to rise for the fifth time in as many minutes. “I’ve got to get back out there.”
The second medic pushed her shoulder back down. “We’d like to run a few more tests.”
“I need to get back to the people I’m with…”
“Well, the man and woman have already left,” the first medic said, consulting one of the monitor screens just out of her field of vision, “but the other two guys don’t look like they’re going anywhere.”
“What are they doing?” she asked as the second medic lifted her arm to get yet another blood sample.
“Nothing.” The man glanced over his shoulder at the monitor and shrugged. “Just sitting at the end of the bar making out with other.”
“Dammit!” Gollub yelled, pushing the medic out of the way. “Those sons of bitches are going to die!”
His flesh was warm, that of the man he caressed warmer yet. Sulu had shrugged off the sweater, had pulled the jacket from Chekov’s shoulders. The taste of the Russian’s lips was black coffee – or maybe just black – and Sulu’s tongue lingered over the richness of it. The compartments in his brain were being shredded, pulled inexorably toward the dark, healing core that lay pulsing within the navigator’s being. If it continued, he might be completely sucked down into that vortex, but at the moment, that didn’t seem like a bad thing at all. He could feel the terrible, thrilling, exhilarating fear, the desire to be consumed and let his weary, heart-sick mind rest warring with the terror of non-being. He pulled Chekov closer, his hands moving sensually over the navigator’s thighs and crotch, urging the Russian to explore the hardness between his legs. Pavel was far more hesitant, and Sulu could feel him fighting against both the mindless urge and the hedonistic curiosity. Virgin, virgin, virgin, Kam chanted eagerly and Sulu’s kisses became bolder, both more compelling and more demanding.
With a sudden sigh, the Russian’s reluctance disappeared. He matched Sulu’s caresses daringly, his mouth taking the lead in their already heady dance. Kam chuckled wickedly – then with an abrupt rush of panic, began to pull away. The image of Cal’s darkly handsome face flashed in his brain, Kam’s voice calling out a fierce warning. But Sulu was trapped, mesmerized by the pull, by the promise of safety and surcease. It would be an end, he knew, but there would no longer be any pain or guilt or shame. This dark nothingness would accept all he was and would cleanse him in its blackness.
The Divine Wind became a gale force, blowing in the opposite direction. Sulu began to be pulled out and away from the silent peace and Chekov growled, the dark attraction increasing. The navigator’s hands came to the sides of his head, holding him to the increasingly ardent kiss.
Fight it, you idiot! Kam thundered.
Why? Sulu replied savagely. Isn’t this what you want, what you live for?
Live being the operative word. That thing inside him will destroy us.
Relax, Sulu said mockingly. Accept. Endure.
Are you sure you want me to, Cal? Kam returned with brutal clarity.
The shock of recognition screamed through him, and Sulu joined Kam in the desperate attempt to escape. Chekov’s hands were bruising the side of his face. Even their combined force wasn’t enough. They struggled, trying with all their might to exert an opposing power…
And were abruptly released as Chekov’s head moved forward involuntarily, his lips leaving Sulu’s with a loud, piercing, “OW!”
Sulu blinked, clearing his vision. Daffy stood next to them, her eyes green fire, her hand repeatedly smacking the back of the Russian’s head.
Jilla gasped suddenly and was up and racing for the door before Ruth could stop her. “Jilla, what’s…!” she started, then opened her shields and felt the sharp tang of fear and danger – and the icy touch of Resha Lorelei. “Damn it!” she spat, and leapt to her feet, knowing where Jilla was going.
Spock, the transporter room, stop her! she called to her husband.
She raced out into the corridor, charging at full speed behind the swiftly retreating Indiian. She saw Spock emerging from the door to the VIP cabin a few feet ahead of Jilla.
“Kroykah!” he shouted, and the Indiian froze, then crumpled to the deck. Gage and Loki came out behind him, the Ambassador only half dressed.
“What the scab…” Gage began, then glanced at Loki with sudden fear. “That wasn’t from me, was it?” he asked.
“Spike?” Loki said, turning to her.
Ruth rushed up to kneel beside Jilla as Spock did the same. “Hell if I know,” she said. “But it’s definitely got the feel of the Ghost Bitch.”
“If she touches him again I will kill her!” Jilla sobbed hoarsely.
“Me?” Gage asked again, stupefied.
“No, you idiot, Kam!” Loki snapped.
The Ambassador began a muttered string of Havani as Loki joined the three officers, kneeling on the deck.
“What is it, child,” she said, her voice both soothing and compelling. “What did you feel?”
“Sulu was – is – aroused… “ Jilla answered brokenly. “It is unbearable for him… she pushes him to…” Her voice stopped, tears falling from her grey eyes.
“With who?” Loki demanded.
“I don’t know,” was the hoarsely whispered reply.
“Shit,” Loki murmured. “One of us needs to get to him, keheil.”
Ruth shook her head. “I can’t. The bitch threatened to kill Jilla if I set foot on Lorelei.”
The Haven sighed. “Then it’s going to have to be me.”
“Vakesha, I have already sent two of my best officers down to watch over him,” Spock put in.
Loki glanced up at him. “Are they gifted?”
“No. I thought that safer.”
“Safer maybe,” Loki mused. “But maybe not helpful.” She stood. “Okay, if you can contact your party, I can beam down to them…”
“No, you can’t,” came suddenly from Ruth’s mouth. “Not if you want him to live.”
Jilla snarled menacingly, her eyes silver ice. “Get away from her,” she warned.
“And how do you propose to make me?” Resha Lorelei smirked.
Ruth, fight her! Spock called silently.
“What happened to your sincere deference, Captain?” the spirit chided.
Loki began a murmured chant and Ruth’s body moved awkwardly, trying to grab at the Haven’s throat.
“You can’t harm me, resha,” Loki said, then resumed her chant more loudly. The Antari gave a few convulsive spasms, then fell to the deck, Spock catching her before she hit.
Loki sighed, then shivered. “All right, so I can’t beam down. We’ll have to trust in your officers, Spock, and in Sulu’s resilience.”
Gage bent down, helping Jilla to her feet. “He’s a strong man, Lady,” he murmured. “Stronger than you know.”
Their gazes locked and after a moment, it was Gage who looked away.
“I think, Mr. Ambassador,” Jilla said, her voice both sorrowing and steely, “that he is stronger than either of us knows.”
Let us hope so, Spock thought, and was relieved when Ruth’s mind answered,
Amen to that, Boss.
“OW! Dafshka, stop… OW!”
“And you, get your fucking hand off his fucking cock!” Daffy screamed at Sulu.
The helmsman glanced down at his incriminating appendage and hastily removed it.
“I’m sorry, I – I don’t know what came over…” he began apologetically.
“Yeah, like hell you don’t!” Daffy snapped. She glared at Chekov. “And if I might shove another of your fucking quotes down your fucking throat, what’s your fucking excuse, mister?”
“I… I…” the Russian said, flushing fiercely. He shivered, and shrugged his jacket back onto his shoulders. “Daphne, I’m truly sorry…”
“Tell it to your mama!” the chemist spat. Sulu was retrieving the sweater from the floor, putting it back on.
“When we do what she wants us to, we don’t freeze to death,” he muttered as if that were some kind of explanation.
“And which ‘we’ would that be?” Daffy returned, giving another smack to the back of Chekov’s head.
“OW!” the navigator protested.
“Daf, stop, you know it’s not his fault,” Sulu said,
Gollub wrapped her coat around herself. “Yeah,” she said, then shuddered. “Oy god, what are we gonna do?”
“There’s plenty of smoke and sake and vodka up in the suite,” the First Officer began from between clenched teeth, carefully avoiding the use of the word ‘penthouse.’.
“There is?” Pavel said, brightening.
“Someone who wasn’t me got it sent up,” Sulu acknowledged with a grim smile. “So I think it would be a good idea to go and get as plastered as we possibly can.”
“And that will accomplish what, exactly?” Daffy wanted to know.
“Well, if we’re too falling-down drunk and stoned to move….”
“There’s not enough vodka in the galaxy to do that,” she muttered. “But what the hell, it’s a plan.”
She gave Chekov one final smack, then took his arm, linking her other in Sulu’s. “Come on boys, let’s go get wasted.”
A cold breeze followed them out of the bar.
The children are getting unruly. Her manner, as it had always been, was blunt, with no preliminaries.
His answer carried infinite joy and infinite sorrow. It is good to be with you again, sister-love.
Don’t start what you can’t finish.
Are we back to that again?
We never finished it.
There was a deep sigh. True enough. But we need a truce, for the sake of our children.
Don’t get heavy-handed with me, ani Ramy told me.
Ani Ramy? Interesting. I was contacted by Vakesha La’okei.
Our two troublemakers, was said with a fond smile.
Headstrong, willful females are often difficult, yes.
Her reply had the definite feel of a frown. And don’t start that either.
Truce, sister-love.
Of course, you’re right. There was a deliberate pause. This time. Any ideas?
The Oldest must reverse their decision.
But will they? We’ve never asked them to do that before.
Never? He asked wryly.
I said don’t start!
There is so much we’ve never resolved…
And you know who’s fault that is. If you’d reverse that decision….
Let us stick to the matter at hand, He suggested gently.
Fine. So we issue a joint edict and be done with it. That is our only option when dealing with the Oldest.
It is not one I like.
Suck it up, get your head out of the ethereal plane and be a man.
The chuckle that followed had a sad, rueful sound to it. And if that were easily done, many of our problems would disappear.
Easy schmeasy, the fate of the universe etc. etc.
Schmeasy?
Ani Ramy is very infectious.
The silence that followed was warmly affectionate, and for a brief moment, They shared it.
We must also consider the disposition of Resha Lorelei. His thought broke the sense of communion.
Give her to Aema, was Her flippant, though very determined reply.
You know that’s not possible. She is – was – Human.
The Oldest made her Havani. It would be fitting to make her Indiian.
But not within the scope of their abilities. The essence, once loosed from the physical, they could alter, but…
Yes, I know, once the body is gone the spirit becomes rather recalcitrant. The pointed stare and its meaning was not lost. It was the essence of Their long-standing disagreement, the question of corporeal versus non-corporeal, of involvement or detachment.
So either Havani she must remain, or again become Human, came the answer, ignoring the obvious implication.
And what of our black sheep? The previous subject was dropped as though it had never been raised.
As always, he will do what he does. There was a silence that was both resigned and proud. So we have an agreement? We will together give the Oldest a prophecy?
If that’s what you want to call it.
And what word would your prefer, sister-love?
A swift kick in the you-know what.
Ruth was pacing, Spock again at his research. Jilla sat by herself in the office, Gage, having finished dressing, stood off to once side, conversing quietly with Loki. Much to Tomor’s delight, Spock had allowed him and Uhura to return to the Lieutenant Commander’s quarters. Spock had tried to contact both Chekov and Gollub, and received only static from their communicators.
“I’ll bet the circuitry’s frozen solid,” Ruth muttered, and no one disagreed with her long-distance assessment.
“You know, that’s not going to do you any good, Captain,” Loki commented, gesturing at the screen Spock was perusing. “You either,” she added to Ruth.
Spock’s eyebrow rose. “You question the validity of Dr. Han’s research?” he asked mildly.
The Haven frowned. “Oh, it’s her shit? Damn.”
“Jade’s always had a big mouth,” Ruth agreed. “And I know pacing won’t help, but it’s what I do.”
“Spike, why don’t you relax with a nice pipeful of Rigellian,” Gage offered, “I just happen to have…”
“Of course you do,” Ruth snarled pleasantly, “But it gives my husband a headache.”
Gage frowned. “He didn’t say anything to Tomor.”
“Would you?” the Antari quipped.
Loki giggled. “There is that, Lane,” she said.
“Vakesha,” Spock put in, “if I may consult you an a few of the points in Dr. Han’s dissertations…”
“She’ll neither confirm or deny, Boss,” Ruth commented.
“Indeed?” Spock returned, glancing at Loki.
“Just like your wife, Captain,” she said with a grin.
Abruptly Jilla stood, striding heatedly toward the center of the room. “I am sick to death of your secrecy!” she shrieked. “Your proprietary information and state secrets are responsible for this entire situation! My beloved is in mortal danger and you stand around and do nothing!”
“Calm down, Jilla…” Ruth began.
“I WILL NOT calm down!” the Indiian shouted. “I have no reason to be calm, and none to trust in the aid of your Zehara or Devri! It is the will of Aema that this – creature – be utterly destroyed, and so it shall be!”
There was a sudden blaring sound, and Spock quickly checked the computerized sensor display on his terminal. “Proximity alert,” he announced. “There is a small ship approaching our position.”
Ruth closed her eyes, her fingers coming up to her temples. “Oh fuck, what now?”
Somewhere between Spock’s office and Uhura’s quarters, the storm hit.
Tomor felt the rush and was removing his clothing before the door to the cabin was even open. When it closed behind them he practically tore off the rest, then began pawing at Uhura’s uniform like a man possessed.
“Take it easy, sugar, I’m not going…” Uhura began.
The large Haven picked her up, nearly throwing her onto the bed.
“…anywhere,” she finished breathlessly. In seconds, he had removed her clothing, not bothering to worry about her boots and tearing the dark hose from her hips and thighs in frantic hunger.
“Want you, Beauty,” he growled. “Want you now!” He pushed her legs up and apart.
“Tomor, slow down!” she gasped, her hands coming to her chest.
“Scab it, woman, can’t you feel it?” he asked roughly. The wave of hedonism, pure need and lust and desire was pulsing over him in dark urgency.
“The only thing I feel is – ouch! You!” Uhura replied as he gave a savage thrust. “Do that again, lover, and…”
“I can’t help it, Beauty,” Tomor rasped. “Just give in, go with it and I won’t have to hurt you.”
“You won’t have to hurt me?” the officer blazed. “Listen, mister, the day you can hurt me…!”
He shut her up with a brutal kiss, silently begging her to understand – or at least to forgive him, since he didn’t entirely understand it himself. All he did comprehend was that there was a fire in his mind and an aching in his loins that was growing more powerful by the second. Somewhere in some dim memory of religious myth there was an answer, he knew, but he’d be damned if he was going to take the time now to dredge it up. She fought him for only a few more seconds, then it must have hit her too, because she was suddenly clutching to him, her nails tearing at his back an a fervor equal to his own. There was no playful switching of positions, no half-meant fights for supremacy. She took what he gave with feral, eager acceptance, their coupling one of soaring, mindless, chaotic, eternal passion.
“I hate both of you,” Kam growled before tipping his shot glass up… Or perhaps it was Sulu. The drunker they all became, the harder it was to tell.
“Don’t blame me,” Daffy said, refilling the line of shot glasses in front of him. “I didn’t make up this farkaktah game. No offense, Tsar Pavel.”
“None taken, Commissar Gollub,” Chekov replied graciously, leaning back against the bed.
They had arranged themselves around a low table. The person who held the title of Tsar for that round of the game had the favored position, which allowed him or her the luxury of having the bed as a backrest.
Once they had returned to the penthouse suite, and after enough alcohol had been drunk and enough Rigellian had been smoked, Daffy and Chekov had conspired to maneuver Sulu into a situation likely to get him to pass out as soon as possible, which would then allow them both get some needed rest while waiting for the cavalry to arrive. A drinking game had seemed like a sound strategy, but as the time ticked away, it was looking less and less likely to be effective, for three reasons. First, they hadn’t figured on Kam’s unbelievable tolerance and second, it seemed that Kam wasn’t affected by what Sulu drank or smoked – and vice versa. Third, they had all been intoxicated enough to forget about how games of chance were stacked in Sulu’s favor. After it became apparent that the rules of this game could be manipulated to make the “winner” drink more than the “loser,” Resha Lorelei had retaliated by sending her favorite a prodigious losing streak.
“But,” Gollub continued as Sulu gathered and shuffled the cards, “this is the most complex fucking game ever fucking invented by sapient life forms – with the possible exception of Fizzbin.” A crafty look stole across her face. “Can you explain to me again why the rules are so devilishly complex, Tsar Pavel?
“Very simple.” Chekov replied, with regal dignity. “It’s because it’s Rus…”
“Smoke! Smoke! Smoke!” his companions cried out gleefully.
“I didn’t say Russian,” he protested.
Sulu handed him a pipe. “Well, you’ve said it now.”
The game was essentially a mix of two card games that were Academy favorites, which got wilder with the addition of new ‘rules’ injected by the player who was currently in the lead. Daffy had instituted this one, that whenever Chekov said the word ‘Russian,’ he had to take a hit off the pipe. When Pavel had protested, she’d explained – while pointing out that the rules didn’t say anything about needing an explanation of new rules – that it would ensure they all had equal opportunities to get both drunk AND stoned. Chekov shook his head. “The Ass can’t make the Tsar drink.”
Kam scowled at the appellation, as he had every time it was applied to him, and Sulu quickly pushed him back.
“We’re not making you drink, Your Highness,” the helmsman pointed out. “We’re making you smoke.”
“Dermo.” The Russian inhaled a long draft and then coughed violently. “This cannot be good for your upper respiratory system,” he choked.
“It could be worse,” Gollub replied. “You could have to inhale…”
Quickly all three banged a shot glass on the table twice and shouted, “Your dick!” before taking a shot – as was proscribed by a rule set down earlier in the game as the proper reaction to any sentence that could possibly be ended that way.
“That could cause physical problems as well,” Chekov observed.
Kam snorted suggestively and Sulu muttered, “Not if you do it right.”
Pavel blinked at the cards on the table. “Where were we, dear subjects?”
“Sulu has to navigate the asteroid belt,” Daffy informed him as she handed him the deck.
“Ah, yes.”
“Hot or cold?” Gollub asked, holding up a bottle of sake and a bottle of vodka.
”Hot,” Sulu decided. As drunk as they all were, none of them had really gotten drunk enough to stop feeling the blistering cold.
Chekov dealt a line of eight cards in front of the helmsman. This part of the game was fairly straightforward. If someone turned over a number card, nothing happened and they simply continued. If a face card or Ace was revealed, more cards got added to the ‘race’ and the player had to take a number of drinks based on what the card was; 4 cards and drinks for an Ace, three for a King, two for a Queen and one for a Jack.
Sulu turned over the first one. It was the four of spades.
“My luck could be changing,” he said, optimistically.
The next card was an Ace.
“For the worse,” Chekov said, laying down the four additional cards while Sulu took the four penalty shots of sake.
The next card was a three.
“I had no idea you were so proficient at drinking games, Tsar Pavel,” Gollub said, taking advantage of this little personal break to lie down on her side. “You’ve always told me…” Her voice took on a Russian accent. “…that games are unnecessary window dressing. Serious, unadorned drinking is far preferable to...”
“You don’t know everything about me, Commissar Gollub,” Chekov replied, as Sulu turned over the ten of diamonds.
“I know that you like to think that,” she retorted.
The next card was a seven of clubs.
“If you’re so good at drinking games, Tsar,” the chemist asked, letting her bleary eyes close, “Then why do we never play?”
“Tomorrow your hangover will explain it to you,” her lover replied.
After another amused response from Kam, the next card was turned over. A Jack.
Kam smiled and shrugged. “Homage to the Tsar,” he said, leaning forward to give the navigator a kiss.
“The Commissar renews her objection to that rule!” Daffy interjected loudly.
“Too fucking bad,” Kam replied. “You could’ve used one of your own to negate it, but you didn’t, did you? I wonder why that would be?”
“In Europe,” Chekov said, despite the fact that he was blushing fiercely, “men may kiss…”
His voice was cut off by just that action, a long, lingering, tantalizing one.
“Yeah,” the chemist replied, as she propped herself up high enough to give the two a scowl. “But I think they use a little less tongue.”
Sulu broke the oral exploration – much to Chekov’s relief – and grinned. “But more of…”
“Your dick!” the two men were able to shout before Gollub could sit up.
“Bastards,” she grumbled, taking the penalty toke she herself had decreed during a previous reign.
Sulu let his tongue lick the taste of the Russian’s lips from his own, reveling in the rich, smoky, compelling darkness. He shivered, though not from the cold that still surrounded them. “What is that thing inside you?” he couldn’t stop himself from asking as Chekov added the required extra card to the “asteroid” field. He watched the flush creeping over the handsome, boyish face and shivered again.
“I don’t know,” the navigator said, avoiding his eyes.
“You can still feel it, too,” Kam whispered. He could tell from the kiss that the Russian had given him that the pull of the dark undertow was just as strong and was still having just as much effect.
Chekov didn’t respond.
Kam reached out, sensually brushing the thick fall of bangs from the navigator’s forehead. “And you want to, don’t you?” he murmured. “You want to fall into it with me, to explore it – just you and me – and see where it takes us…”
“No, I do not,” was the half-swallowed reply.
“You know,” Kam continued, his tone pleasant but subtly threatening, “I really don’t like it when people lie to me.”
“Sulu…” the Russian pleaded quietly.
“Play, damn it!” Daffy demanded, and Kam gave her a sideways glare before Sulu managed to regain control.
The next card the helmsman turned over was a seven. The next card was a deuce and the next a six.
Kam put two fingers over the card in front of him. “All or nothing,” he said, smiling wickedly at the navigator.
Chekov tilted his head to one side. “The probability is…”
“Fuck that,” the racer replied. “If it’s a face card, I’m Tsar and you’re the Ass.”
The Russian met his gaze evenly. “And if it is not?”
Kam shrugged. “I down that bottle and probably pass out.” From the gleam in his dark eyes, it was clear he had no expectation of that actually happening, whether he won or lost.
“Don’t do it, bubee,” Gollub warned.
The Russian considered this advice and weighed it against the potential benefits of a quick end to their waiting game. Regardless of what the First Officer may have thought, judging by how drunk he himself was, he doubted Kam’s confidence.
“All or nothing,” the navigator agreed at last.
Kam grinned and took his fingers off the card. “Turn it over, Ass.”
The Russian frowned as he turned up one corner of the card. The breeze that swept over him was chilling.
“All hail Tsar Sulu,” he said reluctantly flipping over the King of Hearts.
“C’mon Moscow,” Kam replied, teasingly sensual as he slid next to the Russian. He casually caressed Chekov’s face. “You know who I am. Call me by my name.”
“Da, I know who you are,” the Russian said warily, as he relinquished the Tsar’s comfortable position and moved unsteadily to take the place the helmsman had been relegated to. He tried to deny to himself that it was more than the drink that was making him unsteady. He briefly considered that the Rigellian must be having an effect, because he would swear he could feel the hunger in – Kam’s – gaze. “But you should not be a separate person with a separate name.”
“Why not?” Kam smiled as he let his head fall back against the bed. “After all, that’s how you think of…”
Chekov dove into place just in time to be able to bang a shot glass and shout, “Your dick!” with the other two. Kam laughed with dark delight.
“And now, my sweet, firm little Ass,” he said, tapping the cards. “You have to navigate the asteroid belt.”
The Russian frowned forbiddingly. “Very well, my Tsar.”
The grin on the helmsman’s face was devastatingly compelling. “Oh, I do like the sound of that,” he murmured hedonistically.
“Oh, hell,” Gollub groaned, trying to force herself to be sober enough with the disaster in the making she saw taking shape in front of her.
Kam lifted an eyebrow. “Complaints, Commissar?”
“Not yet, Your Royal Pain in the Ass,” the chemist muttered.
He was very suddenly and in far too coordinated a manner kneeling next to her, looming dangerously.
“Would you like me to show you just how much a pain in the ass I can be, Groupie?”
Daffy swallowed and tried not to look as terrified as she was. “Just a figure of speech, your Highness,” she ameliorated.
“No, not really,” Kam chuckled wickedly. “Not even a little bit.”
“Uh – I have an asteroid run to make,” Chekov put in, then added, “my Tsar.”
Kam turned away from Daffy, and said with apparent nonchalance, “Just what do they call knights in shining armor in Russia?”
Neither Daffy nor Pavel thought it prudent to answer.
The first card Chekov turned over was the Jack of Hearts.
“Oh, God,” Gollub moaned as she watched her lover give up a penalty kiss, one that Kam again lingered over.
The second card was the Jack of Diamonds.
“I think I detect a trend,” she said nervously, as Tsar Kam claimed his second forfeit in another leisurely though much more intense manner from his not-quite unwilling subject.
“I always wondered what the two of you had in common.” The racer ran a finger down the navigator’s burning cheek. “Now I know. Dear Pashushka likes kissing boys as much as you do, Daffodil.”
When the Russian pulled back, Kam grabbed him by the wrist. “I do not…” Chekov began.
“What did I say about lying to me?” Kam snapped.
“I’m not… I have never…” the navigator stammered.
“Then it’s just me you like kissing?”
Pavel flushed.
“Say you like kissing boys, or…” Kam commanded, then paused. “… chug that bottle of sake,” he finished with a devilish grin. He winked at Daffy’s clear exhale of relief.
Chekov took in a deep breath that was equal parts angry, aroused, and embarrassed. “I like kissing boys…” the navigator said slowly, “…almost as much as you like kissing…”
“Your dick!” Daffy joined her boyfriend in shouting gleefully.
“Very clever,” Kam gave them both a lethal smile as he took his penalty hit of Rigellian for being too slow to join in.
“Yeah, he’s what you might call a smart Ass,” Daffy quipped,
“Have I mentioned that I’m – drawn – to clever?” Kam said slowly, letting his gaze move over every inch of the Russian’s body. “Not to mention smart, sweet, firm, ripe young asses.”
Again, neither Daffy nor Pavel responded. Instead, Daffy gathered the cards up and proceeded to deal them out. “Enough with the asteroids already. Back to the regular round.”
“You’re awfully anxious to drop the subject of asses,” Kam commented. “Which reminds me, I’ve been wanting to ask you. Did Cajun ever get yours and was it virgin when he did?”
The chemist glared at him, while Pavel choked on a glass of vodka. “None of your business, your Highness,” she muttered.
“I guess I’ll just have to ask him then,” the racer returned. “After a few bottles of bourbon I’m sure he’ll give me all the juicy details.” He smiled. “Assuming there are any.”
“You can just shut the fuck up now, Kam,” Daffy retorted tightly.
“Very well.” Kam put the pipe down and folded his hands behind his head. “Here, my devoted subjects, is your Tsar’s edict. From now on, the loser of each round must give the Tsar a blowjob while he or she takes it up the ass.”
Chekov and Gollub exchanged a look that was both uneasy and frightened. According to the rules, the Tsar could institute any new requirement or penalty s/he chose, but this wasn’t one they could ever agree to. The problem was, of course, how to get out of it without completely dropping the strategy of the drinking game and without incurring Kam’s wrath.
“Your Highness,” the Russian began deferentially. “May I point out a potential difficulty?”
The racer lifted an eyebrow. “Just one?” His tone made it all too clear he was well aware of the corner he was backing them into.
Chekov licked his lips nervously. “Her Excellency Commissar Gollub doesn’t have…”
The Tsar was alert enough to not be caught off guard this time. “Your dick!”
Unfortunately Chekov hadn’t foreseen that his sentence could be ended that way.
“Not yet she doesn’t,” Kam said, then joined Daffy in the merciless demand.
“Smoke! Smoke! Smoke!”
“Dermo.” The Russian inhaled deeply and then coughed out twice as hard. “How can a physician consume this?”
“Years of practice,” his lover assured him. She met his gaze, both sharing the hope that they’d managed to defuse the Tsar’s edict, though the chagrin in Chekov’s made it clear that it hadn’t exactly been intentional.
“I’ve taken your appeal under advisement, my lovely young Ass,” Kam said magnanimously, “and hereby modify my edict. From now on the loser of each round must sexually gratify the Tsar while being sexually gratified by the Commissar.”
Which wasn’t much better.
Again, the other players tried to find a way around it.
“But it is possible that I may not lose,” Chekov warned him.
Kam grinned. “I won’t mind, Pashushka.” Daffy shuddered helplessly and Kam continued. “And you didn’t use my title, Ass.”
“Dermo,” The Russian swore downing another small cup of sake.
“Position for sexual favors will be based on rankings for the next round,” Kam explicated. “Agreed?”
Unable to find a loophole in the rules that would allow him to object, Chekov nodded wearily. “Da.”
“Pavel, we can’t…!” Daffy whispered urgently.
The racer turned to the chemist. “Objections, Commissar?”
“Objections?” Daffy countered. “I’ll give you fucking objections! Jilla, Jilla, Jilla! Sulu, damn it, take control! Get us out of this!”
“He can’t hear you right now,” Kam told her. “He passed out – oh – about ten minutes ago.” His grin was rakishly dazzling. “So do you agree or do we find something else to do?”
After a moment of the most intense scowling she could manage, Gollub growled. “If either of you kolboyniks can even get it up at this point, I’ll be impressed.” Kam’s smile increased in intensity and he gave Pavel a friendly, conspiratorial nudge. He nudged, too, at the deep well of darkness and felt it rising to the challenge. We’re not going to let her get away with that, are we? he asked it, and though he knew the Russian wouldn’t actually hear the words, the meaning would get through loud and clear
Chekov turned and gave Daffy a lopsided grin. “Prepare to be overwhelmed, Your Excellency,” he promised.
“Deal the cards, my soon-to-be not-so-virginal Ass,” Kam ordered. It was primed now. All he had to do was wait.