“…which repeated tests indicate will continue, though in microscopic and reactively insignificant amounts, within the subject’s bloodstream for an unspecified period of time. The current state of the subjects indicate that, after more than two years, the residue is still detectable. Chemical projections outside test subjects indicate a remarkable stability, of the amyneurophene compounds in particular. In samples retrieved from Dreamland Base, the efficacy of the amyneurophenes was reduced by less than a hundredth part of one percent over ten years, with the xenoneurophenes only slightly more degraded, at three hundredths of one percent. This indicates that the effects of these neural transmitters can remain viable, though dormant, within a subject for decades.
It is currently unknown what would trigger its activity within a previously infected subject, though the reintroduction of the compounds into the subject’s bloodstream has been shown to create heightened reaction when compared with the first application of the chemical agents. Reintroduction also causes slight physiological changes, most notably in the eyes; subjects with light-colored irises will often see a blue tint to their eye-color, where those with particularly dark irises will sometimes notice a bluish tinge to the whites of the eyes, or even a faint bluish ring around the irises. It was speculated, according to the records studied, that the strength of the subject’s original gift often determined the strength of this physical manifestation, though that was by no means universal or predictable.
The presence of amyneurophene or xenoneurophene in the system of a Human being can be difficult to ascertain unless the physician or clinician in question is actively seeking it, as most Humans carry the base substances within their sweat and adrenal glands, which can be released in times of stress – such as medical examinations. To verify that a Human has been given the engineered combination, the physician is encouraged to look for the following markers in separate blood samples taken over the course of a week…”
“There is it, Captain,” Lian said, pointing to the screen of her medical computer. “If Lieutenant Commander DelMonde’s puppy is an Intelligence plant, we’ll know in a week.”
“Isn’t ‘plant’ a rather strong word?” Jerel Courtland said, also studying the information received from the Enterprise. “After all, Mr. Paine came aboard a year before our present command, and Mr. DelMonde’s transfer wasn’t something that was either planned or foreseen…”
“Unless they managed to slip Del something that ensured he’d be unable to escape the ghosts of his past,” Sulu muttered. The Equian and Haven exchanged glances.
“Captain, do you really think Starfleet would…?” the First Officer began.
“Jerel, I don’t put anything at all past Intelligence,” Sulu returned grimly “If you look at the rest of this report, you’ll find the name of an admiral who still serves in Intelligence figures fairly prominently.” He shuddered, then straightened. “I’ll want blood tests on both Mr. Paine and Mr. DelMonde, Lian. I want to know how much residual effect Del has from his recent undercover mission.”
“Will do, Sulu,” Lian said, then shook her head. “You’d think these people would hire better chemists.”
“Captain, can I ask just what you suspect Ensign Paine was ‘planted’ to accomplish?” Jerel asked as he walked beside his captain from Sickbay. When Sulu didn’t answer, Jerel studied the Human. His face was shuttered, the dark eyes troubled, the frown more one of dread than either anger or disapproval. “Sir?” Jerel tried again. “Sulu?” There was still no response, and the Equian straightened, then murmured, “Kam?”
Sulu’s head snapped to him. “Don’t call me that!” he hissed, and Courtland took a step back, his head lowering in his race’s automatic defensive stance. Sulu blinked at the gleam of light off the spiraled golden horn, then took his own step back.
“I’m sorry, Jerel,” he offered. “I was years away.”
“I noticed, sir,” the Equian replied, his head returning to its more usual angle. “But I was asking, what do you think Paine was planted for?”
“Nothing sinister – unless you consider clandestine surveillance on former ‘test subjects’ sinister,” the captain said humorlessly. “But even that doesn’t make sense. Dylan was assigned here before…
Jerel cleared his throat and Sulu paused, glancing at him. “We were aware Captain VonHels was retiring before Mr. Paine came aboard, sir.”
“Well, all right, but…”
“And that your name was on a short list for replacements.”
Sulu blinked. “My name? A year ago…” He again stopped talking. The year before he’d been given this command was when Jim Kirk had been rescued from the past. Had Spock planned that far in advance, expecting Jade Han to be able to repair Jim’s mind in that amount of time, estimating that the Nests would then require Ruth and Jilla’s hands-on involvement, figuring both on giving D’Artagnan his own command to give him something to do while Jilla was concentrating on the Nests, and freeing the Vulcan himself to play nursemaid through Jim’s first year back in command…. “That damned womprat,” he muttered, though by the smile, Jerel could tell it was an affectionate disparagement. “So it’s possible that Dylan Paine was put here to keep an eye on me and Del’s transfer was a bonus opportunity not to be missed.”
“Forgive me, Captain, but what exactly would Mr. Paine be keeping an eye on, and what sort of ‘opportunity’ does Mr. DelMonde present?”
Sulu took a deep breath, then sighed. “It’s a very long, sordid story, Jerel, and I don’t have time tight now. But I’ll tell you what – come to my cabin after watch and I’ll give it my best shot.”
The Equian nodded, “After the watch, sir,” he said, and Sulu knew by the thoughtful look in the blue eyes that his First Officer would come well briefed on his captain’s professional and personal history – and on Noel DelMonde’s.
The signal on the comm was buzzing, but Del couldn’t make himself conscious enough to answer it. He’d woken sometime in the middle of the night, haunted by the image of black on black on black; his mother’s voice, Noel Christopher, is that your love callin you? and his bleak answer, yeah, Mere, but she not belong t’ me; Pelori’s voice saying calmly “Terminate. Code black,” and the burst of phaser fire… He’d cried out and poured more bourbon and more sapphire into his body, praying that this time it would be enough, and that his anguish wouldn’t call to Sulu or to the damned ‘pathic puppy in time to stop the slowing of his heart. It hadn’t, and he was still alive, but he couldn’t make his limbs move. A part of him knew that it would only be a matter of minutes until Captain’s override opened the door to his cabin and he was rushed to Sickbay, but he still kept hoping it would be too late.
He could hear the voices gathering outside his door; Rivka Mazar’s half worried, half furious demands, Tristan Vale’s sorrowful explanation that yes, he was sure the signal was getting through, Lieutenant Commander DelMonde simply wasn’t acknowledging it; Tara Ryan’s call to the Captain for his authorization to use the override code – then a burst of blue superseded them all as Dylan Paine cried directly into his brain.
Del, open the door!
Would if I could, Del lied, but I jus’ a li’l bitty bit unconscious right now.
He heard Sulu’s order, and the sound of the override code with its atonal blips, and the hiss of the door opening and then Dylan was at his side, his fingers in his hair. Del tried to pull away, but could no more accomplish that than he could’ve risen on his own. With the lassitude already in his muscles, he was able to feel the empathic switch the ensign initiated. It was like turning on a faucet, starting a slow but steady stream of emotion from his mind to Dylan’s – hunger, need, fury, despair. He felt the young man drinking it in, as desperate for it as he himself was for the numbing blue of the sapphire and the burning alcohol down his throat. Suddenly, the funhouse mirrors made sense. Dylan Paine’s calm ocean was itself a mirror, reflecting the emotions his psychic ‘tap’ let wash over him. Del was only reflecting back his own sorrow, his own anguish, his own rage, like a malignant feedback loop. He tried to stop it, to blank the flow of emotion in sapphire’s numbness, and for the second time felt a flash of pure anger from Dylan.
“Give it to me, you idiot,” the ensign growled. “I’m not about to let it kill you!”
Crunch, crunch, yum, yum… Del thought lazily, not even certain where the half-amused, half hysterical feeling came from.
“Mr. Paine, get off him, now!” Sulu’s voice snarled.
Divine Wind blowin’… My very life away… Del sang silently.
“Captain, you don’t understand…!”
“Oh, yes I do, Ensign. Miss Ryan, confine him to Sickbay!”
If I don’ get some shelter… I gonna fade away…
Not if I have anything to say about it, Sulu muttered. “Lian…?”
“Half a cc of cordrazine should do it, Captain,” the Haven doctor said and Del felt the hiss against his arm.
Rape! Murder! It jus’ a shot away, it jus’ a shot away…
Love, brother, it’s just a kiss away, Sulu’s voice countered fiercely. The open heart! The bleeding wound!
The Beast dead, mon ami… Del thought as life began returning to his arms and legs.
But another always rises to take its place, the Divine Wind chuckled. That’s the problem with the open heart and the bleeding wound.
After a few seconds, Del felt wide awake, though the competing drugs in his system made him a little uncoordinated. He apologized to Rivka and Sulu, promising not that he’d never do something that irresponsible again, only that he’d try to confine it to leaves. He endured the disapproving glare of the First Officer and the amused patience of the Chief Medical Officer as he dressed and followed them and Sulu to Sickbay, the captain insisting that he was going to get a through medical once-over. Dylan Paine was in one of the other medical beds, clearly unhappy, Tara Ryan standing over him looking as formidable as Jeremy Paget and Tomor Rand combined.
“Shee-it, I glad I not him,” Del muttered to Sulu.
“I think that has yet to be determined, don’t you?” Sulu returned.
“Oh. Yeah. Feedback,” the engineer conceded. He glanced at the ensign, feeling the blue eyes pleading with him. The emotional pull was strong and it made him shiver.
“Nurse Blake,” Lian called, “do a complete blood work-up on Mr. Paine.” The quiet Hindi nurse nodded, heading to Dylan’s bedside with the necessary equipment. Lian patted another bed. “Up here, Mr. DelMonde, you get the full treatment, too.”
“If you lookin’ fo’ trace amounts o’ blue Loonie juice, y’all remember I been undercover only ‘bout a month ago.”
“I remember, Mr. DelMonde,” the Haven replied with a grin.
Sulu positioned himself between Del and Dylan, blocking the ensign from Del’s line of sight. As Lian took the necessary blood samples, he murmured, “Your puppy’s with Intelligence.”
“No shit,” Del returned.
Sulu’s eyebrow rose, but he gave no other indication of surprise. “Any idea what he’s trying to do?”
“Keep me from goin’ BOOM,” the engineer chuckled.
“Yeah? And who in his right mind would do that?” Sulu asked facetiously.
“Th’ same bastards that wanna grow super ‘paths, I bettin’.”
Sulu shuddered. “I’m sorry, Del. I had no idea….”
“Not your fault, mon ami,” Del broke in. “You not able t’ use what you got wit’out gettin’ all hurricane on ever’one’s ass.”
“Captain, is this some kind of Clavist code?” Jerel Courtland put in tersely. Del laughed out loud and Sulu sighed.
“It’s more of…” he began.
“…that very long sordid story,” the Equian finished. “Perhaps Mr. DelMonde should join us in your cabin.”
Sulu glanced at Del, who shrugged. “My life all over th’ damn ship already anyway,” he said.
“After Lian’s done with you,” the captain agreed heavily. He and the First Officer left Sickbay and Del settled back on the bed to wait for both the cordrazine and the sapphire to wear off – and tried not to feel Dylan’s blue, blue eyes staring into his soul.
Lian and Nurse Rajanah Blake left the sickbay room to run the required tests on the blood samples they’d taken, and as soon as they’d gone, Dylan left his bed and quickly crossed to DelMonde.
“I’m not trying to hurt you, Del, you have to believe me,” he whispered urgently. He reached for Del’s hair, and the engineer shook his head.
“That be a whole lot easier if you not keep tryin’ to influence me like that,” he commented.
Dylan blinked. “It doesn’t influence you,” he said. “I told you, it just enables me to…”
“Take my temperature, yeah. But there more goin’ on, petit chiot, an’ if you not know it…”
“I don’t know what you mean,” the ensign said, his blue eyes troubled.
“You not sent here fo’ me near two years befo’ I get here,” Del pointed out.
“I wasn’t ‘sent’ here at all – except by being assigned here after I graduated the Academy,” Dylan returned.
Del narrowed his eyes, scanning the young man’s mind. He found, as he expected, the calm blue ocean which he now recognized easily as the psychic manifestation of a pool of xenoneurophene – but no malice, no hidden agenda. There were no locked doors like those that had been so abundant within Pelori, but he was drawn, almost beyond his will, toward the fathomless depths. The pull felt familiar, but something inside him warned that to examine it any more deeply would result in the same kind of savage sexual need that marked all their personal interactions. He pulled away, but not before the ensign’s hand had reached up into his hair.
“Stop that…” he began, and the mindless hunger started to rise.
“You need to release it, Del,” Dylan whispered. “The pressure has to be relieved or it will destroy you. I swear, that’s all I want to do.”
“You lookin’ for a controlled explosion, boy?” Del snarled.
“I’m looking to defuse it before it starts!” the ensign cried. “I don’t want your talent to be lost to us, I don’t want you to be lost to us…!”
“Who th’ fuck is us?!”
“The Federation!” was the anguished answer. “Those of us who are gifted are the future, Del! We’re the ones who will advance the ideals Starfleet fights for when fighting no longer works! And you know that day is coming. We all do. The Federation needs a new kind of weapon, one that heals and builds rather than coerces and destroys. It will be the Antaris and the Indiians, the Vulcans and the Metring and those of us Humans who can reach into hearts and minds and prove the good intentions and principles of the Federation that will prevail and bring peace and prosperity to the entire galaxy – and maybe beyond. We’re special, Del, we’re the ones who see the future and can bring it about in ways that others can’t even imagine. We have a responsibility and a duty to the sentient beings of the galaxy and all I want to do is keep one of the best and brightest of all our stars from burning out or going supernova.”
Del stared. The fervor in the blue eyes was intense and frighteningly honest. The boy clearly believed every idealistic word he was saying. Whether that had been implanted in him by some Intelligence indoctrination, or was embedded in his genetic code – “These are the times that try men’s souls” Thomas Paine had said regarding the conditions that surrounded the 18th Century American Revolutionary period – the bare truth was that Dylan Paine was, like his ancestor, a social zealot. His impassioned words filled Del’s mind, cooling his anger, even as they increased his desire to take the boy into his arms and ravish the fine young body.
“Damn, boy, you really are not’ing but a puppy,” he chuckled and Dylan stopped talking and blushed fiercely.
“I’d never do anything to hurt you, Del, I swear it,” he managed.
“I t’ink,” Del murmured, as he followed his impulse and pulled the ensign close to him, “that I do believe you.”
Dylan let out a long breath and smiled, and surrendered to the powerful kisses.
“Not in my Sickbay, boys,” Dr. Rendell said a moment later, and Del broke the embrace, glancing up over Dylan’s head. “Whatever insanity you want to indulge in on your own time is your business, but Mr. Paine, you’re on duty and Mr. DelMonde, you’ve got a meeting with the Captain. You’ll both report here every morning for the next week for more blood tests – which means, Mr. DelMonde, no sapphire.”
Dylan smiled, but Del scowled. “I got a prescription, doctor…”
“And I’m suspending it for a week. I understand the strain that will put on you, so I’m also logging in my medical order for limited duty for you.”
“That not gonna shut th’ rest o’ th’ ship out,” Del pointed out.
“I know. Make do.” Her reproving expression softened. “I’ll set up a make-shift sensory deprivation cell for you if you need it.”
“I prefer sapphire,” the engineer grumbled.
“Frankly, so do I, but we need those blood tests as clean as we can get them.”
“It’s for the best, Del,” Dylan said and Del glared at him – to which he, of course, grinned.
There was a flask of sake in a warmer and three small cups on the table beside it. The pipe of Rigellian in Sulu’s hand wafted its fragrant smoke in lazy curls in front of him as he offered it to his First Officer. Jerel Courtland whinnied a negative and Sulu shrugged, taking another hit off it. When the door chime sounded, he called, “Come on in, Del,” and gestured the engineer to the empty chair next to him. Before Del had even taken the seat, Sulu was handing him the pipe, then poured the warm rice wine into the three cups.
“Kanpai,” he muttered, and threw the sake to the back of his throat, swallowing it in one gulp. Del took a deep hit of the smoke, then followed Sulu’s example, swallowing before he exhaled the Rigellian. Courtland, too, gulped the wine, then sat back, folding his arms casually.
“All right, gentlemen,” he began, “what I already know is this: You have a long history together, beginning when you were both teenagers. Mr. DelMonde, you built the captain’s needle. Captain, you were the Clave’s reigning king for nearly all the years you spent there. Mr. DelMonde’s gifts were quantified when he joined Starfleet, but yours, Sulu, were deemed to be a minor latency at best. The xenoneurophene you were given in your undercover mission three years ago indicated a much higher level of much more profound gifts than anyone previously suspected. Yours, Mr. DelMonde, were shown to be, when enhanced by the drugs, nearly limitless. The investigation launched by that mission showed that there were high-level Starfleet officers involved in the research being conducted on Dreamland Base, and most of the records you recovered have been – appropriated, shall we say – by Starfleet Intelligence.” His bright blue eyes gazed at them both. “You both seem to be certain Ensign Paine is associated with Intelligence, and I don’t doubt your conviction. But what I’d like to know is why that’s such a daunting prospect, and why Intelligence would want someone watching you both.” He paused. “And what Mr. DelMonde meant by your going ‘all hurricane on everyone’s asses,’ Captain, sir.”
Sulu and Del exchanged glances. You tell ‘im what you t’ink best, mon ami, Del said silently. I back you up.
Sulu sighed. “You know what ‘Kamikaze’ means, Jerel,” he said.
“It was the designation of Japanese suicide fighter pilots in Terra’s Second World War,” the Equian replied, “as well as your racing handle. The literal translation is ‘divine wind.’”
Sulu nodded. “Suffice it to say that when my – gifts – are activated, it also seems to – activate – sort of an…. alternative – um…”
“It like another personality,” Del put in. “Almos’ like Kam from th’ Clave was a different person.”
Courtland tilted his head. “Really?”
Show him, Kam whispered greedily.
Shut up! Sulu responded.
“What th’ damned Loonies was tryin’ to do, Mr. Courtland,” Del was continuing, “was create super telepaths t’ start they New World Order. But the xenoneurophene tend to burn all th’ ‘pathic types out ‘fore they do much good. So they hit on this plan t’ grow they own. Long story short, it got stopped. What me an’ Sulu so worried ‘bout is they might try again.”
“But the followers of the late Dr. Sevrin have returned to their harmless if annoying ways,” Courtland put in.
“But it wasn’t the Sevrinites who were behind that plan, Jerel,” Sulu said, after slamming back another cup of sake. “It was Starfleet Intelligence – or at least the officers who were involved who are now in Intelligence. And since that’s the case, it makes sense that they’d want to be able to have continued surveillance on those who, at that initial mission, proved – promising candidates to…”
“T’ incubate another damned Beast,” Del growled.
Jerel frowned. “I’m not sure I understand.”
“And here’s where the long story comes in,” Sulu sighed.
Courtland again let his gaze travel between the two Humans. Finally he took a deep breath. “I’m listening,” he said.
“And you suspect Ensign Paine is like Irina Galliulin – a way to channel emotional energy into the formation of this – second Beast?” Jerel said. He’d been listening to DelMonde and Sulu for several hours. The situation was a complex and convoluted one, and it touched on many subjects both the captain and the engineer deliberately shied away from. The Equian noted that Sulu would often fill in details when DelMonde looked particularly uncomfortable, and that Del did the same for the captain. Though not gifted in the way the Humans used the term, Equians were very analytical and careful judges of emotional nuance, and Courtland understood without words much of the trauma that they had both experienced in their adolescent years, and how much it had shaped their relationship. He had carefully not brought up the subject of Ruis Calvario, and noted that neither one of them did, either. Nor did he bring up the fact that they often seemed to know what the other was going to say before he’d said it, chalking that up to the natural way telepathic and empathic gifts sometimes combined – even ones dulled by drink and smoke and latency.
“He seem to do what she done wit’ the black-heart bitch,” Del confirmed, “though there not seem t’ be anyone wit’ Izaran-like shields to channel it to.”
“It’s just the setup,” Sulu muttered. “They’ve gotta train someone for years to do what Galliulin did.”
“But if it meant fo’ you, mon ami…” Del began.
“They didn’t count on my Bond with Jilla,” Sulu answered. “They thought…”
“He is jus’ th’ type o’ cute li’l t’ing th’ Divine Wind eat up fo’ breakfast,” Del said grimly. “An’ add in ‘oh my gawd LeRoi!’…”
“And then you come along, and turn out to be not only a much easier target, but still full of the damned Loonie juice…” Sulu continued.
“Yeah, I jus’ plum irresistible,” the engineer snarled, then sighed. “But truth be told, th’ chiot not know anyt’ing ‘bout this”
“You’re sure about that, Del?”.
The engineer shrugged. “If it hidden, it hidden from him, too.”
The captain nodded grimly.
“So what do we do?” Jerel asked.
“If we let on, they jus’ try again somewhere else,” Del pointed out
“And if we don’t let on, maybe we can turn the tables on them,” Sulu mused. He glanced at the engineer. “But I can’t ask you to do it.”
“But I surely can volunteer, non?” the Cajun returned, a gleam coming to his eyes.
“You know the risks…”
“All it doin’ t’ me so far is makin’ me ravish th’ boy on a regular basis.” He snorted. “Which he don’t seem t’ mind none. He t’ink it all fo’ th’ glory of th’ Federation an’ ‘pathic superiority.”
“Lian will have to monitor your condition.”
“That her job anyway.”
“If it gets too dangerous, you’ll have to break it off,” Sulu continued. “I won’t risk your health or your sanity. Or Mr. Paine’s.”
“Not much t’ risk there, mon ami.”
They stared at one another for a long, long moment.
If it keep another Beast from bein’ born…. Del murmured.
Remember, Sulu returned. The open heart. The bleeding wound.
Love, brother, it jus’ a kiss away.
“I’ll let Lian know what we’re doing,” Sulu said aloud.
“And I’ll want regular reports, Mr. DelMonde,” the First Officer added.
“An’ I get on back t’ puppy-sittin’, “ Del agreed.
Sulu poured the last of the sake into the cups.
“Kanpai,” he said.
It proved, of course, to be a little more complicated than that. The week of blood tests proved what the captain had suspected about Dylan Paine; to the best of Lian’s ability to determine such things, there was a residual amount of the amy/xenoneurophene combination in the ensign’s system commensurate with a fairly high-level dosage given approximately five years previously. Neither her Haven contacts, nor a conference with Ruth Valley at SanFran had been able to hack into his records, a suggestion that had been very subtly made by the First Officer of the Enterprise after Sulu had attempted to enlist his aid. Ruth had, of course, expressed her outrage at Del attempting such a dangerous subterfuge, going so far as to demand to speak to the engineer herself, which Sulu not so subtly refused. Del managed to survive a week without sapphire by increasing his bourbon intake, three sessions in Rendell’s SD cell, and regular assaults on his petit chiot. He found that Dylan did, indeed, have ‘problems’ of his own, but they weren’t the psychological kind. In keeping with the findings Daffy Gollub had made on Dreamland Base, the amyneurophene had set a preference if not clearly an addiction in the boy for certain emotions; despair, rage, sexual hunger. That those just happened to be the ones that would’ve been most likely to draw out – and be drawn from – the Divine Wind wasn’t lost on Del, or on Sulu.
Dylan was himself perfectly content to let the relationship continue as it had before; barely restrained enthusiasm while on duty, engineering tutoring, wild, angry sex with little in the way of afterglow. Yeoman Zoe Elif provided fodder for Del’s foul temper, which the ensign seemed to approve of, even while it clearly saddened him, and the yeoman seemed incapable of resisting.
When The Second Coming of Cataclysmic announced its first performance, Noel DelMonde already knew which song he was going to perform.
The rec room was smaller that that on the Enterprise, but Del had finally gotten used to it. He’d taken enough sapphire to dull the inevitable press of the minds that would be attending the concert without also dulling his musical abilities. He’d also drunk enough to make his already deep voice rough and rasping. He noted Sulu standing at the back of the crowd with Tara Ryan as he began to play a blues riff. Soon Zel joined in with the drums, then Zoe on keyboards, Beth Arista on her saxophone and Dylan with a hard-driving bass line. Finally, Del began to sing:
Now on the day I was born the nurses all gathered 'round
An’ they gazed in wide wonder at the joy they had found
The head nurse spoke up, said leave this one alone
She could tell right away that I was bad to the bone
Bad to the bone
Bad to the bone
B-B-B-B-Bad
B-B-B-B-Bad
B-B-B-B-Bad
Bad to the bone
The crowd broke into cheering applause, Sulu and Tara shaking their heads.
I broke a thousand hearts befor’ I met you
I'll break a thousand more, baby, befor’ I am through
I wanna be yours, pretty baby, yours an’ yours alone
I'm here to tell ya, honey, that I'm bad to the bone
Bad to the bone
B-B-B-B-Bad
B-B-B-B-Bad
B-B-B-B-Bad
Bad to the bone
Del could feel Dylan’s blue eyes on him, but he poured all his emotion into the wailing of his guitar. Deep within him there was a hope that the puppy would do more than hear the words he was singing, that Dylan would start to understand what was at work. After all, foul-tempered son-of-a-bitch he might be, but Del didn’t really want to hurt the boy. He altered the lyrics of the next verse, deliberately changing the gender specific words to gender neutral.
I make a rich one beg, I make a good one steal
I make an old one blush an’ I make a young one squeal
I wanna be yours, pretty baby, yours an’ yours alone
I'm here to tell ya, honey, that I'm bad to the bone
B-B-B-B-Bad
B-B-B-B-Bad
B-B-B-B-Bad
Bad to the bone
Beth’s saxophone solo carried all the insulted humiliation that was evident in Zoe’s brown eyes and the flow of her emotions. Del answered it with his guitar’s insouciance, feeling the pull of Dylan’s dependence, but unable to stop it, despite the bourbon and the chemicals. He didn’t want to hurt Zoe either, but that, he knew, was impossible.
Now when I walk the streets Kings an’ Queens step aside
Everyone I meet they all stay satisfied
I wanna tell ya, pretty baby, them I see, I make my own
I'm here to tell ya, honey, that I'm bad to the bone
Bad to the bone
B-B-B-B-Bad
B-B-B-B-Bad
B-B-B-B-Bad
Bad to the bone
The appreciation from the assembled crew was tumultuous as the song wound to its end. Zoe and Beth glared at him, Dylan smiled ruefully and Del made a sweeping bow, smiling and pushing the hair from his forehead. The next number was just as hard-driving without the autobiographical insinuation, and as it began, Del heard Sulu’s quiet, Just as long as there’s still some control in that bad bone, Cajun.
With a snort for the innuendo, Del pushed the disquieting thought away. I hope so, Kam. I surely hope so.
Bad To The Bone by George Thoroughgood.
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