rewritten by Cheryl Petterson
Sulu wasn’t quite sure if he was alive, but he knew he wasn’t dead. If I were dead, I’d feel better, he thought miserably, and the formation of the words in his head was acutely painful. He tried going back to sleep, but just lying there hoping for oblivion only made him feel worse. It was as if every muscle in his body had been over-strained, a dull, throbbing ache that made him keenly aware of such things as blood moving in his capillaries and his hair growing. His skin felt hot and sticky, and as something resembling consciousness relentlessly seeped its way to the fore, he became aware of a warm weight across his chest.
That brought the events of the past night into recollection with vivid detail. He had carried Jilla to bed, and had thoroughly ravaged her, much to her eager delight. She had then, in turn, ravished him. The wild, wanton, almost brutal, definitely fevered fucking had gone on all night. The room was lit with pre-dawn glow by the time their exhausted bodies abruptly collapsed.
He swore under his breath. What the hell did they slip us, anyway? he wondered. His misspent youth gave him knowledge of several possibilities, but none of them seemed exactly right, and thinking only made everything a painful blur. So he decided to concentrate on something simpler – like opening his eyes.
You’ve been there before, he told himself acidly, and shook the memory away.
All he could see was a deep red, and for a few moments, pure panic threatened him. Then he heard a soft groan next to his ear. It was in Jilla’s voice. Jilla’s head was above his right shoulder, her face next to his on the pillow. Which meant the weight on his chest was the rest of her, and the red over his eyes was nothing more than her thick, burgundy hair. Which was the position they’d been in when they’d both collapsed.
She moaned again and lifted her head, then let it fall back to his shoulder with a small whimper. Trying valiantly to ignore the thunder in his brain, Sulu gingerly rolled to his side, easing Jilla to the mattress beside him. Her eyes opened. They were horribly bloodshot, the whites crisscrossed by bright spidery grey lines.
“I hurt,” she whispered.
“I know, hon,” he tried to soothe. “Me, too.” A sob caught in her throat, and he put his arms back around her, pulling her close. “Ouch,” he said as the movement revealed more aches. She began to pull away, and he held on, hushing her. “No, it isn’t you,” he reassured her. “It’s no doubt the aftermath of whatever our gracious hosts put in our food.” That, and the fact that we pulverized muscles even the anatomists don’t know about. “Still,” he continued aloud, “I can’t exactly say I didn’t enjoy it.”
The sheen of her blush made him wince, but she murmured, “Nor can I.”
He smiled at her, kissing the top of her head. He felt her wince, and nearly chuckled. “Well, even though it just might kill us, we have to get out of this bed and report to the captain,” he said. She nodded. “I saw a shower,” he added. “I’m gonna see if crawling under some hot water helps.” He forced himself to move away from her and slid carefully off the bed. He found, to his infinite surprise, that he could stand. “Care to join me?” he asked.
She shook her head, then moaned. “You just rest a while more then, hon,” he told her. I won’t be long.” An experimental step jarred everything that already hurt and he grit his teeth. He heard the sound of the curtain being drawn aside and glanced around for his uniform. The pieces of clothing lay crumpled on the floor where he and Jilla had torn then off the night before. There was no way he could reach them in a hurry. There’s no way I can do anything in a hurry, he reminded himself. He knew Ruth wouldn’t mind his nudity, but he suspected the captain might, and he was sure Spock would.
“Hey Roy, your back looks like a courgat attacked you,” Ruth’s voice said with artificial cheer.
“Just Jilla,” he returned, attempting a smile that rapidly turned into a grimace.
“Think you’ll live?” she asked.
“I doubt it,” he replied. “Can you help Jilla?”
“Sure thing.”
Sulu nodded and made his laborious way to the bathroom.
Jilla was aware of the voices, but she was in too much misery to respond. Part of it was purely physical, part of it her emotional reaction to the memory of the passion she had so freely expressed, as evidenced by the deep scratches that covered Sulu’s back and shoulders. She was aware that, as Sulu had said, the Alconians had put some aphrodisial agent in their dinner, but their bodies were paying for the night of pleasure and indulgence – and it was the thought of payment and consequences that were the chief cause of her distress. There was something she could not put off much longer, and she shuddered with the thought of it – then groaned at the renewed throbbing the physical reaction sent into her muscles.
“Can I help?” Ruth’s voice said and she opened her eyes to see the Antari standing over her, her smiling face only a mask over her deep concern.
“Please,” Jilla managed. “This morning I would welcome even the attentions of Dr. McCoy.”
Ruth chuckled. “That bad, huh?” she said, then touched Jilla’s forehead. The pain and grogginess began to disappear almost immediately as she watched Ruth wince, shiver, pale, then recover. She sat on the bed, shaking herself like a great cat. “I don’t suppose Roy will…”
“I doubt it,” Jilla returned, sitting up herself.
“If he’s as bad off as you were…”
“It is his decision, Ruth.”
Ruth sighed. “Yeah, I guess.”
“What happened to your uniform?” Jilla asked.
Ruth pulled up the torn shoulder and blinked innocently. “It got ripped,” she said.
“Yes, but…” Jilla began, then flushed. “Am I to say ‘never mind’?” she said.
“You never do,” Ruth replied. She glanced out toward the room beyond the curtained alcove. “The Alconians were good enough to provide a light breakfast and coffee,” she continued, “if you’d want to risk it.”
“I think not,” Jilla returned.
“That’s what I thought, too, but it will lose us points.”
“And Sulu cannot function in his present state without…”
“So I guess we’ll just have to nibble away.”
“Perhaps the ship could beam us…”
“I already tried. Nothing but static.”
“Static?” Sulu repeated as he returned from the bathroom. His hair was damp and tussled, a towel draped over his shoulders. Jilla noted Ruth’s appreciative smile and blushed.
Sulu had apparently noticed as well, for he frowned. “Stop leering at me, I have a headache,” he grumbled.
“I could fix it, Roy,” Ruth suggested. Jilla sensed her genuine desire to help, her fondness for him, and the distress Sulu’s expected refusal caused her. She also felt Sulu’s unease, the shame and fear that would keep him from accepting, though there was as much fondness for Ruth, and as much distress for the pain he caused her.
“No, thanks,” was his falsely easy reply, followed by, “What happened to your uniform?”
Ruth turned the same faux-innocent gaze on him and said, “Why, whatever do you mean?”
He nodded, moving to retrieve his uniform from the floor. “Static?” he asked instead.
“Yeah, and if it’s natural, Pavel is the tsar of all the Russias.”
Jilla began to move from the bed, looking for her uniform. She was aware of Sulu’s gaze on her and she flushed again.
“There wouldn’t happen to be coffee, would there?” Sulu said after a moment.
“Yep,” Ruth returned. “Served with a light breakfast.”
“Shit,” Sulu muttered.
“I do not like this place,” Jilla murmured.
Sulu crossed the room, pulling his tunic over his head. “It’s only another day, hon,” he said, helping her to fasten the side of her uniform. She sighed patiently, but accepted the unnecessary aid. He ran fingers through his hair, then through hers, smiling down at her. “I suppose we look as presentable as we’re going to get,” he commented.
“So, is it lose points, or lose stomach lining?” Ruth asked brightly.
The coffee was exceptionally good, as were the small pastries and fresh fruit. Ruth decided to risk being poisoned and only sipped the coffee. Spock stepped out from his sleeping area, a slight frown on his features, working on the communicator in his hand.
“Mrs. Majiir,” he called, “I require your assistance.”
Jilla immediately crossed the room as Ruth muttered, “Static,” to Sulu. Captain Kirk entered the common room with Skael and two other Alconians. Sulu leaned over to Ruth.
“Would it gain us points if I were to ask where Skael got the split lip?” he asked.
“Only if it were from me,” Ruth whispered back.
“Was it?”
“If you don't know, don’t ask,” she returned. “But if you look smugly superior it’ll gain us five.”
Sulu caught Skael’s eye and grinned his best Cheshire-cat grin. Skael actually scowled for half a second before regaining his composure. Sulu made note of the men who were with him. Both seemed about 30 years old. One was in a red, black and gold military-type uniform. The other was a seedy-looking civilian whom Sulu was sure hadn’t bathed in a month. Spock and Jilla moved to the table. “The communicator signals are being jammed,” Spock said quietly.
“We guessed as much,” Sulu returned.
“Did you or the Captain eat this morning?” Ruth asked.
“I did not, but the Captain breakfasted with His Majesty,” Spock replied.
“One-twenty-one to eighty-seven, barring Bwana’s behavior at breakfast,” Ruth said. Spock nodded.
After a few minutes, the Captain turned to them. “The Alconians wish to give us a demonstration of their dylithium weapon, and would prefer as few people as possible in their testing area,” Jim began.
“A safety precaution,” Skael put in with a helpful sneer.
“Therefore I will send only the technical personnel,” Jim rejoined. “Mr. Sulu, Mrs. Majiir, you will accompany these gentlemen.” He indicated the men standing with Skael. “And His Majesty asks that you go with them, Miss Valley.”
Ruth quickly looked up. “I’m not technical…” she protested.
“As cultural advisor,” Kirk broke in.
“But, Captain…”
“Are you questioning my decision, Lieutenant?” Kirk asked sharply.
Ruth flushed and took a deep breath, which caused her torn uniform to fall from her shoulder. Tucking it carefully back and ignoring the lascivious stares, she said, “No, sir. I understand, sir.”
Kirk, too, was staring at her. “Miss Valley, what happened to your uniform?”
“What does it look…” she began with a snarl, then caught herself.
At the same time Spock’s ears greened and he said, “It was an accident, Captain, I assure you.” All eyes turned to him. Most, Ruth noted, were surprised and speculative – and Jilla’s held an annoying touch of vindication.
“I’m certain it was, Mr. Spock,” Kirk returned.
Safety precautions, huh? The day Alconians care about safety is the day the universe freezes solid! They’re planning some kind of trap or treachery, I know it! Why can’t Bwana see it?
The thought was so vehement that for a moment Spock wasn’t sure if it was another accidental leak or a plea for his assistance. It lent strength to the physical aftermath of the aphrodisiac, redoubling his nausea and sense of disorientation. He remained silent, both to quell the reactions and as indication that he trusted the Captain’s judgment. He had conveyed the information Miss Valley had given him the previous night, and he knew Jim would be taking it into account in making his decisions – whether he appeared to be or not. Apparently, Miss Valley was not taking Valjiir into account. The Captain would not want them separated. Thus, his acquiescence to Skael’s request was logical.
The headache he was suppressing flared momentarily. The wince did not reach his expression, he knew, but Ruth was suddenly at his side. She briefly touched his hand, and the pain melted away.
My thanks, Miss Valley.
No charge, Boss.
“There is a very pungent and unpleasant odor in this ship,” Jilla murmured in Indiian. “Do all Alconian flyers smell this bad?”
Ruth blinked, then glanced at Sulu. She was no linguist. She had picked up a few words and phrases in Indiian while rooming with Jilla, but she couldn’t really follow a conversation unless she cheated and used her telepathy. But that was considered an invasion of privacy for those non-gifted, and she wouldn’t do so unless it were absolutely necessary. But Sulu, she knew, had spent the better part of a year learning as much Indiian as he could. At first he was looking for suitable romantic phrases with which to impress Jilla. He had abandoned the idea quickly after realizing that anything he might say about deathless love in Indiian would only serve to remind her of her marriage vows. Of course, with his usual enthusiasm for new things, he kept studying the language for the sheer joy of it. Which is why Ruth knew he would understand Jilla’s question.
“I don’t know about all Alconian flyers,” he returned, “but in this case, it’s him.” He pointed to the civilian with whom they were sharing the cramped shuttle. They hadn’t been introduced to him, nor to the gaudily uniformed military guard who was piloting the flyer.
“He is filthy,” Jilla continued.
“Hence the incredible smell,” Sulu rejoined.
“Ahem?” Ruth pointed out.
Sulu grinned at her. “Never mind, Spike.”
“I never do,” she replied blithely. “And if you try to conceal information from them by speaking in Indiian, we’ll lose points.”
“What about trying to conceal observations that could be considered insulting?” Sulu wanted to know.
“Alconians expect to be insulted,” Ruth said. “And since the Federation is known for its diplomacy and politeness, avoiding insults will be counted against us.”
Sulu shook his head. “Wonderful people,” he muttered. Then he said, his voice just a trifle louder, “Jilla asked if all Alconian ships stink this bad. I told her that I didn’t know, but that the stench in this ship was coming from him.” And he pointed again to the civilian. Then he smiled.
Sulu turned his head to view the countryside that flashed quickly past beneath the clear bubble of the flyer. They had been traveling for nearly an hour, having long since left behind the capital city of Alcon. The further they traveled, the rougher the terrain became. Populated areas were becoming fewer and fewer as they passed over a mountain range, across a small island, and into hilly, forested area.
We’ve gone over 1000 miles, he estimated. How much further is it to this ‘testing site’?
Not particularly wanting to touch the grimy individual who sat in front of him, but wanting an answer, he leaned forward and tapped the man on the shoulder. An unshaven face accompanied by reeking breath and a disdainful gaze was turned toward him.
“How much further?” Sulu asked, trying not to gag.
“This will do,” the pilot said suddenly.
“What do you mean, this will do?” Sulu returned sharply
“To start the test,” the pilot replied.
There’s something I’m not catching here, Sulu thought, and he exchanged anxious glances with Ruth and Jilla. Jilla looked puzzled, but Ruth’s eyes were wide with alarm – and the flyer made a quick, stomach-wrenching sweep down into the thick forest. For a moment Sulu was certain they were going to crash into the trees, then saw a small clearing swing into view. There followed a twisting maneuver that he wouldn’t’ve trusted anyone but himself to make and the flyer settled daintily to the ground.
Jilla was paler than usual and Ruth was a decided shade of green. His own head was pounding, whether from anxiety or relief he didn’t know and didn’t care to. “Are you all right?” he said to them both. Jilla nodded.
“I think I’m going to vomit,” Ruth returned.
“Weaklings,” the filthy Alconian snorted derisively.
“Sensible humanoids,” Jilla corrected, her voice steely. He sneered at her.
“Let’s get on with it,” the pilot snapped and slid open the flyer’s hatch. Sulu helped Ruth outside, and the fresh air seemed to ease her nausea. It certainly helped the smell. “This way,” the pilot said, and gestured for them to follow. Smelly took up the rear, and Sulu put himself between the Alconian and the women. They were led across the clearing and up a small rise. Then the pilot turned to them, holding out something only a little larger than a phaser.
“Is that the dylithium weapon?” Sulu asked, reaching for it. The pilot smiled and aimed it back down the hill. A pencil-thin white light shot from it. The flyer, a kilometer-long swath of forest, and part of the other side of the rise glowed pure white, then disappeared.
“Neat, huh?” Smelly said.
“Holy mother of…” Sulu managed, on top of Ruth’s, “damn!”
“Sumin tu...” Jilla breathed in awe.
“We’ll have to examine the weapon, of course,” Sulu began, “but if the specs check out…” His voice faded as he found the pilot aiming it exclusively at him.
“The rules of the game are simple,” the pilot said. “Survive. Get back to the palace alive, all three of you.”
“Wait just a minute,” Sulu protested. "We’re supposed to be buying a weapon from you people!”
“Well, we can’t sell it to just anyone, now, can we?” Smelly put in. “You have to earn it.”
“You should be flattered,” the pilot rejoined.
“We’re thrilled,” Ruth muttered sarcastically. The pilot grinned.
“Stop me,” he said.
“Drop dead,” Ruth suggested. The pilot stiffened, then his grin widened.
“One other thing,” he said. “The lives of your Captain and First Officer depend on your success.”
“Just a little incentive in case the idea of our selling this baby to other interested parties doesn’t move you,” Smelly said, then smiled. “Now,” he added, and the two Alconians faded into transport shimmer.
Sulu sighed. They were stranded with no weaponry, no communicators, and no transport, approximately 1500 miles from their destination, on a planet full of homicidal maniacs. There was only one thing that could reasonably be said in the situation, and Sulu said it.
“Shit.”
After the junior officers were escorted out of the suite, Skael sat and gestured effortlessly to Kirk and Spock to do likewise. He relaxed back in his seat, crossing his legs out in front of him, smiling a lopsided grin due to his swollen lip. “Now, while your young officers conduct the necessary testing, I think I should tell you something about Alcon so that you can understand us better.”
“Most gracious of you,” Kirk replied, his voice just one notch above bored. Spock nodded to himself. The tone had been perfect.
“It might surprise you to know that ours is a very long history,” Skael continued. “I am a god, by the way, or at least my nine-hundredth and something grandfather was. Actually he was just a privateering spacer that got stranded on a planet full of loonies and took advantage of a good thing. Being descended from the stars and all that nonsense.” Skael smiled again, then shrugged. “It was a living. The family’s done all right by it, certainly. We kept up the religious imagery of star worship and it’s helped to develop our technology.”
He paused to snap his fingers and a servant came up to pour him coffee. “Captain?” he asked. Kirk thanked him and accepted a cup. Spock declined, and both gained and lost points by asking for herbal tea; gained because he actually requested the possibility of being poisoned, lost because he made an expected choice.
“Back when the Vulcans were slicing each other up with those unwieldy axes,” Skael continued, “and you Humans were doing the same thing with flints, we had explored nearby star systems. And we were in contact with other space-going peoples, among whom a race of sharp-tongued, interfering bitches that you know as Antaris. They introduced themselves to us as Koltiri, by the way. And they’ve been nothing but trouble for the last several thousand years and your Federation is welcome to them.” He leaned forward, his voice lowering conspiratorially. “Although, I wouldn’t trust them if I were you.” He straightened again, and went on without giving them time to comment or ask any questions. “You know, of course, of the Slaver Empire and how it disappeared before any humanoid races were born. About two thousand of your years ago we discovered several Slaver stasis boxes. With the aid, I will admit, of the Koltiri and others, we learned the secrets of those boxes – not only of what was inside them, but of the stasis field itself. With such knowledge, we could’ve taken the Slaver’s place as rulers of the galaxy.”
“Why didn’t you?’ Spock interrupted curiously.
Skael hesitated a moment, looking a bit surprised at the question. “Suffice it to say that we thought better of it.”
Beside him, Kirk suddenly coughed and Spock was certain there was an undertone of amusement in the sound.
Jesus fucking…!!!
Miss Valley, what is wrong?
It’s okay, the pilot just thinks he’s Kamikaz… again, Boss?
Again.
Sorry.
“Mr. Spock, am I boring you?” Skael demanded harshly.
“Not at all,” Spock returned as blandly as possible. “I find your account of history quite – fascinating.” He allowed his tone to imply that he also found it somewhat less than truthful.
Skael frowned, then a smile that was dripping with satisfaction came over his features. “We do, however, still find uses for the technology we gained.” He rose and gestured flamboyantly to a portion of the wall. It shimmered into a viewscreen showing a side view of the Enterprise. The ship was glowing silver, completely covered by a Slaver stasis field.
Kirk stood. “Oh please,” he sighed in exasperation.
“You don’t believe me?” Skael questioned. “Captain, I’m wounded. Try your communicator.”
“It hasn’t been working, as well you know,” Kirk returned. “All that proves is you’ve got an effective dampening field – hardly Slaver technology.”
“And what of our weapon?” Skael asked gleefully.
“I don’t have a report on that, either,” Kirk said. “Not that I really expect one.”
“I don’t have to explain anything to you, Captain,” Skael pointed out.
“And what fun would that be?” Kirk wanted to know.
The young king cocked his head in surprised respect. “What fun indeed,” he conceded. “I’m holding your ship hostage.”
“Until…?”
“Until I decide whether or not the Federation is the type of organization we want to do business with.”
It was Spock’s turn to frown. The Priest-King sounded uncomfortably like a Haven. “And if you decide we are not the proper sort of organization?” he asked curtly.
“You two die, of course, and the ship stays as it is. Pretty, isn’t it?”
“And I take it we are not the ones to prove our worthiness?” Kirk rejoined, but his voice was almost bored.
Skael laughed. “Captain, you’re more perceptive than our intelligence gave you credit for,” he said. “You’re exactly correct. We couldn’t very well give such a task to the Federation’s professional heroes. What we wanted was a representative sampling of average Federation types.”
Kirk started laughing. “Average? You don’t know what you’re talking about!”
Skael drew himself up, suddenly deadly serious. “Between them, ani Ramy and Majiir have broken nearly every regulation in Starfleet and gotten away with it – after pleading guilty. Master Kamikaze has the soul of a warrior – forgive me, Commander – and a past so checkered that it would make one born on Lorelei blush. Compared to any Alconian, I would call them average.” He paused. “Or do you consider them too dull?”
Spock gave his captain a warning glance. “I certainly defer to your opinion, your Majesty,” Kirk said, suppressing a chuckle.
“I have far higher expectations of my people than I do of yours, Captain,” Skael sneered with easy contempt.
“May I ask just what you expect them to do?” Kirk returned casually, still grinning broadly.
“This,” Skael said. The wall-screen changed from a silver ship in black space to show Ruth, Jilla and Sulu staring mutely across a scarred clearing. Sulu finally broke the stunned silence with one heartfelt word:
“Shit.”
Ruth sighed heavily. “Now what?”
Sulu exchanged glances with Jilla, then slowly surveyed their surroundings. Jilla pulled out her communicator, not at all surprised when it didn’t function. She started to examine it for sabotage and heard Sulu’s speculative voice.
“Ruth, can’t keheils teleport?”
There was a hesitation before Ruth answered, and Jilla felt the tension between them. “Do I look like the Deus Ex Machina starlines?”
“Would I ask if it wasn’t for the good of the mission?” Sulu returned testily.
“Would I rrefuse if it wasn’t for the good of the mission?” Ruth snapped.
“You’d do it for Spock,” Sulu muttered.
Ruth glared at him. “Back off, Roy.”
“Are you going to fight or are we going to decide on a productive course of action?” Jilla put in. Ruth and Sulu looked at her, then back at each other.
“Don’t you just hate it when she’s right?” Ruth said.
“And since she usually is…” Sulu let his sentence drop in frustration, but he smiled proudly at her nonetheless.
Jilla grimaced. It was the ‘isn’t my little one perfect?’ sort of pride that was expected from a husband, and the joy it gave her brought damnation closer.
“Okay,” Sulu began again. “First things first.” He pulled out his communicator. It, like Jilla’s, was nonfunctional. “Ruth, try yours.”
She made a face, but complied. “Nothing,” she said.
“Figures,” Sulu responded. “We’re supposed to find our way back to the capital. Ruth, do you have any idea where on the planet we are?” Ruth was staring accusingly at the silent communicator as if willing it to work. She looked up. “Let me do some reconnoitering,” she said. “You two stay here.”
“Be careful,” Jilla warned pensively.
“She can take care of herself, hon,” Sulu tried to soothe.
“Yeah, that’s the problem,” Ruth mumbled.
Nearly a hour later, just when Sulu was starting to worry, Ruth climbed back up the ridge. “I have a general idea of where we are,” she announced. “It’s been nine years and I’ve been on a lot of planets in between…”
“That does not sound encouraging,” Jilla said.
“…but I think in order to get to what these jokers think of as civilization, we have to travel around 2400 kilometers south-east.”
Sulu whistled. “That’s a long walk, Spike.”
“Yeah.” Ruth was pointedly silent for a moment, then continued. “We have to assume there’s a time limit on how long it takes us…”
“Time limit?” Jilla asked.
“Before they start cutting little pieces off Boss and Bwana,” Ruth explained. Jilla shuddered. “As long as we’re in the forest, living off the land won’t be too difficult. There are all sorts of edible nuts and roots and berries.” She made a face.
“You won’t have to go hungry.” Sulu stood and pulled from his belt the knife he’d taken off their attacker of the day before. “It’s not much, but it will provide some defense, and we can cut wood for a fire…”
“Sulu…” Jilla said warningly.
“… or not,” Sulu went on smoothly, “and we can hunt the Alconian equivalent of rabbits or quail or whatever.”
“You’re a sweetheart, Roy,” Ruth said, but her eyes were smiling.
After taking one more look around – just in case the Alconians decided to return – the three lieutenants started walking southeast.
“You are aware that, at an average pace, it will take us approximately 500 hours to cover the distance you cited,” Jilla informed them as they made their way through the light underbrush. “If we did nothing but walk, that is 20.8 days. Assuming we spend a maximum of three hours a day finding food and water, and a bare six hours in rest, we would be traveling well over a standard month….”
“And you thought you left Spock behind,” Sulu commented.
“She didn’t figure in any time for – um – honeymooning,” Ruth put in.
“You think I can convince her?”
“I wouldn’t peek. Much.”
Jilla stamped her foot. “Will you be serious!” she demanded. “This is a matter of survival, not only for us but for the Captain and Commander Spock!” Sulu stopped, pulling Jilla into his arms.
“Take it easy, honey, it’s just the way we handle impossible odds,” he comforted.
“Not impossible,” Ruth added. “Just damn poor.”
“And we’ve all had excellent survival training,” Sulu pointed out. He gestured around him. “Conditions could be worse.”
“Could be raining,” Ruth, said, then giggled.
“Or snowing,” Sulu returned.
“Alcon does have earthquakes. I was in one once.”
“So the planet could be breaking up,” Sulu agreed.
“Or the sky could be falling,” Ruth added.
“The natives could be restless,” Sulu said. “No, wait, they are.”
“Either of you ever been on Granicus 3?” Ruth wanted to know. “That’s worse.”
“I hardly think this is an appropriate way…” Jilla began.
“A Klingon invasion,” Sulu suggested.
“Or one of Bwana’s speeches,” Ruth put in.
“The sun could go nova,” Sulu mused.
“Jilla could go nova,” Ruth teased, then grinned triumphantly as the Indiian glowed. “How about an inspector general on the Bridge?” she rejoined after a moment’s thought.
“Or an ion storm – while transporting,” Sulu suggested.
“Dress uniforms.”
“Dinner with a Tellurite Ambassador.”
“Dinner with a Vulcan Ambassador, and his family.”
“Ruth!” Jilla protested.
“Or keeping a straight face during one of Boss and Bones’ Bridge cat-fights,” Ruth returned with a blinding show of teeth, “Which is what you get for pushing.”
Kirk sighed. “Really Skael, is there a reason we have to keep watching this?” he asked.
“I find your junior officers’ banter highly amusing,” Skael responded. He had walked back to his seat and was relaxing with a goblet of wine brought to him by a nameless servant.
“I trust, your Majesty,” Spock put in, “that you are not putting too much stock in their manner. They are highly trained.”
“To tell you the truth, Commander,” Skael confided, leaning forward with a smug grin, “I’m putting all my stock in it.” He sat back. “Captain, do you think their odds are, as Mr. Sulu states, impossible?”
Kirk shrugged, but glanced at Spock. “Approximately two hundred and sixty-seven to one, sir,” Spock replied immediately.
“That good?” Kirk returned, and flashed a brief smile at Skael. “I guess not, then, your Majesty.”
“Actually, the odds are about two hundred and sixty-something to one,” Ruth said after being momentarily silenced by Jilla’s glare. “Not in our favor, of course.”
Sulu shrugged. “I won’t bother calling M’Benga then.”
“M’Benga?” Kirk wondered out loud.
“Dr. M’Benga occasionally serves as, I believe the term is bookmaker, for certain wagers, Captain.” Spock supplied. The look on Jim’s face suggested that he’d already known, but was giving the information to Skael. Spock did not fathom the reason, but was careful not to let his confusion show on his features.
“I thought Lieutenant Gollub was ship’s bookie,” Jim returned conversationally, and Spock understood. Miss Valley said bluster and swagger were important, which is precisely what Jim is doing.
“Miss Gollub seldom has the capital to cover the type of wager in which Lieutenant Sulu engages,” he said, casually giving Skael more information on Sulu’s renaissance abilities.
“The boy’s a high-roller, hmmm?” Skael said, and Spock almost smiled when Jim again shrugged.