Return to Valjiir Stories
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It was raining on Antares.
Not that that was unusual. On Beta Antares Four, it always rained in the morning, just at sunrise, and in the evening, just after sunset. Such was the climate of the lush, green, rain-forested world. It had taken Senator Jonathon Valley several months when he had first arrived to adjust to the ever-present warmth and humidity and the unending predictability of the weather. But that was over a quarter of a century ago, and now it went unnoticed. More, it was normal. It was Earth, with its variations and startling contrasts, that seemed alien now.
He wasn’t sure, at first, what woke him. His latest favorite, a young native girl, beautiful as were all the natives of his adopted world, slept peacefully beside him. That was good indication that nothing was threatening him. He rose, taking his slippers from their netted box, carefully moving aside the veils that covered the large platform bed. He had discovered years ago, much to the relief of Imperial accountants, that attempting to condition the air in Sren Kahare was a waste of resources. All the buildings in the ancient city were designed to fit the environment. Once one got used to the ever-present dampness, and as long as one took precautions against the multitude of insect life, the nearly tropical weather was quite comfortable.
He didn’t bother with a robe or wrap. He had long ago gone ‘native’; Antaris seldom wore any clothing except when a task required some protection for the skin – or when off-worlders were visiting. And after twenty-seven years, Senator Valley was no longer considered an off-worlder. He walked down the long, open corridor to his office, glancing into the courtyards that branched off of it like berries along a vine. The harem was quiet. The rooms where his Terran wife and children slept were dark. The servant quarters was just beginning to show signs of life, the breakfast shift awakening with the sound of the rain. All seemed just as it should be.
He continued down to the room where his aide-de-camp should be sleeping, and found it empty. Was that the reason for his wakefulness? Had something important been transmitted from the Senate?
Or worse, had the bastard starship captain won the vote on the patrol routes?
“Zehara kol!” Valley swore under his breath, then called, “Corson!” as he stepped into the office. There was no one in the office, and no answer to his call.
Of the many qualities that could be attributed to Jonathon Valley, stupidity was not among them. He touched nothing and bellowed loudly for his security staff.
The palace in the capital city of Epsilon Indi came awake almost as one entity with the sudden and complete disappearance of Senator Costain’s aide-de-camp. Joel Costain was much loved by the Indiian people and his distress was their distress. Servants appeared from all corners of the marble edifice, their normally silvered skin pale and dulled, grey eyes filled with confusion and fear. What had happened? they wanted to know. Was the Senator in danger? Were they?
Costain did his best to calm them, speaking to them as he always did, like a father and patriarch. He allowed his Indiian wife to cling to his side, comforting the cries of his three-month old son with the feel of his heartbeat. He rose from the ornate bed and dressed quickly in the rich colors and fabrics favored by Indiians, his feet making no sound on the plush woven carpets that covered the floors. He drank the coffee that his bedchamber servant brought, then hurried out of his suite toward the Senatorial wing of the palace.
The light from Indi’s smaller sun, white Zafaran, was already filling the sparkling, multi-colored skylights, making their jewel tones reflect on the white walls. Even with the need for haste, Joel Costain could not walk through the hallways of the palace without feeling awed at the beauty. For twenty-three years he had loved this world for just that reason. It was, to his mind, the perfect example of all the Empire could accomplish; beauty, function, form, radiance, each piece in harmonious co-existence with all other pieces. It was why he had for so long tended his Indiian charge like a garden, why he had taken an Indiian wife despite the loss of personal status. The thought that there might be a weed of rebellion growing amongst his children filled him more with sorrow than with either anger or dread.
Once in his office, he efficiently directed his Terran security force to search the entire palace, and he asked for any information from those who lived in the palatial compound. Before the second sun, red Zindar, had fully risen to join his brother, it was confirmed that Aide-de-Camp Lesher had met with no harm from anyone in the palace. He had simply disappeared.
Surrounded by the artwork he loved, and listening to the soft, soothing strains of Indiian music, Senator Joel Costain called the one person who would be able to help him solve the mystery.
“Gods damn that dylithium jockey and his half-breed influence-peddler!” Valley snarled over the comlink. “They won the fucking vote! And this was their way of letting us know it.”
Costain nodded, then sighed, scratching at his salt and pepper beard. “I found a foreign monitor in my aide’s rooms…” he began.
“I’ve had Security at the thing all morning,” Valley interrupted, leaving Costain to surmise that his aide’s room had been similarly invaded. “They can’t figure out what it is.” Valley’s dark brown eyes gazed at Costain. “Have you had any luck?”
“Security doesn’t have a clue,” Costain answered truthfully. He didn’t mention that his Indiian engineers had a number of interesting guesses. He and Valley had a long and profitable association. But he had learned, over the years, that Valley could never be entirely trusted. And so, in order to protect his own interests, he had quietly decided to keep some truths to himself, despite the nature of their agreements.
“I don’t think we have to guess who planted the damned things,” Valley returned.
“No, probably not,” Costain agreed. “This does mean we’ll have to deal, doesn’t it?”
“It means we’ll have to kiss Kirk’s ass if we’re to get any protection from Fleet at all.”
“What do we offer him?”
Valley rubbed his temples, as he often did when thinking. “Our best bet is to let Kirk tell us what he wants. That may give us a clue as to how much he really knows.”
“If he ‘really knows’,” Costain said, “we’ll be forced to give him our best and hope he’s elitist enough to keep our secret.” He paused. “And if he doesn’t really know, what then, Jonathon?”
“Then, my dear Joel, we’ll give him samples of our best and let him figure it out while they work their magic on him. And his crew.” Valley’s image smiled on the com screen. “How frightened can you appear?”
“Has my facade ever disappointed you?” Costain asked.
“To our renewed agreements, then, Senator.”
“And to our continued effectiveness.”
The briefing room of the great heavy cruiser was empty but for the Captain, the First Officer, and the Chief of Security. A scrambler and personal security devices were active over the comlink as well as the room itself. Outside the door, three men waited, watching each other with mutual suspicion; a large, brutish Terran, a tall, fit TerAfrican, a quietly dangerous Vulcan. The rest of the ship hummed confidently in its normal duties. The I.S.S. Enterprise was the well-disciplined pride of the Imperial Star Fleet’s force of cruisers, and Imperial Senators Jonathan Valley and Joel Costain, visible on the viewscreen, had just had that pointed out to them quite succinctly. They had opposed the wishes of her captain in an important matter involving the assignment of certain patrol routes. They had only that morning discovered that their top aides, the final layer of physical protection for any Senator, had simply, abruptly, disappeared. They were now dealing desperately, attempting to make amends for their very bad judgment. They had already agreed to the captain’s preferences in several upcoming Senate votes, but it wasn’t quite enough to satisfy him. They were being asked to show good faith, some way for him to be certain of their newly pledged loyalty. Their agreement, whatever the terms, was certain. Captain James T. Kirk simply enjoyed watching prey squirm.
“Of course, Captain,” Senator Costain said, uneasily. “Whatever we have....”
“You have only to name it,” Valley finished.
Kirk smiled as he turned from the comscreen, deliberately leaving the audio active. “Well, gentlemen, for what should I ask as pledge?”
The Security Chief chuckled. Kirk nodded to him. He leaned forward with a casual grin. “Their heads?” Commander Takeda Sulu suggested.
“Headless men cannot vote,” the First Officer reminded.
“That wasn’t the ‘head’ I was talking about.”
The Vulcan scowled. Sulu shrugged.
Kirk chortled, then asked, “Mr. Spock?”
“Dylithium, or credits with which to purchase it,” Commander Spock replied.
“We need it?” Sulu snorted. Kirk shook his head.
“Too common. This is a special circumstance. I want something memorable.”
“Something for Marlena?” Sulu said, then grinned wickedly. “Or to replace her?”
It was Kirk’s turn to scowl at him. Spock ignored him. “But women would not be a bad choice, Captain,” he said. “Nor unheard of.”
“I don’t know their harems well enough...” Kirk began.
“Each has a half-breed daughter from their district bases,” Sulu put in, then glanced at Spock. “No offense, of course.”
“Of course,” Spock repeated dryly.
Kirk considered. Valley was based on Antares, Costain on Indi. Both systems were known for the beauty and pliancy of their females. And Costain and Valley only surrendered their prizes to the highest ranks. Not bad. He eyed his officers. Then, slowly, he smiled, turning back to the comscreen. “Senators,” he said, “I believe I’ve solved our little problem.”
“Jonathon, this is my daughter he’s asking for,” Costain reminded with true anguish.
“Mine too,” Valley returned. “We don’t have much choice, do we?”
Costain refrained from pointing out that, to Valley, an Antari child was no more than another harem slut, his flesh and blood or not. In sharp contrast, Costain loved his daughter, and had never treated her otherwise.
“This could be a Trojan opportunity,” Valley continued. “Whether or not Kirk suspects, with our own daughters, we have the perfect cover. His own Security Chief even suggested it. It can’t be traced to us.” The dark eyes narrowed on the screen. “You didn’t neglect her training, did you, Joel?”
“Of course not,” Costain snapped.
“Then we have nothing to worry about. Give her instructions, I’ll do the same, and they can confer, discreetly of course, on Starbase Five before the Enterprise picks them up.” Valley rubbed his hands together, his white teeth grinning in his perpetually tanned face. “This could turn out to be the best defeat we’ve ever suffered.”
Costain shook his head. “Perhaps, Jonathon. But it is the costliest. Costain out.”
As he closed the comlink, he heard a noise behind him and turned. Karina stood in the doorway.
“Must Jilla be sent for this harmony mission, my husband?” his wife asked softly.
He rose from the velvet-cushioned chair. “She has been prepared from birth, tu toni,” he replied, trusting her to know the pain it caused him.
The Indiian nodded, her burgundy hair falling to cover her face. “She is strong. She will not fail you.”
He smiled sadly, taking her into his arms. “As her mother,” he whispered.
Valley sent for his eldest daughter. He had long grown accustomed to the long-legged, lithe frame of Antari females, their thick golden hair, oversized purple eyes and seductive beauty. Yet seeing the young woman who was his own flesh renewed his appreciation and filled his memory. She looked much like her mother, yet her Human genetics made her somewhat shorter than would have been the norm. Her eyes, too, were smaller and a deeper shade of purple due to the darkness of his own eye color.
“Ruth,” he greeted her. She inclined her head.
“Senator,” she replied.
“How would you like to live on a starship for a while?”
“How many crewmembers would I have to fuck, Senator?”
“As far as I know, only one.” He paused for effect. "The captain.”
She raised an elegant, golden eyebrow. “And are you now independently wealthy, Senator?”
He laughed. “No, Ruth. This is a special mission.”
“One of those, Senator?”
“Can you handle it, ani Ramy?”
Her eyes narrowed at the use of her Antari matronymic. “Yes, esenda,” she returned.
Valley bristled. “You’ve been told not to call me that.”
She smiled, a mere baring of teeth. “Father?” she corrected sweetly.
Valley rose, intending to slap her across the face. Then he thought better of it. “Daughter,” he replied, just as sweetly, and pulled her into his arms.
Starbase Five had been in the center of major ionic interference for several months. That didn’t make it the easiest place for ships to navigate. Still, it was the most convenient place for the Enterprise to pick up their pledges while en route to their next assignment.
Newly commissioned ensigns Ruth Valley and Jilla Costain met one another in the ante-room of the base’s transporter. Their ranks were bought and paid for by their fathers’ influence, and they dressed in a carefully calculated mixture of uniform and costume. Each wore the standard Imperial halter and brief skirt with metallic gold sashes, Ruth’s in blue, Jilla’s in red. Ruth’s hair was an elaborate golden sculpture replete with amethyst adornments. The violet of her eyes was heightened by colorful pigments on her eyelids. Her lips wore a scarlet rouge, her cheekbones accented with the same color. Golden chains dangled from pierced earlobes, her upper right arm was encircled by more than a dozen slender golden bands.
Jilla’s burgundy hair fell thickly to her shoulders. Her grey eyes were outlined in a deep blue, her full lips stained the color of blackberry liquor, her cheeks smears of dark pewter. A miniature dagger of crystal hung at her throat, the sign of Epsilon Indi. Wide cuffs of silver encircled both wrists.
Silently they confirmed each other’s special abilities, as they had been taught to do. Ruth telepathically reviewed the instructions given by Senator Valley. Jilla’s nods gave agreement from Senator Costain. When the arrival of the I.S.S. Enterprise was announced, they finally spoke the only words heard by anyone else.
“Success, Ensign Costain,” Valley said.
“In all things, Ensign Valley,” Costain replied.
Captain Kirk was on the bridge, lounging casually in the con, waiting for Admiral José Mendez to finish his message concerning the new crewmembers. First Officer Spock stood behind him, arms folded, eyebrows raised in mild amusement. Commander Sulu kept one eye on his Helm and Security boards as he listened to the voice explaining the assignment of two new half-breed ensigns. The Admiral spoke of the need to broaden Fleet’s base, to be innovators as well as protectors for the glory of the Empire, open to including the talents of alien races into the ranks of the military. He spoke of the safety factors involved in the decision to allow the first of these new recruits to be female. And finally, of the generous and far-sighted wisdom of Senators Valley and Costain in offering their own hybrid daughters for this noble experiment.
Mendez finished with, “Prepare to beam them aboard, Captain.”
Kirk stood and saluted as on the screen, Mendez returned it. He sat down again as the screen went dark. “Best crock of shit I ever heard from Headquarters,” he remarked.
“I beg to differ, Captain,” Spock said, stepping down to him, his voice coolly assured. “I have no doubts as to the innovative talents of our new crewmembers.” The comment elicited a chuckle of agreement from Sulu.
Kirk was grinning as he hit an intercom switch. “This is the captain,” he began. The voice echoed throughout the Enterprise. “You all know we are receiving new crew. I have one order concerning that event. Ladies, gentlemen.... hands off. Kirk out.” He stood. “Shall we see to the transport, gentlemen?”
A universe away, two newly graduated members of Starfleet Academy stood on the transporter platform of Starbase Five, awaiting beam-up to their new assignment, the pride of the Federation and Starfleet, the U.S.S. Enterprise. Ruth Valley was a scientist and computer specialist. She was Antari, of a Human father and an Antari mother, and like all members of her mother’s race, had golden-toned skin, long, thick golden hair and huge purple eyes. Also from her mother’s homeworld, she had inherited telepathic and empathic abilities, and was, in fact, a capable empathic healer in addition to her other achievements. She was intelligent, independent, and to Terran eyes, incomparably beautiful.
Jilla Costain was an engineer, from Epsilon Indi. She was petite yet voluptuous, with the burgundy-colored hair, grey eyes and very pale skin of that race; skin that had a faint silvery sheen to it under normal emotional conditions, but could glow with a silver light when the emotional climate became intense. Indiians were sensitives, they could feel the emotions of others and consequently were known for their emotionalism. Their reactions came quickly and were gone just as quickly.
The young women had roomed together at the Academy and were excited and awed that this, their first assignment, should be to the great ship herself. The officers of that ship were famous, particularly to Academy cadets. They could have been accorded no greater confidence, no more honored position. Both were determined that they would not let their superiors down.
The order for transport came through, despite the heavy ionic interference that had been plaguing Starbase Five for some months. Ionic interference made transportation tricky, but the Enterprise had been called away from a mission to pick up their replacements and the Captain was understandably eager to return to his sector. A final smile was exchanged as the beam took hold of them to carry them to their new home.
It was a rough transport, and they were both a little shaken up by it. Jilla shook her head to clear it, then froze. Ruth stared questioningly at her for a moment, then let her eyes follow the Indiian’s gaze. The far bulkhead was painted with the stylized image of the planet Earth with an equally stylized dagger run through its heart.
Ruth blinked, glancing at Jilla to meet widened, confused eyes. A quick perusal of the rest of the transporter room revealed that the wall was not the only thing which was not as they expected.
They wore the right colors, but that was all that could be called correct about their clothing. Their ensign’s uniforms had been transformed into skimpy halters and skirts. The sedate, functional hairstyles had been replaced by elegant if ostentatious adornments. Each could see the obvious make-up on the face of the other, could feel it on her own skin.
“What the...?” Ruth began in a whisper. She was interrupted by the opening hiss of the door to the corridor. The man at the transporter station, who was wearing dark blue work coveralls instead of a Starfleet officer’s uniform, stepped back from the controls. His left arm came up, his fist striking his chest, then extending out and up in an obvious salute.
The man who strode in was smiling confidently, the boyish grin at odds with, yet somehow emphasizing the impression of unquestioned power. Hazel eyes held a gleam that spoke of brutal strength and the willingness to use it. The thick wave of sandy brown hair was casually styled, with no concern that such casualness might detract from his authority. Though his build was muscular, his movements were easy. He wore a gold vest without rank insignia, but there was no question that this man was the Captain. And no question that he was James T. Kirk.
He was followed by Lucifer incarnate. Both cadets had read hundreds of dry, logical reports written by the First Officer of the Enterprise. But there was nothing dry or logical about the man who entered the transporter room. Dark, piercing eyes absorbed the surroundings with alert intelligence, passion held just beneath their calm surface. The bearded features and upswept eyebrows were angular and unaccountably sensual. The curving shape of his ears accented one, the long, slender lines of his body, the other. Spock of Vulcan, in a tunic of deep blue satin, was knowledge, refinement, and compelling assurance made elegent flesh.
Behind Spock strutted an arrogant, scarlet-clad, bronze peacock. The almond eyes were coolly appraising, the black silken hair tossed rakishly aside from the strongly planed, high cheek-boned face. The man moved with the grace and hidden speed of feline wariness, his lean body as knowing as the depths hidden in his ebony eyes. The only thing that marred the undeniable attractiveness of the Asian features was the scar, from temple to jawline, along his right cheek. Sulu Takeda, the helmsman of the Enterprise, envied by half the men in Fleet and desired by half the women, was the only one of the three to meet the gaze of the women on the transporter platform.
Whether it was something in that meeting of eyes, or some empathic reaction, or simple Starfleet imitative response, Jilla subtly nudged Ruth, and they repeated the gesture of the transporter operator, their fists striking their shoulders, arms extending out. Only one thing was clear. They hadn’t materialized aboard the U.S.S. Enterprise.
Nice, Kirk thought, letting his eyes drink in the stunning contrast of silver and gold that graced the transporter pads. Lovely. They were everything Valley and Costain had promised him they would be. It wasn’t every starship captain that could boast of an Antari and an Indiian in his personal harem. The status this would bring him in the ranks of Fleet, not to mention the hold it gave him over Valley and Costain, only enhanced the pleasure he got from their beauty. He had no doubts that their skill would prove as entrancing.
“Welcome aboard, ladies,” Kirk said, his tone amused chivalry, the word mock courtesy.
He watched as the women exchanged nervous glances, and stepped carefully from the platform.
“Captain Kirk, sir...?” the Indiian began hesitantly.
The Antari swallowed, taking a deep breath. “Ensigns Valley and Costain reporting for duty, sir,” she said.
Kirk tilted his head, his gaze hardening. What was this? Beside him, Spock folded his arms.
“Such formality was hardly expected,” the First Officer intoned.
It was easy to see the sudden apprehension in the violet and grey eyes. Kirk exchanged a glance with Spock, saw that the Vulcan, too, was wary of this unanticipated turn of events.
Sulu, however, seemed oblivious to any variance in the behavior of their gifts. He slowly moved around them, blatantly evaluating. He grinned at their furtive glances, then swaggered almost lazily back to stand next to Kirk. His only comment was a simple inclination of his head in the Antari’s direction.
Kirk again locked gazes with his First Officer. Spock raised an eyebrow, at a loss for any explanation, but nodded. It was both concurrence in Sulu’s opinion, and acquiescence to the Captain’s prerogative.
With characteristic swiftness, Kirk made up his mind. He wasn’t sure exactly what was going on. Perhaps Valley and Costain were attempting some after-the-fact alteration in their deal. Whatever the reason, it hardly mattered. The women were his now. A clarification of their status was obviously in order, regardless of what their fathers may have intended. He stepped toward them, noting that though neither backed away from his approach, their eyes did. He lifted their chins, one after the other, looking them over with appraising scrutiny.
“Ensign Valley, Ensign Costain,” he began, his tone making the ranks an insult, “I - ” He nodded in the direction of his First Officer and Chief of Security. “ - we are not entirely pleased with your demeanor. It seems to convey that you believe yourselves esteemed Fleet personnel instead of pampered Senatorial pets.” The words were drawn out, carefully enunciated. “The barest salute,” he went on, “and no particular show of interest in the men you’ve been sent to please.” He shook his head, disapproving. “Not at all suitable, ladies, and not at all acceptable. I suggest you reevaluate your situation.” His voice turned abruptly cold. “In a hurry.”
“Daddy isn’t here, you know,” Sulu’s voice cut in. Kirk glanced at him to see him idly toying with his dagger, the smile he was giving the women chilling and all the more effective for it being genuinely charming. Kirk could barely hide his grin. He always enjoyed Sulu’s delicious sense of humor.
Spock moved forward, treading silently on the deck. The half smile on his lips was not reflected in his wintry eyes, and Kirk waited, anticipating the performance.
“Mr. Sulu,” Spock said quietly, lightly catching one of the Antari’s dangling earrings, almost caressing it, “you’re frightening them.” He picked up a strand of the Indiian’s hair, letting it slip sensually through his fingers. “There is no need of that.”
“Yet,” Sulu returned softly.
“Yet,” Kirk agreed. Then he moved away from the women. “Sulu, take them to sickbay. Have McCoy go over them, and make sure it’s not too thoroughly.” Sulu chuckled. “Show them their cabin, then escort them to their sections.” He turned toward the door, Spock going with him. “Until this evening, ladies,” he called over his shoulder, then stopped, turning back. “With a change in attitude,” he warned, then strode from the transporter room, followed by crisp salutes.
He didn’t see the confusion change to terror in grey and violet eyes.
Ruth and Jilla remained silent, watching Kirk and Spock’s backs as the men left the transporter room. Each could feel the other’s dread, and each knew with awful certainty what had happened. The transporter was a delicate piece of equipment, and ion storms were notorious for interfering with the particle beams. There was, in fact, one very famous example, required reading for all cadets, illustrating the dangers possible in space exploration. One ship had experienced a bizarre transference of personal energy, of personality, from one space-time continuum to another, parallel one. From the reports given by the officers involved, there could be no doubt where Starfleet’s newest ensigns were. The feeling of hopeless fear grew in each young woman, was shared via their non-Human abilities of sensitivity and empathy. The rising emotions made them temporarily forget that there was still another officer in the transporter room. So it was that the hard, silky voice startled them.
“It’s not your fault,” it said, and the gazes of both women locked on the speaker.
Sulu was smiling, slipping the dagger he had been carefully stroking back into its sheath at his belt. “I’m well aware you’ve been -” He paused, licking his lips. “- spoiled. Still, from now on, you’ll follow our rules.”
Ruth and Jilla watched warily as he approached them.
“First of all, about those salutes,” he explained in an incongruously pleasant tone. “They weren’t military. They need to be hard, fast.” He demonstrated; then swiftly backhanded them both across the face. “So you’ll remember,” he explained with a grin. “You salute when the Captain leaves the room,” he continued. “You salute your Section Chiefs. You salute the First Officer.” He smiled, and gave each another sharp, quick slap. “You salute me.” He turned with an offhand, “Come on.”
Knowing already that it was better not to react, Ruth and Jilla simply obeyed.
The short walk to Sickbay was disconcerting. There seemed to be security personnel everywhere, including a tall TerAfrican who followed Sulu, silent and alert. Ruth and Jilla felt the stares, as if they were the latest attractions in an exotic zoo. That the comparison might not be too far off the mark was something neither wanted to contemplate.
Sulu did not look back at them once. It was obvious that he expected them to cooperate fully, and they did. When they reached Sickbay, both were more than dreading the medical exam to come.
Dr. Leonard McCoy was known as the Miracle Worker of Starfleet. The man who looked up at their entry seemed disgruntled at the idea that his services might be needed.
“What’s this?” he asked brusquely, with, Ruth and Jilla noted, no salute.
“New crewmembers,” was Sulu’s response. “Kirk’s new crewmembers. Fleet will want a routine physical logged.”
“Kirk’s a lucky son-of-a-bitch,” McCoy muttered as he got to his feet.
Sulu laughed. “Luck had nothing to do with it, Doctor, but I’d suggest you not say that too loudly. That is, if you expect to get any leftovers.”
“If there is anything left over after him and Spock and you.”
Sulu grinned, the same combination of chilling and charming as before. “One never knows, Doctor.” He casually sat in McCoy’s vacated chair. “I’ll wait.” He nodded to the TerAfrican, who saluted and stationed himself outside the Sickbay door.
McCoy scowled, but motioned toward the exam tables. “Well, get over there,” he said to Ruth and Jilla, then called, “Chapel!”
A buxom blonde answered his bellow, strutting in with haughty reserve. She stared at Ruth and Jilla for a moment, then glanced at Sulu.
“Yours?” she questioned.
“The Captain’s,” Sulu replied. Then, with more than a touch of maliciousness, he added, “And Spock’s.”
Chapel glared, then turned the dagger-filled stare on Ruth and Jilla. Her face was proud and hard, and when she spoke, it was as if she were addressing things rather than people.
“Just remember who’s First Officer’s woman,” she snarled.
Sulu leaned back in the chair, grinning at the woman’s fury. He folded his arms, and inclined his head toward Ruth and Jilla. “Her, you call ‘ma’am,’” he said.
An ugly sneer of outrage twisted across Chapel’s handsome features, and she raised her hand. Sulu’s grin faded and he shook his head in casual, ominous warning. Chapel’s eyes flashed angrily before she lowered them to the deck.
“Can we get on with this?” McCoy interjected. “I do have better things to do with my time.”
“I’m sure you do, Doctor,” Sulu returned, “so by all means. Get on with it.”
Ruth’s examination was completed first. She had thought herself long past any body-shyness, but McCoy’s lascivious comments and Sulu’s unwavering appraisal had made her blush like a virgin. When it was over, Sulu watched her as she dressed, then switched his attention to Jilla with the same avid interest. Ruth shared the Indiian’s humiliation, knowing it was worse for her; for, unlike Ruth’s empathy, Jilla’s reception of others’ emotions was not under her conscious control. When McCoy’s sexual interest was aroused, Jilla flushed with an answering heat. When Chapel’s anger touched her, her own eyes flashed. Ruth noticed Sulu noticing, and she suppressed a shiver, though she could not have said why.
McCoy eventually pronounced them both fit for duty - “and anything else the Captain has in mind.”
Sulu smiled again, and, with a glance toward Chapel, asked, “And for anything Spock has in mind?”
McCoy snorted, and his answer held a touch of derision. “I’d say they were fit for anything you had in mind.”
Chapel made no reply, but she abruptly left the examination room. Sulu chuckled. “Ensigns,” he said, with a flamboyant bow toward the Sickbay door. Again, neither Ruth nor Jilla had any inclination to disobey the unspoken command.
“Don’t worry too much about Chapel,” Sulu mentioned as he escorted the women through the ship, the TerAfrican again falling in behind them. “She’s a jealous, possessive fool. I can’t understand why Spock keeps her.” He leaned toward them, as if imparting a confidence. “She’s not that good in bed.” He shrugged, but the grin was back.
When they reached Deck Two, he turned and lightly caressed Ruth’s cheek, chuckling at her uncertain reaction. “You report to Commander Spock,” he said, then added, “Behave.” He steered her almost gently out of the turbolift, leaving her standing in the corridor as he ordered, “Engineering.”
Ruth glanced around her. There were security people here, too. She took a few steadying breaths, then started down the corridor, looking for the office of the Vulcan who was apparently both Chief of Science and First Officer in this universe, too.
There were stares and smiles as before, more blatant, and she heard crude comments and speculations as well. Were the officers less disciplined in Sciences, or had the presence of the Chief of Security put a damper on the expressions of it? The thought that Sulu’s presence had actually been a form of protection made Ruth’s blood run cold.
She had studied the layout of the Enterprise while on Starbase Five, and could have found her way to that ship’s Science office. She had no way of knowing if her knowledge would prove accurate here, but it was, at least, a place to start. When she arrived at what she thought would be the correct door, she found a different type of guard stationed outside it. He wore the same type of coveralls as had the transporter chief, and he was Vulcan; tall, thin, his features hawkish but not entirely unattractive. He stared down at her.
“State your business, Ensign,” he said.
“Reporting for assignment,” Ruth stammered.
He turned, activating the intercom. “New recruit for assignment, Commander,” he said into it.
“The Antari?” came the harsh reply. Ruth shuddered.
The Vulcan guard glanced at her. “Yes, Commander.”
“I have no time for her now. Have her log anomalies.”
“Yes, Commander.”
Ruth swallowed the sudden, foolish flash of irritation. Logging space anomalies required not much more than the ability to read and punch buttons on a keyboard. She had graduated at the top of her class in both Sciences and Computers...
She stopped the indignation, remembering the looks the Chief of Science had given her while in the transporter room. There was little doubt that he would not be interested in her qualifications in those areas. She swallowed, said nothing, and followed the Vulcan’s directions to an unoccupied work-station. At least, she thought, it would give her some time to think about what the hell to do next.
Sulu had escorted Jilla to Engineering, delivering her not simply to the deck, but straight to Commander Montgomery Scott. He introduced her, then smiled down at her, his fingers stroking the crystal at her throat and the skin around it. “Interesting,” he murmured, then strode away from her, back to the turbolift. Jilla watched him almost helplessly. The feel of his touch and the leisurely menace of the word had both frightened and aroused her, the fact of her reaction only adding to both. When Commander Scott spoke, she pivoted abruptly to face him.
“Miss Costain,” he said sternly, “y’may be a pretty new toy for the Captain’s pleasure, but don’t expect no special treatment here because of it. I’ll find y’work to do that’ll suit ye, and y’keep out of my way.”
“Yes, sir,” Jilla murmured.
“Y’can run standard diagnostic scans,” he said, moving toward a console. “All y’have to do is initiate the scan. It’ll run by itself, and y’don’t worry about the results. My engineers’ll handle that. There’s a list there of the systems needin’ it, just go straight down it, one at a time. Each scan takes about half an hour, so y’just sit there and wait.”
Jilla stared at him, unable to believe this work was actually to be done by hand rather than setting the computer to initiate the scan.
“Y’do know how to read, don’t ye?” Scott asked.
“Of course I do,” she replied, her tone a little haughty.
Scott’s eyes hardened. “Don’t give me attitude, girl. I don’t put up with it here.”
Jilla immediately subsided. “Yes, sir.”
Scott stared hard at her for a moment, then nodded. “Get to work. Someone from Security will come for ye at the end of watch.”
Again Jilla said “yes, sir,” then turned to the work-station, wondering how she was going to survive the emotional climate that buffeted her until she and Ruth could find a way back home.