He had said it was real until he returned. Did that mean it would cease to be real when he did? No, you’re thinking too much. Let it go and go to sleep, like he wants.
But does he want me to sleep?
Ruth heard Sulu’s soft exchange with Jilla, only slightly startled that she hadn’t noticed the Indiian was in the cabin. He didn’t say she was real, did he? But if he’s talking to her, she must be. And if I can hear it, I must be. Anyway, he said it was real until he returned.
She closed her eyes, wondering, if she slept, how she would know that she had. Sulu hadn’t said anything about sleep being real. But she was tired, that much had to be real. After all, he said he wanted to sleep.
For a long while she was happy with that thought. Hours passed as she drifted in and out of consciousness, always aware that he was near her, real, making the deck and the blanket and the cabin and her sleeping self real.
This is really sick, you know.
Where had that thought come from?
You know you’re letting him do this to you.
I don’t care, go away!
He can’t make anything real or not real. Only you can do that.
Shut up, he’ll hear you!
Why are you afraid of him?
He’ll take it all away, I won’t know what’s real...
Yes, you will.
Well, I don’t want to. It’s too hard.
Lazy bitch as well as hungry?
He’ll hurt me! And he’ll make me take more of the drug. And then I really won't know what’s real and what isn’t.
So what’s the difference?
It’s my choice!
Exactly.
Ruth furiously stopped the arguing voice in her head. There was only one way to keep sane, and that was never to let Sulu know of it, never to let him hear it. Never to let him know she chose to belong to him. The fear of what he could do to her if he ever found out paralyzed her, and reality began shifting away from her. She sobbed, took a deep breath. “Sulu,” she whispered.
The name woke Jilla. She felt Sulu’s flesh next to hers and being flooded her, solid and substantial. Thoughts came to her, memory and understanding and will. She existed, she could feel. He could take it from her at his whim, but he was here, allowing her to live, to be. It was all that mattered.
She breathed deeply, wondering in the feel of being. No fear, no pain, just sweet, simple existence. And she could think. She could remember that she was being punished for running away. She could feel contrition and the resolve never to disappoint Sulu again. She could even think about how she was going to behave from now on. She gazed at Sulu’s sleeping face, and let the yearning wash over her. She loved him. She was his. It was all so simple now...
“Sulu?”
Ruth’s voice, frightened, pleading.
Instinctively, Sulu remained totally silent and unmoving as the sound woke him. His mind identified it and its source, and he tempered his vigilance. He considered answering her, when another sound broke the silence. Jilla, her hesitant voice no more than a whisper.
“Ruth?”
Without moving, every muscle in his body tensed. Something had brought Jilla out of her cocoon; something other than him. He waited. The silence lasted for minutes. He almost relaxed, then the unexpected answer came, a barely heard, “Jilla?”
The shock was deeper, and tinged with an anger that quickly gave way to curiosity. What was happening? He waited again, for Jilla’s reply, but there was only her labored breathing. Good. He heard a sob from Ruth, another plea of his name. Better. But his thoughts were interrupted by Jilla’s sharp hiss.
“Shhh!” Barely a heartbeat went by. “Ruth, hush, he’ll hear you.” Jilla’s voice, quiet, halting, but alive. And Ruth?
“Come here?” Her voice was hopeful. Both of them. Impossible. He didn’t make the mistake of relaxing again.
“Wait,” Jilla whispered. He felt her hand touching his face. “Sulu?”
Do you want to play, little one? All right. He sighed sleepily. “Hmmm?”
“Ruth is calling.”
He was thunderstruck. Honesty. She was being absolutely, completely honest. He had torn her soul apart, left her with nothing but his whim. Still, she had heard Ruth, had responded to Ruth without him, and could honestly tell him so. Was she choosing to give him her soul, just as Ruth had chosen?
He opened his eyes, staring frankly at her. There was no guile in her expression, and no fear. She trusted him. If he were to cast her into non-being this minute, she would accept it as her due, as she accepted the pain he gave her, and the pleasure. He glanced at the deck, at Ruth, huddled there.
“Is it real?” came the soft query.
No. This was unacceptable. It must mean that they didn’t understand, they didn’t really believe the totality of his control over them. He sat up, pushing Jilla away, ignoring her gasp. He made his voice harsh, angry.
“Does it matter?”
To his surprise, Ruth hung her head. “Yes,” she whispered. “Please, make it real.”
He turned his gaze back to Jilla, saw she had curled at the foot of the bed, her eyes relinquishing light and life. “Are you here, Jilla?” he snapped at her. Pain came into her eyes for a second, then faded. Incredulous, he turned back to Ruth. “No reality, honey.”
Her eyes widened and she inhaled sharply. Her gaze began darting around the room. “No,” she stammered. “Please, it has to be... not real... not real...” She closed her eyes and began rocking, moaning, her hands grasping in her hair.
He thought it was a nice show until he got off the bed, crossing to her, slapping her face - and she didn’t react.
“That was real,” he whispered, and saw the livid mark appear on her cheek as her head turned with the blow.
His thoughts came fast and furious. It was obvious that he had won. He owned their minds, their bodies. Jilla’s heart was his, and though Ruth hadn’t said the words, he knew what her helpless rasp of ‘bastard’ really meant. Yet their souls remained intact. They could respond to one another - but only if I’m here? When I commanded reality to leave them, it did. Are they secure because I’m in the room? Would they be able to react to one another if I were to leave them alone? And if they can...
A new kind of joy swept over him, one he hadn’t known in a very long time: Hope. His fingers reached up, touching the small, golden hawk at his throat. Maybe, just maybe, it would happen again.
Kirk sauntered into Crystallize! alone. He’d made the attempt, put on the show of vanity and self-importance necessary for his old comrades. But gods, how bored he was by it. Their petty, quasi-political games no longer interested him, and he had not made one usable connection from the whole lot of them. The entire day had been wasted.
He ordered a drink and caught Hasim’s nod across the bar. He returned it, wondering sourly if the man lived there. Still, perhaps the day wasn’t entirely wasted. Anything that would further confuse the Terlord was all right with him. The less that Hasim could fit into a neat package, the more the Don would have to notice when Hasim made his report. Which, of course, explained his constant presence at Crystallize! The Don was examining them as carefully as they were examining him. But I have the upper-hand, he thought. I’ve got the heavy cruisers, the Halkan dylithium mines, a possible alliance with Draco. Rigel would be nice, a crowning touch, but DelMonde needs me more than I need him.
Or was that only what the Don wanted him to think?
Kirk’s flash of superiority sobered immediately. It wouldn’t do for him to get too cocksure. How important was Hasim? And there was a lot of study to be done on the Don’s Consigliore, Jerel Courtland. Was the Equian’s loyalty to the Don due solely to DelMonde’s famed charisma, or was it simply that the Don had elevated a non-Terran, a non-Human to that exalted position? And how, why, was DelMonde so secure as to be able to do that in the first place?
Perhaps for the same reason you ‘elevated’ Marlena to equal status - who would ever suspect a woman? And who would ever suspect an Equian? DelMonde was definitely a man to be watched. Sulu knows him. Does Sulu know him? How would Sulu explain the Don, and Courtland’s loyalty? Could he, seeing as how Sulu had always had the good sense to be loyal only to himself?
Good sense. And whatever happened to yours?
Kirk bit down on the cynicism. Though it wouldn’t earn him Sulu’s loyalty, he hoped the Security Chief at least showed the proper appreciation for the week’s diversion. He needed things like that to keep him happy, to give him a reason to stay in the conspiracy.
Is that why I did it? Kirk thought suddenly. Something to keep a potentially dangerous explosive defused? He shook his head. Sorry, Marlena, no mercy yet. Given that as a rationale, it could be said that I was less merciful that I could’ve been. I gave him a whole week, after all, with orders to enjoy himself. Sulu wouldn’t’ve needed more than a day or two - he never has before.
Still, Valley and Costain had humiliated him. But Spock insisted that hadn’t been their aim. Spock was convinced they really wanted to escape. And though he’d been too angry to listen at the time, when he analyzed their actions with a cool head, they were clearly not those of intentional saboteurs. Which destroys your careful set of answers for their behavior since coming on board, doesn’t it?
Kirk sipped his drink, making certain his face was carefully neutral. He spared a moment’s bitter nostalgia for the days when violence and cunning explained everything, and solved everything. But not these two. Damnit, what are they? How long have I been ignoring the red alert in my head because I needed something to own? It’s important, vitally so, but why?
He focused his mind on details, forming a mosaic in his thoughts, searching for the coherent picture they should form. Put their actions as an escape into the mosaic. What changes? What I saw as arrogance could be - confusion? What I thought was coyness - fear? The salutes that should have been automatic. Appearances that should have been stunning as second-nature, consciously worked at. They acted as though they were familiar with one another. Costain has knowledge of starship engineering circuitry panels. They found the transmitters in their necklaces... Necklaces. An image formed in his mind, clear and sharp: Spock toying with Valley’s earring, Sulu commenting on the crystal dagger at Costain’s throat. Since that first day, he hadn’t noticed either one of them wearing much jewelry, particularly not the dagger. They wore their uniforms as uniforms; utilitarian pieces of clothing. Their make-up was adequate, nowhere near the erotic masks of the first day. He had accepted it all, hadn’t even questioned it. Why? Had he actually gotten used to women who didn’t oil their traps? But that was ridiculous. Where in the Empire were there women who didn’t oil their traps - with the exception of Marlena? Why didn’t he notice it? Where would he have seen women who didn’t...
Kirk set down his drink and reached for his communicator. When Spock answered, he made his voice pleasantly hearty.
“Mr. Spock, I’d like you to join me for dinner. I’m at Crystallize! Just be careful of the transporter. I think it’s been malfunctioning lately.”
“Interesting, Captain,” Spock’s voice returned with more than a measure of guardedness. “Lieutenant Moreau and I were about to call you with the same caution.”
A crowded bar was the sometimes the perfect place to talk if one had important information to exchange, and yet wanted to keep track of someone else. No one would pay attention to open conversation. After all, if it were truly important, it wouldn’t be open. Spock and Moreau had beamed down, realizing the necessity of keeping an eye on Hasim as long as Hasim was keeping an eye on Kirk. Quick confirmation was made regarding the transporter comments, and the conclusion that they had all come to. How it had happened again was of little consequence; the phenomenon was too far past to effectively study. The problem was what to do with Valley and Costain. Kirk got right to the point.
“Can we use this? Can we use them? Are they more valuable to us than the real Senators’ daughters? Or does their origin make keeping them alive too dangerous?”
Spock raised one eyebrow. “Real? They are very real, Captain, perhaps more so than the pets they have replaced. We have ignored their potential because of what we expected them to be, because of what they have tried to make us see. I think they will be quite useful. They are, after all, from a most exploitable universe.”
“What potential do they have?” Kirk asked. “All right, Costain may have engineering skills. But are they better than those of our own people?” He shook his head. “I’d rather get rid of them.”
“Their primary function need not change,” Spock returned. “They are yours, Captain. Perhaps, however, we can use them for more than physical pleasure.”
“They’re not good enough to take that kind of risk,” Kirk stated.
“What risk?” Spock demanded.
“Why do they disturb you, Jim?” Marlena put in, more gently.
“They’re an unknown. I’ve been there. The people there are sheep, but...”
“They are self-disciplined, Captain,” Spock interrupted.
“Precisely my point, Spock. We don’t have control of them.”
“After a week with Sulu, do you think that’s likely?” Marlena asked.
“Haven’t we had enough of outsiders?”
“If we make them ours, they will no longer be outsiders,” Marlena insisted.
“It gives us a private source of power,” Spock said earnestly. “One that cannot be tapped nor used against us for no one else will know of or even suspect its existence.”
“They’re not Imperial women,” Marlena rejoined, grasping Kirk’s hand. “They have to be stronger than I am, they were born what I’m fighting to be. You said if you had me, you wouldn’t need anything else. If we have them, we can have everything we need.”
“We have Sulu,” Spock continued. “He has, as we all know, a genius for controlling those who might not be voluntarily cooperative. He has a talent for making them actually enjoy situations which are otherwise quite unpleasant. And, as Marlena pointed out, he has had Valley and Costain for a week.”
“If they’re not cooperative now, they’ll never be,” Marlena went on. “Let’s see what Sulu has done with them. Let’s see how useful they are. We have them, we can get rid of them anytime, if it’s necessary. Can we afford to waste potential like this?”
“I still don’t see it. What could we use them for?”
“For a start, as we already use Marlena, as DelMonde uses Courtland,” Spock explained. “Have we not utilized the fact that men such as Hasim will speak freely to you in front of a bored or fawning woman, when they would not do so if I were at your side? Is that not precisely how DelMonde uses Courtland? And how much more incautious would someone be if the woman at your side was Antari or Indiian?”
Kirk sighed, recognizing the logic and the truth. Hadn’t he thought something similar about Courtland himself? “I still don’t like it,” he stated, “but I’ll wait and talk to Sulu.” He glanced at Spock, then at Marlena. “But if I think it’s too risky...”
“Agreed, Captain,” Spock said quickly, and Marlena nodded.
“In the morning, then,” Kirk grumbled as their dinners arrived at their table.
Jilla had not recovered her being, and Ruth had long ceased her sobs of confusion, staring, now, at the nothing which was real. Hours had passed, and the mere fact of his presence hadn’t aroused them. Sulu nodded, fitting this information into his theories. Before, he had told Jilla he was staying with her. It was logical, then, that she had kept being. He had given Ruth reality ‘until I come back.’ Logical, also, that she should know she was real. His presence, then, had been the trigger, but only when accompanied by the commands. When he remained with them, but told Jilla she had no being, and Ruth that nothing was real, they were as trapped as when he was gone. Now for the next test.
He stretched, his foot nudging Jilla’s still-curled form. There was no reaction. “Jilla,” he said softly, not yet wanting his voice to carry to Ruth. “Come here.”
The figure at the foot of the bed stirred, breath coming in silent sobs. He reached down, touching Jilla’s pale, silver shoulder. “Come on,” he whispered, and held up the blanket for her to slide under. She did so with the same urgency that had greeted him the night before, squirming desperately into his arms. He let her kiss him, let her moan out her praise and her love. Her face was wet with the sudden tears, and he kissed them away, reveling in the devotion that filled her eyes. He grabbed one lush breast, crushing and twisting it in his hand. She gasped with the brutality, but her eyes remained adoring. He closed his finger and thumb around her nipple, pinching, pulling, twisting it until she cried out, then bent his head, sharply biting it. Tasting blood, he sucked at it like a greedy infant. One glance at her face told him the extent of her pain - and that she worshipped him. He moved over her, grabbing her thighs, pushing them harshly to her chest, parting them with the same, savage motion. He drove into her with no preparation, reveling in her cry of anguished hunger. Over and over he thrust into her, making certain he withdrew completely, renewing the violence with each penetration. His body slammed against her tender flesh, his fierce grasp forcing her knees more and more painfully apart. Yet her cries carried as much passion as pain, and she blessed him for his abuse of her delicate, aching body, thanking him for the sensations she was allowed to feel. He kept up his brutal rhythm until the pleasure overwhelmed him, and with a final, vicious surge, climaxed into her. He collapsed, sprawling on top of her, making certain to pin her legs in the uncomfortable position. But her legs folded around his waist as her arms clutched his back and she kissed sweat from his face and shoulders, murmuring words of unending reverence and desire.
Slowly, he eased off of her, settling her under the blankets as he rose. She reached for him, and he smiled down at her. “Rest a while longer, little one.” She sighed happily, almost snuggling into the warmth of the bed. He glanced at the deck, at Ruth, who still sat staring blankly, madness swirling in her violet eyes.
Step two, he thought, and stepped over to her. He knelt down, taking her gently into his arms. Her skin was ice cold. Pulling the blanket he had given her more closely around her, he whispered her name, stroking her thick, blonde hair. “It’s real, Ruth,” he murmured. “It’s all real.”
Slowly, sentience came back into her gaze. She began again to focus on the things in her line of sight. Her skin started to warm, her body shivering with the sudden realization. Misery stared up at him as she focused on his face. “Sulu?” she rasped hesitantly.
“I’m here, honey,” he said. “I’m real.”
A sob tore itself from her throat. “I dreamed you went away!”
He hushed her, soothing her quietly. “No, honey, I’ll never go away. I’m here, and you’re real.”
“So cold,” she whispered.
“Let’s get you in bed.”
He helped her to her feet, guiding her to the bed. He pulled the covering back, lifting her into the bed in a gesture that was gallant and romantic. She clutched at him. “Is it real?” she asked, trembling.
“Yes, Ruth, it’s real.” He set her down, kissing her, bringing the covers up over both her and Jilla. “It’s real until I say it isn’t.”
She kissed him back, her mouth almost desperate on his. He chuckled. “I need a shower, baby,” he told her. “I’ll be back.” He pulled away from her arms, walking toward the bathroom. He would take a long, long shower, and see, when he returned, how alive they still were.
They lay together, quiet, for several minutes. Then Jilla felt a drop of water on her shoulder and turned. Silent tears were sliding down Ruth’s cheeks. She turned to hear Ruth whisper, “It’s so ugly.”
“Ugly?” Jilla asked, her tia filling with Ruth’s empty sorrow. “What is ugly?”
Ruth didn’t look at her. “Wanting him,” she rasped, her voice even softer than before.
Jilla stared. Wanting Sulu, ugly? she thought. How could anything about Sulu be ugly?
“No, no, Ruth,” she tried to soothe. “He is glorious. He is light and life and being....”
“I know,” Ruth answered. “That’s what makes it ugly.”
Jilla drew away from her. “You’re fighting it,” she said, her voice edged with warning.
Ruth laughed softly, sadly. “No, Jilla. I’m his. He owns me. He gives me reality and I won’t fight him. But don’t you see? That's what’s ugly, that I won’t fight him.”
Jilla shook her head. “You make no sense.”
Ruth turned to face her, her huge purple eyes haunted. “I know what you felt,” she said. “The shame, the guilt, knowing there’s nothing you can do to stop it. There’s nothing I can do to stop it. But I know the disgrace of it now, Jilla.”
Jilla struggled. She could feel what Ruth felt, she could even remember when she herself felt that way. But it had no meaning now, and thinking of it brought threatening nothingness. Sulu had given her back her being, but he would be angry if he knew she was thinking like this. He would go away, would take her life with him. She deliberately touched the bite at her nipple, pulling at it, knowing the pain would bring Sulu closer.
“I love him,” she whispered, then realized Ruth was still staring at her; staring now at her breast as silvery blood covered the fingers manipulating the sore nipple. There was horror in Ruth’s tia, the same horror as when she had looked upon the scars at Jilla’s throat. Denial welled in her, anger that anyone, even Ruth, would dare challenge her god. “He hurts me and I love him,” she repeated defiantly.
“I know,” Ruth whispered, her voice a reflection of the dread in her violet eyes. “So do I.”
There was such an immensity of fear and sadness and anguish in Ruth’s tone, that Jilla’s righteousness broke. She took Ruth into her arms, holding the Antari, letting her weep, soothing her with the only words she knew that would calm and comfort. “It’s all right, Ruth,” she murmured. “Sulu’s here.”
Ruth didn’t know how long she had wept. The release from the chaos of her emotions had an unreal quality to it that she didn’t dare examine. She knew Jilla held her, knew, too, that Jilla wept with her, for her. Once again, she almost envied Jilla her sensitivity. How much easier would it be if she could, like Jilla, accept emotion as her only reality?
She felt the touch of fingers on her cheek. “You’ve been crying,” Sulu said softly, his voice full of gentle concern. “Jilla too?”
“She is too sad,” Jilla’s voice explained.
“Ah,” Sulu said, and Ruth felt his fingers under her chin, turning her to face him. “Are you sad because I’ve won, Ruth?”
Anger pierced her, but she was not angry at him. “Yes,” she hissed. He chuckled, pulling her into an embrace.
“Well, darling, you’ll get used to it,” he said.
“I know,” she replied, wondering where her voice was coming from. “And that makes me angry, too.”
His smile was genuine, and for a moment, it took her breath away. “My hungry bitch,” he told her, his voice warm.
Joy filled her, joy so intense it brought new tears to her eyes, and she almost couldn’t choke out the proper answer. “Bastard.”
He laughed, hugging her, then kissed her, a fond, gentle kiss. Then he kissed Jilla, brushing the remnants of her tears away. “No more tears,” he said firmly. “You’re both much too pretty to cry.” Ruth found herself unthinkingly pressing against him, saw Jilla shyly moving to his other side. His arms came around them, pulling them closer, kissing first one, then the other, until they were both blushing.
A wistful sigh escaped him, and Ruth noted that both she and Jilla gazed questioningly at him.
“You’re both perfect,” he said. “It’s a shame you aren’t mine.”
Jilla protested immediately, Ruth’s face reddening at the fact that what Jilla revealed so openly, she nonetheless felt deep within. But Sulu hushed Jilla, shaking his head. “I know. You are. But I can’t keep you. You were given to the Captain and I have to send you back to him, and to Spock.” Ruth shuddered, knowing he would feel it. Jilla lowered her eyes with total but despairing acceptance. “It was generous of him to let us have this week,” Sulu continued. “I don’t want it to end anymore than you do, but...” He shrugged, hugging them both. “You need to show the Captain that you’ve changed your ways. Don’t disappoint me. Make me proud of you.”
Ruth felt tears shining in her eyes, glanced at Jilla to see the same bittersweet determination in the Indiian’s. Sulu gave each of them a short embrace, stroking their cheeks, kissing them with full passion. He coaxed smiles from them both, then stood.
“I don’t want either of you to come back here...” he began, and Jilla sobbed. Ruth felt her throat constricting and she involuntarily reached for him. “... except under direct orders,” he continued sternly. “Do you understand? You won’t come here unless ordered to do so.”
“Please...” Jilla rasped, “please....” and couldn’t say anymore. Ruth took a deep breath.
“I’ll do what I have to,” she forced herself to say, “I’ll make Kirk happy, and Spock, I promise. But please, Sulu, don’t send us away. Not yet, please.” She felt a sob rising in her throat, and fiercely swallowed it. “Give me a few more hours to be real, please...”
“Will you disobey me?” Sulu asked, his voice inflexible.
The answer was an inaudible whisper from Jilla. “No.”
“Ruth, am I understood?”
Ruth nodded, her eyes still beseeching. He stared at them both. Jilla looked up.
“Sulu,” she whispered imploringly, “can I still love you?”
His laughter was spontaneous and genuine. “Of course you can, little one,” he said, taking her again into his arms. Ruth bent her head, and when she glanced up, it was to meet Sulu’s black eyes searching hers. “And you?” he said, so softly she wasn’t sure he’d spoken out loud.
The question echoed in her mind, the answer coming so quickly and with such ferocity that it almost hurt. Your choice, she tried to remind herself, but she knew that it really didn’t matter. It was sick, it was ugly, but there was only one truth he had left her. It was the only truth she wanted. She bowed her head, unable to meet his eyes.
“I love you,” she answered. Again she dared to glance up, saw his eyes fill with amused expectation. It danced in her mind, sparkling, taking the pain and fear of the truth from her. She couldn’t stop the smile. “Bastard.”
“That’s my bitch.”
Illyana O’Niall, Captain of the I.S.S. Artemis had been born in an anthill. The Draco worlds were a miner’s paradise, which meant Tartarus for everyone and everything else; hard, cold, shelter-less, but rich beyond reckoning in minerals. Each planet was honeycombed with shafts and digs and tunnels. The inhabitants worked, slept, ate, played, fought, and died in the tunnels. In the mines, men had to depend on one another for mere survival. For more than survival, families like Draco, the Drake Clan, had evolved. The Clan provided safety, security, a place to live that was more than just shelter. In return, The Clan was given loyalty, trust, and service. If a Draco asked a Draco for a favor, it was granted. If there was a choice between helping a Draco and helping anyone else, Draco came first. If two men stood accused of a crime, and one was Draco, everything possible was done to see that the other man was the one who paid, regardless of guilt. Draco was home.
And Yana, the first mistress of an Imperial Star Ship, sat in her command chair, looked around her Bridge, and wanted to go home. She couldn’t, she knew that much. What was the old Earth saying about never being able to go home again? Somebody had to protect the family from the ravages the Empire could inflict, somebody had to sacrifice personal desire for the power that could buy safety for Draco. That was the only reason she had worked so hard to climb so far. It enabled her to stand between Draco and the Empire.
Selfless dedication? Yana snorted to herself. Well, I can’t say I haven’t enjoyed the trip. She liked rubbing smug Terran noses in her ability and intelligence. Terrans thought Draco was good enough to work their mines, to live on dangerous, violent worlds too hot or too cold for ‘civilized’ beings, but hardly suited for anything else. Draco men were considered as brutal and barbarous as the worlds they mined, uncontrollable and not to be trusted. Women were the only Draco allowed in Fleet, because women weren’t expected to know enough to do more than push buttons and warm beds. Yana laughed at that. Tartaran worlds taught fast; the strong and smart survive, and gender doesn’t make a damn bit of difference.
Remember never to mention that to the Empire, Yana reminded herself. They might actually pay attention, and then where would you be?
Captain of the Artemis.
Care to make a wager on that?
Didn’t I just say Draco women were smart?
She again laughed softly to herself, loud enough for the navigator to hear her. Commander Col Dallas looked around sharply.
“Something amusing, Captain?” His voice held the familiar tones of respect mixed with contempt. He was her First Officer, a big, tough, aggressive man who was not quite smart enough. She almost trusted him. His mother had been Draco, but she had been a Fleet whore, like the Empire thought she should be. Dallas’ father was Rigellian, and as long as Yana didn’t conflict with the Don, she could almost always depend on his loyalty.
She smiled at him with only a touch of cynicism. “Just relaxing, Dallas,” she informed him. He nodded and returned his attention to his board.
Are you always going to think in terms of family? she asked herself as she stared at the back of Dallas’ head. Even if he’s half Draco, you might have to kill him someday. He’s also half-Rigellian. Can Draco ever really count outsiders as friends? She frowned. Thinking more about DelMonde than Dallas, aren’t you? And Kirk.
Her frown deepened. She was good at politics, but she didn’t particularly like it. She had gotten caught up in a web of potentially disastrous alliances which had equal potential for unparalleled gain. Nothing was set in stone yet, but she knew she had to make some decisions.
Of course, to a miner, even ‘set in stone’ doesn’t mean much, she thought grimly. But you have to make a move, and soon. If I just knew what Kirk was after...
James T. Kirk. Terran born, and Fleet. There was no trusting Fleet, she knew that from personal experience. Would she destroy Draco if she allied herself with his schemes? He had never shown any signs of cooperating with anyone before, but they were unmistakable now. Why?
Probably Spock’s idea, whatever it is, she mused. That’s one smart Vulcan. He probably has the Intrepid in on this. If I give him the Artemis... Three ships against the Empire? Who’s kidding who? Still, with Draco metal and Halkan dylithium.... and Rigellian shipyards and engineers...? She paused in her ruminations to contemplate the enormity of the realization. Given time, could a serious threat to the Empire be built?
The Empire’s bound to catch on long before there was enough time. And patience doesn’t suit James T’s modus operandi at all. He’s up to something. But what?
Could it be a trap, the Empire’s way of getting rid of me? Damn, I hate paranoia. Too bad it’s what keeps me alive.
She shifted in the con, apparently stretching. It was important to look bored, that way no one suspected how much thinking one was actually doing. Did Kirk know she knew about Halkan? He had had to import miners to teach the Halkans which end of a laser drill was which. Did he realize that miners - and miners’ daughters - talked to each other? That source of information, coupled with the hints the Don had given Draco, had made it easy to put it together. Rigel and Draco had been talking to each other for some time, ever since Don Noel DelMonde had succeeded his father ten years ago. Nothing solid, no hint of any kind of real alliance, just occasional helpful conversations. No one from either side had gotten killed in quite a while. And the Don was interested in Kirk.
What is he up to? Yana thought. Noel DelMonde has never stabbed anyone in the back that I know of. But that’s really just a matter of time, isn’t it? He’s an Imperial, after all. She mentally shook her head. Let Rigel take care of itself. Kindly return to the suggestion that Kirk’s overtures may be a trap. Dallas doesn’t think so, and while he might be willing to risk me, he always has the best interests of the Artemis in mind. If there’s no Artemis, he’s never going to be her captain, is he? But Kirk has Spock, and face it, Dallas just isn’t in that league. You’re on your own with this one, Illyana.
On my own. Is it any wonder I’m homesick for the anthill?