Three hours later, as Scott had promised, a security guard arrived to escort her to the cabin that Sulu had only pointed out earlier. Upon arriving at the door, he opened it for her and stood aside for her to enter. She hazarded a glance at him. His face was carefully neutral, but his eyes leered at her suggestively enough to send her scurrying. She leaned tiredly against the closed door and looked cautiously around the dimly lit room.
The furnishings were anything but standard Starfleet issue. The floor was carpeted in luxurious ebony. The twin beds had coverings of deep scarlet. Several giant pillows, red trimmed in black, were tossed casually about the deck. There seemed to be mirrors everywhere, and when she looked up, she saw that the ceiling hadn’t been neglected.
“What in Aema’s name is this?” Jilla whispered.
“Not the Federation,” Ruth’s voice answered. Jilla started as the Antari walked out of a doorway that led to the bathroom. Ruth had scrubbed the make-up off her face and had removed the jewelry that had adorned her body.
“I know that much,” Jilla returned, regaining her composure. “I’m nowhere I’ve ever felt before.”
Ruth nodded. “Me, either,” she agreed. She didn’t, of course, feel things precisely as Jilla did, did not posses the sixth sense that Indiians called tia. But she was keheil, an empathic healer, a telepath. And at the moment, her senses were all slightly off.
She rubbed her temples, her usual gesture when tired or confused. “How’s your tia?” she asked.
Jilla frowned. “I just said how it is,” she snapped. Ruth nodded again at Jilla’s obvious over-reaction.
“My telepathy’s - wrong,” she stated. “The talent’s there, I can feel it, but...” She shook her head. “I can’t get to it.”
“The ionic interference,” Jilla said suddenly.
“Well, if it can jump us a universe away...”
They looked at each other, silent for a moment, each realizing the enormity of their situation.
“How did this happen?” Jilla whispered.
“You’re the engineer, you tell me!” Ruth replied with sudden savagery. As Jilla’s skin began glowing with emotional reaction, Ruth deliberately calmed herself. “Sorry,” she apologized. “I don’t mean to snap at you. I’m just... very frightened.”
Jilla calmed immediately, swallowing as her skin returned to its normal pale sparkle. “It shouldn’t’ve happened,” she said. “The probabilities of it happening again, and with the same ship...”
“Probabilities are never certainties,” Ruth replied. “We have to deal with what is, not with what should be.” She began rubbing her temples again. “What are we going to do?”
Jilla’s mood changed again. “I don’t know!” she rasped in a voice that was small and quietly shrill. “I know panicking won’t help...” She sobbed, a loud, inrush of breath.
Ruth didn’t try to calm Jilla down. Her tia would balance itself if left alone. After sharing a room with the Indiian for four years at the Academy, she was well aware of her friend’s idiosyncrasies.
“All we can do is try to gather information, to try to understand this place,” she said when Jilla’s sobs had subsided. She purposefully crossed to the wardrobe, jerking the door open. “Let’s look at this.”
The closet was full of civilian clothes. Sheer, scanty, lace, silk, satin, spandex, ethereal, skin-tight. All of it beautiful, all of it totally impractical. Ruth and Jilla exchanged glances.
“Ours,” Ruth said uneasily.
Jilla nodded silently, then took a few steps, activating the switch that revolved the dresser. There was a large, ornate box there. She opened it, pouring its contents out onto the top of the dresser. “Jewelry,” she said, and her hand strayed to the crystal at her throat.
“Also ours,” Ruth agreed. “Well, it’s clear what we’re supposed to be.”
Jilla nodded again, swallowing. “These quarters aren’t so outrageous, are they?”
“What are we going to do?”
Jilla shuddered, obviously holding another panic attack at bay. She crossed the room, sitting on one of the beds. “When it happened before, the Federation officers were able to reverse the effects of the transporter,” she began.
“I don’t want to sound negative,” Ruth interrupted, “but I’m not exactly considered qualified to get near a computer terminal. And there were guards all over Sciences.”
Jilla looked miserable. “Mr. Scott told me to keep out of his way. I am a obviously a nuisance, only to be tolerated because I was, as he put it, the Captain’s new toy. I don’t think I’d be able to do much in Engineering, either.”
They were silent for a long moment. Then Ruth suggested gingerly, “Should we point out that they have the wrong ensigns?”
“Would they believe us?” Jilla asked. “Would they care?”
“If we don’t, we’re going to get ourselves involved in a game we aren’t equipped to play.”
“And if we do?”
“They obviously only want women for one thing. We’re no use to them for that, we’re not the willing whores they apparently bargained for. We don’t know the rules. We’ll be more trouble than we’re worth.”
Jilla considered the feelings that came from those she had passed in the corridors, from those she had interacted with in Engineering. When she spoke, her tone was quiet and grim. “I doubt very much whether any trouble we could possibly be would make the enjoyment of our bodies ‘more trouble than we are worth’,” she said. “But even if that were so...” She paused. “They will simply kill us,” she finished with dread finality.
“Will they?” Ruth asked. “The Captain called us ‘Senatorial pets.’ Sulu said ‘daddy’s not here,’ and that we’ve been spoiled. That implies that our fathers are important men.”
“But we were obviously given as gifts,” Jilla returned. “Our fathers - ” her face grimaced, “ - are interested in pleasing the Captain, not the other way around.”
“Agreed,” Ruth sighed. She paced a few steps, then turned back to Jilla. “But why would they kill us if they could get their presents back? Surely that’s what they’d really want.”
Jilla stood up, reacting to Ruth’s nervousness. “Can they? The ship has been moving since we beamed aboard, we’ve left the area of the ionic interference by now. It was our officers who figured out how to reverse...”
“But they did that here,” Ruth interrupted. “The record of what they did is here.”
“There was a very short interphase window between universes, Ruth,” Jilla said. “It could already be closed. We’ve been here over four hours.”
“Well, we can’t find that out,” Ruth rejoined. “You can’t get near anything in Engineering and I can’t touch the computers. It’s either tell them and take the chance or resign ourselves to living the rest of our lives in this... flying bordello!”
“It doesn’t look like we have much choice,” Jilla admitted tightly, her arms wrapped around herself.
“Whatever else this Captain Kirk may be, he has to be intelligent,” Ruth soothed. “He has to listen to reason.”
Jilla nodded. In silent agreement they started for the door to the corridor, only to be halted by a familiar blaring noise from the ship’s intercom. It continued for several seconds before a woman’s husky voice cut in over the sound.
“Red alert.... Red alert... All hands to your stations.”
Countless Academy drills had made the reaction to a red alert as automatic as instinct. Ruth and Jilla raced to the door without thought, intent on heading to their posts. To their surprise, when it slid open, they were blocked by an outstretched, red-shirted arm.
“Don’t be alarmed, ladies,” the burly security guard said with more than a touch of condescension. “This happens all the time. You’re perfectly safe.”
“Safe...?!” Jilla gasped out, her heart pounding with the adrenaline. “This is a red alert!”
“That’s right. Where do you think you’re going?” the man asked pleasantly.
“To our posts, where we belong!” Ruth shouted at him.
“You belong - “ the guard began, shoving them backwards into the cabin, “ - in there.”
“The hell I do!” Ruth cried.
Jilla began glowing a bright, blinding silver, her eyes flashing with pent-up emotion. “I am an engineer!” she shrieked. “I belong in Engineering!”
The man bristled, unclipping something from his belt. “I was stationed here by the Captain himself,” he said with cold menace, advancing toward them. He held up the small, strangely-shaped object in a clearly threatening gesture. “I can tell you what to do, and I can back it up if I have to.” He gazed back and forth between them. “Now get in there and do as you’re told.”
The door hissed closed between them, and Ruth raised an angry, frustrated fist to strike it, then forced herself to stop. “Empire, not Federation!” she shouted at Jilla. Jilla’s rage went cold, then she started, then abruptly calmed. “We have to remember, they think we’re toys," Ruth continued. "They don’t believe we can do anything.”
Jilla stared for a long second, then asked, almost desperately, “What are we going to do?”
The hours were spent in hopeless expressions of panic alternating with fevered speculation and arguing. They searched their cabin, but found nothing useful for any solution; no computer terminal, none of their possessions, not even Ruth’s guitar. There was nothing with which to plan or design anything that could prove useful; no statboards, no recorders.
At last they came to a weary decision. Too many hours had passed, too many variables were simply beyond recovery. There was no use in going to Kirk now, in telling him the truth. There was only one course of action left. Survive. But in order to do that, they had to allow everyone to think they were the helpless, useless whores implied by the things in their cabin. They had to go along with the reactions of those around them. Eventually, if they survived, they might find some way to do more than endure this universe. If they survived, they could watch for information which might help them understand what they could be besides ‘Senatorial pets.’ If they survived, they might even find a chance to return to the Federation.
James Kirk stretched tired muscles as he got into the turbolift. Nine hours in the con, but it was worth it. The Kelincar revolt had been completely wiped out, another ‘enemy’ of the glorious Empire ferreted out and defeated. A pity that the Governor refused to listen to ‘rebels.’ Otherwise, he might’ve known that the ‘rebels’ weren’t. He might have realized the Enterprise was not the loyal Imperial ship he assumed it to be. And how wonderful that they had managed to destroy the ‘rebel’ message buoy as well.
He felt the surge of heady power sweep over him again, and smiled as it removed all traces of exhaustion from his system. He felt like celebrating, and he knew exactly what he wanted. This was truly a day to remember. Such handsome presents from Senators Valley and Costain, and now this victory... It was almost as if someone had planned it this way.
The thought made him laugh. Of course, someone had. He, his indispensable First and Science Officer, his irreplaceable Chief Helmsman and Security Chief. And they had proper tributes awaiting them; gold for him, silver for Spock, and Sulu would get the pick of the ship for his celebration. Kirk hadn’t even excluded his own lovely woman. Sulu knew enough to be careful with her, and with Marlena, the peacock could brag without endangering anyone or anything. An excellent evening all around.
He nodded jovially to the guard outside the newly outfitted quarters on Deck Five, who moved quickly aside for the Captain, saluting crisply. He left Farrell outside as he strode confidently through the cabin door.
The Antari was seated at the vanity, apparently experimenting with her adornments. She glanced over at him, then got clumsily to her feet, executing a passable salute. Kirk smiled, feeling too good to reprimand her for her inelegance. He moved across the short expanse, taking her in his arms, his mouth bruising hers in a lustful kiss. He actually lifted her off her feet, swinging her in an triumphant arc before setting her down on the bed nearest the door. He turned to the Indiian, inclining his head toward the open door and the security guard. “Go with him,” he told her, then immediately forgot her presence as he bent to recapture his golden reward.
“Captain, what...” Jilla began as the guard grabbed her arm. She was pulled out into the corridor, the door to her cabin closing behind her.
“You leave the Captain to your roommate, Indiian,” the guard told her. He turned to a large man clad in work coveralls who was leaning against the bulkhead. “Where to, Farrell?” he asked.
“Spock,” was the large man’s succinct reply.
Ruth regained her breath before she regained her wits. Her body began struggling before she could tell it to remember what she was supposed to be. When she realized what she was doing, she tensed apprehensively. But instead of the expected reprimand, Kirk chuckled and rolled away from her.
“Not a very cordial greeting, was it?” he said, grinning. “I hope all the commotion didn’t upset you.”
“Commotion?” Ruth asked.
“The red alert, the battle. But then, maybe you didn’t notice?”
Ruth swallowed. “I... I guess not, sir.”
“Sir isn’t necessary here, neither is Captain. Jim will do.” He sat on the edge of the bed, removing his clothing. “It’s Ruth, isn’t it?”
Ruth swallowed again, nodding. He glanced critically at her. “Antari beauty isn’t exaggerated,” he murmured, then smiled. “I hope you’re as talented as you are pretty.”
She tried to sound eager. “I’ll do my best.”
“I’m sure you will.” He lay back down, stretching the muscular, warrior’s body. “Come please me, Ruth.”
For a moment, Ruth stared at him, unable to think of what she should do. Her body refused to find anything erotic about the situation, and though she was hardly inexperienced, she found that her mouth was dry with apprehension. He seemed not to notice, but his grin turned the tiniest bit sour.
“You could start by letting me see what I’m getting,” he said mildly.
Ruth frantically tried to clear her head, her fingers hurriedly tearing at her uniform.
“Slowly, Ruth,” Kirk ordered.
Stop reacting and think, Ruth scolded herself. You know how to be arousing. Arouse him! She forced herself to slow down, to make her movements graceful and enticing. She deliberately avoided looking at her reflection in the myriad of mirrors, knowing that to see herself would bring her fears into too-sharp focus.
“Something wrong, Ensign?” Kirk asked. The cold was more perceptible, the use of the rank he had earlier denied a warning Ruth did not miss. “Or is it just that it’s been so long since you were forced to do any real work?”
She shivered. He’s handsome, Ruth, look at him, she told herself. Want him! She focused her attention of the color of his skin, the smooth, muscled strength, filling her mind with her own uninhibited enjoyment of sexual pleasure, the natural self-confidence born of an easy acceptance of that enjoyment.
She tossed her head, letting her hair flow about her naked shoulders. It was long enough to reach the bed as she knelt over him, and she used it, tantalizing his skin with its silken tendrils. His fingers entangled themselves in the strands of gold, pulling her head down to him. She closed her eyes, returning his kiss, envisioning his mouth as strong and sensual. His hands roughly caressed her, and she convinced herself it was sweetly exciting. He moved, rolling her onto her back. She let out a moan of anticipation, parting her legs for him.
Nothing happened.
She opened her eyes just as Kirk’s hand came slashing down across her face.
“Don’t just lay there, Ruth,” he snarled savagely. “Make it work. Force yourself to feel good. Surely you’ve done it before. Daddy must have had a few visitors you weren’t hot for.”
The sob came out before she could stop it. “I’m trying!”
He smiled, an arrogant, icy smile of power.
“Of course you are. And you’ll keep on trying until I’m convinced, won’t you, and think you’ve won.” He pulled her up, kissing her with a strength that made his other kisses seem like a maiden aunt’s. “The game and the rules, Ruth,” he growled. “Come play it.”
The guard delivered Jilla to Spock’s quarters, pushing her into the hands of the Vulcan guard who waited outside the door.
“For Spock,” he said brusquely.
The Vulcan glanced at her, nodding at the guard. “Sufficient,” he said.
“Not for us,” the guard grumbled, then turned and walked back the way he came.
Jilla shuddered under the controlled strength of the Vulcan’s hands as he signaled the interior of the cabin. “The Indiian, Commander,” he announced. There was a buzz, and the door opened, the Vulcan ushering her into the cabin. Spock was rising from his desk, acknowledging the other man’s salute with a nod.
“That will be all, Sepak,” he said.
Jilla stood where she was, attempting to calm the emotions within her as Sepak silently left the room. Spock walked toward her, stopping in front of her. He lifted her chin, gazing coolly into her eyes.
“You know what you are here for, Miss Costain,” he said, his voice deep and low. She caught her breath with the rising anticipation, quickly lowering her gaze. His fingers traced the lines of her face, brushing her hair away from her eyes, smoothing it behind her ears. His touch moved down her throat to the crystal hanging there, and the memory of Sulu’s touch flashed into her with sudden, unexpected heat.
A soft, approving murmur came from deep in Spock’s throat as his hands continued down her body, systematically removing her uniform. She bent to strip off the thigh-high boots herself, then looked up at him. His head was inclined critically, a slight smile playing at his lips.
“I think you will suit my needs nicely, Jilla,” he said softly. His voice sent a delicious chill through her. He turned, crossing the room to the latticed panel and the oversized bed visible beyond it, then turned back, his eyes questioning impatiently. She let her emotion carry her swiftly to his arms, her much shorter body straining on tiptoes to press her lips to his. His embrace was just as quick, the strength that was five times that of a Human crushing her body to his with impassioned insistence. The force of his grip frightened her, and her fear made her struggle. She gasped as Spock fiercely grabbed her hair, pulling her head back.
“The Captain will tolerate such coyness,” he nearly hissed. “I will not.”
Jilla froze.
“You will excite me,” he went on. “You will arouse me, and you will satisfy me.” His dark eyes pierced her, the savagery controlled yet no less threatening. “As many times, and in as many ways as I require.” She was lifted into his arms, flung onto the bed. His lean body was overpowering, the heady emotion overwhelming, and Jilla’s tia succumbed completely to his passion.
The Antari was curled on her side, her head close to but not resting on his shoulder. Her fingers were idly caressing him, her huge eyes closed in sated bliss. It was an almost perfect picture of contentment. The only thing wrong was that Kirk knew it was a fake.
He stretched, shifting easily away from her touch. She sighed, stretching herself, and rose up on one elbow, licking her lips seductively. Kirk sat up, leaning against the headboard. He smiled lazily at her, watching and judging her every movement. Her expression was openly, brazenly sensual, but her eyes were cold. He nearly laughed. The girl genuinely hated what she was doing. Ah, the games that could be played with that! Senator, he thought, this is so much better than you promised. He had expected a hard, experienced whore; what else from a half-breed alien daughter? But this... Valley had obviously cared about her. She had been used, true, but spoiled and pampered as well. Valley had possibly even cared about what was done to her. She certainly did. The game could be so much more entertaining when the prize actually cared what happened to it.
He couldn’t help but wonder if Spock was finding Costain’s Indiian as fascinating.
His attention focused back on Ruth as she moved, inching her body up against his. Her face smiled at him, her writhing sensual and insistent. She was trying very hard to make it work, to make him believe she was enjoying it. Yet her eyes stayed hard, shuttered. His own smile widened and he gently ran his fingertips over her cheek.
“You weren’t bad,” he said softly. Her expression became satisfied, her eyes took on a gleam of triumph - and something else. Hatred. She hated more than what she was doing, she hated him. Delight surged through him. The game was getting better and better. “Not anywhere near as good as you should be,” he continued, “but I’ll overlook that for now.” He watched as a touch of fear crept into her eyes, enjoying the pleasant thrill of power washing over him. “Because I’m in such a good mood,” he added, then grasped her shoulders, pushing her head down to his hips. “I’m sure you’ll make it much better this time.”
Jilla lay silent, unmoving except for her eyes, watching Spock with breathless apprehension. He was on his back, eyes closed, seemingly asleep but for the tight grip his fingers kept on her wrist. She had made the mistake earlier of trying to leave his bed. It had been an instinctive reaction, one of self-preservation. He had been hurting her and when the fear had overwhelmed her senses, she had bolted. She hadn’t even made it completely off the bed before he’d grasped her ankle, dragging her back. His anger had nearly made her faint, and she had cried at him, “You’re too strong!” He’d stopped, glanced at the bruises he’d already left on her pale, delicate skin, then laughed. He had pulled her back to him with a guttural promise to be more careful, but he hadn’t let go of her since. Tia had told her what he’d wanted, and it hadn’t been passive docility. She had given him all he’d demanded, and more. Now, her mind and body still tingling with the force of his commands, she reached up, unable to help herself, gently touching his angular, bearded face, tracing the outline of eyebrows and jaw and the sensitive curve of his ear.
Spock didn’t move. He acknowledged the Indiian’s touch with the slightest of smiles, precisely calculated to be cool, elusive and indefinable. His eyes opened slowly, amused, patronizing, a simulation of emotion, a mirror for Jilla’s actions. An enchanting temptress, this Indiian. He had only to think of a reaction and it was given him, as fleeting or as protracted as he wished. What he had at first assumed was coyness was only her genuine fear. Her attempt to escape him was but a simple, mindless reaction to pain. And all of it, every response, every sensation was absolutely genuine. Spock had taken many, many women, most of them repelled at least in part by his alien nature. Most of them, also, had been, or thought themselves to be, excellent actresses, most convincing performers. He was not so easily fooled, though he seldom found reason to inform the women of that fact. That Jilla had known it, and had not attempted to deceive him was complimentary in the extreme. That there proved to be nothing to deceive him about was what made her enchanting.
He glanced down at her, saw her hesitant smile, her eyes searching him for the next indication of his desires. Genuine pleasure rose in him to match that which she gave, and he turned to her, allowing himself the luxury of unguarded emotional expression. Her wordless cry of delight was unparalleled reward.
Ruth mumbled sleepily as Kirk rolled out of the small bed. He looked back down at her. Her mouth was curved in a slight smile as she cuddled to the warmth of the spot he had just vacated. He chuckled and bent down, whispering, “Not very convincing, dear, but you’ll get it eventually.”
She opened one half-confused eye, murmuring a questioning sound. Kirk laughed. “You play it well, Ruth,” he said. He crossed the room, going into the shower. When he returned, she was still on the bed, unmoving, apparently asleep. She stayed that way while he dressed. He kissed her before leaving, and turned at the door. “I like a woman who can keep up the charade. Maybe you’ll be good at this after all.”
He stepped to the door and it slid open. Sepak stood there with the Indiian. Kirk noted Farrell returning to duty, replacing the guard who had stood outside the cabin all night. All four executed proper salutes, and he grinned. Gods, but it was good to be the Captain!
The door closed behind Jilla, and before she could even take a breath to speak, Ruth’s golden bracelets came flying at the bulkhead.
“Bastard!” Ruth snarled. “Goddamn bastard!”
Jilla looked over at the bed. Ruth was on her knees in the middle of a pile of tangled bed-clothes, naked, her faced livid with anger.
“Are - ” Jilla stammered, “Are you all right?”
Ruth’s eyes flashed as she tossed her hair back from her face. “No,” she said through clenched teeth, “but I’m alive and he’s not here and I suppose that’s as all right as I’m going to get.” Her hands came up over her face and she took a deep breath. “And why am I yelling at you? Your evening couldn’t’ve been any better.”
“I’m fine,” Jilla replied. Her voice was dull and she crossed the room, picking up a brush from the dresser. As she carefully began de-tangling the thick fall of burgundy, Ruth eyed her with worried concern. Jilla, calm, quiet, was an indication that a very bad storm of emotion was imminent. Ruth sighed, then spoke with quiet sympathy.
“You’re not fine, so why don’t you get it over with?”
Jilla whirled and Ruth got ready to duck the hairbrush, then saw the shame and terror that her own anger had masked. The brush dropped to the floor and Ruth hurried off the bed to her friend’s side. This was unlike any reaction she’d ever seen. “Jilla?” she asked gently.
“I am what I am,” was the Indiian’s soft reply.
And abruptly, Ruth understood. Jilla’s tia made it impossible for her not to enjoy whatever her partner enjoyed. Whatever gave him pleasure would give her pleasure. And if he was satisfied, if he climaxed, so would she. Ruth’s own empathy, even as warped as it currently was, was under her own control. She could not be forced to enjoy something against her will. She gave Jilla a warm, strong, accepting hug, felt the Indiian responding to it, unashamed that she was using Jilla’s tia to help her cope.
After a few moments, Jilla pulled away from the embrace. Her skin was again gently sparkling and Ruth knew that she had conquered, at least for now, the shame of her involuntary responses. “Do you need to talk?” Jilla asked.
“You mean do I need to bitch,” Ruth replied wryly. “Yes, I think that would do me a world of good.” She walked to the wardrobe, pulling out a robe, heading for the bathroom. “Did you shower?” Jilla nodded, her skin glowing faintly. “Okay, I won’t be but a minute.”
The sonics felt good, but Ruth knew it would take a long, hot shower with real water for her to even begin to feel clean. But she settled for the physical removal of sweat and semen from her skin and hair and quickly rejoined Jilla.
The Indiian had made the bed and was placing the sheets into the recycler. Ruth noted that the bracelets she had thrown earlier were in a neat pile on the dresser. She gave Jilla a smile of thanks, then picked up the hair brush and sat down on the bed, attacking her own mass of gold.
“The son-of-a-bitch is into power,” she said. “He wanted me aware that he knew every move I could possibly make and that he had all the options covered. He didn’t give a damn about how I felt, all he wanted was to play the game. Of course, he didn’t give me any choice about whether or not to play. I don’t think he really cares one way or the other about the sex. It’s the power he gets off on. He’s physical, macho.” She pulled the brush through her hair with brusque fury. “He could even be good if he gave a damn about anything but winning.” Jilla’s quiet voice startled her.
“There are no games with Spock,” she said. “He is very clear on what he wants, what he will tolerate, and what he will not.”
Ruth grimaced to cover the sudden shared despair. “At least they’re both honest in their own twisted little ways, huh?”
The sound of the opening door startled both of them. Jilla turned quickly, Ruth jumping up from the bed.
Sulu leaned against the doorframe, smiling.
“Good morning, ladies,” he said cheerfully. “You’re on duty in five minutes.”
Senator Valley paced in the garden of Sren Kahare, unable to keep still. He had long learned that he had to be quiet when Randal ani Reah was attempting to make contact with the network, but he had never been able to fully keep himself from expressing his impatience. But it had been too long, and there was too much strain on the Elder’s face. Finally he broke the silence.
“What is it, what’s the problem?” he asked.
“Her mind is shrouded, Senator,” Randal replied. “She does not hear me.”
“That little double-crossing bitch…” Valley began.
Randal’s huge purple eyes gazed serenely up at him from her cross-legged position on the moss-covered ground. “No, she is not shielding. She simply cannot hear.”
“That makes no sense, Elder,” he snarled in return.
“I know it. But it is so, none the less.”
“What has happened? Is there a scrambling device that can block you?”
“None that I know of. However, I suggest you employ more standard methods of gathering information. There may have been technological advances of which we are unaware.”
“That would mean Kirk knows,” Valley muttered. “Shit!”
“Perhaps,” Randal suggested, “Senator Costain has had word from his daughter.”
Indiian children were a delight to the senses.
Joel Costain filled himself with that knowledge and reveled in the echo revealed so clearly on the faces of those around him. Only four of the children were biologically his own, but he so enjoyed their interaction that he often visited the care facility at the palace. It was one of the many things that endeared him to the Indiian people. In the more than two decades he had been their Senator, he had nearly forgotten the clinical, almost cold intent that had begun his association with Indiian children:
They were perfectly malleable. One could, with just an internal shift in the way one was feeling, completely govern an Indiian child’s reaction. As they grew and matured, they, of course, began to understand that emotions were just like any other sense – one could not, for instance, help seeing if one’s eyes were open, but one did not necessarily have to react to or be concerned with what one was seeing. Their infallible sense of reading emotion, what, in their language, was called tia, was the same. They could not help but feel, but they did not necessarily have to act on that emotion. Of course, the stronger the emotion, the more likely a reaction, as one could not readily ignore a loud noise. But as children, there was a sense of wonder about everything, and that included emotion. Costain had found he could easily mold Indiian children to respond to his emotions – and, much to his advantage, that tendency, if fostered, remained as they grew. He was certain any person could foster and maintain that edge if they wanted. It was simply unheard of for any Indiian to be so manipulative. Probably, Costain assumed, because anyone who tried it would be just as open to the technique.
Which he, as a Human, was not.
Still, over the years, he had found more and more joy in the association, and the exploitation had become but a backdrop to his relations with his people, his children.
He was about half-way through yet another retelling of one of his favorite Indiian myths, the story of why Indiian skin is silver, when his temporary aide stepped into the room.
“Senator, there is an urgent call from Beta Antares Four.”
Costain sighed, and the children immediately began a sorrowful protest. He shook his head, smiling, feeling a touch of regret, a lot of warm affection, and the acknowledgement of responsibility, and the children immediately subsided into dutiful silence. “I’ll return to finish the story when I can, tu aemros,” he said.
“Asi, Tay-Roshé,” they responded in chorus, and the endearment that had become their only name for him brought joy to his heart.
Tay-Roshé. Great Royal Father.
Even if tia was transmittable over a comlink, Costain would not have had to be Indiian to know that Valley was upset. He listened fully to his fellow senator’s concerns before he responded.
“Jilla would not have had time to encode a message for me, or for it to travel from the Enterprise to one of our relay stations,” he finally attempted to soothe. “It’s been less than 24 hours. I think you’re jumping the gun, here, Jonathon.”
“But the Elder says Ruth can’t hear,” Valley repeated.
“Your end is communication,” Costain reminded. “If something has interfered, I’m certain your daughter will get word to you as soon as it is safe.” He paused, then leaned towards the comscreen. “Kirk’s First Officer is Vulcan. She may simply have to be more cautious.”
“I suppose. That had better be all it is.”
“They will check in when they can. This is of the utmost importance, is it not? We can’t allow impatience to spoil it.”
Valley actually smiled. “Sometimes I remember why we’re such a good team, Joel.”
As always, Costain let the veiled insult slide past him. “As do I, Jonathon. The rewards have been well worth all the risks.”
After the comscreen had gone blank, Costain frowned, his high forehead wrinkling. That was a factor he hadn’t considered. The Vulcan. Would he be able to sense an Indiian’s additional ability? Vulcans were logical, but they were also highly emotional. Surely Jilla could use it against him, as she did with all non-Indiians. The only concern was, could the Vulcan, like Costain himself, use that against her?
Kirk sat at his desk, going over the daily reports Spock had brought in. A message from the Governor of Kelincar to the Emperor had been intercepted. It fairly glowed with praise for the invaluable aid of the Enterprise in putting down a terrible, anti-Imperial rebellion. Kirk chuckled. The man really was the idiot he had seemed. He hadn’t an inkling of what had really been going on, and Kirk and his crew were the beneficiaries of his stupidity. The efficiency rating on the mission was acceptably high, as always. There was the listing of the items included in the Governor’s personal expression of gratitude, nothing that caught Kirk’s fancy, or that he found particularly useful. There were the usual shipboard reports, shift changes, workload rearrangements, Fleet transmissions. All were routine. When he had signed all the necessary papers, he looked up. Spock still stood, waiting for his attention. Kirk motioned him to sit, thumbing a hidden switch on the intercom panel. If anyone was monitoring them, all they’d get would be normal space interference.
“Anything important from surveillance?” he asked.
“We did receive word that the Intrepid is not engaged in helpful activities,” Spock began. “However, my intelligence shows this to be false. The fact that our own surveillance people suspect the Intrepid is most positive. It indicates that the true nature of their relationship to us is in no danger of being discovered.” He steepled his fingers, pausing a moment before going on. “Negotiations with the Artemis seem promising. Captain O’Niall can be persuaded; it remains to be seen if the rest of Draco will follow.” There was another pause, Spock’s eyebrow rising slightly. “There has been some slight interest from the Rigellians concerning dylithium mining rights on Halkan. It has yet to be determined on whose behalf the interest is being shown; however, there is an interesting faction coming to the attention of our operatives in the Rigel system. They suggest its activities bear watching. If developed with adequate security, it could prove productive for us, perhaps even an ally.”
Kirk inclined his head significantly. “The Don.”
Spock merely nodded in agreement. “Also,” he continued, “we have received confirmation of the latest vote in the Senate. Costain and Valley did not disappoint us.”
Kirk leaned back in his chair. “Well, I certainly wasn’t disappointed,” he commented, his eyes glinting with amusement. “And you, Spock?”
“I found Costain a most satisfactory companion, Captain.”
Kirk stretched, then sat forward again. “Valley doesn’t like being here,” he said. “She doesn’t like what she’s being made to do. If there’s ambition there, I didn’t see it. She does have a temper; controlled, clumsily hidden, but there. She’s intelligent enough to catch on quickly, but resentful enough to let it get in the way of her intelligence. She’s undoubtedly supposed to report to her father, but I think we can put a stop to that. If I had to classify her, I’d put her in the same league as Rand.” He sat back again. “She’s certainly several dozen notches above Chapel.”
Spock ignored the verbal jab. “Interesting,” he remarked. When he said nothing more, Kirk prompted,
“And Costain?”
“Unusual,” Spock said, his voice distant. Kirk realized the Vulcan’s reticence had been only because he was considering what was obviously a puzzle to him. He spoke with his fingers held lightly to his lips, his gaze fixed on nothing. “She is - genuine. She possesses a rather amazing susceptibility to her partner’s desires. She seems incongruously innocent considering her skill, incongruously guileless. One such as she could easily control a lesser man with her responsiveness.”
“Good thing we’re not ‘lesser men,’ then, isn’t it?” Jim rejoined.
“Indeed,” was Spock’s careful answer.
Kirk put his hands on his desk, spreading his fingers. “Well, if either of them are up to anything, I’m sure we’ll find out.” He grinned. “And if we don’t, Sulu will.” The intercom buzzed and he casually reached across the desk, releasing the web of interference and answering the com in the same movement. “Kirk.”
“Sulu, Captain,” said the voice over the com unit. “Mr. Scott is having some trouble with his new ensign. Your orders?”
The control panel had short-circuited, and the technicians, besides taking their sweet time about it, were handling the repairs incorrectly. Jilla had tried not to concern herself with it, remembering her place. But her entirely superfluous assigned task – initiating systems checks – was scarcely enough to occupy her mind. Besides, paying covert attention to the activities around her provided opportunity to compare this technology to the engineering education she’d had at the Academy.
She saw the mistake in the wiring, she knew what would happen if the circuit board was replaced. She squirmed in disapproval, trying hard not to show her annoyance and disdain for such an obvious mistake. The technicians were joking with one another, stupidly not paying quite enough attention to their work. But the engineer in her couldn’t let it happen, and Jilla finally walked quickly over to the board.
“That is wrong, you know,” she informed the lead technician.
He looked up at her, then smiled derisively, nudging his partner. He, too, glanced up, then snickered.
“It is,” she insisted.
“Of course, Ensign,” the lead technician said. “You just go on back to initiating systems checks.”
“Maybe we’ll find a more attractive color scheme next year,” the other grinned.
Jilla ignored the comment. “If you replace that board, it will destroy the whole panel,” she explained, trying to be patient with them.
The lead tech stopped smiling. “Leave this to an actual engineer, little catling.” His voice dripped contempt.
“I can’t allow you to replace that board,” Jilla snapped, matching his disdain.
“You can’t allow....!”
“You have mis-wired that circuit board!” Jilla shouted. “Were you given special classes for errors of that type?”
“Get back to yer duties, Miss Costain,” Scott’s voice said from behind her. Jilla turned, too reactive to be cautious.
“Commander, these Roshian excuses for engineers have rewired that circuit improperly and if they replace it...”
“How would you know, slut?” the technician growled.
Jilla whirled, glowing furiously. “Because I have more knowledge of engineering than this whole begging department, that’s how!” she shrieked at him.
Scott grabbed her arm, twisting her away from the control panel. “That’s quite enough out of ye, Costain!” he thundered.
“Mr. Scott, if you let them put that circuit board back, the whole panel will light up like the Beta Niobe Nova and in five seconds all that will be left of the entire console is slag!”
“I’m not tellin’ y’again, Ensign...” Scott warned.
“I know what I’m talking about!” Jilla nearly screamed. “How can you let them do this? Their stupidity is going to destroy...” Her voice was abruptly cut off by Scott’s hand cutting sharply across her face. She gasped, the glow on her face changing subtly. Her eyes filled with incredulous indignation, and she furiously returned the slap. Scott’s jaw hardened and he stepped to the intercom, still holding tightly to her wrist, and called Security.
“Did Scott say what, precisely, was the cause of the trouble?” Spock inquired.
There was a pause from the intercom, and when Sulu spoke again, there was a questioning edge to his voice.
“Miss Costain tried to tell some technicians how to do their jobs. Important?”
“Perhaps, Mr. Sulu.”
Kirk studied Spock’s face a moment before rejoining the conversation. “Teach her a little discipline,” he said, still watching Spock. “The Booth, but don’t get carried away. Fifteen minutes, level one.”
“Yes, sir,” Sulu answered and his tone conveyed the knowledgeable, delighted grin.
“And you might as well take her afterwards,” Kirk added. “I know how these things affect you.”
Sulu laughed. “How thoughtful of you, Captain. Sulu out.”
Kirk closed the com, still staring at Spock. “Is there a problem, Commander?” he asked.
Spock glanced up at him. “No, of course not, Captain. They are yours do to with as you will.”
Kirk nodded, but he had the uneasy feeling that Spock hadn’t really answered his question.