Spock returned to his quarters with a certain amount of anticipation. Having an excuse to rid himself of Chapel without either causing suspicion or having to accept another pointless liaison engendered a satisfaction in him that he knew bordered on the reckless. To replace Chapel with Marlena would have been perfect, but replacing her was certainly enough.
Chapel was still in bed, still sleeping, when he entered. She had worked the evening and was not expected back on duty until after noon. Briefly, Spock contemplated the manner in which he would give her the news. Then a rare smile crossed his features, one that was cold and decidedly unpleasant. He would relish this.
“Christine,” he said harshly. She woke, startled, staring up at him with a faint look of alarm. “Get up,” he ordered.
She rose hurriedly from the bed. She was naked, and Spock frowned, allowing his features to reflect his obvious disgust.
“Cover yourself,” he said, in a voice which matched his expression.
Flushing, she obeyed, grabbing a robe and belting it tightly around her body. She turned, her eyes downcast, emanating confused fear. He let the dissatisfaction fill his eyes, silently telling her she did not yet please him. She ran trembling fingers through her hair, and said in a whisper, “I worked most of the night, Spock.”
“What has been your excuse for the past year?” he asked pointedly.
“Wh - what?” she stammered. He stepped around her, studying her critically.
“For not pleasing me,” he elaborated disdainfully.
She was hurt and disconcerted. “I don’t - ? I try to - Spock, what...?”
“I find you unacceptable, Christine,” he told her coolly, “more so with each day. You are an affront to my senses. What beauty I once thought you had has faded with your simpering familiarity. Your whining grows tiring, your begging for my touch a weary annoyance.” He paused, then continued, emphasizing each word. “I do not wish to touch you. Are you too stupid to realize even that?” He took a breath, savoring the look of helpless despair in the woman’s pale blue eyes. Even the color is dull, he thought, as vapid and shallow as her personality. She didn’t respond, and he snapped in irritation, “Are you deaf as well as dumb?”
She blinked, tears filling the eyes that were already an annoyance to him. “What have I done?” she whispered.
“Nothing,” he replied. “A constant nothing which has made me loathe you. There is nothing in you which inspires anything but distaste. You are unpalatable, Christine, and I have grown impatient with enduring you.”
She moved toward him, beseeching. He stopped her with a withering look of cold contempt.
“Spock, you don’t mean - please...” she whimpered.
“Imbecile,” he muttered. “Even now you whine at me.”
“Please!” she wailed, falling to her knees.
“One must feel sympathy for such begging to have an effect,” he informed her. “I have no such tender emotions for cringing, simple-minded dullards.”
“No!” she cried. “Spock, you can't mean it, please!! I love you!”
“Love me?” Spock asked dryly. “A Vulcan half-breed, a cold, dark, strange, alien?” He stared down at her. “I think not, Christine, and it matters less than little. Your presence in my cabin is no longer required. I have no further use or desire for you. And I assure you, despite your sniveling, I can and do mean it.”
Chapel threw herself at him, clutching his legs with panicked entreaty. “Please, Spock,” she begged, “I’ll change. You know I haven’t thought of you as any different from Human for a long time. You cared for me, once, you did! I’ll do anything, whatever you ask. Please, I promise, don’t make me leave, please!”
Spock carelessly pushed her away. “I never ‘cared,’ Christine, and your promises mean nothing to me. They do not alter the fact that I am repulsed by your face, your voice, and your body.” He let his gaze bore into her, relentless and unpitying. “You will leave my quarters by the end of this watch.” He turned from her, fiercely joyful, avenging himself for countless hours of inane conversation, patient boredom, simpering wheedling, and tedious sexual exercise. Wasted time, he chastised himself. Worse; time deliberately misspent. But there will be no more of it.
He was surprised to feel her hands again on his legs. She was sobbing, had obviously crawled to him. “Please,” she implored, real tears streaking her face, “Please, Spock...”
Fury took him and he kicked at her. “Get away from me, woman!” he spat. She held on.
“Spock, I’m yours, yours, please...!”
His voice was a snarl. “You sicken me.”
“It was good once, I’ll make it good again...”
“Fool,” he growled at her, “I ‘made it good,’ or have you forgotten? I am a telepath.”
He saw the stricken look on her face, and it enraged him. He bent down to her, firmly grasping her temples. He filled her with harsh satisfaction, savage selfishness. She whimpered through it, her cries of helpless arousal covered in shame. He used her mind against her with deliberate dispassion, letting her know, as he had never done before, that it was all a charade, that he felt none of the soaring carnality he gave to her. As a coup de grace, he gave her the sensation of climax, then threw her away from him with careless contempt.
“By the end of this watch, Christine,” he said, and stepped out of the cabin filled with fierce satisfaction.
Chapel wept for several minutes, shame and humiliation burning in her. She dragged herself off the deck and miserably began to gather her belongings. Spock’s thoughts were bitter in her mind and slowly, gradually, the pain and grief began to change. She had done nothing to warrant this treatment. She had always done everything Spock had wanted, even to swallowing her pride and allowing him other women, even in her own quarters. She had never disobeyed him, never disgraced him. She had been a loyal, proper, protective woman. He obviously no longer cared - “I never cared, Christine.” - where she went or what she did or what would happen to her - and she had done nothing, nothing to deserve it. What right did he have to repay her with this - insults, abuse, loss of status, of… A sudden thought chilled her. Do I still have my rank?
Bastard! Unfeeling, cold, alien bastard! she seethed. Don’t look for a reason, there is no reason beyond his cruelty. How dare he? I’m still Terran, he won’t get away with this. That half-breed son-of-a-bitch is going to learn his place if it’s the last thing I ever do! I’ll see him humiliated, I’ll see him suffer - I’ll see him die!
By the time she was finished, anger and hatred had completely replaced the tears. She went to Uhura’s cabin. She would see him die.
Rand had wanted to spend the night with Uhura, but the Communications Chief hadn’t answered her door. Instead, she had stayed alone in Paget’s cabin. Why Jeremy hadn’t come home, she didn’t know. She hadn’t been in the best of moods when she had returned to her cabin in the morning. Her annoyance had increased sharply at the sight that had greeted her there. Why Paget had even let her in when Sulu was still with his sluts, she didn’t know. But she had walked into her own bedroom to find Sulu stretched out comfortably on the bed, the Antari on one side, the Indiian on the other. Costain, of course, was freshly bruised. She’d stood, ignored and humiliated, as Sulu got up, lazily dressed, and ordered clothing from the fabricator for Costain and Valley. The Antari actually helped the Indiian dress! Then Sulu had said, “Good morning, Janice,” as he passed her on his way out of the cabin, his arm affectionately around Costain’s waist, Valley holding his hand.
When he had gone, she’d taken her vengeance out in a tantrum of vandalism, breaking and smashing anything that wasn’t too important. Let him beat her for it later, she’d show him he couldn’t disregard her.
He returned alone, and sooner than she expected. She stood in the middle of the room, amid the wreckage, and whirled defiantly at the sound of the door. Sulu stopped just inside it. His eyes slowly surveyed the destruction. Statues, pottery, knives, clothes, all broken, torn, scattered everywhere within the cabin. He was silent for several minutes.
“Very nice, Janice,” he said at last, his voice soft. “Clean it up.”
“Let maintenance do it,” she replied insolently.
He smiled. “Diane?” Rand flushed. “Clean it up,” he repeated, softer than before.
She felt a rush of fear, but stubbornly ignored it. “Your sluts are good enough to sleep here, let them work for the privilege.”
“Janice.” His voice was a murmur, and crooked his finger at her. She shook her head, the fear growing. “I think you’d better,” he whispered. A shudder ran through her, and she moved hesitantly toward him, a part of her relishing the attention, another part dreading the inevitable. He’s not thinking about Costain, is he, or Valley? she told herself with false bravado.
She came within arms length, and he reached for her shoulders, pulling her closer. She swallowed, but determinedly met his eyes. He stared at her, searching, and she became more and more uncomfortable. Then he smiled again, letting go of her, shaking his head.
And backhanded her sharply, the force of the blow knocking her to the deck.
“Clean it up,” he said.
She stifled the cry, blinking back the stinging tears and ignored the discoloring of her cheek. Damn his games, damn all of it! But she knelt and began picking up the pieces of a shattered sake flask. Her muscles were tensed, waiting for the blows she knew would come. She felt one hand coming down to the back of her neck, the other ripping her clothing from it. She steeled herself, a little proudly. He wanted her naked, and that meant his anger was a charade. He wouldn’t send her out of their quarters tonight.
The whip cracked across her back and she gasped, dropping the broken pottery. “You’re getting clumsy, Janice,” Sulu’s voice taunted, and she swore under her breath. He’d have her crawling around on the floor, adding that humiliation to the welts he’d give her back. She wondered for a moment if he was worth it, then thought of Valley and Costain. Take it, fool, she told herself vehemently, or he’ll replace you! And leave you like Jaris.
She again started cleaning, and he was more than usually generous with both the force and the frequency of his blows, as well as with his cutting comments. When the deck was cleared of the wreckage, Rand’s face was as streaked with tears as her back was with blood.
“Come here, Janice,” he growled.
She obeyed without hesitation, ready for the reward he’d give her for playing his game. He caressed her back, smiling at her as she winced. He brought the blood forward to coat her nipple, then ran his tongue sensually over it. She closed her eyes so her shudder would seem one of arousal. He laughed, moving behind her, gently licking the weals, moaning with soft hunger. She reveled in the attention, ignoring the depravity of his actions. He turned her, kissing her, giving her a mouthful of her own blood. She fought the nausea and took it, groaning pleasurably. His fingers clawed at her back, his eyes watching her avidly. She forced herself not to show the pain except as waves of eroticism. The dark delight grew in his eyes and he slapped her, as hard as he had before. She fell away from him and he grabbed her wrist, hitting her again. The joy in him bewildered her, but she sobbed inwardly and accepted it, as she accepted all his games. He slapped her repeatedly, each blow as hard as the one before it, and soon she was cowering, involuntarily sinking to the deck. She cried out once, a plea for him to stop, and his foot lashed out, striking her between her breasts. She gasped sharply, and a second kick caught under her jaw. Sulu’s laughter echoed like ice within her and she was suddenly very afraid he was going to kill her. She started begging in earnest, pleading for her life, and still he laughed. His hands continued to brutalize her, but it was softer, less vicious, and within minutes he was on top of her, inside her, giving her the satisfaction he had taught her to crave and had always delivered. She nearly laughed herself between her sobs. She’d won, the game was hers! Let those alien sluts equal that! she crowed to herself.
Sulu left her and she groaned in genuine pain, but smiled at him. “You could’ve been gentler,” she admonished playfully.
“I suppose,” he replied, “but since it’s the last time, I wanted to make sure you remembered it.”
The words hit her like the slash of a knife. He couldn’t be serious, couldn’t mean it, not after... “What?” she rasped.
He smiled, rising from the deck. “Pack your things, Janice. You’re no longer my woman.”
She stared at him, shaking her head. “No,” she said.
He cocked his head to one side. “You’re not really going to argue with me again, are you?” he asked, an avid gleam in his eyes.
Her mind reeled. After what he had just done, the degradation he had put her through, the pain, the terror... She’d played along for nothing, all for nothing! The months of abiding his perversions, of sating his sadistic whims, and what had it gotten her? No rest, no security, no gain at all! She was back where she’d started - but used goods, and everyone believed she enjoyed the brutality! All the controlled hatred welled in her, furious and reckless. She glared up at him. “Bastard!” she hissed, pure loathing.
He grinned. “Isn’t that what I’ve been telling you?” Casually, he turned from her, walking across the deck. “Be gone by the time I get home, won’t you?”
“You damned cocksucking son-of-a-bitch!” she shrieked and leapt at him. He turned, catching her, slapping her down.
“Too bad you never did this before,” he told her, sweetly vicious. “It might have kept you interesting.” He again turned from her, going to the door. “Goodbye, Janice.”
She screamed at the empty room and swore by all the gods that some way, somehow, slowly, painfully, she’d see Sulu die.
Farrell was dead, killed by Sulu, for no reason Uhura’s agent could see. But Uhura had her suspicions. Farrell had just taken Costain, and Sulu made sure Paget took care of the Indiian. She hadn’t been sent to Sickbay. Kirk and Spock met with Sulu in his quarters, and Valley, too, had been brought to the Security Chief’s cabin. Valley and Costain had stayed the night, and another meeting was held, with them, in the Captain’s cabin that morning. Putting two and two together, it wasn’t very difficult to figure out what was going on. When her door chime sounded, Uhura’s only question was, Rand, or Chapel?
She rose from the seat at her desk, answering the call. Chapel stood nervously before her. “I have to talk to you,” the nurse said urgently, and tried to step past Uhura into the room. Uhura hesitated a moment before letting her enter. After all, with all the commotion of the night before, any officer worth his salt would be nervous. She studied Chapel’s face. It was blotchy, tear-streaked, but her eyes held as much hatred as pain.
“All right,” she said finally, and stood aside. “Does Spock know you’re here?” she added, already relishing the expected response.
Chapel whirled as the door closed. “Spock?” she snapped bitterly. “The half-breed I’ve been enslaved to, the Vulcan animal I’ve been forced to serve? What does he care where I go or what I do now?” There were fresh tears brimming in the china-blue eyes. Uhura knew the woman was close to panic, and she moved to recapture the anger.
“Did that bastard throw you out?” she asked incredulously, and watched as humiliated pride swept over Chapel’s features.
“Yes!” Chapel hissed. “But it’s my fault. I should’ve walked out long ago. I can’t believe I let him own a Terran.”
Uhura smiled and let Chapel think it was sympathetically. “If he’d been decent to you, there might have been a reason.”
“Decent? A Vulcan? A half-breed?” Chapel laughed derisively. “How could I have been so stupid?”
“It’s not you, Christine,” Uhura assured her. “The whole crew’s had to put up with his arrogance and his presumptions. You’re absolutely right, he is an animal. And animals that turn on their benefactors don’t deserve a thing.” Chapel almost preened at the word ‘benefactor.’ Uhura stepped to the replicator, returning with coffee. “What did he do, kick you out for one of those other half-breeds? The Antari or the Indiian?”
Chapel’s eyes hardened. “So that’s it!” she snarled, and Uhura had to hide her contempt for the woman’s lack of comprehension. “Of course, he prefers one of his own kind. I should’ve seen it coming.”
“From the day those two came aboard,” Uhura agreed. The door opened suddenly, and Uhura turned, her boot-knife already in her hand. Janice Rand, her arms laden with her own clothing, stumbled through the doorway. Her face, too, was tear-streaked, but swollen and discolored from an obvious beating, and she was furious, not shamed. She missed her footing once, and Uhura reached out to help her. Rand smiled, a glittering display of teeth, then dropped the clothes onto the bed. With blazing eyes, she turned to Uhura and kissed her ardently.
“Help me kill him,” she growled hoarsely.
Uhura silently thanked the gods for their generosity. Before she could answer Rand, Chapel burst out, “So I’m not the only one! It’s a alien conspiracy! They should all die!”
“All I care about is Sulu,” Rand hissed. Uhura gave her a comforting hug, then pulled away as Rand cried out. She stepped back, carefully turning Rand around, then shook her head at the blood seeping through the shift Rand wore.
“Janice, you’ve been hurt again,” she said. “I’m going to call Leonard. Then - “ She paused significantly. “We’ll all talk about everything.”
McCoy was both jubilant and uneasy about Uhura’s call. That Rand needed medical attention was no surprise, or that Uhura should call for it. The two had been thick as thieves lately. But there was an edge to Uhura’s voice, a calling-in of past favors. He’d kept assuring her he was ready to help whenever she got the chance to pull her coup, but now that she had... Maybe it wasn’t such a good idea. He’d relish getting rid of the damned, sadistic peacock, but... Could it work? Could a woman be smart enough to have covered everything? How shielded would his part in this be? If it failed, could he get out with his skin?
He sighed. There was no use in second-guessing. He’d have to hear the specifics, then decide. As he left Sickbay with a medkit, he hoped he could decide in Uhura’s favor.
Rand was bad off. He knew she’d start feeling her extensive injuries when her angry adrenaline wore off, so he pumped her full of pain-killers. He cleaned and dressed the ugly stripes on her back, attended to the abrasions at her chest and under her jaw, used anti-inflammatory agents on the swelling on her face and let his loathing of Sulu consume him.
“I’ve been planning this for some time,” Uhura began as they all took seats around her desk. Chapel stared at her, Rand smiled viciously. “The time is ripe now, and with your help, I know we can be successful.” She leaned forward, speaking quietly. “We have several main objectives. One,” she pointed elegantly at Rand and McCoy, “you want Sulu dead.” She smiled. “So do I. I want his job and when I get it - ” Her eyes glittered at Rand. “ - you’re Chief of Security’s woman again.” Rand nodded eagerly. Uhura turned to Chapel. “You want the half-breeds dead. I think Spock will have to wait, but the Antari and the Indiian are the means by which we’ll destroy Sulu.” She sat back. “Janice, do you know which of them Sulu is keeping?”
“Spock likes the Indiian,” Chapel broke in, almost pouting.
“But Sulu killed Farrell over her,” Uhura said.
“He did?”
“Leonard?”
“Well,” McCoy drawled, “Farrell is dead, had his throat cut. The Captain said Sulu did it, and word is Farrell was with Costain at the time.”
“He’s kept the little slut in his cabin more than the Antari,” Rand put in with a snarl.
Uhura nodded. “Costain is Sulu’s then, and the Antari is Spock’s.” She ignored Chapel’s quiet half-sob, then faced McCoy. “Leonard, your part in this will be fairly simple. Work up a poison that will kill an Antari half-breed.” Chapel smiled appreciatively, and Rand interrupted Uhura.
“Just get me into the bastard’s rooms. I’ll take care of the Indiian.”
Uhura studied her for a moment, then nodded. “All right. Leonard, you can get her onto the deck after Christine’s got the poison.”
“What about Sulu?” McCoy asked pointedly.
“I can handle him, too,” Rand assured coldly.
“No!” Uhura snapped. “Hear me out. We can’t kill him, or Kirk will simply execute us. But if I point out that his Security Chief couldn’t save his pets, and that I was the one who got through the supposedly infallible defenses - ” she paused, her voice becoming softly intense. “I get my promotion, the half-breeds are dead, and Kirk takes his former Security Chief apart; slowly, repaying every act of insolence, everything he ever put up with because he thought Sulu was indispensable.” She surveyed the faces in front of her. McCoy looked back, and at Rand and Chapel. It sounded good. Damn good. Flawless, in fact. No doubting Rand and Chapel would do their parts, not with the hatred that shone in their eyes. And Uhura had covered everything. He smiled.
“Give us the details, ma’am,” he drawled, and Uhura smiled back.
It hadn’t been comfortable for Marlena, spending a few hours with Ruth and Jilla. At first, there had been only their silence; Ruth’s resentful, Jilla’s unreadable. When she asked the two young women if they wanted coffee or tea, Ruth nodded, and Jilla declined with a faint, “No, thank you.”
“Her throat’s too sore,” Ruth explained.
The words were out before Marlena could stop them. “What in the names of the gods did Farrell do to you?”
Jilla’s answer was matter-of-fact. “He held his forearm against my throat so that he could choke me.”
Her tone of voice sent pure horror through Marlena. She covered it by getting the coffee. “Shouldn’t you see McCoy?”
“Sulu doesn’t trust him,” Ruth replied.
“He did all McCoy would do,” Jilla added.
“He takes good care of you, doesn’t he?” Marlena said quietly.
A brief flash of joy came into Jilla’s eyes. “Yes,” she replied. Then she glanced at Ruth, who lowered her gaze. Marlena wondered at the frown which came over the Antari’s lovely features. “He would take equally good care of you,” Jilla whispered.
“Of me?” Marlena asked, a shiver of prescient dread chilling her soul.
“If you’re enough,” Ruth put in, her voice hopeless and bitter.
“Enough? Enough what?”
“Enough of whatever he wants from you.”
“Enough,” Jilla corrected, “of whatever you promise him.”
“I never promised...” Ruth bristled.
“Not in words, but he feels...” Jilla countered.
“Please, you don’t have to explain this,” Marlena broke in, turning away from the chairs in which Ruth and Jilla sat.
“Oh, but we do,” Ruth returned. “He wants you, don’t you know that?”
“As does Spock,” Jilla said quietly.
Marlena whirled to face the Indiian. “How do you know that?” she rasped.
“She’s Indiian, she can feel it,” Ruth answered.
It was said so simply that, at first, Marlena didn’t react. Then the meaning of the words sank in. “She can what?” she whispered.
The Antari looked at her as though she were deaf or blind. “She can feel it. She is Indiian, you know.”
“What – “ Marlena’s voice caught, but she went on. “What has her being an Indiian got to do with…?
“She doesn’t know,” Jilla said abruptly.
Ruth whispered, her voice awed, “No one knows!”
“Knows what? “ Marlena pleaded.
“Sulu does,” Jilla corrected.
“What do you mean?” Marlena insisted.
“That I – any Indiian – can…”
“Jilla, don’t!” Ruth broke in. The look the Indiian gave her was both despairing and chastising.
“He wants her to know,” was her simple reply. She turned to stare into Marlena’s eyes. “Indiians sense and react to emotion,” she explained. “Any emotion. All emotion. All Indiians. All the time.” Her voice was sad, but ingenuous. She was speaking nothing more and nothing less than unvarnished truth.
The implications of that truth quickly raced through Marlena’s being. No wonder Spock found her so genuine. And no wonder Jim was unsatisfied with her ability to play his games. Her mood would change with the emotion of her partner – not what he pretended to feel, but what he was actually feeling. Is that how Sulu gained control of you so quickly? She found herself wondering. He does feel, he does care… Then came other implications. Jilla can feel what Spock feels, what I feel…
Marlena quickly knelt down in front of her. “You must never tell anyone about Spock, about me,” she begged. “Please! Jim would kill us both if he even suspected.”
“You love him,” Jilla stated.
A deep flush spread over Marlena’s face. “I - I don’t know - “
“No one here knows what love is, Jilla,” Ruth cut in. The Indiian turned to face her.
“Sulu does,” she again corrected.
Ruth’s laugh was short and bitter. “Don’t ever let him hear you saying that.”
“It’s all right,” Marlena tried to soothe. “You keep my secret, and I’ll keep yours.”
Suddenly, Ruth was crouching beside her. “Whenever you want him, just say the word. I’ll be happy to get out of your way.” There was such resentment in the tone that Marlena rose imperially.
“I don’t think that’s too likely as long as I’m Captain’s Woman, Miss Valley, do you?” she said.
Ruth stood as well, completely unintimidated. “I don’t really give a damn, Miss Moreau. The more you keep Spock occupied, the better I’ll like it.”
Marlena bristled indignantly. “What has he ever done to you?”
Ruth took a deep breath, but it was Jilla who answered.
“He’s not Sulu.”
“Shut up!” Ruth hissed at her. “Can’t you ever think of anything else?”
Jilla gazed at her, utterly tranquil. “No.”
Grey and purple eyes were locked for a long minute, then Jilla held out her arms and Ruth burst into tears, throwing herself into Jilla’s embrace. Marlena watched awkwardly as they comforted each other. By the time Ruth’s sobs stopped, she was almost in tears herself. She had never felt that urge to comfort anyone, not even Spock, though she had often felt the need for a little comfort herself. It made her wonder. Does everyone in the Empire feel that need for comfort, but no need to comfort? Is that what the Federation has that we’re lacking? Is it not that we don’t care, but that we can’t risk caring?
And is that what Sulu has done? Found a way to care without taking the risk?
He makes you take all the risks.
Marlena started at the thought in her mind that she was certain hadn’t come from her. She shook away the uneasy feeling, and concentrated on phrasing questions in her mind. Who were you? How were you trained? What’s the Federation really like? She hoped the answers would tell her all she needed to know about Jilla Costain and Ruth Valley, and all about who Marlena Moreau would become.
Spock entered his quarters to find the living area cluttered with Valley’s belongings. They were few; clothing, jewelry, make-up and other adornments and not much else, but nothing had been assigned a proper place. Valley herself was sitting on the bed, gently plucking the strings of his lyrette. He frowned.
“Miss Valley,” he began.
She looked up. “You’re supposed to call me ‘Ruth,’” she said. “That way I can turn into an Imperial pet for you.”
“I do not require an Imperial pet,” he returned, stepping toward the bed. “Nor will I tolerate childish sarcasm, or your appropriation of my belongings.” He stared down at her. “Return my lyre to its stand, and find places for your things.”
She met his eyes for only a moment, then sighed and got off the bed. “I’m sorry, Commander,” she replied. “I was simply missing my guitar. And I wanted to get your approval for where I put my clothes and such.”
Spock watched her as she carefully replaced the instrument, noting that care. “A commendable attitude, Miss Valley,” he said, “but not necessary. I require order, but I am not particularly territorial.” He paused, tilting his head curiously. “You play?”
“Yes,” Valley replied as she moved past him to the living area, beginning to put her clothing in the wardrobe. “But she obviously doesn’t, so I don’t have a guitar.”
Spock considered this as he watched Ruth efficiently complete the task of unpacking. “I can acquire one for you,” he said.
Ruth turned, her hands on her hips. “In exchange for what?”
“You have learned Imperial ways quickly, Miss Valley.”
“I had a crash course.”
“Unfortunate. It is your Federation training that I require.” Spock moved to his desk, sitting down. “If I use you, Miss Valley, it will be strictly as a means of physical release, preferably with your cooperation and consent. Imperial games are of no interest to me in private. In public, you will present the appropriate image, as will I.” He looked up at her. “You are a valuable tool, one I will not risk damaging in any way. Mr. Sulu is, of course, and except in public, free to do with you as he wishes, or as you have agreed with him, or whatever the terms of your relationship are. I will not interfere in that.” Spock paused significantly. “Unless I am asked to do so.” There was no reaction from the Antari. “Am I understood, Miss Valley?”
“Yes, Commander,” she replied, and Spock wondered at the quiet tone of her voice.
“Computer,” he addressed his machine, “authorize the requisition of one Terran acoustic guitar, priority one.”
“Working,” the harsh, computerized voice replied. “Requisition accepted. Awaiting confirmation.” Several seconds went by. “Confirmed. Delivery within three standard days.”
Spock glanced at Ruth. There was a look of wondering surprise on her face. “Is that acceptable, Miss Valley?” he asked.
“Yes,” she said. “Thank you, Mr. Spock.”
“If you play well, I will be more than recompensed.”
She smiled. “I play well.”
He turned his attention back to the computer. “I do not require your presence at the moment, Miss Valley. I would suggest that you report to your private laboratory.”
“With her injuries, Sulu will keep Jilla home today,” Ruth said.
“Very well. You may report to Sciences.”
“Yes, sir.”
She left without another word, and Spock reflected that the change in the general atmosphere of his cabin was a very pleasant one indeed.