Pain and nausea and swirling dizziness danced in a macabre waltz in Ruth’s head. There was something there, a weak, lone fighter battling the death that skirted the edges of the dance, and Ruth couldn’t spare the energy to groan. She could hear Chapel’s cold, mocking laughter, her eyes seeing through a dimly lit haze. She prayed to - something - dark and icy fire - no, golden, warm, strong - goddess, goddess! The fighter seemed to get stronger. She wanted to gag and retch but her body lay inert, trembling. The room spun and wavered and she couldn’t seem to close her eyes. The taunting laughter continued...
Then stopped abruptly with a voice that seemed to echo within her very mind.
“Christine, you miserable fool.”
There was a power in that voice, and Ruth tried to turn to it. Dim, darkness, eyes of fire... death, was it death, come for her? No, angular face, piercing intellect, and a source, power hidden behind the bearded mask, power to strengthen the fighter, power she needed...
As if in a dream, Ruth watched Spock advance toward a cringing, pale Chapel. The woman begged, pleaded, and Spock smiled, a cold, deadly smile.
“Your pleas are useless,” he said in a voice of ebony satin. “You will die. Shall I do it, or will you wait for Sulu?”
Chapel screamed, terror overwhelming her with the threat. Spock’s hand grabbed her throat, and the sound choked off. There was pleasure in his thoughts as his fingers tightened. Ruth grasped at the emotion, pulling it in, feeding the one who battled the poison. Chapel’s neck snapped with a sickeningly audible sound and Ruth found her mind snapping away from Spock’s at the same instant. Spock dropped the dead body as though it were distasteful, then his eyes found Ruth’s.
“Help me,” she managed.
Spock approached the bed where the Antari lay dying. He quickly switched on the scanners, checking her condition. That she was still alive at all was a shock. By the concentration of poison in the girl’s system, she should have been dead minutes ago. He turned to the pharmaceutical computer to devise an antidote. Sulu’s voice interrupted him.
“Spock, where’s - “
The voice stopped and Spock turned. Sulu was staring at Chapel’s body. The head was resting on the shoulder in an impossible angle, the pale blue eyes open and staring, blood seeping from the open mouth.
“Shit,” Sulu scowled.
“It was effective,” Spock replied. Sulu glared at him.
“I wanted her, Spock.”
Spock stared back impassively. “I needed her out of the way to begin the computations for an antidote to the poison Miss Valley was given,” he returned. “Surely, that is the priority.” The anger in Sulu’s eyes passed, and he went to Ruth. Spock returned to his work, listening unobtrusively.
“Ruth, can you hear me?”
A soft groan, a repeated, “help me.”
“It’ll be all right, baby. Spock, hurry up!”
Another groan, and Sulu whispered something Spock couldn’t hear. He got the formula, prepared the injection, and stepped toward the bed. Sulu reached for the hypo, and with a raised eyebrow, Spock gave it to him, then stepped back.
Fascinating.
Sulu tried to bury the fear, the pain, as he gave Ruth the antidote. The poison was a slow one, from the readings, but infallibly lethal. And she had been given a massive dose. Live, Ruth, he begged silently. You can live, I know you can if you want to. My fault, honey, it was my fault! Ruth, baby, come on, you can do it! He swallowed hard as the words, the damned, weak words came again to his mind. They had already come from his lips, a helpless reaction to Ruth’s need. Damn it, he swore inwardly, it’s all my fault! I almost lost both of you because it makes me weak!
But if I didn’t....
If I hadn’t been loving Jilla, I would’ve watched you, I could have saved...
But if I hadn’t loved you...
Demons, gods damn you all!
It was the perfect opportunity. Sulu was preoccupied, unmindful of anything but his Antari. No need to create a circumstance by which he could tap Sulu’s mind. It would take but a minute, and with all the confusion, that minute would not require accounting for. I will know you, my complex friend.
Spock stepped silently forward, his fingers spread, and firmly grasped Sulu’s temples.
Fear. Pain. Horror. Rage. Spock swept it aside with a thought. He absorbed the intellect, all Sulu knew. Monitors within monitors of monitors. A veritable flood of information constantly at his fingertips. Quite an accomplishment. No wonder you know every move on the ship. Compartments of personal knowledge, neatly arranged, segregated for ready retrieval. Good, good. I know how you think.
Deeper.
Swelling arrogance. Pride. Disdain. Fearless contempt. You spit at men who are used, even when it is you who uses them. No one will ever use you again - again?
Calvario.
Spock quickly absorbed the memories, knowing he dared not take the time now to attempt to understand them. But take them he would, and explore them thoroughly later.
Confidence, impossible to break. Your own contempt would destroy you first. Strength that appears as arrogance. You respect me? You know I only appear to be Kirk’s? How do you know that, I wonder? One smart half-breed. I screw Kirk each time I am in Marlena. How right you are. Marlena. Desire, greed, hunger - promise. You want her, want my woman? At your peril, I warn you! Disdain for warning and threat and peril. It adds to her beauty. As it does for me? You understand much. We are in accord. I know how you feel.
Deeper.
Agony. Worthless screaming. Monster. Del, savior, friend, god. Del. Alive by his grace, can never repay, never return what he has given. But you try, by the gods, you try! Hawk, by choice. DelMonde gave the choice. Choose to love him. Love? Ruth, Jilla - so lovely, so perfect. Diane. Jaris. Not enough, not worthy. You killed her today? She came at last. Proved her love. You rewarded her by releasing her from you. Others are empty, but Ruth, Jilla - and Marlena. Substance. Sustenance. The capacity is there, the promise of - love.
Twisted, weak demon-thing! Kill it, someone kill it, someone kill me...!
But love me! I care, I love...!
I know you!
Images coalesced at last, every action falling into place, understanding sweeping through Spock’s being. He laughed with fierce joy. So simple, my useful friend. All I need do is play you as DelMonde plays you. Not an ally, Sulu, not an enemy to be watched. A tool, my tool now. My falcon. I am half Terran, after all. You will look more than pleasant on my arm.
Spock pulled away, still touching Sulu’s forehead. “Forget this minute,” he said, then noticed Ruth’s stare. He touched her temple. “And you, my dear. Forget.”
Then he quickly stepped away.
Ruth was left in Sickbay, under guard. Spock and Sulu reported to Kirk’s quarters. The Captain looked both pleased and annoyed. Marlena was anxious, McCoy pale and nervous.
“Is she alive?” Marlena asked as they came in.
Spock nodded. “Yes. However, there are casualties. Ensign Saxon, and Miss Chapel.” He noted that McCoy seemed as relieved as Marlena. He knew, now, as well as Sulu had, that the doctor had had no small part in this. Why, then, was McCoy here? Did Kirk not know of McCoy’s involvement?
“Dr. McCoy thought to warn me of Uhura’s actions,” Kirk said. “Of course, I had no need, but I do appreciate the gesture.”
It was a tacit pardon. Spock glanced at Sulu, whose eyes narrowed and grew slightly colder. He would not forgive McCoy’s part, and Spock wondered how he would avenge himself without Kirk’s approval. That he would was not in question.
“Rand attacked Jilla while Chapel attempted to murder Ruth,” Sulu said suddenly. He stared blandly at McCoy. “I’d appreciate your coming to my cabin and having a look at her.” McCoy broke into a sweat, and Spock saw the gleam in Sulu’s eyes as the doctor nodded. “With your permission, Captain?” Sulu asked.
“Dismissed, for now, but you’ll be needed shortly.”
Sulu’s grin was pure malice. “Yes, sir. I’m looking forward to it.” He saluted Kirk. “Come on, Doctor.”
McCoy’s salute was weak, and he followed Sulu out of the office.
“A purge, Spock,” Kirk said when they had gone.
“I think it is necessary,” Spock agreed. He tried not to see the regret in Marlena’s eyes.
Sulu was silent as he and McCoy entered his quarters. Paget, standing outside the door, informed him that the Brig had reported that Rand was awake and screaming. He smiled, commenting casually that she had every reason to scream. Paget chuckled, and McCoy went a little paler.
Jilla lay on the bed, eyes half-closed, seemingly unaware of the blood seeping through the bandaging at her breasts and hand. Sulu inclined his head at McCoy, and the doctor approached the bed.
“I did what I could in the time I had,” Sulu said. “A shame I didn’t know what Rand was up to earlier. You were right here before going to warn the Captain, weren’t you?” He paused. “I’m sure I saw you - but there was a lot going on.” He shrugged. “Of course, you couldn’t’ve known either, could you?”
McCoy was silent, efficiently removing the makeshift bandaging, examining and treating the wounds. Finally, trying to sound casual, he said, “Not too bad. No worse than you’ve done.”
“No,” Sulu agreed slowly. “As a matter of fact, I’ve done a lot worse.” He noted McCoy was sweating again. “And you’ve seen it all, haven’t you, Doc?” He smiled as McCoy swallowed convulsively. “But never, of course, first hand,” Sulu went on, his voice pleasant and deliberately convivial. “Wouldn’t want to, I don’t imagine. And there’s no reason I should consider it, is there?” The man swayed, and Sulu grinned fiercely. “Thanks, Doc. I’ll see you at the execution.”
He was amazed that McCoy managed to walk out the door. Kirk has made sure I can’t do it directly, Doctor, he thought. But then, I won’t have to. Say your prayers, make your offerings, McCoy, and do make sure your will is accurate.
Kirk glanced to the glass cylinder where Uhura stood waiting. She was glaring at McCoy, as though her very gaze were a phaser beam. She would be screaming soon, Kirk knew, on her way to a long, slow, death. It wasn’t that she didn’t know it, or didn’t fear it, but her anger was overshadowing everything else. Maybe she’s handling her fear by concentrating on wishing McCoy dead, Kirk thought with grim amusement. He looked away from the Booth to each of the senior officers gathered by the control console. McCoy, sweating and pale; Scott, as noncommittal - no, more noncommittal than usual. Spock looked both impatient and bored, wanting, no doubt, to get this unpleasantness over with and get on with the business of conquering the Empire. Sulu had a very satisfied smile for Uhura, and an anticipatory gleam in his eyes as he checked over the Booth controls. Kirk noticed that he occasionally turned that smile on McCoy, who flinched and looked to his Captain for reassurance. Kirk deliberately ignored this interplay, while artfully concealing the fact that he was ignoring it. Holden, the new Chief of Communications, was looking decidedly smug. Well, why not? He didn’t have to do any work to get his new position, he’s simply the most senior of the communications officers who wasn’t siding with Uhura. But he might as well start earning his stripe.
“Open a ship-wide channel, Mr. Holden,” Kirk ordered. “I want this on every screen.”
Holden moved quickly to obey. Kirk nodded to him and began to speak. “Ladies and gentlemen. Last night, as you know, Lieutenant Uhura attempted a coup of the Security Section of this ship via assassination and the discrediting of the current Chief of that section. As you also know, she failed. You know the price of such failure, the price for any attempt to disrupt the operations of this ship - and I decide what constitutes disruption. On the Enterprise, I make the rules. Anyone who doesn’t want to play by them will be subject to the same fate as Miss Uhura and her accomplices.” He nodded to Sulu. “Begin.”
Marlena shuddered and wished she could block out the sounds of Uhura’s screams. They issued from every com unit on the ship. It was necessary, she kept reminding herself, and standard procedure in such cases. The crew had to be made fully aware of the consequences of disloyalty. From now on, death in the Booth would be the penalty for the merest hint of Imperial ambition. Marlena watched the others in the chem lab with her, all pale, expressions frozen, avoiding each others’ eyes. It wasn’t the screams so much that bothered them, or the begging for death. All that was normal from someone in the Booth. It was the fear that it might be them. Each one listened carefully to the insistent questions put by Sulu, asking for the names of Uhura’s supporters. She gave them gladly, and everyone feared, guilty or not, that she would name them next. Any name she chose to give had become a death sentence. Everyone on board realized that this was more than the execution of a traitor. This was a witch hunt, purge and warning. Whoever was left would be loyal to Kirk and Kirk alone. Whatever Kirk chose to do would be accepted without question.
Marlena sighed. It isn’t what we want, she told herself over and over. It isn’t the way we’ll rule. But it’s the only way we have to gain the power we need to make the changes we want. We won’t have to worry about unauthorized messages to Fleet or the Empire or anyone else. This makes the Enterprise a safe haven for the rebels in command, and a safe place for Ruth and Jilla to be the intelligent women they really were.
I only wish it didn’t have to hurt so badly.
“Why don’t you shut her up,” McCoy complained nervously.
“Sorry, Doc,” Sulu replied cheerfully. “This is a public execution.” He paused, then added, “Don’t you like the sound of your own name?”
“You’re just loving this, aren’t you?” McCoy hissed, almost in a panic.
“Loving it?” Sulu considered. “I do my job well, McCoy. Uhura is a traitor to the command of this ship. I enjoy seeing a mutineer punished. And I’m very thorough.” He grinned. “Is that what you mean by ‘loving it?’”
“McCoy!” Uhura screamed.
“Damn you!” McCoy shouted at the figure in the Booth. He whirled back to Sulu. “That’s what you love, making me sweat!”
“I already know your part in it,” Sulu replied tauntingly. He waited a moment, watching the man’s eyes grow wide. “The Captain told me,” he added smoothly, then turned to Uhura. “The guards,” he snapped at her, his voice cold business.
“Kill McCoy!” Uhura begged.
“The guards,” Sulu repeated, colder still, adjusting the controls slightly. Uhura gasped, a horrible rattling sound in a dry, hoarse throat. He boosted the power by a fraction, and she screamed.
“Paget!” she rasped, then laughed maniacally. “Your own damn - !” Her voice was cut off by a sharp surge of power and her own shriek.
Beside Sulu, Paget grinned. McCoy stared at the TerAfrican, his thoughts plain on his face. Was Paget stupid? Didn’t he understand that being Sulu’s errand boy wouldn’t save him from sharing the fate of the rest of Uhura’s supporters? Sulu chuckled. “You obviously followed your orders perfectly,” he said to Paget. “The Captain and I both know how completely you infiltrated this conspiracy.” He flashed a glance at McCoy, an obvious one. “Too bad Uhura didn’t.”
McCoy gasped, almost choking on the effort to hide his reaction. He couldn’t run, he had to stay here, bluff it out somehow. Uhura had been set up! Kirk hadn’t needed anyone to tell him what was going on, he’d set it up! Why? To see just who was loyal and who wasn’t, that’s why! But all I wanted to do was get rid of that sadistic peacock! So I helped Uhura - and everyone knew it. Kirk can’t afford to let me survive this. Why hasn’t he thrown me to Sulu already? Why doesn’t the damn bastard just get it over with, put me in the Brig, the Booth... He shook uncontrollably. What has he got planned for me? He turned away, white, sick, wishing there was someplace he could hide from Sulu’s taunting smile.
Sulu backed the power down a little, letting Uhura catch her breath. “Guards,” he asked again, and she sobbed and said, “Conway!” Sulu grinned, nodding at Paget, who dispatched a Security team to Ensign Conway’s post. He dropped the power level to near zero, a brief respite calculated to make Uhura much more willing to talk before she died.
Conway had left his post, but those stationed around him pointed out the way he had gone. The guards had no trouble finding him, and he begged, sobbing, all the way to the Brig.
“Simon!”
Lieutenant Simon was waiting for the Security team. He seemed dulled, mindless, and simply followed the guards with quiet despair.
“Kinney!
Yeoman Kinney was found dead in her shower stall.
“Murphy!”
Ensign Murphy attacked the guards who came into his quarters. They reluctantly shot him down.
“Martinez!”
Lieutenant Martinez tried to appeal to his Chief. He found Scott cold, uncaring, noncommittal. He was pleading for the neutral protection of Engineering when the Security team dragged him away. Scott went back to his work.
Kirk sat in the con, waiting for Spock’s report. The crew had relaxed after Uhura’s death had shut off the flow of names. The rest of the deaths had been quicker and not quite so public, though no less painful. He was pleased with the purge. He was in control, complete control. There were no opposing influences left on his ship, he could at last run it as he - we - saw fit. There wasn’t even anything unusual for any remaining Imperial spy to report - purges were terribly commonplace. Not that he believed there was a spy on board, at least not one who would dare make a report. Unless it was Sulu, and in that case, he was already dead. Unless Sulu was a spy for someone else. DelMonde, for instance. It was a distinct possibility, but that wasn’t necessarily a bad thing. It meant that DelMonde thought him worth spying on.
Sulu had yet to touch Rand or McCoy. He was no doubt saving them for recreational purposes after an arduous two days of carrying out ordered executions. Kirk shrugged. He was feeling indulgent, let Sulu take his time. Farrell’s death suddenly loomed in his memory, but he dismissed the resentment. He could almost feel sorry for McCoy and Rand. If Sulu could murder that graphically for something as minor as ‘rape,’ Kirk didn’t want to imagine what he’d do to attempted assassins. He thought of checking up on his Security Chief later, with the Tantalus, but rejected the idea. It might be interesting to watch his games, but it would undoubtedly upset Marlena.
She had been as nervous as a cat since the night Uhura was arrested. Kirk didn’t really understand why, but there was no need to deliberately cause her discomfort. Was it simply how close superior officers’ allegedly protected women had come to being eliminated? It was damn lucky for them all that the attempts had proved unsuccessful. Who would have suspected that Costain still had it in her to fight? Kirk thought. Sulu must have done what he said he was going to do and started reversing her programming. But I’ll bet it was a shock to Rand. And Valley’s constitution has proved to be nothing short of amazing. M’Benga says she’s still disoriented, but I’ll bet a night with Sulu will fix that right up. M’Benga, Kirk mused. Yes, I’ll be needing a new Chief Surgeon. M’Benga will do.
Spock stepped up to him and held out a statboard for his signature. “All executions completed, sir,” he reported briskly.
“All?” Kirk asked and grinned.
Spock quirked one eyebrow in puzzlement. “Security reports that everyone Lieutenant Uhura named, fifty-three persons, have been disposed of, as ordered, Captain.”
“Sulu hasn’t started on Rand and McCoy?”
Spock frowned slightly at Kirk’s amusement. “Yeoman Rand has been placed in the sensory deprivation cell. You are permitting Dr. McCoy’s death? I had not been certain you would.”
“Can we afford to keep any traitors alive?” Kirk asked in turn. “Besides, Sulu will see him dead no matter what I do. This time, I don’t mind.”
“He has been under the impression that you gave him clemency,” Spock pointed out.
“I’m not responsible for his impressions, Spock,” Kirk replied with a jaunty grin. He glanced up as he handed the statboard back. Spock’s displeasure was obvious. He shrugged. “A man has to have some recreation, Commander. Not all of us are graced with an Antari.”
Spock made no answer, and Kirk dismissed him with a wave of his hand. It was a little thing, to enjoy the fact that Spock had preferred the Indiian, and he had no intention of eliminating all his pleasures. It was still his ship.
Sulu watched from the control room as Rand was dragged, kicking, fighting, screaming, to the sensory deprivation cell. He hadn’t told her what he intended, only that it wouldn’t be boring. She was stark white, terrified, and he relished it. He relished, too, McCoy’s visible trembling. He’d ordered the doctor to attend the proceedings, knowing precisely the reaction it would have. McCoy had been sweating for two days now, waiting, as Rand waited. A little more, Doc, he thought, savoring the feeling, let your imagination run wild. What will I do to you? You know it’s only a matter of time. Consider it, McCoy, in your nightmares, every waking hour. Sooner or later, I’ll get to you.
He heard a low, almost inaudible moan, and turned. Jilla stared at the scene before them, silent, wide-eyed, but Ruth was staring at nothing, her eyes a kaleidoscope. That wasn’t right. Sulu considered it, then decided it was still a reaction from the poison, or possibly from her body’s abortive attempt to heal it on her own. It was important that both his loves witness this. It was the next test. See what I’m capable of, watch as I do it to someone else. Then we’ll see if the damned words come so easily.
The guards had left the cell. Rand was on her knees, sobbing hysterically. He had a twinge of sympathy, knowing too well the hideous thing he was about to do to her. But then, she deserves the hideousness. Maybe she’ll come through it like I did. He laughed. I doubt it, baby. He switched on the power to the cell, wrapping Rand in complete sensory deprivation, a variation on sonics that created an instant and total void, one that seemed, to the victim, to have had no beginning, and certainly no end. One minute, and Rand was screaming.
The scream penetrated Ruth’s mind and she looked up, her heart racing. Sulu seemed far away from her, and though he was real and solid, she didn’t reach for him. She couldn’t, not ever again. But she didn’t know why. She only knew that she deserved to be left unreal, that she was wrong, bad. But why, what she had done... that she didn’t know.
She struggled to remember, but her thoughts were twisted with memories of pain and sickness. McCoy and Chapel, the hiss of the hypospray. Some fighter within her, golden and alive, calling upon the power of... Was that it? Had she called to a god other than him? No, he said he’d known, he’d brought her from the Federation. He would have told her if she had to forsake Zehara.
Spock had come. She had asked Spock for help... Was that it? No, he had given her to Spock, she was supposed to be Spock’s. She was allowed to give to him and to take from him.
He had come. She had asked him for help. He had given her the help, he had said words to her, he had strengthened the fighter. He hadn’t wanted her to stay sick and weak and unreal...
Then why, why, what had she done?
She stared at him, her senses fracturing, desperate to be what he wanted and knowing with barren certainty that she couldn’t, ever again.
Jilla cowered beside Sulu, frightened and confused. She knew Rand was wrong, knew she deserved her death, knew Sulu would know the best way, but... She couldn’t stop feeling the fear, the desperate terror. It was horrible, unbearably cruel! Why was he making her watch when he knew she had to feel it? Had she done something wrong, had she displeased him? She remembered Jaris, and started trembling. But no, Diane was enough. Sulu had killed her gently, quickly. “No, you weren’t, Diane,” he said, “but you are now.” I am, I know I am. Why does he want me to see how he kills Rand? To show me what happens if I’m not? But he never loved Rand. It’s so sick, so twisted to let her die like this when he doesn’t care.
Why, Sulu? I love you! Tell me why!
It had been over an hour. McCoy was frozen with fear and loathing and a disgust that tore at his stomach. Rand was a pitiful sight, half-dead, her life functions slowing as she sobbed in empty desolation. She’d begged, pleaded, and Sulu reveled in it. As he reveled in Valley’s hopeless horror and Costain’s tear-filled desperation. Cruel, depraved sadist! And I’m next. Gods, I’m next! I should’ve known better. How could I’ve been so stupid? Go against Dis? Evil incarnate? Shit, I deserve it!
Valley hadn’t moved. She sat a few feet away from Sulu, isolated, almost as fractured as Rand. Costain was anxious, her eyes darting, moist and questioning. Sulu was calm, casual, callously watching not Rand, but Valley and Costain. And every so often, smiling with intense anticipation at McCoy himself. McCoy only trembled more.
As the life readings went out, Sulu sighed in blissful contentment. Goodbye, dear, stupid Janice, he thought. He glanced at McCoy. The doctor was nearly fainting. Rand had put on quite a show till the end. It came too soon, but Sulu hadn’t expected anything else. She was nothing more than an Imperial slut. There was no substance to her. Still, it had been satisfying to watch her. She’d torn out her hair, clawed at her skin, bitten her cheeks and lips hard enough to draw blood. She’d beat her own head against the padded walls, tried to smash her hands and feet, cried, screamed, ripped at her throat, her lips, her eyes. Nothing helped, of course, nothing penetrated the sonic void. But her savage desperation was more than adequate for adding to McCoy’s worries, and a more than adequate test for Ruth and Jilla. Jilla had been physically sick, her terror and confusion obvious. She hated what he’d done. He’d have to see if she hated him, as well. Ruth...
He turned, gazing at her. Something was wrong, drastically so. He had expected the loss of reality, but had thought she would hide it, fight it, hiss ‘bastard!’ at him while her eyes begged him to tell her what was real. But she had withdrawn. She didn’t reach for him to help her. Aren’t you enough, Ruth? he thought, suddenly worried. What if she isn’t? I still have Jilla... Gods, how it hurts! No, she has to be enough, I can’t take another Diane! Ruth, tell me it isn’t true, you didn’t lie to me, please! Damn you, bitch, be enough!
It was fear that made him tell Jilla to go to Paget’s cabin, fear that made him ignore McCoy, desperate, anguished fear that made him pull Ruth to his quarters.
When McCoy left the Brig, his only thought had been escape. He had no idea how he had gotten to his office, nor did he know how he’d downed half a bottle of brandy. He’d done it, that was certain: only good Saurian brandy could have stopped the trembling and dulled the terror enough to let him think. “What’s there to think about?” he muttered to the darkened room. Dark, he thought, and deserted. Why not? Who’d come near a leper? “Not me, that’s for damn sure.” He laughed sourly at the thought of a dead man who could still talk. Dead all right. The only question was how. “I’ll cheat that bastard somehow,” he promised himself. No SD cell for me, or Booth, or anything else his sick little mind can come up with. He’s played with me enough. He laughed again. It echoed faintly in his mind as he stood and stumbled into the Sickbay. “Stupid bitches,” he growled, preparing a hypo with a quick-acting, painless poison. “All their fault. Stupid bitches.” He held the hypo to his arm and heard the hiss of the injection.