Sulu left Paget outside the door to Kirk’s office for appearances’ sake, as he always did. He noted with mild surprise that Sepak was still outside Spock’s quarters. He grinned. Ensign Valley must have given the Vulcan some night - though he knew it could not have been anything like the night sweet Jilla had given him.
He sauntered into the room, draping himself casually in a chair as Moreau entered from Kirk’s private quarters.
“Good day, Marlena,” he said cordially. “And how are you this lovely morning?”
Moreau smiled acidly at him, but he could see the wanton memory in her brown eyes. “Recovered, you bastard,” she replied.
“And when am I free next?” Sulu added, then laughed softly. Her eyes went cold and she turned to the replicator. Sulu glanced over his shoulder at the sound of the door, then nodded to Spock, who nodded back.
Spock remained standing as Moreau gave Sulu a cup of coffee, shaking his head when she offered him a cup. “No, thank you, Marlena.”
She laughed lightly. “You should cultivate at least one bad habit,” she told him.
“Like you?” Sulu inquired innocently, then grinned at her scowl and Spock’s raised eyebrow. “Besides, he already has one. A bad temper.” He stretched, sipping his coffee. “You sent Valley to Sickbay,” he continued, directly to the First Officer.
Spock took a seat, folding his arms across his chest. “As you did, I assume, with Miss Costain?” he retorted.
Sulu only smiled, his eyes closing. When he opened them, they were sparkling appreciatively. “She’s a sweet little thing, isn’t she?” he mused.
“Yes,” Spock rejoined, the slight softness of his voice echoing Sulu’s sentiments. “Literally as well as figuratively.”
“Fresh,” Sulu went on. “Crisp. Delicious.” He shook his head with a fond sigh. “Is Valley as entertaining?” he asked.
He watched for and caught the darkening of Spock’s face. “I am forced to admire her resilience,” Spock answered smoothly.
Sulu exchanged glances with Moreau, then Marlena said softly, “Just don’t let Jim’s bad judgment affect our plans.”
Spock shook his head. “His judgment is not in question, and his selfishness, while annoying, is hardly sufficient cause for the type of counter-productive measures we once considered mandatory.”
Sulu inclined his head, his eyebrows raised admiringly. Marlena’s smile was warm. The door behind her hissed open and Kirk strode in from his quarters. Moreau turned, Sulu and Spock rising, but their salutes were desultory. Kirk grinned laconically and said, “Sit,” taking a chair behind his desk. Spock and Sulu resumed their seats, Moreau returned to the replicator to get another cup of coffee. Kirk took a few sips from it before stating, “Well, let’s get started.”
Spock sat forward, speaking first. “One major item,” he said. “Our sources have been able to identify the Rigellian who is interested in Halkan.” He paused and glanced at the other three. “Jerel Courtland.”
Sulu let out a long, low whistle. Kirk began grinning. Moreau asked the obvious question.
“Is he on his own?”
“Our last intelligence reports he is still in the personal employ of Don DelMonde,” Spock replied.
“Very interesting,” Kirk murmured. “Can we use it?”
“To acquire Rigel would be a significant gain,” Spock began. “DelMonde is known for his ability to inspire loyalty. The Rigel system is the largest, most abundantly endowed in the Empire. DelMonde himself is in the Line of Succession, but he has never shown any Imperial ambitions. He could make a strong ally.”
“We have to assume his intelligence is equal to ours,” Sulu broke in. “We haven’t done anything overt, but it’s said his Consigliore has a second sense for such things. I know the Don. He’s no fool. If he’s using Courtland this openly, he wants someone to notice.”
“And if he’s contacting the Halkans,” Kirk mused, “I think we can agree it’s not the Empire he wants noticing.”
“Can we trust him?” Moreau asked cautiously.
“It’s not a matter for trust yet,” Kirk answered. “Let him make the first move. I’m not about to walk into an Imperial trap.”
“He no doubt feels the same way,” Spock reminded.
“Can we afford to gamble?” Moreau challenged.
“A point well taken, Marlena,” Spock acknowledged.
“Can we afford not to?” Sulu added.
“Both points are well taken,” Kirk rejoined. “For now, we’ll continue to watch the Don’s movements very carefully, but from a distance. Contact the Intrepid. If DelMonde moves toward us, I want to be there to reassess the situation.” He sat back, again sipping at his coffee. “What else?”
“We received a message from Senator Valley, wanting to know if we found his gift suitable,” Spock said. “Apparently, he did not entirely trust Admiral Mendez’ ability to forego an opportunity to appropriate a prize as unusual as a trained Antari female.”
“He actually though José might steal his little bribe?” Kirk chuckled.
“It is an understandable fear,” Spock commented. “The Senator knows how swift retribution would be if you thought he had reneged.”
“Of course,” Sulu mentioned, “the Senator doesn’t know that we have as perfect a hold on Mendez as we do on him.”
“True,” Kirk returned. “So, Spock, did you reassure Valley that his bastard was safe and sound?
“I told him we had, as yet, no reason to be displeased.”
Kirk laughed. “As yet. Spock, you’re priceless.” He paused, shaking his head in appreciation, then straightened. “Anything else?”
“Something interesting from Mr. Scott,” Sulu said casually. “A circuitry panel shorted out. At the time, in the manner, for the reasons Miss Costain yesterday insisted that it would.”
“Really?” Kirk began. “Valley came to me yesterday pleading excuses for Costain’s behavior. She claimed an Indiian couldn’t help reacting, that she wasn’t being insubordinate. But not a word about her being wrong.” He paused thoughtfully.
Spock verbalized the growing realization. “Captain,” he said softly, “I believe we may have an engineer in our midst.”
“And Valley knew it,” Moreau rejoined just as softly.
“As did her father,” Spock finished.
“According to our intelligence, they didn’t know one another,” Sulu stated. “They had never met before beaming aboard this ship.”
“Curious,” Spock murmured.
“More than curious,” Kirk returned gruffly. “What are the Senators up to?”
“I don’t think we can blame the Senators,” Sulu said. “They would have taken more care with the schooling of their tools. The last thing they would want to do is give us reason to suspect their darling daughters. If this was some Imperial trick, Valley and Costain would be the perfect pets, believe me. They aren't Imperial creatures trying to give the impression of something more.”
There was a long silence, then Kirk swore softly.
“Jim,” Moreau said, gaining his attention. “Why don’t you have your Chief of Security ask them?”
“No,” Kirk replied thoughtfully. “No, if we’re wrong, that would alert them. The best way to trap them, if they are involved in something detrimental, is to let them go too far to get out of it. Under our careful surveillance.”
“Marlena,” Spock said suddenly, “since we do not suspect them, they will be expecting no interference. I have no doubts you will be tolerant. However, I believe it might be helpful if you were to impress that upon the women subordinate to you.”
“He means every woman on the ship, dear,” Kirk added, pleased at Moreau’s accepting nod. “Anything else?” he asked of Spock and Sulu. Both men shook their heads. “Then there’s something I have for you. Due to our successful mission on Kelincar...” - there was laughter all around the room - “...we’ve been granted one week’s leave on Darius IV. We’re on course now.”
After a brief session of self-congratulation, Spock and Sulu rose to begin the day’s tour of duty. Almost as an afterthought, they turned at the door and saluted. Grinning, Kirk waved them off. The door opened and Sulu stepped through. Spock let it close, stared at it for a moment, then turned again to Kirk.
“Incidentally, Captain,” he said, deliberately casual, “I will send Costain when I’ve finished.”
Cold hazel eyes met colder ebony, then Kirk shrugged. “Fair enough, Mr. Spock.”
“Comin’ all this way just to deliver reports?” McCoy drawled as Janice Rand handed him several tapes. “Why, I’m used to havin’ to patch you up three, four times a week. Yes, this is mighty damn unusual. Downright peculiar, wouldn’t you say, Christine?”
Rand ignored the doctor’s comments. He was totally unimportant in her scheme of things, even if what he said was accurate. Rand didn’t want to dwell on why it was accurate. She wore the scars Sulu gave her proudly, and didn’t want to be reminded of the fact that he had sent her elsewhere for the past two nights. Unfortunately, she wasn’t successful in ignoring Christine Chapel.
Chapel answered, “Yes, Doctor,” to McCoy, then stopped Rand just outside the doorway to McCoy’s inner office.
“Did Moreau give you the friendship and tender loving care lecture?” Chapel asked.
Rand looked contemptuously at her. “She’s talked to me,” she responded coolly. “The lady must have her reasons.”
“The lady,” Chapel snapped, “doesn’t have anything to worry about.”
“Poor Christine,” Rand nearly sneered. “Have you been having trouble finding places to sleep these past few nights?”
Chapel responded to the attack with one of her own. “I hear Sulu spent all night with Costain after just a fifteen minute boothing,” she returned with no little scorn.
Rand shrugged. “One night is one night. As long as my things stay where they are, I’m not going to bother about it.” Her face turned suddenly mockingly sympathetic. “Oh, Christine, Spock hasn’t...”
Chapel was white with fury. “Of course he hasn’t, but I'm not going to take any chances!” She calmed herself, then smiled coldly. “And I don’t think you can afford to, do you?”
Rand didn’t rise to the bait. “Sulu likes a woman with substance,” she replied. “You wanted Spock, you put up with him. As far as my man is concerned, I can handle it anyway he wants it.” She paused, gazing insolently at Chapel. “But I can see how you could be concerned,” she went on. “Spock’s a nice catch, even if he is a half-breed, and this is your last chance, isn’t it?”
Christine lunged, but Rand had been expecting it and was through the door before Chapel could touch her. Rand laughed all the way to the Bridge.
Ruth had slept most of the day, and when Jilla’s return to their cabin woke her, she found to her joy that her body had begun to heal. It was slow and more exhausting than she had been used to, but it proved that her abilities were still within her, untrained and unpracticed though they might be. She was about to share her good news with Jilla, when she caught sight of the Indiian’s haggard face.
“Jilla?” she asked.
Jilla sat down on the other bed. “I am tired, Ruth,” she replied. “And it is difficult here - the emotions are more raw, more fierce. I have trouble keeping my reactions appropriate.” She turned to face the Antari. “Commander Scott was angry that I had been right about the control panel yesterday. I don’t understand why. I don’t understand half the things I feel from people. And I respond as if I were one of Pavlov’s dogs...”
Ruth got up, crossing to the other bed to take Jilla in an embrace of comfort, but Jilla shied away.
“No, I can’t let go,” she said. “Spock has sent for me. His guard will be here any moment.”
Ruth made a face. “When do they expect you to sleep?”
Jilla’s face twisted in an ironic half grin. “Perhaps when I am too injured to walk.”
Ruth scowled at the obvious reference, then said, “Maybe I’d better get back into bed and try to fake it,” she returned.
Jilla sighed. “At least you can,” she said.
Ruth fought with her sudden tears, but said nothing more. There seemed nothing more to say. She returned to her bed, and didn’t look up when the door hissed open, and closed.
Rand gingerly inspected the still-bleeding welts across her shoulders while Sulu was in the shower. Thank the gods they weren’t bad enough to take to Sickbay. She didn’t want to handle McCoy’s amusement and she didn’t think Chapel would be inclined to be understanding or gentle. She smiled at the memory of her verbal victory. The First Officer’s Woman wasn’t anywhere near deserving of the title, the respect, or the First Officer. She wondered if Spock had noticed it, and smiled again. If he hadn’t, perhaps it could be brought to his attention. She’d have to somehow convince Sulu to ease up a bit; Spock appreciated perfection, another reason Chapel wouldn’t be hard to replace. Of course, arranging for Sulu to let her go without actually gaining his disfavor would be tricky. One should never gamble with everything. Still... Sulu was good, but he wasn’t First Officer. But Spock wasn’t hers and her position with Sulu was secure. The twinge of doubt was replaced by a new thought, one not anywhere near as risky for her. If Sulu could become First Officer... That would solve almost everything. Not her steadily growing curiosity about Spock’s alien pleasures, but everything else. And she really shouldn’t let personal preferences get in her way. Besides, there hadn’t been a good assassination on the ship in months, not even an attempt. Was the power so equally balanced?
Then again, if Sulu was the First Officer, Spock would be out of power completely, and then she could treat him like any other alien slave...
She heard the sound of the shower being turned off and quickly stopped her musings.
Sulu walked into the room, a towel around his shoulders. Rand turned slowly from the mirror. He tilted his head, a smile pulling at his lips, and stepped slowly toward her. His fingers reached out, gently catching a small trickle of red from her arm. Rand shuddered pleasurably. His smile widened and he brought the finger to his lips, eyes gleaming. He turned from her, heading toward the bed.
“Should do something about that, Janice,” he murmured.
“It’ll heal,” she answered, and strolled over to him. “Something you should do something about, too,” she added, running her hands teasingly over his chest.
“Oh?” Sulu replied, settling back. “And what’s that?”
“Have you noticed how peaceful things have been lately, how settled?” she said, her voice silky. “Almost boring...”
Sulu’s smile was almost blinding. His eyes lit up with pleasure equally bright, fiercely sensual and eagerly vicious. He sat up, grasping Rand’s arms with nearly involuntary delight. “Boring?” he asked, furiously overjoyed. “Janice, I’ve been boring you?”
Rand collected her thoughts, swiftly realizing her mistake. Wrong word, you fool, she snarled at herself. Sulu took a great deal of pride in his legendary imagination – and she knew from personal experience that the legend was no exaggeration. She had to quell this for her own sake as well as for the idea she wanted to talk about, but she knew she had to do so in a way that wouldn’t show the flash of terror. She knew too well what Sulu was capable of. She returned the delight with a toss of her head and a thrill of laughter. “Not you, baby, you can’t be. I meant the ship.”
He looked at her dubiously, eyes still shining. “The ship? After the raid on Kelincar?” He shook his head. “No, it must be me.” He paused, as though thinking carefully. “Is it because I haven’t sent you to Sickbay recently?”
She tried to stop the twinge of fear from coming into her eyes, but could tell from the look in his that he’d seen it. He nodded determinedly.
“I’ve been ignoring you. Forgive me, Janice. I’ll take care of that right now.”
Rand swallowed. “Sulu...” she began.
“Boring you. How inconceivably inconsiderate of me. The gods know I never mean to bore you.”
There’s no way out of it, Rand thought tightly, not when he looks like that. She arranged her mind and her movements to convey eager acceptance. At least she’d planted the idea. He’d get back to it when he was ready.
Kirk will never appreciate her. He will see only that she is too malleable, too willing, There will be no sport with her and he will never understand the gift she brings. Why, then, should I send her to him, when it is I who truly sees her worth?
Spock lay in bed, feeling the warmth of the small Indiian body next to his. She had again satisfied him without the necessity of instruction. Now he found himself most unwilling to send her to Kirk’s bed, even with the gratification of his not-so-subtle revenge.
Yet, he reminded himself bitterly, his inability to comprehend, like his selfishness, is not sufficient cause for the type of counter-productive measures I once considered mandatory.
Spock rose silently from the bed, turning as Jilla began pushing away the blanket. Her gaze followed him questioningly. He frowned at the marks Sulu had left, saw his displeasure mirroring in her grey eyes. Swiftly he rearranged his thoughts, giving the Indiian a faint smile. She relaxed with it. He bent down, picking up her discarded uniform, handing it to her. She blinked, puzzled.
“Captain Kirk is expecting you,” he said calmly.
Her confusion grew, and with it, a touch of fear came into her eyes. “Have I displeased you?” she asked. Her voice was so soft, the plea so simple that it nearly caused Spock to change his mind. But again, his own words regarding counter-productive measures repeated in his mind.
“The Captain has yet to sample your charms,” he replied.
She bent her head, moving slowly out of the bed, silently slipping on the skirt and halter. There were no covert glances, no attempt to alter his decision or deter him from it. Again the thought that Kirk could not possibly appreciate her obedience flared within him, was again countered by the necessity of this exchange. He could not allow Kirk’s insult to him to go unanswered, nor could he afford to alienate Kirk by simply keeping the Indiian for himself.
He allowed himself one lingering look before signaling to Sepak.
“Take her,” he said curtly. “Now.”
He turned, unwilling to see her leave the cabin.
“With the Commander’s compliments,” was all Sepak had said. Jilla stood in front of Captain Kirk, her breath almost catching at the impatience he exuded. He turned her critically, frowning, as Spock had, at the marks Sulu had left on her skin.
“You’ve certainly been well used the past two days,” he said.
She didn’t know how to answer, or even if one was expected. His face hardened for a moment, then relaxed into an easy smile. “Well, it’s about time I tasted some of that legendary Indiian fire and quicksilver.” He pulled her harshly toward him and Jilla gasped at the grip on her wrist. “In pain, Ensign?” he asked casually, but his fingers didn’t ease their hold. Jilla forced an answer.
“Yes, Captain.”
He chuckled. “More honest than your golden friend, aren’t you?”
Jilla felt herself flushing at the memory of all Ruth had told her about Kirk and games. What would he do when he realized she was incapable of playing them? She felt his eyes again studying her.
“You’ll do whatever I want,” he stated.
She swallowed. “Yes, sir.”
“If I want you to fall to your knees and suck me, and love it, you’ll do it.”
Her voice was small. “Yes, sir.”
“If I want you to pull me on top of you and beg me to fuck you till you bleed, you’ll do it.”
“Yes, sir.”
“And if I want you to fight?”
Jilla blinked in confusion. “F-fight, Captain?” she asked.
“Yes. If I want you to struggle, to fight me.”
“I - I’ll try, sir.”
“And if you don’t know what I want?”
Jilla hung her head. “That’s not possible, sir,” she whispered.
“Oh, it isn’t?” Kirk questioned, obviously skeptical.
“I am Indiian,” was her simple response.
“So what do I want now?” he challenged.
“You want me to play your games,” she answered truthfully.
“But you’re not doing that, are you?”
She swallowed again, fear rising in her as delight rose in him. “No, sir.”
Kirk’s grin was fiercely triumphant. “I think we’ll get along fine, Miss Costain.”
Chapel was overjoyed when Sepak came to the duty nurse’s office to bring her back to her quarters. She would be sleeping with Spock again, she was still his woman! When she arrived in the cabin, Spock was in bed, half reclining, his fingers steepled in concentration. Her insecurities vanished, but she retained enough composure to approach Spock quietly, cautiously, after Sepak left the room.
“Commander...” she began.
Spock frowned. “Christine,” he said.
She smiled, relieved all over again. “I missed you.”
“Did you.”
It was said off-handedly, as though his mind were on something else entirely. Chapel decided to focus his attention on her. She curled up beside him on the bed.
“I heard what Kirk did to you, the bastard,” she said. “Sending you - you - used goods. He’s getting awfully bold to risk your displeasure like that.”
Spock grunted noncommittally.
“I know you’re loyal,” Chapel went on, “but Kirk was wrong. You had every right to be furious, more than you were from the looks of the Antari.”
“The Captain has been paid in kind,” Spock informed her dryly. Chapel’s eyes lit up.
“Really?” She giggled. “Kirk must be squirming!” Her delight ceased as she realized that Spock must have been occupied up until the minute Sepak had come for her. Her security fled, Rand’s taunts coming back to her. Her voice was a little cold when she asked, “Valley or Costain?”
“Is it your business, Christine?” Spock replied. She shrugged.
“Just curious.”
There was a long silence as Chapel fought with the doubts, wanting reassurance, but loathing to ask for it. She’d be risking his displeasure herself if she did, but if she didn’t, and he began caressing her, she wouldn’t be able to keep the coldness from him. And that would certainly displease him. Perhaps if she teased it from him...
She slowly began stroking his chest, heading languidly for his throat and ears. “Spock,” she whispered, “did you miss me?”
“I was aware of your absence.”
She bristled at the toneless response. “At least you’re pleased that I’m here now, aren’t you?” she said, carefully amiable.
His answer sounded slightly annoyed. “I felt I would have need of you.”
She felt the flash of anger and her words came too quickly and too heatedly. “Need of me or of a woman?”
Spock turned eyes of ice on her. “If memory serves,” he said, “you are a woman. One who would not be here if I did not wish it.” He didn’t add the obvious, that he could have any woman he wanted. Chapel turned from his wintry gaze, fearing to face it.
“You could tell me once in a while,” she muttered.
“I will hear no more of this,” Spock said, very softly, very menacingly. “Do you understand me, Christine?”
She swallowed the lump of fear in her throat, hearing Rand’s laughter. “Yes, sir.”
Ruth woke with a start, wrenching herself away from the nightmares that had plagued her since the age of fifteen. She had survived the crash of the Alterra University explorer Blakely, the Federation ship which had been her only home, but her mother, father, and unborn brother had perished in that crash. Her empathic abilities hadn’t been great enough to save them and she had been haunted by the memory ever since.
She glanced around the still-darkened cabin, grateful that no security guard had come in the night to take her to Kirk’s bed, or worse, Spock’s. Her slow healing was almost complete and she dreaded not the day’s duty, but the night’s. She noted that Jilla’s bed was empty, and tried not to think about the Indiian. She didn’t want to imagine what it must be like to have to respond to the lusts and desires of those around you, even while a part of her insisted that however bad the guilt was, it had to be easier than faking it. She knew Jilla was not as promiscuous as most Indiians; she had always been too absorbed in her engineering work, too focused on refusing to allow her native emotionalism to interfere with her concentration. That kind of meticulous control was very contrary to an Indiian’s basic nature, and Ruth knew how hard Jilla worked at disciplining herself. What must it be costing the Indiian in self-respect to be forced into a situation where that discipline had to be thrown away simply in order to survive - yet only at certain times. For during the day, Jilla’s control had to be twice as efficient, unless she wanted to find herself back in the Booth.
Ruth shuddered at the thought, then looked up as the cabin door hissed open and closed. Jilla didn’t bother with the lights; the silver shadow moved quickly toward the bathroom, and Ruth soon heard the sounds of vomiting.
Ruth quickly got off the bed, going to the bathroom. She held Jilla’s head, pulling the burgundy hair away from her face, until the nausea subsided. She helped Jilla to rinse her mouth and face, then aided her to her bed.
“What happened?” she asked quietly.
Jilla shook her head.
“Are you hurt? Did Spock...?”
Again, Jilla shook her head, this time more vigorously.
“Not Spock?”
Shame radiated from the Indiian, and Ruth knew it had been Jilla’s turn to service both the First Officer and the Captain in one night. And since she had been collected by Sepak....
“Did Kirk hurt you?”
There was still no response.
“Jilla, you have to...”
Ruth stopped as silent tears streaked Jilla’s face, her grey eyes haunted and aching. Suddenly, without warning, an image flashed into Ruth’s mind. It was gone in an instant, and it left a sharp pain in her temple, but the touch of telepathy was enough. Indiians were by nature sexually promiscuous, but they were not sexually imaginative. Jilla had never performed fellatio - before tonight.
Moreau approached the Antari and Indiian’s cabin with suspicion and curiosity. She was being sent to ready them for the display expected of them on Darius. If they were something other than Imperial sluts or spies, it was best not to make them suspicious. Yet, it would not serve the Enterprise for her officers to be humiliated on Darius. Therefore, it had been Sulu’s idea for Moreau to see that they were properly outfitted.
She didn’t know exactly what she expected upon entering their quarters, but it certainly wasn’t what she was seeing. Costain sat on one of the beds, pale as a ghost, tears streaking her face. Valley sat beside her, obviously comforting. Had Jim been too rough with the Indiian? No, there were no bruises that hadn’t been there yesterday, and he would’ve warned her. And an Imperial woman comforting another’s grief or pain? It made no sense.
Moreau filed the information, then steeled herself. She cleared her throat, adding to her information file that neither of the women had looked up at the sound of the door.
“Good morning, ladies,” she said coolly. Both glanced up and Moreau noted an uncaring mask falling into place over the Antari’s features. The Indiian simply looked hopeless. “It has been decided that you two will make a properly impressive display on Darius,” Moreau continued. “Captain Kirk and Commander Sulu expect you to know how to act and dress. I’m here to see that you have suitable clothing.”
She crossed the room to the wardrobe, but didn’t miss the questioning glance Costain gave Valley, nor Valley’s silent, ‘Moreau, Captain’s Woman.’ She felt their eyes on her as she began sorting through the impressive collection of clothing.
“Not Spock?” Valley asked casually, but Moreau heard the tone of hope in the melodic voice. Hope? You’d rather have Jim or Sulu than... She quickly pushed her indignation away, turning to the Antari.
“A scene with Chapel isn’t good for favorable impressions, dear,” she answered, her voice scornful. Out of the corner of her eye, she caught Costain’s suddenly widening gaze, and the grey eyes met her brown ones with sudden, startling knowledge. Years of Imperial training kept Moreau from reacting and she was able to return the gaze with steely indifference. She pulled two dresses from the wardrobe. “Try the black, Costain,” she said. She indicated a strapless gown with a high waist, flowing full-length skirt, netted all over with a soft pattern of silver and iridescence. The other was a deep forest green, skin-tight, flatteringly short, with long, fitted sleeves designed to be worn off the shoulder. She tossed it to Valley. “Here, this will do.” She handed them each one of the necklaces she had brought for them. “Wear these. And do something attractive with your hair. You don’t exactly need to keep it out of your way, do you?” She turned back to the Indiian. “Costain, if you won’t do anything to keep Sulu from being so affectionate, at least try to hide the less interesting marks.”
She stayed, watching as they dressed, surprised at the amount of direction they needed to make their appearances as stunning as they had been when they had first beamed aboard. She left them to their finishing touches, more wary and suspicious than when she had come in.
“I managed to convey to them what was expected of them with appropriate subtlety,” Moreau said, “but I think I could’ve come in there with harem technical manuals and all they would’ve suspected was that I was being overly kind.” She sat in Kirk’s office, reporting to Kirk, Spock and Sulu. She shook her head, unable to make sense of it. “They don’t seem to have any idea of things they should know on sheer instinct.”
Kirk was grinning fiercely, Sulu toying with his ever-present dagger. Spock did not share their obvious glee. Something was wrong, perhaps terribly wrong.
“It really is too good to be true,” Kirk stated, but with no alarm at the possibility of the literal truth of his words. “I’ll grant they aren’t your typical Imperial pets, and I’ll agree they should be watched, but by Tartarus, I don’t want to change either one of them.” He paused, then asked exultantly, “What have we got here?”
“Not what we think and perhaps more than we can imagine,” Spock’s calm voice replied. Moreau found herself silently agreeing.
Sulu glanced at Spock, an unreadable expression on his face. “Agreed, Spock,” he said, “but until we find out what, why not enjoy?”
“Our ‘enjoyment’ could cost us something very important later on.”
“Such as?” Kirk rejoined.
Spock was silent for a moment, then shrugged. “Nothing I can define or justify. Perhaps nothing at all. I can find no fault in Sulu’s logic.”
Sulu grinned and made a slight bow.
“About women,” Kirk said, “Sulu is never wrong.”
Sulu bowed again, this time to Kirk. The intercom on the desk signaled.
“Captain,” came a soft, sultry voice, “we’re ready to begin beamdown.”
“On my way, Uhura,” Kirk said, then stood from his chair. “Gentlemen.” He held his arm out to Moreau. “And my lady.”
Moreau rose, moving gracefully to Kirk’s side, suddenly the epitome of Imperial perfection. He smiled at her, kissing her on the cheek, then left the office, Sulu and Spock following them out of the door.
Ruth and Jilla waited in the transporter room under the watchful eyes of both the transporter chief and the guard who was habitually outside their cabin. They were again adorned regally, with jewelry and make-up, their hair sweeping elegantly into artful and impractical swirls of gold and burgundy.
Jilla’s fingertips swept over the dull silver marks beneath her ears. She had not been able to adequately cover them, or those at her breasts; the make-up she had tried looked thick and unnatural. She had decided, at Moreau’s suggestion, to simply leave them, unremarked, but unhidden. It made her uncomfortable, more for the heady memory that went with them than for their actual existence. Except when Ruth stared at them. Then not even memory could cover the shame that she had been abused, and had wanted it. She envied Ruth her clarity of thought and purpose. Ruth’s behavior was purely and only in order to survive long enough to find a way back to the Federation. Ruth was in no danger of forgetting, of being swept into the life of the Empire by sheer force of emotion. Yet, how much more difficult to play a role, never feeling it; to hide the fear and disgust with no tia to guide and blind. How much more shameful to know while you perform how degrading your actions are. She knew Ruth as a very independent young woman, one who would not be coerced nor manipulated. Ruth was one who would face court-martial rather than obey an order she felt was morally or ethically wrong. It took a certain kind of strength to know when to place those principles in stasis, as Ruth had done since arriving here. Ruth knew that, in this case, the end did justify the means. But that meant going against her nature. Jilla could only imagine what that was like, for it was an impossibility for her.
The door to the transporter room opened. Sepak and Sulu’s guard, Jeremy Paget, came in, escorting Christine Chapel and Janice Rand. The nurse was dressed in sheer, pale cream gauze, with clinging swirls of metallic gold strategically placed. Sulu’s woman wore a skin-tight satin gown of a flame red, one shoulder exposed, with one side slit up to her hip. That they hated each other screamed from their tias, and Jilla forced herself not to react.
“You look tired, Janice,” Chapel said, her voice deceptively mild. “Didn’t McCoy give you a stimulant with all those painkillers?”
Rand blithely inspected her arms, tracing her fingers over the welts and scars and burns almost lovingly. Jilla fought a wave that was both shame and jealousy. “Marks of affection,” Rand said coolly. “And security.” She paused, gazing critically at Chapel. “I see you got plenty of sleep. Poor thing.”
Chapel reddened, but her voice was calm. “In my own bed,” she told Rand.
“Oh? Was Spock elsewhere?”
Chapel bared her teeth. “He kept me warm all night,” she returned smugly. Then she glanced in Ruth and Jilla’s direction as if studying them. “Which one are you sharing Sulu with?” she asked, all innocent curiosity.
Rand glared fiercely at Jilla. Jilla felt herself flushing with the strength of the emotion, but before Rand could respond, Chapel added, “Oh. The one with the - marks of affection.”
Eyes blazing, Rand crossed the room, grabbing Jilla’s arms. She inspected her wrists, roughly tilting her head from side to side to view the scarring there, then boldly pulled the top of Jilla’s gown aside, scowling at the marks at her breasts.
“He likes you,” Rand hissed. “Just see that he doesn’t like you too much - Ensign.” The word was a verbal blow and an ugly threat and Jilla shuddered with the emotions washing over her, unable to sort or categorize them.
Then Paget was striding over to Rand, jerking her away. “Commander Sulu won’t like that, ma’am,” he said.
“Mind your own business, Paget,” Rand snapped.
“I am, ma’am,” Paget returned. “If you want to risk your skin, that’s up to you, but until you’re out of my care, it’s also my skin you’re risking. And I don’t like risks.”
Rand haughtily pulled her arm free and turned contemptuously from the guard. Paget glanced at Sepak, who nodded, inclining his head almost unnoticeably at Chapel. Jilla could feel the exchange, both men in agreement concerning the aggravation of catering to their superiors' women.
The door opened a second time, and Jilla and Ruth joined the others in simultaneous salutes as Kirk walked into the transporter room, Moreau elegantly on his arm. He wore a dress uniform, one much more elaborate than Ruth or Jilla had ever seen. The black pants had a stripe of gold down the outer sides with a high, gold waistband. The gold vest was heavily braided with military decorations, the piping along the material’s edge a satiny black. The sash that was usually worn at his waist now ran diagonally across his chest underneath the vest. He looked all the more dangerous for the rakish smile on his face. Moreau was refined grace personified in a sheer, flowing gown of deep blue, a contrast to the almost garish blatancy of Rand and Chapel. Jilla caught Ruth’s eye, caught, too, Ruth’s shared realization: Moreau had chosen dresses for them which were much more in keeping with her own elegance than with Chapel and Rand’s flash.
Spock and Sulu were right behind Kirk, both also in bolder versions of the uniforms they usually wore. Spock’s tunic was midnight blue silk, shot through with silver threads, edged with silver at cuff, hem, and along the deep ‘v’ neck. The cravat at his throat was dove grey, his black slacks with a stripe of silver down the legs. He, too, was adorned with military decorations, though in a less blatant fashion than Kirk. Sulu wore blood red satin with black piping, black slacks with the same red stripe. There was no cravat or sash to cover the smooth, bronze flesh exposed by the ‘v’ of the tunic, and he wore a black belt at his waist, defining the muscular torso. He had no decorations, military or otherwise, save a small, golden hawk worn on a chain about his throat.
Kirk’s voice was full of pleasure. “Miss Valley,” he said, and held out his arm. Jilla felt Ruth’s distaste, but the Antari smiled and stepped up to him, blatantly attaching herself to his side. Jilla noted that Chapel seemed hesitant, almost fearful. Then Spock held out an open hand and Chapel smiled, rushing to his side. For an instant, Jilla felt Spock’s gaze on her, and she almost took a step toward him. But Sulu’s voice called, softly, “Ladies,” and Moreau’s words came back to her as she realized that she was to accompany him, not the Vulcan, despite Spock’s welcoming emotions. She obediently went to Sulu’s side, trying to ignore the fact that Rand was staring through her as if she weren’t there.
Sepak and Paget stood aside as the Captain and his party ascended the transporter platform. “Energize,” Kirk told the chief, and just before golden shimmer took them, Jilla caught a flash of sudden joy and realization from Ruth. We’re getting off the ship.