Darius IV seemed to be comprised entirely of swirls of color and sound and excitement, like one large, confused festival. Music drifted into the crowded streets from the elegant bars and lounges that lined them. It was a pleasure planet, a status world. Senators, wealthy Corporation merchants, military officers, and other important men came here to see and be seen, to gain influence and prestige accorded them by the quality and rarity of the female pets they put on display. It was a place for intoxicants and hedonism and fiercely casual competition.
Kirk, in the lead, headed for a bar that had once been a favorite of his. Now, he realized, he was heading there more out of habit than a real desire to make an impression. Not that he wouldn’t, with an Antari on his arm, and an Indiian in his entourage, but the pleasure he would gain from it was not what it once would have been. This world was for the tools of the Empire, stupid, scrambling fools playing fools’ games. He had once been one of them, he well knew, fighting for prestige and not looking beyond the smallest momentary slight or gain. The game’s changed, he thought, and I’ve left you all behind. Still, he couldn’t help but smile broadly as he escorted the pair of beautiful women down the street. He wasn’t paying attention to the things he used to and he was having a marvelous time reveling in the shallowness of those around him. He caught the looks of envy, of speculation and false camaraderie, but didn’t care. Not caring was pleasant, relaxing. It was a great feeling, having the power not to care.
Spock glanced at the furious pride and possessiveness on Chapel’s face, and couldn’t quite suppress a small frown. Around him, men and women wore the same look. He was aware that at another time, he would have held those same emotions within his eyes. Worlds such as Darius were arenas for peacocks and their harems, and it seemed he had never realized the absurdity of it before. Such bitter competition for such a worthless prize. Power was the only thing worth that kind of effort and ferocity. Not that of power over women, or even over other men, but the power to govern one’s own life, to make one’s own destiny and live to see its fulfillment. This was a thing most of those who gathered here would never realize. Which was what made it all the more likely that he would achieve it. It was a gratifying realization, and he allowed the smoldering satisfaction to express itself on his features, knowing that those who saw it would misinterpret it utterly. When Chapel gave him a pleased embrace, he almost laughed.
Sulu nodded cordially to the faces he knew, grinning sarcastically at the envy that tried to pierce him. That’s right, envy me, envy them, he thought with great, scornful amusement. As if what they thought could possibly effect him, as if anything these scuttling pawns did held any real meaning at all. He’d always loved shore leave for that reason, the magnificent absurdity of watching the puppets in their insignificant dance, desperate to catch some empty status. He had never needed it, never courted it, and had always not-so-secretly despised those who did. He could play the game with the best of them, and usually did, but disdain was never far from his gleaming eyes or mocking smile.
Moreau knew how beautiful she was. She enjoyed the smiles and the compliments from the men, the jealousy in the eyes of the women. She could afford to enjoy it, she wasn’t competing anymore. She’d leave that to Chapel and Rand. She was here because it was where she chose to be, not because she had been selected from some harem. At the thought, she glanced at Valley. The Antari was playing her part to the hilt, occupying most of Jim’s attention, just as she should. Costain wasn’t quite handling Sulu’s superficial pageantry with the proper nonchalance; the grey eyes were much too excited, much too wide. She frowned, then caught herself. She was supposed to be enjoying herself. Leave Costain to Sulu.
As they pushed through the teeming crowd to a less crowded doorway, Ruth found herself having to concentrate to keep out the emotional leakage from a thousand petty, vicious minds. She still had the inborn shielding to protect her empathy and her telepathy, and she was grateful that all her training on her homeworld in the Federation hadn’t destroyed that natural protection. She still had no way to determine whether there was anything more to this body’s abilities than congenital rudiments.
She glanced up at a brilliantly lit sign above the door. Crystallize! it proclaimed, as though it were an order. Voices reached her; calls for drinks, laughter, sneering joviality. The smoke of several brands of euphoria-causing herbs stung her with their aromas, and the hard, driving rhythm of bass and drums thundered through it all with heavy sensuality. She noticed Kirk’s gaze and smiled seductively at him, holding more tightly to his arm as they were jostled by the crowd. She found herself next to Jilla and noted the Indiian’s overly bright eyes. The emotions were getting to her, and overload was a definite possibility. Ruth looked around, trying to think of something to distract her. There was something familiar about the entire atmosphere, a place and a time she remembered from somewhere... from Terra. Night and lights and crowds and costumes...
“Mardi Gras!” she said, realizing that she had shouted it at Jilla. The Indiian only looked more confused. “Remember Mardi Gras?” she continued, knowing Jilla didn’t. “I have heard,” she went on, her tone as casual as she could make it, “that it’s almost impossible not to get lost during Mardi Gras.” She laughed, fiercely willing Jilla to understand.
Their eyes met, and Ruth pushed with her telepathy as hard as she could. Jilla’s gaze went blank, then she gasped, then laughed, a high, nervous sound. “Doesn’t even Mardi Gras have sensors?” she asked gaily.
Ruth smiled, knowing Jilla had understood. “I hardly think so,” she replied. “Security in a place like that can’t be too strict.” Or in a place like this, she added mentally, again willing Jilla to understand. She held up her arm casually, dangling the inordinate amount of jewelry she wore.
Jilla nodded breathlessly. Credits could be gotten for their jewelry.
Ruth thought hard for a moment, then contemptuously glared at a woman who was smiling a little too invitingly at Kirk. “There are so many distractions here,” she said, making her voice as petulant as she knew how.
“Yes,” Jilla managed, “so many...”
They were again jostled apart, but Ruth was certain she had conveyed the basics of a simple escape plan: distract the eyes that would be watching them and get lost in the crowded cacophony of Mardi Gras.
Kirk elbowed the first few people out of his way. Then the murmurs began, envious and awed as the spectacle of his entourage was noticed. Those before him turned and gave way, and he was smiling fiercely as a large semi-circular table miraculously cleared. He took the head, Marlena on his left, Valley on his right. Spock took a seat next to Marlena, Chapel right beside him. Sulu placed Rand next to Chapel with a particularly devastating smile, then sat between his woman and the Indiian, completing the u-shaped seating arrangement. An Andorian waitress appeared, asking in a voice which was that race’s soft rasp for their orders. Kirk asked for good, old-fashioned Terran whiskey, and a glass of white wine for Marlena. Then, almost as an afterthought, ordered the imported Antari ycasan wine for Valley.
He noted, only out of long habit, that Spock got nothing for himself and a specialty concoction, sure to be sweet and syrupy and overly elaborate, for Chapel. He chuckled to himself, wondering if the nurse was intelligent enough to understand the insult.
As was his usual custom, Sulu ordered a large flask of saké, served hot. He let Rand speak for herself. She was intelligent enough to catch the snub, and the anger showed in her voice when she asked for a very strong whisky sour. Then, to add injury, Sulu did order for Costain, a glass of the finest Japanese plum wine.
Kirk smiled broadly. This was going to be a very entertaining evening.
It was proving impossible for both of them to get away from the entourage at the same time. Ruth’s acting abilities were limited, and her patience at the seemingly pointless and endless spectacle was wearing thin. It didn’t help her mood to see how completely Jilla was falling into the spell of the place. Even while a part of her knew that couldn’t be helped, she was getting desperate lest their chance of escape slip from their fingers. She hadn’t been able to ‘push’ with her telepathy again – her head felt numbed – and it was nearly impossible for her to catch Jilla’s attention without also catching Sulu’s.
Finally, Kirk left the table to dance with Moreau, the music slow and stately, almost a waltz. When Jilla rose to use the club’s powder room, she had tried to casually do the same, only to be stopped by Spock’s hand on her arm, and his cool voice asking, “May I, Miss Valley?”
She stared, and he gestured toward the dance floor. She wasn’t unaware of the glare Chapel gave her, but she had no choice. Though so phrased, Spock’s words had not been a question. She smiled her best, seductive smile, and answered, “I thought you’d never ask, Commander.”
Jilla pushed her way through the crowds, barely making it into the bathroom without fainting. The press of emotion was consuming her, and she knew she had to have a few moments alone to clear her head. The wine Sulu had ordered for her was sweet and potent, and he got such pleasure from watching her drink it… she shuddered, her being filling with the memory of his pleasure. She wanted to please him, if only because it felt warm and safe when she did.
Her reverie was interrupted by a soft yet sharp hiss in her ear, in Indiian:
“Why haven’t you reported, Tay aemi?”
She started to turn, but was stopped by a nudge at her side. Wary concern and a touch of fear reached her senses and she glanced in the direction it came from. A woman was standing next to her, to all appearances re-applying make-up at the mirror in front of her. She was Terran.
Confused, Jilla started to look around for the Indiian who had spoken.
“Your father is worried,” came the voice again. “You’re not wearing your transmitter. Have you been discovered?”
Jilla stared. The Terran woman did not look at her, not even in the mirror. “Are you speaking to me?” she whispered hesitantly.
“You are not free to contact, I understand,” the voice replied. “Please, Tay aemi, as soon as possible. Success, my sister.”
Then the Terran woman walked away. Jilla again felt faint. Reported? Transmitter? My father? She realized that this must be intended for her counterpart, a young woman she had not given a moment’s thought to other than to assign her the role of Imperial whore. But she has family, purpose, some kind of mission here, she thought miserably. There had been some plan, some intention that she could not possibly carry out. The thought that this might cause trouble with the Empire for her homeworld – even an alternate homeworld – filled her with dread. And yet, what could she do?
She fought the hopeless despair and returned to the table. She was surprised to see Ruth on the dance floor with Spock, and caught the desperate flash of purple eyes. She knew Ruth wanted her to make a distraction, something that would enable them both to get away from their Imperial companions. She herself wanted to tell the Antari about the strange encounter in the bathroom. But how she could accomplish that? How could she do anything other than what would please Sulu?
He had encouraged her to react to his emotions, and she had, blatantly enjoying his attentions and seductions. She had seen Rand’s eyes flashing and felt a touch of fear and her grip on Sulu’s arm had tightened reflexively. It had been exactly the right thing to do - if she had wanted to further alienate Rand, and if she had been conscious of doing it. She tried to mollify the yeoman, timidly asking for her advice, but it had backfired when her body couldn’t help responding perfectly to Sulu’s desires. Which only angered Rand more. Jilla had not tried to provoke the Security Chief’s woman, but she was provoked, it seemed, by Jilla’s very presence. It didn’t make sense. Jilla had learned quickly not to show her confusion or irritation, yet Rand seemed completely unconcerned about showing her annoyance, even with Sulu himself. The only answer was that Sulu preferred her that way, though Jilla could not understand why he would.
Rand seemed to be getting more careless, her barbs and jabs, which had at first been directed to Jilla, seemed increasingly to reflect upon Sulu. Chapel was an unexpected factor, taking great pleasure in interpreting Jilla’s actions as deliberate taunts. Rand rose to the challenge, insulting Chapel with smooth viciousness whenever an opportunity arose. Now the yeoman’s attention was divided between glares at Chapel and, amazingly, openly at Sulu. Chapel, too, vacillated between black looks at Rand and at the dance floor, where Spock was clearly entertained by Ruth’s elegant sensuality as they moved with the music. Kirk and Moreau stood with a small knot of people, obviously not watching the drama at their own table.
Drama. With sudden clarity, Jilla realized there was a way to distract Spock and Sulu. And with it, an opportunity for she and Ruth to slip away in the crowd.
Ruth smiled at Spock, not smiling at him at all. Rand and Chapel were easier to maneuver than she had dreamed possible. A few words said in the properly catty tone, a couple of significant looks....
She felt a deep pang of guilt as she realized that she was as capable of using their weaknesses as was any Imperial man. You don’t have a choice, she reminded herself, unless you want to end up like them. She glanced over Spock’s shoulder back toward the table. Rand and Chapel were sitting across from one another, glaring fiercely. They were feeling ignored, overshadowed by the Senators’ alien daughters, and were taking it out on each other. Ruth was fairly certain they would soon create the diversion she and Jilla needed.
She had discovered that Antari gold and Indiian silver were rare and highly coveted commodities. Kirk, Spock and Sulu were the most envied men present, and quite a crowd of ‘friends’ had gathered and shifted around their table. Ruth played her part, smiling at everyone in a way that was suggestive but not too provocative, drawing attention away from the other woman. Moreau hadn’t appeared to notice, but Rand and Chapel were furious. Spock ignored her, for the most part, but became increasingly sharp with Chapel. Ruth caught on to the nuances between them and refused to let her reluctance stop her from using them.
There had also been a bit of luck involved in it all. An ‘old friend’ of Chapel’s, whom Ruth realized was probably a former lover, was in the crowd. Chapel had been pleased to see him, with an eye to making Spock jealous. Ruth had encouraged her by making her own attentions to Spock more blatant. She had even confidentially warned Chapel, in a conspiratorial whisper, that Spock was noticing this ‘old friend’ of hers; which, of course, only served to make Chapel that much bolder. Ruth felt sick, preying on the nurse’s desperate need for Spock’s attention, but she was determined not to let this opportunity slip away. There would be time for regrets after she and Jilla were free.
She saw the man moving toward the table and came instantly alert. Could this be their chance? Kirk and Moreau had used the dancing to move to another part of the room. She casually did the one thing that would be certain to focus Spock’s attention on the table and away from her. She let her body start slightly, as if in surprise, then pressed close to him, trying ever so subtly to steer him away from the group at the table. He immediately turned his head toward them, then seemed to forget Ruth. He dropped his hold on her and began to make his way through the crowd. Ruth glanced frantically after him. Could Jilla arrange for Rand to distract Sulu? To her dismay, Sulu was rising, crooking a lazy finger toward Jilla as the music changed from a flowing waltz to a hard, fast, driving beat. No, not now! she thought in frustration. Take Rand, Jilla, say something!
Jilla felt the sudden flash of fire from Ruth’s mind. She had risen at Sulu’s gesture, wanting only to move with him on the dance floor. But Kirk was distracted, Spock only had eyes for Chapel’s flirtation with her former lover. This was it, she had to act, to do something.
She glanced around helplessly and caught Rand’s smoldering resentment. It filled her with dread and she moved away from Sulu, murmuring a hesitant, “Perhaps you should take Janice, perhaps she’s bored by...”
She didn’t get to finish her statement. Joyous ferocity rushed to her senses as Sulu’s eyes came alive with sudden hunger. It was immediately followed by Rand’s mind-numbing terror, reflected in the yeoman’s blue eyes, then by resigned fury, directed at her.
Sulu’s voice was exultant, eager. “What the hell, huh, Janice?” he taunted.
Rand swung her eyes to Sulu and Jilla felt the readiness. She was going to attack, to actually attack Sulu! Jilla didn’t know why, she didn’t care. Go. Leave. Now!
Rand was on her feet, about to spring. Chapel only had eyes for her former lover, totally unaware of Spock’s approach. Sulu’s attention was completely on Rand. Kirk and Moreau were still across the room. Ruth didn’t wait. She caught Jilla’s eyes as the Indiian edged away from Sulu. Go. Leave. Now! Jilla turned and bolted into the crowd, with Ruth right behind her.
Kirk was having a marvelous time, possibly the best shore leave he had ever had. He and Marlena had left the dance floor to accept the offer of a drink from a Rigellian noble, Terlord Mouli Hasim. He was not a tall man, but he, like Kirk, had a powerful build, though it was concealed by the flowing ostentation of noble finery. His dark complexion, curly black hair and deep brown eyes were consistent with his TerArabian heritage. The three of them stood at the bar, keeping the conversation casual. Kirk had an affectionate arm around Marlena’s waist, she rested her head comfortably against him, to all appearances ignoring the men’s talk to concentrate on the activity in the crowded, glittering room. Or so it will seem to any interested observer, Kirk thought. He bent his head, apparently nuzzling to her neck. “Irreplaceable Marlena,” he whispered to her. She smiled, nearly purring, but didn’t answer the compliment.
“Congratulations on Kelincar,” Hasim was saying.
Kirk nodded and raised his drink to the toast that was proposed. He assumed that this sudden attention from a well-known, rich, and well-connected member of the Don’s faction was coincidence, as much as anything in the Empire was ever coincidental. ‘Chance’ meetings at such places were common, and useful.
He smiled dryly. “Thank you, Mr. Hasim.”
Hasim ignored Kirk’s neglecting to use his title and raised his glass again, glancing in the direction of the table where Kirk’s party was seated. “And, of course, congratulations on the appreciation the Senate has seen fit to show you.”
Kirk turned his head to glance across the room at his women. Who weren’t there. He froze for a second, slightly confused. Unreasonably, there was a red alert sounding in his head. Nothing seemed particularly out of the ordinary. There was some sort of row going on between Sulu and Rand, Spock was just arriving, no doubt to put a stop to it. He would find such behavior in public distasteful. Where were Valley and Costain? Nowhere in sight. A diversion. He didn’t know why or how, but he was suddenly aware that everyone at the table had been set up.
“Damn!” He whirled, breaking away from Marlena. He pushed his way roughly through the mob of people between the bar and the table. His path cleared quickly. Angry starship captains were be avoided like the plague.
“Spock!” he shouted. The Vulcan turned. Kirk could see the racing thoughts as Spock assessed the situation. Sulu, too, turned, the delighted anger changing quickly to bitter rage.
Rand’s eyes glittered coldly. “You’ve been had!” she shrieked triumphantly.
Sulu whirled, backhanding her with savage, murderous brutality. Chapel screamed as Rand fell to the floor, her lip broken open and bleeding.
“Be silent!” Spock hissed at her. Chapel whimpered, backing away from him. Kirk reached his side. “Why?” Spock snapped, his tone no less sharp.
“I don’t...” Kirk began harshly.
“Escape!” Sulu growled.
“Escape?” Kirk began, then caught the fierce certainty in Sulu’s eyes. He shot a glance at Spock, exchanged disbelief, then acceptance. He felt Marlena’s hand on his shoulder, questioning, and he grunted, “Get them back to the ship,” jerking his thumb at Rand and Chapel. Then he, Spock, and Sulu were storming out of the bar.
Ruth and Jilla made their way through the crowded streets, not knowing where they were going, not really caring as long as it was away from Crystallize! They changed directions and streets and didn’t look back. If this failed, they would never get another chance and they both knew it.
They tried hard not to run, even though propelled by their own thoughts and emotions. The streets were too full of people anyway. The crowd gave them cover from anyone following them, and from any sensors which might be used to try to find them. With all the thousands of different life forms from thousands of different worlds, sensors would have to be pinpoint accurate to discover them - and rare though they seemed to be, they couldn’t possibly be the only Antari and Indiian on a planet such as this, in a city such as this. They were luxury items, but this was a luxury world.
Ruth searched for some dark corner, somewhere to hide. Everywhere was light and noise and colorfully dressed people, and no one seemed to be paying them any particular attention. Still, they were receiving enough casually appraising glances to provide information to a search party. They had to duck out of the way somewhere, and soon. Perhaps they could find someone willing to be bribed, someone who would hide them. But someone who wouldn’t be intimidated by a starship captain - and a Vulcan? Ruth thought, suddenly despairing. Not bloody likely.
“Ruth,” Jilla said.
“What?”
“We need somewhere to go…”
“I know that!”
“I – was approached by a woman – a Terran. She asked about reports to my father…”
Ruth stopped grasping Jilla’s shoulders. “Can you find her?”
“It was at Crystallize! We would have to go back…”
Ruth grinned. “That just might confuse the hell out of them. Let’s go.”
The crossed a busy street, then doubled back, heading the way they had come, only to see a flash of red, gold and midnight blue on the other side of the street, moving slowly toward them, searching, but not far away.
Jilla gasped. Ruth took a deep breath, fighting the panic. How could we have been followed so soon? “Don’t run, Jilla,” she hissed. “Running will only draw attention.”
Jilla nodded, but she was clearly terrified. Ruth took her arm, moving casually, ducking down the first side street they came to. They pushed through a crowded, smoke-filled lounge, then into an alleyway, then back onto the same street they had started from, on the opposite side, well past where their pursuers had been, again heading back to Crystallize!
Jilla gasped again, pointing. Red, gold and dark blue, just exiting the first side street they had turned on.
“They can’t be following us,” Ruth stammered, her mind working feverishly. Not following... tracking. They had to be tracking them somehow, from something. But what?
Abruptly she grabbed the necklace she wore, the necklace Moreau had brought her, damning herself for not thinking of it before. “Bastards!” she growled fiercely as she pulled it off. “Give me that!” she demanded of Jilla, pulling it from around the Indiian’s neck before she could react.
“Ruth, what...?” Jilla panted.
“Moreau insisted we wear these, remember?” Ruth’s voice seethed with anger, her fingers prying apart the elaborate settings of the jewelry.
“In Aema’s name, what are you...” Jilla demanded, her hysteria overwhelming her.
“They’re following these!” Ruth proclaimed as she held out two no-longer-concealed transmitters. They looked like crystals.
Jilla stared for a moment, then hissed, “She said I wasn’t wearing my transmitter. My necklace! If we can get back to the ship…”
“To hell with that, Jilla, we’ll never get off it again!” Ruth snarled.
“But it may be our only…”
“This is our only chance!” Ruth was furiously playing with the intricate circuitry at the base of each crystal.
“What are you doing? They’ll be able to see us in a second!”
“That’s all it’ll take me.”
“Ruth, come on!” Jilla pleaded desperately.
Ruth grinned, throwing the transmitters down the street as far as she could. “Whoever finds them is going to have one hell of a headache,” she said with grim satisfaction.
They turned and fled once more through the crowds.
The signal was getting stronger. Kirk glanced at the small screen of the receiver that had been concealed by Sulu’s belt, following its changing direction. He was seething, his face an ugly mask of fury. So that’s what it’s all about, he thought. The gift has a sting. Show me up, make a fool of me at the first public opportunity. Prove how much respect you really have for me and my power. Not enough insult to touch you directly, Senators, or so you think. After all, they’re only women. Was this gambit really worth it to you? Such finely schooled tools and you’ll destroy their usefulness out of spite? Stupid, Senators. Very, very stupid.
Clever. Clever and dangerous. They are too much of both to be mere Senatorial whores. Spock almost smiled through his bitter iciness, understanding. That he had been right afforded him no comfort. What, then, were they? The thought that he had better discover the answer to that, and quickly, was what was chilling him. Whatever they were, however, he was certain he would find a way to use it.
Sulu concentrated on the screen. To think of Rand’s taunt clouded his mind with hungers he had to control. At least for the time being. Beautiful silver and gold, he thought instead. You’ll be caught. And when you are, gods, when you are... He shuddered with the intensity of his own emotion. I’ve been had, indeed.
The direction of the signal changed again, and Sulu pointed out the new course. They had only gone a few hundred feet when Spock suddenly grimaced, clamping his hands over his ears. Kirk turned to him in surprise. The Vulcan stumbled backward.
“Sonics,” he hissed, but Sulu had already realized what had happened.
“How in Tartarus...” he began, then interrupted himself, his face darkening. “The transmitters, Captain,” he said. “Sabotaged.”
“Our engineer?” Kirk growled, taking hold of Spock’s arm, pulling him farther backwards. Sulu swore harshly, deactivating the transmitters, violently throwing the receiver at a nearby wall. He began racing through the crowd, heedlessly knocking people out of his way.
It took Spock only a few moments to recover, and with renewed anger, he and Kirk set off after Sulu.