Return to Valjiir Stories
Return to Valjiir Continum
It hadn’t been the best of months. For normal people – those who hadn’t decided to spend their lives locked in a tin can, seconds away from catastrophe on a regular basis, millions of miles from nowhere in particular, Daffy Gollub had complained loudly and often – this would NOT be because everyone of their immediate acquaintance was bored to death.
“Bored?” Lieutenant Pavel Chekov snorted. He and his lover of nearly three years were sitting in the messhall of the U.S.S. Enterprise, having a leisurely lunch. “Wasn’t it last week you were complaining you had too much to do?”
The chemist scowled at him. “I know you don’t mind such things, but Spock’s idea of a quarterly section report makes military triplicate look like a post-it note. I had to do four revisions. Four!” she repeated for emphasis. “The man thinks he’s lord of some private little Science island in Jim Kirk’s kingdom.”
“Mr. Spock does require accuracy,” the Russian said in what he hoped was a voice of neutrality. As it got him another mean look, but no smack to the back of his head, he assumed he’d succeeded. “Captain Kirk is screening another movie tonight. Shall we…”
Gollub groaned. “Oy god, not again!”
“Not again what?” The remark came from Lieutenant Commander Sulu as he and Jilla Majiir stepped up to the table, lunch trays in hand.
“Another film festival!” Daffy answered. “Like quarterly reports aren’t bad enough!”
“Is the captain trying to incite a mutiny?” Sulu returned as he set down his tray.
“Him and Spock both,” the chemist muttered.
Sulu grinned. “Yeah, Ramon and Li have been complaining about that.” At the mention of the Science Section’s newest officer, Jilla’s pale skin shimmered uncomfortably.
“Been chatting with Ensign LiLing, have you?” Daffy said, making the question sound like the first of an inquisition.
Sulu made a face. “No, I was chatting with Ramon, and she joined us. Is that a problem?”
“It better not be,” the chemist warned.
“Why do you say Captain Kirk wishes to create a mutiny?” Chekov rejoined, hoping to steer the conversation to safer ground.
“Oh, come on!” the helmsman said, and pulled out a chair for Jilla to sit. “Three days of Mutiny on the Bounty, circa 1935, 1962 and 1984? The Caine Mutiny last night?”
“I do not understand these ‘movies,’” Jilla put in cautiously. “There is no place for emotional interaction.”
“Indi only has live stage shows and performances,” Sulu added. “Without the presence of the actors’ tias it gets a little – uh – flat.”
“Take it from me, you’re not missing a thing,” Daffy muttered.
“Well, I find them exciting,” Chekov returned.
“Hell, son, you find a stump excitin’,” drawled Noel DelMonde as he sauntered past the table. He gave the Russian a toothy grin, and nodded hellos to the other three at the table.
Chekov grinned right back. “I’d ask you to sit with us, Noel, but I’m mindful of your condition.”
The engineer’s face darkened as Daffy snickered. Sulu rolled his eyes in Chekov’s direction, and Jilla gazed into DelMonde’s dark eyes, her sensitivity pulling in his anger and his tension, giving back a small piece of calm and quiet. With it, the Cajun’s smile sharpened.
“Why I not mind at all if I do,” he said, and jerked a chair out with his foot, turning it around, sitting so that his arms were resting on its back. “So now, T-Paul, you tell us what so excitin’ ‘bout Kirk’s god-awful movies.”
“What’s the most god-awful about them,” Sulu put in quickly before the Russian could get started on excruciatingly detailed plot summaries, “is that we have to watch them.”
“Attendance is not mandatory,” Jilla demurred.
“True, but if you don’t go, Kirk makes a note of it,” Daffy rejoined. “I’m not saying it goes in your personnel file or anything…”
“I bet Han puts it in,” Del said. He cleared his throat, his voice rising a full register, his tone cool and biting. “Subject shows definite anti-social tendencies as well as a flaunting of authority an’ a disturbing tendency to disregard the interests of other crewmembers.”
Sulu and Daffy chuckled. Chekov reddened.
“You don’t believe that of Dr. Han,” he mumbled.
“She’s another one who thinks the ship’s her own personal workforce,” Gollub quipped. “It’s a wonder she isn’t captain of her own ship somewhere.”
“Another?” Del asked.
“Daphne is unhappy with Commander Spock’s exacting standards for quarterly reports,” the Russian explained dourly.
Del scowled. “Mais, I unhappy wit’ Commander Spock’s existence.” He glanced at Jilla. “No offense, there, cher.”
“All I’m unhappy about is having to watch Jim Kirk’s idea of a good time,” Sulu broke in, defusing the situation. “Tonight’s a double feature: Master and Commander, and Captain Blood.” He shook his head. “Normally I like Erroll Flynn, but…”
“Not when we forced to watch it, non?” Del agreed.
“No one is forced…” Chekov began.
“Oh shut up!” came from the three other Terrans at the table.
From the other side of the messhall, Dr. Jade Han frowned at the overheard conversation. She had heard too many of them in the past week. While it was true that James tended to get on a roll as far as types of movies were concerned – and that could and did get a little… monotonous – it was far better than the kind of spats and missteps that happened in a seriously bored crew. Add in the factor that one quarter of the crew was also seriously stressed – quarterly reports were never popular, and she had to admit that Spock’s style of leadership often didn’t make that easier – and the potential for disaster was heightened. The crew needed a diversion, and one that would teach them all a lesson in allowing their own subconscious prejudices and desires to govern their actions would kill two birds with one stone.
She rose from her seat and went to her cabin, making a call to the best technician she knew who would have access to what she wanted.
“A psychocin? Dr. Han, those things aren’t safe.” Jim Kirk, captain of the Enterprise, was frowning at the newest member of his medical department. She had called him into her office and was sitting perched on the end of her desk. She handed him a statboard.
“My consultant, Robyn Thomas, assures me that the equipment she recommends has all the latest safeguards, and I will be setting the parameters,” she said. “My input will have a master control function and override capabilities so there will be no chance things will get out of hand.”
Jim raised his eyebrows. “And if you get out of hand, Doctor?” At Jade’s cool, challenging stare, he chuckled. “Okay, stupid question. How are you going to get the crew to cooperate?”
“I won’t, James,” Jade replied meaningfully.
Kirk balked. “Oh no, I’m not going to order my crew to….”
“Not order,” Jade explained patiently. “It will be voluntary.” She smiled. “Just like the film festivals.”
“Dr. Han…”
“Trust me, James. This is for their own good.”
The list of crewmembers specifically requested to participate included First Officer Spock, his wife, Ruth Valley, Sulu and Jilla, Chekov and Gollub, Noel DelMonde, Monique DuBois, Tara Ryan, Sakura Tamura, Uhura, Leonard McCoy, and of course Captain Kirk himself. Jade commandeered the cargo bay Kirk had been using as a movie theater and explained the ‘new’ entertainment.
“A psychocin?” Ruth protested. “A goddamned psychocin?!”
Jilla paled and Sulu closed his eyes with a soft groan of despair.
“Doctor, Jilla and I…” Ruth continued, then her large purple eyes grew even larger. “And Del… oy geveult, Del! We CANT be in a psychocin!” she turned to her husband. “Spock, tell her what happened last time we…!”
“I know all about it, Ruth,” Jade returned calmly. “New safeguards have been instituted, and this is not a commercial set-up. I’ve specifically programmed it, and I will be in control of an emergency shut-down…”
“You gonna be in there wit’ us?” Del asked with no small amount of trepidation, though he covered it well with a growl of disgust.
“I do not see why I need to participate…” Chekov began.
“Shut up!” both Del and Sulu snapped.
“People, calm down,” Jim interrupted. “This is voluntary. Anyone who feels unequipped to handle this form of entertainment…”
There were groans all around him. Sulu and Del exchanged pained glances. No career officer would ever admit to his captain that he was ‘unequipped’ to do as his captain requested.
“You are certain we will not become trapped?” Jilla asked in the subsequent silence.
Jade smiled. “Quite certain. The headsets are designed specifically not to fixate on telepathic or empathic races. It’s perfectly safe.”
“Famous last words,” Sulu muttered.
It took a while, but eventually everyone was settled in with the headsets active. Jade gave final instructions – “Just relax and let your minds have fun with the situation.” – and the bay lights were dimmed as the screen lit up, showing a tropical paradise and the words, in old-world scroll:
“Oh there’s good news,” Sulu mutteredAs the screen altered to the image of a tall masted ship sailing on blue waters, the helmsman stifled a groan. “If this is gonna be “Mutiny on the Bounty” again,” he said quietly, “I may have to strangle myself with my own intestines.”
“Leave a few feet fo’ me to do th’ same,” DelMonde agreed.
The HMS Enterprise was the pride of Queen Anne’s Royal Navy. She was berthed in the Caribbean, a foil for the numerous pirates and brigands that plagued Her Majesty’s waters. Her master was a fair but strict man, one Commodore John Kirk,
There were a few chuckles of recognition as the very familiar visage of HMS Enterprise’s commander appeared on screen in eighteenth century military garb.Behind the back row of the audience, the captain of the Enterprise gave his newest member of the Medical staff a narrow glance.
“All part of the therapy, Doctor?” he asked.
Jade Han smiled enigmatically as she noted the various readings on her control board. “Of course, James.”
Beside her, McCoy grinned. “I’m findin’ it mighty therapeutic already.”
her First Mate a young, enthusiastic lieutenant; an officer loaned to Her Majesty by the Great Russian Tsar Peter, as a way to forge a friendly relationship between the two great naval powers.
“It’s me,” Chekov gasped, amazed at the image of himself projected onto the large screen. “Look, Daphne, it’s me!”Noel DelMonde flicked him on the part of the back of his head not protected by the visor. “Could you keep it th' fuck down?” he requested. “I tryin’ to watch the motherfuckin’ movie… Though, it sure to suck now…”
On this particular evening, the Enterprise’s captain was impatiently waiting for the return of his First Mate. Lieutenant Chekov had been sent to retrieve the ship’s back pay:
Sulu and DelMonde both sneezed in a way that sounded suspiciously like, “Suck-up!” or “Kiss-Ass!”
Pirates had several times waylaid the courier ship in recent months, and Kirk had driven his crew hard to ensure the safe delivery of the Queen’s sovereigns this go around. That fact, added to the obvious lack of regular pay caused, of course, by the raids themselves, had gone hard with his men, he knew. But he was hopeful that the return of their stipends would calm the discontent that even he could sense.
“And with any luck,” he muttered to himself, “there’ll be enough for a healthy bonus as well.”
“No pay, no leave, fingers worked to the bone chasin’ the Raven all over the damned sea – but never catchin’ her, God’s blood, never catchin’ her… I tell you, Mr. DelMonde, it’s not what I signed on for!”
Expatriate Frenchman René DelMonde turned to his fellow, the rogue warrior from the Japans who went only by the name ‘Takeda’ He himself was more than done with service in Her Majesty’s Royal Navy – terminology he always used with something more than a sneer – but he was by nature far less impulsive than his ronin friend. He let the music of the concertina he was toying with cover his voice.
“Now look at those handsome fellows,” Del said, grinning. “This t’ing ain’t gonna be all bad.”“Too soon to tell about that,” Sulu said, steeling himself as he put his arm around Jilla’s shoulders protectively.
“If you wouldn’t mind?” Chekov turned around and gave his roommate a frown. “I am trying to watch this film… and not be nauseous.”
Further down the same row, Ruth Valley gave a deep sigh and squeezed her husband’s hand.
“Wait till Moscow return wit’ our pay, son,” he advised his shipmate, referring to the Russian First Mate. “We take our overdue leave, jump ship then, an’ no one th’ wiser.” The handsome mouth quirked in a slight smile. “Beside, we all know why we never catch th’ Raven.”
“And what fit commander is that,” Takeda snorted in return, “to let desire for a woman decide his course?”
“A woman?” McCoy’s grin went from ear to ear. “And who could that possibly be?”Jade scowled at him.
Del shrugged. He had enough trouble understanding the minds of foreigners - the disgraced samurai was a particular challenge. Though DelMonde had declared himself outcast from the country and court of The Sun King, he still thought like a Frenchman. Deciding courses based on desire seemed perfectly normal to him.
“Wait for Moscow,” he said again. “We start out a new life wit’ some swag, at least, non?”
Takeda grunted. “And what a piece o’work he is.”
“He do make right an’ proper somet’ing of a derangement,” Del agreed. The Lieutenant Chekov was as enthusiastic and devoted as any officer DelMonde had ever seen – and as hard on those not living up to his exaggerated sense of expectations.
There were more “Suck-up” or “Kiss-Ass” sneezes from certain quarters.“It’s all right, bubee.” Chekov’s girlfriend patted his hand comfortingly. “You deserve it.”
Takeda leaned in close. “You’d think the time he spends in the commodore’s cabin would do something toward keeping Kirk’s mind off the Raven.”
Chekov gasped, then turned and glared accusingly at the occupants of the seats behind him.“Hey, don’t blame me,” Del replied. “It not like I wrote th’ t’ing.”
“Actually we are writing it,” Sulu whispered, gesturing covertly to the back row where their captain was frowning mightily. “And that subplot might not be such a great idea.”
DelMonde chuckled. “I not t’ink it like that, son,” he said.
The Asian’s eyes narrowed. “And why not?”
After a moment’s pause spent debating whether to not to get into the cultural differences between Takeda’s homeland and European sensibilities, DelMonde simply shrugged again. “Th’ lieutenant not be walkin’ funny,” he offered.
Takeda snorted. “I think you all walk funny,” he said, but there was a twinkle of amusement in the almond eyes.
“An’ we t’ink o’you as a bandy-legged monkey,” Del returned easily.
“Who’s better at climbing the rigging than any white devil,” was the defiant reply.
Sulu rolled his eyes. “Oh, the cultural sensitivity.”“Monkey?” Jilla asked. “White devil?”
“Never mind,” came from several people at once.
“Comme je disais,” Del reiterated, then glanced again at Kirk. “Be reasonable. Wait fo’ th’ opportune moment.”
With a scowl, Takeda nodded, but added perversely, “And I’m sick to death of limes.”
“Oh, Jesus,” Del groaned. “It is ‘Mutiny on the Motherfuckin’ Bounty’ again…”“And we’re the mutineers,” Sulu sighed, mentally preparing himself to watch his own inevitable keelhauling or hanging.
“Hope I at leas’ turn out to be that Mr. Christian fellow,” Del said. “He th’ only one who ever get laid in any o’ these t’ings.”
“An’ wouldn’t you’ve just given anything to see the look on Kirk’s face when his shipment of strawberries came up empty?”
“Oy!” Ruth Valley groaned loudly, as a pirate with her face spoke. “Not ‘The Caine Mutiny’!”
Captain MeiLin Han was only half-listening to her First Mate, the always irrepressible Caitlin Valley. Valley loved the life of a brigand and pirate; MeiLin had taken on the captaincy of the Raven after her father had given his life to it – her mother had given hers birthing MeiLin. Privateering was the only life MeiLin had ever known, but when King William died, the contract with the English throne was voided, leaving the young woman with no choice but to turn to pirating.
“Hmmm,” McCoy tilted his head at his colleague. “Captain Han, huh?”“Since this performance was at my recommendation and is under my control,” the psychiatrist returned smoothly, “it was almost inevitable that I end up as one of the fictive figures of authority.”
The surgeon grinned at his captain’s slightly flushed cheeks. “Oh, yes. Almost inevitable.”
“We were lucky,” MeiLin answered her lieutenant. “If the Enterprise had arrived but fifteen minutes earlier…”
“But she didn’t!” Cat enthused.
“As I said,” MeiLin repeated. “Lucky.”
Cat frowned. “You always give him more credit than he’s due, Cap’n.”
“I’ve been in these waters all my life…” the captain began.
“An’ Kirk’s only been here a year or two, is my point!” Cat countered.
“And yet he’s managed to become our biggest foil. That says something.”
“It certainly does seem to say something,” McCoy observed and was soundly ignored by his companions.
“Aaarrrggg…” Valley muttered, then brightened. “Still, he hasn’t caught us yet, an’ we’ve had more success than disappointment the past few months, aye?”
MeiLin smiled. “Right you are there, Miss Valley.”
“Oy.” Daphne Gollub rolled her eyes, looking down the aisle to where Ruth Valley couldn’t help smiling at her on-screen incarnation. “A pirate star is born…”“This is the Raven?” Ruth answered the grin. “Shouldn’t it be something more pirate-y – like Bucket O’ Blood?”
“The Raven,” Jade said firmly.
Ruth pouted. “And I want a parrot.”
“An’ the weather’s been fair when we need her to be, an’ foul when a storm’ll do us good,” Cat continued enthusiastically, blowing a kiss to the heavens, “an’ we’ve had right good times with the men in port!”
“Amen to that,” MeiLin agreed.
"Speakin’ o’ interestin’ subplots...” Del said with a grin.The only response he got was a “There’s probably a porn filter,” from Sulu and a particularly frosty glare from the row in front of him.
“So let the Commodore keep life interesting! We’ll run circles around him if he gets too close!”
MeiLin smiled again, but it was wistful. She noted Valley’s sudden look of speculation, but kept her private longings to herself.
“Mmm-hmm.” McCoy nodded sagely and was again ignored by his colleagues.
Mistress Daphne Rosen of the Sweetwater Inn was not happy.
“It’s me! It’s me! It’s me!” Daphne Gollub nearly squealed with delight.“It’s you!” her boyfriend agreed, equally astonished and pleased.
“I gonna puke,” Del decided.
She had opened her establishment four years previously, on a grant from William and Mary’s Parliament, but the terrible (to her mind) demotion of the King’s Rule in favor of that of Parliament meant no more wars – and so no more soldiers to frequent her business.
“And I’m rich and not a goy!” Miss Gollub enthused.
“And pirates hardly make up the revenue,” she complained to her assistant.
“Damn, I’m broke,” she grumbled. “And must we make the Jew the shopkeeper? Can we be more stereotypical?”“Weren’t you just happy to be Jewish?” Sulu grinned.
Gollub stuck her tongue out at him. “And weren’t you complaining about cultural sensitivity?”
Coriander Freedom was a native of the islands, born of an escaped slave turned pirate and a Caribbean mother.
“It’s you! It’s you! It’s you!” Gollub pounded the back of the Communication Officer’s seat.“I noticed, honey,” Uhura said tolerantly.
“We have enough t’eat, Mistress,” Cori pointed out. “An’ less work than before.”
“Except when the God-cursed brigands destroy my furniture with their brawling,” Daphne argued.
“An’ who is it does all th’ cleanin’ then?” Cori muttered under her breath.
“Oh, it better not be me,” the Communications Officer observed.“Wit’ all the cultural sensitivity in this t’ing, who else it gonna be?” Del called down to her. She gave him a scowl and he returned it with his best roguish smile.
“Besides, with all the stories about that God-plagued King’s Isle…” Daphne continued.
Cori crossed herself, then spat on the floor. “Don’ be mentionin’ WaqWaq, Mistress,” she cautioned. “It bad juju.”
“God, look at my hair,” Gollub groaned.“It is very humid in the Caribbean,” her boyfriend observed, then hastened to add, “The curls look very lovely.”
“Well, it’s certainly bad juju for business,” Rosen frowned. “No one wants to be out much past sunset, and no one wants to rent my rooms just because we happen to face that way.”
“I told you I can make a charm, Mistress…” Cori began.
“I’ll have none of that, Cori,” Daphne scolded. “I’m a good, God-fearing woman.”
“As good as those farkakteh goy pirates!” Miss Gollub shouted at the screen.“And who says the pirates aren't Jewish?” Ruth challenged.
“Can we shut up an’ watch th’ damn movie?” Del asked.
Cori shrugged. She hadn’t, in her years of service, seen much about her mistress that could be called ‘God-fearing.’
Gollub scowled at the general laughter provoked by that line.
Rosen glanced toward the tavern door. “It’s past time, isn’t it?” she said, her tone abruptly anxious rather than argumentative.
“Pas’ time for what, Mistress?”
“Pytor! The Enterprise got in this morning, and he should be here by now.”
“Maybe he dead,” Del suggested cheerfully.
‘Pytor’ was Lieutenant Chekov, Mistress Rosen’s Russian lover, the First Mate of the HMS Enterprise.
“Damn straight!” his girlfriend muttered.
He was cute enough, and from the mistress’ smiles after he’d visited, virile enough,
The Russian blushed and squirmed in his seat.
but his correct and proper bearing tended to put Cori’s teeth on edge.
“Suck-up!”
With another shrug, the native woman replied, “You know how sailors are, they all make promises they not keep.”
Daphne scowled. “Pytor’s not like that. He said he’d be here after ship’s business was done.”
It early yet, Mistress,” Cori tried to soothe. “Give the young man time.”
Daphne suddenly shivered, as though a cold wind had chilled her skin. “No,” she said, her voice catching. “I know there’s something wrong. I can feel it. It’s God-cursed pirates or…” she shuddered again.
“You dead as a doornail, son,” Del predicted gleefully.
“I sure he fine, Mistress,” Cori lied. “And don’ worry none abou’ business. Things pick up soon, you see.” It wasn’t until after leaving the inn’s common room that Cori again crossed herself and again spat on the floor.
The journey to the Governor’s residence had been routine. Lieutenant Pytor Chekov made the trip in one of the Enterprise’s dinghies along with two of the Commodore’s most trusted seamen. The pick up of the pay for the officers and crew of the great ship was also routine. He had had to present the proper papers with the Commodore’s seal, of course, as well as his own identification papers proving he was, indeed, an exchanged sailor from Tsar Piotor’s Navy. Chekov didn’t mind the bureaucracy – he understood its necessity while disapproving of its inefficiency –
“Suck up!”
but he knew the Commodore was rightfully anxious to finally receive the stipends from the Royal Purse. The crew was dangerously close to an uprising – or worse.
“Daphne,” Chekov began uneasily, “In these psychiatric cinemas…”Gollub giggled at the designation. “Yes?”
“The audience controls the plot through a reading of their… mental… uhm… projections?”
“So?”
“I don’t,” the Russian said, helplessly.
“Don’t what?”
“Project mentally,” Del provided, then laughed evilly. “Sucks t’ be you, Moscow.”
Chekov turned to his girlfriend piteously. “Help.”
“Don’t worry, bubee,” Daffy said with a glare at the engineer. “You’re not going down without a fight.”
Del’s snort of juvenile suppressed amusement was almost as loud as Sulu’s.
“What are you two, twelve?” Daffy snapped.
The heavy chest had been loaded into the small vessel and the three men began the return trip across the waters of the Caribbean back to the Enterprise. The storm that came upon them was a freakish one, with a green sky and a terrible roaring wind. It came without warning, off the shore of one of the small islands in the near-deserted cove between the Governor’s holdings and the large port where the ship was anchored. As he’d been taught, Chekov steered the dinghy toward nearest land, but the power of the storm forced him back and back, further into the cove. He shouted instructions to his companions, but voices could not be heard over the wind’s wailing. From the stark terror in their eyes, Chekov couldn’t be sure they would’ve obeyed him even had they heard. Had he the time, it would have occurred to him to wonder what, even given the strange ferocity of the storm, could frighten seasoned sailors who had weathered so many.
With no other recourse, Chekov let the small boat be driven onto the sandy, wind-torn beach. He attempted to order his men to take the chest to the scant shelter of the line of trees some 100 yards beyond, and watched in horror as whirlwinds, like fingers from the hand of God,
“Better not turn out to be the hand of Del,” Gollub growled.The Cajun spread his hands and protested. “I not doin’ not’ing.”
“You’d better not be.”
“It jus’ apparently what th’ majority o’ people here wanna see,” he said, crossing his arms and regarding the chaos with satisfaction.
dropped down from the sky, pulling the men right out of the boat. He wrapped his arms around the chest, praying its weight would keep him from the same fate. Then something hit him in the back of his head, and he knew no more.
“Killed off in th’ teaser.” The engineer shook his head. “This may turn out t’ be a good picture after all.”