Return to Valjiir Stories
Sulu was on his way back from his second patrol when he noticed a familiar figure among those toiling in Dreamland Base’s hydroponic garden. “Chekov?” He had to tap the navigator on the shoulder before he finally turned around. “What are you doing here?”
The Russian blinked at him. “I’m being useful to the commune.”
Sulu blinked back at him. “Oh? That’s great,” he replied with as much enthusiasm as he could muster.
“Yes.” Chekov self-consciously wiped his dirty hands off on his pants. “I was told everyone was required to spend a certain portion of every day doing such things.”
Sulu looked around to see if they were being watched. It had been almost three days since he’d seen his former helm partner.
“I’m surprised you chose gardening.”
“Chose?” the navigator repeated with a frown. “You were allowed to choose?”
“Yeah,” the helmsman confirmed apologetically.
“Oh.” It seemed to take Chekov several moments to process this information. “What did you choose?”
“Flying patrols around the asteroid field,” Sulu answered, trying hard not to let it sound as wonderful as it was. Getting up in the morning. Getting high. Cruising around in a sweet little one-man craft in an asteroid field for a few hours. Then going back to get high again… If Jilla was here with him, he’d be sorely tempted to go Loonie and not go back.
“Oh.” Again the navigator reacted in slow motion. “That sounds interesting.”
Sulu shrugged and tried to look as if he wouldn’t have had as much fun re-potting plants. “We all have to do our part.” There was an awkward silence between them while the helmsman tried to think of things he could say to Chekov that wouldn’t sound incriminating if their conversation were being overheard. “So, how are things going with Irina?”
The navigator frowned at him. “After she denounced me as a potential traitor and put me in this re-education program, she’s maintained a distance,” he replied with bitterness seeping though his matter-of-fact tone.
“You should chime with her, brother,” Sulu replied as an apology, knowing it would sound like a rebuke to any listening Sevrinites.
The navigator turned back to the row of plants so that the helmsman could not see his face when he asked. “How is Daphne?”
“Okay… Pissed off, of course.”
Chekov smiled. “At me?”
“At everybody… but mostly you.”
The navigator nodded as if that thought pleased or at least reassured him.
“So…” Again, Sulu had to cast about for a moment before deciding on an appropriate way to ask, “How are you doing, brother?”
“Good, I suppose.” The Russian shrugged. “I have never been denounced as a potential traitor and put into a re-education program before, so I do not have much to compare it to.”
“What are they doing to you?”
“Boring me to death.” Chekov pushed his hair back from his ear, revealing a tiny electronic device implanted there. “Do you see this? It plays speeches.”
“By Dr. Sevrin?”
“By Dr. Sevrin. About Dr. Sevrin. Even a few by Dr. Sevrin about Dr. Sevrin. It plays day and night.” The navigator sighed and Sulu noted how bloodshot his eyes were. “Night and day. Continually. Now.”
Once more Sulu looked around for the monitoring Sevrinites he knew had to be somewhere close. “If they want you to listen, I shouldn’t be talking to you.”
“It’s fine.” The navigator smiled wearily. “I know how this one ends.”
“How long will you need to listen?”
“Until they’re convinced that I’ve changed my mind about Dr. Sevrin.”
“Have you?” Sulu blurted out, trying to make it sound joyous and hopeful. “Changed your mind, I mean?”
“Yes.”
The helmsman’s heart sank at his friend’s unhesitating confirmation. “Really?”
“Yes. I originally believed that Dr. Sevrin became mentally unstable after he contracted synthococcus novae.”
“And now you don’t believe that?”
Chekov nodded. “Now I believe he was always insane. The synthococcus novae simply made him more voluble.”
Sulu couldn’t stop from grinning, even though this statement brought Chekov’s guardian out of the woodwork. A tall, thin blonde-haired girl who was working at the end of the row put down her tools and made her way towards them with conspicuously casual haste.
“Come on, Brother Pasha.” She smiled and took the navigator by the hand. “It’s time for your meal break. Let’s get you cleaned up.”
“Sorry,” Chekov apologized, as he was led away like a wayward child. “I’ve got to be cleaned up. I’ve heard that my brain -- in particular -- needs washing.”
Sulu spotted Jeremy Paget on the far side of the large cargo bay that served as the communal dining room. As much as he wanted to rush to his friend’s side and share what he’d learned, he forced himself to calmly make his normal rounds. After getting a plate of food, stopping to take a hit off Phen’s pipe, flirt with Tongo, and joke with the woman who served as the dispatcher for the patrol pilots, he ambled over to the spot where Ruth and Jeremy were seated leaning against a bulkhead drinking coffee.
He grimaced when he noticed Daffy napping on a pillow next to them. Not only did he not want to say anything about Pavel in front of her, Jer had strongly urged them to not been seen together in groups of larger than three. Figuring that Jer wouldn’t want to wait too long before getting this bad news and seeing that Daf looked pretty out of it, Sulu decided it was worth making an exception to the rule of three.
“Hey,” he said taking a place next to Paget.
“Hey, babe.”
“Guess who I ran into on the way here,” he said quietly.
“So she lets the schmuck come up for air in between shtups, now?” Daffy, as the bad luck of the day would have it, was not as asleep as she’d seemed.
“Okay, so you remember how we interpreted it when Irina told us that she and Chekov had grown apart?” Sulu said, keeping his voice light and his expression pleasant. “And that he wasn’t going to be around because he needed some time and space to think about their connection?”
“You mean how we interpreted it other than as a weird Russian metaphor for sex?” Ruth asked.
“Well…” The helmsman did a quick check to make certain that they weren’t attracting undue notice. “It turns out that Chekov interprets the situation as Irina denounced him as a potential traitor and had him put into a re-education program.”
”Oh, shit.” Paget cursed without letting the smile leave his face.
“What are they doing to him?” Daffy’s voice betrayed the concern she had been pretending not to feel for the past three days.
“They’ve got him under surveillance and are feeding him Sevrin lectures through an implant on a non-stop, day and night loop,” Sulu replied, giving a friendly wave to Lace as she walked by.
“Under those circumstances,” Ruth said, “a normal, reasonable person would see that the sensible thing to do would be to let yourself be converted.”
“Oh, God,” Daffy groaned. “He’s going to die. The stupid, stubborn schmuck is going to die.”
Paget turned to Sulu, his smile not reaching his eyes. “Don’t tell me that he’s…”
“I assume that you’re familiar with the Russian invention called the Scorched Earth Policy?” Sulu asked. “He’s going to let them do whatever they want to him, but he’s not giving in at all.”
Ruth sighed and shook her head, “I know it's just his nature, but…"
“Nature smature," Daffy growled. "He's just being stubborn."
"As I said," Ruth returned with a shrug. "His nature."
“He’s going to die,” Daffy concluded. “He’s going to die.”
“No, he’s not,” Paget said.
“Yeah,” Sulu agreed, trying to sound more reassuring than he felt. “Obviously he’s too valuable to them, or they would have…”
“That’s not what I mean,” Jer interrupted. “He’s not going to die because he’s going to cut the bullshit and get with the program.”
Ruth snorted. “And the odds of that happening are…”
“...Going to be much, much better after I kick his ass.” Paget finished.
Sulu shook his head. “Jer, my running into him is was a pure accident that I’m fairly certain they’re not going to let happen again. They’re not letting anyone near him right now except for the truest of true believers.”
“Yeah?” Paget’s smile was real this time, though grim. “Then that’s what they’re going to get.”
Jeremy was having what had started out as a private conversation with Head Loonie-Goddess, Irina Galliulin. He was carefully saying all the right things, watching the woman closely for her reactions. Mostly they consisted of nodding her little Eden-head mindlessly, but Paget could see the gleam of fanaticism in her eyes. And there was something else there, something that made the security officer very uneasy.
But as he continued talking, he became aware of a growing crowd of Sevrinites gathering around them. Accordingly, he stepped up the rhetoric just a notch.
“…and it’s not just that Fleet has become so jacketed,” he said. “They’re in lockstep with some kind of Technology Will Save Us All mindset, at the expense of listenin’ to the real, flesh and blood people they’re affecting. You know I was in Security, and I was supposed to carry out these –“ he paused, selecting the proper word, “- impersonal orders… these sledging Herbert orders…” he shook his head. “I didn’t know any better.” He glanced down, then let his head jerk abruptly back up. “No, that’s false. I did know better. I’d been at the Clave, I knew what freedom and real friendship was. I was just taken in by the concepts of duty and honor and helping those in need.” He glanced around Dreamland Base, apparently taking in the commune-like atmosphere. He had previously debated the wisdom of pointing out to these Luddites that their entire operation was dependant on the technology they claimed to disdain, but now, inspiration struck, and he saw a way to use it. He let his voice continue to rise with growing fervor.
“But the Federation – all they care about is weaponry and technology – which they then throw away, just like this base. Here, you’re making use of it, but you’re trying to grow something organic and beautiful. You cover the necessary machinery with life, and you take your food from that life, and give back to it with your sweat and toil and good, honest work. This is the beginning of something real. This is what life’s meant to be. I’ve seen the wrong turns the Federation has taken – hell, I’ve been a willing part of them. But seein’ what you have here, knowin’ what true freedom is, true honor, true duty to the life God has given us… well, I say no more Federation! No more gods of technology, no more jacketed Herberts tellin’ us how to live! I see the good and the truth of Dr. Sevrin’s vision, and I know it needs to be spread to every ear that can hear it – by any means necessary!”
Irina abruptly threw her arms around him as the crowd began cheering. Paget smiled to himself, and held onto Irina like she was life itself. Then he suddenly put her away, still holding onto her shoulders.
“Irina, let me talk to Pavel. I know I can make him see. That’s what we both want, isn’t it?” He knew his eyes were shining with revelation, and he thanked the hours spent watching the holy rollers at his Daddy’s revival meetings. “Please, he’s just so damned stubborn – well, you know that better than any of us, don’t you? He was there, he saw… “ Jeremy deliberately used the phrases that Madvig seemed to think were so important. “I know it was painful for him, that’s why he’s pushed it all down so far. I’m sure all he needs is to be reminded of how it was.” He searched the Russian woman’s face. “He needs to be with us, Irina. He needs to be with you. Please, let me talk with him.”
He saw the flash of real sorrow in her blue eyes, and she smiled softly. “Yes, Jeremy,” she said. “Yes, speak with him. Bring him home.”
Jeremy approached Chekov, trying not to be distracted by the small group which had followed him back into Dreamland’s mess hall. He stopped at the table, nodding to his fellow officer, then spoke to the blonde who was Chekov’s watchdog. “Irina wants me to reach him,” he said. “Can you stop the reeducation tapes for a minute?”
The girl beamed up at him. “If that’s what Irina wants,” she said, and reached over to Pavel. The Russian flinched as she touched the implant.
“Is that all I need to do to…” he began hopefully.
“It only responds to my DNA,” the girl told him, and the navigator sighed.
“And here I thought technology was a good thing,” he muttered.
Jeremy took a seat on the floor across from Chekov. Sulu was dead right about the Russian’s recalcitrant behavior. “Hey, brother,” he began earnestly, “have you heard what those tapes are tellin’ you?”
“Interminably,” was the dour response.
Paget frowned. “No, I meant, have you heard.” He stared at Chekov until the navigator glanced up at him. Immediately he made his eyes the steel-hard, no-nonsense glare of a Security Chief. “I reach where your head is at, brother,” he continued. “I had a tough time shakin’ all the Federation sludge myself.” Which means, Tovarish, I know all about havin’ to act like we’ve been ordered to. It ain’t no bowl of cherries, that’s for damn sure. “You saw it, you were there, how can you turn your back on it now?” Yeah, you saw it, alright. You actually met the loony himself. So you know how important this mission is. You know what the movement was – and what it looks like its becomin’. “I know, brother, it’s hard, dustin’ out all the techno-cobwebs…” Translation: your stubborn Russian bullshit. “… gettin’ yourself straight, chimin’ with the message, but I know the man you really are…” lieutenant! “…and I know the strength that’s in you. We need you, brother…” The mission needs you, boy! “…the movement needs you…” The Federation needs you! “…Irina needs you…” Daffy needs you! “…I know you can reach if you want to. It’s right there, just below the surface, waitin’ for you to wake up. Shake it loose, brother, you know it’s the right thing to do.” And if you don’t straighten up and play this right I will do ever so much more than kick your petulant little Slavic ass the first private moment I get! Do you understand me, mister!
Chekov had gone from sullen resignation to real dismay by the time Paget had finished speaking. “Jeremy,” he faltered, glancing around him, “It is not that I do not wish to. It is simply… so difficult.”
“Just let Irina reach you, brother,” Jeremy soothed, placing one hand over one of Pavel’s. “She waitin’, willin’… there’s no need for jealousy here, or possessions, or all those ownership trips. It’s free, it’s life.” Daffy understands, Tovarish. She don’t like it none, but she understands, Just do what you have to do so we can get back home and you can make it up to her. “Join us, Pavel. Chime with us. Reach. Be One.”
Paget watched as the Russian’s eyes blinked, clearly understanding all the TerAfrican hadn’t said. Resignation returned, but this time it was determined. “I… I have much to…” he began.
“Let Irina help,” Jeremy repeated. He glanced at the blonde girl, whose eyes were shining with unshed tears. “Can you take him to her? I think he really needs her vibes right now.”
“Of course, brother,” the blonde replied, rising from her seat. “That was so beautiful.” Impulsively, she stretched over the table, pulling Paget’s upper body into a fierce hug. “I’m so glad you’re really with us.”
Jeremy made himself smile, and gave the “One” sign. “Go with her, Pav,” he said. As for me, I’m gonna go find something to wash the taste of this crap outta my mouth.
The first thing that Chekov noticed was that Irina’s quarters, though not ostentatiously big, were very, very pretty – which he supposed might be the Edenites’ version of a status symbol. The room was situated high above one of the cargo bays that was used as a messhall. The layout of the room gave it the illusion of openness. One wall featured a row of viewscreens that looked out in to space. The other wall looked as though it were a balcony open to the bay below. However, he knew from having been on the other side, that this viewport appeared black and opaque from below.
The room was draped in the usual assortment of gauzy fabrics, furnished with pillows, decorated with scattered musical instruments, and hung with the purple flowers that Irina preferred. There were even a few of what Chekov now considered to be the ugly and malodorous yellow flowers he’d been set to tending for the past few days.
The room seemed strangely quiet to him until he realized that he’d become unaccustomed to experiencing life without the constant accompaniment of Sevrin’s voice.
Irina turned and smiled at him. She looked so pretty and clean. It made him reflect on how he must appear. They’d allowed him to stop and wash his hands, but that was all. His shabby clothing was dirt-stained. His hair – which he hadn’t combed in days -- had become long enough to be unmanageable. He could feel the itchy beginnings of a beard coming in on his cheeks and chin. His feet were bare and dirty.
He realized that he looked exactly like the sort of disreputable vagabond to which she had always seemed drawn.
“And so,” she said, smiling. “Now you have decided that you too can follow ‘The Great Liar’?”
‘The Great Liar’ had been Irina’s least favorite of the many insulting nicknames Chekov had come up with for Dr. Sevrin in their arguments at the Academy. He wished for the thousandth time that he had been less vocal in his contempt for the Back to Eden movement. “I should not have made light of your beliefs,” he apologized. “It was wrong of me.”
She continued to smile. “And very inconvenient now.”
“I spoke as I did because of my beliefs,” he replied -- less repentantly than was probably wise. “Not from a desire to be convenient.”
Instead of responding, she sighed and gestured for him to sit near her.
As he complied, Chekov realized for the first time that there was a straightforwardness to his relationship with Daphne that he liked very much. He was never left unable to interpret her mood for very long. If he displeased her, he was informed of this fact right away. If words weren’t sufficient, she wasn’t shy about engaging in unambiguous nonverbal communication. She didn’t sulk and refuse to explain like so many of his other girlfriends, or pretend to agree then go tell all her friends what a beast he was like Martha Landon had done. And Daphne would never sigh long-sufferingly and change the subject as Irina had just done – as if she didn’t think him capable of understanding her.
Chekov frowned at how condescending and annoying this tactic was. He’d never admit it to Daphne in a million years, but he’d much rather lose a hard fought argument than to win one by default because his lover didn’t think he was mature enough to fight with.
Irina was pouring a glass of clear liquid for each of them out of a long-necked decanter.
“I did not expect that you would be so angry with me,” Chekov said, accepting a rose-colored tumbler.
“You should not have come here, Pavel,” she replied, her habitual smile fading. “It was foolish… and dangerous. Your friend Jeremy did the right thing when he convinced you to cooperate.”
“He’s not my friend,” he said shortly.
“Oh, yes, he is, Pavel,” she contradicted firmly. “He quite probably saved your life.”
“Irina.” He put the drink aside and put a hand on her arm. “If you are in trouble, let me help you.”
Her smile was mocking. “So you have come to rescue me.”
“Do you need to be rescued?” he asked. Her skin felt as wonderfully soft and warm under his hand as it always had. “Irina, do you want to be rescued?”
“Look at yourself, Pavel,” she said, pulling away gently but resolutely. “Which of us now seems to need a rescue?”
Knowing the poor picture he must make, the navigator remained silent.
“I belong here,” she informed him without a trace of doubt in her voice. “When will you accept that?”
To give himself time to consider his answer, Chekov took a sip of the drink she’d poured. He was surprised to find it was vodka. Like most of the Sevrinites, Irina rarely drank. “I will accept it,” he said, “if I can believe that is it is what you truly want.”
“It is,” she replied. “And now it must be what you want, too. The Movement has changed, Pavel. We have experienced great loss… and great betrayal. We have been forced to become less accepting of those whose commitment to our cause is weak. You’ve had a sample of how we deal with those who doubt and scoff. And it can be worse… much worse.”
Was she warning him or threatening him? Chekov wasn’t sure.
“From now on, you will say nothing that will cause anyone not to believe that you are One,” she ordered him. “If you have doubts and suspicions, don’t speak them. Not even to me.”
“Irina…” he began, amazed by the forcefulness she was displaying.
“If you do not do this – if you continue to speak your mind however you please as you usually do -- you put yourself, your friends, and me in the gravest danger. Do you understand?”
“No,” he said as a plea.
“But will you do as I ask?”
He shrugged, defeated. “Yes.”
She refilled his glass with vodka as a reward. “You must continue to avoid your friends.”
Chekov nodded miserably.
“There is one among them… the chemist.” Irina searched his face. “She is special to you?”
“She has been,” the navigator admitted.
Irina’s pretty mouth twisted into an ironic expression. “She’s very loud.”
“I do not wish to discuss her.”
“If she knows you as well as I do, you must stay far from her – most of all.”
Chekov certainly couldn’t argue the sound advice.
“Madvig and some of the others seem to want me to…” he paused and debated word choice. “…lie about Sevrin’s death.”
“Oh, no, Pasha.” She smiled and put a reassuring hand on his arm. “No one wants you to lie about that.”
“No?”
“We merely…” She paused and brushed his hair out of his eyes. “…see the truth a little differently than you seem to. In time you may come to see it the same way.”
Chekov searched her face, holding out a last shred of hope that she was saying this only because she was being coerced. There was, however, no sign of uncertainty or fear in those clear blue eyes.
Irina smiled as she ran a caressing hand down his cheek. “You must trust me, Pavel Andrevitch,” she said softly, “as you have never trusted me before.”
His body, as always, responded eagerly to her lightest touch, paying no attention at all to his mind’s objections. No matter how profound their differences were – or ever had been – he knew it would only take a few more smiles, a few more caresses, perhaps a kiss or two and he would be putty in her hands – yet again.
“I trusted you when I was 17 and very much in love,” he said, voicing his mind’s concerns and trying to ignore his body’s enthusiasm, “and you betrayed me. And again, I trusted you when I was 22 and still too much in love and you betrayed me. Can you see why I might be unwilling to trust you again?”
“No.” She kissed him softy. “I only see the love that remains.”
“Spike, I need to talk to you.”
Ruth glanced up at Sulu’s hushed voice. She had been reading over some of the late Dr. Sevrin’s work, carefully annotated by Irina, in preparation for her ‘inspirational speech’ to the coming assemblage of potential Eden-heads. Jeremy kept calling it a ‘come to Jesus’ speech, and she kept pointing out she was Jewish, to which Cobra had replied, with a wicked grin, “yeah, so that’s about how sincere it’s gonna be, ain’t it?” She’d also been carefully noting where Irina’s ‘clarifications’ seemed to actually change Sevrin’s message. She didn’t like it, but when she saw the look in Sulu’s eyes, she liked that even less. He was glowing like an Indiian.
“Roy, you were supposed to lay off the amber,” she murmured, as quiet as he’d been.
He frowned. “I know, I swear I’ve only been taking quarter tabs, at most.”
“Yeah, but how often?”
“You want a medical scan?” he challenged. “I can’t very well just stop, can I? You know what Daffy said about the xenoneurophene.”
Ruth sighed. A new wrinkle had emerged from the chemist’s ongoing clandestine investigation into the effects of the synthesized chemical. While continued doses carried a risk of unpleasant things such as renal failure, suffocation when the lungs forgot to exchange oxygen in the blood, and the heart forgetting to beat, the withdrawal for those gifted was worse, because it was much more likely than just ‘a risk of.’ The timing of the doses was everything. The Antari had had to warn Sulu about his empathic latency. “Okay, Roy, I’m sorry. What can I…”
“Can you contact Jilla?” The pleading in his dark eyes said all there was to say. She grimaced.
“I don’t dare. I’ve got this speech to prepare for, and there’s nowhere near the privacy we had on the Shambala.” Which is pretty damned scary when you think about it.
“And what are they gonna say about you and I slipping off for a quickie?” he snarled.
“We reach that Fleet had you all jacketed,” Ruth mimicked the typical Sevrinite speech pattern, “but we really need you to chime with the cause right now, sorry to sledge your happening.”
Sulu groaned, gritting his teeth. “I really don’t know how long I can stand this,” he hissed.
Ruth sighed, steeled herself, then again looked up at her fellow officer. “I can – take some of the craving, if you’ll let me,” she offered. Then she winced at the rapid succession of fear, horror, guilt, shame, anger, and rejection that flashed in his eyes. “It wouldn’t be like a healing,” she quickly assured. “I don’t have to get deeply into your thoughts. It’d be just a quick pull. I don’t even have to look at what it is you’re feeling…”
“Won’t that just make you as hungry for Spock as I am for Jilla?” the helmsman asked bluntly.
Ruth damned his perceptiveness, then realized it was his empathy being magnified by the xenoneurophene. “Well, yeah,” she admitted, “but I can relieve some of my craving simply by contacting him.” She held up a hand to forestall the obvious complaint. “Which is a lot less time-consuming and a lot more subtle than a telepathic four-way.”
“I hate you,” he growled.
She smiled sympathetically. “I know, I’m a bitch.”
“You do know I can’t even bring myself off,” he added.
No, and I didn’t need to, she thought sourly. “Sorry, Roy. Lessening the need is as much as I can do now.”
He sighed, a heart-rending sound of despair and resignation. “I guess beggars can’t be choosers – wait, I didn’t mean – no, on second thought, I guess I did.” He sat down beside her, avoiding her gaze. “What do I have to do?”
“Nothing,” Ruth murmured. “Just give me your hand.”
“Pray I don’t jump you.”
Hiding a grin, Ruth took Sulu’s hand. There was almost an electric spark of need as their flesh touched, and Ruth realized that her own abilities weren’t as tightly constrained as was normal for her.
But I’m not using chemicals, she thought with sudden apprehension.
Except Rigellian.
And Daffy didn’t specifically test the smoke, did she?
Shit!
She took a deep breath and reordered her control, then felt through her own empathy to Sulu’s. It was colored a bright butterscotch yellow, as sweet and as tempting as any candy, shot through with thick hunger that flowed to her like molten gold. She let it seep over her awareness, coating her own emotions with honeyed need, drawing the desperation and insistence from him as though she were a bee extracting nectar from some rich, exotic flower. Slowly, gradually, the flow lightened and thinned, until all that came from him was a faint scent and sense of warmth and mild longing. That, she knew, was the background of his feelings for Jilla, and so she left them with him, gently pulling away. She carefully tamped down on the abrupt increase of her own desire for Spock and grinned at Sulu.
He opened his eyes with a relieved sigh. “Jesus, I feel light-headed,” he said.
“That’ll pass,” Ruth told him.
His hand squeezed hers. “Thanks, Spike.”
“I’d say anytime, Roy, but…” She frowned pointedly.
His shrug was apologetic. “I’ll do what I can,” he promised.
We all do, she sighed, then returned to her preparations.
Pavel lay naked next to Irina Galliulin, perversely thinking about the things he didn’t like about her. They had been an odd couple from the beginning. They shared no common interests or beliefs. Even their basic personalities were at odds. Other than having lived in the same city as children, they were almost completely dissimilar.
He looked over at Irina as she lay sleeping beside him. He had no idea what she saw in him. He was unlike any companion he had ever known her to have. Although affectionate and tolerant, she always seemed to look at him as a stubborn, wrong-headed child, never as the friend and peer a true lover should be.
Conversely, he knew no logical reason why he was so drawn to her… Other than the fact he found her beautiful. So very beautiful and so very, very desirable….
Her pale blue eyes opened as if she could feel his gaze. She smiled and stretched. “Good morning.”
“Good morning,” he replied, unable to resist kissing her.
“What are you thinking about?”
“You,” he answered honestly.
“Something nice, I hope.”
“A few nice things,” he said, making it sound as though he were teasing.
She was silent for a moment, looking at him in the same searching way he had examined her. She then sighed, her pretty mouth slightly parted and her ice-colored eyes warm. “Make love to me, Pavel Andrevitch. Please.”
Although this was going to be their third go since last evening, he didn’t hesitate to roll her onto her back among the pillows. Daphne had more than once joked that he was constitutionally unable to answer such a request with a “No.” The closest she claimed he was able to come was to make puppy dog eyes and ask, “Now?”
Irina’s thighs spread readily for him and he entered her smoothly.
“Oh, Pasha,” she moaned. “Please.”
The delicious feel of her cool fingers against the bare flesh of his backside inspired a greater urgency to his thrusts than he’d employed the last time.
“Yes, yes, my darling one,” she encouraged. “Please!”
Her head was thrown back in ecstasy and her firm breasts rocked in sympathetic motion to the impact of his hips against hers.
The unpleasant thought entered his head that she might have done just so for the cauliflower-eared old freak. Had she really made love to Sevrin?
“What is it, Pavel?”
“Nothing,” he replied, shaking his head to clear the image and resuming his task with renewed vigor.
Once when he had insisted that he was over Irina with particular vehemence, Daphne had said, “Don’t lie to yourself, bubee. You’re not going to be over her until the day she rolls over and says, “Spasiba, Pavel Andrevitch. That was the best fuck I have ever had. I was a fool to dump your virile young ass. Please fuck me again any time you want to.”
Although he had dismissed the assertion stalwartly at the time, the truth of Daphne’s conjecture seemed a very, very real possibility at this moment. Nothing like empirical testing to prove a claim, he thought, wondering if the third time might prove to be the charm.
A chime sounded over the station’s intercom system.
“Oh, no!” Irina groaned, reluctantly pushing him away. “I forgot. I have a meeting.”
“You’re going to be late,” Chekov informed her, pulling her back to him. “Very, very late.”
She gave him a sultry smile as they rocked together furiously. “Maybe not so very late…”
The door chime sounded. “Irina, come on!” a female voice called.
“Just a moment!” Irina called back.
“Much longer than a moment,” Chekov promised.
“I’m com-ing in to get you,” the voice said, half-singing the words like a child would.
Irina hastily disengaged herself. “She will,” she informed her lover apologetically. “There’s no lock on the door.”
“Irina…” Chekov protested.
“Eee-Ree-Nah” the voice sang. “I’m coming ih-in.”
“I have to shower.” Irina blew the navigator a kiss before retreating to the bath. She tossed Chekov a towel before calling, “Come in. I will be ready in a moment.”
The blonde girl Chekov remembered from the group who had hijacked the Aurora entered. “I’d say I hope I’m not interrupting,” she said with bouncy cheerfulness, “but I know I am. Walls aren’t that thick.”
Chekov did not join in her laughter. He gathered his dignity as much as was possible when one was clad only in a towel and said, “How do you do?”
This only set the blonde to giggling once more. “Oh, Herbert, you are stiff,” she said, plopping down on a pillow much nearer to him than seemed decent. “And in the good way too,” she added wickedly eyeing his lap.
“Don’t tease Pavel,” Irina warned from inside the bath. “He doesn’t like it.”
“You don’t remember me, do you?” the blonde asked.
“I remember you,” Chekov said, trying to unobtrusively make sure the towel was covering everything that it should. “But we were never formally introduced.”
“Her name is Chione,” Irina called.
The blonde gave a playfully dramatic seated bow. “How ever do you do, kind sir,” she intoned, then grinned. “Was that formal enough?”
“Don’t tease,” Irina scolded lightly. “You’ll make him blush.”
“He’s blushing,” Chione reported triumphantly, smiling at him. “Madvig is right. You have gotten cuter since last time. But then again, I think everyone is cuter with their clothes off.”
All efforts the navigator was making to control the rising color in his cheeks were so completely defeated by this last statement that he was sure that even the tips of his toes were turning bright pink.
“Pavel isn’t cute,” Irina contradicted with an affectionate smile for him as she reappeared in fresh clothing. “He’s boyishly handsome.”
“Sorry about this, Reeny,” the blonde apologized, rising to help Irina with the fastenings in the back of her long, flowered gown. “But we can’t miss this meeting.”
“I, too, am sorry, Pavel,” Irina said with a very wistful smile. “But I, like everyone here, have my duties to attend to. I won’t be long.”
Chekov suddenly remembered his new career as a gardener. “I was given a work assignment. When do I…?”
“Oh, that’s okay, cutie,” Chione dismissed the thought cheerfully as she linked arms with Irina and headed for the door. “Forget it. If you can keep Reeny out of the sledgey mood she’s been in for the last two weeks, then that’s service enough to the commune. Believe me!”
“Have I gone then from being a gardener to being a gigolo?” he called, folding his arms defiantly as the two women exited, giggling like schoolgirls. If they heard him, they didn’t bother answering.
Chekov stared down into the cargo bay below the view port that filled half the wall of Irina’s quarters. He wondered if Daphne was one of the tiny figures moving around on the floor of the bay. The thought of her made him sigh. What was he ever going to be able to say to her? The only thing that he could imagine her possibly taking any comfort in was that she had been absolutely right about the depths to which he could sink.
He shook his head at himself. Like everyone else, he’d known that it was almost inevitable that he was going to end up sleeping with Irina. However, he’d expected his resistance to consist of somewhat more than just waiting for the first time she asked him to do so.
Perhaps Daphne was also right about the competitive aspect of his relationship with his old girlfriend. Other than the first flush of infatuation, he could look back now and see his every move as increasingly desperate efforts to gain control of the relationship…. Even the sex … Perhaps particularly the sex. Making love to her made him feel so in control… while in reality, it always put him more firmly under her power… Which was exactly where he’d landed himself this time. He couldn’t take much comfort in the knowledge that this was precisely where the planners of this mission wanted him to be – Irina’s harmless little pet, to whom she could safely confide…
He sighed and eyed the supposedly unlocked door. Reasoning that it couldn’t hurt to try it, he pressed the latch.
The door opened revealing itself to be unlocked, but not unguarded.
“Hello, Brother Pasha!” a pretty young blonde smiled up at him from where she sat cross-legged in the corridor.
“Hello, Arian,” he replied, recognizing her as one of his customary captors. He wondered if it were by design that all of his guards had been women. Although they functioned very effectively as sentries, they acted, sounded, and looked like overzealous babysitters.
“Where are you going?” she asked, rising.
He shrugged and folded his hands behind his back. “I was thinking of taking a stroll.”
“Irina will be back soon.” Arian put her arm around his shoulders and guided him back inside. “She’d prefer you stay here.”
The women were always touching him – holding his hand, smoothing his hair, patting his arm. Chekov wondered if that had been part of the plan too -- Strange women with their hands all over him for three days making sure he was properly primed for the moment when he was finally alone with Irina…. No, he decided, not necessary. It was just a clever way of making it less likely that he would punch one of them out and try to escape.
“I would like to get something to eat,” he said, slipping out from under her grasp.
“Didn’t she show you where she keeps the food?” Undeterred the Edenite took him by the hand and directed him to a cabinet on the far side of the room. “There’s dried fruit and flatbread and… well, that’s all. That’s all you need though.”
“Oh?” He reclaimed his hand and then crossed his arms rebelliously. “Is it?”
“Well…” Arian gave him a slow once over and then took him by the shoulders. The navigator had showered, washing three days worth of filth from his hair, but all he’d had to put on were the same, shabby, dirty clothes. “There should be some clean clothes in these drawers…”
Chekov frowned as he looked at the neatly folded collection of pants and shirts. “There are already clothes for me in these quarters?”
“Well, of course.” The blonde rumpled his hair. “Didn’t you know she was hoping you’d end up here, Brother?”
“Yes, well…” he began uncomfortably.
Arian was beaming. “We’re all so happy for you, Brother Pasha. We reach. We really do.”
Fearing that she was on the verge of hugging him, Chekov stepped back. “I’d like to go see my friends.”
“You’re One now,” the Sevrinite said, pulling him into the sisterly embrace he’d dreaded. “We’re all your friends.”