Return to Valjiir Stories
Lieutenant Commander Paget was definitely worried, and not at all happy. Tamura’s report only confirmed and expanded on what Sulu had already gotten from Tongo Rad. Jeremy longed to get a look at those communications’ logs, but knew that would be taking too great a risk of blowing their cover. But with what had happened to Ruth, he was beginning to think it might be best all around to say to hell with the mission and get out with what they had while they still could. DelMonde’s condition was already too precarious, and he couldn’t even bear to think about what might happen to Sulu. He knew the helmsman was still taking the amber – Kam couldn’t very well not. Not only would the psychological withdrawal be a very bad thing to cope with in the environment of Dreamland, that would break their cover worse than his own snooping around communications.
But it could kill you, babe. Then what do I do? What would I tell little Jilla?
He carefully reviewed their findings so far. They knew the Catullan government was a main source of funding and had the identities of the other major sources. But they still hadn’t found the cache of weapons the Eden-heads allegedly possessed, nor had they discovered where the real power lay, or why the Sevrinites would be deliberately feeding telepaths a chemical which was going to eventually kill them. If NC’s reaction is any indication, the only use for the amped up telepathy is to fuck with people’s heads. They don’t seem to be controllin’ how he fucks with people’s heads either. But can they? Or are they tryin’ to learn how?
Jeremy stroked along the side of his bearded jaw thoughtfully. Rad had certainly seemed to indicate that it was possible. Sulu had said the Catullan had said ‘the espers’ didn’t know how to control it, but that they’d done enough to convince the Catullan government to support Dreamland.
What’s the real objective here? he demanded of himself. You’re a highly trained psychologist, what’s the angle?
After several minutes of intensive contemplation, he realized he simply didn’t have enough information. And if the Sevrinite organization ever did learn how to control how telepaths fucked with people’s heads… He sighed, half frustrated, half hopeless. Which means, he admitted helplessly, I can’t justify pullin’ the plug on the mission.
But is the damned mission worth it if I end up gettin’ my people killed?
Not for the first time since he’d decided on his team, Jeremy debated his own wisdom. All the reasons for his choices were still good ones, and he couldn’t’ve very well have known about the xenoneurophene.
But maybe I should’ve called it off when Daffy first told me, he agonized. Madvig gave us the choice…
But that would’ve meant losing Chekov. And failing at the mission Starfleet entrusted me with.
He knew there had been other attempts to infiltrate the Sevrinites, knew that this was likely both the best and last hope for Fleet to stop the evolution of the movement. At the last, duty won out over both personal guilt and personal concerns.
He sat in the main cargo bay, furiously trying to figure out some way to proceed which was both fast and clever while appearing to be enjoying some well-earned down-time. When Stupid Roger came and sat down beside him, he only nodded a greeting, then closed his eyes again.
“Hey, Cobra,” Roger said. “I’ve been wanting to tell you how great it is that you finally reach.”
“Thanks,” Jeremy made himself respond.
“But I have to admit, knowing you at the Clave, I never really figured you for the type.”
Paget opened one eye. “Oh?”
“Yeah. I mean, it’s not like you were jacketed or anything,” the Sevrinite continued, “but you were never the – um – philosophical type, y’know?”
“This from the guy that used to belch the Vulcan alphabet,” the TerAfrican responded teasingly.
Roger snorted. ‘Yeah, well, I was young, Jer,” he added.
Jeremy smiled, patting Roger’s knee. “We all were, friend.”
“It’s just that – well, I understood Dr. Sevrin’s message as soon as I heard it. You guys used to scoff at it.”
Jeremy sat up straighter, warning flags coming up in his head. “I never scoffed, brother.”
“Well, true. Not you. And Kam never seemed to care one way or the other.” The Sevrinite sighed. “But Spike sure did. And Daffy.”
Paget shrugged. “They were a lot younger, too,” he said. “Rog, if you’d been in Fleet, if you’d seen the things we all saw…”
“The things you all accepted,” came the caustic reply.
“But the important thing is the tense, man,” Jeremy rejoined. “Accepted. We don’t any more, any of us. We reach, brother. We’re One.” And he made the sign.
With a smile, Roger returned it. “I know, brother. I just can’t help but wonder at it, y’know?”
Paget gently but firmly grasped the other man’s arm. “I can understand that,” he said as sincerely as he could – which was always considerable. “But Fleet changed us all. We wanted a better way, and now we’ve got it.” He smiled again. “What’s the matter, Rog, you still think we’re spies?”
“Should I?”
The security man’s laughter was easy, and he punched the Sevrinite playfully. “Like I’d tell you if we were.”
Roger laughed too, then stood. “Hey, you and Daffy never finished the tour.”
“We’ve been here for over a week, babe,” Jeremy returned.
“Yeah, but you haven’t been nosing around – “ Roger’s face crinkled into another smile “ – like spies would. So let me show you the whole base.”
“Sure, if that’s what chimes with you,” Paget said, and got up. He saw Daffy walking across the bay, obviously heading for the kitchen. “Hey, Daf, Roger wants to show us the rest of the base!” he called.
“Like I don’t have anything better to do?” the chemist called back.
“Don’t be sledgin’ all over the man’s kind offer,” Jeremy admonished as he and Roger caught up to her.
Daffy rolled her eyes. “No sledging intended, but I’ve got onions to cube.”
“There are plenty of slicer-dicers today,” Roger put in. “They won’t miss you if you’re a little late.” And he winked suggestively.
Daffy shuddered. “You gonna keep me out of a reeducation program if they do?” she muttered.
“What?” Roger said absently.
“Never mind, I never do,” Gollub sighed, and when Roger’s back was turned, she reached out, pinching Paget on the arm. “I will so find a way to make you pay for this…” she whispered.
“What’s wrong with a nice guided tour?” Jeremy replied, with a slight emphasis on the second to last word.
“Guided, huh?”
Paget nodded.
Daffy seemed to consider this, then nodded in return. “But you’re still gonna pay, Cobra.”
“Promises, promises.”
“And this is the lab,” Roger said as he took Paget and Gollub through the set of doors that they’d been previously told were off-limits. “The techs are all on break right now. I’m sorry you didn’t get a gig here Daf,” the Sevrinite continued. “I can’t imagine why Irina wouldn’t have wanted to use a galaxy-class chemist like you.”
“Come on, Rog,” Jeremy chided. “You didn’t trust us right away either.”
“Still don’t,” Roger replied, then paused for a dramatic moment and burst out laughing.
“There’s that wonderful wit,” Daffy muttered, then showed her teeth.
“See, we’re working on ways to neutralize all the inhibiting shit the Federation puts into their foodstuffs. Then, when we distribute our food to the poor and needy, they won’t be bound by it all.”
“Good plan,” Paget commented.
“So do I get to take a look?” Daffy asked, in her best not-that-I-really-care manner.
Roger shrugged, then grasped Paget’s arm, pulling him toward a particular set-up. “This is where we mix the Haven stuff,” he said. “We wanted to be able to enjoy it recreationally without messing up our heads. So even though it’s weaker, it’s still fun. You reach?”
“What do I know from chemistry?” Jeremy replied with a grin. Roger gave him a sidelong glance.
“I suppose,” he returned noncommittally, but Paget thought the Sevrinite glanced at Daffy. “Over there is research and development,” he said, pointing, “and that’s vitamin supplements – we do understand that a vegetarian lifestyle sometimes needs a little help.”
“Fascinating,” Jeremy quipped, then blinked at Roger’s blank stare.
“Vegetarian – Vulcan – fascinating?” the TerAfrican explained.
“Oh, yeah, I get it. Funny.”
Paget shook his head.
“Through those doors is the armory. Not that we have much in the way of weaponry, and it’s all for defensive use, but… well, better safe than sorry.” He grinned again. “I know that was your field, Cobra.”
“Used to be,” the security man returned with a shrug.
“Would you be interested in checking it out, maybe verifying that everything is in working order?”
It was Jeremy’s turn to give the Sevrinite a sidelong glance. “Not really.”
“Would you do it anyway? For the Cause, brother?” Roger insisted.
The warning bells that had gone off in Jeremy’s head earlier were now blaring a red alert. “Okay, if it’ll help,” he said, then turned. “Hey Daf, you want to…”
“Leave her here,” Roger interrupted. “She’s gotta get back for her shift anyway.” He again grabbed Paget’s arm. “Come on.”
To Paget’s eternal surprise, the weapons were almost all ones that would be used only in defense, unlike on the Shambala. And some of them weren’t in very good condition. The only thing he could reasonably make of that was that the ship had been prepared for any emergency, while Dreamland would cut and run rather than engage in wholesale slaughter. Except of telepaths, he added disgustedly. He turned from his inspection to Roger to ask, “Are there more bases? Are they as poorly equipped as this one?
“Now why do you want to know that, brother?” Roger said.
Paget made a face. “I wouldn’t want the dream to die here,” he replied.
“Why would it do that?”
“Hell, Rog, if there were some kind of serious attack, we’d all go down in flames.”
“We’d run,” Roger answered. “We’re not into that whole military gig.”
“But if you had no place to run to…”
“We’d start over, just like we did after we lost Eden and the Aurora.”
The TerAfrican shook his head. “Well that seems like a colossal waste of time, energy and resources.”
“There are always people who reach, Cobra. Always people who are willing to help.” The brown eyes gleamed meaningfully at him. “Like you.”
“By any means necessary,” Paget agreed firmly, wondering just what the Sevrinite was trying to tell him. “Can I at least recondition some of these for you?”
Roger shrugged. “I’ll ask Irina,” he said.
As they left the armory, Jeremy’s mind began going over every encounter the team had had with Stupid Roger. Something just wasn’t adding up.
Daffy blinked after Jeremy and Stupid Roger as they left the lab. The Sevrinite had deliberately left her there – hadn’t he?
Now why in the name of the big bearded guy in the sky would he do that? He said it himself, I’m a galaxy-class chemist.
Maybe he really trusts you.
Or maybe he’s setting me up.
And does it matter? You’re here, you may never get another chance to be here. Take advantage of it.
Hurriedly she went to the station Stupid Roger had indicated as the one where the Haven chemicals were being doctored. Some tests were running, and she again took the small tricorder from her waistband and set it to record the data being processed. There were several statboards on the work table, and the picked them up, quickly scanning through them. Within minutes, several things became clear:
She’d been right about the way the Loonies were doctoring the Haven chemicals; front and backloading.
The analyzers at the station confirmed that the clear liquid being mixed in was xenoneurophene.
There was another additive, something the computers identified as amyneurophene. It appeared to be some sort of stabilizing agent, though what it was stabilizing she couldn’t immediately tell.
She thought about that for a moment. She’d never heard of amyneurophene. Quickly she sorted through the records until she found the basic information on it. Amyneurophene was a sister-compound to xenoneurophene, and it was necessary to allow the brain drug to remain in a chemically bonded state to the Haven drugs. Without it, the xenoneurophene would just separate out. The xenoneurophene was just as ‘effective’ on its own, but without the amyneurophene, a ‘subject’ would have to ingest it in its pure distilled form…
…Human sweat.
Ewww! Daffy thought, then her brilliant mind overrode the gross-out factor. Human sweat. Xenoneurophene is secreted in Human sweat?
A little more digging and she discovered that it wasn’t any Human – the chemical was secreted by Human telepaths when in a highly mentally aroused state. And it took a similar state of intense arousal to activate the chemical once it was artificially reintroduced into their systems.
She shuddered. No wonder telepathic sex is so great. All they have to do is lick each other and pow! Instant amperage.
Quickly she checked the same information on amyneurophene. This, too, was a Human secretion, from Human empaths. It also amped up the gift in question, allowing the empath to feel and feed from emotions at a much greater distance, and at a much higher intensity. There were several notes on the collection rates for both chemicals, and some footnotes marking particular difficulties, such as the use of body lotion or oil…
Her face blanched as she caught the name contained in one of the notes under “Original Subjects” – Ruis Calvario:
“Subject’s preferred use of particular spice-infused oil has proven to be a minor obstruction to collection of amyneurophene from….”
Ohgodohgodohgodohgodohgod…!
The sick-fuck was an empath!
For a moment, her mind was filled with horrible pictures – the Hunter feeding off the deaths he caused with insane, amped-up glee. Cal feeding doctored Haven chemicals to Clavists, lasciviously enjoying the power and high it gave him. Were xenoneurophene-laced drugs responsible for the always-orgy-like atmosphere of the Penthouse parties? Was that one of the ways he controlled…
Kam.
Ohgodohgodohgodohgodohgod…!
The image of the two empaths fucking their brains out was not one she had ever allowed herself, but now it crashed into her skull, complete with the avid licking of each other’s sweat-covered bodies. She shuddered again and forced her head back into detective-mode.
There were extensive records of chemical trials. They were mostly on Humans, and the few that had been conducted on other races had always ended very unsatisfactorily – either with no effect, unusual and uncontrollable effects, or death. And even the Human trials were annotated with final rejection of whatever dosage had been applied – attempts at ‘managing’ the telepaths involved were either fleeting, or unpredictable, or only partially successful. And always, always ended in the messy telepathic deaths Cobra had been concerned about.
Suddenly Daffy heard the murmur of voices, and she quickly grabbed the tricorder and dashed to the wall next to the door by which Roger had brought her in. It hissed open, several white-coated people walking in, heading immediately for their stations. None of them seemed to notice her, and she quickly slipped out, racing away from the lab as the door softly closed behind her.
Chekov rolled over and pretended to be asleep. This was made difficult by the fact that Chione was only a few feet away chattering away about his anatomical assets and shortcomings. He pulled the light cloth someone had draped over him over his face and waited.
Although it seemed to take an eternity, the blonde finally headed off to make a nuisance of herself elsewhere. Almost as soon as he heard the door slide shut behind her, Chekov felt Irina’s warm breath on his neck. “We’re alone, my darling,” she said in Russian.
He rolled over and pulled away. “How could you do this to me?”
“Do what?” she asked, genuinely puzzled.
“To use me so,” he replied sharply. “For the amusement of you and your friend.”
“Pasha, darling one,” she said, reaching for him. “There’s no need put on a mask of conventional morality. You enjoyed being with us.”
“My physical response had nothing to do with whether or not I find the situation acceptable,” he replied coldly.
“Don’t be a prude, Pasha,” she chided.
“My objection is not to what we did, but rather to the fact that it was non-consensual.”
“I asked…” she protested.
“No, you didn’t. If you had asked, I would have refused. I’m not a plaything to be passed around.”
She took in a deep breath and then shook her head. “You don’t understand. Life here is strictly communal. Everything must be shared.”
“I’m not a thing, Irina,” he reminded her coldly.
“It doesn’t matter,” she insisted impatiently. “In order to have you, I must be willing to give you away.”
Chekov let a stiff silence settle between them.
“Listen to yourself, Irina,” he said, knowing it was a risk to be this blunt, but willing to gamble on her better nature. “You were once a person of principles – a person with respect for herself and for others. How far have compromised your own beliefs in order to accommodate their beliefs?”
As Irina met his eyes, the navigator could see her face become a hard, icy mask.
“I believe in the Cause,” she informed him. “The compromises I have made have been necessary ones… and will be necessary for you as well.”
“Irina,” he said, his heart breaking with disappointment. “This is a mockery of what once existed between us.”
For a long moment they were both silent as each realized that they had reached a point of no return.
Finally Irina gave a slow nod. “Arrangements will have to be made… if you don’t wish to remain with me.”
Paget is going to kill me, Chekov thought. However that couldn’t prevent him from saying aloud, “I can’t… Not like this.”
“Your friends usually eat in this area,” Irina informed him as they got off the lift. “Even if they’re still on duty, they should be here shortly.”
Thank you,” he replied, relieved they could at least be civil in parting.
Without further comment, she left him for a cluster of her friends on the far side of the room.
As always, he thought bitterly. Scanning the large bay, he couldn’t see any of his fellow officers at first. After a moment, he was able to discern that one of the musicians in the northwest corner was Noel DelMonde. Not much use to talk to him.
Chekov wandered over to a low table that one of the Sevrinites was re-stocking with food. As he mentally debated how to present the failure of his end of the mission to Paget, he reached for one of the hot rolls the Edenite was putting out.
“Hey, wait ‘til I…” a familiar voice scolded.
The navigator blinked at the turbaned woman in front of him. “Daphne?”
Gollub frowned as she put her tray down, stepped back, and gave him a coolly appraising once over.
“Why if it isn’t Brother Pavel,” she said, her eyes glittering coldly. “I hear you’re One now?”
She gave the sign, forcing him to do the same.
Knowing that eyes were upon him, he complied with a scowl.
“So,” Daffy said, crossing her arms. “She’s even dressing you?”
“What?”
She raised an eyebrow at the flowered shirt and short pants he was wearing. “Don’t tell me you picked out that outfit on your own,” she said.
He shrugged, wanting nothing more than to throw himself into her arms and beg for forgiveness. “It was the best of a poor range of choices.”
Daphne’s mouth quirked.
His heart quickened at the sight. It didn’t mean she wasn’t angry with him – far from it – but was a tiny sign he’d learned to recognize. He knew without a doubt she was going to drag him through seven of the Devil’s own favorite hells, but she’d given him a signal. That quirk was a beacon by which one could navigate one’s way through the storm. It didn’t mean she wasn’t furious with him, but it did mean that she had for a fraction of a second remembered why she liked him.
As if reading the hope in his eyes, she hardened her features and shook her head. “Not this time,” she said, retrieving the tray.
“Daphne,” he pleaded.
“Hey, Pavi-chan!” Out of nowhere, Sakura appeared and wrapped herself around him. Had he not been so thoroughly conditioned to accept the embraces of strange women, he would have pulled away. This time, he merely blinked as it took a moment to reconcile his memory of the neat and efficient yeoman with the long-haired stoner chick giving him a sloppy kiss on the cheek.
“Brother!” Paget was also embracing him. “How have you been?”
“Not that good, actually,” he said, trying to politely extract himself.
“We’ve got some really mellow weed in our quarters,” Paget invited, his eyes informing the navigator that refusal was not an option. “C’mon!”
“I’d love to,” he assented unenthusiastically as the two dragged him down a nearby corridor leading off the bay.
Tamura giggled and leaned in close enough to lick his ear. “Wait ‘til we’re inside,” she warned softly.
Chekov endured being kissed, caressed, and giggled over with steadily decreasing patience as he was conveyed to the quarters his companions shared.
“So, what have you learned?” Paget asked, thankfully returning to normal as soon as the doors closed behind them.
“Nothing,” Chekov replied adamantly. “Absolutely nothing of any conceivable use. My portion of this mission is an absolute and dismal failure.”
“Give it time,” Sakura advised, loading a small bong.
“Must you do that?” the navigator asked, fanning away the sweet smoke.
“Oh, yes,” the yeoman answered, holding in a deep breath. “I really, really must.”
“It’s our cover.” Paget said, folding his arms sternly. “You remember covers, don’t you? As in if you’d done a better job of maintaining yours, Irina might trust you now?”
“She doesn’t,” Chekov informed him flatly as he took a place on the pillow next to Tamura. “We’ll have to try another approach.”
“Another approach?” Paget’s eyebrows lowered dangerously. “Oh, hell, no, we’re not trying another approach. We’re going to fucking give it more time like Sakura said. You understand me, mister?
“That may be difficult,” the navigator explained slowly. “We had an argument….”
“And you broke up with her?” the Security Officer guessed, his volume and temper rising. “Oh, hell no! This isn’t fucking high school, Tovarish. Having a little lover’s tiff and deciding to blow off the mission isn’t a fucking option.”
“What did you fight about?” Sakura asked, taking the bong with her as she rolled over on to her stomach.
“I don’t give a shit what it was about,” Paget said before the navigator had a chance to reply. “All I know is that you’re going to march your boneheaded Russian ass out there right now and make it up with her.”
Sakura put a sympathetic hand on Chekov’s leg. “Did she start it?”
“And I don’t give a flying fuck who started it,” the Security Officer fumed. “All I know is that you’re sure as fuck going to be the one on his fucking knees begging her to take you the fuck back pronto if not fucking sooner.”
“Was it about the sex?” Tamura asked, after blowing a little smoke ring at him.
“It’s…” Chekov had to pause and cough. “It’s a personal matter.”
“Oh, fuck no!” Paget swore, pointing a condemning finger at him. “Can’t you get it through your thick fucking skull that there are no personal matters on this trip? There is nothing that you are not under direct orders to disclose to me should I deem it fucking necessary to fucking ask. Do you hear me, mister?”
“So,” Tamura asked, propping her chin on Chekov’s thigh. “She got freaky?
“She… she…” The navigator looked back and forth between them helplessly before admitting, “She invited a friend to…”
“A threesome?” Tamura rolled her eyes. “Been there. Done that. Got the tattoo.”
“Not that it’s a fucking excuse,” Paget began, his tone a tiny fraction less hostile, “but was it another guy?”
“No.”
“Was she cute?” Sakura asked eagerly.
“It was one of the Sevrinites who stole the Aurora,” Chekov explained, trying to ignore the burning in his cheeks. “I believe her name is Chione.”
“Chione, huh?” Paget mused.
Tamura tilted her head and made a sympathetic face. “Does she giggle during?”
The navigator’s blush got hotter. “Sometimes.”
“So, you’ve already done it at least once?” Paget deduced.
Chekov nodded miserably.
“Well, Moscow, you’re just going to have to get back in there and do it again… and again and again and again until you build back up the fucking trust you fucked up in the first place. Do you fucking understand me?”
“We have to fuck Tongo Rad,” Tamura informed him. “And he’s not even attractive.”
The navigator winced incredulously and hoped this was hyperbole. “No, I think not.”
“You’ve got two hot girls,” Sakura said, pointing out the bright side.
“But… but…” Chekov protested. “It’s… so… sordid…”
“Boo-Fucking-Hoo,” Paget replied unsmilingly.
“Tongo Rad,” Tamura reminded him. “Not attractive.”
“Let me put it this way, Moscow,” Paget said. “Either A) You get back on top of the Irina thing – metaphorically and fucking literally or B) I consider you fit and ready for duty on the Bongo for Tongo squad. Do you get me, mister?”
“Stick with the hot girls,” Sakura advised, taking another deep hit from the bong.
In between sets, a blonde woman pushed herself into Del’s awareness. “Hi.”
“Hey yourself,” he said examining the patterns thrown out by her mind. Not Human, are you?
Looking into her face, he realized he hadn’t spoken aloud. The inconveniences of remaining a mortal while living on astral planes were becoming a drag. “You not Human,” he made himself enunciate.
“Izarian,” she informed him cheerfully.
That made sense. Natives of Izar had strong minds. Although telepathic powers were unusual, they were often born with powerful natural shields. This girl’s mental barriers were so strong she was almost a black hole.
Bet the xenoneurophene help that too, he guessed.
After a moment he realized that he’d forgotten to speak aloud again. “What can I do for you, honey?” he said, hoping she could be brushed off easily. There were other more appetizing minds nearby.
“My friend has a problem,” she began, pointing to a young woman with long black hair.
Black on black. Black flowers hidden in a black field. Russian violets and black, black, black.
“Yeah,” Del nodded, not interested enough to decipher any of these impressions. “Your friend sure do have her some problems.”
“She had a fight with her boyfriend…”
Chekov in a sea of flesh. Drowning and moaning. Drowning like a flower in black sea. Servicing two hungry goddesses as they fed off him.
“Oh, that gotta be a hallucination,” Del laughed, shaking his head.
“She’s really hurting, Brother,” the blonde woman said, puzzled by his laughter.
“Everybody hurts, sugar,” he informed her with a shrug.
“Can you help her?” the blonde asked. “The right song might swing him back to her.”
The situation instantly laid itself out in Del’s head like an engineering problem. People and situations were converted into an array of variables which then factored themselves in and out until the solution was obvious.
“Sure,” he said, running his fingers lazily down the boshzier’s strings. “But what in it fo' me if I do?”
“I dunno.” The blonde shrugged, then gave him a shrewd smile. “I just thought you might want to have a little fun.”
He had to laugh. “Girlie, I may not know you, but you seem to know me all too well.”