It took a very long time, but Sulu finally realized that the painful, insistent pounding was coming from his own head, and not a dance floor. He moaned inaudibly. There was something warm beneath him, and something cool on top of him. Sheets, you're in a bed, he told himself, and winced at the renewed cacophony the effort caused. His fingers feebly grasped at the mattress as he tried to shift his body. His muscles roared in disconcerted indignity, sending increasing strength to the drums in his skull. Stop, please stop, he begged weakly, and attempted to raise his head.

The attempt failed, and he decided to concentrate on something simpler, like opening his eyes. For a moment, he couldn't tell if that had worked. Everything seemed he same, agonizing blur. He blinked, grateful for this proof that his eyes had indeed been open, then forced his mind to focus the images before him. Sharp, hammer-blows crashed into his head, and he moaned again, wondering if it was worth going on.

What the hell did you take? he asked himself. The only answer was more distorted images, bits and pieces of memory that refused to fit together in any coherent fashion. But at least there were no images of violence - that meant the pain was all self-inflicted.

A sound reached his ears that he was fairly certain he didn't make; a sleepy, mumbled sigh. He commandeered his eyes into seeing. A blur of gold and dark brown gradually coalesced into a figure. A female figure. A female figure wearing what looked like his tunic. His mind identified the almost metallic-coffee colored skin, the dark hair, the bifurcated eyebrows.

Klingon.

Pain that almost tore off the top of his head shot through him as he bolted into an upright position. A female Klingon wearing his tunic in bed with him?!? With a groan of reproach - as well as physical agony - he slumped back onto the bed. He hadn't...

He felt the lack of tension in his body and sank into a diatribe of odious rebuke. He had.

You disgusting, self-indulgent degenerate! A Klingon?! What kind of deviate are you? You sick, twisted...

And who knows sick and twisted better than you? Not to mention disgusting self-indulgence.

The revulsion within him was quickly superceded by the throbbing in his head, and he barely noticed the woman stretching, then rolling over to face him. He jumped at the touch of her hand on his thigh, shuddering. He forced himself to look at her. She wasn't all that bad, as Klingons went. Her features were finely sculptured, her dark eyes not exactly warm, but sensual nonetheless...

She smiled and sat up, lazily removing his tunic.

"Thank you, Sulu." Her voice was sultry as she handed it to him. "It kept me warm all night."

Sulu stared, then rubbed his hands over his face. He sighed reprovingly and nodded. "Right," was all he said.

She cocked her head to one side. "You don't remember me, do you?"

No, and I don't want to. He shook his head, and winced.

She laughed and the sound pierced through his brain like a knife. "Torgath ale too much for you?" she said, and he couldn't tell if it was sympathy or condescension. She didn't wait for a reply. "I thought it might be, despite your friend's boasting."

Friend?

"I had the management bring up something for the aftereffects." She reached across him to a nightstand, and picked up a hypospray, offering it to him.

What if it's poison? What if it's spiked? What if she plans to drug you and take you to some Klingon ship or prison or...

She would've done it already. Come on, the worst it can do is kill you.

No, the worst it can do is nothing.

He nodded, groaning, and she gently pressed the metal to his arm. Relief hissed instantly into his system, and he sighed with the alleviation.

"By the way," she said, "my name is Kami."

Sulu began laughing helplessly. Kami? It figures. Buddha, what did I do to deserve this?

You don't really want an answer to that, do you? Karma, neh?

Karma, hell!

"Sorry," he finally managed, "it means something amusing in my language." She was gazing at him with no understanding, but practiced acceptance. "Uh, Kami, just where are we? I don't remember last night at all.

"The Hotel Borielius in the city of Ghaina on the planet Aurora Rogi III," she replied as if she'd rehearsed it.

At least I'm still in the city. Fleet will be pleased that I didn't go AWOL. I think. He started looking around the lavish suite. Thick carpeting, high, elaborately draped windows, real wood desk and upholstered chairs. The bed was a king size, its linens obviously expensive. He could see clothing strewn on the floor. One partially ajar door let to a ceramic-tiled bathroom, another to what he guessed was the sitting/entertainment room. Jesus, how much did this cost?

Kami rose from the bed, moving languidly across the room.

"Three hundred and twenty credits per night, Lieutenant," she purred in answer to his silent question. She picked up a satin dress of bright royal blue, then swirled back to him. "You've already - reimbursed me for my services. You can pay the rest in the lobby." He watched as she slipped on tasteful, silver shoes and ran a quick hand through her short hair. She bent over the bed, and kissed him lightly. "Do come again, Sulu," she murmured. "I must admit, I really enjoyed myself." Smiling, she let her body glide to the door that led to the sitting room, then turned as she opened it. "By the way..." she said meaningfully, "so did you." The door closed behind her with a quiet hiss.