Sulu had sent them to their cabin with orders to adorn themselves as was proper for a Starship Captain’s exotic showpieces. Both Ruth and Jilla had worked very hard at re-creating the look they had arrived with. Ruth helped Jilla apply her make-up, Jilla tried to arrange Ruth’s hair back into an elaborate sculpture. When she failed, she chose instead to tease it into a veritable lion’s mane, wild and sensual. They donned jewelry and chose new dresses from their closet; deep, amethyst purple for Ruth, a rich teal for Jilla. Only once did Ruth ask, “Is it real?” Jilla simply repeated that Sulu had said it was. Only once did darkness threaten Jilla, and Ruth countered it with a soft sigh of his name. It was harder when he wasn’t there, but he had told them to make him proud, and they would not fail him. They sat on their beds, ready, waiting for the one who owned their souls to come and present them to the one who owned their bodies.
Neither one of them remembered Jilla’s necklace or the transmitter it contained.
The door opened and McCoy stepped into the cabin. Two pairs of hungry, disappointed eyes met his, then dropped demurely to the deck. It was all he needed to know. Two more souls lost. Sulu had done it again.
Though the women didn’t move, they seemed to cower as he approached them. McCoy scowled, biting back bile. “Relax, ladies,” he told them. “Sulu sent me.” Some of the tautness left them at the sound of the name and McCoy snorted in disgust. He set his medkit down on a table and took out a scanner. Exhaustion, a little dehydration in the Indiian, scars, bites, bruises. The usual. Disgusting leech. To his surprise, the Antari was in perfect condition. But it hardly mattered. Sulu had obviously broken the Captain’s pets to him. How Kirk could put up with that sort of insult, McCoy didn’t know. He wouldn’t have been able to endure knowing his whores were pleasing him only to please Sulu. If it were up to him, he’d find a much less insolent Chief of Security.
The door opened again as McCoy was giving Costain protein, stimulant, and hydration injections.
“How touching,” Sulu said from the doorway. “A doctor ministering to the needs of the sick.”
McCoy frowned but kept silent as Costain and Valley both turned expectantly to their master. “Let McCoy finish,” Sulu said. “I can wait.”
Sick bastard, McCoy thought, and swiftly finished his work. He stood, preparing to leave without another word. But Sulu still stood in the doorway, deliberately blocking his way.
“Aren’t they pretty, Doctor?” he asked with a wide, malicious smile. “Even prettier than they were before, don’t you agree?”
“I’m sure you think so,” McCoy replied with sullen anger. “Now if you’ll excuse me, Commander, I have work to do.”
Sulu stepped out of his path, and it was all McCoy could do to ignore his low chuckling until the door slid closed behind him.
Sulu remained in the doorway for a long minute, studying Ruth and Jilla as they watched him, waiting for his command. Their hair and make-up, while not perfect, was appealing in an innocently sensual way. Ruth’s golden halo of hair made her look like some demonic angel. Jilla’s gown was cinched to enhance her already full, luscious breasts, tendrils of her burgundy hair cascading down to tease the silver flesh. Each wore a small fortune in jewelry, just as he had requested. He nodded his head in approval. “Lovely,” he said softly. “You’re going to make a nice impression for the Captain.” The smiles he received were almost shy. He took a step forward and they rose from the beds, willing obedience personified. “But,” he continued, “you did cause him quite a bit of humiliation. That has to be made up for.” He held out his arms, his voice becoming softer, yet commanding, strangely enticing. “Kirk and Spock are real. Show me what they can expect.”
Jilla rushed to his arms, kissing him fervently. He put her away and she clung to his side, fire dancing in her grey eyes. Ruth shuddered, then took a deep breath. She tossed her head, sultry and sensual, then crossed the room, seductiveness fairly glowing from her. She took his other arm with elegant assurance. He kissed her and she returned it with just the right intensity, her smile erotic promise as he pulled away.
“Good girls,” he murmured, then whispered to Ruth, “It’s real.” Ruth’s eyes closed for a fraction of a second, then reopened as wells of gratitude. He turned to Jilla, silently allowing her to absorb the feelings of being and life. She seemed to melt against him, her desire a tangible heat radiating from her body. He pulled her small form closer, his arm resting about her waist. Ruth draped herself on his arm as they went through the door. He smiled confidently, leading them to Kirk’s office.
Spock met Kirk and Moreau in Kirk’s office as planned, waiting for the results of Sulu’s discipline. It had been decided to evaluate Valley and Costain’s condition before determining how to best proceed, and Sulu would need approval and appreciation of his handiwork. They were again dressed for an excursion planetside; while Kirk might not care personally about the embarrassment caused him, it was necessary to keep up Imperial appearances. He would have to show whatever eyes were watching that the Senators’ daughters had been properly dealt with.
Farrell announced the Security Chief, and Kirk watched as Sulu entered with Valley and Costain. All three salutes were crisp and respectful. The woman waited by the door as Sulu approached the desk at which the Captain sat. Kirk glanced up at him. “Enjoy your leave, Mr. Sulu?” he asked, his voice amused and friendly.
“Those were your orders, Captain,” Sulu replied, “and I always follow orders.”
Kirk exchanged glances with Spock, then stood, moving around the desk. “Of course you do,” he said, then turned his gaze to Valley and Costain. “I trust that, from now on, so will they.”
“I trust so, sir,” was the bland reply.
As if on cue, Jilla moved to Kirk’s side, sensual, yielding, her voice soft and full of promise. “If you’ll forgive me, Captain,” she murmured, “I’ll try to make it up to you.”
Kirk looked over her head. “Nice job,” he commented. Sulu bowed. Kirk glanced at Ruth, but she was already gliding over to him, her eyes downcast in submissive apology.
“What can I do to prove myself, Captain?” she whispered, and looked up at him. Her violet eyes scintillated with the obvious answer.
“Very nice,” Kirk repeated. He appreciatively turned each woman slowly around. They seemed to bask in his attention. “Hardly a mark on them,” he said, almost in awe. “How did you manage it?”
“There are ways,” Sulu replied. “I didn’t think you’d want them to look used.”
“How considerate,” Marlena cut in. Again Sulu bowed, with just a touch of mischief in his eyes.
“Of course, ma’am. I’m always considerate.” He caught the furtive, almost jealous looks that Ruth and Jilla gave the Captain’s Woman; not because she was Kirk’s, but because she had played for his attention, and won it.
“One more trip planetside,” Kirk announced. “There is a rather embarrassing notion on Darius that our pretty pets need to correct.”
“You will allow them to atone for the headache I suffered, will you not, Captain?” Spock asked, speaking for the first time.
“By all means,” Kirk replied. He glanced at Jilla and Ruth. “Your little trick with the transmitters,” he explained generously.
Without hesitation, Ruth stepped to Spock, pressing her lithe body against him. She reached up, stroking his temples as if to ease away some pain there. “I’m sorry,” she whispered.
Spock raised one surprised eyebrow, but nodded at Sulu. Sulu leaned back against the desk, arms folded proudly. He noticed Jilla’s sudden, surreptitious glance, and frowned, slightly shaking his head. You please them, little one, he told her. Remember that. When he looked back at Spock, he found Ruth’s eyes pleading for reassurance. All right, honey. This once. He focused all his thoughts on the reality of everything around him and Ruth sighed, turning back to Spock.
Kirk was approaching the office door as he beckoned to Ruth. She was at his side before he’d finished the gesture. Obviously, Moreau would have to find her own escort. Sulu considered offering, then caught the look that passed between Spock and Marlena. Watch it, he thought at them. Jim may be preoccupied now, but he won’t always be. He, too, stepped toward the door and was stopped by Spock’s voice.
“Are they yours?” the Vulcan asked.
Sulu grinned, not even pretending to misunderstand. “Completely,” he answered. Then he paused, his voice becoming faintly offended. “Did you doubt it, Spock?”
He saw Spock studying him and wondered if the Vulcan discerned anything other than his gloating satisfaction. Finally, Spock inclined his head.
“Not for a moment,” he replied, but Sulu saw the apprehensive evaluation in the alien eyes.
The people in the streets didn’t exactly fall silent as they appeared, but the timbre of the sound changed noticeably as Kirk and his entourage passed. It was a very gratifying reaction, and Kirk cast a wolfish grin at anyone daring to meet his eyes.
The triumph was sweet, almost unbearably so, as they strode into Crystallize! The envy and respect were gloriously tangible. I thought you were above all that, Kirk reminded himself. Above defeat, came the reply, never above victory.
Marlena walked at Spock’s side, two fingers delicately touching the sleeve of his tunic. Occasionally they exchanged a glance, or a few words. Spock’s attitude was formal, polite, and quite carefully nothing more. Marlena followed his example. But she couldn’t help wondering what it would be like to walk with him openly, proudly, proclaiming to all the galaxy that she was his, and he, hers. The glint in his eye when they spoke told her that he was wondering the same thing. Someday, she promised silently. Someday.
Behind them, Sulu grinned wickedly. Better keep your eyes down, Marlena, he thought. There are any number of people here whose vocation it is to see and comprehend and inform. I can’t protect you all the time.
Kirk found a booth and they all took seats within its confines. Drinks were ordered. Kirk kept one arm around Ruth’s waist, the other at Jilla’s shoulder as she nuzzled to his throat. Sulu smiled at her, knowing that even as Kirk basked in her fire, every touch was for him, every caress to him. She could sense his eyes on her, and her body writhed in that secret pleasure.
Kirk glanced up and Sulu followed the gaze. Terlord Mouli Hasim nodded and began making his way to the booth. Sulu hid his grin. Things were going very, very nicely.
Ruth was almost unaware of her surroundings. Sulu had said Kirk was real, and that was all that mattered. She concentrated on him, reveling in the reality of the strength of his arm around her, in the warmth of his body as she pressed close to him. He wasn’t Sulu, but he was what Sulu wanted for her. That made him desirable - and she firmly ignored the voice in her head that told her how sick she was.
“Ruth?”
She heard her name spoken familiarly, a sound that held sensual memory. Only it was a voice she had never heard before. Was it real, then? She looked up and found brown eyes smiling out of a dark, handsome Arabian face.
“Don’t you remember?” he said, his tone amused disappointment. “It was only a year ago. There were many at Rhiannol Estate, but we did spend a lot of time together.”
Ruth blinked, reality slipping. She didn’t know this man, didn’t know what ‘Rhiannol Estate’ was, though ‘Rhiannol’ was her mother’s Antari clan. What was she to do, the fear was setting in, her vision beginning to waver...
There was a hand touching her shoulder, a head close to hers, silky black hair brushing her cheek. Soft breath caressed her ear, Sulu’s voice, barely a whisper. “Mouli Hasim, Rigellian Terlord. He’s real.”
Confusion ebbed as once again her world became solid. She made herself smile alluringly, conjuring memories that had never happened.
“Of course I remember you, Terlord Hasim,” she purred.
Kirk hadn’t noticed the quick interplay between Sulu and Valley. His attention had been focused on Hasim. But Spock returned Marlena’s alarmed glance with one of caution. It was obvious that Valley had not known Hasim, and just as obvious that Sulu knew it. Had he come to the same conclusion regarding the Senators’ daughters? And if so, why hadn’t he mentioned it? The implication of that was more than disturbing. Sulu’s behavior was out of character, enough to draw attention to him. Or is it? came the immediate counter. Is there more to him than I have always assumed? He is lethal, self-possessed, cunning, cruel... but is he also intelligent? Spock forced himself to consider his long association with Sulu. No, the Security Chief was not acting any differently. The difference, Spock realized, is in the way I am looking. I have been a fool. I will not be so again.
“You’re a lucky man, as I believe I mentioned before, Captain,” Hasim was saying. The Terlord’s eyes were still fastened on Ruth, who was still gazing at him with frank invitation. “I hope you aren’t also a jealous one.”
“Sorry, Terlord,” Kirk said with a smile that was neither amusing nor amused. “We’re leaving Darius tonight, or I’d offer her, of course.”
Hasim had turned his eyes to Kirk, his pleasant smile concealing the insult. “Of course,” he replied.
“How’s the Don, Mouli?” Sulu broke in suddenly; so suddenly that Spock was startled. It seemed almost an interruption.
Hasim, too, had apparently been startled. He turned a surprised gaze to Sulu. “Prospering,” he answered, regaining some composure. “And you, Sulu?”
Sulu was smiling, the harshness gone from his voice. Or had that only been in contrast to Hasim’s smooth, practiced tones?
“The same,” he said coolly. “Send him my regards.”
Hasim nodded and Spock saw the look of angry calculation that came into Kirk’s eyes. He frowned, his fingers steepling in uneasy contemplation.
Fascinating.
They had been planetside for some time, giving the impression of relaxed, unconcerned enjoyment. It was obvious that most of the patrons of Crystallize! accepted with none too subtle disappointment that, whatever had happened between the Captain of the Enterprise and the Senators of Antares and Indi, it had been settled; and not in the Senators’ favors. When Marlena rose to go to the powder room, Sulu suggested she take Ruth and Jilla with her. His explanation was that Marlena needed to show the women at hand that she was still in charge of the Captain’s harem. With an acknowledging sigh, Marlena crooked her finger.
“Come on, ladies,” she said.
Ruth and Jilla rose obediently, and Marlena had to bite her lip. What have we done to you? she wondered sadly. She made all the proper mental notes, such as the fact that they didn’t speak, not even to each other. They moved with all the undulating grace of true Senatorial whores. They didn’t seem to want or need the facilities, but Marlena did. So it was that she overheard an unknown voice whispering urgently in Indiian. She’d always been good with language, and Jim had asked her to learn both Indiian and Antari when he’d made the first bargain with Senators Costain and Valley.
“Why did you run, Tay aemi?” the voice said. “If the situation is so bad, Tay Roshé would have pulled you out. Why haven’t you contacted us? What is wrong?”
There was a swallowed sob, then Jilla’s answer: “Go away, leave me alone!”
“Tu Aema, what has he done to you!?”
“Go away!” Jilla hissed. “I can’t hear you, I won’t listen!”
The voice switched to Antari. “Surely, ani Ramy, you can…”
The sound that came from Ruth was somewhere between a gasp and a question, and it was followed by a tentative, “I don’t think you’re real.”
Marlena coughed loudly and made too much noise, waiting a little too long before leaving the stall. When she returned to the anteroom, Ruth and Jilla were its only occupants. She made unnecessary repairs to her hair and make-up, noting that Ruth and Jilla did the same. “Well, we’re all beautiful again,” she said cheerfully. “Let’s rejoin our men.” But the question in her mind wouldn’t go away:
What have we done to you?
Hasim waited in the outer lounge of the office that had been set up on board the Condor. Courtland would see him in a minute. The freighter was officially registered as carrying Imperial ore to the shipyards of Rigel. There were very few who knew that the pirate attack of two days ago was actually a cover for a delivery of Halkan dylithium. A smooth operation, made possible by Jerel Courtland’s connections. Hasim snorted. Who had ever heard of an Equian pirate? For that matter, who had ever heard of an Equian that wasn’t a pampered house pet? The race had long since been established as playthings for Imperial Courts. With the exception of Jerel Courtland. The Don’s left arm. His superior.
That always made him uneasy. He felt somehow degraded having to go through the Consigliore, but that was how the Don handled it, and he couldn’t dispute the Don’s wisdom. He’d never bet wrong yet.
The door to the office opened and Courtland stepped out, a blue-eyed unicorn shaped like a man. It was a fanciful image, but a physically accurate one. Jerel Courtland, former pet, ex-pirate, second in command to the Don of Rigel, looked like a satyr with a unicorn’s horn. More ruthless, more openly dangerous than the Don, he was built sparely, the thin lines of his body indicating pared-down, efficient muscle. He was strong, fast, with more natural weaponry than had been given his Human opponents: golden horse’s hooves and a ten-inch, spiraled, golden horn that beveled away from his forehead. The thick mane of pale, creamy gold completed the unicorn imagery.
He smiled, nodding to Hasim. “Come in, Terlord,” he said, his voice conveying the proper note of respect, and perhaps, a little more. It was the Don’s tone; courtesy, esteem, acknowledgment of worth. Coming from DelMonde himself, Hasim would have been flattered. But then, it was coming from the Don himself. Courtland always spoke only for DelMonde.
Hasim rose from his chair, returning Courtland’s easy smile, and entered the office. Courtland shut the door behind him and got right to the point. He never wasted time, he was a good Consigliore. He attended to his Don’s business above all else. As with most of the Humans of Del’s Family, Courtland felt nothing but contempt for Hasim. It wasn’t anything personal; Mouli did as he was told, was respectful enough to keep from getting himself killed, and of course, Courtland would never allow his feelings to interfere with what the Don wanted. Hasim, like all Humans, believed that Courtland was one of the Don’s strongest weapons because he was only the Don’s extension. Despite all the years spent proving himself to his Human colleagues - and opponents - only the Don never forgot he was a man in his own right. Only Del never underestimated him.
He took a seat behind his desk and said, “Tell me about Kirk.”
“He knows about Halkan,” Hasim began. “And he apparently doesn’t care that we know about Kelincar...”
Courtland kept the anxious, almost hopeful surprise out of his voice. “Did he admit it openly?”
Hasim scowled. “He admitted nothing, but he wasn’t interested in our suspicions.” Courtland nodded pleasantly, but his thoughts were irritated. Tell me something I don’t already know.
“He was displaying Costain and Valley’s daughters,” Hasim went on. “They tried to run.”
Courtland’s interest was immediately piqued. “Run?” he asked.
“Yes. Kirk and his First Officer and Security Chief...”
“Sulu.”
“Yes. By the way, Commander Sulu said to give the Don his regards.”
Courtland nodded to himself. Whatever is going on, then, Sulu’s in on it. Del will be interested in that. He motioned for Hasim to go on.
“They were caught, of course,” Hasim said, and Courtland swallowed the exasperated retort. Nuances, inflections, not static recitation. Give me details, man!
“What were the reactions?” he asked calmly.
“Of who?” Hasim replied.
Of Kirk, you idiot! How publicly violent was he? It’s rumored that he’s mellowed; has he? What about his men? How confident was he? How much display does he like to put on? What kind of power games does he play, and how well? What kind of woman does he keep? Details! Courtland said nothing, but the look he gave Hasim was nearly withering, and Hasim reacted angrily.
“Kirk didn’t let it faze him,” he snapped. “He handled it almost like the Don.”
Keeping the rising aggravation in check, Courtland said, mildly, “Specifics, please, Terlord.” He saw the arrogance growing on Hasim’s face, and shrugged, smiling. Put the man at ease, get him off the defensive as the Don would. “The Don will want to know,” he added in a tone that said ‘I’m only doing my job, it’s the Don who’s so picky.’
Hasim reported every observance, with occasional remarks and skilled redirections by Courtland to find out what Del needed to know. Kirk treated his woman with courtesy and deference. Interesting. Spock was a silent observer, typical of Vulcans. And Sulu was the same, swaggering peacock, which probably meant he was also the same intelligent, useful force; an ace for Del to call on, a last resort measure. And the Senators’ daughters.... very unusual. The whole affair just didn’t ring true to normal starship discipline. Hasim was retelling Kirk’s second display and the odd fact that Valley hadn’t seemed, at first, to recognize him. The Terlord was grumbling about Sulu’s attempt to divert the girl’s attention, and Courtland interrupted almost sharply.
“How?”
Hasim blinked, then shrugged. “He gave her an affectionate nuzzle.” His voice was dry and sarcastic.
Courtland thought for a moment, then asked, “Terlord, the girls: they were with Kirk, weren’t they?”
“Yes.”
“Did they, at any time, seem to glance too frequently at Commander Sulu?”
Hasim thought, then said, “Now that you mention it.... yes, I think they did.”
Courtland nodded again, filing the information. Del had told him about Sulu’s hobby; apparently he’d gathered one, possibly two more souls. He changed the subject, lest Hasim become too curious about Sulu himself. “Kirk approached you once?” he asked.
“That’s right, only when he wanted information,” Hasim replied. “The other two times we spoke, I had to approach him, and he wasn’t interested in business.”
I sincerely doubt that, Terlord, Courtland mused. He just isn’t as brash as he once was. “Was Spock present when he talked to you?” he asked aloud, “Or Sulu?”
“No,” Hasim said. “Just his woman.”
Just his woman? What sense did that make? Perhaps Kirk is still more brash than I’m giving him credit for. “What business did you discuss, Terlord?” he inquired.
“I’ve already told you. He knows about Halkan and...”
“And you obligingly told him that we know about Kelincar.” Courtland’s voice held only a hint of sarcasm. Let Hasim believe that he had actually given Kirk something he didn’t already know. There was no need for a reprimand, and as it would give the Terlord reason to examine his own behavior, Courtland wouldn’t correct him. He rose from his seat. “Thank you for the completeness of your report, Terlord Hasim. I’ll make sure the Don knows how well you accomplish the tasks he assigns to you.” He smiled, as reassuringly as the Don himself would, and Hasim left the office.
It was only a few strides from the turbolift to the Captain’s quarters, something Illyana had often silently thanked ship’s designers for. She’d learned that those few yards could be the most dangerous on the ship, even with a personal bodyguard. A captain on her way to her own cabin could be fatally incautious. So far, she never had been, as potential assassins had discovered may they rot in peace.
Once safely inside, she let herself relax, her face losing the carefully arrogant mask of command. It had been a long day, and she needed both to relax and to once again examine her options with regard to Kirk and Rigel. She tugged her boots off, then fell onto her bed. Her head hit the pillows and she stared up at the mirrored ceiling, her reflection staring back down at her. She had changed most of the decor favored by her predecessor, but was rather fond of this brothel-like touch to the captain’s quarters. It was a reminder of how careful she had to be.
She was pleased, for the most part, with what she saw. Lithe, thin - maybe a touch too thin - the pale skin of the mines, short, curly, dark hair, intelligent grey eyes. Now how many women have intelligent eyes? she thought. Or, of course, lovely captain’s gold? She wore the standard Fleet halter and skirt, except for the black bodysuit underneath it. Gold had never been her color, her skin was too sallow. Comes from being born in a cave. Mine shaft. Anthill.
Homesickness again threatened her, and she got up and began pacing, forcing herself to think instead. What was the safest course of action with Kirk, and was the safest course the proper one? Does DelMonde know about Kirk’s overtures? Should Draco return the favor of helpful conversations? She could really use whatever information Rigel might have...
The intercom buzzed, and Illyana glowered at it. “What is it?” she answered sharply.
“Captain, Commander Dallas wishes to speak to you in private,” her bodyguard’s voice said.
Yana scowled. She didn’t like visitors when she was off duty. But it must be important, or Dallas wouldn’t’ve asked. Which probably meant bad news. “All right,” she agreed tersely.
After the door closed behind him, Dallas spoke without preliminary. “It’s Caros,” he said.
“Wonderful,” Illyana replied sourly. She closed her eyes. Caros IV had been a source of aggravation for close to a year. Draco mined it, a rock rich in neutronium, too rich to be under anything but the Empire’s strictest supervision. Too strict, and getting worse. There had been some unrest, followed by the usual Imperial repression and sanctions, which led to reprisals from the miners, work slowdowns and sabotage. The Empire answered with executions. “What now?” she asked Dallas.
“Our intelligence says Fleet’s decided to send a ship to settle Caros for the Empire. The situation’s gotten too close to open rebellion.”
“Uncle Dmitris always was an idiot.”
“There’s more.”
Yana shrugged. “Of course.”
“They’ve sent the Enterprise.”
“Shit.”
“Agreed, Captain.”
Illyana began pacing again. “Damn,” she muttered, then, repeated, more loudly, “Damn! No one loves to blow up planets more than Kirk.” Her face twisted into a scowl of fury and hatred. “But Caros is too valuable, so he’ll just kill everyone on it, the son-of-a-bitch. Everyone, women, children, families... My people...” She whirled, glaring at her First Officer. “Your people, Dallas.” She thought furiously. “But if he does that, he screws up everything he’s done for months. Spock wouldn’t let him do that. Draco would come after him, Empire or no Empire. I'd come after him. He has to know that.”
Dallas was silent for a minute, then he said, “But the Empire doesn’t.”
Yana stared at her First Officer. “Go on,” she said.
“This would be a very effective way for us to ascertain Kirk’s real loyalties, wouldn’t it?”
“Is that all you care about?” Yana demanded.
“No,” Dallas replied mildly, “But it’s all I can afford to care about.” He paused. “And, I think, Cousin Illyana, all you can afford to care about.”
Illyana studied him in silence. This was the first time he had ever openly acknowledged kinship, Draco. She didn’t like it, the anthill cried out in her blood, but she had to admit that he was right. Maybe he wasn’t quite so thick as he played it.
“Spill,” she ordered.
“There’s nothing we can do for Caros. Kirk will either kill them or he won’t. If he does, we’ll do what we have to do, but let’s be clear that there’s no way we can save them.”
Yana grit her teeth. “Acknowledged. Go on.”
“But, if Kirk doesn't do what the Empire wants, he’s blown himself out of space. We lose a potentially valuable ally, but perhaps in the attendant confusion we can find some other way for Dmitris to save his ass. If Kirk ‘settles’ Caros, we’ve got his true colors and can stop this charade before he’s got anything on us.” The First Officer smiled without humor. “And we get to blow him out of space.”
Illyana frowned. “But until then, we watch and wait. I don’t like it, Dallas.” She stepped to the replicator, getting drinks for them both. “Tell me, have you always been this smart?”
Dallas’ brown eyes took on the barest gleam. “Have I always been Draco?” he returned.
It made her laugh, despite her anger and she settled down on her bed, raising her glass to him. “James T. had better hope he can find a way out of this.”