Ruth had been sent to the chemistry department with instructions to inventory any damage done during the ionic interference encountered at Starbase Five. The irony of the assignment was not lost on her, though she knew it would have been on anyone else. It was boring, monotonous work and though she tried to keep her place, she couldn’t suppress the occasional yawn. This elicited a multitude of reactions from those around her; envy, anger, amusement, lascivious smirks, and derisive comments never directed quite at her. She wondered why until she realized the picture she must be presenting; the Captain’s new toy, petulant and resentful of having to attend to any of the mundane work of running a starship. It annoyed her for more than the fact that it was personally insulting. It was inefficient. How could Spock - any version of Spock of Vulcan - allow his section to be run inefficiently? How could any Fleet ship function properly when its officers were allowed to be lazy, judgmental and juvenile?
Ignore it, she told herself sharply. It’s not your business. All you have to do is survive, one day at a time.
Her thought was interrupted as a hand touched her shoulder. Ruth turned to find a raven-haired, exotically beautiful woman whose gaze swept over her with critical appraisal. There was no jealousy in her frank look, and no enmity, just measured, precise evaluation.
“Moreau,” the woman said, as though that were all that needed to be said.
“Valley,” Ruth replied, and waited to see what would happen.
Moreau placed her hands on her hips, a cold smile pulling at her lips. Ruth suddenly remembered Chapel’s words: Just remember who’s First Officer’s woman; and Sulu’s: Her you call ‘ma’am.’ She decided that if Moreau wasn’t the Captain’s woman, she should be.
“Ma’am,” Ruth added.
“Confident, aren’t you?” Moreau asked conversationally. Ruth didn’t answer. “As long as you and Costain remember that your place is in bed,” Moreau continued, “I won’t make your lives any more difficult. Get ambitious, or get in my way even once, and I’ll step on you.”
Ruth didn’t doubt that for an instant. “Yes, ma’am,” she answered promptly.
Moreau stared at her a few moments longer. Then she said, quietly, “Don’t cross me, and I’ll see what I can do to keep Chapel and Rand from coming after you.”
Ruth tried to think of an appropriate Imperial response. She wanted to play her part correctly, but she didn’t want to make this woman her enemy, though she couldn’t’ve said why. She tried a fairly humble, “Very well, ma’am.”
Moreau nodded. “Convey my message to Costain. After Sulu lets her out of the Booth, she should be in a mood to listen to reason.” She stared to walk away.
Sudden panic filled Ruth’s mind and she found herself grabbing Moreau’s arm, turning her back. “What do you mean?” she rasped.
Moreau’s look was icy. Ruth immediately dropped her arm, taking a step back. “She required discipline,” Moreau said, “and the Captain ordered her taken to the Booth. Scott doesn’t like to handle these things himself.” Her tone implied that Spock did, and that Ruth was dangerously close to requiring disciplining herself.
Ruth swallowed, backing away another step. “Thank you, ma’am,” she murmured. “I’ll speak to her, ma’am.”
Moreau’s eyes narrowed before she turned and strode away. Ruth went back to her work, but her mind wasn’t on cataloguing storm damage. The Booth. From what she’d seen, any form of discipline on this ship would be unpleasant in the extreme. What had Jilla done? Would she be able to survive it? What if there were questions? How could Jilla, under what was probably some barbaric form of torture, keep from revealing who and what they were?
And is there anything I could do about it anyway? she thought helplessly. Far better to leave it. Don’t concern yourself with things that...
No. I’ll play this universe’s games when I have to, with them, but not when it comes to Jilla.
She set down her clipboard, and set out for the Captain’s office.
Slate grey eyes stared out of a chalk white face. If she had comprehended what was about to happen to her, she might have expressed the fear that shone from those eyes.
Sulu smiled to himself. There was something to be said, of course, for the fact that she could even meet his gaze. Scott had had her well in hand by the time he’d arrived in Engineering; her furious indignation had calmed and she looked at him with confused wariness.
“Not a very smart thing to do, Miss Costain,” he told her as he took her arm to escort her to the Security section and the Booth. “You have to learn to follow orders, even stupid ones.”
She tried to argue the point, but he simply leaned over and whispered “shhh” in her ear.
He placed her inside the transparent cylinder of the Booth himself, and moved leisurely to the controls, well aware that she was watching his every move. He ran his fingertips over the console almost lovingly. The Agony Booth caused pain so intense as to be nearly intolerable, yet the neural stimulation made unconsciousness an impossibility. While in the Booth, one could only writhe with the pain and attempt to scream it away. At the higher settings, one could even lose the ability to scream. Sulu was an expert at manipulating the controls, adjusting them so that the maximum effect was felt in the most sensitive areas of the body. After exposure in the Booth, a detainee would cling gratefully to whoever had released them, prepared to do anything to please their savior. That it was so often in total disregard of the fact that the ‘savior’ had been the one pulling the switches was a sweet irony, and one that Sulu savored as often as he could. It was one he intended to savor in exactly fifteen minutes.
He began setting the dials, casually wondering about the taste of Indiian blood.
The guard stopped her in front of the door to Kirk’s office, relaying her request via the intercom. There was no response for an anxious minute, then Kirk’s voice said, “Let her in.” She stepped quickly through the opened door, before resolve failed her.
“I don’t recall sending for you, Miss Valley,” Kirk said. The tone of his voice made it obvious that he was annoyed at the intrusion.
Ruth saluted, forcing herself to meet Kirk’s eyes. “I was told that Ensign Costain was sent to the Booth.”
There was silence for an uncomfortable minute. Then Kirk said, “This isn’t the bedroom, Miss Valley.”
Ruth swallowed. “Captain, sir,” she added.
Kirk glanced back down at the work covering his desk. “What does that have to do with you?”
“Sir, I... she’s Indiian, sir.”
“I’d noticed.”
“Yes, sir. She’s... they have... sir, they have to be excused for their emotionalism.”
Kirk again looked up. “Do they?” he asked.
Ruth swallowed again. “They can’t help themselves, Captain,” she managed.
Kirk folded his arms across his chest, leaning back in his chair, his head tilting.
Emboldened, Ruth went on. “The best thing to do is ignore them when they get too emotional. Then they calm down fairly quickly. If those around them get upset, it just feeds their emotional reactions.” She took a breath. “Sir.”
“Really,” Kirk commented dryly. He stood up from his chair, moving around the desk. “What makes you think I give a rat’s ass for an Indiian’s emotional reaction, Miss Valley?”
Ruth blinked, caught at a loss. “I... she... she was sent to the Booth.”
“Yes. I don’t tolerate insubordination on my ship.”
“But she wasn’t being insubordinate, she was just being Indiian!” Ruth stammered.
Kirk unclipped a small device from his belt, advancing toward her. It was the same device the guard had indicated to her during the red alert the day before. He smiled, his eyes cold with savage delight.
“Six of one, half a dozen of the other,” he stated. “Now, you’re going to tell me why you give a rat’s ass, Miss Valley.”
Ruth couldn’t stop the sharp inhale, or the step backwards. She had no idea what the device could do, but she would’ve bet good money it was anything but pleasant.
The guard’s voice over the intercom interrupted. “Rand, sir.”
“A moment,” Kirk called back, then pressed the device he held firmly to Ruth’s shoulder.
Ruth cried out as pain screamed along her nerves. It only lasted a few seconds, but there was no escape from it. When Kirk lifted his hand, the pain stopped, but her skin burned as if on fire from the inside, only gradually fading.
“Answer my question,” Kirk said to her, then called to the guard to admit Rand. He strode back to his deck, efficiently clearing it of tapes and boards.
“Sir, I...” Ruth began, then was caught by the sight of the woman who entered. She was tall, slender, her blonde hair fashioned in an elaborate basket-weave. She was, or could have been, beautiful, but for the slightly swollen, purplish bruises on her face, several half-healed scars that were visible over the top of her halter, and the marks of recent, harsh binding at her wrists. She carried a covered tray.
“Your dinner, Captain,” she said.
Ruth couldn’t stop staring, barely heard Kirk’s, “You look tired, Rand,” or the woman’s answering, “Sulu has been in a celebratory mood the last few days, sir.”
Rand. “I’ll see what I can do to keep Chapel and Rand from coming after you.” And if Chapel was First Officer’s woman... Ruth shuddered.
“But not last night,” Kirk commented dryly. Rand flushed.
“No, sir,” she replied tightly.
“I heard my Security Chief enjoyed himself anyway.”
Anger flashed briefly in the woman’s eyes. Then she sensually touched the scars. “Not quite as much as he does with me, Captain,” she returned in a seductive murmur.
Kirk chuckled. He jerked his head in Ruth’s direction. “You could teach Miss Valley here a thing or two.”
Rand turned an icy smile on her. “I’d be happy to, sir.”
“For example, my question hasn’t been answered yet.”
Ruth took a deep breath, trying desperately to stop staring at the evidence of Sulu’s brand of enjoyment.
“Sir, I can see I was mistaken,” she said softly. “It won’t happen again. My judgment was in error. I thought you hadn’t had experience with Indiians to know their reactions. I know now I was wrong, and I beg the Captain’s pardon for my presumption.”
“So you really don't give a rat’s ass about Costain, you just wanted to save me from some faux pas,” Kirk returned.
Ruth hung her head, unwilling to lie, but not prepared to contradict him.
“Nice save, Miss Valley.”
Rand stifled a giggle and Ruth looked up. Kirk was now concentrating on the plates Rand was arranging before him.
“Let’s discuss this further tonight, shall we, dear?” he continued.
Ruth’s heart sunk, but she only murmured, “Yes, sir.” When he said, “Dismissed,” she saluted, turned, and fled from the room.
Jilla opened her eyes, sitting up with a start. Her heart was still pounding furiously, her nervous system reacting to the terrible agony of the Booth. It was only being awake that made her realize she had been dreaming, re-living it. Sobs of utter relief began tearing at her and she brought shaking hands to her face. She had never felt anything as bitterly painful in her life, and there had been no stopping it, no escape from it. Not even the unconsciousness that was her body’s normal reaction to over-stimulation of her tia had been available to her...
Then how was it that she was waking up from a dream of that awful pain?
She swiftly glanced up, looking around her. She had no idea where she was. Quarters, but not hers, and not the only other personal cabin she had seen. Her gaze took in the sight of swords and weapons, a huge array of screens and control panels, a cabinet of data tapes, statues of fierce Asian warriors. The realization that she was naked in someone’s bed started a panic within her.
The touch began so lightly that for a moment, she wasn’t sure if it was there at all, a light, sweeping whisper up her spine. She gasped as it reached her shoulder, a hand cupping over it, pulling her from her sitting position back down to the bed. Reaction took over, and she tried to bolt back up, but arms came around her, holding her firmly in place. She felt warm breath as a voice whispered in her ear.
“Shhh, Jilla. Calm down. You’re all right.”
She stopped struggling and the grip around her body eased. Again she was pulled back to the bed, the arms turning her to her side. The feeling of amused approval swept over her and she couldn’t help but relax.
Sulu’s dark eyes stared at her, as if judging whether or not to trust her apparent docility. Gradually he eased his hold, a smile breaking over his face when she didn’t try to move away. He shifted positions, slipping his arm behind her head, pulling it to rest on his shoulder.
“The body-memory usually doesn’t last more than a few hours,” he said, absently kissing the top of her head. “It’s not too bad if you’re not alone. And I’ve seen to that.”
Jilla felt his smile and stammered, “How... how did I...”
Sulu’s hand came up under her chin, lifting it so that she could see his face. “You don’t remember, do you?” he asked, his tone both sad and understanding. Jilla swallowed and shook her head, hurting for his hurt. He sighed, letting go of her jaw. “I had expected you to pass out when the Booth was opened. Your reaction was a pleasant surprise. But if you don’t remember...” He sighed again. “You must have been in shock. Probably some Indiian peculiarity. A shame.” He glanced down at her, his eyes twinkling. “You were very good.”
Jilla’s eyes widened as her senses filled with his arousal, invoked by what was clearly a heady memory.
“Don’t worry,” he was suddenly whispering, “I don’t have any problem with repeat performances.” She blushed, shining softly.
Then she was being enfolded in his arms, his hands caressing her even as she tilted her head back to accept his kiss. Sensation slowly began replacing thought. That he had been the one to give her the agony of the Booth faded from her, supplanted by the justification that he had only been following Kirk’s orders. That he had obviously used her body as though she were simply a vessel for his pleasure was superseded by the fact that she was in no pain other than that which the Booth had left, that he must have been gentle. Her lack of knowledge of precisely what he had done lost meaning. He had said she was very good, which must mean she had enjoyed it as much as he. He had not tried to command her, nor demanded anything from her. And he had been saddened that she hadn’t remembered. He cared.
Jilla closed her eyes and gave into the feelings. She returned his caresses, his kisses, nuzzling to the warm bronze skin, pressing close to his muscled chest. She reveled in his lips at her throat, and when he whispered her name, a rush of fire surged through her. She moaned and looked into his eyes. They glinted with approval and a dark, almost fierce desire. “Such a good girl,” he murmured, and she was crushing and being crushed in a powerful embrace, sharing kisses of demanding passion. She undulated against him, losing herself in the feel of him, hungry now for any and every touch.
Sulu nearly lost himself in Jilla’s attentions. It would have been so easy - too easy - to let her passion carry him past all thought. But that could not be. He needed to keep her arousal strong, yet he needed, too, to keep control. He could not afford to allow this opportunity to pass unattended.
He moved away from her ever so slightly, letting his kiss become exploring and sensual. His fingertips roamed languidly over her silvery skin, teasing, enticing. He made every movement, every touch tell her that he hadn’t even gotten started. He felt her shivering with anxious anticipation, and smiled.
He took his time, letting the contrast between his actions and his emotions feed her arousal. He let it build, used her own desires to build it even more. If he gave her enough time, she would be begging for whatever he cared to give. The thought sent renewed pleasure shooting through him, and he felt her responding to it. This was perfect beyond imagining! Her body moved insistently, getting bolder as she climbed on top of him, forcing kisses that were deep and demanding. Her hair fell in wild tangles about her shoulders, her hands grasping his as he fondled the lush fullness of her breasts. Her head fell back under the heady assault, her eyes closing. It took Sulu’s breath away. This was no act, she was on fire. There was no mistaking true passion. He shuddered with the knowledge, filled abruptly with sharp desire. If he didn’t act now, he knew he never would.
He pulled her down into his arms, rolling her onto her back. A breathless cry escaped her as her knees came up, parting urgently.
“Not yet, honey,” he growled, and grabbed her wrists, pulling her arms above her head with a savage jerk. The coarse rope waiting at the headboard lashed her securely. Her cry now was one of panicked fear. It fed Sulu’s dark hungers as he whispered to her, assuring her of how much she was going to enjoy the evening.
Kirk’s ‘discussion’ of her ‘nice save’ consisted of a brutal, purely sexual assault. He made it abundantly clear that he had no need of her ideas or information. There was no question that he wanted her only for her body. She paid for her deception in bruised flesh and battered self-confidence as Kirk again proved he was the master of the game. And when it was over, he rose from the bed, smiled down at her, and told her to get up and get dressed.
Ruth stood in the bathroom, running anxious fingers through her tangled hair. She had done as she was told, but her mind was racing. What did Kirk have in mind? Was she to be disciplined? What more could he want from her?
The door opened and Kirk beckoned to her, smiling pleasantly. She took a deep breath, and forced her legs to move, following him across her cabin and out into the corridor. He didn’t say a word to her as they entered the turbolift, instructing, “Deck Five.” She didn’t dare ask him any questions and cold dread was beginning to cloud her thinking. She moved numbly after him as he sauntered past the guards, oblivious to their salutes.
He stopped before a Vulcan guard, who immediately snapped to attention. “Tell Spock I have a present for him,” Kirk said without preliminaries. “Hand-delivered.” He grinned, then continued down the corridor.
Ruth stared after him, then back at the Vulcan who was gazing critically at her. “He will be pleased and not pleased,” the guard said to no one in particular, then opened the door to the cabin. He took her arm, pulling her inside.
The room inside was half in darkness, and Spock emerged from the darkened half. His eyes, catching the light coming in from the corridor, glowed like a cat’s.
“From the Captain,” the guard said. “Hand delivered.” Then he saluted, and left the way he came. The door slid shut, leaving the room again in half-darkness.
Ruth stood rooted to the spot, fear racing through her. She didn’t know what to do. What was expected of her? Was she supposed to know? She swallowed nervously, waiting some command.
There was none. The dim outline of Spock’s body turned silently, disappearing back into the shadows.
Ruth remained where she was, shivering, for several minutes. She realized that had it been Kirk, she would have known how to play it, then realized she was thinking in terms of games. Did all Imperial men play the same games? She tried to remember what Jilla had said. Spock doesn’t play games. He is very clear on what he will and will not tolerate. Well, he certainly wasn’t being clear with her! But if he didn’t play games, and she was supposed to be a gift from the Senator...
Ruth mouthed a silent prayer, then walked soundlessly across the room, following Spock. She had excellent night vision, and she covered her nervousness by closing her eyes, slipping quickly out of the uniform she had just hastily thrown on.
When she opened her eyes, she was looking at a bed. An empty bed. What the...?
From behind her, strong hands locked onto her arms, turning her, pulling her into a harsh embrace. Lips crushed hers, one hand holding her head motionless with fierce pressure. She couldn’t breathe, her heart was pounding painfully against her chest, but fear kept her motionless, her body not daring to struggle. The breath finally came as a hiss of pain as she was pulled, by her hair, to the floor. She was efficiently pinned by a hard, lean body, seeing only the shadowed angles of Spock’s face and the arch of his eyebrows over glowing, coal-black eyes. Her knees were pushed up to her chest, a hand sliding beneath her shoulder blades to pull her torso up to meet them. She gasped as lips fastened onto the side of her throat, followed by the sharp bite of teeth, but the sound was choked off as his other hand clamped harshly over her mouth. His thrust into her was savage, cruelly powerful, repeated with an intensity that conveyed utter contempt for the flesh that surrounded his. Her spine was grinding against the deck, her hips caught between its hardness and his. The ferocity with which he kept her silent was bruising her jaw, threatening to snap her neck if she so much as attempted to move her head. Tears beyond her control were gathering in her eyes as she stared at nothing, listening to the tortured beating of her heart and the rhythm of Spock’s breathing.
Then, he pulled away from her. She lay on the deck, afraid to move, not knowing if he had been satisfied. Seconds that felt like an eternity passed, then she caught the cold glow of Spock’s eyes. The cry welled up in her as he silently pulled her to her feet, pushing her furiously against the bulkhead. He lifted her as though she was a rag doll, again thrusting into her. He held her up by her thighs with no more effort that it had taken him to pull her up from the deck. His face was inches from her own and she found that she couldn’t close her eyes, couldn’t look away. His eyes stared into her; wintry, hard, black wells devoid of any passion or hunger. His thrusts continued, her tears continued, with no sight but the gleam of his ebony eyes and no sound but the gasping rhythm of his assault.
“Get her analgesics, but don’t let McCoy touch her.”
Jilla heard Sulu’s voice as she stepped gingerly from the bathroom, a towel wrapped around her naked body. Sulu’s bodyguard, the tall TerAfrican, stood in the cabin. He glanced up as she entered, then smiled.
“Sure is a pretty one, Boss,” he said.
“And as good as she is beautiful,” Sulu replied.
Jilla flushed, aware of the obvious abrasions at her wrists and ankles as well as the raised swirls at her breasts and below her ears, left by the careful use of a sharp, thin blade.
“Get dressed, hon,” Sulu said to her, “You’ve got duty.”
“Yes, Sulu,” she murmured. She waited for the guard to leave, felt another flush coming over her when he simply stood, watching her. She glanced pleadingly at Sulu, who grinned.
“She’s modest, Jer.”
“Damn,” the guard returned, but there was a twinkle in his chocolate brown eyes.
“She’ll get over it in time. Won’t you, Jilla?”
“Yes, Sulu,” Jilla said again, needing no other direction. She dropped the towel and put on her uniform.
“She gets glowin' pretty bright, there,” the guard remarked.
“That’s nothing,” Sulu rejoined. He strolled across the room, taking Jilla in his arms, kissing her deeply. The passion overwhelmed her, and when he let her go, the sheen was nearly blinding.
The guard chuckled. “Guess you don’t need night lights.”
Sulu carefully examined the marks at her neck and breasts as her blush faded. “Nice,” he murmured. “You won’t need anything for these.” He lifted her chin, looking directly into her eyes. “Go with Mr. Paget, here, to Sickbay. Take the painkillers McCoy will give you. Be a good girl in Engineering. You hear me?”
Jilla bowed her head. “Yes, Sulu,” she repeated for the third time.
“Good.” Sulu kissed her again, then turned to Paget. “Sickbay, then her cabin,” he said.
“Yes, sir.”
“And Jer?”
“Yes, sir?”
“Keep your hands to yourself.”
Paget grinned. “Don’t I always?”
“So far. Dismissed.”
Ruth walked at Sepak’s side, not wanting to lean on the Vulcan’s arm, but having difficulty getting her legs to cooperate with her brain’s instructions. Her pelvis felt pounded into mush, her head still giddy from too much fear, not enough sleep, and the hypospray McCoy had given her when Sepak had taken her to Sickbay. All she wanted was to get to her own cabin and collapse.
When they reached her door, Sepak opened it, then pulled away from her as though the support was as distasteful to him as it had been to her. She stumbled through the door, falling, heard it hissing closed behind her.
“Green-blooded son-of-a-bitch,” she muttered. She tried to get up, gasped with the renewed surge of pain into her hips, and decided to stay where she was for a little while. The carpet was soft, comfortable. She could just lay right here and hope her natural ability to heal herself wasn’t as screwed up as her empathy and telepathy.
She sensed movement and glanced up to see Jilla moving toward her. “Ruth, are you all right?” the Indiian’s soft voice asked.
“No,” Ruth replied simply. She didn’t ask how Jilla was. She was certain she didn’t want to know.
“Let me help you,” Jilla said.
Ruth nodded gratefully. She tried not to groan too much as Jilla helped her awkwardly to her feet, then across the room to her bed. It was difficult since she was at least eight inches taller than Jilla, but they managed, and she was grateful for the support.
But she noticed the swirls on Jilla’s neck.
“You’re bleeding,” she said. Her voice sounded dull in her own ears.
Jilla’s fingers came up to the marks. “I must have broken them open,” she replied, and her voice, too, carried no inflection. She walked to the dresser, then took a piece of cloth and tied it artfully around her neck, covering the marks and absorbing the small amount of clear, silvery blood.
“What did he do to you?” Ruth whispered. She watched as Jilla closed her eyes, her head hanging in humiliation.
“Nothing I did not ask him to do,” she answered.
Ruth shuddered. The silence sat between them for long minutes.
“I have to report for duty,” Jilla said at last.
A rasping laugh forced its way from Ruth’s throat. “I couldn’t even if I wanted to,” she stated. Jilla again came over to the bed, sitting carefully upon it.
“Tell me,” she said simply.
At first, Ruth shook her head, but the tears filled her eyes with the bitter memories and were soon spilling down her cheeks. She felt Jilla’s arms coming around her and she wept openly and told her friend how she had heard about the Booth, what she had told Kirk, how Kirk had punished her for her temerity. Shaking with remembered fear she told Jilla about Spock, about the eerily silent assault, from deck to bulkhead to desk to bed. And she told her about her fear, that her empathy would never return, that the body of this Ruth Valley wasn’t empathic, wasn’t telepathic, and that was the worst fear of all.
She felt Jilla’s tears against her skin, knew that the Indiian was sharing her every emotion, feeling everything she felt - and knew Jilla had done the same when with Spock, with Sulu. And Ruth knew renewed humiliation and renewed fear, this time for Jilla.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered to her friend. “Jilla, I’m so sorry...” She abruptly pulled away. “We have to get out of here.”
“There is no way out, we have been over this,” Jilla replied wearily.
Ruth stared into Jilla’s grey eyes, saw only despair. Of course she’s despairing, she thought, she can’t help but respond to all this. Ruth made up her mind. She was going to be strong for both of them if it killed her.
“There has to be,” she said determinedly, knowing Jilla would pick up her determination. Finally, Jilla sighed, nodding.
“Then until we find it, we survive.”
“We help each other survive,” Ruth rejoined.
And I’ll be strong if - until - it kills me.