Rick Endres, with Elizabeth Knauel
"You have a daughter, joH' wI'."
Lord Admiral Khalian's bushy eyebrows knitted in a frown. "A be'," he growled. "Phah! Could you not have manipulated the chromosomes? I need a boy child--an heir! I cannot believe you didn't know this earlier!"
Qel Kyrlaag sighed. "Lord, this is still very experimental. The child is perfectly healthy and her developmental norms are consistent with a full-blooded newborn Kh'myr infant. With this accelerated gestation process, she was born after only one month instead of the usual five."
Interest flickered in Khalian's eyes. "I must admit I did not believe you could do it so quickly, Qel. Now we will be able to spawn warriors at an even faster rate. You said her norms match a full-blooded Kh'myr? toH! Even though she's half Human, she will not be a weakling?"
"No, joH'wI'," Kyrlaag replied.
Khalian came to a decision. "Summon Veraas, the q'laI mistress. She is in the antechamber, waiting to see the results of your experiment. I promised the child to her if it was a girl."
As Kyrlaag hastened away, Khalian peered through a perspex partition at his newborn daughter in the nursery of the medical center at his citadel.
The baby rolled over on her stomach and lifted her head to examine her surroundings. By this time tomorrow she would be crawling. A week from now she would be able to pull herself up into a standing position, and in a little more than a month, she would take her first step.
She gazed directly at him curiously and unafraid. Large, dark liquid eyes regarded him candidly. The baby had olive skin, not as dark as his own, but darker than the be'SIj that was her mother, and thick black hair. She was strong and healthy and, he had to admit, beautiful.
"Valias," he murmured. "That will be your name. One day, you will be the greatest of all the q'laI warriors, my daughter."
Kyrlaag returned with a tall, slim woman dressed in the black robes of a q'laI mistress. SoS(1)Veraas was still beautiful, even though her black hair was shot through with streaks of iron gray. A nurse wrapped the infant in a blanket and brought her in from the nursery. She presented the bundle to Veraas.
"She is destined for greatness," Khalian rumbled. "The blood of Khalian courses through her veins!"
Veraas inspected the infant doubtfully. "She looks so Human--like her mother."
"Her forehead crests will develop as she grows, my lady," Kyrlaag stated. "Her norms are full-blooded Kh'myr."
Veraas cocked a thick eyebrow, impressed. "Indeed? If it is as you say, Qel, then I can train her."
"Her name is Valias," Khalian said. "I commend her to your care, Veraas."
The q'laI mistress inclined her head. She rubbed her fingertips firmly over the baby's forehead, starting at the bridge of her nose. Gratified when she felt the tiny knots of bone under the infant's smooth skin, Veraas allowed herself a fierce smile. "She may become a great warrior at that, joH'wI'," she said. "I will see to her training."
She bowed and left immediately for the q'laI compound.
Khalian turned to the physician. "What of the be'SIj, Kyrlaag? When can she be bred again? I need a son!"
Kyrlaag frowned. "She has had restorative surgery, joH'wI' and we used the equipment to accelerate her healing process. However, it has only been a few hours since she gave birth, and."
Khalian howled with rage, grabbing the hapless physician by the front of his tunic. For a wild moment, Kyrlaag was certain he had breathed his last.
"I asked a simple question, Qel! Give me a simple answer, or die! Can I flarg the Human bitch now?"
"Yes," Kyrlaag replied hastily.
Khalian set him back down and smoothed his tunic. "There, see? Was that so difficult?"
"joH'wI'," Kyrlaag began tentatively. "Why are you so set upon striking your seed in this girl? She is a Human. Why not your mate?"
"Phah!" Khalian spat. "She is barren. She has no interest in mating. Her loins are sealed with a wall of solid ice! Besides, this be'SIj is a young beautiful bitch, even if she is Human. She excites me. I enjoy seeing her terror when I flarg her. I love to hear her scream, and I love to watch her bleed!" His eyes narrowed. "And I do it for bortaS--revenge! Three times my agents have attempted to conquer the planet she rules; three times they have failed. I have failed! I have never failed in anything as a warrior--until this! When I finally tire of breeding her, when I finally string her up and skin her alive, I want the agony of her death to be doubled by the knowledge that she has given me heirs with her blood in their veins--heirs of mine that can lay claim to the throne of her dilithium treasure vault of a planet!" He turned to go, fumbling with the crotch flap of his trousers as he ran.
Kyrlaag shook his head. Khalian was going to undress on the way to the slave compound! He was a rabid Ha'DIbaH! He grabbed his medikit. The Human girl would probably be near death again when Khalian finished with her, and gods help him if she died and could not birth an heir.
He would be ready. The insane admiral would be enraged if he arrived before his master had taken his pleasure.
But he would be ready.
*****
Her captors called her be'SIj. They said it was her name; it was an obscenity, a vulgarism, in their tongue. It meant 'woman-slit.'
She shook her head sadly. That's all she meant to her master. She was a package of taut flesh, with three orifices to satisfy the unholy lusts of Lord Admiral Khalian--and nothing more.
be'SIj.
No--that wasn't her name. It was...it was...Ter...Teri? Terry? No, not quite. Ter...Ter-e-sah. Teresa!
Like a torrent of ice water running down her back, Princess Teresa Morales de la Vega of Serenidad regained her memory with a shock of clarity. The drug-induced fog that had plagued her for weeks had lifted. They must have stopped giving her the drugs when she went into labor. God knew they hadn't given her anything for the pain.
She glanced around her. She was naked, in chains, back in her slave pen, a make-shift wooden cage constructed of tree limbs and vines from the surrounding artificially-grown jungle. It was hot, tropical-hot; the jungle was one of the few green spaces in the city of voD'eH veng.
She was on Qo'noS, the Klingon homeworld.
She hadn't always been here.
Teresa concentrated, and the last wisps of fog cleared in her brain. She could feel her skin starting to crawl with the jittery onset of withdrawal, but it was worth it to be able to remember.
She focused on the time before her captivity. A great sob rose in her throat.
They had materialized in a sparkle of transporter energy--half a dozen Orion pirates. Slavers from Xantharus IV.
They caught her totally off-guard. Their captain stunned her with a livestock prod, the kind Orions used on their slaves. She was unable to reach her blaster, or even cry out. She could not even warn the palace maid who had walked in on them. Teresa's scream of anguish was mute. They hauled her to her feet, dragged her past the body of Carmen Herrera, who lay gray-faced, not moving, not breathing, in a rapidly-spreading lake of her own blood.
Her memories were disjointed and hazy after that. They clapped an obedience collar around her neck, manacles and chains around her wrists and ankles. They pumped her full of drugs; aphrodisiacs to keep her in a continuous state of sexual arousal, obedience drugs to keep her submissive and compliant.
She remembered being on the auction block in a huge stadium in the Xantharus city of Gracchos before a hundred thousand people. She remembered being sold for the record sum of 75 billion drekons to a syndicate of Andorian "businessmen." They branded her and took her back to Andor, where they forced her to work as a prostitute in one of their high-class brothels. For six and a half days, her young body had been used for the benefit of the syndicate, performing acts that even her inventive mind had never conceived.
Then, the last night there, Lord High Admiral Khalian arrived with a raiding party.
Teresa shuddered.
The Klingons. Always the Klingons.
Stung by the failure of unsuccessful takeover attempts of the planet Serenidad, insane with revenge, Khalian kidnapped her and took her aboard his Bird of Prey. The ship rained plasma bombs as it departed, leveling the brothel where Teresa had worked--and the entire surrounding city of T'L'ongat.
Khalian raped her--once--on the flight to Qo'noS. He changed the Orion drugs she had been force-fed to their even more lethal, addictive analogs--Klingon l'gagh aphrodisiacs and torl'a obedience drugs.
After the ship landed on Qo'noS, Teresa was taken from her cage and dragged to a lab in Khalian's citadel. She was hooked up to a sinister array of machinery. She was pregnant as a result of the rape--and aided by fertility drugs that were also fed to her to insure that she would ovulate whenever he raped her. The equipment kept her nourished and exercised and rested. It also accelerated her pregnancy so that she could carry and give birth to a full-term baby in less than a standard month, as opposed to the normal five-month Kh'myr gestation period.
Another half-Klingon child.
And what now? Now that Khalian had humiliated and degraded her by forcing her to bear his child, would he kill her to avenge the loss of face he had suffered in his failed attempts to conquer Serenidad? Teresa shuddered. Surely he would put her death slowly, horribly. HoHtaj, the grisly "death by a thousand cuts." Or worse.
She glanced over her shoulder and gasped in horror.
He was inside her cage. Unlocking her shackles, he stood back, expectantly.
Teresa whimpered. He was clad only in a pair of gray-green military briefs, and she could see the huge bulge that stretched and strained against the thin fabric. His thickly muscled body shone with perspiration. The lascivious leer on Khalian's face told her all she needed to know.
"This time you will give me a boy-child, Human be'SIj. Give me the one thing you're good for."
He tore off his briefs. His erect penis sprang free like some thick, dark, evil root. His three testicles, heavy with seed, hung low.
Teresa shut her eyes, sickened. The thing stood straight up from its nest of wiry black curls, almost touching his flat, rock-ribbed belly. It looked as long and big around as her forearm, with corded veins as thick as her little finger. The ugly club-like head seemed to be as large as her fist.
"joH'wI'," she quavered. "Please! No!! Not again!"
"Give me the one thing you're good for, Human be'SIj!" he repeated as he advanced on her.
She screamed.
*****
Kyrlaag sat on a stone bench outside the slave compound, trying to ignore what was happening within. The noises curdled his blood. The female slave shrieked and screamed as if she were being dismembered. Khalian had reverted to Ha'DIbaHqempa, roaring and howling in Hol'qempa, the ancestral tongue, spewing obscenities at his victim. The physician could hear crashing and thrashing as the insane admiral pushed and pulled and dragged and threw the luckless Human girl about her cage. Wood splintered and cracked as he repeatedly slammed her into the bars. Kyrlaag could hear the sodden smack of a clenched fist against tender, bare flesh again and again and again.
"toH, bitch!" Khalian raged. "Are you prepared to cooperate now? Open your mouth, wide, or I'll break your jaws and force it open! That's a good be'SIj. Ahhh, yes. That feels good! No teeth now, or I'll pull out every one of them!"
Kyrlaag heard the female slave gag.
This went on for several long moments. Finally, Khalian loosed a long, ecstatic moan, and the female retched and vomited.
"Now we are ready," Khalian growled. "Get on your hands and knees, be'SIj. I intend to take you like the Ha'D you are."
"N-no, p-please, joH'wI'," she sobbed. "I've s-satisfied you. P-please, nuh-no m-more!"
"Satisfied me?" The vicious, back-hand slap echoed like the crack of a whip in the humid air. The slave yelped. "Stupid slut, you haven't even begun to satisfy me! Get down there and stick your rump in the air! That's it. You're going to give me a son this time."
Khalian grunted. "Unngh! Nice and tight!"
The female's scream was so strident, so full of agony and despair, that Kyrlaag shot to his feet, startled. Her ragged, keening wail made his flesh crawl; icy beads of sweat popped out on his forehead. Lords of Krull! Khalian was going to kill her! Then what would happen to him?
"Oh, my God, stop!!" she howled. "NOOO."
Her shrieks tailed off into a horrible, gurgling moan.
Soon, she made no more sounds at all.
Kyrlaag shivered. All he could hear now was Khalian's pig-like grunting as he ravished and ravaged his favorite slave.
After a while, Khalian let out an explosive roar of pleasure and the morning became silent, save for the sounds of awakening jungle creatures.
Soon, the cage door creaked open, and water splashed. Kyrlaag ventured tentatively into the slave compound.
Khalian's genitals and midsection were drenched with thick, sticky red Human blood. He was washing himself in the trough that held the slaves' drinking water. He grinned, somewhat sheepishly at the physician. "I am afraid I've left you with a bloody mess, Qel--even worse than last time."
Kyrlaag peered into the cage and drew in a sharp breath.
Princess Teresa Morales de la Vega lay face down in the straw. Her body was covered with her own blood. Her knees were tucked under her, thrusting her rounded backside into the air. She did not move; she was breathing, but he did not like the shallow, impure sketchy sound of it.
Behind him, water tinkled as Khalian urinated into the trough. "Let it be a challenge for you, Kyrlaag," the admiral called over his shoulder as he shook the last few droplets from his massive penis. "I know you're equal to it. Hook her up to the machines when you've repaired her injuries." He left without another word.
Kyrlaag stepped into the cage to examine his patient more closely. He bent down to look between her legs, and he winced.
Khalian had destroyed her vagina. The gory ruin that remained resembled a gaping wound stuffed with raw, ground targ meat. Gently, he eased her over onto her back. He grimaced. Khalian had beaten her savagely about the body, bloodying her, raising ugly welts and bumps and bruises. His mediscanner confirmed she had suffered dozens of broken bones, and crushed ribs, and massive internal injuries. He would be able to save her; he could make her as good as, even better than, new.
But it would be a long day's work.
He unclipped a communicator from his belt. "This is Qel Kyrlaag," he said. "I am at the slave compound, in the pen of the Human female who just gave birth. Bring a litter and a portable life support unit. Out."
She stirred at the sound of his voice. Her eyes struggled to flicker open. Curiously, Khalian had not damaged her face. It was smeared with a filthy mixture of dirt and blood and semen and sweat, but beyond a black eye, a puffy lip and a couple of bruises, it was, thankfully, otherwise unmarked. No broken bones or dislocations.
"Uhhhhurts" she moaned.
"Shhh. Here, I've got a painkiller for you." Kyrlaag's hypospray hissed against her arm. After a few moments, the lines around her eyes eased.
"Thank you," she whispered. "But...please, let me die. I...I don't want to have another one of his babies."
Kyrlaag shook his head ruefully. "I cannot, little one. He would kill me, but that does not trouble me as much as the thought of what he would do to my family." The physician shuddered. "No, I'm afraid your good health is inextricably linked to the welfare of me and mine."
He bathed her face with an alcohol pad, cleansing the filth that marred her smooth skin. By the gods, she was beautiful, especially so for a Human. He clenched his teeth.
"You do not deserve this. He is Ha'DIbaH, that one. We are not all like him. We are a war-like race, it is true, but even we are not all...beasts like him. Those who inflict so much pain and cruelty upon your people are Kalut." Kyrlaag glared, shaking his head. "Something went very wrong with the genetic strain that produced him and his crèche mates. They are insane, irrational monsters."
He gazed down at her, his eyes desperately pleading for her understanding. "We are not all like him."
"Yeah...right." She wearily closed her eyes.
The med techs arrived with the stretcher. One of them swore when he saw the damage that had been done to her. "Gods!" he spat. "What did he use on her loins--the handle of his d'k tagh(2)?
"No, but he might as well have," Kyrlaag replied, sighing. "We'll have to sacrifice one of the female Starfleet cadets we have in cryo storage in the lab. I know, we were going to experiment on them for medical research, but this takes precedence. Khalian will cut out our livers and feed them to his Saj if anything happens to this slave!"
The tech shook his head. "toH! He nearly kills her, and we must keep her alive!"
"In any case, find a female whose blood type is compatible with the slave's for transfusions. I will have to remove any organs we need for transplantations from the cadet; I will also have to excise her genitalia and graft them to the slave." He pursed his lips. "Fek'lhr knows there is no way I can repair the bloody mess Khalian made of hers!"
The technicians nodded. He and his partner engaged the life support unit and rushed Teresa from the slave pen.
Kyrlaag watched her pale, chalky, beautiful face as they carried her away. "We are not all like him," he echoed plaintively.
"You're a lucky man, Bones."
James T. Kirk settled back in his lounger, sheltered from Serenidad's late afternoon sun by the gazebo which sat in the middle of the royal gardens. Behind him the imposing bulk of the Serenidad royal palace loomed on a grassy hillside. Kirk took a sip of his Saurian brandy as he gazed out beyond the gardens to a lush meadow that seemed to roll on forever. Two little boys romped in the tall grass with their mother, who was one of the most beautiful women in the galaxy--and Doctor Leonard McCoy's wife.
"Now that's a picture," Kirk said. "Two beautiful little boys, a gorgeous wife--what else could you ask for?"
"Nothing," McCoy admitted, flashing his trademark crooked grin.
"How old are your kid's now?"
"Well, let's see," McCoy pondered. "David is five, and Jim's three."
"My godson's three already?" Kirk asked. "I have lost track of time!"
"You should visit more," McCoy countered, mild reproach in his tone.
Kirk chose to ignore the barb. "Looks like retirement and the domestic life agree with you, Bones."
"I'm doin' fine," McCoy answered. "What about you, Jim? What've you been doing since they decommissioned the Enterprise?"
"Nothing much," Kirk replied guardedly. "Some rock climbing. Went deep sea fishing on N Hydra Three. Hunted a titanosaurus on Vega Ten. I'm going sub-orbital sky-diving back on Earth next Wednesday."
McCoy's eyes widened in horror. "You're what?!"
"I'll be wearing a tile suit," Kirk protested defensively.
"Blast it, Jim! Why do you go out of your way to try an' kill yourself?" McCoy exploded. "Like that time rock climbing El Capitan in Yosemite--if Spock hadn't been flittin' around in his moon boots, you'd've been a grease spot on the forest floor! We'd'a been scrapin' you up with a spatula!"
"But you didn't have to," Kirk countered, a testy edge to his voice. "I'm still here, Bones. It's not my time yet."
"Well, that may be, Jim, but you're sure goin' outta your way to roll snake-eyes." McCoy tossed back a slug of his mint julep. "You still haven't answered my question--why?"
"I don't know." Kirk's hazel eyes were distant, focused as much on another time as another place. "A big part of me is empty now, Bones. I guess I'm trying to fill it. I'm trying to find something that will make me feel as alive as I did in the center seat of the Enterprise." He sighed. "So far I haven't."
"Quarterdeck breed," McCoy grumbled.
Kirk shot him a withering look. "Bones, don't start that again. I don't."
"Damn it, Jim. You know as well as I do what your problem is. You're a quarterdeck breed. You were born to command a starship; hell, you've probably got a damned gene for it! Starship command was the peak experience of your lifetime, your 'first, best destiny,' as Spock said, and there's no substitute for it. So the way I see it, you can do one of two things--get command of a starship again, or resign yourself to the fact that it's over, and try to lead a normal life before your number comes up and your 'chute doesn't open."
The woman in the meadow had noticed the heated exchange between the two men. She sent the little boys off to create their own adventure for a few moments, and strolled toward the gazebo. Kirk could not disguise his appreciative stare.
If anything, Princess Teresa Morales de la Vega was even more breathtakingly beautiful now than she had been nearly two decades ago, when, as a headstrong spoiled nineteen-year-old, she had been forced to assume the role of ruler of the planet Serenidad after the Klingon agents assassinated her father. She was just now entering her prime. Her loose-fitting softsuit could not obscure the lithe contours of her clean-limbed athlete's body--a body kept as firm and taut as that nineteen-year-olds of twenty years ago by a murderous, daily two-hour regimen of gymnastics. Kirk had watched, goggle-eyed, as Teresa performed her torturous routine, realizing with chagrin, that if he tried to duplicate her moves for even five minutes, he'd be in traction for a month.
She smiled as she approached; clear dark eyes shone in a lovely, heart-shaped face that evinced little or no make-up. Her skin was as fresh as a school-girl's and after all she had been through.
Kirk's answering smile faded. After all she'd been through, it would have been understandable if the strain had aged her and ravaged her dewy complexion.
Teresa brushed a stubborn forelock of wavy, midnight-black hair off her forehead.
"Problem here, boys?" she queried as she selected a bottle of Aldebaran mineral water from the portable bar. "You're getting a little noisy."
"'Sita,(3) this jackass is goin' sub-orbital sky-diving next week," McCoy fumed. "He's bound and determined to break every bone in his body--unless of course, he's lucky enough to land on that thick skull of his!"
Teresa chuckled she sat on the arm of McCoy's chair and ruffled his hair with her free hand. "C'mon, Leonard. Jim's a big boy. He knows how to take care of himself. Besides, I've always wanted to try that myself. Sounds like fun."
McCoy glared at her. "Thanks a lot, 'Sita. Don't encourage him. 'Sounds like fun.' Yeah--and if you come in too steep on your approach dive, you're burnt toast--tile suit or no tile suit. They oughta outlaw it!"
"Bones, I--" Kirk began.
McCoy held up his hand. "Save it, Jim," he said with a weary sigh. "I'm wasting' my breath. You're gonna do it anyway, no matter what I say. Life's too short to argue."
Teresa bent to kiss him. "Good advice, honey," she said. "You should listen to yourself more often."
Kirk glanced at his wrist chronometer. "Whoa. I've got just enough time for one more. I agreed to do a PR tour of the U.S.S. Yorktown(4) for Bill Smillie. Uniform and all. I guess they like talking to relics." He winced. "I hate these things."
"Will you be back in time for dinner?" the princess asked.
"Probably not, Teresa," Kirk responded. "They're having a reception afterwards. Be here for breakfast, though. I really don't feel up to this, but I owe Bill a favor since he's decided not to put me behind a desk."
"I take it, then, that you're going to skip the christening of the Enterprise-B next week," McCoy probed.
"You're damned right I am," Kirk snapped. "There'll be a hundred reporters there--and you know how I feel about reporters. I hate them. Scotty and Chekov are going, and they've been hounding me to death about it. They won't give up."
Teresa sat down in an empty chair. "Sure you don't want to go, Jim? It is a ship called Enterprise and there's no doubt about who's the most famous Enterprise captain of all time."
Kirk allowed himself a wan smile. "Thanks," he said. "But, no, I think I'll pass. You know, I go back aboard a starship--like this shindig tonight--and it feels wonderful--great. I'm in uniform, it's almost like old times. Then comes the letdown; it's just a special appearance. I don't think the 'high' I get from it is worth the crash that follows."
"Mommy, Mommy, come on--we found a nest of baby flitters!" a small voice called.
"Davey, don't you touch them!" Teresa called out. "I'll be right there!" She stood up, excusing herself. "I'd better go, before the kids upset the balance of nature." She leaned over to squeeze Kirk's hand. "Don't worry, Jim. It'll be okay."
Teresa turned and strode off. Kirk watched her and swallowed hard. It was difficult to believe that a woman could look so good just walking away. He turned to see McCoy grinning at him like a jack-o'-lantern.
"Banjo-assed," he chuckled. "My banjo-assed little princess."
Kirk flushed, then grinned sheepishly.
"Admit it," McCoy crowed. "You're jealous! Captain Don Juan of the cosmos is jealous of a little ol' country doctor! Admit it!"
"Okay, I admit it, Bones," Kirk returned. "Hell, who wouldn't be jealous? Teresa is one of the most beautiful women I've ever known--and I've known one or two lovely ladies in my time."
"She's the most beautiful woman I've ever known," McCoy murmured. "Sometimes I have to pinch myself to make sure this is really happening. Seven years together, now." He sighed. "Who'd thought I'd get hitched to the galaxy's loveliest woman!"
Kirk smiled. "It is. I'm glad you're so happy, Bones."
"So am I. Maybe that's what you need, Jim. Find a beautiful woman and settle down."
McCoy regretted the words as soon as he said them.
Kirk's face fell. "I almost did a while back. There's been nobody since Cheryl."
Way to go, Leonard, McCoy thought. Open mouth, insert foot.
Kirk and Commander Cheryl Saunders, Security Chief of Starbase 27 had been lovers. They had seriously discussed entering into a marriage contract.
Then, Tanith Brok, daughter of the Director of Barrier Alliance Consortium, kidnapped Cheryl as bait to capture James T. Kirk, whom she blamed for the death of her father. "Come alone and unarmed, or you'll never see Saunders alive again."
Of course, Tanith Brok had already beheaded Cheryl Saunders by the time Kirk had gotten the message. Kirk barely escaped the same fate himself.
"Sorry, Jim," McCoy muttered. "Didn't mean to--"
"It's okay, Bones," Kirk responded briskly as he got abruptly to his feet. "I have to get going anyway. See you at breakfast tomorrow."
McCoy watched him go and shook his head. God, Jim. I hope you find peace some day, he thought. He watched Teresa play with the kids, trying to forget the troubles that plagued his longtime friend.
After a while, his wife came sprinting through the meadow, did a cartwheel, and landed at his feet. "Ta-da!" she exclaimed.
McCoy applauded. "Very impressive. What's the occasion?"
Teresa threw her arms around his neck and kissed him, then breathed in his ear. "Got this idea," she whispered. "We drop the kids with Rosalita Nuñez at the Palace, ride out to Lago del Cristal on the horses, go skinny dipping, and top it off with a whole lot of loving on the beach." She ran her tongue across her upper lip. "Mmmm, it's great."
"I wouldn't know," McCoy said, eyes wide in mock horror.
She giggled. "I guess you wouldn't! Okay, you lie on the blanket, and I'll do the work--as long as you promise to return the favor!"
"You wouldn't have to ask me twice," McCoy said. "Let's see what develops."
What developed, as it turned out, was that they dropped the kids with Rosalita Nuñez, and settled for some love-making on their rooftop patio under a one-way privacy field. Teresa, as usual, turned him every way but loose. She brought him to climax three times in short order with a hunger that surprised him.
McCoy stared at her aghast. "Honey, what are you trying to do? Kill me?"
She pursed her pillowy lips in a mock pout. "I'm just a healthy, growing girl, Leonard. I'd never do anything to hurt you."
"Well, this time, I don't think even you can do anything about it. I'm spent. I think you sprained it!" He pulled a light blanket over them to ward off the chill of early evening. The first stars were winking on.
"Hmm. Let's see the patient, Doctor," Teresa murmured. She reached down, took hold of his maleness, and stared at a nonexistent chronometer on her other wrist, mimicking an old-fashioned physician taking a pulse. She let his organ flop back limply against his belly. "He's dead, Jim," she intoned gravely.
They both laughed, then kissed each other. Teresa snuggled close to him, and McCoy drank in the beauty of her superb, naked body. Content, they lay in silence, watching the night sky. "I feel so sorry for Jim," Teresa said after a while. "He seems so lonely."
"He's always been lonely," McCoy said. "He's a starship captain. They're born to be lonely; it comes with the territory."
"He misses the Enterprise, doesn't he? He misses his crew."
McCoy nodded. "He's unsettled. Commanding a starship is the only thing he's ever done that he really loved. But, you know, everything comes to an end; he had to expect that. We've all moved on. Spock's working on some hair-brained diplomatic project to forge a treaty with the Romulans. Scotty and I have retired. Uhura's considering leaving Starfleet to teach full time in Nairobi. Sulu has his own ship, and Chekov's working with the PR department at Starfleet. It's him that's keeping Jim busy with all these inspection tours. The ol' gang's been broken up. But Jim wouldn't have to head out to pasture if he didn't want to. Hell, Bill Smillie would give him a ship in a minute."
"Then why doesn't he ask for one?" Teresa queried.
McCoy shrugged. "Who knows? He's the most thick-headed man I've ever known--next to a certain Vulcan. He just doesn't want to talk about it."
She sighed. "He's miserable. He doesn't even have anybody to come home to, the way I've got you."
"That's a whole 'nother can of worms there, honey," McCoy said. "He hasn't had any kind of serious relationship with a woman since Cheryl Saunders was murdered. Hell, that's been nearly fifteen years. Oh, there have been plenty of women, but no relationships. He told me he met a woman named Antonia a few years back. That seemed to be going somewhere for a while, but it seemed to fizzle out, too. Then there's Kate Logan who seems to be as much of a maverick as he is, but with two people as dedicated to their careers as they are, things just don't seem to be able to work out."
"Is he afraid of getting tied down?"
"No, it's more than that," McCoy murmured. "Most of the women he's ever truly loved have turned up dead. Edith Keeler, Miramanee, Tayla, Cheryl--they all died. I think Cheryl's death was the last straw, the gruesome nature of her murder. He was afraid that any level of commitment would end up in tragedy."
Tears filled Teresa's eyes. She sat up, clutching her pillow. "Oh, I had no idea. That's so sad! No wonder he's the way he is."
He hugged her. "I know. And about all I can do for him right now is lend an ear on those rare occasions when he want to talk about it. I just hope he gets it all turned around."
Teresa hugged him more tightly. He noticed she was trembling. "Just hold me," she whispered. "I don't know what I'd do without you."
McCoy kissed her. "The feeling is mutual, 'Sita," he said. "I love you." He cradled her in his arms as the sky grew dark and the stars blazed.
Moonlight washed the ancient stonework of the amphitheater, bathing it in gold. Newborn jungle encroached on the arena; a little more than a DIS(5) the terraformed(6) rain forest had spread over a hundred miles of what had once been the largest desert on Qo'noS.
Hundreds of Kh'myr women lined the seats in the circular grandstands. The select group of deadly warriors and assassins known as the q'laI sisterhood was about to initiate a new member.
A young girl stood in the very center of the amphitheater. Her lissome, naked body gleamed in the hellish glow of a flaming cauldron. She was beautiful beyond description. All the members of the q'laI were genetically bred to be graceful and lovely, but this youngling was especially fetching. Her features were softer and smoother and her forehead crests less pronounced than her sisters, reflecting the Human half of her heritage. She stared straight ahead, her clear dark eyes unreadable. The other females in the assembly regarded her straight slim body and perfectly formed breasts with a touch of envy and more than a little lust(7).
A stately figure in black robes approached, and the low murmuring of the crowd ceased. SoS Veraas, the q'laI mistress, pulled back her cowl, revealing her shock of snow-white hair.
"Puqbe''(8)Valias, you have fulfilled the requirements of full membership in the Sisterhood. You have learned the arts of love and the arts of death. You have borne a daughter for the Sisterhood, and have slain her father with your bare hands, as prescribed by ritual. You have attained the age of wa'maH Hut(9). Are you now prepared to take the final step to become a full-fledged adept?"
"I am, SoS," was the soft-spoken reply.
"Who stands as sponsor for this child?"
"I do, SoS Veraas."
A tall, muscular female dressed in the battle armor of a captain of the Klingon fleet strode from the shadows.
"HoD(10) Vixis, you shall be responsible for the child's welfare. Assist her in maintaining her courage, but be prepared to slay her should cowardice be displayed during this final test. Are you ready?"
"I am, SoS," Vixis replied.
"Very well. Begin."
Vixis suddenly produced a length of heavy rope. She bound Valias' wrists behind her back as another female warrior came forward carrying a crystalline container. Valias said nothing but her eyes widened when she saw what was inside the transparent case.
A mantril! Did SoS Veraas mean to kill her? Had she committed some unknown crime against the Sisterhood, or was it simply her fate to die? Valias could not believe that her years of training and dedication would come to such a bloody end! She gazed at the hideous beast and tried not to show her revulsion and fear.
The creature was about eight inches long, with its slender, whip-like tail comprising half of its length. It was a nightmare's amalgam of reptiloid, insectoid, and amphibioid. It was covered with scales; its tail was segmented, as were its five pairs of legs. The rounded, eel-like head was eyeless, and seemingly lacked a mouth, although Valias knew appearances were deceiving.
As if it could read her thoughts, the mantril dislocated and distended its jaws, and its blunt snout folded open into a maw the size of a man's outstretched hand. Rows and rows of inch-long, needle-sharp teeth gleamed in the cavity.
Valias shuddered. It was a horrible way to die. The parasitical creature gnawed its way into its host's belly. It could metabolize flesh at an incredible rate; it could devour most of the organs and entrails in a humanoid stomach in about half a rep(11)while its victim suffered unspeakable torment. After it had eaten its fill, the beast would work its way out of the body, sometimes exiting through the bowels, but more often forcing its way up through the throat and out the mouth, usually breaking jaws and teeth in the process.
Of course, by the time this occurred, the victim no longer cared.
Vixis stepped forward, the huge blade of her d'k tagh gleaming in the cauldron's red-orange flames. Without a word, she made a slash in Valias' flat tummy, midway between the girl's navel and her pubis. Valias flinched, but did not cry out.
toH! She would die with honor as bravely as she could. She did not understand why, but she did not question her fate. Dark blood streamed down her belly, down the front of her legs, and puddled in the sand. Vixis accepted the mantril's glassine cage from the other warrior. She pressed the container against Valias' wound; then she pulled open a sliding partition.
Valias shut her eyes.
The scent of blood aroused the mantril. It made a sound like the screeching of rusty gate hinges and scrabbled forward. The beast's fangs sank deep into the Kh'myr girl's tender flesh. It shook itself from side to side, ripping and shredding, its foreclaws trying to get a purchase so that it could open the wound further and force its way inside her body.
The agony was too great; a scream ripped from Valias' throat. She staggered backward, trying not to fall. She wanted to die on her feet.
Suddenly, an arc of energy crackled in the air. This time the mantril shrieked. It loosened its death grip on Valias and flopped to the ground, stunned. Valias sank to her knees, weak from blood loss, afraid to look at the gory wound the beast had made.
A physician rushed forward with a protoplaser and tended to Valias' injury as Vixis collected the unconscious, blood-covered mantril and stuffed it back into its container. Within moments, Valias' abdomen was smooth and unmarked once more. Vixis extended a hand and pulled the younger woman to her feet.
"I--I screamed," Valias whispered shakily, battling shock.
Vixis smiled. "Do not feel so bad. I did, too. Every warrior in this arena probably did as well, and anyone who says differently is most likely lying!"
Valias' eyes widened. She gasped and almost laughed, but her pain had not yet subsided completely. Vixis helped her turn to face SoS Veraas.
Pride shone in the q'laI mistress's eyes. "You have passed your test," she intoned. "Welcome to the Sisterhood, be'nI' Valias!"
Cheers and roars of approval split the night. Vixis beamed, her eyes not only mirroring Veraas' pride, but also shining with love.
So...it had all been just a test, a test to measure her courage in the face of death. Valias nearly shivered as she realized how close she had come to dying. Had the mantril succeeded in forcing its head and foreclaws inside her, she would have been doomed.
The ceremony was over. Veraas strode away without another word, flanked by her retainers, and the women in the assembly filed out of the amphitheater.
Soon Valias and Vixis were alone. "There is much we need to discuss," Vixis said somberly, "about who you are, and what you must now do."
Valias stood on tiptoe and kissed Vixis hard. "Please, be'nI'wI',(12)" Valias pleaded. "Make love to me first."
Vixis frowned. "Here? Now? After what just happened?"
"I am a Klingon!" Valias grated. "I am a q'laI now, and I'm excited. I want you to love me now!"
"You must wait," Vixis said firmly. "There are things you must know. Now that you are be'nI' you have new responsibilities that must be addressed. Indeed, there is a matter that has been awaiting this day."
She took Valias by the hand and led her to a row of stone grandstand benches, where the two of them sat down. Vixis fought down her own lust. Her young ward looked so beautiful and vulnerable in the soft glow of the moonlight. At least Valias had the courtesy not to release her scent, or Vixis would have been lost.
"I will listen," Valias said, drawing close to her sponsor.
Vixis drew a deep breath. "Nineteen seasons ago, a great admiral of the Klingon fleet mated with a Human female captive and impregnated her. He did it for two reasons: to make her the test subject of a medical research experiment involving accelerated pregnancies; and for bortaS--revenge. The female bore him a daughter and twin sons in the space of two jarmey.(13)"
She paused. "The warrior was Lord Admiral Khalian. His daughter was Valias. You."
Valias leaned forward, her eyes wide. "Khalian was my father? One of the greatest warriors who ever lived?!"
Vixis nodded. "He was betrayed, dishonored, and slain by the weaklings who now control the Council, the emasculated ones who seek peace with the Federation. He and his family were discommoded, and killed; he is called the 'Nameless One' now. It is forbidden to speak his name aloud--though none would dare challenge our right to do so here in our own domain."
"Khalian--my father!" Valias whispered.
"There is more," Vixis continued. "After the puqpu'(14) had all been born healthy and normal, the experiment was considered a success. It was determined that the process would be safe to perform on Klingon females since the Human be'SIj had survived with no ill effects. Khalian decided he would execute her to get revenge for the loss of face he had suffered because of her."
"A Human female caused Khalian to lose face?" Valias snorted. "How?"
"Her homeworld was rich in dilithium, and she was the ruler of her planet. Three times, Lord Khalian engineered plots to take over her planet, and three times his operatives failed. So, at last, he had her as his prisoner, and meant to execute her for bortaS. She was taken to the desert and strung up naked on the bep Sor.(15)"
"And he slew the be'SIj--slowly, I hope!" Valias exclaimed, her eyes blazing with outrage. "Who was she?"
"Patience, bang wI'. The be'SIj hung from the tree's branches for half a day while Khalian's operatives butchered her in the HoHtaj ritual. It was mid-afternoon; she was near death." She snarled, gritting her teeth. "That DenIbya'Qatlh(16) James T. Kirk appeared, with his Qel--who was also the bitch's lover--and a raiding party. They rescued the female and escaped--another dishonor for Khalian."
"Of course, he pursued her and wrecked his vengeance," Valias stated hopefully.
Sadness clouded Vixis' eyes. "No, little one. After the female was spirited away, a faction, led by that wretched Sa(17) Kusan, petitioned the quprIp(18) to forbid Khalian from ever again taking action against your mother or her home planet, since he had failed so many times and was becoming, as they said, an embarrassment. And when he refused, he was discommoded, and his family destroyed. Khalian died without fulfilling his oath to destroy your mother."
Vixis' eyes blazed. "And so, Valias, as his only living family, the task of fulfilling the 'Ip'Iw(19)falls to you. You must destroy the be'SIj who dishonored your father!"
"Who is she?" Valias asked, her eyes narrowing in suspicion, "and why haven't you told me before this? You've been evasive, be'nI'wI', and that's not like you."
Vixis averted her eyes. "You will not like the answer, my love. Your mother is Teresa Morales de la Vega, princess and ruler of the planet Serenidad."
"No..." Valias paled. "Oh, no, no--it can't be! I knew that my mother was Human, but her? After James T. Kirk, she is the most hated enemy of our people in the galaxy. She is the symbol of the shame, the dishonor, the failure that the Empire has suffered attempting to conquer that accursed planet rojyuQ.(20) No!"
Valias sprang to her feet. She threw her head back and howled, venting her rage and frustration. She grabbed Vixis' d'k tagh from its sheath and made a slash in the palm of her left hand. She clenched her hand into a fist and raised it toward the moon as blood ran down her arm. "I, Valias, daughter of the great Khalian, swear the 'Ip'Iw--I will avenge my father's honor by fulfilling the oath that he was forbidden to keep. I will slay Teresa Morales de la Vega in the most horrible of fashions. By the Lords of Krull, she will die!!!"
Her eyes glowed red , like an animal's and her lips were drawn back over her teeth in a feral snarl. Her breasts heaved with rage.
"The mantril will feast on her organs," Valias hissed. "It is a death more hideous even than HoHtaj; for she deserves a fate of the worse kind! I will capture her and bring her back here. Teresa Morales de la Vega of Serenidad, my mother, will die in this arena, on the very soil where I swore my oath!"
Vixis sat up, her hands on her thighs. She nodded in approval. "My ship, the QIH,(21) is at your disposal. He's a good ship, a completely up-rated Bird-of-Prey, and thanks to a little assistance from Sa Klaa, he has been equipped to fire while cloaked. My crew is all female; many of them are q'laI, and there is not a woman aboard my ship who would not be delighted to see the Human be'SIj die. We can leave in a Hogh."(22) She bowed her head. "We stand ready to assist you."
Valias knelt down in front of her, a smile of gratitude on her face. "Thank you, be'nI'wI'," she whispered fervently. "I knew I could count on you."
She bent forward, and the two women shared a savage kiss. Vixis stripped off her battle armor as quickly as she could, baring her magnificently-muscled body. Her huge, naked breasts rose and fell in a steady rhythm. No longer constrained by duty, Vixis released her own scent. Powerless before the pungent pheromone, Valias cried out and staggered as if she had been struck by a physical blow.
"Now it is time to love!" Vixis hissed.
Their demonic howls of climax shattered the calm of the night--and froze the blood of anyone who might have heard them.
Serenidad
Leonard McCoy would remember the day for the rest of his life.
It was beautiful morning. The clear air was pleasantly warm and lacked the sultriness it would possess later in the day. Serenidad's sun was just climbing over the Sierra del Oro mountains. Skimmers glided from tree to tree, whistling their beautiful bird-like calls as they soared.
He was in the solarium of their bungalow, enjoying a breakfast of ham and eggs, fortified with juice and strong coffee, when he heard Teresa scream in the kitchen. He raced inside, alarmed, not knowing what to expect.
She stood staring at the holovid. Tears streamed from her huge eyes, and she covered her mouth with her fists.
McCoy stopped dead in his tracks when he saw the image on the screen. It was the interior of a starship deflector room, but something was terribly wrong. There was a huge rip in the outer bulkhead, and stars shone against a black canvas. It was open to space.
The words of the commentator began to register. "...still not sure exactly what happened. Apparently, the newly-christened U.S.S. Enterprise-B, out on a ceremonial shakedown run, encountered a strange space/time disturbance which nearly destroyed the vessel."
The picture shifted. The head and shoulders of the anchorwoman came into focus. She was young, beautiful, with blonde hair and blue eyes. McCoy was not surprised to see the Intergalactic News Service logo in the lower right hand corner of the screen. Another B.B.B., he thought wearily, applying the irreverent abbreviation the late Admiral Harry Morrow had coined for the INS's seemingly endless supply of sleek blonde anchorwomen--Brad Bashaw's Bimbos.
And he still had no idea what had caused Teresa to scream. He turned toward her quizzically.
"'Sita, what's..."
Teresa pointed to the screen, sobbing. McCoy turned back and his blood froze.
In the upper left corner of the screen was a black-framed portrait of Jim Kirk in uniform. The legend beneath it read:
Captain James T.
Kirk, Retired
2233 - 2294
"Once, again, in case you've just joined us, the new Enterprise-B was involved in a tragic accident which claimed the life of the man who was arguably the greatest starship commander of all time, Captain James T. Kirk. Born in Riverside, Iowa, in 2233, James Kirk rose quickly through the ranks to become the youngest admiral in Starfleet history. He was something of a maverick..."
McCoy shut his eyes.
"I've always known I'll die alone." Kirk's words came back to him.
"I'm sorry, Jim," McCoy whispered. "I'm sorry I wasn't there for you at the end."
Grief settled in his throat like a lump of lead. He hugged his wife, comforting her, then he steered her to a chair at the kitchen table. He took her hands in his own, and they stared numbly at the screen.
"...understand we have a live report from Willis O'Brien at Spacedock where the crippled Enterprise-B has just arrived. Willis?"
The scene shifted. A mob of reporters clustered around a group of people clad in the burgundy uniforms of Starfleet officers who were attempting to reach the haven of Spacedock's Control's office. McCoy singled out two familiar faces in the crowd.
Willis O'Brien's disembodied voice shouted to be heard above the meleè. "Sienna, I see Captain Pavel Chekov and Captain Montgomery Scott coming this way! I'm going to try to... Captain Chekov! Captain Chekov! Can you tell us what happened out there?"
Chekov appeared to be in shock. His tear-streaked face was pasty pale, and his eyes were glassy, unfocused. "Please," he mumbled. "Please just let me through. I have not'ing to say. Kyptin Kirk was a great man..."
Chekov broke down, unable to continue. An armored, helmeted security guard forced his way through the crowd, roughly pushing people aside, knocking hovering holocams out of the air with his baton. He cleared a path for Chekov and escorted him through the throng.
Willis O'Brien was not to be denied. He maneuvered his holocam until it was right up in Scott's face. "Captain Scott, tell us what went wrong! How did Captain Kirk die?"
Scotty glanced up sharply. His lower lip quavered in anger, under his gray mustache. "Ye should nae be talkin' like that, laddie! We dinna ken for sure he's dead. We did nae find a body; scanners did nae even pick up carbon residue. If I know Jim Kirk, he found a way to survive!"
"All right, you bloodsuckers, clear out!" a booming voice commanded. A squadron of security guards waded into the mass of reporters, herding them away. The image on the screen whirled and darted crazily as Willis O'Brien's camera futility attempted to lock onto the chaos around it.
"You can't do this!" O'Brien protested. "We're the press! We--get your hands off me, you asshole! I'll--"
The holocam zoomed in on the close-up image of a fully-equipped security guard. A huge, distorted hand reached toward the lens. Static replaced the picture.
The anchorwoman reappeared, somewhat flustered. "Well--uh, we seem to be experiencing technical difficulties at Spacedock. We'll return you to our regular headline news reports, and we'll break in as soon as we have any new information on the death of James T. Kirk. This is Sienna Gillette reporting."
Teresa turned off the holovid.
"Damn it!" McCoy exploded. "Of all the rotten luck! The man falls off mountains and drops out of the sky in a tile suit, then gets killed in a starship taking a spin around the parking lot! It's not fair!"
"Daddy, what's wrong?" a tiny voice asked.
David stood in the doorway, his dark hair tousled, wiping sleep out of his intense blue eyes. He stared quizzically at his father, with all the guileless earnestness of a five-year-old.
"Is your brother awake?" Teresa asked.
"Yeah. He's afraid to come out though, 'cause he heard you scream, Mommy." He looked concerned. "You're crying, Mommy. What's wrong?"
She bent down and hugged him. "It's all right, honey. Something sad has happened, but Mommy and Daddy are all right."
The door chime sounded at the kitchen door. Teresa peered out to see Rosalita Nuñez standing there. She ushered the plump, matronly woman inside. "I had the news on," Rosalita said, shaking her head sadly. "I thought you might need some help with the kids."
"Oh, thank you, Rosalita!" Teresa exclaimed fervently, squeezing the older woman's hands in gratitude. "Please keep an eye on Jimmy for me. I let out a pretty healthy scream when the news came on, and I scared him. I'll come and talk to him after I've had a chance to settle down a little, but right now..."
Tears ran down her cheeks, and she covered her face with her hands. "Jim was a g-good friend," she quavered. "I owe him my life, and more than once."
Rosalita hugged her in a motherly embrace. "There, there, dear," she comforted. "I'll take care of things here, don't worry."
David looked frightened. "Mommy, what's going on?"
"Go with Rosalita, honey," McCoy said. "She'll get breakfast for you and Jimmy. We'll be fine."
Rosalita took David's hand. "C'mon Davey; let's go get Jimmy and have some breakfast," she said. "After that, we can go down to your treehouse by the creek. Won't that be fun?"
The little boy didn't answer. He gazed back over his shoulder at his parents, frowning, until he left the room.
McCoy exhaled a long, shuddering breath. He stood up and pulled Teresa to him. "C'mon, honey," he said. "We've got to pull ourselves together. We're gonna scare the boys to death."
"I know," she sighed. "It's just that it's such a shock. You know, I always thought Jim would live forever. I know that's silly; nobody lives forever. There was just something about him, I don't know. He seemed larger than life. He exuded this confidence, like there was nothing he couldn't work his way out of."
"Yeah," McCoy murmured. "I-I can't believe he's gone. He always managed to cheat death somehow. Not this time..."
The BellComm terminal chimed, and Teresa jumped, startled.
McCoy thumbed the "activate" touchpad, and the face of Connor Randolph, Teresa's special security consultant, flickered into sharp focus. McCoy remembered that Randolph had been a graduate student of Jim's at Starfleet Academy until she was dishonorably discharged and court-martialed for a security code violation. "How're you guys doing over there?" she asked.
"It's rugged right now, Con, but we'll be okay," Teresa responded. "We'll have to be."
"Your BellComm's been ringing off the wall," Randolph said. "I've been diverting the calls; I figured you didn't need to deal with that right now."
"Thanks, Con," Teresa said. "And you're right. Jim was like family to us. He was little Jimmy's g-godfather..." She broke down and had to turn away.
McCoy put a comforting arm around his wife. "Who are the messages from, Con?" he asked.
"A lot of them are your standard condolences messages, Doc," she said. "I filed them for you. I sent a message to Miguel at the Klingon-Federation Liaison Office at Camp Kitomer, but I imagine he's probably gotten the news by now anyway. There is one message you'll want to answer, though. It's from Captain Hikaru Sulu of the U.S.S. Excelsior. He was en route to Sol system to take on crew replacements, and he offered to transport you and the Princess to Earth for the expected memorial services for Captain Kirk. He'll arrive about 8 p.m., local time."
"That's very kind of him," McCoy said, touched. "Tell Captain Sulu we would be very grateful if he could pick us up. Con, thanks for handling all of this for us."
"Don't mention it," Randolph returned. "My condolences to you and Teresa, Doc. I'll keep you posted as to what's going on. Talk to you later."
"I guess we'd better get rolling," Teresa said. "I'll check to see if Rosalita can take care of the kids while we're gone. We'll have a little better idea of what's going on after they announce when the services will be."
"I imagine they'll wait a couple of days at least," McCoy said. "There'll be people coming in from all over the galaxy. Jim was a legend." He sighed. "If you're feeling up to it, why don't you go talk to the boys? I think Jimmy would be really happy to see you're okay. I'll see them in a little while."
Teresa nodded. "Sounds like a good idea. You gonna be okay?"
He shrugged. "As okay as I can be."
Teresa managed a small smile of sympathy. She kissed him and hurried off.
McCoy wandered back out to the solarium and sat down at the table. His breakfast was cold now, but it didn't matter. He couldn't have eaten anyway.
Jim. Gone. He shook his head.
It didn't seem right. He had lost the best friend he had ever known, and he had never felt so empty. But he would make it, he was a survivor.
A lone tear tracked down his cheek. He let it follow its own course, not bothering to wipe it away. Then he stood up, steeled himself, and went back inside.
Bird Of Prey QIH
In orbit above Qo'noS
HoD Vixis eased back in the lounger in her ship's cramped briefing room, studying the small assembly of q'laI adepts who sat by, expectantly awaiting her orders. There were only four others present: T'urana, her gunner, the most experienced hand aboard the QIH; Lara, the navigator; Tula, the helmsman; and the virginal, beautiful Valias, her lover. She wanted to see how her officers would react in the presence of the young beauty who had so recently been allowed into the inner sanctum of the q'laI.
"toH. We break orbit in four leS.(23) It is time to finalize our strategy for the capture of the hated be'SIj of Serenidad." Vixis paused, glancing at her audience. "This will be a stealth mission. We will enter the Serenidad system fully cloaked. We beam down, capture her, beam back to the ship and return her to Qo'noS for execution."
"What of the starship Yorktown?" Tula asked. "It is on patrol in that system."
"We let it go," Vixis returned. "We do not wish to complicate matters. We kidnap the female and get out."
T'urana snarled like an enraged Saj. "We hit and run like cowards?" she howled. "We can fire cloaked! The starship would never know."
"We let it go," Vixis repeated evenly. "This is a matter of honor, a personal thing. Since Praxis, the Empire is in no position to engage the Federation in war, and there are still those in Starfleet who would use any excuse, any provocation, to crush us. Now is not the time. Let the Federation weaklings rebuild our resources for us; then when the time is right, we turn on them and destroy them utterly. Them and the traitors who now rule the quprIp."
"Better to go out in a blaze of glory than to die on the vine," T'urana grumbled.
Vixis slammed her fist down on the conference table, her eyes blazing. "My orders are clear, T'urana! No action is to be taken against the Federation battlecruiser Yorktown!" She gripped the handle of her d'k tagh suggestively. "Any questions?"
"No, HoDwI'" T'urana replied, her expression sullen.
"HoD, how do we get down to the surface of Serenidad?" asked Lara. "The entire planet is surrounded by an energy shield."
"We will be able to fly close enough to employ a field attenuator that can defeat a section of the shield large enough to beam our landing party down and up," Vixis replied. "Also, we have an operative on Serenidad who was implanted by Valkris almost twenty ben,(24) whose services were never utilized. We accessed this operative two Hu,'(25) and the brain chip is still viable. We were provided with exact co-ordinates of the Princess's living quarters near the palace, and a listing of her normal routines. It should be easy!"
"Famous last words," T'urana interjected with a fierce grin. "When the section of the shield drops to allow us to beam in, will not Federation operatives detect it with their sensors, either aboard the starship, or at the Starbase at San Marcos?"
Vixis shook her head. "The power drop should be minuscule, and for a very short duration. Remember, we are talking about attenuating a section of their force field no bigger around than the circumference of our transporter beam."
T'urana frowned. "Seems easy enough. Why, then, am I uneasy? Could it be because the Nameless One(26) failed to destroy the be'SIj three times, even though he was the greatest warrior, even when he had her in his clutches right here on Qo'noS?" She glared at Valias. "And this beautiful little halfling is going to prevail? Forgive me for being skeptical, but..."
Valias shot to her feet in anger, but Vixis held her back.
"She will have our help, T'urana," Vixis growled. "I would think you would be glad to have the opportunity to help end the life of the one responsible for the death of your lover L'yan all those years ago."
"L'yan favored Valkris," T'urana said bitterly. "I was acceptable as a lover only when Valkris was not around. But I loved L'yan as much as any of her sisters, even as much as Valkris. I would have died for L'yan. I grieve for her, even now."
T'urana gazed venomously at Valias. "I was not permitted to swear the 'Ip'Iw to avenge L'yan because the Nameless One had already sworn the oath. Now I am cheated again because of a family bond, cheated by this mere slip of a girl, this...this...puqbe' who did not even know the Nameless One was her sire!"
"I am a full-fledged adept, just as you are!" Valias snarled. "I am your equal in battle!"
"yItam choH!(27)" Vixis raged. "T'urana, you are relieved of duty until further notice! Confine yourself to quarters!"
T'urana was taken aback, but she did not protest. She saluted and exited the briefing room.
Vixis sat down, and urged the visibly upset Valias to take her seat as well. "She will come to her senses after her anger cools," Vixis said, but her tone was doubtful.
The comm buzzer blared in the room. "This is Vixis. nuqneH?(28)"
"HoD! Exciting news! James Kirk is dead! It was confirmed by Federation news sources! He was killed in some kind of space accident! Details are sketchy, but one thing is certain--Kirk is dead!"
Howls of joy rang in the conference room, and Lara actually jumped up and down with glee. Vixis pulled Valias to her in a crushing hug. Then she punched the air with her fist. "An omen, my sisters!" she roared. "It augurs success for our mission! The greatest enemy of our people is now dead, and the be'SIj's turn is next!" She turned to the comm panel. "Thank you, Korla! That is indeed great news! Contact us with any further developments. Vixis out!"
Calm gradually returned to the briefing. There was one more item that still needed attention. "I am going to show you a holo of our quarry, so there will be no problem identifying her." Vixis pressed a touchsensor on her control board. "This is Princess Teresa Morales de la Vega of Serenidad."
A collective gasp went up from the other three q'laI warriors. Vixis watched Valias carefully; the girl had never see a picture of her mother.
The lovely, oval face that was a near mirror image of Valias snapped into focus on the holoscreen.
"'IH!(29)" Lara breathed. Aroused by the holo of the Princess, she began to excrete her pheromone. Vixis, sitting next to her, struggled to ignore the scent. She fought for control, and won--but barely.
"She... is beautiful," Valias whispered. "She looks just like--me!"
"Your modesty is overwhelming, little one," Tula said with a laugh. "Actually, since she is your mother, you look like her. That is how you would look were you Human. But she is beautiful--as are you."
"bang'wI'," Vixis murmured in a low, dangerous voice, "Does her beauty weaken your resolve? Do you still wish to kill her?"
Valias' face transformed itself into a mask of hate. "More than ever, my lady!" she snarled. "I was caught off-guard by our resemblance, but nothing more. She will die horribly, the mantril crawling about inside her belly."
"'maj!(30)" Vixis exclaimed. "Nothing is more important than your oath." She stood up. "We are ready. Qapla!"
Valias lingered after the others departed. After they were gone, she embraced Vixis and kissed her fiercely. "bang wI', I burn for you!" Valias hissed. "I need you now! My anger has aroused me!"
"You must quench your desire for a time," Vixis returned. "I must go to fleet headquarters to ensure that all the necessary programs are in place to cover our tracks during our illegal foray into Federation space. I will return as soon as I can, bang'wI'."
Crestfallen, the younger woman trudged down the corridor toward the ship's living quarters.
Vixis glanced over her shoulder at the retreating form of her lover. She would much prefer lying in love with that young vixen than what she now had to do.
She strode into the transporter room and dismissed the technician. Then she programmed a scrambled set of co-ordinates which she had memorized into the console, activated the controls, and leaped into a harsh barren patch of desert. She wrinkled her nose; she doubted if even the qor'wI'(31) beetles could survive here. Nothing but sand and rock and howling wind, with only a dark mesa about a hundred yards off to break the monotony of the flat landscape. Vixis squinted against the sand stinging her eyes.
Otherwise she might have seen the scarlet disc suddenly appear on her chest, just to the left of center as the tracking laser of a disrupter rifle's sniper-scope locked onto her.
A heavy stun charge crackled over the keening of the desert wind. Every hair on Vixis' head stood on end; she uttered a sharp cry and dropped like a stone, unconscious.
A large, sleek cargo ship, the source of the heavy 'wind' swirling around the fallen q'laI warrior, decloaked and appeared over the desert. It hovered low; grappling tractor beams seized the prone form of Vixis and drew her into its cavernous loading bay.
Rough hands dragged Vixis over to an engine parts inspection table and unceremoniously dumped her upon it.
"Get energy cuffs and a collar on her," a gruff voice snarled. "This bitch is a q'laI warrior. For all we know, she's got a thermonuclear device up her be'SIj! Scan her and relieve her of all weaponry!"
"Yes, joH Tumak."
Tumak stood back to supervise as his mixed crew of Klingons and Romulans shackled Vixis in cuffs and scanned every molecule of her body. They relieved the unconscious woman of her disruptor and d'k tagh, a needle gun under her breastplate, a boot knife, her belt buckle boot spikes, and gauntlets.
"That's all?" Tumak asked, obviously disappointed. "Not even a photon cap in one of her teeth? I was hoping I'd have to strip her and do a body cavity search! Can't be too careful!"
His Klingon underlings guffawed loudly. The Romulans just stared, stone-faced. But Tumak did notice one of them staring longingly at Vixis' rear, which was thrust enticingly in the air after her search.
"You like what you see, S'Tarn?" Tumak queried. "I do, too. It's the finest DubDop(32) I've seen in ages. I must tell you though, this is HoD Vixis of the QIH. She is Sa'be'(33) to Lord Klaa. He's well-known for buggering his women. You could probably shove your fist up in there without touching anything, for all the stretching Klaa's done to her poor little bunghole!"
"Right--and then she can run to the q'laI compound and have some pretty little female kiss it and make it better!" a voice rasped.
The Klingons roared with laughter.
"That's right," Tumak cackled. "She has the best of both worlds--she sucks the choQ'etlh(34) by day and eats be'SIj by night! All right, stations everyone! There's no booby trap on or in this healthy specimen. Set course for the Durit stronghold. This be'SIj has an appointment with Lady Vetara!"
Tumak flashed crooked yellow teeth in an evil grin. "Who knows, S'Tarn--if there's anything left of this one after Lady Vetara finishes with her, I'll let you shove it up her ass--provided I'm finished with her!"
S'Tarn stole another glance at Vixis as he headed for the bridge. She was pretty, for a Kh'myr female, though somewhat muscle-bound. He wondered what was going to happen to her.
He shivered.
He decided he didn't want to know.
The House of Durit
Qo'noS
Lady Vetara was beautiful, spectacularly so.
For a Kh'myr female, Sub-Commander S'Kal almost added, then thought better of it. No, Vetara is beautiful--period.
They lay together on Vetara's sinfully comfortable bed, Klingon and Romulan, locked in a naked, lewd embrace. S'Kal admired her body; it was soft and supple with rounded surfaces in all the right places--but as strong and tensile as tellurium alloy.
He did not love her. She was beautiful and she excited him and he had enjoyed every hot, sweaty moment of it, but he did not love her. Vetara had commanded him to make love to her.
And when a member of the House of Durit said "Jump," one asked, "How high?"
The Durit family was the most powerful clan on the planet Qo'noS. The late Emperor Kudan Kuras paled at the mere mention of the name. Even Chancellor Azetbur and the new quprIp tried, not always successfully, to steer clear of involvement with them. The Durit had been instrumental in arranging the uneasy alliance between the Klingon and Romulan empires. It was they who had obtained cloaking technology for the Klingons.
They were not to be trifled with, and S'Kal always kept that fact in mind whenever he dealt with them.
She traced his ear with a long, sharp fingernail. "So elegant," she whispered.
S'Kal bent down and sucked an erect nipple into his mouth.
Vetara moaned and squirmed delightedly; then she sighed with regret. "I'm afraid we must be about our business, Sub-Commander," she said. She led him to a sunken whirlpool tub in the center of her opulent chamber. They bathed without a word, then got out and dressed quickly.
The Romulan Sub-Commander sank down in the lounger designated for him.
Vetara's dark eyes, which only moments earlier had smoldered with passion, were now cold and business-like. "A glass of Romulan ale, Sub-Commander, to warm your chilled bones? I understand you romuluSngan find our climate to be somewhat on the cool side."
"I thank you, Lady Vetara," S'Kal said. He picked up the proffered goblet of electric-blue liquid from the table, sipped it, then decided to cut right to the chase. "I understand you contacted the Praetor, with an offer of new technology."
Vetara's bright chuckle belied her severe expression. "So impatient, S'Kal, my love," she murmured. "Learn to be still, and you will live a longer life."
Vetara slid a small plastex cube across the desk toward the Romulan. He opened it with curiosity.
Half a dozen computer info disks gleamed in their storage slots.
"A gift for your illustrious Praetor," Vetara murmured. "On those disks are contained the theory and technology of the programs the scientists of Emperor Kjimeg developed to genetically engineer the Kh'myr sub-race. If your scientists implement the technology immediately, they could begin the development of your own race of super warriors within a year."
S'Kal raised an eyebrow. "This is a priceless gift indeed, Lady Vetara," he said. "What do you wish in return?"
"Always so direct," she laughed. "I like that--up to a point. I wish nothing in return--for now. But I am quite sure I will think of something!"
S'Kal kept his expression neutral. He was about to address Vetara again when he heard a commotion at the rear of the chamber.
"Ah! A diversion," Vetara said. "Bring her to me."
A Klingon female in energy shackles was half-dragged and half-shoved through the room. S'Kal noticed that she was tall and muscular--and beautiful. She was unceremoniously pushed to the floor at Vetara's feet.
"Ah, HoD Vixis," Vetara said. "I would hear your report concerning the be'SIj of Serenidad."
S'Kal could see it in the female Vixis' eyes. Fear--pure, growing, unrestrained fear, fear like she had never felt before. He could tell it was an unaccustomed emotion for her, and he could also see that it was growing too large for her to control. But she was brave, this one, and she tried to put up a bold front. Even so, her face was drained of color, and her lower lip quivered.
"Mistress Vetara," she quavered, "I must protest this humiliating treatment! I was stunned by that Ha'DIbaH on the cargo ship! It was not necessary."
Vetara's boot shot out, kicking Vixis in the face. She toppled over backwards.
"yltamchoH!" Vetara snarled. "Be glad Tumak did not kill you! You q'laI fancy yourselves as being so powerful! Phah! You are simply my toy'wI'--my slave. I could crush you and your child-lover, Valias with a snap of my fingers! The q'laI are nothing when compared to the House of Durit. You serve me and my family! Yaj'a'?(35)"
Vixis nodded her eyes wide with terror. If she had tear ducts, S'Kal mused, she'd be weeping like a baby now.
"Now--tell me, Vixis is all in readiness?" Vetara asked with deceptive softness.
Vixis nodded shakily. "Y-yes, my lady. Valias has been told of her heritage--that she is the daughter of the great Khalian and the be'SIj, Teresa Morales de la Vega of Serenidad. She has sworn the oath. The be'SIj will be dead in a Hogh from now. I swear it!"
"For your sake, she had better be!" Vetara grated. "I have persuaded the government to look the other way while you complete your mission. You will be unhindered from that standpoint, so failure will be inexcusable. Now get out of my sight!"
Vixis was hauled out as roughly as she was brought in.
Vetara motioned to Tumak, who bowed before his mistress. "Tumak, the bitch Vixis still has too much insolence in her. I think she needs to be...chastised before she is released." She smacked a fist hard into her other palm.
Tumak smiled his yellow smile and nodded. "I was hoping you'd say that!"
"Oh, and Tumak--I think she needs a reminder of just who her mistress is, something she'll always be able to see. Take care of it."
"jIyaj," Tumak said. He saluted and left the chamber.
S'Kal gazed after him. "Lady Vetara," he said, "this on-going Serenidad affair--I understood it to be a dead issue. Lord Khalian's failed attempts to conquer the planet occurred twenty years ago! You have just now decided to kill the Princess Teresa again--two decades later? Why?"
"bortaS bIr jablu' DI' reH QaQqu' nay,(36)" Vetara whispered.
S'Kal nodded. "Ah yes, revenge. Even unto the seventh generation."
Vetara nodded. "Khalian was a good and loyal pawn of ours. We do not forget his service to us. He is dead; the be'SIj still lives. He died before he could fulfill his oath to slay her--nay, he was forbidden to do so by the government weaklings. Now his daughter has reached the Age of Ascension--at least the q'laI equivalent of it. She will be the perfect tool to achieve vengeance. So what if it is a generation later?"
S'Kal shook his head. Revenge, perhaps the sole motivator of the Kh'myr psyche. But the House of Durit had taken the concept to a new level. Even he was appalled by the cold-bloodedness of it. He repressed a shudder--or tried to.
"You are still cold, Sub-Commander?" Vetara solicitously asked. "Here, have some more ale."
She refilled his goblet, and S'Kal gratefully drained it in one gulp.
Bird Of Prey QIH
In orbit above Qo'noS
Lieutenant Taras was lounging at the transporter console of the QIH when the signal came in. It was HoD Vixis' frequency, but she sounded strange. "jolyIchu'!" came the muffled command.
Taras frowned. With one hand gripping her disruptor pistol, she slid the dials forward. She nearly screamed when her commander materialized on the transporter pad. "Qel Razar to transporter control, quickly!" Taras stood rooted in place.
Vixis lay sprawled face down on the platform. She had been brutally beaten; her naked body was covered with blood and bruises and contusions.
The pneumo doors hissed open. Razar arrived on the run, her medikit ready. The sound of the compressed air released Taras from her trance. She rushed forward just as Razar knelt beside their fallen commander. "She's alive," Razar grated.
Taras noticed that Vixis' bloody buttocks were glazed with a sticky pearlescent fluid. She grimaced in disgust when she realized what it was. "She's been raped!" Taras howled, enraged. "Some filthy son of a targ sodomized her!"
"Several sons of a targ," Razar corrected. "I am picking up at least a dozen distinct semen traces, some Kh'myr Klingon, and some...romuluSngan. Vaginal and anal penetrations. I imagine her mouth and throat are full of it, too."
She checked her mediscanner. "Whoever did this was an expert," Razar said. "She will heal. No broken bones, no internal injuries. Mild concussion, but no permanent damage. I can heal the cuts and bruises immediately. She'll need rest, and she'll be sore for several days. This is not as bad as it looks. She'll be all right. Physically, at least."
"But, she is a q'laI adept! Who would dare attack and violate such a fierce warrior?" Taras demanded indignantly.
Razar gently rolled Vixis over on her back--and gasped.
Taras screamed.
"They would dare," Razar whispered, a quaver in her voice.
Taras stared in horror at her commander's face.
Vixis' left cheek had been branded. Her face was marked with angry, blistered tissue that would pucker into a scar. But Taras had not cried out because the burn was exceedingly ugly or disfiguring; she had screamed because she recognized the intricately filigreed brand.
It was the crest of the House of Durit.
"They would dare," Razar repeated.
"Oh gods," Taras moaned. "What has she done? Qel...can you...?" Taras touched her own cheek.
"I could remove the brand with microsurgery--but I dare not. HoD Vixis will wear the brand for the rest of her life, until the day qor'wI' beetles strip the flesh from her bones!" She motioned to two med techs who had entered the room; they quickly scooped up their captain and spirited her to Sickbay, with Razar in their wake.
Taras sat on the edge of the transporter platform, hugging herself, staring at the bright pink blood of HoD Vixis spattered on the deck. For the rest of her life, she would remember the horrible sight of her commander's battered face--the blood, the bruises, the blackened eyes, the vile coating of semen--all paling into insignificance next to the sinister brand that scarred her cheek.
The House of Durit.
The transporter chief shook her head.
How had HoD Vixis gotten herself involved with the House of Durit? Surely she had not done so willingly!
Taras shuddered.
If Vixis had worked with the Durit family of her own volition, Taras hoped the gods would take pity on her spirit!
U.S.S. Excelsior
Dinner in the captain's quarters was usually a festive occasion; complete with good food, good conversation, a good time. It was an honor and a privilege.
But tonight, it was more like a wake.
Not that they hadn't tried. Captain Hikaru Sulu had commissioned a lavish feast comprised of delicacies from all over the galaxy. The cooks had done an excellent job of preparing the meal, and the food was top-notch.
But none of the dinner guests had much of an appetite.
The death of Jim Kirk cast a pall over the proceedings. It was never far from their thoughts, and it seemed to lurk in every corner of the spacious cabin. Sulu sat on one side of the table with his lover, Commander Ariel Cord, his chief medical officer. Across from them sat Doctor Leonard McCoy and his wife, Princess Teresa Morales del al Vega of Serenidad. McCoy's commission had been temporarily reinstated for the upcoming funeral service. He wore his wine-red Starfleet uniform, as did Sulu and Cord. Teresa was stunning in a formal gown of sea-green turalon. Ariel Cord kept stealing furtive glances at the Princess, in a manner of one beautiful woman sizing up another--sizing up the competition.
Sulu finally pushed his plate away.
"Damn," he swore softly. "Its such a such a waste. The Enterprise-B wasn't ready to be towed out of spacedock, much less go for a shakedown run. I talked to Demora. She said Captain Kirk had to all but take command away from Harriman, or they'd have been destroyed."
"Harriman did ask Jim for recommendations, honey," Ariel Cord pointed out gently.
"I know," Sulu answered. "But it doesn't change the fact that Harriman was no more ready to command the Enterprise than the Enterprise was ready to leave the dock."
"I still can't believe he's dead," Teresa said with a sigh. "He was almost like some mythical figure."
"He was," McCoy murmured. "But he was also a mortal human being, just like the rest of us, subject to the same physical laws. The biggest law of all, the law of averages, finally caught up to him. He had more close calls and narrow escapes than any man had a right to expect. I guess we can take some small consolation in that."
No one spoke for a long time. Sulu finally broke the silence.
"The memorial service will be the day after tomorrow at 11:00 A.M., San Francisco time. They'll have a photon torpedo casing and the Federation flag. They're recommissioning the Enterprise-A for the service, and they'll launch the tube from her toward open space. Of course, it'll be symbolic, since they don't have a body"
"No body," Teresa murmured. "I hate that! You can't say goodbye. Papa's funeral was like that, and Carlos'."
"And Janet's" Sulu finished, his voice breaking on her name. Ariel Cord squeezed his arm, and Sulu covered his eyes with his hand. McCoy looked away, uncomfortable.
"I'm sorry," Sulu said, regaining his composure. "It's just what you said, Teresa, about not being able to say goodbye--that's exactly what happened when Janet was killed in the Kelvan War. I didn't get to say goodbye, and it hurt so bad--it still hurts."
"It always will," Teresa whispered.
The gloomy silence returned, and began to stretch on interminably. McCoy decided that perhaps idle conversation was a possible solution. He favored Ariel Cord with his most charming, crooked smile.
"I've read a lot of good things about you, my dear, and heard a lot of good comments from Captain Sulu. You're as excellent a physician as you are beautiful. Why so quiet?"
Cord cleared her throat nervously. "I'm a doctor, and I'm a woman," she said. "I'm sitting across the table from two people who outclass me in both departments--the most famous doctor in the history of Starfleet and possibly the most beautiful woman in the galaxy. I'm...a little intimidated."
Teresa blushed, then chuckled. "I'm honored, Ariel," she said. "But, with all due respect, Leonard and I put on our undies just like everybody else!"
"And take 'em off the same way, too," McCoy added, twisting his face into a mock lecherous leer as he draped an arm over his wife's shoulders.
Cord burst out laughing, but she was soon drowned out by Sulu's staccato, machine-gun fire guffaw.
That broke the ice, McCoy thought. Life goes on. There'll be more than enough sorrow and grief at the funeral service. We don't need to pound it into the ground now.
The rest of the evening proceeded more smoothly. By the time the party broke up at midnight, ship's time, Ariel and Teresa were chatting like long-lost sisters, promising to meet in the gym the next morning.
McCoy and Teresa strolled back to their cabin, hand in hand.
"Honey," Teresa began tentatively, "isn't Ariel a little...young...to be such an accomplished physician? And isn't she a little, um, young, for Hikaru?"
McCoy chuckled. "Now there's a case of the pot calling the kettle black, my dear. Let's see...you're May, and I'm December, if I remember correctly."
"Touché," Teresa returned, averting her eyes. "Point taken, Doctor. It's just...she's so beautiful. She can't be more than, what?--twenty-four? twenty-five? She doesn't look any older than that."
McCoy nodded. "She's looked the same for about the last thirty years."
"Wha?" Teresa stared up at McCoy dumbfounded. "You're joking, aren't you?"
He shook his head. "Nope. Doctor Ariel Cord, Avalon University, Planet Chrysalis, class of 2262. She had a long affair with Captain Chris Pike, the skipper of the Enterprise before Jim."
"All right, Leonard," Teresa said sharply, stopping abruptly in the hall pointing a finger at him inches from his nose. "a joke's a joke. That's enough. That girl can't be any more than twenty-five years old, tops. Stop it."
"It's no joke, 'Sita," McCoy defended himself. "Check it out if you don't believe me."
"But...how does she do it?" Teresa queried almost plaintively, burying her head on his shoulder.
"She says good genes," McCoy answered as he wrapped his arm around her, gently moving her toward their cabin, thinking of a 5000-year-old Human named Flint that the Enterprise had encountered all those years ago. "Did you know she's a porno holovid actress, too?"
"I gotta sit down," Teresa muttered, shaking her head. "A porn starlet?"
"Sulu told me she's done over two hundred and sixty X-rated holofilms so far. Still does a couple or three every year or so, when she goes on furlough." He looked down at his wife, innocence covering his face. "She's supposed to be quite good, too, from what I understand--not that I would know."
Teresa reached up and nibbled his earlobe. "Damned straight, buddy!" she growled. "Your life is a porn film with me around!"
They finally reached their cabin and entered. The red light on the small comm panel caught McCoy's attention.
"Wonder what this is?" A frown etched itself on his face as he tapped the 'play' button.
"Message received 20:12, ship's time," came the filtered, recorded voice of communications officer Janice Rand. "Point of origin, city of San Francisco, Planet Terra."
The familiar face of Captain Montgomery Scott sharpened into focus on the screen. "Leonard, lad, Ah'm sorry Ah have to contact ye this way, but m' ship leaves in forty-five minutes. Ah'm headed for th' retirement colony on Norpin V aboard the Jenolen. This came up kinda sudden, an' Ah dinna want to miss out." He paused, his dark eyes growing distant for a moment. "It's time. Ah've had enough o' blastin' around th' galaxy. Time t' rest now. Ah'm sure Ah'll hear about it on the newsfax, but, call me when they rescue Jim." My BellComm code is 13-MS-405-365C. Hope t' hear from ye soon. Good luck!" The screen darkened.
McCoy shook his head, sighing. "He's in denial," he finally said. "He can't face the fact that Jim died out there. Who knows, though--maybe he's got the right idea. I know I'm not looking forward to the memorial service." He yawned, stretching. "I'm bushed. You 'bout ready to turn in?"
"Not quite," Teresa answered softly from behind him.
Unclasping the shoulder strap of her dress, she let it slide from her body to swirl around her ankles like foamy sea foam. As usual, she had nothing on under it. Her slender, naked form seemed to glow in the soft cabin lighting. Reaching up, she undid the clasp in her hair and the intricately woven braids tumbled to her shoulders in thick, midnight waves.
McCoy's breath caught in his throat. "Y'know, I was wondering what you were talking about when you told Ariel you put your undies on like everybody else. I happen to know you don't own a single undergarment."
"Ariel probably doesn't either, being a porn starlet and all," Teresa returned. Her smile turned impish. "Or, if she does, they probably have holes in all the right places!"
McCoy burst out laughing. Peeling off his clothes, he pulled her into the circle of his arms. His kisses were soft and slow, and he hunted gently over her body with his lips until Teresa was beside herself with lust and frustration.
"Enough!" she finally moaned. "Enough!"
McCoy picked her up and carried her to their bed and continued until he arched his back in ecstasy.
As he subsided, Teresa kept going, continuing to thrash and gyrate, screaming at the top of her lungs as she continued to stimulate herself. McCoy stared down at her in aghast. There was no sign that she was slowing down. Her eyes rolled back as she convulsed in the throes of something that resembled an epileptic seizure.
With dawning horror, McCoy realized what was happening. Springing from the bed and rummaging through his ever-present medikit, he came up with a hypospray, quickly coded it and discharged it into her flailing arm.
Gradually, her paroxysm quieted. Her eyes came into focus, and she stretched, her chest heaving as she tried to catch her breath.
"Whoa," she finally managed. "That was intense!"
McCoy glared at her in disapproval. "All right, my dear--when did you give yourself your last proxodone injection?"
Teresa flushed guiltily and glanced away. "Last night--I think," she finally answered in a small voice. She rolled onto her stomach, and McCoy had to struggle to keep from being distracted by her well-formed backside.
"You think!?" he exploded. "You think!? That means you've missed two doses! Honey, you know, you have to stay on a proxodone maintenance dose for the rest of your life to counter the addictive effects of that poison Khalian pumped into your veins." McCoy shook his head. "Every cell in your body is impregnated with that crap. You skip enough doses and you'll go into withdrawal. Keep going and you have seizures which will finally lead to respiratory distress or arrest, and a coma, and then you'll die!"
"It was only two doses," she protested, child-like. "I wanted to be extra horny for you."
McCoy rolled his eyes in disbelief. "Baby, you were born horny! You don't need any help there. It's all I can do to keep up with you under normal circumstances. You don't need any enhancements!"
He coded the hypospray again, and, without warning, discharged it into the rounded globe of her right buttock.
"Hey! No fair!" she squealed.
"Couldn't resist," he grinned devilishly at her. "It was just too tempting of a target." Then, turning serious, he added, "Now you're all caught up. From now on, one dose in the morning and one at night every day, without fail. Okay?"
"Okay," she agreed contritely, bowing her head. "Are you sore at me?"
He kissed the top of her head. "No. You know I can't stay mad at you for long. I just got scared, that's all. I worry about you, 'Sita. Those Klingon aphrodisiacs are deadly, tricky drugs, and I don't want you to play with your medicine. You take your two doses a day, and you can hold off the effects of the drugs; you don't..." He shrugged.
"I'm sorry," she whispered meekly. "I promise , I won't do it again."
"Yeah. Where have I heard that before?" McCoy growled good-naturedly.
Dimming the lights, he joined her in the bed, pulling the sheets over them. Teresa snuggled close to him with a contented sigh. McCoy started to drift into sleep.
"Honey?" Her voice filtered through his semi conscious brain.
"Hmm?" he responded.
"I'm still horny."
McCoy groaned aloud, aroused from the near-sleep state he'd been in. "'Sita, you gotta be kidding! Your recharge time is a lot shorter than mine. I hate to disappoint you, but I just don't think I'm up to it--no pun intended."
She smiled seductively. "I bet I can do something about that."
"No way!"
"Wanna bet?"
McCoy sighed in resignation. "Okay, you're on."
"Loser scrubs the winner's back an extra five minutes in the shower."
"Deal."
She kissed him hungrily, and went from there.
As usual, McCoy lost the bet.
But, somehow, he didn't seem to mind.
Aboard the QIH
"She's resting comfortably," Qel Razar whispered. "She's under heavy sedation, and the painkillers have taken effect as well. You may speak to her, but do not stay long. I cannot promise she will hear you."
Valias stared with wide, horrified eyes at the recumbent form of HoD Vixis beneath the sheets of her sickbay bed. Her face. What had they done to her beautiful face? It was swollen and puffy; the brand on her left cheek glowed an angry red.
Razar patted Valias sympathetically on the shoulder, then withdrew to give the Kh'myr girl privacy.
"HoD Vixis," Valias whispered, silently cursing the quaver in her voice. "It is I, Valias."
Painfully, Vixis rolled her head toward the sound of her lover's voice.
"bang'wI'," she croaked with a thickened tongue.
"I am here," Valias clasped one of her captain's hands in her own, wincing at the sight of Vixis' blackened eyes, now swollen shut. "I am here."
"I only screamed once, bang'wI'," Vixis slurred. "I did not scream when they violated me, or when they beat me." She hesitated, and her voice cracked. "Only when they branded my face--when they ruined it--did I cry out. It hurt so much." She turned away. "I am disfigured," she whispered. "Surely you now find me repulsive. I release you from your bond to me. You need not be the lover of a--a monster."
Valias gently turned Vixis' face back toward her. Caressing the blistered skin of the brand, she shook her head. Then she lowered her head and kissed the wound. "You are still bang'wI' to me," Valias murmured. "It matters not. What matters is that those who committed this unspeakable deed pay for their crimes."
"No!" Vixis objected with surprising force. "No! You must not, Valias. They will kill you."
"I will not let them get away with this," Valias grated. "Now, tell me!"
"No!" Vixis shut her swollen eyes. "We will speak no more of this. I forbid it."
Valias stepped back from the bed. "Forgive me for this, bang'wI', but I will avenge this."
She released her scent. Vixis convulsed on the bed, moaning, overwhelmed by the power of the girl's musk.
"N-no. Do not do this!" Vixis pleaded.
"Tell me now," Valias demanded. "Who did this to you?"
Struggling desperately, Vixis tried not to respond. Finally, unable to resist, "T-T-Tumak," she gritted. "Tumak and his men. They raped me. Tumak, and a romuluSngan crewman named S'Tarn sodomized me. It was Tumak who branded me."
"How do I find them?" Valias demanded.
"They are aboard a cargo shuttle that patrols the desert near the Durit citadel. They work for the House of Durit. If you beam down to planetary grid coordinates 24.7C by 68, you will trigger a signal that summons them."
"Thank you, bang'wI'," Valias whispered. "I will deal with them."
"No! No! You must not," Vixis protested weakly, attempting in vain to break through her drug- and pheromone-induced fog. "No one defies the House of Durit. No one! Not even the q'laI! You will die, bang'wI!"
"Sleep now." Valias bent to kiss her captain, applying gentle pressure behind Vixis' left ear as she did so, rendering her unconscious. "You will sleep long enough for me to do what I must."
Leaving the sickbay, she hurried to the transporter room. Favoring Taras with a brilliant smile, she threw her arms around the q'laI's neck and kissed her. An instant later, the technician was sprawled on the deck.
"I am sorry, Taras," she looked down to the fallen form. "I do not wish to involve you in this."
Programming the console, Valias stepped onto the pad as the beam activated.
Desert materialized around her. Acting quickly, she stripped off her clothes, folding them neatly and stashing them behind a large rock. Then, standing completely naked, and apparently weaponless, she waited.
But she still possessed her most potent weapon--her body.
She didn't have long to wait. A low rumble sounded off in the distance beyond the mesa. A cargo ship landed in a windstorm of sand and flying rock. As the dust settled, a portal opened and a ramp settled onto the desert floor with a crunch.
Valias strode forward boldly.
"That is far enough be'SIj!" a gruff voice bellowed.
Valias halted as a huge, scraggly-looking Kh'myr Klingon cautiously descended the ramp, training a disruptor carbine on her. He was flanked by another equally large and scruffy Klingon and a somewhat better groomed Romulan. Both of them also aimed rifles at her.
Valias spread her hands helplessly. "I am unarmed," she called out.
"I can see that," the leader snickered. "What do you want?"
"I seek the one called Tumak."
"I am he," the first Klingon stated. His eyes narrowed suspiciously. "What do you want? How did you know where to find me?"
Valias' lips parted, feigning arousal. "I saw what you did to my sister, Vixis," she whispered in a husky voice. "It excited me!"
Tumak's eyes widened. "Being flarged raw and then beaten to a bloody pulp excites you?" he asked incredulously."
"Well, perhaps not to that extreme," she admitted, smiling a seductive smile, "but I do like it rough."
"A moment, joH Tumak," the other Klingon placed a hand on Tumak's shoulder. "This be'SIj must be a q'laI if she calls Vixis her sister. She could be dangerous!"
Tumak snorted. "This little bit of a thing? She is as naked as the day she was born, Lorag. She is little more than a child. Look, the pob(37) around her loins is as fuzzy as the down on a d'rlaQ(38)hatchling!" Tumak licked his lips. "I say we give her everything she wants--and more!"
Lowering his carbine, he motioned her on board. "Come on aboard, little bitch, if you dare!"
Smiling sweetly, Valias strolled as casually as she could toward the freighter, trying not to display her inner tension. Swaying seductively as she walked, she made sure the appropriate portions of her anatomy were in full undulating motion. The two Klingons stared goggled-eyed as she passed them on the ramp. Even the Romulan was beginning to exhibit signs of strain.
As Valias entered the ship, Tumak nodded imperceptibly at the other two. They pounced on her, pinning her arms. Tumak was on her like a cat, pawing and groping her, kissing her savagely. His breath reeked. Valias fought down her revulsion as she returned his ardor. Tumak's teeth broke the skin on her neck as he nipped her, then his mouth found her erect nipple.
Playing along, Valias moaned, feigning arousal as he suckled her. His probing fingers found the most inti