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"Payment" - Part Thirteen
Rating: R (Violence, Strong Language, Adult Situations, Brutality) Note: Vulcan terms used in this story were taken from the online Vulcan Language Dictionary, the Vulcan Language Institute, or I made them up myself. A/N: I don't know if I am the first to bring this subject up. But it does seem unlikely to me that Vulcan eyes would be well adapted to seeing clearly through water or fog. (Warning: This chapter contains a scene of violence with adult subject matter. Most of this story is fairly tame, actually, despite being set in the Mirror Universe. However this chapter addresses some adult issues including sex and domestic violence. The people of the Mirror Universe are not the same as the characters in the RU. Think of them as identical twins, who have been raised by different parents under completely different conditions. Life is hard where they live, and some of them are not very nice people. You have been warned.) Part Fourteen: The smoke was noxious with the stench of smoldering insulation, burning lubricant, and scorched blood from beings that used iron, copper, manganese, and several other minerals for oxygen binding. The ceiling of the bunker had caved in across two thirds of the area, and bodies in various degrees of dismemberment were strewn over consoles and sprawled across the floor. Soft shadows drew a merciful veil over the scene, as the only light came from the few scattered emergency lamps that had not been shattered by the torpedo blasts. The mercy was short-lived. A lance of white light stabbed through the smoke and danced over the carnage, pausing only fitfully to touch a corpse or a broken console. A cautious figure followed the lamp's beam, stepping through the broken doorway. He turned sideways to avoid the tip of a broken roof beam and slid into the center of the room. The figure moved forward in a slow crouch. He stopped near the center of the room and reached for something on its belt. "Kumari. Thyren here. In the control center. All dead, massive damage. Nothing to salvage here. Are you still reading those life signs?" "Affirm. One reading, weak. Interference is too strong to determine species. Probably farther back inside. Can you proceed safely?" Thyren turned the lamp toward the back of the room. "The rear exit seems clear. I will make the attempt. Please maintain a transport lock, if you don't mind." "Not to worry. If you get caught in a cave-in, we promise to dig you out as soon as the evening meal is finished." "Thank you, Commander," Thyren replied dryly. "Such loyalty warms my antenna." He closed the communicator and eased his way gingerly toward the pile of debris that only partially blocked the rear exit doorway. Careful maneuvering got him through the mess without injury, although his uniform would never forgive him. Thyren quickly abandoned his futile effort to brush off some of the filth and concentrated on examining the passageway. The narrow corridor ran straight back into pitch black darkness. The floor sloped gradually downward into the fractured rock of the tiny moon. The entire base had been carefully burrowed out beneath the rim of an impact crater in an obviously ineffective attempt at camouflage. The control center that Thyren had just left had originally been embedded halfway up the side of the crater wall, just above the launch bay where the Hunter-Scouts were stationed. The newly augmented weapons of the Human warship had collapsed the walls of the launch, leaving the overhead control center perched precariously in open space. Personnel and supply storage would be located in the rear, somewhere back there in the blackness. Thyren felt his antenna pull back and draw down toward his scalp. Darkness didn't ordinarily bother him, or any other Andorian. But darkness thick with the stench of death was a different matter. There was no escaping it. He took a deep breath and reluctantly moved forward, following the blinking light on his scanner that told of a possible survivor. & Jupiter station was busier than it had been in decades. The empress's own flagship hung majestically in space nearby - within range of her 23rd century transporters but beyond the grasp of lesser equipment. Two NX class warships rotated escort duty at all times, holding station keeping positions above and below Defiant with their shields up and their weapons primed to full power. Three full squadrons of scout craft patrolled the Sol system following an interlocking grid pattern, and no unauthorized craft got with half a light hour of Defiant without being vaporized. On the station itself, engineering crews worked themselves to the point of collapse around the clock, installing the upgrades that Tucker had developed. In the two weeks following confirmation of the battle-worth of the Tucker improvements, five more ships had been modified. The Colonel Green, the Patton, the Geronimo, the Alexander, and the Cromwell had all been retro-fitted and sent back out to seek battle. They, along with the Ghengis Khan, were racking up an impressive string of victories. This provided a miraculous boost to morale, both among the civilian population and - far more importantly - to their Starfleet comrades. Ordinarily the kind of brutal 24/7 labor being demanded of the engineering crews would have resulted in constant complaining, and in some cases open mutiny. But knowing what their work was accomplishing made it more endurable. In addition, some of the personnel from other departments even started recognizing and acknowledging members of the various engineering crews in passing. In fact, it was no longer unheard of, at least on some ships, for an engineering tech to be invited to sit down and share a meal with crewmembers from other departments. Rarely, one of the captains themselves had been known to drop into the engine room for a brief check on progress. Heady motivation indeed. Tucker wiped sweat out of his eyes and pointed to the diagram on the display. He told the assembled group. "See that junction? Right there is the splice point. Don't try to tie in the power conduit any farther along or you will overload the-" "Commander Tucker to the bridge!" He sighed and hit the button. "Acknowledged, on my way." Tucker turned to face the techs from Quantrell. "I'll send someone over to pick up where I left off. Meantime, keep looking at the diagram and think about the options. I know you've modified your standard systems from what this diagram shows. You had to have modified it if you're still flying, since the book specs are pure shit. Be thinking about the adjustments you'll need to make." He turned and headed for the exit, waving Hess over along the way. He could feel T'Pol's eyes boring a hole in the back of his neck, the way they always did whenever he spoke to Anna. Tough. She could just get over it, he had business to handle. "Anna," he said as his second came over with a faint smile. "I need to head upstairs. Can you babysit for a while?" Tucker jerked his head in the direction of the visiting techs. "Give them the standard rundown on the cannon upgrades, and talk them them through the preliminary setup. By that time I should be back, if not before. Although I can't promise anything. You know what her majesty is like when she gets going." "Sure thing," Anna said brightly. "Anything for you." She grinned and swayed over toward the waiting group, rolling her hips like an Orion dancer. Tucker abruptly jerked his eyes away and cursed silently to himself, all the while feeling T'Pol's rage building. This had to stop. One way or another, something had to be done. In a fit of overloaded frustration he snarled to himself, Maybe I should just take Anna into the back room? A sudden shaft of agony made his knees buckle. Tucker grabbed blindly for the edge of the doorway to keep from falling. Hands caught him on each side and a concerned voice asked, "Are you all right, sir?" Tucker blinked away tears of pain and looked up to see the two door guards propping him up with worried expressions. He pulled in a deep load of air and told them, "I'm fine boys. Don't worry. I've just been working too many hours, like everyone else, and I skipped breakfast. And lunch. Think maybe I better eat something." Their faces cleared and they both nodded. He pushed forward and made it through the door before Anna had time to notice anything and come running over. That would be the very last thing he needed right now. What am I gonna do? He thought in despair. I don't want the Vulcan, I can't have Anna. And I wouldn't do that to Anna anyway. So now what? He coughed and rubbed his eyes, wiped his face on his sleeve, and straightened his back. The turbolift was just ahead. It wouldn't do for the empress or Travis to see him like this. Crap. I'm so tired. It'd be so easy to just quit. The bridge doors opened on the expected pair of phaser rifles. Lieutenant Commander Arvon was in the center seat, working over a PADD full of something engrossing. She barely lifted her head to tell him, "Welcome to the bridge, Commander Tucker. The admiral is waiting in the ready room." Tucker suppressed an automatic twinge of concern and headed for the doorway. There was no reason to worry, everything was proceeding smoothly and on schedule. But a private consultation with Travis was never a comfortable situation, no matter what the circumstances might be. He presented himself to the admiral's personal bodyguards and waited for clearance. They eyed him resentfully and took an unnecessarily long time in scanning him. None of Mayweather's people had forgotten nor forgiven what happened to his last pair of bodyguards. They finally ran out of excuses to delay him. The blond one with the broken nose keyed the button and announced Tucker's presence, receiving orders to admit him. The door slid aside and he was marched in between the two goons like a prisoner. Travis glanced up and murmured, "Have a seat, commander. We need to talk." Tucker winced internally and settled himself into the visitor's chair in front of the desk. He idly wondered where Hoshi had wandered off to. It wasn't like her to be away from the bridge. Maybe she's just off having a spa treatment or something, he considered. None of his business anyway. He needed to keep his mind on the matter at hand. Like getting out of there alive. "Is there some problem, sir?" Tucker was reasonably satisfied with the steadiness of his voice. "No," Travis told him, to his pleasant surprise. "To the contrary. Things are going better than expected. That's why I called you up here." "Sir?" He was honestly confused, and showed it. Travis smiled slightly. "With these upgrades of yours, commander, the rebels have been having serious trouble lately. Now that the Vulcans have started reporting back to their home world in significant numbers, we finally have enough reinforcements to put together a significant strike force. I've decided to take Defiant, along with the upgraded NX cruisers and five Vulcan D'Kyrs, and make a direct strike on the Andorian's home system." Tucker straightened with a lurch. "Admiral..." He stopped himself firmly and clenched his teeth. Travis raised an eyebrow. "Say it, commander. Don't be bashful." Tucker sighed. "I'm fairly confident, sir, that the entire Andorian system doesn't have anything that can scratch Defiant. At least not before we have time to get clear. But I can't swear the same about the other ships. The new shield upgrades are a lot better than the old configuration, but they won't stand up to ground based disruptor cannon. At least, not under sustained fire from multiple emplacements. Not to mention that once you get far enough inside-" Travis raised a hand to cut him off. "Either you are giving me too much credit for wild courage, or not enough credit for intelligence. I have no intention of taking the task force all the way to Andoria itself. What we are going to do is penetrate deep into Andorian space, striking hard and fast at every vulnerable target along the way until we reach their home system. Then we will hit their main shipyards with everything we have. Once the shipyards are destroyed we will fall back." Tucker let his breath out in relief. Travis chuckled quietly. "Calm down, Trip. This is my plan, not Hoshi's." Tucker bit his tongue swiftly and firmly. "And I also have no intention of holding up the progress of upgrading the fleet while we carry out this attack. Which brings us to why you are here. What needs to happen for production to continue unhindered?" Tucker felt a cold weight settle on his soul. This is it then. Phase two. He closed his eyes for a minute to think. "What we need, sir," he told Travis, "is to make certain that Defiant keeps a full staff of experienced people first and foremost. That has to be the priority." Mayweather nodded agreement. "After that, I can sort through the leftovers and pick out the ones that will be staying with me on the station to do the upgrades." "So you want to jump ship?" Travis asked him calmly, propping his chin on his fist. His eyes asked nothing, gave nothing, believed nothing. "I don't see any other way to get the job done," Tucker said, truthfully enough. "Give me a couple of weeks and I can finish polishing Hess to take over as chief. But these upgrades are as much art as they are science. Truthfully, admiral, the standard specs for the NX aren't anything like the actual running configurations. Every ship in the fleet is different, and each engineering department has to cobble together their own version just to keep things running." Travis leaned back looking irritated. "Now why would that be? That makes no sense at all. Explain." Tucker opened his mouth and looked unhappy. He closed it and shifted on his seat, trying to think of a tactful way to put it. Travis wasn't interested in tact, apparently. "I said explain." An icicle rammed itself up Tucker's spine and he jerked upright. "The design engineers are incompetent." He added hastily, "Sir." The admiral's eyes took on a speculative look. "Incompetent? Really? Then how do they keep from getting shot?" Tucker's nostrils flared. "Because they are the sons and daughters of high level officers. Sir." Travis nodded slowly. "I see. And I suppose that any attempt to report errors in their designs would be seen as insubordinate." "Yes, sir." Tucker's eyes turned cold. "Any such form of disrespect is punished quite harshly. Sir." Travis shot him a keen look. "No doubt. And since there really isn't any effective method for the engineers of various ships to exchange professional information, they can't share the options that they have worked out between themselves for working around the design deficiencies." "That is correct, sir," Tucker told him stiffly. "As a result, each ship in the fleet is configured to different specs. Therefore, each upgrade must be adapted to conform to the modified parameters of the particular ship's existing systems." "If the designs were adjusted to actually work in the field," Travis asked him, "so that we could mass produce ships that followed standard parameters, I presume that this would make a real difference in our response time to situations like this one?" He smiled ironically. "Yes, sir," Tucker said, stone faced. "However, that will never happen. In order for the designs to be adjusted, the design engineers would have to leave their offices and actually enter an engine room. They would have to observe engines in real world operation. Perhaps even fly them for a while so they could observe their responses to various real world stresses. The high command would never permit their offspring to suffer such an indignity." "No doubt you are correct, commander," Travis told him in amusement. "The high command would never permit it. In any case, you may have your two weeks. It will take that long to gather the Vulcan forces and coordinate everyone. In 15 days Defiant will lead the strike force to Andoria. Make sure that your department is ready to operate without you. Dismissed." & The rage was becoming impossible to suppress. Every time he looked at that woman, she could feel the heat of his lust. It maddened her, rousing the murderous fury of her warrior ancestors. Tucker was her mate, and hers alone. Hess was going to die, as soon as T'Pol got the chance to touch her. All she needed was one chance, one instant to get within striking range of her throat. Tucker would object. Let him. He had no right to look at the bitch that way. T'Pol seethed and paced the narrow limits of her cage like a starving sehlat, resolutely keeping her eyes averted from her enemy. She would not give Hess the satisfaction of knowing how angry she was. Her child was locked away from her in darkness, and her rival walked free – taunting her. Her control frayed further with each intolerable day. This could not continue. It would not continue. To make matters worse, her mate was still overworking himself. If anything, he was abusing his body even more strenuously than before. He frustrated her by acknowledging the logic of her arguments in favor of reducing his workload, then ignoring her advice and continuing just as he had before. She had heard and observed Hess, Rostov, and other members of his staff proffer similar advice over the course of the last several days, to no avail. The man simply refused to permit himself adequate time to rest. In T'Pol's extensive experience among Humans, a minimum of seven hours per night was required to maintain optimal performance. More was advisable when the Human was under stress or carried a heavy workload. Tucker restricted himself to five hours maximum, and steadfastly refused to consider more. T'Pol expected him to collapse at any moment. She spent a portion of every meditation period attempting to assist him though the bond in purging the fatigue toxins, with limited success. However, her own stress level had reached the point where meditation was insufficient. She could no longer dependably attain the third level of introspection. Even when she did, T'Pol often found herself emerging from meditation with lingering emotional baggage still interfering with her thought processes. She was beginning to suspect that her daily attempts to bond with her baby were having a reciprocal effect on her physiology. In effect, she might be starting to display psychosomatic symptoms of pregnancy. She had refrained from reporting this to Tucker, in the interest of preserving the furniture. She detected his presence approaching rapidly. Something important had happened. He was excited and dismayed at the same time. T'Pol leaned against the bars of her cage and focused on opening the bond. Travis... the station... Defiant.... battle.... D'Kyr.... Andoria! She jerked back. They were taking the Defiant into battle against Andoria. Small wonder her mate was ambivalent. He was thinking of a Vulcan D'Kyr... no. Multiple D'Kyr ships. A battle group. Travis was organizing an attack force. She nodded. It was logical. Now that the Humans had enough upgraded ships to make a difference, it was reasonable to use them in a major strike before their enemy had time to develop effective counter-measures. It was also logical to include Vulcan battleships, both to test their loyalty after Sato's amnesty, and to provide cover for the upgraded NX cruisers. Her mind started racing. He had been expecting this. She could tell that much. This, or something similar. In some way this fit into his plan perfectly. It was imperative that she convince him to reveal more details to her. The door opened to admit her mate and she moved to the side of the cage nearest him. Her concentration and real need brought him to her side automatically, without thinking. He shook his head and asked her, in a sub-vocal whisper, "How much did you pick up?" "Enough," she replied in a voice he could barely hear. "We are leading an attack on Andoria. This will mean even more work for you. Let me assist you. Please! I am your ally now. You must realize this." He snorted. Tucker rubbed his eyes. "My head thinks you might be. My gut still says hell no. I'm going with my gut for a while yet. But you need to get out of here. Things are about to get hectic." He looked up and raised his voice to something closer to normal. "We are going to relocate to the station, while Anna takes over here." T'Pol felt an electric jolt energize every nerve in her body. "I'm gonna be running my ass off for the next two weeks shuffling personnel and making sure everyone knows she's boss. I won't have time to guard you, in either sense of the word. Can I trust you to stay in our quarters and not cause me any trouble?" "Yes," she told him emphatically. "You can trust me." He stared at her. "I mean it, woman. This is your first, last, and only chance. Screw this up and you go back into chains and stay there. Permanently. For the next fifty years. Got it?" "I- got it," she promised. "I will obey your orders strictly. To the letter." He sighed. "And use every excuse you can find to weasel out of the spirit of them." He gave her a dirty look. "Don't. Don't even think about it. Don't give me any grief of any kind. For two weeks you will be a little angel. You will sit in our quarters like a good girl. You can access the library. You can even have some crafts things if you want, as long as you get approval for them. But you don't leave, you don't call anybody, you don't DO anything. Understood?" "Understood." Her prompt response seemed to mollify him slightly. "All right. Let's go." Tucker walked over to the nearest pillar and unhooked the massive hook that served the function of a key for the crude mechanical lock on her cage door. He inserted the key with both hands and pushed upward, then twisted it, then yanked it hard to the right. Finally he rotated it a full 360 degrees before dragging it back down again. The bolt holding her door shot back and she was free. Except for the Orion slave collar. And 17 watching Human crew members. And four visiting engineering technicians from the other ship. And the security monitors of course. T'Pol pushed the door open and stepped out, only to find that both Hess and Rostov had move up to flank her mate with scowls on their faces. "What's going on, Boss?" Rostov wanted to know. He glanced suspiciously from her, to her mate's face, and back to her again. "You feeling ok?" Meanwhile, Hess stroked the butt of her dagger and eyed T'Pol's throat wistfully. "It's all right," Tucker turned to reassure his second and third in command. "We got new orders from the admiral. Heading out soon, and it's going to mean some personnel shuffling." He jerked his thumb at T'Pol. "Figured we have enough to keep us occupied for the next few days. I want her neatly tucked away in our quarters where she'll be one less thing to keep track of." Their faces cleared immediately. "Sounds damn good to me," Hess told them emphatically. "Not having to look at her is the best birthday present I could ask for." Rostov nodded approval. "Makes sense. She won't go anywhere with your guards at the door. Your quarters are airtight." "I'm taking her upstairs. While I'm gone," Tucker instructed quietly, "I want the two of you putting your heads together and figuring out who to keep aboard, and who we can afford to transfer to the station. Don't let it slip yet, but Defiant is going to be running point on a battle group, so we need to keep a full staff of the best we have on the ship." They both nodded, with grim expressions. "When and where, Boss?" Rostov wanted to know. Tucker glanced around, then moved closer to them. He lowered his voice to the lowest end of Human hearing range, but T'Pol could easily pick out, "Andoria. Two weeks." The excited curses from both of them came clearly as well. "Now you see," Tucker went on, "why we are going to be even busier than we have been." Rostov choked out a strangled laugh. "Oh shit, yes. Only puny weaklings need sleep or food anyway. We can handle it! We're Starfleet!" Hess snorted and shook her head wearily. "You haven't slept since midnight, Charles," Hess told her mate softly. "You need rest even worse than we do. And knowing you, I doubt that you ate anything today either." T'Pol clenched her teeth so hard that her jaw muscles hurt. How dare she use his name? T'Pol felt her fingers curling into claws despite her best efforts to keep them flat at her sides. She could almost taste the Human's vile blood. "She's right, Boss," Rostov affirmed. "If you go down, the rest of us are up a creek. It will take some time to get the prelims out of the way. You could at least grab a bite and catch a few winks while me and Anna do that part. If we have two weeks there is no reason to actually kill yourself. Cripple yourself maybe," he grinned mockingly, "but not actually kill yourself." Her mate's shoulders slumped and she suddenly felt his fatigue crash into her like a battering ram. T'Pol's almost permitted her knees to bend under the impact. He truly was on the verge of collapse. Tucker nodded. "All right. If it will get you two off my back. I'll take the Vulcan up to our quarters first. Then come back here and give you both a full briefing. After that I'll try to eat something and grab two hours. Satisfied?" "No," Hess told him. "I want six hours." Tucker looked exasperated and opened his mouth, but she put her open hand over it. T'Pol's eyes glazed over with a green haze and she took a step forward. Rostov's head snapped in her direction as Hess continued, "Two hours won't even be enough for you to feel it. You need-" "Boss!" Tucker glanced at Rostov, then spun to intercept T'Pol half a meter short of her prey. Hess snatched her dagger free and lunged in response to T'Pol's attack, only to find her arm deflected by Rostov. The two men managed to separate the women long enough for Tucker to bark, "That's it! Stand down! Both of you! Now!" "You will keep your hands off my mate," T'Pol snarled. "You have no right to touch him. He is mine." "Yours? You miserable-" Rostov grabbed Hess' knife wrist and twisted, forcing her to drop the weapon. Tucker closed his fingers around T'Pol's throat and told her in a husky growl, "Remember what I said about chains again? Settle down. Right now. Or the next time you see our quarters, or anything in it, will be when you are dying of old age." Cold fear washed through and extinguished the flame of wrath instantly. He wouldn't. Would he? Could he truly be cruel enough to deny her access to their child? She looked at his eyes and decided the risk was unacceptable. She stopped struggling and stood straight. "Anna." Her mate spoke coldly and firmly. "Attention. Now." He stared at her until she returned his look and flinched. Hess swallowed and assumed the stiffened posture of a Human awaiting inspection. Tucker looked at T'Pol and released her with a final warning glare. She didn't meet his eyes. He turned to face Hess and asked her, "Anna, why did you try to kill me?" Rostov had turned and was dispersing the spectators who had gathered to watch the brief combat. At Tucker's question, Hess stiffened even further and drew in a sharp breath. "I didn't. I would never... I didn't mean to..." "You knew," Tucker went on remorselessly, "what would happen to me if she died. But you drew your weapon anyway. Haven't I been good to you Anna? I tried to help you. What is it you want? The chief engineer's job? It's yours. I'll stay on the station. You can take Defiant out." "Noooo." Hess emitted a disgusting whine and her complexion paled noticeably. "Please. No. I never meant to... hurt... you. I'd rather die first. You know that. You have to know that. I wasn't thinking, that's all." "You weren't thinking." Tucker sounded disgusted. "Well, that's fine. Your not thinking would have killed me just as dead as if you did it deliberately, wouldn't it? Just like your not thinking will get you killed just as quick as if you cut your own throat deliberately, won't it?" She flinched. "What about Michael?" He tilted his head toward Rostov, who had returned and was listening silently. "What will you tell his family when your not thinking gets him killed someday? Hm?" "I'm sorry," she hung her head. "Sorry doesn't cut it, Anna," Tucker snarled. T'Pol tensed at the anger in her mate's voice, but also began to feel a trace of satisfaction. Tucker was actually angry with Hess, something that T'Pol had not witnessed before. "Sorry wouldn't help me while I was on the floor, screaming because my mind was being ripped open. Would it now?" Hess looked at him with tears in her eyes. "WOULD IT?" "No," she whispered. "Sorry didn't save your ass when you didn't pay attention that time, and ended up burning Archer with that arc welder, did it, Anna? You didn't mean to do it, did you Anna? You just didn't think to look around and see who might be standing there. Right?" Tucker's nostril's flared. Hess let her shoulders hunch slightly and nodded. "It wasn't being sorry that kept Archer from slinging your thoughtless ass out the airlock, was it Anna? It was me. And now here you are again, trying to kill me. But not on purpose. You just didn't think." Hess stood trembling. Rostov stood nearby, with no expression on his face. The rest of the engineering staff, including the visitors, studiously kept themselves busy and avoided looking in their direction. They well knew that when a senior officer was in the mood to dress somebody down, any innocent bystander who caught his attention, no matter what the reason, was likely to crash and burn right along with the victim. "Go to your quarters and spend the next 24 hours thinking for a change, Anna," Trip ordered in a voice heavy with weariness. "Or at least try to. Then we will have a talk." She looked at him and opened her mouth. "Go!" Hess buckled as if he had punched her and fled at a run. Tucker looked at Rostov and growled, "Any comments?" "No, sir," His third in command replied, eyes forward. "Good," Tucker said. "I'm going to take this one," he gestured to T'Pol, "and then take a break. Call me if anything happens." Her mate grabbed her sleeve and led her out of engineering. The expression on his face dared anyone to speak to him. No one did. & Krasen remained still and kept his eyes closed. He had recovered consciousness 7.3 minutes previously, and the only sounds he had detected so far consisted of assorted beepings and clickings. These sounds, in conjunction with the distinctive odors in the air, informed him with a probability in excess of 98% that he was in a medical facility of some type. His last conscious memory involved falling and being pinned under collapsing rubble during the Human attack. Therefore, it was a virtual certainty that he had been captured and was being repaired aboard the Human ship in preparation for interrogation. He could detect no voices nor footsteps within hearing range. Excellent. Any sickbay should contain ample means for self-termination, if he could move quickly enough to reach them before security arrived. Unless he was secured? Krasen carefully flexed his arm, leg, and torso muscles. He found to his pleased surprise that there was no feeling of constraint. The Humans had evidently underestimated his resilience. A mistake they would soon regret. It was unfortunate that he would not be able to take advantage of the circumstances to inflict some damage before he died. But injured as he was the idea was not feasible. All he could do was ensure that the Humans did not obtain any useful information from his brain. He cracked his eyes open and felt surprise. Instead of the drab metallic gray of a Human starship bulkhead, the wall in front of his bed was a pale pastel orange. Orange? Not a color favored by Starfleet. Krasen tilted his head imperceptibly and his eyes popped open in astonishment. A long row of bio-beds stretched the length of the room, each surmounted by sophisticated diagnostic equipment. A well scrubbed floor was inlaid with the insignia of the Andorian Guard. Through a viewing window, two of the blueskins conferred over a readout while a third prepared a hypo. At the moment Krasen was the only patient in view. How could he be here? It must be a trick. His face settled into grim lines. It had to be a trick. The Humans knew he would be able to detect false Vulcans, so they decided to make him think he was aboard an Andorian ship. Then he would speak freely. Otherwise they knew the chances of extracting information from a Vulcan were slim. It would not work. Did they think the insurgents were such fools? He snorted and started to look around for something sharp. Failing that, a drug cabinet that might hold a sufficiently powerful poison. If all else failed, he could take one of the disguised Humans hostage and force them to kill him in order to free their comrade. & T'Pol entered their quarters in compliance with her mate's abrupt gesture. He paused to bark a brief series of commands to the door guards and followed her inside. T'Pol turned to glare at Tucker and began venting, "You had no right to allow her to touch you! As my mate you owe me loyalty-" The backhanded blow sent her spinning across the room and into the bulkhead. A bare 0.8 seconds later, her mate's body impacted her at high speed and drove the breath from her lungs. His fingers closed on her trachea and began to apply forceful pressure. "Owe. You. Loyalty?" He bared all his teeth and drove his fist into her gut. With Tucker's hand closing off her throat T'Pol was unable to double over, and his hand held her upright despite her weakened knees. "You got one hell of a nerve, bitch." Her mate's voice was shaking with rage. More importantly, the raw animal torrent of emotion that poured through the bond told her that she had finally pushed him too far. It was entirely possible that he was going to kill her this time. There was nothing in his mind but pain-filled rage and cold Human bloodthirst. Terror filled T'Pol. Their child could not possibly survive without her protection. Absolute submission was called for. Immediately. "I am sorry..." She could barely force out enough air to form the words. T'Pol concentrated on her end of the bond, opening all her shields wide and letting her fear flow toward her mate. She pushed it as hard as she could, trying to show him that she was truly fearful of his anger and willing to submit. It did not matter that she feared for their child more than for herself. The fact that she was afraid was what mattered. The emotion was real and primitive enough to reach through his rage. The male animal brain sensed its mate's submission and started to cool off. Tucker's fingers loosened enough to let T'Pol gulp a few sips of oxygen. "I am sorry. I am so sorry. Please, don't hurt me. I am sorry." She waited. They were the standard pleas, and they had usually worked in the past when dealing with enraged Human males. Would they be enough this time? They were. He dropped his hand and turned away with his head bowed. "I owe YOU loyalty?" Tucker started laughing. In all her years of living and working with Humans, T'Pol had never heard any of them voice a laugh containing so much pain. Something in it triggered an answering pain inside her. Tucker turned to look at her. She met his eyes for an instant and then looked away. She could not face those eyes. Not without getting sick. "You enslaved me with this bond tighter than that collar you're wearing. Never bothered to tell me about it of course. You just kept it handy in case you needed to use me for something. Which you did of course. Use me I mean. Meantime, you left me down there in that radioactive hellhole when you could easily have gotten me out of there. But why should you? Remember?" He strode over and grabbed her jaw, forcing her head around. "Remember?" She did remember. "I asked you to help me get a place on the bridge. You said, 'why would I do that?'" He sneered at her and turned his back again, pacing the length of their quarters. "Turn me into your own personal robot, leave me to burn and rot in the hellhole, program me to sabotage the ship, then leave me to take the punishment in the agony booth for your crime." He shook his head. "But that wasn't enough for you. No way. I was an annoying inconvenience. I had to be got rid of. So you arranged to have me murdered." He stopped. Then suddenly he slammed his fist into the bulkhead full force. Blood spattered around the point of impact. "And you DARE to demand LOYALTY!?" He spun around to impale her with a glare that ripped through her katra. T'Pol dropped to her knees and bowed her head. "I regret what I did. I was wrong. I am sorry." "Yeah." Tucker's voice cracked. "Sorry you got caught. I believe that much. No doubt you are sorry as hell that your plan didn't work. I believe that. Sorry that we Humans won the fight. I can believe that part. In fact, I can even believe that you are sorry about catching that bug and falling into early Pon Farr. I believe you are sorry." He turned around and started walking toward the washroom, pulling off clothing along the way. T'Pol remained on the floor, unmoving. Tucker stopped at the door to the washroom, with one hand on the doorframe. He did not look at her. "I'm sorry too. Sorry as hell. If it weren't for you, I could be with a woman who chose me because she wanted to. Not because somebody held a gun to her head." He stepped inside and a few moments later T'Pol heard the shower start running. She knelt for a while, remembering many things. Then she stood up and unfastened her coverall. Kicking her boots off, T'Pol shrugged off the coverall and let it fall to the floor in a casual pile. She slid her undergarments off and dropped them onto the coverall and walked to the washroom naked. Cast out fear. Nothing can be done until one has cast out fear. The door slid open quietly. Steam filled the small room and made it difficult for her to see. Unlike Human eyes, Vulcan eyes were not well adapted to underwater vision. Tucker was vaguely outlined behind the semi-opaque shower barrier. She forced her shoulders back and raised her chin. T'Pol took a deep breath to push her breasts forward and stepped up to open the shower enclosure. Her mate looked up from rinsing his hair in shock. T'Pol told him quietly, "I cannot give you what you want. All I can give you now is everything I am." She filled her hand at the soap dispenser and began to lather his back. Tucker stood frozen while she worked. His dorsal muscles were tightly knotted, T'Pol noted. She gently kneaded her fingertips beneath the edges of his shoulder blades, across the tops of his shoulders, and alongside his spine. Slowly, her mate started to relax. He even sighed when she managed to loosen a particularly stubborn knot. But he said nothing. That was fine with T'Pol. The less conversation, the less chance to provoke him. Long experience had taught her that in situations like this, talking with a Human male was usually a redundant waste of time. She switched the shower over to manual control and detached the fixture from its wall mount. T'Pol adjusted it to pulsate at high temperature and started raking it up and down the length of his back, rinsing the soap and massaging away the last of the tension. Tucker shuddered in pleasure. Suddenly T'Pol felt an extremely pleasant sensation shoot through the bond. Evidently feedback. Interesting. She hung the spray head back up and started working her way down her mate's legs, carefully soaping and rubbing them from his hips to his feet. She worked her way down the back of his legs and up the front, meticulously avoiding his groin for the time being. Again she sprayed him down, once more enjoying his pleasure vicariously as the hot water sent waves of relaxation flowing through him. T'Pol repeated the process with his arms and chest, frequently making eye contact. Still, neither of them spoke. But her mate was definitely become aroused, and she noted with satisfaction that his gaze was roaming over her body endlessly. Finally T'Pol knelt in front of Tucker and began to tenderly apply soap to his genitals, washing him as gently as she would have washed her baby. Tucker gasped and reached out to the handholds on each side of the shower stall for balance. His legs were becoming increasingly unsteady. T'Pol reached for the spray and set it to the lightest and slowest pressure, barely warm. She slowly rinsed him, quite thoroughly, and looked down to hide a smile at the sound of a barely suppressed whimper. Without looking up she opened her mouth and leaned forward. Tucker made a strangled sound and the metal of the handholds started creaking. The bond feedback intensified tenfold. With each movement waves of ecstasy crashed through their telepathic connection, sweeping into T'Pol's brain and triggering an answering response in her own pleasure centers. As her brain absorbed the energy from her mate, instinctive reactions triggered and her mind drove the energy back toward her mate, amplifying his pleasure even more. His amplified pleasure, freshly heated by her mind, spun wildly through the bond again and seared her nerve endings with wild lust, activating even more pleasure centers in her brain. The energy of the loop built swiftly as she worked, while her mate's breathing became increasingly ragged and harsh. Finally he half-screamed, and the bond detonated in a blinding flash that both of them barely conscious. Tucker slowly slid to his knees and they faced each other, gasping together. He raised his hand to brush back her hair. "You've done that before," he noted. "Many times," she admitted. "But I have never taken pleasure from it before." He mate pulled her forward and rested his forehead on her shoulder. She reciprocated and they propped each other up until breathing stabilized. "I owe you a back scrub," Tucker announced, to her astonishment. "C'mon, stand up." He began applying soap to her body, albeit in a less meticulous manner than she had. Tucker made no bones about using the soap as an excuse to let his hands wander, which T'Pol had no objection to. She was particularly gratified that he took advantage of her hair washing to make a tactile examination of her breasts. T'Pol was well aware that by Human standards, her mammary glands were attractively formed. She was also well aware that most Human males were fixated on that particular aspect of a woman's body. From the time and attention he spent on hers, she was confident that he found them satisfactory. A triumphant sense of satisfaction filled her at the thought of Hess, and her pitiful attempts to attract Tucker. Eventually matters proceeded to the point of arousing her mate for a second time. T'Pol offered to repeat her previous service, but he refused. Instead he requested she turn around and bend forward, bracing herself on the shower walls. The position offered several advantages, but stability was not one of them. Nonetheless, T'Pol managed to set herself well enough and grimly waited. Aside from the Pon Farr, which she could not truly remember, she had never enjoyed mating. Not even when she had been called upon to assist other Vulcans in their Time. She emphatically had never enjoyed being used by Humans. But there was no avoiding this. A Vulcan of either gender did not refuse one's own mate. It was simply not done. She had already dishonored herself very nearly beyond redemption. If she was ever to regain any shred of self-respect, and most especially if she was ever to be able to confer onto her child a sense of self-respect, it was imperative that she behave with honor toward her own family from this point forward. Tucker was her mate, her adun by the ancient laws of Vulcan. If he wished to mate with her, then her duty was plain. However distasteful she might find it. He moved in behind her and stroked her sides slowly, drawing his hands down her ribcage to her hips. T'Pol shivered. At least the touch of his hands was not unpleasant. He ran a single finger down the center of her wet back, tracing a tingling path from her shoulders to the top of her buttocks. She closed her eyes and savored the feeling, letting it swirl across the bond and back into her mate. At the touch of her pleasure he moved forward and entered her in a slow, steady thrust. T'Pol tightened every muscle and gasped shrilly. The sensation was like nothing she had ever felt before. It was far more than simply pleasure. The bond connection amplified itself in a positive feedback loop that reached critical mass in a matter of seconds. Instantly afterward, she felt the plak tau flare. No! Not this! But nothing could stop it now. T'Pol dimly felt their bodies slide to the floor in a tangle of limbs. It was all irrelevant. Nothing mattered but the joining. Mind and body and katra. One mind, one body, one being. Individual awareness faded into a lightning-filled sandfire storm of lust, and ecstasy, and pain, and ecstasy, and joy, and ecstasy, and fear, and ecstasy, and rage, and ecstasy, and need, and ecstasy, and grief, and ecstasy, and shame, and ecstasy, and... Fulfillment. Exhaustion. Sleep. Unconsciousness took them both, curled up naked together on the shower floor. TBC |
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