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"Passionfruit"
Rating: NC-17 Part Five Mudd's trial was short, but colorful. For a while, Starfleet debated broadcasting it, but couldn't decide if it qualified more as entertainment than a deterrent. The highlight came right before Mudd was dragged away by his Nausicaan guards. Shrugging them off for a moment, he glared dramatically at Archer, shouting, "By the Zoltarian gypsy blood in me, Archer, I curse your stupid ship! There will forever be the taint of Mudd on the Enterprise! My sons, and my son's sons will plague your ventures from this day forward, and gaaaa---" The nearest guard, a tall female with a spectacular sense of timing managed to knee Mudd in the groin; he folded up like a lawn chair. "That was uncalled for--" the presiding Justice protested faintly. Snarling, the guard shrugged. "Slipped." The still squeaking Mudd was dragged off, wide brown eyes spinning in opposite directions like pinwheels. The Justice sighed. "Enterprise, we request that you dispose of the fruit via transporter dispersment before you resume your mission. The ruling of the court of this station thus stands." *** *** *** "The last of it, sir. And not a moment too soon for any of our liking--" Reed muttered as the transporter's whine faded. Archer finally relaxed, his big shoulders sagging a bit as the final crate of fruit vanished. "Too bad we didn't send Mudd this way as well--" He growled. Reed gave a murmur of agreement. The Captain turned to look at his tactical officer sharply. "If you've got a suggestions on how to improve our transporter screening, let me know." "Another bio-filter geared to catch genetic tampering would be a start, sir. My second in command has a few additional ideas, including mounting a laser there--" Reed pointed up on the wall facing the transporter, "--to have the advantage of any hostile lifeform coming aboard." Archer nodded thoughtfully. "Sounds pretty sensible to me." "Yes, Gordon-Ross is quite good at the pre-emptive strike," Reed admitted with a guarded expression. "But she's rather impulsive and hasn't passed her promotion boards yet. I'd like to keep her under my thumb a while longer." "Ah well, we can't tie up the good ones forever," Archer mused as he strolled out of the room. Once he was gone, Reed grinned to himself. He hit the com and his voice dropping into a low, teasing tone. "Gordon-Ross, are you free for dinner?" There was a frustrated growl, and her breathless voice replied, "A- Almost, sir. Just one more k-knot to go--" *** *** *** "Hoshi?" "Mmmm?" "Tell me the truth--which one really did the trick--the fruit or the album?" "It was . . ." "Oh . . . don't touch me there unless you mean business, girl--" *** *** *** T'Pol sat at a secluded table, endlessly stirring her soup. Phlox quietly joined her and waited with the patience of an owl. She finally looked up at him. "I prefer to be alone." "I think you've brooded enough," Phlox countered. "Tell me your thoughts and put them to rest, T'Pol of Vulcan." His use of her formal name made her set her lovely mouth in a hard line. "I chose to--seduce--a fellow crewmember for my own purposes. I put my needs before the traditions of my culture," T'Pol bleakly announced. Phlox shook his head. "Let me see--you would have preferred to suffer the organ-destroying agonies of pyrothermia, to endure the undeserved scorn of your fellow Vulcans and lose a complete year of consciousness rather than accept the physical administrations of a human who respects you?" T'Pol pushed away her untouched meal, her fine brows drawing together slightly. "That is not my perspective on the matter." "Understandably. But it is the non-emotional one," Phlox admonished. Before she could argue, he added, "Think of it, Sub Commander--you have already made a nontraditional choice when you stayed with the ship. Is this decision any different? In a hundred years, when most of this crew are dead and gone, will it matter to *anyone* how you came to maturity?" "No," she slowly admitted. Phlox laced his fingers together and nodded. "Exactly. You are by no means the first Vulcan female to have shared your intimate heritage with an alien lover and you will not be the last." For a moment, neither of them spoke. T'Pol finally picked up her spoon. "I do not wish to implement the Commander for my own needs. It is not fair to do so." "The Commander has a few needs of his own, if you hadn't noticed. Our chief engineer is a young, lonely and brilliant man with a need to be needed." "He is human" she argued, a hint of desperation in her voice, "and susceptible to emotional attachment." "He is gentle, considerate and more than willing," Phlox snapped. With uncharacteristic annoyance, he snatched the spoon from her fingers, forcing her to meet his eyes. "I did my first internship on your planet and can tell you that far too many Vulcan women are raped rather than loved, all in the name of tradition and culture." She drew in a deep breath in response to the truth of his words. Phlox dropped the spoon back into her congealing soup. "Learn from him, Sub Commander--he has much to offer you." Phlox left her sitting there, staring into the cold reflection of herself in the bowl. "It's two in the morning--What are you doing here?" He asked sleepily, without malice as a yawn turned the end of his question into a whisper. She looked at him; he ran a hand though his tousled hair and glanced down at his bare chest, his flannel pajama bottoms wondering what held her attention. Lightly, reverently she ran her index finger up his shoulder. "Teach me more," she whispered. End |
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