Blood Claim

James Kirk reminded himself that he was a Starfleet officer, no matter what humiliations were piled upon him.

In the first days following his abduction, he had been threatened, beaten and finally drugged into submission. The laughter of the Orion slavers had echoed sickeningly throughout the swirling nightmares that followed.

Then, finally, today, for the first time in he didn't know how long, he was able to think somewhat clearly. And his first thought was how cold he was.

Standing bound and naked on an open platform, he looked around, taking in the incongruously festive winter scene. There were people everywhere, warmly dressed in bright colors. At his side, an Orion was shouting to the crowd. Kirk noticed the wand hanging from the slaver's belt and fought down nausea, remembering the agony of being touched by such a weapon. He looked out at the crowd and saw people waving and shouting enthusiastically. All eyes were on him, and he realized that he was for sale.

A tall, dark-haired man, wrapped in richly embroidered robes, called out, "If I am to pay such a price, I want to know that I'm getting my money's worth!"

"Come forward, my lord d'Lain!" responded the grinning auctioneer. "I have nothing to hide! Nor does he!" He waved at Kirk, and the crowd roared its appreciation.

The Orion turned to Kirk and growled quietly, "I see you're alert enough to know what I'm saying. You're on Nevaris. Nevaris, do you understand? Mention the Federation, and they'll tear you to pieces. Clear?"

The buyer had reached the platform and approached his prospective purchase. Kirk noted the cruel gleam in his eyes and the curl of dissolutely sensuous lips. The young lord studied Kirk with a cool, assessing gaze, noting with lazy amusement that the appealing piece of merchandise didn't flinch or look away.

Casually fondling Kirk's shrunken penis, he drawled, "I hope this state of affairs is only temporary."

The Orion eagerly stretched a flimsy glove over the Nevarisi's hand. As the nobleman adjusted the fit, the slaver kicked Kirk's ankles apart and ordered, "Bend over."

When Kirk didn't move, his captor removed the wand from his belt. "Remember this?"

"When I first saw you, I thought, 'Jaran above, what was the master thinking?' Turn this way."

Seated in hot, chest-deep water, Kirk refused to allow himself to enjoy it, even though his muscles screamed with bliss at the unexpected luxury.

Upon being delivered to the imposing fortress that was the home of his new owner, he had been turned over to the small, white-haired man who was now scrubbing him vigorously. After snapping a lightweight collar around the new slave's neck, he had efficiently stripped him and led him to the steaming pool. When Kirk balked, he found to his dismay that the man was much stronger than he appeared. Now, listening carefully to his incessant chatter, Kirk hoped to glean some useful information about his new situation.

"Barely presentable, far too arrogant, and you're much too *old*. The lord d'Lain usually prefers them younger." He clicked his tongue with concern. "Remind me to ice this bruise later."

He poured warm water over Kirk's head and rubbed in a delicious-smelling shampoo. Kirk fought the urge to close his eyes and relax under the massaging fingertips.

"And completely untrained! 'I expect great things from this one, Vathu,' the master said. Ha! Great things, indeed! Not by tonight, my lord. Rinse."

Kirk bent his head and felt clean, soothing water sluicing the suds from his hair.

"Oh well, at least this gives me a respite from working with the boys. They're delightful, of course, but--well, you don't look like the giggling type, thank Jaran."

As Vathu coated his hair with a lightly scented cream, Kirk carefully fingered the collar around his neck. Smooth and lightweight, it was not exactly uncomfortable. He felt no break in it, nor did he find any loops or hooks to which a lead could be attached.

"I hate to do this but it's really easier in the long run if you know what it does."

The groom sighed and pressed a button on his wristband. Kirk was seized by agonizing pain which lasted only a second but left him gasping.

Lying on his back on a comfortably padded table, Kirk wondered why he was unable to marshal the will to resist Vathu's ministrations.

"I told his lordship that, even if you were quick, it would take at least a week to train you in the basics, but he insists on tonight. I've seen that look in his eye--you'll get to know it, too--and it's best not to argue. But with no training? Impossible. That's why I had you drink the tego root tea. It'll be easier if you're relaxed and obedient."

"You didn't know? I thought everyone knew about tego root. Oh well. An unintentional good deed is as good as any, my grandmother used to say. Turn over."

Still marvelling at his own easy compliance, Kirk rolled over on his stomach. He felt his buttocks being parted and a small tube being inserted, followed by the gentle sonic vibration of a enema applicator. He squirmed uncomfortably.

Pain wasn't the problem. The immediate and persistent hard-on that always resulted from that particular treatment was.

As Vathu led his charge to the commode, he noted Kirk's solid erection with approval.

Vathu flushed with pride and relief at his master's praise. The lord d'Lain usually liked his bedmates elaborately adorned but tonight the groom had chosen the simplest of embellishments. Not merely to enhance the slave's own beauty, which was considerable, but as an acknowledgement of the shocking discovery he'd made while examining his newest charge. Unbelievable in one his age.

Vathu nodded sympathetically. His master's tastes sometimes ran to the bizarre. The thrill of breaking in a grown man--oh yes, that had to be the reason for such a rash purchase. In response, he had arrayed the unhappy thrall with elegant simplicity, hoping to gently remind the lord d'Lain that this one was unpracticed. After all, virgins shouldn't lead the parade, as his grandmother used to say.

Lord d'Lain raised his eyebrows in surprise. The man's voice was startlingly pleasing, round and bright as polished brass, despite the harsh arrogance of his tone.

"That is far too impressive a name for a slave. What was the first part? James?"

He mispronounced it, hissing a soft "s" at the end. Kirk found a strange comfort in that slight mistake. To be addressed as a slave was almost unbearable, but at least his name--his true name--remained uncorrupted.

The nobleman smiled as he regarded his latest acquisition. His sister, the lady d'Lura, had been shocked at what he'd paid for a mere toy, and the groom had been appalled by that toy's condition, but the nobleman's practiced eye had seen the potential beauty there. Well worth the price. And Vathu had indeed performed his duties well.

Heavy bands accented the muscled curve of the slave's arms. One simple earring with a flawless stone caught the hazel of his eyes. The lightest of bronzing shone on that full, sensuous mouth. One golden strand of hair tumbled playfully over his forehead.

And Vathu had wisely chosen not to adorn the greatest beauty of all. Without jewelry or paint, and even flaccid as it was, the man's penis was exquisite. Long and thick, the heavy stalk hung elegantly from coppery hair. So different from the frivolous, eager organs of the young lads who paraded their attributes so proudly, hoping to win the eye of a nobleman.

No, this one felt no gratitude at having been sold into one of the noblest of Nevarisi families. He would not serve his highborn master willingly. And that was, indeed, his paramount appeal. Lord d'Lain Kevnan, the eighteenth in an old and aristocratic line, looked forward to the taming of the unwilling slave.

It took Kirk a few seconds to place the strange familiarity of Vathu's sympathetic tone, and, when he did, he wished he hadn't. He'd heard it many times growing up on an Iowa farm. It was the soft, gentle voice used the soothe skittish animals.

"Bit your lip, I see. Did you do that or did he? You? I probably should have told you to go ahead and scream--for all the good it would have done you. Well, it's not cut too deeply. I can take care of it. Lie down and let me examine you."

"James. It's my job to care for you. I don't want to hurt you. Please don't make me discipline you," Vathu said gently.

Gazing expressionlessly into space, the captain of the Enterprise turned over and felt the smaller man begin probing carefully. He forced himself to concentrate on what Vathu was saying so he wouldn't have to remember the brutal invasion of the night before--the invasion he had permitted. Yes, the tego root had numbed him--but only the part of him that would have fought. The part of him that knew pain and humiliation had been fully aware of what was happening, had felt anger and hatred and finally, shame.

"You may as well learn right now that, as your attendant, I can be your most valuable friend or your most hated tormentor. It's my duty to train you and care for you. I can teach you secrets that will allow you to win in competition. I can ease your pain with medicines. Unless you do something outrageous, I can protect you from the overseers. If you let me do my job, you will never have reason to fear me.

"Well, not as bad as it could have been." He patted the slave's buttocks reassuringly. "Did you tell him about the tego root?"

Kirk nodded. "At first. Then he said it was just as well. Without it, he would have needed someone to--hold me down. And he wanted privacy."

As a cool, numbing balm was applied, the newest slave of Kevnan Keep thought, And without it, I would have killed him.

In the first weeks of his captivity, Kirk kept his eyes and ears open, gathering information that he hoped would enable him to escape.

Vathu explained the workings of the collars worn by the slaves. The wristband had two controls--one to set the pain level on the collar and one to activate it. He also told him that the outer walls of the fortress were tuned to all the collars. If a slave attempted to leave, his collar would activate automatically.

"The masters and overseers can turn off the collar so a slave can accompany them outside the walls." Vathu watched Kirk, saw the keen intelligence, and continued his lecture sternly. "But they turn it back on immediately. And they also adjust the distance setting. Right now, you have the freedom of the grounds, because the perimeter controls prevent you from leaving. But when a slave accompanies his master outside the walls, the master sets the allowable distance between his wristband and the slave. If the slave moves beyond that, the collar instantly activates at the highest setting."

/So if I accompany d'Lain outside the walls and take the wristband from him, I'll be free./

In whispered conversations with the other slaves, he learned that the Orion slaver had been telling the truth when he warned Kirk against mentioning the Federation. There had been a time when travel between Nevaris and Federation worlds had been common, but recently the relationship had deteriorated to the point where Federation ships and citizens were forbidden in the Nevaris system. Getting offworld wouldn't be easy. But he'd also heard rumors of rebellions in the south. If he could reach the revolutionaries, they might be able to help him.

He also learned that d'Lain, although highborn, was not the leader of his family. That duty fell to his sister, d'Lura, which left d'Lain free to pursue his own pleasures.

Kirk had been in d'Lain's service for five weeks when the lady d'Lura announced that she was sending her brother to handle a trade negotiation with another family. He would be away for almost a week. Naturally, his personal body slave was to be included in his retinue.

Sobbing and shaking, Kirk gave in, too weak to resist the groom's ministrations.

"I knew you would try it," Vathu sighed as he eased the trembling slave into his bed. "So now you know. Remember it."

Yes, Kirk remembered. He remembered walking behind d'Lain's guards as they pushed people aside at the station. He remembered grabbing his master's wrist as he slid his arm around his throat and whispered, "Do as I say or I'll break your neck." He remembered dragging d'Lain away from the crowd and ordering him to remove the wristband. He remembered d'Lain's words as he nonchalantly worked at the fastenings.

"The collar is also activated if the wristband connections are broken. You didn't know that, did you, James?"

"You'll stay with me tonight," Vathu said, "so I can keep an eye on you. Oh, I know you won't try to escape again. Not tonight anyway. But the effects of the highest setting last for some time. Can you drink this?"

He lifted Kirk's head to sip from a cup. The liquid was warm and sweet and tasted faintly of mint.

"It will ease the convulsions. They should stop by morning. The master was furious, you know. The lady d'Lura refused to let him cancel his appointments and he didn't want to take one of the other slaves. So he'll have to rely on the generosity of his host."

The sternest edict of a personal body slave was that of self-control. As the weeks passed, Kirk became sick of Vathu's lectures on the topic.

"Never touch yourself for pleasure. Never touch another for pleasure. Never show desire for another. Never bring yourself to arousal unless it is for the pleasure of those you serve. Never hesitate or disobey your master's directions. Your body is his to command at any time. Never accede to another's request for your service without your master's permission.

"And, most importantly, you must maintain complete control. Never climax. *Never*. Not here in the slave quarters, not in the lavatory, and most importantly, not in the presence of one you're serving. Not unless he or she specifically allows it. And that will rarely happen."

Kirk had learned self-control at an early age, when he first discovered how easily he was aroused and how embarrassing that could be. He prided himself on his mastery of his sexuality, indulging himself only when appropriate.

Night after night, he tormented James by arousing him beyond all tolerance, smothering his unwilling body in layers of cascading bliss. And when Kirk finally begged him to stop, d'Lain would laugh and direct his slave to serve his needs, while the cruel seduction continued. Kirk grew to fear any conclusion other than the most painful, ending as it did the intolerable torture of pleasure.

And regardless of where d'Lain directed him to spend the night--next to him in his warm, soft bed or on the simple cot in the slave quarters--it was hours before he could sleep. Wound tightly to the point of shattering, the once-proud captain of the Enterprise would lie awake, fingering the collar around his neck and ignoring the hungry cries of his body.

"You see what kind of control you must have, James. You have the heart of a champion--I can see that--you will make me proud. Within six months, I expect to win back every myrim of your price. And think of the prize, James--I know how hungry you are for it."

Watching the two men sweating and struggling in an obscene parody of a wrestling match, Kirk felt sick. But d'Lain was right--the prize was almost beyond belief. Even under the most ludicrous of conditions, simple animal release was not something he could turn away from. To be sure, the loser climaxed as well, but that was swiftly followed by the public humiliation of serving the winner, not to mention whatever punishment his master might inflict privately.

"Just work the same magic on your opponent that you use on the master," Vathu had advised him that afternoon. "You're very talented with your mouth, James. And your control is admirable for one so new to this type of service. Don't think about what your opponent is doing. Concentrate on his pleasure, not your own. Above all, don't think about the prize. If you think about it, you'll never win it.

"I probably shouldn't tell you this, but the lady d'Lura has asked that you be lent to her to stud some of her females. Yes, females, James. You thought I didn't know? Well, your taste has to run to something and it's obviously not men. If you win, she'll almost certainly demand your services. And d'Lain isn't one to defy his sister."

Now, filled with disgust at his own determination to win, James stepped for the first time into the twelve-foot circle designated for the evening's contest. Naked except for the heavy leather belt around his waist, he lay down opposite his opponent, a veteran of many such competitions.

The moderator tied their hands behind their backs and hooked a one-foot chain to the heavy metal loops that hung from the front of their belts. Facing each other's genitals, listening to the murmur of the excited observers, they waited for the signal to begin.

"Ah, James. I suppose I can't be too disappointed. After all, it *was* your first time out. I shall be lenient with you this one time. And this time only.

CHAPTER 2

Commander Spock concealed a distinctly non-Vulcan impatience as he waited for the transporter materialization to be completed.

Four days earlier, the Enterprise had received orders to proceed to Kyros, where they would be joined by "Hotspur," an agent on a sensitive mission in which the Enterprise would participate. With no information on which to base a logical conclusion, Spock had nevertheless hoped Captain Kirk's ten-week disappearance was coming to an end. As the new arrival stepped off the platform, he raised a pleased eyebrow, reminding himself that intuition, although illogical, is not always wrong.

"Thank you, Commander Spock. And now that I'm here, you can drop the code name."

"Lay in a course for the Nevaris system. Best speed. And suspend all subspace communications--incoming and outgoing--until further notice."

Spock communicated the orders to the bridge and followed her as she exited the transporter room.

"Cancel that, Mr. Spock. The details of this mission are to be known only to the two of us and the two officers I require to assist me--Lieutenants Sulu and Uhura."

"Mr. Spock," she explained kindly. "I know you and Captain Kirk pull each other's chestnuts out of the fire on an almost weekly basis, but I am not in the habit of putting all my senior officers in one basket."

"You get my meaning. You will not beam down with us. I'm sorry. But you'd stand out like a sore thumb."

As they entered the turbolift, Spock asked solemnly, "Captain Brandt. Are you certain that Captain Kirk is alive?"

Kirk looked around the bridge at his crew, the best crew in the fleet. They were bathed in light that was the color of blood, and the claxon was shrieking. He wasn't sure what the danger was but he acted quickly, gave orders that were immediately obeyed, and thumbed his nose at fate once more. The crisis over, he cancelled the alert as the intoxicating thrill of triumph sang through him.

Admiral Nogura appeared on the screen, grinning and tossing a baseball into the air.

He tossed the ball, and Kirk reached for it, but when it landed in his hand, he saw that it was a medal. The Sun and Stars. He closed his fingers around it, felt it sharp and hard against his skin.

He stood and looked up at the screen to acknowledge the honor. To his surprise, he found himself squinting into bright sunlight.

Solid ground under his feet, fresh air filling his lungs, a playful gust of wind ruffling his hair. Obviously a class M planet. No, better. He sighed happily as he recognized his location.

Earth. He was on earth, standing on the pitcher's mound on the Academy ballfield. The stands were filled with people, people he knew--his crew, his family, his friends.

He saw his brother Sam, miraculously alive again, crouching in a catcher's stance at home plate. Behind him, the umpire removed his mask and Kirk recognized his first officer.

"Aw, come on, kid!" Sam cried in exasperation. "And watch the runner on third! She's gonna try to steal home!"

Kirk turned and saw Brandt dancing around third base--literally dancing. Dressed in running shorts and a t-shirt, she waved to him and executed a time step.

He held up the medal to show it to her and found that it had turned back into a baseball.

As he wound up for the pitch, from out of nowhere, he heard Gary Mitchell whisper, "Have you noticed how good the Brat looks in those shorts?"

Kirk's momentary confusion gave the runner her opportunity, and she took it. He heard Mitchell laughing as he threw to home. McCoy stood near the baseline, waving Brandt in, yelling, "Go! Go!" The crowd was on its feet cheering, and suddenly Brandt was gone and Kirk was running in her place. Bones shouted, "Come on, Jim! Come on!" Kirk could see the ball hurtling toward Sam's waiting glove and he ran faster, but the ball was almost there and he was only halfway home. Then Sam let out a whooping laugh and threw down his mitt. He wasn't going to tag out his little brother, no way, he was jumping and shouting, "Run, Jim!"

But there was someone else at the plate, someone picking up the catcher's mitt, someone with dark hair and cruel eyes. And Kirk was sobbing, his lungs were burning and close to bursting, he was running, running hard, he was almost there, sliding, reaching--

He choked on the dust that had flown up around him as Spock made the call. What? What did he say? Safe or out? Kirk tried to scream, "What is it?" but no sound came. He scrambled to his feet and reached frantically for Spock but he was gone. Turning slowly, he saw that Sam was gone, Bones was gone, everyone was gone. The world had gone silent, and the sun was setting behind the empty stands.

He put up a hand to block out the the last, blinding rays. Another hand clasped his, and he felt a familiar, welcome weight pushing him back and down. And then Suzanne was in his arms.

He could taste her mouth, feel her soft skin under his hands. Her clean scent invaded his nostrils, and she murmured his name, soft and low. They were in her apartment, stretched out on the sofa in front of the fire. She was on top of him, clutching his hair roughly, and almost smothering him with her kisses.

The clothes that separated them vanished and he murmured, "Let me, let me," as he cupped her breast. Smooth and round, it filled his hand and he felt the hard nipple reach toward his palm. He wanted to roll her over, but if he did, they'd fall off the sofa. Then, suddenly, the sofa was gone and they were in his quarters, in his bed, but it was bigger and more comfortable. It was a beautifully simple wooden bed--Suzanne's bed? No. With a rush of joy, he recognized the big bed from Grandpa Kirk's house--yes, the bed where he had slept on visits so many years ago.

The military starkness of his quarters faded and the bed filled the universe. He rolled Suzanne over, again and again, rejoicing in the sound of her sparkling laughter and the size of their playground. The bed was huge--an endless plane of warmth and love and splendor. He didn't know where they were but it didn't matter--it was summer, it was night, and Suzanne was with him.

She was saying something, something she'd said once before. He couldn't hear the words but he understood them and replied, "Maybe it's something we'd be good at together."

Then she was underneath him saying, "Yes," and he pressed himself against the welcoming amber heat. He could see her desire, feel her beauty, taste the color of her. She was touching him everywhere, and he was lost in the sound of her voice saying his name. She was with him, around him, inside him, overwhelming him with longing and the promise of fulfillment.

He reached for her, slid into her, slowly, endlessly--oh god, so hot and wet and sweet and--home, yes, home.

Suzanne. He could still feel the heat of her body and her heart pounding against his. He could smell the fresh cotton sheets and the heavy Iowa summer air. He wished he hadn't awakened, wished he could go back into the dream, wished he had died while he still believed it was real.

Real. The collar around his neck was real. The barren cot in the slave quarters was real. The pain of cock rings, nipple clamps, and wooden paddles was real.

He was shocked out of his despair by his hand creeping under the blanket. He flinched in fear. Yes, fear was very real.

No, I'm not doing this. I can't be doing this. Even as he commanded himself to stop, his hand gripped his rock-hard erection and fondled it. No no no, his mind cried in time to the beguiling strokes. As his cock was coated with slick pre-ejaculate, he vaguely wondered if it was possible to rape yourself. Then he felt the hot pressure of impending climax and the word 'no' didn't exist anymore. He was adrift and spinning in a place where there were no words, no denial, just need.

Tears burned his cheeks as his hand pumped furiously and erotic visions played before his tightly closed eyes. Memory and fantasy danced together in a wanton frenzy, enticing him onward, luring him, coaxing him until he embraced the heady illusion. His mind let go, his body let go, it wasn't a dream, it was real, yes, she was touching him, saying his name, wrapping her legs around him, and he was close, so close--

He fell back on the cot, gasping for air and drenched in sweat. The collar around his neck was hot and tight, tingling with energy as it powered down.

"Captain Kirk has been kidnapped by Orion slavers and sold on the planet Nevaris."

Captain Brandt surveyed the faces of her companions. Up until a week ago, she had never had a reason to assess their abilities as officers. Looking around the table of the briefing room, she reminded herself that these three were known to be some of the finest in the fleet and, more importantly, Jim's officers and friends. She would have to rely on them as he did. She pushed aside thoughts of the past four years when, to her, Sulu had been a dance partner, Uhura a friend, and Spock an enigma. They were Starfleet officers, Captain Kirk's officers, and, for the duration of this mission, her officers.

"No, Mr. Spock. And the Council has no intention of doing so, due to the current political situation."

"Over a year ago, Nevaris applied for membership in the Federation and was turned down, mainly because of the nobility's insistence on keeping slaves. In response, the ruling families have banned the Federation from the system. Our latest information indicates that they aren't aware that the captain is a Federation citizen."

"No, Mr. Spock. But there are some Nevarisi who are opposed to slavery and their numbers are growing. We estimate that they'll force an end to that abomination within ten years. One of their leaders smuggled out the information about Captain Kirk at great personal risk. But the abolitionists' goals are long-range, and we can't expect help from that quarter on behalf of one slave. We're on our own.

"If the nobility learns that there's a Starfleet officer in their midst--even as a slave--they'll assume he's either a spy or an adviser to the abolitionists. Either way, it would embarrass the Federation. Yes, I know--I personally think Captain Kirk's life is worth a little embarrassment. But it would also endanger the anti-slavery movement. Right now, the nobility finds the abolitionists annoying but not a threat. If they suspect Federation support, they'll crush the movement before it can really get going.

"If any of us is revealed as a Starfleet officer, it could mean the end of the freedom movement and perhaps even war between the Federation and the Klingons."

"So--we have to retrieve Captain Kirk without raising any suspicions about our identities."

"Begging the captain's pardon," Sulu said, "but if we're not Starfleet officers, who are we supposed to be?"

"When Nevaris first applied for Federation membership, I spent several weeks under cover as a Nevarisi noblewoman. I resided with the Kevnan family--the very clan whose hospitality is now 'enjoyed' by Captain Kirk. They believe me to be a distant cousin.

"Nominally, the family is ruled jointly by a brother and sister--d'Lain and d'Lura. However, in reality, she makes all the decisions, leaving him free to pursue his own agenda. They are about to receive another visit from the lady Zander--accompanied by her personal guard and serving woman." She nodded to each of the two lieutenants.

She watched their reactions carefully. Her years in Special Ops had taught Captain Brandt many things, and the most important was this--The steeper the odds against you, the less you reveal about your plans to beat them. She remembered d'Lain Kevnan very clearly and was certain that he would never sell a slave as attractive as Kirk. But until it was absolutely necessary, she saw no reason to reveal the true nature of her scheme.

"I feel I must apologize for asking you to accept this assignment," she continued. "I know it's outside the realm of your usual duties. If I could do this alone, I would. But if I arrive unaccompanied, it will raise too many questions. And, by posing as members of the serving class, you may have better access to the captain than I."

"Finally--if we are discovered," she said, handing each of them a capsule, "break this open and inhale its contents. It kills instantly and painlessly. We will each be equipped with a subdermal biotransmitter that will be monitored by the Enterprise. Mr. Spock, when you no longer receive signals from us, you will return this ship to Federation space."

"If at all possible, I'll take him with me. If I fail...kill him any way you can."

"I've lived among the Nevarisi," she said calmly. "Believe me, he'll be grateful."

Kirk's initial reaction was terror. When he awoke to the sensation of his cock being stroked, he summoned all his will and ordered himself to stop. When the unexpected pleasure continued, he realized that it wasn't his hand stroking his eager member. It was d'Lain's.

"Awake at last? Good." d'Lain continued caressing his slave's erection as he whispered softly. "You have pleased me, James. Not to say that your lessons are completed. I would still like to see more enthusiasm and that arrogant streak is most unbecoming. But you're coming along nicely. So I've decided to reward you.

"Look out the window, James. It's a beautiful morning, isn't it? A morning you'll remember for a very long time, I hope. I'm going to allow you release. And by my own hand, too."

Unbelievable. Taking less than a microsecond to digest d'Lain's words, Kirk rushed to the edge of climax.

Suddenly, the head of his cock was pinched tightly. He cried out and curled away from the pain, but there was no escape.

"Not yet. Not yet. When I say so. Listen to me, James. This is a very important lesson. Even when I allow you release, you are still at my command."

"Good. Prepare yourself, James. It's going to be a long time before I release you."

Not daring to move, not daring to moan, not daring to do anything that would cause his master to change his mind, Kirk silently began calculating warp drive equations.

But his body demanded his attention. It had waited too long for this to allow him to distance himself from it. His thoughts flew to his groin, the heat, the pressure, the wonderful sensation of being pleasured. He clenched from head to toe as an internal battle raged. His body raced toward the promised reward, surging with need, demanding satisfaction, while the part of him that had always controlled his sexuality battled to reassert itself. As the tension built in his balls and he struggled to pull back from the precipice, he tasted a new fear--fear that the sudden magnanimity would be withdrawn too soon, fear that he would lose control and would never be allowed this again.

Finally, seeing James' head thrown back with his mouth open in a silent scream, d'Lain whispered the long-awaited command.

Feeling something like freedom for the first time since his abduction, Kirk cried out as he obediently exploded in the harshest, most intense climax of his life.

Afterwards, Kirk lay panting and trembling. Somewhere in the back of his mind, a small voice reminded him that he should feel shame, horror, hatred--yes, blackest hatred of the one who had brought him to this. But all he could feel was joy.

Shutting out everything else, Kirk wallowed in depletion, carefully cataloging every sensation and holding it close. The languid softness of his cock, the stickiness on his belly, the pounding heartbeat that nearly deafened him as it slowed. And best of all, the glorious slow-motion descent to earth. Release. God, yes. Knowing he had come was almost as good as coming itself.

But he couldn't shut everything out forever. Eventually, he knew he was in d'Lain's bed, he was d'Lain's to command, and d'Lain's erection was pressing against his back.

As he waited for his master's orders, Kirk tried to prepare himself as he always did at this moment, summoning the hatred and disgust that made the degradation bearable. But he could find only the palest imitations of those feelings.

Feeling the first icy touch of panic, he entreated the gods of the universe to restore the few things that he'd kept of himself. To give him the strength not to seek approval from this monster. To take away the knowledge that pleasure could be earned. To help him resist performing the actions that would do so. To let him believe that nothing had changed.

But he had crossed a line when he accepted release at the hand of the man who had enslaved him. He should have pulled away, risking--no, *welcoming* whatever punishment d'Lain might inflict for such audacity. But he had surrendered.

And in the aftermath of that surrender, he was finally broken by one simple fact. Of all those who had ever given him pleasure, none had made him as thankful for it as d'Lain Kevnan with his twisted mockery of kindness.

Penetrating the one who had presented himself willingly for the first time, the lord d'Lain rejoiced in the knowledge that the arrogant thrall had finally been tamed.

CHAPTER 3

During the eight-day journey to Nevaris, Uhura and Sulu were relieved of all regular duties and spent every waking hour studying Nevarisi culture and learning the details of the fictitious identities Captain Brandt had concocted for them.

The night before they were to beam down, Brandt spoke privately to the first officer.

"Mr. Spock, I wish to be absolutely clear about your orders. There will be no unauthorized beam-up, no threats backed up by a starship, no wide-area phaser stuns. This ship will remain silent until its return to Federation space. No matter what the provocation or how strong your personal motivations, you will not take action."

The three rescuers beamed into a densely wooded area shortly before dawn. Dressed in the heavy travel garb befitting their stations, they walked three kilometers into a small town, where they caught the morning turbotrain to Kevnan.

Seated in the comfortable car reserved for the nobility, the lady Zander perused a novel with an air of dignified repose, occasionally looking up to study the peaceful winter scenery. One car ahead, her two servants endured the two-hour journey with equal calm and silence. Upon disembarking in the town of Kevnan, she directed her guard to hire three demyan, the graceful, equine creatures preferred by the nobility for short-distance travel.

They rode for nearly an hour, arriving at Kevnan Keep around midday. They were stopped at the gate by a guard who recognized the leader of the trio.

"Forgive me, my lady, but I cannot admit anyone on my own authority. The rebellions in the south, you know--"

The lady Zander sighed impatiently. "I understand, Captain. Would you please inform my cousins that I am waiting. At their gate. In the cold."

Three minutes later, a strikingly handsome man ran towards them, shouting, "Bur, open the gate! Cousin, cousin, why didn't you let us know you were coming?"

The gate swung open and the man lifted Lady Zander down off her mount and hugged her, swinging her happily. When he set her down, she ruffled his raven hair affectionately.

"It never arrived. Oh, well, everything is being disrupted lately. Come in, come in. Are these your servants?"

He eyed Sulu and Uhura lasciviously. They rode into the courtyard warily as the gate closed behind them.

When James entered the great hall, he almost stumbled at the sight of a familiar figure seated in the place of honor between d'Lain and d'Lura.

As he slowly approached the head table, he studied the woman carefully. It's just a Nevarisi noblewoman who looks like--No, under the sparkling jewels, elaborate makeup, and layers of blue brocade, it was Captain Brandt. He scanned the hall and saw Sulu and Uhura watching him from the lower tables. Regaining his composure, he presented a platter of nuts and cheeses to his master's guest.

She eyed him appreciatively, then turned to d'Lain and inquired, "Who is this pretty one, cousin?"

d'Lain's eyes widened in surprise. "Lady Zander, as I recall, you always found slaves--unappealing."

"I have learned the error of my ways," she whispered in almost-girlish flirtation.

"Perhaps Lady Zander would enjoy James' company for the night," d'Lura interjected.

"Yes, thank you, that would be delightful." The lady Zander smiled sweetly and popped a nut into her mouth. "Send him to me immediately after dinner." She glanced at the gold jewelry that ornamented Kirk's body and wrinkled her nose. "Unadorned and unscented, please."

"Unadorned and unscented! What can the woman be thinking of? I know it's impossible to insult a slave, but this comes very close!"

In the ostentatious guest apartments, Captain Brandt removed the heavy makeup, hoping to look more like herself and less like that silly ninny, Lady Zander. She wished she'd brought her uniform. It would have been so reassuring at this moment. She turned away from her reflection and twisted her hair as she realized she was afraid.

There was a knock at the door. Banishing all traces of anxiety, she stood and calmly commanded, "Enter."

Two men entered. The younger man knelt, lowering his eyes, as the older bowed and addressed her.

"My lady Zander. The lord d'Lain sends his compliments in the form of his body slave, James."

Having never requested the company of a slave before, she was uncertain as to the procedure.

James obeyed, and his attendant whisked away the cape that had covered him from neck to ankles. Scrubbed clean, the strong, beautiful body shone, naked of all decoration, except for the collar around his neck. Captain Brandt turned away, embarrassed for them both.

"My personal guard will be right outside the door. I assure you, I will be in no danger."

The door clicked shut behind him. The room's two occupants stood in silence, the three meters between them an uncrossable gulf.

After long, agonizing minutes, Brandt forced herself to look at Kirk, to see him, to memorize his pain, knowing that otherwise she would never move beyond it. She almost cried out under the burden of his humiliation and the fear that it would possess him forever.

His eyes on the floor, Kirk was unaware of her gaze, her trembling hands, the pulse beating quickly at her throat.

Almost certain that he would not respond, she nonetheless mustered the courage to greet him.

She took a tentative step toward him. Why didn't he move? She felt a cold hand squeeze her heart as she realized how well he had learned his lessons. He was a slave. She was a lady. He had been brought to her, naked, a gift fit for a queen. She was unapproachable.

With angry determination, she stepped out of her shoes and tore the ornamentation from her hair and throat. She pulled off the azure gown that Uhura had so carefully draped around her. Then, stripped of every vestige of Nevarisi nobility, she drew herself up straight and summoned the voice of command.

Kirk raised his head and met her eyes. A universe of emotion played across his face. Confusion. Remembrance. Recognition. Identity.

Then, drawing a ragged breath, she closed the distance between them and enveloped him in a fierce embrace.

Pressing his face against soft curls, Kirk inhaled deeply, hungry for the reassurance of her scent. He put his hands to her face and studied her, drinking in every detail.

"Tell me you're not a dream," he rasped. "Even if you have to lie, tell me you're not a dream."

Kirk thought of dreams he'd had where he'd been choking for air but he'd never dreamed about someone else being unable to breathe. He laughed for the first time in months.

"You're not a dream." He relaxed his embrace and kissed her. "You're not a dream."

He kissed her again and again, pressing his mouth to her face with breathless exhileration.

He pulled back and closed his eyes against the outpouring of emotion. When he felt his control returning, he said steadily, "You're right. Get Sulu and Uhura, and let's beam out of here."

She strode across the room and sat down at an elaborately carved gaming table. He smiled in admiration. Not many people could take command stark naked.

He sat down across from her and rested his fingertips of her hands. The simple contact was so intoxicating that he couldn't concentrate on what he was saying. Reluctantly, he pulled his hand away and took a deep breath to clear his head.

"No. Just that my name is James. They're not interested in a slave's former identity."

"Well, I can still try. And if I fail, there's Plan B. Are you entered in the competition two nights from now?"

"Suzanne, listen to me. We have to leave before then. I..." He looked away and muttered, "You can't see me like that."

"Jim, there's no other way," she explained regretfully. "We have to get you out of here without raising any questions or setting off any alarms. And the only way we can do that is if I...*own* you...legally."

He closed his hands around her fingers and and held them tightly, feeling the strength of those small hands. Then he straightened and spoke with a determination that belied the despair he felt.

"If you lose badly enough, *I'll* provoke him into *beating* you. Once he draws blood, I can claim you."

"Maybe no one wanted them. The blood claim is a very old custom and the Kevnans are staunch traditionalists. I'm sure I can push him into it."

"It means...I'll take care of it," she said, meeting his questioning gaze steadily.

His eyes narrowed as he remembered that secrecy and deceit were the tools of her trade. He decided to try a more roundabout approach.

"Yes, but it ends with the four of us averting galactic war by dying at our own hands."

"Good." She clenched her hands nervously. "So...what would you like to do with the rest of the evening?"

"Never address me that way." Her voice was steel. "Not even in jest. I don't want that from you. Not ever."

He stood and pulled her into his arms, burying his face in waves of sandy hair. "If it comes to Plan C," he whispered, "I want to die in your arms."

The next day, James was summoned to the grooming parlor in the middle of the afternoon.

"Full adornment!" Vathu enthused. "Oh, it's been ages since I've really been able to show off! And never with one as beautiful as you!"

Draped in a flowing scarlet cape, smelling of sickeningly heavy perfumes, and emitting a faint chink! with each step, James was led to his master's chamber. After several minutes of waiting, Vathu received a signal from lord d'Lain and pulled away the cape with a dramatic flourish.

From head to toe, James was a shimmering vision of rich carnality. Vathu had dusted the slave's entire body with a gold powder that caught the light as he moved. Bronze and ochre paint played up his eyes, lips, and cheekbones. His hair had been curled and oiled until it gleamed like flame.

Two exquisitely engraved nipple clamps adorned his chest, connected by a delicate rope of spun gold. Heavy gems hung from them and brushed his ribs. An elaborate series of clamps and baubles rimmed his ears. His finger and toe nails were coated with shiny polish. Intricately worked bands circled his arms, wrists, and ankles.

His testicles were encased in a sack of finespun mesh, suspended by two gossamer strands that were hung from a jeweled belt around his waist. His penis was held in erection by a tight ring just below the head and another at the base. Working with tiny feather brushes, Vathu had painted it bright gold and overlayed it with an elaborate ebony design.

When they were alone, d'Lain sprawled in his favorite chair and addressed his slave with a sinister warmth that made Kirk's skin crawl.

"James. You must have made quite an impression on the lady Zander last night. She offered to buy you. I pretended to consider it to see how high she would go. Finally, she said I could name my own price. I was tempted to ask the silly bitch if she would take your place. But my sister would never allow it. And besides...I much prefer you."

"Foolish woman. But what's done is done. And it may be for the best. You'll have a reason to remember her. Because I will never share you again. With anyone."

He stood and kissed his favorite slave on the lips, then turned away and called for Vathu.

"Cloak him again and take him to the great hall. I've had them hang the festival cage, and I want to see him displayed in it. Do me proud tonight, James. Let the lady Zander see you in all your glory."

Kirk carefully kept his back to the hall's main entrance. Standing in a large cage suspended from the ceiling, he would be immediately noticed by anyone entering the hall. But he was determined not to see the faces of his fellow officers when they beheld him.

When the lady Zander entered the hall, her heart caught in her throat at the shocking exhibition.

The woman for whom the obscene display was intended closed her eyes and considered fainting. But a display of weakness would gain them nothing and might even impede their plan. She still regretted her actions of that afternoon, when she'd let d'Lain see how very much she wanted to purchase his slave. He would use that against her if he could. If she played into his hands tonight, he would be that much more suspicious of her during the contest.

Captain Brandt opened her eyes and told herself that it didn't matter, none of it mattered, it was just one more obstacle to overcome.

Looking down, Kirk saw Sulu and Uhura turn away in confusion. As his eyes met Suzanne's, he realized how sharply concentrated her focus was. She was looking at his face and nothing else. And somehow that made it worse.

"What do you think of my brother's skill as an interior decorator?" d'Lura queried with a malicious giggle.

"Ah, but you see, Lady Zander," d'Lain interjected smoothly, "I decorate according to *my* taste. This is, after all, *my* home. *My* property."

Late that night, Captain Brandt explained the tradition of blood claiming to her two accomplices. Then she poured out three small glasses of wine and they drank a solemn toast to their plan.

After dismissing Sulu and Uhura, Brandt wrapped herself in a heavy robe and sat at the gaming table. She thought about what she had told Kirk at that very table the night before. And what she'd just told his two officers. And what she hadn't told any of them.

She poured herself another glass of wine and turned her mind to what would be required of her. She was certain that Sulu and Uhura would follow her orders and, when the time came, she would find the courage to play her part. But tonight, she was alone and very much afraid.

What if, in spite of all her efforts, she failed? She knew she was a conniving, manipulative bitch--the best in the business--but what if d'Lain saw through it? What if he just sat back and refused to respond? Or, worse still, what if he did respond and she was unable to complete the ritual? Damn it, it all depended on d'Lain. Whatever he did, whatever he demanded, she had to make it work.

Despite her outward calm in the great hall, she had been badly shaken by the sight of Kirk decked out so hideously. That d'Lain would go to such lengths to flaunt his ownership made her stomach tighten with nausea. She had to free Kirk, no matter what the cost. Screw the Federation. If she failed tomorrow night, she would contact the Enterprise and have them beamed out so fast--

She remembered her final orders to Commander Spock and knew that, as a Starfleet officer, she was bound by them as well. The words pounded in her head, a mocking litany that she couldn't shut off. No beam-up, no threats backed up by a starship, no wide-area phaser stuns. No matter what the provocation or how strong the personal motivations, take no action.

d'Lain would never allow her another private moment with his favorite slave. There would be no farewell, no words of love and regret. She thought of the two capsules hidden in her clothing. Sulu would have the sad duty of smuggling one of them into the slave quarters and explaining to his captain that it was the only escape they could offer him.

Don't think about that. You'll never get through it if you think like that. Forget it's Jim. It's a mission. Failure is not an option. It's a mission.

Even after finishing the bottle of wine, it was a very long time before she slept.

CHAPTER 4

The lady of Kevnan Keep patted the place next to her and Lady Zander sat down, noting with dread the clear view she would have of the upcoming contest.

Fixing a smile on her face, she replied, "Hospitality such as yours is a rare treat, d'Lura. But I must leave tomorrow. My business is--"

"Yes, yes, I know. It's so sad, Zander, that you have no one to help you. I don't get much from d'Lain, but still, it's something."

"I've entered James in the next round," d'Lain announced proudly as he joined them. "He won his last contest, you know. Amazing for one so new to competition."

"He's up against Rifnu's Terlan. It'll be quite a challenge for him. But I think James will take him--thanks to you, cousin."

"Your remarkable 'generosity' to him the other night. He should have no trouble holding out." He grinned wickedly at Lady Zander's discomfiture. "Ah, here they are now."

In the stunned silence, Terlan spat out the evidence of his unexpectedly easy victory as the moderator unhooked the chain that separated the competitors. d'Lain raced into the circle and pulled James up by the hair. Staring into hazel eyes, he saw a fiery defiance that he thought had been banished for good. With a violent, backhanded slap, he sent his favorite slave sprawling. Then, turning to the victor, he growled, "Hurt him."

"Is that how you punish a slave who has shamed you?" the lady Zander called as she ran to her cousin. "Time has softened you, my lord."

"My dear Zander," d'Lain said through clenched teeth, "please allow me to handle this in my own way."

"Your 'own way' invites revolution. Why, look at him, d'Lain. He's seething with rebellious anger. If you don't quench that fire now, you will be burned by it later."

Kirk tore off the leather belt, took a threatening step toward d'Lain, and was seized immediately by two guards. Slave and master locked eyes, simmering in a silent battle of wills.

"So sad, really," the lady Zander babbled regretfully. "You used to be so strong, d'Lain. I admired you for that."

The guards dragged Kirk away as d'Lain shouted for the overseer. The crowd ran for the exits, whispering and giggling with excitement.

In the courtyard, servants rushed to and fro through the ankle-deep snow, fetching furry capes and lighting torches. Slipping and laughing, the courtiers jostled each other for an unimpeded view of the events to come.

Brandt, Sulu, and Uhura found space on a small platform, just in time to see Kirk tied to a post by one of the guards. d'Lain was conferring with a large, well-muscled man, gesturing to the heavy lash that hung from the overseer's belt. The man nodded and left the courtyard.

The courtiers chattered animatedly, puzzled by this new development. Then came a loud "ah!" as the overseer returned with a smaller, lighter whip. The lord d'Lain did not want his prize property permanently disfigured.

The three conspirators looked at each other, eyes wide with concern. If Captain Kirk didn't bleed, his suffering would be for nothing.

"It will be all right," Captain Brandt whispered. If Kirk wasn't bleeding within five strokes, she promised herself to goad his master into using the larger whip.

"Sulu," she whispered as the overseer hurled three practice strokes into the air, "give me your knife. When I start to move forward, the two of you have to help me get to the front. Don't let anyone stop me and don't interfere with anything I do. Understood?"

The first blow fell with a sharp crack. Kirk writhed painfully but uttered no cry. Brandt started pushing forward as Sulu and Uhura shoved the bystanders out of the way.

By the time the fourth blow fell, Brandt was at the front of the crowd. At the fifth, she was less than two meters from Kirk. The blood was flowing freely down his back. Before the sixth blow could be struck, she was at his side, screaming, "Halt!"

She quickly drew Sulu's knife across her palm and held her hand up to display a thin line of scarlet. She pulled Kirk's head up and smeared his face with her blood.

Sulu and Uhura stood at the edge of the shocked crowd, alert to any sign of interference. d'Lain moved to Brandt menacingly. He stared at her for a long time, then burst into raucous laughter.

"Claim by blood? Cousin, you're out of your mind! That hasn't been practiced in at least two hundred years!"

"But it is nonetheless an honorable tradition, worthy of our esteem," she said with great dignity.

"I cannot, my lord," the overseer explained uneasily. "My guild honors the blood claim. Until it is settled, I cannot continue."

"Then I will finish it myself!" The angry noble strode to the overseer and pulled the whip from his hands.

"d'Lain, no!" d'Lura cried from her position on the highest platform. "Do not shame our family this way!"

Shaking with rage, d'Lain threw the whip to the ground and moved back to the lady Zander.

"Are you prepared to pay the price of this slave's blood?" he spat the required question.

Sulu and Uhura looked at each other uneasily. The captain hadn't said anything about paying a price. d'Lain nodded to the guards who untied Kirk and dragged him away from the post.

d'Lain turned her roughly and tore her dress down the back, pulling it open to the waist. Kirk watched in horror as Brandt knelt at the post and held her hands up to be bound.

He strode to the rebellious slave and addressed him harshly, barely concealing his rage.

"The lady Zander has chosen to take your punishment, James. But it is still *your* punishment. If you continue to displease me, I shall add to it."

The nobleman stared into horrified eyes until he saw acceptance. Then, returning to the whipping post, he shouted to the overseer, "Hanno! How many strokes remain?"

d'Lain leaned down, his face close to Brandt's. He ran a finger across her naked shoulders. "Fifteen strokes, cousin. Do you withdraw your claim?"

"What a shame," he said. "The handle is wet. You couldn't really get a good grip on this, could you, Hanno?"

The overseer uncoiled the hideous weapon from his belt and Brandt bowed her head.

Kirk's back and shoulders burned from the five strokes he had received. He could not imagine what Suzanne was about to suffer. And what he was about to suffer as a witness--no, not a witness, the *cause* of the ugly spectacle. His stomach tightened sickeningly as he pictured the disfigurement of that smooth skin, skin so sensitive that the gentlest touch brought a shiver of arousal, skin that he had caressed countless times.

But her courage demanded to be returned in kind. She had not turned from the sight of him in the festival cage--he owed her at least that much. Calling on all of his strength, he forced himself to watch.

At the first stroke, she bit her lip to keep from crying out. As the lash slithered back to its owner, a stream of blood began working its way down her back.

d'Lain called a halt and approached her, carefully avoiding the growing pool of blood.

He walked away and nodded to the overseer who continued his work with stunning speed and strength. Blood flew with each blow, spattering those nearby, as she screamed and twisted under the whip.

With two strokes left, Brandt slumped against the post and the sudden silence was more terrifying than all that had preceded it. The overseer went to her and lifted her head. He held something under her nose, and she jerked back to consciousness.

Returning to his place, he lowered the whip twice more. His task completed, he coiled his weapon and hung it from his belt. The silent victim hung limply from her bonds, barely moving.

Uhura and Sulu ran to the post. Picking up the knife Captain Brandt had dropped, the helmsman sliced through her bonds and she slid to the ground. Uhura wrapped her cloak around the bleeding woman, cradling her carefully. Brandishing the knife, Sulu faced d'Lain, fiercely staking a claim of his own.

With Uhura's help, Brandt struggled slowly and painfully to her feet and staggered to Kirk.

Freed from restraint, he reached for her but she indicated with a weak gesture that he should turn around. As he did, she ran her hand across his back. Then, smearing his blood on her own face, she took a deep, shuddering breath and faced the crowd of stunned Nevarisi.

She swayed unsteadily, almost fainting. Kirk put his arm around her and she cried out in pain. He eased his embrace and, supporting her as gently as possibly, began to lead her from the courtyard.

Facing the man she now owned and dredging up the last of her strength, she cried hoarsely, "I free you. No man may buy you, sell you, or claim you!"

The overseer drew an instrument from his belt and touched it to Kirk's collar, which sprang open and fell to the ground.

Brandt clutched Kirk's arm and whispered urgently, "Walk me out of here before I collapse."

Captain Brandt tried to stay very still on the bed. It hurt less if she didn't move. She was aware of voices arguing but she couldn't understand the dispute. Sick and dizzy, she struggled to make sense of what they were saying. Something about McCoy.

"No!" She thought she shouted but it came out a tremulous squeak. "Don't--beam him--"

"Excuse me, Captain, but she's right," Sulu interrupted. "The Klingons have provided the ruling families with the technology to detect a communication or a transporter beam. We can't contact the ship until we're well away from Kevnan lands."

"Captain," Uhura said gently. "I'll get whatever I can from d'Lura's physician."

Kirk knelt beside the bed and smoothed Suzanne's hair away from her face. She pointed at his bare chest and murmured, "Clothes."

"Don't worry. I'll find some clothes," he reassured her. "And as soon as Uhura has gotten some medicines, we'll go--"

"No. We have to do this as planned," she whispered tersely. "We leave at dawn and not a minute sooner."

The clipped tone stunned him and he felt a chill as he matched her military formality.

"I will gladly step down..." She bit the words harshly, in too much pain to worry about sparing his feelings. "...if you have a better plan."

After staring him down for a full minute, Brandt turned her face to the wall and closed her eyes, wishing she were anyone but the hard, impersonal commander she was at that moment.

Kirk fell back on his haunches, trying to sort out the emotions that were assaulting him. Hurt, confusion, anger, and, blanketing them all, utter defeat. A defeat greater than that he'd suffered at d'Lain's hands.

He knew they'd make it back to the Enterprise--even if it killed her, the estimable Captain Brandt would see to the safety of her officers. And he realized coldly that, at that moment, he was one of her officers. No more, no less.

Brandt stirred, and Kirk saw her clutch at the pillows and heard a sharp intake of air. As he leaned in, he heard her mutter almost inaudibly, "It's a mission."

When Uhura returned, Kirk sent Sulu to find some clothes. Then he watched silently as Uhura applied bandages to the commanding officer's wounds.

CHAPTER 5

Shortly before dawn, Sulu had saddled the three demyan and was anxiously waiting in the courtyard. Up in the guest apartments, Kirk and Uhura struggled with Captain Brandt's apparel as she passed in and out of consciousness. She was weak with fever and couldn't stay on her feet for more than a few seconds.

"Sir, they'll never let her leave like this," Uhura said urgently. "Their tradition of hospitality will demand--"

"Is there anything in the medicines you borrowed?" Kirk asked, trying to force shoes onto Brandt's limp feet.

Uhura quickly checked the bottles. "Nothing. Everything here is for pain. They'll just make her groggier."

"Yes, and the woman who freed me needs help. Have you got any sort of stimulant--something to keep her awake for an hour or so?"

"Hm." He got a tiny bottle out of his box of medicines. "This is the best I can do. Get me a cup of boiling water."

While waiting for Uhura to return, the groom finished dressing the feverish captain, with much more efficiency than her earlier attendants had managed.

"You should have called me last night," he admonished her as he smoothed the folds of her skirt.

"Too risky. I hoped we could get out without involving you." Her voice was pale and hoarse.

"He's one of the leaders of the abolitionist movement," Brandt explained weakly. "He alerted the Federation to your capture."

The groom shrugged. "I wish I could have done more than send a message, but I couldn't risk my position here. Too much depends on it. But at least I've repaid part of my debt."

Vathu smiled enigmatically. "Do you remember Merawn d'Vath? She was a student--"

"Merawn." Kirk whispered the name as he was overwhelmed by an unexpected memory.

A stocky, red-headed girl screaming as she was dragged away by a soldier. A soldier who had discovered their hiding place in the hills of Tarsus. A soldier who was dead one minute later at the hands of a thirteen-year-old boy.

The attendant and his former charge regarded each other silently for a long moment.

"Relations between the Federation and Nevaris were much friendlier then, but no one was giving out much information about the Tarsus survivors," Vathu explained in a matter-of-fact tone. "I've always regretted not being able to thank you, although you've been in my prayers every night for over twenty years. Then last spring, she pointed you out in a news vid that had been smuggled in. I couldn't believe it when the Orion slaver brought you here. Oh, well, we may not always see the pattern, but the Weaver does, as my grandmother used to say. There," he said with cheerful finality as he jerked Brandt's headdress into place. "Now you won't have to take leave of the Kevnans looking like a drunken tart."

Uhura returned with a steaming cup, and Vathu mixed three drops of green liquid into it.

"Distillation of vethany. The same thing Hanno used to revive you, but more concentrated. The effect should last for three or four hours."

As she drained the cup, Vathu turned to Kirk and said sternly, "Vethany is tricky stuff. Don't let her take anything else."

"I understand." Kirk watched the man repack his medicines. "Vathu--I don't know what to say--"

Vathu moved to the door, turned and offered his hand. As the two men clasped hands, Vathu smiled warmly.

The sun was barely visible over the courtyard walls when the lord and lady of Kevnan Keep bid the lady Zander a coldly formal farewell. Her eyes were overly bright and she smiled with artificial warmth as she thanked them for their hospitality.

The social obligations finally satisfied, Kirk helped Brandt onto her mount. He pulled himself up behind her and took the reins. She leaned back against him, wincing in pain, but still glad to feel him there.

"It's not the weather, sir," the station master explained. "The rebels have seized the power station. There's nothing running from here to Meelos."

"The nearest border is to the east, isn't it, Lieutenant?" Brandt asked Sulu quietly.

"Yes, sir," he replied, glad that he'd studied the local geography as part of his mission prep. "We can probably make it in about three hours."

Two hours later, Captain Brandt winced in pain as Kirk shifted in his seat, accidentally rubbing against her back. Remembering Vathu's words, he gently explained that he couldn't give her anything for the pain.

Within half an hour, the travelers began encountering people and vehicles heading into the Kevnans' domain. His heart sinking, Kirk remembered that d'Lain's renowned winter festival was due to begin in three days. Soon there was a steady stream of Nevarisi on the road, and it looked like they might have to travel well beyond the border in order to beam up unobserved.

Captain Brandt suddenly began chattering in a loud, forced voice, jumping from topic to topic.

"JT, do you remember when I broke my leg in the Jeffries tube? ... Did I ever tell you about the Wozniak's run-in with the Romulans? ... Did you hear about what the Carolina found in the Archimedes sector?"

Realizing the compulsive babble was a last-ditch attempt to remain conscious, he closed his arms around her waist.

Kirk felt anger rising up inside him, anger at his own helplessness, anger at the universe for freeing him, only to imprison him in a debt that could never be repaid. And most of all, anger at Suzanne for stealing the pain that should have been his.

Even through her gloves, Kirk could feel the fever and he wondered if she were truly capable of recognizing an opportune moment if it arrived. Finally, just as he was about to relieve her, they turned onto a side road that showed little sign of recent use. When the main road was completely out of sight, she murmured, "This is good. Turn into the woods."

When they were several dozen meters away from the road, they slid off their mounts. Sulu and Uhura stripped the beasts of their saddles and reins and shooed them away. After the demyan had disappeared into the trees, Brandt flipped open her communicator. It slipped from her hands and fell into the snow.

Snapping the communicator open, Kirk said harshly, "You're relieved, Captain Brandt."

As she slumped into his arms, Captain Brandt thought dreamily how similar dematerialization was to delirium.

CHAPTER 6

Kirk woke to the sounds of the sick bay monitors. The sounds of healing. The sounds of safety.

He shook his head, trying to separate reality and fantasy. His memory of beaming up was such a strange mixture of happiness and fear, he almost thought he'd dreamed it.

He remembered his sudden joy when he materialized under the bright light of the transporter room and saw McCoy and Spock. Suzanne moaning as he put her on an anti-grav stretcher. The hurried journey to sickbay and Uhura's gentle urging--"Please, sir, go with Dr. M'Benga. I'll explain to Dr. McCoy about Captain Brandt." M'Benga clucking over wounds that Kirk knew were mere scratches compared to what the ship's surgeon was working on. And finally, Christine Chapel saying, "Captain Brandt is going to be fine," as she sucker-punched him with a sedating hypospray.

As his eyes adjusted to the dim light, he realized it must be very late. He turned his head and saw the tall figure of his first officer standing beside his bed.

Soon the questions would start. Well-meaning friends with searching eyes, all prying into his psyche. Spock, McCoy, the crew. All of them looking at him with sympathy and pity. And Starfleet Command pressuring him for a report and a fresh psych eval.

Spock's hand rested on the edge of the diagnostic couch, mere inches from Kirk's arm. The captain could feel the heat from those sensitive fingertips, heat that he knew would warm him if he'd let it. He thought about the times the long, elegant fingers had been pressed to his temple. He thought of the images the Vulcan would see if he were to meld with him now.

Let Spock see--let him *feel* that humiliation? Let him know what it was to be broken?

Kirk knew he would never be able to do it. He might somehow manage to choke out a vague description of his experiences, but he would never be able to truly share them. Not in a meld, that most intimate of communications.

Tentatively exploring the new and aching emptiness, Kirk feared that what he shared with Spock had been destroyed on Nevaris. And it was just the first of many things that he would have to do without if he was to survive.

He turned away and said gruffly, "Spock, go to bed. You look like hell. We'll...talk some other time."

Spock raised an eyebrow. He was not hurt by the rebuff, nor even surprised. While waiting at the bedside of his sleeping captain, he had heard the muttered pleas, the sobbing curses. And when he had awakened, Spock had seen something in his eyes that had never been there before. Panic perhaps, or even shame. Yes, shame. When Kirk turned away, unable to face him, unwilling to believe that he would not be pitied, Spock knew that words would not assuage that injured soul. He would not ask the questions he knew were tormenting his friend. Nor would he leave him to face them alone.

Simply here. Kirk heard his heart pounding in his chest, stunned by the gift that was being offered. Having strayed so far and lost so much, he had not allowed himself to wish for more than survival, an end to torture. And now this unexpected blessing.

He lowered his defenses just a little, just enough to search for the meaning in what the Vulcan had said. Simply here. As he had always been. As he would always be. No questions, no prying, no invasion. Kirk knew that soon he would have to confront the events of the past three months. But right now--right at this moment--he needed to retreat from them. And Spock--his calm, logical Vulcan--understood that.

Kirk turned and studied the silent figure beside him. Carefully, he reached for that almost-forgotten intimacy, stepped into it and stretched against its boundaries. With a sigh of relief, he found that it fit as easily and comfortably as ever. A well-worn garment that could not be outgrown or discarded.

When Kirk next awoke, the room was brightly lit. He turned and his shoulders cried out in protest. The whipping, of course. Five strokes. Five out of twenty.

Across the room, he saw someone on the far couch. Moving silently, he approached the still figure.

Brandt was lying on her stomach, her breathing shallow and ragged. Her hair was slick with sweat and her face was flushed. He pulled back the blanket. Sickening clumps of yellow and purple showed through the layers of plastiderm that covered her back and shoulders. He touched her hand and she muttered something unintelligible.

Looking up at the monitors, his heart sank. He'd visited enough injured crewmen to know that several of her vital signs were not in the normal ranges.

"The wounds are infected but the antibiotics are working. Her fever's coming down, slowly but steadily. She just needs time. Go back to bed, sir."

"You wouldn't lie to me, would you, nurse?" There was genuine worry under the forced lightness.

"As a matter of fact, under the right circumstances, I would. But these aren't the right circumstances. She's going to be fine. And you shouldn't be up."

Brandt cried out and her hands clutched the air weakly. Kirk pulled up a chair and sat down.

Nurse Chapel frowned at her recalcitrant patient, trying to decide how hard to push him. Under the stubborn mask, the captain was ashen and drawn. Dr. McCoy had ordered rest, and the nurse found herself in complete agreement with that prescription.

"Captain Kirk. Dr. McCoy is getting some well-deserved sleep after staying up all night monitoring the two of you. I do *not* want to wake him to authorize a sedative."

As Kirk reluctantly went back to his own bed, he wondered for the first time if Suzanne had ever needed anything from him.

"All right, Jim," Dr. McCoy lectured him fondly the next day. "Physically, you've recovered enough for me to release you. Just take it easy on those shoulders for a few days. And as long you don't start acting strangely, I'm not going to press you for the psych eval...yet. But sometime in the next few days, we need to talk."

"Well, sure. I thought you might want to stick around for a little while. I've taken Captain Brandt off the sedatives, and she should be waking up shortly."

He hopped off the couch and straightened his uniform. He stopped at the doorway and asked quietly. "How is she, Bones?"

"She's like you, Jim. A fighter." McCoy smiled. "There was never any doubt about her recovery."

He left sickbay and entered the turbolift. The compartment felt strange and unfamiliar, as had the transporter room and sickbay. He was about to proceed to the bridge when he decided he wanted to see his quarters.

In the shower, Kirk turned the pressure up as high as it would go, but he found no relaxation under the pounding spray. He scratched at his chest impatiently. Vathu had last shaved it on the day of the competition and the stubble was beginning to itch. His hands stopped in mid-action. Vathu shaving his chest. When he'd arrived on Nevaris, his torso had been covered with thick, coppery hair.

He thought about the long-ago camping trip with Suzanne and an almost-forgotten conversation, so silly and casual that it seemed unimportant at the time.

It was the morning they were due to return to San Francisco. They were snuggling in the warmth of the sleeping bag for a few final minutes. He nuzzled her neck, brushing his cheek against her shoulder.

"And stop shaving this." She ran her hand over his chest. "I like my men furry."

Her men. He had made a joke about needing to do something to stand out in the crowd. He remembered her laughing and assuring him that he had nothing to worry about. He had not shaved his chest from that day forward. Yes, silly and meaningless at the time. But now...it looked like the first step on the road to a blood-spattered courtyard.

She had owned him long before she'd claimed him on Nevaris. And as he stepped out of the shower, he was unable to shake the ugly suspicion that he didn't own her at all.

Dr. McCoy entered the captain's quarters without waiting for Kirk to respond to the chime. He carried a tray covered with a large napkin. Kirk looked up from the chess game he was playing against the computer.

McCoy removed the cloth, revealing two large glasses of smoky liquid. Smiling, he handed one to Kirk and kept the other for himself as he sat down at the opposite side of the chessboard.

"You know, you'd probably get a better game from Spock." The doctor took a sip of his drink, noticing that the captain had set his aside untouched.

Kirk moved a rook and hit the timer. McCoy reached over and shut it off. Kirk shot him an angry look and reached for the timer but the doctor caught his wrist and addressed him sternly.

"All right, Jim. It's been two days since I released you from sickbay and you haven't been to the bridge once."

The captain rose and strode to the other side of the room. McCoy crossed his legs and sat back in his chair. Mere silence wasn't going to drive him away.

"Nurse Chapel told me what happened in sickbay this afternoon," he said casually.

"You mistimed your visit. Actually got there when Captain Brandt was awake. You didn't even stay five minutes." McCoy moved to the captain. "She's very hurt, Jim."

McCoy straightened slowly, stunned at the depth of Kirk's sarcasm. "That's quite a remark, Captain."

"No, I can't say that I do. But I know James T. Kirk pretty well and I'd like to know when he's coming back. I'm not very happy with the fella who's walking around in his skin lately."

"Why are you here, Bones?" Kirk snapped impatiently as he moved away from the prying doctor. "To scold me for being remiss in my sickroom obligations?"

"Well, I came to see if I could help you, but right now, I'm one step away from declaring you unfit for command."

Kirk turned sharply. "I'll save you the trouble. I'm stepping down. Now get the hell out of here."

"No. I'm your doctor and your friend. And leaving you alone is not an option for either. Now what's going on?"

"Bones--" He turned and, for a moment, seemed almost like his old self. "Do you know what she did down there?"

Kirk stared off into space, remembering the scene in the courtyard, replaying his feelings when she took his place. And afterwards... He shook off the memories and spoke in a harsh staccato.

"I had to stand by and watch that. I had to let her pull the most appalling stunt I've ever witnessed--and she did it for me, for the sake of a mission. It was--"

"Horrifying. Yes, I know. I've been there. And so has Spock--and Scotty and Uhura--and--well, just about every member of this crew. We've all seen someone we care about suffer for the people under his command. Each of us has had to stand by and watch one person carry more than his share of the burden. Unfortunately, it's not a new or unique experience. Except, apparently, for you, Captain."

"I guess we just accept it as part of who he is." McCoy put a sympathetic hand on the captain's shoulder. "I wish I could tell you it gets easier, Jim. But it doesn't."

CHAPTER 7

For two days, Dr. McCoy waited for Captain Kirk to take command, submit to a psych eval, or turn in the threatened resignation. When Kirk did none of those things, the doctor decided to take matters into his own hands. As Chief Medical Officer, he knew he could demand a psych eval, but his goal was to reinstate Kirk as commander of the Enterprise, and he was almost positive that the strongest weapon in his arsenal would backfire.

Kirk had not responded to his overtures as a friend, and the doctor could hardly ask Spock to force a mind meld on the captain. Not that he'd do it. That blasted Vulcan respect for privacy.

There's a difference between privacy and imprisonment, McCoy thought. And who better to break Jim out of this new prison...

Fearing Captain Brandt would leap off the sick bed to knock some sense into her confused lover, McCoy and Nurse Chapel had seen to it that she didn't hear about Kirk's behavior. It had been surprisingly easy. A simple warning to all visitors and Captain Brandt's pride did the rest. She had not asked anyone why she saw so little of him and Kirk never stayed long enough in sickbay for their conversation to progress beyond small talk.

As the doctor re-read the latest entries on Captain Brandt's chart, he decided it was time for her to hear what the entire ship was gossiping about.

"He hasn't given any indication that he wants me to." McCoy could see how much it hurt to admit that. "I've hardly seen him the past few days. I understand that he's got a lot of catching up to do, but--"

"Well, in two days we'll arrive at Starbase 12. If he doesn't take back his command by then, he'll lose it when they haul him in for a psych eval."

"Computer," she barked. "Uniform. Captain Brandt." She turned back to McCoy. "I did *not* volunteer to be flogged so he can give up."

When Brandt entered the captain's quarters, the sight that greeted her shocked her to the core.

Judging from its scattered contents, it had been some time since the room had seen the attentions of a steward. Kirk, barefoot and unshaven, was not in uniform, and his loose-fitting clothes showed several days' wear. He had an empty glass in his hand, and he nodded to her as he went to the credenza and picked up the bottle of whiskey.

"Captain Brandt. I was wondering when you'd show up. Seems like everybody and his chief engineer has been in here to say, 'let me help.'" He carried the bottle and glass back to his desk, sat down, and poured. "So..." He raised his glass to her. "Now it's your turn."

She studied him as he downed his drink in one swallow. Then she went to the credenza, got out another glass and crossed to him.

"No, of course not. You're my lover. And my rescuer. So thank you on both counts." He stood and bowed to her. "Now get out." He sat down and pretended to read the label on the bottle.

"I don't want to," he said calmly. "Command has..." His voice dropped to a thoughtful whisper. "...lost its appeal for me." He looked up at her. "You're ashamed of me, aren't you?"

He set down the bottle and studied her as if he'd never seen her before. "Suzanne. Who are you? Who do you want to be to me?"

"Do you want to be the competitive friend? The respected fellow officer? My exciting bed partner? My--my--"

"Your *woman*?" She underscored the word sarcastically. "Is that the word you're searching for?"

"Oh, I'm very aware of that. There's the fearless and capable Captain Brandt. There's the ace computer hacker. The creative and insatiable lover. The ball-breaking bitch. The charming tease. They're all you. And they're all *public*. I would like to see one side of you that no one else has seen. Share something with me, Suzanne--anything!" His voice rose angrily as he stood and demanded, "Show me one part of you that belongs only to me!"

"No. You're right." He nodded in acceptance. "They do belong to me. You stole them from me. You lied to me about--"

"Excuse me--you *misled* me about what you were going to do. And you took away my choice in the matter."

"There was no choice to be made. Yes, I misled you. Because I knew you'd be as stupid and pig-headed as you are right now!"

"No, I couldn't! I had a responsibility--to you--and your officers! And the Federation--"

"You can't trust anyone's judgment! No one knows better than you! You were practically unconscious, and you still couldn't let me help you because you always know what's best!"

Sulu and Uhura exchanged wary glances as they passed the captain's cabin. The actual words coming through the door were indistinct, but the tone was very clear.

Even though he had witnessed Captain Brandt in action, Sulu still found it a little unnerving to hear anyone roar back at Captain Kirk like that.

For her part, Uhura had always believed Captain Brandt capable of giving a good boot up the bum to just about anyone, but she wondered about the wisdom of that tactic at this particular time.

"What's this all about, Jim? Are you angry because I succeeded? Are you yelling at me because you were there for nearly three months and I got you out in three days? Is that it--your pride was hurt?"

"Well, if there's one thing you could write the book on, Brandt, it's pride. Yes, my pride was hurt. But you know what really hurts? Knowing that my pride means nothing to you."

"Suzanne. I appreciate what you did. But--why the hell did they send *you*? Why didn't they send someone who I could just be grateful to without all the complications?"

"Oh, that you were. Another feather in your cap! Another medal on your chest!" He felt himself losing his temper again and simply didn't care. "And best of all--you finally got to prove your complete and total superiority over me!"

"Is that what you want to do? Will that make you feel better? Fine. If it's so damn important, I'll tell you how you've hurt me."

"I attended a briefing earlier this year for a mission I was going on. There were fifteen people in the room, four of them women. And you'd slept with all four. And everyone in the room knew it. I had to sit there, between my CO and my first officer, and act like it didn't matter. And I knew they felt sorry for me.

"You want me to be your *woman*? There's no such thing. There's just one more face in the crowd."

"No, we never *promised*." She drew the word out sardonically. "I know better than to expect fidelity--from either of us. But have you ever heard of *discretion*? I'm sick of being the butt of that dirty joke you call a love life."

"Because you're the most self-centered, egotistical son of a bitch to ever walk a deck!"

He grabbed her wrists and held them against her chest as he threw his reasons in her face.

"Because you won't let me in! Maybe I would like to see some sort of reaction--to know that I've affected you in any way at all!"

She wrenched away from him and railed, "That has nothing to do with other women! And it's not true!"

"Isn't it? You just proved it." He moved in on her. "If you were so upset at that briefing, why didn't you say something to me? Why didn't you blast me into the next quadrant?"

"Because you can't admit to being hurt! You're invincible. You can take anything that anyone can dish out. No one can touch you."

"You're wrong." Her voice was dangerously calm. "I admitted that you hurt me." She straightened her uniform, a commander bringing the discussion to a close. "Now. Are we even?"

"It always comes back to that with you. Who's ahead. Who's winning. Rock-paper-scissors." He turned toward her and raised his hands in surrender. "All right. I concede. You win. You don't need me. You don't need anyone. Now get the hell out."

"Not until you answer my question." She pursued him relentlessly. "Why aren't you commanding the Enterprise?"

"Oh, of course. You have to tie up all the loose ends, don't you, Captain Brandt? Can't write your report until you complete the mission."

He seized her roughly and dragged her to the mesh screen. Turning her, he pressed her against the metal and pushed her shirt up. She stood very still and heard him choke painfully.

Staring at the outcome of insane anger meeting reckless courage, Kirk heard d'Lain's voice saying, "Lady Zander has chosen to take your punishment, James." He closed his eyes, and the words echoed to the pounding of his heart. Your punishment. Your punishment.

He opened his eyes and studied the hideous scoring. Fifteen stripes. He tried to count them, but his vision was blurred by tears. He blinked them away and forced himself to examine the frenzy of purple on ivory.

*This* is your punishment. A punishment she can't take away from you. Look at the fifteen stripes that belong to you.

With trembling fingers, he slowly traced the most horrific from shoulder to waist.

As his hand fell away from her, he said quietly, "This is why I'm not commanding the Enterprise."

He walked away and put one hand to the wall to steady himself. She pushed back from the screen and pulled her shirt down.

"Dr. McCoy says they can be removed in a couple of weeks," she said quietly. "I'm not scarred for life."

"I am." He turned and stared at her, the muscles in his jaw working rapidly. "Do you think I can ever forget seeing you tied to a post and flogged? Taking a punishment that was meant for me?"

"You once said that I always have to be the hero. You were right. And I never saw how ugly that was until I had to stand there and watch your blood drip into the snow."

"When you took my place, I hated you for being so *brave*." He made it sound like a word from the gutter. "I hated you for seeing the necessity and taking the only action possible--doing exactly what I would have done. I hated myself for being unable to prevent it. And I hated knowing that you wouldn't let me prevent it even if I could."

She went to him and took his hands, but they rested limply in hers and she let go. Then she ran her fingers through his hair and tugged gently until his eyes met hers.

"Jim, is it possible that--" She choked, not wanting to finish the question. "--all the things I thought you loved in me have actually put up a wall between us? Have I misread you that badly?"

"What do you want from me?" she asked, painfully aware that it sounded like begging.

"I want...the impossible. I want to put my arms around you and never let anyone hurt you again. And I know you'll never allow that."

"Jim, this is what I *do*," she explained in desperation. "This is who I *am*. I'm a Starfleet officer and your equal."

"My equal, Captain Brandt?" he snorted. "Aren't you forgetting that you outrank me?"

"Only by two and a half weeks." She smiled. He didn't respond. "Jim--the things I did--and the things you do--we do them because there's no other way," she said softly.

In the heavy silence, Captain Brandt closed her eyes and tried to think how they had come to this.

Friends since their first days at the Academy. Lovers since the night she had impulsively acted on an attraction she'd felt for years. And then the long months of complacently telling herself that they were still "just friends." By the time she realized she was falling in love with him, it was too late to stop that exhilerating acceleration of emotion. Swinging dizzily between uncertainty and giddiness, she kept silent until the fearful and glorious night on Kyros when he had tricked her into admitting that she loved him. And he loved her. So how the hell did it get so complicated?

Because there were things she hadn't told him--things he hadn't thought to trick out of her. Just as she'd held back on saying "I love you," she had never revealed what aching fears those words had brought to the surface.

Loving him as she did, she had no choice but to allow him to hurt her as no one else could. It wasn't the other women. That had simply been the easiest hurt to confess, the one she could acknowledge without giving away too much. No, her pain went much deeper and paled next to the simple distress of his indiscretions. At the core of her suffering, there was only one element that mattered. James T. Kirk. Who he was and how he lived his life.

Who else would freeze her blood by taunting fate as if it could not touch him? Who else would terrify her by believing he would triumph no matter what the odds? Who else would torment her by dying in her nightmares?

There was a price for the joyous affirmation of life that ignited their every reunion and that price was the dark possibility of 'never again' that haunted every farewell.

Captain Brandt prided herself on her ability to handle the anxiety and the pain. She did not parade her fears or cling to her lover, begging for promises. She kept those things to herself, ashamed of them. Knowing that his strength and vitality could enslave her like a drug, she had resisted the urge to look to him for comfort. She held back, fearing she would lose herself completely.

After all the love and joy, were they so mismatched? All the time she'd fought against needing him, had she been denying him something he needed? And would it be so difficult to give that to him?

Her own words taunted her cruelly. We do the things we do because there's no other way.

Telling herself she'd faced much tougher challenges and battling her pride every inch of the way, she said firmly, "All right, do it."

"What you want." She cleared her throat. "I want it. I want you to--" She stopped and held her breath, steeling herself to go on. "--hold me in your arms and never let anyone hurt me again."

She'd been afraid that would sound ridiculous, but suddenly, she felt foolish for not having said it sooner.

"I don't know what else to do," she continued brokenly. "You need something, and I don't know what it is. Do you remember what I said to you on Kyros? I told you I didn't think I'd be any good at loving you. And I'm not. You're hurting, and I don't know how to help you."

"Suzanne, I don't want you to do anything more for me," he pleaded in exasperation. "Try to understand. I finally realized what you--and Spock and McCoy and my family--have felt every time I've put myself in danger. I've spent most of my career hurting the people who care about me. I won't do it anymore."

"Trying to turn into someone else will hurt them more," she entreated. "Your officers haven't put any conditions on their friendship. And as for me--Jim, I've known you since you were sixteen. I knew what I was getting into. I know the universe is not benevolent and it chews up starship captains like they were candy. A hero is not an easy person to love. But I do. And I was proud of that. I was proud because I could take the pain and never ask you to promise that you'd come back safely. And now you tell me that hurt you. If you give up, it's all been for nothing."

"I don't want you to love me like that!" She pushed him away angrily. "And if that's what my love has done to you--I can't tell you how sorry I am."

"Why do you think I took that whipping? Because it's my *job*? Because I'm *brave*? I did it so you could go on tearing around the galaxy and risking your life and scaring the shit out of me. I don't want you to promise me that you'll never do it again. I want you to--lead the charge and go on landing parties and throw yourself into danger's path. Because on the day you die, the only comfort I'll have is knowing that you were true to yourself. And that I had the courage to love you for it.

The long-repressed pain of loving the bravest and most foolhardy captain in the fleet forced its way to the surface, and hot, shameful tears rolled down her face.

He rubbed the back of his neck in frustration. "Suzanne, don't cry. It's--embarrassing."

The wall of pride cracked, and she wept convulsively, letting him see the searing scars that could never be healed. Finally trusting him as she had trusted no one but herself, she sank to the floor and let go.

Kirk was stunned. It had to be an act. A captain doesn't show pain. A captain doesn't give in. A captain doesn't cry. And certainly not Captain Suzanne Brandt.

She'd fought her way into command school in the days when that was still a rarity for a woman. And once there, she'd taken everything they had dumped on her and come back for more. She'd been decorated almost as many times as he had. She could not be sitting on the floor of his quarters crying. But she was. And somehow he was responsible.

He sat down beside her and listened to the wrenching sobs, suddenly ashamed that he was letting this go on.

When he'd been brought to her as an object of pleasure, she'd faced him naked and addressed him as an equal to give him back his pride. She'd been whipped in the courtyard of Kevnan Keep to give him back his life. And now, stripped emotionally, she showed him the way back to himself. She had paid his price in blood and was willing to continue paying in pain. He would pay hers by being the man she had crossed the galaxy to save.

He took her in his arms and held her the way he'd been wanting to, finally protecting her from nothing so much as himself.

He sighed and stroked her hair. Eventually, the hiccuping sobs quieted, and he made the only promise that he knew he could keep.

"This *is* who we are and there's nothing we can do about it. So I promise to keep on scaring the shit out of you for as long as you'll let me." He turned her face up to his and smiled at the sight of her red nose and puffy eyes. "I will always want to protect you...and I'll always be proud of you for not needing it. I promise."

She thought there was nothing left inside of her that could break, but at those words, something shattered. The final tenuous hold on conceited independence slipped free, and the last piece of her heart--the piece she'd held back and denied--the piece that wanted to be his in a way she'd always refused--flew to him and found its home.

And for the rest of the night, they clung together, sheltering each other from the lives they'd chosen.

CHAPTER 8

The next morning, Kirk woke before the alarm and turned it off. He showered and dressed as quietly as he could, not wanting to disturb the woman dreaming softly in his bed. He stood near the mesh screen and watched her thoughtfully. She was lying on her stomach, her face soft and innocent, one arm hanging off the bed. She looked more peaceful than he'd ever seen her.

He sat down on the edge of the bed and kissed the ugly stripe that curled over her shoulder.

She opened her eyes, rolled over, and saw the captain of the Enterprise smiling warmly at her.

As the doors slid shut behind him, Brandt sat down at Kirk's desk and smiled to herself. She had always loved happy endings and, leaning back in the chair, she briefly allowed herself to believe in them. But the nagging voice of truth told her she couldn't put off the inevitable any longer. Forcing herself into a more serious frame of mind, she thought back to the day when she'd first seen the week-old report that revealed Captain Kirk's captivity on Nevaris...

"I'm sorry, Suzanne. There will be no rescue mission," he said as kindly as he could. "The Federation Council feels that the Nevarisi situation is simply..."

She didn't hear what else he said. Reeling under the devastating knowledge that Jim was being abandoned by the very people he'd served so faithfully, she almost blacked out. Gripping the arms of the chair, she sat in numb silence as her CO droned on about political implications.

Ten minutes later, her wailing fit of despair had left the commodore so discomfited that he sent his top commander home on two weeks' personal leave. She left his office shaking, stunned by how little of her agony had been exaggerated.

That night, she sent out the carefully forged orders that resulted in her rendezvous with the Enterprise...

Now, mission accomplished, it was time to compose the report that would end her Starfleet career. She couldn't help thinking of the time James T. Kirk had flagrantly taken matters into his own hands and gotten away with it.

She was drafting a description of the Nevarisi tradition of blood claiming when the commlink sounded.

"Uhura here, sir. There's a transmission coming in for you from Commodore Skorheim."

Captain Brandt slumped in the chair, staring at the blank screen. The door chime sounded. She shook herself back to the present and called, "Come."

"Yes, I know. I have just left him. Captain Brandt, I wish to speak to you about your communication with Commodore Skorheim."

"Indeed not. I was on the bridge when the transmission came in, but I am unaware of what transpired in your conversation."

"There is a very pressing reason, captain. I must know what the commodore said, if we are to avoid a court-martial."

"You are, Captain Brandt. For hijacking a Starfleet vessel, jeopardizing the peace and security of the Federation, and forging orders. And I am as well, because I followed those orders, even though I suspected their authenticity."

She paled slightly. Catching herself about to twist her hair, she folded her hands and studied the enigmatic Vulcan.

"Very well, Mr. Spock. The commodore wanted to know when I'll be back. And he congratulated me on a job well-done. I admit to being--surprised--by what he had to say." She eyed the commander keenly. "But I'm starting to suspect that you can explain that to me."

"I shall endeavor to do so. When Captain Kirk disappeared, I was placed in temporary command of the Enterprise. I requested, and received, permission to attempt to ascertain his whereabouts. After fifty-five days of searching, we were ordered to abandon the investigation to begin a routine patrol of the Neutral Zone.

"Nine days later, I received the orders that resulted in our rendezvous with you. Pleased as I was that the rescue effort was to be led by so capable an officer, I was also somewhat puzzled. Knowing Starfleet's policy on professional detachment in command situations, I found it curious that they had assigned you to rescue Captain Kirk."

"Very little, captain. My years among humans have taught me that one can learn as much from a falsehood as one can from the truth.

"I ascertained your current duty status and found that you were, in fact, enjoying two weeks of personal leave. I am aware that this is commonly listed as the status of officers on covert assignments, so I drew no conclusions.

"When you explained the mission, I hypothesized that your experience with the Nevarisi could have persuaded Command to relax their usual stance. In any case, your objective was to secure Captain Kirk's release, and you believed yourself capable of doing so without causing a galactic incident. I found myself in agreement with both your goal and your assessment of your abilities.

"During the journey to Nevaris, I noted your insistence on personally supervising every aspect of the mission and your almost obsessive concern that nothing should be done except under your direct orders. I concluded that you were acting without sanction, that you did not wish to jeopardize careers other than your own, and that, as much as possible, you intended to 'play a lone hand,' as Captain Kirk would say."

"Thank you, captain. The Enterprise returned to Federation space this morning at 0517 and re-initiated subspace communications. At 0534, as its temporary commander, I received orders from Starfleet Command to place you under arrest."

"I informed Starfleet Command that, in the event of your arrest, you had requested that I act as your defense counsel."

"In my capacity as your defender, I cannot be compelled to give testimony against you. This would weaken, although not destroy, the prosecution's case, since Lieutenants Sulu and Uhura, as well as Captain Kirk himself, would doubtless be called to testify. But, more importantly, I expressed my intention to insist on your right to a speedy and public trial."

"There are sensational aspects to your actions, Captain Brandt, that I believe the media would find almost irresistible."

"Admiral Nogura ended the transmission without informing me of his decision. However, based on your communication with Commodore Skorheim, I believe we can safely surmise that Starfleet intends to antedate its authorization of Captain Kirk's rescue."

"Very neatly done, Mr. Spock. There's really only one flaw in your otherwise impeccable logic."

"I would have confessed," she said simply. "There would never have been a trial. First of all, because it would embarrass, if not endanger, the Federation--something we have so far managed to avoid. And secondly--as you pointed out, it would require Captain Kirk to stand up in court and describe his imprisonment. And I would never allow that."

Spock frowned. "Admiral Nogura did express doubt that you would insist on a public trial. I informed him that if you did not, I was certain Captain Kirk would tell the story to the media himself, rather than see you punished for having acted so courageously when Starfleet was reluctant to do so."

"Yes. Of course." She looked down at her hands and whispered almost to herself, "Always the hero."

Facing her deliverer, she smiled. Who would have thought my fairy godfather would have pointed ears?

"Mr. Spock, you are undoubtedly correct in your reasoning. I will never again presume to question your logic."

"Commander, I'm...indebted to you in a way that I can never repay," she continued awkwardly. "And I feel like a complete ingrate asking you for another favor."

"Please don't tell Captain Kirk about this. He's dealing with many things right now, one of which is having been rescued...by *me*. If he knew my career was on the line--well, he already feels an obligation and if I'm not careful, that could change to resentment."

"Captain Brandt, I feel compelled to point out that I have come to the captain's assistance on several occasions, and I do not believe he resents me for it."

"He thinks you do it because you're his first officer and an amazingly loyal friend." She wondered if he could read the regret in her eyes. "If he knew the real reason--"

Up until that moment, she hadn't been certain. Since that long-ago leave when she'd been so surprised to learn that Jim had never had a male lover--indeed, had never even heard the rumors about himself and his first officer--she'd carefully considered the evidence. After separating the gossip from the facts, she realized that if the two friends were not lovers, there was only one possible conclusion. One of them wished they were.

"I didn't say that to hurt or threaten you, Mr. Spock." Smiling wryly, she gave a gentle shrug. "I can't help wishing that I was wrong. But the only way I can thank you for what you've done is to promise you that I will never try to interfere in your friendship. And your secret is safe with me."

He stood to leave, wishing for the solitude of his quarters and the meditative calm of the firepot.

"Spock," she said as she rose, "I don't know what you think about me and Captain Kirk--"

She walked Spock to the door, thinking how he had accepted and even assured her place in his captain's life and knowing that he would have explained his actions as completely logical. She wondered how one survived under the weight of such nobility.

"Spock, I love him very much. And I'm glad that there's someone at his side who loves him enough to bring him home safely."

The first officer, the loyal friend. The positions he had occupied for nearly five years. Looking at the woman who held the heart of the man he longed for, Spock responded with a quiet question.

The moment he spoke, he wished he could recall the unintentional insult. He didn't know what had occurred during the night, but he had his captain back and he knew who was responsible. He had no right to question her motives or wish for more.

She cocked her head and frowned. It was an expression that Spock recognized although he was surprised to see it in this context. In his experience, eyes that sparkled with affectionate teasing were usually hazel.

As they regarded each other with clarity and compassion, an unexpected alliance was forged between the woman James Kirk loved and the friend he held most dear.

Epilog

Kirk could feel Suzanne relaxing into sleep in his arms. They'd just made love, as they had for the past three nights, tenderly and carefully, with Suzanne on top to spare her back. She insisted that it hardly ached at all anymore, but it still looked painful to him.

He thought about the next day's rendezvous with the vessel that would take her back to earth. The Enterprise would then proceed to the Neutral Zone for a month of routine patrol. There were still things he needed to tell her and he didn't want to say them in the transporter room.

"Suzanne?"

"Mm?"

"Will you listen to me for a minute?"

"Mm-hm."

He took a deep breath and plunged in.

"Thank you for what you did. Thank you for hauling my ass out of that nightmare. Thank you for--"

"Jim. That's enough. You're welcome."

"I'm not finished." He squeezed her tight, mostly to stop her from interrupting. "Suzanne, you're a very strong person. And I know that a lot of the things that made you that way aren't pleasant. You--"

"Jim, don't do this," she said wearily.

"You said you would listen to me," he reminded her gently. "This is important. I remember that first year at the Academy, when people were making plans for the midwinter holiday. You said you were going skiing with your brother. And then Gary found out that you never left the campus because you had nowhere to go. When he asked you about it, you practically took his head off for prying. For days, you barely spoke to him."

He felt her muscles draw tight and knew he was playing with fire.

"He wasn't prying, Suzanne," he explained tenderly. "He was trying to help. He wanted you to know that you could go with him, or me, or any of a dozen people."

"That was very long ago--"

"Not that long ago. Not when you still do the same things. I've known you for almost twenty years, Suzanne. You can be completely charming or absolutely tyrannical. And you use those things to keep people at a safe distance. You don't ask for help, and you don't get hurt. I don't want you to do that with me anymore. I want you to--I *need* you to let me love all of you. Not just the comfortable parts."

After a long silence, she whispered, "I'll try."

"And I will try to be..." He hesitated, wondering how far out on a limb he dared go.

"Discreet?"

The room was dark and he couldn't see her face, but he knew she was smiling as she finished the sentence for him. He chuckled softly, as he always did when struck right between the eyes with how well she knew him.

"At least that."

She snuggled close to him and murmured happily, "Goodnight, JT."

"Goodnight, sweetheart."

Suzanne's eyes popped open in astonishment. She had never been one for endearments, nor had they been used much in her direction. Suddenly someone was calling her "sweetheart." She wasn't quite sure how to react to that.

As she silently worked at this latest puzzle, she felt Kirk's arms relax around her. Lulled by his sleepy contentment, she slowly realized that his belief in that word was the tenderest seduction of all. Soon she was smiling softly, warmed by the bond she had foolishly believed would imprison her.

Sweetheart. What a silly word. So impossibly romantic and so beautifully old-fashioned.

And so like him.

[The End]

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