HALF-BREEDS
                         by Nikolai Kingsley and Ace Lightning

Captain Jean-Luc Picard stood beside the console in Transporter 
Room Three, ready to welcome the newest addition to the crew of 
the Enterprise. Since the new officer was to be assigned to the 
science division, Acting Science Officer Arifel was present also. 
So conscientious was he about his position that he himself, rather 
than a mere transporter technician, handled the transporter 
controls. With the familiar hollow hum, the sparkling beam slowly 
solidified into the form of a humanoid female in standard 
Starfleet coveralls, trimmed in Sciences blue. As Captain Picard 
stepped forward to greet her, she drew herself up in a formal 
posture and said, "Lieutenant Sekhnar Zeyx reporting as ordered, 
sir!"

"I'm Captain Jean-Luc Picard. Welcome aboard the Enterprise, 
Lieutenant. This is Lieutenant Arifel, our Acting Science Officer; 
he'll be your commanding officer. We're glad to have you aboard."

Both men stared at the new arrival - Picard in a way that was less 
obvious than the blunt Klingon, who did nothing to disguise his 
fascination with the new arrival. Her appearance was somewhat 
puzzling; she had the slender build, upswept eyebrows, and pointed 
ears of a Romulan or Vulcan, with light olive skin, and her 
luxuriantly wavy hair was dark honey-blonde with greenish 
highlights. She might have been one of the relatively rare "blonde 
Vulcans", but her features lacked some of the harsh angularity 
usually associated with Vulcans, and her slimness was softened by 
voluptuous curves. It was difficult to judge her age. As Picard 
eyed the exotic yet attractive woman, he was glad that Commander 
Riker was busy on the bridge.

She needed no telepathy to sense that she was the object of great 
curiosity. "My father is Betazoid, and my mother is Vulcan," she 
explained. "They met when they were both graduate students at the 
Vulcan Science Academy. My father was one of the first to do 
extensive research into the applicability of Vulcan mental 
disciplines to the Betazoid empathic and telepathic senses. My 
mother was studying the similarities between Vulcan telepathy and 
the equivalent talents in other races. It seemed ...logical for 
them to work together. My mother had not been bonded in her 
childhood; only the very oldest families practice that ancient 
custom any more. When it became apparent that they were more than 
just academic colleagues, they bonded as adults, in the full 
Vulcan telepathic ritual. In a way, I was conceived as part of 
their research, and I have most of the abilities of both races."

"I spent my early childhood on Betazed, of course; I needed to 
learn how to both accept and control my emotional and empathic 
abilities before I could acquire Vulcan disciplines. I was in a 
unique position to combine Vulcan and Betazoid techniques, and my 
experiences as I matured were studied in great detail by my 
parents and many other researchers from both planets. To quote a 
famous half-Vulcan former Starfleet officer, it was 
'fascinating'." She smiled faintly. "My mixed heritage has proven 
to be an unexpected benefit to Starfleet. Somehow my combination 
of talents includes the ability to 'read' almost all humanoid 
races - including Ferengi and Klingon." She glanced meaningfully 
at Arifel. "A fairly high percentage of people of mixed ancestry 
join Starfleet, when we realize that we never truly fit in on 
either parent's planet."

"You are correct in your observation that I am also of mixed 
ancestry, Lieutenant. My father is human," said Arifel. His voice 
was surprisingly gentle, unlike the powerful bass growl of most 
male Klingons.

"I'm curious about something, Lieutenant. 'Arifel' doesn't seem to 
be a name in any human language, but it doesn't quite sound 
Klingon either."

"Actually, it's Qar'Ivel, but no-one can ever pronounce that to my 
liking. Come with me. I will show you to your quarters; after you 
have rested, we can familiarize you with our science division." 
The doors hissed open, and they headed toward the turbolift. 
Captain Picard took another turbolift to the bridge, pondering the 
"infinite diversity in infinite combinations" by which two 
officers could represent four separate planetary races.

On the way to deck twenty-three, Arifel maintained a typically 
Klingon taciturn silence; if Lieutenant Zeyx wanted to chat, she 
would have to start the conversation. He sensed that she wanted to 
talk, to get to know him, but was waiting for him to speak. He 
felt that he had to resist the temptation to make a joke, under 
the misapprehension that her Vulcan upbringing would have left her 
unaccustomed to humor. Trying to decide whether or not to speak 
first was replaced by trying to decide if Betazed playfulness 
would win out over Vulcan serenity; he suspected that jokes at the 
expense of the Romulans - of which he had amassed a sizable 
collection - might be in poor taste, given the Vulcan relationship 
to the Romulan people.

He had almost decided on trying the old line, `How many Borg does 
it take to change an isolinear chip?' - and had decided that her 
most likely response would be `Is this related to an upcoming 
mission?' - when they arrived at her quarters.

A brief exchange with the computer gave her access; she was 
familiar with the room's fittings, so Arifel prepared to leave her 
to her rest. Just before the door closed, she called out: 
"Lieutenant Arifel?"

"Yes, Lieutenant?"

She gave him a warm smile. "`How many Borg does it take to change 
an Isolinear chip?' All of them." The door closed.

Arifel stood there for a moment, staring at the back of her door, 
more surprised at the sudden smile than at her casual show of 
telepathy. Then he smiled also, a slowly spreading feral Klingon 
grin; turned and went back to the bridge.

        * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Arifel soon found that Lieutenant Zeyx was an outstanding science 
officer; not surprising, since she had studied (and *been* 
studied) at the Vulcan Science Academy before joining Starfleet. 
Soon they were working together as equals, rather than as superior 
and subordinate officers. As they worked beside each other, they 
found themselves becoming friends as well.

Both of them knew the hardships of being the offspring of two 
planets. Arifel had been raised on the Klingon Homeworld, and 
taught the traditional way of the warrior, but his obvious half- 
human appearance had made him the butt of extreme cruelty at 
times, both from his peers and from some of his teachers. 
Typically, he resorted to rigorous, stoic Klingon behavior, 
especially when his human emotions threatened to destroy his 
facade.

On the other hand, Zeyx' Betazoid childhood had given her 
interpersonal skills that made her very easy to talk to. She could 
be relaxed and almost hedonistic at times, then switch to a 
display of extreme Vulcan control when necessary. She was easily 
the most intelligent person Arifel had ever met. However, her mix 
of Vulcan and Betazoid qualities - especially in her appearance - 
reminded Arifel painfully of his former lover, the half-Romulan, 
half-Betazoid Lieutenant Commander Amber. Sekhnar could easily 
sense that Arifel's bittersweet memories of Amber were clouding 
his friendship for her.

The relationship between Arifel and Amber had been intense from 
the start. As it grew even more intense, their sexual games on the 
holodeck had grown steadily more esoteric, with each one striving 
to force the other past all mental, emotional, and physical 
limits. With Arifel's ability to override the safety programming, 
they actually managed to injure each other more than once. 
(Explaining these injuries to Dr. Crusher had been awkward.) They 
had begun to involve others in their games, and the relationship 
might have become unstable..... but Amber was suddenly transferred 
off the Enterprise. The reasons were never made clear, but they 
seemed to involve some sort of secret operation within the Romulan 
Empire. Arifel was devastated by the sudden loss; Counselor Troi 
did her best to soothe his grief, but Amber's memory still left a 
dull ache in his thoughts several months later, when Zeyx joined 
the crew.

Zeyx knew all this, of course, by virtue of her telepathic and 
empathic abilities. As their friendship deepened, she encouraged 
him to talk to her about Amber. "I'm *not* her. I may look a 
little like her, because of the mixture of Betazoid and Vulcan 
features, but my background is completely different. What I don't 
understand is why your games so often involved emotional pain. 
Empaths usually go out of their way to avoid or relieve pain."

"She actually seemed to *enjoy* those painful feelings. Sometimes, 
when we included others in our ...games..., she would feed some of 
their feelings back to me with her telepathy. I must admit that, 
when she did that, I enjoyed it nearly as much as she did. Now, 
though, it seems somewhat dishonorable. After she left the ship, I 
did eventually talk to Acroyear, and I *think* he accepted my 
apology. But I suspect that our scenarios also had something to do 
with Strepsil's sudden decision to leave Starfleet. He was a 
promising young officer; it troubles me to think that my actions 
might have driven him away."

"I can understand using *physical* pain - I know that Klingon 
physiology requires some level of violence by the female to 
trigger sexual responses in the male. But I don't enjoy mental or 
emotional pain at all; I'm not like her in that respect. Although 
I do derive a certain amount of pleasure from giving *pleasure* to 
others; I suppose she could have been using the same sort of 
emotional feedback mechanism for a different purpose... "

Just after Amber left, after his first few sessions with Counselor 
Troi, Arifel had felt the need to work off his tension on the 
holodeck; discussing his recent past with her cleared up his 
surface emotions but didn't touch the pain deep inside. Instead of 
using the standard hand-to-hand combat simulations, he usually 
spent a few hours sitting on a bridge near a quiet falls, 
performing the _SeHboghruQ_, or Progression-Through-Manual-Control 
meditation. He had continued this practice, whenever possible, 
long after Counselor Troi had discontinued their therapy sessions.

Following his most recent conversation with Sekhnar, however, he 
found it hard to focus on the visualizations. When he should have 
been concentrating on the stylized gestures and stances, his mind 
kept wandering back to what she'd said about Amber. She'd touched 
on something that Counselor Troi had either been too tactful to 
bring up, or not perceptive enough to see: the relationship hadn't 
been destined to last. It had taken a particular combination of 
Betazed empathy and the Vulcan no-nonsense logic to make him see 
it.

He opened his eyes, saw the pale sunlight making spectral rings 
through the falls' mist, and felt better within himself than he 
had for a long time. He stood, took a deep breath of cool air and 
felt ready to tackle anything the universe could throw at him.

        * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Sekhnar had not slept well. The meditative and self-hypnotic 
techniques of two worlds had eventually put her into a fitful 
doze, from which she awakened again and again. Red-tinged shards 
of dreams pursued her into waking consciousness - dreams of fire, 
dreams of brutal animal sexuality, dreams of unspeakable bloody 
violence. When the computer chimed her wake-up call for her normal 
duty shift, she snapped irritably, "Shut that damned thing off! 
I'm awake!"

She felt hot and sweaty; maybe a shower would refresh her. She 
stood in the spray and lowered the temperature setting several 
notches, but she still felt uncomfortably warm. She scanned 
herself with her personal tricorder; her body temperature was 
slightly elevated, but there were no indications of disease. 
Perhaps, she thought, I'm accidentally picking up physical 
sensations from a crew member who is ill. Still, when she put on 
her uniform jumpsuit, it felt unusually tight and restrictive. She 
squirmed a bit, trying to put the unpleasant sensation out of her 
mind, and ordered breakfast from the replicator. But she found she 
had no appetite for her usual nourishing vegetarian breakfast. 
Instead, she downed two cups of ferociously bitter Vulcan tea; its 
mildly stimulating properties seemed to steady her mind somewhat, 
and she proceeded to her usual post in the science department.

For several days they had been running an analysis of the very 
faint magnetic fields found outside of star systems. Zeyx sat at 
one of the science stations, correlating data and making notations 
on a padd. Arifel was at an adjacent station, monitoring the raw 
data that came from the ship's sensors. And operating the sensors 
was the most junior member of the science division, Ensign 
Travels-The-Sky Redshirt. He was from Earth, and his straight 
black hair, bronzed complexion, and angular cheekbones proclaimed 
him a full-blooded Native American. He was very adept in his 
handling of the more technical aspects of his job, and both Arifel 
and Zeyx thought he would have made just as good an engineer as a 
science officer; but his uniform was trimmed with Sciences blue, 
not Engineering red.

Today Sekhnar could not focus on the data as it streamed across 
her screen. Her fingers stumbled as she attempted to add entries 
to her padd. "Sky, could you route that last batch to me again? I 
missed some of it. I guess I've been a little stressed out 
lately." Arifel looked at her with concern; she was his best 
science officer, his co-equal, and also his friend, and for her to 
admit any mental weakness was highly unusual. The young ensign 
calmly sent the data to her terminal again, scrolling it past her 
more slowly than before. She forced her mind back to the symbols 
on the screen and painstakingly checked her padd entries.

Soon it was lunchtime. Arifel and Sekhnar had long since gotten 
into the habit of eating lunch together whenever possible, and 
today they went to the dining area together. Sekhnar started to 
order her usual salad for lunch, then remembered her experience in 
the morning and stopped. She tried to determine her body's needs, 
but every dish she could think of had completely lost its appeal. 
She felt a tension headache, worsened by hunger, developing in her 
neck and shoulders. She ordered toast with jam and a Betazoid 
fruit-juice drink, more to keep her energy reserves up than 
because she really wanted to eat. Arifel noted this departure from 
her normal diet.

"Are you well, Sekhnar? You seemed distracted this morning, and 
now you're not eating your usual lunch."

"I didn't sleep well last night, and I'm getting a headache. I 
think I was having nightmares. Possibly someone on the ship is ill 
or frightened, and my telepathic senses are picking it up. I'll be 
okay."

"You will not mind if I eat something more substantial than toast, 
then?"

"You always do. Go ahead."

The half-Klingon officer ordered a large Todbagh haunch, medium 
rare. (Of course, it wasn't "real" meat, but the replicator did a 
decent job of duplicating the taste and texture.) Sekhnar's years 
on Vulcan had gotten her into the habit of eating a vegetarian 
diet, and normally she was faintly disgusted by Arifel's 
carnivorous habits. But today, to her own horror, the sight and 
smell of the barely-cooked meat stimulated appetites she hadn't 
known she still possessed. She imagined herself tearing a chunk 
off with her hands, biting and chewing it voraciously, letting the 
bloody juices drip down her chin... She set down her half-finished 
toast and said, "Arifel, you know how I feel about meat-eating. 
I'll see you back in the lab after lunch." She almost bolted out 
of the dining room, privately feeling more disgusted with herself 
than with Arifel. He watched her leave - wondering if eating 
traditional Klingon food in front of someone who was feeling 
unwell might have been impolite - and growing more concerned about 
her aberrant behavior. He resolved that, if Sekhnar continued to 
act unlike her usual self, he would persuade her to go to sickbay 
for a thorough examination.

After lunch, they all resumed their somewhat tedious task. Again, 
Sekhnar's concentration wandered, and she began missing 
information and having to ask Ensign Redshirt to re-transmit the 
data. When this had happened several more times, Arifel grew 
genuinely anxious about her. He came around to her science station 
and leaned over her to look at the work displayed on her screen.

Sekhnar was suddenly acutely conscious of Arifel's body leaning 
close to her. She felt sweaty and hot again, and she began to 
tremble uncontrollably. The sensation of his body lightly touching 
her back filled her with a seething mixture of confused emotions 
far more intense than friendship; she was almost unbearably aware 
that he was male, and physically strong, and unmated. Her 
breathing grew ragged and her heartbeat accelerated; she felt 
dizzy, and she was afraid she might even faint. Arifel noticed 
that she was swaying in her seat, and reached to grasp her arm in 
an attempt to steady her. She retained just enough presence of 
mind to elude his touch without *quite* jerking away, and used all 
her Vulcan training to try to calm her body's reactions. But Sky 
Redshirt also noticed there was something wrong.

"Lieutenant Zeyx? Are you okay? Should I call down to sickbay?"

This was more than she could bear. "SHUT UP!" she shrieked, and 
threw the padd at Ensign Redshirt with all her Vulcan strength. He 
ducked quickly, and the padd missed him, but it crashed into the 
bulkhead and fell to the floor, its casing cracked and its 
circuits nonfunctional.

"I'm sorry, Ensign. Um, excuse me..." she mumbled, and hurriedly 
left the science area. In the corridor, she tapped her comm badge. 
"Zeyx to Troi. Deanna, can I come talk to you right away? It's 
very important."

"Of course, Sekhnar. Come right down. Troi out." Zeyx hurried to 
Deanna's quarters.

As the sliding door hissed shut behind the Vulcan, Counselor Troi 
stepped forward and reached out a hand to welcome the younger 
woman. "Come in, sit down; would you like some refreshments? Tea? 
Hot chocolate?"

"Vulcan tea, if you please." Troi hardly needed empathy to realize 
that Sekhnar was extremely uneasy. Deanna busied herself at the 
replicator while she focused her Betazoid faculties more clearly 
on the other woman's mind.

Sekhnar sipped at the bitter, scalding brew, hoping it would 
steady her the way it had in the morning. "I have been having a 
great deal of trouble keeping my mind on my work today. Disturbing 
thoughts and emotions keep distracting me. I have been acting 
irritable, almost emotionally unstable at times. Just now, I 
destroyed a data padd when I flung it across the room, and it 
narrowly missed Ensign Redshirt. I tried the usual Betazoid 
practice of 'giving myself permission' to experience the emotions, 
but this only seemed to make them *more* difficult to control. The 
Vulcan technique of _arie'mnu_, 'passion's mastery', is barely 
working. My emotional state is causing physical side effects as 
well; I suffered from insomnia last night, my appetite has changed 
drastically, and the muscles of my neck and shoulders are 
painfully tense. And just before I threw the padd at Ensign 
Redshirt, I felt dizzy and faint. I came to you first, before 
seeing Dr. Crusher, because I believe my physical symptoms are 
probably psychosomatic." She fidgeted with her teacup in a very 
un-Vulcan manner.

"I see. Sekhnar, I sense many strong emotions within you. Can you 
tell me which one you feel is the strongest, the most dominant?"

There was a long pause, while Sekhnar stared down into her tea. 
Then she lifted her head and looked Troi straight in the eyes.

"Sex. Violent sexual lust. And not even for any specific person. I 
feel like an animal in rut." With a jolt, Deanna realized that the 
other woman was staring at the clinging, low-cut neckline of her 
jumpsuit with barely suppressed desire. They were both half- 
Betazoid; Sekhnar knew that Deanna could sense her thoughts. "And, 
yes, Counselor, I would *love* to use my Vulcan strength to tear 
that jumpsuit off you, and take your splendid breasts in my hands, 
and..." She leaned closer, her eyes glittering desperately.

"Lieutenant!" Troi used her mental and vocal exclamation like a 
splash of cold water. Sekhnar slumped back, looking ashamed.

"I - I'm sorry, Counselor. I don't know what came over me. I'm not 
even attracted to women very much. Why am I becoming so obsessed 
with sex and violence all of a sudden?"

"While your feelings are very strong, I can't find any *emotional* 
reasons for you to be feeling this way. Maybe you've got it 
backwards, and your physical symptoms aren't the result of your 
emotional state. Maybe your emotional state is the result of some 
physical condition. I think we should get you to Dr. Crusher 
immediately. Is that all right with you?"

"Perhaps you're right. I can't go on, feeling like this. I'm unfit 
for duty in this state."

Troi tapped her badge. "Troi to Crusher. Beverley, I'm bringing 
Lieutenant Sekhnar Zeyx down to sickbay; I want you to give her a 
thorough examination."

Crusher's voice came from the air. "Sure. What's the problem?"

"I think we'd rather tell you about it in person. Troi out."

When the two women arrived in sickbay, Dr. Crusher told Zeyx to 
lie on one of the diagnostic beds for a full medical scan. 
Meanwhile, the emotions radiating from the patient were almost too 
much for Deanna. Images of violent rape and bloody assault rose in 
Sekhnar's mind, hazed with red as if viewed through a curtain of 
flames. As Beverley bent over her with a hand scanner, Sekhnar 
imagined herself roughly ripping the doctor's coverall open, 
kissing and biting her breasts, working down past her belly... and 
then Deanna's image also appeared in the patient's thoughts of 
violence and sex. Oblivious to this, the doctor "hmmmed" at her 
readings, then called out, "Dr. Selar, I think you ought to take a 
look at this."

The Vulcan woman came over to the diagnostic bed and looked at the 
readings for Sekhnar Zeyx. "Do you think my diagnosis is correct?" 
said Dr. Crusher. "I can see no other possibilities," said Dr. 
Selar.

"What's wrong with her?" blurted Troi. "Beverley, her mind is 
filled with the most alarming images of violence and sexuality. 
What's the matter with her?"

"As far as I can determine, she seems to be going rapidly into 
Vulcan _pon farr_."

"_Pon farr_? But she's only half-Vulcan! And I thought it didn't 
affect females this strongly. I know that Vulcan males, when they 
are in this state, have to either have sexual intercourse with a 
woman they can link with telepathically, or else perform an act of 
violence, or the hormone imbalances will kill them. But I thought 
that Vulcan women were less affected, more in control, during the 
_pon farr_. That's why it's best if a couple is telepathically 
linked beforehand - the female is supposed to be able to help the 
male control himself."

"I think it's the combination of Vulcan and Betazoid qualities 
that is making it hit her so hard. You Betazoids are a very 
sensual people. Look at what happens to women like your mother 
when they enter the 'phase' and their sex drive quadruples. I 
suppose Lieutenant Zeyx is lucky that she's still too young to 
have *that* happen to her. Can you imagine being 'in phase' and in 
_pon farr_ at the same time? Poor girl!"

Dr. Selar had given Sekhnar a hypospray of some hormone-analog 
substances, and Sekhnar had regained some measure of self- 
possession. She tried to sit up, but Selar's strong hands urged 
her to stay lying down. As she touched her, Selar picked up a 
thought from Sekhnar's mind... "She is desirable also; she might 
even be physically stronger than I am. What I really need is a 
male... but I might at least be able to assuage the worst of my 
lust with one of these women..." The thought trailed off into non-
verbal images of violent sexual need. Selar broke the contact 
quickly.

Beverley stepped over to her desk, with its computer terminal. 
"I'm going to have to compare her physiological and psionic 
profiles with everyone aboard the Enterprise, in order to 
determine which crew members might be compatible with her. Then 
I'll have to ask all the likely ones if they'd like to be her 
mate, at least until this _pon farr_ cycle is finished. That's 
going to be a very delicate job, and I'd like you to help me, 
Deanna."

"Of course. But what if it turns out that the only possible mates 
for her are all unsuitable in some way? Will she die if she can't 
have telepathic sex with *someone*?"

"She won't die; we can give her hormones that will get her past 
the worst of it. But she'll be psychologically traumatized by so 
much frustrated desire and irrational violence. She'll need both 
of us to help her, whether we find her a mate or not." Dr. 
Crusher's fingers had been deftly skipping over the computer 
terminal, and she already had a list of possibly suitable 
partners. "Some of these are very odd choices, but I can't deny 
that all the parameters match. Deanna, *you're* on the list!" She 
entered a few more commands. "I forgot to limit it to sorting for 
*males* who meet these requirements. Biologically, it really does 
have to be a male."

Just then, the communicator beeped. "Arifel to sickbay. Is 
Lieutenant Zeyx there? Is she all right?" The woman on the bed 
began to tremble again, despite the medication she'd just been 
given, and the readings for heartbeat and respiration leapt up.

"This is Dr. Crusher. Yes, she's here. She seems to have 
developed, um, a biochemical imbalance, but I think we can find a 
solution to her problems."

"Beverley," said Deanna, "her emotional responses peaked sharply 
when she heard Lieutenant Arifel's voice. Check whether he fits 
the profile."

"But he's half-Klingon. Vulcans and Betazoids both have trouble 
reading Klingons. How could she achieve the required telepathic 
link?"

"She told me that somehow her combined talents made it easier for 
her to read other races, even Klingons, even Ferengi. Arifel is 
also half-human, and I'm living proof that humans can possess 
*some* telepathic potential. He's technically her superior 
officer, but I happen to know that they're also good friends. 
Check his parameters against hers."

"No need to check. I choose Arifel," spoke up Sekhnar from the 
medical bed. She repeated, "I choose Qar'Ivel!" in the formal Old 
High Vulcan of ancient ritual. Deanna blushed as the other woman's 
fevered mind projected graphic images of herself and Arifel 
enacting a frenzied combination of Klingon and Vulcan mating 
rites.

Dr. Crusher smiled wryly and spoke into the communicator in a 
deceptively sweet tone: "Crusher to Arifel. Can you possibly come 
down to sickbay at your earliest convenience?"

     * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Sickbay was not a suitable place for what was about to happen, and 
Sekhnar's _pon farr_ was progressing so rapidly that she had to 
ask Dr. Selar for another dose of the synthetic neuropeptides to 
reinforce her increasingly fragile self-control. She needed to 
take Arifel back to her quarters and attempt a telepathic bond 
with him before she succumbed completely to madness. Even with the 
drugs in her body, it took all the mental and emotional 
disciplines she'd learned on two worlds to explain to Arifel, as 
calmly as possible, what she would need to do to link with him.

In the turbolift, she carefully stood as far away from him as she 
could; she knew that if their bodies touched, even accidentally, 
her control would shatter before they ever got to her room. She 
was still shaking, breathing unevenly, and her skin seemed to 
radiate a fever heat.

Arifel, although he tended not to admit it to himself, had more 
telepathic and empathic abilities than either his human or Klingon 
ancestry would account for. He sensed her steadily increasing 
desire, and knew how close to uncontrollable it was; the violence 
of it stirred his Klingon instincts, and he found himself growing 
aroused in response. He also could sense her emotional confusion, 
and knew that she wished their relationship might have become 
sexual in a less atavistic way; she projected a genuine affection 
for him. He was surprised to find that he felt just as much 
affection for her. Hesitantly, not knowing how to focus or aim his 
mental powers, he tried to project this affection back at her, 
while consciously making an effort to relax from his usual stand- 
offish Klingon body language.

They were in the private room of her quarters, where a Vulcan 
attunement flame's flickering light illuminated a Betazoid 
meditation sculpture. "Please just accept what I'm doing; I hope 
I'll be able to finish the bonding before the drugs wear off. Just 
try to be as mentally receptive as possible." He nodded, and she 
began.

Her fingers stroked the smooth ridges of his skull as she sought 
the mind-meld contact points. As she touched him, her trembling 
became so violent that she was almost unable to keep her hands in 
place. Arifel awkwardly placed his hands on her temples in the 
same position. Her face was unnaturally hot, and he could feel her 
pulse racing. He relaxed his mind as much as he could - the Second 
Dance from the _SeHboghruQ_ helped significantly - and tried to 
make her welcome in his thoughts. In a ragged voice, she spoke the 
Old High Vulcan words of joining. "My mind... to your mind... my 
thoughts... to your thoughts..."

Arifel felt something click into place in his mind, like two 
smoothly machined parts fitting perfectly together, like a 
perfectly-balanced _batlh'etlh_ settling into his grip. Sekhnar 
was there, in his mind, the two of them meshing with a 
completeness he had never imagined possible. In an instant, 
everything in her deepest soul was also in him, and all of him was 
within her innermost self. He staggered and nearly fell with the 
intensity of their mental union. He knew her completely; he knew 
the scent of Vulcan's rare desert blossoms, the colors of the 
Betazed sunset, and her secret Vulcan ritual name. He knew the 
true intensity of her friendship and love for him.

Through the blood-red haze that threatened to overpower her mind, 
Sekhnar felt the same thing; she felt how perfectly they meshed as 
she achieved mind-meld, and was rocked by the instantaneous 
knowledge of everything in the depths of his innermost soul. As 
her fingers pressed against his skull, she knew the taste of fresh 
_qagh_, the sweaty chafe of a Klingon warrior's costume, and the 
songs he sang to himself on the holodeck. She knew the concealed 
depth of his feelings for her.

And then the red bloodfire blazed up through her, and the raw lust 
of her _pon farr_ overwhelmed all the medicines and rituals. She 
tore off her uniform and stood naked before him, then ripped his 
clothing off. He was already erect and ready; her fierce 
roughness, along with the telepathic surge she sent out, triggered 
his own Klingon mating frenzy. They attacked each other 
simultaneously, her Vulcan strength almost evenly matched against 
his Klingon muscle power. She was teeth, and clawing hands, and 
burning heat, and desperate unslakable passion. A deep roar rose 
in his throat, drowning out her moan of agonized pleasure as he 
entered her violently. Her nails raked magenta furrows in his 
buttocks as she used all the strength of madness to pull him 
deeper inside her. In turn, the stimulus of the sudden pain 
stimulated him to thrust even harder and more roughly. She writhed 
and howled, and wrapped her legs around him. Their telepathic link 
was so complete that each of them felt the other's responses as 
their own, and the intensity spiraled upward and upward in a 
runaway feedback of sheer animal sex. What happened to her then 
might be considered an orgasm - her body convulsed so violently 
that she nearly threw Arifel off her, and she screamed like a wild 
creature. But it didn't seem to satisfy the fury of her need; even 
as her convulsions ebbed, she was urging him to keep thrusting 
into her. Soon he, too, reached a climax, bellowing a wordless cry 
as his back arched and he drove into her with all his strength. 
Yet she could not let him rest. She stimulated him frantically, 
clawing at him and pressing her heaving body against his and 
sending waves of desire into his mind, until he responded again. 
They coupled again and again in a frenzy of lust, every sensation 
reduplicated by their telepathic union, desperately seeking a 
satisfaction that seemed to elude them even as they came. Finally, 
though, their bodies succumbed to exhaustion, and they collapsed 
into an unconsciousness beyond sleep.

Some while later, they awoke, bruised and scratched and sore. The 
telepathic link was still present, but refined now to carry 
thoughts as well as wordless sensations. Arifel was still unused 
to purely mental communication, and he spoke out loud.

"I'm glad you chose me as your partner. I have never experienced 
anything like this before." In formal Klingon, he added, 
"_chobatlhqu'moHta'_... you have done me great honor."

"_batlh'e'wI'_, the honor is mine. Until now, I didn't realize 
just how ...compatible we were."

When he spoke again, there was a hesitancy in his manner; Klingons 
were not generally comfortable talking about emotions. "This is 
going to make our relationship as co-workers complex. You are a 
good person to work with, and a worthy friend and companion, and I 
would like for us to remain friends. But it will be hard for me to 
work beside you and not think about ...what just happened between 
us. And will the mental link between us remain as it is, or will 
it fade away until the next time you experience _pon farr_? Will 
it draw us together again then? There are so many things I do not 
understand about this!"

In answer, she began to caress the ridges on his head, very 
tenderly, in a manner completely unlike their recent frenzied 
rutting.

"Are you *still* experiencing the urges of _pon farr_?" he asked; 
her touch was, incredibly, arousing him again.

"_Imzadi_... _t'hy'la_... _bangwI'oy_... beloved..." she murmured, 
endearments in four languages tumbling over one another, "this has 
nothing to do with _pon farr_... this is for you and me..."

She brought her mouth down upon his in a passionate yet tender 
kiss; his tongue met hers, and then there was no need for any 
language at all...