Title: A Mirror Little Christmas (not very original, I know!) Author: Kelthammer Series: TOS Characters: Ensemble Rating: NC-17 Disclaimer: If you can take our evil selves seriously, you are more evil than I am. * * * When Captain James Tiberius strode into his cabin exactly three minutes after his duty shift, it was to a peacock- colored hurricane. Marlena Moreau was already airborne when the door opened, and his reflexes could only start, and clutch at the flying woman. Marlena shrieked with glee and used her weight to swing him down on the large bed; James felt (and heard) the breath gust out of him like Scott's warpipes, and before he knew what was happening, his clothes were off. Well, the clothes that needed removal, at any rate..! It seemed unbelievable that he could get rock-hard that fast, but Marlena's volcanic attentions had that very effect on a man who thrived on conquest and conflict, equal parts thereof. "Ahh-HAH..." His woman purred as she straddled him. He grabbed her hips and found she was soaking wet and very, very hot inside. "You naughty boy, what *have* you been thinking about when you were on the bridge?" She didn't give him time to answer. "I bet you were looking at that new blonde who has her eyes on Sulu." Her voice had dropped to a cougarlike purr, half-shut eyes sultry and threatening at the same time--just the way he liked it. "Me?" He panted. "She's a blonde, Marlena!" He thrusted as he spoke--long experience had taught him that if *he* didn't take the lead, Marlena would do it for him. She might be captain's Woman, but being the captain of *this* particular woman had its own unique responsibilities. "Oh, really?" Marlena answered his push with a tug of her own. She clenched around him and showed her teeth as he gasped. Belly dancers, he had learned, were formidable lovers. "And what--gasp--does that have to--gasp," (clench!) "do with anything?" "Well--" (gasp, thrust) "I'd be--(gasp) in--(gasp!)" He moved harder as she threatened to pick up the tempo without him. "In competition, visually--" (clench!) "Oh, is that what it means for you?" Marlena lifted a perfect eyebrow and ground against him with a particularly sadistic sexual cruelty. Kirk loved it. "You don't want anyone looking at anyone's perfect blond hair but yours?" (Clench) "Well--what do you think?" He taunted right back at her, eyes gleaming with the same mischief. "Truth or dare, Lieutenant!" (gasp; thrust; roll) "How WOULD we look together?" "Hah!" Marlena's right hand closed around an invisible dagger. "She wouldn't know what to do with YOU!" As she spoke, her vagina clenched like a torture device around Kirk, held the pressure like a fist. "You think that underfed little hay-head could do *this*--" Kirk choked back a scream and thought blissfully of just how great life was when Marlena was jealously paranoid of his shananigans. Not that he had done anything with Lieuteant Rael, but Marlena didn't have to know that, did she. "--or *this--" Marlena eased up on the pressure and then gripped him tighter than ever. Kirk exploded, his fingers digging into her heart-shaped ass and twisting upwards. Marlena shrieked like a wildcat, and used her nails the same way as she came with him. Kirk wondered briefly if the bed was going to hold up to this kind of treatment, and if so, for how long, then they were twisting knots into the blankets and the floor spun up to hit them. * * * "Aw, hell. Here's the problem." McCoy shook his head and handed back the offfending medical tricorder to his AMO. "The spatial co-ordinant program's been freaked up. Somebody try to rig a bomb with the buildup frequency again?" M'Benga gave Leonard McCoy a dirty look. "Not that *I* know of." "That's right." McCoy said dryly. "Notcher style...ok, just reset the proggy and it's good to go." "Reset it??" M'Benga yelped just as Nurse Holstone marched in (she never did anything so civilian as walk, stroll, travel or, Good Lord, mosey). McCoy deliberately afforded her a brief glare that warned her not to try anything cute, he didn't trust her further than he could throw a cordazine-hyped Vulcan. "You can't reset an Imperial tricorder! We need to take it down to Security!" "Waste of time." McCoy grunted. "Here, I'll show you a shortcut I learned back on the CADEUCCES." Holstone was stacking files, but she had, uninvited, joined M'Benga in his audience. At least the CMO didn't have to worry about the woman knifing him in the back, or spiking his coffee, or any of the other millions of creative ways she had about her, for the moment. Holstone and M'Benga were both absolute junkies when it came to learning something that might be useful later. He went into full Lecture Mode and showed them the quickest way to pop off the tricorder casing, and used a bone stylus to stitch a quick co-ordinant program into the synthesynaptic crystal. His back muscles relaxed just a bit as a shadow in the shape of Christine Chapel fell over the doorway. Backup. Bless her. "It's usually best to go for the simplest formula when you're trying to pinpoint a patient standing in the space of a room. I just latch in the three axes of the Rectangular System; less numbers and symbols to glue up." Morbidly amused, McCoy noted how M'Benga and Holstone subconsciously gravitated to each other as they watched the logisitcs of x, y, and z line out on the newly written tricorder, and then McCoy quickly snapped the casings shut and demonstrated. The machine verified that M'Benga did exist and was alive and healthy. You could practically see the little clicks in their heads as they concentrated burning the memory of this lesson into their brains. Visually, of course, nobody could be at fault for experiencing some lust at either medico. M'Benga was no slouch in the appearance department, being determined to remain in tip-top shape and Holstone was a strong-jawed, copper-tressed Amazon with apple green eyes and a fearsome demeanor on the basketball court. The fact that they were too busy concentrating on rising in rank to actually give in to the lust they carried about each other, caused McCoy no end of private glee. "Pardon me," Chapel entered smoothly, a heavy box tucked under one arm. "But you wanted me to tell you when the Rec room was open." "Oh, good." McCoy stood up and set the tricorder on the biobed. "Lesson's over, folks. M'Benga, you're in command." Neither CMO or CMN said much as they made their way down the hallway. Small talk tended to be for private occasions, and one rarely said in public anything of importance. Spock strolled by in the protection of his guards, hands clasped deep in thought behind his back, returning their salutes on reflex. McCoy glanced at Chapel through the sides of his eyes. "Still hoping, huh?" Chapel had given up blushing with her virginity. She glared at him. "At least I'm honest about who I'd like to get into bed with." "And I'm not?" He affected a wounded demeanor. "How would I know?" She shot back as they threaded through a knot of nervously sweating crewmen (repairs went ahead of schedule or Kirk would demand a painful tribute.) "I don't have the slightest idea of who you'd like to get into bed with!" Ears perked up in her direction; McCoy didn't notice (or didn't care, he was one of those truly oblivious people) as he shifted the box to his other arm. "Or for that matter, *what* you'd like to get into bed with!" McCoy laughed. "You make me sound so refined." "Well?" Chapel demanded. "Well, what?" "Who's the target of your attentions, doctor? Seeing as how you seem to know everyone else's." "That's cause I notice things. You don't." "Oh, for...who is she, McCoy?" "Who is who?" On that tantalizing note, the turbolift doors shut after them. Crewman Jenks shook his head and continued to press his full weight against the new metal plating, holding it in place. His partner, a line of 4" spare screws in his teeth, drilled another bolt in. "Wouldn't you hate to be an officer?" Jenks wondered. Crewman Barnes nodded emphatically, and lined up another bolt with a hole. "That's suggestive." Jenks commented. Barnes glared at him, realized he was holding the last bolt in his mouth, and pulled back his lips, his teeth clicking as he bit down hard on the metal as if it was Jenks' dick. Jenks jumped and hunched his shoulders, properly cowed. Barnes peacefully finished his work. * * * Lt. Uhura passed a poisonous glare at Lt. Rael as she passed the new shedule Padd to the just-arrived Commander Spock. Spock settled in the Command Chair and put the Padd in his lap in one smooth motion, dark eyes seeming to frown as he skimmed over data at record speed. "Lieutenant Uhura, why is it we are scheduled to "accept tribute of three represenatives" at Antares IV without any mention of which species will be offering tribute?" "Datalog reports a conflict of scheduling, Sir." Uhura spoke smoothly and automatically as she spoke, properly focused on her CO, while mentally reviewing death, destruction, and a certain blonde Rael to be plucked bald and thrown out of an airlock. "High Command does not yet know which three members will be attending." Spock mused on that as he signed his acknowledgement at the bottom of the Padd. "I had hoped," he observed dryly, in a way that made everyone cringe even though they knew his scorn was not directed at them, "That we would avoid a repeat of last year's unfortunate incidents." "Sir." Uhura said politely. "Continue on, Lieutenant. Mr. Sulu, how long until we arrive in the Antares System?" "Six hours, 34.87 minutes, sir." Sulu answered properly. He glanced up as Lt. Rael casually walked between him and the mainscreen. Uhura could just imagine the smile that must be growing over his face like a fungus. "You are in command, Lieutenant. Carry on until ordered. Inform myself or the captain instantly if there is any delay." Spock had departed, and the Bridge instantly drew a breath of relief. "What did he mean by last year?" Chekov wondered. "Oh, boy." Sulu said with feeling. "Right before you got transferred, right? We were sent to Antares to accept tribute from five of the Subordinate Races, and wound up having to deal with *twelve!*" The Security/ Helmsman shuddered. "Assassinations right and left. Diplomats gotta be the craziest people in the Galaxy, Chekov. Crazier than coffee-addicted Klingons!" "Commander Scott found six corpses stuffed up his Jefferies Tubes in all!" Uhura broke in, trying not to laugh. "I'm surprised you couldn't hear him from the DEFIANT, Ensign!" "Six?" Chekov's mouth fell open. "Six. And being Diplomats, the captain couldn't discipline any of them unless his crew was directly threatened. We wound up having to go on glorified Cleanup Patrol!" Sulu finished. Color heated his cheeks at the memory. "The only good thing about that entire mess was the iagnappe. Its considered protocol for there to be gifts given to the Represenatives of the Empire (us), and all the senior officers became fashionably weathly for the next four months!" Lt. Rael's blonde head lifted from her console at Engineering at that last part. Uhura glared a dagger into the center of her spine. Paralysis, she thought. Inclement death. Sulu was courting with the worst kind of fire if he thought Rael would be a conquest. Uhura knew the type of woman Rael was, and "praying mantis" should be tattoo'd on her forehead. She really should warn him about the toxic Titanium Blonde, she mused, quietly running diags over her bandwidth...but on the other hand... * * * "Captain, I wasn't going to ask a thing." McCoy began, but Kirk cut him off with a snap: "It was just an accident." His steely voice dared the doctor to make anything of it. McCoy sighed, at the last end of his patience. "I can tell." He said dryly. "And its nothing big; a shot of muscle relaxant and a coat of heatstim should work everything out inside the hour." Kirk remained where he was, which was lying at a stiff sort of attention on the biobed. McCoy privately wondered how long he'd suffered a wrenched back before coming in for help. After being prepared for some snide comments about "recreational wounds", the captain was oddly disappointed that McCoy was being so damn-all incurious about the *other* injuries on his back. But Lord, at his age, Leonard figured he'd seen plenty of "territoral marks" on a man. And just look at Marlena's nails. Rather than find it tiltating, McCoy was rather disturbed and chilled to think of those weapons digging into human flesh. I mean, a little poison on the underside, and you'd have one very dead lover. "So how long until Antares?" McCoy asked calmly as he loaded the chamber. "About five hours. Spock says the number of "Guests" we'll be seeing to have gone up to five." Kirk relaxed a bit as the hypo instantly took away the pain. "And that number may yet change at the last minute." McCoy made a tsking sound and searched for a heatstim. He found one smaller than his palm and placed it dirctly over the injured part. The devil in him wondered if Marlena was doing any suffering, but he wasn't going to ask. It was unlikely. That woman was a puma. "You know the drill." Kirk began in "that warning tone." "Senior Officers and Escort." McCoy didn't say anything, just re-set his hypo for the future. "So who are you bringing?" Kirk dared. "Haven't thought about it." McCoy said absently. "Well, you'd better. Protocol, McCoy. Admiral Fox is bringing his new boyfriend and at least the kid is well socialized." "Yeah? Who is it?" "Albus Jahan." "The composer?" McCoy's jaw dropped. "Fox is a music- hound?" Kirk snickered. "You don't have to look so surprised. It takes all kinds." "You can say that again." McCoy rolled his eyes upward. * * * Spock turned his head to the polite chime on his door. "Enter." He said. Nurse Chapel paused at the doorway, then placed herself inside just enough so the door could close after her. "Commander Spock." She said neutrally. "Nurse Chapel." Spock afforded her a bare nod. "Is there a reason why you choose to speak with me?" "There is, Commander." Chapel thought that she would have never envisioned herself doing this...if Leonard hadn't set her up to it. Damn him, she'd find some way to-- "I wish to speak to you about the Antares Conference." Spock's curiosity was up. His eyebrows followed suit and he pushed aside his personal padd, leaning back in his chair. "Indeed?" He murmured. "There is a possibility that you might require an escort for the Conference." Chapel had decided Spock wasa going to turn her down anyway, so she might as well NOT be hung for faulty logic, arguments, or an inefficient presentation. "I am here to say that if there is no one already slated for that post, I am interested in fulfilling it." "You have a direct manner, Lieutenant." "Thank you, Commander." One eyebrow had gone down...slightly. "Am I wrong in thinking you are interested in being more than my escort?" Hung for a sheep or a lamb? Sheep. Definitely, sheep. "Well, sir, I wouldn't mind having your children, if that's what you're asking." The eyebrows went back up. To stay. Chapel thought that she might be seeing a gleam of amusement in the dark eyes. "Your candor is refreshing, Lieutenant." He said with perfect sobriety. "May I ask if someone challenged you to this?" "No, sir, no one did." "No one?" Skepticism now. "No challenge, sir. Dr. McCoy did tell me I was contradicting myself with my unusual cowardice in discussing this with you. You could say that got my temper up." "I...see." Spock quickly looked down at his Padd. *He's trying not smile!* Chapel couldn't blame him. Under her own astonishment, she was having trouble keeping her lips straight. "Leiutenant," Spock said gravely, and he said it oh so seriously, one might believe there was ice water in his veins, "I would be honored if you were my escort tonight." * * * Sulu cursed wildly under his breath to find a backlog of mail waiting in his personal computer. This was not a good way to spend his evening in his cabin, on the few times he was feeling like relaxing. No, no, calm down, he admonished himself. It wasn't like he was going to relax anyway--they would be at a whopping huge conference in just a few hours and he had just enough time to put his feet up before he polished up his personal guards and slapped on a good show. As security officer, he knew as fast as anyone else which species would be attending--so far. The five applicants had briefly gone to seven, then without warning dropped to *two* which damn near had given Kirk a heart attack. Sulu couldn't blame him. The ENTERPRISE was too worthy a starship to accept tribute from just two subordinate worlds. Then ten minutes later, the number had gone up to four. Chekov had privately bet Kirk would have a choleric stroke-- whatever that was--and then Kirk had proven again why he was the best captain in the fleet by sending a harsh re back telling all concerned Ambassadors and Diplomats that he would give them *exactly* ten minutes to finalize their numbers because after that deadline, he wasn't going to accept or deny any more. You go, Kirk. This was becoming quite insane. Sulu really did hate this time of year; corresponding to Terran Solstice, or, if you were old-fashioned, Saturnalia, it was full of all kinds of stress. Despite what the murder-fiction writers liked to think, assassinations generally went down, as well as suicides and homicides. Which indirectly meant a lot less paperwork. But at the same time, you had twice the networking, alliance-forging, and tie-breakings. Even the gladiator games were boring; reruns until the official start of next year. Sulu leaned back in his chair and began tossing electronic junk mail with a heavy hand--if it didn't look like his life hinged on it at that very moment, it was junk mail. OK, who to get as an escort... Two very pretty possibilities were dancing around his mind at the moment. Rael, and Uhura. Uhura would require a heavy approach because she wouldn't respect anything else. Rael was making it pretty clear she'd like to get inside his elbow, though. Sulu was of course somewhat leery of that. Just because a woman was throwing off "come here" pheremones didn't mean she wasn't going to knife him later. Trouble was, both of them were extremely fuckable. Sulu pondered the logistics of this, and finally pulled out a coin to flip. * * * Chekov, at least, was not the subject of any such angst as was politicking its way around the Bridge Officers. He had a pretty little Junior Grade Ensign inside his elbow who thought he was just wonderful. * * * Scott cursed under his breath and picked up a burned data solid he'd been using as a paperweight. Mira deftly prevented him from smashing it into the wall. "I dinnae choose this when I took the Sash!" The Chief Engineer and Accounting Officer was bellowing. "Dressin' up like a popinjay! Parading like a scallop-eared Sassenach in th--" "Noted and logged, Mr. Scott." Mira's amazing blue eyes effectively froze him in his tracks. Her dry, faintly amused voice managed to calm him down. "I don't like it any more than you do, Montgomery. I'm going to feel like Exhibit 3-a standing next to you." "Mmnph!" Scott exhaled and sank down on the edge of his bed, letting his head hang in frustration. "Annual Solstice Humiliation." "That's the *fifth* time you said that. Mind explaining that to me?" Mira joined him and began working her fingers deep into his shoulder muscles. "Because it doesn't sound all that bad. Just attending as represenatives of the Empire, accept symbolic tribute in the name of the Empire, and then accept very real gratuity gifts." "Is'nae that simple." Scott said helplessly. "First of all, once in a blue moon, we have a subordinant diplomat who isnae gonna give tribute. That means we're officially at war, and the captain will phaser down the whole party." "Well, that's a downer." Mira admitted. "If ye think that be bad, we get a few people who'll kill themselves in front of us, just ta prove some kind of heathen political statement. Last year we had twelve warriors from Beta VIII march forward and with a single stroke, cut off their own heads! Ye wouldna believe what the floor looked like!" "Sweet Gods. What did the captain do to that?" Mira gaped. "He didna get a chance ta do anything. Sulu broke the awful silence by bustin' his gut laughing. Then we all saw how crazed it was and started laughing ourselves. It turned out to be the highlight of the damn celebration!" Mira blinked. "Sulu laughed?" She repeated. "Well he's a quick thinker when it comes t'survival. And he saw we'd be losing all our faces if we didn't pick our jaws off the floor and do something in reaction t'that homicidal display. When it was finally over and done with, he let the turbodoors close after him, swiped his face, and pretended t'faint in Uhura's arms." "Now that's more like it." Mira snickered. "I wish I'd seen the last part. Not the first part, mind you. Which reminds me, what should I be wearing?" "Anything that'd hide bloodstains." Scott said firmly. "I don't think I look good in black." "Oh, pah! Mira, ye'd look good in anything..." His thick eyebrows danced up and down. "And nothing, fer that matter..." "Are you suggesting we delay our prep time for Antares?" Mira stuck her nose against his, eyes skewering eyes. "Did ye not check the dress codes when ye signed on, woman?" Scott pretended outrage. "As long as ye wear the insignia over yer breast, ye'r regulation." He paused. "Ye dinna even have to wear anything on that said breast." "No, thank you, but this is not Gamma Tia, and I am not one for ritual nudity. Where could I put my dagger?" Scott suddenly flipped her over and was pinning her to the bed. "I know where ye can put *mine*, lass." "Montgomery," Mira chuckled deep in her throat just before his mouth covered hers, "The day you have to tell *me* where, you can take me to the back pasture and shoot me." * * * McCoy was cracking his jaw over a huge yawn and his sixth cup of strong coffee for the day when his Head Nurse buffaloed into his office, Full Impulse Power. "He said yes!" McCoy cringed. "Hold y'hosses, Nurse. I'm in the middle of a splitting caffeine hangover." "God, Leonard! Why can't you have a drunken hangover like everyone else?" "Because that's just *so* plebian." McCoy snorted. "And anyway, congratulations." "Enough of me. Who are you taking?" "Mmmmn'no." "Don't give me that "mmmn'no!" Chapel slapped her palms down on the desk. "After shaming me into jumping the breech, I'm not letting *you* get away with that!" She struggled to meet his jaundiced eye. "Come on, you have to take somebody! Chekov's taking that Lexan, and if he can find an escort, can't you?" "He's taking the Lexan??" McCoy blinked. "Now that's news. Is Tavers a male or female this week?" "I have no idea. You have to check hir uniform to know." "Damn, I don't think I want to know. Its hard enough keeping two different gender-specific medical files for a Lexan!!" McCoy shook his head violently. "This from the man who nearly married that Trill!" "What's wrong with *that Trill?*" McCoy snapped testily. "Nothing, if you don't mind threeways. Because that's what you get with a vermiform and its host." "I happen to not mind threeways." McCoy had let one eyebrow soar like an untethered balloon. "And for your information, we *would* have gotten married if Emony hadn't gotten stabbed. But with the advent of a new host, you could say it ceased to be a Democracy, and I don't date Republicans." "Len, if you got any more complicated, you'd be a physicist." "You can be sent to the agony booth for less, Nurse." McCoy said without rancor. Besides, what makes you think I'll even be able to *make* it to the conference? The last four times we've been to these damn-all Brown Nose Corporate Shenanigans, I've spent no more than two hours planetside before somebody's appendix, hangnail, sinusitis or kidney stone sent me straight back up to deal with it!" "If you assassinated M'Benga like you should, you'd have an AMO you could LET do those piddly things and not have to worry about getting interrupted!" "If I assassinated M'Benga, I'd have to assassinate Holstone too. And that would leave the senior staff at half- mast. You name me a half-way decent replacement for 'em, and I'll think about it." Chapel thought. And thought. "Damn." She said at last. * * * "Oh, Lord, these things hurt..." Chapel had heard it all before. "They're better than the last type of dress uniform." She reminded him impatiently. McCoy paused in the middle of vainly trying to stretch some slack between his neck and the "elastic" band that was his collar. It was the same stuff as his Officer's Sash, and he just knew he'd have a rash or something by the end of the night. "What are you so antsy about?" He wondered. "We're on duty another fifteen minutes. It's not the end of the world." Chapel fidgeted. "I'm just wanting to see Commander Spock." "I promise, he'll look as good--or bad--as any of us poor bastards made to gussy up." McCoy sighed and let his shoulders droop. His next words were directed to the mirror, and Chapel had no idea what he meant, except the tone was a fairly good indicator. "So whose your escort?" "I don't have one." Chapel shook her head. "Are you trying to get the captain permanently mad at you?" "Nope. Its somewhat less dangerous than to ask a woman out for the night." "What's so dangerous about asking a woman out?" Chapel wanted to know. McCoy was about to ignore her, then spared her a withering glare. "You ask a woman out on *this* ship, and she'll lay claim in ten minutes!" "So? Its how the world works." "Let's go." McCoy glanced at his wrist chrono. "Fine with me." Chapel picked up her short cloak, Nurse's Blue with Command gold trim on the edges. McCoy spared his a look of distaste. Officers had *all* their medals on the front, and his no longer folded from the amount of metal. Then of course, you had Kirk and Spock, who could barely move at all with all the awards on their cloth. "I bet you could stop a dagger with that Deep Space Merit Badge." Chapel commented. "Cute." He muttered. "Speaking of, I hope you have yours tucked safely away." "Need you ask?" "Not really." He said as they rounded the corner and began bumping into other officers on their way to Transport. "Just making that stupid small talk our species is famous for." "Doctor, you are a real killjoy." Chapel declared. The doors opened; Spock's bearded face glanced up from the console. And she smiled quietly. Glee, McCoy decided. Go for it, Christine. They barely entered before the door opened again, and then it was make room for the captain and Marlena. The medicos automatically pulled back. It was no good to get too close to the personal space of the most powerful people on ship. Chapel slipped over and joined Spock's side. Sulu and Uhura stepped in at that point, and bodies were barely shuffling enough space when Chekov and the Lexxan entered. Scott and Mira brought up the last. Red, blue, yellow, gold and black swirled over the suddenly cramped room. "Positions." Kirk barked crisply. Bodies fell more or less in place, but the salutes were perfect and crisp. "I won't bother telling my officers how to behave." He said ominously. "The chances are, we'll be having to watch out for each others' backs down there until the formalities are over with and the banquet starts. Does anyone have any questions? Good. Energize, Mr. Kyle." Short and sweet, was the mental verdict of the officers as the beam caught them. Typical Kirk. * * * Antarean politics could be agreed upon by all Imperial denizens as: Medium dull. Ambassador Fox once compared it to a dry, dull sermon in an Episcopal Church on a perfect summer day. And that was mostly why Antares was the seating for the tribute this year. Kirk had to feel deep pity for the DEFIANT, who was hosting the tributes of six species on Vulcan this year. One could only imagine how many people wouuld wind up dead at *that* event! And don't even think about the newly refitted INTREPID, stranded on Andor and forced to listen to four of the most contentuous races ever spawned fight over everything from the honor of going first to the honor of going last. Sooo....Antares was all well and good, as far as he was concerned. They reformed in the center of a large hall that appeared to have been designed by mentally ill Rigellians: a library crossed with an art museum. Emerald green velvet-like material hung everywhere, over the walls, and ribboning the massive white stone pillars with strange veins of goldlike ore still inside. The floor seemed to be made of a thicker version of the same stuff, and their boots made no sound. Marlena caught Kirk's attention with an appreciative sound in her throat. "My, my...look at that." Kirk looked. Past the milling throng of various aliens of all kinds (and even more varied dress), the banquet table stretched to infinity, a giant open circle fifty feet in diameter, decked with crockery, silverware, crystal and plant life. Thirty feet above the tables was even more impressive. Ice sculpting was rare on Antares, but giant birds glittered and hung suspended in the air with artificial gravity, fruit and candy inside their bodies like strange pinatas. "Showing off just a bit." Kirk commented. "As warm as it gets here, the birds will melt when the turn the cooling units off. The moisture will evaporate before it hits the diners, but the goodies inside will fall wherever." Marlena hummed, impressed. Kirk had just noticed something. "Doctor, where is your escort?" "She's already here." McCoy met his eye dead on, and thought of the last time he'd had to play Blackjack with the man. "Oh? And who is the lucky lady?" Kirk wondered suspiciously. He'd seen his doctor squirm out of plenty of engagements before--it was true he was as social as a hibernating grizzly with sore molars--but he had to admit, McCoy had never used this particular dodge before. Chapel straightened her cloak over her shoulders, thinking apprehensively that Leonard had better watch out. Antareans were extremely socially paranoid, and to come single to an event was to say you were a deliberately rude bastard. McCoy smiled sweetly. "Oh, I'm sure you'll approve. You introduced us to each other last year." Kirk's query to that never escaped his lips. Trumpets blasted the air, and Ambassador Fox shimmered into existence with twenty fully armed warriors. * * * Chekov had lifted a potent drink to his lips before his eyes went wide and he had to sit the glass down on the table. "Oh, no." He whispered under his breath. His escort tried to follow his gaze in the bustle of running waiters. "What is it?" Tav wondered. "It's started already." Chekov grimaced as a knife flashed on the other side of the Ring. There was a frantic knot of activity, then a tiny buzzer went off somewhere around the ceiling, and a limp form was efficiently hustled away by the waiters. "Oh, well. More for the rest of us." Tav, who was currently female, frowned and struggled to see. "I missed it." "Don't worry. I'm sure that's not the end of it." Tav slipped her slender hand under the cloth and reached for his knee. When she saw him smile behind his glass, she moved her hand a little to the side and let it linger. "Hey, don't stop." "Who said I was?" * * * The youthful exchange had not gone unnoticed. "Bairns." Scott shook his head in amused tolerance. "Gropin' in public and gettin' off wi' it." Mira snickered under her breath. Next to his ruddy tartan, she was a blue flame of silk. "Unlike we older folk, who plan out and pace ourselves?" "Well what do ye expect from an engineer?" "Oh, I'm not asking for much, if that's the query, Commander." Mira spoke out of the side of her mouth, a throaty, smoky act of ventriloquism. "But as to results..." * * * *** Scott and Mira weren't the only ones to notice the youthful groping going on between Chekov and Tavers ("Tav" when the Lexan had a right to wear skirts). Sulu shuddered just a bit and reached forward for the pitcher of gleaming drink. "Careful." Uhura cautioned. Her large bust size made reaching around her for anything a challenge. "So far so good." The Helmsman muttered, somewhat of a sour note as the security team neatly "helped" a man out of the room. "Only two stabbings, and I bet there's going to be at least three more before we even *start* the procedings." "You always did bet small." Uhura commented coolly. "I say five." "Five? Hah. That's stretching it, don't you think?" Sulu scorned. On the other side of Uhura, McCoy was silently rolling his eyes upwards and hoping the large ice display just above his head wasn't going to drop anything hard and sharp on his skull, neck or shoulders. "It wouldn't be good strategy." "Are you saying I don't know anything about strategy?" Uhura snapped frostily. (McCoy instinctively leaned away from her. His desires of self-preservation were very strong and healthy). "I didn't say a thing." Sulu shot back. "You did." Uhura's gaze was the effluem of lava. She decided he was being difficult because of Rael. Any further and he'd remind her he could have chosen that little piece of fruit instead of her. Sulu inadvertantly saved himself from adding to the casualty list by blinking in puzzlement over her shoulder. "Hey, where'd he go off too?" Uhura twisted around. The doctor's chair was empty. "I don't know, but he'd better not stay gone. You know these natives." "Good Lord." Marlena commented. Kirk looked up from his drink to see a familiar woman striding down in a glittering silver dress. Long nut-brown hair swept down her shoulders in an impressive braid and silver jewelry glittered at her throat. She wore nothing that could be construed as self-defense, but the platoon of personal bodyguards, fully armed and suspicious, made up for all of that. "Oracle Natira." Spock mentioned. Natira bowed with cool esteem at the captain. "Captain Kiurk." She said calmly. "Lady Oracle." Kirk bowed back. "I take it you are here for the holiday." "Not unlike our own at home." Natira admitted, faint curiosity coloring her voice. Her amazing eyes lingered over the table, then settled on a faraway spot. "I you will excuse me, I must meet my escort." "By all means." Kirk answered, clueless, and followed the trail of her silver dress through the crowd. It stopped at a very unexpected figure. The captain strangled on his Argelian Wine. "Take it easy." Marlena tapped him on the back. As soon as he had the chance, Kirk whirled on Spock. "Did you know HE was HER escort?" Spock was insulted. "I would not know anything of the CMO's private life." He pointed out--his tone of voice implying he wasn't enough of a pervert to even be vaguely interested in such a warped, illogical, nonsensical activity. Marlena chuckled. "I think its amazing. He found the only woman in that entire race who doesn't wear different patterns of plaid at the same time." Chapel shuddered. "Call the fashion police." Kirk was still running on astonishment. "How did he even have time to romance her? We were in contact with Yonada for exactly thirty six hours!" Everyone looked at Chapel for an explanation. She held back on her initial reaction, which was to say something scathing and rude. These were all her superiors, and she had to be polite, even if none of them deserved it. She settled for a shrug. "He didn't." She admitted. "He didn't?" Scott blinked. Beside him, Mira was slowly smiling as the truth dawned. After a minute, Tav and Marlena and Uhura did too. The men started looking at their escorts in growing bewilderment. "No, he didn't, sir." Chapel said demurely. "As I recall, *she* romanced *him.*" *** "Well, that's gonna be painful." McCoy commented as he passed a glass tube to the Oracle. She took it gracefully, and he ignored the fact that her men had surrounded them in a hollow box formation. "What is?" "Kirk's going to want to know about us, and I won't have anything to tell 'im." Natira chuckled. "Hopefully it will stay that way." She blinked at a faint ruckus in the back. "Are things always this...lively...for your people?" "Oh, no...just for Starship Captains, and the people who serve under them." He told her a bit wearily. *** The banquet was starting to really get going. Chapel lost count of the number of dignitaries, and had to notice that Kirk was doing all he could to avoid Ammbassador Fox and his escort, Albus Jahan. She wondered if it was difficult for Uhura to stay away from the composer--she was a known musicologist, and obsessive about modern rhythms. Well, Albus wasn't her idea of a good date. The Nurse shook her head at the tall, pale, too-thin youth with the shock of white hair--no doubt where the Albus came in. And to make him even more ethereal, he never spoke. Never. Just smiled and nodded faintly. Some people liked 'em dumb, she shrugged. Fox just liked the dumbness to be a more literal thing. *And...herrrreeeee we go....* She neatly stepped to Spock's side at his nod. The ranks were parting, and Ambassador Fox was standing at the center dias, his heavy robes sober as a church on a sunny day. "Och." Scott sighed with relief. He held Mira a bit closer. "Let the windbag speak his speak, and we' can move on to the real business. It's started." "How long will it take him?" Mira wondered innocently. Scott glanced at the giant chrono on the wall. "Well, he's na as bad as some. Gi' th'mon an hour." "Dear God." Mira said with feeling. Fox spread his arms out, rippling velvet. "Citizens!" He boomed out. Then Albus Jahan toppled over at his feet, a large throwing dart deep in his spine. Natira blinked. "Ma'koi, is that supposed to happen?" "Um, no." McCoy strangled. He was rather proud of himself for being capable of speech at all. "It's not." There was a brief, awed hush, and Fox was turning to stare upwards in the balcony above his head. This time, the assassin didn't miss. As opposed to a fletchette in the back, he got it square in the heart. *** Natira proved herself armed at that moment, when her left arm shot up. The assassin's missle scraped her wrist but cringed backwards in the depths of the balcony with a small blade protruding from its upper arm. "Oh, bother." Natira said without thinking. "I missed." "Whaddaya mean?" McCoy was keeping her head down, and using his sash to staunch the flow of blood while pandemonium erupted in many different ways around them. "That was a pretty good shot for disabling somebody!" "I was not trying to disable them. I was trying to take their throat out." "Oh." *** "I don't believe thi--" Kirk had shot to his feet, Spock a close second. Within seconds the body count was confirmed. "McCoy, you and Chapel take the Oracle to Sickbay." He snapped. "The bodyguards can stay here and help with security." All twelve burly men looked at Natira. She nodded and they snapped to attention. If possible, even more knives were produced. *** People were used to death on the holidays, but it was surprisingly easy to have the banquet hall emptied. The officers dispersed over the room, the Fabrini maintaining good security and making sure nobody got in or out. Sulu had gotten to the top of the balcony and was scanning for information. Scott had ripped a power relay panel open from behind a wall of fake stone and was shaking his head at the subterfuge inside. Mira was helping him and unknowingly repeating his actions. Uhura was rigging two communicators together to boost the bandwidth into easier talk with the ship. Chekov and Tav were outside, asking the surviving ambassador unpleasant but neccessary questions about enemies. Spock was being Spock--that is, inscrutable. Marlena simply waited until somebody needed an extra hand, or a chemist. She sat at the table and picked her way through a bowl of frosted fruits. "I'm glad Natira was here." She commented as Uhura maneuvered crystals. "Otherwise, things would have been even more interesting than they were." Uhura snickered. "I know. You coulud practically hear the "oops" from the balcony when Albus got Fox's knife." She shook her head sadly at the waste in the world of music. "There's orange blood on the carpet." Sulu called down. "Mostly orange, at any rate. Looks like more than one blood type up here." "The Oracle wounded an Orion." Spock commented. "Can't we have one party without their crashing?" Uhura muttered. "Probably not." Marlena had overheard. "My ship was supposed to be looking OUT for enemy species!" Kirk snarled. "And the last time I checked, Orions qualified!" Spock sighed at the inevitable. "It would seem they have infiltrated the Bridge Crew." "Who was the Bridge Officer on duty?" Kirk snapped. "Lt. Rael." Spock supplied. "Lt. Rael?" Chekov repeated. Then he said the first thing that came to mind: "If dis is a jealousy issue, mebbe you should have inwited HER instead." "You can get shot for less, Navigator." Sulu warned. "Belay the white noise." Kirk barked absently. "The question is, where did the assassin go, and where is Rael?" Sulu's lips were tight with frustration as he lowered the communicator Uhura had put together for him. "I can't raise anybody on the Bridge. They're either dead or knocked out." "Inact the Security locks." The captain snapped. "If we've got more mischief up there, we might as well KEEP them up there." *** Up in Sickbay, McCoy was shaking his head over the slash wound on Natira's wrist. "Lady Oracle, I am *aware* that there is no discrimination between the sexes in your people, but dear Lord, have some small consideration for your own rank. Murdered delegates is one thing--dead planetary rulers leads to really unfortunate side effects." "Such as civil war." Chapel chipped in, holding the tray closer as the doctor angled for a tiny sliver of metal in the wound. "I wasn't supposed to *miss*, Ma'koi." Natira said with some asperity. She realized she was very embarassed. This was not a good showing of her people. Chapel shuddered and went to the back of the Sickbay in search of a plastiskin weaving that would match Natira's skin tone the best. Her choked scream sent the other two running to her side. "Holy God!" McCoy swore at the corpse on the floor. This was turning out to be a dreadful Saturnalia. "Medic Saunders!" "D-don't turn him over." Chapel advised faintly. "I just...did." "S'ok, I understand." McCoy patted her on the shoulder, eyeing what had spilled out of the burly man from what was apparantly a very large wound. "What else is out of place-- besides the fact that he shouldn't BE here at all??" Quietly the two officers scanned with eyes and instruments while Natira stayed politely out of the way. After a long moment, they conferred in technical speech she didn't understand and Chapel pulled out her communicator to hail the captain. McCoy rejoined her side. "How's your wrist?" He asked gently. "It will be fine." Natira frowned. "What is going on?" McCoy sighed. "In a nutshell, the moral of this story is: when you're robbing your superior oficer of drugs to sell to the black market, watch out for any dangerous fugitives hiding in the storeroom." He rubbed his forehead tensely. "Lord knows where the killer's at, too. Might have to draw a number..." "When--" Chapel froze. The lights had just blipped to lowest lumen. McCoy silently guided Natira backwards to behind his desk and against the wall. "Down." He whispered in her ear. Natira was used to obeying people who aimed to protect her. It was part of her training as an irreplaceable member of her society. She watched as the officers wordlessly reached for various caches of weapons. Chapel was inwardly fuming. Stress made her angry, as opposed to afraid. It was no wonder she liked Vulcans. McCoy was pondering stragety in his mind. "Natira," He said gently, keeping his voice as low as possible, although it was doubtful the murderer had the Fabrini language program in their subdermal. "The killer is somewhere in Sickbay. We surprised'm by walking in. Now the captain has the ship on security, and the only way they can leave Sickbay is if me or Chapel opens the locking codes on the doors." "They're trying to frighten you out." Natira realized. "Uh, huh. Stay down. Whatever will happen, will happen pretty quickly." Grim words. Chapel shook her head with a nod and angrily wiped her palms on her skirt. Just when she was getting somewhere with Spock, too. There was no God. Natira knew not to play heroics, but that didn't mean she was about to just sit and let people get killed around her either. She silently opened the nearest drawer and began searching in the murk for a weapon. Her fingers closed around a familiar object; a spare dagger, better than standard issue, when a quick soft footfall entered the room from her left side. It was headed right for the doorway, and Chapel was between it and its goal. Natira saw little more than a movement, but it was close range and sizeable. This time, she didn't miss. *** "Well, how about that." McCoy marveled. "We actually killed somebody who thoroughly deserved it." Chapel gouged his ribs with her elbow. Granted he had a point, but there was no need to mention it in front of the civilian. Natira was busy staring at the corpse. "Ma'koi," she began slowly, "Do all humans bleed red?" "We're supposed to." He answered, just as slowly. "Uh...why?" "This person seems to be bleeding a bit...brightly." McCoy craned for another look. "Uh, oh." He said sourly. "Now, how do you think we missed that?" "Missed what?" Chapel wondered uneasily. She couldn't see a thing from her vantage point. "Nurse, you didn't do Rael's physical when she came aboard, did you?" "Certainly not, I--" Chapel saw a bright red-orange puddle over the dead woman's front. "Oh, my. M'Benga has a lot to answer for." "M'Benga?" McCoy brightened. "Now howsa'bout that..." Natira looked from one to the other. "Would someone please tell me what is happening?" McCoy was whistling a merry tune as he sliced open Rael's tunic and fishing around her heart for any helpful mechanical subterfuge. Chapel explained: "Orions. Obviously a rush job, or she would have physically passed inspection through anyone, but they must have been in a hurry." Natira watched curiously as McCoy pulled out a gory triangle of gold circuitry with a triumphant "a-ha!" "So someone in your sickbay was bribed to let her through?" "Oh, I've been *waiting* for this." McCoy snickered. "Christine, you know anybody who'd like to take Nurse Holstone's place?" "Give me time. I'll think of somebody." *** It was late. Somewhat fatigued but self-satisfied, the Bridge Crew and small Fabrini entourage clustered around an impractically colored Saturnalia Tree for one last round of drinking. "Here, try this." Uhura offered to Sulu. "It's not at all bad if you just keep on drinking it." Sulu shrugged and decided to go with it--all in the spirit of the holiday. McCoy had given Natira a small silver necklace and was teaching her bodyguards how to gunshot low-grade alcohol. He appeared to have dedicated students on his hands. Chapel leaned back in her chair with a deep sigh of satisfaction. Hyacinth, the traditional scent of the holiday, burned in candles over the room. The chill glass of tranya tingled her nose in a pleasant way. "Would you have some more, Nurse?" Spock's baritone inquired politely. She opened her eyes slowly. "I would like that very much." She answered. Spock filled to the brim, and then his own. "Do you have further plans for your schedule tonight?" He asked conversationally, as if Marlena and Kirk's current liars' contest about the last leave on Wrigley's was no more than background chatter. Considering his superior hearing, he must have amazing blocking skills. "No, sir." Chapel answered slowly. "I don't. Do you require anything?" Spock's eyebrow went up. His face was absolutely deadpan again. She thought of the last time she'd seen that particular Supervulcan look, back in his quarters. "I believe we do have unfinished business to discuss." He reminded her calmly. Chapel blinked. "Oh." She shook her head. "You'll have to forgive me. It's been a long day and I've had a great deal to think about. What were we going to discuss?" "As I recall, you mentioned something about bearing my children." Chapel was a moment collecting her voice. She drank tranya until the sweat popped out of her forehead. Spock was waiting expectantly for her to say something, and she realized this was another one of his teasing tests. And Spock, a tease? Who WOULD have thought such a thing? "I'd be pleased." Chapel answered back in a like tone of voice. "If you wouldn't mind answering a simple question." "And what would that be?" "Were you ever interested in me, or does this simply appear to be a good idea?" Spock tilted his head to one side curiously. "I was to understand that the first part of your question is considered "leading" among humans, so I should avoid it." The eyebrow had gone up. "But as to being a good idea, your manners suggested you would not be incompatible with my culture." "My manners?" Chapel repeated. Off to the far side, she saw McCoy glance up from talking with Natira, visibly restrain a smirk, and go back to a *very* absorbed conversation. She began to smell a setup. "Indeed. Most humans are unaware that Vulcans appreciate candor above all modes of conversation. And you were displaying unmistakeable candor early this morning." Chapel imagined herself in a deep relationship with Spock, sharpening a tongue of adamantium and saying exactly what was on her mind, twenty four hours a day, seven days a week. And then curbing it all and invoking "human manners" by smiling, keeping her mouth shut, and pretending to be cheerful when she didn't mean it in the workplace. *This just might be hell.* She thought. On the other hand, she'd never turned down anything resembling a challenge in her life. And she wasn't about to start now. *But I'll get you for this.* She thought-beamed at her CMO. *You set us up. Sneaky, sneaky bastard. Got tired of my mooning around, didn't you?* McCoy's response was a bland, innocent blink. THE END