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