Title: "She Takes Command" Author: Kelthammer Series: TOS-MIRROR Pairing: U/f Code: NC-13; implied bondage, s/m and other stuff you'd hesitate to consider on a sunny day in a meadow of wildflowers. Feedback: sure! Summary: Kirk's secret Tantalus Device has been mucked up big time with the Daystrom Fiasco. There are no private moments on the ISS ENTERPRISE anymore. In the meantime, what's a lonely lieutenant to do with her lack of love? Disclaimer: What everyone else says. "Her figure adorned in elegant raiment, she takes command And leads in the dances." --Homeric hymn to Artemis * * * Lieutenant Nyota Penda Uhura groaned out loud the second she opened her eyes that morning. Her computer, its voice turned off for the night, was telling her in no uncertain language that Daystrom's ghosts were still running amuck in the ENTERPRISE's syntheneural pathways. *I'll never, ever get to Andromachea.* She thought in despair. *I'll die of old age before we can get shore leave!* Not for the first time (nor the last), she wished devoutly that Kirk had just up and executed that raving lunatic. Of course she *did* understand that High Command took a dim view of such things without their express approval (brilliant scientists were at a premium, even completely unbalanced ones), but Daystrom's little mechanical mathom had done more than vaporize an entire fleet of warships. It had completely bollixed up the once-malleable workings of the master computer. Three weeks later, and unexpected "surprises" kept showing up, undetected, unpredictable. You could hear COmmander Scott's daily curses all the way from the deepest Jefferies Tubes. Literally. While nearly all the sections had trouble from Daystom's M-5, Uhura's and Sulu's departments had it especially bad: security beams were flipping all over the ship. One minute you would be relaying data on-screen to Hydrophonics, and one arcsecond later,your view of Hydro would be switched to Main Rec and whatever play was being shown. And that was if you were lucky. Embarassingly candid moments had gotten so commonplace that people were actually not blushing anymore. What was odd was, no matter what they did, the camera would stick to someone, and then...*follow* them for a few minutes, before fading away to the original channel. Uhura had never encountered anything like it; it was as if it was blending with another, completely different security system. Sulu had quickly de-activated all of his "special" security cameras once it was clear what was happening. Uhura had a feeling that was a very good thing. Not even Spock knew where Sulu's eyes could be. Well, they weren't now. Thinking of the Security Helmsman put a brief smile on Uhura's full lips as she shrugged into her uniform. Getting transferred to Comm had been the best thing to happen to her. As Navigator, it had been just too close to that man. Except for emergencies, she stayed away from that old post. Not that it kept Sulu from trying to romance her in his own, overly energetic way... Oh, he was handsome, there was no doubt about that. The scar above his eye only added to that dangerous rakishness, an unspoken dare to women that said, "Do you think you can?" But Nyota knew he couldn't be trusted. He would *love* to get in her good graces, what with she being in Comm and able to descramble codes and transmissions he could only dream of... She slipped her Officer's Blade inside her sash, and her private dagger inside her boot (the really good knife, like most officers kept), checked her reflection in the mirror, and found no flaws. Like most women who "wore the red" she chose bright jewelry for her ensemble: Andorian goldstone wrapped around her arm, and after a moment's thought, she added a beaten copper torque that had been a holiday gift from McCoy last year. She rarely wore it, but it looked good on her. Nyota hated to display a present from someone she was unsure of. But the way the doctor had given her the neckband was about as guilt-free as you could get: part of a box of goods his rank had entitled him to when the ship had captured an Orion Smuggling ship. McCoy had lifted one dark eyebrow at the copperwork, and promptly handed it over to her without another glance: "Not my color." In his growling Anglish accent. Nyota had to agree. It was a woman's piece, strong but fine, and hand-hammered. *Better than mortal man deserves,* she chuckled at her reflection. As a girl she had always enjoyed playing dress up as a Nubian Queen...and right now, honey, she looked it! She debated on having breakfast, then reluctantly decided against it. She took a cup of rooibos from the replicator instead, and sipped the hot peach-ruby liquid on her way down the hallway. No one bothered her. The last man to hassle her on her way to the Bridge had wound up in Sickbay with third degree burns on his eyelids from her tossing her drink in his face. As long as the average Terran man was bigger than the average Terran woman, she might as well keep her cards stacked. The Bridge opened to a whirl of shambling activity. Those who could see her returned her salute; Sulu was not one of them. She could see his boots from under his console (and more importantly, hear his inspired cursings) as he tried to track down another of the ghosts. It made her think of yesterday when they'd been treated to a fifteen-minute view of Engineering, and listening to Commander Scott express his displeasure over a stupidly-assembled bypass matrix. Too bad the camera-glitches didn't come with translators, because Uhura was dying to know what exactly a "crappit- head gooney sassenach" was. Commander Spock was bent over his viewer, and she could tell it was a hard day for him because his gold sash was atypically set askew around his long silk coat. Say what you might about crew assassinations: only the very best got to the Bridge. Spock juggled the duties of First and Science Officer with great skill, just as Sulu was Security and Helm Officer, and Chekov was Navigator and Weapons, and Scott was Chief Engineer and Chief of Staff. McCoy was supposedly the only Senior Officer who didn't carry two ranks, but Nyota knew from transmissions that the slow-talking southerner had more to him than his titles of Chief Surgical Officer, and Standing Xenophysician. Outside of the medical field, he had a longrunning feud/relationship with Fleet Admiral Kufe that rather reminded her of her working relationship with Sulu. And she had transmitted their messages to prove it. If they'd never been intimate, she was deeply wrong about fundamental human behavior, because they argued far too violently to ever be *just* enemies. *Strange, too. If *I* were hooked up with an Admiral, Even Kufe-Soma, I'd stay with them!* Uhura shook her head at herself and settled down at her board. "Lieutenant." Kirk had finished his salute and was sitting at his chair. "We're being forced to run through diagnostics again on all stations. If you would be so kind as to oversee yours." "Of course, sir." Uhura privately sighed. The captain was magnetic, charismatic, and very, very easy on her eyes. Too bad for her she hadn't moved in when his old Woman had betrayed him for Khan, but Marlena had been quicker on the uptake, and while Nyota had still been pondering the logistics of being Kirk's squeeze, Marlena had rendered the question moot. She set her cup down, sniffing at the warm steam of vanillins that rose up while she ran through her board. As Senior Communications/Encryption Officer, she had the most independant Board on the entire ship. Push the right buttons, and her tools would do justabout anything for her. As usual, though, she could find nothing. When there was nothing amiss, the sensor ghosts were literally buried in their graveyard. But something, somehow, would send the blips to rising and then the next thing you knew, the main screen would show you a view of something you didn't expect. Right now, they were orbiting deosil around the fourth moon of Dio, a tired looking wreck of an astroid-laden satellite. It was the safest place for the ship while they effected repairs. No one was willing to even *think* of running into a hostile Romulan or Klingon while in this shape. Kirk had promised the entire crew a month's leave in the Andromachean System the minute the ship was back to safety. And everyone could taste that luxurious vow all the way to their back teeth. Andromachea--one of the most sensual stopovers in the Empire. Three planets, twelve moons, two stations, and all of it for the pleasure of tourists. And being soldiers of the Empire, they could get everything either free, or at cost-price. Nyota could barely wait. It was that tantalizing image that helped her tackle this frustrating task. Several minutes stretched tediously into several hours. Uhura thought longingly of a quick breakfast, then even more longingly of a quick lunch. Red and green alert lights were starting to look the same to her, and if that wasn't a clue as to how tired she was, she didn't know it. *Pumpkin bread.* She thought longingly of a really indulgent lunch. Pumpkin bread, with a generous spread of millet, and a bowl of hummus. Ethiopian coffee. With cream. Toasted teff grains for a snack afterwards, flavored with hot spices. Marlena came to the Bridge with a tray of drinks, considerately for all the officers, and giving Kirk the first pick. Uhura concentrated on lining up her station's pulsar-timers, patiently ignored the quick exchange between the two. Opportunities lost, she reminded herself. *But it's not fair.* She resolutely concentrated on her work as she buried her resentments deep. *The captain has Marlena, *and* he has Spock when he's tired of her.* She flicked her dark eyes to the First Officer, who was still as crushingly handsome as the day she had first seen him. Spock of Vulcan, First and Science Officer of the ENTERPRISE, the Second for the most powerful ship in the Empire...and resolutely, completely spoken for with Kirk. Marlena complained often that she would get more attention with another captain, as close as her man was with Spock. Uhura could easily see it. Kirk wasn't likely to want a bitter woman hanging around him, but if Spock ever decided to transfer, there would be a fight on his hands, and it would likely rip the entire ship apart! You couldn't help but be aware of it. And it affected all the other senior officers. Spock and Kirk would be conducting business without anything unusual, then suddenly without warning, their eyes would lock and hold like two twin tractor beams, pulling hard at their targets. Their glances never lasted longer than a single breath, but the...intensity...it made you sweat to think about it. And you wouldn't want to get in their way any more than you wanted to stand between two electromagnets. A hollow boom floated up across the Bridge; Uhura saw Spock lift his head quickly to Sulu's station. The Helmsman was swearing violently and clutching his head. The whiff of burnt human hair went up. "Mr. Sulu?" Spock asked dryly. "Are you in need of Sickbay's services?" Sulu pulled his head up from underneath the console. One hand was clenched around a hand-spanner, the other fused to his forehead. He was gritting his teeth against the pain. Chekov was cringing in sympathy, baring his own teeth to see the black mark on his gold skin. "I may have found something." Sulu reported through the gate of clenched ivories. "If I'm right, we're about to have another sensor ghost. If you can scan it, Mr. Spock?" Spock was already moving, his long fingers dancing over the console with fantastic ease. Like a master musician over his keys, the Vulcan pounced upon his scanning instruments, slaving Sulu's board to his. Kirk straightened in his chair, Marlena standing by his side, setting the tray down. All eyes were on the main screen in hopes that they had begun to find the end to this irritation. Uhura counted silently in the tense seconds, going all the way up to twenty-one, when the view of the moon suddenly went weak. Blurring slowly, the outlines of all the shapes began to melt and soften into another, brighter series of images. Instead of the view of the dead moon, they were all looking at Sickbay's familiar and unlovely corners. Dark chestnut head bent down, Dr. McCoy was hunched over his desk and filing papers into his computer with a focused expression. Sulu cursed again, loudly, as he tried to get the security cameras to respond. "Baka!" "Calm yourself, Lieutenant." Spock's deep chocolate baritone floated above the chirps, clicks and whirrs of the Bridge equipment. "We will be forced to see this for a brief amount of time, then the ghost will die out." The Vulcan sat at his station, and pointedly pressed a series of switches. "Sensors scanning and recording, captain." "Very good, Mr. Spock." Kirk answered tensely. "We'll just have to wait now." Another one of "those looks" passed between the two most powerful men on the most powerful ship in the Fleet. Uhura sighed. Spock was right, but what in the Twin Comets of Andor was so interesting about Sickbay? Ask, but ask, and ye shall receive... A familiar husky voice shrieked through the air, slicing Uhura's heart open with dread: "DR. MCCOY!!" Christine! Nyota thought in shock. Faster than she'd thought was possible, McCoy was up and running. She wondered if the camera had recorded a blur instead of a medical doctor. A medical padd clattered to the floor and the camera was following to the main lobby. (How can our cameras *do* that?) Uhura wondered for the nth time. But it hadn't shown up until Daystrom had infected the ship...had some kind of artificial intelligence gotten into the commands? Head Nurse Chapel was backed up against the wall with two blue-suited medics hovering around an unconscious man and laughing. Uhura recognized them from past encounters, and past suffrages. Jost and Otto. Not only were they strong and capable killers, but they were affordable to anybody for the price of a good bottle. And it looked like they'd already been in the cordra this morning. (Oh, oh!) Nyota caught Christine's face. An awful red mark was forming on her cheek where a slap had connected. The smaller man, Jost, was laughing and blocking her attempts to reach her patient with his body in a suggestive way. (Those bastards!) Christine was her friend, one of the few she had on this ship. "What the hell do you think you're doing?" McCoy barked, marching over to Otto and yanking a portable agonizer out of the man's grip. "This is a Sickbay, in case you forgot how to read, Medic! You want fun and games, go see Sulu! I'm sure he can find time in his busy schedule!" Jost and Otto had not been paying attention to their CMO until that last part. Jost made a very un-afraid expression of sarcastic intimidation and stepped backwards dramatically. Otto, however... "Trank out, McCoy." Otto shrugged. "Just settling a bet." "I know about your bets." McCoy snapped. "And I warned you. You and Jost are dismissed." "Dismissed. Ooh, I'm scared." Otto shrugged again, and was sauntering out the door when Jost spoke up for the first time. "How long, doc?" "Permanently." That stopped them. "What?" Otto couldn't believe what he was hearing. "You can't do that!" Jost was astonished. Chapel was edging back to her patient, and checking his very low life readings. DeSalle, Uhura felt another shock to recognize Scott's Assistant. How could anybody want to pick on DeSalle? He had to be the least ambitious man on the ship next to Scott and McCoy! All he cared about were his engines, and nothing, nobody, else mattered! "Can't I?" McCoy lifted his sleeve and pointed to the stripes. "Watch." "You think Kirk'll like it when he finds out?" Otto spoke as if to a child as the Bridge watched in fascination. This was as tense as an episode of LIVE ARENA on the vids. "We can all three go see the captain together." McCoy's accent had gone from slow and steady to harsh and rough. "I'm sure he'd just *love* to hear why he can't trust two members of his own crew when he or any of his friends are laid up in Sickbay." Jost was beginning to look frightened. Otto was starting to look angry. "You think you can play hardball, you hick?" Bigger and taller, Otto stuck his fists on his hips and got in the doctor's personal space. "My father's a High Admiral, McCoy!" "I don't care who rented out your mother!" McCoy's face was dark now, but Uhura's shock was tempered by the knowledge that Otto was even more affected. "It was obviously a bad experience for her!" *Well, that's guts.* Nyota sighed regretfully. *Too bad he just signed his death warrant.* "Ow." Sulu muttered from his station. "That sash is as good as M'Benga's now." "You step away from Nurse Chapel and get out!" McCoy was snarling. "Have you lost your mind, McCoy?" Otto spoke icily. "I've killed more men that you have rings on your trunk! I'm going to kill *you*!" McCoy simply moved his hand down and behind his back. Chapel infinitestimally moved back, eyes on that arm. "I suggest you let Chapel go and leave." He suggested in icy tones. "Head Nurses don't exactly grow on grapevines, Lieutenant. You don't really want an enraged Sickbay to treat you the next time you're injured." Otto snorted. He was getting calm now, confident, openly giving McCoy the choice too back off and live, or die. "You know, you're a real idiot, McCoy. Why don't you let *us* go do our thing? Then maybe we won't kill her." Uhura stiffened. Rumor had it that Chapel was McCoy's woman. That was a more effective threat than just going for the doctor. *Not Christine!* She dug her nails in her palm. *No, get away, Christine! Get out of there!* Christine wasn't moving. *Christine!* Nyota mentally screamed at the top of her lungs. *Run!* "You." McCoy's voice had gotten subzero. "Do not threaten my staff. Ever." "You think you can stop me?" Otto grinned. "What the hell did you drink to get your nerve up? I bet M'Benga will give me what I want...after I do him the favor of clearing his post." Uhura didn't see anything clear or distinct; she just saw a golden blur, a whirl, and Otto staggered back, a bizarre spiral-shaped thing sinking into the wall with a large chunk of his throat stuck to it. "Jost?" McCoy whispered silkily. "Do you have anything to say?" The dying man's throes bumped against his boot. Without looking, McCoy put his foot on the rattling chest to hold it still. Hissing sounds escaped the windpipe with the gurgle of blood. "N-n-n." Jost shook his head violently. "Then you won't mind cleaning up this mess, will you?" McCoy turned his back on the survivor and his expression went from enraged to calm. "Y'ok, Christine?" "Yes." Christine had collected herself. She took a deep breath. "Thank you." "Anytime." He suddenly grinned at her. The doors opened and Dr. M'Benga, loaded down with an armload of 3-d grafs, tripped over Otto's prone form. "What the hell??" The AMO gawked at the sight. Pieces of lab equipment had gone flying from his arms to join the drek all over the Sickbay. Otto's arteries were beginning to slow their spillage along with his weakening twitches, which was good because a huge amount of blood was soaking into the floor. "Chango's Thunderbolts! What's going on?" "We're having a staffing dispute, aren't we, Jost? But it's over now." McCoy was still employing that perfect southern drawl that said he was oh-so-charming. "A staffing dispute." M'Benga repeated. He looked again at the wreck on the floor. "Looks like somebody's being transferred to Necropsy." "Yep. Just think, Kwelli." McCoy grinned sweetly and slung one arm around the AMO's shoulder, hugging him close in a friendly camraderie. "Imagine some day, you can finally assassinate me in a cost effective way. And all *this*..." McCoy waved his hand around the disaster-strewn Sickbay, "All THIS will be yours!" "Oh, I can hardly wait." M'Benga answered thinly. "Sarcasm. It's a vital trait for a CMO. You're off to a good start." "Doctor, with your permission." Chapel said demurely and picked up something that had fallen. "But Mr. Jost appears to have dropped his agonizer." "Oh, that's a shame. Would you mind giving it to him, Nurse?" "I'd be pleased." Chapel pointedly rubbed the forming bruise on her jaw and let her eyes slit. Jost had always been a follower, not a leader save for retreats, and he had nowhere to retreat. His scream floated up through the air seconds before he hit the floor. "Ah, the Empire." The doctor's mild drawl floated over the Bridge a moment before the Band was severed. "Where the women are cruel...and the men are grateful." Uhura realized she was staring at the Moon of Dio with her mouth hanging open. Further down the slope of the Bridge, Commander Spock appeared to have been watching a particularly fascinating lecture on quasar pulses. Sulu only just barely managed not to choke. His face went beet red and he was trying not to pass out. Chekov had his mouth clamped shut with both fits but you could see his small frame quivering. "Well." Kirk appeared to have sighed. "That was our entertainment for the day. Mr. Spock, were you able to record the sensor activity while the ghost was playing?" * * * Water perfumed with bergamot splashed over the heated konnos-stones over the furnace. Steam burst into the air, sprinkling their open flesh with tiny, wonderful needles of sensation. Christine Chapel sighed in bliss. "Ahhhh." "Ahhh." Nyota agreed. "Wonderful." The two women settled back on the medium bench of the cramped and dark sauna, naked except for the towels they chose to lie on top of. "I still can't believe what happened. Is Sickbay always that interesting?" Chapel opened her sleepy violet eyes. McCoy had 'plased her jaw and no marks remained of Jost's slap. "God, no! That's the most active we've had it since the last skirmish with the Romulans!" She leaned back on her bench, full breasts waving slightly. Nyota smiled at the view. Nicely built she was. There were plenty of men on board who wanted to lick those curvy thighs, just to see how they would taste. Christine reminded her of a smooth marble statue, that smoothness enhanced by a perfectly shaved body. "Otto's been at Leonard for months now. I don't think he would have done anything, though, until I got myself involved." Her long clover-blonde hair was already sticking to her skin as she waved her head. "Stupid of me." She chastized. "I don't want to lose my boss!" "I'm sure you don't." Nyota privately sighed. She just wasn't up to completely fishing for Chapel's availability. While she was curious, she was also leery. And she wasn't eager to go for a woman who already had a man. That could cause problems. *But what a shame if she is spoken for. She's so steady and dependable...* "Want a backrub?" She asked innocently. "You look like you could use some pampering." "Oh, I won't say no to that." Chapel breathed. She rolled over, letting Nyota see a very skillfully done abstract sunburst tattoo on the small of her back. "Unless, of course, you think you should go to Sickbay and tell Dr. McCoy you need a prescription for some hands-on therapy." Nyota teased, but she was actually trying to figure out if the rumors about he and Chapel were true. "Whew!" Chapel exploded, caught between a laugh and an exhale. "Him? Leonard's the one who needs some hands-on therapy, Nyota. Not me. And not the kind he's been getting, either." Nyota wasn't sure what *that* meant, and began oiling her hands up instead. So far, her attempts to get subtle clues weren't encouraging. Was Christine available or not? She let her mind wander a bit while digging her fingers into her best friend's skin. Romances were practically a doctorate-level skill in the Military. And while Nyota considered herself a gourmet of happiness, it was difficult to find a man or woman that she could be comfortable with. People came and went, or tried to kill you. Interdepartment wooings were common because of the practicality: you couldn't really expect a medic and an encryption officer to feel jealous over rank. On the other hand, you had the same-department relationships, and if you could trust your partner, you just about had it made because they would help protect you from anything bad. An alliance of resources. But if you fell out of odds with your partner, you could be twice as vulnerable as you ever were. Look at Marlena: if she ever decided to rebel against Kirk, she'd be lucky to so much as get within arm's length. Spock would sense it happening before she would even think of it. "So." Chapel murmured sleepily. "What did we look like from the Bridge?" "Well, I'm surprised at all three of you. I didn't think McCoy had that kind of guts, or M'Benga *that* sarcastic! And you had your nerve, to stick with DeSalle while they were sticking the agonizer on him. What was that thing McCoy used on Otto, anyway?" "If they had killed him, I would have been just as at fault for letting it happen." Chapel snorted. "Otto was building up for that a long time. As to "that thing" that's a Capellan Stand-Ready. The weapon of choice among the Twelve Tribes. Leonard lived there for a few months before he was put here. Those people take their ability to fight very seriously. He says they're really sweet when you get to know them, so long as you never show fear or touch one of the chieftan's wives." "Um, sounds...like a lovely place." Uhura said. "Do you think M'Benga will ever try anything against McCoy?" "M'Benga is a lab-rat." Chapel said into her forearms as Uhura kneaded away on her tired muscles. "He might like to have those stripes on his sleeve, but he knows that if he becomes CMO, for any reason, he's going to have to deal with beamdowns, planetary schisms, and worst off all, answering directly to Kirk and Spock. Me, I'd rather be dead." "Brrr." Uhura agreed. "I never thought about that. But...you're right. My duties give me all of the Big Two that I can handle without losing my mind." "I know. Those two certainly are intense. Aren't we a pair?" "In what way?" Nyota murmured. "You'd be interested in the captain, and I'd certainly be interested in Mr. Spock. If it was at all possible." "I think they're both married." Nyota agreed wistfully. "Married. Yep. That's the word for it." Chapel shook her head. "Poor Len." She muttered under her breath. Poor Len? So she was settling for seconds with McCoy? Nyota could only hope he was okay with that. Once again, Nyota pondered how unfair it all was. "So." Chapel broke the silence again--talking to keep from blissing out into sleep. "We're hearing scuttlebutt that Sulu's work tracked down the root of that sensor ghost." "I don't know if it's true or not." Nyota said cautiously. "Maybe." Chapel chuckled. "I hope it is. I can't wait for Andromachean wines and pastries." "Oh, you said it. And the silks. Don't forget the silks." "Those must be the happiest people in the Galaxy. Don't they make Deltans look like crude beer-guzzlers?" The women snickered. It was true that Andromacheans had a taste for the finest things in life, and finest did not mean the most expensive. In ordinary, every day life, a native would go around wearing the tanned sueded leather that closely resembled the fringed buckskin garb of an ancient American Frontiersman. But at night...at night when it was time to celebrate...it was like Mardi Gras. They were a happy people, well-adjusted, and could have a funeral, a stabbing, and a riotous folk dance all under the same roof. Some people had to be told, "Eat, drink and be merry, tomorrow we die". But nobody ever had to tell *that* to an Andromachean. It was probably against their religion not to have fun at the slightest opportunity. "Let's go paint the town when we get there." Nyota said impulsively. "Get a room together and use the money we'd save on the partying." Chapel lifted her head up. "That sounds great!" She smiled with her perfect white teeth, and Nyota's heart did a tiny flip. * * * Wha? Nyota was rocketed out of bed by a shipwide siren. Confused and bewildered, she at first thought her senses dazed by drink. But she hadn't drunk anything. It was the suddenness of the alarm that had startled her. Well no matter what, forget getting back to sleep now! Nyota glanced at her chrono; it was an hour before her usual get-up time anyway, and dressed with alacrity. Sash. Agonizer. Daggers. Yes, *most definitely,* daggers! She slipped them all on in their proper places and collided full-tilt into a pelting Hikaru Sulu, leading the way with a vanguard of security officers. "OOOOF! MOOOOOOVE!" Uhura didn't need to be told. She plastered herself against the wall and watched the minor army trample down the hallway. * * * Over breakfast, things were clear. Abundantly clear. "Marlena tried to kill Kirk!" Asian or not, Sulu was round-eyed. "Can you believe it?" "MARLENA??" Chekov gasped. "Bohzemoi!" "Marlena??" Uhura gasped too. "How?" Sulu was shaking his head. "I have no clue! Commander Spock stopped her and wham--dead as a doornail with a phaser. Barely enough to throw in the furnaces!" Uhura sat back in her chair, shocked. Marlena? So all those muttered complaints about Kirk's lack of devotion had some truth in it? Who would have known? "Why would she want to kill heem?" Chekov was incredulous. "Razblutto! She had it good!" "I guess not good enough." Sulu slowly shrugged. "Who knows what goes on behind closed doors." "I am always hating thinking that." Chekov responded with a shiver. "You never know." Uhura dipped more flatbread into her harissa. She ate carefully, mindful of the heat. "Too bad." She said finally. "Marlena was getting some pretty interesting letters from her "cousin" in the FARRAGUT. She should have just transferred over there." "You're kidding. You been reading people's mail again?" "That's your job, Lieutenant. I'm going by what Marlena told me herself. She wasn't very happy with the captain these past few months. Wouldn't ever go into details, but sounded like a jealous woman." "Jealous? Then she was dumber than I thought. You don't get jealous of Spock." Sulu said firmly. "Kirk gets who, or what, he wants. And nobody should ever be lame enough to criticize." And that was, sum and total, the main reason why Nyota had hesitated at the idea of becoming the Captain's woman. Kirk was a fine captain, but he was also unsparing. And if he ever went down, it wouldn't be healthy to be close to him. Not to mention, his infamous obsessions...Nyota liked men and women; but if Kirk ever got interested in her, he would lay claim. So...everything was out except for admiring the way his butt fit into his tight pants. "Must have been wery confident of her importance." Chekov made a Russian gesture of fatalism and returned to his blintzes. "I guess that's a given. But, God. I can't imagine anybody trying to drive a wedge between the Captain and the First. Whew!" "I'm not thinking about it." Nyota informed them fervently. "I'm thinking of how just DELICIOUS my breakfast is, and then I'm going to go to the Bridge and be invisible until I get off duty for shore leave." "Da." Chekov muttered. The doors parted and Kirk strode in, his body energy radiating off his gold uniform like a small sun. Behind him with his hands clasped behind his back followed Spock, a cold, glittering diamond in his captain's wake. McCoy brought up the last, his body language, uniform and general demeanor forgettable and understated against the others. *He does it on purpose.* Uhura was struck by a strong suspicion. After seeing him slice open Otto's throat like that... Silly of her. McCoy had had to kill to get his rank. You didn't make any kind of commander on merit alone; the Empire would never trust a man who was "too good" to kill. And he'd killed Mark Piper barely a week of transferring to the ENTERPRISE. Thank God; Piper was crazier than an Ebla wombat. Salutes were traded off and Kirk promptly ignored everyone else, striding to the replicator for a quick breakfast. Looking at him, you would have never known he had just lost his woman. Frankly, Uhura was thinking he was...happy. That should tell anybody plenty about the relationship they had. But if Marlena had been that bad off, why hadn't Kirk killed her a long time ago? It wasn't like him to hesitate, or to show mercy. "It's up to you, of course." McCoy was saying to Spock. "But let me know when you're ready for it." "I will go to Sickbay before the Bridge." Spock answered. "Me or M'Benga?" "It hardly matters. Protoplasing minor wounds is not advanced physics." McCoy was lifting a sardonic eyebrow to that, when Kirk chuckled. It was the kind of sound that made you very uncomfortable. "Why don't *you* fix up our First Officer's wounds, doctor?" Kirk's gold eyes glittered, not unlike a snake's upon a bird's. "It would be...a nice change of pace, wouldn't it?" McCoy's eyebrow kept going up, and his expression became very still. "Oh, irony is my middle name." He said evenly. Uhura had an empty tray and no reason to stay. But as she rose and dumped the dreck, she had to wonder, what the HELL was that exchange all about? * * * "It's perfect for you, Ma'uh!" The Andromachean was not only insisting the iceberg blue went with her warm coffee skin, but kept calling her by the local version of royalty. As Uhura had heard too many "bwana" jokes all her life, she found the courtesy a little too suck-uppy. "It hardly does." She said for the fourth time. "Don't try to tell me it does." The vendor smiled as if unfazed by the scolding. Around them, the main marketplace buzzed, whirled and scattered in a constant flurry of sight, sound, and smell under a soft yellow sky. Stick an open-air flea market into a giant metal drum and pound on it a few times; you'd get the perfect idea. Uhura scowled faintly, holding up the two-piece length of silk. It was almost exactly the blue of Medical, with the faintest hint of deep violet streaking like a watercolor throughout. Just like Christine's eyes, she thought. The cloth was cut to form a two-piece type of sarong, leaving lots of skin-space for jewelry. *Hmmn...and I bet it would show off that tattoo on her spine too...* "That's hardly your color." Uhura jumped slightly. Standing against the milling throng was Dr. McCoy, sober as a church in civilian clothing: sable buckskin from head to toe, with a headband of the same leather against the sweltering sun. A plain iron necklace of a masculine design was around his neck,the links large and obvious, holding his military dog tags. He could have stepped out of ancient history, lacking only the primitive flintlock over his shoulder. "Well," Uhura straightened. "I agree, but it's not for me." McCoy cocked his head to one side, took in the entire stall, looked at her again, and made a point of studying what she was holding. "She'll like it." He said with a smug smile. "She?" Uhura repeated. "What makes you think I'm getting it for a she?" "There's only one person you'd be interested in, who would look good in that." He smiled at her growing discomfort. "Come on, Lieutenant. What's got your feathers so ruffled? It's not like I'm about to fuss at you for bein' in love." Did everybody know? Uhura felt her heart clench--like Sulu's teeth on the Bridge. "Are you sure about that?" She demanded. He blinked. "Sure about what?" "Your not fussing." "Pardon me, Lieutenant, but I'm 'bout as confused as a boy lookin' for his daddy at a Southern Family Reunion. What would I be sure about?" Uhura folded her arms over her chest. "About my seeing your Head Nurse." "What, you? I'm sure you'll do the right thing by her if you knock her up." McCoy cocked a roostertail eyebrow. "Contrary to what you may have heard, Miss Communications Officer, I am not having an affair with my Head Nurse." Nyota felt the wind gust out of her sails. "You aren't?" "Did Christine tell you we were?" "No..." Nyota was determined not to blush. So she'd been reading her own answers in Christine's words. Damn, but that was...that was embarassing. "So you don't mind." She stated. For the record. "Because I want to be very clear on that. I'm no poacher." "Honey, Christine's a catch, but she's not for me." McCoy reached up and pushed his headband back slightly with his thumb. "She's a researcher, and I'm a hands-on investigative medico. The last thing she'd want to do is hook up with a lunatic who's collecting bacterial samples while dodging small arms fire and primitive missles in a third-world-war zone while his superior officer is yelling to "go faster!"" "Pardon me, doctor, but if you're still doing that while wearing all that gold on your sleeve, you *must* be a little crazy." He grinned at her easily. "I told you, didn't I?" "Well." Uhura wondered what to say. She stared down at her feet. McCoy was wearing boot moccasins that looked a lot more comfortable than the silly high heels she had chosen to wear with her black dress. Just thinking of how impractically she'd chosen her wardrobe brought a paranoid thought: Had she been trying to dress up for Christine? Oh, no. What if...what if she'd... been...obvious? "I just want to be sure." She said at last. "I mean, I'm not even sure what I'm doing with my life, but I know one thing. You've got *some* kind of relationship with Christine, and I'm not a poacher." "Yes, you just said that." "So I want to know, is Christine seeing you, or Spock, or anybody?" McCoy laughed very softly. "Spock is about as likely to get involved with Christine as I am. Granted, for different reasons, but still." "I guess you're right." Nyota admitted. "Kirk would hardly allow anybody to get close to his First Officer." "Huh?" McCoy blinked. "Come again?" He lifted his hand to his ear. "Lieutenant, I don't b'lieve you know what you're saying." Nyota mentally replayed her words back. "What did I say that was so amusing, doctor? Everybody on the ship knows they're having a torrid affair." "Oh, like you knew I was having an affair with Christine?" McCoy looked at her. After a moment, he slowly slid an eyebrow up. "It's hardly that." One could have performed delicate surgery with his tone of voice. "Look, y'want to explore a friendship with my Head Nurse, go right ahead." Nyota folded her arms across her chest. "What, are you trying to keep me from blushing? I promise I won't." He thought that was extremely amusing. Naivity did that to him. "I couldn't tell if you blushed anyway." Uhura scowled. "Now you're being facetious." "I swear, I'm not." But he was trying hard not to laugh in her face. "Ok." He held his hands up. "I surrender. If you want to know, I'll tell you, but don't come crying to me afterwards." "I've often found its ignorance that makes me cry." Uhura snapped. "Have it your way. I won't even say I told you so." McCoy folded his arms over his chest in the military at- rest pose. "As you may have noticed, the captain and First Officer have quite strong personalities, and quite strong attractions for each other." "No kidding." Uhura said sourly. "Everybody knows that." "Well, what you don't know is, they would both just absolutely love to express that attraction in a physical way, but can't." "You mean they haven't!" Uhura was aware her jaw was hanging open. "No, you aren't serious! They've got to be sleeping with each other!" "Sleep? Hah. That's the most funniest, accidentally hilarious thing I've heard all year." McCoy chuffed. "Out of the mouths of babes in the woods." He muttered. "Well they are...in a way." McCoy sighed at the pale green cloud cover rolling over the sky. "Ask yourself this, Oh Wise Lieutenant: In *that* relationship, who exactly gets to be in charge?" Uhura blinked. Twice. "I never thought about that." She confessed. "No kiddin. Well. Who do you think calls the shots?" Uhura pondered. Hard. She couldn't conceive of *the captain* being anything but dominate with a partner. Spock was his aide, and deferred to him, but... ...but would a Vulcan, who was any human's superior in strength and speed, conceed to being the submissive? Especially to someone who was so in-your-face Alpha like Kirk? The more she thought, the more confused she got. There was obvious strong, physical desire between the two men-- outright dripping, teeth-clenched lust--but how in the world could sex be possible between those adamantine personalities? When her silence began to get really humiliating, McCoy took pity on her. "It's both of them." He lifted his wrists, displaying some very serious bruises. As her eyes got wide, he explained as if to a very small child: "Role playing." Uhura found herself amazingly at a loss for words. All this time, and the captain and Spock weren't lovers. They were just sharing a different kind of pleasure. And that involved...some pretty dark stuff with McCoy. Good God. Uhura had heard of such relationships in the higher echelons of Command; it was something you discussed in uneasy tones in private, wondering just what the drawbacks were to being a "real" officer. Everyone dreamed of advancing in the world. It gave you protection against predators, both male and female, who had been someone else's prey when they were at your lowly rank. But there was speculation that the more powerful you got, the more attention you attracted to yourself. Suddenly, McCoy's refusal to advance any further in rank made a great deal of sense. If the Captain and First Officer were enacting their frustrations out on him, she didn't want to imagine what it was like on a higher level. *Protoplasing wounds.* Kirk's obscure taunt in the Mess hall had suddenly become clear. Her eyes were locked onto the wrist-marks, unable to move. She was staring. She wrenched her eyes sideways, and found herself at the military dog tags. Dog tags. She felt the ground leave her feet. That was not a necklace she was looking at. "Well." She cleared her throat. "And...how is it for you?" She would hold her poise if it killed her. He lifted his eyebrows again. "How do you think? They never seem to sleep, and they always save up on their frustrations. What I really hate is when Kirk gets bad news from High Command." He glanced at his wrists significantly. He sighed. "So, believe me, I'm not what you'd call even remotely jealous in who (or what) my Head Nurse romances. It's all I can do to stay alive when I'm in the same room with those two." Uhura swallowed dryly. "I see." She managed. "No, you don't. And lady, you don't wanna." McCoy shook his head and shuddered. "Now is there anything else you want to ask me before I go? I'm under schedule." "We're on shore leave." Uhura said stupidly, one second before she realized what she was saying. "Yes, we are on shore leave. So is the captain. And the First Officer. And I happen to be scheduled to go discuss the "gestalt" of the Senior officers with the Captain. And the First Officer. In their hotel room. Alone." McCoy said patiently. Pardon me, Lieutenant, but you aren't always this dense. Am I right in concluding you might be serious about your infatuation with Christine?" A brief pause floated between the two, a thick silence that cut into the racket of the marketplace. *I can't believe I'm so naive.* Nyota thought. McCoy chuckled softly. "My mistake. I was wrong. I *can* tell when you blush." As the heat traveled further up Nyota's neck, he grinned even harder. "Well, ok, Lieutenant, but as your potential girlfriend's superior officer, may I kindly offer you a few words of advice?" "Be my guest." She said numbly. He patted her on the shoulder. "Never, ever, ever call her anything but Christine. She goes ape at any and all nicknames. Invite her to a raw bar. She's crazy for oysters and champagne. Fire opals and blue Tiger's Eyes are her favorite gemstone. And now if you'll excuse me, I have a date with humiliation, domination, pain and probably some illegal mood enhancers." While she was still absorbing the part about favorite gemstones, he was turning and slipping back into the crowd. She was almost willing to swear she could hear him humming an ancient Terran song called, "Wasting My Hate." * * * "Oh, Lord! Nyota! You look fabulous!" Nyota turned and swirled her metallic copper sarong around her hips, making a showgirl's pose of tilting her neck and closing her eyes. Christine was right; she did look good. Copper wristlets and anklets, hand hammered and shaped, matched the torc around her throat and the dependant teardrop earrings. Coppery wire held her hair in a cage and coppery sandals completed the outfit, showing off copper toe rings on each foot. "Do I look like a million credits or what?" "My *God*, Nyota! Where are we going? If the Orions see you they'll storm the entire planet!" "Oh, honey, if they do that, then I'll just have to invite 'em to my party!" Nyota beamed her genuine dilithium smile. Chapel was looking starstruck, thunderstruck, and just plain struck. "I'm going to look like your bodyguard next to you!" Christine breathed. Her lips were slightly parted and her eyes just seemed to keep getting bigger and bigger as she took in the other Lieutenant. In the small confines of the hotel room, she simply took it over with her burning presence. "Oh, no you're not. I have a surprise for you, sugar." Nyota tucked her sarong around her hips one last time and held out the roll of blue-violet silk. Chapel burst out laughing and held the silk up to her front, staring at the shimmering colors. "This...this is incredible! Where did you find this?" The blue tiger eyes tumbled to the floor and she gasped again. "Nyota! Oh, no, you didn't! This is incredible!" "I got lucky!" Nyota grinned and lifted a bottle of champagnein a toast. "Can you believe, the trader mistook me for a Mendicant Nun and couldn't accept more than twelve scrips for the whole thing?" "No, I don't believe it! And you let him do that? Nyota, how could you?" "It was easy. I gave him a seashell from the Holy Black Virgin and blessed his stall." Chapel gaped at her. "Ny!" "Come on, put it on, put it on! We're going out tonight and get ourselves sloppy with shellfish and come back here and kill the most *incredible* champagne you ever tried!" "Where is this?" Chapel suddenly looked nervous. "'cos nice as these dresses look, they don't exactly let you hide a weapon." "Officer's Bar." Nyota smirked. "You know the rules: nobody's going to malign a lieutenant there." Of course, they were going to be wearing their Officer's Daggers. That wasn't just common sense, that was protocol. Chapel sighed her relief. "Oh, good. You had me worried for a moment there." "Honey." Uhura reached up and hugged the taller woman. "Don't worry. I'm not going to let anything happen to you." Chapel's soft lips stretched into a smile that showed she was starting to catch on. "What if I want something to happen?" She asked softly, deep in her throat. "Oh?" Uhura murmured. "Well, if you do...you will let me know, won't you?" "Why," Chapel bent slightly and pressed her lips gently against Nyota's. A thrill of electricity scattered through their spines and ended between their legs. "That would only be good manners, wouldn't it?" She asked hoarsely. They stared into each other's faces, breathing somewhat excitedly for a long moment. "Do you want to go out?" Nyota asked, suddenly timid. "Because we can stay here if you want..." "I wouldn't mind if we ended up here." Christine was still employing that husky, smokey voice. "But do you think I'd miss the chance to show you off?" "Oh, why *no*, honey." Nyota felt an absolutely wicked grin crawl over her face. "Show me off, by all means." * * * Spock was always grateful for the few occasions when a bodyguard was unneccesary. The Officer's Bar was just such an occasion. Naturally, they weren't completely casual about security. Kirk had selected a table on the second floor of the open- space, which afforded anyone who sat by the rails, a perfect view of the traffic coming and going. So far they had observed a constant flow of ENTERPRISE crew officers coming and going, but mostly just coming in and gorging on fine food and drink. Crime and mischief would be at a minimum tonight; Andromachean justice was swift and tended to make an example of anyone who was heathen enough to infringe upon another being's right to have fun. The Vulcan sat back in a rare position of relaxed calm, glass of pure Altair water cradled in his fingers. Just to his right on the other side of the table, Kirk was circling to join his side. "Now, will you take a look at that." Spock blinked at Kirk's tone, and looked down. Lts. Uhura and Chapel were walking in, and both women were breathtaking. For a long moment, Spock was hard put to decide which of them was the most striking. Christine, he decided without too much thought. Her long yellow hair hung loose and flowing past her shoulders, almost hiding the dark blue torus earrings dangling at her lobes. A spiraling bracelet of sculptured stone twined up her left wrist to just past her elbow, and her Officer's Dagger was sheathed in a case of the same blue inside the cords that laced up her left sandal. Electrum held the stone jewelry together, and glittered around her ankles. Kirk shook his head admiringly at the ensemble the two women created. "Now if that isn't a sight for sore eyes." He commented. When Spock was silent, he slipped an impish glance at him. "What do you think?" Spock flicked one eyebrow upwards. "That they are enhanced in each other's company." "Aren't they though. The burning sunset and the dusk that follows. I've often thought Nurse Chapel would make a good woman for you, you know. The compatibility isn't *just* visual." Spock did not appreciate being teased. Not about anything, and not from anyone. And to take a concubine would not be fair to any woman he regarded highly. Much as he bitterly resented being trapped in a loveless marriage to T'Pring. McCoy was deliberately tuning out of the conversation, quietly drinking himself into an anesthetized state. The trick was to do it without being obvious, or Kirk would stuff him full of soberalls. And he did not want to be in full possession of either his brain cells, memory recall, or pain receptors tonight. "Yes, company seems to be the key word." Kirk watched the women, two polarized and dramatic opposites of each other, walk across the floor of the resturant and to their table. His gaze lingered a bit on Uhura's smooth shoulders, trailed down the small of her back. "That's who I should have picked, not Marlena." He shook his head. "Well, doctor?" McCoy swallowed quickly, and put down his empty glass with a coolness he did not feel. "What, captain?" "Oh, your Chief Nurse. My Communications Officer." That low, sinister undercurrent was back in Kirk's throat as he casually slipped his free hand down to rest possessively at the back of the doctor's neck--an action McCoy absolutely loathed, which was why he did it, and they both knew it. Kirk smiled as McCoy fought for a stony-faced calm. "Think they have their sights on rank and priviledge?" "I doubt it." McCoy said dryly. "Those two are married." Out in the open, he appeared to be perfectly calm, but in his mind's eye, he had both fingers crossed. "What a shame." Kirk said with feeling. "Two lovely examples like that." He watched the view as the women slowly sauntered through the crowd and found a table that was, inconveniently for him, outside easy viewing range. "Doesn't it bother you, doctor, that your Head Nurse has no need of a man in her life?" McCoy privately sighed, weary of the cat and mouse games Kirk never exhausted himself on. "Not really. It's one less contraceptive prescription I have to fill out." Spock watched with his usual Vulcan calm as Kirk continued toying with the doctor. "Perhaps," He murmured, getting the attention to himself, "we can continue this discussion." Kirk smiled his sweetest smile as he felt the doctor stiffen under his touch. "Why not?" He wondered. "Mr. Spock, why don't you take the doctor home? I'll join you when I'm finished." This close, his growing arousal was palpable to the other human. *Great.* McCoy was already preparing himself for whatever Kirk's overactive imagination had in mind. Looked like it would begin with the usual schtick of Spock starting and Kirk finishing, once he felt McCoy had been left hanging long enough. *As if I'm not already in enough pain.* But at least he seemed to have detoured the captain's rapacious attentions from the women. Thank God. Spock slowly ran one hand down his arm, and he shivered. Kirk smiled at the show. "Now, now, save it for when you get home, Mr. Spock." *God, but I hate you, Captain Bligh.* McCoy kept his mind firmly locked down as he and Spock left the Bar. Outside in the warm evening air, the Vulcan signaled, and his bodyguards produced themselves with a private car. The doctor fully expected anything else but what happened once they were alone in the back: Spock turned the full weight of his dark gaze on him and said, very soberly: "I know what you just did." McCoy felt the silence drag out into infinity. "About what?" "Deterring Kirk from the women." A flicker of the dark eyebrow. "Subtle. My compliments." "Are you going to tell him?" He answered the Vulcan cautiously. Spock was almost smiling. "I was thinking my time would be better spent, talking with you." That long-fingered, hot-skinned olive hand stroked under his jaw, very very lightly. With an effort, the subject of attention nailed his focus on the conversation. "Talk about what?" "Would you think, kefeh," Spock murmured, "I would make an adequate captain?" The End...!