CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

“Well the men come in these places

and the men are all the same.

“You don't look at their faces

and you don't ask their names.

“You don't think of them as human;

you don't think of them at all.

You just think about…

…keeping your eyes on the wall.

“I'm your private dancer, a dancer for money…

…do what you want me to do.

“I'm your private dancer, a dancer for money…

…and any old music will do.”

– Mark Knopfler

For Vaerth Parihn, the next few minutes were some of the most difficult in her entire life, as they wandered through the convoluted corridors of the harim, the scents and sounds of sex surrounding, suffusing them.

She covertly observed her friends, dreading their reactions but unable to resist gauging them.

Hatshepsut responded much as any feline would, her gentle trills of curiosity soon replaced by a rumbling purr unmistakable as anything but pure sexual arousal. She was in control of herself, true... but on some level clearly would have preferred, rather than stealing past, stopping to participate.

It was a perspective with which Parihn could readily empathize.

Xorc's nostrils flared; his sense of smell was acute… probably greater than hers, and even a match for M'Raav's. After a few moments he reached for his groin, furtively shifting himself when certain the other two weren't watching.

He and Parihn exchanged a knowing glance.

The Kaylar, she knew, felt no shame in his reaction, but had probably wished to spare both human and Felisian companions such an overt gesture—especially considering the gravity of their situation.

Then there was Mantovanni.

The gamut of emotions competing for stage time in his expression was impressive. Though much less apparent than they would have been on another person's face, Parihn knew him well, and could read disgust, dismay, curiosity... and, despite what she knew must have been a prodigious effort of will on his part, even a hint of guilty arousal.

Oh, Cicero.

For almost ten years, this had been her life, the one she'd tried to leave behind forevermore. And now, instead, the man for whom she cared—the one man she'd never wanted to have know anything about such things—was being forced to wade through it like an ancient castle's middens in high summer.

She could see what it was doing to him.

When Parihn caught his eye, though, the look Mantovanni gave was reassuring. He even winked at her—not a lascivious gesture, to be sure, but one that strove to make her believe everything would be all right.

Always the captain, she thought. Even when he's so upset—with me… with the situation—I know he wants to just curl up into a ball, here he is, telling his officer with but a glance that they're going to make it.

She almost believed it.

Their descent was complete. Here in the bowels of the pleasure dome were the quarters of the elite courtesans—the ones who were so valuable that force fields, transporter reflectors, and automated defenses were considered basic security. It was entirely possible that, at this point, they were being observed; any suspicious gesture or action would probably bring a squad of guards down on them.

She recognized some of the names displayed in elegant filigree above the entrances to various rooms. There were women here Parihn knew—women she would have considered friends, and friendly rivals, ten years ago: Evienne Alar, the Deltan free spirit who'd scandalized even her permissive world by voluntarily engaging in the distribution of her sexual favors—often to those males who were forbidden by Federation law to partake of them; the Ktarian twins, Mara and Vara Utavv, who would perform only together, and only with each other, unless another mood struck them—which, on occasion, it did; Xenobia Kris, the Alpha Centauran famed for both her lovely singing voice, and the fact that she always used it quite beautifully at the moment of her own climax; Nuriiv of the Empty House, the Klingon woman whose lusts and perversions had inspired her own father, Kalesh, who'd once been lord of a mighty family, to commit ritual suicide and allow those now leaderless to seek other patrons, such had been his shame at his daughter’s dishonor.

And, of course, there was one other room, as well.

“I'll go in alone. Follow me in two minutes.”

Parihn's resolve was apparent in her tone.

Mantovanni seemed to consider a protest, but something in the set of her jaw stopped him.

“Not a second more. Go.”

The furnishings were appalling—not in their remembered familiarity, but their current one: The Orions had decorated the room to resemble a Federation starship's private quarters, the better to feed the fantasy of sharing your bed, or the floor, or the sonic shower, with a Starfleet officer.

Parihn shuddered.

I'd be willing to bet old Hrolak advertised this quietly as “your chance to fuck the Federation”...

...and the fact that I know how he thinks scares me even more.

This was obviously supposed to be Aedra's rest period. She was on the sleeping platform, not surprisingly nude; Parihn inhaled deeply, and noted her state of excitement.

She's still with us—barely.

Her time was limited; every second meant a greater chance of discovery. Parihn moved to the bed, and gently, sat on its edge.

When Aedra rolled to greet what she must have thought was a new “lover,” a wave of lust swept over the older woman, even as the girl's eyes widened, and her face took on an expression other than invitation.

Suddenly, it was at once hopeful, and terrified.

“Is it really you…?” she whispered pitifully.

Stricken by her plight, despite having steeled herself for it, Parihn could think of nothing better to say than, “Yes… we're here to take you home.”

Then, the one thing she had dreaded, and known was a real possibility, came to pass: Aedra first drew away from her, and then shrank against the head of the bed.

“I…

“…I don't want to go.”

Parihn could read her friend's expression with the ease of bitter experience. The gods knew she'd seen something similar in the mirror on a thousand occasions: Lust, to be sure…

…but more than that, a shame so great as to make a person surrender their soul.

And Aedra had nearly done that.

There was no time to argue.

Instead, Parihn employed the kind of calculated smile she hadn’t in years, even a few days ago with Jerrell. She allowed Aedra’s allure to touch her, enjoyed it for an instant, and then whispered, “You… we… don’t have to go.

“Would you like me to stay here with you? We can be together.”

Even in the best of people, misery often loves company… and Aedra Anari had been so used, so abused, that in her anguished, lustful state, she looked upon Parihn's offer as a desirable happenstance—heedless of the consequences to both.

Aedra could only nod her affirmation before the rush of wanting, of needing, again overpowered her, and she reached for her friend with an intent that was unmistakable.

The object of her desire allowed the kiss… soft, passionate, desperate… and responded to it with a disarming sweetness. Aedra, again caught in the fog of sensation, closed her eyes, savoring, panting...

…and thus, never saw the older woman draw back, cock a fist, and throw the punch that snapped her head around and left her unconscious before she even fell backwards onto the bed.

As the others flooded into the room, Parihn murmured, in a voice only she herself could hear.

“Glad to see you've changed your mind.”

Hatshepsut marveled at the fact they’d gotten this far. Perhaps their swiftness and daring might yet carry the day for them.

“It seems remarkable that we haven’t yet been detected, sir.”

Mantovanni smiled… and Xorc laughed again.

“Not to distress you, M’Raav… but we probably have been.

“They may even know exactly who we are.”

The Felisian recognized the sound her throat issued as a strangled gasp, but was unable to restrain it.

“Then why…?” she gurgled.

“…haven’t they stopped us, yet?” the captain finished. “That’s not the Orion way. They’d much prefer to mark us, allow us the hope we're going to actually win free of this place… and then apprehend us just before we could make our escape—probably right at the front gate, where the spectacle will be most cruelly entertaining.”

The Felisian turned to the woman who knew these people best, because she was one of them. What she saw there didn’t reassure her.

Parihn was nodding in agreement.

“He’s probably right.”

“I assume you have another option for us, Lieutenant?” Mantovanni inquired.

She shrugged.

“Possibly.

“There has to be a portal leading to an escape passage somewhere in this room, cunningly concealed—even from tricorders or other sensor probes. It would be used to get the chamber’s courtesan out in the event of a raid, assault or other unforeseen emergency. Orions especially hate losing valuable property when it can at all be avoided. I was hustled out of more than one of my rooms over the years via just such an avenue.

“It was how I’d planned to get her away from here.”

“Would, perhaps, Aedra know where…?” M’Raav began, but Parihn shook her head, even as they all glanced at the purpose of their raid, held easily aloft in the crook of the massive Kaylar’s left arm. He’d been conscientious and concerned enough to wrap her in a blanket; their size difference made the coverlet resemble swaddling clothes, and the grown woman a mere child.

And look at that… he holds her with such protective tenderness. Another lesson in not judging by appearances, M’Raav. You should have known better… after all, if Parihn cares for him, he must be extraordinary.

“…–s’ no way,” she was saying. “Aedra’s not trusted yet. It’d be a long time before they’d give her such information. I didn’t know about the ones leading from my chambers until I’d been a slave of the House for almost five years, and they were certain I was broken by, resigned to, and happy with my fate.”

She smiled reassuringly at Hatshepsut.

“Fortunately… I think I know where this one is.”

As Parihn took a step towards… towards something, the Felisian was sure, and just as sure she herself had no idea what, Mantovanni reached out and took the purposeful Orion’s arm.

“You’re still thinking from the wrong side of the transaction.”

At the younger woman’s questioning look, he told her, “Even though I’m certain very few know about them, Parihn, we can’t just pass through the door. I’ll bet they’re only opened when there’s an emergency, and it’s expected—as on the occasions you used them. No doubt doing so at any other time will register on someone’s security board… and whoever knows about where the passage ends will be waiting there for us with more than enough force to make our trip a short one… and our subsequent stay uncomfortably long.”

Xorc nodded.

It made perfect sense. There were two ways out: One led to capture; the other tripped an alarm…

…and then led to capture.

“Then what do we do?” M’Raav inquired. “I have no desire to become an upper-level courtesan in fact as well as dress. No offense.”

Despite the situation, Parihn smiled.

“None taken.”

Mantovanni glanced around the room, seeking an option, an answer amidst familiar and sinister surroundings.

He strolled over to the replicator set into the far wall, motioned for Parihn to join him… and then gestured to her tricorder.

“Get to work,” he instructed.

After a moment, she brightened, and replied, “Understood.”

A few seconds later, Hatshepsut's mind, too, followed the trail they’d blazed, and her hopes flared.

She handed Mantovanni her own sensing device, and purred, “Thinking outside the box again, I see.”

Then, a hint of the devilish humor with which he occasionally prodded her made an unlooked for appearance.

He noted, “I'd really prefer if a nervous feline didn't make references to doing anything 'outside the box,' Counselor.”

A gentle, strategically placed swat from her tail provoked only a slight smile, an arched brow, and a final comment only she could hear.

“Some other time, perhaps.”

***

Hrolak had, over the years, experienced his share of bad days. There was the time a Namirian had paid a fortune to spend the night with two of his more valuable shavani—while infected with an insidious little venereal disease that had escaped detection by the complex’s bio-filters. Within hours of the man’s departure, both women had been covered in lesions, vomiting blood, and laying curses on both the Namirian’s money and his member.

They’d been on their backs—unprofitably, that is—for over two months after that, and the decline in revenue had been enormous.

Now, though, was a chance to recoup those losses, and more.

Evidently Starfleet Intelligence was becoming cagier in its deployments; he’d been told by none other than Ran Imaldris himself that there would be plenty of lead time before anyone would make an attempt to retrieve Aedra, that he needn’t concern himself with it.

Ran had been wrong.

In a few minutes, though, they would emerge, surreptitiously make their way towards one of the egress points… and there be ensnared.

While his database wasn’t as comprehensive as those of other Syndicate employees, Hrolak was not without resources. He’d run their images through the complex’s mainframe, and identified three of the four intruders—Starfleet officers all.

I’ve heard of this Mantovanni fellow. A real “Hero of the Federation.”

Already, in his mind, Hrolak had begun planning an especially grim and perverse method of breaking the man, or at least bending him more than a bit. It could prove both highly profitable and marvelously entertaining. Any number of governments—particularly that of the Romulans, if these records were at all accurate—would pay a tremendous amount of latinum to have him in their grasp.

The Felisian would do nicely as a courtesan.

Their women are instinctual sluts, anyway. It won’t be hard reconciling her to the idea of staying here.

And the last person…

…it seemed he knew her.

Different features, lighter complexion… but according to the computer, the same woman who was still spoken of with awe and lust even a decade after her last searing performances.

Shomira… what a genuine delight to see you again.

A few minutes passed… and then a few more.

Hrolak smiled.

Perhaps Aedra’s lust overcame them all, and even now they’ve fallen on each other in there. That might be worth seeing.

He knew that wasn’t the case, but the thought proved so entertaining that he indulged the fantasy for a few moments.

When he’d pulled back from his reverie, though, they still hadn’t emerged.

Hmm.

The situation grew progressively less acceptable as time passed. Finally, after half an hour, Hrolak’s patience was at an end. A pudgy finger flicked at the comm panel, and he wheezed, “Grult… send one of the Nausicaans in and tell those four to come out. There’s no escape, and I’m tired of waiting for my fun.”

When, a few minutes later, his assistant reappeared before the monitor, Hrolak recognized the expression; and before he even heard the half-stammered words…

“They’re… they’re not in there!”

…he knew it had just become another bad day.

“This is not possible! Where are they?”

Hrolak stomped around the room. It had already been torn apart by the Nausicaans, who’d found nothing of consequence—not that he’d really expected to discover five people huddled under the bed, anyway.

The door to the escape tunnel, and emergency transporter beyond, was still sealed, so he knew they hadn’t left that way. And, anyway, beaming offsite was impossible with the transit scramblers in place.

They were just gone, it seemed.

I need a drink.

He turned to the replicator, and growled, “Blue porter.”

The device ignored him.

Now it had his attention.

“Blue… porter!”

Then, he saw why it wasn’t functioning. There was something in the dispenser cubicle, attached to the wall.

The fat Orion leaned forward and examined it.

A Starfleet tricorder… no, two of them… they’ve been slaved together somehow, and then joined with the replicator.

To do what?

Grult, who was more scientifically inclined, and had stolen up behind him, answered.

“By the Warlords… they used the tricorders’ extra computing power and energy cells to remake the replicator into a transporter.”

He looked extremely impressed.

“I didn’t even know you could do that.”

“That’s ridiculous,” Hrolak asserted, almost desperately. “Where could they go? Beaming out of the complex using this… cobbled-together toy… is impossible!”

His second’s mind was already considering that, though, and quickly had an explanation.

“They wouldn’t have to do that.

“They only went about ten meters.”

He pointed at the far wall...

…and suddenly, Hrolak understood—understood that his prey had bypassed the alarm by simply beaming past the door into the corridor, using a variant of equipment that hadn’t existed 35 minutes ago. Once there, they’d simply employed an independent power source, perhaps a phaser, and used one of the dome’s own hidden emergency transporters—which, of course, did contain the frequency modulation to bypass the transit shields, since escaping a possible complex takeover had to be figured into its capabilities.

The old Orion felt queasy.

He heard himself speaking to Ran Imaldris only five days past.

“…and the room is fully functional, as well… a precise duplicate of a Federation starship officer’s quarters.

“It’s perfect.”

Hrolak could appreciate the irony: His penchant for detail and obsessive need for realism had afforded the raiders their opportunity, and they’d made the most of it.

Now his mind flashed further back… to what had, nine years ago, been a diverting little incident.

An embarrassed, infuriated Shomira—nude, wild-eyed, soaked with sweat, dripping with other… less seemly… fluids, and heedless of her personal danger—had once threatened him.

“I don’t care how long it takes,” she’d said, after performing what was for him an immensely pleasurable, but to her abjectly humiliating, act. “I’m going to pay you back for everything.”

Then, he’d simply laughed and made her do it again.

But considering that he’d be dead in less than a day, Hrolak decided that despite his long-ago dismissal of her…

…she’d found a way to make good on her vow.

Chapter Twenty-Four Interlude Five