CHAPTER TWO
“Well, did she make you
cry,
make you break down,
shatter your illusions
of love?
“And is it over now,
and do you know how
to pick up the pieces
and go home?”
- Stevie Nicks
The transmission was marked both Personal and Eyes Only…
but, strangely enough, did not originate with Starfleet.
An instant after activating the viewer, though, Lieutenant Daros
Va'qel, USS Roanoke, somehow knew
both the sender's identity, and that his own life had just been irreparably
altered…
…though not for the better.
Before him on the screen was an Orion male he'd never before seen:
handsome, well dressed, and self-assured in that offhanded way only the
obscenely rich and powerful can manage well.
Va'qel knew with an instinctual certainty who this was: none other
than the legendary underworld figure Ran Imaldris, wearing one of his
innumerable surgical guises. This particular face would, of course, never be
used again… but like all the thousands of others he'd worn over the decades—or
centuries, depending on who you asked—of his infamous life, would serve its
purpose before being discarded for the next.
Legend had it that even Ran
could no longer remember what he had once looked like.
Imaldris rendered a salutation, and then spoke.
“Greetings, Daros
Va'qel.
“Considering your
reputation as an investigator, I feel safe in assuming you know who I am.
“My condolences on your
being passed over again for promotion. Clearly Starfleet has taken leave of its collective
senses.” If the tone was mocking, the Elaasian couldn't detect it; indeed,
it grew even more serious in the next instant.
“On to business.
“I want you to
understand that I might not have pursued this course if I had not been pushed into it by the
actions of those who seek to destroy me and mine—namely, you and yours. It is a matter of business and policy for
the Syndicate, for which I am an overseer.
“Now… on to specifics.
“A certain woman of your
acquaintance has chronically interfered in my business dealings, as well as
those of my subordinates. One aborted transaction, in particular, which
promised to expand the scope of my influence greatly, was especially
irritating.”
His tone hardened.
“She is now in the
process of paying for that.”
Va'qel felt a moment of swooping anxiety—which, a moment later,
intensified.
“Your Aedra knew the
risks, and chose to challenge us, anyway. Now you will both suffer a fate—and a
realization—I think you would have preferred to avoid.”
Ran's visage disappeared, and the image shifted to a shadow-filled
room. At first, the scene didn't register fully with Daros—probably because
they didn't want it to do so:
Clearly, there was a figure standing therein, but the lighting was diffuse, and
revealed little more than that.
“She'd returned to Rigel
IX on Starfleet business, I'd guess, and evidently hadn't counted on the fact
that the Syndicate has been tracking her movements rather exactingly for over
seven months; we've known her location within 500 meters constantly since then. She
was a clever girl, no doubt of that…” Va'qel noted with unease the use of
the past tense, “…but she and her ilk got
a little arrogant and careless, coming here so brazenly.”
Oh, no…! Daros thought desperately.
Ran's next words confirmed his fears.
“I concede that, unlike
the rest
of the Starfleet operatives, who died like pathetic vika when we raided their base of operations,
Aedra put up a good fight: She killed two of my servants before they could
render her unconscious. But, eventually, we won…” His voice trailed off
meaningfully, then rose again with renewed power.
“…as we always do.
“I could have just
killed her, Daros. In a way, I imagine you might have preferred
that—considering what I decided upon instead.
“Unfortunately, however,
I needed to make an example of her: To other animal women who might presume to
think they had a life besides that which we dictate for them; to Starfleet, for daring
to wrongfully shelter what is ours, and then employing it against us; and, of
course, to Aedra herself, for presuming above her rightful station and raising
her hand against her true masters.”
His voice momentarily became a candid murmur.
“While I can privately
admit to admiring the woman's spirit, for my own purposes, it was necessary to
break her. And so, we set about doing just that.
“I thought you might
enjoy a look at the final fruit of our efforts.”
“You monster,” Daros
breathed. Of course, Ran couldn't hear… and would probably have been amused if
he could.
“You'll be perhaps
unsettled to know that while she resisted us at first, it took far less time to reeducate her
than I had thought it would—a matter of only hours as opposed to days,
actually. I know I was surprised… I suppose it's understandable, though.
'Nature over nurture,' and all.”
As the video pick-up panned around, the picture grew sharper,
brighter…
…and the nagging horror Daros Va'qel hadn't at first acknowledged
became a near-certainty.
They had her.
Rare were the moments in which the Elaasian felt truly impotent;
but now, the sensation suffused him. He was helpless to prevent what was
happening—What has happened, that is, he amended dully—and
equally powerless to look away, as it played itself out before his agonized
eyes.
She was nude, save for a golden anklet, and a slave tattoo newly
etched just above it: No doubt the jewelry was there for the express purpose of
drawing attention to the mark of ownership with which they'd branded her. Her
complexion was darker than he'd ever seen it: Aedra had clearly been deprived
of at least some of the pheromone and hormone suppressants on which she and
those around her so depended for mutual self-control. Something about that bothered him, too, but for the
moment it was a minuscule concern compared to what was actually taking place
before the camera.
A disembodied voice, clearly Ran's, commanded from within the
recording, “While watching your kind
dance is a pleasure not to be missed, we shan't indulge ourselves for too long. Do as you've been told—something
subtle.”
Obediently, Aedra took her place on what looked to be a subtly
upraised dais, then bent into a slight crouch, hands on knees. Her expression
seemed odd. After a moment's examination, Daros realized why: The woman he
loved was grinning slightly, and her entire body seemed to be swaying, as if
she were being gently stirred by music only she could hear. Aedra barely moved,
yet her perfectly contoured form exuded an eroticism the power of which was
palpable even through a video pickup.
“It's odd, isn't it? We
didn't have to drug her at all. We simply had to prevent her from drugging
herself. I admit, it's not my usual modus
operandi, but it had a symmetry I
appreciated.”
His voice took on an additional, harsher emphasis.
“I could also have just made her dance.
She'd be more than willing, as you can see… but finally decided that wouldn't
sufficiently make my point to either of you, and so chose another vehicle for
my… reminder.”
Aedra, Daros noted, didn't at all give the impression of someone
who'd been brutalized into compliance, cowed, or even coerced.
And when Ran had spoken, she'd immediately obeyed.
A second figure now appeared, and quietly approached her; Aedra
was clearly unaware of his presence. His species was easily recognizable: He
was a Sarmatian. As a race, they were tall, and powerfully built, with vaguely
equine features—known throughout the quadrant for their stamina, strength… and,
in certain depraved circles, one other physical attribute that became
prominently apparent as the male took quiet, careful place behind her.
Then, the man saluted the camera, mockingly.
“You know this person, I
believe,” Ran announced.
Jarringly, Daros realized he did, indeed, recognize him: His name
was Javin Ko'ortas. He'd been running a prohibited substance, blue parasol
dust, into Federation space over a year-and-a-half ago, building quite a
lucrative and widespread network during the Dominion War, when Starfleet was
far too occupied to prevent such action. Eventually, Roanoke had intervened, and the two men had crossed paths—with
Daros eventually winning a hand-to-hand encounter and depositing Ko'ortas into
the custody of Starfleet Security.
Evidently he'd escaped… or been broken out.
The viewpoint continued to change, giving various unobstructed
perspectives: First, Aedra's face, atypically passive in its loveliness; then,
that incredibly lush form; and finally, the Sarmatian, who was now directly
behind the Orion woman…
…and rather idly aiming himself at her.
It was crushingly obvious Aedra had no idea what was about to
happen.
Daros, though, did.
Ran's voiceover continued.
“Now, I must say at this
juncture that I've heard you yourself are… how do they say?… 'a man's man'? Curious
expression… seems to mean exactly the opposite of what it implies, so I’m
betting it's something of a symbolic distinction, eh? No offense intended, of
course. But I was reminded of Javin once Aedra had been delivered to me, and
decided that, since you had an… association… with both, that it was only fitting to bring the two of them
together.
“I have to admit, and
think you'll have to agree, Daros, that it possesses a certain poetry.”
The Sarmatian turned to the pickup and mouthed a few silent words
that were nevertheless all too clear.
He whispered, “I warned you I'd get even.”
Turn it off, the distraught
Starfleet officer told himself…
…and found that he couldn't.
It was far too late for
that.
Javin took his leisurely time, for long moments savoring the sway
of Aedra's form, waiting until the oblivious woman's subtle movements brought
her perfectly in line with what awaited her. Then he stepped forward, grasped
her hips…
…and with a single, prodigious thrust, impaled her with as much of
his length as he could manage.
Surprisingly, Aedra didn't make a sound at the brutal intrusion,
though her beautiful mouth opened in a wide “oh” of genuine shock. A few
seconds later, her lovely eyes closed, as Javin continued to bull his way into
her. Even that didn't take as long as Daros would've thought: Aedra,
startlingly, widened her stance, and bent over a little more, to better
accommodate her assailant.
At once, he was done, buried to the utmost, and the Orion woman
exhaled with what almost sounded like relief.
Then, the Sarmatian began driving himself home with jarring force,
lifting the Orion woman onto her toes with each stroke. Before Daros' indignant
eyes, his fiance's flawless body responded to the stimulus: Unconsciously,
Aedra began rolling her generous hips to meet the thrusts, participating with
what looked at first glance to be not only acceptance, but genuine enthusiasm,
in what was happening. Her expression, though—eyes closed, brows raised—for
some time remained one of complete disbelief, as he penetrated her again and
again.
It was a gradual change over the moments of the initial assault,
but, as he watched, Daros suddenly, jarringly became aware that somewhere along
the line, Aedra's look of surprise had first faded, and then slowly
metamorphosed…
…into something he couldn't deny was a smile.
Her lover felt ill as he watched, but couldn't bear to turn
away—almost as if to do so would be to abandon her in some fashion.
Now the action changed; Javin withdrew, and laid Aedra on her
back, even as the dais rose to accommodate the new angle. She was breathing
heavily, and now seemed disturbed about something: Not angry, just anguished.
It became apparent a moment later just what had been bothering the
Orion woman: She'd missed him... or, at least, a part of him. As the Sarmatian
reentered, she groaned with renewed approval. For a moment, Javin was still…
then, he pulled back, and drove heavily downwards, ramming himself into her.
A grunt escaped her perfect lips.
“I believe that's called
'bemoaning your fate'—though she hardly seems reluctant, I must say.
“Faithfulness is
evidently not her strong suit,” Ran noted. “Of course, she has other… qualities… doesn't she?—including what I think we
have to call unbridled enthusiasm.”
Until that moment, Daros had desperately continued to nurse the
dwindling hope that she wasn't a willing participant in what was happening—that
she was brilliantly faking her active, consensual role… but when he saw Aedra's
legs wrap themselves around Javin with an almost ferocious possessiveness, he
knew the brutal truth.
She was definitely taking pleasure in it—a great deal of pleasure.
Daros Va'qel, bitter beyond words, took it all in: The sound of
the man's hips slapping against her thighs; Aedra's expression of near complete
abandon, eyelids three-quarters shut, pupils practically rolled back into her
head; her heavy breasts jiggling with each potent thrust…
…and, worst of all, the form of his old enemy looming over
her—exacting a devastating revenge.
His fiancée's voice was beautiful, and its tone always changed
just before an orgasm, he knew, becoming throatier.
It was happening now; suddenly, her breathing grew labored, and
she clutched Javin with all her impressive strength, holding him inside her to
the very hilt as her spasms continued for what seemed an impossible span. Near
its end, she wailed, almost sobbing with ecstacy…
…and to Daros, the sound was like a lament for whatever he had
shared with her. Until a few moments ago, he had prided himself on his own
sexual prowess, yet he hadn't had even the vaguest awareness she could climax
like that.
She never did… with you, the malevolent part of him accused.
But here she was, enthusiastically on the receiving end of another
man's… attentions.
The Sarmatian continued his dutiful onslaught, and for long
moments, the only sound that could be heard were the young Orion's encouraging
cries as he serviced her.
Eventually, it headed for what Daros prayed was a conclusion.
Instead, they were simply changing vices.
Smoothly, his woman came to her knees, and began to do something
for Javin she'd never done, or had to
do, for him.
Aedra had haughtily told her fiancé once that… fellatio, she'd called it?… was
degrading to women, and had warned him that he wasn’t ever going to receive
it—at least not from her.
He hadn't even known what
it was, until she'd explained.
Seeing her eagerness while engaging in it now might have made a
lesser man even angrier. As it was, Daros just felt nauseated—nauseated, and,
on some grotesquely twisted level he didn't understand, or want to acknowledge,
aroused.
The recording continued for quite some time, and it had obviously
been choreographed to shock and dispirit him.
Then, when he thought it couldn't possibly get worse, it did…
…as other men entered the room.
The… things… Aedra did
with them were at first disturbing…
…then shocking…
…and, finally, appalling.
As the minutes lengthened, Daros continued to watch, slack-jawed
and sickened, looking for a remaining trace of the woman he knew in the one who
had gradually taken center stage.
Instead, it had become the face of a stranger. She was entirely in
her own world, now, trembling almost drunkenly even in the midst of her
performance, clutching greedily at her partners even as they engaged in acts
the Elaasian would never have imagined were
even possible, let alone desirable.
The sheen of exertion gave her a glow that would have been incredibly erotic in
just about any other circumstance.
Aedra looked a shade darker now—almost an emerald green—and was
moving with a frantic enthusiasm, eyes alternately glazed or riveted to her
various tasks. In horror and barely-contained outrage, Daros could see that she was the aggressor now.
At long last, they seemed done. One by one, the other men left the
pickup's view, leaving Javin alone with her again.
Finally, she fell face first onto the dais, momentarily drained,
it seemed.
Daros knew he was much more embarrassed and agonized for her than she was for herself: It was
obvious Aedra was much too far gone to care.
Then, Javin added a final vicious blow.
“How long before you'll
want to go again?” he asked her.
Eagerly, she rolled over, and unbelievably, began to struggle
upright.
Javin stepped away, laughing.
“I think you need some rest, my ardent little slut.
“I'll come back in a few
hours.
“And shall I send the
tape of our little encounter to your 'one true love' aboard the Roanoke?”
Momentarily, Aedra looked puzzled.
“Not that you'd know,
but it's long-standing tradition to never chronicle the performance of Orion animal
women, so as to maintain the mystique of their allure. In this case, though,
we've made an exception, and recorded the whole thing, Aedra. I imagine your
'beloved,' Daros Va'qel—you do
remember him at least marginally, don't you?—will receive his copy within 24
hours.”
Aedra frowned slightly, and, for the first time since this
started, spoke a single, confused sounding word.
“D–Daros?…”
It was just then that the Sarmatian bent to cover her mouth with
his, silencing whatever would have come next. She returned the embrace with
enthusiasm, lifting her arms to rest them around his neck.
Daros realized that the man had never kissed Aedra until then… and
the intimacy of that was nothing to compared to what she said next.
“Come back soon,” she murmured groggily.
“I need you.”
Javin grinned viciously… then brushed her off, shoving her back
onto the platform and withdrawing from the pickup's range.
From Aedra’s confused expression, the Sarmatian had left the room
after making his announcement. For a moment, she continued to look befuddled, as
if at least vaguely aware something
was wrong.
Then, Daros Va'qel watched, as Aedra Anari, the woman he loved,
slowly lay back, and curled into a ball on the dais; at first, he selfishly
hoped that she was weeping—lamenting what she'd been forced to do.
As the camera focused, though, it told another story: She was
smiling slightly through heavy-lidded eyes…
…a hand desperately at work between her legs.
When Ran's face appeared again, the Elaasian noted his words only
through an ache that had suffused his entire being.
He said, “I think that's
what the Risians call ja-ma-ha-ron, isn't it? Don't worry… she'll eventually
wear down and fall asleep… and I assure you, they'll freshen her up before
Javin and company return, for another go at her. We wouldn't want to leave a
mess, now would we?
“It would be… undignified.”
Now the Syndicate boss laughed. It was as rife with pure malice as
any sound Daros had ever heard.
“I understand you two
are betrothed, and that after her assignment, you were to be married on the
Elaasian home world.”
For a moment, Ran Imaldris closed his eyes.
“I think that's what finally decided
me to do what I've done—that you smug Starfleet officers would dare to strike
at my livelihood, and then plan to celebrate. You'll be pleased to know that
she gave up all her classified information even before telling us about her
‘man.’ Either she cares a great deal for you… or you're an afterthought. I
couldn't say.”
Then, he heard her disembodied voice dully, dutifully rattle off
series of letters and numbers that Daros recognized: They were passwords and
ciphers—codes only an SI agent so important as Aedra would have.
And with that, the Elaasian's final hope all of it had been
nothing more than a holographic trick at last withered away.
“Well, as a courtesy to
a pair of… fellow operatives…” and he
chuckled, “…I may, instead of killing
Aedra or taking her with us, leave your prospective bride right here, on
Maradas III—assuming you can get to her before the Sarmatian pushes her so far
into her animal nature that she can't
recover.
“I'm actually rooting
for you to reach her, Daros, if you can believe that—though perhaps my
motivations are less than pure.
“I can't imagine your
reunion will be as… climactic… as her time with my strapping young lads has been, is, and will
continue to be. I wonder if they're…
recreating… yet again even as you're watching this.
“What I wouldn't pay to see and hear the
first conversation after the two of you
meet again.”
The pickup rested a final time on Aedra's now sleeping face: Her
beauty was, of course, undiminished.
For the first time, though, Daros looked away.
“I hope the two of you
will enjoy your lives together…
“…though I have my
doubts.”
Nine hours later, when USS Roanoke
reached Maradas III in response to Ran’s lead, Aedra and her captors were
already long gone—if, indeed, they’d ever been there at all.
Daros Va’qel was left with his revulsion at what he’d seen… at
what she’d done…
…and his anguish at the knowledge that, somewhere, it was still going on.