Add this to the list of stories containing disturbing imagery, upsetting scenes, and erotica. Note in addition that this is probably the darkest tale, in its way, that I have ever written, and perhaps will ever write… so if you thought Nature of the Beast pushed you to your limit, don't read this.

And now that the requisite warning is out of the way…

…I found the ST:TNG episode "The First Duty" an entertaining one… but on reflection, thought the cadets of Nova Squad were the beneficiaries of absurd leniency. The lot of them could easily have been charged with negligent homicide, conspiracy, and interference with a Starfleet investigation, among other crimes… but, instead, got left back a year.

Please.

As a certain hypochondriac doctor might say, “Oh, the pain… the pain.”

I've always wondered about that group. Josh Albert's fate, of course, was sealed as the story began, and we all knew nothing terrible was going to happen to Wesley "Boy Gene-ius" Crusher. Ensign Sito's appearance in "Lower Decks" and her "resurrection" here at Star Trek: Liberty account for three… but what about Jean Hajar and Nick Locarno?

The former has already made an appearance on this site—a moving scene midway through "A Week in the Life of Sito Jaxa"—but that probably asked more questions than it answered. Where did Jean go after she fled the Academy, still guilt-ridden and anguished over the death of her friend?

This story explores that question.

"A little [knowledge] is a dangerous thing;

drink deep, or taste not the… spring:

"There shallow draughts intoxicate the brain,

and drinking largely sobers us again."

- Alexander Pope

There was a single word indispensable in describing Jean Hajar.

That word was former.

She was a former Starfleet cadet… a former Nova Squad member… a former candidate for her class' valedictorian…

…and a former "young woman with her whole life ahead of her."

What a difference two years makes.

That thought had become a recurring one over the last three weeks, since she'd arrived home after leaving the Academy.

Lebanon was as she remembered it: Warm and dry, the air touched with a hint of cedar, and heavy with the salt of the sea. Her closest friends, when they'd gathered here on leave, had commented on the locale's serenity. Only one, Joshua Albert, had known something of its tormented past, and she'd shared a secret smile with him.

As she stood on the balcony of the room that had been hers since before she was born, and gazed out at the serene Mediterranean, Jean briefly indulged one of her favorite imaginings—seeing in her mind's eye a man she'd always fancied a distant ancestor, King Hiram of Tyre, directing cords of the sweet-smelling wood south along the caravan trail, that his friend and ally King Suleiman might build the temple Allah had commanded of him.

She recalled Josh, when she'd told that story to the assembled group, teasing her with a gentle, "That's King Solomon, Jean." He had been raised a Jew, and she by an agnostic mother and devoutly Muslim father… but while their traditions had been disparate enough to intrigue and surprise them both on occasion, they hadn't been sufficient to prevent a deep friendship from forming.

It was the last time all of them had been together, and truly happy.

Two weeks later, Josh had been dead.

Three weeks later, Nick Locarno had been as good as dead—expelled for culpability in persuading his Nova Squad team first to attempt the forbidden Kolvaard Starburst maneuver, and then trying to prevent the truth of their indiscretion from coming to light by shifting the blame onto their late friend, who'd perished in fire and fear when their practice run had gone tragically wrong.

What the hell were we thinking?

But she knew the answer.

We weren't thinking. We were letting Nick do our thinking for us, because we were too scared, too worried about our own asses, to face what we'd done.

Nick…

Not a day had gone by that she hadn't wondered about him. He'd been handsome, charismatic, and sexy as hell that day he'd sweet-talked her into joining Nova Squad. Jean hadn't been sure; though she’d loved piloting more than anything else she’d ever done, studies had been taking up all her time, and her dogged determination to finish first in the class hadn't, in her opinion, left much time for practicing flight maneuvers and logging hours in simulators.

She'd told him so, flatly… and nearly melted when he'd directed that incredible grin at her, and replied, "Jean, you have a 4.0 GPA… but so do 17 other cadets in your class. Joining Nova Squad will put you in the driver's seat. Who else will have both your grades and an appointment to the elite flight team? Extra-curricular activities count for a great deal… and they can be a lot of fun, too."

His logic had been persuasive, his double entendre surprisingly welcome, and a little thrilling… and the prospect of seeing that smile on a regular basis had helped make her decision an irrevocable and fateful one.

Ultimately, though, she’d joined for the chance to soar.

Now, after all that had happened, Jean knew she'd probably be arrested for trying to make a paper airplane—let alone fly it.

***

Jerrell Gav’reme, accomplished spy, trusted servant, and honored namesake of Orion’s most formidable Congery, recognized opportunity when it manifested itself—no matter the form it took.

He’d seen it two years ago, when coincidentally visiting Earth on other… business… and the Federation News Service had broken the Nova Squad scandal. It wasn’t very often that promising, fresh-faced students such as those he’d seen failed so spectacularly, and publicly. Jerrell had learned all he could about the participants, and the particulars, drawing on more than a few sources the Syndicate had implanted in Starfleet to get a feel for what might be accomplished, with haste and care.

A person who’d essentially graduated the Academy, who possessed everything but the actual degree and commission, was a tremendously valuable commodity, thoroughly trained in a variety of technical skills and operations procedures… and Jerrell had known that approaching former Cadet Nicholas Locarno only days after the latter’s fall from grace would either necessitate a hasty departure from Federation space, or earn him a coup for his recruitment savvy.

Now, almost two years later, as the Orion relaxed in the copilot’s seat of his custom scout ship, Lady’s Break, he watched the man doing the flying, and was reminded again, most satisfyingly, that the result was often worth the risk.

Nick Locarno sighed slightly and rolled his eyes.

“You’ve been glancing slyly at me for over an hour now, Jerrell. I know you too well.

“What’s on your mind?”

A born pilot, Nick could easily fly a complicated course even while carrying on an equally complex conversation. If there was one thing on which he prided himself, it was unflappability… and for him, usually, getting there was most of the fun.

“Your friend Jean Hajar has left Starfleet Academy; I thought you’d approve of a little side trip to visit her.”

Jean?

An instant after Locarno’s heart lurched, so did the ship.

For the first time since he’d been dismissed from his lifelong dream, the destination had become, for Nick, far more important than the trip.

***

“Incoming communiqué.”

Jean was irritated at the computer's announcement. Her friend, soon-to-be-Ensign Sito Jaxa, had called her at least ten times since she’d left the Academy… every time imploring her to reconsider—to return and ask for her slot in the graduating class.

I don't think so, Jaxa. You weren't there when the commandant and head student counselor heard my DOR.

They didn't say a word to dissuade me from leaving. As a matter of fact, Brandt looked relieved. I could almost hear it in her mind: "Three down, one to go."

Angrily, she flounced onto a chair in front of the comm screen.

"Fine, Sito… you want to talk? Good. I'll teach you why Arabic is the best language for cursing in the galaxy."

But the ID marker's origin didn't read Starfleet Academy.

Instead, the word "Unknown" dominated the screen.

Great. Another anonymous call from someone who feels the need to tell me what a "disgrace" I am—that I've shamed my family, the Federation. Yeah, I'm sure the djinns themselves are in a tizzy over my departure.

She briefly toyed with the idea of rejecting the invitation to speak, but her finger instead touched at the Accept button…

…and she was rewarded for her fortitude—or contentiousness—with the sight of icy blue eyes and a boyishly pretty face she hadn't seen in almost two years.

"Salaam aleikum, Jean. It's good to see you again."

Instinctually, she murmured the traditional response, "Aleikum salaam," then followed that with, "Where the hell have you been?"

Nicholas Locarno's grin broadened, taking on the roguish assurance she thought had disappeared forever in that horrible moment when Weasel-y Crusher had ratted them all out—he'd been right to do it, but it didn't make him any less of a rodent, in Jean's opinion—and he answered, "Oh… here and there… making a new life for myself…

"…and now, I'm back seeing if you'd be interested in one, as well. Has to be better than sitting around your family's estate, waiting for Captain Hajar to come home and tell you what a failure you are."

Nick had never pulled punches, and this one hit her right in the face. Her father, Captain Hajar ibn Rashad, was only days away from Earth. No doubt he'd already heard what she'd done: The nine subspace messages—messages that yet remained unread—she'd received from his vessel, USS Ishtar, lent strong credence to that theory. Jean didn't want to be here when he arrived, but didn't really have anywhere else to go.

Or, rather, hadn't had—until now.

She had a sudden feeling that, just like two years ago, Nick Locarno was about to save her again.

***

They were coming aboard in a few seconds.

Jerrell had looked forward to meeting Jean. From the manner in which her friend had described her, she was a highly accomplished pilot, with a flair to rival Nick’s own. Such people could always find work if they knew where to search… or had others willing to seek them out.

In addition, it was clear from even casual conversation that Nick had a strong attraction to the girl, and believed it was returned. If so, then perhaps she could be used to keep him more fully contented with his new life. He wasn’t exactly a problem child, but had a streak of willfulness and rebellion that necessitated somewhat more attention than at times Jerrell was willing to grant.

That’s understandable, of course. Nick's still not quite reconciled to the fact that he isn't the hotshot starship pilot he always expected to be. I've seen it in his mind.

What is that he always thinks when in one of his sullen, morose moods?

Oh, yes.

"I'm a glorified chauffeur."

He met them in the transporter room.

Jerrell’s shadow, the great Kaylar, Xorc, had demonstrated what would probably be, to most, a surprisingly gentle touch with the controls, and in a shower of luminescence, they’d boarded.

Now, as they stepped off the pad, Locarno had the air of a man showing off a prized piece of art, as he gestured to both, in turn.

"This is my friend, Jean Hajar. Jean, my employer, Jerrell Gav'reme, and his bodyguard, Xorc.”

Oh, goodness.

The Orion took one look at the girl—at her slender form and graceful carriage, her chestnut brown hair and dark eyes, her delicate, lovely, haughty features—and knew that, for him…

…this mission’s priorities had just changed.

He no longer primarily cared about her capabilities or skills—at least not the same ones the Syndicate would find eminently useful.

Jerrell smiled, bringing the full force of his charm to bear. Ten seconds ago, it would have been completely genuine; now, it was a calculated gesture, one geared both to reassure and advance him incrementally further into her confidence.

It served both purposes well.

Her grin in return was cool, but ever so slightly intrigued. Curious, he glanced briefly at her surface thoughts… and was encouraged by what he saw there.

Mmm… handsome. Better looking than Nick, in a way.

But that’s probably not something you should mention to either, Jean—not if you’re planning on moving forward with your old friend.

Jerrell concealed an even more amused smile.

Well, one out of two isn’t bad.

Don’t worry, “Cadet” Hajar, I’ll never tell.

Instead, he offered, “I’ve heard a little about you, Jean, and I must say, Nick didn’t nearly do you justice.”

She didn’t blush, he noted, or even look for a moment uncomfortable: Jean Hajar had the confident ease of a beautiful and somewhat privileged young woman—one that had always possessed the upper hand when dealing with men.

“Well,” she replied, “I hope I don’t disappoint.”

And if there was a hint of anything other than professionalism in her tone, it wasn’t something that could be easily identified…

…unless, of course, you knew what she was thinking.

***

“All right,” said Nick Locarno, with a teasing grin. “Let’s see what you’ve still got—if anything.”

Jean Hajar shot him a glare, shook off her reservations and, while hoping she could do the same with two years of rust, slipped into the pilot seat of the Lady’s Break.

The controls were, fortunately, not dissimilar to those used by Starfleet vessels, and in seconds she reconfigured them to her own unique requirements with an ease that bolstered her confidence slightly.

Every little bit helps after this long, Jean thought.

She powered the sleek vessel’s thrusters and pushed it immediately into motion, breaking Earth orbit smoothly and turning the ship’s prow towards one of the few places in the Sol System where a pilot could strut her stuff without drawing either attention or citation. A few moments at full impulse, and she’d brought them to their destination.

Here between Mars and Jupiter lay what every Terran schoolchild called “The Asteroid Belt”—as if it were the only, or at least the most important, one in the galaxy.

While, for the most part, debris from the planet that had never quite been was spread out over billions of cubic miles, there were a number of places where random chance had seen significant chunks of rock and ice remain clustered together, as if unwilling to totally abandon each other and the idea that they’d previously been one.

These formed what the practical often labeled “hazards to navigation”…

…and what thrill seekers and those with something to prove called “obstacle courses.”

Then again, having something to prove and actually proving it were two entirely different things. Young people had died in the process of attempting to satisfy the need for speed—“hotrodding”—since the first horseman had overestimated his steed, or himself, and brought them both to ruin.

Over two centuries, thus, the flotsam had grown on frequent occasion—as those who’d possessed more courage than skill had found the challenge greater than they could handle, and collided with one of the free-floating impediments. The wreckage itself was, in some ways, a fairly informative chronicle of progression in Terran space- and starship design. Some fine vessels—or, to be more precise, whatever was left of them—had become part of the challenge.

There were marker buoys in place to warn the casual and inexperienced away from such sites… but that was all. Even the stodgiest and most conservative elements of the Terran government had never been able to force through legislation to ban such practices. The right to push oneself, while putting no unwilling bystanders at risk, was one that was cherished and zealously guarded by free thinkers, free spirits, and free fliers alike. Not a few of these were now officers in the Federation Starfleet, and remembered fondly a particularly exhilarating dash through “The Gauntlet,” “Damnation Alley,” “The Kessel Run,” or one of the other notable spots discovered and braved over the years.

Jean had selected a course that was considered by many the most difficult to navigate.

The fact of its nickname—“Dangerous Curves”—was, of course, only a coincidence.

Jerrell watched his prospective new pilot maneuver Lady's Break through the asteroid field as if she, and not Nick, had been flying her for two years. Her style at the helm was more than flashy: It was flamboyant.

Yet while her near misses, artful dodges, and narrow escapes had him clutching his armrests and perched on the edge of his seat, he never called for a halt or demanded she slow the ship.

In other words, he was excited… but never afraid.

And when they cleared the far side of the course, and she sent his beloved vessel into a triumphant barrel roll, the Orion laughed delightedly, and then burst into applause after she brought Lady's Break to station-keeping.

"Jean, great work!" he exclaimed, and followed with a curt, "Nick, you're fired.

"I've got a new pilot!"

Locarno, who'd been smiling broadly until that instant, gaped in astonishment…

…until his employer chuckled, and Jean broke into a heady laugh.

"Relax, St. Nick," she told him, and slipped a more-than-comradely arm around her old friend's waist. "Your boss is teasing you. You know… a joke? Like the ones you used to pull on Josh and Sito all the time?"

Slowly, the former cadet's smile returned, and he flashed it at his friend.

"I guess you just scrambled my brain with those moves, Jean."

Jerrell chuckled inwardly. Locarno was exhilarated, both at seeing that her skills were undiminished, and at her nearness. He flicked a glance at the younger man's groin, and saw that the moment had been inspiring in more ways than one.

It was a condition they had in common…

…and don't think she doesn't know it.

The three proceeded to quit the cockpit and head for the common compartment that served as dayroom, mess, and recreational lounge.

"I was kidding about terminating you, Nick," Jerrell confirmed with a brief glance at his employee. Then he again returned his attention to Jean.

"But I wasn't about having a new pilot—one to spell Nick, for now, and eventually, move to another ship as its primary helmsman. The job is yours if you want it, Jean.

"I can always use a good woman."

It was a comment that could certainly have been interpreted as entirely innocent. But he hadn’t meant it that way…

…and her enigmatic smile in response indicated she'd taken precisely as he'd intended.

***

Seduction was, in its way, every bit as difficult to plan and coordinate as a military objective... and as varied in manner of execution and severity of result: There were massive attacks that devastated the target; selective assaults that damaged significantly but left it functional; and surgical strikes that did little actual injury, but allowed one to achieve the objective with surprising ease.

Jerrell had already decided that, as pertained to Jean Hajar, the last of those options was most viable. He had no intention of causing the girl any real harm. Overall, she'd be better off—at least in the short term.

And the long term, he admitted, was of little concern to him, so long as he got what he wanted now.

After all, she was going to receive a great deal out of it, too.

Jean had learned a little about him while she’d piloted the Lady’s Break.

The Orion had gleaned a lot more about her.

Sifting through her surface thoughts, and even some of the more prominent memories, had proven surprisingly easy. While her mind was for the most part disciplined, and she was clearly quite intelligent, there were no real psi-defenses in place; even the simple ones that could be taught to those not blessed with the Talent were absent. He’d been able to stroll about at will and examine whatever came near the surface of her consciousness with impunity.

She was a more complicated woman than might first appear…

…and Jerrell knew he could use that against her.

He imagined what his mother—a full Betazoid taken on a slave raid years ago, a woman who’d grown to be his sire’s trusted concubine—would say.

"Jerrell, you're using your abilities irresponsibly, with no regard for those around you. Didn't I teach you that such things are anathema?"

He loved his mother, and respected her perspective, but in this case, he didn't agree with her. Telepathy was, indeed, a gift... but it was one that needed to be exploited to its fullest whenever possible—an invaluable weapon in the sexual arsenal. After all, men who had handsome faces, good bodies, money or fame didn't disguise them when attempting to get a woman into bed... and it was ridiculous for a person to possess such an immense advantage, but set it aside merely because of a hopelessly naive notion that it was somehow "wrong" to employ it.

If people didn't want their thoughts and emotions examined to the observer's advantage, then they should learn the techniques necessary to prevent it.

Until such occurred, well... it was a gift he was more than willing to use.

It wasn't unfair, or immoral.

It was simply reality.

After all, Nick had his advantages in this little contest, too: He'd known the girl longer, as well as being a familiar face in a time of uncertainty and transition. Jerrell had even learned, in a cursory examination of each recruit's surface thoughts when they were in proximity to each other, that they'd had a single previous intimate encounter, which he'd amusedly noted was one Locarno fondly remembered… but with which Jean had been completely unimpressed—at least in the physical sense.

I suppose I should actually consider that another point in my favor, he chuckled.

There was a practical aspect to his decision, too, though it really hadn’t entered into his personal equation. He could utilize direct loyalty to him, and more fully bind Jean to the Syndicate. Locarno's allegiance was to himself; he had his uses as a low-level mercenary operative, but he'd never amount to much within the organization: His mind was too much his own. More than once, he’d asked about getting more of a shot at some “real action.” Jerrell had, thus far, been able to keep him under control with variants of the “such things take time” speech.

In all honesty, though, the Orion knew he had no intention of taking Nick into his confidence any further than he already had. He’d never care about anything or anyone more than he did himself.

Jean, though… Jean showed nice potential. She was bright, but malleable… innocent, yet provocative…

…and that was just the way he liked them.

Handled properly, she’d prove very useful—in many senses of the word.

One thing stood in his way.

Nick Locarno might not be a telepath, but he possessed annoyingly good instincts: He had, of course, noticed Jerrell's interest in Jean, as well as her flattered and flirtatious response. Not surprisingly, it had angered him, though he'd concealed it well.

Considering Nick's own unvoiced designs on the girl, the Orion had no doubt that the good-looking, brash young human would find some reason to show up in her quarters if he realized another man was there… and if there was one thing Jerrell did not want tonight, it was to be interrupted by a jealous, sullen rival at precisely the wrong moment.

Fortunately, he could eliminate that possibility right now—quite easily.

"Computer… introduce somnozine compound, 1,700 parts per million, into room nine."

"Acknowledged."

Jerrell waited a few moments for Locarno's quarters' door to open; it would have been so like him to suddenly depart them for no particular reason at all.

The seconds passed, and… nothing.

He's out. Perfect.

His pilot, he was certain, would have an excellent night's sleep.

But if Jerrell had his way—and he always did—Jean Hajar wouldn't.

At least not until I'm done.

Nick Locarno lay on his bunk, thinking—thinking harder, and less about himself, than he had in a long time.

He'd just about decided that he'd done the wrong thing in helping Jerrell begin to recruit Jean. It was bad enough walking such a path yourself…. but to lead someone else in the same direction—someone you were attracted to, really cared about…

Hell of a time for a crisis of conscience, Nick.

Then, again, better now than when we're halfway to Rigel.

I'll go to Jean, and we'll get her out of here tonight. I know she'll listen to me; she always has. Now it's time to make her listen to something that's good for both of us.

Maybe I’ll even go, too.

Yes, it was definitely time to make a change.

And he'd do so… after he'd rested his eyes for just a bit.

Suddenly, he was a little tired.

Five minutes was as good as right now.

Five min–….

***

When her door chime rang, a fresh-from-the-shower Jean Hajar didn't know who it was…

…and, in addition, didn't know who she wanted it to be.

She guessed, "Nick?"

"Jerrell."

She felt a twinge of disappointment… and a surprising surge of excitement.

"Come in."

He was bearing gifts: a bottle of something red and syrupy, along with three glasses.

"I'm a firm believer in a nightcap before bed."

She grinned, and tapped her comm panel.

"Nick?"

There was no answer.

Jerrell frowned.

"Computer, located Nick Locarno."

"Nick Locarno is in his assigned berth."

The Orion smiled and shrugged.

"Turned in early, I guess. Odd… you think he’d want to catch up with you."

He flipped over the glass that would have been the younger man’s and placed it on the tray adorning her desk.

Jean wondered about Nick—whether he was simply tired, or perhaps a little annoyed that she'd been flirting with Jerrell—but was drawn back to the here and now by her company's statement and question.

"I can leave… we can get together tomorrow…

"…or do you want to try this? It's Dionysian… really good.

She cocked an eye at him.

"I thought Dionysian liquors were aphrodisiacs," she noted, her tone a combination of accusation, curiosity and amusement. "I also believe they're illegal in Federation space, aren’t they?"

Her company chuckled.

"Not all of them… on either point.

"I like to think of my ship as a little slice of Rigel that travels with me. Besides… do you really think I'd waste a lurid love potion on Nick? He's pleasant enough on the eyes, I suppose… but I'm not exactly attracted—to him, I mean."

Jean considered that, then laughed softly.

"I suppose not.

"Sure… I'd like to try some."

He poured them each three fingers' worth, then set down the decanter, took both glasses, and offered her one.

"To a new life."

Jean hesitated, then echoed, "A new life," and tossed back the entire contents.

Jerrell assumed a startled and impressed expression... but was secretly pleased.

"Whoa…” he warned. “That's pretty potent stuff to treat like a shot. You'd best be careful."

In response, the young woman gave him a derisive smirk and held her glass out to him, indicating she wanted more.

"Please. It's not as if I haven't had a few drinks before."

Her host took the opportunity to move nearer, as he poured another, slightly larger quantity of the sweet, strong aperitif.

Aren't you the typical little Starfleet wench? Same unjustified self-assurance… and nary a uniform to be seen.

You should have been more careful, little girl; just because it's not an aphrodisiac, per se, doesn't mean it won't affect you. Alcohol—real alcohol, and this is as real as alcohol gets—lowers your inhibitions, especially if you're not accustomed to it. You've spent your whole privileged little life drinking synthale and soda-pop… maybe even, if you’re the daring sort, a taste of champagne when you graduated—what do they call it on Earth?—“high school”?

And considering how enthusiastic you humans are about sex, anyway, once you're warmed up—and this will start warming you up very soon, unless I miss my guess—I think I've just increased my likelihood of success with you tonight by tenfold.

He took another step towards her.

She didn't move any closer in response, but neither did she withdraw.

It didn't matter. Jean didn't quite realize it, yet…

…but she wasn't going anywhere.

Over the next 15 minutes, Jean Hajar found herself wondering it the toast she'd acknowledged had possessed a power all its own. She felt warm and flushed…

…and, the way Jerrell was looking at her, extremely desirable.

I thought he was handsome, but… I was wrong.

He's gorgeous.

And he was now face-to-face, inches away.

As she examined him, fascinated and, she realized, more than a little turned on, Jean asked, more teasingly this time, "Are you sure this isn't an aphrodisiac?" Then, before he could answer, she downed what little the glass still contained.

He parried with, "I promise, it's not… but I'm feeling a little stimulated myself.

"And I don't mean the drink."

He closed the final distance between them, mouth near to hers… and waited.

Why doesn't he try to kiss me?

This was a moment Jerrell loved.

He'd set the stage, made certain no understudies would interrupt, and given the co-star her cue.

The Orion sensed that Jean Hajar was wavering between calling off the show and commencing the second act. He would do nothing more, yet; the ultimate choice had to be hers.

It made final victory all the sweeter.

If he were correct, she’d be throwing herself into the role before she knew it.

Jean met his eyes… considered her desires, both short- and long-term…

Hmm… why don't I kiss him? A little slap-and-tickle might be nice.

I'll just stop it before it goes too far.

…and made her decision.

She leaned into him, brushing her lips against Jerrell's, flicking her tongue out to meet his, and felt his arms encircle her waist. He slowly turned the gentle contact into a deep, strong embrace—the kind of embrace that made a woman's knees weak, and her loins ache.

If she'd been wearing anything other than a long white terry cloth shower robe, Jean would have had time, somewhere along the line, to reconsider the next few moments. As it was, though, his kisses were incredibly delicious, and his hands at her hips didn't feel at all like he was loosening the tie.

Of course, when he slipped the upper part of the garment open and his clever hand found one of her breasts, brushing the hardening nipple with his fingertips, Jean suddenly knew that had been his intent all along.

She gasped, and briefly debated calling an immediate halt. But his touch felt startlingly good, and she reconsidered after a few seconds.

Just a little more, then I'll make him stop doing w–… ohh, yes…

Jean leaned her head back and closed her eyes, nearly overwhelmed by the intensity of feeling—nearly, but not quite.

Nick.

For the second time since Jerrell had arrived in her room, Jean thought briefly about her old classmate, sound asleep about five feet away through the bulkhead… and, for a moment, the enchantment of the encounter flagged slightly.

This is going too far.

Jerrell noted with concern—and irritation—Jean's sudden guilt over Nick, and realized he had to act or he'd lose his opportunity. The young woman had already become pleasantly disoriented from the growing effects of the aperitif, and was even more affected by his attentions; her body was readily cooperating even though her mind now showed, for the first time, genuine regret and the beginnings of opposition.

A little faster than I wanted, but…

Before her uncertainty could manifest itself as a voiced rejection, or even an instruction to wait, Jerrell decided to take a chance that she was physically ready for him.

Hastily, while she wavered, he slipped his breeches down, and freed his rigid erection. Jean was still lost in sensation and indecision, head thrown towards the ceiling… and before she could deny him permission, he seized the chance.

In swift succession, he first suckled fiercely on a nipple, then rolled the other in his fingers—all the while discretely using his free hand to guide himself to as near her entrance as he dared. Gingerly, he parted the robe’s folds, careful not to touch and thus warn her.

The subtlety of his movements… the intensity of his practiced distractions were just enough to get him into optimal position.

That’s probably… ooohh… about enough.

After enjoying the caresses, Jean lowered her head and looked into his eyes… read his intent with mingled dismay and desire… drew breath to speak, perhaps even to forbid…

…too late—as Jerrell, with a single, purposeful thrust, ended the debate for her.

I…

"Uhhhh!"

Though Jean had truly never intended it to go this far when it began, he had outmaneuvered her. She'd played a dangerous game, and now dimly realized, through a fog of shock and pleasure, that toying with the wrong man had been costly: Jerrell had manipulated her perfectly, letting her think she was in control—until the moment he simply took over…

…and took her.

Jean half-heartedly tried, "I... didn't say you could… ohhh!…"

Her actions belied her words, though; she glanced down, and was transfixed by the sight, watching in fascination as that long, slender shaft of his slowly moved into her… saw her own slim legs spread wider, as if controlled by his desires as much as her own.

Perhaps that wasn't so far from the truth.

"Too late now," he noted with dry mockery.

Considering what Jerrell was doing with her, to her, his attitude was a little surprising—even slightly upsetting. For the briefest of instants, Jean considered trying to stop him even now, after the damage had been essentially done… but as he began to lever much of his impressive length into and out of her, she abandoned all thoughts of resistance within seconds.

The heat and the haze stole over her, and for long minutes Jean Hajar lay back on the desk as her seducer worked her methodically, expertly, allowing the dazed young woman just enough time to accustom herself before sliding further inside, and beginning the wonderful process of stretching her all over again. The only sounds in the room were her panting exhalations, and, eventually, the slap of their thighs coming smartly together as Jerrell buried himself fully in her, time after time… at first increasing the tempo, and then, slowing it… giving her no opportunity to adjust, keeping her near the summit of pleasure, but not yet allowing her to crest it.

Jean then had another brief thought.

This one, though, wasn’t exactly guilt-ridden.

Didn't know… so good…

Jerrell had her, in more ways than one.

He knew Jean was already essentially overwhelmed. Despite her beauty and rather forward personality, his examination of her memories had revealed that she had little experience in the sexual arena.

She was no virgin, granted, but the furtive, fumbling encounters Jean had experienced with ham-handed, inadequately endowed cadets had left her generally ambivalent.

The foolish girl had actually thought sex a trifle boring.

In the span of only a few minutes, Jerrell had already changed all that. Jean was thankfully taking him, gripping the edge of the desk with white-knuckle force… legs wrapped around his hips, heels gently drumming on his rump with each hard stroke she received.

Now this is what I call a proper attitude adjustment… and did she ever need one, the pretentious little snot.

Jean couldn't know he was, in essence, cheating—responding to emotional and mental cues she didn't even know she'd given, fulfilling her every whim with a caress, a stroke… a deep thrust here, an inspiring finger on her clitoris there—and had been cheating, as far as she'd be concerned, since the very moment he'd met her.

It wouldn't matter now, though, even if she did know; he recognized the unmistakable signs: The girl was already his, for as long as he wanted her. Though she wasn’t consciously aware of it yet, she’d be craving him for quite some time.

And though, he admitted, it was a less-than-beneficent aspect of his personality, Jerrell simply couldn't help it. He loved doing this to women, awakening them to real pleasure… especially when they were, at first, supposedly unwilling—hypocritically planning to stop him when their truest thoughts indicated they wanted something far different… and to find one so delectable, so ripe for the picking, was a stroke of luck he'd been unable to resist; even though he genuinely liked Nick, he didn't like him enough to forego enjoying Jean...

…and making her enjoy it even more.

Her feelings for her friend, he knew, were strong… but the human had been so nervous and overeager to please the first and only time they'd been together that he'd lasted little more than a few seconds. Jean had been left excited, frustrated… and then, alone, as Nick, mortified at his abbreviated performance, had made excuses and then tracks.

Now, Jerrell would sample the girl's wares, extensively. He'd lose interest as soon as the sheen of newness had worn off… but had never been one to pass up the chance for an entertaining seduction—not to mention a series of good, thorough plowings.

And Jean Hajar was the most delectably fertile ground he'd farmed in quite some time.

She'd still care deeply for Locarno, of course. Who was he to interfere with that? The Orion would be only too happy to let Nick have Jean back when he was done. Jerrell would return her in a few hours, days or, if she were extremely lucky and held his attention, weeks—somewhat wiser, a lot more experienced…

…and, he thought with an inward chuckle, entirely satisfied…

…with the wrong man.

Profoundly entertained, Jerrell went back to making certain he'd be the one of whom Jean Hajar thought whenever she was bedded…

…for the rest of her life.

Jean had imagined she'd always be the one in control during sex.

But what she was experiencing now was far beyond her imaginings. Jerrell had effortlessly dismissed her pretensions of reluctance and assertiveness with just a few long, slow strokes of his wonderful cock, and she'd quickly slipped into a state halfway between embarrassment and ecstasy—groaning softly and desperately attempting to remain quiet, even as she now felt him once again sink himself into her…

…and hold there.

"Uh-unhhh…!"

Jean gave a helpless, wavering groan… and stiffened, as that first climax suffused her. She thrashed about, knocking most of the desktop’s contents to the floor with her flailing arms. Only her legs remained steady—still wrapped tightly, selfishly around him.

Long after the fact, Jean put a hand over her mouth in an attempt to stifle the noise… but her new partner was having none of that. Gently, he removed it, slipping two of his fingers, now coated with more of the aperitif, past her lips. She sucked on them greedily; her moans grew muffled around the intruders, even as Jerrell continued his amazing education and use of her.

"It doesn't matter how loud you are," he said. "Indulge yourself; no one will hear you. Xorc is a little deaf… and Nick's asleep in the next room.

"But you can certainly go see him if you like—right now, even. I can stop what I'm doing…" And he began to slowly withdraw.

She softly whimpered a protest, but he removed himself totally, and pulled her up to stand.

Jean was, for a moment, confused, and asked, forlornly, "We're not… done, are we?"

"No," he replied, chuckling and slipping behind her.

She felt his hands on her back, indicating Jean should bend over; she complied immediately, avidly, hands again grasping the wood of the escritoire… then hummed in slight disappointment when she felt a pair of fingers, rather than his erection, slide into her.

Her opinion on the state of affairs changed rapidly, though, as he applied rhythmic pressure to a spot she'd often been drawn to when pleasuring herself.

"Ohhh… ohhh!…"

It was far better, she realized, when another person found that place… stroked it… coaxed it to….

When her next orgasm came, Jean felt him administer a sharp smack on her firm little behind, and the brief pain actually intensified the moment. She gasped as his fingers dug further still, moaned in anguish when he removed them…

…and grunted in relief and satisfaction as they were suddenly replaced by that oh-so-perfect penis she'd already grown to love.

Over the next few moments, Jean became gradually aware that he'd ceased moving entirely—that it was she who was jutting herself purposefully back onto him… she who was rotating her hips with relish and verve… she who was climaxing again…

…and again.

Finally, after a length of time—minutes, hours?—the duration of which she simply wasn't sure, he told her, rather clinically, "I'm about ready."

For a moment, concerned with a possible pregnancy, Jean debated moving away… then actually attempted to do so. She'd almost succeeded in sliding off his suddenly harder, swelling shaft, but then felt him grasp a handful of her hair… heard him growl, "Oh no, you don't!" and gently, firmly tug.

At first, she struggled a bit, and her head came back reluctantly… then, Jean once more felt that incredible sensation of re-insertion, and she gladly surrendered again, allowing Jerrell to draw her back, feeling him sink deeply once more… deeper than he'd been thus far—his penetration of her, in that moment, more irresistibly, intensely pleasurable than anything she'd ever experienced in her entire life.

She cried out, "Ohhhh, yes!"

And when he finally let loose, Jean actually felt him fill her with his seed… and the moment's pure intensity pushed her over the edge into a shattering climax that, for her, ended in blissful darkness.

***

Upon depositing the limp, insensate Jean Hajar into bed, Jerrell left her quarters, and again paused outside of Nick's.

Briefly, he reconsidered his next course of action... but the thoughts he'd previously noted from the younger man a few hours ago, just before the gas had silenced him—thoughts about leaving immediately and taking Jean along—finally decided Jerrell to proceed further.

Sorry, Mr. Locarno, I can't have you leaving until your friend and I have concluded our… negotiations.

And, after sampling the young lady, I've decided I need at least a few more nights before accomplishing that to our mutual satisfaction.

"Computer, remove the somnozine compound from room nine, and unlock the door immediately afterwards."

The mainframe obliged, and he strolled in casually, confidently.

Rather than engaging in a lengthy debate on the morality of what he was about to do, Jerrell simply acted. He retrieved an already prepared hypo-spray from within his sleeve, adjusted it carefully, and injected the contents into the unconscious man's neck.

He then turned and left.

Once in his own room, Jerrell poured himself a drink—Altair water, this time, though he'd been careful not to consume more than a sip of the Dionysian liquor that had in small part inspired Jean's enthusiasm (though she’d probably attempt to blame the alcohol almost exclusively for her performance, if he knew women), and in large part contributed to her current state of profound unconsciousness. As he sipped his drink, the Orion considered precisely how he would continue his campaign tomorrow evening: He knew she’d be sound asleep for quite some time, after drinking so much when unaccustomed to it…

…and especially after coming that hard, that many times.

After a lengthy internal debate, Jerrell decided he would simply allow the spirit to move him. He was certain of one thing, however.

Nick Locarno wouldn't be feeling well enough to depart for quite some time.

***

Jean Hajar slept, deeply, a slight smile decorating her exquisite features—for all outward appearances, now completely content with the result of the evening's events.

Even Jerrell, for all his self-vaunted perceptiveness, had seen nothing in his post-coital examination of her mind's waters but a placid, featureless surface, and just beneath that, a swirl of drunken stupor and satiated exhaustion.

But he could only see so far.

And deeply did not necessarily mean dreamlessly.

For Jean, the night's activities had just begun.

It was happening again, this time without the preliminaries.

She was once more beneath Jerrell, receiving him… torn between simply laying back and gazing at that arrogantly beautiful face, and glancing down along the length of her own body to watch the Orion at his task, filling and refilling her. There was only darkness beyond them; she couldn't even feel whatever it was upon which she lay. Jean closed her eyes, smiling, sighing, more than happy to let him continue for as long as he wished…

…but when she opened them, Nick had taken Jerrell's place.

He too, was moving enthusiastically, but the sensation was altered, pleasurable in a subtly different way… and mingled with a twinge of pain on every returning stroke. For a long time, she watched his eyes; they seemed rife with a trove of emotions, but none of them remained long enough, strong enough, for her to register, let alone comprehend. Again her eyelids fluttered shut…

…and, again, there was someone else in place atop her when she opened them.

It was Joshua Albert.

He looked pleased to find himself between her legs, though understandably surprised. Josh had always been shy, and Jean had occasionally toyed with the idea of taking him away from the Academy one weekend and helping him past that adorable bashfulness.

She'd never done it, of course. It had been a fantasy, and nothing more.

Now was an opportunity to rectify that. She knew he was desperate for this, and always had been. His skin was almost too hot against hers as he did what he'd always wanted to do, and she encouraged him with her fervent response.

He'd been such a sweet boy; giving herself to him now seemed the right thing. Jean settled in, entirely willing to let him enjoy her, and to enjoy him in turn.

But something was wrong.

He was burning up with what seemed a fever. His eyes were bright, but not with passion.

"Josh…?" she whispered.

As she spoke his name, he looked down at her, grinned…

…and his form burst into flames.

Her own body seared, her skin ablaze where he touched her, even deep inside, Jean Hajar struggled beneath him, but there was nowhere to go. She drew breath to scream, as Josh's mouth came down on hers for a kiss…

…and filled her with fire.

Jean's eyes opened; they alighted on the chronometer.

It read 2047… and at first, that didn't register.

Huh…? How can it be earlier than it was?

Then her mind awakened further, and she grew incredulous.

That's not possible, she thought. It couldn't have been later than 10:15 when Jerrell came in here last night.

I've been asleep for almost 24 hours?

And wasn't entirely awake even now, Jean dimly realized, as she staggered to her feet and stumbled into the shower. The hot water, fortunately, began to more completely revive her, and as she soaped herself down, memories of the previous evening's... activities... began to filter into her consciousness.

Oh, wow. How the hell did I let that happen? She stood under the blast of near-scalding water, almost oblivious to its pounding as she considered.

We were talking… downing a few drinks... I decided to have a little fun...

Another part of her finished, ...and you ended up having a lot of fun.

I do have to admit, he was pretty good.

She laughed out loud at her understatement, gurgling under the water.

Don't lie to yourself, Jean... there's no one to hear it, anyway. Jerrell wasn't just pretty good. You'd never felt anything remotely like that in your life until last night.

Now that’s what they must mean by the phrase “well and truly had.”

Abruptly, as had happened briefly then, she thought about the other person involved in what had suddenly, in her mind at least, become a triangle.

Nick.

Oh, damn. I didn't mean to...

Suddenly filled with remorse, and then resolve, Jean Hajar stepped from the shower, dried herself, and donned a serviceable coverall—a garment an impartial observer would have noted was a reasonable facsimile of a Starfleet cadet’s utility uniform… only this one was entirely black.

Jean strode from her quarters…

…and promptly hesitated, uncertain which way to turn.

Now she had two men with whom she needed to talk.

The "Please Do Not Disturb" icon was lit on the comm panel next to Nick's room. Jean wondered if he were actually asleep, or whether he'd somehow gotten an inkling between last night and now of what she'd been doing with Jerrell.

Shit.

Her upset almost decided her to ring him, anyway… but there was also at least a chance he'd simply gone about his business all day and retired before she'd emerged. Waking him now might precipitate a conversation that might actually be unnecessary, if she were fortunate.

Maybe he really doesn't have to know what happened last night.

She began warming to this train of thought.

It's not like I'm in love with Jerrell. It was just sex.

Yeah… “just sex,” Jean… sex that had you totally out of control and left you in an unconscious heap on his bed. Why don’t you tell Nick all about it?

Momentarily, her anger flared.

It's not really his business, anyway. There's no commitment between us. He disappeared for two bloody years—no word, nothing.

After all, I can do what I like…

…with whom I like.

Despite her determined efforts at self-justification, though, the internal debate didn't cease there.

Yes… but you like Nick… you always have… hell, you planned on sleeping with him last night if he'd shown up at your quarters. Instead… you were with a man you'd known for about ten hours.

Classy little houri, aren't you?

She turned and headed for her next destination.

Jerrell needed to know that what happened last night was never going to recur…

…and there was no time like the present.

***

Again, Jean awakened disoriented.

This time, though, her thoughts coalesced almost immediately.

Oh, no… not again…

She remembered the progression of events, cringed…

…and shivered, as well.

First, Jean had been in Jerrell’s quarters.

Then, she'd been in his arms… moments later, in his bed.

Finally, he'd been in her… and she'd been ecstatic about it.

They'd coupled there… in the shower… he'd even lifted and pinned her against the wall like a collected insect.

Considering with what he'd pinned her, she grimaced at the simile…

…but, despite herself, trembled, rapturous at the memory.

Jerrell was, Allah be praised, nowhere about.

If he had been, Jean knew she wouldn’t be as interested in leaving—not nearly as interested.

At least this time she’d awakened early the next day. It was 0435 hours. Unfortunately, that meant Jean had again spent the night in Jerrell’s company. That wouldn’t look so good, if Nick had come seeking her.

She just had to pray he hadn’t.

Jean hastily donned her clothes, opened the quarters’ door, and glanced up and down the corridor. She felt like a mouse darting through the middle of a room, terrified of being caught vulnerable, as she scampered up the hallway to her own berth, and slipped inside.

No Nick. That was good.

But it was bad, too.

***

Jerrell tried to be reassuring.

"The medical tricorder says it's nothing; he must have just picked up one of your species’ innumerable influenza viruses while meeting with you on Earth. The diagnosis was bed rest, Hamarcil for the bug, and a sedative to help him sleep."

Before the slightly agitated Jean Hajar could speak, Jerrell added, "But I decided to come see you before administering any treatment. You probably have a lot more basic medical training than anyone else aboard, since you went to Starfleet Academy. Why don't you come along, and you can make certain we do the right thing?"

She nodded.

Being able to anticipate a person's question and suggest a course of action that would please them, was an advantage, that, if properly employed, was quite disarming. He'd further reinforced himself as kind-hearted and considerate in Jean’s mind—just as he’d wanted.

As they neared Locarno's quarters, she broached the subject that, despite worry over Nick, was foremost on her mind.

"Jerrell... a–about last night…"

“And the night before?”

She blushed.

He smiled slightly, stopped, and gently turned her to face him.

"I enjoyed them, Jean," he murmured. He caressed her cheek, and she turned her head towards it. "I think you did, too."

Her coloring deepened from pink to scarlet.

She nodded.

"I did, very much... but, Nick..." She tried to continue, then faltered.

"Oh." Jerrell nodded, as if in sudden understanding. "There's something between the two of you, isn't there?"

"I..."

He bent to kiss her lips; she allowed it, and even responded slightly, her tongue seeking his ever so briefly.

"I think I understand. You don't want Nick to know about what we’re sharing, eh?” He grinned, rather wickedly. “You humans are so prudish, at times."

Jean’s consternation was marvelously entertaining. Lust was warring with sentiment, and the latter wasn’t doing so well.

She replied, "We're all adults, here, I know... but I'm afraid it will hurt him.

“You won't say anything, will you?”

Jerrell chuckled.

"Of course not.

"Now let's go see if he's OK."

As they entered Locarno's room, Jerrell had a sudden thought. It was dark, he knew, and more than a bit malevolent, but he couldn't help himself.

It had a lasciviously gratifying quality about it he simply couldn't resist.

Nick, Jean learned, wasn't in any real danger, much to her relief. The tricorder again read a mutant strain of influenza—in 400 years of trying, humanity still hadn't completely eradicated it, though cases were becoming progressively rarer all the time—and once more gave the same prescription as when Jerrell had run its diagnostic program: Lots of bed rest; a broad spectrum anti-viral, such as Nethelin or Hamarcil; and a moderate sedative to assist in regaining strength.

While Nick was somewhat feverish, he wasn't burning up with it.

She ministered to him herself, feeling simultaneously like an angel of mercy and a hypocrite; Jean knew him well enough to be certain her old classmate would be distraught and furious if he learned what she'd done—and, if truth be told, would probably be overjoyed to do again, if approached correctly—with their host the last two nights.

Jean stood back from the bed, watching Nick, his sweet face, his steady breathing, for a long moment...

...and then gradually became aware of Jerrell directly behind her. His hands grasped her shoulders, and he planted a series of nearly imperceptible kisses on the nape of her neck. She closed her eyes, and exhaled harshly.

There was something so compelling about the man. Jean could feel herself growing excited again—excited as she'd been last night, and the night before.

Her dilemma was plain: She wasn't entirely positive she wanted to have sex with Jerrell again, incredibly pleasurable though it had been each time. She was certain, though, that she didn't want him to stop what he was doing at that moment.

And, over the next few seconds, the idea of letting him take her once more became quite agreeable.

Suddenly, however, she again became aware of precisely where she was.

"We should leave..." Jean whispered. "Let's go back to your quarters, and we’ll ma–…"

"Don't worry," he reassured her. "Nick's sound asleep… totally out of it... won't wake up for over a day, if the tricorder's right."

Her resistance stiffened… and for the first time since she’d encountered him, Jean Hajar looked at Jerrell with real anger.

"This is wrong... he's right there...!"

Getting this girl into bed didn’t take much effort at all, I must say.

Persuading her to do what I want now, Jerrell thought, will be the real challenge.

In a situation like this, even a telepath had to think on his feet.

He examined her churning psyche, and decided on a radical approach. She would either slap the Orion and stalk off in a fury, forever lost to him...

...or consent to participating in one of the most viciously erotic acts which he’d ever conceived.

"Yes... he's right here...

“…but so what, Jean? He told me once what happened at the Academy—that he dragged you all into his little egomaniac’s quest for glory. The golden boy who never did anything wrong managed to destroy your future with his one mistake, didn't he?"

"Then he did the right thing!… He stood up for us...!" she protested… but for all its vehemence, he could see in Jean’s mind that her defense was already half-hearted.

Jerrell pressed his advantage.

"Of course he did! He knew he was going down anyway, no matter what he said... and deep down, you knew it, too. In arguing on your behalf, he got to stay the hero in your mind—'sacrificing' himself.

"Oh, so noble."

Her profound disquiet had become genuine, roiling anguish as he'd spoken, and the Orion knew she was wavering even more.

The critical moment was at hand.

Then, for the thrill of the risk, Jerrell threw all the dice at once.

He bent as if to kiss her again, but withheld, and instead whispered, "Isn't it just the perfect revenge?"

That got him what he'd wanted…

…and far more.

Jean's frustration at the direction her life had gone, her unacknowledged, unresolved fury with Nick Locarno, and her enormous attraction to both the man standing before her and the one on the bed were thrown together like matter, antimatter, and pure energy...

...and erupted from her as a sexual frenzy the force of which, from the look of him, took even the man who'd set it in motion completely by surprise.

She tore at Jerrell’s clothes, yanking his breeches down with near hysterical strength. Kneeling, she took hold of his already growing erection and swallowed as much of it as she could, her head bobbing on his stiffening length, her tongue lashing against him with determination and intent. Jean heard him moan in half-protest and complete enjoyment, but ignored it, as she primed him with firm strokes of her hand and mouth. She had a purpose…

…and only a few seconds later, he was hard enough to fulfill it. She stood, yanked her panties off, and hiked her skirt, placing one leg on the bed... then reached behind her, took hold of what she wanted, and guided it into their mutual goal.

As Jerrell entered her, Jean Hajar gave a mingled cry of triumph…

…and despair.

Jerrell hadn’t foreseen this kind of rabid enthusiasm, but considering how good it felt, he didn't care—at first.

He caught a look at them in the full length mirror on the far wall... and saw that Jean was already watching... passionately devouring the image of his long cock driving repeatedly home, at a pace that already had Jerrell half-ready to reach orgasm after just a few moments.

As he’d expected, there was an almost sacrilegious thrill in penetrating Jean while they both loomed over Nick’s unconscious form, and for long moments, he lost himself in it.

If there was a more thoroughly enjoyable way to cuckold a man, Jerrell hadn’t heard of it.

His plan seemed to have worked amazingly well. He’d turned her agitation and hidden resentment into a roaring desire, and was benefiting marvelously from it. Considering her expression—brows raised, mouth hanging open as she panted and groaned—so was she.

Then, she looked away from him… glanced at the sleeping form of Nick Locarno…

…and everything changed.

Her muscles clamped almost brutally down on Jerrell’s shaft, and he really had to work to keep up his end of the action.

She grunted, “Uhhhh… uhhhh…! Come on!”

Suddenly, he couldn’t read her anymore…

…and instinctually knew what had just happened.

Jerrell had heard the old phrase about “Hell” and its relationship to “a woman wronged,” but he'd never before seen it manifest; Jean had completely lost control... become primal in her fury and desire—something almost archetypal in her lust for fulfillment…

…and vengeance.

He was a little uneasy... but rose to the challenge, sawing himself into her with determined force, knowing that he'd become simply an instrument, one that would serve her sudden, irresistible need. He watched the scene as participant, as witness, becoming greatly excited…

…and rather frightened.

If anything, she grew more demanding: Jean was alternately moaning with pleasure, castigating Locarno, and telling Jerrell, "Harder... harder… I thought you were a man… harder!"

He tried to oblige her, but he did have his limits…

…and she didn’t seem to, anymore.

Then Jean lost whatever vestige of restraint, perspective… and, for a brief moment, sanity… she'd yet retained.

"Fuck me, Nick, you bastard! You ruined my life!”

Finally came the worst moment of all.

"Fuck me, Josh!”

Jerrell heard the words... and half-thought, Josh? Isn’t Josh the dead on–…?

But when Jean shuddered, and, with a scream, climaxed, it was too intense to bear… and he immediately exploded inside her. For him, though, it wasn't so much pleasurable as intensely cathartic.

He was, to his vague surprise, simply relieved it was over.

As soon as he slid out of her, seconds later, she turned and raced for the door, weeping, emotions a boiling morass that read to his psi-senses as a cacophony of deafening intensity.

For a moment, Jerrell actually thought about pursuing.

Why, he had no idea.

Instead, desperately attempting to reestablish normalcy by the execution of simple actions, he checked the still-oblivious Locarno again to make certain he was all right, then left the room somewhat more composedly than had the woman who'd just finished with him—with them both.

He was shaking, though.

Jerrell knew very well that he'd gone way too far—that what he’d done was truly evil—and was even a bit sorry about the way it had played out.

Suddenly, he had no further interest in taking his time with—or anything else from—former Cadet Jean Hajar.

He just wanted her off his ship—along with the man she hated…

…and loved.