Star Trek: “Personal Effects”– Chapter 3 (continued)

It was, in fact, the sixth car before Catrina made her way to the front of the line. Two of the engineering teams ahead of her were transporting cargo that was too awkward to carry through the Jefferies tubes. She was pressed into the rear of the car as one more security officer squeezed himself in. He was a bit too bulky to fit, and she thought of telling him so, but the doors had already begun to slide closed.

It did not improve her mood when only one person exited at the next level, leaving her to push her way through the tightly-packed group when the lift reached Deck Four, as no one seemed to have any need to get off there.

She paused in the corridor as the lift doors closed behind her. Brushing at her uniform, she was certain that someone had smudged it somewhere, but could find nothing readily apparent. With an annoyed huff, she down the corridor. On this deck, at least, the directions were clearly marked. Even though the wall panels could be used to direct her, there were obvious signs indicating the way to Sickbay. Of course, she knew, they would want the path to the ship’s infirmary to be very clear.

It was a short walk from the turbolift, making her feel somewhat confident that she had found the shorter of the two paths. Well, shorter in distance maybe, she considered with mild sullenness, wondering if the other turbolift had also had a line queued up for it. The doors parted for her and she entered Sickbay. She stopped immediately, staring around the chamber.

Seven hours is not going to be long enough . . .

#

Catrina rubbed her eyes. They felt dry and grainy, telling her that she had focused too hard for too long on screen. As far as she could tell, all of the crew’s medical records had been received and verified. Nearly all of the crew had also been physically cleared by a member of the medical staff. All, except for one.

With a determined sigh, she picked up a padd and quickly transferred the records to it. She rose, stretching the aches from her lower back, and then headed for the door. If she had her way, this ship would not leave space dock until this matter was settled.

She found her way back to the turbolift easily enough. Relieved to see no queue this time, she stepped into the waiting car, turning so she faced the doors.

“Bridge.” She ordered tightly, not bothering to hide her annoyance. The computer would not care anyway.

There was a brief pause and, for a moment, Catrina thought it might reject her command. As Chief Medical Officer, she should have access to the bridge, as well as many otherwise restricted areas of the ship. Not only did rank have its privileges, but it was bad form to keep a doctor from her patients in an emergency situation.

The doors slid closed and the lift ascended.

Moments later, the opened onto a short corridor that led onto the bridge itself. The security guard on duty there glanced at her uniform and rank and allowed her to pass without challenge. Catrina fought back a sniff of derision. The ship’s computer had probably already alerted him as to who had entered the turbolift and their destination.

She stepped onto the main bridge and paused, taking in the activity around her. The pace and tension was about what she expected this close to departure. People were moving quickly and purposefully, generally avoiding collisions as they passed one another. There was a pleasant hum of conversation, which Catrina much preferred to the shouts of a ship’s crew under fire.

Her eyes went to the seat in the approximate center of the bridge. She caught a glimpse of a blue-skinned humanoid in a uniform trimmed with command crimson discussing orders with someone in Engineering colors. There she is. The Captain. Theleth.

Catrina strode forward, stopping when she stood to one side of the command chair. The captain finished her conversation with the officer from Engineering and then turned to face her.

“Doctor,” she acknowledged Catrina evenly. “Is there something you need before we launch?”

“Captain,” Catrina responded, giving the title sharp enunciation. “I need to speak with you.”

Theleth frowned. “Can it wait until we clear space dock?”

“No,” Catrina replied firmly. “But it should only take a few moments of your time.”

Theleth studied her for a moment before nodding. She rose from the chair and headed toward what Catrina assumed was the Ready Room, clearly expecting the doctor to follow her.

Catrina followed Theleth as a slight distance, noting the graceful, almost feline manner in which she walked. Theleth entered the Ready Room, stopped just inside, and waited for the door to close behind Catrina.

“What can I help you with, Doctor?”

That Theleth remained standing told Catrina that the captain intended for this conversation to be brief as well. She was fine with that. The conversation might be. What happened afterward as a result might take a bit longer.

“I’ve received medical clearances for every member of the crew, except for one.”

“Yes?” Theleth responded with an almost Vulcan-like calm.

“That would be you, Captain.” Catrina realized that she had failed to keep a certain snide edge from her tone.

“You have my medical records,” the Theleth said flatly.

“Current as of the stardate when you returned to active duty,” Catrina stated. “Four months ago.”

She added nothing, letting the fact speak for itself. Theleth’s medical records had not been updated since she had assumed command, other than a mostly symbolic approval by a member of the staff of the head of Starfleet Medical.

“Can this wait until after we leave spacedock?” Theleth asked calmly. “We have a schedule to keep with the station. They need this berth.”

Catrina studied the Andorian woman for a long moment. It was not quite the dodge that she had expected. Second only to doctors, ship captains made the worst patients. If Theleth was hiding something, it was not something that might jeopardize her position in command of the vessel. Something personal, then?

“Sickbay,” Catrina said firmly. “Zero eight hundred.” That seemed a reasonable compromise to her. That’ll gave her an hour to get the ship out of spacedock and clear the system. Plenty of time, even if they ran into a few minor hitches.

“I’ll be there.”

Catrina nodded and left the Ready Room without waiting to be dismissed. Somehow, she knew that Theleth really would be there—and on time.

Star Trek: “Personal Effects”– Chapter 3

Doctor Catrina Running Horse-Brasington stepped from the transporter platform, ignoring the other five people who had beamed aboard with her.

“Ensign,” she called out to the uniformed crew member assisting the transporter chief. “Where’s sickbay?”

The young human woman glanced at Catrina’s uniform colors and looked confused. Catrina could understand her confusion, but simply did not have time to deal with it right now.

“Sickbay,” she repeated, not bothering to hide her harried state of mind.

The ensign glanced over at the transporter chief. He finished checking the status of the controls and then looked up at Catrina. He was large, well-muscled Caitian with amber fur.

“Deck Four.” He announced, as if double-checking against some memorized schematic in his head. “All turbolifts, except from the aft cargo bays, can take you there.”

“Thank you,” Catrina responded, gave the useless ensign a quick glance, and hurried out of the room.

The corridor was filled with crew members busy at their various assignments. She glanced in both directions, knowing that there must be a turbolift access down each of them. The question was: which was the closer one? She would be damned if she was going to ask for directions again.

Basing her decision on nothing more than a quick mental guess, she headed to starboard.

Seven hours to prepare Sickbay for departure, she groused silently, and not for the first time that evening. It was nice that Dr. M’hutta decided to accept a position with the Andorian Science Council, but s/he could have given a little more notice. It was not like when s/he went on personal leave to hatch his/her pods, leaving Starfleet Medical with plenty of warning.

It was not that Catrina was against accepting an assignment aboard a starship again, but she had rather hoped that it might be on a medical relief vessel, or perhaps on some kind of scientific survey. Serving as the Chief Medical Officer on a heavily armed escort-class vessel had been very low on her list of preferred postings. She had seen enough combat duty during the initial Klingon attacks on some of the outer colonies without going out looking for a fight.

She nearly collided with a crewmember in an Engineering tunic, prepared to scold him for being in her way, when she realized that he had halted for a reason. To her mounting dismay and frustration, there was a line of crew personnel waiting to use the turbolift. She did a rapid mental calculation, quickly counting the number of crew members ahead of her, and determined that she could probably take the fourth of fifth car.

For a moment, she considered pushing her way through. She could state loudly that she was a doctor and needed to get on her way. In truth, though, there was no emergency, except for the one going on in her mind, so she settled in to wait with the rest. Unhappily so, but she did.

Justice Blue: The Morning After

Allison awoke with headache. It was the sharp, throbbing kind, reminiscent of a migraine, but without the associated halos and nausea. She tried to rise and reconsidered the last part. Her eyes squeezed shut against the sudden bright onslaught; everything seemed too vivid and sharp. Her stomach voiced its own complaints. It was definitely not a migraine, she decided, cautiously blinking her eyes open again. While her brain hurt from the inside, it lacked the searing stabs of agony that accompanied one.

She forced herself into a sitting position, cradling her forehead in her palms. They were cool and helped some, but the throbbing eased only slightly. She then realized the pain for what it was—something she had managed to avoid (sometimes barely) for over two years. That occasion had been Nicolette’s bachelorette party—and well worth the resulting consequences. But that had been two years ago . . . What had been the occasion last night?

Easing herself to her feet with an audible groan, she then half-shuffled, half-stumbled to the bathroom. She left the light off, relying on the diffuse reflected light from the bedroom to tell her what she needed to know. She glanced at the toilet: the lid was down. Her stomach, though, seemed willing to play nice, so she left it that way. She ran some water, splashing some of it onto her face. Gasping at the cold contact, she took a deep breath. It did seem to help banish some of the haze from her mind.

With her hands bracing her against the sink, she blinked at her reflection in the mirror. She had looked worse. Lowering her head, she tried to make sense of the flash of images that now danced through her thoughts as she tried to remember.

A guy in a skirt? No . . . a kilt? No . . . Biceps. She focused on that thought for a moment, recalling thick, heavily-muscled arms. And a tank top. No . . . chest armor? And thighs. Superbly sculptured legs that showed the curve of every muscle.

A picture began to form in her mind. He appeared like something out of Gladiator, but better groomed. Had she somehow fallen in with some refuges from a Renaissance Faire? That hardly seemed her type, even if, for some reason, they did tend to gravitate toward her. But this guy had been a hunk. He was also some kind of executive or business owner, if she remembered correctly. Hardly the usual uber-geek type who either shared an apartment with three roommates or still lived with his parents.

She remembered now. They’d gone to the D, eschewing the crowds and college-level behavior at the seasonal chalet, for one of the bars on the upper level. He had ordered . . . Guinness, while she had downed two (?!) cranberry martinis in fairly short order. He had propositioned her . . . for a possible executive-level position with his company. All she could remember wanting was to find herself in a position where she could find out whether other parts of his anatomy were was as well-muscled as his arms and thighs.

There were other snippets of conversation that she could not recall clearly, but she was fairly certain that she had divulged nothing of importance about her position or any information that was not public knowledge about the activities of her employers. After that, things got a bit more vague.

Cautiously, she lightly patted at her bra and panties, discovering (with some small disappointment) that neither seemed to have been tampered with. Wow, she thought. A hunk and a gentleman.

At that point, her stomach decided that it was finally time to voice its protests against the excesses of the previous evening. Allison dropped to her knees, managing to fling open the lid of the toilet just in time, and had a renewed acquaintance with her lunch and martinis from the night before.

Heroic Measures (continued)

“This is about Randolph and his family,” she offered softly. “Isn’t it?” Her eyes lowered in sympathy. “I knew it would hit you eventually.”

Walter’s lips formed a grim line. It was not the first time he had been forced to deal with the death of a comrade, but the brutal way in which he—and his children!—had been murdered. Great gouts of flame rose unbidden to his thoughts. He could hear their screams . . .

It took a visible effort of will for him to once again bury the scene deep into his mind. He was still not ready to deal with it, not then . . . perhaps never. He forced a slow, shuddering breath before managing to banish it completely. His eyes instead now focused on his raised fingertips in the dark.

“It’s not just that,” Walter replied, breathing a new sigh. “It’s also the riots and Chernobyl--”

“I thought Doctor Hardin said you all were clean from that?” Clara’s tone was meant to be reassuring, but Walter found that he found little comfort in it.

“We are,” Walter nodded, really wanting to believe it. Despite the assurances from the doctor and other specialists that the combination of their special treatments, along with his unusual electrochemical physiology, had left him freer of radioactive traces than before he and the other heroes had assisted with the emergency at the Soviet reactor. A part of him refused to accept the report, haunted by the remaining mysteries of long-term radiation exposure.

“He did,” he admitted flatly. “But I’m still glad that happened first . . .” His eyes went back to her stomach.

Clara’s eyes never left Walter, but her hand moved to lightly rub at the barely noticeable swelling there. Her lips formed a slight smile.

“It did,” she said, letting her smile grow. “And he’s fine.”

Walter allowed himself to smile. Both their regular doctor and Hardin had confirmed that their new son was developing normally, with no traces so far of anything unusual in the amniotic fluid.

Her hand moved to Walter’s arm and gripped it gently. “Walter,” she said. “Your friends need you.”

Walter shook his head slowly. “I’m not that important,” he said, his voice a whisper of pain. “They’ll manage without me. They did before I showed up.”

He felt Clara’s hand release him. It now moved to turn his face toward hers. Her eyes stared into his, warm, loving, and understanding. She bent and kissed him softly.

“I know you’ll do what’s right,” she said. “For everyone.” She kissed him lightly on the cheek and left the room.

Walter stared into the dark shadows of the room for several long moments. Through the open door, he could hear the sharp call of distant sirens. They sounded like the shrill screams of children.

Heroic Measures (continued)

November 28, 1986

Sirens sounded in the distance. Although far away, it was apparent that there were a large number of them. They were joined by the clattering echo of two helicopters passing overheard, one of them fairly large or heavily-loaded from its sound. Clara waited, but failed to hear the whining drone of the garage door opening.

Clara found Walter sitting alone in the room that served as his study. The room was illuminated only by the single small bulb of desk lamp. It gave the room a stringent, yellowish glow that would have been reminiscent of candlelight, had it flickered. She paused in the doorway, studying his gray silhouette. His gaze seemed focused on something far distant.

Walter had heard her enter, but did not stir in the chair.

“Why are you still here?”

Her tone was quiet, inquisitive, and gentle.

Walter’s head slowly turned toward her. His eyes shone darkly in the strange lighting, but she could see them come into focus.

“I can do it any more, Clara,” Walter answered quietly. His voice sounded hoarse, as if he were choking something back. “It’s not safe.” He stared hard into her eyes. “Not for you, not for him,” his eyes darted in the direction of the hallway before turning to the slight curve of her stomach. “Not for anyone.”

Clara stepped into the room, but left the remaining lights off. She paused beside him, placing a hand gently on his shoulder. They remained like that in silence for a long moment.

“It never has been, love,” she stated softly. “Not since the day you first saved me from those thugs.”

Walter stared at her.

In that moment, he realized for the first time that what she had said was true. Even before he had revealed his hero identity to her, she had been at risk because of him. That he had shown even the slightest interest in her made her a possible target for his enemies, a potential hostage that could be used to control him. It had not happened, chiefly, he believed, because there were many more visible heroes who posed a far greater threat than he did to the villainous forces that stalked the city. That did not mean, however, that it never would. The working of criminal minds could not always be predicted easily.

Star Trek: “Personal Effects” – Chapter 1 (continued)

With a mild start, Theleth realized that she had arrived at the entry to the bridge. She noticed this chiefly by the fact that she had nearly collided with the hatch. Quickly checking her peripheral vision for anyone who might have noticed, she then relaxed slightly and tapped her security code into the access panel. After a moment, the door slid open with what sounded like a loud sigh. Unconsciously straightening her uniform tunic, she adjusted her posture and entered the bridge.

An older Bajoran (Theleth could tell from the ubiquitous earring that nearly all of his people wore) manning the Tactical station straightened to attention. That would be Lieutenant Commander Ahmar Teklar, she noted. Ahmar, she reminded herself, recalling the preferred Bajoran naming.

“Captain on the bridge.”

The others present paused in their work and turned to face her. Theleth felt the intense scrutiny as they each studied their new Captain. She felt that she should do something to ease the sudden tension wrought from formality, but nothing came to mind that seemed appropriate.

“As you were,” she finally responded, projecting what she hoped was just enough air of confidence.

Crewmembers slowly resumed their duties around her, but she continued to feel their eyes on her as she approached the command chair. She walked slowly, taking in the activities and organization of the bridge. A few days earlier, she had explored holographic representations of the ship in an effort to familiarize herself with its layout before reporting for duty, but even the best photonic recreation could not prepare one for the real thing. In addition to the clean, almost antiseptic odor of the air processors, there was the mixed aromas from the various species that crewed the vessel. She recognized Human . . . Vulcan . . . the distinctive acrid bite of Benzite . . . and was that Bolian?

Reaching the command chair, she rested her hand on the back of it and stared at the main viewscreen. Along the edges of the image was the frame of the drydock, but the way ahead was clear straight to the stars. Theleth turned her head slightly and looked in the direction of what was now her Ready Room. Plenty of time for that later, she decided. With a smooth, practiced gesture, she assumed the command chair. After checking its status displays, she tapped the control for the shipwide intercom.

“All hands,” she said. “This is the Captain. We are scheduled to leave space dock at zero seven hundred hours. Make final preparations for departure.”

There was only a minor surge in the activity around her, which told her that the crew seemed unsurprised by her announcement. Theleth allowed herself a small smile of satisfaction.

“Navigator,” she called to the Bolian ensign at the navigation station. “We’ll need a course to Deep Space Eight.”

The cobalt blue-skinned alien grinned eagerly back at her. “Yes, Captain.”

He agreed with an enthusiasm that seemed to suggest that visiting that particular station was analogous to a vacation on Risa. The Bolian ensign started to turn and then faced Theleth again.

“And may I say what a pleasure it is be serving under your command,” he continued effusively.

Theleth stared back at the eager ensign, not certain whether she should be amused or annoyed. She opted for neither one, attempting graciousness instead.

“Thank you, Ensign,” she said, maintaining eye contact, remembering that Bolians appreciated that.

The ensign grinned back at her.

I’ll get right on that course, Captain,” he announced, turning and, it seemed to Theleth, nearly pouncing on his console in an effort to plot out the desired course.

Star Trek: “Personal Effects” – Chapter 1

- 1 -

Theleth walked the short distance from the turbolift to the bridge. Ever since arriving on board, she had mostly ignored the varying reactions to her presence. She acknowledged some with a slight nod, but most she merely let pass. Although her boots moved against the decks of the Avenger, her thoughts still remained elsewhere. She knew that she needed to focus on the here and now, but she had a few more moments before she reached the bridge.

She had left her daughter S’haran with Polath. The [] would make a fine nanny for her daughter during the long months that she would be away. It had been a difficult decision, but this commission was one that she could not afford to pass up, not with the reappearance of the Borg and now with the Cardassians and –unbelievably—the remaining Jem’Hadar joining forces in the Beta quadrant. Starfleet needed seasoned officers with combat experience, and she was one of the few who had survived the initial attacks from both skirmishes.

Through the careful dodging of official communiqués, combined with the successful stalling of persistent officers, she had managed to spend more than six months with her daughter before her decision became imperative. It was a choice at a strategic command position, or possible assignment to one of the deep space stations to monitor one of the borders. That would be an even less suitable environment for an infant. She planned to spend as little time in command of the Avenger as possible, watching for other opportunities closer to the much better protected core systems of the Federation, and requesting reassignment there. Starfleet might need her, but her daughter needed her more—nearly as much as she needed her daughter.

Theleth had not bothered even trying to contact Serek about the matter. She knew from experience the prejudice that hybrid children still experienced on Vulcan and its major colonies. It seemed, well, illogical for such a supposedly enlightened race that embraced the philosophy of the IDIC. The practice of such philosophical tenets did not, apparently, extend to their genetics. It did not help matters that the Vulcans and Andorians had a long-standing mistrust of each other, dating from before even the humans made first contact with either civilization.

Still, Serek had tacitly accepted the child as his, but had done little else except to offer what Theleth considered to be token support. She tried to understand his situation of having to also acknowledge his child borne by Velorar, a true Vulcan, but it did little to ease her frustration and, yes, anger at his seemingly purposeful distance from her and their daughter. He had been cordially formal whenever they spoke, usually relying on their respective ranks to maintain the conversation on a somewhat objective level. Still, he had never rejected her calls, or seemed to be in a rush to end them, except when duty clearly called. Even those would likely become less frequent as his ship headed for a deeper exploration of the Gamma quadrant.

Star Trek: “Personal Effects” – Chapter 2 (continued)

Sandoval’s fingers rested lightly on the surface of the padd.

“You are aware, Lieutenant,” he began, his voice oddly flat, “that your oath of celibacy is part of your permanent record.”

“Yes, sir,” she managed to reply.

With very few exceptions, every Deltan serving in Starfleet had one in their file. That knowledge did little to soothe her growing unease. To her knowledge, she had done nothing wrong—certainly nothing in violation of that signed pledge. She had made it a careful point to not give even the slightest impression that she might be in any way personally involved with any person currently on board the ship. It was not that she had not received numerous covert hints—and several explicit offers—from members of all genders. She had politely rebuffed them all, something both necessary, and yet also extremely difficult, for a member of her race. The unexpected chance at shore leave had come just in time.

Sandoval continued to stare at her. Keena had trouble interpreting his expression. She was tempted to lightly reach out again, but her sense of decorum (and more than a little fear) kept her from doing so.

“I’m not going to attempt to press charges,” he announced. There was an icy edge to his tone. “However,” he continued, lifting the padd without breaking eye contact, “I have authorized your transfer from this vessel.”

He held out the padd to her as if daring her to refuse it. Keena hesitated for only a moment before taking it.

She looked down and saw that it was indeed an authorization for her transfer. All she needed to do was to confirm it to make it official. Part of her wanted to protest, to demand an explanation. She looked up to find Sandoval’s eyes watching her darkly. Swallowing past a growing lump in her throat, she tapped the padd and passed it back to Sandoval.

Sandoval glanced at it and then looked back at Keena.

“We’re scheduled to depart at zero two thirty,” he said. “See that your belongings are removed before then.”

Keena remained standing, stunned by the announcement. Everything she had worked for was coming to an end. But why? She wanted to know—to understand—but something told her that Sandoval had made his decision and that asking for that explanation would not help matters.

“You are dismissed,” Sandoval snapped tightly, “Lieutenant.”

Keena tried to find her voice in order to respond, but her throat and lips refused to work. She managed an acceptable salute before turning quickly and leaving the Ready Room.

She was relieved to find the corridor empty, allowing herself a moment to gather herself. Blinking back tears, she took a deep breath, forcing herself to find a calm center within herself. It took several moments, much longer than usual. She then straightened in her uniform—the uniform that she had earned, she reminded herself—and headed to clear out her quarters.

Star Trek: “Personal Effects” – Chapter 2

- 2 -

Keena walked with only mild trepidation down the corridor. Lonax, the Denobulan Exec, had informed her with surprising stiffness that Captain Sandoval wanted to see her, immediately. There had been an unusual tension about the Denobulan, but Keena had dismissed it as stress. There were a large number of crew rotations in process, so she could understand why the Exec might not be feeling quite his usual cheery self. She had reached out lightly, sensed the roiling emanations associated with mental and emotional stress, and had withdrawn. Once the personnel reassignments were done, and the new crew members properly in place, she fully expected a return to his brightly chipper demeanor.

Reaching the corridor hatch to Sandoval’s Ready Room, she paused and performed a quick check of her uniform: insignias in place, uniform recently cleaned, boots lightly polished. Sandoval was a bit of a stickler for those kinds of details. Unnecessarily so, Keena thought, but he was the Captain and deserved her respect and adherence to whatever minor foibles of protocol that he insisted on observing.

She gave a silent nod of satisfaction and then tapped the keypad to announce her arrival. A soft chime sounded and Keena waited, now feeling bits of nervousness creep in.

“Come.”

Sandoval’s voice had a hard, clipped edge. Keena had rarely encountered him in person. Most of her interactions with him had been strictly one-way, usually by way his voice issuing orders over the ship’s comm system. He had cordially greeted her in person when she had first accepted the posting and come aboard, but even then she had been only one in a line of more than a dozen other new officers joining the crew that day.

Sandoval did not look up from his padd until the door had closed behind her. His eyes seemed to fix her in place.

“Lieutenant.”

Even though he did not say it, there was something in the drop in his tone that amended “Junior Grade”. She had come to accept it, even though almost no one, except members from exceptional formal cultures, used it when addressing her. She had made it, earned an enlisted rank, and been assigned a posting aboard a real starship—life was good.

Keena stood in a posture of relaxed attention, waiting for Sandoval to offer her a chair. Instead, his gaze remained fixed on her. Being Deltan, she was accustomed to males watching her with often undisguised desire, and had learned to recognize and ignore it. This, however, was something completely different. Anger? She tried not to frown. Why? What have I done?

Her mind raced through her assignments during the slightly more than two months that she had been on board. She could think of nothing she had done wrong, nor anyone she might have managed to insult. In fact, she had not even been on the ship for the past four days, having received some unexpected shore leave when the ship had stopped at Deep Space Eight for some minor repairs.

Looking down at the padd in his hand, and then back up at Keena, Sandoval placed the padd flat on the desk. Keena could not help but steal a quick glance at it contents. She visibly froze when she saw her ID picture clearly visible on it: her personnel file.

Triad (continued)

Robyn watched as Shaun sat at the edge of the bed talking quietly with Melinda. She was torn with a growing, burning fury that she knew was unreasonable. If she was right about this—and she had little doubt that she was—then whether it was an accident or committed by intent, it was done, and all three of them would have to deal with the consequences.

Shaun was being calm and reasonable, not at all unusual for him when things got potentially tense. She could see subtle clues in his body language, though, that he was struggling to accept and deal with the situation. Part of her wanted to be angry and just let him sort through it alone, but the more rational parts knew that he would need her support.

It would be easy for her to eavesdrop from where she waited, but she deliberately chose not to, allowing the two of them a nominal sense of privacy in order to talk about something that would change all of their lives. She wondered if she should leave, as neither of them had even looked in her direction for several minutes. When Melinda bent her head toward Shaun and began to cry, that made the decision for her and she left the room.

She stopped in the hallway, just a few paces from the door, finding herself struggling to keep from sobbing. Tears welled in the corners of her eyes and she wiped them quickly away, angry with herself for even beginning to lose control. Drawing in a long, shuddering breath, she made her way to bathroom, closed the door, and allowed herself to cry.

Triad (continued)

Melinda watched Shaun as he approached the bed. She was underneath the sheets, covered with a light blanket. Shaun could tell from her eyes that she had been resting, but not asleep. The color in her cheeks and under her eyes had improved, but she still appeared slightly pale. She did not speak to him as he entered the room and lowered himself to sit on the edge of the bed. Her eyes, though, watched him intently.

Shaun met her gaze evenly, trying to prevent his expression from betraying the tense knot that lived in his stomach. He held out the small box that Robyn had given him. Her gaze fixed on it for a moment and the sudden shift of her eyes told him what he wanted to know. When she did not reach for it, he placed the box on the bed between them, like a tiny barrier meant to somehow separate them.

“Something you want to tell me?”

Melinda worked her lips, as if trying to moisten then before speaking. Her mouth opened and, before she could speak, she began to cry.

Shaun watched for her for what felt like a long time before he reached out and took her hand and then moved closer to her. Melinda pressed her face against his chest, heavy sobs shaking her. Shaun held her close, stroking her hair lightly, letting her release it. Part of him felt awkward, as it always did when he had to deal with a crying woman. A niggling voice in his mind always warned him that he might be being manipulated. He sensed no such deceit here. Melinda seemed genuinely frightened by what she had done.

Her head turned upward and she looked at him with red, shining eyes.

“Are you mad?”

Shaun found himself without answer to her question. The realizations had all come so quickly that he had not really had time to think about how he felt about it. He was definitely feeling some considerable stress over it, but he could not find any true anger within him. Finally, he shook his head slowly.

“No,” he said quietly. “Not mad.”

Melinda’s expression relaxed into a weak, relieved smile. She lowered her head back down to rest on Shaun’s shirt. His arms gathered around her reflexively. As she breathed heavily against him, Shaun wondered just how he did feel about this.

Triad (continued)

Shaun walked into the kitchen, carrying two paper bags filled with groceries. As Robyn had items scattered around on the various countertops, he placed them on the nearby table to start unpacking them.

“Did you take her to the doctor?”

Robyn continued chopping what appeared to be either celery or shallots, shaking her head. “She was feeling a little better.”

“Oh.”

Shaun frowned, but let it go. He knew two things: one was that Melinda could be incredibly stubborn, and two, Robyn could be even more stubborn when the need arose. That Robyn had not pushed the issue told him that Robyn was not yet too concerned. He began opening cabinets to put the groceries away.

“Anything ideas then?” he asked, curious to hear the results of Robyn’s amateur diagnosis.

Without answering him directly, she reached over and placed a small box on the countertop in front of him. Shaun looked down at it, puzzled, and then picked it up. It took him only a moment to realize what it was.

He looked over at Robyn, staring at her with widened eyes. Her mouth was set in a firm line. There was a bright shine in her eyes that spoke of something other than anger, but Shaun could not be certain what. His eyes turned back down to the box in his hand.

An absurd collage of images flashed through his mind: making love to Melinda, a clinical-looking scene of his sperm flowing into her, Melinda clutching him as she climaxed. A knot twisted in his stomach.

His eyes refocused on the box: it was unopened. He looked back up at Robyn.

“Does she know?”

Robyn stared back at him for a long moment. The muscles of her jaw worked before she answered in a flat voice.

“That I bought the test, no.” She took a slow, shallow breath. “That she might be pregnant—you tell me.”

Shaun’s forehead wrinkled slightly as he analyzed the sudden harsh note in Robyn’s voice. He had not known. They had all occasionally discussed having children at some point, but had never reached any kind of agreement, other than that it probably was not the time yet. Apparently, Melinda had decided otherwise.

For a moment, Shaun wondered if someone else might have fathered it. Neither he nor Robyn kept track of Melinda every moment and, he knew, if someone wanted a sexual encounter bad enough, they would find a way to make it happen. His gut though, at least the part of it that was currently tied into tight knots by the news, told him otherwise. He had no doubt what any reasonably accurate paternity test would show.

“Where is she?” Shaun asked. His voice was barely above a whisper.

Robyn’s head nodded toward the hallway. “In the bedroom,” she said. “Resting.”

Shaun and looked in the direction of their bedroom. His lips formed an uncertain line.

“Okay.”

He said nothing more as he finished putting away the groceries, but his mind was far, far from the task.

Triad (continued)

Shaun shuffled from the hallway, still groggy from sleep. He had fallen asleep in the stuffed recliner in the extra room that also functioned as their office and general storage area. He had not planned to, intending to join Robyn and Melinda as soon as he had finished, but the tedium of the work, and the late hour at which he had finally finished, had conspired against him. Closing his dry and tired eyes in an attempt to also quiet his mind before climbing into bed next to their warm bodies, he had awakened only a few minutes earlier, discovering that it was already daylight.

Robyn was fussing about at the stove, cooking something that did not smell like eggs or anything else readily identifiable. He glanced at the clock to verify that it was, in fact, really still the weekend, and then back at Robyn.

She was wearing a one-piece nightshirt that feel just below the curves of her buttocks. Shaun had seen her wore it before to bed, but not recall her ever wearing just it around the apartment. Not that he minded, for she had terrific curves and wonderfully shaped ass with just enough to it to be interesting. He suspected that if she meant over, he would be able to tell what color panties she was wearing.

As if she hearing his silent thoughts, she bent down to place the dish into the oven, revealing that she was, in fact, wearing nothing underneath. Just that brief glimpse at her closely shaved region was enough to provoke a noticeable reaction in him. He started to turn away, to conceal his condition, when Robyn looked toward him and smiled.

“Good morning.”

Shaun gave her a weak smile in return, hoping that she would take it for lingering sleepiness. She placed the utensil she was holding down and approached him, stopping to give him a light kiss. His scalp tingled at the touch of her warm lips. Her eyes were bright as they stared into his and she smiled again. Shaun’s breath caught as he felt her hand touch his slight erection.

“Having a problem?” she asked, her smile turning coy and teasingly provocative.

Shaun swallowed past a growing lump in his throat. Robyn kissed him again, her arms moved up along his back to pull him close. She kissed him deeply, pressing herself against him. Shaun felt the hard length of his erection against her; Robyn shifted slightly, clearly aware and enjoying the sensation.

They parted and, their eyes fixed on one another, Shaun felt Robyn’s fingers return to his now even more apparent erection. She opened her mouth and . . .

The bedroom door slammed open and there was the sounding of bare feet hurrying across the carpet and then a faint thump. The noises that followed were both familiar and unpleasant. Shaun exchanged a long look with Robyn, who frowned tightly.

“She’s been like this almost all night.” She sighed, her expression carrying both annoyance and concern. “I hardly got any sleep.”

Shaun looked toward the bathroom door.

“Stomach flu?”

Robyn gave a small shrug, her lips quirking slightly.

Shaun frowned. He had been so intent on finishing his work before deadline, that he had not noticed anything that had happened around the apartment the night before. He could not even recall if he had stopped to eat dinner.

“I’ll check on her,” he said quietly, and headed toward the hallway.

Several scenarios beyond the somewhat mundane one of the stomach flu played across his thoughts. When he and Robyn had first agreed to share an apartment, they had lived there less than two weeks, barely completely unpacked and still integrating their belongings, when she had come to him with a plea to help Melinda. After countless episodes of alcohol and drug abuse, along with a string of abusive relationships, Robyn decided it was time to either step in or give up. She had chosen the first.

Shaun had agreed that Melinda could stay for a few months, long enough to get herself straightened out, as long as she did a share of the chores in exchange for a share of the rent. She had accepted the terms easily (although he suspected that Robyn had given her little choice) and moved the few belongings that the three of them had been able to retrieve while her now ex-boyfriend (who Shaun had always silently referred to as “The Pimp”, for he suspected there was more than drugs and alcohol going on, although Melinda had never volunteered any information on the subject) was at work.

To Shaun’s surprise, once free of those other influences, she had blossomed into an amazing young woman. Witty and smart, she had also turned out to be a more than competent cook and housekeeper. She started attending classes at the local community college and, perhaps best of all, helped to keep him organized. She also put on a little healthy weight. No longer the drawn, almost painfully skinny figure that she had been, her body had taken on a lean, but graceful shape. It was more athletic in form than Robyn’s, although Shaun did not find it at all unattractive.

Her hair had gone from stringy beige strands to golden waves that seemed almost to shine. Everything about her seemed to reflect the renewed and growing self-confidence that she now seemed to feel.

The “few months” that Shaun had agreed to somehow passed to beyond a year without him quite noticing. It was not that the time had not been without some minor incidents. As far as both he and Robyn could tell, Melinda had remained clean of drugs during the entire time. There a few times, though, when the three of them were drinking, and Melinda had consumed a bit more than he and Robyn had. She seemed to not quite know her limits, and paid for it dearly the next day.

This was Shaun’s main concern as he approached the hall bathroom. Instinctively holding his breath, he knocked on the door jamb lightly and then looked inside.

Melinda knelt before the toilet, her face bent over its bowl. She coughed lightly, a faint, slightly raspy sound. Turning her head, she looked up at Shaun. Her cheeks were pink, but her overall color was slightly off. She looked miserable, but he relaxed when she showed no signs of conspicuous guilt. Her eyes just watched him with silent pleading.

Shaun went to her and knelt beside her. He always felt so awkward in situations like that. All of the things that came to his mind to say seemed either trite or self-evident. Reaching over, he flushed the toilet, and then took a tentative, grateful breath. Lacking any other ideas, he pulled Melinda to him gently, letting her rest his face against his shoulder. He tried to give her a small, comforting smile, foreseeing a day of Seven-Up and saltine crackers ahead for her.

When she seemed steady enough, he waited while she rinsed out her mouth, and then followed her to the kitchen. She sat down heavily at the table, still clearly uncomfortable. Robyn shot Shaun a silent, questioning look. He shook his head slightly and then headed for the refrigerator.

Triad (continued)

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Melinda thrust against Shaun, breathing in short, staccato bursts as she felt him penetrate deep up into her. It was not her favorite position, but it was the one that Shaun seemed to desire that night. When she did ride him like this, she particularly liked watching Robyn crouch over his face, watching as his tongue worked Robyn toward climax. For herself, most nights, she preferred to be beneath him, her legs lifted and spread wide, feeling him drive himself deep into her. During those times, she felt every change as he swelled and hardened with her. Those orgasms, she had decided long before, were among the best.

Beneath her, Shaun’s arms had moved from above his head so that his hands how gripped her hips. Melinda knew this meant that he was close. She drove against him harder, forcing him just that little bit deeper into her. Shaun responded with a deep moan and she felt the muscles of his thighs tense as he thrust upward. Swallowing against the rapidly rising wave of her climax, she pressed down against him, driving him deep into her. Crying out from a place low in her throat, maybe this position isn’t so bad after all, she thought, but the thought vanished quickly, pushed aside by the growing mental haze of her climax.

Shaun bucked upward once more. She cried out again, louder this time. With his next thrust, Melinda felt his body spasm and arch beneath her as he spilled himself into her. She had only a moment to realize before she was overcome by her own climax. Her cry seemed to well up from the very center of her body, releasing itself from her throat like a feral howl. The sound of it seemed to echo for a long moment, as if held there in the space by her strength of will alone, before fading.

As Shaun began to grow soft within her, the glow of her climax seemed to keep pace with him. This was the part of it she disliked most. Not the fading of her orgasm, for that would happen anyway, but the damp, sticky sensation of his release between her legs as he withdrew. Other than those times when they sometimes played to his deliberate release on her skin, it was the only time after they made love that she felt an uncontrollable urge to shower immediately afterward. She would need a few moments, though, to regain full control over her shaking muscles. She leaned forward, her sandy blonde hair forming a wavy curtain that sheltered their faces from view.

Shaun looked up at her, his eyes still partially glazed. A smile formed lazily on his lips and she bent down further to meet them with her own. She rose slightly, still letting her hair hang around them, staring down at him. His sculptured features reminded her of why she loved him. He was strong and handsome and yet so gentle and caring. Never had he raised a hand against her, not had she ever seen him do so to Robyn, or to anyone, for that matter. Well, except from a distance at the occasional errant driver, she smiled to herself.

Melinda slid from Shaun, feeling the cooling trail of their shared fluids across her inner thigh. She tried not to shudder, thinking instead of his seed now held within her. She smiled to herself, mentally counting off once again the weeks since she had stopped taking her morning pills. Although she would have preferred to have had it happen while in the other position, she was perfectly content if this was the time when it did.

Shaun shifted aside, making room for her next to him, but not looking at all surprised when she instead moved to sit on the edge of the bed. He watched her as she leaned forward, grazed his lips with another quick kiss, and headed toward the shower.

Triad: Chapter 1 (continued)

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There were times, although much less often of late, when they indulged in more complicated play. Sometimes, they would each draw a card and the one with the lowest card would be restrained to the bed, arms and legs spread so they body formed an “X”, while the other two slowly teased them to climax.

Robyn tolerated it, but she always felt somewhat tense and uncomfortable the entire time. She trusted both Shaun and Melinda completely, but there was something in the complete loss of control that gnawed at something deep within her psyche. That kind of dulled the end result for her. She and Shaun had talked about it once, and now he never pushed the issue if she resisted.

It was particularly rewarding to play that game with Shaun. Although he could be both incredibly passionate and extremely loving in bed, he was also somewhat reserved. When restrained and teased to climax, though, he reacted at almost a primal level. She wondered if it was because in those situations he did not need to concern himself with whether he was satisfying whoever his partner was at that moment. Melinda, on the other hand, was generally noisy and uninhibited in her reactions, regardless of her circumstances.

Triad: Chapter 1

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Robyn lay in the dark, trying not to listen. She had retreated to the other bedroom—the one with the extra bed for one of them wanted to be alone. Under the light covers, she stared at the ceiling, not seeing the mottled patterns of darkness and shadow there. She did not know why she wanted to be alone—only that she did not—for some reason, could not—bear to be with them tonight.

Although the walls were not thin, she could hear the muffled sounds from Shaun and Melinda making love in the next room. Robyn closed her eyes, able to easily visualize it.

Melinda was riding Shaun, coming close to climax. She sounded different when she was on top like that. In her mind, Robyn could see Shaun’s face, his lips parted and face growing flushed as he, too, approached that peak.

Despite her mood, Robyn felt moisture forming between her legs. A part of her wanted nothing more than to feel Shaun’s tongue probe her there. Her hand moved down to touch herself there through the thin fabric before she realized it. She let it remain there, but unmoving.

Melinda cried out. It was a sustained, almost warbling sound that Robyn knew well. If Shaun had expressed himself aloud as well, it had been masked by Melinda’s much louder cry. Robyn imagined that he had, likely at nearly the same moment. She could see the open-mouthed, rapturous expression on his face as he released himself within Melinda.

Quiet returned to the apartment. Robyn knew what would happen next. Melinda would bend her head to Shaun’s, her long dusty blonde hair would fall forward, sheltering their faces as they smiled with [] contentment at each other, and then they would kiss deeply. They would then wrap themselves together in each other’s arm and sleep. Robyn knew, for that had been her place many nights before. But not tonight.