Star Trek: “Links in the Chain” (continued)

“Captain,” 1011 interrupted. “We are receiving a transmission.”

Christopher responded with a surprised scowl. “Let’s hear it.”

What sounded like a garbled series of squawks sounded over the communications system before the universal translator took over.

“”.

“It doesn’t sound like they want us here,” Onbro suggested with forced humor.

“No,” Christopher agreed, “they don’t.” He turned his head slightly in the direction of Leshann’s station. “Are you almost done with that scan?”

“Yes, sir,” she replied. “A few more seconds.” She checked the readouts again before continuing. “So far, we’re detecting no Romulan energy signatures.”

Christopher nodded slowly. “Good news at last,” he commented quietly. “Finish it up. Helm, take us to the next one.”

Onbro’s hands played over the surface of his console as he adjusted the ship’s heading.

“Done, sir,” Leshann reported.

“Perfect timing,” Christopher said. “Helm, half impulse.”

They had traveled about the half the distance to the second moon when alerts sounded from both Leshann’s and Ba’neth’s stations.

“Captain,” Ba’neth called out first. “I’m reading three vessels on an intercept course.”

Christopher began to turn toward her, but paused as Leshann added her own report.

“The drive signatures appear to be Orion, Captain.”

“This little survey mission just keeps getting better and better,” Christopher remarked to no one in particular. “Full power to shields. Bring weapons to active status.” He took a long, slow and deep breath that sounded to Leshann like a sigh. “Red Alert.”

Around the bridge, klaxons began to sound and the lighting shifted to bright crimson. Leshann could hear readiness reports coming in from stations throughout the ship.

“They’re powering weapons, Captain,” Ba’neth reported. Her voice was now steady, ready and trained for this.

“Hold our fire, Lieutenant,” Christopher told her. “Let’s see what they’re up to.”

Star Trek: “Links in the Chain”

“Take us out of warp,” Captain Christopher said, with an easy calm. “Maintain Yellow Alert.”

“Yes, sir,” came Ba’neth’s response from the Tactical station.

Leshann thought she heard detected the quaver in the young woman’s voice. She would not be surprised, for she felt the tension herself. Their first tour of duty, intended to get the young officers accustomed to their roles and stations—after all, there was only so much that could be learned from simulations, drills, and training missions—before sending them out on their deep space assignment.

It had not quite worked out that way, as they had so far encountered a Gorn fleet, pockets of Orion Syndicate activity, and a deluded Klingon general intent on destroying the timeline in order to fulfill some kind of legendary destiny. Now, under secret orders that Captain Christopher had, as far she knew, discussed with no one, they were headed toward the borders of Romulan space.

The majority of the crew had been transferred, along with Captain Christopher, to the U.S.S. Coronado. The damage to the Arcadia had been reparable, but apparently had been unwilling to wait the two months before she was safely space-worthy again.

Her station chimed softly, signaling for her attention. Leshann checked the readings and then turned toward the command chair.

“We’re reading three moons in the system, Captain,” she reported. “According to our records, they all have Romulan designations--”

“All tongue-twisting pronunciations, I’m sure,” Christopher replied. His head was turned toward the main viewscreen, so Leshann could not tell whether he was amused or not.

“Onbro, take us past the nearest one, close enough for a complete sensor sweep.”

“Yes, sir.”

The helmsman’s crisp response—and lack of one of her usually cheery retorts—told Lehshann that the young Bolian ensign was also feeling the strain.

“Leshann,” Christopher continued, startling her from her momentary reverie. “I want a complete scan of the moon’s surface.” His eyes studied the image of the growing sphere of the first moon. “I’m told we should expect to find some mining activity. I want to know immediately if you find anything that even remotely doesn’t seem to be.”

“Yes, sir,” Leshann responded quickly. She turned her attention back toward her sensor readouts, wondering what the captain was expecting to find here.

Christopher’s eyes remained fixed on the viewscreen.

“Ba’neth,” he said, without turning. “Keep an eye out for anything unusual on the tactical sensors,” he instructed her. “Don’t hesitate to yell out if you spot anything. Those warbirds can uncloak on top of you before you know it.”

Ba’neth swallowed hard, but her voice sounded mostly steady. “Yes, sir.” Her hands worked the controls of her station, making sure that the weapon controls were ready and that she would be warned at the slightest variation in the tactical sensor readings.

“Beginning close orbit,” Onbro called out, her voice uncharacteristically flat.

“One should be enough,” Christopher announced.

“Yes, sir.”

“Beginning surface scan,” Leshann reported, her gaze dancing quickly across the data readouts on her station.

Star Trek: “Lessons Learned”– Chapter 1 (continued)

At the remaining sensor station was a female cadet with short, shoulder-length hair in Engineering gold who behaved as though she belonged there.

Where am I supposed to be then? Sarah wondered with growing panic.

She spied Lt. Commander O’Harran looking in her direction. Swallowing hard, she tried to avoid eye contact. She did not like the Exec much, although most of her classmates seemed to tolerate him all right. O”Harran was definitely, in Sarah’s opinion, a member of the “old school” type of Starfleet officer. He seemed to lack any sense of humor in regards in how he dealt with the cadets. One of her classmates had once told her it was because it was his job as Exec to drive discipline in the ranks. Sarah supposed that might be so, although she had always that was the Captain’s job.

The position of Executive or First Officer had always seemed to be a lame one to her. Since the Captain had all of the authority on the ship, the Exec was little more than glorified administrator with rank. Heaven knows she had seen enough of those at the Academy and throughout Starfleet.

The Engineering cadet stepped away from the Science station, heading toward Sarah. As she came near, Sarah could see the telltale tracery of spots beneath the woman’s chestnut hair that ran down her neck and continued below the collar of her uniform. She was a Trill, but appeared to lack to confident self-assuredness of one joined with a symbiont.

“All yours, Cadet,” she said with a nervous smile. “The sensor interface should be properly calibrated now.”

It took Sarah a moment to get over the woman’s method of addressing her. While she was older than Sarah (she guessed maybe in her mid- to late-thirties), Sarah noted that the woman was wearing, other than for the section color, the same uniform as she was, down to the lack of officer rank pips.

“Thanks . . .” was all that Sarah managed to get out before the woman nodded and headed for the turbolift.

Sarah watched her leave, wrestling back her confusion. As the lift doors closed, Sarah turned back and, with considerable relief, assumed her place at her duty station.

Justice Blue: Dinner Plans (continued)

Allison rather enjoyed the surprised expression on Adrianne’s face. She smiled to herself and sipped at her wine, giving her friend an opportunity to recover.

“What . . .” Adrianne stammered. “. . . what did you tell him?”

“I told him ‘No’.”

Adrianne’s eyes widened. “What?” she whispered loudly. “Are you nuts?”

Allison stared back in disbelief. “I barely know the guy.”

“Well,” Adrianne persisted. “Who is he then?”

“Max . . . something,” Allison replied, growing mildly flustered that she could not recall his last name. It was on his business card, she knew, but that was back in her apartment. “He owns an import business of some kind.”

Adrianne’s expression grew a troubled frown. Allison understood why. “Import business” was often used as a euphemism for many of the Family’s front companies used to finance their operations or launder money from them.

“No,” Allison said, shaking her head. “He’s legit.”

“Oh.” Adrianne appeared to be mildly disappointed by the admission.

Allison fought the urge to roll her eyes at her friend’s reaction. She did, however, chuckle quietly. There was something to said, she knew, for a certain element of danger and mystery in a relationship—the whole “bad boy” syndrome—but experience had taught her just how treacherous that could be.

“And you said ‘No’.”

Allison nodded.

Adrianne shook her head slowly and took a long sip from her wine glass.

Justice Blue: Dinner Plans

“Allison?”

It took a second time before she realized she was being spoken to.

“Allison?”

Allison turned her eyes to the woman across the table and forced herself to focus on her. “Hmm?”

The woman shook her head and laughed quietly. “Allison,” she whispered, slightly louder than was probably necessary. “It’s like you’ve been somewhere else most of the evening.”

“Sorry, Adrianne,” Allison said, feeling her cheeks grow warm. “Work’s been . . .” Her hand moved in a vague wave.

“Uh huh.” Her friend studied her for a moment. A slow, knowing smile formed on her lips. “Who is he?”

“Who?”

Adrianne stared back with clear skepticism. “The one you can’t stop thinking about.”

“It’s . . . business.”

“Uh huh.” Adrianne’s smile grew. “Whose business?”

“He offered me a position--“

Allison trailed off as she saw Adrianne’s eyebrows begin to rise. It took her a moment to realize her choice of words. Even as she felt warmth return to her face, her eyes narrowed as she glared at Adrianne. Adrianne just smiled and laughed quietly.

“A job,” Allison hissed with annoyance. She glanced around quickly to see if anyone had noticed. It appeared that no one had, as everyone else at the table seemed involved in other conversations. “A job,” she repeated, trying now to suppress a smile as she allowed her amusement to win out.

“I’ll bet,” Adrianne chuckled. She raised her glass and took a sip of her wine. Her expression grew more serious. “Tell me about it . . . about him.”

“He wanted me to go to Rome with him.”

Star Trek: “Lessons Learned”– Chapter 1 (continued)

She and Anthi managed to squeeze into the third car, edging ahead of a Vulcan in Science blue who Sarah suspected would have looked annoyed had he been willing to allow his emotional to control to lapse for a moment. Instead, he permitted himself a small rise of his left eyebrow, causing Anthi to emit a short burst of giggles as the turbolift doors closed.

A few moments of barely perceptible motion later, the doors parted, revealing the interior of the bridge. Sarah had seen it before during a tour of the ship, but they had passed through it quickly, not giving her or the other cadets much time to take a closer look. She tried to pause, to gather her bearings, but was pushed forward by the momentum of the others trying to exit the lift. Nearly stumbling forward, she stopped a few steps inside the bridge and looked around.

The bridge on this Centaur-class starship seemed larger than she remembered. It had probably been reconfigured for training missions to allow more cadets to be assigned bridge stations during the various exercises, she considered. The problem was that she could not remember to which of the Science stations she had been assigned. She was certain that she had been assigned to the bridge. However, both the main Science station and the auxiliary one were both occupied.

At the main one, situated almost directly behind the command chair, was someone in Medical teal that Sarah did not recognize. Busily working at the auxiliary station was a violet-skinned Saurian in Sciences blue that she recalled seeing around the Academy grounds on occasion. Where was she supposed to be then?

Star Trek: “Lessons Learned”– Chapter 1

- 1 -

Cadet Sarah Harding stood at attention with her classmates. She blinked in bleary-eyed attentiveness. Oh-seven-hundred was far too early to be up, dressed, and ready for inspection. For probably the twentieth time, she fought back a yawn. She had known that the day would start early, but that had not helped her sleep. A combination of anxiety and excitement had prevented her from falling into a deep enough sleep to be restful, fearfully concerned that the she would somehow manage to oversleep.

The cadets were assembled in neat rows in the main shuttlebay of the U.S.S. Yokohama. It was not the most decorated or comfortable place for them to gather, but it was the only area of the small starship, outside of the main cargo bay, that could hold them all. Captain D’harta stood on a raised platform, looking both commanding and pleased.

“Cadets,” she began, her voice amplified by the ship’s internal communications systems. “For many of you, this will be the first voyage of many into great unknown.”

She smiled like a proud parent down at all of them, her dark eyes sweeping over the collection of final-year cadets.

“You’ve all earned it,” she said. “And here’s your chance to show me everything you’ve learned.”

Sarah exchanged a quick glance with the cadet next to her, trying to suppress a broad smile. Anthi had been your roommate during all of her years at Starfleet Academy. She felt like the blue-skinned Andorian was more like a sister than a friend. Sarah noted that Anthi’s long braids looked almost brushed smooth. It looked that she was doing her best imitation of a stoic Vulcan, but Sarah could tell that her friends as just as nervous and excited as she was.

D’harta stared out at them once more, her cinnamon-colored skin shining from the overhead lights. “We depart at zero eight hundred,” she announced. “Report to your stations. Dismissed.”

The ranks of cadets slowly shifted from neat rows to scattered groups headings for the shuttlebay’s various exits. Sarah kept pace with Anthi, both of them hanging back slightly to avoid the crush at the main hatchways. Anthi seems almost to skip with every step; Sarah wondered how she had slept.

They were both headed for the bridge. Sarah has been assigned to one of the Science stations, while Anthi would be manning the secondary Tactical post. It had been due to hard work, and a dash of good luck, that they had both been assigned bridge duty. Sarah had tried never hard not to look overly proud when she had received the news; Anthi had demonstrated no such restraint.

There was short line waiting at the turbolift. Sarah noticed some of cadets, mostly those who were assigned to Engineering duties, heading for one of the many Jeffries tubes in the area. That was fine for them, she decided, but like hell was she going to walk onto the bridge by any other way than through the main lift doors.

Justice Blue: Back to Work (continued)

“That is him,” she responded patiently, not really caring if she sounded a little huffy. “I mean the man I saw last night at the D,” she explained. “Not in my bed.” Realizing how that sounded, she quickly amended it with, “Which was no one.”

Thad’s look told her that he doubted that part of her explanation. There was something about his eyes that refused to tell her whether or not he was just toying with her.

“Do you know him?” she asked, hoping the question would cut off any further snide remarks, however playful.

Thad read the screen more closely and then shook his head. “I know a few guys named ‘Max’,” he said. “But he’s not one of them.”

Allison heard footsteps behind her and Thad turned his head slightly.

“Hey, bro,” he called out. “Do you know this guy?”

Scott stepped in her peripheral vision and looked at the screen. After a moment, he shook his head. “I might have read about him,” he said. “But I’ve never into him personally as far as I know.”

“Yeah,” Thad responded with that tone that Allison heard him chiefly reserve for playfully needling his brother. “He doesn’t look like the type to hang out at sci-fi conventions.”

As usual, Scott gave the remark only the barest hint of a reaction.

Thad’s expression became serious. “Is he someone we should have checked out?”

Allison stared at the image on the screen for several moments before answering. “No,” she finally said. “He’s just some guy who was at the bar.” She gave a slight shrug. “I’ll probably never see him again anyway.”

Not and have him know it, she added silently.

“Your call,” Thad shrugged, finishing the donut. He brushed the crumbs off his fingers, letting them fall onto the carpet. “Scott and I have some things to do,” he said. “I don’t know if we’ll be back before five.”

Allison nodded, reading between his words that she would be alone and should plan to lock up.

“Have . . . fun?” she offered tentatively, half-jokingly.

The two brothers exchanged a quick glance before Thad grimaced slightly. “Eh,” he grunted softly.

They left a moment later. Allison noticed that neither of them was carrying a briefcase, notepad, or any papers. Wherever they were off to, it was probably not directly related to this business. Thad’s attitude, though, told her that was not entirely for pleasure either. She quickly dismissed the matter from her mind.

After taking a moment to place security system on “Active” mode for the rest of the office, she returned to her investigation of the mysterious man named Max.

Justice Blue: Back to Work (continued)

A few hours later, Allison was studying his image on the screen. According to the press releases and biographies that she had located, he was exactly who he had claimed to be. Some of the reports hinted at his connections, or at least unsubstantiated involvement, with several known organized crime figures. These proved to be little more than what appeared to be innuendo intended to elicit either a response or official investigation, neither of which ever came.

Thad wandered past as she was reading one of the more florid articles. It had been authored by someone who claimed to be a former employee. Allison had noted his name and planned to run a separate search on him later to establish his level of credibility.

“That the guy who made it between your sheets last night?” he asked, biting down on a chunk of donut.

Allison felt herself flush. Part of it came from embarrassment, and part from her irritation with Thad. It was times like this that she wanted to scream at him for behaving like a sexist pig. He did it in such a disarming, light-hearted way, though, that she found it difficult to work up enough anger to actually cut loose on him.

She did, however, briefly considered blanking the screen. Doing that, though, would seem almost more incriminating than what she was really doing—which was actually nothing more serious than using the computer to conduct personal business on company time.

“No,” she answered, hoping the slight edge in her tone would convince him to drop the subject.

“Oh?” he said, coming around to get a better look at the display. “It was someone else?”

Before she could retort, he went on.

“Too bad,” he said, taking a closer look. “He’s good looking,” he offered, taking another bite of the donut. “I’d do him.”

She found it difficult for her to know, when he made comments like that, just how serious he was. She had heard vague, off-hand remarks that could be interpreted that he was comfortable entertaining either gender in his bed, but she had never witnessed anything herself to prove those stories true or not. The best thing, she decided, was to just let the remark pass.

Grimaulkin: “Facets” (continued)

“Who the hell are you?” Grimaulkin growled.

His ferocity did not have the desired effect. It did not echo back from the distant, unseen walls of this place to express his anger.

“And where the hell is am I?” His snappish tone sounded plaintive and weak even to his own ears.

“It’s fascinating, isn’t it?” the voice continued, seeming to ignore Grimaulkin’s demands, “how individuals have such interesting depths to their personalities. Like layers of an onion . . . or the facets of a gem.”

Grimaulkin’s head turned to survey the space around him again, seeking the source of the voice.

“If you say so,” he snarled, his voice once again falling flat.

“What do you say we explore yours?” the voice asked. There was something both faintly mocking and yet inviting in its tone.

“Screw you.”

“Shall we begin?”

There was subtle shift in . . . the something that surrounded him. Grimauklin’s eyes darted around, but he found no new sources of light, no changes in the blank emptiness. There came a faint tingling from somewhere inside his body, but could not locate either the exact location or its source.

He felt as though an insect were trapped within him, darting from place to place almost instantaneously: an elbow, a toe, an eyelid . . . He wanted to thrash about, to evict the thing from his body. It was like a vague itch that did not persist long enough for its source to be scratched.

“Our pasts make us so much of what we are,” the voice seemed to muse aloud. “Don’t you agree?”

Soft light, filled with many floating and shifting hues, enveloped Grimaulkin. It covered and flowed through him, filling his vision as the empty darkness had before. This time, there was a definite sensation of motion, although he was not certain that he could have found words to describe it if asked.

The light faded from him. Grimaulkin blinked. He was somewhere else.

Grimaulkin: “Facets”

This is for a friend of mine. Grim is her character, but she asked for help on a new storyline for him.

---

Grimaulkin became aware in darkness. It was not exactly an awakening, for he had no memory of having fallen asleep. It was more that he knew that he was now somewhere other than where he had been. Where that had been, he could not remember.

There was no sensation, but he did not feel as though he was floating. Something kept him in place, a light pressure that tickled at the edges of his perceptions. Experimentally, he moved his arms, articulating them up and down as if making a snow angel in the lightless void that held him. He felt no restraints, but neither did he feel but the faintest of something like air resistance, but wasn’t.

He tested his legs as well. They functioned as they normally would, bending at the hips and knees as he expected. He experimented with walking, but there lacked any sense of movement other than for the motions of his own muscles. Whether he made any progress through the featureless space that surrounded him he could not tell. Only darkness lay beneath his feet.

Pausing, he turned and slowly looked off in all directions. He saw nothing. No faint glimmer of light, no vague halos of distant illumination. Nothing.

“Welcome, Grimaulkin.”

He froze for a moment, startled by the sudden intrusion of the voice. For the first time, he looked upward. Again, he saw nothing but dark void.

Heroic Measures (continued)

The image on the screen shifted. It was a glossy scene from a magazine, most likely retouched for publication, Walter thought. It showed the Sharpshooter dragging a limp Carrion by his collar through a dirty alleyway toward the county jail. Both were bloodied and covered with grime. Had Walter not known which of the two had been the hero, it would been almost impossible to tell from the photograph. As he well knew, the good guys did not always win.

There had also been reports, never proven, that Sharpshooter had performed assassinations for the government in exchange for amnesty from possible prosecution. Even the hint of such activities had caused the highest heroes to shy away from him. He had not been seen, even in his civilian identity, for several months. Among the most prevalent rumors were that he had retired, committed suicide, and left to establish himself as a hero somewhere else with a new name. Wilder stories also circulated, such as that he had dropped from sight because he was now a covert government agent, or was now hiring himself in South America to the highest bidder. The truth was, Walter realized somewhat guiltily, that no one cared enough to find out for certain.

The sounds of people shifting uncomfortably in their seats shifted Walter from his reverie. There was also the occasional cough, or clearing of a throat, as Collins peered around at his audience. He never quite made eye contact, Walter noticed, just allowing his gaze to sweep over those present.

“Where we do we draw the line?” he asked. His accent had diminished now as he posed the question in a calm, almost Socratic tone.

The projected image dimmed and then brightened again to a new view.

Even Walter had to look away for a moment. Not because of the scene itself, which showed only the picture of a man in fierce close-up, but because of his memories of when that particular photograph had been taken. For more than a decade, Alpha had been regarded as among the best of the heroes. He had been a mentor and leader, an example for the heroes and public alike. And then had come his rapid descent into madness. No one really understood why, but everyone did know that his last rampage had cost twenty-two innocent civilians their lives and left two heroes permanently crippled.

Heroic Measures (continued)

Undated Archive Recording . . .

“This isn’t a philosophical argument,” he said, raising his voice for dramatic emphasis. “Seventeen innocent members of the public were killed, dozens were injured, and the authorities are still calculating the costs from the damage.”

The hero could say nothing at first. To hear the events of that evening recounted so directly only served to reopen the inner wounds that had barely begun to heal.

“Couldn’t it be argued, though,” Collins continued, “that many of these so-called ‘super-villains’ would not exist were it not for the existence of their brethren from the opposite side of the law, the heroes?”

“Some,” the hero answered flatly.

‘Some,” Collins repeated, making it sound like an accusation.

Walter wanted to stand and walk away, but knew that doing so would draw unwanted attention. He had heard the familiar swift in Collins’ tone. His Southern accent would become stronger now as he tried to emphasize his points while appealing to the “down home” sensibilities of his audience.

“You’ll note, ladies and gentlemen,” he went on, now addressing those gathered. “That I said ‘opposite side of the law’.” He paused, turning to look at the hero, but not staring directly at him. “I did not say that they were ‘lawful’.”

There was a rising murmur from the assembled crowd. Collins allowed it to subside before he continued.

“Where is the line between good and evil?” he asked those gathered, sounding to Walter every bit like a Baptist preacher. “What is it that makes this man good?” he said, pointing toward the hero. “And this one evil?” He gestured toward the projection of Naja.

A series of renewed murmurs came from the audience. Walter waited. The comparison in this case was quite clear-cut. There was little doubt of the horrors that Naja had inflicted on the city, the destruction he had left in his wake before this hero and the others had finally managed to defeat him. Whether or not Naja would have performed such heinous acts, were it not for existence of the heroes, was debatable, not there seemed to be little doubt in most minds that his deeds far outweighed such considerations.

Justice Blue: Back to Work (continued)

It was his turn to nod as a smile slowly formed on his face.

“He must have been pretty good then,” he said, trying to look lascivious, and overdoing it just a bit. “I know he’s no me, but still . . .” He shrugged and attacked the donut again.

No, he wasn’t, she agreed, and then immediately scolded herself. It was all too easy to imagine allowing herself to be seduced by this attractive man-child. From what she had both seen and heard, a lot of women had that same problem, but without her rigid self-control to resist giving into it. What she had told . . . Max the night before had been true. She made it a point never to sleep with the boss. At least, not while he still was one in her immediate organization.

“He was . . . no one,” she finally managed to say, immediately regretting how that sounded.

Thad grinned.

“You didn’t even get his name?” He nodded approvingly. “You have learned well, my apprentice.”

She wanted to scowl at him, but his non-mocking laughter was infectious and she found herself trying not to grin instead.

“Max,” she said, still fighting back a smile. “His name was Max.”

“Sure it was,” Thad agreed.

He stared at her for a moment. His expression gave her no idea what he might be thinking. His eyes, for a change, seemed focused somewhere other than on some particularly female portion of her anatomy. After a moment, he rose, taking a last thoughtful bite of the donut.

“A package is supposed to be delivered this morning,” he announced, suddenly all business. “Let me or Scott know when it gets here, okay?”

“Of course,” she nodded, studying his face for a moment. She knew better than to ask what it might be; they would tell her if she needed to know.

Thad then gave her a coy wink and headed back into the short corridor that led to the lab.

Turning back to her computer, Allison then considered that she really did not know anything about “Max”. She tried to remember if he had given her a business card, but if he had—and she had actually managed to hang onto it—it was probably back in her apartment. Even the card would not be proof of anything. It would contain his company’s name and the name he conducted his business under. There was no reason to believe that it was any more his real name than that belonging to a movie star might be.

As tempted as she was to begin a search on him right then, she forced herself to turn her attention to the task of sorting through the queue of what was now 102 messages. The mystery of who “Max” really was would have to wait a bit.

Justice Blue: Back to Work (continued)

The office door was unlocked, but the small foyer and reception area were empty. Only a handful of lights were turned on, which always gave the interior and strange, almost eerie glow. She tapped the panel and brought up the rest of the front lights; she could get to the others once she was past the interior.

Allison smiled when she saw the cup of coffee waiting for her. It might be nearly cold, as late as she was, but she had to give Thad credit. For all of his male chauvinistic posturing (and she knew that it was just that—a front he put forth in order to protect himself—from what?), he was almost varyingly thoughtful. Scott was too, but in entirely different ways.

She noticed that the message light was blinking. That did not surprise her. The mornings when it was not already flashing when she arrived were the exceptions. She was continually amazed by the number of people who seemed incapable of calculating time zone differences and then left semi-irate messages when their calls were not answered promptly at what was actually six o’clock AM in this time zone. It was very likely, she had decided long ago, that there was a direct correlation between the two acts. She also knew that the boys were available by cell phone to anyone that they really wanted to talk to.

After tucking her purse into the lower desk drawer, she tapped the keyboard and then entered her password as the computer display brightened to life. The counter in the lower right corner of the screen stopped at 88 new messages. It was hardly a new record, but it would probably mean a good hour of her time to sort through them all to determine which of them were important, which could be dealt with later, and which were pointless and could go unanswered. This last category, however, often also held the most interesting ones—interesting covering the range from intriguing to laughingly outrageous.

Thad strolled into the room, munching on what seemed to be some kind of a large donut. At first, Allison’s mouth watered at the sight, and then her stomach sent a warning of how it might respond to her sending such a delicacy its way. She glanced away quickly, hoping that Thad had not noticed her momentary flush of green.

“You’re late,” he offered matter-of-factly, perching on the edge of her work surface.

She nodded, unable to take her eyes off the motions of his mouth as he chewed the donut.

“I . . . overslept.”

Justice Blue: Back to Work (continued)

The young man smiled at her again and then looked thoughtful. He studied her for a moment before turning his head to shout over his shoulder.

“Hey, bro? Did you call for someone about helping us out here?”

There was a new set of footsteps and another young man stepped into view. He was dressed in a more professional manner, but it still was not a suit. His expression was much more reserved than his colleague. There was something serious and sad in his eyes. No, she corrected herself, not sad—vaguely haunted? She could not take her own eyes off them for several moments.

“Yeah,” he answered, seeming slightly puzzled. “But I just called them this morning. They said they’d probably need a day or two . . .” He paused as he got a close look at Allison.

Somewhere behind those eyes she knew that he was appraising her, although in a much more subtle and restrained way than his partner was. She usually did not mind, but it seemed very unprofessional and not at all the behavior she would expect from a firm that needed to protect its reputation. Scott actually did nothing more than just look at her, but the eyes of the other one were definitely following her curves.

“Tough job market, I guess,” that one said, shrugging. He perched himself on the edge of the work surface. His eyes returned to Allison’s face. “You have your résumé?”

She removed a copy from her portfolio and passed it over to him. While he read it, she tried to parse the bits of their conversation in her mind. Called them? A day or two? The interview had been arranged more than two weeks ago, and then rescheduled twice to accommodate the schedules of everyone who needed to talk to her.

“You look extremely well qualified,” the young man said, passing the resume over to his partner. He smiled, offering her his hand. “I’m Thad Raynes.” His grip was firm, but friendly. He nodded over his shoulder. “This is my brother Scott.”

Scott looked up from the résumé. “Ms. St. John,” he asked with a strange calm. “Exactly what position were you applying for?”

The question caught Allison surprise, but the fact that he had asked it, and how he had asked it, further told her that something was not right here.

“Product Marketing,” she stated with more confidence than she felt. “I know it’s only a junior position right now, but . . .”

Thad turned toward his brother. “You know, bro, we could use one of those.”

Scott frowned, glanced over at Allison, and then looked over the resume again.

“Yes, we could,” he agreed seriously after a moment. Something faintly resembling a smile played across his lips. “Before I ask when you can start, though,” he said. “I’d like to ask you one question.”

Allison felt herself tense. As if this whole interview (if that is what it could be called) was not oddball enough, she was about to be tossed something to throw her even further off-balance.

“Sure,” She responded, nodding carefully.

“Which company were you really supposed to be interviewing at today?”

Allison found herself swallowing hard. “Hardison, Dunning & Foster,” she answered far more tentatively than she intended to.

Thad burst into laughter. Scott glared at him.

“Wrong floor,” Thad gasped out. “They’re one floor down.”

Allison felt the color drain from her face. Not only had she just made a fool of herself in front of two complete strangers, but she had probably blown her chance at the real position she had come for. Part of her wanted to scream at Thad for laughing at her; another part just wanted to scream that she had been so stupid not to double-check the office numbers.

With as much grace and composure as she could muster, she retrieved her résumé from Scott and tucked it back into her portfolio.

“If you’ll excuse me . . .”

She turned and headed out the door. As she left, she heard Thad remark, “She’ll be back.” Scott replied with something she could not make out, but she did not care. She needed to find the elevator again—and quickly.

In the end, she did not get the job she had wanted so badly. She never knew if it was because she was late or for some other reason. What she did know was that a little more than a week later she was back at the “wrong” office, asking the two brothers if they still needed someone to manage their office. Somehow, she doubted that she would look forward so eagerly to going to work nearly every morning had she gotten the other position.

Justice Blue: Back to Work (continued)

They never start on time, she told herself, really wanting to believe it. The first fifteen minutes was nearly always spent filling out paperwork that, for some reason, asked for information that was already included on her résumé. Much of the time, she suspected that it was a stalling tactic so she in the applicant would not realize that the company was running behind schedule.

She found the correct office number, gave the words on the name plate a cursory glance without really reading them, and stepped inside.

Her first reaction was one of mild disappointment. The décor was modern and tastefully done; there just was not much of it. She had expected an office of such a large, multi-national corporation (even if it was one of their regional offices, and probably inherited as part of an acquisition) to have more . . . stuff in it: artwork, paintings, a display case or two of products or awards, or at least a desk.

In what seemed to serve as the reception area contained little more than a pair of what looked like second-hand loveseats that did not even match. There was a reception counter with the window partly ajar, and Allison thought she heard movement beyond it.

Maybe they’re redecorating?

She walked over to the counter, noting that while the carpet underneath her shoes looked new, it did not look as if it had been cleaned in a while.

Redecorating would explain it, she concluded.

Peering through the narrow opening, she discovered that there was no one seated there.

On break?

Other than for a small number of ballpoint pens, two notepads, and a handful of other scattered objects, it did not look as though anyone had ever been stationed there.

Okay, Allison thought. This is truly weird. She was certain that she had heard voices coming from inside earlier. Construction workers?

She pulled out her phone and confirmed the date and time of the appointment. It was today, at this time, in this building. Then where was everyone?

Taking a chance, she peered through the reception window again, listening hard for any signs of movement or conversation.

“Hello?” she called out, trying to sound polite. When there was no response, she tried again, raising her voice slightly, hoping that she did not sound too annoyed. “Hello? Is there anyone here?”

There came the definite sound of footsteps coming from the back area. A moment later, a young man came into view. While he was definitely not dressed like a construction worker, he was also not wearing the beautifully tailored suit that she would have expected for someone working at this company. His clothes looked clean, fairly new, and definitely stylish, but it was definitely not a suit.

His smile, though, took her completely by surprise. There was something about it that made her kind of melt inside. The term “bedroom eyes” was invented with him in mind, she decided, trying to banish the thought from her mind before it showed in her face.

“I, um,” she started to stammer and then regathered her composure. More confidently, she straightened and announced, “I’m here about the job.”

Justice Blue: Back to Work

Allison made her way to the kitchen. Nothing sounded good. Nothing. Even the barest thought of food made her stomach consider renewing its rebellion. She knew that she would need coffee soon, but even the memory of its aroma brought a brief wash of nausea.

Thank god it’s . . . her mental train stalled on its tracks. Oh my god, it is Friday, she realized. She glanced at the display on the microwave. It read 2:38. That can’t be right, she told herself, making a mental note to finally fix its clock. She glanced toward the stove: 7:46. It was not much of an improvement, but probably much more accurate. Not that it mattered; there was no way she was going to make it into work by eight. Not that the boys would really care, she knew. They might each tease her about it: Thad in his mostly harmless flirtatious way, and Scott in some kind of dry and ironic sort of way. Would it go beyond that? Probably not, but she still hated being late.

Although they were both about her own age, she kept mentally referring to them as “the boys”. She suspected that a lot of that had to do with Thad’s outwardly adolescent behavior and Scott’s not-so-secret fascination with science fiction and comic books. For two guys who ran what was quickly becoming a multi-million-dollar company, they sure did not act like it sometimes. Still, Allison had read (and heard more than a handful of rumors) about some of the young entrepreneurs who had started some of the most successful companies out in Silicon Valley. Clearly, a grown-up attitude was not necessarily a prerequisite to a launching a successful business. Keeping one going, maybe—but apparently not starting one.

More than once, Allison had wondered how they had managed before she had come along. Well, stumbled along had been more like. As she turned on the shower, seeking distractions from her undecided stomach, she replayed her memories of her first meeting with the two in her mind.

She had gotten off on the wrong floor without realizing it, and then somehow transposed the suite number in her head as she roamed the too-white, artificially-lit corridors looking for the office where was going to now be only two minutes late for her interview. Bad form, she knew, but she had not anticipated the stalled car in the underground parking lot that ate up more than ten minutes before someone took the charitable initiative to help the driver move it out of the way. Any other day, she might have volunteered, but not today when she was dressed for success and in heels.

There was another interminable wait at the elevators. That one she had kind of expected—and it had probably seemed much longer than it was because she was already running late. Still, it all added up to her now being late for what was probably the most important job interview in her life. She had spent months looking for a position like this, cajoling close friends and passing acquaintances alike in an effort to make the necessary contacts. And now, here she was, already on her way to making a bad first impression.

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.