by Shards
So he had instructed Christine to act properly deferential toward him during the audience and had attired her in something revealing enough to satisfy Khegh's expectations for a slave, even a Theta. He wondered if it was wise to bring her at all, for it would undermine him if Khegh caught a glimpse of his true feelings for her. But he was useless at organizing his notes without her help. He would just have to keep up a suitably tough facade.
He therefore tried not to grimace at the sight that presented itself when he entered the ornate main hall of Khegh's headquarters. The "entertainment" Khegh was currently laughing at involved a clear-walled tank of water in which a willowy blond slave woman was immersed totally nude, lacking even the collar and chains that were the standard and sole accouterments of the other slave women who flanked Khegh's thronelike seat. The weakly thrashing woman's delicate skeletal structure and chevron-shaped nasal-frontal ridges showed that she was not a Terran like Christine, but a more exotic breed of slave.
"Quite a sight, isn't she?" Khegh roared, noting Jaza's gaze. "Rare catch, too. An Elaysian-the Terrans destroyed their world a century ago. But some refugees finally turned up, and..." He gestured to the woman in the tank. "Cost me two Deltans. Hardly worth the expense, though. Low-gravity species. Too fragile to hold up to beating or bedding, so I had to find another way to get some fun out of her." He took a hefty bite from a leg of something (Jaza didn't want to know) and talked around it as he chewed. "Water's ice-cold...but if she climbs out on the shelf...her own weight crushes her, and soon enough she has to go back in the water! Clever, eh?"
Hence the lack of a collar, Jaza thought, looking at it analytically to harden himself to the sight. She's too weak to escape, particularly in the above-normal gravity here. Beside him, Christine shuddered, and Jaza caught a flash of anger before she caught herself and lowered her gaze, her long auburn hair tumbling over her face. He wanted to reach out and comfort her, but he restrained himself.
"Indeed, it is imaginative," came the articulate growl of Dr. Shenti Yisec Eres Ree. The Pahkwa-thanh medical researcher strode forward to study the Elaysian, his long-snouted, brown-scaled head tilting contemplatively. Jaza stepped back to dodge the sauroid's heavy tail, which tended to thrash about when he was intrigued. "Although I confess I fail to see the point in playing with a creature one does not intend to eat."
Khegh laughed. Klingons generally were not comfortable with sentient species shaped differently from themselves, but they respected the Pahkwa-thanh's predatory nature. The Klingons had lost thousands in their failed attempt to conquer the Pahkwa-thanh homeworld, and apparently granting such honorable and songworthy deaths to so many warriors was the Klingon idea of a generous diplomatic overture, since the two species had become stalwart allies thereafter. "If you like," Khegh told the doctor, "I could give her to you when I'm done with her."
"Hrrr...too bony. And I prefer prey that can run."
"Good point, good point." Khegh took another huge bite and washed it down with a swig of bloodwine. Jaza reflected that it had been a long time since the governor had been in any shape to run after anything. "So what's this all about this time? And quickly, I'm a busy man!"
Christine handed Jaza a padd, and he stepped forward. "Governor, despite my earlier protests, Ree is still engaged in unnecessary and needlessly destructive research upon the Irriol subjects."
"I dispute 'unnecessary,'" Ree countered politely. "If we are to understand the Irriol mind, we must understand all of its facets. Few things engage the psyche as profoundly, as primally, as the confrontation of pain, terror, and death."
"And ingestion? Governor, I have seen Ree eating his subjects' organs as he vivisects them. He isn't preserving them for study. That is...wasteful." He strove to maintain detachment. He held out the documentation, but the governor waved it aside.
"I have many Irriol organs on file already," Ree responded, "and scans are sufficient in most cases. But there is much that a researcher's own senses can reveal. Bajorans are a visual species. My people rely more on scent...and taste. Additionally," Ree went on, his tail writhing more excitedly, "observing the subjects' response to their own ingestion is informative."
Khegh roared. "You can't argue with that! Nothing like the look in an enemy's eyes as you rip out his heart and bite into it."
Jaza fought to keep down his last meal. Christine gave him a surreptitious look of encouragement, hidden from Khegh by her hair. "I can't fault my colleague for...enthusiasm," he said, drawing a gracious nod from Ree. "But we must not lose sight of what's at stake here. We're trying to harness the power of a whole race of empaths. Imagine what a weapon that would be for the Alliance."
"I know why we're here," Khegh snarled. "Only reason we conquered these pathetic jeghpu'wI' in the first place." Psi-capable species were a rare prize, since the Terran Empire, fearful of their power, had done their best to wipe out every telepathic race they discovered. The Alliance was not so shortsighted or reflexively destructive; its standing policy was that any psi-capable race or individual must be secured, regulated, and analyzed, its power used to strengthen the Alliance. Ree was an expert in the field, thanks to his people's extensive study of their own empathic minority, though he himself was psi-null.
"But we need to go about it in the right way," Jaza argued. "The Irriol think in terms of the gestalt they share with the other life forms on their world. If we want to harness that gestalt, we should take advantage of their communal psychology. We should present ourselves as partners, build trust and affinity the same way they do among themselves, so they will cooperate voluntarily. Making them fear us as predators is counterproductive."
"On any other world, I might agree, Najem," said Ree. "But the Irriol have a keen understanding of their place in nature. They do not perceive their predators as enemies but accept them as players in the gestalt. They will sometimes surrender to predators voluntarily when they subconsciously sense that it serves the greater good of the ecosystem."
"But predators do not inflict unnecessary suffering, as a rule."
"Do we not? We play with our prey to wear it down, disorient it. It may feel unnecessary to the prey, but it is not. I believe the Irriol understand this through their gestalt." Ree shook his head in excitement. "It is bracing to confront a prey creature with a conscious understanding of its role in the hunt," he said. "I am learning much." Jaza knew that Pahkwa-thanh propriety precluded hunting any sapient species that did not accept its role as prey. The Irriol appeared to be one that did, or at least came close enough to satisfy Ree's definitions, and he was taking full advantage of it, not only in the lab but also out in the wilds, pursuing a far more literal hunt when the mood seized him.
Jaza didn't blame Ree for being what he was; he was only behaving according to his species' nature. But he still felt that what Ree was had no place on this expedition. He only wished he could convince Khegh of that.
But Khegh was grinning at Ree, sharing in his predatory enthusiasm. "There you are," he told Jaza. "They're used to being prey, so let us treat them as such. Any race that would lie down and let itself be eaten is jeghpu'wI' to the core, unworthy of being treated otherwise."
"It isn't a question of worth, Governor," Jaza objected. "It's a question of finding the most effective way to harness and augment Irriol mental powers." Christine handed him the appropriate padd, though he doubted Khegh would take any more interest in this one.
"Ree tells me you've already made progress at boosting their, what, their gestalt. Says it could be a way to communicate without subspace radio."
"Among other applications," Ree said. "Though so far, they are strictly local."
"And dangerous to the Irriol," Jaza said, holding out the padd. "Most of our test subjects have suffered crippling or fatal brain damage over time. Their brains aren't adapted to channel psionic energies at these levels."
"It is a work in progress," Ree conceded. "Normally, Najem, I would be happy to proceed more cautiously. But I need not remind you, do I, of
the urgent threat we face from the insurrectionists?"
Ree had him there, though there was only sympathy in his growling voice as he brought it up. Jaza's home province still bore the scars inflicted by the Terran Empire's brutal occupation generations ago. He had been raised with tales of the horrors the Terrans had inflicted upon his family and community, so that he and other Bajorans would never forget, never let it be done to them again.
But aren't we doing the same to the Irriol? he asked himself. He strove to believe it was different, that Ree was right and the Irriol accepted the imposition. He strove to believe that his government-and he-were acting out of necessity, to defend against the far worse horror that would befall the quadrant if the Terrans were freed to resume their conquering ways.
But when he saw Khegh's Elaysian slave trembling on the shelf above the tank, her eyes pleading with him to help her before her pain forced her to plunge back into the icy water, he had to wonder how much better the Alliance was.
No, he told himself. The Alliance had freed Bajor, made it strong and safe. The things that went on in places like this were necessary so that Bajorans, Cardassians, and other enlightened peoples could live free and peaceful lives-and people like Khegh were simply part of the price that had to be paid to ensure that.
Besides-what else was there?
When Jaza and Christine returned to their quarters, he sagged into her arms. Ever responsive to his moods, she kissed him gently, sat him on the bed, removed his tunic, and began kneading his shoulders with her strong, deft hands. "I'm sorry you had to see that," he told her. "And I'm sorry you have to read about the things Ree does to his subjects. I wonder if I should've brought you here at all."
"You'd lose all your notes in a day without me," Christine teased. "Besides, if you'd left me behind, I'd think I wasn't your favorite concubine anymore." Her lips brushed his ear.
He clasped her hand upon his shoulder. "You're my only concubine, you silly Terran. And the only one I'll ever need." He lifted the hand to his lips. "I love you so much."
"Not so loud. What if someone heard you?" But as her lips brushed his ear, she breathed, "I love you too, Najem."
"Why shouldn't I be in love with my own concubine?" he asked. "You certainly deserve it. You're a Theta-you've earned a degree of respect. You're intelligent, capable, decent, kind. More so than any Terran I've ever met."
"Only through your guidance, beloved. Only because you encouraged me and touched me with your own kindness."
"Still, you deserve better than to be treated like-like a slave."
"You treat me wonderfully."
"I mean by others. By society. I feel you've earned the right to be treated like, well, a person with rights."
Christine came around to sit on his lap. "To be 'free?'" she asked. "What would I do? Join the rebellion? Be commanded by brutal strangers, risk my life on their whim? Or wander off into untamed space and scrounge for my survival? You'd call that freedom?" She shook her head. "Remember what you taught me about physics? Degrees of freedom are always finite. Everyone lives under constraints of one sort or another. And I have far more freedom as your slave, my dear, kind master, than I could ever have as a 'liberated' Terran." She took his bearded chin in her hands and kissed him again, deep and long.
She undid the clasp on her minimal top and let it fall. But Jaza grasped her wrists, still preoccupied. "As my slave, perhaps. But slavery...it's so contingent on the good intentions of the masters. It can so easily be corrupted." He felt a twinge of guilt, remembering his own feelings when he had first purchased Christine. He had relished the opportunity to debase a Terran, to avenge the evils her breed had inflicted on Bajor. He had not beaten or raped her, but he had enjoyed making her work herself to exhaustion or humiliate herself for the amusement of his friends. But she had borne it with unexpected strength and quiet dignity, defying his expectations about Terran barbarism. He had come to respect her, showing her more kindness, giving her more liberties to make amends for his earlier treatment. He had learned of her sharp intelligence and taught her literacy and science and Bajoran culture, and she had amazed him with her ability to grow into a truly civilized being despite her heritage. She had given him her body freely by then, and he was irrevocably in love with her before he even realized it.
"What if something happened to me, Christine? What if I died or had to give you up, and you ended up the property of someone like Khegh?"
Christine held his gaze. "I would die before I would live without you. Belonging to you is what gives my life meaning. I am nothing except what you made me, Najem."
Then her lips and hands went to work again, and he let himself forget his doubts and surrender to her passion. He may have owned her life, but she owned his heart. And it was immensely comforting to know that she would always stand by his side.
"Mr. Riker, Ms. Lavena, report to the bridge, please."
Will Riker didn't look up from sharpening his mek'leth, merely scoffing at the arbitrary formality the captain insisted on as though they were a military crew instead of a small bunch of raiders. But Aili Lavena hopped out of the bed they shared and began donning the moisture suit and hood that she wore most of the time to keep her blue-green skin and the two wispy gill crests on her head and back from drying out. Back on her homeworld, her people stayed close to the water, an option she didn't have on this crate. It wouldn't be long, in fact, before the Selkie outgrew her amphibious phase and had to spend the rest of her life underwater. Riker wouldn't miss her, though; in fact, he was benefiting from it now, for she was looking forward to the life of hedonism that came in a Selkie's aquatic, postparenting phase and was thus eager to indulge her sexuality as much as possible in order to feel more "mature." And once she entered that phase, not only would she be unable to do it on land, but her four ample breasts would flatten out for streamlining. At that point, Riker would have no more use for her.
Once Lavena had dressed, she glared at Riker. "Are you just going to sit there? The captain wants us."
"Yeah, yeah. When I'm ready."
Her glare redirected itself to the mek'leth. "Honestly. You love that hunk of metal more than me."
"Perceptive girl." Indeed, this blade had never let him down. It had belonged to his family's Klingon owner on Luna, where he'd grown up. He'd used it to kill the father who had beaten him constantly for fifteen years, and then to kill the Klingon and escape the Sol system. He'd shaped himself in its image-cold, sharp, ruthless, a precision instrument that killed and never asked why.
"Hasn't there ever been anyone you cared about, Riker? Anyone who taught you what it was like to feel for another person?"
"You mean love?" He scoffed. "A trick of our genes, using us to propagate themselves. Nobody uses me. I use them."
"Oh? Then how come, after five years in the resistance, you've never had your own command?"
In an eyeblink, he had her against the bulkhead, the mek'leth at her throat. "Do you want me to gut you like a salmon?"
She trembled, knowing he was capable of it, but remained defiant. "Never mind. I just got the answer to my question."
After another moment, he let the sword drop, not wanting to waste it on her. He backhanded her across the cheek instead. "What makes you think I want a command in this gang of soft-hearted fools? I just stick around for the action." He leered at her, making it a double entendre.
Lavena shook her head and stormed out. Riker wasn't bothered; he knew she'd come back to his bed, for want of other options. After wiping the blade clean of her skin oils, Riker set it down with a sigh, figuring he should get to the bridge before that gray-haired fool of a captain started pestering him. It was a short trip, since this was a small vessel for its power. In moments, he was on the bridge, seeing through the ports that they'd dropped to impulse around a planet that must be their destination, Lru-Irr. Lavena kept her eyes on the helm console, studiously ignoring him.
"This spy of yours better be on the level," Riker told the captain.
Ian Troi turned his balding head to take in his first officer. "Not to worry, Will," said the seventyish rebel commander. "Christine Vale has earned a position of trust among the researchers. Otherwise, she would never have been left alone to contact us. I think we can be confident this isn't a wild-goose chase."