* * *SIX: Terrans
Under a spreading phosphorus sky, Terrans, and some Vulcans, with guarded eyes went about placing great stone blocks together to form...houses? Barracks? Storehouses?
Perhaps pyramids, Jean-Luc thought, as the Intendant guided him through the crowd. The Terrans did not look at him. They did not need to.
Despite his translucent bodysuit, covered by--grace a Dieu--a long pearl-colored jacket, he was a slave too.
There was a market of sorts, where Cardassians, Bajorans, and Klingons made deals with Orions, Tholians, Skorr, Gorn, and...yes, Ellendi.
The Intendant squealed in delight as she spied one of the Cardassian stalls. "Oh, that would look beautiful with your eyes."
Jean-Luc kept pace with her, and winced at the large obsidian and jevonite necklace she paid for on the spot. It resembled an elaborate choker. A collar, really. There was no way to avoid it as she fastened it around his neck.
It was exquisitely carved, a classic example of Cardassian artistry from the Hebitian period. She did have taste. That was all he would concede now.
"We must bring Garak some Delavian chocolates," the Intendant decided. "He is my second-in-command, and loyal...so far. We'll keep some for ourselves, of course."
The shopkeeper selling the chocolates was a Terran Picard didn't recognize. He smiled as much as possible.
"You're looking handsome today, Mr. Kim," the Intendant said sweetly. "But then...you always do."
"You're too kind." The golden-skinned, attractive Asian winked and smiled appreciatively. "How about a free sample for you and your...friend?"
"Now, Harry, if you keep that up, I'll grow fat, and then I won't be able to fit into my gowns."
Harry Kim appreciated her flirtatious ways. After she'd bought the box for Garak, he slipped her another box and refused payment.
"Enjoy," he said brightly.
The Intendant patted the box as they walked away. "You see, Avan? Not all humans think of us as enemies."
Jean-Luc glanced around for their escort, and noticed something he couldn't identify...no more than a fleeting glimpse...but his soldier's instincts did not lie.
"Where is our escort?" he asked quietly. "You cannot be careless with your own safety."
The Intendant laughed and caressed her boot.
"I didn't mean to suggest you can't handle yourself."
She stopped and kissed him on the forehead. "I know. You're concerned for me. It's sweet."
Ahead, a Cardassian had a Terran by the arm. The Terran had apparently been sweeping the street, and continued to do so as the Cardassian twisted her arm behind her back. Her face showed pain. This universe's version was not stubborn and gruff, but frightened and defeated.
Jean-Luc pulled in a breath as he recognized Kate Pulaski.
As he turned to speak to the Intendant, someone jostled him, separating him from her.
Two seconds later, phaser fire narrowly missed him. But he was more concerned with the Klingon dagger pressed to his throat.
He didn't see the Intendant, but he heard her knife being drawn.
"I thought we'd meet again, tinkerer." Her voice was sweet, and cold.
Miles O'Brien spoke near Picard's ear. "I want every Bajoran, Klingon and Cardie bastard off this planet."
Picard had been in hostage situations before. He had even been menaced, in a fashion, by an alien-possessed Miles O'Brien, although an alien-possessed Data had actually threatened his life.
He recovered from the shock of encountering this universe's O'Brien, so stealthy and just the opposite of the honest Irishman in his universe. He tried to think rationally even as that damned nursery rhyme echoed inanely. Some sort of peculiar response to stress.
The Intendant could not be foolish enough to accede just because she fancied him, just because he was hers. He had the impression her affections were fickle.
When she spoke again, there was a fury he couldn't mistake. It sounded deeply personal.
"First you betray us, now you're willing to kill him. You'll stoop to anything, won't you?"
Even with a dagger at his throat, Jean-Luc could not disagree with O'Brien as he said, "I don't see any of them leaving."
"And they won't." The Intendant shoved aside O'Brien's accomplices who had separated Jean-Luc from her. "Do you think I'm so fond of him that I'd just surrender to you? That I'd forget what you've done? Forget my responsibilities? No. If you want to kill him, kill him."
Jean-Luc was surprised to feel something akin to hurt or betrayal. That was impossible. Stress, once again. A response to the absurdity of the situation.
"You're bluffing," O'Brien said.
"She never bluffs," a Ferengi voice said. "If you do it, they'll kill us."
"Then we'll take him," O'Brien said defiantly.
"Go ahead." The Intendant remained coldly beautiful, in command.
Jean-Luc breathed as O'Brien lowered the dagger and released him. He felt warmth at his neck and knew he was bleeding.
Two Bajorans surrounded him in a huddle and acted as a shield. Phaser fire screamed outside, and he had no doubt it was meant for him as well as the Bajorans.
He didn't hear any disintegration of flesh, only the Intendant shouting, "Find them!" But he had no chance to learn what was happening, because he was taken back to the ship.
Somehow, he doubted the Intendant had had this outcome in mind. It didn't help her case.
Or had she?
He had plenty of time to ponder the depth of his ignorance as the ship returned him safely to Terok Nor.
* * *
SEVEN: Pampering
The sight of her Avan soaking in sensuous milk from hip to chest made Nerys relax. In one way, the appalling incident had done some good. It gave her an excuse to cosset him. She smiled at the way he dutifully scrubbed at his skin with a moist sponge.
The incident also had some side benefits. Her soldiers informed her after the ship left the Alliance colony that three of the rebels who had staged the attack were now in custody.
One of her prizes would certainly please Garak. He'd wanted his hands on the dark beauty Bashir for months. And Nerys would let Garak have the Vulcan, Tuvok, and the Terran female, whose name she didn't know, as well.
On second thought, she'd take the Vulcan. She'd always wanted one as a guard. Her Avan needed protection.
But right now, he needed her.
She took the sponge from him, soaked it thoroughly in milk, and slowly rubbed his thigh and stomach.
"I'm sorry," she said, watching the way the milk made his skin paler and silkier. His body was hard, disciplined, athletic. "I didn't know what they were planning. Of course, I was on guard. I have to be." She shook her head. "I'd hoped to show you that they were well-treated..."
"The guard caused a woman pain, unnecessarily, and still made her work."
He was not an easy one. Nerys became even more contrite. "Some abuse their authority. I don't. None of the other Terrans were ill-fed, or beaten. That's one of our better colonies. But the rebels insist on creating discord."
"It must be very difficult for you."
He tactfully moved her hand aside where it would have gone to explore his maleness, to caress his buttocks. She took the hint and washed his arms. He looked even more reserved. Was that disappointment?
"Difficult. Yes. The Terrans misunderstand me."
"That was apparent. They actually thought they could get to you through me."
She coyly caressed his ear. The suppressed pain in his voice was wonderful to hear. "I'm sorry I had to endanger you."
"I've had to make similar decisions." He closed his eyes as she gently sponged his face. "It's never easy, choosing to sacrifice someone. But sometimes we must."
"I couldn't give in." Nerys was more and more fascinated by him. He truly seemed to understand. "Not to them. Not to O'Brien."
"You have a history."
She comforted herself by sponging his back. The scent of milk and natural male filled her head. "He betrayed me. I gave him a home, a job fixing things, and he left."
"That must be painful."
She shrugged, smiled, squeezed milk from the sponge into his mouth. "I'll deal with him. In the meantime, I have you, safe. That's all that matters."
Of course, if O'Brien had killed him, she would have mourned, and killed the rebels she'd captured. But she would have accepted the necessity of the sacrifice.
She grinned, knowing that she had triumphed in her gamble. The rebels would not ever endanger Avan again. And she would not let him out of her sight for the next week.
He rose stiffly, stretching with unconscious sensuality. He looked at her with a request in his eyes.
"Did you need something?"
"A towel, if you please."
She laughed. "No need for that." She pointed at a low massage table, where protective coverings had been laid. "I'll rub you down."
"I thought my duty was to see to your needs."
She loved the formal way he put it, and the slight dryness of his tone. "And you will. Now, lie down. I won't ask again."
He relaxed more easily than she thought once he spread out in pale, muscled splendor. Perhaps this confident, even arrogant, and reserved captain simply needed the encouragement to give in to his own needs.
She'd learned massages from her human serving woman, and she'd learned well. But until now, she'd never had anyone, even Ben, that she wanted to practice on.
She had no idea how long she spent stroking him, weighing him down, learning his muscles, hearing him as he sighed out all the tension from his muscles.
His body...oh, Prophets. She adored his body. His arms, so long and muscled, not brutishly. His back, a smooth expanse of white skin. His round bottom, one cheek slightly larger than the other. The imperfection charmed her. His legs, never completely relaxed. His shoulders, still tensed like a great cat's.
He rolled over at her command, arranging himself more easily this time. He wasted no motion. He did not fight. For the moment, she had him captivated.
She slipped a Delavian chocolate from the box and rubbed it teasingly on his lips. His mouth opened, and she had the pleasure of his tongue caressing her fingers. He sighed and opened his mouth again once she was finished.
She withheld a second chocolate, and didn't kiss him as she longed to do. Instead, she removed her leggings and straddled him, resting her femaleness against his chest, laying her legs between his, and she massaged him even more deeply.
His face was noble, his nose long but elegant. His neck was long, and she made sure to caress it, and those shoulders, and his chest with their twin spots of dark color that responded without thought to her touch.
Now, she wanted to kiss him.
She moved slowly downward, letting him feel the velvet of her, and sat on her heels between his feet.
For long moments, she admired the view, spread out before her like Bajor's sculpted mountains.
She gently sucked, licked and kissed his toes while massaging his heels, soles, and calves. He trembled so badly that she took special delight in feeling his shivers beneath his skin.
He'd kept his thighs slightly closed, and when she kissed his knees, she realized why. He made the first moan she'd heard from him. Then, he stopped abruptly, holding back the sound.
She ignored his thighs for the moment and rubbed his belly. His stomach muscles felt tight as Nog's purse.
When she kissed and licked his thighs again, he moaned.
"That's it," she whispered, coming very close to his arousal. She kissed him, hot and wet, above his groin. She kissed his thighs.
His knees locked together. As if that would stop her.
She took his hint, and withdrew momentarily. His eyes opened, dense and brown. She selected a Delavian chocolate and rubbed it from his lips to his groin, not stopping until there was a trail of brown down his middle, like a wound.
The chocolate tasted exquisite mixed with the salt of him. Oh...she had been right about this one.
He murmured something in a language she didn't know, but it sounded hoarse and passionate. She could recognize surrender in any tongue.
When she at last kissed him, full on the lips, his arms came around her, and she lost all sense of herself, of time, of place...
With effort, she regained control. This was the way it had felt with Ben. She would not risk that again.
She moved down slowly, poising her mouth over him.
"Who are you?"
The question seemed to startle him. With difficulty, he responded. "Avan."
"I hope so," she murmured. "Because if you lie to me, I'll know. Who are you?"
"Avan."
"Not Jean-Luc?"
Now he hesitated. She relaxed, once again in control.
"I'm Avan."
"You told me Jean-Luc." She gently kissed his lips. "Are you ready to tell me now? Who are you?"
He didn't answer. Nerys sighed. If he would make this easier...but he was stubborn, like most men, and very much convinced he was in control.
Slowly, luxuriously, with insides already full and wet, she lowered herself onto him, filling herself.
"Who are you?"
He made a choking sound, then became silent. His eyes spoke for him.
Nerys decided he must be taught. She slowly began to undulate.
Before, she had been willing to think only of his pleasure. But she had ignored her body long enough. She had an exquisite plaything, and as difficult as it was for most to believe, she hadn't enjoyed anyone in months.
The coupling was furious, and she reigned, superior, and she triumphed in the climax he could not withhold or fake. She prolonged her pleasure, staying on top of him until he became lax under her and within her.
Next time, she would do something about his short fuse. She so enjoyed being seated on him like a throne. His skin was like nothing she'd ever felt.
He sat up and toweled himself diffidently, looking about for a robe.
"Tonight I want you naked," she told him. "I like you naked."
"Very well."
He was reserved again. She narrowed her eyes.
"What shall I do with you now? I need a while to recharge, and I think I've given you more pleasure than you'll ever have wherever you came from."
His soft voice surprised her.
"I could read to you while you eat dinner."
"I'm not in the mood for reading tonight."
"Then...if it pleases you, I could sing."
Nerys wasn't sure why that simple suggestion thrilled her, perhaps more than massaging him into helplessness.
Before she could answer, the chime sounder and she called out "Enter." She glared at Avan, daring him to leave.
A Bajoran entered with the Vulcan Tuvok, attired in a Bajoran uniform. He would do. She knew Vulcans could snap someone's neck with their hands.
A Terran female carried her dinner, a blond, tall woman.
"Put it on the table, Jessica." Nerys seated herself at the table. "Jean-Luc, serve me. Tuvok...that is your name?"
He nodded silently.
"Speak."
"I am Tuvok."
The Intendant smiled and pointed to Jean-Luc. "I need you to guard my possessions, and to guard me. You will stay here and keep safe all that is mine."
"Yes." The Vulcan obediently moved near the door.
The Bajoran retreated with a bow. Nerys turned and accepted the wine Jean-Luc poured. She reclined on the couch and gestured with a generous sweep of her hand.
"Well? Shall I have music with dinner? A Terran song."
She saw Jean-Luc do his best to ignore Tuvok. He took a moment, and then decided on a song. His voice was rich and deep.
"I have often walked this street before And I've seen light pour from every door..."
She relaxed and enjoyed her naked singer. He might not be willing to admit what he was yet, but some part of her hoped he wouldn't. She didn't need to act yet. And he was so entertaining.
Food, wine, music and her newest concubine. This was what life was made of.
* * *
EIGHT: Dinner Party
Nerys was loving this.
All day, her Terran had been so attentive. He hadn't been particularly amorous, but he'd fetched her a PADD, massaged her feet, read to her from the latest station reports (nothing too secret), helped her do up her crushed-rose gown this evening...
She knew little about him, except one or two things he'd told her when asked. He came from a country called France on Terra. When he poured her more wine last night, he remarked on the excellence of the vintage. His family, apparently, made wine in his universe.
He spoke more of his mother language-Frenschk-and when she asked him to translate, he responded by teaching her some of it.
"Je suis l'Intendant."
She repeated it slowly. "Je suize l'eh Intendant."
"Not bad. But the 's' is often silent. Je suis l'Intendant."
"Je suis L'Intendant. I am the Intendant?"
"Oui. C'est vrai."
She beamed at what must be words of praise. "Oui?"
"Ah oui, ma belle Intendant."
"Oh, I like the sound of that. Ma belle Intendant."
"I thought you might. 'Oui' is a word you can use often, like its opposite, 'Non.'"
"Non, Garak," she laughed.
"Garak est un capitan."
"Garak est un snake."
"Serpente."
"Serpente." Nerys kissed him lightly. "Oh, I never knew this could be fun. Now, you try Bajoran."
"I hope I am as apt a pupil as you," he said.
"Your Bajoran is quite good," she said, when he repeated the words "I am yours" in the standard Bajoran tongue.
"I am a student of languages."
He was an unusual man.
She hesitated to take him to Garak's tonight, but as she fastened the necklace at his throat, she was confident Garak would not bother with him. She was just concerned that the brash and savage Captain Bashir might...no, Jean-Luc could handle himself. And anyway, she, Garak, and Ben had long suspected that Bashir's hotheaded behavior concealed a more deliberate, cunning mind.
She mentally dismissed the Terran female. Rather attractive, worth a romp in the bedroom and maybe as a spy, but otherwise not noteworthy.
"There will be company for you, Avan." She smiled at the military bearing he was unconscious of. He stood erect, stomach pulled up and in, chin level. He met her eyes. "Garak has his own favorites."
"I doubt I would have been bored anyway."
She held tightly to his elbow. "Just remember who owns you, Avan. You'll be fine."
Garak's quarters were lushly appointed in the dark purple of the Cardassian sky and the obsidian representing...well, best to treat that with respect. His bed, within convenient view, was draped in richness, designed for seduction.
The two Terrans kneeling by the bed undoubtedly had enjoyed its luxuries. Both kept their eyes on Garak. Garak dressed his concubines just as richly as she did. Both Bashir and the woman wore deep red, normally a color of power. That was Garak's irony. Avan/Jean-Luc wore green.
Garak, dressed in dark crimson, greeted them both with affable charm. "Ah, Intendant. I am more delighted than ever that you accepted my invitation. How else would I be able to thank you for such exquisite gifts?"
At a nod from Avan, Nerys said slowly, "Mon plaisir de diner avec vous ce soir."
She noticed that the barbarian, Bashir, looked up, comprehension in his eyes. Ah. Her Avan continued to be useful.
"I don't believe I understood what you said so eloquently," Garak said, motioning for Bashir to pour the kanaar. "I trust it was complimentary?"
"A new language Avan has been teaching me," she said, accepting the glass of kanaar from the Terran female. "Tell him what it means, my Frenschkman."
Avan didn't respond immediately. She nudged him after several seconds, then glanced at him to see what was wrong. He was staring at the Terran female with a look of...recognition...in his eyes. And a look of horror. And something else...
She narrowed her eyes and spoke sharply. "Avan? Is something wrong?"
With difficulty, he recovered and said composedly, "She most assuredly did compliment you, Gul Garak. She said, 'My pleasure to dine with you this evening.'"
"Ah." Garak looked intrigued. "You have many talents, Terran. Might I ask you to attend me at table?"
"Of course," Nerys said. "And I will take the female...what is your name?"
Now, Avan definitely looked at her, although he pretended not to. Perhaps this was someone he knew from his universe...someone he had feelings for.
Nerys studied her. Short blond-red hair, a scar on her face as ridged as a Cardassian's chest, rather attractive features...intelligent blue eyes.
"Beverly," the woman said. "Beverly...Howard."
Avan jumped to serve Garak with the first delicacy, zabu meat.
"Beverly." Nerys patted her lap. "Come, sit with me."
Bashir remained kneeling as Garak caressed him. His lot was to be decorative. Beverly's was to serve and divert. Avan's was to serve, and suffer.
And she couldn't mistake the look on his face when Garak asked, at the end of an evening toying with Nerys' slave, "Might I borrow him for the night? You can take Beverly...and Jules, if you like."
"Oh, I think Beverly will be enough to keep me occupied for a good long while," Nerys said sweetly.
Her Avan thought he could woo her with a foreign language and gentlemanly ways, all the while longing for his home. She would show him who was master...and she would have a way to tighten the screws when it was time to confront him with who he really was, and what she intended for him.
First, though, she hadn't tasted a woman's honey in such a long time...she could barely walk all the way to her quarters.
* * *
NINE: Jules
Jean-Luc now knew how petty and cruel the Intendant could be, and at his first opportunity, he would escape this universe. There had to be a way. He had never been thwarted by anyone, including the Borg.
There was no question he would escape. The only question was how.
At the moment, escape seemed impossible. Gul Garak had him kneeling by the bed while the Cardassian unbuckled his armor.
Jules, the other Terran, cleared the table, and from the looks he shot at Jean-Luc, he wasn't happy about the current situation. Jean-Luc wondered why. Had Garak won the unkempt-haired, slender, rough-voiced Terran?
It was unnerving to see Julian Bashir's double so subservient and placid. Jean-Luc had always thought of the young man as reticent, polite, but competent and confident in the medical domain.
"The Intendant has abandoned you." Garak looked smug. "You'll soon be accustomed to it. She rarely keeps her toys long these days."
"And what of me, Master?" Jules spoke in deference. "Will you require me to please the Intendant?"
Garak turned, walked over and cuffed the Terran. Blood jumped from his nose, and Jean-Luc felt pity.
"You will do as I bid you," Garak said. "You are no longer a bold Terran rebel. You are mine to do with as I will."
So there were rebels against this cruel regime. Perhaps...
"I meant no disrespect," Jules said in a sultry voice. "Except that I am most unhappy you would choose him when you have me."
Garak narrowed his eyes. "For someone recently captured, you seem to have accepted your fate quickly."
Jules lowered his lashes. "Last night was...enough to convince me that I belong with you."
Garak smiled at Jean-Luc. "I remember that you sing, Terran. Perhaps you will sing for me...in bed?" He cruelly twisted Jean-Luc's ear and was rewarded with a sudden cry.
Jean-Luc cursed himself for the weakness that inflamed Garak. The Cardassian bit the pale lip, and Jean-Luc bit back out of annoyance. Garak, delighted, lifted Jean-Luc like a doll and bore him to the bed.
Jules positioned himself in front of Garak, kneeling in a supplicant pose. "Master..." he pleaded.
Jean-Luc looked into those eyes, and suddenly wondered how Garak could resist them...so brown, so beautiful, like Jules himself...
"Master..." Jules grasped Garak's buttocks and began to knead expertly.
Jean-Luc suddenly felt like knocking Garak into the midnight covering of the bed, then...mon Dieu above, what was he thinking...he rarely thought of men that way...it was bad enough that Q kept popping in trying to subliminally seduce him...
Garak teased Jean-Luc's neck with strong teeth. "If I have enough left, I may let you see to my needs...after."
"I am the only one for you, Master," Jules whispered, with none of the sullenness Jean-Luc had seen earlier.
"That will be all." Garak set Jean-Luc on the bed and removed his necklace. "I do so admire the Intendant's taste..." He skimmed Jean-Luc's chest with a sure, ruthless finger, then raked his nails along the same path, tearing the cloth and penetrating the skin.
Jules spoke with a roughness that should have gotten him thrown in the ore processing center. "Fine, you spoon-head, you couldn't satisfy me anyway."
Garak turned immediately, casually, from Jean-Luc and stared down at Jules. Suddenly, Jean-Luc felt his artificial heart actually freeze with fear for Jules. He wanted to knock Garak aside...
"What did you say, you impudent little rebel?"
"Having trouble hearing, you old vole?"
Garak now picked up Jules easily. "I'm tempted to phaser shut that mouth of yours."
"Too bad," Jules purred. "I guess you'll have to suck your own cock now...I doubt you can do it at your age."
Garak shoved the mouthy rebel to his knees and began unfastening his armored codpiece. "If you make me come at least twice, I might not kill you."
Jean-Luc turned his face into the inky coverlet. He forced himself to lie perfectly still until Garak screamed the scream of 'la petite mort' three times.
Then, there was silence, and Jules' soft voice, and long slender, ore-roughened hands shaking him gently. Jean-Luc had to breathe very slowly to avoid an erection.
He rolled over and sat up. Jules looked down at him with shrewd, hard eyes.
"Allez, allez." The accent was mangled but the French was intelligible. "Vous perdiez votre chance."
"Pourquoi?" The word was all Jean-Luc could manage.
Jules switched to English. "You're from the other side."
"And you know French," Jean-Luc said, still unable to think clearly.
"My mother," Jules said simply. "Now, allez."
"I thought you would want to escape."
"More than anything." Jules' sensual lips shrunk like Beverly's flowers in darkness. "But I have an advantage, here. I'm inside Terok Nor."
Jean-Luc nodded, understanding immediately. "What can I do, petit?" He knew that Jules was letting him go for a reason, and he wanted so badly to help...
"The Intendant will take you out on her ship to show you off again," Jules said. "She's planning to visit the Ellendi. They have an Orb, so the rumor says. They think it will help the Alliance see the future."
"The Orb of Prophecy."
"Yes. There are rebel hideouts on the Ellendi homeworld. We've planned to steal the Orb or turn the Ellendi against the Alliance. We can't let them get that Orb."
"And you want my help." Jean-Luc remembered trying to keep the Vulcan artifact out of Tallera's hands. But he'd always championed the Bajorans...
Still, looking into those eyes, he'd do anything...He leaned forward. "Done." He kissed Jules with a hunger he'd never felt before.
"Well, well," Garak drawled behind them. "What an amusing show. Since I'm too spent to reward you, my pets, you can reward each other."
Jean-Luc felt himself getting aroused, and Jules' body was like the amber pillars of Me'el IV, magnificent and smooth and sacred...he smelled of sandalwood...his hair tangled in Jean-Luc's hands and...
As far as he could tell when he thought clearly again, he'd ravished Jules, but the young beauty nonchalantly cleaned them both with a silk cloth. Jean-Luc felt uncomfortably hot.
"You can blame it on science, if you like," Jules said softly.
Jean-Luc was almost beyond speech, but he managed, "Quoi?"
Jules smiled. "I've...er...been enhanced to give pleasure. It's something the Cardassians do when they decide you're appealing enough to be a makal."
Jean-Luc knew that word. It meant concubine, courtesan...whore. "Pheromones," he croaked in disgust, ashamed of using this man.
Jules narrowed his eyes. "Spare me your Federation conscience. He wasn't half pleased so well last night. I've just besotted him further. My mission will be easier. Now, go while you still can. Back to the Intendant."
The Intendant...
Jean-Luc only felt more depressed, and Jules gave him a shove. "She does this all the time with her slaves. You wander back with a sob story of how Garak's plotting against her and she'll forgive you. Now go."
Jean-Luc nodded, donned his disheveled clothing, and slowly made his way across the chamber.
"You can go now, Avan." Garak, draped on a chair, showed signs akin to drunkenness, but those eyes were remarkably alert. "Tell the Intendant I send my thanks...and the advice that she's been looking frail lately. Perhaps she should rest. We couldn't live without her."
Picard nodded dutifully and left before Garak questioned his unescorted departure.
Once outside in the darkened, long corridor like the belly of a snake, he pondered his next move. Jules had helped him; surely he owed a boon now, and he always paid his debts. But he had no way of knowing what crisis had befallen the Enterprise...surely he ought to return to his ship? He ought to take the opportunity to escape...
"What are you doing here alone, Terran?"
The sound of that voice behind him made Jean-Luc think the first thing he ought to do was...attack.
* * *
TEN: Turnabout
Madred's eyes looked deceptively kind as he took in Jean-Luc's paleness, the marks on his ear, chest, and neck...the miserable expression...
"I've warned the First Officer about this," he sighed. "I wanted to see to you when you were in chains...before you got to the Intendant...I suppose she cleaned you up, though. Now, I get my chance."
"No," Jean-Luc said automatically. "She...she likes to see to me."
Madred sighed. "You're not from here, are you? You're not used to our...ways."
"I've survived worse from Cardassians."
Madred shook his head with the air of a father parenting a recalcitrant boy. "Not by my hand."
"Dr. Madred?"
Jean-Luc was just as stunned by the title as the strong, quietly authoritative Cardassian in civilian clothes who addressed Madred. There were few familiar with Cardassian politics who did not know the head of the Occupation. Yet Gul Dukat had never looked so benign and concerned as he lugged a medkit.
Dukat continued, "What has Garak done to this man?"
"If you ask me, it's the Intendant who's wounded him the most." Madred considered Jean-Luc closely.
"She can be a fickle woman." Dukat looked sorrowful as he wiped the blood from Jean-Luc's ear.
"Leave that, Nurse Dukat." Madred took Jean-Luc's arm. "The Intendant should see this for herself."
Dukat ably and gently took Jean-Luc's other arm. Jean-Luc, docile from the bemusement of Dukat being a simple nurse here, let them guide him to the Intendant's quarters.
He tensed as Tuvok admitted them. The well-respected security officer from Voyager-now tragically lost in the Badlands-was impassive and stern, Vulcan to the core. If he saw anything improper in the Intendant receiving guests when she was receiving pleasure from Beverly, he said nothing.
The Intendant sat up abruptly, dislodging Beverly, who had been weighing her down while massaging her. The Intendant was on her massage table, her lower half surprisingly covered with silk.
Jean-Luc took a cue from Tuvok and remained impassive, quiet, cold as a Roman bust.
"Dr. Madred, Nurse Dukat." The Intendant still sounded seductive. "Thank you for bringing my pet back to me. I assume he displeased Garak?"
"You can see that for yourself," Dukat said with a hint of anger. "Look at him!"
The Intendant rose, apparently uncaring that she was naked. Beverly scurried away and knelt awaiting orders. Languidly, the Intendant walked over to Jean-Luc, took her face in his hands and turned it from side to side.
"Garak is usually much more vigorous than this. I do have to scold him for ruining your outfit. It was expensive."
"He wanted Jules," Jean-Luc said softly, emboldened for once. "He didn't abandon him."
The Intendant slid her nails into his chin. "And did Jules abandon him?"
She looked at Beverly when she said that, and Jean-Luc comprehended her actions in an appalling clarity.
"Garak was right," he said forcefully. "You do look ill-perhaps from your exertions. He wants you to stay in bed and rest."
The Intendant turned to Beverly immediately. "Go back to Garak, and tell him I'm feeling so well _you'll_ have to rest for the next few days. Dukat, Madred, escort her back to Garak's quarters."
"I'm sure you'll be happy to join her if she stays in bed too long," Dukat said.
The Intendant ignored him. "Madred, I believe I gave you an order."
Madred treated Beverly with consideration, helping her up. Dukat stayed by her as they walked, ready to catch her, as if she were fragile. If she even had a little of the Beverly he knew inside her, Jean-Luc had no doubt she would survive. At least the Intendant hadn't beaten her...
"I can always arrange for you to be with her, and Garak, permanently."
Jean-Luc turned to face the Intendant. "You claim to be a leader, but you decide people's fates on a jealous whim."
"Oh, don't worry about her. I rather liked her actually. Perhaps we should have a threesome."
"You can have whatever you want."
"Why is she so important to you?" The Intendant reclined on her couch. "She's from the other side, isn't she? Someone you know. Someone you have...feelings for, enough to make you forget your loyalty to me."
"I'm not Miles."
"No. You're Ben. Ben promised to stay with me, love me, be loyal, and then he went off in the ship I provided for him with a rather trashy but attractive Trill woman."
"People don't love in captivity."
She smiled with malice. "But they lust in captivity, don't they? You did, last night. And I smell that Terran, Bashir, on you. Poor Beverly. She obviously hasn't been giving you what you need, in that universe."
"It was her decision not to."
The Intendant looked triumphant. "Ah...worship from afar, is that it? Someone close at hand who says, 'Not tonight, let's be friends'?"
Jean-Luc closed his eyes, remembering Beverly's rejection after Kesprytt...perhaps she had reason...and then he felt a coolness, a cool light...his wounds were healing...
"Now you know what it is to have your affections scorned," the Intendant whispered.
Jean-Luc opened his eyes to see large, surprisingly vulnerable eyes. It came to him that this woman was deeply unsure and alone.
"The way Ben did to you?"
She nodded, mouth hard.
"I didn't like it when I received it either," he said harshly.
The Intendant caressed his head, spiraling her hands inward as if tracing a mandala. "Poor Avan. I was cruel to you, wasn't I?"
"Don't send me back to Garak."
She smiled. "Garak est un serpente."
Jean-Luc nodded.
Her face resembled a little girl's. "I'll forgive you...if you'll never abandon me again."
Jean-Luc took her hands and kissed her palms, then each finger, and looked deeply into her eyes. They were strangely captivating.
She easily pulled him towards the bed. "You must be tired, and I am too. Come, lie in bed with me. If you like, you can even read to me...my favorite is Ro Laren's 'Romance of Dahkur.'"
Picard fetched the book in question, and read to the Intendant until they fell asleep, he with the book on his chest. She cuddled him in his sleep, and he woke briefly, remembering the Ellendi...and Jules...and Jean-Luc Picard, the starship captain, plotted until he fell asleep again, more happily than he had in years...if it was the contentedness of the captive, he didn't wonder at it.
* * *
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