by Dayton Ward
It was a sobering thought, but not an inaccurate one. If the Klingons were willing to act with aggression in order to claim Traelus II, there would be no stopping them if and when they found another planet of even greater value, and if that world happened to harbor a key to the mystery of the Taurus Meta-Genome, then the Federation’s problems would only worsen.
“Tomorrow,” he said, echoing Nassir’s comment.
Nassir nodded. “Count on it.”
11
T’Prynn waited precisely ten seconds after pressing the call button that would announce her presence to the occupant of the room behind the door she now faced. When there was no response, she reached for the small, recessed keypad set into the door frame and again tapped the control. Her acute hearing was able to detect faint sounds of movement beyond the door, as though the person inside was in the midst of making the room presentable for a visitor. T’Prynn heard footsteps moving in her direction, and a moment later the door slid aside to reveal Anna Sandesjo, dressed in a blue silk robe that left exposed her forearms and her legs below her thighs. Her red hair was dark and damp, and there were droplets of water on her exposed skin, suggesting that the woman had just emerged from her shower, or that T’Prynn perhaps had interrupted that activity.
“Good morning,” Sandesjo offered, her fleeting look of uncertainty upon first seeing T’Prynn now replaced with the hint of a smile playing at the corners of her mouth. “This is a pleasant surprise. Miss me that much already?”
T’Prynn’s right eyebrow arched as she regarded the other woman. “Indeed. Following our conversation last evening, and after spending the balance of the ensuing hours immersed in my work, I concluded that enough time had elapsed since our previous meeting.”
Her smile broadening, Sandesjo released a small laugh. “You have a funny way of putting things. So what you’re saying is that you just couldn’t wait to see me again?” She stepped back from the door and gestured for T’Prynn to enter her quarters.
“I certainly could have elected to wait a longer interval before calling on you,” T’Prynn replied as she entered the room. “However, I saw no reason to do so, and in fact, the thought of seeing you again this evening is pleasing to me.”
In truth, since leaving Sandesjo at the officers’ club the previous evening, T’Prynn had spent the ensuing hours considering her options. There was a pressing need to expose the scope of Anna Sandesjo’s activities and perhaps even the identity of her superiors and anyone else who might be receiving the information she passed. An obvious secondary goal was to determine what other sensitive data Sandesjo might have disseminated before T’Prynn’s investigation led her to the covert operative.
Combating that line of reasoning was the simple fact that T’Prynn could not stop thinking about Anna Sandesjo, the woman. She recalled the way her eyes gazed upon her during their time together in the officers’ club, the way her mouth moved when she talked in her low voice, and how her hands caressed the glass she held. Even her scent, enhanced to the slightest degree by the perfume she had worn, seemed to linger.
T’Prynn wanted more.
She followed Sandesjo into the main room of the woman’s quarters. While anyone living on Vanguard had the option of furnishing their personal living spaces with whatever items they might have brought with them from their homeworld or previous assignment, Anna Sandesjo seemed content with what T’Prynn recognized as standard-issue furnishings available from the station quartermaster for civilian billeting spaces. While some of the shelves contained books, plants, or generic sculptures of the sort one might find in a physician’s waiting room, no photographs of relatives or other loved ones were visible, nor was there anything that might be construed as a personal memento. The only evidence that someone lived here was a few items of clothing strewn about—a jacket on a hook near the door, a blouse draped over the back of a desk chair, a pair of shoes near the sofa. Other, unidentified clothing lay across the bed, which was just visible through an open doorway at the rear of the room, and a slim, silver briefcase sat on the floor next to the desk positioned before the wall to T’Prynn’s right. A cup and saucer sat atop the small dining table in the near corner, and the faint odor of tea drifted to her nostrils.
“Would you like something to drink?” Sandesjo said, making her way to the food slot set into the wall behind the dining table. “I made myself some tea.”
T’Prynn.
The voice, Sten’s, clawed once more from the depths of her mind, interrupting her before she could reply to Sandesjo’s offer. It required sheer force of will for T’Prynn not to show any outward reaction to the abrupt intrusion. “Tea would be agreeable,” she said, feeling the strain with each word as she labored to maintain her normal stoic façade.
Why must you torment me at every turn? Her mind hurled the question at the dark mass she could sense moving to envelop her consciousness.
I will never stop, Sten chided her. Not until you submit. You belong to me.
T’Prynn felt the muscles in her face twitch as she fought to retain emotional control. Sandesjo, facing the food slot, was not privy to her inner turmoil, which threatened to erupt at any moment. I belong to no one, least of all you.
You will never be free of me, Sten said, each word a hammer blow to the inside of her skull. Eventually, you will relent. I have eternity on my side.
Then you will spend eternity in the grips of frustration and defeat, T’Prynn countered, just as you were when I killed you.
The food slot’s door slid upward, revealing a cup sitting atop a saucer and filled with a steaming beverage. Sandesjo retrieved it before turning and setting it on the table near the chair opposite the one before which her own tea sat. Seeing T’Prynn staring at her, she smiled again.
“Join me?” she asked.
Submit, Sten challenged, as he had each day for decades.
Never.
Sandesjo’s smile seemed to have a calming effect, and for a moment T’Prynn thought that Sten might have returned to the darkness from which he had come. Instead, a soothing warmth seemed to be growing from deep within her, radiating outward to suffuse her entire body.
Ignoring the tea, T’Prynn stepped around the table and without another word reached for Sandesjo, drawing her close. Her hand found the back of the other woman’s neck and she brought her forward until their lips crushed together and she forced her tongue into Sandesjo’s mouth. Her free hand slid between the folds of Sandesjo’s robe, pushing past the smooth silk to find the warm, damp skin beneath. She felt hands on her own body, searching for the closures to her uniform, and then there was the touch of fingertips against her own skin. Their kiss remained unbroken and Sandesjo uttered a low moan of desire as T’Prynn’s hands pushed the robe from her shoulders before continuing their frenetic wanderings.
It was not until she sensed herself falling forward that T’Prynn realized she must have lifted Sandesjo off her feet and carried her to the bed in the other room. Sandesjo landed first, on her back, and T’Prynn allowed the weight of her own body to press down upon her. Hands roamed as if possessed of their own will, and T’Prynn sighed with unrepentant lust as Sandesjo freed her from the last remnants of her uniform. T’Prynn pushed herself to a sitting position, straddling Sandesjo’s hips. She looked down at her lover, their eyes locking in mutual fervor before she felt hands on her stomach, moving lower as fingers searched, driven by ardor. T’Prynn moved her hands across Sandesjo’s chest, feeling skin bristle beneath her touch. With the lightest of strokes she traced the curves of the other woman’s neck and the sides of her face. In response to her touch, T’Prynn began to sense hints of images and emotions which were not her own.
T’Prynn?
Hearing Sandesjo’s confused query blending with her own thoughts, T’Prynn did not press her innocuous mental probe any further. For Vulcans, initiating a mind-meld without the consent of the other involved party was considered to be among the most severe breaches of etiquette. Children learning to control t
heir telepathic abilities were taught never to attempt such a noncon-sensual bonding, and that the privacy of one’s own thoughts was inviolable except in the most desperate of circumstances.
The momentary telepathic connection faded, and T’Prynn’s attention returned to the body beneath her. Sandesjo pulled her down onto her, pressing their mouths together, and T’Prynn felt the other woman’s tongue pushing past her lips.
T’Prynn.
She had hoped that any physical activities she pursued with Sandesjo might bring with them some fleeting psionic contact which might offer some insights into the woman’s true identity. Even with that goal in mind, T’Prynn was reluctant to push such mental connection. As the unwilling recipient of a forced mind-meld, she was sensitive to the potential for damage such an act posed for the person on whom the unwanted contact was inflicted. That risk increased when the other party was nontelepathic, as T’Prynn believed Sandesjo to be.
My mind to your mind.
The words rang in T’Prynn’s consciousness, and it took her an extra moment to realize that they had not come from her or Sandesjo.
No!
Without her conscious control, T’Prynn’s hands moved to Sandesjo’s face; to where katra points would be on a Vulcan. She felt the pressure of her fingers against Sandesjo’s skin as the other woman’s eyes widened in confusion and fear.
My mind to your mind.
Sten! No!
T’Prynn sensed Sandesjo’s body jerk beneath her just as she felt her own legs wrapping around those of her would-be lover. Her body weight was pinning Sandesjo to the bed, and T’Prynn held her head between her outstretched fingers as Sten’s mocking voice echoed in her mind.
Our minds are merging.
Their naked bodies were intertwined, their faces centimeters apart, and T’Prynn read the anger and betrayal in Sandesjo’s eyes. From the depths of her consciousness, T’Prynn heard Sten’s simple statement of victory.
Our minds are one.
The meld took hold and Sandesjo’s expression went slack, and T’Prynn was gripped by the sensation of falling through darkness. That gloom just as quickly faded and she found herself standing in a small, dimly lit room. A mirror, dirty and scratched, hung on a stone wall before her, and when she looked at it she was greeted by the reflection of a Klingon female, her long dark hair flowing past her shoulders and accentuating the line of prominent ridges extending from the bridge of her nose up and over the back of her head.
I am Lurqal. I am Klingon, a servant of the Empire.
Everything disappeared in an explosion of pain, and T’Prynn could only stand and watch as her Klingon reflection morphed, her features cut, stretched, and reshaped. The ridges dominating her forehead melted, replaced with lighter, smoother skin. Her hair grew shorter and lightened in color, framing a new face, that of a beautiful young human female, which now stared at her from within the mirror.
Anna Sandesjo.
• • •
Get out of my head!
Sandesjo tumbled to the sand, feeling the weight of her opponent crashing down upon her. His breath was in her face, hot and pungent with the stench of unchecked anger. One hand clenched into a fist and he brought it down, smashing the side of her head. She lashed out, hearing his grunt of pain as the edge of her hand struck his face.
We are one, T’Prynn.
Where was she? How had she gotten here? All around her was sand, surrounded by ornate stone pillars. Somewhere out of her line of sight, someone beat drums in a rhythmic cadence, the tempo increasing with each passing moment. Sandesjo had never seen this place, and yet there was a familiarity she could not understand, just as she knew her opponent and the unrestrained desires which now guided him.
You are mine.
No!
Sandesjo struck out once more, her fists pummeling Sten’s chest. He ignored her attacks, his hands reaching to grasp her head so that he might pull her to him. Placing her hands on his chest, Sandesjo pushed back from him, but she was pinned to the sand, unable to move. Sten leaned closer, his face filling her vision.
Reaching up, Sandesjo felt her hands tighten around Sten’s throat. Even as her fingers dug into his skin, Sten pressed closer, his eyes burning with unrelenting need.
Submit.
The word pounded against Sandesjo’s consciousness as she twisted her hands, feeling Sten’s neck snap.
Never.
Unchecked emotion slammed against T’Prynn’s mind, and she gasped at the ferocity of the sensations washing over her. A new heat raged within her, forcing her consciousness to retreat from the forced meld. Her fingers abandoned the contact points on Sandesjo’s face, and both women cried out in simultaneous shock, their eyes opening and their gazes once more locking.
“I’m sorry,” T’Prynn said, her voice low and strained. “It was not my intention to . . .”
“What . . . what was that?” Sandesjo asked, every word racked with pain as she rolled away from T’Prynn. She reached for her robe, pulling it against her body. T’Prynn said nothing, opting to sit in silence and watch as the other woman regained her composure. After a moment, Sandesjo looked up to regard her with an expression of comprehension and perhaps even acceptance. “So,” she said, her breath shallow and rapid, “now you know.”
T’Prynn nodded. “Yes, though it was not my intention to treat you in this manner.”
“I . . . know,” Sandesjo replied. “It’s not your fault. It’s . . . Sten. You’re carrying his . . . whatever you call it?”
“His katra,” T’Prynn said. “You would think of it as something akin to a ‘living spirit.’ He forced it upon me at the moment of his death. I am unable to free myself of his presence, and dealing with him can be . . . difficult.” She paused, mindful of the fact that Sten’s actions, unwanted and offensive though they had been, had provided her with the information she sought.
As though still aware of T’Prynn’s thoughts, Sandesjo said, “Well, now you know the truth about me. What are you going to do about it?”
Pausing a moment, T’Prynn studied the other woman’s face before her eyes began to wander downward across her body. “For the moment, nothing.” Even as she spoke the words, she knew she could not allow this to continue. It required effort to tear her attention from the other woman and turn her head. “No, this is wrong.” She moved to the edge of the bed, reaching for her discarded uniform. “I must go.” She stopped as she felt Sandesjo’s hand on her bare arm.
“Please stay.”
Feeling shame well up within her, T’Prynn turned to see Sandesjo gazing at her, unchecked yearning in her eyes. “I don’t blame you for what happened. You’re even more a victim of Sten than I am.” She inched closer, her hand moving from T’Prynn’s arm to caress her shoulder.
T’Prynn was uncertain whether she or Sandesjo moved first, but then their mouths were once again upon each other, bodies converging in feral passion.
You are weak, T’Prynn, Sten taunted, mocking her yet again. That is why I ultimately will triumph. Submit.
Never.
She pushed Sten back into the depths of her mind, forcing him into the void from which she knew he soon would reemerge, driven by his unending quest to crush her consciousness with his own. T’Prynn ignored that, and him, just as she set aside the knowledge that she had found her spy. The quarry was not going anywhere, at least not right away. For now, there was only her raw, primal yearning, and the realization that her own inexplicable feelings were matched if not exceeded by what she recognized as Anna Sandesjo’s unbridled adoration for her.
This would pose a problem, sooner rather than later. Of that, T’Prynn was certain.
12
Reclining in the high-backed chair that was a match for the one in his office, Reyes regarded the image of Captain Adelard Nassir displayed on the computer workstation situated in one corner of his quarters. The incoming transmission from the Sagittarius’s commanding officer had come at just before 2100 hours station time, well after the
conclusion of his normal duty shift but not so late as to have roused him from sleep.
“Sorry to disturb you, Commodore,” Nassir said, his voice sounding somewhat hollow as an effect of the data compression and encryption processes being used to push the captain’s transmission through however many subspace relay beacons currently separated the Sagittarius from Starbase 47. “But I figured you’d want to hear from us as soon as possible.”
Reyes chuckled as he rubbed his chin, which he had last shaved nearly twenty hours previously and now once again was rough with beard stubble. “Be thankful I’m still sober and wearing pants, Captain. It’s been a long day, but not so long as the last couple you’ve had. My compliments to your crew. That’s quite a talented bunch you have working for you.”
On the screen, Nassir nodded. “For which I’m eternally grateful, Commodore.” He then offered a wry grin. “You’ll be happy to know that Ensign Theriault is insufferably pleased with herself. The way things are going, there might not be enough room aboard ship to contain her ego.”
“Let her have this one,” Reyes replied. “Anybody who could pull off that stunt has to be good, or at least damned lucky, and sometimes that’s all you need.” He had read with fascination and no small amount of amusement the ingenious sensor tactic Theriault had employed in order to evade the Sagittarius’s Klingon pursuers while escaping from Traelus II. “Tell her the first round’s on me once you make port.”
Smiling, Nassir said, “She’ll be only too happy to collect.” The captain’s expression then turned serious. “I trust you’ve had time to review our other reports?”
“Yes,” Reyes replied. “They definitely make for interesting reading. The science teams here can’t stop talking about them.” That he found it so easy to slip into a form of code when talking even over an encrypted frequency surprised him, but as he had learned in short order upon taking command of Starbase 47, such measures were necessary in order to preserve operational security. No mention of the Taurus Meta-Genome by name was allowed in verbal communications, and any references to it in written reports were made using euphemisms, where the meta-genome was referred to as a “Type V life sign.” To further cement the disinformation campaign with respect to the enigmatic alien DNA, Federation and Starfleet life sciences data repositories listed that life sign as a form of primordial mold. It was true enough, given the circumstances surrounding the meta-genome’s discovery two years earlier, but no further mention of its unique properties or potential origin was to be found in those publicly accessible records.
