Of
Vulcan Bondage
By
J.M. Lane
one
"This mission is going to be difficult," Captain James Kirk told the other two sitting at the Briefing Room table with him. "Especially for beings of our gender, Spock. This planet is totally run by women. The only way they'll allow an outsider male on the planet is if a female accompanies him. They have agreed to speak with us on the condition that two of us conform to their ways for two weeks.
"If, by the end of that time, we have done so to their satisfaction, they will discuss mining rights with us. They have also applied for Federation membership, and we'll consider their application based on your reports. You must call the women 'My Lady'. The male slaves call their...owners 'mistress'. Using the women's personal names is considered disrespectful, except between the women themselves. The slaves call each other by their given names."
"So what does all that mean?" Christine Chapel asked warily. It would be her responsibility to see to it that the mission was successful.
"Also, their native dress resembles the ancient Arabic dress on Earth. The natives are hedonistic in the extreme. Men are little more than playthings used by the women for their amusement—or sexual satisfaction when it suits them. They're peaceful otherwise, so if you can get through the next two weeks, we're home free. Your travel bags contain native clothing... which is, unfortunately, quite brief in comparison to ours.
"For instance, Miss Chapel, your outfit consists of a glittery bandeau and sheer over-vest, panties and sheer harem pants—the trappings of a native Princess from a far province. There are matching shoes and earrings, and a special perfume the native women wear, but that is optional. You may wear your own, if you prefer. The male outfit consists of a half-vest, blue briefs, a gold sash, and sandals."
The First Officer and Doctor looked at each other, stunned, then back at Kirk.
"I don't blame either of you for not finding the prospect inviting, but it's either this or we forfeit the mining rights to the Klingons...and I don't think I need to spell out what that would mean, both for us and the inhabitants. I wouldn't even attempt it if it wasn't for the fact that dilithium-II is a special kind which lasts twice as long, is half again as powerful and durable as ordinary dilithium, but only used half as fast. Sapphira VII is the only planet in the Sytharan system which is both class M and has the mineral in abundance, along with pergium.
"Their customs regarding relations between a male slave and his mistress are very explicit. He must obey her every command, whatever it may be. This will include public displays of subservience and physical contact, the more, the better. There are no doors as such; they use curtains as doors. They do respect one another's privacy and the right of ownership, but are not above asking to trade one another's slaves, if only temporarily, like for an hour or so."
The Vulcan never said a word, but his face seemed to get paler by the moment. Mindful of his every move and reaction, Christine couldn't help but feel sorry for him. Kirk was equally mindful, and because of his friend's reaction, decided to go to Sapphira VII himself. He would be better able to endure the hedonistic Sapphiran society.
"Which is why I've decided to go myself," the Captain announced, quietly but firmly.
Spock's head jerked up; Kirk saw a mixture of fear and concern in his alien friend's dark eyes at the prospect of his Human friend enduring such an ordeal...but the Captain was certain that Spock would prefer to oversee the Antos IV mission.
"For one thing, I could endure their culture better than you could. And I'd certainly feel better giving you command of the Antos IV mission. I know you aren't fond of being in command, but you'd be even less fond of the idea of going around in a skimpy outfit and being ogled by women."
The Vulcan knew Kirk was right, but still disliked the idea of Jim's going on the Sapphiran mission. Surely there were other high-ranking male officers aboard who were qualified to go, which would mean that neither of them would have to go—but how many men were compatible with Christine?
"Nevertheless, I find your logic questionable at best," Spock insisted.Kirk assured his First Officer and friend that he would take care of himself and look after Christine, then threw back, "What do you expect me to do, then, if neither of us go...send Bones? Other than us and Scotty, he's the ranking male officer aboard ship—and I'm not comfortable with the idea of having both my Medical Officers off the ship at the same time."
"He would be compatible with Christine," Spock pointed out.
"But he wouldn't enjoy running around in a skimpy outfit any more than we would," Kirk sighed. "And now, you've got me between the proverbial rock and a hard place."
Ordinarily the ship stayed for the duration of a given mission, but this time, there was a time limit. The drugs Antos IV required were perishable; three days was the longest they could sit around without being used—and it would take that long to get to the planet (and back). The planetside party would be on their own for at least a week, and that was provided all went well. How often did that happen?
"I still believe it best that someone other than you be chosen," the First Officer argued.
"Who would you suggest, then? If the Sapphirans hadn't specifically requested no officers below the rank of Lieutenant Commander, I'd ask Sulu or Chekov."
Spock sighed deeply, then a long, awkward silence ensued between the three in the Briefing Room before the Vulcan spoke again. "In that case, I will go."
Kirk and Christine seemed momentarily stunned; it was the Captain who found his voice first. "No. I can't let you." Kirk's eyes met those of his Vulcan friend, and the former knew Spock meant what he said...but so did he.
"I would sooner go myself than leave you there," came the quiet but stubborn rejoinder.
"You know what it involves," Kirk reminded him. "It would be difficult for a Human, much less a Vulcan."
"I am prepared to take the risk," Spock threw back.
"You may be, but I'm not. You're still trying to put your head back together after V'Ger and Kolinahr. I don't want to see you go through another trauma if it can be avoided. Even Vulcans can only endure so much."
"Christine will be there," was the answer.
"And going through her own traumas," Kirk finished. "No, Spock. I want you on the Antos mission. Let me handle the Sapphirans."
"Jim..." The tone of the Vulcan's voice effectively silenced Kirk. When Spock spoke like that, nothing—but nothing—could change his mind.
The Captain sighed. "Very well, Spock, but don't say I didn't warn you."
The Vulcan's dark eyes softened as he gazed upon his closest friend. "Your concern is appreciated, Jim, but I am as aware of the difficulty involved in undertaking such a mission as you are. Even going to Sapphira VII myself would be less difficult than wondering what is happening to you while the ship is gone...and what you may be enduring. As I said, I will not be alone. Christine will do all she can to help me."
Spock gave the female Doctor a meaningful look; Christine merely nodded in his direction, still unable to speak.
"Keep in mind that it'll be at least a week before we can return, since there is no other ship in the sector close enough to undertake the Antos mission."
Spock nodded in response as Kirk's eyes met his again. "Be careful, Spock. I could never forgive myself if anything happened to you." The Captain's gaze moved to rest on Christine. "Take care of him," Kirk entreated.
"I'll do my best," she assured him, knowing she would do all she could to make it easier for the Vulcan, but it wouldn't be easy for her, either, particularly if one or more of the native women happened to covet Spock and make an offer for him. She had an idea as to how to spare him that, but it remained to be seen whether or not it would work. He was such a private person, as was she.
They would need all their strength, both physical and emotional, to get through the next week that the Enterprise would be gone, off on another mission to deliver medical supplies to one of the Federation member planets. Sulu would temporarily take on the duties of First Officer, and Chekov would cover for Spock at the Science station. Christine's immediate subordinate, Elizabeth Rogers, would cover for her.
The couple had been seeing each other socially—albeit discreetly—over the past several weeks, since the end of the V'Ger mission, and had been growing steadily closer, but to date there had been no physical intimacy between them other than an occasional hug, or his kissing her hands. For this reason, Christine didn't think Spock was ready for what the upcoming mission would surely involve, despite his brave front.
In Starfleet, one couldn't always pick and choose the missions they were to go on. If one was needed and qualified to go, they went, whatever their reservations...though there were sometimes extenuating circumstances. Even at that, Spock knew that he would sooner see himself on the Sapphiran mission than Jim. If only for that reason, it was his duty to face it like the Vulcan he was, however difficult it turned out to be.
Kirk looked at the chrono set into the table at his seat next to the command buttons and stated, "You two had better get changed, then beam down. The Sapphirans are sticklers for punctuality, too. The Transporter Chief has the coordinates of where you're to go. Contact me once you've arrived planetside, and I'll put you in touch with the aide to Sapphira, the Head Female. It's best if you do the talking, Doctor. The women of Sapphira VII do not speak to men unless they have a female companion."
How's that for being full of yourself?Christine thought.The leader even re-names the planet after herself!
The planet had originally been named Sythara VII, but the current leader, Sapphira, had changed the name when she came to power fifteen years earlier. But this was not the time for personal opinions. They'd have enough problems without antagonizing the natives.
"Good luck, Spock." Kirk met the eyes of his First Officer and closest friend, still wishing they could have switched places. The Human would have been better able to endure the hedonistic Sapphirans than Spock, but since the Vulcan had insisted on going in Kirk's stead, all of them would have to make the best of a bad situation.
"Thank you, Captain."
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"My Lady, are you ready for the visit of the Federation ship?" Setara, long-time aide to Sapphira, ruler of planet Sapphira VII, asked her superior as she entered the latter's office to bring her the latest word from the Federation Council.
"Of course I am," came the curt reply. "It's my job to be ready."
"I am told that the Enterprise is the best ship in the Federation fleet, and that they will be sending one of their top female officers to speak with us."
Sapphira's face was expressionless. "What of it?"
"The latest word is that they will also be sending one of their top male officers with her." Setara held out the paper in her hand; Sapphira took it from her and rapidly scanned it.
"That's perfectly legal, Setara—but we will do our business with the female. They know what we expect of them; native clothing has even been provided for them."
Setara went on. "The report also says that the Enterprise Captain, James Kirk, and his First Officer, Spock—he is Vulcan, I understand—have become legends in the time they have served on the ship. Kirk is considered something of a maverick, because he believes it best to go on landing parties himself, usually taking his First Officer and Chief Medical Officer with him. Which one do you think will be sent with the female?"
Sapphira shrugged. "It makes no difference to me. Any one of them has sufficient rank."
And they wouldn't dare not, Setara mused with an inward smile. Sapphira expected nothing less than perfection from her closest aides and advisors—which, like her, were all female. Setara was the top advisor, because she had been in Sapphira's service the longest. Setara feared and disliked her superior, but they needed each other (the former for the money it brought her, the latter for the former's expertise) and for that reason, they lived under an uneasy truce.
"I am also told that Kirk and his male command crew are all quite attractive," Setara remarked. "It is likely that any one of them would be pleasing to you, should you decide to exchange your slave Pietro with him temporarily while the Federation officers are here."
"Perhaps I will. Perhaps I won't," Sapphira replied, her eyes a blaze of green. "That is for me to determine, not you."
"Of course, My Lady," Setara returned mildly."I was simply speculating."
"Leave the speculating to me and just do your job. Set up the apartment they will use, in a royal blue and gold color scheme. By the way, you will accompany me on their first night when we observe them, since we are to treat them like ordinary newcomers."
"Yes, My Lady." Setara was hard-put to conceal her dislike of Sapphira and distaste at the thought of invading the others' privacy. She wished she could get out of it, even delegate it to one of her minor staff, but as the senior advisor, it fell to her to accompany her superior.
At that moment, a beeping came from the intercom on Sapphira's desk. She reached to open it. "Yes, what is it?"
The voice of Setara's secretary came back. "My Lady, there has been another communication from the Enterprise. They said for us to expect them by this time tomorrow."
Sapphira glanced at her desk chrono; it said three p.m. "Very well." She closed the intercom and returned her attention to Setara. "You heard that?"
"Yes, My Lady."
"Then get busy. I expect all to be in readiness before the Enterprise arrives."
"It will be, My Lady."
"Dismissed."
Setara bowed respectfully in her superior's direction, even though she felt none, and departed. Once the other woman had gone, Sapphira pressed another button on her desk to speak to her own secretary. Without preamble, she said, "Have Pietro sent in to me immediately. I wish to speak to him," and closed the line without waiting for an answer. All her staff were trained to know what to do without her having to spell it out for them, as well as the fact that her slightest word was to be considered a command...and to know what happened to anyone who defied her.
There had only been one such incident in her fifteen-year tenure as leader, which had resulted in a prison sentence, beating, starvation, and emasculation for the obstinate grafek of a slave who had denied her desire. Who was he to refuse her, Sapphira, ruler of this entire planet? He should have been honored that she would favor him with her attention!
She had wanted to make him her favorite, but he had refused her, saying that he was in love with another. One thing was for certain—since he didn't want her, he didn't deserve any woman...and once the recalcitrant slave had recovered enough to travel, she had had him sent to a far province under an assumed name. Once word got around of his experiences, she was pleased to note that subsequent slaves were far more cooperative.
She had had eight other favorite slaves, none of whom lasted more than a year and a half. One had only lasted six months. Not because he no longer pleased her, but because he had fallen in love with her. Love meant commitment to one man, and there was too much of her life yet to be lived to tie herself down. All the same, Alain had been a marvelous lover, and she would never forget him.
It wasn't until she had found and bought Pietro on Argelius II that a slave lasted longer. Only he came close to equaling Alain's bedroom prowess. Still, it would be interesting to see which of the male Federation officers would be the one to accompany the female officer. Perhaps she would do as Setara suggested after all...provided the man caught her fancy.
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The Enterprise couple separated into their respective quarters to change before beamdown. Christine opened her bag to discover at least a dozen sets of native clothing, each consisting of a brief, gold bandeau with a sheer, royal blue over-vest, gold underpanties and transparent harem pants, along with royal blue and gold slippers and earrings.
She put her hair up in the native style, feeling all but naked in the brief outfit. Below the bandeau, which barely covered her breasts, her body was bare down to her hips. The panties were little more than a G-string. If her costume could be this skimpy, Spock's must be even more so.
The only Starfleet-issue items she had were her medikit and communicator, along with her toilet articles like shampoo, makeup, a comb, her favorite perfume and antiperspirant. After putting on her duty uniform again over the costume, she left her quarters to see how Spock was doing. A short time later, she pressed his buzzer and called to him.
"Come," was the almost too-quiet reply. Upon stepping inside, she looked around for Spock, but didn't see him anywhere.
"Spock?" she called again.
"Christine?" came the faint answer.
"Spock, are you all right?"
"Please come here," he said.
She headed for the sleeping alcove, stopping short of the doorway. "Spock?" she called yet again.
He didn't answer, so she cautiously peeked around the corner. He stood there with his head bowed, wearing a half-vest embroidered in gold and royal blue with gold trim around the neckline, armholes and bottom. A shiny gold sash circled his slender hips, holding up a royal blue pair of bikini briefs resembling swim trunks. Gold sandals were on his feet.
If she was embarrassed at her own clothing—what little there was of it—she could well imagine the agonies Spock must be going through. He looked wonderful, but she knew he must be ready to die. She was sure he wore more than this in undergarments...and they were expected to go out in public like this, where others could see them. How could they ever do it?
What she could see of his face and ears were an emerald green, complementing her own crimson cheeks. He was unable to speak or look her in the eye. She couldn't blame him; she couldn't have met his, either—and knew she had to apologize for the ordeal facing him.
"I'm sorry you have to go through this, Spock, I truly am. I'll try not to make too many demands on you." Her voice was tender and laced with regret.
The Vulcan's color lessened, though he still couldn't meet her eyes. "I do not...blame you, Christine. If I must do it, I am—glad it is for you, and shall...fulfill my duties to the best of my ability. Now it is best that we—contact the Captain and get on with our mission."
"May I suggest you put on your uniform first?"
His color deepened again, then he managed to meet her eyes briefly and give her a half-smile. "I will be ready shortly."
The Vulcan picked up his uniform and began to dress; he joined her ten minutes later, and they left his quarters together, each carrying their travel bag. They called Kirk upon beaming down and changing back into the native costumes, then sat in the outer waiting room of the Sapphiran leader, both embarrassed beyond their ability to speak.
A feminine voice brought their heads up. "Princess?"
"Yes?" Christine made her voice as regal (and calm) as possible.
"May we come in?"
"You may."
A tall, beautiful woman dressed in purple and gold with flaming-red hair stood before them. Her outfit was identical to Christine's in every way but color. Her own male slave, a tall, dark, handsome Italian, stood beside her, attired like Spock. The colors of his outfit were a match to his mistress's own, as Christine realized hers and Spock's were—obviously denoting ownership. The Vulcan sat at Christine's feet, his head resting against her legs and bowed, his face hidden. She laid a soothing hand on his silky hair; her other hand rested on his back, on the half-vest, just below the nape of his neck.
"I am Sapphira, Head Female, and this is my favorite slave, Pietro," the other woman said.
"I am Christine, acting as Princess of the Seventh Province, and this is Spock, acting as my favorite slave," the female Doctor replied.
"He seems quite...shy. How long have you owned him?"
"Six months, My Lady, but he became my favorite only recently."
"He does not look—Human."
Sapphira observed Spock's slender, barely covered body with a mixture of curiosity and lust. How handsome it was, and what a lover he must be! She envied the lucky woman who owned such an attractive non-Human slave. (She had been unable to help noticing one perfectly-shaped, pointed ear and the greenish-gold Vulcan skin tone.)
"He is a hybrid, My Lady." Christine hoped that would satisfy her visitor's curiosity. Spock was going to have his privacy invaded enough without this woman demanding his life history and family background.
"I see. Pietro is the same, but outwardly Humanoid. Your slave seems to favor his alien half. May I ask if his other half is Human?"
"His mother is Human." Christine couldn't help thinking that Sapphira seemed entirely too inquisitive, and she had naturally noticed the interested looks the other woman gave Spock. Perhaps she had best put her idea into action, nip this in the bud before things got out of hand.
There was no guarantee she would be believed, but it was a chance she had to take. Forgive me, my love, she apologized silently. "I have discovered that he is only able to join with his own kind and my own. He is...impotent with any other."
"Is he a—satisfactory lover for you?"
"Yes," Christine made herself say. "But as I have said, My Lady, he can only join with his own kind or mine." Christine forced regret into her voice, praying she would be believed and that Spock would not be harassed by any of the other women. It was all she could do for him.
"What if I told you that I myself was Human?" Sapphira gave her a meaningful look.
Not that Christine could blame her, but the woman was positively brazen, especially considering the fact that her own male slave was standing nearby, taking in all this. Now she was even kneeling down to speak to Spock himself!
"Spock, I would ask you a question." Her voice was soft, but firm.
Spock forced his head up. "Yes, My Lady?" He gathered strength from Christine's hand on his head.
"Are you content with your mistress?"
The Vulcan made himself answer. "She has treated me well. I have no desire for another mistress."
"What if I were to offer for you?"
"My Lady..." His voice was barely audible, and his cheeks held a tinge of green. Sapphira looked up at Christine, demanding with her eyes that the other woman make her slave answer her question.
Christine forced herself to say, "Answer her, Spock."
"I—would comply," he told her. "With my mistress's permission...and if it is—temporary."
Christine was sure that only her touch was giving Spock the strength to speak, truly hoping that no offer would be made for him. At least not any time soon, and especially not by Sapphira.
"Have no fear, newcomer. There is no need for you to concern yourself with the desires of anyone but your mistress." Sapphira stood up again and faced Christine. "At least not for the present. However, we do insist that the male slave show his mistress the proper respect and attention. I trust you have instructed Spock toward that end."
"I have, My Lady." Christine was unable to suppress an inward sigh of relief. Spock was safe, at least for now.
"Now it is time to meet the other women and their slaves." Sapphira turned toward the curtain which served as a door, Pietro at her elbow to draw it aside for her. "Lady Christine?"
"It's time, Spock. Get up and do your duty." The harsh words were softened by her loving manner.
Spock reluctantly released her legs and got to his feet. Christine was glad to see that his color was almost normal, though he would look at no one but her...and even then, only at her face. This should meet with the Sapphirans' approval, if only for a little while—but she had no idea when Spock would be called upon to show her physical attention, tactile indications of his loyalty to and love for his 'mistress'.
"Yes, mistress."
Christine was proud of him, standing so straight and tall, dignified in spite of his all-but-naked body. Clothed in dignity, if nothing else, she thought tenderly as she stepped through the door and he drew the curtain aside for her. She was thankful to learn that Sapphira VII had a warm climate, the Sapphiran (formerly Sytharan) sun being a blue-white giant and thus very similar to those of both Eridani, Vulcan's sun, and Rigel, a quadruple star system with thirteen planets, six of which were class M and inhabited.
Even at that, the rooms had to be heated at night, like the homes on Vulcan. So far, however, Sapphira VII had been the only class M planet found in this newly discovered system with any substantial amount of the needed dilithium-II and pergium having been detected there. It was one of eleven planets, reminiscent of the Talos system.
Sapphira and Pietro stood outside in the outer hall, waiting. They began walking as soon as Christine and Spock joined them. The Enterprise couple could do nothing but follow, choosing not to think of what lay ahead and what they might have to do...but instead, of how to make the next two weeks pass as painlessly as possible for them both.
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Planet Sapphira VII had been a democracy for the entire four centuries of its civilization's existence, and the people benevolent and peaceful, having had no war in its history up to the present...but all that changed when its present leader, Sapphira, came to power a decade and a half before. She changed the laws to suit herself, and once she was finished, the government was an absolute monarchy, one step away from a dictatorship.
The reins of power had passed from generation to
generation via succession, with Sapphira inheriting the leadership
from her mother upon the latter's death after a forty-year
reign.
However,
Seleenah, mother of Sapphira, was as well-loved as Sapphira was
feared and hated. Seleenah had ruled with an iron hand, but in a
velvet glove, being tough but fair; Sapphira was just as likely to
throw someone in prison, beat or starve them if they displeased or
defied her. As a result, the majority of the people were kept in line
through fear and intimidation.
Others disliked her for her cruelty that bordered on sadism as well as her insufferable arrogance, particularly the oldest of the women who had served under her mother—but even they kept their feelings to themselves, knowing it would do no good to say anything. They could not have survived prison, beatings or starvation, so they left for other provinces when they could no longer abide the cruelty. It was easier to endure if they didn't have to see it going on.
There was one large continent where Sapphira VII's population of six million lived; the land mass was divided into a dozen provinces, eleven of which had its own leader, referred to as "Princess". The provinces were known by numbers, the smallest being the one with the highest number. Half the population was in the First Province, considered the planetary capital.
Sapphira lived here with her staff and their male slaves in the largest, most well-equipped living complex in the entire First Province. The rest of the population was divided between the other eleven provinces, with roughly three hundred thousand living in each and all the Princesses having their own staffs, with personal apartments and male slaves for all the women, each with their personal colors to designate ownership of individual slaves/consorts.
The First Province boasted the lion's share of the planet's considerable resources, including cooks, tailors, sculptors, artists of every kind...many of whom were noted for their skill at creating immortal beauty with seemingly no effort at all.
Christine was acting as the Princess of the Seventh Province, half a continent away from the First Province, sufficiently small and obscure enough so that her sudden appearance would not be questioned—nor would Spock, as her favorite slave.
two
After the ordeal of introductions was behind them, it was time for lunch. Spock exchanged a concerned look with Christine when he was expected to join the other men. He was leery of being out of her sight because of Sapphira's expressed desire for him, so he was thankful to learn that only the slaves went into the kitchen. They were to prepare and serve the midday meal to their mistresses. Spock was not a cook, so he told himself to follow the others' example. It turned out that Pietro was the best, most experienced cook. The other man took the shy newcomer under his large wing and guided him along...and not only on the kitchen duty.
Who could have imagined that Spock would find an ally in Sapphira's own slave? Careful questioning brought the Vulcan useful, if disturbing, information. He would have to tell Christine what he had learned. Meanwhile, he had a duty to perform—but this one wasn't so bad. Here, he was not put on display before lascivious eyes, made to parade around all but naked and perform on command whatever Christine, his 'mistress', required of him. To her credit, she made it as easy as possible on him, but he was sure that it was only a matter of time before his true ordeal began. What would he be in for then? That was something Spock didn't care to think about.
How could he be sure that power wouldn't go to her head? After all, this was surely what she had always dreamed of—his jumping when she called and doing anything and everything she wanted, including walking around in an indecently revealing outfit...if it could be called that. He was fair game for any Sapphiran woman who wished to ogle him. The only consolation was that Pietro and the other men were, as well.
The men gathered vegetables for the salad and began to chop, dice and slice, then Pietro spoke when Spock least expected it. "You are the man from the Federation ship?"
"Yes. I am the First Officer."
"A Vulcan?"
"Correct."
"Then this hedonistic society must be very difficult for you to endure, being so logical...and modest."
Pietro used knowledge gleaned from friends who lived in the Earth colony from where the majority of Sapphiran food was imported. One of them was in Starfleet, and had met several Vulcans in the course of his work. Pietro figured it best to treat Spock no differently, even though he was half-Human, since the latter's Vulcan half seemed dominant.
"My...companion has made it easier, and I—am grateful to her for that."
"What position does she hold on the ship?" the other man asked, since the earlier introductions had been so rapid that he had been unable to learn more about the newcomers than their names and the fact that they had come from the Enterprise.
"The Assistant Chief Medical Officer."
"What is she to you?"
"That is not your concern," the Vulcan returned stiffly, voice tightly controlled.
"But I have seen the way she looks at you—the softness in her eyes, the tenderness in her voice. That would seem to indicate that she is in love with you."
Spock nodded. "For some time."The Vulcan fell silent after that, simply busying himself with the chopping of the salad vegetables, some of which had been imported from the Earth colony, because Sapphira and her people were of Human stock. Pietro mirrored Spock's actions before putting the vegetables into the large bowl sitting on the table near them and mixing them together.
Spock was grateful for the apron which covered his lower half so he didn't feel so exposed. The Vulcan also hoped he would be able to get a good-sized serving of the salad, though it was likely that the men would have to wait for the women to finish eating—either that, or take turns so that no one slave would be away from his mistress longer than necessary.
When they took the food to the dining area, Spock felt relief in spite of his embarrassment upon seeing Christine's reassuring smile...but judging by the actions of the other men, he was expected to feed her, though he assumed she would drink for herself. He was also glad to see that the beverage preference was non-alcoholic—fruit juices and such—at least for this meal. What it might be like for the evening meal was something he didn't care to contemplate.
The Vulcan was too busy to notice the other women giving him the eye, particularly Sapphira, even while Pietro fed her. Other slaves had prepared and cooked the meat, the Sapphiran equivalent of top sirloin. Spock forced back nausea as he fed Christine, bite by bite...but the hollow tube known as the "straw" was in evidence here (another import from the Earth colony),so all he had to do when she wished to drink was hold the glass. He noticed the regret in her eyes at being able to eat while he could only watch.
Even with his Vulcan metabolism, Christine knew Spock had to be hungry by now, even if he denied it. But he never complained all through the long meal, and she was pleased to see that he was able to eat once he had fed her.1Christine disliked having Spock away from her, even for the length of time he had been the kitchen—mainly because she could not protect him. Ordinarily he could take care of himself, but on Sapphira VII, he needed protection from predatory women. Starfleet women at least had some scruples and self-control; here, there was none.
Without her to watch out for him, the Vulcan's trusting nature could make him easy prey for any unscrupulous woman who chose to take advantage. Christine was especially wary of Sapphira. The woman hadn't tried anything (yet), but Christine was convinced that she would, the first chance she got. For that reason, the Doctor-turned-Sapphiran Princess vowed to keep a sharp eye on the "Head Female".
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Setara had been Sapphira's aide for five years. There had been others, but they had defied her and were dealt with accordingly. It was Setara that Sapphira found herself trusting—that is, as far as her paranoid nature would allow—but that trust had come at a heavy price. So heavy, in fact, that Setara's slave/consort, Henri, advised her to quit her job as aide. After all, it was only part-time. Her job at the radio/satellite station was full-time and far more rewarding, as well as enjoyable. There, she could express her views anonymously (and best of all, planetwide) without worrying too much that Sapphira would find out and punish her as well.
She thanked Henri for his concern, but refused, assuring him that she could handle Sapphira and knew how to keep her mouth shut. Even though she saw...and heard...a lot, she said nothing, simply filing the incriminating information away for future reference, keeping it well-hidden and in a safe place. Sapphira would pay for her cruelty very soon, now that the Enterprise was on its way, and Sapphira VII could go back to the paradise it once was.
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Setara hadn't been surprised to learn that there was a grass-roots organization whose goal it was to eventually depose Sapphira and return the planet to its former democratic government. Once her feelings had been made known to them, she had been approached to work for that same organization in between her two jobs. So far she had been able to juggle the three, but was fast reaching the end of her rope.
Sapphira didn't realize it, but having had Setara contact the Federation had been akin to signing her own death warrant...or at least the death warrant for her sadistic, dictatorial regime. Every bit of information Setara gathered and gave to her colleagues at the CRSD (Citizens to Return Sapphira VII to Democracy) brought Sapphira's downfall that much closer.
The aide's job was a chore for her, especially now, but Setara had come too far in her plans to depose Sapphira and end her tyranny to stop now. Still, timing was crucial. If even one link in the chain was broken, or if one person did not play their part as expected and instructed, all their efforts could be for naught and all of them executed (or at least imprisoned for life) for treason. That wouldn't happen if she had anything to say about it, however. Not even if she had to take all the consequences of the committee's actions onto herself.
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While he and the other men cleaned up after the meal, Spock questioned Pietro further. One thing Spock was certain of (if he could be certain of anything) was that his mental shields would be tested to their limits, and possibly beyond. He also noted that while some of the men occupied themselves with thoughts of physical love with their mistresses, Sapphira's man seemed almost as controlled as himself. It seemed that Pietro's temperament was more like that of his Argelian mother than his Italian father. About halfway through the cleanup process, Pietro turned his head toward Spock.
"My mistress desires you greatly, Spock. She will go to any lengths to have you, even if only for an hour."
"Does that not distress you? You are supposed to be her favorite." Spock put several large plates into the sink before him which held hot, soapy water, and began to wash them.
Pietro sighed and shrugged. "She has had many favorites, Spock. I am merely her current one...and she would like very much to make you another. Other women have looked upon you as she has, but dare not approach your mistress for fear of Sapphira's wrath. She does not take kindly to interference by another once she has set her sights on a given man." He mirrored Spock's actions in the adjoining sink.
"Have you not desired other women besides Sapphira?" Spock asked. The Vulcan didn't usually ask such personal questions of those he did not know well, but identified with Pietro because he was also half-Human, and because Argelians were as gentle as (if not as logical and emotionally controlled as) Vulcans.
"Of course. Your mistress is one of them—but they must offer for me. I cannot approach them myself...and even then, there is no guarantee that Sapphira would allow it, in spite of her desire for you."
Spock didn't like to think of what that could mean. "My—mistress would not allow it," he replied. "And neither do I desire it."
"You may not have a choice," Pietro informed him. "My Lady Sapphira rules this planet. All bend to her wish and will if they know what's good for them."
Spock frowned. "What do you mean?"
Pietro explained in graphic detail. Spock felt a chill run through him. It was obvious that it would not go well for him to refuse Sapphira's attentions, and he was uncertain as to whether or not Christine could do anything to help him. The Vulcan was reminded of the old Terran saying, "Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned." If he refused Sapphira, he was likely to discover the meaning of those words firsthand...but how could he possibly give in? It was a real dilemma, the no-win situation to end all no-win situations.
While on the planet, they were subject to Sapphiran law, even if that law heavily favored the whims of the planetary leader—the beginning of a dictatorship, something which could prove dangerous for not only himself but Christine and the Federation, if allowed to spread. It was their duty to stay alive in order to warn Jim.
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That evening after dinner, the couple was shown to what would be their own private apartment for the duration of the mission...again, all decorated in royal blue and gold to designate ownership. Christine had also learned that all newcomers were to be observed their first night together as proof of their sincerity, but saw no need to distress Spock by telling him. He was going to have a difficult enough time as it was. She could only hope that the observers would be discreet; otherwise, sensitive Vulcan ears would surely detect them.
She yawned and stretched upon stepping into what would serve as the living room. "I'm tired, Spock. What time would you say it is?"
"Approximately 2200 hours, ship's time.""A good time to go to bed." She sighed as she turned for the bedroom. "I'm glad we managed to make it through one day, at least."
"Agreed," Spock concurred as he followed her. "But we still have thirteen to go."
Another ordeal began for the Vulcan once he stepped into the plush bedroom—but at least this one was bearable. Christine hated to ask it of him, but if anyone was watching, they had to make it look good. 1"Please help me undress, Spock."
He stepped up to her and proceeded to undress her, fighting to keep only part of his mind on what his hands were doing, but it wasn't easy because of her nearness. While the act was going on, Christine hoped that it was driving Sapphira crazy if she was the one watching and listening.
In the back of her mind, she couldn't help thinking that it was the perfect piece de resistance. She hoped that witch-woman tortured herself beyond endurance. It would suit her just fine if Sapphira thought it real, even though it wasn't. Meanwhile, let her climb the wall wondering.
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Spock was alone in the soft, plush bed when he awakened on the morning of the second day. He discovered this fact when he reached for his companion, only to find her gone. At almost the same time, he heard the sound of splashing in the nearby bathroom and got up to investigate.
"Christine?" he called to her.
"In here, Spock," she called back. "Do you need to shower?"
"Not at the moment. I can wait until you finish."
There was silence for a time, then she spoke again. "Will you comb out my hair for me when it's dry?"
"Very well."
He heard her step out of the tub, then call to him again. "I don't suppose it would do any good to ask you to come in and dry me off," she teased.
"You suppose correctly."
It would take time for them both to put the mission here behind them, even if nothing happened. In the meantime, however, it was necessary to get through the next...twelve days now, if memory served. And there was something else he had to tell Christine.
"I am not a hairdresser. You will have to do your own hair."
"No problem, Spock—but once we step outside this apartment, it's mistress and slave again."
She appeared in the bathroom doorway with one large towel wrapped around her and another around her head, turban-style, just as Spock got out of bed and approached the bathroom. His unspoken question was answered before he asked it.
"Don't worry. There's another towel on the rack for you," she told him as he reached her.
The Vulcan raised a quizzical eyebrow at her before giving a half-smile in her direction and closing the bathroom door behind him. Christine could hardly wait to learn how convincing their act had been, having no doubt that Sapphira would tell her even as she threw off the towel wrapped around her and donned fresh clothes.
Spock came out of the bathroom a short time later, the third towel wrapped around him and well tucked in at the waist, hair damp but combed. The Vulcan had taken but one step out when he froze in his tracks. Christine was standing in front of the full-length mirror, her back to him, though he focused on her reflection. He hadn't really looked at her until now, having been too embarrassed, and the vision he saw nearly made his heart stop. Spock could not have imagined that anything so lovely could be real. Not even her duty uniform could have hinted at the beauty of the body beneath it.
In the next moment, he forced the thought aside and made himself retrieve his travel bag in order to don another equally indecent slave outfit. After dressing, he noted that Christine had dried her hair and was waiting for him at the vanity, comb in hand.
"Spock, are you ready yet?" she asked.
"I am coming," he replied, reaching her side seconds later.
She gave him the comb; he stepped behind her to begin his task. Despite his best efforts, Spock touched the nape of her neck and right shoulder once, not only making her shiver but electricity shoot through his own body. "There you are." He finished up and returned the comb to her before retreating to the foot of the bed to watch her style her hair.
"Spock, what time is it?" she asked when she was about halfway done with her hair.
"Approximately 0700, ship's time."
"About time for breakfast," Christine observed as she completed her hairstyle, then did a quick makeup/perfume job. She stood up a few minutes later and the two left their apartment to begin another day.
Spock excused himself upon seeing Pietro a short distance ahead, quickening his pace in order to join his new-found ally. Christine smiled affectionately at his retreating back before entering the auditorium-like room where the rest of the women were gathered—the main dining room, called the Women's Pavilion. The only available seat was one on Sapphira's left. The look the other woman gave her promised trouble and Christine wasn't sure she wanted to know what kind. She tried not to put on a superior air, but it was beyond her control.
"Lady Christine, is it truly necessary to flaunt your slave's prowess before all of us?"
Christine smiled sweetly even as she inwardly gloated. "I'm sorry if it bothers you, Sapphira, but it's not something I can control."
Sapphira's eyes were a blaze of green as she thought of the almost unbearable torture she had endured observing Spock and his mistress last night. The raphix (bitch) had done it on purpose, knowing she was watching, well aware of how much she desired the alien hybrid slave! This so-called "Princess" would pay for what she'd done...and pay dearly, if it was the last thing Sapphira ever did. No one treated her like that and lived to tell about it!
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Christine was pleased beyond words to learn that the "act" had been sufficiently convincing. Sapphira must be ready to chew neutronium by now—or at least offer the most generous trade agreement for Spock that anyone ever had: an agreement that Sapphira surely intended for her to be unable to refuse if she knew what was good for her. Well, just watch me, she thought wickedly. Spock is not for sale at any price! But she hadn't reckoned on the proposition he would make to her that evening when they were back in their quarters.
Christine was still gloating when she and Spock returned to their apartment. Sapphira had looked as though she could have cheerfully strangled her! Of course, it would be foolhardy to push her too far. They were here for a job, not a competition.
Spock's sharp eyes couldn't help but notice. "What is so amusing?"
"I just put one over on Sapphira," his companion replied, unable to help smirking.
Spock raised a scandalized eyebrow at her wicked pleasure, then sighed deeply and announced, "I now wish to make a suggestion which I believe will solve the problem of Sapphira."
"Which is?" Christine asked apprehensively, knowing Spock's limited experience with women...and also knowing that, instead of solving the problem of Sapphira, would aggravate it—but she knew how stubborn Spock was once he had made up his mind, so she saw little point in arguing with him.
"Offer for Pietro, her slave."
Christine couldn't believe her ears. "What?"
Spock went on as if she hadn't spoken. "He is very much attracted to you. He told me this himself—but he cannot approach you. You must offer for him. In this manner, Sapphira can also offer for me and perhaps get me 'out of her system,' as it were."
"And perhaps not," came the retort.
"Are you not...attracted to Pietro?" the Vulcan shot back.
"That's not the point," Christine snapped. "What is, is that you're inexperienced with women. Sapphira is a Human barracuda, the kind of woman who chews up a man and spits him out. If I let her offer for you, there's no telling what condition you'd be in when I got you back—if I got you back. I would be, in effect, throwing you to the wolves. Do you really want that?"
"Can you think of a better solution?" Spock countered.
She glared at him, knowing his "solution" was no solution at all, but unable to dissuade him. "No," she reluctantly admitted. "Very well. I'll offer for Pietro and let Sapphira offer for you. How long do you think you can handle being with her?"
"From dawn until the dinner hour beginning three days from now," was the reply.
Christine shook her head. "Wow! You're certainly a glutton for punishment...but if that's what you want—" Her voice broke off. She hated the idea of Spock going to Sapphira, but was grateful that he had given her time to get used to it.
Spock's eyes seemed to stab through her like twin daggers. "It is not what I 'want', Christine. It is what I must do."
She gave him an icy look. "Spock, there's a name for what you plan to do. It's called prostitution."
He was unmoved. "I will do what I must for the Captain."
"I can't let you do it. Not even the Captain would expect you to go to such lengths in order to accomplish our mission."
The Vulcan's face hardened further. "There is no other logical course of action open to me."
Christine sighed in resignation. "Then all I can say is: be careful. You know what Sapphira is capable of."
"Do not worry, Christine. I will be all right." His eyes softened as he sensed her concern.
She returned her whole heart in her eyes. "I hope so. I could never forgive myself, or ever face the Captain again, if anything happened to you."
This time, Spock gave her a real smile and touched her cheek. "Nothing will happen that I cannot handle. Trust me."
Christine covered his hand with hers and returned the smile. "I trust you, Spock. It's Sapphira I don't trust."