LESSONS LEARNED
by ardavenport
o o o Part 3
"Hello," Riker greeted the male Minaran who answered the door. He smiled, nodded his gray-haired head and moved aside. The taller female stepped forward, hands extended, palms up, to greet him. Riker smiled back. She now wore a shimmering green dress that matched the tint of her hair and was quite similar to the blue dress that Deanna Troi wore. The male had also changed to a blue and yellow sparkling shirt, shiny blue pants and yellow boots. The shorter female had refused any new clothing offered to her and she still wore her pink and orange caftan.
"I just wanted to see if you were alright." Riker said politely. He knew that they couldn't understand the precise meaning of his words, but the Minarans had been remarkably intuitive about what was being said to them. It wasn't even necessary to address them by name; they knew who was being spoken to and when. It had been suggested that they be given names (just as the first Minaran had been christened 'Gem' by Captain Kirk's away team), but that idea had been squelched, particularly by Captain Picard. If they didn't use names for themselves, it would be rude and presumptuous to assign them as if the Minarans were children.
The male and taller female nodded (they had picked up the Enterprise standard for 'yes' and 'no'), while their smaller companion sat motionless with her feet curled up under her in a stuffed chair. All three waited patiently, knowing that his visit had a purpose and he would tell them what he really wanted.
"I also was wondering if you could look at the Vian ship again. Perhaps you know something that we missed earlier." He gestured toward the door. The male grinned eagerly. Though he was clearly the oldest of the three (he could have been the father of the shorter female) he seemed to be the most youthful of the group.
The taller female encouraged the other to stand and they all followed Riker out.
ooo *_* ooo *_* ooo
Geordi LaForge shook his head sadly. His VISOR enhanced vision saw the shifting bands of stress on the body of the Vian ship. Bright, multicolored, jagged lines marked the places of greatest material degradation. It was as if it were coming apart at the seams. And he didn't need enhanced hearing to perceive the occasional creak and groan from the ship, now straining to hold itself together. It's sagging surface, no longer smooth and shiny, dully reflected the room's lighting as if it had been washed in soot.
Standing next to him, Lieutenant Commander Data watched with fascination. "Structural disintegration is imminent." He checked his tricorder. Half a dozen other personnel from Sciences and Engineering monitored the Vian ship's demise as well, with tricorders, scanners, and a portable spectro-analyzer. If they couldn't stop the end, they would at least record it faithfully.
The door to the hangar bay opened and Captain Picard entered. He stopped and glanced at the readings being collected by one of the attending scientists before going to stand next to LaForge. Data repeated his prognosis of doom for the alien craft and Picard acknowledged it with a nod.
The door to the hangar bay opened again. Riker entered with the three Minarans in tow.
"Eeeeeeerrrrrooooooo." An ominous groan echoed through the spacious bay. The Minarans, the male in particular, looked about, eyes wide. His gaze fell on the Vian ship and he quickened his pace. He stopped when Picard and Data held up their hands, staying his advance.
Straining metal screeched and finally relaxed its struggle to hold its form. A huge rear section of the Vian ship fell away and crashed to the floor. In quick succession more pieces cracked and dropped away to clang on the deck. It lost all its gloss entirely. The warped and deadly gray remains now resembled the carnage left behind after a fire.
Picard and Riker watched the Minarans. The male seemed particularly affected, as if he was watching a hope die underneath the crushing weight of reality. The females stood close to him protectively and shared his sadness.
But they didn't seem to be surprised, as if they looked on at the long-expected death of a friend.
ooo *_* ooo *_* ooo
She felt his great sadness at the passing of the space craft. They had known it would occur. When it had become clear that its life was slipping even beyond their ability to sustain, the Oldest One had communicated to them that the ship would take them to a safe place, but after that, it would no longer need to exist.
She touched him and felt his answering memories of the ship as it had once been. Her Dearest-Most Follower hugged him. Neither of them had really liked travelling in it, not as he had, but they had felt the thrill of star travel through him.
Even as she shared his grief, she watched the ones from the great ship. The Hair-Faced One and the Smooth-Headed One observed them carefully. As usual they wanted to know what they knew. Touching these people was so difficult and indirect. They touched each other with only the sounds they made. But she knew; she could feel that, behind closed doors, in the many rooms of this ship, they were intimate with each other.
Their minds were insensitive to the feelings and currents of those around them. They reached out to one another with sound as cold and impersonal to her as hurtling through empty space in an alien ship while feeling no pressure of movement upon her body.
The Hair-Faced One made his sounds at them. He used his arms to express his meanings toward them and toward the crumbling pile of gray that had once been so beautiful. As always, he wanted them to give him what they knew of it and what it had been. But they had given all they had, and they slowly shook their heads.
She felt a strong twinge of frustration from the limitations of communicating with these people this way. Her curiosity about their inability to sense the life's movements within them changed to annoyance at having to express herself so distantly to them. She had picked up all their gestures and facial expressions and now felt quite fluent with them. But that simply wasn't enough. And even if she could have created any of the noises they made, she was certain that wouldn't be adequate either.
Behind the Hair-Faced One, the Machine-Body One made sounds to the Device-Eyes One. He replied and the Machine-Body One listened attentively. Her Yearning-Most Follower gracefully extended his hand back to the Hair-Faced One and the Smooth-Headed One. He was sad, from the loss of the ship of the Oldest One and he was sad that he had nothing more to give from it. The surface meaning of his gesture was clear to these Others, but the depth of her Yearning-Most Follower's memories was invisible to them. The Hair-Faced One shook his head and turned to the Smooth-Headed One in deference.
She sensed the complexities of the thoughts and meanings contained in their sounds, and she understood that she could not comprehend the subtleties buried in them, but the inner thoughts and sensations were missing from these impersonal exchanges. She wondered if they even truly understand each other.
The Machine-Body One and the Device-Eyes One approached and made sounds to the first two. She had seen everyone defer to these two. And between them, the Hair-Faced One always deferred to the smaller, Smooth-Headed One.
She studied them carefully, even as they studied her and her companions. Surely the time for distant introductions had come to an end. Though aliens, they were very similar in many ways. The feelings and life flows trapped within their bodies were as real as her own, but cruelly isolated. It would be a bitter thing indeed to be returned to their home by these people and then to part without even once touching them.
ooo *_* ooo *_* ooo
Commander Riker had turned to leave when the taller female stopped him.
He'd escorted the three Minarans back to their quarters, and was about to leave when he felt a hand at his elbow. Curiously, he looked back at her. The door, which had opened, automatically slid closed as he stepped back.
"Yes?" he asked.
She smiled back at him enticingly. Her arm slid around to his waist, her body brushed up against his. A smile crept across his own lips as he looked back at a very pleasing pair of green eyes. She didn't need any words to verbalize what she was suggesting. Her other hand touched his chest, slid down to his stomach and lower. In it's wake, the skin under his uniform tingled. He thought about what Doctor Crusher had said about the Minarans' nervous systems.
He straightened. The other two Minarans were watching them.
"Um, perhaps this isn't the right place." Riker had no reservations about what she was suggesting, but he did object to an audience. The other two seemed amused by his discomfort and they nodded knowingly to their companion. She looked at him and shrugged in a 'what can we do?' gesture. Her hand caressed his waist and the tingling increased. He gently took her wrist and turned her toward the door.
"If you'll excuse us," he said to the other two. The male shrugged back, and if she'd been capable of it, Riker thought that the smaller female would have giggled.
They left together.
ooo *_* ooo *_* ooo
Captain Picard entered his quarters. What a waste, he thought, sitting down at his desk. He activated the viewer and brought up a synopsis of the data they had about the Vians.
Where were they? On the world that the Minarans now inhabited? Probably. But apparently they maintained only an elitist relationship with the race they'd saved from the Minaran nova.
Alone, the rest of his rooms in darkness save for the working area, he brooded over the lighted display. Why had the Vian headed for Federation space? Had it been even intentional, or perhaps the whim of that dying Vian pilot?
He eyed a visual of the Vian ship as it had first appeared to them. What a waste.
ooo *_* ooo *_* ooo
She caressed the hair on his face and he smiled sleepily back at her. It didn't feel nearly as nice as she'd hoped. The hairs were rough and scratchy. She kissed him and he lazily responded. He was spent.
He relaxed, his movements becoming more and more languid. She gently stroked his hair long after he fell asleep as she pondered what she would do now.
They were so similar and yet so unalike. Passion was the same, but intimacy remained fettered, strangled in isolation. All he had taken from her had been the sensual pleasure of the moment and only the simplest of emotions. That was all he'd been able to offer her. The beauty of the instant, the subtleties of life flowing to it peak had entirely escaped him. But even so, his piteously inadequate responses had been enough to satisfy her with their sincerity.
She sat up and lightly touched his forehead. It could be done. He could feel what she felt.
She took her hand away and got up. Perhaps later she would. She washed. Then she dressed.
Before leaving she fondly regarded her Hair-Faced One. But there were others on the ship that she could touch.
ooo *_* ooo *_* ooo
Warren Muli had just finished his shift in security and looked forward to a quiet evening with Fred, a holo-drama, a big basket of french fries and a carbonated soda.
"Uh oh."
One of the Minarans, alone and unescorted, wafted down the corridor in her shimmering, green dress toward him. His evening plans evaporated like a soda bubble.
Why did I have to find her? he wondered as he held up a hand to stop her. She complied easily enough, but she stood rather closer than he liked. He stepped back and tapped his communicator.
"Ensign Muli to Mister Worf."
"Worf here." Thankfully, the Minaran seemed to recognize Worf's voice and she warily backed away.
"I've found one of the Minarans wandering around on Deck 8 alone, sir."
"Which one?"
"Uh, the tall woman. I don't know what she wants. And there's no one else around."
"I'll be right there."
'Wonderful,' Muli thought. He knew from the hour that Lieutenant Worf had to be off duty. He'd just interrupted a Klingon in whatever Klingon officers did when they were off duty. A few minutes later Worf appeared, wearing white, coarse pajamas and slippers. He looked angry, but not any more than usual, Muli thought with relief.
Properly intimidated, the Minaran didn't get within two paces of the security chief.
"You should not be here," he instructed. She straightened and gave him a 'I don't know what you're talking about' look.
Worf reached almost over her shoulder to touch the com panel on the wall. She shied away from his outstretched arm.
"Worf to Counselor Troi..."
ooo *_* ooo *_* ooo
"I-I don't think it's going to work out after all." The young woman and man sat next to each other on the couch, but they scrupulously avoided touching each other and looked in opposite corners of the room while the woman spoke.
"I see," Troi replied. "What do you think, Bahni?"
ooo *_* ooo *_* ooo
"...Counselor Troi is unavailable," the computer answered Worf's call. "Do you wish to interrupt?"
"No," Worf answered. The last time he'd interrupted...well he didn't like to think about the last time he'd interrupted Counselor Troi. The Minaran made noiseless speaking motions with her lips. She held her hands up and gestured toward herself as if she wanted something.
"Is there someone you wish to see?" the Klingon asked. The Minaran looked quizzically at him and then nodded. Worf punched up the I.D. file they'd been using to communicate with the Minarans. Annoying as it was for him to use pictures to speak with these aliens, from a security point of view, Worf appreciated the limitations of the Minarans on a ship where the control systems were primarily voice-activated.
She didn't respond to pictures of her companions, Counselor Troi, or Doctor Crusher. She grinned at Commander Riker's image. Worf had no idea what this meant, but it wasn't an affirmative, so he went on.
She pointed at Picard's picture on the computer terminal screen next to the comm panel.
"It's late," he told her brusquely. She pointed at the picture. Then she started, looking around Worf's shoulder. Worf and Muli turned just in time to see the head of a miniature version of the Klingon duck back into a side corridor.
"Alexander!" Worf bellowed at his son. He was supposed to have gone to bed an hour ago. "Return to our quarters, at once!" They heard a pair of small feet running away down the corridor. Growling, Worf turned back to his first problem. The Minaran was smiling. She pointed to the picture of Picard again.
"Picard here," the captain replied to Worf's call.
"Worf here, Captain. We've found one of the Minarans wandering unattended on Deck 8. She appears to want to see you."
Alone at the desk in his cabin, Picard looked up from his view screen. He'd been working late.
"To see me?"
"Yes, sir."
"Bring her to my quarters, Mister Worf." He finished the sentence he'd been writing, saved his work and filed it. He brought up the lights in the main room. A moment later the Minaran entered, followed by Worf and one of his security people. Picard only glanced at the Klingon's white pajamas. He didn't expect him to wear his uniform all the time, though from the stiffness of Worf's posture, the lieutenant obviously did, at least when reporting to his superiors.
The Minaran stood before him, the desk between them. She made a slow arms open gesture toward him, her upper body leaning over his desk. He swallowed, not quite knowing what to make of it. The green dress she now wore was patterned after one of Counselor Troi's. The shimmering material clung to the gentle curves of her body attractively and his eyes briefly focused on the smooth skin of her breasts, revealed by the plunging neckline as she bent toward him. He straightened in his seat.
"Have you spoken with Counselor Troi?"
"Counselor Troi is...unavailable at the moment."
Picard nodded. He'd interrupted Counselor Troi a few times himself and didn't care to repeat the mistake if he could avoid it.
"The last time I saw you," he politely addressed the Minaran, "you were with your friends and Commander Riker." She shrugged innocently, as if she knew something that he didn't. Picard tapped his communicator.
"Picard to Commander Riker." He waited. No answer.
"Commander Riker, respond." Another long pause.
"Computer, locate Commander Riker."
"Commander Riker is in his quarters." After the briefest of nods from Picard, Worf and Ensign Muli left to investigate.
The Minaran still stood in front of Picard's desk. He got up from his seat. Slowly, deliberately, she moved around the desk to stand directly in his way. She was a little bit taller than him and he found himself staring at her glittering green eyes. She licked her lips.
"Perhaps we should..." She touched him. He gasped. It was now blatantly apparent what she was offering. He stepped back.
"I'm sorry, I don't think..." She lovingly stroked his neck. Something went numb in his throat. His lips moved, but no sound came out. His mouth filled with saliva.
He seized her wrist and roughly pulled her hand away from him. He reached for his communicator. Even without speaking he could signal a distress, and now there was something more ominous about Commander Riker not answering his hail.
She touched his chest and his grip on her relaxed, his arms dropping to his sides. She guided him to his knees on the floor. Her eyes were questioning, almost pleading. It didn't look like she meant him any harm, and it certainly didn't feel that way.
He gasped again. What had Doctor Crusher's report been about the Minarans? Empathic nervous system? Capable of sensing and affecting the life energy of others? She sensually caressed his cheeks and under his chin. Even if he could have called for help, exactly what would he say? Her hands slid down to his shoulders, tracing lazy arcs on his chest.
Gritting his teeth and once again, he tried to say something and failed. It felt as if he'd entirely forgotten how to speak. He glared at the Minaran. Surely, if she was empathic, she would know that he did not want her attentions, no matter how seductive the physical sensation. Indeed, he could see worry lines crinkling between her green eyes, her brows drawing together. She looked concerned, even as she massaged the muscles at his sides, her hands working lower. His breathing slowed, loud and husky, in time with the rhythm of her kneading. He tried to push her away and barely managed to move his arms at all. Air whistled between his clinched teeth.
Stop it, he thought with as much venom as he could muster.
She did.
Her hands fell away and he sank lower to sit on the floor, his legs curled up under him. He looked up at her face which showed utter puzzlement, even shock. With a sudden flash of insight he read her expression. Nobody had ever said 'no' to her before.
She touched his head. Her fingertips left a tingling trail that made him shiver. He shut his eyes and shook his head weakly. It doesn't matter what it feels like, I am not interested. Her hands left him and for a moment he thought that she might have finally gotten the message. But then her hands returned, grasping him about the middle, she pressed his head between her breasts. His head swam. She lowered him to the floor.
He opened his eyes. They lay partially under his desk. She straddled him, her inner thighs rubbing against his hips.
Stop it, he thought fiercely. But she didn't seem to hear him this time. Or she didn't want to. She began mouthing the skin of his throat. The smell of her was sweet, yet alien. Helplessly, he inhaled her scent. Treacherously, his body continued to respond to her.
It made some sense to him. Given two contradictory reactions to her advances, of course she would choose the physical over the mental one. Her whole race communicated by empathy. His denial of his own physical responses could be as alien to her as secrets were to a race of pure telepaths. And he couldn't deny that what she was doing was pleasurable. Her lips moved up to his chin. His jaw involuntarily relaxed.
He shut his eyes again and deliberately thought violent things about her to drive her away. None of the Minarans would ever approach Lieutenant Worf and the Klingon was one of the most violently natured people he knew, at least personally.
She paused, and he kept it up. Knives slicing flesh. Huge, hideous slithering worms spitting acid. Explosive decompression. Blood boiling away in vacuum. Eyes bulging in their sockets. The sadistic images seemed to give him a tiny bit of strength, and he clenched his teeth again.
He felt her body weight on his chest. Her lips touched his. Her tongue slipped into his mouth and the sensation made him suck inward. Her hands loosened the fastener of his trousers.
He bit down. Hard.
In a twinkling the sensation changed from indescribable pleasure to agony. His back arched. His jaw locked. The pain of his teeth cutting into her tongue magnified and shot back into him like an electric current. She squirmed, but still desperately tried not to move her head and work his teeth deeper into her flesh. He tasted salty, acidic blood.
Her hands touched his jaw. White pain flashed before his eyes. His mouth opened and he heard her bump into the furniture as she rolled away from him.
He still couldn't move, couldn't speak, couldn't swallow or even close his mouth, which still hung open. The piercing pain from his jaw shot right through his temples. Flickering phantoms clouded his vision. He felt nauseous.
Well, he thought, at least it worked.
o o o End Part 3