A World for Dreams

Chapter Three

Reward

(Tucker)

He's down!

I see him on the gurney and I still can't believe it. The vicious little bastard always seemed so in control, so ... so damned invincible. He was bad enough aboard Enterprise till he fell for that Gorn's trick – there were times when I think he even gave Archer the creeps. As for me, I could feel it every time he prowled into Engineering, even before I laid eyes on him; that prickle between your shoulder blades that tells you someone's got a phase pistol drawing a bead there. And I haven't forgotten the day he finally got an excuse to shut me into that fucking Agony Booth that he and Phlox dreamed up ... I can still see that wicked little gleam in his eye as he turned up the gain. He was loving every second of it, probably trying to see if he could kill me with it.

Twisted little fucker.

After he paired up with that Alpha guy I honestly thought he had it made. On the feeds you could tell they were lovers; Reed's always been bi, but there was this fluidity, this almost symbiosis somehow ... It was like watching mating snakes. In more ways than one.

As for what Em was to the two of them, well, we won't go there, except to say she always looked like a cat on a sun-porch swing. Not that a cat on a sun-porch swing is any less a cat; nice little tweety-bird sets down in pouncing range, and you'll soon find out what those claws are for. When she was on board Enterprise she wouldn't have looked twice at me of course, but a couple of my crewmen lived to tell the tale. Just about. I swear even Phlox was surprised by the marks she left on Delaney's back, and the poor guy was so traumatised I let him off with light duties for the next two days...

So there it was, and here it is: he's down. Down but not out. I double-, triple- and quadruple-checked the orders when they came through, but even after I was convinced they were legitimate, I wasn't about to do the deed myself. Phlox is the doc, let him do the drugging, and then if the MACO escort didn't get the memo at least I'd get to die quickly. As it was, even as fast as the drug worked, Reed the viper was damn near fast enough to get the strike in before he went down. I think Phlox about shit himself with fright.

So, our Major Malfunction – or I suppose he's General Chaos, now – went down like a felled tree; but he's still conscious, and even now I feel a little slither of fear down my back as I catch his eyes. Murderous doesn't even come close. If he gets out of this, the bill will be higher than any of us can afford to pay.

They push the gurney away down the corridor, and I'm left with Em Gomez. She's sultrier than ever, and somehow manages to transform the simple act of stepping into my personal space into one that sets my pulse thudding.

I can't help but speculate exactly what she used to get up to with those other two. If Reed thought he was the only one who had access to the security feeds aboard Enterprise, he underestimated me. I was the Chief Engineer, and a sneaky bastard to boot. I have hours of footage of Em exercising her libido with whoever happened to take her fancy – him included of course. If ever she gets tired of being in charge of the Empire, she'll have a million-credit career waiting for her in the porn industry.

Her dark Latin eyes are stunning, close up. They seem to make mortal sin out of sliding my uniform zipper down a few centimeters, and although I know that her fingers are slipping inside just to position the securing pin that'll stop my reward from skewering me, it's still as much as I can do to keep my imagination from making so much more of it that as soon as she steps back she'll put me on report for indecency in front of a superior officer.

"Bien hecho, Comodoro," she says evenly as she pins the rank pip in place. It's what I was promised if I came through, and like a little kid I get a kick out of hearing it. This means power, acknowledged power rather than the subtle grip I've been establishing out of sight of the sun. They promised; I delivered; I get my reward. Though seeing Reed crash is almost enough of a reward in itself. I'm guessing Liz Cutler sure won't be shedding many briny tears over the bastard's downfall...

"Thank you, Ma'am." I salute as I should, pin-sharp; even being an engineer doesn't save me from being expected to do the honors correctly to a superior officer. "Will there be anything else?"

"Nada, gracias." Her gaze runs down me, as slow as molasses, and I know instinctively that my face wouldn't be any object if she were in the mood to crook her finger. I have the most bizarre dual reaction: part of me prays she would crook it, but the other part remembers what she's just had done to a man whose bed she's shared regularly over the years, and who presumably had some sort of feeling for her. Being as the man in question is Malcolm Reed I wouldn't guess exactly what that feeling was, but I'd bet my bottom dollar it wasn't 'indifference'.

I get lucky, or maybe unlucky. She has other fish to fry, and so with a sultry sidelong glance that suggests the finger-crooking may simply have been postponed for another day, she strolls off down the corridor after the gurney. Without making it too obvious, I turn my head to watch her. She has the most glorious undulating walk, effortless because she places one foot almost in front of the other, like she's walking a tightrope. Maybe she is, but hell, it sure makes for a view to die for from behind.