MISSION TO DALETH IV

by Soledad

For disclaimer, rating, etc., see the Foreword.

Author's notes:

This is the actual chapter that deals with sexual slavery, drug addiction and semi-non-con sexual situations. It also contains some coarse language and non-descriptive same-gender sex. As this is an extremely sanitized version, it's pretty tame as such things go. An unedited version will eventually be posted to my website, but I can't tell yet when.

All these things do have their purpose for the plot. You'll realize it if you decide to read the story despite the warning. But if any of them bothers you too much, please do us both the favour and hit the Back button. Thank you.


CHAPTER 08: AN ACT OF FRIENDSHIP

Thy rematerialized in the mostly empty cargo bay of the Bianchi and waited anxiously for the others to join them, as Ortiz was the one with the field medic training, and they couldn't do much without him. To their surprise, he arrived alone, just a few minutes later.

"Ben is organizing the Rigelian boy's transport," he explained, taking out his medical tricorder and checking the unconscious man. After the readings scrolled down on the small screen, he swore softly. "Shit!"

"What's wrong?" Haiduk asked. "We knew he'd be drugged, didn't we? That was to be expected."

"Yeah, but this is no ordinary drug," Ortiz swore in a little known Spanish slang. "This is kireshet, and not the sort I've ever seen before. Dammit, I can't even try to guess where it is from."

"I can," Haiduk said. "We found a storeroom full of this stuff. Most likely Harry Mudd's most recent cargo. What else is there?"

"Isn't that enough?" Ortiz looked up at her with worried eyes. "You all know how common kireshet works. This thing – I've no idea what it can do, but it must be a lot worse."

"I know," Haiduk said calmly. "That's why we need to know every single detail. So. What else is there?"

"Relaxing salve," Ortiz replied grimly. "There's enough inside him to serve all the boys of Madame Vithra's. S'Bysh must have been really impatient."

"What are we going to do now?" Yeoman Applegnat asked. "He'll be hornier than a rutting animal when he comes to, and leaving him like that could be life-threatening. I've heard of guys going mad from an overdose of kireshet, unless…"

"I'll give him some antidote," Ortiz replied. "A really big shot of antidote, in fact. Enough to counteract the drug, at least temporarily. But he'll need therapy."

"Where?" Burt asked quietly. Ortiz nodded.

"There are a few psychological institutes that have managed to cure kireshet victims. As far as I know, Elba II has the best success rate of all. We'll have to send Jon there."

"I don't think this is our decision to make," Burt said. "Jon is in command of this unit and in charge of the current mission. He must decide what's going to happen."

"He won't be in the shape to make any decisions," Yeoman Applegnat pointed out. "If he lives through the overdose to begin with, the only thing he'll be able to think of when he awakes will be how to get laid. He'll be crazy with need, and there's absolutely nothing we could do about it."

"Not true," Burt said. "I had special training to deal with addicts under such circumstances. It could be done."

"With kireshet addicts?" Ortiz shook his head doubtfully. I don't know, Greg. This is the most potent addictive aphrodisiac I've ever seen – and I have seen my share of mind-altering drugs. I don't know how we could get Jon through withdrawal on our own."

"We can't," Burt said. "That's not how it's done when the victim is an undercover agent."

"Enlighten me," Ortiz replied sarcastically. "You don't want us to send him to Elba II. You don't want him to go through cold withdrawal, either. How in seven hells do you intend to help him, then?"

"By giving him what he needs," Burt replied calmly.

The others stared at him in glassy-eyed shock. There was a long, stunned silence.

"You do not mean what I think you mean, do you?" Haiduk finally asked.

"That's exactly what I mean," Burt said. "I've done this before, and the guy lived to tell the tale. Sure, Jon would still need therapy afterwards; even common kireshet is much too addictive to get away from it without professional help, and this stuff… I don't know. But getting what he needs will calm Jon down enough to be able to think clearly, at least for a few hours a day and to bring this mission to its end. If that is what he wants."

"Yeah, but will you be able to give him what he needs?" Ortiz asked seriously. "Kireshet addicts are known to war off professional whores in no time – and we're not even dealing with the common version here."

"Centaurians have more stamina than humans do," Burt shrugged. "That's why we are the ones selected for this particular training. This is not the first time that an SI operative caught this sort of addiction. As I said, I've done this before."

Haiduk shook his head. "I'm not listening to this madness. We're sending Jon to Elba II, and that's final. I won't allow you to mess with his sanity – or his life."

"With all due respect, Commander, this is not your decision to make," Burt replied. "Nor do I stand under your command. I'm an independent operative with very special competences, working on a joint assignment with your unit, not a member of it. And I'm the only one who's ever had experiences with kireshet addicts. If I say it's doable, then you can be assured that it is. And Jon has the right to decide about his own fate."

"Yeah, but he'd need to return to some semblance of normally for that," Yeoman Applegnat said.

"If Miguel shoots him full with antidotes, he might sleep through the night while the first and worst effects wear out," Burt said. "Then he'll be able to think straight in the morning and make his decision. We can plan the next step after that."

"He won't be able to sleep," Ortiz shook his head. "You know how… specific kireshet addiction is. That damned thing was developed with the purpose to make the victim sexually submissive… to make them want to be used and abused. It works like brainwashing."

Burt nodded. "I know. But that's what special toys are for. In his current state, a piece of plastic would do the trick nicely enough."

"I can't believe we are having this conversation," Haiduk rolled her eyes in disgust. "Sure, we've done a few… unconventional things to help each other out of some tight spots, but what you're suggesting is not help. It's feeding his addiction!"

"No," Burt said quietly. "It's giving him a chance to choose."

"It might work," Ortiz said after some more thought. "Maybe we should give it a try. What do you think?"

Haiduk threw her hands over her head in exasperation. "People, this ain't a democracy. With Jon incapacitated, I am the ranking officer here, and it's my responsibility to get the job done. We could discuss Jon's right to decide above his own life until we turn bluer than Lamia, but the fact is and remains that when it comes to the success or failure of this mission, the decision is mine, not his. I'm sorry about what happened to him, in fact, we've been friends a lot longer that you've known him, but if you think you can emotionally blackmail me into anything you'd like to happen, think again!"

"I can't believe you wouldn't give him a chance," Burt said through gritted teeth. Haiduk gave him an icy glare.

"You might not be a member of our unit, Lieutenant, but Commander Drake is. He knows and respects the chain of command, and he'd be the first to tell you that I'm in charge here. If you can't accept that simple fact, you have probably worked alone for too long. Maybe you need to serve as a simple security officer on a starship for a while again, in order to set your priorities straight."

Everyone who knew Haiduk well enough also knew that this was not an empty threat. She had enough influence in Starfleet Security to have Burt transported to a patrol ship along the Neutral Zone and let him rot there for years. And she was well within her rights to do so, as Burt had clearly overstepped his area of competence. He had no right to challenge her authority, while all she was doing was to try and get their actual job done.

"Lieutenant," Yeoman Applegnat warned him quietly, "she's right. If I were you, I'd back off now, while I still can."

Burt opened his mouth for an angry riposte – then he decided against it and all he gave was a small, tense nod.

"A wise decision," Haiduk said grimly. "Now, Yeoman, I'd like you to perform another site-to-site transport. I want to keep Jon in my own quarters, for the time being. Given my reputation, they probably won't look for him there. And my security measures are the tightest ones on the entire station."

Applegnat nodded, starting to recalibrate the site-to-site transporter. It was a small, harmless-looking device, still in experimental status, used by undercover units in cases of extreme need only.

"Have you shut down security in your quarters?" he asked.

Haiduk keyed a sequence into her communicator.

"It's down now," she said; then she looked at Burt. "Go with Jon. Do what you have to do. You've got tonight and not a nanosecond longer. Tomorrow, we'll decide how to continue. Miguel, give Jon the antidote. We'll meet in my quarters tomorrow at 0600. Dismissed."


Burt watched his commanding officer – who also happened to be his best friend – all night. Drake's sleep was restless, the kireshet and the special salve, a strong muscle relaxant and also a potent aphrodisiac itself, burning his insides, although Burt'd had mercy with him, cheating the sensations of his body with some very special toys. Being able to feel something – anything – inside him, even if it was only the piece of lifeless plastic, seemed to help a little, but Burt knew, once Jon's regained consciousness, it won't be enough anymore.

The situation saddened the Centaurian beyond relief. Under different circumstances he would have enjoyed an intimate encounter with his commanding officer greatly. Centaurians not having a gender preference, unless it was a matter of procreation, he'd lusted after Jon for a long time. Having to watch the graceful body every night, swaying seductively on the stage, practically nude, could do that to a guy. For times uncountable had he fantasized about having sex with Jon. It wouldn't have changed their working relationship a bit. Centaurians could make a clear difference between love and simple lust, and they saw nothing wrong with the latter.

But he also the fact that it wasn't going to happen. Jon was no virgin to male lovers (no professional dancer had ever been, not in the circles they usually worked, that is) but he simply wasn't interested in men. He liked women, and his youthful experiences with his own gender belonged to the past. Humans were… different in this matter.

It took almost six hours until Drake finally managed to resurface somehow from his drug-induced haze. The artificially-coloured, deep red eyes became as clear as it could be expected in his current state, and he looked at Burt in confusion.

"Greg? What happened?"

"What do you remember?" Burt asked back. Drake shrugged.

"I finished my last number. Went to the dressing room to change. Those green girls were there again – they behaved as if they were in the rut. One of them… scratched me with a… sharp fingernail… on the forearm… and I don't know anything after that."

"No wonder," Burt said grimly. "That explains how they got kireshet into your system. It must have been under her fingernail."

Drake' face became grey as he slowly understood the ramifications.

"Kireshet? Oh God… have I been imprinted already?"

He knew as well as the others how the psycho-active drug worked. It influenced the lust centre of the humanoid brain, making the recipient sexually dependent from his or her bed partner, after getting hooked on it.

Burt shook his head. "Not yet. But it comes worse. You weren't given the common drug… it's a new, advanced version of it; a very potent one. If you want to complete our mission here… well, you know what the choices are."

Drake nodded, rubbing his rear absently.

"I do feel as if I'd been nailed to the mattress repeatedly," he said. "Have you plugged me?"

"For the whole night," Burt admitted, "Otherwise you'd have gone mad. According to Miguel's readings, you were given a triple dose from the advanced version – and they've already prepared you for the taking. We got to you in the last minute.

"Thank God," Drake said. "It surprises me that my head is relatively clear, though."

"Miguel shot you with a heavy dose of the antidote," Burt explained, "but the ugly truth is, we don't know what this new drug is like, what it can do. It's best to expect the worst. Once the antidote wears off… well, you know what's likely to happen."

Drake nodded. Of course he knew. They all did. During their three-year-stay on Daleth Station, they had seen enough bed slaves to estimate the effect of the drug, even that of the new version. Kireshet was kireshet. The only difference lay in the strength of it.

"We must hurry up, though," Burt warned him. "The antidote is going to wear off soon – in thirty standard minutes or even less – and when that happens, you won't be able to think straight anymore."

"I know. What are the options?"

"Well, we can put you into a stasis chamber and ship you off to Elba II as Commander Haiduk suggested…"

"No way," Drake said. "I know she only wants the best, for me and for the mission, too, but we have worked on this assignment for three years. I want to finish it!"

"We could finish it without you," Burt offered, playing devil's advocate. "It wouldn't be easy – but doable."

"No, it would be not," Drake said. "I'm the only one who can give the necessary guarantees all our contacts – nobody else is empowered to do so, nor would all the involved players trust anyone else. No, Greg, I must do this. We've come this far – we can't back off now, so close to our goal. This particular branch of the Orion Syndicate must be cut off, and I won't let S'Bysh hinder me in that which has to be done."

"You are aware of the possible risks, aren't you?"

"Of course I am. I might be drugged, Greg, but at the moment my brain seems to be functioning well enough."

"Well, in that case… you know what the only other choice is…"

"I can imagine," Drake sighed; then he looked at Burt and asked. "You?"

"I'm the only one with a special training for such cases," said Burt. "But I must warn you, Jon. It's gonna be brutal, for both of us."

"I know," Drake said, "And I'm grateful that you're willing to do this for me. It's not what you imagined it would be, is it?"

"What are you talking about?" Burt stared at him in shock. Drake smiled wryly.

"Greg, I used to be a professional dancer. I can notice when someone has the hots for me. You were very discreet, but your eyes betrayed you every time you watched me dancing."

"You knew…" Burt murmured, unbelievingly. "You knew and you never said a word…"

"Why should I?" Drake asked with a shrug. "It would have only embarrassed you… embarrassed both of us. I was not interested – and I didn't want to lose you as a member of the team… or as a friend."

"Then why telling me now?" Burt asked.

"Because I want you to know that I don't mind if you… well, if you at least get something out of the whole mess," Drake answered with brutal honesty. "In fact, it makes the whole affair a little easier for me to bear."

"You will enjoy it, too, you know," Burt said. "That is the most fucked-up thing with kireshet – that the victim enjoys being violated. The more brutal the act, the more they crave next fix."

"Then you should be gentle with me, I guess," Drake laughed humourlessly. "Greg, the antidote is beginning to wear off. I can feel it. I'm getting all hot and bothered again. I'll need you, very soon. Do you want me to beg you for it? I won't be above to do so, you know."

"I know," Burt sighed, "and I'd never humiliate you like that. We'll get you a quick fix, before things get really bad, so that you can keep thinking more or less clearly. Then we'll see how to keep going."


At 0600 station time, the others arrived to Haiduk's quarters for the long-overdue debriefing. They were relieved to see their commanding officer in a relatively sane state, and Lt. Comdr. Haiduk accepted his decision without protest, although she obviously still found it a very bad idea.

Aguilar came a little late – he looked tired but content.

"I've kept up our side of the bargain," he reported. "Brought that boy to Rigel V and delivered him to his family safely. I think I've broken the speed record within a planetary system."

"What boy? Where did you bring him?" Drake asked in surprise.

Aguilar gave him a short but thorough report of the most recent events. Drake looked from him to Haiduk disbelievingly.

"You've made a deal with Madame Vithra's bodyguard?" he repeated. "Do you know in what kind of situation does that put us?"

"I'm not a fool," Aguilar replied angrily. "I thought it's still the lesser evil to exchange… favours with the Rigelians than to leave you to become a recipient of S'Bysh's famous hospitality."

Drake rolled his eyes. "Great… just what we needed. Compromising our credibility by making deals with the local scum."

"Jon, be reasonable," Haiduk said. "Ben wasn't the one to approach the Rigelian – it was the other way round. And we couldn't risk leaving you in S'Bysh's captivity. Aside from the personal consequences, they'd have turned your mind inside out with those drugs, and we could have forgotten the entire mission. So calm down and let us discuss the participation of our Tellarite friends in the next step, shall we?"

Everyone grinned, and they went back to planning the big showdown. Work made considerable progress in the next hour and a half – until the next attack hit Drake without warning.

"We'll have to call a break," he said through gritted teeth. "I'm afraid I need my next fix."

Half an hour and a fast, rough coupling later (followed by another round with the dermal regenerator), when they returned to Haiduk's quarters, Drake looked well enough again, though his eyes were haunted.

"This is not good," Haiduk said. "Greg won't be able to keep up with your ravenous appetites at this rate. He might have more stamina than a human, but he's not a machine."

"Believe me, I'm trying to hold back," Drake hissed, "but if you expect me to function as usual, there's no way around me getting laid frequently. Otherwise I'd turn into a whimpering idiot within the current day."

"No, you'd turn violent and self-destructive," Ortiz corrected dryly, "but don't worry, the time slots between two attacks will grow as the effect of the drugs wears off. I'd like to avoid shooting you with antidotes – they could become just as addictive as the drug itself, after a while."

"Then leave them entirely."

"I can't do that, Jon. We all agreed that you'll need to return to S'Bysh's, according to your contract, as if nothing happened. The evening performance'll be the riskiest part, with all those drug vapours in the air of the theatre. Even if they are not as bad as kireshet, they will influence you to an extent. Probably even trigger an attack. Greg should wait in the dressing room with you, so that you could have a quick fix between numbers if necessary."

"But what if Greg can't keep up with him?" Aguilar asked. "I know, the whole team screwing our commanding officer isn't how teamwork is usually defined, but could we… erm… help out? You all know that I usually don't sleep with men, but…"

Ortiz shook his head. "That won't work. Ben. Jon is imprinted on Greg now – the drug causes a very specific addiction. I'd suggest plugs; at least they won't give him the impression of cheating on his master."

"His… master?" Aguilar repeated in shock. Ortiz shrugged.

"Kireshet has been developed to create this specific sort of dependence. Until Jon goes through withdrawal, Greg is his master. He'll be fixated on Dreg completely and his satisfaction can come from Greg alone. That's how it works. I'm sorry, but there's nothing any of us could do about it."

Aguilar nodded his understanding, not quite able to hide his relief. Under different circumstances it'd have been funny.

"Well, it is as it is," Drake shrugged. "The endgame starts in four days – we'll have to cope somehow."

"True enough," Haiduk nodded. "But just so that it's clear, Jon: after it's done, you are going to Elba II, even if I have to go to your father to get it done."

Drake grinned at her. "Deal."


Nobody seemed surprised when the young mo'ari dancer appeared on stage in S'Bysh's on the next evening, as punctual as always. The customers didn't have a reason to be surprised – the performance was scheduled, after all – and the personnel valued their lives too much to let anyone notice that something unexpected had happened.

Everything seemed to work as always – with the meaningful absence of the potentate's First. And his Second's. It seemed as if they had vanished into thin air – which, in this particular case, was surprisingly close to the truth. Bodies evaporated by high-level disruptor blasts tended to become quite… gaseous.

On the same day, an entire shipment of new servants and slaves arrived from Orion, among them a new First for the potentate. Like her predecessor, she was a middle-aged woman of the Alpha population: squat and yellow-skinned, with cat-like dark eyes and diagonal pupils. The only difference was that she seemed a little harder, a little more impatient. Which, from her employer's point of view, could be good or bad, depending on the circumstances and the actual task at hand. From the point of view of the slaves and other servants, it was definitely a very bad thing.

S'Bysh was in a particularly bad mood. He'd had to swallow several failures in a row – that wasn't something the success-spoiled pate of Daleth Station was used to. His servants and slaves knew this all too well – and were mortified by the possible consequences.

"Do you want to recapture the subject?" the new First, having learned all that she had to know from her predecessor's detailed records, asked. She knew how to act, should the answer be 'Yes'.

But S'Bysh shook his head thoughtfully.

"No, he said, "not yet. They're watchful now. We'll wait until thy slip in their vigilance. Then we'll grab the boy. And kill his brother. And everyone who might have helped them. Find out who they were. Nobody takes back what's mine."

The First bowed. "As my Lord wishes."

S'Bysh dismissed her with an impatient wave of his fleshy hand. He'd never liked her, which was the reason why it'd taken her so long to become First. She was eager, he had to give her that, and would go over dead bodies to get what her lord wanted – but she'd never be able to reach her recently deceased predecessor's subtlety. She was much too brutal, too straightforward… too primitive.

S'Bysh regretted the tradition that had forced him to order the former First's execution for her failure. Granted, an example had to be made, but he'd have preferred to make someone else pay. He'd never have another First like she'd been. One who could practically read his mind and recognize his needs before he'd have done so himself. One with whom he could have discussed his most secret plans… or philosophy or literature, for that matter. She'd been a jewel – and it was a waste that he had to have her killed.

But that couldn't be helped. Traditions had to be respected for society to remain healthy and working. He needed to get over his loss and focus on that which had to be done.

He summoned his new Second. As tradition demanded, the Second of a potentate's household was always male, just as the First had to be female. While the First took care of domestic matters – including choosing the servants of the household and providing the army of slaves necessary for the smooth functioning of such a great house – the Second was the potentate's extended hand in business matters. Meaning the dirty work, of course. The part where actual business skills were required was taken care of by negotiators – specially trained freeborn agents, whose only duty was to represent their lord's best interests. Only the final decisions were made by the potentate himself.

"Have you opened the sealed door already?" S'Bysh asked, his tone revealing that 'NO' would be a very inadequate answer indeed – with highly unpleasant consequences.

His new Second – unlike the most recent one, a short and wiry man with a deeply furred face and cold, dark eyes – bowed smoothly. "We're almost done, potentate."

"What takes so long?" S'Bysh's voice was low and deceivingly calm. "You know that my… associates are going to arrive in six days' time to seal the business. The ware needs to be stretched, portioned and packed by then, ready to be delivered."

"And it will be, my Lord," the Second promised calmly. "But we must be careful. The storage room is full to the limits, and the ware is extremely heat-sensitive."

"I know that," S'Bysh snorted. "What I don't know is how someone managed to infiltrate my secret cargo room, catch those idiot guards unaware and seal the door so thoroughly that it takes your incompetent fools hours to get it open again."

"Someone who want to harm your business but doesn't have the means to take it over right now perhaps?" the Second offered.

"And the same mystery person goes great lengths to remove my selected bed-warmers from my grasp?" S'Bysh shook his head. "No, there's more behind this. I can feel it."

"Station security, maybe?" the Second guessed. S'Bysh gave him a look of utter detest.

"Why don't you suggest Harry Mudd?" he asked sarcastically. "Station security doesn't have the necessary personnel, nor the equipment to pull something like this. They're barely able to keep the little fish at bay. No; someone is targeting me personally, and it seems they have a lot of background support, in order to do so."

"Should we call in reinforcements from the homeworld?" the Second asked.

"No," S'Bysh smiled thinly, "at least not yet. Not before the business with the new kireshet is sealed. I don't intend the hegemon to have a legal percentage of it. That'd eat up a considerable amount of my profit, making the risk involved too costly to be worth it."

"What do you intend to do then, my Lord?"

"I'll wait. And plan, as always. Once the kireshet is out of my hands, we'll focus on finding my secret adversary. And make them pay."

S'Bysh was confident, as always, based – quite rightly so – on his pars successes. He couldn't know that the forces gathering against him would change his fate permanently. And that before his current business action would be finished.

TBC