MISSION TO DALETH IV

by Soledad

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

Author's notes:

This shortened chapter, once again, is a sanitized version. The unedited version will be posted somewhere eventually – until then, this will serve to bring the story to its end.

Originally, it was meant as an adult supplemental to Chapter 10, but I decided to split it, as the chapter would have grown too long.

This particular storyline grew unexpectedly while I was writing the main story – I never intended to work it out in such a detailed way, but, well, the guys wanted the loose ends of their relationship tied, and who am I to refuse my own characters?


CHAPTER 11: CHOICES AND CHANCES

Rigel VI, late 2970

Mondral signed the new contract – not with the official seal of the clan, nor with his own signature, but with the little-used personal code of Madame Vithra's. The Tellarite businessman grunted contently and left, without wasting his time with such irrelevant pleasantries as thanking him or even saying good-bye. But that was fine with Mondral. The newly sealed contract, that resulted in the transfer of a considerable amount of money, not to the clan's shared account, but to Madame's personal one, also meant that a fat percentage went to his own account as well. That was the advantage of making business with Tellarites: they firmly believed in bribing the mediator generously.

This wasn't the first time that Mondral had been sent off-world to take care of some business fro Madame. Nor was it unusual that he had to act discretely, so that Madame's senior spouses would not take notice of her little financial transactions. Madame had been loosening the financial lash Bonkuyo and the others held her on slowly, carefully, for quite some time. With Mondral's help, she had been building her own contacts patiently, and as she actually did have a keen sense for business – not to mention the best sources to lean on – so far she had been successful.

Fortunately, she also had showed remarkable restraint, cleverly hiding her success from the senior spouses, and waiting for the right chance to make the really big money that would grant her true independence. The fact that the Orion Syndicate was still recovering from the blow dealt to them last year by Starfleet Intelligence, intensified business activity in the entire Rigel system, giving smaller firms and consortiums the much-needed chance to expand. And Madame was a person who always used her chances.

Mondral was working on his own financial interests just as carefully as Madame herself. He, too, saw the opportunity of gaining some extra money – although on a much smaller scale – so that he's be able to buy himself free from Bonkuyo's clutches earlier, and seized it. He'd managed to persuade Madame to make Rigel VI the centre of her business activity, with the argument that the local banks didn't ask many questions when one opened an account, as long as one was willing to place one's money there.

Which was very true. Mondral only neglected to mention that the same was true for his own account. Madame probably wouldn't have appreciated his attempts to regain his freedom – he was much too valuable for the clan in general and for her in particular. And though Mondral didn't intend to remain with her longer than necessary, saying so would have been a grave error. So he remained silent.

The other reason for choosing Rigel VI was that he still had good contacts here, established during his college years. Originally, they served the purpose to gain information, as Mondral was never particularly interested in business. But now the contacts enabled him to find the wealthiest local businessmen, usually Tellarites, which again ensured the nice percentages he got by every successfully sealed deal.

He was considered a 'sensible' negotiating partner among Tellarites – meaning that he could be bribed easily, when the sum was high enough – and they began to point him out to their own associates. Within a year, he'd become an inside tip for Tellarites on Rigel VI, and he began to think about expanding his influence to the other Rigel colonies.

The whole thing wasn't entirely harmless of course. Madame could have faced dire consequences, had the senior spouses – already irate enough by the fact that they'd been unable to find Ishul within the year and thus had to release him from the marriage contract in his absence – discovered her little domestic revolt for financial independence. And when Madame fell, Mondral would fall with her.

On the other hand, Madame could have discovered her champion's similar activities as well, but Mondral wasn't worried too much about that. Sure, there would be the one or other scene in private – Madame's hissing fits were anything but pleasant – but he was much stronger than her, so that she wouldn't be able to do any serious bodily harm. And she couldn't afford to reveal his activities to the senior spouses. Not without revealing her own, that is.

Yes, having Madame in his hands did have its advantages. Not to mention the stimulating effect a little danger always had on Mondral.

The regular visits on Rigel VI were an added bonus for him. Having grown up in the rural poverty of the homeworld, he had fallen in love with this world as soon as he entered college. He loved worlds that pulsated with life, that were as different from the homeworld as possible. And Rigel VI was the quintessence of everything he loved in those worlds.

It was a major trade centre, with a dense population in the urban area – humans tended to create a crowd wherever they went – and large, amazing natural parks outside the cities. Tellarites had their settlements in the mediterranean area, Andorians on the outskirts of the deserts. Vulcans had built a city in the middle of the largest desert and had a flourishing industry of hand-made glassware, making logical use of the abundance of raw material around their homes. Rigelians lived in small, pleasant villages, one clan in one settlement, and humans, humans were everywhere. Especially on the beaches.

Had he more time, Mondral would have considered indulging in the popular human sport of surfing, which he had learned during his college years. It was great fun, but beyond that, it also demanded excellent balance and good reflexes, both things that he needed by his daily work. Needless to say that he was rather good at surfing, and as he never tried it at home, not knowing how his employers would react to it, he'd missed it lately.

But this time he only had the one night to spare – negotiating with Tellarites, although profitable, was also rather time-consuming – so he went to watch one of the open-air performances instead, in a small town near the capital. It was one of the many university towns, dedicated to art and science. Mondral wasn't exactly a scholar, nor wanted he to become one, but he liked music, and the chance to see a genuine Vulcan opera attracted him.

To be accurate, it was less than an opera and more a ballet performance with living music and singing in the background – a uniquely Vulcan art form. Mondral had known the music already – one of his room-mates at college, a Vulcan with artistic tendencies, used to be very fond of this particular piece – but he'd never seen a living performance before, and was very curious what it would be like.

There were no records of the performance itself, as it was – according to his former room-mate – never the same, the dancers creating the pattern every time anew, depending on the inspiration given by the complexity of the music and the performance of the musicians and singers. Knowing how much everything else in Vulcan life was nailed down by millennia-old rules that were followed religiously, this sounded quite unbelievable. But Mondral didn't even try to understand the contradictions of the Vulcan mindset anymore. For a race devoted to logic, they could be fairly puzzling sometimes.

The open-air theatre belonged to a local art school and contained an oval dance floor of shimmering granite, around which the audience was seated on terraced galleries. The musicians, clad in long, old-fashioned dark robes, played on ancient, exotic instruments. They played by heart and didn't even seem to realize the audience at all. The same was true for the singers, who, clad in white, framed the dance floor like graceful statues. Their voices rose above the music without the help of any electronic devices and seemingly without effort, carried by the excellent acoustics of the place alone.

The dancers themselves whirled across the floor in a choreography so complex that Mondral wondered how could so many people move in such a relatively small place so quickly, without crashing into each other. They formed circles and other geometric patterns, clapped their hands in the rhythm of the intense, almost sensual melody, swaying like windswept fern, their gauze-like robes and the long, open hair of the female dancers all but flying in the warm autumn breeze. The sight was both otherworldly and intensely erotic at the same time, although the faces of the dancers were serene, unmoved, emanating an almost meditative peace.

And yet, both the sight and the music touched something in Mondral very deeply, and he felt a familiar ache in his belly. It had been too long since he'd experienced anything but the obligatory services in Madame's bed and the occasional visit by one or the other brothel boy.

During the performance, he repeatedly had the feeling that someone was watching him. He looked around a few times, but it wasn't until near the end of the last act that he discovered the source of that feeling. It was a young man, sitting on a nearby balcony. A slim blond with short, curly hair, in the company of two Rigelian women and a squat human male. Mondral couldn't see him well, as he was sitting in the background, half-hidden by his companions, but some nagging feeling of familiarity wouldn't leave him alone.

Finally, as the act ended and the applause ceased, he left his place and paved his way through the still celebrating audience to that balcony. That earned him a few annoyed looks, but he didn't care. He needed to know who this young man was… and why was he watching him so intently.

The quartet was about to leave the theatre when he reached them. Now he could see the fine, pretty face framed by those blond locks, and though the colours were all wrong, that was a face he'd recognize anywhere.

"Ishul!" he called out instinctively.

The blue-eyed blond stiffened for a moment. One of the women, a squat, dark haired, not very young person, laid an encouraging hand on his forearm. He swallowed nervously, turned back – and broke into a delighted smile.

"Mondral!" he said, and now the champion could recognize his voice as well, although it was less soft, less hesitant now than it used to be. Ishul apparently had gained a great deal of confidence during their year apart. But he seemed genuinely happy to see Mondral, and that, at least, was encouraging, despite his first reaction.

"Give us a moment, please," he said to the women; the human male was gone already. The younger woman, a thin, raven-haired one with a shrew-like face and very bright eyes, cocked her head in doubt.

"Are you sure? Should we not wait for you?"

Ishul smiled. "I'm sure. Don't worry. The dormitory is just a few hundred meters from here. I'll be fine."

The older woman nodded, her dark, warning eyes never leaving Mondral's face. "Remember, you don't have any obligations left towards your former clan," she said in her slightly rough voice. "Not anymore."

"I'm aware of that, Mistress B'Atha," Ishul answered patiently. The woman, apparently the senior wife of a clan, by the title of her, kissed him on one cheek and left them alone.

"Who were they?" Mondral asked, stomping back his jealousy ruthlessly. He'd been starving for the boy, and seeing him touched by some women angered him. Ishul smiled again.

"They are family," he said simply. Mondral felt his heart grow cold.

"You remarried?" He never contemplated that possibility.

Ishul shook his head. "No… although I do have a standing invitation, and might even accept it, in time. But not yet. First, I want to live a little, as other people do. People who were lucky enough to be born somewhere else than Rigel V."

"So, what do you want to do with this new life of yours?" Mondral asked, feeling the distance between them growing by the minute.

"I got accepted at the art college here," Ishul nodded towards a nearby building. "Mistress B'Atha discovered my talent for painting. When I finish college, I can even try to get to the Andorian Academy of Art. My teachers here say I do have the talent. But I need to learn the techniques properly first."

"Is this… hair part of being an artist," Mondral asked. He missed the long, silky dark locks, and what happened to the boy's eyes? Ishul used to have the most beautiful green eyes he'd ever seen.

"No," Ishul said seriously, "that was part of my disguise. I've just stopped the colour-altering treatment a few weeks ago. It'll take some time till I return to my old looks."

"That's a relief," Mondral said. "Not that you weren't pretty enough like this, too, but there isn't any reason to keep hiding your true beauty any longer. You're safe now."

"Officially, I am," Ishul agreed. "That doesn't mean that my former spouses won't try to get back to me, though. That's why Mistress B'Atha and Sealon are being a bit overprotective."

"They are right, I guess," Mondral admitted grudgingly. "Perhaps it's better you lie low for a while yet, little one."

Ishul smiled, but there was slight reproach in his tone when he answered.

"I'm not a child, Mondral, and in the last year, I've learned to be a lot more than just pretty. As I needed to hide, I had a lot of time on my hands to catch up my education. And I have firm plans for my future, now that I actually do have one."

"I see," Mondral said flatly. "Do I still have any place in those grand plans of yours?"

"I don't know," Ishul replied honestly. "You were the first person who's ever truly cared for me, and I'll never forget that."

"But," Mondral supported, dreading what was about to come.

"But I've come to realize that I deserve better than being anyone's bed toy… even yours," Ishul said bluntly.

That stung, but Mondral had to admit that the boy – the young man – was absolutely right.

"You've grown up," he said. Ishul nodded.

"I have… and I'm grateful for the chance. I intend to use it, too. It's not that I don't care for you anymore…"

"You do?"

"Of course I do. But I just don't know if we have a chance to rebuild whatever was between us on new basics – or if you want to do it at all. No," he said, seeing that Mondral was about to say something, "don't answer me yet. I know you hoped that once I'm free of my former clan we'd continue as we used to be. But I can't become that meek little creature again. Not even for you."

"I see," Mondral said after a long silence. "So, what are we doing now?"

"You can come to the dorm with me," Ishul offered with a smile that was positively sultry. "Term has just begun, and my room-mate won't arrive before the day after tomorrow. I've got a perfectly comfortable bed in my room – we could put it to good use."


That wasn't an offer Mondral could have refused, and so they walked through the park from the theatre to the art students' dorm. It was a nice, warm night, both moons of Rigel VI high upon the sky, and they stopped several times to kiss and touch each other. Mondral felt like an adolescent all over again but didn't really mind it.

"You filled out nicely," he said appreciatively. "It looks good on you."

"Physical work in the garden and lots of exercise," Ishul murmured, nibbling on his earlobe. "I had to compensate for the lack of sex during separation year somehow." He rubbed himself against Mondral shamelessly. "I missed you."

"I missed you, too," Mondral slid a hand down Ishul's back. Ishul shivered at the touch.

"Careful!" he warned. "I don't want too lose it on the street. Hold back, just a little longer. We're almost there."

Mondral reluctantly withdrew his hand and followed the young man into the elegant, terraced building. Ishul's room was a large and surprisingly airy one, up on the third floor, directly under the flat roof. It was sparsely furnished, but cluttered with all sorts of artistic items, and in one corner stand a canvas with the half-finished image of a male torso on it. The model's face was obscured by a blur of colour, his nudity veiled by a strategically draped cloth, but Mondral believed to recognize it.

"Your work?" he asked quietly; the image, indeed, showed talent, though the execution was still somewhat rough.

Ishul nodded and smiled. "As I said, I missed you."

"You've got an excellent memory," Mondral studied the picture some more. "I almost forget that scar on my left side myself."

"I remember telling me the story of it," Ishul walked over to the window that offered a beautiful look at the beech beyond the park, and closed the curtain for more privacy. "I started painting this a few months ago, when I missed you most."

He turned back, looked at his once and again lover and smiled again, a little hesitantly.

"How do you want me?" he asked. There was a hint of the old submission in his low voice again, and that filled Mondral with nearly absurd satisfaction. It seemed that – despite all changes – Ishul was still his.

"Preferably naked," he said with a smirk, and to his delight, Ishul blushed that lovely shade of green again and began to remove his clothes. Mondral followed suit, his mind already going over the possibilities.

Their first coupling was over way too soon, and Mondral looked at his young lover in apology. "Did I hurt you?"

"It's not so bad," Ishul gave him a strangely compassionate smile. "I needed it, too. Let's go to bed, so that you can make it up to me, eh?"

Mondral found that a good idea, and he spent the next hour or so with spoiling Ishul thoroughly. Not that playing with that flawless young body would have been a hardness… and Ishul proved as sensitive as ever. But he was less passive than he used to be, which was a pleasant surprise.

Mondral took him another two times in that night, and even offered him to switch, for the first time ever. Ishul was most pleased by the offer, but refused it nevertheless.

"It means a lot to me that you offered at all," the young man said, "but I honestly don't desire to switch. I'm perfectly content with the way things are between us. Somehow, it wouldn't feel right, the other way round," he laughed quietly. "I've accepted your dominance, and I enjoy it very much."

"But not enough for commitment – right?" Mondral asked.

"I don't think it would work," Ishul replied soberly. "I can't return to the homeworld, for obvious reasons, nor do I want to see that backward planet again, ever. And you can't come and live with me here. Marriage is meant to be something stable, something permanent and steady – I can't see how we could establish that. Not yet, not for a long time coming."

"True enough," Mondral admitted. He couldn't break his contract to the clan, and it'll take years yet before he would be able to buy himself free. „But you'll need the protection of a family, little one. Now, that I can't protect you, more than ever."

Ishul nodded. "I know. That's why I'm considering marrying into my host family. They have several off-worldlers in the clan and a rather open mind. I'd be able to keep my freedom among them. They don't force their junior spouses to service them. And I really like Sealon."

"You and a woman?" Mondral shook his head in disbelief. "Poor Spiria, if she knew… Which one is Sealon? The little rat-faced one with the bright eyes?"

"She might not be a beauty," Ishul shrugged, "but she's about my age, and she's very funny. I'd like to have children somewhen. I never thought I would, but I do, actually, now that I've seen what family life is supposed to be."

"Do you love them… any of them?" Mondral asked. Ishul shook his head.

"No. But I like them and respect them."

"Do you love me?" Mondral asked. Ishul didn't answer at once.

"I'm not sure," he finally said. "I do care for you – but I don't want to spend my life alone, in the hope that you might somehow find a way out of your contract. Do you love me?"

"I might," Mondral said thoughtfully. "I'm not entirely sure what people understand when they speak about love, but I do know that I'm falling for you. I've been for quite some time."

Ishul gave him that sympathetic smile again, and Mondral had the strange impression as if their roles had been switched somehow. As if Ishul were the mature adult now. And he, albeit twice Ishul's age, the vulnerable child.

"I'm not cutting you off," the young man said. "Is I said, I still care for you very much, and… and I enjoy what we do together. I can't give you a comm code. I still live under a false name here, and it would be… unfortunate, if my former clan found me, before I have the protection of a new one. But I'll give you the comm code of my host family. Call them when you get away from Madame for a while, and we'll arrange something." He gave Mondral a long, lingering kiss. "I don't want to lose you. But we have to be realistic."

"True enough," Mondral agreed with a sigh. Then he rolled the younger man under him again with one smooth move. "One last time?"

"Are you up to it?" Ishul's eyes glittered in fey amusement.

Mondral snorted. "I'm not an old man yet, pretty one. I'm 'up to it' whenever I can have you under me."

Ishul grinned at him ferally. "Prove it!"

"Your wish is my command," Mondral pounced, and articulate conversation ceased from that moment on.

TBC