Author's Note: For those of you who might be wondering, there are a total of 36 chapters to this story. It was one of those that originally was going to be, oh, maybe 10 chapters long, and it took on a life of its own. See whathappens when you don't follow your outline?

CHAPTER 27

Hoshi watched in a daze as Malcolm was dragged off by two of Shidak's guards. There was nothing she could do, not now, not without jeopardizing her own precarious position. She was lucky as it was that Shidak hadn't assumed that she was working in league with Malcolm, and therefore Starfleet.

"I must contact my ship," she said with a confidence she didn't feel. "Kleth will start attacking everything in orbit if he thinks I am in danger."

At least she hoped she wasn't in danger. Shidak hadn't done anything yet to prove otherwise.

Shidak continued to hold her arm, almost politely, as one might to lead a guest to the best seat in the house. Gazing down at her, he smiled, and she fought back a shudder of revulsion. The man responsible for Matthew's death, and who had hurt Malcolm, was touching her.

"Contact your ship," he told her. "We mustn't let that hawk of yours loose among the chickens."

Now he's using mixed metaphors, she thought sarcastically. The man was the biggest mix of contradictions and stereotypes she had ever seen, down to the clothing he wore. If the loose-fitting shirt with billowy sleeves, along with the skin-tight pants and knee-high boots, didn't scream pirate, she was blind.

Hoshi reached into a pocket in her breastplate and pulled out her communicator. Her hail was immediately answered.

"Mistress! That son of a targ! I will kill him!" she heard Kleth rage.

"Calm down, Kleth," she said loudly enough for Shidak to hear. "He was only protecting me in his own fashion."

She could practically hear the puzzlement coming from Kleth over the open channel, even though he didn't speak. He was smart -- he knew better than to ask leading questions when others might be listening.

"Shidak says he's found evidence that Reed is a Starfleet agent," she told him calmly.

"Why did he beam the rest of us away?"

Hoshi looked at Shidak, raising her eyebrow, indicating he should answer.

"With your permission?" Shidak asked, reaching for the communicator which Hoshi handed over to him.

"Kleth, I have talked to you before," he said in perfect Klingon.

An answering growl came over the communicator.

"Now, now, Kleth," Shidak said. "I would like you...and your mistress...to join my privileged little group."

Hoshi breathed a silent sigh of relief at his comment. A frown furrowed her brow, though, as she realized she would have to figure out some way to save Malcolm. She wanted Shidak dead, but she realized she wanted Malcolm alive even more. Some time over the last few days, her priorities had shifted without her being aware of it. She had loved Matthew deeply, but Malcolm was now more important to her.

Meanwhile, the one-side conversation between Shidak and Kleth continued.

"Your captain is my guest, Kleth," Shidak said. "No harm will come to her while she is under my protection."

Hoshi recognized the formal words. She had been right in thinking that Shidak knew something of Klingon culture. He was informing Kleth that he was taking responsibility for her. In any other setting, it would have been merely a chivalrous gesture. When dealing with Klingons, however, the formality was as binding as a written contract.

She could tell by his growl that Kleth didn't want to accept Shidak's offer, but there was little he could do about it. He was on the ship, and she was down here with her husband's murderer.

Intellectually, she knew Shidak hadn't pulled the trigger of the disruptor that had killed Matthew. But without his backing, the pirates wouldn't have taken on one of H-S Shipping's freighters. In her mind, that was all the connection she needed to hold him responsible.

Shidak shut the communicator and handed it back. His gaze roamed up and down her, making her feel dirty. If she'd known she'd have to endure this, she would have blown the planet up instead. She latched onto that irritation and tried to fan it into something stronger.

"Let's go somewhere more comfortable," he suggested, offering her his arm.

She bit the inside of her cheek to keep from spitting in his face, and carefully placed her hand in the crook of his arm. She felt the bile rise in her throat as he smiled down at her and patted her hand. She hoped he mistook the gleam in her eyes for something other than the lust for revenge she was feeling.

A few minutes later, she was ensconced on a comfortable couch in the middle of another room. This one was decorated more softly, with chairs and couches upholstered in velvet, and lace cloths were on small tables scattered artfully about the room. Soft lighting came from several shaded lamps. The only harsh note was a pair of crossed swords over a fireplace.

Shidak followed her gaze to the swords and chuckled softly. He moved to stand behind where she was sitting on the couch, close enough that she could feel his presence and be repelled by it. Fighting an urge to jump up, she forced herself to say calmly, "Swords usually don't engender mirth."

"Oh, but these do," he said. He ran a fingertip along her shoulder, touching her bare neck. "There's an interesting story associated with those swords."

She couldn't help it -- a growl escaped her at his touch. Instead of making Shidak back off, however, it seemed to encourage him and she heard him chuckle again as he lightly squeezed her shoulder before removing his hand.

"Don't you want to hear the story?" he asked, coming around the couch to sit down on it beside her.

"If you insist," she said, thinking it would be a good way to keep from talking about Malcolm until she figured out how she was going to help him.

"Oh, I do," he replied, settling more comfortably. "The story of how I came by those swords explains a great deal about me."

She had already figured out Shidak was incredibly egotistical. The fact that he was offering to talk about himself only reinforced her opinion. But she would listen attentively anyway -- the story might reveal a weakness about him.

The same servant who had brought them the liquor earlier came through the open door before Shidak could begin his story. This time, the servant wasn't carrying anything, and he stopped just inside the door.

"Ah, good," Shidak said. "Bring us something to drink. Something better than that swill you brought last time."

The servant bowed slightly and left, leaving the door open. Hoshi caught glimpses of other men in the hall, some of whom had been in the transporter room. They must be coming back from taking Malcolm to wherever he was being held. It couldn't be too far away since they had returned so quickly.

She wondered if Malcolm had been badly hurt, but didn't have time to dwell on that thought as Shidak was speaking to her again.

"When I first started down the path that led me to where I am now," he was saying, "I had an encounter with some Klingon renegades."

At her sharpened interest, he said, "No, not your renegades, dear. This was some time in the past..."

His rambling tale went on...and on...and on. Every point that could be embellished to make him seem more important, more daring, more intelligent than his adversaries was emphasized. The whole story could have been summed up in as little as two sentences, Hoshi thought sourly -- Shidak was a thief who had had stolen a Klingon cruiser and embarked on a life of piracy. Because of his ruthlessness as well as luck, he'd been successful.

The servant finally came back, interrupting Shidak's droning voice, much to Hoshi's relief. She was getting tired of keeping a polite smile plastered on her face as she listened to him.

"Much better," Shidak said, picking up the bottle from where the servant had placed it on a low table in front of them. "This is a much smoother drink, more in keeping with your refined elegance."

Hoshi almost snorted at that. She was dressed in her usual Klingon battle armor, all hard points and edges, and he was calling her refined? She caressed the hidden knife sheathed on her thigh under a fold of the outfit. Soon she would get to use it.

When the servant left, she was alone with Shidak, but he was still too attentive for her to act.

He filled the two glasses and handed her one. Picking up his own, he considered her a moment. "Should we toast to our future together?"

The man was such a slimeball! She hadn't given him the slightest hint she was interested in him. Maybe he was one of those men who was turned on by rejection.

She wasn't about to toast to anything with him, in any case, much less what was left of his future. "You haven't told me about the swords," she reminded him, trying to change the subject.

"The swords," he repeated. "They were in the captain's cabin aboard the cruiser. They became mine when I killed him."

She sucked in her breath, and he heard her. "Are you shocked?" he asked. "You shouldn't be, you know. You command a Klingon warbird. Rising through the ranks by assassination is a common practice among Klingons, as you must know."

Taking her glass from her, he put it on the table. "You haven't told me how you came to be in command," he said.

"It was my husband's ship," she said.

"Was?"

"He's dead."

"He must have been some Klingon to have captured your heart," Shidak said, inching closer to her.

So he thought her husband had been a Klingon. While he might know a lot about Klingons, he didn't know much about her crew, and obviously less about loyalty. She wasn't about to tell him anything about Matthew or any of her crew.

"Klingons can be...rough," he said softly, leaning toward her, his eyes on her lips. "Perhaps you're ready for someone from your own species who can be gentler than what you've been accustomed to recently."

She felt like a rabbit caught in the stare of a predator as he slowly encroached on her space. She put up a hand to stop him, and he grasped it firmly and quickly, yanking her arm to one side.

"Or," he said, and she saw a hardness come into his eyes, "I can be just as rough as you want."

He abruptly brought his head down, his lips latching onto hers viciously. He pinned her to the couch with his body as she fought against him, trying to push him off, to no avail. He was too much bigger than she was. She realized her struggles were only exciting him more. He began to grind his groin against her, and she could feel his arousal growing.

As one of his hands began to loosen the lacings at the side of her breastplate, she reached down to her thigh, fumbling for the knife. She found the handle and slid it quickly from its sheath, but his hand that had been working to free her from her clothing came down to clamp around her wrist.

"You are a little Klingon, aren't you?" he said harshly, tightening his grip and causing her to drop the knife.

Her action with the knife had distracted him, however, and she was able to slide her leg farther under him, bringing it up with a quick jerk.

Shidak immediately rolled off her onto the floor, and she sprung up. He had fallen on the knife, effectively keeping it from her, so she ran for the swords on the wall. She had just pulled one free from its brackets and turned around when he stood up. Still hunched over, he regarded her with a dangerous gleam in his eyes.

"I could call my men in here to subdue you," he said in a harsh whisper, "but I'm going to enjoy taming you."

Hoshi held the sword out in front of her as he straightened up. She could see her knife in his hand. If he was planning on hand-to-hand combat, she had the advantage of the longer blade. She could cut him to pieces before he could even touch her.

She was surprised, then, when Shidak flipped the knife to hold it by the blade -- and threw it at her.

The pain didn't start until she looked down and saw the knife embedded in her shoulder, blood seeping out around the edges of the blade as she slowly collapsed to the floor.