Chapter 4
James Stettler swung gently back and forth, pushed by the slightest breeze from the room's air conditioning ducts. He would have been in pain,
if he hadn't been so numb. There had been very little blood flow to his arms for many hours, and as a result, he knew there would be severe pain when
his Cardassian guards finally did take him down. He hung silently, trying not to move, so that the parts of his abused body that could still feel pain,
wouldn't. Wearily, he tried to force his fried brain to think. He had been here for almost a month now. Slowly but surely, the torture had been
escalating in its sadistic intensity. Gol Deh'man was determined that this Starfleet officer held information that he wanted. As of yet, they hadn't
even admitted publicly that they had captured him. The Cardassian high command was not interested in bargaining just yet. Maybe not at all, he thought.
He knew the rest of his little research vessel's crew was dead. Those who weren't killed in the attack had been tortured to death before him.
For information that he didn't have. Starfleet was supposed to be working on some sort of eternity drug, that would increase the average humanoid
lifespan dramatically. Somehow, his ship and crew had been implicated in the ridiculous story. Now, he was all that was left out of a crew compliment of
over four hundred. Their ship, the E. Boyer-Wilson, was a floating cloud of metallic particles almost a star system away. James was alone and he knew it.
The sound of the cell door swishing open caused him to turn his head, just slightly faster than was good for his strained neck. He winced
involuntarily as the base commander, Gol Deh'man sauntered into the room. The Cardassian was small for his kind, but his impaired height seemed to make
him all the more vicious. James thought he was needlessly overcompensating.
"Good morning Commander! How are we today? Sleep well?" the man said, rocking back and forth on his heels, to match the swing of the
prisoner's chains.
"Oh yeah. Great accommodations you have here Deh'man. I wouldn't mind takin' my next holiday here." the Starfleet officer replied with
forced cheerfulness.
"Oh good. Good. Well, are we prepared for today's activities? I have some ripping good torture techniques my chief inquisitor wants to try out
today. Feeling up to the challenge?"
"Sure. Let's go for it." the human smiled, looking down on his captor.
The Cardassian stared back at him with a gaze that would shatter diamonds. He smiled again and turned to walk out the door. Turning slightly,
he looked over his shoulder.
"Commander, you show amazing tenacity. But in the end, I will win. There is no other possible outcome. The question is whether or not you will survive the affair."
Stettler ground his teeth slowly and painfully. It took his mind from the pains elsewhere.
"Oh I'll survive, Deh'man. Make no mistake. I'll survive to come back and see you dead, just as you let me see my crew."
The Cardassian grinned, showing unusually sharp, and pointed teeth. Another affectation by the runt base commander. He turned and walked out the
door. Another man came in, pushing a large cart, affixed with electrodes, pads and sensors. This was Gol Ma'ros, chief questioner and torture specialist.
James hung his head and sighed. He looked up to see Ma'ros approaching him.
"Well, let's get this over with."
"Sorry Captain Gavrilov, but the Star Tiger's engines don't leave a trace for us to follow." the young Ensign said, standing nervously on the
upper bridge. He watched as Gavrilov's jaw worked slowly and deliberately before speaking.
"I do not believe, that we cannot track a one hundred year old, leaky tub. Mr. Cruise, you had better find me an option. I want the Star Tiger
,and I want her yesterday." the graying man growled.
"Yes Sir." the younger man said smartly. Quickly, he turned back to his station and began feverently poking at the console.
"Captain," the ship's Counselor said quietly, leaning towards Andrew, "there's no reason to crucify the boy. All of them are doing their
best."
The Captain looked curtly at the male Betazoid, and nodded.
"We've all got to try harder. Not only for the sake of our mission, but also so the degenerates on that tub get brought to justice."
"Captain," said the helmsman, "I served with Marius West on his flagship. I can speak from personal experience. The man's no degenerate.
He's a tough old bird who's had to make some pretty rough choices."
"Thank you, Commander Patterson. I appreciate your candor. But when they decided to take off and leave drydock, without authorization or
permission, they officially became renegades. Personally, I would slap the whole lot of them back into the stockades again, but we still need them
for a little while." the graying man growled, sitting back in his seat and looking out at the starfield.
The bridge was relatively silent for a few moments, as the crew strove to live up to their Captain's high expectations. They appreciated the fact
that Gavrilov was holding them up high, trying to get them to compare to the incomparable; the Enterprise and her crew. It galled Gavrilov that they always
seemed to end up second best to the Flagship. In fact, the Cardassian mission had almost went to them. Andrew had wrangled to get the assignment for his
people, figuring that this could be a real step up on the ladder of prestige for himself and his crew, if they pulled the rescue off. And they would pull
it off. Of that much he was sure.
"Bridge to Engineering." the Captain finally said, breaking the growing, uncomfortable silence.
Engineering. Timabver here.
"Commander, I think Mr. Cruise could use your expertise up here, to help on tracking the Star Tiger." the Captain said. Behind him, Counselor
Spartaan saw the Ensign wince.
Uh, Captain, there is no known way to track a solid object moving through subspace. I'd have to try and invent something from scratch.
There was a pause, as the Captain's face grew red. On the upper deck, Cruise looked satisfied and vindicated. He nodded smartly and bent over
his terminal.
"I don't care what you have to inventbutdoit!!!!"
Lestan drifted in his dreams, through a world over five hundred years gone. He walked through the streets of an ancient city, and watched carriages
roll slowly by. People nodded to him, and bowed as he strolled along the avenue. Deftly, he ducked into an alley, and made his way through the
backstreet slums, to a seedier section of town. Silent as death itself, he crept up upon an old thuggard, staggering home after a typical night of
drinking, robbery and murder. Without thought or remorse, he grabbed the old man and drug him into the shadows, there, feeding off of his life's
blood, until with a shudder, the individual died. Lestan let him drop to the cold, muddy ground, and stepped from the shadows. His face was smeared with
blood. He awoke from his dream, in a blood sweat, just as his dream image was wiping his face. In reality, he had been about to do the same. Shuddering, he
stood and rushed to the replicator.
"... Water. Thirty three degrees Fahrenheit." desperately, he grabbed the glass up from the little ledge, and looked at it. The
blood/sweat on his forehead rose in little beads as he contemplated the drink. Closing his eyes, he put the glass to his lips and slugged it down. He
threw his head back and swallowed. Then, he staggered, as if hit by a giant fist. He fell against the wall, and slid down, leaving a bloody sweat stain.
He shook convulsively, as if fighting some inner struggle. A look of determination suffused his face, and his eyes bulged as his fought his battle.
In the end, he closed his eyes, tears running from them, turned his head to the wall, and vomited up the glass of water. He sobbed like a child for
several moments, then, Jane Franken was suddenly at his side, helping him up. Startled, he looked at her for a moment, and realized the Doctor was in her
own nightgown. She had apparently woke from her own sound sleep, from the mental emanations of his distress.
"Tried it again, didn't ya, ya big blond dope." the older woman growled, as she hauled him unceremoniously toward his bed.
"Just a glass of water, Jane." he cried, still sobbing, "Just a damn glass of water."
"Well, you can't eat mortal food, and that's that. I'm sorry I haven't been able to find a way to revert your digestive system back to
it's former glory, but until I do, you'd best off just stop this nonsense. Drink the blood and be happy you're here." the doctor said, putting him into
the bed, and pulling a special hypo from her robe.
"The dreams, Jane; the dreams. Will my conscience never free me?" the Captain moaned, sinking back onto the bed. The woman pressed the spray to
his neck, and watched as the immortal being drift back into unconsciousness.
"I can only attempt to heal the body, Lestan. I don't know who can heal your soul."
Galen O'Mara fussed over the ancient TransWarp engines, overseeing the installation of their new, Romulan power core. It was, he decided an
amazing piece of machinery. More compact than the warp core aboard a Defiant class vessel, yet able to propel a ship thrice the size of a Galaxy
class into warp space. He knew there was more than ample power to translate the ship through subspace, as the twichy engines were supposed to do. The new
Bynar-built computer system should be able to keep track of the myriad of idiocyncracies that the failed experimental engines had. Now, if he could just
get the computer to talk nicely with the rest of the ship's systems...
In the backround bustle, a strange looking Vulcan, wearing Lieutenant's pips, hovered, cringing, and watching the integration of the
Romulan forced singularity. He appeared to be debating with himself. Finally, the being worked up the nerve to approach the Lieutenant Commander.
"Mr. O'Mara..." he said softly, gently tapping the Chief Engineer on the shoulder.
"...hmmmm?" the absent-minded Irishman acknowledged.
"They are doing it wrong."
"What? What do you mean?" Galen's full attention was now focused on the Vulcan. Something was strange about his forehead. It was...
"You're a Romulan!"
The alien looked uncomfortable.
"I would appreciate your not saying that so loud, Commander."
"What are you doing on this ship?!?"
"A mistake, I assure you. I was release from the Federation stockade on Earth, along with almost two dozen other prisoners. Due to my
surgery, I looked enough like a Vulcan to pass through the gates, along with the rest of the men. I assure you, they would not have willingly let me out of
their own accord."
"Let me guess, engineer?"
"Research Engineer. Captured on a reconnaissance mission over four years ago. We were checking on the rumors of a new Federation weapon being
developed. I guess after all this time, I finally found it."
Galen looked at the Romulan thoughtfully.
"What do you mean we're doing it wrong?"
"You're creating a feedback loop which will destroy the entire ship the first time you attempt to utilize the engines."
The Chief Engineer looked at the masses of tangled wiring, running crisscross on the floors, walls and ceiling of Engineering.
"You think you can better advise us?"
"I know I can. I helped design that core you're installing." the Romulan half smiled, a chilling effect on one who was thought to be a Vulcan.
"You're on. Guys, listen up! Lieutenant..." Galen looked at the man to his right.
"Klellan."
"Lieutenant Klellan has a few pointers he's going to share with us."
Aboard the massive starbase, The Flying Dutchman sat alone in the ancient control room, wheezing quietly to himself, as the medical computer
struggled to keep up with the rapid degeneration of his ancient body. The man was well over two centuries old, and what had been left of him after his
ship's horrible accident, had been kept alive by the machinery of the station. For lack of anything better to do, he had taken over the
administration of the place.
"Well, Dalek, it won't be much longer now." the man smiled, struggling to breathe.
Don't say that, George. There's always a chance. the base computer intoned.
"Not after a certain point, my friend. You've kept me here all these years, but I think this time, I've finally found my means to escape."
There was no choice, George. No one else has the technology to keep your shattered body alive except me. Would you really rather have died?
"I should have!" the old man wheezed. "Instead, I got to watch, long distance as my family grew up, grew old and died. My wife, my sons. All
gone. No one left."
Not true, George. Your one grandson survived a parasite attack, to carry on the family name.
"Yes. Yes. But he never knew me. Everyone I knew and loved. Gone. All gone. As I should have been. As I should be."
If you should have died, you would have. That I was able to keep you going, is a sign that you should be here.
"For what? To administer to a bunch of degenerates that run around pillaging the galaxy? I would have been the first to stand against them in my
younger days."
Your Starfleet Security training, no doubt.
"Damn straight. Best security officer in the Fleet, in my day."
George, that was then. This is now. You still serve a vital function, just not the one you would have in your past.
"I want my past back." the old man whispered, his voice barely audible over the sound of the machines keeping him alive.
Lestan fell through his dreams, back over the hundred of years to his rebirth, into death. He had been young; in his early twenties when the fiend
had taken him. He had always been a searcher a thinker, a man of action and reaction. But it was not until recent times (for him) that his life had
finally seemed to have purpose. IN himself, he resolved his conflict between good and evil. What had made him had been evil; what was flowing through his
veins might be evil. But the choice whether to act for either, was his. It had taken him the better part of a millennium to come to this conclusion. Once he
had, he was as committed to it as any cause he had ever adhered to. There was no room for compromise or debate. It had to be all, or nothing.
Flashes across the centuries played themselves out in his sleeping mind. Let it never be said that the immortal undead had no need for sleep.
Every mind needs a chance to rest and put aside the cares of the day. An immortal one even moreso than most, as their cares tended to build up over
several lifetimes, instead of the normal mortal one. In recent years, Lestan had taken even more care upon himself. A captaincy, a career that his money
and secret influence had bought for him. Now, in exchange for the perceived evil of buying his way into the Fleet, he took on the scrub missions; the
duties that no one else wanted, made the decisions no one wanted to make. He felt no guilt over the decision that had stalled his career. It had been the
correct thing to do. Lestan could now do nothing else.
A thought that was not his own, flashed unbidden through Lestan's mind. His retroactive view of the past stopped instantly. Another stray
thought caressed his sleeping brain. An ancient starship, of Federation registry. A diplomatic mission, that had ended in a betrayal and tragedy. A
wounded crewman limping away from a battle that had resulted in the annihilation of both sides. Only one survived. Unable to navigate, with no
stardrive, no medical attention and a burning desire to survive and see his family again, the man raced against time to find help. A vision of a giant,
darkened structure, floating lifelessly in the void; uncharted space, opening to reveal an alien station of indeterminant race and age. He docked, and
crawled through the airlock, by this time entrapped in his own delirium. The station found him and nursed him. Now, two hundred years later, his
artificially preserved life was coming to an end; and he was glad.
Lestan shot up in bed, instantly awake and aware that he was monitoring another person's thoughts. Somewhere, on the great station was
another human soul in pain. One of great age for a mortal; but one life finally drawing to a close. The vampire concentrated, focusing on the thoughts
of the person... a Starfleet officer... security... a mission over one hundred and eighty years old... Commander... Commander... George
Kirk?!?!
Armin Sesok gazed absently at the wall, behind the droning form of Commander Barclay. Currently, the search was expanding at an exponential rate,
for the missing Star Tiger and her criminal crew. At the same time, plans were still moving forward for the rescue of the Federation people being held
in the base. The Admiral had his hands full at the moment. He was not happy, and Barclay's ramblings over a sensor report on the Ghilad system really
didn't interest him very much.
"... right, sir?" the Commander asked, looking at the older man.
"Hmmmmm. Ahhhhmmmm. Yes. Certain Commander. As you feel best. Use your discretion."
"To stock the replicator with coffee patterns?" Sesok sighed.
"Sorry Reginald. My mind is elsewhere right now."
"Totally understandable, Sir."
"In one way, I am outraged at Darkraven's cavalier attitude about command, and yet, knowing the eventual outcome of the mission he was assigned,
I am relieved." the elder kicked back behind his desk, and thoughtfully placed his hands behind his head.
Barclay lay down the padd on which his report was organized.
"I wish I could say he knew the risks from the start, sir, but we know he didn't."
"Au contrair, Commander. I think Lestan DID know, and that is why he disappeared with his ship and crew."
The Commander's eyes narrowed slightly.
"You believe he has informational sources highly placed in Command?"
"Of course. After the incident that ended his career advancement, there were many people that openly sympathized with his actions. Hell,
I've made decisions in my life that haven't been by the book. I still have friends. Well..." the Admiral looked thoughtful for a moment.
"And this justifies stealing Starfleet property and kidnapping personnel?"
"Not at all. But it certainly makes his crime more understandable."
"He says he still intends to carry out the mission."
"I have no doubt. But in what form he intends to do that, really worries me."
"You're afraid he may make some ill-advised attempt on his own?"
"Afraid is a good way of putting it. If he comes out of this, at all, I'm very afraid that the upper echelon of Fleet headquarters is going
to be shaken to its very foundations. We effectively set this entire ship and crew up, to die."
"Sir, it's on record that you opposed this entire tact from the start."
"Records have a way of disappearing, when it's in the Fleet's best interest. They'll need a scapegoat, and I'm the low man on the totem pole
in the chain of command on this one. Ergo, it's my head on the block." Sesok said, dryly. He rocked slightly back and forth in his chair.
"So... what do we want to happen here?" Barclay hedged.
"We want this over with, one way or the other, as quickly as possible."
"But what about Darkraven?"
"Since he's no longer under my direct control, we play the game his way. When he asks for help, we give it. When he asks the question, we
answer it." the old man said grimly. He spun the chair to the side and stood, abruptly.
George Kirk dozed quietly in his chair, his breath coming in ragged gasps. Dalek, the Dutchman's mainframe, was at its wits end as to what
more to do to keep the ancient human alive. So preoccupied, was the ancient AI, that it missed the human which had somehow breached all base security to reach
this inner sanctum. Lestan moved silently across the room, to stand before the decrepit human form which was strapped in and hooked up to the bases main systems. The
vampire was revolted. If this was the only life the poor creature could lead, then surely it deserved the swift release of death. He moved to embrace the
sleeping man.
Dalek's defensive systems came on line, sensing the motion in the room. To carry out the mercy killing, Lestan had to become solid. As soon as he left
the vaporous state, the computer moved to protect Kirk. Phasers fired, and a sheild dropped from the ceiling , settling about George Kirk like a protective
cocoon. The millennium old vampire was blasted backwards by the force of the beams, but not seriously injured. As the computer reoriented, Lestan faded out,
turning into so much gas and shadow. Now, the ancient Starfleet security officer was awake.
"Damnit, Dalek! What's going on? Can't I even die in my sleep in peace?"
You're not going to die, George. I will not permit it.
"But is the life you're imparting to him, any sort of life?"
Lestan's voice echoed around the small chamber.
Sophisticated sensors swept the area, looking for the intruder, but the AI could find nothing.
It is better than death. It is better than being... alone. the computer said, aiming to draw its opponent out into the open.
"NO. It is not. I cannot move. I cannot eat. I cannot... love. I havent interacted with another living soul in over a century. This isn't
life, you god-damned machine, this is HELL!!" the old man yelled hoarsely.
Be quiet, George. the computer said mildly.
Suddenly, Lestan was inside the shielding with the man. His hand sat loosely on George's shoulder. The security officer jumped in surprise, and
tried to turn to look at the intruder. Dalek was at a loss.
"Now, what will you do, Computer?" bone white fangs glittered in the dim light.
Please... please do not kill him. I have cared for his well being for two hundred years. Please... the computer's artificial voice broke.
Kirk twisted in the bond of his life-sustaining equipment, and managed to gain a look over his shoulder at his attacker. Rheumy eyes opened wide, as
he saw the smiling face, and the fangs.
"What...are you?" he whispered.
Lestan looked at the old man, and laid a hand gently on his shoulder.
"Lestan Darkraven, a votre service. Born, in the year of our lord, 1778. Died, 1799. Well, perhaps I should say, brought over."
"A... vampire?!"
"Yes. And captain of the recently recommissioned Excelsior class starship Star Tiger."
"Starfleet allows vampires in the ranks now?!"
"Well, the fleet doesn't know about me, or any of mine. I prefer to keep it that way." Lestan smiled again, hunkering down just behind the
old man.
"Wh... what are you here for?"
"I heard your dreams. Your pain. I come here to give you a choice. A choice which was not given to me. You see, I caused much pain in the
early years of this existence. I have spent many of the following centuries trying to redeem myself. If I can ease your pain. I will." the vampire
whispered.
George Kirk sat stock still, considering the implications of the statement.
"You would take the blood from my veins. Even Dalek couldn't compensate, with nothing to work with." he said, slowly, thoughtfully.
George, no. the computer said urgently. I will try harder, to effect a more complete cure. Perhaps if I could repair some of the older
medical databases, there might me something there that could...
"No." the old man whispered, closing his eyes. "There's nothing there that can cure extreme old age. Nothing does that."
"Well..." Lestan interjected.
Kirk sighed.
"Will you please move around so that I can see you better? It's very hard to twist ones self a hundred and eighty degrees when you're
mortal and over two hundred."
The vampire chuckled and moved around to the side of the device that was unnaturally sustaining the human's life. George looked at him fully,
and saw the slight glow to the skin, the utter smoothness, without blemish or scar. Lestan noticed the wandering gaze.
"When I was young in my immortality, I was badly injured and scarred, several times. The blood, in the end, forgives much. Now, I doubt
that there is anything that could truly destroy me, without my consent."
A shaky hand reached out and touched the cold flesh, that was pliant, yet strangely suggestive of stone. The bloodshot, tired eyes narrowed in
thought.
"If... if I became like you, would I be able to move again? And walk on my own?"
"Yes. You would. But with such immortality, comes a higher moral responsibility. It is hard to convince the young of this, when all they can
feel is the blood lust."
"How do you deal with it?"
Lestan smiled wanly.
"Well, due to my... advanced age, I am affected less acutely than the young. The effect of my blood in your veins would be a mitigating
factor no doubt. That and the technology that allows me to synthesize human blood to perfection."
"What else?"
"Well," the vampire sighed thoughtfully, "There are the moral obligations implied by practical immortality. One doesn't run about making
other immortals, willy-nilly."
"To how many others have you offered this... gift?" the old man asked, cautiously.
The Captain shrugged, and thought.
"Perhaps... half a dozen, in eight hundred years. The usual average is about one a century, in any event. I'm at a little less than
that. I made almost all of my companions in the first two hundred years of my vampiric existence."
Kirk sat silently, consumed in thought. Whereas before, he had longed for the release of death, he realized now, that he could have freedom,
and life; of a sort. The blood would free him from the machines, and he would be able to be among others of his kind. It was a very tempting offer. To live
to see Earth again. His farm. The graves of his wives and children. He bowed his head.
"Do it," he whispered.
Lestan stood.
"You are sure? Once it is done, there is no turning back. I have looked for a way back since before the Federation existed."
"Yes." George said hoarsely, "I'm sure. Just do it."
NO GEORGE!!!!!! Dalek wailed.
The vampire moved in, leaning over the old man, trapped so long in the bowels of the machine. Ice cold lips brushed against a neck only
slightly warmer.
"Relax..." he whispered. Then struck.
Kirk stiffened in his chair, and gasped, as fire seemed to coarse through his veins. Colors exploded behind his closed eyelids, and strange
scenes from the distant past flashed like pictures on a giant screen. The old man's heart fluttered violently, as the computer struggled to counteract
the vampire's embrace. Suddenly, Lestan pulled away and gashed his own wrist with his teeth. Blood spurted from the vein and he jammed it against the
CSO's lips.
"Drink, George. Quickly, before your life slips completely away," the vampire urged.
The old man sat motionless and silent. Unmoving for a moment, he suddenly came alive and locked his mouth against the gashed wrist. He drew the
blood from Lestan's veins in great draughts. Weakly, the Captain slid down against the side of the chair, and watched the blood's handiwork.
George's thin, white hair began to fill back in, in a rush. His emaciated figure filled out, and his old and rheumy eyes blazed up with an inner,
amber fire. Lestan gasped and weakly pulled his arm away from the old man. George Kirk blinked, his face smeared with his own and immortal blood. He
reached down, and ripped the wires and tubes out of his body. He stood, for the first time in over a century. He looked down at his body, which still
filled out. A smile lit his face, and he began to laugh.
George? Dalek whispered meekly.
"YYYYEEEESSSSSS! I LIKE IT!!!" the reborn man yelled, spinning around in the center of the room. Lestan chuckled weakly, and tried to gain
his feet. He slipped and fell. The newly born vampire heard his progenitors' fall, and rushed to his side, helping the Captain to his feet.
"Thank you."
"You're... welcome." the other replied shakily. It took him several seconds to regain the proper use of his limbs.
"Now, we have to come up with a way to explain your presence on the ship."
Say he was held in suspended animation. the computer said dully.
"Good idea, Dalek." Kirk smiled.
You're welcome. the computer whispered, as the two men exited the control room. Alone... again. the machine whispered to itself. For there was
no one else there to hear.
Lieutenant Selon labored methodically and quietly in her lab. At this time of the ship's "night" she knew there would be no one else to disturb
her. Behind her, the small transporter system that was used for transporting potentially dangerous substances came on line. She whipped about, running to
the controls. Someone was coming in, from aboard the station, and they knew the code to remotely activate this transporter. Grimly, the Vulcan woman picked
up a phaser. She watched as two figures began to materialize on the small pad. As they coalesced into solidity, Selon recognized her Captain. The stranger
was dress in coveralls that fit him exceedingly strange. The two froze as they saw her.
"Sir..." the science officer said quietly, moving to help the obviously shaky man from his perch atop the tiny pad.
"Thank you, Lieutenant. Let me introduce you to Commander George Kirk."
"Commander." the Vulcan woman nodded gravely.
"...Lieutenant." the man smiled, his eyes were an impossibly bright amber color.
"What are you doing up this late? I know you're not scheduled for this shift." Lestan said, moving to sit by the lab table.
"I simply find it easier to work in this quiet environment."
"Ahhhhh. Anti-social, are we?" Kirk interjected, in amusement.
"I do not believe my social proclivities have any bearing on my work ability, Commander." the woman said, her voice dripping ice. She knew
that whomever this man was, he was the same as the Captain. Though his snow white hair and amber eyes made him a start contrast from the robust and
vital Darkraven.
"Not true, Ms. Selon." Lestan sighed, "There is an old song, which I believe you should listen to, and draw some information from. It's a
late twentieth-century ballad by a duo called Simon and Garfunkel, called I am a Rock. I think you'll find that you are not."
The woman stiffened.
"There is no reason to be insulting, Captain."
George Kirk chuckled.
"I can see this one's a live wire."
Lestan smiled wanly, and leaned against the table.
"Yes. I believe I will need some help getting back to my quarters, George. It has been a very long day for me."
"Funny. I'm fresh as a daisy." the other grinned, moving to help the Captain stand. "Feel like I've just woke up from a two hundred year nap."
"Hmmmmmmm. Indeed." the Vulcan woman raised an eyebrow, stopping both men in their tracks. They looked at each other, then back at her.
"You don't remember, I know. Many years ago, on Vulcan, you saved a little girl in the desert. She remembers. She's old enough now to say thank you. And, to
keep her mouth, wisely shut."
Lestan was stunned for a moment, his eyes fuzzing out as he struggled to remember the event. When he did, he smiled and lowered his face
to chuckle into his own chest. He looked up again with a friendly look in his eyes.
"You are most welcome, little one."
The Captain and his new guest made their way out of the lab and down the corridor. Selon blinked in amazement, as she realized the being had
left her with her memory this time. She determined to be worthy of his trust.
Jane Franken staggered down the hallway towards the Captain's quarters. He had called and told her to bring her little black bag.' She
dreaded this encounter, as it meant that Lestan had created another vampire. This being would need her medical ministrations to exist in this environment.
The doctor hoped that whomever the Ancient had created, was worthy of the power he now possessed. She stopped in front of the door to the Captain's
cabin and signaled for admittance.
"Enter, Doctor." came Lestan's voice, sounding considerably weaker than usual. The doors slid open before her, to reveal the tall, blond man
lying sprawled carelessly on the couch, eyes closed, and another man, standing by the replicator, gulping glass after glass of... blood. Jane sighed.
"Well, Bunky, what have you gone and done now?"
Lestan cracked an eye and gazed at the woman.
"I've been a bad boy, Jane. The gentleman guzzling unceremoniously at the wall unit, is Commander George Kirk."
"Hmmm. Name is familiar. Say any relation to..." she began, crossing the room toward Kirk, and activating her medical tricorder.
"Father of the same." George said wryly.
"Uhhhhhhh, that would make you..." the doctor stopped and looked at the man incredulously.
"Old before my time." the man chuckled, wiping his mouth. "Now, Doctor, what exactly is it that you must do for me?"
"Probably nothing. Seeing as Lestan made you, and I've already altered him genetically to cope with the environment, that alteration should
have been passed through the genes to you. I'm just checking now to make sure." she mumbled, staring intently at the readings on her scanner.
George waited several moments, looking around with interest and eagerness at everything in the room.
"Things look so different..." he murmured, examining the grain of the paneling on the wall.
Eyes closed, Lestan nodded tiredly.
"Yes. There is a great heightening of the senses, a clarifying, if you will."
"How long does it last?"
"How long is forever?"
Jane shook her head and put the tricorder away.
"Just as I thought. The alterations have passed on. He's perfectly equipped to deal with sunlight."
George paused in his drinking, looked at Jane in some puzzlement.
"Deal with sunlight? Ummmmm, aren't I supposed to burst into flames or something?"
"Less than thirty years ago, you would have. Well, perhaps not. But at the very least, you would be immobile during the daylight hours. Thanks to
Dr. Franken's tireless researches, we are able to interact with mortal humanity in both the day, and nighttime hours now."
"And we still have to drink blood?"
Jane looked irritated.
"Look, ya can't expect miracles. I'm doing the best I can, but we're not exactly dealing with strict science here." she moved across the
room, and turned the tricorder on Lestan, sitting beside him on the couch.
"I... we, understand, Jane. Your efforts are appreciated." the Captain said wanly, opening his eyes lazily to look at the older, mortal woman.
"Yeah. You're dehydrated. De-blooded. Whatever. You..." she pointed at George, who was working on another glass of red fluid, "stop
gorging yourself, and bring a pitcher of that over here."
The CSO complied, bringing a full container to the doctor and his progenitor.
"Here, ya big lug. Drink this, or I'll beat you." the woman growled.
"Doctor, your bedside manner is something to behold." the captain chuckled, accepting the glass that she was trying to force to his lips.
Gingerly, he sipped the liquid, stopping to grimace at the taste.
"What's wrong?" Jane asked.
"Ship's computer must be malfunctioning. This tastes more metallic than usual." he replied, making another face.
"Really? I thought it was supposed to taste that way." George asked, looking at his own empty glass.
"Non, mon ami. Much, much better."
"Depends upon your point of view, Lestan." the doctor chuckled.
Darkraven fixed her with a penetrating stare.
"While the taste might mean little to you, Jane, it is the experience of the kiss, the feeding, that is the experience for you mortals."
The woman wavered for a moment, eyes drifting closed and going out of focus. Then she snapped awake, in her usual humor.
"Stop that!" she scolded.
Lestan chuckled, and turned to look at Kirk.
"Never let them think they're safe. It makes life more fun!"
George watched as the doctor packed her things up, and stood beside the couch. For her age (which he put somewhere between fifty and fifty-five),
she cut a very fine figure. And he hadn't had contact with a woman in almost two hundred years.
"Um, just one question, doctor."
"Yeah?" the woman turned her severe gaze upon the CSO.
"Are we... functional?"
"As in...?"
"A man... a woman... the horizontal hokey pokey?"
Jane stood stock still for a moment, then began to laugh. Lestan joined her, in a slightly more reserved chuckle.
"Another side effect of the serum which enables you to withstand daylight, is the restoration of the sex drive." she said, wiping the tears
from her eyes. "Of course, this doesn't mean you're fertile, just that you can get it up."
George let out a sigh of relief.
"Thanks Doc."
"No problem. Just watch who you're picking to try the equipment out on. You'll ruin them for anyone else."
"Huh?"
"You have uh... considerably more staying power than the normal, mortal male. Also, you're mental powers give you a decidedly
unfair advantage, in that you can directly stimulate the female pleasure centers of the brain with your own minds."
George raised an eyebrow and smiled.
"I think I'm going to like this."