Immaterial Girl

(Warning: Contains profanity, graphic scenes of physical and emotional violence, drug use and sexual situations)

THEN:

The short, slim figure in the distinctive scarlet robes of the Courier Guild snaked his way through the throngs of Orions in the docks of the Emperor Therriv Memorial Spaceport, a heavy- looking brown canvas bag slung under one arm. Furtive eyes glanced up from under the cowl at the Docking Port numbers as he passed them, the elaborate, beautiful script of his people standing out head and shoulders above the traders, the businessmen, the passengers, the workers and the slaves.

He found the desired port and strode up to the archway – only to be stopped by a burly Portsman, his bald green head festooned with scars and tattoos, his ears with multiple gold bands, his broad nose looking like it had been broken and crudely reset many times. “And where do you think you’re going, boy?”

The Courier kept his head bowed, indicating the bag. “I am here to see your Shipmaster. His name is Hazaak Sur-”

“I know my Shipmaster’s name, Sprout! What are you delivering to him?”

“A personal item, for Hazaak Sur’s eyes alone.”

The Portsman grunted, reaching out. “Let me see-”

The Courier stepped back. “I said it was for his eyes alone.”

The Portsman sneered, shot forward and grasped the Courier by the shoulder, as his other hand clasped the hilt of the blade on his belt. “You’re an impudent little runt! Maybe a scar across your cheek would teach you some manners?”

“Release me... or else.”

The Portsman chuckled, drawing out his blade. “Or else what, boy?”

“Or else my Master will hear of it.”

He pushed the curved tip of his blade under the Courier’s chin. “So I’ll send for him, and cut him, too!”

The courier never even flinched, except to inform him, “No one – no one – sends for Zaddo Natale.”

The Portsman instinctively drew back his blade, releasing him. But he still summoned up some swagger to ask, “And how do I know your Master is...” His voice dropped to an almost-whisper. “Zaddo Natale?”

“Simple: impede me further from my task in any way, and I will tell him. And then he will send for you. And you will bask in his glorious, terrible presence for the rest of your life. For however long that lasts.”

The Portsman continued to stand there.

Before sheathing his blade and stepping aside. “Take the Bullet. I will let the Ngoutuk know you’re on your way.”

“Very good, Portsman,” the Courier replied, proceeding to the Bullet, the maglev transport capsule system that ran throughout the Spaceport, ferrying crew, passengers and cargo to and from the many starships spread out over the vast tracts of surrounding landing pads.

The Courier sat alone in the Bullet, setting aside the heavy bag and throwing back the cowl to reveal the young female face beneath, her hands wiping the sweat from her olive cheeks and forehead, and adjusting the braid she had made of her cherry-red hair, amazed that the disguise had worked as well as it did, and got her as far as it had.

To be honest, she was amazed that she’d somehow had the nerve to walk out of her home for the last time, to behave around Mama and Papa and her little brother Haikiv as if she wasn’t seeing them for the last time. Compared to that, wearing fake Courier’s robes and disguising herself as a boy to protect herself was easy.

Gods, she’d done it. She’d really done it.

Her heart continued to pound inside her, threatening to burst out of her chest at any moment.

She was going to fail. She knew it. She would be found out, cheated, turned over to the Guards and punished.

She should go back. She should tell them all it was a mistake, return the way she came, and go home before Mama and Papa discovered what she had done-

But as the Bullet began to decelerate, on its approach to a Natahv-class Blockade Runner with gull wings tipped with nacelles, and dotted with various weapons, sensors and other modifications along its hull, she fixed her braid and drew forward her cowl again. No. There was no turning back now. As the old saying went: In for a lecid, in for a darik…

A guard awaited her, as promised by the Portsman, and she was escorted to the Shipmaster’s quarters: a cramped, cluttered enclosure, loaded with a wide variety of goods, dominated by a glass-fronted wall display of various hand weapons: intricately-crafted pistols, curved blades and things she couldn’t identify, and didn’t even like looking at. The air was thick with male body odour inefficiently peppered with more pleasing exotic scents, mostly cooked foods. But she was certain this was the most luxurious part of the ship, as befitting its occupant’s position.

The man who was obviously Hazaak Sur sat behind a table facing his door, tearing apart a crispy roast bird on a gold platter with his thick, stubby fingers. He was a broad-shouldered, beefy male in leathers and jewellery, maybe three times her age, his head adorned with carved plates of pure latinum and gold denoting his wealth and success as a Free Trader, and he wiped the grease from his mouth with his bare forearm as he looked up at the guard, snarling, “Return to your post.”

As the guard departed and the door slid shut and automatically locked, Hazaak Sur regarded the visitor. “So… according to my Portsman, a Courier had arrived with a delivery for me from the Great and Powerful Zaddo Natale, huh? A Syndicate Head whom I don’t know, have never dealt with, and whom I’m not even sure exists except as the stuff of legend? And that idiot believed such a tale? I should scar him for such stupidity.”

He smirked. “Throw back your cowl… girl.”

*

NOW:

Alpha Squad Leader Zir Dassene pressed against the young human male, their mouths grinding together, their tongues darting about as if having done this all their lives. Niles made a pleased sound into her mouth, as she felt his hands reaching up to cup the back of her head. He was pushing back, until she felt the warm, damp rock wall against her back and rear end, the moisture on the rock attempting to seep into the insulating materials of her cadet’s uniform. Gods, this was amazing!

She felt his arousal between them, unmistakable, unignorable, and a surge shot up through her- “No- wait-”

She had practically shoved him away. Niles Angstrom, Gamma Squad’s Medical cadet, swayed a little, his pale face flushed but confused. “Zir- I’m sorry- was I- did I hurt you-”

She closed her eyes, embarrassed, unable to look at him as she shook her head. “N-No, Niles, you didn’t-”

“Are you sure?”

She breathed out heavily, nodding. “Trust me, I’ve been hurt before, so I’d know. It’s not you- I-” But the rest of her explanation, if she had possessed one to begin with, was missing. The weeks since they first met and grew closer during shore leave on Sherman’s Planet had been amazing; he was kind, gentle, funny, and he knew so much about her people’s culture, as he studied their medical history as part of his training.

Somehow along the way, they had started holding hands, and then they were exchanging brief kisses that lingered and grew. He had awakened feelings in her that she’d never felt for anyone else before.

But then, something would happen, some subtle sound or action, a response.

And then her mind would conjure another male, another face and hands and lips and body, pressing against her and laughing and grunting and grinding and defiling- “I’m sorry, I, ah, guess I have a lot on my mind. It’s- It’s not that I don’t want to-” She wiped the sweat from her brow, offering an apologetic smile. “Please don’t hate me.”

Niles smiled, his big puppy dog eyes and curly blonde hair enchanting her. “I couldn’t do that, Zir. Min Sevi Sevirim.”

She couldn’t help but grin at his attempt at an affectionate phrase in the Orion High Tongue. She forced away her earlier thoughts to approach him again, reaching out for his hands. “Be careful, Mister. I might have to hold you to that promise.” She ignored her quickening heartbeat, pretending to attribute it to her growing passion for this wonderful young man as they began kissing again-

“Zir?” came a familiar male voice from down the corridor.

“Fearless Leader?” added an equally familiar, feminine voice, their footsteps indicating their imminent arrival.

Zir immediately pulled away from Niles and made a show of adjusting her uniform and hair, motioning – a little too loudly, she realised afterwards – for Niles to do the same.

“Zir?” Alpha Squad’s Medical Cadet Peter Boone repeated, stopping in his tracks, clearly grasping what had been going on seconds ago, but too much of a gentleman to say anything. “Sorry, we would have called ahead, but the kelbonite in the walls is still inhibiting communications.”

Beside him, their Flight Ops Cadet Astrid Michel just smirked, equally cognisant of the amorous activities of second before… and loving it. “That’s not the only thing being inhibited here, Pete.”

Zir straightened up, fully aware that Niles and she was the main topic of gossip among the Surefoot cadets, and knowing there wasn’t a blessed thing she could do about it. “Stow it, Michel. What brought you both down here?”

Peter pretended not to notice his Squad Leader’s chagrin, focusing on rummaging through the medical kit slung under his right arm and producing a hypo spray. “Well, Cadet Grehk has officially identified an entirely unfamiliar parasite in the water, one that requires us to take boosters.” He drew close and administered shots to each of them. “She’s christened it Acanthamoeba Donatu Grehk.”

Niles made a disappointed sound. “She’s got to name a whole new lifeform after herself? I’m jealous.”

“I’m not,” the other male replied. “I have better things to hang my name onto than some river parasite that could give you explosive diarrhea.”

Zir grunted, looking to Astrid. “And did you just come along to play Nurse?”

“Just practising for when we’re sharing a tent tonight, Darling.” The dark-skinned human female gave her customary cheeky wink, but then followed up with a more serious, “Actually, I overheard something I thought you should know: your fellow Squad Leaders have apparently changed their minds about what to do about the chamber.”

“What? Why? The Regulations are clear.”

“Don’t ask me, Fearless Leader. I’m just here to pilot us around and give my fellow cadets inspiration. In so many ways.”

Zir shook her head, though more at the antics of her fellow squad leaders than her friend and squadmate. Their field trip to Donatu V was four days into the week allotted them, and they were already ahead in the various scientific, medical, historical, engineering and security tasks assigned to them by Commander T’Varik.

And their current task – the exploration and study of an ancient ruin built a thousand years or more ago by the former inhabitants of the planet – had yielded something remarkable, courtesy of Alpha Squad’s Science Cadet, the Horta Stalac: a hitherto-undiscovered chamber… with intact mechanical devices of an unknown nature.

Starfleet Regulations recommended immediately alerting the Federation Archaeology Bureau based on the Federation settlement on the other side of the planet, so that a fully-qualified team could be dispatched. Donatu V was strategically important in this sector, and had been the site of several key battles between the Federation and the Klingons, but of almost equal significance was the mystery behind its natives, a humanoid race who had been wiped out a millennium ago from solar flares, leaving many ruins like the one the cadets were camped in, but little detail about themselves and their culture.

But if there were sophisticated machines below here, and intact, it could yield answers that had been sought for generations. “Fine, I’d better join them and find out what’s going on.” She turned to Niles. “We’ll, ah, discuss that medical matter later, Cadet, about, uh-”

She looked at Peter and Astrid, who just stared, smirking at her attempts.

Zir gave up, turned back to Niles and kissed him. Then she faced them again, silently daring either of them to comment. And when neither took the bait, she shooed them all towards the exit. “Go on, we have to stay on schedule!”

Astrid smirked, slipped an arm around a flushed Niles and led him away, offering, “Come along, my boy, you’ll need to get the blood flowing back to your legs…”

Zir started after them, but Peter stopped her with a hand on her arm. “Wait, I need to have a confidential word with you- a medical matter.” At her reaction he elaborated, “Uh, not like the one you just had with Niles.”

That made her pause; he had proven himself not only dedicated to medicine, but also capable and mature, no doubt supported by the fact that he had a young daughter waiting for him on Gault. “A medical matter? About whom?”

He looked slightly uncomfortable now. “Well... you. I was running some diagnostics on your implant.”

She felt herself turn a darker green. When she had earned a place at Starfleet Academy three years ago, one of the stipulations of her admission was the implantation of a suppressor on her sudoral gland, the organ in Orion women that produced pheromones that, over time, could influence others around them.

It was a feature of her race and gender that had been greatly exaggerated over the centuries by lurid erotic fiction and drunken rumour – and by Orions themselves, in order to sell their women as love slaves, often giving them enhancements to accentuate their pheromone production temporarily.

She had agreed to the implant, at the time so eager to join Starfleet that she probably would have agreed to have her arms replaced with cybernetic limbs. And many told her that it really wasn’t that much different from Deltan cadets requiring to take an oath of celibacy to prevent distraction while among sexually-immature races, or Betazoid cadets requiring to take oaths to ensure non-consensual telepathy.

Zir could see their point, and certainly an implant was better than what she would have undergone back on Orion. But still, she didn’t like to be reminded of it, or that others knew it was… down there. “What about it?”

“It needs a quick realignment before it causes you hormonal imbalance. I can do it easily enough anywhere with my tricorder, but I thought you’d rather get it done privately.”

She nodded, appreciating his discretion. “Yes, thanks.” She waited for him to begin.

But instead he reminded her, “It, ah, needs dermal contact-”

Zir cursed a little and began undoing her trousers, lowering them and her underwear just enough to let Peter kneel beside her and bring the tricorder’s interface wand against the spot on her right pelvis where she knew the implant lay. She looked away. “I’m glad you’re gay.”

He smirked. “I’m kind of happy about that myself. Probably for different reasons, though.”

Despite her chagrin, she couldn’t help but smile at his response. “Thank you for keeping this between us.”

He never took his eyes from his tricorder screen. “Medical confidentiality is a cornerstone of my training. After all, I’d never tell anyone about Stalac’s gallstones, or Urad’s fear of butterflies, or Astrid’s chronic flatulence-”

Her smile blossomed into a laugh, quickly dressing again as he completed his work and rose. “There, you shouldn’t have any problems.”

“Except of course being the latest butt of everyone’s jokes about me and Niles.”

She was moving towards the exit, but Peter stopped her, his expression amused but not mocking. “You’re not the butt of any jokes, Zir. Yeah, they’re talking about you and Niles, but it’s not nasty. Most people are happy for you both. You make a cute couple.”

She stared at him, trying to read for any deception on his part, but finding none. Still, she couldn’t help but point out, “’Most’, huh? What about the others? What are they feeling? Disgust, judgement-”

“Envy, Zir,” he assured her, smiling. “Envy for Niles. There’s a lot to admire about you: your strength, your intelligence, your leadership abilities, your empathy-”

She raised a hand. “Enough, please; I’m not built to take too much praise.” She smiled back. “But… thanks. We’d better get moving.”

But as they strode through the dark corridors, the portable lights fitted here and there illuminating their way, Zir thought back to moments before, to her time with Niles… and the memories which kept intruding on any opportunities she sought for… happiness.

And maybe… after all she’d done… she didn’t deserve happiness? No matter what the Counselor and the Captain and the others who have supported her might say otherwise?

She didn’t want to contemplate that.

You’ve come a long way, but you can’t rush the healing process, Kami once told her. And accepting what you had to do – and make no mistake, you had to do it; everyone who knows your full story agrees with this – is not going to be easy. Guilt clings, like a cub with his claws in you when he doesn’t want to get in the bath.

Yes, it clung, Zir agreed sourly.

*

THEN:

She started. How- How did he know-

He pushed the bird aside and wiped his hands on his trousers and chuckled, as if he’d read her mind. “Couriers are only boys. And boys generally don’t have mosos.” He made cupping gestures with his hands in front of his chest in crude, needless illustration. “Granted, yours don’t look like much, but they’re obvious, if you have eyes. Bet they’re firm and juicy.”

She pulled her bag closer to her own chest, and felt herself turn a darker shade of green at his words. Not that she hadn’t heard such crudity from men before – working in her Papa’s shop from an early age exposed her to such remarks – but she never had them directed at her. It left her momentarily speechless.

Hazaak Sur, on the other hand, remained completely relaxed and in command. “I said throw back your cowl, girl.”

Still holding the bag in her hands, fighting her anxiety, she shucked back the cowl, struggling to look strong and confident in front of the smuggler. That was the key.

He took in her face. “What’s your name?”

She swallowed. “M-My name… my name is immaterial. It’s why I’m here that’s-”

“And how old are you, Immaterial?”

“Wha- I’m- I’m twenty-”

“Liar. You’re sixteen, at best. You haven’t started producing a Woman’s Musk. I bet your little cuksir hasn’t even been touched by yourself, let alone any man.” He chuckled.

She felt herself darken into shades she never thought possible in nature. “How dare you use such vulgarity to me!”

“Oh? Are you High Born then, Immaterial? You use big words for a woman, but your accent, and the calluses on your fingers, tell me No, so don’t put on airs and graces with me. Why have you come here?”

She shuddered, hating feeling so vulnerable and small in front of this man. She needed to maintain control of the situation. It was a business arrangement, a deal, like she’d seen her Papa do a thousand times. “Shipmaster, I am here to arrange immediate passage for myself into Federation space. The exact location is not important, but your discretion and speed is. I have been reliably informed that you are a Free Trader who keeps his side of any bargain reached.”

She set the bag down at her feet, knelt before it and unfastened it, drawing out a small, elaborately-carved wooden chest, rising up again and lifting up the lid to display its contents. “The combined value of the items here should be more than sufficient to provide me with passage and board-”

“Enough.” He rose to his feet, a head or more taller than her, and approached, picking meat from his teeth as he peered down at the strips of latinum, Spican flame gems and gold Orion darik coins. “Hmph… where did you find this little treasure, Immaterial? Under your grandmother’s bed?”

She bristled; it was a small fortune, one her parents had saved over the years, and her research had led her to believe he would have been more impressed with this amount. Still, he hadn’t rejected the offer outright. Yet. “Shipmaster, as an experienced and respected member of the Orion Free Traders, you recognise a bargain. I require very little in the way of accommodation and food, the journey will not take long-”

He reached into the chest, nudged its contents around as if looking for hidden things. “Why do you wish to run away, Immaterial? Do you have a lover waiting for you among the kafirlirs out in Federation space? Did you commit murder to obtain this little treasure? Perhaps you’re a master spy for Starfleet Intelligence, bringing home world-shattering secrets?” He chuckled again. “Well?”

She shut the chest lid. “That is my business, Shipmaster, not yours.”

He smiled mirthlessly. “Come, come, Immaterial. Discretion is part of a Free Traders’ code. Why leave?”

She stared up. She could tell him. She could tell him of the day when her life, her world, stopped being sane and secure. When she woke up to recognise what Orion society was built upon: slavery, of their own and other people; piracy, in the form of men like Hazaak Sur and other so-called Free Traders; and criminal activity, as driven by the Syndicate and murderous figures like Zaddo Natale.

Not that anything had ever been concealed from her. But it took the brutal murder of a friend, who happened to have been a slave, to open her eyes, and begin to see. And the more she saw, the more she hated her people… and herself, for her unwitting support of their society, simply by being a part of it. She was young, but she was old enough to accept that she couldn’t change things. But she couldn’t live with them either.

It had taken her years to organise this day, to research and rehearse and plan and prepare. This was the day. This was the man.

She raised her chin to him. “Because I want something that I can’t get here. When somebody wants something, they turn to a Free Trader. And when somebody wants a Free Trader who is honourable, they turn to you. Now, do we have a deal, or do I take my business elsewhere?”

Hazaak Sur regarded her for a moment, before turning away, reaching for a curved dark bottle on the shelf, speaking over his shoulder at her. “Sentinel Minor IV is a Federation colony in the Typhon Sector on their side of the border, six weeks’ travel from here; we have an ongoing contract to provide pergium for their reactors, because it’s cheaper for them to get it from us than to import it from the nearest Federation mining colony. From there, you’ll have access to Audet IV, Starbase Sierra Tango, Tiburon, a few other places.” He uncorked the bottle and drank from it before continuing. “Your funds should be enough to buy you passage to any of them.”

Her elation at his apparent acceptance of the deal was almost immediately eclipsed by her confusion over the rest of his words. “My funds? I-I thought that I wouldn’t have much if anything left after I pay you-”

“You’re not paying passage on my ship with that pittance.” He pointed to her lower half. “I want that.”

She blinked, confused. “M-My robes?”

He guffawed. “No, not your robes, stupid girl! I want what’s in them! You are a virgin, aren’t you?”

Now she felt herself turn a dark emerald, and was certain her temperature had doubled. He- He couldn’t mean it- He was joking with her, the way Papa’s friends joked with her sometimes when he wasn’t around!

“Why do you stare at me with such disdain?” Haazak Sur demanded, sounding irritable now. “It’s a very reasonable proposition. You’ll stay in my quarters and serve me – in bed and out of it – and in return, I’ll get you into Federation space; you have my word as a Free Trader on that.”

She stuck out her chin. “I’m not a… a whore, Shipmaster!”

Now he grunted at her indignation. “Typical Merchant Class Sanctimony. You think your Daddy isn’t getting ready to sell off your little cuksir to some old local merchant with a shrivelled piece, before putting you under the knife for your Sunnetci?”

She shuddered… not just at his words, but because of the truth behind them. In a few years, Papa would arrange for her marriage-sale to one of his older friends, and then she would undergo the Sunnetci, the ceremony removing her sudoral gland, ensuring her fidelity to her imminent husband-owner, eliminating her ability to bewitch men… and eliminating her ability to fully enjoy herself physically as a woman. Most Orion women had undergone the ceremony for generations, an aspect of their lives since the Patriarchate seized power from women centuries ago.

“Only now,” Hazaak Sur continued. “You are in control of your own body, and what you do with it… which I suspect is part of the reason for your desire to escape. And by paying for your journey in… personal service, rather than currency, you’ll have substantial capital to help start you in a new life.” He leered at her. “You might even enjoy yourself.”

As he continued to chuckle, she forced herself to speak. “B-But Shipmaster. I- I have already made a very reasonable offer-”

“An offer is only ’very reasonable’ if both parties agree that it is very reasonable.”

“I- I can work onboard- cook, clean-”

“I have men onboard to do that; you,  on the other hand, can do things they cannot. I have given you the price for passage on my ship, and it is non-negotiable. You accept or reject it of your own free will.”

“B-But I’m- I’m only-”

He leaned in, reminding her, “You’re old enough to desire to leave Orion. You’re old enough to plan all this to make that desire a reality. You’re old enough to understand the terms I offer. And you’re old enough to decide for yourself if six weeks spent giving your body over to me is worth it.” He drew back. “The Ngoutuk leaves in two hours, and I must see to some business in the Port first. Now is the time to tell me if you accept the offer or not.” He raised his beefy hand. “Well, Immaterial?”

She stared up at him, unbelieving of how quickly her plans had collapsed around her-

No. Not collapsed. Restructured. Deals can be like that, her Papa once instructed her. Circumstances change in a heartbeat, and the trader who is unprepared to adapt just as quickly will end up all the poorer for it.

She could reject his disgusting offer. She could leave the ship, the Spaceport, return across town to her home, her life, her future being laid out for her.

A future she despised. As part of a society she despised.

Hazaak Sur was right; she wanted more. She wanted to be part of something better.

And over the last few years, since making that decision, she had heard about the kafirlir Federation, and the rumours about what their society was like.

She had no proof that it was true, that it was just rumour, swiftly quashed by their Information networks. But she had to take that chance.

And now she made another decision.

She raised her own hand, spat into it, and offered it.

Hazaak Sur, amused by her use of the traditional Trader’s gesture, spat into his own, and clasped hers.

There was no turning back now.

*

NOW:

The air outside on Donatu V was hot and thick, and filled with the sounds of birds in the surrounding foliage that was slowly consuming the stone buildings that had once housed hundreds, if not thousands of people centuries before. Cadets were still obtaining plant and animal samples, or in the case of the Security cadets, putting others through demonstrations of unarmed combat (except for the massive Urad Kaldron from her own Squad, who seemed content to let cadets try and fail to knock his hippo-like body down).

She descended into the tunnel her friend Stalac had initially made, and then expanded upon afterwards to accommodate the carbon-based bipeds he served with, feeling a chill as she ducked her head here and there, before emerging into a much larger chamber, something almost the size of the Surefoot’s Shuttlebay.

She glanced around, noting the Science and Engineering cadets milling about the ancient machinery here, scanning or recording what they found, or working on the generators and scanners they had brought down to assist them in deciphering the purpose of the place.

Which worried Zir. One of the basic scientific principles she had learned regarded the care one needed to take upon discovering a virgin archaeological site. Once Stalac had found it and a cursory examination was taken, it should have been sealed off and the Federation Archaeological Bureau office on Donatu V alerted. Her fellow Squad Leaders seemingly agreed – at the time, anyway.

She saw the other two in question talking excitedly between themselves and strode up. “What’s going on?”

They turned. Beta Squad Leader Francis Nguyen, a slight Terran male of Asian origin, visibly steeled himself for her approach and the inevitable argument, but Gamma Squad Leader Jexa-Naku, a ramhorned Grazerite female, slipped on the political smile and charm she no doubt learned from her older brother, a prominent member of the Federation Council. “Ah, Zir, there you are! I thought you might have been… having a rest somewhere. This jungle environment is most enervating-”

“I asked you what was going on?” She waved her hand towards the other cadets working nearby. “I thought we agreed to leave everything intact and just send the preliminary report to the Bureau?”

Jexa wrinkled her snout as her lips lifted further. “Yes, and a very sound, prudent suggestion of yours it was! But as we discussed it further in your absence, we agreed that it would not be a… suitably demonstrative illustration of our potential.”

Zir crossed her arms, silently challenging her to continue.

But now Nguyen stepped closer. “Yeah, Zir, think about it: we go back to T’Varik, tell her we made this incredible discovery, something that will make the archaeologists have kittens, and when she asks us if we took the opportunity to provide them with a complete report, what will we say?”

Zir glanced over at a large metal wall, dominated by a round archway three metres in diameter, where nearby, Beta and Gamma Squad’s Engineering cadets were kneeling around a portable generator, arguing over what sounded like the proper means of making a connection. “We’ll say we followed Regulations. There are protocols-”

“Of course there are, Zir,” Jexa agreed unctuously. “But our Science cadets believe that the Donatui machinery down here is still capable of functioning, even after over a thousand years! Can you imagine if we find an intact computer and succeed in reactivating its memory banks? The contribution we could make to Science-”

“Can you imagine if we find an intact computer and succeed in accidentally damaging and destroying it?”

“Really, Zir-”

“And don’t pretend you’re doing all this for the sake of Science!” she continued, her anger growing. She’d known from the start that Jexa was ambitious and political, and would stroke you with one hand and stab you in the back with the other if it suited her, but she didn’t think the Grazerite would go this far.

“Our people are being careful, Zir,” Nguyen assured her. “You don’t have to get so hotheaded about it-”

She looked around, seeing Stalac and her Squad’s Engineering Cadet Tori Emoto nearby, thankfully not involved in the current activities. “Tori! Stalac! Stop what you’re doing! We’re not assisting in this any longer!” She looked back at her fellow squad leaders. “If you continue with this, I’ll file a formal protest in my report to Commander T’Varik.”

Nguyen frowned. “But we need to show that it was a unanimous decision to continue!”

“But it wasn’t. And it won’t be, I can promise you that.” She stopped as she felt the rumble of Stalac, the Horta slithering along the floor of the chamber, looking (at least in Zir’s imagination) more comfortable being underground. “Stal, have we learned anything new about the Donatui, based on what has been discovered already in here?”

The Starfleet combadge and voder bolted onto the Horta’s front shifted to face the humanoids. “Quite a bit actually, Zir. There is definite evidence of sophisticated computer technology on this level, along with exotic energy manipulation devices. The original assessment of the Donatui being strictly pre-industrial will need to be reassessed by the Bureau archaeologists.”

“Thanks. Sounds like we have enough to dazzle T’Varik.” Zir looked back at the squad leaders. “Stop this. Now.”

Now Nguyen looked doubtful, turning to Jexa. “Maybe she’s right, Jex.”

But the Grazerite appeared annoyed by the turn of events. “Dear, you really need to consider how much extra effort you need to make a name for yourself in Starfleet, to compensate for your deficiencies.”

Zir bristled, as beside her, Tori stepped up, scowling. “Excuse me, dipshit? You wish you were half as good as our Squad Leader-”

The Orion girl waved off her friend’s further protests, keeping her glare on Jexa. “What deficiencies?”

Jexa grunted with exasperation, as if Zir was being deliberately obtuse. “Isn’t it obvious? You’re a citizen of an outlaw state, a race of criminals and slavers-”

On Zir’s left, Stalac rumbled loudly.

Before anyone could respond, the circular arch nearest them suddenly glowed with a blue-white brilliance of energy, and behind it, a strange whine of mechanical devices. Near it, the engineers beside the portable power generator whooped in triumph and high-fived each other.

Jexa blinked at the resplendent arch, smirking. “Last chance, Zir, to do something smart for yourself.”

But Zir was only half-listening, the hairs on her arms and neck rising. Something was coalescing, building up- something was wrong! “Turn it off.”

“Zir-”

“TURN IT OFF!” she shouted at the cadets.

Something from the arch caught her eye, something being launched towards Jexa and Nguyen.

Without thinking, she shot forward, arms outstretched, shoving her fellow squad leaders away from whatever was coming out of the arch, and hoping she had enough speed and momentum to avoid it as well.

She didn’t…

*

THEN:

The recycling system of the toilet bowl in Hazaak Sur’s hygiene chamber was not a place she would have liked to spend any time near if she could help it – but that didn’t stop her from shoving her head into it to bring up the contents of her stomach. She clutched to her body what clothes she could grab on her way in here, but the pain in her abdomen – everywhere – made her drop them now and clutch herself instead, flicking her hair behind her to keep it from dropping in to join her last meal.

She had tried. She had really tried to be grown up about it. In the hours since accepting the deal, since the ship launched itself into orbit and she felt the jolt of warp speed, she had puttered about the Shipmaster’s quarters, discarding the Courier’s robes for her casual blouse and trousers, finding a place to secure the few possessions she had brought with her… and wondering what her first time with a man was going to be like.

She knew about sex, of course. She had even seen some videos that some of her friends had taken from their older brothers, and remembered being both horrified and hypnotised by the… gymnastics on display. She imagined the reality would be more mundane.

And though she didn’t know when he would return to his quarters to… claim his side of their bargain, she knew he would at some point that evening, and she wanted him to be met with someone who was grown up, mature, cosmopolitan, able to handle such transactions with coolness, sophistication.

And though Hazaak Sur came across as common, crude, she imagined that he had a way with women, that his experienced hand would guide her, and that his pride would ensure that he left her first time immensely satisfied, admiring his skills. She imagined him to be like the pirate shipmasters in those cheesy romantic tales, the rugged adventurer who would sweep her off her feet and sail her through the stars. metaphorically as well as physically.

Later, she would hate herself for being so naive.

He showed up around 2147 hours per his quarter’s chroniker, barely glancing at her before grunting, “Get those things off.”

It took her a moment to realise he meant her clothes, that he would make no effort to seduce her. She turned her back on him, listening to him strip as well. Everything will be fine. Everything will be fine. It’ll be good. It’ll be good…

She found an excuse to look everywhere but in his direction as he told her to lie down – though as he approached, she did catch a glimpse of his bulky flabby green body… and yes, she looked down there, too, seeing how aroused he was.

He was spreading her legs and fumbling to get in her, grunting and cursing her as if it was her fault.

She wasn’t aroused, wasn’t ready for him in the slightest; it hurt, and she cried out in pain, but that didn’t stop him, obviously giving her no more thought than he did that roast bird she’d watched him devour earlier. She turned her head to one side, trying to distract herself with the rows of bottles she had rearranged on his shelves while waiting for his return; at the jewelled daggers on the walls; at the pockmarked ceiling, somehow stained with wine or food or something else thrown up at it; at the battered desk computer screen, at anything, at everything...

She couldn’t ignore his body odour, his hot flesh and the bristly hairs on his thighs. She couldn’t breathe, he was heavy and taking something from her that she would never get back and she just wanted it to be over just be over just finish just get off her and leave her alone please stop please please please-

And then, just like that, he was done, spent, and withdrew to lie beside her.

Leaving her to roll off his bed and stumble into his hygiene chamber, vomiting, and wishing it wouldn’t stop until she turned inside out. The sophisticated, mature women she wanted to be in front of him had warped away to parts unknown, leaving a little thing who ached in ways she never thought possible, and who wanted nothing more than to get into his shower and burn off every part of her touched by him.

Gods, what had she done?

She rose and washed her mouth out at the sink, before more tentatively cleaning herself elsewhere, wincing with lingering pain. Finally she dressed herself in the clothes she had grabbed on her way in here, hoping he had gone somewhere to leave her alone.

But Hazaak Sur was still there, only now sitting naked at his desk, hunched over a small black open box, squirting something up his nose with a tiny spray bottle. He never looked up, instead muttering, “Hurts, huh? At least you proved you were a virgin. Come here, Immaterial, this’ll help.”

She remained at the doorway, swallowing before speaking, her voice sounding hoarse. “W-What is it?”

“V.” He grunted, noting her confusion. “Vraxoin. Good stuff, too. None of the street-level crap. Come here, it’ll help.”

She screwed up her face at the mention of it. Her friends back home often boasted of taking Vraxoin, but she had never taken any, and never would. What she had done for this wretch was bad enough, without degrading herself further through taking drugs. “N-No, thank you.”

Now he looked up at her again, his voice and look hardening. “I said come here.”

She steeled herself, wanting to throw up again despite knowing she had nothing left inside her. “You’ve got what you want, leave me alone-”

Suddenly Hazaak Sur bolted to his feet, knocking his chair over and storming towards her. She tried to step back into the hygiene chamber and close the door to him, but he slid it back open, grabbed her by the wrist and dragged her towards the desk. She struggled with him, but he ignored her efforts as he lifted up the spray bottle he had been using on himself, bringing the nozzle to one of her nostrils and squeezing.

She felt the fiery gas shoot up into her brain, burn away at the insides of her nasal passage even as the chemicals soaked and branched out and raced along her nerves. She coughed and sputtered, and when she collapsed into a hacking fit, Hazaak Sur released his hold on her and stood nearby. “The First Burn is always the worst, Immaterial. Makes you feel like a supernova has burst inside you, and that you’re plummeting into Infinity. But then comes the Wallow, as that warm, mellow feeling soaks into you. And soon, very soon, anything bad you might have been feeling gets cast away into a remote corner of your mind.”

She lay crumpled on the floor... understanding now exactly what he meant.

Distantly she heard him take another sniff.

Distantly she felt him lift her up and guide her back to his bed for more.

And she wondered then what the fuss she had been feeling centuries before had been all about.

*

NOW:

“ZIR!” Peter yelled, racing up to the stone dais where his friend and Squad Leader had stood seconds before… but now, only her combadge lay, twisted as if having gone through a faulty transporter, its delta pointing in the direction of Nguyen and Jexa.

The other cadets in the chamber had rushed up now, barely avoiding Stalac as he rumbled closer, accessing the tricorder bolted to his side and scanning the area.

“Wh-What happened to her?” Peter murmured.

An ashen-looking Jexa stared at the combadge. “It… It disintegrated her…”

“Don’t say that!”

As the panic rose and spread among them, Stalac’s rumble grew suddenly in volume and vibration, until it sounded like the roof was about to collapse. “Quiet! There’s no trace of carbon-based matter residue! Zir wasn’t disintegrated!”

Peter’s heart threatened to leap into his mouth, and he dropped to one knee, needing to look away from the combadge. “She wasn’t? Are you sure, Buddy?”

The Horta rotated in place, aiming his tricorder in every direction. “Very. Living beings leave very distinctive traces even when struck with the strongest of energy beams. I am detecting none of that here.”

Tori was kneeling next to Peter and Stalac now. “What the hell are you detecting, then?”

After a moment, the Horta replied, “Bizarre... Chronitons? Yes, it’s chronitons!”

*

Nearby, or not, Zir drifted in a fog, bobbing, feeling very much like she did the first time she entered a pool at Starfleet Academy, and was wading along, wondering when the shallow end would give way to the deep end… and then finding out the hard way when the floor suddenly disappeared from under her, leaving her with no footing and drawing her under the water. The panic rushed through her, and she lashed out, now as she did then.

Until she realised that, unlike then, she wasn’t drowning. She wasn’t breathing, but she wasn’t drowning, or suffocating, or anything else.

Calm, she reminded herself from one of Kami’s sessions. Focus. Your Centre is the centre of the Universe, and you are in full control. And it all starts with your decision to focus.

So Zir focused. And with that, she felt like she was moving along, going… where?

What was going on? What had happened? The last thing she remembered was getting hit by that strange alien beam of energy, and then she was here… it was like she was…

A ghost. A spirit.

Gods... Was she dead?

She moved about, calling out, not even sure she was hearing her own voice.

Niles… if she was really dead, she would hate herself for wasting so much time with him, with not giving herself to him.

Her people had ancient mythologies about afterlives, and divine judgements from those whom the dead have helped or harmed while in life. Her studies at the Academy told her that such beliefs were common among hundreds of races and cultures in the Galaxy. And it was typically driven by an instinctive need for self-importance and self-assurance, a need to believe that there was more to existence than life, as well as a cultural need to enforce desired traits usually classed as ’good’.

Zir never gave it much thought. Or at least, chose not to. It was all backward superstition, and in her efforts to fit in with the thinking of the Federation and Starfleet, she saw it as an interesting cultural study. Nothing more.

And yet, here she was, invisible, insubstantial, in some sort of Netherworld, facing… what?

“Retribution, Immaterial…

Pure, naked retribution...”

*

THEN:

She stayed in Hazaak Sur’s quarters, the door to the outside always locked, never leaving, never seeing anyone except for the occasional crewman who brought in meals for him and her; very soon, she realised they had orders to ignore her, and not speak to her. He left her for long hours at a time, occasionally returning to eat, to sleep… and of course to screw. There was never any notion of love being involved.

He brought her seductive silks to wear and make-up and jewellery to adorn herself with, and she would wake and dance and sing for him, pleasure and tease him, until he let her have some V, and then they’d retire to his bed.

Hazaak Sur remained crude, heavy and blunt as a hammer, and with some appalling bad breath and body odour that no amount of hints on her part could get him to acknowledge and do something about it. He was far from being the man she imagined as the one who would be her first lover.

But, sometimes, just sometimes, as they lay together after he had spent himself, and she remained curled up against him, he would tell a story about his past, or make a joke about the antics of a member of his crew that day. And she would warm to him. A little.

It was bizarre: that he could make her do things with him that were unthinkable weeks ago, sexual acts that would surely make her father’s heart stop if she knew what his daughter was doing. But it was only in such moments as their talks, when she felt truly intimate with him.

Occasionally, though, Hazaak Sur would remind her of her status in his eyes, such as the time she had asked him for something to read. He laughed at that. “Women are good for only one thing, Immaterial – stay focused on that!”

And she would laugh at his weak joke, and go back to secretly re-reading the databooks she had brought with her. Her father had secretly taught her how to read, and to know about the world, in order to secretly help him in his business, none of his business contacts and customers suspecting that she would know what they were talking about when Papa wasn’t around. He never realised how much this learning would spark a hunger in her for more… and would ultimately, ironically, drive her away from him, and their world.

At the beginning, she would often return to her possessions, and look through her images of her family, and end up crying, until Hazaak Sur showed up early one time, and yelled at her viciously for ruining his mood, so she forced herself to stop.

Her life became a haze, alternating between sex, sleep, food and Vraxoin.

It didn’t change until she stumbled upon the Federation text she had found in his quarters.

It was on a datarod at the bottom of a drawer filled with junk, and idly she checked to see if her reader could access the contents. And it did, revealing numerous volumes of material of Federation origin, nothing censored by Orion authorities. Much of it she couldn’t comprehend: technical manuals, business memoranda, production reports…

But then she found something called the Articles of the United Federation of Planets.

It was some sort of... constitution for them, an illustration of their government. Much of it was a complicated description of the organisation of their Council, how often Councillors from member worlds were meant to convene, and how it passed articles and amendments and things she didn’t have the education to identify.

But it was the Articles themselves that captured her. The beliefs they espoused. Simple, but clear.

Gods...

Every Orion she had ever known who had talked of the Federation and Starfleet all said the same things: they were kafirlirs, weak, mongrel races who interfered in the affairs of the Orion Empire. Once, when she asked what made the Federation different, she received a smack for her impertinence in even asking.

She read them, over and over. Memorising every word.

Now she understood why.

She had heard fragmented rumours about their beliefs, their passions and ideals. But now, she saw it all spelled out, clearly and inarguably: the civil rights and liberties that the Federation guaranteed to all sentient individuals living under their jurisdiction.

All sentient individuals, regardless of gender, race, religion, caste, sexual orientation...

And they hated slavery! It was not considered part of the natural order of things to them as it was to Orions, but an abomination! And they gave their military Starfleet permission to do anything necessary to abolish slavery everywhere within their sphere of influence!

They were everything her own people weren’t.

She read and reread and re-reread it all, took in every precious, incredible word.

If she had had any doubts before about what she had been doing, they had evaporated. And soon she would be with them, free…

Soon…

How soon?

On a thought, she went into the hygiene chamber, staring at her reflection… or more specifically, the length of her hair. It dropped down over her chest, the tips a couple of uyims past her nipples, something it definitely didn’t do when she first boarded.

She knew the ship had stopped more than once, even landed somewhere, to judge from the occasional announcements over the intercom from Maatoz, Hazaak Sur’s Chief Adjutant, though she didn’t have any idea about their itinerary.

How long had she been there?

The chroniker in the Shipmaster’s quarters gave her the ship time, but not the date. But she had been keeping track in a notebook she kept in her bag. She counted the marks: five, ten, fifteen, twenty…

She’d lost count, couldn’t even recall when she’d last updated it; she had stopped marking at some point, after a particularly… rough time with Hazaak Sur, and a particularly strong dose of V he had given her when she began questioning them about their ETA to, uh, Sentinel, uh… what was the name of the colony again?

Yes, Sentinel Minor IV. And he definitely said it was only six weeks away from the Orion homeworld. How long had she been onboard? How long did she have left?

The minutes felt like hours before he finally returned. “We have a fine dish being prepared for us tonight, Immaterial: Tiburon pork belly-”

“How soon until we reach Sentinel Minor IV?” she demanded, standing before him.

Hazaak Sur regarded her. “Excuse me, girl?”

“How far away are we? I want to know.”

He grinned, revealing the red jewel embedded in one of his molars. “Are you looking for an excuse to get spanked again? I knew you’d develop a taste for that-”

“Answer me! We had a deal, we shook on it!”

The Shipmaster shrugged. “We’re three weeks from Sentinel Minor IV at our current position. There, satisfied?”

Three weeks? They were only halfway through the journey? It couldn’t be. She shook her head. “I want to see proof of where we are- I have a right to know-”

His smile dropped like a stone, and his huge hand swung out, sending her toppling to the floor.

Her head rang, and past the pain she heard him move around her, getting something from his wardrobe. “Clearly I’ve been too lenient with you, girl. Letting you wallow in your delusions. Letting you believe you still had any say in your life.

Brainless little cuksir.

You became my property the moment you stepped onboard.”

Then he was back, grabbing her by the hair and lifting her up and moving to his desk, slamming her upper half onto the surface and forcing her down, pinning her arms behind her. She struggled, but couldn’t break free, could only watch in terror as he opened a black box, fishing through the contents.

All the while, Hazaak Sur continued talking, almost casually, drawing out a palm-sized metal plate with a triangular symbol on one side, and controls he worked on the other. “No, Immaterial, you’re not going anywhere. You’re staying with me until I’m bored with you. Then I’ll sell you to one of my crew. And he’ll sell you to another. And then another. As the only slave onboard, I’m sure you’ll get to know all my crew in time. And they’ll know you. Again and again.”

She watched the symbol glow bright red and hot, becoming recognisable as Λ, the Orion pictogram for Slave.

And then she recognised the tool, and what he was going to do to her.

His hold on her increased as she doubled her efforts to break free. “N-No, please, don’t- I’m sorry, I’m sorry, please don’t don’t DON’T-”

But he ignored her, pressing the brand against her right cheek, her flesh searing and smoking and sending a hammer of pain through her as she screamed…

*

NOW:

“Chrontions?” Jexa turned to her squad’s Science cadet. “What are chronitons, Elia?”

The Betazoid female Elia Dyshen frowned in concentration, her deep black eyes narrowing. “Particles with intertemporal signatures, notably present during incidents of time travel and temporal phenomena.”

“Time travel?” Peter echoed. “You mean Zir’s been transported somewhere through time?”

“Not necessarily,” Tori countered. “Chronitons are also a by-product of cloaking devices, experimental phase shifters-”

Peter glanced around. “Cloaked? Is she close by, just cloaked?”

“If it was just a case of her being invisible, I think she’d have made her presence known by now,” Stalac pointed out. “I think the best way to work out what happened to Zir is to examine the projector machinery.”

He started slithering towards the Arch, but Nguyen spoke up. “Wait, Cadet! We need to leave this equipment alone, and inform the Starfleet base of operations on Donatu about what’s happened!”

Peter rose to his feet, flushed with anger. “We can’t wait! Zir might need help, wherever she is!”

“But we don’t want any more accidents happening!”

“Oh, now you’re being careful! Where was this attitude a few minutes ago when Zir had to save your lives?”

“You need to calm down, Cadet,” Jexa told him sternly. “And go get some air. Leave.” After a moment, she added, “That’s an order.”

Peter stuck his chin out. “I’m not going anywhere until we get Zir back.”

The squad leader’s snout bristled, as she became aware of all the cadets witnessing the confrontation. “I gave you a direct order, Mr Boone! Now, are you going to walk out of your own free will, or do I have to have you physically removed and confined to one of our runabouts to face charges of insubordination?”

Urad drew up beside Peter and the rest of their squad, standing a head above them all, purposefully making the knuckles in his huge hands audibly crack. “If you wish to try and have my friend removed, Comrade Squad Leader, you will have to also try to remove me.”

“And me,” Stalac added with an angry tremor.

“And me!” Tori declared, stabbing a finger in their direction.

“And me,” Astrid finished, more calmly not less determinedly.

The Miradorn twins, Security cadets for the other squads, started moving in, presumably to try and enforce Jexa’s threat. But now Niles suddenly spoke up, breaking his usual quiet composure. “Stop this! All of you! Zir’s in trouble! One of our own! Whatever has happened to her, wherever she is, she needs help! And she’s not going to get it if we don’t all put aside our pride and whatever else, and all work together!”

That seemed to take the growing tension from the group.

Jexa drew up her full height, glanced at Nguyen and announced, “Francis, return to the runabouts and report what’s happened to the local Starfleet offices. I’ll have the Engineering and Science cadets examine the Arch technology to get a better idea of what it can do… something we should have done before foolishly powering it up.”

Then she looked up again, raising her voice. “And everyone else needs to head back up! I want a search of the immediate perimeter of the site! Squad Leader Dassene may have been transported nearby, injured and in need of aid! Flight Ops cadets, utilise the sensors in the runabouts for a wider search pattern!”

She looked to Urad and Astrid, sounding more sympathetic now. “I know you want to stay, I understand that, but you’re of more use heading uptop to assist. If we learn anything further, I promise we’ll let you know.”

Peter looked to his friends and nodded. “Go on, I’ll keep an eye on things here.”

Urad and Astrid nodded back and departed.

Jexa looked to Peter and Niles, and for the first time, Peter saw something… genuinely selfless in the Squad Leader’s expression. “We’ll get her back. Wherever she is.”

*

Nearby, and not, Zir drifted, no longer seeing or perceiving her friends or the Donatui chamber. Instead she drifted through a fog, drawn to the voice that seemed to call to her. “Here, Immaterial… come to me…”

She knew it, and didn’t know it.

She didn’t want to know it. But she was so alone, so alone here, drowning in nothingness, and instinctively reached out for a lifeline-

The fog drew out, hardened into lines, lights, familiar roundels in the walls, sounds and smells that raised her hackles- no, no she couldn’t be here again-

Hazaak Sur’s quarters, just as she’d last seen them...

A huge green hand shot out of nowhere, clasping around her wrist, dragging her into the view of a huge, hulking figure: drenched in black-green blood, one red eye fixed on her, the other eye missing, leaving only a gaping socket, the mouth opening as bile dripped from the sides of his broad, bleeding jaw.

She screamed.

He laughed.

*

THEN:

She lay there in the dark for the longest time. Waiting. Waiting.

Finally, slowly, carefully, she lifted up the large, sweaty arm draped over her, just enough to slide herself to the edge of the bed and down to the floor, before resting the arm on the mattress. She lay on the floor, listening to him grunt and snore, before finally settling down again. Then she rolled over to where she had left her clothes before the lights had been doused. Hazaak Sur’s quarters were in total darkness, but she had spent enough time here to know where everything was by now.

She rose and padded into the hygiene chamber, closing the door and switching on the light to retrieve the shaving kit and opening it. She unscrewed the round disposal case she found, checking the cotton bud inside, tentatively confirming it was still wet, and hoping it would be enough for her purposes.

Reluctantly she looked up at her reflection, at the brand she now wore on her face, unignorable. Few slaves she’d ever seen on Orion were branded there, unless an example had to be made to them, to remind them permanently of their status. To break them.

And for her, it appeared to have worked. From that night on, she was good, and quiet, and fearful, and obedient. She did what he wanted, without question or complaint. She kept his quarters clean and poured his drinks and massaged his feet and shaved his scalp and pleasured him in bed.

She gave him nothing to suspect that he hadn’t reduced her to a meek and willing slave.

As she prepared the cotton bud, she realised that her sweats had begun, and she wished it was from nerves rather than withdrawal symptoms. She had waived off taking too much V when it was offered tonight, needing her head to be clear, but now her mouth was drying, her insides felt itchy, and her head pounded. But she ignored all that for now, to focus on the task at hand.

She had taken a risk tonight, when she deliberately cut the Shipmaster’s scalp while shaving him but still making it look like an accident, apologising profusely and repeatedly dabbing the bud on the wound, soaking up his blood… and his DNA. He was furious… but his fury was soon sated with some enthusiastic attempts on her part to make it up to him in bed. And soon after that, and a shot of V to put him to sleep, he was spent and exhausted.

Now she switched off the lights and returned to the main room, guiding herself to the desk computer, pressing the bud on the genetic security lock, hoping it was enough to-

She smiled as the screen menu lit up. Turning the display away from him, she bent forward and worked the keyboard, exploring the directory; the operating system was similar to the one her father used in his shop, and had taught her to use. She bypassed most of the subsystems, detailing merchandising, expenditures, fuel and maintenance reports, intelligence on Starfleet movements in the sector, trades, profits-

Yes, as she suspected: they had been in Federation space for over – three months now? That long? – and due to approach the Federation Starbase Sierra Tango tomorrow at approximately 1100 Hours, when Hazaak Sur would be on the Bridge. And she could use her access to his command systems here to maybe create a diversion and let her make her flee via one of the escape pods just outside-

Suddenly the ship’s Call sounded, making her jump. Had her actions triggered an alarm? But a second later, Maatoz, announced, “Shipmaster, we’re being hailed by a Starfleet vessel! They’re on an intercept course with us!”

She looked in the direction of the bed, where she heard the Shipmaster sit up and order, “Lights on!” She blinked in the sudden illumination, as he stared at her, growling, “And just what do you think you’re doing over there, Immaterial?”

She froze, unable to respond as he rose and approached the wall intercom, never taking his eyes off her as he opened a channel. “Hazaak here. Which Starfleet vessel is it?”

“The USS Triumph, Shipmaster.”

Hazaak Sur cursed. “That cuksir Regan’s ship. What’s their ETA?”

“Ten minutes, Shipmaster.”

“Don’t respond to any of their hails, Maatoz. I’ll be up shortly, as soon as I take care of some business here.” As he closed the channel, he grunted, reaching for a bottle on the nearby shelf and drinking straight from it, before slipping into his trousers… but removing the leather belt from them and doubling it up. “Come here, Slave. If the mark on your pretty little face wasn’t enough to teach you, I’ll leave your back and rear a bloody mess.”

She stood by his desk, shaking.

Shaking from terror.

Shaking from rage. “No.”

He smirked with amused disbelief and returned the bottle to the shelf. “What did you say?”

Don’t say it again, Zir, she told herself. Take your punishment, he might even give you some V afterwards to numb the pain. You can’t get away from him. You can’t do anything.

She almost listened to her cravings, her fear.

Instead she repeated, more forcefully, “NO!”

The big male sneered, charging towards her.

She stayed where she was, as if frozen with fear, keeping his eyes locked on hers.

And never letting him see her lift the straight razor from the shaving kit on the desk.

By the time he was upon her, reaching up to clasp his hand around her throat, she had opened the razor and sliced the soft, fleshy underside of his arm, making dark green blood erupt between them,

He yelled and drew back, dropping his belt and clutching the gushing wound with his other hand, as she drew back as well, holding the opened razor in front of her, unable to stop her own shaking – Gods, there was so much blood! – but working her away around him to get to her bag and then, “G-Give me the key! L-Let me go!”

Hazaak Sur bared his teeth, growling –- and, using the hand on his injured arm, picked up his desk chair and threw it at her.

She tried to dodge it, but it caught her lower half and made her stumble and fall, dropping the razor. She scrambled along the floor, looking for something, anything to defend herself with, but he was upon her, lifting her up by the waistband of her trousers and hefting her bodily into his weapons display, shattering the glass and sending many items within falling with the shards of glass, and herself. She’d felt something crack in her shoulder as she collapsed to the floor.

Then he was crouched upon her, in a parody of intimacy, releasing his grip on his wound to slam his fist into her face, again and again, screaming, “YOU LITTLE BITCH! I’LL KILL YOU!”

He broke her nose, and she was choking on the blood pooling in her mouth and down her throat. Blindly she reached around, looking for something, anything, grasping something with a handle, drawing it up-

Thunder exploded in her ears, in her hand. In Hazak Sur’s face.

Or what was left of it.

Smoke filled her remaining working nostril, and she opened her remaining working eye to see part of the Shipmaster’s face replaced by a charred, smoking mess, exposing his right eye socket, skull, brain… and a fixed expression of confusion.

She stared up at him, then down at her trembling hand, and the squat, gold-handled pistol it held.

It had been loaded.

An armed weapon had been close at hand all this time, and she never knew.

His face oh Gods his face was a charred open wound-

He was toppling to one side, and she helped him topple, slithering away from his dead body, his blood still pooling from his open wound. When she crawled away as far as she could, she coughed up blood, breathing through her mouth, and spitting out a tooth or two, until she had enough air to sob in a staccato wail.

She’d killed him… His crew would rip her to pieces...

A voice snapped her out of her thoughts: Maatoz. “Shipmaster? Are you on your way? The Triumph has appeared dead ahead! I’ve called for Full Stop!”

As if in illustration, the ship shuddered to a halt, and it seemed to snap Zir from her shock.

She definitely had to get away now.

His face oh Gods his face was a charred open wound-

Ignoring the desire to clean herself up now, she tucked the pistol into the waistband of her trousers and staggered towards her bag, almost tipping over from dizziness, before going to his clothes, retrieving the access key for the door. Someone would be down here soon-

She stopped, looking over at the Shipmaster’s wall safe, where he kept his Vraxoin.

Go on get his blood to open the safe there’s plenty there you’ll need the V soon very soon already the Need was crawling up through you like worms get it get it get it-

SHUT UP!

She caught her breath, head pounding for many reasons, and returned to the doorlock, fumbling with the access key. Come one, you bastard, I saw you work a hundred times-

The door slid open, she slung her bag over one shoulder and started out, limping painfully down the corridor, fighting the panic of suddenly, finally being out of that confined space after so long with Hazaak Sur-

His face oh Gods his face was a charred open wound-

She forced back those images, as she struggled to remember where the nearest escape pod was, finding the hatch-

“HEY!”

She glanced back, seeing a young crewman at the other end.

He raced towards her. “Where do you think you’re going, Slave-”

She raised the pistol in his direction with a shaking arm, letting him see her bloodied face and clothes, her one good eye fixed murderously on him as she declared through clenched teeth, “I’m no slave. Now fuck off.”

He stopped in his tracks. And scurried away.

She turned back to the hatch, activating it, the door rolling open. She threw her bag inside, following it and closing the hatch behind her. The interior was small, cramped, basic: four harnessed seats, facing forward, a tiny round porthole in the front, and the actual controls mostly automated, designed to carry the pod and its occupants away from the ship, send a distress signal, and seek out and find a place to dock or land.

His face oh Gods his face was a charred open wound-

She ignored the nausea, the sweats, and the thunder in her head as she strapped herself into one of the seats, took a deep, ragged breath… and opened the panel beside her seat, turning the single key and pressing the single button beneath it.

Acceleration shot her back into her seat as the pod shot outward, the porthole view becoming a kaleidoscope of stars, her stomach twisting inside out as they left the gravity well of the starship, and began banking this way and that.

Suddenly she realised two things.

One: if there was a way to manually control the pod, she didn’t know it.

Two: she never secured her bag, and the lack of gravity and the wild manoeuvres the pod was taking was bouncing it around, threatening to hit her in the back of her he-

*

NOW:

Peter ground his teeth and paced around his corner of the chamber. Loudly, to make sure the others could hear him. Yeah, Pete, he told himself, because that’ll make your friends decipher an ancient alien artefact that much more quickly.

He took a cue from Niles, who was sitting down nearby, his back against a wall, staring ahead, his wide guileless eyes open and fixed, and Peter slid down beside him. As Medical cadets, they worked together, though Niles was always the quiet type, and it was only after he started dating Zir that the other man began to be more confident, assertive.

Peter couldn’t complain; the relationship seemed to do both parties good, an observation he had forwarded to Kami Hrelle in one of their sessions, prompting the Caitian to suggest he consider specialising in Counseling. “She’ll be fine.”

Niles breathed out, as if he hadn’t done in hours, and ran his long, slender fingers through his curly blonde hair. “We don’t know that.”

“No, we don’t,” Peter admitted, watching Stalac interface with the alien technology, his own silicon-based brain structure making him so brilliant at analysing different technologies. “But we do know we have some of the finest minds here to help her get back from wherever she is. And Zir’s a fighter, a survivor-”

“I think I love her,” Niles declared in a soft, fragile voice.

Peter nodded at that, having guessed it but otherwise not knowing how to respond.

“I-” Niles continued, faltering. “I- I just wanted you, I wanted all her friends, to know that. That I’m not- not like some of the others, who’d loved to get her into bed, because she’s an Orion and there’s so much said about Orions and sex.” He flushed with embarrassment. “I haven’t told her. That I love her, I mean. I’ve been working up the courage, thinking I’d always have time to tell her later. And now this...”

Peter reached out and patted his hand. “You will get that chance, Niles. I can feel it.” He smiled slightly. “And we know your feelings for Zir are genuine.”

Niles looked to him. “You do?”

Peter smiled. “Sure. If Alpha Squad thought your intentions were less than honourable, we’d have had a little talk with you by now.”

“Oh.” He let himself smile at that. “I’m glad it didn’t come to that. Urad Kaldron is rather intimidating.”

Peter smiled back. “Urad’s a pussycat. Tori’s the one you have to worry about.”

“That’s it,” Stalac declared suddenly. “Without a doubt.”

Peter and Niles rose to their feet and raced up, Peter asking, “Have you found her, buddy?”

The Horta never turned away from his work. “Hmm? No, not yet. But we know what this Device is now: a Transphasic Projector.”

“Which is what?”

“A mechanism capable of altering the phasic frequency of matter and energy,” Grehk explained, the Tellarite female’s snout wrinkling. “The basic technology is prevalent in transporters, cloaking devices, phasers, wormhole and quantum slipstream technologies-”

“The quantum slipstream technology applications are only theoretical,” Yuluron, the Boslic Engineering cadet for Gamma Squad, argued.

“Are you kidding? You didn’t read the article in Starfleet Subspace Physics about-”

“The point is,” Stalac interrupted. “The Donatui were advanced, but had no interest in exploring real space, instead choosing to explore other dimensions, by altering their own phasic frequencies with chronitons, moving them out of phase with our level of reality. And when they learned that their planet was about to be purged with solar flares, they fled to safety to another dimension.”

Peter’s jaw dropped. “Other dimension? Is that where Zir is? Is she with the Donatui now?”

“I don’t think so. The Projector wasn’t properly programmed when it powered up and struck Zir. She’s… nearby, perhaps in a sort of interphasic level between ours and other dimensional planes, but hopefully- THE POWER! TURN OFF THE POWER! NOW!”

Quickly the Engineering cadets rushed over to the generator and shut it down… but Peter read the reactions on the cadets, and the darkening, smoking crystals around them, but it was Jexa who asked, “What happened?”

The Horta rotated in place and faced her, the anger coming through his voder unit. “What happened? What happened was that you had your squad hook up a power unit to a thousand-year-old piece of technology without knowing what it could do, it sent my friend into some transphasic Limbo, and now the very mechanisms that could help us get her back have burned out!”

The Grazerite looked out in horror at the array. “It’s… lost? The Donatui mechanisms, the databases?”

“I don’t know! It’ll take better experts than us to sort through what’s retrievable!”

Niles looked to each of them in turn, alarm rising on his face. “What about Zir? Can we still find her and bring her back without all of this?”

Stalac shifted back to him. “Fortunately, we don’t need it at this stage; the data I collected from the Donatui, added to our own knowledge of phase technology, should suffice. We can collapse the chroniton field around Zir and bring her back to our reality with a high-intensity anyon beam.”

“Yes! We can create anyon beam emitters using the deflectors and transporters from the runabouts!” said Yuluron excitedly, as others joined in, making further contributions and arguing again about who would do what.

“Enough!” Jexa cut in, clearly wanting to take command again. “Get up top and do what’s necessary, strip the runabouts to nothing if you have to! I want those beam emitters built and ready in twenty minutes! Move it!”

The others made sounds of acknowledgement and rushed out, leaving Peter, Niles, Stalac and Jexa, the Squad Leader turning back to Stalac and asking, “Once those are ready, what do we do?”

“We find her.”

“And how do we do that?”

“I… don’t know.”

Peter felt like his heart had stopped. “What?”

“I don’t know, Peter. She’s out of phase with our normal continuum, our tricorders and scanners won’t be able to find her. I’m making adjustments to mine now to compensate, but even then, it will be of very limited range. If she still had her combadge, we could pinpoint her location through its power cell… we have to hope that she hasn’t moved far from here. And that the environment she’s currently in isn’t inhospitable to our forms of life.”

The four of them went silent.

Peter felt his blood run cold, and he glanced around again, as if her spectral image might suddenly appear, to let them know she was alive and waiting for them to save her. Where are you, Zir? You’d better be safe, girl. I know what you went through you to get out of your own Hell and join Starfleet. You can’t die like this.

“She saved my life,” Jexa muttered numbly. “She pushed Francis and me out of the way of that beam. What made her do that?”

“Decency?” Peter suggested acidly. “Honour? Courage? Compassion? She’s got all that, and more. You’d have seen that from the start, if you didn’t spend all your time putting her down for being Orion.”

The Grazerite bristled. “I don’t think that’s very fair, Mr Boone-”

“No?” Stalac countered. “Just before she saved your life, you were calling her ’a citizen of an outlaw state, a race of criminals and slavers’! She’s had to work twice as hard as everyone around her in order to be seen as half as good! She’s endured suspicion, ridicule, smuttiness, she’s had to have medical implants-”

Then he paused.

And a noise erupted from his voder, as excitement acid leaked out from under him. “EGG MOTHER, I AM AS THICK AS NEUTRONIUM!”

Peter, Niles and Jexa stepped back to avoid any possible acid seepage, Peter demanding, “What’s wrong, Stal?”

The Horta curbed his acid and rotated in place, his perimeter cilia tapping excitedly. “Her hormonal suppressor implant! It has a power cell similar to our combadges! We can use that to track her location!”

Peter brightened; for the first time since this crisis began, he began to have hope that they could rescue their friend…

*

Nearby, and not, Zir stood staring up in horror at… “Hazaak Sur? N-No! No, you can’t be! You’re-”

The leer widened His face oh Gods his face was a charred open wound- as blood and bile dripped from his lower lip. “Dead? Well, you’d know better than anyone else, wouldn’t you, Immaterial?”

Panic rose up within her, and she twisted from his grip and stepped back. “You’re not real! YOU’RE NOT REAL!”

He tilted his head towards her. “Then why am I here?”

She turned and ran to the door, watching it slide open-

-To take her straight back into his quarters.

“Miss me?” he taunted.

*

THEN:

She stirred, pushing past the haze of pain and confusion to blink into strong light, trying to focus on the voices around her. “...paired the injuries to her mouth, shoulder, ribs, and fingers… and as you can see, I removed that horrible slave brand on her face. There was evidence of narcotics abuse in her bloodstream, but we’ve removed the addictive contaminants. And there’s also definite evidence of sexual activity.”

“Sexual activity, or sexual assault?”

“Hard to determine at this stage. But the evidence of physical assault alone doesn’t paint a good picture of what she underwent over there.”

“How old is she, Doctor?”

“Again, Commander, it’s hard to be precise at this stage, but she is young… fifteen, sixteen? And there was blood on her clothes that didn’t come from her. A male, with evidence of long-term Vraxoin use- oh, she’s awake.”

Zir opened her eyes fully, seeing herself cleaned up and clad in a simple one-piece slate-grey jumpsuit and footwear, and lying on a bed in a clean medical facility, and humans and other races in similar uniforms standing around, some of them looking at her.

One in particular: a human male with pale skin, sharp nose, ginger hair, moustache and beard… and kind, sympathetic eyes. He drew closer- stopping as she reacted to his approach, folding his hands behind him and smiled. “Welcome onboard the Triumph, Miss. I’m Commander Wallace, the Chief of Security. May I ask your name, please?”

Zir glanced around again; most of the others had resumed their business, but one, a blue-skinned humanoid with antennae, a member of a race she couldn’t identify, proceeded to study readings overhead. She cleared her throat and focused on the human. “Zir Dassene.”

Wallace nodded affably. “Thank you, Ms Dassene. You had quite a bumpy ride in that escape pod before we beamed you onboard. Doctor Tythar tells me he’s fixed you up-”

“Where are my things?”

The human blinked, before turning and indicating her bag on a nearby table. “It’s all there… after we gave it the once over for anything dangerous or illegal.”

She sat up, swung her legs over and stood, moving to her possessions and examining the contents, confirming everything – her money, her images of her family – was there, just as he promised.

She stumbled upon a mirror, and saw her reflection. The brand on her face was gone, just as she had heard them say when she woke up, as if it had never been there. She touched her cheek in amazement. Then she looked back at the human, her skin turning a darker shade of green. “Sorry.”

He shrugged, unoffended. “No problem, Miss… but I was hoping you were up to seeing our CO.” At her frown, he explained, “Our Commanding Officer. She wants to ask you a few questions-”

“‘She’?” Zir repeated, not sure she had heard correctly.

Wallace nodded. “Captain Lindze Regan is her name.”

She blinked, her eyes wide. “You… You let women command starships?”

The human male offered her a smile. “No one ‘let’ her. Captain Regan earned her place. That she’s female doesn’t matter to Starfleet.”

She turned to the one who was obviously their doctor.  “Thank you for your services, Doctor.  How much will it cost? If I do not have enough with me,  I will-”

The blue-skinned figure held up a hand to cut her off, frowning at her.  “Cost? You expect me to charge you for medical services?”

Zir frowned back with equal apparent confusion. “W-Why else would you help me?”

“Miss,” Wallace said gently, capturing her attention once more.  “Starfleet helps people because we can.  We help people because it is the right thing to do.”

Just then, a woman's voice came over the intercom. “Commander, is our guest able to come to the Bridge? I’ve been speaking with the Orions, but I’d like to hear her side of the story.”

Wallace raised his bearded chin. “One moment, Captain.” He looked to Zir. “Well, Miss? You can leave your things here, they’ll be safe, I promise.”

She swallowed, her knees shaking, afraid of what she might face.

On the other hand, she almost fervently needed to meet a woman who commanded her own starship...

Wallace led her through narrow, well-lit corridors to what was obviously the bridge of this ship, the Triumph, where more uniformed Starfleet personnel sat working at stations surrounding a single chair, within which sat an older, pale-skinned human female with blonde hair and strong, authoritative green eyes.

She was looking in the direction of the viewscreen, now filled with the face of Maatoz – who now acknowledged Zir’s arrival. “There she is! The murderer of our honoured Shipmaster! Turn her over to us! We demand it!”

The human glared back. “Your ship’s licence to trade within Federation space does not extend to demanding extradition of alleged suspects, Mr Maatoz.”

“That female is not a suspect, Captain,” Maatoz admitted, sneering at the use of Regan’s title of authority. “She is property! The property of the late Hazaak Sur!”

Zir chose to ignore him, to focus on Regan… and to note the look of obvious disgust that crossed her face as his description of Zir as ’property’. Gods, it was true, it was really true, they hated slavery.

Regan scowled back. “Is that right?”

“Yes! She belonged to him, she wore his mark, he took care of her, treated her well-”

Standing beside Regan’s chair, Wallace’s face tightened as he muttered loudly, “Bollocks.”

Regan glanced at Wallace once, before finally turning her chair to face Zir. “Ms Dassene, I’m Captain Lindze Regan. How did you end up onboard the Ngoutuk?”

Zir breathed in sharply, hating being the centre of attention like this. She swallowed and replied in a fragile voice, “I- I booked passage into Federation space with Hazaak Sur. He… reneged on our deal. He imprisoned me. He drugged me. He branded me. He- He raped me. And he intended to keep me on his ship, and sell me on to his crew for their... use. When I tried to escape, he- he tried to kill me. I- I fought back- I-”

His face oh Gods his face was a charred open wound-

“I- I was forced to kill him, and escape.” She swallowed again, almost swaying as the realisation of her actions struck her once more.

“The forensic and medical evidence we’ve obtained and logged fully supports Ms Dassene’s story, Captain,” Wallace affirmed, offering Zir a look of encouragement for her willingness to speak so openly about her ordeal.

But then she turned back at the viewscreen, and listened as Maatoz protested, “Lies! All a conspiracy by the kafirlir Starfleet to thieve from free and honourable traders! That female is legally the property of the next of kin of our late Shipmaster, and you have no right to detain it-”

“I AM A PERSON!” Zir declared loudly.

All eyes turned on her again, and for a moment, she wanted to scurry away. But that moment itself scurried away, as righteous fury galvanised her to step forward and continue. “I’m not property! I’m not a thing! I am a sentient being, with a right to life and liberty, as guaranteed by the Articles of the United Federation of Planets, as signed on Earth, on the Terran calendar date of the 12th day of the month of August, in the year 2161!”

She raised a finger to the stunned Maatoz, surprising herself with how fluidly the words she had read many times came back. “And under the First Amendment of those Articles, Starfleet is adjured to render all reasonable measures to protect my rights!”

Now she turned back to face Regan – who looked suitably impressed by Zir’s verbatim reciting of the appropriate legislation – and continued, more softly, more vulnerably now, “Shipmas- Captain Regan, to protect my life and liberty as defined by the Articles of the Federation, I respectfully request Asylum with you.” The young Orion girl’s voice and composure cracked, and tears broke from her. “Help me. Please.”

Regan regarded her for a moment, before rising and facing the girl, taking on a formal stance. “Ms Zir Dassene, on my authority as commanding officer of the USS Triumph, effective immediately I formally grant you Asylum within the territory of the United Federation of Planets-”

“What?” Maatoz exclaimed.

Regan ignored him, reaching out and clasping her by the shoulders supportively. “And I swear to you, for the record, that all measures to protect you and your rights will be rendered by my ship, my crew and myself.

No one is going to hurt you again.”

“You can’t do this!” Maatoz demanded. “We’ll lodge a formal protest with the Federation Council!”

Regan continued to ignore the Orion male. “Do you know if there are any other slaves onboard the Ngoutuk?”

Zir wiped the tears from her eyes and breathed in, not sure that any of this was really happening. “No. Hazaak Sur said I was the only one.”

“Thank you, Zir.” Regan turned back to face the viewscreen, her expression one of tight fury now. “As of this moment, your licence to trade within Federation territory is revoked; you have twelve hours to return to Orion space. At a constant Warp 9, you should just about manage it, though your warp core will probably be burned out-”

“What? I don’t take orders from a female!”

Regan shrugged. “You can take orders from a female… or you can take a beating from her. Which will it be?”

Maatoz, his face a dark furious green now, turned and barked at someone offscreen in Low Orion.

“He’s arming weapons!” Zir, alarmed, warned Regan.

A second later, an alert sounded on the Triumph bridge, and Commander Wallace looked down at a panel and reported, “They’re locking disruptors on us, Captain.”

But Regan showed absolutely no fear, responding with, “Mr Shen: lock phasers, phaser pulse cannons, photon and quantum torpedoes on the Orion ship.”

As the Tactical Officer complied, Wallace quipped, “I’ll have the kitchen sink ready to throw at them too, Ma’am.”

Now Regan stepped forward. “Mr Maatoz... I hope for your own sake that you have enough intelligence to recognise that the first time you fight with me… will be your last.”

Maatoz spluttered… but then he said something else to the bridge crew.

“The Ngoutuk has dropped its weapons lock on us, Captain,” Wallace announced, not sounding too surprised. “Shall we drop our locks on them?”

“No. Send a signal to the border ship Liberator, inform them of the imminent arrival of the Ngoutuk and its de-licensed status, and have them ensure the Orions have complied with my orders.” Louder now, she finished with a warning to Maatoz. “You now have eleven hours and fifty-nine minutes to leave our space, and never return. Triumph out.”

The disbelieving look on Maatoz’s face vanished, replaced by an image of the Orion ship… which now powered up, banked sharply to one side and jumped into warp.

Zir felt her whole body spasm, as if she had been tensing herself throughout the exchange. Was that it? Was it all over?

Was she finally free?

Still wiping tears from her eyes, she looked to Regan again. “Thank you, Captain. Thank you. I- I promise I won’t bother anyone, I’ll stay out of everyone’s way and you can drop me off anywhere-”

“Mr Wallace,” Regan interrupted gently, offering a slight smile to the girl. “Ready the VIP quarters for our guest, then prepare the initial admin work for her new status. Ms Dassene, I know you’ve endured much, but I was hoping we could repair to my Ready Room, share some tea, and have a private talk. Unless you’d like to rest first? Or eat? Or return to Sickbay? We’ll help you in any way you need.”

We’ll help you in any way you need…

Zir liked the sound of that.

But she didn’t want to leave this woman’s presence. “I’d- I’d like to talk, please.”

Regan smiled, indicating a door behind Zir. “Good. I’m very interested in learning more about you: what brought you here, and where you’d like to go from here.”

Zir nodded, letting the woman guide her along. Her past, especially the last few months, would not be easy to talk about.

Her future, on the other hand, was something different.

She was going to join this organisation, this incredible family of different races, working for a common good, helping others because they can. She was going to be someone like Captain Regan, to ensure freedom and liberty to all who ask for it, to pay back all the compassion and support she had received so far.

She would join Starfleet, even if it killed her.

*

NOW:

Stalac slithered up through the tunnel and onto the surface of Donatu, the tricorder mounted to him beeping excitedly. “This way! She’s somewhere up here, I’m sure of it!”

Peter, Niles and Jexa followed, blinking into the strong afternoon light, Peter ignoring the looks from the other cadets up there to ask, “You’re pinpointing her?”

“Her implant’s power source, yes… but there’s also some sort of biological interference.”

Jexa stopped. “What? What does that mean?”

“That means there’s native lifeforms on her current interphasic plane!”

Just then, Nguyen rushed up with several cadets, some of them holding together devices that looked cobbled together from various otherwise disparate mechanisms. “We have the anyon beam emitters ready! Where is she?”

*

Nearby, and not, Zir charged towards the image of Hazaak Sur, striking him with her hands, her feet, using all of the training she had been receiving from the Security Chief, Lt Shall. She struck, again and again.

And he fell, again and again.

And rose. Again and again. “I’m beginning to think you don’t like this reunion, Immaterial.”

Zir picked up the chair he had thrown at her a lifetime ago, lifting it up high and slamming it down on him, over and over.

Nothing.

She threw the chair away, picked up a shard of glass from the remains of the display cabinet, gripping it and driving the sharp end straight into his chest.

Still, he stood there, glancing down at the glass sticking out of his olive-hued flesh. “I’ve been told I’m heartless. Guess this proves it.”

Panting, exhausted, she staggered back in sheer disbelief. He obviously wasn’t the real Hazaak Sur; he died four years ago, hundreds of light years away. She knew that from the start... but the terror he raised in her by the very thought of him… the terror she still felt, just thinking about him... had driven her. Breathlessly, she demanded, “Who- Who the hell are you?”

“I’m what you want to see.”

“What? NO! I don’t want to see you! I hate you! Why would I want to see you again?”

He shrugged, ignoring the glass in his chest as he leaned against the wall casually. “Any number of reasons I should think, Immaterial. Maybe it’s guilt for killing me?”

“Fuck that,” she sneered. “I’m glad I killed you.”

He chuckled. “Then maybe it’s desire? That when you’re in the throes of passion with that little weed Niles, you can’t help but think back to the lover who first broke you in-”

“Fuck THAT!” she declared hotly. “We were never lovers! I was just a place for you to put your piece! You gave me no more thought than the plates that held your meals! I was a child who didn’t know better! You took advantage of me! Used me! Beat me! Branded me-”

“And... made you who you are: the proud, dedicated Starfleet officer, destined for greatness. In a way, I’m like a second father to you…” He chuckled maliciously at the notion.

Her hands tightened into fists. “There’s only one man who can claim that role: my Captain. And he’s worth a thousand of you.”

“So… why am I here? Why bring back something you’re so afraid of?”

“I’m not afraid of you! You’re nothing to me!”

“No? The thought of me makes you wake up at night in a sweat. The thought of me interrupts whatever opportunities for intimacy you might try to achieve, with yourself, or others.

If I’m nothing to you... why do you keep bringing me back?”

She paused before she could reply, assuming she knew what she could say to that.

Then she finally declared, “No more games. What are you?”

He stared back. And she saw a shift in his expression, his demeanour. “I’m a chance, Immaterial. A chance for you to face a fear, however irrational or unrealistic, of what would happen if, somehow, the real Hazaak Sur had survived your attack, and come to find you, and confront you.” He straightened up, held out his arms. “Well, real or not, here he stands. Respond. Not with fists or kicks or weapons. Use your words.”

His words held a familiar hint to them, like something she might have heard in one of her many Counselor sessions following her escape, dealing with the physical, psychological and emotional damage from her experiences with him. And she knew that, to a great degree, she had recovered, and grown stronger, as she focused on her studies, on making the grade for Starfleet Academy, and building a new life for herself.

But still…

“Come on,” he taunted further, though even now, she could hear it was a gentle, even an encouraging taunt. “You’re wasting your time, Immaterial.”

That snapped Zir into action. She stepped forward, not attacking him this time, but remaining resolute. “I’m not Immaterial. I’m Zir Dassene.

I’m a person.

I’m a member of Starfleet.

And you’re no longer going to enslave me.

Not even your memory.”

He stared back. And then nodded with approval. “Good for you, Zir.”

Then pain gripped her from her very core, and she doubled over.

She glanced up, wondering if her vision of Hazaak Sur was attacking her somehow. But now, though his appearance remained the same as a second before, it was obvious that it was just a guise, as he dropped to one knee beside her. “We kept you in one place long enough for your people to have finally located you, and they’re working to collapse the chroniton field which transported you to our realm. Don’t fight it, the discomfort is transitory.”

Zir looked at her hands. They, her whole body, seemed to be fading in and out of existence! “Wha- What are you talking about?”

“Listen, Zir,” he continued, sounding almost urgent now. “This is important. When you return, plead with your people not to make any further transphasic crossings to our level. It damages the fabric of our reality; the last time, when so many people from your level passed through ours to get to their ultimate destination, it almost destroyed us, and it took centuries of your time for us to recover.”

“Wait, what? Transphasic? Does that mean-”

Then she felt herself being propelled away-

-Into a soft clump of grass, under bright light that was quickly extinguished by shadows that reached for her. She swung out, kicked out-

“ZIR!” Peter cried, trying to restrain her. “It’s us! It’s us! You’re back! You’re back!”

Her friend’s voice stopped her struggles, and she gasped, feeling hot, moist air on her skin. Around her, there was all her friends: Peter, Astrid, Tori, Urad, Niles, others-

She was back…

*

Even in holographic form, the image of Commander T’Varik on the holocommunicator pad was intimidating, as she addressed the assembled cadets in the landing field. “I am acutely disappointed in this turn of events. Scientific integrity is a cornerstone of Starfleet principles. To ignore protocols and violate an archaeological site for academic glory is inexcusable. This is not even taking into account the personal jeopardy in which you put a fellow crewmember by activating unknown equipment.”

The three Squad Leaders, standing before the rest of the cadets, looked to each other, before Jexa stepped forward. “Commander, I take full responsibility for the actions which ordered on Donatu V. It was my idea, I coerced Squad Leader Nguyen into supporting me, and ignored Squad Leader Dassene’s warnings about the breach of protocol.

In fact, I wish to command Ms Dassene for her actions in saving our lives from the transphasic beam which endangered her life. She is…” She paused and looked in Zir’s direction. “She is a very commendable member of Starfleet.” She faced their First Officer again, raising her head and letting the surrounding lights reflect off of her antlers. “Far more than I have been.”

“I will not argue with that assessment,” T’Varik noted archly. “But the damage is done. The Federation Archaeological Bureau on Donatu V is considering lodging a formal protest over your actions with the Academy.”

Zir stepped forward now. “Commander, if I may? I will not dispute that the damage to the local site was avoidable, and regrettable. However, it may assuage the Bureau to know that Mr Stalac has been collating the data he retrieved from the Donatui relics, and has identified eight other sites just like it, in locations throughout the planet, to date untouched and unknown.” She offered a hopeful smile. “Between this, and my report of the encounter with the interphasic lifeform, maybe it’ll keep them too busy to make that protest?”

The Vulcan raised an eyebrow. “Do I appear movable by flippancy, Squad Leader?”

Zir dropped the smile and straightened up. “Absolutely not, Ma’am.”

T’Varik nodded… but then added, “You may be correct, however. Nevertheless, this does not mitigate Squad Leader Naku’s actions. They are grounds for expulsion.”

A murmur went through the crowds, and Jexa herself gasped, almost made a sobbing sound. Until Zir stepped forward again. “Commander, without Jexa’s aid, I might not have come back alive-”

“Ms Dassene,” T’Varik interrupted. “Stand down. I said the actions were grounds for expulsion. I did not say I intended to expel her. Ms Naku, you will forfeit one month’s academic credits.”

“One month?” the Grazerite exclaimed with outrage. “That’s- That’s-”

The Vulcan stared back.

Jexa calmed down. “That’s very reasonable, Commander. Thank you.”

T’Varik nodded, turning to the assembled group. “I am aware that we are currently in a state of hostilities, one with no imminent resolution. We will be focusing on our military responsibilities. But you need to remember that, hopefully, these will represent only a small fraction of your career in Starfleet. You also have responsibilities to science, medicine… and more.

You have one more evening on Donatu V; you must depart before 0600 Hours Local Time if you wish to successfully rendezvous with the Surefoot. Enjoy yourselves… and do not damage any more archaeological sites if you can help it.”

T’Varik’s image disappeared.

The group began to disperse, moving back to the runabouts and their shelters and cooking units. The Squad Leaders moved together, Jexa regarding Zir. “Thank you for your support. If you need anything, anything at all, you just have to ask.”

Zir smiled. “Thank you for your support. And I’ll help you make up those credits.”

“I- I would greatly appreciate that, Zir.”

Zir held out her hand.

Jexa accepted it.

Francis smiled. “Well, if you two can put aside your differences and make up, then maybe this War won’t be so bad...”

*

As part of the appeasement towards the Federation Archaeological Bureau, the cadets had complied with their requests to leave the original site and move elsewhere, choosing one of the more temperate zones of Donatu V, near an ocean that offered cool, refreshing salty breezes from a blue-green ocean that crashed gently along a huge stretch of virgin white beach, strongly illuminated by a large golden-white moon pockmarked with craters.

Zir, sitting on a grassy dune beside Peter, wished she could have enjoyed the view more. But now she was busy in an impromptu Counseling session with Peter… whom, she admitted, was proving pretty good at it. “I still don’t get it. Why did that interphasic being help me face my fears? Was it just altruism? Or was it just like it said, that it was distracting me long enough to stay in one place and let my friends get me back?”

Peter reached for the container of water half-nestled in the sand between them. “Let’s go for the first one; it’s the Optimist in me.” He drank from it before continuing. “And what was it like, finally running into Hazaak Sur… or the next best thing to him?”

She stared out into the ocean, as if the answers lay on the darkening horizon, and took the bottle to have a drink herself before responding. “It was stupid. I’d killed him. I’d known I’d killed him. I’d come to terms long ago with the fact that I’d killed him. And that I’d never encounter him again.

But I still feared him.”

Peter nodded. “Him… or what he represented to you?”

“Which is?”

“What do you think?”

She grunted. “Yeah, you’re definitely going to be a Counselor.” She drank again, considering the question. “I’ve been seeing him more often lately, since… since I’ve been getting close with Niles-” She glanced at Peter again. “This is just between us, isn’t it?”

He nodded. “As both your friend, and your Field Counselor.”

She nodded back, looking back out to the ocean again. “I want to be intimate with Niles. But he doesn’t know the... specifics of my past. He doesn’t know how sexually experienced I am, what I’ve had to do to escape my people. I don’t want to keep any secrets from him. But I’m scared. Scared of how he’ll see me if I do tell him.”

“And how might he see you?”

A shiver ran through her, as if from an errant evening breeze. “Fulfilling every stereotype of Orion women: dirty, sensual animals, born whores-”

“Hogwash.”

She looked at him. “What?”

He drank from the bottle now. “Hogwash. Something Doc Masterson likes to say.” And in a close approximation of the CMO’s Western drawl, he illustrated, “‘That’s a load of old hogwash, Pardner’. It means ‘Nonsense’, apparently, though I haven’t worked out what that has to do with washing hogs.”

He looked sympathetically at her. “You said it yourself: ‘what I had to do’. There’s a world of difference between the relationship that your young, vulnerable self had with Hazaak Sur, and any relationship your mature adult self might wish to have with Niles, or anyone else.

Calling yourself a whore because of your experiences with Hazaak Sur would be like calling Captain Hrelle a murderer for being forced to fight and kill in the Orion Deathmatches when he was a slave... or like calling me straight, because my first sexual experience had been with a woman instead of a man.”

She made a sound of acknowledgement. She understood all that, deep down; it had been touched upon more than once in her Counseling sessions. But still… “What if Niles doesn’t see it that way?”

“Has he given you any reason to think he might?”

She didn’t answer.

“If you tell him,” Peter continued. “It’ll either won’t make a difference to him, or it will. If it doesn’t, then that’s fine. If it does… then he’s not worthy of you. Of course, you don’t have to tell him. No one would blame you for wanting to bury your past… except, of course, it hasn’t stayed very well buried. Personally, I think that, if you did tell Niles, he wouldn’t judge you negatively.”

She still didn’t reply, content to look down the beach and see the other cadets finally getting that huge bonfire of driftwood lit up, while music played and people danced and drank and went for moonlight swims.

Peter reached out and squeezed her hand. “Come on, Squad Leader, we’re wasting valuable Downtime sitting here on a dune getting sand in our boots.”

She smiled, grabbing the bottle and joining him in standing up, trudging down the sandy dune and along the firmer surface of the pristine beach, noting the row of shelters set up by the cadets for themselves, spread far enough apart to afford privacy.

But Zir was lost in her own thoughts, the memory of her time in the transphasic realm, and the entity which, for whatever reasons, chose to confront her as Hazaak Sur… and make her face her personal demon.

And in facing him, reminding her that she was stronger than him. Stronger than any of the other Hazaak Surs she might still face in the future.

Closer to the bonfire, she saw some of her friends, dancing, drinking, eating and, in the case of Stalac, using his acidic secretions to melt the sand into glass sculptures. She stopped, smiled at Peter and leaned in to kiss his cheek. “Thank you.”

He flushed a little, but smiled back. “Anytime.”

“Should I be jealous?” asked a new voice.

Zir turned to the approaching Niles… and launched into his arms, kissing him full on the lips, ignoring the good-natured jibes from those witnesses around them. She wrapped her own arms around him, holding onto him tightly, her passions rising within her.

She pulled back, just enough to look into Niles’ stunned expression, as he gasped, “Wow. I guess it’s true what they say about the sea air-”

She drew him in again, but this time to bring her mouth to his left ear. “I want to go somewhere private with you. I want to talk. And, if you want to, I really, really want to make love with you.” She felt him react, and playfully licked his ear. “Would that be okay with you?”

Niles’ eager nod of agreement almost made her laugh. Instead she kissed him again, feeling more confident and in control of herself than she had ever done.

Still, as they kissed again, a part of her waited for the inevitable response.

There was a brief flash of memory, of a leering face and voice.

But then it was gone. A brief, forgettable flash. Unimportant.

Immaterial.

THE ADVENTURES OF THE SUREFOOT WILL CONTINUE IN ... TOOTH AND CLAW