Spock/Uhura New Year's Present (Part 1): For Querulouspeg
Recipient: querulouspeg
Present Giver: linstock
Story Name: More Deadly than the Male
Fandom: Spock/Uhura, ST2009, Mirror Universe
Rating: R
Type: Smut, angst.
Beta Credit: SpockLikesCats, despite working on her own fics, generously found time to assist with mine as both editor and art critic.
Warnings: This story is a dark Mirror-verse fic. It deals with non-con, sexual slavery, unintentional self-harm and angst. If any of this could be triggering do not read this fic. You cannot unread something you’ve read. Look after yourself.
Summary: Once Spock had thought “the female of the species is more deadly than the male” was another illogical human expression… he's learnt a lot since then.
(From LB: Sorry about the formatting, but LJ just would not take the formatting that the story had from the original document, and believe me, I worked at it. I kept hitting on a red error message whenever I tried to post this with the right formatting. It's late and I'll go through this story later to fix any issues. UPDATE: Should be fixed now on both entries. ;))
A/N: This fic was written for Querulouspeg as part of the New Year Exchange at Spock/Uhura. The request stated, Q generously gave a wide range of options but noted “Love Mirror-verse. Vulcan Love Slave would be awesome.” I decided to try this…once you’ve read, let me know if I succeeded.
Disclaimer: I do not own Star trek or any of the characters. I do not make any profit from this work.
More Deadly than the Male
For the female of the species is more deadly than the male.
Rudyard Kipling
An instinctive yearning for a dark secluded place.
I had no experience and could not read the signs. In a normal world, those with familial bonds, grandparents, father, mother, older siblings, would have understood what I did not, and guided me. But this is the Empire; “normal” is an aberration. And I had no bonds. I was alone, striving to maintain some vestige of integrity while surrounded by cruelty, destruction and deceit.
I had just witnessed … no - I won’t prevaricate - I had participated in the humiliation and subjugation of a peaceful, elegant society. I had located their museums and galleries; assigned crew to plunder them; accounted for the populace, and provided coordinates of government buildings, schools and homes to Kirk. I had killed the guardians of the Treasury and Government Records Offices. But the ruthless, violent excesses and sexual depravities of my Captain and his crew disgusted me.
In the quiet sanctuary of the central library - a temple to peace and learning, storing the knowledge of centuries - the terrified screams of women and children echoed in my mind as I reviewed the local geography. When I saw the caverns marked on a geological survey map of the region, something deep inside me unfurled and insisted “yes” … an instinctive yearning for a dark, secluded place.
Still I didn’t understand.
The Captain granted me a few days’ leave to explore the region. He hardly registered my request…he was so deeply immersed in his abuse and subjugation of this world’s cultured people.
I commandeered a ground vehicle and fled the city, alone.
The suspended moments before life drained away.
Deep in the caves I learned the truth. It was my time.
I meditated, and for a time I held the fire at bay. But without familial bonds I had no anchors to secure me as my interior flames grew, consuming all thought, and I was swept away. When the madness of the firestorm first took me, I tore off my clothes, unable to tolerate even the sensation of material against my skin. I fought shadow battles against insubstantial specters that only existed in my insanity. I raged. I pounded the rock walls screaming out my fury and anguish. Sometimes terror overwhelmed me and I slid in whimpering dread along the rough rock, scraping my back raw as I tried to elude the phantasms of my burning mind. Blood oozed down my back, falling unnoticed to the cavern floor. I howled and raged, screaming until I was gasping, tasting copper in my bloodied throat.
Most degrading was my need to rut. Naked and filthy, deeply ashamed, I crouched for many hours in the darkest corner of the cave, continuously and feverishly masturbating. I was tormented by visions of the brutality I had witnessed as First Officer of the ISS Enterprise … the Captain’s usual “strategy” for breaking the will of a population was sexual debasement and torture.
The scents and sounds of sex filled my mind. After a long time, trembling with fatigue and worn with hunger, I lay prone and rutted frantically into my aching hand, crushing it against the rough floor. Nothing gave relief.
Finally, as my energy ebbed, I lay supine, devoid of the energy needed to close my hand around my lok. Dirt gritting into the wounds on my back, I writhed as I burnt.
Toward the end I lay quiescent on the cave floor … a dirt- and semen-encrusted, starving, dehydrated creature. Surveying my body. I saw prominent ribs, each one distinct, below them the hollow of my stomach. I was covered with bruises and deep abrasions. Yet as I hovered on the verge of death my erection still jutted, painfully engorged.
The madness was no longer an inferno. It smoldered remotely in my mind as I waited for the end. I felt I drifted inches above the sand in the suspended moments before my life drained away as easily as the blood from my self-inflicted wounds seeped into the sandy floor beneath me.
She came to me as I lay helpless.
I opened my bleary encrusted eyes, saw her long booted legs, and lost consciousness.
A razor of pure pleasure
I sensed her kneeling beside me. When she stroked her fingertips down my chest and over my stomach it was as if she had sliced me with a razor of pure pleasure. When her hand circled my member I groaned aloud, arching into her grip.
“Commander Spock, we have business to transact.”
I realized who she was … Lieutenant Uhura.
She ran her hands back up my torso; fire trailed where she touched. Then the touch was gone. My eyes flew open and the madness peered out. Uhura looked down into my burning gaze and smiled.
With one swift movement she pulled off her midriff-baring uniform top, revealing her small conical breasts. Her nipples were surprisingly large and dark, the plump aureolas dimpling and contracting in the cool air of the cave. The fire of madness roared. I tried to lift my arm but could barely move. She noticed the small movement and smiled, leaning forward so her breasts swayed before me.
“Do you want to taste these, Commander Spock?” she purred.
No man dying of thirst needed water as much as I needed her. I felt the madness grow and flow, burning down my arms as tortured, starved muscles struggled to return to life.
She removed the rest of her clothes; I drank in every curve of her. She was fortunate I was so weak. Had I been able to move, I would have pulled her to the floor and had her there and then …. I would have lifted her high and slowly lowered her onto my engorged lok bruising her with my grip as I thrust into her. My eyes showed my thoughts and I saw she knew.
She stood astride me and looked down, her long black hair loose, cascading down her back. My gaze was riveted on the delicate lips nestling in the black hair at the juncture of her legs. I managed to move my arms just enough to touch each of her ankles.
She smiled broadly showing her even white teeth.
She knelt and her buttocks grazed my erection. I cried out in pain, panting as desire surged. I tried again to lift my arms, but could not. She took my battered hands and placed them on her thighs. Rising up slightly she reached back, pointed my erection into her keshtan-ur1 and lowered onto me. The world exploded in sensation. She pushed down, and then rose up, twice, three times … then it was over.
She sat back and said coolly, “I hope you can do better than that.”
Keeping me sheathed inside her, she leaned forward. As her breasts brushed my sand-caked, blood-smeared torso the dirt rubbed onto her perfect coffee colored nipples. She whispered, “Never mind. I suppose you've waited a long time. But so have I, Spock.”
It didn't make any sense … then.
She stroked my face and her fingers gently brushed my psi points. I couldn’t breathe. A new, deeper utterly compelling hunger awoke. My mind reached out, tendrils flailing, seeking. I thought I’d known desperation, now I learned otherwise. The impact of this new yearning disoriented me as she bent her face and kissed my parched, cracked lips.
The seeking tendrils
Suddenly she sat up, stood and walked away. When I cried out with loss, she paused and looked over her shoulder. “Patience,” she said, “I’ll be back.” I could only watch her perfectly rounded buttocks and the smooth curve of her back as she walked out of my line of sight.
When Uhura returned she held two bottles. Once again she straddled me and I felt a cool stickiness smear across my stomach when she sat. Opening one bottle, she held it to my lips, dribbling it in … water. I drank thirstily, half lapping, half sucking at the bottle. She poured some water over my face making me blink rapidly to clear my eyes. Gently she washed away some of the grime.
“There you are,” she said, as if talking to a naughty child. She seemed playful and excited. The smaller of the two bottles had a teat-like end and she placed this between my lips, put one hand under my jaw and squeezed the bottle. Foul tasting liquid filled my mouth. I jerked and tried to turn my head. She held me firmly saying, “No you don’t. Just drink a little, you need this.” She held me until I swallowed. The liquid scalded all the way to my stomach but I felt strength returning.
Part of my mind began to work again and I realized the foul liquid was some form of stimulant. Uhura gave me more water.
“Let’s try again.” She leaned forward and kissed me.
Her mouth was warm and sweet as she ran her lips across mine. I slowly raised my arms, my hands coming up to cup her head pulling her to me. My tongue met hers, running over its surface, and new urgency suffused me. I rolled over, pinning her to the ground. I lay over her panting, nearly frantic, my heart pounding painfully in my side.
“What is it you want?” she whispered urgently. “Take it Spock, take it.”
My trembling hands moved clumsily. I needed three attempts to position my fingers over her connection points. I felt … nothing … silence! Anger flashed through me; I felt the desire to lash out. I groped for her hands. Understanding what I wanted, Uhura placed her fingers perfectly over my psi points. Sobbing with need, I replaced my fingers.
At last.
Soothing warmth suffused me, and I felt the many intricate connections that comprised a bond wrap gently around each other like the seeking tendrils of a climbing vine. I moaned with relief as the connection formed. I was no longer alone.
But something was wrong. The gentle touch of connection gripped and tightened. A biting, piercing pain flared in my mind. This was not the heat of the madness; it was a pure-white perfect pain. The tendrils from Uhura’s mind seemed to grow spines and hooks, digging deep into mine and locking them in place.
Nothing existed but pain.
A shame surpassing any other I had ever known.
I was trapped. My mind struggled with the panic of a wild creature caught in a trap. Soothing sensations flooded across the bond as Uhura stroked my face.
“Don’t struggle, you’ll only hurt yourself, hush now,” she crooned.
I had no sense of time. Over and over my heart rate slowed and my breathing steadied, then waves of primal fear would spear though me as my mind struggled and thrashed. I tried to think, to prise the hooking thorns away but there were too many … so many. Eventually I realized we’d changed position again. She sat over me and smoothed her hands up my arms and across my chest.
“Don’t fight this,” she murmured gently as she stroked my face. I jerked away, anger and disgust rising in me like vomit.
“Now, don’t be like that.” Her voice was firm. “What is, is. Accept and adapt. We can work together. Let’s see, shall we?” She closed her eyes and frowned slightly.
I felt tendrils of warmth working though my mind, small ripples of pleasure moving along my body. She smiled.
“That’s not so bad is it? Let’s try something else.”
I felt my body responding to her and experienced a shame surpassing any other I had ever known. “There’s nothing to be ashamed of, Spock, it’s all perfectly logical, bio-logical in fact.” I could feel her pleasure at the play on words.
She lowered her head and kissed me. I clamped my lips shut. “Oh dear, you’re going to be difficult, aren’t you? Pleasure or pain, it’s your choice, Spock.” She sighed and I felt a brief instant of pain, then a wave of lust crashed over me.
As my body betrayed me, from a distant corner of my mind I shouted “I do not consent!”
Her reply came softly, “Irrelevant.”
My servitude had begun.
A legend of old Vulcan.
Nyota helped me to the ground vehicle and drove to a nearby stream. It was a tranquil, secluded place. There she helped me wash and I sat on a flat rock as she carefully tended my injuries and gave me a ration bar to eat.
Nyota seemed elated and energized, chattering constantly. I sat, silently struggling with the combined effects of Pon Farr2, starvation and betrayal. It was the only time she ever spoke of what she’d done, though I remember little of what she said.
She put her arms around me and, caressing my head as a mother might, told me a story, a legend of old Vulcan, harking back to ancient times when warlike Vulcans abducted and forcibly bonded with mates. It was the tale of T’Shana, matriarch of a small insignificant clan in ancient times who captured a powerful prince from a neighboring clan just before his time. T’Shana imprisoned the prince, allowing him to endure the Plak tau3 until he lay at the brink of death, all his defenses removed. Then she invaded and occupied his mind.
I don’t remember the rest of the story of intrigue and conquest.
“So you see,” Nyota said, resting her chin on my shoulder, “you shouldn’t feel too bad. You’re not the first prince seized this way. It’s quite historical when you think about it. Very Vulcan … and I know how you like being ‘very Vulcan’.” Retrieving the medikit, she started tending the wounds on my arms.
I have never learned how she acquired her mental skills, though I believe I have caught glimpses in her nightmares.
Nyota babbled on, mentioning Romulans, Reman4, the great ancient Vulcan monasteries of Wank’gan5 and Plesh’e’tar5.
She said, “If knowledge exists, there’s always a way to find it … if you’re prepared to take the risks.” I remember this, because for the first time since we entered the glade she was serious. But she shook herself and kissed my neck and whispered in my ear, “You men don’t understand … it’s ro’fori’kosu’tsat6.”
When she finished healing me, she had me stand and walked around, inspecting my body minutely, trailing her fingers lightly over me or smoothing the planes of my body with the palm of her hand I aching with humiliation. When she was satisfied all visible traces of my ordeal were erased she stepped forward and touched my face.
“This goes,” she said, giving my beard a small tug. She lifted the hem of her skirt to display the tops of her thighs, the abrasion of “beard rash” clear on her skin. “See that? No more.”
She held out a small bag. I balked. “Now,” she said and I felt a quick, painful jerk on my mental leash. I took the bag and walked to the water’s edge, my feet feeling like lead. I heard the hum of the dermal regenerator Uhura was using on her inner thighs as I slumped to my knees and began the process of scraping my identity away.
Present Giver: linstock
Story Name: More Deadly than the Male
Fandom: Spock/Uhura, ST2009, Mirror Universe
Rating: R
Type: Smut, angst.
Beta Credit: SpockLikesCats, despite working on her own fics, generously found time to assist with mine as both editor and art critic.
Warnings: This story is a dark Mirror-verse fic. It deals with non-con, sexual slavery, unintentional self-harm and angst. If any of this could be triggering do not read this fic. You cannot unread something you’ve read. Look after yourself.
Summary: Once Spock had thought “the female of the species is more deadly than the male” was another illogical human expression… he's learnt a lot since then.
(From LB: Sorry about the formatting, but LJ just would not take the formatting that the story had from the original document, and believe me, I worked at it. I kept hitting on a red error message whenever I tried to post this with the right formatting. It's late and I'll go through this story later to fix any issues. UPDATE: Should be fixed now on both entries. ;))
A/N: This fic was written for Querulouspeg as part of the New Year Exchange at Spock/Uhura. The request stated, Q generously gave a wide range of options but noted “Love Mirror-verse. Vulcan Love Slave would be awesome.” I decided to try this…once you’ve read, let me know if I succeeded.
Disclaimer: I do not own Star trek or any of the characters. I do not make any profit from this work.
More Deadly than the Male
For the female of the species is more deadly than the male.
Rudyard Kipling
An instinctive yearning for a dark secluded place.
I had no experience and could not read the signs. In a normal world, those with familial bonds, grandparents, father, mother, older siblings, would have understood what I did not, and guided me. But this is the Empire; “normal” is an aberration. And I had no bonds. I was alone, striving to maintain some vestige of integrity while surrounded by cruelty, destruction and deceit.
I had just witnessed … no - I won’t prevaricate - I had participated in the humiliation and subjugation of a peaceful, elegant society. I had located their museums and galleries; assigned crew to plunder them; accounted for the populace, and provided coordinates of government buildings, schools and homes to Kirk. I had killed the guardians of the Treasury and Government Records Offices. But the ruthless, violent excesses and sexual depravities of my Captain and his crew disgusted me.
In the quiet sanctuary of the central library - a temple to peace and learning, storing the knowledge of centuries - the terrified screams of women and children echoed in my mind as I reviewed the local geography. When I saw the caverns marked on a geological survey map of the region, something deep inside me unfurled and insisted “yes” … an instinctive yearning for a dark, secluded place.
Still I didn’t understand.
The Captain granted me a few days’ leave to explore the region. He hardly registered my request…he was so deeply immersed in his abuse and subjugation of this world’s cultured people.
I commandeered a ground vehicle and fled the city, alone.
The suspended moments before life drained away.
Deep in the caves I learned the truth. It was my time.
I meditated, and for a time I held the fire at bay. But without familial bonds I had no anchors to secure me as my interior flames grew, consuming all thought, and I was swept away. When the madness of the firestorm first took me, I tore off my clothes, unable to tolerate even the sensation of material against my skin. I fought shadow battles against insubstantial specters that only existed in my insanity. I raged. I pounded the rock walls screaming out my fury and anguish. Sometimes terror overwhelmed me and I slid in whimpering dread along the rough rock, scraping my back raw as I tried to elude the phantasms of my burning mind. Blood oozed down my back, falling unnoticed to the cavern floor. I howled and raged, screaming until I was gasping, tasting copper in my bloodied throat.
Most degrading was my need to rut. Naked and filthy, deeply ashamed, I crouched for many hours in the darkest corner of the cave, continuously and feverishly masturbating. I was tormented by visions of the brutality I had witnessed as First Officer of the ISS Enterprise … the Captain’s usual “strategy” for breaking the will of a population was sexual debasement and torture.
The scents and sounds of sex filled my mind. After a long time, trembling with fatigue and worn with hunger, I lay prone and rutted frantically into my aching hand, crushing it against the rough floor. Nothing gave relief.
Finally, as my energy ebbed, I lay supine, devoid of the energy needed to close my hand around my lok. Dirt gritting into the wounds on my back, I writhed as I burnt.
Toward the end I lay quiescent on the cave floor … a dirt- and semen-encrusted, starving, dehydrated creature. Surveying my body. I saw prominent ribs, each one distinct, below them the hollow of my stomach. I was covered with bruises and deep abrasions. Yet as I hovered on the verge of death my erection still jutted, painfully engorged.
The madness was no longer an inferno. It smoldered remotely in my mind as I waited for the end. I felt I drifted inches above the sand in the suspended moments before my life drained away as easily as the blood from my self-inflicted wounds seeped into the sandy floor beneath me.
She came to me as I lay helpless.
I opened my bleary encrusted eyes, saw her long booted legs, and lost consciousness.
A razor of pure pleasure
I sensed her kneeling beside me. When she stroked her fingertips down my chest and over my stomach it was as if she had sliced me with a razor of pure pleasure. When her hand circled my member I groaned aloud, arching into her grip.
“Commander Spock, we have business to transact.”
I realized who she was … Lieutenant Uhura.
She ran her hands back up my torso; fire trailed where she touched. Then the touch was gone. My eyes flew open and the madness peered out. Uhura looked down into my burning gaze and smiled.
With one swift movement she pulled off her midriff-baring uniform top, revealing her small conical breasts. Her nipples were surprisingly large and dark, the plump aureolas dimpling and contracting in the cool air of the cave. The fire of madness roared. I tried to lift my arm but could barely move. She noticed the small movement and smiled, leaning forward so her breasts swayed before me.
“Do you want to taste these, Commander Spock?” she purred.
No man dying of thirst needed water as much as I needed her. I felt the madness grow and flow, burning down my arms as tortured, starved muscles struggled to return to life.
She removed the rest of her clothes; I drank in every curve of her. She was fortunate I was so weak. Had I been able to move, I would have pulled her to the floor and had her there and then …. I would have lifted her high and slowly lowered her onto my engorged lok bruising her with my grip as I thrust into her. My eyes showed my thoughts and I saw she knew.
She stood astride me and looked down, her long black hair loose, cascading down her back. My gaze was riveted on the delicate lips nestling in the black hair at the juncture of her legs. I managed to move my arms just enough to touch each of her ankles.
She smiled broadly showing her even white teeth.
She knelt and her buttocks grazed my erection. I cried out in pain, panting as desire surged. I tried again to lift my arms, but could not. She took my battered hands and placed them on her thighs. Rising up slightly she reached back, pointed my erection into her keshtan-ur1 and lowered onto me. The world exploded in sensation. She pushed down, and then rose up, twice, three times … then it was over.
She sat back and said coolly, “I hope you can do better than that.”
Keeping me sheathed inside her, she leaned forward. As her breasts brushed my sand-caked, blood-smeared torso the dirt rubbed onto her perfect coffee colored nipples. She whispered, “Never mind. I suppose you've waited a long time. But so have I, Spock.”
It didn't make any sense … then.
She stroked my face and her fingers gently brushed my psi points. I couldn’t breathe. A new, deeper utterly compelling hunger awoke. My mind reached out, tendrils flailing, seeking. I thought I’d known desperation, now I learned otherwise. The impact of this new yearning disoriented me as she bent her face and kissed my parched, cracked lips.
The seeking tendrils
Suddenly she sat up, stood and walked away. When I cried out with loss, she paused and looked over her shoulder. “Patience,” she said, “I’ll be back.” I could only watch her perfectly rounded buttocks and the smooth curve of her back as she walked out of my line of sight.
When Uhura returned she held two bottles. Once again she straddled me and I felt a cool stickiness smear across my stomach when she sat. Opening one bottle, she held it to my lips, dribbling it in … water. I drank thirstily, half lapping, half sucking at the bottle. She poured some water over my face making me blink rapidly to clear my eyes. Gently she washed away some of the grime.
“There you are,” she said, as if talking to a naughty child. She seemed playful and excited. The smaller of the two bottles had a teat-like end and she placed this between my lips, put one hand under my jaw and squeezed the bottle. Foul tasting liquid filled my mouth. I jerked and tried to turn my head. She held me firmly saying, “No you don’t. Just drink a little, you need this.” She held me until I swallowed. The liquid scalded all the way to my stomach but I felt strength returning.
Part of my mind began to work again and I realized the foul liquid was some form of stimulant. Uhura gave me more water.
“Let’s try again.” She leaned forward and kissed me.
Her mouth was warm and sweet as she ran her lips across mine. I slowly raised my arms, my hands coming up to cup her head pulling her to me. My tongue met hers, running over its surface, and new urgency suffused me. I rolled over, pinning her to the ground. I lay over her panting, nearly frantic, my heart pounding painfully in my side.
“What is it you want?” she whispered urgently. “Take it Spock, take it.”
My trembling hands moved clumsily. I needed three attempts to position my fingers over her connection points. I felt … nothing … silence! Anger flashed through me; I felt the desire to lash out. I groped for her hands. Understanding what I wanted, Uhura placed her fingers perfectly over my psi points. Sobbing with need, I replaced my fingers.
At last.
Soothing warmth suffused me, and I felt the many intricate connections that comprised a bond wrap gently around each other like the seeking tendrils of a climbing vine. I moaned with relief as the connection formed. I was no longer alone.
But something was wrong. The gentle touch of connection gripped and tightened. A biting, piercing pain flared in my mind. This was not the heat of the madness; it was a pure-white perfect pain. The tendrils from Uhura’s mind seemed to grow spines and hooks, digging deep into mine and locking them in place.
Nothing existed but pain.
A shame surpassing any other I had ever known.
I was trapped. My mind struggled with the panic of a wild creature caught in a trap. Soothing sensations flooded across the bond as Uhura stroked my face.
“Don’t struggle, you’ll only hurt yourself, hush now,” she crooned.
I had no sense of time. Over and over my heart rate slowed and my breathing steadied, then waves of primal fear would spear though me as my mind struggled and thrashed. I tried to think, to prise the hooking thorns away but there were too many … so many. Eventually I realized we’d changed position again. She sat over me and smoothed her hands up my arms and across my chest.
“Don’t fight this,” she murmured gently as she stroked my face. I jerked away, anger and disgust rising in me like vomit.
“Now, don’t be like that.” Her voice was firm. “What is, is. Accept and adapt. We can work together. Let’s see, shall we?” She closed her eyes and frowned slightly.
I felt tendrils of warmth working though my mind, small ripples of pleasure moving along my body. She smiled.
“That’s not so bad is it? Let’s try something else.”
I felt my body responding to her and experienced a shame surpassing any other I had ever known. “There’s nothing to be ashamed of, Spock, it’s all perfectly logical, bio-logical in fact.” I could feel her pleasure at the play on words.
She lowered her head and kissed me. I clamped my lips shut. “Oh dear, you’re going to be difficult, aren’t you? Pleasure or pain, it’s your choice, Spock.” She sighed and I felt a brief instant of pain, then a wave of lust crashed over me.
As my body betrayed me, from a distant corner of my mind I shouted “I do not consent!”
Her reply came softly, “Irrelevant.”
My servitude had begun.
A legend of old Vulcan.
Nyota helped me to the ground vehicle and drove to a nearby stream. It was a tranquil, secluded place. There she helped me wash and I sat on a flat rock as she carefully tended my injuries and gave me a ration bar to eat.
Nyota seemed elated and energized, chattering constantly. I sat, silently struggling with the combined effects of Pon Farr2, starvation and betrayal. It was the only time she ever spoke of what she’d done, though I remember little of what she said.
She put her arms around me and, caressing my head as a mother might, told me a story, a legend of old Vulcan, harking back to ancient times when warlike Vulcans abducted and forcibly bonded with mates. It was the tale of T’Shana, matriarch of a small insignificant clan in ancient times who captured a powerful prince from a neighboring clan just before his time. T’Shana imprisoned the prince, allowing him to endure the Plak tau3 until he lay at the brink of death, all his defenses removed. Then she invaded and occupied his mind.
I don’t remember the rest of the story of intrigue and conquest.
“So you see,” Nyota said, resting her chin on my shoulder, “you shouldn’t feel too bad. You’re not the first prince seized this way. It’s quite historical when you think about it. Very Vulcan … and I know how you like being ‘very Vulcan’.” Retrieving the medikit, she started tending the wounds on my arms.
I have never learned how she acquired her mental skills, though I believe I have caught glimpses in her nightmares.
Nyota babbled on, mentioning Romulans, Reman4, the great ancient Vulcan monasteries of Wank’gan5 and Plesh’e’tar5.
She said, “If knowledge exists, there’s always a way to find it … if you’re prepared to take the risks.” I remember this, because for the first time since we entered the glade she was serious. But she shook herself and kissed my neck and whispered in my ear, “You men don’t understand … it’s ro’fori’kosu’tsat6.”
When she finished healing me, she had me stand and walked around, inspecting my body minutely, trailing her fingers lightly over me or smoothing the planes of my body with the palm of her hand I aching with humiliation. When she was satisfied all visible traces of my ordeal were erased she stepped forward and touched my face.
“This goes,” she said, giving my beard a small tug. She lifted the hem of her skirt to display the tops of her thighs, the abrasion of “beard rash” clear on her skin. “See that? No more.”
She held out a small bag. I balked. “Now,” she said and I felt a quick, painful jerk on my mental leash. I took the bag and walked to the water’s edge, my feet feeling like lead. I heard the hum of the dermal regenerator Uhura was using on her inner thighs as I slumped to my knees and began the process of scraping my identity away.