The Secret Logs of Mistress Janeway
by NovaD XXXIX
Objective/Subjective
by Jared  

A Word From The Mistress: Before everyone gets in an uproar about my allowing another to write a log, this isn’t exactly the case. Aside from being my writing partner for nearly seven years, my dear Jared has been involved with the logs from their beginning. He is the one whom I would use as a sounding board while working my way through the plot before I writing them. And he has been responsible for sharpening some of the more memorable scenes in the logs, such as the mega orgy in Ladies Night Out, and Seven’s masturbation attempt in Astrometrics.

Log Thirty Nine is the result of my speculation over what ever happened to one of my favorite female characters from the Original Series, (she, along with Emma Peel had an influence on me as a child that would forever cause me to love thigh high boots,) and Jared’s speculation about Barrow’s Club and Starfleet Intelligence. The story was a natural. I hovered over the poor man’s shoulder the whole time, and edited him mercilessly. The result is a lot of fun. Enjoy!
 

Morale Officer’s Personal Log:

Definitely a good day. I taught Ensign Grueber how to steam Harplast Root, helped Naomi Wildman with her math, explained to Seven Of Nine about side dishes, and came this close to perfecting my teriyaki quiche. After I had finished putting my current batch out to soak, I decided to go check on whether Lt. Torres was done with my whisk.

I had just about gotten to her quarters when I nearly bumped into Seven on her way out. She walked directly past me without saying a word. That in itself is nothing new, Borg not being a very talkative lot, but there was something about her that seemed out of place. As I watched her walk away, I could have sworn that I saw her wobble. Now considering those shoes she wears I’m surprised that she doesn’t do that more often, and she did do it only once, but I’ve never actually seen her do that before. And her hair was out of place, and I’ve never seen that. Tyserian ice sculptures have less precision than her hair.

I frowned and absentmindedly turned back towards the door. I was so close when I had stumbled into Seven that the sensor never cleared the passage and snapped back open. I peeked my head in and looked about.

Lt. Torres was lying on the coach, head back and eyes closed. Even as I turned away I couldn’t help but notice that she was wearing a shear robe which was COMPLETELY open with nothing on underneath. One hand held a small wooden paddle and the other was touching her -- well never mind.

Anyway, there I was standing in the doorway, my back to the room, trying to figure if I should go or I should stay. A thought occurred to me. If I stayed like this much longer someone else might come down the corridor as well, and the Lieutenant was going to be embarrassed enough as it was.

I took a step back into the room, allowing the door to close behind me, and cleared my throat.

"Lieutenant?" I asked.

Her eyes flung open. I never knew that Klingons could squeal. The paddle went flying as she snapped her robe closed, and tried to shrink into the couch.

"Neelix!! Oh my God, what are you doing in here?!"

Later I thought that it must have been her human side talking, that a full Klingon female probably would have eviscerated me.

"Uh, I came to see if you were done with my whisk."

"Don’t you know how to knock?!?!"

"Well, the door was open, and before I knew what was going on... well... here I was..."

"What was going on?"

"Nothing! Nothing at all! I saw absolutely nothing. Not a thing." I tried not to look at her directly, which just made me look at the room. It was a bit disheveled as well, with candles burning low, bits of clothing strewn about and assorted pieces of rope, real coarse heavy grade stuff.

Still tightly clutching her robe, Lt. Torres stalked over to a table and picked up the whisk from among a pile of implements which had nothing to do with cooking.

"Here’s your damn whisk!"

As she handed it to me, I noticed that it was covered with an odd sheen. I turned it in my hand.

"You should wash it first."

I looked her in the eyes and immediately regretted it. My mind racing I settled on a bright spot of color on the floor, and then realized that it was a pair of women’s underwear.

Lt. Torres grabbed me by the collar. She’s very strong for her size.

"If you breathe a word about this, and I mean one word, they’ll never find your body."

"Absolutely! Nothing! Nothing at all! I didn’t see anything. In fact... I wasn’t even here. I’m in the Mess Hall... Thanks for dropping by Lieutenant... Can I get you anything?"

"No. Now get out."
 
 

I stumbled back to the Mess. Part of me wanted to find out what was on the whisk, but just the thought that somehow the Lieutenant might figure out that I looked made me rinse it immediately. It took longer to get the thought of the underwear out of my head. There was something about the way it was lying there, its position in the room, the way it was piled on the floor. How did it get there, exactly?

The underwear was still with me the next morning. I saw Lt. Torres only once that day, at a distance. We both turned in opposite directions immediately.

Some morale officer I was, if I could have that kind of effect on a fellow crewmember. Worse, that I couldn’t even try to help. I did see Seven, who was back to her usual self, as well as Tom, who was also his usual self. That was strange, as Tom is very poor at covering his emotions despite all his claims of having a ‘poker face.’

I brewed over this as I made the coffee. The implication was that Torres had not told Tom about last night. That implied that he didn’t know about last night, which implied that he didn’t know about Torres and Seven.

Of course that assumed that there was ‘something’ about Torres and Seven. There was bound to be a perfectly innocent explanation, which I just didn’t know about. There’s no reason to assume anything without proof.

That was Kes’ influence. I’m a Talaxian of the galaxy, I’ve been around the quadrant a few times. She never judged anything without proof. I don’t think she even knew what innuendo was. How would her underwear crumple on the ground?

I’ve definitely got to get this out of my head.
 
 

I am the morale officer; the crew’s well being is as much my responsibility as it is the Captain’s or the Doctor’s. If Lt. Torres is engaged in some kind of a relationship behind Tom’s back, that could be serious trouble for everybody. The last thing Voyager needs is bad blood between its Chief Engineer and Helmsman.

Obviously, Lt. Torres would have to be confronted about this, for Tom’s sake. But I would have to be certain, very certain, that my assumptions were correct. As it was, this was all bound to end up in Sickbay.

I would have to catch them in the act. Waiting outside her door was impossible. Waiting outside her window in a spacesuit clamped to the hull was impractical. But then I remembered the communications system. Voyager is crammed with microphones and cameras to transmit messages about the ship. With a little coaxing, and the security training I’d received from Lt. Tuvok, I might be able to remotely activate the recording equipment already in place.

It took me the rest of the day to program the com system to relay a feed from Lt. Torres quarters to the Mess. All the way through dinner, I would peek away from my cooking to check her room. I was preparing a rump roast when it occurred to me to simply check Torres’ and Seven’s work schedules.

The next time they would have together would be at 2100. What’s more, Tom would be on the Bridge until well after 0200. I made custard for dessert, extra lumpy. That never fails to clear the Mess. By 2050 I had the dishes washed up and the Mess to myself. I poured myself a cup of coffee and settled in by the viewer.

At 2105 Lt. Torres arrived. She stretched, working on unseen kinks in her neck. She strolled into the bedroom, and emerged several minutes later wearing her robe and carrying a taper, which she used to light the candles about the room.

She put the taper out and considered the cabin. She began rearranging the furniture, moving the coach around until it faced the window, then piled some pillows up in front of it. She cleared off a table, then spread a heavy fur rug over it. The Lieutenant then went to a large, hand wrought wooden cabinet and opened its doors. Inside was an amazing assortment of whips, paddles, chains, collars and several pieces I just couldn’t identify. The door chimed.

"Who is it?" The Lieutenant asked.

"Seven of Nine."

"Come in."

Seven entered the room and stood before Lt. Torres. They considered each other carefully, neither one moving a muscle.

"Samantha Wildman to Neelix."

I looked around the Mess. No one was there.

"Samantha Wildman to Neelix."

I touched my com badge. "Neelix here."

"Neelix, Naomi is having trouble sleeping. She keeps asking for one of your stories."

"I’m in the middle of something right now." I glanced back at the monitor and noticed that Seven was now on her knees.

"Please, Neelix."

I can’t refuse that child anything. Torres was now standing before Seven, the whip in her hand. I hit record, and quickly turned the viewer off.

"I’ll be right there."

"Thank you, Neelix."

I paused for a few minutes to regain my composure, then left for Ensign Wildman’s quarters.
 
 

My shorter stories proved useless, and after a few of them, I threw myself into role and told the one about my great grandfather Gassok’s run in with a Temerlain clock merchant. After little Naomi was asleep, Samantha offered to make me some tea, and in part to convince myself that nothing was happening, I agreed. We had a very pleasant talk about all the little nothings that seem to matter so much in everyday life. I returned to the Mess around 0130. Lt. Tuvok was waiting for me.

"Friend Vulcan, you’re up awfully late? Can I get you some herbal tea and a biscotti?"

"Mr. Neelix. You have made an unauthorized tap into the com system in Lt. Torres’ quarters."

He didn’t know everything, but he knew a lot, of course. I soon told him all about my run in with Lt. Torres the day before, and my suspicions about her relationship with Seven.

Lt. Tuvok was to the point.

"You already are aware of Lt. Torres sexual practices. The presence of the implements you described would clearly indicate that she has initiated a dominant submissive relationship with Seven of Nine."

"Well, naturally, that was the obvious answer. My concern was for poor Mr. Paris," I noticed that the viewer was still recording.

"‘Poor Mr. Paris’ is almost certainly aware of the situation. In the course of your research on hierarchical sexual practices, did you not also see that it often involves polygamous relationships?"

"Well, I admit that it’s a possibility, but still... I would have expected some kind of a reaction out of him the next day. I mean, that was pretty embarrassing. I know, I was there."

"And I am certain that same embarrassment kept Lt. Torres from revealing the whole truth of her evening from Ensign Paris. But that is not to assume that he does not know about anything else that might have happened that night."

"But I had to be certain."

"Your intent appears sincere, but your reasoning is flawed. First, it is not your concern. This would be between the parties involved, and at most, the Captain. Second, your actions clearly go beyond mere verification into the realm of voyeurism. And while your choice of sexual practices are your own, I cannot allow you to pursue them with the unwilling participation of other members of Voyager."

"And how do you know what their sexual practices are?"

"If you are hoping to justify your actions by implying that I demonstrate anything but the greatest discretion and respect for my comrades privacy, you are mistaken. As a student of humanoid nature, I have learned to analyze much from that which is publicly available. I have never had to resort to the type of surveillance which you have used, except in those instances when there is a clear and present threat to security."

"What do you plan to do?"

Tuvok paused, I think for effect. "The situation you have placed yourself into is not unique."

He produced a padd from behind his back. "Starfleet Intelligence has long recognized the potential hazards of prolonged observation, and included it among the curriculum. In the course of your training in Starfleet security techniques and procedures, you would have eventually been shown this file. I suggest you read it, and then think carefully about your next course of action."

He placed the padd on the counter and left. As soon as he was gone, I went to the viewer and stopped the recording. The connection was still in place. The room had been returned to its original configuration. In the distance the bed was just visible, with two forms under the covers. Why had Lt. Tuvok not blocked the feed? I broke the connection and considered the recording. Was it complete or had Tuvok disrupted it? The only way to be sure would be to view it. I reached for the play button.

That would have just been stupid. I encoded the file and switched off the console. I snatched up the padd and returned to my quarters.
 
 

The file was very old, from over a hundred years ago. It was entitled, ‘Risks and Consequences of Psychological Compromise Through Stimulation While Engaged in Deep Surveillance: A Case History,' despite which was not actually written by a Vulcan. It opened with some old man sitting behind a desk piled with books, real bound ones, mind you, who recited the longest, and most boring lecture about focus and discipline I’d ever imagined. If you looked around the euphemisms and dry delivery, you could almost imagine that he was talking about something dirty.

After about five minutes of sermonizing he got to some actual data and presented a picture of a young man wearing the Starfleet uniform from long ago. He was handsome enough, by human standards, and had the most curious eyes. They had an odd, far away quality, not so much like he was distracted as he was totally focused on you and light years away at the same time. Despite the fact that he was well groomed, one had the sense that he had an internal energy that would make him break out in dishevelment at any moment. He had a slight smile, which seemed to have nothing to do with the pose. Pleasant enough individual though.

The old man identified him as Lt. Thomas Manning, newly of Starfleet Intelligence, fresh from the Academy and unaware of the hazards he was about to face, etc, etc, etc.

Then the logs started.
 
 

Lt. Thomas Manning’s Personal Log:

Stardate 5163.7

Got a really good assignment today. All expenses paid trip to Hawaii and, and, I get to take Abbie with me, to help my cover. Some days are just too good to be true.
 
 

Stardate 5165.2

Abbie and I just finished unpacking at the Ilikai and I went to scope out my target. I had been told that my quarry wouldn’t be hard to find, and they weren’t kidding. On the surface of it, she was just another hot body in a bikini on the beach, but how many Romulans do you see on Oahu? All the locals assumed she was Vulcan, but none of them would be caught dead in a hat like that. It was a rich purple, to match what little swimwear she had on. She was toned, more than usual, not uncommon among the military. The effect was some sort of posh elfin warrior. If this is what I was going to have to watch for the next few months, that was all right with me. It was beginning to look like the hardest part would be not gawking while Abbie was around. I figured as long as I did it while there were other women about I’d be okay. After all, safety in numbers.
 
 

Okay, so this will be harder than I thought. Abbie just showed me her swimsuit, and I can see I’m going to have trouble keeping focused on my target. At least she won’t have to worry about me being unfaithful. I was sorely tempted to take her right there in the hotel room, but we were set to have dinner in half an hour.

My subject was at dinner as well. I carefully positioned us so that Abbie had her back to her, which let me keep an eye on her table and still maintain a plausible conversation. Her attire was an elegant evening dress; she’d gone totally native. Its cut matched the one in her file from her debriefing, although the color suited her better. She didn’t like to talk about why she had been snatched out of uniform, but the report said she never let that affect her attitude, which was pure business all the way. Personally I preferred her working clothes; like the Federation, the Romulan Empire could really appreciate a nice pair of legs.

She ordered lobster. That got the waiter’s attention; everybody knows Vulcans are vegetarians. He was a true professional, and got her meal with only a single arched eyebrow. From that point on, every employee seemed to find a reason to pass by her table, come to stare at the vulgar Vulcan. She was completely nonplussed, often choosing such moments to slowly pull the flesh out from the shell, licking her fingers clean as she discarded the carcass. By the end of the meal, some of them had even come back three or four times, and I swear she even knew about the ones who passed behind her.

On the way back to our suite, Abbie stopped off at the restroom. I stood outside, trying to look casual, when this voice snuck up on me.

"Excuse me," it said.

I turned and was shocked to see her standing right in front of me. Those ears in that dress would have been incongruous on anyone but her.

"I assume you are my Federation chaperone," she said. She was short, no tiny really, coming only up to my chest. Hard to believe that this delicate creature commanded a battle task force. Her earrings glittered.

"Ma’am?" I tried to act surprised. I was.

"Do not worry, I come in peace. If you were born under a star such as mine, you would think nothing of having such an escort, whether invited or not." Her voice was a little high and raw for my tastes but then I saw the look in her eyes and I had no trouble believing anything she was suppose to have done. I had only one course left.

"Ma’am?" I said.

"I’ll make it easy for you. I’m going to my room for the night. I shall have breakfast at the buffet at 10, then spend the afternoon sunning by the pool. I’m considering seeing the Arizona monument around 4, but I haven’t decided yet. I’ve heard Diamondhead is lovely."

"History or beauty, the eternal question."

"Duty or sensation," she responded. "Give my regards to your wife."

I held up my blank hand. She blinked. I guess they don’t have wedding rings on Romulus. "Oops," I added.

She narrowed her eyes and walked away, trying not to let her momentary lapse ruin her impression of invincibility. That’s when Abbie returned, and I took her back to our room, careful not to end up on the same elevator.
 
 

Stardate 5166.4

Of course I had to report to the Commodore that my cover was blown. He was unconcerned.

"She’s correct, a person of her standing would have been under constant surveillance from the day she got her commission. Don’t worry about it, this isn’t hard coverage. That’s why we let you take your girlfriend and not another agent. Just keep an eye on her general movements and who she associates with. God knows she won’t be allowed within a hundred miles of anything classified."

I appreciated the vote of confidence. Clearly, she didn’t rate a lot of attention and neither did I.
 
 

Naturally, she was poolside. It was a new outfit, even skimpier than the last. I refuse to let my vanity believe it was for me. She was in a chair by the pool reading a copy of Kafka. I guess when it’s a completely alien culture everything looks the same. Her chair was right by the edge of the pool and more than once, she was splashed by its occupants. Each time, she would shrink back into her chair in horror, then slowly unwind back to normal. She got hit five times and still refused to move to another chair or push hers back a few feet. I guess she liked the water but not to get wet.

The last time around, this stunning brunette climbed out of the pool and stood before her, the water trickling down her fabulous legs, her body blocking the sun.

She couldn’t ignore that, and eventually looked over her book. The two had words. Soon the brunette was beside her, and Kafka had been left to get soaked on the ground. They talked for twenty minutes and then the brunette left. I almost forgot to get her picture.
 
 

She chose duty. We missed catching the same ferry. I made a mental note to have the Covert Forensics Team check the monument that night to see if she had used it as a drop. I had never been here before, but Abbie knew a great deal. She claimed that she had a relative who had flown in Fuchida’s squadron. The Romulan listened to the tour guide intently and afterwards carefully studied every name on the wall of casualties. She seemed genuinely touched, willing to grieve on the tomb of alien entities who had slaughtered themselves centuries before. Was she grieving for them or her own lost homeland? I caught her glance once before we went back, and suddenly I felt like the outsider who didn’t belong.
 
 

That night, I gave her a break. This wasn’t hard coverage. I spent the evening with Abbie, and gave her the attention she deserved.
 
 

Stardate 5167.1

The search came up negative. The brunette did not. ***** *******, ex-Starfleet, once served on the same ship that had captured the subject. Man, I’d hate to be on that crew. This would be too much of a coincidence for Intelligence. Someone was about to get their butt probed with a 400 pound microscope.

My orders; learn more about the two of them. But no reinforcements. Abbie was going to kill me. I had just spent a whole evening making her seem like the center of my universe.
 
 

She was back on the beach, this time tanning her backside. Essential if you want that even, all over tone. ******* was already with her, and praise the lord she needed to sun her rear too. I kept my distance, and stretched out on a big obnoxious blue blanket on the warm sand, my idle hand pointed their way. The unidirectional mike in my new ring would get every word.

"You cried yesterday."

"?"

"I’ve a practiced eye. Even for a Romulan you keep your emotions in check. Tears on your face are so rare, the stains are indelible."

"I see."

"You should do it more often. If you spend your life bottling up all the feelings you have inside, you might as well be a Vulcan."

"I’ll take that under advisement."

"My dear, emotions are your ally; sensation your god. Vulcan took logic and built a culture. Romulus took emotion and built an empire."

"If you want to go, I won’t stop you. You’re more likely to get there than I."

"I have made the world I wish. Everything I desire is on this planet. You could as well."

"I doubt that. On my home I had power and respect. Here I have nothing. Here I am..."

"A tourist?"

******* rolled onto her back. She arched into the sunlight and let out a long sigh of pure pleasure. I twitched.

"What is power? Why does it matter? What is it worth?

"You know the answer. It’s not when you’re filling out reports, or waiting for your subordinates to betray you. Power is seeing the look in their eyes when you tell them what to do and they fight over each other to obey you first. To serve you. To please you."

"There were moments."

"Let me ask you. Which gave you greater satisfaction; the look of those who obeyed you out of fear, or out of loyalty?"

"Loyalty."

"And do you know why? Because fear alone is only hatred postponed. Loyalty is love. And we would all rather have love."

"True loyalty is rare."

"It is indeed. But do you know what is even better than loyalty alone? When loyalty destroys fear. Replaces it."

"You remind me of a sad tale. Once a powerful woman tried to win over the heart and loyalty of a beautiful enemy. She was betrayed and banished from her home forever."

"And what was her power. Ships. Politics. Dust. I’m offering a power that comes from within, that stays with you no matter where you go.

"You’ve spent your life wrestling with the eternal Romulan dilemma, duty or sensation."

"I see you’ve had a chat with my escort."

"The boy? My dear, he’s not worth your time or mine."

The mark of a true amateur would be take this opportunity to nonchalantly shift about, pretending to be concerned with nothing more than one’s tan. I ignored them and didn’t move a muscle.

"If you insist."

"You’ve devoted your life to duty. You have earned sensation."

She took a really long look at *******. This conversation couldn’t possibly be going where I thought.

"So I’m a novelty."

"You are a hedonist. Here you are, stranded far from home in the heart of the enemy’s camp, rejected by your own kind and paid a pittance by the Federation to absolve any appearance of guilt and what do you do? You eat the finest meals, wear the finest materials and soak up the finest breezes on the planet. You have a taste and a talent for command and a hunger for sensation. I offer you both."

"Your argument is most logical. We have a word for your kind on Romulus, tcheklii."

"I prefer sabisat myself."

She raised an eyebrow at that one. I was taught Romulan at the Academy. I’d never heard either of those words before.

"Your offer is not without it’s... merits. But what makes you believe that I would accept such an offer from you."

"There is only one way for me to prove my case."

"Indeed. I tire of the sun."

She got up, pulled on a red robe and walked away, not once looking back. ******* followed her.

It’s just as well that I had to wait before I went after them. There was my sudden hard on to consider. I rolled on my stomach and tried to imagine Admiral Komack nude. That’s when Abbie popped up.

"Miss me, honey?" She straddled my back and kissed my neck. I turned around to meet her lips. She was wearing that suit again. She pulled me all the way over and crushed her body against mine.

"I see you did," as she slid her thigh over my rapidly returning erection. Her hair blew across my face. The smell, the feel. That smile that made me rush across a crowded cafeteria to get her name, and spend two semesters studying paleontology. Those hands I held in mind for long evening on the sofa not doing a damn thing. Those breasts I’d kissed for hours. The memories were long, varied and pleasant. I took a deep breath.

"I have to go."

She wasn’t so much mad as perplexed. I’d have preferred her mad. I stood up, adjusted my trunks so that my erection would be less noticeable, and dusted off imaginary grains of sand.

"I’ll be back as soon as I can. It’s important."

"On our vacation?"

"Yeah."

I headed for the hotel, and looked back only once. She didn’t see me.
 
 

The most likely place to check would be her hotel room. Staring through the keyhole would have aroused suspicion. Fortunately I had my q bag. I took out the bottle of sunscreen, and adjusted the laser. I knew her room number, of course, and it was a simple matter of counting windows, seventeen up and four over.

It would never have worked in a secure location, however the Ilikai was ancient, and the last thing a guest would expect was a laser refracting off the glass in their room. I brought the cap in contact with my ring, and adjusted the focus.

I couldn’t get a clear picture, the angle was too extreme. The sound was excellent. 

SUBJECT: I suppose you want me to remove my clothing.

*******: I want you to hold out your hands.

SUBJECT: I seriously doubt that you would be able to meld with me.

*******: True enough. But I don’t need telepathy to reach your mind. Hold out your hands.

*******: Even without the meld, your hands and arms can still feel my touch. Not much, barely there at all, but if you reach out with your senses, you can just experience the caress.

[PAUSE]

*******: And here, and here. Reach out, until your skin is alive with anticipation, like a gentle breeze on a hot day.

SUBJECT: And you?

*******: I have the pleasure of the flush of your cheeks, the way your breathing suddenly shortens, the subtle signs of your slowly growing arousal.

SUBJECT: (short gasp)

*******: See? How could I not take pleasure in that?

SUBJECT: What... what do you do next?

*******: Why are you asking me? You’re the commander. Command.

[PAUSE]

SUBJECT: On your knees.

*******: Yes, Sabisat.

[SOUND OF SLOW FOOTSTEPS]

SUBJECT: Humans think we care only about duty, and honor, and war. Much of that reputation is deserved. I have seen humans kneel as you are kneeling, who could only tremble in fear. For my duty I have ordered horrible things. Do not doubt that I could not do them now.

*******: I do not doubt, Sabisat.

SUBJECT: Yes I’m sure I could put you through the most exquisite torture my Kaset Tcheklii, and you would only beg for more.

*******: I am to do with as you wish, my Sabisat.

SUBJECT: And what if I were to wish your death? Human! Would you still cry out in pleasure as I snapped your neck?

*******: I trust you.

SUBJECT: Would your survival disappoint you?

*******: Only my failure to please, Sabisat.

[LONG PAUSE]

SUBJECT: Do you still take pleasure from me?

*******: Yes, Sabisat.

SUBJECT: Prove it.

*******: (several rapid low moans)

SUBJECT: Acceptable. Worship my feet.

*******: Yes, Sabisat.

[LONG PAUSE]

SUBJECT: We Romulans also live for beauty, and for pleasure. If we seek out hardship, it is to place our pleasure in relief.

*******: Yes, Sabisat.

SUBJECT: Stand.

SUBJECT: Please me.

[UNIDENTIFIED SOUNDS]

SUBJECT: (moan)

SUBJECT: (moan)

[UNIDENTIFIED SOUND]

SUBJECT: (long moan)

"Excuse me, sir. Can I get you anything?"

One of the hotel staff. Damn. "No, that’s alright."

"Certainly sir."

I realized I must look like an idiot just standing out here holding a bottle of sunscreen. How long since I had actually moved? It was getting late, and the crowd was coming in off the beach. I was suddenly a lot more conspicuous thanks to my immobility. This stakeout was over.
 
 

I knew it was pointless, but I had to check the beach. Naturally, Abbie had left. She was probably in the bar, wondering why she was dating such a jerk. Which would be better; trying to track her down and apologize, or just wait back in the room for her to cool off? I had a feeling I was going to be making a lot of apologies over the next few days, so it wouldn’t be wise to burn them all up now.

She was waiting for me in the room, still in that suit, stretched out in the middle of the floor on our blue beach blanket. She gave me that look, the same one I got when we were in her dorm room that special night, and I knew I was a luckier man than I deserved to be.

I fucked her right there on the floor on the blanket, in her swimsuit. I just pushed the thong out of the way. I didn’t even take her top off, I just worked her nipples right through the fabric. I took her from behind, I took her from above and I let her ride on top, and when it was near the end she sucked me hard and made me blow my wad all over her chest and her suit.

"I’m going to make sure the stain stays," she said. "So that you’ll never be able to see this outfit without thinking about this moment."

I kissed her and I held her and I didn’t care that my cum was smeared all over my chest.
 
 

Later that night I checked the dictionary and found out what tcheklii and sabisat meant. I was neither surprised at their meaning or that I was never taught them. Starfleet Command can be very puritanical.
 
 

Stardate 5168.3

She’s gone, checked out this morning. So had *******. Damn, damn, damn. They could be halfway to Rigel by now. Had a cup of coffee and a muffin, and a deep, cleansing breath. I checked the departures list and found them on a flight to San Francisco and then down the coast to the Baja Strip. Assuming they had actually been on those flights, stayed on those flights, and weren’t beamed up the second they landed, they were still on Earth. The Commodore already knew all of this. Every arrival in San Francisco is routinely monitored and she set off every alarm they had. No sign of transmissions to any ship in orbit. So far so good. My vacation was revoked immediately. Abbie would be disappointed and so would I, but we could blame it on the brass.
 
 

Once we got back home, I kissed her goodbye and reported to an urgent meeting at work. Actually, I got a shuttlecraft and roared down the coast. The position on the map indicated an unnamed private resort. Long before I got there I was warned away by Mexico City traffic control. The resort was located directly below the flight path of the Olmec Mass Driver. The insurance companies didn’t care that it was too far away for the locals to feel any of the effects. The resort had a scattering field, blocking both scanners or transporters. Okay, we play this the hard way.
 
 

Stardate 5169.6

The Yorktown got a free sensor overhaul today. While their exec looked the other way, I aimed the most powerful scanning platform ever mounted on a starship at a tiny strip on the Mexican coast. That baby could spot the difference between vertebrate and invertebrate lifeforms at a distance of nine light years. There were twenty seven people at the resort, mostly human, including one Vulcan/Romulan. I should have been able to get a thread count on the bed linens. Whoever ran that place had some very clever people working for them. Just enough detail to eliminate the notion of anything dangerous without actually telling you squat. What the hell is this place?
 
 

Stardate 5170.3

"It’s a sex club." Commodore Jenson said it like they made ball bearings. "Very exclusive, very private. That’s why it’s not on any listings. Beyond that we don’t know anything about what goes on there."

"And *******?"

"We know she spends a lot of time there. She may even be on the payroll." Cleaning Staff? Rules Committee? Welcome Wagon?

"How should I proceed?"

"We’re not just going to let this go. You’re going to have to get more data."

"As a client?" The things I must endure for King and Country.

"No. We’ve never managed to infiltrate its membership."

Meaning that they’d tried. More than once.

"You’re just going to have to be more resourceful than they are."

"Yes, sir."

"One more thing. Keep a diary of what happens, but you are to make no direct visual recordings of anything that happens at the site. Orders from higher up."

"I may need some special equipment."

"You’ve got it."
 
 

Sometimes the direct solution is the best. I beamed down about three miles from the edge of the scattering field and walked over to have a look. The resort was a lush oasis in the desert, a complex compound of buildings overrun with thick greenery. There were no signs of activity. This was consistent with the satellite pictures, but anybody that could shield this place from a starship could easily produce a holographic projection to fool the curious. God only knows what it really looked like. The edge of the property line was a simple log fence, maybe four feet high. No trespassing signs were posted every forty feet. No other signs of security.

My tricorder showed the positions of the motion sensors imbedded in the posts. They would already know I was there. I strolled along the fence towards the ocean.

At the beach I saw my first sign of life; two men wrestling with a boat. They wore the exact same casual beach ware, gray baggy trousers tied at the waist and loose fitting short sleeve shirts. They looked at me once and then returned to their labors. I stood by the fence and watched. When they were done they walked up to me, with a neutral, I-could-beat-the-tar-out-of-you-if-you-give-me-a-reason stride. The bigger of the two eyed my holocamera shaped tricorder.

"Can we help you?" The other one asked.

"Nope. Just came to see the naked women."

They had to laugh. "Sorry. What about some naked men?"

What would happen if I said yes? "That’s okay."

"I’m afraid you’ll have to go. This is private property."

I was on my side of the fence, but they had made their point. I looked back up the coast. "How far to the next town?"

"About 40 kilometers." A strong breeze whipped around us. They didn’t budge.

"There’s a nude beach down near Cabo," his partner added. "Best tits on the West Coast."

"I’m more of an assman myself," I answered. An oversimplification.

"Got them too. But be careful, you don’t want to go blind."

I laughed and started up the beach. I let my tricorder dangle at my wrist, pointed back towards them. They waited until I was almost a hundred yards away before they started back themselves. They vanished into the projection just before the treeline.
 
 

Stardate 5171.8

The Commodore was as good as his word. By default my security clearance had been bumped up three levels. Half of the stuff he got I’d only heard rumors about. I spent the day reading manuals and planning strategy. I had a great dinner with Abbie and told her that the lab wanted me to test some secret equipment this week and that I’d be working a lot of nights. It was very close to the truth.
 
 

Stardate 5172.9

The mole broke the surface near an acute corner of one of the biggest buildings in the compound. Seismic scans indicated a thick undergrowth that would hide the tunnel entrance. I squeezed out into the night air and looked about. I found none of the sensors I had seen from the outside. No motion detectors, microphones, cameras or scanners of any kind. They must assume that if you’re here, you belong. The holoshield produced an exact replica of the resort, minus the people. That was going to make it a lot easier for me to find my way around.

A man and a woman came past, and I hid behind a skinny tree vainly hoping the way a child does not to be seen. I wasn’t. The null suit would keep me undetected to anyone who wasn’t looking directly at me. In that moment of panic as they approached, I only just saw that she walked two steps behind him, at the end of a heavy leash. As they walked away I observed the high quality of the tailoring in their clothing, and that hers was shear enough to remove any doubt about what she had on under it.

I decided to follow them. They wound through the pathways, gardens and courtyards towards a block of open air bungalows. The breeze was fragrant and warm. The plants and the buildings complemented each other beautifully, a subtle mix of form and color. It must cost a fortune to get in here.

As they approached one of the bungalows, a woman came out to meet them. I collapsed to the ground and rolled against the bushes.

"Why is she walking?" I heard a woman’s voice ask.

"I didn’t want to leave marks on those beautiful legs," the man replied.

"She has not earned walking upright. Why could you not follow the orders you were given?"

He began to stammer. "I’m sorry, Mistress."

"You are a most hopeless man. Sylvia, punish him."

"Yes, Mistress."

I didn’t risk moving to see what she did. It sounded like it really hurt.

After a few minutes I moved on. I bypassed the bungalows completely, and slowly worked my way out of the center of the complex back out to the edge. I was blocked only once, by something I anticipated. A man and a woman were making love against a tree. She had her back to him, bent over, with her dress pulled halfway up to her neck. Her skin shone copper in the moonlight. She hung onto the tree trunk for dear life as he fucked her for all he was worth. They were too distracted to notice me.

I reached the edge of the compound and stopped to take my bearings. This place was huge, I could spend days trying to find my quarry. I pulled out the satellite map. If I were a Romulan outcast, where would I go? She likes water but not getting wet. I headed for the rooms with ocean views.

I found her on the second floor of the third unit I checked. She was standing on her balcony looking out over the ocean. Her room was above a stone patio built right out to the water’s edge. The only cover was a large eucalyptus tree almost thirty five feet from her balcony. I climbed into its branches and set up my gear.

The laser wasn’t going to work; there was no glass. I tried the unidirectional mike to no effect. This was the first time I had ever heard of a sonic baffle being used outside of heavy industry. Privacy even among privacy.

A man came up to her and bowed, saying something I couldn’t hear. She didn’t move at first, but then headed back into the room. I set the goggles sensitivity to max and stared at the inside wall. It took about a minute to sort out the diffused shadows cast on it and resolve them to more distinct silhouettes.

I could see her, and the man, and another woman. For a long time they just seemed to mill around. He bowed occasionally, then got down to his knees. One woman walked around him, stepping out of sight, then the other. They would move in and out of view at random. I think one of them got undressed. The man stood, and embraced one of the women. They moved out of sight. I saw an arm, a leg, two. For several minutes I saw nothing at all. I saw an arm and a shoulder move rhythmically up and down, faster and faster. I saw a hand reach out and pull the shoulder away, still moving. I saw a leg, male, I think. A head. A body. I saw the man standing, a woman in front and behind, both at waist level, the three of them apparently motionless for several minutes. The woman in front seemed to back away as the woman behind reached around. He jerked, once, twice, three times, and then sagged, still standing. The women, still kneeling, embraced. The man moved away as the other woman slipped lower. There was no mistaking that shape as the woman held her head back and screamed. She collapsed out of sight.

I saw nothing for twenty minutes. Suddenly my goggles went blank. I tried adjusting the settings, but couldn’t figure out how to compensate for the sudden change in readings. I ripped the goggles off my face in frustration and stared out at the balcony, letting my eyes get used to the dark.

It was her, standing out on the balcony, nude. She seemed to be taking in the sea air. Her body didn’t reveal anything I hadn’t seen in Hawaii, except for her nipples, which were now firm and erect. I held my breath. She glowed.

I was now starting to feel the ache of my awkward confinement. I hadn’t taken the time to warm up before I’d settled into the branches. My back and legs were starting to hurt. I didn’t dare move. I don’t know why.

After what seemed like an eternity, she went back into her room, and turned out the light. I took the opportunity to try and work out the knots in my limbs. With my pain postponed if not removed, I put the goggles back on and once again stared at the wall. It was much harder now, with the lights out. After an hour I sensed a movement which might have been a body turning in its sleep. An hour after that I started thinking about how I was going to get back to the mole.
 
 

Stardate 5173.9

Normally, I would have asked Abbie for a massage. Normally, she would have offered one before I could ask. I said nothing. I endured my pain as punishment for my actions. I shouldn’t have. I stayed the extra two hours because I wanted to be sure I didn’t miss anything. What did I not want to miss? I’m going to need a shrink before this assignment is over.
 
 

Stardate 5175.4

Pulled a whole twenty four hours at the resort. Slipped in early, before sunrise, and spent ten minutes stretching before I went to my perch. No one was up yet in her room, as was my plan.

Having learned from my previous mistakes, this time I came armed for bear. I lined up the balcony in my sights. It would be a tricky shot, far enough in to be past the baffle, yet not in the room itself. I took careful aim and pulled the trigger.

The probe was air propelled, wire guided, solar powered, emission free and the size of a grain of sand. Its telemetry cable was thinner than a spider’s web, and slack enough to settle unseen or unfelt in any environment. I still wasn’t cleared on all its features. The probe hit the doorframe square on target.

I could hear her the slow rhythm of her breathing as she slept. I got a better look at the room then the night before courtesy of the fisheye lens. Not much better, though. Most of my view was of the ceiling, the probe having rolled after it was fired. I considered firing another shot, but decided against it. Even Commodore Jenson could only get me three rounds, and I would need the others if the cable snapped. From what I could make out, the room was amazingly spartan for such a luxurious resort, although every piece of furniture was a work of art in itself. I supposed she preferred it that way, a longing of her distant Vulcan heritage.

She had abandoned all of her military discipline; she proved to be a late riser. The patio below me was stirring. It seemed harmless, although I noticed a lot of men and women in variations on the requisite attire of a few days past. Good looking to a soul. The guests appeared to be the plainer ones, though this was only by degree. Outright ugly just didn’t exist here. Was it a bar against membership? The crowd went about its business and everybody kept their clothes on. All in all, it didn’t seem that different from the Ilikai.

By eleven a woman had come to wake her. She was helped into her clothes, then the woman bowed and left. She headed for the balcony. I held my breath again; would the cable be detected? Would it break?

Before she stepped outside there was a knock on the door. It was *******.

"Good morning."

"Good morning."

"How are you settling in?"

"Well enough. Your facilities are excellent. Although I had similar ones on Oahu."

"Not all of them."

"No. Certainly not."

"Shall we go down for breakfast?"

They disappeared for a few hours. I had no clue where the dining room was, or how I could leave my place of concealment to reach it in broad daylight. If I was going to do this on a regular basis, I was going to have to learn the whole facility.

I saw them once, on the beach further down from the patio. ******* was describing the history of the resort’s renovations, from the Twentieth Century on. It had started as a mansion for a wealthy criminal, and its reputation for notoriety was something that ******* had never entirely sought to erase. The Club, as the current tenant was called, had been operating here for almost a hundred and fifty years. It became apparent that ******* didn’t merely work here, she ran it, in part with the aid of a small number of wealthy patrons. She occasionally paused to gaze at the handsome men and women who passed by, but never when her guest spoke. She was usually staring out at the waves.

They were gone again for a few hours more. In that time, some men had erected a pillar on the patio. It was y shaped, seven feet high, with chains hanging off of each branch. As the sun started to sink slowly into the sea, a crowd gathered, staff and guests, who took up chairs around the pillar. Nearly every seat had been filled when they returned. They stood before the pillar. ******* turned her to face the crowd.

"Have you chosen your safe word?" she asked.

"Kirk."

"A double irony," ******* replied. Was it also a word in the Romulan vocabulary? I didn’t think so.

"Now you will remove your clothes." She did so. The crowd was abuzz as they slide to the stone patio. In the strong light of the sunset her toned muscles and smooth skin looked all the more mythological. She had to squint slightly into the sun. I hit the record button, audio only. I still had my orders.

"You knew this time would come, didn’t you?" ******* paced around her. "Choose: pain or pleasure."

"Pain."

"Excellent." ******* went over to a kneeling woman, who held out a small whip. Two men shackled the proud creature to the pillar, her backside defiantly offered to the sun. What the hell was going on?

******* considered her with the whip, a cat o’nine tails, actually.

"Once I begin, I will not stop until you ask me to. Is that understood?"

"Yes."

****** pulled away from her. "Yes, what?"

"Yes, Mistress."

"Better."

******* proceeded to flog her mercilessly, brutally. The strokes were hard and precise, the snaps as the cat o’nine tails struck her flesh ringing crisply in my ears. She worked her methodically, sometimes on her buttocks, sometimes on her legs but mainly on her back. The crowd was impressed, silently cheering ******* on. Or was it for the victim? She moaned, she gasped, she cried out, but she never asked ****** to stop. The flogging went on and on, until she was in tears, weeping uncontrollably. And still ****** did not stop. She cried for a while longer, punctuated by sobs, as ******* continued to work her back. Finally, she could cry no more, and just hung there, panting, as the beating continued.

"Please," she whispered.

SNAP! "Please, what?" ******* asked.

"Please, Mistress," she said.

SNAP! "Please, Mistress, what?" ******* replied.

"Please Mistress, stop."

And she did. "Are you through punishing yourself, tcheklii?" ***** whispered into her ear.

"I have... seen my sin," she began to weep again. "I have abandoned duty for sensation. I am tcheklii."

******* swatted her hand hard across her raw back. She cried out. ******* spoke close to her again.

"You are in error. You allowed sensation to corrupt duty once, and for that you were already punished. That is in the past. It is illogical for you to dwell on it. But it is not you who have forsaken duty. It is duty which has forsaken you."

******* struck her back again, hard. "Do you recognize your error?"

She stood there panting. I can’t imagine the pain. "Yes."

******* hit her again. "Yes, what?"

"Yes, Mistress."

"Truly you are kaset tcheklii, because that is what you want to be."

"Yes, Mistress."

"But listen well, kaset tcheklii, that you might, might, become sabisat, if you wish it."

"Yes, Mistress."

She returned the whip to the woman. She returned with a bottle, which she used to apply something to her back.

"But first you must learn control. It was that mistake that put you where you are now."

The men moved a wide bench onto the patio, then covered it with a heavy Persian rug.

"Yes, Mistress." I could only assume it was medicine, since she was no longer crying out.

"But to know control you must know the limits of your own pleasure."

"Yes, Mistress."

The men unshackled her. She turned to face the crowd, her exhaustion apparent, yet her face oddly calm.

"Lie down."

She did so, still stiff from the beating. She gingerly rested her exposed back against the heavy carpet.

"If you do not know the limits of your pleasure they will entrap your wits when you need them most." ******* ran her hand over her body.

"Yes, Mistress."

"Once I begin, I will not stop until you ask me to. Do you understand?"

"Yes, Mistress."

******* began to kiss her. Not on the lips, or her breasts or her pussy, but on her ankles. Then her calves. She moved slowly, carefully, showing the same methodical patience she had demonstrated with the whip. The crowd cheered on once more, louder. She covered every inch of her body except where I expected. After ten minutes she was moaning. After twenty she was writhing in ecstasy. Every time she did so, her raw back slid over the coarse fabric of the carpet, tearing her senses.

It was thirty seven minutes before she kissed her breast. It was an hour before she touched her pussy. As darkness fell torches were brought out to illuminate the tableau. Ninety minutes into this new torture, ******* finally removed her own clothing. The crowd was still there, all of them, and although some of them had hands in places where they shouldn’t be, they refused to let it degenerate into an orgy.

******* let her body retrace the path her lips had gone over an hour before. She positively rushed, working her over in only fifty minutes. The last forty were one continuous orgasm for the Romulan. Finally, ******* straddled her chest and bent over to latch onto her pussy like it was the only thing keeping her alive. Her own pussy was only an inch from the Romulan’s face. Still, as the ecstasy continued, she kept her hands at her sides, the only signs of her struggle the white straining knuckles wrapped in the rug and her earth shattering screams.

After two and a half hours she finally begged for mercy, her voice so hoarse as to be almost unintelligible. ****** rose up, still astride her chest, and patted her on the thigh. The crowd broke out into a thunderous applause. ******* stood up and helped her to feet. The applause became a standing ovation. ******* helped her bow. I’m not sure if it was because of her exhaustion or her unfamiliarity with Earth customs. As the clapping died away, ******* turned to her and kissed her sweetly on the mouth.

"You have been most obedient, my little kaset tcheklii. How may I reward you?"

She gathered her strength and swallowed.

"Let me please you, Mistress."

******** looked deep in her eyes and replied with a passionate kiss. They locked their arms around each other and embraced tightly. As the kiss ended, there was a savagery in the Romulan’s eyes that I’d never seen a human possess. She assaulted ******** neck then dropped to her knees. She wrapped her hands around ******* buttocks and pressed her face ever closer. ******* didn’t hold back this time. It only took a few minutes, but soon she was screaming every bit as loud as her companion had.

At last it was over. The crowd disbursed, the props removed, and the guest of honor returned to her room. She was left alone that night and fell asleep almost as soon as her head hit the pillow.

I made a copy of the recording. I don’t know why.
 
 

Stardate 5176.4

I didn’t think she’d be getting around much the next day, so I stayed in San Francisco. When I got home, Abbie had already left for work. I was exhausted as well, but as I lay down I found myself thinking about the previous night. I pulled out the duplicate recording and held it in my hand. I closed my eyes and thought back to only a few hours earlier, and could see every kiss, hear every sigh.
 
 

I met Abbie at Maitene’s for an early dinner that night. She didn’t have time to change from work, and was still in uniform. We caught up on office gossip and what we had been doing for the last few days. I told her the one about the perpetually tilting cylinder, which made her laugh. It had actually happened, although not to me. I let her carry the conversation, in part because I didn’t have a lot of lies to tell, and in part because I wanted to. I missed her. We both knew the reality of Starfleet was that we would be apart often, perhaps for months or even years. We had been lucky to share the time we did. Every day we had together was a gift, more so given the dangerous nature of my work, which could never be explained or even acknowledged. Why did I have to fall in love with a woman with low clearance?

I held her hand through much of dinner, and she made little circles in my palm. Impulsively, I slid off my shoe and ran my foot along her calf. She looked up at me from her wine but did not tell me to stop. I continued all the rest of the way through our meal until the waiter came for dessert.

I surprised Abbie by asking for a slice of cake for both of us. "Still hungry?"

"Among other things." I slid my foot up to her thigh.

"Tom!" she whispered.

"What?"

"We’re in public."

"I won’t tell if you won’t."

She was amazed. But she didn’t let go of my hand. I moved up to her crotch. Man, I love that uniform.

"Miss me, honey?"

She gave a little gasp, only some of which was shock. "I see you did."

The waiter returned with our desserts. I carefully took a bite and looked right at her. She picked up her fork and scooped up a tiny piece. She stared right back at me and slowly sucked the cake off her fork. I had another bite.

She took her hand away from mine. I pulled my foot away from her panties, but did not put it down. With one hand holding her food, she reached under the table with the other and adjusted her skirt. She grabbed my toe and guided it to her pussy, her panties now slide aside. She was damp through the thin pantyhose. She took another bite. I pushed the balls of my toes against her crotch as she ate. Occasionally she would look about to see if anyone noticed. I kept my eyes on her, and she knew it.

It was the longest dessert I ever had. There wasn’t a crumb left on our plate. As we stumbled out of the restaurant into the night, we took in the air, strong and salty and fresh from the ocean. I felt more alert than on any stakeout. Abbie was wrapped to me. We had gotten about twenty paces to our apartment when I spied the alley. She did not resist as I steered us into it. We found a doorway and set upon one another. We molested each other relentlessly, I with my hands on her ass, her with a hand down my pants. I slide her pantyhose down so that I could enjoy the bare flesh.

"What if somebody sees us?"

"Does it matter?"

In response she slid to her knees, and fished my cock out of my pants. She covered it with kisses, worshipping it, before she took it whole into her mouth. She loved blowjobs, and attacked my dick with vigor. She reached around to squeeze my butt, as she increased her pace.

I had other plans. Reluctantly, I pulled her up, kissing her hard. My sweat was still on her breath. I spun her around, pulling her skirt up from her waist. I fucked her hard, from behind, as she held onto the doorframe for dear life. As her cries grew louder, I placed my hand over her mouth. She screamed into my palm as she came.

Afterwards we just stood there, arm in arm, with me still inside her. I nuzzled her neck, as she relaxed into my grasp.
 
 

Stardate 5177.8

The case was closed. As I suspected, it was not the Commodore’s decision. But he wasn’t fighting it.

"Look at it from their point of view," he said. "According to your report, it would be hard to believe that she would ever want to leave that place."

"Well who wouldn’t. That’s beside the point. You have a high level Romulan officer operating inside an exclusive club that caters to the sexual tastes of the rich and powerful. If that’s not a potential security risk, what is?"

"She’s their sex slave. She no risk to anyone. Hell, some Admiral is probably getting his jollies right now beating the cute Romulan chick."

"What if she doesn’t stay that way? I’ve been reading up on this stuff. Dominants and submissives can switch roles."

The Commodore was in a bind. He had to choose his words carefully. "It’s irrelevant. If the Club were a cover for either espionage or blackmail, it would have been so long before she was recruited. That makes the chances of it being a Romulan operation unlikely. Furthermore, once so ensconced, she would have little chance for contact with her government."

"That means it still might be a cover for espionage or blackmail."

"True. But she cannot answer that question. Our best course of action is to get a list of its members and track their behavior outside of the Club."

"So you want me to go back."

"Yes. To get the full guest list. And only the list."
 
 

Finding the membership rolls took a lot of looking. By now I had narrowed down which parts of the resort were for guests, which were for maintenance and which were administrative. The computer system, once I found it, told me little. The Starfleet Digital Forensics Team could spend a month taking it apart in their lab before they found anything. One field agent with a passive emission tricorder was out of his league.

I eventually found ******* office. It had a com unit, but no computer at all. The Club had an odd attitude towards technology. On the one hand there were the motion sensors, the holoshield and the sonic baffles. On the other hand, the door locks, when there were any, involved either simple deadbolts or mechanical keys. The technology was all about keeping the uninvited out, once you were here it didn’t seem to matter.

I thought more carefully about my surroundings. I turned my attention to a small cabinet. Before I had thought that it might contain sex toys and the like, but those turned up in the desk. The lock was so primitive I almost couldn’t pick it. Inside were several large leather bound ledgers. The membership roll was clearly labeled. Inside were the names, accounts and distinguishing practices of everyone who had ever been a guest in the last forty years, all written by hand, with exquisite penmanship. The entries for the last two years were by someone else, presumably *******.

Out of curiosity, I searched for my former subject. She was in a separate volume for staff. "Displays much promise as a dominant. Must resolve lingering guilt caused by a belief that she has betrayed her people through past acts. Still has difficulty accepting pleasure voluntarily. Critical that strong bonds of love and acceptance be formed to overcome deep sense of isolation." I scanned all of the books and placed them back in the cabinet.

All I had left was to remove the probe. The telemetry cable was intact and I could still receive data. There was a faint light shining from her room.

I should have activated the abort switch and left the probe to decompose. Instead I listened to the gentle moans she made as she was being tongued. I tried to make out the twisted forms being relayed through the fisheye. She was there, of course, and I think ******* as well. There was a third person, a man I think, helping *******. The bed was so far over in the room it was hard to make anything out. I don’t think he was the same one I had seen that first night.

She didn’t sound the same. Before there had always been a kind of raw edge, either of savagery or desperation. This was more relaxed, casual, almost purring. I had heard this sort of noise once before, when I spent a quiet afternoon with Abbie. We had no where to go and nothing to do and I found myself gentling licking her tits for an hour as she played with my hair.

They seemed in no particular hurry, but nor did they seem to be stretching out the moment artificially like the other night. Compared to that, this was a quickie. It was all very relaxed. They were playing.

She was a rag doll beneath their touch. Occasionally they would kiss each other, but mainly it was her. Through the fun house mirror of the fisheye, their bodies warped and merged, forming one great mass of flesh, slowly undulating to the rhythm of her sighs.

He did get to fuck her eventually, taking long slow stokes. ******* seemed like a spirit, able to pass through their bodies at will, first being at her head, then her feet, by him, through him. He was now making small noises of his own, trying to hold back the inevitable. He made a valiant effort, then finally collapsed on top of her. ******* curled up beside the two of them, making one satiated whole.

I don’t know why I had stayed. I had a monster hard on, of course, but no valid excuse for my presence. One of them stirred. I killed the probe and carefully climbed down the tree and worked my way back to the mole.
 
 

As it took me back home, I pulled the out the records I’d made and considered my actions. I held the conclusion of my mission in my hands. It would be up to others to decide what the Club’s real purpose was. My part was over.

I remembered the Commodore’s words. ‘Once so ensconced she would have little chance of contacting her own government.’ So much of the Club was about control. She might not be able to leave, but that didn’t mean that she couldn’t force someone else, like one of the guests, to act for her. How far could news of the Club have spread? Just because they weren’t working for the Romulans didn’t mean that she couldn’t. She would have intimate knowledge of a lot of important people. A plant that elaborate would suit the Tal Shiar’s style, motives within motives. Let your enemy do your bidding then pat themselves on the back for their ingenuity. The more I repeated it to myself the more I could believe it.

When I turned in the list I would also have to turn in all of the special equipment; I’d have no way back inside. Scout’s honor: the greater purpose of the mission was paramount.

I would report nothing until I completed my findings.
 
 

Stardate 5178.7

I used up my second probe to find that she wasn’t in her room. Earlier I had been willing to wait all night for her to return, but I no longer had the time.

I spotted ******* jogging crossing the patio, proceeded by a man and a woman, both on leashes, like dogs out for a walk. They were wearing loose fitting running shorts and crop tops. ******* wore a short white skirt not that different from a Starfleet uniform. They cleared the patio and turned a corner. I trailed them at a discrete distance. My quarry would never be far from *******.

I caught up to them at a carefully groomed garden on the resort’s north side. The fountain and sculpted shrubs had a European feel. Protruding into the garden was a large, open aired room adjoining the compound. Thick columns supported its solid roof, and they climbed the short steps leading inside. The rest of the Club was dark, and the porches dim lights shone out in the surrounding gloom. There was no time to be subtle. I crept up to the railing at its edge and peered in.

The room had little furniture, shackles on the walls and several low cushioned benches scattered about. I didn’t want to think about the huge amoire in the corner. ******* had led the two to a pair of water bowls laid out on the floor. They lapped it up happily, while she took off their leashes and patted their heads. She eased into an impressive throne at the back of the room. I was expecting them to bring her a pipe and slippers when she entered.

My heart stopped. She was in her full officer’s uniform, down to the thigh high boots. There were only two differences; the colors, a rich deep red against black, and the riding crop she held in her right hand. I fumbled to aim my last probe. I shot it into the ceiling.

"How’s the fit, dear?"

"My compliments to your tailor."

"They’re all very motivated."

That done, there was still the question of my place of concealment. The null suit would protect me from those inside, but I was backlit to anyone coming through the garden. I spied a thicket by the fountain and moved towards it, paying out slack on the cable as I went.

It wasn’t easy getting in. Once there, however, I found I had a lot of room as long as I stayed low. It was perfect. Even in daylight only a gardener would be able to spot me. I lay face down and rechecked the probe.

The best feed yet. The angle gave me an unobstructed view of the whole room, with a minimum of distortion. I would be able to see and hear everything.

The ‘puppies’ had settled comfortably to either side of ******, whom stroked the head of the female appreciatively.

******* clapped her hands, and a procession of slaves marched into the room. There were six of them, three men and three women. The men wore only gray baggy trousers, tied at the waist. The women wore full length, short sleeve dresses, made from a clingy gray knit and slit up to the hips on both sides. They formed a line across from the throne, and knelt down, heads bowed.

******* spoke. "We have a new Mistress. She is to be addressed as Sabisat, and you will obey her as you would me."

As ******* spoke, the Romulan walked carefully past each one of them, inspecting them as one would troops before battle.

"Each of you have committed some transgression that requires correction. She will choose the means of correction, and you will accept her choices without hesitation and with appreciation."

"Yes, Mistress," they all chanted.

"Reveal the Instruments of Correction."

Two slaves quickly padded over to the amoire. They opened the doors together. Inside was an astonishing array of whips, clamps, gags, blindfolds, feathers and dildos, as well as more tackle than I had ever seen outside of a stable. At the sight of the terrible equipment, the two puppies became visibly excited. ******* quieted them as the two slaves quickly padded back to their positions.

The Romulan considered her subjects, tapping the riding crop in her hand. She selected a petite blonde.

"You. Explain your error."

The blonde came to her feet, then bowed nervously. "Yes, Sabisat. I engaged in oral sex with a slave outside of authorized supervision."

She placed the tip of the riding crop under the blonde’s chin. Her breasts, though not large, were round, firm, and alert.

"You enjoyed it?"

She held her head lower. "Yes, Sabisat"

"You are ashamed." She walked around the blonde, keeping the riding crop pointed at her chin.

"Yes, Sabisat."

Crack! She snapped the crop across her ass. She jerked her head up.

"Idiot! You’re suppose to enjoy it!"

"Yes, Sabisat."

"You’re error is engaging in sexual acts without permission."

"Yes, Sabisat."

"You’re nervous."

She looked down again.

Crack! She used a backhanded stroke, but I bet it still stung like hell.

"Answer me. Are you nervous?"

"Yes, Sabisat."

"I’m not here to punish you. I’m here to correct you. You are not allowed to engage in unauthorized sex because you lack control. You broke that rule because your desire exceeded your will." She was a career officer, she knew how to address subordinates. Still, this had the feel of a litany.

"Yes, Sabisat."

"The solution is logical, the desire must be drained," she said. "You will satisfy orally everyone in this room."

She pointed at the man at Barrows feet. "Start with him."

"Yes, Sabisat."

The blonde quietly moved to the puppy and knelt down. With trembling hands, she pulled down his shorts, revealing a massive erection. She wrapped her hand around his shaft, licked the tip tentatively, then began to blow him in earnest. She looked adorable. My dick started to complain about the way it was folded into my pants. I tried to ignore it. When she was satisfied with blonde’s vigor and determination, she turned her attention back to the others. She pointed her crop at one of the men.

"You. Speak."

He stood at attention. "Yes, Sabisat. I have been repeatedly late for my duties, Sabisat."

"You must learn to associate obedience with pleasure."

"Yes, Sabisat."

"But it would be irresponsible to reward you for the most basic of requirements."

She snapped her fingers. The two men to either side of him rose and took him by the arms.

"Your actions leave no alternative but make you associate disobedience with pain."

One of the female slaves retrieved a short whip from the amoire. She took it, handing the slave her crop. The two men turned the slave around, extending his arms all the way out, then twisting them, forcing the slave to bend over.

She ripped his pants down to his ankles. "How many transgressions have you made?"

"Seven, Sabisat."

She whipped him fifty four times, eight per offense. For no reason I remembered that the number eight was considered lucky by the Romulans. Towards the end, he strained against the lash, pinned by the two slaves who held him tighter than a vise. She had a crisp swing, methodical. Her expression was neutral, almost distant. She could just as easily be writing a notation on his permanent record.

She handed the whip back to the woman kneeling beside her. The slave was released, and dropped to his knees, struggling to pull his pants back on. She had already forgotten that he was there.

The blonde was sucking the puppy for all he had. ******* was watching their progress. The Romulan barely noticed. She waited for the slaves to resume their positions. Finally she turned her attention to a brunette. I had seen her before, that first night. It was Sylvia.

"You."

She stood. "Yes, Sabisat. I talked back to a master."

She pointed to the chains on the wall. The slave who had just been beaten took her over to be shackled, her face to the wall.

With a grunt, the puppy came, shooting semen all over the blonde’s hand. She licked up every drop. Exhausted, she looked up at her mistress.

She stood, arms akimbo, and took a half step to a parade rest. The blonde immediately understood, and crawled over to her. Placing a hand on each thigh, she slid her hands under the hem of the uniform and pushed up the skirt. Of course, she had no underwear. The blonde seemed genuinely frightened to even taste her, but gathering her resolve, she began to softly lick her pussy. She grabbed the blonde’s hair and pushed her face against her crotch. As the blonde’s head began to bob and twist, you could see that she was once again increasing her effort and her interest.

Sylvia’s dress was torn away from her, exposing a luscious bottom and a smooth, well toned back. The Romulan was handed a long whip, which she uncoiled slowly to the ground. She was no longer holding onto the blonde, whose own hands were now dug firmly into the dominatrix’s ass, as she licked deeper, harder.

The whip extended to its full length with a load crack. The next swing struck the wall beside the slave, chipping the plaster.

For a moment, she just stood there, the blonde at her feet, the whip in her hand and her mind a million miles away. Finally she began coiling the whip back up.

"Out! All of you out!"

The slaves hesitated, and finally dropped to their knees in confusion. She turned her back on the blonde, who fought to stay with her, consumed with hunger. One look at the terrible sight of her eyes, and she scurried back to the others.

******* came down from her throne. "Is there a problem?"

"This is a pointless charade. An empty ritual."

******* concern was apparent. "Leave us." She looked over at her puppies. "You too, pets."

Sylvia was quickly released, and they hurried out, not even stopping to close the amoire. ******* turned her attention back to the sullen figure.

"Showing weakness in front of a slave is a mistress’ only transgression."

She threw the whip to ******* feet. "Punish me."

"What purpose would that serve? One cannot be forced to dominate."

She smiled to herself. "This is not control, this is a game, in which the pawns always rule. I am more of a puppet than they."

"In some ways, yes. The mark of a true dominant is the ability to read the needs of the submissive and find unexpected ways to gratify them."

"That is not power. That is analysis. I am a technician."

"There is power. Their pleasure is in your hands, to satisfy or deny. And they must always know that."

******* picked up the whip and returned it to the amoire.

"I see that I have given you too much too early. I overestimated the insight that your previous career provided. I must simplify." She clapped her hands.

A woman entered. She was a redhead, with the most amazing body I’d ever seen. Her breasts were full without being ridiculous, she had a face covered with the cutest freckles, and an ass that just wouldn’t stop. She wore the same dress as the others, which accentuated every curve.

"Let’s start with the basics," ******* continued. "She has no transgression to report, no special requirements. I will tell you nothing of her tastes or desires. She is simply yours, to satisfy you or not as you please. Her gratification is also entirely in your hands, to grant or deny as you wish.

"Command her."

She gazed at her prize from the corner of her eye.

"Why."

"Because it is what you want."

"And what if I want her to leave?"

"Then she will do so. You will have proven that you do not need her. But you will not know if you can truly command her."

She looked at the slave again. My rapidly growing hard on anticipated her response.

"Present yourself."

The slave eased the dress off her shoulders, and let it slide to the floor. Her pale skin set off the curves of her body even better than the dress had. She kept her hands at her side, and her head up, focusing on nothing.

"Whom do you belong to?"

Her voice was like honey. "I belong to you, Sabisat."

She paced around her, considering her.

"Do you deserve me?"

"I do not know, Sabisat."

"Do you believe you deserve better?"

"No, Sabisat. I belong to you. I will know when you tell me."

She would not touch the slave. But it was an effort.

"Your body is mine."

"Yes, Sabisat."

"Your pleasure is mine. To grant or deny as I chose."

"Yes, Sabisat."

"You will not come until I so order it." That was a command.

"Yes, Sabisat."

She stood before her.

"You are beautiful."

"Yes, Sabisat."

"Appreciate your beauty."

The redhead moved her hands slowly up her own body. She ran them over abdomen, across her neck. She felt both breasts in her hands, and ran her fingers over her nipples. They were quickly erect.

She continued on, over her ass, through her hair, over her face. She touched her pussy, sliding a finger over her clit without penetrating herself. She let out a slight moan.

"You are not to come until I order it."

"Yes, Sabisat," she said with a sigh. Her hands moved on, exploring her body, often settling back on her breasts or her pussy. She began breathing harder.

I couldn’t stand the pain in my dick any longer. I had sat down while it was pointed the wrong way, and now it was aching in its attempt to straighten out. I threw off one glove, reached into my pants and corrected the situation. I turned my attention back to the room.

******* sat on one of the benches, her legs spread apart. "I think she’s ready."

Her owner went up to the slave’s ear. "Are you wet?" she whispered.

She moved back away from the redhead. The slave reached down, and with a moan, slipped her hand inside. She then held out her glistening fingers.

"All of your pleasure belongs to me."

"Yes, Sabisat."

"Down."

The redhead dropped to her hands and knees. Her breasts swayed slightly as she tried to hold still. Even this was a sensuous experience for her.

******* clapped her hands again. A man, well muscled and tanned, entered and bowed before them.

"Fuck her."

Without further ceremony, the man removed his pants, revealing a large, thick cock, which he promptly buried to the hilt inside the slave. She let out a yell, as he filled her to the core. He fucked her hard and deep, but with style, varying the strokes. The redhead panted with every thrust.

"Remember, you must not come until I tell you."

"Yes, Sabisat," she hissed through clenched teeth. Damn, he was good, and she was loving every minute of it. Without realizing it, I reached back down to adjust my dick, even though it was no longer bent out of shape. My hand lingered only a moment before I pulled it away.

He kept at it, hammering her hard. She was starting to have trouble holding on. Her arms collapsed, and she dropped to her elbows. The moaning became a panting, and then a grunting.

She realized the slave was close. She touched the man on the shoulder, and with the slightest effort, pushed him away. As he pulled out of the slave, she sucked in her breath even more.

She pointed towards *******. "Fuck her instead."

For some reason I had always assumed that ******* was a lesbian. After all, I had never actually seen her take a man. She did now, and enthusiastically. She lay back on the bench, and wrapped her legs around his waist, her dress bundled up by her breasts. He fucked her just as hard as he had the slave.

The redhead was trying to regain her breath. She grabbed the slave’s hair and turned her head to the two on the bench.

"Your pleasure is mine. To grant or deny. Watch."

****** put her arms around him and pulled him to her. They kissed passionately. He responded by fucking her even harder than before. I twitched in my hideout, my dick sliding across the inside of my pants, aching for relief.

The man was having trouble too. ******* was bucking into him stroke for stroke. He started to strain.

"You may not come inside her."

He pulled away from ******* grasp and focused on the finale. It didn’t take long, and with a shout, he shot his load all over ******* abdomen and beyond, all the way to her tits.

"He’s gone now. He can no longer satisfy your hunger. I’ve taken that from you."

She went to them on the bench, and delicately ran her fingers through the cum. She held it to the slave’s lips.

"Taste it."

She licked it all off, sucking her fingers clean.

By now I was squirming involuntarily, sliding my crotch in the dirt. My dick was raw from the friction, but I could not lie still. She left the slave for a moment as she went to the amoire. She returned and knelt now behind the slave, and took her into her arms. She fitted tiny clamps onto each nipple, making the redhead wince. She slid her hands down the slaves body, caressing it. Without wanting to, she smelled the slave’s hair.

"Your desires are irrelevant. My actions are irrelevant. Your body is mine, your pleasure is mine, and you will only do that which I ask of it."

"Yes, Sabisat."

With one hand still on the clamps, she started to finger fuck the slave. At first it was only one, but soon she had three fingers inside her, pumping her pussy and running over her clit. The intensity would build, and every time it looked like the redhead would go, she would twist one of the clamps. The slave would cry out, then bite down on her lip and start over. She was soaking wet, dripping off her legs, off the hand inside her.

I couldn’t take it anymore. I slid up onto my side, unhooked my suit, and got to work.

The male slave had cleaned up ******* and gone to the amoire. He returned with a leather harness. The slave’s torment stopped, as she carefully fitted it around her waist under her uniform. I gasped as I glimpsed the thong sliding between her cheeks just before the skirt dropped back down.

"Look." She commanded as the man handed her a large dildo. The slave watched as she fitted it to the harness. It was as thick as his dick and twice as long. She made the first moan I heard all night as she slowly fed it into her pussy. She paused for a moment to feel its weight before she went back to the slave.

She placed one hand on the redhead’s shoulders as she held out the dildo in the other.

"Only I can give you that pleasure now." She traced the tip across her face. The slave’s fingers strained away from her body, fearing that they might act on their own. She moved it over her lips, and she opened her mouth slightly to receive it.

She left the slave and went to stand by *******.

"Your pleasure is mine to grant, or deny," she said. "The choice is mine to make. And I choose to deny it."

She touched the dildo again, and to my amazement, it telescoped into her pussy. She slid her uniform back down. You couldn’t even tell she was wearing it.

She sat on a bench next to *******. Her composure was perfect. "That is power."

******* looked stunned. "I can’t argue with that." She blinked a few times. "I need a drink."

"I agree. Serve us."

The man stood aside, as the redhead gathered herself together, got dressed, and left. A few minutes later she returned and kneeled before them with a tray bearing two glasses of wine. She managed to offer the drinks with only the slightest tremor in her hands.

******* sipped it delicately, savoring the taste. "A most impressive demonstration. Not that I’d want to do that every day. After a while, it would just seem like needless cruelty."

"That’s not the point." She took a sip of her own.

"True enough. Well, does she deserve you?"

She took another sip. "She has... possibilities."

She stared directly at the slave.

"Come."

Her screams were loud and immediate. They quickly grew in intensity until I thought she would break the probe. She beat her fists on the ground and shook uncontrollably. When she was finally finished, she lay in a heap on the floor.

"A most impressive demonstration," ******* said, finishing her drink. "By both of you."

"She’s a magnificent creature."

"Oh, yes. You may leave now."

The man took away the glasses, then gathered the slave up in his arms and helped her from the room. ******* got up to go as well. "You are truly Sabisat."

******* was halfway to the door when she tackled her. They struggled, but she had the superior strength of a Romulan.

"What is the meaning of this?" ******* insisted.

"I am Sabisat. I own you." She threw ******* against the wall. She mashed up against her, kissing her deeply.

******* responded to her lips, even as she tried to pull away. "I am Mistress here."

She grabbed ******* and turned her around, pinning her arm. "Every Mistress must be a slave to another, do you deny it?"

"Damn your logic!" ******* was panting in ecstasy now.

With one hand, she twisted ******* arm until she bet over. With the other she lifted the dress and spanked her round ass.

With every smack ******* moaned louder. Soon it was a bright red. She finally stopped, and pushed ******* face first towards the wall.

"Your pleasure is mine to grant or to deny." She reached under her uniform and slide the dildo back out to its earlier length.

"Yours... all yours..." ******* moaned.

She felt ******* soaping wet pussy. "Mine to satisfy."

"Please... please..."

"Please, what?"

"Please..., Sabisat..."

"No."

With that she shoved the whole length up her ass. She fucked her mercilessly. ******* held onto the wall for support, just like Abbie had done before, her short dress barely clearing her ass, just like Abbie. The strokes got harder and harder.

I could not stop my hands. I pumped my dick in time to her thrusts.

******* urged her on. "Fuck me! Fuck my ass! Fuck it harder! Harder!"

She swatted ******* ass. "Silence!"

******* ignored her. "Harder! Harder, Sabisat! Please! Fuck me!"

They came together, even as they continued. I wasn’t far behind. Finally, the pace slowed, until they were gently rocking arm in arm. Then, they just held each other.

She pulled out, and dropped the dildo to the ground. ******* kissed her. "You are so going to be punished."

She kissed ******* back. "I look forward to it."

******* gave her a stern look. "Look forward to it, what?"

She bowed. "I look forward to it, Mistress."

They kissed again, and left, arm in arm.
 
 

Stardate 5173.5

I didn’t know what to do next. I had the mole, and the null suit, but no more probes. If something didn’t turn up in the next few days, I wouldn’t have them much longer either. I was no closer to answering my question then I had before, and I was no longer sure that I ever really cared.

I missed Abbie. We didn’t even see each other when I came back last night. All I wanted to do was fuck her brains out, which didn’t seem right, given the circumstances. I wouldn’t be able to stay away from her in that apartment. If she said yes I’d feel guilty, if she said no she’d be angry. I just stayed out, and walked around the Bay until after dawn.
 
 

I slept until the afternoon. I was awaken by a knock at the door. I threw on some clothes and stumbled to answer it. Words cannot describe the combination of shock, horror and fear when I saw who it was. I don’t know how she found me, but it could only be bad.

She was dressed normally, almost conservatively, completely different from the sort of things I had been seeing her in recently. Still too stylish for a Vulcan.

"Your trips will cease," she said.

"Ma’am?" It was all I could manage.

She walked directly to the viewer in my apartment and inserted a file. It was me, in the bushes, jacking off. The most embarrassing part was when I was trying to wipe off my hand afterwards. How many times had ******* run those two around the patio before I followed them?

She switched it off. "Am I clear?"

She was. I nodded and let her leave. I closed the door and collapsed onto the sofa.
 
 

The call came an hour later. If I had been thinking, I would have expected it. She would have set off every alarm Intelligence had when she entered San Francisco.

I had a lot of explaining to do. I tried the truth, all of it. There was no way to be sure what else was known. The Commodore found my theory of a Tal Shiar plant, ‘the most ridiculous thing he’d ever heard of.’ In the cold light of day, it had a lot of gaps. I turned in the membership logs, wondering how authentic they really were. They revoked my clearance, and informed me that a board of inquiry would be formed. I was surprised that they let me leave at all.
 
 

I got home late. Abbie was waiting for me, the recording playing in the background. Somebody had mailed an extra copy of it to her at work. She left me after that, but she had the kindness of heart to hear my side first.

There was a note written on my copy, in that same precise handwriting I had seen on the last page of the ledger.

"One may embrace desire when forsaken by duty, but one cannot forsake duty for desire."

I went to bed and tried to sleep.
 
 

Chief of Security’s Personal Log:

The Talaxian has erased the recording he made without viewing it. I shall continue to monitor for signs of additional tampering, but I believe the matter is past.

The next day, he had several questions.

"What happened to Manning?"

"He was transferred to the preservation and reclamation team at the Federation Boneyard at Kareb VI."

"Ouch. I must say, it’s certainly one of the more unusual morality play I’ve ever read... It’s awfully... explicit, isn’t it? Especially for such an official document."

"Part of its purpose is to place the reader in the subject’s emotional state of mind, to better recognize the feelings that would be associated with such a situation. The more explicit the material, the more likely the reader is to empathize with his predicament."

"How did you empathize with him?"

"In that regard the document was a failure, since that is not a stimuli that I would be capable of responding to."

"I see... Still, I bet it was pretty popular around the Academy."

"Indeed. But that would no doubt be the subject of another lesson."

Mr. Neelix turned to leave.

"One more thing. There was this name, a woman’s. It was deleted throughout the story. Why?"

"At the time it was written, her identity was classified. As of Voyager’s departure, it remained so."
 
 

It was not long after he left that the hologram contacted me.

"Thank you for taking care of it, Tuvok. He’s just lucky my Kathryn was late arriving."

"It was well within my duties. Risks and Consequences of Psychological Compromise Through Stimulation While Engaged in Deep Surveillance: A Case History rarely fails to correct the problem."

"Ah, yes, the Manning File. I’ve always said that Starfleet should publish it. It’d be an instant bestseller."

"No doubt you would insist on royalties."

"Aren’t you going to say thanks?"

"Why should a hologram need praise?"

"You’re hopeless. Next time this happens, I won’t tell you at all."

"Why were you monitoring her quarters?"

"I’m the Mistress. It’s my right."

"That is the same sort of spurious logic Manning used."

"Not entirely. He was in a world to which he had not been invited. Lt. Torres and Seven have willingly come to me. Their pleasure is mine."

"The Captain might disagree."

"Well, yes. But I own her, so by extension, what’s hers is mine."

This line of discussion could not be answered satisfactorily at this time.

"I am curious, If you contain all of the memories of Tonia Barrows, you may be able to answer my own question."

"Shoot."

"Records for Manning stop after he reached Kareb VI. Do you know what happened to him after that?"

"I hired him. Anybody who could crack our security deserved a job. Of course, I waited until after he’d used a spraylat gun for a few years."

A most curious program of an even more curious individual. Complete understanding of human behavior may always be beyond my grasp.

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