By DebbieB

"Admiral, this isn't going to work."

Admiral Janelle Thomas breathed deeply and looked across the conference table at Bahcah, her lips curling back in a cross between a smile and a snarl. "It is going to work, Bahcah. You're going to make it work, and you aren't going to give me any trouble."

Bahcah leaned back in the plush chair, pushing the brown waves from his shoulders as he stretched into a defiant yawn. "Sure thing, Beautiful." He wiped his hand through the stubble on his chin, folding his arms casually across his chest.

Thomas leaned onto the table. Fierce green eyes gleamed against brown skin, years of authority more than a match for this upstart young so-and-so. "Bahcah, don't start getting smug. This mission is too important for you to go off on one of your tangents." She warded off Bahcah's lazy look of protest with a quick wave of her hand. "I suggest you give Captain Picard the benefit of that legendary charm you so often brag about. He's the only chance we have left of regaining that propulsion unit, and I don't want you screwing it up."

"You know," Bahcah said, pulling himself out of the slouch and easing onto his elbow to gaze deeply into the hard green eyes. "You're sexy when you're officious."

Thomas stifled a sigh and shook her head. "You play nice with the good captain, Bahcah, and I might even give you the comm number of that brunette you had such rotten luck with on Starbase 42." At Bahcah's lifted eyebrows, she smiled. "Steady, Cowboy. First the propulsion unit, then the brunette."

The door to the conference room opened with a pneumatic swish, and Captain Jean-Luc Picard entered, flanked by Commander Riker and Counselor Deanna Troi. "Admiral Thomas," Picard said with his smoothly accented voice. "Welcome aboard. I apologize for not greeting you upon your arrival, but I was unavoidably detained." He turned to the man accompanying him. "My first officer, William Riker, and my ship's counselor, Lieutenant Deanna Troi."

Thomas smiled at each of the officers. "Sit down," she motioned to the other chairs circling the table. "I am Admiral Janelle Thomas, and this is Riley Bahcah, my associate." Bahcah nodded curtly to Picard and Riker, but allowed his gaze to linger a moment too long on the young woman. Thomas glared at him, and he withdrew from his scrutiny long enough to give her a quick sneer.

Thomas continued. "I'm sorry to pull you from your mapping mission, Captain--"

"I assure you, Admiral," Riker said with a grin. "It was a distraction more than welcome to the crew."

The admiral nodded, all frivolity removed from her coal features. "We need your help."

Picard's eyebrows rose slightly. "My help, Admiral?"

"Mr. Bahcah can explain it to you." Thomas turned to Bahcah.

The young man leaned onto one elbow, a mixture of boredom and annoyance covering his handsome features. "Have you heard of Seth Lassiter, Captain Picard?"

"Of course," Picard murmured. "One of the most brilliant engineers of our time, inventor of the--"

"Ultra-warp drive, yes, Captain," Bahcah interrupted. "Genius, philanthropist, and psycho, all rolled into one."

"Psycho?" Counselor Troi repeated.

Bahcah turned a sly smile to her, his grin almost as much invitation as amusement. "Psycho-bunny, lunatic, goofball. Although I'm sure you could come up with much fancier psychobabble terms for it, Counselor."

The woman pulled back as if struck, her dark eyes scanning Bahcah from top to bottom. She made eye contact with Picard, then leaned back expectantly in her chair with her arms folded across her chest.

"Anyway, Lassiter has come up with a new propulsion system which allegedly works on noise."

"Noise?" Riker asked.

"Interstellar noise, Commander," Thomas explained. "Accessible, limitless, and absolutely free."

"That's preposterous," Riker mumbled, more to himself than the others.

"So was the wheel, Commander," Bahcah said sharply. "Lassiter worked for years on this contraption of his. He finished one prototype, which he had planned to present to the Federation Science Commission next month."

"What happened?" Troi murmured.

"The prototype disappeared. The underground yak is that it was stolen by one Pdarkin Lall, an unsavory type from one of the border worlds. Lall has put it on the wires that he's willing to sell."

"Surely you don't mean to ransom this prototype," Picard said.

"Lassiter didn't leave us much choice. Like I said, he's brilliant but whacko. Advanced paranoia, compulsive behavior, all the pretty little terms you can imagine, Counselor Troi. He kept all of his notes in the one place he knew no one would be able to find them."

"Where?" Picard prompted.

"In his head." Bahcah said. "Which would be fine except for one thing."

"What?"

"Crazy bastard dropped dead on us last week."

"That would put a snag in the proceedings. So, with only one prototype available, Lassiter died taking all of the backups with him." Picard turned to Thomas expectantly. "Where do we enter the picture?"

"Normally in a situation like this, we would merely send in an operative under an assumed name, bid on the property, and buy it back."

"Buy back stolen merchandise which already belonged to the Federation?"

Admiral Thomas smiled slowly. "It didn't necessarily belong to the Federation, Counselor Troi. Although he has done much work for us in the past, it was Lassiter who owned the prototype, not us. He was not on commission by the Federation. Legally, the prototype belongs to his estate. However, Pdarkin Lall doesn't really pay much attention to the fine print." Thomas nodded back to Bahcah.

"Lall has made no secret of the fact that he possesses the prototype and is willing to sell. It's easier to buy it back than to try to steal it back. Lall's network is much more extensive than you would think."

"I still don't see where the Enterprise fits into this scenario."

Thomas sighed. "Lall is somewhat eccentric himself. Computer, run Lall-1." A holographic image of a dirty-looking Freeman in a red silk shirt materialized above the conference table. "Pdarkin Lall, ladies and gentleman. Dealer of drugs, slaves, and the occasional stolen bauble. And the current owner of the Lassiter propulsion drive prototype."

"Nice looking fellow," Riker muttered.

"He'd cut off your beard with a machete and use it for a napkin." Bahcah said casually.

"As I was saying," Thomas interrupted with a pointed glare at Bahcah. "Lall has let it out onto the waves that he has the prototype, but he refuses to deal with anyone but "Wild Bill" McCaffrey in the negotiations. Since McCaffrey has been known to represent, however covertly, the Federation, we can only assume Lall wants it back in our hands."

"How generous of him."

"Pdarkin knows where his bread is buttered, Commander. If it weren't for the Federation and the order it represents, everybody would be in the black market business. Pdarkin wouldn't want to see the market diluted by an influx of new competition."

"Mr. Lall sounds like a very shrewd businessman," Counselor Troi said quietly.

"You bet your pretty white dress, Doll. Trouble is, Wild Bill had the nerve to die on us, too."

Riker leaned stiffly onto his hands, elbows spreading to form a pyramid beneath his chin. "That's a lot of people dying, isn't it?"

"Not where I come from," Bahcah said. "These are not highly trained, political negotiators, Commander. These are people who pick their teeth in public and schedule gang-bangs for the feature entertainment."

"The bottom line, Captain Picard, is that we need you to be Wild Bill McCaffrey."

Three pairs of eyes locked on to Admiral Janelle Thomas, varying degrees of shock and disbelief culminating in the eyes of the flabbergasted Picard. "Excuse me?" he said very softly.

"I told you it wasn't going to work."

"Shut up, Bahcah." Thomas turned her attention back to Picard. "I know this sounds extreme. Lall is being pursued by...well, let's just say that there are certain persons interested in the Lassiter unit that we'd prefer not to see get it."

"Such as the Romulans?"

"Not just enemy races, Commander Riker. There are several planets within the Federation that would love to get control of that kind of power. You'd be amazed at how quickly the unity of allies is destroyed when one gains a significant technological advantage." Thomas shook her head. "No, the safest place for that unit is in the hands of the Federation Council. McCaffrey has done work for us in the past. We can get you as much background--"

"But if news travels so fast in the underworld," Troi inserted. "Wouldn't they know McCaffrey was dead?"

"Not necessarily." Thomas exchanged glances with Bahcah. "You see, McCaffrey died while in our custody. We believe we were able to keep it off the net."

"But surely there must be someone in your organization more highly trained than--"

"Don't work your ego into a snit, Picard," Bahcah drawled. "There are at least two dozen operatives more qualified to do this, but they aren't here."

"The fact is, Captain, that you bear a passing resemblance to McCaffrey. You have the intelligence and courage to do it."

"Lall's made it pretty clear he wants that prototype out of his hands ASAP. And you're the only person within two weeks travel who has the security clearance to do it."

Picard eyed Bahcah carefully. "And what about you, Mr. Bahcah?"

The young man's face curled into a smile. "Well, since you asked-"

"Mr. Bahcah is unacceptable for this mission, Captain."

"Why?"

Bahcah grinned. "Well, you can use prosthetics for a lot of things, but it would be pretty difficult to make me three inches shorter and bald."

Picard hesitated for one brief, tense moment, then decided to ignore it, turning back to Thomas instead. "What would I have to do?"

Picard studied himself in the mirror. The glittering silver eyepatch gave him an air of mystery. He ran one finger down the deep gash which cut a path from his left eye to his jaw. Wild Bill McCaffrey. Dangerous. Unscrupulous. Darkly handsome.

And short. Picard tugged on his vest, turning from the image in the mirror to Counselor Troi, Admiral Thomas and Bahcah. "How do I look?" he asked.

Troi allowed a flicker of amusement to dart across her features. "I wish my mother could see this."

"Counselor..."

"You look the part," Thomas said firmly. "Have you studied the background information?"

"Yes. It was fascinating. I had no idea such persons still existed."

Bahcah leaned against the wall on one elbow, crossing his booted feet casually. "Yeah. And McCaffrey was one of the good guys. Sure you don't want to back out?"

"We arrive at Motherlode in twelve hours, Mr. Bahcah," Picard said. "By that time, I assure you, I will be completely immersed in the character."

"Then everything's set."

"Except for one small thing, Admiral." Bahcah had a look of smug amusement on his rugged face.

"One thing?"

"You forgot Talla."

The admiral's eyebrows rose into her hairline. "Talla," she repeated in a low monotone.

"What's Talla?" Troi asked.

"Who," Picard corrected. "According to the records, McCaffrey kept a pet Orion slave girl." His eyes met Thomas' in concern. "She went with him everywhere."

"If you don't show up on Motherlode sporting a green lovely on a leash," Bahcah snorted. "Ain't nobody gonna believe you're Wild Bill."

"But where are you going to find an--" Troi began. As all eyes turned to her, she shook her head vigorously. "Oh, I don't--"

Bahcah leered at her. "You do kind of resemble her, Deanna." His eyes raked down her until they rested on the exposed cleavage. "Some places more than others."

Picard turned her to face him. "Counselor, your empathic powers would be quite useful to me on this mission. It would be quite beneficial to know who's telling the truth and who's lying."

"They'll all be lying, Picard. But maybe she can warn you when someone tries to put a knife in your back."

Troi's eyes widened. Picard lay a prosthetically-scarred hand on her shoulder. "Counselor, if you don't want to do it, I understand completely. I will not ask you to put yourself in danger unless--"

Troi took one look at Bahcah's overconfident face. She lifted her head and smiled haughtily at Picard. "I would be happy to accompany you, Captain."

Bahcah laughed. "You're going to look fabulous in green, Beautiful."

Deanna Troi stood in front of the mirror in her cabin, wishing she'd had the sense to keep her mouth shut. Taking a careful appraisal of her appearance, she truly questioned the wisdom of her decision to be part of this mission. Blatant extroversion was not her specialty; the Troi family already had more than its share of ostentatious women.

The pigment supplements Beverly Crusher had given her were already taking effect. Her skin showed a lush green beneath the carefully-arranged skins she wore. The bottoms of her feet and hands tinted pale green when examined, even the spot on her neck under the leather collar had lost its rosy appearance.

Troi undulated experimentally, pasting a provocative pout on her green lips. It didn't work. Acting was not her forte; she still looked like Deanna Troi, not a green-skinned temptress able to bring kings and con men to their knees with a come-hither look.

"Deanna, I--" Crusher came in from the bathroom, halting abruptly as she saw the woman's attire. "Wow."

"I look stupid."

Crusher examined Troi's skin with curiosity. "These worked wonderfully. Have you taken the pheromone supplements?"

"Yes," Troi muttered, looking down at her sandaled feet. "Beverly, I don't know if I can pull this off."

"Trust me. You can pull this off."

"Feigned emotions are very difficult for me," Troi admitted. "Orion women are supposed to be in a constant state of arousal. How am I supposed to concentrate on reading the emotions of others when I have to concentrate on being aroused?"

Crusher smiled, nodding toward Troi's exotic appearance. "Deanna, I promise, with that outfit and your empathic powers, you won't have to concentrate on being aroused. You're going to be bombarded by the lust of every heterosexual man on that planet."

"Well, that calms my nerves," Troi said without inflection.

The doctor smiled knowingly, every one of her amateur director nerves springing to action. "You've just got a little stage fright; you're trying too hard. Just think about the most erotic situation you can. Don't hold it back; allow it to take control of your imagination. Then hold on to it. Let it show on your face, in your eyes. You can't imagine how easy it will be to get into character." She smiled at Troi's doubtful look. "Just let the costume and the audience's imaginations do the work. You'll be fine."

"Well, thank you, Lee Strasberg. And where will you be when I'm undulating and writhing for a crowd of lust-crazed miners?"

Crusher smiled broadly. "Considering a color change," she grinned, pointing to Troi's green skin. "Once you go down the corridors of the Enterprise in that get-up, no one will even look at us poor human women." She left the cabin, leaving Troi to study herself carefully in the mirror. There was no doubt in the Betazoid woman's mind that men found her desirable. As Deanna Troi, she knew she could attract a man. But as an Orion slave girl, she was treading in unfamiliar waters. Betazoid women were hardly the stereotypical dominated females. She tried to paste a look of seductive submissiveness on her face, but failed.

"All right, Deanna," she scolded herself. "This isn't so hard. Role-playing. Psych 101. Come on." She shook herself, then tried to imagine herself alone with her `master.' "Think erotic," she reminded herself. The image of William Riker immediately popped into her mind. Yes, William Riker, decked out in pirate clothes, lean form-fitting black trousers, boots laced tight against the curves of his calves, a sapphire silk shirt worn beneath a soft suede vest, and a glittering gold loop dangling from his earlobe.

Troi touched the collar which fit snugly at the base of her neck as she thought of him smiling at her, that patented William T. Riker rogue smile. God, he was irresistible when he smiled like that! She fingered the metal ring in the center, imagining a delicate chain attached to it. Riker tugged twice on the chain, and she dropped to her knees at the familiar command. His big hand wrapped itself into her raven curls, urging her toward him.

Obediently, she loosened the ties of his trousers, reaching in to feel his hardness. Brown eyes searched upwards, reveling in the pleasure on his face. He towered above her, a hint of impatience creeping into his sparkling blue eyes.

She needed no more instruction. Displeasing her master would never cross her mind. She desired him too much; his pleasure was hers. She tugged gently at his trousers, allowing the fully hard organ to spring free of the fabric. A lascivious smile spread across her full lips as she lowered them to lightly brush the tip of the head.

Riker gasped as her warm lips made contact with his searing flesh. The slave girl teased him, flicking her tongue over the smooth skin, tempting more than satisfying, sending electric shocks of pleasure through him. He locked his hands in her hair, a little more forceful.

She could sense his desire, the tightness of his stance, the firm pull of his hands, the bucking of his powerful thighs. Her empathic powers crackled and hissed almost to the point of overload. The force of it was burning through her. She took his cock in her mouth, her own satisfaction at his taste and texture mingling with the near-relief she sensed from him. She could feel the excitement gathering in her epicenter. She swallowed him with vigor, allowing the tip to brush the back of her throat before slowly sliding her lips over the long shaft to release him.

She struggled to keep his desire and hers separate, but to no avail. Their empathic bond was too strong. As her head bobbed back and forth against his pelvis, she sensed they were no longer two persons. Master and slave, lover and loved, they had become one. Individuality was lost as she brought him nearer and nearer to the brink.

She was surprised when he pulled her from him, his grip on her hair near painful. She looked up at him. His cerulean eyes clouded with desire as he...

Troi's fantasy wavered with the harsh buzz of her cabin door. Still gazing into the mirror, she pulled her vision quickly into focus, noticing the glazed look of her eyes and the thin sheen of perspiration on her emerald skin. "Come in," she whispered, her own accented voice hoarse against her too-sensitive ears. Her eyes still locked on the woman in the glass, she barely noticed Picard entering the cabin.

"Counselor, I see you're..."

She turned to him slowly, the feline gesture of one reluctant to abandon her own reflection. Picard's words choked off and the full extent of his reaction hit Troi's mental barriers like a battering ram. She allowed only the barest of smiles as Picard struggled for composure.

"Talla," he whispered.

Trailing one finger to the collar around her neck, she glided casually to his side. His emotions were tinged with embarrassment. She allowed the strength of them to filter through her mind, caressing and amplifying her thoughts. As Picard silently clicked the delicate chain he held to her collar with a shaking hand, Deanna Troi was no longer acting. She'd become the role.

"Barkeep," Wild Bill McCaffrey growled cross the counter, "Aldarian rum. Straight." He tugged on the chain wrapped around his wrist, and Talla slithered up to his side, obedient as always. She slid her fingers up his arm, insinuating herself into his embrace, pressing her lips against his ears. Softly, so softly he couldn't be heard over the blaring music and more or less uncivilized conversation in the bar, Picard murmured to the woman undulating against him, "Anything?"

`Talla' pressed herself firmly against him, her own whisper thickly tinged with her erotic accent. "Nothing yet." As her tongue traced the curve of his ear, Troi was again bombarded by his embarrassed arousal. Her lips curved into a smile, and she allowed the tip of her tongue to plunge suggestively behind his earlobe. The action was rewarded by another burst of chagrin as the barkeeper slammed the rum down on the counter in front of the couple.

With one eye firmly glued on the Orion, he muttered, "Ten credits."

"Ten credits?" `McCaffrey' roared, pulling Troi against him. "Where I come from a man could buy your mother for ten credits."

The barkeeper flared brown with anger, lunging for Picard. Troi thrust herself between them, turning a smoldering gaze in the direction of the Khordinian. Startled, his concentration faltered and he scowled at both of them. "Keep your pet in tow, Mac," he muttered. "I don't want her starting some brawl while you're off selling toxic candy to babies."

"Blow it out your ear," Picard breathed, although only Troi, with her close proximity, could hear. As she snuggled against him once more, he whispered, "Have you seen Lall?"

"No." It was getting difficult for Troi to concentrate. Motherlode was a mostly male-populated world--transients, miners, con men, and other hormonal types sharing the 42% of the population which was female. And since most of the women tough enough to survive the rough atmosphere were not stereotypical "face-that-launch-a-thousand-ship" types, Troi felt very conspicuous in her green skin and skimpy costume. In fact, the combined gust of hormonal turbulence she was feeling from a table of miners would probably send the most aggressively Phased Betazoid woman to a Trappist monastery for a two-week drying out period.

A solid body shoved Troi rudely from behind, the force nearly knocking Picard off his barstool. Before she had regained her balance, a low-pitched androgenous voice cut through the background noise.

"Took your time getting here, Mac."

The man who had taken up residence on the adjacent barstool was dressed in a flowing purple shirt and tight black trousers. He had a three to four day growth of black stubble on his chin, and his oily hair was pulled back and secured with a leather tie. Troi inhaled sharply as she recognized him, then deeply regretted it. Pdarkin Lall's cologne was cheap and overpowering.

Picard stiffened against her as he took in the identity of the new customer. As soon as the bartender had taken Lall's order and moved away, Picard responded.

"I was..." he smiled wickedly, pulling Troi against him, his hand squeezing the inviting swell of her left buttock. "Busy."

"Right." Lall leered at Troi as the bartender brought him a mug of Rysian cider. "So what about the deal?" he continued once the barkeep had moved out of earshot. "You interested?"

"I'm always interested," Picard said, taking a drink from his glass and wiping his mouth on the sleeve of his tunic. "But this is no place to do business."

"The walls have eyes, that's fer sure," Lall said, keeping his voice low. "There's a room in back. I use it sometimes. It's private. Last door to your right just before you hit the alley exit. I'll go first, then you follow me. Leave your pet in the hall. I'm not talking in front of a witness, understood?"

Picard nodded. Lall dropped a ten credit token on the bar and ambled away.

"This won't take long," Picard assured as he settled his tab with the barkeep and guided Troi through the dimly lit room. Troi kept close, Picard's arm around her strangely reassuring in spite of the sexual energy she was sensing in him. They both ignored the leers and speculative glances cast their way, and Picard purposely turned a deaf ear to some of the vulgar propositions Troi was inspiring by her mere presence. When they had traversed the narrow hall, and were out of sight of most of the patrons, Picard backed her against the wall alongside the door. He reached out to detach the chain from her collar, tucking it into the pocket of his vest. "Wait here."

"Captain," she said in a low, urgent voice. "I'm sensing duplicity in him. This isn't as simple as Thomas would have you believe. There's something more...I just can't..."

"I'll be careful," Picard whispered, his arms slipping suggestively around her as a couple sauntered past them on their way out.

Troi, aware that they were being watched, pulled his mouth down against hers. Her nipples tightened as his lips contacted with hers. This was most embarrassing, intensely arousing. Her skin tingled beneath his touch, her muscles quivering as his hands moved over exposed skin. While she'd always been aware that the captain was a very attractive man, she had never before felt this kind of desire for him. It was unfortunate that one of her favorite sexual fantasies involved a pirate with an eyepatch. Picard had perfected McCaffrey's swaggering alpha male behavior, and a part of her was responding to it. Right now she was glad he couldn't sense what she was feeling the way she could sense it in him. She swallowed a giggle. Pressed this close to him, one didn't have to be an empath to pick up the fact that the captain was sexually aroused.

He released her with a shuddering sigh, reaching out to caress her jaw in one hand. "Is there any way you can tone this down?" he whispered in a tone calculated for only her to hear.

"The release of pheromones?" she queried, hoping that to the couple lingering near the back door, they looked like the were discussing something far more intimate. "No. I can try to tone down my behavior if it's--"

Picard shook his head and smiled, eyeing the retreating couple and relaxing visibly as their audience moved on. "I just hadn't realized what an excellent actress you are, Counselor."

He left her, and she leaned against the cheap paneled wall with a heavy sigh. "Who's acting?" she murmured under her breath.

* * * * *

"Twenty thousand Federation credits," Picard said, picking a bit of dirt from beneath a fingernail with the blade of his knife. "And that's as high as I can go. My backers aren't prepared to go overboard on this one. Sell to the Ferengi or the Packleds if you like, but I doubt they'll go that high."

Lall leaned against the rough unwashed table, his expression enigmatic. It was impossible to tell what he was thinking, Picard thought as he studied his swarthy features. This one could teach Number One a thing or two about poker faces.

"The thing is," Picard continued, exuding confidence he didn't feel, "If you wanted them to have a go at it, you wouldn't have bothered waiting for my bid. The same for the Romulans. My...backers, as we both know, have a vested interest in seeing to it this unit isn't misused. Beyond a certain point, I think you do also, Lall."

"Beyond a certain point," Lall agreed, his voice heavy with sarcasm. "But twenty thousand is an insult."

Picard leaned back in his chair and sighed expressively. "At what point would an offer not be insulting, Lall?"

Lall shrugged, looking bored. "You're the one who's making the offer, and you know what this propulsion unit can do. How much is it worth?"

"Twenty-five?" Picard said, allowing his grin to fade as he met the privateer's steely gaze.

"That's what the Ferengi offered," Lall said slowly. "Maybe I should take it, huh?"

Picard arched a brow, kicking his booted legs up onto the chair beside him. "Maybe you should."

"You can't offer me more?"

"I'm telling you I can match it," Picard drawled. "Who would you rather sell to?"

His reward was a brief flicker of a grin from Lall. "I heard you were a skinflint, Mac. Good to see you living up to the reputation. How long will it take for you to arrange the transfer of funds?"

"Twelve hours," Picard replied quickly.

"This far out, that's reasonable," Lall agreed. "We'll beam up to the Antelope and wait for the transfer, then. I know you'll want to see the prototype."

"Of course," Picard said, rising from his seat. "I'll get Talla and--"

Lall laughed. "You're pet's waiting for you on the Antelope. I had the boys pick her up...insurance, you know. Besides, Motherlode's no place for an Orion slave woman."

Picard glared at Lall, recalling that McCaffrey was first and foremost a businessman, but adding to that his well-documented attachment to Talla. "I don't take kindly to others messing with what's mine," he said in a low, dangerous tone.

"Just safekeeping, I assure you," Lall responded, his hand slipping automatically to the blaster which hung from a holster at his hip.

Picard felt the implicit warning in that deceptively casual movement. The hair on the back of his neck stood on end as he recalled Lall's reputation and suppressed a shiver. The privateer was fully capable of killing with good provocation; moreover, he was completely willing to use "Talla" as a pawn in his little game of cat and mouse. Picard cursed himself three times a fool for not anticipating this little double-cross, but saw no alternative to brazening it out. Undue concern for the welfare of his pet would arouse unwanted suspicion.

"Then let's get on with it," Picard said, the set of his jaw betraying the depth of his anger, anger which obscured the deep concern in his navy eyes.

* * * * *

Troi's abduction had taken only seconds. Two rough-looking characters had beamed down on either side of her, muffled her startled scream and beamed her up to their ship before Picard had reached the negotiating table. Troi didn't recognized Bahcah at first. The affected Aldeberan accent and disguise were good. Actually it wasn't so much recognition in his voice or expression that had betrayed his cover as feelings which had seemed inappropriate for the occasion. The other man was radiating exactly what all the men on Motherlode radiated in proximity to a passingly attractive female, lust. The agent, while certainly not immune, was sending out other emotions, the strongest being what Troi read as concern.

"She's a mite too good for the likes of McCaffrey," the other said as he yanked Troi off the tiny transporter pad and along a poorly lit access corridor. She would have struggled, but the blaster pressed against her flank reminded her of the calibre of company she was in, and she followed silently. She chanced a glance at Bahcah and was rewarded with a suggestive leer. So much for offering comfort in a sticky situation, she thought, swallowing her rising panic. Either this was the biggest coincidence in the known universe, or she was on the Antelope, Lall's ship.

Bahcah's companion tugged her into a claustrophobic, portless cell. There was a thick fur cushion on the floor and a heavy chain hanging from the bulkhead. The only other feature of the spare room was a ceiling mounted surveillance camera.

"Fasten her down and let's get back to the poker game," Bahcah insisted impatiently. "I was on a roll, and I aim to take advantage."

"I'd like to take advantage of this," the other breathed as he secured Troi to the bulkhead. He lowered the blaster, and Troi wrenched free of his grasp, the heavy clinking of the chain echoing against bare walls as she fell to her knees on the cushion. The mate's lusty response to her in that position caught her by surprise. She inhaled sharply, making a vain attempt to shut out the feral images which bombarded her. "You ain't goin' nowhere, love," he added, running one hand along the curve of her spine. "Like I said, yer too good for Wild Bill. How would you like a real man?"

"Do you know one?" she retorted in a guttural Orion accent.

"Got you there," Bahcah laughed. "Come on, Harlow, she's not interested."

"She's an Orion--they're always interested." Harlow leered. "After all, she's chained up."

"Lall won't like it if we mess with her," the agent said, sounding bored, but Troi could sense his unease.

"He don't have to know, does he?" Harlow asked as he ran one hand through the tangle of dark curls which cascaded over Troi's bare shoulder. With a fierce, unexpected tug, he yanked her to her feet and into a rough embrace.

For the first time since she entered into this charade, Troi felt a thrill of fear along her spine. This man was capable of rape, of murder even. She could sense that much. His breath was hot against her cheek, the sour admixture of sweat and whiskey which emanated from him overpowering her.

"If you have to tie a woman up to get it, you mustn't be that good," Troi whispered, amazed that her tone was steady. She wrenched her head back to glare at the privateer, her black eyes sparking in mocking disgust.

"You'd be surprised how good it can be," Harlow snapped back. "You'll be begging for it soon enough."

He pulled a smooth opalescent ball the size of a plum from his pocket as he pushed Troi against the wall. Pinning her with his body, he slipped his hands beneath her skin skirt, forcing her legs apart and slipping the cold ball between the slick folds of her labia. Troi gasped and struggled, but rough fingers shoved the ball deep, pressing it against her cervix.

"Uh, Harlow," Bahcah said. "Wild Bill isn't going to take kindly to you manhandling his pet. One word from her, and you're..."

The rest of his words were lost on Troi as the ball began to move inside her. It had warmed instantly to her body, but now it grew hot, and a light fluttering throb emanating from it.

Her eyes widened as the ball spread and elongated, vibrating with a life of its own. It stretched to fill her, the pressure arousing her against her will. "What..." she breathed, then gasped as the emanations intensified, sending thrills of pleasure up her spine. With a little moan, she sank back onto the cushion at the first mate's feet, her body undulating in time to the pulsations of the ball.

"What did you do to her?" she dimly heard Bahcah query, asking the question her sudden arousal had aborted half-uttered on her lips.

"You've never heard of a Tyrenian pleasure ball?" Harlow responded with a laugh. "Gets even the coldest woman as randy as can be. Better than Klingon aphrodisiac. It moves inside 'em, vibrates, wiggles, and releases something to make them supersensitive to touch. Give this green lovely another couple of minutes to warm up, and she'll give be beggin' for it anyway you want to give it to her. Can't fail."

Troi heard their words, felt the arousal building in each of them as they watched her, but she was wrapped in a translucent veil of overpowering sexual desire. All her inhibitions had fallen away, her only thought was of sex and how to get more. The whisper soft skins which had seemed so revealing back in the bar now stifled her. She tugged impatiently at them, rending the seams and sighing in satisfaction as she exposed herself.

"Sweet Jesus," Bahcah whispered, unable to tear his gaze from the frantically writhing woman. "Look at her!"

"I am lookin'," Harlow replied. "Nice specimen, ain't she?"

Bahcah nodded as Troi arched her back and tossed her head, tugging on the restraining chain. He reached out to put his hand on her shoulder as a low whimper escaped her. She startled, her wide eyes searching his, her lips parted. Her expression conveyed an ecstatic mixture of pain and pleasure.

She breathed hard, rubbing her head against his thigh like a feline in heat. Her lips moved to form a curse against the two men watching her, but all Troi could manage was a gasping moan.

Harlow was already fumbling with the catch on his trousers, a low chuckle rumbling in his throat. "Well, now, little lady? Where you want it first?"

Troi, however, had entwined herself around Bahcah's leg, her face pressed against the hard bulge in his trousers, her breath penetrating the cloth. The apparatus squirming inside of her hardly allowed for coherent thought, much less verbal communication. She moaned again. "Oh..."

"I'll take that as customer's choice," Harlow quipped in an oily tone. "One trouser snake to go, babe."

Bahcah's eyes flickered shut for a moment, then he managed to speak, his words coming out much sharper than he'd intended. "She was talking to me, Harlow."

Harlow took a step back, looking surprised, then a slow grin spread over his unattractive face. "Go ahead then, pretty boy. You go first. They'll be plenty left for me when she's finished you off.

Bahcah turned his back on Harlow, blocking Troi's sight of him, and pulling her up into a intimate embrace. She was writhing against the agent's firm, muscular form, her hands running feverishly along his broad back and over his buttocks as she insinuated herself against him. "Take it easy, doll," Bahcah soothed as he brushed his mouth gently against the bounding pulse of her carotid artery. "Bahcah's gonna make it all right again."

Picard turned from the comscreen and fixed Lall with a piercing glare, unaware that his anger about Troi's abduction was adding to his portrayal. "There's nothing to do now but wait for it to clear. Let me see Talla."

Lall laughed. "So, it's more than sex, huh?"

Picard did not dignify the question with a response, tugging impatiently at his tunic as he rose from his seat.

"Not a good idea, you know," Lall continued conversationally. "Getting too attached to anyone or anything in this business. It can give someone else an edge. Know what I mean?"

Picard knew exactly what the privateer meant. 'Talla' was being held for security, to assure that there would be no double cross. The frustrating thing was that there was very little he could do about it. That was the problem with undercover missions. No back up. Picard was used to having his ship behind him. He disliked flying by the seat of his pants, disliked it more when others were at risk and he was powerless to help.

"How about a game of chess, to pass the time?" Lall said, the tone of his voice indicating it was not merely a polite invitation.

Picard eyed the board, then smiled. "If I win, can I see my pet?"

Lall laughed. "Persistent bastard, aren't ya? Sure, you beat me, and I'll let you see her. Hell, you can even fuck her if that's what you want, but she stays in the security cell until the payment comes through, understand?"

"Perfectly," Picard agreed, moving to the board. The next twelve hours were going to be the longest of his life.

* * * * *

Bahcah's mouth closed over Troi's, his tongue demanding entry and claiming the sweet recesses with unrestrained passion. She could feel his desire for her, heard it in the low groan that escaped the back of his throat as he kissed her. The pleasure ball moved and vibrated inside her in seeming perfect synch with the agent's thrusting tongue. Her heightened senses were augmenting the almost unbearably pleasurable sensation of erect nipples dragging against the rough fabric of Bahcah's tunic. The scent of him, clean and spicy with just a touch of sweat, was arousing her to a fever pitch. She wanted to swallow him whole, to use his body in any way possible, anything to relieve herself of this agonizing need.

Bahcah leaned her down to the floor, gently spreading her legs to enter her. Troi almost screamed when Harlow insinuated himself into the situation.

"You ain't gonna fuck her, are you? Just like that?" The first mate pulled Bahcah away from Troi, grasping him firmly on his shoulders. "Buddy, you can't give 'em what they want right away. You'll spoil her." He pulled Troi back to her feet with a leer. "This baby will give you the blowjob of your life, pal. Why waste it? Take what you want, then go in for the kill." He grinned as Bahcah shot him a disgusted glance. "Jeez. Amateurs."

Troi could feel the sweat beading at the back of her neck. As much as she needed him inside of her, her body quivered at the thought of taking Bahcah in her mouth. She slid down the length of him, nipping at his clothing, her long nails scraping against the cloth. She dropped to her knees before him on the cushion, whimpering in frustration as she fumbled with he catch on his trousers. Bahcah roused himself from something close to a trance and assisted her. Once that barrier was surmounted, Troi feasted on him like a starving woman, moaning with pleasure as she slid her moist lips around his erection. Bahcah swayed on his feet, locking his hands in the wild riot of curls to pull her closer.

Troi had forgotten the mission, her precarious situation on the Antelope, and had even temporarily blocked out the presence of Harlow. Her entire universe had spiraled in on Bahcah and the feelings she could sense in him.

"Oh yes, Doll," he breathed in a raspy, edge-of-a-precipice whisper. "Just like that."

The vibrations from the Tyrenian pleasure ball pulsed out along Troi's nerve pathways like an electric current. She felt grounded to Bahcah, a complete circuit, bound to him more by sheer force of need than any chain could bind her. He was close to an orgasm. If the sudden catching of his breath in a near sob hadn't tipped her off, then certainly it would have been apparent in the way his fingers closed possessively around her head. The building intensity in him set of a chain reaction in her, and the pleasure ball twisted and swelled obligingly. As Bahcah grunted and exploded, Troi joined him, her entire body going taut with the ecstasy of it. For an instant she felt completely satiated, then the pleasure ball moved inside her, the stimulation setting off responsive shudders. Bahcah's hands had fallen to her shoulders, massaging them gently.

"Next," Harlow's nasal twang washed over them like a bucket of ice water. "Step aside, pretty boy. Now that she's had the appetizer, it's time for the main course."

"Back off, Harlow. I'm not through."

The glint of a thin blade at Bahcah's throat added credence to Harlow's argument. "Trust me, buddy," the first officer eased Troi away from the undercover agent, a leer predominating his ugly features. "You're through."

"And that, Mr. Lall, is checkmate." Picard, as "Wild" Bill McCaffrey, moved his removed Lall's piece with a look of smug satisfaction. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I have better things to occupy my time."

Pdarkin Lall stared at McCaffrey for a long moment, his unattractive features twisting into what one could only assume was a smile. "Of course. Our agreement." He tapped the comm padd at his desk and summoned a guard. To Picard, he added, "She must be one hell of a fuck to have you wrapped on such a short leash."

"She's trained exactly to my specifications," Picard said briskly as the guard appeared at the door to escort him to the holding cell. "And she's a lot better company than you. No offense," he added as an afterthought.

"None taken," Lall mimicked his affected tone. "Chernin, take Mr. McCaffrey to visit his pet. See that he does not remove her from the holding cell." As Picard and the guard sauntered out the door, he called, "Have fun, Bill."

When the two men had cleared the door, Pdarkin Lall's smile slithered off of his face. Every nerve in his body was on alert. This man looked like McCaffrey, smelled like McCaffrey, and talked like McCaffrey. But something inside of his mercenary body told Lall that appearances could be deceiving. He tapped the comm padd. "Harlow."

A moment later than necessary, Harlow's exasperated voice returned through the comm link. "Yeah, boss?"

"Come here. I have something I need to discuss with you."

Another longer-than-necessary moment later, and Harlow spoke again. "Can it wait? I'm in the--"

"No, it can't wait, you lazy bastard. When I say I need you, that means get off your fat ass and come here." Lall cut off the transmission without waiting for Harlow's response. His crew was getting cocky; he might just have to make an example out of his arrogant first mate.

"Shit!" Harlow pulled away from Troi, nearly tripping himself over the rush to fasten his trousers. In his nonchalant certainty that he had all the time in the world to use McCaffrey's pet, he had not even had the chance to get a decent blowjob out of her. "Come on, let's go."

Bahcah, seeing opportunity arise for the first time during this mission, leaned casually against the wall. "He asked for you, Harlow. I'll stay here and make sure the little lady doesn't get into any trouble."

Harlow glowered at Bahcah, an ugly sneer on his already ugly features. "My ass, you will. You don't think I'm gonna let you stay here and use her all up, do you?" He yanked Troi's chain roughly, making sure it was securely fastened to the wall before shoving Bahcah towards the door. "You're coming with me, Mister, and that's an order."

"Oh, all right." Bahcah reached for Troi, but Harlow stopped him. "I was just gonna take out the toy."

Harlow laughed. "You are an idiot, aren't you?" He pulled the agent by the arm, not allowing him to do anything but turn to Troi with an apologetic look before walking out the door.

Troi watched in horror as they left her alone in the room. Harlow's lurching movements had been exquisite torture to her, forcing the Tyrenian pleasure ball to expand and contract haphazardly within her. Each movement had intensified the pleasure within her, each touch had added layer upon layer of torturous input to her already beleaguered senses. She lay on the rug, its coarse fibers rough against her tender flesh. As she pulled herself into a tight fetal position, the pleasure ball was already a step ahead of her, winding its way through her tight portal, insinuating itself into her most private areas, shocking the sensitive membrane of her perineum with tiny energy pulses. Troi whimpered, trying to shut out the feelings her body was experiencing, but to no avail. At this moment, even Harlow would have been preferable to the frustration she was feeling. Anyone would have.

The burly guard led Picard to the holding cell, a look of genuine amusement on his porcine features. "She's in there, Mac." He raked his eyes down Picard's slender form. "If ya need any help in there, just call." The guard laughed as Picard glared at him, then entered the cell.

He almost didn't see her at first. Deanna Troi was curled up on an animal skin, her chain leading to a hook on the wall just above her. Poised in a very conspicuous place just under the ceiling was a surveillance camera. And from the way it jerked and hissed at his every movement, Picard could only assume it was activated and that they were being monitored. So much for privacy.

"Talla," he summoned in his most commanding voice. She didn't move. Concerned, Picard leaned over to her, placing a single hand on her bare shoulder. "Talla," he repeated, this time in a gentler tone. He turned her over to face him, his concern deepening as her eyes fluttered open. She seemed dazed, drugged probably, her huge brown eyes fluid and lethargic. "Talla, have they hurt--"

His sentence ended abruptly as she flung into action, her body snapping at him like an Aldeberan shellmouth. Picard, wary of the ever-present monitor, contained his shock, falling into the embrace with enthusiastic fervor. "So, you missed me, did you?" he said in a gregarious voice, pulling Troi's face from his chest where she had been placing quick, desperate kisses. His gesture was more necessity than pretense; he sensed something wrong with the counselor and hoped to find some clue in her face. Her hands were all over him, ripping at his clothes, pinching and needing his skin, raking her dark green, claw-like nails over his exposed nipples. "Talla--"

"Captain," she moaned softly.

Picard's eyes shot open, and he quickly silenced her with a hard kiss. Whatever they had done to Troi had loosened her inhibitions to a dangerous level. There was no telling what information she had revealed...or would reveal in this state. Troi leaned into the kiss, oblivious to his concern, obviously only concerned with pressing herself even closer against him. Her tongue probed the recesses of his mouth, raking against his teeth with lascivious abandon. There was no doubt in Picard's mind that the Betazoid was serious, that there was no question of her intentions. He wasn't even sure of his own intentions as he pushed her backwards onto the rug. In the rational part of his mind, he knew something must be done about her condition. The sensible part of him knew she was dangerous in this state, that she might inadvertently reveal their true identities before the watchful eye of the surveillance camera.

But it wasn't the sensible part of him which ripped the skins from her body. Picard was responding in the only way a warm-blooded heterosexual man could possibly respond in this situation--he was getting aroused. Very aroused. She writhed below him, green and glistening with sweat. Her dark eyes were like hot coals, beckoning him with their depths, urging him to abandon himself to the animal side of his nature. For a moment, he just watched her, feasting on the sensuous sight of her, enjoying the power his hesitation wielded over her. Troi, the green devil-woman in Troi's body, the she-wolf urging him towards reckless carnal indulgence, wriggled in anticipation, pulling impatiently on the chain which bound her to the wall. Picard leaned over, removing the key from his tunic, carefully released her from the chain. She smiled, her breath very quick, and rose to kiss him.

With that one kiss, Picard loss all track of himself, of the mission, of the consequences. He pinned Troi's arms beneath her, trailing his lips callously over her body, now and then biting and scratching her exposed flesh with his teeth, just to hear the sound of her gasping. He lingered at her dark emerald nipples, raking the tender flesh with his teeth. She yelped, struggling under him, but Picard held her firmly as he continued to roll the tiny emerald between his lips and tongue. With each rotation of his tongue, the bud grew firmer, thicker against his lips, and Troi's struggling grew more pronounced. Rather than trying to gain freedom, she seemed struggling for more contact, her pelvis grinding against his in a desperate rhythm. Picard felt the dark, coarse curls of her pubic hair tickling his penis, entreating it towards its full length and hardness with each tantalizing movement.

Finally, it became too much for him to bear. He released her arms, burying his face in her dark curls as she wrapped her arms around his neck, moaning against his shoulder as he entered her quickly. Picard almost jerked backwards in shock as something inside Troi wrapped itself around his manhood. Had she not been holding to him so fiercely, he probably would have dislodged himself in sheer surprise. Whatever it was seemed to have a life of its own, molding itself like a glove to his length and thickness, a tight pressuring sheaf around his most sensitive appendage. "Mon dieu," he breathed, grasping Troi for support.

"Tyrenian pleasure ball," she managed to gasp in his ear. The ball had almost doubled in thickness--tight enough to almost cause Picard discomfort, yet still thick enough to send Troi into an instantaneous orgasm. She lunged against Picard, riding him roughly, uncaring of his needs as her body saw to its own. Her head fell back in an ecstatic moan as her body began contracting around him, pulling the orgasm from him almost simultaneous to hers. Wave after wave of pleasure racked their bodies, first sharp, then smooth and languid. Picard fell onto Troi, too surprised by their quick encounter to do anything but rest atop her. Before he could gather his thoughts, the ball began wriggling again, obviously not intending to give either of them a chance to rest before teasing them back to arousal. Picard felt himself hardening, turned a quick glance towards Troi. She smiled at him, looking for the life of him like a green Betazoid in the Phase. Picard felt a twinge of panic racing down his spine, wondering if he was up to satisfying anyone who could smile like that. Then he remembered--they did have ten hours...

* * * * *

"What tipped him off was the chess game," Bahcah leaned back in the conference chair, once more attired in his normal dress. He looked around the room to where Admiral Thomas and the Enterprise staff waited the rest of his report. "Still, at this point, he was willing to take the risk. That propulsion unit was so hot he wanted it out of his hands as soon as possible. And," this was a pointed gaze at Picard, "if `Wild Bill' turned out to be a phony who wanted to double-cross him, Lall knew that there really wasn't much chance for McCaffrey and Talla to escape."

"So he just held tight until the money arrived, damn the consequences, right?" Riker grinned. "Wish I could've been there. It all sounds very..." He turned to Troi with a slightly suggestive wink, only to be met with cool indifference. "Adventurous."

Picard cleared his throat. "I don't know why the chess game gave me away. There was nothing about chess in the files."

"Funny the kind of things intelligence files leave out. For instance, ol' Wild Bill won Talla in a poker game, then lost his ship in a chess game the very next day. Got him so mad he swore on his life that he'd never play the game again."

"Dear God," Picard muttered. "You'd think someone would have mentioned it."

"We thought you were going in to work, not play chess," Bahcah said lightly. "Anyway, you were lucky. Pdarkin was in a good mood--relatively--so he let you off the hook."

"And the Lassiter propulsion unit is safely in the hands of the Federation," Thomas concluded. "Thank you, Captain Picard, for your assistance. And thank you, Counselor."

"It was..." Troi looked from Thomas to Picard, pointedly ignoring Bahcah's curious gaze. "A learning experience for me as well."

"Well, then, if you'll excuse me..." Thomas rose, signalling the end of the meeting.

One by one, the Enterprise officers followed her out, until only Bahcah and Troi remained. The young man blocked her exit with a single arm against the wall. "Got a moment, Counselor?"

Troi cast a cool glare in his direction, folding her arms tightly in front of her in mild impatience. "Mr. Bahcah?"

"You'll have to forgive my rudeness. I didn't recognize you without your chains," he said, allowing his alpha male swagger to infiltrate his silky tones.

Tossing her head aristocratically, Troi shot back, "And I didn't recognize you without the hundred-pound sack of fertilizer you've been carrying around with you."

"You mean Harlow?" Bahcah laughed. "One of the less savory types I've had to deal with in this business."

"Indeed."

"I'm sorry I couldn't stop him before...I mean, well..." Bahcah leaned closer to Troi, a single finger caressing one dark curl. "I wish it could have been under nicer circumstances, Doll." Troi shrugged away from his finger, never once abandoning her haughty demeanor. "Maybe we could, well, you know, pick up where we left off? In more comfortable surroundings?"

"Sure, Bahcah, just as soon as we sign the peace treaty with the Borg and Hell freezes over."

"Oh, I get it. Picard, right?"

"The fact that I have taste has nothing to do with Captain Picard, although I'm sure he would be happy to know that I'd rather eat dirt than sleep with you."

Bahcah groaned in disgust, a thought which had been plaguing him ever since their return from the Antelope coming full force into his mind. "You slept with him, didn't you?"

"Mr. Bahcah, I have work to do."

"I can't believe it. You had the chance to party with me, and you slept with Baldie?" Bahcah shook his head in disgust. "Well, all I can say is that is pretty damned unprofessional."

Troi pulled out of his grasp, still sporting the calm look of superior control she'd worn throughout the meeting. This one was cold, Bahcah thought. After all the things she'd done, the way she'd acted...she should at least have the decency to blush. As she headed toward the door, Bahcah grabbed her arm one last time. "Tell me, really--did you or didn't you fuck Baldie?"

And Troi turned to him with the full regal height of a Daughter of the Fifth House of Betazed and smiled sweetly. "Why don't you just figure it out, Doll?" And she left Bahcah, stunned, in the empty conference room.

The End