** Author's Note: For those who have asked and for those others who care, my sixth month of pregnancy has just begun, Baby i

** Author's Note: For those who have asked and for those others who care, my sixth month of pregnancy has just begun, Baby is kicking every day and all is well otherwise. Thank you all for your kind regards.
PLEASE NOTE: The conclusion to this story should be posted by the end of next week, if not sooner.
That part will be rated NC-17 -- I just love parts like that -- don't you? :-)

TERROR INQOGNITO

Paramount, Paramount, blah, blah, blah. Everything else herein belongs to moi.

Captain Kathryn Janeway paced her quarters. Her crew was
becoming more and more restless as the weeks passed. She had no
ship's counselor and she desperately needed one -- yes, she,
herself, sometimes, as well as the crew. Homesickness was a
palpable entity on the ship; tempers roiled just below the surface,
particularly for the former Maquis members -- Janeway knew they
still felt estranged from the rest of those aboard Voyager. Except
for Chakotay. He always seemed to have it together -- and of
course, Tuvok was his typical Vulcan self, but Janeway had known
Tuvok too long not to notice that even he showed signs of growing
weary and frustrated with their dilemma.

The door beeped, and Janeway immediately focused her attention
on whatever might be at hand.

"Come in."

Commander Chakotay entered the room, his face full of purpose
and infectious hope -- almost infectious.

"Captain, we are approaching a class M planet. We will be
able to scan it for further information within half an hour."

"All right, Commander. Keep me posted."

*** *** ***

I was bored. That is why what happened took place. I have no
other excuse -- not that I need one, of course. Why should I have
to justify myself to anyone, except those who have already exacted
their spiteful "revenge" upon me? I still can't figure out why
They did it. We all get bored; it's inevitable, even in this vast
universe. We're immortal after all, unlike -- well, almost
everyone else. I don't know why I'm bothering to write this down.
Who would want to read it? More importantly, I don't care who
would want to read it. Sometimes I think I've picked up one too
many of Picard's bad habits -- like caring about others, for
example. And now keeping "personal logs". What will be next?

I don't know what made me do what I set out to do. The
Enterprise, my favorite toy, was destroyed recently, and all of its
little explorers were -- still are -- on Earth recuperating while
their precious ship is rebuilt -- rather while a new ship is
constructed. I have no desire to visit Earth -- nasty place, all
those humans. Enough to give a respectable Q nightmares, were We
prone to such madness.

I was growing tired of romping in the various nebulae and
supernovas of my usual haunts and found myself contemplating this
new little creation of the Federation's: *Voyager* they call it.
If you think Picard's bunch are lost in space, this crew steals the
show. They've managed to get themselves 70,000 light-years from
Federation space -- it was highly amusing for about six seconds,
which is quite a good joke in the Continuum. Then, of course, (at
least for me) it became a curiosity -- don't ask why; I don't know
why. Well, of course I'm dissembling; I know the reasons for
everything -- but why should I tell you?

Humans fascinate me. So fine; accuse me of slumming. Anyone
who gets their hands on this -- if I don't decide to destroy it
before that is possible -- will be reading the words of Greatness
anyway -- all omnipotent beings know what occurred already -- so
dear Savage, read on if you like. It's not a pretty story; it's
the story of an omnipotent being reduced to humiliation in a most
disgusting, primitive manner -- and come to think of it, I don't
want anyone to read about it -- I don't want any savage, stupid
being to think that the Q, and especially me, have faults --
because We don't. At least, *I* don't. So I'll just write this
down and watch it burn in the next star I come to.

*** *** ***

"There are life signs all over the planet, Captain," Ensign
Kim reported. "And it is clear that this civilization is fairly
advanced. What's surprising is that there aren't any signals for
the broadcasting of information -- holovids, primitive television,
etc. That is very strange. This civilization has discovered space
travel -- there are the appropriate residues of power signatures in
the upper atmosphere of the planet."

"Well, then, Mr. Kim, I think this is worth a visit."

"Captain, a small ship is breaking through the atmosphere and
preparing to orbit the planet. It is headed toward us."

"On screen. Communication frequencies open."

*** *** ***

The arrogant Federation explorers, along with their little
crew of renegades who once believed they were going to save the
Federation from itself, had discovered a planet in the grip of the
type of seemingly eternal conflict inferior beings often find
themselves in -- a well-organized -- relatively speaking, of course
-- group of dissidents was working to overthrow the government. Of
course, the government had ample resources, while the dissidents
had merely the spunk and idealism that manifest in many savages
when confronting tremendous adversity. The government, as a form
of backlash against the group had incited moderates, government
sympathizers and independents who just wanted to do the best they
could with the world as it was against the dissidents by
threatening -- and proceeding to follow through -- to cut off all
communication. The planet's computer network and its three back-up
systems were obliterated -- and given that the key to the dissident
group's survival was not being seen together in one place and
spreading themselves out all over the planet, this total lack of
communication was a complete victory for the government. Or so all
thought.

You see, in the ensuing riots -- I never understood such a
self-destructive method of protest -- the government, as is often
the case with large bureaucratic machines for which no one person
is ever held accountable (and when one is, it is generally
undeserved) forgot to reboot its own communication systems for
quite a while, and by the time they fixed this egregious error, key
members of the dissident group had stolen a shuttle and had
discovered Voyager orbiting their planet. Whereupon, they hit upon
a solution to their problem.

*** *** ***

"I am Captain Kathryn Janeway of the Federation Starship
Voyager. We are here peacefully and are curious about your
planet."

"This is a most fortuitous meeting, Captain Kathryn Janeway.
I am Tolora, -- Chief Executive of the planet K'Har. We welcome
you most graciously, though we are in a state of great panic right
now. I believe you might be of assistance to us. In return, we
would be happy to tell you all about our planet and people, or
grant you anything else it is possible for us to grant in return
for that assistance."

"You'll forgive the forwardness of my question, Chief
Executive Tolora -- do you have a preferred title -- but I wonder
at the ruler of a planet leaving it in such a state as you
describe?"

"I am in danger, Captain Kathryn Janeway. I do have another
title, but it would be hard for you to pronounce, I imagine. It is
indeed another fortuitous circumstance that our translators are
compatible."

"Please just call me Captain, Chief Executive."

"All right, Captain. And you may call me Chief."

"Would you like to come aboard Voyager? We can discuss our
ability to assist you."

"Yes. I and my assistant will come aboard straightaway. We
have the capacity to do so."

Chief Executive Tolora was tall and graceful -- her pale
orange skin covered with soft, silky black hair. Her assistant was
shorter and her face was closed, utterly unreadable. Each had
three large, round brilliant blue eyes. They were certainly --
exotic.

Captain Janeway made introductions; Tolora's assistant was
identified as Maj.

"Captain, the situation on my planet is very grave," said
Tolora. "A dangerous rebel group has managed to destroy our entire
planet-wide communications matrix, as well as the three back-up
systems. A great number -- in the thousands -- of our engineers
and systems administrators have been killed or their minds have
been seriously damaged by chemical weapons. Those who are still
alive are in hiding, and cannot assist us. I'm ashamed to admit,
Captain, that those who escaped with me have absolutely no computer
knowledge, at least not technical knowledge. It was never one of
my interests, and surely as a leader, you know there are some
things which must be left to others to handle."

Janeway repressed the urge to say that she had quite a bit of
technical knowledge about her ship, and replied, "How large is this
group?"

"A large group, Captain; large, with many resources. You see,
we are a relatively new government. We believe in individual
rights and minimal taxation. The rebel group is comprised of many
former members of the military government, who wish to reinstate a
dictatorship. The past plundering of that government has left the
people of the planet greatly impoverished and devoid of morale,
with the exception of this mob of rogues. We managed to come to
power by virtue of the first free election this planet has seen in
centuries; the old military government believed it had intimidated
enough of the population to win, but they misjudged the desire of
the people. Our key resource was our fine communication system --
educating the largely ignorant public, making them aware of their
rights and how to fight for them. Now that resource has been
obliterated and we have no way of reaching the people. In short,
we need your help in re-establishing the communications matrix,
while finding a way to encode our communications so that we can
strategize with the help of our supporters. At the very least, we
must make known to the people that we are still here, fighting for
them, and that all is not lost, that they do not have to fear
reinstatement of the dictatorship."

"Is there any way that members of my crew can get a look at
this computer matrix without placing themselves in grave danger?"

"That -- is another thing we do not know. Spies are
everywhere. We can assume nothing."

"I won't place my crew in danger for the sake of a conflict
which does not influence us in any way, Chief Tolora. I will,
however, render any assistance I can if a way can be found around
any perils to my ship and crew."

"I have schematics of the matrix aboard my vessel," said
Tolora. "They mean absolutely nothing to me; I don't even know if
I have all that is needed to reproduce the system."

"Captain, if the schematics are complete, we could *replicate*
the matrix," said B'Ealanna Tores.

"We could, Lieutenant, but at what cost to our energy
reserves?" Janeway replied curtly, annoyed with Tores for spilling
this information before she had a chance to discuss the situation
with the crew privately.

*** *** ***

So you see, the dissidents were holding themselves out as the
benevolent government -- the idealists of individuality and
personal dignity, while painting the government as the nasty,
dictatorial, power-hungry rebels. Now I'm not about to tell you
what the actual political and social values of either group were --
if you want to know if Tolora was lying about her philosophy of
governance, you'll have to visit the planet.

Putting all that silliness aside, I now saw a perfect
opportunity to throw Federation folly in this Captain Janeway's
face. Here she was, just like Picard, ready to save the universe
on the word of this creature whose planet the Federation knew
nothing about. Why? Well, she would probably say, if asked, that
if the safety of her ship and crew could be reasonably ensured, who
was she to withhold assistance from this group of good-hearted,
besieged rulers, trying to do the best they could for their people.
*I* say it is because she was hoping against hope that the
rendering of such assistance would at the least get much-needed
fuel from Tolora, and at most, enable her to acquire technology or
information which would bring Voyager and its crew closer to home.
Oh, the true nature of the human altruist. Isn't it grand?

Now I want to make clear that I find nothing wrong in this
powerful engine of self-interest. I just find it terribly amusing
the way humans disguise or ignore their true motives under guise of
ideals, principles, directives and fine words. And I also want to
make *very* clear that I did not embark on my little visit to
Voyager to *help* them; I merely despise sitting back and watching
such foolishness unfold in the universe -- it upsets the balance of
my usually fine, patient temperament; I *hate* stupidity. These
Federationists, so ready and willing to explore and investigate
further, yet never knowing quite when it is prudent to move ahead
cautiously. You would think history and their own personal
experiences would teach them something -- but no! Sometimes, their
complete inferiority of mind utterly *astounds* me -- they are so
palpably *powerless*! So, I set out to do them the favor of subtly
pointing out their stupidity and to enjoy myself immensely.

I decided, for my own reasons which are of no concern to you,
to withhold from them my true identity. Before I readied myself to
encounter them, I wiped all information about the Continuum from
the ship's computer and all snippets of gossip and knowledge
Janeway had of me from her mind. You may as well know now: though
if you're reasonably bright, you have probably figured it out by
now -- that not everything turned out the way I had planned.

*** *** ***

"Captain, Lieutenant Tores has beamed over to the K'Harans'
ship at your suggestion and has assembled an engineering team. She
will send reports back every hour or so -- but more importantly,
Captain --"

"Captain, we are being hailed," Ensign Kim declared. "The
ship appears to be completely different from that used by the
K'Harans, and it entered orbit from the same direction we did."

"Open a channel, Mr. Kim."

"I am Captain Kathryn Janeway, and this ship is the Federation
starship Voyager."

"And what makes you think any of this interests me?"

Janeway was momentarily taken aback; out of all the possible
responses she had prepared herself for, both pleasant and
unpleasant, this had not been one.

"We are at somewhat of a loss here, sir; this quadrant is not
our own -- circumstances have brought us here and we are attempting
to glean as much information from as many inhabitants of this
quadrant as possible. We also want all with whom we come into
contact to be aware that we are here with no ill intentions, though
we are very interested in other species and cultures. The United
Federation of Planets --"

"Spare me your life stories and your various resumes, Captain
Janeway. I am a telepath and know all there is to know about you
and your crew. I pity you for the incompetence and immaturity
which has led to your present situation."

"I beg your pardon, sir. Clearly, you are not interested in
an agreeable first contact with us, and that is your prerogative.
We will trouble you no further. Close the channel, Mr. Kim."

No sooner were the words out of Janeway's mouth than the
passenger of the second ship stood before her

"Captain --"

"It's all right, Ensign -- for now."

Janeway stared levelly at the tall, smirking figure before
her, dressed only in a plain white shirt which stopped mid-thigh.
No shoes, no weapons, no instruments of any kind were in sight.

"Why have you boarded my ship without being invited to do so,
particularly given your apparent desire to ignore us and your
seeming dislike for us, though you've never encounter us before --
at least, as far as I am aware?"

"You are aware of very little; your continued presence here
proves that."

"if you have something you feel we should know, please tell us
about it or not -- as you wish -- but do us the courtesy of being
reasonably civil."

"What makes you think I want to give you any information about
anything?"

"Let's make this simple. What are you here for?"

"I haven't quite decided yet."

"Then leave my ship, and when you have decided what, if
anything, you would like to share with us, let us know. Perhaps by
that time you will be in a better mood."

"I am in a fantastic mood, Captain. Why would you think
otherwise? But I am not prepared to share any information with you
until I've had an opportunity to observe you and your crew for a
while -- I'm a telepath, but that only tells me what you don't want
to show or tell. I want to observe what you do decide to show and
tell. I want to match your collective and individual motives and
decisions with one another, and see how honest and compatible they
are. If i like what I see, I'll be prepared to be civil and offer
information and/or assistance -- if I feel like it."

"Are you saying that you wish to monitor me and my crew? Stay
aboard this ship among us and observe us day and night?"

"Precisely. I'll be no trouble at all."

"Why should I allow you to do this? Are you implying that I
don't have a choice?"

"Of course you have a choice. If you make the wrong choice,
however, your crew could be in grave danger."

"Is that a threat?"

"No, Captain, you are in no danger from me. I am merely
trying to warn you that you and your crew are easily led -- foolish
children who bite off more than they can chew, whose reach far
exceeds your grasp."

"And I'm supposed to stand here and be insulted with my crew
and take your word for that, until you decide to let us in on our
naivete?"

"See? I said that you had a choice?"

Janeway motioned to a security guard to watch the intruder and
nodded to Chakotay and Tuvok to follow her into her ready room.

*** *** ***

It was a simple matter to have the Vulcan and the space brave
persuade the captain to keep me around. They assigned me quarters
grudgingly and posted a security guard to watch my every move. It
was so difficult playing a mortal telepath; I itched to unhinge
them with demonstrations of my other powers and talents, but as I
have already told you, I wished to keep my status as a member of
the Continuum a secret while still maintaining my power. I was in
complete control of the situation.

*** *** ***

"Lieutenant, is something wrong?"

"No, Chak -- sorry -- Commander -- I am just struggling with
some suspicions about Tolora and her assistants. I don't know --
they just seem -- wrong -- for the alleged rulers of a vast,
technologically advanced planet. Raw, green -- utterly
inexperienced. Wavering."

Perhaps that is because, as Tolora told us, they are in a
grave power struggle right now, fighting for the freedom of their
people. They are leaders, but they are also imperfect beings
capable of fear and indecision."

"I know all that, but I still have this odd feeling that
something is very wrong."

"You have had a rough time lately -- don't do that; I've
noticed, B'Ealanna. It's nothing to be ashamed of. Ever since
your experience with being -- torn apart -- you have been brooding
a great deal. Introspection is good and healthy, but not in the
manner you are going about it."

"Don't throw your native philosophy at me, Commander; I don't
want to hear it, and what I'm dealing with is my business and only
mine, unless I decide otherwise."

"All right, Lieutenant," Chakotay said shortly. "As you
wish."

B'Ealanna couldn't finish her meal; she simply was too
engrossed in her concerns about Tolora, as well as her own personal
demons. She tossed the remains of her supper into a nearby
recycler and headed back to her quarters.

No one had yet filled her in on the ship's visitor and she was
quite startled upon turning a corner and nearly running into him.

"Excuse me -- I wasn't paying attention -- who are you?"

"Are you sorry for nearly knocking me down or are you
interested in my identity? Make up your mind."

"I -- I -- who are you?"

"My name is of no concern to you. I was invited to stay on
your ship by your captain; she seems to think that if I get to know
her crew, I will share information and/or resources with her. If
I find that the rest of her crew are as inattentive and rude as you
seem to be, I shall have to disappoint her and go about my business
and chalk my experiences on this ship up to wasted time and
energy."

"What is your problem? I find it hard to believe that Captain
Janeway would have invited you to stay aboard the ship so that you
could abuse people you don't know and make snap judgments about the
entire crew on the basis of a few hours' information? I'm the
Chief Engineer and I assure you, I am quite able. And if you think
I've *been* rude, hang around a while. With an attitude like
yours, I might be inclined to show you just how rude I can be when
I actually *intend* it."

"Ah, yes, the Klingon rising to the surface so abruptly, so
easily! And you hate it, don't you? You want to be human so
badly, and yet, you were brought into being by an inconsiderate
coupling whose participants didn't give a thought to the
possibility that you would grow up feeling torn, alienated --
wallowing in self-hatred and --"

B'Ealanna sprang and grabbed the infuriating idiot in the long
white shirt by his throat. She applied just enough pressure to cut
off the rest of his sentence, then let go.

"If you know so much, I suggest you shut your mouth *fast*.
I may not *like* the fact that I'm part Klingon for reasons to
complex for you to understand, but it doesn't change the fact that
I *am* Klingon, does it? And believe me, I am perfectly willing to
teach you just what it is about being Klingon that gives me so much
trouble, and make you wish I were fully human more than I often
do!"

*** *** ***

Klingons! Whether full- or half-blooded, they are vile,
absolutely vile. Savage, uncontrollable beasts, barely above
crocodiles in civility and brainpower. It was all I could do to
keep myself from changing her into something more befitting her
attitude problem -- for I have to admit, even then, she was at
least less gruesome to behold than Worf. And I found her extremely
amusing for another reason -- she had been instantly enamored of me
at her first glimpse of me. Yes, that's right: the little beast
took me in at one glance and her mind went into full jungle form as
her eyes traveled over my body. They lingered at my groin, where
I had to instantaneously create for myself what she was seeking
beneath my shirt -- I of course do not have to release the vile
nitrogenous wastes mortals must rid themselves of, and the very
idea of sex with a mortal is enough to make a Q sick -- just short
of enough, anyway. And that's pretty gruesome, trust me. So I
hadn't thought it necessary to construct primary sex organs for
myself until then. I didn't want to tease her too much, so I
didn't feed her Klingon appetite with a monstrous, ridged affair,
but she got an eyeful of something grand nestled beneath my
clothing -- though naturally I made certain she saw that it was not
rigid and standing at attention -- no reason to degrade myself just
to have some fun with a mere animal.

*** *** ***

B'Ealanna lay on her bunk, fuming. She hadn't asked to be
talked to in such a manner; she certainly hadn't deserved his
invasive psychoanalysis. She was burning with anger and curiosity,
too -- why in hell would Janeway allow that -- a few nasty Klingon
obscenities flooded her mind - she pushed them aside.

What did it matter to her, anyway? This stranger, this jerk,
would be gone before long -- yes, hopefully, he would get something
positive enough from his visit to the ship to give them something
helpful -- but until that time, why should she concern herself with
anything he did or said? Who cared where he had gotten his
information about her heritage; who cared whether he thought she
was rude or anything else for that matter? He certainly wasn't
important to her.

"Janeway to Tores."

"Go ahead, Captain," she answered wearily.

"Lieutenant, I understand no real progress was made on the
computer matrix?"

"That's right, Captain; I left a full report with --"

"Yes, I read it. Lieutenant, have you been informed of the
telepathic visitor aboard the ship who has -- implied that he has
information we might find useful -- if he -- likes what he sees
with respect to -- well, frankly, I'm not sure what he's looking
for."

B'Ealanna sensed the captain's embarrassment with this
admission and felt the tension in the uncertain interruption to
Janeway's sentence.

"Yes -- yes, Captain. I know all I need to know about him."

"Janeway out."

"She knew now. Telepathic? *TELEPATHIC*? Fury raced through
her right beside embarrassment. That meant -- that meant -- he had
seen not only the obvious, but the not-so-obvious, including facts
that until now she had been ignoring, avoiding for her own sake.
That meant he had not only known about her heritage and all the
baggage that went along with it, all the insecurities, self-
doubting, etc. - but worst of all, he had known -- he had been
aware that she had -- oh, great! Just great! She didn't need
this. She really did *not* need this. And come to think of it,
neither did the rest of the crew. If this guy wanted to, he could
read all their minds and use what he learned to wreak havoc among
the crew -- she was sure there was information that each and every
one of them had no desire to have revealed-- and he had the power
to reveal all.

"Whoever you are," she snapped in her mind, "You can't leave
soon enough! I hope you can read minds at a distance. Go away!
Any help you might give up comes at too high a price."

*** *** ***

I was having marvelous fun sorting through the petty,
grotesque dreams and desires of the Voyager crew -- a diversion
which took only moments to collect but provided a wealth of food
for thought, so to speak - ah, the fun I could have with them if
such was my whim. And that Klingon creature -- she was most
fascinating. How intriguing that her strong physical attraction to
me had instilled a desire to get rid of me as quickly as possible -
- oh, yes, most of that was due to my telepathy but she was far
more concerned that I would use her feelings for me against her
than she was about me exploiting knowledge about the rest of the
crew -- her selfishness was inspiring.

*** *** ***

B'Ealanna tossed the thin blanket off of her, kicking the
tangled cloth from between her legs. The dream leaped out at her
from the pit of her mind, reaching for her still as she grasped at
wakefulness to escape it. She was acutely aware of the thrumming
in her veins, the throb that pulsed hard and hot throughout her
being.

That obnoxious, intruding, insulting man was in her head, in
more ways than one. She growled with frustration, knowing he might
very well be aware of what she was going through no matter where he
was on the ship. What was wrong with her? Was she so hard up out
here, so far from home, that she could so fiercely desire such an
insipid, arrogant --

She threw a fake potted plant across the room; the ceramic pot
shattered against the door to her quarters, emptying quite a mess
onto the floor. Rather than serving to calm her nerves a bit,
however, it piqued her anger and desire. Her eyes pierced every
corner of the room, looking for more objects to hurl. Why was she
so damned organized and neat -- it was something that didn't come
naturally, something she had to force herself to do. She knelt and
picked up a boot and sent it spinning across the room.

She barked an order to the computer to clean up her mess, then
remembered such amenities had been shut off to conserve energy.
She let out a little scream as she set about replicating a broom
and shovel.

The mess was disposed of in a matter of minutes, her heated
fury engulfing her -- she was far too angry for these
circumstances, she insisted to herself, but that did no good. The
fuse had been lit, and it was going to have to erupt in some form
of explosion before she could calm down.

She lunged at the punching bag on the opposite side of her
bunk, throwing kicks and punches and head butts at it as it swung
wildly forwards, backwards and sideways. She grunted, cursed and
slammed her body into the assault, relishing the expenditure of her
temper's energy. The door beeped. She spun around, mid-strike,
but kept her balance. A think sheen of sweat covered her body, the
short tunic she wore clinging to her. She yanked a robe from the
cubby above her bunk and snapped, "Come in."

"Having a bad night, my Klingon friend?"

"What the *hell* are you doing here?"

"I was invited in. No, really. Just this second. Or don't
you remember? When you're this angry, this savage, I imagine it's
difficult to keep things straight."

"Get out of my room right now! If I had known it was you, I
would never have invited you in."

"Oh, invited me in?"

The smirk, the emphasis on the words, the gleam in his eyes as
he stepped closer to her caught her off guard with embarrassment
for a few seconds.

"Get out of my room -- and GET OUT OF MY HEAD!"

*** *** ***

Ah, it was glorious, watching the brute squirm. Sickening
what a Q has to do to have some fun. Dirty little innuendos and
such -- but she was asking for it -- who told her to have such
corrupt, vile, carnal dreams about me? No *wonder* she was
embarrassed -- filthy, filthy little girl.

I had decided that her disdain for me deserved some attending
to -- I assure you, I had no intentions of doing anything
*intimate* with the creature -- ugh! The very thought! But there
is something deliciously powerful about using a mortal's deepest,
most primitive desires against him or her -- why, they do it to one
another all the time -- so why should I miss out?

*** *** ***

"Oh, my dear, you *do* protest too much!"

He stood directly before her now, leaning down so that his
eyes bored into hers. His lips curled into a sardonic grin.

B'Ealanna couldn't help herself. Her eyes left his -- they
were too deliciously sensual, too deep, too -- and her glance
traveled down the length of his body, then up again, and caught the
sight of his right hand as he drummed his fingers lightly against
his hip. His fingers -- they were so long -- how she would like
them to be --

"GET OUT! NOW! NOW!"

She kicked out, caught his left knee from the side and sent
him sprawling to the floor. He didn't grunt, groan or otherwise
show signs of being injured or in pain -- not even surprised by the
kick or the fall. Then, he laughed.

He got to his feet and held out his right hand and took her
wrist tightly in his grasp.

"What is it you would like my fingers to be doing? And
*where*?"

A white-hot fury seized her now; the room became outlined in
bright, defined detail, with him at the center. The enemy, the
target, the attacker -- and he had to be stopped.

Her mind quickly sifted through various options of putting a
swift, decisive end to his psychological tyranny -- but then -- she
got a very different idea. So, he wanted to give her what her mind
wanted -- very well then, she would *take* it instead. Exactly the
way she wanted it. Just the way she liked it.

*** *** ***

I'm afraid I've decided that this is where my little tale must
end. As you can see, I'm here to tell it, which should be enough
evidence for you to infer that although things did not go as I
planned, they worked out in the end -- no surprise, given who I am.
Now that I've considered it, this silly impulse of story-telling is
absurd -- and I shall destroy this, lest anyone dare think I am
ashamed to continue.

--------------------------------------

I'll take over from here. I am Q, too, -- actually, those who
know of me in the Federation have coined the name Q2 -- humans must
have categories and labels, you know.

Q (the one who started this sordid tale) did try to destroy
his little masterpiece, but We couldn't allow such effort to go
unheralded and unfinished. No, no, I will take over from here and
tell you what transpired in great detail, right down to the inner
thoughts of Q himself. His thoughts and musings from here on in
will be quite different than what you have experienced thus far.
Understandable, given the fact that he was suddenly and utterly
mortal, without the power of reading minds or protecting himself
from the trials and tribulations of mortal existence.

A bunch of us had decided that a one-time thrust into the
dregs of human reality was not enough for Q -- he was mortal once
before, for a short time, in an attempt by the Continuum to teach
him a lesson. We knew at the end of that trial that all was not
well, but we felt the risk was worth taking -- sadly, We do tend to
overestimate our successes with our errant members -- a forgivable
thing, you must admit, given that the vast majority of us are
perfect.

But I digress. The rest of Q's story waits to be told.

End of Pt. 1 (to be concluded)

TERROR INQOGNITO, PT. 2/2

Before a member of the Continuum is rendered powerless by the
rest of us, that member must be informed -- that is one of the few
Rules that cannot be broken under any circumstances. Usually, a
hearing is held and the member is allowed to argue on his behalf,
as well as to encourage others to speak on his behalf -- drat these
pronouns -- we don't have any gender; using words is such a
primitive form of communication. In this particular instance, we
simply sent a message to Q, informing him that his powers would be
removed -- and, of course, we wished him well with all sincerity.

*** *** ***

"All right, telepath!" B'Ealanna practically spat the word,
and it acquired the connotations of a horrendous epithet as it
sprang forcefully from her pursed lips. Her usual pensive,
somewhat angry countenance was now one of outright, unadulterated
rage. Her face seemed to radiate her fury and ill intent.

As she lunged for him, she saw a look of confused terror flash
across his face; he blinked several times and seemed to be
struggling with something deep inside himself. Then she watched as
he apparently attempted to decide what he was supposed to do -- or
feel -- or . . . something; she had never seen this look on
anyone's face in any situation, let alone in the predicament he had
placed himself in. The small part of her gentle, human side which
she was now fighting to eradicate was vanquished from her mind
before she could study his bizarre reactions further. Now her
Klingon mind and body were one -- tensed, decided and ready to
attack.

"I'm afraid I have picked up some trouble afoot elsewhere on
the ship," she heard his voice, the words coming staccato and
brisk, as he backed away from her.

"Security will take care of it!" she growled, "There's
something that needs your attention right here. Or have you
forgotten?"

He smiled winningly, reaching out to caress her face gingerly;
she saw the automatic flinch as he did it.

"Oh, I'll be back. In a few --"

She sprang and tore at the shirt -- he wondered why he hadn't
decided to present himself in a coat of armor instead. The
material fell from his shoulders, and her nails raked his skin;
glancing down, he felt -- a sickening, hot motion in his stomach
that seemed to move up toward his throat when he saw red dots
oozing from beneath his rended flesh. So they had gone all out, he
mused -- they had even gone so far as to make him internally human.

The part of his mind that knew all there was -- technically
speaking -- to know about every species in the universe was
seriously encumbered by his new and terrible state, but his memory
was sharp, and he knew that if he didn't try to maintain calm, the
sick feeling he had would result in a foul-smelling, nasty-looking
mess -- one which would exit from his mouth -- oh *disgusting*!

The Klingon's hands were crushing his shoulders -- if she
pressed any harder, he was sure that she would break bone -- and he
had never experienced such a phenomenon, but having seen enough
human suffering in his time, he was certain he did not want to find
out what it was like.

He was being carried now, effortlessly and purposefully toward
her bunk. He knew what she was going to do, and he also knew that
it wasn't going to be a sharing, caring experience; not that it
mattered. Carnal activities, regardless of motive or manner, were
absolutely appalling to him. He had used his mind to make mortals
think he had pleasured them in times past, but he had never --
*ever*! -- used his body to -- to --

The bubbly, sick feeling rose to his lips; he swallowed hard
and felt the burning sting in his throat as the vile fluid receded.

"I -- uh -- need something -- to -- drink."

A hoarse, nearly hysterical laugh burst from the woman who was
pushing him forcefully down onto the bunk.

She reached above them into a cubby and brought down a bottle
of thick blue liquid.

"Have a swig of this, telepath; maybe it'll help restore your
mood of a few moments ago."

He gingerly took the bottle and sniffed at it; his nostrils
burned from the vapors emanating from within. He thought that it
couldn't be a good idea to consume something so strong when his
stomach was "upset" but he needed something -- anything -- to wash
away the bitter acid in his mouth and throat. He took a small swig
-- and nearly passed out.

She had grabbed the bottle before it clattered to the floor
from his hand and was leaning over him, smirking, her teeth having
taken on a ferocious, fang-like appearance to his frightened eyes.

He felt an achy soreness rising on his skin where she had
grasped him earlier; glancing down, he saw ugly purple marks
forming on his shoulders and upper arms. Broken blood vessels, he
thought clinically, trying to remove his mind from his present
circumstances. It would have been easy had he had his full mind at
his beck and call -- then again, were that the case, he would not
be in this situation at all. A flash of hot anger tinged with
desire for revenge against his fellow Q gave way immediately to
sheer terror when he felt and heard the clink of cold metal at his
ankles.

Glancing down, he saw that she was about to shackle him to her
bunk.

"No!"

Something inside sprang awake, and he dove off the bunk and
toward the door to her quarters. With a feral cry, she lunged
after him, grabbed his left ankle as it kicked out behind him
instinctively -- did he have instincts now -- oh, how *primitive*!
-- and dragged him back. He yowled as a pain wrenched his ankle.

"You're right, telepath! I don't need to shackle you!"

She dove, knocking the breath out of him as she slammed
against his chest and stomach. Her left hand slammed his wrists
together and yanked them above his head as she bit at his right
nipple.

Q screamed.

*** *** ***

"Captain, I'm picking up communication signals from the
planet's surface. I have started to run the signals through the
universal translator, but they appear encoded."

"Contact the K'Haran ship, Ensign. Let's find out what is
going on."

"Captain, it appears that the rebels have beat us to
establishing communication on the planet," said Tolora. Her
friendly, calm demeanor was tinged with anger -- and Janeway
thought -- fear.

"Are you capable of deciphering the codes which are being
used, Chief?"

"We're working on it, Captain."

"We might be able to assist you if you give us any information
you have --"

"No, Captain. In the interest of your ship and crew, I do not
think it wise that you attempt to assist us in learning the
contents of these communications. I want to respect your wishes
and keep you out of the planet's affairs as much as possible."

Odd, thought Janeway. The woman seemed almost trapped by the
request to assist, as if -- as if she were hiding something.

*** *** ***

"What's that, telepath?" B'Ealanna snapped. "Were you trying to
say something? You had plenty to say earlier. I did not
understand that noise -- was it a primitive effort on your part,
you of such a fine, strong, capable mind, to let me know that I had
hurt you?"

She bit again at his nipple -- the rational part of him, which
at the moment was a bare whisper inside him, knew that if she were
in full form, she would have bitten it clean through. As it was,
blood streaked his chest, and fiery tendrils of pain shot through
him from her nails and teeth. His ankle still throbbed from a few
moments ago.

"If you were a strong, brave Klingon, you wouldn't be such a
coward!" she spat at him. "you would be enjoying this. You were
enjoying it when I ravaged you in my mind, telepath! You gave me
plenty of incentive to take what I wanted, kept reminding me of
what I wanted as I fought to ignore it. I'm only taking what I
want, and what you offered."

"I -- I -- please -- I was -- flirting; I didn't really -- I
wasn't trying to make you feel *obligated*."

A harsh, shrill laugh accompanied the slap across his face.

"You wanted me to be uncomfortable! You threw my impulses up
at me, as well as some of my deepest hurts and insecurities! You
*raped* my mind, telepath! You *raped* me! Now I'm just returning
the favor! You started the battle; I'm finishing the war."

He wanted to bring up human cliches about two wrongs not
making a right; wanted to appeal to the side of her that would
undoubtedly regret this later -- that was probably hating it right
now, but was incapable of coming to the surface in the heat of
anger and humiliation. But though he was in terrible pain and
nearly paralyzed with fear, his pride still struggled within him to
gain some upper hand, and he didn't want to beg. He couldn't. But
he also didn't want any more pain -- and he definitely didn't want
to do -- oh please! Not with this creature especially! So what
option did he have?

Apologizing wasn't begging, and besides, as soon as he was out
of this situation, there wouldn't be anything to apologize for or
feel sincere regret about -- she at least didn't know who he really
was, and to what extent she was demeaning and degrading him. That
was something, at least.

"I'm sorry."

"What?!"

"I'm sorry. I was wrong. I'm not used to dealing with non-
telepaths; it's very awkward for me."

"Is that so? Even though you're at a decided advantage?"

"Primitive forms of communication which do not involve direct
mind connection -- make me uncomfortable; it's a failing many
telepaths have. We can't help it; it's visceral."

"Well, so is the Klingon need to conquer!" she spat at him,
"But you know that already. And you know that I have no intention
of letting you go after what you've done to me."

"What I did -- is natural and accepted where I come from. No
one is insulted when you read his or her mind; it's our way of
life. It's a very honest way of life. We know where we stand with--"

"Shut up!"

His attempts to talk to her now were met with glares and hard-
edged smacks. She could see that more than the pain she was
inflicting, he was absolutely terrified -- and appalled -- at the
idea of touching her and being touched by her. It was apparently
part and parcel of his condescending view of her, the view that
held her as a grotesque, primitive animal.

She clasped his wrists more tightly, and then kissed him,
hard. Her lips parted his and she probed his mouth firmly and
deeply with her tongue. She felt him recoil, his entire body
tensing, his strangled scream of protest covered by their kiss.
Her hands bit into his body -- his wrists still above his head, he
seemed to be unaware that she had let go of them. His legs bucked
beneath her, his knees attempting to jab her.

Suddenly, he bit her tongue. He expected her to scream and
give him a moment to collect himself and to drive the sick feeling
from his body. But, instead, she growled low in her throat, and
intensified her attack with new fervor.

She bit his lips, then licked the blood from them, savoring
the taste of his fear.

"You're going to do whatever I say, telepath!" she hissed in
his ear, then bit the lobe. "Everything and anything."

She pressed one of her engorged nipples into his mouth; it
pulsed hot with her excitement. The salty taste of sweat hit him -
- perspiration -- how vile! He felt himself becoming ill again,
but forced it away, knowing that becoming sick would have no effect
on her fury.

"Go ahead, telepath! You want to bite me, don't you? Go
ahead. Hard."

He was shocked. She *wanted* pain. His disdain and disgust
for her and her races were further fueled by this revelation.

B'ealanna considered his responses to her; he was disturbed by
the fact that pain in this context excited her, but he was far more
disgusted with the idea of being in *any* physical contact with
her. She therefore intended to force him to do things which he
would find positively gruesome. She smiled, enjoying her power and
the feel of his teeth attacking her tough nipples.

She pulled away from him and took his penis in her mouth; it
was completely limp. When her tongue began swirling about his
shaft, she heard the choked protest of shock as he grabbed at her
hair and tried to yank her away. She expected him to rebuke her
for such an obscene act, but instead he pleaded with her not to
bite. Naturally, her first impulse was to bite, but she didn't.
She had other ideas to test his limits.

"Get on your knees next to the bunk, telepath!"

What now? His mind sifted through images he recalled from
Vash's memories of her time with Picard to se if their encounters
would give him any clues -- and they did.

He clutched his stomach in horror; his face became pale and he
broke into a cold sweat.

"Oh, is this animal behavior too much for you?" the Klingon
scoffed, forcing him off the bunk and onto his knees. She sat at
the edge of the bunk, then wrestled him between her knees. She
pushed his head violently down towards the pulsing, red-hot place
between her thighs.

"Your -- your *offspring come from there! You -- you
*excrete* from behind and in front --"

"I am fully aware of those biological details, telepath!" she
mocked him. "I want you to spend quite a bit of time doing this,
so I suggest you start -- and don't worry about hurting me! You
couldn't if you tried!"

What would she do if he refused? Could it be any worse than
what he was being asked to do? Yes, of course -- she could have
asked him to place his penis inside her - and to -- He clutched
his stomach again and turned away from her, clapping his other hand
to his mouth.

"Hey! What do you telepaths do anyway -- have sex with your
minds? You're acting like a Kaless-damned virgin!"

Q spied the bottle of liquid he had sipped from earlier -- it
had nearly killed him, so it was likely to kill any vile organisms
cavorting where she -- wanted him to place his mouth. He grabbed
the bottle, yanked off the cap and poured all of what remained
within between her legs.

She gasped, then he saw a new flush creeping over her body,
the same flush which had suffused her face and nipples earlier.

She began to laugh huskily and grabbed at him.

"Well, leave it to the telepath to find another use for
Klingon whiskey," she seemed to purr with delight. "Now use your
mouth to spread it around; push it inside me."

He noticed her thighs were trembling and her breathing had
increased. Her left hand, seemingly of its own volition, stroked
at the large, protruding bud beneath a mound of dark hair between
her legs.

"Now!"

She grabbed his head again and pushed his face down, into her
musky warmth and the sweet/sour acid of the whiskey puddled between
her legs. His closed lips hit her flesh; it was hot, so hot, and
sticky with the liqueur and her own excitement. She dug her nails
painfully into his neck until his lips parted and his tongue darted
out and began gingerly touching her.

"Yes! Harder! Put it inside me! Oh! Ahhh!"

She growled, a rumbling, purring cry which threatened to
deafen him. She reached down and spread her lips, and with her
other hand pushed him deeper.

As he continued, she stopped scratching and holding him, and
lost herself in her sensations. She writhed and bucked, her thighs
closing about his head as she thrust herself against his lips, his
teeth, his tongue.

He wasn't in danger of being hurt right now, he suddenly
realized. She was not actually the one in power any more -- he had
the control. He was in charge of her reactions, of her feelings.
She was centered on him, mind and body, consumed with sensations
*his* mouth was providing her. If he stopped, it would disappoint
her, frustrate her. He was solely responsible for making her feel
intense pleasure.

Strange, what this revelation made him feel. His fear washed
away as a bizarre suffusion of fire engulfed -- his penis. His
shock gave way to amazement as he placed his hand on his now-
throbbing cock, hard and hot. He was momentarily disgusted with
himself when he recognized his need, his *desire* to dive upon her
and bury that pleasure-and-pain-enveloped piece of flesh deep
inside her.

He nipped harder at her and she moaned fitfully. He started
when he felt her hands caressing his shoulders *tenderly* and as he
heard her softly pleading with him to kiss her.

Almost without conscious thought, he crawled onto the bed
beside her and met her lips with his own; their tongues did not
meet; he simply moved his mouth against hers gently, then licked
the stickiness from her lips. She wrapped her arms around him and
rolled on top of him; she reached down with one hand and laced his
aching cock against her vulva and began sliding back and forth
against it, her breath coming in short, ragged gasps.

Suddenly, images of what he had seen earlier when he had been
reading her mind flooded back to him. He simultaneously recalled
her statements that he had seen her ravaging him in her mind; that
he had known what she wanted. In truth, she had done nothing of
the kind to him in her mind's eye. He had been the one in control;
*he* had orchestrated their encounter and she had allowed him to do
so. Yes, it had been rough; yes, it had been hard-edged much of
the time, but most of it had been tender, sharing love-making
scenarios, with him calling the shots, not the other way around.
And she hadn't been the angry, ferocious huntress/warrior; she had
been a generous, considerate lover . . .

"I want you to use your teeth more," she broke through his
thoughts, the hard anger seeping back into her voice.

He took a deep breath and answered her.

"Oh, no, you don't. That's not what you really want at all!
I know what you want."

He saw the flash of anger in her eyes; she believed he was
reading her mind -- little did she know that was not possible at
the moment.

Quickly, he began stroking her clitoris with his fingertips
while sliding his tongue around and around her nipples. She
gasped, arching her back and moving closer to him, her fingers
entangled in his hair. He had all but forgotten his disgust as he
slid two fingers inside her and drove them back and forth first
slowly, then faster and faster.

"Oh -- oh -- yes! I want you! Please, please!"

He felt a rush of his old self deep inside; she was begging
him to give her something only he could grant; she wanted *him* to
do something for her which she could not do for herself -- not
this, anyway. She was again on top of him, grasping at him, trying
to move onto his cock, but he deftly sprang to his feet -- the pain
in his ankle merely a dull ache now -- and strode, clutching her,
across the room to the wall. He shoved her back against the wall
and placed his hands at her shoulders. Then he stood, looking at
her, straight into her eyes.

"What do you want now?" he smiled. He leaned in towards her
and nipped and licked at her throat.

"Oh, just fuck me! Now! Fuck me! Hard and fast! -- And --
kiss me."

He drove his tongue into her mouth and his cock deep between
her nether lips at the same explosive instant. Every nerve ending
on his skin shrieked with agonizing pleasure. Their tongues gently
buffeted about in her mouth as he ground himself against her,
driving wildly inside her. Her body thumped against the wall; she
paid no mind to the jarring in her bones and muscles. She gripped
his buttocks with her hands, spreading them apart slightly, her
fingertips pressing urgently into his flesh as she cried out with
each lunge he took inside her.

He noticed with a start that his eyes had been closed for a
while, and he opened them and stared directly into her face.
Because he had begun feeling vestiges of himself reforming within,
he was disgusted anew with the fact that he was engaging in carnal
activities with a mortal -- part Klingon, no less. And worse, he
was enjoying it thoroughly.

He didn't want to think about it; didn't want to consider it;
the ramifications and regrets for later. He closed his mind and
his eyes to the reality of what was happening and grasped at a much
more welcome image.

He brought the image into focus, replacing B'Ealanna's face
and body with another's, replacing her cries with the pleading
voice of another being.

His momentary distraction and disgust faded as suddenly as
they had interfered; his mind took over, replacing B'Ealanna's
breasts with a well-muscled back;he imagined that his hand held a
different chin, that the head was turned to the side; that it was
not quite as easy to kiss and make love as it was in his present
reality. The idea of replacing the Klingon woman's vagina with a
man's buttocks did not disturb him -- he was too involved with his
fantasy to pay any mind to such trivialities now.

He reached for Vash's memories again, tried, despite his
virtual mental impotence, to recall the sensations she recalled.

B'Ealanna trembled as she came, the fast, rhythmic tremors
wrapping her more tightly around Q's seemingly tireless penis. She
did not hear his whispered moan: "I love you, Jean-Luc."

*** *** ***

"I must speak to you, Captain."

"What is it, Tuvok?"

"I have deciphered enough of the code to be certain that we
have been lied to."

"Lied to? Explain, Mr. Tuvok."

"According to the communications now being broadcast about the
planet, Tolora and her assistants are in actuality a rebel group
attempting an overthrow of the K'Haran government."

"Are you sure, Mr. Tuvok?"

The Vulcan did not answer immediately; Janeway realized she
had insulted him. Finally, he nodded.

"Let's get out of here, Mr. Tuvok. I want no more involvement
with this situation."

Janeway paused for a moment before following Tuvok out to the
bridge. She was silently furious; they had wasted time and
resources here. Well, it was her own fault for being so trusting -
- *that* wouldn't happen again.

*** ***

B'Ealanna awoke with a start. Memory took a while, but it
brought many things when it arrived: regret, shame, horror -- and
finally, relief and pleasure. She didn't know where the telepath
had gone. She recalled only a whirlwind orgasm which seemed to go
on and on -- and then, she remembered nothing until awakening to
her recollections of the past couple of hours.

Her door beeped.

"Come in." she called wearily, forgetting that she was naked.

Commander Chakotay entered her quarters, then stopped
abruptly.

"Lieutenant?"

"Oh! I -- sorry!"

She grabbed at her blanket, in a heap of disarray on the floor
and tugged it around her body.

"I -- I --"

"Had an interesting afternoon," Chakotay mused, studying the
sticky blue puddle on the sheets, B'Ealanna's tousled, spent
appearance, the empty liqueur bottle, -- and bloodstains -- not
hers -- wrong color.

"Uh, is there something I can help you with, Commander?"

"We are about to leave orbit around K'har," he answered
quietly, his mind elsewhere. "We discovered that Tolora was lying
to us -- your instincts were right, B'Ealanna -- and we are leaving
immediately."

"I'll be right down. I'll just take a quick --"

There was a brilliant flash and a thundering drumroll; a
dizzying vortex of motion and light followed and lasted for three
seconds or so, though it seemed much longer.

"Chakotay to bridge. What's happening?"

There was a long pause before Tuvok's voice answered calmly.

"We have been thrown 55,000 light-years closer to Federation
space . . . we cannot presently explain this phenomenon -- and I
have just been informed that a full diagnostic scan of the ship has
located a substantial supply of dilithium in our cargo bays."

Chakotay and B'Ealanna stared silently at one another. Once
again, B'Ealanna had forgotten her state of undress.

Chakotay's dark-brown eyes followed her body as she paced the
room, distracted with this puzzle.

"Not that I'm complaining, but -- *how*?"

"I don't know. Uh, B'Ealanna, I'll come back later, OK?"

She started and began blushing.

"I'm sorry -- I guess I -- I'm really sorry."

Chakotay cleared his throat.

"Do you mind if I ask -- a personal question?"

"Why not, considering the circumstances?"

"Who -- were you -- with today?"

She glanced straight into his eyes before answering. His face
was so full of expression; when he was intense like this, his prim
mouth looked so -- sensual.

"I, uh, was with the telepath."

"Oh. I see."

He turned to go.

"Commander?"

"What?" The word came more sharply than he had intended.

"What's the problem? I was off duty; I'm allowed to --"

"Of course. It's none of my business, B'Ealanna."

"Then what?"

How could he tell her? He had wanted her for years, and had
avoided admitting it, avoided letting her know because of the dark
anger which permeated her spirit. Her negativity was strong, and
he believed that such feelings were forces that were infectious.
He wanted none of that.

At the same time, he wanted to know the darker forces which
powered her soul, wanted to touch and be touched by her while
connecting with her spirit, all aspects of her spirit. It was his
desire to know her animal nature that disturbed him and excited
him; he wanted to be catapulted into her spirit's world, where her
two halves warred constantly. He wanted to visit that place with
her; wanted to feed that angry passion with some of his own, wanted
their respective wild sides to converge; perhaps he could
neutralize some of her bad energy with his positive . . .

"Commander? What is it?"

"B'Ealanna, I want you."

"What?"

"I want you."

"What is this, Chakotay? You've never said anything like this
to me before; never gave me any indication of this. What, now that
you see that side of me, you suddenly want a piece?"

"Why are you always suspicious? Why are you always angry,
damn it?"

"Because everyone wants something from me. To study me, to
question me, to observe me. I'm this interesting specimen, this
chimera."

"Oh, stop it! You think I don't get exoticized? You think
people don't wonder about me because of my cultural differences?
My desire is based on your differences, yes, but it's not a test I
want you to pass or a conquest I want to make. I want you
*because* of it. Because it gives you power, a power I can't
understand and want to know -- as best I can."

"Well, I'm sorry, Chakotay; I don't think it's wise given the
circumstances."

"What is wise, B'Ealanna? Having a casual fling with a
stranger who shares nothing with you? Frankly, what I saw of him
wasn't inspiring."

"Believe me, it didn't happen in quite the way you seem to
imagine it did. But as you said previously, it isn't any of your
business."

"Fine, Lieutenant."

*** ***

Chakotay climbed into his bunk, his mind and body aching with
both happiness and tension. A ship-wide celebration had just
ended, and although there was a certain amount of uneasiness -- who
was responsible for bestowing the dilithium -- how had it gotten
aboard -- what were they expected to offer in return? No answers
and seemingly no way to discover any.

And then of course there were his own personal questions and
concerns -- mostly involving B'ealanna. He could feel something
between them -- whether it was a camaraderie borne of similar
personal and social conflict, or something deeper and more central
to their relationship, he didn't know. He had consulted his animal
guide several times with respect to his contradictory feelings and
had not been given much guidance, except to step cautiously.

Sleep overtook him finally, a heavy blanket of exhaustion
pulling at the tension and fatigue. For a while, his slumber was
undisturbed by dreams. But it wasn't long before he found himself
listening to a voice he had heard very recently, but could not
quite place.

Then a smirking face appeared, floating disembodied for some
time. A moist, warm haze seeped around the face, then was burned
away by a brilliant white light. Chakotay blinked, and saw that
the face was now attached to the naked form of a man -- the
telepath.

"You have wanted her for quite some time, haven't you?" the
figure's voice intoned. "You can sometimes feel her in your mind,
wreaking havoc with your better sense. And I had her -- so easily,
no complications. She wanted me, in fact, from the first time she
saw me."

"The reason for that is quite beyond me. I don't even care to
speculate."

"I can give her to you -- not her exactly -- but her essence.
That is what you want. She isn't capable of the depth you seek,
not yet. Her spiritual journey has barely begun, whereas yours has
been going on for quite some time. She is too spiritually
immature for you. She has nothing you need."

"That is probably true. But it is possible I have something
she needs, something she can use."

"You can find better ways of giving that to her. She wouldn't
be able to incorporate what you want to give her in the way you
want to impart it -- her self-image is not strong enough to sustain
that type of sharing right now, and all she would take away from
such an experience would be superficial and fleeting."

"Then what can you offer me, if she cannot offer herself of
her own will?"

"I can give you the part of her that you want, the part you
want a glimpse into. I was with her -- - I took from the
experience the hard, unyielding aspects of her spirit that you
seek. But you are aware that whether through her or through me,
what you will be getting is not even remotely what you truly desire
from her -- a depth of feeling and connection that you are mature
enough to accept and handle, but which she will not even be capable
of perceiving as possible for her for a long, long time."

"If you can give me just a taste of what she has to offer, now
or eventually, I'll take it."

"Oh, I know you will. I wouldn't have wasted my time
otherwise."

Chakotay's body was seemingly seized in a wave of continuing
motion and heat; sensations began as thin points of barely
perceptible tension and spiraled almost too quickly into heady,
nauseating pleasure. His skin vibrated with energy. He looked
deep into the telepath's mocking eyes and caught B'Ealanna's face
there. The telepath's hands were on him, but he was certain this
is what B'Ealanna's clutch would feel like to his waiting,
receptive body.

Sparks seemed to ripple between them as their mouths met in a
frenzied wrestle; a spinning torrent of emotion and knots of fiery
sensations coursed through Chakotay's abdomen, licking a trail
towards the explosive throb beneath. He gasped, his hands grasping
the telepath's shoulders, pulling him closer so that he could grind
that throbbing ache against him. Images and perceptions
splintered; Chakotay was never quite sure whether his mouth was
enveloping B'Ealanna's thick, blood-engorged nipples or the
telepath's much smaller ones, whether it was B'Ealanna's tongue
insistently exploring his mouth, whether the cries and moans that
swam between them would next be those of a man or a woman.

Chakotay surrendered to the dream now, no longer willing,
perhaps not even able, to ponder how it was that he could be
kissing B'Ealanna's mouth while that same mouth encircled his cock,
squeezing her tongue against every inch of him, pressing her lips
urgently around him. He felt himself being lifted into the air,
then he floated lazily down, sliding into B'Ealanna with
deliberate, aching slowness; her body pulsed around him, sucking
him in, her legs coming up to wrap tightly about his buttocks,
pressing him deeper. He felt her muscles contracting again and
again; the rhythm called to him to let go of the horrible tension
and screaming pleasure inside him. He heard her cries of ecstasy
at the same time he felt a man's shoulders beneath his hands; heard
her cry his name even as his lips brushed the back of a man's neck.
He lost himself entirely then, paying no more heed to the
conflicting, warped images -- he closed his eyes and reveled in all
that was happening, refusing to question it further.

*** *** ***

Q2 here again. You may be wondering about this last part of
the story. I just added it, for if you are still reading this
putrid little tale, you are certainly a being who would appreciate
this voyeuristic venture into the dreams of Commander Chakotay.
But do not allow yourself to consider for one second that after Q
was released from his Continuum-imposed mortal dungeon, he was so
fascinated -- or worse -- *tittilated* -- by the idea of the
mechanics of lust that he desired to experience sex with a male.
Do not assume that his obsession with his human pet Picard led him
to a state of feverish curiosity so all-encompassing and maddening
that he accosted Chakotay in his sleep with the sole objective of
achieving knowledge of male-male -- interaction. Should you
consider these things, you would be viewed very badly indeed by the
members of the Continuum -- and should you *voice* such beliefs to
others -- well, let us just say that such blasphemy will not go
unnoticed -- or unanswered.

The End

-- Christine M. Faltz, Star Trek fan fic author of:
"Oh, Captain, My Captain!"; "Inner Truths"; "The Trial Never Ends" and "Terror Inqognito"