Fic: Observations, Ch 189
Tournament attendance, though it was being broadcast on the nets, was by invitation only. Thus there was a limited number of people, all dressed to the nines, milling about a luxurious room with their drinks, taking a seat and quietly conversing. The poker players had not yet entered the room. Jim wandered over to the delegation from Orion and began flirting with the dignitaries, their equivalent of small talk. Christine and Sulu sat down to chairs that would give them full view of the poker table and all the proceedings that would take place. Leonard struck up conversation with a businessman from Ferengi, while Scotty whispered something into Nyota’s ear, causing her to smile, restraining a laugh.
A bureaucrat by the name of Nilz Baris approached me. I recognized him from one of the diplomatic missions my father had taken when I was young. At that time, Mr. Baris was an aide to the ambassador from Terra. I believe he had aspirations of becoming a high ranking ambassador himself. Evidently those plans did not come into fruition. I did not remember very much concerning his character, but by the appearance of his pinched face and sour expression, he has not advanced far.
He held out a hand to shake. I raised my hand in a ta’al. He seemed to remember himself and awkwardly cramped his fingers to form the ta’al.
Mr. Baris is distinctly unsuited for diplomacy.
“Commander Spock, I don’t know if you remember me, Nilz Baris. I was the aide to Ambassador Ramamurthy when your father was Vulcan’s ambassador to Earth.”
“Indeed, I recall several events where we were both in attendance.”
Mr. Baris seemed to inflate with my words.
“By your uniform and insignia, you are currently employed in the Department of Interior.”
He beamed.
“I’m the Federation Undersecretary of this quadrant. I manage the agricultural affairs of the planets here.”
“Interesting. What brings you to K7?”
“Actually, I’ve been meaning to speak to you and Captain Kirk about this very matter. It’s official Federation business.”
The sound of laughter and the ringing of crystal. Jim and Nyota had utterly charmed the Orions, if their coy expressions and the light scent of pheromones in the air were any indication. Scotty was with Leonard and two other Ferengi joined them. The discussion appeared to be intense. Sulu and Christine were lounging, likely discussing poker strategies.
I turned my attention back to Mr. Baris.
“I was not informed of any ongoing projects by the Federation in this sector.”
“Well, Mr. Spock,” Mr. Baris lowered his tone of voice. “It’s a rather confidential and sensitive project. Very important.”
I raised an eyebrow.
“I see.”
“Have you heard of,” Mr. Baris shifted his eyes suspiciously, glancing around as if to ensure that no one was eavesdropping on our conversation.
I resisted the urge to look at Jim. Petty and ridiculous bureaucrat or not, I am First Officer of the Enterprise and will conduct myself accordingly.
“Have you heard of quadrotriticale?” he almost whispered.
I blinked.
“Quadrotriticale?” Jim asked, voice raised. He winked at me as he came to my side. “Yeah, I’ve heard of it. High-yield grain, four-lobed hybrid of wheat and rye, perennial. I think you can trace the genetic engineering of the thing back to Canada.”
Mr. Baris was flabbergasted. His face was also slightly red.
“What about it?” Jim sipped his drink and motioned for the waiter to come over. “Two fingers of Vulcan port, neat for Commander Spock.”
Jim stepped closer to me and we touched skin to skin.
Thank you.
No problem. You looked like you needed it. Who is this guy?
The resident Undersecretary of Agricultural Affairs had yet to recover his powers of speech.
Undersecretary? Weird. They didn’t let some presidents of planets come to this thing, but he’s an undersecretary? Must be loaded. Or Baris has connections.
“Thank you,” I took my drink from the waiter. “Mr. Baris, you were speaking of the importance of quadrotriticale in a recent project of your department?”
“Who speaks of quadrotriticale?” two Klingons joined our discussion.
Jim smiled, an aggressive edge to his expression. He simultaneously moved to widen the circle and admit the Klingons into our conversation.
“Captain James T. Kirk, of the USS Enterprise.”
“Captain Koloth of the IKS B’Moth.”
“Korax of the IKS B’Moth.”
“Spock of Vulcan, First Officer of the USS Enterprise.”
The Klingons nodded.
“Who speaks of quadrotriticale?” Koloth demanded.
“I don’t know. We’re all waiting on Mr. Baris to tell us.”
Mr. Baris was frozen. Whether out of anger or fear, I could not determine. The two feelings are not mutually exclusive.
“Earthers. So arrogant that you think you’ll colonize the planet before you win it? The tournament has not begun.”
What am I missing here, Spock.
“You’ve gotta have arrogance if you want to win a poker game,” Jim answered.
Quadrotriticale, according to recent projections and studies, is the only Terran grain that will be able to germinate on Sherman’s planet. Mr. Baris’ presence and project indicate that the Federation has already made extensive plans for the development of Sherman’s planet.
Got it, thanks.
“It will be my pleasure to watch your face when my deputy destroys this game,” Koloth bared his teeth.
“Destroys?” Jim laughed. “Man, you don’t know the game at all. Are you sure you’re signed up for the right tournament?”
Koloth’s got a point. That’s a stupid plan. We haven’t even won the planet.
The Federation is apparently extremely confident in your ability to bring about a victory.
“Captain, your ignorance of the Klingon way shows itself pathetically. We invented games of risk, wagering our honor.”
Confident in my ability? I’m not even the one sitting at the table.
“Honor? You think poker’s about honor? Captain, better pack up and go home, there’s no way you’re gonna win if you think poker’s about honor,” Jim bared his teeth. “Tell you what, why don’t you save yourself the embarrassment of defeat, and go back to your bird-of-prey.”
Where the hell are the players, anyway? I thought the game was supposed to get underway ten minutes ago.
“We won’t tell anyone, Koloth. No shame in that.”
The Klingon made a guttural noise.
Jim, provoking the Klingons is not advisable.
I know what I’m doing, Spock. This is their idea of a good conversation.
I am aware of Klingon standards of conduct. However, there is a line between assertive statements and baiting a diplomatic party.
And I’m messing with it. Try it sometime. It’s fun.
“I’d like nothing more than to fight you blade on blade,” Koloth drew himself up to his full height.
“Name the time and place,” Jim said, nonchalant. His sipped his drink.
Around us, the room had gone quiet.
Jim.
Let me handle this, okay? It’s a pissing contest. He doesn’t mean anything he says.
I stood in perfect military posture and made direct eye contact with the Klingons.
Korax sneered.
I raised an eyebrow.
Koloth looked between me and the captain.
“The sharpest sword will win.”
“Bullshit. Victory never comes from the sharpest blade, but the person who wields it,” Jim answered.
Silence.
“Your reputation is not exaggerated, Captain Kirk of the USS Enterprise.”
“And I’m going to keep it that way.”
Koloth gave a Klingon salute, and Jim mimicked the action.
The entire room seemed to relax. The Klingons moved back to the space they had demarcated in the room, the Orions had been watching Jim and Koloth closely. For reasons unknown, Mr. Baris was apoplectic. However, he did not have time to name his grievances-whether against the Klingons or against Jim, I was not certain-as Mr. Lurry finally announced the beginning of the tournament.
Nyota came up to us as the players filed in.
“Are you trying to give us a heart attack, captain?” she said in undertone, maintaining her flawlessly beautiful facade.
“Just making friendly hellos, lieutenant,” Jim answered in a similar tone. “Making sure they don’t even think of messing with us.”
“You really had to put the whole room on edge?”
“You have any better ideas? I could’ve taken in up on the duel, if you think that’s more culturally appropriate.”
Nyota gave him a look.
“Spock had my back.”
Her expression softened, understanding in her eyes.
“Well,” she paused and turned to me, “It was worth it to see you looking so fierce, staring Klingons down in a black tux.”
Jim grinned.
And you wonder why I fantasize about that time you almost killed me.
“Illogical.”
--
An Organian stood at the dealer’s place, expression placid and indifferent It was not one Jim and I met previously in our mission. She telekinetically distributed the cards and spoke “players, place your bets” quietly. Pavel sat at the table wearing sunglasses and his tailored suit. His hair was different. The usually unruly and boyish curls were combed in some way, styled to make him appear older and more sophisticated.
“The lad looks like he belongs at the table,” Scotty said, coming to join myself and Nyota. “His hair’s a little funny looking.”
“I like his hair like that,” Nyota answered.
“He is certainly holding his own,” I nodded.
Pavel was playing solidly. He was not the leader in the amount of chips, and had not made any particularly impressive plays, but he was unflappable, giving nothing away in his facial expressions. Some underestimated him due to his age and youthful appearance.
“Aye. You know, I think he could actually win this.”
“It is too early to know.”
“He’s got good instincts,” Nyota said. “If things get bad-for whatever reason-Jim said he’s planning on putting Christine in and giving Pavel a break.”
“Can he do that? I’ve never heard of a tournament that lets you do that.”
“As I understand, the rules of this particular tournament are rather unorthodox due to the players involved and what is at stake.”
“Why’d Jim put the Russian in for this? Christine cleans me out and my stash whenever I play with her. I swear, the woman’s a cardshark.”
“It was a close call, but Jim decided to go with Pavel. Christine tends to play a little more conservatively. They’re both good at reading faces and keeping their expressions clear, but Pavel’s more likely to make a big play. Apparently they conducted statistical tests as part of the evaluation.”
“Fascinating.”
“She and Sulu are in charge of watching the game to keep track of other players and larger trends. They’ll have a debriefing later tonight.”
“Sulu’s is in charge of observation? He’s the worst poker player I’ve ever seen!”
“I highly doubt that, Scotty. Sulu is proficient at poker, but among us his skill is insufficient. It is a matter of the sample group.”
“No,” Nyota replied. “I think he’s a terrible poker player. But he’s good at picking up details about other people-I think it’s the security training he’s got.”
“Darling, that doesn’t explain why the lad’s a disaster with Texas Hold’Em.”
“Pavel says it’s because Sulu doesn’t know when to bet on his cards and when to bet based on the plays of the people around him. He tends to focus too much on his cards.”
Pavel threw his cards to the middle, folding for that round.
Nyota frowned.
“Everyone’s getting to know each other right now. It’s going to be a long few nights.”
--
“Chris, keep an eye on the game. We’ll be right back.”
She gave Jim a knowing look.
“Remember, captain,” she said breezily. “A door.”
Nyota has told everyone in our circle the story of the diplomatic gathering, the thermogenesis.
“Have fun.”
He smirked, then nudged me to follow. Jim nodded and smiled to various onlookers as we walked out of the room and into the corridor. The floor was lined with a rich red carpet, small glass and bronze sculptures were displayed along the wall. The end of the hall opened into a rotunda, from which hung an enormous chandelier. The floor was covered in intricate marble and sound echoed from the lower levels up to the ceiling. Jim continued walking. He seemed to have a particular destination in mind.
We walked halfway down another corridor when Jim stopped in front of an attendant. He said something in an undertone, a substantial number of credits were exchanged. The attendant nodded and opened the door.
Inside was a lounge. Original paintings from some popular modern artists hung in large gilt frames from the walls. Jim paid no attention to the arrangement of the sofas, but walked through another doorway to what was apparently a lavatory. The floor was tiled with black granite, strange polished silver figurines stood as decorations. Every surface seemed to glow with dark reflections. The lighting was spare and selective, carefully designed to complement the placement of the mirrors. There were a few stalls for toilets and a row of urinals along the wall.
Jim pushed me against the wall near a urinal and proceeded to kiss me.
I was exceedingly puzzled.
“Jim.”
His hands unbuttoned my tuxedo jacket and slid it off easily, then pulled aside the bands of my suspenders.
“Yeah?”
He loosed my tie and undid the first button of my dress shirt.
“What are you doing?”
He pulled the tie out entirely.
“Undressing you.”
“In a lavatory.”
“A really nice one. It fucking bleeds credits.”
He kissed me again.
“You are aroused by this?”
“Sometimes you ask the dumbest questions.”
“I am merely attempting to understand why you have chosen this venue at this time to pursue sexual intercourse.”
“Spock,” Jim nipped my fingers.
My pupils dilated.
“We’re at K7, in a luxury hotel that charges the GDP of a small planet to use one room, for one night,” he sucked my ring finger from knuckle to tip. “My lieutenant is playing a game of poker-and he’ll probably win-for the ownership of a planet that’s in textbook perfect position for a military base. There are at least fifty reporters who’d kill to get pictures of us touching,” he licked along the lines of my palm. “And while all that’s going on, at this moment, in this hotel, I’m going to fuck you.”
Jim bit into the skin of my wrist.
“In a lavatory.”
He looked at me.
“You can’t get over that, can you.”
“We have a room, Jim.”
“And we’ll use it. Later.”
“I see no reason why-”
“Think of it this way. If you could fuck me in a lab at the Vulcan Science Academy, would do you do it?”
“The laboratory is an unsuitable environment-”
Jim covered my mouth with his hand. He leaned in until I could feel his lips almost touching my ear.
“That asshat who insulted your mom. Let’s say he has a lab-does he? Don’t say anything, just nod.”
I inclined my head slightly. Jim laughed softly and kissed my ear.
“You know what it looks like?”
I nodded again.
“If you could fuck me in his lab-maybe right where his computer terminal is-would you do it? Maybe against the fume hood, or did his office overlook the particle accelerator? No one’s there except the security guy and all the polished lab surfaces,” Jim removed his hand from my mouth and continued to unbutton my shirt. “You’d take your sweet time, you’d be fucking meticulous,” his hands went around to remove my cummerbund. “I’m right, aren’t I.”
I looked at him, breathing slightly shallow.
“That’s what this is like for me. It’s not logical,” his hand was cool against my groin. “But think of it that way.”
“On the contrary, Jim,” I unbuttoned his dress coat. “Now that you have provided the proper frame of reference, I find it quite logical.”
He stopped me from undressing him further.
“This one’s my fantasy. I’ll do whatever you want if we ever get the chance to go to Vulcan II and tour their new Academy. But,” he pressed me against the wall again, “this one’s mine.”
A series of images flashed through my mind. Jim looked straight into my eyes.
“I’ve got a few others.”
“Several, it would seem. Your favorite-?”
Jim leaned in, unbuttoned my trousers, pulled out my dress shirt. He was surprisingly proficient at pulling my cufflinks out with his teeth.
“My favorite,” he kissed down my neck as the material of my shirt slid off. “My favorite involves the captain’s chair.”
--
“Jim, your tie.”
“I forget how to do it.”
I paused from putting on my dress shirt and tied Jim’s bow tie. I stepped back and, satisfied with the arrangement, I returned to dressing. When I was finished, Jim had an inscrutable expression on his face.
I looked at him.
“It’s nothing,” he smiled. “Just... I was remembering something.”
I held up two fingers. He pressed his fingers to mine.
“All right. Want me to help you dress?”
A full state of dress took a rather long time to accomplish.
--
“It’s about goddamn time. And don’t tell me where you were or what you did.”
“Did we miss anything?”
“Nothing, except our resident Russian genius is cleaning out everyone’s clocks. Who taught that boy to play poker?”
“His brother, I think,” Jim took a Klingon martini from a cocktail waiter.
“The same one that got killed in a firefight against the Klingons?”
“Yeah.”
“I’ll be damned if this aint some sort of poetic justice.”
“I don’t think he sees it that way. Chekov just likes playing poker.”
“He looks damn ridiculous in those sunglasses.”
“I think he looks kind of cute. Like a movie star trying too hard to look famous,” Nyota joined us.
“Where were you?”
“With Scotty.”
Jim frowned.
“Where’s Scotty?”
“At the bar with Sulu.”
“The open bar?”
“I think so.”
Jim looked slightly apprehensive at the prospect of Montgomery Scott near a source of unlimited alcohol, mingling with Klingons and Orions.
“I thought Sulu was supposed to stay focused on the game.”
“He needed to take a break for a while. I’ve been minding the store with Chris.”
“Did we miss anything?” Nyota asked.
“No. Unless y’all want a play by play of the cards that went down.”
“I was not aware that you had a photographic memory, Leonard.”
“I don’t remember everything, Spock, but I remember well enough. I’m a doctor-what do you think got me through medical school? Memorization’s part of the craft. Now if you really want a play by play, talk to Chris. She hasn’t moved from that spot since she sat down.”
“The game interests her,” I looked at her, dressed elegantly and grey eyes trained on the poker table and the various screens that showed the broadcast version of the tournament.
There was a noise. We all turned to Nyota.
“Ndugu, what is that furry object you are carrying?”
“This? I won it. Isn’t it adorable?”
“It’s trilling,” Jim looked at it curiously.
“It’s a tribble. That’s what Cyrano Jones called it.”
“A tribble,” I repeated.
“Do you know what it is, Bones?”
“You’d think after handling every single animal God created in this universe I’d see a little fellow like this. I’ve got no idea.”
“Does it even have a head? Where’s that sound coming from?”
“Mind if I hold it, Nyota?” Leonard asked.
“Not at all. He’s cute, isn’t he?”
“He?” I raised an eyebrow.
“I really don’t know. Oh, shoot. I’ve got fur all over my front. I’ll be right back. Don’t get hair on your tuxes, any of you.”
With that, Nyota quickly exited.
Leonard was petting the tribble, which seemed to be made entirely of trills and fur.
“Doctor, what is that?” Chekov walked up to us, still wearing his sunglasses.
“Did you guys dismiss for the night or something?”
“No keptan. We are getting a break, then playing some more. It is going to be a long game. Maybe a few days. These players-they are wery good. Best I haf seen.”
“You aren’t doing too bad, for a nineteen year old. Is there anything you’re not a prodigy at?” Leonard continued to pet the tribble.
“I will find something,” Pavel smiled.
“You look badass in your sunglasses. Like a Russian secret agent.”
“Thank you, keptan. But I am feeling more like an oligarch sechas.”
The tribble let out a loud trill of what sounded like satisfaction.
“What is it?”
“Nyota won it,” Jim shrugged.
“It is a tribble, apparently. We have yet to determine the whereabouts of its head.”
“Oh be quiet, Spock. Stop trying to dissect it. It’s soft, furry, warm, makes a pleasant sound. Who cares where its head is.”
“It is also currently shedding on your dress coat, Leonard.”
Jim sneezed.
Leonard and I turned to Jim immediately.
“I’m fine.”
“Goddamnit, I should’ve known you’d be allergic to this furball!”
“I’m fine, I swear.”
“Captain, there is a supply of medication in our quarters.”
“You packed hypos?”
“Of course he packs hypos! So do I!”
“I am always prepared.”
Jim sneezed again.
“That’s it. One dose, got it, Spock? I’m going to hunt down Nyota and get this tribble back to her.”
“Understood, doctor. Pavel, Sulu and Scotty are currently at the open bar. Nyota and I made reservations for our party at the Arcadia. We will meet you there at 2200 local time.”
Jim sneezed again.
“Jim, the exit is this way.”
We were walking to our suite when
“Captain Kirk! Commander Spock!”
“Mr. Baris, I’m afraid we are not available to speak with you at this moment-”
“But this is important! There are Klingon agents trying to sabotage my grain!”
“We will address the problem at another time. If you’ll excuse us-”
“You have no idea how important this is! It spells disaster for us if the quadrotriticale is damaged in any way-”
“Look, Baris, we’ll talk after dinner, all right?” Jim sneezed. “I’ll meet you at the bar in Arcadia at 2430.”
“Captain-!”
“Your grain will be safe, all right? I’m sure nothing’s going to happen to it.”
“I want that grain protected, Captain Kirk. By my authority as Federation Undersecretary, I order you to post guards on the grain storage containers.”
Jim blinked. Then sneezed.
“Mr. Baris, I’m afraid you are overreacting to this threat,” I said smoothly. “If you will write a report of your security concerns, compile your evidence for your claims and submit it to Lt. Giotto on the Enterprise, our crew will determine the validity of your suspicions.”
“But I ordered-”
“And as commanders of a Federation starship we are authorized to evaluate any claims made by a third party before we engage in a course of action. Regulation 348, paragraph C, clause 13 subclause G.”
Mr. Baris turned red again, for reasons unknown.
“Now, if you’ll excuse us, our suite is down this hall.”
--
I pressed the hypo into Jim’s skin. The bowtie hung undone, collar of his dress shirt open. His dress coat carefully placed on the back of a chair. I moved and placed the equipment back in the kit. When I turned around, Jim had not moved. He smiled and pointed to the place where I had injected the dose.
“It hurts.”
It does not. But I kissed it anyway. Then continued to pack the kit away.
“We must join the crew at dinner in ten minutes.”
“I know,” he was buttoning his shirt and fumbling with the bowtie.
I tied it for him again. Jim kept his eyes on me as I manipulated the cloth.
“I’m going to do so many things to you in this room.”
“The desire is mutual.”
“You have no idea how hot you look in that tux.”
“On the contrary, I have a fair idea. I have been approached eight times today. People here also seem to be fond of sending me drinks.”
“You accept any?”
“I accepted one.”
Jim opened his mouth to say something when I took his hand in mine.
“Two fingers of Vulcan port, neat.”
His blue eyes were brilliant when he leaned in and kissed me.
“I find it hard to believe that you have not been similarly approached.”
He shook his head.
“Bones is right-I can’t hide it. It’s all over my face. I might as well be wearing a neon sign. You’re harder to read.”
“Do you find it difficult to read me also?”
“No. I meant, you’re harder to read for other people.”
Jim put on his dress coat. There were no creases, but I smoothed the cloth anyway.
“Ready?” he took my hand and kissed the knuckle of my pinkie finger.
“Of course.”
A bureaucrat by the name of Nilz Baris approached me. I recognized him from one of the diplomatic missions my father had taken when I was young. At that time, Mr. Baris was an aide to the ambassador from Terra. I believe he had aspirations of becoming a high ranking ambassador himself. Evidently those plans did not come into fruition. I did not remember very much concerning his character, but by the appearance of his pinched face and sour expression, he has not advanced far.
He held out a hand to shake. I raised my hand in a ta’al. He seemed to remember himself and awkwardly cramped his fingers to form the ta’al.
Mr. Baris is distinctly unsuited for diplomacy.
“Commander Spock, I don’t know if you remember me, Nilz Baris. I was the aide to Ambassador Ramamurthy when your father was Vulcan’s ambassador to Earth.”
“Indeed, I recall several events where we were both in attendance.”
Mr. Baris seemed to inflate with my words.
“By your uniform and insignia, you are currently employed in the Department of Interior.”
He beamed.
“I’m the Federation Undersecretary of this quadrant. I manage the agricultural affairs of the planets here.”
“Interesting. What brings you to K7?”
“Actually, I’ve been meaning to speak to you and Captain Kirk about this very matter. It’s official Federation business.”
The sound of laughter and the ringing of crystal. Jim and Nyota had utterly charmed the Orions, if their coy expressions and the light scent of pheromones in the air were any indication. Scotty was with Leonard and two other Ferengi joined them. The discussion appeared to be intense. Sulu and Christine were lounging, likely discussing poker strategies.
I turned my attention back to Mr. Baris.
“I was not informed of any ongoing projects by the Federation in this sector.”
“Well, Mr. Spock,” Mr. Baris lowered his tone of voice. “It’s a rather confidential and sensitive project. Very important.”
I raised an eyebrow.
“I see.”
“Have you heard of,” Mr. Baris shifted his eyes suspiciously, glancing around as if to ensure that no one was eavesdropping on our conversation.
I resisted the urge to look at Jim. Petty and ridiculous bureaucrat or not, I am First Officer of the Enterprise and will conduct myself accordingly.
“Have you heard of quadrotriticale?” he almost whispered.
I blinked.
“Quadrotriticale?” Jim asked, voice raised. He winked at me as he came to my side. “Yeah, I’ve heard of it. High-yield grain, four-lobed hybrid of wheat and rye, perennial. I think you can trace the genetic engineering of the thing back to Canada.”
Mr. Baris was flabbergasted. His face was also slightly red.
“What about it?” Jim sipped his drink and motioned for the waiter to come over. “Two fingers of Vulcan port, neat for Commander Spock.”
Jim stepped closer to me and we touched skin to skin.
Thank you.
No problem. You looked like you needed it. Who is this guy?
The resident Undersecretary of Agricultural Affairs had yet to recover his powers of speech.
Undersecretary? Weird. They didn’t let some presidents of planets come to this thing, but he’s an undersecretary? Must be loaded. Or Baris has connections.
“Thank you,” I took my drink from the waiter. “Mr. Baris, you were speaking of the importance of quadrotriticale in a recent project of your department?”
“Who speaks of quadrotriticale?” two Klingons joined our discussion.
Jim smiled, an aggressive edge to his expression. He simultaneously moved to widen the circle and admit the Klingons into our conversation.
“Captain James T. Kirk, of the USS Enterprise.”
“Captain Koloth of the IKS B’Moth.”
“Korax of the IKS B’Moth.”
“Spock of Vulcan, First Officer of the USS Enterprise.”
The Klingons nodded.
“Who speaks of quadrotriticale?” Koloth demanded.
“I don’t know. We’re all waiting on Mr. Baris to tell us.”
Mr. Baris was frozen. Whether out of anger or fear, I could not determine. The two feelings are not mutually exclusive.
“Earthers. So arrogant that you think you’ll colonize the planet before you win it? The tournament has not begun.”
What am I missing here, Spock.
“You’ve gotta have arrogance if you want to win a poker game,” Jim answered.
Quadrotriticale, according to recent projections and studies, is the only Terran grain that will be able to germinate on Sherman’s planet. Mr. Baris’ presence and project indicate that the Federation has already made extensive plans for the development of Sherman’s planet.
Got it, thanks.
“It will be my pleasure to watch your face when my deputy destroys this game,” Koloth bared his teeth.
“Destroys?” Jim laughed. “Man, you don’t know the game at all. Are you sure you’re signed up for the right tournament?”
Koloth’s got a point. That’s a stupid plan. We haven’t even won the planet.
The Federation is apparently extremely confident in your ability to bring about a victory.
“Captain, your ignorance of the Klingon way shows itself pathetically. We invented games of risk, wagering our honor.”
Confident in my ability? I’m not even the one sitting at the table.
“Honor? You think poker’s about honor? Captain, better pack up and go home, there’s no way you’re gonna win if you think poker’s about honor,” Jim bared his teeth. “Tell you what, why don’t you save yourself the embarrassment of defeat, and go back to your bird-of-prey.”
Where the hell are the players, anyway? I thought the game was supposed to get underway ten minutes ago.
“We won’t tell anyone, Koloth. No shame in that.”
The Klingon made a guttural noise.
Jim, provoking the Klingons is not advisable.
I know what I’m doing, Spock. This is their idea of a good conversation.
I am aware of Klingon standards of conduct. However, there is a line between assertive statements and baiting a diplomatic party.
And I’m messing with it. Try it sometime. It’s fun.
“I’d like nothing more than to fight you blade on blade,” Koloth drew himself up to his full height.
“Name the time and place,” Jim said, nonchalant. His sipped his drink.
Around us, the room had gone quiet.
Jim.
Let me handle this, okay? It’s a pissing contest. He doesn’t mean anything he says.
I stood in perfect military posture and made direct eye contact with the Klingons.
Korax sneered.
I raised an eyebrow.
Koloth looked between me and the captain.
“The sharpest sword will win.”
“Bullshit. Victory never comes from the sharpest blade, but the person who wields it,” Jim answered.
Silence.
“Your reputation is not exaggerated, Captain Kirk of the USS Enterprise.”
“And I’m going to keep it that way.”
Koloth gave a Klingon salute, and Jim mimicked the action.
The entire room seemed to relax. The Klingons moved back to the space they had demarcated in the room, the Orions had been watching Jim and Koloth closely. For reasons unknown, Mr. Baris was apoplectic. However, he did not have time to name his grievances-whether against the Klingons or against Jim, I was not certain-as Mr. Lurry finally announced the beginning of the tournament.
Nyota came up to us as the players filed in.
“Are you trying to give us a heart attack, captain?” she said in undertone, maintaining her flawlessly beautiful facade.
“Just making friendly hellos, lieutenant,” Jim answered in a similar tone. “Making sure they don’t even think of messing with us.”
“You really had to put the whole room on edge?”
“You have any better ideas? I could’ve taken in up on the duel, if you think that’s more culturally appropriate.”
Nyota gave him a look.
“Spock had my back.”
Her expression softened, understanding in her eyes.
“Well,” she paused and turned to me, “It was worth it to see you looking so fierce, staring Klingons down in a black tux.”
Jim grinned.
And you wonder why I fantasize about that time you almost killed me.
“Illogical.”
--
An Organian stood at the dealer’s place, expression placid and indifferent It was not one Jim and I met previously in our mission. She telekinetically distributed the cards and spoke “players, place your bets” quietly. Pavel sat at the table wearing sunglasses and his tailored suit. His hair was different. The usually unruly and boyish curls were combed in some way, styled to make him appear older and more sophisticated.
“The lad looks like he belongs at the table,” Scotty said, coming to join myself and Nyota. “His hair’s a little funny looking.”
“I like his hair like that,” Nyota answered.
“He is certainly holding his own,” I nodded.
Pavel was playing solidly. He was not the leader in the amount of chips, and had not made any particularly impressive plays, but he was unflappable, giving nothing away in his facial expressions. Some underestimated him due to his age and youthful appearance.
“Aye. You know, I think he could actually win this.”
“It is too early to know.”
“He’s got good instincts,” Nyota said. “If things get bad-for whatever reason-Jim said he’s planning on putting Christine in and giving Pavel a break.”
“Can he do that? I’ve never heard of a tournament that lets you do that.”
“As I understand, the rules of this particular tournament are rather unorthodox due to the players involved and what is at stake.”
“Why’d Jim put the Russian in for this? Christine cleans me out and my stash whenever I play with her. I swear, the woman’s a cardshark.”
“It was a close call, but Jim decided to go with Pavel. Christine tends to play a little more conservatively. They’re both good at reading faces and keeping their expressions clear, but Pavel’s more likely to make a big play. Apparently they conducted statistical tests as part of the evaluation.”
“Fascinating.”
“She and Sulu are in charge of watching the game to keep track of other players and larger trends. They’ll have a debriefing later tonight.”
“Sulu’s is in charge of observation? He’s the worst poker player I’ve ever seen!”
“I highly doubt that, Scotty. Sulu is proficient at poker, but among us his skill is insufficient. It is a matter of the sample group.”
“No,” Nyota replied. “I think he’s a terrible poker player. But he’s good at picking up details about other people-I think it’s the security training he’s got.”
“Darling, that doesn’t explain why the lad’s a disaster with Texas Hold’Em.”
“Pavel says it’s because Sulu doesn’t know when to bet on his cards and when to bet based on the plays of the people around him. He tends to focus too much on his cards.”
Pavel threw his cards to the middle, folding for that round.
Nyota frowned.
“Everyone’s getting to know each other right now. It’s going to be a long few nights.”
--
“Chris, keep an eye on the game. We’ll be right back.”
She gave Jim a knowing look.
“Remember, captain,” she said breezily. “A door.”
Nyota has told everyone in our circle the story of the diplomatic gathering, the thermogenesis.
“Have fun.”
He smirked, then nudged me to follow. Jim nodded and smiled to various onlookers as we walked out of the room and into the corridor. The floor was lined with a rich red carpet, small glass and bronze sculptures were displayed along the wall. The end of the hall opened into a rotunda, from which hung an enormous chandelier. The floor was covered in intricate marble and sound echoed from the lower levels up to the ceiling. Jim continued walking. He seemed to have a particular destination in mind.
We walked halfway down another corridor when Jim stopped in front of an attendant. He said something in an undertone, a substantial number of credits were exchanged. The attendant nodded and opened the door.
Inside was a lounge. Original paintings from some popular modern artists hung in large gilt frames from the walls. Jim paid no attention to the arrangement of the sofas, but walked through another doorway to what was apparently a lavatory. The floor was tiled with black granite, strange polished silver figurines stood as decorations. Every surface seemed to glow with dark reflections. The lighting was spare and selective, carefully designed to complement the placement of the mirrors. There were a few stalls for toilets and a row of urinals along the wall.
Jim pushed me against the wall near a urinal and proceeded to kiss me.
I was exceedingly puzzled.
“Jim.”
His hands unbuttoned my tuxedo jacket and slid it off easily, then pulled aside the bands of my suspenders.
“Yeah?”
He loosed my tie and undid the first button of my dress shirt.
“What are you doing?”
He pulled the tie out entirely.
“Undressing you.”
“In a lavatory.”
“A really nice one. It fucking bleeds credits.”
He kissed me again.
“You are aroused by this?”
“Sometimes you ask the dumbest questions.”
“I am merely attempting to understand why you have chosen this venue at this time to pursue sexual intercourse.”
“Spock,” Jim nipped my fingers.
My pupils dilated.
“We’re at K7, in a luxury hotel that charges the GDP of a small planet to use one room, for one night,” he sucked my ring finger from knuckle to tip. “My lieutenant is playing a game of poker-and he’ll probably win-for the ownership of a planet that’s in textbook perfect position for a military base. There are at least fifty reporters who’d kill to get pictures of us touching,” he licked along the lines of my palm. “And while all that’s going on, at this moment, in this hotel, I’m going to fuck you.”
Jim bit into the skin of my wrist.
“In a lavatory.”
He looked at me.
“You can’t get over that, can you.”
“We have a room, Jim.”
“And we’ll use it. Later.”
“I see no reason why-”
“Think of it this way. If you could fuck me in a lab at the Vulcan Science Academy, would do you do it?”
“The laboratory is an unsuitable environment-”
Jim covered my mouth with his hand. He leaned in until I could feel his lips almost touching my ear.
“That asshat who insulted your mom. Let’s say he has a lab-does he? Don’t say anything, just nod.”
I inclined my head slightly. Jim laughed softly and kissed my ear.
“You know what it looks like?”
I nodded again.
“If you could fuck me in his lab-maybe right where his computer terminal is-would you do it? Maybe against the fume hood, or did his office overlook the particle accelerator? No one’s there except the security guy and all the polished lab surfaces,” Jim removed his hand from my mouth and continued to unbutton my shirt. “You’d take your sweet time, you’d be fucking meticulous,” his hands went around to remove my cummerbund. “I’m right, aren’t I.”
I looked at him, breathing slightly shallow.
“That’s what this is like for me. It’s not logical,” his hand was cool against my groin. “But think of it that way.”
“On the contrary, Jim,” I unbuttoned his dress coat. “Now that you have provided the proper frame of reference, I find it quite logical.”
He stopped me from undressing him further.
“This one’s my fantasy. I’ll do whatever you want if we ever get the chance to go to Vulcan II and tour their new Academy. But,” he pressed me against the wall again, “this one’s mine.”
A series of images flashed through my mind. Jim looked straight into my eyes.
“I’ve got a few others.”
“Several, it would seem. Your favorite-?”
Jim leaned in, unbuttoned my trousers, pulled out my dress shirt. He was surprisingly proficient at pulling my cufflinks out with his teeth.
“My favorite,” he kissed down my neck as the material of my shirt slid off. “My favorite involves the captain’s chair.”
--
“Jim, your tie.”
“I forget how to do it.”
I paused from putting on my dress shirt and tied Jim’s bow tie. I stepped back and, satisfied with the arrangement, I returned to dressing. When I was finished, Jim had an inscrutable expression on his face.
I looked at him.
“It’s nothing,” he smiled. “Just... I was remembering something.”
I held up two fingers. He pressed his fingers to mine.
“All right. Want me to help you dress?”
A full state of dress took a rather long time to accomplish.
--
“It’s about goddamn time. And don’t tell me where you were or what you did.”
“Did we miss anything?”
“Nothing, except our resident Russian genius is cleaning out everyone’s clocks. Who taught that boy to play poker?”
“His brother, I think,” Jim took a Klingon martini from a cocktail waiter.
“The same one that got killed in a firefight against the Klingons?”
“Yeah.”
“I’ll be damned if this aint some sort of poetic justice.”
“I don’t think he sees it that way. Chekov just likes playing poker.”
“He looks damn ridiculous in those sunglasses.”
“I think he looks kind of cute. Like a movie star trying too hard to look famous,” Nyota joined us.
“Where were you?”
“With Scotty.”
Jim frowned.
“Where’s Scotty?”
“At the bar with Sulu.”
“The open bar?”
“I think so.”
Jim looked slightly apprehensive at the prospect of Montgomery Scott near a source of unlimited alcohol, mingling with Klingons and Orions.
“I thought Sulu was supposed to stay focused on the game.”
“He needed to take a break for a while. I’ve been minding the store with Chris.”
“Did we miss anything?” Nyota asked.
“No. Unless y’all want a play by play of the cards that went down.”
“I was not aware that you had a photographic memory, Leonard.”
“I don’t remember everything, Spock, but I remember well enough. I’m a doctor-what do you think got me through medical school? Memorization’s part of the craft. Now if you really want a play by play, talk to Chris. She hasn’t moved from that spot since she sat down.”
“The game interests her,” I looked at her, dressed elegantly and grey eyes trained on the poker table and the various screens that showed the broadcast version of the tournament.
There was a noise. We all turned to Nyota.
“Ndugu, what is that furry object you are carrying?”
“This? I won it. Isn’t it adorable?”
“It’s trilling,” Jim looked at it curiously.
“It’s a tribble. That’s what Cyrano Jones called it.”
“A tribble,” I repeated.
“Do you know what it is, Bones?”
“You’d think after handling every single animal God created in this universe I’d see a little fellow like this. I’ve got no idea.”
“Does it even have a head? Where’s that sound coming from?”
“Mind if I hold it, Nyota?” Leonard asked.
“Not at all. He’s cute, isn’t he?”
“He?” I raised an eyebrow.
“I really don’t know. Oh, shoot. I’ve got fur all over my front. I’ll be right back. Don’t get hair on your tuxes, any of you.”
With that, Nyota quickly exited.
Leonard was petting the tribble, which seemed to be made entirely of trills and fur.
“Doctor, what is that?” Chekov walked up to us, still wearing his sunglasses.
“Did you guys dismiss for the night or something?”
“No keptan. We are getting a break, then playing some more. It is going to be a long game. Maybe a few days. These players-they are wery good. Best I haf seen.”
“You aren’t doing too bad, for a nineteen year old. Is there anything you’re not a prodigy at?” Leonard continued to pet the tribble.
“I will find something,” Pavel smiled.
“You look badass in your sunglasses. Like a Russian secret agent.”
“Thank you, keptan. But I am feeling more like an oligarch sechas.”
The tribble let out a loud trill of what sounded like satisfaction.
“What is it?”
“Nyota won it,” Jim shrugged.
“It is a tribble, apparently. We have yet to determine the whereabouts of its head.”
“Oh be quiet, Spock. Stop trying to dissect it. It’s soft, furry, warm, makes a pleasant sound. Who cares where its head is.”
“It is also currently shedding on your dress coat, Leonard.”
Jim sneezed.
Leonard and I turned to Jim immediately.
“I’m fine.”
“Goddamnit, I should’ve known you’d be allergic to this furball!”
“I’m fine, I swear.”
“Captain, there is a supply of medication in our quarters.”
“You packed hypos?”
“Of course he packs hypos! So do I!”
“I am always prepared.”
Jim sneezed again.
“That’s it. One dose, got it, Spock? I’m going to hunt down Nyota and get this tribble back to her.”
“Understood, doctor. Pavel, Sulu and Scotty are currently at the open bar. Nyota and I made reservations for our party at the Arcadia. We will meet you there at 2200 local time.”
Jim sneezed again.
“Jim, the exit is this way.”
We were walking to our suite when
“Captain Kirk! Commander Spock!”
“Mr. Baris, I’m afraid we are not available to speak with you at this moment-”
“But this is important! There are Klingon agents trying to sabotage my grain!”
“We will address the problem at another time. If you’ll excuse us-”
“You have no idea how important this is! It spells disaster for us if the quadrotriticale is damaged in any way-”
“Look, Baris, we’ll talk after dinner, all right?” Jim sneezed. “I’ll meet you at the bar in Arcadia at 2430.”
“Captain-!”
“Your grain will be safe, all right? I’m sure nothing’s going to happen to it.”
“I want that grain protected, Captain Kirk. By my authority as Federation Undersecretary, I order you to post guards on the grain storage containers.”
Jim blinked. Then sneezed.
“Mr. Baris, I’m afraid you are overreacting to this threat,” I said smoothly. “If you will write a report of your security concerns, compile your evidence for your claims and submit it to Lt. Giotto on the Enterprise, our crew will determine the validity of your suspicions.”
“But I ordered-”
“And as commanders of a Federation starship we are authorized to evaluate any claims made by a third party before we engage in a course of action. Regulation 348, paragraph C, clause 13 subclause G.”
Mr. Baris turned red again, for reasons unknown.
“Now, if you’ll excuse us, our suite is down this hall.”
--
I pressed the hypo into Jim’s skin. The bowtie hung undone, collar of his dress shirt open. His dress coat carefully placed on the back of a chair. I moved and placed the equipment back in the kit. When I turned around, Jim had not moved. He smiled and pointed to the place where I had injected the dose.
“It hurts.”
It does not. But I kissed it anyway. Then continued to pack the kit away.
“We must join the crew at dinner in ten minutes.”
“I know,” he was buttoning his shirt and fumbling with the bowtie.
I tied it for him again. Jim kept his eyes on me as I manipulated the cloth.
“I’m going to do so many things to you in this room.”
“The desire is mutual.”
“You have no idea how hot you look in that tux.”
“On the contrary, I have a fair idea. I have been approached eight times today. People here also seem to be fond of sending me drinks.”
“You accept any?”
“I accepted one.”
Jim opened his mouth to say something when I took his hand in mine.
“Two fingers of Vulcan port, neat.”
His blue eyes were brilliant when he leaned in and kissed me.
“I find it hard to believe that you have not been similarly approached.”
He shook his head.
“Bones is right-I can’t hide it. It’s all over my face. I might as well be wearing a neon sign. You’re harder to read.”
“Do you find it difficult to read me also?”
“No. I meant, you’re harder to read for other people.”
Jim put on his dress coat. There were no creases, but I smoothed the cloth anyway.
“Ready?” he took my hand and kissed the knuckle of my pinkie finger.
“Of course.”