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.Carnival Mirrors	By : keithcompany Category: Star Trek > Star Trek Views: 3189 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Star Trek. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
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In the morning she staggered after Spock as he walked into sick bay. "My slave," he said without preamble, "was physically ill after eating from my dinner. I wish to determine if she was poisoned."

Doctor McCoy stuck the scalpel into the thigh of his patient and turned to an empty examination table. He waved the Lilliputian forward, then lifted her to the pillow.

"You waited all night to see if someone was trying to poison you?" Massira tried to say. Her teeth chattered and her tongue slurred her words. The universal translator was up to the task, though, and the Imperials understood what she'd meant to say.

"It's alright, little one," McCoy said. He gently pat her on one booted leg as he examined the scanner display screens above the bed. "He has always known I was better at autopsies than diagnoses."

"Indeed," Spock said. He also examined the displays. "If you were poisoned, then your body would be able to tell me much more about who was making the attempt."

"Nope," the doctor finally said. "She's clean. She does have some high levels of norepinephrine in her optical cortex."

"Her visual system is suffering from an excess of stress hormone?" Spock asked.

"Sure is," McCoy agreed. He lifted his patient to her feet, slapped her butt and turned away. "So what could have stressed her eyesight so badly?" He paused as if a thought had just struck him. "She's been in your room for a few nights right? And Vulcans do sleep in the nude..."

"We also sleep in the dark," Spock replied. He pinched one hand between two fingers and lowered his slave to the floor. "The only stress to her eyes would be difficulty in clearly seeing my perfection."

"Oh, that must be it," the doctor replied. He glanced at the Lilliputian and raised an eyebrow. "You know, I still could do that autopsy, if you..."

Spock ignored him and walked out. Massira scurried and kept on his heels. In the turbo shaft he looked down.

"Would you care to observe further civilizing of your people? Or just wait for me in my quarters?"

"If I could sleep off my... My whatever? That would be great."

"That would be mercy," he replied. "Bridge," he told the computer.

------

The captain did not attend most of today's spaceship-rodeo, Massira noted. It was probably boring from the Imperial point of view.

Anything capable of moving was already headed to the homeworld. Stranded Lilliputians had already been collected in the ship's hangar. And they weren't even bothering to listen to appeals for mercy or offers of surrender.

All they did was circle in ever closer, speeding the inward evacuation. Massira crouched under Spock's chair in the center of the bridge and tried not to vomit.

Voices called out in the back of her mind. Some seemed to be Coordinators, some were merely terrified individuals already on board the starship.

One finally rang out clearly. "They are beginning to approach the planet. Be prepared to stop them."

Massira had no idea how they were going to do anything to the giants. Or what with. Then her head moved.

She had no control over her head as she scanned the bridge. Something made her eyes glance at all the Imperial crewmen. She got the impression she was memorizing them, but not with her own memory.

"Status, Mr. Spock?"

Spock stood easily to his feet, turning the chair towards the approaching officer. Massira looked up and stared at the captain's face.

Spock nudged her with his boot. She came to her senses and scampered towards the computer station. She crouched under that chair while the officers discussed the ship's progress.

"Very well," Kirk finally said. "Mr. Sulu. Find me a big target."

"Yes, Captain. There's an agricultural center the size of Australia that would burn nicely."

"Good place to start, don't you think, Mr. Spock?"

"As long as Mr. Sulu does not try to write his initials on the continent this time."

"It does tend to detract from the air of overwhelming malevolence we're trying to project," Kirk said with a smirk. "Standard pattern, Mr. Sulu."

"Yes, sir," Sulu said through clenched teeth. "Firing now." Massira wanted to close her eyes so as not to see the annihilation. To her dismay, her eyes stayed open. But to her surprise, she found herself staring at Sulu's head. The voices in her own head started clamoring.

The bridge waited patiently for the sight of the devastation. They kept leaning forward, waiting for the weapons to fire. The helmsman just sat there.

"Any time now, Mr. Sulu?" Kirk asked.

"Sir, I can't seem to touch the phaser trigger."

"Mr. Chekov?"

"Certainly, Keptin," the navigator reported. Massira's gaze turned to him. He sat perfectly still.

"Analysis, Mr. Spock?" Kirk asked.

"Obviously, Captain, the latent Lilliputian capacity for telepathy is less latent than I had assumed."

He stepped quickly over to his station and reached down. Hot fingers pinched either side of her head. Her mind felt like it was filled with wadded phlegm. The voices were instantly silenced.

The two men at the console both stabbed their hands forward to fire the phasers.

Massira tried to fend off his hand as he grabbed her waist and lifted her into the air. He cradled under his arm like a pet cat, keeping one finger on her bare skin at all times.

"I believe we can continue, Captain," he reported. "This world's utility to the Empire may have to be more carefully evaluated, though."

"Not our decision," Kirk said, eyes on the screen and the fires being displayed. "Let's make some wastelands."

Massira wept as Spock returned to his quarters. He had swung through Sickbay to order something called a theragen derivative to be issued to all Lilliputians, starting with his own slave.

Whatever nascent telepathy she'd been developing, it had withered and died after the shot. She was alone in her head as he tossed her onto the mattress.

He lectured her as he removed his uniform. "The design of the slave collar includes a drug dispenser. Once the Biological Efficiency school at the Vulcan Academy establishes the ideal dosage, we can program a continuous feed."

He brushed her leg aside and crawled onto the bed. She found herself laying against his flank. He tapped his bare belly and she climbed up onto it.

"It will mean that we cannot share our thoughts during or after sex," he said. "Pity."

"Pity," she agreed. He had her stand upon his body. Without urging, she hooked her boots together. The footing was irregular and her balance was difficult as she tried to move back and forth. Her struggles seemed to excite him.

"Take it off," he commanded in a coarse voice. She stripped, handing each article over to him. He sniffed at the garments then tossed them to the floor.

She turned to find him erect and throbbing. He hissed as she reached out to touch the tip. Then she started to lick him. She moved from the tip to the base in a continuing spiral. When her tongue first touched him he arched like he was being electrocuted.

Massira didn't pause, just kept at her task, desperate to please him. Of all the people on the bridge over the last few days, he was the only one that seemed not to take a sexual pleasure in the destruction.

Keeping him happy with her might keep him from giving her to one of those sadists when he got bored. It was, she had to conclude, her only hope.

"Not quite," a voice said in her head. She froze, then forced herself to continue. As she circled the cock with her tongue, she took care to rub the slicked parts against her breasts.

He touched her shoulders to shake her at one point, bouncing her breasts against himself. She tried to keep her tongue in contact with him throughout.

"Their drugs keep a novice like you from broadcasting your thoughts, Massira," the voice said. "But it doesn't keep an adept out of your head, or anyone else's."

I'm imagining this, she thought. Something to pretend there's still a chance we can fend them off.

"No, no chance of that. We've plumbed their depths, child. These monsters would eventually destroy us if we became enough of a nuisance. But there is a chance to escape enslavement."

There was a tone to the thought, one that frightened her. One that repelled her. She thought this voice was suggesting suicide. She could never agree to that. But then her chin brushed the nest of pubic hairs beneath her.

The stuff felt like stiffened wire and brushed his smell onto her. She stifled an urge to vomit and continued. Maybe 'never' was too strong a word.
- 7
- 8
- 9
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.Carnival Mirrors