A Bad Day for Shore Leave

Sumati pulled her uniform jacket taut over her body, glancing down briefly to confirm that she looked suitably smart. It really shouldn’t matter, she thought to herself, as she flicked aside a few stray hairs from her jet black fringe. Here, just beyond the borders of Federation space, nobody was going to care that much.

Except that the senior officers might very well care, especially with the Captain being such a stickler for rules. The Captain always looked immaculate, almost infuriatingly calm and polished. And Sumati knew exactly what the Captain would say: today she was representing Starfleet, and couldn’t afford to let the side down.

The last thing Sumati wanted right now was to turn up at the transporter room and be sent back to tidy herself up. Perhaps it wasn’t very likely – it rather depended who was on duty – but she wasn’t going to take the risk.

As an ensign, she didn’t have a window in her room; only senior officers were lucky enough to get that privilege. Instead, her brown eyes flicked up to the monitor screen above the fold-away dresser. The space station hung there, a clunky collection of habitat modules around a central hub and power pylon. It was matt grey, the insignia scuffed by micrometeorite impacts that suggested a somewhat erratic shield system. It was an old design, too, hardly a match for modern Starfleet facilities, and in orbit around a nondescript, uninhabitable ball of rock.

It looked, in short, little better than junk. But, to Sumati, at this moment, it seemed a golden haven of opportunity. She actually had to steady her breathing for a moment, before picking up the chip, and securely pocketing it inside her uniform. It wouldn’t do to leave without that!

She opened the door to her cabin, and stepped out into the corridor, her long braid swishing behind her as she turned to head towards the transporters…

---***---

When Sumati had first been assigned to the USS Endeavour, one thing she hadn’t expected was a protracted period of celibacy.

Although, as a newly graduated Ensign, this was her first real assignment on a Starfleet ship, much of the rest of her life on board had been more or less what she expected. Life in Starfleet wasn’t always as glamorous as the stories made out, but it certainly wasn’t bad.

True, as a lowly engineer, she rarely got to leave the ship, to physically explore all the ‘strange new worlds’ that the recruitment ads talked about. They were certainly there – she could see them through the windows – but she rarely had the opportunity to set her feet on alien soil. But she didn’t mind that too much. There was plenty to keep her busy on the Endeavour, a state-of-the-art research vessel, with several sophisticated features. 

And, of course, she had to prove herself and work her way up through the ranks in order to get the best opportunities. She understood all that; Starfleet had a rank structure for good reason. There were even some benefits to being an engineer on a research vessel; around half the crew were scientists, and they always needed someone to keep their equipment working. It meant that she – or at least her department – was often in demand, and her skills were appreciated, as they might not be, for example, on a space dock.

No, none of that was the problem. It was definitely the celibacy thing. 

One of the first things she had discovered on receiving her berth on the ship was that the USS Endeavour didn’t have a particularly large human complement on its crew. She didn’t really have much to compare it to, from her own personal experience, but the impression that most people had about Starfleet ships was that they were, by and large, crewed by humans, with just the odd Vulcan or Betazoid here and there. 

Not so the Endeavour. A modern research vessel and one of the best of its kind, it seemed to attract science officers from across the Federation. She wasn’t sure how many of them had been personally picked by the Captain or senior crew, but they were among the best in their respective fields. And, naturally enough, that meant that they were a diverse bunch. After all, Andoria and Benzar, to name but two worlds, surely produced just as many top quality scientists as Earth. Humans couldn’t have it all their own way.

So, there were a lot of alien races on the Endeavour. It made some of the discussions in the lounges and rest rooms fascinating, a blend of different cultural perspectives that Sumati quite enjoyed. But it did rather leave one short of romantic opportunities.

Of course, even on the Endeavour, she was far from the only human present. What with the physical requirements of Starfleet training, many of the younger men were pretty good-looking, too. They were also all either dull science nerds that really weren’t her type, or else already in a committed relationship by the time she’d embarked. A larger ship, or one with a more Earth-centric crew, would surely have had more exceptions… but not this one.

It wasn’t that she was obsessed about sex, or anything. It really was, in the grand scheme of things, a minor inconvenience. At least she was here, on a starship, exploring the galaxy. It made up for a lot. But still, celibacy hadn’t been on the brochure.

After a few months, she had hit upon the obvious solution: the Endeavour had holodecks. It wasn’t really the same thing, but it beat the alternative – which was to say, nothing. So she had booked some leisure time, obtained a suitably erotic program, and had looked forward to trying it out.

It was when she had tried to feed the program into the holodeck that she had found out that the Captain’s idea of relaxation wasn’t quite the same as her own. The holodeck rejected the program, and left her in no doubt as to why it had done so; the Captain had evidently put a lock on it to prevent just this kind of use. Why, she wasn’t entirely sure, although the fact that the ship’s commanding officer was a Vulcan probably had something to do with it.

She was positive that the red flag that the program had raised had gone straight to the Chief Engineer. But, to his credit, he had never said a word about it to her. Perhaps he was used to it happening, at least among the new recruits. They didn’t even have to be human; presumably the Ktarians, and all the rest, became equally frustrated about the lack of available singles of their own species.

She was equally confident that she could override the lock. But she wasn’t going to do that. For one thing, it had doubtless occurred to the Chief Engineer, at the very least, that this was possible, and there would be countermeasures in place. Sooner or later, no matter how careful she was, she was going to be found out, and unauthorised tampering wasn’t going to go down well.

But there was also the fact that she was, at the end of the day, a Starfleet officer. By tampering with the lock, she would be disobeying an order, even if only an implicit one. She wasn’t going to do that; she wasn’t that desperate, and she would be betraying her new family… even if she disagreed with them on this one point.

So, celibacy; that had been the remaining option. She could live with it, but, at times, it was rather frustrating.

But not today, Sumati had promised herself. Today was going to be different! 

---***---

The Federation called it by the rather unimaginative name of Waystation Five. Apparently, it had had so many names down the years that the dull moniker at least had the advantage of consistency… although Sumati wasn’t entirely sure where Waystations One to Four were. The numbering must have made sense to somebody at some time, but she had no idea when or why.

The reason it looked like such a haphazard pile of junk from the outside was largely because that was what it was. Historians might have known more, but all Sumati knew was that the place was old, and had been built and rebuilt, with new bits being added here and there, and old ones being cannibalised, all on a timescale of centuries. Currently it was owned by a Ferengi consortium, which used it as a neutral meeting ground and a place for traders to stop off from all over the galaxy. 

Being located where it was, in that little patch of unclaimed space where the Federation came close to the Klingon-Romulan border, doubtless made it a metaphorical latinum mine for its owners. There must have been few places better placed for interstellar trade… at least in times of peace such as the present.

Looking around herself as she stepped off the transporter platform, Sumati couldn’t help but think that the Ferengi influence was obvious. The décor had that slightly tacky look to it that suggested the designer had more money than sense. In these days of replicators that was unlikely to be literally true, but she suspected it was the sort of impression that Ferengi liked to give off… especially if it wasn’t the case.

Brushing aside a small gaggle of Ferengi merchants who had gathered outside the transporter room to sell her goodness knew what (they had to be the ones at the bottom of the pecking order, surely?) Sumati headed down a short corridor and onto what appeared to be the station’s main concourse.

It was a hive of activity, full of gaudily decorated stalls and concession booths, holographic adverts flashing in the air, open cafes and bars competing for space with the salesmen. And there were salesmen everywhere. At a guess, less than half of them were actually Ferengi, with races from across the quadrant here to try and sell something. That was before you counted the visitors, the people here to buy, or perhaps to exchange goods from far afield. 

It was a bewildering array of cultures and aliens, not to mention a cacophony of voices. 

Sumati quickly identified a holo-map of the station’s layout, flashing with adverts for what else was available. Casinos, hotels, restaurants, strip clubs… they were all here, along with a host of quieter places to do business. She paused for a while, trying to find the best place for what she had in mind. It turned out that there was only one – the station wasn’t actually as big as it appeared when you looked at it from outside. But one was all she needed.

She turned in that direction, her thoughts focussed on the chip in her pocket, when she heard a loud, deep voice calling out behind her.

“Hey, Starfleet! Didn’t know they let you human scum here! Better watch your back, weakling!”

She span round to see a group of four Klingons stepping out from the transporter arrival suite. It was clear from their uniforms that they were no mere traders, but warriors of the Klingon Defence Force. Sumati had not seen any such ship berthed when she had looked out of the viewer on the Endeavour… it had either arrived later, or simply been hidden by the bulk of the station.

Two of the Klingons let out a barking laugh, while a third – an ugly, squat individual with a scar across his face – simply grinned as if he had just made a particularly fine joke. 

“You’re outside your Federation now,” sneered the scarred Klingon, his voice clearly the same as the one that had just spoken, “let’s see how you last without a ship to hide in. A true warrior faces death in the face when he can. Are you ready to do that, Starfleet weakling?”

Sumati backed away, looking around and seeing none of her fellow officers in sight. Nobody else seemed to be paying any attention, either, and she doubted that anything she could say would change the Klingon’s attitude. This was not a good start to her time off!

The scarred Klingon snorted in derision, stepping suddenly towards her, his hand reaching for a wickedly serrated knife at his belt. The Ensign braced herself, ready to dash into the crowd if she had to.

Before she could do so, the fourth Klingon in the group acted instead, grabbing onto her scarred compatriot’s weapon arm, and harshly jerking him back. The only female in the group, she was dark skinned, even by the standards of Klingons, her head completely shaven save for a short pony tail wrapped with a leather cord.

The scarred Klingon snarled at her, and almost seemed about to strike his own fellow with his free hand, but she hissed something in his ear, too quiet for Sumati to hear. Whatever it was, it had the desired effect. His eyes full of fury, he lowered the blade, though his teeth were still bared in a ferocious display.

“This isn’t over!” he called out. 

“Yes it is,” stated the Klingon woman clearly. “This is neutral ground. We don’t attack without reason. Understood?”

He nodded, albeit in as surly a manner as the human had ever seen. The two other Klingons laughed again, at him this time, and he glared at them, all his swagger gone.

“I’d leave, human,” said the dark-skinned Klingon woman, “before I change my mind. And if you see us coming again… get out of the way.”

Sumati swallowed, and walked briskly away, trying not to make it look as if she was running. Yes, she was a Starfleet officer, and had had all the combat training, but she wasn’t carrying her phaser, and hand-to-hand fighting had never been her strongest subject at the Academy. There was a reason she had become an engineer, instead of joining security, after all.

Once she was far enough out of sight, she stopped to steady herself. Her heart was beating, and she felt a little flushed. That had been close, and it was only the common sense of the – well, senior officer, she presumed – that had saved things from getting nasty. Even if she had managed to avoid injury, getting herself into a fight could result in her being thrown off the station, and she couldn’t have that.

It wasn’t a good start to her day, not at all. But it hadn’t been a disaster, and she still had something to do… something that could let her forget about violent Klingons for a while at least.

She tried to get her bearings again, realising that she’d walked off in a hurry, and had already forgotten the exact details on the map. She needed a corridor of the main concourse, that much she knew, but she wasn’t going back to check up. It was probably that one there… yeah, almost certainly that one.

The corridor seemed empty after the bustle of the main concourse, but Sumati could hear a loud pulsing beat from up ahead that indicated she was heading towards some kind of nightclub. Or whatever you called the 24-hour equivalent. There had been mention of something like that on the map, she reflected, although she would like a good look at another one. Pity she didn’t have a PADD on her to download the thing from the station’s database.

It turned out that there was no way round the nightclub, at least not in practice. There was a large open area in front of it, dimly lit, through which the corridor ran. It was cluttered with tables, and the crowd from the club proper spilled out into it. Sumati didn’t think much of the design choice, but perhaps the intention was to lure passers-by in to spend money.

She stood on tip-toe, trying to see over the throng of drinkers – if anyone was dancing, they were in the main room, off to the side – and managed to make out an exit beyond. Cursing the profit-oriented stupidity of the station managers who allowed this sort of arrangement, she began winding her way through the crowd.

“Excuse me… excuse me… excuse me…”

Somebody bumped into her, hard from behind, and she felt a cold splash as some sort of beverage was unceremoniously dumped over her back.

She span round. “Watch where you’re going!” she snapped, liquid still dripping from her clothing. She regretted the words almost immediately.

The Nausicaan glared at her, smashed the empty glass down onto the nearest table, and swung his fist in her direction with a belligerent roar.

Sumati ducked out of the way, underneath the blow, but the room was crowded, and the Nausicaan’s fist impacted with a human civilian standing nearby. He staggered back into the table, as three of his friends rose to their feet, their own fists raised.

Great. A pub brawl. On a crowded space station. She was going to get in so much trouble if anyone thought she had anything to do with this!

Fortunately, the Nausicaan seemed to be too drunk to notice that he’d hit the wrong person. Or possibly, he just didn’t care so long as there was a fight to be had. Either way, he didn’t seem to be paying any attention to her any more.

Sumati ran for it as the fight erupted behind her.

For the second time in what seemed like just a few minutes, she found herself standing in a corridor trying to regain her breath. Surely even independent space stations shouldn’t be this violent? She was having incredibly bad luck, when all she wanted to do was have a good time. She wasn’t even the only one who had taken shore leave here… if everyone was having as much trouble as she was, half of them would be on a disciplinary by the time they got back.

Her uniform was dripping wet, the drink soaking through the outer jacket onto her vest beneath. After all the trouble she had gone to get it looking immaculate! If any of the Endeavour’s senior officers saw her like this…

A short while later, she had managed to find a washroom, and was doing her best to dry out her clothing, mop it up, and generally look respectable. There was still a stain on her vest, but the jacket covered that, and, once it was dried out, the black fabric of the jacket itself seemed to hide the discolouration quite well. She put it back on, smoothed down her hair again, and went back out.

How hard could it be to find what she was looking for?

Well, she wasn’t going back down that way, because it led back to the club. So, onwards…

She soon came to the conclusion that she was not only delayed, but also lost. The station could seriously do with more signage, she thought to herself grumpily. Still, so long as she didn’t keep doubling back on herself, sooner or later…

Yes! She was back on the main concourse again!

The station, after all, wasn’t as large as all that, and she’d known that, since everything else was arranged around the central hub, she’d be bound to get back there eventually. And the main concourse, at least, did have maps.

She was some distance from where she’d started, but she could see another of the map holos not too far from where she was standing. All she had to do was check it, and…

“Hi, Sumati! Come and join us!”

Off to her left was a sort of ‘open air’ café (as much as one could be, under a concourse roof), and sitting at one of the larger tables were some of her fellow crew from the Endeavour. Trying to avoid rolling her eyes in frustration, she reluctantly walked over to them.

The woman who had called out to her was Lugmilla; one of the ship’s piloting crew, and a full lieutenant. Like most Tellarites, she was argumentative, and she could have a mean streak a parsec wide if you really crossed her, but Sumati rather liked her. She had a relaxed attitude for a lieutenant, and could be mischievous when the mood took her, as well as possessing an earthy sense of humour. 

She could see the reason that Lugmilla wanted her to join her, though. She was sitting with Sh’ree, who was a decent enough sort for an Andorian, a slightly geeky looking science officer whose name she couldn’t recall, and… Lieutenant Halvorsen.

Astrid Halvorsen was in security, and, boy, did she take it seriously. She wasn’t, Sumati supposed, actually a bad person, it was just that she was quite staggeringly dull. If she had any hobbies, Sumati knew nothing about them, and her conversational skills were quite limited. Since she wouldn’t approve of any even slightly risqué topic, or anything that hinted at skirting Starfleet rules to have a good time, she had to be driving Lugmilla crazy.

“Ensign Chennapragada,” said Halvorsen, acknowledging her presence as she sat down. Wow, she stuck to surnames only, even off-duty. What a barrel of fun.

“So, what are you planning to do today?” asked Lugmilla once Sumati had ordered a cup of tea.

The ensign glanced across at Halvorsen before answering. It wasn’t as if she was going to do anything illegal or against regulations, but she didn’t want to broadcast it, either. “Oh, this and that,” she said vaguely, “I haven’t really thought about it that much.”

“This is your first real shore leave, isn’t it?” asked Sh’ree, “since the Academy, I mean.”

“Uh, yes, yes it is.”

“Well, you’ll find it goes quickly enough. I’d make some plans, if I were you. It’s not as if we’re somewhere where you can just relax and admire the scenery. On a planet, it can be different.”

“Where you always insist on going somewhere freezing cold,” butted in the Tellarite.

“If you’re talking about that last trip, that’s hardly fair - five Celsius is not cold!”

“Well, it doesn’t apply here, anyway,” broke in the human science officer, who evidently knew Tellarites well enough to see that a protracted argument was brewing, “and I’m sure there’s entertainment around.”

“I’d avoid the nightclub,” said Sumati, as her tea arrived, “I hear it’s a bit rough. At least, it seemed that way when I passed it earlier.”

Halvorsen looked over at her, gave a little sniff, and frowned disapprovingly. The smell of whatever the Nausicaan had been drinking must still be on her clothes! It wasn’t strong, but it was probably just about detectable. The security officer probably thought she’d been drinking the stuff herself, although hopefully her obvious sobriety counted against that.

The conversation continued, going nowhere in particular. The chip was almost burning a hole in Sumati’s pocket. How could she get away? At this rate, she was going to be invited to join them somewhere else, and then what would happen to her real plans? Shore leave was rapidly turning into a complete disaster. It could only be worse if…

“Ha! Starfleet weaklings! Are those your ideas of drinks? Pathetic! And you, blue-skin, what kind of warriors are your people supposed to be, hanging out with these pieces of detritus!”

It was him. He was back again – the scar-faced Klingon. He had a different friend with him this time, and the female officer she had seen earlier was nowhere in sight.

Sh’ree clenched her fist, and half-rose from the table, but it was Halvorsen who held out a warning hand towards her, then rose herself to stare into the Klingon’s eyes. Sumati had to admit, the blonde woman was tall, and with scar-face being rather squat for his race, the security officer was actually able to stare him straight in the eye.

“This is supposed to be neutral ground,” she said coolly, “so if you’re looking for a fight, we’ll have to disappoint you. I’m sure your own captain has told you the same.”

“You’re just scared I’ll whip your skinny ass.”

“I’d leave, if I were you.”

Sumati gulped down the last of the tea as the others began to square off against each other.

“Good plan,” muttered Lugmilla, leaning across to her, “let’s find somewhere else.” Seeing that Sh’ree was already backing up Halvorsen, she turned to the geeky looking science ensign, “coming?” He shook his head, focused on the coming confrontation, and the Tellarite shrugged. “Suit yourself.”

Once again, Sumati found herself beating a hasty retreat, this time with Lugmilla at her side. If there was really going to be a fight, Halvorsen and Sh’ree should be more than capable of handling themselves, and they wanted to be nowhere near when it went down.

“This place seems rougher than I thought,” said the Tellarite woman once they’d reached the safety of a nearby corridor entrance.

“Well, it doesn’t sound like they are actually fighting yet,” said Sumati, “thankfully. But I know what you mean. Although I think that particular Klingon is just looking to cause trouble. Oh, look, here comes station security. Better make ourselves scarce.”

“So,” began Lugmilla, a short while later, “what were you actually planning on doing? And don’t say you didn’t have a plan, because I could tell that wasn’t true.”

The ensign sighed, “actually, I was just trying to get to the holosuites. Haven’t been able to find them yet, though.”

“Ah, well I have a PADD,” said the Tellarite, smiling, “so let’s see.” She took the small item out of her pocket, and poked it a few times. “We’re pretty close… just down that way.”

“Oh, right. Thanks!”

“You’re welcome.” The other woman looked at her suspiciously, dark brows furrowed, “but we do have a holodeck on the ship. The point of shore leave is to go somewhere different.” Sumati shuffled her feet, unsure of what to say, but apparently that was enough to give her away. “Ah,” said Lugmilla, “yes, I noticed that about our holodecks, too.”

“You did?” Somehow she couldn’t see the squat, snouted lieutenant in that way.

“I am a single adult… Well, I’m guessing you don’t want me to join you.” She pointed again, “down there, and round the corner. I’ll see you later.”

Sumati grinned, “thanks! You’re a star.” It seemed the first piece of good fortune she’d had all day.

---***---

“There will be no problem using my own program?”

“Of course not,” replied the Ferengi, “we pride ourselves in giving our customers exactly what they want. If you’ll just authorise the transaction?”

She did so, relieved that at last, the day’s obstacles seemed to be over. The chip was still in her pocket, and ready for use in the holosuite she had just booked.

It contained an erotic holonovel, a historical story set in the early nineteenth century, about an innocent young woman courted by two equally eligible, but contrasting, bachelors. The reviews had said that the plot was engaging and full of twists, with well-rounded characters, plenty of period feel and, most importantly for today, some very steamy sex scenes.

That, of course, was one of the things about holonovels. In almost any other medium, whether traditional text novels or two or three dimensional cinema, the writer could, if they wanted to, gloss over the erotic elements. They could describe them only briefly, or use camera angles, lighting, or simple editing to leave much up to the imagination. A holonovel, in which, by its very nature, you had to experience everything the heroine did, had no such luxury. You either left it out altogether, perhaps put in some dialogue to imply it had happened off-screen, or… you went the whole way. Clever camera angles just weren’t an option.

It was so much better than the largely emotion-free holo-porn that the Ferengi were likely to serve up. She couldn’t, of course, finish the whole novel today, and, like most holonovels, you were supposed to experience it chapter by chapter anyway. But she estimated, from the suggested timing guidelines, that she could get through all of the initial scenes at the country house, and then complete the episode in which, from what she gathered, the feisty young heroine comprehensively lost both her innocence and her virginity. (To which of the dashing young aristocrats, she had no idea – that would be the thrill of playing through it).

The rest could wait for another day, another shore leave.

“Thank you,” she said, as the Ferengi owner completed the transaction. “Which holosuite is it?”

“Oh, it’s not available yet,” he said, trying to look innocent, but, given his race, failing horrendously.

“What?” growled Sumati, a hard edge creeping into her voice.

Her tone evidently registered, and the Ferengi began talking rather more rapidly. “They’re all booked up at the moment. If you’d got here just a little bit earlier, there would have been one, but somebody just beat you to it. You’ve just bought a slot in, let me see… five hours’ time. Don’t be late. And no refunds! First Rule of…”

“Five hours?!”

“Well, yes, you see, they’re…”

“Actually, on second thoughts, I don’t want to know. But if it’s not ready in five hours, I will wring your neck, understood? I’m sure there must be a Rule of Acquisition about it being hard to make profits when you’ve just been strangled.”

He nodded, backing off and muttering something that sounded like “one hundred and twenty five.”

Could this day get any worse? Sumati stormed off, fuming to herself. Even a delayed start like that would leave her enough time, but what was she to do for five hours? Apart from anything else, she was going to need sleep before then, if she didn’t want to nod off before Lord Whatshisname got naked.

She was seriously beginning to wonder if she would still be in the mood by the time she did manage to start. But at least she did have a booking, and the Ferengi was unlikely to give up her slot if he wanted to keep his reputation. She just had to find somewhere to spend the meantime.

One of her few lucky breaks in a day of disasters was her discovery that, less than a hundred metres beyond the holosuite complex was a small hotel. It wasn’t the most expensive on the station, but it didn’t look like a rat-hole, either. All she had to do was rent a room, take a lie-down, set an alarm, and be back at the holosuite on time. Given the short distance, for once, that shouldn’t prove an obstacle. And, no matter her worsening mood, she was damned if she was give up after having gone this far.

The hotel was managed by another Ferengi, who appeared rather flustered when she arrived. Perhaps she just looked sufficiently fed up that he sensed he might be in trouble. She booked a room, and then reached for the console to make the transaction before pausing, her finger above the screen.

“You’re not going to tell me you’re booked up, are you?”

“No… no…”

“You do have rooms available, now? For the night?” 

“Yes, yes, no trouble!” He looked a bit confused at her questions, but at least it was hard to see what else could go wrong at this point.

Apart from an asteroid strike on the station, which she really hoped wasn’t likely.

“Good,” she said, thumbing in the key, “so which room is it?”

“Ah, right, yes… yes… I’ve got it here somewhere.” He fiddled through a set of electronic keys, somehow having difficulty finding the one he was looking for. Goodness knew how, since some of them had a green ‘available’ tag actually glowing on them.

Sumati lost patience, reached over and grabbed the nearest green tag. “This one…?”

“Uhhh…”

“It says ‘available’.”

“Then, yes, yes, that’s free. I mean, available, not ‘free’… pardon my language. You still have to pay for it.”

“I just have paid for it.”

“Yes, yes, yes, go right on through. Or…” something seemed to occur to him, “perhaps I should just check something… could you…?”

Ignoring him, Sumati strode off down the corridor into the hotel. What had got into the little weasel? Whatever it was, it wasn’t her problem.

She found the door, checking the number against the key, and pressed it into the lock pad. The door slid open and the little light turned red for ‘booked’. So the room had been available. Good. Finally, things had stopped going wrong.

Sighing, she stepped inside, and thumbed the light switch as she door slid shut. The room remained in blackness, and she stabbed at the switch again. Nothing. She was about to let out a loud expletive when she felt herself suddenly grabbed from behind, and cold, sharp steel pressed against her throat.

“And now,” said a deep voice right by her ear, “…you die!”

---***---

Sumati froze, petrified. She could feel the sharp blade pressed against her skin, a muscular arm wrapped about her shoulder, and warm breath on the back of her neck. The moment seemed to drag out as she waited, helpless, for her assailant to finish her off.

Instead, the knife was pulled away rapidly, and she found herself pushed away violently.

“You are not Patrick O’Leary!” shouted the deep voice, angrily.

She had had enough. Every single thing was going wrong today! Couldn’t she even get a lie-down in peace? She span around on her heels, and finally vented her frustration.

“No I’m bloody well not! What the hell do you think you’re doing, jumping people in their hotel rooms? What the fuck is this? I’ve been threatened, cheated, nearly beaten up – twice – and now you’re trying to murder me because you think I’m some man I’ve never heard of? This is insane! You’re insane! How the hell does anyone get any peace around here?”

“You are not Patrick O’Leary,” said the man, more insistently this time.

Sumati slapped him.

It was only then that the nature of her assailant fully sunk in. He was a Klingon warrior. She had just slapped a Klingon warrior. Holding a drawn blade.

Fortunately, he seemed as shocked as she was, staring at her in amazement, his eyes wide in the near darkness. He put a hand up to his face, where she had just slapped him, and held it there for a moment, in apparent bemusement.

Then he let out a short booming laugh. “Lights!” he called, and the room was suddenly illuminated.

“Well met… Starfleet,” he said, apparently seeing her uniform for the first time. “Few would have the bravery for that.” He grinned, “but perhaps you should not strike me again. That might be… unwise.”

The Klingon stood over two metres tall, with the muscular build typical of his race. His skin was pale tan, somewhat lighter than her own, and his hair black and shoulder length. He was, she estimated, a young man, not much older than herself, his beard neatly trimmed into a goatee. Aside from the knife, he appeared to be unarmed, although she doubted that would make much difference should she decide to attack him again.

“What… what are you doing in here?” she managed, trying to keep her voice steady, but not really succeeding.

He thought for a moment before giving a brief snort and then, to her relief, thrusting his wicked looking blade back into the sheath at his belt. “I seek to rid the galaxy of Patrick O’Leary,” he said, as if this explained everything.

“So why were you hiding in my room?”

“This is not your room. It is mine.”

She held out the electronic key with its little tag, now glowing red to signify that the room was occupied. “No,” she told him, her voice calmer now, but still with an angry edge to it, “I don’t think so.”

He looked at the small device, and then swore. “P’takh of a Ferengi! That key was not for you.” He began to pace the room angrily. “O’Leary was to meet me here. He was to be given that key, thinking that this was a meeting to arrange a deal. And then to meet his doom, like the coward he is.”

Sumati recalled with horror how she had practically snatched the key from the hotel owner, ignoring his own apparent confusion. What had she just blundered into?

“Who is he?” she asked, unable to think of anything else to say.

“An arms dealer and traitor. He has been arming, shall we say, undesirable elements, raiders and insurgents who have harmed the Klingon Empire, and your own Federation, too. You should want him dead as much as I do.”

“Perhaps I would, if I had heard of him.” She doubted that was the case; the Federation did not believe in the death penalty, and neither did she. But it seemed best to humour the man.

He nodded, apparently satisfied with her remark, “I had planned to assassinate him myself, to claim the glory of removing his stain from the galaxy. He is a coward and an outcast; he did not deserve to die a warrior’s death. A slit throat and an ignominious end, that is what he should face.”

“You still think he’s coming?”

“No,” said the Klingon, shoulders slumping slightly, “not now. He is late already, and now you have the key to the room. These rooms are sound-proofed; he could not even knock on the door if he wanted. Although I suspect, given his lateness, that he has somehow got wind of my scheme, or at least fears that the meeting is not genuine. I do not believe he will arrive now. I have failed.”

It wasn’t her problem. “Well, if you don’t mind, I’ll leave,” she told him, eyeing him carefully to see his response. 

She needn’t have bothered; he just wearily waved his arm in the direction of the door, not even bothering to look at her. Still walking slowly, in case he became violent again, she went up to it, and thumbed the key in.

Nothing happened. She tried it again. Still nothing.

She turned to look at the Klingon, and he stared back at her this time, as if suspecting a trick. “Why do you not leave?” he asked, accusingly.

“The door won’t open. The key isn’t working.”

He frowned, and then suddenly strode to the door, pushing her out of the way, and pressing his own key to the lock. It worked no better than her own.

“The lock… does not work!” he said, spitting out the words.

“Yes, I know. Why not?”

He remained silent for a moment, and then let out a shout that almost made Sumati jump. “That damn Ferengi!” he shouted, “he has betrayed me! I shall wring his scrawny neck. He must have trapped me in here while O’Leary made his escape from the station! The room is locked from the outside. We are trapped here!”

Sumati said nothing. Not for the first time, she reflected that her day had managed to take a turn for the worse when it seemed that it had already reached its nadir.

The Klingon pounded on the door, shouting to be released, and explaining in graphic detail what he would do to the hotel owner as soon as he got out. Sumati doubted that this was going to be an effective method of persuasion. She waited until he got bored, leaning up against the door, panting with frustration.

“It’s sound-proofed, remember?” she told him, “even if he wants to let you out so that you can disembowel him, which I doubt. Why don’t you let me try?”

“And what good can you do, human? You think your voice is louder than mine?”

“No, but I’m an engineer. Perhaps I can get the lock open.”

“Oh.” 

He stepped out of the way. Soon she had the panel off, and with the warrior fuming behind her, got to work on the circuits. Soon, however, she had to admit defeat, rolling back onto her haunches. “If I had my PADD…” she said, “but there’s nothing I can do here without tools.”

“So we are trapped?”

She turned to look at him, “you said he’s already late. So won’t your friends be coming to look for you soon?”

He looked down at the floor, suddenly sheepish. “They do not know I am here.”

“What?”

He glared at her, “you think I asked permission for this? Of course not, it is my own plan! My Captain does not know where I am. She thinks I am simply on shore leave. They will not miss me until I fail to return to the ship.”

Sumati filed away the ‘she’ for future reference, but instead said, “so how long will that be?”

“Twelve hours. Unless your people look for you first.”

“Not in that time. I’m supposed to be on shore leave, too. You’re seriously telling me we’re stuck here in this room for twelve hours?” He didn’t reply, just yelled, and kicked the wall. She felt like doing the same; her holosuite booking would be long gone by then, and there wouldn’t be time left for it, anyway.

Sighing, she got to her feet. “Nothing else for it, then,” she said, and thumbed her communication badge. “Ensign Chennapragada to USS Endeavour. Requesting beam out.” 

Silence. 

She looked at the Klingon. “Sound-proofed and communication proofed?”

He nodded. “I imagine most people renting these rooms do not wish to be disturbed. It is a Ferengi hotel.”

“Just great…” she muttered, seeing any chance at a real shore leave finally vanish into nothingness. 

Who knew how long it would be before she got the chance at another one? She threw herself onto the bed, rolling over onto her back and thumping her head against the pillow in frustration. She stared up at the ceiling as she heard the Klingon stomping about and occasionally kicking the wall. At least he wasn’t taking it out on her, she supposed.

She lay there for a while, completely out of ideas. Twelve hours locked in a smallish room, with only a pissed off alien warrior for company. She would rather be fixing the plumbing in the officer’s head. 

Speaking of which… a strange smell was creeping into her nostrils. A few moments later she identified it as the Nausicaan beer. Her jacket was dry now, but not properly cleaned. She pulled herself up in the bed, seeing the Klingon now standing in the middle of the room, arms crossed, and thick eyebrows creased in a sulky frown.

“You don’t mind if I take this off?” she asked, more for the sake of saying something than in expectation of a response, “I got beer on it earlier, and it still smells.”

The Klingon grunted, uninterested, and she pulled the uniform jacket off, balling it up and throwing it to the far side of the room. Her vest wasn’t entirely free of the odour, either, but she wasn’t taking that off, so this would have to do.

“Gah!” she said as another thought struck her. “Twelve hours? We haven’t even got anything to eat. I’ll be starving by then.”

“You are hungry now?” asked the Klingon.

“No,” she admitted, “but I will be by then. And that’s assuming they find us straight away.”

The Klingon grunted, and stepped to one side, waving his arm behind him. Sumati’s eyes widened, as she saw a replicator set into the far wall. There would be a fee for using it, of that she was sure, but, now that she thought about it, this was a hotel room, so it made sense. The door she had only just noticed on the wall to her left presumably led to a bathroom, too.

“Ah, well, then,” she said, “I suppose it could be worse. At least we won’t go hungry.”

“You, perhaps not,” replied her reluctant companion, “but replicators can never manage proper Klingon food. It is edible, but…” he made a short retching sound.

“Really?” Did they have chefs on board Klingon vessels, then? “Anyway, can’t you try some other cuisine for a change? At least it would be prepared properly.”

“You suggest I eat human food?” he looked offended, “I have tried it, from a replicator, as you say. It is bland and tasteless.”

Sumati smiled to herself, “you,” she said pointing, “have not tried a proper curry. When you get hungry tell it to prepare…” she thought for a second, “kolhapuri mutton rassa. With extra chilli, I’d suggest.”

He looked at her quizzically, before deciding she wasn’t joking. “Very well, I shall.” 

He sat down in the room’s only chair, a medium-sized one, upholstered in mock leather. He looked a little uncomfortable in it, his bulk and the thickness of his armour not suiting its relatively narrow confines. He wriggled about a bit, frowning at the chair, as if it was somehow to blame. He did a lot of frowning, she had noticed.

He got up again. “Perhaps I do not need the armour,” he announced, “and it would not do for me to be better protected than you, for it shows fear.”

Sumati raised an eyebrow, but said nothing. He wasn’t taking that much notice of her anyway. Still, she watched with interest as he unbuckled the bulky hauberk, with its large shoulder pads, and set it aside the chair before sitting down again. 

“Much better,” he announced. “But I know what would be better still. If you will have me eat human food, then I shall return the honour.” 

He got up out of the chair again, having sat in it for no more than a few seconds, and walked over to the replicator. Beneath the armour he was wearing a seamless black shirt with a high collar, tight enough to show the muscles of his arms and what Sumati thought was a slight set of ridges down his spine. His shoulders were broad, even without the pads to accentuate them, and his belly taut without a trace of fat. Callisthenics, she supposed, were a daily routine for Klingon warriors.

“Warnog, two,” he said, and waited as the replicator hummed to life.

When he turned round again, he was holding two pitchers of what she assumed was some kind of drink. He placed one on the table by the bed, before retreating to his chair, and taking a gulp of his own.

She raised the pitcher, and resisted the temptation to sniff at it. It looked to be a clear fluid, giving no hint as to what it might taste of. Taking his lead, and sitting up on the bed, she took a deep gulp and swallowed a mouthful of it down. It was strong, alcoholic, and, she supposed, not unlike a potent lager, but with more of a bitter flavour to it.

“Whoa…” she said as the fiery drink began to warm her. “You know, that’s not bad.”

The Klingon grinned, leaning back in the chair as he took another swig. “Kurdok of the House of Khurless,” he announced, and it took a second before she realised what he meant.

“Ensign Sumati Chennapragada,” she told him in reply. Not that he hadn’t heard the surname already, she reflected.

“So, Ensign Sumati,” he said, getting the name more or less right the first time, “why have I not heard of this ‘curry’ before?”

She laughed, and took another sip of the warnog – smaller this time, since she didn’t want to get drunk. “I have no idea,” she said, “it’s a common enough dish. There was a time in England when young men would try to show their worthiness by eating the strongest curry they could find. Showing off the strength of their stomachs, I guess.”

“A warrior’s food, then? I did not think humans had such things.”

“If you like. At least, that seems to be what they thought. It’s just regular food where I come from.”

Kurdok thought about this for a moment, “then you are not from this Ing-Gland?”

“No, no, I was born in Mumbai. It’s a big city in the tropics.”

“And the people there are warriors? There seem to be few such among humans today.”

“In the past there were more, Earth had as much of a warrior culture as any world. Well, perhaps not as much as Klingons, but we did have many warriors. Knights, samurai, Vikings… my own ancestors were Kshatriya – ruling warriors.”

“But no longer.” It was a statement, not a question.

“I’m an engineer, I told you. But, come on, all Klingons can’t be warriors. Somebody has to design the disruptors and the warp drives. They may be useful for conquest, but you don’t discover hyperspace theory by thinking solely about tactics.”

“As my captain sometimes says,” he nodded, “but we all understand that the warrior ideal is the highest.”

It was like some of the conversations she’d had with the alien crewmen on the Endeavour, except that she knew rather less about Klingon culture to start with. She had thought of them only as violent brutes, except that they had a sense of honour that set them apart from the likes of the Nausicaans. Other than that, she knew little, and she wasn’t even sure how true that was. Klingons had discovered faster-than-light travel on their own – at least so far as she knew – so they were hardly stupid.

Of course, the ones she had met earlier in the day had hardly done much to dispel the myth, and she did not want Kurdok to suddenly turn on her like that, so she forbore from saying anything about how the Federation viewed the role of warriors in society.

“I’ve told you where I come from,” she said instead, “what about you?”

Kurdok looked down into his drink, perhaps wondering how much he should tell her. The Federation and the Empire were not at war, at least not now, but they were hardly close friends, either.

“A small place,” he said, eventually, “a town in the countryside, in a southern part of Qo’nos. The homeworld, yes, but far from the main cities. It is a cold and harsh land, a good place for building strength and determination. In the past, food was hard to come by. My ancestors were warriors, yes, but also hunters.”

“Sounds about as unlike Mumbai as it’s possible to be,” she told him, “it’s one of the largest cities on Earth. Even with modern technology, it feels crowded, although it was probably more so in the past. But it makes it easier to live on a spaceship, I guess. I never grew up with great open spaces.”

“Your ship is the Endeavour?” he asked, before taking another swig of the drink. “To strive, or struggle. Not a bad name for a Federation starship.”

“Sorry to disappoint you, but it is named for a famous ship of exploration, not a warship. Not all great endeavours are on the field of combat, I’m afraid, at least not on Earth. Although, if it helps, the captain of the original died in battle. Although that was later, I think. So what is your ship? I didn’t see it when we arrived here.”

Kurdok made a sound that the universal translator refused to handle, presumably because the word had no equivalent in Marathi. “What is that?” she asked, “a place or the name of somebody?” 

“An animal,” he said. He put the drink down and held out his hand in a clenched fist, “about this big. Lots of legs, deadly poisonous bite.”

“A tarantula?” offered Sumati.

“Perhaps,” he said, his translator evidently having handled that word no better than her own had handled his.

“Well, here’s to the IKS Tarantula,” said Sumati, downing more of the Klingon ale, “may she bite people many times her own size.”

She got a broad grin in response. Evidently it had been the right thing to say. Despite the unpleasantness of their initial meeting, Sumati was beginning to warm to Kurdok. He seemed very different to the other Klingons she had met today, or those she had heard of. Of course he was a warrior, inclined to see all things in terms of conflict, but he was being pleasant enough, under the circumstances, as trapped here as she was, and trying to make the best of it.

The warnog was warming her, too, although she had not drunk enough to get tipsy. The stuff wasn’t bloodwine, or some other ridiculously potent drink. She supposed that no captain wanted drunken Klingons all over their warship, and she suspected that a Klingon crew could drink a lot of this stuff, with much banging of cups and warlike singing, without running the risk of that happening.

“You have this on your ship? We’re only allowed synthehol.”

“Of course!” he replied, “only the real thing. Perhaps humans are too weak to drink much real alcohol?”

“I’m drinking this aren’t I?” she said, before proving the point again.

“You are a good human,” he said, nodding, “strong in heart, if not in body. Will matters more than muscle, as my captain would say. I think she may be right in this. Sometimes.”

“Your captain sounds interesting.”

He grunted. “Perhaps. She is unusual, I would say. But what of yours? Your captain that does not allow alcohol? Is he dull, then?”

“She’s a Vulcan. Which says all you need to know, really. I’m not sure she understands human needs all that well. Although the synthehol isn’t just her; that’s Starfleet regulations.”

“A Vulcan? Ha! I suspect one such as you chafes under the command of a Vulcan. Am I right?”

“Not really,” said Sumati, defensively, “she’s a good captain, and I’m a Starfleet officer. We just have different ideas about how to have a good time off-duty, that’s all.”

“Your loyalty is admirable. And you are right: even Klingon warriors have their differences. Or I would not be here. But still… I doubt that even a Vulcan’s idea of a good time is sitting in an empty hotel room.”

Kurdok pulled himself up out of the chair and began pacing the carpet again, his scowl indicating that he had clearly lost interest in further conversation. Sumati sighed and tried to ignore him, closing her eyes to see if she could get some sleep, and the time would pass quicker that way.

It was no use. She opened her eyes again, and watched the Klingon walking back and forth, occasionally casting an angry glance at the partially disassembled lock.

“Can’t you do some exercises or something?” she asked in exasperation. It had to be better than wearing a hole in the carpet.

“Why not?” he agreed. “A warrior needs to keep in shape.”

Kurdok sat down on the chair, and began to pull his boots off. She raised an eyebrow, but said nothing. Presumably it was more comfortable that way, and she had to admit the boots did look rather heavy and bulky. She was more surprised, though, when his next act was to stand up, and to pull off his shirt as well. Straightening his belt, he dropped to the floor, and began to perform press-ups.

From her angle lying down on the bed, she couldn’t see much, but curiosity compelled her to pull herself up straight for a better view. She could still only see his back, and that only half the time, but even so she could see that the ridges on his forehead continued down his spine. Some kind of skeletal armour, she supposed, evolved to protect his spinal cord.

Soon, he switched to doing sit-ups. Sumati found, to her surprise, that she was admiring his body. Blushing slightly, and hoping he hadn’t noticed, she turned her head away. He was a Klingon, after all. If she hadn’t been admiring non-humans in that way during her time on the Endeavour, his was hardly the race she should be starting with!

Unconsciously, her eyes drifted back towards Kurdok’s half-naked body. Oh, why not, she thought, as she caught herself admiring him again. I’m only watching after all, and he’s only bare above the waist.

She had to admit, he looked rather impressive. His chest was broad and muscular, as she had already deduced, and looked much like that of a human, anatomically. He was moderately hairy, but less so than she might have expected, given his long hair and beard. His abdominal muscles were well-defined, taut, and starting to glisten with sweat. His arms were powerful, too, although not so muscle-bound as to look odd to human eyes.

Eventually, he stood up, and stretched, and Sumati took the opportunity to drink in every athletic curve of his exposed body. He had already shown more stamina for exercise than she expected all but the fittest of humans could, and he looked barely out of breath, for all the slight beads of sweat against his tanned skin.

“That feels better,” he announced, giving no sign that he had noticed her attention. She wasn’t sure whether she felt good about that, or not.

“If that’s how you like to spend your free time, it’s fine by me.”

“It is one of the ways,” he said, without elaborating further.

“So what else?” she asked, “what do you do on the Tarantula for fun? What is it we’re missing out on in Starfleet?”

“Proper drink and food, for one.”

“Okay, I’ll give you that. At least if replicators aren’t good at Klingon food.”

She realised she hadn’t finished the ale, although Kurdok had done so long ago. She picked up the flagon and downed the remainder, discovering there was more left than she had thought, but determined to get through it in one go. 

“There is combat practice, and tactical games,” the Klingon was continuing, “and we can listen to opera and join in with the singing. There is much to do, to keep our spirits up between duties. Klingons live life to the full!”

“Perhaps it helps that you are all the same race and culture. On the Endeavour, humans are a minority. We have members of two dozen different races on the crew. It keeps things varied, but…” she’d almost said too much, “well, I guess there can be some downsides.”

“The Klingon Empire employs the best warriors it can. Even our engineers and medics are warriors. There is no room for weaker races on our ships!”

Perhaps it was the alcohol speaking, as the warmth of that last drink spread through her body, but Sumati found herself responding to that as she would not have done less than an hour before. “We aren’t ‘weaker’ races! It’s not all about brawn, you said so yourself earlier. The Federation has hardly been a failure, now, has it?”

“Perhaps not. But you are not warriors. That is all I mean.”

“You said earlier that wearing more armour than me would have made it seem you were showing fear.”

“What of it?” 

“You think I’m showing fear? I mean, I’m just sitting here, not trying to hide. And you’re the one with the weapon, remember.”

“No,” he conceded, sounding a little conciliatory, “you have shown that you have steel in you. I do not think you a coward.”

“Good,” she said, “thank you. But just to prove I’m not afraid, let’s make sure we’re equal.”

“I have already put the knife away,” he indicated it, lying beside his armour now. She hadn’t noticed him removing it.

“But I’m wearing more armour than you. As it were.”  

She made a show of pulling her boots off and dumping them beside the bed, balling up her socks and tucking them inside. Kurdok grinned, the thought of imitation leather boots as ‘armour’ evidently amusing him.

“I shall not attack your feet,” he promised, sounding solemn.

“Well, what about this?”

She pulled her vest up, over her head and off, then dropped it over the boots before lying back on the bed again. 

“Now we’re even,” she told him, “besides, it still smelled of Nausicaan beer.”

She crossed her arms and looked at him, tilting her chin up a little to look proud. Amazingly, it was only then that it hit her: she was sitting across from a ferocious Klingon warrior, wearing just her uniform trousers and a white sports bra. And Kurdok himself was bare from the waist up. How much of the ale had she drunk to make her do that? She was acting before she was thinking, which was rather unlike her.

But she wasn’t backing down, either.

There was a long silence. Kurdok shifted uncomfortably in his chair. “Yes, we are,” he said eventually. “You have made your point.”

She nodded in agreement, and unfolded her arms, adopting a less confrontational posture. She couldn’t help but note though, that, while Kurdok had always maintained eye contact while speaking to her so far, that now his gaze kept flicking downwards. It should have made her nervous, but actually, she felt pleased, a warm glow touching her that no longer had anything to do with the warnog.

“Well, at least you have women on your ship. That must make it easier to ‘live life to the full’.”

“A woman has as much right to be a warrior as a man.”

“No arguments from me on that front.” 

Sumati adjusted her position slightly, and flipped her long braid over her shoulder, nestling it in her cleavage. Kurdok’s eyes followed it, tracing down its length to where the end rested close to her navel, before darting back to her face, as if hoping she hadn’t noticed. She pretended she hadn’t.

“Being a warrior is about determination, skill, and honour,” he went on, “not gender. Our ancestors once thought otherwise, centuries ago, but we recognise the wastage of that approach.”

“Birth control, huh? It had something like that effect on Earth, back in the twentieth century.”

“Just so. It liberated many women for combat roles.”

“Must help for entertainment on the ship, too. You can’t spend all your time in combat practice.” 

Sumati rolled over onto her side, propping her head up on one hand, and idly twirling the end of her braid with the other. From this angle, she knew, her cleavage would be more visible to him, and, once again, she saw the movement of his dark eyes.

Kurdok crossed his legs suddenly, and cleared his throat. She suppressed a grin, guessing the effect she was beginning to have on him. How far could she take this teasing? How far did she want to take it? She was, for the first time in her life, leading on an alien, and, of all races, he had to be a Klingon. Was it wise, what she was doing? What if he took it the wrong way?

Was there, she wondered, her heart suddenly jumping, even a wrong way to take it? Yes, he was a Klingon, but did that have to be such a problem? She had come to the station for a purpose, and it had been thwarted at every step. Until, perhaps, now…?

“There are liaisons on the Tarantula,” he was saying, “it is understood. Except for the Captain, so far as I know. She keeps out of that. As she has to.”

“I guess she would. Our captain doesn’t exactly have to deal with the question, though. But it happens on the Endeavour. Even with our range of different species. Even the Captain doesn’t forbid that, if it doesn’t get in the way of work.”

“Different species?” He seemed surprised.

Sumati dropped the braid, and casually slid the hand down her side, hooking it into the waist band of her uniform trousers. Kurdok’s eyes followed it all the way.

“Sure. Why not?” Not that she’d ever considered it herself before; but she wasn’t going to mention that now. “It depends on the species, obviously. Not many humans find Tellarites attractive.”

“I see.”

There was silence, the Klingon’s eyes still fixed on her hand, she not sure whether to move, and neither of them apparently thinking of much else they could say.

As the moment dragged on, Sumati took a decision. Perhaps it was a gamble, but she would risk it.

She slid her hand round to the front of the waistband, and, almost as if it were an unconscious movement, popped open the clasp, moving her hand beneath the fabric so that that the zip slowly pulled apart.

“Does that not happen with Klingons? There are no other species that are attractive to you?” she asked, breaking the silence, “or is it just that you don’t often meet other races under the right circumstances?”

“I suppose, yes, it happens. On rare occasions.”

She pushed aside the top of her trousers, exposing her hip and part of her knickers. “So it’s not that other races are never attractive?”

“I suppose not. To some people.” His eyes were on her hip now, not her face.

“What about you?”

“I have never thought about it.”

“But now that I’ve asked,” she slid her trousers further down, exposing the top of her thigh, “you can think about it. So?”

His eyes flicked to her face, boring into her, trying to gauge her mood. “Why do you ask?” he said, eventually.

“No reason,” she said, rolling onto her back again, both hands free to push her trousers down to her knees. 

Having done enough for the moment, she instead crossed her arms behind her head, resting on her hands, as she watched him. His eyes roved over her exposed body, taking in the swell of her bra, the slim curve of her belly, the contrast of her white knickers against her skin.

“In the right situation, I can see how there might be an appeal,” he said slowly.

“And what’s the right situation?” Sumati moved her legs, showing him more of her inner thigh, and, not coincidentally, causing her trousers to slide further down.

Kurdok’s hands gripped the arms of the chair, making the upholstery creak. He opened his mouth to speak, but then thought better of it, and closed it again. Instead he just stared at her. He seemed, she thought, uncertain, for a warrior.

“There is another question I could ask, instead,” she conceded, “if you’d rather.”

He raised his eyebrows, looking back at her face again, but still said nothing.

“You seem to be wearing more than I am, again. That’s not a problem for your honour, is it? Because I wouldn’t want to do that.”

He stared at her for a moment, then stood up. Her eyes immediately dropped to his crotch, beneath the tight leather trousers. If she had needed confirmation of his interest, it was definitely there now.

Watching her face with those dark eyes, Kurdok pulled off his belt and cast it aside. Then he pulled his trousers down, revealing powerful, slightly hairy, thighs, and stepped out of them. Then he stood there, no more than two feet from the bed, his arms at his side, still looking at her, his expression unreadable.

Beneath his trousers, he wore a pair of dark-coloured shorts, tight fitting, with padding over the crotch. She couldn’t tell how much of the current shape of them was due to the padding, and how much… to what lay beneath. Although that would have to be quite a lot of padding.

“Even,” he said, “again.”

“Technically,” she said, kicking off her trousers altogether so that they fell over the edge of the bed, onto the floor, “I am still wearing one more thing than you.” She reached her right hand for the clasp on her bra.

“It does not count.”

“It doesn’t?”

“No.”

“Oh.” She flipped the clasp anyway, but made no further move, her bra still preserving her modesty.

“Are you playing with me, Starfleet?” he asked.

“Do I look like I’m playing?”

She leaned forward slightly as she spoke, a bra strap falling loose over one shoulder, the upper curve of her breast clearly visible to his gaze. And gazing he undoubtedly was.

“I do not know; you are human. I do not know how well I understand humans,” He gave a wry grin, “but you are not throwing furniture.”

“Would you like me to?”

“It is not as necessary as we sometimes make out.”

“Well, what would you like me to do?”

He gave out a deep rumble, almost like a lion’s purr. “Perhaps…” he looked up to her eyes again, “perhaps I am tired now, and simply wish to sleep.”

The disappointment must have shown in her face, for he audibly had to suppress a laugh at her expense. So he was teasing, too?

“I wouldn’t want you to sleep on the floor,” she said, “or on the chair.”

“You do not mind if I share the bed?”

“It is a double. That kind of hotel, remember?”

“Then there is something you should know.”

“You snore?” she said, unable to resist.

He grinned, white teeth flashing against his dark beard. “No, but I do sleep naked.”

“Then I guess I shouldn’t upset tradition.”

Her eyes dipped down, over his broad chest and the well-defined muscles of his abdomen, to fix resolutely on his shorts.

Kurdok pulled them down, and stood before her, stark naked, and very obviously interested.

Sumati’s eyes went wide, and the Klingon looked downwards, as if expecting to see something had gone shockingly wrong. Apparently finding nothing out of the ordinary, he looked back to her face, heavy brows creased in puzzlement.

Then, realisation seemed to dawn, and he punched the air. “Ha!” he cried, “I knew it! Human males are underdeveloped!”

“It’s not that,” Sumati told him, and then added, more honestly, “well, not just that. It’s…” she nodded towards his jutting erection, “it’s ridged.”

Kurdok looked down again, more puzzled than ever. “What…” then he threw back his head, and laughed, a booming sound of pure mirth. “You mean human dicks look like…” he chortled, unable to contain himself, “look like their foreheads?”

The padding on his shorts, while real, had been minimal. Fully erect, Sumati judged the Klingon’s cock to be well over twenty centimetres long, and with an impressive girth. Beneath it, his scrotum looked almost globular, cased in what appeared to be a hard, leathery, natural armour. Kicking Klingons there must be a lot less effective than it was on humans, she reflected.

But it was to the ridges that her eye had immediately been drawn. They started at the base of the shaft, running upwards, a series of rugged rings beneath the skin that, so far as she could see, entirely encircled his girth. On the underside, facing her, they formed into chevron shapes, pointing upwards, like a set of arrows, towards the bulbous head. 

That, too, seemed wider, in proportion to the shaft, than she had seen on a human, but also slightly more rounded, and a deep plum in colour. It was also clear that, either Kurdok had been circumcised, or Klingons naturally lacked a foreskin.

“Is it a problem?” he asked, and she realised she had been staring in silence for a while.

“Huh?” she said, straightening herself up as she awoke from her reverie. Her bra fell loose as she did so, sliding down her arms. 

Kurdok’s eyes widened as he took in her naked breasts, the dark nipples visibly hard and erect. “Oh…” she said, trying to frame a response. He had a huge cock, complete with novelty ribbing, and he was asking her that? “No, I’m really, really, not seeing a problem.”

With a sudden leap, he was on the bed, muscular arms either side of her, eyes gazing into hers. Sumati felt a warm glow in her loins, and gasped at the unexpected swiftness of his movement. She ran a hand over one powerful shoulder, feeling the muscles hard beneath the skin, his long dark hair trailing over her fingers.

She reached her hand up behind his neck, noting as she did so that the ridges on his spine, previously hidden by his long hair, evidently continued all the way up. Then she pulled him towards her and, eagerly, their mouths met.

Kurdok’s kiss was passionate, possessive, crushing his lips against hers, his tongue pushing between her teeth. His breath was warm on her face as he devoured her, his weight pressing down on her, pressing her bare back into the warm softness of the sheets and mattress. His beard tickled, but she hardly noticed, so intent was she on other sensations.

Her right hand was still on his head, running through the long hair, finding it surprisingly silky between her fingers. Her other hand gripped his shoulder, and then moved across his back, finding the hard ridges of his spine, their knobbly feel unfamiliar, and intriguingly different. 

His fingers were rough, perhaps used to the manual labour of bat’leth fighting. One slid down her flank, caressing her almost gently, while the other grabbed a thigh, lifting it up beside his hip, fingers digging into the flesh. She could feel the warm length of his cock against the inside of her other thigh, and moved her left hand further down, towards the small of his back, and what lay beyond.

They were still kissing, lost in the moment, and Sumati realised that she was struggling to breathe. She tugged his hair with her right hand, but he either didn’t notice, or thought it was all part of the fun. She tugged harder, letting out a muffled yelp in the hope that that might be a clearer signal.

Evidently, it was, for the next thing she knew, he was releasing her, and she was gasping for breath, filling her lungs. He seemed barely winded, leaning back and partly off her. Instead, he gazed downward, watching her breasts rising and falling as she regained her breath, then looked up towards her eyes. She grinned, between the now quietening pants, trying to show him that there was nothing wrong, and that she was happy to continue.

He grinned too, dropping her thigh and rolling over onto one side, so that he wasn’t quite so heavy against her any more, just one leg lying over one of hers. He ran his free hand along her side, stroking her, their dark eyes locked together, each intrigued by the other’s reactions.

The hand moved round to her front, cupping her nearest breast. He gave it a light squeeze, fingers roaming over its surface, and then pushed it up slightly, trapping her nipple between the base of his middle and index fingers, rubbing her swollen aureole. He pressed the fingers together slightly, and jerked them upwards, tweaking and pulling on her. She cried out in appreciation, the feeling intense, yet pleasurable.

“Your body is so soft…” said Kurdok, almost purring, “so different…”

She said nothing, just moving her left hand up to his face, stroking his prominent cheekbones, before running her fingertips over the ridges along the side of his forehead. He opened his mouth slightly, panting, eyes moving down to where his hand was still massaging her breast.

The Klingon leaned in, kissing her once on the lips, and then extending his tongue to lap at her chin. He moved slowly, the tip of his tongue dabbing down her throat, making her catch her breath. Sumati rained kisses across his forehead, wondering how well he could feel them through the bony armour, but not really caring. 

Soon, though he was too low even for that. He wrapped his lips around her free breast, his tongue slathering over her hard and swollen nipple, sucking gently on her, beard tickling once again, his right hand still kneading the other breast.

He switched sides, and she shifted beneath him to give him a better angle. Her loins were on fire now, and she was very conscious of the feel of his cock, still pressed against her thigh. But he seemed in no hurry to give up his present prize, sometimes just pulling himself slightly away to catch her nipple between his lips, before pressing himself in once again.

The way he was nuzzling and caressing her breasts was wonderful, but Sumati did not want it to last forever. She wanted more, much more, an ache growing between her legs that could not long be denied.

“Lower,” she gasped, hands gripping his shoulders, and trying to push him in that direction, “I need you to go lower.”

He obliged, at last, pressing kisses along her belly, hands now stroking her thighs with a gentle, yet firm, pressure.

Just as he was about to reach her hips, the warrior sat up straight on the bed, obviously admiring the body laid out before him, Sumati’s breasts still glistening from his recent attentions. He was panting slightly, but it seemed more with passion than with exertion, as his hands gripped her sides.

With another sudden motion, he moved them to her buttocks and pulled her up and forward, onto his lap, her legs spread wide either side of his powerful abdomen. He snarled, and made a sharp growl as his fingers grabbed the sides of her knickers and then yanked them apart.

The fabric ripped, and Sumati let out a yell of surprise. With a few more desperate motions, Kurdok shredded the garment into fragments, hurling the torn rags across the room. She looked at him in shock for a moment, before relaxing into a wry grin and a half-laugh. She could always replicate more.

She was now completely naked before him, legs spread, everything on display. For a few seconds, he sat there, silently, perhaps admiring the view, then he took a finger, and ran it along the length of her crack.

Sumati was damp, hot, her lips engorged, and she shivered in delight, even letting out a small moan of desire as she felt his rough finger stroke her. He held it up to the light, and she was not surprised to see the tip covered in moisture. The Klingon popped the finger into his mouth, and smiled.

“You taste good,” he informed her.

“Then taste me properly.”

“Yes,” he groaned, as softly as his bass voice could manage, “yes…”

He adjusted his position, moving so that he was now leaning over the back of the bed, arms gripping her thighs, feet on the floor. He pressed his face into her groin, tongue probing rapidly between her folds. Sumati let out a much louder groan this time, unable to stop herself. One hand gripped the sheets as the other pressed onto the Klingon’s head, once again feeling the many ridges on his forehead.

He continued to suck and lick her, nose pressing into her mound, tongue moving deep inside her. As before, he barely seemed to stop for breath, exploring every fold, responding to her every gasp, her every cry of encouragement.

Finally, he pulled his head back, grinning, some of her juices evident on his beard. He clambered up quickly onto the bed, leaning over her, and they kissed again, her hands squeezing his firm body, trying to caress as much of him as she could. She could still taste herself on his tongue, but knew, from the heat in her loins, that she had much further to go.

Kurdok pulled away from the kiss more quickly this time, judging it better than he had before. He loomed over her, and grabbed her arms, pressing them against the bed, held out horizontally to either side. She could hardly move as she looked up at the fierce Klingon warrior above her, and then downward, between his legs to the erection that now hovered centimetres above her groin.

His eyes swept over her body, too, although there was nothing now that he had not seen, and little he did not seem to have tasted.

“Please…” she murmured, gaze moving rapidly between his cock and his eyes.

“Please what?” he asked, “I want to hear you say it, Starfleet. Tell me what you want me to do to you, Ensign. Do to your gorgeous human body.”

“Kurdok of the House of Khurless,” she said, noting that he seemed pleased that she had remembered his affiliation, “just fuck me, will you?”

“Yes,” he growled, his voice full of desire, “oh, yes…”

He adjusted himself slightly, lowering his hips, pushing her thighs aside with his knees. He still held her arms, leaving her unable to move, his dark eyes fixed on hers, drinking in every expression on her face. She could feel the head of his cock resting against her lips and let out a small mewl of anticipation.

With a grunt, Kurdok pushed his way inside, just the head at first, and then, slowly, more and more of his length. He felt even bigger than he had looked, flooding Sumati with incredible sensations. It was as if she hadn’t realised until this moment how many months it had been, and she let out a long groan of long-delayed release. Her hands clenched and unclenched as she lay there, spread-eagled, in the iron grasp of his hands and the delightful pressure of the Klingon’s cock inside her.

Kurdok began to move his hips, slowly pressing himself in and out of her body. He let out a gasp of surprised pleasure, his fierce features softening with a look of pure delight. He released her arms, lowering his chest onto hers, still grinding into her with unexpected gentleness.

Sumati’s arms gripped his shoulders, fingers digging into the firm muscle, feeling the motion of his back, as her hard nipples pressed against his powerful chest. He was heavy on top of her, but the feeling was pleasurably reassuring, and not at all uncomfortable. Her moans were protracted, in time with his slow thrusting, as Kurdok let out little grunts of pleasure.

His rough hands were caressing her, running over her body, from her armpits to her thighs, sometimes slipping behind her back, raising her hips up slightly to meet his motions. Sumati’s right hand slid down to the small of his back, feeling the rugged ridges of his spine, once again reminding her that he was not human, but delightfully, powerfully, Klingon.

Her opening was stretched wide by his girth, which was greater than that of any human male she had slept with. She could feel the ridges, rounded and covered with soft skin, yet oh so evident inside her. Every time he moved his hips, they rubbed against her clit, stimulating her yet further.

As one thrust caused Sumati to let out her most satisfied moan yet, Kurdok moved a hand to her face, stroking her cheek as he stared into her eyes, his other hand exploring her flanks.

“You are so soft,” he said, voice thick with passion, “and yet so tight. Why have I never…” he groaned in wonder, a deep rumble in his throat, “I have never felt… oh, yes, yes…”

Moments later, though, he withdrew with a sigh, rolling off of her to lie on his side. Sumati whimpered with frustration; she felt suddenly empty, and was not yet ready for a breather, even if he was. She ran a hand over his chest, through the short hair there, feeling the shape of the powerful muscles beneath the skin.

“Are all humans like you?” he wondered, casually stroking her belly, and apparently willing to take his own time.

“Oh, I shouldn’t think so,” replied Sumati, “I’d make the most of this chance, if I were you.”

“Hmm… perhaps our peoples should have been doing something other than fighting all these years. There would have been no loss of honour in spending our days as allies against the Romulans or Cardassians, and our nights as allies of a different kind.”

She didn’t want to talk. She rolled over to push her body against his, scratching his chest lightly with her fingernails to get his attention. He just smiled, so she dug in a little harder.

“They’d better be long nights,” she informed him.

He just grunted, so she took one of his brown nipples between her fingers and gave it a sharp tweak. At that, he gave a low growl, and bent over to whisper into her ear.

“So you want to play rough, Starfleet?”

She had no idea what a Klingon’s idea of ‘rough’ was, and couldn’t help wondering if it would end with broken bones if he underestimated the fragility of her human body.

“I just want you,” she said instead, nuzzling into his neck, “to show me what it’s like to have a real warrior take me over the edge.”

“Oh, I have not finished, Starfleet,” he told her, “I have barely begun.”

Kurdok raised himself up into a sitting position, and gripped Sumati’s shoulders, gently but firmly rolling her over onto her front. Sensing his intention, she settled herself into position, wrapping her arms around the large, comfortable, pillow as she pushed her hindquarters up into the air, legs slightly spread.

He positioned himself behind her, running his hands over her buttocks and thighs. “Beautiful…” she heard him sigh, almost to himself. His thumbs pressed into her lips, pulling them a little apart, his breathing becoming a little deeper as he did so.

Sumati let out a yell as suddenly, and without warning, he thrust himself inside her, much harder than he had before. With a delighted sense of shock, she realised that, the last time, he had been holding himself back, not pushing himself all the way in. Her hands gripped the pillow, knuckles whitening as a high pitched gasp escaped her mouth. He was even bigger than she had thought!

She could feel his rounded ball-sack pressed into her, hips hard against hers, as his hands roughly grasped her body, pulling it up a little as he remained in position, filling her more than she had thought possible.

Panting, Kurdok eventually pulled himself all the way out, only to perform a second, equally powerful, thrust. Words failed Sumati as he began to move inside her, hips building up a slow rhythm that gradually increased in pace. He was incredible, better even than before, huge cock pumping in and out, skin slapping against hers as the bed began to creak with his exertions. The ridges on his member ground repeatedly against her swollen clit as Sumati cried out again and again.

She turned her head back over her shoulder to look at him, watched the muscles on his abdomen flexing as he continued to pound into her, with no signs of exhaustion in sight. His face was wild, lips pulled back, groans of pleasure escaping his throat. He looked fiercely, defiantly, Klingon, long hair falling around his shoulders, beard bristling, eyes wide with a mixture of ferocity and unbridled passion.

“Do you like it… Ensign?” he asked, seeing her looking towards her, his speech punctuated by his own pants and groans.

All she could do was moan in response, too engulfed in the pleasure to formulate even the most basic of replies. She turned her head round again, resting her chin against the pillow, as her body continued to push back against his, in time with the steady, pounding rhythm of his motion inside her.

“Say it…” he grunted, digging his fingers into her buttocks, “I want to… hear it… what is it… like to have… a true warrior… fucking you? Tell me…”

Still, she couldn’t reply, although her moans of uninhibited pleasure must surely have been telling him all he needed to know. His hands grabbed her waist, pulling her up onto her elbows. He leaned over her, reaching his left hand down, to grasp her hanging breast, kneading it between his fingers.

“Tell me…” he grunted again.

Not breaking the rhythm for a second, he released her breast, and his right hand caressed the back of her neck, before flipping up the long braid that was now hanging beside her, to lay it across the middle of her back.

“Tell me…” he yanked the braid, pulling her hair, “tell me…” again, harder this time.

It wasn’t as painful as it could have been, but the slight change in sensation was just enough to bring Sumati to something at least slightly closer to her normal state of mind.

“I love it…” she managed, “I fucking love it… just don’t… stop… don’t stop until I…”

He grabbed her breast once again, leaning over her until she could feel his warm breath on her neck. The speed of his motion increased, and she found herself responding in kind, her moans near continuous now, only pausing as she drew ragged breaths to fill her lungs.

She was close, so close… and her partner was certainly not letting up for a second. Sumati came, a blinding orgasm washing over her, better than any in her life until this moment. She could barely hear him crying out himself, so overwhelming was the force of her own sensation. Her legs collapsed, shaking, and he fell on top of her, cock at last sliding free from her aching pussy.

She lay there for a while, gasping, as Kurdok stroked her belly, evidently savouring the ‘soft’ body. Once she had recovered her breath, though, she rolled over on her side, facing him.

“Mmm… that was good,” she told him, voice husky, “very good.”

She ran a hand over his chest, feeling the firm muscles of his pectorals, and running through the short hair – sparser than on many humans, she thought, although that might just have been him. Her hand trailed lower, casually, as she lay there in post-coital bliss, simply admiring his body. She could feel the curve of every muscle, not exaggerated, as they were on bodybuilders, but undeniably powerful. 

She dipped a little lower… and discovered, to her surprise, that he was still fully erect. Hadn’t they just…? But, no, she realised: she had climaxed, but Kurdok had not. He had still, somehow, held himself back from the final act. Which meant, surely, that he had not finished?

Sumati slid her hand round to the base of the Klingon’s cock, through the thick hatch of pubic hair. His scrotum was, as she had previously seen, somewhat globular, and it felt solid beneath her questing fingers, like a thin layer of soft leather stretched over some harder material. It was large, too, the balls inside presumably much bigger proportionally than those of a human.

She looked into his eyes as she began to move her hand back up. His dark orbs were focussed on hers, breath coming slow and shallow, a slight smile on his lips. Down below, she moved by touch alone, feeling each individual ridge on his hard member, perfectly delineated beneath the skin.

She tried, experimentally, but she couldn’t reach her hand all the way around his girth; her fingers and thumb could not quite reach on the far side. She slid it further up, as Kurdok continued to watch her face. The head was rounded, flared slightly at the base, a slick shape of smooth, damp skin beneath her fingertips.

“I don’t know about Klingon women,” she said quietly, not moving her eyes from his as she continued to stroke the tip of his cock, “but human women do not take long to…” she paused for effect, and gave her prize a tight squeeze and a quick tug, “…re-arm.”

He grinned, showing a flash of white teeth, and pushed her over onto her back again, looming over her. He lay partially on top of her, kissing her passionately, their tongues entwining as his hands massaged her breasts. He broke free of the kiss, still grinning, and moved down a little, sucking a nipple into his mouth.

“Wonderful…” he sighed, before turning his attention to the other side, eyes glancing up to see her response as plundered her breasts once again.

It was good, but she was ready for more, even so soon after their last coupling. It was not long before he obliged her, grabbing a pillow and sliding it beneath her buttocks to push her sex up slightly. Kneeling, he lifted one of her legs by the calf, sliding his other hand down the inside of her thigh, then placing his hand over the still damp slit, rubbing it slightly until she whimpered in mixed pleasure and anticipation.

Still holding her leg, but moving his other hand now to one of her breasts, Kurdok pushed himself firmly inside her. Sumati arched her back, moaning loudly as he began to move, his cock filling her, that bulbous head stretching her innermost reaches in time with his slow thrusts.

Kurdok was panting in time with his motions, his eyes wide open, as if not wanting to miss a single motion of the body spread out before him. She could see his muscles flexing beneath the skin, his broad chest rising and falling as his breathing became deeper, and admired how his fierce, Klingon, face was so suffused with ecstasy.

He released her leg, and she immediately wrapped it around his body as he lowered herself onto her, chest now pressing against her breasts, one hand holding the small of her back, as the other stroked her cheek.

“Sumati…” he groaned, the first time he had used her name since they started, “oh, Sumati…”

She responded in kind, calling his name as the motion of her hips matched the gradually increasing speed of his thrusts. One hand gripped the back of his neck, tangled in the long dark hair, while another dropped to his tight buttocks, feeling their steadily pounding motion.

The ridges on his cock were rubbing over her clit ever faster as he continued, and she knew that, once again, she would not be able to last much longer. She cried out his name with more urgency this time, his huge member stretching her, filling her, driving her to heights she had never known.

Kurdok let out a low growl, increasing in pitch as he moved ever harder, ever faster. His teeth were bared, his eyes wild, as the bed creaked with outrage and Sumati’s loud and uninhibited cries all but drowned out the slap of skin on skin.

She couldn’t take any more, her body jerking as she succumbed to the second overwhelming climax of the night. Simultaneously, Kurdok grabbed her buttocks, lifting them up and off the bed as he let out a sudden roar of triumph and passion, ejaculating forcefully inside her.

Incredibly, he did not stop, still pounding hard into Sumati’s aching slit, prolonging an orgasm that was already stunning in its ferocity. Kurdok’s roar continued too, as he came again and again inside his human partner.

Sumati lost all sense of time as the sensations overcame her. In retrospect, she would suppose that Kurdok’s climax had only lasted a matter of seconds, although still far longer than she could imagine it possibly would for any human man. And all the while, he pumped more of his seed inside her, his ejaculation inhumanly prolonged.

When at last he finished, and pulled free, Kurdok collapsed on the bed beside her, chest heaving, and they both lay there for a while, motionless and exhausted. Eventually, they rolled together, kissing softly, before Sumati buried her head in the crook of his neck, holding him close to her. 

With remarkable gentleness, Kurdok stroked her body, fingers running over her head and back as they lay there, legs entwined. In time, the softness of his touch and the aftermath of their exertions sent her into a comfortable sleep, nursed by the warmth of the Klingon’s body.

---***---

She woke up, an unknown time later, as he disentangled herself from her. At first, she whimpered, trying to pull him back into the comfort of their mutual embrace, but as she came more fully awake, she let him go and rolled away, pulling the loose pillow into her arms and holding it against her body.

She watched him as he stalked across the room, admiring the shape of his backside as he stepped towards the inner door, the one leading towards the bathroom. He opened it, and stepped inside, turning back towards her as he did so.

“I need a shower,” he told her, quietly, “especially after that.”

She smiled, raising herself up on one arm, the other still clutching the pillow. 

“What’s the time?”

He looked over towards a small digital clock set into the wall. “We slept for a while, I think. But I fear there are eight hours still to go in this room.”

“Then I’ll need a shower, too,” she agreed, and grinned, throwing away the pillow. “Hope you don’t mind if I share. Then you can show me how long it takes Klingon men to re-arm.”

“Not long at all,” he informed her, and she could see his cock already starting to stiffen, the ridges becoming more prominent as it did so.

“I hope not. Although, with eight hours to kill, you may need to demonstrate it to me quite a few times.”

Kurdok just grinned, and Sumati reflected that this was turning out not to be such a bad day for shore leave, after all.