Chapter One - Nude With No HairSTARFLEET ACADEMY, 2351
It was that worst of all days, the ones Cadets taking exobiology feared most.
Professors Captains Kirk had just gotten through an argument. Pete and Viki---aka Peter and Saavik Kirk--always went through a fit of togetherness afterwords. This meant they taught class together.
Cancel Christmas, as the ancients said.
"Cadet Howard---what kind of life form was the creature encountered on Rura Penthe by Admirals Kirk and McCoy, that went by the name of Maartia?"
So far, so good, thought Bev--no one had noticed.
"An alisamorph, Captain Saavik--a shapeshifter."
On most days, the resemblance between Professor Peter Kirk and his legendary rat-bastard of an unc----and his legendary uncle was merely worth noting. Today, for some reason, he was identical to him.
"Cadet Howard--what are the chief characteristics of a shapeshifter?"
He was staring at her chest--he had noticed! No--he was staring at the aquarium, just outside the window. Why? Was there something wrong with her chest?
"Professor Kirk--the chief characteristic of a shapeshifter is that you never see them coming."
The class let out, but Beverly was kept behind. Captain Saavik raised an eyebrow.
"Cadet Howard--are you aware that you are out of uniform?"
She stiffened. On her body, bits of her skin followed suit, including portions of her aforementioned chest.
"Ma'am--please define out of uniform."
Saavik nodded.
"You--are naked."
Unnervingly, almost invasively, Professor Kirk ran his hand over Bev's head.
"You also have no hair. Going Deltan on us, Cadet?"
Why was he mocking her? Wasn't bald sexy? Or wasn't it once? On the right person?
Captain Saavik shook her head, and her voice grew nasal and low-pitched.
"This tack isn't working. Either she is the strongest unconscious telepath ever known, or she simply has no information worth plucking. But she bores me, in any event. Here, my dear."
The Saavik-alike handed Bev a packet with small tufts of curly red hair. Looking down at her legs, their place of origin was obvious. The false friend looked satisfied.
"They told me not to take those particular follicles. Something about the male of your species finding it an attraction. But I think you'll find that no problem here."
From head to toe, Beverly Crusher had been shaved. This wasn't Starfleet Academy, and these people weren't the old family friends who had changed her and then her son's diapers, and whose gaggle of adopted children played with them both. She stood up. She did not attempt to escape. That, she knew now, was pointless.
"Who are you and where am I?"
The images faded. The Kirks became a Vorta and his Jem'Hadar First. Beverly was still a shaven nude. The Vorta looked at The First.
"Are the prisoners assembled and ready?"
The First nodded.
"They are."
The Vorta went outside. The First looked at Beverly, uninterested in her state of undress. But he did smile, somewhat.
"You greatly upset the Vorta with your resistance."
That was all. No warning to acquiesce. No threat or bribe attempt. Only a statement of fact. A fact that almost seemed to please the dog-faced soldier.
"Bring her outside. The show is ready."
Outdoors were all the male prisoners, nude as she was. Beverly felt a massive dread. But unlike her physical body, this she did not show. She had her own deep reserves of courage, and in her mind, being the woman of Jean-Luc Picard had to count for something.
The Vorta pointed to her, and spoke to the mostly human, all-male assemblage. She felt like a piece of meat, and so did the others.
"Here she is. The only woman you human primates have seen for months. I'm told by the standards of your low-brow race, that she's quite comely. Being a sterile clone--I don't see it myself. Passion is an encumberance I don't have to bear, after all."
His every word was cold and clinical, and if she felt sympathy from her jailers, it was only from the Jem'Hadar, who believed in fighting and killing a foe, not humiliating them. The Vorta droned on.
"Now, away she goes for a month in solitary. When she comes out, her hair will have mostly regrown, and you'll all be clothed yet again. But her unclad image will haunt you--and I have my own personal wager as to which one of you will attempt a forced mating first."
Most of the men seemed reviled at the sick play the Vorta was staging. But not all. Plus, Beverly knew, the vile tactic was a sound one. In their lonely, hungry minds, she would come to define beauty and desirability until they cracked. For cold comfort, Bev remembered that cupping her palm and driving it upward into a humanoid's nose was a very efficient killing method.
A man rushed forward screaming, straight towards Beverly. The Jem'Hadar cut him down with a blaster bolt. Dying, he gestured to her, and the Vorta allowed this. The dying man looked up at her.
"Please...I'm no pig. But may I...."
She shuddered as she nodded.
"Yes...go ahead."
With his working hand's remaining strength, he cupped one of her breasts before letting it go.
"Ma'am...forgive me...just had to touch...beauty...one last time. Don't give in like I did. Thank..."
The man who had been so lonely he died so that he could cop a feel was gone. Bev walked away from the body. The Vorta was confused.
"Give in? He was never one of our collaborators."
Beverly turned and yelled loudly at the passionless telepath, longing for one of Lxwana Troi's endless innuendoes, especially about the virtues of nudity.
"THAT POOR MAN WAS TALKING ABOUT NOT GIVING IN TO DESPAIR! If You Weren't A Paeon, Born And Bred From Despair, You'd Have An Inkling Of What He Was Talking About!"
The Vorta seemed clueless.
"Yes, I rather suppose I would. First, take her to begin her month in solitary. And Doctor, don't worry about your life. One of the Gods themselves has deigned to take it over! You should feel blessed."
Beverly shook her head.
"Among humans, its impolite to discuss or stare at a girl's blessings."
It was strained, survivalist humor, which needless to say sailed right over the Vorta's etched head.
"Oh, my apologies then."
The First led her to her cell. It was large, but dark--and she would be completely sealed off, save for food, which would be transported in while she was sleeping.
"I think you will survive, human--but I've been wrong before."
On the inside now, Beverly found that none of the usual techniques worked. Trying to think of those places and people that comforted her in fact brought her vast pain. After a time, she based a theory on her pain attacks.
"All right----thinking of Wesley, Jean-Luc, Jack--any of them—causes me pain. Real pain, not merely psychosomatic. Try those less close to me."
But from Alexander all the way down to Kate Pulaski-Riker, who she barely knew and had met once, the pain adjusted to meet the good feelings their memories engendered.
"Confirmation. There's another Vorta around here, likely bred for emotional projection. Their job--keep us prisoners sulking. Thoughts of those we care about hurt. Love is out--lets try hate."
"Lursa. Betor. Soran."
Bugs, she thought. Indifference was all she could muster, beyond the fact that the Duras sisters had been so very ugly.
"The Borg."
Hateful, but far too faceless.
"Q. Q the idiot. Q the monster. Q the---not responding to my taunts."
Too mixed a bag.
"The Admiral who gave the orders that forced Jean-Luc to do that thing he didn't want to do and then we disobeyed and---"
Too many faces to count.
"Who do I really, truly--perhaps even unreasonably hate?"
To her shock, an image--fully there but yet visible only to her--manifested itself. Sure enough, Bev had found a loophole in the Vorta block. The image nodded.
"I was kind of wondering when you'd get to me. Your hate is sure strong enough. By the way--did anyone ever tell you you're a knockout?"
She tried to push the image of Captain James T. Kirk away. But this was to no avail. She looked over.
"Why aren't you vanishing?"
He smiled that infamous charming smile, the one that had landed them both in bed together, about two months back---albeit after a hefty binge of non-syntheholic liquor rendered them non compus mentus.
"Why are you butt-naked?"
She frowned, and the image appeared to grow sharper.
"I am naked, shaved, in solitary, in prison, in the Gamma Quadrant, kidnapped by an enemy I only just heard of this past year, and replaced by a shapeshifter because you murdered Jean-Luc Picard, so to steal his command!"
The image winced.
"So I'm responsible for all this? Rather convenient, don't you think? Ignores certain facts--like how you reacted, both on and after Veridian 3."
As the painful memories began again, Bev hated the youthful Kirk image all the more--because she knew it was right. Kirk had not put her in this position. She herself had--right from the start.
-------------------------------------------------Chapter Two - The Nude Redhead Alone
After the first day, she felt some red peach-fuzz--the barest hint—on her head. Her eyebrows and other, more private hairs were slower in returning. Bored and upset, she turned to her imaginary companion.
"Let's set a few ground rules before we talk. I do not find you attractive beyond the rudiments. I do not feel that you were the greatest Captain ever to sail the stars. I do not like you. If not for your return from the dead, I wouldn't be here."
'Kirk' shrugged.
"Well, that's half-right. My return from the dead--coupled with Picard's death, did put you over the edge. Care to think about it now?"
She gave in.
"I'm going to lie down as you tell your version of events. If you try anything..."
"Try Anything? What would I try?"
"I'm naked!"
"I'm imaginary! Pleased to meet you."
She suddenly remembered that any danger of being groped or molested—or simply raped--could not come from the image she now saw. He was the only one who couldn't hurt her. He was the only one who could help her. Jean-Luc's possible murderer, yes. But a known survivor.
"Just try not to bias events too much."
He nodded.
"Okay. But you're not lying down. They've foolishly given you freedom of movement, within this cell. Practice your Jeet-Kune-Do, as my nephew taught you. Be like water. A maximum of force with a minimum of movement."
She looked down sheepishly.
"I--I can't. I've been getting top-heavy, of late. I'll-I'll bounce around."
The image sighed.
"Imagine that we're in hell. Not your hell--mine. Your job is to punish the galactic womanizer, James 'A baby in every port' Kirk by tormenting him with the naked movements of a beautiful woman that he can't ever touch."
Something in the image's gentle self-deprecation clicked for her, so she got up, and began thrusting her arms forward, as though to blow out a candle. Later, her legs kicked out, and her backside arched as she endured stretch after stretch. She imagined Kirk howling in agony as he watched.
"Will this help me to escape?"
"No. But it will help you not to be a victim. And isn't that what you've felt like, since Veridian 3?"
Again, his logic was hateful but on-target.
-----------------------------------------------
THE ENTERPRISE-D CRASH SITE, VERIDIAN 3, DECEMBER 1, 2371As LaForge and his engineers worked to salvage temporary housing out of the intact decks, Beverly saw the transport land. She also saw Data, and decided her big sloppy kiss for Jean-Luc could wait til later.
"Commander! A word with you--now."
The android was stroking his beloved Spot, recovered from the wreckage.
"Yes, Doctor?"
Pulling out a large container of water from behind her back, Bev poured it right over his head.
"Do you not find that surprising and amusing?"
Data shook his head.
"Point taken, Doctor. And thank you for not getting Spot wet, as well. She does not care for that."
Vengeance sated, Bev looked along with everyone else as the transport's doors opened. Will was in front. She saw his head begin to shake, as though in disbelief. Had Jean-Luc been scarred?
Now, things slowed down. Deanna was wiping her eyes, and clutching Will for comfort.
Next to her, Data was slowly strangling Spot in an involuntary hand spasm. His attention-span had been erased by something he saw.
Behind her, she heard the voices of Worf and his son slowly rise to the heavens as they screamed. She tried to remember what occasion made Klingons scream.
Lastly, Beverly saw Geordi approach, and scan a package that the first passenger off the transport was holding. Walking off, LaForge sat down on the ground and just lay back, uncaring about appearances.
Beverly looked at the face of the man holding the package. She knew that face.
"Pete and Viki's Uncle Jim."
Admiral Saavik and Professor Kirk would surely be delighted to know that their kin was back among the living--again. So, likely, would all of Starfleet. So would most of the galaxy. So why did Beverly Crusher feel an unease?
Then, she saw the package in his arms shift a few times.
Then, she saw that it was no mere package.
Then, she saw that Captain Kirk was holding the very dead body of Captain Jean-Luc Picard.
Then, one of the strongest people in Starfleet began to shriek and sob uncontrollably. She saw Deanna come towards her. She felt a hypo. She went to sleep. It was a fitful sleep.
Three hours later, she awoke with Deanna in attendance.
"Beverly--we still have wounded. Do you feel up to treating them?"
Surprisingly, Crusher smiled.
"In a minute, Counselor. I just have to find The Captain and tell him something. Something I should have said a long time ago. Maybe you want to find Commander Riker and tell him something yourself."
Deanna Troi shook her head.
"I'm not so sure that's a good idea. Do you really want to see the body again, so soon?"
The Body. The Body. Two simple words which meant it hadn't all been a dream. Jean-Luc was dead. Her mind began to boil over, and Beverly went just a little bit insane.
"Its Kirk. I see it now. Sure. He came back."
Troi was understandably confused.
"What does this have to do with Captain Kirk?"
"Well--don't you see, Deanna? This is a pattern as old as Kirk's career. Pike retires, his Number One is unable to succeed him—Kirk steps in. The Big Man doesn't like his desk job--goodbye, Decker! Doesn't like to lose his crew--steals a damn starship, sacrifices his own son--all to keep that Chair. He briefly sat in Harriman's--but he let his ego get the better of his ambition. Now, he's back to do it again. Conveniently, his best qualified rival dies as he reeemerges."
Deanna, who had some pre-existing feelings about the returned legend, seemed to grow a bit indignant.
"Beverly, what precisely are you suggesting?"
She said it bluntly.
"Deanna, get Worf. I want Kirk held on suspicion of murdering another Captain."
Troi stood there, her eyes a bit wider than normal, in this case revealing disbelief.
Crusher yelled, her pain and anguish almost overwhelming the empath.
"Did you hear me? Did you hear me, you overendowed, platitude-spouting Betazoid? Grab your oversized boyfriend, who is supposed to protect this ship but never can, and arrest the man who killed The Captain neither of you were worthy to serve with!"
It was easier, she thought, to believe Jean-Luc had been betrayed and murdered, because some undead hero wanted his command. The truth, that death could have claimed either Captain, both Captains, or neither Captain was just too random for her to grasp.
So began a spiral of isolation for Beverly. Invading private parties with armed guards. Incoherent accusations made on tabloid-vids. Getting roaring drunk and laid by a man who was just as drunk--and who turned out to be Kirk himself. Accusing treasured friends of choosing career over loyalty to Picard. Pushing away Nyota Uhura, the Admiral who had all but sponsored her at The Academy, and a kind caring friend. No one could find her son anywhere, another bit of fuel for conspiracy charges.
Then, it happened. Everyone finally got her angry, unintentional message and stayed away. The Shapeshifter found her, and used her histrionic crusade--which ironically she was on the verge of relenting from--as cover for its imprecise imitation of her behavior.
As the true Beverly Crusher sat in solitary, a James Kirk who had not murdered Jean-Luc Picard reluctantly allowed the accusation-happy shapeshifter on board as CMO to The Enterprise-E, so as not to destroy her career. Ironically, while Bev's accusations had been wrong, her prediction was not : Captain Kirk now commanded a third Starship Enterprise.
-----------------------------------------
She made a concession.
"You didn't kill Jean-Luc. But your coming back did put me here."
He stood, and nodded as she exercised.
"You--have got a great butt."
Her now-necessary hatred continuing, she smiled as her long legs kicked out, repeatedly nailing an imaginary crotch.
Day after day, the image would taunt her. Taunt her with how she disrupted his reunion with his original crew. Taunt her with details of their drunken intimacy. He even made bouncing sounds as she exercised. She still hated him. But now it was a hate she could use.
When the month was done, she was not ready to overpower the Jem'Hadar, and seize a ship to Deep Space Nine. But she was ready to survive brutal life in a prison camp--where she was still likely the only woman around. She saw her clothes beamed in. Her regular clothes. Her blue Starfleet uniform. The message could not have been more clear. They had so very little fear of her escaping, that they let her have back a small part of the identity that here, meant nothing at all.
But she was no longer naked, and would leave the fetid cell behind. She spoke to her unseen companion.
"Kirk--what happens now?"
"Now, Doctor? Now is the difficult part."
---------------------------------------------
Summary : Clothed now, and with her hair slowly growing back, Beverly
leaves solitary to deal with everyday life as a Prisoner Of War in a
Dominion Camp.
Two problems : In a camp full of male humanoids, she is the only woman.
Also, her only sure ally is the accidentally-induced image of Captain
James Kirk, a man she holds responsible for her spate of rotten luck.
Can the image of a born survivor bring back the fire in the redhead's
soul, and keep her from being a victim?---------------------------------------------
Chapter Three - The Redhead Prisoner
After a month of checking their wounds, and instructing them on how to keep healthy, Beverly Crusher felt both her long red hair and her fear growing rapidly.
The other POW's were always staring at her. When she nearly tripped one day, she could tell that they were praying she'd break her ankle. They wanted her helpless. They wanted her, period. Observing this, the Vorta decided to accelerate matters, the better to bring about the 'forced mating' as he called it.
"Doctor--you will be disrobed in view of your fellow primates, each night before resuming your stay in solitary. Should the Jem'Hadar do it or should you be quick-transported out of your clothes?"
The First among the Jem'Hadar guards quietly shook his head.
"I will not strip her, Vorta. I kill enemies. Plus-the human female does not cry as often as the others. I respect that."
As Vortas go, this one seemed incensed.
"You--will do as I say, because it is the will of the Gods!"
The First seemed a patient sort.
"The Founders created me, and gave me life. You--are not a Founder. And I wouldn't reduce me in rank, if I were you. I can barely control my men--and they like me--as they do not like you."
Kirk's image chose this moment to speak.
"Take off your clothes, while they're arguing."
Bev whispered back, stunned.
"What? Are you that horny?"
"Lady, I don't even qualify as a hologram. Strip yourself--seize that much control. If its done any other way--its all them. Don't do a striptease. Just strip down, as though for bed. Then, when you've got the POW's attention--say the following."
Realizing that 'Kirk' was right, Beverly stripped down again. This time, with all her hair back, the clothed men were more attracted than ever. But Crusher spoke her Vorta-induced companion's words, verbatim.
"I hope that you pathetic little boys have seen more than one naked woman in your short lives. Because even my son, who is held in some kind of contempt as a freak by some people, has seen at least fifty very real ones. Don't ask me how I found out. Here's the situation--I have boobs, butt, and a delta. I also have the rank of Commander, and that is what you will address me by. Word of warning : Eventually, you'll need care. Anyone who even attempts a 'forced mating' will have that care denied. The same goes for groping or voyeurism. What you see now, carry with you. Because the only man I consider of real enough worth to do a voluntary mating with is dead and buried. You may have heard of him : his name was Picard."
Glaring hard at the Vorta, Beverly managed to cut through the pervert's icy calm. As she walked off, one of the men shouted.
"Hey, Commander--you got balls, too!"
Bev turned.
"Clinically impossible--but I'll accept the compliment."
Strutting as though she were an Old Earth Imperial Admiral in full regalia, Bev walked straight into her cell, which closed behind her. The Vorta's confusion continued.
"Why do these humans always take defeat and turn it into some kind of absurd victory dance?"
The First shrugged.
"I'd explain it to you, Vorta--but I really don't have that kind of free time."
Inside the cell, the bold nude Amazon was shaking like a leaf, fit to bust.
"Do--you--Do you think I fooled them?"
Kirk smiled.
"Kid--you fooled me. Problem is, you need to fool yourself, to keep this up."
A grim thought crossed Bev's mind.
"Not all of them are trying to grope or corner me. Most of the men are actually being very patient with me. Maybe I should choose a real companion. No offense."
Kirk shook his imaginary head.
"None taken. Not possible, anyway. I have no ego to---God Almighty, I sound like Spock. But Doctor--there's one small problem with your talk about the men being patient with you."
"And that is?"
A now very angry Kirk got up in her face.
"MEN do NOT earn sex through patience! That is a load of horseshit that Chavun' himself would laugh at. You start thinking that way, you may as well lie back, invite the camp in here, and learn to enjoy it!"
Crusher hadn't realized how badly she had stumbled.
"I-I didn't mean that their patience alone earns them---"
Kirk remained livid.
"Their PATIENCE earns them nothing. You don't reward someone for not raping you by having sex with them."
She barely looked up.
"They're lonely. I am a healer and a caregiver. I----"
Again, the rage, a reflection of that part of herself that found the idea revolting, showed on Jim's face.
"You--are a doctor, not a prostitute. You limit your sucking to snake poison."
She finally said it out loud, that unspoken fact of life she had been trying to avoid.
"What if--I'm the one who's lonely? Just being with someone might help me to forget this place, at least for a night."
Kirk, or the part of her he represented, was unyielding.
"Shitty reasoning. Part of what got you here was getting drunk, ending up with me, then feeling even more foolish about your grief. You pushed everyone away. And that was when the Changeling replaced you."
"But I wouldn't be drunk this time. And I can't imagine feeling any more foolish."
He raised an eyebrow, not a Kirk trademark, but eerie, nevertheless.
"Oh, can't you? Tell me, Doctor. Did you ever hear the story about the sergeant who caught one of his men chewing gum? Do you know what he asked?"
Bev grew even colder as she thought of an arrangement with one man slowly mutating into an arrangement with many--or perhaps even all of them.
"Yes. I've heard it. The sergeant asked : 'Did you bring enough for everyone?' Captain Kirk--you have some very strong feelings about a woman's worth--and about rape. Just like Nyota Uhura always said you----"
Beverly suddenly stood upright, no longer pointlessly hiding her body in a hunched position. Her eyes were tearing.
"When was Nyota raped?!"
The image looked down, afraid to talk.
Crusher shouted.
"Answer me, Damn You!"
Kirk looked up.
"Triskelion. Then again, you've always suspected that. Her thrall took her. Hard. She and I may never have followed through on what could have been, but make no mistake. I loved that woman. The records don't show it--but I castrated that son of a bitch. I had half a mind to give them to her as a trophy."
The Vorta block made it painful to even think of her old friend. So she tapped into Kirk's perceived self-loathing, instead. Captain and Hero, unable to protect one he cared for deeply. Just like Beverly.
"Jim--I'dve had them bronzed. But what happened wasn't your fault—then or now. I--I don't hate you anymore. So why aren't you fading?"
The image again smiled.
"And leave a pretty, naked redhead in distress? Are you crazy? I have a reputation to uphold. Its all about reputation."
Their eyes met, and real and imagined spoke as one.
"Its ALL about reputation!"
They had a plan.
The next day, an officer who Beverly was treating ran out screaming, covering the crotch of his pants.
"Crazy Bitch! You tried to cut it off!"
Beverly, clothed during the day and looking quite formidable now, nodded.
"You tried to put it in. You almost didn't get it back. Remember that. Everyone--remember that."
Later that day, when all of the others were gone on forced march, the officer returned to see Beverly.
"Doc?"
She smiled.
"Thank you, Jonathan. Are the others talking about it?"
"You bet. They all want to see my scar, but I've been hiding it. Boy, a few of them sure changed their plans. Permission to speak freely, Commander?"
"Granted."
The curser actually blushed.
"Wes always said his Mom was a knockout--and I always thought he had some kind of fixation. If I ever get back home--its redheads for me. But I know they won't compare."
He left, a sweet proud image burned into his young mind. She worked the next month through, feeling a bit more secure.
Kirk nodded, almost happily.
"Bev--the fraud worked."
"On their end, Jim. But how long can I wait? A year? Five? There are worse fates than either rape or prostitution."
He nodded.
"That's right. There's surrender--the worst fate of them all. You'll know when its time to make arrangements. But that time is not now. Not by a long shot. You are worth too much and are far too strong for that."
Again wondering why her relative peace with the image wasn't causing her pain, Beverly felt a sudden transport. She was in the Vorta's presence again. There were no other prisoners around, but yet again she had been disrobed. Kirk looked at her as though to say this was somehow noteworthy.
"Doctor--your little antics are interfering with my attempts to observe a forced human mating. So I've added this incentive. For every day that the males stay clear of you--one of them dies. Quite the incentive, wouldn't you say? Why, we might even witness a fabled multiple forced mating. Now wouldn't that be lovely?"
She stood firm.
"I won't offer myself up, even for their lives. You'd just raise the ante again."
The Vorta poured a cup of ashes on his desk.
"Your little friend with the flair for theatrics. He was the first. No, Doctor Crusher. You won't offer. They will take."
Transported directly into her cell for the night, Bev asked her imaginary friend a familiar question.
"What now? When I go out there, tomorrow--either one of them comes after me, or I have to know that one of them died because they wouldn't."
Kirk spoke words like those he often did.
"They'll make their choices. You've already made yours. You'll keep your dignity--and your life."
She looked at her unseen companion.
"Jim--in case I am--taken--or killed--I just want you to know. Drunk or not, you were one very good lover."
The cocky smile that was a Kirk trademark rose up again.
"Very good? Lady--I'm the best!"
It was the last bit of humor the two would share for a very long time.
-----------------------------------------------Chapter Four - The Senior POW
Just as she had been shown by her beloved 'Uncle' Pete--Jim's now centenarian nephew--Beverly cupped her palm, and drove it in a hard upward motion into the man's nose. His nose cartilage was driven back into his brain. He was dead very, very quickly. The Jem'Hadar First destroyed the body. He looked at Crusher.
"Very efficient."
The Vorta's voice came over the loudspeaker.
"Since The Doctor is consistent in her efforts to prevent my viewing of a forced mating--so must I remain consistent."
A man was beamed away--or at least his head was. The body dropped to its knees, like a puppet whose strings had been cut.
The next thing Crusher knew, she had been transported out of her clothing yet again. The now-present Vorta was leering, a sign that Kirk's observations had been correct. But one of the male POW's had endured quite enough of that. He and the others quickly stripped off their own uniforms, and stood at attention--some of them twice over, but quite still and in a military manner becoming Starfleet Officers.
The Vorta gestured.
"You humans dress yourselves. The opportunity for a forced mating has passed for today, and you were given no orders to disrobe."
But the second-ranking POW shook his head.
"You humiliate our Commander--you humiliate all of us, Vorta."
Kirk's image spoke to Bev.
"A few things to note--the men are getting used to seeing you--that's a good sign. It means you might not be top on their list of priorities any more. Also, look at the Vorta's leer on you--and his seeming fear of the disrobed men. Methinks The Founders gave him a little defect. Physical and psychological. Start working the Jem'Hadar for information—its obvious he despises his 'master'."
Bev nodded and whispered.
"Jim?"
"Yes?"
"Look me in the eyes when you speak to me."
"I thought those were your eyes."
Bev appreciated the humor, but her hand would not stop shaking. The hand of a healer. The hand of a killer, now five times over. As she entered her cell, she tried to maintain her commanding stance. But it was hard. Without her light blue armor, she felt utterly vulnerable and quite alone.
"Jim? The men all stare at my behind as I go, right?"
"Bev--all people think their Commanding Officer is an ass. The trick is getting them to follow you---let me rephrase that."
"Don't--I get it."
Sitting down, she stared at her opened palm.
"I could end this--by doing that to my own nose. I know the angle."
Jim shook his imaginary head.
"Pointless. Odds are, that Vorta sicko would just order the men to bugger your corpse."
"But--I wouldn't be there. It'd be over."
He looked at her, amazed at whatever part of her this weak talk was coming from.
"You think this is just about you? Doctor-- the Vorta doesn't merely want to turn you into a rape victim--he wants to turn those men into rapists. The games he's playing with you--are being repeated, the barracks over. I won't say who has it worse, but it can't be pleasant for them."
A logical question came to her mind.
"Why does The Vorta put me in solitary? If he wants rape--then put me in general population. Hell--I might even be sleeping around, by now."
Kirk shook his finger.
"Exactly. But even with monitors, he wouldn't be able to witness it. He wants you and whatever men take you to be reduced in the light of day. No denial that it happened. He gets his jollies, and proof that we are animals."
She stared again at her hand.
"Jim--I don't know how many more I can kill. That man today---"
He cut her off.
"Would have been only the first. You think that our prurient friend would have been satisfied with seeing you raped only once? Once that line was crossed, others would have followed, some simply to have something to do. Then--at even the hint of rescue-- they would have turned on and killed you, to make sure no one ever learned of their crime. Wesley might--his power over time might compel him to seek the truth--and then he'd find his only real parent naked, begging for her life from a group of troglodytes."
He looked over at her, weeping.
"I'm sorry. That was out of line."
She shook her head.
"No. Keep saying things like that. I don't know what part of me you represent, Jim--but I am very glad you're here."
She stopped crying, and asked a sobering question.
"What do I do if--one of them gets inside me? I'll panic, and then it'll be over."
The image pondered, and from some part of Bev's psyche--the grisly answer came.
Bev counted 150 days, though it could have been as many as 200, in which The Vorta's edict remained in effect. Seven more tried to attack her. Three had their throats torn out by her teeth. One died with his ears ringing from the temple-smashing blow she delivered, while he grabbed at her chest.
Other men were just led off or killed by transporter. Many of them started shouting, 'No Show!'. Bev then realized Jim was right. This wasn't just about her safety and feelings of security, or even her sanity. This was about all their souls. They weren't predators, and she wasn't prey. She was a CO, and they were her troops.
"Jim--I need a plan. I'm going to end this."
"Okay. I've been known to come up with one or two plans, in my time."
Before retiring that night, Bev asked the Jem'Hadar First a question.
"I suppose to command all of you, The Vorta must be physically powerful, himself, despite appearances."
The First stopped, and opened his right hand.
"Punch it. Punch it with all your might."
She did, and drew back a blistered hand that was also quite sore. The First nodded.
"As my tissue is far above yours in terms of density and strength, so are you above The Vorta. They command us because it is The Founder's will--nothing more. Even the leash of the Kitrocel White is as nothing compared to that. The Founders gave me life. If some other had created me, I would be equally grateful to them."
The First left her alone--and thinking.
"Am I crazy--or is that one a bit of an agnostic, when it comes to his 'Gods'?"
Kirk shook his head.
"Maybe. But don't mistake doubts for disloyalty. Now--about that plan..."
Ten days later, that plan was enacted. The Vorta again chided the populace.
"No takers? A pity--now which one---"
Bev spoke up.
"None of them. No more. The show is cancelled. You have real problems, Vorta. I think you were bred wrong."
The Vorta glared at the nude beauty.
"Your human concept of insult has no effect at all on me."
Imagining her uniform was on, Bev put her hand on her hip and laughed.
"I doubt that. But in any event--that wasn't an insult. Just a statement of fact. You don't want to see a forced mating for clinical reasons. It gets you hot--because you could never do it yourself--never. You can't get it up, can you. You somehow have sexual feelings--but you can't express them. That must make you a freak among Vorta. Most are just happy sterile clones. You--have passion."
The Vorta gulped hard.
"First--take us both to her cell."
The POW's stayed still, as Bev had ordered them to. They entered Bev's cell. The Vorta disrobed.
"I believe, Doctor--the time has come for a demonstration--of the fact that I am quite able to perform that particular function. It'll be harder--you human females are so filthy."
Jim shook his head.
"Boy, this guy's a real classic. By the numbers, Doctor."
She did as 'they' had planned, looked down--and laughed out loud.
"Well--I am not going to get any filthier with you using that thing!"
Feeling true rage, the Vorta tried to push her against the wall. But feeling true rage and expressing it physically are two different things. Vortas were not bred with adrenal glands. They did not exercise. Bev had adrenaline, and she had worked out, those endless months. She held him fast with one hand.
"I said the show was over--and I meant it."
Since her kidnapping, Bev had not had a bath, proper haircut---or a manicure. Pulling her free hand back, she plunged her long, strong nails into the Vorta's pliable crotch--and pulled something away. In front of the screaming Vorta, she held up her gory acquisition.
"How--how could you---this is barbaric!"
She shook her head.
"No--that was justice. This--is barbaric."
She punched and broke his jaw. She said two words.
"Open Wide."
The Vorta whose oddity had caused him to forget his detachment and relative physical weakness died retching. The First destroyed the body the next morning. He nodded, and threw Beverly her uniform. The First turned to The Second.
"Second--inform Command we need a new Vorta--not of the same series. This one somehow encountered a local predator. He wandered where he should not."
"Is that what I should tell them?"
The First shook his head.
"Just tell them he met--with the usual accident."
The Second nodded.
"It is always the usual accidents. Like with Vorta Szose."
The First spoke to Crusher.
"Some of my men need help, as well. Will you do this without coercion?"
She stood up, in a uniform that was dirty and tattered--but hers.
"I am a Doctor, after all."
Outside, she spoke to Kirk.
"So that part of it is over. At least no one's goading them to come at me. But what now?"
Despite having killed yet again, Bev felt more and more confident. Life was hard, here--but through equally hard choices, she would endure.
"Now, Doctor? Now we wait for a combination of luck, cunning and will."
"And what will I do with that?"
He smiled.
"Escape."
---------------------------------------------------
Chapter Five - Doctor Beverly CrusherThe man nodded, disappointed but accepting.
"Ok-Commander. But you see--I had to ask. Permission to fantasize, Maam?"
Bev smiled. His request had been lascivious--but politely phrased.
"Permission? Mister, you consider that an order."
The constant rape attempts had stopped. She let the last one live with a very real warning that everyone now knew she would follow through on. While she discouraged voyeurism and cleansed herself separately, she knew some of them were catching glimpses. It was an infuriating invasion of privacy--and an exhilarating rush of power. She was defining womanhood in their eyes, and that was weirdly satisfying in a very unsatisfactory situation. She even had a saying that 'Kirk' told her to use when she spied clumsy voyeurs.
"Yes--I am a real redhead."
That always seemed to scatter them. But the Kirk image would frown.
"You shouldn't allow that."
Dried now, she redressed.
"Ancient wisdom : Boys will be boys."
He motioned dismissively.
"Those aren't boys. Those are Starfleet Officers. Ogling your CO is bad for morale and discipline."
"Jim--it isn't like it was in your time. Communal Showers were an Academy Rule--get used to it, is what we were told. I was groped exactly once--and that led to a very interesting---"
Not in anger, he still cut her off.
"Bev--you're talking about kids in a giant shower stall being trained to regard each other as siblings on Earth. The Academy was a sacred place. This is a place of violations. The time may come for you to bathe with them--be with them. But that time is not yet. If it were me, and all those troops were female--legend or no, I'd play keep away until there was just no choice. And I'd first make damn sure there was no other choice. Rape or no, you'll be opening a can of worms--and no, that was not innuendo."
She shrugged.
"Too bad. I could use some innuendo, and inufronto, too. Maybe even some inuface."
The image held her, and she found that her drunken one-night stand with the man she then hated was becoming more and more vivid as she got lonelier. He was not the best she ever had. But he'd been close. Powerful hands that worked her as the other motions continued ceaselessly. Her own hands running through the hair on his head, desperately wishing he'd been a bit thinner, with less hair and an aristocratic Anglo-Gallic accent.
"Bev---one of my few real strengths in life was knowing that, while men and women may differ on the specific wants and needs, desire itself is a constant. No one likes being alone. But here, you are a Commander. That means being above them until---"
She cut him off.
"Jim--make love to me."
He was a bit taken aback, and pointed out the obvious.
"You know what would really be happening."
She looked down.
"You're like Will and Deanna. They want it whenever they can get it--but they can also shut that spigot off with a frightening amount of willpower. I can't. I'm not eternally on the prowl, but when I want it, I want it--and I need it."
She sighed, realizing he was correct. Besides which, if she had no true non-Command objections to being seen naked, she did not want the men spying on her private pleasure, as some surely would.
"What would I have done here, without you?"
Image or no, Kirk could not resist an opening.
"What you've always done. Used every trick in the book and then some to heal an unhealthy situation. You took a closed case and turned it into a fighting chance. It was what Jean-Luc Picard loved about you."
Why, Bev thought, had she ever regarded this man--this gentleman—as the enemy? It had been so easy to blame him for everything. Maybe, she reasoned, that was because she knew he was strong enough to take her punishment. What had surprised her most was finding that same strength within herself.
"Bev--you better get back. The new Vorta isn't a sicko--but she does like that field-work schedule kept to."
She smiled, turned--and quickly mooned him.
"Kiss my freckled butt, Captain Alarm Clock!"
The image smiled, that warm, comfortable smile that wasn't that of a man she could ever love--but of one she could easily imagine being a real friend.
"You reaaallly want me, don't you?"
She pulled herself up, now smiling, too.
"Jim, you wish----Jim!"
After ten very long months, the image that had been her companion, conscience, and taskmaster began to fade. Bev cried out, fearful.
"Jim--please don't leave me!"
The fading hero-likeness shook his head.
"You don't need me anymore, Bev--you never did. Go. Leave this place."
Then, just like Jean-Luc, he was suddenly gone. Picking up a rock, she determined to find the projecting Vorta and smash its skull. Obviously, they had found a way to close the mental loophole that had created 'Jim Kirk'.
"I can just hear Deanna now, Jim. 'No, Beverly--you must first consider your feelings after all this killing.' Well, Counselor, I----"
It struck her, then, that she really could hear the Betazoid's lovely voice. She tried another.
"The Vorta--are without honor!"
Delighted at the deep-throated Klingon voice she heard, she went for broke.
"Make it so."
And then she started to sob, uncontrollably. Equal parts grief and joy, she began to run back to camp. The projecting Vorta had been somehow negated. She had all of her memories back--none were suppressed. The second-ranking POW nodded as she approached.
"Commander--you better take a look at this."
There was a pale-skinned infant crawling on the ground, confused and crying. Dozens of vaguely-humanoid but craggy-skinned infants looked about, just dazed. The POW nodded.
"I'd swear its like someone---"
Bev nodded, triumphant.
"---Like someone moved them back in time? I think that's exactly what someone did."
She all but brayed out a name.
"WESLEY! WESLEY! Where are you?"
But her son was nowhere in evidence. Instead, Bev saw a tall, bald humanoid she had met thrice before. He was her son's mentor.
"Wesley uncovered the shapeshifter, Beverly. He sent me for you, and I suppose these men, as well. Beyond that, I cannot interfere in Dominion activity. Are you ready to leave this place?"
Beverly hugged The Traveller.
"Yes. I'm ready to move on."
The men all got into position.
"Gentlemen--a round of cheers for our soon-to-be former Commanding Officer, Doctor Beverly Crusher! Commander, you should know--when we stared at your chest--it was to see that heart of yours. Because of you and your toughness--ours kept beating."
The cheers went up, and the Traveller whispered to her.
"Not to cast doubt on their sincerity--but I must believe, in all honesty, that they were staring at your tits."
Bev copped a line from Kirk.
"And why not? They're the best!"
------------------------------------------
EARTH
As she emerged in Admiral Uhura's office in Starfleet HQ, not only Nyota was waiting for her. A young man, now practically a clone of Jack Crusher, stood there, his eyes tearing."Hi, Mom."
She hugged her boy with abandon, and squeezed him so hard that he was gasping for air. But right then she didn't care if she broke his ribs. She was not letting him go for a good long while.
"Hello, son."
When she was done, Wes actually had to sit down. But he was happy. A woman cleared her throat.
"And just where is my hug?"
Bev was a bit gentler with Nyota Uhura, a woman well over her fifth quarter. But she was just as happy to see her--to see everyone she had ever cared about.
"Nyota--I love you. Why didn't you ever tell me about Triskelion?"
Uhura started.
"Bev--who told you about what happened to me on Triskelion?"
Crusher shook her head.
"Its not important. But knowing that helped me get through."
The older Admiral smiled.
"Then it was worth it. By the way--Pete and Viki will be here, soon."
A voice from the doorway.
"We took the transporter. C'mere, You!"
Peter Kirk's 116-year old face was still hauntingly that of his uncle's, a fact not lost on Bev, who ran to him.
"God--I've missed all of you."
He looked at the one-time infant in his arms.
"You--young lady--have been behaving like a spoiled brat. I hope you're over it."
"Uncle Pete--I am. I feel alive again. I need sleep."
Admiral Saavik--aka--'Aunt Viki' took her hand.
"Our house awaits--including the large bed in the guest bedroom you loved so well as a child. Come, Bev-kam--its time to rest."
So rest she did.
---------------------------------------
12 Hours Later......It had taken a bit of coaxing, but Wes had finally agreed to lay down next to his mother, something the grown man had not done since he was seven. They talked quietly, Beverly treasuring every moment.
"So--multiple alternate universes? Wes--that's incredible."
He nodded.
"Yeah. And you would not believe the versions of Peter and Saavik I met. They actually have to fight a three-headed, universe-killing dragon. And then there's Will and Penny....but I think I better hold off. They're kind of a...I think I better hold off."
Wes then asked about his friend.
"At the Academy, Jonathan was the only one who didn't turn on me after the Kolvoord incident. Did he mention me?"
"He said that you had bragged about my looks. Of course--he got an eyeful. He was a brave young man."
Wes nodded.
"Yeah. Boy--not only did my friend die--but he had to endure seeing my mother naked!"
Bev responded to the gallows humor, an attempt to push past grief, by picking up a pillow and playfully swatting her son with it.
"Young man, just for that--you are going to die!"
A good-old-fashioned pillow fight ensued.
-----------------------------------------
THE NEXT DAY"I know I sound like a Counselor. Beverly, I AM a Counselor. Seek help."
Over subspace, Beverly shook her head.
"Deanna--I wasn't actually raped. There were just--a lot of close calls. A--great many close calls."
Troi folded her arms.
"In your dreams, they won't all be close calls. If you deny this, Doctor, then the Vorta will win. Do you want that?"
It was a harsh truth, but then, she was getting used to facing those.
"All right. Tomorrow, I promise. Deanna--can you deliver a message to Captain Kirk for me?"
Troi looked a bit suspicious.
"Depends on what the message is."
Bev took note of Deanna's tension.
"What crawled up your shapely behind?"
"Don't start THAT debate again. Ok--my mother's on board."
"Bad."
"Worse--I left her with Captain Kirk, and now I can't find them. Bev--he'll never put up with her the way Captain Picard did. I'll be lucky if he doesn't put her out an airlock."
Bev had to laugh--until she realized that a certain brash Ambassador meeting a certain brash Captain---but no--that could never happen—could it?
"Sympathies, Deanna. But here's my message. Tell him I forgive him for coming back when Jean-Luc didn't. Also tell him he owes me one non-negotiable favor, next time I see him."
Considering the improvement in Bev's feelings toward the E's new Captain, Deanna accepted this, and resumed her search for her Captain and her Mother.
The results of that search would literally change her life. Because James Kirk chose to handle Lxwana Troi in a manner entirely different from that of Jean-Luc Picard.
Six months later, Deanna changed her last name--in honor of her Captain and Stepfather. That it might help her career was only icing.
-------------------------------------------
FEBRUARY, 2373Bev had to laugh at the sight she saw at the reunion of the men she had lead at the prison camp. Their tribute was odd but fitting.
"Well-at least you're all clothed!"
Former POW's, their spouses, and their children, all lined up to greet her--and all with red hair. One of the spouses stepped forward.
"Lady, you don't know the half of it. They made us dye ALL our hair!"
There were hugs and laughter all around, and more than a few teenagers that, 24th Century or no, lit up at the magic word, 'naked'. The dead were remembered, and the living honored. One wife spoke to another.
"So that's the woman they've all been raving about. What do you think?"
Despite a secure, happy marriage and a fair amount of self-esteem, the second wife chose to eschew 24th Century Enlightenment, and looked down her own blouse.
"Seeing her settles it. I'm having them done."
-------------------------------------------
JUNE - STARFLEET INTELLIGENCE"Ahhh--Doctor, you came."
"How are you?"
"Well, I haven't been dissected. Your people treat me with too much courtesy. I'm not bred to accept it."
Bev asked a more delicate question.
"How are you doing without Kitrocel White?"
The former Jem'Hadar First nodded.
"Like many Firsts, I have an odd mutation. I never needed it. We never told anyone--we feared The Founders would think us disloyal. They really don't understand--we love them and would serve them anyway. Now, I feel the best way to help save them is to engender their defeat. Otherwise--eventually someone will destroy them."
"Do you feel disloyal now?"
"Not truly. When The Traveller reverted me, I was uncreated, then recreated by time. Though I still love The Founders, I no longer owe them my existence. A fine point, but one a man with a mission can live with."
"Do you ever see yourself going back?"
The still-nameless former First nodded.
"I have to. If your Federation is victorious, then they will doubtless make The Founders renounce their claims of divinity. I will need to help my people deal with this--and prevent them from seeking revenge upon the Changelings. Doctor, did you bring the White?"
Bev held up a temp-sealed package.
"Sure did."
She opened it, and steam arose.
"With sausage, onions, and potatoes. One Delmoni's White Pie."
He ate hearty.
"This facility has some of the finest scientific minds available—but its pizza leaves much to be desired."
--------------------------------------
USS ENTERPRISE-E, EARLY 2374As part of the reunion of Enterprise alumni, Bev met Jim and Lxwana Kirk at the transporter room. With them were Will and Deanna.
"Hello, Doctor."
"Hello, Captain. Lxwana?"
The Ambassador nodded.
"Go ahead--just like we discussed."
Kirk was suspicious.
"Discussed?"
Bev reminded him of something.
"Captain--you owe me one non-negotiable favor."
He remembered.
"Name it."
She did.
"There is something I wanted to do to you the entire time I was stuck in that camp."
Kirk braced himself.
"Just do it."
She grabbed the back of his head--and Doctor Crusher kissed Captain Kirk long and hard and deep, full on the lips. When it was done, he gasped.
"I feel--like my tonsils are back in The Nexus."
Choosing to explain herself later, Bev moved to depart. But Kirk had a question.
"Doctor--how was I?"
Bev tilted her head.
"Mmmm---second best."
She left, winking at him. He just stood there.
"Second best?"
Will left.
"Sir--you must be out of practice."
Deanna left.
"Not your fault, Dad--you've been out of circulation."
Cupping his cheek, Lxwana left.
"And I intend to see to it that you remain out of circulation."
Kirk stood alone.
"I've been had."
Bev spoke truth. Jim Kirk was good--but in her heart, even the best kisser or lover could never hold a candle to The Great Man. A regal Frenchman that she would never see again.
Or wouldn't she?
THE END
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To be filled in and continued in various stories and series of 'Starting Over'
For the impact of Bev leaving The E - Read SO Book One
For wilder K/C -- Read 'Dark Encounter'
For Wes's time-trip and attempt to restore Captain Picard-- Read 'The Infinite Paths'
Thank You!