STAR TREK Beyond Forever (prologue part 4)

24 09 2016

                                                                            “Deposition: James Kirk”Version 2


“Captain Kirk, how long have you been involved with Lieutenant Commander Carol Marcus?”

“I’m sorry? ‘Involved”?“

“I think my meaning’s clear, sir, especially to a man of your… experience.”

“Admirals Harmon, Donnighy, Nakajima… I’ve had nothing but respect for Starfleet’s Judge Advocate General’
Office… that is until Lieutenant Detmuller introduced himself.”

“Mister Kirk—”

“That’s ‘Captain,’ Lieutenant.”

“Captain. Captain, you’re known for an unusual sense of humor in difficult circumstances but surely you can answer a straightforward question. How long have you been intimate with a junior officer? You are sleeping with Lieutenant Commander Carol Marcus? Didn’t you let your personal feelings foul up your thinking and in doing so, create a potentially ruinous intergalactic incident?!”

“Those… are three questions, Lieutenant. You want me to take ‘em one at a time or all at once or will you have trouble keeping up?”

“Admirals of the Board, permission to treat Captain James Kirk as a hostile participant in these proceedings?”

“You bet I’m hostile. You bet I am. I’m being goated for issues of Federation policy and I’m being denied any explanation—”

“‘Goated,’ Jim? That’s a little extreme. We’ve assembled to hear your side.”

“My side? It seems to me there shouldn’t be any sides here, Admiral Nakajima. We’re Starfleet.”

“Huh. Well, I’m just a simple lawyer… Captain. Some of us can’t afford the morality of being judge, jury and executioner in matters of interplanetary importance, let alone over a good-looking subordinate.”

Detmuller never saw the punch coming.*


Kirk’s hurried return to the Enterprise after Carol’s brutal abduction was met by his crew with typical brisk professionalism. Anthro dug up everything on the Orion femme slave trade while weapons scrambled photons for their kidnapped Section Chief, running Alpha-level quickdrills. Sulu and Scotty moved the ship into interceptor orbit prepared for any ship moving away, particularly the experimental high speed Syndicate SF-one elevens as Uhura sorted the noisy comm traffic of a particularly busy Conference of cultures. And Bones managed to isolate Doctor Marcus from the smattering of human females in the Orion camp, their most likely target, from her internal vitals and his signature stitching of her once -injured femur. And Chekov managed the near-impossible, though he cursed himself for managing a single, one-time only transporter penetration of the Orion camp’s light tachy-shield. But it was Spock who typically surprised Jim most, agreeing without argument to a one-man rescue operation — though he thought it should be him going. Kirk assured his friend that it was for that very reason that he go alone, that no one should deal with any fall-out should his actions go haywire. None the less, Kirk agreed with Spock as to what he expected to be called on, all done and told, and so authorized his Exec to contact Federation representatives and the Starfleet Commandant at the Ball as soon as he was well underway.

As Jim leaped onto the transporter pad, Scotty at the control panel called to him and tossed him his phaser. Jim tossed back his formal cap, cursing his stiff dress grays. Bones caught the cap and declaimed,”For God’s sake, make this fast.” “Easy as pie, ” Jim said, forcing his assured smile, “Pie?” asked Spock. “What does pastry have to do with a kidnapping?” “He means it’s a standard operation — which it’s not. Bring ‘er back home safe Jim, you and blondie both.”

When Jim first spied her past the Pasha’s curtains, his blood boiled. For a beautiful young woman as proud as Carol Marcus, being held this way, restrained against her will, was abhorrent, a humiliation. His boil settled to simmer to best deal with the realities at hand. There was only one pikesman handling Carol, and the Pasha himself leering over her with what was likely his bilious Fool-Secretary. Even the fierce green Animal Woman, a Whip-Mistress, Kirk felt he could easily dispatch. More difficult was the elaborate, painful and ritualistic way Carol was tied up, gagged, how tight it all was. He’d need time and isolation. And a thin sharp blade — then Kirk felt a heavy hand clamp his shoulder, spinning him around as he drew his phaser and had it belted away!

Kirk found himself staring at a heavy-chinned face with no nose. Just as the Orion cried out, Jim slugged him hard twice across the mug, left and right. The guardsman round-housed the Captain back who double-fisted the Orion. No-nose staggered back against a statue of the Pasha Klimt, that tumbled and loudly cracked. Kirk lunged the dazed Orion. No-nose grabbed him and pushed him back into the heavy tapestry of the Pasha’s chamber.

Kirk got tangled with both the thick cloth and the Orion pulling himself free. The Captain and his attacker danced the chamber throwing heavy blows, Jim bloodying the Orion’s noseless face with a quick stab of open palm. He glanced at Carol as she tried to fight off her handler’s anger with her. Carol’s eyes flashed madly, warning Jim who was very briefly distracted by her state of bondage. He turned just as no-nose slapped him, shoved him. Jim fell back against a strong, distinctly female body— never got a chance to look close at her and speak. A length of coiled leather pulled tight around his throat and he choked, strangling, as she held him fast. The Pasha came up, smiled at him sickly. He nodded at no-nose who rushed the Captain, jabbed him in the kidneys— once, twice, a third. When Jim fell, breathless, in sharp pain, consciousness fading away, he pushed himself up on an arm and the Orion Warlord kicked it out from him. Kirk gurgled, collapsed and tried to get back up— Couldn’t. No-nose bent over the Captain raining punch after punch and the Pasha was all gloat…

“We originally had plans for you, Captain. A player in our gamesmanship with you Earthers, losers on a stacked battlefield in space.” The Warlord turned and crouched, smarm-ugly, addressing Carol now, up close as Jim listened, suffering for her helpless anguish. “But he’s now a problem, your handsome Bull. So, now instead of leading your fleet, he’ll entertain my camp by being made to crawl and beg for his life.” The Pasha ran a lazy, lusty gaze over her, her long limbs tightly tied— “Then I’ll chop off his head in front of you.” The Pasha pulled a heavy wand from his belt and shook it into a gold-studded razor-scimitar Two more guardsmen joined no-nose and Kirk more sensed them than felt them, still dazed, as they jerked him to his feet and dragged him from the chamber.

“Gran’et elle gambelle,” the Pasha ordered as he and his Fool followed his men and their prize Starfleet Captain, chuckling as the Orion handler and the Animal Whip-Mistress began tearing at Carol’s dress skirt and jacket and blouse. Jim heard Carol’s clothes rip, Marcus’ angry, gagged harrumphs… sounds that would have otherwise been her haughty strength, her womanly, feverish contempt and they were the sounds of Jim’s sense he’d lost her, failed her. Jim and the woman he could only now admit to loving locked stares and though his abilities were only returning now, her look was giving him even more strength. Then a black leather blindfold was pulled over Carol Marcus’ eyes and buckled smartly…

The Orions had no idea how strong a Starfleet Captain could be though. He’d never crawl but Kirk would suffer a single scimitar blow, for his ship, for the Federation, for her; Carol Marcus would, made to be a pleasure slave, suffer a million little, ignominious deaths if Jim didn’t just do what he had to do for her — the odd hints of their Oligarchy’s politicking and war-making notwithstanding. The Enterprise Captain abruptly shook himself free, with cool rampaging madness, from no-nose and the other two guards. He grabbed the Klingon-styled disruptor from one of their bandoliers and bathed the hall in wide fire— the Pasha’s secretary and no-nose went down and the Pasha scrambled away with his razor-scimitar. The tent had caught fire and Jim adjusted the disruptor, tossing it like a grenade into the flames. The explosion concussed the camp as he rammed the two other guardsmen together who swung back, howling…

Carol Marcus’ uniform had been half torn from her strong, lovely body. Her handler looked up as Kirk charged into the chamber with a heavy blade, a curved pike taken from no-nose. Fear blanched the handler’s olive green skin as he pulled a dagger and slung it at the Captain. It twanged, dug deep in a wooden column, and the handler pulled the Whip-Mistress away, to the next canvas doorway, as the She-Beast coughed and sputtered in the thickening smoke. Jim tried to pull the knife loose — couldn’t — and, dropping by Carol, he tugged off her blindfold. Her face dropped at what she saw. “I know. Take it easy, take it easy…” Jim’s starchy dress grays were soaked slick in blood — both red and green… His nose gushed, his hard strong chin cut open…. the Orions’ guardsmen had clearly put up a fight and lost their own blood. Jim’s fingers sought to pull the gag from her mouth when they heard the Pasha bellowing from the doorway,

“Human animal! She’s mine!”

“She belongs to no one,” Kirk answered with clear-eyed certitude.

The Pasha rushed Jim who swung the curved pike and there was just a flash of sharp steel, green chunks of meat sent flying, a throw of thick, olive blood… and the headless doll-body of the Pasha dropping to the floor. Kirk hoisted Carol into his arms…


“My navigator managed to punch a wider hole in the Orions’ shield and Mister Spock lead down a security team— The report’s straight-forward from there—”

“Captain, Lieutenant Detmuller’s yeoman just contacted us from sick bay. The JAG officer will be pressing personal charges of assault.”

“As well he should, Admiral Harmon.”

“Jim, no joke.”

“I agree. I took a poke at a greenhorn when he was intentionally provoking me. I’m too old for that nonsense, sirs and madame.”

“Captain Kirk, you said it yourself. We are Starfleet and you are flag of the line. Off the record, Kirk, you don’t accuse the Admiralty of scapegoating in open court. Not when we’ve made lee way for you in regard to intimacy with a junior officer and looked the other way when it comes to affairs of sex and decapitating a literal head of state.”

“Off the record? Angela, what is this bullshit you Admirals and Fleet Commanders are running on your poster boy when it comes to Orions carrying Klingon disruptors and promising to enslave the woman he has some well-known feelings for?”

“You’re dismissed, Captain.”

next : prologue continues



STAR TREK BEYOND FOREVER – prolog part III “Deposition: Carol Marcus”

2 09 2016

Version 2
 “Someone of your smarts and character, you’ll find some of this ridiculous and redundant, but for the record—”

Oh, no. Of course, Lieutenant. I understand. Marcus, Carol, W.B., Lieutenant Commander, service number four-oh-one-seven six-five-six SEC-three-nine A. Currently assigned USS Enterprise under Captain James T. Kirk, Science Officer, Special Sciences, Advanced Weaponry and New Technologies.”

“Lieutenant Commander, you do understand your appearance before this inquiry is entirely voluntary. The Enterprise is due to break orbit in seventy-two hours, after the Summit’s closing events, and you must be anxious to return to duty.”

“Our mission schedule is the Captain’s concern. If I’m anxious, Admiral Nakajima, it’s about resolving this matter as quickly as possible. This is my third deposition so I really have no idea what more I can offer.”

“Lieutenant Detmuller from JAG assures me he won’t waste your time. Lieutenant?”

“Thank you, Admiral. Lieutenant Commander Marcus… ‘Lieutenant Commander’… Lieutenant Commander, you’ve made a mess of my data recorder. Most of your records and— numerous— citations list you simply as a first Lieuey. When did your promotion come through?”

“About a week ago. Two days before we arrived here on Gesthemeni for the Captain’s Summit.”

“I see— and… congratulations.”

“Thank you.”

“Rather remarkable, don’t you think? Being promoted so quickly, only one year into a long course mission. Who signed off on it?”

“Starfleet did, Lieutenant. I presume the Science Services AG and the admin board.”

“But it was Captain Kirk who signed the request itself.”

“As he does every promotion going to Fleet from Enterprise, yes.”

“In fact… according to your, uh… file here, Captain Kirk’s signature’s all over your paperwork. He was the initial signatory recommending you and your primary sponsor along with XO Spock for Sciences proper, Doctor Leonard McCoy for Medical Science and Lieutenant Commander Montgomery Scott, Chief Engineer, signing for computer mothership Tango and weapons, Alpha and Omega. All the big guns, so to speak.—”

“Mister Detmuller, will you please bottle the acid.”

“Admiral Donneghy, I’m trying to establish a pattern of favoritism on the part of Captain Kirk for as of yet unknown personal reasons toward the Lieutenant— uh, Lieutenant Commander, I’m sorry — that lead directly to the situation under investigation and which, if not overtly criminal on the Captain’s part, are likely deserving of censure—”

“Censure?! Jim saved me— Admirals of the Board—!”

“‘Jim’ is it? Well—!”

“How dare you, Lieutenant?!”

“Lieutenant Commander, as you were. Mister Detmuller, this is a deposition, questions and provable answers to determine fact — not a courtroom. Not a playground for presumption. If you wish to continue with these… ideas, I suggest you pursue them with Mister Kirk at this afternoon’s deposition but, fair warning, even then you’ll be kept on the straight and narrow. Understood? Good. Proceed.”

“Thank you for your understanding, Admiral Harmon… Lieutenant Commander Marcus… This is no judgement on you— you were clearly the victim here, subjected to such terrible… humiliation outside your control… but what precisely was your situation when ‘Jim’ rescued you?”

“Christ. Detmuller, LC Marcus has answered that in her first written report and under duress and… humility at her first depos—”

“It goes to the heart of what was in Kirk’s head when he did what he did—”

“Admiral Donneghy, I’ll answer. If it helps expose the cruel sickness of the Orion Oligarchy and prove the honor I feel serving with James Kirk to Lieutenant Detmuller’s precious satisfaction, I’ll answer…. I was, uh— I was… I was bound— and gagged— I was— tied up— To be— They were planning to, uh— Oh, God………………”

hands_tied_behind_back_by_bondsquad28 (1)

… as Carol’s senses finally found shape and color and dimension, so too did her awareness — her circumstances.

She was stretched supine on a heavy rug of gold and green, all around her rippling canvas, dark teak, blazing torchlight. She started at a leering face looming in the flicking red light — Klimt! A grotesque bust of jade on a short, fat pedestal. But Carol didn’t panic. Not right away. Panic could come later… when there was nothing else. For the immediate now, there was more than just the effects of whatever had knocked her on her ass in the pulsations through her extremities, the simple fact that she could barely move at all. She ground her wrists together and felt the sharp tightness of thin strong rope tying her hands. Her hands had been pulled up high behind her back, almost up between her shoulder blades, and a similar coil of rope pinned her upper arms sharply to her sides, criss-crossing her chest. Carol’s ankles had been crossed and bound and cruelly jerked up with a thicker, elaborately wound cord, tied off around her restrained wrists. With an angry moan, her tone’s muffled uselessness told she’d been gagged with cloth, knotted, the knot shoved behind her teeth, drawn tight and tied off, pulling back the corners of her mouth in a small, painful grimace.

Carol twisted against her bonds only to feel them tighten and gave up the effort as a waste of energy. The panic finally rose but she beat it back with her combat training and common sense. Even if she were to free herself, what could she immediately do? Where could she go? She had had no sense of how long she’d been out, no idea whether she was anywhere near the Ithian Embassy, and the Ball, or if she was still even down-planet on Gesthemeni at all. As much as she hated the idea, she knew it best, for now, to behave submissively and await her captors’ next play, assuming it presented no personal physical danger beyond that to which she’d already been subjected, before striking out. And then there was Jim. Wild Card Jim. Her Jim.

But despite those twinges of assurance, no matter how manufactured, Carol was creeped by the growing sense of being watched. And closely. Heavy footfalls made dull by the thick rug came around her and muscled, green-hued calves, ham hocks, in high leather thong-styled boots came into her limited view. The Orion guardsman planted the butt of his stiletto-pike and crouched close to her. He stared at her — leaden eyes — reached down and stroked her thick, bobbed hair.

Softly, with hoarse breath… “Heiche elle va das…”

Carol jerked away, grunting protest.

“Yuli kilkh, eich elle!,” the bulky guardsman growled.

Carol glared at him. Blazing hate.

The bulky guardsman squeezed her scalp, wrenched her head. A voice hissed from behind the guardsman, “Maliq fuq, el!“ The bulky soldier leaped to attention.

Klimt emerged from behind a curtain, no longer the jovial fop but an imperious Warlord. He was accompanied on one side by his skinny, officious Fool, his aide — more bilious than verdant — and, frighteningly, a green Animal Domme, Amazonian, in silksteel mesh, with jet tresses and a contemptuous sneer. She had a coiled whip slung low on a belt of hooked silver studs and bits of bone. Carol flinched some despite her intent to maintain an even strain as Klimt made a brusque gesture to her and his Fool circled her with a reader, filling her with revulsion realizing he was measuring her — her height, her weight, her figure… assessing her. She glanced up and away from Klimt and his Domme — her icy stare — as Orionii cries and whirling tribal music rolled over the desolate terrain beyond and the Fool reported to his Master in tones and words she could barely hear let alone understand. Klimt nodded in satisfaction. He turned to the Animal Woman, grunting a question, and she replied with steel, slapping the vicious looped lash at her hip.

“Qariq sahi elle, Toqui. Mogt Kir Kesh nebi. Elle sabhi, elle sabhi.”

A sick grin split Klimt’s face as he came and stood over Carol. And he spoke Basic, his voice fat with self-satisfaction…

“The Lay Seki herself has chosen to make you Her personal hand maiden, esteemed Doctor Marcus, and train you as a pleasure slave for warriors… and gentlemen. You will then be sold naked off the auction block in the elite market of Kir Kesh… Unless I choose to keep you for myself—”

She jerked around at the smash of statuary behind a tapestry, the distinctively male slap-thud of fists on flesh. The Pasha gestured emphatically at her handler — first a thumb back and forth across his eyes, then a dismissal. Carol saw the flash of black leather — a blindfold — as the guardsman tried yanking her away, sliding her from any hands other than an Orions’, she realized, and who it had to be and her heart leaped— that’s when she finally bucked and struggled against him.

And then Jim Kirk fell into the chamber through a canvas wall, tumbling against an over-muscled pikeman—!

NEXT:  Prolog Part III – Continued   “Deposition: James T. Kirk”