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”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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