Disclaimer: The Star Trek: Voyager premise and characters are a property of Paramount 
Pictures, a Viacom Company.  No infringements upon their rights is intended.  This story 
was written by fans of Trek for fans and is meant for fun only, not profit.  Please keep this 
disclaimer attached to the file.


This round robin group story was begun in June of 1997 and completed in February of 
1999.  It is proof positive of the old adage, "Good things come to those who wait." =)

"Sworn Enemies," by members of the AOL P/T Collective,
where all are welcome

Our thanks to Clara, Niomi, and Dr. JanF for their medical expertise


Prologue by Teena@gene.com

Stardate: 41719.8, personal log of Lieutenant Commander J. P. Coleman.


I was unable to regain control of my ship after flying through a sub-space distortion of 
unknown origin.  It wiped out my instruments and most of my warp capabilities.  I'm 
forced to land on Eros Prime, one of the M-Class planets on the edge of Federation space.  
Unfortunately, that edge of space is also being claimed by the Klingon Empire.  My hope is 
that a Federation vessel will be the one to pick up my distress signal.

 * * * * * * * *

M'Leyva threw the tricorder to the ground.  Dammit!  She had no use for the idiotic device.  
Why not hunt the quarry the old-fashioned way -- the Klingon way!  Not with blips and 
squeaks from a metal box, but with one's hunter instincts.  By using one's eyes to find 
clues in the trampled vegetation, one's ears to detect the subtle sounds of movement, one's 
nose to detect the prey's scent in the air -- 

"M'Leyva!" barked Commander Tarq.  "Your instrument squawks at you like a young targ 
looking to suckle.  Does it displease you?  Or are you unsure of how it works?"

Amber eyes blazed back at the commander.  Furious at the insult she swung at her superior; 
the commander easily side-stepped the attack and proceeded to throw her flat to the ground.  
M'Leyva fell unceremoniously into the dust, the commander's foot on her chest.

"This is not the day that you take my place, M'Leyva," he growled.  "Now retrieve your 
instrument and proceed to your duties."

Secretly he was pleased at the display.  Commander Tarq had many honorable years of 
service to the Empire, and had proudly led many warriors to victorious, bloody battles.  
M'Leyva showed much promise and was proving to be a true Klingon warrior.  One day 
she would become a formidable leader in service to Kahless.  However she was still 
young, with barely any battle scars.

 * * * * * * * *

From his vantage point on the ridge, Coleman counted the five Klingons -- three males and 
two females -- who formed the landing party.  He watched as they rummaged through his 
wreckage, overturning and tearing apart equipment.  He knew it was just a matter of time 
before they'd turn their attentions to the whereabouts of the pilot.  In spite of the pain in his 
shoulder, Coleman had managed to grab his standard issue survival gear and hike to his 
current hideout.  He had taken every precaution to cover his trail, and had about a day's 
lead.  He'd have to keep his wits about him if he were to elude capture, find shelter, and 
maintain supplies.

Taking one last look at the Klingons, he was surprised to see the leader disciplining one of 
the females.  He'd heard rumors that among the Klingon military, one killed one's superior 
officer for advancement.  Coleman couldn't understand how a race so bent on honor could 
condone such a mutinous act, but there were many things that he didn't understand about 
the Klingons, and they could remain a mystery for all he cared.

 * * * * * * *

*Oh, boy!*

Tom Paris would never have thought in a million years he'd be reading a romance novel.  
He chuckled as he remembered how in the summers his older sister, Moira, would bring 
home a pile of romance novels, lock herself in her room, and read through her stack like a 
Horta through granite.  He wondered if they ever included Klingon ones.  Probably, 
knowing Moira.  She could be very thorough with her passions.

Now here he was, a lifetime away, amusing himself with one that he and Lieutenant Torres 
had discovered.  Paris smiled as he recalled the incident.  B'Elanna, as usual, had been 
annoyed with him.  He had managed to wrangle her into helping him find a suitable 
Klingon romance novel to replace "Women Warriors at the River of Blood," which Torres 
had repossessed.

"How about this one?" sighed Torres.  "Loosely translated it's, 'His Blood Covers My 
Dagger.'"

"Um, doesn't that give the end away?" replied Paris.  They continued searching the data 
base.

"Hold on, here's one.  'Sworn Enemies,'" Tom began reading.  "'A Klingon warrior and 
her prisoner find forbidden love on an uninhabited planet.'  'Forbidden love?'  Who writes 
this stuff?!"

"No one's asking you to read it," snapped Torres.  "Besides, it was written almost half a 
century ago during a rocky period between the Federation and the Klingon Empire," she 
explained a bit defensively as she moved to scroll to the next screen.

"Wait a second, now.  This is interesting!  It says here that it's considered a Klingon cult 
classic because it's the first novel to intimately portray a Klingon and a Human . . . . 
bonding," finished Tom with a coy look to B'Elanna.

"Whatever," replied Torres with feigned disinterest.  However, she secretly made a mental 
note of the story's file number.

"You know, I think I'll go ahead and start with this one.  M'Leyva sounds like my type of 
Klingon woman," said Tom.  Torres grunted as he began downloading the file.  "How 
about we swap novels when we're done?  It'll save you a trip," Paris suggested casually 
with a knowing look.

"How am I ever supposed to finish "Women Warriors" when I am constantly being 
interrupted?!" growled a now thoroughly irritated Torres.

 * * * * * * * 

Tom stretched languidly as he laid the padd on his couch.  Reading romance novels was 
not his cup of tea, but knowing and understanding what Klingons defined as "romantic" 
would be very useful.

Sworn Enemies, Part 2 by Tara O'Shea (UisgeJack@aol.com)

* * * * * * *

As night fell on the first planet of the G-8 system -- which some insane stellar cartographer 
had marked down as "Eros Prime" for reasons he would never truly understand -- Coleman 
drew the tattered remains of his cranberry red wool uniform jacket slowly around him, 
wincing as he jostled his injured shoulder.

At times like these, he wished Starfleet hadn't forgone the white turtlenecks that officers 
used to wear beneath the jackets -- might have been nice to have an extra layer of 
insulation.  It seemed every five years now they came out with a new uniform design -- 
paper pushing at the executive level must get boring, he chuckled.  A little fashion show 
now and again probably livened things up.

Jake huddled in the mouth of the fissure barely wide enough for him to squeeze through, 
and wished he could dare a fire.  But the smoke would no doubt attract attention -- though 
with the bitter night he could only assume the Klingon landing party had beamed back to 
their ship.  Klingons were worthless in the cold.

* * * * * * * *

"Does everyone know this BUT me?" Tom muttered, sipping his tea and thumbing the 
screen down.

* * * * * * * *

Lieutenant Commander Jacob Peter Coleman wasn't much better, he chuckled, his breath 
turning to fog in the chill air.  He had grown up a Fleet brat, following his parents from 
posting to posting -- he'd lived more than two thirds of his life with environmental 
controls, and the first year at the Academy had almost killed him, with the damp fog rolling 
off the bay that seeped into your bones and made you feel 100 years old, not to mention 
like you'd never be warm again.

Looking up at the stars, he prayed he'd live to spend another miserable year in San 
Francisco; maybe after this little adventure along the border of the Alpha and Beta 
quadrants, he'd take a nice desk job.  Not every Fleet officer was a Jim Kirk, stealing a 
ship to run away from the drudgery of the Admiralty.  Hell, he sure wouldn't mind trying 
on an Admiral's pips for size and seeing if it were really all that bad.

No doubt the bird-of-prey had found his signal beacon and silenced it.  The only question 
was, how hard were they looking for him?  It was obvious that the craft was not a drone, 
and had had a human pilot.  There was enough of his blood left in the cockpit for them to 
match, and if their intelligence reports were even close to what he imagined they must be, 
they must know the small scout ship came from the Henry Martin and that she must be in 
the area.

Which meant either the survey vessel had already been destroyed, by either the subspace 
rift or the Klingons themselves, and he was simply a loose end with no hope of rescue, or 
they had no idea the Henry Martin was mapping the quadrant and all he had to do was sit 
tight and wait for them to find him.  Either way, he would have to stay out of sight and 
pray.

 * * * * * * *

"Why can we not use the ship's sensors and simply scan for the human *petaQ* life 
signs?" M'Leyva asked as A'neeka stirred the coals of the fire and then huddled back in her 
blankets.  The young navigator sighed.

"Too much atmospheric interference.  You heard Commander Tarq; if we're going to find 
the human, it will have to be this way," A'neeka shrugged, and then grinned as M'Leyva's 
scowl only deepened.

"I have no patience for this icy mudball of a world," M'Leyva spat into the dirt at her feet, 
"which seeks to kill us slowly with cold."

"*Cha*, it's no worse than winter on Q'nera," A'neeka named one of the first colonies of 
the Empire.  "You grew soft on the homeworld."

"Homeworld is where a Klingon's blood burns hottest!  Its winds are our breath; its stones 
our very bones."

"Then you object to the Empire?  You prefer we had simply stayed on Qo'noS?" she 
teased, and M'Leyva shook her head.

"Everything is a game to you, A'ne."

"And you take everything much too seriously."

"Why expend so much effort on one puny human anyway?  He will be dead in days, alone 
on this world.  Let it be his grave, and let us leave him to it."

"I'm sure the commander has his reasons."

At that moment Tarq entered the circle of their fire, without a blanket or even a jacket.  His 
dark skin gleamed in the firelight and he showed no sign he felt the cold at all.  The two 
junior officers stiffened, and began to rise.

He held up his hand.  "I came only to assign you to your teams.  Tomorrow we will fan 
out to cover more ground, and the sooner we can recover the human, the sooner we can 
leave here, as I am sure you will be more than happy to do."  He raised a brow, and 
M'Leyva flushed hotly.  She had not realized their voices had carried beyond their fire.  
"You two will cover the south ridge, and will check in every hour."

"Aye, sir," A'neeka nodded, and M'Leyva echoed her.

"Sir," M'Leyva added as he made to move away back towards his own fire.  "If this one 
may ask, why is this human so important?"

"Are you questioning me?"

"No sir," she said quickly.  "I merely wondered."

"It is not your place to wonder, M'Leyva.  Only carry out my orders."

"*Kai,* Commander."  M'Leyva sat straighter and only when the commander disappeared 
into the thickening darkness of night did she deflate a bit, tucking her blankets closer 
around her.

 * * * * * * * *

*Not just a romance novel, but speculative fiction,* Paris thought as he rubbed his jaw.  
*Of course the author, living in the early 2320's, may well have SEEN the Khitomer 
Conference.  And from what he remembered from history class back at the Academy, no 
one -- least of all Terrans -- expected the alliance to last at all, let alone last for almost 80 
years.  Even more odd, according to Coleman's log entry the book was set almost exactly 
ten years ago.  He tried to think back to where he had been ten years ago.  He whistled 
lowly.  He'd been a first-year cadet at the Academy -- that had been the year the *Horatio* 
had been lost with all hands.  The only reason he had remembered it was because Walker 
Keel, one of his father's good friends, had died.

But though it took some mental cartwheels to get used to the idea of the relations between 
the Empire and the Federation in such a precarious state, he found the political and social 
atmosphere of the novel fascinating.  He couldn't quite find himself agreeing with Coleman 
-- but then, the author no doubt had never served in Starfleet.  The bio included with the 
download said only that Denora Vermilion -- what a name! -- was the pseudonym of an 
Alpha Centauri University Dean who, at the time of the novel's publication, had chosen to 
remain anonymous.

*Never even left Earth's backyard,* Tom chuckled, shaking his head.  *Maybe, anyway.  
Mustn't go making blanket statements.*  He flipped back to the author's preface again, 
frowning slightly.  But other than a note regarding the author's fervent desire to present 
both sides completely equally, there was no mention of the author's species.  He had 
simply assumed she was human.  He was having a hard time picturing a Klingon in staid 
Alpha Centauri academia.  But if the author were human, why chose such a thorny subject?  
Especially considering that fifty-odd years ago there were still enough issues with the 
Khitomer Conference results that the alliance had been considered fragile?

Not to mention, the database called it a KLINGON cult classic.  Was that a genre?  Or did 
that mean Vermilion had, in fact, been a Klingon living on Alpha Centauri?

"Tom, Tom, Tom . . ." he chided himself.  "It's a ROMANCE novel, not a mystery.  Stop 
trying to turn it into one."  He paged forward from the preface again, looking for where he 
had left off.

 * * * * * * *

As dawn broke across the surface of Eros Prime, Lieutenant Commander Coleman was 
already up, and kilometers away from the tiny cave that had served for refuge and shelter 
the night before.  He had only gotten a few hours of rest, between the bitter chill and 
straining to hear any sound that might be a Klingon landing party converging on him.  Not 
to mention his shoulder, which continued to throb, blood seeping through the bandage 
supplied by the scoutship's medkit.

He had sprayed local anesthetic over the evil looking burns, but he knew there would be 
scarring, if not nerve damage, if he didn't get back to a starbase sickbay soon.  *That's one 
way to score a desk job,* he chuckled to himself as he shouldered his pack and began 
picking his way down a steep incline.

Pebbles rained down on as his boots scrambled for purchase, and he could only hope that 
he was in fact moving AWAY from his pursuers, and not TOWARDS them.  Without a 
working tricorder, the best he could do was guess.  And he wasn't exactly comfortable 
with guessing right now.  Not when it meant the difference between survival, and a brief 
life as a Klingon prisoner of war.

The landscape reminded him of New Mexico, oddly enough.  Scrub covered the hills and 
mountains, patches of green in the early morning light, close to the ground, and twisted 
like bonsai.  He even swore a few cottonwood seeds floated in the air, and if he listened 
hard enough, he could hear the cry of a hawk, or some hawk-like creature anyway.  
Having no idea where in the planet's weather cycle he currently was, he wasn't sure if this 
were really early summer or spring, or even late fall.  If it were summer, then it was much 
much cooler than he remembered New Mexico, which could reach over 40 degrees during 
the day, over 104 in old Fahrenheit measurements.  For all he knew, the temperature stayed 
pretty much the same year round; he hadn't had time to study the planet's axis or formation 
before he had been forced to land.  He had only ever been interested in the stars. . . always 
the stars -- leave the dirtwalkers to investigate the planets, and leave the stars for him.

He stumbled to a halt, crawling under a short pine-like tree and sipping water from his 
canteen, his breath suddenly coming in ragged gasps.  *Old space-born prejudices die 
hard,* he thought with a sigh, leaning back against the rough bark.  *Not that "dirtwalker" 
is all that dirty a word -- people use it with pride back home.*  But he'd never really 
understood what was so special about a planet that people -- not just humans, but any race -
- felt so tied to it.  He could understand nationalism, such as it was today.  He could 
understand loyalty to one's chosen people.  But why the land?

Voices carried on the wind, and he froze.  Female voices, raised in anger.  He couldn't 
make it out, but as the voices grew closer to his hiding place, his Universal Translator 
kicked in, making their speech clear to him.

"Sworn Enemies," Part 3 by Subha Rajaram (Psyce17@aol.com)

Jake scrambled to get behind a large boulder next to the tree.  Dammit, he had thought he 
had at least a day's lead on them, but the Klingons were apparently fast.

Scrouching down, he strained his ears to hear the Klingons' conversation.  Then, carefully 
poking his head up, he examined the pair heading toward him.  One was the woman who 
had been disciplined by the leader.  She was tall -- extraordinarily for human -- average for 
a Klingon.  She had large almond shaped, amber eyes, set on a face with smooth dark 
brown skin and high cheek bones.  Her forehead ridges weren't as pronounced as the other 
Klingons he had seen.  They went straight across her brow, evenly spaced.  She had a very 
elegant look about her, and her arms were finely muscled.  The rest of her body had curves 
that -- 

*Whoa.  Hold it right there, Coleman,* he ordered himself.  *She's hunting you like a 
dog, and you're thinking about how long her legs are?  You must be out of your mind!*  
Nonetheless, he couldn't stop staring at her.  Shaking his head, he examined the other 
woman.  She was shorter and stockier than the first.  Solid black pupils were set on a small 
face, and her long, wavy hair was flying out behind her, thanks to the strong wind.  She 
was talking to the taller woman.

"M'Leyva, stop hissing at the tricorder as if it were a misbehaving targ!  If you stop hitting 
it, you might give it a chance to work properly," she scolded.

The tall woman, whom he now knew was called M'Leyva, slammed the Klingon 
equivalent of a tricorder shut.  "This is ridiculous!  The human will die in a matter of days.  
Why not let him starve out here?  This is no test of a warrior's honor or mettle!  It is almost 
as bad as the tribble hunt the Empire staged years ago!"

The shorter one looked annoyed, as if she'd had the same conversation before.  "You 
know perfectly well that this is what Commander Tarq wishes.  And unless he does 
something dishonorable, you cannot challenge him!  So you WILL help me find the human 
so we can leave this maggot-ridden planet."

M'Leyva let out a low growl.  "All right, A'ne.  But I make no promises that when I find 
that human *ghay'cha,'* I will not slice his throat open with my d'k tagh."

* * * * * * * *

"What is it with Klingon women and cutting men's throats open?" wondered Tom aloud, 
rubbing his own neck ruefully.

* * * * * * * *

Jake took a deep breath as he heard M'Leyva's threat, and tried to focus on something else 
that didn't have to do with him dying.  Like his Universal Translator.  It had translated 
everything into Federation Standard except for *ghay'cha'* and *d'k tagh.*  That meant 
that his translator was on the blink.  He tapped his upper arm, as if hoping he could fix the 
transdermal translator through the layers of skin and tissue covering it.  It was impossible 
to lose, but it was also impossible to fix unless you were in a Federation sickbay.  
Hopefully, it wouldn't break down at a crucial moment, but even he, the eternal optimist, 
had to admit that negotiating with the Klingons probably wouldn't work.  After all, it had 
taken extraordinary measures for the Khitomer Conference to take place, and that had been 
with several of the Federation's best negotiators.

Curling up into a little ball, he prayed that the Klingons would forgo the tricorder and 
attempt to look for him the old-fashioned way.  With a tricorder, he didn't have a prayer.  
The other way the odds seemed slightly more favorable.  Using his hands to protect his 
ears from the fierce wind that had come about suddenly, he attempted to listen in on more 
of their conversation.

"Stop talking about that nonsense," snapped A'neeka.  "Tarq wants the human found alive.  
He would not be pleased to find his prisoner with blood dripping out of him like a freshly 
killed targ."

"He did mention something about the lack of fresh blood wine," said M'Leyva.  As 
A'neeka sent her another threatening glare, she put up her hand to silence her.  "Do you 
hear that?" she demanded, dropping into a defensive stance.  A'neeka dropped into a 
similar crouch, her right hand ready to whip out her dagger at the slightest movement.

M'Leyva moved forward stealthily, as silent as a Terran cat.  With a howl of anticipation, 
she lunged forward, her *taj* ready to strike.  A'neeka watched eagerly, hoping to see her 
drag the *taHqeq* of a Terran out with the blade of her knife so they could leave this 
*Qovpatlh* of a planet.

M'Leyva let out a shout of rage and disappointment.  "It is only this *ghay'cha'* of a 
rodent," she spat, wiping the animal's brownish blood off her *taj.*  She returned to 
A'neeka's side tucking her *taj* back in her belt, next to her disruptor.

"Perhaps Tarq will get his blood wine from that one after all," commented A'neeka with a 
smirk, covering up her own disappointment.

M'Leyva quieted her with a look of anger from her amber colored eyes.  "Let us go up this 
hill.  The *Hu'tegh* could be hiding behind one of those trees or rocks."  A'neeka 
followed her partner as she made her way up toward the first boulder.

Jake's eyes opened wide with panic.  There was no way he could run away from them fast 
enough if they caught him here, especially with his injured shoulder.  As he thought 
furiously, another frigid breeze blew by.  He tucked his legs in closer to conserve body 
heat, but his knee accidentally jerked out, catching his medkit kit.  It jarred a small pebble 
loose, sending it ricocheting down the hill, bouncing against another rock, and causing a 
sharp sound to be heard, echoing throughout the southern ride of Eros Prime.  With a 
queasy feeling in his stomach, Lieutenant Commander J. P. Coleman peeked out over the 
top of the rock to see A'neeka and M'Leyva heading his way with looks of bloodlust in 
their eyes.

"Sworn Enemies," Part 4 by Janine Hochberg (Chasmina@aol.com)

 * * * * * * *

Tom laughed.  Bloodlust.  Thinking of B'Elanna, he knew the exact expression Coleman 
was describing . . . .

He was ready to turn back to the book when his mind once again turned to the matter of the 
author's identity.  Although the author had written insistently on his belief that the two 
races should be presented as equal, Coleman appeared to be in a losing battle for the time 
being.  Who would be more likely to write about a human losing against two vicious 
Klingon women?  A Klingon idealizing his own kind against the weakness of humans?  Or 
a human, creating a "Klingon" cult classic by bowing out to Klingon superiority?  
Somehow, Tom suspected it was the former.

The computer had listed almost nothing about "Denora Vermilion," other than his position 
as dean at Alpha Centauri University, but that should be enough to trace Vermilion's true 
identity.

He went to the computer console on his desk and accessed Voyager's LCARS, looking for 
records on Alpha Centauri University during the 2320's.  The year the book had been 
published, a man named Dothak was head dean -- the name certainly sounded Klingon.  
Tom brought up a bio on Dothak, and, sure enough, he was the first -- and only -- Klingon 
to serve on the faculty at Alpha Centauri University.

Dothak's biography ran through a brief list of academic history.  Apparently, "Sworn 
Enemies" was Dothak's only foray into romance novel authorship.  The only other notable 
piece of writing was a lengthy treatise on Klingon/Human relations, which had been 
published posthumously in 2348, more than twenty-five years after his death.  *Which 
means "Sworn Enemies" was published almost immediately before he died,* Tom mused.  
*I wonder if the book was so controversial that someone didn't want him to be publishing 
a sequel . . . .*

* * * * * * *

"Stop!" M'Leyva cried.  "We see you, Human.  Do not dishonor yourself further by 
attempting to make a coward's retreat."

Seeing no other options, Jake stood up from behind the rock.  The physique he had 
admired earlier was equally stunning up close, but her look and posture were far more 
malignant.  He cleared his throat.  "I bring you greetings, Ally."

M'Leyva cackled.  "Allies do not run from one another."

"Nor do they hunt each other down," Coleman pointed out.

M'Leyva came closer, pulled out her dagger and began chipping away at the boulder.  
"Exactly," she hissed.  "You will come with us flesh -- " she flipped the dagger into the air 
and caught it by the blade, "-- or carcass.  What is the human phrase?  It makes no 
difference to me?  But you see, it does," she said pulling the blade out of her fist.  "We are 
thirsty for bloodwine."  Dark, carmine blood splattered onto the rock.

A'neeka wondered for a moment if M'Leyva spoke in earnest.  Tarq wanted the human 
alive, but if he created trouble, she doubted M'Leyva would think twice before making the 
kill.  That sort of impulse would get her far in the Empire's forces -- if it didn't kill her 
first.

Coleman glanced nervously between the two women.  "Then, you are taking me as your 
prisoner?"

"Yes," M'Leyva spat out.  "You are our prisoner.  A contemptible word -- one you bear 
well."

He ignored the barrage of insults.  Best to keep the situation impersonal.  "You 
understand," Coleman said shakily, "that the Federation will likely view this as an act of 
war."

"Do I understand?"  M'Leyva mimicked.  She reached up and curled her fingers over his 
bloodied shoulder.  "I understand that you will come with us," she said, closing a grip over 
his wound.  M'Leyva, in fact, did entirely understand, and wondered if Tarq did as well.  
His orders were ambiguous -- just bring in the human.  M'Leyva liked to have a better idea 
of what was going on.  It didn't make sense for Tarq to hold the human -- true warriors 
had no need for prisoners.  And this scrap of flesh and bone hardly seemed important.  But 
battle, she knew, was its own justification.  If they were to do battle with the Federation, it 
would be a challenge.  A glorious challenge . . . and it could all begin here, on this 
desolate, chilled world.

A'neeka flashed her teeth at the human.  "Are you coming?" she asked, turning.  M'Leyva 
followed her lead and began down the rocks.

Coleman waited expectantly.  M'Leyva turned and grinned maliciously at him.  "We have 
no need to chain you up and lead you around.  Let fear and cowardice be your fetters.  
There is nowhere for you to go.  You may run and freeze to death.  If I do not catch you 
alive, I will still plunge my blade through your lifeless carcass."  She turned back around 
and Coleman winced as he scrambled downward to catch up.

'Sworn Enemies," part 5 by Ann-Dana Medven (AD98UC@aol.com)

The unlikely group moved as quickly as the mountainous terrain and frigid weather 
allowed, but the wind bit exposed flesh and sliced through inadequate clothing.  Coleman 
kept pace even though every step further jarred his shoulder.  Occasionally, when Jake did 
not walk to her speed requirements, M'Leyva gave him a swift shove in the back.  *A 
Klingon love pat,* he thought sardonically.

After several hours, by his estimation, of marching at a good clip, Jake assessed his 
situation.  His stomach rumbled, he was frozen to the bone, and he was rapidly losing 
patience!  The Klingons clearly wanted to reach their encampment before nightfall.  "Night 
on this god-forsaken rock makes San Francisco feel like Vulcan, but this pace is 
ridiculous!" Jake spoke under his breath.  He yelled ahead, "Do you think we could stop 
and rest a few minutes?"

M'Leyva turned and laughed, "Tired already, Human?"

"As a matter of fact, yes, I am.  And hungry.  And cold," he categorized, his voice 
dripping in annoyance.  "I realize that I am only a weak human, but you must want me 
alive for something or you would have killed me already!"

M'Leyva was about to respond, but A'neeka stopped her.  "We will break for a meal 
there," she ordered, pointing to a cave which would provide some relief from the wind and 
cold.

Once inside, Jake sat on a rock and tried unsuccessfully to patch his bandage.  From his 
perch, he noticed snakes and other lifeforms scurrying.

"What are you waiting for, Human?  For me to SERVE you?"  M'Leyva said, gesturing to 
a container containing what looked like meat.

"Ladies first," Jake responded with a small bow.  M'Leyva's eyes narrowed, but A'neeka 
barked in amusement.  He took a handful and settled again on his rock.  He ate quickly and 
silently.  "That was delicious!  I won't ask what I just ate, because that knowledge will 
probably make me ill."

"You are very likely correct, Human," A'neeka replied

"But after such a feast, I need to relieve myself," he announced unceremoniously.  A'neeka 
nodded to M'Leyva, "Take him outside and make sure he does nothing stupid!"

Jake walked behind a large rock with M'Leyva following closely.  "A little privacy please."

"You humans are so prudish!  We Klingons are not -- "  M'Leyva stopped when she heard 
screams coming from the cave.  She ran toward her companion, Jake followed closely.

They came upon A'neeka's doubled-over body.  Two deep fang marks marred the 
Klingon's forearm.  The viper itself remained by its victim's body, but it was torn in two.  
A'neeka's legs obscenely twitched, while blood seeped from her mouth.  Shock and pain 
were still etched on her features.  M'Leyva knelt by her friend and cradled her.  A'neeka 
struggled to inhale the stale air of the cave.

"Remember that Tarq wants him alive for a reason!" she gurgled.  "Do not let your 
prejudices interfere with the honorable path!"  Then, A'neeka closed her eyes and exhaled a 
final ragged breath.

Jake moved to comfort M'Leyva, but watched in horror as the younger woman pried her 
dead companion's eyes open .  Then, M'Leyva threw her head skyward and howled.  The 
lament filled the tiny cave and resounded in Jake Coleman's chest.  She alternated the wail 
with a chant, and when her dirge ended, M'Leyva rose.  "Come, Human.  We must go."

"Is that it?  You just leave her to rot with the beasts that killed her?" Jake asked 
incredulously, standing over A'neeka's body.

M'Leyva turned on him with a ferocity which made him retreat a step.  "A'ne's body is just 
a shell.  Her spirit is now with Kahless in Sto-Vo-Kor," M'Leyva spat, her face 
millimeters from Jake's.  "The howl was a call to Sto-Vo-Kor that a Klingon warrior is 
joining them!  You have been privileged to witness something that few non-Klingons have 
seen."

She turned from the human, feeling nothing but contempt for his ignorance.  Then, she 
paused and began to cover the A'neeka's body with stones.  Silently, Jake aided her.  
When their work was finished, she grabbed Jake by his injured arm.  "Come, Human, we 
have far to go before we reach Tarq's encampment."

Jake shook off her powerful grip, "My name is Jake Coleman, not 'Human.'"

* * * * * * * * 

B'Elanna strode into Sandrine's on what was a busy night for the holobar.  She saw Tom 
sitting in a booth, engrossed in what he read.  *That must be some technical manual!* she 
thought to herself.  She approached softly, leaned over his shoulder, and read softly, "My 
name is Jake Coleman, not 'Human.'"  Tom jumped, bumping his head against B'Elanna's 
chin.  She maneuvered around to sit opposite him, rubbing her jaw.  "Ouch!"

"You know, you should really read this.  There's more to this than a simple romance 
novel!"

Still massaging her jaw, B'Elanna looked unconvinced.  "You're saying this about a book 
described as a Klingon CULT classic?"

"It was written by a dean at Alpha Centauri University.  A Klingon, no less," Tom 
chattered, "and it's set only ten years in our past.  That's 40 years in his future!"  Tom 
drew a breath to continue to extol the book, when something drew his attention to the bar, 
"That's Michael Dikembe from stellar cartography.  If I remember correctly, he did his 
post-graduate work at Alpha Centauri University.  I wonder . . . ."

B'Elanna was more than a little puzzled as she watched Tom get the scientist a drink and 
steer him back to the booth.  *I wonder what the mystery is all about?*  She smiled a hello 
as Tom slid next to her and handed her an ice pack with a wink.

"Yes, I did, but that was a long time ago and I was a very young man," the gray-haired 
man confirmed, settling across the table.

"Actually, I was wondering if you ever heard of a dean named Dothak?" Tom asked

"I didn't know him personally; he died before I arrived, but there were stories of a great 
love affair he had with a human woman."

"Sworn Enemies," Part 6 by Julie Evans (Juli17@aol.com)

Tom leaned forward, his blue eyes gleaming with anticipation.  "Do tell all."

"As I said, this all happened before I was a student at the university.  It's now mostly 
considered something of a legend."  Dikembe spoke dismissively, but he too leaned 
forward and wrapped his hands around his drink before continuing in a conspiratorial tone.  
"To my knowledge no one ever knew exactly who she was.  Someone at the University- a 
professor, administrator, researcher, maybe even a student.  Apparently they kept their 
relationship as secret as possible."

"Why would they keep it a secret?"  B'Elanna asked, leaning her chin against the ice pack 
in her hand.  Her injury hardly required such measures, but since Tom had brought it . . . .

"Besides avoiding the obvious accusations of favoritism that might spring from a university 
dean being involved with someone under his supervision, there was the fact that in those 
days there was still some lingering prejudice against Klingons, and especially against a 
Klingon and a human being romantically involved with each other."
	
"As if it were anyone's business but theirs," B'Elanna muttered darkly.

Dikembe shrugged apologetically.  "The Khitomer accord was pretty new then, and 
relations were still uneasy.  Even in a university setting, old beliefs die hard.  Just the 
rumor of the affair was enough to have the more juvenile-minded students and faculty 
snickering behind Dean Dothak's back.  Not something a Klingon invites or tolerates 
well."

"Or a human," Tom added.  He decided to change the course of the conversation.  "So 
what eventually happened between Dothak and his . . . lover?"

"Despite the snickering, Dothak was apparently happy enough with his human paramour to 
ignore it all.  Then one day she was simply . . . gone."

"Gone?" Tom echoed.

"Gone.  Left the university, left Dothak, or Dothak sent her away.  Maybe she even died.  
Since no one knew who she was, no one knew exactly what happened to her.  The only 
sure fact was that Dothak became a rather surly and reclusive Klingon after that.  He 
performed his duties as dean well enough, but he spent most of his time writing some 
wordy tome about Klingon-human relations, right up until the time he died a couple of 
years later."

*That's not all he was writing,* Tom thought.  "Someone must have had an idea who she 
was," he said.

"I think the reasonable possibilities were narrowed to about a half dozen or so, but I don't 
remember who they were.  There might be some clues in the university logs and records if 
you really want to hunt through them,"  Dikembe said, making it sound like a dubious 
pursuit.

Tom thought he just might try that, at some point.  The mystery of the author was almost as 
intriguing as the novel itself.
	
Dikembe downed his drink in a final long swig and stood up.  "Well, duty calls early 
tomorrow.  Goodnight, Lieutenants."

"Goodnight," Tom said as Dikembe nodded and walked away from the table.

"I still can't believe this was written by a Klingon."

Tom looked at B'Elanna, who had dropped the ice pack on the table and unobtrusively 
moved his padd in her direction.  She was staring at the screen with a skeptical look on her 
face.  "And why not?" he asked.

"Oh, I don't know," B'Elanna started to read from the padd, ". . . she watched him climb 
up the rock behind her, the growing wind whipping at his short blond hair.  Despite the 
fact that he was only human, and he was lanky and had scrawny muscles, those muscles 
looked hard and well-toned through his Federation uniform.  He was no match for her of 
course, but more than -- "

"Hey!"  Tom snatched the padd away from B'Elanna.  "Don't read ahead!  I haven't gotten 
that far yet!  Besides, you're supposed to be reading "Women Warriors at the River of 
Blood."  He grinned at her slyly.  "I know it's a disappointment that there's no dashing, 
well-muscled blond human male to be ravished in your novel -- Aaah!"  Tom jumped up 
and the ice pack B'Elanna had pushed in his lap fell to the floor.

B'Elanna used the opportunity to push Tom out of the booth so she could leave herself.  
Tom grabbed the edge of the table to keep from tripping and looked down into her 
smoldering eyes as she stood up, not ready to quit while he was ahead.

"But there's always reality, B'Elanna, and despite your dampening efforts, I'm ready and 
willing whenever you are," he teased, the grin still on his face.

Tom half expected B'Elanna to haul off and hit him, but she just snorted and rolled her 
eyes.  "Go back to your fantasy, Tom," she said, waving her hand at the padd on the table.  
"That novel is as close as you're going to get."

Tom watched B'Elanna stalk out of Sandrine's, then caught the eyes of several 
crewmembers watching him with avid curiosity.  He offered them a cocky smile and 
plopped back down into the booth and picked up the padd.  No matter how much B'Elanna 
protested, he knew she was dying to read this novel.  Heck, it might just give her some 
ideas.  Tom grinned again, kicked his legs up on the seat and leaned back into a more 
comfortable position.  Then he started to read.

* * * * * * *

Jake Coleman figured they had been walking for about two hours since they had left 
A'neeka's body in the cave.  It was getting colder and the planet's sun was getting low in 
the sky.  They were also climbing over some rocky ground now; he had to keep his eyes 
on his feet to make sure he didn't trip over the loosely strewn stones underfoot.  His 
shoulder still ached some but the cold had numbed it considerably.  He trudged behind 
M'Leyva, wondering just how much further it was to the Klingon encampment.

M'Leyva stopped at the top of a rocky outcropping and looked ahead.  Several such 
outcroppings lay in front of them, but she knew it wasn't much further now.  She had 
barely been paying attention to the human's progress behind her, since she felt sure he had 
nowhere to run and she could chase him down easily anyway.  She turned now to look at 
him.

"Hurry up, human," she growled.  She watched him climb up the rock behind her, the 
growing wind whipping at his short blond hair.  Despite the fact that he was only human, 
and he was lanky and had scrawny muscles, those muscles looked hard and well-toned 
through his close fitting Federation uniform.  He was no match for her of course, but more 
than she might have expected.  She realized he was as tall as she when he stopped right 
next to her.

"Are you sure you haven't lost your way?" Jake asked, leaning over slightly, his hands on 
his knees, trying to catch his breath.  Klingons could hike damned fast.

M'Leyva glared at him as he straightened up.  He stared back at her, his gray eyes not 
flinching at her hostile look.  Interesting that he had lost whatever fear he had of her when 
he had first been captured.  She could certainly change that attitude in a moment, but she 
decided she didn't have the time.  The deepening cold was making it imperative that they 
get to the encampment quickly.

"Keep up, *petaQ,*" she hissed, deliberately pushing his bad shoulder to force him to 
move.  He winced but didn't say anything further.  She moved quickly in front of him as 
he started to walk, leading the way.  She was gratified to see he was shivering as much as 
she as they made their way over the next outcropping.  So much for the silly myth that 
humans were impervious to cold.  He would last no longer than she on the icefields of 
Rura Penthe, and that's probably where the human would eventually end up, if Tarq, for 
whatever unfathomable reason, insisted on taking him prisoner back to Qo'noS.

M'Leyva suddenly recognized where she was and crouched low behind a large group of 
rocks in their path.  She reached up as the human approached her and dragged him down 
next to her.

Jake lost his balance at M'Leyva's hard jerk on his bad arm, of course, and landed hard on 
his knees next to her.  He ignored the renewed pain in his shoulder and glanced around, 
looking for whatever animal or other threat had caused her to drop into a defensive crouch.  
He saw nothing.

"What are you doing?" he asked, just as she started to edge toward a standing position.

She stopped in mid-action and looked at him, forgetting for a moment that she need explain 
nothing to him.  "The encampment is in the field just below."

"Great," Jake said, and realized he actually meant it.  A warm cell in a Klingon brig would 
be better than being exposed to the brutal elements on this planet.  He started to stand up.  
"Let's go."

M'Leyva shoved on his bad shoulder and Jake found himself on his butt this time.  "Belly-
crawling maggot-brained fool," she hissed.

*Great, now my universal translator starts to work properly,* Jake thought, massaging his 
shoulder and trying not to groan.  *Too bad I didn't know which delightful Klingon insult 
that was, so I could use it myself at some future point.*

"Stay down!  I have to make sure the encampment hasn't been overrun by enemies."

Jake snorted.  That was likely, the "planet of love" here in the middle of nowhere being 
such a popular destination.  He didn't dare hope the Henry Martin would actually show up.  
"Don't you have some sort of communicator?"

M'Leyva snarled inwardly.  Another technological device to remember to use.  Not so 
despicable as a tricorder, but she had forgotten to check in with Tarq since A'ne's death.  
She was surprised the commander hadn't called her to scream curses at her latest 
incompetence.  She turned slightly so the human could not see her actions and activated the 
device.  She was greeted by static.  She slapped the communicator off viciously.

Jake heard her activate the communicator as he got up into a crouched position and 
recognized it for what it was.  He had the urge to make a sarcastic comment, but his 
attention was suddenly caught by a movement in a crevice of the rocks right in front of 
M'Leyva's feet.  Something was definitely in there.  M'Leyva repositioned one foot 
slightly as she moved to stand.  In a quick flash, the form darted out.  Jake reacted 
instinctively.

M'Leyva found herself suddenly slammed to the ground and she landed on her back, the 
wind briefly knocked out of her.  If that weren't bad enough, she then realized the human 
was lying flush on top of her.  The *baQa!*  Her vision clouded with a sudden rage and 
she swung the heel of one hand viciously at his chest, dislodging him.  The human rolled 
sideways, clutching his chest.  That was when she noticed the viper slithering toward the 
rocks just beyond him.  Her hand grasped a nearby loose rock and she jumped to her feet, 
ready for the attack.  But the snake had already slithered back into a crevice in the rocks.

"You're welcome," Jake grunted, pulling himself to a sitting position, and already 
regretting his heroics.  The pressure in his chest slowly subsided.  He looked then at 
M'Leyva, who was staring at his leg with an unnerving fascination.  He looked down and 
saw the two tiny even holes near the bottom hem of his pants.  He glanced again at 
M'Leyva and hoped that wasn't anticipation shining in her eyes.  He hated to disappoint 
her, but he wasn't about to go into convulsions and die for her entertainment.  He pointed 
just below his pant's leg at his boot, where two matched holes had penetrated the very top 
edge.  He pushed the boot top down slightly, revealing a dirty but otherwise unmarked 
sock.  He grinned at her.  "Looks like I'll survive."

M'Leyva didn't bother to congratulate him or help him up.  She just grunted and stalked 
past him.

"By the way, I saved your life.  I guess that means you owe me."

M'Leyva gave Jake an annoyed look, then laughed harshly.  "I assume that is a ridiculous 
human custom.  Klingons never owe an enemy anything, no matter what foolish actions he 
may pursue."  She turned away from him and looked openly over the rocks.

*Yep, I should have just let the viper have her.*  He stood up slowly, walked to her side 
and looked down.  The encampment was perhaps a kilometer away, but it looked to Jake 
somewhat inadequate to the winds that were gusting around it.  There was one small shelter 
and several pieces of equipment scattered around two firepits which looked to be burning 
nothing but embers.  And not a Klingon in sight.

Even as that realization came to him, the heavy tent material and the pieces of equipment 
began to shimmer slightly.  The shimmering intensified, then weakened.  Jake realized it 
was a transporter beam and it was fighting to keep a lock on its targets.  The beam 
intensified again, then disappeared.  As the field cleared, Jake saw the equipment was 
gone, but the tent had remained behind.  Apparently the transporter beam couldn't keep a 
lock on it.

"Tarq, you *petaQ!*  You *taHqeq!*"

Jake was glad his universal translator had once again been stymied by the Klingon curses 
as M'Leyva let out a string of several more.  He hazarded a glance at her and saw the fury 
displayed across her face.  Not that he could blame her.  A gust of wind hit him hard in the 
face and he looked out past the encampment, now one lonely tent.  He wasn't sure if the 
darkness moving swiftly in from the horizon was clouds of rain or dust, but it was moving 
toward them at a furious rate.  The landing party had deserted them to save their own butts.  
He doubted the bird-of-prey's sensors could find them now even if someone up there had a 
sudden urge to look, and he doubted they much cared.  It looked like he and the charming 
M'Leyva were about to find out the true meaning of survival on Eros Prime, planet of love.  
Together.

"Sworn Enemies," Part 7,  by Keiko Kawanabe (Kkkawana@aol.com)

Tuvok's report seemed to go on longer than usual.  Tom was having a difficult time trying 
to keep his mind on the tasks at hand for the morning briefing.  The Vulcan's voice 
thrummed through Tom's head as he thought about Jake Coleman and M'Leyva's 
predicament.  He was quite anxious to return to the story as it had left the two characters in 
an intriguing situation.

"So Tom, what do you think would be the chance's of actually navigating a shuttle through 
the asteroid field to retrieve the dilithium crystals the probe detected?"

Tom looked around at the expectant faces, shaking away his reverie.  "Well, Captain, with 
the navigation systems on the shuttles acting as sluggish as they have been, it MIGHT be 
possible to maneuver through.  But it would be extremely risky with the shuttles in their 
current state.  Frankly, I'd rather get stabbed in the throat by an angry Klingon warrior 
woman than attempt a flight like that right now."

B'Elanna's head shot up and she stared at him, a tiny smile appearing on her lips.  He 
looked down at the table, not meeting the eyes of the startled faces in the room.  *Did I just 
SAY that?* Tom mentally slapped his forehead.

"That's very . . . picturesque, Tom," Janeway responded, amused.  "Well, then, it sounds 
like engineering might want to take a look at the shuttles.  B'Elanna?"

"Yes, Captain.  We've already begun the diagnostics to see what the problem might be."

Tom spied the padd that held the novel on the table along with his other data padds.  He 
glanced around.  B'Elanna, still discussing the shuttle problem, had garnered everyone's 
attention.  He saw that no one was looking at him.  He nonchalantly moved his left hand 
over and with a subtle move, slipped the novel out from under the other padds, making 
sure it was still concealed from the other people.

Although it was awkward, he found that he could keep his finger on the padd to page down 
and glance down to read without being detected.  Keeping one ear on the pace of the 
discussion in the meeting, he began to read.

* * * * * * * 

The wind was blowing harder and the darkness was advancing on them faster than 
Coleman liked.  The sinister looking cloud  seemed to grow larger, matching only 
M'Leyva's fury and frustration over Tarq's abandonment.

The Klingon woman was still muttering epithets when Coleman approached her and 
urgently touched her tense shoulder.  M'Leyva whirled around and crouched down, taking 
a combative stance.  Jake took a step back and braced himself for the possible onslaught of 
her wrath.

None came.  Jake watched as she slowly lowered her arms and stood up to her full height.  
The wind was whipping her glorious tresses up into the air.

"Do not bother me, *petaQ,*" she snarled.

"Listen, that cloud over there is getting closer and closer to us.  We need to find shelter 
NOW.  As far as I can see, that tent down there is the only thing we have.  The wind is 
getting stronger and if we wait any longer, we'll never reach it."  Forgetting M'Leyva's 
earlier hostility, Jake grabbed her arm and started pulling her up over the rocks to go down 
the hill.  Perhaps it was that hostility that caused him to yank her arm with all his strength.  
He was expecting some resistance.  However, he was surprised to find that suddenly, HE 
was the one getting dragged down the hill towards the tent.

M'Leyva, who immediately comprehended, had decided that perhaps the human was not 
quite as useless as she had originally thought.  On the other hand, she was NOT going to 
be led around by him, either.  To think that her own prisoner would dare tell her what to do 
was preposterous.  "No prisoner of MINE is going to tell me what to do, Human!"  She 
punctuated her declaration by yanking her arm away from his grip, grabbing HIS arm, and 
leading him towards the deserted encampment.

Coleman, struggling to regain his footing as M'Leyva continued to drag him downward, 
could not help but laugh.

"*baQa!*  I do not find this situation as amusing as you seem to," she yelled into the ever 
strengthening wind.

Suddenly, a mighty gale started to wail.  Captor and prisoner both struggled against the 
force of the cold winds.  Dust, sand, and all manner of debris flew into their faces.  The 
two crawled towards the tent, the tough material flapping against the gusts.  The 
framework seemed quite sturdy and able to withstand the power of the elements.  Choking 
from the dust and sand, the pair dragged themselves in and lay sprawled on the ground, 
coughing.  M'Leyva, still choking, rasped out with deliberate politeness, "So, Human.  
Perhaps you can tell me what is so funny about all of this."

Jake coughed and, cradling his injured shoulder, choked out, "I just thought it was 
amusing when you called me your prisoner.  The way I see it, we are BOTH prisoners 
now," and as she still insisted on calling him by his species and not by his name, he added, 
for good measure, "Klingon!"

* * * * * * * * 

"All right then, dismissed."  The captain's words filtered into Tom's mind, and he swiftly 
gathered up his padds and started to walk out of the room.

"Mr. Paris?" Janeway's voice stopped him.  He turned to find her looking at him with 
twinkling eyes.  "That must be a very exciting story you're reading."

*How she does it, I'll never know.*  "I'm sorry, Captain."

"Never mind, Tom.  Just don't bring your recreational literature to future briefings."

Tom grinned.  "Yes, ma'am."

Still grinning, Tom left the room to ask B'Elanna to lunch and possibly an after meal hunt 
through the data banks for clues that might shed some light on the mystery of Dothak.

"Sworn Enemies," Part 8 by Cheryl Palay (Cherpal2@aol.com)

Jake watched with some amusement as M'Leyva angrily tore through the meager supplies 
her Klingon shipmates had been forced to leave behind.

"Guess we're lucky the storm hit when it did," he commented sardonically as he inspected 
his surroundings.  "Otherwise we wouldn't have this lovely new home and all its trappings 
to protect us."  He paused briefly to listen to the screaming wind and the rocks pelting 
against the tent.  "Your commander -- Tarq, is it?  Either he's very confident of your 
survival skills or he could care less whether you live or die.  Sounds like a nice guy."

M'Leyva spun around, her eyes flashing.  With a speed that surprised Jake, she crossed 
the space that separated them, grabbed both his shoulders roughly and pulled him towards 
her.  Her nose nearly touching his she hissed, "You know nothing of Klingon ways, 
Human!  Commander Tarq is an honorable man.  He is not weak like your human leaders.  
A 'NICE GUY' holds no place of honor in the Klingon Empire.  If you value your 
miserable life you will remember that!"  She angrily pushed him away, sending him flying 
backwards to land sprawled on his back.

Jake smothered a groan at the sharp pain and throbbing in his shoulder.  Now that he 
wasn't numb from the cold, the pain was becoming increasingly excruciating.

"I'm sorry," he offered as he reached for his medkit.  "You're right, I don't know anything 
about Klingon ways.  Maybe this would be a good time to learn."

M'Leyva snorted, "Why bother, *petaQ*?  You may not live long enough for the 
knowledge to do you any good!"

Concentrating on carefully removing the bandage from his shoulder, Jake responded 
nonchalantly.  "Maybe.  But Tarq wanted me alive for some reason, remember?  So I think 
I'll remain optimistic for now, thank you."

Watching him, M'Leyva found herself, albeit reluctantly, impressed with his apparent lack 
of fear.  She had never had to interact with a human before and now she was finding that 
he didn't quite fit the stories she had heard about humans.  She realized with a start that she 
was staring at him and turned abruptly away, disgusted with herself for her momentary 
weakness.  Fortunately, the human hadn't seen her staring at him.

She was concentrating on foraging through the food supplies when she heard him gasp and 
swear softly.  M'Leyva turned to find him sitting against the wall of the tent holding a 
hypospray to his shoulder.  She noticed the ugly red welts and seeping blood.  He didn't 
notice her as he attempted to bandage the wound.

"It looks infected," she commented flatly.

"Yes, it does," Jake responded tiredly.  "But with any luck the hypospray will take care of 
that.  I'm just not sure about permanent nerve damage.  Do you think you could help me 
bandage this up?  It's kind of awkward with only one hand."  Looking up at her he 
watched the emotions flit across her face.  He really didn't expect her to help him.  As a 
prisoner he knew he wasn't entitled to anything, but he figured it couldn't hurt to ask and 
he was too exhausted at this point to really care.

He was surprised when she knelt down beside him and, not so gently, took his arm.  
Silently she looked over the wound in his shoulder and then proceeded to methodically 
clean it, doing a much better job than he had.  But it was painful and he swallowed a groan 
as she cleaned the sensitive area.  The silence in the tent became palpable.  M'Leyva 
glanced up and saw that his head was leaned back against the wall, eyes tightly closed and 
his mouth set in a grimace.  She noted with some alarm his pallor.  Tarq wanted him alive 
for whatever his reasons and she determined then and there that she would not allow him to 
die.  That was the reason she was concerned about his welfare, she told herself.  The fact 
that he had not uttered a sound since she had begun tending the wound had absolutely 
nothing to do with her decision.

Jake took deep breaths to keep himself from passing out.  He wished she would say 
something.  Anything.  Even an insult would be welcome.  Finally, he felt her stand up and 
he opened his eyes.  Still she said nothing.  He looked at her handiwork and offered a 
weak smile.

"Thanks.  You did a good job."

She poured a cup of water and pushed it in front of him.  "Drink, *petaQ,*" she said 
roughly.  "I will prepare a meal.  You are no good to me weak.  I care not if you live or 
die, but Commander Tarq has his reasons for wanting you alive and I will not fail in my 
duty to deliver you to him."

He took the cup and with a little smile replied, "Thanks, Doc.  I'm feeling better already."  
She ignored him. 

"Sworn Enemies," Part 9 by Celeste Strauss (CGAMS@aol.com)

The wind howled and the sides of the tent shuddered, but the structure remained firm.  The 
blowing rain and sand kept up a steady chatter on the fabric of the tent and occasionally the 
two castaways were startled by the sharp thud of heavier debris striking the walls of their 
shelter.  But still the tent held.

M'Leyva concentrated on heating a ration of stew on the small cookstove that had been left 
behind.  The power cells of the camp generator were low, but adequate.  She hoped the 
storm would not last and her shipmates would return before the power became critical.  At 
the moment, they had light and heat, which was her biggest concern.  She hated the cold.

She glanced over at the human and saw that he was once again leaning his head back with 
his eyes closed.  Her heart clenched as she looked; he was too still and too pale.  But then 
he moved and sighed.  She released her breath and shook her head silently.  Why should 
she care if he died?  He was just a nuisance -- and the cause of her being stranded on this 
forsaken planet.  But she knew she did care.  He was also company, the only company she 
had.  And there was something about him . . . Jake Coleman.  There!  She had given him a 
name.  Stupid move.  Never name the enemy.

"How is dinner coming?" Jake spoke up from his position against the wall of the tent.  He 
had been surreptitiously watching the different expressions flit across her face.  He would 
give anything to be able to read minds at this point.  Some of those expressions did not 
bode well for a particular blond, gray-eyed, human scout.

M'Leyva merely grunted, but she brought him some of the stew.  He winced as he reached 
out to take it from her.  Damn!  His shoulder had stiffened up and movement sent fresh 
pain washing through it.  But the stew smelled good.

"Thanks," he murmured.  Her eyes narrowed at the weakness in his voice, but she didn't 
comment.  She went back to the stove and served herself some stew.  Then she returned to 
sit beside Jake.  They ate in silence for a while, until M'Leyva's curiosity got the better of 
her.

"Why are you here, Coleman?  What were you looking for on this planet?"

*Coleman!* Jake thought with elation.  *She called me 'Coleman.'  We are definitely 
making progress.*  "I wasn't looking for anything on this planet, except a safe landing," 
Jake grinned.

"Too bad you didn't find it."

"Well, you know what they say -- any landing you can walk away from . . . ."

M'Leyva gave him a scornful glance.  "You may have survived the landing, but you are far 
from safe.  What were you doing in this sector at all?"

"I might ask you the same question."

"You might, but I would not recommend it.  Remember, you are my prisoner."

"Oh.  Yeah.  I forgot."  Jake rolled his eyes.  Her prisoner.  She hadn't seemed to catch on 
yet that they were both prisoners of this storm and this hostile world.  Of course, if the 
storm didn't last long, her people might show up again.  And if it did last a while, HIS 
people might show up, changing the whole dynamics of the situation.  Assuming, of 
course, that they hadn't been destroyed by the elements.

"Don't forget!" M'Leyva barked.  "It would not be healthy."

Jake stood up and reached out his hand for her bowl.  She tensed and looked at him 
questioningly.

"You cooked, I'll clean," he said simply.  She nodded and handed him the dish.  Just as he 
moved away from the wall of the tent, the side bowed in sharply with a loud thud.  
Something very large and heavy had smacked the shelter.  Both of the occupants stared at 
the spot, which had now returned to its normal position.  "Maybe we should check that 
out," Jake suggested, tentatively.  M'Leyva, looking very thoughtful, nodded.

* * * * * * * *

"Janeway to Paris," Tom's combadge beeped at him.  He jumped, startled.  He was so 
engrossed in the novel that he forgot for a minute where he was.  He looked around to get 
his bearings.  Oh, right.  After B'Elanna had turned him down for lunch, he had decided to 
lose himself in hydroponics while he continued to read.

"Mr. Paris," Janeway's voice came again from the combadge.

"Here, Captain," Tom answered quickly.  "Go ahead."

"Mr. Paris, are you all right?  This is the third time I've paged you."  The third time?  Tom 
got quickly to his feet.

"I'm fine, Captain, I was just , uh -- "

"Never mind, Tom," Janeway's amused voice came back over the combadge.  "Just report 
to my ready room immediately."

"On my way, Captain."  Tom gave the padd a rueful look and then hurried out of 
hydroponics.  He was just getting to a good part.  The temptation to continue reading as he 
rode the turbolift to the bridge was great, but he resisted.  He wondered what the captain 
wanted.  This was his off period.

Tom was surprised to see B'Elanna when he walked into the captain's ready room.  
Janeway looked up and raised one eyebrow when she saw that he was still carrying the 
padd, but she didn't mention it.  B'Elanna noticed it too, and smirked.  Tom grinned at her.

"Tom, B'Elanna informs me that the problem with the navigational array on the shuttle has 
been solved.  Since our need for the dilithium crystals is becoming critical, I want you and 
B'Elanna to attempt to collect some as soon as possible."

"No problem, Captain.  We can leave right away."

"Good," Janeway smiled.  "Then inform me when you're ready to launch."  She glanced 
again at his padd and then left the ready room.  *I'm going to have to read that when he is 
finished,* she thought to herself.

"So," B'Elanna said as she stood and smoothed her uniform.  "Are we ready, Lieutenant?"

"We're ready if the shuttle is ready.  Are you sure you found the problem?"  Tom teased.

"Are you doubting my expertise?"

"Not at all, Lieutenant.  Shall we proceed?"  He bowed and gestured for her to precede him 
out of the room to the bridge.  She grinned and walked past him.  As she did, she tweaked 
the padd from his grasp.

"Are you planning to take this along?"  she asked, playfully.

"Hey!" Tom exclaimed, but then stopped as all eyes turned toward them.  He waited until 
the turbolift doors shut before he reached for the padd.  "Give it back, B'Elanna."

She put it behind her and laughed.  "You sure are fascinated by this story, Tom.  What's so 
-- "  She stopped as Tom put his arms around her, reaching for the it.  But then he forgot 
about the padd and stared into her deep brown eyes, reveling in the feel of her warm body 
in his arms.  They stared at each other, mesmerized for a few moments, and then Tom 
slowly bent his head down.  She tilted her head up in willing anticipation.  Just as their lips 
met, the turbolift doors parted.  They jumped apart, startled, to the amusement of the 
shuttlebay engineering crew.

The two lieutenants straightened and became all business.  They went through the pre-flight 
check very formally, their questions and answers crisp and concise.  They weren't fooling 
anyone.  The engineering crew quickly finished the pre-flight preparations, smirking at 
each other the whole while.  B'Elanna and Tom were so flustered that they had launched 
the shuttle before they remembered they were supposed to notify the bridge first.  Luckily, 
Ensign Vorik had done it for them, so the captain's good luck message was not tinged with 
any remonstrance.  Tom and B'Elanna looked at each other and burst into laughter as Tom 
piloted the ship into the asteroid belt.

"I never realized reading romance novels could be so dangerous," Tom quipped.

"Sworn Enemies," Part 10 by MacIntyre7@aol.com

Tom maneuvered the shuttle with ease through the asteroid field.  They had been out for 
almost two hours and had had no luck in locating any dilithium, even though the erratic 
sensor readings indicated it was present somewhere close by.  Tom was feeling his oats, 
turning and swooping with ever growing confidence through the ever-shifting swirl of 
massive boulders.  Instead of being dangerous, as he had expected, the field had revealed 
itself as more like a pilot's playground than a hazard.

"Do you have to do that?"" snapped a by now thoroughly nauseated Torres.  "It's giving 
me upset stomachs."

"Oh, sorry.  Let's land for a while.  Besides, the sensors are going haywire.  Looks like 
we hit pay dirt on this rock.  We can put on our EVA suits and go rock-hunting.

"Sounds lovely," said Torres, decidedly unenthusiastic.

"You okay?"

"No.  I can't get into an EVA suit while I'm feeling this sick, Tom.  I need to wait a few 
minutes."

"Well, of course.  Barf in one of those babies and you'd be in big trouble."

Torres gave him a look, to which he smiled angelically.  They were silent for a few 
minutes.

"Wonder what happened to Dothak's lover?" Tom mused.  Then his eyebrows shot up.  
"Oh!  Maybe he killed her in fit of passion!"

Torres rolled her eyes.  "Maybe he bored her to death with his stupid ideas."  She tried to 
sound stern, but the corners of her mouth twitched.

Tom chuckled, then grew serious.  "Yeah, you're right.  She probably just buckled under 
the pressure of prejudice and left him.  I guess it was pretty tough back then, even in a 
liberal academic society."

B'Elanna's thoughts turned to her own parentage.  "Not just back then, Tom.  Maybe 
that's why Dothak wrote a book about a Klingon and a human stranded together away from 
everyone who might make things hard for them."

Tom took her hand, and she let him hold it.  "You know, since we're stuck here until 
you're feeling better . . . ."  He paused, eyeing her pack.

"Tom, no.  We're on duty.  We can't."

"I AM a field medic, you know.  The fastest way to control nausea is to get the patient's 
mind off her internal woes.  Lieutenant, my padd."

She slowly pulled the padd out of her pack.  "You are going to get us into so much 
trouble," she warned.

"Just one chapter," he promised.

* * * * * * * *

Through the blowing sand, M'Leyva and Coleman squinted at the broken branch that had 
bounced off their shelter.  A large half-dead scrub-like bush had been pulled out by the 
wind a few meters away, its roots ripping up the earth and exposing a hollow in the rocky 
ground.

"I'm going to take a look," shouted Coleman over the howling of the wind, jogging away.

"What?  Coleman, you have the brain of a tribble!  Do you want to die, killed by THE AIR 
or A PLANT?  There is no honor is such a death!  Wait until the wind dies down!  Come 
back into the shelter!"

She ran after him, stopping by the exposed rocks.  A sand-encrusted object at her feet 
caught her eye.  Casting about, she saw another and another, all scattered by the force of 
the upheaval.  Dilithium.  Everywhere.

* * * * * * * 

Tom glanced at B'Elanna sharply.  "Geez!  Do you believe it?  Coleman was out hunting 
dilithium just like we are!  What are the chances?"

* * * * * * * 

Hours later, the wind did die to an eerie moan, and as the night set in, the cold became 
bitter.  As Jake spoke, his breath caused little puffs of vapor.  "I can't believe it.  You 
Klingons had your base camp right on top of it."

M'Leyva sat staring at the campstove, willing it to put out more heat, resisting the 
temptation to bash it with a heavy object.  Everything made sense now -- her irritable 
scanner, her problems with her communicator, Coleman's mission here in the middle of 
nowhere, even her commander's order to take the human alive.  Of course Tarq would 
want him alive.  He'd want to know what Coleman had learned about what must be an 
enormous deposit of dilithium.  And of course this meant Coleman had back-up 
somewhere -- Federation firepower to be reckoned with.  Maybe that was why her people 
had abandoned her.  Had Coleman's ship attacked her own?

She lifted her eyes to study him again.  He had guarded his secret well; she had not even 
guessed.  He sat perfectly still staring at his hand, his fingers curled over his palm.  While 
she watched, he slowly turned his entire arm over.  Since he obviously wasn't noticing 
her, she took the opportunity for another close study of his features, deciding humans were 
not nearly so puny and featureless as she had heard.  Or at least this one wasn't.  He had a 
small jagged scar close to one eye which she found utterly fascinating.  She wondered how 
he had come by it, and if he had other marks of battle she could not see.

Without moving, Coleman suddenly said, "Are you through with your latest inspection, 
Lady Ocelot?"

She narrowed her eyes.  "I am called M'Leyva."

"Yes, I know," said Coleman.

"Your hand pains you?"

"No, and therein lies the problem, Lady.  It does NOT pain me."  He hesitated.  "Looks 
like my next assignment will be a desk job after all."  He glanced up.  "I can't move my 
fingers, and I have no feeling in my arm."

M'Leyva knew what this meant -- nerve damage caused by the trauma of severe plasma 
burns, a nearly everyday occurrence in her rough-and-tumble world.  She stared into his 
storm-gray eyes and said, "Give me your hand, Coleman."

He raised his eyebrows, but held out his hand.  She grasped it firmly, but not roughly, and 
began massaging it vigorously with her own very strong fingers.  At first, Coleman felt 
nothing, but soon his shoulder began to twinge, then ache with a burning pain.  "Try to 
move them now," she said.

Coleman stared at his fingers, willing them to move.  "Nothing, Lady O.  I told you.  
You're not doing anything but making my wound hurt."

M'Leyva snapped crossly, "Remove your jacket and shirt!"

"But it's freezing in here!"

"*PetaQ*!  Do you wish to be permanently damaged, never to fly again?  I'm trying to help 
you!"

Coleman recognized the insult.  He caught her eyes and tried to stare her down, but she 
eyed him back inch for inch.  Coleman's head began to pound; he recognized how 
exhausted he was becoming, and he decided not to pursue a fight.  She was, after all, 
trying to help in her own way.  "What the hell," he said.  "It's over for me anyway."  With 
her rough help, he shrugged out of his stained red jacket and tunic.  With a careless 
gesture, he tossed his jacket around her shoulders.  "No reason for us both to die of 
exposure."

M'Leyva went to work on his wrist and inner arm, making it glow with the flushed blood, 
pushing on certain tender areas until Jake want to yelp.  He finally got tired of it.  "It's 
nerve damage, I tell you.  You're not going to make it better just by pushing the blood 
around in there!"

"Stupid human," she snarled.  "Shut up."

Jake shut up with a vengeance.  For fifteen minutes he said absolutely nothing, enduring 
the pain with little grunts.  She eventually abandoned his inner lower arm and started to 
work on his inner upper arm.  To his amazement, his fingers began to quiver ever so 
slightly and then to began to jerk and ache with the same burning pain as his shoulder.  It 
was nearly unbearable; Jake was overjoyed.

"Coleman."

"What?"

"Who is Ocelot?"

"Sworn Enemies," Part 11 by BeccaJH (Becky Harvey)

He laughed, "You remind me of a wild jungle cat that I saw on Earth once."

M'Leyva paused her ministrations, narrowing her eyes at him.  Jake swallowed; he realized 
that he had better finish his explanation . . . and fast!  "Ocelot literally translated means 
'wild cat.'  With your amber eyes and skill as a huntress, that old-fashioned term came to 
mind.  I meant no offense."

Finishing up her restoring massage she leaned back on her heels and looked at him 
thoughtfully.  "Your comments have not angered me, Coleman.  Now we must sleep.  
Sleep will restore our strength for tomorrow's battles."  He nodded, shrugging into his 
stained tunic once again.  She reached up to pull his jacket off his shoulders but he stopped 
her with a hand on hers.  "You've got less resistance to cold than I do.  Keep the jacket."

She frowned, about to argue with him, then shrugged.  What did it really matter at this 
point?  Getting up she looked around the tent.  There were so few provisions left.  Damn 
Tarq for putting her in this position, having to help this . . . human.  She shook her head 
slightly to clear her thoughts.  There was only one cot, which didn't really matter, as they'd 
have to share their body heat to stay warm anyway.

* * * * * * * *

Tom set the padd down and smiled at B'Elanna.  "Feeling better now?"

B'Elanna looked at Tom, looked down at the padd, and then back up at Tom.  "You can't 
possibly end right there, Tom.  Even you wouldn't be so cruel."

Tom's eyes rounded, "B'Elanna, you wound me.  I told you I would read one chapter, 
which I did.  It's not my fault that chapter ended just as it was getting good."

B'Elanna crossed her arms; she wasn't buying his innocent act one bit.

Tom sighed melodramatically.  "Tell you what, since you're feeling better we'll go out and 
finish up our mission.  As soon as we get back here I'll read you one more chapter, then 
we can get back to Voyager.  Deal?"

She sighed, uncrossing her arms.  They WERE supposed to be working, and since she 
was the one who had pointed that out, it wouldn't be too good for her to contradict herself 
now.  "All right Tom, but the next part had BETTER be worth the wait."

He grinned, handing her the EVA suit.  "I'm sure it will be.  Patience is a virtue, after all."

She tried to frown at him, but ended up smiling instead.  The man drove her to distraction.  
One minute he was everything she dreamed of, the next he was completely insufferable.

"Sworn Enemies," Part 12 by J. A. Toner (jamelia116@aol.com)

"Is that the last of them, B'Elanna?"

"That's it.  Now let's get ourselves off this rock and back to Voyager, Paris.  I hate EVA 
suits.  I wouldn't care if I never had to get into another in my life."  B'Elanna's voice was 
tinny and raspy through the tiny microphone in her suit.

With the back of the shuttle open for the transfer of precious dilithium from the ground to 
safety inside, Tom had decreed that they should leave the small craft without any life 
support until they were finished with the task.

The sound of the hatch closing behind her was welcome to B'Elanna's ears, but not as 
much as the hiss of air returning to the small compartment.  "Getting out of this thing has 
got to be one of the high points of my day," she sighed, as Tom unhooked her helmet and 
lifted it from her head.

"So, what do you want to do now, Ma'am?  Food for the stomach, or food for the soul?"

"You just want to get to that next chapter, don't you, Paris?"

"You've dragged it out of me.  I confess.  I do."

B'Elanna pretended to carefully weigh her options.  In fact, she knew exactly what she 
would say, but she liked to see Tom when he was impatient.  His fair skin always flushed 
with an incipient flash of temper when he was impatient.  *So like a little boy,* she 
thought.

Taking pity on him, she said, "Food first.  But we can read to each other after we eat.  
First, we have to signal Voyager to tell them about our find."

"You drive a hard bargain, Lieutenant.  It better be a long chapter coming up to make up for 
it," moaned Tom.

"The sooner we contact the ship, the sooner we can eat.  And read."

"Yes, ma'am," Tom drawled, leaning over the console of the shuttle to initiate a signal to 
Voyager.

His smooth brow furrowed.  "B'Elanna, there's a problem.  I can activate the com system, 
but I can't get the directional array to point in Voyager's direction."

"That can't be.  That's integrated with the navigational array."

"The navigational array we've been having so much trouble with on this shuttle.  I hope we 
don't have another problem with it, B'Elanna."

"You'd better hope not, Tom.  We don't exactly have the most advanced equipment 
available here for repair jobs."

After fifteen minutes of tricorder readings, diagnostic sub-routines, and plain, old-
fashioned examining of the inner workings of the console by the naked eye, B'Elanna 
determined that the problem was not with any part of the system accessible from inside the 
shuttle.  "The EVA suits, again!" groused B'Elanna.  "Get into yours, too, Tom.  I'll need 
somebody to fetch and carry tools for me.  You're elected."

"Swell," he complained, but good-humoredly.  The EVA suits were uncomfortable, but he 
was willing to put up with them to spend time with B'Elanna without having to worry 
about every gossip on board the ship craning his neck to see what they were doing, the 
way they did in Sandrine's or the resort.  Besides, he was willing to bet that his campaign 
to thaw B'Elanna's chilly heart, all eight chambers of it, would progress better if they 
extended their stay on this lonely asteroid a bit longer.

Tom was not feeling so mellow when they reclosed the hatch after their attempt to fix the 
com system and the navigational array.  While they were away from the shuttle, they 
surmised, a stray piece of rock, possibly dislodged from its orbit by the passage of their 
own vehicle, had clipped the outside just enough to do critical damage to the array.  It was 
fixable, but unfortunately, with the limited tools available to them the repair job would take 
a minimum of nine hours, even with both of them working on it.  After a full day of 
traveling through the asteroid belt and mining dilithium, tackling such a job without rest 
was unwise to say the least.  Foolhardy might be a better term.  So they agreed they would 
eat and rest a shift and a half before starting the task.

"Maybe with the emergency beacon on, Voyager will find us and swoop in to make a 
daring rescue," Tom said as he removed his EVA suit once again.

"Now there's an idea.  I wonder which hotshot pilot would be willing to pilot Voyager 
safely through all of those asteroids, since you're down here, Tom?"

"Always looking on the bright side, aren't we, Torres?" Tom returned glumly.  She was 
right.  He would have been reluctant to take Voyager through himself; none of the 
remaining pilots would chance it.  Tom was about to make another comment when he 
caught sight of B'Elanna's face.  She was not happy.  B'Elanna took any damage to her 
ship or any of its components personally.  Instead, he offered, "You know, we're both 
pretty tired.  A little R & R is just what the field medic ordered.  And by the way, how 
ARE your stomachs doing?"

"Better than they were.  Now I'm just bushed.  Let's get some soup or something and turn 
in, Tom."

"Before we've read another chapter of 'Sworn Enemies?'" he said, in mock horror.

"Oh, maybe I'll be willing to have you read me a bedtime story before you tuck me in for 
the night.  Alone!"

Tom grinned.  "As I recall, that's the part we've gotten to."

A blaze ignited in B'Elanna's eyes, and for a second she shifted her weight and arm as if to 
swat him for his insolence.  Tom moved into a defensive posture, a gleam in his own eyes, 
before she drew a deep breath, stepped back, and lowered her arm.  B'Elanna suddenly felt 
a bit shaky, looking into those pools of blue light in his face.  He eased up, too, a look of 
concern on his face.

Tom must have felt it, as she had -- that they were getting very close to the borders of an 
attraction that both were hesitant to explore after what had happened between them in the 
Sakari mines.

After several hour-like seconds, B'Elanna whispered, "How about that soup, Tom?"

"Sure.  Get the padd, B'Elanna.  Maybe we can read a bit to each other as we eat."

"Me first at listening," she responded quickly.

"No fair, Torres," he shot back, but he was smiling as he said it.

As they settled down with their bowls of soup, Tom switched on the padd and flipped 
through the file.  "Ah, I think this is where we left off: 'There was only one cot, which 
didn't really matter, as they'd have to share their body heat to stay warm anyway.'  Sound 
right?" he teased.

"Paris, just read!" she growled in return.  Her growl could not mask her raised spirits.

* * * * * 

"Coleman, we will share your jacket, just as we must share this bed," M'Leyva shrugged.

Jake looked around the tent.  It hadn't occurred to him before, but that was the only 
practical sleeping arrangement.  Jake shook his head slightly, in echo of the movement hers 
had made a few seconds before.  Jake Coleman had slept with plenty of women in his time, 
but a Klingon?  It had never even entered his head before.  Of course, it wouldn't exactly 
be *sleeping* with her, the way he usually meant it.  Just several hours of 
unconsciousness -- if he were lucky.  The pain in his shoulder was intense now.  He 
wasn't completely sure what his companion had done to it, but the fiery burning of his 
nerves told him that at least he didn't need to worry about it feeling numb.

"All right, Lady Ocelot, we can share the bed.  I need to rest on my uninjured side, 
though."

"Agreed."  M'Leyva walked to the one light left to them, turning the intensity down to a 
soft glow.  To turn it completely off was pointless.  Neither wished to risk an injury from 
tripping and falling over something, should the need arise for one of them to answer a call 
of nature.

"Get in, Coleman," the Klingon woman said as she returned to her companion.  "I will 
spread our one blanket over you, and then your jacket over the blanket."

Nodding in agreement, Jake gingerly stretched himself out on his right side.  When the 
blanket fell on his left shoulder, it was all he could do not to wince.  He would not, 
however.  He wouldn't give her the satisfaction.  A second later his jacket landed on his 
shoulder, even more heavily than the blanket had.  He gritted his teeth as she came around 
the cot to come into the bed with him, anticipating how his shoulder would feel when her 
weight would shift him once again.

It was so very cold in the tent that M'Leyva looked forward to sharing warmth with 
Coleman.  She knew that others had done this to keep warm, of course, but M'Leyva never 
had, with anyone, even another female.  Her mother, when a warrior of the Empire, had 
slept with a male like this once, so as to keep each other alive.  The result of that night was 
M'Leyva herself.  The bonding begun during that frigid night had been honored to the end 
of their days, and gladly, by her parents.

For her to do the same with Coleman was, of course, impossible.  This human male was 
not a suitable mate, even though looking at his smooth brow and teeth no longer bothered 
her.  Indeed, his wiry body bore a strength that was compelling.  Recalling her parent's 
mating, however, made M'Leyva feel awkward.  What position could she sleep in that 
would not be misinterpreted by Coleman? She had heard of the promiscuous ways of 
humans.  To have her body used by many men instead of by one male in a life bond -- a 
disgusting practice!  How did their females put up with it?

All this flashed through her head as she slowly circled the cot.  Finally deciding that facing 
him would be best, M'Leyva gingerly slipped beneath the blanket, being careful not to 
dislodge the jacket from his body or bounce the cot unduly.

In the dim light, M'Leyva could see that Coleman grimaced, either from amusement or 
pain.  "Do you think you need to keep an eye on me all night, Lady?" he said.  "We'd be 
warmer if we spooned ourselves together.  The closer our bodies, the greater the heat."

There was something in his tone that made M'Leyva's hackles rise.  If a Klingon male 
were to say such a thing, she would think he was trying to court her.  This was a human.  
Surely he did not mean what he said.  He could not mean it.  The very idea was profoundly 
. . . disquieting.

After a moment's hesitation, M'Leyva rolled over, presenting her back to him.  If he had a 
knife, he could easily slit her throat.  *Just let him try it,* she thought sullenly.  Somehow, 
just thinking about throttling him with her bare hands comforted her.

As she settled into the curve of his body, M'Leyva initially felt tense.  When the human 
male made no untoward moves, however, she began to relax.  Warm breath puffed against 
her neck.  Although he was not complaining, she was sure he was in pain.  Instead of 
being in an even, steady pattern, his respiration was ragged, particularly whenever either of 
them moved even slightly; and much as she tried, M'Leyva could not stay still.  She found 
herself startling repeatedly, jostling him despite her best efforts not to bring him greater 
discomfort.  Trying to soothe herself, M'Leyva concentrated on smoothing and slowing 
down her own breathing from its unusually rapid rhythm.  She could not understand what 
was bothering her so much that she could not remain calm.

She had to admit that all of her preconceptions about humans were being challenged by this 
male.  His bravery could not be questioned.  He was stronger than he looked.  Instead of 
stinking like a Romulan, Coleman exuded a scent that was musky -- not spicy like a 
Klingon male's -- but pleasant, even invigorating.  Thankfully, his body was not cold and 
clammy, as she had been told it would be, but instead threw off a comforting warmth that 
spread along her back from head to heels, greatest wherever her bare skin touched his.  She 
told herself firmly there was no cause to be alarmed that she was sharing a bed for the first 
time with a male.  She would force herself to sleep.  Turning her mind towards this goal, 
she found the beginning of relaxation and drifted off toward somnolence, musing that, in 
truth, it was all too easy to think of him as her mate.

A grunt confirmed that Coleman's breath was disrupted again as M'Leyva jerked fully 
awake.  No, she could not be harboring fantasies such as these!  To mate with a human!  
Ludicrous!

Yet from the moment that stray thought invaded her mind, M'Leyva could not thrust it 
away.  The heat of his body suffused her own with an impossible longing.  Her agitation 
grew as the touch of him teased her with its promise.  It could not be!  Not with a human!  
Never!  Yet the certainty that the first stirrings of the Blood Fever were rumbling within 
her, the true cause of her disquiet, could not be dispelled.

Every breath Coleman expressed from his nostrils flowed into her hair.  Each follicle 
responded with a tickling that turned into a burning shiver, rushing through her every vein.  
The places where their bodies touched felt like embers about to burst into a wild blaze.  She 
was sure they would both be consumed in the conflagration.

*No!  This cannot be!  He cannot be the one!* M'Leyva's heart cried out in the silence of 
the tent, her mind recoiling from images arising before her mind's eye.

Visions that would not be denied, no matter how she tried.  His body, glazed with sweat 
and shining in the dim light of the tent, entwined with hers which gleamed equally.  Her 
mind twisted away from imagining his embrace, lean, hard muscles and ropes of sinew 
outlining his limbs.  A whiff of his scent careened through her, powerful, exciting.  Her 
blood pounded in her temples, neck, and chest, thundering through one who was rapidly 
losing the ability to remember her own name.  Her teeth ached to bite down into flesh, to 
rend skin, to taste the tang of blood.  His blood.  *The blood of a *petaQ* of a human, so 
help me!*

"NO!  KAHLESS, NO!" roared M'Leyva, thrusting herself out of the cot and scrambling 
to her feet.  Perhaps the cold air of the tent would draw away the fever from her blood.  
Freezing temperatures did not seem as much of a threat now as they were a short time ago.  
Backing away from the place of temptation, the Klingon female raised her hands before her 
as if to ward away blows or to inflict blows upon him in retaliation for what he had done to 
her, all unaware though he was of the power which he wielded over her.

"What is it?  M'Leyva?  What's wrong with you?"  Coleman jumped up, grimacing, but 
otherwise ignoring the fiery pain in his shoulder.  He stepped before her, grabbing 
M'Leyva's upper arms.

"NO, HUMAN!  IT CANNOT BE YOU!"  M'Leyva tried to push Coleman away, but his 
hands clenched her tightly.  In spite of the pain that must surely be shooting down from his 
shoulder to the fingers of his left hand, she could not free herself from his grasp.  Despite 
his narrow frame, this human was truly strong; or was it merely that she did not want to be 
free of his hold?  M'Leyva closed her eyes and tossed her head from side to side, fighting 
the urge, trying to keep herself from biting.

In a haze of desire, M'Leyva could not control herself.  Her head pushed forward.  
Groaning gutturally, unable to stop herself, M'Leyva felt her teeth sink deeply into 
Coleman's left cheek.

A roar emerged from the human as he pushed her away, yet it excited her even more.  A 
wordless growl escaped his lips as his right hand crossed over his chin to touch the wound 
she'd left on him, to mark him as hers.

In anger he cried, "What did you do that for?!  What's the matter with you!"  Then she saw 
him take a step backwards, back against the side of the cot.  She knew what was in her 
eyes: not the bloodlust of rage, but another kind of lust.  "M'Leyva," he whispered, softly, 
in puzzled wonder.  His breathing quickened.  She could almost see the blood thrumming 
in his neck as his own blood pulsed for her.  Instinctively he must have guessed what was 
happening, for Coleman reached out to her with his right hand, fingers stained with his 
own blood, and touched her softly on the mouth.  Her lips opened and closed over his 
fingers, not to bite or tear, but to gently suck his blood into her mouth.

The sound of her voice was so low, so hushed, that M'Leyva almost hoped he could not 
hear her.  "I have caught your scent, Human.  I have tasted your blood.  It sings now 
within my veins.  You bear the mark of M'Leyva, daughter of the House of Chontok.  You 
are mine, Jake Coleman."  *And I am lost forever,* she thought despairingly.

His gaze bored within her.  She could not read his eyes at first, and she wondered if he 
might reject her.  Coleman's head moved slowly, only slightly, from side to side, in the 
human as well as Klingon gesture of negation.

His respiration told another story, however, as it deepened measurably.  He was panting 
raggedly.  Her amber eyes watched his bluestone-colored ones widen and then darken as 
the pupils dilated.  His tongue flicked out of his mouth and moistened his lips.  She 
managed to fight away the urge to moisten them with his own blood.  Truly, he could not 
understand.

To bond with a human.  The dishonor for her would be complete, but it was too late.  She 
could not back away from the call of the Blood Fever, the *'IwmeQbogh,* as it rushed 
through her body.  Lost or not, M'Leyva could not deny her need.  Shoving Coleman 
down onto the cot, M'Leyva climbed atop him.  His masculine scent ignited her desire 
more, and she moaned as she stripped off his tunic and revealed the whole of him to her 
sight.  With his insignificant spine hidden away, the body before her was not very alien at 
all, more Klingon-like than she could have expected.  His skin flushed with blood, 
darkening him to the color of some of the Klingons of the border worlds.  She could not 
suppress the thought that entered her mind as she viewed her prize.  *Kahless, but he truly 
is a beautiful male.*

Sparing his left hand, but grasping his right hand tightly within hers, she pushed 
Coleman's good arm high above his head as she pinned him beneath her.  With her free 
hand, M'Leyva stroked his face where she had marked it and was shocked when he turned 
his head to touch his lips to her open palm.

M'Leyva felt his free hand trail gently from her waist and along her side and to her face.  
That hand had been numb a short time ago but now it must ache fiercely.  With mingled 
pain and pleasure, his face registered another emotion as he murmured, "M'Leyva.  My 
Lady Ocelot."

She did not know if his hand pulled her to him or if she sank down of her own volition.  
She only knew, when his lips fed upon hers, that her blood sang.  She felt his fingers as he 
tangled them in her hair, pulling her head back and baring her throat.  As M'Leyva felt 
Coleman's teeth bite down upon the tender flesh at the base of her neck, she felt her body 
flame away, consumed in the fires of passion.  As his kisses drifted lazily down her 
cleavage, the *ngech* between her breasts, only the sensations coursing through her 
mattered.

One last thought fluttered through her brain before all thoughts became like the smoke that 
disappears into air, before she gave herself over to primal need.

They were not prisoners of this world.  He was not her captive.  They belonged to each 
other, or to no one.

"Sworn Enemies," Part 13 by Chris Dionne (Chgris@aol.com)

As he came to the bottom of the screen and prepared to continue reading, Tom became 
aware of the weighty silence in the shuttle.  When was the last time he had heard B'Elanna 
make a noise?  He couldn't recall hearing her eating her soup, or shifting about on the 
bunk, or doing anything other than breathing since he had begun to describe M'Leyva's 
feelings toward -- "Oh, Hell!" he thought to himself, realizing just what implications that 
scene might have for B'Elanna.

He slowly raised his eyes from the padd, looking up to meet hers, searching them to see if 
she had been disturbed by the passage.  He became concerned when he took note of the 
flush that darkened her cheeks, and the way her dark eyes seemed to absorb the light.  
"B'Elanna?" he almost whispered.  "I didn't realize it . . . .  I -- "

She reached out with her right hand and placed her fingertips on his lips, stilling them.  
"Don't, Tom," she breathed.  "Don't say anything."  She took a deep calming breath, then 
took the padd from him with her left hand and set it aside.  Her right hand moved from his 
lips to the back of his neck, a gentle pressure pulling him toward her as she bent her head, 
her lips moving to his.  The moment stretched into eternity, both feeling the anticipation 
building within them until it became unbearable and their lips touched, eyes fluttering 
closed.  They lost themselves in the intense sensations of the kiss, the taste of each other, 
the feel of the other, the -- 

The shuttle lurched suddenly to the left, throwing Tom off his seat to the ground.  A 
second lurch deposited B'Elanna on top of him.  As the shuttle continued to be violently 
tossed about, he wrapped his arms around her and rolled them next to the bunk, reaching 
out and grabbing its edge, hanging on with all his strength to keep them from being tossed 
the length of the ship.

"What the hell is going on?" he ground out, the strain of holding them in place showing in 
his clenched jaw and gritted teeth.

"I have no idea!" B'Elanna shouted back to him over the now constant noise of grinding 
metal and clashing rock.  "Computer -- "  She was cut off by a much louder crash, and the 
lights went out.  After a moment the red emergency lighting came on, accompanied by the 
ironically calm voice of the computer.

"Warning: hull breach detected, emergency forcefield activated.  Warning: impulse engines 
off-line.  Warning: primary coolant system failure.  Warp core overload in two minutes."

"*Va!*" B'Elanna swore, grabbing the bunk and trying to drag herself upright.  
"Computer, shut down the warp core!"

"Unable to comply.  Warp core controls not responding.  Core overload in one minute, 
forty-five seconds."

"Come on, Tom!" she growled, giving up on standing in the violently shaking shuttle.  
"We've got to get to the manual controls and take the warp core off-line!"  Suiting actions 
to words, she worked her way onto her hands and knees and crawled toward the controls.

Tom followed, doing his best to avoid being bounced into either a wall, B'Elanna, or the 
dilithium that was strapped down to the floor of the sleeping area.  Even as he thought of it, 
some of the bindings snapped, and crystals flew about.  "B'Elanna!  Look out!  The 
dilithium broke loose!"

She looked back over her shoulder just in time to see a one of the crystals bury itself point 
first in the back of her left thigh.  At first she felt nothing, then she became aware of 
warmth running down to her knee.  Then the pain hit.  Sharp, burning pain as she reached 
back and grasped the crystal, intending to pull it out.  Tom's hand on hers stopped her.

"No!  Don't do that!  We can't be sure it didn't cut an artery.  Leave it be until -- "

"Warning: warp core overload in one minute."

"Damn!"  B'Elanna let go of the crystal and resumed crawling to the controls.  The shaking 
had subsided to a slight, intermittent shudder, and she pulled herself up, quickly scanning 
the engineering readouts.  "Tom, pull the access panel to the coolant regulator!  I'm going 
to have to do this manually."

Tom stood and did as he was told.  A maze of conduits and control chips stared back at 
him.  "I've got the panel off.  Now what?"

"When I tell you, disconnect the primary regulator from the system and switch the flow to 
the secondaries."

He glanced back over his shoulder at her.  "How?"

"Oh, for -- " she swallowed her anger, and pictured the relevant systems in her mind.  "To 
the left, there should be a large horizontal conduit."

"Got it."

"Follow it to the middle of the panel.  There's a control junction with three chips.  When I 
tell you, pull the middle chip and put it in the slot above it."

"Ready."

B'Elanna began keying in the commands to activate the secondary coolant regulators.

"Secondary regulators are -- "

"Now, Tom!"  He made the switch.

" -- on-line," the computer finished.

Tom turned back to B'Elanna, wiping a trace of sweat from his brow.  "What would have 
happened if I'd done that wrong?" he asked.

She typed in a few more commands, then gingerly turned to face him.  "You mean if you'd 
swapped out the wrong chip?"  She frowned and leaned back against the console.  "You 
would have killed us both, and blown up the shuttle."  A slight wince crossed her face.

"B'Elanna?  You'd best let me check that cryst -- "  He stopped in mid-sentence as he 
realized that the crystal hadn't been in her leg when he turned from the access panel.  "You 
didn't?"

B'Elanna met his gaze, a challenge flashing in her eyes.  "Didn't what?"

"You pulled that crystal out of your thigh, didn't you?" he asked, his voice tinged with 
anger and worry.

"It felt like it was cutting my leg to pieces!  I needed to be able to move!"  Her voice trailed 
off as she took in the dark look on Tom's face.  "Tom?"

Saying nothing he turned away from her and went back into the sleeping and storage area.  
She heard him moving things about, opening a locker.  "All right, Torres, get back here 
and let me take a look at that leg."

She felt an indignant reply rising in her throat, and choked it off when she realized that he 
was right; the bleeding hadn't slowed a bit since she had pulled the crystal out.  Instead she 
pushed herself off the console and limped her way back to find Tom standing next to the 
lower bunk with his field medkit in hand.  She couldn't tell if the narrowing of his eyes 
were from anger or concern as she stopped in front of him.  "Well?" she challenged.

His only response was to remove the medical tricorder from his kit and run a preliminary 
scan.  She was taken aback by the way the blood drained from his face as he read the 
results.  "What?" she practically whispered, all challenge gone from her tone.

Tom just shook his head and knelt down in front of her.  "Don't get any ideas, Paris" she 
joked.

"Turn around," he commanded, his voice all business.  "The only idea I've got at the 
moment is to find out how much damage that crystal did to you."

She did as she was told, and heard him draw a sharp breath in through his teeth.  "What 
now?" she asked, twisting her head around to see what he was doing.

"Stop moving, will you?" he snapped.  He immediately felt sorry for doing it, but the 
amount of blood that her uniform had obviously absorbed unnerved him.  Even before the 
tricorder confirmed it, he knew that the crystal  must have cut into an artery.  He was going 
to have to perform a bit of field surgery, or B'Elanna was going to leave him all alone out 
here.  He stood slowly, trying to collect his thoughts.  He could tell that B'Elanna was 
becoming a bit upset over this whole ordeal, and figured that a bit of humor might help in 
what was to come next.

She turned to face him as she heard him stand.  "So?" she asked, jokingly.  "Am I going to 
live?"

"Oh, you'll live," he replied, "if you don't die of embarrassment first.  The crystal cut into 
an artery, B'Elanna, and you've lost a lot of blood.  I'm going to have to repair the damage 
to the artery before I can close up the cut."

Her eyes widened as he related her condition.  "Repair the --  You mean you're going to 
perform surgery on me?"

"Yes, that's exactly what I mean."

"Then get to it!  Why didn't you do it while you were examining it?"

"Not that easy," he hesitated.  "My kit has the necessary equipment, but -- "

"But what?" she interrupted, worry in her voice.  "But you can't do it?"

Tom chuckled grimly.  "No, I can quite happily do it."

"Then what?!"

"The equipment isn't as powerful as that in Sickbay.  The wound is high up on the back of 
your left leg.  To tell you the honest truth, it's at the juncture of your thigh and your -- "

"I get the point!"

"You sure did!" he laughed.  "Which means that you're going to have to strip out of your 
uniform so I can work on you." He ended the last with a dramatic leer and wiggle of his 
eyebrows to lighten the moment.  He didn't want her to see how worried he was by her 
loss of blood.

"WHAT?!"

"Sworn Enemies," Part 14 by Teena (Cayran@aol.com)

"Look, B'Elanna," he began seriously, "I need to get to that artery.  The surgery won't 
take that long, and I promise I won't look," he finished with one of his most charming of 
smiles.

B'Elanna wasn't buying it.  "Okay!" she snapped.  Much to Paris' dismay, she limped to 
the shuttle's locker and began rummaging through its contents.

"What are you doing?!" said Tom, equally concerned and exasperated with his patient.  
"B'Elanna, you need to restrict -- "

"You want me out of uniform, Mr. Paris?" she said from the depths of the locker then 
backing out with a thermal blanket.  "Fine!  But I'll give you no pleasure in performing this 
medical procedure.  Now turn around, and let me undress!"

"Thought I'd never hear you say THAT," muttered Paris as he sat in the pilot's chair.  He 
did manage a sly smile when he noticed the cockpit's window offered a slightly fuzzy 
reflection of Torres' image and movements.

"Okay, now what?" said an irritated B'Elanna a few minutes later.  Paris gathered his 
medical equipment and quickly joined her at the rear.  Torres had wrapped the blanket 
around her waist.  She still wore her tank top, and Paris might have complemented her on 
how good she still looked, if it weren't for the blood running down her leg and seeping 
through the material.

"Lie face down on the bench, if you please . . . and let Helmsman-slash-Field-Medic-Paris 
make your boo-boo feel better."

Torres gave him a strange look.  *Where does he come up with those bizarre idioms?* she 
wondered.

Paris was still attempting some humor.  He realized he was becoming more anxious about 
the procedure than the patient.  Torres now seemed more at ease about the situation.  A 
funny thing about Klingons and blood, he thought as he arranged the necessary equipment, 
they don't worry TOO much when it's pouring out of them.  He'd been with B'Elanna 
through enough scrapes to know that she tolerated and functioned quite well despite the 
pain and debilitation of her injuries.  She was amazing.

Paris began running his hand along her leg and under the blanket.  "Hey!" yelped Torres.  
"Let me do that!" She wiggled out of the blanket to expose her injury while keeping her 
backside covered and hidden from Paris.

He let out a small sigh.  "I know what, why don't you read the next passage from 'Sworn 
Enemies'?  It'll make this pass more quickly."

She briefly thought about it.  Paris then remembered where they had left off.  He was 
surprised when she agreed.  "Hand me the padd," she said.  Propping her chin onto her 
free hand, Torres began reading out loud.

* * * * * * *

A sound outside of the tent distracted M'Leyva.  Before she and Coleman had time to 
explore and to immerse themselves into one another, the entrance to the shelter was filled 
with the enormous form of Commander Tarq.

"Is this how I trained you to fight the enemy, M'Leyva?!" sneered a disgusted Tarq. "Now 
I see where your skills truly lie.  Perhaps you would better serve the *Dishonored* on 
Rure Penthe!"

She immediately disengaged herself from Coleman.  In the wake of her humiliation, her 
bloodlust quickly turned to rage.  She unsheathed her knife and with a mighty roar plunged 
the dagger into Tarq.  However, the commander remained standing and continued to 
admonish her.  "Lying with the enemy, rather than facing him in battle?!  You are no better 
than the Romulan cur.  You dishonor me, your House, The Empire -- and especially 
yourself!"

"NO!" she screamed.

M'Leyva sat upright, breathing heavily.  There was no Commander Tarq in the shelter, no 
noise but the low howl of the fierce wind.  Just the soft breathing of Coleman sleeping 
beside her.  She realized she had been dreaming.  And it had been the most powerful and 
sensuous dream she had ever had.

* * * * * * * * 

"WHAT?!" interrupted a disbelieving Paris.  "You're going to tell me that last passage was 
just an erotic dream?!"

"Should I continue?" replied Torres neatly placing the padd face-down.

"I don't believe this," said Paris picking up a dermal unit and returning his attention to 
B'Elanna's wound.  "They build you up, tantalize you then WHAM! pull the rug from 
under you.  Talk about coitu -- "

"It's a romance novel, Tom," reiterated B'Elanna.  "And if you understand them, you'd 
know it's not ALL about consummation.  I mean -- it is, in a way, I guess.  But you're 
also meant to enjoy the *development* and the path to the relationship.  The really 
interesting ones usually have the protagonists endure some danger, hardship, or 
misunderstanding before they recognize the love which has been there and that has brought 
and bound them together.  In the meantime, there's always a good amount of -- tension, 
which is supposed to keep the reader enthralled."

"So," began Tom looking purposefully at B'Elanna.  "You're saying that the hero and 
heroine solve a couple of problems . . .maybe share some adventures together as part of the 
progression of their romance -- "

"Maybe."

"-- and that before they know it, they're deeply in love with another because they've been 
making the same journey together all along?" he finished, holding her gaze.

B'Elanna didn't say anything, and then looked away from him.

He broke the silence.  "Hey, sorry this is taking longer.  It's trickier than I thought," he 
said, becoming all business.  "But I think I'm almost done.  How are you feeling?"

"I'm fine," she replied.  After Tom had applied the local anesthetic, her injury really hadn't 
bothered her at all.  What distracted her -- and what she wasn't about to tell him, especially 
now -- was the sensations of his hands and fingers brushing and pressing against the 
uninjured areas of her backside as he sutured her laceration.

"Well, anyway.  I didn't think the Blood Fever would begin so soon.  Under *normal* 
circumstances," remarked B'Elanna emphasizing normal, "its onset takes a few days to 
build up.  It's going to be interesting to see how she treats him, having had this revelation."

"Yeah," began Tom carefully.  "And I'd be interested to see how Lieutenant Commander 
Coleman handles himself when he finds out that a beautiful Klingon woman wants a taste 
of his blood."

Before B'Elanna could demand just what Lieutenant Paris meant by that statement, the com 
crackled.

"Shuttle Cochrane to Paris," came Chakotay's voice.  "Cochrane to Paris, please respond."


"Sworn Enemies," Part 15 by Maryann Hopson (MEHOPSON@aol.com)


"Paris here, Cochrane," answered Tom, slapping his combadge.  "Checking up on us?" he 
joked weakly.

"The captain was getting worried," Chakotay replied.  "It's way past your curfew, and 
you're out in her favorite shuttle."

"On a school night, too," quipped Tom, quickly running the low-powered dermal 
regenerator over B'Elanna's wound once more.  An obvious scar remained, but it would 
have to wait until they were back on *Voyager.*  The field kit was meant for emergencies 
only.  "Would you believe me if I said the shuttle won't start?" he asked, stepping back 
from B'Elanna, and motioning that she could now get up.

"Normally, no," answered Chakotay.  "But Voyager detected an ion storm passing through 
the asteroid belt about an hour ago.  Since we hadn't heard from you, I thought I should 
drop by."

"Surprise inspection, huh?" guessed Tom.

"Something like that.  So, everything all right down there?" inquired the first officer, 
turning serious.

"We're all right, Chakotay," B'Elanna informed him, breaking into the conversation.  She 
had taken her time getting up from the bench, and now stood next to Tom, the blanket tied 
around her middle, making a ridiculously long and bulky skirt.  "The shuttle's another 
matter.  We lost the navigational array while out gathering the dilithium.  Then, while we 
waited for you to notice we were missing, I'd say we were hit by that storm.  Really got 
knocked round.  We had a small hull breach, a coolant system overload, and a scare with 
the warp core."

Chakotay gave a low whistle before commenting.  "Sounds like you two have been busy.  
Anything else I should know about?"

"Yes," declared Tom at the same time that B'Elanna answered no.  She glared at him as he 
went on to explain her injury.  "It was a deep cut, and she lost a fair amount of blood.  But 
I managed to staunch the flow, clean out the wound, and suture it up.  I think she'll be 
fine, though a visit to Sickbay will be in order.  Right now she's got a pretty impressive 
scar."

"There's nothing impressive about being stabbed by a dilithium crystal in the th -- . . .leg," 
contradicted B'Elanna.  "I'll be fine, Chakotay.  Our first concern should be the shuttle."

"Agreed," affirmed the first officer.  "I have Vorik and Nicoletti here with me.  We'll 
contact *Voyager,* update them on the situation, then land to assist with -- "

"Negative, Chakotay," interrupted B'Elanna.  "The ground conditions here make it risky to 
land another shuttle.  Tom put us down in the most protected spot he could find, and we 
still managed to lose the navigational array to some passing space debris.  I don't want to 
risk damaging another shuttle.  Better Vorik and Nicoletti just beam down."

"That's not going to work, either," answered Chakotay with a sigh.  "Nicoletti says the 
interference from the storm is too high to use transporters."

"Commander."  Vorik's voice held a note of urgency not normally associated with 
Vulcans.  "I apologize for the interruption, but it is inadvisable for us to remain in the 
asteroid field much longer.  We are having difficulty maintaining shields due to the residual 
interference from the storm."

Tom and B'Elanna moved as one toward the helm.  Quickly calling up the sensor readings, 
they determined that they were safe for the moment.  "There appears to be very little 
residual interference here on the surface, Commander," detailed Tom.  "The shuttle's 
shields are holding.  Same for the warp core and life support."

"Chakotay, go," advised B'Elanna.  "We'll be fine.  We'll get some sleep, and start repairs 
in the morning.  Vorik, Nicoletti," she questioned, "how soon will it be safe for your 
shuttle to return?"

"I estimate twenty hours, Lieutenant," replied Nicoletti.  "The radiation should be fully 
dissipated by then."

"Will do," agreed B'Elanna.  "We'll work on the navigational array and check the hull 
tomorrow.  As for the rest, I'd rather wait until you arrive with real tools from 
*Voyager.*"

"Okay," said Chakotay, finally giving in.  It was not in his nature to abandon members of 
the crew to their fates, but he didn't have a choice.  "We'll see you in twenty hours.  Take 
care."

"We will," assured Tom, terminating the comlink.  He glanced at B'Elanna, sitting in the 
co-pilot's chair, and was immediately worried.  She had gone very pale and was shivering.  
"Okay, B'Elanna, we need to get you to bed," Tom ordered, pulling her up gently, and 
leading her back toward the lower bunk.

"In your dreams, Paris," she retorted, teeth chattering.  However, she didn't fight him as 
he pulled back the covers for her, and, untying the blanket from her waist, helped her into 
the bed.  B'Elanna had seen the look of deep concern on Tom's face, and knew, for the 
moment, he had no ulterior motive.  He tucked the blankets in up to her chin, adding her 
former covering to the top of the pile.

"I'm going to get you a cup of warm tea, and I want you to drink every last drop," Tom 
advised her, gently brushing her hair off her face.  He stepped away, returning moments 
later with a mug.  Kneeling on the floor, he helped B'Elanna sit up, gently rubbing her 
back as she sipped the tea.

"Tom, I'm okay," B'Elanna told him as she handed him the empty mug ten minutes later.  
"Just a slight delayed reaction.  I'm fine now."

"Good," nodded Tom, absently stroking her arm.  "But you still need to rest," he argued 
gently.  "Field medic's orders."

"Fine," grumbled B'Elanna, lying back down on the bunk.  "But the least you can do is 
read to me."

"Oh, so you want a bedtime story," grinned Tom, getting up from the floor to find the 
padd.

* * * * * * * * * * * 

Coleman was pulled from a most delightful dream by the rough movements of his bed 
partner.  She jostled his arm, eliciting a groan from the human, as sharp, needle-like pain 
raced up and down the tortured limb.  Immediately awake, Jake realized he was alone.  
M'Leyva had abandoned the cot with the speed normally reserved for evacuating ships in 
imminent danger of a warp core breach.  "What's wrong?" he asked through clenched 
teeth.

"Nothing is wrong, Human!" she spat, taking a further step away from the cot.  Jake 
finally open his eyes, and, after taking a moment to adjust to the dark conditions of the tent, 
focused on M'Leyva who stood on the other side of the small dwelling, arms crossed.  
"Why did you get up, then?"

M'Leyva only answer was to glare daggers at Jake.  *Wonderful,* he thought.  *She 
practically rips my arm off getting out of bed, but she gets to be the angry one.*  "You're 
freezing.  Hell, *I'm* freezing.  You should come back to bed," he suggested quietly.

"I -- I -- "  M'Leyva could not think of a good excuse, and she was freezing.  Coleman 
certainly didn't look like anyone she should fear.  His shoulder was obviously giving him 
pain, and in his half-asleep state he looked as harmless as a *tika* cat.  What harm would it 
be, really, for her to return to the bed?  She was very cold, and Coleman's body had been 
giving off an almost luxurious heat.  Taking a deep breath, M'Leyva moved back toward 
Coleman and the cot.

"I am coming back to bed, Coleman," she informed him stiffly.

"Wonderful," he replied sarcastically, steeling himself for another jarring that never came.  
M'Leyva eased herself back onto the cot with surprising gentleness.  She nestled  back 
against his chest, being careful not to touch his injured shoulder.  Jake caught a sudden 
whiff of her hair, surprised that it smelled almost like honey.  *Honey?* he thought 
incredulously.  *Klingons use honey shampoo?*  Suddenly, images from his earlier dream 
washed over him.

* * * * * * * 

Tom checked B'Elanna's breathing once more, and quite sure she was now asleep, stopped 
reading.  It was a shame, really, the story was beginning to pick up again.  However, he 
didn't want her to miss any of it, and she needed the sleep.

Tom got up from his seat on the floor next to her bunk, and went to find the medkit.  He 
ran a quick scan on B'Elanna, reassuring himself that she had not slipped into shock, but 
rather an exhausted slumber.  After stowing the medkit, he returned to B'Elanna's side, 
and leaning down, pressed a quick kiss to her brow.  "Sweet dreams, Bella," he 
whispered.

Tom toed off his boots, and, yawning, climbed into the top bunk.  After settling himself 
into the cramped space he was unable to resist the urge, and so leaned over the edge of the 
bunk to look down at the chief engineer one more time.  "Good night, B'Elanna," he 
breathed before calling for lights out.


"Sworn Enemies," Part 16 by Tara O'Shea (uisgejack@aol.com)

* * * * * * *

Jake opened his eyes slowly, squinting against the pale morning sunlight peering through 
the sagging folds of the thoroughly battered tent.  M'Leyva continued to sleep, breathing 
heavily, one leg thrown over one of his.  Cradling his wounded arm against his chest, he 
eased his body away from hers, his face a rictus of pain as each movement strained his 
already aching muscles.  Dust and grit had found its way inside his tunic -- though the 
clean dressing had kept the worst of it from re-infecting the ugly plasma burn.

He tugged the tent-flap open and surveyed the devastation.  His shuttle was only slightly 
more battered than before the storm, red mud splattering the scorched titanium-alloyed hull.  
The port nacelle had been sheared off by his forced landing two days earlier -- the small 
survey craft would never fly again.  But if he were lucky, the Klingons had merely 
deactivated his signal beacon rather than destroying it completely.

He felt the cool kiss of steel at his throat and closed his eyes, a brief smile tugging at his 
lips.  "Mornin,' Slug-a-bed," he said cheerfully, making no move away from the 
Klingon's blade.

M'Leyva's eyes narrowed as she circled him, her taj scraping along his jugular like a 
lover's kiss.  "Trying to escape?" she purred, and he raised a brow.

"Ya caught me.  I was headed for the local Club Med -- cleverly hidden behind an illegal 
Rom cloaking shield over yonder."  He tipped his head in the direction of the hills, and 
hissed as blood beaded against the blade's razor honed edge.  "Actually, I was going to go 
relieve myself.  You looked so pretty sleeping there, I didn't want to wake you.  But now 
that you're up, you're welcome to come along.  I could actually use your help -- "

She withdrew the dagger, growling, and he resisted the urge to clamp his fingers over the 
cut, allowing the blood to trickle down to smear the collar of his uniform.  "Go, but do not 
go far, *Human.*"

*So much for progress.*  "Wouldn't dream of it."  He flashed her a dazzling grin, and 
stepped out of the tent into the morning.  Feeling her eyes on his back, he headed in the 
exact opposite direction of his shuttle, ducking behind an outcropping of rock.  Beads of 
perspiration broke out along his upper lip as he sagged against the stone, exhausted by the 
brief walk.

M'Leyva continued to scowl at the retreating figure of the Starfleet pilot, but secretly she 
was glad he had showed some spirit.  A worthy adversary was worth a hundred mewling 
*j'kdqH* with filed down fangs and pulled claws.  If she was beholden to prolonging the 
life of her human captive, he should at least provide her with *some* sport.

She watched him walk away his back straight, his gait even.  She knew his wound was 
causing him agony, yet he showed no outward sign of it other than the waxy pallor and 
pain-dulled eyes when he believed she was not looking.  That was the mark of a warrior -- 
never show a weakness to an enemy.

She tried not to think about how it had felt to lie next to him, his scent mingling with hers, 
feel the heat radiating from his body where it touched hers.  Instead, she concentrated on 
their situation.  She could not believe her comrades had left her for dead.  That was not the 
Klingon way.  Somehow, she had to count on the fact that they had been forced to go 
without her.  If they had found A'ne's body, then they would have known she was still 
alive at least long enough to bury her.  They had to have known.

Obviously, Tarq had a plan and he would expect her to be here with her prisoner -- her 
breathing prisoner -- when the ship returned.  So her first priority was shelter, water, and 
food, in that order.  The tent was useless -- it did not effectively block out the bitter cold of 
the planet's night cycle.  It had barely kept out the water of last night's vicious rainstorm.

Her eyes flitted back to the rock Coleman had gone behind.  She counted the heartbeats, 
and then reluctantly decided he was taking far too long.

Jake was leaning against the stone, his eyes closed when he head her footsteps, the sand 
and rocks crunching beneath her boots.  "Your wound pains you," she said gruffly, and he 
opened one eye.

"Look, we have to go to my shuttle.  Our only chance is to reactivate my signal beacon."

M'Leyva's face hardened into a scowl.  This was obviously not what she had expected to 
hear.

"Unacceptable."

"Excuse me?  Do you want to die on the godforsaken rock?  I know *I* don't, and I'd be 
an idiot not to try and prevent that exact situation."

"You hope for *Federation* aid?" she spat the words out like they were poison.

"Hey, your presence here obviously means we're just as likely to attract your empire as my 
federation.  That's a chance I'm willing to take right now."  His eyes had gone dull with 
pain, his pallor waxy, but his eyes burned fiercely in his pale face.  "I have no intention of 
dying in this place.  And unless we get some help, I think that's pretty much all we have to 
look forward to."

"My ship will return."

"Yeah?  You know that for a fact?  Because it seems to me they pretty much wrote you off.  
Why come back?  We don't even know why they left.  Maybe they think you died just like 
your companion.  And if I remember correctly, you were cursing at some 'Targ' guy who I 
can only assume you weren't too fond of, from the words my translator was able to make 
out.  Now you're so sure he's on his way back for you?"

Apparently, that was the wrong thing to say.  M'Leyva whipped out that handy dagger of 
hers, and gestured at him.

"We will go to your shuttle.  It can provide shelter on this 'godsforsaken rock' as you 
called it -- better shelter than the scraps of fabric.  Then there will be no need for us to share 
a bed, and I will be able to keep a closer watch on you, *petaQ.*  But you will *not* 
access any of its systems.  I will not allow it.  *When* my ship returns, you will be treated 
to the best medical care the Empire can provide.  Our enemies are treated with more respect 
than they deserve," her lip curled in a snarl.  "As I am sure you would be quick to say your 
Federation would treat me, if I believed you."

"Which you don't."

"I have heard how your precious Federation treats its prisoners.  I have heard how the 
soul-less Vulcans probe their minds, how the humans study them like animals.  And the 
Tellerites!" she shuddered.  "No, I have no desire to be in one of your Federation prisons, 
like an animal in a pen."

"You know, I severely overestimated your side's Intelligence, if those are the stories your 
government has been spreading around."

"I do not care in what esteem you hold our *Intelligence.*  You would do best to remember 
that you are my prisoner.  You future is in MY hands."

"And what lovely hands they are," Coleman smiled widely at her, and pushed away from 
the rock, giving a gallant one-armed bow.  "After you."

She prodded him in the side with her knife, and he shrugged and allowed her to manhandle 
him in the direction of the shuttle.  At least it was a step in the right direction.  As for the 
rest, he'd burn those bridges when he came to them.  It was going to be a long, long day.


"Sworn Enemies," Part 17 by Subha Rajaram (Psyce17@aol.com)


"'It was going to be a long, long day,'" concluded B'Elanna, setting down the padd.  "And 
that, Tom, is the end of the chapter."

"You mean you're not going to read anymore?" Tom asked as he spooned some more 
cereal into his mouth.  "We're just getting to the good part!"

"You said that at the end of the last chapter, Tom!  I want to eat breakfast too, you know."  
She got out of bed and tossed the padd up onto Tom's bunk as she made her way into the 
main part of the cabin.  "I'll replicate myself something, and then you can read the next 
chapter."

As B'Elanna ordered her meal, Tom skimmed through the next section.  When the engineer 
returned, balancing a tray in her hands as she carefully slipped into the lower bunk, Tom 
waited until she stopped fidgeting to start.  "Ready?" he asked, trying to keep from 
thumbing through the text.  More than half the story was finished already.  He wanted to 
savor the rest.  A good story could be just as satisfying as a good meal.

B'Elanna settled into a comfortable position quickly and Tom began to read as soon as he 
heard her stop fidgeting.  "Coleman surveyed the interior of his ruined shuttle with a heavy 
heart . . . ."

* * * * * * * *

Coleman surveyed the interior of his ruined shuttle with a heavy heart.  What had once 
been equipped with state-of-the-art Federation technology was now as useful to him as a 
stethoscope would be to a doctor with a patient who had plasma burns.  The equipment had 
been damaged but salvageable when he'd left it; it must have been the Klingons who had 
ruined the rest beyond recognition.

"The brass aren't going to be too happy with what I did to their shuttle when I get back 
home," Jake commented as he cleared away debris from the co-pilot's chair.

"Brass?" M'Leyva looked at him quizzically as she cautiously cleared wreckage from the 
engineering console where the signal beacon was located.

"Brass -- the higher ups, superior officers," explained Coleman, taking a seat.  He 
watched, secretly amused, as M'Leyva futilely jabbed at the control panel.  There was no 
way she'd be able to decipher the Federation Standard written on all the panels, thereby 
hampering any restoration work she could do for the beacon.  M'Leyva seemed to realize 
this at the same time Jake did, and after a moment's thought, she turned to him.  "You will 
repair the beacon," she said gruffly.

Hiding a smile at seeing her obvious embarrassment at having to come to him for 
assistance, he picked his way through the rubble and settled himself at the console.  He 
tried to enter an initialization command for the emergency signal beacon into the computer 
panel, but nothing happened.  "Damn," he swore softly.  "This is even worse than I 
thought.  Get me a tool kit from the back, will you?"

M'Leyva complied without argument, much to Coleman's relief.  After she handed the 
requested kit to him, she returned to scrutinizing the unfamiliar consoles.  She sat in the co-
pilot's chair with her nose wrinkled in such disgust, that Coleman was prompted to look up 
from his repairs to ask, "Something wrong?"

"This chair.  Do all Federation shuttles come equipped like this?"

"Yes," Coleman said, unsure of what she was driving at.

"Then you humans truly are frail creatures.  Klingons find no need to adorn their ships 
with such unnecessary accouterments.  A Klingon would stand at his post for two days and 
never utter a complaint," she declared.

Coleman was getting more than a little rankled.  He was in pain, he was tired, cold, hungry 
and to top it off, M'Leyva was starting on a 'Klingons Are Superior' spiel.

"Listen," he spat out angrily, jabbing a finger at her.  "I may just be a pathetic, puny little 
human to you, but my people aren't the ones who abandoned me."  Before she could 
protest and whip out her ubiquitous dagger, he continued furiously, "And if we puny 
humans haven't been conquered by great, grand, glorious Klingon Empire yet, then we 
must not be as helpless as you seem to think we are.  Right now, I am your only hope of 
getting out of this physical manifestation of Hell, so you will stop insulting me and either 
help me or sit down and SHUT THE HELL UP!"

"You are MY prisoner," shouted M'Leyva, jumping out of her chair.  "I will tell you what 
to do, Human!"  She had her dagger in hand before Coleman could even blink.

"What are you going to do?  Kill me?  I don't think so.  And even if you do, so what?" 
retorted Jake.  "I'm not married, and I don't have any immediate family still living.  You 
won't hurt me if you murder me.  In fact, you'll just put me out of my misery.  The only 
person you'll be harming is yourself, unless you prefer to leave whatever family you have 
behind and die here."

M'Leyva scowled menacingly at Jake.  He glared back defiantly.  It was an impasse.

Finally, M'Leyva stepped back.  "You will continue with your repairs, Jake Coleman," she 
ordered in a voice of steel.  "I will watch to make sure you do not try any of your 
Federation tricks."  She roughly pushed him toward the signal beacon, and Coleman 
winced at the pain that ran through him.  He schooled his face back into a poker one.  No 
way he was going to let her see how much distress he was in.

He resumed tinkering with the beacon.  Repair work was slow going since he only had one 
hand to work with, but he resisted the idea of asking M'Leyva to help him.  She thought 
humans were weak enough without him having to give her evidence to support the theory.

M'Leyva sat rigidly in her chair, quite aware of the fact that the frigid atmosphere in the 
cabin did not have much to do with the lack of functioning environmental controls.  She 
pretended to be uninterested in him, but when she thought he wasn't looking, she studied 
his pallid face and mussed blond hair.  She would never admit it, but Coleman was rapidly 
making her rethink all her former judgments on the human race.

Coleman moved to the engineering panel to see if he could do anything useful from there.  
As he bent his head over in concentration, determined not to look at his captor, he still 
couldn't help noticing the fragrance of honey drifting by his nose.


"Sworn Enemies," Part 18 by Cheryl Palay (CherPal2@aol.com)


Jake forced himself to concentrate on the task at hand.  It wasn't easy.  Between the 
throbbing pain that now seemed to radiate throughout his entire body and the distraction of 
M'Leyva's honey-scented hair -- not to mention the mixed signals he'd been receiving from 
her -- his thoughts wandered and he found himself reliving the dream he'd had the night 
before . . . .

He was back on Earth, enjoying a holiday in a beautiful, sunny, *warm,* tropical resort.  
A pleasant lethargy filled him as he lay drowsily by the water, listening to the laps of the 
waves hitting the shore.  Beautiful women were all around but he wasn't interested in 
them.  He was waiting for *her* and his patience was soon rewarded.  She approached 
from a distance, merely a silhouette against the backdrop of the sunshine-filled blue sky.  
Her tall, graceful form slowly came into focus and as she neared, Jake rose and smiled in 
tenderness and pride.  He breathed in deeply as her perfume mixed in with the sea air -- a 
fresh, clean scent with a touch of honey.  He opened his arms to welcome her and she 
happily glided into his embrace.  In the long seconds before he leaned in to kiss her, he 
drank in her beauty -- her dark, long, flowing hair that he now tangled his fingers in; her 
fiery brown eyes that could pierce him with her rage or melt him with her passion; the 
gentle ridges on her forehead that he loved to caress . . . .

'No!'  Mortified by where his thoughts were taking him, he abruptly pulled himself back to 
reality.  His confusion led to anger at himself for allowing such thoughts to enter his mind 
and he unwittingly hit a key on the engineering console much harder than necessary.  The 
loud noise and his subsequent swearing caused M'Leyva to rush to the console.  Surprised 
at the ferocious expression on Coleman's face, she quickly surveyed the console to see 
what could have caused such a reaction.

Jake grabbed his sore arm and cradled it as he waited for the shooting pain to subside.  
Taking deep breaths to keep himself from passing out, he slowly eased himself into the 
chair.  Glancing over at his captor, who surprisingly waited patiently for an explanation, he 
nearly laughed at the bewildered expression on her face.  If she only knew.

"Sorry," Jake offered weakly.  "Your friends didn't leave me much to work with here.  I 
guess I'm getting a little frustrated and took it out on myself.  Something I don't intend to 
do again," he finished wryly.

Jake expected her to be annoyed with him for the *weak, human* outburst so he was 
surprised when M'Leyva merely grunted, "It is a trait I, too, have had difficulty with."  
She hovered near him, trying to decipher the controls he had been working on.

"Maybe this would be a good time to break for lunch," Jake suggested, anxious to put 
some space between the two of them.  "The food dispenser isn't working but there are 
some more rations in the back."  He was relieved when she agreed and went in search of 
the food.  Jake fervently hoped that she had misinterpreted the blush effusing his face as a 
sign of his exertion rather than the embarrassment he was feeling.  *What is wrong with 
you?* he chided himself.  He had to stop thinking of her *like that.*  This was a life or 
death situation.  He couldn't afford to indulge in fantasy.  *Because that's exactly what it is 
-- pure fantasy, nothing more.*  That settled, for the time being anyway, Jake concentrated 
once again on the beacon.

Foraging through the supplies in the rear of the shuttle, M'Leyva heard the clicks and beeps 
as Coleman worked at the engineering console.  She was puzzled by his behavior.  He 
continued to surprise and confuse her, contradicting everything she'd been taught about the 
humans.  Remembering her dream, she felt the heat of desire, as palpable now as it had 
been in her dream.  It wasn't the dream itself that disturbed her so much anymore.  It was 
the dawning realization that the dream becoming a reality wasn't as appalling as it had been.  
She knew she had come to admire Coleman.  He was not so different from some of the 
Klingon males she knew.  But he was, after all, a human.  And he was her prisoner.  She 
had her duty to perform.  Her honor as a Klingon warrior was at stake.  She couldn't 
afford to become attached to Coleman.  A maelstrom of emotions cascaded over her as she 
struggled to balance everything she'd ever heard about humans with the reality of the living 
specimen who was her prisoner -- a prisoner who had already saved her life once and who 
might possibly be her savior again if he managed to contact one of their ships.

"baQa!" she muttered impatiently.  *Soon Tarq will return and Coleman will be dealt with.  
Then the matter will be out of my hands and he will no longer be of any concern to me.*  
That settled, M'Leyva abruptly seized the food and made her way to the front of the shuttle.  
Just as she reached the conn Coleman suddenly shouted triumphantly, "Yes!" and spun 
around to face her.

"It's working," he announced excitedly.  "It's not as strong a signal as I'd like -- but it's 
out there."

M'Leyva leveled her gaze at him and stated calmly, "So now we will wait."  She set down 
the rations.  "I do not know what these *Federation* foods are.  They do not look 
appetizing -- I doubt they have any flavor to them."

Jake chuckled.  "Considering they ARE Starfleet rations, I would have to agree.  But right 
now I'm so hungry I really don't care."  To prove his point, he began eating 
enthusiastically and was pleased to see her begin eating, rather tentatively, as well.  They 
ate in silence.  After a while he looked at M'Leyva and commented curiously, "You don't 
seem too happy about the beacon being functional again.  Are you worried that my ship 
will arrive before yours?"

Stung by the insult she perceived from the innocently spoken question, M'Leyva suddenly 
bolted to her feet, her eyes blazing.  Towering over the sitting human, she angrily hissed, 
"Your Federation does not scare me, Human.  No matter who arrives first, YOU are still 
MY prisoner.  Tarq is the one who wanted you alive.  If he does not return, then your life 
has no meaning to me.  You will do well to remember that!"

Jake was startled by her outburst.  *And here I thought we were doing so well,* he 
ruefully thought to himself.  Aloud he replied, "As if I could forget!  Look, I'm sorry.  I 
didn't mean anything by it.  I just didn't want you to worry about what might happen if my 
ship arrives first.  I know you've heard some terrible things about the Federation but, 
believe me, it's all just propaganda.  If the Henry Martin gets here first, I promise you, 
you'll be treated with respect."

She glared at him, clearly not believing him.  "Fine," he sighed, resigned to the futility of 
the conversation. "Believe what you want.  Apparently nothing I say will convince you.  
Maybe you'll just have to find out for yourself, if it comes to that."

M'Leyva said nothing as she fumed silently at herself.  She knew very well that there was 
an equal chance the Federation ship would arrive before Tarq did.  For Coleman to suspect 
her uneasiness at the possibility of the humans arriving first only made her more 
determined to behave like the Klingon warrior she was supposed to be.  She had allowed 
the human's presence to distract her for far too long.  If she chose to believe him, that 
would mean that the Empire had been lying all these years.  That was inconceivable.

She moved towards the shuttle exit.  "Where are you going?" Jake asked, not expecting an 
answer.

M'Leyva needed some time and space to think through the events of the past couple of days 
clearly.  She could not do it in the tight confines of the shuttle with the Starfleet pilot only 
centimeters away.  But she could not tell Coleman that.  "I do not intend to sit around this 
shuttle like a *tika* cat doing nothing when there is dilithium to be gathered," she retorted 
instead.  She exited the shuttle and slammed the door behind her.  Jake blinked in surprise 
at the sudden turn of events.

"Be my guest," he replied dryly to the closed door.  Turning back to the console, he started 
tinkering with the communication controls.  He'd already managed to reroute some of the 
power conduits while working on the beacon.  With any luck, he'd be able to get 
communications working again.

Fortunately, luck was with Lieutenant Commander Coleman that day.  It wasn't long 
before he heard the crackling static of the com station come to life.  "Now, if only someone 
is actually out there," Jake muttered as he concentrated his full attention on trying to pick up 
a signal.  After many long minutes a voice suddenly broke through the static.

"This is the Henry Martin to Lieutenant Commander Coleman.  Please respond."

Just as Jake heard the hail, the shuttle door swung open and slammed against the wall.  
Jake froze as he and the Klingon stared at each other.


"Sworn Enemies," Part 19 by Celeste Strauss (CGAMS@aol.com)


"Do not answer!"  M'Leyva spat.  "Get away from the console!"

"What?" Coleman began.  Before he could continue, the com station crackled again.

"M'Leyva, stand by for retrieval," came the gruff voice of Commander Tarq.

Jake spun around at the sound of the Klingon commander.  This was not good!  He was 
determined to let the Henry Martin know he was here in order to forestall capture by the 
Klingons.

Suddenly Jake found himself crashing to the floor.  Landing on his injured shoulder, he 
experienced a moment of excruciating pain before the edges of his vision clouded.  Just as 
he slipped into unconsciousness, he registered the form of M'Leyva crouching over him.

* * * * * * * 

The com station crackled.  "Chakotay to Paris.  Come in."

Tom jumped, startled.  "Paris here, Commander.  Go Ahead."

"Tom, our sensors are showing another ion storm will be passing through here in 
approximately 12 hours.  This storm is shaping up to be much more severe than the last.  
You and B'Elanna will be in grave danger if you're not out of there when it arrives.  Since 
the radiation is still too high to risk transporter usage, we have decided that landing the 
shuttle to retrieve you and hopefully effect repairs is our only option."

B'Elanna and Tom exchanged concerned glances.  "Understood, Commander," Tom 
grimaced.  This was not good.  The possibility of the second shuttle being damaged in the 
landing was not minimal.

"I have found a site approximately 40 kilometers from your position which looks 
promising.  We will be there momentarily.  Chakotay out."

"Well, I guess we better suit up," Tom said turning to the storage locker.  Sighing, 
B'Elanna limped over to join him.


"Sworn Enemies," Part 20 by Janet Lorang (JanetRL@aol.com)


"No, you stay here, B'Elanna.  I don't want you to aggravate your injury.  I'll let you 
know if we need your help."

B'Elanna knew she wasn't that badly hurt, but she wasn't about to get into an EVA suit if 
she didn't have to.  As Tom donned his, her eyes drifted over to the padd they had been 
reading.  She knew it wasn't fair to read ahead, but it wouldn't hurt just to peek at the next 
few pages . . . .

* * * * * * * 

"Acknowledged," grunted M'Leyva in response to Tarq's hail.  "Do you wish me to collect 
the dilithium I found during your absence?"

"Dilithium!  It IS present on the planet, then!"  After a pause he continued, "Honorable 
work, M'Leyva.  You may proceed.  Signal when your work is complete.  Is the prisoner 
ready for transport?"

M'Leyva glanced at the unconscious lieutenant.  Although he had been knocked out by the 
pain of his injury, he looked to be innocently asleep.  M'Leyva knew she should be 
disgusted by his weakness, but she couldn't keep her mind off of the previous night and 
her uncharacteristic dream.  "*Hu'tegh!*  What have you done to me, Human?"  She 
growled so softly that the com system didn't transmit her words.

Jake stirred and moaned in response.  M'Leyva's large amber eyes softened in a very un-
Klingon way as she looked at the Starfleet officer's prone form and sighed.  "No, Tarq.  
Cole -- the weakling proved unable to withstand the harsh conditions here.  I made good 
use of his remains last night.  The dilithium should be ready for transport in two hours."

"Standing by.  Bird-of-prey *naQjej* out."

The Klingon turned to look at Coleman.  He was looking back at her, clearly fighting back 
pain but also puzzled by M'Leyva's conversation with Tarq.  "And I was looking forward 
to a nice warm cell tonight," Coleman quipped.

"Quiet, Human!  Contact your ship and instruct them to retrieve you in ninety minutes."  At 
Coleman's questioning look she snarled, "Now!  Unless you really want to be tonight's 
blood wine."

Jake did as instructed, worrying about both how the Henry Martin was going to stay out of 
a firefight with the bird-of-prey and with his own fate for the next hour and a half.  "What 
now, m'lady?  Less than two hours left on The Planet of Love."  He had meant his remark 
as a weak joke, but the Klingon didn't seem to appreciate the humor.

"Didn't I tell you to be quiet, *petaQ*?" M'Leyva ripped off her tunic as she approached 
the lieutenant with her teeth bared, skin radiating heat.  The last thing Jake registered before 
she landed on top of him was the honey smell he had noticed earlier, now overwhelmingly 
strong and having a very strange effect on him.

"Sworn Enemies," Part 21 by MacIntyre7@AOL.com

"Whoa, *whoa,* WHOA!!" Coleman grunted as M'Leyva rested her full weight on him.  
"Take it easy!"

In response M'Leyva growled low in her throat.  "I hunger for the taste of your blood, 
Coleman."  With a snarl, lightning fast, she nipped him on the side of the throat.  Coleman 
felt her sharp teeth break the skin just under his jaw.  Despite his injuries, he felt a flood of 
desire such as he had never known before.  With his good hand he grabbed her by the jaw 
to hold her still while he shook his own head to clear it.

"Lady," he gasped, "you don't know what you're saying.  I'm next door to being dead and 
we both have ships out there just waiting to blow each other out of the sky.  We should just 
report in and get the hell out of here."

She stared at him with glassy eyes.  "Are you saying you are not capable?"

"HEY!  For your information, I'm as *capable* as any guy you're likely to meet on this 
godforsaken hole of a planet!  I've been *capable* since the moment I saw you hauling 
your backside up that mountain ready to tear me to pieces!  I'm just saying -- "  He paused, 
and noticed how hard they were both breathing.  "I thought we were sworn enemies."

M'Leyva studied his face in great detail, memorizing it.  That tiny scar on his temple.  The 
rough blond beard coming in over his face.  The blue eyes shining with a heat hot enough 
to burn.  She knew in her heart there was more to her feelings for this man than the 
stirrings of Blood Fever.  She had found in this human a warrior the equal to any she had 
ever known.  He was proud, strong, fearless and resourceful.  He had the endurance of the 
sabre-cat and the heart of the bear.  Great Kahless!  A pairing with such as he could be no 
dishonor.  She wanted him, even if it meant that there should never be another.

"You are not my enemy," she said, huskily.  Turning her head, she bit him again at the 
base of his thumb.

Still holding her firmly by the head, Jake bent his face to hers.

Less than two meters away, the small black shape of one of Eros Prime's deadly vipers lay 
under some broken shards of transparent aluminum, easily seen by any eyes that might be 
looking.  None were.

* * * * * * * * 

*No,* thought B'Elanna to herself.  *No, no, no, no, NO!*  She laid the padd down and 
closed her eyes, surprised at how fast and hard her heart was beating.  She waited until her 
heartbeat returned to normal, then she lay quietly on her bunk staring up at the ceiling of the 
shuttle, thinking.  *Isn't that the way it always goes?  It's like true love never gets to win.  
I know this woman.  She's been looking all her life for that one man.  The one who makes 
her feel complete.  The one who helps her finally know herself.  I know just what she was 
thinking outside that shuttle.  Waiting to hear a voice from the communicator.  Dreading it.  
Knowing their time was limited; desperately trying to think of something.*

She felt an uncomfortable twinge in her upper thigh, and turned onto her side to ease it.  As 
she did her eyes caught sight of Tom's Starfleet jacket, casually tossed onto the top of the 
storage locker when he had donned his EVA suit.  On a sudden whim she reached over and 
pulled it to her.  She imagined she could still feel his body heat trapped in the folds, but it 
had been over an hour since he had left and she knew it was just her imagination.  With her 
heightened sense of smell, however, she could still detect his scent on it.  She closed her 
eyes and breathed it in, feeling the drowsiness caused by yesterday's loss of blood stealing 
over her.

B'Elanna dozed with troubled dreams.  She saw images of dilithium crystals scattered 
about an uprooted tree, a bloody shoulder, broken aluminum, Klingons around a campfire.  
She restlessly tossed and turned, found the jacket and quieted again, but the images would 
not let her rest.  She saw herself standing, knife drawn.  She saw a handsome blond-haired 
man, felt his hand on her face, and saw a snake poised to strike him in the throat, hissing 
of death.

"NO!" she screamed, sitting up fast.  Through the viewscreen of the shuttlecraft she could 
see the weirdly beautiful swirls of the ion storm kicking up dust on the asteroid.  It must 
have come in before Chakotay had expected.  Even through the duritanium walls she could 
hear the buzz of ionic interference.  She jumped up and limped to the command console, 
looking quickly at the chronometer.  She had been asleep for seven hours!  "This is 
Torres," she barked into the com unit.  "Paris, come in!"  Static.  "Chakotay, Vorik!  Can 
you hear me?"  More static.  "Voyager, do you read me?"  Even more static.

B'Elanna turned and started yanking on her EVA suit.  Something was terribly, terribly 
wrong.


"Sworn Enemies," Part 22 by Audra Almond (DNZR4HM@aol.com)


*I've got to stay focused,* she thought.  *I can't let my fe -- my emotions get in the way.  
I've got to stay -- *  B'Elanna gave up trying to focus.  It was time to go into action, and 
for once she was thankful for the strength that her Klingon blood gave her; she was going 
to need it.  She grabbed the emergency kit, praying all the while that she wouldn't have to 
use it, and ran outside.

The ion storm was getting thicker.  She couldn't see more than about five feet in front of 
her face.  She knew the tricorder wouldn't work in this kind of interference; there was no 
point in trying that.  If it weren't for the helmet, she was sure she could find him by his 
smell.  For a moment she almost thought she had caught his scent, but she knew it must 
have been have been her imagination.  Over the whine of the storm, even hearing would be 
unreliable.  The only sense she could truly rely on was touch.  Giving up on all of her other 
senses, she got down on her hands and knees and began crawling around the shuttle.

Tom's only hope was that B'Elanna hadn't come out in this mess to find him.  He knew 
she would -- he doubted it would be for any personal reasons, as she had made her 
intentions quite clear -- but she would never abandon a crewmate.  With all of the blood 
that she had lost, however, he didn't know how long she could survive out here.  He laid 
his head against some debris, closed his eyes, and prayed to whoever might be listening for 
her safety.

 * * * * * * * *

"You don't have a few minutes!  Get those sensors running!"

"I'm sorry, sir, there's too much interference, and I -- "

"I don't care!  Find a way!  I am not leaving them out there in that mess to die!"  Chakotay 
yelled, and immediately regretted it.  Such a display of emotion was not becoming to a first 
officer.  *My goodness, I've spent too much time with Tuvok.*  "I'm sorry, Harry.  I 
didn't meant to yell.  I just -- "

"I know, Commander.  I'm on it."

 * * * * * * * *

B'Elanna cursed.  She had gone all the way around the shuttle, but there was no sign of 
Tom.  But he was close by.  She could sense it.

Tom jerked up, hitting his head on the bottom of the shuttle.  *That's going to smart.*  
Then he thought he heard her.  "B'ELANNA!"

"Tom?"  It sounded almost like he was underneath the shuttle.  Of course, that would give 
shelter and . . . "I'm coming, Tom!"

It was her!  She was coming his way . . . .  He could see her now, almost make out her 
face.  "B'Elanna!"

"Tom!  Are you all right?"

"Other than a nasty bruise on the head and a slightly broken leg, I'm fine."

"Where are the others?"

"They were beamed to the ship.  They almost had us, too, but the ion storm was just too 
heavy."

"Do you think they'll find us?"

"I don't know."

B'Elanna laid her body over his, trying to shelter him from the storm.  She knew it was 
futile, but she couldn't help trying.  She comforted herself in the knowledge that whatever 
happened, they would be found together.  Somehow, the old fears didn't matter anymore.  
She just wanted him to hold her.

"B'Elanna?"

"Yes, Tom?"

"Did I ever tell you your hair smelled like honey?"

 * * * * * * * *

"Commander?"

"Yes, Harry?"

"I'm, I'm detecting debris in the storm, and it's . . . ."

"Federation."

"Yes, Commander."

"Captain to the bridge.  We have a problem."


"Sworn Enemies," Part 23 by CCDionne (Chgris@aol.com)


" -- from a shuttle, Commander.  But there isn't enough mass for it to be complete."

Kathryn Janeway strode onto the bridge into the middle of a report from a very tense Harry 
Kim.  Glancing back at him, she noted the intensity with which he was staring at his 
console, trying to analyze sensor readings scrambled by the ion radiation of the storm.  
Even this far from the center of the disturbance, the ship's systems were being degraded.  
She hated to think of what Tom and B'Elanna were going through in the shuttle.

"Give me a status report, Chakotay," she said, settling into her chair.

"We managed to get back to the asteroid before the storm hit.  Our landing site was a fair 
distance from Tom and B'Elanna's.  Nicoletti and I started for their shuttle, and Mr. Paris 
met us half-way.  Just about that time, the ion storm kicked up, and Vorik transported 
everyone back to our shuttle.  Tom insisted on going back for B'Elanna, but I overruled 
him.  We had him on the shuttle, and she was as safe as possible in theirs.  He agreed with 
me and headed back to the crew compartment.  I thought he was going to get out of his 
EVA suit.  The storm was getting too intense for the shuttle, so I started heading back.  As 
the storm got worse, I sent Lieutenant Nicoletti back to get Paris.  I wanted him at the 
conn.  She came running back and told me he wasn't on board.  Apparently he stayed long 
enough to get the repair kit we were bringing them and then transported himself back down 
to the asteroid."

"He used the transporters to beam himself into an ion storm?!?" Janeway interrupted 
incredulously.

"Yes, he did.  We were unable to trace him, and the computer had no record of his 
transport.  He must have bypassed it somehow.  I knew we had to get the shuttle out of 
there and proceeded back to Voyager.  Now Harry has detected some debris at the fringes 
of the storm."

"Harry?"

"Yes, Captain.  The storm has died down somewhat, and I've been able to determine that 
there is insufficient mass for the debris to be an entire shuttle.  At most, it's one nacelle and 
a bit of plating."

"In other words, their shuttle may still be space worthy."

"Yes."

"Tuvok, is there any way we can take Voyager into the asteroid field after them?"

"The asteroid field is of sufficient density to overwhelm our shields even without the added 
difficulty of the ion storm, Captain.  It would be inadvisable to penetrate any distance into 
the field."

"Any distance?  How far can we go in safely?"

"Any distance beyond 2,000 kilometers and the asteroids become large enough to do 
significant damage to Voyager."

"Chakotay," Kathryn turned to her first officer.  "How far in are Tom and B'Elanna?"

"Almost 10,000 kilometers, Captain.  We'd be nearly within transporter range if it wasn't 
for the storm."

"Take the helm, Commander, and take us in.  When that storm abates, I want us in position 
to retrieve our two wayward lieutenants."

 * * * * * * * * * *

"Come on, Tom," B'Elanna nearly shouted.  "We've got to get into the shuttle.  These 
suits aren't going to take much more of this."  She glanced worriedly at her wrist readout.  
"Mine is approaching its limit for ion filtration, so I know yours has to be worse."  She 
reached down and pulled him to his feet, wincing at the obvious pain his broken leg was 
causing him.

An indrawn hiss of breath betrayed his pain as he put enough weight on his broken leg to 
stand.  "Grab the repair kit, B'Elanna," he groaned.  "Then you're going to have to help 
me hobble back there."

She complied, hooking the pack to the back of her suit and wrapping Tom's arm around 
her shoulders.  "Let's go, Tom."  She started off, thankful for the minimal gravity the large 
asteroid afforded.  If it had been any more or less, she wasn't sure how she would have 
handled getting Tom back inside the shuttle.  As it was, he was able to hop along, using 
her to balance himself on his undamaged leg.

The ion radiation flashing about them was a constant distraction.  The ion storm sparkling 
and flashing along the hull drew her eye like a magnet, keeping them on course.  "Just a 
few more steps, Tom."

"Easy for you to say," he groaned.  "You can take steps, not hops."

She smiled to herself at the teasing tone in Tom's voice.  She knew he was hurting, but if 
he could still joke about it, it couldn't be that bad.  Once they were inside the shuttle, 
B'Elanna placed the repair kit on the floor, pushing aside a stray crystal with her boot.  
That accomplished, she rapidly removed her EVA suit, dropping each piece into a sealed 
container to decontaminate it.  Hearing a groan from behind her, she turned to find that 
Tom had managed to remove the upper half of his suit and was leaning against the wall, 
panting from the pain of moving.

"Not bad, Tom, but it looks like you can use a little help with the rest of it."  Kneeling 
down she swiftly divested him of the remainder of his suit, placing it in the container with 
hers.  She had just helped him back to one of the bunks when the computer broke in.

"Warning: radiation count exceeding hull safety value.  Warning: anti-matter containment 
field failing."

"ghay'cha!  Computer, raise shields!" B'Elanna swore, letting Tom fall the rest of the way 
to the bunk unceremoniously.  Without an apology, she ran forward to the pilot's chair and 
called up a display of the shuttle's power reserves.

"Warning: shield strength at 50% and falling.  Energy reserves will be depleted in three 
minutes.  Warning: anti-matter containment failure in two minutes."

"Owww!" Tom yelled, clutching at his broken leg.  "Damn it, B'Elanna, that hurt!"

She didn't even bother to look up from the console, and yelled back to him.  "Would you 
rather die?" she snarled sarcastically.  "I've got to get the impulse engines back on-line so I 
can keep the shields up, or it isn't going to matter how much you hurt.  There isn't enough 
power left in the reserves to keep the shields up and reinforce the containment field.  The 
radiation from the storm is draining everything we've got."

"Jettison the warp nacelles then, B'Elanna," Tom groaned, trying to adjust his leg to a 
more comfortable position.  "Blow them into space, and let them take the anti-matter with 
them.  If you can repair the impulse engines that will be enough for us to get back to 
Voyager."

"I'm already doing that; I just hoped there was something else to be done."  Tom looked up 
from his leg and was stunned by how closely she resembled the mental image of M'Leyva 
he had drawn from the book.  So beautiful, so fierce and full of passion; if only he could 
find some way to have that passion directed at him.  "Hang onto something, I'm jettisoning 
them now, and if the containment field fails before it disperses the anti-matter -- "  She 
didn't bother finishing her sentence; both of them knew what the resulting explosion would 
be like.  "Here goes," she said, stabbing her thumb at the final key.  With a jolt and a loud 
thud, the shuttle nacelles flew out and away from it, propelled by the minute explosive 
charges in the emergency system.  B'Elanna watched them for a moment, spinning away 
into the asteroid field, spilling anti-matter from the control valves.  Even as she watched, 
her fingers flew over the command console, diverting any available power to the failing 
shields to buy her the time she needed to repair the impulse engine.

"Everything you need should be in there," Tom said, biting down a groan as he tried to 
shift the kit toward her with his good leg.  "Nicoletti said she and Joe packed it with 
anything they thought you might need to get this thing flying again."

B'Elanna turned and began tearing into the kit.  She nearly sighed in relief when she pulled 
out everything needed to repair the impulse engine control runs.  "Yes, they did," she said, 
standing and moving to the access panel.  "With any luck I'll have this fixed long before 
the reserves run out."

Tom watched her as she moved about, rewiring the control runs with swift, confident, 
graceful movements.  Once again he was reminded of just how much B'Elanna resembled 
his mental image of M'Leyva.  Her slim frame bespoke of a great strength to match her 
passionate nature, and he had felt for himself just how delightful it felt to run his hands 
over that smooth, satiny skin when he had performed that bit of field surgery on her oh-so-
delightfully rounded a-- 

The shuttle lurched suddenly, throwing B'Elanna against his shoulder.  "AAHH!" he 
yelled, all thoughts of B'Elanna's curves driven from his mind as she bumped into him 
while fusing the last of the controls into place.  Clutching at his injury to immobilize it as 
much as possible while moving it away from her, he admonished her in a pain-filled groan.  
"B'Elanna, do you think you might be just a bit more careful?!  That HURT!"

She ignored him for a moment, intent on making the final connection to restore the impulse 
engines.  With a satisfied sigh she tapped the controls, and the sound of the engines 
powering up vibrated through the hull.  Their lives no longer in imminent danger, she 
turned and took the medical tricorder from Tom.  "I told you, Tom.  Better a little pain than 
being dead.  That must have been one of the nacelles."  Kneeling down she ran the 
tricorder along his leg.  A mischievous light glinted in her eyes as she read the results of the 
scan.  "Well, I always heard that paybacks were Hell, but this -- "  Her sentence died in a 
chortle of laughter.

"What?" Tom demanded.  "What's so funny?"

Unable to contain herself, B'Elanna handed the instrument back to Tom so he could see for 
himself.  "I fractured my femur in two places," he began reading.  "One near the center and 
the other just below my -- I don't believe it!"

"Believe it, Helmboy!  Just below your hip, so now it's MY turn to see you without your 
uniform."  She struggled to keep the laughter out of her voice.  "Strip 'em off, Helmboy!"


Sworn Enemies, Part 24 by J.A. Toner (jamelia116@aol.com)


Strategically arranging a blanket across his lap to preserve what little decorum was possible 
under the circumstances, B'Elanna cut Tom's clothing off the lower half of his body.  Any 
mirth she might have felt that turn about was fair play vanished when she saw him fight to 
control his composure every time she jostled him while she pulled the cloth free from 
underneath him.

"Gods, Tom!  I can see the muscles of your thigh bunching up.  Is that from the break?"  
She looked up to see him nod.  His face was frighteningly pale.

From between clenched teeth, Tom forced out, "Yes, that's what happens when the femur 
breaks like this.  Muscle spasms.  Bad ones.  B'Elanna, you're going to have to give me an 
anti-shock hypo, or I might not stay conscious long enough to tell you how to help me."

"Okay, Tom," she whispered.  As she rummaged around in the field medic case for the 
anti-shock hypo, as well as one with a pain reliever, she glanced over at Tom's thigh.  
While the degree of displacement of the broken bone didn't appear great and there wasn't 
too much bleeding, considering the injury, B'Elanna knew he must be in excruciating pain.

When she had both medications in her hand, she showed them to Tom.  "OK, give me fifty 
cc's of the Mitigarin for shock.  And you can give me twenty of Tri-Vicodin for the pain 
for now.  I need to stay awake."  B'Elanna followed his instructions to the letter.  Tom was 
the trained medic, not her.  She knew very little about setting a broken bone in the field, but 
now she vaguely remembered from her limited first aid training that fractures of the femur 
were among the most difficult to treat.

She paused after giving him the injections until his breathing eased up a bit.  When he was 
panting more evenly, she asked, "What do you want me to do next?"

"Okay.  When the femur breaks, the thigh muscles go into serious spasms and contract.  
Hard.  Since we aren't in Sickbay with any of the doc's modern equipment, we'll need to 
go the old-fashioned way -- a traction splint.  We need something like a board about one 
and a quarter meters long by ten centimeters or so."

Casting her eyes around the shuttle, B'Elanna recalled that one panel she'd just removed 
from the console she'd been fixing was close to those dimensions.  "Will this do?  It's a 
couple of centimeters wider than we need, but it won't bend or break.  It's made from a 
duritanium alloy.  You need it to be stiff, right?"

"Yeah, I do."  Tom helped her position the splint -- a panel that was perfectly straight 
lengthwise, but very slightly curved along the width.  If anything, that curve made it fit 
more snugly to Tom's leg than it would have if it were perfectly flat.  It wasn't a perfect 
splint, but it would have to do.

Carefully, with Tom's help, she managed to slide it under his leg.  Despite his pain, Tom 
grunted out instructions for B'Elanna, getting her to tie the arms of her uniform top around 
his ankle to form a hitch.  B'Elanna hated herself when she pulled the hitch over the end of 
the splint, even though Tom told her it had to be done.

Her respect for Tom increased dramatically as she saw how well he bore his agony.  Tom 
Paris might whine about a stubbed toe or a hangnail, but in a serious an injury like this one, 
he calmly led her through the procedure step by step, the only obvious signs of his extreme 
distress being the occasional catch in his voice and the closing of his eyes -- until she 
yanked on his leg to set the bone in place.  Then, he yelped out curses while urging her to 
use all her strength to pull firmly, so the bone would settle back at both ends to where it 
needed to be.  Perspiration poured off his forehead and soaked the bunk beneath him, but 
she knew there was no way he could control that.

By the time she was finished fastening his leg to the splint with strips of Tom's uniform 
pants, both she and Tom sweating profusely, she from exertion, Tom, because of the pain 
that the Tri-Vicodin couldn't completely control.  If it weren't for B'Elanna's Klingon 
strength, it might not have been possible for her to apply the splint by herself.

After the leg had been immobilized, with the ankle hitch held firmly in place by the weight 
of an interior hatch cover over the secondary console (which B'Elanna had shut off), Tom 
had B'Elanna use the tricorder on him again.  "I need you to check the alignment of the 
bones.  The major blood vessels, too."  He breathed a sigh of relief as he examined the 
tricorder readings.  "Yeah, we got lucky.  It's aligned okay.  The major arteries and veins 
are intact, too."

It was then that she realized the implications.  "Tom, what about the blood vessels?"

"We have major blood vessels in our legs, B'Elanna," he panted out.

"So, if one had gotten torn?"

"I might've been out cold by now, B'Elanna.  Good thing they weren't," he said, smiling 
weakly.

B'Elanna shuddered.  Her cavalier growling at him when she'd landed against him when 
she was working on restoring power . . . if she'd landed in his lap, on the broken leg, not 
against his shoulder . . . .  "Tom!" she cried, still shivering.

"It's okay.  I'll be okay.  There's a good pulse showing in the readout.  I'll bet the doc will 
be able to stretch this leg back even with the other one."

"You need it stretched more?"

"In the old days, B'Elanna, the broken leg usually ended up a few centimeters shorter than 
the good one.  The doc has the big osteoregenerator, to build up the bone at the breaks.  
For now, you just need to wave the one we've got here over the ends to help keep them in 
place until I can get to Sickbay."

B'Elanna muttered, shaking her head, but all she said was, "Okay, Tom."  She carefully 
began to clean away the congealed blood from the wound on his thigh.  As she ran the 
dermal regenerator over it a few times to put some skin over the wound before running the 
osteoregenerator over the breaks, she glanced up at Tom.  He was lying with his eyes shut, 
but from the little sounds coming from him, she knew he wasn't asleep.

Picking up the osteoregenerator, B'Elanna began to work on the lower break.  For several 
minutes, there was no sound but the faint hum of the medical instrument and the breathing 
of the two officers in the shuttle.  Neither felt the need to speak.  Tom seemed intent upon 
ignoring his obvious discomfort, while B'Elanna was trying to ignore what was visible of 
the helmsman's body.  One of their blankets covered certain vital areas, but his hip was 
exposed to her view.  She sighed as she ran the regenerator over the break, wishing her 
hand had magical healing properties.  To touch him was an almost irresistible impulse.  
Almost.  She did resist it.

By the time the tricorder reading indicated that the lower break was stabilized, Tom's 
breathing was so even, she thought he was asleep.  Shutting off the tricorder, she stood to 
change position so she could work on the upper break.  The slight movement from the 
released mattress was enough for two blue eyes to flicker open again.

"Sorry, Tom.  I didn't mean to wake you," she said.

"No problem.  I wasn't really asleep."

"You were giving a pretty good imitation there."

A ghost of a smile graced his lips.  "I was thinking about M'Leyva and Coleman.  You 
don't think you could read to me a bit, do you?  I can help you hold the osteoregenerator in 
place over my hip so you can scroll down the padd."

"Sure," she said, reaching for the padd that was sitting on the bunk by his head, ignored 
during the stretching of Tom's leg.  Propping it up on his chest with some of the folds of 
the blankets that preserved as much modesty as the situation would allow, B'Elanna turned 
on the padd before positioning the osteoregenerator over Tom's hip.  She could feel his 
hand cradling hers, to help her support the instrument as it began to buzz to its work.  Why 
that buzzing put a jolt through her, B'Elanna didn't know, but it certainly did.  To hide her 
consternation, B'Elanna began to read in a firm voice.  Since she had already read some of 
what she was reading when she had been alone, her mind was a little more free to wander 
through those parts than it would have been if she were seeing the material for the first 
time.  She found herself visualizing Jake Coleman as having Tom's face and body.

And, like M'Leyva had discovered about Coleman, B'Elanna thought there was much more 
to Thomas Paris than first met the eye . . . .

 * * * * * * * * * 

As Jake touched his lips to M'Leyva's, a flush of passion flooded through his body, 
obliterating the pain he still felt in his shoulder, transforming it into a surge of desire.  He 
did not know how he knew -- yet he did -- that the loving of two Klingons was as fierce as 
their fighting -- as fierce as any of their appetites.  He responded to her kiss as if to battle; 
he knew he had to hold his own.

Yet even as they kissed roughly, exciting each other beyond all measure, his hands relaxed 
their grip on her head and slowly drifted across the cheekbones, to tenderly stroke her 
strong face.  As they embraced each other in a mighty hug, any pain he felt became an 
intrinsic part of a pleasure he had never before known.  All the women Jake Coleman had 
known before in his life paled in his memory, faded into shadows as he lost himself in 
M'Leyva's arms.  He felt his soul consumed in the blaze of her fiery spirit.

As Jake kissed her again and again, he could not shake away the terrible irony: of all the 
women he had met and loved, the one he wanted to spend a lifetime loving, who excited 
him beyond all others and whom he would never have tired of loving -- she was the one he 
could not have.  Every second of their loving was made more intense, more memorable, 
because Jake knew it would be their only time together.  A lifetime of loving each other 
would have to be lived within an hour and a half, or less.

For that reason, he was determined to make the memory worthy of the pain of their 
separation.  They knew they were not enemies, but those on the Henry Martin and the bird-
of-prey, the *naQjej,* did not.

 * * * * * * * 

The sleek, deadly one was acutely aware of the sounds and movements made by the two 
Big Ones nearby.  Through the hard clear-stone he could see them.  Even his dim 
comprehension of the world permitted him to recognize what they were doing.  Creatures 
on this world did much the same.  They would pay him no mind, lost in each other's 
bodies as they were.  He could slither away, unnoticed, safe.

He could, of course, protect himself if he must.  These creatures were too big to be his 
prey.  As long as they did not thrash too closely to his hiding place, he would leave them 
alone, to couple in peace.  But if they threatened him, he knew how to defend himself, and 
he would -- without hesitation.

 * * * * * * * 

M'Leyva felt Coleman's lips upon her hair.  His touch was as gentle now as his grasp had 
been fierce before.  Everything she had ever dreamed of in a mate, he had been.  She 
wanted to rail at Kahless for her fate.  To have found the one so perfect for her!  To have 
him be the enemy!  To lose him forever now -- why did it have to be so?

She had not realized that she had spoken aloud until Coleman said, "M'Leyva, you will 
never lose me.  Perhaps we can find a way . . . ."

"No, Coleman.  It cannot be.  As long as the Federation and the Empire are enemies, our 
mating would bring us both only dishonor."

"And honor is everything to you, isn't it?" he said softly, wistfully.

"As it is to you also, Coleman.  Do not deny it.  You may not know how important it is to 
you, but I can sense it.  You are an honorable warrior, and you would not find honor in the 
eyes of others if you had a Klingon mate.  You know it is true.  To them, I will always be 
the enemy, even if we are not to each other."

He was silent as he mulled over all she had said, reluctantly coming to the same 
conclusion.  Finally, he said, "Yes, M'Leyva.  I know now I am not your enemy -- and 
maybe that is why this happened to us.  Klingons and humans are more alike than they are 
different.  I can see that now.  You know it's that way, too.  The Organians told Kirk and 
Kor that our peoples would be fast friends one day.  Maybe we can show the way.  Maybe 
we can bring it about, if only . . . ."

"Yes!  I wish it could be, and soon, but it will not be soon enough for us! I can feel it in 
my hearts.  But even though this is our only time to be together, I would take the Oath with 
you if I could.  I know I will never take another mate.  I would never dishonor you that 
way.  I would never dishonor myself!"

"The Oath?  What is that?"

She explained to him, then, teaching him just how much Klingons valued honor.  Not only 
was M'Leyva accepting that she would never spend any more time with Coleman than this 
scant hour; she was foregoing any other mate for the rest of her life.

"M'Leyva!  I didn't know!  We should not have . . . I should not have . . . "

"It does not matter, Coleman.  I knew you for my mate.  Knowing how my blood sings for 
you, I could never disgrace myself by taking another warrior for my husband.  At least I 
have had this one time with you.  I must be content.  That is how it is for my people."

Cradling her in his arms, Jake held her tightly and made his decision.  "Tell me the words, 
M'Leyva.  I will take this Oath with you."

"Coleman, it is not necessary.  I know humans have other ways."

"I want to do this." There was a finality in his words that M'Leyva comprehended.  
Pushing herself upright, she took his jaw in her hand to show him how he should hold 
hers.  He repeated the Klingon words she recited for him, and she answered.  Looking 
deeply into each other's eyes, both knew that there was one other thing they would always 
share.  The bleakness of their futures could be seen in those windows to their souls.  
Loneliness for the heart's mate, always so far away -- always, it would be there.

For about a half hour more, however, they would still be on Eros Prime together.  Falling 
down onto their improvised bed, they celebrated their mating one last time.

* * * * * * * * 

B'Elanna's voice fell silent.  Tom looked up at her quizzically.  "Is that all?"

"No, there's a little more.  I just . . . I wanted to think about it for a minute, that's all."  
Shifting her body to ease a cramped muscle in the back of her leg, B'Elanna reached for the 
medical tricorder and checked to see how the bones were knitting.

Tom touched the hand holding the tricorder.  "How am I doing?"  She showed him the 
readout.  "That's good, B'Elanna.  It's stabilized enough.  There's no point doing more 
now.  The doctor may have to rebreak it if he's not satisfied.  As long as I'm lying here like 
this, I don't think I'll be in any danger of doing more damage."

"Do you want me to release the traction now?"

"No, leave it alone until Voyager comes.  It's safer to keep the leg immobile."

"Does your leg hurt?  You want some more Tri-Vicodin?"

"It aches pretty bad, but it's okay.  I'd rather stay awake and keep my head clear, in case 
you need my help with something."

"Yeah, right."

He grunted out what sounded like a pained chuckle.  She looked into his eyes again and 
saw pain, but she saw something else, too.  She felt a warm flush suffuse her face.  To 
cover her embarrassment, she added, "You sure you don't want to sleep?"

"I'd rather hear the rest of the story.  There isn't that much left, is there?"

"A couple more chapters, I think."

"I can read a while if you want."

"No, Tom, that's okay.  I'll read.  Just settle back and relax."

He sighed, looking as if there was something he wanted to say.  Then he shrugged and 
slipped his hands beneath his head, elbows widely spaced at either side of his head.  
B'Elanna pulled the blankets down to cover his feet and extended them up over his chest.  
It was cool now in the shuttle and would get colder.  Going over to a storage locker, 
B'Elanna grabbed another blanket and wrapped it around herself, trying to avoid thinking 
about how his arms might feel wrapped around her.  Maybe it would feel even warmer than 
the blanket, but she put the thought out of her mind.  He was injured, after all.

B'Elanna shook herself.  How could she be thinking about such things at a time like this?  
Carefully she settled herself down on the floor of the shuttle next to the bunk.  With her 
knees up, supporting the padd, B'Elanna continued reading.

* * * * * * * * 

M'Leyva and Coleman stood quietly next to the shattered cockpit of the shuttle as the away 
team of three shimmered into existence before them.  The three held their phasers at the 
ready, but Jake gestured to his crewmates to lower them.  "There's no need for weapons.  
She's not a prisoner."

Her emotions were in turmoil, yet from the stoic look on her face no hint of that could be 
detected by the humans, save one.  As Jake turned to face her, turning his back to the two 
men and the woman from the *Henry Martin,* she could see he knew it.  For a moment, 
his own mask slipped, and before any of his fellow officers could see, he nodded and 
added, "Any more than I am hers."

There was so much she wanted to say to him, but there was no time.  "You and the others 
must go, Coleman.  The *naQjej* will return soon.  You must not be here when they do."

The woman from the away team stepped closer to them, dislodging a piece of the shattered 
transparent aluminum and shoving it into a small opening in the rock.  "Coleman, what is 
this?  You were here first!  The Federation lays claim to this planet and all its resources!"

"No, Argyros.  There's no reason to go to war over this hunk of rock, no matter how -- "

Coleman stopped speaking, his eyes drawn towards a slight movement near the foot of his 
crewmate.  His brain processed what he saw in milliseconds; shoving the lieutenant aside 
was pure reflex.  M'Leyva's shout of anguish rang out as she saw the deadly asp sink its 
fangs into Jake's leg rather than that of the reptile's intended victim, Lieutenant Argyros.  
The sharp light of a phaser beam on its highest setting lashed out to incinerate the viper and 
disperse its molecules into the air.  Most of its molecules.  Deadly venom was already 
coursing through Jake's veins.

 M'Leyva knelt down where Jake had crumpled to the ground and gathered his head into 
her arms.  "Coleman," she murmured helplessly, heedless of the shocked members of the 
human crew.  She picked up his hand, distressed at how weakly his grasp was in return.  
"You must not die, Coleman."

"Whatever happens, our peoples . . . should not fight over what is so . . . abundant here," 
he gasped.  "Let free people come here . . . to mine . . . what both our peoples . . . need.  
Promise me . . . ."

As his voice faded, so his direct gaze into her face seemed to waver.  Quickly, M'Leyva 
answered, "I will do all I can.  On my honor, I promise this."

His answering smile was so slight!  The three Federation officers crowded around the 
Klingon woman and the human she held.  As one of them signaled the ship, Lieutenant 
Argyros put her hand on M'Leyva's shoulder and said, not unsympathetically, "If there's 
any chance to save him, we have to get him back to our ship.  Now."

"Everybody wants a piece of me, Argyros.  Snakes, even . . . ."  His joke sounded flat to 
M'Leyva's ears because his eyes were closing, his breathing more labored.

Nodding, M'Leyva released her hold on Jake, gently lowering his head to the ground and 
slipping her hand out of his lax fingers.  She stepped back.  In seconds, the air shimmered 
with the whine of a Federation transporter beam.  Through dulled, pained eyes, M'Leyva 
saw the beam carry away the four humans before shifting to the cockpit of Coleman's craft 
as it, too, was carried away to the waiting starship.

The solitary figure of a female Klingon warrior was left behind, standing amid debris not 
worthy of reclamation.  M'Leyva remained there for another minute before quickly moving 
toward a spot where dilithium crystals spilled out of topsoil disturbed by the uprooted tree.  
Quickly, she gathered a supply of crystals and waited for the signal from the *naQjej.*

As she hurriedly worked to gather the prize so valued by her commander, M'Leyva's 
thoughts were upon the human with whom she had shared a short, but life-altering 
experience.  The only traces of him she could claim were in her memories, her heart, which 
now beat for him, and in the residue of a substance she bore within her as a result of their 
joining.  As she considered the path her life would now follow, M'Leyva realized that 
while she might always be lonely for Coleman, perhaps she did not need to be alone.  
There was one thing she might do to make what had happened here live on, beyond her 
own memories.

By the time the *naQjej's* transporter beam swept M'Leyva away, barely twenty minutes 
after the human transporter beam had ceased its whining, she had made her decision.  An 
hour after her return, having been debriefed of what had happened (or, at least, what she 
was willing to tell), M'Leyva was free to return to her quarters.  She took a brief detour 
first, to the chamber which held the limited medical equipment on the *naQjej* and served 
as its medical bay.  What she needed was there.  Salvaging a portion of that precious 
substance she had carried within her body from the surface of Eros Prime, M'Leyva 
preserved it cryogenically, for her future use.

For many years, she shared this secret with no one.

* * * * * * * * * * *

"They always break out all the banners for occasions like this, don't they, sir?"  The 
youthful lieutenant commander assigned as aide-de-camp to the distinguished admiral 
didn't really expect an answer.  The admiral was not one who ever seemed to enjoy 
momentous occasions like this.  He wasn't much for political jockeying, either, although 
he could do it with the best of them if necessary.  He was better known as a "roll-up-the-
sleeves-and-get-down-to-doing-it" sort of officer.  He almost never showed his face at 
gatherings like this, unless it was declared mandatory.

Of course, the signing of the peace accords between the Klingon Empire and the United 
Federation of Planets was not merely a mandatory function; to call this occasion 
momentous was totally inadequate.  Who would ever have thought, three decades ago, that 
it could ever even happen?  That it had was in great part to the admiral striding next to his 
aide.  His pace was far faster than the younger man's, belying the admiral's sixty-five 
years.

Timmons was glad that the admiral hadn't been reluctant to come to the treaty signing.  He 
richly deserved all the accolades cascading his way.  It was a well-known fact that the 
admiral had sacrificed his personal life to the achievement of peace.  "Proving the 
Organians were right," he said, had always been his life's goal.

There were rumors, of course.  Gossips liked to say that the admiral had found more than 
dilithium on Eros Prime.  Of course he had, Lieutenant Commander Timmons always 
thought.  He'd found a worthy cause to which he'd devoted his life.  This day was the 
culmination of thousands of lonely nights spent negotiating with Klingons rather than 
going home to a wife and family.

As they moved down the concourse, Timmons wondered why they were spending so little 
time accepting the praise of Federation officials.  Many of the brass were eagerly gesturing 
at them to come over to talk to them, but the admiral always waved back and kept moving.  
It was almost as if he were looking for someone.

A Klingon someone.

At every knot of Klingon warriors, the admiral was more than willing to stop and chat.  He 
was almost as hearty in saying "*Qapla'*!" to the Klingons as they to him.  After a few 
minutes swapping Klingon and Federation phrases of congratulation, the admiral would 
ask if the representatives from the House of Qulmn had arrived yet.  The answer was 
always "no," and the admiral would move on, until one tall warrior nearly two meters in 
height broke the pattern.  The admiral turned to where the Klingon was gesturing, towards 
a pair of Klingon warriors, male and female, who were standing adjacent to a closed 
doorway.

At least, they seemed to be Klingon warriors.  They were tall -- as tall as the admiral 
himself, carrying themselves as proudly erect as the admiral did -- and they were clad in all 
the regalia that Timmons had come to expect from them when in full ceremonial dress.  But 
as he followed the admiral's quickened steps to their side of the corridor, Timmons thought 
this pair were unusual looking for Klingons.  For one thing, both had piercing blue eyes.  
While that wasn't unknown, it wasn't very common.  Brown eyes were the norm.

Yet what made them unusual wasn't really the color of their eyes, Timmons finally 
decided.  It was the features themselves.  Both the man and the woman had softer angles to 
their faces, smoother ridges, and straighter teeth than he was used to seeing on the faces of 
those he'd met during diplomatic missions to the Empire.  He'd seen similar features on 
other Klingons, of course; some from the border worlds of the Empire had features even 
softer than these.  These Klingons were among the first to be met when the Federation of 
Kirk and his generation of Starfleet captains crossed paths with them.  It was only later that 
the true Klingons from the Homeworld had been encountered.

It wasn't their looks alone, then, that put Timmons on his guard.  It was the familiarity of 
their features.  No, not familiarity.  Similarity.  To the admiral.  All those rumors about the 
admiral at Eros Prime suddenly flooded into his awareness as he watched him approach the 
two warriors.  The three stood facing one another, silent for a long time.  The admiral 
studied their faces as intently as they studied him, as if they wanted to memorize every 
atom of his face the way he was engraving theirs into his.  Timmons halted slightly behind 
the admiral, feeling like he was intruding into something very private.  He hated the 
thoughts that were occurring to him as he watched the tableau play out before him.

At last, the silence was broken by the admiral.  "The son and the daughter of the House of 
Qulmn," he announced, a bright gleam appearing in the corner of his eye.

"The great Admiral Coleman," the male warrior replied.

The admiral took a deep breath.  "Is SHE here, too?"

"Yes, Admiral.  The mother of our House is here.  Enter."  At the welcoming gesture of the 
female warrior, the door slid open.

The admiral looked within, then back over his shoulder at his aide.  "Wait here, Timmons," 
he said.

As the admiral disappeared into the chamber, Timmons could barely see, at the far side of 
the room, another Klingon.  She was a woman, regal in bearing, who turned her head 
towards the opening door.  His view of her was obscured by the three figures moving 
through the entrance, but before the door had slid closed again, he was sure he saw a smile 
light the face of the woman.

Timmons usually didn't think too much about beauty, or its lack, when it came to Klingon 
women.  That beauty was in the eye of the beholder was one of the earliest lessons anyone 
in Starfleet Academy learned, if they hadn't already learned it during their school days on 
their home planets; yet for some reason, he was strongly reminded of that maxim now.  He 
was sure that this woman, although not young, was very lovely to look upon.  Particularly 
if the one doing the looking was Admiral Jacob Peter Coleman.

Timmons was very happy to stand guard outside the doorway.  He really didn't want to 
know much more than he had learned already about the House of Qulmn.

* * * * * * * * * * * * 

As Jake walked into the room, thirty years fell away.  The rich appointments of the 
diplomatic chamber disappeared, and he was back on a desolate planet that reminded him 
very much of New Mexico.  His heart was racing as he walked over to stand before her.  
He longed to take her hands into his.  Hell, he longed to throw his arms around her and 
smother her with the thirty years of kisses forcibly withheld from them by distance and 
duty.  He did not; duty had not been dispensed with, only held in abeyance while a very 
special reunion could take place.

Her eyes studied him for several seconds, carving him into her memory the same as he had 
with the twin warriors flanking her, who both smiled that arrogant, fierce smile a Klingon 
sports in joy as in battle -- for battle IS a joy for them.  Finally, she said through her 
matching, predatory smile, "You look older, my husband.  Older, but well."

At that, he knew for sure he needn't hold back.  The son and daughter of the House of 
Qulmn must know their ancestry.  With a catch in his throat Jake said, "And you are more 
beautiful than ever, *be'nalwI.'*"

"Coleman!" she cried, and threw her arms around his neck, almost hugging the breath out 
of his lungs as he was pushing it out of hers.  They stood together, tightly clenching each 
other in as close an embrace as either had ever known.

Finally he eased his hold on her and stepped back a little, permitting him the freedom to 
softly graze M'Leyva's face with his hand while his eyes savored the joy in her amber 
ones.  "I never thought I'd see you again, M'Leyva.  Ever hold you again."

"Perhaps not, but you have done everything you could to bring us together.  How proud I 
am to be your wife, Coleman, even if I have kept it secret all my life."

"You kept your promise about the miners.  Eros Prime supplied dilithium for Klingon and 
Federation ships.  Could I do any less?"

She touched the human hand that was still brushing against her cheek and smiled.  "I never 
thought you would do less.  You have helped bring our peoples together as allies.  You are 
as honorable as I knew you to be.  And your children know your honor, too."

Stepping back, she stated their names.  "Quchratlh, our daughter, and firstborn by ten 
minutes.  And Rotlh, our son.  He favors you, I think."

"How long have you known who I am?" Jake asked of his children.

"Always, since we were old enough to understand such things," replied Rotlh.  "Mother 
told us why our father could not be here to lead our house into glory, but we always 
listened for word of you.  We have been proud to know you as our father, even if those on 
Qo'noS and Earth would not understand."

"M'Leyva, how could you keep what happened a secret?"

"It was easier than you think, Coleman.  For two years, I continued to serve on the 
*naQjej* with honor.  Your seed I kept carefully preserved for the day when I could seek 
out the help I needed to bring our children into being.  When I had sufficient leave time, I 
traveled to a planet where the technology existed to combine your DNA with mine so that I 
could bear a living child.  And since I did not think I could ever spare the time again to bear 
another child, I chose to be impregnated with twins.  It was hard, a woman leading a house 
alone.  I will not lie to you.  It is not generally done, but I did it.  I have found that others 
do not question a warrior who devotes her life equally to duty and to her children."

"But M'Leyva, who did you say was the father when people asked?"

"She told the truth, of course!" stated Quchratlh firmly.  "She told those who asked that our 
father was an honorable warrior who worked for the good of the Empire, but his duty kept 
him from being with us.  When I am asked my father's name, I point to the name of my 
House.  Qulmn.  Is it not so?  Would that not be your name in our tongue?"

"Yes, it is so," smiled Jake.  "And no one ever questioned you further?"

"I had my ways to discourage those who would pry in what was not their affair."

"Your mother taught you her knife skills, I see."

Quchratlh laughed heartily, as did her brother and her mother.

M'Leyva's laughter was the first to die off, however, and Jake put his arms around her 
again.  "And no one ever wondered about how they looked?"

"Enough time had passed between our days on Eros Prime and their birth that if anyone 
thought about it, they must have dismissed it as being impossible.  People are curious, but 
wherever you go, I think they see what they want to see.  I have been a good warrior.  
They did not question the parentage of my children as long as I raised them honorably.  
And I have done that.  They are a credit to both of us, *loDnalwI.'*"

"I have heard that the House of Qulmn was an honorable one.  I often wondered, because I 
knew you were the mother, about that name.  When I heard you had given birth, at first I 
could not believe it, but the name of your House gave me hope.  I always wished I could 
claim you openly.  I should never have doubted you, M'Leyva, even for a moment."

"No, you should not!" she said, but the fierceness of her tone was belied by the warmth of 
her gaze into his face.

"Mother . . . Father . . . ," Rotlh's unfamiliarity with saying the word for his male parent 
together with that of his mother was clear from his stumbling over the words.  "The treaty 
is to be signed in an hour's time.  We must go to the council chambers to be there."

"Of course.  Now should not be the time to neglect our duty," said Jake, but he tightened 
his hold around M'Leyva even as he spoke, as if he could not bear to be parted from her 
now that he had found her again.

"You should go first, Coleman.  We will follow in a few minutes."  M'Leyva clasped his 
hands quickly between hers before releasing them as she stepped back, taking her place 
flanked by her children.

"We can't walk out together even now, you don't think?"  His tone was only half a 
question, for Jake knew the answer.

"It is still not time for us to declare openly what we are to each other.  Perhaps someday we 
can do so.  Now is the day for you to be honored by all for what you have done to bring a 
just peace between the Empire and the Federation.  I'll be there, too.  Go."

Coleman nodded slightly to her and turned to go, his heart suddenly heavier than it had 
been for a long time.  To know your heart's desire is still unattainable, even after dutifully 
spending a lifetime of sacrifice working towards obtaining it, is not an easy thing, even for 
an honorable man.  As he walked towards the door, however, a male voice from behind 
him said, "The celebration will be long tonight.  The blood wine and your Federation 
champagne will flow freely.  Who will notice if a Federation admiral and the head of a great 
Klingon House should decide to retire from the feasting early?"

Jake turned back to the smiling face of Rotlh and said, "You will notice.  And so will your 
sister."

"Yes, but we will welcome it," said Quchratlh of the House of Qulmn, smiling as broadly 
as her brother.

Nodding at his daughter and his son, standing at either side of his love, Jake turned back to 
the doorway and passed through to enter the corridor where his aide-de-camp, Lieutenant 
Commander Joseph Timmons, was waiting.

"Ready to go, sir?" asked Timmons.

"As ready as I'll ever be," said Jake.  "Just as ready as ever."

 * * * * * * * * 

"Sworn Enemies," Part 25 by CAyran


"Wow," said an intrigued Paris taking a sip of coffee.  "Hey, do you mind fluffing my 
pillows, Nurse?" he asked tilting slightly forward.  They were in Paris' quarters, 
comfortable and on-leave, after the harrowing experience and rescue from the asteroid.

With a half-irritated look, B'Elanna set the padd down and leaned toward Paris.  "I could 
break your other leg so the doctor orders you to 48 hours of bed-rest instead of 24," she 
said pummeling the lieutenant's cushions.

"Would you still read to me?" smiled Paris.  "Besides it'd be cool to tell stories about a 
beautiful Klingon breaking my leg.  In fact, there's a romance story in that  . . . lost in 
space, a rag-tag Federation crew valiantly explores unknown space, encountering hostile 
aliens and dangerous spatial anomalies.  Meanwhile, the dashing pilot and beautiful chief 
engineer find passion and romance amidst the chaos."

Giving his pillow one last punch Torres simply said, "'Dashing pilot?'" Picking up the 
padd and sitting down she said, "Would you like me to read the 'Author's Note?'"

"Hold on a sec.  So M'Leyva preserves Coleman's -- " here he hesitated, looking for the 
right way to put it, " -- DNA, and impregnates herself and bears his children at a later date?  
She really took The Oath to heart."

"Of course she did," snapped B'Elanna.  "For Klingons, especially when this novel was 
written, her bonding with a non-Klingon would have been seemed unimaginable, if not 
comical.  If Dothak/Vermilion's purpose was to captivate and gain the respect of a Klingon 
audience, he would have to show that his main characters held Klingon values and 
ideology in esteem."

"So, what did you think of the novel?" asked Paris with none of his usual innuendo.


"Sworn Enemies," Part 26 by CherPal2


B'Elanna opened her mouth to speak, but no words came out.  She looked at him silently 
and shrugged her shoulders.

"Got to you, too, huh?" Tom smiled encouragingly.  Leaning forward he snaked an arm 
around B'Elanna and pulled her to him.

"It was just a story . . . fiction, after all!" she muttered defensively.

"Yeah, well, maybe to anyone else on this ship . . . or anyone else in the galaxy even, this 
was just a silly romance story.  But for me it hit awfully close to home."  He looked at her 
closely.  "And I can't help wondering -- how different would my life be now if the 
Klingons and the Federation hadn't taken the steps they did?  If people like Coleman and 
M'Leyva hadn't been out there to push for it all those years?  It's almost too frightening to 
comprehend; your parents would never have gotten together, and you wouldn't be here 
with me now."  Tom pulled B'Elanna to him and held her tightly, his muffled voice 
continuing, "And the thought of you not being in my life is . . . unthinkable."

"Oh, Tom," B'Elanna breathed, stunned by the sudden change from lighthearted to 
serious.  Tears stinging her eyes, she held on to Tom.  They remained that way for a long 
while, rocking each other, their emotions expressing what their words could not.

Sniffing slightly, B'Elanna finally pulled back from Tom.  While one hand remained on his 
shoulder, the other slowly caressed his face.  With a shy smile she brushed the tears from 
his face and gazed into his eyes, nearly drowning in the openness and vulnerability she 
found there.  The love she saw reflected back at her took her breath away and she knew 
without a doubt that Tom completed her just as Coleman completed M'Leyva.

"I guess I owe Dean Dothak a debt of gratitude, then," B'Elanna said softly.  "We take so 
much for granted, it's hard to believe there was a time when we couldn't have been 
together."

"You mean, when it wasn't our choice?" Tom grinned teasingly.  B'Elanna gave him a 
mock frown and punched him lightly in the arm.  "Ow!  Well, you have to admit we've 
done a pretty good job of keeping ourselves apart . . . without any help from anyone else."

"Yeah, well," B'Elanna shifted to her knees and pushed Tom back against the pillows.  "I 
think we've wasted enough time doing that, don't you?"

"It's time to move on to the next chapter," she murmured seductively as her mouth closed 
over his.


"Sworn Enemies," part 27 by MacIntyre7



Author's Note

Although I have lived among humans for many years, I do not now and doubt I ever shall 
fully understand them.  Humans are like the children of the stars, at times naive and at 
times wise beyond measure.  I believe the human quest for love and knowledge is no less 
than the Klingon thirst for honor.  Let us look forward to the day when our races will join 
together in a common goal.  The Klingons will offer strength and discipline; the humans 
will offer kindness, humor, and their infinite imagination.  Our courage to explore and 
embrace the unknown will become one.

And it will be glorious.


D.




* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * 

In June of 1997 the AOL P/T Collective became intrigued after (on the show) Tom found 
B'Elanna reading a Klingon romance novel.  We decided to give it a try.  Two openers 
were written within hours of each other and both were so good that we decided to develop 
both, doing one on the AOL message boards and one by e-mail.  The first eventually 
became "Women Warriors at the River of Blood," which can be found at the PTCArchive 
and in AOL's Trek Fiction library.  The second is "Sworn Enemies," which took nearly 
two years to write!  We hope you enjoyed reading it as much as we enjoyed writing it.


Disclaimer: The *Star Trek: Voyager* premise and characters are a property of Paramount 
Pictures, a Viacom Company.  No infringements upon Paramount's rights is intended.  
This story was written by fans of Trek for fans and is meant for fun only, not profit.  
Please keep this disclaimer attached to the file.

Qapla!