The Star Trek: Voyager premise and its characters belong to 
Paramount Studios, a Viacom company.   No infringement on 
Paramount's rights is intended.  This round robin group story was 
written by fans and is meant for fun only, not profit, as most of us 
are not Ferengi.

"Women Warriors at the River of Blood"
by the P/T Collective.


The bodies were piled high that day and occasionally one of them 
would be picked up and thrown.  Rorg lifted one Romulan corpse 
missing half its face, gender lost in the green-tinged bruises and 
blood from dozens of small wounds.  Baring his teeth in a growl, 
almost slipping in the muck that clung to his boots, he lifted and 
hurled the corpse to land atop the growing pile.  The world smelled 
of fresh rain and blood.

Rorg was growling with satisfaction from the day's battle.  Three 
thousand cowardly Romulan worms slain that day.  And P'Tannan.  Oh, 
how he envied P'Tannan.  To drive the shuttlecraft through ten rows 
of phaser batteries; to plow into and destroy the Romulan power 
core!  That was a death to be envied!

Rorg heaved still another Romulan corpse up onto his back and stole 
a look at the phaser batteries, still dripping green with Romulan 
blood.  It had been a glorious battle, and would be retold well over 
blood wine.  Perhaps it would be immortalized in song!

*They will sing of Rorg, of Pa'kar, of Grahg and of how they killed 
the Romulan petaQ.  Of how they were -- *  Rorg stopped at the 
sound of heavy footsteps behind him.  Leaving a Romulan corpse in 
mid-air, which fell to the blood-splattered ground with a satisfying 
thump, he turned to find himself staring at the dark abysses that 
were his *par'machai's* eyes.  "La'kas," he growled.

La'kas smiled, as much a baring of teeth as a greeting.  "We have 
destroyed the Romulan warbird in orbit.  The captain will expect us 
to beam back aboard the *Kahless.*"

"I am ready.  Today was -- "  Rorg stopped and his dark eyes shone.

"A worthy battle," La'kas agreed, but she did not meet his gaze.  
"Another colony won for the Empire."

"I did not see you during the battle," Rorg began, and her head 
snapped up.

"I was . . . near the edge of the field.  My dagger tasted the blood of 
many."

He did not challenge her, but he couldn't help but note that her 
clothing was not marred by even a speck of dark green blood.  It was 
not his place to question the honor of his shipmate, let alone his 
bedmate, but the question danced at the edge of his mind anyway.  
"Two to beam up,"  La'kas spoke into her communicator, and as he 
felt the familiar tingle, the battlefield faded around him.

He looked up to see the young tactician M'nea behind the transporter 
console.  He thought she was scowling, but then her features went 
blank as La'kas stalked past her.

"The captain expects your report," La'kas called over her shoulder as 
she exited the transporter room, and Rorg was left alone on the pad.  
His eyes flicked back to the lithe young tactician.  He stepped down, 
and started for the door.

"I envy you the battle," M'nea said evenly, and he turned back and 
flashed her a smile.

"Perhaps your blade will taste battle soon," Rorg said.  She smiled 
briefly, then he hurried out to follow La'kas to the bridge.


As the doors to the transporter bay slid shut, M'nea let out a breath 
through her teeth, her hands balling into fists.  Rorg was a fine 
warrior, an excellent officer, and had proven himself in battle time 
and time again, so why could he not see La'kas for the demon she 
was?  M'nea had only been on the *Kahless* a short time, hardly long 
enough for her fellow shipmates to learn her name.  Sure, she had 
bested a drunken K'tath one evening in hand to hand combat in the 
mess hall, winning herself a brief moment of celebrity and two 
casks of blood wine, but that had been months ago, and she had been 
so intent on learning her duty and performing it well that she had 
made few friends and fewer allies.

Even to one as young and inexperienced as M'nea, La'kas seemed to 
ooze false sincerity, and her blood did not even seem to burn at the 
thought of testing her honor on the battlefield.  It was as if she 
were not Klingon at all, at times.  *La'kas is not worthy of a warrior 
such as Rorg,* M'nea thought to herself, scowling.  *He is a well-
formed man, that is to be sure.*

M'nea shook such thoughts from her head.  Rorg was many levels 
above her, she could not even entertain such thoughts.  Besides, she 
had left a betrothed back on the homeworld; there was no place for a 
*par'machai* in her life now, only duty and honor, for the glory of 
the *Kahless*, her captain, and the Empire.  If only she could banish 
thoughts of how quick he was to smile, how he knew when to draw 
his dagger and when to simply stand fast to his position and allow 
his enemies to trip over their own feet.  He was a fine warrior.  And 
she should not think of him at all.

*****

Harry Kim arrived in the holodeck resort to see Tom Paris tucked 
away in a corner beneath a gigantic orange umbrella, padd in hand.  
The helmsman didn't even look up as Harry approached; he was 
engrossed in his reading.  Harry, feeling suddenly about twelve years 
old, plucked the padd from Tom's fingers.  Tom blinked, as if 
awakening from a dream, then gave a half-yell of protest, and 
grabbed after the data padd with one hand, half out of his seat.  
"Hey!"

Harry held the padd out of his friend's reach, and they began a 24th 
century version of "Keep Away," much to the amusement of the other 
crewmembers milling around the resort.  Tom, with fifteen 
centimeters and ten kilos over Harry, won, but not before Harry had 
sneaked a look at the amber letters scrolling across the padd's tiny 
screen.

"So who's M'nea, and why is she lusting after this Rorg guy?  Don't 
tell me after the mutiny game, you have lingering literary 
aspirations?"

"It's a novel, okay?  Not a holo-novel, just a nice, normal potboiler.  
You know -- Klingon Empire military thriller-type thing."

"Oh really?" Harry's eyes danced.  "'Rorg growled in both pain and 
pleasure as her teeth sank into his shoulder.  The bruises were 
darkening on his cheek as M'nea marked him as her own,'" he quoted 
from memory, laughing.  "Sure doesn't sound like political intrigue to 
me."

"Hey, I haven't gotten that far yet!  You better not have lost my 
place."  Tom began paging through screens of information, his ears 
pinking but otherwise showing no outward sign that Harry's jokes 
were getting to him.

"Okay, I'll bite.  Why are you reading a Klingon romance novel?"

"It's not -- okay, I suppose, technically, it IS," Tom sighed, "and I'm 
reading it because B'Elanna was reading it."

"Our chief engineer reads smutty novels in her off time?" Harry 
pretended to look shocked and appalled, and Tom couldn't help but 
laugh.

"Nothing wrong with a little light reading, and besides, it might give 
me a little insight into this whole poetry-reading, throwing-heavy-
objects thing."

"So you're thinking about third base already?" Harry leaned forward 
conspiratorially.

"Harry, Harry, Harry," Tom shook his head.  "You just don't 
understand, my friend.  This isn't just about getting . . . .  No, let me 
start again.  All I'm doing is reading up on Klingon culture.  Don't 
read too much into it."

"Okay," Harry replied looking dubious.  "Sure.  Whatever you say."

"Thank you."  Tom nodded his head, and then went back to his reading, 
leaving the ensign to chuckle and shake his head as he wandered over 
to the bar.  Wait until Megan and Jenny heard about THIS one.

*****

K'tath and Pa'kar were singing lustily of their victory when M'nea 
was finally able to come to the mess hall for the celebration.  Both 
were in a finer state of intoxication than voice; indeed, they were a 
mere step from total collapse and hours of stupor.  As she brought 
her plate of *ghargh* to the table and took her seat, M'nea looked 
around the room.  La'kas, as usual, had draped herself over her 
*par'machai,* who sat at the head of the table next to their captain, 
coolly sipping on blood wine.

M'nea had chosen this seat because it was in the corner, out of the 
way, while most of the bird-of-prey's crew gathered in the center.  
Pa'kar and K'tath raised their mugs in tribute to their officers, 
weaving around the room in their drunkenness.  K'tath stumbled in 
M'nea's direction, his voice rising to a crescendo while he lost his 
balance.  His left hand landed in M'nea's plate, splattering worms all 
over the table and onto her clothing.  She jumped to her feet.

K'tath raised his head and gazed into her eyes.  Too drunk to tame his 
ever too loquacious tongue, K'tath roared, "Beauteous M'nea, what 
misfortune that your duties kept you on the *Kahless* and denied 
your blade a taste of our enemies' blood.  Share my bed tonight so 
that you can truly celebrate our glorious victory!"  He grimaced a 
snaggle-toothed smile at her, not noticing that her face had 
darkened in humiliation.

Grappling with her anger, M'nea told herself, *He is merely a foolish 
*Denlb Qatlh* who has drunk too deeply of blood wine tonight.  When 
sober he is a true warrior -- ignore him.*  She felt the heat recede 
from her face and tried to still her gasping breath.
 
She was not able to still the heaving of her bosom fast enough; 
K'tath's eye was caught by a wriggling worm hanging from her 
clothing.  His hand shot out to grasp the worm from her cleavage and, 
too drunk to recognize the rage flaring back into her eyes, he slipped 
it into his mouth with a loud slurp.  "Are there any more of these 
succulent beauties hiding in there?" he roared.
 
The blood pounded in M'nea's ears.  Her temper, never far from 
erupting, exploded within her.  She reached for her *taj* and was 
about to slash his throat with its blade when a large hand stayed her 
own.
 
Rorg's voice penetrated the roaring blood pounding in her ears.  
"K'tath, are you ready to lose two more casks of blood wine to this 
one?  She can best you when you are stone sober, let alone when you 
are as weak as an Organian from too much drink!"
 
The room erupted in laughter.  Pa'kar, whose blade had drunk barrels 
of Romulan blood earlier on this day, now lost a battle with gravity 
and slid under the table.  K'tath wavered a moment before joining 
Pa'kar on the floor in a heap.  The crew of the *Kahless* doubled 
over in amusement, shouting out jovial insults to Pa'kar and K'tath 
before turning to their companions and beginning another song of 
victory.
 
As the attention of the others dropped away from them, Rorg looked 
upon M'nea.  Seeing the burning fire subside again in her eyes, he 
nodded to her in approval.  Unbidden, however, he felt his gaze slip 
down from her face to her body, ending at the betrothal necklace 
swinging between her breasts.  He lifted his eyes to hers again, and 
she felt his regard steal away her breath.
 
M'nea stood and said, in a voice so low only he could hear, "I must go 
to my quarters now.  I have lost my appetite for this celebration."
 
"If you wish, daughter of Letlh, I will bring your meal to your 
quarters," he replied.
 
"No, I shall bring it to you," interjected La'kas, her eyes staring 
coldly at the young tactician.
 
M'nea looked from one to the other.  She did not wish for trouble to 
come to Rorg after his victory today, especially if it were to come 
because of her.  Grabbing a handful of the wiggling *ghargh* that had 
remained in her bowl, she slowly slipped them into her mouth, one 
after the other, savoring their flavor.  When she was done she 
languidly licked her empty hand.
 
"Thank you for the honor you both mean to do me, but I seem to have 
had enough."  Ignoring the shouts that rang out from behind her in the 
mess hall, M'nea pivoted and stalked out to the corridor of the bird-
of-prey, the memory of La'kas' scowl, and of the kindling light in 
Rorg's eyes, singing in her blood.

***** 

Tom paused, and set the padd down next to him. *Wow!  No wonder 
B'Elanna likes this," he murmured, half to himself, and half aloud.
 
"Likes what?" came an inquisitive voice from above him.
 
His head snapped up.  B'Elanna Torres was standing in front of him, 
clad in a metallic blue bathing suit and matching wrap-around skirt, 
her arms folded across her chest, eyebrows raised.  Flopping down on 
the chair next to him, she picked up the padd, and examined it.  
"'Women Warriors at the River of Blood?'  I thought you weren't into 
technical manuals, Tom."
 
"Who ever said it was?" teased Tom, leaning back in his chair.  
B'Elanna gave him one of her heartbreaking smiles, and handed the 
padd back to him.  "So, what are you doing in a bathing suit, 
Lieutenant?  Is this your new uniform?  I certainly wouldn't 
complain."  Tom wiggled his eyebrows in a suggestive manner.
 
B'Elanna just shook her head and laughed, "I can just imagine Captain 
Janeway's reaction if I walked onto the bridge wearing this."  She 
pointed toward her bathing suit, and the skirt that came up only to 
mid-thigh.  "Definitely not in keeping with Starfleet decorum."
 
"Well, the captain's broken more than her share of Starfleet rules, 
and I think Neelix would agree that the female crew members being 
required to wear bathing suits on duty would be a *definite* morale 
booster."  Tom's grin grew wider as he pictured the scene.
 
B'Elanna punched him lightly in the arm, and shook her head.  "You are 
a pig, Paris."  Changing the subject, she asked," Where are you up to 
in the novel anyway?"
 
"They were in the messhall after the big Romulan killing fest, and 
M'nea had just lost her appetite," explained Tom.  "It's just getting 
really interesting.  No wonder you like this stuff.  It definitely is 
more invigorating than human romance novels."
 
"You're just getting to the good stuff."  B'Elanna's eyes lit up.  "You're 
about to find out that La'kas is really a -- "
 
"Wait a minute," interrupted Tom.  "Don't spoil it for me, but since 
you seem to like it so much, why don't you read with me?"  Tom tried 
to stay calm, but the truth was, he was sweating bullets.  If she said 
yes, it would be the closest thing to a date they'd ever been on, with 
the exception of the *bat'telh* exercise program.  That didn't really 
count.
 
She considered this for a while.  She had been planning on going 
swimming, her attire should have given that away, but reading 
"Women Warriors at the River of Blood" with Tom Paris sounded 
slightly more tempting at the moment.  "Why not?" she asked, and 
scooted closer to Tom, until her chin was almost resting on his 
shoulder.  "Read on, Lieutenant Paris."
 
Tom permitted himself a small smile. This was going to be a very 
interesting afternoon.

***** 

M'nea entered her quarters, barely remembering to duck under the 
low hanging bar that she used to do pull-ups on.  Circling her 
quarters with quick, angry steps, she stopped in the middle and spat 
on the floor. 

"Rorg does not deserve someone as cowardly as La'kas; why cannot 
he see that?" she demanded to the empty room.  She flicked one of 
the still wriggling worms off her, and her eyes fell on the betrothal 
necklace swinging between her breasts.  Growling, she ripped the 
necklace off and flung it against the far wall.  It landed with a 
resounding *thung,!* but did not help in quelling her bad mood.  She 
silently cursed her honorable father, Letlh, son of R'Korg, for having 
her betrothed.  But it did not matter.  Rorg already had a 
*par'machai,* and he was too honorable to take another, especially 
one who was already betrothed.
 
Her temper rising again, she pulled her *taj* from her belt, and sent 
it hurtling through the air until it made contact with a bulkhead.  
She let out a low growl and sent her *d'k'tag* knife after it.  Soon, 
all eleven of her knives were embedded in the wall.  If there had 
been a male in the room, it would have qualified as initiating mating 
rituals.
 
Taking a seat on her bunk, she gazed out the small view port, her lips 
twisted in a sneer.  It was clear to her that La'kas' blade had not 
seen any Romulan blood in the battle, but Rorg seemed to have turned 
a blind eye on it.  Of course he had; it was the only honorable course 
of action.  To question the honor of your shipmate was a breach of 
the code of honor.  It simply was not done, unless there was 
sufficient evidence.
 
Then it came to her.  As an honorable warrior, there was only one 
course left to her.  Even if she could not have Rorg as a mate, it did 
not mean she would have to leave him with that dishonorable La'kas.  
She would find out the truth about her, and make Rorg see it.
 
"I swear upon the House of Letlh that I will find out if we have any 
dishonorable Klingons in our midst," vowed M'nea, permitting a smile 
of triumph to come over her face.  She would find a way to best 
La'kas.  It would be the only honorable course of action.

****** 

"Well," said Paris.  "She wants him.  She threw her knives and 
everything."  His blue eyes twinkled as he glanced up at B'Elanna.  "So 
what's she gonna do?  Set this La'kas up and watch her take a fall?  
Then she can have this guy all to herself."
 
"Hmph," snorted B'Elanna.  "Klingons don't 'set each other up,' Paris, 
and they don't steal lovers or cheat on their fiancŽs."
 
"Do they fetch each other tall tropical drinks?" he asked sweetly.
 
B'Elanna softened a little.  "If asked nicely," she replied, "but you can 
forget the little umbrella."
 
"B'Elanna, I most humbly on my knees do beg that shouldest thou not 
consider it too dishonorable, thou shouldest bring us long libations 
of syntheholic origins, that we mightest anoint this story -- "
 
"Okay, okay," she interrupted.  "'Thou shouldest'?  I'm a Klingon, not a 
Quaker."
 
"Use my rations code," he said as she slipped away.
 
"That was the plan," she tossed over her shoulder.
 
Tom leaned back and watched her gracefully move through the 
various crew and holo-partiers.  It didn't matter that she was 
scantily clad and outrageously attractive; she still commanded 
respect.  A group of off-duty engineers stood a little taller as she 
went by them, passing with a word of greeting.
 
*I wonder if she . . .* he thought to himself, then abruptly brought 
his thoughts to a halt.  *No.  Don't even go there, Paris.*  He turned 
his attention back to the padd in his hand.

****** 

M'nea studied the control panel of the shuttlecraft, every fiber of 
her being on alert, expecting danger from within as much as from 
without.  She knew La'kas had maneuvered the captain into sending 
them out together to patrol the parsec and had even arranged that 
Pa'kar, who would have been the third member of the team, be left 
behind.  La'kas was dangerous and she was up to something 
treacherous and dishonorable.  M'nea could feel it like a dark animal 
stalking its prey, waiting for the slightest lapse of vigilance.
 
"Let's sing," said La'kas suddenly.
 
"Let's not," snapped M'nea.
 
"I like 'The Lament of L'Eara," said La'kas, ignoring her.  "You know 
the one -- about how L'Eara wanted Trelda's *par'machai* and the 
various tortures Trelda inflicted on her.  Let's start with the verse 
about the teeth."
 
"I prefer opera to pop music," sniffed M'nea.  "My favorite is 'For the 
Glory of Qo'noS.'  You know the one -- Kahless welcomes the true 
heroes into his House and causes the names of the vermin cowards to 
be forgotten forever by all."
 
La'kas narrowed her eyes. "You impudent pup!  You are nothing.  Cast 
your eyes upon my *par'machai* again and I'll cut -- "
 
"Romulan scout ship decloaking at 0.019!  They are powering their 
weapons!" 

"Shields up!  Set a course for the *Kahless*!"
 
The control panel exploded in front of M'nea and she was thrown 
backwards, slamming into the bulkhead, the taste of her own blood 
bitter in her mouth. 

*Kahless*!  *Don't let me die this way!  Not with my blade undrawn 
in the presence of a coward!  Hear me!*  She gasped for breath as the 
world went dark.

****** 

M'nea, daughter of Letlh, dreamt.

In her dream, she was but a girl, not having even reached the Age of 
Ascension.  She was in her father's house on Qo'noS, the sounds of 
falling water carrying on the warm breeze from the open door to the 
gardens.  She heard low voices, and her bare feet made no sound on 
the clay tiled floors.
 
Letlh sat on a low bench, a woman in heavy ceremonial robes beside 
him.  A little way off stood a sullen looking young man, his light hair 
falling over his shoulders as he bent to break off a *klesevva* stalk 
from the vine and suck the nectar from the small white  flower.
 
When he saw his daughter peering out at them from the doorway, 
Letlh broke into a wide smile and motioned for her to join them.  
Blushing  at being caught eavesdropping, she nevertheless stalked 
out, head held high, dark eyes forward and hand on her knife.  The 
boy's eyes met hers, and she was startled to note they were as blue 
as a blind *t'aak's.*
 
"M'nea, greet our guests, Lady B'nara of the House of Morgahth," -- 
she bowed from the waist, and the woman nodded her head -- "and 
her heir, Tanach."
 
The boy turned, dropping the crushed blossom, and likewise inclined 
his head.
 
"You do us honor," M'nea murmured, and then turned to her father 
with confusion shining in her dark eyes.
 
"I would ally our Houses for the glory of both," B'nara said, smiling 
at M'nea.
 
M'nea felt her back stiffen involuntarily.  She glanced at Tanach, but 
the boy had moved to his mother's side and did not meet her gaze.  
She opened her mouth to protest -- and then the world went white 
and pain lanced through her head.

***** 

M'nea opened her eyes to darkness which resolved itself into a dimly 
lit cell.  Blood had dried in the corner of her mouth, and she could 
feel a bruise swelling beneath her hair where her head had impacted 
with the bulkhead.  Beyond the shimmering forcefield two Romulan 
guards stood sentinel.  When they noticed she was awake, one of  
them touched a wall panel and spoke in the guttural tongue of his 
people.
 
M'nea spat the taste of her own blood from her mouth, and rose 
unsteadily, the pain in her head blossoming with the quick 
movement.  She ignored it.  "Where is my commanding officer?" she  
demanded.  The guards remained impassive, but she could hear a door 
*swish* open beyond the forcefield.

A tall Romulan stepped into view, a vicious smile creasing his lined 
face.  From his dress, she surmised he was in a position of authority, 
and her hands curled into fists. 

"What have you done with La'kas?  I demand -- "
 
"And who are you, to be demanding anything?" he cut her off, quirking 
one brow sardonically.
 
"I am M'nea, of the House of Letlh, tactician third class, soldier of 
the Empire," she responded warily.
 
"Well, M'nea of Letlh, I am your humble host, Commander Sessik.  I 
apologize for the accommodations, but you understand how hectic a 
warbird can be when it is preparing for battle.  Hardly any time for 
pleasantries at all."
 
Her lip curled in a sneer at his posturing.  "Where is my commanding 
officer?  Have you tortured her?  No soldier of the Empire will bend 
to a weak, mewling *Q'path* like you."
 
"*Q'path,* am I?  I believe my wife might disagree with that 
particular affront."  His dark eyes glittered with malice above his 
false smile.  He turned to address someone standing off to the side, 
outside of M'nea's limited field of vision.  "Wouldn't you?"
 
"Oh, yes," a voice purred, and M'nea could feel genuine hatred welling 
up as the owner of the voice stepped out of the shadows and into the 
shaft of light.
 
"Traitorous *kagh*!" M'nea growled, throwing herself at the 
forcefield and falling back with a cry as the field flared.  The smell 
of singed cloth, flesh, and hair filled the tiny cell.
 
La'kas laughed.

*****
 
Captain K'oth, impassive as the mountains of Qo'noS, sat while his 
first lieutenant paced the length and breadth of the bridge, his hands 
balled into fists.
 
"We should have been able to detect them," Rorg snapped. "We have 
enough intelligence on their cloaking devices, do we not?"
 
"Do you spit such venom because the sensors missed the cloaked 
ship?  Or merely because they have taken your par'machai?"
 
"That has no bearing -- " Rorg began hotly, and fell silent as K'oth 
raised a hand.
 
"We do not know how many or how few lay in wait like cowards 
around their lost colony.  Would you lead us into battle with your 
mind or your heart?"
 
"Both belong to you, my captain, and the Empire."
 
"We must count them lost -- you know as well as I what the Rom do 
to their prisoners."

"*Kai,* Captain."  Rorg straightened. 

"We will continue to monitor the surrounding space for their engine's 
tachyon emissions -- we will find them, and then we will make them 
pay for the deaths of my officers."  K'oth looked on his subordinate 
with sympathy, remembering the wife and child he had once lost to a 
Romulan raid, and the sweet hot gush of green blood over his fingers 
when he located the sub-commander responsible.  "That  much I can I 
promise you."

*****

Tom looked at B'Elanna with a little smirk.  "So," he teased, 
"Klingons don't 'set each other up'?  Sounds like a set-up to me."

B'Elanna glared at him in response.  "Don't start with me, Tom," she 
growled.  "No true Klingon would act in such a manner.  It would not 
be honorable."

"What is so dishonorable?" Tom asked.  "I thought Klingons were 
straightforward in their pursuits.  La'kas wanted M'nea out of Rorg's 
life and now she is."

"It is the way she did it, Tom," B'Elanna said gruffly.  "There is an 
adage which explains this better than I can.  'The Klingon who kills 
without showing his face has no honor.'"

"Meaning?"

"If La'kas had openly fought M'nea for Rorg's affections with a 
dagger, then her actions would be honorable," B'Elanna told him.  "But 
to betray M'nea to the Romulans as she did is most dishonorable."

Hoping to get another rise out of his companion, Paris asked 
rakishly, "So where does Rorg fit into all of this?  I wouldn't mind 
having two females fight over me."

"Pig," B'Elanna said shortly.  "Rorg has been treading a fine line 
between honor and dishonor by sending mixed messages to M'nea.  He 
has a *par'machai* and should not notice M'nea and certainly not 
touch her as often as he does."
 
Still grinning rakishly, Tom said, "Maybe he just finds her 
impossible to resist?"
 
B'Elanna's head jerked around to stare into Tom's innocent, angelic 
look which never fooled anyone more than once, and, if truth be told, 
was not meant to fool anyone at all.  "Must you always bring up that 
cave?" she asked between clenched teeth.
 
Tom's face took on an even more innocent look, but his blue eyes 
glinted with mischievous devilment.  "Whatever are you talking 
about, B'Elanna?"
 
"If you make one more veiled remark about Sakaris IV and the Pon 
Farr, I swear I will rip your lungs out, Pig!"  she exclaimed, only half 
in jest.
 
Blue eyes widened as far as they could.  "B'Elanna," he said in a hurt 
voice, "I am crushed that you would think such a thing about me.  
Absolutely crushed."
 
B'Elanna tried without success to retain her pose of anger, but that 
particular expression in those blue eyes had always made her laugh.   
"Okay, Helmboy," she chuckled.  "You win this round, but be warned, 
I'm on to you now."
 
"You mean we are having a competition, B'Elanna?" he asked.  "How 
can we have a competition without stakes?"
 
Shaking her head, B'Elanna retorted, "I know what kind of 'stakes' you 
have in mind, Helmboy."
 
Placing one hand on his chest, Paris struck another innocent pose.  
"Me?  Why must you always think the worst of me, B'Elanna?"
 
"Because you are a pig, Helmboy," she retorted with a laugh.  "Now 
let's get back to the story.  I have to be back on duty soon."
 
Tom sighed, as he picked up the padd.  *Pig and Helmboy in one 
sentence.  I think I'm losing ground here.*

*****

M'nea picked herself up off the floor of her cell and glared at the 
woman before her.  La'kas looked different.  Still stunned by the 
effects of the forcefield, M'nea did not comprehend the change at 
first.  But when she did, it took all her inner strength not to hurl 
herself helplessly at the woman again.  La'kas was dressed as a 
Romulan, with her hair neatly combed and pulled back from her face 
in a *DaQ.*
 
"Romulan petaQ!" she exclaimed from behind the forcefield.  "You 
have no honor, La'kas.  *MaghwI'*!  Traitor!  I swear by the blood of 
my ancestors you will be hunted down like the *DenIbya' Qatlh* that 
you are."
 
"That will be quite enough," Commander Sessik said in the 
condescending manner of all Romulans.  "I will not have an honorless 
little female Klingon speak to my wife in such a manner."
 
M'nea's eyes widened in horror.  "Wife?" she snarled.  "A Klingon 
female has chosen to mate with a Romulan dog?  The depths of your 
dishonor are limitless, La'kas.  First you betray the Empire, and now 
Rorg.  Tell me, *petaQ,* does your husband know of your affiliation 
with Rorg?"
 
"Of course he does," La'kas fairly purred.  "It was his idea to use me 
as a spy, M'nea.  I get all sorts of useful information from Rorg as 
his *par'machai.*  And no one will ever know."
 
M'nea growled deep in her throat.  "You forget, *maghwI*', that I 
know!"
 
La'kas laughed.  "But who are you going to tell, M'nea?  You are our 
captive, and shall never see Qo'noS or Rorg again."


Rorg was suffering the torture of truth.  Long had he hidden his 
feelings for M'nea behind his association with La'kas.  Although he 
knew he lacked honor where the young tactician was concerned, Rorg 
could not control the pounding of his heart whenever she was near.  
And it was wrong!  M'nea was betrothed to another, and could never 
be his.  To even harbor such feelings in his heart was dishonorable, 
and so he had chosen to allow La'kas into his bed, hoping that it 
would keep him from acting on his dishonorable thoughts.

Now M'nea was missing.  Rorg feared that La'kas had betrayed M'nea.  
Something about his *par'machai* had always seemed wrong.  To his 
knowledge, she had never spilled Romulan blood, no matter what she 
claimed.  Striding up and down in his small quarters was not 
satisfying, but he had little other choice.  Captain K'oth would not 
allow him to rescue M'nea.  Of course, the captain believed Rorg was 
worried about La'kas, and Rorg allowed him to keep that illusion, for 
the truth would bring dishonor to M'nea, who was the most beautiful 
and honorable female he had ever known.

"Rorg, report to the bridge," the captain ordered, interrupting Rorg's 
thoughts.

"At once, Captain," he answered.

When he entered the bridge, K'oth said, "There is a *Vor'cha* attack 
cruiser hailing us, Rorg."

"What vessel?"

"The *GhungtIq.*"

"I am surprised to find the *Hungry Heart* so far from Qo'noS.  His 
captain is not known for making long expeditions," Rorg said.

"We are being hailed," one of the communications officers said.

"We shall soon learn the truth," K'oth said.  "Onscreen."

The image of a youngish Klingon with long, blond hair and startling 
blue eyes appeared on the screen.  "Captain K'oth," he said.

"What do you want, Captain Tanach?"

"I have come for my betrothed," Tanach replied.  "I have come for 
M'nea, daughter of Letlh."

Rorg stood next to the comm officer, frozen, all the color draining 
from his face.  K'oth's eyes slid over his first lieutenant smoothly, 
never lingering, but Rorg knew immediately that his captain sensed 
his discomfort, if not his shame.  Warmth flooded his cheeks, the 
color rushing back in shades of ochre, and he lowered his eyes.

Tanach seemed not to notice.

K'oth shook his head.  "Our communiquŽ has yet to reach the High 
Council, so there is no way you would have heard.  My third officer 
and tactician M'nea were lost, captured by the Romulans.  If they are 
not dead by their own hands, then no doubt they have been tortured 
by the Rom -- honorless dogs that they are.  My condolences on your 
loss.  She was a fine officer, and the *Kahless* lacks in her 
absence."

Tanach's eyes narrowed, and he half rose from his chair, as if he 
could peer through the visual display into K'oth's heart and read the 
truth or ferret out a lie.  Then he sat back, fists clenching, and Rorg 
actually felt pity for this man, his rival.  A muscle twitched in the 
*Hungry Heart's* captain's jaw.

"How long?"

"Half a day -- we are not sure when their shuttle was taken, but that 
was when we had the last communication.  The salvaged shuttle log 
shows they were taken by a *d'deridex* class warbird."

Tanach digested this without a flicker -- a *Vor'cha* class cruiser, 
one the largest and most powerful vessels in the Imperial fleet, 
such as the *Hungry Heart* was evenly matched, in terms of 
firepower.  It had been designed to that very purpose, foreseeing the 
day when their once allies, the *Rihannsu,* would turn their hands 
from the clasp of the uneasy peace to reach for their daggers.  That 
they had done so through treachery and deceit rather than the honor 
for which they were once known -- that had been the signal that the 
Praetorate had finally fallen from decline into ruins.  All shreds of 
the vaunted Romulan honor had fallen away, and now *ch'Rihan* and 
*ch'Havran* spawned not warriors, but sneak thieves and bully boys 
that knew no better than to seize or raze whatever spoil came into 
their sights.

"They left the shuttle?"

"They left it for us to find.  They could have sat, cloaked, watching 
-- and waited until the *Kahless* was out of range," K'oth frowned, 
and now Rorg knew that he felt the full limitations of the ship he 
captained.  The *Kahless* was a valiant ship, and had garnered much 
glory for the empire -- but it was no match for a warbird.  They all 
knew that.

"And you have given them up for dead?" 

K'oth heard the accusation in the younger man's voice, and felt his 
spine stiffen and lip curl involuntarily at the slight.  "I know that 
you are young, and perhaps too young to know firsthand what 
treachery our former allies are capable of -- "

The *Hungry Heart's* captain stood and his light eyes blazed.  "And 
you are old, K'oth.  My hair is bright where yours is gray.  My teeth 
are sharp where yours are worn.  I do not begrudge you your years, if 
you gained wisdom from them.  But do not mistaken my youth for 
ignorance.  Peace, brother.  We fight for the same Emperor.  My . . . 
grief drives me to this, I meant nothing by it."

K'oth nodded, understanding well.  All too well.  When the empire had 
sent the *Kahless*  to patrol this disputed sector of the Romulan-
Klingon Neutral Zone, he knew that this was a chance to gain much 
glory.  What would have been an act of war -- the seizing of a 
Romulan colony for the Empire -- was in this case a chance to bring 
glory upon his ship and his name.  Ceding the situation now to the 
*Hungry Heart* was a galling thing, and it took much to swallow his 
pride and recognize that a bird-of-prey was no match for a Romulan 
warbird.  But it was still a bitter, bitter thing.

"I cannot sacrifice my ship for the sake of only two warriors."

"I give you my oath that the only sacrifice will be a blood-sacrifice," 
Tanach's smile was feral, "and it will not be Klingon blood shed this 
day.  Your officer and my betrothed will be avenged."

"If they are dead," Rorg breathed.

"IF," Tanach's light eyes gleamed.  "To capture the commander of a 
warbird . . . that would bring much glory to BOTH our ships, would it 
not?  And we will be hailed, my brother, as great warriors."

K'oth smiled as well, and that smile was mirrored by the other 
members of the bridge crew.  The idea of a battle shot through the 
crew like heady bloodwine, and they sat up straighter at their posts, 
eyes gleaming.

Rorg dared to hope, even if it meant delivering M'nea into the hands 
of her betrothed.


In the privacy of his quarters, Tanach took a long shuddering breath.  
He reached beneath his uniform and pulled out a long thin chain, from 
which dangled an amulet, a blood garnet winking at its center.  
Letting the betrothal necklace rest in the palm of his hand, he 
studied the way the light caught the stone with fiery orange 
highlights.

His mother had died, two years past. She had wanted to hold her first 
grandchild before she breathed her last, and while Tanach could still 
feel the shame of it in his heart, he had still not taken M'nea to wife.  
And now she may be dead at the hands of his enemy, all because he 
had put off their wedding to take command of the *Hungry Heart.*

And yet, when he had asked her, she had urged him to take the ship, 
even as she finally broached the fact that she looked forward to her 
coming tour on the *Kahless.*  She could have been on Homeworld 
now, sole mistress of the House of Morgahth, rather than captive or 
corpse on a cloaked warbird somewhere in the sector, but it had been 
as much her choice.  He must remind himself of that, as much as he 
wished to take all of the blame himself.  He pulled himself from his 
musings, frowning.  In a few moments, he was scheduled to meet 
with the *Kahless'* captain and first lieutenant to discuss their 
strategy.

And then the Romulans would pay.

*****

Tom had held out as long as he could.  He had tossed and turned, 
punched his pillow, counted tribbles, done everything he could think 
of, and he still couldn't sleep.  Finally he had given up and called for 
the lights.  He'd spent a precious ration on something soothing to 
drink, wrapped himself in his blue robe, and grabbing the padd that 
held "Women Warriors at the River of Blood," had settled in for a late 
night.  *You're crazy,* he had told himself.  *Like this is not gonna 
show tomorrow.*

Indeed "tomorrow" rolled around before he knew it, yet he found 
himself picking up the padd to catch a paragraph or two between 
tasks like shaving and brushing his teeth.  Now he knew why B'Elanna 
had been walking around carrying this novel with her.  It grew on 
you.

He had it in his hands when the turbolift made a stop on the way to 
the messhall.  Lieutenant Tuvok got on and Tom dropped it quickly to 
his side, overcoming the impulse to hide it behind his back.

"Good morning, Mr. Paris."

"Morning, Tuvok.  On your way to the mess to grab some breakfast 
burritos?"

Tuvok gave him The Look.  "Did you sleep well?" he asked in his 
annoying "Humans expect you to make conversation" tone of voice 
that particularly grated on Tom's nerves.

"Yeah, super.  Excellent.  Best night of sleep I've had in a year."

Tuvok turned and gave him The Look again, quirking his eyebrow for 
added effect.  "Mr. Paris, considering your complexion and its 
tendency to change color, there are times when I find it hard to 
believe that you ever found yourself in difficulties with Starfleet at 
all.  Should I inquire whether this obvious discrepancy with the truth 
has anything to do with the datapadd you are so discreetly trying to 
hide?"

Tom could have taken offense, but the truth was he liked Tuvok too 
much.  Besides, he was right on the mark anyway. 

"You should read this, Tuvok!  You'd love it.  T'Hain would love it!  
Just when you think it's going to get disgustingly mushy it gets all 
gory instead.  It's about these Klingons and Romulans.  They just got 
into this enormous firefight and now they're going through the 
corridors of this Romulan warbird in hand-to-hand combat.  The 
hero, Rorg, was all set in his mind to rescue the girl, but he gets to 
her cell and she's mysteriously disappeared!  It's awesome -- it 
would make a great holonovel.  Hey, what about you and I -- "

"Mr. Paris," Tuvok interrupted, "should you and I collaborate again on 
a holonovel, I should hope the topic would be something of more 
interest than a Klingon romance novel."  The turbolift stopped and 
both men walked off.  Tuvok ever so delicately sniffed.  "Ah.  I see 
we are having leola root omelets for breakfast again.  Perhaps I will 
report early for duty.  Good day, Mr. Paris."

*****

Rorg stared at the empty cell, slack-jawed.  The ship shook from the 
blasts from the *Hungry Heart,* and the deck rocked beneath his 
feet.  The small boarding party from the *Kahless* had beamed 
aboard the warbird while it fired on the Vor'cha attack cruiser, and 
had spread out from the initial beam-in point, leaving a trail of 
destruction in their wake.

She was not here.  All that remained were smears of dark rose blood 
and her betrothal necklace, fallen in the corner, the chain broken.  He 
gripped the amulet so tightly the edges of the setting cut into his 
palm.  She was not here . . . .

The ship bucked again beneath his feet, and K'tath lurched into the 
room, his disruptor raised and a wild gleam in his eyes.  "Rorg!  We 
have taken the lower decks!"

Rorg snapped out of his momentary disorientation, and still 
clutching the necklace, barked out orders.  "The engine room and the 
bridge should be the main priority.  Quickly -- before the *Hungry 
Heart* is forced to blow our prize out of the sky in defense!  We 
must get their weapons off-line!  Kill any Rom who gets in your 
way."

"*Kai!*"  K'tath's grin was feral, and they ran down the corridor, 
jumping over slaughtered Romulan crewmen and dodging disruptor 
fire as they made their way to the engine room.


M'nea struggled against her bonds as the lurching of the wounded 
warbird threw her against the bulkhead.  La'kas swore beneath her 
breath, and dug her nails into the other woman's shoulder, giving her 
a brutal shove forward and jamming the disruptor between her 
shoulder blades.

"Move!"  La'kas glanced behind them as they made their way to the 
shuttle bay.  She had changed back into her scorched and torn Klingon 
uniform, but the bruises and burns were gone.  M'nea, however, hadn't 
had the benefit of a fully outfitted sickbay, and felt every pain and 
discomfort as she was prodded, her hands bound behind her, all 
eleven of her knives taken.

M'nea's screamed obscenities were rendered inarticulate by the 
hasty gag, but La'kas was taking no chances.  If the boarding party 
from the *Kahless* found them, her cover would be blown.  She had 
wanted to simply kill the stupid girl and leave her cold corpse for 
her "par'machai" to find, but Sessik had insisted.  Once their shuttle 
was clear, he would beam aboard and use his "hostages" to ensure 
their escape back across the Neutral Zone to the Romulan border.  
*Then* they could kill the girl, and some days later, La'kas could 
conveniently "escape" her captors and return to the Homeworld a 
hero . . . and continue her work as a soldier of the Empire.  The 
Romulan Star Empire.

They could hear shouting outside the bay, and suddenly disruptor fire 
rent the air, leaving behind the stink of ozone.  La'kas' eyes widened 
as two Klingons backed their way in to the darkened hold.  There was 
no mistaking Rorg and K'tath, even from across the distance, and 
La'kas wasted no time.  Shoving M'nea into the wall, her wrist locked 
around the younger woman's throat, she pushed the disruptor against 
her temple, waiting.  But M'nea, heedless of the danger, or perhaps 
ignoring it in the hopes of warning the others, continued to struggle.  
With a grunt of disgust, La'kas snarled and pulled back the hand 
holding the disrupter.

M'nea brought up her knee, and the energy weapon went flying from 
the other woman's grasp.  In frustration, La'kas slammed M'nea's 
head into the bulkhead, and was rewarded with a grunt of pain as the 
technician staggered drunkenly.  Yanking her by the hair, the traitor 
slammed her one more time against the gray wall of the bay.  M'nea 
crumpled to the ground, unconscious.  La'kas kicked the body behind 
the waiting shuttle and, mussing her hair with one hand and tucking 
the fallen disruptor into her belt with the other, ran across the bay 
towards the door.

"Rorg!  My beloved!" she cried, throwing herself into his arms.

"La'kas!" Rorg's eyes widened.  "M'nea, where -- "

"Dead," La'kas shook her head, breathless.  "When the ship was first 
struck, the security fields in our cells faltered for a moment.  We 
pushed through, but she was badly wounded.  It was a wonder we 
made it as far as we did -- she shielded me from a disruptor set to 
kill.  Rorg, she saved my life."

"Dead," Rorg repeated, swallowing.  "Then she died with honor, in 
battle.  Her betrothed commands the *Hungry Heart,* he fights in the 
hope that she lives still -- "

"Rorg!"  K'tath pulled the first lieutenant from the embrace of his 
par'machai. "The way is clear -- we must hurry!"

"Where?"  La'kas was all business, apparently having gotten over the 
rush of emotion at their reunion.

"We must disable their weapons array -- "

"The way is too heavily guarded, we'd never get clear!  I have stolen 
the code for one of their shuttles -- "

"And leave such a prize?"  K'tath was dumbfounded.

"He is right; the capture of such a warbird would be worth far more 
than its destruction."

"Think of the glory!" K'tath grinned, and La'kas smiled.

"And what glory it will be," she ground out between her teeth as they 
ran down the corridor towards the engine room.

*****

"Tom . . . TOM!"  Harry Kim's raised voice pulled Tom Paris back from 
the world of Rorg and M'nea.

Startled, Tom looked up at Harry, then around at his surroundings.  
The hum of conversation and clang of pans reminded him that he was 
in the mess hall.  "What, Harry?" he asked.  "What did you want?"

Shaking his head at his best friend, Harry chuckled.  "I just wanted 
to make sure you were back with us on *Voyager.*  We've got a staff 
meeting in five minutes.  You were so engrossed in that novel, I 
doubted that you could have heard Chakotay's announcement."

Picking up his cup of Neelix's latest attempt at a coffee substitute, 
Tom indignantly asked Harry, "And what makes you think I would not 
have heard the Commander's announcement?"

"Two things."

"Which two?" Tom asked, raising the mug to his lips.

"Well," Harry began, watching Tom intently, with an expectant look 
on his face, "one, you ate you're entire bowl of leola 'oatmeal' 
without so much as a grimace."

"And two?" Tom asked, finally sipping from his mug.

"Two . . ." Harry began, waiting for Tom to taste what he had just 
sipped.  Suddenly Tom choked and spat the mouthful of liquid back 
into his mug, reaching across the table for Harry's water glass to 
rinse the foul taste from his mouth.  "Two is that instead of 
sweetener, you put half a container of salt into that coffee 
substitute of Neelix's," he concluded, dissolving into laughter.

"You could have warned me, Harry." Tom snapped.

"I could have, but then I wouldn't have had such a good laugh.  Come 
on, we've got to get to the conference room," he responded, rising 
from his seat and heading for the door.  Draining the water glass, and 
grabbing the padd with the story, Tom hurriedly followed Harry to 
the turbolift.

All through the ride to the conference room, and the following 
meeting, Tom couldn't keep his mind on what was going on around 
him.  He had to constantly stop himself from activating the padd, and 
submerging himself in the story.  His distraction became so obvious, 
that as the meeting was drawing to a close, the captain could no 
longer restrain her curiosity as to what kept stealing away her 
pilot's attention.

"Is there something that you wish to add to the meeting before we 
adjourn Mr. Paris?" Captain Janeway inquired.  "Obviously some of 
the information on that padd is of dire importance to you.  Does it 
have any bearing on the rest of us?"

Startled and embarrassed, Tom looked up, the normally fair skin of 
his neck and face flushing a bright pink.  "Um, no ma'am.  I mean 
Captain.  I -- " he stammered, looking frantically at Harry for help.  
"It -- "

"It is a technical manual that I asked Tom to help me with, Captain." 
B'Elanna's voice came to Tom's rescue.

"You asked him for technical help?" Chakotay chimed in 
incredulously.  "Just what sort of technical problem could he 
possibly help you with?"

"Well," B'Elanna began, glaring at Tom with the obvious message of 
*you'd better come up with something, or I'll kill you!*  "You see, he 
was -- "

"I'm working with her to sharpen her piloting skills," Tom said, 
recovering.  " You're the one who is always after us to cross-train in 
each other's specialties, Commander.  I'm working with Lieutenant 
Torres on her piloting, and she's going to train me on systems 
repairs."

"I see," the captain said, halting the discussion.  "I'm happy that you 
two are working so well together.  That being the case, this meeting 
is adjourned," she finished, rising from her chair, and heading into 
her ready room.

As the other staff dispersed to their individual assignments, 
B'Elanna latched on to Tom's arm and pulled him aside.  "You had best 
give me that padd, Paris," she hissed at the startled pilot, pulling 
him close to her and grabbing the item in question.  "The story is 
obviously too much for you to handle on your own."

"Just what do you mean by that, Torres?" he snarled.  All the while 
thinking about how beautiful her deep chocolate eyes were, and how 
tempting it was to move his face just a few more centimeters and 
kiss those oh so inviting lips.

"I mean," she snarled, intending to tell him that he was making a 
complete fool of himself, then stopping.  Finding herself staring into 
his blue eyes, eyes the blue of a tropical bay at the resort, the 
electric blue of her warp core, she softened her tone as she felt a 
rush of warmth run from her head to her toes.  "I mean that the story 
is much more enjoyable if you read it together.  Say after shift, 
nineteen hundred hours?"

"Uh, sure B'Elanna." Tom responded without thinking.  "Where?"  *Way 
to go Tom,* he thought to himself.  *That was about as smooth as 
those ever so enticing ridges running down her back, like an arrow 
leading to -- DOWN BOY!*

"Umm, how about the resort?  Don't forget your suit and a towel.  I 
want to find a place a little quiet on the beach to read," she 
answered, then turned and moved swiftly to the lift.  *I can't believe 
I said that!*

"I'll be there!" Tom shouted to her retreating back.  *Could she have 
possibly meant what I think she did?* he asked himself, not really 
wanting an answer as he walked to the door to the bridge.  *This 
shift is going to take forever!*


 Despite seeming like forever it was really only eight hours before 
Tom found himself walking down the corridor toward Holodeck 1 in a 
pair of sweat pants with a towel thrown over his shoulder.  As he 
entered the holodeck, he spotted B'Elanna waiting for him by the bar.  
As he walked to meet her, he took in the lovely vision she made.  She 
was wearing a short kimono style wrap, made from what appeared to 
be maroon silk, which fell just above mid-thigh.  Her legs were 
gloriously bare and she was holding a towel and padd in one hand, and 
a multi-hued drink in the other.

Hearing him, she turned as he approached.  Examining him from head 
to toe, she wrinkled her nose at him.  "Just what sort of bathing suit 
is that you have on, Paris?" she wryly asked.  Not getting an answer, 
she asked again.  "Tom, I thought you were going to wear your 
bathing suit?"

Her second question pulled him back from staring at her.  "What?  Oh, 
I did.  I have it on under the sweats," he replied, flushing slightly 
from being caught staring at her.  "You look absolutely beautiful, 
B'Elanna."

"Yeah, right Paris," she snorted.  "Get a tray and bring our drinks, 
will you?  I want to find someplace with a little quiet to read," she 
said, turning to survey the beach for the right location.  *Over 
there,* she thought to herself.  *Past that rock outcropping should 
be nice and quiet, and private.*  She turned back to Tom.  "You got our 
drinks yet, Helmboy?"

"Yes.  Did you find a good spot to read?" Tom replied picking up a tray 
holding two glasses, a pitcher, and a platter of assorted fruit and 
cheese.

"Yeah, over there past the rocks.  Come on."  B'Elanna walked away 
rapidly without looking back at him, for fear he would see the flush 
that she felt tingeing her cheeks red.  As they passed the rocks, the 
noise, as predicted, vanished.  B'Elanna laid out their towels so that 
they overlapped each other, while Tom set the tray on a flat topped 
rock next to them.  Handing B'Elanna her drink, he proceeded to untie 
the drawstring on his sweat pants and remove them.

B'Elanna watched the proceedings with interest, since he was facing 
away from her and could not see her doing so.  Sipping her drink she 
idly wondered what sort of bathing suit Tom would be wearing.  As 
he lowered the sweats and stepped out of them, she stared more 
intently at what was being revealed to her eyes.  Tom had worn a 
skintight black competition suit.  The material barely covered his 
butt, and  revealed all but an inch of his lean muscular thighs.  As he 
bent over to step out of the sweats B'Elanna choked on her drink.  
*Gods, but he had a great -- DOWN GIRL!* she thought.

At the strangled choking noise, Tom turned to see what was wrong.  
"B'Elanna!" he exclaimed, moving to pat her back.  "Are you all right?"

"Fine," she squeaked, trying to draw a normal breath.  "I'll be fine.  
Just forgot to stir in the alcohol and caught too much of it at once," 
she lied, still not fully recovered from what she had seen.

Tom knelt down and moved the tray of cheese and fruit close to 
them.  "Well, come on then," he said, pulling her down beside him.  
"Get comfortable, and let's get back to Rorg and M'nea."  *I can't wait 
to see the suit she has on under that robe.  I hope it's that metallic 
blue one she ha -- *

His thoughts stopped suddenly, as all the oxygen seemed to leave the 
air when B'Elanna unbelted her wrap and shrugged it off her 
shoulders.  Her suit was metallic blue, all right.  But it was 
definitely not the one she had worn the last time.  This was a two 
piece, with a bottom in what Tom vaguely remembered as being 
called "French cut" style.  The top was the same blue, and enhanced 
the beauty of her as she lay back on her elbow beside him, and turned 
on the padd.

*****

Pain, waves and waves of searing red pain washed through M'nea's 
skull as she struggled to return to consciousness.  She tried to 
remember where she was, what had happened, when she heard voices 
near her.

"I know that they were here," said one voice.  "Two males, I followed 
them from the detention cells."

*Detention cells!* M'nea thought as everything came crashing back to 
her.  The capture of the shuttle, the beatings, La'kas' betrayal and 
finally the warbird rocking under what must have been disrupter and 
torpedo fire.  *Those voices must be Roms!*  Opening her eyes she 
examined her surroundings, and silently took an inventory of her 
body and equipment.  She was behind a Rom shuttle, hidden by its 
impulse engine housing, and she had no weapons at all.  Gingerly 
testing her limbs, she found she could move normally, though her 
head throbbed as though a *Fek'lhr* were hammering at it for all it 
was worth.  Silently she rose to a crouch and moved further behind 
the housing.

"Then where did they go?" a second voice asked.  "And why is this 
shuttle still here?  The commander's Klingon was supposed to have 
left already," the voice ended, sneering at the word Klingon.

"I have no idea where she is or what she is doing," responded the 
first voice, getting louder as M'nea heard their boots approaching.  
"But the two Klin' went that way, toward the engineering decks.  
Let's get them before they can do anymore damage!"  The steps 
became more rapid, as the two Roms began to run.

*That's it!* M'nea thought, coiling like a snake ready to strike.  *Just 
run by, don't look this way.*  She saw the tip of a Rom disrupter 
pistol, then the hand and body of its wielder go by.  *Wait for the 
second one!* she told herself.  Rising to the balls of her feet, she 
prepared herself, straightening out her left hand, fingers stiff, 
hooking her right into a claw.

The second soldier never knew what hit him.  He saw a flash of 
movement out of his left eye, and started to swing around to bring 
the disrupter in his right hand to bear, drawing in a breath to warn 
the centurion ahead of him.  Just as he came around to fully face her, 
M'nea's left hand, fingers rigid, took him in the throat.  She felt the 
wet crunch of cartilage crush as her enemy's windpipe collapsed 
ending his warning in a hideous gurgle before it had even begun.  
Green Rom blood flooded out from his ruined throat, gushing hot over 
her fingers.

Not slowing to give the other Rom a moment to notice his 
companion's fate, M'nea's lashed out with her right hand , locking 
onto the dying Rom's right hand and forcing the weakening arm to 
swing the disrupter in line with the unsuspecting centurion's back.  
She crushed her fingers down, causing her first victim's index finger 
to trigger the weapon, the bolt on target, striking the centurion 
between the shoulder blades and throwing him limply to the deck.  
Kicking the still dying soldier's legs out from under him, she dropped 
him to the deck, closing the fingers of her left hand and tearing his 
throat out, finishing his struggles for good.

Cleaning her hand on the Rom's uniform, she stripped him of his 
weapons, then moved to the centurion and did the same, cutting his 
throat with the dagger she relieved from his belt to be sure he was 
dead.

"Never leave a live enemy behind you!" she cried exultantly.  "And 
that's just what you did, La'kas, you traitorous *yIntagh*!  But I 
know you now, and I am coming for you!  You and you're cowardly Rom 
*loDnal*!  I'm coming for you!" she screamed as she raced in pursuit 
of Rorg and his companions.

The *Hungry Heart* rocked from another volley of torpedoes from 
the crippled warbird.  Sparks cascaded from the engineering console 
on the bridge, but Tanach ignored the acrid smoke and the cries of 
pain from his crew.

"Damage report?"

"Our shields are down to 30%," came the reply from Tactical, "but 
damage is minimal."

"And the enemy ship?"

"They are worse off, Captain," the tactician grinned.  "I'm reading 
severe hull damage on three decks, and one breach near Main 
Engineering."

"Sir, incoming transmission from the *Kahless*!" the 
communications tech reported.

"Put it onscreen!" Tanach barked.

"Tanach," K'oth began without preamble.  "Another volley of 
torpedoes, and their shields will be completely down."

"Status of the boarding parties?"

"They have taken five decks, and are converging on the main bridge 
and the engine room.  It won't be long now."


Rorg gritted his teeth and fired again into the mass of Romulans 
clustered at the end of the corridor at the door of Engineering.  
Disruptor fire blackened the deck plates, and already several charred 
and blackened Rom corpses littered the entrance.

"Rorg, this is madness!" La'kas hissed in his ear, ducking as a shot 
whizzed past her, and she huddled closer to the wall.

"M'nea will be avenged," Rorg growled, firing again and laughing as 
another of the enemy fell to the ground, leaving only three between 
the boarding party and its objective.  "And we will take this ship!"  
He dropped to his knees, snaking around the corner and squeezing off 
two more shots.  K'tath provided cover fire as they ran out into the 
corridor.

The last Romulan fell with a gurgle, his throat a smoking ruin, and 
they leapt over the corpses.  "K'tath, get started on disabling that 
weapons array!" Rorg called out, disruptor held straight out in front 
of him as he scanned the empty engine room for ambush.

"*Kai,*" K'tath muttered, already punching commands into the 
console.  "They've locked us out of the computer!"

"Then do it manually!"

"I don't know enough about their systems -- "

"Just start ripping out circuits until the blasted ship STOPS FIRING!"

La'kas fidgeted, unsure of her next move.  With their backs to her, 
they were not expecting an enemy with a familiar face.  But she 
would only have time for one shot, and couldn't count on their 
surprise giving her time to take them both.  Her lip curled as she 
pictured Rorg lying dead at her feet, and her finger twitched on the 
trigger of her weapon.  She heard boots on the deck plates, and knew 
she had to make her choice.  Now.  The ship was going down -- 
nothing could stop that.  The warbird was outgunned, outmatched, 
and damaged.  It would not make it back to the Rom side of the 
border.  Her eyes narrowed as the first Rom centurions rounded the 
corner, and she let off a volley of shots.  *Live to fight another day.*

Meanwhile, K'tath had isolated the circuitry responsible for 
targeting and pulled out his disruptor and fired into the mass of 
isolinear chips, melting half of them into slag that sizzled as it hit 
the deck plates, a shower of sparks and black smoke pouring from 
the console.  He moved on to the next panel.

Rorg joined La'kas in the open doorway.  The hallway was littered 
with fresh corpses, but was silent at last.  Static crackled over his 
communicator.

"First Lieutenant!  We have taken the bridge!" a male voice reported, 
the sound of cheers in the background.

"Seal off the deck," Rorg barked.  "Lower shields and let the *Hungry 
Heart* know to start beaming over more boarding parties.  All 
Romulan survivors are to be confined in the brig."

"*Kai.*"

"Tactician," La'kas called out over the open channel, "have you 
located the ship's commander?"

"The cowardly dog left a subcommander in charge."

"Find him," she growled, and Rorg smiled grimly, completely 
misconstruing the grim determination etched on her face.

Cautiously, they stepped out into the hall, disruptors raised before 
them.  La'kas took the lead.  As they turned the corner, a shot 
scorched the wall behind her, and she rolled, seeing sparks.  Sessik 
reached out and grabbed her by the hair, dragging her to her feet and 
using her body as a shield.  "Halt!  Stop!"

La'kas twisted in his grip, but not enough to get free.  He leveled the 
disruptor at her temple, dragging her backwards into the doorway of 
a darkened cargo bay while her shipmates watched, helpless.

Rorg's eyes darted back and forth, from La'kas' face, twisted in pain, 
to her captor, hatred shining in his dark eyes.  Slowly, he lowered 
his disruptor, and motioned for K'tath to do the same.

"That's better," Sessik grinned wolfishly.  "Make no move -- or she 
will die."

Rorg's lip curled in a sneer, his hands twitching as he was seized 
with the desire to wrap those same hands around this Romulan's 
throat and squeeze.  "We have taken this ship," Rorg said levely.  
"You'll never get off it alive."

"Won't I?  You did not come this far only to lose her, did you?"

La'kas dark eyes pleaded with his, and for a split second, he was 
disgusted by her weakness.  But this was his *par'machai,* the 
woman who had welcomed him into her bed, and his heart.  "I'm going 
to board a shuttle, and you are NOT going to stop me.  Your ships will 
NOT fire on me -- unless you wish to sacrifice your own officer."

"A soldier of the Empire is not afraid to die," Rorg pointed out, and 
saw La'kas' eyes widen.

"Ask her which empire, Rorg," a voice rasped out from the darkness.  
Sessik spun around, his face frozen in shock as light from the 
hallway glinted off the muzzle of a Romulan disruptor.  Rorg's eyes 
widened as a ghost stepped out of the shadows.

"M'nea," Rorg breathed, his eyes going back and forth between La'kas 
and the battered, bruised M'nea in utter confusion.

"Ask her," M'nea repeated, her voice a hiss.

"La'kas?" Rorg stammered, and saw her dark eyes harden like chips 
of obsidian in her dusky face.

"He won't kill her."  M'nea prodded Sessik between the shoulders with 
the weapon.  "Not his WIFE."

La'kas exploded from Sessik's slackened grip, teeth bared, fury 
shining in her eyes.  Rorg grasped her by the forearms, slamming her 
into the bulkhead.

"Is it true?" he demanded, and a slow, lazy smile spread across her 
face.  "Is it TRUE?"  He shook her roughly.

"He gives me more pleasure than you ever did," she drawled, and spat 
in his face.  As the spittle tricked down his cheek, he thrust her 
away from him, revulsion filling him.  She landed on the deck plates, 
one leg twisted beneath her, and began to laugh.  As Rorg looked 
down at her in disgust, choking sobs of laughter spilled from her 
mouth.

K'tath pointed his own disruptor at Sessik, pushing the Romulan to 
his knees.  M'nea lowered her disruptor, hands shaking with fury as 
she stepped up to La'kas.  "I claim the rite of single combat," she 
said slowly.

"We must get you to Sickbay -- "  Rorg shook his head.

"I am fit enough," M'nea spat, "to show this traitor Klingon honor!"

"What does a lowly Klingon dog know of true honor?" La'kas growled, 
clutching her side.  "Nothing!"

"Prove it."  M'nea took a fighting stance, and crooked a finger at the 
other woman.

La'kas got to her feet, ignoring Rorg's disruptor, which was leveled 
at her midsection, to stand opposite M'nea and adopt a similar 
fighting stance.  "It would be my pleasure."

The women began circling one another while Rorg looked on, 
helpless.  M'nea landed the first blow, a vicious kick that sent La'kas 
back clutching her side.  She had felt ribs snap beneath her foot, but 
the other woman didn't make a sound, even as she spat vivid pink 
blood onto the floor.

They continued to circle one another, feinting and dodging.  Rorg 
winced as La'kas lashed out, her fist solidly connecting with M'nea's 
jaw.  Her head snapped back, but she blocked the next blow with her 
forearm, and drove her fist into La'kas' side, just above her heart.  
La'kas dropped to her knees, but kicked out with one leg, trying to 
sweep M'nea's feet out from under her.  M'nea stepped out of the arc 
of the kick easily, and back handed her.  La'kas went sprawling, but 
rolled back up quickly -- but not quickly enough.

M'nea grasped her stolen knife, swinging it in an arc.  La'kas brought 
up her arm and cried out as the blade slashed her from wrist to 
elbow.  Her arm dropped, useless, blood pouring from the wound in a 
steady stream.  M'nea grasped a handful of La'kas' hair, baring her 
throat.

Sessik's eyes darted from his mate to K'tath, whose attention was 
riveted to the fight.  As M'nea raised the knife for the killing blow, 
the Romulan shoved the Klingon off balance, his grasping fingers 
wrenching the disruptor from his grasp, and fired point black into 
K'tath's chest.  The Klingon fell with an expression of surprise 
frozen on his face.

Sessik spun back to the fight even as Rorg turned to him, disruptor 
raised.  M'nea had La'kas by the hair, and jerked her upward as the 
orange stream of disruptor fire left the Romulan's weapon.  It hit 
La'kas full in the chest, and the smell of burning meat filled M'nea's 
nostrils as she let the now limp body of the traitor fall to the deck 
plates.  Sessik's disruptor fell from lifeless fingers, horror numbing 
him totally.  He carried the sight of his wife's dead eyes staring up 
at him to his grave, as Rorg discharged his weapon into the Romulan 
commander's back.

M'nea took an unsteady breath, wiping her blade clean on La'kas' 
jerkin out of reflex.  Rorg reached out to touch her shoulder, and she 
looked up at him with an expression of wonder --  blinking as if 
surfacing from a dream.

"Rorg to *Kahless.*  Two to beam directly to Sickbay."  The carnage 
dissolved in the bright shimmer of a transporter.

*****

"No fair!" Tom exclaimed, setting down the padd, and B'Elanna, 
popping a piece of bright pink melon into her mouth, leaned over to 
read over his shoulder.

"What?" she said around the mouthful of fruit.

"It wasn't a very fair fight -- M'nea had a knife!"

"Of course she had a knife.  Tom, think about it for a second.  M'nea 
has been beaten repeatedly, and is barely conscious.  La'kas has the 
benefit of a fully outfitted Sickbay.  And besides, knives are 
perfectly acceptable in single combat, or so I'm told."

"And for a romance novel, there's surprisingly little, um, " Tom 
groped for just the right word.

"Smut?" B'Elanna asked innocently.  She was rewarded by the tips of 
Tom's ears pinking.

"I was going to say 'romance,'" he said quickly.

"You're the one who called it a 'romance' novel, Hotshot."

"I seem to remember something about daggers in the throat and 
biting."

"That's coming up, don't you worry."  B'Elanna tapped the padd's 
screen with one fingernail, and licked fruit juice from the other 
hand delicately.  "Read."

*****

Doctors, M'nea decided, were evil, and the *Kahless'* chief medical 
officer Mara was no exception.  Just when M'nea thought the older 
woman was finished poking and prodding and taking samples, Mara 
insisted she stay in Sickbay overnight for observation, claiming 
that, among other things, no matter how thick her skull was, having 
it bashing into a cargo bay wall repeatedly had given her a 
concussion.  So she had been awakened and treated to the physician's 
scowl every hour during the ship's night cycle.

However, Tanach noted as she stepped inside the dimly lit sickbay, 
M'nea looked one hundred percent improved.  Her bruises had faded, 
and all the blood and grime had been washed clean.  Her shredded 
uniform had been replaced with a standard issue medical smock that 
brought out the amber flecks in her large dark eyes.  Eyes that now 
looked up at him with confusion.

"What are you doing here?" M'nea asked.

"I have not seen you in two years, and this is how you greet me?"  
Tanach raised a pale brow in a sardonic smile.

"Forgive me -- I have been with this gargoyle too long," M'nea jerked 
her head in the direction of Mara, who scowled, but didn't intrude on 
their conversation.  "I thought you would be with your crew -- I 
heard the *Hungry Heart* took heavy damage."

"Casualties were light, and my chief engineer is already at work to 
repair the systems.  Knowing Devva, we will be better than new by 
the time we reach Qo'nos."  He reached out his hand, and suddenly 
suspended from his fingers was her betrothal necklace, the broken 
chain mended and the bloodstone winking in the light.

"I thought it was lost," M'nea said in surprise, her color high.

"Rorg found it in your cell."

"Rorg . . ." she began, and then stopped, not knowing where to begin.

" . . . is a fine warrior.  He was mad with grief at the thought of 
losing you to the Romulans."  Tanach said softly, his light eyes 
piercing.  Her head snapped up, and her flush deepened.  "I know that 
our match was arranged by our families, and while I have always 
held you in the greatest esteem, you and I both know that ours is a 
joining without passion."  She opened her mouth, to say what, he did 
not know, but he raised a hand, not wanting to hear what she had to 
say.  It would only make what *he* had to say that much harder, and 
he had been thinking about this for a very long time.

"When my mother was alive, I knew my destiny," Tanach continued.  
"I was to take my seat on the Council, rule the House of Morgahth, 
raise many strong sons and clever daughters, not spend my life on 
the bridge of a warbird.  But that was B'nara's wish, never mine.  She 
never understood how important being a soldier of the Empire was to 
me -- or to you.  She took me to task more than once for delaying our 
marriage, allowing you to take a post on a border patrol ship -- as if 
you were bound by my word when you too felt the call of the Empire 
and battle in your blood.  The kind of battles waged on the council 
room floor would appeal even less to you than they do to me -- 
everything is gray, and your opponent hides his knife behind a smile.  
I prefer honest battle, where you know your enemy and can face him 
-- or her -- on an even field."

"I did not know my enemy until it was almost too late," M'nea pointed 
out.

"La'kas' treachery would have gone on unchecked if it were not for 
you.  None suspected her, not even her par'machai."

M'nea frowned at the reminder that Rorg had been the traitor spy's 
lover, and Tanach did not miss her frown or the cause of it either.

"We have won much glory this day, and I believe that, had she lived 
to see it, B'nara would have been proud.  But I will not hold you to my 
mother's dream when yours is not hers, M'nea.  I owe you -- and 
myself -- that much."

"Tanach," M'nea began, overwhelmed by the most recent turn of 
events, and unsure how to begin.  "You are a fine warrior.  Any woman 
would be proud to have you as a mate.  And you deserve one who 
looks on you with fire in her heart, and that fire does not burn in me.  
I am sorry."

"I am not," he insisted, clasping her hands.  "Promise me that 
whatever happens you will follow your heart's desires."

"I promise, old friend," she smiled genuinely then, and he turned to 
go.

Before reaching the door, Tanach turned back, a strange smile 
flashing across his face.  "Rorg is a fine warrior," he said 
enigmatically, and then the doors swished open and he stepped 
through them.

"Yes," M'nea said softly to no one in particular. "He is."

*****

"Now we're getting somewhere!" Tom exclaimed.  "The two of them 
are finally free to 'honorably' admit their feelings for each other."  
He looked up and found himself staring into B'Elanna's eyes, not more 
than a few centimeters from his own.  *Gods, you have the most 
beautiful eyes,* he thought to himself.

"Yours aren't bad either Hotshot, but if you don't get back to the 
story, we won't finish it tonight.  And I really like the ending, Tom," 
B'Elanna said in a sultry voice, before tilting her glass and finishing 
its contents.  She held the glass out to him in hopes of a refill.

Tom reached behind him and picked up the pitcher, which by this 
time was only about a third full.  He was in the middle of refilling 
B'Elanna's glass when her last comment registered in his mind.  "My 
what aren't bad, B'Elanna?" he asked, not believing he could possibly 
have heard her correctly.  He slowly and carefully set the pitcher 
down, afraid he would spill it in the sudden rush of nervous energy 
that flowed through him.

"What?"

"You said mine aren't bad either.  My what?" he repeated.

"Oh," she answered, looking down at her drink.  "Your eyes, Tom.  They 
are the most amazing shade of blue.  You said I had the most 
beautiful eyes, and I said yours weren't bad either."  She looked up, 
gazing deep into the blue pools in question.  She ran the tip of her 
tongue over her upper lip and slowly leaned in toward the pilot.  
"Tom?" she breathed.

"Hmm?" Tom leaned in toward B'Elanna's waiting lips.

"The story, Tom.  Let's finish the story."  She turned her head to the 
padd, just barely grazing his lips with her own.  That touch sent a 
jolt down her spine as if she had grabbed a power coupling with her 
bare hand.

Tom was frozen in shock, that barest touch of B'Elanna's lips to his 
own drove all thoughts from his mind.  He was aware only of how 
close to him she was, and the slightly sweet scent of her hair.  As he 
reveled in the feel of the silkiness of her hair against his chin, he 
gradually became aware of B'Elanna calling his name, telling him to 
get back to the story.  "Right, the story."  He shook himself, trying to 
concentrate once again on Rorg and M'nea.  He never noticed the 
slight movement of B'Elanna's shoulders as she shook in silent 
laughter.

*****

The *Kahless* and the *Hungry Heart* moved slowly back toward 
Qo'noS, tractor beams towing their prize behind them.  It had 
originally been decided to put a prize crew on board the warbird, and 
take her back to Qo'noS under her own power.  But the boarding 
parties from the *Kahless* had been too thorough in their work.  The 
damage they had wrought in the engineering and control spaces of 
the warbird, coupled with the effects of the *Hungry Heart's* 
disrupter and torpedo barrages had rendered the Rom warp drive 
useless.  Tanach and K'oth had decided that it was better to put a 
small damage control team aboard and tow her back, even though 
their vessels, thus burdened, were limited to no greater than warp 
factor three.

Now that the three ships were under way, a riotous victory party 
was taking place.  After much arguing, and not a few blows, it had 
been decided that there would be two victory parties.  The first 
would be held aboard the *Kahless*, in recognition of the fact that 
her boarding party had disabled the warbird's engines, and two 
members of her crew had killed the Rom captain and his traitor wife.  
Rorg gained much honor from having been the one to kill Sessik, but 
it was M'nea who sat at K'oth's right in the position of greatest 
honor.  It had been decided that even though Sessik had interfered, 
the honor of slaying the never again to be named traitor was hers.  
The disrupter blast had simply killed her before M'nea's dagger tore 
out her throat.  As she sat, drinking blood wine and listening to her 
crewmates sing of the battle and her duel, she shifted in her seat.  
She was not yet accustomed to the weight of the second officer's 
tabard that now graced her shoulders, sign of her promotion to 
replace K'tath.

Her motion was noticed by only one other in the room.  Rorg sat 
across from her, to the left of Tanach who was seated next to K'oth.  
Rorg had been unable to take his eyes off M'nea ever since she had 
entered the mess hall, after being released from Mara's 'tender care' 
in the sickbay.  No matter how hard he tried to avert his eyes from 
her, not wanting to dishonor her or her betrothed, his eyes kept 
sliding back to her.  Seeking reassurance that she had indeed 
survived her capture and the battle.

Rorg's struggle was not missed by Tanach.  Indeed, a good portion of 
his laughter this evening was at the expense of the *Kahless*' first 
officer.  Tanach knew of Rorg's attraction to M'nea; in fact he would 
have encouraged it if he had been able to think of a way to do so 
without dishonoring either M'nea or Rorg.  He saw the fire that 
burned in their eyes as they gazed at each other when they thought 
none were looking.  That was the main reason he had released M'nea 
from their betrothal.  Of course Rorg knew nothing of that event.  
The only way he could have known was if he had seen that M'nea no 
longer wore her betrothal necklace, but her new symbol of rank 
covered the area of her chest where the bloodstone necklace would 
have been.

 As the door opened to admit Mara, the *Kahless*' medical officer, 
Tanach felt a plan forming in his mind.  When Mara strode straight to 
the end of table and stood before M'nea, he knew he would be able to 
put his plan to use.

"I told you that you were to report to the captain and then to your 
quarters to rest, Second Officer!  You are not yet fully recovered, and 
if you drink enough blood wine to aggravate your injury, I will not 
heal you this time!"  Mara snarled at her patient.  Normally she would 
never have taken that tone with the former tactician; she had seen 
M'nea fight, and knew that she was no match for her in combat.  But 
she also knew that M'nea was still weakened from her ordeal, and 
would not have the stamina for a prolonged fight, particularly if she 
had drunk as much blood wine as she appeared to have.

"How dare you!" M'nea snarled, rising rapidly from her seat.  "I should 
-- "

"Peace, both of you!" K'oth's voice rang out.  "Mara, the tactician 
M'nea reported to me as ordered, but Second Officer M'nea has not yet 
been dismissed!"  He laughed uproariously at the look on the medical 
officer's face.  "However, since you are so concerned for the health 
of my new officer," he paused dramatically, "Second Officer M'nea, 
you are dismissed!  I do not want to see your face on my bridge for 
the next two standard days!  You may use that time to familiarize 
yourself with your new duties," K'oth continued, riding over any 
protest M'nea may have had.

Tanach stood and raising his goblet, shouted, "To M'nea and Rorg!  
Qapla!"

"Qapla!" came the shout from those who had not already passed out.

"Now, Captain K'oth, I must return to the *Hungry Heart.*"

"So soon?" K'oth asked.

"Yes, if I am to match your hospitality, I need to start now," Tanach 
replied, slapping K'oth on the back.  He watched as M'nea left, 
heading to her cabin.

As he turned to leave, he bumped into Rorg.  "I wonder if you would 
do something for me Rorg?" he said.

Looking startled, Rorg replied, "Of course.  What do you want?"

"I noticed that the second officer drank, but ate nothing tonight.  I 
must return to the *Hungry Heart,* and when we return to Qo'noS, I 
will take her in search of more prizes.  I want you to take M'nea 
some food, and perhaps you may have some use for this," Tanach 
said, slipping a pouch into Rorg's hands.  "You are a worthy warrior!  
*Q'apla*!"  Turning, Tanach left the room.

Stunned, Rorg watched as the doors closed behind the *Hungry 
Heart's* captain.  Then he picked up a dish of *ghargh,* and a flask 
of Romulan ale looted from the warbird.

"And where are you going with that, First Officer?" K'oth asked.  *As 
if I didn't know.  Tanach is an honorable man, to step aside for these 
two.*  "Since you seem to wish to retire, bring the second officer a 
bowl also.  I noticed she ate nothing before Mara came to eject her 
from the celebration."

"Yes, Captain!  I will!" Rorg replied, picking up a second bowl and 
flask.  "*Q'apla*!"

"*Q'apla,* indeed!  Now get out of my mess hall!" K'oth roared, 
laughing as Rorg rushed to obey.

Rorg could not believe what was going on.  As he strode through the 
corridors toward M'nea's quarters he was lost in his thoughts.  *Is 
this some sort of a test of my honor?  The mere sight of her makes 
my blood sing, and both her betrothed and my captain force us 
together!*  He was so wrapped up in his thoughts that he almost 
went past M'nea's door.  Cursing his distraction, he juggled the items 
in his hands, dropping the pouch that Tanach had given him.  
Swearing under his breath, he set down his burdens, combining the 
two bowls of *ghagh* into one, and putting the pouch in the other.  
Collecting everything, he keyed the entry signal on her door.

"What do you want?  Who is it?" came M'nea's voice from within.

"It is Rorg.  I brought you some food, as it was noticed you didn't eat 
anything."

"Enter," M'nea shouted as the door slid open.

Rorg walked in, ducking under the bar in the entryway, and placed his 
burdens on a shelf.  As he did, the accursed pouch again fell to the 
floor.  This time Rorg was intrigued by the soft chinking it made as 
it contacted the deckplates.  Picking it up, he opened it and emptied 
its contents into his hand just as M'nea entered from the small bath 
area adjoining her new quarters.

"What is that you have there Ro -- "  M'nea stopped in mid sentence 
as stunned as Rorg to see him holding the bloodstone betrothal 
necklace in his hand.

Rorg stared down at the jewel in shock, feeling heat rising in his 
face.  M'nea's hand went to her throat reflexively.  She had removed 
her sash, and for the first time, Rorg noticed that M'nea no longer 
wore Tanach's *jinaq* around her neck.

"What?" he began, and she frowned as she took the food and drink 
from him.  The carafe of Romulan ale rattled as she set it down on 
the table, her hands shaking.

"Tanach and I . . . we have broken the betrothal.  I suppose that was 
his way of telling you."  She was afraid to meet his eyes, afraid that 
he could see in hers how desperately she wanted him, afraid that she 
would not see the same in his.

Rorg was furious.  "He cannot do such a thing!"

M'nea jerked her head up in surprise to see him scowling fiercely and 
heading to the door.  "Rorg?"

But he was already through the doors, and she sank to her knees in 
the center of the cabin, confusion and desire warring with hope 
inside her.


Upon returning to the *Kahless*, the wounded and unconscious M'nea 
in his arms, Rorg had been met in Sickbay by the captain of the 
*Hungry Heart.*  It had been impossible to read Tanach's thoughts in 
those strange pale eyes, and Rorg hesitated.  But Tanach did not lift 
his arms to accept his unconscious betrothed, instead had stepped 
aside to allow Rorg to lay her on the diagnostic couch.  Mara had 
ordered them all out then, her entire focus her patient, and rightly 
so.  The two men had found themselves in the hallway outside the 
Sickbay doors, and Rorg had cleared his throat to speak, but Tanach 
had jumped in first.

"Thank you," he said quickly, earnestly.  "For believing she still lived, 
and for fighting for her.  I owe you a great debt."

Rorg had felt his heart rise in his throat as he held out a hand to the 
captain.  Tanach had made to grasp it, but instead, Rorg had opened 
the closed fingers and dropped M'nea's betrothal necklace into his 
palm.  Tanach's eyes had widened as he had closed his fingers around 
the necklace reflexively.

And Rorg had walked away.  What could he have done?  Apparently, a 
great deal.


"What is this?" Rorg spat, throwing the betrothal necklace at 
Tanach's feet.

The captain merely looked up at him curiously.  Rorg had beamed over 
to the *Hungry Heart,* and so Tanach had been informed of his 
arrival, but the captain remained still as a garden reflecting pool, 
light eyes betraying nothing.  "My mother's betrothal necklace," he 
said matter-of-factly.

"That is not what I asked," Rorg said through a clenched jaw.  "Why 
did you give this to me?"

"You had no way of knowing our betrothal was broken -- and you are 
too honorable to take what you want if what you want is another 
man's betrothed."

"You cannot simply give her to me!"

"M'nea is not mine to give.  She is free to choose; she chooses you."

For a moment, Rorg was struck completely dumb.  She had chosen 
him.  He blinked.  Then, as if discovering an inner well of resolve, he 
stood up that much straighter, eyes blazing fiercely.  "I challenge 
you to *qInyget.*"  Rorg named the ancient Rite of Claiming.

Tanach shook his head, as if addressing a child.  "I have no wish to 
fight you, Rorg.  She is yours -- "

"But you MUST!  Have you thought of how this will look on the 
homeworld?  They will believe you cast her off because the 
Romulans took her honor.  That will follow her no matter where she 
is posted, no matter who her captain is.   No, to preserve her honor, 
you must accept the challenge."

That gave Tanach pause.  Then he nodded resolutely, "Not to the 
death.  That will be enough to preserve all our honor.  I have no 
desire to kill you."

"And I have no desire to kill YOU," Rorg pointed out, and Tanach 
laughed out loud.

"So be it, Brother."


"You did WHAT?" M'nea said slowly, her voice pitched low, almost a 
growl.

Tanach and Rorg looked at one another, their smiles fading, and M'nea 
pulled both of them into her quarters before enforcing the privacy 
lock and turning her glare full on them.

"I challenged Tanach."

"Why?"

Tanach stepped between them, holding up a hand.  "Rorg pointed out 
to me that some might think I broke our engagement believing you 
were dishonored by the Romulans.  So, to protect your honor -- "

"My honor, of course," she murmured, still frowning.   Tanach looked 
from M'nea to Rorg, wondering suddenly if he had somehow misread 
the entire situation.  "The next time the two of you decide to protect 
me, you might want to include ME in the plans," she hissed.

Rorg was trying to figure out what exactly was going wrong as well.   
"I thought only of you," he said softly.  "If I have overstepped my 
bounds, please understand that.  I dared not, while you were 
betrothed to another, but when I'd thought I'd lost you, I cursed 
myself for the greatest kind of fool for never telling you how much I 
. . ." 

"How much you what?" M'nea's dark eyes were wide as she looked up 
into Rorg's face, and Tanach suddenly quite understood what had gone 
wrong.  Apparently, before storming into his quarters aboard the 
*Hungry Heart,* Rorg had somehow neglected to mention to M'nea 
that he was in fact madly in love with her.

"I must return to my ship," he said pleasantly, and was completely 
ignored, which suited him fine.

M'nea barely noticed as the door to her quarters swished open and 
closed; her eyes were fastened on Rorg's face, as if discovering the 
key to some great mystery that had plagued her.

"How much you what?" she repeated softly.

"How much I love you," Rorg breathed, surprised with the ease of the 
confession.  "I know that it shames me, to love another's mate."

"As I too felt shame, at coveting another woman's *par'machai*?" 
M'nea gave a nervous laugh.  "I was a fool."

"Both of us, then."

"I was afraid.  I thought -- I never thought," she stammered  "When 
you saw the necklace, and then left, I thought . . . "

Understanding dawned across his face, and he took another step 
toward her, closing the space between them.  "There can never be 
another for me, not while you draw breath, not while my heart sings 
for you and you alone."

She reached up and ran her finger down his cheek slowly, lingering 
on his jawline, her eyes tracing the path of her fingertip.  "This is 
where my mark will lay, when you have won me," she said so quietly 
it was barely above a whisper.


Within a matter of hours, word had spread to both ships.  Every 
officer who was not scheduled for a duty shift had reported to the 
cargo hold on board the *Hungry Heart,* which now boasted a dirt 
floor with a white chalk circle, and two *bat'telh* lying on a scarlet 
silk square in the center of the circle.

The ritual was obscure, and rarely performed in the day and age of 
marriage for political alliance and to increase the holdings of one's 
house.  *QInyget* had been first instituted when Kahless the 
Unforgettable, newly crowned Emperor, had won his first wife Mara 
(becoming a very popular name in the Empire, along with Rish, and 
Lukara, his second and third wives) from a warrior among his 
retinue.  After falling in love with the lady from afar, and she with 
him, Kahless had challenged K'em for the hand of his betrothed.

The fight had not been to the death, since it was most dishonorable 
to kill one's vassal unless said vassal had specifically wronged the 
people in his care or the Empire, and K'em had remained Kahless' 
loyal bodyguard until his death, intercepting a blow meant for the 
Emperor.   His skull was displayed in a place of honor on Qo'noS, 
neatly cleft down the middle as a reminder of loyalty to one's lord.

M'nea stood at the end of the hall, K'oth, who would preside over the 
challenge, at her side.  He watched her face closely as the doors 
opened, admitting Tanach and Rorg.  They bowed their heads before 
her, and the crowd grew silent.

"Rorg, son of Pa'kar, of the House of Grahg, why have you come here 
this day?"

"To challenge Tanach, to prove my honor and win the favor of the 
Lady M'nea."

"Tanach, son of Kang, of the House of Morgahth, why have you come 
here this day?"

"To answer the challenge of Rorg, and preserve the honor of the Lady 
M'nea."

There was a ripple of confusion through the assembled warriors as 
Tanach did not finish with the ritual response.  M'nea only smiled, 
and stepped forward, looking solemnly from Tanach to Rorg, her 
heart hammering in her ears.  She approached Rorg, and stopped a 
mere handbreadth from him.   She said nothing, but simply nodded her 
head solemnly, and Rorg backed away, eyes holding hers, until he 
stood at the edge of the circle.  She turned to Tanach, inclined her 
head, and he too backed away until he reached the circle.

"The challenge has been given and accepted.  Let no one interfere."  
K'oth paused, and then in a loud voice commanded, "*Mok*!"

Tanach and Rorg reached for their weapons, Tanach's fingers closing 
around the grip of his *bat'telh* first.  Rorg barely brought up his 
sword in time, and the ring of metal on metal echoed through the 
hold.  Again and again their blades met as they circled one another in 
the ancient dance of combat.  M'nea felt her heart in her throat as 
Rorg met each of Tanach's blows.  Both were skilled with the 
*bat'telh,* and appeared to be evenly matched.

They tested each other first.  Rorg feinted, Tanach pressed.  Then 
caution slowly gave way to genuine battle, and Rorg suddenly found 
himself having to fight as he had never fought before just to keep up 
with the captain.  He ignored the pain in his ribs as he brought up his 
*bat'telh* too late to block one of Tanach's blows.  He caught sight 
of M'nea, pale and still out of the corner of his eye, and that sight 
strengthened his resolve.

Suddenly Tanach was on the defensive, backing away from a frenzied 
fury of blows, and there was a gasp that ran through the crowd like 
the distant sound of thunder as Rorg's blade drew a line of blood 
along Tanach's thigh.  He sank to one knee, *bat'telh* upraised to 
block another strike that, had it landed, would have severed his head 
from his shoulders.  The crowd cheered, and then as quickly as the 
challenge had begun, it was over.

Tanach's sword landed in the dirt outside the circle, and Rorg's blade 
was raised for the killing blow.  The crowd grew silent, as the two 
warriors regarded one another for a moment.  Then Rorg turned, and 
walked out of the circle.  He picked up Tanach's blade, and knelt 
before M'nea.  He carefully laid his own sword down, and balancing 
Tanach's bat'telh on his wrists, held it out to her.  She reached out 
and grasped the sword in one hand.

"Honor has been satisfied.  Tanach, I give you back your blade and 
your promise."

Tanach rose and accepted the sword from her, and then reached 
beneath his tunic, and pulled out the bloodstone betrothal necklace, 
pulling it over his head so that the chain pooled in his open hand.

M'nea turned to Rorg, and offered her hand.  He grasped her wrist, and 
rose to stand at her side, pride swelling within him as they turned 
to the assembled crews.

"The challenge has been met," K'oth said with a smile.  "Now, greet 
Rorg of the House of Grahg and his lady, M'nea of Lelth."

A cheer broke out, filling the hold with hundred of upraised voices.


Alone in his quarters- - their quarters now, aboard the *Kahless* --  
Rorg held out his hand, and M'nea gasped as she saw cradled in his 
palm two amulets, rose gold encircling identical white ice garnets.

"I am far from home and my House.  I have made these *jinaq* 
identical in every way, so that all may know that we are to be 
mates."

M'nea's eyes were fastened on the jewel, a flush rising in her cheeks 
as she looked from the jewels to Rorg.  He was magnificent.  She had 
always thought it, known it, but now, now she was free  . . . .

Her hand reached out as if of its own volition, and took one of the 
chains from his slack fingers and stepped closer to him, closing the 
distance between them.   She felt him tense as she slipped her arms 
around his neck, deftly working the clasp, and then stepped back, 
admiring the garnet against his dark tunic, the setting catching the 
light as he breathed.  She smiled slightly as she lifted the identical 
amulet from his hand, feeling his gaze as she reached beneath her 
heavy fall of dark hair to fasten the chain.  He had not moved, as if 
he were afraid movement would shatter the moment like glass, and 
his eyes followed her, darting and quick.  Fierce, that was it.

"*MoVas ah-kee rutak.*" she said slowly, clearly.  *Today was
a good day to die.*

Rorg turned his fierce eye upon her, and M'nea felt her heart quicken 
even as her hand went to her dagger.  She intended to plunge it into 
his throat, but something about him made her hesitate.  This was 
more than just a ritual to her, and she wanted to make everything 
perfect.

Rorg used that hesitation, and threw himself at her, pining her to the 
wall with his weight.  "*Kash tomach ehpaq Lukara kaVeir,*" he said, 
stumbling slightly over the ancient words.  *The day is not yet over, 
Lukara.*

"*Ish-tovee chuCH thling nuq?*" M'nea replied, straining against him, 
teeth bared.   *Would you kill me too?*

"*Besh-opar gi urchun omaH te-doQ maugh-shta.*"  *No, but I would 
gladly die by your hand if you will not become my mate this day.*

"*Do magh ah chi ghos eh-pagh?*"  *Can you be a victor of the heart 
as well as the sword?*  Lukara's ancient challenge to Kahless.  Her 
dagger clattered to the deckplates.  Rorg's breath caught in his 
throat as she pressed her cheek against his neck, inhaling deeply, her 
teeth grazing his jaw.  As they closed gently over his cheek, 
breaking the skin, she tasted his blood, and spun him around so that 
it was her body that held him now against the wall of their quarters.  
Her grasping fingers pulled at his sash, tugging his tunic open.  Rorg 
growled in both pain and pleasure as her teeth sank into his shoulder.   
The bruises were darkening on his cheek as M'nea marked him as her 
own.

*****

B'Elanna watched as a flush crept up Tom's neck and he paged down, 
and she couldn't help but laugh as the pilot's ears turned bright red 
right before her eyes.

"Getting a little hot under the collar?" she whispered in his ear, and 
he took a deep breath.

"It's a good thing Harry stopped reading when he did, or I would have 
a LOT of explaining to do."

"Oh really?"

"I sorta told Harry this was research."

"Is it?" B'Elanna's eyes danced, and Tom could feel his cheeks 
growing even hotter, and it wasn't from the holodeck sun.  "All right, 
Mr. Research.  What have you learned?"

"Well, for one thing, Klingon romance novels take a really long time 
to get to the actual romance part," Tom chuckled.

"Oh, I don't know.  I thought it was VERY romantic when -- "  B'Elanna 
leaned forward and began to whisper into Tom's ear, and was 
rewarded with an even more vehement blush.

"And what was up with that Tanach guy?" Tom quickly changed the 
subject.

"Classic Klingon literary form.  Tanach represented the modern 
Klingon warrior, yet harkening back to the dawn of the Empire, 
choosing to captain a ship rather than take his council seat, while 
Rorg represented the old traditions worth keeping.  Kinda like your 
good, old-fashioned guy."

Tom chuckled.   "I wasn't aware romance novels were big on social 
allegory."

"Well, maybe your human romance novels -- "

"Hey, they're not MY human romance novels --"

" -- are a little short on depth."

"I wouldn't exactly call 'Women Warriors At The River of Blood' the 
'Hamlet' of our time."

"Are we fighting?"

"Nah.  Spirited literary discussion."

"Oh, good," B'Elanna laughed.

"Whatever happened to that river of blood, anyway?"



Finis