Path: newsspool2.news.atl.earthlink.net!stamper.news.atl.earthlink.net!stamper.news.pas.earthlink.net!elnk-nf2-pas!newsfeed.earthlink.net!newshub.sdsu.edu!newshosting.com!nx01.iad01.newshosting.com!yellow.newsread.com!news-toy.newsread.com!netaxs.com!newsread.com!POSTED.newshog.newsread.com!not-for-mail Newsgroups: alt.startrek.creative.erotica.moderated Approved: ascem@earthlink.net Organization: Better Living Thru TrekSmut Sender: ascem@earthlink.net Message-ID: From: "Layla V." MIME-Version: 1.0 Mailing-List: list ASCEML@yahoogroups.com; contact ASCEML-owner@yahoogroups.com Subject: NEW VOY "Absolute Power" Chap 3c 8/21 (C/P, J, AU) [NC-17] Content-Type: text/plain; charset=US-ASCII Content-Transfer-Encoding: 7bit Lines: 460 Date: Tue, 10 Aug 2004 12:55:19 GMT NNTP-Posting-Host: 209.198.142.218 X-Complaints-To: Abuse Role , We Care X-Trace: newshog.newsread.com 1092142519 209.198.142.218 (Tue, 10 Aug 2004 08:55:19 EDT) NNTP-Posting-Date: Tue, 10 Aug 2004 08:55:19 EDT Xref: news.earthlink.net alt.startrek.creative.erotica.moderated:82607 X-Received-Date: Tue, 10 Aug 2004 05:55:23 PDT (newsspool2.news.atl.earthlink.net) TITLE: "Absolute Power" Chapter 3c (July 2004) AUTHOR: Layla V CONTACT: v_layla@hotmail.com WEBSITE: http://www.geocities.com/laylatrek ARCHIVING: Personal website, CPSG, Cha_Club, ASCEML SERIES: Star Trek Voyager RATING: NC-17 for violence, sex and language PART: 8 of 21 CODES: C/P, J/m, P/T implied, All Voyager characters, AU, Angst, H/c, OCC SUMMARY: Voyager's encounter with an intergalactic STORY NOTES: Evil!Janeway alert. See Part 1 of 21 for the details. DISCLAIMER: All characters, other than the original ones created by me, are owned by Paramount. I am merely playing. No copyright infringement is intended. NOTES: Thank you, Britta, for your clearheaded suggestions CHAPTER 3c **Night 3** The burden of guilt was like an albatross around Tom's neck, wrenching his heart in pure agony. The horrible solidity of the rocks and the piercing scratch in his throat, as he beat his hands and fists and palms against the unrelenting walls and screamed Chakotay's name over and over until his lungs were burning with exertion and his throat was stinging with pain, was as much to acknowledge his disbelief that they'd indeed dragged the older man away from right in front of his eyes, as it was to feel the punishing throb in his body. Wrong, he'd been wrong, oh God, he'd been so fucking wrong, was the mantra that kept going round and round inside his head, in a crazy shameful loop. In moments of debilitated weariness, when he found himself sliding down to the cold floor in shock, his breath heaving, his body limp, Tom replayed the argument over and over again in his head. And the words he'd said to Chakotay, the accusations he'd spat in his face, came back to haunt his thoughts, making him feel as if his very last breath had been ripped from his throat. What the hell had possessed him to say all that unbelievable shit to Chakotay? Yes, those aliens were revolting and they'd made him sick to his stomach with their constant groping and touching, and hideous clawing fingers, but what the fuck had gone wrong with *him*? How could he have fucking believed a word those sickening creatures had said to him when they'd taunted him about Chakotay not being experimented on because he was the First One? How demented, how unbelievably insane could he have been to give even the slightest bit of credence to those lies? And he had gone far beyond the aliens, hadn't he? All Chakotay had tried to do was help him and how had Tom responded? With raving spiteful slurs, spewing out all his pent-up frustration of things long unsaid. No, Tom shook his head, it wasn't the drugs that had made him do it. He was not going to blame his own stupidity, his startling blunders on something as inane as alien drugs. It went deeper and farther than anything those aliens had done to him. It was something deep-rooted, inherent, hidden inside this low sense of self that he had, this unbearable burden he always carried jumping into defensive mode every time he faced anything or anyone extraordinary--anyone that stood out in his life. Because from the first time he'd seen him, he'd known that Chakotay was one such person. It had been during Tom's most vulnerable moments, in the midst of those bleak dismal times when he'd spent all his days and nights drifting in and out of every shabby watering hole on every backwater planet this side of the DMZ, that he'd come across the strong, proud Maquis. Chakotay was a man who had faced the worst adversities in life, had seen his family slaughtered and his dreams and hopes shattered by the political games played by his once trusted Federation. And yet he had the most unbelievable faith in his convictions, in the validity of his cause. With his integrity, with his grit and his quiet hushed disposition, he had completely, exhaustively bewildered Tom. This was a man whose opinion would've meant the world to Tom, did in fact mean the world to Tom. And thus, from that point on, every word Chakotay spoke, every order he gave, every suggestion he made, was weighed, considered and judged by the little referee that resided inside Tom's convoluted mind. The words, it was always the damned words. Why had Tom always listened to the words and ignored the voice? Why had he only watched for the external while denying what those eyes were saying, what that face was conveying? Everything about Chakotay was about subtlety. Tom had freaking known that. The truest messages Chakotay had ever given were the non-verbal ones, the ones sent between the lines, hidden under the phrases. They were wrapped in those frowns and grimaces and soft playful smiles, they were insinuated in those rising and dipping and ever changing tones; they were yielded to him when those deep brown eyes had locked with his own. So why had Tom denied all that to his ever-suspicious heart? Why had this cynicism, this self-loathing, this feeling of never being good enough to be accepted by Chakotay taken over all his senses? Why? The wounded, agonized look on Chakotay's face, the shimmering hurt and disbelief in those beautiful eyes, the anger and agony and anguish in that shaking voice, the memory of it all sliced into Tom's soul now as he believed the cause of them must've ripped into Chakotay's then. Trusted him, yes, Chakotay had trusted him from the first day he'd met him, he'd said so, and what had Tom done? He'd come down on Chakotay like a ton of bricks with his stupid, thoughtless, torturous diatribe. God, what had possessed him? Why the hell had he gone off like that? No, Tom could not, would not blame the aliens. It was more than that, far more. It had to be. Thus, in the midst of this unending self-reproach, every time Tom rose from these bouts of shocked mute deliberations, he would throw himself against the walls again, beating at the unyielding door, screaming at his captives, screaming for Chakotay, screaming for any damned explanation. He'd demand to be taken where Chakotay was, demand to be told what was going on, demand to be faced by their shameful despicable pathetic abductors. And on and on this inner torment continued, with Tom switching between furious frenzied screaming fits and periods of wordless stunned silences and then more raving fuming crying attacks--feeling like he was losing all control, was in fact losing his mind. After incalculable hours of raging madness, just when he thought there was no one there to answer him, Tom's demands were finally met and the cell door was thrown open. He was incensed to see, among those grotesque aliens, a tall, somewhat familiar looking, Kel'zian male. "You make too much noise, Human," the Kel'zian sneered. "Who the FUCK are you?" Tom yelled, enraged. "Why are we here? Where is Commander Chakotay?" "Where indeed?" the Kel'zian smiled ominously. "Why, he's being... evaluated." "Evaluated?" Tom stared, a feeling of dread descending on him. "For what?" This time it was the Kel'zian's repugnant alien companion who replied in its irritating clicking voice. "For it's potential worth of course. On account of its..." those beady eyes bored into Tom's with glee, "...desirability." Tom felt his heart stop. "Desirability? What the hell... are you talking about?" "You are dense, Human," the Kel'zian scoffed. "If you must know, word of your ship's arrival reached the farthest corners of the Sovereignty and it wasn't long before the *chosen ones'* potential worth was being ascertained by those even beyond our borders." He smiled. "It pleases me to confirm that the First One is indeed a high-priced specimen." Specimen? "We're SLAVES?" Tom ground his teeth. "You're gonna sell us as SLAVES?" "And get a very high price too," the Kel'zian replied. "Now we only wait to see how well the First One can play the game. At the moment he is preoccupied with showing us his resistance towards his... eager captors..." A strange look of contempt crossed the Kel'zian's face as he looked down at the other alien, and then he looked back at Tom, "...and trying to win your freedom." "What?" Tom felt his heart stop. "What the hell are you doing to him?" "You ask too many questions, Human," the Kel'zian said. "Don't worry. Your superior will not be permanently damaged." "A most unfortunate encumbrance, I must say," the short alien sneered, its serpentine eyes tracking the length of Tom's body. "And what's even more unfortunate is that the *pale one* could've been an equally satisfying diversion for my horde." It clucked in disappointment. "However, we can't help but wait until the *dark one* has exhausted all his strengths. After all we've given it our word." "Yes, of course." The Kel'zian looked down at the other alien in disdain, his voice dripping with venom, "You're such unwavering adherents to your word, aren't you?" "But of course." In his stunned silence, Tom barely noticed his captors depart, as he was once again left behind in the cold cramped cell--the clamor inside his head paralyzing his limbs, making it hard for him to think straight. Sex slaves? They were being sold off as sex slaves? The words spun around his head endlessly, his chest suddenly too tight. And Chakotay was trying to win *his* freedom? But why? Tom couldn't fathom why Chakotay would do something like that. And what were these aliens doing to Chakotay? What were their plans? What... what was this... resistance they'd mentioned? Moments later as he jolted awake from this trance, Tom was on his feet and at the door again--his fists once more beating at the unrelenting metal. As he screamed anew at his captors in outrage, the only thought looping through the reel of his convoluted, distressed mind was the safety and salvation of his commanding officer--his nemesis, his friend, his quiet proud Maquis. # # As a Tactician, Tuvok was well versed in the code of discipline that various cultures adopted when dealing with traitors. Historical references in his own people's ancient texts too had taught him one important lesson: treachery and deceit rarely instituted a positive outcome. Especially when used against one's own dominion, they frequently undermined the guiding principles of a people's way of life, and destroyed all faith in their system's workings, in a person's veridicality. When caught, such individuals were duly, and quite severely, penalized. This was the reason why one would seldom find Vulcans engaging in the impure emotions of greed, deception, or anger, or other vices that still plagued other societies. In short, it was illogical to betray one's own people. Even for a high price, any profit or satisfaction gained from such an action would prove futile in the long run. However, this was not Vulcan and these people were not followers of the Vulcan code of discipline. Still, Tuvok looked forward to observing how the Zokaa'rians would deal with this individual--the traitor--they'd caught this evening. From the tools he'd watched being assembled in the interrogation room before the Zokaa'rian had been brought in, it appeared it was not going to be a very pleasant experience for him. Tuvok knew that the three--day time limit was soon to be up and he wondered how Captain Janeway would react when she found out about the problems her crew had faced during these three days. # # For a split second he felt his grip on his mind slip, the alien presence tapping incessantly against the door in his head, and then with a hard mental shove that took nearly all his strength, all his will, Chakotay dislodged its hold and cast it aside. This wrangling of the mental versus the physical was harder than anything he'd ever experienced, with his heart all but bursting with emotions he'd never felt the need to verbalize before. The pain whirled inside his mind, relentlessly stabbing into his heart. And there was something in those alien claws, some kind of venom, an intoxicant that made him dizzy and sick, did strange things to his body. But damn, they were pathetic, and as long as he had his senses he was going to fight them off--he just had to, any way he could. The repercussions of not doing so were unthinkable. Wrong, he'd been wrong... oh Spirits, he'd been so fucking wrong, was the mantra that kept going round inside his head, in an angry, adamant, and painful loop. All these years on Voyager he'd deluded himself into believing that he and Tom had really put behind them all their differences. The murky details from years past were gone; all those unsure moments from their too brief time in the Maquis shrugged off. Or so Chakotay had thought. He'd stupidly made himself believe that Tom had grown to trust him, to think of him as a friend. Hell, even if they'd never shared any deep and deliberate heart-to-hearts, he'd felt they had at least gone forward in a positive direction. He'd thought they'd bonded. On those many away missions where they'd had to rely on each other's strengths. During those late night cards and pool sessions at Sandrine's where his unassuming faculty had often delighted the challenger in Tom Paris. Except it had been nothing more than a delusion. Tom did not trust him, did not have faith in him. It had all been one big blunder on Chakotay's part, a massive misconception of his own making. And he had no one to blame but himself. Just because he'd never held their past against Tom didn't mean Tom had forgotten everything as well. But how could he have been so ignorant all this time? Chakotay felt stumped. He was supposed to be the perceptive one, wasn't he? How could he have missed all that frustrated anger the blond had harbored against him for so damn long? How could he have not known everything wasn't fine and dandy? The painful memory of the words Tom had thrown at him spiraled inside Chakotay's head, piercing into his soul. Spirits, where had he gone wrong? What details had he neglected in attending to that had helped shroud all this hostility within Tom's soul, finally culminating in this heated anguished outburst? Chakotay suddenly stiffened as he felt an alien hand slide up his back, the sharp pointed spikes of its claws scratching against his spine. Before he could realize what was happening, a corded band was briskly wound around his right wrist and pulled hard, and with a grunt he felt his arm yanked tight behind his back. More hands joined in their foraging, trying to push him to the floor. Cursing wrathfully, he shoved his captors, propelling them away with two swift kicks, his free fist punching in quick hard thrusts. But Spirits, they were everywhere, surrounding him, not giving an inch as they tried to 'examine' him unceasingly, their cold hands constantly canvassing his body. He felt one snakelike pair of arms coil around his waist from behind. "Get the fuck OFF me!" With an enraged shout he jerked his body away from the assailants, his fury and loathing at the creatures ratcheting up as high as his spine-chilling dread. And as always, the moment he got rid of one alien, two more encircled him from the other side, clicking at him menacingly. "Your *pale one* has been asking for you constantly," one of them buzzed ominously. The words seemed to slow Chakotay's heart in his chest. Oh no, they were not going to get their hands on Tom. Not after all that had happened, not after everything Tom had been through. He was NOT going to let Tom be hurt. "You stay the HELL away from him," he growled, his eyes drilling into his offender's abhorrently. "As filthy and depraved as you all are, you gave me your word." He spat. "Your fucking WORD!" "Ah," a fiendish snigger rumbled against his neck as he was suddenly pushed against the wall, and more claws joined in their exploration, "...but you seem to be at your wits' end." "Oh, I can handle YOU," he snapped, bringing up his knee to viciously strike the one twisting against him, and watched as with a squawk it let go of his arms. He took the opportunity to pull his arm free but soon found more of them close around him. With a snarl, he charged at his assailants, hammering away at them violently with his knees and his fists, his blows raining on them without remorse. But there was nowhere to go, no place to escape to, he realized with a surge of repugnance that was as much directed at the aliens as it was at himself. Chakotay bit his lips as he felt chilly skeletal fingers encircle his legs, felt the same sting puncture his flesh, as a burning sensation scorched his skin and sank into his nerves, felt himself stagger with a sudden unendurable enervation. "But can you really?" A gleeful snicker rolled into his ear. "STOP..." he heard himself groan, and hated himself for it, as a strange lethargy filled his senses. What the fuck were they doing to him? "Stop this..." he grunted. "If you don't give us your body--" He felt them slink closer. "--there are liberties that we must take." And as if that one sting had drained all his strength, he felt himself sink to the floor, his arms roughly pulled up over his head by hands savage in their pursuit. His mind in tumult, he shut his senses against the feel of those creeping bodies filing on top of him, shut his eyes against the sight of that tentacle coming out of the alien mouth as he felt its slimy surface slick past his neck. His jaws clenched, he struggled to free his hands from the alien's grip--but once again there came the same prickling in his mind, that execrable alien presence tapping against his consciousness. "No..." he moaned, as the focus of his struggle shifted once more to preserving his mind, his sanity. It was the same battle between the mental and the physical, the same anguish relentlessly stabbing his heart. And just one concept consuming his mind, exhausting his whole being: the preservation of his charge, the one who'd misunderstood him so much and for so long. "You stay... the FUCK away... from Tom," Chakotay warned, his eyes scrunched shut, his snared hands balled into fists. "Make us if you can..." they crooned in unison. I will make you, all right, he thought. If it takes my last breath, I'll make you, he promised. # # END CHAPTER 3 Continued in Chap 4a _________________________________________________________________ Add photos to your e-mail with MSN 8. Get 2 months FREE*. http://join.msn.com/?page=features/featuredemail ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ ASCEM messages are copied to a mailing list. Most recent messages can be found at http://groups.yahoo.com/group/ASCEML. NewMessage: