The BLTS Archive- The Privilege Circle
by Delta Story (deltastory@geocities.com)

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Okay --- I've got tons of other things that I should be doing, but
with all the talk & stories around here today about red-shirted blonde
geologists and expendible XOs, this just sorta happened.

So... thanks Mary W. and ragpants for the inspiration! <bg>

August 1999

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The doors of her quarters clicked closed.  Janeway sighed as she
slumped onto the sofa, worn and weary from yet another fourteen hour 
duty shift: a false red alert;  a rebellion in the mess hall; Seven 
and B’Elanna in yet another showdown. . .  just another day on Voyager!

And then there was Chakotay and that young, buxom blonde geologist! 
She had seen this one brewing for months, especially after the Devoran
debacle. Just what *was* it about him and blondes?  But, as long as
she insisted onfollowing her own stern lectures about not mixing
business with pleasure. . . well, yes; she had only herself to blame.  But
protocol must be followed. Besides, he hadn’t reached a Starfleet
captain’s chair; he didn’t know about the Privilege Circle, the covert
club that was part of the ritual of captaincy.   She smiled, just
thinking about the secret that had saved her sanity --- and probably
that of so many other commanding officers! --- so many times.   

Over one hundred years earlier, when Starfleet first wrote the
contemptible Sexual Conduct Manual for all of its personnel, it knew
that command officers would have difficulties setting examples for
their junior staff, particularly on long, monotonous missions.  This
had been particularly evident in the early missions of the Enterprise. 
In spite of all of his leadership skills, James Kirk had a real
problem with containing his libido for more than a couple of weeks at
a time.  So it was that the Powers That Be in the administrative
echelons conducted an investigative study into the most efficacious 
and discreet manner in which to allow their staff to relieve the high
degree of stress brought on by their positions. 

After months of surreptitious research,  a lone answer stood out from
all the data.  The answer involved implementation of the most current,
state-of-the-art cybernetics: the creation of cybernetic modulations
of electromagnetic impulses which assumed a solid form, completely
anatomically correct in all bodily functions other than eating,
drinking and elimination.  These cyber-modulated magnetic personages, 
or CMPs, would be trained as a covert section in Starfleet.  Their 
programming would allow their "hosts" to instruct them in whatever 
duties they, the hosts, deemed necessary.  The existence of CMPs would 
be known only to personnel who reached the rank of captain, and even 
that would be after new commands had proven themselves in their 
positions after a year.

At the end of this initial shake-down year, a new captain met with his
or her sponsoring admiral.  The administrator, assuming the position
of a counseling, informative parent, discussed with the younger
officer the special rules of sexual conduct for command officers.  The 
older person then informed his or her protégé that Starfleet was not 
heartless when it came to recognizing special needs of the leaders of 
their vessels, and, as such, there was now a way to provide for these 
physical essentials.  If the young captains so chose, he or she could 
be supplied with a CMP who would be theirs and theirs alone, to 
fulfill such needs as they arose.   If the officer were married, the 
CMP could be programmed as an exact replica as his or her spouse.  
Otherwise, a CMP could be selected from among existing designs or one 
could be programmed according to defined specifications.  Of course, 
all of this information had to be kept under the highest of security, 
for obvious reasons.  The existence of CMPs could *not* be discussed 
with anyone other than the captain’s immediate administrative advisor 
or the CMP review panel.  Revealing the existence of CMPs was 
punishable by court martial, discharge, and a denial by Starfleet of 
the reality of CMPs.  If a captain accepted the offer of a CMP, he or 
she faced a further pledging of confidentiality and secrecy by being 
initiated into what was known as the Privilege Circle.  Initiations 
occurred  annually,  usually with 2-3 initiates.

So it was after her first year in the Big Chair that Kathryn Janeway
was summoned by Admiral Paris to his office.  She smiled as she 
entered, but his solemn expression soon brought a fearful grimace to 
her face.

"Admiral, is everything all right?  You didn’t say what this was
about, and now I’m almost afraid to ask," she asked tentatively.

Admiral Paris waved her to a seat across from him, thankful for the
broad desk that gave him some separation space.  His hands, resting on
the desk, were linked into a prayerful position in front of him;  his
eyes were lowered.  He slowly raised his eyes to meet her questioning
ones as he began speaking.

"Kathryn, what I’m about to tell you is not easy."  He laughed
nervously. "I almost feel like I’m talking to one of my own children,
and I don’t know if I could really even talk to them about this."

Janeway leaned forward in her chair, all the more inquisitive.

"Oh, I’m sure it can’t be *that* bad, sir," she smiled.  "Why," she
now laughed, "this almost sounds like the introduction to a lecture on 
the birds and the bees!  I think I’m a little beyond that. . . "

Paris now returned the smile.  "As a matter of fact, Kathryn, it is. . . 
sort of.  Let’s just say, it’s the birds and the bees for Starfleet
captains." And with that, he proceeded to tell her of the Privilege
Circle.

Paris finished his formal explanation and resumed his posture of his
hands in front of him, waiting for her response.

Kathryn Janeway shook her head, either in amusement or disbelief --- 
she couldn’t decide.

"You mean. . .  you mean. . .  Starfleet provides its ranking officers with. . . 
surrogate conjugal partners for lengthy away missions?"  she asked
skeptically.

"That’s correct," Paris answered, still allowing her to absorb the
situation.

"Well, I never!"  she went on.  Then she looked him squarely in the
eyes. "Tell me, Admiral. . .  is there a CMP Mrs. Paris?"

Without divulging a hint of any answer in his expression, he stated,
"I’m not allowed to disclose that information at this time."

"Only if I chose to be. . .  initiated --- correct?"

"That is correct."

"Must I make a decision immediately?" she asked.

"Well, there is only one initiation a year, and the one for this year
is in two weeks.  If you choose to have a CMP, and then desire a. . .  er. . . 
um. . .  custom model  for it. . .  er. . .  him. . . " he leaned forward conspiratorially
and continued, "--- and I’m assuming you would want a ‘him’--- we
would need some time to um. . .  program your choice."

Janeway was wondering how much she could laugh about this without
losing any professional decorum.  "Um. . .  Admiral, I really am going to 
have to think about this." She hesitated a moment and then inquired, 
"I’m sure that it is forbidden to discuss this with my fiancé. . . "

"You can talk to no one but me about your pending choice," he answered
solemnly.

She sighed.  "That’s what I thought.  Well, I must at least sleep on
it. . . "

"Of course," he answered.

As she moved to rise, she looked at him, hoping for some hint of a
suggestion.

"And what would you suggest I do, Admiral?"

"For those at the top, it can be very cold and lonely in space,
Kathryn," he demurred.

So it was that two days later Kathryn Janeway returned back to Admiral
Paris with her answer.  And two weeks later, she and Eduardo Cruz and
Zhing Lai were admitted to the Privilege Club.

Now, after almost six years of roaming the interminable expanse of the
Delta Quadrant,  she was happy she had made that decision.  Here, in
the privacy of her quarters, she could indulge in relaxing 
recreational activities and idealic pampering that kept her spirit 
going.  Only when their transport across The Void interfered with the 
operating programs of her CMP had she felt herself at odds with her 
emotions.  But --- that was almost a year ago, and long since 
forgotten.  She was now in her quarters, and she needed him. . .  oh, how 
she needed him!

She hit her comm badge and said sang out sweetly, "Oh, Andrew. . .  I’m
here!"

Electromagnetic pulses coalesced in the space in front of her. A solid
image formed, that of a thirty-ish year old human male, almost two
meters tall. His angular face was topped with thick wavy blond hair,
and his gray-blue eyes focused sympathetically on her wearied face. A
soft jersey tunic covered his muscular arms and shoulders and broad
chest, which in turn tapered down to a trim waist, atop slim hips and
firm, taunt buttocks. Well-formed thighs filled the tight leggings he
wore. A smile sensuously formed and filled his face, punctuated by
deep dimples. He stealthily walked over to her and leaned down,
cradled her face in his hands and slowly kissed her.

Pulling back languidly, he said in a smooth baritone voice, "I’ve been
waiting all day for you. Here… let me help you get those boots and
uniform off. Then, we can decide how you would like to unwind."

She now drew him towards her, returning his deep kiss. "Ah, Andrew ---
I don’t know what I would do without you!" she sighed.

He knelt and tugged at her boots, pulling them off and massaging each
foot as he did so. He then began to work his talented fingers up her
legs. He gently lifted her from the sofa and started the task of
peeling off her uniform, ministering to each part of her body as it
revealed itself to him.

She slowly folded herself into his accepting arms, sighing with
satisfaction regarding her decision of so many years ago.

"Oh, yes," she thought. "Rank does have its privileges."

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The End