The BLTS Archive- Prax's Tale
by Tricia Donovan (gaharay@reveuse.org.uk)

---

This story is a fanfic based on Counterpoint, the Season V episode of
STAR TREK:VOYAGER. Trek and everything in it is ©Paramount. This story
is mine and is not to be posted elsewhere without my permission.

NB: You must be over eighteen to read this story. If you are not, or
if the idea of (implied) non-consensual sex, or sex between men
offends you, please turn back now.

---

We came from the same province, from neighbouring villages, but I was
some years older. To all intents and purposes, we met for the first
time at the training camp. I had been promoted a few weeks earlier. It
was my job to lick the new recruits into shape. And some of them
needed it. Not him though.

From that first day, when he strolled into my office as though he
owned it, all expensive cologne and la-di-da, I could tell it wouldn't
take him long to get on.

"Prax, my dear chap. What a delightful surprise. Such a pleasure to
see a fellow-countryman."

I shouldn't have let him get away with talking to a superior like
that. But I did.

Despite the words I could tell that he wasn't at all happy about
finding me there. Didn't like to be reminded of his origins. His
grandfather may have been Lord Muck, (see note) but his grandmother
was the village trull, and his father raked muck and harvested corn
with the rest of us.

As I said, he was on the way up. He had entered the service on the
accelerated promotion scheme, and when he left, some weeks later, I
thought that was the last I'd see of him. It was a relief in more ways
than one. It had got so that seeing him every day was becoming more
than I could stand.

So it was a shock when, a couple of years later, I was transferred to
the Inspectorate as his Second-in-Command.

"I wanted someone reliable, Prax. Someone I could trust," he said, as
I reported for duty.

He was half sitting on the edge of his desk, one leg braced against
the floor. He held a leather glove in his hand which he slapped idly
against his thigh. I could see the play of muscles under the black
material of his uniform. I was to become familiar with that stance in
the years that followed.

"You wanted someone you could lord it over, you mean," I said to
myself. Out loud I said "Thank you, Sir."

Seeing him again, it was as if everything I had felt before had just
been holding its breath all this time. I didn't know if I could bear
this, but if I could, it might be a bit of luck for me.

In the time since I had seen him, he had matured into a
striking-looking man: lean, hawklike features and a finely-muscled
body. He moved with the power and grace of a wild animal. If one thing
made him less attractive, it was that he knew how attractive he was.

He got into the habit of sending for me at odd hours of the day to
'talk things over'.What he meant was that he talked, I listened, and
nodded approvingly. Sometimes he would be naked on the bed, fresh from
his bath, one hand under his head, the other resting casually on his
thigh. He would smile slightly as I eased the pressure on thecollar of
my uniform, and moved uncomfortably in my chair.

"You look rather hot, Prax. Shall I adjust the environmental controls?
You really should relax more. Look at me."

But look at him was what I couldn't do.

Invariably the conversation would turn to my love life.

"Who is she, Prax? Or are you playing the field like me? A fine strong
lad like you must have women fighting over him. Well, I won't press
you further. I prefer to be a little discreet in these matters
myself."

Oh, he was discreet all right. No public carousing with his ladies for
him. Women were brought to his quarters after dark and left before
daybreak. Tavern wenches, shopkeepers wives, rosy-cheeked lasses fresh
from the country. I know because it was my job, one of my 'special
duties', to find them for him, and pay them off afterwards, or sort
out any unpleasant consequences.

He liked the country girls especially. He liked them for the same
reason he liked ordering me around: it made him feel important. And
the nobs would have seen through him in a minute.

That's what I thought, anyway, so it was a shock when he announced his
engagement to the daughter of a provincial governor. She had a
pedigree longer than her hair ... and that fell almost to her ankles
when it was loose. Not that I saw it, but he told me. "You would
hardly know she was naked, Prax."

It wasn't all it seemed, though. The family had fallen on hard times,
which in their circles meant selling the ancestral home, and pigging
it in their mansion in the city. Or the hunting lodge in the
mountains. Or the summer place by the lake. He had money, lots of it.
I never knew where it came from, and he wasn't telling -- it would
spoil the image. But, if it wasn't for that, he wouldn't have stood a
chance with a girl like her.

He called all the senior officers together to tell them his news, but
he was watching me as he spoke.

I'd got into the way of hiding my true feelings, so I don't think my
face gave anything away. I went about my duties in the usual way, but
that night I got smashed out of my mind on new ale.

It was summer, a hot scented night that was made for love. My windows
were open and so were his. I could hear him singing, a folk song from
home called the Milkmaid's Lament. When he got to the line, O, cruel
is my lover, my lover to me, I knew I couldn't keep quiet any longer.
Put it down to the drink. I had never been so drunk, but in a funny
sort of way, I was quite clearheaded. And to this day I remember
everything that happened.

I walked very deliberately out of my room and the few steps down the
corridor to his quarters. I punched in the entry code to his door and
strode in. Then I stopped. He was standing before the mirror in full
dress uniform.

"Prax?" There was a slight lift of the right eyebrow. "I did not send
for you."

"No, Sir," I said, hardly able to get the words out. My heart was
pounding painfully, and I could feel the muscles of my face working.
He must surely have seen, but he made no comment.

"No matter. I would value your opinion. I've been trying on my dress
uniform. For the wedding. It seems a little tight. What do you think?"

"What do I think, Sir? What do I think?" He was about to make some
cleverclogs reply, but I went on. "What I think, Sir, is that I can't
go on like this anymore."

He said nothing, but watched me intently. If he had spoken, I believe
I might have made an excuse and left, but his silence urged me on.

"You see, Sir, it's been hard for me, seeing you like this, day after
day. And now with you getting married ..."

The room went very far away and then zoomed in close again.

Still he said nothing. I thought of the times I had seen him on the
bed, so comfortable with his nakedness, and with me. I must have been
very drunk to think it meant anything.

"I love you."

I could have borne shock, anger, outrage, anything. But he threw back
his head and laughed.

"Oh, my dear Prax. Of course you do. I've known for ages. But you
really should have more self-control. It would hardly do, would it? I
don't know what my bride would say."

I didn't know what she would say to the nightly procession of trollops
either. He hadn't denied himself at all as the wedding day drew
closer.

As if he knew what I was thinking, he asked how I could possibly have
imagined that a man who enjoyed women so much could entertain the idea
of taking another man as a lover. I had known men who liked both, but
I wasn't about to say that to him now. For now, all I wanted was to
get away from that mocking laughter, and the arrogant sneer.

"You bastard," I said, and turned on my heel.

"Prax!" I thought it was all up with me then. He would be calling the
guards next.

"My father was the bastard. My parents were married." The mildness of
his voice was a worse insult than his laughter." Dismissed."

Back in my quarters, it began to hit me. I know he thinks me stupid.
Well, I'm not, but I don't always work things out as quickly the next
man. It was only when I calmed down a bit that I realized something
he'd said. Or not what he'd said, but what it meant. "I've known for
ages."

So he had known when he paraded his nakedness in front of me. He had
known when he questioned me about the women in my life. He had known
when he asked me to find women and bring them to his quarters. He had
known when he had gone over every detail of the sex they'd had in our
'man to man' chats. He had known when he summoned me early in the
morning, while he was still in bed with the doxy of the moment.

"Bastard! Bastard! Bastard!" I saw my face in the mirror -- my stupid,
fat, ugly, peasant face. I smashed my hand against the glass and it
cracked but the pieces did not fall. Blood from my hand smeared the
glass and its surround. I saw my crazed reflection staring back at me:
mocking me.

I didn't know how I would sleep that night, how I could remain still
long enough to fall asleep, but I must have passed out, because the
next thing I knew it was morning. I was lying on my side, freezing
cold and cramped, with a little trickle of vomit leaking from the side
of my mouth. My head was pounding and my injured hand was stiff and
sore. I remembered immediately. And was ashamed.

Not shame for loving. No, never that. Nor shame for telling of my
love. But shame that I should have loved such a worthless piece of
shit. Well, I was on duty in half an hour, so I had to see about
tidying myself up. I didn't intend to be late, even if my only duty
today was to march to the guardhouse. I'd go to the infirmary first,
though. I wouldn't give him the satisfaction of seeing what I'd done
to myself.

"I'd hate to see the other man," the doctor said as he placed my hand
in the regeneration chamber.

"Other man?"

"A joke, Sub-Inspector, a joke."

Ten minutes later I was standing at attention before his desk. He was
going through some reports and did not look up for a few minutes.

"Well, Prax?"

I hated him and wanted him at the same time.

"Sir, about last night ..."

"You had had a good deal to drink, Prax had you not?"

"Yes, Sir."

"Understand that I cannot condone drunkenness, or insubordination in
my men, but in view of your exemplary record, and the ... ah,
extenuating circumstances, I shall take this no further. I need hardly
point out, however, that should there be any repetition of last
night's conduct, you will find yourself in front of a court martial.
Do I make myself clear?"

At these words his eyes became cold. I had not thought brown eyes
could be cold, but his were like a bottomless lake.

"Yes, Sir."

"Well? Do you not have duties to attend to? I take it you do wish to
remain in my service."

"Yes, Sir. Thank you, Sir."

There wasn't anything else I could say.

After that I wasn't asked to procure his women, and he was
fully-dressed whenever I was summoned to his quarters. There were a
few pointed remarks, but I learned to ignore them.

I wasn't invited to the wedding. Well, practically the only person
there who didn't have a title was the groom. There was a dinner a week
beforehand at the barracks to which all us 'lower orders' were
invited. This was the first time I had seen the bride close to. She
was a pale, thin girl with red hair. I wondered how she felt about all
this,and whether she loved him. In the manner of upper-class girls she
didn't show her feelings, but nodded and smiled politely, and dabbed
at her lips a good deal while picking at her food. I felt sorry for
her anyway.

I got married myself a few weeks later. A girl from my village had got
herself into trouble. Her father and mine were old friends and he
asked me, well, told me really, that I'd have to do this. I had a talk
with the girl,and told her what marriage to me would mean. It wouldn't
have been fair otherwise. She was sensible about it, and glad that she
would be 'respectable'. Four months after the wedding I was a father.

Sixteen months later I was a father again, so she was getting her
pleasure elsewhere after all. I told her that if she couldn't be
careful, she should at least pick someone who looked a bit like me.
She took me at my word. My brother's wife threw him out, and he came
to stay with us for a week or so until she cooled off. That summer my
wife presented me with a child who looked exactly like me. A girl,
poor little mite.

My changed state amused his lordship hugely. "We old married men" was
how he referred to us. We were away on missions quite a bit by then,
and he was making sure I knew "how to conduct myself".

"Not anyone from the ship's complement, Prax. Do I make myself clear?
What you get up to in port is your own affair, but I will not allow
anything to jeopardize the success of these missions. Lovers' tiffs
are not good for discipline. I'm not asking you to do anything I would
not do myself. We old married men have to forego such pleasures."

Then, as I was leaving, he added, "Take what you want from among the
prisoners, of course. Telepaths make such ... intriguing partners."
He liked it from them because they knew what he wanted (he'd let them
read his mind to that extent) and were only too anxious to please, if
it meant a reprieve."

We settled down into something of a routine: three months in space,
three months' shore leave. There was nothing to it really. Sometimes
one of the ships would put up a fight, but we always outgunned and
outnumbered them. It all got a bit monotonous. To relieve the boredom,
some inspection teams played little games, pretending they hadn't
found any tels, and leaving, then transporting back again minutes
later to put the lot of them under arrest. Not when I was in charge,
though. I don't like timewasting.

We'd had about three years of this. I'd got a bit of leave saved up,
so I'd gone back home to see my family. I'd only been there a couple
of days when I was recalled.

"New orders, Prax. We're leaving on a mission."

I wondered what was so different about that, and why I'd had to cut my
leave short.

"It's an open-ended mission. We will not return until we have found
what we're looking for. So say farewell to your 'wife'."

He always said 'wife' in that way. I ignored the insult. "What is it
we're looking for, Sir?"

"A wormhole, Prax. A wormhole by means of which our prey is escaping."

I'd heard talk about this mysterious wormhole, but had put it down to
traveller's tales. "Sir, I understood there was nothing to that
rumour. Can I ask where the information came from?"

"An impeccable source, Prax." He smiled. It was not a pleasant smile.

"Sir, might I remind you that the anomaly we chased up last year
turned out to be a hoax."

"Prax, Prax, my dear sceptical Prax. What would I do without you to
keep my feet on the ground?"

His tone was light, but I could see he didn't like being reminded of
that little fiasco. He'd been summoned to Headquarters over it, and
from the way he'd treated me for the next few days, I could tell he'd
got a rollocking.There was no further discussion, and one week later
we left for deep space.

It was much like any other mission to begin with. We caught a number
of ships smuggling tels; as usual the vessels were impounded. But this
time the prisoners were closely interrogated. And he was present at
every interrogation. Sooner or later they all admitted to knowing
about the wormhole, but not its location. But there was something else
that began to crop up under questioning, a name that we heard over and
over. Voyager.

I couldn't see what all the fuss was about. It was one more alien ship
with tels on board. But he was more excited than I had ever seen him.
I was called to his office before we left on our first inspection of
the vessel.

"Go easy on this one, Prax."

"Sir?"

"If there are telepaths to find, you are not to find them. Do I make
myself clear?"

"Sir, no, Sir."

He sighed. "No matter, Prax. It will all become clear in time. Even to
you. Just ensure that the telepaths' hiding place is not uncovered,
however obvious it is. Make sure the teams understand that. And make
sure they understand that if anyone fouls up, he will be out. And so
will his immediate superior."

I got the message all right. It was my head for the chopping block if
anything went wrong.

Well, I hailed the alien vessel and went through the usual spiel.
There was a big, dark man on the bridge that I took for the captain at
first, but it turned out he was only the first officer. They sent for
the captain, and this woman appeared: pale, with reddish hair. She
didn't like it, not one little bit. I'd thought his lordship was
imperious, but she could give him a run for his money any time. I
wondered how her second liked being bossed about by a woman.

We transported over, and he sat himself down in her Ready Room as if
he owned the place. Which, in a way, I suppose he did.

"Well, Prax, a woman in charge. What do you make of that? How would
you like to be under a woman? Ah, but I forgot, she's not really your
type is she? Now, what about that blond stallion at the helm?
Delicious, isn't he? Or maybe her first officer. He's more your ...
size."

I was used to his insults by now. I could bide my time. And he had it
wrong. The thing is, I wasn't tempted. Not one little bit. They were
aliens, you see, and I've always preferred my own kind. If everyone
kept to their own kind there wouldn't be half the trouble. There's a
lot of it in space. Inter-species fraternization they call it, and
it's strictly forbidden. But they all do it.

I've never really liked space, and maybe it's because of that... the
aliens I mean. You might ask how I came to join the service in that
case. It was simple really. There was a recruiting drive in our
province, and they came to our village looking for likely lads to join
up. I thought it was a way of getting out of that place and away from
all the gossip. But it wasn't any different. I took the village with
me. That's when I found out that no matter where you go, your own
little world goes with you.

"Captain Janeway. Report to your Ready Room." His voice was all smarm,
but she wasn't having any of it. Not yet anyway. Sooner or later they
all open their legs for him, willingly or unwillingly.

It was a funny sort of inspection. There were the tels, large as life
in transporter suspension, and we had to pretend we didn't know they
were there. One of my men queried it, and I told him it wasn't his
business to question orders. There was a bit of whispering among the
others, and I knew I'd have to say something when we were back on our
ship. Of course he wasn't happy, but I wasn't going to let him fob me
off.

"Sir, paragraph 351, subsection ..."

"Prax! Do you know why I am sitting in this chair, and not you?"

I could have said that it was because he had money and good looks and
fancy in-laws, but he didn't really want an answer, so I kept quiet.

"It is because I have vision, and imagination, and flair. Stay with
me, Prax, and there are no heights to which we will not aspire."

And no depths to which we would not fall if it all went wrong.

"But you know, Prax, that gives me an idea. I want you to pull me up
in front of her if I become too ... unorthodox. Quote the code at me
all you like. That should create exactly the right impression."


A week later we were on Voyager again. Same instructions. He'd
drenched himself in some expensive scent and her Ready Room reeked of
it.

"Computer," he said. He'd got all their access codes, you see. He
could do what he liked. "Access musical database. Mahler, Symphony
Number One, Second Movement."

The music was strange, but I quite liked it.

"One of her favourite pieces, according to the database, Prax."

She was always 'she' or 'her' to him. I don't think he really liked
the idea of a woman in charge.

He told her he'd played the music to help her crew relax. That was a
laugh. Then he had me serving this coffee stuff that they drank. She
looked at me as I handed her a cup, and I could see she thought I was
muck. It amused him, though: I was 'my cupbearer' for the next few
days, until he grew tired of the joke.

I did my bit, and quoted the regulations at him when he gave me the
signal. I wasn't making it up either. I knew the code by heart. He put
me down in front of her. All part of the plan, but I could tell he was
enjoying it.

That was that, and we returned to the ship.

"Prax, I want you to send an encoded message to Voyager. It must look
as if it comes from the transport. Instruct them that the rendezvous
has been changed. Send these coordinates."

"And then we pick up Voyager, Sir?"

"No, Prax. For Voyager will not be there. I, myself, shall warn them
of the trap."

He paused to see the effect he was having. I wouldn't give him the
satisfaction. I just stood at attention and waited.

"I am going a-wooing, Prax. What do you think? Do I look sufficiently
'humble'?"

Humble. I could have laughed as he stood there, hand on hip. Still,
the clothes weren't his usual style -- a bit on the plain side. And he
wasn't wearing any cologne either.

"Now, Prax, these are your orders. You are not, under any
circumstances, to interfere with Voyager's movements. You are not to
contact Voyager, and you are to advise all other ships in the area to
stay clear. I shall contact you as soon as I am able, if I am able. If
you do not hear from me within one week, then, and only then, are you
to board her. Do you understand?"

Well I did and I didn't. The orders were clear enough, but I couldn't
get at the thinking behind them. Perhaps I should have tried to stop
him, but there wasn't much point. He wouldn't have listened.

I worried about this for the rest of the day. True, I now had a ship
to run, but with everyone knowing their duties, and our only orders to
cruise at a speed that would keep us ten light years behind Voyager,
there wasn't really anything to do.

The way I saw it, if anything went wrong, I was as much for it as he
was. I could let them know back home what he was up to (although I
didn't really know myself). That would save my skin if he failed. If
he pulled it off though, and I'd sent in a damaging report, I was
finished.
If I waited until afterwards to report him, it would look as if I'd
been waiting to see which way the wind was blowing.

Then I had a brainwave. There was a man I'd known. He'd been one of
Smarmy's 'brother officers', seconded to our unit for a month. He'd
been posh too; the only difference was, he wasn't putting it on. And
he didn't think much of his lordship. To cut a long story short, we'd
become lovers. Of course it couldn't last, with him being an officer
and a nob, but we parted on good terms. He'd told me if ever I needed
a friend, to look him up.

I drafted two reports. One was just the bare facts, but they were
damning enough. That was public reading if it came to it. The other
was for my friend's eyes alone, unless he chose to share it. It gave
him all the background, and my feelings and conjectures -- the sort of
stuff that doesn't end up in official memos.

I encrypted both reports and bypassed the security codes to send them.
Now I was in the clear. If things went wrong, the record would show I
had contacted a senior officer as soon as I became aware of
irregularities. If it turned out all right, the report would be
deleted without anyone being the wiser. It didn't matter if my friend
sat on this for a bit, as it would have done if it had been me holding
it back, because there was one other thing I haven't mentioned. He was
the nephew of the Supreme Commander.

A short while later I received an acknowledgement. My friend had both
reports and would wait to hear from me before taking any further
action. I could enjoy being in command now. I sat in his chair and
savoured the luxury of triumph. "Up yours, Mr La-di-da Kash-sick," I
said out loud. "I've got one over on you this time." I had been right
in thinking that throwing in my lot with him could mean a bit of luck
for me. All things being equal, I was in for a promotion, whichever
way it went.

The next few days dragged a bit. I found myself thinking of him all
the time. Wondering how he was getting on with the Ice Maiden. He'd
probably had her twenty times over by now. Or maybe not. There was
something different about this one. She'd got under his skin as it
were. He wasn't used to women giving as good as they got.

I half wondered if we'd ever see him again.

Anyway, on the fifth day things started to happen. First of all the
array at Tehara started transmitting an alert. Once I'd established it
was Voyager that had tripped it, I was busy making sure that all the
other ships in the area stayed clear. Then, late that afternoon, he
turned up.

"I've found it, Prax. The wormhole."

"Congratulations, Sir. So now we go in and take Voyager?"

"It's not that simple, Prax."

No, it never was with him. It turned out that he hadn't exactly found
the wormhole, only the means of locating it. It was due to open in a
few hours, but they were still working on where, back on Voyager. We
were to wait until the last moment before going in. She'd tell him
where the wormhole was, he'd destroy it, and arrest them all, her
included. Then it was home to fame and glory. For him, anyway, but it
wouldn't do me any harm to have it on my record. I had to admit, it
sounded all right.

He instructed the helm to lay in a new course and we headed off at
maximum warp towards Voyager, "towards my destiny", as he put it.

He explained to me what was to happen. It was straightforward enough:
once she had been summoned to her Ready Room, the men were to arrest
Voyager's crew and confine them to Cargo Bay Two. A detachment was to
take over the bridge stations and Engineering. As for me, when he told
me to check on our teams, I was to leave the room with the guards, and
wait outside the door until he called me in again.

I hailed the alien vessel.

"We have submitted to three inspections. Please explain why another is
necessary."

I was used to being interrupted by him, but I wasn't taking it from
her. I went on as if she hadn't spoken. Minutes later we were in her
Ready Room.

He ordered music played again, but it was different this time: sadder
and at the same time more exciting. He had a stupid, mawkish look on
his face that would have been laughable if it hadn't been pathetic in
an odd sort of way.

She came into the room at his summons, and I could see at once that
there was something between them. So, the Ice Maiden had melted. He
was a smooth operator, I had to give him that.

I thought he might have got on with it straight away, but no, there
was a lot of arty-farty messing about that, as usual, included a dig
at me. Then he told me to go and check on our teams. I waited outside
the door for what seemed a long time, but was only a couple of
minutes.  He called me in and told me that I would find the telepaths
in transporter suspension in Cargo Bay One.

I looked at her. Ice wasn't in it. She was colder and paler and harder
than any block of ice could ever be, and there would be no melting her
again. If he still wanted her, he would have to take her by force.

I went off to the cargo bay, and he went to do his stuff on the
bridge.  What happened next is all in the report. At the end when I
tried to salvage something (why, I don't know; force of habit I
suppose) by arresting her and impounding her ship, he wouldn't let me.

"This never occurred," he said, with her looking at him all big-eyed.

"Make sure your teams share that understanding."

We transported back ahead of him, but he was only a few minutes after
us, so nothing much can have happened between them. I was in my
quarters by then, drafting my final report. I sent it to my friend,
and said that I would contact him within one hour to tell him what I
wanted done. If I didn't get in touch, he was to go ahead and forward
the report to the appropriate person. Then I went to his lordship's
office.

It was so dark that I could barely make him out, sitting at the desk
with his head on his hand.

"Not now, Prax," he said, in a tired voice I had never heard from him
before.

"Computer, full illumination."

"Are you mad?" he said, springing to his feet. "Computer ..."

"If you're wise, you'll listen to what I have to say." I told him
everything I had done.

"What is to stop me killing you here and now, and saying you attacked
me? That it was a ... a mutiny?"

"Nothing, Sir, but it's not a good idea ... Sir." I explained that if
my
friend didn't hear from me within the hour, he would pass the report
to Headquarters.

"Hah! And who would believe you? It would be your word against mine.
The word of a mutineer."

"Not exactly, Sir. My friend will vouch for my honesty. He is 'an
impeccable source'. Very close to HQ, you might say."

He went pale as he realized who my friend must be. For the first time
I saw respect in his eyes. Or maybe it was fear. In my experience,
they're often the same thing.

"It would seem you have me at a disadvantage, Prax, my dear chap."

I said nothing.

"Perhaps we could come to some ... arrangement. An agreement between
friends. You have a growing family ... your wife ..."

It's the little things you notice. Like the way he said 'wife' without
turning it into his usual sneer.

I just kept looking at him, without saying a word.

"To hell with it, Prax! Name your price!"

"I'm just a soldier doing my job. Maybe I don't have a price."

He waited to see what was coming next.

"But as it happens ... I do. I don't know if you can afford it
though."

"Name it. The funds will be transferred to you within minutes."

"Not money."

"What then? I'm afraid a promotion is not really in my gift, although
naturally I'll have a word in the ..."

"You."

"What?"

"You. My price is you ... Kashyk." The wanting had never gone away you
see. Not even when he treated me like dirt.

He looked hard at me for a few seconds, and gave a short bark of a
laugh. "No."

"I'll contact my friend, then," I said casually, and turned to leave.

"No ... wait."

I turned back very slowly. He did not move.

"You were not always so shy about taking off your clothes in front of
me."

He began to undress then, unhurriedly and with a lazy half smile on
his face. He didn't take his eyes off me. I couldn't help but admire
the bastard.

I could feel my erection growing, and this time I didn't have to hide
it from him. I sprawled in the easy chair so that he could see. In a
minute I would have him kneel down before me and unbutton me. I would
have him all the ways there were.

And then he was naked, and as arrogant as ever, and I saw that he was
erect. So this was my triumph. My revenge. I was supposed to make him
feel like dirt, and here he was enjoying himself.

In that instant, all desire fled. "You're dismissed," I said. I heard
a rustling noise, and then the hiss of the door. That was the last of
him.  Shortly after, Security called to say there had been an
unauthorized shuttle launch.

I still had a little while to go before I contacted my friend. I
didn't know what to do. They'd have him for desertion now, so his
goose was cooked anyway. There wasn't any future in going ahead with
my report, as far as I could see. It doesn't do to mess too much with
the high-ups.  I just wanted to go home. I'd put in for my discharge
papers when we got there. I didn't have any reason to stay in the
service now. No reason at all.

---

The End