Chapter Text
Darog Bohl was an ancient space station discovered by the first star travellers that ventured into unknown space in the twenty second century. In deep space, they found that there were others, like them, who'd ventured into the unknown where empires built these monstrous structures as way stations.
Situated deep in the Gamma Quadrant, it was used mainly as a crossroads for travellers working their way around the sectors, some seeking employment, others settling on M-class planets and still others running freight carrying cheap ores or sometimes valuable dilithium. It contained a myriad of docking ports for vessels arriving for trading or simply to find entertainment before venturing off into the dark skies again.
Although the station was nearly falling apart, the parts were still working, which made it a practical stop for all concerned. Like most space stations, there was no lack of entertainment, and some of which came with a hefty latinum bar price tag. Who wouldn't want to see strange looking creatures perform strange looking acts for an equally strange looking audience?
Commander Chakotay, former Starfleet officer and ex-first officer of the starship Voyager, also former consort of Seven of Nine, nowadays preferred to be called Amarr. At present, he could be found sitting at a table in a crowded bar on the station.
He hadn't seen daylight in almost three months. When he'd started out he'd worked his way from planet to planet and station to station, further and further away from Federation space and everything once known to him. He owned a small but effective vessel he'd bartered for with latinum he'd worked for on old freighters, enabling him to travel from sector to sector. His ship was equipped with replicators, sonic showers, other conveniences like a small holodeck with technology and parts stripped from Federation derelicts, technology which he’d kept firmly under wraps.
Sometimes, like now, he liked the multi-cultural atmosphere of a space station like Darog Bohl where he could merge among the many different species and simply tune out the various tongues in which they spoke. An old communicator pin he'd rigged to act as translator was sufficient to talk to the locals, those who had been born and raised on the station. It was necessary that he made contact, surreptitiously gaining information in his quest for one human, always hoping he'd find her. It was a search that frustrated him, but he continued doggedly searching. So far he hadn't been lucky.
He'd grown his hair long, a far cry from the short cropped haircut of his Voyager days, which he kept tied in a pony tail. There was nothing he could do about his tattoo, but he was among strange races. It didn't seem to garner any interest, nobody gave him second looks or did double takes of recognition. He wore leathers, much like in his old Maquis days.
Strangely enough, he enjoyed the anonymity of being among species not encountered before by the Federation. They were too deep in the Gamma Quadrant to be known to anyone from Starfleet Command. Why, it could be just a short journey through a wormhole and he'd be back in the region of Ocampa! He liked it that way. No one knew him except those aliens he bartered with from time to time. They met reasonably often, like truckers at a truck stop in the middle of nowhere.
Which is why he found himself sitting in a seedy looking nightclub nursing his drink. Earlier he'd sat at the counter and the bartender had given him a jaundiced look. The man had fangs and ear lobes that reached his neck and a rubbery skin.
"What do you want?" the barman had asked.
"What do you have today?"
"Cantinino Greenberry Flush is what most want these days. It gets you drunk slowly."
Behind the barman was a rack containing glasses large and small, some with very long flutes, suiting all shapes and sizes of the various species that frequented the Green Bar.
"I'll have that."
Then the bartender refused to move from his position until Amarr slapped a credit on the counter. He was thirsty and he needed it now. Water seemed too bland tonight. He carried a sling pouch containing his critical devices and bartering credits whenever he was off his ship. And he was never without his trusty d'k tahg. No one needed to know the contents of his bag, and the d'k tahg remained his warning signal to anyone thinking about messing with him. He’d found that the hard currency used here was very similar to latinum, even in this part of the Gamma Quadrant, and could be traded easily in any bar for smaller credits.
Seconds later, a long stemmed glass with a short flute appeared with a greenish-blue liquid; on top drifted three tiny green berries. He took his drink and sat down at a table closest to a stage that contained two poles. Music played somewhere. Soon there would be dancing, probably. He hadn't been to this saloon before so he was in the dark about the entertainment, although he'd heard about the cat sisters. There were at least a hundred places of entertainment on Darog Bohl but most knew about the cat sisters, a sentient cat-like species.
He took another sip of his drink. Nothing strange about it, like most drinks he'd tried before back home, or those rare occasions on Voyager when he'd gained enough rations to splurge on himself. It gave him a slight heady feeling, but he enjoyed it. He needed to be drunk enough not to lose control but also to forget why he was so restless.
"Was she beautiful?"
Startled out of his reverie, the patron at the next table, an alien with a bifurcated forehead and fierce countenance leaned towards him. Close up he noticed the alien's face had a single, fairly large nostril. His hair was as straight as Amarr's, though snipped just long enough to cover his ears.
"Was she beautiful?" the stranger asked again. "Did she chase you from her bed?"
Amarr shrugged. How right the alien was. Seven of Nine had thrown him out. If he thought about it, really, he’d walked out, eventually. He didn't shed a single tear, neither it seemed did she. She knew before him - to 'sense' was a foreign emotion to her - that it was over after only two months together. They worked, they ate, they fucked. Then it was over.
By the time he wanted to go cap in hand to Kathryn, she had married and her new husband had taken her on an extended vacation. She was lost to him as much as Seven was. He had wanted Kathryn so badly but waiting had become a millstone, an unpleasant weight he carried right until Kathryn… Seven of Nine briefly filled his aching void. From the outset, it wasn't working. Why? Because their souls weren't joined. Not like that last night on Voyager when… He gave a sigh. He didn't want to revisit the past. So he’d resigned and left. That was three years ago. He’d never returned.
"Yeah, she threw me out," he admitted heavily.
"Women," the alien offered, "only want bed warmers."
Not Kathryn, you dickhead! I blew it with her. She took someone else and left.
He shrugged again. The music changed, like a new dramatic entrée to announce the next act. The pole-dancers were about to enter the stage. He'd heard of the sisters - exotic dancers whose reputation had reached neighbouring star ports. Amarr grinned inwardly. Pole-dancing was nothing new. They'd been doing it on Earth since the fifteenth century, though in recent decades it was more a sport and recreation thing. Here though, it seemed pretty clear sport was not on their minds and recreation was of the sexual-exotic kind.
The air had a dank smell, the patrons were rowdy and he couldn't figure whether they were swearing or just talking. But their glasses were never empty, making the barman a very happy man. Their eyes popped when the girls appeared. He really was in no mood to be entertained, for always the flash of a pair of blue-grey eyes kept him wandering from port to port in his nomadic existence. Maybe it was time to hit the road again. Too long in one place and he'd be a local like the locals. He had to stay a few days though until he'd walked the whole station.
"They're good," slurred the alien. A few others in the saloon began clapping.
Two dancers slinked forward, one from each side of the stage. They resembled grey cats with their long furry tails and ears protruding from the top of their heads. Still, they were mostly bipedal since they walked upright. Each wrapped her lithe body round a pole and began slithering like a snake, twisting and twisting, the tail following the same route as her willowy body. Their lips pouted, their eyes heavy with sensual invitation. It was certainly exotic. Amarr took another quick gulp of his Cantinino Greenberry Flush, the warmth spreading through him, though he wasn't entirely certain that it was the wine creating this disturbance in his body.
Something was happening and he wondered absently whether the bartender had sprayed pheromones in the air. Or did the girls ooze them? They danced topless, their breasts full, firm, nipples hard. He thought illogically of Seven with her breasts and the way she sometimes pressed his face into her heavy bosom. He grew hard just at that thought, knowing he was going to embarrass himself so he coughed once, hoping his unwanted friend didn't notice.
"They get to you every time," the alien said, grimacing as he rubbed his crotch furiously to bank down his erection.
It seemed to calm Amarr that he wasn't alone in his near embarrassment, his control winning out finally. The girls, already topless, began slowly removing the strings they were wearing. Wasn't it enough that they were near naked anyway?
A hand touched his shoulder. "Come outside with me," the alien said. "By the way, I am Isner, from the planet Kirlea."
"Amarr."
"Amarr. Come with me."
Good idea, Amarr thought as he rose quickly from his chair and followed Isner outside, relieved to exit the club and the cats who were more like mewling kittens waiting to ensnare them.
"Where are we going?" Amarr asked as he hurried behind Isner who was at least six centimetres taller than him.
"Very exclusive club on Darog Bohl. Do you have latinum?"
"What's it to you?"
"That's what you pay to have private views. Only the best for the best!"
Amarr was certain that he had never heard of such a club on Darog Bohl. Giving a sigh, he nodded. He had time to kill. Three days of time to kill. Besides, Isner's enthusiasm had rubbed off on him. The man knew his way about the underbelly of the station's entertainment. He might as well follow.
"Just my luck to meet someone who crawls the exclusive underground night clubs," he muttered under his breath.
He experienced a momentary twinge of guilt, then shrugged it off quickly. How much could it hurt him? He had latinum to spare. A sudden image came of him accusing Tom Paris of being a latinum-monger and Kathryn defending Tom. Amarr forced those thoughts ruthlessly away. It was enough that her eyes followed him everywhere.
"Oh, what the heck. Let's go!"
Isner led him to the nearest transport. There were very few people about, mostly men, Amarr realised. Were they all dogs following females in heat? he wondered.
"Here, we get in this one," Isner said. He promptly boarded the flitter then looked at Amarr. "Well? Are you chicken?"
"I am not a coward!" Amarr blustered as he got on and sat next to Isner.
"You'll see," began Isner, "these ladies are the most beautiful on Darog Bohl. Just don't go falling for them."
"Have you fallen for one of them?" Amarr asked by way of getting more information.
Isner rubbed his chin, looked askance at Amarr. He cleared his throat.
"I frequent the Glitter Pit. Cannot keep away. Fell for one of my own race, beautiful girl. But she was not for me. I was rudely awakened to that little reality. Why do you think I watch cats dance with poles?"
Amarr suppressed the urge to laugh, Instead he made a click with his tongue. Isner looked decidedly miserable when he spoke about the girl he liked.
"The girl didn't like you?" Amarr asked.
"Let's just say she's not supposed to like me, although I swear by Kirill she does!"
Amarr gave a low chuckle. "Then I'd say we're both down on our luck with the women," he joked.
But inside he felt the old bitterness, blithely slanted away with merriment for the Kirlean's sake. The man needed an injection of hope, a feeling that he wasn't alone. They were quiet for a short while before Isner began talking again, mostly about the girl who didn't want him, and she of his own species. What, Amarr wondered, was the reason that his new friend couldn't have the girl? Isner appeared flippant, but his eyes revealed a little of his misery.
Meanwhile, the flitter stopped. Amarr thought they'd travelled about twenty minutes. He looked around him and except for the two of them, there were only a few locals waiting to board the transport for other destinations on the station.
"We're here. Follow me."
Isner didn't wait for Amarr. Instead, he started walking immediately. Amarr followed, adjusting his stride to keep up with Isner. They approached a walkway along which were several entrances to establishments of various types. Usually there were trading halls along the walkways so he knew they weren't entering through one of those doors. Isner continued on the walkway a good hundred metres, then down a shaft to a lower level before continuing a further fifty metres. At least, it felt like that to Amarr as he'd begun to count his paces. He had to know his way out of here if he wanted to reach his vessel. The New Liberty was docked on the other side of Darog Bohl, a forcefield protecting his ship from being pilfered.
He banged into Isner as the Kirlean turned abruptly to face him. "You got your latinum?"
Amarr, carrying a sling bag, just nodded. He didn't want his new friend raising eyebrows if he so much as patted the bag. He could defend himself, he knew. He'd gotten out of too many serious scrapes before. No reason why he couldn't get out of thi one if the situation called for it. But, he'd wanted to come along to watch a special item, a private viewing of a dancer, much better than the twin cats twisting their bodies around a pole.
"Yes. You got yours?"
"Seeing the same girl tonight. I learned the hard way - " Isner chuckled. "I act as if I don't know her, see? Let me make something clear here. Only because I saw how solitary you were there in that club that I decided to make this evening a little more memorable. This is for you, my new…friend. Say, you're not from these sectors, are you? You're the first of your race around Darog Bohl. Well if you don't count some of the species who appear much like you… Where are you from, did you say?"
"I didn't say anything but to satisfy your curiosity, I am human from the planet Earth. I travel…a lot."
He didn’t want to furnish any more details. The less anyone knew, the better. No need to tell Isner he couldn't stay in one place for long, that while he didn't like it, his nomadic existence had all but foisted itself on him because he simply couldn't… He had to keep on searching. Sighing, he gestured that Isner continue. The Kirlean walked briskly then slowed down somewhat. They must be close to their destination. Isner stopped, then took a deep breath, exhaling through his mono-nostril. Did some smoke just come out of his nose? And why hadn’t it happened at the Green Bar with the twin cats
"My species, Amarr," Isner spoke in low tones. "When the males of our species are sexually aroused near anyone from our own race, our breathing heats our insides. We burn up, see? Now my nose is properly warmed up for my private viewing."
"Already? Your girl who's not supposed to like you is here? You haven't even seen your…dancer."
"No matter. It happens even if I get another girl."
Only then Amarr remembered how Isner had rubbed his crotch in the bar, probably to prevent burning up. He hadn't seen any smoke, however. Isner tapped with his flat hand against the door. Three short staccato raps. The doors slid open to a foyer bathed in red illumination. Beyond, he could discern figures but only in silhouette.
The moment he and Isner crossed the threshold, a voice - Amarr thought it sounded like the computer's voice on Voyager - thin and tinny, said simply, "Welcome to the Glitter Pit where all your needs are met. Who brings the stranger here?"
They knew it was his first time? He was probably scanned when he crossed the threshold, he realised. They didn't appear concerned that he carried a weapon.
"Isner, of Kirlea. I bring my friend Amarr of Sola for a private viewing."
"That will be one bar of latinum. Please see the Master of the House."
"Thank you," Amarr said in a thin voice. He couldn't look at Isner, but knew Isner was blowing smoke through his lone nostril. Amarr almost laughed when he thought of saying 'monotril'.
Isner grabbed his arm and entered the restaurant. On a stage, a few women were dancing and being ogled by the men at their tables. So what else was new? But Isner's short three-rap knock was definitely a signal for a different request. They were ushered by a strange looking alien with large bead-like eyes to a little room just off the main hall where they waited a few minutes before someone entered the office. He was the thinnest man Amarr had ever seen. Thin, large head and bulging eyes, long arms and long fingernails. He scratched his head, then sat down on a tall stool.
"What can I do for you, gentlemen?" he asked in a booming voice, in total contrast to his wiry frame.
"You know what I require, Ruigi. I'm not very choosy. I learnt my lesson from the last time I visited the Glitter Pit. But you know how much I like the dancer of my own species. My friend here wants someone close to his race too. Perhaps you have such a dancer?" Isner asked, a hopeful sound in his voice and eager eyes.
Ruigi glared at Amarr, his eyes sweeping speculatively over the new visitor.
"You are not from these parts," Ruigi said. His impressive brows knit together as he flicked through a PADD. "I have someone," he added, then looked at Amarr. "For one bar of latinum you can look but do not touch. Is that understood?"
"I cannot have sex with my dancer?" he challenged. He knew it wasn't part of the deal but he wanted to test Ruigi's reaction.
"Do not disrespect my establishment!" Ruigi boomed, clearly outraged at Amarr's suggestion.
"Fine."
Amarr experienced a sudden twinge of regret. Maybe he shouldn't have come. He should have turned down Isner's invitation. But now that he'd come this far, he didn't want to turn back. Besides, he was very, very curious as to what would transpire in his private cubicle. His heartbeat quickened just at the anticipation of enjoying someone - a woman of whatever race - dancing just for him. He was the only human on the station, so he didn't mind if his dancer wasn't human. She just had to be a classy biped dancer. Perhaps for a short time he could enjoy being in the company of a woman and not experience flashes of a pair of blue-grey eyes that seemed to haunt his waking moments and sometimes intrude on his sleeping moments too. Maybe that was what Seven of Nine knew. He was with her and not with her. He doubted whether Isner would appreciate that logic.
"There is one dancer I think you will like, Mr Amarr. She is our best. For this night only, I give you the best. Her name is Majja."
"Majja?"
"Majja. Kiosk 7 is yours for the next hour. She has made that kiosk her own, if you understand my meaning. Remember, no touching."
"No touching. Got it."
They exited the office after Isner had been given the kiosk number of his private dancer. He seemed just as excited, his monotril blowing smoke in little twirls. Amarr wanted to shake his head. He'd just parted with a bar of latinum to watch someone gyrate in front of him. If she was anything like the cat sisters and their pole dance or even better, he'd be hard in no time. He hadn't been short of women, indulging mostly in one-night stands and never pursuing anything lasting. It was just that the last time he slept with a woman, he'd woken up the next morning wondering how he’d got into bed with her in the first place. And it was not because he was drunk. She'd agreed to crew for him until she reached her homeworld. After a week with an alien in his bed he was just tired of bedding them.
He reached his kiosk. The door slid open, probably controlled remotely from Ruigi's little office. He felt a flutter of near panic. He had never done this before, but first times count as experience. Isner was already gone be the time he stepped inside and the door closed behind him. Soft music played. The room, he realised, was soundproof. But very, very strangely, and he frowned deeply at that, he actually liked the tones, much like a piano, a familiar melody that touched the edges of his consciousness.
He seated himself in a deep armchair. In front was a small dais. Not much room for a dancer to maneuver her body. In front of him was a small table containing a platter with sweet meats, wine and a glass. After pouring himself a glass of the wine - a pink liquid that looked innocent - he sat back in his chair and waited for the show to begin. It seemed to him everything was controlled by Ruigi. Shaking his head, he took the first sip, rolling the wine on his tongue, frowning a little at the sweet-acidic taste. But it warmed him instantly. He wondered how much smoke emanated from Isner’s monotril in the kiosk assigned to the Kirlean.
Then the music stopped. It was followed by a new melody that filled every corner of the booth. More sensual, he realised, a different instrument or instruments, a flute supported by tambourines with what sounded like castanets creating a drum roll. The warmth in his body created a series of waves. When was she coming? He was about to disgrace himself again just anticipating a female alien moving her lissom body just for him.
A door at the back slid noiselessly open.
Then she appeared in the doorway and instantly Amarr sat upright, his insides churning, his heart pounding. She placed one foot elegantly through the door. He gasped out loud. Damn! She was naked! Taut body painted all over, but doing very little to hide what he could clearly see or that his eyes directed him to, that area between her legs, her breasts.
The next shock caused a cascade in his brain because the woman was clearly human, a biped like him, precisely like him and every other human in the Federation. When she moved sensually on the stage, he finally dared to look at her face. Then he frowned.
"I thought I was the only human on this station," he murmured softly, more to himself than directed at the woman who, in another gyrating movement, leaped right over the dais towards him. Her face was painted in a muted burgundy shade, every part of it - her ears, eyes, forehead, chin, cheeks, lips. The colour merged with her hair, gelled sleekly back into long braids that trailed down her back. The contrasting design over the burgundy were white geometric jagged patterns in perfect symmetry down her eyes towards her jaw and across her lips. She moved with a grace unlike he had ever seen, the dance enchanting him. Her breasts, her lower body momentarily forgotten.
"What is your name?" he asked, his heart racing. He had to know this woman. She could be the answer to his prayers! Although he knew her name, he wanted to hear her voice.
But she kept dancing, a beauty that sucked the air from his lungs. He stood up, a deep, deep urge to know this woman, for she entranced him. He experienced a flash, a fleeting image of Isner who couldn't let go of the girl who charmed him and who wasn't supposed to do so.
His dancer stepped off the dais, and moved into his embrace, caressing his crotch with featherlight touches. He was hard as rock. He'd lost his reserve. She was releasing pheromones and he wasn't going to say no to her. A few more seconds she twirled around him, her hands busy as they traversed his body, grazed his mouth with her fingers, sliding them down his arms, over his buttocks, coming to rest on his bulge. He held his breath until he thought he'd pass out.
Then suddenly she returned to the dais, the abrupt desertion shocking and painful. He couldn't touch her, but it didn't mean she couldn't touch him. Was that how this elaborate game was played? She knew she had him. He knew he wanted more. He’d paid for her service. What if he wanted more? Her dancing had all but caught him in a web.
Amarr gazed at her. Of all the beauty painted on her, he never looked her directly in her eyes. They glowed darkly but also somewhat without life, as if she was simply performing a function, he realised with sudden clarity. The moment was gone the second she leaned forward again towards him, her eyes coming to life!
Then she smiled.
A curve at the corner of her mouth.
A flash of lightning in his brain. Ridiculously familiar when her lips lifted up at the side, as if mirth was hidden there with the promise of much more or the enjoyment of a humorous anecdote.
He had seen that smile a hundred, a thousand times in his life. He had seen that humorous lift at the corner everywhere he had been with her, his Kathryn. It had thrown him for a loop repeatedly when he thought he would never survive its onslaught on his senses. It harried him, it damned him, it enraged him, it pleased him and gave him joy. It was the smile that had haunted him for three years now on the face of this woman called Majja.
Her eyes, he only realised now, were blue-grey when she cocked her head to the side in a querying reaction to his expression. It couldn't be, but it was. It was! There was no denying, no uncertainty. No questions as to how, when and how. Just the immediate present.
"Kathryn?' he finally found his voice. "Kathryn? Kathryn!!!"
Majja frowned heavily, her eyes shifting nervously to the rear of the kiosk as if someone was watching her, then she returned his gaze.
"Kathryn, it's me! Chakotay!"
She opened her mouth slowly as her frown deepened, shaking her head in denial.
"I am afraid I do not know you, sir. My name is Majja."
With Kathryn Janeway's voice.
"No! You are Kathryn!"
Majja backed away from him, and when he tried stepped onto the dais, a forcefield shimmered into place. His palms hit the field, flinging him back against the kiosk entrance.
"Kathryn!" he cried again as she vanished behind the door through which she'd come minutes earlier.
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END CHAPTER 1