• Choose a category
• All
• Classic-Fiction

After all, what did someone of the Vulcan’s background know about bluff and bluster, or what motivated scum like Barrh? When had one of Tuvok’s people ever won a hand of five-card draw?

Crasher glanced at the Vulcan, but Tuvok didn’t glance back. He seemed to be in a world of his own.

Now that the commander thought about it, it had probably been a mistake to have the Vulcan accompany him in the first place. In fact, any of the Stargazer’s command officers would have been better suited than Tuvok to achieving their objective-even if the ensign did have some experience in this star system.

Like The Den and The House of Comfort, the dance hall looked slovenly and run down from the outside. Even the wooden sign by the door was so weathered as to be illegible.

With all the money that seemed to be floating around Debennius VI, the commander wondered that the owners of these establishments were so willing to let their places look dilapidated. Then again, for all he knew, it might be a sign of status, some kind of peculiar Benniar ranking system. Perhaps the more wealth you had, the worse you let your place appearan indication that you didn’t have to go to the trouble of courting any new customers.

Or maybe the people who owned these places just didn’t give a damn. That was a possibility as well.

Before Crusher or Tuvok could open the door to the dance hall, it opened for them and a gangly Shaidanian pushed his way out. All four of his eyes looked bleary and red-rimmed with too much alcohol, including the two on the long, slender stalks protruding from his forehead.

Music, slow and sultry and played by someone who knew what he was doing, floated out of the place. The commander was more than a little surprised. Maybe the floor show would be of the same quality, he mused, though he certainly wasn’t counting on it.

He and Tuvok walked inside, allowing the door to slam shut behind them. The dance hall was dark and crowded and filled with alien smells-in many respects, a first cousin to The Den.

On the rounded center stage, however, illuminated by brightly colored lights, a lithe Orion slave girl danced. And contrary to Crusher’s expectations, her performance was a compelling one indeed.

The slave girl’s long, lean muscles rippled smoothly under her green skin, which changed color as she moved in and out of the lights. Her cascade of black hair seemed to coil and uncoil as if it had a life of its own, and the smoke swirling about the place caressed her body as she moved in time to the slow, sensuous pipe music.

Breathtaking, the commander thought. It was almost impossible for him to take his eyes off her. But then, she had been bred from birth to achieve just such an effect

At one point, the slave girl bent her knees and, arms undulating, bent backward so far that her hair swept the floor. As she writhed, beads of perspiration glistening on her skin, she arched her belly upward and flexed her abdominals with uncanny control.

Abruptly, her bright green eyes fixed on Crusher, sending a jolt of electricity up and down his spine. No, he thought, she can’t be looking at me. Not with all the lights blinding her.

And yet, the slave girl’s gaze seemed to linger. Well, the commander mused, maybe she can see despite all the lights. But why was the Orion looking at Crusher in particular? Or was it just part of the show for her to meet a customer’s gaze now and then?

The latter, no doubt. Still, part of the commander wanted desperately for it to be otherwise.

Suddenly, the slave girl broke eye contact and turned her attention elsewhere-to another patron, he imagined. Crusher felt vacant, oddly disappointed. Then she returned to an upright position again and moved away, disappointing him even more.

Breathtaking, he thought again.

“Commander,” said a familiar voice.

Crusher turned and saw Tuvok standing next to him. Somehow, he had managed to forget that the Vulcan was there.

“Let’s find someone in charge,” Crusher said, shaking off the effects of the slave girl as