Pathways - Jeri Taylor [80]
“What about human girls?” she asked silkily. “Are you saying they’re not—passionate?”
His face had seemingly acquired a permanent blush. “I . . . wouldn’t know,” he croaked, rubbing his hands on the sides of his pants. “Listen, I better go now. Robin’s waiting.”
She put out a hand and touched his thigh to stop him. It had an electrifying effect. He sat rigidly still, as though afraid to twitch even a muscle. “Don’t go yet,” she purred. “I’m interested in what you’re saying.”
“You are?”
“Yes. It’s fascinating. Tell me what you know about Klingons.” Her voice had become low and throaty, inviting.
“Well . . . I guess . . . they’re supposed to have very strong urges. Almost uncontrollable.”
“Really? Where did you hear this?”
“You know . . .”
“No, I don’t.”
“Just . . . around.”
“That’s so interesting. Uncontrollable urges . . . sounds pretty powerful. How do they satisfy these urges?”
“Well, I’m not sure, exactly. They have to find someone who can take it. I mean, it’s supposed to get violent.”
“Mmmmm.” She looked at him for a moment, dark eyes peering through her thick lashes. “Are you saying you might be someone who’s up to it?”
James tried to control what seemed a paroxysm of anxiety. He rubbed his hands on his pants legs again, and wet his lips. “Maybe,” he said, but his voice cracked dreadfully as he said it.
“I’ll bet you are,” she whispered, as she drew closer to him. She put her hands on his arms and drew him upward, standing, mouth very close to his. James was all but hyperventilating.
Then, in a movement so swift it seemed instantaneous, she had flipped him onto his stomach, put a knee on his back, and held his arms extended from his body. “B’Elanna!” he huffed. “What’d you do that for?”
“Shame on you, James Chesney,” she said purposefully. “Shame on you for thinking so little of me. Did you think I’d be taken in by that crude approach? Didn’t you realize how obvious you were? Did you really think I have such uncontrollable urges that I wouldn’t see through you?”
“I . . . I . . . didn’t mean any harm . . .”
“Then you don’t think it causes harm to insult someone like this?”
“B’Elanna, I’m sorry—”
“Listen to me. If you want to spend time with me, I’ll consider it. But you’ll have to treat me with respect. You’ll have to ask me on dates, and take me to dances, and all the things you’d do with human girls. I am not some Klingon slut you can corner in the woods and have your way with. Do you understand me?” Where these words came from, B’Elanna didn’t know. They just poured out of her, a stream of pent-up indignation that had been years in the accumulating.
“Yes.”
“If you want my company, you’re going to have to treat me very, very well, with more dignity and appreciation than you’ve ever treated anyone. Do you understand that?”
“Yes, I do.”
She released him, then, and stepped back, watching as he got to his knees and then rose, looking at her with a clear expression of awe.
“Go home and think about it. Decide whether or not you want to get to know me.”
Without replying, James dashed out of the clearing, and B’Elanna was sure that would be the last conversation they would ever have.
But when she got home, there was a message from him on her comm console. He very politely invited her to a concert that would be held in the park three nights hence. He promised her she could trust that he would treat her in the manner she deserved.
And he did. James became her friend, her confidant, her defender. He wouldn’t allow an ill word to be spoken about her, and he extolled her virtues and abilities to everyone. He gave her a validation that she had never had before, and so her last years on Nessik were the most stable and fulfilling she had ever known.
With James’s enthusiastic support, she applied for admission to Starfleet Academy, and set about fulfilling the rigorous requirements. James also wanted to be schooled on Earth, but had made his primary application to a small and ancient