From: neale@mentor.cc.purdue.edu (Neale Davidson)
Subject: STTUQ 7/15
Organization: Purdue University Computing Center
Date: Wed, 26 Aug 1992 13:42:22 GMT

 
  - STAR TREK      ---------------------------------------------------
  - THE UNFAIR QUO ---------------------------------------------------
 
  Part Seven of Fifteen
 
  --------------------------------------------------------------------
 
  CHAPTER SEVEN
 
        Gahrut had been late, and the two of them were more than
  likely going to miss the entire ceremony. Not that the tought
  of missing seeing Riley and Saavik making puppy-dog-like
  expressions towards one another wasn't appealing, though she
  did want to congradulate her former Captain on his promotion
  to the Admiralty.
        "Look," Gahrut argued as Grissom's dress uniform
  seemed to cut into her a bit too tightly, "it isn't my fault
  that the traffic out of your complex was so tight. I told you
  to make reservations for the transporter pad, but no, you
  wouldn't listen to me."
        "Yeah," she snapped back, "you're the one who said he
  knew a short cut." Her face was genuinely upset now, she didn't
  want to miss Sulu before he accepted his new carreer. "You took
  us well into Oakland with your stupid directions."
        "Well," Gahrut muttered back, "at least you know why I'm
  not the navigator."
        The duo had wandered into the deepest parts of San 
  Fransisco, a far cry from bayside. They weren't far from the 
  hall, however, and at least they might make it on time.
        "Miss Grissom," someone called darkly from behind. Gahrut 
  and she turned, but Grissom froze, unable to move, unable to 
  act. "It's a pleasure to see you again. Is this your 
  bodyguard?" the man questioned, indicating the Horta.
        "Who are you?" Gahrut asked in a confused voice, noting 
  how quickly Grissom seemed to freak. But the intruder had been 
  prepared, had been observing them for some time. In a swift 
  move the shadowed figure raised his phaser at the Horta.
        "Okay, rock," the figure demanded, "One sound and the 
  both of you are ash." He then fired, slamming into the Horta's 
  armored hide. The rock form ceased its intricate movements.
        "No," Grissom panicked, stepping backwards. "Stay away 
  from me. I got away from you," she pleaded. "You can't be 
  here."
        "Ah, dear Paula," the figure daunted, "You can never 
  truly get away from the one who loves you," he muttered, moving 
  closer to her. "It's been so long since I've seen you. You've 
  been in my dreams for so long. You are mine, and always will 
  be, sweet, innocent, little Paula."
        She was shaking now, raising her phaser at him. "I'll 
  shoot, I'm warning you," she shook nervously. All it would take 
  was a flinch in the wrong direction.
        But he fired first, using the cutting beam against her 
  hand. She cried out, pain ripping though her arm as the skin 
  blackened on her hand. Instinctively, she dropped her phaser, 
  and ran. Her adrenaline carried her far, but her tiny form was 
  no match for the behemoth laying chase.
        He shoved her, face first, into a old brick wall. The 
  grout ripped slightly into her skin, cauing intense pain. "Get 
  away from me," she screamed. "Someone please help me."
        He forced her against the wall, not so carefully 
  unzipping the back of her uniform. "No one can help you, no one 
  cares. You're dealing with the dregs of society here, little 
  miss."
        She struggled again, slapping him with her injured hand. 
  She scratched into the side of his eye and he withdrew to cover 
  the it. She took the opportunity to run again, desperately 
  trying to activate her communicator.
        Quickly, though, the pain returned, another burn blast 
  from her attacker's phaser ripped into her leg. She fell, pain 
  overcoming her. "It's impolite to refuse a request from a 
  superior, bitch," he commanded. "You're mine, don't you get it? 
  I can do to you whatever it is I want. Right now, I want you."
        Grissom's face reddened, "You can't do this," she 
  pleaded, even as he removed the belt from his uniform. "Don't 
  do this to me again, please don't."
        He didn't listen.
 

-- 

"Our crew's living quarters have left the ship."
			- Secundam Yto aboard the IRON CLAW II
Neale Davidson, another writer wanna-be. neale@mentor.cc.purdue.edu