Finish the Story #1
Kidnapped
begun by Jane Seaton and T.S. Taylor
Chekov landed face first on the floor of his cell with a
skidding thud. His head cracked against the far wall hard
enough to make his eyes water. By the time he rolled painfully
over and up onto his elbows, the tiny bare room's only door was
shut and electronically sealed. He pressed the back of his hand
against his lip to check if it was bleeding.
"Dammit," he swore, not at the tiny smear of blood he found,
but at the heavy manacle that encircled his wrist. "How did I
get into this?"
It had all began innocently enough. The Enterprise had put in
for two weeks leave on Bidoah, a moderately developed planet
with a Federation base. He and Mr. Scott had arranged to visit
the local branch of the Cochran Institute to witness a series of
experiments demonstrating a new design for an inertial damping
system ... not exactly a weekend on Wriggley's Planet, Chekov
had to admit, but certainly a career-enhancing experience that
he'd not have been able to gain admission to without Mr. Scott's
patronage.
The engineer had been scheduled to go on leave a few hours
earlier than Chekov, so they agreed to meet at local bar.
Looking back on it all now, Chekov knew that he should have
known he was heading into trouble as soon as he stepped out of
the fresh, orderly atmosphere of Bidoah's main square and into
the fetid dark of that seedy den of iniquity masquerading as a
legitimate business place.
"Here, lad!" Scott had haled him, just as he was preparing to
take a giant step backwards. The engineer was surrounded by a
tableful of strangers whose appearance was forbiddingly odd, to
say the least. "Come meet me mates!"
From the sound of Scott's voice and the expansiveness of his
gesture, Chekov could tell the engineer had not wasted a second
of his leave thus far on dry pondering of damping fields.
Putting a polite smile on his face and crossing his hands behind
his back, Chekov stepped forward, resigning himself to the fact
they'd probably not get to the Cochran Institute tonight.
"This is Pivel... Povel.. Puve..." Scott sighed heavily as the
initial vowel of Chekov's first name eluded him completely.
"Ach, lad, what's your name?"
"Chekov," Chekov supplied parsimoniously, deciding he'd prefer
not to have his given name bandied about by this motley crew.
"Aye, this is Mr. Chekov." Scott didn't seem to take note of
his stand-offishness as he draped an arm across the shoulders of
the thin, rat-faced man beside him. "And this, this is me old
mate, Bardon Goudchaux, the scurviest mother's son to ever wield
a lasar wrench."
"Hello, Chekov." Goudchaux's grip when he reached out to shake
his hand was as thin and icy as his smile. "I see you're Star
Fleet, but I'm afraid I can't read your rank."
"Not much rank to read, for he's an ensign!" Scott announced
with a bellow of laughter. "But one of our best, one of our
best. Lad, Goudchaux and I shipped out together as engineer's
mates in the Merchant Marines when we were no older than you are
now. Our ship was the Lideo Low.. Lodia Lie.."
"Lydia Lee," Goudchaux supplied.
Scott raised his glass in a solemn toast. "And a fine ship she
was."
Chekov could already see the sort of evening this promised to
be and decided to exercise the better part of valor. "Mr.
Scott, I think I'll meet you at the Institute."
"You're not going have a drink with us?" the tall blonde woman
at the end of the table asked. A metallic patch covered one of
her eyes, but the other was an arresting shade of blue. "I
think I'm insulted."
"Ach, we've got plenty of time to get to the experiments,"
Scott argued, pouring him a drink. "And I know you, Chekov.
You're not one to refuse a drink... or insult a lady."
Normally this was true -- even of lovely, one-eyed pirate
ladies, but Chekov's instincts were screaming that this was not
wise company for him to keep. "Thank you, but there is an
opening lecture at 18:00 ..."
"18:00?" Goudchaux laughed and nodded to the huge Asian man
sitting at his side, who rose to his full six feet and four
inches of height and moved to take a position behind Chekov.
"Why, it's only 16:00 now."
"Aye, lad, we've plenty of time," Scott scolded. "I've got me
chronimiter... chronanater.. chronoo... I know what time it is."
"Mr. Chen, show Mr. Chekov to a seat," Goudchaux directed and
a grip of iron descended onto Chekov's shoulders. "I think
there's a place free next to Moray Morgain."
"If you insist," Chekov said, trying to look like he was
retaining some discretion over his destination as Mr. Chen
guided him firmly to a seat that materialized next to the blonde
woman.
He barely had time to recover when the blonde grabbed him by
the chin. She tilted his head from side to side as if
inspecting him. "Hello, Angel. Y'know, I've always been a sucker for men with brown eyes."
Chekov carefully pulled free of her grip, cleared his throat
and straightened his tunic. "Thank you," he said, calculating
that it would be wisest not to comment on her remaining eye.
The black man with slanting green eyes sitting opposite him
grabbed a handful of Chekov's shirtfront.
"I'm Khwaja," he growled, pulling Chekov roughly towards him.
"Pleased to meet you," the ensign replied diplomatically.
"Sir!" Khwaja grabbed him with both hands and shook him
roughly. "You will call me sir! I am Zakaria Munfaz Khwaja,
prince of Riordan, heir to the house of Zovfasta!"
Chekov smiled grimly. "Actually Riordan is an oligarchy, not
monarchy. A member of the ruling class is called a vastafah,
not a prince. I believe the Vahshadons are the ruling clan
family, not the Zovfasta. And you, sir, should take your hands
off me... now."
Scott exploded with laughter. "He's got you there, Mr. Khwaja!"
"Yes..." Goudchaux smiled as Khwaja roughly released Chekov.
"You have to work very hard to fool an Academy boy like this
one."
"Where's his drink?" Scott demanded. "I know I poured one."
"I've got it." A wrinkled woman with coal black hair passed a
glass to the blonde woman. "We're drinking black forests, Mr.
Chekov."
"Black forests?" Chekov eyed the murky liquid suspiciously as
the blonde woman held it out tantalizingly.
"Aye, it's got vodka in it," Scott informed him
enthusiastically. "I know you'll not turn that down."
"Silurian vodka," Chekov qualified, finally recognizing the
drink from its licorice bouquet.
"With a touch of anasinsel." The blonde woman's full red lips
curved into a smile. "They say you should never drink it with a
stranger."
Chekov's eyes followed the glass as if hypnotized by it.
"Because the distinctive smell, taste, and appearance of the
drink will hide the presence of almost any drug someone would
care to add to it."
"Well, there's only one cure for this situation." The blonde
woman put her hand behind his head and drew him into a long,
deep, and quite unexpected kiss. She winked with her one
remaining eye as she released him. "Now we're not exactly
strangers, are we?"
In the background, Chekov could hear Scott laughing. "I didnae
think he wanted to go."
"What did you say your name was?" Chekov asked as she pressed
the glass of black liquor into his unresisting hand.
The pirate lady picked up her own drink, downed it in a single
gulp, then threw the empty glass over her shoulder. "Moray
Morgain," she answered, offering a hand for him to shake as the
glass shattered on the barroom floor.
Chekov took in a deep breath before surrendering to the
inevitable. He then downed his drink and sent his glass
crashing after hers. "Pleased to meet you, Miss Morgain," he
said, taking her hand and giving it a courtly kiss instead.
The table roared with laughter at this. Even the surly Khwaja
guffawed and slapped him jovially on the back.
"But he's so sweet!" Morgain reached out and tousled his hair
delightedly. "What d'ya say, Goudchaux? If I promise to feed
him, can I keep him?"
"Wha'd ya do with the man we threw you last week?" Goudchaux
returned with a leer.
As Chekov tried to brush his hair back into place, he decided
that he simply must find some way to get something to eat. Just
that one small drink had made him very light-headed. "Miss
Morgain..."
"Don'cha love the way he says that?" She grinned as she
slipped her hand behind his neck and pulled him into another
unforeseen kiss.
When she finally pulled away, Chekov opened his eyes and found
something had gone terribly wrong with his vision. He couldn't
quite put his finger on how or why, but nothing looked exactly
as it should. Suddenly Moray Morgain, who had at first seemed a
little deficient in the eye department, seemed to have developed
several.
"Two... Three... Four..." Chekov counted her extra eyes aloud
as they appeared. "Five... Six... Seven..."
"Eight!" Morgain exclaimed as he fell forward senselessly into
her arms. "I believe that's a new record."
* * * ***** * * *
...And now it's your turn!
Copyright © 1996 Teegar Taylor.
Contest ends November 1, 1997
E-mail entries to: teegar@geocities.com
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