170: Grapes of Wrath

By Ensigns Dalca and Andraste
Time: Almost Four Years Ago
After Sharper than a Serpent's Tooth

= Xalin IV =

Convincing Gregson to come along wasn't so much an act of diplomacy as blackmail. Dalca understood some of the unspoken rules of dealing with dignitaries like the Andaran representative, and he knew he'd have to find a solution a bit more tempered than the one she'd suggested. But as long as he was put in the awkward position of dealing with this fiasco, he wasn't above using some of the political tools.

And Gregson owed him. Dearly. For leaving him to the machinations of that crazy old coot, and for not letting word of a certain incident at the ship's last shore leave. An incident that - were the details to be divulged - would not only set back Gregson's career but leave his reputation scarred for life. All he had to do was mention one key word, and Gregson was his to manipulate... 'Burgy.'

Honestly, given all the rigorous protocol of being not only a security officer but a diplomatic escort as well, it felt good to be the one calling the shots. His only hope now was to wrap this crisis up in a timely fashion, get back to Earth, graduate, and forget all of this had ever taken place.

As for the game plan, he expected it to fail miserably. He felt so naked. He practically was, in the swimsuit that was supposed to be the latest fashion.

He took a few cautious steps in the sand, eyeing all the leisure-seeking, swimsuit-clad vacationers as if they were rodents. Toothy, rampant Klingon rodents. Then he had to remind himself that he no longer had to worry about the unwanted, unceasing advances caused by his Deltan pheromones, and relaxed a little, walking in the sand, wondering how Gregson had convinced him to actually approach the girl. Just one more debt he would collect on eventually.

The sand was warm, and felt good between his toes. In one hand he held a bowl of grapes that had been thrust upon him by one of the resort workers. In the other, he held his padd, which revealed a picture of the girl that looked like it might have been a mugshot. In fact, he was pretty sure it was, but it didn't occur to him before now to check to see if she'd had priors.

It wasn't like she was a criminal. It'd be easier if she was. He knew how to deal with criminals. Dalca sighed and stared at his feet.

*I feel like a criminal.*

Then he looked up, and there she was, striding along the beach in his direction, dark hair flowing and sporting a white bikini. For a moment, he doubted his own powers of perception, but then he examined the photo again and realized that, despite the disparity between the two, it was in fact Nimue Andraste.

And she was no girl.

He turned the screen off, stuck the padd under his arm, and held the bowl of grapes at his side. Whatever plan had been in motion left him in an instant. He'd never been terribly comfortable blatantly lying, and so fell back on the truth before she walked past him. Stepping into her path, Warren took on a serious tone. "Nimue Andraste? I'm... here to kidnap you."

"Wow," the young woman replied with an impossibly cute grin, "And here I thought I'd heard all the bad pick up lines. But you just took it to a whole new level. That's kind of hot, actually." She paused and shook her head, "Okay. That doesn't say anything good about me."

He grinned despite himself, and offered her the bowl of grapes. "We need to talk."

"Already?" Nimue asked innocently, grabbing a fistful of the fruit and pausing to pop one into her mouth, "You know you're skipping a bunch of really great sex when you jump right to the end, right?"

"I'm heart-broken," he said with a frown. Stepping aside, he placed a hand at the small of her back and tried to steer her away from a nearby sun tanning Tellarite.

"Right. I'm half-Betazoid. And I suck at it. So when you touch me...well, you know, if I were a lady this is the part where I'd be blushing. Just saying."

"Work comes first, and if I survive this whole deal... maybe we can play later." He lowered his voice and leaned toward her exposed ear, "From one empath to another, I'm not blushing either."

"Ah. The plot thickens. So wassup, Starfleet?"

"We have a mutual problem, and you're going to help me solve it. But not here." He tapped the button on his padd. "Energize."

Just before they disappeared, Nimue sighed. "I really need to stop talking to strangers."

Dalca shrugged, the action frozen in time as they dematerialized.

= Aboard the Jinnah =

Nimue Andraste had never been kidnapped before. Well...not really. There was that one time when her mother would not give her any allowance, so she had tried to fake her own abduction. That had not ended well. The point was that she was not really all that nervous or scared. She had not picked up any ill intent from the mysterious man who had, quite literally, whisked her away to the stars. Besides, he was a Starfleet officer - and rather dashing Starfleet officer at that. Though he did look like he'd be more comfortable in a cloister than a beach, which was usually not the sign of an endearing personality.

She looked around the shuttle. There was a non-descript man sitting at the helm staring at her with his jaw dangling, whom she ignored. Otherwise, there was not much else around that you wouldn't find on just about every Federation shuttle. Except, of course, for *him*.

"If this is because I tried to spike the punch at the last student/faculty mixer, I have to tell you that you're overreacting."

He reached for a gold shirt and yanked it over his head, stopping when his head poked through and his abs were still visible. "Wait....*you* did that?"

"Girl's gotta have some fun," the petite girl replied, folding her slender arms across the flat of her stomach. "Not that, you know, I'm confessing to anything. You know what. I think I want my lawyer." She paused, "Know any good lawyers?"

"No, but a friend of mine is training to be one." He stepped forward and looked down, into brown eyes that were deceptively disarming. Then he remembered who her mother was. "Look, we're going to negotiate this, settle it out of the courtroom. It's the least you owe me, considering."

"Oh. Are you the guy whose cat I killed a few weeks ago? Listen, I am so sorry about that. She totally wasn't there when I started landing my shuttle. And then, you know, she was...and, well, squish...."

Dalca held up his hand to stop her, and closed his eyes to collect his thoughts. He glanced back at his companion, who was still staring at Nimue, rolled his eyes, and grabbed some red sweats from the counter. "It's a little colder than standard shuttle temperatures. I have no idea how." He glanced over his shoulder, his voice showing clear annoyance. "Want to fix that, Gregson?"

Then he turned back to her, handing the neatly folded clothes in her direction. "You owe me considering it was your mother who put me in this impossible situation."

Nimue sighed and pressed her finger tips to the bridge of her nose, "By the seven mad gods of the sea...."

"Go ahead and move to the back," he offered, putting his hand on the small of her back and leading her around the corner. "We'll negotiate the terms of surrender when you're ready. And while I may be mad, and quite possibly a god, you can just call me Warren."

She shoved his hand away and pointed at the clothes he was offering. "You can put those away, 'cause I'm going back to the beach. 'Cause even if you were a god, you couldn't drag me back to my mother. And when you crawl back to her, why don't you tell her to climb the Tower of Mirrors and take leap, all right?"

He set the clothes aside. "Gregson, get us moving. It looks like the negotiations are going to take a while."

Ensign Warren Dalca

and

Ensign Nimue Andraste