Ganzar Chapter seven

The little bells inside Chekov's shoe jangled as his toe hit the floor in a slow but steady rhythm as he studied the patterns the late afternoon sun made on the floor in front of him.

He was lying on his stomach beside Tarell's desk in her office. His left foot was tied to one of the legs of the desk. This was supposedly done so he would remember not to try to get up or change position. Chekov didn't think there was really much danger of his doing so. There wasn't another position he could take comfortably. He stilled his right foot.

"I'm sorry," he replied, resting his head on his arm so that he was looking at the wall opposite from where Tarell was sitting.

One of the worst things was that she kept talking to him like he was a sick child. That was a rather cruel mockery of the actual situation since she'd been the one who had inflicted the wounds he was suffering from with some relish. Being, as she'd told him at some point earlier, primarily concerned with preserving and maintaining his body, after each of the three brutal beatings he'd received thus far, she'd immediately applied healing layers of dermaplast and given him pain killers. Thanks to her well-stocked white chest, he'd received much the same medical attention he would have on ......?

His mind, on the other hand, was in terrible condition. He had assumed when Tarell told him that she was going to make him forget things, that this would be a long process. It had turned out to be much quicker than he could have ever anticipated.

The technique was quite simple. One merely forcibly associated certain topics with extreme pain. The mind, as a result, gave them up with extraordinary willingness. Chekov knew he'd had training that should have made such an easy capitulation on his part unlikely. However, he seemed strangely predisposed to give in to the Ganzarites without a struggle. Although he'd tried to resist or dismiss the pain they inflicted on him, the physical stimulus of being beaten acted like a pre-arranged cue for unresisting cooperation from him in a manner that was completely beyond his control.

Vast portions of his memory had gone as numb as the parts of his back that were now under a layer or two of dermaplast. He wasn't even quite sure what was missing from his remembrances. He recalled having confessed to everything after a depressingly short length of time under interrogation. He knew he'd told them exactly why he'd attempted to leave -- in terms so full of references to things the Ganzarites would have no knowledge of that the explanation had to be largely incomprehensible -- and exactly how he'd accomplished his... attempt to leave. He remembered having told Tarell and her witnesses these things, but he no longer recalled any of his explanation of the why. Large portions of the how were also missing.

He knew he was on a planet called Ganzar. He knew he was not from that planet. He couldn't exactly remember how he'd gotten there or where he'd come from or why he'd left the place he'd come from. It was like his life was a painting. He still had a sense of what the broad outlines had been, but all the details were gone, painted over in a painful white by a Ganzarite hand.

"What do you mean by that?" she asked cheerfully, as she turned the pages of her account book. "You know where you are, don't you?"

"Yes." He hated that cheerful tone of voice. He suspected it was false. However, he had to cling to it -- to the possibility that she had or would still forgive him -- to protect himself from the near suicidal feelings of depression that had overtaken him in the wake of the three beatings he'd received in the past twelve hours.

"Because you own me," he replied as she'd taught him to, hoping that would satisfy her and that she would leave him alone.

"You aren't trying to remember things you're not supposed to, are you?" she asked, with calculated mildness.

"I can't remember my name, or my parents' names, or the place where I was born," he said, closing his eyes just in case this might make her angry. "What is the harm in my remembering things like that?"

"Oh, I'm sure you could think of something," she replied wryly. "You remember the name I gave you, don't you?"

"For the color of my eyes." That seemed to spark something. "I have brown eyes like..."

"Don't try to remember things," she cut him off firmly. "You should think about what I told you to be thinking about. You'll have to make a decision in a little while."

"I'd advise you choose one of your minor offences," she said, the cheerful tone returning to her voice. "I can go through and tell you what all the punishments are going to be, if that would help."

As a measure of her endless capacity for sadism, Tarell had decreed that the ensign had to name the order in which he would be punished for the items remaining on the list of his transgressions from the previous evening.

Chekov turned back to watch the irregular patterns the sunlight was making through the translucent material of Tarell's office windows. "I know."

"This will show me that you realize that the things you did were wrong and that you're ready to accept the consequences for them."

"Are there no other possibilities?" he asked the wall. "What if I could think of a way to earn enough money to cover the fines you've incurred?"

Tarell gave a short derisive laugh. "And just what do you think you can do that anyone would pay for? Bring women in and have them pay you to..."

"I could do accounting," he said, interrupting the suggestion which he knew from her tone would be obscene.

"You're not trustworthy," she said, harshly. "I wouldn't trust you to do my accounts and I own you. A woman would have to be a fool to let someone else's servant come into their house and see their accounts."

"There'd be nothing preventing you from running back home and telling me everything about their setup."

"It would work well for you if they incautious enough to do so, wouldn't it?" he said, hoping to play on her greed.

"These Southerners are inbred, not stupid," she dismissed the idea. "Besides, the judgment of the adjudicator was that you weren't to be allowed to set foot out of this house for four seasons."

"Oh." He turned his face back towards the wall. Four seasons was nearly two years. Two years virtually alone with Tarell...

"You've been officially declared a menace to the community," she said bitterly, "and will have to prove yourself the meekest, most subservient and well-trained servant in the whole township before I'll be allowed to take you to other people's houses."

"I'm sorry," he apologized to her and to himself and to the vaguely remembered people he'd left for an unknown reason to come to this dreadful place.

"Well, it's not all you," Tarell relented. "I've made these Southerners put up with having Tirst in their fine parlors for years now -- stinking, ill-bred thing that he is. They don't think I know how to make a man behave properly. But I'll show them, won't I, offworlder?"

He had the strongest feelings that this statement was true but didn't have the heart to respond.

"All right," she said, taking a sheet of paper off her desk. "Here are my options as I see them. I think I've got no choice but to keep Sahshell and Tirst here during the harvest. I don't see how I can run a harvest without them and have to look after you at the same time -- which I know I can't trust anyone else to do. I usually bring in two of my nieces to help with harvest -- well, they're actually daughters of one of my cousins, but they look to me as an aunt. I wasn't going to bring them in this time because of you. You see, they're still young girls and adolescents can be a little... impulsive about how they treat other people's property at times."

It took him a minute to figure this out. Tarell wasn't usually euphemistic about such things.

"I've decided I'll offer to let them bed you right off to keep them from getting curious," she said in a tone that brooked no argument. "So you'd better get used to that idea and make up your mind that you're going to cooperate."

"It doesn't matter if they're fornicating newborns," she snapped. "If I say you'll have sex with them, you'll have sex with them and keep your fornicating mouth closed about it, understand? It's for your own protection, you stupid idiot. I can't have the two of them luring you off to do some of the things that Sahshell and I used to do to our aunts' men when we were that age. If there's no mystery about you, it's more likely they'll leave you alone."

The ensign hid his face in his arms again. His right foot beat softly against the floor.

"I should have let Sahshell have at you," Tarell said. "That might have spared me some trouble, but she's already had two daughters..."

"With our mother. In the North, the grandmother always raises the child from the time they're weaned 'til the time they come of age."

Given the Ganzarite's reliance on extended family networks, this practice wasn't unreasonable. "Leaving the mother free to work?"

"Yes," Tarell confirmed. "But I'll not do it for the daughter you give me. I wouldn't trust my mother to care for a child with offworldish blood. And I'll not have my daughter raised to think she's less than perfect in any way."

Chekov looked at her. It struck him as very odd that she could regard him as a complete inferior -- at best she treated him as though he were a particularly stupid and rebellious child himself -- and then speak so positively about the possibility of having offspring with him.

"And that's another thing," she continued, a genuinely pleased tone entering her voice. "I'll be pregnant soon -- if I'm not already -- and I'll need someone to run things for me while I'm down with the heavy months. I don't think I could trust Sahshell to do it. I'll have to get one of my younger sisters or cousins to come in and run the house and the men. You'll have to take care of me then, offworlder -- fetch things for me, feed me, make sure my heart isn't beating too fast."

She laughed at the way he looked at her. "You may even decide you actually like me. Tirst did the first time I was pregnant."

"What happened to the child you had with him?" Chekov asked, all this talk about his possible children with his tormentress making him feel more than a little ill.

"I caught him trying to smother it and had to sell it before it was even weaned," she reported matter-of-factly.

"It was a boy, you have to sell boys sooner or later -- unless you're one of these Southerners and let them mate with your daughters. I found good homes for both the boys Tirst and I had -- and got prices for them that you wouldn't believe. I guess I'm not the only one that likes Tirst's looks."

Chekov listened to the light tone in her voice disbelievingly. "It didn't bother you to sell your own children as servants?"

"They were boys," she insisted, as if that explained everything. "That's what happens to boys. I said that I found them good homes. That's the most that you can do for a boy. It bothered me that Tirst tried to kill one of them and would have the other if he'd gotten the chance, but it doesn't bother me to know that my boys are being cared for by people who value them greatly. I sold one of them to one of the few friends I have here in this village. That boy's being raised to be the primary mate of her oldest daughter -- a bright little girl, just came of age last year, I believe. She already adores him. You should see the two of them together. Now that's a Southern custom I intend to adopt. When we have a little girl and she gets to be about that age, I'll buy her a baby boy or two to raise to be her servants. It teaches the girl responsibility at a young age and gives her a servant whose loyalty she can depend on absolutely. I wish my mother had done it for me."

Chekov blinked at her. It filled him with a peculiar sense of panic that he might have already fulfilled his principal role in producing another being to perpetuate the inhumane social system of which he had become a helpless victim.

"Aren't you even a little excited at the prospect of having a little girl?" Tarell asked.

"You're too young," she dismissed his lack of enthusiasm with uncharacteristic indulgence. "You've probably never even thought about having children. But you'll like it when it happens. You can't help but like babies when they come. And you won't have to face losing it like Tirst did. You're guaranteed to give me a daughter. And I'll let you be around her as much as you like -- if you prove yourself trustworthy. I'll not take the chance with a little girl that you would do to it what Tirst tried to."

"I wouldn't harm a child," the ensign assured her. "Not even one born into this wretched culture."

"Not a child," Tarell corrected. "Your child. That makes a difference. You'll see. It will change you, make you stop being so selfish and uncooperative. It will make man out of you, a good companion for me. It did Tirst -- for a while. But things won't go the way they did for Tirst. I think the disappointment of having sons made him bitter. And he's just gotten more and more bitter."

"You don't want to get rid of him, do you?" he asked, noting the strong tone of regret in her voice.

"You don't need to think about that, offworlder," she said bruskly, turning back to her work.

"But it is probably only coincidence that you haven't had female offspring with him," he protested. "The probability is..."

"Now, don't start that," she cut him off harshly, turning back to point an accusing finger at him. "You should have never told Tirst that the offworlders have pills that can make you have daughters. It only gives him false hope."

Tarell frowned and crossed her arms. "I know it's true. I may not be an offworlder but I'm not so stupid I couldn't figure that out. But they don't want to sell it to me. At first they said they couldn't do it at all and now they keep raising the price higher than I can afford to pay."

"Stop." She put a silencing hand between her and his objections. "Just shut up. I've finally been able to come to the decision about Tirst I've been too sentimental to make for too many years now. And I don't need any ignorant, offworld advice from you, so just shut up. From now on, I don't ever want to hear you even mention his name. Do you understand me?"

Chekov sighed as he rested his chin against his hands and studied the floor in front of him. "Yes, Tarell," he agreed obediently, not realizing that his right foot had begun to tap against the floor again.

"I've got you now." Tarell reopened her account book with a determined sounding flip. "And I'm going to be happy with you -- even if it kills both of us."

Her sister Sahshell entered suddenly without knocking. "You've got visitors Tarell," she announced ominously.

"No," Sahshell made a series of unreadable signals in Chekov's direction. "I think you need to come see them."

"All right." From her tone, it didn't sound as though Tarell was exactly sure of what was going on either.

"Yes, Tarell," he answered perfunctorily, then added as the door closed behind the two sisters, "Like I have a choice."

He didn't really care enough to waste effort on speculating on who Tarell's visitors might be even though they were obviously there in some sort of connection to him. Probably someone who'd discovered something else that he could now barely remember that they felt he needed to be abused for having done, said, or thought.

Instead, he tried to remember. It was maddening to know that he had memories of who he was that he could no longer access. It was more irritatingly painful than the tingling wounds on his back. His back would heal completely. In days, it would be hard to tell the injuries had ever been there. Tarell would see to that. She would never let his mind properly mend though, and would further the damage if she saw fit.

Chekov bit his lip. He couldn't resign himself to living without his memories. A scene that Tarell hadn't managed to obliterate came to him. He was standing in the snow in a place with tall trees... The place was called .... He was waiting for ....

Tarell rushed back into the room in a high state of excitement. "Get up, offworlder," she ordered. "I've got some buyers here to see you."

"Yes." She quickly knelt and untied his left foot. "I found it a little hard to believe at first, too."

She helped him carefully up to standing. He was very stiff, but the pain wasn't nearly what it had been a few hours ago. He looked up at her as she straightened his clothes.

"I'm going to try to." She took him by the firmly by the shoulders. "Now listen to me, laddie. You mind your manners very carefully. Keep your eyes on the floor and don't speak without seeing that you have my permission first. Do you understand?"

"You'd better do more than suppose. If I catch you looking at them or making one peep out of line, I'll turn you over my knee right in front of them. And trust me, you don't want that to happen."

"What's the matter?" She grinned and chucked him under the chin. "You think you're going to be sorry to leave me all the sudden?"

"I don't know." This did seem very out of character, but it was definitely what he was feeling -- perhaps simply because the devil he knew seemed better than one he didn't. "What sort of people are they?"

"People crazy enough to come looking for a stupid little thing like you," she said as she led him to the middle of the room and put him into what she thought was a suitable position. "Now shut your mouth and keep it shut. Trust me, if you foul this deal up for me, you'll regret it the rest of your life."

Chekov wondered if this would be any worse than any of the other multitude of things in connection to the Ganzarite that he foresaw regretting for the rest of his life as she strode over and opened the office door.

From the little Chekov could see, both of the newcomers were women. One was tall, the other short.

"Come over here, laddie," Tarell ordered pleasantly. "Let them get a good look at you."

The ensign kept his eyes carefully on the floor as he came forward to stand in front of the two visitors.

"As you see, he's in good shape." Tarell patted him on the shoulder. "Not a mark on him."

"Not a mark that we can see," the short woman commented, perhaps noting the way he involuntarily flinched from Tarell's touch.

Her voice took Chekov by surprise. There was something odd about it -- something strange about her inflection.

"I can have him undress for you," Tarell offered cannily, "but he's awfully shy -- See, look how pink he's gone in the face just at the mention of it. I'm afraid he'd put up a fuss and make a bad impression."

Chekov knew that it was probably the string of welts across his back that Tarell feared would make a bad impression on the prospective buyers.

"He's really a very mild-mannered one," she continued, reaching out to tousle Chekov's hair. "But you know how offworlders can be."

"You say that the woman you're buying him for collects offworlders?" Sahshell asked.

There was something wrong with the woman's voice. There was something terribly unpleasant about it. The sound made Chekov's head hurt.

"That's awfully unusual," Sahshell was saying. "I don't think I've ever heard of anyone doing that."

"That's because we're not Westerners, Sahshell," Tarell answered before her guest had a chance to respond. "In the West, they do all sorts of things we may have never heard of... Now as I was saying, he's in good condition. And he's very clever. He speaks the language well."

"He seems fine." The short woman walked into Chekov's line of vision. She had a pleasant face with dark skin and large brown eyes, but Chekov felt there was something terribly, terribly wrong with it. Something about the way her face looked made the inside of his skull burn. She smiled up at him. "Would you like to come home with me?"

The combination of her face and voice was too much for him. He had to press his fists against his eyes to keep his head from splitting apart from the pain. "Uhhh..."

"Yes." Tarell gently but firmly pulled him out of the short woman's grasp. "He's been having headaches. I have some medicine for him. Let me give it to him."

"I think he drank some of our water by accident," Tarell said as she guided him to her desk. "You know these offworlders have bad reactions to the water at first. That's it, isn't it, laddie?"

Chekov looked at her questioningly as she put a white pill into his mouth. He couldn't figure out what was making him react so badly to the short woman. He couldn't figure out why Sahshell seemed to be baiting the visitors and Tarell was lying every other breath.

"I said, it's a headache, isn't it?" Tarell asked with one of her smiles that meant he was about to be in terrible trouble.

"Yes." Chekov allowed himself to be led back to a position a little further away from the strangers.

"Nothing to worry about," Tarell assured them. "It'll pass in a few days. I've taken very good care of him."

"Oh, I'm not asking anything. I've not decided if I want to part with him." Tarell patted Chekov on the back -- a careful distance above where she'd beaten him earlier. "He's a personable little thing. We've grown quite fond of him."

The short woman took a bag that jingled from her side. "I'm prepared to offer twenty-seven and six in hard currency."

Chekov looked at Tarell, knowing that the figure was more than five times what she'd paid for him. It seemed he was doomed to go away with this small woman with her unpleasant voice.

"I don't know..." Tarell turned to Chekov. She ran a hand down his cheek affectionately. "I've really gotten used to him. Have you noticed how pretty his eyes are?"

The short woman jangled the coins in her bag as she held it out. "Here is thirty. This is all I have to offer."

"Then there's the supplies for him you'll need," Tarell continued as if she hadn't heard. "That would put the price up to at least forty."

The short woman let a breath out slowly through her nose then turned and reached a hand out to the tall woman.

"Here's sixty," she said dropping her bag and the bag her companion gave her at Tarell's feet.

Tarell looked down at the bags. Chekov could feel the Ganzarite's temper rising. It hurt even when she was mad at someone else. At the point where he expected to her to lose her temper, Tarell smiled instead and signalled Chekov to pick the bags up.

Although he did so very gingerly, it was still painful on his abused back. From the sound of her breathing, it seemed like it was now the short woman's turn to be angry.

A smile played about his owner's mouth as she weighed the two sacks in her hands. "He's yours."

"Sahshell will get him ready to go for you," Tarell said, quickly stepping between them, "while you and I sign the papers."

The short woman sighed impatiently as Tarell's sister led Chekov away by the hand. "I am anxious to complete this transaction quickly."

"Yes, I'm sure you are..." Tarell was answering as Sahshell led the ensign out into the corridor.

Chekov didn't know what to think. He hated Tarell more than he could express in words or thought, but he felt a despair at leaving her. He didn't know what to expect from this strange woman with the awful voice. All she'd done was smile at him and he was already terrified of her. He felt for some reason that he must avoid her.

"Well, sweet one," Sahshell interrupted his thoughts as she untied the sash with her family colors from around his waist. "I never thought you'd be leaving us like this."

He didn't know how to answer her. Somehow his encounter with the short woman had left him too disoriented to think clearly. And as always, he felt ashamed of the way he responded to Sahshell's touch.

"There's a custom here," Sahshell informed him as she turned him around and tied his hands behind his back. "When a woman sells a servant, her last command to him is, 'Don't come back!' There's not much chance of that happening with you, is there?"

"Of course you don't." Sahshell smiled cynically as she took a leash off a hook on the wall and put it around his neck. "Tarell's a fool to take such chances. Right now it looks as though she's going to end up a rich, lucky fool, but she's a fool none the less. I doubt this is the last we'll hear about this deal."

He was puzzling over this when Tarell and the two women entered. He fixed his eyes on his chest, fearing to look at the short woman.

Tarell came up to him and took his face into her hands. "Goodbye, laddie," she said, before kissing him on the lips. She then held him out at arm's length. "Now," she said sternly. "Never come back here again."

"Yes, Tarell," he said, looking down again. Despite the fact that Sahshell had warned him that this was only a traditional phrase, hearing her say it still hurt a little. She seemed awfully glad to part with him.

"He's all yours," Tarell said, holding the end of his leash out to the short woman.

The stranger seemed reluctant to take it at first, but then grabbed it decisively. "Let's go," she said to her companion, leading him to the door.

"A pleasure doing business with you," Tarell called as Sahshell ushered them out.

Chekov followed miserably behind the two woman as they walked down the path and through the tall stone wall around Tarell's property. What lay in store for him? Did the violence and humiliations all began again? The short woman seemed to have a worse temper than Tarell's.

"Prime Directive aside, Lieutenant," the tall woman said to the short woman with words that made Chekov's head ache. "I say we go back and phaser the bitch."

"I'm glad you said that, Ensign," the short woman said, using odd words. "Because if I'd said it, we'd both be in trouble."

"Come on, Pavel," the short woman said, taking him by the arm as the tall woman opened the door for them. "I'll untie you when we're inside."

He did as she asked, but he was feeling very disoriented. His head was throbbing so hard that it was impossible to think. He sat down gingerly in the farthermost corner of the coach, trying to spare his back and keep the most distance possible between himself and the short woman. However, she sat right beside him, jostling his hands painfully against the still tender portions of his back as she untied him.

"Get us out of here, Doyle," she called to the tall woman, who had climbed into the front.

"What's the matter, Chekov?" the short woman asked at his sharp intake of breath. "Are you all right?"

He shook his head as he pressed himself against the wall of the coach. He wished she'd stop using all those peculiar words. They made him feel like running away or throwing up. He didn't know how much more of it he could stand.

"I don't know," he answered in Ganzarite, keeping his eyes on the floor in front of him.

"Look at me," she said, still using painfully outlandish speech. "Do you know who I am?"

He perfunctorily turned his head quickly in her direction and back again. "No, ma'am."

The short woman put a hand on his shoulder. "That woman," she said in Ganzarite. "Did she hurt you?"

Despite the strange effect her voice had on him, her touch bore the same reward the touch of Tarell and her sister had. He bit his lip as he nodded, trying to ignore the stimulus.

As if to make this harder for him, she put her other hand on his leg. "How did she hurt you?"

The short woman moved closer and put her arm around his shoulder. "That's fine," she said comfortingly. "If you don't want talk about it, then that's perfectly fine. You're going to be all right, now. We're taking you away from her. We're taking you home. Do you understand me?"

"Yes." Chekov squeezed his eyes closed and clenched his hands together tightly to keep them off the short woman's body. He wouldn't do it. He would control himself this time. Although he knew his resistance would ultimately prove futile if she was determined, he was not going to let it appear that he was eager and willing to have sex with her in the back of a covered carriage.

"Look at me," the short woman insisted. "Ghyka said you were asking for me. That's why I came."

"Yes. After the two of you were separated, he managed to break into one of the houses and steal enough equipment to make a crude transmitting beacon. We beamed him up mid-morning and have been looking for you ever since. He didn't know which house you'd been taken to."

Her speech was full of words his mind wouldn't process, but Chekov got the overwhelming impressing that he was receiving very positive information. He smiled for the first time in what felt like years. "Ghyka isn't dead?"

The short woman returned his smile and squeezed his shoulder. "No, Ghyka's alive and fine. And we've found you."

Chekov was very, very happy without quite understanding why. Although it hurt him to look at the woman, he could tell that she liked him a great deal. She was very pleased with him for some reason. And for some reason he was feeling very pleased with himself. He decided he would have sex with her if that's what she wanted.

The short woman seemed surprised when he embraced and kissed her. For a moment he thought she was going to push him away.

However when she failed repulse him sharply and strike him as Tarell and her sister had done, he decided she that she wished him to continue and spread his kisses over her face and neck. Strangely enough, the typically Ganzarite ridged portion of her nose turned out to be false and fell off when he pressed his lips against it. He didn't let that bother him though and continued to work his way down to her earlobe which was quite real.

"Lieutenant," the tall woman called through the opening. "We're almost out of town. We should be able to signal for beam up in just a few minutes. How's Chekov?"

"Oh," Uhura said, gingerly sliding the ensign's hand off her breast. "I think he's going to be fine."

The sight of a place that should have been familiar to Chekov was too much for him. He groaned as he clutched his splitting head.

Lt. Hiroto pressed the comm button on her console without pausing to ask any questions. "Medical assistance needed in Transporter Room Three."

Only after she'd gotten an acknowledgment from sickbay, did she dare ask, "Is he okay?"

"Not right now." Uhura gently guided the ensign down to sit on the top step of the transporter. "Take it easy, sugar. Just close your eyes and try to calm down."

"I'll go ahead and make our report to Mr. Spock, Lieutenant," Ensign Doyle offered. "He'll need to contact the captain as soon as possible."

"Thanks, Doyle." Uhura patted Chekov gingerly on the shoulder. "You're going to be all right, sugar."

"What did they do to him?" Hiroto asked, leaving her post to come sit down beside them.

"He's been badly beaten," Uhura warned, stopping Hiroto's hand before it made contact with the ensign's back. "And I think anything that reminds him of the ship gives him spasms of pain."

Mindlessly following this soothing sensation back to its source, Chekov leaned against her like a lost child.

"He understands Standard, but won't speak it," Uhura said, beginning to wonder if she should warn Hiroto just before Chekov put his arms around the transporter chief and kissed her deeply. "And he tends to do that when you touch him."

"Oh," Hiroto said, coming back up for air as the medical team burst through the door with a gurney. "You don't say?"

STAR TREK ® as well as related character names and terminology are registered trademarks of Paramount Pictures Corp., A VIACOM company. No infringement intended.