“’Trip’?  I don’t understand.  Has someone fallen here?”

Jonathon Archer smiled.  “I’m sorry, Your Wisdom.  It’s his nickname.”

Trip swallowed.  “That’s right.  It’s short for ‘triple’, Ma’am.”  When it was obvious that the N’Alvian woman still didn’t understand him, he managed to add, “I’m the third Charles Tucker.  Triple – Trip.”  She smiled, but he still felt like sixteen different varieties of fool.  A beautiful woman always left him tongue-tied; this one had him in a clove hitch.  At least.

Even in a universe where it seemed that beauty was commonplace, he doubted that he had ever met anyone as beautiful as Her Serene Wisdom, Valashaya N'Mersella, the Queen of N’Alvia.  

When Enterprise had discovered the N’Alvian system, it had been a pleasant surprise to find that the people there were friendly, intelligent, and almost equally as advanced as humans.  It had taken only a short while for the Captain to invite their ruler to visit Enterprise, and an even shorter time for an acceptance of that invitation.  Hence the grand tour the Captain was now conducting.

The Queen was a tall woman -- as tall as the Captain.  Her long white robes, vaguely medieval in design and trimmed with silver and jewels, were tailored with straight, severe lines, but even they could not hide a magnificent, voluptuous figure.

A silver band, set with a single white jewel was wrapped around her head, and contrasted with her complexion, which was the pale, soft blue of an early morning sky on earth.

Silken hair that shone like spun gold was gathered in a braid at the back of her long, slim neck. Large, beautiful and expressive eyes, the color of sunlight, appraised him calmly from a delicate, sensuously molded face, one with high cheekbones and a fine, straight nose.  Lips that were made to be kissed - repeatedly - covered perfect white teeth. 

Aware that he was staring – again – he shifted his gaze to the Captain.  “Trip is Enterprise’s Chief Engineer, Your Wisdom,” the Captain smoothly interposed.

“Indeed?”  She arched one elegant golden eyebrow, and her luminous golden eyes regarded him with new interest.  “I understand that Enterprise has the first warp 5 engine created by your people.  Am I correct?”

“Yes, ma’am, it is.”

“Then I congratulate you, Commander.  We ourselves have only managed warp 2.5.”  She sighed.  “We have most difficult and vexatious problems with the inter-mix ratio.  I had suggested that the plasma relays required reconfiguration in order to manipulate the anti-matter flow, but my suggestion, as valid as it appeared to be at the time, has failed to work.  Obviously, my thinking was incorrect.”

Trip stared.  Beauty and brains.

She noticed his stare.  Amused, she added, “You seem somewhat surprised at this, Commander.”

“I’m sorry,” he managed.  “It’s just not usual on my world ... to be so knowledgeable ... a Queen, I mean ... “  And I’d better shut up before I dig myself in deeper.

However, she did not seem offended.  Fortunately.  Indeed, it seemed that she took pity on him.  “My father was perhaps the most brilliant scientific mind of his time.”

He had only about a million questions he wanted to ask, but there was something so sad in her tone that he decided against it.  Instead, he decided that it might be nice to try and remove the size 12s which were currently residing in his mouth.  Otherwise, she was going to think every human male was a blundering idiot.  Not every male, he thought resignedly, just me.

“I see,” he replied, even though of course he didn’t.  Then, aware of the Captain’s gaze, he said, “If you like, I’d be happy to take a look at your specs.  Your engine specs, I mean,” he added, inwardly cursing.  Way to go, Tucker.  Innuendo plus.  “I might be able to help.”  He looked at Archer.

The Captain smiled.  “If Her Wisdom wishes, then I have no objection, Trip.”

She smiled brilliantly at Trip, who felt like the proverbial deer caught in the equally proverbial headlights.  “I would be most grateful to anything you can do for us, Commander,” she said.

“It would be my pleasure, Ma’am.”

She placed a slender, long-fingered hand on his arm.  He caught a whiff of her sweet, light scent, and it made his head spin.  “Do I really look like a ‘Ma’am’ to you, Commander?”  And she smiled her brilliant, heart-stopping smile again.

“No, ma – “ he said.  Surely he was the biggest fool ever hatched.  “It’s just – “

She laughed, and took pity on him.  “Forgive my teasing, Commander.  I understand.”

“Yes, Your Wisdom.”

She gave him a long, appraising look.  “Would you care to dine with me tonight, Commander?  We could discuss engine designs in more detail then.”

“I’d be pleased to,” he managed.  “Captain?”

Archer was looking at him with an expression of rueful amusement.  “I don’t want you disappointing the lady, Trip.”

“Excellent,” the Queen said.  “Then I will see you tonight, Commander.  At my residence.”

Trip swallowed.  “My pleasure – Your Wisdom.”

She gave him another long look, then smiled.  “Indeed.”

*  *  *

Trip looked around the room. Decorated in light, soft colours, and furnished simply with table, chairs and buffet, it was as plain as the rest of the Queen’s palace was opulent, but was by no means uncomfortable. 

The lighting was dim and subdued, but not gloomy, with walls that were adorned with all types of paintings.  All in all, it was a gracious, welcoming room, a place one weary of the outside world could retreat to in comfort. 

The Captain had given him permission to take one of the shuttlepods down to the planet’s surface.  After clearing his flight path with planetary flight control, he had been given special permission to fly into the Queen’s City.  Generally, air and vehicle traffic were prohibited there.  But evidently, he was a special case.  I’m a case, that’s for sure, he had thought with amusement.

The Queen’s City turned out to be a cluster of delicate buttresses and towers which were silhouetted against crystal mountains that marched across the horizon.  These structures were constructed out of silver and opal -like stones and shimmered softly, like pearl, in the late afternoon light.  Brightly colored flags and banners topped them and fluttered gently in the soft wind.

Carefully following the flight plan and altitude he had been given, he came to a high wall that circled the city. Judging by its weathered and pitted surface, it was quite ancient, but was in good condition.  Set into it were ornately carved gates made of some crystalline substance that glittered and sparkled like diamonds in the bright sunlight.

It was evident that he was expected, for these gates swung open.  Carefully, not wanting to disturb or damage anything, he had piloted the pod through at the little craft’s slowest speed.

It turned out that the buildings in the Queen’s City were arranged in a series of increasingly smaller co-eccentric circles.  Between the walls of one circle and the next were broad avenues of grass dotted liberally with flower gardens, trees, what looked like statues, and park benches that would not have been out of place on Earth. 

He finally reached the Queen’s own residence, set at the very heart of the capital.  It was a circular, low building, only four stories in height, and had no towers, possessing instead a flat roof.  He caught a glimpse of trees growing up there before he parked the pod.

Disembarking, he had been greeted by two smartly uniformed guards, and was escorted inside the palace.  He walked through a broad, curving hallway that followed the outer circumference of the structure.  This was paneled in rich, warm wood, and these in turn were covered in tapestries and paintings, some of which he took to be centuries old.  At least.

His feet had made no sound on the thick, plush carpets that covered the floor.  These, too, were beautifully colored, covered with intricate patterns, often with repeating motifs.

He had then been met by another N’Alvian, a tall, thin young man who looked much like a Human--or Vulcan—adolescent, and one whom Trip had judged to be not much older than 18.  A small silver cap, resembling nothing so much as a Jewish yahmaka, perched on the back of his head, the first of these that Trip had seen.  He wondered at its significance.  Religious, perhaps?  He cautioned himself against ethno-centric thinking; simply because something here resembled a Human religious symbol did not mean it would have the same meaning for these people.

“Commander Tucker,” the youth asked respectfully.  "Her Wisdom has invited you to partake of the NightMeal with her.  May I take you to her?"

"Please," Trip replied, careful to sound equally respectful.

A small lift took them to the top floor.  They were led through a tiny entrance foyer and a number of rooms; evidently, judging from the furnishings here, the entire top floor was the Queen's private living quarters.  Trip was then ushered into her dining room.

He was seated at her oval table, and his young guide poured him a glass of a pale green liquid.  "Wine from The Wisdom's private vineyards," he explained.  "She requests that you enjoy it while you wait.  She is detained, but will be with you shortly."  He bowed, then slipped away like a ghost.  Trip took an experimental sip.  Somewhat fruity, but still nice, was his verdict.

One corner was dominated by an abstract sculpture.  Trip rose, and went over for a closer examination, and in so doing, discovered that its look of simplicity proved to be deceptive. 

He was still studying the sculpture when the Queen entered. She had shed her stiff, formal robes and the trappings of her office.  Now she wore a collarless, long-sleeved knee-length tunic with leggings and soft ankle boots, all of a muted, dusky pink. 

A simple white belt around her slender waist accentuated the wonderful curves of hip and breast.  Her long hair was no longer coiled tightly around her head; now it hung in a single thick braid down her back.  She wore no jewellery or make-up that Trip could see, yet he thought that this stark simplicity of dress only served to emphasize her beauty. 

He caught a whiff of a sweet, light scent that reminded him of the roses that his mother had grown back in his native Florida.  He couldn't, for the life of him, decide whether it was perfume, or her own natural fragrance.  Too bad I can’t ask, he thought.  Still, I’d love to know ...

“Ah, Commander,” she said, smiling.  “"I hope that you will forgive my tardiness, but I had pressing business."

“I didn’t mind,” he said.  “And I can just imagine.  I’m pretty busy, running the engineering department on Enterprise.  Running an entire planet?” He shook his head.  “I don’t know how you do it.  Would drive me crazy, I’m sure.”

He was rewarded with that brilliant smile.  “I see you do have some understanding.  Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me,” he replied.  “I’m the one who should be thanking you.  How often does a guy like me get to have dinner with a beautiful Queen?”

She actually chuckled as she sat at the table.  "Flatterer," she said amiably.  "Are all Humans disposed to act this way?"

Trip joined her, and sat back down.  “I don’t know about the rest of Earth,” he said.  “Although I’d guess that most red-blooded males would jump at the chance to have dinner with you.  Your Wisdom,” he added.

“You are a flatterer.”

He shook his head.  “Actually, I’m kind of a plain-spoken guy, Your Wisdom.  I just call ‘em as I see ‘em.”

“Indeed,” she smiled.  “I like that.”

He could feel himself blush, slightly.  “Thanks,” he managed.

She poured herself a glass of wine.  It was, Trip noted, only half a glass.  “Is anyone else going to be joining us?” he asked.

“Who else would be joining us?”

“I was thinking that your husband might.”

The universal translator did not translate "husband", to judge by her look of incomprehension.  "Hoos-bund?"

Trip tried to explain.  “You know.  Your mate.”

She gave him a blank look.  “I’m not sure I do.”

“I mean, aren’t you married?”

“’Mare-eed’?  What is that?”

Trip struggled to explain.  Eventually, something he said must have made sense to her, because comprehension dawned.  "Oh--similar to a First.  Not many of us have one, nor do I.  I suppose," she said slowly, "I could take one now."  She sounded sad for some reason, and Trip decided not to pursue it.”

“Do you have a hoos-bund, Commander?”

“Ah, you mean a wife?  No.  No, I don’t.  I’m single.”

“Single?  I’m not sure I understand the word as you use it, Commander.”

“It means that I don’t have any, ah, commitments to a woman.”

“Not even children?”

“Not so far as I know,” he said.  “But I’m hoping, someday ...”

She smiled.  “Patience, Commander.  I’m sure someday The Parent will bestow such joy upon you.”

“And you?”

“I have been so blessed twelve times,” she said.

“I’m sorry,” he said, “but do you mean to say you have twelve kids?”

“It is nothing to be sorry for, Commander,” she told him.  “And yes.  My oldest is my son, J’alehya.  He himself has just had his first child.  A girl.  It’s a lucky thing, for a man’s first child to be a girl.”

Trip was astonished.  A grandmother.  He was talking to a grandmother.  She smiled again.  “You seem surprised, Commander.”

“I am,” he managed.  “I mean, you don’t look like a grandmother.”

She laughed.  “We N’Alvians don’t show our age.”

No kidding.  Then he remembered something else she said while on board ship.  “I beg your pardon, Your Wisdom, but I seem to remember you telling Subcommander T’Pol that it was considered lucky for a woman to have a boy as her first child.”

“It is.”

“But – you just said – a girl was considered lucky.”

“For a man, Commander.”

He thought about it for a moment.  “So, in other words, having a child is good luck for somebody.”

“Exactly.” She laughed.  It was a low, throaty sound, and he thought he could listen to its music all night.

Taking a small silver mallet that lay beside her plate, she struck a triangular crystal in the table's centre.  A gentle chiming sounded, and before it had faded, two servants entered pushing wheeled tables.

"Would you prefer to be served, or would you rather serve yourself?" asked the Queen.  "As my guest, the choice of course is yours."

“I really don’t care to stand on formality, Your Wisdom.  I can serve myself.”

"Excellent," she said, and with a wave of her hand, dismissed the servants.  She sounded pleased, and Trip began to suspect that she found the pomp and ceremony of her position restricting and tiresome.

Dinner was excellent and the Queen a superb hostess.  “This is really good,” Trip said at one point in time.  “What is it?  A bird of some sort?”

"This is not animal flesh."  She sounded distressed at the idea.  "We call it roast fowl, but it is in reality a grown protein substitute."

"Then N'Alvians are vegetarians?"

"I am not sure what you mean by that term, but we do not eat animal flesh.  After all, they are living things; they have their place in this world, independent of ours.  They have been placed here for purposes of their own, not to serve us."

“I see,” said Trip.

“And humans?”

“Not as advanced as you are, ethically speaking,” Trip admitted.  God, would T’Pol have a field day with that!  “I’m afraid we still eat meat.  Not all the time, but, yeah, we still do.  But we’re trying to get away from that,” he added.  “Like you said.  We don’t really have the right, I guess, when you come right down to it, to assume that they’re here to cater to our whims.”

She smiled at him, and Trip would happily forego pan-fried catfish forever, if he could be guaranteed that smile as a reward.

They began discussing the technical requirements for duplicating animal proteins, and by the meal’s end, were deep in the aspects of molecular biology pertinent to the production of a red meat substitute.

She impressed Trip with her evidently expert grasp on the more esoteric sciences involved, as well as her intelligence and lively wit.

He said, “Begging your pardon, Your Wisdom, but are all N’Alvian monarchs this knowledgeable when it comes to science and engineering?”

She smiled.  “As I told you, my beloved sire was a great scientist.  It had been my hope to follow in his footsteps, and to that end, I made the sciences my main field of study.”

"I’m sorry, I don’t get it.  Isn’t the Monarchy hereditary?"

"Yes--and no."  At his obvious bewilderment she smiled and explained her answer in more detail.

Under the N'Alvian system of government, all of a Queen's offspring, not merely the eldest, were eligible for the Throne.  Only the one child who passed all of a stringent series of tests, physical, mental, emotional and ethical, became the designated Heir.  The tests were done in secret, and over a lengthy period of time; the child was unaware of when they were being evaluated so as to insure that the test results were unbiased.  The successful candidate was usually female; there had only been three kings in all of N'Alvian history.

Once the Heir had been designated, she returned to the Palace to undergo years of intensive training in law, government, and ethics.  Then, she served as an apprentice (or "Queen-elect", as the position was called) under the reigning Queen until the latter died or retired.

Considering the life-span possessed by N'Alvians (comparable to Vulcans), there were usually three Queens, who formed a triad: the Elder, or Dowager Queen, the Reigning Queen, and the Queen-elect.  This meant stability and consistency were maintained, and the transition of power from generation to generation was done in an orderly fashion, unlike the turbulence that had marred the reign of many human monarchs.

Valashaya was an unusual case; she was the only Queen.  Her mother, who should have still been the Reigning Queen, had succumbed to an exceedingly rare and always-deadly disease some ten years ago, and the Dowager Queen had also died, in an accident.  This particular series of events had happened before in N'Alvian history; and each time it had, the surviving Queen had presided over some significant event, sometimes good, sometimes not, during her reign.  N'Alvians were not generally superstitious, but Valashaya knew that they were watching her closely, waiting, wondering what her rule would bring forth.  Such scrutiny was a heavy burden to carry.

Trip considered all of this.  “Sounds kind of lonely,” he finally said.

She shrugged.  “It is what it is,” she replied, but he caught that undercurrent of sadness once again.

“Forgive me for saying this,” he said, “but you’re obviously one hell of a woman to be able to carry it off.”

She laughed.  “I believe that’s more flattery,” she said.  “And here I thought you were a plain-spoken man, Commander.”

“I call ‘em as I see ‘em,” he repeated.

*  *  *

Trip wandered around, investigating.  The Queen’s study was a fascinating (to steal a phrase from T’Pol) place. It was a large and airy room, with glass doors that looked out into her courtyard.  Two of the walls were completely covered with bookshelves, while the one over the massive brick fireplace, a fireplace that would not looked out of place on Earth, was decorated by a single large painting; a semi - abstract that showed a field of flowers.  It was very reminiscent of the best of Monet's work, and Trip thought he would like to see more of N'Alvian art.  An instrument that resembled a cross between a piano and a harpsichord sat by the window. 

A large wooden desk, topped by computer console, and with two chairs drawn up to it, was the only other furniture in the room besides the small round table, topped with decanter and glasses, and the large sofa that was drawn up by the blazing fire.

While Valashaya watched, he prowled about exploring.  Trip, who loved antiques - especially paper-bound books - looked enviously at her large collection.  She had hundreds of these, all in excellent condition, and literally thousands of reading discs.  He sighed. 

“Commander?”

“That’s a great collection.” He said.  “I wish I had a set like that.”  Answering her unspoken question, he added, “Room’s pretty limited on Enterprise.  And we have weight restrictions.  I brought a few of my favorite books, but I had to leave most of mine back on earth.”

“Did you have to leave a great deal on Earth?”

He thought about it.  “I guess so,” he said.  “But I figured it was a fair trade-off.”

“You’re wiser than your years,” she replied, “if you’ve already learned that everything carries a price.”

He couldn’t think of a reply that was equally philosophic, so he simply nodded. 

She went over to her desk.  “The engine specs are here,” she said, indicating the screen.  Trip followed over.  She sat, and invited him to do likewise.

He was very conscious of her shoulder, almost touching his, as he bent to study the specifications of the N’Alvian engine.  He pulled out the translator.  “Can’t read N’Alvian,” he said apologetically.  She simply nodded, and watched him as he scrolled down, through the masses of data and notes.

“Well,” he said, when he finished, “you’re actually on the right track.  All you really need to do is fine-tune the dilithium sequencers here,” he indicated, pointing to the screen, “and then the resequencing of the plasma relays that you had suggested will work out.  You should have no problems.”  He looked over at her.  “I can send down the dilithium sequence specifications from Enterprise to your engineers, if you like,” he said.  “Captain said it was okay.”

“We would be very grateful.”

Trip waved that away.  “What are friends for?”

She smiled.  “Are we friends, Commander?”

He looked at her, and was aware of the sound of his own heart, beating a little faster.  He looked into the smiling, beautiful face that was only inches away from his.  “I hope so,” he said, hoping his voice sounded steadier than the rest of him was.

She rose.  “Come, sit by the fire, then.  And talk like friends would.”

*  *  *

Trip sat, drink in hand, with an extremely beautiful woman by his side, watching the flames as they danced and played in the fireplace in front of him.  Fellow could get used to this, he thought.  Wonder what the folks back home would say if they could see me now?

He looked over at the Queen.  She, too, was looking at the fireplace, her expression dreamy.  “Penny for your thoughts,” he offered.

"May I ask you a question - Trip?"

"Fire away."

"Exploring out there, amongst the stars... what's it like?"

He looked at her and saw that she was not asking this merely for the sake of "making conversation"; she was in earnest.

He thought about it for a moment, not wanting to disappoint her.  "Incredible," he finally said.  "Sometimes we’ve run into danger; ugliness; death; but more often, I’m amazed by all the beauty that’s out there."  He was sorely tempted to add, “Like you,” but refrained.  Instead, he said, “Like this place.  Your city – your planet – it’s like something out of a book.  Something humans could only imagine, but that we’ve never been able to build for yourselves.  You’re pretty lucky to live here.”

“Really,” she said.  “I was thinking the same thing about you.”  He raised one eyebrow in response.  She continued:  “"On Varla – that’s our moon -  we have a small research station, and colony.  I have been there.  Once.  That is the extent of my off-world travel."

“Surely your people have travelled farther than that.  Even with warp 2 capacity.”

“Oh, my people have travelled further, that’s true,” she said.  “But I have not.  It is considered too dangerous.  We have not had the technology long enough, you see, to be considered absolutely fool-proof.  And I must consider my safety, and my health."  She gave a bitter little laugh at this.  "I cannot just go off as I please; I must always remember my responsibilities to my people."

“I’m sorry,” Trip said, softly.  “Doesn’t seem fair, somehow.”

“It is what it is,” she said.  “For the most part, I am content.”

He thought for a moment.  “You know, I’ve taken a lot of pictures of all the places we’ve been.  I could send them to you.  At least you’d get a chance to see what’s out there.  Second best, I know.  But maybe better than nothing.  Would you like that?”

“Oh, Commander – Trip – I would!”  And impulsively, she leaned forward, kissed him.  It was only a brief kiss, but his head swam, and he pulled back.

She was immediately contrite.  “I’m sorry,” she said.  “Obviously, I was too familiar.”

Trip shook his head.  “No, no,” he said, hastily and truthfully.  “Not at all.  I was just kind of surprised.  In a nice way,” he added quickly.

“You find kissing enjoyable?”

“Oh, yeah.  Great hobby.”

“And do you have enough time on board Enterprise to devote to this ‘hobby’ of yours?”  Now there was definitely a teasing note in her voice.

He looked at her.  “Not as often as I’d like,” he finally said.

*  *  *

“Come closer,” she murmured.

Trip did so; to disobey the Queen would be unheard of.  They were standing in front of her fireplace; he wasn’t certain exactly how they had got there, but he found it a very pleasant place to be.  He found himself looking slightly upwards.  She was taller than he was, but he didn’t mind.  He always had enjoyed climbing.

She put satiny arms around his neck and held herself against him.   They stood that way for a few moments, still and silent.  He could feel the soft warmth of her pressed up against him, the full, heavy swell of her breasts on his chest, the beat of her heart along his ribs.  He drew a deep breath and laid his head upon her shoulder, closing his eyes.  He felt the soft silk of her hair against his cheek, and breathed deeply of her sweet scent

“Do you find this enjoyable?" she murmured.

For an answer, he tightened his arms about her.

“So do I,” she said.

He drew back his head, stared into the depths of those golden eyes.  “I’ve never seen eyes like yours before,” he said.

“Nor have I yours.  Eyes the color of our sky.”

“Eyes the color of our sun,” he replied. 

He reached up, pulled her face down to his, kissed her.  She returned the kiss with enthusiasm, and once again Trip felt his head spin.  “Wow,” was all he could say.

“Come with me,” she said.  “Let’s go somewhere where we can be more comfortable.”

“Sounds good to me,” he agreed.

*  *  *

Her bedroom was dominated by a huge round bed with an intricate brass headboard.  But to his surprise, she did not lead him to the bed.  Instead, there was a divan in front of another, smaller fireplace, and it was here that she brought him.  She smiled at the expression on his face.  “Are you in a hurry, Trip?”

“Ah, no, I guess not, Your Wisdom.”

“Please.  Call me Valashaya.”

“Pretty name,” he murmured. 

They sat down, and she immediately snuggled into his arms.  He allowed himself to experience the soft, delightful sensation of those curves pressed up against him, the sweet smell that teased him, and the beautiful face that looked into his.  “No,” he murmured again, “No hurry at all, Valashaya.”

“Good,” she said.  “Neither am I.”

For a time all they did was kiss.  Slowly.  Sensuously.  Trip realized this was what he used to refer to as "necking session”, or what his grandmother used to call “spooning”.  He’d forgotten how much fun it could be.

Finally, it was evident that Valashaya thought the time was ripe to take the next step.  She unbuttoned the top button of his uniform T-shirt, and lightly kissed the portion of his chest that was subsequently exposed.  Trip felt his breath catch in his throat but held himself still, allowing her to do what she wished.

Slowly, deliberately, she unzipped the front of his tunic, pulled it down so that it pooled around his waist.  Then, his T-shirt.  She laughed when she was confronted with the tank top of his “blues” underwear.  “Are you cold, Trip?” she teased.  “So many layers of clothing!”

“I’m warming up pretty fast,” was his response, as she pulled the tank top off of him.

She seemed fascinated by his chest hair; she caressed it, ran her fingers through the soft mat, all the while with a wondering expression on her face.  “Don’t the men on your planet have hairy chests?” he asked.

“Not too many of them,” was her response.  “And certainly not like this.”

Trip was surprised.  He had a bit of a rug growing on his chest, but nothing compared to some other guys.  He wondered, briefly, what she would do if confronted with the Captain’s chest, and then decided that he really didn’t give a damn right now.

Deliberately she leaned forward, and fastened her lips to one of his nipples.  Trip gasped, then caught his breath as she began to flick her tongue back and forth.  Trails of pleasure raced through him, tightening, pulsing.  He found his hands clenching the cushion he sat on as she ran her hands up his back, then traced one finger up and down his spine.  Despite himself, he moaned.

She broke away, then whispered in his ear, "Does this bring you pleasure?"  Her warm breath blowing in his ear made him quiver with delight, but he managed to respond.  After all, not to answer wouldn’t be very polite.  “You bet,” he whispered.

“You will let me know if it doesn’t?”

“I will.  And you will, too, right?”

“Indeed.”

She kissed his cheek, his lips, then rained light kisses along the line of his jaw, on the sensitive skin under his chin, on his neck, down to his Adam’s apple, to the hollow of his throat, allowing her lips to travel slowly, teasingly, back up his neck to his ear, where she lightly nipped the lobe then tickled him with her tongue.  All the while her hands slowly, lightly, caressed his back, his ribs, his chest.

“The rest,” she commanded, pointing to his feet.”  Quickly, he obeyed, taking off the rest of his uniform and his boots, until he was clad only in his briefs.  Briefs that were starting to become a little bit on the uncomfortable side.

“My turn,” he said.  His fingers felt clumsy and stiff, but he managed to unbutton her tunic top.  It slid to the floor with a soft, maddening rustle.  She reached up, began to unbraid her hair.  “No,” he whispered.  “Let me.”

She nodded, and he plunged his hands into the glossy mass, pulling the braid apart, carefully, making sure not to pull to hard.  God, her hair was like silk! He let its heavy weight run through his fingers, allowing himself to fully experience its soft, fine texture. 

She smiled at him.  Encouraged, he leaned forward, and kissed her – a little more insistently this time.  She responded with enthusiasm, and Trip thought that he would like to rip the rest of her clothes off of her and take her right then and there, hard and fast.  Patience, Tucker, he thought.  Half the fun is getting there.

He reached down, and tugged.  She raised her self, and now, she was clad only in her light, lacey underthings.  “Everything,” he said throatily.

“Agreed,” she said. “But you’re the engineer.”

If I can’t manage a bra hook, I’d better turn my degree in.  He reached, found the front fastening, and opened it, releasing her breasts from their lacy prison.

He then slipped his hand to the waistband of her panties, and pulled.  He wanted to rip them off of her, but managed to restrain himself.

With a whisper, they came off.  She moved away, stood up.  Standing naked before him, she tossed her head, so that her hair floated about her; a veil made of shining gold.  “Do you find me pleasing?”

“Good God,” was his dazed response. She was stunning.  Full, round breasts, firm and taut with hard, erect nipples; lithe, slender waist, flat belly, softly rounded hips, long, shapely legs -  - he did not know which pleased him the most.  She shook her head again so that the long golden tresses floated around her.  He felt his breath come faster, and now his briefs were even more irritating than before.

He stood up.  “You are the most beautiful woman I have ever seen.”  It was no lie. 

She smiled.  “I’m glad I please you, Trip.”

He took her in his arms, pulled her to him, and fell back onto the couch, bringing her soft sweet weight on top of him.  Turning so that they were side by side, he kissed her again, eagerly, greedily, reveling in the taste of those soft, full lips.

He let himself indulge in the warm, sensuous feeling of flesh against flesh,  allowing his hands to wander, to explore her.  She trembled in response.  “Do you like this?”  For an answer, she kissed him back – hard.

He lightly caressed her shoulders, her back.  She quivered under his touch, and Trip allowed his hands to dip lower, into more personal territory.  He stroked her waist, followed the contours of her hips.  Experimentally, he ran a light finger across her belly and she moaned in reaction.

He cupped her breasts in his hands and she arched her back slightly so that their soft weight settled into his palms.  Instinctively he gently squeezed, then bent his head and flicking his tongue across her nipples as she had his.  Her hands tightened on his shoulders and she moaned softly.  He felt the blood pounding in his ears, and in several spots lower down as well.

She sighed and arched herself up against him.  The feel of her breasts with their hard little nipples against his chest was almost unbearable, it was so pleasurable.  Great waves of desire washed over him; he felt almost sick with passion.  He trembled.  He wanted her with an urgency that was so great that it was almost impossible to resist, but somehow, managed to control himself.  With difficulty.

Her hands slipped in turn to his waist.  A short, sharp pull, and his briefs joined the heap of clothing on the floor.  “Let me look at you,” she said.

He obeyed, standing up.  “Well?” he asked, a faint smile on his face.

She smiled, taking in the gently muscled arms and chest tapering to a slender waist; the hard, flat belly, slim hips, long, cleanly muscled legs, and his erection, which was now standing proud and tall.  "Well indeed," she murmured.  "Trip, you are beautiful.”

He’d heard himself called a lot of things, but this was a first.  Still, he was glad he didn’t remind her of something found under a rock.  “Thanks,” he said.

She laughed.  “You’re funny,” she said.  “I like that.”

He grinned.  “If you can’t laugh now, when can you?”  He looked down at himself.  “Kind of a ridiculous looking thing, really,” he said.  “I don’t know how women can look at it and keep a straight face.”

“We manage,” she smiled.

She came to him again and let her hands rove over him stroking his thighs, his stomach, his hips, causing him to squirm and groan with each feathery touch.  Lightly, she stroked his erect member with the tip of one finger, paying it a special, teasing attention. 

He gasped and his knees felt weak; each delicate stroke brought a throb of delight so intense that it was almost painful.  Then, slowly, she ran her hands back up him, then wrapped her arms about his shoulders, and kissed him, a deep, lingering kiss.

“You see,” she murmured, “I’m managing.”

“That you are,” he agreed.

Trip decided then that turnabout was fair play.  Accordingly, he reached down, and began to stroke the soft golden triangle that lay below her belly.

He discovered that her hair was not coarse and curly like his own, but straight, fine, and soft.  It felt almost like fur, or silk, beneath his fingers.  Evidently she was highly sensitive to pleasure there; as witnessed by her trembling and the small, whimpering sounds she made, deep in her throat. 

He found this enormously stimulating.  He continued his light stroking, then bent his head to her breasts once again.  He was curious to see what the combined stimulation of breast and belly would do to her.

She writhed and cried out sharply.  Her hands moved frantically over him for a moment, then gripped his shoulders tightly.  She cried out again, a low, purring cry that set the blood pounding in his head.  Lightly she nipped his shoulders, his ears, his neck.  It was now his turn to moan and writhe.

Panting she backed away, then took him by the hand and led him to the bed.  “Lie down,” she commanded.

“As your majesty wishes,” he replied happily, as he obeyed.

She gave him a light, teasing smack on the shoulder.  “Valashaya,” she corrected.

“Gorgeous,” was his reply.

She began to fondle him, clever hands wandering here, there, and everywhere.  Stroked the sides of his neck, following the lines of the muscles there.  A lingering hand across his shoulders, down his chest, brushing his nipples, making his breath catch in his throat.  Long strokes down his ribs, causing him to gasp aloud.  Feathery light caresses across his thighs, then upward strokes along their insides.  Skilled fingertips stroked his stomach, inducing a shudder to rock through him. A soft hand slipped underneath to gently massage while he arched upwards, a cry pulled out of him.

She wondered idly if all human males were this sensitive to touch.  Certainly he was a delight; an amazingly tactile creature.  The shivering, the moaning, the writhing - all of the reactions he had to her slightest touch - were indications of a deep, sensual natture.

By this time, Trip was helpless, a prisoner to her caresses.  He opened his eyes (he hadn't realized they were closed) and looking up, saw her lovely face smiling down upon him.  He reached up with one hand, slowly tracing the contours of her forehead, her cheek, her lips.

"You are so beautiful," he said, huskily.  "I must be the luckiest son of a bitch in the universe.”

“You’re beautiful, too, Trip," she echoed, gazing down on him, running her hands along his slender flanks.  Then, teasingly:  "But I don’t know what your antecedents have to do with any of this."

He pulled her to him.  “I’ll explain later,” he promised, then kissed her again.

Laughing, she pulled back, continued her sweet ministrations until he was writhing under her touch, moaning in ecstatic agony.  "Please," he finally managed to whisper, “I don’t know how much more I can take.”

Just when he felt he could not bear it a single moment longer, she took pity on him and mounted him.

He wanted to take her, quickly.  Take her now and be done with it.  But that wouldn’t be a very gentlemanly thing to do, now, would it?  He took a deep, trembling breath.  She looked at him.  “Your show,” he said, hoarsely. “You lead, I’ll follow.”

She began to slowly move, rocking up and down against him.  He had another surprise; she was not smooth within, like a human woman; instead, her insides had rough little ridges, little ridges that contracted against him, augmenting his pleasure.

It seemed  that these were also sensitive to pleasure, for she whimpered and rocked against him.  He remembered to breathe deeply, keeping himself relaxed, holding himself back so that he did not rush ahead of her.  It was difficult, incredibly difficult, but somehow, he managed.

His ecstasy built, sharpened, climbing within to heights he had not dreamed possible.  The world dwindled to just the awareness of it, and the desperate need for a release.  Dimly, from far away, he heard Valashaya begin to moan, then cry out sharply; once, twice, a third time.  He felt the internal contractions of her climaxes, and these pulled his own delicious agony higher.

Still higher.  Now it was almost unbearable.  Helplessly his head thrashed on the pillow, while his hands clutched the bedclothes spasmodically.  He heard himself whimpering and moaning in turn, begging her for release from this sweet torture.  There had to be an end to this exquisite agony, there must be, there had to be.. Oh, please, Valashaya, please...

Finally, finally, he reached the crest of the hill he had been climbing.  His body arched, upward, quivering, as his own climax hit.  Red hot waves seemed to pulse through him, and he, too, cried out, unable to stop himself.

Gradually, he relaxed back down onto the bed.  He drew a deep, shuddering breath, and slowly opened his eyes.

Valashaya was smiling down upon him.  He reached, took her hand, and pressed it to his lips.  "Thank you, Your Wisdom," he murmured.

“For the last time  - “

He pulled her to him.  “With all due respect, Your Majesty – shut up and kiss me.”

*  *  *

The morning sun was high on the bedroom wall when Trip awoke, and discovered to his great regret, that morning had come. 

He found that he was lying curled against Her Wisdom’s--he corrected himself--Valashaya's beautiful back.  She was still deeply asleep.  Lightly, he kissed the back of her neck.  She murmured softly, but did not awaken.

He lay back, and allowed himself to consider the events of last night.  It had been, well, incredible.  That was the only word for it.  Incredible.  No wonder he slept so late; he was worn out.  This was one hell of a woman, he thought, idly running his hands along her side.  And one hell of a ride.  He hoped that his own performance had been up to standard, although he hadn’t heard any complaints.  And he suspected that she was also a person who called ‘em as she saw ‘em.

He wrapped his arms around her, careful not to awaken her.  Because when she woke up, it would end.  And he didn’t want that.  At least not right away.  He sighed.  He could get very comfortable here, but he knew that he was not yet ready to settle down.  But if he ever was ...

She stirred, sighed, and then awoke.

"Morning."  She slipped her arms about him.

He took her word as a statement.  Nuzzling her neck he replied, "Pity."

“Why do you say that, Trip?”

“Because.  You’ve got stuff to do, and I do, too.  But not together.”

She grinned.  “That’s what you think.”

He was surprised.  “Want to run that by me again?”

“I awoke before you did,” she informed him.  “And I spoke to your Captain.  I invited the crew of Enterprise to come and visit our planet.  The Captain most graciously accepted my invitation.  ‘Shore leave’, I believe he called it.  What does that mean?” she asked.

“I’ll tell you later,” he said.  “How long?”

“Alas, only a week.”

“Hmm,” he said.  “Well, better that than nothing at all.”

“I’m glad we agree,” she said.

*  *  *

"Would you care for another piece of fruit, Commander Tucker?"

"If you wouldn’t mind, Your Highness."

"Tea?"

"No, thanks.  This fruit juice all I need.   But I wouldn’t mind another one of those biscuits.  Thanks.  I don’t know why I’m so damn hungry this morning.”

"It's closer to afternoon than morning."

"Ah.  That could be why."

"Perhaps.  But I can think of another reason."

“Think so, do you?  You aren’t eating much yourself.  I don’t think that’s such a good idea, Your Wisdom.”

"Oh, indeed?"

"Oh, yes indeed.  You’d be smart to get a good breakfast into you."

"And why is that, sir?"

"Because my Queen, when we have finished up, I’m planning on keeping you occupied for quite a while.  You’re going to need every bit of strength you can find.”

“Is that a promise, Commander Tucker?”

“Like I said – I call ‘em as I see ‘em.”

*   *   *

Trip walked to the pod.  Beside him, the tall figure of the Queen accompanied him. 

He turned, smiled.  “Thanks.”  Then he shook his head.  “I mean, I know that sounds stupid, but – “

“I don’t think so.  You enjoyed your time here, yes?”

“I did.  I hope you enjoyed my, ah, visit, too.”

“Most certainly, Commander.”

Trip sighed.  “This is the part of my job I hate.  Saying goodbye.”

“It doesn’t need to be ‘goodbye’,” she said.  “You don’t know what the future will hold, and neither do I.  Perhaps I will travel out to the stars myself someday.  Or you may return.”

He looked at her.  “I’d like that,” he said.  “I could stand being the consort of a queen without too much trouble at all.”

“Then perhaps, some day, you will be.  I can always use the services of a chief engineer.”  She smiled.  “In more ways than one.”

He laughed, then sobered.  “I’ll make sure that I send you the dilithium sequence we talked about.  And the pictures.”

“Please.”  She put a small square of plastic in his hand.  “Something to remember me by.”  He touched it, and a picture of that beautiful face smiled out at him.

“Valashaya,” he said, “I don’t need this to remember you by.  You’re not someone I would ever forget.  But,” he added, “I must admit, having your lovely face to look at will help those long nights pass just a little easier.”

“I’m glad,” she said softly.  She looked up at the sky.  “You’d better get going.  Your life is waiting for you.”

“For the time being,” he said.  “But I think I’m going to hold you to that promise about the chief engineering position.  Assuming, of course, you meant it.”

“After all this time,” she said, “Don’t you know that I also ‘call ‘em as I see ‘em?’”

“That’s what makes us alike, I guess,” he agreed.  He leaned over, kissed her.  “I won’t make promises I can’t keep,” he said.  “But I hope this isn’t goodbye.  Just – so long.”

She kissed him back.  “So long, Trip.  It’s been a real pleasure, getting to know you.”

“Likewise,” he said.

He then got into the shuttlepod.  If he delayed any longer, he knew he’d never leave. 

He looked out the window one last time.  She smiled at him, blew him a kiss.  He returned the favor.  So long, Your Wisdom.  For now.

And he hit the thrusters, headed up to Enterprise.  He realized that he wasn’t going home.  Not really. 

If home is where the heart is, he thought, then I know exactly where that is.  And someday, I’ll be back.