T'rii pulled the Risian silk closer around her body, nearly nude but for the cinching black corset around her waist. The silks hissed over her, tangled through her legs and arms as she twisted around on the bed. The softness was a welcome comfort in a place that offered little tenderness.

The dimness of the seraglio was broken suddenly by the bright glare of the corridor lights as the lock codes sang in warning and the doors slid open. T'rii sat up, awake and attentive, a trained response. Her owner stood, silhouetted against the white glare as she artfully rearranged herself into an appealing pose. He stood still, and she wriggled down on her belly, glancing up expectantly at him.

Still, he made no move.

Her body responded, whether she wanted it to or not. It was what she was bred for. Her waist long, straight black hair spilled over her shoulders as she rolled over on her back, rubbing her thighs together. The room was furnished in green cushions, to accent her skin; she seemed a living part of it, a breathing, sensual piece of the room. What she was bred to be, a living, breathing vessel of pleasure, in sight, sound, taste and enthusiasm.

Still he made no move, other than to watch her.

Slowly she drew herself up into a sitting position, wishing he would touch her, even in punishment...the genetics of her breeding screaming for stimulation. "Cley?" her voice trembled as she fought an inner battle to control the desires sweeping over her.

He sighed, glanced over his shoulder, and took one step into the room. His eyes became visible as he entered the dimness, and she saw an ire there that struck fear into her. Slowly she slithered back into the silks, even as her skin prickled in craving for a touch. "Put on some clothes...your going out," he grumbled, then suddenly he was gone, the door locking behind him and leaving her with only a fading image of his shape against the white light. Quickly she clambered over to the chest at the far wall, and pulled on a clinging satin black dress.

It had been over 15 hours since the shuttle had encountered the energy creatures, but Makarov was still amazed that he had managed to get the ship away from them in one piece. Thankfully.

Makarov heard a noise from the back of the shuttle. He looked to where Izak lay on the temporary medical gurney that he had erected. Izak was stirring and beginning to wake up. "Just in time." Makarov muttered to himself. In an hour or so, they'd be on the surface and the Orions wouldn't take excuses.

Makarov walked over to the gurney and sat down next to his patient.

"My... hand..." Izak coughed up some blood, as he struggled to ask the question.

"It's fine. I repaired the damage with a graft from your thigh." Makarov calmed him with the response.

Suddenly, Izak's face went blank. His hand flew to his face. "My scales?"

"I've reverted the surgery to have you as your original self. We're nearly at Orias, and they need to see you as the *human*... that *they* recognise." Makarov reported.

"Well done, Chey." Izak nodded, understanding. Makarov was right. When Koren had instructed him to go to Kerok Nor, Izak had been human. He would have to return that way. He couldn't say he wasn't pleased. In truth, he was glad he didn't have the sting of anything Cardassian attached to him. He was now human again in mind, and body.

"How are you feeling?" Makarov tentatively asked. Izak was bound to be feeling a lot of pain, Makarov was sure. Izak looked normal enough, but it was dangerous to have him reverted whilst he was still recovering from other his other injuries. Then again, they didn't have much choice. It had always been the plan to carry out the surgery on the return to Orias. The syndicate would be none the wiser as to who had killed Sterok. There would be no visible link between the mysterious Cardassian 'Kazi', and Izak.

"Not.. so good." Izak tried to smile, but could only wince. The pain was fairly intense. "How long until we have to meet Koren?"

"We land in an hour. It will probably take them an hour to contact us... maybe another hour until we reach the meeting co-ordinates."

"Three hours." Izak sighed. "I hope you have pain-killers."

Makarov smiled. "Enough of them, yes. You will be a little tender... but other than that, you should be fine to do anything."

"Good." Izak nodded. He yawned. "I think I might sleep till we land."

"A good idea." Makarov chuckled. "You'll need it."

"Tell me about it." Izak winced in pain as he tried to laugh. He turned onto his side to sleep. As he did, his eyes widened in anger as he spotted the live body in the gurney next to him. "What... the fuck... is he doing alive?"

Makarov balked. He had assumed Izak would be pleased. Pleased that he had saved Tisk to be used as barter with the Orions. Obviously, Makarov surmised, he had under-estimated Izak's hatred of the hybrid. He couldn't blame him. After all the Kasarak had done, it was no surprise. Makarov was disappointed he hadn't seen it, and taken the opportunity to prove himself to Izak by killing the mongrel.

"I... kept him ..." Makarov swallowed hard, trying to think of an excuse. "... to kill him when you were awake."

"Oh." Izak's face returned to normal. "... I guess that's okay then."

Makarov grinned. He walked to the front of the shuttle and retrieved his phaser. "Shall I?"

"Certainly." Izak said, his face emotionless. Izak watched as Makarov lifted the phaser and took aim. Izak looked over to the man about to die. Tisk's breathing was regular, unchanged by his impending fate. Izak couldn't help but feel exhilaration. The first, well, the second victim of humanity's new dawn was about to take his place in hell, the realm of traitors.

Suddenly, a flood of thoughts began to fill Izak's head. Maybe they could use the Kasarak. A bargaining tool with the Orions. It might prove to them how dedicated, or supposedly dedicated, Izak was to the syndicate. 'Even able to recruit fleeters', Izak thought. And he could use him as the fallguy if the federation ever tracked him here. Izak's face had changed since the cleansing of Sterok. Tisk's face? Well, it had not.

Izak held up a hand. "Wait..." He murmured, still in pain.

Makarov had been about to fire. He lowered the phaser. Had he heard that right?. He looked to Izak. "Did you say.... wait?"

Izak nodded. "Don't kill him yet."

"What?"

"We can use him.... the Orions don't know we have him yet do they?" Izak asked as he struggled to sit up.

"Errr.... no." Makarov said, trying not to seem too disappointed.

"Well then." Izak managed his first full smile. "We have our first bargaining tool. The diseased Kasarak will be proof to them of my skills."

Makarov swallowed again. He wasn't so sure of the reasoning here. "Are you sure?"

"Yes, I'm sure!" Izak said curtly, and glared at his partner. "Besides, his Starfleet connections could still be useful for awhile."

Makarov nodded.

Izak lay back down in triumph. Another master stroke. "We can always kill him later."

Makarov nodded, and tried to fashion a smile in agreement. Failing that, he moved back to the front of the shuttle to continue guiding it to the surface.

Yes, another master stroke, Izak told himself. Tiskil was going to become an integral pawn in this game, Izak decided. Besides, it would be fun to see a weak mind as his try to survive on Orias. More than that, try to survive with Izak's baiting. Izak smiled again, and turned over to face Tisk.

"You know, Kasarak..." He whispered. "...you just don't realize how many times I have saved your life. Pray that I don't take it away too soon." He grinned widely as turned back onto his back, and drifted off to sleep.

Makarov and Izak remained in the shuttle waiting for the signal from the Orions. They had arrived over three hours ago, and Izak was beginning to regain his strength.

Thankfully, Izak admitted. The first meeting with Koren would be a lot easier now. He looked towards Tiskil who still lay on the second gurney at the back of the shuttle.

"How long until he wakes?" Izak turned to ask Makarov.

Makarov stood up and went over to the gurney's medical controls, studying the readouts that seemed to update continuously.

Izak was still amazed how much the Russian had been able to learn at Starfleet medical without even sitting the final year. Amazed, but more that that, thankful.

"Not long. Less than half an hour." Makarov reported. "His life signs are almost normal, and the sedative levels are close to zero."

Izak nodded, taking in the information. He paused a moment, as if pondering what had been said. He tapped his fingers on the shuttle Conn. "Inject him with more."

"More?" Makarov looked up.

"I don't want him to wake until we are well and truly finished our negotiations with Koren."

Makarov nodded. "I see what you mean." He leaned down and took a sedative-vile from the medical cabinet. He tapped it, making sure the solution was soluble, then injected it into the Bacardie's neck.

Tisk stirred for a moment, but other than that, his life signs remained constant.

"All is well?" Izak asked, calling from the front of the shuttle.

"Yes." Makarov smiled, nodding. "He'll be out for a good twelve hours."

"That should be enough." Izak was sure that any meeting with Koren wouldn't last longer than that.

Suddenly, a knock came from the shuttle's back bay-door. Izak signaled to Makarov, and each of them grabbed a phaser just in case.

"Who's there?" Izak called out, taking a firing position behind the shuttle's navigator's seat.

Makarov had positioned himself behind Tisk.

"Orias Alpha." The voice was curt, and obviously not in the mood for screwing around. "Open up."

Izak stood up. "Finally." He whispered to Makarov.
Izak pressed the controls to open the shuttle's door.

They promptly did so, revealing a tall, lanky Vulcan, phaser rifle in hand. "You are Izak?" He asked curtly.

"Yes." Izak nodded. "But you are not Koren... not Orias Alpha..."

"No, I am Davak." The Vulcan said. "I will take you to Koren. It was not safe for him to meet you
personally."

"Fine." Izak nodded. He knew that Koren had been involved in a lot of wheeling and dealing throughout this entire sector. Obviously, someone had finally tracked him down to Orias.

"Your friend?" Davak waved his rifle towards Makarov. "He will come too?"

"Yes, Mr. Makarov here is my partner."

"And this...." Davak looked down towards Tiskil, taking in the rare sight of a Bajoran-Cardassian hybrid with little more than an irksome glance.

"Our newest recruit." Izak grinned. "A fleeter."

"You brought a fleeter here?!?" Davak roared, lifting his rifle and pointing it at Izak. "Are you crazy?"

"A former fleeter, my friend." Izak said quickly, putting his hands up. "He is committed to the cause."

Davak didn't move.

"I have... witnessed for him." Izak said calmly.

Makarov's jaw dropped. Did he know what he was saying?

"Witnessed, eh." The Vulcan almost seemed to smile. "Koren will be... impressed."

Izak shot a wink to Makarov. "I hope so." He smiled, saying to Davak.

"Why is he unconscious?" Davak asked leaning down to take a closer look at him.

"Injured at Kerok Nor." Izak said simply.

"I see." Davak nodded. "We shall send him on to your new place of employment then."

How interesting. A new place of employment? Did this mean there could be a promotion in the wings? "Fine." Izak nodded again.

He and Makarov followed Davak out of the shuttle to another ship. As they did, they watched two Ferengi's collect the unconscious Tisk, and squeeze him into the back of a land-hopper.

Izak smiled. A new place of employment. Things were, most definitely, looking up.

"Izak... Izak... Izak..." Koren stood up smiling, and came over to kiss the human on his cheek. A fat cigar hung out of his mouth, and dropped ash on Izak's shoulder. "So good to see you back amongst the scum of Orias." Koren chuckled, and sat back down. His expansive girth just squeezing under the table. He motioned for Izak to sit down, and sent his underlings off to another room so that they could be alone.

"As I have always said, my friend, you are my kind of scum." Izak smirked. "It is good to be back with my brethren."

Koren nodded, laughing. "Cigar?"

"Please." Izak took one of the cigars. They were a special Orion blend. He hadn't found them anywhere but with Koren. For complete scum, it was surprising how much taste the Orions had. Only recently, had Izak made it through the ranks to be directly under Koren. He had discovered it could be, surprisingly, rewarding.

Izak lit up the cigar, sat back into the alcove, stretching his arms back into the soft leather seating. "These really do taste better every time." Izak said, as he took out the cigar to examine it.

Koren smiled. "I have good people working for me." He winked, and his orange tinged skin almost sparkling against the Romulan ale he now poured for the two of them.

"The best." Izak picked up his glass, and grinned.

Koren downed his ale in one gulp. Izak cocked an eyebrow. These Orions could stomach just about anything. It was no wonder they had become the criminals of the galaxy. Wasted talent, perhaps. But, then again, they lived a full life.

Koren stood and moved over to his window. From it, you could see the complete sprawl of the Orion settlement here. Koren had the highest building in the city. Rank tended to work like that. The syndicate was almost like a little royal family.. only, built on crime.

"Beautiful, no?" Koren asked, indicating the city.

Izak stood and wandered over to the window. By night, it was true, the city did have a certain beauty. He could only imagine what activity was going on throughout it. "Quite. You do have a... nice view here." Izak laughed, taking another sip from his ale.

"Your view..." Koren turned to Izak an placed a hand on his shoulder. "... won't be so bad itself."

Izak stared at Koren. "I see." He smiled. "Davak did mention something about .... new employment?"

Koren chuckled. "Exactly." He took a long puff on his cigar and breathed it over Izak. "I'm very happy with your progress, Mr. Izak."

"I... am happy to here that, sir." Izak nodded respectfully.

Koren looked back out the window. "You see the blue dome?"

"Yes." Izak replied calmly.

"It's a bar come whorehouse... nice little place.... should suit you well."

"My own business?" Izak said, surprised.

"Like I said," Koren paused for a puff. "I am happy with your progress. You are ready to control your own piece of Orias."

Izak couldn't help but grin. This cover was working better than even he had imagined. No agent had ever made it this far up in the syndicate... and now, to take it further? It was dream come true. Dangerous, but worthwhile. His profile in the syndicate would rise... people might notice him. Starfleet might notice him, but still, the rewards for the cause would make it all worth it. "I.... I...." Izak feigned speechlessness. "... thank you, sir."

"I'm glad you're pleased." Koren nodded, and moved back to take a seat in his alcove.

Izak followed him, and took a seat next to the Orion. "I am. I won't fail you, sir."

Koren held out a finger, and glared. "You'd better not. Your performance will weigh heavily on my own reputation. The powers that be have noted concerns that.... you may not be ready for this. I have taken a risk, as I think you are."

"I will make this bar, your most profitable scumhouse." Izak said calmly.

"Good." Koren sat back happily, a smile on his face now. "Now, Davak told me about some fleeter you've got us.. some reptile?"

Reptile..... Could Koren have described it any better? - It was something he had always liked about Orions. They had perceptive abilities. Very good perception by all accounts.

"Yes. Reptile." Izak nodded, struggling not to sound to scornful to the Bacardie. "A former fleeter now.... He is a half-Bajoran, half-Cardassian..."

"Oh good." Koren chuckled. "Just they type of misanthrope we need. And you have witnessed for him?" Koren asked, seeming almost not to believe it.

"Yes...." Izak said quietly.

"Brave move." Koren said coolly, but didn't wait for a reply. "He will work at your bar?. Will he be useful for anything else other than...." Koren looked down onto a computer screen for Tisk's record. "... cleaner?"

Izak smiled. Makarov must have given Davak an idea of what Tisk should be assigned to do. It was already in the Orion database, as Koren had shown. The Russian could be perceptive too. "No... not yet. His skills are limited. I will use him purely for his fleeter connections. Until then, he can clean shit."

"Do I detect a little hostility there?" Koren laughed.

"A little." Izak laughed as he took a drag on the cigar. "I just don't like fleeters.. even former ones..."

"With you there, my friend." Koren replied, before continuing. "Ready to take ownership of your bar?" Koren grinned.

"Hostile takeover?"

Koren nodded, and the both threw their heads back laughing.

This would be fun.

On waking the first thing he felt was surprise, the second was nausea.

Tisk rolled onto his side and let the bile erupt from his mouth. He had no care for where the sour fluid was going, other than out of him, unable to control the muscles that expelled it. Instinct threw him onto his side, so as not to choke on his own vomit, but that was all it was capable of doing. It was not until the spasm had passed, that he found his eyes slowly gaining focus.

To have eyes to open, and a body to experience gut wrenching sickness with was still - fundamentally - a huge surprise to the hybrid. His last moment of relative clarity returned to him - the sight of a phaser beam exploding in his face and the energy beings filling his eyes with their purple light.

Awareness insinuated itself by degrees as he raised his sight from the slightly steaming, noxious pool of vomit that dripped from the edge of the bunk he lay on. The sight of a door - old fashioned, hinged and heavy - confirmed what his slowly sharpening senses had suggested. The lack of engine reverberation, the slightly heavier than usually gravity - this wasn't a ship and he wasn't in space. He was planetside - and - he was alive.

Wiping his mouth Tisk swung his legs over the edge of the bunk, placing his feet, which he noticed were bare, carefully to avoid the wet mess of his regurgitation that was spattered on the floor. Old training reasserted itself and as he assessed the state of his body, his eyes scanned his environment, for information, for clues and for threats. It was a smallish, utilitarian room, some bunks, a table or two, half lit by a dull glow that leaked through windows set high on one wall.

As he risked standing upright, reaching out to steady himself against the edge of the upper bunk, he drew in a couple of deepish breaths. The nausea was an unwelcome but all too familiar sign that left him in no doubt at all as to the state of his liver. As he drew in the air, stale, alien except for the stink of his own vomit, he felt the bloated discomfort as his ribs rolled over the swollen organ. His whole abdomen felt raw and tender but, he noted with some relief, the ribs themselves appeared to be holding together.

His hand went slowly to his jaw as he examined the room more closely. The force field bone regenerator had been removed and as his fingers tested the line of his jaw, he winced slightly. The fracture was setting but the rate of mend ensured that there was going to be enough pain there to ensure he was only sucking food for some time to come. He tried a tentative chewing motion and swore as a couple of loose teeth moved sickeningly.

He'd advanced only a few steps from the bunk he'd woken up on, when a panel in the wall behind him slid back and for an instant a cacophony of sound and shards of fluorescent light burst into the room. He spun around and had an almost subliminal flash of a narrow hallway, at the end of which the light and sound cavorted - then it was gone. The wall had slid back and in front of it stood a human, wrinkling his nose in disgust.

"Jeeeeez - what a stink." The human announced to no one in particular. " Still - better out than in I guess."

Tisk watched the new arrival walk confidently towards him. He rose warily onto the balls of his feet and moved into a slightly less cramped space as the human drew closer. He was dressed in a bizarre blend of styles that indicated a highly developed sense of humour, if not fashion sense, Tisk observed. If the man noticed the defensive gestures then he gave no outward sign of it, instead examining Tisk closely through shrewd, calculating eyes.

"Where ya from?"

"Earth." Tisk replied shortly.

The human slapped his thigh and doubled over in genuine laughter. As Tisk studied him more closely he noticed that the human's smile displayed slightly exaggerated eye teeth. Clearly sometime back in his family someone had let a little Felinoid blood slip in, Tisk thought wryly as the human recovered from his attack of amusement.

"What have we got here then - Crocafuckindile Dundee?" The human straightened up, still chuckling and keyed a code into a wall console. A wall storage unit dropped down and he pulled out a portable reclaimator backpack. Cockily he dangled it over his shoulder by a finger and strolled closer to Tisk.

"You're a funny guy Croc - you'll get on - now - really - where ya from?"

"Byron Bay - Mid North Coast - Australia - Earth." Tisk's accent scorched like a dry desert day as he stared down into the pale blue eyes of the human. "Where you from? - Mate.

Then he deliberately turned his back and walked towards a public reclaimator unit in the centre of the room and began to peel off his putrid clothes and stuff them into the machine.

John picked his teeth as the hybrid stripped. Weird. He shrugged, punched in a code in the replicator. A yellow jumpsuit appeared and he tossed it to Tisk. "That's your cleaning suit. The wrists lock...so you're not tempted to hide anything there," he grinned, "So's the collar, and the ankles...hope you don't piss a lot. You'll have to come
have me unlock you..." he wrinkled his nose, "And I'm sure I'll be busy."

He watched as the hybrid unfolded the suit and looked at it with seemed disgust. He arched a brow. "I'm from around here," he stated flatly, "Name's John." John scratched his nose and squinted at the mess on the floor. "You know, we sleep in here...the added decorations won't be appreciated."

"I lost it." Tisk said flatly, tossing the suit onto the bed. His stomach was starting to churn again, seeking something to void in the emptiness. "I need meds."

John grinned and pulled out a PADD, which he checked casually before pocketing it.

"So you do." He said ironically. "You'll get 'em - at the end of your shift - along with a food chip." He kicked at the reclaimator backpack. "Start at the top and work your way down - you can replace the energy canisters in every Beta Junction. Schematics are in the service conduits - stay out of the punters' way - don't travel by the public corridors - anything too big for the portable unit or that looks Haz-Mat call Sani-ops and they'll beam it out."

The smell of his own stomach's contents still curling around his nostrils decided Tisk. He picked up the backpack unit and tucked it under his arm, aiming the nozzle at the filthy mess over the side of his bunk.

Jerik lumbered into the room, a Tellarite, fat and piggish. He crinkled his snout at the stink and looked around, glaring. John backed up, pointing at Tisk.

"You gonna do that nightly?" he snorted at the hybrid, then turned to John. "Put him in a cage if that's the case."

"I'll go," piped up a voice from behind the rotund Tellarite. A Ferengi stepped into the room, eyes pouring over a PADD as he walked over to his bunk. "Put me next to Czir." He grinned up at them, Czir being his favorite among the herd of orion women they kept locked away in the next room. He suddenly frowned, "Profits are dropping."

John glanced over himself in the mirror. "You're always panicking at the least drop..."

"Don't worry about it," Jerik spoke to the others, but kept his small, round eyes on Tisk. "There's a new arrival coming ... should be here soon."

Pok froze, his nose twitched slightly as he calculated. "She'd better be a high bidder if there's going to be another mouth to feed..."

"Tabbot says she is," Jerik sat down heavily. "Hurry up and get that shit out of here, Reptile!" he barked at Tisk.

Pok snickered. "Rep! Scales and all!"

It had taken only a microsecond for Tisk to feel the change in tension in the room. The cocky, overdressed human had seemed to shrink in the presence of the Tellarite. Slowly Tisk finished cleaning the area of vomit, then turned the machine off and placed it on the bed alongside the yellow uniform. From the conversation he was trying to put together some idea of what kind of place he'd ended up in. John's instructions had implied it was large; the glimpse he'd had of the lights and noise from the end of the corridor showed it was certainly lively; the conversation between the other workers, none of whom he noted to himself were dressed in the yellow sani uniform, indicated that they were engaged in some kind of trade.

None of them had mentioned Izak.

As the Ferengi had uttered the nickname that Tisk had grown used to hearing on earth, the name his fellow surfers had tagged him with, his scales rippled with barely suppressed anger.

Pok and Jerik seemed to have forgotten him, but John looked on with some amusement...and some caution. He stepped forward, "Well, Rep. There's a lot of work to be done..." he nodded towards the door.

A rather rude buzz sounded through the room, and all three suddenly turned towards another door. Jerik stood, shoving his chair back and tugging on his jacket, left to answer the summons.

"Stop it," he grumbled, and she sulked lower into the seat, pulling the fur up so it covered her chin. She gazed up at him, lips covered, her large dark eyes blinking. He glared out the window. "It's only for a little bit...until I fix things again."

"I tell you not to gamble like this, Me'lhe..." she jutted her chin out from under the furs long enough to speak. "You never listen to me...now look where I am!" She ducked back into the fur collar as he turned his glare onto her.

He looked her over, and she felt her body tense seconds before he lurched across the vehicle, catching her wrists in one hand and flinging open the fur jacket in one swift movement. "As if you mind!" he growled as he leaned in close to her, his breath brushing across her cheeks. He traced a finger along her jawline, down her neck and over her collarbone, watching as her skin responded to his touch, darkening slightly along the line he'd traced. "You don't mind, do you...?" he nipped at her chin, "All those hands...all that feeling...so many to please..." His smile turned cruel as he described what was likely the next several months of her life. She writhed against his grasp, pressing herself up against him even as she scowled.

"You don't treat your gladiators like this...gambling them away..." she pouted, pressing harder against him, "You don't care for me at all..."

He suddenly released her hands, caught her under the chin, "Behave yourself."

The hover craft slowed to a stop, and T'rii wrapped herself up in her jacket again. Cley reached back behind him, and took out a collar and a leash. T'rii didn't need to be told what to do, she'd been wearing such trappings her entire life. She lowered the jacket off her shoulders and knelt down in front of him as he laced the high collar up the back of her neck and attached the chain leash to it.

He led her out onto the street, careful to avoid the mud and filth in the gutters. She looked up, stealing a moment to stare at the early morning sky, a rare opportunity to see the world outside, until he tugged impatiently at her leash. She kept the image of voluminous clouds, dark pink sky and fading stars tucked away in a corner of her mind; solace for what would undoubtedly be many unpleasant moments ahead. As Cley pulled her into a side alley, and the sky disappeared under the dirty building's eaves, she almost kicked the Orian trader for gambling her away into this situation. It wasn't the first time, and the last time had been very unpleasant. Her hands started to shake as he banged on the locked door with his fist and she chewed her lower lip, gazing at the door to see what would answer it.

The balding Tellarite that appeared was not what she was hoping for. He looked her over with his small, round eyes then turned towards Cley. "This is it?" he jabbed a fat thumb at her.

"This is her," Cley crossed his arms.

The Tellarite snapped his fingers, held out his hand to her, "Hands." She stepped forward and held out her hands and he quickly grabbed her wrists, pulling her arms up over her head. With his free hand he prodded and pinched her body, poking at her ribs. He scowled at Cley. "She's skinny."

"She's yuril, they're bred thin," Cley reached out, gripped her breast. "She's proportioned. Besides, he saw the holo and agreed at the game."

T'rii wondered who they were talking about, this Tellarite apparently wasn't her new owner, but only a handler. She stopped posing for him. He snorted and reached out for her leash, tugging harshly so that she nearly stumbled as he pulled her into the building. She glanced once over her shoulder at Cley, who was tapping his chin in thought, his eyes studying her intently. The doors shut, and she hoped it wouldn't be the last time she saw him.

The interior was dark, and it took her eyes some moments to adjust as she was led through a kitchen and into a back room. It seemed to be living space for several workers, as she saw beds and tables, and two doors leading out. The Tellarite tugged her into the center of the room, and from under the overhead lamp, she could make out several figures standing up from their bunks. He unhooked her leash, but didn't unlace her collar.

When the hinged door that Tisk had noticed earlier finally swung open, his guess that he was planetside was confirmed by a brief splash of hazy but fairly natural light and a narrow alleyway, before figures blocked the light and the door closed behind them. The Tellarite handled the leash and the green skinned woman attached to it with a proprietarily rough manner, reinforcing her status as merchandise with each jerk of the leash and each appraising tweak of her flesh. Tisk leant against his bunk and watched. This latest arrival was his first real clue as to the premises that lay beyond the doors of this room.

The specially bred green Orion sex slaves were notorious by reputation, rumour and some rather illjudged fantasy throughout Federation space. The slight matter of slavery's illegality however, guaranteed that they maintained their mysterious aura. Like most Starfleeters, Tisk had never actually laid eyes on one. He studied her curiously. Bar talk was pretty much the extent of his knowledge of her kind. How much of her conditioning was genetic and how much trained, was something that the *experts* of his acquaintance had never been too clear about.

She stood now, her furs disheveled, her skin luminous in the murky light. She seemed to be seeking out information with every sense she possessed as she gazed about her, inhaling, her limbs stretching. To Tisk, who still felt half dead, she looked alive and vibrant with the promise of pleasurable oblivion and an unknown and previously forbidden fruit. He noticed the way Pok and John were circling in closer to her, glancing warily at Jerik like mongrels snuffing a freshly used bitch.

"All right, pay attention," Jerik snorted. She blinked. Jabbing a fat finger towards a human he continued, "That's John. He'll be feeding you, cleaning you, dressing you up or down. That's Pok," he pointed at a Ferengi, "He's your dealer. He'll do the bartering for your bids...if you get any, and you'd better. Over there, that's Tisk," he pointed to a scaly man hanging in the back of the room, "He's the cleaner, he cleans." There was some mocking laughter, and she glanced curiously at the scaled man. The Tellarite continued. "You're answerable to everyone in this room. You'll get to know them all." The Tellarite then grabbed her neck and pulled her close to his face. "And I'm Jerik, and you don't want to get to know me, understand?"

T'rii glanced at the other men, assessed the situation. Jerik was the handler, and his method of handling consisted of delegating his duties to these other men...except discipline. She nodded, "Yes, Me'lhe, I understand."

Jerik snorted again, "I'm not your Me'lhe. You'll meet him later, if he feels like it." His grip tightened on her neck, and she saw the human and the Ferengi both smile. With his other hand up her skirt and suddenly roughly between her legs, he shoved her over to a heavy table, John and Pok following along like eager dogs after a treat. The scaled man, Tisk, turned away, oddly seeming as if he wanted nothing to do with what was about to take place. As Jerik bent her over the table and lifted her skirt up around her waist, she closed her eyes, and imagined clouds and pink morning skies...

As the Tellarite had pushed the Orion onto the table, Tisk had turned away and snatched up the yellow sani-uniform that lay on the bunk. Sourly he climbed into it, to the sounds of the Tellarite's grunts and snorts as he took his time testing the new merchandise. The Ferengi was already starting to squeal with the high pitched song of ecstasy his species was reknowned for.

Promotion had come early, Tisk thought wryly - hadn't even left for his shift and there was already someone lower down in the shit heap than him. The Ferengi's shrieks may have been sourced in pleasure but they resulted in pain and Tisk was grimacing against the assault on his ears as he grabbed his backpack and exited. The aural landscape of what being even lower down the shit heap than him sounded like, faded as the door closed behind him and Tisk walked slowly up the conduit to the first schematic to receive his shift's layout.

John led her through one of the doors, musky stickiness dribbling down her thighs as she walked. The room was full of old fashioned, metal cages lined up along the wall. There were sleeping forms amid the furnishings of cushions and blankets within the cages; more women such as herself, most green...but she caught a glimpse of blue in two of the cages. He yawned, ordered her to strip down and fold her clothes. "These are nice," he commented as he held up the jacket. "What kind of fur is this?"

"Black Ice Seal," she stated as she peeled off the satin dress. He tugged at the corset as she unsnapped her bra.

"This come off?" he asked. Some women wore them to train their bodies into a certain shape, during that time the corsets had to stay on. T'rii was naturally shaped with a narrow waist, and cinched it in to accent only. She nodded, and he started undoing the lacings, when that was off he took off her collar. "You on contraceptive?" She nodded again. "Good. All right, into the hygeine chamber," he pointed to a section of the room that consisted of ceramic tiles surrounding a drain in the floor, a hose led down from the ceiling and there was a crossbar with wrist restraints attached. "Do I need to use those?" he asked as he nodded towards the restraints. She shook her head, and reached up to hold the bar, stretching her body out so that she stood on her toes.

John walked around her, examining her for blemishes, wounds, bruises. He nodded in satisfaction, and turned the nozzle on the hose. "This water is cold," he warned, and she gasped as the cool stream hit her thighs. He moved the hose up so the cold water was running over her head and down her body. She fidgeted and danced in place, but didn't let go of the crossbar. He set the hose down, and she shivered while he started lathering her up with a scented soap. He hummed as he worked, shamelessly scrubbing every inch of her with a rough sponge. She braced herself, squeezing her eyes shut, as he picked up the hose again and the cold water rinsed her clean and sighed in relief when he turned the water off and started toweling her down. Tossing the towel aside, he walked over to a shelf where he stood in thought over several bottles before choosing one. Compared to the cold water, the warm lotion he started rubbing into her skin felt soothing and pleasant.

She stretched on her toes, closing her eyes as he massaged the lotion on, her body starting to respond to his caresses as it was bred to. He chuckled, "What's your breeding?"

"Yuril, Tonn'e House, fifth generation," she flexed her fingers on the crossbar.

John whistled appreciatively, "That's not cheap! I'll make sure Pok knows," he patted her thigh with affection, "It will up your price, I think." He put the lotion away and then stepped up to her, "You can let go now."

T'rii gratefully let go of the bar, and he supported her as she stepped out of the "hygeine chamber". He lead her to an empty cage, and caught sight of her pout as he unlocked the door. He smiled, patted her rump as he pointed to the cage. "Don't worry, you won't be spending a lot of time in here."

T'rii bent down and crawled in. The blankets and cushions were clean and perfumed, and she curled up in them. "John?"

He shut the door, locked it. "Hmmm?"

"Why didn't Tisk want me?" she asked, curious why he'd turned away while the other three had taken her.

John chuckled. "Him? He's new here," his tone indicated someone new to the Orian sector, not just the bar, "He just hasn't figured it out yet." T'rii nodded, and wrapped the blankets around herself. John still stood by the cage, tapped his finger against it. "Look, back there," he nodded towards the room where he and the others lived, "I know you weren't performing at your best...Me and Pok, we don't mind. You probably did it to keep Jerik from being too interested? That's ok, too...You're not his type, believe me." He leaned in closer, "But you just lay there like for a customer, if any complaints come back to Jerik about you, he'll leave you strapped in a pain amplifier for hours, ok? I'd hate to see that happen to someone of your breeding."

T'rii nodded.

John tapped the bars again, "Ok. You sleep now. It's going to be a long night for you..."