Star Traks was created by Alan Decker. Star Traks: Banshee and the Banshee crew all belong to Brad Dusen. This story and the unfortunate occurences that befall the crew are all Butler, baby! Copyright 1999. WARNING: The following involves a bit of sexual content. Those that might be offended by mild sexual references on the level of late-night cable may want to skip this, or read on anyway and write Brad Dusen a very very nasty letter. Enjoy! Star Traks: Banshee "Those Old Pon Farr Blues" By Anthony Butler "This will be great." Captain Jad Vorezze looked on at the Starship Banshee's viewscreen. "Great, indeed," harrumphed Captain Velorn from the chair to his left. "This is very serious work, Captain." "Loosen up, Velorn," Jad said easily. "We're just having some fun with this mission. Providence knows Section 31 usually puts us on the most gruesome of missions. Let's just enjoy this." "Joy is illogical. It is also irrelevant." "Now he's sounding like a Borg," Commander Charlotte Burns said from Jad's right. "Come on, Charlotte, play nice," Jad said. "Velorn, we're just trying to get in a few giggles. Is that so wrong?" Velorn nodded. "Yes." "Here it comes," Lt. Commander Vince DiSanto, Banshee's tactical officer, said excitedly. He pointed at the viewscreen. Jad watched the image on the viewscreen, a shot of the interior of a starship corridor. A Starfleet officer, a captain, graying and in his late sixties, was emerging from his quarters, zipping up his uniform jacket. "Send in Dan," Jad ordered. Suddenly a bright light appeared in the Starfleet captain's path. He shrunk back, watching in amazement as a pure-light creature with black eyes and mouth stepped toward him. "We seek contact..." said the creature. "And you want me to be your...uh, emissary?" asked the captain. "Sure," the alien replied. "I've been ready for something like this all my life. What do you want me to do?" "Release your information on the Targoba belt to us," the alien hissed. "What information? I have no--" "Quiet! We live in that area of space, and we know you've been secretly dumping radioactive antideuterium in that region! Tell us who your contacts are and turn yourself in, or we'll blow your ship all the way back to that pathetic little blue planet you call home!" "Okay, okay," the captain said, shrinking back against a bulkhead. "Then can I be your emissary?" "We'll be in touch." "Great." "Screen off," Jad said to Vince. "And bring Dan back. "Then let the authorities at Starfleet Internal Affairs know that they'll be getting a message from Captain Jacoby very soon." "Yes sir," Vince said. "And may I say the design you came up with for the creature was absolutely stunning." "I saw it in 'Cocoon," Jad explained. He sighed. "But boy, I wish I could have played the part of the alien." "You might have been recognized," Velorn said coldly. "You think so? Am I that popular around Starfleet?" Did Velorn actually sigh at that? "Since you faked your death to take part in Section 31, there has been somewhat of a cult following surrounding the Banshee's disappearance. Have you not noticed?" "Not really." "Do you not even read the Federation News?" "I read the sports section." Velorn cringed. "This is intolerable. How can you command the flagship of the Federation's secret shadow agency if you are not even up on current events?" "I've gotten by fairly well so far." "That is beside the point." "If I may interrupt," Charlotte said, holding up a padd. "We have to report to Starbase 124 to stop that ops chief from stealing office supplies." "Mr. Rachow, set a course," Jad said. "And engage at warp four." He looked at Velorn, whose forehead was gleaming with sweat. The Vulcan was kneading the arms of his chair. "Are you okay, Captain?" Velorn stared at Jad. "I find this crew intolerable. I find this ship intolerable. I find you INTOLERABLE!" He shot out of his chair and raced for the turbolift. "That was odd," Jad said, and leaned back in his chair. "He seemed a little on edge," Charlotte agreed. "Someone should talk to him," Jad said. "Yes," Charlotte nodded. "Someone should. I'm going to the replicator. Do you want something?" "A fish sandwich. And for you to do something about those headlice." "Done and done." Velorn tapped his foot impatiently as the turbolift raced through the bowels of the Banshee. He knew what was happening. He was feeling the first stirrings of "Pon Farr" within him. The fire in his Vulcan heart was boiling over the top of the cauldron of his calm, and there was only one way to stop it from burning him to a crisp: He needed to get some! And quick! The turbolift stopped and the doors parted to reveal Dr. Liz Lang. Damn why did they make those leather Section 31 uniforms so damn tight for the women. Liz stepped in next to Velorn. "Astrometrics," Liz said. "Hi, Velorn." "Greetings," Velorn said shakily. "Are you okay?" Velorn studied Liz as if he were scanning an enemy starship with infrared sensors: Luscious, full lips...check! Deep, beautiful eyes...check! Nice butt...check! Good breasts...check plus! "That was funny, huh, with Dan dressed up as that glowing alien?" Liz asked, by way of conversation. The lift ride was really dragging on. "Indeed," said Velorn. All right, already. Lock on quantum torpedoes and fire! "Doctor, would you like to go back to my quarters and bump and grind all night long so that I might not die of sexual frustration?" "WHAT?" The lift stopped and the doors opened. "Uh....here is your stop," Velorn said, and nodded. "Good day, doctor." "Did you just?" "Did I what?" "Say..." "No I didn't. Off you go." "Right. Right." Liz stumbled off looking dazed. The doors closed. "Stupid, stupid Vulcan!" Velorn pounded his head with his fists. "You had her. You just needed to give the order for warp speed!" The lift kept descending. And where the hell was he headed anyway? He couldn't recall giving the lift a destination order. After circling through the innards of the Banshee for about forty minutes, Velorn's lift finally came to a stop on one of the engineering decks. He crept out of the lift. The corridor was dimly lit. Apparently someone was doing some maintenance on the lighting elements. "Computer," he said. "Where am I?" "The very bottom of the ship." "I see." Velorn turned on a heel back for the turbolift and pressed the call button. "Mmm...damn!" He heard a voice in the darkness. Velorn turned back around and headed toward the voice. Someone, a woman, was bent over, taking readings on a wall of gelpacks. "Are you having difficulties?" asked Velorn. The woman turned. It was Ensign Tanya Svelchik, an engineer. "Yes sir," she said. "I'm trying to get this gelpack out, but it's stuck in really deep, and its busted, so it's all sticky and slick. I keep trying to grasp it with my hand, but it just keeps sliding down." Velorn arched an eyebrow, gritted his teeth. "Indeed." Svelchik got on her hands and knees and climbed further into the access junction, surrounded by gelpacks. "Can you climb in here and give me a hand?" "Certainly." Velorn knelt and suddenly with a pop another gelpack exploded, covering Svelchik in thick blue resin. "Heheh," she giggled. "What a mess!" "Mmmmm...mess..." said Velorn giddily. "Are you okay, sir?" "Hold on...yes, now I am okay." "Whoops!" Svelchik said, pointing at Velorn's crotch. "Looks like some gel got on your pants. Let me--" "No thanks!" Velorn cried and ran for the turbolift. Once he got a fresh pair of pants, Velorn returned to the bridge, to find the ops chief of Starbase 124 on the viewscreen, in a hot pink leotard, doing some kind of rigorous bending and stretching exercises. Presently, she was reaching down and touching her toes, with her back to the screen. "That butt is fake," said Lt. Commander Tagel Axik from her position at ops. "It looks perfectly fine to me," mumbled Jad. She turned in her chair. "It does, does it?" "Scientifically speaking..." Jad glanced back at the aft turbolift, where Velorn still stood, transfixed by Ops Chief Maya Robinson's buttocks. "Captain! Good to have you back on the bridge. We were just following our ops chief through a normal day's routine. We think she's about to steal those office supplies." "I have to get out of here," Velorn said, and raced back into the turbolift. "Notice anything odd about Captain Velorn lately?" Jad asked, turning to Axik. "He seemed somewhat agitated...especially for a Vulcan." "I wonder what could be wrong with him." "I have no idea." "What are we going to eat for dinner tonight?" "I have no idea." Jad looked to the screen. "She's jogging in place! Put that in the log!" "Why?" Vince DiSanto asked from tactical. Jad shook his head. "I wouldn't expect you to understand." "What the hell is that supposed to mean?" When Velorn emerged once more from the turbolift, this time knowing full well what destination he was going to, he made a beeline for the office down the hall. "Come," said the voice from within. Velorn walked into the office and stared at the woman behind the desk. "Counselor Stokes, I am in need of your services." "I'm touched," Counselor Emily Stokes said, stepping around her desk and gesturing for Velorn to sit down in a chair opposite her. "You've never come to me before." "Vulcans are not prone to emotional problems. Generally, they only lose control when that time of the decade approaches, if you know what I mean." "Oh no," Emily said. "You've hit Pon Farr." "Square in the face, yes, Counselor." Emily reached forward and grabbed Velorn's hands. "Well, don't worry, Captain. We'll work through this together. You'll come out of this all right." "Then you'll consent to a hot romp in the Vulcan love chamber?" Emily shrank back as if he'd spat venom at her. "My goodness no!" "Fine. We shall engage in smalltalk first." Velorn crossed his legs. "Let us talk religion. I assume that is a safe subject." He glanced around at the crosses, images of Christ weeping, and other religious icons that decorated Emily's office. "So, this Jesus Christ. It is your contention that he died for the sins of all human life? Please! That is highly illogical. The whole idea that one man can..." "Go away!" Emily cried, curling into a ball in her chair and covering her ears. "Spread your hot sex and blasphemy somewhere else! That doesn't sell here!" "But Counselor, is it not your job to help me through any and all emotional crises I may experience, including Pon Farr?" "Not if helping you means sleeping with you!" "But, Counselor Stokes, clearly you can see..." Velorn held up a trembling hand. "I really...REALLY need it." "I suggest you see Commander Burns." Velorn shuddered. "I do not need it that bad." "Dr. Isaac?" Velorn stuck his head into sickbay. "Hello?" "I'm right in front of you. I was just heading out." The Vulcan looked down. "Oh. My apologies. I did not see you there." "What do you want?" demanded Brian, obviously angered at having been missed. "I have a delicate subject to discuss with you." "Make it quick. I'm being fitted for some heel lifts." Velorn raised an eyebrow. It was all he could do not to burst out laughing. Damn Pon Farr. "I see. My problem, to put it succinctly, is Pon Farr." "Oh, I see." Brian stepped on a foot stool and climbed up onto a biobed. His feet dangled a good meter from the floor, Velorn noticed. "There's no medical cure for that, Captain. You just have to...you know...get some. Aren't you capable of that much?" "Not at the moment," Velorn mumbled. "Then you have a problem. As I recall, Vulcans die if they don't get laid while in Pon Farr. Do you want me to get an autopsy report together? I like to stay ahead of paperwork." The hair on the back of Velorn's neck hackled. "That will not be necessary." "Well, then. There's always Commander Bu--" "THAT will NOT be NECESSARY!" Velorn hurried out of Sickbay. Brian shrugged. "Death or Charlotte. He picks death. Go figure." Velorn made his way toward the turbolift on unsteady legs. He should not have "held it in" this long. His whole body felt ready to explode in a fireworks display of erotic urges, urges that would have to be satisfied quite soon, or else his body would just shut down altogether. But he had to get to the bridge. He had to get an update on the Banshee's current mission. He could not let his delicate physical condition get in the way of his duties. That would be singularly UN-Vulcan. When he got to the bridge, young Ops Chief Robinson was riding a gymnastic horse, straddling and flipping and hopping up and down." "Look at her go," said Lt. Commander Ben Rachow with a low whistle. "She's so...flexible." "And she hasn't stolen one supply yet," Vince said. "Odd." Velorn's eyes temporarily fluttered backwards into his skull. "Are you okay, sir?" asked Vince as Velorn walked by. "It is nothing YOU need be worried about," Velorn said coldly. "Just wondering!" Velorn made his way down to the trio of command chairs. "Captain," he said, and sat down next to Jad. Jad glanced at Velorn. A thin film of sweat covered the Vulcan's face. "Are you well, Captain?" "Indeed I am not," Velorn said with a sigh. "Let us leave it at that." "Did you see Dr. Isaac?" "Indeed I did." "And?" "And he was most unhelpful." "Hmm." Jad considered what might be bothering the Vulcan. "What about Counselor Stokes?" "She too, was most unhelpful." "Oh, well," Jad said, and allowed himself a cursory glance into Velorn's mind. "Oh...oh good God!" "Do not look in my mind, Betazoid!" Velorn shouted, causing heads around the bridge to turn. "Captain, I was just curious...I didn't mean to...whoa, you really do have a problem! And no, Commander Tagel is not capable of getting into that position!" "All right then," Velorn said, and hopped to his feet. "You want to know how bad it is? You really want to have an idea of what I'm going through?" "Uh...no..." Jad said as he shrunk away from Velorn. "Well here you go!" Velorn planted his fingers squarely on Jad's face. The Betazoid had extremely powerful telepathic powers, but they were no match for a Vulcan in full-tilt Pon Farr mode. "My thoughts to your thoughts...our minds...and libidos, are one!" "No...no..." Jad moaned, pounding the arms of his command chair. Velorn released the Betazoid, who lie gasping like a fish out of water for several moments. "That is the depth and breadth of my sexual depravity, Captain," Velorn said, and looked around at the rest of the bridge crew. "Who else wants some, eh?" "And I thought Ben was a pervert," Jad moaned. Finally, he staggered out of the command chair. "You need help, Captain Velorn." He turned for his readyroom. "On second thought, so do I. Commander Tagel, report to my readyroom on the double." He winked at the Bajoran. "Oh, yes, right away sir!" Axik squealed. "Computer," Jad said, unzipping his jacket and rushing into his readyroom, "begin couchbed unfolding sequence, authorization Vorezze alpha delta three four seven!" Velorn stood at the center of the bridge, scanning the fearful eyes of the remaining crew. "I have the bridge," he seethed. His hair, normally cut in perfect bowl fashion, was a frazzly mess. "You know who really loves men..." Ben said, hugging his station. "Vince!" "Stop it!" Vince said, cowering behind his station. Ensign Patrice Gaines stepped forward to take the Axik's relinquished ops station, but as soon as she got near Velorn and got a good look at the expression on his face, she raced for the forward turbolift and left. "Maybe you should go belowdecks," Vince said quietly, kneeling, peering over his station. He was chief tactical officer. That sometimes included seeing to the safety of the ship, when Dan Smith wasn't doing it. "To what end?" asked Velorn. "I think you know," said Ben Rachow. "There's only one place on this ship you can get it for free!" "The holodeck is not good enough," Velorn said, ripping off his uniform jacket, and the vest below that. "It is so unbearably hot on this ship." "I'm not talking about the holodeck," Ben said, and smiled. Velorn cringed. "I know. That was an option I'd hoped I wouldn't have to use." "It's that or death," said Ben. "Yes. Well, there are worse things than death." Velorn considered that for a moment, until his crotch was hit by a pang of lust that was so strong it overpowered every last bit of good sense in his brain. It was final option time. The cabin doors opened and Velorn found himself overwhelmed by the scent of peaches and herb incense, mixed with cheap, Starfleet Spice perfume. It made him want to gag, but he pressed on. He heard a razor sound that sent shivers down his spine, but he pressed on. "I've been waiting for you," a voice said, and to his horror, Commander Charlotte Burns emerged from the bathroom in only a bra and her uniform pants. "I was just shaving my armpits." "Uuughgh..." Velorn swallowed back a rush of vomit. He had to do this. Charlotte sauntered over to her couch and lay down seductively. "Come on, Velorn. I know what you want. We all know what Vulcans have to do every seven years." Velorn pulled at the collar on his tunic. "Oh, who keeps count." Charlotte reached over to her coffee table and held up a padd. "I do!" Velorn cringed. "You sick, twisted, seductress!" "Come have a seat, sweetie. I'll rock your world." Velorn felt his knees go weak as Charlotte lit up a cigarette and puffed away. She patted the couch. "Don't be afraid." "You smoke? I did not think any intelligent humanoid still did that." "It's a kick," Charlotte said, and forcibly grabbed Velorn's tunic and dragged him onto the couch. "There, that's better. Let's see if Aunt Charlotte can make it all better." "You smell like beer," Velorn mumbled woozily. Charlotte belched. "You sure know how to sweet-talk a woman!" "So this is what hell is like," Velorn said softly, as Charlotte knelt over him, eyes closed, tongue searching for purchase inside his mouth. Ten minutes later, Velorn emerged from Charlotte's quarters zipping up his tunic and feeling, at least sexually, back on track. Personally, professionally, psychologically, though, Velorn was a long way from okay. "That all you got?" Charlotte asked, poking her head out of the door to her quarters. "Yes, that is all I have," Velorn snapped. "Now go back into that wretched hive of yours and never speak of this again!" "Oh, I bet you say that to all the women. You'll come around again, in...oh, seven years or so!" "We'll see about that!" NEXT: Axik's hormones have gone mad. Can the crew resist her wrath while they search for a cure for psychotic Bajoran hormones? Find out in "Nine Months Too Long."