DISCLAIMER: The Star Trek characters are the property of Paramount Studios, Inc. This story is the creation and property of Voile cha Krech and is copyright (c) 2004 by Voile cha Krech. Rated NC17.

The Exchange

Voile Cha Krech

The Vulcan moved slowly and desperately down the street towards the dark shop. It appeared to be closed from the outside but he knew there resided inside a doctor. Not a doctor in the medical sense, but a doctor all the same.

His hair was long and his face and body dirty. He had been traveling for two years since the crash and those incredible events afterwards. Hopping freight trains to avoid detection and learning how to follow the high tracks he had made his way down to the southern state of Louisiana.

October 20th 1959 now and New Orleans was his destiny.

He shuddered in the first throes of the plak tow and he pulled the crumpled paper from his pocket that the old Negro poet had given him at the club, whispering that this doctor could help with the fever.

Not much time.

Suddenly he found himself being dragged into the hallway of the shop. Had he knocked upon the door? He was delirious and fought but found himself stayed in his struggles by the slightest touch of a finger that smelled of licorice. The paper was taken from his clutching hand and he heard it being unfolded. Then another touch and he was calm enough to look upon the wizened old woman.

"What is your name, boy?" Her lipless mouth moved devoid of teeth.

"Mestral." He shook hard again and bent double.

"Woooooeeee " She stepped back to give him room. "What a spell yo' all is havin'."

"Please," he had learned manners, "please, he said you could help me."

She looked at the note that he had given up to her and clucked her tongue, "My, my, yo' got a powerful hex on ya, boy, but perhaps I can do something about dat. Of course, it wilt cost ye."

He looked crazily at her as she cackled knowingly then turned to lead him down the hallway.

Mestral's head spun again and there was no choice but to follow her to the back through beaded curtains that were lined with gold. The walls painted in bizarre motifs and he knew he had come to a place of 'mojo' as the old man had named the rooms.

The old woman helped him up onto the tables and all he knew was that he had to lie down upon them, placed together as they were for a large framed person as himself.

That is when he saw her.

No, not the old one, but a beauty. Her skin was the dark coffee and cream of Earth that Maggie had brewed him when he first landed here. Entering her establishment weary in body and mind, just as he had come here now.

Again he felt the vertigo that he had felt that night with Maggie as the lady held a cup in front of him. He made to accept.

He drank deeply from the very bottom of the cup and even though the taste was different he swallowed willingly for he was so thirsty with the burning throughout his body.

The tables were hard but her hands were soft as the young one began to caress him and he shivered at her touch.

He heard himself then begin to speak in incoherent southern Vulcan and she answered in her own southern tongue. It was the same and he relaxed.

She pushed him back on the tables and he begged her to mount him and ride. She laughed and pushed him down again opening his trousers to climb atop and oblige.

Her skin, so creamy and dark, her curls stiff and wiry, her folds sliding over and clasping him. He swooned and shoved himself deeply into her grasp and he groaned as he bucked up into her.

He began to move her as his hands clutched her hips hard. She screamed at the pressure and still he dug into her. Smiling, then, she began to control him.

She knew that what he needed was not only release but also anonymity in this world and she worked his body religiously tossing, moaning, and scratching.

Mestral gave to her then what he was most afraid to give and she maintained the illusion that he gave to Maggie and not the unknown girl that released her juices upon him. Yes, blonde and white skinned Maggie from the North.

The old woman appeared and placed upon his temples the chicken feet that were clasped in each of her hands. He felt his katra pulled loose from his core and transferred, amazingly, into the quadroon that rode him.

He fought the transfer but it was too late. The gold stung his eyes, reflecting off the curtains, then he felt the girl's soul flee to oblivion.

He was in his body no longer but in the quadroon's shell. Free to walk among the Humans finally...


The End