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Star Trek - The Next Genereation: The Siege Of Troi Part 1 (exhib)
The Bear ([email protected])

The shimmering stopped, and Counsellor Deanna Troi stepped off the
transporter pad. Noting the look on the transporter chief's face, she looked
down. She was naked, her uniform having somehow vanished during transport.

"Damn it!" she exclaimed, trying to cover herself with her hands. "Haven't
you gotten that bio-filter fixed yet?"

"Sorry Ma'am," apologized the crewman, looking sheepish.

"Never mind. Beam me straight to my quarters," she said with some irritation.
This wasn't the first time she had lost her uniform in transport, but it was
getting to be a real pain. She knew that the crewman wasn't doing it on
purpose, but that didn't make it acceptable. Stepping back onto the
transporter pad, she ordered, "Energize."

Moments later she re-materialized in her quarters. The transporter system had
found her uniform this time, materializing it with her, but that didn't do
anything to help her mood.

She decided to vent her anger in the usual way, by making a log entry.
Talking about problems helped her let go of them, even if it was just talking
to recorder.

"Personal log, Stardate 2344.7.2. My visit to the trade conference was quite
productive, after a rough start. A transporter malfunction materialized me
in the middle of the Ferengi delegation. Unfortunately, my uniform,
communicator, and credentials materialized in my quarters a few minutes
later, with my luggage. It took 20 minutes, two security guards, and a DNA
scan to convince them that I wasn't part of the conference "hospitality." I
had three proposals of marriage, and a dozen less respectable offers before
I could get some clothes. And some of those offers came from the Federation

"To add to my day, nobody took me very seriously for the rest of the
conference. On the bright side, this let me learn a lot about the Altairian's
strategy and approach. The information proved invaluable, helping us secure
favorable terms for extracting poly-feranide from their asteroid belts. End

Closing out her log entries, Deanna rose from her desk and began to prepare
for sleep. "Computer", she called. "Hot chocolate."

There was a shimmering in the replicator niche of her quarters, and a
steaming mug of her favorite beverage materialized. Sipping it slowly as it
cooled, she moved towards her dressing table, to prepare for bed.

"Computer, are there any messages for me?" she asked as she drew her uniform
tunic over head. She shook out her mane of black curls, and listened to the
computer's reply.

"Counsellor Troi? This is Ensign Braddock," came the replay. "I have to
cancel our session tomorrow. Sorry I... sorry."

Deanna thought about the troubled tone of the Ensign's voice as she finished
removing her uniform. He had just transferred to the Enterprise a week ago,
and had skipped or cancelled all of the evaluation sessions she had scheduled
with him. He had seemed fine when they first met, but had grown distraught
within a few minutes of meeting the Counsellor, and had excused himself

Frowning as she unhooked the Variable-G sports bra (Starfleet standard
issue), she signalled Sick Bay. "Troi to Dr. Crusher. Beverly, has Ensign
Braddock reported for his physical exam?" she asked.

"Yes, Deanna," came the reply. "He checked out fine. Is there a problem?"

"I'm not sure. He seems to be avoiding me, and has cancelled another
Evaluation session with me. Its his sleep cycle right now, but I am going to
have to talk to him in the morning. Thanks."

That point settled, Deanna slipped her Tholian Silk nightgown over her head,
enjoying the sensation of the feathery smooth material against her skin.
Picking up her chocolate again, she drank it, slowly, enjoying the smooth
richness as it flowed down her throat. Its warmth relaxed her, as it always
did, letting her lose the stresses of the day. Calling for the lights to be
dimmed, she slipped into her bed, and soon drifted off to sleep.

* * *

Deanna looked over the shoulder of the distinguished man seated in front of
her. The trade negotiations were at a delicate juncture, and the Ferengi
across the table was pleased with himself. He hid it well, his face a toothy
scowl, but his emotions were an open book to the half-Betazoid empath. She
placed her hand on the Commodore's shoulder, signalling caution in their
prearranged code.

But the Commodore ignored her warning, and signed the agreement. The Ferengi
was openly delighted now.

Deanna wanted to ask the Commodore why he had made such a bad deal, but
something was wrong. She was naked, and two Ferengi were approaching her, a
collar and leash in hand.

What was going on? She tried to turn away, but was blocked by the Alterian
delegate. As the Denebian Slave collar was being locked into place, she
realized that she had been sold to the Ferengi as part of the treaty. She
tried to cover herself, but was told, firmly, that women were not allowed
to conceal their bodies on Ferenginar. The circle of delegates smiled and
nodded their approval, as her hands fell slack at her sides. The
nano-circuits in the collar made it impossible for her to disobey an order
given by whoever held the leash. But they hadn't ordered her to stay.

She charged straight at the Ferengi, bowling him over and freeing the leash
from his grasp. Her momentum carried her into the crowd, and she struggled
to escape the sea of groping, clutching hands. She stumbled and fell, rolling
nakedly on the floor, to come to a stop at the side of...

Her bed? Deanna looked around. She was in her quarters, alone, with the
lights dimmed to sleep mode. She had been asleep, dreaming. Her sheets were
tangled around her, and she had fallen from her bed in the throes of her

Slowly, the Counsellor straightened the bedclothes and pulled her nightgown
back into place. The pounding of her heart slowed and her breathing eased as
the memory of the nightmare lost its edge.

Nervously, she settled down and waited for sleep to return. It took it's

* * *

Deanna gazed across the card table at her opponent. Cmdr. Riker gazed back,
his poker face the very image of confidence. Deanna knew, from experience,
that behind that mask, on the emotional level, was exactly the same image.
Regardless of his hand, he was always confident of his eventual victory.

The others had folded, and watched with interest as the hand played itself
out. Slowly, Riker peeled off his uniform tunic, and tossed it into the pot,
covering Worf's gold Security tunic. Deanna, never one to be bluffed, Deanna
stood and peeled off her straight black uniform trousers and tossed them
into the center of the table. Without hesitation, she added her own tunic.
"See you, and raise," she stated with a calm smile.

Beverly looked concerned, but she had had a bad night, and sat with her arms
folded across her naked chest. Worf had fared better, still having his
trousers, but Deanna and Ryker were the hot players tonight.

Riker added his own under-tunic, then his trousers as well. "See, and raise."

Deanna gnawed her lip in indecision. Her hand was good, but the stakes were
getting high. "Call," she replied, peeling off her top. She made no effort to
cover herself. Social nudity was not uncommon on Betazed, and besides, you
never let the other player see you sweat.

Riker revealed his hand: Kings and 5's. Full house. Deanna tossed her three
aces in, accepting her loss like a good sport. Riker put his uniform back on.

"Everyone ante," Worf reminded the players as he dealt. Deanna and Beverly
removed their last garments, dropping their panties onto the center of the

Deanna looked at her cards as they arrived. One king. Another. And another.
A three. And another king. Her face betrayed nothing, but she intended to
take Will Riker down to his shorts on this hand.

"Your bet, Counsellor," Worf prompted her.

Riker was smiling broadly, his interest putting a crack in his poker face.
"What are you going to wager, Deanna?" he asked pointedly.

Deanna realized that she had nothing to bet with, unless... The lights began
to flash in the room, and the alert sounded. "Red Alert," came the voice from
all four communicators. "Senior Officers, report to the bridge."

There was a bustle as the players grabbed discarded clothing, tugging
uniforms into place as they headed for the door. Deanna sat, stunned. It
wasn't fair. She had the winning hand. It wasn't fair.

Looking at the table, she realized something else. Her own uniform was gone,
apparently grabbed by the others in the general scuffle for clothes.

"Senior officers, report to the bridge," came the order again. Deanna sat in
stunned shock. She couldn't go to the bridge like this, but she was needed.
She couldn't even get to her quarters without being seen by half the crew.

Cautiously, she left the room, hoping that no one would see. The corridor
lights were dimmed, but there were a dozen people there, staring at her. She
turned to run back into the ward room, but the door wouldn't open. She spun
again, looking for a refuge, and found herself facing...

The ceiling? Looking around, Deanna realized that she was again in her
quarters. Another intense dream, similar to the first. What was going on?
She realized that she was sexually aroused, though the thought of being
naked in public was not something she had ever found arousing.

She had been naked in front of her friends before, in the holodeck mud
bathes, as they had been naked in her presence. There was no "forbidden
fruit" aspect to it. Not for a Betazoid. But still, her passions were
undeniably real.

Steeling herself mentally, she returned to her bed, intentionally leaving
her desires unfulfilled. To gratify herself would build a subconscious
association between humiliation and pleasure, an association she definitely
didn't want.

Deanna tossed and turned the rest of the night, almost afraid to fall into
a deep slumber. What dreams she did have were warm and intimate, devoid of
any details that she could later recall, but decidedly erotic in nature.
She awoke poorly rested, and deeply troubled. It was nearly an hour before
she would normally have gotten up, but she decided to get up and face the
day anyway. Sleep was less than restful, this night.

Perhaps her experiences at the trade conference had affected her more
deeply than she had realized. She knew she would pay for it later, but she
determined that her best solution, short term, was to devote herself to her

Dressing in one of her more conservative uniforms, she set out to find the
elusive Ensign Braddock.


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