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A SURPRISING DAY - Karla Kelly

"Try not to make it too obvious, Spock."

Captain Kirk leaned into his Vulcan friend to whisper his instructions. This diplomatic mission required that Spock lose the game to the current king, a man very proud of his ability to play tak cha.

Barely nodding, Spock examined the tak cha ball. It was a spiked ball with two smooth places for hand grips.

THE MISSING PIECE - Kathy Stanis

Spock was rock-steady and comforting as a pillow. Anxiety began to lift away and float out the turbolift vents and Kirk's breathing normalized, but he felt the pulsing of his own heart in his hands clutching the Vulcan's arm so desperately. He could not let go; he did not want to, not yet.

His vision was filled with blue so close. The blue that always stood between him and danger. The blue that made him feel not so alone.

"Jim.

He lifted his eyes slowly to meet the deep, dark gaze and he felt embraced by it, enveloped, protected. And privileged, to be the captain of this particular first officer. He thought it the most fulfilling relationship anyone could ever desire. Almost.

SING THE TUNE - Kate Sheridan

"Know a good shrink?" Kirk asked, slipping into the chair in front of McCoy's desk in the Sickbay office. The older man bit back a snappy reply as the serious tone of his commanding officer registered.

"Maybe," he answered, simultaneously switching on the privacy signal so they wouldn't be disturbed. "Know someone who needs one?"

"Maybe me," Kirk replied with a slightly nervous laugh and a refusal to look at his friend.

Instead, he pretended to study the seemingly disorganized mess on the top of the CMO's desk.

TEENY WEENY - Mildred Manhill

"It will not fit."

"How do you know if you don't try it on?"

"I can tell. In addition, I would not have selected that particular color."

"Since when isn't black your color? Damnit, Spock, do you have to be so pig-headed?"

DEEPEST SECRETS - Shelley Butler

Beneath him, the hazel eyes glow in fear.

The only sounds in the unreal quiet are the wet slapping of bodies and the grunts uttered in cadence with each violent thrust.

The body beneath him writhes and twists, but each movement only incites him more. He must claim the human to quench his fire.

"You...are...mine!" The voice speaks from somewhere, the words punctuating each push of his hips. Deeper. Deeper. He must go deeper. He must quench the terrible fires burning in his loins. Like a bright candle carried through the brooding darkness of his ancestral home, the flame illuminates his shameful passion. He must snuff it out. There must be no light.

POETRY

COVERS

ART

October 1994