Boris Yarin was the unfortunate victim of genes and lust.
He was part-human, part-Klingon and part-Xindi sloth. The combination made him powerful yet slight, giving him a bit of a Napoleon complex. And the Xindi part made him paranoid and jumpy, a little edgy around water and unpleasant situations where he couldn’t be up high and taller than everyone else, for that ancestry had stayed in the trees long after the human chunk had evolved down and conquered the African savannah.
He was also the only married member of the Temporal Integrity Commission, at least, the only married member of the Human Unit. And that was how he’d gotten the job in the first place. He wasn’t a particularly gifted physician, but he was well-connected, being married to Darragh Stratton, who was related to a Federation Secretary. He owed his position to her and, really, everything, and she never let him forget that.
He had met Marisol Castillo, another doctor, at a medical conference. When she had come onto him, he went full throttle. She could – and would – do all of the things that Darragh haughtily refused to. He had pulled strings and gotten her hired as a time traveling doctor, for he was not human enough in appearance to visit the Earth before at least the 24th century.
Things had been going all right, and they would meet in either of their offices for a quickie, or afterwards they would go to the love nest he had set up for her on Cardassia. She had him wrapped around her sultry little finger.
And now she was blackmailing him. Oh, it was little things, and they were amping up his paranoia something fierce. Now she had gotten truly audacious, and had gone to visit Darragh when they were supposed to have a meeting at HQ.
That could not stand. He came over after the meeting. She was walking out of one of the Transporter Rooms and he fell in step with her. “Nice of you to visit us,” he said, “I take it you enjoyed your visit on Kronos?”
“Very much,” she said, smiling at him.
“And you told my wife nothing?”
“We had a lovely conversation,” Marisol yawned, “I’m really overworked. You’ll need to take over for me in lots of ways.”
“To be sure,” he said, “but first, may I take you somewhere?”
“I don’t believe you have those privileges anymore,” she said, “we stopped being bed buddies months ago.”
“I know,” he said, “but perhaps I can convince you.” They were close. Just a few more steps. He knew he could physically overpower her. He had done so before, but it had been in the context of foreplay. This time, he had a far different endgame in mind.
“You can’t convince me,” she sneered, “I never liked you and God knows I never loved you. So cut the crap, Boris.”
“Funny you should be evoking the deity,” he said, smiling malevolently as he turned a lever.