Chapter 7 

"If we go into one of those booths to talk, will you promise me you won't take advantage?" Banner paused, then laughed as soon as he realised what he'd said. "God that sounded so like a cheap romance didn't it? I didn't mean that, I meant take advantage of my situation, not me personally." 

Stewart couldn't help it. Instantly he thought of Banner bent over the table in one of those little booths in front of him ... It was all he could do to keep his breathing steady. He leant towards him as close as he could, speaking in a low, urgent voice. "You wouldn't believe how much I'd like to take advantage of you, in every possible way." He tried to get himself under control as Banner drew back. "But I won't. I give you my word you'll be safe, I won't do anything you don't want me to. If you just want to talk, then that's what we'll do." 

Banner studied him for a long moment. It was hard to read his expression behind the scarf but then he nodded and stood up. He led the way to an empty booth, catching a waiter on the way to order two more ales to be brought to them. Stewart followed. There were large cushions in the booth instead of chairs. He sat down with his back to the wall, deliberately allowing Banner to sit where he could easily leave if he wanted to. They waited silently for a minute until the waiter came with their drinks, then Banner turned to draw the heavy curtain shut behind them. Both men took off their scarves. 

"Speaking hypothetically again," Banner continued as if there had been no break, "If I told you I was an om, would you feel obliged to report me to the Captain or Johansson, the Chief Medic?" 

"No." Stewart didn't hesitate. 

"Even though you would be officially required to report me?"  

Stewart was puzzled, Banner didn't seem as happy with his answer as he had expected. Instead he looked tense. 

"No," he repeated. "I think it's discriminatory. It's nobody else's business but yours." 

Banner was silent, turning his glass between his hands, obviously building up to something. Stewart had a flash of intuition that he wouldn't like what Banner was about to say.  

"What would expect in return?" The other man asked, holding his gaze, his body motionless. 

Stewart didn't understand. "I'm sorry?" 

"What would you expect in return for not reporting me?" 

The Lieutenant went white as he realised what the other man meant. "Nothing! I expect nothing!" He was starting to get angry, just what sort of a bastard did Banner think he was? 

Banner hadn't finished speaking, his grey eyes serious. "The last man who found out, demanded sex from me, it didn't matter to him whether I wanted to or not." 

Stewart felt sick. "But that's blackmail. Rape even." 

"Yes. Well it was certainly blackmail but I'm not sure it was technically rape, I mean I suppose could have said "no" and taken the risk of exposure. I was careless one time, coming back from a bar and he saw me. Gave me an ultimatum, have sex with him or he might feel obliged to do his 'duty' and report me. It was all very civilised, nothing as ugly as threats, but I think that made it worse in a way. He didn't consider he was doing anything wrong, from his point of view I owed him." He took a sip of ale and looked down at the table. 

"I suppose I should have said no," he repeated as if he was still arguing with himself, "but I was frightened of losing my position, I've wanted to be a medic ever since I can remember. I transferred to another ship as soon as I could but it took two months. I couldn't apply under Rule 158 so I just had to use the normal channels." 

"Oh, Michael!" Alan was distressed. He put his hand out to comfort him then hastily drew it back before it reached him. "I am so sorry that happened to you. I give you my word I won't do anything like that, I won't even touch you." His thoughts flashed back to the kiss he'd forced on Michael in his cabin a few days earlier. Guilty regret flooded through him. "I apologise again for coming on to you before. I'm really sorry if I scared you, I didn't realise." 

"It's alright, the kiss wasn't that bad," Michael smiled, trying to make a joke but Alan winced. 

"When did it all happen?" 

"Two years ago. I was pretty young, young for my age I mean, hadn't had a lot of experience. I'd been so focussed on my studies, I hadn't even ... well you don't want to know that! But it seemed to me like I didn't have a choice."  

Alan swallowed. "How old were you?" he asked tentatively. 

"Twenty two." 

Alan winced again. God, that made Michael all of twenty four now. He felt even more ashamed of himself. He was almost forty, he felt like a predator.  

"It turned me off sex. I just haven't been interested since then. Probably not a bad thing given my circumstances!" Until I met you, he continued silently, wondering whether he dared say that aloud after everything else he had just said. Perhaps not. Alan needed time to come to terms with what he'd told him. He looked devastated. He hadn't intended that. He'd just wanted to find out if he could trust him as much as he hoped he could, explain himself so that Alan would make allowances. 

He was still wondering what to say next when they both became aware of the faint sounds emanating from the room behind them. Dull thuds just penetrated the heavy sound proofing. They wouldn't have heard anything if they'd still been talking or if they'd been in the next booth. Grey eyes met brown as both men listened intently. Was someone in trouble or just being exuberant?  

There was a muffled shout. For a split second Alan froze, then leapt to his feet. He could swear someone had just shouted his name. 

"You have to go!" Alan was on his feet and handing Michael his scarf before he could think. He draped his own over his head and drew back the curtain. "I'll go and see what's happening, but you can't be found here," he told the other man urgently. He pulled Michael out behind him, covering his exit, and made his way to the door separating the bar area from the private rooms at the back as swiftly as he could. 

A broad stocky man incongruously dressed in a turban, attempted to stop him as he burst through the door. A quick blow to the temple had him unconscious on the floor and Alan moved hastily along the passage to the right, counting off his steps to identify the room which was behind their booth. Listening intently for any slight sound that might help him, he approached the room he judged to be his target. He bent down to draw a miniature stunner from his boot. He grinned sourly, in some things size didn't matter, small enough to escape the club's security monitors, this would be big enough to do the job. 

The stunner melted the lock and Alan kicked the door in, fanning the weapon in front of him. 

A tall man, perhaps even taller than himself, swung towards him, his face disguised by a black scarf. Another man with a plasfoam mask looked up from the bed where he sat astride a third man, pinning him down. Alan just caught a glimpse of pale backside before he shot the assailants, the man who was lunging towards him first, then the man on the bed. He stepped over the tall man to reach the other assailant who had collapsed on top of his victim. He grabbed him by the hip and shoulders and flung him across the room, not caring where he landed. 

Max lay on the bed, one eye swollen shut, his face bruised and his pants halfway down his legs. His heart in his mouth, Alan leant over him. "Are you alright Max?" What a stupid question he thought to himself as soon as the words left his mouth. Of course he's not alright. "It's me, Alan. Can you get up?" 

Unthinkingly he took hold of Max's pants to pull them up and received a fist in the face. "Whoa!" he staggered back. "It's okay Max, it's me Alan," he repeated. Obviously Max hadn't heard him the first time. He pulled the scarf off his head so that it rested on his shoulders and Max could see his face. "No-one's going to touch you if you don't want them to."  

Max groaned and rolled over, pulling his pants up as fast as he could. "Uncle Alan, thank god!" The old term of endearment slipped out. He struggled to sit up and Alan could see the scratches and bruises on his hands as well as his face. "It's okay, they didn't actually get to ... you know. I put up a good fight but ... I'm glad you came when you did!" 

Alan hoped he was right, that he wasn't just in denial. The beating was bad enough but rape was even more of a personal assault.

All his concentration was focussed on Max which was why he failed to hear the approach of a third man behind him until he heard a slight intake of breath.  He saw Max’s eyes widen in alarm as he looked at something, or someone, over his shoulder and spun around, cursing himself for his carelessness.  He scarcely felt the shot in his chest before he blacked out.