Chapter Three    

 

Ysaulte needed to see the stars.  She was tired, but the fatigue she felt involved her spirit, far more than her body.  It was the kind of fatigue that would all too easily deteriorate into depression without the distraction of an external stimulus, she knew.

 

She directed the turbolift to the observation deck, and the ‘lift released her onto yet another elegant, curving corridor.  She wandered several meters before she arrived at a series of observation rooms, choosing one at random that gave her a view of the watching stars.

 

Beyond the sturdy shell of the spaceship, the universe blazed away in diamond splendor, the cosmos unfolding.  Ysaulte placed her fingers against the clearsteel and let the eternal cold chill the length of her arms.  She sent a mental thanks to whomever had oriented Enterprise in this particular orbit.  By Fate, or coincidence, she faced the very direction of her homeworld, although distance prevented her from being certain of picking out Za’s sun.

 

Ysaulte might wonder if any of her Sisters knew or even cared what had happened to her, but one thing she did not doubt was her own value to her Deity…  and for ZaworthIans, their Deity was their world.  She sighed in a long, slow breath and felt herself calming, remembering the counsel she’d received from James, and Leonard.  The Healer had been correct to dissuade her from ending her life, she thought.  She had been selfish, indeed, stupid, to consider it.

 

“’The cause was sufficient’,” she whispered out loud, then quickly pushed that aside.  ‘The cause’ was something she wasn’t willing to deal with.  Not yet.  Marlak’s attack was a subject she was trying very hard not to recall, although at times, flashes of it seemed to creep up on her with no warning…

 

Ysaulte gradually became aware of another presence in the room, someone who watched the limitless vista with the same hunger she felt within herself.  Keeping her attention on the constellations, she ‘eavesdropped’ with subconscious caution, quick to sense there was no threat beyond a slowly growing curiosity.  Perhaps this was an opportunity to improve her own diplomatic skills, Ysaulte thought.  Certainly, she needed the practice. 

 

“I am Ysaulte of ZaworthIa,” she invited quietly, trying not to allow recent events to stifle her own normally inquisitive nature.

 

“Aye, then ye’d be the castaway!  Mah name’s Montgomery Scott.  I’m the chief engineer.”

 

Fascinated by the music in the voice, Ysaulte turned at last to look, and it occurred to her that she had avoided looking overlong at any of these people, hardly able even to meet their eyes.  She put that realization away, to assess her companion.  Humanoid, Terran by his mindset, with dark eyes that smiled at her.  This one knew inner peace, she thought, envying the commodity.  Ysaulte absorbed the man’s emotional outer face and found him oriented in subtle differences from either James or Leonard.  No challenges, no demands, no expectations; rather, a practical strength that underlay an intuitive brilliance in the ‘how’ of things…

 

Scotty shook his head imperceptibly, caught by the starshine reflected in her eyes.  He was glad the doctor had seen fit to warn him over their breakfast this morning.  He had wondered why the interior of her craft was colored in such unusually bright hues.  Imagining the lass at her helm, with those colors echoed in her irises, he believed he almost understood.  Scott looked away, unwilling to stare overlong and risk discomforting her.

 

Ysaulte was doing a little head shaking of her own.  It was amazing, the extent to which these Terrans of Enterprise seemed to display sensitivity to the psionically gifted.  There was a level of emotional closeness on this ship that was not unequal to the mental bonds between Sisters.  Had their Vulcan deliberately instructed them, she wondered, or was it due only to his long proximity?  And how would Terrans react to her own kind, for her world awaited her recommendations…

 

“Tell me, what is a ‘castaway’?  I do not know the word.”  She finally remarked into the little silence that had fallen between them.

 

“A castaway is a survivor of a shipwreck.  Ye’re lucky to be alive, lassie.  ‘Twas a verra nasty crash,” Scott told her with a frown.

 

“Any crash from which one may walk,” Ysaulte paraphrased with a shrug, and they exchanged an amused grin in a moment of empathy that had nothing to do with the ZaworthIan’s telepathic abilities.

 

“Och, tis a pilot ye are!”  The engineer exclaimed.  “She’s a bonny wee ship, lassie.  I dinna think she’ll be hard ta fix.”

 

“Thank you, Mister Scott.”

 

          The Terran yawned suddenly, and mumbling an apology, rubbed the back of his neck.

 

“You have not slept?  I had not thought your captain such a harsh taskmaster,” Ysaulte teased with tentative friendliness.

 

“Aye, I’ve missed a wee bit of sleep, but it was worth it.  We’ve nae more business on Cilehe.  As for the captain, he’d like ta be away from here, an’ Himsel’ willna be kept waiting.”

 

Ysaulte savored the harmonic cadences of Scott’s speech.  The engineer yawned again, and she approached him.

 

“May I?”  She held one hand near his head, and Scotty nodded, a bit confused. 

 

Ysaulte laid one finger against his right temple.  Siphoning away the Terran’s superficial fatigue, she absorbed it into herself.  As wearied as she already was, it would make her little difference, and she wanted to give him some ease as an expression of her gratitude.  The action brought with it an elusive balance, tiredness submerging into her restored calm.

 

“An’ how did ye manage that, lass?”  Scott asked interestedly.  He felt as rested as if he’d slept all night.  He’d even felt the need for sleep leaving him.  The only similar instance he could recall had occurred during that mission involving the Melkotians, when Spock had saved their lives with the mind meld.

 

“It is a gift, Montgomery Scott,” Ysaulte said, startled to find she felt no worse and afraid to hope for whatever that might mean.           “I myself am well ready to go from this planet,” she told him rather grimly.

 

“Then I thank ye, lass.  There’s still a lot ta tend ta, an’ ‘twill be easier now.”  Scotty eyed her bruises sympathetically, wishing he could return the favor and make things easier for the ZaworthIan.

 

“You have,” Ysaulte remarked thoughtlessly, wincing when the Terran realized she had heard the words in his mind.  “I am sorry, Mister Scott,” she said, flushing with embarrassment.

 

“Ah, now, dinna fash yesel’, lass.  ‘Tis nae secret, an’ nae more than I’d say out loud,” he assured her.

 

“But you did not say it out loud, and I should not have heard you.  My mental shielding is poor.”  Ysaulte turned to stare out at the stars once more, her ebbing flush leaving her paler than ever.  “It is well you are all so strong minded.  Forgive my lack of control, Mister Scott.”

 

“Scotty, or Montgomery, if ye’d rather, Ysaulte.  Hae ye spoken ta Mister Spock yet?  He’d be more apt ta help ye with that, I’m thinking.”

 

To Scott’s dismay, the ZaworthIan gasped and swayed unsteadily.  He was quick to grab her by the shoulders, afraid she would fall to the deck.  With the physical contact, Ysaulte’s fear rushed over him, as well as the anger she felt at herself for her reaction; then he heard even her thoughts, as well.

 

“How can I begin to approach the Vulcan, or anyone else?  I should surely overset them with my weakness [and Spock is so like Marlak!] seeing him, being judged by him [and if he touched my mind would I not shatter] how, how will I get past this?”

 

“Lady Ysaulte.”  Scott turned her to face him.

 

Something in the Terran’s tone drew her attention.  As they locked gazes, Ysaulte could ‘see’ into the years behind him, millennia of ancestors speaking, Highlander to Celt witch.  Within this shared sense of vision, Scott saw them in another place and time.  He (not he) knelt before the Lady; he in the kilt of his clansmen, she in velvets and fine wools…  Standing stones surrounded them with the weight of time.  He (not he) bowed his head and drew his claymore free, handing it to Ysaulte (not Ysaulte), the jeweled pommel reflected in her eyes…

 

Scott raised one palm, and Ysaulte, hypnotized, placed hers against it, trembling as the uncertain desperation that had seized her began to dissolve.  Still chained by illusion, he (not he) watched the Lady lift the sword above her head.  Lightning danced over the blade as she pointed it at the sky.  He (not he) leaped to his feet and steadied her grip, and the lightning poured into them…  Voices called, Names echoed…

 

Scotty shook his head, and the moment was gone.  Pulling his hands away, he stared at them like he wondered whose hands they were.  Strangest of all, he felt that same rare satisfaction found in the most difficult jobs well done, but what had he done?

 

“Ysaulte?  Are ye all right?”

 

The ZaworthIan straightened from where she was half-collapsed against the clearsteel, looking at Scott with dazed gray eyes.

 

“Montgomery?  Your ancestors…  what kind of people were they, to be so much in you still?”  She wondered in what was clearly a rhetorical question, putting her hands to her face as if she’d forgotten how she looked. “My mind’s barriers are stronger, thanks to you.”

 

“Ye canna mean__”  Scott held himself still as the force of her gratitude reached him in waves, then his perceptions of her feelings were blunted by the mental shielding she was bringing to bear.  The ZaworthIan’s defenses were acquiring substantiation nearly visible, even to him, protecting her thoughts and emotions with almost exuberant power.

 

“Thou are the cause, or rather, that which is within thee?  Yes, it must be so.  The will of ages,”  Ysaulte bowed deeply to him, her hands forming a graceful circle.  “Blessed thou art in the All, Montgomery Scott.  Ever hath thou home and welcome on ZaworthIa.”

 

Her words rocked him, her tone holding a clarity that echoed throughout the room with its absolute conviction.

 

“I dinna ken how, lassie.”

 

“Nor I, Montgomery, and who could?  Engineers succeed where Healers fail…  who could explain that?”  Ysaulte wrapped her arms around her middle as if to hold herself together, her eyes glowing viridescent as she laughed, actually laughed.

 

Scotty had to grin, watching her, and decided it didn’t matter how.  It was enough for him that the lass felt better.

 

"I’ll be off, then.  Come down ta Engineering sometime an’ I’ll show ye mah bairns,” he told her, chuckling with her as he translated the term into a mental picture of the mighty warp engines.

 

On an impulse, Ysaulte stretched herself to her toes and kissed the engineer’s cheek.

 

“A Terran thank you, yes?”

 

“Aye, that it is,” Scotty answered, blushing just a bit as he left her with a pat on the shoulder.

 

Ysaulte stared at her stars, scarcely featuring the vagaries of fortune.  Maybe Marlak had intended her to survive, but he could not have expected the Terrans of Enterprise…  none could.  Her Sisters would find it all remarkable, and now she could tell them!

 

The images of witches and warriors occupied her while she sought to order her thoughts.

 

***

 

Scotty walked onto the bridge a bit slowly, still shell-shocked by his introduction to the ZaworthIan, and not sure just how much he should tell his captain.  He caught Spock inspecting him and gathered the experience must somehow be apparent to the Vulcan.

 

“Verra well, then.  I’ll ha’e ta tell Himsel’ the whole kit and caboodle, appearances be damned,” the engineer said to himself, clearing his throat.

 

“Captain Kirk, might I ha’e a minute o’ ye’r time, privately?”

 

“Scotty!  I thought you were going to get some rest…  of course.”

 

Jim stood, taking the engineer’s arm and leading him back onto the lift.  He turned the conn over to Spock with a single nod.  The first officer made to join them, an imperceptible twitch that revealed itself to Jim only by his knowledge of the Vulcan’s reactions.  The turbolift doors closed, and Jim inspected his third in command, his faint surprise giving way to an odd sense of inevitability.  Spock had said nothing, but Jim had felt some vague disturbances earlier, outside the reach of human perception.  Had Scotty been somehow involved?

 

“Main briefing.  What can I do for you, Mister Scott?”

 

“I went by the observation deck, Captain.  I wanted ta see the stars before turnin’ in…”  Scotty began to explain as the lift whined into motion and decanted them near the briefing room.  “Hersel’ was there…  the alien lady.”

 

Jim had known exactly to whom Scott referred, and nodded his encouragement.  For some reason, the title suited.  He waved Scott into the room ahead of him and watched his chief engineer with concern that faded when Scotty grinned.  Whatever had happened, his friend seemed uninjured.

 

“The lassie noticed I was tired, an’ she reached up an’ touched me, here,” Scott said, pointing to his temple.  “All at once, the tiredness was gone.  I feel like I’ve slept all night.”

 

“And the ambassador did this?”

 

“The ambassador, ye say?”  Scotty sighed, remembering his lack of formality.  “Aye, I canna say how, but she did.”  He wished he could leave it at that, but he knew the captain needed to hear it all.  They’d all learned the hard way that unusual interactions with aliens needed to be reported, in full.

 

“Is there something else, Scotty?”  Jim was aware of Scott’s reluctance, and it bothered him.  Had the ZaworthIan affected him in some unforeseen way?

 

“Jim, she read mah mind, and apologized, and told me her mental shielding was poor.  I said she ought ta consult Mister Spock for help, an’ the puir lass nearly passed out…  an’ then Jim, then I could hear her thoughts.”  Scott’s voice dropped to a near whisper, and Kirk had the idea his own presence was almost forgotten.

 

“She looked right through me, inta the souls of mah ancestors, it felt like…  she called them, and they answered.”

 

Scotty’s eyes cleared and he focused on Jim, an awed satisfaction in his gaze.

 

“Something happened I canna explain, but her mental shielding got stronger, then.  She said ‘the will of ages’ was in me, an’ it helped her.  She promised me I would always be welcome on her world.”

 

Even second-hand, the words held the sonorous echo of truth.  The two men stood silent for a moment.

 

“Are you all right, Scotty?”  Jim had to ask.

 

“Aye, never better, Sir.  Watchin’ the lassie laugh was like watchin’ clouds lift…  beggin’ ye’r pardon, Captain,” Scott added, not really sorry for the irrelevancy.

 

“It’s all right, Scotty.  That I can understand.  I think ZaworthIa will make a valuable addition to the Federation, if we can convince them to join.”

 

“I think maybe Hersel’ is startin’ ta feel the same way,” Scotty murmured.

 

"Go by Sickbay and have Bones check you over."

 

"Aye, Captain.  I’ll be in the engine room, after that.”

 

Jim nodded, and the two men parted company.  Jim returned to the bridge, deep in thought. ‘The will of ages’, Scott had said…  sounded almost like ancestor worship.  The captain was suddenly aware of how young a race Terrans were, relatively speaking, and wondered if that fact had swayed ZaworthIa against the Federation in the past.

 

“Cilehean port authority reports all cargo received and secured, Captain,” Spock informed him as he relinquished the center seat with one lifted eyebrow.  Jim resisted the silent question.

 

“Let’s get underway, Mister Sulu.  Warp two, for Etumuuyea, as soon as we clear the Cilehe system.”

 

“Aye, aye, Captain.”

 

***

 

Ysaulte got back to her cabin unobserved.  This time the solitude was welcome.  She dropped to her knees in the center of the room, pronating herself with careful regard for the painful areas of her body.  Defenses secure, she pushed her thoughts free from the restrictions of physical reality, casting her mind outward with probing delicacy.  It was not a thing to be done without strong mental barriers, and she had despaired of her ability to accomplish a farsending.

 

Her thoughts brushed against the presence of the ship’s collective consciousness, and then Ysaulte was alone within the galactic perception of the Infinite.  She let herself drift along the paths of the stellar winds, anchored by the sense of her world.  As always, Ysaulte felt that heart-deep assurance, the certain knowledge that while the flesh will pass away, there is that which Is, everlasting.  It was a continual restoration, unregulated by temporal constrictions.

 

Odd warmth covered her mind as she felt herself surrounded by the essence of another ZaworthIan.  Anthe, the K'intohrza of the Circle, what the Terrans would call the governor of her world.  Ysaulte let her Sister touch her thoughts.

 

“Beloved,” the voice came to her, and Ysaulte was shocked by Anthe’s warm relief, and the clear sense of her welcome.

 

Anthe felt the younger woman’s surprise, and sorrowed at it, a perception she allowed Ysaulte to feel unreservedly.

 

“Ysaulte, child, didst thou presume to think we would not care?”  The elder chided gently.  “Shared is thy pain, Sister.  Seen thou great trial.  Show thou this unto me.”

 

Shamed, Ysaulte allowed her shields to fall to the K’intohrza, and knew herself protected in the grasp of She who knew All.  The mind-fire shivered over her, testing and celebrating with her in the same effortless rush of will.  The powerful magnetism of Anthe’s will merged with hers, drawing recent memory and erasing its pain with the same thrust of thought.

 

“Thou art thy Mother’s daughter, my child,”  the elder’s mind whispered.  Such a luxury of tenderness washed over Ysaulte that she felt herself tremble with its sweetness.  “All will be well, Ysaulte.  Tell me, how came this about?  How wast this wrought, this healing, and thou without thy Sisters?”

 

Ysaulte understood that Anthe was not really asking for an explanation, but merely expressing her amazement.  Ysaulte felt constrained, however, to point out the contacts she’d made among the Terrans.  As she expected, the K’intohrza was struck by the evidence of the will of ages, present in the engineer Scott.

 

Anthe confessed her surprise.  The will of ages, or the presence of ancestral memories, was common for ZaworthIans.  It had not been believed to be so for Terrans.

 

“Had we no idea, child.”

 

“Nor I, my Lady Anthe.”

 

Amusement rippled between them as Ysaulte sensed the elder’s faint chagrin.

 

“These Terrans seem different, Ysaulte.”

 

“Warriors and explorers, instead of diplomats,” the younger Sister supplied with a mental shrug.

 

"They encourage thee?”  Anthe asked.

 

“They do.  Thy wishes, K’intorhza?”

 

“I have none, beloved.  Stay thou with them, an thou can.  Make thine own healing complete, for thou hath rendered sufficient unto Za these last days.  Know that we await thee,” the elder directed, her mental embrace expressing her devotion.

 

The depth of Anthe’s caring shook Ysaulte.

 

“Anthe.”  Suddenly, the pain was out there, beyond Ysaulte’s ability to restrain it.  Her raging grief at the mind-rape and her inability to defend herself against the physical attack, the loss of her virginity, her parents’ murders, believing herself exiled from ZaworthIa because of her Romulan father, and always, always feeling ‘less’, because of it…

 

“Ysaulte, daughter.  Hear me.  Thou art not less.  Thou art favored by Za, and none superior to thee…”  Anthe wanted to cry; knew she would when this psionic communion was over.  Somehow they’d all done this child a great disservice, and she didn’t know yet how to put it right.

 

Ysaulte felt the elder’s sadness and reined in her anguish, mentally kicking herself for her lack of control.

 

“K’intohrza, forgive me,” she begged formally.  “I forget myself.”

 

“Ysaulte, that is not so.  Thou art ever with us, beloved, and we with thee.  Hath thou need of us__”

 

“I shall bespeak thee, Elder Sister,” Ysaulte hurried to assure, unaware of how plainly Anthe could see her total disbelief that she might ever willingly call on her Sisters for help.

 

“Go then, Ysaulte.  Do thou not spend overlong among the stars, lest ye forget thy homeworld.”  Anthe teased gently, allowing the younger woman to raise her shielding and cut off that precious, honest exchange.

 

“Never that, K’intohrza,” Ysaulte promised, and felt the elder slip away, gone back to physical reality.  Reminded of her own need to return, she surrendered herself into a flurry of sensations; surroundings coalescing into lights, colors, textures…  the here and now.

 

Ysaulte half-crawled over to her bunk, at last tempted into sleep, lulled by the pulse of the warp engines.

 

***

 

Jim left the bridge as soon as alpha shift was over.  Spock had the conn, staying for part of beta shift, as was the Vulcan’s wont.  Jim had had little to say to his first officer all day, being too caught up in his curiosity about their visitor.  She had not come to the bridge, and he admitted to himself his disappointment.

 

The guest quarters were near his own, and he stopped by the ambassador’s door on impulse.  Before he could signal his presence, the door slid open.

 

“James, come in.”  Ysaulte stood in front of the mirror, peering at her remaining bruises with a critical eye.

 

“How did you know__ never mind.  Stupid question.”  He grimaced and started over.  “How are you feeling, Ysaulte?”

 

"As the Vulcans say, ‘with my fingers’,” she turned to grin at him, and Jim laughed at the unexpected old joke.

 

“Mister Scott told me__”

 

“Yes,” she interrupted, shaking the wrinkles out her tunic.  “I owe him a great deal.”

 

“I don’t understand__”

 

“What happened?  I myself cannot explain it.”

 

“Are you ever going to let me finish a sentence?”  Jim asked with some asperity.  “I was going to say, I don’t understand why you didn’t come to the bridge.”  That wasn’t what he’d been planning to say at all, but the words popped out, irrepressible.

 

“Forgive me, James.”

 

Ysaulte kept her face perfectly straight, but Jim could sense her amusement.  He had to marvel at her resilience.

 

“It’s all right, Ysaulte.  Looks like your rest did you some good.”

 

“In truth, I cannot explain the strength I have found here.  Much more than what lies within me, alone,” Ysaulte told him, suddenly serious.           “May I have that tour of the bridge later?”

 

“Of course, Ysaulte.  Would you like to accompany me to dinner?”

 

Ysaulte inclined her head in a gracious nod, stepping around him into the corridor.  They walked together without touching.

 

“You are fortunate in your chief engineer,” she told Jim presently.

 

“Yes, I know.” 

 

And he did know, she thought, saying nothing else during the short trip to the mess. 

 

Jim was a bit surprised at how companionable their silence was.  In his experience, though it embarrassed him to admit it, women weren’t usually quiet around him.  The ZaworthIan had an inner calm that he admired, especially considering her recent circumstances.

 

Jim took Ysaulte’s arm to escort her into the dining area, and felt her faint discomfort when all eyes turned toward them, then politely away.  He led her to the bank of selectors.

 

“Allow me?”  He said, a faint challenge that was rewarded with her arching eyebrow.

 

“Please,” Ysaulte answered with some challenge of her own.

 

Jim considered, then made his selections.

 

“Something light, I think,” he murmured as a two bowls of pale, steaming liquid materialized within the little chamber.  The odor it emitted was tantalizing, and Ysaulte nodded her approval.   Jim picked up the tray and stopped at a buffet table, where he retrieved two glasses of ice water then tore off two thick chunks of bread from an oddly flat round loaf.

 

“Hand made?”  Ysaulte asked, surprised.

 

“It is.  One of my ensigns baked it.  He constructed the oven in Historical.  The same kind of oven his ancestors used five hundred years ago, in the desert Southwest of my homeworld.”

 

Ysaulte picked up an image from Jim… painted men on horses… and regretfully backed free of the pull of his thoughts.  For some reason, she found it so simple to listen to the brilliance of his mind.

 

Jim stared at her, feeling some distant loss of warmth that he couldn’t quite define.

 

“Were you reading my mind again, Ysaulte?”  He wondered, unoffended.  Her eyes met his, hers gone a lambent violet that betrayed an interest as sharp as his own.  Astonishment lent a sudden swirl of gray, and Jim felt his throat tighten.

 

“How is it thou art aware, James?  I thought my shielding more secure.”  The words presented themselves voicelessly inside his head.

 

“I don’t know.”

 

Ysaulte’s heart lurched as Jim closed his mind to her, his mental barriers as firm as any ZaworthIan’s, or any Vulcan’s.  She reminded herself that this Terran was no stranger to telepathic expression, and followed him to a table.  He seated her next to the bulkhead, tacitly granting her the security of a wall at her back, and his instinctive consideration caught at Ysaulte’s perceptions, making her lower lip tremble.  He noticed, of course, but pretended not to, which steadied her nerves.  She watched him sit, just off to her right across the table, affording her an unobstructed view.  His subtlety amazed her.

 

“So what is this liquid?”  She asked, her voice rather husky.

 

“It’s potato soup,” Jim explained, taking their meals off the tray and setting it aside.  “The potato is a Terran vegetable, a tuber.  We grow potatoes all over Earth now, but they originated in the North American continent, where I’m from.”

 

“I had not accorded Terrans such a reverence of history,” Ysaulte remarked.

 

“We’re learning,” Jim said.

 

“We hold our history in great value on ZaworthIa,” she replied, one sable eyebrow lifting in a mannerism that made Jim want to applaud.  He grinned at her, relaxing inwardly.

 

“I guessed you might, judging from what Mister Scott told me.”

 

Ysaulte started, then began to laugh.

 

“I see how it is.  My thanks, Captain.”  She found herself feeling better, although she was unsure precisely why.  Looking away, she took a cautious bite of the hot soup.  “This is quite tasteful.”

 

“I’m glad you like it, Ysaulte,” Jim replied, a bit unnerved by the wash of colors in her eyes.

 

They ate in silence for a while, Jim watching her reactions to the simple meal.  Her appreciation was plain, even without the touch of her thoughts.

 

“You guessed, also, that I am no eater of animal flesh?”  Ysaulte wondered idly, observing the practice in some of the beings around them.

 

“Guessed, or knew,” Jim shrugged.

 

The implication set her back.  Had he seen so much of her mind, then?

 

“I’m sorry, I hope it doesn’t bother you to see others do it,” the captain spoke, distracting Ysaulte from a faint rise of embarrassment.  She lifted one hand in a gesture of dismissal.

 

“Not at all.  I would not fault those who so indulge.  There is an order in things, and within it the flesh eaters have their place.”

 

“Philosophy?”  Jim asked, finishing his meal.

 

“Biology,” Ysaulte corrected amiably, and watched the door open to admit the Healer.  McCoy noticed them and nodded, picking up a tray and bringing it over.

 

“May I join you?  I have a bribe,” Bones offered, smiling.  He placed a fresh cup of coffee before each of them, sliding into a seat at the end of the table, and sure of his welcome.

 

“How could we refuse?”  Ysaulte teased, pleased to see him.

 

The doctor took a minute to look her over, assessing her condition with a practiced eye.

 

“Did you get some rest?  You look better,” he concluded bluntly.

 

“Bones,” Jim groaned at his lack of tact, but the ZaworthIan waved away his protest.

 

“I feel better,” she told McCoy with a faint grin.  She could appreciate his concern, as well as his inquisitive nature.  “Everyone has been most kind, Leonard.”

 

“Well, now, how else could we be?”  McCoy asked gallantly, emphasizing his drawl.

 

Amusement sparkled in the ZaworthIan’s eyes, and she looked from Bones to Jim.

 

“I have heard that you are both from the same homeworld, the same continent, and how is it said? the same nationality.  Is that the correct term?”  Marking Jim’s nod, she went on.  “How is it then, that you are both so different?  Is there so much variation among the peoples of Earth?”

 

“Ah, Lady Ysaulte, our nationality may be the same, but our heritage is not.”  On a whim, McCoy rose to his feet and stepped around the table, stopping in front of the ZaworthIan. 

 

“Permit me to properly introduce mahself, Ma’am.”  He bowed deeply, straightening with a flourish and taking Ysaulte’s hand.  With the manners bred into the sons of the South for half a millennium, he lifted her fingers to his lips.

 

“Leonard McCoy, from the great state of Georgia.  Old Jim boy here is from Iowa.  That’s in the Midwest…  Ah’m a Southerner.  B’lieve me, there are some cultural differences even within nationalities.”  He sat back down with a broad grin.

 

Ysaulte was charmed by the doctor’s fancy, her eyes shining.  Jim noticed the colors in her irises had gone a soft green, and a question came to him.

 

“Ysaulte, do the colors of your eyes reflect your emotions?”

 

“Ha’sh’ah drek,” Ysaulte said, startled into her native language.  How did he do it?  She was too clearly seen by this one, for certain…

 

“Forgive me. Yes, they do, James, although it surprises me that you noticed.  Please don’t tell the Federation diplomatic corps.  If they ever figure out what I am really feeling, negotiations could come to a standstill,” she told him and laughed.

 

Jim and Bones chuckled with her.  Witnessing her amusement was a pleasure.  The warmth of her enjoyment was infectious; spreading through the room until everyone present wore half-smiles or grins.

 

“What does that mean, ‘hashadrek’,” McCoy asked eventually.

 

“It is by way of being a mild expletive, indicating resignation, ‘it is beyond my control, what can I do’,” Ysaulte explained frankly.  “You Terrans of Enterprise are a constant source of wonder.”

 

 

“But you’ve met Terrans before,” the doctor noted hesitantly.

 

“Diplomats, not…  warriors.”       Ysaulte marked their reaction.  “You are not pleased by that label, and that does you credit, for I see you prefer the ways of peace, as should we all.  Still, you are warriors.  Defenders.  Protectors.”

 

“I suppose we are, but that’s not all we are,” Bones protested gently.  Ysaulte smiled at him, and both men felt their hearts catch.

 

“This is known to us.  We would ourselves defend your diversity, were we part of your Federation.  It is a big decision.”

 

“And a lot rests on your recommendation,” Jim said quietly, his perception coming as less a surprise to Ysaulte this time.  She nodded.

 

“It is a big decision, and not just for my world, but for all the worlds that make up your Federation.  You propose to share the galaxy, after all, and it is not yet clear to us how we will affect you.”

 

“Because of your telepathic abilities?”  McCoy questioned.

 

“There is more to us than telepathy, Leonard, and we want only your safety around us,” she admitted rather solemnly.

 

“Now you sound like a Vulcan,” Jim teased, rewarded when the shadowed worry faded from the ZaworthIan’s eyes.

 

“Hah, James, we have less ethic.”  Ysaulte relaxed, pushing aside that momentary spasm of responsibility.  “May I request that tour of the bridge now?”

 

“I’d be delighted.  Bones?”

 

“Thanks, but I’ve seen it.  You go ahead, I’ll take care of this,” McCoy gestured at their empty trays.  “I’ll see you in Sickbay in the morning, Ysaulte.”

 

“Of course, Healer.  Thank you.”

 

Ysaulte left the security of the table to precede the captain out into the corridor, not noticing the indulgent audience that watched them go.

 

“For future reference, Ysaulte, what are some of ZaworthIa’s stronger expletives?”  Jim, who was not unaware, asked her as the door hissed shut behind them.

 

“You think I shall have need to speak them?”

 

Jim chuckled ruefully that he was anticipating exactly that.

 

“Maybe it’s better that I don’t know,” he conceded.

 

Ysaulte laughed, the release of humor becoming easier each time.  She still found it odd, to feel so friendly towards these Terrans, and this one, in particular.  The experience remained new every time it happened, sharing an emotional accord with outworlders.  It gave her hope that full membership within the Federation might not prove as onerous an obligation as their diplomats had made her think.

 

The captain offered his arm, and Ysaulte placed her hand on him without hesitation.

 

“You aren’t afraid of me anymore,” Jim’s mind whispered, pleased.  The warmth of his emotion tempted Ysaulte into sharing that unspoken voice, and she lowered her own shielding to touch the glow of his surface reflections.

 

“Never again, James.  Thou art a source of inspiration.”

 

That high-flown praise embarrassed him.  Ysaulte could feel his skin heating across the centimeters of air between them, and her own face flushed from his self-consciousness, but she held her ground and let him see her utter sincerity.

 

“Ysaulte.  I don’t deserve__  I haven’t done anything.”

 

“Thou art in error, not I,” she answered formally, speaking to his rather confused denial.

 

Ysaulte’s voiceless words shivered over Jim’s nerves all too elusively.  He was vaguely aware of moving them down the corridor, and he steered her off to one side just so he could stop.  He wasn’t ready to call a halt to the delicacy of this silent communication…  but he couldn’t go to the bridge like this, either.

 

“James, I would not interfere,” she promised gravely, skirting the edges of his inner conversation.

 

“I know,” Jim said, surprised to find the ZaworthIan so easy to trust.

 

“It is not possible to speak falsehood mind to mind,” Ysaulte instructed him seriously.  “Hath thou understanding, James?”

 

“I hope so,” he breathed, turning to stare at the eternity of colors her irises reflected, almost eclipsed by the black centers of her eyes.

 

Ysaulte held her breath, sensing his tentative searching, his thoughts seeking deeper contact.  Her head tilted back involuntarily against the pressure of his gaze.

 

“Think thou to enter my mind?”  She wondered, astounded.  There was that about this that felt… right.  “How can this be?  Thou magician?”

 

Rational consideration warred with disenchanted instinct, and instinct won.  Ysaulte stepped away from him, raising her mental barriers with no little regret.

 

“I am not afraid,” she announced firmly before he could speak.  “I am cautious.”

 

“You have every right to be cautious, Ysaulte, but I…”  Jim couldn’t begin to verbalize the fascination he found in the touch of her thoughts.

 

“Too soon, yet,” she whispered, hands outstretched in appeal.

 

“I understand, Lady Ysaulte.”

 

“I think, perhaps, you do, James Kirk,” Ysaulte nodded, the stiffness leaching from her spine.

 

They fell into step without prompting, boarding the lift in easy quiet.

 

“Bridge,” Jim directed.  “You’ll finally get to meet Spock.  Are you ready?”

 

“It will be difficult,” Ysaulte admitted, flashing on the Vulcan as she had seen him in the captain's mind, with his uncomfortable resemblance to her kinsman.  Jim could practically see her thoughts, despite her shields.   

 

“I’ll be with you.”

 

“Yes.”

 

The reminder calmed her, as he had no doubt intended.  When the turbolift opened onto the bridge, Ysaulte believed herself ready.

 

End Chapter Three