Chapter Eight

 

Jim woke quickly enough to keep himself from waking Ysaulte, although he suspected she was so exhausted she would sleep through anything short of a red alert.  That thought kept him grinning while he disentangled their limbs and sat up, watching her turn over and settle back into dreams.  If he closed his eyes and listened, he could hear the subtle shift of her subconscious…

 

He forced himself out of the bunk before the temptation to wake her grew too strong, and smiled through his shower.  He’d learned a whole new appreciation for the way the clothes synth materialized his uniform around him!  Padding stocking footed into the outer room, it occurred to him to wonder what she’d done with the things she’d removed.  Amused, he found them neatly folded on his desk, his boots standing beside.

 

“How did she do that?”

         

A glance at the chronometer surprised Jim even more.  He’d only slept a couple of hours, but he felt rested, relaxed… at peace.  Rare sensations.  He forestalled the computer’s impending wake-up call, sitting down to pull on his boots.  After pausing to tuck the blanket around Ysaulte’s shoulders, Jim left his quarters to find his first officer loitering conspicuously within the corridor.

         

“Good morning, Spock.”

         

“Captain.  Did you sleep well?”

         

Jim gave the Vulcan a look that was more than faintly suspicious.

         

“Quite well, thank you.”  Spock’s eyebrow lifted, and Jim found himself laughing out loud.  “You do know__”

         

“It was audible, Jim,” his friend informed him, voice unspoken, halting Jim in his tracks.

         

“I see,” he replied, deciding it was just as well since it saved him the trouble of explaining it…  but he couldn’t prevent the rising warmth in his face.  Clearing his throat, Jim resumed the short walk towards the mess, Spock following with palpable curiosity.

         

“Something else, Mister Spock?”

         

“Jim.”  The voice like a hand on his arm, holding him.  “How does it…  feel?”

         

Not a question Jim had thought to hear from Spock.  He met his friend’s eyes, seeing within to the Vulcan’s memories of his own pair-bonding, with its very different outcome.

         

“There are no words,” Jim’s thoughts confessed, sharing his sense of that subliminal covenant between him and his Lady.  “It’s beautiful, Spock.  So much more than I expected…  or hoped.”  He could not hide his secret, startled awe.  Such depths and reaches to this universe!  Realities behind realities awaiting the vision with which to see them…

         

“Constant unto everlasting stars.”  The quote came without conscious bidding.

         

“I also heard what you told her,” the silvery purity of Spock's mental voice hinted at echoes of ritual.  “Do you understand__”

         

“Of course I do!  Spock,” Jim tempered his impatience, realizing the quality of his friend’s concerns.  “I do understand, and I hope you can.  I love her, Spock.  I can’t help but love her, and I’m not blind to the implications in that.  Neither is she.  Please,” his tone softened with his urge to reassure, further shaking Spock’s certainty.  “We’re not looking for forever.  Ysaulte has the…  obligations of her position, and so have I.  We both know this may be precisely what Marlak intended to bring about.  I don’t think her government is too thrilled, and I’m aware of Bones’s reservations, and yours…  but Spock, none of that matters.”

         

He spoke his heart, determined, and Spock could see the ties of bondage in him as plain as any Vulcan’s, overshot with Jim’s emotional human fire.  It was the same, near-violent dedication he’d felt in his own mother, when she’d demanded Sarek’s life…

         

“I understand, Jim.”

         

And Spock did, Jim sensed, relieved.  Not completely, but what he did not understand he was still willing to accept.  He smiled into those fathomless dark eyes, grateful for his friend.

         

“The psionic resonance is quite remarkable,” Spock observed, reshielding his mind and feeling the need for some space.  Jim’s force of will was so powerful it occasionally wearied him.  He had to wonder how the ZaworthIan handled it within the intensity of the pair-bonding link.

         

“Not so long ago, you were wondering how I could handle her.”  Jim’s amused thought came clear, then the human strengthened his own mental barriers and silenced his unspoken voice. 

         

Moving away from his rather shaken first officer, Jim suddenly felt very hungry, and preceded Spock into the mess. 

         

“I still want to know what’s being hidden in those mountains, Spock.”  He halted at the selectors and ordered, wishing ruefully that he didn’t want good old animal protein quite so badly.  “Pancakes,” he muttered, greatly entertaining the Vulcan.

         

“The possibility exists there is nothing, Captain.  We cannot be sure it is a government installation.”  Spock made his usual selection and picked up his tray, following Jim to their table.

         

“Yes, and it’s none of our business.  I know.  Maybe it should be.  It's Ysaulte's business, judging from what the other ZaworthIan told us yesterday.”

         

Spock knew that tone, and sighed.

         

“Are you proposing to explore the area without Ryu Gnaur’s knowledge or consent?”

         

“I can’t count on his cooperation, not after yesterday.”  Jim’s voice deepened with irritation as he thought of his last conversation with the Negus.  Ryu Gnaur had expressed perfunctory thanks for their medical assistance, then as much as ordered them to get lost.  “It just doesn’t add up.  He doesn’t want Etumuuyea to secede, I’m sure of it.”

         

“Jim, we cannot interfere with the government of this system.  No matter how much distaste we have for the situation, we cannot prevent their leaving the Federation or defecting into the Empire.  The autonomy of their Negus is written into the Etumuuyea constitution, as well as their treaty with the Federation.”

         

Star Fleet has accepted this.  Why can you not?

         

The question rang in Jim’s inner hearing.  He set his coffee cup down and stared at it, carefully considering his answer…  and addressing it also to Ysaulte’s unseen ‘listeners’ when he looked up to meet Spock’s eyes.

         

“I think it’s safe to assume that ZaworthIa won’t enter the Federation, Spock.  Even if they do, if we lose Etumuuyea to the Romulans, there won’t be enough neutral zone in the universe to prevent war in this quadrant.  Intentionally or not, the ZaworthIans have provoked this conflict, and I’m convinced Ryu Gnaur’s mountains are connected somehow.  What if that’s what Ysidra was talking about, when she said there was something on Muuye that would alter the balance of power?  Maybe in Ryu Gnaur’s favor?”

         

“Why are you convinced of Ryu Gnaur’s unwilling involvement?”   

         

Spock was attempting to ignore Jim’s more unreasonable leaps in logic, and Jim, who had never needed psychic ability to recognize Spock’s gentle aggravation, pitched his voice extra low.  He was trying to bring the honesty of his thoughts into his verbal conversation.  It seemed to him Vulcans must grow as weary of Terran subterfuge as ZaworthIans, and Jim wished he could have seen that particular truth sooner.  He’d never realized how many times he said one thing and thought another…  not until he’d been so thoroughly exposed to the impartial honesty of psionic communication.

         

“Look, Spock, my gut instinct__”  Jim winced at the expression that phrase brought to Spock’s face.  “Command intuition, then,” he amended, not quickly enough to spare himself that look of resigned tolerance.

         

“Jim.”

         

“I’m sorry, Spock, but I don’t know how else to explain it.  Listen, and let me bounce a few things off of you.”  Fortunately, the Vulcan was familiar with the figure of speech.

         

“You know what happened during the time I spent with Gnaur on the observation deck.  I know I don’t have proof, but his attitude bothers me.  Senator tr’Ahkennsai pressured him into threatening secession.  I can almost guarantee the Negus repeated word for word what Marlak told him to say.  And the e’Negah’s condition…  Ysaulte told me that Marlak was responsible for Tama’s mental illness.  Why?  The only possible motive would be control of Ryu Gnaur.  I wish I knew what happened down there after we left.”

         

 

“There are aspects to our leaving with which I am unclear, Captain,” Spock prompted, merely to let Jim talk.  He was aware of the appreciation his friend felt for his company…  the word ‘decompression’ comes to mind, he said to himself wryly, and listened.

         

“That business with Gnaur’s transporter?  Ysaulte took that knowledge from him before she saw Tama, and she would have seen it in the Negus’s mind if he’d known about Marlak’s involvement.  She did see the way out, and how to use it, but she didn’t know where it would take us.  She had to yank an alternative destination out of Ryu Gnaur’s thoughts at the last minute…  and she was desperate.  She didn’t have a lot of time to look, and she chose a place he remembered from childhood legends.  What made those caverns so important that Ysaulte could pick their existence from him…  at that time?  What connected it all in his mind?  Romulans, ZaworthIans, and the ul Nru ranges.”

         

“The Negus was distracted__”

         

“Exactly.  His wife had just been cured of some mysterious illness, for one.  Three hundred years ago on Earth she would have been labeled ‘possessed’.”  Jim added the last in an aside, catching sight of the doctor at the food selectors.  He watched while McCoy spotted them and started over.  “I don’t guess the Negus knows yet that tr’Ahkennsai was behind Tama’s illness.”

         

“Her physician knows.”  The doctor announced as he sat.  “I talked to d’Geev late last night.”

         

“So you told him, Doctor?  How did you arrive at that conclusion?”

         

“Sorry, Spock.  No psychic mumbo-jumbo from me.  Vaanir d’Geev told me.  Seems the e’Negah told him everything, which must have been plenty.  Ysaulte left her memory pretty much intact.  I suppose that must be part of her healing process.  Anyway, if you want my opinion__”

         

“Do we have a choice?”

         

“__the Negus won’t find out from d’Geev, or Tama.  She’s sworn him to secrecy out of fear for Ryu Gnaur’s life.”

         

“Interesting,” Spock remarked, actually referring to the ethical ripples in the two physicians’ continued consultations, irrespective of government or politics.  Professional men, in the best sense of that term.

         

“Yeah, well, I thought so too.  The only reason d’Geev told me was because he thought I already knew.  The Lady Ysaulte knew, Tama said…  so of course, he assumed we did.”

         

Ice blue eyes turned in Jim’s direction.

         

“I knew, because Ysaulte told me.  I just hadn’t gotten around to telling you,” Jim said hastily, visibly bracing himself (which satisfied McCoy as much as an actual tirade would have).

         

“It’s probably just as well.”  Bones announced rather cryptically and started eating.

         

“Ryu Gnaur is at least a know quantity,” Jim mused after a brief lull.  “If Marlak decided to eliminate him, there’s no telling who would become acting Negus.”

         

“Under the Etumuuyea constitution, the e’Negah would rule, if she were able,” the science officer felt constrained to point out.  “Succession then falls to Ryu Gnaur’s nearest blood relatives, one of two brothers, or one sister.”

         

“How do they choose?  And what about his parents, or his daughter?”  McCoy wondered between bites of his rapidly cooling breakfast.

         

“According to their tradition, siblings are held the most closely related, seen as sharing the same bone and blood, with the sibling most near Ryu Gnaur’s age being ‘heir-apparent’, if you will.  Declension of right to the position is based on the number of years between the Negus and the respective sibling.  As for the daughter, their constitution specifies the head of their government must have attained a minimum age of fifty Standard years.  I believe that excludes the young lady.  We have nothing on record regarding his parents.”

         

“Spock, you amaze me.  How did Gnaur become Negus?”  The doctor asked.

         

“A logical question,” Spock said approvingly, ignoring McCoy’s sarcastic “gee, thanks”.

         

“Ryu Gnaur has been Negus ul Etumuuyea for approximately seventy Standard years.  This predates his system’s entry into the Federation.  Because of privacy restrictions, we have no information on his immediate predecessor, but the position is ancestral.”

         

“That makes him at least one-hundred twenty years old, Spock!”

         

“The races in this quadrant of the galaxy invariably seem to share what appears to humans as an extended life span, Doctor.”

         

“You mean, they all live a long time, like Vulcans?”  Bones put his hands over his face in mock anguish, trying to irritate Spock, who patently disregarded him in favor of the remnants of his breakfast.  Jim just sat back and grinned, enjoying the well-worn familiarity in the friendly bickering (which motivated much of it, truth be told).

         

“Ysaulte hasn’t been up yet?”  McCoy inquired innocently, finishing his meal.  “I hope she got some rest last night.  Yesterday was hard on her.”

         

“Not as hard as last night.”

         

Spock’s involuntary response was fortunately nonverbal, but it still managed to totally floor Jim, who inhaled his coffee and started coughing so harshly the doctor got up to come around to his side.

         

“I’m all right, Bones,” Jim wheezed, accepting a tumbler of water from an observant lieutenant.  “Thanks, Ahmad.”

         

Spock, having risen at well, deduced hastily that this was probably a very good time to head for the bridge.  After making sure Jim was all right, without quite bringing himself to meet his captain’s startled eyes; he made his polite farewells.  He was having some difficulty accepting not only his own irreverent reaction, but also Jim’s awareness of it…  although he hadn’t exactly tried to hide the thought.

         

“I will see you on the bridge, Mister Spock,” Jim promised, his tone raspy with his efforts to hold onto his laughter.  He’d quickly dismissed his initial scandalized affront, as always, too delighted by the Vulcan’s rare humor to stay irritated…  and he had to admit, Spock was entitled to a little payback on this subject!

         

“Of course.  Good day, Doctor.” Spock left, bowing his head to hide his own slanted grin.

         

“Spock.”  McCoy moved back to his chair, pointedly watching the door.  “You can laugh now, Jim,” he said when it hissed shut behind the Vulcan.  “I don’t know what he said to you__”

         

“__and you never will, God willing.  Sorry, Bones,” Jim choked out, and laughed until his sides hurt.

 

***

 

Which wast then how the Lady ‘wakened, to the brilliance of her lover’s laughter…

         

Actually, Ysaulte woke herself chuckling, which she lazily decided wasn’t less poetic; sometimes her mother’s tongue was occasionally, infrequently, just a little too…  She giggled again, realizing she was thinking half in Standard and half in ZaworthIan.

         

“No wonder my mind is so disordered.  James!”  She called sleepily.

         

As it happened, Jim had his face buried in his hands, trying to get a hold of himself.  Otherwise, he was sure Bones would have seen it in his eyes, the magic in her waking thoughts.

         

“Ysaulte.  I woke you.  I wish I could say I’m sorry… but I’m not.  Good morning, my Lady.”

         

Ysaulte stretched luxuriously, basking in the sorcerer’s warmth of his will, still very much on the fringes of full consciousness.

         

“Is it morning, then, beloved?”

         

Jim caught the traces of the ZaworthIan’s temporal dislocation, something she usually kept under such strict control he’d never noticed.

         

“Are you all right, honey?”

         

Oh, the tenderness in the voice unspoken!

         

“James.  I feel… fine.”

         

Jim had to close his eyes, not even aware of his hands falling away, too shaken by the absolute contentment in her mind.  She was fine.  He smiled, happy in that simple, basic way so rare past childhood’s end.

         

McCoy, watching Jim, was sure his own presence was forgotten.  He couldn’t remember ever seeing quite this expression on the captain’s mobile features.  It had happened, whatever ‘it’ was, and Jim was… Jim was…

         

Jim was all right.  He didn’t have to be a mind reader to see that, not the way Jim was sitting over there grinning.  The doctor cleared his throat loudly.  When that failed, he reached unceremoniously across the table and shook Jim by the shoulder.

         

The captain of the starship Enterprise, who had faced down hostile aliens with less reluctance, looked up to meet his chief surgeon’s gaze.  One sight of those lifted eyebrows, and Jim was helpless to prevent his flush.

         

McCoy stared at him, so surprised by the autonomic reaction he immediately discarded the sarcastic remark he'd been about to make.  Whatever emotion Jim felt for Ysaulte, it was obviously felt deeply… and none of his business.  If Spock could accept it, so could he… although that thought brought little comfort.

         

“Would you please ask Ysaulte to see me in Sickbay when she gets up.  I’d like to be sure she hasn’t suffered any ill effects from yesterday.”

         

Without waiting for a reply (which was as well, for Jim couldn’t have spoken), Bones got up and strolled out of the mess as if nothing was out of the ordinary.

         

Jim shook his head, frankly astonished, Ysaulte’s laughter echoing in his mind.

         

“Are you disappointed in the lack of lecture?  Leonard still has plenty to say, a’Tohr!”

         

“No doubt about that, Ysaulte.  You’re hungry?”  Jim could almost hear her stomach growling.     

         

“How can I deny it?  I shall get dressed and__”

         

“No.  I’ve got a better idea.  I’ll bring you breakfast in bed.  Have you ever eaten pancakes?”

         

“Pan cakes?  I fear not.  Another Terranism, I should wager.”

         

That inner voice teased, reminding Jim of the Terranisms he had shown her in the night…  reflecting a different hunger.  Jim smiled to himself once again, unknowingly providing fuel for more than a few daydreams among the female officers still dining.

         

“Ha’sh’ah drek.  Who needs to eat?”  Ysaulte wondered faintly, quite sure it was not she, and unable to feel past a sudden, aching need.  “James.”

         

“You’re tempting me.”

         

“I do hope so.”

         

“I’ve got a ship to run.”

         

She dismissed his reflexive protest with musical amusement, seeing beneath it to his concern that she not be…  overtired.

         

“Must I plead diplomatic privilege, Captain?”

         

“Not this time,” Jim answered, laughing as he stood to go to her.  “Save that excuse for next time!”

 

***

 

McCoy perused his viewscreen…  Jim’s last series of psychological evaluations.  He sensed a presence at his door and looked up to find Spock waiting.

         

“You wanted to see me, Doctor?”

         

“Yeah, thanks, Spock.  Come in, please.” 

         

One eyebrow lifted at McCoy’s unusual courtesy, but the Vulcan said nothing as he seated himself.  The office door hissed shut.

         

McCoy shifted restlessly in his chair, knowing he’d be crazy to bring this up but unable to see how he could avoid it.  Meeting the eloquent patience in Spock’s dark eyes, he shrugged and plunged right in.

         

“Spock, just what the devil__ no, let me rephrase that.  Can you, science officer, explain to me, the CMO, what’s going on between Jim and Ysaulte?”

         

“Surely this subject would be better discussed with the captain,” Spock replied, rather taken aback.  While some comment from the doctor was expected, this was a surprise.  He shook his head slightly, dropping his gaze from the blue fire of McCoy’s.

         

“I don’t think Jim can explain it…  and I’m not sure Ysaulte would, if she could.  It’s more than the fact that they’ve… consummated their relationship.”  Bones coughed gently.  “I really want your opinion.”

         

Spock’s eyebrows crawled up his forehead.

         

“Did the captain tell you__”

         

“Hell, he didn’t have to.”  McCoy interrupted, sounding more like himself.  “It was written all over his face.”

         

Spock thought it remarkable that the doctor should be able to infer so much through mere body language and intuition… but he wasn’t going to tell McCoy that.  He regarded the doctor in silence, trying to decide what he could, and could not say.

         

Bones sighed, finding the very lack of response an answer.

         

“It’s more than just telepathy, and more than an affair, too, isn’t it?  It’s closer to…  Vulcan pair bonding?”

         

“I believe so, although Jim has not precisely defined it,” Spock finally said.

         

“But you… feel it… don’t you.”  McCoy’s words were not delivered as an inquiry, which made it Spock’s turn to sigh.

         

“Yes, Doctor.  It is… apparent to me.”

         

McCoy’s eyes widened slightly, and he leaned back in his seat.  There were a dozen different things he wanted to know.  Had Ysaulte changed Jim, would she hurt him, would he hurt her, did they realize what they were doing! and was this going to become one of those intragalactic incidents into which Jim was so often falling… and was it forever?  Did Jim love her?  He thought Ysaulte loved Jim, maybe for all the wrong reasons…  In the end, he offered only one question.

         

“Should we be worried?”

         

“At this point, I have insufficient information upon which to hypothesize, however, the captain is an extremely strong-willed individual.  I do not believe we must fear for his mental health.”

         

Bones considered that for a minute, then nodded, reassured.  The truth was, Spock was a pretty reliable indicator of everybody’s mental health.

         

“The diplomatic ramifications__”

         

“Are best left to diplomats, Doctor.”

         

“What do you suppose her government will say?”

         

“Perhaps it will demonstrate to both ZaworthIa and the Federation whether or not ZaworthIan membership is feasible.”

         

“What do you think?”  Bones asked, surprised by Spock’s answer.

         

“I think, Leonard, that Jim is the exception to the rule, whatever happens.”

         

“Thank you, Spock,” the doctor said, grinning involuntarily.  “Is he still determined to go back to Muuye and see what’s in those caves?”

         

“He did mention it before your arrival,” Spock replied with open resignation.

         

“It was too much to hope for, that he’d forget it,” McCoy said in the same tone of voice, his gaze commiserating.  “Ysaulte will go__”

 

“She will insist on it.”

         

“Well, we’ll be better prepared this time.  I’ll get some things together, lights, provisions…  I’ve got a formula for a neural impulse suppressor that might block some of the adverse effects from that thought shielder.”

         

“Are you certain we will be invited along?”

         

“I’ll insist on it!”

 

***

 

Anthe chuckled, inadvertently breaking into Ysidra’s concentrated recital.  The Lady Protector herself had chosen to monitor the reactions of James’s friends, ‘listening’, and while Anthe could argue the ethics of the activity, she could not argue the motives behind it…  Ysidra was less confident of Ysaulte’s acceptance than she had appeared.

         

“Even I stand witness to the Healer.  Means he to keep them all safe, so what then troubles thee, Sister?”

         

Ysidra released her concern into Anthe’s effortless rush of will, taking heart from the emotional embrace of she who knew All.

 

“I cannot put name to it, beloved.  Ill is perceived from Muuye.  Wish I the one away, yet if legend speaks, as has been suggested__”

         

“Then the one must stay, and “give her very blood unto the world”.”  The K’intorhza watched her Second, noticing the increasing amounts of silver threading through her hair.

         

“I would see Ysaulte in my place, Anthe,” Ysidra confessed, hearing recognition of her buried hope in the mind of her Sister.

         

“Known this doth be, and it may yet be so.  Who can say what the All intends…  or legend, for that matter.  Ysaulte lives as one beloved of our Mother.”

         

Using the faceted splendor of her healing touch, Anthe absorbed Ysidra’s concerns, leaving the Lady Protector with strengthened will.  As much as there might be trouble ahead, there was also the proof of Anthe’s words.  Ysaulte’s force of thought was near luminous to the ZaworthIans, given added capability with her Terran’s heart call…  astonishing, really.

         

“So it is.  My thanks, a’K’intorhza,” Ysidra said gratefully.

         

“On mine oath, Sister.”  The formal reply, which did not disguise Anthe’s pleasure.  It was a significant part of her position, serving as thought-restorer for the Lady Protector and the other members of the Circle.  It was also more than just a duty.

         

“What of the Rihannsu tr’Ahkennsai?  This bond of Ysaulte’s would not set so well with the Senator, I should wager,” Anthe asked Ysidra as the question occurred.

         

“No.  His ship waits just outside Etumuuyea space, even as James’s ship doth.  Ryu Gnaur’s homeworld hangs between them like the prize to be won, neh?  There is this, the Senator knows what Is,” Ysidra warned grimly.

         

“How can the Rihannsu be aware?  Say thou he knows even of their bond?”  Anthe made no effort to hide her surprise, although she herself had underestimated Marlak’s Talent only once, years ago, when the Rihannsu had managed to catch up with Ysaulte’s parents and murder them.

         

“There be echoes, Anthe, and the Senator did touch her thoughts.  Without her consent, but even so…” Ysidra opened her hands, palms up, reflecting her memory of Ysaulte’s helplessness.  “Is it not meet the one finds such fortress in her Terran?”

         

“I had not considered it, beloved, but thou art wise to see it so.  The Senator doth want her for his own, then?”

         

“Such hath been suggested, not by our Sister, however,” Ysidra stood, feeling younger than her years.

         

“The one is fortunate in her innocence,” Anthe murmured.  “Think thou James perceives it, then?”

         

“It is from his mind the knowledge comes,” Ysidra retorted, leaving the council chambers for her own offices. 

         

“Sah’des ka.  Methinks thou art finding these Terrans worthy of thine own fascination,” Anthe teased, not completely in jest.

         

“Mayhap be, Anthe!”  The Lady Protector laughed as she turned her attention from their conversation.  Ysidra had her responsibilities, to which she was now prepared to tend…

         

…and Anthe had hers.  She moved to the only subspace communications unit on their entire planet, an archaic contraption held together mostly by willpower and wishes.  The ZaworthIan K’intorhza set the frequency from memories not her own…  memories millennia old…

 

***

 

“Ryu?”

         

Tama touched him on the shoulder, pointing to the ‘incoming’ tell-tales flashing on the comm-set.  The Negus thanked his consort, still grateful for her sane, aware presence, and watched her leave with the grace of a woman half her age.  He found himself with an obligation to the ZaworthIan, after all.  How could he let that sway him, with tr’Ahkennsai’s ship still in the area?  When Kirk’s ship left the sector the warship would still be near… with open warfare nearer, he feared.  There was so much unexplained by that idiot Senator.  First, he has the witch, then he does not.  He frees her from the dungeons, then attempts to recapture her from Ryu’s own quarters!  Unforgivable.

         

The Negus decided he was relieved the ZaworthIan had managed to spirit her party away.  He would elect to forgive her that wrenching instant when she’d perceived his transporter’s destination and sought alternatives, seizing his thoughts.  Soul’s end!  Marlak had been furious when they’d failed to appear on Gnaur’s flagship…

         

The Negus frowned over the console, disconcerted by the generated readings.  A scrambled signal carried on a rather obscure channel…  the transmission ended, with the cassette popping out of the comm-unit.  He took it into his bedchamber and inserted it into the decrypter.  The tape’s contents startled him anew.

         

“’Ryu Gnaur, Negus ul Etumuuyea.  I am Anthe, K’intohrza du’Sha’deh d’Khyn, ZaworthIa.  An that this message be heard, I wouldst so ask thou doth see it destroyed.  Thou art indebted sufficiently to listen, I assume.  Once our worlds were aligned.  Extant the thought, thou hath not wish for any alliance with ch’Rihan.  We have no wish to interfere, but consider.  If it doth be within thee to stand free, we of Za shalt support thee.  Our support is not to be bought.  We ask only that our Sister Ysaulte not be interfered with.’”

         

The Negus listened once more to the brief missive, then destroyed it as instructed, his mind racing.  This was an unexpected development, in truth.  With ZaworthIa’s favor, Etumuuyea could risk disavowing the Rihannsu…  but why would the witches of Za want to help?  After the way his ancestors had behaved toward them, not to mention his own behavior toward the Lady d’Aeviane…  Ah.  Well.  Their motives did not concern him.  It was enough for him to know the offer existed, and in this part of the galaxy, ZaworthIan honesty was legendary.

         

Ryu Gnaur moved back to his subspace radio, firing off a short, scrambled transmission of his own.

 

***

 

“…Captain Kirk to the bridge…Captain Kirk to the bridge…”

         

“Tell me I don’t hear that.”

         

“You don’t hear that,” Ysaulte obliged, whispering into Jim’s ear, as she could not give mental voice to such a blatant falsehood.

         

“Good,” Jim murmured, then yelped when she shoved him unceremoniously out of the bunk.

         

“Thou didst hear that, beloved, and lest it be thy wish to confirm Spock’s worst suspicions, I suggest response!”

         

“You’re a hard woman, Ysaulte,” Jim complained good-naturedly, yanking on a tunic before activating his desk top comm screen.

 

“Kirk here.”

 

Spock’s face took form, with one eyebrow lifted, and Jim resisted the urge to smooth his hair.

 

“Spock here, Captain.  We have received an encrypted message from Muuye.”

 

“What does it say?”

 

A moment’s pause, then Ryu Gnaur’s voice on the speaker, calm as ever.

 

“’Enterprise.  You may resume standard orbit at your convenience, with our thanks.  I, Ryu Gnaur, Negus ul Etumuuyea, have spoken.’”

 

“That is all, Captain.  Any orders?”

 

“Where is the Rihannsu ship, Spock?”  Jim asked, wondering silently what Ryu Gnaur was up to now.

 

“It remains outside sensor range.”

 

“Resume standard orbit, then, Mister Spock, but maintain shields.”

 

“Affirmative, Sir.”

 

The screen went blank, and Jim turned to find Ysaulte standing just out of reach of the viewscreen, wearing only a sheet.

 

“I’d been asking myself how we were going to sneak back down to Muuye,” he remarked.  “What do you think changed his mind?”

 

“Hard to say.  It does seem an abrupt reversal, which would indicate someone provoked him into changing it.”  Ysaulte shrugged, and Jim took a minute to consider provocation. 

 

Pointedly ignoring her Terran as well as the sudden heat in her face, Ysaulte stepped into the shower.

 

“One assumes the clothes synths operate from a central program?”  It was a delicate way of asking what she could expect to find programmed into his clothes synth, but this time the honesty of the thoughts behind the question worked against her.

 

“You’re jealous!”

 

Ysaulte heard the surprise in Jim’s voice, and winced, realizing he was quite correct.

 

“Forgive me.  Jealousy is a useless emotion.”

 

“Oh, I don’t know about that.  It can be very instructive.”

 

Remarkably enough, he was laughing at her.  Ysaulte wavered between being irritated, or laughing with him.

 

“And what does it tell you, a’shas?”  She inquired, chuckling as amusement won with ease.  She could never stay angry with him…

 

“It tells me a lot,” Jim said gently, removing his tunic.  “It tells me how you feel…  which is close to how I feel.”

 

“Close?”  Ysaulte’s breath caught as he stepped into the shower with her.

 

“Yes, close,” Jim put his arms around her.  “I seem to be developing some very primitive instincts where you’re concerned.  I’m suddenly jealous of everything that touches you, my Lady fair.  Even the sonics.”

 

“James.”  Ysaulte could feel him, the heavy weight of his arousal pressed against her bare skin as he urged her arms around his neck.  He then cupped his hands around her buttocks.  “Art thou serious?”

 

“You decide,” Jim suggested, lifting her onto him and proceeding to show her just how serious he was…

 

***

 

Ysaulte heaved a sigh, walking into Sickbay as casually as she could manage.

         

“What are you afraid of?  He won’t bite…  unlike me,” Jim teased in the privacy of their thoughts, laughing at her apprehension.

         

“Huh.  I am not so sure.  Now give me a break__”

         

“__and turn my attention to my bridge.  Yes, ma’am.”

         

He did as asked, but Ysaulte was still smiling when the doctor caught sight of her.

         

“Good morning, Ysaulte…  what’s left of it, anyway,” Bones added, not surprised when the ZaworthIan’s cheeks darkened.

         

“Fair day, Leonard,” Ysaulte answered with what she felt was admirable calm.  The Healer’s mind was bristling with shields.

         

“I understand Jim is planning on beaming down to Muuye at fourteen hundred hours.  I’ve got a formula for a neural impulse suppressor I want you to take a look at.”  McCoy motioned her toward his office, where the formula glowed visible on his computer’s screen.

         

Ysaulte inspected it while her color returned to normal, lingering over various sections of the chemical sequence.

         

“Hmmm.”

         

“What do you think?  Will it shield you and Spock from the effects of that psychic blanketing field?”

         

“Yes, if it can be altered here, and here.”  She put her forefinger on the screen and changed some of the numbers.  “Now, this will be more effective, neh?  Perhaps Mister Spock should review__”

         

“No, I understand the changes, thank you.  I’ll get biochem to start synthesizing it, so we’ll have some before we leave.”

         

“We?”  Ysaulte asked absently, trying to figure out what she had done to so aggravate the Terran Healer. 

         

“You didn’t think you’d be going without us, did you?”

         

“In truth, I have given it very little thought, Leonard.”

         

“Is that a fact,” Bones drawled, prompting another heavy flush in the ZaworthIan’s face.  “Let’s see how you’re doing, shall we?”  He waved her back into the exam room.

         

Ysaulte shrugged, hopping up onto the diagnostic bed.  It was an activity that had become familiar over the last several days.  At least the machinery would not reveal terminal embarrassment…

         

“You haven’t eaten today,” the doctor concluded, surveying the overhead readings with a frown.  “You’ve lost three kilos since coming on board.  Is starship food that bad?”

         

“No, not at all,” Ysaulte replied hurriedly.  No doubt Dietary was subject to Medicine, and she had no wish to further annoy McCoy.  “I have had little appetite of late,” she said by way of an excuse.  It wouldn’t do to confess how the breakfast Jim had brought her had grown cold…

         

“Doctor’s orders.  Eat before we leave, or else.”

         

“Or else, what?”  Was he threatening her?

         

“Or else, I’ll tell the captain you’re not medically fit to go.  He may be able to live on love, but you can’t.  You can’t afford any more weight loss.”

         

Ysaulte felt her jaw drop, and sure enough, her cheeks warmed with yet another infernal blush.

         

“That will not be necessary.  I will eat.”  She sat up and slid to her feet, wondering what in the eighteen Anguilla’an moons was bothering the man.  One would think he intended her mortification!  Vexed, and trying not to show it, Ysaulte inclined her head.  “Until later, then.”

         

“Ysaulte, wait.”

         

“But of course, Leonard.  Is there something else you would say?”

         

Bones frowned, finding her tone just a bit too sweet, and certainly not hiding the irony in her question.  He supposed he had said a lot, but he really hadn’t said what he wanted to say.

         

“You know, you’re right.”

         

“About what?”  Ysaulte asked, the only outward sign of her increasing exasperation one sharply lifted eyebrow…  an expression her Sisters would have recognized and run from, if the doctor but knew it.

         

“”Terrans never say what they think”,” he quoted her earlier words.  “We don’t even admit things to ourselves, sometimes.”

         

“What troubles you, Leonard?”

         

“Can’t you tell?”

         

“I could, did you so wish.”  Ysaulte’s eyes narrowed.  “You do not.  So put your fears to words, please.”

         

“Oh, all right!”  Bones snapped.  His own temper was shortened by her irritation.  “I guess I’m worried about how this thing between you and Jim is going to end up!”

         

“And do you know what lies ahead?”  Ysaulte demanded impatiently.

         

“No!  I’m not a God damned fortune teller, I don’t bend spoons with my mind, and I don’t read minds, and neither does Jim!”

         

The ZaworthIan’s teeth ground audibly, her irises gone glittering silver with insulted fury.  Bones felt the hair rising on the back of his neck, a reaction forgotten with her next words.

         

“Leonard McCoy, thou art a bigot!  A bigot!  Fortune telling and bending spoons, indeed!  Hath thou no understanding of the ways of Za to so compare these feeble Terrene sorceries!”

         

Quite the spectacular rage, but McCoy was too offended to notice.

         

“Don’t you call me a bigot, missy!”

         

“The usage is correct!  ‘Bigot: One intolerant of those who differ’.  I clearly remember the definition.  Please, go on!  Surely thou hath addition to this list of my deficiencies!”

         

“Fine!  I will!  You’re going to hurt Jim, damn it, and we’ll have to pick up the pieces!”

         

“Sworn on mine oath!  Does thine own word mean so little thou art unable to recognize a promise?  I will not hurt him, nor will I leave him in pain!”

         

“How in the hell do you think you’re going to keep from it?  You can’t take the memories…  or can you?”

         

Good Lord, he thought she’d been angry a moment ago!  Ysaulte’s eyes deadened to colorless black, startling Bones into more rational sentiments.  He realized belatedly he hadn’t expected her emotional response to his needling.  Part of him had anticipated Vulcan calm, but this was no Vulcan, despite the odd familiarity in her opaque gaze.  Ysaulte stared down her nose at him like he was so much dead meat... so McCoy squared his shoulders and stared back.

         

“Well.  Can you?”

         

“Yes, O physician, I can!  I am Sha’deh d’Khyn du’Ia, and it doth lie within my ability to take his soul, and thine!  Wast my wish, and this ship sweep beyond the very galaxy!  From where I stand, I couldst alter even the minds of the entire Federation Council, and none wouldst so much as miss thee, Terran!  All these things lie within my reach!”

         

Ysaulte looked at McCoy, wrath abruptly fading into discouragement.

         

“These things could be done, but I would never do them.  They fall outside the Way.  You have seen the healing of Za.  The memory is not removed, just the perspective surrounding it.  Tama’s mind was left whole, did you see it not?  Mine own Sisters left me thus.  What have I done to merit such a quarrel?  I remember every minute of Marlak’s attack on me__”

         

“That’s enough.”

         

Jim’s voice.  Bones turned around to find him standing at the door shaking his head, and was hard put to hide his relief.

         

“I had an idea the situation was deteriorating,” Jim murmured, eyes on his shaken Lady.  “Ysaulte.”

         

“James.  I__”  She shrugged, palms open, eyes wet.  “Thy pardon, please.  I forget myself.”

         

“No you don’t.  Come here.”  Jim held out his arms, aware of just how upset she was.  Ysaulte walked into his embrace.  “You haven’t learned how hard-headed Bones is,” he remarked out loud, feeling her tension begin to seep away.

         

Ysaulte leaned against him, breathing deeply and collecting herself.  The disagreement with McCoy had so overwhelmed her she had not even sensed Jim approaching… a testament to the doctor’s talent for distraction.

         

“Forgive me, a’shas.  I lost my temper,” she confessed in a rather small voice.

         

“Not completely.  He’s still standing!”  Jim teased, rewarded by her silent amusement.  Taking her face in his hands, he tilted her chin up, smiling into her eyes until Ysaulte had to smile back.  “Are you all right?”

         

“Yes, now,” she whispered, motionless when his thumbs kneaded her temples, removing an ache she had not even noticed.  “I am sorry, James.”

         

“You don’t need to apologize.  Bones can try the patience of a Vulcan, which reminds me, Spock was going to lunch.  Why don’t you join him?  You could use some logical company,” he added, ignoring his chief surgeon’s grimace.

         

“As you wish it.”  Ysaulte stepped out of his reach and turned to McCoy.  “Please forgive me, Doctor, if my words resulted in offense.”

 

Doctor.  Not ‘Brother’, not ‘Leonard’, not even ‘Healer’.  Doctor.  Bones sighed, perceiving the slight.

         

“I’m sorry too, Ysaulte.”

         

She inclined her head and moved around Jim.

         

“You’re forgetting something,” the captain told her with an odd grin, stopping her in her tracks.

         

“What?”

         

“Don’t you know?”

         

Ysaulte started to laugh, because she did know…  Jim kissed her unhurriedly, then watched her leave without another look at McCoy.  While he would have liked to believe that due the effects of his charm, Jim saw it for what it reflected.  She was still upset.  He asked her for a little mental space, and Ysaulte acceded at once.

         

“Jim__”

         

“Let’s go into your office, Bones,” Jim interrupted.  “You’ve already provided plenty of grist for the rumor mill with your experimenting.”

         

“It wasn’t like that,” McCoy protested to the captain’s back, following him reluctantly.

         

“Wasn’t it?”  Jim leaned on the edge of McCoy’s desk and waited for the door to shut.  “You were testing the limits of her self-control, just like you’re always doing with Spock, only Ysaulte reacted more strongly.”

         

“You may be right, Jim, but I wasn’t doing it on purpose__  Hell, maybe I was.”  Bones sat down.  “I didn’t mean to hurt her feelings.”

         

“I know.  You’ve spent so much time prodding Spock and me it’s become second nature…  but you did hurt her.”  Jim rubbed the back of his neck, only now relaxing.  Ysaulte’s anger and pain had poured through their link, startling him into an adrenaline rush despite the absence of physical danger.  Spock would probably call it a fascinating illumination into the nature of their bond.

         

“I’m sorry, Jim.  I’ll apologize.”

         

“Not unless you’re sure you mean it!  She’ll know, Bones.”     Jim stood and headed for the door, then hesitated.

         

“One question, Bones.  Were you scared?”

         

“Should I have been?”  McCoy said belligerently.  Jim said nothing, regarding him steadily, and McCoy relented.

         

“Damn straight I was scared!”

         

They grinned at each other then started to laugh.

 

***

 

Ysaulte lingered in the corridor outside the officer’s mess and wondered if she really wanted to go in.  Granted, she could use a healthy dose of Vulcan calm, as well as a meal…  but what if she ended up getting another aggrieved response from one of Jim’s friends? 

 

“Ha’sh'ah drek, what am I thinking?  Whatever reaction Spock has, it can hardly be aggrieved.”

 

She straightened her spine and went in.

         

Spock, standing beside the food processors, noticed her immediately.  The ZaworthIan appeared rather distracted, he judged, watching her survey the room’s occupants.  She could not be seeking Jim…  then her gaze rested upon him with a curious blend of relief and apprehension visible in the swirl of her irises.  Eyebrow lifted, Spock placed a second order of his vegetarian lunch while Ysaulte made her way to his side.

         

“Ambassador.”  Spock indicated the duplicate tray.  “Will you join me?”

         

“Yes, Commander, if I am not imposing.”

         

“You are not.”

         

Spock waited as she picked up her tray, secretly amused when she walked with it to the table where Jim customarily dined.

         

Ysaulte sat, inspecting her Vulcan fare.  In truth, she had even less appetite than usual, but she would insult Spock if she failed to eat.  Neatly maneuvered, Captain.  As soon as the first officer took his seat, she grasped her fork and began, happy to find the unidentifiable vegetables palatable.

         

“Pardon me, Ysaulte, but you appear unsettled.”  Spock observed quietly.

         

“I have just come from Sickbay,” she answered wryly.

         

“I quite understand.”

         

“Yes, you do, I believe.”  Ysaulte sipped her drink, which turned out to be Terran iced tea.  “Leonard and I had words, I think is the phrase.  It led to a nasty argument.”

         

“Doctor McCoy has great aptitude for that particular activity,” Spock informed her in the weary tones of one who was too well familiar with the doctor’s talents in that area.

         

“I wish to learn how you endure it.  I myself am not unused to irrational motive, but Leonard__”  Ysaulte covered her eyes with one hand and groaned.  “Oh, please, excuse my unguarded tongue, Spock.”

         

“Of course, I shall.”

         

“Thank you.  James suggested logical company might prove of use.  Once again, he is correct.  So what is your secret for handling Leonard?”

         

“One must heed an Old Earth instruction, and allow the doctor’s hyperbole to ‘go in one ear and out the other’,” Spock answered, taken aback by the resultant wash of emerald in Ysaulte’s irises.

         

“I can well imagine.  James says he tries even Vulcan patience, but I cannot feature Leonard’s belief that I should be so serene.”

         

“Humans frequently take things, and people, at face value,” Spock said, motioning toward the slant of one ear.

         

“Think you, then, his subconscious saw me as Vulcan?”  Ysaulte asked interestedly.  “On the strength of my father’s blood, I might name you cousin.”

         

“Indeed,” the Vulcan replied, his lips tilting slightly.  “Perhaps this accounts for Doctor McCoy’s attitude.”

         

Ysaulte looked at him sharply, startled to laughter when she realized Spock was teasing her.  How wonderfully strange!

         

She finished her meal with more enthusiasm, unaware of Spock’s almost indulgent gaze.  He found her enjoyment gratifying, for her loss of mass had not gone unnoticed.

         

“Again, my thanks, Spock.  I had not known Vulcan cuisine was so tasteful.”

         

“You are welcome, Ysaulte.  There are occasional difficulties with being a vegetarian among humans.”

         

“There would be.  I should think merely living among some of them trial enough.”

         

“Are you referring to the doctor?”  Spock wondered with that imperceptible smile.

         

“No doubt.  I must work at being less attentive to his moods, and yet, I cannot dismiss his concerns.  Spock,” she paused, watching him with eyes gone clouded, a world of worry reflected in her gaze.

 

 “Wouldst thou permit the voice unspoken now?  Was I to tell thee, I am needful of thy counsel as James’ friend, couldst thou accept it?”
         

She spoke within his inner hearing, only just…  invitation softening the edges of her apprehension that he refuse, and not refuse.  Spock steepled his fingers before his chin with a question of his own.

 

“Are you still afraid of me, Ysaulte?”  He asked into the echoing expression of her will, half-afraid himself to hear her honest answer.  His wish that she be in no fear of him assumed open importance, and the science officer made a silent confession.  He did wish to learn the limits of her ability first hand, with an interest not dependent on Jim’s.  The ZaworthIan’s psionic signature was like nothing he had encountered in all his travels, physical and otherwise…

 

Ysaulte witnessed his admission, astonished.  To think she had joked of the Vulcan’s fabled hunger for knowledge… such curiosity!  It was a fire in this one’s mind and near to blinding, and with what inquiry?  Had she unease still?  She searched her heart, and found him, listening.

 

“A leap of faith,” Spock heard Jim think, flinching a bit when the Lady touched her fingers to the backs of his hands.  Breath held, Spock felt Ysaulte’s uncertainty melt away as she dropped her guard, believing she was not wrong to trust and allowing him past the superficial borders of her perception.

 

         “On my oath, Spock.  Ask me now, and know what Is.”

 

He understood her meaning and acknowledged the offer.  She swore her confidence, for there was no fragment of thought she could hide here.

 

“I have no fear of thee.  Thou art one beloved,” the ZaworthIan term refused to translate any other way  “closer than a brother.  See thou what lies within me, serve thou testifier.  An thou art discomforted, I shall see the bond sundered__”

 

“You can do that?”  Jim interrupted, shocked.  “You could do it?”

 

“It can be done,” Ysaulte assured them soberly.  “If it is needed, James, we will discuss it.  It is not a subject without pain, and I myself am in dread of it.  For now, I wish Spock’s opinion.  Finds he cause to join in Leonard’s misgivings, I shall be forced to conclude their objections justified.”

 

“All right, my Lady,” Jim said, surprising Spock with a sudden sense of laughing challenge.  “I won’t interfere.  Spock can handle it!”

 

Jim’s thoughts distanced, not quickly enough to conceal what it would mean to him if Spock could not ‘handle it’.  The Vulcan pled his confusion.  He had not anticipated such an audible resonance from their pair-bonding.

 

"I knew there would be differences,” he remarked, feeling the sincerity of Ysaulte’s devotion.

 

“And so thou shouldst, given human and ZaworthIan emotionality,” she replied gently.  “Thine own ties to the one art not less plain.”

 

“Because you have isolated them, to avoid disrupting their integrity with your strength of will,” Spock determined suddenly.

 

“Even so.  I have sought to honor James’s requests, both said and unsaid.”

 

Ysaulte hesitated, taking note of those sensations belonging to the physical world; Spock’s dark eyes trained on hers, the warmth of his flesh at her hands, and the absolute lack of conversation among the people around them.  Turning her attention off the Vulcan, Ysaulte directed it outward, amused to discover they were being ignored with frank speculation.

 

“Forgive me, Spock, for giving no consideration to our audience.  My fault.”

 

“Our behavior, Ambassador.”  Spock indicated their fingers.  Hers had somehow come to be clasped in his.  “Privacy is indicted, if you continue to require my questions.”  He unhurriedly released her hands and favored her with his slanted almost-smile.

 

“An thou art willing to ask, Commander.”

 

The Vulcan stood, and bowed, offering his arm with a courtier‘s flair.

 

“Lady Ysaulte.”

 

She rose, resting her hand at the crook of his elbow.  Wicked impulse prompted a graceful half-curtsy.

 

“Commander Spock.”

 

They swept from the room under the eyes of their astounded onlookers, all dignified silence, which was shattered at the door by Ysaulte’s delighted laughter.

 

“What joy to do the unexpected!  Thank you, Spock!”

 

That inner voice spoke, fascinating him with the clarity of soundless intention.  The ZaworthIan’s telepathy came so easily it still disconcerted him.

 

“Oh, Spock, I should be begging your pardon, no doubt, behaving thus before your officers.”

 

“No, Ysaulte.”

 

Spock shielded out of habit until they reached her quarters and the doors hissed shut behind them.  Seeing her seated on a divan, he drew up a chair, regarded her with evident evaluation, then extended one hand in long-fingered invitation.

 

Ysaulte sighed, laying her face in Spock’s palm…  another blind leap of faith for her, if he but knew it, and then he did, seizing her thoughts in meld.

 

“Spock.”  Her microscopic indecision faded with her defenses.  She put her fingertips to his throat with pressure just sufficient for measuring the rhythms of his life.  “What wouldst thou learn, a’he’Ra?”

 

My friend.  The words spoke to Spock’s soul, reinforcing the reality of her subliminal ties.

 

“First, know, Ysaulte, that I accept your bond to Jim.  I feel it within him.”  He watched her close her eyes and shook with the purity of her relief.

 

“Thou art compassionate indeed, Spock.  Was this a mindset shared, perhaps ZaworthIa would take her place in thy Federation…  instead, my Sisters stand cautious of Vulcan.”

 

“By what logic do your people justify fear of Vulcan?”

 

“Not fear,” Ysaulte protested, irises lightening emerald as she lifted her gaze to meet his.  “Unease, lest Vulcan seeks to pass judgement.  Live thou by the mind rules, and knowing too the reaches of thine own Talents.  Thou art second to none within the Federation…  unless, of course, Za joins.”  Ysaulte slanted one eyebrow in Spock’s direction, giving him an understanding of how it felt to be on the receiving end of that expression.  “It is believed the Federation turns on Vulcan’s whim, Spock.  Fortunately, Vulcan’s whims are few, neh?  Our question, will this still be so with Za a member?  We shall ever be outside control, and Vulcan the great controller.  How will thy kinspeoples bear it?”

 

Completely nonplused, Spock answered reflexively.

 

“The noninterference directive__”

 

“May govern word and deed, but never thought, and fails to apply to those worlds within the Federation anyway,” Ysaulte commented, waiting to see what lay beneath his initial reaction.

 

“I must object to this characterization of Vulcan, Ysaulte,” he announced grimly, startled again when she laughed.

 

“Then object!”

 

“I believe you are ‘pulling my leg’, as Jim might say,” the first officer deduced, eyeing the ZaworthIan suspiciously.  It occurred to him he’d never participated in a mind meld in which he didn’t shut his own eyes, let alone carry on such an odd conversation.

 

“I exaggerate a bit, yet less than one imagines.  I spoke of Za’s strength, but much of our strength comes from anonymity.  We shall surely lose this with Federation membership, and we art not without weakness for those few able to ‘see’.  Vulcan’s children fall to this uncommon class, as also the rare Terran.”

 

“One of whom is Jim.”

 

“Even so.  I need not tell thee, for thou art knowing his will.  James sees, behind walls, beyond superficialities…  his intuitive reach can scarce be exceeded, even on Za, although his own world claims no recognition of this Talent as such.  Thou doth.”  Ysaulte could perceive the agreement in Spock’s mind; agreement with her.  After Leonard’s contentiousness earlier, the lucidity of sensation served to reassure.

 

“I confess, Spock, wast my impression James’s Talent but reflected of thine, until I touched his mind.”  Spock felt her mental smile, and could not disguise his, especially on hearing her next revelation.  “James, by his very existence, so unbalances my Sisters there is even less chance of our joining the Federation.  Now Terrans art viewed as dangerous as Vulcans!  I try to explain James as unique, yet my whole planet trembles.”

 

“He has a similar effect on Vulcan… and is forgiven much,” Spock added, his tone extraordinarily tender as he shared cherished memory.

 

“Even life after death?  T’Pau honors him,” Ysaulte said unsteadily.  “I had wondered on those details, for I saw within him only glimpses, and I did not wish to pry.  ‘Greater love hath no man than this’, Spock.  Thou art fortunate, as is James.”

 

She shivered, undone by the remembered image of Jim lying lifeless at this man’s hands… then sensed the Vulcan’s shadowed regret at having distressed her.

 

“It is not a subject without pain,” Spock paraphrased her earlier words.  “Forgive me.”

 

“Thou art not at fault.  Rather, I am grateful, and stand forewarned, that the one shouldst so lay down his life for his friends.”  It made her more determined than ever that her Terran shas should not sacrifice his living spirit for her.

 

“Ysaulte, it is no less than you would do, and have done.  You could not have been certain of your survival when you rescued us from Ryu Gnaur’s poison, and you saved my life, when every instinct must have urged against it.  I am not unfamiliar with guilt, and you have no cause to feel it,” Spock remonstrated gently, too aware of the ache of Ysaulte’s emotions.

 

“Neither do I find fault within thee here,” he went on, addressing her in the precisely measured language of his homeworld’s ancestors:  Old Tongue Vulcan, so symmetrically musical in its honesty and passion.  “Remember, please, Jim’s instincts.  There exists within his people an alarming degree of willingness to die for one another.  Entire solar systems have been judged on the presence of this characteristic.  It persuaded Vulcan toward a Terran Federation, and it humbles us before them.”

 

Ysaulte closed her eyes, impossibly comforted by Spock’s reassurances.

 

“How kind thou art, my friend.  A star, by which to steer, and blessed in thy constancy.  This quality I value.”

 

The ZaworthIan sighed.  Spock’s fingers tightened involuntarily as he sensed the extent of her insecurities.

 

“What troubles you, Ysaulte?  Something__”

 

“Yes, something.  So vague I myself cannot be certain of it.  There doth be that beyond even mine own reach, Spock.”

 

The smile in her words surprised him.

 

“Humor.  How can you make jokes?”

 

“Terrans say, one must laugh to keep from crying.  Is it not so for thee?”  Ysaulte reminded him of their little exhibition in the mess.  “Thou art not above amusement, and surely the comedy in all this lies plain.  I choose to see it, anyway.  Perhaps it is an optimistic view.  My life__”  she looked into Spock’s eyes, needing her vision to confirm her other sight.  “My life, in these last few days, changed past all recognition.  No longer my life, in many ways, and I tell thee, more of that due James than Marlak.”

 

She cocked that eyebrow at him, and Spock surprised them both with his open smile.

 

“Of course, you are correct, Ysaulte.”

 

“Of course.”  She grinned, liking him very much, and allowing the feeling open reflection.  “There is much to be gained from a positive attitude, neh?  It lends strength, and we shall need strength.  Kidding aside, I perceive a trial impending…  and my own Sisters think to hold their thoughts on the matter, going so far as to think me unaware.”

 

“Vulcans, in general, are not precognitive, Ambassador,” Spock answered, blinking against a resultant wave of frustrated irritation from Ysaulte.  “Another poor turn of phrase, I assume.”

 

“Ha’sh'ah drek!”  Ysaulte yanked herself away from his touch, and Spock could not help but flinch, but the mental connection between them held true.  A remarkable demonstration of her force of will.  She turned around to stare at him with eyes that went from icy gray to the vivid emerald green of his mother’s homeworld, seen living from space.

 

“Of course, thou art correct, Spock!  Forgive me, it is a poor turn of phrase.  Leonard just accused me of being a ‘fortuneteller’, and I overreact.”  Putting her hands on her face, Ysaulte laughed at herself until her cheeks hurt.  She was finally able to see that rather provincial term for precisely what it was; the last traces of tribal xenophobia the Terran Healer still possessed, and quite atavistic.  “Wilt thou forgive me?  See thou, a’he’Ra, it is not our way to hold still for the voice unspoken.”

 

She showed him ZaworthIa, as she had shown Leonard, and perhaps only the Vulcan recognized what a genuinely high order of telekinetic control the gesture required.  He understood equally well it was not her aim to demonstrate her psionic superiority, and he offered his mental forgiveness.  Ysaulte wanted only his comprehension, giving him a picture of her restless, inquisitive people, moving like nomads over the surface of that lovely world.  If one could envision nomads of such nosy cheer.  It took Spock a moment.  There was so much life!  ZaworthIa burst with it, even more than Earth, enhanced by the pantheistic devotion of her populace.

 

“Our Mother Za, we regard Her so, and so would we tender Her our protection.  No price comes too dear, see thou?”

 

“Yes, I see.  What of your creation mythology?”  Spock wondered.

 

Ysaulte had to smile, thinking of Jim telling her ‘never discuss politics or religion’.

 

“It is believed as a race we were brought here from the stars themselves,” she told him, seeing within Spock’s mind to another world, held no less valued by her children.

 

“Mutato nomine de te fabula narratur,” Ysaulte whispered, startling Spock anew with the Latin words.

 

“Change the name but not the story?  Indeed, Vulcan prehistory suggests our people were also seeded on our planet, by a race we call the Preservers.”

 

Ysaulte moved her hands, and Vulcan took form before her, turning in hot red demand beside cooler ZaworthIa.

 

“Fascinating,” Spock remarked in his own whisper, caught by the materialization of his vision, of his homeworld.  The twin depictions hung side by side in vivid contrast.

 

“Then thou art tied to thy world even as we, and tied unto each other, yet thou wert forced to shielding thy individual minds in order to survive.  Thy world is dear to thee, neh?  It falls to logic, inculcating this instinct in colonists… giving infant civilizations roots… compare now Terrans, who had to learn to love their world.”  Ysaulte shrugged.  The miniature planets melted away, leaving only her words.  “We are not here to debate history, I suppose.  It was my wish you learn me, learn my mind.  I have shown you healing, I have shown you creative thought, and the voice unspoken.  What else may I show you, Spock of Vulcan, friend to James, friend to Leonard__”

 

“__friend to thee, Ysaulte.”  Spock felt the ZaworthIan’s warm acceptance and her pleasure, both manifest in the brilliant blue of her irises.  “I have no need to inquire further.”

 

“There are still things you wish to learn?”

 

“Because I am interested, yes.”  He made certain she understood the distinction, then unlocked their minds with gradual, painless care.

 

“Thank you, Ysaulte.”

 

“As I thank you, a’he’Ra.  I am encouraged.”  Spock had a sense of ceremony in her reply, and saw her nod.  “It is a ritual response, from the sustained to the sustainer.  I find balance in you, Redactive Brother.”  Ysaulte made sure Spock understood the compliment.

 

“I shall dismiss this squabble with Leonard, by the way.  I am no longer angry.”

 

“Then I am encouraged,” Spock pronounced, gratified when she laughed.

 

***

 

Jim, despite good intentions, found himself eavesdropping unmercifully, in growing delight at the camaraderie he could feel between Spock and Ysaulte.  Some part of his Lady’s mind recognized this and forgave him, somewhere inside that secret, silent current of will binding them together.  Jim could feel Spock breaking the meld, with Ysaulte’s acquiescence, then her mental voice was speaking to him.

 

“Thou inquisitive Terran, hath thou no honor?”

 

She was very clearly teasing, yet Jim could only remember his apprehension when he’d agreed to leave them… leave her.

 

“I did the best I could,” he said quite truthfully.  He couldn’t bear to completely block her thoughts, not after her talk of dividing their minds.

 

“I know, beloved.  You were unsettled.”

 

“You were unsettled, Ysaulte.  McCoy really got to you.”  Jim examined her spirits, relieved to discover her at peace with herself and the universe.  “Spock’s fine Italian hand,” he concluded, satisfied, and let her divine the reference from the dusty corners of his literary memory.

 

“Indeed, he is a real ‘operator’,” she quipped, answering his amusement, and the captain laughed out loud, oblivious to the shared grins of his junior officers.

 

“Come to the bridge,” Jim ordered, not ignoring the fact that the turbo lift had just opened behind him to decant the doctor.  “Bones.”

 

“Jim.”

 

“Why?”

 

The two responses came almost simultaneously, and Jim concluded carrying on an inner and an outer conversation might not be as easy as he’d believed.

 

“Excuse me a minute, Bones,” he requested quietly, bending over a fuel consumption report with every appearance of concentration.  McCoy, who’d seen Jim sign those reports without even looking at them, figured he knew where the captain’s attentions lay.

 

“Of course, Jim.  Take your time.”

 

Jim started at the perfectly genteel neutrality in the doctor’s tone, shrugging off the urge to turn and look at him.  Right now, he wanted to know why Ysaulte sounded so surprised.

 

“Come because I want you, if you need a reason.”  This too was not less than the truth.  Jim wished his Lady present physically, just to see the fire of her mind reflecting in her eyes.

 

Ysaulte stopped in mid-sentence; for she, child of Za, had been cheerfully asking Spock if he was pre-cognitive, as he had not said he was not, only Vulcans generally.

 

“James.”

 

Spock perceived at once the reason for her sudden distraction, observing interestedly when the ZaworthIan blushed.  She regarded him steadily, and Spock rather thought she did not see him.  He watched her irises shift colors, intrigued by the restless variations in shade and hue, wondering why such an aesthetically pleasing characteristic was so rare within the known humanoid races… and wondering why he still felt what passed between Ysaulte and Jim.  She bore him no shielding, even knowing his acceptance.  Spock did not quite understand what that signified, if it signified anything.  He was at a loss to explain his senses.

 

“Art thou.”  Ysaulte shook her head, diverted by the Vulcan’s curiosity.  Funny.  She believed Spock could explain the workings of the galaxy, and that one asked.  “James wishes me on the bridge,” she informed him, and saw this was not news to the first officer.  “James, have you fully considered this?  Aside from Leonard’s presence, all would be witnessing this…  this thing of ours.”

 

Jim covered his grin with one hand but refused to let her sidetrack him with her peculiar humor.  He was beginning to learn how much she hid behind it, maybe because it was a trait they shared.  There was more to her reluctance than she admitted, even to herself.

 

“What difference would that make?  They all know anyway.  My crew knows me,” Jim answered patiently.

 

“What do you mean, they know?  How can they?  By what method of communication?”  Ysaulte asked cautiously, aware of an odd determination in his mind.  Jim sounded certain, but how could everyone be knowing this thing which she herself had only recently discovered?

 

“The ship’s grapevine, Ysaulte.”

 

“Grape vine?”  A moment of confusion, as the literal translation came to her mind.

 

“No.  Listen.”  Jim hadn’t intended to make it an order, but there it was.  He might as well burn a few more bridges.  He was beginning to sense how far Ysaulte’s psionic reach extended, and he wondered if that wasn’t a problem for her. 

        

"I know you can ‘hear’ things.  Voices.  My crew, my ship, the past.  Can you see the future, too?  Are you afraid of what you'll see now, if you look?”

 

Ysaulte flinched.  He struck a nerve, this one!  Recalling every Rihannsu curse she had ever heard, Ysaulte turned her back on the Vulcan, trying to spare him the sight of her anger.  Spock surprised her by taking her arm and steadying her lack of balance.

 

Jim handed the clipboard to the yeoman, no longer willing to keep up a pretense he was sure Bones saw through.  Besides, he needed the activity to cover the effects of Ysaulte’s irritated shock.

 

“Huh.  Friend thou art, Spock.”  The ZaworthIan reined in her aggravation, forced to confess she was mostly angry with herself.  It pained her to admit Jim saw her so much better than she.  “Never think to ask to whom command falls.  Here, his Lady Enterprise and all upon her turning to his whim.  His.  Do thou never doubt it.

 

“James, see thou too clearly.  Thy wish, then, that all see?  Legends hold in tales of bondmates standing together at centers of power…  thy bridge to thee, beloved, focus of thy will, and I am… afraid.  I find myself child too ch’Rihan, where different legends speak.”

 

“I want to hear those legends, Ysaulte.  Here, from your lips.  Maybe we’ll make our own.  How would it be done on Za?”

 

(The question won him a Circle of admirers, who had long wondered if Ysaulte would find a soulmate worthy of her.  They could not have chosen better, how astonishing…)

 

“As you have wished it, so should it be, of course.”  Ysaulte wanted to smile.  Impossible, to deny him.  “And if I see too much?”

 

“We’ll deal with it.  Do thou never doubt it,” Jim teased, rewarded by that miracle sense of her fading indecision.  He could almost taste her satisfaction with him, faith absolute in their commitment.

 

“Thou sorcerer Terran, we have an audience more broad, and not restricted to your ship.”

 

“I understand, my Lady Ysaulte.”  Jim’s surface formality rippled with exasperation.  “Stop dawdling.”

 

“Dawdling!  Just for that, I shall take my own sweet ambassadorial time, Captain.”

 

“Maybe I’ll come get you.”

 

“Then we shall surely fail to reach thy bridge.”

 

“Ysaulte!”

 

Laughter, always…

 

***

 

“Stop.”

 

Ysaulte looked up at the Vulcan’s even-voiced command, feeling the lift slow, then halt.  He had seen the wish forming in her mind, even before she.  Sah’des ka.

 

“Yes, I wish a moment.  I cannot explain.  It is more than reluctance to see Leonard, you know.”

 

“I know.”  Spock studied the ZaworthIan, aware of her unease beneath her practised surface calm.  “What do you believe will happen?”

 

“At the least, I shall embarrass him,” Ysaulte said glumly.  “At the most?”  She shrugged.  “Who knows?  I do not.”

 

“And your fear?”

 

“That it prove beyond my control.  What else?”  Ysaulte grinned at Spock, finding herself amused.  “It is a Rihannsu fear as well, a’he’Ra.”

 

“Indeed.”  Spock felt the corner of his mouth twitch, hearing her implication.  “Is it your opinion, Ambassador, the characteristic is genetic?”  He bade the lift resume over her chuckling.

 

“Friend you are, Spock,” she breathed in that instant before the doors opened onto the bridge.  Kind of him, to distract her.  “In one ear and out the other, neh?”

 

“Correct, Ysaulte,” Spock answered sotto voce as the lift released them.

 

Jim, alerted by her proximity, turned around so he could watch McCoy’s reaction when she stepped out before Spock…  but the captain found he could look no farther than his Lady.

 

The ambassador wore strength like a crown, halting in front of McCoy, posture regal with military precision.  Dressed black, making it neither too dramatic, nor somber…  Jim envisioned her as a field-general, inspecting the ranks, and held his breath.  She shot him a sideways glance, prompting a smile and a realization.  Jim didn’t have to worry about Ysaulte.

 

The pull of her Terran lover’s mind caught at Ysaulte, startling her anew with his imaginative, confident fire.  Her sword and her shield.  She forced her gaze off Jim, meeting Leonard’s icy blue eyes, and wished she could as easily read the emotions in the Healer’s single-hued irises.  No matter.  Before she could go to Jim, she first had a duty to perform.

 

With the extravagant humility of one who could afford it, Ysaulte threw off her unconscious arrogance (habit left over from her time on ch’Rihan), and bowed to the starship doctor.

 

“I beg thee, Leonard, please forgive my temper and my less than civil tongue.”

 

Palms up, head down… it was a gesture offering McCoy honor in any culture, although it particularly impressed Spock, Sulu, and Jim, who thought his CMO looked a little stunned.

 

Bones felt that bemusement common to people receiving apologies mere seconds before making their own, but he shook off his confusion and watched Ysaulte as she straightened.  He could not help but notice everything he’d overlooked this morning.  The ZaworthIan glowed with health, fully recovered, not even the shadow of a bruise to mar her fair complexion…  and her irises were brilliant with restored love of life.  Medical science hadn’t given her that, nor had her psionic healing.  He nodded, accepting what, or rather, who had.

 

“Of course I do, and I’m sorry too, Ysaulte.”  He said it, and meant it, and saw her eyes wash over blue.

 

The doctor extended his hand; after an imperceptible hesitation, Ysaulte let him take hers, over which McCoy bowed with his own inherent gentility.  She glanced in Spock’s direction, and Jim very clearly heard her unspoken ‘see there!’.  Apparently, the Vulcan did too, for he moved to his station as if nothing were out of the ordinary.

 

Jim started to rise, but Ysaulte asked him not to, her speaking voice husky.

 

“Stay seated, for this picture pleases me.  James T. Kirk, and his Enterprise, with crew of legend.”  She looked around, turning that mutable gaze on his officers, plainly approving what she saw.  “How is it said?  Something to tell my grandchildren?”

 

“And mine?”  Jim asked silently; shocking them both with his subtle, wistful hope, an unadmitted wish long and deeply buried.  Concealed, perhaps, from himself most of all, but no less real.

 

Their eyes met.  In Ysaulte’s, Jim could see the pure reflection of his dreams, deferred by intellect but not denied.

 

“Beloved.  As thou wish it,” Ysaulte promised, aware of nothing but him, his mind matching hers with grace and power.  She had that sense of forces shifting beyond her perception, patterns of power being redrawn… all visible in his variant hazel irises.

 

The ZaworthIan regarded Jim with an intensity that made Bones flush and wonder if she’d forgotten he still held her hand.

 

Deflected by the notion, Ysaulte paused to speak quietly to Leonard, not able to take her eyes off Jim.

 

“Leonard, do you finally see how it is?  We live between stars, he and I, outside time, with only a piece of it shared.  You think we test Fate, and maybe we do.  I do not fault you, nor find your fears without foundation.  Standing here, we test even Time.”  Ysaulte shook her head and decided she could offer no further explanation, not to the Healer, nor Spock, nor the rest of the bridge crew.  “James.”

 

“It will be all right, Ysaulte.”

 

Of course, she believed him, she thought doubtfully…  then saw him smile.  Ah, that wicked, sorcerer’s smile…

 

The captain held out his hand with a complete lack of self-consciousness, obviously waiting.  Those watching had long since passed surprise, still, everyone but Spock was taken aback when the ZaworthIan first paled, then blushed.  Uhura happened to have a direct line of sight as she left Spock’s station for her own.  She had to suppress a gasp as the alien woman’s irises flashed over amber__ oh, too short an instant, too quickly controlled, but not fast enough to keep Uhura from realizing what was happening.  Not just rumor, then.

 

Ysaulte heard the speculation.  Knowing she could not answer it, she did not try.  Removing her hand from Leonard’s, she took one step toward Jim then stopped, caught once more by hesitation.  The closer she came to him, the plainer those unseen energies became…  threatening to blind her to all but the sight beyond sight.

 

Jim sighed, understanding very well her wish to remain in control of her extended realities.  She clung to shielding with desperation less hidden than she supposed.

 

“Is it?”  Ysaulte asked, unsurprised.  “I hide little from thee, but I had thought__”

 

“__to keep it from everyone else.”  Jim finished for her.  “Not here.  Not this crew.”

 

He pulled his eyes off Ysaulte’s swirling, rainbow gaze, disturbed to find he was losing patience, and not sure why…  except this was some kind of turning point, and could not be avoided.

 

“Say thou I am without choice?”  She wondered quietly, following her Terran’s reasoning, even feeling his subconscious search for an argument he could use to convince her to drop her mental barriers and take his hand.

 

“Aren’t you?”

 

The entire bridge crew waited for the ZaworthIan’s response to their captain’s question. While they were uncertain of the ins and outs of the situation, they all recognized a significance to this tableau.

 

“Are you shy, Lady Ysaulte?”  Jim prodded, bringing his officers’ interest to her attention.  She was standing, as his great-grandmother used to say, ‘at the corner of walk and don’t walk’.  If she was to be persuaded, it had to be now.

 

“This crew has seen a lot of strange things, mostly from each other and from me.  They’ll handle whatever happens here, Ysaulte.  Whatever you ‘see’,” he promised her out loud.

 

Jim’s words made Ysaulte feel… undone.  Behind his tone of wry acceptance lay his faith in his people and in her.  Ysaulte felt humbled by his equanimity, longing to share it.

 

“Don’t be afraid.” Jim urged, mindful of the fact he was risking Ysaulte’s temper by his exposure of her emotions.  Her fleeting irritation served to distract her, the reaction for which he’d hoped.  It gave him a chance to see through to the varieties of her concerns: one being worry that his regard for her might suffer should she prove incapable of managing the widening dimensions of perception.

 

“You don’t really think I could lose respect for you,” Jim said, fixing his gaze on his Lady’s brilliant eyes.  “Wasn’t that supposed to happen this morning?”

 

His grin disarmed Ysaulte, an effect amplified by the amusement coming from the Terrans among their audience who caught his reference.

 

“That will never happen, my Lady Ysaulte,” he swore in that voice she understood best, proving his sincerity.

 

Ysaulte took another step toward him then paused again, near enough to touch if Jim reached…  he watched her irises wash through a spectrum of blues, recognizing the visible evidence of her devotion.

 

“What you ‘see’ you see because of us, because of our bond.  Are you__ are we really more perceptive now, or do we create our own reality?”

 

Ysaulte made a conscious effort to close her mouth, laughing inside with amazed surrender.  Her Terran was a warlock Lord, for fair!

 

“Ah, James.  What the hell.”

 

He chuckled at her use of the idiom, smiling with her as she crossed the final step to stand at his left, next to his heart, and rest her palm against his.

 

Fingers laced in such a telling display several people had to look away or risk blushes of their own.  Spock, of course, was not among them.  The Vulcan observed to see if Ysaulte’s apprehensions had been justified.  It made him almost the first to suspect, perhaps they were.

 

Ysaulte trembled, her free hand hovering over the arm of Jim’s command chair.  She felt in need of support, yet all her wariness returned at being measured in the focus of so much will.  She gasped audibly as Jim put her hand down and covered it.  Time rippled and wavered, the effect oddly familiar with its echoes of temporal displacement.  What was…  what was to come…  the past screaming in whispers, deafening…  the future blinding.

 

Linear memory disappeared, leaving all time a whirlpool in which she was caught.  Everything divided after Terran fashion.  Success, or failure.  Peace, or war.  Good, or evil.  Life, or death.

 

Voices spoken/silenced… fragments vanishing like debris sucked into the event horizon of a dying star.  Matter dissolved in ever-increasing circles of light, a storm breaking; time gone, come back, then gone again in giant waves of psionic energy.  Ysaulte saw eternity, then saw nothing…  and still voices were crying out words she had to hear, called to witness.

 

“You Klingon bastard, you killed__”  No!  Ysaulte blocked those words, refusing to permit them.  She had no wish for fortunetelling, in truth! but the whirlpool was upon her and the best she could do was keep it from Jim.

 

“Denevan, pull up!  You’re on a collision course__”  “Describe what steps you took to find Officer Finney__”  “Status!”  “Damage control parties, this is the captain__”  “You keep right on quoting regulations.”  “Oh brave new world, that boasts such beauty in it!”  “Where’s Spock!  Saavik?”   “I’m with you, Jim.  She awed me__”  “I’ll keep on searching, by candlelight, if I have to!”  “Destruct sequence three, code One Bee, Two Bee, Three…”

 

So much!  Too much!

 

Jim shut his eyes, gripping Ysaulte’s hands as the only stable things in suddenly unstable surroundings.  He could feel the struggle within her, and concentrated on what his sight, hearing, and touch reported.  The physical world solidified with that, all the sounds right.  Spock’s computer with its peeps and chirps, Uhura’s console thrumming, impulse engines at their mostly imperceptible hum.

 

Ysaulte suspended her thoughts, pushing Jim out of them and preparing to ‘jump’.

 

Jim opened his eyes and left his chair in a bound, swinging around to catch Ysaulte as she went to her knees.  He felt her consciousness recede, realizing only then he’d witnessed just a reflection of whatever she’d seen.  Despite their bond, or because of it, she’d sheltered him.

 

Jim swayed dizzily as his mind disconnected in that dreamy, distant manner the heart provides as a refuge against pain.

 

"Ysaulte, wait!”  Too late, she was ‘gone’ somehow and preventing him from following.  Bones was there, kneeling beside him with feinberger in hand.  Jim wondered absently why McCoy had brought the thing to the bridge, and decided the doctor must have expected a problem.  Sucking in his breath, Jim forced himself to remain aware, holding Ysaulte against him.

 

“Jim, do you know what this is?”  McCoy asked quietly, unable to find any abnormalities in the ambassador’s readings.

 

“She’s…  oh, God, I can’t explain this,” Jim muttered, shuddering at her absence in his thoughts, the emptiness appalling.  He barely knew what Ysaulte had done, and understood less why.

 

“I am not Deity, but perhaps I can,” and Spock was there, waiting for Jim’s nod before placing his fingertips against the ZaworthIan’s face.  His other hand went to Jim’s shoulder, steadying his friend both by his touch and his quicksilver will.

 

The Vulcan moved his fingers, examining Ysaulte’s elegant bone structure for the pressure points familiar to his own psionic capability.  At the same time, he admitted a certain compassion for Jim’s pain, the hurt so raw from separation.  Following the Lady’s neural pathways, which still bore evidence of their own earlier link, Spock reached into her thoughts and confirmed a suspicion.

 

“It was not what she saw that so unnerved her, Jim, nor was her action one of panic.  Ysaulte removed her consciousness from her body in order to shield you.”

 

Spock noted Jim’s iron self-control, clamped around his seething human emotions, conquering pain, guilt, and that overwhelming source of loss.  He handled it better than a Vulcan would have, Spock judged with faint pride, just as impressed with Ysaulte.  The ZaworthIan would have found it very difficult to inhibit Jim’s perception.

 

“Why did she think she had to, Spock?”  Jim asked calmly enough.

 

“You may question her motives later, Jim, but I am sure Ysaulte had a valid reason.”

 

“Valid for her, probably.”  Jim agreed grimly.  “So, we wait.”

 

Before Spock could answer, Sulu’s excited voice broke in.

 

“Captain!  We’re picking up neutrino emissions accompanied by a negative sensor echo at nine nine four mark one one three.  Possible cloaked Romulan warbird, Sir!”

 

End Chapter Eight