Chapter Nine

 

“Damn it!  tr’Ahkennsai?”

 

“Unknown,” Spock said shortly, freeing his mind with deliberate haste and moving cat-quick to his science station.  “Scanning.”

 

“Jim, let me take her to__”

 

"Wait, Bones.  I’ve got a hunch.”

 

“Oh, hell.”

 

Jim wrapped his fingers around Ysaulte’s throat, calling in thought with full force of mind, believing whole-heartedly his Lady would hear him.

 

“I need you here, Ysaulte.  The Romulans are back.”

 

He was right, of course.  Ysaulte’s consciousness returned with a rush, blasting into his focused attention as immediate as a red alert.

 

“James.  Marlak?  Where?”

 

“Ysaulte, what happened?  Are you all right?”

 

“Well enough, so later for this!”  Ysaulte got to her feet, waving Bones off and motioning Jim back into his seat with the same movement.

 

“I shall tell you, just not now,” and her promise was above suspicion.  Jim reluctantly yielded to her wishes and sat, trying to take comfort in the doctor’s close observation.  If she collapsed again…

 

“I won't.  Have you no faith?”  She teased absently while she mentally trolled for some sense of the still invisible warbird.

 

“James.  Ask Pavel to target phasers at coordinates nine four four mark seven three two mark one one eight,” Ysaulte said into his mind, and Jim did so with no little curiosity.  The Lady had something up her sleeve.

 

“Sensors to those coordinates, Mister Spock.”

 

“Affirmative.”

 

“Hello,” Ysaulte whispered, as on the main viewscreen the stars shimmered and a warbird uncloaked.

 

“Are they going to fire?”  McCoy inquired evenly behind her.

 

“Oh, no, Leonard.”  Ysaulte shook her head and looked over toward Spock in time to see the science officer’s eyebrow go up.

 

“Confirmed.  The warbird has not powered weapons systems,” Spock answered in emotionless tones, inwardly very relieved by the ZaworthIan’s impudent grin.

 

"The warbird is hailing us, Captain,” Uhura reported, and Ysaulte cleared her throat rather obviously.

 

“Senator tr’Ahkennsai wishes to speak to Ambassador d’Aeviane.”

 

“No doubt he does,” Ysaulte puffed out a breath that managed to convey resigned irritation.

 

“The choice is yours, Ambassador,” Jim reminded her quietly.

 

“Yes, well.  Are you prepared to risk further embarrassment?  The one knows no tact, and will surely test our tempers.”

 

“I’d like to hear what he wants.”

 

“Then of course, we will.  A moment, Lieutenant Uhura, please.”

 

Ysaulte smoothed her hair, straightened her spine, and took on her own cloak of Rihannsu arrogance…  suitably placed, Jim thought, and wiped the grin off his face.

 

Ysaulte nodded at Uhura.  She was ready, irises gone black.  The viewscreen’s picture dissolved, reforming to portray Senator tr’Ahkennsai.  He sat alone, in what looked like private quarters, which did not lessen his air of hauteur.

 

True to form, herself, Ysaulte held silent and forced Marlak to speak first.  Jim applauded the stratagem.

 

“I hoped to catch you unawares, Aesaulte’h,” the Senator admitted with no apology.  “You will forgive my disappointment.”

 

tr’Ahkennsai arched one brow, prompting a few of the bridge officers to glance from the viewscreen toward Spock, then back to watch the Senator continue.

 

“I come to take my leave of you.  The Senate convenes…  and this quadrant of space has become… close.”

 

“What of Etumuuyea?”  Ysaulte asked the logical question.  Jim wished he could say it had occurred to him.

 

“Etumuuyea.  Do not think the Empire will so easily surrender it.  The Fleet approaches, Aesaulte’h.”

 

“Why tell me this?”  She wondered, genuinely surprised.

 

“You will know it soon enough.  It is part of a larger puzzle.  Maybe I tell you because I find your surprise… intriguing.”  Marlak smiled, all teeth and predatory.  “Maybe I have other reasons.”       Ysaulte made a noise in her throat, and the Rihannsu chuckled.  “Ah.  Aesaulte’h.  You know me so well.  I should have killed you when I had the first opportunity.  I confess, I have mishandled you from the very beginning.  Do you realize, I have not had a decent night’s sleep since I had you?”

 

Jim flinched involuntarily, gut clenching with sudden blistering rage, and Ysaulte rested one hand on his shoulder.  The Senator regarded them with narrowed eyes while Jim mastered his angry reaction.

 

“There you stand, next to your starship captain.  Who could know?  You should not align yourself with Terrans and Vulcans.  You could remake the Empire at my side.”  This time, the innuendo failed to provoke.

 

“Are you mad, Marlak?”  Ysaulte actually laughed.  “Me, with you?”

 

“Perhaps I am mad, Aesaulte’h,” tr’Ahkennsai agreed.  “The lack of sleep does tell.  When I close my eyes, I suffer the most appalling nightmares.  Mark this, a Rihannsu Senator speaking of dreams.  Perhaps I am mad.  Are you?”  Marlak inspected his fingernails, then looked back at Ysaulte with a mocking smile.  “The last time we met, in Ryu Gnaur’s dungeon, I thought you were going to kill me.  You were close to insane, and I was, once again, close to success.  It seems I owe brave Captain Kirk my life.” 

 

The Senator bowed his head, all sardonic tribute. 

 

“As for Tama, that arose by purest chance.”

 

“Chance?”

 

“I must say so.  I did not set out to ‘gaslight’ the e’Negah.”  The Romulan raised his eyebrow as if daring Jim to comment on his knowledge of Standard, but Jim had a grip on himself and let it pass.  Ysaulte, however, could not.

 

“How then was her madness induced?”

 

“Funny you should ask.  I made love to the lady, Aesaulte’h, and it gave her nightmares.  My nightmares.”  Marlak’s eyes grew cold.  “You induced it, Sister.”

 

Jim reached for Ysaulte, too late.  She slipped past him and stalked onto the foredeck, glaring at the Senator like she wanted to reach through the screen for his throat.  Marlak paled visibly.  Jim couldn’t say as he blamed him.  The ZaworthIan presented a formidable sight, fury rolling off her in waves, sparks practically flying from her fingertips.

 

“Thou dare?  Thou dare blame me?”  Ysaulte lifted one hand and pointed it at tr’Ahkennsai, and Jim saw something like heat shimmer before her fingertips.  “Presumes the one, but credit I shall claim.  It does seem just reward that you should sicken every woman you touch!”

 

“Just?  Just the sort of behavior I expected from a ZaworthIan witch.  Of course, it pleases you to think you have ruined me for other women, Aesaulte’h.  Why don’t you come to me?  I might be merciful and let you enjoy it this time!”

 

“Sas’heeitch’ma!  tr’Ahkennsai, you go too far!”

 

Jim winced, half expecting to see a hole blown through the viewscreen.  Ysaulte’s wrath pulsed though them both.  Marlak had finally gotten under her skin, and Jim felt the sharp rise in her blood pressure so plainly he was afraid for her life.  He couldn’t afford to share her wild anger, couldn’t even afford his own.  Doing so would shatter the thin veneer of control his Lady possessed, and Jim was beginning to appreciate the extent of her Talent.

 

Leaning forward, Jim addressed a question to his weapons officer; voice just loud enough to be overheard.

 

“Mister Chekov, do we still have phaser lock on the warbird?”

 

“Affirmative, Sair!”

 

“Captain Kirk.”  Marlak pretended hurt, without quite concealing pretended calm.  “You would not fire?”

         

“I would,” Ysaulte muttered, but her temper wavered, for her lightning force of will was grounded now, directed.  Her sense of her Terran shas lent her balance and focus.  She took a breath, and then another, openly willing herself tranquility.

         

Jim and Marlak recognized the effort, respectively relieved when Ysaulte clasped her hands behind her back to stand at ease.

         

“Methinks you owe Captain Kirk yet again, Rihannsu.”

         

“Terrans are predictably pacifistic.”

         

Silence between the cousins and long, while both regarded alien blood kin, both bearing the other’s scrutiny with well-played indifference…  and it was Marlak who looked away first, shaking his head.

         

“No curse save my own guilt.  A novel concept.”

         

“Not so novel among more civilized philosophies, Rihannsu,” Ysaulte retorted sarcastically.

         

“Senator, what do you want?”  Jim asked before another argument ensued.  “You do have something else to say.”

         

“Perceptive, for a Terran.  Aesaulte’h, you have failed to fully appreciate my news.  An inquiry, Esteemed Lady.  Have you really forgotten who commands the Fleet?”

         

“Oh, no,” Ysaulte whispered, too stricken to maintain her semi-serene façade.

         

“Oh, yes.”  Marlak grinned with genuine amusement, satisfied with the effect of his words.  “I do wish I could be here to see it.  His wish, dear Aesaulte’h, to meet you.”

         

“You’re joking,” Jim said in that tone which translates as “God, I hope you’re joking”.

         

“No.  Apologies, Captain.  I am near to feeling sympathy.  Oh, and Fortune’s favor, Aesaulte’h.  Fare well, while you can.  Perhaps you owe me.”

         

The viewscreen went black, then the warbird reappeared, only to vanish into the cloaking device.

         

“He leaves for the Neutral Zone,” Ysaulte reported quietly, rubbing her eyes.  “Someone please tell me I heard other than what my ears insist.”

         

“I wish I could,” Jim said, and watched the light dawn for his chief surgeon and his first officer.

         

“t’Motei tr’Arriellus, Supreme Commander of the Rihannsu Fleet… and your grandfather,” Spock concluded for them all.

         

“Jesus H. Christ!”  Bones whistled.

         

“Hardly, Doctor__”

         

“More like the devil himself, I should think.”  Ysaulte corrected over Spock’s automatic protest.  “tr’Arriellus, he of legend, here.  If we credit Marlak, he comes not just to dispute system Etumuuyea, but to see me.  Child of his child…”

         

“…flesh of his flesh, bone of his bone,” Jim murmured, and Ysaulte turned from the viewscreen to meet his gaze.

         

“Permission to faint, Sir?”  She joked weakly, fighting an instant’s panicked breathlessness.

         

“Denied, Ambassador,” Jim smiled into her eyes, watching the confusion wash from her irises.  Their colors shifted blue, that confident pellucid blue which was almost his favorite.

         

“I guess that explains why Tama was so afraid Ryu Gnaur would find out Marlak was behind her illness,” Bones remarked, moving to stand nearer the ZaworthIan.  Ysaulte’s pallor had alarmed him for the moment it took to brighten to a blush, reminding the doctor of the magnitude of Jim’s influence over her.  Another aspect he’d let himself overlook.

         

“Quite so, Leonard,” Ysaulte said, leaving McCoy to wonder if she answered words or thoughts.

         

“Ysaulte, you can tell where the Fleet is, can’t you?”

         

“As you wish.”

         

“Hold it!”  McCoy put up one hand.  “As your doctor, Ambassador, I have to point out, you’ve just been handed a considerable shock, on top of several other traumas.  This results in a lot of cumulative stress.  Before you do anything that might produce a… mental strain, you need some rest.”

         

“Thank you for your concern, my Healing Brother__  (“Aha!  I’ve been reinstated,” Bones thought.)  __but I promise you, I am well.”

         

“What you are, Healing Sister, is stubborn.  Stubborn as a Georgia mule.”

         

This time, Ysaulte could see the teasing laughter in his single-hued irises.

         

“Mister Spock.  Is that an appropriate metaphor?”

         

“I would say it is a case of ‘the pot calling the kettle black’.”

         

This rather astonishing reply provoked widespread chuckling.

         

“Et Tu, Spock?”  The ZaworthIan asked without hiding her laughter, her eyes gone brilliant green.

         

“Desipere in loco, amica.”

         

McCoy knew enough Latin to turn and stare at the Vulcan, which was all it took to break Jim up.  The atmosphere relaxed, something badly needed by the volatile Lady Ambassador, whether she realized it or not.  Jim had no doubt but what Spock and Bones had seen it… and seen to it.

         

“No doubt, a’shas.”

         

Ysaulte’s unspoken voice in his mind, untarnished and undilute, reinforcing for Jim how clearly she saw him.  Keeping his gaze on her turquoise irises, he held out his hand; she came to him without hesitation.

         

“Are you all right?”  Her fingers were colder than his.

         

“I swear it, my Lord, on mine oath,” Ysaulte answered silently, her gaze steady.  It was only just becoming apparent to her how upset he was, a discovery which startled her into reassuring him.  “I am unharmed, and I treasure thee for defending and supporting me.”

         

“As I treasure you, my Lady fair,” Jim promised into her mind.  He felt a question come to her, but she earmarked it with a mental ‘later’ tag and shelved it past his immediate reach.

         

She closed her eyes for a moment and he felt that odd ‘push’ of thought.

         

“The Fleet has scarce cleared system Eisn.  So say my Sisters.”

         

Jim blinked as Ysaulte cocked one elegant eyebrow in his direction.

         

“I believe I shall speak freely here, as I would among my own,” she told him, wondering if her Terran lover could appreciate the implications in that.  Jim did that, and more, as always.  Bringing her hand to his mouth, he brushed his lips over her knuckles.

         

“Ysaulte.  Thank you,” Jim said, and watched those irises lighten to the color he loved best.

         

“I am well blessed in thee,” Ysaulte whispered to him.  “I am indebted.”

         

“No you’re not,” Jim informed her quickly, wincing as he remembered the Romulan Senator telling Ysaulte who she owed.  Lifting one hand to her face, Jim made his words an order.  “No debt.  Not here.  Never here.  Do you understand?”

         

“I… begin to.  Your crew is loyal to you, and does not offer favors… more, extending a privilege.”  Ysaulte shrugged.  “I cannot explain it save by mind, beloved.  What would you have me say?”

         

Jim’s lips twitched at her casual use of the endearment, aware without looking that Spock and Bones had exchanged another one of those high-eyebrow glances.  Well, Ysaulte had said she was going to speak freely, and he was willing to put up with some minor embarrassment if it would make things easier for her.  He still worried he had pushed her too far, too fast… and now he had a reason to measure the passage of time, something to measure against.  His gut was telling him they were being set up, but on how many levels?  For tr’Arriellus to bring the entire Romulan Fleet to Etumuuyea and start a war…  it didn’t make much sense.

         

“Do you believe his motives are personal?”  Ysaulte asked Jim, following the workings of his mind.

         

“I don’t know if I can separate his motives, Ysaulte.  Does he really hope to see his son through you?  Does he see some way to get revenge, or does he really just want to meet you?  Why bring the entire Fleet?”

         

“The reasons exist, whether we see them or not…  but I wonder if the current situation was manufactured somehow.”

         

“Then there’s something we have to do.  Something only we can do,” Jim extrapolated.

         

“That smacks of myth,” Ysaulte said, wanting to disagree with his intuitive leap of theory, but she could offer only token protest.  “Are you saying we are bound to this duty?  A geas laid upon us?”

         

“No__  I don’t know.  What’s a ‘geas’?”

         

“A geas is a psychic compulsion to perform a task.  It is usually telepathically induced.  The compulsion becomes increasingly stronger until the task is performed.  A geas, in the vernacular, is believed to be a curse laid by witchcraft.”

         

“Thank you, Mister Spock.”

         

“Witchcraft!  I should have known.   I thought the Rihannsu were superstitious folk, yet you rival them in this.  Huh!”  Ysaulte snorted indelicately.

         

“Don’t kill the messenger, Ambassador,” Jim ordered with some amusement.

         

“Indeed.  I apologize, Spock.”

         

“Accepted, Ysaulte.”

         

This drew another round of raised eyebrows, and a moment of silence that Bones felt the most qualified to break.

         

“Ah, you know, Jim, there’s a few people here who haven’t been, uh, formally introduced to the Ambassador.”

         

Ysaulte had to laugh.  It pealed out of her, and she was too full of the joy Jim brought her to care.  So extraordinary, these children of Enterprise!

         

For a synapse’s electric microsecond she hugged to herself a piece of knowledge retained from her earlier blackout: Jim would not meet death on this ship.  Carefully blanking over the precognitive glimpses, Ysaulte dismissed the subliminal shiver testing the fringes of her perceptions as they regarded Spock.  What she felt there was not death, exactly.  Not an ending, not forever…

         

Sobered enough by that thought to speak, the ZaworthIan still could not rid her voice of a husky, hinted chuckle.

         

“An appalling lack of manners on my part.  What else can one expect of an ambassador?”   Those people who remembered Robert Fox had to hide their own smiles, while Ysaulte surveyed the bridge crew, each fully as worthy in spirit as her bondmate within the sight of her inner vision.  “Forgive me for teasing, but I feel I know them, Leonard.  Mister Chekov I have met, how are you, Pavel?”

 

“Quite well, Lady.  Think you.”

 

“Hikaru Sulu, helmsman…  your name is known throughout the galaxy, Mister Sulu,” Ysaulte informed the young man with a grin, and watched him blush, before she turned to admire the dark beauty of Uhura.

 

“Nyota Uhura, communications.  Your bones speak of royalty, Sister.  Are your people from the ancestry of your world?”

 

“Very near, Ambassador.”

 

“Please.  Ysaulte.”  She grimaced.  “As ambassador, it is my wish that you relay the Senator’s information.  The Fleet of the Twin Worlds comes.  Star Fleet must be told.”

 

Jim added his nod, Ysaulte noted without resentment.  His ship.

         

“Encrypt the transmission and send it to Admiral Zeitsev, Uhura.  He’s got enough clout to do something before the Romulans decode it.”

         

“Captain, there are no other ships in this quadrant near enough to assist.  By the time help arrives from Star Fleet__”

         

“It’ll all be over and done with.  Yeah, Spock.  Well, somebody’s got to come pick up the pieces.”  Bones coughed.  “You know what I mean, don’t you, Ysaulte?”

         

“Indeed, Leonard, I do.”  Ysaulte sighed.  “Again, I shall tell it to you.  Please, hear me this time.  On my oath, you are not in danger of your life from the Empire.  Not you, not Spock, not any here among the crew, and never James.  I remind you, my Sisters watch.  The Rihannsu, even though they bring their entire fleet, cannot touch Enterprise while I am among you…  and there is one more thing you should know.  You should all know.”

 

Her spine stiffened with something more than pride.  Jim felt her force of will palpably surround her; bonded ZaworthIan Sister.      

                  

           “Make no mistake, in this Marlak spoke truth.  It is within my Talent to rain curses against an enemy, curses lasting a thousand Standard years.  Should the Empire injure any one among thee, I shall call storms.”

 

The promise in her words echoed inside ears, as well as ringing outside.  That the oath carried psionically was immediately realized, even by the mind blind.  The Lady called for witness, a galaxy to listen.

         

“You're telling me a single starship is going to be safe from a whole fleet of Romulan warbirds.”  Not that he was skeptical, Bones thought, but he did want to see a little flesh on this explanation.

         

“For you, Leonard, only for you,” Ysaulte muttered to herself, ignoring Jim’s snickering.  She was surprised into laughter herself by Spock.  The first officer placed one long finger against his ear and slanted a single ‘brow.  She took his meaning.

 

“I am telling you, Leonard, that bound to me, James counts as a child of Za, as do you, Spock, Montgomery, and everyone on this ship.  If you will recall, I named you so.  ‘Kha’el du’Mes Ilya’ar sha’deh’, belonging to the Sisters and under our protection.  No matter the circumstances, this does not change while James and I are bondmates.

 

Ah, plain speaking indeed! Ysaulte decided it was rather liberating.

 

“If the Romulan Fleet is only now leaving their home system, we still have time to beam down to Muuye and go through those caves, don’t we?”  Jim asked, provoking pained groans from both the doctor and Ysaulte.

 

“James, you are adding to my stress level,” Ysaulte warned, only half in jest.  “Do you think we must?”

 

“It…  feels right, Ysaulte.”

 

“You live by your nerve endings,” she told him with a half smile.

 

“Damn it, Spock.  You’ve brainwashed the woman already,” Bones griped, wishing he could change the subject from those blasted caves.

 

“Really, Doctor.”

 

Jim drew Ysaulte nearer and mentally ordered her to relax.  She leaned against the arm of his command chair and watched the stars shining behind distant Muuye, allowing the eternal revolutions of the planet to idle her mind.  Ysaulte had never considered herself particularly high strung, but she was too honest not to admit she was a bit overstressed.

 

Jim sensed her thoughts distancing in meditative exercise, careful to leave his Lady her space. It seemed to him their subconscious resonance was becoming both stronger and more finely tuned…  or maybe he was getting used to it?  No.  He could never get used to the fire of her mind, unguarded.

 

As if summoned, Ysaulte’s thoughts were with him, within him, as the Lady sought balance, finding it in him best of all.

 

“Thou, my most well-beloved one, a’Tohr James.  Kha’el du Iljha, kha’el jez’re, kha’el__”

 

“__shas du’lanh, a’Tohrza Ysaulte.  We can make time enough and all.”

 

Bones and Spock observed interestedly as the ZaworthIan blushed.  Spock was only a little surprised when she looked up at him.

 

“Commander Spock.  Estimated time of arrival of the Romulan Fleet, based on your projections regarding their best speed and approach.”

 

Ysaulte made the request with serene indifference, deciding her shas was quite right, and the only person to whom she might reasonable defer.  Everything else, everybody else came secondary.  Including the Fleet.  Including the very march of time.

 

Spock calculated, considered, and stared into those ZaworthIan eyes as they shifted and swirled through a spectrum of colors.

 

“Twenty seven point six two four Standard hours.”

 

“When do we leave?”  Ysaulte asked Jim wryly.

 

“Soon.  We aren’t going to hurry, geas or no geas.”  Jim put one hand to her cheek, turning her to face him.  “Weren’t you going to tell me a story?  A tale of legend?”

 

“James, you have the gift of the here and now, with an historian’s curiosity.  A powerful mixture,” Ysaulte told him, loving him very much.  She twined her fingers in his, idly musing on what lovely hands the one possessed.  “What manner of tale wouldst thou hear, a’Tohr?”

 

Jim flushed; he couldn’t help it.  The reaction produced grins all around, with even Spock allowing an almost-smile.  His Lady apologized in silence, admitting their audience forgotten… a lapse they shared.  Lifting Ysaulte’s fingers to his lips, Jim watched her irises lighten.

 

“Tell me a story about…  Tohrzas, and Tohrs, please,” he requested with all the solemnity of a small child begging bedtime tales.  Ysaulte found herself grinning at Nyota in amused understanding, then her interest was caught by her beloved’s wish to learn. 

 

It was his right to know his adoptive world, yes.

 

Giving in to her own juvenile side, Ysaulte sent a mental ‘see there’ to her Sisters as well, unbearably pleased with her Terran.

 

“Then I shall.  This is legend, and true.  Lessons from time ago, many more turns past for ZaworthIa.  Even for us, this is ancient history.  Long before space travel, even before Za was united as one.  In those times, the Talent was not so controlled as it is now.  Magicians ruled, and warlocks, beside the sorceress and witch…  and as ever was, with men involved__”  Ysaulte smirked  “__there was much violence and illogic in the land.”

 

Jim rolled his eyes, playing off her teasing chauvinism.

 

“Limit the editorializing, Ysaulte.”

 

“Huh.  Who tells the tale?”  The Lady cleared her throat, bowed her head, and chose her story.

 

"Time was young, when there lived a wizard-king who held great power, the Tohr Thanasios.  His kingdom was Nahele.

 

“The Tohr was not an unkind man, yet he was forced to rule with iron will, for his people were ever rebellious and his lands the subject of much dispute.  Wise in some things, the Tohr knew that was he bonded, heart-called, his task would become that much easier… but for all it existed then much more commonly than now, there is this about the link of hearts.  It blooms not a flower to be plucked.  Rather, it is lightning, waiting to strike.

 

“Long seasons passed in which the Tohr held uneasy sway, all the while searching for the one, his bond-companion…  searching, until Nahele was plunged into war, fighting invaders from beyond the Wabani hills.

 

“Under war, Nahele became one, as the Tohr had hoped, but times were bad, and living hard.  Many, many gave their energies into the All.  Homes defended at cost, and the fighting went on.”  Ysaulte sighed with compassion for the lives long lost and destroyed.

 

“At length, the Tohr, unable to witness another death among his people, sent word to the leader of the invaders.  They would meet, Thanasios willing to discuss terms, riven though his heart was at the prospect.  Belief was such to say the Tohr had hopes of overcoming his enemy by psionic means.  Whatever his motive, the commander of the invading force agreed to meet the Tohr, alone on the battlefield of Asar, in a tent raised between the opposing armies.

 

“Of course, the Tohr’s advisers begged the one to alter his course, and make you no doubt, so did the enemy commander’s beg of her__”

 

“’Her’?”  Jim pounced on the word with a groan.

 

“You are perceptive, beloved.”  Ysaulte nodded.  “The Tohrza Yutkiye t’Zoheret, sorceress of might.

 

“Met she the Tohr, and they two knowing in an instant what they shared alone in that tent.  They were caught out of time, yet Yutkiye and Thanasios could not help but reach for their mutual bondage, though the Tohrza knew was fated to end in disaster, for she held sight beyond sight.  She could not resist Thanasios, however, any more than I you.

 

“Three days, three nights, Yutkiye and Thanasios stayed together on the pretext of hammering out an agreement, while the unrest grew in their armies.  The war-generals of each army accused the others’ of ensorcelling their liege… close enough to the truth…  and the war-generals stomped about impatiently, afraid of the truce as war-generals often are.  Please understand, they were not to be faulted.  They had no way of knowing the truth, and no way to believe it.

 

“Among the army of Thanasios, decision was made.  The Tohr would be assassinated.  After all, the one was ever unpopular, and now evidenced traitor, so they thought.  As for the Tohrza, she had foreseen this and was disheartened.  Even as the life of Thanasios was threatened, so was her own, her own war-generals reaching like conclusions, and in many ways correct.

 

“Envision, the Tohr and Tohrza left outside their bond-bright island; Yutkiye and Thanasios seeking shelter from the surrounding seas of blood and death.  Yutkiye lost all desire for invasion… but how to tell it to her army, when they held victory in their hands?  And Thanasios, who was ever a dreamer, thought to offer her his lands would she rule it as his Tohrza.  His basic fault as a leader was his inability to truly understand his people, for the Nahelea would have fought for season upon season rather than share their earth with Yutkiye or her people voluntarily.  Too much blood shed, too much hate.  All this in Yutkiye’s vision, and the Tohrza sorrowed bitterly.

 

“Called the one her war-generals, the Tohr calling his as well, at the dawn of the fourth day.  Yutkiye, sorceress of Talent, surrendered place, position, patrimony… ceding all to beg for the life of Thanasios, and making no case for her own.

 

“Make you no mistake, was within Yutkiye’s power to destroy them all, but she had seen too much of death and could not harm the war-generals.  Hers had served her long and well, and were friends, as much as any leader has.  Sorrowed too the war-generals, seeing in her behavior the truth of their suspicions.

 

“The war-generals agreed to spare Thanasios on one condition.  The ties twixt enemies must be riven: voluntary sundering of bondage.  In my mother’s tongue, ‘tchen’hath sheres.”

 

“Literally translated as ‘breaking wishes’,” Jim said gently.

 

“Indeed.”  Ysaulte was helpless to prevent a shiver.  “Breaking wishes.  Would Yutkiye consent to this, her war-generals would spare the life of Thanasios, although he would be Tohr no longer.  His army made that condition.  And the war, with the Tohrza dead, and the Tohr exiled, would finish itself without sorcery, as wars should.”

 

“I don’t understand how Thanasios could agree to this,” Jim interrupted, as caught up in the story as if it had happened yesterday, instead of countless thousands of years ago.  His officers were no less fascinated.

 

“Yutkiye gave the one no choice.  She altered his thoughts__ yes, this she could do, beloved.”

 

“So Yutkiye redacted his mind, so Thanasios could not disagree.”

 

“To ensure his continued existence, this she did, which is the first step toward tchen’hath sheres.”

 

“What happened next?”  Bones asked impatiently, and Ysaulte hid a grin that her lover felt.

 

“Yutkiye begged her generals to take Thanasios into her homeland, and to this they agreed, for they were not unsympathetic.  Even then, tchen’hath sheres rarely seen, and the Tohrza’s generals sorrowed as they asked it of her.  The Tohr’s men also agreed, for they really had no wish to see him dead, for all they despised what they saw as his weakness.

 

“Arrangements made, stage set.  Yutkiye prepared Thanasios then broke their bond… and broke her heart.  Thanasios knew nothing of any loss, for the Tohrza removed that knowledge from his mind, but she herself stood desolate, in tears.

 

“Yutkiye watched her war-generals leave, taking with the once-Tohr, then asked for sufficient time to make her own way into the All.  The Tohrza knew the Nahelea could not put her to death without endangering their own lives, although they understood this not.”

 

Ysaulte took a deep breath.  She was coming to the point in this narrative that she was sure would horrify her Terran audience.

 

“Crying, Yutkiye allowed herself to be dragged into the noon-sun by the Nahelea officers.  Our sun, aShaiLan, was shining hot that day, mighty in his radiance, with no wind nor shade of cloud to relieve his glare…  yet still, the dirt was chilled with the dampness of blood.  Death held sway, that darkest of magicians.  In the distance, Yutkiye could see Thanasios wending his way through her troops… and Thanasios never looked back.

 

“The Nahelea tied Yutkiye to a stake in the battlefield between the armies, where she could not help but become a casualty once hostilities resumed.”

 

“Good Lord, Ysaulte,” the doctor interjected, but Jim waved him down.

 

“Go on, please.”

 

“Yutkiye wept, staked and without time to prepare her path, for her own army was fast approaching, intoxicated with victory.  So the Tohrza left her body and took her spirit refuge in the All.  When the battles ended, the one returned to claim her flesh, but she could not find it, for it had been hacked to bits in the fighting.

 

“Soulsick, Yutkiye appealed to this our moonsister Shan ai Shuah, who glowed reflected in the sky.  Yutkiye asked the All for only one thing__”

 

“To ‘see’ for herself that Thanasios lived,” Jim guessed, smiling.

 

“Yes.  Touched by Yutkiye’s devotion, the All answered her plea and gave her vision of the one.  The Tohrza’s war-generals had kept her faith, and the one yet lived, left alone in the hills of her homeland, Waban.

 

“Soul eased, Yutkiye’s spirit roamed the battlefield for season unto season.  See you, she could not give herself into the All, for she was not prepared on the body's’end... but there was no returning to corporeal life, for she had none of that left, either.”

 

“You mean, she became a ghost and haunted the battlefield.”  Chekov said.

 

“In Terran terms, yes, that would be the analogy.  Now, you will yet get your happy ending, so be you patient.

 

“Time passed into time, Mother Za revolving around aShaiLan.  Generations came to death, and life… and Nahele knew peace, real peace, when only the most elderly remembered the wars.  It was even as Thanasios wished, for Nahelea and Wabani had learned, at length, to live together…  but there were no more Tohrs, nor Tohrzas, only a council that ruled with pen instead of sword.

 

“Before the council, Thanasios sent a request, carried down from the hills.

 

“”I am old”, he said, “older than old, and my body’s end approaches.  I would come down from these hills and meet my fate at the field of Asar.”

 

“The council deliberated, and could find no harm in his wish, indeed, that field of Asar was strictly avoided by all, for it reeked yet of blood and death, and spirits were said to walk there.”  Ysaulte winked at Chekov.

 

“So the one returned to Nahele, and it took him many days, for his bones were brittle.  He was, in point of fact, older than most people had ever known people to get, having almost three hundred ten summers.  His companions left him at the ancient battlefield alone, for they were sore afraid of that land.

 

“Thanasios hobbled across the raw dirt, for no grass ever grew there.  When he reached the center of the field, where ages ago a tent once stood and heaven within his grasp…  Thanasios sat down in the dirt and he cried.”

 

“He remembered?  It all came back?”  Jim whispered, not trusting his voice.

 

“After the way of my people…  our people, when the body’s end is near.  All that was time shrouded comes clear again, even that which was hidden or forgotten.

 

“Thanasios grieved, seeing only what-was, and not knowing his sorrow touched Yutkiye, who came to ‘ceive its source… and for her, there was not fragile bone nor balding head.  For her, there was only sight within, and Thanasios’s spirit still shone force.

 

“Made the Tohrza known herself to him, and the once-Tohr fled his flesh to join the one in spirit, with sworn oath never to leave her again.  Merciful Za took his body unto Herself, and the grass began to grow upon Asar.”

 

Ysaulte fell silent, finally understanding something in this tale which had always escaped her.  Yutkiye had made an immense sacrifice for the life of one man; forswearing her people, her position, and her everlasting soul’s rest…  and now, Ysaulte did not have to wonder why.  She knew.

 

“Ysaulte, thank you.  It’s a beautiful story.  Are they still there?”

 

“Together, yes.  More than legend.  My Sisters’ Hall, os’Khul sha’deh, sits near the Wabani foothills at Asar’s edge.  I would show you, for Yutkiye and Thanasios are said to appear to the newly bonded.  The battlefield is a park now, rich with grass and trees and flowers.  Children play there, and lovers walk.”

 

“I’d like to walk there with you, my Lady fair,” Jim said into her thoughts.  “Do you think we’ll be together after death?”

 

Astounded he would even ask her such a totally ZaworthIan question (an emotion extending far beyond the confines of the starship), Ysaulte could not prevent a human reaction; she choked.

 

“Ysaulte!”  Jim got up and made her sit in his own seat, a presumption he knew she would never allow herself.  McCoy was there, having been just waiting for a reason to use his feinberger again, but the ambassador waved him away.

 

“I’m fine,” Ysaulte assured him hoarsely.  “Really.  James, how__”  Words failed her, and her mind was a whirl of shocked delight.

 

“I’m sorry, Ysaulte.  I didn’t mean__”

 

“Thou art not wrong to ask, a’shas, but art thou not bothered by the prospect?”

 

“No.  Are you?”  Jim had to grin, feeling that irresistible, remarkable perception of her thoughts, clearing of surprise and answering his smile.  He stood directly in front of Ysaulte, his hands on the arms of his chair keeping her still.

 

“No.  I shall surely need an eternity with thee, for it shall surely take that long to learn thee, thou unexpected one.  You astonish me,” Ysaulte added out loud, tone frank.  Her gaze included them all, for there was not a soul on the bridge who had not guessed what their captain had asked.  “I do know not if it is possible.  It is rare.”

 

“As you are, Ysaulte.”

 

“James.”

 

All they did was look at one another, but station-keeping suddenly became important for a conspicuously inattentive crew.  An island of privacy created, even McCoy and Spock failing to observe.  Those two chose, instead, to regard each other with silent ‘here-we-go-again’s.

 

The efforts did not go unnoticed.

 

“Thy crew most worthy, beloved.  I am humbled before them,” Ysaulte acknowledged, remembering something else she had heard said that day.

 

“Not too much, I hope,” Jim teased, enjoying the emerald wash of her irises.  “I’ve grown to love that Romulan arrogance.”

 

“Hah.  Thou art as I have named thee, thou sorcerer.  No less than any.  As thou wish thine energies continuance, no doubt thou ever shall.  Thy universe bends to thy will.  Is it not so?”

 

Jim understood she called the question for witness, his Lady sharing her awareness of others present.  Her Sisters watched, in truth.

 

“In truth, James.  We applaud thy crew and thee.  Ysaulte is fortunate.”

 

A voice in his head he had heard before.

 

“Lady Ysidra, with all due respect, the fortune is mine,” Jim thought, confident Ysaulte would amplify the unspoken words (which of course she did, what little he required).

 

“Ah, Ysaulte.  I rest my case.”  Ysidra chuckled; a sensation Jim found warming.  “Sister, we too shall take our leave of thee for now.  I remind thee, James.  We ever watch.”

 

“I understand, Lady.  Thank you.”

 

“Welcome thou art, James, and no thanks ever needed.  As friend to the one, I thank thee.”  An emotion came from the Sister that Jim could only interpret as a mental wink, then his sense of Ysidra faded on her goodbye to Ysaulte.

 

“You going to tell me what happened?  Why was she__ why were they ‘here’, Ysaulte?”

 

“Do I have to?”  She asked, and Jim laughed, because the ZaworthIan was so honestly reluctant.

 

“Does it concern me, or my ship, directly?”

 

“On my oath, not… directly.  Certainly, to a degree,” Ysaulte replied, for once not sure what Jim was getting at.

 

“Then don’t tell me.  Or only tell me a little.  Whatever you want,” Jim offered, surprised himself to find he meant it.

 

Ysaulte stared at him, feeling very fortunate indeed.  He trusted her to tell him as much, as least, as her conscience dictated.  An invaluable gift.

 

“Mayhap I should tell you as we travel within the ul Nru caves, for I see in you the wish to go,” she answered, and they grinned at each other until they remembered their audience.

 

Ysaulte took just a moment to savor sitting at the heart of this great ship, then got to her feet, gesturing the captain into his seat with an elegant flick of her fingers.

 

“Romulan arrogance,” Jim whispered, watching her blush.  “Mister Spock, Doctor McCoy.  We’ll beam down as planned, at fourteen hundred hours.  Uhura, would you call Scotty to the bridge, please.”

 

“Aye, Captain.”

 

“Gentlemen.  I assume you have preparations to make?”  Jim wondered politely enough, his gaze hard on McCoy.  The good doctor clasped his hands behind his back and rocked on his heels, regarding the viewscreen with perfect innocence.  “Bones?”

 

“Oh, most of my gear’s already together, Jim.”

 

“I see.  And you, Mister Spock?”

 

“I believe I am also… ready, Sir.”  Spock said gravely, proving once again he was not above teasing his friend.

 

“Good.  What about you, Ambassador?”

 

Ysaulte stepped back to demonstrate the tough cloth which formed her deceptively supple coverall and finished by holding out one booted foot.  Star Fleet issue.  Not for her the ul Nru mud!

 

“I am making the sacrifice, much as I prefer going unshod.”

 

“Did you put on thick socks?”  Jim asked silently, such a curiously intimate question Ysaulte felt her eyes sting.

 

“Neh, a’Tohr.”  Tracing her fingertips along his jaw, she told him how much she loved him for caring.  “No amount of preparation will help us once we are inside the influence of the damping field.  We shall be blind, deaf, and defenseless.”

 

“No, we won’t.  We’ll still have our wits and experience, Ysaulte.  We’ve worked without sensors and tricorders before.  You worry too much.”

 

Whatever argument Ysaulte might have mounted against that charge went both unvoiced and unthought as the lift doors opened to disgorge the chief engineer.

 

“Reportin’ as ordered, Captain.  There ye are, Ysaulte!  I was aboot ta start lookin’ for ye__  Beggin’ ye’r pardon, Sir.”

 

“That’s all right, Scotty.  What is it?”

 

“Yes, Montgomery, you have news?”

 

“Aye, guid, I hope.  Ye’r wee ship’s near ta spaceworthy, pendin’ ye’r inspection, lass…  er, Ambassador.”

 

“Dinna ye dare start now!”  Ysaulte scolded affectionately when Scott corrected himself.  Her imitation brogue brought a pained groan from Jim.

 

“I thought I did that rather well,” she said, offended.

 

“You did.  Too well, and one’s enough!  Go inspect your craft.  I’ll meet you belowdecks when it’s time,” Jim assured indulgently, aware of her sudden wish to check her ship herself.  He was the last person to want to stand in her way there.

 

Ysaulte smiled her thanks and dropped a boldly unselfconscious kiss on his mouth.  By sheer force of personality the ZaworthIan had Scotty halfway to the turbo lift before he remembered to ask what Jim wanted.

 

Ysaulte caught herself on the verge of saying she would fill him in.

 

“Sorry,” she winced.  “Bad manners, I know.  Your command.”  She wondered if Jim really knew how far Rihannsu imperiousness could go, unchecked!

 

Jim shook his head, laughing to himself, and at Ysaulte.  He’d been about to tell Scotty the same thing, anyway.  The Lady’s irises swirled tourmaline green, reflecting his amusement.

 

Ysaulte would have looked away, just to keep a straight face… but couldn’t.  His laughter was too inviting.

 

The shared chuckling made obvious their empathic, telepathic conversation, not that anyone seemed to care.  Ysaulte was still surprised Jim took to it so well… and oh, she was glad!

 

“Mister Scott,” Jim said when he could speak.  “The landing party will be returning to Muuye at fourteen-hundred hours.  You’ll have the bridge.”

 

“Aye, Captain,” Scotty grinned, having been quick to see which way the wind blew, and not disapproving.  “Fourteen-hundred hours.  Lassie?”

 

“A moment, Montgomery,” Ysaulte requested.  “James, I had a question earlier.”

 

“I remember.  Right after Mister Spock put us in our place with his Latin.”

 

“I am calm enough to ask it now, and I would ask it before all here.”

 

Jim thought her tone held a faint warning.

 

“Go ahead.”

 

The ambassador inclined her fiery head.

 

“I would ask, why you acted to save the Senator’s life?  You know I could have slain him where he stood, at no risk to you or yours, and no risk of repercussion from the Empire.”

 

Jim realized that at some level of her mind, he’d been anticipating this question.

 

“I could sit here and tell you, we don’t believe in killing, except for self defense.”

 

“And it would be true, yet that is the least of your motives,” Ysaulte challenged gently.

 

“Yes.  I believe it would have hurt you more to kill him.”   Jim hesitated, thinking of all the things he couldn’t put to words, even to himself…  the balance between life and death, and the need to maintain it, and how taking life seemed to take away a piece of your own soul, every single time.  “You worry about how much you influence me.  How guilty would you feel knowing you had forever ended someone’s right to choose?  Anyone's?  It would have always… tarnished your soul.”

 

Ysaulte looked at him, wishing all of Za could witness the purity of this Terran ethic.  She found it soothing, especially along those nerves where the impulses sang of her father’s heritage.  She could feel Jim’s belief shared in the people around them.  Spirits lighter, Ysaulte held her palms open and shrugged.

 

“I can accept that!”  She announced airily, preceding Mister Scott onto the lift.  The doors closed on her low chuckling, but Jim could still hear it inside his head.

 

Bones stepped up to his shoulder, bending down to speak into his ear.

 

“Why does it feel like you’re playing with antimatter, Jim?”

 

***

 

“__aye, an’ we had a wee bit o’ trouble alignin’ the containment bottle, lass.  I wasna acquainted wi’ that manner o’ configuration.”  The engineer was saying as they passed through the air lock into the shuttlecraft bay.

 

“It is efficient, is it not?”  Ysaulte asked, determinedly keeping her attention with herself and away from Jim.  She felt a need for some space.

 

“Aye, but na’e more than ours, I dinna think.”  Scotty looked at the ambassador sideways, wondering belatedly if she would be offended by his blunt assessment.

 

“The design is not mine, Montgomery,” Ysaulte answered absently, eyes on her craft.  “It is Rihannsu, actually.”

 

Moving ahead of the Terran, she walked around Kefirah, noticing the scars still evident on the dark hull.  An excellent repair job, however, and she said as much to Montgomery before climbing inside.

 

Ysaulte inspected the new computer banks, shiny and featureless, but carefully painted over to resemble hers.

 

“Mister Spock downloaded as much o’ the library an’ science banks as it could handle, and Chekov did the navigations.  Are ye’ sayin’ that’s the same configuration their warbirds use?”

 

“I am not saying, Montgomery,” Ysaulte said, grinning at his muttered “I dinna think so”.

 

“Fine work, Engineer.  The warp drive?”

 

“Nominal.”

 

“Impulse engines?”

 

“Aye, an’ the cloakin’ device as well, although I dinna ken the exact workings of it.  ‘Tisna dependant on the weapons, then?”

 

“No.  Was my thought, that a design flaw on the Rihannsu’s part.  Too ineffective to uncloak and fire.  How much more effective to fire while hidden?”

 

“Too effective, lass.  I hope the Romulans and the Klingons dinna find out.”

 

“Kefirah’s system would be no use to them.  It depends on my force of will.”  Ysaulte sat down in the pilot’s seat and ran a series of systems analyses, pleased by the results.  “Spaceworthy, in truth.  My sincere thanks, Montgomery.”

 

“Och, ye dinna ha’e ta thank me, Ysaulte.  The lads an’ I enjoyed the work,” Scotty said, motioning her gaze toward a couple of watching lieutenants in the control room above them.  “’Twas guid for them, ye know.”

 

She nodded, flashing Kefirah’s running lights at the pair, who waved and disappeared.

 

“There is benefit to experience.”  Ysaulte checked the Standard chrono, installed prior to her leaving ZaworthIa, so she could become accustomed to measuring time.  “May we take her out, Montgomery?  We have… how is it said?  A half an hour, yet.”

 

“Ye’d best be askin’ Himsel’, lass.”

 

As if on cue, the computerized alarms sounded within the shuttlecraft bay, the mechanical voice warning the bay doors would be opening in sixty, fifty-nine, fifty-eight…

 

“James says, have fun and don’t be long,” Ysaulte reported, sealing her craft’s airlock while Montgomery took the seat to her right.

 

“I am glad to see the blood washed off the ceiling,” she added, craning her neck to look before running the last series of pre-flight checks.

 

Scotty shivered.  That had been a job he’d seen to personally, after meeting her, as a son of Highlanders and one warrior to another…

 

“You honor me with this, and I thank you,” Ysaulte said, reaching over to secure his safety systems then doing up her own.

 

“I’ll count ye’r smiles as thanks enow, lassie,” Scotty informed her seriously.  “Does he carry the sword, then?”  He asked, recalling for Ysaulte that sense of his restless Celtic forebears, stone-surrounded time… and the ZaworthIan no longer found the interest alien, just surprising.

 

Eleven… ten… nine…  At length, she nodded.  James did, indeed.

 

“All systems go, Montgomery?”

 

“Aye, Ysaulte.  That they are.”

 

She powered up the engines, kicked in the maneuvering jets to lift her ship into a hover, then made a turn; sliding toward the slowly gaping doors.  Ysaulte took Kefirah out on manual, eschewing tractor control, swooping off the bay and through the doors as quick as she judged it safe…  considerably sooner than the computer would have allowed, Scotty decided, rather enjoying it.  Kefirah responded to Ysaulte’s piloting at the speed of thought.

 

“She feels good, Montgomery!”

 

Ysaulte laughed and buzzed the saucer section, soaring over the bridge in a manner guaranteed to give everyone there gray hairs, or so Jim accused her with an irritable mental shout.

 

“The captain is not amused,” she reported, circling her craft around Enterprise like a child dancing impatiently about a more sedate adult.  Veering away from the starship, Ysaulte executed a textbook series of evasive maneuvers, finishing up with a mock run at Enterprise that terminated meters short of actual collision.

 

The chief engineer cleared his throat.

 

“I canna say I’m too amused, mahsel’, lass,” he said, speech thick with Scottish aggravation.  “I’m wonderin’ how yon Chekov feels.”

 

“Fine, fine.  I can take a hint.”  Ysaulte sniffed, plotting courses in her head.  “Shall we ‘con the ul Nru?”

 

Not waiting for an answer (and having only to wish to make it so), the ZaworthIan sent Kefirah screaming toward Muuye.

 

“Cloaking… now,” she warned, and Scotty felt his stomach lurch, then settle.

 

On Enterprise’s screens, Ysaulte’s craft vanished as if plucked from the heavens, startling everyone but Jim.  He had a constant sense of his Lady’s location, aware of her every mood and whim… and he guessed he should have known she’d fly with such impulsive, reckless enthusiasm.  Jim grinned, wishing he’d manufactured some reason to go along.

 

Ysaulte skipped Kefirah across the atmosphere to dump velocity, gliding through the thickening air.  It occurred to her she was bracing herself for Montgomery’s reaction.

 

“She is a bonny wee ship, lass,” Scott said, catching his breath as Kefirah dropped through the clouds and emerged beneath the overcast to sail above treetops and hills.  The craft was an extension of the Lady’s heart and mind.  Just the way Scott thought it should be.  “Ye’r a fine pilot.”

 

Feeling ridiculously pleased, Ysaulte slowed Kefirah to allow visual inspection of the increasing rough country.  Calling up a tactical display, she correlated what she saw with what she remembered of the snaky underground passages.

 

“Here was the beam up site,” she reported to Scott, holding her restive ship to a hover near the cavern entrance.  “That way lies Ryu Gnaur’s palace.”

 

A finger’s touch nudged Kefirah along Ysaulte’s best reckoning of where the mystery tunnel led deeper into the mountains.  She could already sense the muffling effect of the psionic nullifier… so it’s influence did reach above ground.  Cresting a ridge, Ysaulte was struck by a dichotomous view.

 

“Montgomery.”

 

“Aye, lass, I see it.”

 

Where sensors insisted there was nothing but featureless stone, the ul Nru sloped away to cradle river and valley, framed in Kefirah’s clearsteel ports.

 

“Curious,” Ysaulte murmured, wearying with the effort of balancing her craft’s cloak against the fringes of the nullifier.  “Why shield this?  So obviously pastoral.  I can go no closer, lest we become visible,” she added before Scotty could voice the request.

 

“What manner o’ energy powers the thing?”  The engineer shook his head, poring over the sensor readings.  “I canna see nae reason for it.  What can they be hidin’?”

 

“It seems we must learn it first hand,” Ysaulte admitted grimly, and realized something else.  She had hoped to avoid traveling within those dark caves.  As curious as she was, she was in dread of going.

 

Kefirah gained gradual altitude, slipping back into the cloud cover.

 

“Would you like to take the helm, Montgomery?”

 

“I thought ye’d never ask, lassie!”  Scott watched Ysaulte transfer the controls, and took Kefirah clear of the atmosphere with meticulous care.  Enterprise waited, a guardian angel in the eternal darkness, flawless and serene.  “Ye’ll forgive me if I let the tractors lead us in?”  Scotty teased while Kefirah curved around to approach the shuttlecraft bay.

 

“Chicken,” Ysaulte charged amiably.  “Shall we uncloak first?”

 

Scott guffawed, imagining the consternation their sudden appearance was going to cause.

 

“We can go that one better,” the ambassador pronounced, emerald mischief in her eyes.  “James, of course, will know.”

 

“Know what?”  Jim asked interestedly, and with much inward laughter as she told him and Scotty of her plan.  “You’ll have Scotty’s lieutenants believing he really is a magician.”

 

“A good chief needs to strike occasional fear in the hearts of his men,” Ysaulte remarked out loud, concentrating…

 

Jim felt that inestimable ‘push’ of her will, brilliant and focused, reaching through him to the very soul of his ship; the computer mainframe.  Simultaneously impressed and indignant, he heard Ysaulte tell Enterprise to open the shuttle bay doors… using his own command codes! without setting off a single alarm or warning light… without alerting anyone at all, and making certain the bay was empty of personnel.

 

Keeping a perfectly straight face, Jim asked Spock for any sign of the ambassador’s ship, aware of Kefirah landing all the while.  He knew when the bay doors closed; he knew when the pressure came up.  He even knew when Ysaulte powered down her engines, somehow still managing Kefirah’s cloak.

 

“You know where she is, don’t you, Jim,” Bones concluded mere seconds before the lift doors hissed open.

 

“I certainly do.  Right behind you.”

 

“What?”  McCoy turned in time to see the ambassador step off the lift, one sable eyebrow high.  “Now, how’d you do that?”

 

“ZaworthIan espionage, at its best, Leonard.”  The Lady bowed toward the center seat.  “Captain.  The chief engineer has gone to his department.  I believe the one made mention of a surprise inspection.”

 

“You’re a wicked woman, Ysaulte,” Jim shook his head, laughing ruefully.  Engineering would be surprised, all right… and so was he.  This was more than a prank.  Ysaulte had intended to demonstrate this aspect of her psionic capability.  “Do you have anything to report on Muuye?”

 

“Yes,” Ysaulte answered both the question she heard with her ears and the one in his mind.  “There is a valley hidden in the mountains that the nullifier conceals from sensor readings.  Since sensor readings insist it is not there, I assume that means the transporter cannot beam us in, so it would appear the only covert manner of entry is the tunnels.”   She added something in thought, for Jim alone.  “The crew should know the reach of my Talent, and that ‘most always better taught by deed, yes?”

 

“And you don’t want them to worry about us__ about me,” he concluded silently.

 

“They need not worry,” Ysaulte replied hesitantly, too late perceiving her words as self-incriminating, but not sure why.

 

"They don’t have to worry, because you’re going to take care of me,” Jim elucidated in that silky tone of logic’s axe about to fall.  The ZaworthIan winced, finally recognizing the source of his anger.

 

“My hope to care for us all,” she said with soothing deference.  It was an approach that sometimes worked with the temperamental.  Unfortunately, it did not work on the captain, who by now was stalking toward her with fire in his eyes.

 

“With all due respect, Ambassador, and all due appreciation,” Jim stopped before her, hands on hips.  “You forget yourself.  I remind you, this is not outside our… job description.”

 

Ysaulte stared at the deck and thanked her lucky stars he limited himself to such a relatively mild warning.

 

“Forgive me, Captain.  I suffer from a need to control my environment.  Surely you can sympathize?”  Aieee!  From where had that question come?  Ysaulte put one hand over her mouth, like that would help.  Leonard started coughing, and she wondered belatedly how much of their conversation had been verbal.  Well.  Did she not say she would speak freely?  It was a sword double-edged…

 

“Yes.  It is, and I do,” Jim said, fingers lifting her chin and smiling into her eyes.  “I do suffer from the same failing, as you well know.”  He waited until she smiled back, then lowered his hand.  Funny, he could forgive his irritation, without quite forgetting the insult.  The Lady’s irises dulled, and Jim knew she’d heard him.  “Time, Spock?”

 

“Thirteen fifty-five, Captain,” the Vulcan reported, not without sympathy for Ysaulte.  “If we are to beam down as scheduled, we__”

 

The lift doors opened, interrupting Spock by decanting the chief engineer.

 

“A neat trick, lassie!”  Scotty came forward to pat Ysaulte on the shoulder, still chuckling.  “Gave the lads quite a turn, it did!  They’ll na think themselves so clever the next time.  Did ye tell the captain what we saw?”

 

“Yes, Mister Scott, she did.  It’s time we beam down and investigate.”  Jim stepped around them and stomped onto the lift, trying to dismiss the lingering aggravation he felt at the memory of Ysaulte’s effortless misdirection.  “Gentlemen.  Lady.  Shall we?”

 

Bones followed Jim, but Spock waited for Ysaulte.

 

“Forsan et haec olim meminisse juvabit, Lady,” the Vulcan said to her in flawless Latin.  Holding out his arm, he escorted the ambassador off the bridge, her murmured thanks muffled by the closing lift doors.

 

“Would you like to translate that?” Jim asked, wondering if Ysaulte was even going to speak to him.  He was quite aware of her shortening temper.

 

“As you wish, James.”  Ysaulte shrugged.  “Spock points out to me, ‘perhaps this too will be pleasant to remember someday’.  Despite the one’s fine irony, he means to reassure.  This is all I myself intended, and I am puzzled by this attitude of yours.  The plan was made plain to you before done.  Had you reservation, you had only think it.  You did not.  Where then, why then, are your feelings injured by it?”

 

“I didn’t think it would be so God damned easy!”  Jim burst out angrily.

 

Spock’s eyebrow went up, but the first officer remained silent.  McCoy, of course, did not.  The doctor was at his best with startling opinion.

 

“You of all people should have known, Jim.  The truth is, Ysaulte probably could have done it without you knowing.  That’s what’s really griping you.  As for you, Ysaulte, you seem to have a problem with this trip to the ul Nru.  Maybe it’s making you a little… sensitive.”

 

Ysaulte’s eyebrow joined the Vulcan’s in elevation, her mood confused between outrage and amusement.

 

“So, Healer.  Stand you here explaining my own emotions to me.  Your belief, then, I am… transferring my resentments onto James?”

 

“Anybody can mouth psychobabble, Sister.  How do you feel?  Can you explain why you’re worried, or is it one of those hunches Spock here doesn’t believe in?”

 

“I have no wish to walk Muuye.  Known too, we must.”   Ysaulte admitted mildly.  “It does make my teeth ache to say it, even so.”

 

“Excuse me, but wasn’t this our argu__ er, conversation?”  Jim inquired in an aside to his Lady, feeling the last of her frosty irritation melt away.

 

“I think you had the correct term the first time,” Ysaulte remarked with a faint grin as the lift stopped, discharging them into the corridor near Sickbay.

 

“I’ve gotta pick up a couple of things and I’ll meet you,” Bones said, grabbing the first officer’s arm.  “Come on, Spock, I think I’ll need a hand.”  He practically dragged the Vulcan away, leaving Jim and Ysaulte bemused.

 

“Tact, from Bones?”  Jim marveled, shaking his head.

 

“Can we stand the strain?”  Ysaulte joked weakly as he led her back onto the lift, his hand at her elbow… alone with him and almost shy.

 

“The only strain I can’t stand is the one between us, Ysaulte,” Jim thought.  He held out his arms, half-afraid she would refuse him.

 

“How can I?”  Ysaulte moved into his embrace and gave a deep sigh.  “Forgive me.  I condescended.  I see it now.  I was not trying to insult you, James, nor your crew.”

 

“I know.  I don’t mean to sound ungrateful, Ysaulte, but I don’t want you feeling like you have to ‘take care’ of me.  It makes me feel like a liability.”  Not to mention it offended his macho pride, but Jim managed to keep this thought to himself.

 

“I am sorry.  Will you__”

 

“Destination?”

 

“What?”  Ysaulte started at the mechanical question.  “Oh.  Transporter room.  James__”

 

“Enough talking.”  Jim’s hands went to Ysaulte’s hair, loosening her coiled braid until it hung against her spine, a silken rope he wrapped around one fist.  “I’ve got better ideas for our travel time.”

 

Lowering his mouth to Ysaulte’s, Jim kissed her nearly senseless, hearing his Lady’s mind abandon rational voice and sing.  He didn’t raise his head until the lift stopped, knowing if he didn’t he’d be tempted to lock the door and take her right here__

 

“James!”

 

“You aren’t really shocked, are you?”

 

“No.  I don’t suppose I am,” Ysaulte whispered, amber-eyed.

 

Jim set her from him with a groan, smoothing her hair as the doors hissed open.

 

“Must we go?”  She asked wistfully, thinking how much more profitably they could put the hours awaiting the Fleet’s arrival. 

 

"You know we do.”  Jim pulled her into the corridor before she could change his mind.  Their lift had no sooner departed than another came to take its place, decanting Spock and McCoy.

 

“Well?  Didja kiss and make up?”  Bones teased, certain they had from the look on the ambassador’s face.

 

“So this is the accepted Terran method for ending disagreements?”  The Lady Ysaulte inquired revealingly, surprised when Jim blushed and Spock averted his gaze.

 

“It’s a custom,” Bones said, hoping she’d leave it at that.  It occurred to him to wonder how far into Jim’s memory the ZaworthIan could see!  He handed her the small pack dangling from his fingers.  “This is that neural impulse suppressor.  Once it's injected it's got a two hour half-life, so I figured we’d better just take some with us.”

 

Walking Ysaulte toward the transporter room, McCoy paused long enough to glance over his shoulder at Jim with one of his ‘see-I-saved-your-ass-again’ looks.  Jim was ridding his thoughts of Kelinda and Rojan and apologies in general, while Spock was hard put to hide his Vulcan version of a smirk.

 

As for Ysaulte, she decided to withhold comment… for now.  No doubt, she still had much yet to learn of Terrans.

 

End Chapter Nine