Author's Note:  Warning!  There is non-consensual sexual violence described between two original characters in this chapter.  The act is not graphically described and it is significant in terms of the story-line itself.  It is not my intention to glorify or minimize rape.

 

 

Chapter One

 

Ysaulte of ZaworthIa wrestled with the helm of her ship as it fell planetside in a blaze of disruptor fire.  The onboard computer announced its own doom as Ysaulte tried to manage a controlled landing, conscious of the attacker still aft.  She scanned the rough terrain with grim desperation, cursing herself for having let down her guard.  She hadn’t reckoned with Marlak’s continued pursuit of her after the Federation starship had taken up orbit. Stupid, to have felt herself protected by Star Fleet’s obvious authority…  then it was too late to indulge in recriminations.  Ysaulte’s ship struck the ground and flipped over a slope.

 

 After the custom of her people, she who was inheritor of the Fire Throne sent out one last cry in her mind, before the impact of the crash knocked her senseless.

         

Awareness returned with a pounding roar in Ysaulte’s head.  She fought past the pain, dimly understanding that she must still be alive.

 

“If I am alive,” she deduced muzzily, “then I can open my eyes,” and close them again.  The red glare of the emergency reserve lighting gave her an instant rush of vertigo. 

 

“Try again,” her mind ordered.  Ysaulte lifted one eyelid halfway, assessing her surroundings as memory sought to return.

 

“Why am I hanging upside down?”  Restrained from falling by the excellent passive safety systems of her ship, Ysaulte opened her other eye and determined to force away the resultant dizziness.

 

“I have crashed.  Marlak must have shot me down,” she realized, suddenly aware of the hot blood dripping down the left side of her head.  Ysaulte groped for her chair’s arm release, and was rewarded with a surge of nausea that left her gasping.

 

“No reason to panic,” she told herself calmly, beginning to notice a prickling sensation in her right hand and arm that would have alarmed her if she wasn’t concentrating so hard on remaining conscious. 

 

At length, Ysaulte found the controls she wanted, sliding free of the safety straps to the roof of her ship, where she lay in a pool of her own blood.  Everything seemed backward, and it took an eternity to drag herself over to the airlock and struggle it open.  Ysaulte consoled herself with the notion her ship was unlikely to detonate, since it had not yet done.  The sight that greeted her when she finally managed to peer outside made her wish the ship had disintegrated on impact.

 

Marlak stood without, a few meters away.  The grass was on fire behind him; a vision from Terran Hell, Ysaulte thought.  He held a disruptor trained straight on her, his black eyes flashing with satisfaction.

 

“My lucky day, ZaworthIan.  I was afraid you’d been killed outright.  Doesn’t look like I’ve got long to wait,” Marlak added,

inspecting her with a wolfish smile.

 

Ysaulte licked lips gone suddenly dry, and tasted her own blood at the corner of her mouth.  Funny thing, but she couldn’t summon much enthusiasm either way.  Marlak’s figure was blurring before her eyes, and her entire right side was becoming quite useless.

 

Even so, his anticipation was clear to her inner vision.

 

“No protest?  No last chance cries for mercy?”   Marlak asked, disappointed.

 

Ysaulte found that rather amusing and grinned, euphoric with blood loss.  To her distant surprise, Marlak paled at her expression.

 

With an effort, she pulled herself to a sitting position, holding on to the bulkhead as his startled dread drifted over her perception.

         

Marlak’s gaze narrowed as Ysaulte wavered drunkenly.   He also noticed her extreme pallor, and the considerable amount of blood still flowing from her head wound.  He nodded.

 

“Say nothing, then.  You are not long for this world, and the feeble sorcery of your mother’s people cannot help you now.  You forget yourself, Ambassador.  You are a fusion, after all, as corrupt as your slut of a mother.”

 

Ysaulte focused on the general direction of Marlak’s voice, no longer able to see him, although she sensed his unease.  She gestured toward him with her good hand, a flick of her fingers in silent dismissal. 

 

Marlak’s voice hoarsened with anger. 

 

“You think to threaten me?  Get out,” he ordered, motioning at her with his disruptor.  Ysaulte tried to drop her weight onto her left leg as she slid out of the airlock, but she had no balance.  She landed in a heap at Marlak’s feet, and knew real fear, lying helpless in the ashes as he laughed.

 

Marlak stepped over her, leaning into her ship and firing the disruptor into the computer banks around the helm.  When he finished there, he resealed the airlock, fusing it with a blast of energy.

 

“Now, no distress signal, Esteemed Lady.  How does it feel to face death?”  Marlak kicked Ysaulte onto her back, the unexpected pain clearing her vision well enough to see his cruel pleasure.

 

When he was certain of her attention, Marlak pitched his weapon to one side, watching Ysaulte with a speculative grin. 

 

“Tell me, since you’re now the expert on Terrans, Ambassador.  Can it be true what their legends say?  Is there a fate worse than death?  I would see you suffer, Aesaulte’h.”  Marlak reached down, clamping hard fingers on her jaw.

 

Ysaulte flinched, more from the sound of her name rendered in Rihannsu than from the shock of his touch.  Her eyes fastened on Marlak’s cold stare.

 

“Your injuries are sore indeed if they keep you silent.  Well enough.  I have no need of your words.”

 

Terror assailed Ysaulte as she finally divined Marlak’s intent.   She wrenched her face from his grip, striking at him with her left hand as he lowered himself to straddle her thighs.  He hit her and laughed, yanking her hands above her head and holding them one-handed.   Ysaulte tried to kick him; stopping only when she realized the Romulan found her movements provocative.

 

When she finally lay motionless, Marlak settled himself upon her, impressing his weight with menacing deliberation.

 

“Aesaulte’h.  What do you know of the legends of power, and the taking of that power?”  He whispered into her ear, while Ysaulte’s stomach heaved with revulsion.  She bit him when his free hand went to her tunic, but the Romulan only laughed again, brushing his fingertips over the wound and staring at the green blood she’d drawn.

 

Marlak rubbed his blood over her mouth then squeezed her throat until Ysaulte’s reality wavered.

 

“Truly, it is unfortunate that you are mute, Aesaulte’h.  I would have liked to hear you beg.”

 

It began to rain, gray steam billowing into the air around them.  Ysaulte prayed for unconsciousness, but that feeling which had been so near was now too elusive.  Marlak tore at her clothing, his touch as cold as the revenge that motivated him.  All over her, probing, tasting, invading.  When she would have closed her eyes, he struck or bit her, dragging her back to the hateful reality of his actions.

 

“No, no, Esteemed Lady.  I will have your witness to this.  You may pretend to the illusions of your homeworld while I take you, and your power, Aesaulte’h, in the manner of our ancestors.” 

 

Opening his own clothing, Marlak freed himself to enter her, careless of the agony in his possession.

 

“You are nothing, now!”

 

Hearing him, feeling him, Ysaulte began to scream.

 

***

 

“Captain Kirk!”  Uhura spun around in her seat.  Jim groaned audibly, despite his officer’s urgent tone.

 

“What now, Lieutenant?”  Enterprise had wasted two days on a mission that should have taken two hours, and the captain was beyond annoyed.

 

“I picked up an automated distress signal for a few moments, Sir.   It didn’t come from the colony.”  A frown wrinkled Uhura’s elegant brow as she went on  “It came from the other continent, and from the angle of reflection and the frequency, it’s not likely anyone in the settlement could have received it.”

 

“The other continent is uninhabited, isn’t it, Mister Chekov?”   Jim wondered interestedly, sensing the hope of a break in the routine.  “Sensors?”

 

Chekov bent over the science station, hoping devoutly he looked as expert as Mister Spock would have done, if Spock were not belowdecks supervising an experiment in the physics lab.

 

“Sensors indicate two small ships, Sair.  One is hovering just above the surface, and the other ship is on the surface and damaged…  Kiptin, readings indicate disruptor fire.”  The ensign suppressed his excitement, trying to deliver the information in the same calm tones the first officer used.

 

“Life signs?”  Kirk demanded.

 

“Two on the surface…  One is a Romulan, Sair!”  Chekov peered into the scanner.  “The other reading is vairy weak.”

 

“Uhura, notify McCoy to meet me in transporter room one with his medical kit.  Spock too, if he can get free.  You have the conn.  Chekov, keep an eye on that Romulan.”  Jim barely heard the acknowledgements of his bridge crew, heading for the turbolift with an unaccustomed sense of urgency.  He was needed, now…

 

***

 

“Well, well, Aesaulte’h.”  Marlak stood over her, having retrieved his disruptor and straightened his trousers.  “It appears we have company in the skies, so I won’t overstay my welcome.  Let me leave you with this.”

 

The Romulan placed his hand on Ysaulte’s head and forced her to relive the attack from his perspective, violating her mind. 

 

Ysaulte clung grimly to the remaining shreds of her sanity, determined to prevent him from winning this battle, too.  Lurid pictures overwhelmed her; Marlak inside her in his rapture, tasting her virgin’s blood that was upon him and bringing it to her lips… 

 

She shuddered convulsively, fighting the mental takeover.   Her throat ached with the need to cry out.  Ysaulte refused to allow Marlak the satisfaction of listening to any more of her screams.

 

“I hear them in my mind,” he reminded her, his thoughts slicing through her.  “Will I always, I wonder?”

 

Marlak withdrew his mind touch, throwing his cloak over Ysaulte’s battered body.

 

“Farewell, Aesaulte’h.  Let us see how far defeat can take you.”

 

Ysaulte watched blankly as Marlak vanished into a transporter beam, the unwelcome sense of his presence vanishing with him, as well as her consciousness.

 

***

 

Jim watched McCoy step onto the transporter platform beside him, field-medicine equipped.

 

“Jim, what’s going on?”  Bones asked, and the captain outlined the situation.  McCoy's curiosity transmuted into professional concern.

 

“One question, Jim.  Why not just notify the locals and let them handle it?”

 

McCoy was grinning at him, and Jim grimaced.  Obviously, the ship’s grapevine, functioning with its usual efficiency, had carried one version of the reason for their extended layover at Cilehe.  The colony’s governor, Agathe Van Damme, had expressed her interest in adding herself to some imagined list of Jim’s “conquests”.  Jim had other ideas, and had been actively avoiding her…

 

“Aside from the fact we’re faster, I was bored,” he replied calmly, relieved when the corridor door slid open to admit the Vulcan.

 

“Captain, Doctor.  Lieutenant Uhura has already explained the circumstances to me.  Perhaps we should get underway.  Ensign Fried’s experiment is reaching a critical juncture.”  Spock’s voice was its usual smooth baritone, but something in it drew Jim’s attention.  His friend’s eyes were unusually distracted.

 

“Energize,” Jim ordered, convinced Spock was sensing the same psionic pressure he himself had.

 

They materialized at the edge of a blackened clearing, safely hidden in the undergrowth.  Pale puffs of steam rose around them.  The air was oppressively hot, humid with the recent rain, and the overcast sky lent a gloomy pall to the surroundings.

 

Jim confirmed their safe arrival with Chekov, who informed him the Romulan had beamed off-planet and his ship was rapidly departing.  Jim told him to track its course, then cut the transmission and replaced his communicator.

 

They made cautious progress through the local flora, but stopped short at the sight before them.  A small personal craft lay belly-up in a circle of ashes, obscenely vulnerable on its back.  The aft engines were still emitting thin trails of black smoke.

 

McCoy had his tricorder out, scanning.

 

“The survivor’s not in the ship,” he announced quickly, moving ahead of Jim and Spock to circle around the wrecked craft.

 

“Over here, Jim!”  Bones shouted, finding the source of the weak readings. Not waiting to see if he’d been heard, he dropped to his knees and opened his medical kit, withdrawing his feinberger.  "Oh, God.”  He uncovered the black cloth shrouding the still figure of his patient and revealed her face.  “Female, humanoid-Vulcanoid …  age approximately thirty Earth years…  nonresponsive to external stimuli.” 

 

Professional detachment served to support him, as it so often did.  The woman was strikingly beautiful, even under a smeared coating of blood and ashes.  Her skin was alabaster pale beneath the grime, stretched taut over high cheekbones.  It was classically symmetrical bone structure.  Her eyebrows were elegantly upswept, as were the tips of her ears, but Bones was certain she was no Vulcan.  The all-too-plentiful blood was an unusual purplish hue.

 

“Left parietal skull fracture, subdural hematoma, some right midline shift,” the doctor muttered to himself while Jim and Spock

looked on in silence.

 

Jim was becoming aware that the powerful psychic compulsion that had driven him to the surface was gone.  Motioning to his first officer, they drew around the side of the craft, while McCoy labored over the injured woman.

 

“You felt it?”  He asked Spock quietly, and Spock made no pretense of misunderstanding.

 

“Indeed.  A mental cry for help, extremely forcefully put.”  Spock inclined his head in the direction of the alien.  “Presumably, she was the source.”  A single eyebrow winged upward on the winds of curiosity.  “You were aware of it as well, Captain?”

 

“I don’t know why, but yes, I was.”  Jim paced back toward the doctor, who was cursing low under his breath even while he continued his examination.

 

“What is it, Bones?”

 

“Aw, Jim…  She’s been sexually assaulted.”  McCoy’s eyes burned with such outrage that Jim had to look away.

 

“I’ve gotta get her back to Sickbay.”

 

“Go, Bones.  Take care of her.  Spock and I are going to poke around here and see what we can find out.”  Jim waved at the craft.   "Maybe we can find out who she is.”

 

Nodding, McCoy contacted the Enterprise.  Jim and Spock watched as patient and doctor vanished into the particle beaming process.  Jim shook off the feeling that he should have gone with them and began inspecting the crippled ship.

 

“Look at this, Spock,” he pointed out the sealed airlock and the first officer ran his tricorder over it.

 

“Fused by disruptor fire, Captain.”  Spock reported evenly.

 

“To keep her out?”  Jim speculated, pulling out his own phaser.  “Step back.” 

 

It was simple enough to unseal the airlock, and it felt good to be doing something.  He wrestled down the urge to hurry, finally pulling the hatch open, then climbed in.  It was disorienting, to feel so at odds with gravity in the little upside-down ship.  Jim looked around carefully, getting his bearings while Spock eased his way inside.

 

“The computer banks are a total loss.  They’ve been deliberately destroyed,” Jim said grimly, recognizing the blast pattern.   "Even the I.D. solid has been destroyed.”

 

“I am unfamiliar with this style of construction, Captain.  The registry does not indicate an origin known to me,” Spock commented as he indicated a plaque at the rear of the cockpit. 

 

“I don’t recognize it either,” Jim said thoughtfully, hiding his amusement at the faint surprise in the Vulcan’s voice.  He studied the script on the wall plaque.  “Definitely not Standard issue, Mister Spock.  I don’t see anything we can use to identify our guest.  Let’s have Scotty beam the wreckage up to cargo bay two, and we’ll run the registry through the Federation database,” on the slim chance there was something there that Spock did not know, he added to himself with a mental grin.

 

Jim made a last sweep of the interior, wincing a bit at all the blood, then climbed out of the little ship.

 

“Are you experiencing a compulsion to return to the Enterprise, Captain?”  Spock inquired, giving Jim a sideways look as he followed him back outside.

 

Jim wondered, not for the first time, why he ever bothered to try to hide anything from the Vulcan. 

 

“You could say that.  What about you?”

 

“Affirmative.”  Spock gazed at him with speculation, but said nothing further as Jim hailed the ship.  They stood in silence as their surroundings dissolved.

 

***

 

When Jim got to Sickbay, he found the surgical suites closed off.  Before he could get to a wall comm, the doors hissed open and the doctor came out.

 

“She’ll live,” he announced, rubbing the back of his neck.  “I’m not certain how much brain damage she’s suffered.  Her physiology is similar to human, but closer to Vulcan, I’d say.”  And therefore more likely to have sustained permanent brain damage.  The conclusion was written all over McCoy’s face.

 

“Come on in and take a look, and no, she can’t talk yet, so don’t ask.”

 

Jim gave McCoy a wry glance that was wasted on the good doctor, but followed him in anyway.  They came to stand beside the exam table.  Christine Chapel was meticulously cleaning the alien woman’s face, and Jim cringed inside as he saw the livid bruises and abrasions she bore.  Her lips were puffy with swelling, the indentations of teeth marks evident both there and on her throat.

 

Taking the doctor’s arm, Jim led him away from the bedside, his eyes hard.

 

“Whoever he was, he really wanted her to suffer.”  It was not a question.

 

“Yeah.  She’s got bites and bruises all over, fractured ribs, and Jim, she already had the head injury when he assaulted her.  I’ve got her sedated.  The fractures I fixed with the bone knitter, but her physiology doesn’t seem to respond to the dermal tissue regenerator.  I’m more worried about her mental state than anything, though.  She’s going to need time, a lot of time, before you start questioning her.”

 

“I understand, Bones.”

 

McCoy shook his head, while Jim returned to stand beside Chapel, unable to prevent himself from extending one cautious finger.  The alien’s hair, cleansed of blood, lay spread across the headroll in a silken spill of copper.  Jim touched it gently, almost expecting it to singe his skin, but it clung to him with a static charge.

 

“What is she?  Not Vulcan…”

 

“No.”  Bones answered.  “There are some factors in her blood consistent with Romulans and Vulcans, but you saw the color of it.  I’m not sure what she is, bad as I hate to admit it.”

 

The doctor headed for his office, and Jim followed reluctantly, wishing he could move away as easily from the odd fascination the alien held for him.

 

“I’d have to say she’s a hybrid of some kind,” McCoy went on, not unaware of the captain’s preoccupation.  “I put her retinal scan, genotype, and fingerprints into the Federation database.  If she’s ever received medical care within the Federation we should be getting an I.D. within a few hours.”

 

“Good work, Bones.  Spock’s going to do the same with her ship’s registry.  I hope we find out soon.  I’ll be on the bridge__”

 

Before Jim could finish his sentence, an alarmed call from Chapel interrupted.

 

“Doctor McCoy!”

 

***

 

Ysaulte forced herself awake, that most deep core of will within her refusing to drift in clouds of chemical sedation.  She was waking to a world changed, one riven by violence, but awaken she would.  Deliberately keeping her eyes shut, she became aware she was not alone.

 

“Surely Marlak has not taken me with him!”  She thought in a spasm of terror, trembling.

 

“Doctor McCoy!”  A voice beside her called, a human voice, in fact, a female voice.  Relief made Ysaulte weak, and she couldn’t prevent the tears that squeezed free.  Marlak had no McCoy on his ship, and certainly no human females.

 

A gentle hand brushed the dampness from Ysaulte’s cheeks with delicate tenderness, enabling Ysaulte to perceive the kindness in her as-yet-unseen attendant.  She was in no danger here, and the realization gave her the courage to open her eyes.

 

Christine held up one hand, stopping the doctor at the foot off the bed.

 

“Wait,” she mouthed silently.  “She’s waking up.”

 

McCoy nodded and moved back, understanding at once his head nurse’s wisdom.  He waved Jim back and ignored the captain’s impatience.

 

Chapel returned her attention to her patient, touched by the tears that trickled from beneath the lowered lashes.  Smoothing them away, she projected her concern and support.

 

“You’re safe here,” she murmured, knowing it was the tone and not the words that mattered…  and watched the thick, dark lashes part with fearful hesitancy.  Christine found herself gasping as the alien woman focused her eyes, the most remarkable alien eyes the nurse had ever seen.  Even as their gazes met, the woman’s irises were shifting colors, black to brown to green to blue.  The swirling hues convinced Christine of one thing.  These eyes saw far more than surface things.

 

Ysaulte sighed, eased by the near-luminous compassion she could feel within the Terran female.  She was safe here, but where was here?  She looked around, sensing others present.

 

A man came into view, a tall, thin Terran with dark hair and fiery blue eyes.  Ysaulte recognized him as a Healer, and was less afraid.

 

“Shuah da’nets’a?”  She asked hoarsely, realizing from their expressions they had not understood her, and only then aware she had used the language of her homeworld.  Her eyes went wide as she discovered she couldn’t say the Standard words she wanted.  She could see them in her mind, know them for what they were, but speaking them escaped her.

 

McCoy stood beside Chapel, staring through the phenomenon of those miraculous, alien eyes.  He held his palms open and tried to keep his voice low and soothing, amazed he could speak at all given the force of that gaze.

 

“You’re on board the starship Enterprise, representing the United Federation of Planets.  I’m Doctor McCoy, and this is Nurse Chapel.  You’ve had a head injury, but you’re going to be fine.  You need to rest now.”

 

Accepting the wisdom of that, Ysaulte allowed her eyelids to drift shut, and wondered at the irony in life.  The starship!  Sleep took her as she imagined a life spent among the stars…

 

***

 

McCoy stood over the woman for several moments before finally stepping away, gesturing for Chapel to remain nearby.  Jim was waiting in his office, and Spock had shown up from somewhere.  The doctor supposed they were both full of questions.

 

“Well?”

 

“She’s gone back to sleep, Jim.  I’m surprised she woke up at all.”  Bones shook his head, still startled by those eyes.

 

“Did she tell you where she’s from?”  Jim asked.  Standing where he’d been, he hadn’t been able to make out the alien’s words.

 

“No, and I didn’t recognize the language.”  McCoy sat down and reached for the brandy, pouring them all a small shot.  Before he’d even tasted his, though, he got back up and went to the door to watch his sleeping patient. 

 

She’d turned on her side, body curled up in subconscious defensiveness.  Her breathing pattern was regular, however, and her skin color not as ashen pale.  Chapel sat by the computer, entering notes, but McCoy could see the nurse’s divided attention in the way she perched, half-turned toward the exam bed.  Chapel's vigilance reminded McCoy, for some reason, of a lady-in-waiting attending royalty.

 

“Did you notice her hands?”  Bones whispered, aware of Jim at his back.  “The nails of her left hand are split and broken, the knuckles are bruised.  She would have had some paralysis of her right side from the head injury…  but she fought him, Jim, as much as she was able.”  Bones sighed.  “How could a man do that to a woman?  Even a Romulan?”

 

“I can’t answer that, Bones.”  Jim could sympathize with the doctor’s distress, and put one hand on his shoulder, squeezing gently.  He was hard put to handle his own anger at the brutality of the alien’s attacker.  “Call me when she wakes up,” Jim ordered gently, collecting Spock with a nod.  The doctor muttered something and paid little attention as the other two left, ship’s day wearing into evening.

 

***

 

“This doesn’t make a lot of sense, Spock,” Jim remarked as they got on the turbolift to head for the bridge.  “A Romulan attacks an alien of unknown race, on a Federation colony…  what was she doing there?”

 

“Indeed, there are many unanswered questions,” Spock agreed, more than a little curious about the alien’s psionic capabilities.

 

“I’m going to have to contact Star Fleet Command.  This has the makings of a real mess, diplomatically,” Jim noted with a frown as he and Spock stepped onto the bridge.

 

“Message from Star Fleet Command, Captain,” Lieutenant Palmer, the relief communications specialist announced from her post.  Jim exchanged a rather startled glance with his first officer.

 

“For your eyes only, Sir,” Palmer added, setting the computer to receive and decode.

 

“Pipe it down to my quarters, Lieutenant.  Spock, you have the conn.”

 

“Understood, Captain.”

 

Jim seated himself at his desk, wasting no time before he activated his viewscreen.  The expressionless features of Admiral Alexei Zeitsev took form, to Jim’s surprise.  Zeitsev managed certain covert operations within the Fleet, and he was rarely even heard of, let alone seen.

 

“Captain Kirk.  Top secret negotiations are currently in progress for admission of the planet ZaworthIa into the Federation.  The presence of ZaworthIa as a member planet has been deemed essential to the security of the Federation.  ZaworthIa is represented by an Ambassador, the Lady Ysaulte d’Aeviane.”  The admiral hesitated, and even through the recorded message Jim had the distinct impression Zeitsev was struggling to pick his words.

 

“I am aware of your chief surgeon’s request for her medical records.  I hope that means she’s still alive.  If so, I am ordering you to assist her in whatever manner she requires.  Her safety is of paramount importance.  There will be no further subspace communications on this subject.”  The words were delivered in a grim monotone, as if to make up for their unusual content.  As the screen faded, Jim sat motionless, his mind racing.

 

Zeitsev’s involvement as much as confirmed the ZaworthIan was involved in some type of covert activity.  He wasn’t surprised.  Command intuition had been telling him all along there was more to this than there appeared.  The ambassador to the Federation from the planet ZaworthIa…

 

The ambassador!

 

Prodded by curiosity, Jim stood up and headed for Sickbay, pausing only to notify Spock of his destination.

 

***

 

Ysaulte was running, running through black ash and destruction.  Malevolence surrounded her with suffocating intensity.  Part of her mind realized she was dreaming, but she couldn’t wake herself, couldn’t break free.  Cruel hands caught in her hair, jerking her around to face Marlak once more.

 

“No last chance cries for mercy?”  He mocked, and she struck at him as his hands went to her throat…

 

“Ish’na’ta!”  Ysaulte shouted, forcing herself awake at last (and badly startling Christine).

 

“It’s all right, dear.  You’re safe.”  That voice.  Ysaulte opened her eyes to find the Terran female standing beside her, clearly concerned.  Memory returned.

 

“Enterprise.  Safe.”  She whispered.

 

“Yes, that’s right.  Safe.”  The nurse eased her head back onto the pillow, soothing the sweat-damp hair off Ysaulte’s forehead with cool hands.

 

Ysaulte let herself relax, hearing the heart-rate indicator overhead slow it’s chiming.  The Healer approached, but did not touch her, for which Ysaulte was grateful.  Her skin felt raw, and with the sedation out of her system, she was finding painful places all over her body.

 

“I’m Doctor McCoy,” the Healer said gently, his tone kind.

 

“Yes, remember.”  Ysaulte’s words were barely audible, her voice strained and husky.  From screaming, she realized with a shudder, and quickly dismissed the thought.

 

She elbowed herself up to a sitting position, the Terran nurse helping her.  Ysaulte felt too vulnerable, supine.  The movement aggravated her soreness, making her grimace, but she decided it was worth the effort.  She felt less insecure, seated.  The Healer watched her steadily, and the pressure of his eyes made Ysaulte wonder if she’d ever again feel at ease in the presence of a man.  Not ready to confront that thought, either, she pushed it away.

 

“Can you understand me?  Do you speak Standard?”  The Healer asked, and Ysaulte nodded, winning herself a curious look from the Terrans, who wondered at her familiarity with the gesture.

 

“Are you in pain?  We can give you something for it,” the nurse offered. 

 

“Ish’na__”  What was that Standard word?  Why couldn’t she remember?  Ysaulte pointed at her head, frustrated.  “Da’ar es…  words?”

 

“It’s possible you have some speech impairment from your head injury.  It should improve with time.”  McCoy informed her, and she nodded again her understanding. 

 

“Do you know a lot of Standard?”

 

"Little,” she replied, shrugging slightly, prompting McCoy and Chapel to look at each other and wonder if she meant she knew very little Standard, or more than a little.   Ysaulte winced with a discomfort that was as much emotional as physical, hating her inability to make her meaning plain to these kind people.

 

“There are analgesics which do not sedate,” the nurse offered mildly, observantly.  Ysaulte thought the woman appreciated her need to remain in control, but she shook her head.

 

“My…  kind… not use.”

 

“Are you thirsty?  Can I get you some water?”

 

“Please,” Ysaulte whispered, gratified to have recalled that word, at least.

 

The nurse, Chapel, stepped away and quickly reappeared with a glass of water.  Ysaulte drank thankfully.  She hadn’t realized how dry her mouth was.

 

“Can you tell me your name?”  The Healer asked, his tone so tentative Ysaulte could sense he was afraid of frightening her.  She set the glass aside and slid to her feet, swaying a bit until she gained her balance.

 

“You really shouldn’t be up yet,” Chapel scolded gently, and Ysaulte smiled at her and shook her head.

 

“No.”  At last, that word!

 

“Now she remembers,” McCoy said, but he was smiling too.

 

Ysaulte felt they were not displeased, and she took strength from their encouragement.  Limping toward the Healer cautiously, she tested the stability of her gait.

 

“Not…  bad… yes?”  She asked hesitantly, concentrating hard on both words and actions as she stopped before the physician.

 

“Not bad, not bad at all,” McCoy said with no little satisfaction.  “I suppose you’re going to want out of Sickbay now?”

 

Ysaulte, who in point of fact had been trying to think of a way to ask that very question, nodded rather shamefacedly.  Behind her in the outer room a door hissed open, but she ignored it and kept her attention on the Healer.

 

“Am…  want go.”  She admitted hopefully.  An increasing tightness between her shoulder blades told her she was being watched, but she did not turn.  It would be up to the doctor to release her from his care, and she wasn’t finished pleading her case.  "Please, go.  Am…  confined?”

 

“I would prefer that you stay, but no, there’s no medical reason for you to be confined to Sickbay.  I will need to talk to the Captain__ Oh, Jim, there you are.  I was just about to call you.”

 

Ysaulte turned slowly, afraid of losing her balance.  She took an involuntary step backward as she caught sight of the stranger, the movement bringing her uncomfortably near the Healer.

 

McCoy felt his patient’s shivering unease and stepped around her.

 

“James T. Kirk, Captain of the Enterprise,” he introduced quietly.

 

Ysaulte found, to her horror, she was unable to meet the captain’s eyes.  Her cowardly feet took her another step back, and she despaired of the impression she must be making.  It did not seem to matter that her mind told her she was behaving illogically.  She was frightened of this man.  His aura was so strongly charged with his masculinity that her skin felt flayed.

 

Her heart jumped to handle the blood draining from her head, so Ysaulte bit her lower lip, hard.  This had the desired effect of driving away the white noise roaring in her ears.  Less faint, she could sense now the pained compassion coming from these Terrans.  Weary of her own fear, Ysaulte set her shoulders and forced herself to look at the captain straight on.

 

***

 

Jim had heard voices on entering Sickbay, and was torn between not upsetting their guest, and his curiosity-driven need to meet her.  Surprised to see her standing with Bones, he'd hesitated at the door long enough to hear her ask the doctor if she was confined.  He wondered why an ambassador to the Federation would expect to be imprisoned on a starship, then Bones answered and he realized he was misinterpreting her meaning.  McCoy spotted him, and she turned…

 

Jim understood with some shock that he was the one imprisoned, caught in her variant, swirling gaze.  Colors ebbed and flowed in the ZaworthIan’s eyes, velvet dark hues of violets, browns, and greens.  She was not even looking at him directly, and Jim was struck momentarily dumb by the eloquence of her expression.  Vaguely aware of McCoy’s introduction, Jim’s throat closed with anguish when the ZaworthIan backed away, losing what little color she had in her face.

 

“Don’t be afraid,” he wished silently, saddened when she trembled.  His sharp eyes caught the subtle straightening of her shoulders, and Jim Kirk celebrated for her when she finally met his gaze.

 

Ysaulte focused on the captain’s eyes, and thought they seemed so old to be in such a young face.  His delight at her accomplishment made her blink.  The remarkable sensation reflected into her perception and unraveled the hard knot of fear that was clenching her midsection.  Keeping her eyes steady on his, Ysaulte was astonished to feel the corner of her mouth quirk.

 

Jim bowed formally, paying tribute to that gallant little grin and finally finding his tongue.

 

“Welcome on board the starship Enterprise, your Ladyship.”

 

“Ah.  Know me?”  She wondered at his greeting.

 

“We put your medical information in the Federation database after we…  found you,” Doctor McCoy said, looking at Jim.  “I take it we heard something?”

 

Jim lifted one eyebrow in his best imitation of a certain first officer.

 

“Indeed, we did.  We received a transmission from Admiral Alexei Zeitsev.”  Jim said nothing else, watching the implications suggest themselves to his chief medical officer.

 

Ysaulte watched this bit of byplay, appreciating the warning in the captain’s words.  If he knew who she was, he knew what she was, and the warning was unnecessary.  The only person Ysaulte had had to fear had already done his worst, and she had survived it.

 

She picked her brain for enough Standard to respond coherently.

 

“Am Ysaulte.  Ambassador.  Homeworld, ZaworthIa.  Pleasure.”

 

Jim suppressed a grin for that grave diplomacy, given the difficulty speech was causing her.

 

“Would it help you to use an artificial translator?”  He asked curiously.

 

“No.  Words…  better soon.  Ask Healer.”

 

“Well, Healer?”  Jim allowed his grin to shine on McCoy.

 

Ysaulte, watching them, could easily perceive the caring between them.  Loyalty, an emotion deeper than friendship, and respect, layered over years and honed by circumstances.  It formed a bond that was plain to her inner vision.

 

“Well, Captain, I was just telling…  the Ambassador…  that she doesn’t need to be confined to Sickbay, although I do insist on following your progress, you know,” McCoy added, looking at Ysaulte.

 

The ZaworthIan nodded.

 

“Understand.”

 

“Christine, could you please show the Ambassador to the guest quarters?”  Jim requested quietly, stepping away from the door.  He didn’t want her to feel crowded.  Ysaulte tilted her head in his direction, all surface calm and courtesy, Jim thought.

 

“Captain, thank.”  Ysaulte met his gaze once more, easier this time.  His eyes came as near to changing colors as any Terran’s she’d ever seen, being by turns gray, green, or gold as the light struck them.  Strange, how much that reassured her.

 

“The word is ‘thanks’, Lady d’Aeviane, and you are welcome,” Jim offered, his eyes never leaving hers.  His next words were drawn from him without second thought, his tone serious.  “Please consider this ship your sanctuary, for as long as you like.”

 

Sanctuary.  Ysaulte’s hands went to her face as she wrestled down a strong urge to cry.  Who would have expected such behavior from Terrans?  Her own people could not have been more kind, nor more sensitive.  Nurse Chapel took her arm in a gently supportive grip, and Ysaulte permitted herself to be led from the sickbay while she considered what she’d learned.

 

There was more to Earth’s children than met the eye.

 

***

 

Bones waved Jim into the same chair he’d only recently vacated, flopping into his own seat with a sigh.

 

“Just what did Zeitsev say, Jim, that made you offer her the run of the ship?”

 

“It’s top secret,” Jim replied, with a teasing look at his friend.

 

“Of course it is,” Bones said wryly.  “Tell me anyway.”

 

“The Federation is in negotiations with her planet, ZaworthIa, for the admission of ZaworthIa as a member.  It’s “essential to the security of the Federation”, Zeitsev says.  We’re supposed to help the Ambassador in whatever manner she needs, as well as protect her,” Jim informed him, not surprised to see the anger flare up in McCoy’s eyes.

 

“Well, he’s a little damn late with that order, isn’t he?  Zeitsev’s no diplomat.  Isn’t he in charge of internal security?”  Bones asked, sipping at the brandy he’d left untouched earlier.

 

“That, and certain covert ops,” Jim noted, freshening his own glass.

 

“Hmm, fascinating, to borrow an expression.”  McCoy mulled over the information.  “There’s probably a lot more to this, Jim.”

 

“Probably,” the captain agreed, finishing his brandy and standing.  “I would have helped her anyway.”

 

Bones nodded. 

 

“She’s a fascinating woman,” he remarked, and left it at that, wondering if Jim had recognized the Ambassador’s similarity to another woman they’d known…  grace, humor, and that underlying strength.  Bones reckoned he wouldn’t point that out.  There were too many nights when he still saw Edith Keeler in his own dreams.

 

***

 

Alone, finally, Ysaulte limped around the quarters, paying no attention to the bland furnishings.  Christine had patiently explained the use of the communications panel, the sonic shower, and the clothing synthesizer, also leaving her with directions to the nearest mess.  After reminding Ysaulte twice that her own quarters were on the same deck, she’d left.  The cabin seemed empty without her.

 

Ysaulte stopped before the looking glass, inspecting her battered appearance for the first time.  Contusions marred the left side of her face from the curve of her jaw to her temple, extending back to the sweep of her ear.  Her lips were still a bit swollen, and painful.  Ysaulte’s stomach rolled with sudden nausea, and she turned away, unable to bear looking at the lingering stigmata of Marlak’s possession.

 

That control to which she’d clung, those inner barriers to emotion, all began to melt away under the sting of delayed reaction.  Protective numbness splintered into an agonizing sense of grief, so intense it brought Ysaulte to her knees.  She crammed her fists to her mouth, and still couldn’t hold back a moan, although her voice was so strained she made little noise.  Even when the unbearable torment escalated to wails.

 

The ZaworthIan doubled over until her forehead touched the deck covering, hurt shaking her until she lay prostrate.  As the first huge waves of misery ebbed, she began to curse, furious at the enormity of her loss.  Marlak had taken more than her physical innocence, far more.  He’d damaged her mind and her force of will, fouling her ability to form mental shielding.  Without it, without the security of strong psionic defenses, Ysaulte was cut off from her people and the link they all maintained by mind.

 

She covered her head with her hands as the rage swelled into a blistering thirst for vengeance.  The sheer strength of her wrath was frightening, and it came to Ysaulte that she had to release it somehow or be consumed by it.  She found the image of Marlak in her thoughts and focused that anger…  sending it out…

 

“Think me without power?  Think me defeated?”  Ysaulte of ZaworthIa flung her hatred into the plane of will.  “I give thee troubled dreams, Marlak.  Thou shalt rue this day!”

 

With that bitter benediction, Ysaulte reined in the shards of her control and subdued her force of thought.  Physical reality reformed around her, and Ysaulte wept until weariness coerced her into sleep.

 

***

 

Jim had gone back to the bridge, although both alpha and beta shifts were long since over.  As expected, Spock was still there.  The Vulcan sat in the center seat with his fingertips steepled in front of him, apparently lost in thought.  

 

Cilehe turned slowly on the forward viewscreen.  Jim had almost forgotten they remained in orbit.  He stood silently at Spock’s shoulder in an oddly comfortable position, idly wondering if the governor had given up on ‘catching’ him, yet.   Jim touched Spock’s arm to announce his presence to the oblivious first officer, and suffocating grief overwhelmed him, so much pained misery he felt his head rock back.  Breathing as evenly as he could, Jim tried to let the aching woe wash through him while he kept a firm grip on his friend.  He wasn’t sure how he knew, but he was certain these were Ysaulte’s own emotions, pouring from her soul unnoticed by any save the psionically sensitive Vulcan…  and she would not know he was on board.  Jim doubted she could have helped herself from expressing such anguish, even if she had.  His bones ached leadenly as her sorrow pierced them, making his hand tighten involuntarily.

 

“Spock.”  Jim was concerned for the Vulcan’s well-being, fearing it was not healthy for him to be exposed to this desolation of spirit.  The silvery clarity of Spock’s mind touched his, as if in meld.

 

“Are you all right?”  Jim asked silently.

 

“I am unharmed.”

 

Anger blasted over them both with icy flames, chilled into vengeance that was cold and sure.  Jim shivered, affected by the ZaworthIan’s furious despair.

 

“Why is this happening?  Can’t you block it somehow?”

 

“I could, but we are called to witness, Jim.”  The solemnity in Spock’s unspoken words steadied Jim, bonds of friendship cushioning the blows of Ysaulte’s pain.  “Listen,” Spock warned, and Jim closed his eyes.  Shaken, he realized he could hear the ambassador’s voice inside his head as plainly as the Vulcan’s…  but she was not addressing them.

 

“Think me without power?  Think me defeated?”  The language was lyrical, liquid in cadence, and totally unfamiliar.   Jim supposed it must be her native language, and marveled that he understood her meaning.

 

Time stood still as they felt her gather her will and focus.  Jim had the notion that the very stars watched and waited for reply, then the ZaworthIan released her force of thought in a surge of incandescent energy.  The vague figure of her target formed in their minds for only an instant, evanescing into the mental wind.

 

“I give thee troubled dreams, Marlak!  Thou shalt rue this day!”

 

That otherworldly voice of omen echoed into their thoughts as sudden exhaustion washed over them, then the odd linkage dissolved, leaving Jim and Spock once more alone within their skulls.

 

Jim looked around the bridge.  His evening shift officers tended their duty stations, ignoring the center seat.

 

“Lieutenant Reilly, you have the conn,” Jim ordered, a bit surprised when he spoke without stammering.  “Mister Spock.  It’s been a long day.  Care to join me for some dinner?”

 

“Yes, thank you, Captain.”

 

They left the bridge, making their way by unvoiced agreement to the small mess on Deck Five, near their quarters.  Jim had no stomach for the crowded main rec.  He was not even sure he could eat.

 

They found the little room deserted.  Jim flopped gracelessly into a chair and waved Spock down.

 

“Are you all right?”  He asked, aware of the unease behind Spock’s dark eyes.

 

“She has…  a strong mental presence,” Spock answered, tilting his head to one side and studying his captain.  Jim could practically feel the curiosity radiating off him. 

 

“You have learned who she is.”

 

“Yes.  The message from FleetComm.  She is the Lady Ysaulte d’Aeviane, Ambassador to the Federation from the planet ZaworthIa,” Jim said, and reported the rest of the admiral’s remarks.

 

“Interesting,” Spock noted, not blind to the irony in their having been ordered to protect the ambassador after she’d been so viciously attacked.  “Perhaps ZaworthIa’s value to the Federation is related to the psionic abilities of its inhabitants."

 

Jim shrugged.

 

“Just another crisis in diplomacy, Spock,” Jim yawned.  “She’s out of Sickbay, by the way.  I had Christine put her in the guest quarters.”  He yawned again, weary beyond the day’s demands.

 

“I find myself quite fatigued as well, Jim,” Spock allowed, his mouth curved in that faint smile he sometimes permitted himself.

 

“This… resonance.  Will she be aware of it?”  Jim wondered.

 

“I do not believe so.  It may be unwise to bring it to her attention.”  Spock’s face grew serious.  “Her loss of control may be a result of her injuries.  Among Vulcans, such leakage would be considered unseemly, but excusable.  The cause was sufficient.  We cannot be certain she will view it in that light.”

 

“You mean, it could make her feel worse.  What if it happens again?”

 

Spock sighed, which Jim correctly interpreted as “why don’t you cross that bridge when you come to it” before his first officer responded.

 

“She has caused me no harm, and under the circumstances, a ship full of humans is probably the safest place for her recovery, short of her own world.  The majority of the crew is psi-null, and will not notice her… lapses.”

 

“I see, Mister Spock.  Thank you.  Are you certain you won’t be troubled?”

 

“My shielding is secure, Captain.”

 

“Of course.  Forgive me,” Jim deadpanned, reassured.  “I appreciate your insight.  Tell me, how did Ensign Fried’s physics experiment turn out?”

 

“The ensign was reasonably successful, actually.”  Spock’s eyes gleamed wickedly.  “He managed to avoid recreating the unfortunate explosion that accompanied his previous effort.”

 

“An improvement,” Jim agreed gravely, hiding a grin.

 

Spock continued his report, ship’s business dominating the conversation as they both relaxed.

 

End Chapter One

 

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