Seven

Captain’s Log: Stardate 6100.0 Reports of Romulan activity in a sector of Federation space tangential to the Romulan neutral zone led Starfleet Command to assign the Enterprise to that area. Reconnaissance has not confirmed these sightings. However, petty incidents and “accidents” have continued to occur along the interface of Klingon and Federation space. Starflet Intelligence reports indicate the situation within the Klingon Empire has not changed substantially. We have been recalled to Starbase 10 to take aboard additional personnel for Sherman’s planet. We are now enroute to that planet which has been quiet since the initial hostile incident with our shuttlecrat.

IT STARTED AS a very quiet Sunday morning. Kirk and Spok were finishing a game of chess in the rec room. Or rather, Kirk was finishing it. If a Vulcan face could look glum, this one could be called positively morose.

“Your move, Mr. Spock.” Kirk could not suppress a hint of glee in his voce. He didn’t beat Spock very often. Spock made his move. Then Kirk. “Checkmate, Mr. Spock.”

Spock tipped his king in acknowledgement of defeat. “An interesting variation on the Vlaskov maneuver, Captain. I commend you. However, I must point out that your move of the king’s knight was highly illogical. You didn’t need to save your queen to complete the game.”

Kirk grinned, “Spock, I just can’t resist a lady in distress.” He glanced at the transparent cube sitting on the table beside them. “Speaking of ladies, I wonder where Maevlynin is. I’m eager to see how this xuan nam cube you have built works.” Maevlynin, an Estryllian, had recently joined the crew of the Enterprise and now was assigned to the medical section. She divided her time between sick bay and her botany lab. Lovers of games and puzzles, Estryllians had devised many intricate ones. Xuan nam was an example. A race of telepaths with powers of telekinesis, they played the game with balls simply suspended in mid air. Dr. McCoy had discovered that Maevlynin was passionately fond of this particular game. Unfortunately, no one else aboard the Enterprise had telekinetic powers sufficient to hold the balls in space and move them. McCoy had approached Spock with the idea of building a cube that would accomplish the same thing with colored lights and keyboards. Today they planned to surprise Maevlynin with it.

Kirk turned from the game-cube back to Spock. “Heading back to Sherman’s planet reminds me—id anything come in on dispatches this morning about Czerny?”

“No, the only mention of her was the report several weeks ago that she was no longer aboard the Klolode Two. There was a briefing on Sherman’s planet. The Klingon outpost weathered the winter well. They have steadfastly ignored all communication attempts from the Federation and the Organians. No apparent contact with the Empire either. They have not engaged the Federation forces since that incident with our shuttlecraft. The only activity our personnel have noted outside their fortress has been an occasional hunting party.”

“Well, they seem to be busy enough elsewhere. Maybe that post has been overlooked, for the moment. Still, it’s just one more thing we have to sort out with the Klingons eventually.” Kirk fingered the xuan nam keyboard, experimentally producing a cascade of lighted dots from one corner to its diagonal opposite. “I’m glad this assignment on the Romulan neutral zone was a dry run. With the Klingon border so uneasy, all we need is trouble with the Romulans to boot …” He snapped the cube console off and stood up. “Can I get you a cup of anything, Spock?”

“No, thank you, Captain.” The Vulcan was making some minor adjustments to the cube.

Kirk smiled as he crossed to the beverage automat and punched for another cup of coffee. His thoughts returned to Maevlynin. Like Vulcans, Estryllians were adept telepaths. Unlike Vulcans, they emphasized emotional development, but had a violent aversion to machines—especially complex ones. In their distant past, Estryllians had possessed an advanced technology and had almost destroyed their planet with it. In reaction, they had forbidden any use of complex machines or weapons, devoting themselves instead to the development and peaceful use of their mental powers and emotional range. However, Maevlynin had shown a capacity to adjust to a starship that, of necessity, depended heavily on complex technology.

At the moment, Maevlynin and Dr. McCoy were absorbed in another problem in sick bay. One of the men in the engineering section had slipped and fallen while working in the Jeffries tube. Although no bones were broken, he had painfully wrenched his back. While McCoy could resolve the problems with a few days sonic treatments and injections, he was rapidly developing a profound respect for the Estryllian approach to such injuries. He watched now as Maevlynin, a trained Estryllian healer, had the man sit bending this way and that. Her slender fingers probed gently along the spine. “The primary problem is here, with extension to L-two and L-three,” she said.

McCoy beamed. “Exactly what my scanner showed.”

Maevlynin wrinkled her nose. “Doctor, you really ought to dispense with those diabolical gadgets. They are unnecessary. Shall I proceed with treatment?”

“Those diabolical gadgets as you call them are extremely useful and they don’t get absorbed in the botany lab,” McCoy rejoined . “Yes, go ahead.”

Again her fingers moved along the spine. One hand grasped the man’s shoulder from the front, turning him slightly while the palm of her other hand worked over the affected area. Her slightly pointed ears were hidden by her blond hair, but with her peaked eyebrows and pointed chin she still looked very much like a pixie. As McCoy watched, his feelings toward her were an amalgam of respect for a talented colleague and a … well, not exactly brotherly … feeling of affection. Sensing his feelings, Maevlynin glanced up at him and smiled her acknowledgement of them. McCoy felt his face flush. Damn, he thought, would he ever get used to this utter transparency of emotions that working and living with Estryllians brought? He turned and dropped a tape card into the reader on his desk, giving his attention to an emotionally neutral subject: review of this week’s routine crew physicals.

Chekov saw it first. He was on bridge duty that morning at Spock’s customary position. Scott was in the command chair. “Mr. Scott, sir, the sensors are showing traces of a matter-antimatter explosion and small pieces of debris compatible with a Romulan ship dead ahead of us.”

Immediately Scott ordered the helmsman to reduce speed and notified Captain Kirk on the intercom.

“Yellow Alert, Scotty. Spock and I are on our way.”

When Kirk and Spock arrived on the bridge moments later, the shattered shell of the Romulan vessel hung in the center of the main viewscreen. Moving to the command chair, Kirk snapped, “Report, Mr. Chekov.”

“The ship is totally disabled, sir. There seems to have been some sort of explosion in their engines. No sign of life on the vessel. However, one small launch craft is missing so there may have been survivors.”

“Any nearby planets capable of supporting humanoid life?”

“Yes sir. The nearest star has a class M planet, Persephone Two, that has been previously explored. It is capable of supporting humanoid life though none has emerged there.”

Kirk weighed the possibilities: a chance to explore the disabled vessel and gaining important military information versus a possible wild-goose chase looking for survivors. The ship would wait, survivors might need immediate help. “Navigator, set a course for Persephone Two.”

In orbit around Persephone Two, sensors showed that there was indeed a Romulan small craft on the surface with two survivors. Kirk, Spock, McCoy and Chekov beamed down near the vessel. It was empty. The party fanned out in four directions to look for the survivors.

Reena worked awkwardly with the knife in her left hand. Even to hold the carcass with her right hand was painful because of her arm and hand injuries. Her head wound, though not serious, was throbbing painfully too from all the exertion. But Lucius was in far worse shape than she and someone had to get food. He had seemed so much weaker this morning. She refused to think about that possibility. Could she survive alone on this planet until a Romulan vessel might come in response to their distress signal? She knew this was unlikely. The ship had been destroyed on the edge of Federation territory. Her mind turned away from that thought, too. She had enough horrors to contemplate without thinking of Federation stormtroopers! A slight sound behind her drew her attention. As if to give substance to her nightmare, there stood a figure in the dreaded blue and black uniform of a Federation starship. Dropping her knife, she lunged for her weapon lying on an adjacent rock. The phaser fire caught her just as she reached it.

McCoy knelt by the unconscious Romulan swearing under his breath. He had taken her for a youth when he first came over the rise. Now he had discovered she was a woman and injured as well. He should have aimed for her weapon instead of stunning her. “Maevlynin’s right. Give a man a weapon and he just creates more trouble for himself,” he grumbled as he worked over the inert Romulan. Satisfied that her condition would allow it, he scooped her up to return to the Romulan craft. As an afterthought, he hung the second carcass she had been skinning next to the one already on her belt.

Kirks search had ended differently. The Romulan he found was already dead. He and Spock were in the process of burying him when McCoy returned bearing his limp burden. Chekov was scrutinizing the Romulan craft.

“Did you find the other Romulan yet?” McCoy queried.

Chekov nodded. “Captain Kirk did. He’s dead.”

McCoy thought for a moment that the woman he was carrying had regained consciousness. He could swear he’d felt her tense. He eased her down alongside the craft. No, no response yet. “Well, this one will come around any time now. She’ll make it.”

Kirk and Spock appeared around the front of the craft.

“Ah, Bones. I see you found the other one. Good. The one I found—”

“You killed him!” The Romulan woman, obviously conscious, sprang at Kirk.

Unprepared for her attack, Kirk fell backwards but managed to grab her wrists as he went. Rolling to his feet, he pulled her up. McCoy saw her look over Kirk’s shoulder at Spock. She shook her head in sudden disbelief, then looked back at Kirk.

“Spock! Enterprise! No.” She wrenched free of Kirk’s grasp and backed away, straight into McCoy’s waiting hypo.

Spock’s eyebrow went up. “It would appear that we have a most unfortunate reputation among the Romulan fleet.”

Kirk looked at the unconscious Romulan and gave a low whistle. “Bones, it looks like you got yourself a handful this time. When she wakes up, tell her that her comrade was already dead and try to reassure her. Come on, Spock, let’s see if we can recover the launch’s log and computer tapes.”

The woman was just regaining consciousness a short while later, as Kirk and Spock were preparing to beam up. Kirk turned to the doctor. “Well, how’s your patient now?”

“I’d like to see her stabilize a little before I beam her up. Probably a few more minutes.”

“We have the tapes. Mr. Spock and I will beam up and get a security team down here to work with Chekov. You bring her when you’re ready. Scotty, two to beam up.”

Reena sat up groggily. Her captor momentarily had his eyes on the two who were shimmering out. The other one was bending over the console, his back to her. If she could just reach the firing button… .

Chekov caught the motion out of the corner of his eye. His communicator lay in front of him. He flipped it on. “Deflectors! Scotty, quickly!”

A short pause. “Deflectors on. Mr. Chekov—what is happening down there?”

What was happening was pandemonium. McCoy got to Reena first. Chekov took a look at the panel: missile firing button depressed, one launch cradle registering empty. In a white-hot fury he lunged for the Romulan. “She fired on the ship! I’ll kill her!”

“Chekov, stop it. Let me handle this.” Jumping between them, McCoy shoved Chekov into a chair. He wondered wearily how many people he was going to have to knock out how many times today. It had started as such a nice quiet Sunday. He handed Chekov his communicator. Now Kirk was on the other end of it.

“Bones, Chekov. What on earth is going on down there?”

Chekov explained while McCoy none too gently placed the woman in a second chair and tied her there. “It’s about time we reached an understariding. I’d like to have time to treat you instead of knocking you out all the time. Now sit still and behave yourself.”

Reena watched the two Federation men with a certain grim satisfaction. For the moment she had put the entire starship on the defensive. Here, both men were preocupied with determining exactly what had happened to their ship. The torture would come soon for information or revenge or both but with any luck it would be mercifully quick. Certainly if the younger one had his way it would be short. Her captor on the other hand struck her as sadistic. He might be capable of keeping her alive a long time. She shivered.

Slowly they pieced together the situation: Spock on the ship with the launch tapes and Chekov here at the console. The launch was armed with two probe missiles—a new device that would stay with the deflector shields until they were lowered, then home in on the targeted ship, activate and explode. They even determined that the timer had not been set; the device would take the maxiimum delay after attachment to detonate: two hours.

“Chekov, is there any way that device can be disarmed after launch?” Kirk asked via communicator. “The tapes don’t have that information. I don’t care what you have to tear apart. We’ve got to have that information.”

“Yes sir. We’ll do our best.”

“Fine, let me know as soon as you have something. Kirk out.”

McCoy and Chekov looked at each other. Chekov picked up his tricorder and went out to have a fresh look at the remaining device.

McCoy considered his patient speculatively. Physical condition: weak but stable. The two Romulans had apparently been on limited rations for some time. Her physical reserves were depleted. Head wound—looked bad but minor really. Right arm and hand injury—now there was a nasty problem: a lot of tissue damage and infected too. Must hurt like the devil. It needed surgery but that would have to wait for sick bay. Mental condition: problematical. The woman was obviously frightened and angry—angry enough to attack Kirk and then later to fire the missile in spite of her weakness, a phaser stun, and a hypo. Panic triggered by the sight of Kirk and Spock … she must have heard terrible stories about the Enterprise. He had to get her calmed down. No telling how long they would be stuck here before Spock and Chekov figured out how to disarm that bomb. Too bad he didn’t have some really powerful tranquilizer along but that wasn’t standard medikit equipment.

McCoy pulled up a box that Spock had extracted from the console to get at the tapes and sat down beside the woman. “What’s your name?”

She looked startled, as if that wasn’t what she expected. She glanced at her uniform, thenat the stripes on his sleeve. “Navigator R. Tertullian … Lieutenant Commander, sir,” she hazarded.

It was McCoy’s turn to be startled. “Yes, that’s my rank but there’s no need to be so formal. I’m Leonard McCoy, chief medical officer of the U.S.S. Enterprise. We found your ship and came looking for survivors. Unfortunately your friend was already dead when we found him.

Navigator Tertullian said nothing.

McCoy tried again. “How long have you been here?”

“I’m sure First Officer Spock has recovered that information from our tapes already,” she replied icily.

“What happened to your ship?”

Her voice dripped with scorn. “As if you don’t know already. Surely, Lieutenant Commander, you don’t expect me to divulge military information to enemies of the Empire.”

“All right. What about your comrade here? What was his name?”

The anger blazed. “If he died without telling you, you can be sure I won’t tell you!”

Right back to square one, McCoy thought wryly. You sure aren’t much of a psychiatrist. He shrugged. “Nice weather we’re having. Do you think it will rain?” And he went out to see how Chekov was doing.

Chekov was doing well … and he was not. As McCoy came over, Chekov looked up from his tricorder. “I don’t think the captain will be happy with my news. This device can be disarmed … but only by a Romulan. It contains sensors programmed to Romulan neural patterns. If anyone else tries to disarm it, it detonates immediately.

Suddenly, McCoy thought he knew how a lobster must feel when it tries to back out of a lobster pot. It wasn’t a pleasant sensation.

Chekov whirled and sprinted for the inside of the launch. He seized the woman’s hair and wrenched her head back. “Do you know how to disarm the device?” he hissed.

The woman seemed bent on suicide. “Of course I do, you slimy spineless stormtrooper, but it won’t do your starship any good,” she spat. “Sooner or later you have to lower your deflectors and then that mine will blow your ship into the next solar system. So much for your precious Captain Kirk and Spock!”

If McCoy had not been two steps behind Chekov, the Romulan might have succeeded in her Suicidal quest. As it was, McCoy found himself prying them apart for the second time. Once again, Chekov found himself in a chair addressing the captain via communicator. There was a long pause on the other end. “Only by a Romulan? Are you sure, Chekov?”

“Yes, sir. And the prisoner has confirmed it.”

Another long pause. “Stand by, Mr. Chekov. I’ll be back with instructions shortly. Kirk, out.”

On the bridge of the Enterprise Kirk stared at Spock with dismay. “Spock, comment?”

“We would appear to have two alternatives, Captain. Persuade the Romulan woman to disarm it or have someone else make the attempt.”

“Someone else … ?” Kirk’s face lit up. “Vulcans and Romulans apparently spring from a common ancestry. Would your neural patterns be close to foil the sensor?”

Spock was already bent over his viewer consulting the ship’s computer. He straightened. “Based on what scant data we possess of Romulan neurophysiology, there is approximately a fifty-eight percent chance I could succeed. The biggest uncertainty is how much that sensor is programmed to read Romulan emotions. Any significant degree of that would substantially diminish my chance of success.”

Kirk’s face clouded again. “Not good enough. We can’t chance it. What are the chances of persuading the Romulan to do it?”

This time Spook did not consult the computer. Between them, he and Kirk probably knew as much about Romulan psychology as any starship computer. “I am not sanguine about that possibility either, Captain. Romulans seldom allow themselves to be captured let alone ‘persuaded’ to aid an enemy. I can’t give you the probability but it is certainly low.”

“Well, if she can’t be persuaded, she’ll have to be forced. Spock, what about mind-meld? Could you mind-meld with her and force her to disarm it? You’ve done it before—the Eminian guard for example.”

Spock pondered the problem for a moment before answering. “This is a much more difficult undertaking. That required only a brief contact and a simple act open a door or unlock a cell—an act frequently performed by the subject with little emotional investment. This would involve prolonged contact, performance of intricate maneuvers against considerable emotional resistance. She might go psychotic. That would be disastrous for all of us.”

To say nothing, thought Kirk, of your Vulcan aversion to the mind-meld itself let alone coercion. Aloud he only said gently, “Spock, I won’t ask you to do that unless we can’t find, any other way.” Kirk prowled restlessly around his command chair.

“I know that, Captain.” Spock reflected once again that it was a cage as much as a command post.

“Meanwhile, we have as much time as we want to take. The thing won’t activate until it attaches to the hull. McCoy is a pretty savvy doctor. Maybe he can come up with some way to persuade her. Let’s give him a chance at it. What have we got to lose?” The question was rhetorical.

“Nothing, Captain”

Kirk smiled. Literal Vulcan. “This is Kirk to Chekov. Are you there? Can you all hear me?”

“Yes sir, Captain.”

As Chekov and McCoy listened, the captain’s voice became unaccustomedly harsh—”Then hear this: the Romulan prisoner must be made to cooperate with us. I’m giving you six hours. I don’t care how you do it, but she must be brought around. That is an order. Don’t signal until you have results to report. And if you haven’t succeeded in six hours, I’m going to turn Spock loose on her and Lt. Uhura loose on you, too. Do I make myself clear?”

Chekov goggled. Quickly McCoy picked up the communicator, “My God, Captain Kirk, sir … we’re only human. I’ll face Spock any day but please not Lt. Uhura!”

Chekov was beginning to catch on. “Captain Kirk, you know we will do our best, but please … not Uhura!” He sounded as if he were strangling.

“My orders stand. Kirk, out.”

McCoy pulled Chekov out of the launch. “It’s time for a little walk.” What he really needed was time to think. The same possibilities had run through his mind as Captain Kirk’s. “Pavel, the chances of Spock disarming that thing by himself must be too low for the captain to risk it. Otherwise he wouldn’t be playing this game. I would guess his trump card is a mind-meld with Spock. But that’s risky, too; she’s terrified of Spock. Did you see her face when the Captain said he’d turn Spock loose on her? She might crack completely. So it’s up to us to try—we’ve nothing to lose.”

“What are you going to do, Doctor?”

“I’m not quite sure myself but just follow my lead, Pavel. Follow my lead.”

When they reentered the launch, it appeared that McCoy was going to do nothing at all. Chekov set to work under one console, proceeding with the original plan to collect all the information possible about the Romulan launch. McCoy sat on the floor beside him, holding lights, handing tools, and just making conversation. “Pavel, how did you come to join the Starfleet anyway?”

“Well, sir, since I was a small boy growing up in Novy Riga, I’ve been fascinated by stars. I got my first telescope when I was six. Could you shine the light here, please? My father helped me build it.” The talk drifted on: Chekov’s boyhood in Russia, McCoy’s in southern Georgia. School, boyhood pranks and dreams, swimming, fishing.

Without appearing to, McCoy carefully watched the Romulan’s reactions. She went from open-mouthed incredulity to suspicion to puzzled curiosity. Finally she relaxed, apparently having decided that, for whatever obscure reasons, they were ignoring her for the moment. He waited until she seemed to be lost in her own thoughts.

“How do you catch fish on your planet, Miss Tertullian?”

She snapped back to startled attention at her name. “What?”

“I asked, how do you catch fish on your planet?”

She looked wary, then apparently decided there was no harm in answering that question. “For sport, with a hand net or a spear.”

“My grandfather used to talk about spearing suckers as a boy,” McCoy mused, “but I never did it myself. Is it difficult?’

“I usually used the net, but with a little practice the spear is equally simple,” she answered slowly.

McCoy stood and stretched. “Pavel, would you like a drink?”

“Sure, I’ll be done here in a moment.”

The Romulans had improvised a cistern near the shuttle. McCoy took back a dipperful and offered it first to Chekov then the Romulan. She started to refuse then thought better of it. Clearly she was thirsty; probably hungry too. From the looks of the campsite she’d not eaten at all today, McCoy thought.

“Why are you bothering to put it all back together?” the woman asked, indicating the console.

McCoy set down the water dipper and unslung his medical tricorder again. “After we get you put all back together you may want to fly it back to one of your ships.” he said.

“Don’t mock me, Human. You dishonor us both. Death on the battlefield or even quick death to a defeated enemy is noble. I accept that. Why can’t you?” She drew back slightly from his medical scanner.

“My business is saving lives not dispatching them.” McCoy replied. “Your head feeling better?” She nodded. He put away his instruments. “I don’t know about you, Pavel, but I’m hungry. Let’s see what we can do about some lunch.”

Chekov was more the camper. McCoy set him to work skinning the second animal the Romulan woman had killed. Through the open doorway of the launch he saw her watching them, though she feigned indifference. He picked up a handful of tubers he’d found in the cook area and went over to the door. “What are these? Did you find them edible?”

She nodded. “Yes. They taste rather like sashkas, a common vegetable of ours.”

Chekov had the fire going and the first animal spitted. McCoy couldn’t find any cookpot. He went back to the door. “Do you have any kind of cooking pot here?”

She told him where to find it. “There’s some salt, too, if you want it.”

McCoy smiled. “Thanks.” He found the pot but nothing that looked like a container of salt. “Chekov,” he said, putting some exasperation in his voice, “bring her out here. I can’t find that damn salt anywhere.”

Chekov untied her. “Come on,” he said curtly. She pushed away his proffered hand, stood up and started for the door when her knees buckled.

Chekov caught her halfway to the floor. “What happened?” he asked anxiously.

“Nothing. Just a little dizzy, that’s all.”

But he saw the white line of pain around her lips and felt the involuntary muscle guarding. He had jarred her injured arm badly when he caught her. She was so stubborn! After all, she could disarm the device and have it all over with. They had rescued her, treated her well. Surely she could see they had meant her no harm. But the ship has to be defended. It was her own fault. Her grip on his arm tightened, knuckles white as she fought the pain and weakness. For a fraction of a second, Pavel Chekov’s universe blinked. When it refocused, he saw not an adversary but a fellow mortal being in agony. “Look, I’m sorry I bumped your arm like that. Here, let me help you.”

He lowered her in the doorway of the launch and she leaned weakly against the doorframe. McCoy was there immediately. “What happened?”

“I think she stood up too quickly, Doctor, and got dizzy. I … I bumped her arm rather badly when I caught her.”

“Get my medikit.” He cupped her face in his hands and projected concern. “Take it easy now. You’ll be okay.” Chekov handed him the kit. He ran his scanner over the arm, her head, then nodded, apparently satisfied. “I can give you another hypo for the pain.”

“No. I want no more of your serums or hypnotics. That won’t work either,” she responded.

“Nonsense. I’ve got nothing like that here. Just a painkiller.” He held out the hypospray. “I’ll give you that if you want it.” She shook her head. He closed his kit and went back to looking for the salt.

She watched him for a minute, then got up slowly, came over and put her finger on an oil-paper packet. “The salt.”

McCoy stared. “That’s the damndest looking salt shaker I’ve ever seen.”

“Unfamiliar things are not always what they seem, Doctor.”

He gave her a searching look. “No, they often aren’t, are they?”

He went back to his cooking and she resumed her seat in the doorway, cradling her arm in her lap. McCoy watched the stew while Chekov turned the spit, and talked about his last camping trip with Sulu. Absentmindedly, McCoy grasped the handle to shift the pot on the fire. He let go very quickly and swore softly as he examined his fingers. No serious damage—a couple of small blisters. He was not cut out to be a camper.

He glanced up to catch a fleeting smile cross the woman’s face before she settled it back into an impassive mask. A bit later, he also saw her surprise when Chekov handed her a bowl of food. She ate a couple of bites, then sat and watched them.

Chekov glanced at her bowl. “What’s wrong? Go ahead and eat.”

“Nothing, but … might I have the other packet over there?” She indicated the spot where the salt had been.

Pavel got it, then watched as she added some to her stew. “What is it?”

“Ground cumidin seed. We actually use it more than salt.”

“What does it taste like? May I try a bit?” Gingerly, he dipped a finger in the powder and tasted it. “Say, that’s good.”

“The seeds come from trees that grow high on mountain slopes near my home. The seedpods are bright orange and the leaves brilliant yellow. It’s a beautiful sight at harvest time,” she said.

“I saw golden trees like that once on Earth,” McCoy mused, “in the high Unitas of the West—one of our last wilderness areas. Aspens, ours are called, and in late August they turn from green to pure gold. That was the year before Joanna was born.” He turned to her. “What does the ‘R’ stand for?”

“What?” she asked, startled.

“Your name. What does the ‘R’ stand for?”

“Reena.”

“I’ve already told you my name. This is Pavel Chekov, our navigator.”

Her eyes widened in surprise. “A navigator? So am I. I thought you must be in engineering from the way you were working on that console.”

Pavel looked pleased. He was beginning to like this Romulan woman in spite of her initial hostile action.

McCoy idly toyed with a bone but his mind was working furiously. So far so good. She was now willing to talk to them. But where to go from here? Clearly, one didn’t sidle up to a Romulan officer and say, “There now be a decent chap, uh … lass, and put this nasty bomb you’ve launched out of commission for us.” As well ask Spock to dance flamenco. Not much time left. McCoy sighed. “Come on, Pavel, let’s clean things up.”

As it turned out, Reena took the next step herself. Chekov had gone to get more water. McCoy was washing the dishes. Reena sat in the doorway watching him, her hand on her chin. “Dr. McCoy, you were serving under Captain Kirk at the time of … of the … Enterprise incident, weren’t you?”

The spoon hung in midair. McCoy carefully kept looking straight ahead, not at Reena. “Yes, why do you ask?” He hoped it sounded casual.

“Why did Captain Kirk release our commander?”

“Reena, it is Federation policy to treat all prisoners kindly and humanely, to repatriate them whenever that does not pose a threat to our security. We had what we wanted from her flagship. And she was no threat to us. There was no point in holding her.” Please, dear God, don’t let Chekov come clanking back with the water right now, he thought desperately. Carefully he turned to look at her. “It could be the same for you, Reena. If you disarm the device you will not be harmed. We will return you to your own people.”

She smiled sardonically but her eyes misted. “You overlook one vital difference between my situation and hers.”

“And that is …?”

“You require my cooperation. We are sworn to die rather than reveal information to our enemies let alone aid them. If you don’t kill me, my own officers will. That is our oath.”

McCoy was feeling his way. “Reena, are you saying you want to … to stay?”

Her eyes flashed angrily. “Don’t be ridiculous. I am a Romulan. That is my home, my people.”

“Yet if you cooperated with us and we released you, your own code would condemn you. How can they hold you liable? You’ve been through a terrible disaster, sole survivor, weak, badly injured. You’re in no position to resist us.”

“Merely the exigencies of battle, Doctor. That doesn’t release me from my oath.”

McCoy squatted in front of her and took her face in his hands again. “Reena, you will disarm that device. You know that. If necessary Spock will mind-meld with you in order to accomplish that. I don’t think you will find that very pleasant. If you would disarm the device voluntarily, I promise you we will find a way to return you to your people safely. Can you trust me for that?”

She pushed his hands away and shut her eyes for a moment. When she looked at him her eyes were clear but distant. “Perhaps. But Doctor, I am Romulan, you know. I must do what is required of me.”

And that, thought McCoy grimly, could be interpreted in more than one way. He stood up abruptly, “Well, it would seem the task at hand is to satisfy your Romulan code of honor, isn’t it?” Reena looked at him levelly. Chekov came clanking back. “Lunch is over and time’s short. Tie her up, Chekov.”

Chekov looked puzzled but complied. “Yes, sir.”

Wearily, McCoy finished putting things away. It certainly had not turned out to be a quiet day and it promised to get worse. Reluctantly, he went into the launch. Reena sat erect in her chair. Chekov leaned against the console. “Ensign Chekov, Navigator Tertullian and I had a little talk while you were gone. In spite of our patience and thoughtfulness she is not inclined to be cooperative. Time is short. We know the consequences if we fail. Hit her, Mr. Chekov.”

Chekov nearly fell on the floor. He stared at McCoy as if he had gone mad. “Sir … ?”

“You heard me.”

“Me? Now? Sir?”

“Now, Mr. Chekov.”

Gingerly, Chekov slapped Reena on the cheek. She laughed. Chekov flushed. McCoy felt slightly nauseated. “I said hit her, Chekov.” And he stepped forward and landed a second solid blow. Reena sat there stolidly. Chekov’s hands were shaking and McCoy was definitely nauseated. He really hadn’t the stomach for this. He flipped open his communicator, “McCoy to Enterprise.”

Kirk’s voice was still harsh, “Captain Kirk here. What progress do you have to report?”

“Captain, I think our prisoner is ready to come on board. Alert an emergency medical team. We can continue interrogation in sick bay.”

Kirk’s voice instantly dropped all pretense, “Bones! What on earth have you—”

“Just beam us up, Jim. I’ll explain when I get there.”

Kirk, Spock, and the medical team were waiting when they materialized. Chekov lifted Reena and placed her gingerly on the cart. McCoy gave a few directions, “… and take Chekov with you. I’ll be right down.”

Kirk’s face was grim. “All right, Bones, what in the devil is going on? Is she ready to disarm the device? What did you do to her? I expected you to intimidate her, scare her, but … physical abuse? That’s not like you, Bones. Surely you knew we could use Spock’s mind-meld if we had to—”

“I know, Jim, I know. I also know it might kill her. I think I’ve found a way around it.”

“You mean she’s agreed to do it on her own?”

“Not yet, but I think she will. You know, it’s funny. A few weeks ago I was reviewing some journal tapes on the psychology of old POW camps. You know back on Earth they used to …”

“Dr. McCoy, we have exactly one hour and forty-seven minutes before detonation,” Spock interspersed. “May I suggest you be brief?”

McCoy decided Spock was not looking forward to the mind-meld either. He was positively edgy. “She’s a well-disciplined Romulan officer, committed to her culture and her people. A direct attack wouldn’t work. She’d die or go psychotic first. However, she’s also young, bright, and open-minded … and she wants to go home. What they discovered with POWs was that sometimes meaningful interaction between prisoners and captors produced attitude changes. The key seemed to be series of events that slipped by the mutual defenses and projections that each side has set up. One meets the enemy on common ground. That’s what I tried with her. The problem is—if she cooperates with us they’ll kill her. It’s their code of honor—sort of ‘come back with your shield or on it.’ Her injuries and isolation are not mitigating circumstances. She’ll be questioned, maybe mind-scanned. We have to create the impression that she was pushed beyond Romulan endurance before she yielded to us or it’s all up with her when she gets back. Spock, could you place a block in her mind as if something had been wiped out—erased?”

The Vulcan considered it. “There is such a technique, though I have never employed it. It would, however, be simpler than controlling her through the prolonged process of disarming that device.”

“She will have to be quite terrified up to the block but unfortunately I don’t see any way around that,” McCoy said.

The trio entered sick bay. The Romulan was lying quietly in bed, with Dr. Chapel and Chekov at the bedside. “Her signs are stable, Dr. McCoy.”

“Thank you, Dr. Chapel. You might start setting us up for surgery then—well be working on her arm a little later.” He glanced at Chekov. “Captain, maybe you’d like Chekov to get a couple of life support units ready? She’ll be ready to go out soon.”

Kirk sent Chekov on his way. “Spock, let’s get on with it.”

Reena’s eyes widened as she struggled to sit up. “No, not Spock! Doctor, you said … I thought you understood—”

McCoy cut in. “I know perfectly well what you thought. We have very little time. Now let’s get this over with.” He held her down on one side, Kirk on the other. She screamed.

Spock touched her face with the characteristic mind-meld position. The Romulan mind is in some respects like the Vulcan. That made it worse for him. Sheer terror. He couldn’t even tell what exactly she feared—everything was blotted out by it. He almost broke the link. Then slowly, steadily he began to gather that fear, to pull it together, contain it. Finally there stood a firm barrier. He began to withdraw. The woman waited warily. “I have done what I came to do. Madam, I sincerely regret the necessity. Perhaps you will find consolation in the fact that it was equally distasteful to me.”

“Understood,” she acceded. He left. Reena looked up at the faces around her. Concern was written all over McCoy’s. Kirk looked relieved and Spock—was Spock.

McCoy touched her chin lightly. “Reena, are you all right?”

“That is all?” she whispered.

“Yes, it’s over,” he said with relief. “Now that we’ve blocked out those horrible tortures we’ve put you through, let’s substitute some pleasant memories. It would never do for your Romulan officers to get hold of our interrogation techniques. They might find a way to stop us.”

The woman relaxed visibly. McCoy was no telepath but he could almost read her thoughts. He’d meant it. She would go home.

McCoy watched as Reena and Pavel worked their way slowly along the secondary hull toward the device. They had nineteen minutes to detonation. The doctor had worked steadily over the Romulan woman for some time to get her ready for this foray. She really was in precarious shape. Normally he wouldn’t let someone in that condition out of bed. As soon as she got back, he wouldn’t, he promised silently. Now he watched the viewscreen alongside Kirk, Spock, and Scotty while the two figures approached the device. They were nearly there. Reena withdrew her hand from Pavel’s and motioned him back. She knelt beside it and her fingers moved over it, touching here, pressing there. Pavel watched anxiously—five minutes … four … She stood with one fluid movement, the device in her hands, turned and pushed it away from the Enterprise toward the atmosphere of the planet. It burned on entry.

“Reena, why did you do that?”

The look she gave him was unfathomable. “I was required to disarm it, not to turn it over to you. Let’s go.” She took his hand.

McCoy whisked them both off to sick bay again. This time he let Chekov stay with Reena. Maevlynin sat at Reena’s head, one finger lightly on the woman’s left temple. With her other hand she occasionally adjusted one of the silver needles inserted in Reena’s skin. Pavel sat beside her, his dark head bent over Reena’s. They spoke of navigation, ships, and stars. Not yet, Maevlynin thought with gentle amusement, did they talk of the emotions that flowed between them. Clearly this effect of McCoy’s worked both ways.

Behind the surgical screen, Drs. McCoy and Chapel worked steadily on Reena’s hand and arm. Once again McCoy was grateful for Maevlynin’s anesthetic technique. Resembling a hybrid of telepathic touch and ancient Terran acupuncture, it was perfect for this kind of surgery. Although slower to produce an effect than conventional anesthesia, it was exquisitely precise. Dr. Chapel was working on the thumb while McCoy painstakingly reanastomosed the Romulan equivalent of the ulnar artery just above the wrist. “Reena, would you move your thumb now please? Fine. Now Maevlynin, let’s open up circulation in this artery again and see how it looks. Great.” He leaned over the screen. “We’re almost done now. I think you’ll recover almost perfect function of this hand eventually.” Reena acknowledged this report with a brief smile.

Dr. Chapel was fussing over Reena’s bed while Maevlynin and Pavel cleared away the instruments. McCoy was talking to Kirk and Spock who had come to see how his latest patient was doing. “It’s going to be strict bed rest for a few days but I think she’ll be fine. It will be over two weeks though before she’s likely to be ready for discharge. She’s been through a lot.” McCoy wanted to be sure that this patient was returned in mint condition.

Kirk acquiesced. “Scotty’s bringing her launch up by tractor beam. Then we’ll return to the Romulan ship and complete our survey of it. When you feel she’s ready, we will arrange her release through the Organians.”

“Dr. McCoy, I am particularly intrigued by your cultivation of this empathetic effect with Miss Tertullian. Could you describe your technique?” Spock inquired.

McCoy was rebandaging his own blisters. “Oh, its really quite straightforward, Mr. Spock. I simply analyzed the situation logically and then let my intuition tell me what to do.” And hoped that the Romulan would read, and believe his emotions telepathically, he thought, but he wasn’t about to tell Spock that.

Spock’s eyebrow went up a fraction. “Did your intuition ‘tell’ you to do that, too?” He indicated the blisters.

McCoy replied airily, “Simply one of the hazards of the assignment, Mr. Spock.” He really had done a superb job and he wasn’t going to let Spock needle him … Maevlynin’s tinkling laugh alerted him. Kirk and Spock were gazing at something about a meter above his head: a basin of soapy water.

Spock regarded Maevlynin gravely. “Pride goeth before destruction, and a haughty spirit before a fall.”

Maevlynin nodded and replied merrily,“‘Tis pride, rank pride, and haughtiness of soul. I think the Romans call it stoicism.”

McCoy yelped, “Maevlynin! You wouldn’t dare!” and made a frantic but unsuccessful grab for the basin. Inexorably, the basin tipped. McCoy spluttered helplessly.

Four days later, McCoy sat at his desk and ruefully surveyed sick bay. The place had become a zoo. Reena was a popular patient, a unique phenomenon: a Romulan willing to talk, to listen, to learn, to share about anything—except Romulan Space Service—and half the crew seemed to want to talk to her. Finally, he had put Chekov in charge of policing the traffic. He was spending all his free time with her anyway. It had been an excellent move. By limiting other visitors, Chekov had more time with Reena to himself, and McCoy had more of his sick bay to himself. Pavel certainly seemed good for her. She was recovering rapidly. Yesterday he had let her out of bed and now this afternoon Pavel had taken her for a walk.

His reverie was interrupted by the arrival of Captain Kirk. He glanced at Reena’s bed. “Bones, where’s Reena now? I see you’ve let her out of bed.”

“Oh, she’s in Sulu’s quarters, Jim.”

Kirk did a double take. “She’s where?! Bones, are you out of your mind? We’re going to return that woman. And you let her go—”

“She’ll be all right, Jim. Chekov’s with her. She just wanted to see Sulu’s weapon collection, that’s all.”

But Kirk was not worrying about Reena in the clutches of his crew. He was thinking of his ship. “Worse yet. She’ll probably talk the two of them into a full tour of the ship.” He whirled, “Bones, now that she’s out of bed I want her confined to sick bay and the nearest rec room. Nowhere else. That’s your responsibility and if you can’t enforce it she goes to the brig. I’m not going to release a Romulan with a mental blueprint of our ship.”

Reena accepted the restriction quite calmly, saying she really hadn’t expected that much. It would have been only logical to have put her in the brig once she was out of bed. The captain was most generous. She and Pavel were sitting on her bed in sick bay watching a portable viewscreen. It was tied into the crew assigned to explore the Romulan vessel. Pavel was helping her go through the exercises to restore hand function. They watched a crew woman on the screen as she walked down a corridor and entered a room. “Yes, that’s it. She found my room.” Reena was delighted that Pavel had arranged the recovery of her belongings. The crew woman left. Idly, Chekov switched scenes: crew’s quarters, mess hall, engineering (a shambles), main computer, the bridge. Something made him glance at Reena. She was looking at her hands.

“What is it? What’s wrong, Reena?”

“Please turn it off, Pavel. How would you feel if it were the Enterprise? If you had to sit and watch Romulans take apart the remains of your ship?”

Chekov was instantly contrite. “I am sorry, Reena. Sometimes I forget. You seem so comfortable here … with us … that I don’t think of you as Romulan.”

Reena smiled tiredly, “I know you mean that as a compliment, Pavel.” She leaned back on her bed. “I’m tired. Pease go and let me rest.” He kissed her gently and left. Alone, Reena wept quietly into her pillow. It was so painful and exhausting to live in two worlds. She was coming to appreciate this one. These humans were generous, well-intentioned. With the bomb incident past, their present cruelty was innocent. They had accepted her as a friend and forgot that she was more, or less, or different. Whatever—but it hurt. She saw more clearly the flaws in her own society and culture. But also its strengths. There was much that was good and vigorous and noble about it, much to build on. The same seemed true of this one. But they seemed so implacably irreconcilable. Yet she and Pavel had come together and now she felt as though they would be crushed by this collision of the Empire and the Federation. Pavel—this fascinating human. She cherished his similarities and delighted in his differences—long since she had admitted this attraction to herself. Where would it all end?

She felt a warm touch on her shoulder. It was Maevlynin. She sat up as she felt Maevlynin’s mind brush hers lightly: May I come in? Wordlessly she accepted the contact. As Maevlynin rocked her gently, she felt the sorrow flowing out from her to the Estryllian. It was like standing on the ridge after the rain had stopped, the storm was spent … wet hair plastered to her cheeks and the World fresh and sparkling.

I know, my child, came Maevlynin’s thought, it is always painful when the soul is stretched. But we can do it. We are doing it, and sharing it makes it easier.

Pavel, too, was distraught. Soon they would be finished with Romulan ship. Reena was gaining strength rapidly. Inevitably the day of her release was coming closer. He couldn’t ignore it. And he wouldn’t let her go! He had conjured up a dozen mad schemes to prevent her departure. She loved him. He knew that. She was well-liked by the crew. There was ample evidence of that. No one was forcing her to be repatriated. She could stay. Why wouldn’t she? Why did she have to be so stubborn? And what would she face on her return? There was no guarantee the Romulans would accept her story in spite of Spock’s mind block. They might kill her. He would be powerless to help her. He wouldn’t even know!

McCoy was mildly surprised at the knock. If bridge or sick bay needed him they would use the intercom. Usually he was not disturbed by crew when off-duty. If he wanted company, it was easy enough to find … “Who is it?”

“Chekov, sir. I’m sorry to bother you but may I come in for a moment, please?”

Uh, oh. It had to come sooner or later. He snapped off his viewer. “Sure. Come on in, Pavel. What’s on your mind?” As if he needed to ask.

Chekov poured out his story. McCoy had been with him from the start so there was much he didn’t have to say explicitly. He sat on the edge of McCoy’s bed, his hands moving restlessly. As McCoy watched him talk, his heart ached. Pavel could be his own son if he’d had one. And he had been responsible for getting Pavel involved with Reena in the first place. He hadn’t given him any more choice than they had given Reena. Pavel finished with, “Doctor, what am I going to do?”

“Do, Pavel? What are your alternatives? You can’t go home with her. She won’t stay here. Suppose she would. What then? Even if Captain Kirk would allow it, Starfleet Command would never permit a Romulan on a starship. Sure the crew like her now—but Pavel, she’s confined to quarters. She’s not a threat. Think how much trouble Spock has with crew members sometimes and there’s no question about his planet’s loyalty to the Federation. Would you ask her to face that? Spock handles it, but he’s a Vulcan. You can’t turn a Romulan loose on the Enterprise. That’s madness. If you resign your commission and take her off to some frontier planet that never heard of the Romulan Empire, what would either of you do there? The stars are in your blood—both of you. Pavel, you’ve wanted to be on a starship since you were six! You’re a fine navigator. You may be a first officer or even captain of a starship someday. Can you give all that up for Reena? Would she let you?”

McCoy stopped. Maybe he’d said too much. Pavel’s shoulders drooped, but his hands were still. For a moment McCoy’s eyes mirrored Chekov’s pain: another time, another place, another man and woman a long time ago … He sat down beside Pavel and put his arm over his shoulder. His voice was gentler now. “Pavel, it never works to force someone into the mold of your needs and wishes. It may seem to for a time but it ultimately fails. And you can’t force yourself into someone else’s mold. Let her go. Anything else will destroy someone.”

“Thank you, doctor. It hurts, but I think I needed to hear that. I’ll think about it. Good night.”

Not far away the captain also had a caller in his quarters: Spock. “Two items, Captain, that I believe merit your attention this evening.”

Kirk laid aside his book. Although his first officer frequently worked beyond his assigned duty hours, he rigorously respected the off-duty status of his human colleagues. This must be urgent. “Yes, Spock. What is it?”

“The Romulan ship’s malfunction was not an intrinsic failure. It was sabotaged.”

“Sabotaged! How?” Kirk was fully alert.

“By a very efficient Klingon device placed in the main engine room.” Spock replied.

“Klingon! Are you sure?” Kirk demanded.

“I have the salvage team’s report and complete analysis here. There is no doubt as to the origin of the device.”

“Very conveniently having it occur in Federation space. Our Klingon friends seem determined to keep us busy, don’t they? Has Starfleet Command been notified?”

“The report is ready for transmission. I thought it would be best to discuss it with you first,” Spock replied.

Kirk smiled at the Vulcan. “All right, Spock. Analysis? Recommendations? What’s on your mind?”

“It’s only a matter of time before the Romulans locate their ship. They will discover precisely what we did and no doubt also ascertain that we have already been aboard her. Their conclusion, however, will be that the Federation arranged it to look like the Klingons. The ship is in a sector that the Klingons do not frequent.”

“Mmm. You’re undoubtedly right, Spock,” Kirk mused. “But suppose we notify the Romulans first, give them a complete report. We might make it backfire on the Klingons.”

“Precisely my thought, Captain,” Spock replied. “Since we are diverting to Organia to return Navigator Tertullian, it would be a simple matter for me to accompany her and give the Romulan ambassador there a full account.”

“That’s right. The Romulans are due to open their diplomafic mission on Organia any day now, aren’t they?”

“Reports are that the imperial flagship was to bring the ambassador and his staff to Organia some days ago,” Spock replied.

Kirk’s eyes twinkled. “Would our old friend still happen to be in command of the flagship, Mr. Spock?”

“She is still the commander of record,” Spock said stiffly. Kirk smiled. Despite the circumstances surrounding their original encounter with the Romulan commander, Spock had as much as admitted his attraction to the woman. “I think it would be most appropriate for my first officer to brief the Romulan ambassador.” Spock’s face remained impassive as Kirk expected, so he continued. “You said there were two items?”

“Yes, Captain. A coded order from Starfleet Command—for your eyes only.” Spock handed him the orders.

From his wall safe Captain Kirk took out his personal code key and quickly worked out the message. Then he gave a low whistle. “Well, Spock, it looks as though you will be going to Organia in any event. Here.” He handed the decoded message to his First Officer.

DETACH FIRST OFFICER SPOCK FOR TDY AT ORGANIA ENTERPRISE PROCEED TO SHERMAN’S PLANET AWAIT FURTHER ORDERS CZERNY LOCATED PENELI CONNECTION IMMINENT STARFLEET COMMAND

“I hope it will be a short assignment, Spock. I don’t like being without my First Officer for long,” Kirk said.

“Nor do I, Captain,” Spock replied.

Reena and Spock would be leaving inthe morning. Uhura and McCoy had organized a farewell party. Kirk stood musing at the scene in front of him: eight heads bent together over the cube. Maevlynin ws trying to teach them how to play the game. A Vulcan, an Estryllian, Terrans from four continents, and a Romulan. How long would it be before Romulans would participate in the diversity that was the Federation? Kirk wondered. In his lifetime? For Pavel and Reena’s sake he fervently hoped so but it didn’t seem likely.

The others had said their good-byes and left. McCoy, Maevlynin, Pavel, and Reena walked slowly toward sick bay. They paused at the door. Carefully not looking at them, Chekov said, “Goodnight, Maevlynin, Doctor,” and deliberately set off with Reena in the direction of his quarters. McCoy looked at Maevlynin. Conspiratorily she raised an eyebrow in delightful caricature of Spock. They both grinned.

“Hell,” grumbled McCoy, “Jim said it was my responsibility so I’m going to exercise my discretion. If he finds out …” He shrugged. Maevlynin headed into sick bay. “Where do you think you’re going?”

Indicating Reena’s bed, she said, “I think someone ought to sleep there in case you-know-who’s famous intuition about his ship gives him insomnia tonight.”

“Maevlynin, you’re a gem.” He kissed her soundly. Might as well—she knew how he felt anyway.

Maevlynin laughed delightedly. “Len, you’re learning. Good night.”

Reena, Pavel, and McCoy stood in the shuttlecraft bay next to Reena’s launch. Spock was already aboard. The Organians had agreed to receive her and get her safely home.

“Well, good-bye, Reena, and good luck. Don’t forget us.”

“I won’t, Dr. McCoy. You may be sure of that … and my gratitude.”

McCoy suddenly remembered he hasd something very important to do in sick bay and left them alone.

She leaned her forehead against Pavel’s shoulder. “Oh, Pavel. I wish we had another choice,” she sighed. “We will do what we have to, but nothing says I have to like it. And I’m frightened.”

His arms tightened around her. “That they’ll kill you? But you said—”

She made an impatient gesture. “No, they won’t. My story and Spock’s mind block will take care of that. You have no concept of the diabolical image your Enterprise has in the minds of our High Command. They’ll believe me. What I fear is losing you. Pavel, promise me you will stay with the Enterprise. I’ll arrange to be assigned as far away from her as possible.” Her voice was low. “I don’t ever want to face an engagement with her knowing you’re on board.”

“I promise,” Pavel’s voice was bitter. “At least you’ll know where I am. And me? How will I know where you are? I’ll face that question anytime we meet a Romulan ship. Can’t you arrange to stay planetside?”

“Pavel … could you?”

He shook his head. “Let’s not argue about it again. Here, I want you to have this. It’s been in my mother’s family for several generations.” He dropped a gold locket into her hand. Reena stripped the silver ring from her finger—the one piece of jewelry she wore. It had the shape of a delicate flower.

“It’s a gilphin, the native flower of my home, worn only by those from my village. Goodbye, my love.”

“Goodbye, Reena.”

She stepped into the launch. The door slid closed. Blindly, Pavel made his way across the hangar and into the airlock. Behind him the shuttlecraft bay doors now opened and the Romulan craft slipped into space.