Eight

JEAN STOOD IN the transporter room checking out the assembled materials a final time. They had achieved orbit around Klairos yesterday. Kang had spent the afternoon and early evening in conferences planetside. She and Aernath were expecting the order to beam down as soon as he emerged from this morning’s session. Since the night she about his thinking. If indeed he had been in the habit of confiding in Mara, he showed little inclination to do so with her. However, the arrangement did appear to satisfy him. At first, he had seemed quite relaxed, sometimes almost cheerful, but as they approached Klairos his manner became taut and moody, never, however, to the point of tension that Jean had observed the night before they orbited Tahrn. He had about his thinking if indeed he had been in the habit of said nothing further by way of instructions to her and when she had asked him last night he had merely smiled and said, “Remember your position, try to think like a Klingon, and if you have any questions, ask Aernath. He seems to have advised you competently so far.” For some reason she did not understand this seemed to amuse him.

Aernath was not amused. Since they had left Tahrn his manner had been distant and distracted. Although they continued to work together he frequently seemed preoccupied. He seldom manifested that almost boyish irreverence which provided her with such a refreshing counterpoint to the generally oppressive military atmosphere of a Klingon battle cruiser. On several occasions, she had become aware that he was scrutinizing her with the same odd speculative look she had noted that night over dinner in her room. Once she had wondered, wistfully, if it might be jealousy. “A half-credit for your thoughts,” she had ventured.

“Peneli,” he had said shortly and offered no elaboration.

So much for that theory, thought Jean ruefully, thankful that she had not voiced her thoughts more directly. Aernath was disappointed not to be going to. Peneli and had every reason to be worried about his own people. Except for a couple of brief instances of tenderness, his actions toward her had never gone beyond those of a cordial colleague which, she admonished herself sternly, was more than one might reasonably expect of any Klingon under the circumstances.

Her reverie was broken by the arrival of Aernath and Tirax, who was again accompanying them on assignment. The clearance to beam down had come through, so Aernath went down to supervise the transfer there while Jean monitored their dispatch from the cruiser. Finally, she and Tirax beamed down to Klairos spaceport. They emerged in a large warehouse where she spotted Aernath and another Klingon overseeing the loading of a glidecar with their equipment. As Jean joined them, the Klairosian suddenly stopped his work and greeted her with an unbelieving stare. “Is this the human?”

“That’s her,” Aernath affirmed.

The man’s hostility was evident. “A woman!” he spat contemptuously.

Aernath flushed but replied in a light tone, “Cymele incarnate, you might say.”

The other man glowered darkly at him. “I wouldn’t say that too loudly, spacer. I’m not superstitious but there are those who would believe the goddess herself had a human streak the way things have been going here lately. Do you really intend to have a female working on this project?”

“We will be working together,” Aernath asserted with just the barest emphasis on the final word. His tone was mild but his eyes flashed angrily. Jean could have hugged him.

At that moment Kang approached. The third Klingon turned to him accusingly. “You didn’t tell us that this human was a female!”

Kang’s eyes ginted momentarily with grim amusement. “A human is a human. Her gender is irrelevant to your project so I saw no reason to mention it.”

The Klingon exploded, “‘Gath’s teeth! You’re mad! It won’t work. Discipline, morale, efficiency! I won’t have a woman mucking up the project!”

“That is unlikely to be your problem with her, Kasoth.” Kang’s face darkened with a frown that Jean had come to recognize as an analogue to Captain Kirk’s stubborn look when a command decision was questioned. “I believe I also neglected to mention that she holds consort-status with me. You will do well to accord her the respect due a member of my Theld.”

Kasoth’s mouth opened, then closed abruptly. He saluted Kang stiffly and stalked off clearly unhappy with the state of affairs. Kang’s frown faded into a brief smile as he watched Kasoth’s receding back. Jean wondered if this, too, was one of Kang’s “reasons”. He had had dealings with this planet before. Intended or not, she could see it might make things a little easier for her while she was here. Kang was apparently, about to beam up to his ship. Her farewell was brief but sincere: “Clear space and good landings. I shall look forward to your return.”

He brushed her chin lightly with a finger tip. “You’ll survive.” It was said softly but with satisfaction.

Jean felt one of her rare flashes of genuine affection for the man. “Thanks,” she said simply. Then as Kang’s form disappeared in the characteristic flashing of the Klingon transporter beam, she turned to Aernath. “Come on. Let’s go face the D.K.E. again.” Then she added, “And thanks, Aernath. If I do survive, it will be as much your doing as his.” She gave his hand a quick squeeze. He gave her one of his odd looks in return but said nothing.

They rode in silence as the three car convoy moved past the I.S.G. checkpoint, out of the spaceport and into the surrounding countryside. The windows were not opaqued so Jean got her first glimpses of Klairos. From the flora and fauna on the tapes, she would have placed Klairos somewhere in the late Tertiary period on the Terran-based geological time scale: late Miocene or early Pliocene. There were some variations, of course Notable was the persistence of myriad large amphibian species as had been pointed out by Aernath’s zoologist friend.

The spaceport and Port Klairos, the capital city, had been built less than three-quarters of a century earlier on the first polderland reclaimed from the sea. Located in the temperate zone of the southern hemisphere, it lay virtually encircled by mountains with only a narrow mouth opening to the sea. It was there that the dike and tide gates had been built which allowed this tidal marsh to be drained. A brief portion of their drive paralleled a section of the dike and she could see the gray sea pounding sullenly against it. The cordillera that formed the ring around Port Klairos valley continued out to sea creating a myriad of small-peaked offshore islands. Jean gasped as she caught sight of them. “Vinh Dong Kinh” she murmured to herself. The scene was virtually identical to one that used to hang in her grandfather’s study on Aldebaran Colony. As a recent widower with a small daughter, he had brought few possessions with him when he emigrated from Earth to Aldebaran. One was that picture: a coastal scene from near his birthplace somewhere in Southeast Asia she believed. Like many Asians, he often talked of returning there in his old age. It made her homesick and she was thankful when the road turned away inland.

The land here had been desalted enough to support a variety of vegetation; however, much of the area was devoted to industry and the capital itself. Here and there she saw plantings of evergreens. Although winters were mild on the coast here, it was still early spring so other plants were barely coming out in foliage.

The convoy left the valley and moved into the foothills. The road, obviously new, narrowed to a single lane. The second was still under construction. At the summit of the pass, the remaining lane terminated in front of a massive stone building where Jean learned they would complete their journey to the agricultural station with pack animals.

It was cold on the summit and now she could see snow-covered peaks. She thumbed the thermal control unit on her belt up a couple of notches and pulled her hood forward more snugly over her ears. The building served as a sort of combination hotel and headquarters for the construction crew. After a sparse meal of a sort of vegetable soup and sour Klingon bread in a stand-up canteen, they reassembled outside once again. Jean pulled on her fuir-fined gloves as she approached the small group. Kasoth was fuming again.

“No one warned me to bring a back-litter and there’s none to be had here. Would serve ‘em both proper to put her in an equipment rack but that means leaving some stuff here until tomorrow. Gath’s teeth! Bloody woman’s disrupting things already.” He glared at her.

Jean looked questioningly at Aernath. “What’s the problem?”

“Kasoth says he doesn’t have the proper equipment, to transport you to the station.”

“Why can’t I ride up like everyone else?”

Angrily Kasoth turned to Jean. “Have you ever ridden a krelk?”

“No,” Jean answered truthfully. She hadn’t the faintest idea what a krelk was. Then, annoyed with this Klingon’s condescension, she added, “But I’ve ridden worse. If you can ride them, I will.” No sooner had she made this rash statement than she remembered the beasts that had pulled the ceremonial carriage on Tahrn. She endured a momentary panic at the thought of having to ride one of those.

When she actually saw the krelk a few moments later she laughed, partly from sheer relief. They looked like a cross between a llama and a kangaroo. The average beast’s head towered about half a meter above hers with the back at shoulder height; coarse dun-colored hair with black dorsal stripe, black ears and nose; the forelegs were slender and delicate like a goat’s. The hind legs were slightly longer and much more heavily muscled. The large tail looked like the formidable weapon it was. The last meter of its length was prehensile, allowing the krelk to seize attackers and batter them against any convenient rock. One rode the krelk, she discovered, with the prehensile tail wrapped once about the waist and once about the pommel of the saddle. This meant that one had warning of an impending attack as the krelk would uncoil its tail unless, Kasoth pointed out, the beast simply forgot and used its rider as a blunt instrument against its assailant.

The rider controlled the krelk by foot and knee movements so as to leave hands free for weapons—a system apparently common to Klingon planets but unfamiliar to Jean. Aernath rode alongside, coaching her.

The rough roadbed gave way to a narrow but well-worn trail. For a while they followed a mountain stream edged with a lacy purfle of winter’s last ice. Snow still clung to the southern slopes and shaded valleys but faint green showed on the clear northern slopes. The stream dropped away on their left as the trail turned inland to the west. Shortly they passed a trail leading back down toward the sea, giving a glimpse of open lowlands at its foot. “That’s the polderland being reclaimed by the agricultural station,” Aernath said as they passed. In that universal anticipation of a home stable, the animals quickened their pace, giving powerful leaps that Jean found quite disconcerting. It wasn’t until they arrived at the station and she dismounted that she could adequately survey her new surroundings.

Like newly settled Federation worlds, this planet presented a peculiar amalgam of space-age technology and frontier construction. In this gently rolling upland valley it was more apparent than in Port Klairos where the Klingon penchant for massive stone buildings was expressed. Settled before stone quarrying was well underway, this valley presented a different appearance. The oldest buildings were geodesic domes constructed of lightweight materials analogous to duralloy and flex-glas brought by the first settlers. Subsequent structures utilized a plentiful local tree called stonewood, giving arough-hewn, rustic appearance but lasting for decades without need for further maintenance.

Above the settlement buildings the flashnet guaranteed protection from aerial predators. The perimeter was similarly guarded. Only in the outer fields did one need to be vigilant. Originally a farming village, it had recently been converted to an agricultural experiment station to meet the threat of the blight. Some of the original inhabitant remained; others had been moved out to accommodate the station personnel.

Jean’s quarters consisted of a small outbuilding. The single dark room contained a bed, table, bench, and massive stone fireplace. Smoke-blackened beams overhead testified both to the fireplace’s long use and faulty draft. Jean distributed her meager belongings on the lone shelf and wooden wall pegs, then tackled the task of building a fire. At least on Tahrn her room had had central heat and lighting. It promised to be a grim summer ahead.

That assessment was promptly underscored by her next encounter with a Klairosian. The fire well established, she set out to locate the mess hall. A chill wind swept down off the peaks, gusting and eddying around the buildings of the compound. Rounding a corner, she spotted a Klingon coming her way. She approached him intending to ask directions. He looked at her with angry astonishment and abruptly sent her sprawling with a powerful blow to her head. Dazed, Jean tried to sit up. The man seized her angrily by the back of her hood. “Insolent scum. What Theld owns you that you dare to …”

Another voice broke in. “Hold, Kinsman. What’s the problem?”

The Klingon paused to glance at the new arrival. “Look for yourself. She approached me like this. Don’t interfere, Spacer.”

“Hmmm. I see. Allow me.” Tirax bent over Jean, inserted a finger under her chin and stripped her hood cleanly off.

The other Klingon growled, “The human!”

“Yes, the human. Unfortunately, she is also of the Theld of Kang. You would be ill-advised to rebuke her further—for the moment.” He turned to Jean with a malicious grin. “On Klairos, a woman never approaches any man with her head covered. Remember that and keep your place, human!” Turning back to the other Klingon, he clapped him on the shoulder. “Come, Kinsman, let’s share a drink before we eat.” The two Klingons sauntered off, Tirax swinging her hood mockingly in his hand.

The agonizer, Jean thought vindictively as she watched them leave, was appropriate technology for the Klingon culture. They deserved it. Grimly she got up, dusted herself off, and looked around. She still didn’t know where the mess hall was.

When she did find it she joined the line of women and children waiting their turn to eat. Men ate first, then women and children. It was her first close contact with the local inhabitants. The line was laser straight, unmoving and preternaturally quiet. Part of the quiet came from apathy. Only the boys seemed to have any energy or curiosity. How much of theapathy was from malnutrition and how much was culturally determined Jean could not tell, but the ravages of malnutrition were clear to be seen. Even the pregnant women, of whom there were many, looked emaciated. Shocked, she wondered what the infant mortality rate was on this planet this year. Ignoring the curious stares and occasional whispers, Jean moved through the food line and carried her soup and bread to the nearest table. A number of armed guards were posted about the periphery of the room. As she moved to sit down the nearest one snarled at her. “Not there, woman. Over there.” He gestured preemptorily. Hastily Jean complied having no wish to provoke another attack. The first table, she now realized, was reserved for the boys. It got extra rations.

The meal proceeded in silence. Jean, ate slowly, stealing occasional glances at her tablemates. She shivered. The aura of prison camp was too strong to be ignored. Finished, she followed her tablemates’ lead and carried her utensils to the dish line. Then she escaped to her own quarters. She spent a cold night but at least she was left undisturbed.

Breakfast was a kind of gruel and something Jean took to be the Klairosian equivalent of coffee. It was strong and very bitter but definitely a stimulant. Aernath was waiting for her when she emerged from the dining hall. He handed heir the hood. “I’m sorry I didn’t warn you about that, but I wasn’t aware of it myself. Are you all right?”

“I’ll survive,” Jean said shortly, stuffing the hood in a pocket. “Let’s get to work”.

Aernath stiffened perceptibly. “Fine. Follow me.” He turned on his heel and set off.

Damn! Did it again, Jean thought. She really was glad to see him. Why had she let her general anger spill over at him? Contritely she reached out and took his arm. “Look, I’m sorry, Aernath. Thanks for retrieving my hood. I—”

Now he was curt in return. “That’s another thing. Don’t touch a man here unless you’re given permission first. It’s impertinent.” Stung, Jean pulled back. In a slightly softer tone he added, “With me, of course, you always have permission. Don’t worry about it.” Pointedly she ignored him. They passed a group of Klingons going the other way. When they were safely several steps beyond them Aernath quietly exploded, “Blast it, Jean, I don’t make the rules here! I’m just trying to keep you out of trouble.”

Mollified, she took the proffered elbow. “I know,” she said wearily “Like I said, let’s just get to work.”

The lab, in contrast to her quarters, was well outfitted and comfortable. By the time Aernath’s lunch shift arrived they were nearly set up. Jean finished unpacking by herself. When she returned from her shift she found Aernath elated. “I got an assignation of polderland. We’re going down to look at it this afternoon. Come on.”

As they approached the group by the krelk corral, Jean stared curiously at the contraption atop one krelk. “What’s that?” she demanded of the Klingon holding the animal.

“The back-litter. What you ride in,” he replied.

“I will not,” Jean stated flatly. The Klingon looked startled and confused. Aernath busied himself with his own harness, an amused smile on his face. “I will not ride in that … that cage!” she declared hotly. “Take it off and get me a saddle.” The groom looked even more uncertain. He glanced at Aernath who was suddenly very busy turning his own krelk around. Then he turned to Tirax who had just arrived.

“The human—she … uh … wants a saddle,” he explained .

Tirax looked at Jean. She glared back. “I won’t ride in that contraption. It’s a trap, a … a menace.”

At that point Kasoth appeared. “Now what’s the matter?”

“The human demands a saddle, Commander,” said the groom nervously.

“Out of the question …”

“Let her have it.” Tirax’s voice was flat and cold.

Kasoth turned to him furiously. “Are you out of your mind? I suppose you want me to issue her a blaster, too?”

“Obviously not,” Tirax responded, unruffled. Then he shrugged. “If she wants to ride unarmed in a saddle, let her. It’s her hide.”

Kasoth continued to fume. “By the bowels of Durgath, Lieutenant, I won’t be responsible for this. I told Kang this woman would be a disruptive influence, It’s bad for discipline, morale—”

Tirax overrode him. “You handle the discipline, Commander. I’ll look after the woman. As I said, if something unfortunate happens to her, it’s her hide. And my problem.”

Kasoth turned angrily to the groom. “Get a saddle.”

Jean noted Aernath caried a blaster. She hoped he could use it well. Her accidental demise, she was convinced, was just the sort of problem Tirax would welcome.

The trip down was uneventful. Aernath rode beside her constantly coaching her on the foot and knee movements necessary for controlling her mount. By the time they reached the polder she was beginning to get the rhythm of it. It was a beautiful sunny day and quite warm down in the lowlands. If it hadn’t been for the presence of Tirax and the other armed guards, Jean would have enjoyed it immensely. Even so, she and Aernath became absorbed in discussion and planning how to lay out their allotted plots. The soil looked good. One area nearest the dike was selected tb see how both strains would respond to still salty soil. They also collected soil samples for analysis. It was almost dusk when they set out for the estation.

Again Aernath rode beside her watching her movements critically, offering occasional tips. Although it took total concentration, she was managing quite well. Fortunately, she seemed to have a very placid animal. It was not inclined to bridle or sidestep nearly as much as Aernath’s or Tirax’s krelk just in front of her. Her total concentration was broken by a sudden shout. “‘Ware!” It was Tirax. In one smooth motion he rose, turned, and blasted over her head. Almost immediately she heard a second and third shot from beside and behind her even as her krelk loosed its tail. Then she was engulfed and carried to the ground by a flopping mass of feathers. Panicked, she struggled under the moving weight of the thing, dimly hearing a confusion of shouts and bleating krelks. Then she was pulled free. Tirax was hoisting up an enormous white bird, surveying it critically. Aernath knelt beside her, the amethyst eyes frantic. “Jean! Are you all right?”

She laughed a little shakily as he helped her up. “I seem to be unhurt.” She brushed herself off.

“Good shot, Tirax. Look, mine and Aernath’s only grazed the tail feathers.” Several Klingons were gathered around the snowbird. One black hole was bored neatly through its breast, two through its tail.

Jean remounted and brought her krelk alongside Tirax’s. She leaned over. “Thanks.”

He glanced up at her briefly across his own krelk, then swung the bird up to secure it behind his saddle. “Better luck next time.” He swung up into his saddle.

Damn you, too! Jean thought and viciously swung her krelk back to join Aernath without another word. The adrenaline surge carried her back to camp before she got shaky, but it was several days before she worked up the courage to ride back down to the polder. She took pains to make sure it was always with a party returning well before dusk which was when the greater snow birds began to hunt.

Planting proceeded in the polder and later in the upland plots. The growing season was underway but the food ration didn’t improve noticeably. Jean lost weight and though the nights were warmer she still shivered miserably in bed at night. In the three weeks since her arrival, several women and girls and one small boy that she knew of for sure had disappeared from the line. This evening she headed for the mess a little early.

Approaching the corner of the building she heard a thin scream followed by an angry voice. “Filthy wretch! I’ll teach you to steal food when you’re supposed to be serving. Coming on around she saw a Klingon send a girl to the ground with a blow. He drew back his foot to follow with a kick. His back was to Jean. Out of reflex, she launched herself at the back of his other leg. He crumpled suddenly over her back. With an agility that startled her even as she did it, Jean rolled over and up to face the man. His astonishment gave her a momentary advantage.

Leave her alone!” she raged. “You’ve got the women on such short rations it’s no wonder if she’s stealing food.”

Recovered now, the man came up with a snarl. “Why you little … human!” She ducked sideways and avoided his first lunge. He turned and caught her arm. At the same time she was seized from behind.

“I believe the human interrupted you. My apologies. Please proceed. I’ll prevent her further interference.” The other Klingon glowered fiercely at Tirax but it was clear the Lieutenant’s suggestion had the force of a command. He backed away from Jean and resumed his savage attack on the girl.

Jean watched in helpless fury. “Coward!” she screamed.

“You haven’t …” Tirax clamped a hand over her mouth as the other Klingon turned back to them.

“No, Kinsman, don’t let her goad you. Even if it were permitted, I wouldn’t advise you to challenge her. She’s vicious with a dagger. Better than you have felt her sting.” The other Klingon’s eyes widened fractionally, then he turned and stalked off. Tirax’s fingers clamped painfully into her flesh. “But someday, human, that sting will be pulled,” he hissed—”… someday … “He, released her with a shove.

By now quite a crowd of women and children had gathered. Jean looked at the form of the girl on the ground. “What about her?” she demanded of Tirax.

He shrugged. “Her Theld will take care of her—if they wish.” He went back into the mess hall without further comment.

Jean looked around at the impassive faces. She picked one young women whom she recognized as one who had sat next to her on a couple of occasions. “You. Do you know this girl?” The woman nodded. “Well, go get someone from her family. Get help.”

The woman hesitated, then said. “They don’t want her.

She’s been Theld-barred.”

“What! Why?” Jean demanded sharply.

The woman twisted her hands nervously as if frightened to have attention drawn to her. “Too many mouths to feed. She’s a girl.”

“Well, dammit, if nobody else wants her, I do.” Jean snapped. “Here, you.” She grabbed the woman by the arm. “And you.” She pulled a second girl from the crowd. “Take her to my quarters and wait there with her until I get there. Now move!” Intimidated, the two scrambled to obey her. The mess hall had opened to the waiting line. Jean stalked to the front of the line and no one challenged her. She collected two rations and carried them to her quarters.

The girl who had been beaten lay huddled on the hearth. The other two hovered uncertainly beside her. Jean set the food on the table. “You can go now. You,” she indicated one, “go find Aernath in the lab and tell him I’ll be late this afternoon.” She bolted the door behind them and turned her attention to the girl. Pitifully thin, covered with cuts and welts that would soon be ugly bruises, she moaned in pain when Jean tried to move her. With a wet rag, Jean cleaned her face, arms and hands as best she could. There seemed to be no broken bones but Jean worried about internal injuries. Cradling the girl’s head in her lap she urged her to take a little water. The girl retched violently, then started shivering. Alarmed, Jean pulled a blanket off her bed and covered the girl. As she was building up the fire, someone tried the door, then pounded loudly.

Jean went to the door, a stick of wood in hand. “Who is it?”

“Jean, open up. It’s me—Aernath.”

“Are you alone?”

“Cymele’s Cloak! Of course I’m alone. Open up!” She slid back the bolt. Aernath charged into the room, first-aid kit in hand. “Are you all right?”

“I’m fine. She’s the one who’s hurt.” Jean gestured to the girl. “Come on. Give me a hand.”

“Wait a minute. The woman who came to the lab said you got into a fight with a man because he hit a girl. Is that true?”

“Hit her?! He looked like he was going to kill her. I couldn’t just—”

“Jean,” he demanded, his voice ominously quiet, “never mind that. Just tell me—what did you do?”

“I … I tackled him. Knocked him down.” Jean replied, suddenly defensive.

“You saw him hit someone so you …” he spluttered unbelievingly, “you … just … tackled him? Just like that?” She nodded. “By the Lair of Durgath, what did you expect to accomplish by that?”

“I didn’t expect to accomplish anything. I was just mad.”

“Jean.” He took her by the shoulders and shook her gently. “Jean, you can’t take on this planet singlehanded. If Tirax had not come along you might have been killed. We can’t keep you out of trouble if you keep going out of your way to look for it.”

She struggled with her anger. She wanted to scream at him just because he was a Klingon, because he accepted it, but she saw the concern in his eyes. She tried. “Aernath, you just don’t understand—”

“Maybe I do, maybe I don’t, but as I said, I don’t make the rules here.”

“No,” she retorted caustically, “you just follow them. Now give me some help with this kid.” He complied stiffly. She had pushed that button again but this time she didn’t give a damn.

After Aernath administered a stimulant and a painkiller from his kit, the girl perked up. Together they patched her up. She looked to be about twelve or thirteen. Jean was seated on the hearth again, cradling the girl in her lap. “What’s your name?”

The girl shook her head slightly. “Don’t have a name. They call me Aydutywa.”

“Unwanted one, huh. Well, I want you. Suppose we call you Tywa from now on. How’s that?” The girl looked at her wide-eyed and nodded. Aernath had finished repacking the kit. “Aernath, would you please hand me one of those trays on the table? Let’s see if she can eat something now.”

He brought both trays and set them on the floor, then stood watching her feed Tywa. “Jean, is that all that you brought for your lunch there?”

Something in his voice made her look up but his face was impassive. “That’s the ration,” she stated flatly.

“That’s all you usually get?”

“I told you they had the women on short rations.”

“I know you did but I didn’t realize …” he broke off and poked the fire watching the smoke curl out and up to the rafters. He turned around and surveyed the room. “These are your quarters?” She nodded, puzzled by his manner. “Durgath take that Tirax!” he muttered, his face suddenly grim. “Jean, stay here with her this afternoon. Don’t worry about the lab. I’ll take care of things.” He picked up the kit and left .

Approximately mid-afternoon, Aernath came bursting in. Jean glanced anxiously at Tywa but she did not wake up. Triumphantly he slapped two colored plastidiscs on the table. “There. Tywa is now officially assigned to you—on standard ration. You’re on ration and a half. I’m afraid you’re stuck with these quarters but they promised to plaster the chinks in the walls. Pretty soon it should be warm enough that you won’t need that blasted fireplace.”

“How in space did you arrange all that?”

“I reminded Kasoth that the human digestive system isn’t as efficient as ours. I also told him that this was a calculated insult to Kang and that a new rim planet couldn’t afford to antagonize the Imperial Fleet let alone the future emperor and …” he stopped, seeing the look on her face, then added lamely, “Well, that’s all true, after all. And it worked; I succeeded.”

“Logical and efficient Klingon tactics. Survive and succeed.” Jean sighed. “I think Tywa will be all right. Let’s go back to the lab. I need to get back to work before this planet drives me stark raving mad—in both senses of the word.”

Things went more smoothly in the ensuing weeks. Most of the Klingons avoided Jean and she avoided them. Frequently Tywa would bring Jean her meals at the lab or her quarters. The girl worshiped her and provided a constant unobtrusive comfort to her in dozens of small ways. At night she curled up beside her as warm and contented as a jequard kit.

Weather was favorable and both strains were growing moderately well. The upland soil was thin and the grain was not flourishing there as it had on Tahrn. In the polder, however, it promised to approach the performance on Tahrn except for the patch in brackish soil near the dike. There the “Czerny strain” had apparently contracted some kind of blight; not the Tseni virus but some other problem. They had been monitoring it closely.

This morning Jean turned over sleepily and burrowed back under the covers. Comfortably she listened to Tywa puttering at the fireplace. Somewhere the child had acquired a boiling pot. One of her favorite rituals was to fix morning khizr, the Klingon equivalent of coffee, for the two of them. In a few moments she would come back with two steaming mugs of it and snuggle happily next to Jean while the two of them nursed their morning drinks and planned the day.

“It’s raining,” Tywa announced as she handed Jean the cup.

“Rats, Aernath won’t be back from the supply trip to Port Klairos until late afternoon and that means I’ll have to make the trip to the polder by myself in the rain. Do you think it’ll rain all day?”

“No, it will probably stop by noon.”

“Well then, I think I’ll wait until after lunch to go. I’ve got to run the next set of tests on that blighted grain today. Can’t wait longer and it will take me several hours without Aernath. Why Tywa, you got breakfast already! How did you manage that?”

The girl wrinkled her nose with pleasure. “I’ve got a friend in the kitchen. If I get there early enough she’ll let me sneak ours out before the mess hall opens.”

“You’re a jewel, Tywa, and so is your friend in the kitchen. Tell her thanks from me.” Jean leaned over and kissed the delighted girl on the forehead. “Now I better eat and get to work. See if you can talk your friend into an early lunch and I’ll go to the polder after that.”

“We’ll do it, Jean.” Tywa was as good as her word. Shortly before the men’s second mess she appeared at the lab with lunch. The rain had stopped.

“Do you know where Tirax is?”

“He and several others went out hunting early this morning. They aren’t expected back until mid-afternoon.” Among her other skills, Tywa exhibited an omnivorous ability to keep track of people’s movements and activities, which was one of the reasons she had survived as long as she had as an outcast.

“Hmm. Well, I guess I’ll get one of the guards from the corral. Tywa, keep a sharp eye out for Aernath. If he gets back before I do, ask him to come down and give me a hand.”

The Klingon corral guard grumbled at her projected trip. “No one else is scheduled for the polder today.”

“Can’t be helped. You know Aernath and I have been making trips every other day and today is the day. The sooner we go the sooner we’ll be back.”

He produced the krelks and accompanied her in silence. The road construction crew had reached the polder trail with one lane now she noted. Maybe they would reach the agstation before the snow flew. The polder was deserted. After a couple of attempts to enlist the guard’s aid, Jean gave up in exasperation and resigned herself to doing the work alone. The Klingon retired to the nearby dike muttering sullenly about humans and women in general. Jean ignored him.

A good while later Jean stood up at the far end of the plot to call to him that her work was finished. He was sitting on the dike bank of one of the drainage canals idly tossing pebbles into the water. Rising out of the water onto the dike just behind him was a huge saurian head, nearly a meter in length. Jean stood immobilized for a split second. The head was followed by one and then another ponderous clawed foot. Galvanized, she yelled a warning. The Klingon scrambled up. As he turned to fire he slipped on the wet grass of the dike and his shot glanced off the shoulder of the beast, which was now entirely up on the dike, some four meters of amphibious motion. It spat a shrill hiss of rage and pain, then a sheet of flame.

The flame licked at the Klingon. He screamed and fired wildly, hitting the beast twice more but not vitally. Enraged, it bore down on him with another blast. Jean turned and fled toward the krelk. She heard a final strangled scream and then another shrill call from the beast. She glanced back. Moving incredibly fast for such bulk, the enraged amphibian was now coming after her. She glanced ahead. She would never make it to the krelk. At the edge of the polder where the cliffs came down to the sea, the tidal wash had undercut the soft stone here and there. One such tidal cave lay just ahead of her. She threw herself down, rolled in, and slid hastily back as far as she could. A scant meter away she could see the beast’s snout and forefeet as it stood puzzling where its quarry had gone. Horrified, she watched the tip of the snout begin to swing to and fro, a long lizard-like tongue flicking in and out, seeking her scent. The beast couldn’t get in under the overlying ledge but if it sensed her it might fry her in place. Jean reached for the only weapon she had—the dagger in her boot.

The flickering tongue began to probe the crevice. Jean waited and watched. At the precise extreme of one probe she stabbed, pinioning the tongue to the rock. With a scream the beast reared back and released a blast of flame at the rock. As she had hoped, it reared up enough that the flames struck only the ledge above. Now she could hear the panicked bleating of the krelk. Apparently it attracted the attention of the amphibian as well. She watched the feet move off in that direction. She heard more bleating and hisses and then finally silence. The fragment of tongue in front of her gave off a nauseating stench.

She waited nearly an hour before she dared slide over to the opening and look out. She saw the amphibian slowly crawling along the opposite side of the valley. It paused, then laboriously began to dig a shallow pit. Jean wondered if it was laying eggs. It seemed a bit late in the summer for that but she knew little about the habits of Klairosian amphibians. It was nearly dusk. Would she be stuck here all night? The stench was still strong. Although she could not sit up, she rolled over and extracted a specimen bag from the pouch at her waist. Gingerly, she edged the fragment into the bag with her dagger and tucked it into her collection pouch. She settled back to wait.

Dusk came and then dark. She dozed fitfully. Suddenly she woke up alert at a sound nearby. Fearing the beast had returned she slid back again. Then, hearing a soft bleat and low voices, she scrambled out of her hiding place. The voices stopped and she was blinded by a bright light being beamed at the cliff.

“Jean!” She recognized Aernath’s voice. Putting up her hand to cover her eyes, she stumbled in the direction of the voice.

“Aernath! Thank God! I …” A krelk tail appeared out of the darkness and picked her up abruptly. She was plunged into darkness again and still could see nothing. Suspended in the air, she heard Tirax’s voice.

“What happened to your guard, human?”

The light was back on her. “He’s dead, I think. We were attacked by some kind of beast. Tirax, please put me down.”

“Where is he? Where were you attacked?”

“I don’t know. Over by the dike somewhere … it came out of the water … Tirax, please!”

Aernath’s voice came out of the dark cold and flat. “All right, Tirax, you’ve made your point. Put her down.”

Jean felt herself lowered suddenly, plunged into the dark. She was totally disoriented. The krelk released her into someone’s arms. “Jean!” The whisper was Aernath’s. She clung to him convulsively.

Tirax’s voice came out of the dark beside her. “All right. You four go back with Aernath. The rest of us will check out the dike. Hela!” He urged his mount foward.

Aernath was wrapping his cloak around her. Beneath her she felt the krelk turn and start uphill. Shaking with fear and exhaustion, she buried her face in his shoulder and began to sob. His arm around her tightened and his other hand cradled the back of her head. She felt his lips at her ear. “Shhh. You’re not hurt, are you?” She shook her head. “All right then, get it out of your system before we get back to camp.” They rode on in silence. Finally Jean’s sobs subsided. Again Aernath murmured in her ear, “By Cymele, you humans cry a lot. Finished?” She nodded against his shoulder. “You were a fool to go down there alone. Why didn’t you wait for me?”

“I didn’t go alone,” she protested weakly. “I took a guard along; besides we’d agreed that those tests should be done today. If I’d waited for you we wouldn’t have finished before dusk. As it was we would have, but that thing came up in broad daylight.”

“What’s done is done. You’re safe; that’s the main point. But Kasoth is fit to be tied. When that one krelk came back riderless and he discovered only two of you had gone down he decked two corral guards on the spot.” But Jean was past caring. She simply dozed off on his shoulder.

He awakened her when they reached the corral. “We’ll be going to report to Kasoth now. Can you do it coherently?”

“Don’t worry,” she said firmly, “I’m done weeping.”

Kasoth was in the agstation bar with several other Klingons. Jean glanced about curiously as she had never been in there. Built of stonewood and other local woods, its low-beamed ceilings, massive tables and benches gave the appearance of great age and permanence. Kasoth frowned at the arriving party. “You found the human. Where’s the rest of the patrol?”

“Looking for Kinath, Commander. We found his krelk, or what was left of it anyway, on the polder. She claims it was a sea beast of some sort.”

“Well, human, let’s have your story.”

“Certainly, Commander.” She sank down on the nearest bench. “May I have something hot to drink please?”

Kasoth slammed his hand on the table. “Stand as you were, woman! Your story first, we will see about details later.”

Jean shrugged, pulled herself to her feet and proceeded to tell her story. Just as she was completing it Tirax and the rest of the patrol arrived. They reported finding nothing but Kinath’s blaster, some blood, and a badly trampled area around the dike. While Tirax was reporting, Aernath unobtrusively set down a mug and a small dish of meat in front of her. She flashed him a grateful look. The meat was excellent, the drink hot and spicy. The discussion turned to speculation on the identity of the amphibian.

“Oh, I almost forgot. I have something that may help with that.” Jean fumbled with the collecting pouch on her belt. She found the specimen bag and shook out its contents on the table in front of Kasoth.

“What’s that?” he demanded.

“A piece of the beast’s tongue.”

“Its tongue! ‘Gath’s Bones, how did you get a piece of its tongue?”

“I told you it chased me into a tidal cave. It couldn’t reach me under the ledge—except for its tongue. I was afraid if it sensed me there it would blast me like it did Kinath. I figured I’d try to scare it away so I stabbed it in the tongue with my dagger. It worked. That’s when it went after the krelk.”

“Dagger? What dagger?”

Jean looked at Kasoth in dismay. His face wore an ominous scowl in response to her inadvertent revelation. Aernath broke in smoothly. “It is customary among Aldebaranians to carry such a weapon. We permitted her to keep it thinking she might need it in the field—a justified assumption as we now see. Besides, it obviously posed no threat to any alert Klingon warrior.”

Jean winced inwardly at this barb. Aernath must be really angry with Tirax to bait him openly like that. Emboldened by Kasoth’s momentary hesitation, she stepped into Aernath’s subterfuge and expanded it into an outrageous tale. “Yes, it’s the schlizls you see. They’re a burrowing animal that’s common on Aldebaran. Their bite is toxic to humans, fatal to children. They are agile and attack without warning so we learn to defend ourselves at an early age. No man worth his weapons would take a wife who couldn’t match him in dagger throw. She has to protect his offspring.”

“So you kill them with your dagger?” one of the Klingons asked.

“It’s not quite that simple,” Jean assured him solemnly. “They are covered with hard scales, so you have to hit them in the eye. Fortunately, they have very large eyes.” She looked around and picked up a five-ring linked puzzle game from the table in front of her. She indicated the middle ring. “About this size.”

“Anhh.” The Klingon’s response was frankly disbelieving.

Jean deftly slipped the middle ring out and walked across the room. She selected a panel of softer wood that would take a dagger point. “This should do.” She crossed back to Tirax and offered him the ring. “Lieutenant, would you oblige me?” She smiled sardonically. He shot her a look of pure venom. Grasping her dagger, she took her position in front of Kasoth’s table and contemplated Tirax holding the ring across the room. His unblinking gaze met hers steadily, giving no hint that he felt other than the ordinary suspense about her ability to hit the target. She waited. The silence in the room grew. It was the tiniest flicker of a blink by which Tirax finally betrayed his tension. She threw.

Tirax let go of the ring. It dangled from the dagger point. Jean crossed to retrieve her blade from the wall. She met his eyes as she murmured, “Better luck next time.”

One of Kasoth’s drinking partners inquired, “Tell me, human, did you match Commander Kang in this little dagger game of yours?”

Jean replaced her dagger. She despised these Klingon men of Klairos. Kang was a different matter. One could do worse than persuade them to emulate him. She smiled disarmingly. “He credited me for trying.” Then she spread her hands in mock dismay. “I’m afraid if Kang waited to find his match from Aldebaran, he’d be doomed to celibacy.” Several of the Klingons chuckled until silenced by a glare from Kasoth. Suddenly, Jean was very tired. “With your permission, Commander, I’ll go to my quarters. It’s been a long day.”

“Dismissed.” Kasoth stared morosely at the door as Jean and Aernath exited. “Lieutenant, that human is a menace. Please notify your commander that while we humbly acknowledge our debt to him for the grain, we nonetheless request that woman be removed as soon as possible.” He slammed his fist on the tabletop. “Otherwise, I will not be responsible for her safety!” Tirax nodded sympathetically.

As Jean emerged from the bar a small figure detached itself from the shadows and catapulted into her: Tywa. The girl had been listening from the doorstep. Now she clung to Jean covering her face and hands with fervent kisses. “Oh, Jean, I was afraid you’d been killed!”

Jean gathered her up in a warm embrace. “I’m fine, Tywa. We humans are pretty hard to kill off. Come on. Let’s go home.”

Later as they settled in bed, Tywa tugged shyly at her sleeve. “Jean, please tell me a story before we go to sleep—like always.”

“I am not going to tell you about fighting the monster in the polder just before you go to sleep,” Jean replied firmly. “No need for both of us to have nightmares.” She scooped Tywa into one arm and punched the pillow taut behind her head. “How about the story of how Captain Kirk and the Enterprise crew rescued the children from the evil monster on Triacus?”

“No, Jean, tell me about Commander Kang and his ship. Tell me again what it’s like to be on an imperial battle cruiser!” The girl’s eyes shone.

Jean sighed. “Loyal, true-blue Klingon, aren’t you, my dear?” She started once again on Tywa’s favorite story. If Kang ever again intended to carry an integrated crew, here was one eager volunteer.

The krelk bleated and pranced skittishly on the road. It did not like the highway construction. One lane of the road now stretched beyond the agricultural station to the north. Trips to the polder involved threading one’s way through a constant procession of construction equipment and materials. Jean breathed a little easier as she coaxed her krelk through the noise and construction. This was only her second trip down since the accident and she hoped it might be her last. Even though she was with a large party, she would be just as happy to get back to the station and never lay eyes on the polder again. Observations were completed and they had begun harvesting the Czerny strain down there today. Of course, the upland plots, having been planted later, were not ready yet. They would stand until snow flew which could be any week now… . Her thoughts were interrupted by the sight of an I.S.G. glidecar drawn up to the entrance of the experiment station. Could it be Kang so soon? She glanced back. Aernath and most of the rest of the party were still straggling up the trail to the road. Urging her krelk forward she passed the lead Klingon and arrived first at the corral.

“Who came in the I.S.G. car?” she asked as her mount swung her down.

The groom shrugged indifferently, “Someone from I.S.G. H.Q.—Port Klairos.”

“Is that all? No one else?” Jean tried not to let her disappointment show. The Klingon shook his head. Impatiently Jean headed for her room. Tywa was as likely as anyone else to know what was going on and she would be more forthcoming.

When she entered the room the first thing she saw was her belongings neatly packed and piled in the center of the room. It took her a moment to locate Tywa. The girl was huddled in a corner by the fireplace. Jean caught a sudden hand movement and then the girl was unmoving again. Alarmed, Jean moved to Tywa’s side. She had obviously been crying though her face was impassive now. “Tywa,” she asked anxiously, “what’s happened to you? What is it?”

“I have your things ready. You will leave soon.” The girl’s voice was thick and the words came slowly.

“Tywa!” Jean shook her by the shoulders. “What’s wrong with you?” She caught a glimpse of something by Tywa’s hand and pulled a vial from the ashes on the hearth. Fiercely she grabbed Tywa’s head and held the vial before her. “What is this? What have you done?”

“Poison … it’s … faster … this … way.”

“Oh, God! No!” Jean screamed. “Tywa, you can’t!”

Frantically she forced Tywa’s mouth open and rammed her fingers down the girl’s throat. This seemed to rouse Tywa who protested faintly. Jean persisted wondering if Klingon physiology was equipped with a gag reflex. Apparently it was. Tywa vomited very satisfactorily. Jean grabbed her mug and forced two cupfuls of lukewarm water from the boiling pot down Tywa’s throat, then repeated the maneuver. By this time, no longer lethargic, Tywa attacked her angrily with her fists.

“Stop it! Why didn’t you just leave me alone?” Then she began to cry.

Jean gathered her into a tight hug. “Shh, child. What a terrible thing to say. Whatever made you do such an idiotic thing in the first place?” She got no answer for long minutes except Tywa’s sobs. In those moments Jean wondered what she had done by taking in this waif. Her reactions at the time had been instinctive. Then she had been reassured by Aernath’s efforts which had solved the immediate problem. Without explicitly discussing it, she had assumed that he could make some satisfactory arrangement for the girl before they left. “Tywa, Aernath and I will make arrangements for you before we leave. We won’t just abandon you.”

Her face buried in Jean’s shoulder, Tywa shook her head. “You can’t. No Theld here will have me. When you leave they’re going to send me to the pens.”

“Pens? What in space does that mean?”

“The diving pens at Port Klairos. That’s where they send … extra people. It’s a sort of cheap labor pool. Anyone can requisition you from there for day labor or a night’s pleasure. All they have to do is feed you. No work—no food. If there’s no other work then there’s diving for amarklor—until a sea beast gets you. Like it did Kinath.” By now her voice was bleak but matter of fact.

Jean stared at her aghast to hear such worldly-wise fatalism in an almost child. She pulled the girl up. “Absolute nonsense. They’ll do no such thing. Come on—let’s get you cleaned up and then we’ll go help Aernath in the lab. We can talk it over there.”

Aernath was not encouraging. He listened to Jean’s story, then sent Tywa on an errand. “Jean, we are being pulled out of here ahead of schedule. I don’t know why but whatever it is, it won’t be helped by a fuss over this girl. They’re not going to kill her. She’s a tough girl. She can work and she’ll eat. She’ll survive.”

“Work?!” Jean exploded. “You call prostituting a child work? Or sending her out to face those … those sea demons?”

His eyes flashed angrily. “Jean, we can’t force a Theld here to take her if they don’t want her. Just what in space do you think you can do?”

“Take her with me then, “she responded grimly.

Aernath stared at her open-mouthed. “You’re crazy! You can’t do that.”

“Maybe not. But I intend to try.” They finished packing in silence. Jean bided her time until Kasoth and the I.S.G. envoy escorted them to the glidecar. Jean gestured Tywa into the carhead of her. “Get in.”

“Hold it! Where do you think you’re going? Get out of there.” The I.S.G. man grabbed Tywa’s arm and roughly pulled her aside.

Tywa looked despairingly at Jean. “Let her go,” Jean interposed. “She is assigned to me personally. She goes with me.”

The Klingon retained his grip on Tywa and looked questioningly at Kasoth. The commander’s face darkened as he started to refute Jean’s assertion. Then he apparently thought better of it. “Why not? Better rid of them both sooner than later. By all means, take her. Lieutenant.” He gestured to the I.S.G. envoy.

Elated, Jean pushed Tywa into the car. There was still the dilemma of getting her from Port Klairos onto the cruiser but this was the first step. Aernath settled himself opposite Jean shaking his head. Tywa wedged herself on the floor between their knees and wrapped an arm around Jean’s leg. Her black eyes stared up at Jean wide and somber. “Don’t believe him,” she whispered. “It’s just a trick.”

Jean simply smiled at her. Undoubtedly Kasoth did not expect her to go with Jean; he had merely divested himself of the problem. Tirax arrived and after a brief exchange with Kasoth he and the I.S.G. man got in as well. The trip down to Klairos spaceport went much more quickly than the trip up in the spring. As they drew up before the spaceport warehouse where they had arrived some weeks before, Jean was delighted to see the tall commanding figure of Kang approaching from an adjacent building. She waited impatiently for Tirax and the guardsman to exit; then she emerged and turned to Tywa. Again the guardsman seized her arm. “Hold it there, girl. That’s as far as you go. Your ride’s not over yet.”

“Oh, no you don’t.” Jean wrenched her free. “She goes with me.” Tywa clung desperately to Jean’s waist while Jean glared at the I.S.G. man.

“Lieutenant, what seems to be the trouble? What’s this child doing here?” Kang stood regarding the scene with faint amusement.

The Klingon saluted. “Commander Kang, the human refused to leave this girl at the experiment station so Commander Kasoth ordered me to bring her along. I’m to deliver her to the pens on my way back to H.Q.”

“You’ll do no such thing!” Jean declared hotly. Then she turned to Kang. “Kang, please let her come with me—at least to Peneli. I promise you she won’t be any trouble.”

Kang’s face was unreadable. “My ship is a battle cruiser not a passenger liner.”

“Kang, I …” Aernath’s hand on her arm stopped her.

“The child is kin-reft, Commander. No Theld will own her,” Aernath said quietly.

Kang regarded Jean and the girl speculatively for a moment. When he spoke, it was directly to Tywa. “Can you name one way in which you would be useful to me on my ship?”

She answered him with an ancient Klingon proverb: “The merest feather proves its worth when you need it to trim your arrow. I’m sure there are many ways I could find to be useful, but there is one thing, especially.”

“Well?”

“It would make her happy. Would that not be useful to you?”

Kang’s eyes twinkled briefly. “What is your name, child?”

Tywa’s hand sought Jean’s. “She named me Tywa, Commander.”

“Tywa. Wouldn’t it frighten you to be on a battle cruiser?”

“Of course, but less so than going to the pens.”

“Why?”

“There is no higher honor than to serve on an Imperial Fleet ship. And if it comes to that, a noble death is to be preferred to an ignoble one.”

Kang nodded grim approval. “Fair enough. You may come as far as our next stop provided you prove useful and no trouble. Then you will be sent planetside again—permanently. Is that understood?” This last question was addressed to Jean.

She nodded. “Agreed; if you vouch for the arrangements.” Holding Tywa’s hand firmly she followed Kang’s already retreating back into the warehouse. But she didn’t let herself believe it was true until they were actually beamed aboard.

That evening, Kang summoned Jean to dine with him. She entered his quarters as he was finishing his nightly survey of the ship. Finally he called up the forward view, closed the wall panel and turned toward her. “Come here.” He drew her into an embrace and protracted kiss. At length he pulled her head back slightly and chuckled. “I said you’d survive. Tell me, how did you find Klairos, my dear?”

“Terrible,” Jean sputtered. “That has got to be one of the hell holes of the galaxy. I don’t care if …”

Kang tightened his grip on her hair and shook her head lightly. “What? No talk of negotiation, cooperation, trust? What’s happened to your human sentimentality?”

“There’s nothing wrong with my human sentiments. They’re fine and flourishing, thank you. It’s just, that those people haven’t emerged from barbarity yet.” She twisted her head trying unsuccessfully to loosen Kang’s hold.

“Such strong words from one whose own race practices the same patrilineal system. Come now.” He was openly and amusedly baiting her now.

“There’s absolutely no comparison between the two. It has nothing to do with the family system. It’s the … the … that damned Klingon mentality,” she finished defiantly.

“I could show you far ‘worse’ than Klairos. And how, my little human,” he asked sotto voce, “would your Federation propose to deal with that?”

Sobered by his change of tone, Jean relinquished her struggle against his hold. “I honestly don’t know, Kang, but there must be some solution short of destroying each other. It’s unlikely either of us will give up striving for new stars so we will simply have to work it out together. But I must admit,” she added ruefully, “that I don’t trust a Klairosian as far as I could throw him.”

Kang chuckled again. “It would seem the impression was mutual. And I hear you did more throwing than otherwise—accosting and insulting people, harassing them, physically assaulting an officer, engineering a guard’s death, even threatening Tirax …”

“Now just one minute,” Jean protested, “it wasn’t like that at all. Take Tirax. I only returned his favor.” She recounted the incident of the snowbird, as well as Tirax’s treatment of her later that night on the polder. “Not only would he welcome an ‘unfortunate’ accident to me but he made that abundantly clear to Kasoth and a number of others there. He simply won’t accept any gesture of rapprochement from me at all.”

Kang nodded. “But of course. You realize I pulled you out of there ahead of schedule. Tirai forwarded Kasoth’s recommendation that you be removed as ‘a threat to discipline and a menace to morale’. Kasoth said he could no longer guarantee your safety. Tirax concurred and asked to be relieved of assignment to you. I will detach someone else to accompany you to Peneli.”

“Well, that alone takes Klairos out of the category of unmitigated disaster,” Jean commented drily. “I can almost say I look forward to Peneli in that case.”

Kang finally released her. “Let’s eat before everything gets colder than a space probe.” The food was excellent as was the Tahrnian ale. Kang extended his goblet to be refilled. “If my calculations are correct, this is the time of year when your people would offer a traditional toast.” He raised the glass. “To your health, wealth, and a long life.”

For a moment Jean was puzzled. Then her eyes widened with delighted surprise. “The lunar new year!” Kang was referring not to an Aldebaranian or general human custom but something much farther back and specific to her Terran-Asian ancestry. She returned the toast with a touch of irony, “And may you also enjoy tranquility and honor as well. But how do you know about that bit of ancient folklore?”

“A good strategist, my dear, always knows his opponent—and his playing pieces—well. I’ve been doing some reading. That heritage is an important part of your makeup, isn’t it?”

“I also carry the European heritage of my father but he was away a lot. My mother and my grandfather raised me. Yes, I suppose you’re right,” she mused. “Ngu phuc—the five happinesses. I remember grandfather teaching me them: phu, qui, tho, ninh, and khang—”

“Kang?”

She smiled. “No, khang, but it is similar, isn’t it? It means health or physical strength. Not inappropriate I’d say, but the two alternate meanings fit you even better: to resist, and to be proud. Does your name have a meaning in your tongue?”

“It’s a particular type of granite outcropping in our mountains suitable for a fortification and hence, by derivation, a mountain fastness or fortress.” He rotated the stem of his goblet slowly between thumb and forefinger watching the swirl of the dark amber liquid within. “Jheen … do you know what your name means in our speech?”

“No.”

“It’s a mischievous and sometimes vicious daemon or spirit who inhabits woods and wild places. She is capricious, unpredictable, and obeys only Cymele herself. ‘Tis said that even Durgath can’t command one save by Cymele’s consent.” His glance fastened on her. “Did you really attack the officer who was disciplining your little waif?”

Jean felt the old wariness return. Beneath the casual banter was a shrewd and complex mind at work. One she did not fully understand. Whatever slim chance she had depended as much on his plans and his whim as on his word, she was convinced. “Yes,” she answered carefully, “I did. Does that create problems for you?”

“Problems?” He was still watching her, his expression unreadable. “None that I can’t handle.”

“Actually; I got into several confrontations. Does that make you angry?” she probed tentatively.

He grinned suddenly. “Angry? I’d have been disappointed in you if you hadn’t. I said you wouldn’t stop easily and you don’t. You humans are tenacious but unpredictable adversaries. No, there’s no harm done to let a few Klairosians get a taste of what they’d face in confronting the Federation. Individuals, like empires, can get soft and complacent unless they meet new challenges. That can lead to fatal miscalculations. The Empire must stay alert and strong.”

“Surely space exploration and colonization of worlds like Klairos present challenges enough to keep anyone from becoming complacent. No need to go looking further for adversaries,” Jean argued.

“Quite possibly true,” Kang answered sardonically, “unless they happen to be sitting across your space lanes. Or hadn’t you noticed?”

“There seems to be precedent. After all, you’ve reached an understanding with the Romulans.”

Kang shot her a suspicious glance. “And what, precisely, do you know of our relations with the Romulans?”

“Nothing,” she replied honestly, “except that you obviously have made contact and as far as we can determine are not involved in trying to exterminate each other.”

“Suffice it to say that that’s a long story and a shaky truce. And not at all analogous to the Federation.” He drained his glass and stood up. Jean followed suit and started clearing the table While Kang once again surveyed several key ship locations on his viewscreen. Satisfied, he lay back and lazily watched Jean at work. A faint smile tugged at one corner of his mouth. “I’ll say one thing about both the Romulans and the Federation. They make much better use of their people, by using their women more effectively. Take your little Tywa. There’s an agile mind and an ardent spirit. A pity to waste it in the diving pens. Terribly inefficient.”

“Oh, yes. Twya. I wanted to ask you about her.” Jean approached the bed. “What do you propose to do about her?”

“We’ll be stopping at Tahrn on our way to Peneli. How about sending her to the agstation where you were?”

It was news to Jean that Tahrn was their destination but she felt this was no time to haggle. For reasons not entirely clear to her, Kang had been most indulgent in this matter so far. She had no intention of pressing her luck. “The agstation? Perfect. There’s a woman there, Tsuyen, whom I think would take her in. Could you arrange it?”

“I guess I’d better if I don’t want to get attacked by her protectress,” he replied humorously. With a sudden effortless movement he swept her down, pinioning her to the bed beside him. He took her dagger and waved it in front of her face. “So on Aldebaran you would doom me to celibacy, would you? Care to challenge me to a match?”

She made a wry face. “You know you’d win. All my life it’s been my fate that when I teach someone something, my students end up outdoing their teacher.”

Kang chuckled appreciatively. “Do you know what they nicknamed you after that episode in the bar?”

“No.”

“‘Princess Daggertooth.’ No, I made no mistake in bestowing consort status on you. You’ve proved worthy of the position. It’s a pity you’re not a Klingon. Still and all, as a human you’re a valuable cami.” Laying aside her dagger, he slid his fingers along her jaw and drew his thumb gently over her lips in his characteristic gesture. “It’s fitting that you should be my instrument of aid to Peneli. Even Mara should appreciate the irony.” Jean suppressed a shiver. The fierce emotion in his eyes at the mention of Mara did not match the smile on his lips. It boded ill for Mara, she was sure. Then it was gone and his eyes mirrored only her face looking up at him. “And since we are not on Aldebaran, there need be no question of celibacy… .” He inserted a finger in the catch and slowly unseamed her tunic.