Nine

KANG’S MELLOW MOOD lasted until Tahrn. However, when Kang beamed back aboard from Tahrn, his manner was taut and his orders curt. They departed for Peneli almost immediately. Dinner was a silent affair. Jean cleared the table while Kang impatiently checked their progress with the bridge. Then he turned to her. “We’ll orbit Peneli tomorrow morning. You and Aernath will remain on board until I summon you.” Without further preamble he claimed her roughly and at length. When he was finished, Jean fell asleep too exhausted to puzzle further over what new dilemma might be driving him now.

Aernath also had returned from Tahrn more preoccupied and withdrawn than ever. Jean was able to draw out of him that Tsuyen had agreed to look after Tywa and that all seemed well at the station. Beyond that she could get no details. Finally she hazarded a guess, “Did you hear any new news from Peneli? How are things going?”

Aernath was re-potting some of his collection specimens as part of the general catching up after their absence on Klairos. At her question he made a startled gesture, knocking a pot to the floor. With a muttered oath, he bent to pick up the pieces. As Jean knelt to help him, he asked, “What made you think I had news from Peneli?”

“Well, you seemed so preoccupied, I thought maybe you had heard something new.”

“Oh … I did hear grim talk though I gather it’s not as bad as on Klairos yet. It may be before we catch up with it—unless they find some way to stop the Tseni virus. There’s no breakthrough with their work there. In retrospect it seems so obvious and stupid. We thought we were being so efficient to develop uniform hybrids of our two main food grains. But it left us like sitting riverbirds when that blight hit. Now they’re starting to produce some of the old wild strains for seed at the station but …

Jean frowned as he chattered on. He spoke quickly, nervously, but it was all tangential. Something else was bothering him. She couldn’t figure out what it was and his stream of words gave no clues.

By mid-afternoon they had everything ready to go planetside, but no word came from Kang. Aernath, apparently finding the constraint of waiting in the lab too much, went off to Security to see what he could learn. Jean settled down to review tapes of Penelian flora. Peneli was a rich, fertile planet especially by Klingon standards. The main continent was located primarily in the equatorial zone and had a tropical to subtropical climate. She became absorbed in the endless proliferation of new plants that she would meet just on that continent alone.

At the end of one tape Jean suddenly realized it was quite late. Aernath had not returned. He wasn’t in his quarters or the science mess. There were several areas of the ship she avoided; one was Security. If he was still there, she wasn’t going to go find him. Kang had not returned either so she ate a solitary meal and spent the evening on more tapes. There was still no sign of Kang when she went to bed.

The next morning she found Aernath in the lab. “Well, what’s the news?”

“No word yet. Kang, Tirax and the others are still down there.”

“What’s taking so long? What’s the problem?”

“I can’t say. All we can do is wait.” It was clear that waiting was even more chafing to Aernath than to her. He drifted nervously from one task to another, then finally left muttering something about helping Zelasz get his specimens transported. Zelasz was the xenozoologist from Peneli. Jean continued her study of the botanical tapes. Shortly after lunch Aernath called her on the intercom. “Come on down to the cargo transporter a minute, will you?”

“Sure. I’ll be right down.” She was feeling restless, too, and welcomed a break. The cargo transporter room contained a welter of cages and specimen jars and a rather abstracted Zelasz but no Aernath. “Where’s Aernath?”

“Huh? Oh, he just went to get something for me. He’ll be right back.” He turned to the console. “Now watch it with the next batch. They’re live specimens.”

Jean watched the cages disappear in the flashing transporter beam. At a sound she turned to see Aernath enter. He was wearing his cloak. “Guess what? We’re going down now.”

“Now? Great! Let’s go get the stuff.”

“Never mind that. It can come later. Right now it’s just us they want. In fact, Zelasz can beam us down from here, can’t you?”

“What? Sure, if you don’t mind walking a bit.”

“No, the exercise will do us good,” Aernath responded.

“But what … Why do they just—” Jean began.

Aernath was clearly impatient. “Come on.” He grasped her arm and urged her onto a transporter pedestal. “I’ll explain it all as we walk. Ready, Zelasz.”

They materialized in a busy warehouse and Aernath steered her out the door with an air of urgency. As they stepped outside they were met by a rush of warm moist air carrying a profusion of scents and sounds. Ship time was not synchronized with planet time and here it was nearly dusk. Jean stopped and took a deep breath, reveling in the fragrant spicy odor of the flowering bushes beside the building. She turned to Aernath. “It’s beautiful!” The breeze caught his cloak blowing it back. He was wearing a sword. She had never seen him wear one before. Startled, Jean glanced at the weapon, then at his face. “Aernath! What’s going on?”

“This way,” He led her across the street and then into a narrower one perpendicular to the first. Even as she followed the quick pace he set, Jean was taking in the sights and sounds around them, from the small iridescent jadebirds to the ivy festooning a nearby wall. “The negotiations are taking longer than expected. They are still haggling over the terms.”

“Terms? What do you mean?”

“Kang is offering seed grain and your services. The price,” he paused and faced her soberly, “is Mara.”

Jean gasped, remembering the look on Kang’s face when he last spoke of Mara. She should have guessed it. “Mara! Oh no. There’s no telling what Kang will do to her if he gets his hands on her. I can’t let that happen. You’ve got to help me.”

He gave her a strange look. “Why do you care what happens to Mara?”

“She’s pro-Federation from what you tell me,” Jean replied. “I don’t want to be responsible for putting her in Kang’s power, and I don’t want to have to work on Peneli as a result of such a bargain. You once said that her brother wouldn’t hesitate to turn her over to Kang if it was expedient so there must be compelling reasons why he hasn’t done it if that’s Kang’s price. Do you have any idea why he hasn’t agreed?”

They had turned into a broader avenue with a landscaped median strip. Jean inhaled a fresh heady fragrance from the blossoming trees there. Aernath continued to urge her forward briskly. “Mara’s movement has gained a great deal of support. Turning her over to Kang at this point might precipitate open rebellion among her followers. Hard-liners like Tirax would love a chance to jump in on the side of the anti-Federation forces and wipe out the underground.”

“Could they do that?”

“Largely depends on the political situation on Tahrn, and on Kang. I suspect he wants to weaken Mara’s movement just enough so that he can control it himself as a counterweight to those who want to attack the Federation now. I’m sure he doesn’t want an interplanetary war right now but he’s juggling a tricky bunch of balls.”

Jean stopped precipitously and stared at Aernath in dismay. “And we’ll be caught right in the middle of it! We could get stuck here—held hostage in return.”

He eyed her curiously. “You would be stuck here. Kang’s offer does not include me. For some reason, I am to remain on board the ship.”

In that instant Jean recalled her confession to Kang and saw the trap he had set for her with that knowledge. She groaned. “As a hostage—to ensure my loyalty and cooperation.” Then she added with bitter irony, “But of course, he couldn’t do it the other way around.”

Aernath glanced at her, askance. “Jean, now that we’re here, there’s something else.” He made as if to move on but Jean caught his arm and pulled his cloak back. She looked at the sword and then at his face.

“Wait, if that’s all true … who called us down here now and why? Exactly where are we going, Aernath?” As she spoke, a figure rounded the nearby corner and abruptly confronted them.

“You! What are you doing here? Both of you are supposed to be restricted to ship.” It was Tirax.

Then both Aernath and Tirax moved with blurring speed. Tirax went for his phaser and Aernath aimed a well-placed kick that sent it flying into the nearby bushes. Both men drew their swords. Jean shrank back against a low stone drywall at the edge of the walk. It was quite dark now and the street globes had come on casting an eerie sodiumorange glow over the scene.

Aetnath stood facing Tirax in an en garde position. Tirax lunged, his point aimed just below the rib cage. Aernath drifted ever so slightly to his left and caught Tirax’s shoulder with the tip before the startled Klingon parried it. Wary now, Tirax pulled back and assessed his opponent. Obviously, he, too, had never seen Aernath fight before. Settling into a more formal stance, Tirax suddenly launched a series of rapid thrusts, parries, and ripostes. His superior height and weight forced Aernath back and carried them past Jean.

She saw that Aernath had been hit above the right knee. The two men circled carefully, each seeking an opening. Aernath compensated for Tirax’s height and weight by greater agility and speed. She would never have guessed he possessed this skill. Again he shifted lightly, avoiding a thrust from Tirax, and this time inflicted a large gash on the larger Klingon’s upper arm. But Tirax recovered and slipped past Aernath’s next parry with a riposte that reached his ribs. Aernath stumbled but managed to block the next downstroke aimed at him. Then he regained his footing. Alarmed now, Jean looked about for some weapon of her own. She dug her fingers into the dirt behind the drywall and pried free one of the top stones of the wall. She hugged it to her chest and waited for a suitable opening. Tirax connected again, a glancing slice along Aernath’s forearm. Aernath countered with a slash that drew blood along Tirax’s neck. Both men circled again, more slowly now, their breathing labored. Then Tirax struck Aernath’s leg once more. Aernath fell back a couple of paces drawing Tirax abreast of Jean. As he moved for a counter riposte, his leg gave way and he fell. As Tirax plunged forward and down, Jean hurled the rock straight at his sword arm. Aernath rolled but the sword caught him in the side nonetheless. He rose to one knee, then faltered. However, Tirax no longer held his sword. His right arm dangled useless by his side. With a roar of pain and rage, Tirax turned and charged Jean.

She dropped into a crouch and met the Klingon’s out-thrust arm with a grasp, pirot, and throw that carried him up and over her. As he sailed over she felt a snap and knew in some recess of her mind that his left arm was now broken. Where in space had she learned that? Now, dagger in hand, she waited. The Klingon did not rise. She approached him warily.

Even through the pain the hate was still there, but also the grudging respect. “So, human, in the end you win after all.” He spoke with some difficulty. “Very well, finish it. Strike cleanly and I’ll salute Durgath in your name when I stand before him.” Then there was neither hate nor fear—just a clear gaze meeting hers—waiting.

Jean knelt beside him and shook her head. “Not by my hand, Tirax. I may die regretting this but you’ll live to greet Durgath another day.” Her hand moved in a flashing blow to his neck. He lost consciousness promptly. And where in space did I learn that? Jean wondered as she replaced her dagger. She had never studied any of the so-called arts of self-defense … had she? … something wrong here … She shook her head dazedly. If she could just remember … But there was a more immediate problem: Aernath. She stood up and turned to where he had been.

He was gone. Tirax’s sword lay on the ground by a small pool of inky wetness. A faint trail of spots, black in the glare of the street globes, led away from the spot into an unlighted passageway between two buildings. She followed them. “Aernath?” she called with soft urgency. “Aernath, where are you?” She was answered only by a soft rustle of movement in the shadow. As she moved toward it she caught a dim glimpse of him leaning against the wall. Simultaneously, she saw emerging from the grayness several other figures who moved purposefully toward her. With the same maneuver that had grounded Tirax, she managed to send one flying before she was overpowered by the weight of numbers. For a brief interval she was reduced to kicking, biting, and scratching. Then a cloth was stuffed in her mouth and some type of hood fastened over her head. She could breathe and hear—nothing else. As her hands were roughly pulled behind her and tied, she heard something that filled her with consternation and despair.

Aernath’s voice was faint but clear. “Handle her carefully, Kinsmen. That human is extremely valuable to us right now.”

This was followed by urgent mutterings, smothered oaths, and frenetic movement around her. She was hoisted unceremoniously over someone’s shoulder, carried a short distance and dumped onto a cold hard surface. She heard a door close. Silence gave way to abrupt movement; she was being taken somewhere in some kind of a vehicle. What in the name of the nine rings of hell was going on here? Who were these Klingons? What was Aernath’s connection with them? Obviously he knew them. And Aernath himself—clearly he was more than a simple botanist. Tonight had proved that. How little she knew him. The one certainty she thought she had in this situation suddenly became a chilling unknown. Anger fought panic to a standstill leaving Jean the limp battlefield.

The ride ended and she was extracted to be hauled rudely up steps and along corridors. She was tied in a chair, then footsteps receded and a door closed. In the stillness, she wiggled her hands and feet experimentally. The bonds were tight with no give. She was immobilized. How long she sat like that she had no way of knowing, but it seemed like hours. Finally the door opened and someone approached her. She felt fingers loosen the fastenings at the back of her head. The hood was pulled away and the gag removed. The room was brightly lit. Jean looked down at the floor blinking and squinting as her eyes tried to adjust from the prolonged darkness.

She focused on the boots first: a fine deep blue leather, good workmanship, finely tooled; shapely blue-clad legs, a brief dress—blue with silver accents. A graceful V-neck with pointed collar framed a regal face. The woman regarded her silently with fathomless black eyes. Her appraisal was interrupted by another arrival.

Aernath stood in the doorway, shirtless, with his right arm in a sling and a plastiderm dressing swathing his right rib cage. His face was pale and he favored his right leg as he walked. His eyes met Jean’s as he came into the room.

“Jean!” A flush darkened his face as he made his way angrily to her chair. “Blast it, Mara! Why did you let them do this?” He tugged angrily at her bonds with his left hand. “I told you, she has enough trouble trusting us as it is without this. And it wasn’t necessary.”

The woman watched cooly, making no move to help or hinder his efforts. “She’ll have to trust us. She has no choice.”

“Well, dammit, you didn’t have to make it so difficult for her!” With his dagger he severed the thongs that held her hands and set to work on her feet. This was interrupted as a third person burst into the room, a lithe black-haired girl in a formfitting blue uniform.

“Aernath!” She rushed to embrace him.

“Aeliki!” He rose and hugged her warmly with his left arm.

“I just found out you were here. Thank Cymele you’re safe!” She stepped back a pace and surveyed him anxiously. “Are you sure you should be up? They said you were brought in unconscious. What happened?”

“I’ll be fine. We ran into a little opposition on the way but …” he gestured to Jean with the dagger, “there she is. I got her here.”

Aeliki now turned her attention to Jean for the first time. “The human!” She looked at her curiously.

“Yes, the human. Aernath has been chiding me for mistreating her,” Mara said drily.

Aernath knelt again to the task of freeing Jean. “Cymele’s Cloak, Mara, you can’t treat her like this and—” he expostulated.

Mara interrupted, “This is the woman Kang would have used against us, and you admitted yourself you couldn’t be sure she would come voluntarily.” She turned to Jean. “Stand up.” Jean did so returning the woman’s gaze as Mara walked around the chair surveying her deliberately. “So. Kang’s new consort. He has made you a member of his Theld. Would you have come voluntarily?”

Jean rubbed her wrists. “Probably. It would depend on the situation. I don’t really understand the terms of my presence here.”

“What were Kang’s terms? What induced you to cooperate with him?” Mara’s voice was sharp but not to the point of hostility.

Jean glanced at Aernath wondering how much and what he had told Mara. She chose her words carefully. “Kang’s terms? My freedom if I cooperated and he succeeded. Death by his own hand at the first sign of treachery. But I consented voluntarily to work against the famine when I discovered the true situation. I’m still willing to do that but preferably not at the expense of a pro-Federation cause or you personally, Mara.”

“But if I stood in the way of your success, if it were a choice between your freedom and mine, then what, Miss Czerny?”

Jean was spared the necessity of an answer by the interruption of a blue-uniformed man. “Dematrix, you’re needed in Operations.”

Mara nodded. “Aernath, wait here, I’ll be back soon. Follow me, Aeliki.” She strode briskly from the room. Aeliki gave Aernath a quick hug and followed her. Aernath watched them go for a long moment before he turned back to Jean.

She looked at him uncertainly. “It would appear that I am in no position to demand anything, but I think you owe me some explanations.”

“Jean, I’m sorry. Believe me, I didn’t intend … Are you hurt in any way?” At the shake of her head, he continued. “None of this would have happened if we hadn’t met Tirax. I was sure that once I got you off the ship to a place where I could safely explain everything you’d come freely. But by the time I got into that alley …” He raised his hand to brush back the hair from his forehead. It was shaking badly.

She moved to him quickly. “Aernath! You shouldn’t even be on your feet. Here, lie down.” She guided him to a couch at the side of the room. He sank down wearily but insisted on sitting. She poured a glass of water from the carafe on the table beside the couch and watched anxiously as he drank.

“Thanks, Jean. I’ll be all right.” Nonetheless, he leaned back and closed his eyes. His face was still very pale. After some moments he opened his eyes again. “Now, where were we?”

She touched the bandage on his side. “How badly did he hit you?”

“Nothing vital. They patched me up pretty thoroughly. I’ll be fine in a few days.”

“You really astonished me, you know. You never gave any indication you could fight like that,” she said with unaccustomed diffidence.

He shrugged his left shoulder. “Just because I choose not to fight doesn’t mean I can’t if I have to. It’s just that usually it’s an inefficient way to try to solve the problem.” He gave her an appraising look. “You were rather surprising yourself. Did you kill him?”

“Tirax? No.” She looked down at her hands. “When it came right down to it, I couldn’t. Someday I’ll probably regret it.”

“Let’s hope not.”

“Aernath, what’s going on? Who … or what … are you anyway?”

He grinned boyishly “It should be obvious by now. I am … or was … Mara’s undercover agent to keep an eye on Kang.”

A throaty chuckle from the doorway drew their attention. Mara had returned. “And you couldn’t ask for a more perfect spy. His loyalty to Kang stands second only to his loyalty to me. He’d pass almost any screening check Kang could put him through.”

“True,” Aernath protested mildly, “but the same could be said of you, too.”

“You and I know that but it wouldn’t even occur to him to run the check,” Mara sighed. “I’m afraid that even if we succeed it’s likely to be a long time before he’s convinced.”

“Speaking of that, how are things going?”

“With the accelerated timetable it will be tight but I think we have a better than even chance.” She turned to Jean. “Well, are you ready to answer my question? If I told you that you could walk through that door free what would you choose to do?”

“I would sit right here until I had a clearer idea of your position. I only know what Aernath has told me, which is vague generalities. If you do favor negotiation with the Federation, then I would like to help you in whatever way I can.”

“And what of Kang?”

“I … bear him no enmity, but I wouldn’t pass a loyalty check.”

“And if you fell back into his hands again? Do you fear that?” Mara watched her intently.

“It’s you he wants. I’m merely a pawn in that game. How would you feel if he got you?”

Mara gestured impatiently. “That’s my problem. Answer the question.”

Jean grimaced. “If you can convince me it’s worth it, I guess I’d take that chance. Under the circumstances, I could quite legitimately say I was kidnapped against my will.”

Mara looked at her thoughtfully for a long moment, then nodded abruptly as if she had made a decision. “Very well. We will discuss this further tomorrow. Aernath, do what you like with her so long as you don’t breach security. Can you see to the arrangements or shall I call someone?”

“I think I can manage. Where am I assigned?”

“Next to Aeliki, of course. I assumed you’d prefer that.”

Aernath smiled. “Thanks. If there’s room, I’ll put her in with Aeliki then.”

“Fine.” She gestured toward the door. “Kyrnon can direct you. Get a good night’s rest. You both look like you could use it.” She picked up the device that had been removed from Jean’s head and handed it to Aernath. “At the moment, for her sake as well as ours, the less she knows the better. Good night.” She left the room.

Jean backed away from Aernath. “You’re not going to put that thing on me again!” she declared belligerently.

He gestured wryly at his bandaged arm. “No, I can’t. But I am going to ask you to put it on. Mara’s right—what you don’t know you can’t tell.” He held it out to her. “Please. It won’t be for long.”

Jean took it reluctantly and slipped it on, fighting the urge to retch at the memory of the gag. Aernath took her hand and led her forward. Someone met them outside the door, and Jean felt her other arm grasped firmly but gently. After many twists and turns she came to a stop. “All right. We’re here. You can take it off,” Aernath said as the other man left.

Gratefully, Jean slipped out of it and looked about. It was a small cubicle just large enough to contain two narrow beds, a desk, and a chair. The door on her right was obviously a closet and the one on her left opened into a small bathroom. Aernath gestured at the bath. “My room’s through there. If you need anything come and ask. This room door is unlocked and there is no guard. I want you to feel you are among friends. But for your own sake, don’t leave the room unless Aeliki or I come for you. Do you have any questions?”

There were numerous questions but none she was prepared tO ask him at the moment. “No, I guess not.” She looked at his face. It was drawn and pinched. “Just one thing—you ought to be in bed. Can I … do you need any help?”

He flushed slightly. “No. Aeliki will be along shortly. If I need anything I’ll ask her. Good night.”

“Good night.” She watched him go through the bathroom to his quarters with a twinge of jealousy. Who or what was Aeliki to him? He had never mentioned her but then he had never talked much of his personal life. There had always been a reticence there, quite understandable now in light of his espionage role. She had always respected this reserve, having felt that to probe would have been seen as one more humiliating demand on his bond-status even if it wasn’t meant that way. Now she wished she knew a great deal more about this enigmatic Klingon: most particularly what his feelings were toward her. Questions. But questions that would have to wait.

Resolutely she straightened her shoulders and turned her attention back to the room. Which bed was Aeliki’s? The two neat berths gave no clues. The desk was bare except for a reading light in the center and a small opaque cube on the left. Jean picked it up and turned it over idly. It began to glow and clear. One side displayed markings which changed as she watched. Through the other sides she saw a hologram forming. It was a picture of a boy and a girl. With a jolt she realized it was Aernath and Aeliki apparently taken some years earlier. She put it down and it grew opalescent again. She sat down on the right hand bed and pulled off her boots. A murmur of voices came to her from Aernath’s room. It must be Aeliki. She stifled an impulse to listen at the door and lay down instead.

After a few moments, Aeliki came in quiet and hesitant. She seemed startled when Jean sat up promptly. “Oh, you’re still awake. Aernath said you might be …” She seemed at a loss as to how to proceed.

“Is this your bed Jean inquired.

“No, I sleep in this one.” She indicated the one on the left. “Do hu… I mean, is that comfortable for you?”

Jean smiled faintly at the other woman’s discomfiture. “Klingons seem to prefer a firmer sleeping surface than humans but I am accustomed to it now. Tell me, does it bother you to have a human in your room?”

Aeliki blushed. “I don’t mean to be rude, but I’ve never met one before. Aernath said just to treat you naturally—that if we want to establish relations with humans, we just have to learn to get along. But it’s still strange and scary, isn’t it?”

“Oh, I don’t think I’m so bad. How would you like to try a whole starship full of aliens?”

“I see what you mean. If Mara did that …” she laughed uncertainly, “you must think me rather silly.”

That wasn’t the comparison Jean intended but she let it go. An awkward silence ensued. Jean yearned momentarily for the solitude of her own quarters on the cruiser or the easy comfort of Tywa’s company.

Then Aeliki ventured, “Do you want to go to sleep now or what? Do you need anything?”

“As a matter of fact, cruiser time is out of sync with planet time. Any chance I could get something to eat before we turn in?”

The woman seized on the suggestion with alacrity, disappeared, and returned a few moments later with a small tray of food. The beverage was hot, aromatic, and unfamiliar to Jean. Aeliki explained that it was made from a local fruit. While Jean ate, she went to the closet. “I don’t suppose you brought anything with you … we’ll see about issuing you some things in the morning.” She emerged with a short, light shift, then paused uncertainly. “Tonight you could … that is, do you … uh …”

Jean smiled again as she answered, “Thank you, that would do nicely for tonight,” She pushed back her tray and crossed to the bathroom. There she paused, baffled. “Aeliki, how do you operate the faucet?”

Aeliki came and pointed to a faint strip above the spigot. “There.” When Jean hesitated she said, “Put your finger on it and slide it down until you find the temperature you want; then push. Push it again to turn it off. The shower works the same way.” Jean touched the top of the strip. It was quite cold. The bottom was uncomfortably hot.

She emerged shortly, intending to spend some time talking with Aeliki but abruptly a small reddish light above the door began to blink rhythmically accompanied by a faint chime. “What’s that?” Jean asked with some alarm. She still had not fully accepted the fact that the Klingon “Alert” color was amber rather than red.

“It means I’m needed at my post. Don’t wait up for me,” she called over her shoulder as she left.

As Jean undressed she suddenly felt unnaturally sleepy. She wondered vaguely if Aeliki or someone had drugged her food. She just had time to tumble into bed and then she didn’t wonder about anything at all… .

Someone was shaking her. “Jean, hey! Wake up! It’s morning.” Groggily she rolled over and sat up. Her head felt twice its normal size and very fuzzy. Aernath’s face shifted into approximate focus in front of her. “You can’t be that tired. What’s wrong?”

Jean groaned. “Feels like a first class hangover. From the food last night I think. Would Aeliki or someone have drugged it?”

“Drugged your food? Of course not. Why would we want to do that?”

“Search me, but that’s what it feels like. Something sure didn’t agree with me.” She pushed herself erect and staggered to the bathroom. The cold water on her face helped somewhat. She returned to find Aernath holding out a garment to her.

“Here, put this on.” Her attire or lack of it seemed to disconcert him. She fumbled with the robe. It felt as if all her movements were being performed through five centimeters of foam rubber. “Come on over and eat. If you don’t feel better then we’ll have someone see you.” As she followed him she noticed that he was fully dressed and appeared perfectly normal except for the sling on his right arm. There was only a trace of a limp. He was certainly making a fast recovery.

Breakfast consisted of khizr, a spicy-hot soup, and fruit. The latter tasted familiar, the same as the drink last night. Her head cleared somewhat as they ate. “Has Aeliki been back since last night?”

Aernath shook his head. “I haven’t seen her, but she’ll probably turn up soon.”

“She said before she left last night that she was needed at her post. What does she do?”

Aernath shook his head. “Don’t ask. The less you know the better.”

“Well, what are we going to do? Can you tell me that? Kang will be taking this planet apart Klingon by Klingon trying to find us and since we don’t have any supplies with us we can’t do anything about the blight—”

“Wrong. I did bring some samples of both strains along and they’re in safe hands already. We’re to meet with some colleagues of mine later today to brief them. As for the rest, Mara will discuss that with us over dinner tonight.”

“All right. I guess I better get dressed.” She pushed back her chair and stood up. It hit even faster this time. She only had time to turn back to him. “Aernath! What are you people trying to do to m—” Then the floor wobbled unsteadily up to meet her forehead.

Jean opened her eyes to a dim light. This time her head was throbbing savagely but retained its normal size. She seemed to be in bed. Her stir of movement brought a response from the opposite berth. Aernath. “The doctor said you would wake up on your own sooner or later but I was beginning to wonder. How do you feel?”

“Terrible. My head hurts.”

“He also said you’d probably say that. Here, take this.” He held out a pill and a glass of water.

“What’s that?”

“I don’t know. Something to make your head feel better.”

She made no move to take the proffered medicine. “Aernath, what happened?”

“Dr. Eknaar checked you out against Peneli pretty thoroughly but he overlooked one thing. Your allergy to lourkain should have tipped him off. There is a related alkaloid that occurs in very high concentrations in the pulp of our persaba fruit. It really knocked you for a loop.”

Jean looked up at the clear, apparently guileless depths of those amethyst eyes. One part of her wanted—needed—desperately to believe, to trust this one particular Klingon. Another part of her was virtually screaming caution and suspicion. Although his miscalculations with regard to Kang and Tirax might be chalked up to honest error, it was indisputable that he had dissembled his own role so well she would have staked her life that he was the person he had seemed to be. Could she afford to do so again?

“Will you swear to me by whatever you hold sacred that, this time, you are telling me the truth?”

Aernath flinched as if she had hit him. He set the glass on the desk and turned away, slamming the desk with his hand. “Durgath take them all. I told her you wouldn’t trust us, that she had to move carefully.” He faced her, his eyes blazing with an intensity she’d never seen before. “I knew it would be a shock when you found out I wasn’t what you thought I was, but hoped you would also be pleased by the discovery. And now this… .” He knelt beside the bed. “Once I discovered Kang’s plans for Peneli and got my orders to get you down here, I spent most of my waking hours trying to figure out what to do. I just couldn’t find any safe way to prepare you ahead of time. Jean, I swear by …” he hesitated, then reached out and brushed her eyelashes with a fingertip, “… by your tears, I’m telling the truth. Cymele help me, I’m not lying to you in spite of appearances to the contrary.”

After a long pause, Jean reached out a hand. “Give me the pill.”

Aernath handed her the pill and the water. He slid his left arm behind her shoulders and pulled her to a sitting position. Their eyes met as she set down the glass. Jean poised on the very verge of those depths … his right hand moved halfway to her face … Then, with a slight shake of his head, Aernath broke the contact and the moment. He seemed to be struggling with some decision. Finally he said, “Mara wants to present this herself after dinner, but I’m going to tell you some of it now. She has something—I don’t know what—that she wants to get to your Federation Starfleet now. She wants … us to take it.”

“Us? Now? How?” Jean was full of questions.

“Shh!” He laid a restraining finger on her lips. “No questions now. Save them for Mara. I just wanted to warn you. One more thing and that’s all I will say. This means your freedom now instead of waiting—if we succeed. But if we are caught …” He shrugged expressively.

“But what about the blight, the grain?”

“I said hold the questions.”

“Okay, just one more then: what time is it? When do we meet Mara?” That pill must work fast. The headache was better already.

“You’ve been out most of the day.” Aernath leaned across the desk and picked up the cube. “Let’s see … mm, later than I thought. Mara will probably be ready to see us about as soon as you can get ready.” He turned the cube over in his hand looking at the hologram.

“How long have you known her?”

“Mara? Let me see now …”

“No, Aeliki.”

“My sister? All of her life. We are not raised in test-tubes despite any stories you may have—”

“Sister! Aeliki is your sister?”

“Yes. Didn’t she tell you that?”

Jean collapsed back on the bed. “No, that’s another thing no one bothered to mention to me yet.” Aernath was regarding her with a puzzled look. “I thought she was your fiancee or something. You never mentioned whether or not there was anyone special back home. Is there?” No better time than the present to find out.

“No, does that matter to you?”

“I thought I heard someone talking in here.” Aeliki emerged from the bathroom, yawning. “How are you feeling now?”

“Much better, thanks.” Jean answered.

Aeliki gave Aernath a quick hug and kiss. “Thanks for the use of your room. What with being up all night and then the excitement here,” she waved at Jean, “it sure felt good to get some sleep.” As she crossed to the closet she said to Jean, “Oh, yes, I promised you we’d get some things for you today. I hope I got your size right.” She pulled a bundle out of the closet, then looked questioningly at Aernath who was still standing by the desk. Finally she added with some asperity, “Aernath, we’ll never get you both ready to meet Mara if you just stand there stargazing. Come on—out!”

The setting was as elegant as the meal was simple. They were dining in an alcove off the room where Jean first met Mara. That, she gathered, was the anteroom to Mara’s personal quarters. They were seated on some type of resilient matting at floor level with their feet tucked into the recess beneath the low table. Opposite Jean, Mara leaned back against a cushion, glass of wine in hand. She had exchanged her uniform for formal Penelian dress: a bright emerald green bodysuit with long sleeves. Over this she wore a tight bodice of gauzy, light green material that divided at the waist into six panels and floated to ankle length. Aernath wore a similar bodysuit of wine red with a dark brown overtunic of more substantial material. His arm sling was gone and he had worn his sword, though it had been laid aside when they sat down to eat.

They were concluding the meal with fresh fruit, and Aernath was explaining the tableware to her. It was a heavy translucent material with a peach tinge. “It’s made from a large shellfish that is extremely common in our oceans. This color is rare. It occurs only when they ingest a particular kind of plankton. This,” he indicated the fruit bowl which was a pearly gray, “is the more common color. Here, have some fruit. You’ve hardly eaten anything. I assure you this is all quite harmless.” Jean selected a small fruit, without comment. It was true, she had eaten sparingly. She wished to be alert for whatever conversation might ensue and she was taking no chances.

Mara leaned forward. “Yes, how are you feeling? You appear quite recovered from your encounter with our persaba. Do you think you would be up to traveling soon?”

The conversation throughout dinner had been casual and clearly designed to put her at ease. Alert now, Jean strove for an equally casual response that would give no hint that Aernath had forewarned her. “Travel? You mean to some place where we could safely work on the quadrotriticale? Aernath told me he has brought some.”

Mara smiled fleetingly as she shook her head. “No, even if our plans here on Peneli succeed, I’m not sure you would be safe anywhere in the Klingon Empire. I had in mind a longer and more difficult journey. As it happens, I need an unimpeachable courier to make an important delivery to your Federation Starfleet. It is fortunate for both of us that you are available and, I understand, quite eager to return.”

“I’ve heard mention of plans several times. May I ask for a briefing and how this uh … delivery fits in? How will my travel be arranged if I agree to this? I need a little information.” Jean hoped she had hit the right blend of caution and interest.

“Peneli is a rarity in the Klingon Empire: a rich, fertile planet. You’ve seen a couple of more typical examples. In spite of our low population growth rate, the Empire must expand. The Federation is an obstacle to that expansion. Many Klingons feel therefore that it must be destroyed. Others of us, notably Kang, feel that all-out attack now would so weaken us that even if we did succeed the Empire would be destroyed in the process. What Kang doesn’t see is that the armed confrontation doesn’t have to occur at all; at least not on any major scale. He must be brought to negotiation with the Federation soon—successful negotiation. Do you understatand me? Her eyes were like gimlets boring into Jean. Her dress and the setting enhanced her beauty but in no way diminished the sense of commanding presence Jean had felt when she first met her in uniform. “The invitation must come from the Federation—to Kang. And they must make a significant offer when he does meet with them.” She pasued.

Jean looked at her. “Go on.”

“Peneli, because of its resources is key to the Imperial Fleet. Kang must have Peneli—be able to count on it. And he will, one way or the other. He also wants me. He will succeed in that too, one way or the other. However, if my operation now in progress succeeds, he may not get exactly what he expects.”

Jean pushed the plate in front of her carefully to one side. “No unfriendliness intended, but if I do reach Starfleet and report that you expect them to offer a substantial concession, then what do you offer in return?”

“If you make your delivery I will guarantee that Kang will come and negotiate. If I am successful here then Peneli will not only remain firmly in Kang’s camp but also firmly committed to continuing negotiation rather than confrontation. I will not see the resources of this planet expended merely to hasten the destruction of the Empire!”

Jean looked at her curiously. “I don’t mean to doubt your word. But I’ve come to know Kang rather well. Just how do you propose to guarantee that he will do something he clearly doesn’t want to do, especially if he once gets his hands on you?”

For the first time Jean sensed hesitancy in Mara’s bearing. The Klingon woman rang the small table bell and summoned the old woman who had served them. She made a gesture to the woman, who looked visibly startled. “Yes,” said Mara, “Now. It is time.” She turned back to them. The words came slowly. “What I am about to tell you is known only to two others. It is vitally important that you not reveal this to anyone in the Empire and only to the absolute minimum number of people in Starfleet who must know.” Jean glanced at Aernath. He looked as mystified as she felt.

The old woman returned with a young boy of four or five. His face lit up at the sight of Mara; then he hesitated, looking uncertainly at Jean and Aernath. “It’s all right,” Mara said softly. “Come here.” Thus encouraged he came and climbed into her lap. Mara talked to him for a few minutes in a low murmur, apparently about his day’s activities. Then she said, “Do you remember the most important rule?” The boy nodded. “Well, tonight, for the first time I want you to tell someone else. The rule is still the rule but right now it is all right. Who are you?”

“I am Aethelnor of Peneli.”

“Who is your father?”

The childish singsong was clear and firm. “Kang of Tahrn, emperor-elect, and commander in the Imperial Fleet.”

“Who is your uncle?”

“Maelen of Peneli, warrior and regent, defender of the Empire.”

Mara smiled fondly, then leaned forward to touch the tip of her nose to his. “Very good, Aethelnor. And who am I?”

Aethelnor giggled suddenly as he twined his arm around her neck. “You’re my mother.”

She held him close for a moment, then rose. “Now it is time for bed. Come along.” She took him out, then returned a moment later and stood regarding her two astonished guests. “Now you know my secret. I want you to take Aethelnor to the Federation. That is my guarantee that Kang will come and negotiate in good faith.”

Aernath recovered his voice first. “Cymele keep us! Mara, does Kang know about his son?”

Mara shook her head as she reseated herself. “Only my nurse—the woman you saw. She raised me from a child and she alone knew of my pregnancy. As a former Fleet science officer I have a fair knowledge of medicine—as you know.” She touched Aernath’s side lightly. “She was my only attendant at Aethelnor’s birthing. There are a few others who know of the boy’s presence here but not his identity. You seem distressed.” The last was addressed to Jean.

“How can you give him up—just send off your son as a … a hostage to the Federation?”

“Do you have any reason to believe he would be in danger or abused in the custody of your Starfleet?” Mara asked sharply.

“No!” Jean added hastily. “Good gracious, no. It’s just that—”

“So I have been assured. It’s far more than a question of hostages, Miss Czerny. After all, in a few years he would be leaving me for his uncle’s Theld anyway.” She leaned forward, her voice low but intense. “I want him to spend a few years growing up in human society—to know you from the inside. It will help equip him for his task when he becomes regent of Peneli. Besides, he won’t go alone. I’m sending a tutor.” She turned to the still startled Aernath. “You.”

“Me!” Aernath was clearly astonished. “Why?”

“Because you are far more useful to me, to the cause, there than here. You’ve briefed, our agricultural people. They can work far more inconspiciously without you. In spite of your fascination with humans, there is no question of your loyalty to me or to Kang. Your educational background is sufficiently broad and you have shown an ability to teach. You’d be an excellent tutor.”

“But …” Aernath began to protest.

“That’s an order, Aernath.”

“Yes, Dematrix.” His reply snapped to match her tone.

She added in a softer tone. “I know it may prove to be an extended exile but not an unduly onerous one I think.”

“You’ve already answered part of my next question. I’m glad to know that Aernath will be along on this trip. When and how do we leave?”

Mara’s face reflected approval of Jean’s brisk response. “Tonight. Kang, of course, has already started the search for you. It is only a matter of time before he will discover where you have been taken. But he will never expect us to send you off-planet. It would be logical to keep you here. So our greatest chance of success lies in moving quickly.” Mara made a move as if to stand up.

“Oh, could I ask you one more thing?” Jean asked.

Mara paused. “What is that?”

“Aetheln. What does it mean?”

Mara sat back down. “As in Aethelnor? The suffix means ‘bearing’. And aetheln is … well, it carries some of the meaning of your Terran concept of kismet—one’s fate or destiny in life. It also has something of the original Confucian concept of … li I think it was called—that internal ability to perceive and accept the mandate of heaven, to perform your proper role in the order of things. I guess Aethelnor would translate roughly as Confucius’s chun-tzu, the prince-son or superior man, wouldn’t it? Why do you ask?”

“Nothing important,” Jean replied. “It’s just that Kang mentioned the word to me once but couldn’t explain it. I was struck by the coincidence.”

Mara chuckled. “Kang is not as widely read in Terran culture as I.” At Jean’s questioning look, she continued, “Those days on the Enterprise after the truce. Kang wouldn’t let me out of our quarters, so I spent a lot of time with computer tapes. Your science officer, Mr. Spock, gave me only limited access to scientific areas so I spent a lot of time on history and culture. Perhaps,” she finished almost wistfully as she rose, “it will be different with Aernath.”

Jean stood up quickly to match Mara’s gesture. “I’m sure we’ll work out something.”

“Excellent. Survival and success to you both. I hope the next time we meet will be at the negotiating table. Aernath, Kyrnon will have your orders. Goodbye.”

Their immediate destination was Tsorn. They had traveled by a small, fast courier ship and the trip went without incident. Jean shivered slightly in her shurdik as she stood on the apron of the spaceport and looked out over the red sands of Tsorn. This was a rim planet of the Klingon Empire located in a quadrant tangential to Federation space. The interior of its main continent was dominated by salt flats and great deserts of red sand. A fairly narrow belt around the continental periphery supported a modicum of native vegetation as well as agricultural development with careful management. The capital city, Ichidurtsukaitsorn, or Ichidur as it was often called, was located on the northwest part of the continent not too far inland. The spaceport was sited farther inland on the edge of the desert.

Aethelnor was shivering too. She reached out and wrapped him in a double thickness of her redundant shurdik. By custom, women on Tsorn went out only if covered from head to toe by this voluminous garment. It had fine meshwork in front of the eyes so one could see out—straight ahead. Otherwise, there were no openings. It was winter now so Jean welcomed its warmth as well as the cover but it must be stifling in the summer when the hot dry winds blew off the desert.

“Comfortable now?” she asked Aethelnor.

The boy nodded. “Yes, it’s warmer.” He was a very reserved child by human standards, at least with Jean. He had spent more time with Aernath than with her on the ship. Aernath took his charge seriously and spent several hours each day in various sorts of lessons with the boy. Now he had left Aethelnor with her while he cleared them through entry formalities. Their documents indicated that she was a Penelian bringing her son to live with his uncle who was allegedly a wealthy trader in Ichidur. Beyond that, she knew nothing of the plans to get them off Tsorn. If Aernath knew, he gave no indication, saying only that they would be contacted.

The wind blew more insistently now and Jean noticed a few drops of rain on the apron in front of her. She sat down on one of the two pods supposed to be their “luggage” and drew Aethelnor up on her lap. That way she could better shield him from the wind and rain. She wondered how Tsorni women navigated in these garments. She couldn’t turn her head to see if Aernath was coming or not. While it’s concealment protected her from casual detection, it also made her feel hemmed in and half blind. She jumped nervously at the sound of the voice directly behind her.

“Here. Take these two. Follow me.” It was Aernath and a porter. The porter picked up the two dufflepods. With a curt gesture, Aernath set off without a backward glance. The others followed. He was dressed in a gray one-piece suit that seemed to be standard dress for all civilian men on Tsorn. Class and status could probably be distinguished by the subtle differences in markings and decoration but this had not been included in Jean’s briefing.

They approached a row of small cubicles. The porter deposited their pods in one and Aernath motioned Jean and Aethelnor to enter also. Following them, he closed the door. The compartment immediately began to subside into the ground. Startled, Jean turned to look at Aernath. His attention was fixed on a wall panel. After a moment’s scrutiny of the symbols, he punched several buttons in rapid succession. His explanation to the boy was obviously for her enlightenment as well. “Aethelnor, do you see this panel? It tells you all the places you can go on this subtern. All you have to do is push the buttons for where you want to go.” The cubicle halted. “Now we are waiting to be shuttled to a group going in our direction. Pretty soon we will start moving again.” The operation proceeded as promised. They were reshuttled at a couple more junctions and finally emerged above ground within Ichidur itself.

A cold rain was falling with a gray dreary steadiness. As Aernath was removing their pods from the subtern cubicle, a small vehicle pulled up. Its occupant entered another cubicle. As that sank out of sight, Aernath appropriated the street vehicle which was apparently a sort of autotaxi. It operated on the same principle as the subtern: when coordinates were entered on its control panel it set off to the specified location.

As they rode along, Jean took in what she could with her limited view. Ahead, off to one side, she could see the low escarpment that separated this seaward sloping plain from the desert beyond. Though low, it apparently served to set up meteorlogical conditions so that moisture laden clouds coming in from the sea during winter months dumped almost all their moisture here before hitting the desert beyond. Though it seldom got below freezing, winters were very wet in Ichidur. Here, as on Tahrn, Klairos, and Peneli, based on the brief glimpses she had been accorded, urban Klingons seemed to live behind massive stone walls. Little could be seen of the houses except for glimpses of the roof peaks above the walls. None of what little vegetation she saw was familiar. Most striking were the occasional huge trees they passed: great tangles of aerial roots rising some two meters into the air surmounted by an abbreviated trunk that formed almost a platform. Around the periphery, branches reached skyward to the thick gray-green canopy. The shape, Jean decided, was virtually an organic replica of a planetary magnetosphere with its tail stuck in the ground.

The vehicle glided noiselessly to a stop at another nexus. There was very little traffic and the street was deserted. Jean watched in puzzlement as Aernath extracted some type of small device from his belt and applied it to the door of the vehicle they had just exited. He reached in, punched a fresh set of coordinates, then closed the door, removing the device as he did so. He repeated this maneuver with a second vehicle before moving to a third. “Aernath, what are you doing?”

“Taking precautions. We were supposed to be met at the spaceport. The contact didn’t show. Don’t say anything once we get in now. He motioned her in ahead of him.

Jean perched tensely on the edge of her seat the rest of the brief trip, mentally cursing the limitations of the shurdick which left her feeling already half-trapped. Once again they stopped, this time in front of one of the stone-walled compounds. Jean and Aethelnor remained seated as Aernath approached the solid wooden door set in the wall. She could neither see nor hear clearly what he was doing but after some moments the door opened to disclose large burly Klingon who came and took the dufflepods. They followed him inside and across a rain-slick terrace of red polyhedral tiles to the house beyond.

They learned that, “officially,” their contact had met with an unfortunate accident on the way to the spaceport. Unofficially, Aernath was convinced he had died under an I.S.G. agonizer. Unfortunately, he was to have been their liaison with those arranging the next leg of their journey. So now, they were waiting until an alternate contact was made. Jean went to the window for the third time that afternoon. It had been raining steadily for two days. Now it had stopped.

She turned back to the room where Aernath was trying to teach Aethelnor the basic positions used in Klingon swordplay. “The sun is out. Couldn’t we all go out in the yard for a bit of air and sun?”

Aernath lowered his fencing wand and looked at her. “Sure, why not—”

“Gotcha!” exclaimed Aethelnor with gleeful satisfaction as his thrust touched Aernath on the hip.

Aernath laughed. “Excellent! Always look for a chance to score when your enemy is paying attention to something else.” Then he added more sternly, “But the correct term is ‘Mark’, not gotcha! Remember that. Now let’s go outside to finish this practice.”

The yard sloped down to a stream in back of the compound. This side was not fenced with stone but rather a delicate metal grillwork and plantings of dwarf trees. Glimmerings of sun-touched water were reflected through the leaves. It was perhaps an hour or so before sunset and even the winter sun was warm. As Aernath continued his drill, Jean wandered contentedly around the yard examining various plants and bushes. As she approached the grillwork her eye was drawn to an odd, brown object in one of the planting beds near the wall. Curious, she reached out and touched it, then recoiled in astonishment. It was furry, warm, and mobile. What she had taken for a tree trunk or dormant plant was an animal. Roused, it uncurled and regarded her with benign curiosity in return.

“Aernath, come here! What in space is this?”

At her call he came to investigate. “Oh, that. I forget what they’re called but they’re harmless. Aethelnor, if you run into the kitchen and get some bread you can feed it.” He turned back to Jean. “They are burrowing creatures native to Tsorn and in settled areas have become pretty good scavengers. Tame, too. Kind of cute, isn’t’ he?” He squatted to stroke the creature’s fur as it sniffed Jean curiously.

Reassured, Jean knelt for a closer look at the animal, too. Slightly over a meter long, the sinuous body was covered dorsally with soft mahogany-colored fur. It was six-legged with a fold of furred skin running from forelimbs to hindmost limbs. The sleek head showed no sign external ears. Two copper-hued eyes regarded her above a slender muzzle. The creature reared up on its back four legs and grasped one of Jean’s hands with its front paws as if searching for something.

Entranced, Jean reached out to stroke its head as the moist nose muzzled the palm of her hand. She was engulfed in a cacophony of sounds like a Chinese orchestra that was tuning up. Solitude! The sounds died away to a faint chime and tinkle. You are different. You are Yumyn. That is so—yes? You think to disconnect. That is not, good, no. You are sought. Come with me. Jean pulled back with an exclamation. The sounds and sensation ceased.

Aernath looked at her in puzzlement. “Did it nip you?”

“Aernath! It spoke to me!”

He laughed, then stopped when he saw she was serious. “Ridiculous. It didn’t make a sound. They seldom do, I understand.”

“No, I don’t mean talking. I just … heard it, inside my head. At first it was like music and then thoughts. Are these animals telepathic?”

“Of course not. They are simple animals that live in burrows near rivers and streams. They give no evidence of social structure or higher intelligence. You’re imagining things.”

“Aernath, it told me I was different, human, and that I was being looked for. It wants me to go somewhere. Here you try it.”

He made a gesture of impatient disbelief, then faltered in the face of her conviction. Dubiously, he repeated Jean’s motions. The animal sat patiently for a moment, then turned back to Jean. He shook his head. “Nothing. You’re just …” He stopped, noting her rapt attention to the animal again.

The sounds were muted now. That one cannot connect. His kind is different. Come. You must come now.

I can’t. I cannot go without him and he does not believe you. Where do you want us to go? Why?

The music welled up into the foreground. Jean felt the sense of listening, not her own but that of the animal. You must come to another one who waits. That one says the strange bird flies when the sun leaves its burrow. Tell this one. Come now. The sense of urgency was unmistakable, the sense of calling strong even beyond the thought messages she was receiving.

She lifted her hand from the soft furred head. The animal retained its tiny pawed grip on her fingers. “Aerath, it says that Klingons can’t connect with them but it clearly wants me to go with it to meet someone. Does this mean anything to you: ‘the strange bird flies when the sun leaves it’s burrow’?”

Aernath’s manner changed instantly. “Incredible! But how could they … Never mind, yes, it might. If you think you’re ‘talking’ to that thing—ask it what kind of bird.”

Jean turned to the animal, then back to Aernath. “It says it is a strange bird, unfamiliar to it, but a bird of prey of some sort.”

Aernath pursed his lips thoughtfully. “It could be … all right, wait here a moment.” He got up and went into the house. At the same time Aethelnor came out with the bread, and Jean helped him feed the animal. It certainly gave no overt sign of awareness or higher intelligence as it busily consumed the morsels Aethelnor fed it. After the last piece, it nosed his hands hopefully for a moment, then sat back and set to grooming its fur unconcernedly.

Delighted, Aethelnor went back to fetch more bread. Immediately the animal moved to the grillwork gate, then turned to look at Jean. It returned to her again grasping her finger with a forepaw and thrusting its head into her palm like a cat seeking to be petted. Again she felt/heard the urgent Come! It had a musical quality and once again she was aware of the undertones, more coherent and harmonic this time … quite pleasant really …

Aernath was shaking her shoulder gently, “Jean?” He seemed relieved when she looked up. “How are we supposed to go?” She noticed he had his cloak and a shurdik draped over his arm.

“That way, along the stream somehow. Apparently it’s not too far.”

He handed her the shurdik. “All right. Put this on and let’s go.”

“What about Aethelnor?”

“He’ll be fine here. The cook has him occupied at the moment.” Aernath released the lock on the gate and they stepped through the trees to the river’s edge. Like its neighbors, this property had a small quay with a little boat moored to it. It seemed to be intended for fishing or simple outings as it was equipped only with a pole.

Jean knelt in the bow while Aernath cast off. Their guide had disappeared into a burrow hole before they left the yard. Now the animal surfaced silently beside the small craft, its sleek dark head making eddies in water the color of dark red tea. Jean slipped her hand under the edge of the shurdik and trailed her fingertips in the water. The wet muzzle touched them. This way. Against the water. The music was a tantalizing background. “Head upstream, Aernath.”

The water drew its color from the roots of the large llngen trees, several of which bordered the stream along this stretch. The sun had sunk nearly to the horizon now and bathed the stream with that surreal, limpid glow that precedes sunset. The trees already held the gloom and stillness of dusk as Aernath poled soundlessly between their roots.

Here and there water dripped from the gray-green leaves. The effect was that of some primeval, temrperate rain forest.

Urged forward by periodic encouragement from their aquatic guide, they reached an area more sparsely settled and the llngen thinned to reveal a park-like area which had an air of neglect about it. The animal urged them to a decrepit dock on the opposite bank, then disappeared.

Aernath muttered an oath as he secured the painter and helped her out. “Cymele’s Cloak! This is a queer business. What are we supposed to do now—take a walk in the park? Careful, there’s a missing plank here.” He grasped her arm through the enveloping garment.

Infected by his unease, Jean remained close to him and spoke in a virtual whisper though no one was in sight. “I guess so. It said only, ‘walk and seek food.’” There was a faint path overgrown with weeds along the edge of the stream. They followed this for some distance encountering only two other persons: a small boy fishing from the bank and a tall spare scholar-robed Romulan seated on a bench, engrossed in a book.

The path twisted and carried them away from the river into a grove. “This is an old botanical garden from the looks of things,” Aernath commented. “But it’s in woeful shape.” On the other side of the grove the path turned back to the river. Here a single immense llngen stood overlooking a small lagoon. Atop its platform trunk, skillfully constructed so that it blended into the camouflage of the branches, was an ancient rustic building that served mainly as a restaurant with a few rented rooms for short term visitors. “Perhaps here’s the food we are looking for. Come on.”

Jean followed Aernath up the narrow, wooden steps as she awkwardly grasped the railing through the folds of the shurdik and prayed that she wouldn’t trip in the process. They were met at the entrance by the proprietor who greeted Aernath with some regret. “Welcome, Kinsman. Unfortunately, at the moment I have no available, closed dining space. The last one is reserved for a current roomer who usually eats at this hour. If you wish to wait for a while, perhaps one of the other two will be available shortly.”

Aernath replied with equally formal courtesy. “No inconvenience at all, Kinsman. I shall wait.” The proprietor showed him to a table and Jean followed. She saw him glance around cursorily before he took a seat facing the door. She sat down opposite him as he ordered a drink. Obviously nothing would be ordered for her unless and until they obtained a closed space. She would be expected to sit and wait silently. As far as she could tell, there were only three other occupants in the room: a young man with the air of a scholar, book in one hand and fork in the other; and a pair of old men absorbed in a tsungu game in the corner.

The proprietor delivered Aernath’s drink and moved to the entrance to greet another arrival. Jean saw Aernath’s hand tighten fractionally on the handle of his tankard. The black and scarlet uniform of I.S.G. moved into her field of vision. But the Klingon passed them with the merest of glances and moved to the tsungu game. “The usual, Amar, and make it snappy.” The proprietor bowed and scurried away.

From Aernath’s eyes, Jean read that someone else had come in. Again a figure entered her limited field of vision: the Romulan scholar. He moved smoothly as if by habit to one of the three doors on the opposite side of the room. These were the closed dining spaces, Jean surmised, and he must be the roomer referred to by the proprietor. What, she wondered, would a Romulan scholar be doing here? Aernath had mentioned Romulans on Tahrn, and she had glimpsed a group of them at the spaceport here on Tsorn but had never encountered one at close range. Under other circumstances, it would be an exciting prospect but not here and now. The proprietor returned with the I.S.G. man’s order, then disappeared into the door the Romulan had entered. Jean watched the I.S.G. man nervously, thankful for the anonymity afforded by the shurdik. The Klingon commenced his meal apparently oblivious to them but following the game at the next table with some interest.

The proprietor appeared at their table with a bottle of ale. “The Romulan scholar sends his compliments and invites you to use his space. He says it won’t inconvenience him to delay his meal”

Aernath took the bottle and inspected it critically. “Tell him that I … No, I shall respond to his offer myself.” He rose with a faint gesture to Jean and crossed the room, bottle in hand. Jean followed dutifully. The proprietor opened the door and stood aside to let them enter.

His back to them, the Romulan was silhouetted against the fine grillwork that constituted the outer wall overlooking the lagoon. The room itself was similar to the one in Mara’s quarters with floor matting and a sunken dining recess. Jean followed Aerpath’s lead and bowed as the Romulan turned to greet them. This had the unhappy effect of dislodging her shurdik so she could see nothing for a moment. She heard Aernath say, “It is most gracious of you, sir, to offer us this area. Are you certain it will not be an imposition?”

The Romulan gave a deprecatory wave of his hand. “There is an old saying: ‘The gyrfalcon only flies at dawn and dusk …’”

“… ‘and the wise hunter does well to discipline himself likewise.’” Aernath finished smoothly. “Yes, I have heard that saying.”

“Patience is a virtue to be cultivated by scholars and hunters alike. It is no trouble for me to wait.”

Aernath bent to remove his boots. “Perhaps you would honor me with your company and neither of us would be inconvenienced?” Jean abandoned the effort to straighten her shurdik and turned her attention to removing her own boots.

The Romulan sounded faintly surprised. “Would that not defeat the purpose of your using a closed area?”

“Like yourself, we are off-world visitors here. Though I respect and observe Tsorni custom while here, it is no affront to me for you to join us if it does not offend you to share table with a female.”

“One learns to adopt many customs when one travels,” the Romulan responded noncommitally. “I should be happy to join you.” He turned and placed his order with the waiting proprietor.

Aernath did likewise, then offhandedly instructed Jean, “After he has brought the meal and left, you may remove your shurdik and serve us.”

Jean said nothing as the situation dictated but she chewed her lip in annoyance. Aernath seemed to be enjoying this bit of role playing a shade too much to suit her. Petulantly she tugged at the sides of the hood portion. How did the natives manage these blasted things so that they weren’t perpetually blind or flat on their faces? No wonder one saw so few women in public! Her vision finally restored to the maximum permitted, she saw that Aernath and the Romulan had taken their places at the table. Aernath sat facing her, and the door, with the Romulan opposite him.

“… my field is philosophy, but my avocation is zoology and botany so this is a fortuitous lodging for me. I have found it a quiet, congenial place where one can pursue one’s interests unhindered. You may speak freely and undisturbed here.”

“We can speak openly, then?” Aernath inquired.

“This room is indeed private and the proprietor is most … discreet.”

This must be their contact, Jean thought. He was dressed in a black outfit of velvet texture. The scholar’s shawl and cowl which he had brushed back were trimmed in gray. From the back, he looked and sounded remarkably like a Vulcan which was not surprising since the two races sprang from a common ancestry. But, whereas Vulcans had chosen to eschew emotion and such regrettable outgrowths of emotionalism as war, the Romulans had retained more of their passionate and ferocious ancestral traits. They had shown little inclination for contact with the Federation though apparently they had some kind of alliance with the Klingons.

“… then perhaps you can tell me of your pl …” Aernath amended his sentence in mid-syllable as the propietor reappeared with their meal, “… pleasant surprises in observing Tsorni flora and fauna.”

“It is indeed a planet full of remarkable surprises. These llngen trees, for example, are magnificent; and, though they have not been much studied, your ngkatha are fascinating animals. Their communication modes are quite engrossing to observe.”

“So I have been told,” Aernath observed drily. To the proprietor he added, “That is most satisfactory, Kinsman. I would be obliged if you would ensure that we not be disturbed.”

The proprietor departed with a firm promise to see to it. With a heartfelt sigh of relief, Jean shed her impedimenta and picked up some of the dishes. She set one in front of the Romulan, then went around to set one before Aernath. She had little enough experience to go on but this Romulan looked a great deal like the only Vulcan—She stumbled and fell against the table in her astonishment. Seeing his face clearly in full light there could be no mistake. “Mr Sp—!” Quickly the Vulcan reached across the table and gently covered her mouth, shaking his head at the same time.

“How careless of me not to have warned you of that rough spot that might trip you. Are you injured?” Still reaching across the small table he guided her to a sitting position keeping his hand on her mouth until she had a grip on her composure again.

“I am quite unharmed, thank you, sir,” she managed at last. Aernath was speechless but to the question in his eyes she nodded “yes” that she did indeed know this stranger. Know him? It was practically like seeing the Enterprise itself again! For the first time in more than half a year, Jean dared admit to herself a genuine hope of getting back to the Federation. With alacrity she passed the rest of the dishes to Aernath who distributed them on the table.

“It would greatly interest us to hear of your stay on Tsorn and of your projected travels” Aernath said when they were all seated once more.

“And I should like to learn of your travels,” Spock responded. He leaned across the table, the fingers of his hands steepled in front of him. “With your permission?”

It took Jean a moment to realize what he was asking. But of course—so logical—a quick and complete report with no possibility of being overheard. Nonetheless, she hesitated. In spite of her complete confidence in him and her unbounded joy at seeing a familiar face from the Federation, it was awesome to contemplate opening to a total mind-meld with a Vulcan. Among other things he would discover that her first impulse on seeing him had been to hug him, an impulse she knew Vulcans would find painfully embarrassing as they did all human emotional displays. Then she thought of all the events of the past few months … “Everything?” she asked faintly.

Obviously her hesitation was plain to see. Though she detected no discernible movement there seemed to be some imperceptible withdrawal. “Only whatever facts you deem pertinent.”

Immediately she felt apologetic. She was forgetting that this was as demanding and uncomfortable for him as for her, possibly more so. She gestured her assent. “By all means, please.” Nonetheless, she felt a twinge of panicked refusal as those strong slender fingers settled to her temples …

… Ice and Flame. Not far from her girlhood home on Aldebaran there was an area of geothermal springs. There were places one could stand in a stream where the icy runoff from the mountains merged with the steaming outflow from a hot pot. Side by side the currents would flow, twist, swirl, and merge: trange appositions, brisk contrasts, shocking transitions … This mental effect was similar. It was also disorienting. To ‘see’ magnetic fields, for example, as Vulcans did—it was like tasting the color red.

With a start she realized that while she had been enthralled by the wonder and the awe, immersed in the flow and feeling of the experience, that cool logical mind had been flipping switches, closing synapses, perusing memories with rapid methodical thoroughness at a pace that was mindnumbing for human perceptions. She could not have demurred at the examination of any particular item: it proceeded too swiftly. That she was even aware of any single scrutiny was due solely to the fact that, however briefly, it had to involve an interaction—a touching. She could no more control or restrain this Vulcan onslaught than could matter resist the pull of a black hole. Yet the restraint was there. Rather by gestalt than by individual item analysis, she knew that those events and reactions she felt most reluctant to reveal had been touched most lightly. Even as her apprehension waxed and waned the pace slowed; the two currents eddied beside a particular jumble of synapses. She sensed puzzlement, concern, and then acceptance of an answer though she wasn’t sure of either the question or the answer. That synaptic node remained a blank gap.

I have endeavored to respect your wishes. I believe I have caused you the minimum discomfort needed to accomplish the task at hand. It was a statement of fact. Her discomfort was plain for him to read and his analysis lay open to her. She realized the statement merely served to allow her time to catch up, to assess her reactions as that Vulcan mind had already done, to confirm it.

She did so. Yes, thank you.

There is no need for thanks.

She pushed beyond the analysis to the restraint. There was a tautness there. The current moved and shifted uneasily, then steadied—a disciplined waiting, a conscious act of will to submit to a reciprocal examination conducted in a painstakingly slow and fumbling manner. Poised on the surface of this current, she caught impressions deep within of … What? Could one apply human terms to what coursed there? At any rate there flowed energies, impulses, as different from those cold logical currents as those in turn were to her own mental processes. It would not take much to penetrate the surface tension, to probe the depths and touch these impulses, if one were to push … Again came the wavering and then the deliberate will to steadiness, to endure the probe if it came. With an intuitive flash she understood the restraint. It did not arise entirely out of consideration for her reluctance. There was a comparable. disinclination on the other side. This time it was her turn to touch lightly and withdraw. Yes, of course, she responded. I understand. The tautness receded. But one thing puzzles me … She touched the blank spot.

Yes, he agreed, we were concerned about you, especially Dr. McCoy—not only because of your injuries on Sherman’s planet but also what the Klingons might have done to you. That was one reason I had to check … Under the circumstances, I would say you were most fortunate. You have come through virtually unscathed.

But there is that gap—something I feel as if I ought to remember, almost can—but it eludes me.

I can assure you that it is nothing vital at this point. Dr. McCoy tells me this is not uncommon following an injury such as you had. I am sure he will go over this with you thoroughly when we return to the Enterprise. The tautness returned. We will separate again shortly and proceed separately to the rendevous point. It would be advisable to maintain a link. If you agree, I will not break the contact completely when I withdraw. The connection will be barely perceptible in the normal course of events but could be expanded immediately should the occasion require it.

She assented. I would welcome it until we get back to the Federation. You know, it’s not nearly as difficult the second time.

The second time?

The nagging puzzlement returned. You see? She pointed to the gap. I don’t know why I said that. Groping for an explanation, she suggested, Maybe it was the contact through the ngkatha?

That might indeed account for the impression. Once more the currents moved and twisted, flowed and ebbed as Spock withdrew the meld. At the conclusion there remained a faint cool pulse deep on the subliminal surface of the subconscious.

Safely encapsulated in her own uniqueness again, Jean gazed at the impassive Vulcan face opposite her as Spock withdrew his hands. “Your travels have been indeed most interesting and valuable,” he said. Then he turned to Aernath, “And you?”

Aernath paled as he realized the invitation was being extended to him as well. He glanced at Jean, then back to Spock. “A brief exchange of plans might be appropriate,” he finally said, giving a hopeful emphasis to brief.

It was. Through the link Jean caught a faint echo of the same panicky refusal she had experienced as Spock’s fingers reached Aernath. A few seconds later, both Spock and Aernath leaned back, the latter looking shaky but relieved. His only comment was, “Well, that certainly beats my potted plant all hollow.”

Their meal proceeded to the accompaniment of casual conversation about the flora and fauna of Tsorn. Jean was astonished at the range of information that Spock had managed to garner in the few days he had been here. At the conclusion of the meal, they made ritual farewlls. Jean donned her shurdik and followed Aernath back to their boat. It was completely dark but they made their way back without incident.

Jean stood wedged in a corner of the departure area while Aethelnor squirmed restlessly on a nearby bench. She felt tense and restless, too. In a few minutes the signal would come for departure clearances and she would move through the gate with many others waiting here. A few steps, enter the ship, and she would be free! Free of this shurdik, free of Tsorn, free of that clotting fear, free of the Klingon Empire, Federation bound! In the meantime she pressed her shoulders gratefully against the cold unyielding stone, knowing that in those final moments, nothing could come at her outside her field of vision.

She gazed enviously at Spock and Aernath. The very picture of an aloof academic, Spock sat casually reading across the room. Aernath stood, one foot on the window ledge, looking out on the bustle and activity of the spaceport beyond, the tip of his sword barely showing beneath the fluted folds of his gray cloak. She wondered what he must be feeling now. Anticipation? Apprehension. She was filled with a sudden eagerness to share that coming adventure with him. It would be so much easier for him in the Federation than it had been for her here. No need for apprehension. She would see to that, and she would have a chance to reciprocate for his …

Aethelnor was tugging at her side. She bent to him. “You have to … what?” she exclaimed in a low whisper. “Aethelnor, why didn’t you go before we left?” She looked around helplessly. This eventuality hadn’t been covered in their contingency planning. Aernath would have to handle it. She steered the boy over to the window where Aernath took him in tow. They disappeared around a corner.

A purple glow above the gate announced that it was now open for the next group of departures. Nervously, Jean joined the general flow in that direction. This time it was no problem to give way deferentially as would be expected. Aernath had their documents so she could not exit until they returned. She drifted to a column near the gate and stopped to wait. At least here she also had her back to something solid. Spock was still seated. She reached inward and down toward that dim cool pulse. Its presence was reassuring. She saw him get up and begin to move unhurriedly toward the queue.

She became aware of a general hue and hubbub from the direction of the main terminal. Jean turned slightly and saw a solid phalanax of I.S.G. guards moving toward this gate. Behind them came a second wave of guards in privates livery—obviously that of the Klingon they were preceding. Behind this individual, a corpulent caliginous man, came a following round of guards.

Jean heard a bystander hiss, .”Hathak. ‘Gath take him. Someday an assassin is going to get him in spite of all his precautions.”

The crowd around her milled and eddied before the press of guards clearing the way for this Klingon. Her back already to the column, she could not move so she merely flattened herself against it. Several I.S.G. men brushed her shurdik as they passed. The main body of them had already passed abreast of her when one guard halted abruptly. The device he was carrying glowed urgent amber and bleeped stridently. For a fraction of forever he looked at her, his face as startled as hers.

“Seize her!”

The forcible assault of two I.S.G. guards wrenched a brief cry from her lips but it was nothing to the mental scream she sent spinning across the room, Spock! Help me!

The link expanded immediately. Even as she struggled blind and hampered in the steely grip of the I.S.G. she saw the scene from across the room. She watched while his mind cooly riffled plans and probabilities with the speed of a cardshark setting up a gull. He included possibilities that never would have occurred to her, but the probabilities of success were uniformly devastating. This time there was no restraint; the full blast of impotent fury hit and merged with her own. It lasted only for an instant to be replaced with glacial calm. She stated the obvious. It’s no use, Spock. Get the others out. No matter what happens to me, we’ve got to get them safely to the Enterprise, And tell Aernath … Again the Vulcan mind anticipated her and touched that node. Then he turned and waded into her naked fear and raw despair, reaching, thrusting, far deeper than she would have imagined was possible. There was a sudden wrench and she tasted the ash grey echo of her own death. What …?

It isn’t much protection but thet best I can do at the moment. I will maintain contact as long as possible and send help as soon as feasible. Stall as long as you can. I … regret I cannot do more. The link closed down to its former glimmer and she was plunged abruptly back into her own clinging cloth-beswathed hell.

It was an impasse. She stuck by her bare bones story that she was a bona fide off-world traveler but refused to give identifying data, instead threatening them with dire consequences if they continued to detain her. The I.S.G blustered back that the transceptor identified her as alien but left her standing in her shurdik, unwilling, apparently, to take further risk. They had been in this small room for some minutes now and seemed to be simply waiting. She heard a door open and a new voice-spoke.

“Well, Tormin, what seems to be the problem?”

“The unit assigned to escort Hathak picked her up, sir. Transceptor readings show Alien but …”

“But, what?”

“She insists she is an off-worlder of rank and refuses to give any identity corroboration.”

“And you let that stop you—from a woman? ‘Gath’s Bones, you’re little more than a woman yourself. Strip her and settle it. Little enough harm if you’re wrong.” Matching deed to word, the newcomer seized Jean’s shurdik and rippedit off sending her crashing into the wall in the process.

She turned and stared into a menacingly familiar face. “Tirax!” Her knees gave way and she collapsed in a heap.

He seemed as phaserstruck as she for a moment. Then, recovering himself, he turned to his subordinate. “That would seem to settle it beyond doubt now, wouldn’t it? Take her to interrogation.”