McCoy shrugged, and some of his satisfaction

 

vanished. "We've gone through our medical records

 

on the

 

ambassador and his staff, but they didn't tell

 

us much."

 

"What about the support files for their identity

 

discs?" "Invasion of privacy. You'd have to ask

 

Ambassador Klee or clear it through Starfleet

 

Command, the Diplomatic Corps, and the Federation

 

Council." "I could try, but I don't

 

think we can afford to wait that long. And if I asked

 

the ambassador-assuming he'd talk to me about it,

 

which I doubt-we'd alert the spy that we're onto

 

him. Maybe Tenaida can get around the

 

safeguards."

 

McCoy fiddled with his stylus to cover how

 

uneasy his next information made him feel. "There was

 

something else. The body was loaded with

 

Trisopen-5." "Tnsopen-5? That's nasty

 

stuff. How much?"

 

"Enough to make him remember his entire life in

 

vivid detail. I'd say the murderer pumped his

 

victim dry of information before killing him." "The

 

spy. It's got to be. We thought he was

 

masquerading as t'Stror. He must have guessed

 

we'd caught him."

 

"So he used the truth serum on another

 

Kaldomi, killed him, and assumed the identity of the

 

murdered man. It would fit the facts, though I

 

don't see how he expects to pull off the

 

masquerade for long." McCoy shuddered, appalled

 

at the killer's cold-blooded planning.

 

Kirk nodded. "It doesn't seem likely, but

 

he's apparently used mind control on some of us, so

 

maybe he thinks he can use it on the

 

Kaldomi to hide the substitution. Or, maybe

 

he's been using some type of mental manipulation

 

all along to cover the flaws in his disguises.

 

Otherwise, even with the most advanced biocosmetic

 

fabricator he could steal, I don't see how his

 

impersonations could be that good."

 

"He's been pretty successful so far,"

 

McCoy answered pointedly. "True, but this does

 

solve one of our problems If 210

 

one Kaldorni killed another one, they're both

 

the ambassador's responsibility because he

 

selected his aides and is accountable for their actions.

 

Bones, do you think that will get Tenaida off

 

Klee's hook?" McCoy doodled a pattern

 

on the desktop. "It might. It's certainly

 

worth a try." He shoved a datapad across the

 

desk to Kirk. "He should have this autopsy report,

 

since the victim was one of his people."

 

Kirk picked up the report. "I don't know

 

if this will work, Bones, but I'll give it my best

 

shot. Klee seems to think I'm his equal since

 

he gave me half his wives."

 

"Good luck, Captain."

 

"Thanks, Bones." Kirk looked at the

 

noteboard in his hand. "I think I'll

 

need it."

 

Tenaida loaded the tray with vegetables and

 

cheese. After several hours of unsnarling the

 

programming bugs in the Engineering control systems,

 

he planned to eat a light meal and meditate before

 

working out to relax himself.

 

"May I speak with you, Mr. Tenaida?"

 

Simons glided across the room. She stopped in

 

front of him and fluttered her eyelashes in a

 

manner that Tenaida recognized as one that humans

 

regarded as seductive. "Captain Kirk told

 

me to see you about getting access to the computer. I'd

 

like to send messages to some friends." She gave him a

 

helpless little smile. "There's not much for me to do,

 

since my husband is working so hard."

 

"Indeed." Tenaida set his tray on a nearby

 

table and gripped his hands behind his back to control a

 

sudden tremor. Simons' proximity created

 

spontaneous reactions in certain extremities.

 

He dug his fingernails into his palms, telling

 

himself that he was imagining things because he was tired. As a

 

Deltan bound by his oath of celibacy, he should not

 

be thinking of such matters. And as a Deltan trained

 

to control his reactions around less sexually advanced

 

races, he should not be experiencing such

 

sensations. Gritting

 

his teeth, he struggled to assume the Vulcan

 

poker face that his immediate superior used.

 

"Which programs do you require?"

 

Simons regarded him with wide, innocent eyes.

 

"I really don't know, Mr. Tenaida. I

 

usually just use Yonnie's, but he's been too

 

busy to tell me which ones I need. Could you just give

 

me his access code? I mean, if it wouldn't be

 

too much trouble?" She rested a hand lightly on his

 

shoulder. Tenaida's arousal increased.

 

"Madam, you must have your own access code. If

 

more than one person uses a given code, the computer

 

will cancel it and erase any information it protects."

 

He took a deep breath and tried again to quell his

 

physical reactions. His body resisted, acting as

 

if governed by an external force. With a start, he

 

realized what was happening on a primitive, almost

 

unconscious level, Simons was a telepath.

 

And she wasn't a typical Deltan or

 

Vulcan telepath-she was one of the rare few who could

 

impose her will on others. At the moment she was

 

projecting intrusive, overpowering lust, hoping

 

to distract him enough so that he would give her the access

 

codes she wanted.

 

"Can't you do anything so I can send my

 

messages?" She moved closer and stared in his

 

eyes. The sensuality she projected became even

 

stronger. Tenaida picked up his tray and jerked

 

free of her clinging hand. "I'll compile a list of the

 

programs you'll need. When I'm done, I will

 

assign you an access code and clear the programs

 

for that code. You will be given the list when I have

 

finished it."

 

"Would you do that for me?" she asked. "Could you do it

 

now? I'm sure the computer console in my quarters

 

is free. Yonnie is off somewhere having a meeting

 

with his aides."

 

"I cannot work on it immediately, as I have a prior

 

obligation." He bolted for the door, carrying his

 

dinner. Behind him, he heard her whisper a vicious

 

"Damn!"

 

In his quarters, Tenaida set the food aside

 

while he struggled to reassert control over his

 

body. Simons' mental assault had ripped through

 

the delicately balanced restraints that governed his

 

life. After his mind and body calmed and he

 

organized his findings, he knew Kirk would be

 

interested in his discoveries about Cecilia Simons.

 

However, at the moment, Tenaida's

 

concern was less intellectual. Simons had

 

triggered his mating instincts, and his body was throbbing with

 

desire. However, on a human ship, he could not

 

allow his physiology to follow its natural

 

course. The long hours of lovemaking would overload

 

the Enterprise's air purification system with

 

Deltan pheromones. Tenaida shuddered,

 

remembering his last leave on Delta Four and the

 

two weeks he had spent becoming reacquainted with

 

his three cross cousins and their soul mates. By the

 

time he had left, they had become so close, so

 

united in mind and body and spirit, that the merest brush

 

of a fingertip was enough for them to share a deep emotional and

 

mental intimacy. After a melding like that, what

 

Simons suggested was the foulest perversion he could

 

imagine. Tenaida fought his body, struggling to bring

 

his erratic hormone levels under control. When he

 

had calmed, he headed for the gym, hoping a vigorous

 

workout would bring his troublesome physiology back under

 

his conscious control.

 

Kirk knew little of the etiquette for visits

 

among equals on the Kaldorni homeworld, but after

 

some thought, he decided human customs would serve

 

for the occasion. The Kaldorni women watched him

 

curiously as he smoothed the imaginary

 

wrinkles from the braid on his dress uniform but,

 

observing his preoccupation, concluded they were not invited

 

to share this ritual. The dietitian had provided a

 

drink that tasted almost like Kentucky bourbon, but

 

contained nothing

 

more harmful to Kaldorni metabolism than

 

alcohol. Kirk was exceptionally pleased with the

 

container fabricated to hold the liquor a

 

rainbow-tinted glass bottle that changed colors as

 

it was rotated. After checking and rechecking his

 

preparations, the captain confirmed the meeting with

 

Ambassador Klee. The door of the Kaldomi

 

quarters whisked open at Kirk's first knock. As

 

he entered the dimly lit room, Klee greeted

 

him with a slight bow and a sideways roll of his head.

 

Kirk did his best to copy the greeting

 

"Honored brother, you grace our humble living

 

space with your presence." "The honor is all

 

mine, to be allowed to share your company." Kirk

 

extended the bottle. "May I present you with a

 

small gift to express my pleasure. It

 

resembles a beverage popular on the human

 

homeworld." Smiling, Kirk gave the bottle

 

to Klee.

 

In the room's corners, the extra

 

heaters Scotty had found somewhere were operating at

 

maximum, maintaining the temperature in the

 

Kaldorni's quarters in spite of the power

 

restrictions elsewhere on the ship. The temperature

 

made Kirk wish for a tall glass of iced tea,

 

but he knew he would have to settle for something else because

 

the caffeine it contained was toxic to the Kaldorni.

 

Much to Kirk's relief, Klee produced

 

glasses. "Would it be pleasing to the honored captain

 

to share in the drinking of his gift? It would be my

 

privilege to serve him if he would take a sitting

 

position on the rug."

 

Kirk followed Klee into the central living area

 

and sat beneath the large wall hanging. He would have

 

preferred a chair, but there were none in the room.

 

Klee joined him, handing Kirk a large, square

 

glass of the synthetic bourbon. There was a long

 

pause while they sipped their drinks. Kirk

 

schooled himself to patience, knowing he had to follow

 

Kaldomi custom here even though his own preference

 

dictated immediate action.

 

"It is extremely rare to find a being from your

 

Federation who is willing to conduct his affairs in

 

accordance with the Harmonies of the Universe. The

 

Captain Kirk is to be congratulated

 

upon his skills as a human being." Kirk gulped his

 

drink in surprise. With his struggle to understand anything

 

about the Kaldorni, such a compliment was the last thing

 

he had expected from Klee. "One learns from one's

 

instructors, and I've had a good teacher." "The

 

respected captain does his humble servant too

 

much honor. There was a matter you said must be discussed

 

before we arranged the matter of the reparations?"

 

"Yes. Dr. McCoy has completed his

 

autopsy on the dead man." Kirk told the

 

Kaldorni of the doctor's findings.

 

By the time Kirk had finished, Klee's face was

 

a study in confusion. "Is there a significance to this

 

story that I am failing to perceive? How is it that you can

 

display so much certainty that the body does not belong

 

to the man who is missing?"

 

Kirk considered his options. He was uncertain how

 

Starfleet would react to his telling the Kaldorni

 

about the spy-knowing Chen, he suspected she would

 

disapprove strongly-but under the circumstances, the

 

risk seemed justified. Klee listened, rocking

 

back and forth with intense concentration. He made no

 

protest and seemed to follow the logic behind Kirk's

 

conclusions. "If I grant the truth of this, it is

 

needful that I accept the blame for what

 

has happened because I failed to detect the disharmony

 

of an outworlder among my aides." His face creased

 

with a perplexed frown. "As yet, I see no proof

 

that this thing is true. How can I make a determination

 

on what I am told when both occurrences are so

 

disharmonious? The Harmony of the Universe rests in

 

the balance of its truths, but there is no harmony in

 

any of this.

 

"And what does the honored captain propose

 

to do for reparations? From either of these disharmonies, I

 

am now missing the services of my most valued

 

aide. The Captain Kirk cannot restore what is

 

lost, but honor demands that he submit to me the

 

life of his most valued assistant. "It is not

 

known how that one can replace the aide lost to me through

 

the carelessness of the Federation's servants, but it is

 

to be hoped that he will be trainable. It is most

 

certain that the skills he gives to the venerable

 

Captain Kirk are highly needed to protect those

 

that serve me against the dangers of your greatly

 

perplexing Federation."

 

At the word trainable, Kirk felt relief wash

 

through him. When Klee had demanded Tenaida's life

 

m reparations, he had meant the statement literally.

 

Also, Kirk realized, Klee had chosen

 

Tenaida as Kirk's most valuable servant

 

solely on the basis of the work he had seen

 

Tenaida do. The outline of a solution began to take

 

shape.

 

Kirk drew a deep breath, struggling against his

 

urge to rush now that he saw the pattern for solving his

 

dilemma. "If you failed to detect the spy among

 

your aides, wouldn't that carelessness negate the later

 

carelessness of my people?"

 

"It has not yet been proven that this disharmony

 

existed first. No explanation has been offered that will

 

cover the i mpossibility of this stranger looking so

 

much like one of my own that even I, the Protector of

 

my Clan, cannot distinguish this strangeness. If the

 

Harmony of the Universe is to be restored, the known

 

discordances must be atoned for. Reparations for alleged

 

disunities cannot be contemplated until the imbalance

 

is proven." "Until we determine what actually

 

happened, wouldn't it increase the disharmony to demand

 

reparations? What if you were to receive payment for an act

 

that was your fault?"

 

Klee, obviously troubled by the implications of

 

 

Kirk's question, took a long time to answer. "A

 

disunity exists. I seek to balance it in the

 

only way that appears reasonable to me. If I do

 

not protect the Harmonies of my people, I will be

 

judged unworthy to guide them in their search for

 

Balance."

 

"You've asked for Tenaida's life, but he's the

 

person on the Enterprise who is best qualified

 

to determine which of the possible-disharmonies-is the true

 

one. Would you suspend your claim to his services

 

until the matter is settled? Then we'll know

 

who's responsible and what reparations should be paid."

 

Klee took even longer to consider this strange

 

suggestion. Kaldorni custom contained no

 

provisions for delaying reparations. Finally, Klee

 

seemed to melt into himself with resignation. "It is not

 

possible by the ways of our world to address disharmonies

 

such as those you propose. Since the disunity cannot be

 

balanced without creating another, finding the solution to this

 

would seem the way the one called Tenaida can best

 

serve the interests of my people.

 

"It is not my wish to appear rude to my honored

 

guest, but I would meditate now that I might

 

select a clearer path through the disharmonies you have

 

brought me."

 

"I'm sorry my information was so disturbing, Mr.

 

Ambassador. If you'll excuse me,

 

I'll leave now. Perhaps we can talk again later."

 

Klee gave Kirk a deep bow, then

 

prostrated himself before the wall hanging. He ignored

 

Kirk as the captain let himself out of the rooms.

 

Once in the corridor, Kirk leaned against the

 

wall, savoring in equal parts his feeling of

 

relief and the cooler temperature outside the

 

Kaldorni's rooms. He had accomplished most

 

of his objectives, but the strain of guessing the

 

proper formalities had drained him. After a few

 

moments, he headed for McCoy's quarters. He

 

sorely needed to talk to someone who did not

 

practice circumlocution as an art form.

 

Janara Whitehorse was certain working in her

 

quarters was a direct violation of Dr.

 

McCoy's orders. On the other hand, what the

 

doctor could not see would not bother him, and Janara

 

found the Shansar equations more relaxing than several

 

other activities McCoy would have allowed.

 

Tenaida's suggestions had pointed to a solution for the

 

major difficulty. With that resolved, the rest of the

 

model was falling into place. She had been

 

absorbed in the equations for several hours when the

 

door buzzer interrupted her concentration.

 

"Come."

 

Tenaida entered the room. She looked at him

 

curiously, wondering why he had not called her before

 

coming. The man moved toward her with a predatory,

 

feline power foreign to the Deltan.

 

"Do you want something?" His actions seemed

 

abnormal, alien. She slip ed her hand over the

 

intercom button and waited for his next move.

 

"Y." He closed the distance between them and grabbed her

 

by the shoulders. She punched the intercom to

 

"Transmit" as he hauled her from the chair and

 

crushed her into a bodylock. With the first contact, the

 

savage, saber-toothed cat exploded into her mind,

 

stripping away her defenses. Her consciousness

 

cringed away from the mental onslaught. She struggled

 

against the physical hold and tried to regroup her

 

defenses on the psychic level. The intruder

 

flipped her against the wall as easily as if she were

 

a toy. She slid to the floor, half-stunned by the

 

impact, but used the brief time her assailant was

 

not touching her to reinforce her mental defenses.

 

Hampered by his Deltan form, the spy tried

 

to kick Janara. She saw the blow coming and lashed out

 

at her attacker's other leg. Thrown off balance,

 

the intruder fell heavily, but rolled away before

 

Janara could land a karate chop on his

 

neck. The spy regained his feet and was circling

 

warily, looking for another opening, when someone pounded

 

on the door.

 

"Open. Security." The man's voice was

 

muffled by the door. "Come," Janara gasped. Her

 

left side felt as if every rib had been broken.

 

Her assailant, snarling savagely, ran for the

 

bathroom to escape through the adjoining cabin.

 

The security team split. One man followed the

 

fugitive while another raced down the corridor

 

to intercept him. Janara heard a voice call for the

 

doctor before she lost consciousness.

 

Janara moaned and tried to block the bright lights

 

from her eyes. Pain lanced through her shattered

 

collarbone and broken ribs. "Lie still and don't

 

move." Dr. McCoy's voice seemed to come from

 

a great distance. Janara opened her eyes

 

cautiously. The doctor's pale face and dark

 

hair took shape against the blinding background. He

 

smiled to reassure his patient. "Captain Kirk

 

needs to talk to you now. I'll fix those bones as

 

soon as he's done."

 

"Understood," Janara whispered. "May I see

 

Shan Tenaida, too?" "That's up to the captain."

 

Janara closed her eyes. She heard

 

McCoy speak to Kirk, but the captain's reply

 

was drowned by a woman's shrill protest coming from the

 

adjoining room.

 

"What do you mean-let that Deltan animal see

 

my daughter, but not her own mother? Hasn't he already

 

done enough? He nearly killed her, and you're going

 

to let him in there to finish what he started? He

 

belongs in the brig, not running around loose

 

assaulting people. When their hormones are acting up,

 

they're capable of anything!"

 

"Madam." Kirk's voice was flat, betraying

 

his thinning patience. "If you don't leave immediately,

 

I'll put you in the brig. The rest of your

 

allegations aren't proven, and there's no positive

 

identification of the

 

attacker. You may discuss visitors'

 

privileges with Dr. McCoy after your daughter

 

comes out of surgery."

 

Simons started to protest, but Kirk cut her

 

off. He beckoned to a guard who had helped carry

 

Janara's stretcher to Sickbay. "Escort Ms.

 

Simons to her quarters, and see that she gets there."

 

The man nodded. Simons looked from Kirk to the

 

burly guard and left quietly.

 

Kirk called Tenaida to Sickbay.

 

While he waited for the Deltan to arrive, he

 

hovered behind McCoy, trying to interpret the readings

 

on the monitor panels. "How bad are her

 

injuries?"

 

McCoy set the large scanning unit for another

 

pass over Janara's torso. The computer added the

 

new data into the image, emphasizing the splayed

 

cracks in the ribs. "She's in a lot of pain, and

 

I need to fix those broken bones as soon as

 

Christine gets the operating room ready."

 

"I won't take long, Bones. But the

 

security men are positive her assailant was

 

Tenaida, so I have to get her statement."

 

"You don't think he did it? You're out of your

 

mind!" "I don't know, Bones. At first, we were

 

operating on the assumption that the spy could control

 

minds and make people do things they wouldn't ordinarily do.

 

Then Scotty saw his double in Engineering, so we know

 

the intruder is also a master of disguises. That means

 

I need to know everything I can about this attack. Was it

 

Tenaida? Or someone that just looked like Tenaida?

 

I've got to know what I'm up against."

 

McCoy scowled. "That's a problem."

 

"That's an understatement, Bones."

 

Tenaida entered the room. His damp

 

face was deeply flushed, his breathing was rapid and

 

shallow, and there was an uncontrollable tremor in his

 

mus- cles. For a moment, McCoy wondered if

 

Tenaida could have been the attacker. He inhaled

 

deeply and concentrated on his own reactions, but he

 

felt no more

 

than the usual physiological warmth he

 

experienced when he was exposed to Deltan

 

pheromones. That made Simons' suggestion of

 

attempted rape due to hormone imbalance

 

extremely unlikely. However, something had

 

happened to deeply upset the young Deltan. While

 

Kirk questioned Tenaida, McCoy went to the dispensary

 

to get him a mild tranquilizer.

 

"Where were you for the last hour, Tenaida?" Kirk's

 

tone was grim. "I was in the gym, practicing heavy

 

gravity movements."

 

"Was anyone else with you?"

 

"Not that I saw. However, the exercise logs will

 

confirm my activities." "I hope you're right."

 

Kirk told Tenaida what had happened, then

 

pointed through the door into the examining room. "Dr.

 

McCoy said she wanted to talk to you."

 

Tenaida stopped inside the door, studying the

 

slight form on the bed. When he moved to her

 

side, she seemed even more frail and delicate

 

than she had from across the room. A sudden rage

 

shook him at the sight of her bruised face, and he

 

fought the urge to inflict the same damage on her

 

assailant. When Janara sensed his presence, her

 

eyelids fluttered open. She tried to speak, but the

 

pain kept her from taking a deep enough breath. Her hand

 

stretched toward his, begging him to grasp it. He

 

looked at her, torn by a flood of unexpected

 

emotions. He tried to sort them out tenderness,

 

protectiveness, an overwhelming need to lose himself

 

in her thou89s and feelings. This is what my cousins

 

give to their soul mates. 1 shouldn't be feeling this.

 

He forced the emotions down and clasped Janara's

 

hand. With the physical contact, he sensed the images

 

in her thoughts, which were blurred by the painkiller Dr.

 

McCoy had given her. She reached for the dark,

 

cool textures of his mind, letting herself drift

 

among the surface patterns of his awareness.

 

Then she was gone, leaving behind a sense of her caring

 

and her impressions of the being that had attacked her.

 

He probed the memory, shuddering involuntarily as

 

the image of the savage saber-toothed cat erupted

 

in his brain.

 

"Tenai da, what is it?" Kirk's

 

voice penetrated his concentration. The Deltan

 

shook his head, trying to bring himself back to reality.

 

He forced his fingers open and laid her hand gently on

 

the bed. His whole body was trembling, and the wetness

 

on his cheeks was not sweat. He took a deep

 

breath and met Kirk's concerned look.

 

"She gave me her perceptions of her

 

assailant and her memories of the attack. If you

 

will excuse me, Captain, I need a few

 

minutes to examine the information."

 

"Wait for me in McCoy's office," Kirk

 

ordered. "Then we'll collect Commander Brady and

 

go somewhere where we can talk." He turned to Janara.

 

"Who attacked you?"

 

"Alien. Not . . . Tenaida." She spoke in

 

a faint whisper, and Kirk had to lean over to hear

 

her words.

 

"Are you positive?" Kirk knew he could not

 

afford a mistake. Even though McCoy was hovering

 

at the door, impatient to begin surgery, he had

 

to be sure of Janara's statement.

 

"Not . . . Tenaida." Her whisper was

 

definite, and Kirk knew he had not

 

misinterpreted her response. He straightened.

 

"Your patient, Bones." He strode

 

from the room.

 

"Well, Tenaida?" Kirk threw himself into the

 

chair before the worktable in the Deltan's quarters.

 

Behind him, Patrick Brady lounged against the

 

wall, trying to conceal his tension with a casual pose.

 

Tenaida sat opposite the captain, stiffly

 

erect in his chair. "The assailant projected the

 

image of a large predatory felinoid into Shan

 

Janara's mind during the

 

attack. It would appear that was to keep her from

 

defending herself against the physical assault."

 

"I'd say the plan very nearly succeeded,"

 

Kirk said. "Yes. But why should the intruder

 

attack her now? She's reported similar mental

 

impressions since the Kaldorni came aboard."

 

"The spy has decided Lieutenant

 

Whitehorse poses a threat to him. But-what is this

 

spy? The security team reported they chased you-you,

 

Tenaidafrom the lieutenant's quarters. At that

 

point, they had the turbolift on security

 

override. No matter how good the spy is at mind

 

control, your-body-could not have gotten from the crew

 

quarters down to the gym in ten minutes without using the

 

turbolift. I'd say that effectively rules out

 

the mind-control hypothesis and every variation of

 

it that we might consider." "Agreed, Captain. The

 

exercise logs will show I was in the gym when the

 

attack occurred. It is equally unlikely,

 

given Shan Janara's efforts to defend herself, that the

 

intruder's disguise could have remained intact.

 

Biocosmetic appliances are notoriously

 

fragile during the first forty-eight hours after

 

application, and such a violent struggle should have

 

damaged or dislodged a significant percentage

 

of the intruder's disguise." "Does this mean what I

 

think it does?"

 

Tenaida nodded. "For the spy to create the

 

difficulties we have been experiencing, I believe

 

the intruder has the ability to alter its body shape

 

at will. When someone has appeared to be in two

 

places at oncethey were. The spy has been

 

assuming our forms to disrupt the ship's operations."

 

"A shapechanger?" Kirk examined the idea. It

 

explained a lot, but he had never heard of any

 

creature who could do what this one apparently could. In

 

particular, the ease with which the alien assumed new

 

identities was hard to believe.

 

Brady straightened his posture as he considered this

 

 

concept. "Are such complete

 

transformations physiologically possible? You're

 

talking about a thorough duplication, even to the point that

 

key physical pa- rameters are reproduced.

 

Like voice patterns."

 

"To account for the observed facts, the creature would

 

have to have the shapechanging ability I have just postulated.

 

In which case, we are dealing with a previously unknown

 

race."

 

Kirk nodded. "I'll accept that. But back to the

 

attack. Why now? Do you think the spy noticed

 

Lieutenant Whitehorse in the briefing room this

 

morning?"

 

"That's possible." Tenaida frowned. "That would

 

require the spy to be telepathic-actually, that

 

ability is probably necessary to carry off these

 

impersonations. At the very least, I would assume

 

sufficient psychic abilities to sense when a

 

disguise is not sufficiently convincing." "But how

 

telepathic is that? The intruder obviously

 

doesn't know everything about us. And why did he

 

impersonate you for the attack?" The lines around

 

Tenaida's mouth deepened. "I don't know.

 

Insufficient information."

 

Kirk frowned. Tenaida's unspoken thoughts

 

hung in the air, almost as if they were in

 

mental contact. Each of the three men knew that

 

events were rushing toward a climax. Kirk felt

 

an almost tangible aura of danger gathering around them.

 

Somehow, he needed to regain control, to get the upper

 

hand in the situation-for once, to be waiting when the spy

 

made his next move. "A trap. We need some

 

kind of trap."

 

Tenaida took a deep breath. "The bait must

 

be something the intruder will find irresistible."

 

Brady stepped forward, "He seems to have a

 

taste for Deltans. You could confine Lieutenant

 

Tenaida to the brig. It's a good place to spring a

 

trap." "Yes." Tenaida stared at the corner of the

 

worktable, refusing to meet Kirk's eyes. "Perhaps

 

you should confine me to the brig, as Ms. Simons

 

suggested."

 

Kirk grimaced at the idea of considering anything

 

 

from that source. "Let's leave that for a last

 

resort. Anyone in the brig is a sitting

 

duck."

 

"A sitting duck, Captain?"

 

"A-a target that isn't moving-one that's very

 

easy to hit. The spy would know exactly where to find

 

you, but you wouldn't have any way to defend yourself

 

without giving away the trap."

 

"I'll keep that in mind." Tenaida fell

 

silent. Brady moved to Kirk's side.

 

"Captain, if you don't mind, I'd like to run some

 

simulations on this shapechanging idea. See if I

 

can come up with its operational parameters."

 

"Sounds like a good idea, Mr. Brady. Let

 

me know what you come up with." "I promise, you'll

 

be the first to know." Brady stepped back, resuming his

 

place against the wall.

 

Tenaida shifted nervously in his chair.

 

"Captain, may I change the subject?"

 

"What's on your mind, Tenaida?"

 

"I may have discovered something important about

 

Commissioner Montoya's wife." Tenaida

 

described his meeting with Simons, complete with a

 

clinical account of his own reactions, and finished with his

 

conclusions about her telepathic abilities.

 

"Subconscious projections of intense lust.

 

Sounds unbelievable?" Kirk's face took on

 

a far-off, thoughtful expression. "But it explains a

 

lot. She was always so desirable that it was almost

 

impossible to see beyond that." Tenaida seemed

 

genuinely puzzled. "It's irrational to spend one's

 

entire life coercing other people to do things against

 

their will and that lead to results harmful to them."

 

"Irrational. But human." Kirk frowned as a

 

new perspective occurred to him. "Who?"

 

"I beg your pardon?"

 

"I assumed she did it solely for her own

 

amusement. But with that ability, she would make a

 

formidable operative for someone. If everyone is

 

watching

 

her sexual exploits, no one will take anything

 

else she does seriously." Kirk rubbed his

 

forehead, trying to focus his tumbling thoughts. The

 

idea, once formulated, had an inevitability he

 

found compelling. Simons' act was too good, too

 

well-rehearsed, to be played for low stakes. He

 

shook his head in disbelief. "An interplanetary

 

playgirl and spy. I thought such things were the

 

product of bad fiction."

 

Brady shook his head. "You're speculating."

 

Tenaida seemed perplexed. "There's no

 

evidence to support that position, Captain."

 

Kirk shrugged. "Call it a hunch, Tenaida.

 

If we start looking, I'll bet we'll find enough

 

facts to convince even you."

 

"Wouldn't our time be more profitably spent trying

 

to trap the murderer?" "Perhaps." Kirk

 

shot a speculative look at Tenaida. "On

 

the other hand, we might get lucky and catch both

 

at the same time."

 

"Perhaps." Tenaida's tone was heavy with

 

skepticism. Kirk's optimism asked more of the

 

universe than the Deltan believed it would

 

deliver.

 

Simons kicked her shoes at the far wall of the

 

room and threw herself on the bed as hard as she could.

 

She balled her left hand into a fist and pounded the

 

pillow. The action barely diminished her anger, but

 

her quarters lacked a more suitable punching bag.

 

Damn this job! And damn her restrictive

 

position as Montoya's wife! And, especially,

 

damn anything that put her within a megaparsec of her

 

ungrateful, telepathic, and all-too-Deltan

 

daughter! As long as Simons was not around the girl,

 

she could forget she had a daughter. For that matter,

 

Simons was sure Jane-Anne was equally

 

grateful not to be reminded of her mother.

 

With her anger somewhat abated, Simons stretched

 

out on the bed. Something about that last scene in

 

Sickbay nagged at her subconscious. What was

 

it? She 226

 

ran the scene back in her mind her

 

protests against Tenaida, Kirk's anger at her

 

words, his order to forcibly remove her. What was it

 

he had said-that the assailant had not been

 

positively identified, in spite of the eyewitness

 

reports from the security men? Unless-

 

Snatches of overheard conversations and hints of

 

information dropped by Montoya's aides

 

reorganized themselves in Simons' brain. Someone

 

else on the Enterprise was working her territory, and

 

that person had a better cover than hers. She ran

 

through the possibilities and realized suddenly who the

 

spy was.

 

Simons bounced off the bed, and pulled her

 

collapsed suitcase from the closet. The

 

miniaturized phaser was hidden in the base, so she was

 

able to retrieve it without re-expanding the case. She

 

put the weapon in her pocket and returned the

 

suitcase to the closet. One Kaldorni had

 

differed from all others. If Simons' guess were

 

correct, her competitor would be no more successful

 

at hiding that difference in his new identity than he

 

had been in his old.

 

She wa s smiling to herself as she left her quarters.

 

With luck, the Kaldorni ambassador would be so

 

incensed at losing another aide that he would

 

termi- nate the negotiations immediately. If

 

not-well, at least Simons would be able to operate

 

without tripping over someone else's mistakes. The

 

sooner she concluded this mission, the sooner she could

 

get off the Enterprise and away from Montoya.

 

She went to the lounge for a cup of coffee while

 

she waited to spring her trap.

 

Srrawll Ktenten prowled her quarters, snarling

 

at the transcriber. It took an eternity

 

to produce the hard copy that Ambassador Klee

 

had requested. "s'Flen, do this. s'Flen, fetch

 

that." Srrawll snarled again. From the standpoint of

 

rank and privileges, k'ationavle s'Flen had

 

been the logical choice when she needed a new

 

Kaldorni identity to replace t'Stror's. But

 

s'Flen

 

was not a member of the Clan Stror, and

 

Ambassador Klee distrusted him accordingly.

 

His true function on the negotiating team was

 

to prevent Klee from concluding an agreement that would

 

give Clan Stror an advantage over rival

 

families. And-much to Srrawll's

 

disgust-s'Flen's major duties were errand running and

 

operating the transcriber. The last piece of paper

 

popped out of the machine. She gathered the

 

sheets together and knocked them on the table with more

 

violence than was needed to align the edges. With the

 

transcript ready for the ambassador, she paused

 

to calm herself and double-check her Kaldorni disguise

 

before venturing into the corridor. When s'Flen

 

knocked on the door, Klee was talking with his

 

wives. Much to Srrawll's relief, the

 

ambassador took the papers without inviting s'Flen

 

to join his family for the evening ceremonies. There

 

were, after all, advantages to not being of Clan

 

Stror. After a day of being Klee's errand boy,

 

Srrawll needed the freedom to roam the ship,

 

seeking the critical vulnerability that would topple

 

her enemies and save her world. She paused outside

 

s'Flen's quarters, but could not force herself to reenter the

 

room. First, she decided, she would get something

 

to eat. The crew would not expect s'Flen to understand

 

their language, and she might overhear something that would

 

tell her how to eliminate the troublesome Deltans.

 

Her lips drew back from her teeth, and she barely

 

suppressed the yowl that rose in her throat as she

 

remembered how the little mind hunter had foiled her

 

plan to dispose of both Deltans in one move.

 

If the security men had arrived a minute later,

 

the Whitehorse tavra would have been dead

 

and the Tenaida nuisance confined to the brig for murdering

 

her. She entered the recreation lounge and thrust

 

s'Flen's diet card into the food dispenser. The

 

selector pads absorbed her savage

 

keystrokes as she ordered 228

 

the least obnoxious of the Kaldorni slop that the

 

card prescribed. When the panel slid open, she

 

took the tray to an empty table along the far

 

wall. "May I join you?"

 

Srrawll looked up. Cecilia Simons

 

stood beside the table. Of all the humans she did not

 

want to see-to One of the benefits Srrawll

 

expected from disposing of the t'Stror identity was not

 

having to service Simons' sexual appetites in

 

exchange for the information the woman provided.

 

Unfortunately, acting rude to the vrith k was not in

 

character for the diplomat s'Flen. "It would be my honor

 

to with the reverent lady Simons speak."

 

Simons placed her coffee cup on the table and

 

slid into the chair. She flipped back the long

 

sleeve of her dress, revealing the phaser she

 

held in her hand. It pointed at Srrawll, and

 

Simons' hand was trunksteady. "You can drop the

 

awkward sentences, t'Stror. I know you speak

 

better English than that."

 

"t'Stror is dead. Known am I as k'ationavle

 

s'Flen."

 

"Nice try." Simons' mouth split in a

 

predatory grin. "But your walk gives you away.

 

All the other Kaldorni move as little as possible,

 

and that with obvious difficulty, because of the ship's

 

heavier gravity. You try, but anyone with eyes can

 

see how easily you move. I wonder why

 

Captain Kirk hasn't noticed yet."

 

"What you are talking about, I understand not." Even

 

to her own ears, Srrawll's protest sounded weak.

 

"But Captain Kirk would. Should I call him?

 

And a security team?" Simons moved the phaser a

 

few millimeters. Srrawll followed it with her

 

eyes, barely restraining herself from swatting it out of the

 

woman's hand. She knew Simons would be able

 

to fire before she could reach the weapon. "What is it you

 

wish of me?"

 

"Talk. I want to know what you're up to. I

 

think we're working toward the same goals, and we could

 

profit by combining our forces."

 

"I do not know what it is you mean, but if you will

 

conceal again your weapon, I will consent to whatever

 

discussion you feel is appropriate to the situation."

 

A satisfied smile spread across

 

Simons' face. "Act naturally and finish your

 

food, then we'll adjourn to the briefing room where

 

the negotiations are being held. Don't try any

 

tricks, because I don't intend to let you pull a

 

double cross."

 

"I lack understanding of what causes you this worry,

 

but it will be as you say. One hopes this discussion will

 

relieve the discordances that disturb your Harmony."

 

"I'm sure it will. Simons glided to the coffee

 

dispenser for a refill. Srrawll watched her,

 

snarling under her breath and wishing for a whisper-gun

 

to throw a dart into the arrogant human's back. No

 

double cross, indeed! SrraWII added another name

 

to her list of nuisances scheduled for elimination.

 

"DOCTOR, MAY I ASK Lieutenant

 

Whitehorse a few more questions about her assailant?"

 

Chapel looked up from her computer screen. Even

 

in the quiet of Sickbay, Tenaida's approach

 

had been so silent that Chapel had not heard him.

 

"I'm sorry, sir. She was extremely restless

 

after surgery, and Dr. McCoy ordered a

 

sedative."

 

"You don't agree with those orders?"

 

As she tried to decide how to answer, Chapel

 

drummed her fingers on the counter. McCoy

 

would consider discussing diagnoses with someone outside

 

the medical department insubordination-or worse.

 

However, Tenaida was the one person on the ship who

 

would understand her concern. "I'm no expert on

 

psi-related disorders, but I spent six months

 

working with Tai Jorrel when he was rehabilitating

 

the children from the Zebulon-Theta disaster." Chapel

 

fell silent, remembering.

 

The initial surveys of Zebulon-Theta had

 

detected no native life forms larger than a

 

coyote. After reviewing the surveys, the Federation

 

had established a research station on the planet.

 

Six months later, the outpost's record logs

 

began showing evidence of mental instability among the

 

research personnel.

 

Ninety percent of the humans on

 

Zebulon-Theta were dead before someone discovered the

 

planet's secret it had once been populated

 

by a race of long-lived, powerfully telepathic

 

beings. The last of these creatures were still on the

 

planet, profoundly insane and craving death. A

 

handful of children survived the Zebulonis' racial

 

suicide, but they were deeply traumatized by the

 

psychic overload, which provided a catalysis for

 

their own latent abilities. Intensive

 

psychotherapy and massive doses of

 

psi-suppressant drugs had been required before

 

the children could function again in normal society.

 

Chapel shook herself mentally, returning her

 

attention to the present. "What Lieutenant

 

Whitehorse needs is a psi-suppressant, but

 

the ship's dispensary doesn't have any that are safe

 

to use on Deltans."

 

"I see. Would you be able to use boretelin under the

 

present circumstances?" Chapel searched her

 

memory. It had been several years since she had

 

worked with the Zebulon-Theta survivors, and it took

 

her a moment to place the drug. "Tablets, right? Do

 

you have some available?" When Tenaida nodded,

 

Chapel continued in a more confident tone, "Few

 

interaction problems with other drugs, targets

 

specifically to the psi-centers, no side effects.

 

It's ideal."

 

"I'll bring it at once." Tenaida left as

 

quietly as he had arrived. While she waited for

 

Tenaida to return with the medication, Chapel went

 

to Janara's room to examine her patient. Janara

 

was in good condition, except for another set of cuts

 

and bruises. McCoy had fused the broken bones

 

and closed the major wounds. Now, Janara

 

needed rest so her body could repair the damage the

 

Enterprise's medical services could not. Tenaida

 

returned with the boretelin and gave the bottle

 

to Chapel. After giving Janara a mild

 

stimulant, she shook two tablets from the bottle and

 

set the

 

container on the counter beside the bed. When Janara

 

stirred, Chapel slipped an arm around her shoulders

 

and helped her into a half-sitting position. "Here,

 

swallow these," Chapel ordered in a low voice,

 

holding out the boretelin. Janara stared at the

 

tablets, her head swaying with groggy confusion, until

 

she recognized the medication. She fumbled the tablets

 

out of Chapel's hand and into her mouth. Chapel held

 

a glass of water for Janara while she drained it,

 

then eased her under the blanket. Janara was uncon-

 

scious almost before her head reached the pillow. Chapel

 

straightened. "It'll be at least an hour before the

 

sedative wears off enough for her to talk. You can ask

 

your questions then." "Thank you, Doctor." Tenaida

 

turned and was gone, leaving Chapel alone with her

 

patient.

 

The day's events had driven all thought of his

 

Kaldorni wives from Kirk's head until he

 

entered his quarters. The stifling heat

 

reminded him he had yet to find a way of returning

 

the women to Klee, but before he could retreat to safety

 

elsewhere, the Kaldorni women surrounded him. They

 

led him across the room and pressed him against the

 

pillows they had piled on the bed.

 

Kirk was too tired to oppose three determined

 

females, so he settled back without protest.

 

Shade-inSun removed his boots and uniform, while

 

Joy-of- Morning brought slippers and a li ght robe

 

for him. Both were decorated with ornate designs that

 

matched the women's own clothing. Looking at the

 

decorations, Kirk decided his wives had learned

 

the quartermaster functions of the ship's computer

 

entirely too quickly.

 

He had just found a comfortable position after donning the

 

robe when Fire-in-Night appeared with a tray of

 

food. She presented it to him with an elaborate

 

bow and then balanced the tray across his legs. Stepping

 

backward, she stood beside the bed, waiting 233

 

for commands. Joy-of-Morning brought a decanter

 

and a matching wine goblet inlaid with a complex pattern.

 

Fire-in-Night held the glass while Joy-of-

 

Morning poured the wine. When it was full,

 

Fire-inationight offered it to Kirk with a liquid bow

 

and a sultry smile.

 

Kirk took the wine, struggling to hide his

 

impatience with the elaborate formality-this round was being

 

played by Kaldorni rules. He reached for his

 

detox pills, washing one down with a mouthful of wine

 

before he started on the food. The meal consisted of

 

spiced meat and vegetables served over a cooked

 

grain. The combination of flavors and textures was

 

unusual but pleasing. When Kirk had emptied the

 

bowl, the women offered him fresh fruit and sweet

 

cakes to finish the meal.

 

Kirk pushed the tray aside, hoping he had

 

eaten enough to compliment the women's culinary skills.

 

He pantomimed for the Universal Translator.

 

Shade- in-Sun handed it to him and he thumbed it

 

on.

 

"That was a very good meal. I thank you for it." He

 

tried to speak slowly and to give his words the sense of

 

ceremony the Kaldorni expected. "It honors

 

us to serve our most worthy husband. Is there anything

 

else you require that Shade-in-Sun can provide

 

you with?" "Yes, I'd like some information." He paused

 

a moment, wondering where was the best place to start.

 

"What would happen if I sent you back to your

 

planet by yourselves? It's not that I don't

 

appreciate you," Kirk added hastily

 

when the women started to cry, "but living like this, crowded

 

into the captain's quarters on a starship, is no

 

place for ladies like you." Shade-in-Sun dashed

 

her hand across her face to wipe away her tears.

 

She fired a series of questions to the other women,

 

speaking so rapidly the Universal Translator

 

could not keep up with her. Her co-wives answered in

 

the same staccato dialect, and the overlapping speech

 

from the three threatened to 234

 

over-whelm the computer. Kirk turned the machine

 

off, hoping the women would tell him their conclusions when

 

they finished talking. After what seemed an interminable

 

debate, the women fell silent and

 

Shade-in-Sun faced Kirk. He reactivated

 

the translator. "We do see the logic in our

 

honored husband's statement that his room is most

 

crowded, but as captain of this ship, our husband has

 

the power to command that his lodgings reflect his more

 

important status. We wonder why it is that our

 

husband has not already done this."

 

Kirk groaned, wondering how he was going

 

to convince these women of the difficulties inherent in their

 

suggestion. By Starfleet standards, the cabins in the

 

Enterprise were quite large. On a smaller ship, a

 

cabin the size of Kirk's quarters would have

 

accommodated nine officers on rotating three-man

 

shifts.

 

Here, the space was assigned to his exclusive

 

use. However, to increase his living space would

 

necessitate major remodeling of the adjoining

 

cabins and moving half of his senior officers to new

 

quarters. Kirk shuddered to think how most of them would

 

feel about the idea. "It's hard for me to explain,"

 

he said, "but the captain's quarters can't be enlarged

 

that easily." Shade-in-Sun looked skeptical

 

but continued. "My co-wives and I agree it would

 

cause us great sorrow never to see our homeworld again.

 

However, if we go there with no husband or clansman

 

to protect us, there would be small enjoyment of the little

 

time we would have."

 

dis.why?"

 

"There are many dangers on our world, and everyone must

 

have a protector to shield them from harm. A husband

 

defends wives, children, and perhaps even his younger brothers

 

or cousins.

 

"Throughout one's life, one grows in strength and

 

wisdom and is better able to determine what the

 

Harmonies of the Universe are. But there are always

 

 

those who are discordant and who seek

 

to disturb anyone they can touch. Without the protection

 

of a husband and his clan, a woman has little chance of

 

surviving the discordant ones. Is this not how it is

 

with your people?" Kirk wiped his forehead, feeling hotter

 

than ever. "Adults in our society are expected

 

to take care of themselves."

 

"But then how do you achieve Harmony with the

 

Universe, if there is no one to guide your

 

searching?"

 

Kirk started to say most humans never considered

 

the subject, but then he saw a way out of his

 

dilemma. "Our people look for harmony in other

 

ways. Would you explain the duties of a Kaldomi

 

husband so I don't accidentally destroy your

 

Harmony?"

 

Shade-in-Sun bowed to him. "Our husband is

 

most wise." The women clustered on the bed,

 

explaining to Kirk the duties expected of a

 

harmonious Kaldorni husband.

 

Kirk escaped to the refuge of the lounge to mull

 

over what the Kaldomi women had told him. On

 

their violent, danger-filled world, protectors for the

 

weaker members of the society made sense. What

 

he would never understand was the complex web of ritual and

 

obligation that formalized relationships in the

 

culture. While he worked to unravel the puzzle,

 

he listened with one ear to a duet between Lisbeth

 

Palmer of Communications and a botanist he could not

 

immediately place.

 

Kris Norris, wandering past the room, heard the

 

music. She glanced through the door and saw Kirk.

 

On impulse, she walked over to him and pointed at

 

an empty chair. "Is anyone sitting there?"

 

"No." Kirk smiled at her. "I can't

 

promise to be good company this evening though."

 

"A hard day? Goodness knows, I can sympathize

 

with that, considering ours." "I was working on an

 

unresolved problem-by 236

 

trying not to work on it. Is anything happening with the

 

negotiations?" Norris shook her head. "I

 

don't expect much before morning. Joachim asked

 

if we could negotiate around your alleged lack of

 

honor and harmony, and I expect Klee will

 

suggest that we discuss the possibilities in more

 

detail. And so on, until we reach a consensus for

 

reopening the formal talks." Kirk started to tell

 

her about McCoy's autopsy and his own talk with

 

Klee. Chekov entered the room and stopped beside

 

Kirk. "Captain, may I have a word with you?"

 

"Business?"

 

Chekov gave a brief nod.

 

Kirk stood. "You'll have to excuse me yet

 

again, Kris. A captain's work is never done."

 

She grinned back. "What can I say? A

 

diplomat's job is only slightly better."

 

Kirk laughed and followed Chekov from the room.

 

In the corridor, he moved up and fell in step with

 

his security chief. They were silent until they

 

reached Chekov's office. "All right. What is

 

it?" "I was looking at the recordings from the

 

monitors we installed outside the quarters

 

assigned to the Kaldorni. After listening to Commander

 

Brady's hy- pothesis, I assumed t'Stror was

 

altering his form and that he had disguised himself as

 

t'Stror before coming aboard the Enterprise. was "The

 

body Security found on Starbase 15 was

 

probably the real t'Stror." "That would appear

 

to be a reasonable hypothesis. At any rate, I

 

assumed that any distinguishing characteristic that separated

 

t'Stror from the other Kaldorni would identify him

 

in his new disguise."

 

"I agree. Did you find something?"

 

"I think so. I would like you to judge for yourself what

 

I have here." "By all means."

 

Chekov activated the computer console and

 

then 237

 

stepped to the side to let Kirk watch the display.

 

Scenes of Kaldorni in the corridor played

 

across the screen, including several shots of

 

t'Stror. "Captain, do you see how easily

 

t'Stror moves? All the other Kaldorni have

 

trouble walking in our gravity, and they say they find

 

it difficult because it is so much heavier than what they

 

are used to."

 

"t'Stror told me he had made several

 

trips off planet and enjoyed the change." Kirk

 

stopped, shaking his head to clear it. "What am I

 

saying? That was the spy talking. But could it have been the

 

real t'Stror's opinion on the subject?"

 

"I don't know. However, I would like to show you some

 

other recordings. This one was made this morning, just before

 

everyone was going to lunch." The screen showed two

 

Kaldorni entering the turbolift. One walked

 

easily and supported the other, who moved as if

 

heavily drugged. With a start, Kirk realized the

 

clothes on the dazed man were the same as those on the

 

corpse found on the hangar deck only a short

 

time later-they were watching the murderer lead his

 

victim.

 

"That looks like enough evidence to accuse

 

someone of murder. Do you know who?"

 

"I think so. I searched this afternoon's recordings,

 

and have identified which one of the ambassador's aides

 

I think the intruder has replaced. However,

 

Captain, I wanted you to confirm my conclusion before

 

I took further action."

 

"All right, Mr. Chekov." The computer cycled

 

through the Kaldorni's movements during the afternoon.

 

Kirk watched the sequence three times before he said

 

anything. "There isn't much doubt, is there?" "I

 

did not think so, Captain. However, I did not

 

want there to be any chance of error."

 

"Who is the spy now, Lieutenant? Do you have a

 

name?" "If my information is correct, he is the

 

one called k'ationavle s'Flen. He has a very

 

high position in the 238

 

ambassador's party. However, he belongs to a

 

rival clan and Ambassador Klee does not

 

trust him."

 

"I see. Now that we've identified the spy

 

again, what should we do about it?"

 

A frown creased Chekov's forehead. "According

 

to Federation law, you cannot put one of the ambassador's

 

aides into detention unless Ambassador Klee

 

waives diplomatic immunity for him."

 

"That's going to be troublesome. Unless-was A

 

satisfied grin spread over the captain's face.

 

"If we convince Ambassador Klee the person

 

we want is an impostor, he should be willing

 

to let us make the arrest."

 

"I do not see how you expect to accomplish that,

 

Captain."

 

"I can't, but McCoy can. He's got the body

 

of the real s'Flen down in the morgue. Now that we can

 

tell him what to look for, I'll bet he can make

 

a positive identification of the body within an hour.

 

When we have his results, we'll tell the

 

ambassador."

 

"Do you want me to put a guard on s'Flen?"

 

The thought was tempting, to always have the suspect within

 

sight of someone Kirk trusted, but he forced himself

 

to reject the idea. "No. If we gave s'Flen

 

his own personal watchdog, it would tip the spy off

 

that we've figured out his disguise. However, you'd

 

better keep extra teams patrolling the

 

corridors until this is cleared up."

 

"I hope that will be sufficient, Captain."

 

"So do I, Mr. Chekov. So do I. And if

 

you'll excuse me, I'll get McCoy started

 

on that autopsy. Get those extra guards

 

posted as soon as you can." "Immediately, sir."

 

The briefing room door whisked shut behind them.

 

Srrawll whirled around, but the phaser had

 

reappeared in Simons' hand. Not yet, then,

 

Srrawll thought. The Kaldorni shape could not withstand

 

the phaser fire. She concentrated, rearranging the

 

cell

 

structure across her chest and abdomen. The

 

asbestoslike hide of the adult fire-fury would not

 

repel a sustained burst of fire, but it would give

 

her the critical seconds needed to reach Simons

 

when the opportunity came. Srrawll clenched and

 

unclenched her fists, feeling the fingernails strengthen

 

and sharpen.

 

"Why don't you explain who you are and what your

 

purpose is? I'd also like to know how you manage

 

to change identities so easily." Simons gave

 

SrrawIl a frigid smile and wiggled the hand that

 

held the phaser. "For starters, that is. And if you

 

don't talk, I know some tricks with a phaser that

 

aren't in the owner's manual."

 

Srrawll eased into a chair without taking her

 

eyes off the weapon. "You were told correctness

 

before. I am the ambassador's aide that is known as

 

k'ationavle s'Flen. It is not within my

 

understanding to know why you suspect me of being a different

 

thing."

 

A pitying smile spread across Simons' face.

 

She shook her head. "Try again. You're really not

 

that good a liar, t'Stror."

 

"The one called t'Stror is no more. The men of

 

Captain Kirk found his body on the hangar

 

deck. Why do you insist that I am that person?" "The

 

way you walk. The way you talk. Little things like that."

 

Simons' smile widened and became more predatory.

 

"Have you ever seen the damage a phaser will do to naked

 

skin when it's set for narrow beam and one-quarter

 

power?" "I do not understand why it is that you continue

 

to threaten me. What is it I have done that has

 

menaced you?"

 

"You know as well as I." Simons' finger

 

twitched on the firing stud. "Of course, if you're

 

telling the truth, we could call for the ship's

 

security people-to see if you really are the person your

 

identity disc claims you are."

 

Protect! Protect! The urge crashed over

 

Srrawll like a 240

 

cloudburst. Images of her warm, dark jungle

 

flooded her mind. She fought the compulsion to rip out the

 

woman's throat since Simons would

 

expect such a reaction from a cornered opponent.

 

Srrawll forced herself to slump in apparent defeat.

 

Struggling to avoid the defiant snarl that bubbled in

 

her throat, Srrawll asked, "What do you wish for

 

me to tell you?" "How about your identity and the nature

 

of your mission?" Simons allowed a small smile

 

of triumph to play across her face. Srrawll

 

studied her opponent, waiting for success to make

 

Simons overconfident. Gathering herself for the spring,

 

Srrawll slid lower in her chair. When she

 

spoke, however, she kept the proper tone of defeat

 

in her voice.

 

"We call our planet The World. It has no

 

other name that has meaning to us. I am here to protect

 

The World from those who would rob us of it." Her head

 

sank into her chest in despair. "I have failed. You

 

may use your weapon now."

 

"No." Simons shifted her phaser, aiming for a

 

crippling shot at Srrawll's shoulder. "That's a

 

start, but you can tell me more than that." Srrawll

 

uncoiled her legs and sprang in a powerful leap,

 

striking at Simons' phaser hand. The weapon

 

discharged, but the beam's main force was absorbed by the

 

fire-fury skin across Srrawll's chest. The

 

shapechanger's claws slashed the tendons

 

in Simons' wrist, sending the phaser flying toward

 

the wall a dozen paces away.

 

The momentum of the leap carried them both to the

 

floor. Srrawll pinned Simons flat and

 

covered her mouth with one hand. She pulled a syringe

 

from her carrying pouch and injected Simons, waiting

 

for the Trisopen to take effect before loosening her

 

grip. A sound halfway between a purr and a snarl

 

gathered in her throat.

 

"Why?" Simons' voice was weak and blurred from

 

the drug.

 

"I don't owe the enemy any explanations. But

 

in a few minutes, you won't remember it

 

anyway." The shapechanger's lips stretched into a

 

defiant snarl. "I do it to save my world. The

 

fat ones come to steal it or fight over the theft with

 

others as bad as they. If I knew how, I would

 

kill all of them, just so they would leave my world

 

alone!"

 

"That's nice." Simons' eyelids drooped as

 

she slid into the drug-induced trance.

 

The spitting, snarling cat smashed through Janara's

 

mind, ripping away the layers of drugged

 

unconsciousness. McCoy's sedative was wearing

 

off, but its action still interfered with the

 

boretelin Chapel had given her. She struggled

 

to block the cat from her awareness, but its attack

 

grew stronger. She moaned and tried to open her

 

eyes. Her eyelids felt as if they were made of

 

solid lead, but with effort, she forced them apart. At

 

first, she did not recognize where she was. Even

 

with the subdued lighting, she knew she was not in her own

 

quarters. As the room came into focus, she

 

identified the medical equipment and patient

 

monitors, but could not remember how she had gotten

 

to Sickbay. She tried to recall the events of the

 

past few hours, but she was too groggy and the

 

details refused to come.

 

As the savage cat renewed its psychic

 

attack, Janara reached for the bottle of boretelin

 

tablets. Her hand clutched it as if it were a

 

lifeline. She shook out several pills and gulped

 

them down, struggling to hold the cat at bay until

 

the drug took effect.

 

Slowly, the cat faded to a darkness as black as

 

its hide. The last thing that registered on her

 

consciousness was the pain of phantom claw gashes

 

across her torso.

 

Montoya looked up from the computer screen as the

 

door closed behind his wife. "It's getting

 

late. I

 

was starting to wonder if something had happened to you."

 

"I was walking around." She dropped onto the

 

bed, looking distraught and helpless. "That Deltan

 

animal beat up my poor little Jane-Anne, and

 

Captain Kirk won't let me see her. Her

 

own mother!" She blinked several times, trying to hold

 

back the tears that filled her eyes. Montoya

 

turned off the computer and crossed the room to join

 

her. He put a comforting arm around her shoulders,

 

holding her close. "I'm sure Captain Kirk

 

has his reasons, but if it will make you feel

 

better, we can go to Sickbay now and talk to the

 

doctor. That way, you'll at least know what's going

 

on."

 

"Do you really think they'd tell us anything?" He

 

looked at her pale, woebegone face and smiled

 

tenderly. "You're her mother, aren't you? The captain

 

was probably trying to say you'd be in the doctor's

 

way while he was treating her. I'm sure they'll

 

let you see her now, if she's awake."

 

"At this time of night?" Her voice cracked, and

 

she looked away to hide her tears.

 

"I thought you said she worked the night shift."

 

Montoya kissed her forehead. "Besides,

 

if Dr. McCoy is as good as everyone says,

 

Jane may be out of Sickbay by now."

 

"Do you really think so?" She looked up at

 

Montoya, blinked her eyes several times, and

 

swallowed hard before she spoke. "Could we go right

 

now? I would feel so much better if I just knew

 

how she was."

 

"I think we can manage that." Montoya stood

 

and pulled her to her feet. She leaned against him for

 

support as they left the room.

 

Chapel looked up from her terminal as two people

 

entered Sickbay. Commissioner Montoya stopped

 

beside the admitting station. "My wife is concerned about

 

her daughter. We hope you can give us some

 

information, and possibly allow Cecilia to see the

 

girl."

 

Chapel stood. Montoya was not particularly

 

tall, and Chapel's uniform boots gave her an

 

additional advantage. She used it to emphasize

 

her words. "I don't have the authority to allow

 

visitors. Dr. McCoy left strict orders

 

that Lieutenant Whitehorse was to see no one."

 

Simons sniffled. A large tear coursed down

 

her cheek. "Is she in such bad shape that even her

 

mother can't see her?"

 

"I don't know why Dr. McCoy said no

 

visitors." Years of reassuring patients made

 

it easy for Chapel to hide that lie. She summoned

 

her most reassuring smile and continued, "The last

 

time I checked her, she was resting comfortably. You

 

don't need to worry on that count."

 

"Doctor, could we see her for a few moments?

 

I'm sure that would relieve my wife's mind