PART I: MEET QT
Captain's Log, Stardate 54123.1 (Earth year 2377)
The Enterprise is responding to a distress signal sent by Jaxon Traegar, president of the penal colony on the planet Algalon near the Neutral Zone. A year ago, an epidemic of Tarsen's disease ravaged the planet. The virus has proven unresponsive to treatment, and due to the highly contagious nature of the disease and its high mortality rate, a select medical crew will be deployed to contain and treat the virus.
Meanwhile, we have arrived at Starbase 11 to welcome a new crew member. T'Mollek O'Reilly is a Starfleet pediatrician whose mentor, Ambassador T'Sharr of Vulcan, has recommended for consideration on this very mission. With her partial Vulcan heritage, Dr. O'Reilly is immune to Tarsen's disease. However, the senior staff of the Enterprise have some well-founded reservations. An informal interview has been scheduled to better ascertain her qualifications for the mission.
I Believe in Q
As she entered the transporter room on Starbase 11, Dr. T'Mollek O'Reilly touched the pendant that hung from her neck. Her fingers felt the softened corners that edged the flatstone disk and the carved letters, NNA, on one side. An indentation had once been on the other side, but she years of absently rubbing it with her thumb had eroded the lettering such that it was no longer legible. She had no idea whose initials "NNA" were, but she'd had the pendant for as long as she could remember. T'Sharr had taken it from her once while she was still her guardian, but T'Mollek found it in the trash and had worn it every day since.
T'Mollek was an oddball, mixed-breed orphan, among Starfleet's vast array of oddball, mixed-breed orphans. Her spotty Starfleet record and mundane life on Starbase 11 did not exactly scream "suitable to serve on the flagship of the Federation." And yet here, she was, about to beam aboard the Enterprise itself.
Her past would assuredly come up in her interview with the captain, and she was not looking forward to it. She hoped she could answer truthfully without revealing too much. For all her faults, T'Mollek valued honesty and integrity more than her own life.
She intended to speak no more than necessary.
She stepped onto the transporter pad and held her breath. Despite the illogic, she was terrified of teleportation. She was beamed up to the ship, and when her molecules reassembled themselves on the transporter pad of the Enterprise, she let out her breath in relief.
When she saw who was in her welcome party, she held her breath again.
The captain of the ship himself, Jean-Luc Picard, along with two other high-ranking officers stood before her. They looked somewhat surprised by her physical appearance. She got that a lot. She had the dispassionate gaze of a Vulcan but not the physical stature typical of the race. Shorter, rounder, and paler than most, she had long, unruly auburn curls that refused to see reason. The light ridge of bones on her forehead made her perpetually look like she was about to burst into tears at any moment.
Picard stepped forward and greeted her with a handshake. "Welcome to the Enterprise, Dr. O'Reilly." He smiled cordially, although she could feel him weighing her physical appearance.
"Thank you, Captain," she said, her voice barely registering. She glanced up at the curly-haired transporter chief with a questioning look. Had there been some mistake? Were they expecting someone else? Some dignitary? Transporter Chief Miles O'Brien merely shrugged. He didn't understand the welcome party, either.
"This is my first officer, Commander Will Riker," Captain Picard said, gesturing to the tall, bearded man next to him.
"Commander," she said, shaking Riker's hand.
"And ship's counselor, Commander Deanna Troi."
T'Mollek glanced at the counselor's face. The pure black irises of her warm, inviting eyes told her this woman was a Betazoid. Why did there have to be an empath? she thought ruefully. She would have to put forth special effort to suppress her emotions when in Troi's company.
"I hope you don't mind," the captain said with a smile, "but once you've gotten settled in, I've arranged for the four of us to meet in Ten Forward—our ship's lounge at the front of deck ten. To get better acquainted in an informal setting."
"That sounds amenable," she said cautiously.
"Excellent. Your quarters are this way."
The entire contingency walked out the door with Captain Picard himself pulling her suitcase.
"We'll meet you in Ten Forward," said Riker, eyeing the luggage being pulled by the captain. Who was this woman and why was the captain acting as her personal valet? He didn't even like doing that when Troi's mother came to visit. And she was daughter of the Fifth House, holder of the Sacred Chalice of Rixx, and heir to the Holy Rings of Betazed.
Riker and Troi exited together, and Picard and T'Mollek went the opposite direction toward the turbolift.
After several minutes, T'Mollek said, "I appreciate the personal attention, Captain. But why not simply send a yeoman to escort me to my quarters?"
"I wanted to meet you personally," he answered with a smile and a slightly elevated tone of voice usually reserved for visiting personages he was particularly impressed with. "T'Sharr speaks very highly of your skills."
"Does she . . ." T'Mollek said dubiously.
"I trust T'Sharr's judgment," the captain said sincerely. "If her former ward did not have what it takes to be chief pediatrician on a starship, she would say so."
"Yes, sir," she said, still wondering why anyone thought it was a good idea to create the position of chief pediatrician on a Galaxy-class starship—no matter how many children were on board. She had been rather superfluous on the starbase.
They entered the turbo lift. "Deck thirty-two," Picard ordered.
"You are aware of my Starfleet Academy record," T'Mollek said.
"Er—yes. Riker, Troi and I have read your transcripts," Picard answered somewhat hesitantly. "But as I said, I trust T'Sharr implicitly. My experience with her as an ambassador has led me to value her recommendations. She has an uncanny ability to see things in people that others do not."
"Her intuition is indeed unusually apt," she said wryly. "Has Commander Riker worked with her as closely as you?"
Again, he seemed somewhat hesitant as the turbolift came to a stop. "Well . . . no. I will be honest, and this is one of the reasons we wanted to meet with you over drinks. Commander Riker has some . . . reservations."
They stepped out of the turbolift and headed down the corridor.
"Oh?" she said, dispassionately.
"Your past history of emotionality is of some concern to him." Picard was known throughout the galaxy for his diplomatic skills.
"Understandable," she agreed.
"But as I explained to him," he hastened to add, "T'Sharr shared with me that she privately and extensively trained you in Vulcan mental control practices after your . . . childhood tragedy. And she said that your mastery of them was impressive, considering all you had been through."
"Not exactly a ringing endorsement," T'Mollek observed.
With that cat out of the bag, Picard finally relaxed somewhat. "And that is where Commander Riker has his reservations."
"Of course." She should have expected nothing less. So her position on board the Enterprise was not assured after all.
"Well, here we are." He pressed a code on the security panel outside the door to her quarters. The door opened and they entered.
"I'm afraid your accommodations are a bit small," he said apologetically. "Not very luxurious, but you are in private quarters."
"This is adequate. I have no need for luxury."
"Well," he said. "Get settled in, and we'll meet you at Ten Forward in one hour."
"Thank you, sir."
After he left her quarters, T'Mollek looked around. The room was tiny, even by her standards. On one side of the door was a small desk and chair. On the other side was a replicator built into the wall. Next to that was a twin bed and a nightstand. Within arm's reach was a private restroom with a shower.
T'Mollek placed her bag on the twin bed and unpacked. The only thing she had brought that wasn't purely utilitarian was a strangely garish red and white puffer fish carved rather crudely out of bones. She placed it on the small nightstand next to her bed.
She gingerly ran her thumb against one of the spikes. Then a little more roughly. Finally she poked her thumb into the spike slowly until it drew a dot of green blood. She cleaned it off the fish and prepared for the interview that would determine her legacy.
Precisely one hour after she had arrived on the ship, T'Mollek entered Ten Forward. The three senior officers were already waiting, and they stood to greet her.
"I trust I am on time?" she asked, a trifle concerned.
"Yes, yes," said Picard. "Please sit down. We took the liberty of ordering you a Vulcan port. The three of us were just reviewing your records. I was telling them how easily T'Sharr said you had adjusted to life on Vulcan after being raised on Earth."
"Yes," said Riker, all business. "How long were you on Earth?"
"Five years, cumulatively," she answered simply.
"You lived there after your parents died?"
"Before and after."
"And who raised you after their deaths?"
"My paternal grandparents."
"They were human?" Riker asked.
"They still are," she replied, straight-faced.
"Of course." Unsure whether she had said that sarcastically or sincerely, Riker decided to tag out. He glanced at Troi.
The counselor took up the interview in her soothing voice. "It must have been a difficult adjustment living with grandparents you barely knew on a planet populated by humans."
T'Mollek put her guard up. "I had been raised all over the galaxy around all manner of species."
"Your family history is a matter of public record due to the manner in which your parents died," Troi said with studied sensitivity. "Do you mind speaking about it?"
"No."
"Pardon me if I get too personal," the counselor said. "But can you tell us a little about how they died and how that affected you at the time? They were both retired from Starfleet, correct?"
"Yes. They were working for a private security firm. They were killed in a bombing on Nimbus III."
"You were how old at the time?"
"Ten years old."
"That must have been difficult," Troi said compassionately. "You were at a very vulnerable age." She recalled her own father, who had died when she was seven.
"Yes." There was a slight pause as the two women sized one another up.
"How long did you live with your paternal grandparents after your parents died?" Troi prompted.
"Three years, seven months."
"And why did you leave their care?"
"They found me to be . . . difficult."
"Your emotions were difficult to control," Troi said encouragingly.
T'Mollek didn't respond.
"So they sent you to live on Vulcan with your mother's . . . adoptive family?" Troi asked solicitously. T'Mollek's mother had been adopted and her parentage was unknown, according to the records.
"T'Sharr was my mentor," T'Mollek said carefully.
Riker's curiosity was piqued. "Is that common practice? For Vulcan mentors to . . . adopt orphans?"
"Didn't Spock serve as guardian to a young orphan?" asked Picard, chiming in. "Uh . . . Saavik?"
"That does sound right," Riker said thoughtfully.
"Yes, she was involved with the Genesis Project," added Troi. "Whatever became of Saavik?"
Losing patience, T'Mollek snapped, "We're not in touch."
The three senior officers—the very ones who would decide whether she would stay aboard the Enterprise or not based in large part on her temperament—looked at her in surprise. Was she trying to disprove her qualifications to serve here? Perhaps. She flushed and looked down at her hands, which were folded on the table next to her untouched glass of port.
Picard looked at her with a trace of newfound doubt. "T'Sharr told me that once you set your mind to controlling your emotions, you were a fast study."
"I worked hard to please her," she said submissively, still staring at her hands.
"She speaks very highly of you," Picard said with a faint smile.
"Thank you, sir."
Riker took on the bad cop role of the interrogation. "Your mother was half-Vulcan, but she didn't think you needed to learn the culturally appropriate mental disciplines as a child? Aren't Vulcan and Romulan emotions inherently more . . . volatile than human ones? Didn't she think that might cause problems?"
There were several questions on the table, but T'Mollek merely replied, "Yes."
"I think what he's asking," Troi stepped in helpfully, "is, why didn't you spend any of your childhood on Vulcan?"
Riker decided to cut to the chase. "I think the elephant in the room is your Romulan heritage."
"My heritage is not an elephant, Commander," T'Mollek said quietly.
"It's an expression," he explained indulgently. "It means—"
"I am aware of what it means," she interrupted quietly but edgily. She no longer felt the need to be polite. This was a sore subject for her under the best of circumstances. If they wished to deny her a position due to her Romulan blood and their perceived fears of how it might affect her performance, she was going to have something to say about it.
"I mean that I am not ashamed of my heritage. My grandmother was half-Romulan and half-Vulcan. She was orphaned and raised on Vulcan. Her daughter—my mother—was raised on Earth."
Thoroughly confused, Riker asked, "Why?"
"She was considered illegitimate and unwanted. She was adopted by a human family and raised on Earth." T'Mollek knew she was sharing entirely too much information at this point. But she wasn't sharing all.
"Earth was where she attended the Academy, met your father, and raised you?" Riker asked.
"I was raised all over the galaxy. As I said."
"With no formal training in emotional control?" he pressed.
"Correct. My mother had a natural control over her emotions. She was able to help me control mine. After her death, I began my training with T'Sharr."
Troi gave Riker a reproachful look.
"I apologize if I overstepped my bounds," he said, not sounding sorry. For all his heroics and command skills, Riker could be one specist son of a bitch.
T'Mollek looked him in the eyes impassively for several moments. She decided he would be her prime adversary in the weeks to follow. She decided to test him.
After an extremely uncomfortable silence, she decreed, "Apology accepted."
Riker wanted to clear the air of the tension. The hardnosed approach wasn't getting them anywhere, so he decided to turn on the charm. "You haven't touched your port. Would you rather just have a glass of water?" He lifted a hand, trying to get the attention of the wait staff.
"No, it's fine," she said.
"It's no trouble," he said ingratiatingly. "I'll be right back."
Troi watched her former lover make his way to the bar. She was only half-Betazoid so could generally only read the emotions of other beings. But with Will, her Imzadi, she could read so much more. He moved fast on women, but not usually this fast. T'Mollek looked down at her hands. There was an awkward silence as they waited for Riker to return.
Soon, he sauntered back, approaching his chair from behind and easily swung one leg over the top to seat himself, somewhat like a cowboy mounting a horse. T'Mollek watched this slick move with a sidelong glare but didn't say anything.
"Here's your water," he said with a suave smile.
"Thank you," she said. But rather than politely taking a sip, she pointedly set the glass aside next to her untouched port.
"Can you tell us about your skills?" Riker said, his voice softer now and more conversational than interrogatory.
T'Mollek lifted an eyebrow innocently and almost coquettishly. "Skills?"
Slightly flustered, Riker stammered, "Er, specialized skills, such as the mind meld and the nerve pinch?"
"I am accomplished at both."
"As to the matter of your, uh, Starfleet record . . ." Picard began. He was choosing his words wisely.
"Yes, sir. I failed the psychological exam on my first attempt."
"They felt you weren't performing to your full potential," Picard said, trying to prompt her to explain why that might have been.
"Correct," was all T'Mollek said. In truth, she had only joined Starfleet under T'Sharr's orders. T'Mollek owed her life to her aunt. If not for her, T'Mollek would most likely be dead.
"But you passed your second attempt," Picard said with a helpful smile.
It was Riker's turn. "According to your records, you began your career specializing in infectious diseases. Why did you end up in pediatrics?"
T'Mollek gave him a long look before answering, stone-faced, "Children like me."
Riker looked at Picard and Troi, his voice hardening again, just slightly. She was evidently impervious to his charm. "I'm still not convinced we need a head of pediatrics. We already have plenty of medical personnel. Why should we take you on?"
"Because T'Sharr convinced the captain you should."
Riker wasn't sure if she was being a jerk or just a Vulcan. Slightly impatient, he asked, "What do you think you'll bring to the table?"
In a deadpan voice, T'Mollek recited her resume by rote: "I have an extensive background in infectious disease research. I have experience with many alien cultures and anatomies. I have worked hard to overcome my past and I have a great deal to prove. I wish to carry on my parents' legacies in Starfleet—to 'make them proud.' I am a fast and eager learner, and I am a team player who works well with others."
Now he knew she was being a jerk. The interview had come to a screeching halt.
"Well, I think we've asked all the questions we have," Picard said. "Can I accompany you to the turbolift, Dr. O'Reilly?"
"Yes, sir."
They rose and exited Ten Forward.
"What do you think?" Deanna asked Will after they had gone.
"I was expecting her to be more . . . fiery," he replied, his jovial, rakish self once more.
"Because of her Romulan heritage?"
"Because of her Irish heritage," he said. "Remember the Bringloidi?" He was referring to a group of humans of Irish descent that lived on Bringloid V. They were a simple people and he had had a brief but—well, fiery—relationship with one of their people, Brenna Odell.
"Will," Troi said distastefully. "That's offensive."
The interview had been more difficult than she had imagined it would be. Reliving her past failures and setting the stage to carry out T'Sharr's plot had been demoralizing. She was thankful that her Starfleet assessment had not been discussed at length. "Stubborn and doesn't like to be told what to do. Shows no leadership ability. Lacks ambition. Almost appears to deliberately avoid living up to full potential. Plagued with self-doubt. Persecution complex. Difficulty suppressing emotions. Defensive, but withdraws when confronted. Loner, quiet, keeps to herself, few friends. Mediocre student. Non-athletic, awkward, clumsy, and lacks grace. Cautious, risk-averse, and suffers from claustrophobia."
Essentially, she was a loser. Even her family thought so. No one had come to her Starfleet commencement when she graduated—without honors, of course. Her tickets went unused.
She had once heard a Vulcan uncle use the word kre'nath (literally "shamed one") to describe her mother, T'Auvilyn, who had been born illegitimately and sent to Earth to live among humans. His wife was the only one who had shown her any sympathy at all. It was she who had sought out T'Auvilyn's adoptive family on Earth. But T'Sharr had kept T'Mollek locked away for the most part, in training.
She had important plans for her.
As they approached the turbolift, T'Mollek slowly became aware that the captain was speaking to her.
". . . discuss the interview, and we will let you know our final decision by the end of the week," he was saying. "If all goes well, you'll accompany us to Algalon. If not . . . well, I'm sure Starbase 11 will be happy not to lose you."
"I appreciate the opportunity, Captain." She was already planning to repack her personal effects.
"Now, you're not a guest here, Doctor," he assured her. "You're a full-fledged member of the crew until . . . well, until you're not. But I look forward to seeing how you perform this week."
Commander Riker approached them, jogging around the corner to catch the turbolift with the captain. He didn't seem to notice the five-foot-two T'Mollek was there, despite her bright hair and the less-than-subtle flirting he'd been doing a few minutes before.
"Well, that was one of the most uncomfortable job interviews I've ever suffered through," he said wryly.
Captain Picard hastily raised his voice. "I was just telling Dr. O'Reilly that with her research skills and connection with children, she would be a fine addition to the medical staff."
Riker's eyebrows went up as he realized his faux pas. However, he did not apologize. "I think you'll find that real-world life-or-death scenarios are far different from life on Starbase 11," he said, all business. Picard gave him a look, and Riker added, more diplomatically, "But we'll let you know what we decide."
Picard was hailed by the bridge. Over the speaker, Security Chief Worf informed him that sensors indicated the Enterprise was orbiting the planet Syroda—several lightyears away from Starbase 11.
"That's impossible," the captain snapped irritably. "We just left the starbase less than two hours ago. Check the sensors again and run a full system scan."
"Aye, sir," the Klingon security chief said sheepishly. "But we have visual of Syroda on the view screen."
Just then the turbolift came to a jolting halt, knocking the three passengers into one another awkwardly.
"Well, isn't this cozy?" a smug voice said rhetorically. "It's like being trapped in an Adalusian cave. Who's up for a ménage à quatre?"
"Ugh!" Riker sighed loudly at the tall man who had appeared from out of nowhere in the turbolift with them. The man was wearing a Starfleet uniform and an admiral's pips.
"Don't roll your eyes, Riker," the man said, rolling his eyes. "It's rude."
"You," snapped Picard irritably, then muttered, "I might have known."
"You always say that," the man remarked off-handedly. "But might you really, mon capitai—aaand who is this vision?" he interrupted himself, breezing past Picard to sidle up to T'Mollek.
Picard did a double take, not used to being so blatantly ignored.
T'Mollek stood up straight, at attention, uncertain who this admiral was, why he had beamed onto the turbolift, and why his attitude was so casual. "I am Dr. T'Mollek O'Reilly."
"T'Mollek O'Reilly?" He raised his eyebrows in surprise, then murmured contemplatively, "'The sociable race'. . ."
He studied her face, attempting to analyze and evaluate her given name, surname, and physical appearance. "Pointed ears, curly red hair, blue eyes, deep scowl." The man smiled, intrigued. "What are you?"
Tensely and with dignity, she answered, "I am a Starfleet pediatrician."
"Among other things, I'm sure. . ." he muttered with a faint grin.
"Q!" Picard had had enough. "Why are we orbiting Syroda?"
"It's a nice planet," he replied off-handedly, not taking his eyes of T'Mollek. "I'm sure you'll meet nice people there."
"You've put us months away from our rescue mission on Algalon," barked Picard. "The lives of thousands are at stake. How can complete our mission when you move us around in space like some sort of chess piece?"
Q waved him off dismissively. "I'm sure you'll think of something and it will all work out just fine in the end. And as for you, Doctor Tamale . . . ." He leaned in, putting his mouth very close to her ear. "What do you want?
"What do I . . .?" T'Mollek began, confused.
"Do you know who I am?" he asked in a sudden about-face.
The preceding conversation had explained it. She had read all the mission logs that were publicly available. "You are Q. A mischievous and omniscient entity who has repeatedly acted as an antagonist to the crew of the Enterprise and countless other beings across the galaxy."
"My reputation precedes me!" Q chortled with glee, looking at the men in the turbolift. Then he leaned in dramatically again, face to face with T'Mollek. "Tell me, Doctor: are you afraid of me?"
Afraid might not be the word for it, but she was certainly feeling something. She answered with a tight throat, clenched stomach, and pounding heart. "No."
He circled her like a predator, leaning low to meet her gaze. He was a full foot taller than she was.
"Tell me something else," he said. He whispered into her ear so the others couldn't hear. "Do you want to have a baby?"
T'Mollek felt a sudden twinge in her abdominal region. She stammered but was unable to make a coherent response.
"We'll talk more," Q said full-voiced, standing tall again. He kissed her hand, his eyes smoldering. "'Til we meet again, a chuisle mo chroí1," he murmured huskily.
She held her breath as she stared into his eyes.
"Laters!" he called out cheerfully, vanishing in a flash of light.
T'Mollek could still feel something in her hand. She opened it, palm up. She was holding a small rag doll with curly red hair, blue eyes, and a blue dress.
"What was that?" Riker asked Picard, actually impressed by Q's moves. "Vulcan?"
"I think it was . . . Gaelic," Picard said, a bit disquieted.
T'Mollek gasped and faltered dizzily against the wall of the turbolift. "Do you feel that?"
Before they could answer, they heard the sound of a baby crying. Three sets of eyes darted to the little bundle on the floor in the opposite corner of the lift. The baby's tiny green face peeped out from the swaddling.
Instinctively, T'Mollek went into physician mode, picking the infant up at once. As soon as the babe was safe in her arms, the turbolift jolted into motion again before stopping at the bridge. The doors opened.
"Great," Riker said drily as he walked onto the bridge. "He left us a baby."
"He left her a baby," Picard said tensely, following. "Doctor, take the child to sickbay and give it a thorough examination. Bring me a full report the moment you're through."
"Yes, sir," she said, taking a step backward in the turbolift. The doors closed. She stared at the child in her arms for several seconds.
"Destination?" the female computer voice inquired, interrupting her thoughts.
She cleared her throat and stammered nervously, "S-sicks bay."
"What on Earth . . . .?" The ship's chief medical officer Beverly Crusher was not expecting to see the newest member of her medical staff hard at work less than two hours after her arrival. Even more, she was not expecting to see a green baby lying in a basket on an examination table in her sickbay.
"What on Orion, to be more precise," T'Mollek said. "I've confirmed the infant Yob to be of that planet."
"The infant . . . Yob?" Crusher repeated, over-enunciating the "b" at the end of the word, unsure if she had heard correctly.
T'Mollek held the baby's left wrist, showing Crusher the bracelet he wore with "Y-O-B" spelled out in yellow beads. "I was on the turbolift with Captain Picard and Commander Riker when it stopped suddenly and the Q entity appeared. When he left, Yob was there."
"That sounds like Q," Dr. Crusher acknowledged, a wry scowl on her face.
"I need to report to the Captain my findings, but before I do . . ." T'Mollek hesitated. "Could you give me a quick medical scan?"
"Of course," Crusher replied, picking up a small medical scanner. "Is something wrong?"
"When I was in the turbolift, I experienced orthostatic hypotension. My heart rate increased and my stomach felt . . . strange. As if I were experiencing freefall."
Crusher held the medical scanner up to the younger doctor. "I don't see anything out of the ordinary. Did the turbolift drop quickly?" It would not have been the first time the turbolift had plummeted unexpectedly—once nearly killing Lieutenant LaForge in the process.
"It wasn't in motion at the time," T'Mollek answered. "I thought it was some atmospheric anomaly created by Q, but neither the captain nor Commander Riker felt anything unusual."
"Well, it sounds like a delayed head rush as a result of the turbolift stopping suddenly," Crusher said uncertainly. "I'm sure it was nothing to be concerned about. If it happens again, let me know right away and I'll give you a more thorough look-over. Oh, and I think this—" she held up the baby's bracelet—"spells 'BOY.'"
"Oh. So it does," said T'Mollek, slightly startled and even more embarrassed. "Thank you." She frowned slightly, wondering why Q would need to point out the child's gender to her.
Crusher turned to go.
"Uh, Dr. Crusher?"
"Yes?"
"I need to report to the captain now." She hesitated, and Crusher waited patiently. "Do I . . . just go up there? Or do I announce myself first?"
Crusher heroically kept a straight face. "You can just go up there."
"Thank you." T'Mollek relaxed and brushed past Crusher, causing the senior officer to take a step back.
Crusher watched the sickbay door close, grinned, and waited. The door re-opened, T'Mollek re-entered, picked up the baby, and departed again.