A/N: Hey guys, sorry this chapter's so short. It was this or nothing 'til the weekend. It's supposed to be a rainy one, so odds are pretty good I'll be cooped up inside!

Chapter 3: Alethia

Mercer's face materialized on Kirk's ready room view screen. Kirk couldn't help but notice he looked older than the last time they had spoken... what, two months ago? Kirk scratched his chin and wondered how long before time started making its mark on his own features.

"Admiral," Kirk smiled. "I sent in my report but I just couldn't wait for the grades to post."

Mercer chortled. Kirk had been one of his favorite cadets at the academy. But it was no secret that Mercer was one of the few teachers who never gave Kirk top marks.

"Well well, Jim Kirk," Mercer shook his head. "I never thought I'd have to call you Captain."

"Didn't think you'd live to see the day?" Kirk grinned.

"Somehow I didn't think you would live to see the day." Mercer held up a data pad before Kirk could parry his verbal jab. "I read your report. Very interesting."

"About that," Kirk began. "I think we should orchestrate a 'routine meeting' with a few other 'patrol' ships. If we send Captain Triaria back to Romulus with that kind of intelligence and an offer of goodwill from Starfleet, they might just come around. Or at least leave the Federation alone."

"I'm not sure Starfleet is ready to risk bluffing our way out of this conflict," Mercer said as he set the report on his desk. "Several strategies for dealing with the Romulans are still under review. The attack on Tarracina... well, it complicates things."

Kirk raised an eyebrow. "And how long will these plans be under review? We have an opportunity to get to know a Romulan face-to-face over here. From our own time line. On our terms. In case Starfleet's forgotten, that's never happened before."

"Jim," Mercer sighed, shifting in his seat. "I hope you realize how grave this situation is. Your strategic prowess has proven outstanding for short-term combat scenarios. But Starfleet needs your full cooperation if we're going to stand a chance in the upcoming war."

"Which is exactly why I'm trying to prevent one."

"Jim..." Mercer began. "Vulcan is gone. Our options – and time – are limited. People on Earth are scared-"

"The Romulans who destroyed Vulcan were from another time line!" Kirk interrupted. "Sure, this one ship attacked an outpost. But it could have been a fluke. Or maybe they're just testing the waters. We can't hold an entire race responsible for something they haven't done yet!"

"I know, Jim, I know," Mercer sympathized. "But how many people died on Tarracina? And what's going to happen when news reaches Earth? There are... certain things going on right now. Things I can't talk about here, even over an encrypted connection."

"Fine," Kirk threw up his hands. "So what would Starfleet have me do?"

"Your orders are to interrogate the prisoner. Commander Spock is your first officer, right? Have him gather as much intelligence from her as he can. We could really use it right now."

"That's not going to work," Kirk said. "I don't think she likes him very much."

"But he can use the Vulcan mind-meld, right?"

"There is no way we can expect any kind of diplomatic relations after that course of action."

Mercer chuckled dryly. "Diplomatic relations with that particular Romulan, you mean. For all the Empire knows, she died in a battle on Tarracina."

Kirk's fists clenched under the table.

"Are you suggesting we force the information and kill her?"

Mercer shook his head. "Not me. But don't be too surprised if the order comes down the line. Things are changing in Starfleet." He paused, then: "I won't dictate how you interrogate her. By all means, work miracles if you can. But work them quickly. Godspeed. Mercer out."

"Careful, it's sharp," Uhura said as she held out a chunk of metal.

"Thanks," Chekov smiled and took it. He had always admired the communications officer for her expertise and work ethic. Now, as they sorted through debris from the Romulan vessel, he was thrilled to learn how nice she could be.

"Theese looks like a piece of the hull," he said, reading the display on his tricorder.

Uhura nodded, already inspecting a second, smaller piece. Her eyes lit up. She muttered several alien-sounding syllables under her breath as she turned the artifact in her hands.

"Find somezing?" Chekov asked cheerily.

"Something about... 'under,' or 'secret'," she pointed out an inscription. "I'm not entirely sure."

Over her shoulder, Chekov saw Spock slip into the science lab.

"Sir!" Chekov stood at attention, putting a good yard between himself and Uhura. Even his young ears had not missed rumors of the Human-Vulcan relationship, and the last thing he wanted was to elicit the First Officer's disfavor.

Spock nodded in acknowledgment, but remained silent. His eyes darted to the back of Uhura's head. She continued to mutter under her breath, focused on the tiny letters. Spock began to carefully make his way across the lab.

"Chekov, any idea what this thing does?" Uhura asked.

"Uh..." Chekov returned to the task at hand. He hummed thoughtfully as he ran the tricorder over the part. "Eet appears to be a manipulator of some kind of subatomic particles."

"Subatomic..." she repeated to herself. "Under? Small? Under-sized?" She squinted at the inscription, then held it at a distance.

She sighed shortly and turned to the computer console behind her. Spock froze in place, a data pad in hand and eyes on Uhura. She still didn't notice him.

"Sir, do you need help with anything?" Chekov asked across the room. Spock shook his head.

"Chekov, I need you to pay attention," Uhura snapped. Chekov apologized and stood at her side. Out of the corner of his eye, he watched Spock make his way to the door.

"Subterfuge!" Uhura cried at last. She grinned at Chekov. "I'm sorry, you know how it is when the word is just on the tip of your tongue..." she trailed off as her eyes finally settled on Spock's back as he walked out the door.

"Sir!" she barked.

Spock halted. He turned slowly.

"Lieutenant," he replied, nodding so deeply it was almost a bow. "I apologize for disturbing your work."

"No... apology... necessary," she growled. "May I have a word with you?"

He glanced at Chekov. "Of course."

"In private?"

Spock hesitated.

"Ensign," Uhura said, "Proceed without me. I'll be back shortly."

Spock followed her reluctantly into the science lab conference room. He had hoped to delay this... conversation until they were both off duty. She shut the door and turned to him, expression set in anger.

"What do you wish to discuss?" he asked.

"I'm not sure I know," she said in a low, dangerous tone. "What would you want to discuss if I started avoiding you without a word?"

Spock considered the question before realizing it was rhetorical.

"I apologize," he said. "It is no reflection on you. I have been mentally unprepared for encounters such as we have. Much has been on my mind and I require further meditation."

"Oh," Uhura rolled her eyes. "Uh huh. So you need alone time. Well that's fine... but can't you at least let me know before you change your duty shifts to avoid mine?"

"That would have been difficult. You would not have been satisfied with a simple answer."

"Damn right," Uhura fumed.

"Your line of questioning would have led to the very issues which I must face."

"And what's wrong with that?" she asked. "You either face them or you don't."

He thought he saw a tear forming in her wide eyes, but she blinked and it was gone.

Spock sighed. "As usual, you are right." He reached for her, but she turned away. Sighing, she made her way to the conference room windows to watch the sun rising over Tarracina.

Spock studied the curve of her shoulders and noted they were quivering slightly. She was not crying – he knew she was too upset at him for that. Unlike the Romulan, however, Uhura maintained her dignity in anger.

That Romulan. Camilla. Even in his mind he heard himself pronounce the words with distaste. No matter how he tried to forget, her sneering face plagued the fringes of his conscious thought. The idea of melding with such a creature repulsed him, yet he was sure Starfleet would give the order sooner or later. The only consolation he could manage was that she was equally disturbed at the prospect.

These thoughts, however, were irrational. Taking pleasure in another beings suffering was illogical, and worse, the very root of cruelty. Spock shuddered at his own thoughts and joined Uhura in her observation the planet below

"You have been exceedingly patient with me," he tried again. "My mother never vocalized any... difficulties with my father, but I have seen how thoughtless acts devoid of emotion can affect a woman."

He kept his voice steady, though the thought of his mother still caused a swell of grief in his already unstable core.

"Oh Spock..." Uhura turned to him, seeming to sense the shift in his pain. "I'm sorry for getting so angry." She took his hands in her own and smiled. "Well, sort of."

He mentally flinched at her touch. The physical contact evoked emotions that eroded his self-control. As she wrapped herself around him, he gave in at last and pulled her close, perhaps squeezing a bit too tight. She didn't protest, though. A strange kind of peace settled over him as he found the eye of his mental storm in her arms.

A tap-tap on the conference room door thrust him out of the momentary lull. The two jumped away from another as Chekov burst through the door, waving the Romulan artifact about in triumph.

"Uhura!" he grinned, oblivious to his interruption. "I know what it eez! We've recovered a cloaking device!"