The Lerteiran Chronicles

by 2Distracted

It's episode 15: The crew of Enterprise goes hunting for Damin, a confrontation is in store at Woodhaven House, and it's finally time for a wedding… or two. The concluding episode of the Lerteiran Chronicles.

13. Chapter 13a

The Lerteiran Chronicles

Episode Thirteen: Ready or Not, Here We Come

By Blacknblue and Distracted

Genre: Action Adventure and Romance

Rating: R

Disclaimer: We don't own the Star Trek universe. We just go there to play. Honest.

We do, however, own our original characters and story ideas. You are welcome to borrow them as long as no money changes hands. If we can't make anything from this, nobody else gets to either.

Summary: T'Pol grows suspicious of Enterprise's Vulcan guests, Daniel prepares for a fight, T'Riss gets the chance to make her stand, and we find out more about what's in store for everyone on Risa.

A/N: A belated acknowledgement to Linda/Bineshii from BnB. The concept of having chocolate becoming a medium of exchange in itself is something that we came up with ourselves. But the idea that chocolate is addictive to Vulans and contraband on their homeworld was taken from a story of hers. She gave me permission to use it, but I forgot to mention where it came from until now. Sorry about that.

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Sehlra stepped through the hatchway and into Lerteiran's improvised gym. She walked past the treadmill and the climbing rope to the far bulkhead, where she grabbed the climbing pole and starting scaling the rungs. She got off on the fourth catwalk level and walked over to join Daniel by the weight rack. He was standing with both feet braced, repetitively lifting a bar loaded with what looked like nearly half of his own body weight. He gripped it underhand, hoisting it in a smooth arc from his thighs to mid-chest and back again. At least he had a support belt on.

"Thought you would be in the secondary cargo hold," she said calmly. Sehlra silently noted his complexion, copious perspiration, heavy breathing and the visible pulse point on the side of his throat. She kept her conclusions to herself for the moment.

"I was," Daniel swallowed and continued. "Dividing... my off-duty time. Part weapons practice. Part exercise. Gotta build my strength and stamina back up."

"Good," Sehlra nodded approval. "Just don't overdo it. You don't have to get back in shape tomorrow."

Daniel shook his head angrily, staggering a bit when it made him dizzy. He lowered the barbell to the deck, his chest heaving. "Fifteen days. Not enough time. Gotta do it... the hard way. If I had more time... could take it easy. But not... now."

She snorted and took his pulse. "Right. It won't help if you drop dead, boy."

"No pain... no gain, Sehlra," Daniel told her. He picked up the barbell again and resumed his arm curls.

She grunted. "Quoting Klingon proverbs now, are you?"

"Human." Daniel gasped out. "Old Human proverb. Like I said, I don't have time to be gentle on myself. In about three days the soreness will start to work out. In a week the muscles will begin to harden. By the time we get there I will be halfway back to full strength in bone and muscle. Best I can do. It will have to be good enough."

"That girl of yours swears you won't have to fight," Sehlra said darkly. "She said that she plans to refuse this new boy."

Daniel dropped the barbell with a clang and locked it down. He looked at Sehlra with his chest heaving and sweat dripping. "She's not thinking straight. Her family is high class, Sehlra. Her father's a high-level bureaucrat, one step below the Ministry itself. Her mother has a high status job, meaning pull. In other words, they have power and influence."

Sehlra started looking tense. "The High Command."

"Among other possibilities," Daniel nodded and headed for the bench press. "You know how Vulcan is broken up into clans, right?"

"Right. That's part of our Fleet training," she told him.

"The way it works," Daniel laid back and grunted with effort, slowly lifting the bar above his chest with trembling arms. Suddenly he lost it and the weight came crashing back onto the rack. "Dammit!"

"Too much, too fast, Daniel." Sehlra chided him. "I told you. Here," she slid several kilos off from each end. "Try now." Daniel grimaced in disgust and started pressing the reduced weight. To his shame, even that much mass was a real effort.

"As the centuries passed," Daniel told her, "the biggest and," he whooshed out his breath, "strongest clans cons-" he gasped, "consolidated their hold on," exhaled hard," "the best areas, the m-most," he sucked in air, "dependable water sources," and wheezed out, "the best trade routes, things like that."

"That sounds obvious enough," Sehlra told him.

Daniel grunted in pain. "Yeah. It was pretty obvious to the... oh crap." He eased the bar back to the rack and started massaging his shoulder. Sehlra looked concerned and started for him but Daniel waved her off. "Just a cramp. I'll be fine." He stood up and started swinging his arm. "I guess I should drink something."

"The most sensible thing you've said since I came in here," she agreed. "Here." She handed him the water bottle and watched in concern as he upended it.

"Rest a few minutes. That's an order, crewman," Sehlra told him.

"Yes, ma'am," Daniel sighed and sat down gratefully.

"Now, you were saying something about Vulcan clans?" Sehlra propped against the rack.

"Yeah." Daniel took another drink. "Once the big clans had everything divided up, it left the smaller clans out in the sand. So naturally they started trying to form alliances. The story really gets long and complicated at that point. But it ends up with the smaller clans joining up with the big ones and forming what they call sub-clans."

"I think I heard of those," Sehlra nodded. "But I thought they were all related to each other."

"They are, now," Daniel said. "They all started intermarrying and kept it up for centuries. But there are still some families that can trace their bloodlines back to the original ruling clans. And those are the people who hold the high positions in Vulcan society."

"That makes no sense at all." Sehlra snorted in disgust. According status based on the political achievements of distant ancestors rather than on current victories—whether in battle or business—only put weaklings in power. No wonder the Vulcan High Council was so incompetent.

"It may not make sense," Daniel shrugged, "but it's traditional, and Vulcans cling to tradition like a Tellarite clings to a credit chip. The only way to gain membership into a Vulcan clan is by birth. Vulcans trace clan affiliation through the mother's bloodline. So the old ruling clans are very picky about who they let their daughters marry." He looked at Sehlra. "You starting to get my drift here?"

She nodded in disgust. "I can't see a greenblood rolling with joy over having an alien for a son-in-law."

"Even now, after this Kirshara thing is supposedly taking the planet by storm," Daniel said tiredly, "I doubt that the government would be willing to accept a half-breed into one of its reserved positions. So our kids will have to get out and scratch for a living anyway. But I can easily see Mommy dearest calling back home and asking... say... her great-uncle in the Security Directorate to take care of a little problem for her."

"So much for Vulcan honor," Sehlra snarled. "Not that I ever believed in it anyway."

"But that's the key," Daniel said. "I told you, Vulcans cling to tradition. If a challenge is made, they absolutely have to comply with the traditions. Doesn't matter if they want to or not. They have to."

"Even if you fight with Human weapons?" Sehlra looked skeptical.

Daniel made a chopping gesture. "The customary weapons and rituals are a modern addition. The original tradition - I've been reading up on this - it doesn't specify what weapons have to be used. It doesn't even specify the terms of the fight. All the original tradition requires is that the family's intended answer the challenge and fight the challenger until one of them is dead. That's it. The only thing forbidden is outside interference."

"You mean," Sehlra said slowly, "that you could use a phase pistol?"

"Theoretically," Daniel stood up. "But then he could bring in a disruptor rifle with sonic grenades and military grade body armor." He grinned wryly. "I think I'm better off just staying with hand weapons. Then he'd be disgracing his clan if he used modern weapons."

"What if he insists on doing it the Vulcan way?" she asked. "Suppose he says he won't agree to a free for all, and he refuses to fight unless you do it the Vulcan way."

Daniel bared his teeth. "Then I win by default. Unless his family makes a serious issue of it. In which case I take his head with my kukri and the matter is settled."

Sehlra blinked. She'd seen Daniel's collection of exotic Human weapons, and the wickedly curved blade to which he was referring would certainly do the job.

She rubbed the base of her left antenna as if it pained her. "You better stop with the weights for today, boy. Medic's orders. Finish out your exercise on the treadmill. Then eat some high protein food and get some rest. Understand?"

"Yes, ma'am." Daniel sighed. Sehlra headed for the climbing pole with her nostrils flaring. "Oh, before I forget," he called after her. "Do we have any extra platinum stock? Or gold? Either one will work."

Sehlra paused at the top rung and looked back with a curious expression. "I think we have a few kilos of platinum circuit foil. About two kilos of gold wire maybe. How much do you need?"

"A lot less than a kilo," Daniel assured her. "I want to make something. Three somethings, actually. Less than half a kilo should do all three."

"What are you making?" Sehlra asked.

"Just some jewelry. For me and T'Riss," Daniel told her with a shrug. "We Humans are kinda traditional too, about some things."

#

"So there is no way to reach Lerteiran before we get to Risa?" Malcolm asked. He propped against Hoshi's station terminal and crossed his arms, frustrated and angry. His anger was directed at himself, of course. He never should have let Damin leave the ship without questioning him. Now he would have to pay the price and wait to catch up to the little bugger, and he wasn't very good at waiting.

"Sorry." Hoshi held up both hands with an apologetic grimace. "We could try routing a signal to Risa and have them bounce it back to Lerteiran, but I doubt it would get there before they arrived at this distance. We are seriously far out, sir. Subspace relay beacons are few and far between out here."

Malcolm growled a few choice words under his breath. Hoshi's smirk told him that even cursing in Malay wasn't discreet enough when she was around. He returned her wry smile, and for just a second forgot about his anger. He opened his mouth with the vague intention of asking her to share a meal with him, or perhaps the next movie night, but Hoshi, oblivious to his plan, interrupted his question with one of her own.

"You really think the Vulcans are lying about that trance the prisoner is in?" she asked. Malcolm blinked, but recovered quickly. Hoshi was correct, of course. Now was not the best time for distractions. "You tell me," he replied. "The Vulcans had a fit when we tried to salvage the Romulan ship, even to the point of beaming a raiding party aboard to try stealing it from us. They only agreed to sharing information when their noses were rubbed in the fact that they had no choice. Now, the first time we let a Vulcan get anywhere near the prisoner, suddenly she's comatose in what looks exactly like a Vulcan healing trance." He pursed his lips. "So tell me, Ensign. If you were placing a wager, what odds would you give that they're telling the truth?"

She made a pained face. "I might go 50-50, if even that high. You're right. It stinks to high heaven. But there's nothing we can do about it, is there?"

"Not unless Commander T'Pol is having any luck," he said morosely.

#

Commander T'Pol was not having any luck. Commander T'Pol was, in fact, swiftly reaching the limits of her patience. Were it not for the soothing presence of the mating bond, she was confident that at least one of the visiting Vulcan officers would have enjoyed a refreshing shower of chamomile tea by now.

"Your intractability is illogical," she told her compatriots. "Crewman Jowan has already revealed that he was able to extract a significant amount of information before the prisoner entered trance."

"You exaggerate, Commander," Centurion Solis reproved her. "A brief memory of having the block implanted and the identity of the one who did it is hardly an extensive amount of data."

"But it is proof that he was able to tap into her deep memory, however briefly," T'Pol pounced triumphantly. "Information transfer during a mind meld is nearly instantaneous. It is not within the realm of possibility that Jowan was unable to extract more information than the meager amount that you have been willing to share with us."

The three of them were sitting in the captain's mess. Captain Archer had anticipated that the smell of meat in the main mess hall would disturb their guests' digestion and had offered the use of the captain's mess for their meals. T'Pol had suggested it as a convenient meeting area for this discussion. A renegade thought popped into her mind that it was also conveniently bereft of witnesses. She crushed the idea firmly, promising herself to make additional time for meditation no matter how much sexual energy Trip broadcast through the bond that night. She urgently needed to re-establish a proper structure to her meditation routine before her life dissolved into chaos.

"That is not strictly correct," Jowan rumbled. "There is a finite amount of time required for locating and extracting…" T'Pol held up two fingers to stop him with a frozen expression. Both Vulcan officers put on masks of indifference.

"You continue to obfuscate the matter with irrelevancies," she said coldly. "I am familiar with mind melding." At this statement, she noted a twitch, slight but detectable, on Jowan's face. "I am aware of the time involved in the process. I have reviewed the interrogation tapes. Your meld was of more than sufficient duration to extract a great deal of valuable intelligence. If, as you claim, the block activated almost instantly there would have been no cause for you to prolong the meld as you did. Therefore logic impels me to conclude that you are lying."

"I was attempting to bypass the block," Jowan offered. T'Pol ignored him. She reached behind her and keyed the comm. "T'Pol to Captain Archer."

"Archer here."

"Captain, I have just spent 18.1 minutes interviewing Solis and Jowan concerning Jowan's mind meld of the prisoner. I conclude that they are conspiring to withhold additional information for their own use. I recommend that neither of them be permitted further access to the prisoner for any reason." Solis stirred in protest. T'Pol went on, "I further recommend that all notes and records in their possession be confiscated, and that their quarters be searched. In addition, I recommend that a security detail be assigned to monitor their movements at all times."

"That's a very serious allegation, Commander. Are you quite certain?"

"Yes, Captain. I am," T'Pol met the eyes of both Solis and Jowan in turn without flinching. "I will restrain both of our... guests... here until a search can be conducted of their quarters."

"Just once, just one time, I wish things could be simple with the Vulcan Fleet. Just one time. But apparently that's too much to ask. All right, Commander. Lieutenant Reed is on his way to go over their quarters. Meanwhile he'll send a pair of guards to relieve you. Do you recommend putting them in the brig?"

Both Vulcans were sitting in rigid disapproval. T'Pol considered, and told the comm, "I do not think that will be required at this time, Captain. However, I suggest keeping the option open."

"Fine. We'll do it your way for now. Archer out."

The comm went dead and Solis offered, in a reasonable tone, "I believe that once again you have exaggerated, Commander. I dispute that you have any just cause to accuse us of deliberate deception."

"Of course you do," T'Pol told him shortly. "We will accept your denials as given and expected. If I were inexperienced in mind melding, your attempt might have succeeded Unfortunately for you, I have been involved in multiple mind melds, involuntary as well as voluntary. I have also studied the subject in some depth, since I was once infected with Pa'anar in the days before any self-respecting Vulcan healer would bother treating me. A telepathic block such as you describe would be impossible for a non-telepath to maintain without assistance. Further, only a telepath of considerable natural strength and extensive training would be capable of withstanding the probes of a trained Vulcan."

"If you believe this," Solis asked, "why did you not state this during the prior meeting?"

"I needed to check some reference works for positive confirmation," T'Pol explained. "Also, there was no logical reason to provoke my Human shipmates with additional proof of Vulcan duplicity. They are already near their limit of tolerance with your unending pattern of dishonesty. Revealing your latest attempt to circumvent an agreement might have triggered unfortunate results. It might still do so, if I inform Captain Archer of the full details prior to our arrival at Risa."

"Noted," Solis said sourly. He shot Jowan a glance that was less than flattering. The big man did not respond.

#

Damin opened the cargo bay hatch with tired resignation. This wasn't going to be fun, given Vulcan stubbornness and the mood both of the Andorians were in. At least there wasn't likely to be any bloodshed. He hoped.

"Llahir, Senek," he called. "Both of you are wanted in the control room. Consultation with the command staff." He added, "Leave all weapons here."

The Vulcans traded looks while Raijiin sent a telepathic query his way. Damin kept his shields strictly intact and his expression impervious. With a graceful bow he gestured the older males through the portal and dogged it shut behind them all. No questions were asked on the way to, and up, the access ladder. When Damin made it to the top of the ladder he found Jenrali in his usual spot, Sehlra in the co-pilot's seat, Llahir in the Ops seat and Senek seated in meditation position on the only open patch of floor available in the tiny room. Damin finished climbing and seated himself at the edge of the access way, letting his legs dangle.

"We want information," Jenrali opened brusquely. "T'Riss and Daniel want to get married, but the girl's family has another boy picked out for her. They're all planning to meet up at Risa. Daniel expects to fight; T'Riss says he won't have to. We want you to tell us what's likely to happen."

Senek looked troubled. "This is disquieting. Do I understand correctly that if her family refuses Daniel, T'Riss intends to choose the challenge?"

"Yes," Jenrali told them. "Besides, Daniel said he wants to keep the girl no matter what."

"Then it is essentially her only option," Llahir said bluntly. "The Human boy is correct. If her family does not accept him, he will have to kill her family's intended in single combat."

"Not... quite... her only option," Senek objected, looking deeply unhappy.

"Now you're getting to what we want to know," Sehlra spoke up. "She said that it won't make any difference, because she just won't accept their choice no matter what her family says. T'Riss told me that her family will throw her out, but she expects that anyway. So if she's out, they won't have any reason to force a fight. Is that true?"

Senek winced. "This is..." He looked at Llahir, who returned his look with an expression equally dismayed. "This is a situation that almost never happens," Senek continued. "For a clan to disown a member is a terrible thing. The one disowned almost invariably ends their own life. A Vulcan without family is a person without a place or an identity. Very nearly not a person at all. "

"She'll have family," Sehlra said angrily. "Might not be greenblood, but she'll have family. But do you think they'll do it?"

"They might," Senek admitted. "It will depend to a great extent on the character of her parents and their commitment to traditional standards. The young woman has suffered a great deal, which many people would argue provides extenuating circumstances." He thought hard. "It is impossible to predict," Senek finally said. "But I can tell you that such an action is extremely rare. And in case you are wondering, there is no option for her to withdraw from the clan by her own choice."

"So Daniel will most likely have to fight." Jenrali brooded. "The boy's not in good shape yet, but he says he'll be up to about half strength by the time we get there."

"That is unlikely to be sufficient," Llahir pointed out. "The lirpa is a heavy weapon. And the ahn-woon requires both strength and dexterity to wield effectively."

Sehlra said grimly, "Daniel said he's using Human weapons."

Both Vulcans blinked. "I had not considered that," Senek said thoughtfully. "There is actually no explicit requirement for the lirpa and ahn-woon. They are customary, of course."

"He told me," Sehlra glared, "that all the rules say is that he has to fight. Doesn't specify what weapons he has to use."

"In the strictest possible interpretation of the ancient inscriptions," Llahir said thoughtfully, "the boy is correct. Certainly no Human weapon would be considered inherently superior to its Vulcan equivalent. I can foresee no logical reason for a priest to object if Daniel chooses to use his own weapons."

"What would happen," Damin asked quietly, "if she just told them that she was going to marry Daniel? And there was nothing they could do about it? Then they went ahead and got married on Risa?"

"In such a case," Senek said, "there would actually be a relatively high probability of a breach between T'Riss and her family. I do not care to speculate whether it would progress to the point of actually severing her from her clan. But there would surely be long term conflict over the matter."

"What are Daniel's chances in a fight against a Vulcan?" Damin wanted to know.

"Ordinarily," Jenrali considered, "I'd say about two to one in his favor against a Vulcan civilian. Against a trained Vulcan soldier, about 3 to 2 against. He's studied the fighting arts all his life, and he's been through a few. But right now the boy is at a disadvantage. He claims that a young Human like him can put on muscle and bone mass pretty fast as long as he works himself to exhaustion and gorges himself on meat all the way there."

Sehlra growled unhappily. "I looked into that. Their old armies used to use that method for beating raw recruits into battle condition quickly. It works, but the damage it inflicts on their bodies will twist your antenna to read. What he gains in skeletal muscle he's paying for in other ways."

"For everything there is a price," Llahir said philosophically. "Will it kill the boy to do this?" He seemed only mildly interested.

"Not... quite," Sehlra said reluctantly. "Probably not. As long as I keep careful watch on him."

"Then I can only recommend," Senek stood up, "assisting him to gain as much strength as possible prior to our arrival. Unless T'Riss sincerely intends to break off all contact with her family, there is a high probability that Daniel will, in fact, be forced to fight."

"Then he'll be ready," Jenrali showed his teeth. Sehlra's antennae drew back and darkened. Damin silently sighed to himself and started climbing down to clear the ladder.

#

Solis waited out his period of enforced idleness with resigned patience, seated at the dining table with his hands folded before him. Jowan had his eyes closed in meditation. Trained security operatives learned very early that waiting was integral to their job. T'Pol admitted the two Human security guards without offering an additional word to her fellow Vulcans. She briefed the Humans succinctly, "Watch them. Keep them here. Keep your weapons in your hands at all times, set to stun. If they stand up, shoot them. Wait for further orders." They acknowledged her command and she walked out, looking less than pleased. The two Humans took positions in opposite corners of the room and seated themselves on the unoccupied chairs, looking professionally alert.

It was a long and restful interlude.

Precisely four hours after the Human guards arrived, a new pair of Humans came to relieve them. The new pair offered greater variety, since one of them alternated between sitting and standing at random intervals.

The third set of guards had been on duty for three hours and nine minutes when Lieutenant Reed arrived. He informed Solis, "You have been assigned new quarters. Follow me." He told the two Human guards, "Accompany us at the rear." They passed through the Human dining area, a large place full of noxious odors and cacophonous noises, gathering stares and a growing circle of silence. A half corridor, a brief turbolift ride, another corridor and two turns later brought them to a nondescript door in what Solis deduced were crew quarters.

Reed turned and told them bluntly, "By order of Commander T'Pol, these are your new quarters. You will share them. You are authorized to leave them twice per day for meals, once at 0600 and once at 1800. Each meal period is not to exceed thirty minutes. You will be escorted to the Mess Hall and back. Side excursions will not be permitted. Two guards will be on duty outside the door at all times. The internal comm has been disabled. If you require assistance, inform the guards. As required under Human law, I hereby inform you that you may, or you may not, be placed under surveillance at some point pursuant to the investigation of a crime." He stood aside and keyed the locking mechanism.

The door slid aside and they entered while their guards took positions outside. The room contained a two-tier bunk, a pair of small lockers, and a worktable. The worktable displayed a truncated base to show that the monitor had been removed. There was room, barely, for the two of them to pass each other in front of the bunks. A narrow hatch led into what appeared to be a compact sanitary facility with shower. There was a single viewport.

Solis stood beside the worktable and regarded Jowan, who held position near the bunks and returned his stare. Solis adjusted the position of the chair and used the hand movement to gesture, in security sign language, "Explain."

Jowan sat down on the lower bulk carefully, triggering a dismaying series of creaks. He remarked, "This situation is unfortunate." He looked at the lockers and replied in sign language, "Necessary."

Of course, if Commander T'Pol was viewing, or eventually did view, the recordings herself, their efforts would be futile. As a former operative she would be fluent in sign language. Solis reflected that it was ironic for them to be using this particular form of communication to evade Human monitors, since the concept for it was originally derived from Human sign language for the deaf.

On Vulcan, only the very aged had traditionally held any hope of surviving deafness. A clan elder could count on his or her descendants being available to attend and provide written transcripts of any needed information. But for a younger Vulcan, deaf meant dead. Without keen hearing to provide early warning, the ever-present dangers of the Vulcan desert would swiftly eliminate such a handicapped individual.

When the first Vulcan visitors to Earth had learned of this silent form of communication they were fascinated. The entire concept had simply never occurred to Vulcans. Although sign language was useless to Vulcans for its intended purpose, its potential applications in other areas were blatantly obvious.

Solis turned to look out the port. "Unfortunate indeed. Commander T'Pol seems determined to cling to her illogical conclusions." With one hand clasping the other wrist behind his back, Solis used his free hand to swiftly sign the word, "Why?"

He turned back to see Jowan gingerly attempting to stretch out on the bunk, which was several centimeters too short for him. Jowan was simultaneously the largest and the most subtle of all his operatives. The man's huge size, massive musculature, and rough hewn features tended to intimidate most people who did not know him well. Jowan also possessed a rough, sub-bass voice that rumbled like a rockslide, and he had a habit of never speaking unless spoken to. Few but the most observant suspected the razor sharp intellect or the wily resourcefulness that lurked behind Jowan's heavy lidded gaze.

The big man turned his sleepy looking eyes toward Solis and casually made the sign for "dangerous." Then he said, "I suspect that Commander T'Pol's association with Humans has distorted her judgment." He dropped one hand to his side at the edge of the bed and made the sign for "knowledge."

Solis tensed. He moved casually toward the lockers and opened them in sequence. "It seems that our possessions have been transferred, no doubt after being thoroughly handled by several members of the crew," he said distastefully. He closed the second locker door and moved toward the shower area, dropping his hand and making the sign for "specify."

"I doubt that it will make much difference," Jowan said indifferently. "The Human odor is ubiquitous. I find it inconceivable that T'Pol has managed to adapt to it, given female olfactory sensitivity."

"Further evidence to support your theory that association with Humans has changed her," Solis pointed out, turning back to face the bunk. Jowan was still facing away from him, looking toward the port and the worktable. But he reached up to adjust the reading light attached to the wall above his pillow and made two signs. One was "council," and then two seconds later, "compromised". He brought his hand back down.

Solis felt icy fear advance along the length of his nervous system. As someone holding crewman rank, Jowan had no way of knowing about V'Las and his Romulan connections. That information was restricted to Intelligence and Security officers of centurion rank or above, and even then, only on a need-to-know basis. Solis had only been informed because the Sehlat's mission would send it into close proximity with Romulan space. It had been considered logical to provide him with all available data.

Either the prisoner had known about V'Las, and now Jowan also knew, or...

... or there was another Romulan mole on the High Council, one who had not yet been discovered. In either case, it was imperative that the Humans not discover this information under any circumstances. At worst, it might prove necessary to eliminate the prisoner. Even as he considered it, Solis felt sick at the thought of killing a helpless woman. But the needs of the many outweighed the needs of the few, or the one.

Regardless, Jowan had acted properly in concealing the information from the Humans. Solis's simmering irritation with his assistant was extinguished, to be replaced with professional approval for his quick thinking and swift reaction. The young man deserved a special notation in his file for this, and he would receive it as soon as they returned to their ship.

Meanwhile, they still had many wearisome days to endure until arriving on Risa. He wondered if Commander T'Pol would be willing to provide them with reading material.

#

Namala sat at her desk sipping her morning tea and balancing the month's accounts on her console. Through the large picture window facing the rear garden she could see old Mateo the gardener spreading mulch around her ladyship's Risian nightbloomers. They were virtually the only native plants in the garden. Her ladyship preferred exotic to local in almost everything.

It was just after sunrise, and moisture still glittered on the foliage from the early morning rain which had ceased precisely at dawn, as scheduled. The scent of fresh baked bread wafted in from the kitchen next door, and Namala was just contemplating taking a short break to stroll through the kitchen for a taste test when Karin the upstairs maid rushed in without knocking, breathless and with her once neatly bound brown curls springing free of their confinement. She was a sweet little thing, and a willing worker.

"Mistress Namala, her ladyship is asking for you. She insists that you come at once." The girl looked frightened. It was an understandable reaction. Lady Arithnae was a frightening individual.

Namala saved the document before her, powered down the screen, and gave the child a reassuring smile. "Did her ladyship mention why?" she inquired. The request was unusual. The owner of Woodshaven House, a "lady" only by virtue of her outright purchase of the hereditary title, rarely bestirred herself to demand anything so early in the day. Karin grimaced.

"Amelie left, ma'am. I don't think she's coming back this time." Amalie was—or rather had been—her ladyship's body servant.

Namala raised a brow and prompted patiently, "And I take it she left before assisting her ladyship with her morning toilette." Karin looked at her feet and gave a nervous nod.

"Yes, ma'am. Amelie came downstairs crying with her nose all bloodied…said that no amount of pay was worth it…" The girl's voice trailed off in a hesitant fashion. Namala closed her eyes and sighed. She tried not to question the ways of her betters, but the woman was going to be making up her own bed and cooking her own meals soon if she kept this up. Namala was already forced to pay the newly hired domestics twice the going rate to compensate for her ladyship's volatile behavior. She pasted a polite smile on her face and pushed back from the desk.

"Thank you, Karin. You may return to your duties." The girl nodded and left the room looking relieved, no doubt grateful that she had not been instructed to fill in for her absent coworker. Although the duties of a body servant were usually less demanding than those of an upstairs maid and thus generally more desirable, in this particular instance Namala knew that she needed to take a hand in it herself and have a discussion with the lady of the house. Her position as steward of Woodshaven House didn't entirely protect her from dismissal, but she certainly had a better foothold than poor little Karin.

Entering the hallway from her tiny office behind the kitchen, Namala stopped at the large gilt-framed mirror on the wall for a livery check. It wouldn't do to expect proper appearance from her subordinates without requiring it of herself. The traditional livery colors of Woodshaven House were maroon and grey. In Namala's case, the day's uniform consisted of a maroon blazer with the house crest embroidered on her left breast pocket over grey trousers and a crisply starched white shirt. She filled out the trousers a bit more now, but otherwise it was the same uniform she'd worn every day for at least a decade. She pulled her cuffs through and straightened her shoulders. It would have to do.

With her grey-streaked blonde hair pulled into a chignon at the nape of her neck and her reading glasses on, Namala reflected, she was looking more and more like her mother's mother every day. The resemblance pained her. She was only fifty-five years old; too young to look like anyone's old granny. Since the stewardship had fallen to her after Gerod's death she'd had precious little time to be concerned about her appearance, though, and she was a grandmother—six times over thanks to two very fecund daughters-in-law, so the resemblance really shouldn't bother her as much as it did.

Vanity serves no useful purpose. And if you still looked like you did twenty-five years ago you'd be no good in this job. Who'd listen to a wisp of a girl?

She mounted the staircase at the end of the hall up to the second floor, which housed the master bedroom suite, and knocked firmly on the massive carved doors.

"Come in, Namala! Don't dawdle!" came an impatient voice from inside. Namala took a deep cleansing breath, set her face in a pleasantly attentive expression and pushed the double doors open.

Arithnae was still in bed, clothed in a black satin dressing gown and very likely nothing else—judging from the single puzzled inquiry Namala had received from the laundry staff regarding the whereabouts of her ladyship's nightclothes when Arithnae had first taken possession of Woodshaven House eighteen months ago. Arithnae had a breakfast tray across her lap and had laid aside the padd she was reading to regard Namala sternly.

"You really must find me a decent body servant, Namala. The new girl spilled tea on the bedclothes trying to serve me this morning."

Namala stepped up to the bed and removed the tray, making note of the tea stain on the coverlet. It would require special cleaning. The girl had been careless, but no amount of carelessness merited being struck. Apparently, the difference between discipline and assault was not an easily understandable concept for her ladyship. They'd been through this before.

"I'm very sorry, my lady," she said, setting the tray aside to assist Arithnae out of bed and to the chair beside her dressing table. "I will begin interviewing candidates today." Assuming she'd be able to find any, of course.

Namala picked up a brush and began pulling it gently through Arithnae's shining black hair, from the crown of her head, over her distinctly pointed ears, and down to the midpoint of her back. There wasn't a single grey strand in it, nor did she dye it, although Namala strongly suspected based on what she'd managed to glean from business records that the woman was at least as old as she was. Judging from her appearance, if not her behavior, Namala thought it likely that Arithnae was part Vulcan. She'd read that Vulcans lived twice as long as most other species—certainly twice as long as Risians, at least—and aged very slowly. Beyond that she chose not to speculate. "Although, as we have discussed before," she began carefully, "you might find your servants more eager to please if you refrain from striking them, my lady. In my experience, fear is a poor motivator if one wishes to foster true loyalty." Namala kept her tone and expression neutral and held her breath while she brushed, poised for an explosion.

Instead, Arithnae raised one elegant brow in the mirror. "How long have you been in service at Woodshaven House, Namala?" The question held a subtle threat.

"I began drawing a salary at age fourteen, my lady, helping my mother in the kitchen," Namala replied. She laid the brush on the marble countertop, gathered a lock of hair at the crown of Arithnae's head in a practiced motion, and began braiding. For several seconds she felt Arithnae's gaze focused intently upon her.

"In my experience, fear is the only motivation one can trust," the woman countered. "And loyalty is grossly overrated."

"Perhaps you are right, my lady," shrugged Namala as she coiled and pinned. "I lack your wider experience. But the house accounts will suffer if we are forced to increase salaries again to retain personnel."

Arithnae didn't reply, but she didn't seem angry, either. Relieved by the woman's unexpectedly reasonable reaction to her advice, Namala pinned up the last neat coil, concealing the tips of both ears as her ladyship preferred, and stepped back to allow her mistress to inspect the result. "May I help you with anything else this morning, my lady?" Arithnae turned her head in each direction and then gave a satisfied nod.

"No, Namala. That will be all. When the Betazoid ambassador arrives I will receive her in the library."

Namala collected the breakfast tray from the side table. "Very good, my lady," she replied, and stepped through the doors of the master bedroom suite.

Karin was waiting at the doorway out of sight of the interior of the bedchamber. She shut the doors behind Namala. The look of gratitude on Karin's face gave Namala a pang of remorse. What, after all, had she done to improve the girl's lot? Arithnae was most unlikely to change her ways. The best Namala could hope to do for Karin would be to avoid promoting her until a supervisory position opened in the kitchen or the laundry, although she was so meek and hard-working that she'd probably get along better as a body servant than that cheekie little Amelie had done.

Namala acknowledged Karin's assistance with a smile and a nod. "Please wait to change her ladyship's bedclothes until after she descends to the library…and be sure to call the laundry's attention to the tea stains on the coverlet."

Karin bobbed her head with an eager smile. "Yes, ma'am." But Namala barely heard her. Something about the exchange had given her an idea. She descended the staircase to the kitchen with the breakfast tray, wondering whether it would cause a scandal if she recruited her ladyship's next body servant from the pleasure quarter. Surely there was at least one worker there who would find Arithnae's methods of discipline at the very least tolerable, if not frankly pleasurable. She decided that scandal was unlikely once the rumor mill had clarified the situation. Risians were very liberal in matters of pleasure.

#

"Are you serious?" Raijiin demanded in a harsh whisper. She craned her neck to inspect the opposite side of the room. None of the other passengers seemed to be paying them any mind. She returned her attention to Senek, who sat beside her on the bunk with a stolid expression on his face. "You can't be serious. You claim Vulcans don't joke, but you cannot possibly mean this."

Senek looked reproving. "Why would anyone think such a subject is amusing?"

Raijiin gaped. In preparation for her current assignment she'd read everything she'd been given concerning Vulcan culture, including a very thorough treatise on Vulcan marriage customs. She'd assumed when reading about certain rituals that the descriptions were primarily of historical interest. Apparently not.

"And I thought Humans were savage," she hissed. "This is appalling. You're going to force them to fight over her? Like wild Qorthu? I can't believe any sentient race, especially one that has achieved space flight, would do something like this!"

"I am not going to force them to do anything," Senek corrected her.

Raijiin sputtered in righteous indignation. Llahir had walked over and been observing silently for a few moments. Now he spoke up. "Raijiin. Will you hear me?"

She eyed him, sighed, then closed her eyes and nodded. "Perhaps we could sit?" he suggested. Raijiin gritted her teeth and allowed Llahir to lead her over to the most private corner available. She took a seat on the edge of the lower bunk. He sat beside her and waited. She studied his scarred face, baffled by his complacency. He'd been through more than his fair share of hand to hand combat. He knew precisely what it was like to be forced to kill or be killed.

"How? How can you approve of this?"

He looked calmly at her. "Perhaps I am a savage."

She shook her head strongly. "No. I won't believe that. But I don't understand." It frustrated her that she could so rarely sense his feelings without touching him, and then only faintly. Since their relationship now revolved around the knife fighting lessons he was giving her, all she normally sensed from him was intense concentration. He took their lessons very seriously. Occasionally, though, some very intriguing impressions made it through. The mystery he posed was quite irresistible to her. At the moment, though, her primary emotion was annoyance."

Llahir regarded her. "Do you agree that any sentient life form desires to survive and reproduce?"

"Of course," Raijiin retorted. It was an obvious truism.

"There have been those," Llahir continued, "who have ventured the suggestion," he paused to look carefully at her, "that the only true purpose of life is to continue itself. In effect, the purpose of life is to live. To survive and to reproduce effectively."

"All right," Raijiin conceded. "I suppose so. What of it? How is this relevant to forcing those young men to fight like animals?"

"Like animals?" Llahir considered. "I suppose that is a fair statement. Since they are not plants, protists, or any other genera, I suppose it is logical to classify them as animals."

"You are being deliberately-" He put his hand over her mouth. She stopped in astonishment. For Llahir to deliberately initiate physical contact outside of their regular training sessions was unheard of.

"Listen to me," he told her quietly. "I am attempting to make a point." She nodded silently. Llahir took his fingers from her lips and Raijiin immediately put hers in place of them. She touched the same spot that he had in wonder. With physical contact, unclouded by the emotional fog of combat training, her extreme sensitivity had detected a very definite feeling of concern for her—concern based on and derived from an underlying affection. She could not recall the last time anyone had felt real affection for her.

"Do you recall telling me," he asked her, "that when you agreed to obtain information for the Xindi to be used in the bio-weapon you thought their effort was justified at the time because they told you that the Humans were trying to destroy their people?"

Raijiin flinched and looked away. "Yes. But I didn't know."

"Understood," Llahir said. "However, at the time you believed the Xindi when they told you that the Humans were trying to kill them. You believed them when they told you that they needed the information in order to protect their people. Is this not correct? And because of this, you considered your actions justified. At least until you had spent some time with the Humans and learned that you were misinformed."

"Yes." She swallowed bile.

"Therefore," Llahir proceeded, "you must believe that a life form, or a species, has the inherent right to defend itself. To fight, if need be, to survive?"

Her eyes beseeched him. "But you don't need to do this." She hesitated. "Do you?"

"We must live," he told her. "To live, we must have mates… not only to reproduce, but simply to survive. You are aware of this." She nodded.

"But couldn't you," Raijiin stopped and sought for words. "Couldn't you set things up in a peaceful arrangement? Some kind of... of logical way?"

"Yes. We can, and we do," he informed her. "Each of us is betrothed in childhood. When the time is appropriate, we are drawn by the mating instinct to our chosen partner for marriage." He paused with a peculiarly wistful expression on his face. "Or at least, that is the customary sequence of events." Raijiin studied him for a moment. He seemed preoccupied. She recalled, then, the briefing Senek had given her when they'd first retrieved Llahir from the Romulans. Llahir had spent thirty years undercover. Any woman he might have left behind on Vulcan had long since given up on him. He'd no doubt been forced to seek a Romulan mate, she knew. Were Romulans capable of mating bonds? She wasn't sure. But he'd likely left a woman and maybe even children behind when he returned to Vulcan custody.

Thirty years was what? Four ponfarrs? Four women? Four children, perhaps? She decided not to think about it. Allowing herself to be disturbed by the idea was the ultimate in hypocrisy. The thought of ponfarrs did make her wonder something else, though."Is T'Riss? Is she about to...?"

"I do not know," Llahir said. "That is not something discussed with non-family. But it does not matter. She has chosen Daniel as her new mate. If her family does not accept him, which they are not likely to do, then he will be forced to prove himself in combat."

"Prove himself." Raijiin clenched her teeth. "Does this happen often?"

"Almost never," Llahir replied. "But you must understand. Our world is not a gentle one. If T'Riss is to have a mate, her family must be certain that he will be able and willing to protect her and her children from the constant dangers that will beset them."

"And how," Raijiin's voice was thick with sarcasm, "does killing another person in a fight qualify a man to protect his wife from thirst, or predators, or a carnivorous plant?"

Llahir raised his brow in amusement. "Although the combat does provide the opportunity to assess the candidate's strength, speed, and agility, such a test is not the primary purpose of the confrontation. The real purpose is to ensure that the man who marries her is willing to die for her if called upon to do so."

Raijiin sat motionless, staring at him while preconceptions shattered and rearranged themselves in her mind.

#

Daniel had to grab his pants leg to lift his right foot over the threshold of his quarters. Then he dragged his left leg across and let it flop down. T'Riss looked up from her reading at the desk with deep concern. He half-smiled at her and struggled to pull a small object out of his sweat pants pocket.

"I'm still working on the other two, but I thought I'd show you this to see if it fits… so I have time to fix it if it doesn't before we get to Risa," he said in a weary voice. Then he extended his hand. On his palm was a silvery circular object. She rose from the desk, mostly to keep him from falling down in a heap where he stood, but also out of curiosity. "It's a ring…for your finger," he explained. "Among my ancestors on Earth, once the woman accepted the man's proposal of marriage she'd wear a ring on her finger…" He reached down, took her left hand in his, and indicated her fourth digit. "On this one… to show everyone that she was engaged to be married." He held up the ring. It was made of platinum wire braided together in a complex filigree pattern that looked never-ending. T'Riss rarely wore jewelry, but she'd never seen anything so beautiful. "I'm sorry there's no stone," said Daniel with an apologetic grimace, "But I didn't think dilithium was pretty enough, and it's the only crystallized mineral we have aboard." T'Riss, with her right arm still wrapped around Daniel's waist to support him, picked the ring up gingerly between her left thumb and forefinger and held it up to the light. The wire was buffed to a gleaming shine. With some effort she could see the faint lines of the tiny welds Daniel had used to join the ends of the wires together. The intricacy of the work left her speechless. She studied the small object, concrete proof of Daniel's intentions, and then placed it back in his palm. His mouth twisted briefly. "Yeah… I guess it is pretty lame…" he told her, and closed his hand, moving to put the ring back in his pocket. She grasped his wrist.

"No, Daniel," she said softly. "You misunderstand." She released his wrist and extended her left hand toward him, looking him straight in the eyes. "Will you place it on my finger, ashayam? My other hand is otherwise occupied." She waited, still supporting him while her request penetrated his weary brain. A second later he smiled. Then he put the ring on her finger. It fit perfectly. He bent to kiss her and nearly fell over.

"What have you done to yourself?" T'Riss scolded. He could barely stand upright.

"Muscle cramps," he gasped. "Hot water…"

She managed to get his sweatshirt and underlying t-shirt off by dint of standing on her tip-toes and bending him over. His pants were simpler. She just yanked sweatpants and underwear down to his ankles, then pulled them, along with his gym shoes, off at once.

"Bless you, my lady," Daniel groaned, and staggered for the shower. T'Riss followed with concern growing deeper.

"Daniel, you overexerted yourself to an unsupportable degree," she decided. "This cannot continue." Daniel made no reply. He turned on the water and set it to maximum heat. T'Riss pressed her lips together and stepped back into the sleeping area to undress quickly. When she joined him in the shower Daniel's eyes popped open.

"T'Riss," he gulped. "Look, we agreed. This isn't fair."

"We agreed that I would claim you in front of my family," she told him. "I also agreed not to insist on completing the bonding until I had spoken to them." She filled her hand with soap and began gently working it into his chest muscles. He groaned. "I will keep my part of the agreement." Her hand dropped lower. He gasped. "However, if you should decide, for whatever reason, that you wish to renegotiate I will not complain." She raised up and kissed him. "Now relax and let me help you." To her relief, he did so.

She massaged his quivering muscles in systematic fashion, using every bit of skill she'd acquired in the weeks she'd spent exploring his body, discovering his pleasure centers. Several times he whimpered and nearly fell, but she held him up. As she worked, ignoring her own needs entirely to focus on him, the skin contact between them allowed her to sense both a marginal decrease in his pain and a significant increase in his sexual frustration. His physical response to her touch was obvious, but he was in no condition to do anything about it.

Finally, T'Riss shut off the water and steered him to the air dryer vent. While the jets blew warm air at him from multiple directions, she went to work with a soft towel turning and wiping him down. He nearly fell over, semi-conscious. She had to half carry him to the bunk, and tucked him in without bothering to dress him. He winced reflexively when she helped him settle his arms and legs.

"This is not acceptable, Daniel," she told him softly. "Again, I am causing you pain."

"No," he murmured. "Feels good. Warm. Nice 'n warm."

Her warmth offered him comfort? Excellent.

T'Riss slid in behind him, also still nude, and pressed herself against his back. Daniel sighed in relief and relaxed against her. The complete body contact, along with Daniel's exhausted state, amplified the bond to something very near to a melding experience. She could feel every throbbing ache, every sore muscle that screamed when he moved as if he were being stabbed. The pain was as bad as any beating Natolya had ever administered—not as bad as the pain sticks the guards had used, but easily as bad as the mistress's whip.

Daniel was asleep already. T'Riss caressed his chest and took a deep breath of his scent. She had to do something. This could not continue.

I will not lose him. If I must fight the kalifee myself, I will. I cannot live without him now, and I have no intention of trying.

#

The Betazoid ambassador was, to be generous, a very ordinary looking and somewhat portly middle aged woman, a fact which surprised Namala. Before meeting Melaine, she'd never before met a homely Betazoid. What was even more surprising was the fact that Melaine of the Fifth House had not one, but two positively beautiful young men at her beck and call. Ostensibly, they were her secretary and her chauffeur, but Namala suspected that Melaine's boys did more than take notes and drive her around.

The one sitting beside Melaine—Baren, Namala assumed, since Trant was the chauffeur and presumably was with the car, although the two of them were so physically similar she had trouble telling them apart—rose to take the tea tray from Namala. He smiled an impossibly charming smile as he set the tray on a low table between Lady Arithnae and Melaine and began to pour the tea, an acrid brew Arithnae preferred. Arithnae took it unsweetened, as usual. Melaine had obviously tasted the stuff before, and held her cup out expectantly without saying anything. Baren dropped four cubes of sweetener in without missing a beat. He didn't serve himself.

Namala moved the tea tray to the sideboard and began dishing out servings of fruit with sweet cream, trying not to think of all of the more useful things she could be doing. Unfortunately, Morriston the butler had given his notice shortly after the departure of her ladyship's body servant that morning. Young Amelie was apparently his second cousin's eldest daughter. Namala wasn't against nepotism, per se. There were three members of her immediate family on staff. But it was inconvenient at times.

Behind her, Arithnae and Melaine continued their discussion. Baren settled back into his seat and took up his padd and stylus with an attentive expression. "These so-called 'Darkblades' are most definitely not a legally recognized Betazoid House, my lady," Melaine asserted. "On my home planet they are, at best, an impediment to honest businesswomen attempting to make a legitimate profit."

"I have heard that the laws on Betazed regulating commerce penalize the lesser houses to such an extent that it is virtually impossible for a business to succeed unless it is sponsored by one of the greater houses," Arithnae countered, "And that the Darkblades ensure that lesser houses have a competitive opportunity."

"If you call midnight assassinations of elected officials who refuse to give preference to lesser houses over their betters 'ensuring a competitive opportunity'," scoffed Melaine. Arithnae inclined her head. Namala stepped up with her tray to offer the fruit dishes, noting that Arithnae seemed impressed rather than dismayed by the news of the Darkblades' tactics. Melaine took a dish with a distractedly polite smile. Arithnae waved Namala away with a perfunctory motion.

"I see," she said in a dry tone. "And so, I assume that you are requesting my assistance with the local chapter of this organization in an attempt to prevent loss of life." Namala turned away with the tray, set it on the sideboard, and busied herself wiping down the spotless varnished surface with a hand towel, quite unnecessarily, and listening. No one seemed to notice.

"Of course, my lady" Melaine returned with an ingratiating smile. "I wouldn't impose upon you for a lesser reason."

"Specifically what sort of assistance do you require, and what payment do you propose?" inquired Arithnae, getting directly to the point. It was a good question. Arithnae was in the import/export business. Unrestricted trade was in her best interests. It seemed to Namala that the Darkblades were the people she should be negotiating with, not this woman. And unless Arithnae had ties that Namala wasn't privy to, exactly how she might be able to help with such a problem was also a mystery.

"The Darkblades have called in some very dangerous assistance," replied Melaine. "We can't afford to allow him on planet. We'd like some help to…prevent his arrival."

#

"This won't work, lad. You're in no shape to stand a watch," Jenrali told him. "You can barely sit there."

"I'll loosen up in a few minutes," Daniel promised. "I just need a little time to stretch things out and get the blood flowing." He shifted carefully in his seat, using both arms to adjust his legs and reposition himself. "It's only for two or three days until the soreness goes away," he explained. "After that, I'll keep getting stronger and faster."

"Until then, what happens if we have an emergency?" Jenrali snorted.

"That's what adrenalin is for," Daniel grinned. "In a real emergency I'm immune to pain, remember?"

"Pah," Jenrali grimaced. "Much good it does you. After the fight's over, you collapse like a sack of wet snow."

"That's the point," Daniel said. "Once the fight's over, I can afford to collapse." He started scanning the immediate area. "Need to make a slight course correction, Boss. Data heading your way." He pressed a key to send the stream to the piloting console. "Probably that pulsar yesterday threw off the nav comp."

"Most likely," Jenrali agreed, making the adjustments. "So tell me what kind of-"

"Damin to control room! Romulan under cloak is closing at attack speed!"

"Shit," Daniel said mildly. "They're worse than Orions." He activated the internal alarm system. "Phase cannon charging. Torpedos active. Hull plating energized."

"Any luck spotting him?" Jenrali asked, keeping his voice under control as well. The ladder rungs started clanging in a doppler effect as T'Riss bounded up the access shaft and dove for the co-pilot's seat.

"Not yet, Captain," Daniel reported crisply. "Using the algorithms and modified setting that we used - there he is... heading 102.6X by 1322Y by 33.4Z."

"Got it, Lad." Jenrali twisted Lerteiran and dove directly for the cloaked ship. On Daniel's screen it seemed as if the Romulan paused for a moment as if astonished before starting to dodge.

"Target attempting to evade, adjusted heading 89.14X by 26.02Y by 37.54Z," Daniel reported. "Get me five seconds of steady bead and I'll rip him."

"If I could get five seconds steady I could beat him open with my boots, lad," Jenrali growled. "Hold on." The engine's normal hum rose to a whine, then up through a moan to an anguished scream. The ship's structure started vibrating with stress as Jenrali rotated her through a barrel roll.

"How. Many. Times! Do I have to tell you! This is not an iceworm forsaken battle cruiser!"

"Sehlra's not even cursing," Daniel pointed out, "That's a real good sign." He leaned forward. "Target acquired. No. Target not acquired. It won't lock on. Dammit!"

"The distortion of the holographic field is no doubt interfering," T'Riss said. "Perhaps this will help." She sent an augmented replication of the starfield to Daniel's terminal. "Can you use the additional data points to supplement the manual firing lock?"

"I can sure try." He grinned at her and fed the data into the fire control console. "Oh yeah. That did it. Beautiful, warm, and handy in a fight. Hot dang." Jenrali laughed. Daniel stole a quick glance to see T'Riss hunched over her board. Her ear tips were green.

Jenrali brought the ship around in a sudden arcing curve and lined up her bow perfectly. Daniel's fingers flew across his board. "Getting it... got it! Firing." All over the ship, lights dimmed and air circulation slowed as the cannon sucked life from the reactor.

From the bow of Lerteiran, a log-thick blast of energy leaped across space to sweep through the distortion that wrapped the Romulan ship. The cloak wasn't disturbed, but a spray of minor debris suddenly erupted from apparent nothingness. The sensors on Lerteiran registered a course change on the part of the sensor anomaly. It turned and headed away from them at warp four.

"Interesting," Daniel said. "Never heard of a Romulan running before."

"Nor I." T'Riss looked concerned.

"Get that Betazoid up here," Jenrali growled. "I want some answers and he has them."

She pressed the comm. "Damin to the control room."

#

Sehlra looked at him. "Well?" The look in her eyes was bad enough. The thoughts behind the look hurt much worse. "Don't lie to me anymore, Damin. I saw your face. I felt it when you learned something." She kept her eyes on him, ignoring the readout in front of her.

Damin looked away. She probably had. They had been together so often lately, shared so much, and so deeply, that a bonding had formed. Andorians didn't bond as tightly as Vulcans, but the tlasp was by no means a superficial connection. And he had opened himself to her more than anyone else he could remember. She probably had already picked up more than he intended for her to know.

"I didn't lie," he said quietly. "Everything I told you was the truth. Every word. I admit that I didn't reveal everything about my past."

"So what I felt was right," Sehlra nodded in confirmation. "They weren't after the Vulcans."

"No. They were after me," Damin admitted tiredly.

"Why did they run?" Sehlra leaned against the console.

"Damin to the control room! Get your blasted pink hide up here, boy! Don't make me tell you again!"

Sehlra jabbed the comm button. "Dry your ice cutter, old man. I'm talking to him about something important right now. You can have him when I'm done and not before. If you don't like it, come down here yourself." She jabbed it again and turned back. "Why did they run?" she repeated.

"You already guessed it," he told her with a tiny smile. "Because they know what I can do and they didn't want to risk me picking up useful information in case they failed. When they realized that we could find them despite their cloak, they decided the risk was too high. "

"So tell me why." Sehlra looked like she would be willing to wait until he starved into submission. He slumped.

"I already told you that I was once an agent for the Tal Shiar." She nodded. "I didn't tell you that the commander of the Romulan ship we fought at the Orion station was my mother. She had been sent by the empire to kill me."

Sehlra didn't move. She didn't even seem to be breathing. Damin gritted his teeth and get the rest out before he lost his nerve. "They're never going to stop looking for me. That's why I..." He looked lost. Then he looked down. "I can't stay with you, no matter that I would rather lose my hands than lose you. But they will try again when we get to Risa. It is certain. I can't risk you and the others on this ship. As soon as we-"

She had him in a tight embrace before he knew she was in motion. "You're going nowhere, Damin. Enough foolish talk. You're not among Romulans now. We don't turn on our own here." Sehlra laid her forehead against his and brushed her antennae against his temples. Love, acceptance, pity, loyalty, and a host of other things overwhelmed him. His knees buckled. She caught him and helped him to the nearest seat. Which happened to be the only seat, actually.

"I can't," he protested, albeit feebly. "You don't know what they're capable of."

"They don't know what we're capable of either," she told him with a wry half-smile "You sit there. I'm going up to talk to Jenrali. Between you and Daniel, it sounds like we're going to have a busy visit to this pleasure planet. But then, I always did hate a boring shore leave."

#

T'Riss entered the hotel that her mother had designated with tension rising in direct proportion to proximity. As she walked into the lobby fear struck her like the massive fist of Natolya's chief bodyguard, directly into the abdomen. She held her face stiff and her spine upright while pacing with measured steps across the gleaming, inlaid floor to the information kiosk.

The live attendant, typical of Risian extravagance, directed her to the third floor, rear section. Rather than take the lift she decided that the stairs would be a useful outlet for her pent up frustrations. At least it would buy her a little more time to seek inner balance. But no matter how slowly she walked, she could not avoid the meeting forever.

T'Riss paused in the hallway briefly for a final adjustment of her appearance. The ship's coverall was relatively clean, except for Daniel's scent, which was precisely her intention. A smile flickered over her face. She looked down for a moment and gently polished her ring. Her left hand closed into a fist. The right hand rose to press the door comm.

"Enter"

The portal slid aside and T'Riss walked into the most sumptuous meeting room she had ever seen. The area was huge. A broad skylight illuminated a sparkling fountain against the right hand wall, which spilled into a meandering stream that curved across a third of the floor before disappearing into the far wall. Two low couches with an organically irregular table between them were situated in the center of a carpet that was ankle deep and softer than Sehlat fur. A bar for dispensing potables occupied the entire left hand wall, while the remaining space was occupied by artistic works of various types and subjects.

Her parents stood waiting.

T'Riss could not breathe. "How can I do this? Daniel, you were right, this will be the most difficult thing I have ever done. But they will disown me in any case. And how can I endure that? It has been so long..." The tears would not be denied, fight them though she did.

"Daughter." It was her father, offering her his smile, a rare treat reserved for her alone. Her mother expressed her love through her eyes without changing expression, a talent that T'Riss had always sought to emulate but never mastered. She shivered herself to stiff attention and brought up the ta'al.

"Peace and long life to you, Mother, Father. It is most agreeable to see you again. I trust that your journey was without incident." Her mother nodded approvingly, but her father's expression looked troubled. She had never been able to hide anything from him and probably never would.

"Our journey was uneventful, Daughter," her mother told her. "It is reassuring to see you apparently in good health. Come, be seated and speak with us."

Every muscle taut, T'Riss marched over to the indicated couch and perched on the edge. Her parents sat together on the other couch and regarded her. Her father said slowly, "The report we received from the Fleet was lacking in detail. Tell us of your condition, T'Riss-kan. How far have you progressed in your healing? Both in mind and body?"

T'Riss managed to answer calmly, "Physically, I am fully recovered. Mentally and emotionally I am damaged beyond repair." Both of her parents stiffened. "However, I have received treatment from a variety of sources, including a specialist healer-melder, and I am taking medication to assist me in maintaining stability."

"I am unwilling to accept the assertion that your injuries cannot be fully healed, Daughter," her mother told her, with the light of real concern in her eyes. "This is yet another point in favor of your betrothal with the young man we escorted here. He is a healer who intends to specialize as a healer-melder."

"And now it comes," T'Riss thought, closing her eyes.

"That will not be possible, Mother," she said flatly. "I am already betrothed." Her mother sat frozen, while her father merely raised an eyebrow quizzically.

"This is unexpected news," he told her with his usual tone of good humor. "It is generally customary to notify one's family in such circumstances."

"There was no feasible opportunity prior to our arrival, Father," T'Riss explained. He nodded.

"I am surprised that you have not brought the boy to meet us," his mother said grimly. "Is he aware of our arrival?"

"Yes," T'Riss told her. "He offered to accompany me. But I told him that I wished to confront you regarding this matter unassisted, at least at first."

"A confrontation should not be necessary," her father said. He shot a warning look toward his wife, who didn't seem impressed by it. "Perhaps the boy will be acceptable. At worst, the candidate that traveled with us will have made the trip for nothing, but that was always a possibility."

T'Riss sat up and squared her shoulders. "I believe that a confrontation will occur, since I am confident that you will not approve of my choice. However, since I also expect to be cast out of the clan it is of no consequence." She tightened her jawline and sat stiffly, looking at the far wall and refusing to meet their eyes.

Silence held sway in the room for a significant length of time. Finally her mother asked tightly, "Why do you believe that you will be cast out, T'Riss? What have you done? And what makes this boy so unacceptable?"

"I-"

She could not say it. Suddenly T'Riss found herself standing across the room, staring at the fountain with no memory of moving. Every emotion she could name, and many she could not, crashed and stormed within her.

"T'Riss." It was her father's voice, standing behind her. "Small One." It was his pet name for her as a child. "Look at me." She could not disobey him. He stood watching her with the same calm humor in his eyes that she remembered from years gone by. Her father crossed his arms and offered her the fingertip greeting that she had neglected when first entering. T'Riss felt her throat close in pain as she responded in kind. For the last time, she thought.

"No, Small One." Her father's thought came through the touch. The parental bond between them had always been unusually strong, but never had she heard him so clearly. He continued aloud, "It does not matter what you have done, or failed to do, T'Riss. I do not care. You are my daughter. You will be my daughter for all of time. If your mother's clan casts you out, you will still be my daughter. You cannot escape me, no matter what you do."

She collapsed against him and her control broke. T'Riss started crying in his arms as she had not done since she was four years old. He held her and stroked her hair, as he had on that long ago day when her sehlat had died of old age. She became vaguely aware of her mother approaching and putting a hand on her back. They stood together for a timeless age.

Finally T'Riss drained the fear which had been building for sixteen days. He meant it. If no one else stood with her, she would not lose her father. She raised her head timidly and saw her mother with a sad expression on her face. The sight was shocking. Her mother did not reveal her emotions.

T'Rel took T'Riss's cheeks between her palms tenderly. "Did you think we would abandon our own daughter?"

"You." She sniffed, her breaths still coming in spasmodic gasps. "You don't. Know. What I have done." T'Riss broke free and walked back toward the middle of the room, turning to face them as she gained some distance. "I surrendered. Most of the others died fighting. But I didn't. I surrendered. I let them capture me." She shuddered. "I let them make me a slave. A whore!" Her teeth started chattering and she hugged herself.

"Small One," her father, took her arm. "There is no need for this now."

"Yes. Father. There is," she insisted. "You must know. You must know what I am. What I did." Her mother took her other arm and her parents shared a look. They led her between them to the couch and sat her down.

"They trained us," T'Riss whispered, bending forward over her folded arms to stare at the fur carpet. "They raped us. All of us, all of the women who survived. The men too, some of them." One of her parents made a sound. She couldn't tell which one. "But that wasn't enough. They wanted us to serve them. So they beat us. When that did not work, they starved us and denied us water. Still it did not work." She took a breath. "Then they used Klingon pain sticks," she added, and shuddered. "Some of us broke after a while. The pain was indescribable. We were put to work... servicing... the Orion's... customers. Many of them paid well for the chance to use a Vulcan woman." She wrapped both arms around her chest and started rocking forward and back—an instinctive self-soothing motion.

They sat on either side of her, close and warm. Her mother and father crossed their arms across her back, and then joined hands across her front, locking her inside a warm cage of parental flesh. She had not felt this safe in many years. Things inside her began to loosen a bit.

"I lost count." Her voice sounded lost even to herself. "I do not remember how many there were. Orions, Andorians, Klingons, Nausicans, Tellarites, many others. Male, female, or some gender unknown to me, it did not matter. All that mattered was their latinum." She sank back into the over-padded couch. "Finally Natolya came and told us that they had found something to make it easier for us. Easier!" T'Riss started laughing bitterly, to the point of near hysteria. "She said it would help us in our work."

"Daughter!" Her mother's voice was like a slap in the face. T'Riss sobered instantly. She blinked and sagged. Then she put her face in her hands and told them about the Pon Farr microbe. The hissing intake of her father's breath would have been a scream of rage from a man of any other race.

"Can they... How..." Her mother was lost and showed it. "How did they obtain it?"

"The database aboard our ship contained the information," T'Riss said matter-of-factly. "The Orions paid a bounty for anyone who would go to the planet and obtain samples of the marsupial that carried it. Then they cultured it. Simplicity itself, as Natolya told us proudly." Her lips twisted. "They used it often. Sometimes when a pirate had made a particularly profitable run, he would hire several whores for the night and all of his crew would use us together in a single room. Vulcans in fever were always very popular on those nights," she said bitterly.

They sat stunned. Plainly this was infinitely worse than their worst anticipations.

"You require hospitalization and treatment," her mother said decisively. "This kind of abuse cannot possibly be healed in such a brief time period. You will return to Vulcan with us immediately to begin therapy."

"No, I will not." It was a simple declaration, a statement of defiance spoken without heat, and all the more astonishing because of it.

"Daughter," her father began. "You are ill. Your judgment-"

T'Riss pushed out from between them. "My judgment has indeed been flawed for an extended period, but I have received treatment, as I told you earlier. I was offered a choice. I can live with the damage I have suffered or I can have the memories of this trauma excised from my mind. In effect, I can undergo artificially induced amnesia. This would return me to approximately the state that I was in when I originally boarded The Plains of Gol.

"Then you can be fully cured," her mother looked up hopefully.

"I will not submit to having my mind butchered," T'Riss said distantly. "I have made my decision."

"The decision is not yours to make, Daughter," her mother said. "You acknowledge that you are mentally impaired. As next of kin-"

"You are no longer my next of kin, Mother," she interrupted her. T'Rel stopped and stared.

"Yes," her father said dryly. "Let us return to this boy. You said that you are betrothed. If you are not yet married, then I do not believe that he has any authority, but if he cares about your health why would he object? Surely he can accompany you."

"He cares about my health," T'Riss said, sighing. "But he owns a partnership interest in a trading vessel which will soon be departing. I will be aboard it when it leaves Risa, with my mate."

"That remains to be seen, girl," T'Rel snapped. "If he is not appropriate for you then you will not-"

"I-am-a-convicted-criminal-and-my-betrothed-is-Human." She pushed it out in a single breathless rush and stood waiting for the lirpa to fall.

Her mother was plainly dumbstruck. Too many shocks, too close together had rendered her incapable of further response for the moment. Saran, on the other hand, tightened his mouth and stood up.

"Clarify your last statement, Daughter," he ordered her. His tone made it plain that he was, in fact, giving her an order. A lifetime of ingrained habit forced an immediate response.

"I was taken by the Orion station leader for his personal concubine," she whispered harshly. "I suspect he chose me because I was the youngest and smallest, but I never discovered for certain. After a sustained period of almost daily rapes while under the influence of plak tau, a mating bond formed between us."

A dull crack drew both of their eyes to T'Rel. Her mother had just snapped the arm off the side of the couch. "You said..." Her mother paused and visibly fought for control. "You said that your betrothed is Human."

"Yes," T'Riss said flatly. "Daniel killed my mate." A sudden realization caused her eyes to open wide. "He... killed... Grigor-Tel," she whispered. "I chose him, and he killed my mate." Her eyes brightened. "Now he is my betrothed. Of course..."

The sound her father made with his exhalation was not quite a growl. "I will speak with this Human. But first, daughter, you will explain your claim of being a criminal. Killing your captor is not a crime. Choosing a champion to kill an abusive mate is not criminal behavior either. I do not recall the option being exercised in living memory, but given the circumstances no one will fault you for it."

T'Riss told him with as much dignity as she could muster, "You are mistaken, Father. Commander T'Lar certainly found fault with my choice. I am also guilty of kidnapping, assault and battery, sabotage of Fleet property, conspiracy to commit telepathic attack, and assisting a prisoner to escape." They stared at her.

"Why are you not confined?" T'Rel asked in a monotone. T'Riss closed her eyes.

"Because Daniel refused to press charges for the kidnapping, assault, and conspiracy. Under the circumstances, Commander T'Lar chose to inflict administrative discipline for the lesser offenses. Specifically, she assigned me to duty aboard Lerteiran."

"I foresee an extended period of meditation tonight," her father said. "And no doubt for the foreseeable future as well. Are you willing to introduce me to..." He stopped and took several breaths. "Your betrothed?"

"I am," T'Riss told him. "If you are willing to give him an unbiased evaluation based on his own merits rather than his genetics."

"His genetics would be unacceptable even if he were Vulcan unless he was a member of your own class," T'Rel told her. "Can you not understand this?"

"My wife, you will be silent."

The two women froze in shock. T'Riss could not remember her father ever giving her mother a direct command.

T'Rel rose to her feet in slow wrath. "Husband," she said, "this matter is the responsib-"

"Will you defy my authority as Head of House?" T'Rel's jaw dropped open. Then she closed it and blinked at him as if she'd never seen him before. "This matter has passed beyond your purview, wife," he told her firmly, moderating his tone. "It no longer involves merely arranging a marriage. We now face involvement with potentially dangerous aliens. I will inform you when and if circumstances permit your authority to resume."

"There will be no danger unless I am forced to invoke the challenge," T'Riss assured him. Her father shot her a look that was less affectionate than any he had previously given her since her arrival.

"You would shame your family by choosing the challenge?" he demanded. She lifted her chin.

"Yes."

He closed his eyes in pain. "Take me to this Human boy. How big is this Human trading ship? What is his position aboard it?"

"It is not a Human ship," T'Riss said as she led the way to the door.

"You said he owned a partnership interest in it," Saran objected.

"He does," T'Riss explained, opening the door. "His two partners are both Andorian."

Her father made no audible reply. She was afraid to turn and check his expression.

#

Daniel picked up his bo staff and began with the simplest kata. Strike, return. Block, return. Strike, block, return. Strike, strike, return. Strike, block, strike, return. The staff swept around through increasingly complex figures as he combined its movements with the placement of his feet like a dancer. The heavy bag that Sehlra had made for him was rocking under the impacts. It felt good. It felt damn good. Strike, block strike, sidekick.

Daniel landed the heaviest kick he had. It impacted solidly against the bag and ripped its bottom anchor loose from the floor. "Yeah." He stopped and mopped sweat. "Finally starting to come back. About time." He caught the bag to stop its swinging and bent to reattach the anchor when the door comm buzzed.

Daniel straightened with his staff in hand. "Come in." The latching bolts shot back and the hatch slid open to reveal T'Riss. He smiled in relief. "Hi, hon. How'd did it go?" He dropped the staff into its rack and went to meet her. She seemed tense and he started to get worried.

"Daniel." T'Riss stopped. Suddenly she took his face between her hands and kissed him. He gladly reciprocated. She hung on and whispered in a frightened voice, "My father has come. He wants to speak with you."

Daniel felt his gut tighten. "Well, then. I shouldn't keep him waiting, should I?" He managed a reassuring smile but he could tell through their tightening bond that she didn't buy it. "Don't worry, it's gonna be ok."

"Worry is illogical," T'Riss said. "But my father is not pleased with the situation."

"In fairness, did you expect him to be?" Daniel took a deep breath. "Do I have time to clean up first before he gets here? I stink like a horse after all this exercise."

"He is waiting in the corridor outside," she told him, biting her lower lip unconsciously. She glanced over her shoulder and dropped back to a whisper, "My mother is adamantly opposed, but I believe that my father might possibly be persuaded, although I do not know what you might do to accomplish this." She looked at his expression. "I am sorry, Daniel."

He put his hands on her shoulders. "All I want to know is this. Did you tell them that you were going to marry me? No matter what?"

"Yes." She looked him in the eye. "You are my betrothed. You will be my mate. Nothing and no one is going to change that. I told them this."

"Then I'll face down your father, your mother, and your entire clan with a toothpick if I have to," Daniel swore with a reassuring smile. "You kept your promise. Now it's time for me to keep mine." He wondered at the look in her eyes, but had no time to ask about it before a Vulcan man of middle years stepped through the hatch.

"Your voices carried," he said. "I thought it would be more appropriate to conduct this conversation with the hatch closed." He turned and did just that. When he turned back he found Daniel offering the ta'al.

"Peace and long life to you, Saran, father of she who is to be my wife," Daniel told him in flawless Vulcan. "Be welcome aboard my ship, you and your family. I offer you water and rest."

Saran's eyes narrowed, but he responded to the greeting. "Live long and prosper, Daniel. My daughter informs me that you have been her protector and provider since her rescue from the Orions. Her family is in your debt."

"There is no debt, Saran," Daniel told him firmly. "How could I not provide for my own?" He turned to T'Riss. "T'hy'la, will you escort your father to the galley for water and tea while I freshen myself? I have no desire to offend by my scent."

"There is no need," Saran said grimly. Daniel stiffened and T'Riss turned her head away with a tiny gasp.

"You refuse my water." Daniel felt his jaw muscles tighten. "Do you then come to declare yourself my enemy?" T'Riss turned back to grab his arm.

"Please, Daniel," she whispered in English. "He is my father."

Daniel touched her cheek with two fingers. He turned back to Saran and waited. T'Riss' father watched the two of them broodingly. "You have taught him much of our customs, Daughter," he grudgingly acknowledged. "It speaks well of him that he was willing to learn."

"I did not teach him, Father," T'Riss stood tall. "Daniel lived and worked on Vulcan for several years. He was even fostered by a Vulcan family." Saran visibly reacted to this news. He blinked and stiffened.

"You did not mention this." He looked at Daniel with new respect in his eyes.

"What possible difference could it make?" Daniel was starting to get miffed with the old guy's attitude. "Even if I am not the illiterate savage you expected, my blood is still red. Your grandchildren are still going to be half-breeds."

Saran raised an eyebrow and looked him up and down. Then he surveyed the cargo hold. He checked out the heavy bag, the blade throwing target, the mats, and the hanging ropes. Then he looked back at Daniel. "You seem to be operating under a misapprehension. My personal objections are not based on your species, young man. That would be in direct contradiction to the Kirshara and thus a violation of Surak's teachings. I am concerned about many things, but your race is not one of them."

Daniel looked at T'Riss, whose face was brightening with hope. He felt puzzled. She believed him? He looked back at the old guy.

What is this guy after, anyway?

"Tell us, Father," she said. She sounded pleased, even eager. "I am certain that we can answer your concerns."

"Are you aware of the full extent to which my daughter has suffered?" Saran asked Daniel bluntly. "Do you know what happened to her?"

"Yes." Daniel stood with his hands folded neatly in front of him, in the standard position of a Vulcan who was offering respectful attention to an elder. He was starting to cool off a bit. The old man was only worried about his little girl.

Saran waited, but nothing more came out of Daniel's mouth. His forehead started to wrinkle when T'Riss broke in, "Daniel saw me when I was still a captive. He knows everything, Father." She added quickly, "He attempted to help me escape before the Fleet cruisers arrived, but circumstances did not permit it."

"Indeed?" Saran asked thoughtfully. "I am told by my daughter that you were responsible for killing her captor. How did this come to pass?"

T'Riss tensed. Daniel gave her a reassuring smile. He told Saran, "The Vulcan Fleet posted a reward for Grigor-Tel, dead or alive. But he had escaped and no one knew where. T'Riss came and offered to..." He stopped and looked at her.

"I told them that I was bonded to him, Daniel," she said weakly, looking down. He rubbed her back for a second then turned to Saran again.

"T'Riss offered to use her bond to help us track him, as long as we agreed to kill him. We agreed, and we killed him. End of story." Daniel looked blandly at Saran.

"T'Riss spoke as if you were the one who had killed him alone," Saran looked at his daughter sternly.

"I'm the ship's weapon's officer," Daniel explained. "I did the shooting."

"Ah." Saran's face smoothed. "So your hand was on the weapon that ended his life?"

"Yes."

Saran continued, "And you killed him after T'Riss specifically came and requested that you do so? She did not request that you merely find him? She specifically and explicitly asked you to kill him? Knowing at the time that you were the weapon's officer?"

"Hm...let me think." Daniel struggled to remember. "I know that she and I had talked prior to that point, and I had told her about my ship, and my partners, and how things worked here." He looked up, "So, yeah. She knew Jenrali is the pilot and senior partner, Sehlra is the chief engineer, and I'm the comm, nav, and weapons officer. And she wanted him dead."

Saran looked at his daughter, but continued speaking to Daniel. "There will be those who maintain that T'Riss is not mentally competent to choose a partner for herself. How will you answer them?"

"I will let T'Riss answer them the way she answered me when I asked the same thing," Daniel told him. Open surprise flashed across Saran's face like heat lightning and was gone.

"Yes," she answered the question that her father didn't ask. "Daniel hesitated to accept me, both for my sake and for his own, but I have sought treatment from the healers aboard both of the rescue cruisers, as well as a melder-healer aboard one of the medical relief ships that were sent to follow them. I have been certified competent to take responsibility for my own actions. Otherwise Commander T'Lar would not have permitted me to return to duty. Nor would she have held me responsible for my misbehavior." Saran tugged thoughtfully on his lower lip. For a Vulcan to engage in such a thoughtless gesture indicated serious mental turmoil. Daniel decided to proceed with extreme care.

"If you prefer," he looked at T'Riss. "And if T'Riss is agreeable... I would have no objection to letting T'Riss be evaluated by a healer of your choosing. Again, if and only if T'Riss agrees to it." He looked questioningly at her.

T'Riss considered briefly, then nodded. "I am willing. I understand your concern, Father."

Saran looked at the pair of them. "If you have already been evaluated and certified I see no reason to add to the redundancy. Are you willing to permit your mother and me to read the psych reports? The full reports?" T'Riss tightened.

"Father. There are some things-" She turned to Daniel helplessly.

"I haven't read them, and I have no intention of reading them. Even after we marry," he told Saran. "If a person can't have privacy inside their own head, where can they have it? T'Riss is an adult. She deserves the dignity of being treated like one."

Saran nodded slowly. "Good. I wondered if you had read them. It is agreeable to hear you speak of respect. Do you realize that many among our clan will not respect you because of your race? It is not an issue with me, but not all of our people have adopted Surak's teachings in their entirety."

"I know," Daniel said tiredly. "Believe me, I know. I used to work at the shipyards. I know exactly how many Vulcans talk Surak but act Andorian." Saran's nostrils flared but he made no comment. "I knew that when we decided to get married."

"Why then, did you choose my daughter?" Saran wanted to know. "Explain the logic of your decision to me."

"The logic?" Daniel felt the beginnings of amusement. "There are many kinds of logic, Saran. Mating doesn't lend itself to most of them. I can tell you that I find your daughter beautiful and intelligent. I've watched her struggle through an incredibly difficult serious of situations and I judge her to be courageous and honorable." He glanced at T'Riss and saw her watching him with shining eyes. "She's strong in spirit. What she endured would have broken a lesser woman. But she survived and overcame it." He looked thoughtfully at the older man. "I will speak bluntly."

"That would be agreeable." Saran gave him a direct look.

"Potential mates are difficult for me to find in space. Since our ship is smaller than some, we generally trade along the borderlands where cargoes tend to be small with high profit margins, which makes it even more difficult for me to locate a potential mate." Daniel paused for breath.

"So you chose my daughter by default," Saran said. He did not sound pleased.

Daniel snorted. "No. Not likely. I chose T'Riss because there was no way I was ever going to get the chance to marry another girl of her quality. I might, or I might not, have been otherwise interested in seeking a wife at this time. But when T'Riss came along I realized that she represented the kind of opportunity that most men never get in a lifetime. Where else, how else, is a man like me going to find a woman like her?" Daniel turned back to T'Riss and touched her arm. She smiled and took his hand, gripping it tightly in the Human fashion.

"I acknowledge that the probability of you two meeting under ordinary circumstances would be low," Saran said wryly. "I have three additional questions."

"Ask them," Daniel said.

"Are you sufficiently familiar with our customs to understand the significance of the fact that you killed my daughter's previous mate at her request?" Saran waited. First Daniel felt puzzlement, then surprise, and finally delight.

"Well, crap!" He grinned broadly until he remembered who was looking at him. Scrambling to regain a semblance of dignity he told Saran, "I, uh, I ask pardon for my unseemly display of emotion. I had not considered the ramifications of this fact until you pointed it out to me." Despite his best efforts, Daniel couldn't keep a smile from forcing its way back on his face.

"From your reaction, I conclude that you do in fact understand the significance," Saran sighed. "Under our traditions, since T'Riss prefers to honor the outcome of the battle, your betrothal is automatically valid. The only way to prevent your marriage would be to persuade another candidate to challenge you on behalf of the clan."

"That would be unfortunate," Daniel told him sincerely. "I dislike the taking of life when it is not required. I've been forced to kill members of other races, but never a Vulcan. I hope I never have to."

"You will not." Saran looked tired. "I will not permit the matter to progress to that point. In any case, the boy that T'Rel had arranged for T'Riss is a healer. It is unlikely that he would be willing to engage in lethal combat, given the typical healer's reverence for life."

"What were your other questions, Father?" T'Riss wanted to know.

"Will you both be willing to meet with T'Rel?" he asked them, "T'Riss, will you also be willing to meet with your intended and his family so that you can assist in explaining the situation to them?"

"We'll both meet with them," Daniel said firmly. T'Riss relaxed against him in obvious relief. "But I'm going to take a shower first. If I accomplish nothing else today, I am going to get clean."

"Then my final question is this," Saran said. "You spoke earlier of children. Do you seriously intend to attempt to have them? And if so, do you plan to raise them aboard this ship?"

"Yes, we plan to have them. No, we will not be raising them on this ship," Daniel told him, to Saran's blatant relief. "It will be a while, though."

Saran nodded. "I will depart then, and inform my wife of these developments." He looked at T'Riss. "Daughter, notify us prior to your departure."

"Yes, Father," she told him. Saran turned and walked toward the hatch, looking like it wouldn't take much for him to start shaking his head.

#

T'Riss and Daniel secured the airlock behind Saran. Then they turned to find a pair of eager Andorians plus a mildly interested Betazoid watching them from the foot of the access ladder. "Well?" Sehlra demanded.

Daniel grinned and made a triumphant fist. "We got 'em!" The trio broke into smiles and came forward.

"Tell us, you two," Jenrali ordered. "Situation report. Out with it."

T'Riss took a breath. "My family will accept Daniel."

"Excellent," Damin approved. "I could be wrong, but I didn't detect anything that seemed like your father was going to disown you, either."

T'Riss pressed her lips together. "Father has promised me that even if my mother's clan casts me out he will continue to acknowledge me." She swallowed hard. "Mother has not made a specific statement to that effect, but she did not seem inclined to break off contact."

Daniel picked her up in a bear hug and spun her around. He set her down with a big wet kiss. "Nobody could ever walk away from you," he told her sincerely. She grabbed his shirt and dragged him close enough to bury her face in his chest for a moment, just breathing in his scent. He wrapped his arms around her and looked back at the rest of the crowd.

"You mean," Sehlra said, "that after all this, there was no trouble about it? You won't have to fight? They had no problem with you marrying her?"

Daniel cleared his throat. "Not exactly. The, um, the thing is... I forgot about something. I'm an idiot actually."

"No." T'Riss pulled back. "Stop that, Daniel, unless you want another slap." Damin smirked in the background. "You are well acquainted with my people's customs, but they are my people's customs. I am the one who should have remembered this."

"You going to tell us about this?" Jenrali growled. "Or do we have to stand here and play guessing games?"

Daniel scratched his nose. "The thing is..."

"You said that already," Jenrali pointed out.

"Yeah," Daniel looked flustered. "Well, you remember that T'Riss had a bond with Grigor-Tel?"

"Yeeees?" Sehlra answered impatiently. "And?"

Daniel sped up a bit. "Vulcan law is getting shuffled around right now, with the Kirshara and everything. But the way it works is this. Surak wrote that the presence of a mating bond is equivalent to being married. So, even though they weren't legally wed under Vulcan law, under the dictates of the Kirshara, Grigor-Tel was her husband."

"YOU CAN'T BE SERIOUS!" Sehlra roared. She turned to T'Riss, seething, to meet an abashed nod. "NO! Those barbarians! Those Mother blasted-"

Damin reached for her. "Sehlra. Sehlra, please, beloved. Let him finish. It's over now, isn't it? Grigor-Tel is dead." He stroked her hair and the base of her antennae, hugged her and pressed his forehead against hers. Eventually she stopped quivering with rage, but she did not regain full calm by anyone's standards.

"It is true," T'Riss admitted in a small voice. "My ancestors were savages."

"Everyone's ancestor's were savages, lass," Jenrali said. "Go on, Daniel," with a wary glance at Sehlra.

Daniel took a deep breath of T'Riss' hair and planted a swift kiss on top of her head before continuing. "Now, she may have been his wife by Vulcan standards..." he waited but Damin managed to keep any new explosion contained for now, "...but he wasn't a proper husband. The way he treated her was abusive under Vulcan law."

"You think? Perhaps?" Damin muttered ironically.

"Under modern Vulcan law," Daniel went on, "an abused spouse has the option of appealing to the clan elders. If the clan elders agree that they're being mistreated, then they'll order the bond severed. The abusive spouse loses access to any children, and they'll be permanently marked in Vulcan society as a pariah. No one will ever marry them again. Their own clan will probably kick them out."

"This is the reason that Commander T'Lar was so angry about my behavior," T'Riss broke in, speaking in a subdued tone. "As she pointed out, the option of severing the bond did exist. But it would not have been complete. Once two minds have bonded some connection always remains, however tenuous."

"She's right," Damin confirmed. "A full telepath can block it and time will weaken it, but you can never break it completely. Only death will do that."

"Which is the key to this situation," Daniel started getting cheerful again. "Because in the old days there was no right of appeal for an abused spouse. Communication across the desert was slow, and it might have taken months, or even years, for a message to reach all of the clan elders. There was only one option for a wife who needed to break free from a husband that she absolutely could not endure any longer."

"Kill him," Jenrali nodded.

"Or recruit a challenger to do the killing," Daniel said. "Does your Fleet training cover the koon-ut-kalifee?"

"Yes," Sehlra had pulled free from Damin's embrace and stood grimly listening. T'Riss turned away from everyone else. "We know about the bonding as children, and the fever, and the right to challenge."

"The situation that T'Riss and I are in is something like that in reverse," Daniel told them. "Since T'Riss specifically recruited us to kill her husband and my hand was on the weapon, that gives me first option - so to speak - of being her next husband. As long as T'Riss is willing to marry me, the only way her family could stop it would be to bring up their own challenger."

"Which they will not," T'Riss turned back and told them. "My father has declared that he will not permit the situation to proceed to that point. Moreover the candidate that they had intended for me is a healer. Vulcan healers are sworn to preserve life, not take it."

Damin and Sehlra traded a significant glance for some reason. Jenrali rubbed his antenna thoughtfully. "It does sound like you have them backed up to the edge of the crevasse, lad. What now?"

"Now," Daniel suddenly deflated. "I get cleaned up and go meet my new mother-in-law."

#

T'Riss dug out fresh clothing for Daniel while the shower started running. Then she sat on the bunk and contemplated the drastic changes that had taken place in her life during the last three hours. She looked down and ran her hand over the covers. The bunk was really too narrow. They needed a bigger one. She certainly had no objection to sleeping close beside Daniel, despite his concern, but there were times in the night when one or both of them ended up with body parts hanging off into space. Perhaps they might have one installed while they were docked? It was worth suggesting.

A sudden thought came to her. It is done. I agreed to wait until I declared myself to my parents. No longer. He is mine.

She unzipped her coverall, shedding underwear on the way to the shower. Daniel was washing his hair with his eyes closed when she slipped in behind him. T'Riss smeared soft soap all over the front of her torso, then pressed herself against his back and started using herself as a bath sponge. Daniel gasped and straightened.

His mental reaction to being thus startled opened the bond between them beyond its usual faint emotional impressions. The sweet burning ache between her thighs was something she'd rarely experienced, having never had the opportunity to engage in consensual sexual relations without the ponfarr microbe to warp her desires. It was the same feeling that Daniel's attentions always elicited during their "relaxation exercises", but multiplied a dozen fold through Daniel's perceptions. And now she would give in to it. Submitting was not a shameful thing only because he was Daniel, and she was his.

"Oh... my..." He grabbed the handholds. "T'Riss. Uh, maybe you shouldn't..."

"I have waited long enough, Daniel," she told him. "I have completed the test you required of me. Do you deny this?"

"No. I mean, I know you did what you said." His breathing was increasing in both speed and depth. "But is this the best place and time?"

"I refuse to wait longer," she told him. "Wherever we are is the best place, by definition." She slipped around to his front and kissed him deeply, while continuing to encourage his interest in the most direct manner possible.

"Oh, lord." Daniel growled. He released the handrails and pulled her beneath the steaming water with him. Runnels of heat ran through her hair and down her shoulders as he grasped her face in both hands and began devouring her, or so it seemed. Both of her arms encircled his neck, seemingly without her volition, and she returned his kiss blindly. He pulled her against the hard planes of his soap-slicked chest and abdomen, then started running his soapy hands over her slowly from shoulder to hips, around her back, up to her shoulders and down to her thighs. He kissed his way from her mouth, along her cheek to the side of her neck, and then began the process of licking and nibbling his way downward.

Her hands were not idle. They'd had little opportunity for their "exercises" since he'd begun his training program. She marveled at the change in him. Abruptly, just looking and stroking were not enough. She wanted to be possessed by him. She needed it.

"Enough." T'Riss declared."I can take no more." She turned around and grabbed the bottoms of the handrail brackets. "Now. Now!"

The sound Daniel made resembled nothing sapient.

To Be Continued in Episode Fourteen