THE LOST YEARS

by Soledad

PRELUDE: CROSSROADS

Disclaimer: see Introduction.

Rating: age 14 and above, for this chapter – just to be on the safe side.

Warning: mentioning of rape and abortion. I know these are sensitive topics, so this is the chance for anyone disturbed by such things to leave.

Author's notes:

The events discussed in this chapter happened in the Star Trek episode "The Gamesters of Triskelion". The interpretation of said events is strictly mine – I don't buy the happy assumption that nothing bad happened there. As you might see, I'm not a fan of Captain Kirk – this is how I see him, and not one of the original episodes or the movies made me change my opinion about him. You are free to disagree, of course. It won't change my opinion.

The culture and ceremonies of Uhura's tribe are completely made up by me. There are no canon or historical facts to support my theories. Mr. Singh, the Hindu engineer, is a canon character, however, and will have bigger parts in one of the upcoming stories. Amuntu means friend, or so I hope.

CHAPTER 10: TIES THAT BIND

Boomer was dreaming. The dream wasn't new; it had come to him, time and again, aboard the Galactica, way before they'd gotten themselves into this far corner of the universe. And it happened always in the same manner, with the implacable reliability of dreams.

He was standing under the russet sky of Libra, just outside a small village, the rounded, dome-like wattle houses of which barely rose from the man-high, greyish green elephantine grass. Awake, he often asked himself whether such villages still existed on Libra, or if the collective memory of his father's people haunted his dreams. In the few times he had got to visit the planet, he'd never seen anything similar.

Nevertheless, this was where the dream always took place; the scarlet sky, the wide, lonely hills and the small village, hiding in the tall grass almost invisibly. There was a narrow, packed soil path cut into the grass, and on this path an enchanting young girl approached him, barefooted, with yellow flowers in her short-cropped, curly black hair. Her only cover was a brightly patterned cloth wrapped around her hips, her bare upper torso was gleaming in the red light of the setting sun like a polished ebony statue, her small breasts trembled slightly in the rhythm of her light, dance-like steps. He could make out all the tiny details – only her face, he could never see it. And when he extended his hand to touch her, she faded away from his touch, and he woke up from his dream covered with sweat and with a pounding heart. Just like this time.

This time, however, he didn't wake up on the narrow, uncomfortable cot of the Galactica's sleeping quarters, where one barely had enough room to turn around under the silvery thermo-blankets, He was lying in a low, broad bed that could have been enough for three people… and he wasn't alone. The girl from his dreams was resting on his side, her dreaming face calm, mysterious and glowing with happiness, her smooth, dark body gleaming softly in the almost complete darkness of the room.

Boomer reached out, hesitating, as if afraid that she would fade into nothingness under his touch again, and only when he felt the warmth of her body under his fingers could he truly believe that this wasn't another dream that would disappear in the last moment but honest, down-to-earth reality. Careful not to wake her, he pulled the homespun blanket up onto her naked shoulder, then he eased back onto her side and closed his eyes in relief. From now on he didn't have to fear that she'd disappear by the morning.

Charlene Masters had awoken from Boomer's touch but didn't want to give any sign; as if she'd had spied on some well-guarded secret of his, unpermittedly. She only opened her eyes when the young man had become quiet again, to take a look of him in his sleep. Boomer had the muscular arms and the broad chest of a professional wrestler; flying a Viper required, aside from skills and technical knowledge, quite an amount of physical strength, due to the G-forces by catapult starts and the endless hours spent in pressure suits. The female pilots of the Galactica must have been made of duranium steel, Masters thought, to bear the strain.

Whims of genetics had shaped Boomer's face too rugged to be called really handsome, but Charlene didn't mind it. On the contrary, she found the strange mix of rugged looks and mild manners particularly attractive, and what she'd learned about Boomer, thank Uhura, confirmed her first impression of an intelligent, reliable young man. The perils and sufferings Boomer had to go through from early childhood on had drawn deep lines around the corners of his mouth, giving his sleeping face a sad, almost tragic expression that awakened a deep, nearly helpless love in Charlene. She wanted to take him in her arms like she would embrace a child; to whisper soft words of comfort into his ear, to promise him that everything will be fine now, that he won't be left alone anymore – that she wouldn't allow anything or anyone to hurt him.

Of course, this was something no one could promise another person, which Charlene Masters knew all too well. Her chest tightened from the thought that in a short time Boomer would climb into the cockpit of his Viper again, to face death in space, as he had done uncounted times in his young life, and she, Charlene, wouldn't be able to do anything to ensure his safe return. Nothing, aside from waiting for him in tormented love and hoping desperately that he won't fall victim to the laser cannons of a Cylon raider.

The next few days until the estimated arrival of the Cylons seemed to fly away for Boomer. If he could, he would have never risen from Charlene's arms, but that wasn't an option, of course. Mr. Scott and his engineers had tractored Colonel Tigh's little destroyer, the Antares, to the shuttle bay, and the technicians worked on it around the clock, in order to give it at least minimal warp speed. Which was necessary for the Antares to lead the squadron of Tennet 5 hunters. As the best dilithium specialist available, Lieutenant Masters had much to do with the small ship, and Boomer had joined her to put his own considerable technical skills to use.

"Warp 3 is all I can get out of this little box, Colonel," the broad-shouldered Scotsman apologized. "She's a pretty little boat, but she wasn't constructed to travel with overlight speed."

"I'm painfully aware of that," Tigh, currently wearing the red coverall of the Enterprise's engineering department, slid out from the electronic intestines of the Antares, with the help of a gliding board under his back. "What I'm truly after is a moment of surprise. Cylons cannot travel with overlight speed, either."

"Oh, I can give you your moment of surprise all right," Nahar Singh, a highly skilled engineer with the appearance of a bronze statue of some ancient Hindu god, grinned at him. "The lovely little phaser cannon, with which we've replaced the old laser turret, has got an impressive punch. And we gave you a torpedo launcher, too."

"Lets just hope the ship can take it," Masters grumbled, re-checking the makeshift drive with her special tricorder. "Should the calibration of the dilithium crystals have as much as the slightest divergence, the entire tin can would fall apart as soon as we've fired the cannon for the first time."

"Lassie," Montgomery Scott looked at the young scientist in the patient manner of a loving uncle, "since when don't you trust my abilities to work wonders?"

"Since I'm having the impression that you're over-straining your luck," Masters didn't seem bothered by the addressing, which surprised Boomer a little; she must have liked the chief engineer very much. "The problem is, Scotty, that I'm gonna fly with this tin box, and it wouldn't be amusing to die an untimely death, just because one of your miracles wouldn't work. Granted, that'd be a first, but we all know that there's a first time for everything."

"Not for my miracles, Lieutenant," the Scotsman shook his head, smiling. "They always work. You can bet your… assets on it."

"I'm afraid that's exactly what I'm doing," Masters riposted; then she stood on tiptoes and leaning over to the big Scotsman, she kissed him on one ruddy cheek. "If I didn't trust your miraculous hands, Scotty, no power in his universe would get me into that nutshell, and you know that all too well, don't you?"

"Of course I do," Scott was practically radiating amiable self-complacence. "You're a great guy, Charlie. Spock must have been temporarily insane when he granted you transfer to my department. He's certainly regretted it many times, but now it's too late for him. I won't let you get back to Sciences for the world, and that's a fact."

"It's good to know that at least some senior officers are able to value talent and efficiency," Masters finished the recheck of the recheck and stowed the tricorder into her toolkit. "I wouldn't leave Engineering, either. Not as long as you're the boss, that is."

"It's decidedly unfair," Uhura commented, working on something very small and delicate on the subspace radio console. "Since Engineering offers more chances for specialization, Scotty gets all the good technicians. And people with promising First Contact abilities want to become commanding officers at all costs, so they won't come to my section, either."

"What about you?" Scott teased her. "Don't you want your own command?"

Uhura put away the microelectronic equivalent of a screwdriver and gave him a long, meaningful look.

"You know very well what I wanted to become, Scotty. I just didn't have as much luck as you did. My position got already deleted in the initial stages."

"You've been very bitter lately, lassie," the Scotsman remarked with friendly disapproval. "Have you gotten the space-weariness or what?"

"No, my friend," Uhura replied calmly and closed the top of the comm console. "I've just lost my trust in my commanding officers. And that is, as generally known, bad for morale."

"I assume that has got something to do with Triskelion," the Scotsman said slowly.

"That is correct," Uhura stood and dusted her coverall. "Charlie, I'll be expecting you and Captain Boomer in my quarters, as agreed, at 1900 hours."

"Right, amuntu," Masters smiled. "Do you need any help with the preparations?"

"Not really," Uhura slung the strap of her toolkit over her shoulder. "I've lain out the ceremonial robes for you and ordered the meal. Everything should be running smoothly."

"All right. I'll come half an hour earlier, then, to help you getting dressed."

"That'd be nice… and it would save me a lot of time," Uhura waved to everyone and left, taking Tigh with her.

"What's being planned?" Boomer inquired, when they were left alone in the shuttle bay.

"A short bonding ceremony called the mesq," Masters replied, collecting her tools. "It's some sort of… engagement, for twelve standard months."

"Between Siress Uhura and Colonel Tigh?

"Who else? If the mesq turns out satisfactory, they might get married later."

"So, it is kind of a… marriage test?"

"Not directly. Uhura's people know several very different sorts of bonding. The actual goal of the mesq is that two people in love can find out which sort of bonding would match their personalities, their relationship, the best. It can also show, however, that in the long run they wouldn't be a good match. In that case they go their separate ways after the mesq has run out, in mutual agreement and with the blessing of the Elders, and seek out new partners."

"And what is our role in this?"

"We are witnesses that the mesq has officially begun. Usually, such a ritual is celebrated in the presence of the entire clan and takes place closed to the public. Space travel tends to complicate things a little, though."

"That's certainly true," Boomer take from her the heavy toolkit. "Tell me, what are these constant hints to Triskelion? It seems to me that Siress Uhura must have endured something really bad there. But nobody seems to know what really happened."

"Some do," Masters entered her quarters and gestured him to follow her. "However, only two people on the entire ship are informed – I'm one of those."

"Who else?"

"Chris Chapel. But she's bound by medical confidentiality."

"You, on the other hand, aren't"

"You're right. That doesn't mean, however, that I'd talk about it, not even with you. Uhura is more than simply a friend for me... she's always been like an older sister. I'd never misuse her trust."

Returning to Uhura's quarters, Tigh asked her the same question.

"Triskelion was a slave planet," Uhura peeled off her coverall and threw it into the refresher unit. "The captain, Chekov and I were abducted directly from our transporter beam. We were brought to this planet and held captive in some sort of arena. Our only purpose there was to entertain the inhabitants of that planet – bored entities reduced to mere brains – with gladiator fights. It wasn't a pleasant experience."

"How did you manage to escape?" Tigh inquired.

"As usual, the captain relied on his charms and wrapped his pretty female trainer around his pinkie finger," Uhura shrugged. "After that, he bluffed the Providers to let not only us but also the other slaves go. Poor Chekov was less lucky, of course, and had to try very hard to keep his own drill thrall, an oversized, hideous female monster, at arm's length. She was… interested in him, to put it mildly."

"And what happened to you?" Tigh asked, feeling that the worst part was just about to come.

"I was repeatedly raped by my drill thrall, a six feet, three hundred pounds barely humanoid… animal," Uhura replied dryly, curling up in her armchair, as if the softness of Deltan napa leather could have made her forget the rough touch of her former jailor. "Understandably, everyone was so worried about the captain that nobody wasted a thought for what might have happened to me… well, nobody aside from Chris and Charlie. Not even Spock, who occasionally declares to be my friend. Why should they have, really? I'm just a woman, after all. Things like that happen to women, if they have bad luck. Even in the 23rd century."

"How come that medical didn't show anything?" Tigh asked in surprise, after a long, shaken silence, when he dared to speak again. Uhura glared daggers at him.

"Do you really think that after all that I'd allow Dr. McCoy to examine me? Or another male doctor? I didn't set foot in Sickbay until Dr. M'Benga came aboard. Chris helped me to secretly terminate the pregnancy, although she could have lost her job for that. She's not a medical doctor, she's not allowed to perform such operations alone."

"Terminate... the pregnancy?"

"Yes, I had this… appalling little creature killed."

"You? Somehow, I can't imagine you doing that."

"Nevertheless, that's what I've done," Uhura's eyes were burning, whether with anger or with unshed tears it was hard to tell. "I'm a murderer, yes. But I haven't asked to be made pregnant by a barely humanoid… monster. He was worse than a wild animal," she turned away, not able to see the compassion on Tigh's face. "The door isn't sealed," she added in a toneless voice. "It's still not too late for you to go. We aren't bound to each other yet."

"Oh yes, we are – from the moment on in which you set foot onto the Galactica's bridge," Tigh walked around the armchair and knelt before her. "Besides, I do believe that you only did what you had to do – even if it was very painful for you. For nothing in the Twelve Worlds would I ever leave you."

"You don't understand," Uhura murmured, near to despair. "According to our beliefs, life, every kind of life, is sacrosanct, regardless of the circumstances under which it had been created. What I did is considered a major crime among my people. An Old Family like mine is supposed to outcast a daughter who had her unborn child killed, forever."

"Have your people done that?" Tigh asked quietly. Uhura shook her head.

"They have been generous… to an extent that bordered sacrilege. During my last home leave, the Mothers made me undergo a strict penitential ritual, and finally, they granted me forgiveness – actually, they shouldn't have done that, it has never been done before. But I'm not allowed to enter the hidden temple as long as I'm still an empty grave."

Tigh frowned for a moment. The colourful expressions Uhura had used were, fortunately, similar to the ritual Libran speech, so he got the hint relatively easily.

"You mean, not before you are with child again, right?" he asked.

"Basically, yes," Uhura replied. "Are you upset now? Or do you think I've used you to be allowed to go home again?"

Tigh smiled. "Why should I? If you only wanted to get pregnant again, you'd have found a suitable partner long ago. Am I right to assume that you've already tried?"

"Dr. M'Benga offered me his services for the feast of khemmer more than two years ago," Uhura admitted, "but I did not catch… and we had no personal interest in each other."

Tigh's smile broadened a little. The springtime fertility rites Uhura had mentioned hadn't got completely forgotten on his homeworld either, although only the very old-fashioned clans followed them still to the letter.

"As for me," he said, lightly teasing, "I have the audacity to assume that you chose me because you've taken a liking to me."

"Oh, yes," Uhura slid down to him to the floor and gave him a long, lingering kiss, "I have indeed."

"Good," Tigh kissed her back. "In that case, we should close this chapter and turn our attention to the future."

"You are absolutely right," Uhura let go of him with a certain amount of reluctance. "And we should hurry up, or else we'd be too late."

"What's expected of me?" Tigh inquired. Uhura smiled.

"Relax. Bonding rituals like the mesq should be performed in a state of inner peace. All we need to do is to wash ourselves and get dressed. Since there's no chance to do proper ritual washings on a starship, the shower will have to do. I've already laid out the ceremonial robes in your quarters. Please join me again, as soon as you are ready."

"Will we have to keep this formality all the time?" Tigh asked. Uhura shook her head.

"Not after the ritual. After that, you'll be one of us. Be gone now, you're distracting me!" She laughed and pushed him towards the door but couldn't restrain herself from moulding against him for a last kiss right on the threshold. Tigh reacted to her with his usual intensity, and Uhura felt as if she would burn up under his touch.

"May I come in?" Lieutenant Masters asked calmly.

Uhura snapped out of her haze. Masters was already standing inside the door, balancing a tabletop-sized, isolated tray in both hands. They had not heard the doorbell, or her entering.

"I'd have been willing to wait a little longer, but this festive meal weights a ton," Masters continued, completely unfazed, and waltzed in, without waiting for an invitation, placing the tray on the table of the living-room. "Besides, I had the faint suspicion that you two would have been… otherwise occupied. Are you going to prepare yourselves for your own ceremony or should we wait for Dr. M'Benga to separate you surgically? He's on his way already."

"I'm gone, I'm gone," Tigh laughed. He let go of Uhura reluctantly, and then he left indeed.

"Boomer's coming in half an hour and brings Mohammed Jahma from Security with him," Masters told her friend. "I entrusted the palm wine to him, I hope it wasn't a mistake."

They both laughed. Then Masters took the older woman's face in both hands and asked quietly, "Are you really all right, amuntu? Are you sure that you've come far enough to be able to trust a man again? I mean… the ritual with Ben was a different matter entirely. This is serious, isn't it?"

Uhura nodded slowly, thoughtfully. "Yes, little one, I think so. I… I've told him everything, just a few minutes ago. I think we'll be all right now."

"That's good," Masters said. "I've wished it for you to find a new love for a long time. And what Boomer tells me about the colonel makes me think that the two of you were made for each other."

"I've got the same impression," Uhura smiled. "You know how much Oulu meant to me, but now… now it seems to me as if I've waited for Tigh all my life. What about you and Captain Boomer? How are things going between the two of you?"

"Better than I've hoped," Masters admitted. "I never thought that anyone would be capable of such… devotion. I mean, my reasons to choose him were rather sober, but now that I know him better… I'm afraid that sooner or later, I'll fall in love."

"He's nice," Uhura agreed, "and he seems to have a good character. Above that, he's rather good-looking, too; that's a rare combination. Consider him a gift."

"He's that and many other things," Masters said with a fond smile.

"Do you intend to make your relationship permanent?" Uhura asked. Masters shrugged.

"I don't know. It depends on many factors I can't really influence. Will we survive the upcoming battle? Where will the Federation settle his people? Will he go with them or come to us? Will I be able to follow him, should he choose his people? I just don't know. We've just met, after all."

"I understand," Uhura touched the face of her friend with the ancient, ritual gesture of blessing. "I have to struggle with the same questions. At any case, this won't be an easy decision… for any of us. Although I sometimes doubt that Tigh would want to stay with his people."

"Really?" Masters' interest wasn't entirely selfless, but who could blame her under the circumstances.

"I'm not sure," Uhura said thoughtfully. "You know how unjustly he was treated by the Quorum of Twelve. And his Fleet won't need him so desperately in the future as it has before."

"Boomer thinks the Libran councilman has selected the colonel as his successor," Masters mentioned. Uhura nodded.

"I've heard that, too."

"And you think he won't accept the office?" Masters asked, having her personal interest in the issue.

Uhura shrugged. "Since the Elders of Libra put in an official application to be settled in East Africa as a united group, it doesn't really matter whether he accepts or not."

"The entire Libran people?" Master was flabbergasted. Boomer had not mentioned that. But maybe he didn't know it, either.

"More or less," Uhura stepped into the shower, but her voice remained well audible above the rush of the water. "Sire Aslan, the leader of the Elders, thinks they won't be capable of settling on a planet, at least not yet. He and a few others have addressed the problem to me aboard the Galactica, and I offered my services as a mediator."

"Which means… what exactly?"

"The governing council will discuss the application during the next big gathering, but I'm certain that they will approve. Librans are doubtlessly related to us, although distantly enough to enrich our gene pool sufficiently."

"Are you going to have enough room for an entire people?"

"Since many Africans chose to migrate to distant colonies, there are a few abandoned villages in our territory. Our brothers and sisters from the stars are welcome among us. There aren't many of them left anyway… which is a great pity."

"You do have quite the influence on these things, don't you?" Masters asked.

Uhura, wrapped into a fluffy white robe, returned to the bedroom. "My sister Kamala stands in for me in the governing council. But in this case, she'll ask for my advice. The vote of the Eldest Mothers of Munguroo has great weight in such decisions."

She discarded her robe and started to wrap the soft folds of the gold-embroidered scarlet sari around herself with practiced ease. Masters, wearing similar yet less expensive clothing, helped her to order her hair into thin braids, then pinning the braids high on her head and decorating them with small golden bells.

"Does that mean the Librans won't claim a planet for themselves?" she asked in surprise. "That's… unexpected from such a proud and independent folk."

"I can't tell what Librans would demand for themselves," Uhura replied, "and I don't think Tigh has any idea, either. What he did say, was that a small group of scientists and technicians should first prepare whichever planet might be selected for them, before they start settling there with the old people, the women and the children. Assuming, of course, the other tribes would grant a handful of survivors the right for a planet of their own."

"Your people are willing to help them with the settling, though," Masters said. It was not a question.

"I'll do everything in my power to se that happen," Uhura agreed. "And under the circumstances I happen to be able to do a lot."

They laughed. Masters finished her friend's hair, and Uhura cast a critical look at the mirror. She found everything all right, of course – Charlene Masters was renowned of her thoroughness.

As if on clue, the doorbell rang again. Boomer arrived, flanked by Tigh and two Starfleet offices, who – being Africans themselves – had been invited to witness the ceremony. Dr. M'Benga, McCoy's first assistant, wore a long, sand-coloured, richly embroidered robe, as his people did at festive occasions. Mohammed Jahma, one of the Enterprise's security guards wore the pink boubou that had been popular among the rich merchant families in Niger for centuries, and a decoratively stitched round cap.

They offered a rather anachronistic view aboard a high-tech starship of the 23rd century, but nobody cared about that. The United States of Africa had made heroic efforts during the recent two hundred years to save what was still left from the ancient culture of their peoples, and the efforts started to pay off in the long run. A lot more people asked to be initiated to the old rites and customs than, for example, in the early 21st century, when it seemed that the wisdom of the Elders would vanish from the black continent without a trace. Many a son or daughter, whose ancestors had left, forcibly or voluntarily, returned to the land of their origins to find their roots.

For many of them, it wasn't a question of beliefs but one of cultural identity. Mohammed Jahma, for example, was a Muslim, like the majority of the Nigerian Hausa, and yet did he respect the old rites and customs. M'Benga, on the other hand, belonged to a revived and reformed African cult similar to that of Uhura's tribe, thus his presence was even more important – and necessary for the planned ceremony.

The mesq itself wasn't a complicated rite. The parties officially announced that they would share their hearth for a full period (which, for some reason, meant thirteen standard months not twelve as Masters had said), after which a dignitary representing of the clan (for whom M'Benga stood in in this particular case) performed the handbinding ritual, and the ceremony ended with a feast. Instead of the entire clan, this time the guests served as witnesses.

After that, the guests left the now officially bonded couple alone, and Uhura and Tigh, now that the waiting was over, looked at each other a little awkwardly.

"What's wrong?" Tigh finally asked. "Are you having second thoughts about it? Whether we've done the right thing?"

Uhura sighed. "It's strange, isn't it? I could barely wait for this moment to come, and now that it's arrived, I'm frightened."

"Frightened?" Tigh repeated in surprise. "What of?"

"That I might not be what you've wished for, after all," Uhura admitted with an embarrassed smile. "I know it's silly…"

Tigh shook his head earnestly. "No, it's not. Do you think I'm not frightened? Not afraid that I cannot make you happy, that you'll come to the realization that you'd deserve something better?"

"I cannot imagine anyone better suited for me," she replied seriously. "If you still have doubts, however, there is a way to find out if we really suit each other or not…"

Tigh got the hint – and burst out in laughter. "That's right. And we've waited long enough for this chance to find it out, haven't we?"

Uhura, however, did not laugh.

"Long indeed," she replied, still very serious. "Almost too long, I'm afraid. Let us not waste any more time."

"That would be… unforgivable," Tigh agreed with a slight smile. "I'd have one last request, though, before we… start that particular sort of research."

Uhura arched a questioning eyebrow. "A request? Sounds intriguing."

Tigh took off an ancient-looking silver signal ring from his pinkie finger. "As you already know, my mother descended from the priest caste. As she had no daughter, I've inherited this ring from her, even though I'm not entitled to wear it."

"Why not?"

"The ring used to be a symbol of her office. She served in the New Temple of Libra as a singer. As far as I know has the Old Faith only on a single place survived: among your people. I'd like you to wear this ring."

"I'm not a priestess, though," Uhura reminded him.

"It doesn't matter what the office is called among your folk," Tigh replied gravely. "Right now, you are the only one truly entitled to wear the ring. Our priest class has become extinct. My mother was one of the last ones, and nobody came after her."

"Why is this so important for you?" Uhura wondered. "You always declare yourself an agnostic."

"I used to be one, until we discovered that we not only share the same blood but also the same faith," he replied quietly. "To a certain extent, I'm still a heretic and will probably always remain one. But it would mean a great deal for my people! It would show them that they're not alone, even though the fates weren't too fond of us. To know that we've got relatives on Earth would give my people new strength and new hope. Would you do this for us, please? For the others, who've very nearly lost all hope?"

Uhura smiled and reached out her had to him, so that he could put the ring on her finger. "There aren't many things I wouldn't do for you, Tigh."

"Imaro," the man corrected quietly.

Uhura looked a him with wide eyes. "I beg your pardon?"

"Imaro is my dream-name; the name I was given in the New Temple, after I'd performed the ceremony of ritual dreaming in the sanctum," Tigh explained. "The priestesses interpreted my dreams afterwards and gave me this temple name. There are very few people who know it: Sire Solon and his family, since he's the brother of my late wife, a friend who's now dead… and you."

"I'm… honoured."

"No need for that, heart of flame. It's our custom that spouses have no secrets kept from each other."

"Are you allowed to tell me the meaning of that name?"

"Well, ummm…" Tigh was very obviously embarrassed, "it means more or less 'he-who-is-loved'."

Uhura laughed in delight. "Do you find it embarrassing?"

"A little, yeah…" Tigh's skin was too dark to blush visibly, but he cringed in a most endearing way. Uhura laughed again.

"In that case I'll have to give you solid proof of what a rightfully worn name it is," she said with a look that could have melted the polar caps of Earth.

TBC