Chapter Five

Kana Nain contemplated her appearance in the bathroom mirror. Grownel had decided to return to his quarters after his defeat in the gym – hiding his head in shame, was her opinion – and so she had free time on her hands. She had returned to her quarters to get changed, and having discarded her host's Starfleet uniform in favour of blood-coloured trousers, a vest, and a large cape, she felt more like her old self. Indeed, dressed in the dark red clothes, laced with gold, she looked as much like herself as she possibly could without drawing on her powers. She and Alix were virtual twins, all of the major details of their bodies identical, but as Kana gazed upon her reflection she was irked by the imperfection: wrong colour skin, blunt teeth, her hair shorter and less spiky than she was used to…she looked more or less like herself, and it was the less that perturbed her.

"Admiring yourself?" Alix queried, watching her alter ego. Her ghostly form did not reflect in the mirror, but Kana knew it to be a flawless copy of the body that she now commanded. Of course it was; after all, she was the one who conjured Alix's current form: it was her power that allowed the human's spirit to walk around, see, hear and talk like a real person.

"No. This," she said, running her hands down her chest, "is not me."

A brief surge of light, and the Destroyer flashed a grin at her host. "This is me."

"Lovely. Now change back. You can't go walking about the ship looking like that. They'll take one look at you and call security. And Brok'll never let me hear the end of it."

"What's wrong with my appearance?"

"Other than you look like death warmed up?"

"Yes."

Alix laughed quietly. "You don't get it, do you? The only humans that have skin as white as a corpse and sharpened teeth are very, very strange people indeed. And I don't want anyone to think that I'm one of them."

Kana flashed those sharpened teeth and said, "Alix, you are a very, very strange person. You are host of the Destroyer; you have travelled farther and seen more in one lifetime than the rest of your species has in its entire existence; you are far from normal."

"Thanks," said Alix. "I just adore being insulted by my alter ego."

"I'm not your alter ego. You're mine."

The human blinked. "Huh? Isn't that just being intentionally perverse?"

"No, Alix, it's being precise. I can't be your alter ego; I was born billions of years before you; therefore, if we're counterparts, you must be mine, not the other way around."

"Oh great. So you're not the devil on my shoulder, I'm the angel on yours?"

Kana snorted derisively. "You're no angel, Alix, and you know it. There is darkness in you, too. We've both seen it."

The woman stared at her other self with cool eyes; eyes without their usual shine, without their lively gleam. When the passion faded out of Alix it was a sure sign that she was getting very angry. "Thank you for reminding me."

"Didn't like to hear that, did you?" Kana smirked. "Interesting. You're so keen to point out the evil in me, but you can't stand to hear that there's some in you, too."

"There is darkness in the heart of every human being," said Alix defensively.

"There is. Although –"

"Don't say what you're thinking, Kana! Not if you want to keep control of that body."

She was very strongly tempted to speak in spite of the threat, knowing how much enjoyment she would get from forcing Alix to confront the truth. However, she clamped her lips closed and allowed her physical form to take on the softer appearance of her host once more. It wasn't just Alix's threat that made her hold her tongue – although she couldn't claim that it had had no affect on her – but a kind of respect for her host. She had met many millions of people during her infinite life, and she had only ever respected one.

Walking somewhat at random, the Destroyer wandered into the ship's mess hall. There were clusters of men and women in uniform sat around tables, eating whatever it was that the galley had slopped up today – something Deltan, she guessed, from the strange colours of the meat and vegetables. Kana had been to Delta Four in the past, and she had not liked the people, the planet, the climate, or the food; so when a crewman approached her with a tray she needled him with the most terrifying look she had to hand; the man quickly got the hint and retreated, shivering. Alix, who had been following her demon around in moody silence, chose this moment to open her mouth again. "If you can't pretend to be me, Kana, I'll take my body back."

Kana bound over to a nearby table, throwing her arms wide and welcoming, grinning broadly. "Sarn, Blue, how good to see you. Well…maybe not you, Blue."

"Hi, Alix," said the Bolian, and the Vulcan nodded in greeting.

"How is that for being you?"

She took a seat at the table with her host's friends and tried to smile like Alix – a difficult thing for her to do, as beaming expressions of joy were not her usual fare. She needn't have bothered: Brok was too busy shovelling food into his mouth to notice anything at all, and Sarn was reading from a PADD – she had only glanced up to greet her friend, before returning her eyes to the text she was studying.

Brok paused in his shovelling long enough to ask: "Where were you earlier, Alix?"

"What right do you have to –" she clamped her lips, took a breath, and tried again. "Babysitting a Klingon fool. Why?

"Battle drill," said Sarn, and Kana chortled. Captain Drake was a firm believer in drilling his crews until they could fight the ship with something like perfection. Few other captains shared his passion for fast, effective gunnery; new hands coming aboard the Endeavour always got the fright of their life when they came to learn their new captain's obsession. Sarn and Brok, both recent additions to the crew, and coming from a ship that had rarely held combat readiness drills, found the daily exercises a trial.

"It's not funny," groaned Brok.

Kana hit him with a sour look. "Do not presume to tell me how to feel!"

He was alarmed by the pure, unfiltered venom in her voice. "Are you all right, Alix?" That sort of snappishness just wasn't like her – she was such a sweet person. When she wasn't being a tease and a pain, that was.

"Peachy!"

"You do not sound 'peachy'," observed Sarn.

"Your act is getting very poor, Kana."

Kana sighed to cover her exasperation, bit her tongue, and tried again in a more civil tone of voice. "Klingons can be a trial, and Grownel wanted to fight. Klingons in a violent mood…always a pain."

"He wanted to fight you? Are you all right?" Despite his best efforts, Brok sounded concerned. He inspected her for injuries, but for someone who had apparently just fought a Klingon she was in remarkably good shape.

Kana chuckled. "Klingon arrogance never ceases to amaze me. Grownel actually believed that he could beat me!" She roared with laughter. "Even after I had disarmed him, he still believed that he could somehow stop me."

"You beat a Klingon?"

"Don't sound so surprised, Brok."

That heat was loitering in her tone again. He had to tread carefully. "No offence, Alix, but you're a human; he's a Klingon…that's a one-sided fight."

"No," she said to Alix, "I'm a goddess, he's a meatbag."

She shrugged and said aloud: "I'm stronger than I look. Faster, too. Perhaps you would like to test me, Brok?"

There was a kind of sickly pleasure in her voice, delight in her eyes, and it frightened Brok. He was the weapons officer, a violent profession, but he wasn't a fighting man; by nature he was a peaceful person. The aggression in Alix now quite disturbed him; he hadn't known that she could be so dark.

"I don't have a lot of skill in hand-to-hand fighting. Try Wolf."

"I did."

Brok wondered about his friend's sanity. To even daydream about fighting with Wolf…it was insane. He had never seen or heard of a creature as ridiculously fast or strong as the security chief – and he'd read a lot of stories. "And you've still got your arms and legs. I'm amazed."

"Don't say what you're thinking…"

"She might have gone easy on me."

"Smooth."

Kana ignored her host and continued pretending to be her. "Why are you two eating? You especially, Brok. The captain is putting on a dinner party tonight, and I know for a fact that you are invited. You eat too much as it is; you don't need two dinners."

"The captain's just putting on a light supper for his guests. Right?"

"Wrong." Malicious delight danced on her features. "Klingons like a big meal. Tonight there will be more food set on the table than your beady little eyes can take in at once. And you will be expected to eat your fill. If you keep eating like this you'll burst. Could be entertaining, but think of the poor cleaners…"

Brok laughed and pushed his plate away. "All right, all right. I was just enjoying that."

"How you can stomach it – let alone enjoy it – is a mystery to me."

The tactical officer was spared the necessity of answering by the thunder of General Kravft's voice. "Destroyer!"

That tone of fury…Kana could not help laughing. She had been around Klingons in a mood before, and knew what it usually led to: delicious violence. She thought about Kravft, the younger Colonel Kravft that she and her host had encountered all those years ago: impatient, impulsive, quick to action and incapable of thought; she doubted that he had changed much with age. He was angry now, in a rage, it was plain for all to hear; she was the object of his anger; she prayed that he would choose to get physical about it. Smashing the old fool into goo would be such a delight, and it was always more fun with an audience.

"General," she cooed, rising and turning her head slowly to meet his eyes. He was even angrier than she had imagined: his towering form was rigid, his fists clenched so tightly that his arms shook, his deep brown face flushed even darker by blood. Kana regretted having to remain in her host's form – she would have liked to meet the Klingon general's rage with her own eyes, smirk with her own teeth.

"You attacked my subordinate!"

She made a pfft sound with her lips. "Your…subordinate wanted a fight; I gave him one; it's not my fault that he was incapable of winning! You should have warned him not to pick fights with his betters; to stick to battles he has a chance of winning." Kravft's face darkened still further, and Kana's glee increased. "Struck a nerve, have I?"

"Kana, you're pissing him off! Maybe I should take over."

"Too late. He can't get any angrier, and when he blows it'll be safer for us if I'm in control."

Kravft spoke to her through clenched teeth. "Be careful, Destroyer. I will not tolerate your offence."

"Please don't. In fact, why don't we settle it now? Hmm?" She spread her arms. "Your honour has been scarred; and let's not forget about our last meeting. I imagine you're still after satisfaction?"

"Do not provoke me, Destroyer. You will regret it!"

She laughed quietly. "I doubt that. Come on, Kravft: here and now. A knife fight."

"You have no knife."

"I'll take yours. Come on, General; I'm getting closer; if you don't draw you'll make it too easy for me."

"I will not attack an unarmed opponent. It is without honour."

"Death without battle has no honour, either. Just a few more steps…"

Provoked beyond reason, Kravft drew his d'k'tagh dagger and directed its gleaming point at Kana's chest. The security officer who had been escorting the Klingon saw the drawn weapon, recognized the danger to the helmsman (even if she had brought it upon herself), and went for his sidearm. Kana shot him a look that made him freeze where he was, and by then it was too late for the guard to do anything, anyway. Kravft came at her with a roar, his knife slashing. He had no intention to kill her, merely to draw blood – that would satisfy his honour; for now.

Kana had no intention of bleeding.

The Klingon and the Destroyer collided, there was a tangle of bodies, a blur of motion, and the next thing they were apart; Kana holding Kravft's dagger, blood on the Klingon's hand where the blades had bitten into him. He looked at the pink fluid that dribbled around his fingers, at his opponent and the twisted glee that ran through her like a river; he remembered their last encounter, all that had happened, all of the horror – terrible even for a Klingon; saw her advance on him, dagger held comfortably, her red eyes gleaming with a sadistic desire to hurt.

"Alix!" Shouted a terrified Brok. "What are you doing? Have you lost your mind?"

Sarn's voice followed; upset, but authoritative. "Lieutenant, put down that weapon."

"Stay out of this!" She bellowed, and the mess fell silent. Her attention returned to Kravft; her lips spread into a grim smile. "You're quaking. I thought Klingons didn't fear death?" She was close enough to touch him, close enough to tickle the cold metal point of the blade across his skin, tracing a line through the General's sweat. It required remarkably little pressure for the knife to break the skin – exceptionally sharp steel. She hovered the tip above the main artery of the Klingon's throat, rotating the blade slightly left and right; a little jerk of her wrist and it would all be over; the threat was crystal clear.

"Kana, what are you doing?" Said a dismayed Alix. She knew far too well what her other self was capable of; knew of her sick pleasures, and how far she was willing to go to fulfil them; knew how great the blackness was in her heart. Kravft was in terrible danger; the Destroyer did not make idle threats. Maybe she should wrench back control, but if Kana resisted, if she fought the Change, there would be a battle for their body, and while the two spirits were fighting one another their shared physical form would be thrown into fits; she might kill Kravft in her efforts to save him.

And…and she trusted Kana. Despite the unquestionable dark nature of her companion, despite what she knew of the Destroyer's past (terrible things; things that could drive a man mad), she still trusted her other self. Kana had demonstrated her loyalty to her host, had saved them both time and again, and a strong bond had been built between the two of them. Actions like Kana's current ones strained that bond, but nothing had ever happened to break it.

Alix took no action.

Kana ignored her host, just as she ignored the pleading looks that Brok and Sarn were giving her, and the security guard's second attempt for his phaser – he would stun her if he had to. She focused her red eyes on Kravft, showed him her teeth, and began to purr: "Have you lived a guilt-free life, General? Have you amassed great honour? You're a twitch away from death. Do any regrets present themselves to your mind? Anything you'd like to say?"

The comm whistle broke the air, loud and completely unexpected, a shock in the silent room that made crewmen jump. It could have been disastrous for Kravft, with the dagger in such a dangerous position, but he was able to overcome his natural panic reaction and stay as still as a statue. Kana Nain simply wasn't startled by the sound – she neither flinched nor blinked.

"Lieutenant Nain to the captain's cabin," ordered the voice of Captain Drake.

Kana smirked at General Kravft. "Saved by the bell." She handed him his dagger and said quite calmly, "If you want a rematch, sir, just let me know. I enjoy blood sport."

She walked away, feeling the eyes of Alix's crewmates on her, stunned and frightened by her behaviour. Who had ever imagined that the smiley helmsman had such a dark side to her personality? The old Endeavours had seen hints of the evil in Nain before, but nothing like this! She had come so close to actually murdering their passenger! It was beyond belief.

Kravft watched her leave as well, impressed again by her prowess as a warrior – every bit as good as he remembered her being. There was no dishonour in Grownel's loosing to her, or in his own defeat; she was the greatest warrior there was – after Kahless, of course.

Despite that, he silently vowed vengeance.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

William Drake was an old-fashioned kind of captain; he believed in fast, efficient gunnery, subordinates following orders without question (although this rule did not seem to apply to himself when it came to listening to admiralty orders), strict attention to discipline and the spirit of the regulations – if not the actual letter of them. He believed that the only effective ship was a well-trained, well-disciplined happy ship, and he put his people through repeated exercises to hone their skills to perfection. Hardly a day went by without all hands being sent to their battlestations and put through a mock encounter. Other ships might have battle readiness drills once every two weeks – once a month or less in some cases – but Drake was of the opinion that space was dangerous, that the Federation had many enemies, and that his ship had to be ready to fight at any time.

Other captains who put their crews through so many exercises might have found the people tired, grumbling and dissatisfied. In this matter Drake was fortunate that he was blessed with both a great deal of natural charisma, and that he had an impressive reputation as a fighting captain. People came aboard Drake's ship knowing what they were getting themselves in for; knowing that there would be hard work involved, but also knowing that their work would be made to pay off. Drake was phenomenally lucky in his missions, and hardly one went by without some sort of action – action in which a hand could earn a year's pay in an afternoon's work. The crew respected their captain. More importantly, they liked him. People would do a lot for a leader that they admired, and very little for one they didn't.

A happy ship was the only effective ship, Drake's firm belief, and as Endeavour under his command had always had one of the highest efficiency ratings and lowest transfer rates of any ship in the fleet, it seemed to be a theory that had some merit.

Today, Drake had cause for concern. This new crew had never been the model of speed and efficiency that he had come to expect from Endeavours, but they had been reasonable enough and they'd been improving. Today, though…the results from the latest mock battle were still on his screen – low-seventies, far below the usual score of mid-eighties, and even that was well below the old Endeavour's average ninety-three percent.

New people, Drake reminded himself. Some had been freshmen, first voyagers, and a large chunk of the new intake had come from the Albatross. A sad lot the Albatrosses. They had served under the kind of captain that Drake had always despised: a rigid disciplinarian, holding up the Starfleet regulation manual as sacred and mercilessly punishing anyone who violated even the most ridiculous rule. A day of refuse maintenance for minor offences was not an uncommon punishment on the Albatross, and the crew had been close to breaking point by the time the ship returned from its cruise. Starfleet Command had taken one look at the situation, reprimanded Captain Briggs, and scattered his crew amongst the other ships in dock. More than a hundred had ended up on Endeavour, and while they were adjusting to their new ship they still were uncomfortable, out of place, and unwilling to believe that their lot had really changed for the better.

Drake had been unfortunate in his new crew, and not just the hands, but the officers as well. McDonald was an officer in the mould of Briggs, and Drake would never have taken her aboard if he'd had a choice. Their styles of command were too different to ever gel, and McDonald was not very popular amongst the crew – especially the old Endeavours, who were unused to her kind of tyrannical regulation worship, and the Albatrosses saw too much of their old captain in her to do anything but despise her.

She wasn't the only problem, but she promised to be the worst. The captain and the first officer had to be able to work together; otherwise the ship could not function at its peak. Drake wasn't at all sure what he was going to do about McDonald. In theory he could simply order her to fall into line – he being sole master after God on his ship – but in practice that couldn't work, and it would leave him with a resentful first officer.

The new science and security officers gave Drake further cause for concern. Wolf he knew, and he respected her, but she had a problem following orders. She had never learnt to obey without question, and her simple mind often couldn't understand subtle strategy – she would end up thinking that her captain was making a mistake, do her own thing, and ruin her captain's plans. She was also a predator, her mindset was to kill or be killed, and this meant that the body count became very large whenever Wolf got involved. She could provide a landing party with more security than a platoon of marines, but she couldn't use the stun setting on a phaser – or a phaser at all, for that matter. She was dangerous, to put it plainly, and Drake feared for the next delicate hostage situation the crew might encounter.

Sarn was another matter entirely. She was an excellent scientist, one of the best sensor operators in the fleet, and a capable head of department; seemingly perfect. The problem with her was that she had never learned to properly control her emotions. Vulcan emotions were powerful and could be all-consuming. Before the Vulcans had learnt to govern their passions their race had been a barbaric, bloodthirsty one, hell-bent on its own destruction. Sarn wasn't that bad, but with Vulcans there was a fine line between control and out-of-control. She had strayed from that line before, and Drake worried that it could happen again.

He wished that those could have been the only officers that he had cause for concern about, but they weren't. Brok could also become a problem. Not because he was incompetent – far from it – but because he was the butt of all of Alix's jokes. If he wasn't careful, he could lose the crew's respect, and a crew would not follow someone they didn't respect. Drake had already spoken to Alix about her teasing, but it hadn't been a very successful talk – not that he had expected it to be. Alix had said something to him about Brok starting it, she just did it better than him, and then she had smiled in that charming way of hers and he hadn't felt like pressing the point. Maybe he needed to be firmer with her.

There were bright points in all the gloom. Drake had retained his old chief engineer, a man who knew the inner workings of the starship better than he knew his own birthday, and the new CMO was both a brilliant medical man and a very kindly human being: the kind of doctor who even the men afraid of needles were happy to go and see. And, of course, Alix had stayed with him, providing him with the best helm officer currently available, and all the friendship he could need. While some of the new hands were uncomfortable around her that would pass, and all of the old Endeavours thought the world of her and were happy to have her aboard again.

The problem of the low score remained, and Drake was deeply concerned. Maybe he had surprised the people, maybe they hadn't expected an exercise today given their passengers, but if that was the case then it was even more worrying. An enemy was not going to advertise before launching an attack, and if seventy percent efficiency was the best the Endeavour could hope for, then Drake feared for the ship. She was not new; she could no more go toe-to-toe with a modern cruiser (a vessel of her nominal class) than she could engage a ship of the line. Not without a genius like Alix at the helm to keep them from harm, and the ship's phasers thundering at two-, or preferably three-times the enemy's rate of fire. That was nothing like what they had achieved today. If this afternoon's simulated Romulan attack had been real, the Endeavour would have been destroyed or taken by the enemy.

Not good enough. Nowhere damned near good enough!

"Commander McDonald to the captain's cabin."

The first officer arrived a few minutes later, looking shaken. She had heard the heat in the captain's voice, quite uncommon for him, and she was concerned. Drake's appearance when she saw him did nothing to make her feel better: he was humourless and severe; he seemed at least seven feet tall and imposing as a Klingon.

"Captain."

"I've been reviewing the last battle simulation, Commander, and I am appalled. Seventy-two percent efficiency. This ship has not scored so low since Captain Murdock had her in 'sixty-nine. I am thoroughly disappointed."

McDonald took the words as the slap they were intended to be. The captain's disappointment was bad enough, but the comparison with Murdock, one of the most incompetent captains of the twenty-third century – a man who had only reached his rank due to his family's influence with the Admiralty and the Federation Council – was a pretty severe blow. Worse still, the first officer knew something about that unhappy captain. Murdock had been an officer after McDonald's mind, and it was the commander who had led the crew through that last great fumble. Drake had not intended to directly compare his first officer and Murdock, but it seemed to McDonald that he was.

"Respectfully, sir, it's unfair to judge based on that exercise."

"Unfair?"

She drew herself up. "Yes, sir. The crew had been under the impression that no battle drills would be held today."

Drake folded his arms. "I see. And if a real enemy ship had appeared I suppose they would have been under the impression that it wouldn't attack today? Commander, if the crew can only score in the eighties – and that's a frighteningly low score, anyway – if they can only score in the eighties when they know that a test is coming, then I fear for the safety of this ship."

McDonald wondered at the captain's thinking. To her mind, this insistence on preparing for battle all seemed rather unnecessary. The Endeavour had but one job to do: to deliver Mr. Harrow, his staff, and the two Klingons to their destination. After that, the ship was to return to Earth, there probably to be decommissioned and sent to the breaker's yard. There would be no action in this commission, no battle – Klingon space was not the danger it had once been – and Drake could drill the crew night and day, work them mercilessly until they scored perfectly, but there was no real point to it. The commission would end, the ship would be decommissioned, and the crew would be scattered amongst the fleet. Most would find their way into the ships of captains who did not share Drake's ideas, and the months of rigorous training would be wasted.

She didn't say any of this, however. She didn't dare, not with the captain in this mood.

"Eighty percent is considered a good score on most ships in the fleet," is what she said instead.

Drake's expression darkened. "Eighty is not good enough for Endeavour."

McDonald was shocked. Those words…they sounded so arrogant to her, so pompous, as if Drake considered his ship to be superior to the rest of the fleet. She had heard of captains having pride in their vessels, but this was going a little far in her opinion.

"Come with me," said the captain, picking up a PADD and heading for the door. McDonald fell dutifully into step beside him, wondering where they were going, and why.

Drake had no particular destination in mind; he was simply looking for an old Endeavour – any of them. Although he had lost almost all his officers and a large portion of his crew at the end of the last commission, there had still been more than two hundred Endeavours waiting on the starbase when the ship had been given her new mission, and they had wasted no time in coming aboard. Old, experienced hands made up two-fifths of the ship's compliment, and it didn't take Drake long to spot a familiar face.

"Mr. Banks, take a look at this, please." He handed over the PADD and gave the crewman a few seconds to look at it. "Your opinion?"

"It's bad, sir. I didn't know we could score so low!"

"Thank you, Mr. Banks."

"Sir, permission to speak?"

"Granted, of course."

"It's those new people – no offence, Commander – the Albatrosses and the Indefatigables and the Cochranes, sir. They've never been properly drilled, sir, and half of them have never seen action."

Drake was of that opinion as well. The Indefatigable had been on deep space patrol for two years without incident when she had returned to port, and the Cochrane had always been an unlucky, unhappy ship. None of the new draft were prime crewmen, and it was going to take time to train them up. Under other circumstances he might have accepted that, but not when he was heading fast into Klingon space, carrying aboard a vital diplomat. Peace treaty with the Empire or no peace treaty, he expected some kind of trouble.

"Thank you, Mr. Banks."

"Thank you, sir."

They returned to the captain's cabin. Drake felt in a better mood for his walk, but the drill still weighed heavily on his mind. Something had to be done to whip the crew into fighting shape.

"Lieutenant Nain to the captain's cabin," he called, before facing McDonald again. "We do things differently on Endeavour. This ship has seen more than her fair share of action, and I never take it for granted that we'll have a quiet cruise. The crew must be prepared to fight."

"Understood, sir."

"There's a problem, however."

"Sir?"

A slight smile touched his lips. "The problem is that we don't have a crew yet. We have a large body of people, but they're not unified – they're not a crew. We have Endeavours, Albatrosses, Indefatigables, and Cochranes; they should all be Endeavours."

"It takes time for a crew to come together, sir."

"Yes it does. But there are ways of accelerating the process."

Before McDonald could ask what the captain meant by that, the door chimed. Drake invited Alix in, and Kana stepped across the threshold, flashed an unpleasant smile at McDonald, and an insincere one at her host's captain.

"Alix, take a look at this."

"Pitiful."

"Any thoughts on how we can improve?"

"I understand that flogging was always a good motivator…"

Drake and McDonald stared at her, McDonald aghast that she might be serious, and Drake knowing that she wasn't but not amused all the same.

"Either do a better job of being me," Alix warned her alter ego, "or prepare for the Change."

Kana showed her teeth. "Bad time for a joke, was it?"

"This is a serious matter, Alix. Treat it that way."

"Control your temper, Kana."

She didn't. "Fine. The Albatrosses are inept. We could have brought aboard so many monkeys and they would have been as useful."

"That's going too far," snapped McDonald.

"Ex-Albatross yourself, Commander?" Sneered Kana.

"Alix!"

"I'm sorry, Captain," said Alix, and it was Alix speaking, she having taken control back from Kana – without the Destroyer fighting back, surprisingly. "To you too, Commander. It's been a trying afternoon."

"How so?" Drake asked; McDonald was too irate with her to speak.

"Grownel wanted to go for a walk, and he wanted me to be his chaperone. After that Kravft decided to…air a few grievances."

"Oh," said Drake. It explained for him her out-of-character behaviour. Klingons could be difficult, and Alix wasn't exactly blessed with a reservoir of patience.

"No excuse. I shouldn't have behaved like that." And to her companion she added: "You shouldn't have behaved like that!"

"It's me."

Alix ignored her other self. "There are a lot of awkward sods in the new intake, sir. Albatross was an unhappy ship; so was Cochrane. The old Endeavours are doing their best to make the new guys welcome and show them the ropes, but it's a slow process."

"I'm hoping to speed it along."

She was baffled for a moment, but then her eyes cleared and a crafty smile raced across her face. "If you're thinking what I think you're thinking…"

"I probably am, but let's be sure."

"You're thinking that nothing draws people together like shared peril."

"Precisely."

"Excuse me, sir, but what are you two talking about?"

"Nothing unites a crew like a common struggle, Commander. Facing death together has a wonderful way of making friends out of strangers. Alix, I want you to go back to the bridge and alter our course…what…a point to starboard? Two? Would that do it?"

"Perfectly."

McDonald searched her memory for what she knew of the ship's course and local spatial phenomenon. "Sir, if we alter our course we'll risk running into the ion storm."

Captain Drake smiled. "Precisely."

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"Maybe this was a bad idea."

"You look fine."

"Really? You don't think dress uniform would be more appropriate?"

"Nah."

Drake inspected his appearance in the mirror one more time. It was true that in his best Starfleet uniform jacket, service ribbons neatly displayed on his breast, his hair precisely combed and his beard trimmed neat he looked quite striking. He was a tall man, handsome with it, and the black and burgundy Starfleet uniform could make any man look good.

He wasn't satisfied, however.

"You don't think that, as captain, I should be in my full splendour?"

"Nah. I think it would look weird with you in dress and the rest of us in duty."

"Maybe you're right."

"Of course I'm right." Alix's face lit up with a grin. "When am I ever not? Look, stop fretting, Will. Step away from that bloody mirror; let's go down to the table, eat this meal, and go to bed feeling all stuffed and bloated. Okay?"

He grinned at her. "How I wish I be as calm as you. I don't know how you do it sometimes."

"It's just the things that frighten you don't scare me, and what I find terrifying you'd think inconsequential." She was still smiling, but the shine in her eyes didn't match the grin on her face, and there had been a heavy note in her voice. What she had said was the pure and honest truth.

What gave her nightmares? Drake pondered the question during the turbolift ride down to the captain's dining room. He and Alix had been through some terrifying ordeals together, and the girl had hardly broken a sweat during any of them. He knew from the few stories she'd told that her life as a private adventurer hadn't been peaceful or pleasant, and yet there was nothing to indicate that she'd found the time at all terrifying. What did scare her? Drake didn't want to ever find out.

The dining table was set out with the ship's best silver; the decanters of wine were waiting, tall crystal glasses standing beside each plate ready to accept the drink that would flow freely throughout the evening. Everything looked splendid. Most of the galley staff were old Endeavours, and they had been determined to do their ship proud.

"Looks good, doesn't it?"

"It does. Now, Alix, best table manners. No belching."

"Fine," she agreed sullenly.

"I hope things go smoothly tonight, Alix. I need it to go smoothly."

"Will…" She moaned.

"I heard about your little duel with Grownel."

Alix looked indignant. "He started that. He threw down the glove."

"Maybe so," Drake allowed. "I also heard about what happened in the mess hall, and you can't tell me that Kravft asked you to put a knife to his throat. I know you provoked him into drawing."

"Yeah, I did." She didn't sound even slightly apologetic. "He'd have done so anyway. Kravft and I…have an acquaintance, Will."

"Anything you'd like to tell me?"

She smiled narrowly. "I'll just observe that Klingons hate to lose. And he lost big time."

Drake knew that when Alix had decided not to talk about something there was absolutely no way of getting her to open her mouth on the subject. It had irked him at first, but he'd had nearly twenty years of acquaintance with her to get used to it. Whatever had gone on between Alix and Kravft, he wasn't going to find out from her. Fine: he'd simply ask the general about it later.

He warned: "If there are going to be problems between you two, then stay the hell away from him, Alix. I want a quiet flight: I don't want my helmsman murdering one of my passengers. Okay?"

"Okay, Will."

Did she mean what she said? He hoped so, but he had no way of knowing.

The captain's other guests all arrived exactly on time, to the very minute, and Drake led them into the dining hall and to their seats – he had learnt from the fiasco in the conference room that morning and had assigned chairs to each of his guests. And so General Kravft sat at the captain's right hand, and the line down the right side of the table continued with Harrow, Grownel, Ling and Hope. At Drake's left hand was his first officer, and so the left side of the table comprised the officers in descending order of rank: McDonald, Chief Engineer Horris Fran, Lieutenant Commander Sarn, Alix, Lieutenant Brok, Lieutenant Wolf, and Doctor Richard Ilerson. The ship's company appeared splendid in their black and burgundy, and the guests had made every effort to dress up for the occasion, Harrow and Ling in tasteful suits, the Klingons in their best armour, and Hope in a very nice dress that she had packed just in case there was going to be some kind of ceremony when they reached their destination. It was a dress that flowed across the yeoman's body like a waterfall of milk, and it made it very difficult for Dr. Ilerson and Alix to keep their minds on the meal, or on the conversation that was taking place around them.

Food appeared on the table, brought out by the galley staff, who were doubling as servants for this occasion. Each of the dishes that Drake had requested that morning appeared, one after the other, and as the aromas mingled everyone present felt their stomachs growl with anticipation. Drake stood and proposed a toast to long and happy relations between the Federation and the Klingon Empire. It was well received, and the wine that accompanied it was a delicate, fruity red – Chateaux Picard 2290, a fine year – which was very well received.

The feast began in earnest, plates being piled high with all manner of culinary treats from across the Federation. The Klingons in particular delighted in this great display of food, and delighted even more so in devouring it. As glasses were filled and emptied and more and more dishes were brought out, Drake watched the pleasure in Kravft and Grownel grow and grow, washing away any lingering fear that he might have made a mistake with this dinner. Whatever feelings the Klingons had for his helmsman, they did not present themselves during this dinner, Alix acting very civilly towards Kravft and Grownel, and the two Klingons returning the courtesy; Drake was glad.

There was conversation, of course, but for the life of him Drake could not recall what was said even a few seconds after the words had passed his ears. He responded civilly to any remarks that came his way, shared one or two stories with Harrow and Kravft, but for the most part the talk was more of an impression for him than it was a fact: a happy burble in the background. Everyone was getting along, talking and laughing amiably, and even the people he might have expected trouble from, namely Wolf and Alix, behaved faultlessly. Alix recounted an adventure of hers, something to do with an Andorian pirate named Taninn, and when she closed with an account of the masterful deception that had led Taninn into surrendering his destroyer to her tiny corvette, the entire table erupted into a roar of laughter.

The courses came one after the other, the wine went round and round, and a good time was had by all. Eventually the dinner came to an end with a noble bottle of port, and while this was being drunk the captain gave warning to the assembled group that he feared they could be in for foul weather tomorrow. General Kravft gave a short speech to express his gratitude, and echo Drake's sentiments from the beginning of the meal; the captain wished his guests good night, and the party broke up, everyone in tearing high spirits and utterly fulfilled.

"That was a very successful meal, I thought," he remarked to Alix, when they were once again in his quarters, sharing a pot of coffee in comfort. Their discarded uniform jackets hung from the backs of Drake's chairs and Alix, who had eaten perhaps too heartily, was lying on his sofa with her shirt open.

"Very good." She agreed, and promptly fell asleep.

He left the helmsman snoozing on his couch and went into his bedroom, where his computer terminal was located. Sitting down at this, he called up a blank sheet and began to type:

'My dearest Annabelle,

'This is just a quick note to let you know how things stand at this early stage of the voyage. We took aboard Mr. Harrow and his party from Starbase Seventy on schedule, and with only a minimum of fuss (Alix, would you believe it, doesn't own a dress uniform, and so she turned up to meet our distinguished guests in her regular clothes, feeling that they were smart enough for the occasion). We're now underway for a little Klingon space station called In'jara'wa, and at our current speed of warp six we should be there in about three weeks; a nice, slow, leisurely flight.

'The ship is exactly as I remember her, and I cannot tell you what a joy it is to be aboard her again! When Admiral Granger first mentioned this assignment to me, I was afraid that it would come with a brand new starship for me to get used to, but no. Chief Fran oversaw the last refit, and she's as trim and up-to-the-minute as she can be made. Oh, the old girl's still a little slow, and I know you'll say she's under-armed – belongs to another age – but I wouldn't have any other ship.

'Sadly, there have been some changes aboard. You remember Pete, my old first officer? He's commander of the Wildcat frigate now, and he took a couple of my old officers with him. My bridge, therefore, is staffed with unfamiliar faces. They're all Starfleet men, and I have great hopes for them, but right now there are some rough edges that need to be rounded off.

'Speaking of rough edges, our friend Alix surprised me yet again by revealing that she and our Klingon passenger, General Kravft, have already met. She wouldn't tell me when or how, and the general only said something about a fight, but it's clear that something pretty serious went on between the two of them. Kravft doesn't seem happy to see her, and I keep worrying that he'll take a very Klingon approach to dealing with his unhappiness. For her part, Alix just seems amused by the whole thing, but then you know Alix. I hope that nothing goes really sour between those two: three weeks is a long time to spend cooped up on a ship with someone you can't stand.

'That's all for now – just a few words to let you know how we're doing. I'll write to you again in a few days to keep you apprised. How are things back home? I hope your mother is feeling much better.

'By the way, Nwabudike might be heading through the solar system in the next couple of days. If he comes by to visit, please give him my apologies, and promise him that I'll arrange a rendezvous with his ship as soon as this assignment is over.

'Well, that's all that I can think of for the moment: we had a bit of a party to welcome aboard our guests, and I can feel whatever Alix put in those glasses muddling my thoughts already. My bunk is calling to me, so I'll sign this now with all of my love, and look forward to hearing from you soon.'