Chapter Seven

While McDonald questioned Drake's stunt with the storm (she was still unaware that the incident had arisen spontaneously) she could not deny its effect. Whereas before she had passed some sullen, out-of-place people in the corridors, today she only saw happy crewmen; and in the mess hall, where she usually found everyone huddled into groups of their old shipmates, there were now people from every ship and all the landsmen mingling. They had been drawn together by a common trial and they were well on their way towards changing from a body of strangers into a crew.

The subtlest change, but perhaps the most telling, was the uniforms. In the early days of space exploration, every ship had been given a unique mission crest to identify it by. After the Enterprise saved Earth from the V'Ger space probe, Starfleet had adopted that ship's symbol for the entire service, in recognition of that crew's triumph. While there were no longer individual markings for ships, most crewmen were fiercely proud of their vessels (those few that weren't often belonging to unhappy ships) and they would celebrate their position in their own way. On some ships this meant a badge of some kind to be worn in addition to the standard delta (if the captain was lenient enough with the dress code), while others had to restrict themselves to marking their off duty and shore clothes. Endeavour, not being the strictest ship in the fleet when it came to uniforms, had the custom of wearing the ship's name embroidered on the right breast.

Before, the name had only appeared on the uniforms of the old Endeavours, for the new-comers, still feeling out of place and perhaps even unwelcome, hadn't dared to augment their uniforms so. Now, as she looked around, McDonald saw more crewmen wearing the name than not, and she imagined that those who still didn't have the embroidery were waiting for someone handy with a needle to do it for them.

She was of mixed feelings about the Endeavour tag appearing on uniforms. On the one hand it was good to see the crew so close, but on the other it was a breach of protocol. McDonald was torn, unsure of whether to come down on the crewmen, or perhaps to add the name to her own uniform. She decided that she would get Drake's view on the matter. She knew what he would say, of course, but at least hearing the words from him would let her write the whole thing off as the captain's eccentricity, and she was sure there was an appendix at the back of the book to cover that.

McDonald joined the line for food, and when she got to the front she found that the crewman serving her dinner (a man with Endeavour on his apron, she noticed) was one of the people who had served the table at the captain's feast. He smiled at her while he was spooning out the mashed potato, string beans, and chicken fillet in gravy. "Not quite up to the standard of what you had before, sir."

"Looks delicious," she assured him.

It actually tasted better than it looked, and McDonald found herself thinking about Chef McDuff. He might be an irritating person, she mused, but he knew how to get the best out of his kitchen.

Out of the corner of her eye she observed some people suddenly jump to their feet, but she paid it almost no attention. It was only when the vast majority of the mess were standing, with those that weren't being prodded and encouraged to do likewise, that she tilted her head up and took notice.

The reason for this sudden display of attention was that Alix Nain had stumbled into the mess hall, bleary-eyed and yawning widely, and the crew were going to show their respects. McDonald followed their example, and as she did so she reflected on the curious nature of the lower deck. She had seen the kind of loyalty that crewmen would show to their captains – following them from ship to ship, working like slaves for them, throwing themselves onto grenades for them, and cheering like mad whenever their beloved captain was rewarded. She had seen the opposite: seen crews who would grumble through the most menial task, desert at the first opportunity, and who only cheered when their captain was brought low. Sometimes their feelings were understandable – was it any wonder that Kirk's crews loved him so? Other times it was plain mysterious – incompetent captains worshiped, men praised by the admiralty despised. The lower decks were strange indeed, but they knew what they liked and what they disliked.

The old Endeavours would throw themselves on their swords for their captain; that much had been plain to McDonald from the moment that she had come aboard; and after this last run, and with stories of the ship's past adventures now taking on greater significance with the new hands – for she was their ship now, too – the commander expected that she would soon see that kind of devotion throughout the vessel.

Fine, she had expected that. Drake was an extremely popular captain. What she had not expected was the reverence the crew had for Alix Nain. The helmsman was very strange, and she had displayed certain character traits that McDonald could only describe as evil, but those things did not seem to matter to the hands; they adored her.

The young lieutenant finished yawning, rubbed her tired eyes, and slowly became aware that there was an unnatural hush in the mess. She forced her heavy lids to open as far as they could go, and was stunned to see near enough fifty men and women standing at attention and facing her.

"What's going on?"

"Paying our respects, ma'am," said Old Cummings, as he was affectionately known, being both the oldest crewman aboard and the oldest Endeavour of them all – he had been a young man when Captain Murdock had had the ship.

Alix looked absolutely baffled. "Sit down, please. I only came in for a bite to eat."

She found a plate of food pressed into her hands, brought straight to her by the server, and kindly shipmates guided the fatigued lieutenant to a seat at McDonald's table, they feeling that she might be more comfortable sitting with another officer than with regular crew. In that they could not have been more mistaken – Alix loved the lower decks, and although she wore a rank bar and was in charge of the helm department, she didn't consider herself to be any kind of an officer. Usually, she would have been happier by far to sit with her friends like Old Cummings or Joe Friedman, but right now she was glad that she wasn't amongst them. She was so tired that she would be lousy company.

McDonald was looking at her – Alix wished that she would stop. Her eyes had fluttered closed again, and she only knew that the commander's attention was focused on her because of Kana's whisper in her ear. She would have given control over to her other self right now so that she could go back to sleep, but she was too weary to bring about the Change.

"Why were they standing, Vicki?" Alix asked tiredly, spooning potato into her mouth. She sounded old and fatigued and very confused.

"They respect you."

Alix laughed at the notion. "Why?"

"Why? Because you're a brilliant helmsman. You got the ship through the storm."

"Oh yeah."

McDonald placed a sensitive hand on the girl's shoulder. "I think you're very tired, Lieutenant."

"I think I am, Vicki." She finished off her mashed potato, took a few bites of the chicken, and smiled lopsidedly. "I'm gonna go back to bed."

She rose and started to make her way out, but couldn't quite manage a straight line. Immediately, a pair of old shipmates appeared and between them they supported the lieutenant and guided her carefully, tenderly, away to her quarters.

McDonald was left to think about the mentality of the lower deck again, and to wonder how she could come to be loved by the crew as Drake and Alix were. She was starting to see how necessary it was.

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The captain was to address all hands from the ship's main recreation room, and as many of the five hundred and twenty-one strong crew that could fit into the room were squeezed in when he mounted the podium with his officers. A full day had passed since the ordeal of the ship's passage through the storm, and everyone was alert and refreshed, even Alix who stood proudly at her friend's left hand.

"We've come a long way since we left spacedock," said Drake, "in more ways than one. When we started out on this voyage we were five hundred men and women, packed together on a starship and sent out into the night. Since then we have been brought together by trial and experience. We've become a crew; and I am proud of each and every one of you; I'm proud to be your captain. And I'm especially proud to call you all Endeavours."

A short speech, but it was met with an overwhelming roar of approval. Of course, by now there wasn't a soul aboard who wouldn't call himself or herself an Endeavour, but hearing it from the lips of the captain was the ultimate confirmation, and they felt a warm glow of pride in their hearts. For the people who had come from other ships, the unhappy memories of the past were swept away; they belonged to another life and might just have been a bad dream for all the significance they had now. The landsmen too had cause to feel proud, for they were landsmen no longer.

Harrow, Hope, and Ling had attended, partly out of common courtesy and partly because they had felt that something of great importance was to be said. Harrow understood that what they had heard had been meant for the ship's company, and that to those people Drake's words had been some of the most beautiful ever uttered, but they meant rather less to him; Ling was disgusted by the entire spectacle, and Hope's feelings were neatly summed up by something that she whispered to herself upon walking out of the hall: "I wish he'd been talking to me."

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"How interesting that a few fairly meaningless words can have such an effect on the masses," observed Kana Nain. "Even more interesting that some men can make speeches of only a few words and still whip up a frenzy of excitement, while others can speak for days and no one listens."

"I'm sorry, were you saying something?"

"Hysterical. My point is this: your friend was born at the wrong time. Had he popped his head into the world as an ancient Roman, or as a wealthy European at any time before the nineteenth century, he could have rallied great armies and crushed nations beneath his heel. That might have been interesting."

"Yes. And I'm sure you would have loved to play the little devil on his shoulder if that had been the case."

Kana sent a sideways glance at her better self, and a despairing little snort. "That is something else that I don't understand about you, Alix. You are respected, people obey you without thought, and if you wanted to you could be worshiped and adored. You have me to help you. And yet you have never really taken advantage of any of this. When we were independent you could have crewed a fleet of ships with the pirates and privateers that wanted to serve you. We could have swept across the sector and brought all those isolated little colonies together under our banner."

"Is that what you wanted?"

"I've always wanted to be a queen."

Alix shuddered. "Your dream. I hate responsibility."

"Who wants that?" Kana showed her teeth. "It was the beheadings that I was interested in. Also having people hung, drawn and quartered – that was always amusing."

"You're going to give me nightmares again, thank you."

"Lieutenant Nain. A word please."

It was Ling, coming rushing up after her, puffing as he had had to run to overtake the fast walking lieutenant. She turned to greet him with a civil smile, but it disappeared from her face almost instantly when she saw the expression of near indignation that the man was wearing. Kana stepped into view from around her shoulder, her ghostly red eyes seeing the same thing that Alix's saw, and a twisted grin divided her face. "Let me give him nightmares, Alix."

"Don't tempt me."

"Yes, Mr. Ling? What can I do for you?"

"I understand that you are close with the captain, that you are one of his better friends?"

"Yeah."

He looked at her sternly. "In that case, I would like you to put it to him that his treatment of the distinguished Mr. Harrow has thus far been shocking – barbaric."

"Please let me get involved. He's asking for it."

"In what way?"

"In every way!" He seemed stunned that she even needed to ask the question. "First, the travesty of quarters that Mr. Harrow has been so ungenerously forced into. Common crew quarters, despite what you might have us believe! Second, that inexcusable period of ungodly turbulence that we were all forced to endure – endless shaking throughout the ship, not a moment's peace – you cannot tell me that there was no way that a starship capable of travelling at two thousand times the speed of light could outrun an ion storm! Thirdly, that shocking display this morning, when all hands were mustered to hear the captain speak, and not one word of apology for that ordeal. This is absolutely no way to treat such a highly respected Federation diplomat!"

"Alix, he is on his hands and knees, begging for it!"

Very professionally, Alix answered, "I will, of course, convey your impression to Captain Drake. Is there anything else?"

Ling was surprised. "No. Thank you for your time, Lieutenant."

She nodded politely and Ling walked away, feeling uncomfortable. If Alix had been rude or difficult he would have expected that, it being how she had always behaved towards him in the past, but she hadn't; she had listened to him calmly and reasonably. It put him on edge.

He was right to be nervous.

"Kana."

"Yes, Alix?"

"Don't let him get a moment's sleep tonight."

The Destroyer's face lit with wicked delight. "Count on it."

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"Will, I have something to say to you."

The captain was on his feet immediately. He had been holding the centre chair, keeping an eye on the ship's progress and enjoying the streaking star field – still the most wonderful sight to a starship's man, even though the storm was now two days in the past. He hadn't expected to see his friend on the bridge, for although it was her shift she was still quite drained, and he had expected her to be sleeping. "Alix. What are you doing here? Shouldn't you be…?"

"I'm fine, thank you. I had a very long sleep yesterday and I feel fine, ready to get back to work. In a minute. Right now, Will…"

"Ready room."

"I've just had an uncomfortable talk – no, that's the wrong word, since I didn't really say anything, just listened – an uncomfortable monologue with Mr. Ling. He told me that Harrow was upset with his treatment aboard ship. It's probably just Ling being a pompous prick as usual, but I thought I'd mention it."

Drake sighed and leant against the rim of his desk. He rubbed the bridge of his nose. "I'm glad that you did, Alix. I hate the thought of upsetting Harrow – I respect him. Maybe you could…no. No, that won't do. I'll speak to him myself. Sometimes it's best for the ship's captain to appear in person."

This Drake did, having first changed into a better uniform jacket and having confirmed through Yeoman Hope that the diplomat was at leisure. Mr. Harrow greeted him warmly, poured him a glass of rum from a bottle that he had brought with him, and begged him to take a seat.

"Thank you, sir." He wrapped his hands around the glass but didn't drink any. "Mr. Harrow, it has come to my attention that there might be some elements of the voyage that you are finding difficult."

"Not at all, Captain. What gave you the notion?"

"Words reach my ears, sir."

Harrow smiled gently and with good humour. "Well, it's true that I found the events of a few days ago a little disturbing. I'm not a great traveller, Captain, and I have spent very little time aboard spaceships. I didn't know that it could get so rough. But that's in the past now, and we're sailing smoothly. I'm quite enjoying myself, actually. These voyages through the night…they're quite peaceful, don't you find, Captain?"

"I do. There's nothing as relaxing as a long flight in a comfortable ship. Speaking of, are the quarters we assigned to your satisfaction? Endeavour carries a large crew for a ship of her size, but we might be able to find you a more spacious cabin if you'd like."

"Nonsense! How much space does one man need, Captain?" He swept his arms to encompass the comfortably sized room. "No, no, I'm perfectly content here. My quarters are very cosy, and I am right by the general and my staff. No, I honestly have no complaints."

"Well," sighed Drake, and a smile lit his face, "that is a pleasure to hear. I had been concerned…"

"Mr. Ling is a valuable servant and a skilled aide," said Harrow, certain of where these rumours of dissatisfaction had come from, "but he can be overprotective."

"I see."

This business taken care of, Drake was keen to get back to the bridge, but his glass of rum was untouched, he didn't want to appear ungrateful, and Harrow seemed pleased to have company. He took a sip of his drink and savoured the flavour, waiting for the diplomat to speak.

"I listened to your speech this morning, Captain. It seemed to have a great affect on the ship's crew."

"Thank you, sir; that was the intention."

"Does it mean so much to them, to be called Endeavours?"

To Drake, who had been Starfleet since the day he was born, the question seemed unnecessary. The answer was so obvious, so natural. But he reminded himself that Harrow was not Starfleet, and that he had never been. It was sometimes hard for him to understand, but there was a whole other world out there, one without uniforms and starships. His darling Annabelle belonged to that world, had tried to introduce him to it, but he doubted that he would ever really comprehend it, or be a part of it.

So he answered: "Ship's crews are a community, and people like to know that they belong. We took aboard a great many new hands before setting out on this voyage – more than three hundred of them, in fact – and it's taken a while to integrate them. There's been a lot of division aboard, you see: this group being old Cochranes, that one old Indefatigables, those people landsmen… After our run through the storm there's a lot more closeness, a lot of the dividing lines have been broken, and I just wanted everyone to see that, as far as their captain was concerned, there were no divisions anymore; that they were all Endeavours."

"I had no idea. Of course, I knew that the ship had taken on some new people, and I'd heard a group of crewmen talking about men from the Albatross. They sounded pitying."

"Yes. A sad lot the Albatrosses. I don't like to say anything against another captain, but the Albatross has never been a happy ship, as you might know. There have been a great many transfer requests, and her people often desert at the first opportunity. We took aboard a lot of them, and it's taken them all this time to come out of their shells."

This was a fascinating topic of conversation for Harrow. He had never wanted to be a starship officer, but like every man of his generation he had grown up listening to the stories of bold Starfleet explorers. He wanted to learn everything he could for one such man. "What makes an unhappy ship, Captain? I mean, surely all ships are run in the same manner – you all follow the same rule book."

Drake smiled as he explained. "For the most part, yes we do. But rules aboard a starship are flexible things, sir, and you have to remember that on his own ship each captain is God. If a captain likes things to be done a particular way, that is the way they'll be done – especially if he can find a body of officers that agree with his methods."

"Are there many ships like Albatross?"

That was an uncomfortable point there. The public image of the Fleet was of perfection – gleaming white brilliance. That was partly a lie, as all public images were. The Starfleet was probably as good as it could be, Drake firmly believed that, but it was still an organization run by humanoids. And all humanoids, from humans to the logical Vulcans, were imperfect.

"You have to remember that there are thousands of ships in the fleet, so there are guaranteed to be some bad apples. Yes, there are unhappy ships out there. You don't hear about them – not unless misery turns to mutiny – but they exist."

"But why? What brings it about?"

He shrugged. "There are lots of theories. Some blame it on ships being sent on long, pointless cruises or blockades; others say that some people just aren't cut out for starship life. There might be an element of truth in those theories."

"You have your own?"

Drake thought before he replied. To another Starfleet officer he would never say what was in his mind now – between uniformed men some things had to remain unsaid. But Harrow was different. He was a civilian, a distinguished guest, and he knew how to take something in confidence. It was fairly safe to be truthful with him.

"I've been on ships all my life – grew up on a deep space explorer. I've seen things from the point of view of the crew, as well as the officers. The men take their lead from the captain. If he's an amiable person, if he doesn't push them too hard, if he rewards them for their efforts and makes them feel respected, then you'll have a happy ship. If, on the other hand, the captain is a tyrant then you can have nothing but misery."

"So you blame the captains?"

"I do. You just have to look at them. Captain Briggs of the Albatross, for example. He's sixty-one, has been a captain since he was forty, and he has absolutely no chance of promotion and he knows it. He's bitter and disillusioned. There are others like him. And there are other men, young men, who lack any real skills or leadership ability and try to compensate by bullying the hands into submission."

Drake felt a note of sadness within him when he spoke of Briggs and promotion, reflecting that his own chance of reaching flag-rank were not much greater than they were for that unpopular man. He pushed the thought aside as best he could, but part of it stayed with him. He had always had his heart set on flag-rank, high command, and to think that he might never reach it made him feel unfulfilled.

"Thank you for your insights, Captain," said Harrow. "Very enlightening. There's a lot more to Starfleet than I'd been led to believe. The Diplomatic Corps doesn't always speak of your service in the best light, I'm sorry to say. Uniformed automatons following a rulebook is one description I've heard. I can't wait to get home and tell my friends how wrong they are." He laughed good-naturedly.

"I hope you can set them straight," agreed Drake, finishing up his rum and standing. "Now, if you'll excuse me, sir, I must return to the bridge."

"Of course. Thank you for your time, Captain. Oh, one last thing. I was hoping that I could invite you and your officers to poker tonight, to repay your kind hospitality the other day."

Drake bowed slightly. "That's very generous of you, Mr. Harrow, and I would be delighted to accept."

"Excellent. I have taught the game to General Kravft and he will also be attending. Please bring some of your officers, Captain. Lieutenant Nain would be particularly welcome – I still have to thank her for making our time in the storm as smooth as possible." He paused for a moment. Licked his suddenly dry lips. "Perhaps the other young woman would like to play as well? The one with the dark blond hair and bright blue eyes."

"Lieutenant Wolf?"

"Yes."

There was no great mystery in why Harrow was keen to invite Wolf – the genetically engineered woman was certainly attractive. Drake wondered if he should tell the diplomat that he was wasting his time, that Wolf was practically celibate, but no, that would be too forward, too assuming. "I'll pass the invitation along."

"Thank you, Captain. And I'm sorry that you've been bothered by these rumours. I'll have a word with Mr. Ling."

Drake said nothing to discourage this and left, feeling better now that the matter was resolved. He was about to return to the bridge when it occurred to him that Mr. Harrow wasn't the only V.I.P. that he was carrying, and that it was possible that the Klingons might have issues of their own to raise with him.

He needn't have been concerned. Kravft's great head was glowing jovially when he greeted the captain. "Drake! Ha, ha, ha! What a glorious storm! Such rage, such power, and you ship brushed it aside! Ha, ha, ha."

"You didn't find it at all uncomfortable?"

"Uncomfortable? Impossible! If anything, it was too comfortable. This ship of yours is luxurious. Too much so. You waste space with comforts. Space that could be used to carry more weaponry!"

"I'll pass that along to engineering. So you have no complaints?"

"None."

"Excellent, I'm glad to hear it. I just thought that you should know we've increased speed to make up for lost time, so you'll still be to In'jara'wa within the time we stated."

"Good."

Drake returned to his bridge feeling that he had done his duty by his guests. Everything was exactly as he had left it, the ship running smoothly, and after asking McDonald for Alix's whereabouts he stepped into his ready room to wake her. Alix was indeed asleep – she was much more tired than she had realized – but her body was up and about, or more accurately sprawled on Drake's sofa and reading one of the leather-bound books he kept. Les Miserables, he read from the spine, one of his personal favourites, and it seemed that his friend was enjoying it too.

"Have you read it before?"

"No, actually, but I've seen the musical," purred the heated voice. "A pleasant tale."

A joke, he decided, for there was very little at all pleasant in Les Miserables. He well recognized this dark side of his friend, and he knew that in this mood her humours became morbid and sinister.

He strove to ignore it and strolled over to his desk while he addressed his friend. "I've had a word with Mr. Harrow. He assures me that everything is fine with him, that it's just his assistant being a little overzealous. Apparently he's overprotective."

"The man is a fool."

Drake hated that low, deep purr, and even more the words that came with it. His friend was such a wonderful, kind individual, and it had always shocked him that this malignant side of her character should exist. He wished that it didn't, and he hated to be around it.

"He's a little high and mighty, and he's becoming tiresome. What I just said never leaves this room, understood?"

"Oh, clearly."

Promises from Alix Nain were never, ever binding – entirely subject to her whims at any given moment. When her dark side got involved there was even less chance of her keeping her word, as a dismayed Drake knew only too well. However, for once, Kana Nain fully intended to be as good as her word. Alix had given her free reign to terrorize Ling tonight and there was little that she would enjoy more.

Perching himself on the edge of his desk and looking over at her, Drake said, "By the way, Alix, we've been invited to play poker with Mr. Harrow this evening. I've already accepted the invitation. I hope it's not inconvenient?"

"Not in the slightest, Will," assured Kana, one of her nasty smiles appearing. A thought floated through her mind: The perfect alibi.

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As an alibi for Kana's behaviour it was indeed flawless. The poker game was attended not only by Harrow and the captain, but by McDonald, Wolf, Chief Fran and Kravft as well. They all gathered around the diplomat's small dining table, drinking the rum that was liberally provided and playing draw poker until well into the graveyard shift.

Alix had very peculiar luck with cards. While the others around her always received hands that were of much the same strength each game, hers were infinitely variable, but mostly bad. For seven games she lost money steadily, never holding anything better than a pair of sevens, and it reached a point where her opponents started to feel bad – for they were playing for real money, not chips. Then, on the eighth game, the cards fell perfectly for Alix, a straight flush in spades, and she won everything, taking both Fran and McDonald completely out of the game. The match continued with the five remaining players, and Alix resumed her steady losses, until the very last hand dealt when they went all in and she won the entire pot, every penny of everyone's money.

While Harrow was entertaining his guests, Ling went over a few notes he had made during the earlier negotiations – Kravft had expressed an interest in returning to the table tomorrow – and satisfied that he had refreshed the key points in his mind, he went to bed. He was feeling in a sour mood, which was not entirely uncommon for him, although this was a bad mood even by his standards. He had never been well liked aboard the Endeavour – indeed, the ship's hands had always considered him to be something of a trial – but until today he hadn't been actively despised. Unfortunately for him, more than one crewman had overheard his talk with Nain earlier, and it had spread like wildfire. He had received hard glances and uncivil remarks all day, and it irked him. He was the diplomat's assistant! Didn't the ship's people know how to treat a man in his position?

Too tired to give his anger the fuel it needed to properly blaze, Ling laid down on his bunk – moderately comfortable, although he was bound and determined to believe otherwise – and shut his eyes.

Kana, her timing rarely anything but flawless, chose that moment to slide her ghostly form into the room. Although she was usually invisible and inaudible to everyone except Alix, the Destroyer could present herself to other people when she desired to, and at this particular moment she did.

"Wake up, Mr. Ling. Rise and shine."

The voice was strangely familiar, but at the same time he was convinced that he had never heard it before. Tiredly, his eyes fluttered open, he rolled onto his back, and got the fright of his life. There, just centimetres from him, was the most horrible face he had ever seen – skin as pale as death, red eyes blazing like an inferno, long sharp teeth hungry for blood. A yelp of terror passed his lips, and hot laughter from hers.

"Ah, Mr. Ling. I have so much to show you…"

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The next day, a pale, shaken, and utterly exhausted Ling was in the security office, harassing anyone who wore a uniform. "An outrage! An intolerable offence! I'll have her commission for this!"

"Calm down," instructed Hannah Wolf, "and tell me what has happened."

She had come in that morning hoping for a few quiet hours in her office to dispel the throbbing in her head, before she was due to take her place at navigation on the bridge. So much for that hope.

Ling did not calm at all, but he did start to explain. "It's that lieutenant of yours, that Nain!"

"What about her?"

"She came into my room last night. Tormented me. I'll see her ruined for this!"

Wolf's communications skills were adequate at best. She often had trouble following what other people were saying, subtle nuances and hidden meanings always escaped her, and when emotion started churning with words all she heard was noise. So far, out of everything that Ling had said, all she had heard was 'Nain' and 'room'. "What are you talking about?"

Seeing that the predator was having difficulty understanding him, Ling adopted the slow, deliberate speech of one talking to a particularly dim child. "She came into my quarters during the night. Said all kinds of things." Emotion flooded into him again. "Terrible, terrible things. Showed me…" tears came into his eyes and Wolf looked away, feeling not sympathy but contempt for weakness.

"When did this happen?"

"It began at midnight."

"Midnight?"

"Yes, midnight! Zero hundred hours. You can tell the time, I assume?"

Wolf could – it was one of her proudest achievements. "At midnight Lieutenant Nain was playing poker with Mr. Harrow, myself, and four others."

"No she wasn't, she was tormenting me!"

"Mr. Ling, you are wrong."

"Where is the captain? I demand to see the captain!" His arms flew in the air and his face turned quite red.

"What?"

A finger jabbed towards her chest. He was very lucky that she didn't snap it off. "If you won't investigate this then I demand to speak to the captain. I won't allow this injustice against me to go unpunished. Now where is Drake?"

Wolf felt that she was being challenged, and she very nearly leapt at the challenger; very nearly dug her claws and fangs into his soft body. She was just barely able to hold her instincts in check, and only by gripping onto the underside of her desk so tightly that her fingers left clear indentations in the metal.

"Sit down, Mr. Ling. I will look into this matter. Lieutenant Nain, please report to the security office."

Alix arrived a few minutes later, looking concerned, as she hadn't been summoned to the security office since Wolf had taken over as head of department. She wondered what she had done. "What's up, Wolf? What's the problem?"

"You know what the problem is, Nain!"

"Ling? You look terrible, what happened to you?"

He laughed with outrage. "What happened? You kept me awake all night, feeding horrible thoughts into my head!"

"Huh?"

"You were in my room! You said these things and you…you made me see things! I know it was you!"

The young woman stared at Ling with a what-the-hell-are-you-talking-about look written on her face.

"What makes you think it was Lieutenant Nain?" Enquired the security chief.

"Because she had the same stupid spiky hair and the red eyes!" Ling spat, gesturing towards Alix's face. "Oh her skin was white, and she had fangs, and her eyes glowed, but it was definitely Nain!"

"Ling, you're hysterical –"

"Shut up! Shut up! I'll have your head, Nain!"

Determining to ignore the insane ranting, Alix faced Wolf and said reasonably, "You know it's impossible, right? I was with you guys all evening. You carried me back to my cabin yourself, Wolf."

That was true. Alix had had slightly too much of Mr. Harrow's rum, and she had needed a hand in finding a straight line. She had certainly been in no fit state to sneak off and upset Ling and Wolf knew for a fact that Alix had not left the room before then.

A thought trundled slowly through her simple mind, and the security chief suggested: "Maybe you used the computer. Holograms. Your pranks are legendary."

"Okay, fine, I admit that. But you know me, Wolf. I might play a joke on someone, but I always come clean and admit it afterwards. Besides, this kind of torture isn't my style. You know that."

She did, and more convincingly she did not detect the sour reek of a lie on Alix. Her sense of smell was exceptional, and while it was not quite infallible there were some things that she just could not miss. She nodded. "Very well."

"What?" Ling raged. "You're just going to let her go? Just like that? I know that she did this!"

"Medical team to the security office."

"Are you serious?"

"Bring sedatives."

The nurses arrived and pumped a shot of something into the fitful Ling. He fell down peaceably on the gurney and they wheeled him off to sickbay, the security guards silently laughing at him as he went. Wolf reclined in her chair and looked at the human helmsman. "I am sorry for that, Alix."

"No problem," said the stunned girl. "Can I go now?"

"Of course."

Out in the corridor she turned towards Kana, and in a thoroughly shocked voice she whispered, "What did you do to him?"

Her counterpart smiled demonically. "Let's just say that I put the fear of God into him."

Ling was much quieter thereafter, and a source of perpetual amusement for the crew, who delighted in the retelling of the man's breakdown. Although Alix tried several more times to get specifics out of Kana, she never discovered what her companion had done to so utterly torment the man, and maybe that was just as well. Alix rarely dreamt, and when she did her dreams were always nightmares. More often than not these were brought about by Kana's behaviour, and knowing too much about Ling's torture might have given her sleepless nights of her own.

As it turned out, such nights were going to be plentiful in her future.