Chapter Fourteen

The Endeavour was once again a streak of light tearing across space as she retraced her steps into Klingon space at warp nine. She would be travelling farther this time, going beyond the In'jara'wa border station and all the way to the capital planet of Qo'noS itself, but at her higher warp velocity Endeavour would make the trip to the capital in no more time than it had taken her to reach the space station.

Close to a month of solid, uninterrupted passage then, and the crew very quickly came to terms with this; accepted the constant flying through a field of stars as the norm, a fact of life. A steady, comfortable routine was established aboard, a natural order that might have seemed odd to a landsman but was perfectly apparent to any Endeavour; and so the days ticked by at their own pace to the pattern of waking, manning duty stations for eight hours, recreation time, sleep and thus the end of the day. Although now an admiral, Drake was still the ship's captain as well, and his views of how she should be run had changed not one iota. The crew were regularly put through their paces in simulated encounters with a variety of enemy ships. There was no grumbling, no complaints; by now the Endeavours were accustomed to these nightly battle drills, and to them it seemed astonishing that few other ships in the fleet practiced the custom. Even more than it being tradition, though, they had their memory of their triumph over the Klingon cruiser and battleship to focus their thinking. Not only had there been a great deal of glory in those wins, they had also received handsome bonuses, and it occurred to the crew that if a couple of hours a night plying their weapons and going through the procedures of battle could pay off so handsomely once then it could certainly happen again.

A happy, even joyous crew handled the ship as she made her way out of Federation space, across the former Neutral Zone (officially gone now, but still very much alive in the minds of most people), and into Klingon territory. A few hours after she entered Klingon space a cruiser approached the Endeavour, and the hands were all prepared to give her everything they had, until it turned out that she was a border patrol ship sent to investigate them. After confirming the Endeavour's identity and destination, the cruiser went on its way, and the disappointed crewmen returned to their duty.

"I've rarely seen a crew so eager for action," remarked Drake, relaxing in his ready room with his friend and a bottle of burgundy.

"There's still a lot of resentment about what happened to Herminie. The crew want to see the perpetrators brought to justice." A certain eagerness appeared in Alix's eyes. "And they did get a great heap of swag after our last battle. Even split amongst five hundred men it was a good day's work. They're keen for more."

"I hope they're not expecting the Midas touch on this one. That last scrap was a lucky fluke."

"Doesn't stop them from hoping. Doesn't stop us from hoping."

"I love that piratical gleam in your eye, Alix. And we might perhaps hope for…no, let's not tempt fate."

"Interesting the way those old sailing superstitions have hung on into this day and age," remarked Kana Nain, standing off in the corner of the room and playing with a yo-yo, to the bafflement of her host. "Tempting fate and scratching wood. Foolish ideas."

"I've been meaning to ask you ever since we left spacedock," Drake said, pouring himself another glass. "You never did answer my question: have you been to Qo'noS?"

She decided to be honest, just this once. There wasn't much point in lying, anyway – too many people on the planet might recognize her and give her away. "I have, actually. Just the once, though. I was…well, that's neither here nor there."

He didn't press the issue. "What was your impression?"

Alix pulled up what she could remember of her time on Qo'noS, and what she could safely say to Drake without blowing the secret of her second self's existence. "Cold. Very cold. Of course, that was before Praxis did the big firework, and I hear things have changed a lot since then. My biggest impression of the place was of it being very, very old. Old and musty – intimidatingly so. Like the exhibits in the British Museum: everything seemed to have been standing since time before time. I remember Kana saying she was surprised that none of the buildings had fallen down yet."

"Kana?"

Alix mentally hit herself. "A friend."

"Nice recovery."

Still, Alix blushed. That had been a slip there, and a dangerous one. She had never so much as mentioned Kana's name before; had never shared the secret of her other self with anyone, and never planned to. Once or twice, in her more philosophical moments, she had contemplated telling Will, believing that he would understand, would accept this truth about her, but she never did. Whenever she considered talking the ugly face of Dr. R'nari would swell up in her mind and clamp her lips. The lying and hiding was necessary; she had seen what happened when the secret was exposed.

It had happened more than once. Doctor R'nari had been the first, and for her the most infamous time, but it had happened again since then. Knowledge of the Destroyer and her power had made her the target of greedy, selfish people, had turned friends into enemies, and in those few who could accept the truth about her and not be tempted to claim Kana for themselves it had at least changed the dynamic of the friendship. Alix was not prepared to risk soiling her relationship with Drake – she treasured it far too greatly

Concentrate, girl, she warned herself. Another slip like that and we're in trouble.

Drake was looking at her. "I suppose if I ask about this friend of yours you won't tell me anything about her – I assume it is a her?"

"That would be telling."

"Thought as much," Drake grinned, hardly bothered that she was keeping yet another secret from him, unaware of the monumental significance of this one. "Getting back to Qo'noS; any other thoughts you'd like to share?"

"It's a very dangerous place; dangerous even for Klingons. Virtually all of the major Houses own land on Qo'noS, and they all have a percentage of the population swearing loyalty to them. It's not uncommon to see gangs from different Houses murdering each other in the street. Assassins are two a penny, you can make an enemy just with a look, and if you don't keep your guard up at all times you're inviting someone to stick something sharp in you."

"Pleasant." Drake winced.

"It is." Alix sounded remarkably unperturbed. Of course, she had so much less to fear than most of her kind. "Like I said, though, I was there before Praxis exploded. Things might have changed since then, but if they have I doubt it'll be a change for the better. Any landing party should be armed, obviously armed, and I would strongly advise leaving Wolf on the ship. The capital is a powder keg, and with her tendency to act on instinct Wolf could well act as a spark."

"Thanks for the thought. I don't suppose you've seen the council chambers?"

"I might have."

Drake determined not to ask what a young Alix Nain might have been doing in the Klingon government building. "And what might your impression of it be?"

"A very big, very dark, very empty hall. No chairs, except for where the Chancellor sits. Council members gather in a big huddle near to the chair and shout at each other until a decision is reached – I'm told that it eventually happens, anyway; I watched for days and didn't see anything like it." She grinned, enjoying her own joke. "It's not much of what we'd call a government, Will. And one nut job with a hand grenade could blow the whole lot sky high; their security procedures aren't exactly brilliant."

"I'll remember that. Alix, during your visit to Qo'noS, is that when you met General Kravft?"

"No." Her answer was short; she was determined to tell him nothing. However by now Drake had already learnt some of the story from another source, and he said, "He told me a little about your meeting. He mentioned something about a battle?"

Alix laughed bitterly. "It wasn't a battle."

"It was a slaughter. I hadn't known you were capable of killing so many." The whispered words made Alix wince. She remembered all too clearly what had happened: one of the times when she had stood amongst the dead on a battlefield, a river of blood flowing around her. To this day she didn't know how many had died, in total or by her hand. Both armies had been decimated, and the Klingons forced to withdraw their occupying forces. Alix and her allies had won the day, but the cost had been astronomical.

"General Kravft gave me a few details. Said something about Klingon forces seeking to conquer a little planet along their borders with the Romulan Star Empire; seize its dilithium reserves. Something about how, shortly after they landed, an army was led against them by a teenage human, called the Destroyer by her men. How that same Destroyer wiped out two Klingon battalions and drove Kravft's forces from the planet."

"I don't suppose he mentioned what's happened to the world since then?"

Drake shook his head. "He's never been back, and neither has the Empire. Couldn't afford the kind of losses you inflicted."

"Neither could they," she whispered, thinking of the primitive people whom she and Kana had whipped up into a fighting force.

"You never told me you'd led armies."

"I've had an interesting life."

Drake eyed her critically. "So what should I call you? General? Lieutenant? Have you been an admiral and not told me? Destroyer?"

"I like Destroyer. I'm quite partial to Alix, as well."

He ran his fingers through her hair to show her that he felt no ill will towards her for keeping these secrets, knowing that Alix loved to have her hair stroked. She sighed with pleasure and leant against the muscular frame of her friend, knowing herself to be forgiven, and reassured that Drake would ask no more questions of her for the time being.

When later he did ask, she'd be prepared with lies ready to tell.

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Six days from Qo'noS, a Klingon ship approached the Endeavour: a fast strike cruiser; not excessively well armed, but designed for speed and manoeuvrability. Drake watched the approaching vessel on the forward screen. They had dropped down to impulse for this unexpected rendezvous, and the Klingon ship seemed to be creeping towards them achingly slowly.

"Have they responded to hails yet?"

"We've received an audio message from their captain," McDonald responded. "They say they're an escort, sent by the High Council to bring us to Qo'noS."

Drake considered it. A possibility, he believed. The Klingons certainly knew that they were coming, and despite the peace treaty he very much doubted that the Klingon government would be happy to have a Federation starship wandering about freely behind their lines. He knew that, in their position, he would certainly send out a ship to escort any Klingon vessel into a Federation port.

"What do you think, Alix?"

"I don't know," she said, looking and feeling confused. "It seems right but…do you feel your guts twisting?"

"I do."

"Can't put my finger on it, but something's…off."

Drake walked over to the communications console, keeping his eyes on the screen as he moved. "Vicki, have they given the private signal?"

She looked up from her boards, her face scrunched up. "That's the strangest thing, sir. They sent out something, but it was badly garbled. I've asked them to repeat, but…"

"Sarn, any indication that their comm system's taken damage?"

"Scanning," she leant over her instruments, light from her monitors playing across her face, accentuating the harsh lines of her Vulcan skull. "Their systems appear normal."

"Will, take a look at this. See the way they're manoeuvring? It's subtle, but if they keep it up they'll pass right across our prow in a few more minutes."

"Putting them in a good position to rake us," Drake mused, knowing that was what his friend was thinking as well. "Brok, are their weapons charged?"

"No clear indication, sir. I'm detecting what could be power signatures, but they're muffled. Could just be anomalies in their EPS grid."

Drake was not prepared to believe that. He recognized these manoeuvres: setting up for a good firing position, subtly arming, flashing out something to substitute the private signal…all tricks that he had used against superior opponents in the past, all designed to confuse the target and give the other captain a few vital minutes to prepare his assault.

"Vicki, demand they repeat the private signal immediately."

A flash of gibberish. She shook her head. "I didn't get it, sir."

"Red alert! All hands to battle stations! Mr. Brok, shields up, weapons active. Lock our phasers on their impulse engines and weapon systems. Commander McDonald, signal that ship and demand their immediate surrender."

The Klingon vessel responded immediately, revealing herself to be exactly what Drake had begun to believe her to be. Shields went up and a barrage of disruptor fire streaked across space, exploding against the Endeavour's defences before Alix could get the ship out of the way. Although the alert had been blaring, no one had quite expected an attack straight away, and when the hits landed and the ship bucked, people throughout Endeavour were thrown to the deck.

"Return fire, Brok."

Endeavour's phasers spoke; three of her shots landed home, but two more went wide as the strike cruiser began evasive manoeuvres. She looped above the big starship and let fly with another barrage of disruptor fire, streaking across the Endeavour's dorsal and away into space before Brok could pin her with return fire.

The starship shook again, and the overhead lighting dimmed as the computer automatically redirected nonessential power to reinforce the shields at the points of impact. The lights came on strong again just a second later, after the final hit had landed, but those brief moments of gloom quite frightened some of the new Endeavours, who had not been in a battle before. Their friends comforted and reassured them as best they could – it would be over soon – the admiral would take care of those Klingons – they'd feel Endeavour's bite. Good words, kindly meant, and they had the desired effect; the frightened hands returned to their work.

"Damn, she's fast!" Alix hissed. "I can't keep us out of their line of fire."

"Then get them into ours. We've got a stronger punch," said Drake, leaning over her shoulder, monitoring the flow of the engagement on her instruments. He didn't need any advanced helm training to recognize that the red blip was the enemy, the green Endeavour, and to follow their respective manoeuvres.

"Right."

The Endeavour's broadside came into play a moment later, every one of her starboard phasers erupting in one all-mighty blast. Quick and nimble as she undoubtedly was, the strike cruiser could not evade this terrible storm of destructive force; neither could her shields turn it aside. Endeavour's broadside shredded Klingon defences and marred the pristine beauty of her hull, ripping great deep gashes into her armour plating before she could veer off and put her still-strong rear shields towards the starship.

"Keep on them, Alix. Brok, fire as your weapons come to bare."

For twenty long minutes the exchange of fire continued; within five it was perfectly clear to whom the victory would go. The Klingon ship was quick, but she couldn't throw anything like the weight of fire the Endeavour commanded, and neither could she take the kind of wallop that the starship was capable of shrugging aside. Alix couldn't fly the ship fast enough to avoid all of the Klingon attacks, but she could keep Brok's weapons trained on their target more often than not, and the starship's phasers struck again and again with frightening force. Shields and hull crumbled under the relentless barrage, until finally a lucky shot knocked something loose in the Klingon's engines and they stalled in space, unable to fight on.

"They're dead in the water, sir," Brok advised.

"Keep your phasers trained on her, Mr. Brok. Lieutenant Wolf, Alix, let's form a boarding party. Commander McDonald, signal that ship and let them know we're coming across. Advise them that if they don't surrender we will take their ship by force."

"Aye, sir."

The Klingons did actually surrender, which took Drake by surprise. They did not do so right away of course, drawing their swords when the boarders materialized and clashing with tremendous force, but it was immediately apparent that they had no chance of winning. Lieutenant Wolf was a killing animal, and she made short, bloody work of anyone who came near her or her pack; Alix stepped back to allow Kana to have some fun; and between the predator and the Destroyer, the Klingon crew stood no chance. There was honour in glorious battle, but none in a fool's suicide, and the crew surrendered after just two minutes of fighting.

Drake had the most elaborately dressed Klingon brought before him. "You are the commanding officer?"

The Klingon held his head high, his chin up and defiance in his eyes. "I am Captain Narrgoth."

"Admiral Drake. You speak for your men?"

"I do."

"Then inform them that they are prisoners of war. Your officers will be held aboard Endeavour, your crew will be placed in the brig on this ship."

"We have no brig."

Of course not, he reminded himself. Klingons weren't in the habit of taking prisoners.

"Then they will be put in the hold. Lieutenant Wolf?"

"Yes, sir."

"Carry on." He took out his communicator; flipped it open. "Drake to Endeavour."

"McDonald here, Admiral."

"Send across Chief Fran and a prize-crew, Commander. We're taking possession of this ship."

"Understood, sir."

"Alix."

"Yes?" Said Kana.

"Come with me. You too, Captain."

They bundled Narrgoth into his own cabin, two security officers on guard outside the door, and Kana's bloody dagger never leaving her hand. The captain had witnessed her in combat, as dangerous as the animal, and he had no wish to be added to her pile of victims. He sat very still indeed while Drake paced up and down in front of him, visibly angry and just barely able to contain it.

The admiral stopped abruptly, turned on his prisoner and speared him with stormy green eyes, filled with intense dislike. "I want to know why you attacked my ship, Captain. I want to know now."

"I will say nothing."

"You are a prisoner of war, and you will answer my questions."

"I have pledged my honour to say nothing to my enemies. You will not make me break my vow. I know Starfleet rules and regulations." He nodded towards Kana. "Your lieutenant may look fierce with her knife in her hand, but you will never allow her to torture me with it."

"If I were to step out of that door for five minutes and leave Alix in here with you, I would not be in any way responsible for what happened."

Narrgoth looked at the lieutenant with renewed fascination. "Alix? Nain? So you are the legendary Destroyer?"

A low purr: "In the flesh."

"Why do you side with Starfleet?"

"It keeps me amused."

"When my brothers crush your ship, I hope you find it just as amusing."

"I adore Klingon humour," she said, cackling meanly.

"Enough unpleasantries." Drake did not share her high spirits. "Captain Narrgoth, one way or the other, you will tell me what I want to know."

"You will not torture me."

He folded his arms and looked at the Klingon with contempt. "I don't need to. My science officer is Vulcan; she can pull everything I want to know straight out of your head."

"A bluff," Narrgoth sneered.

"I don't bluff." His communicator was in his hand, already open. "Commander Sarn. Please report aboard the Klingon ship immediately. I have an uncooperative prisoner who requires your special touch."

"On my way, sir." She had been expecting the order.

The Klingon's expression changed to one of worry. Kana leant her face into his and grinned toothily. "Before it's over, you're going to wish you'd been left to my tender mercies."

She wasn't wrong. Commander Sarn arrived a few minutes later; looking as cold and severe as only a Vulcan could, and it immediately became clear to Narrgoth that this was no masterful bluff on the admiral's part. The Vulcan advanced on him and Narrgoth sprung to his feet, scrabbling to put some distance between himself and her. He had heard all about the Vulcan mind meld: how it could suck the life, the very soul from a man, turn him into an unthinking puppet of his Vulcan master, rob him of any chance of real life and honour. He tried to get away, but Kana was at his side and she pinned him into his chair with one hand, her knife held at his throat. The Vulcan took a further step and then he felt her cold fingers on his face. Felt something else as well; something dark and slippery move through his thoughts; he was suddenly very groggy, very weak, no longer able to resist in any way the hands that were touching him, nor to feel the knife held against his neck.

"I think you can step back now, Alix," said Drake, and with something that sounded like disappointment she did so, neatly flicking the combat knife into its place on her belt. "Sarn?"

A nod, but that was all. Her mind and Narrgoth's were now joined, mixed into one, and she was no longer completely aware of her own body: no longer in full control of herself, as her mind was spread evenly between herself and the Klingon. The nod was the best response that she could manage.

"Who are you?" Drake asked, beginning the interrogation.

Sarn and Narrgoth spoke as one, a confused choir reading: "Captain Narrgoth, son of Kem'Pah; master of the Imperial Strike Ship Kra't'nal."

"Who do you serve?"

"General Han'tH."

"A familiar name," whispered Kana.

"What was your mission?"

"Intercept Federation starship bound for capital. Destroy ship."

"Why?"

"Prevent Starfleet envoy…reaching High Council."

"They want to keep our side of the story away from the ears of government," Kana said. "War must be close."

"Try not to sound so happy, Lieutenant. Narrgoth, what do you know about Klingon plans for a war with the Federation?"

No reply, Sarn tightened her grip on her unwilling fount of information, probed more deeply; the Klingon shook beneath her, pain shooting through his body; a deep groan broke from his lips, and as the pain back lashed into Sarn she released her grip on him, broke the meld, and stepped away. "He does not know."

A disappointment, but not entirely unexpected, Narrgoth was commander of a small and weak warship, a nobody, and Drake hadn't expected him to be well briefed on his leaders' plans. He looked at the Klingon captain, sagging in his chair, emotionally and physically drained by his experience and felt a stab of pity for him: a forced mind meld could not be at all pleasant. "Put him in the brig, Alix."

During the walk, Narrgoth regained some of his strength and more of his confidence. He turned his head towards Nain, having to cast his eyes downwards to meet her hotly burning red eyes. "It doesn't make a difference what you know. There will be war, and you will be destroyed."

"I think not," replied Kana. "I'm the Destroyer; I decide who lives and who dies. Be thankful that Drake still has a use for you, otherwise the Barge of the Dead would be receiving another passenger now."

The Barge transported dishonoured souls to Gre-Thor; the implication was not lost on Narrgoth. "You dare to question my honour?"

"How can I question it when it does not exist?" She threw him into a cell and grinned antagonistically through the force field. "You'll have plenty of time to reflect on my words while you rot in there."

"Do you absolutely have to ridicule everyone we met?"

"It keeps me amused."

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Aboard the Klingon ship, Drake and his chief engineer inspected the damage they had inflicted; quite severe for such a short engagement; the hull had been horribly mauled and would require several weeks in spacedock to be fully restored to its original glory; the starboard impulse engine was completely shot away, and the primary reactor off line. Chief Fran was amazed that the whole thing hadn't fallen apart long ago, and said so.

"All credit to Klingon engineers, sir, they know how to build these things to stand a pounding. None of ours could have taken such a beating and held together – Endeavour being the only exception I can think of, sir."

That, of course, went without saying, but Drake nodded anyway. "Can she be salvaged?"

"I still haven't completed my inspection, sir, but from what I've seen, with basic repairs we can get her in shape for warp travel in less than a week. I can't vouch for her holding together all the way to Seventy, though, sir."

"Will she make it to Qo'noS?"

Not a question that Fran had devoted any thought to. He hurriedly did so now. "Why, yes, sir…I imagine so."

Drake smiled. "The crew will have to forgo the prize-money on this occasion, I'm afraid. Presenting that ship to the High Council should help support our case. It's one of Han'tH's ships."

"Aye, sir." He didn't sound best pleased, but then the chief knew better than most the value of their captured prize.

"Assign whatever men you feel necessary, Chief. I want to be underway again as soon as possible."

Engineers swarmed aboard the captured ship and went immediately to work. Klingon technology and ship design was noticeably different to Federation standard, but there were certain similarities, and Chief Fran had spent a fair amount of his working life poking his head into the guts of alien spacecraft; he could guide his men through the difficult task of getting the cruiser ready for flight.

Word of the admiral's decision with regard to their prize quickly circled around the ship, and the disappointed hands found themselves considerably poorer than they had thought to be since the action. For a while there was some grumbling around the lower decks, until Friedman pointed out to his mates that although they might forfeit the prize-money there was still the head money to consider: the sum based on the number of men aboard the enemy ship at the beginning of the engagement. It would be no great amount, but it would more than double this month's wage for every man aboard, and that was of some comfort.

"Seems I'm not the only pirate in the crew," Alix remarked to Drake as they walked around the captured Kra't'nal, inspecting Fran's repair job. "The men were very unhappy about your decision, until someone reminded them about the head money."

"It was a tough call to make; I know the love of money as well as anyone. But taking a prize inside Klingon space could have a negative impact on our dealings with the Klingons, and we can't afford that. Hopefully handing her over to the High Council will be seen as a token of good faith."

"I hope so, too. But we still did fire on the ship, whatever else. Our enemies can use that against us."

He sighed heavily. "And they will. Alix, I can't lie, I'm not looking forward to this. When we reach Qo'noS…I'm a fighter, not a diplomat. Maybe the Admiralty should have sent someone else. Captain T'pek negotiated peace between the Chaam and the Condlin, as I remember. He might have been a better choice."

Alix entirely disagreed. "Klingons respect a fighter, Will; they have no respect for a lawyer."

That was meant to be reassuring, he realized. He appreciated the gesture. "Respect is one thing. Getting them to see things as we do, getting them to acknowledge the truth…that could be something else entirely."

"I don't suppose we've found where Harrow's got to?"

"He's still on In'jara'wa. Until Kravft gets back from the High Council he's going nowhere. The general has apparently instructed that he's not to leave the station – for his own protection. Given that a couple of our diplomats have been attacked in other parts of the Empire, I'm prepared to believe that Kravft's acting out of genuine concern. We have to do this alone, Alix."

She absorbed this and felt unperturbed. The only person that Alix ever relied upon, apart from herself, was Kana. She really didn't care if Harrow was around to help or not; so long as Kana was there she would be confident of their success.

"Well, I can't pretend to know anything about diplomacy, Will, but if you need someone to scare your opponents into silence…"

That at last made him smile. "Don't worry, Red Eyes, you'll be in the landing party. I wouldn't want to set foot on an alien shore without you."

"Nice to be appreciated."

The Kra't'nal was far from perfect, but Fran's work had at least brought her into operation condition. Drake allowed Commander McDonald to put together her own crew and left the warship in her hands. With her Klingon escort flying on her wing, the Endeavour resumed her flight to Qo'noS after only three days' delay.

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"After we secured the ship, sir, I asked questions of her commanding officer," Drake said, completing his recount of the brief action to Admiral McCaffrey. "He confirmed one thing that we'd suspected – General Han'tH was his commander, and the man who sent him to intercept us."

"At least we're sure of our enemy now."

"Yes, sir. Unfortunately, from other things that he said it now seems clear that a full-scale war is not far off. I fear that Han'tH and his allies might have been spreading lies in the council chambers."

"Our envoys on Qo'noS have reported a frosty atmosphere recently. This is damned messy business, Admiral, and you're going to have to tread carefully. How soon can you be to Qo'noS?"

"We're making best speed now, sir; a little under six days."

McCaffrey nodded. "I don't have to tell you to crack on as hard as ever you can, Will. If you don't get there in time we could have the war that all of us have been dreading, and Starfleet's not in the position of strength it was back when Praxis exploded."

"I understand, sir."

He closed the comm and leant back in his chair, trying to relax and finding it difficult. His ready room was empty; how he longed for Alix's presence right now: that self-confident smirk and those cheery red eyes – so beautiful when one got used to them. The future seemed so clouded, so dark and full of danger, and he longed for her to tell him that everything was going to be all right; he'd believe it coming from her.

At that particular time, Alix Nain was elsewhere; she was just walking into the mess hall, changed out of her uniform into her more comfortable long navy coat, and feeling pretty good about herself. She joined the line for food and happily accepted the strange blue noodles that were heaped onto her plate – a generous helping for the treasured helmsman. She looked about for a place to sit, and found that the tables were all full or mostly full, and while the hands were perfectly willing to make room for her she didn't want to split up their groups. In a corner she saw Commander Sarn sitting alone at a small table; she popped a cheery smile onto her face and approached.

"Hey, Sarn."

"Alix."

"Is there something wrong? You don't look so good."

Sarn brought her eyes up and met the helmsman's concerned look. She had been staring at her hands, inspecting them from every angle, as Alix had observed. Strange behaviour. "I touched him, Alix."

From the burn in her voice Alix could guess which 'him' she referred to. "Yeah, I noticed that."

"I feel so dirty."

"Yeah…soap will take care of that."

"It is not just the physical contact, Alix. I touched his mind; I felt his thoughts. The mind meld is a deeply personal thing; the closest my barren race gets to expressing itself. What I did with that Klingon… We…" She stopped suddenly and turned a look of intense frustration on the helmsman. "You are not Vulcan, you cannot understand."

"Try me."

"It would mean nothing to you. You are human."

"She's getting angrier. I could have handled that better."

Kana snorted. "I could have done it better."

"Thanks, that makes me feel so good."

"I'm not the one you're angry at," she said aloud.

There was such intense, irrational hatred in her when Sarn said: "Yes, you are."

"Sarn, calm down, take a deep breath. Get some control over yourself."

Control was not something that the Vulcan was currently capable of. With a snarl of rage she threw over the table and launched herself at the helmsman. A vicious backhand crushed Alix to the deck, and as the startled eating crewmen sprang to their feet and wondered just what the hell was going on, Sarn advanced on the fallen lieutenant, fists clenched.

"Don't do this," Alix said, and she sounded pleading.

Sarn threw a fist at her head, intending to crush her skull. Nain's hand snapped up and caught the fist in mid-flight. She was on her feet instantly, her eyes glowing with power. A step, a twist, and Sarn was held against the floor, her right arm pulled back as far as it would go and Nain's boot pinning her down despite her struggles.

"I could crush every bone in your body right now," Nain whispered into her ear. "Do you know how easy it would be for me?"

Security charged in, phasers drawn, and quickly took stock of the situation. They had been called because apparently Sarn had been attacking Nain, although from the looks of things it was the other way around. The helmsman looked over at them, her eyes shining curiously, and she flashed her teeth – the expression being far too unpleasant to be called a smile. She stepped away from the snarling, snapping Vulcan and allowed her to be handcuffed.

"Take the bitch to medical. Maybe Ilerson can dissect her and see what's wrong with her head."

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Admiral Drake was informed of the situation right away, and he came down to sickbay to see the patient. Sarn had attempted to take out Doctor Ilerson's eyes and the skin of the nurse attending her, and had been sedated. She now looked remarkably peaceful, like a sleeping child.

"Some after-effect of the mind meld?" Drake guessed, when he had been told of what happened.

"That's my hypothesis," the doctor said. "We still know so little about how the process works and what really goes on with it. It's possible that what she saw in there upset her, or perhaps some of Captain Narrgoth's anger ended up in her."

"You think that's what caused her to attack Alix?"

"I think that might be what caused her loss of self-control. As for her attack on Lieutenant Nain, well…Vulcans are a very passionate people, although you might believe otherwise. Vulcan emotions are extremely violent and powerful, and when they get out of hand… I don't think that Lieutenant Nain was specifically targeted, sir, I don't think there was any malice at work; she was probably just the closest person around when Sarn…lost it."

Cold comfort there. Sarn hadn't wanted to murder his friend; she had just wanted to kill anyone who she could get her hands on. Probably a good thing, then, that it was Alix who had met the Vulcan's anger. At least she could fight back. "What are you proposing to do?"

"Honestly, I don't really have a treatment. Vulcan breakdowns are extremely rare, and when they do happen…let's just say that they're covered up fast. The Vulcans don't like stories to get out. There's almost nothing in the medical library on a case like this. Without a trained psychiatrist aboard, or a Vulcan healer who might understand these things, I think our best bet is to keep Sarn restrained and keep her under observation. Hopefully it'll…sort itself out."

That didn't sound like a very scientific approach to the admiral. He was not one who believed in the healing powers of crystals or positive thinking; he believed in drugs and technology. "And if it doesn't?"

Ilerson shrugged helplessly. "I wish I could be of more help, Admiral. The Vulcan mind is a great mystery, and as I've said we know so little about how to treat it. This one's really up to Sarn right now. Either she'll get better, or we'll have to keep her in secured quarters until we return to starbase. In this condition she's too dangerous to be left to roam the ship."

"Understood, Doctor. Keep me apprised."

Nain was waiting for him in the corridor, leaning against the bulkhead with her arms folded across her small chest. She spoke the instant that he stepped out of the door, before he even realized that she was there. "It's not your fault, Will."

His voice was pained. "Isn't it? I ordered her to perform the mind meld. I didn't know that there were risks like this involved. I was too impatient."

"We had to find out what Narrgoth knew. More is at stake here than just Sarn. And she certainly knew the risks when she agreed to go ahead with the meld."

He knew all of that, of course, but knowing it changed nothing. He still felt responsible, and he still was responsible. Sarn was his crewman. That made anything that happened to her his responsibility.

"Still, I can't help…" He sighed. "I wish I could distance myself from my emotions like you can."

"It might be better for us if Sarn could, rather than you."

"Damn it, Alix, that's not funny!"

"The truth rarely is, Will."

He glared at her for a moment without much conviction. He couldn't stay angry with Alix, and whenever he tried he just ended up feeling disappointed in her instead. "Alix, I love you like a sister, but I absolutely hate that darkness in you."

She was quite unaffected by that reproach. "I'm afraid, Will, that you're going to see a lot more of my dark side in the days ahead. She's better at handling Klingons than I am."

"Just try and contain it, okay?"

"I'll do my best."

Foolishly, Drake believed her. Foolishly, because Alix's track record of honesty with him was not good anyway: foolishly, because Alix Nain had absolutely no intention of bottling up the Destroyer, locking her away. She believed that she could, if not exactly control, then at least direct the great and powerful beast that dwelt within her.

This thought, as well, was rather foolish.