Loire Valley

Thursday 20th January 1994

That day had been a happy one, a few stolen hours of peace before the storm had hit. Chrissie had been reunited with her children and on her part at least, it had been an emotional moment. Toni and Fina had been pleased to see her, but Chrissie quickly discovered that after the initial excitement, they were more interested in the mok'bara lesson that Krang had promised them. They were obviously happy here and responding well to having a male caregiver in their lives. Chrissie's heart clenched. It had never been so evident to her that her children needed a father and this Klingon was doing a very good job of fitting the bill.

Again, she wondered what sort of life could she offer her children? They had spent the last eighteen months sharing her brother's flat and that could not continue forever. As apartments went, it was generously sized, but it was not designed for three adults and two hyperactive children and it had no garden. She'd been thinking for a long time that she needed to move out and find her own place and with the increasing likelihood of a marriage between David and Sarah, that was becoming more and more urgent. But there was nowhere in London that she could afford. She needed a job, but until she found a school that would take the children, that was impossible.

Her brother had started legal proceedings in an attempt to reclaim Chrissie's house in Spain, but Diego had not left a will and his family were fighting back. It was going to be years before the case was settled and even if they won, Chrissie would never feel safe in Spain again. They would have to sell the property. Maybe if she asked Krang, he would help with that, Chrissie thought suddenly. It was increasingly evident that her Klingon lover was far more senior than he had admitted. Was it possible that he might be able to speed up the legal proceedings and force a decision? But to do that, she was going to have to tell him about her husband. How would he react when he learned she was the widow of someone considered a hero of the resistance? She was going to have to tell him anyway, she realised. If he found out from someone else it could destroy whatever trust he had in her.

Her musings were interrupted by her son's excited voice. "Mama, look! Did you see? I can do mok'bara!"

"They are learning well," Krang told her, following the children out of the room he used for training. He glanced at the old-fashioned clock on the wall; it was later than he had thought and he cursed under his breath – something in tlhingan hol that Chrissie could not translate. "I need to go and talk to the guards and let them know to allow Marie-Claire access to the house. She will be arriving very soon."

Going outside, he'd returned a few minutes later, shivering with cold, a plump, middle-aged woman at his side. "Chrissie, this is my housekeeper, Marie-Claire. She speaks no English." Turning to the housekeeper he spoke in careful French. "Marie-Claire, je vous présente Chrissie, la mère d'Antonio et Josefina."

Marie-Claire murmured something in her own language, and dredging up her schoolgirl French, Chrissie acknowledged. The French woman was being polite, but there was a wary, distrustful look in her eyes and it was not being directed at Krang. She was obviously comfortable with her Klingon employer; it was Chrissie who was the outsider and hence, not to be trusted.

Typically male, Krang was oblivious to the undercurrent between the two women. Satisfied that they had been adequately introduced, Krang turned his attention to the matter at hand – getting something to eat. "You will go and help Marie-Claire now," he instructed the children. "Toni, remind me… what is the French word for breakfast?"

Toni grinned, "Petit Dejeuner." He looked at his mother, adding "It means little dinner."

Krang glanced at Marie-Claire and the woman nodded her approval of the child's pronunciation. Satisfied, he continued, "And in Tlhingan Hol?"

The boy thought for a moment, then gave the answer. It was Krang's turn to give his approval. "You continue to do well."

It was such a normal, domestic scene, a father teaching his children and it left Chrissie feeling uncertain and confused. "Krang, I… what happens now? Will you be taking us home after breakfast?"

Take her home? No, not if he could help it! "I must work today," he told her. "I have urgent duties that I cannot delegate. But I do not want you to leave. Will you stay, Chrissie? Wait for me here and we can talk tonight?"

One more day, Chrissie thought, looking up into those dark hawk-like eyes and seeing nothing but sincerity. He truly did not want her to go. And she did not want to leave. Her children were content and so was she. One more day and maybe one more night before reality intruded and they went their separate ways. Surely that was not too much to ask of life? Slowly she nodded. "I would like that."

"Good." Krang was visibly pleased by her answer. "I must change into my uniform now. I am later than usual and the shuttle will be waiting for me." Bending, he planted a kiss on Chrissie's lips before reluctantly stepping away. "Until tonight, Chrissie-oy."

London, Thursday 20th January 1994

Kirk stared at the plate in front of him, not quite believing what he was looking at. "So that's a 'Full English' breakfast?"

The shabby establishment where he found himself was what Sarah had described as a 'greasy spoon' café and looking at the food on his plate, he could see why. Two sausages, bacon – two slices of that as well, fried to within an inch of its life, the fat brown and crispy. A fried egg, its bright yellow yolk sitting in an island of white, cooked just enough to turn the edges crisp while keeping the yolk runny. Toast… no, it wasn't quite toast, Kirk realised; this bread had been fried. If all that wasn't enough, there were also mushrooms, hash browns, a slice of something round and black, and a sea of baked beans in an overcooked, reddish sauce. The whole thing was a cholesterol nightmare and Bones would kill him if he found out… assuming the cholesterol didn't kill him first.

"Would you like brown sauce or ketchup?" The question came from the waitress, a pretty girl in jeans and a black tee-shirt sporting the logo of some pop group that Kirk had never heard of, with a frilly white apron tied incongruously round her slender waist.

"I'd recommend the brown," Sarah advised. The two men sitting on the other side of the table nodded in agreement.

"I agree," the one named Gareth said. "Definitely the brown." Kirk had met this one before, in the church and knew him to be one of the leaders of the local resistance. The other man was unfamiliar to him, but Kirk guessed he was a replacement for Jamal. An older man, dark skinned and with a Jamaican accent, he had not given his name and respecting his obvious wish to remain anonymous, Kirk did not ask.

The waitress returned a moment later with the bottle of brown sauce as well as Sarah's food and Kirk noted with wry amusement that while both men had also ordered the so called full English, she had requested something a lot more palatable looking.

Following the lead of his dining companions, Kirk cautiously squirted a dollop of the thick, brown condiment onto the side of his plate and tucked in. The food was undoubtedly a health risk, but its taste was surprisingly agreeable.

For a while, the only sounds were that of knives and forks and people eating, and in the background, the inevitable radio, set to a highly illegal channel, that was currently belting out a popular tune.

The song came to an end and a news report began. Finishing off his sausage, having discovered that it tasted quite good with the beans, Kirk was paying little heed to the radio until Khan's name caught his attention.

"…uprisings led by war hero Khan Noonien Singh, have continued across the Asian continent. Klingon forces are responding with…"

"Turn that damn thing off!" the Jamaican man snapped.

Sulkily, the waitress obeyed and the report faded into silence. "At least someone is doing something," the girl muttered under her breath, giving the Jamaican a resentful look.

Heading off trouble before it could begin, Sarah signalled the girl. "Bring another pot of tea would you? This one's gone cold." Once the girl had disappeared behind the counter, Sarah turned her attention back to the matter at hand. "What news do you have?"

"You were right about the one in the black uniform," the Jamaican said. "That was a good tip off. We've done some research. He is definitely senior to Karg and quite possibly, more important than we could ever have realised. He's been in London for the last few days, but he… or someone fitting his general description has been seen in other locations around the world over the last few months."

"Karg has not been seen since the broadcast yesterday morning," Gareth added. "Our informant in the newsroom told us that the guy in the black uniform turned up, demanding the broadcast be stopped and nearly killed Karg… broke his knife and sent him off with his tail between his legs."

"It's interesting," the Jamaican said, "that for all the threats they made, none of those threats have been carried out. Something's going on, no doubt something to do with the woman."

Sarah frowned. "What woman?"

"He was seen last night at 'The Neutral Zone' with a human woman," Gareth said. "They looked… intimate to say the least."

"Interesting," Sarah said. "Have you managed to get an I.D. on her?"

"We have," the Jamaican said, "and you're not going to like it." He nodded to his companion, who reached into the satchel hanging at his side, its straps crosswise across his body. Pulling out a grainy black and white photograph, he handed it to Sarah.

She accepted the photo and studied it carefully. "You're right," she said after a moment. "I don't like this at all."

The image depicted two people, a Klingon and a human female, backlit against the door of a restaurant. They were standing very close to each other and the woman was looking up at the Klingon, laughing. Taken at night without a flash, the image was dark and with the lights of the restaurant behind them, the couple's features were shadowed. Even so, Sarah could not help but recognise her best friend and flatmate.

"It might be innocent," she said unconvincingly. "The Klingons have got her kids. She may…"

"There's nothing innocent about it," Gareth interrupted, his voice hard. "Your friend is a collaborator."

"You don't know that for certain," Sarah refuted. "Let me talk to her, find out what happened."

"I'm afraid we do know for certain." Gareth insisted, reaching into the satchel again and pulling out a handful of photos. "One of our team was in the restaurant last night and saw the whole thing. She managed to get these shots when she left. They were taken through the window from outside, so they aren't so clear, but even so… there is no doubt."

As he had warned, these photos were poor quality but were obviously of the same couple. Sarah flicked through them, her eyes finally settling on one particularly damning image. Taken just before the couple had stepped outside, Chrissie's body was pressed against the Klingon, her arms around his neck as they kissed.

Stunned, Sarah handed the image to Kirk. The evidence was compelling and she didn't know what to say. One thing was certain though, she needed to find Chrissie and speak to her – and quickly!