Return to Valjiir Stories
Return to Valjiir Continnum
Wen returned to his room on the base, entering the contents of his statboard into his log computer. His superiors monitored his progress carefully each evening, so they could log in his next assignment by the morning. He ate a meal from the replicator alone, did a little light cultural reading, then decided to take a shower before retiring for the night.
Once in the small stall, he could feel the memories begin to overwhelm his awareness. The Intelligence Unit had given him exercises to deal with them, but there were still times when he simply needed to let them come. It was, his teachers had told him, a result of the obsession his empathy had been fed, the aberration that had revealed the true nature of his gifts. They had done everything they could – as the Telanate on Kol-ran had done – to erase the fixation within him, but none of it had been quite successful. His superiors had not-so-secretly wished that they could have examined the Warrior-Set Centurion, if only to understand the phenomenon that had plagued him: its genesis, the patterns it had etched within his brain waves, the place within the cerebral cortex that housed such a permanently altered tel-empathic signature. The xenoneurophene therapy they had instituted had honed Wen’s abilities into a formidable talent, but did nothing to ease the condition that still lived within him. He had better control over its ability to overpower him, but that was all. He could now choose when and where to allow the grief to claim him.
And what better place, what more appropriate time, he thought, then in a shower stall after I have again seen my beloved?
The water rushed over him, along with his anguish. Even when he closed his eyes, it was Lahs’ face he saw, Lahs’ warm brown eyes that looked at him with pity/longing/shame/desire/fear/ welcome. The few times the older non-gift had touched him were burned into his memory, so physical he was always surprised that there weren’t marks on his skin.
Not ‘older non-gift’, he corrected himself harshly, as his superiors in the Intelligence Unit had repeatedly done. He was not Romulan. He was not a slave though just as ungifted. And while he was and is older, that is a meaningless description. But his handlers had never told him the name of the Federation officer. That, they assumed, might cause the obsession to fix itself more deeply into Wen’s subconscious.
And they were right, Wen thought miserably, for now I know his name, I have seen his true face. He touched my arm again, and I can still feel it.
He sobbed, leaning against the shower stall, letting his tears mingle with the water falling down on his head. Chekov, he cried, how by all the gods of my mothers can I still need to Bond with you!?
“Wen, NO!”
Pavel sat bolt upright in bed, his heart hammering in his chest. The dream images were already fading, the confused overlapping of the memories he didn’t want to think about and the realities that were the reason he had held onto those memories.
“Oy god, Pasha, not again!” Daffy’s voice was the usual mix of sleepy/irritated/worried that always accompanied his up until two days ago infrequent nightmares.
“I am sorry, Dafshka,” he murmured, getting control of his ragged breathing.
“That Intelligence bitch was right, wasn’t she?” the chemist insisted, even as she pulled him a comforting embrace. “You’ve gotta talk about this if we’re ever gonna get a decent night’s sleep again.”
“How do you know my dreams are related to…” the Russian began.
“You said ‘Wen, no,’” Daffy replied.
Chekov frowned. “I do not remember anyone named…”
“Yeah, well, I do.”
He lifted his head from her arms. “You do?”
“I remember spending hours listening to you talk about him,” she clarified. “And Ve’el the mega-bitch mistress. And vain, trouble-making Joron. And Mr. Wonderful Tarvak. And sick-fuck Centurion Deron and the bovine Holsa and her charmingly vicious husband Ramok and their evil little slave-boy Krel.”
“I…I…” Pavel stammered.
“And I know you don’t remember any of it, but your subconscious does or you wouldn’t be waking up screaming for poor little drop-dead-gorgeous, younger, pointy-eared, greener Sulu three or four times a night,” the chemist concluded. “And I won’t mention the nearly continuous erection, will I?”
He flushed deeply. That much was certainly true. He was always aroused when he woke from the nightmares, and while he was certain his lover appreciated that much of it… “Daphne, I don’t – I truly don’t know what to say,” the navigator murmured sheepishly.
“I say we put in a call to the D’Artagnan and get Jilla and Ruth to pull another Valjiir act on you.”
“Ruth is with child. She said she would be unable to…” Chekov protested.
“Yeah, so if your stubborn Russian brain gets too intractable, we may have to call in Hernandez too.” She smiled grimly. “And you know how much I’ll like that.”
Which was quite enough incentive to cooperate. Pavel got the picture. He sighed. It was the last thing he wanted to do, but Daphne was right. He couldn’t keep functioning on the interrupted, restless sleep he hadn’t been getting.
“Very well, doushka,” he relented. “We will see what can be done in the morning.”
Captain Sulu pulled the towel from his hair and walked across his cabin to the beeping communications terminal. He took a moment to smile at his Indiian wife, who was just turning over in their bed.
“I’ve got it, hon,” he said.
Jilla Majiir smiled sleepily at him, then let her head drop down again to her pillow.
“Sulu,” the captain said, thumbing the intercom’s switch.
“Captain, there’s a priority personal call from the Enterprise,” came the voice of his Communications Chief, Tristan Vale.
“Put it through, Lieutenant,” Sulu said.
Jilla sat up. “Ruth?” she enquired, her face shimmering with anticipation.
“It’s still a little early, isn’t it?” Sulu responded, then turned again to the screen as it resolved into the face of Pavel Chekov.
“Good morning, Captain,” the Russian said. “I’m sorry to disturb you…”
Sulu sat down at the desk. “No disturbance at all, Pav.” He grinned. “I take it you and Daf finally have a firm date?”
“A firm…? Oh. No, sir. Not yet, sir.” The navigator was flushed.
Sulu cocked his head. “What else could rate a priority… oh, don’t tell me. You knocked her up?”
He watched as the Russian puzzled through the euphemism. “No sir,” he said his blush increasing. “Nothing like that, sir!”
“Will you stop with the ‘sirs’ already?” Sulu told him. “It’s not like we haven’t been friends for…”
“Yes,” Chekov interrupted. “And it is due to that fact that I have a favor to ask of you.”
Sulu straightened. The Russian’s face wore an expression of unease and embarrassment. “If it’s in my power to grant, Pav,” he said seriously, “you know I’ll be happy to do it.”
“I would like you to divert to Starbase 17. There is a – situation – that requires Commander Majiir’s assistance.”
“Is there a problem with the ship, Pavel?” Jilla asked as she rose from the bed. “Has something happened to Mr. Scott?”
“He’s not doing this well,” Daffy’s voice came from the intercom “Hi, Captain, hi, Jilla.”
“Daf,” Sulu acknowledged with a wry grin.
“He’s having nightmares, Jilla,” the chemist continued, her image elbowing Chekov’s out of the screen. “About the things he’s not supposed to remember from the Romulan undercover adventure. You know, all the things you and Ruth helped him talk about back in SanFran a hundred years ago?”
“A hundred…?” Jilla began in confusion.
“She doesn’t mean it literally,” Sulu explained. “She’s just making a reference to how much things have changed in the last two years.” Since serving on the same ship with Jeremy Paget, Sulu had gotten much better at converting verbal idioms into clarifications comprehensible to the Indiian.
“Not supposed to remember?” Jilla asked, with an acknowledging nod to her husband. “Does that mean he now…?”
“Not consciously. Like I said, he just has nightmares about it three plus times a night,” Daffy returned. “So can you and Ruth pull another good-cop bad-cop on him so he’ll talk and let it go where it should have gone two years ago?”
“Good-cop…” Jilla said helplessly.
“I’ll explain later, hon,” Sulu said, then turned back to the screen. “Let me check our schedule,” he told Daffy. “I’ll see what we can arrange.”
“Daphne,” Jilla rejoined, “Ruth is pregnant. She will not be able to…”
“We’ll cross that minefield when we come to it,” the chemist retorted. “For now, all we want you to do is try.”
“If the D’Artagnan can’t be spared, maybe Jilla can come on her own in a Chutzpah…” Sulu offered.
On the screen, he saw Daffy glance over to where Chekov must’ve been. “Only if you can come with her, Kam,” she said quietly.
He raised his eyebrows. “Me? What do I have to…”
“Maybe nothing. Maybe a lot. Just trust me on this one, okay?”
He studied the worry on her usually self-assured features, and nodded. “Okay, Daf.”
“Thanks, you poor, pampered, top of the heap and king of the mountain,” Gollub replied, returning to her usual pithy conversational style.
“Thank you, Captain, Commander,” Chekov’s voice rejoined properly. ”Enterprise out.”
Sulu sat staring at the blank screen for several seconds. “There is something more wrong than nightmares,” Jilla commented softly behind him.
“Yeah,” the captain responded. “A lot more.”
“Mr. Kolran.”
Wen turned from his place at the Logistic computer at the authoritative voice. “Yes, ma’am?” he replied. He had been expecting the visit from the Intelligence agent. His morning instructions had contained a priority flag for it. It wasn’t that he had ever met Agent Hernandez before: agents were trained to spot one another on ‘pathic’ sight, as it were, and though Wen was not yet an agent, he had had the training necessary for the recognition.
The unremarkable woman stepped up to him. He remembered his surprise at finding out that most Intelligence agents were nondescript. That word certainly could never have been applied to Lady – Lieutenant MacEntyre. Nor will it ever be applied to me, he thought, with no false modesty and no particular sense of pride.
“Kah-en’gen’t,” Hernandez said without preliminary.
Immediately the young Romulan became perfectly still and perfectly receptive, his shields dropping with the deeply implanted code word. It hadn’t been a kind choice, but Wen was well aware of the reasons it had been used. Kah-en’gen’t was the Romulan term that translated into Anglo as ‘Warrior-Set.’ It described the condition of the man who had once owned him, an unfortunate psychological aberration in which a Warrior Bond was begun but not completed. It rendered those within its constrictive mental boundaries half-men, unable to find satisfaction from normal types of release, unable to form another Bond, or even a healthy relationship with another person. Using it as his code ensured that even the parts of his mind that had been twisted by the Centurion would be available to his instructors.
He felt it when Hernandez began exploring his mental and emotional pathways. He remained quiescent through the probing, though it was far from comfortable. The standard, calming mantra, endure, relax, accept, slowed his breathing and kept his heart from racing.
It was a most thorough examination, though not long in duration. When Hernandez retreated, giving the coded command for the return to his normal state of shielding, he barely felt the need to shake himself. The agent’s brown eyes were thoughtful. “Interesting,” she commented, and Wen knew better than to ask. “Mr. Kolran, I’ll be arranging for you to, as part of your education, visit one of the new heavy cruisers. My only instructions are for you to carefully absorb the information presented to you. Do you understand?”
The Romulan lowered a confused eyebrow at the unusual construction of the order, but he nodded. “Yes, ma’am.”
She nodded, then turned and walked away. Wen resumed his studies, his consciousness completely unaware of the door that had been unlocked within him at the use of the word ‘absorb.’
“And we’ve received a request from Agent Hernandez to give a tour to one of their agents-in-training, a Mr. Wen Kolran who’s stationed at the base,” Annie Pearson, the First Officer’s Yeoman said to her boss.
Ruth sat in her office, her feet up on a second chair she’d pulled next to her own. She was drinking not her usual coffee, but a cup of peach-flavored herbal tea, and she nearly choked on a mouthful at the name Annie had just uttered.
“Wen Kolran?” she sputtered. “Are you sure?”
Annie looked puzzled. “Yes, ma’am, that’s the name. Why?”
“That sneaky, conniving bitch!” Ruth stated and leaned forward, despite her added bulk. She thumbed the intercom on her desk. “Spock, I need to see you immediately,” she said into it. “I’m in my office.” Then she turned again to her yeoman. “Annie, get me coffee. Lots.” Then she again activated the comm unit.
“Pav’s in the shower,” Daffy said in answer to Ruth’s question. “Why? We’re docked, you can’t possibly need a navigator.”
“Hernandez has ordered a tour,” Ruth responded. “For Wen.”
“You’re shittin’ me!” Daffy gaped. “After he said he wanted to drop… oy, what a kalba!”
“That’s what I said. I’ll clear it with Spock, you two take a rec day and stay in your cabin.”
The chemist frowned. “I’ve got some lab tests running…”
“I’ll take care of it.”
“They’re not approved for fetal exposure, fruychik.”
The Antari frowned. “So I’ll get Munson to take care of it.”
“He’s an idiot.”
“Daffy!”
“Okay, okay, don’t go into labor. I’ll assign someone.” She paused. “What should I tell Pavel?”
“The truth.”
“He’ll lock himself in the head.”
“Good enough. Just don’t let him out of your quarters.”
“Done. Oh, by the way, we called Sulu. He’s gonna see if he can get the D’Artagnan and Silver Streak here so you two can Valjiir all over Pasha’s stubborn Russian brain.”
Ruth grinned. “This after he said he wanted to drop the whole thing?”
“So I convinced him.”
“More nightmares?” the Antari asked sympathetically.
“Yeah. Hey, is this Wen character really mini-Kam?”
“Spittin’ image.”
“Oy vey…”
“Keep him home, Daf. Gotta run.”
Daffy was just closing the connection as Pavel stepped out of the bathroom. She screwed a bright smile onto her face and turned to him. “Guess what, bubee! Since we’re docked, we get a rec day!”
The Russian gazed at her, frowning suspiciously.
She made a face. “Yes, really, officially and everything. Call Spock yourself.” She paused. “Only give Ruth a minute to tell him.”
The music coming from the guitar sounded odd. Not unpleasant, just strangely atonal and a little haunted. Yeoman Calaya Wheal glanced up from her desk to the other occupant of the Chief Engineer’s cabin. He was sitting on the bed, his eyes closed, radiating sorrow and discomfort. She saved the work she’d been doing, then rose, crossing the room.
“Noel, what’s wrong?” she asked. She pronounced it in the French rather than American fashion: No-EL.
Noel DelMonde looked up at his Indiian lover. “I not know, cher,” he murmured. “I got this tune stuck in my head.”
"Again?" the Indiian asked, her voice wary.
Del shuddered, sorrow washing over him in waves. "Not like that," he promised.
Calaya sat down on the bed. “I’ve never heard you play it before. What is it?”
“Romulan,” he answered. “Or maybe ancient Vulcan. Or both.”
Which is why it sounded so strange. It was meant to be played on a different instrument, with a different basic tuning. “It makes you so sad, pelo’ros,” she began, then stopped at the wince that crossed his features and his tia. It was an Indiian term of affection, one she used exclusively for him. It meant ‘beautiful man’ and it usually made him smile. “Noel?” she asked, more softly.
Pelori, he whispered in her mind.
"And you are sure it's not like..."
I sure, came his answer. She took the guitar from him, replacing it in his arms.
“Why do you think of her now?” she murmured
The music, he responded.
“And if this isn't like before, why is the music…?”
It feel like someone who not me puttin’ it in my head.
Ruth? She thought gently, knowing he would have no trouble hearing her.
Non. An’ she not know this anyway.
Do you recognize the feel of the thoughts, Noel?
As always, when they were joined telepathically, her use of his name called up warm images of his mother. In the time they had been together, he had managed to lose most of the pain associated with the memory. He’d tried, at first, to get her to call him ‘Del’ like everyone else did, but her Indiian antipathy of nicknames had been too strong. She liked the way his name sounded, she’d told him, and when she’d realized why it was so difficult for him, her sensitivity drew the anguish away from him – as it did most of the emotional pressures that were a part of his everyday existence. He’d found, when they were together, that he didn’t need either bourbon or sapphire – though she had no objections to either.
She felt him mulling the question, searching for any possible telepathic intrusion. When he found it, he jumped, pushing her away as he scrambled up off the bed.
“Noel… what is…?”
“Shee-it! he exclaimed. “They was s’posed to’ve journeyed on!”
“They?” Calaya repeated, rising from the bed herself.
Del’s face darkened. “Joron,” he said, “an' Tarvak.”
“Oh my.”
Dr. Jade Han studied the readouts from DelMonde’s med scan. Then she gave the engineer a suspicious glare. “You haven’t found an unofficial source for xenoneurophene, have you?” she asked, just short of an accusation.
Del frowned at her. “’Course not,” he returned.
“Something has activated the residue in your system,” she told him. “It’s multiplying.”
“Oh fuck!” he spat. He glanced at her. “You find any ghosts in there?” he said.
“Ghosts?”
“Memory traces. Engrams. Somet’ing.”
Jade studied the readouts more carefully. “The telepathic centers in your brain are highly active,” she confirmed, “but no, no engrams or anything like that.”
“Shee-it.”
The Chief Medical Officer of the Lincoln folded her arms. “What’s going on, Mr. DelMonde?”
“Hell if I know,” the engineer growled. “I can feel ‘em in my head is all.”
“Them?”
“The damned Romulans.”
“Which damned Romulans?”
“The Bonded ones.”
Jade’s eyes grew wide, and she again stared at the med scan of DelMonde’s brain. “I think,” she said slowly, “that I’d better put in a call to Starfleet Intelligence.”
“We’re going where, why?” Jeremy Paget asked his captain as Sulu gave instructions to the Chief Navigator, Monique DuBois.
“Starbase 17,” Sulu replied, then turned to his Chief Helmsman. “Better than best speed, Zel.”
“Aye, sir,” the L’Chaldan responded.
“Chekov needs Valjiir,” the captain finally replied to his Security Chief. “Fleet tends to cooperate when that’s mentioned.”
“And you just let them think it was some ship emergency, right?” Paget grinned.
Sulu shrugged. “We’re only star-charting. I think they’ll stay put for the couple of weeks we’ll be absent.”
“There is that,” Jeremy agreed. “And if Tovarish actually asked for help…”
“Precisely.”
Paget leaned down closer to the con. “And it has something do to with the Great Romulan Misadventure?”
“So Daffy said.”
“Not good, babe.”
“Some missions never really end,” was Sulu’s terse response.
Jeremy nodded thoughtfully. Both he and his captain were thinking about another mission that had had long-term and far-reaching consequences – such as the fact that neither of their systems would ever be clean of xenoneurophene again, though Jeremy had long suspected that Sulu’s hadn’t been free of the chemical for a lot longer than that.
“Well, chin up, Sulu. At least you’ll get to see Spike again.”
“And Spock,” Sulu added, his expression softening into a slight grin. Paget nodded. Sulu’s growing affection for his fellow captain was just one of the many reasons this command was good for him. Absence, as the saying went, did indeed make the heart grow fonder.
“This is the Nest,” Ruth said cheerfully to Wen as she guided the young Romulan to the center-most level of the Enterprise’s saucer. She had decided to give the requested tour herself, to guard against any untoward meetings. Spock had readily agreed, and Ruth had declined Hernandez’ offer of assistance. She could handle herself, she had pointed out, despite her pregnancy. Besides, she liked Wen.
He’d been very quiet on the tour so far, seemingly in too much awe to ask many questions. But when he saw the play area with its handful of children, he broke into a smile.
“This is delightful, Lady!” he exclaimed.
“Ruth, please,” the Antari reminded.
“Yes, of course, forgive me. Ruth.” Wen’s dark eyes sparkled. “Can I talk to them?”
“Sure.” She signaled to the Nest Nurse. “Beth, have some of the kids come and meet Mr. Kolran.”
Ruth couldn’t help but smile at the way the young Romulan immediately knelt down so that he was on the same level as the kids who respectfully approached him. He was friendly and open, asking them questions in a way that was neither condescending nor overbearing. Hesitant at first, the children were soon responding to him with enthusiasm. This is how Sulu’s gonna be as a father, she found herself thinking. After a few moments, one of the older kids tugged on the hem of her tunic.
“Miss Valley, is Lieutenant Commander Chekov coming today? He was supposed to give us an astronavigation lesson.”
Oh shit! The Antari smiled down at the girl. “I don’t think so, Kat. He’s taking a rec day.”
“I know a little about the basics of astronavigation, ma’am,” Wen put in softly, and Ruth could feel the sorrow the mention of the Russian’s name had caused him. “I would be pleased to instruct them, if I may.”
Ruth glanced at Nurse Seibert. “Okay by you, Beth?”
“Anything to get the little monsters out of my hair for an hour,” the woman the Nest kids affectionately called “Lion-Lady” replied with a fond smile. The children immediately protested the term, and the nurse mock-growled at them. They, in turn, mock-shrieked.
“The computer is all set up for the lessons anyway,” she told Ruth, then smiled again, this time at Wen. “If you’ll follow me, Mr. Kolran.”
Ruth watched as the Nest kids mobbed their way over to the computer lab, Wen looking pleased even through his sadness. It would be safe, she decided, to take that hour and catch up on her paperwork.
Chekov rose from the bed and dressed as quietly as he could. Daffy was asleep, and he had no desire to wake her, since it was his fault she wasn’t getting the rest she needed. He opened the cabin door manually, so even the normal soft hissing sound wouldn’t rouse her.
“Ya ljublju vas, pirozhne moi,” he whispered, and left the cabin. He had promised the Nest a lesson in astronavigation.
He was quite surprised to see the children already crowded around the computer stations as he entered the Nest. Amid the mass of eager faces, he caught a glimpse of dark hair and pointed ears. How kind of the Captain, he thought. Not only had the Vulcan given him a day to rest, he had also taken over the navigator’s scheduled instruction for the children.
Not wishing to infringe on Spock’s generosity any further, he hurried to the lab.
“Thank you, sir,” he began, “but I would like to take over…”
He stopped talking as the man who sat at the computer looked up.
Bozhe moi, nyet!
Several of the children had to move out of the way as Wen awkwardly got to his feet.
“Lieutenant Commander,” the Romulan stammered. “Forgive me! Ruth – Lady – Commander Valley said you were – and that I might…” His skin took on a bright green flush. One of the Indiian children stared at him, began glowing, then glared at Chekov.
“Stop that!” he demanded as only an undisciplined child could.
The Russian’s tongue seemed to be frozen to the roof of his mouth as Nurse Seibert came hurrying across the room.
“What’s the problem here?” she demanded.
“Tell him to stop feeling mad at Mr. Wen!” the Indiian, Tesse, said, pointing to Chekov.
“Lieutenant Commander?” Siebert questioned.
“I… I did not…” Chekov began.
“Forgive me, Nurse Seibert,” Wen broke in immediately. “The fault is mine.”
The children began various noises of protest.
“Is not, is not!” Tesse shouted.
Wen took the child gently by the shoulders, kneeling in front of him. “You must not correct your elders, little Dei’lrn,” he said softly. “The Lieutenant Commander has done nothing wrong, and has good reason for his anger.”
“But you lo-“
“Hush, child. You may not speak so freely of what you perceive from others.”
Tesse frowned, but nodded tightly.
“Forgive him, Mr. Kolran, he’s just a boy,” Seibert apologized. She hurried the children away and Wen stood.
“I’m sorry to have caused such a disturbance,” the Romulan murmured, his eyes downcast. “This is your home and I have no right…”
“What are you doing here?” Chekov interrupted brusquely.
Wen took a deep breath. “I was instructed by my superiors to take a tour of your ship,” he answered. “When the children asked if you would be giving an astronavigation lesson, Commander Valley said I might fill in for you.”
“You know astronavigation?” the Russian snorted.
“The basics only,” the boy responded apologetically.
Chekov humphed. “I’m certain you did an adequate job,” he said tersely.
“Forgive me,” Wen repeated, his head bending in shame...
“There’s nothing to…” The words caught in the navigator’s throat. He could feel his heart pounding, the images from his dreams crowding out rational thought. He found himself staring at the curve of the Romulan’s ear, the way the wisps of dark hair were laying tantalizingly across it. Before he could stop himself, he reached out, smoothing the black silk behind the sensitive flesh. Wen gasped, his entire body stiffening.
“Please…!” he rasped out.
On sudden impulse he couldn’t fully explain and was powerless to stop, Chekov pulled the young man into a fierce embrace. “I have been so worried about you,” he whispered.
“Oh, Lahs!” Wen moaned, clutching at the broad, uniformed back.
The name only seemed to enflame the Russian more, and he grasped the sides of the Romulan’s face, bringing the full, tempting lips to his own.
“Holy fucking great bird of the galaxy!” Ruth shrieked as she entered the Nest. She watched as Chekov leapt away from the young Romulan’s embrace. Wen, too, stumbled away, dropping to his knees.
“Forgive, me, forgive me!” he gasped.
“Just what the hell is going on here?” the Antari demanded.
“I…” Chekov stammered, then put his hand to his forehead. “I don’t… I can’t…” He stared in horror at Wen. “For the love of god, get up!” he snapped.
The Romulan rose slowly. “Forgive me,” he whispered again, as if those were the only words he knew.
“Pavel, you were supposed to stay in your cabin,” Ruth admonished tightly. “Where’s Daffy?”
“She fell asleep,” the Russian answered with a frown. “I was not told I was required to…”
“Shit!”
“Forgive me …” Wen began again.
“Stop saying that!” Chekov broke in.
“Okay, let’s just all calm down,” Ruth put in. “Wen, I don’t know what happened, but there are factors which…”
“I know them, Mis – Miss Valley,” Wen said softly, his voice covered with shame.
“Did you just almost call me…” Ruth began suspiciously.
“Of course he did,” Pavel growled. “That is how we are taught to address females.”
“We?”
“They,” the navigator corrected. “Slaves.” He glanced at Wen. “But you are a slave no longer.”
“No, sir,” Wen replied softly.
“And I am not Lahs.”
“No, sir.”
The Russian scowled.
“Well, no harm no foul, right?” Ruth said tentatively.
“Commander, I would speak to you – privately,” Chekov muttered.
“If the tour is complete, Lady,” Wen offered, “I can return to the base on my own.”
“No,” Ruth said. “Just wait for me out in the corridor, okay?”
The Romulan hung his head. “Yes, ma’am,” he said.
Ruth cleared her throat as she watched Chekov’s gaze following the young man. “So, what was all that about?” she asked.
“I don’t know,” Pavel returned. “I was – overwhelmed by – an impulse that I do not…” He shook his head. “That is not what I wanted to speak to you about.” He took a deep breath. “Please, Ruth, do not tell Daphne.”
“Not on a bet,” Ruth vowed.
“Did she tell you we have asked Mrs. Majiir to…?”
“Yes. And we received word that the D’Artagnan is on her way.”
“Will you be able to – to stop – whatever is happening?”
“Only if you talk about it, Pavel.”
“Bozhe moi,” the Russian groaned.
Ruth patted him on the shoulder. “Go back to your quarters,” she advised. “Stay there. I’ll try and explain to Wen.”
“Ruth,” Chekov said. “Don’t hurt him. This is hardly his fault.”
“What do you think I’m going to do, make him kiss my boots?” the Antari retorted.
Chekov flushed. Ruth shrugged an apology.