Return to Valjiir Stories
Return to Valjiir Continnum
Wen waited in the corridor as he’d been told. Though he seemed calm on the outside, inside he was trembling with grief and desire. He didn’t know what was happening, he only knew that those had been Lahs’ arms around him, Lahs’ lips against his. His head was a jumble of conflicting emotions and his training was being of little help in properly sorting them. This couldn’t be Lahs, a part of him insisted. I know my beloved, a second part countered passionately. When he had been taken by the Intelligence Unit, he had resigned himself to never seeing Lahs again. It had been hard, but the intensive reeducation had left him no time to muse over his loss. When he did have time, the rigorous shielding he’d been taught had kept him insulated from it. The chemical he was given as part of his daily regimen helped to strengthen him, and that, too, kept his longing at bay, except for the carefully scheduled times when he was allowed to be overwhelmed – needed release to bolster his control the rest of the time, he was told.
But with the touch, the kiss…
He knew he had to report to his superiors immediately. They would have to again suppress his psychic need, put new blocks in place to prevent him from throwing away all they had done for him to seek out the completion his very being demanded.
And the Lieutenant Commander is NOT Lahs, Wen repeated to himself.
Why, then, did his touch both arouse and soothe?
He shook himself as the Antari Commander approached him. “Forgive me,” he began, only to have her wave his words away.
“No need,” she said. “I understand what’s going on. Well,” she temporized, “maybe not all, but more than I want to. I told you before, Wen, Chekov has no memory of…”
“He does, begging your pardon, my Lady,” Wen interrupted. “He would not have – embraced me – if…”
“That’s not memory,” the Antari interrupted his interruption. “I don’t know exactly what it is, but…” She sighed. “In a few days, an Indiian friend of mine and I are gonna try to sort this out. Do you think you can hang on until then?”
“I – may need – aid from..” Wen began hesitantly.
“There’s an Intelligence agent on board,” Ruth said.
“Yes, Agent Hernandez. She visited me this morning.”
“Good. Then maybe you should go talk with her. I’ll take you to her.”
“Thank you, ma’am.”
“Ruth.”
Wen didn’t respond, and Ruth sighed as she led him to the VIP quarters.
“Kah-en’gen’t.”
At the code word, Wen felt his mind becoming quiescent. Hernandez probed him deeply, more deeply than she had earlier that day. It was almost painful, and when she released him, he almost thought he heard an echo of the word “good.”
“You are quite certain Commander Valley said Chekov had no memories,” the agent asked him.
“Yes, ma’am. She said an Indiian would attempt to aid her in…”
“Yes, we know of that,” Hernandez cut him off. “There is someone I want you to meet, Wen. And I want you to drop your shields when you do, but you must not react to whatever you sense there. Is that understood?”
“Yes, ma’am,” the Romulan said again.
Almost on cue, the signal to the cabin door sounded. “Prepare,” the agent ordered.
Wen dropped his shields.
“Come.”
The name burst from his mind, though, as commanded, he did not react outwardly.
Master Tarvak!?
The face was subtly different, the most striking change being that the Vulcan had no beard. But this was unquestionably the officer that had, once upon a time, been known to Wen as the Senior Husband of Lady Ve’el, and Lahs’ First Master.
“Captain Spock, may I introduce Wen Kolran,” Hernandez was saying. “Wen, this is Captain Spock.” She turned again to the Vulcan. “I thought it prudent that he be allowed to acquaint himself with you as opposed to his memories of Tarvak.”
The captain’s eyebrow quirked. “Indeed, Miss Hernandez? To what end?”
“I wish to bring home to him that neither you nor Lieutenant Commander Chekov are the people he might suppose you to be.” The agent glanced at the Romulan. “You can see that, can’t you, Wen?”
Without his shields, Wen easily understood that she was, in fact, asking him to feel the Vulcan’s psychic signature, to determine if there was any residue of the Romulan persona or engrams which had been implanted in the Vulcan over two years previously. He also understood that the Vulcan would be on guard against a trained agent, but not necessarily against the abilities of a Romulan teenager who he had no reason to think would be examining him. Still, he couldn’t help but think that the code phrase, ‘you can see that,’ was a dead giveaway.
Only to those with Intelligence training, Hernandez said silently, with just a touch of amusement. Answer me, now.
“Yes, ma’am,” Wen said automatically. “I can see that.” He took a deep breath. “I am honored to meet you, Captain Spock.”
“And I am pleased to see you are well, Mr. Kolran,” Spock returned. Wen tried not to swallow convulsively as the dark eyes searched his. “I trust the conditions under which you now live are an improvement over the life you shared with the Centurion.”
“Yes, sir,” Wen replied faintly. How it hurt to hear it mentioned without his shields in place!
Spock’s gaze lingered for a moment longer, then he turned his attention again to the agent. “Will that do, Miss Hernandez?”
“I think so, Captain. I thank you for your kind attention to this minor detail of Wen’s training.”
The Vulcan nodded, and Wen couldn’t stop himself from bursting out, “My congratulations on your son, Captain.”
Spock’s eyebrow twitched again. “You know it is a son, Mr. Kolran?”
The boy flushed. “Yes… I… I felt it from him… from your Bonded... your wife, sir.”
“My wife and I are Bonded,” Spock said, his head tilting slightly.
“Yes… so she said… forgive me, sir.”
Spock nodded again and left the room. Wen shivered and slumped, but straightened when Hernandez approached him.
“Report!” she snapped.
“There is nothing of Tarvak within him, my Lady,” Wen said in a monotone. “Even the passageway left has been sealed. There is no possibility of entrance there.”
“Damned salish,” Hernandez said. “Release.”
Wen shook himself.
“You may shield now, Wen.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he replied. “Thank you, ma’am.”
“Return to your rooms on the base. And increase your dosage by ten percent.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Ruth was relaxing on her bed, studying the day’s communications, snacking on an enormous bowl of sliced fruit when Spock entered the cabin. Glorf kicked in recognition of his father, sending the bowl toppling off her stomach.
“Cute, kid,” she commented wryly, then gave an exaggerated groan as she tried to bend to pick up the mess.
“No need,” Spock said, and knelt beside her, carefully returning the pieces of fruit to the bowl.
When he rose and headed to the recycling unit, Ruth said, “Hey! Five second rule!”
Her husband frowned at her. “You actually wish to eat food that has fallen on the floor?”
“I’m hungry,” she returned.
Spock lowered his eyebrows, then went to the replicator, returning with another bowl of fruit. Ruth grinned at him.
“You spoil me,” she beamed.
“Better you than food,” he replied. He sat down on the bed, placing the spread fingers of his hand against her swollen belly. She heard his mental voice.
You are well, my son?
Father! the already fully-formed telepathic voice of their child squealed.
Ruth sat in blissful communion with her husband and son, and sighed happily when Spock gently broke the contact.
“What did Hernandez want?” the Antari asked, putting another slice of pear into her mouth.
“To appraise me under the guise of introducing me to Wen,” Spock returned, changing from his uniform to a more comfortable robe.
“Don’t you already know him?”
“Yes. But he had never met me.”
“Did he think you were Tarvak?”
“That was his initial reaction, yes.”
“So, what did her little appraisal get her?”
“Not hers. Wen’s.”
Ruth’s eyes widened. “That sad, polite, frightened little thing?”
“I am certain he was under orders to do so.”
“Ooh, I really hate those people,” the Antari seethed.
“It is of no consequence. Hernandez gained nothing of use.”
Ruth grinned. “Salish is handy that way.”
Spock again came to her, pushing the reader away from the bed, taking the bowl of fruit and setting it on the shelf above the bed. “And in other ways, my wife.”
Glorf, go to sleep.
Yes, ara, their son answered, but they heard his giggle as the shields of his empathy were shut tight.
The touch of a Bond disturbs Wen, even now, Spock murmured.
Poor thing, Ruth returned. Is there anything we can do to help?
When Jilla arrives, I believe you will be doing all that can be done.
For Pavel, yeah, but…
And that, I think, will ultimately help Wen as well.
Why’s that?
Has the thought not occurred to you, my wife, even after this afternoon’s debacle in the Nest?
What thought… She paused, then gasped. But Pavel’s as blind as they come!
But I think, Dei’larr’ei, that Lahs is not.
The next four days were uneventful – other than Pavel’s continuing nightmares. Daffy was beginning to look a little ragged around the edges, and Chekov’s eyes got a haunted look that was far too reminiscent of the days just after his return from Romulan space. Ruth had gone to the base to see Wen again, but was told by the civilian liaison that the Romulan had been taken ill – nothing serious, the base doctors assured her, just a touch of influenza. She offered Bones’ services to treat him and was firmly stonewalled. Hernandez visited the young man daily, but other than that, kept out of everyone’s way. She was still ‘observing’ Chekov, she said, and wanted to be present in case her help was needed when Jilla arrived. Ruth and Daffy both bared their teeth at her in grateful recognition of her selflessness.
Ruth was in her office when a call came from the Chief of Communications, Alan Mulhouse.
“It’s the Base Docks,” the thin, blonde young man told her.
“Is it the D’Artagnan?” Ruth asked, starting to rise from her chair.
“No, ma’am, there’s a Chutzpah from the Lincoln asking permission to come inside the Enterprise’s hangar.”
Ruth frowned. “Call Scotty, I’ll tell the captain,” she said.
“Right away, ma’am.”
Ruth and Spock met at the entrance to the shuttle bay. Scotty was already repressurizing the bay, and they could both clearly see the Gettysburg on the deck beyond the sealed doors.
“Why didn’t Jim call and let us know…?” Ruth began.
“I am certain we will be informed of that once we speak to the officer or officers in the shuttle,” Spock replied.
When the repressurization finished, the doors hissed open and they headed across the bay to the shuttle. Its hatch opened, the small stairs descending automatically. Two people bent their heads to step out, one having to bow considerably lower than the other. Both wore red uniforms, one male, one female, one Indiian, the other…
“Del?” Ruth said, her wide purple eyes blinking.
Commander Noel DelMonde grimaced wryly at his former lover. “Sorry ‘bout this, cher,” he said. “Intelligence gave us clearance, but not permission t' contact you beforehand.”
“Intelligence?” Captain Spock asked.
“Yes, sir,” the Cajun replied. “Permission to come aboard, sir?”
“This Yeoman Calaya Wheal,” Del introduced his companion once they were all seated in Spock’s office. He not-so-subtly put his arm around her shoulder. “Cher, this Ruth Valley an’ Captain Spock.”
“I’m pleased to meet you,” the Indiian said. Her voice was neither Jilla-soft nor Jilla-hesitant, though just as accented and just as pleasant. “I’ve heard so much about both of you.”
I just bet she has, Ruth muttered in Del’s direction.
Jus’ the truth, good an’ bad, he returned.
Such contact is impolite when non-telepaths are present, Spock said sternly.
Ruth braced herself for a blistering retort from Del, but the engineer only shrugged. Calaya hear us right ‘nough when we want her to. He paused, then said, nés pas, cher?
Asi, Noel, came in the Indiian’s voice.
That mean ‘yes’ in Indiian, Del translated helpfully.
“All right, enough,” Ruth said, ignoring the fact that she had started the silent communication. “Why are you here and what does Intelligence have to do with it?
Del sighed. “It not gonna be comfortable,” he warned.
“May I hazard a guess, Mr. DelMonde?” Spock asked.
The engineer raised an eyebrow.
“Precisely,” Spock returned.
“This is fucked up bullshit…” Del growled. “Again.”
“And there must be something that can be done about it!” Calaya insisted stridently, and Ruth had to suppress a startled giggle. No, this was definitely NOT like Jilla at all.
“Joron,” Spock said.
“But not Tarvak,” Del added, his piercing gaze fixed on the Vulcan. “He not in there, Captain, non?”
“No. And I take it Joron is….”
“That why they both in here,” Del interrupted, tapping his temple.
“Okay, let me get this straight,” Ruth said. “Del, are you saying that somehow the Romulans are back from the dead?”
“Not precisely my wife,” Spock clarified. “They are spirits. Ghosts, if you will.”
“Oy, like Pavel,” Ruth sighed.
Del blinked. “Ol’ T-Paul got Lahs back?” he asked.
“He’s been having nightmares,” Ruth explained. “Bad ones. He’s got memories that Intelligence says he shouldn’t.”
“Those bastards here?”
“One bastard, though she’s a bitch.”
“Two,” Spock corrected. “Mr. Kolran is…”
Del again gave him a hard look. “The Bonded Ones bein’ called back somehow,” he said. “They not wanna be out th' Afterlife. They was blamin’ me ‘cause o’ the risin’ amounts o’ xenoneurophene in my system…”
“Del!” Ruth snapped.
“Which I not take,” he glared back at her. “It multiplyin’ all by itself.”
Ruth and Spock exchanged worried glances.
“An’ it what’s allowin’ ‘em to come into me,” Del went on. “What’s drawin’ ‘em back, though, they not know.” He paused. “An’ neither do I.”
“I think, Mr. DelMonde,” Spock said, his tone quiet but stern, “that I may.”
“I bet, Captain,” the Cajun drawled back, “that why Intelligence sent me here.”
“Most strange,” was Hernandez’ only comment when she was confronted with the medical scans McCoy had done to confirm Jade Han’s assessment of the increasing amounts of xenoneurophene in DelMonde’s system.
“An’ you not know not’ing ‘bout it, non?” the engineer said. His arms were folded, his look more than skeptical.
“Why would I, Commander?” the agent returned. “I’ve never met you before, and I have been here for the past week.”
“She’s not lying,” Calaya put in, though her voice sounded almost disappointed. Hernandez regarded her condescendingly. The Indiian glowed. “I can tell even through shielding, Agent,” she assured.
“Then you’re aware…” Hernandez began.
“An’ she jus’ said so,” Del put in. Then he smiled at the yeoman. “Merci, ma petit.”
”I can tell you that this phenomenon is not unheard of,” the agent was continuing, “particularly in the cases of the earlier xenoneurophene compounds, which, from these readouts, you once took in rather remarkable doses.”
“That was on one of your missions, too,” Ruth said accusingly. “One that damn near killed him and Chekov and Miss Gollub and me – twice.”
“Were you pregnant then, too?” the agent asked, “Or was there some other reason your vast abilities were…”
“The damned Loonie poison was the reason!” Ruth flared, “the experiments your people were doing with the stupid little idealistic Eden-heads…”
Raw-eth, calm down, th' baby…
Mr. DelMonde is correct. You should not allow yourself to become so agitated…
Get out of my head!!
“STOP IT!” Calaya shrieked, her skin as bright as any star gone nova. She pointed, first at Hernandez, then at Del, and finally at Ruth. “YOU stop feeling oh so smug and superior,” she demanded. “You may have better training, but that doesn’t make YOU better!” Her gaze swung to Del. “YOU stay out of people’s minds when you’re not invited, I don’t care how often you used to screw her! And YOU…” She faced Ruth. “You’re my superior and a keheil and with child, all of which are worthy of respect, but if you don’t stop looking at my lover like he’s the courgat that got away, I swear I’ll take out those huge purple eyes of yours! Ma’am!”
Ruth inhaled sharply, blinking disconcertedly, then noticed that Del was grinning down at the suddenly hell-on-jets Indiian spitfire. Normally, such an explosion would have given him at least a headache, if not a full-blown, foul-tempered screaming fit. Then she realized that, like with Jilla, the yeoman was actually draining the emotional pressure from him. And, of course, what she’d said was the truth, as uncomfortable as that was. Even with the salish, Ruth was jealous, and she had absolutely no right to be.
She took a deep breath. “I’m sorry, Miss Wheal,” she said. “You’re absolutely right.” Then she glanced at Del, a smile pulling at her lips. “She’s good.”
“The best,” the engineer replied, and bent, kissing the Indiian on the top of her head.
Neither of them noticed the sudden speculative look Hernandez gave the yeoman.
“Mistress, please…! Please, his master ordered…! Please...!”
“PAVEL!”
Chekov came suddenly awake, sweat beading up on his skin, the blood racing in his veins. A hand came to his shoulder and he shuddered violently, twisting away from the touch.
“Pasha, it’s alright,” the voice that had woken him came again. “Another nightmare, that’s all. Please, darling, it’s alright!”
He groaned, his hands coming up to his head. “I can’t make it stop, Dafshka,” he whispered. “It’s getting so much worse and I…”
“I know, bubee, I know,” Daffy soothed, again tentatively putting her arms around him. “Jilla will be here soon, and then you can talk to her and Ruth and they’ll make it go away, like last time.”
“So much worse…” he moaned. “Why did I ever touch him, why…”
“You were a slave, you were ordered to,” Daffy murmured. “It was a long time ago.”
Again Pavel pulled away from her embrace. He hadn’t been talking about the events of years past, but of days. He hadn’t told her – wouldn’t tell her unless and until he absolutely had to. But the fleeting caress, the brief kiss had seemingly accelerated the growing madness…
No, I am not going mad, he reminded himself. It is as before – there are memories that…
But, before, they were not memories, were they?
Is it possible? Am I again being – He hated to even think the word. – haunted?
Agent Hernandez thinks they are memories.
“I do not want to remember!”
He was unaware he had cried the words out loud until Daffy burst into angry tears.
“I don’t want to know either, Pav, but this has GOT to stop!”
Then they both jumped at the sound of the door chime. Pavel used the bed sheet to wipe the sweat from his face and neck before rising and getting his robe. Daffy scrubbed the heels of her hands against her eyes, and she, too, rose and slipped on a nightgown. The Russian glanced at her to make certain she was decent before ordering the lights on, then calling, “Come.”
“Well, lucky you, bein’ able to lounge 'round in bed all day,” Noel DelMonde said as he stepped into the cabin. There was an Indiian with him and Chekov blinked.
“Noel?” he said. “Where did you come from?”
“My mama’s belly,” the engineer replied with a grin. “Hey, Daf.”
“Oy, this can’t be good,” Daffy complained, but she crossed the room to hug the Cajun anyway. “Spike set out the land mines yet?”
“Only the one in her belly,” Del replied, returning the embrace. “Pavel Chekov, Daffy Gollub, this my salvation, Calaya Wheal.”
The Indiian blushed, but she was smiling up at him.
“Pleased to meet you, Miss Wheal,” the navigator said politely, then added to Del, “what are you doing here?”
“Fixin’ to share good ol’ times, T-Paul,” Del replied. He tapped his temple. “Joron an’ Tarvak say hi.”
Daffy said, “oy vey” at the same time Pavel muttered, “bozhe moi.”
Del crossed the room, taking a seat on one of the chairs in the room. Calaya did likewise. “Get dressed, son,” the engineer said. “We got us some serious talkin’ to do.”
Pavel shuddered, but went to the bedroom area of his cabin to replace his robe with a uniform. Daffy murmured words of reassurance as he did so.
“I jus’ gonna order up some coffee,” the Cajun called. “Want some?”
“God, yes!” Daffy called back.
“T-Paul?”
“No, thank you,” the Russian replied tersely. When he and Daffy returned to the living room, Del had a large pot and three very small cups. He poured the thick, dark brown liquid and handed one cup to Calaya, the second to Daffy, and took the third himself.
Daffy took a sip, then choked. “Any cream?” she asked. “Sugar? Water?”
“Yankee wimp,” Del said good-naturedly.
“It’s the only way he drinks it,” Calaya said, speaking for the first time. “One gets used to it.”
“Not this one,” Daffy retorted, and handed it back to Del, going to the replicator to call up a cup of ‘extra sweet, extra light.’
“Noel,” Chekov began hesitantly, “when you said that Joron and Tarvak say hello…”
“They in here,” the engineer confirmed. “Almos’ ‘xactly like before, only they really dead now, not jus’ they bodies, an' I got me both of ‘em at once.”
“Which is understandable, as they are Bonded spirits,” Calaya added.
“An’ apparently Ruth’s salish done closed up Tarvak’s usual space,” Del rejoined.
Daffy waited for some sarcastic comment about thanking the Lord for small mercies, but none came.
“No, that is not understandable,” the navigator argued. “Since they are dead, how can they be anywhere?”
The Indiian regarded him with plain incredulity. “You do not believe in spirits, Lieutenant Commander?”
“No. I do not.”
“Even when one is living within you?”
“One is not…”
“No good arguin’ wit’ an Indiian, son,” Del advised. “If she sense it, it real, right ‘nough.”
“No!” Chekov repeated more stridently. “I am being plagued by memories I am not consciously aware of. When Mrs. Majiir arrives and I am able to…”
“Is forced to,” Daffy corrected.
“…talk about it, they will vanish, as they did before.”
“After Jilla pulls another exorcism,” the chemist finished, and took a long swallow of her coffee, ignoring her lover’s frustrated glare.
“Jilla Majiir is coming here?” Calaya asked, her voice guarded.
“What day is it?” Daffy asked.
“Tuesday?” Del replied teasingly.
“Ha ha, Cajun,” she snarled. “The D’Artagnan should be here in a couple of hours.”
The Indiian turned to Del. “Aema sumin tu, et telmnori i bez, al lina, pelo’ros!” she said, clearly disturbed.
“Non, cher, you not have t' be near her,” Del soothed, pulling her upper body into his arms for a short though intense embrace.
“And what is wrong with Mrs. Majiir?” Chekov asked belligerently, folding his arms across his chest.
Del gave him a look that clearly said ‘dumb fuck.’ “She damned, Calaya Aeman, t’ink ‘bout it fo’ half a second.”
“And because of that, she will shun…”
The words came this time. “It painful to her, ya dumb fuck.”
“It is a very real thing to us, Mr. Chekov,” Calaya added. “I don’t expect you to understand.”
“What, he’s stupid?” Daffy put in with her own flare of anger.
The Indiian blinked. “No. But he is not Indiian.”
“Okay, this gettin’ way off track here,” the engineer rejoined. “Best we stick to the important stuff, non?”
“Del the peacemaker. Who’d’ve thunk it?” Gollub commented.
When the D’Artagnan docked at Starbase 17, Sulu and Jilla immediately called the Enterprise for permission to beam over. It was granted, Montgomery Scott beaming happily at them as they materialized.
“Ah, Captain, lassie, it’s good t’see ya both,” he said.
Sulu stepped forward, shaking the engineer’s hand. “Likewise, Scotty,” he said. Jilla, too, took Scott’s hand, but was pulled into a bearhug. She flushed with pleasure.
“Maybe we’ll have a wee bit o’ time for a chat, Jilla,” the Scotsman said, “what with Noel here as well…”
“Del’s here?” Sulu interrupted. “Why?”
Scott scowled. “Some Intelligence matter,” he answered. “The Gettysburg arrived a few hours ago.”
“This isn’t good,” Sulu muttered.
“Ach, lad, when is anything concerning Intelligence any good?”
The door to the transporter room opened and Ruth and Spock stepped in, the Antari immediately throwing herself into Sulu’s arms. Their embrace was warm, and Sulu was grinning when she finally pulled away.
“I can barely get my arms around you, Spike,” he commented.
She smiled back, resting her hands on her belly. “Roy, this is Glorf. Glorf, this is your Uncle Roy.” Then she winked and turned to Jilla, ignoring the frown of disapproval for both nicknames. “And this lovely person is your Aunt Jilla.” Her smile widened as Jilla stepped forward, the Indiian’s hands making a graceful gesture across Ruth’s stomach, tracing the arcs of two crescent moons.
“His tia is quite strong,” was Jilla’s soft remark. Ruth leaned forward.
“He’s gonna be the first male keheil,” she confided.
“And his name is Sarek,” Spock put in. He shook Sulu’s hand, his expression softening as the younger man’s hand automatically clasped his forearm. “It is good to see you again, my friend,” he said, returning the gesture that, in Vulcan culture, identified each as ‘brother,’ “though I wish the circumstances were less discomfiting.”
“Just what are the circumstances?” Sulu asked.
Before Spock responded, he turned his gaze to Jilla. “Rilain," he acknowledged.
Her skin glowed softly. “Captain,” she returned.
“A great deal more complicated than I would like,” Spock answered Sulu’s question. “Come, we can discuss the matter in my office.”
They left the transporter room, Spock walking beside Spock, Ruth and Jilla a few steps behind them, with Ruth talking non-stop to Jilla about her pregnancy and her son.
“So why is DelMonde here?” Sulu asked when they were seated in the Captain’s office.
“The Loonie juice has been flaring up in him,” Ruth answered, taking a seat and immediately pulling her feet up under her. “And he says he’s being invaded by the spirits of the Romulans, Joron and Tarvak. Intelligence sent him here.”
“Because of what’s going on with Pavel,” Sulu nodded. “Is Lahs back, too?”
Ruth shrugged. “I’m pregnant, I can’t tell for sure. Agent Hernandez says there are memory traces that shouldn’t be there, but…”
“Agent Hernandez?” Sulu broke in, rolling his eyes. “Shit.”
Spock’s eyebrow rose. “You know her?”
“Do I have to?” Sulu answered sourly. “She’s Intelligence.”
“There’s that,” Ruth put in. Spock nodded. “But about Lahs…” she began again.
“I will know,” Jilla put in.
Ruth grinned. “So I was hoping,” she said.
“There is another complication, Sulu,” Spock rejoined. “The young Romulan who was rescued from servitude and has been trained by Intelligence is assigned to this Starbase. It was a chance encounter with him that apparently triggered whatever is going on with Mr. Chekov.”
Sulu frowned. “Does he really look like me?” he asked.
“Except for the green skin and pointy ears, yeah,” Ruth replied. “Makes me think of what a kid of yours might look like if Jilla’s Vulcan genetics kicked in full force.”
The Indiian flushed and Sulu grinned. “That cute, huh?” he said jokingly.
“He’s also got gifts that rival Antaris’,” Ruth continued, “but I’m not sure he knows that. He’s sweet and unassuming and so polite it’s scary.”
“He was unfortunately well-trained to be just that,” Spock commented, and from the tone of his voice, he was far away.
Spock? Ruth asked privately.
His treatment at Romulan hands is still disturbing to me, my wife.
You liked him.
I did.
More than because he looks like Roy?
Your jest is inappropriate, Ruth.
Ruth shrugged.
“So what’s Pavel’s problem with him?” Sulu wanted to know.
“If Lahs is again active within him,” Jilla returned, “there are factors in his relationship with Wen that would make Mr. Chekov more than uncomfortable.”
“Such as?”
“I think, Sulu, that I need to relate the entire history of the mission to you,” Spock replied.
“Jilla’s told me…” the Human began.
“But what she knows is from Lahs’ memory only,” the Vulcan interrupted. “I have a much fuller and more – detached – knowledge.”
Except for the part about wanting to screw Del, Ruth quipped
Inappropriate, my salishe, was Spock’s answer.
Jilla flushed and Sulu raised an eyebrow. Spock cleared his throat. “Sulu, Jilla – what do you know of Romulan – and Vulcan – Warrior bonds?”