Dance Unrehearsed

"This mission is of a rather delicate nature, Captain."

Captain Spock of Vulcan sat in his office - what Starfleet now termed a "ready room" due to its new proximity to the Bridge - and nodded his acknowledgement to Admiral Rhonda Brezhnova on the new, larger view screen on the comm link.

"I realize you and the Enterprise are just off your shakedown," the grey-haired, attractive woman continued, "but when I give you the details, I'm sure you'll understand why you were chosen for this, as opposed to the Lincoln or the D'Artagnan."

"Whether I would or not, Admiral," the Vulcan replied, "I am not in the habit of arguing with Command over assignments."

The Admiral chuckled. "I wasn't implying you were. It's more that I'm in the habit of explaining as much as I can - which, all too often, isn't deemed nearly enough."

"Then I thank you in advance for your openness," Spock returned.

"The Federation is in negotiations with the government of Paxilon 4, a planet in an area of space whose jurisdiction is under dispute."

Spock quickly activated his tie-in to the ship's computer. "Near Romulan space," he confirmed.

Brezhnova nodded. "The Paxions want protection, but seem singularly unwilling to deal directly with Humans. Apparently, there has been enough contact with Romulan influences that they are nearly as unsure about Federation motives as they are of Romulan ones." She paused. "The difference being that they acknowledge the Federation ideal as being better for their culture than the Romulan notion of all that we conquer becomes Romulan or becomes non-existent."

"And as I and my First Officer are not Human and yet are in authority over a mostly Human crew, this will demonstrate that our ideals are more than words," the captain concluded.

"And Captains Kirk and Sulu are definitely Human," the admiral agreed with a wry grin.

"I would venture that a Nest ship is preferable for similar reasons?" Spock asked.

"Precisely. More evidence that we do more than talk the talk."

Spock inclined his head in another acknowledgement.

"Also, there is the factor that you and the Romulans share a heritage. That we would entrust one of our newest and most powerful ships to one who resembles one of our enemies..." Brezhnova smiled again. "Well, I'm sure I don't have to spell it out for you, Captain."

"No, indeed," the Vulcan murmured. He sat forward in his chair. "And the mission itself?"

"Meet with the Paxilon council and get an agreement for protectorate status. Starfleet wants to cement our claim to that area of space as soon as possible."

"Will we be rendezvousing with a representative of the Diplomatic Corps?"

"Captain Spock, what better representative could we have than the son of Vulcan's ambassador to the Federation?" There was a twinkle in the admiral's very black eyes.

There were several other names that came immediately to Spock's mind. He wisely kept them to himself.

"All the information you'll need is being beamed in a secure packet," Brezhnova finished. "Good luck, Captain."

The screen went blank as the admiral signed off, and Spock rose to return the Bridge and alert Lieutenant Mulhouse to be ready to receive the coming transmission.

Despite the new ready rooms - the First Officer had one adjacent to the Bridge as well - missions briefings were still held in a briefing room. Spock had reviewed the material on Paxilon 4, a habit long established after being Jim Kirk's First and Science Officer for so many years. Yet while he recognized the importance of encouraging each Department Head to give their input, logic rebelled at asking questions to which he already knew the answer. Therefore, he simply nodded at his First Officer once all the relevant officers were in attendance.

Ruth smiled at him as she took a seat next to his. "Okay, people," she began. "What do we need to know about Paxilon 4 and its inhabitants?"

"They're bigoted," Lacey replied immediately. "Provincial."

"The planet has modern technology," Hasim put in. "It's just their culture that's medieval."

"The Paxions seem rather easily swayed by whatever argument is the last one they've been presented with," Chekov added. "Which could work in our favor, since I doubt there will be any Romulans at our negotiation."

"I have a question, Captain," Dr. Leonard McCoy drawled. "Why is it that the planet's called 'Paxilon' but the people are 'Paxions'? Shouldn't they be Paxilans or Paxilonians?"

"Speaking of provincial," Mulhouse said in an aside to Lacey.

"That is their preferred terminology, Doctor," Spock explained with bland patience.

"Which is really all we need to know, Bones," Ruth rejoined.

"Well, don't you think it's a bit funny?" McCoy continued. "I mean, it's like they've gone out of their way to set up the possibility for a mistake." He gave a sidelong glance at Mulhouse. "Which, because they're so provincial, might give them an excuse to cut off negotiations."

The Security Chief exchanged glances with the Chief of Communications. "He's got a point, Captain," she admitted.

"The cultural notes do indicate some measure of sensitivity, sir," Chekov confirmed.

"Then I guess we'd better not make that mistake," Ruth said.

"What is it the Paxions want from protectorate status?" Spock asked, reorienting the conversation.

"Safety from the Romulans," Lacey answered promptly.

"The guarantee of reliable transportation routes," Hasim added.

"Along with some measure of assurance of customers for their exports," Mulhouse put in.

"They're also interested in opening some kind of tourist trade," Ruth continued.

"Though what anyone would be interested in on a planet full of sensitive, provincial bigots..." McCoy muttered, then flashed a grin at Ruth.

"They have some very interesting geological formations, Captain," Chekov said by way of answering the doctor.

"They also want information on the functioning of other governments with a similar form," Ruth returned. "They specifically mentioned the Vulcan Council as a model they'd want to study."

This statement produced a raised eyebrow from the captain. "Did they indeed, Commander? Was such information provided by their initial contact with the Federation?"

"Must have been, Boss," Ruth replied.

"But it is not in the information we received from Headquarters," Spock mused.

"That's a little suspicious, sir," Lacey volunteered.

"Perhaps they learned of it from the Romulans?" Chekov ventured.

Ruth made a face and Hasim grumbled under his breath.

"My people will keep a close eye on that, Captain," the Arachnid Security Chief promised.

"Are there any other concerns of note?" the Vulcan asked. He made it a point to catch the gaze of each of his senior officers in turn. When he looked at McCoy, the doctor frowned.

"I don't know, Spock," he said. "Something about this smells fishy."

"The Paxions have a sea-faring trade?" Spock returned mildly.

McCoy scowled. "Yes, and their fish are green-scaled with pointy fins," he replied, "so you'd better watch yourself around hooks."

"Thank you for your concern, Doctor," the Vulcan said.

"And they're cold-blooded too!" the doctor added for good measure.

Ruth snorted, covering her mouth with her hand. Chekov lowered his head, but he, too, was hiding a grin. As the rest of those in the room exchanged uncomfortable glances, Ruth smiled.

"Get used to it, people," she stated, her purple eyes bright with amusement. "They're always like this."

"Did we really sign on to a ship run by crazies?" Alan Mulhouse said between bites of his dinner.

"You're calling our Vulcan captain a crazy?" Lacey questioned as she delicately placed a fly larvae disguised as a raisin into her mouth. She quickly closed her lips before her pincer teeth closed sideways on it. She had learned early in her Academy training that Humanoids tended to be repulsed by that particular sight.

'"Well, he did marry an Antari," the Head Nurse, Myron Pinsky, pointed out with a wide grin.

"And she's definitely twitchy times two," Mulhouse rejoined.

"This is a very disrespectful conversation," a Russian-accented voice chimed in. Those at the mess hall table looked up as Lieutenant Anya Kushenko, the Chief of Defense and Weapons, set down her dinner tray.

"Are all Russians as serious as our Chief of Navigations?" Pinsky asked. His wide brown eyes twinkled merrily.

"Only if all those of the Jewish faith are as irreverent as our Assistant Science Officer," Lacey replied.

Pinsky fluttered his long eyelashes at her. Mulhouse hid a chuckle behind his hand.

"You do know Arachnid females eat their mates, da?" Kushenko answered mildly.

"Really?" Pinksy responded. "All of them or just certain body parts?" He paused, placing his chin in his hands, staring provocatively at the Security Chief. "And is that literally or in the more nuanced sense of the word?"

"Are you sure you want to find out?" Lacey returned, blinking at him with both sets of her eyelids.

"I'll try anything once," he returned.

"Twice if he likes it," Mulhouse assured.

"And you think our shipmates are crazy?" Krushenko said with a disapproving shake of her short, blonde curls.

"Well, I think that answers that," Pinsky stated.

"What answers what?" the Russian asked with a scowl.

"Yes," Mulhouse, Lacey and Pinsky said together, "all Russians are as serious as our Chief Navigator."

Pavel Chekov was trying to study the navigational charts of the route he and Hasim had planned to the Paxilon system, but his eyes kept drifting from the computer display to follow his fiancé as she arranged and rearranged the personal items on the shelves over the curving sectional of their cabin. He pursed his lips several times as she moved several of his belongings, and when she reached for the matushka dolls he had so carefully placed to follow the curve of the sofa, he turned in his chair.

"Dafshka, I put those where I wanted them," he explained. "Please do not move them."

"I thought the menorah should go there," she informed him.

"And I assumed you would want your religious iconography all in one place," he returned, pointing to the place at the end of the shelving.

Daffy frowned at the collection; the shabat candles and kiddush cup, the beautiful, curling shofar horn, the dishes and Haggadah for the Passover seder, and a Chanukah dreidel, as well as the mentioned menorah.

"You just want them somewhere you can ignore them all at once," she accused.

"Nonsense," the Russian countered. "The mezuzah is affixed just inside the door."

"Only because I insisted."

"And I am insisting the matushka dolls remain where I placed them," he said.

"But a mezuzah has to go on the doorpost," Daffy continued.

"Daphne, I am asking that you leave the dolls where I placed them."

Her green eyes narrowed. "You said you were insisting," she reminded.

Chekov sighed. "No, pirozhne, I am definitely asking," he repeated.

She gave him a blinding smile. "Well, in that case..." She picked up the menorah and carefully placed it behind the row of decreasing-in-size set of delicate, colorful dolls.

"Just think of how pretty it will look when we light the candles for Chanukah," she said, folding her arms in satisfaction.

"If we do not burn down the shelving all together," Pavel muttered, and returned to his computer. He waited for a count of five, and let his neck move forward with the force of her hand to the back of his head. Then he grasped the offending appendage and brought it to his lips for a brief kiss.

Daffy leaned down, returning the caress to his cheek, then went about her decorating, humming to herself.

"The crew thinks we're twitchy," Ruth commented as she sat on the edge of the large, comfortable bed in the captain's cabin, brushing out her long, golden hair. It curled affectionately over her hand and the brush, apparently grateful to be out of the bun it was forced to be in during the Antari's on-duty hours.

"Scanning minds is unethical, is it not?" her Vulcan husband replied from his seat at the desk in the not-quite separate common room.

Ruth made a face. 'You don't have to scan minds to overhear conversations," she said, then added, "Like with those ears you haven't heard anything."

"True," Spock conceded, "but with 'these ears', I have made it a habit not to overhear things not directed at me."

The Antari snorted. "Since when?"

The Vulcan tilted his head in amused concession. "I am certain the crew will eventually grow used to our twitchiness."

"But it isn't right," Ruth continued. "You're Vulcan, you're Spock. How dare they think...!"

"I believe the consensus is that my reputation is somewhat tarnished by having taken you as wife," Spock returned.

"Hmmph!" the Antari retorted. "It's not like you married Daffy or something! I am Starfleet's Chief of Computer Sciences and half of Valjiir, and a keheil..."

"...and you spent the morning changing seats on the Bridge," Spock reminded.

"But I have two chairs...!"

"As does Commander Courtland on the D'Artagnan, but I doubt he evidenced the same delight at the fact."

"I'll bet Uhura rigged up Communications to route to her station anyway," Ruth mumbled.

"Which would no doubt offend Lieutenant Commander M'ress," Spock rejoined.

"Oh. Yeah." Ruth paused. "M'ress is good."

"And no competent First Officer would want to impugn the ship's Chief of Communications in such a fashion," the Vulcan concluded.

"Okay, so I'm twitchy," she conceded. "But that's no reason for them to assume..."

"I am not offended, my wife."

Ruth rose, putting down her hair brush and crossing the cabin to stand behind her husband. She placed her arms around his neck, letting her hair twine itself contentedly about his shoulders.

"They'd just better respect you," she murmured. "Or the First Officer is gonna get twitchy all over their insubordinate little asses."

"A tactic you are no doubt glad I never attempted with you," Spock rejoined, his voice soft with affectionate teasing.

"Oh, but I always respected you, Boss," Ruth returned. "It was Bwana I made fun of."

"Yet it is lack of respect for the captain that concerns you, yes?"

"I hate it when you're logical," she told him, but she was smiling.

Spock reached up, caressing her face, then the strands of hair that were immediately curling around his fingers.

"She doesn't want you to do any more work tonight," Ruth whispered.

"Apparently not," Spock murmured back. He rose and Ruth disentangled both her hair and her arms as he turned, taking her into a close, warm embrace.

I love you, Dei'larr'ei, was said into her mind.

And I love you, Daniel, she answered, then said aloud, "Let's go to bed."

The journey to the Paxilon system was uneventful. Captain Spock had decided that the landing party would consist of himself, Ruth, Lieutenant Lacey, Pavel Chekov; and the Life Sciences Chief, Ensign Sumer: he, his wife, the Security Chief and the young Vulcan for the obvious reason of their non-Human appearance, Chekov due to his attention to detail and to show a Human in a subordinate position. He had assigned them all with thoroughly familiarizing themselves with the Paxilon culture, with particular attention to those details that could trigger the races' 'sensitivity.' He had Daffy Gollub and Mouli Hasim scanning the vicinity for any Romulan presence, and when orbital distance was requested and approved, assembled his team in the transporter room.

"Good luck to ye, Captain," Montgomery Scott said from the control console.

"Don't hesitate to call if they get prickly down there," Dr. McCoy added from his position next to Scotty.

"And you keep an eye on my husband," Daffy added to Ruth.

Chekov frowned. "Daphne, we are not yet..." he began

"And I wanna be, so don't get lost or hurt or captured!" the chemist interrupted fiercely.

Ruth grinned. "I'll make it a priority," she promised, then added, "right after my husband, the mission, my own ass, the youngster here..." she indicated Sumer, who raised a curious eyebrow.

"I am a capable officer, Commander," the Vulcan returned.

"And aren't you just the cutest thing," Ruth replied, then fluttered her eyelashes at Spock. "Can we have one just like him?"

Spock's admonishment was no more than a soft, "My wife..." and Ruth settled into a proper military pose - but she winked at her husband.

McCoy chuckled, Daffy threw a kiss to Pavel, and the Captain said, "Energize, Mr. Scott."

The Paxions were a short, Humanoid race with dark skin and shockingly pink hair and eyes. They tended to dress alike, both the males and the females wearing long, flowing robes in bright, jewel-tone colors. They carried themselves alike as well, walking in slow, stately steps, their arms folded in front of them so that the long sleeves of their robes covered their clasped hands. When the Prime Minister and the seven members of the Council approached, they walked in a V formation with the Minister at the head.

"Like geese," Ruth murmured.

"There was no mention of an avianoid social structure," Sumer commented, and immediately began checking his tricorder for any such missing information.

"Miss Valley was referring to their spatial positions, Mr. Sumer," the captain clarified.

"Captain, I suggest we follow suit," Chekov added, and immediately took a step back and to Spock's left. Ruth shrugged and moved to the Vulcan's right, with Lacey falling in behind her and Sumer taking his spot behind Chekov.

The Paxion Prime Minister frowned as he stopped in front of Spock. "Do you mock us, Captain?" he asked gravely.

"Not at all, sir," the Vulcan replied. "We thought to honor your customs. If such gave offense, we are in error and we apologize to your august personage."

The Prime Minister grunted and there was a murmur from those behind him which could have been grudging acceptance.

"Allow me to introduce myself and my crew," Spock continued. "I am Spock of Vulcan, 40 Eridani. My First Officer is Commander Ruth Valley ani Ramy of Antares, Beta Antares IV. I also present Commander Pavel Chekov of Earth, Sol-Jupiter III, Lieutenant Lacey of Kars VII, and Ensign Sumer, also of 40 Eridani."

"I am Prime Minister Biisad," the Minister replied. "These are the members of our ruling council, the Ministers of Protocol, Internal Affairs, Foreign Relations, Defense, Finance, Trade, and Education. Their names are not important, as they will be addressed by their titles. I give you my name simply because we, too, think to honor your customs." The tone of the Minister's voice gave clear indication of sarcasm - or would have if he'd been Human.

"I thank you for your consideration, Prime Minister," Spock returned. "We do not require any hospitality, and request that we begin negotiations toward a mutually acceptable protectorate status of Paxilon within the United Federation of Planets."

There was a mutter from the Minister of Protocol in the Paxion language, and Ruth whispered silently to Spock.

He says the Romulans also didn't ask for hospitality.

Is that considered a positive or a negative? Spock asked.

I can't tell, the Antari returned. The tone of his thoughts indicates a little of both. I'm sensing that he was looking for a sharper delineation between us and them.

Spock gave an internal nod, then again addressed the Prime Minister.

"We would, of course, be delighted to see more of your culture and your home," he offered, "but are cognizant of your desire for privacy." This time the murmur was clearly one of approval.

"We will continue our conversation in our Council Chamber," Biisad said. "Follow me."

He turned and the entire council walked toward the large building behind them. They didn't resume their formation, but they didn't break it, either, their retreat appearing as an inverted V.

"Captain," Chekov asked quietly, "will we give offense if we continue in our relative positions?"

"They may think we are again intending to copy them," Sumer commented.

"And we'll likely offend them either way," Lacey added. "I suggest, Captain, that we assume a more standard Fleet attitude."

Spock nodded to his Security Chief, and followed the council with Ruth stepping up next to him, Chekov and Sumer behind them, and Lacey bringing up the rear.

The meeting with the Paxion Council lasted a very long hour, during which the landing party managed to offend individual members of the council, or the council as a whole, no less than eight times. After the fifth, even Spock was running out of ways to diplomatically apologize. Ruth was bristling, Chekov increasingly dour and Lacey was positively fuming. Only Sumer seemed unaffected by the escalating scorn of the Paxions. Sarcasm seemed to be the Paxion response to breaches of their rigid yet seemingly contradictory social rules and protocols.

Their conditions for protectorate status seemed likewise rigid and contradictory. They wanted an absolute guarantee of access to Starfleet 'in case of an emergency,' yet were loathe to allow a permanent Federation embassy or the presence of ambassadors on Paxilon. They wanted aid with establishing a tourist trade, but were wary of 'aliens' on their planet. They were adamant about keeping their governmental structure sacrosanct, but desired 'guidance' from the Vulcans.

They also seemed singularly unwilling to consider any comparisons regarding their discussions with the Romulans, yet Ruth silently assured Spock that they were thinking about it almost constantly. When Chekov pointed out that the landing party was handicapped by being unable to offer counter arguments to whatever the Romulans had told them, the Council, as one, stood.

"We will hear no..." The Prime Minister briefly consulted with the Minister of Protocol, then continued. "...gossip about other races. We wish to consider your offer on its merits alone, not on how much worse you believe the Romulans to be."

"I beg your pardon, Prime Minister," Lacey interjected, "but since you're asking for protection from the Romulans, I'd think knowing what you can expect from them would be of great importance."

The Minister of Defense turned narrowed eyes on her. "You can tell us, then, something other than what your experience tells you we can expect from them?"

"Whatever they said of their own intentions," Sumer answered for the Security Chief, "the fact that Vulcans and Romulans share both common ancestry and historical culture indicates that Captain Spock and I can, indeed, give you more information than simply the accounts of the Federation's involvement with them."

"Meaning?" the Minister of Foreign Relations challenged.

"It is the Romulan way to annex cultures such as yours," Spock explained. "They will allow you to retain any of your own strictures and customs, so long as your conformity to theirs is uncontested. You will be expected to, for example, defer to their hierarchical structure, accept their understanding of military ideals, erect shrines to and worship their deities, as well as pay a considerable amount of your planetary income as tribute to their Praetor. Your people will become nominal citizens of the Romulan Empire, but you will be given strictly limited rights, yet be subject to all the burdens of such citizenship."

"And if your people have no telepathic abilities, your status will be little more than slaves," Ruth added.

"And why do you assume we have no such abilities?" the Minister of Internal affairs drawled condescendingly. "We have been aware of your intrusions, First Officer."

"I wasn't assuming...." Ruth began, and Spock held up a hand.

"What you call 'intrusions' are no more and no less than her races' natural capacity," he temporized. "I assure you, she was not delving into your minds, only providing information that might be obtained from another's observation of body language, facial expression, and tone of voice."

"Judging by Terran standards," the Minister grunted.

"Be that as it may," The Prime Minster rejoined, "What you say about Romulans, if coming from your 'common ancestry and historical culture,' must also apply to Vulcans. How then, are we to expect different treatment from your Federation?"

"Vulcans do not rule the Federation, Prime Minister," the captain replied.

"And our people abandoned those precepts millennia ago," Sumer added. "We understand them, for we did once adhere to them, but we no longer do so."

The council members made noises of impressed approval.

"Captain," the Prime Minister stated, "I believe our negotiation would prove more profitable if we continued them with only your Vulcan officer and yourself. We will reconvene in an hour, after your other officers have returned to your ship."

Without waiting for agreement or any other answer, the Paxions left the council chamber, falling apparently naturally into the V formation.

"Well, sir, I don't like that," Lacey commented.

"It does not seem a good idea, Captain," Chekov added.

"Yet if it is, as it seems, the only way to continue our mission..." Sumer began.

"Spock, you're not really going to..." Ruth chimed in.

Again, Spock held up a hand. "There seems little danger to Ensign Sumer and myself," he said. "Ruth can certainly monitor the conversation, at least within the confines of my mind, from the ship. There are no planet-wide barriers to our technology, so Security can keep a transporter fix on our communicators should the need for an emergency beam-out seem prudent. The Paxilon system is too close to Romulan space to forgo this opportunity. Therefore, for the time being, Ensign Sumer and I will remain here. The rest of you will return to the Enterprise."

Lacey made an unhappy face, but nodded. Chekov, too, frowned, but said, "Aye, sir."

Spock, I don't trust them, Ruth said privately.

Nor do I, entirely, my wife, Spock returned. Which is why you will remain in contact with me.

Be careful, Boss.

Always, beloved.

They shared a brief mental caress, then Ruth took out her communicator.

"Valley here," she said. "Three to beam up, Scotty."

After Ruth had given a summary of the events on Paxilon and the transporters were synced with Spock and Sumer's communicators, there was little to do on the Enterprise while waiting for the next round of negotiations. Ruth sat in the con, re-reviewing the information Headquarters had sent on the Paxions - after having received a stern warning from her assistant:

"Oy geveult, if you start bounding around pointing out that with Spock gone you have three chairs, I swear to God I'll staple you to one of 'em!"

"Who'd be that twitchy, Daf?" the First Officer replied distractedly. She smiled to herself at the snorts from the rest of the Bridge crew.

"So, you left him down there with those provincial, sensitive little bigots, didja?" McCoy commented.

"It was his decision, Bones," Ruth answered. "I'm in touch, and Lacey's monitoring their comm frequencies with Scotty down in the transporter room. It's all we can do."

"Well, I don't like it," the doctor grumbled. "If they're so all-fired Romulan-friendly, why are they asking for protectorate status?"

"That's what I'm trying to figure out."

"Hey, there's a weird energy signature coming from the area just outside the council chamber," Daffy interrupted. "I can't pinpoint it... and now it's gone."

Ruth sat up straight. Spock?

All is well, Ruth.

Daffy just picked up a strange energy...

Ve'ath'lin?

What...!?

"Emergency beam up," Sumer's voice suddenly stated from the channel Alan Mulhouse had been maintaining.

"On it, lass," Scotty's added from the transporter room.

Both Ruth and McCoy dashed for the turbolift, Ruth's mind calling frantically.

Spock? SPOCK!

She got only static in her head.