As soon as Lo escorted him into Gordon's office, Jim went and sat behind the Admiral's desk. He'd always been a master at brash bluster and bluff. "Give me the passcodes," he ordered.

Lo blinked. "Surely you don't think I'd be so..." the lieutenant began.

"Ivan said you were to make me comfortable," Jim interrupted. "I'm due to warp out of here in a few hours and god knows how long he'll be occupied." He chuckled. "With Valley and Sulu, I'm betting longer than he expects." He regarded Lo with something akin to pity. "But then you know all about how quickly my helmsman moves, don't you?" He leaned forward. "Tell me, Lieutenant, exactly how does it feel to be a stepping stone?"

He watched for the slight darkening of Lo's eyes, the almost unnoticeable lowering of the eyebrows. "I hardly have a claim on Lieutenant Sulu's attention," Lo responded.

"Well, I've always found that sharing a lover is one thing," Jim went on blithely. "Being used by one is another thing altogether." He made an impatient gesture. "Ivan said he has specifics here, and I need them. The passcodes, Lo."

Lo stiffened. "I couldn't, Captain."

"That wasn't a request, Lieutenant."

"I'm aware of that, sir."

Jim let himself go very still. "Do you think the Admiral will reward you when I walk out of here without a binding agreement? When he loses his attache to a court-martial?"

"Do you think, begging the Captain's pardon, that I'd be his attache if I let any blustering officer into his private records?"

Jim smiled, as cold a display of teeth as any Gordon could've given. "Any blustering officer, hmm?" He stood. "Fine, then." He took his communicator from his belt. "Kirk to Enterprise."

"Enterprise, Spock here," came the immediate answer.

"Mr. Spock, send down a fully armed Security team to Admiral Gordon's office. There's a Starfleet officer standing in front of me who has disobeyed a direct order."

"Indeed, Captain?" Spock's mild voice replied. "How unfortunate. Security team is on its way."

"Thank you, Mr. Spock. Kirk out." Jim closed the communicator, then folded his arms. "Now, Lieutenant, when my officers arrive, shall I inform them that there was a misunderstanding?"

Lo didn't look nervous, and that was worrisome. "I know my duty, Captain," was all the lieutenant said.

"Good luck performing it from my brig," Jim returned. Which was where he instructed his Security team to take Lo moments later. Once alone, he again reached for his communicator, calling for Spock to join him in Gordon's office.

Spock was not a religious man, nor did he pray, but as he waited for the report from Captain Kirk, his meditations had been full of positive affirmations that Miss Valley was clever enough to engage Ivan Gordon without having to compromise herself. It was with a fair amount of embarrassment that he had to mentally remind himself to add Lieutenant Sulu to those thoughts.

When Captain Kirk's call came, he, of course, put all other considerations aside.

Spock sat down at the computer and rested his hands on the keyboard. He paused, then glanced up at his captain. Jim waited for several seconds, and when Spock still didn't begin, he asked, more impatiently than he intended, "Well?"

"Might I remind you. sir, that such tampering is illegal."

"I know that, Spock," Jim said.

"As such, any information gained cannot be used in a courtroom."

"Is the information we need there?" Jim questioned.

"Doubtless."

"Can we present it to Komack?" Jim continued.

"That is our assignment, Captain."

"Which will be enough to get Gordon removed from his post, at least temporarily, while Komack applies legal means to obtain the incriminating information?"

"Again, doubtless."

"Then do it, Spock."

With a small sigh, Spock began the work of decrypting the Admiral's records. Jim watched and tried not to let his impatience get to him. He knew the Vulcan found the whole affair to be of dubious integrity, but he also knew Spock would do what was necessary. It wasn't lost on him that he was using tactics very similar to ones Gordon employed; pulling rank, deceit, using his position to intimidate and bully. He shook himself uncomfortably, then murmured, "And hurry. I don't know how much time I've bought us."

Jilla Majiir was at the transporter when the Security team beamed up with their prisoner. Her tia, the internal Indiian sense that identified the emotional spectrum of any sentient being, immediately picked up the man's smug satisfaction and cold pride, and just as immediately picked up something else. Without thinking, she hit the alarm signal on the transporter console. "Intruder alert, intruder alert!" blared over her head from ship's speakers, and she pointed at the man in a Starfleet lieutenant's uniform and shouted, "Klingon!"

Lo's self-congratulation lasted only a moment. He had just enough time to form a gloating thought: Gordon would be discovered and removed and he would have ample time to forward any remaining important information to Command before another patsy could be put into place. It would be a simple matter for one of his skills to evade prosecution himself. After all, he was only following his superior's orders. I questioned some of the grants, of course, but though I am a meticulous man, I know my limits; my psychological profile does show a tendency toward a certain amorality. I have always trusted the Admiral not to take advantage of that. Of course, I will cooperate fully with the ensuing investigation. Yes, I'll certainly turn over all the records I have so carefully maintained on the Admiral's behalf. He wouldn't of course, disclose that it was his suggestion that liberty be taken with the granting of resource charters, nor that he had assured the Admiral time and time again that no real improprieties were being committed. And, truth be told, none were - within the Federation. There was no need to let the Federates know that the richest resource worlds were currently being exploited by the Empire because Lieutenant Wong Lo, the assistant to the Secretary of Resources, had once upon a time had another name.

The smug assurance shattered as the transporter beam solidified and Lo saw who - what - was at the controls. An Indiian. He saw her recognition seconds before her hand moved to the alert alarm. With methodical precision born of long preparation, Lo carefully bit through the cap on his back molar, releasing the poison that had been stored there since he had first infiltrated the Federation nearly five years previously. He had only one real regret - he would never be able to make the handsome Lieutenant Sulu pay for leading him on.

It was painful just walking. Waiting for beam-up, word came that there would be a slight delay, something involving a Klingon agent. Ruth's eyes were fixed on the ground, fighting, Sulu knew, the urge to push him to allow her to heal him. He'd even considered it for half a second. But no. After what they'd just been through, the knowledge and memory of Cal and Upstairs would've been too strong. Even a surface scan would've revealed all the ugliness inside him. And how would she face knowing that nothing Gordon had done - had demanded he do - was new to him?

He was glad, for once, that it wasn't Jilla working the transporter. He definitely wouldn't want her tia near him. Kyle looked at him a little strangely, but Ruth was bright and friendly enough to cover any further curiosity.

She insisted on walking with him to his cabin, her very being emanating concern. He tried to insist that he was alright, but how could she believe that?

"Let me call Bones," she said.

"No," he said flatly. "I'll be fine, Ruth, really."

"Bets?"

"Called. You want this in some official record somewhere?"

"Shit." She fell silent. "Ben, then."

"Ruth, I said..."

"Roy, you won't let me help, so let me help!"

With a sigh, he closed his eyes, and nodded. He went into his cabin while Ruth moved to the next door. Undressing was as difficult as dressing had been, and he got no sense of relief from dropping the stained clothing down the fabricator's recycling chute. In the bathroom, he turned on the water in the shower and without warning his knees began to buckle. He grasped the edge of the sink, closing his eyes again, and heard the door on the other side of the small room opening.

Spock sat back from the computer, his features set in a frustrated frown.

"Nothing?" Jim asked.

"I am certain the decryption algorithms are correct, Captain, but the reports are still gibberish." He shook his head. "I am at a loss to explain it."

"Keep trying," Jim said. "It's all we've got to..." He was interrupted by the beeping of his communicator. "Kirk here," he answered.

"Scott here, Captain," came the voice of his Chief Engineer. "We've got a wee problem with the lieutenant you asked Security to fetch."

"I take it Lieutenant Lo isn't cooperating," Jim put in.

"No, sir. He's dead, sir."

Spock's eyebrow rose as Jim stared blankly at the communicator. "Dead?" he repeated. "How did..."

"A suicide cap. And Captain - he was a Klingon."

"He was what?" Jim exclaimed, and Spock made the immediate connection.

"Of course," the Vulcan murmured, and instructed the computer before him to translate Gordon's records into Klingonese before decrypting. The decoded pages began appearing on the screen, in neat rows and columns of incrimination. "I have it, Captain," he called.

Jim turned to face Spock, his mind still trying to process the startling information. Lo was a Klingon. Lo was a Klingon! Nor was he the first Klingon spy passing as Human in the sector. Why hadn't Starfleet considered it? Why hadn't he? Would a militarily-minded government like the Klingon Empire have gone to the trouble to surgically alter and train only one agent?

But Lo was a commissioned officer! Jim thought dazedly. There's no way he could've passed the requisite physicals to enter the Academy.

That's not important right now, he reminded himself. Complete your mission, get this information on board the Enterprise and relayed to Admiral Komack.

There is, however, one thing that is important.

"Scotty, how did you know..." Jim began.

"It was Mrs. Majiir, sir," Scott replied, and Jim could hear the pride in his voice. "Indiian tia can differentiate between races. She knew him for the beast he was with one look."

"What kind of beast did this?" M'Benga demanded as he ran his medical scanner over Sulu's prone body. Ruth winced, hoping the doctor's touch was more gentle than his tone,

"The kind with rank," Sulu muttered in answer.

"You're not going to tell me..."

"Admiral Ivan Gordon," Ruth put in. "And yes, that's exactly what we're telling you."

M'Benga regarded her with frank disbelief. "Not even an Admiral can order someone to..."

"It wasn't under orders," Sulu said.

"And it really doesn't matter," Ruth finished. "Just help him, Ben."

The Ter-African folded his arms. "You know, I don't make it a habit to do quick and dirty no-questions-asked patch-up jobs."

"And normally I wouldn't ask..." Ruth began.

"Just why are you asking?" Ben countered. He turned his attention back to Sulu. "It might be a little embarrassing for the great Kamikaze to admit he got into something he couldn't handle..."

Sulu started laughing, an ugly sound that quickly turned to choking sobs. Ruth moved to his side, sitting next to him on the bed, quietly soothing. "Ben," she said softly, "it was in the line of duty, and that's all we can tell you."

"Then why can't you take it to Sickbay?"

"Because I don't want the Captain to know!" Sulu shouted, bolting up from the mattress. "I don't want this in the medical logs, I don't want it in any logs! We did what we had to do, what we volunteered to do and I'm not gonna be the one to sully it with the sordid details of Admiral Sick-Fuck's less than discriminating tastes!"

M'Benga blinked, but all he said was, "We?"

"I healed it, Ben," Ruth confessed softly.

M'Benga stared at her. Then he stared at Sulu, who was sinking back to the bed with a tight groan. Then he stared again at Ruth.

"One condition," he said finally. "You talk to me. If Sulu's injuries are any indication, there's a lot to talk about."

"Shit, Ben, you turning voyeur on me now?" Sulu snarled.

"No, I'm turning psychologist on you."

"Ben, I told you, we can't..." Ruth began.

"I don't give a fuck why you did what you did," M'Benga interrupted. "I want you to talk about what happened."

Ruth swallowed. "Why?"

"Because from Sulu's reaction, I'd say he was raped." He paused. "And judging by the look on your face, Ruth, so were you. And rape victims need counseling."

Ruth flushed and Sulu started laughing again. "Tell me, Doctor, how do you rape a rapist?"

There were tears in Ruth's eyes when she turned to M'Benga, and quietly, rapidly, started talking.

"No doubt about it, Jim," Leonard McCoy said, drying his freshly washed hands on laboratory towel. "Lieutenant Lo, or whoever he really was, was Klingon. The autopsy confirmed it."

Jim stood in Sickbay, frowning. "It just doesn't make sense, Bones," he said. "Arn Darvin was a civilian aide. Civilian doctors can be bribed to provide phony physicals. But Lo was in Fleet..." Jim shook his head.

"If I may, Captain," Spock's voice interrupted him. Jim turned as the Vulcan strode into Sickbay.

"I relayed Admiral Gordon's records to the Inspector General," the First Officer said, "and did a check of Lieutenant Lo's service record. He was assigned to Delta Station nearly five years ago due to his psychological profile, which indicated that the less contact he had with others, the better. It was deemed that working in what amounted to a data entry position at the far end of the Federation would keep him out of trouble. Admiral Gordon was likewise deemed a strong enough personality to keep Lo's less desirable tendencies in check." Spock paused. "The records indicate a two hour gap between the time Lo's transport was due to arrive at Delta Station and the time he actually reported to the Admiral for assignment. In that same two hour period, there are reports of a Klingon vessel, ostensibly a trader, making an unauthorized stop at the Station."

"And it's an easy leap from there," Jim mused. "Do we know for certain..."

Spock stepped toward a medical computer, inserting a data disc. "There are the real Wong Lo's records," he said. "Apparently, there was never any reason for Admiral Gordon to question the forged credentials the Klingon presented."

"What about the required physicals on the station?" McCoy wanted to know.

"The Admiral signed waivers for Lieutenant Lo," Spock replied.

"Then he knew," Jim said.

"Not necessarily, Captain," Spock rejoined. "With Wong Lo's psychological profile, it would have been an easy matter for the Klingon to convince Admiral Gordon it would be in his best interests to keep his services as attache - particularly considering the nature of the Admiral's extra-curricular activities, which continued psychological evaluation might have jeopardized." And the Vulcan called up the relevant records.

The screen resolved with the unsmiling countenance of a thin, Asian male with enough resemblance to the man lying in the ship's morgue to have passed any casual appraisal. The psychological profile was dubious enough to clearly make Spock's point.

"How did the Klingons know who to make a double of?" McCoy wanted to know.

"We can only speculate, Doctor," Spock rejoined. "Perhaps when Lo's records were sent to Delta Station prior to his arrival, they were intercepted."

"Maybe the Klingons regularly intercept such communications and simply wait until an opportunity for infiltration presents itself," Jim mused.

"And you're comfortable with that?" McCoy asked.

"No," Jim returned. "But there's not a lot I can do about it, is there?"

McCoy scowled, folding his arms. "Well, there should be."

"I won't argue with that," Jim agreed. "Once I inform Command, I hope they'll change standard procedure." He stared thoughtfully at the screen, then turned. "One more thing, Bones. Scotty said that Ensign Majiir recognized Lo as Klingon the minute she saw him."

McCoy's countenance immediately changed, and he bounced on the balls of his feet. "Amazing talent, isn't it? She told me that each race has its own emotional identifiers that's as clear as ears on a Vulcan to an Indiian." He grinned. "Maybe every ship and Starfleet installation should be required to have an Indiian on hand. They're better than tribbles." He arched significant eyebrows at Spock. "After all, tribbles can only detect Klingons."

No one had ever studied the process of an Antari healing. No keheil would permit such a thing without the direct intervention of the Zehara Herself, and She was notoriously less than forthcoming on what She considered to be private Antari matters. Even when the Matriarchy had joined the Federation, the medical explanation provided said only that a healing had something to do with specialized bone marrow, allowing a keheil's body to instantly form any new cell that was necessary for a particular healing, under the direction of the keheil's strong telepathic and empathic abilities. All Ruth really knew was that healing, besides leaving her ravenously hungry, made the long bones in her arms and legs hurt. And, as a comforting and merciful side-effect, made the memory of an injury's cause fade.

Talking about it made it all real again.

Sulu had been bitter and uncooperative, which had the discomforting effect of making Ruth more willing to give M'Benga the details he said were necessary. She wanted - needed - Ben to help Sulu, and her own humiliation seemed unimportant when compared with that.

Sulu kept insisting he could handle it, that you couldn't rape the willing, that he'd volunteered for it, that he'd done what Gordon had told him to do without any kind of physical coercion. His laughter at Ruth's pointing out that he hadn't exactly been willing was particularly chilling.

"Really?" he said. "I guess the rock-hard erection must've been somebody else's."

"That's a very common, purely physiological reaction in a male who's being raped," M'Benga had pointed out. Sulu had stubbornly ignored the statement.

Of course, he just as stubbornly maintained that Ruth should be counseled, because she had been physically restrained and so she was raped. When she tried to demur on that point, objecting that she, too, had volunteered, Sulu had simply stared at her and said, "I know what's rape and what isn't, Ruth."

When Ruth hesitantly told M'Benga about the whip-enforced fellatio, Sulu suddenly bolted out of the bed, into the head, and was audibly sick. Ben turned to Ruth. "Okay, let me handle this," he told her. "I'll talk to you more after I've settled him."

Ruth had nodded numbly, and left Sulu's cabin. By the time she reached her own, all she wanted was a scaldingly hot shower. As she reached her cabin door, she added a prayer that Jilla still be on duty. Her luck for the day, however, remained true to form. Her Indiian roommate sat at her desk, and she was rising to her feet, gasping before the door closed behind the Antari.

"Cellettyea Aema, what is it!?"

Ruth took a deep breath. "Nothing, I need a shower is all, really, I'm fine," she tried as she attempted to hurry past the engineer. Jilla grabbed her arm.

"Do not tell me nothing!" she ordered. "You are not fine!"

Ruth swallowed as she saw her dismay and revulsion and grief mirrored in the Indiian's grey eyes. They had an agreement; Jilla couldn't help feeling Ruth's often chaotic emotions, and it wasn't fair to bombard her with no explanation. Therefore, they'd agreed that if Ruth needed to keep things private - and she did - it was acceptable for her to tell the engineer some version of ‘I don't want to talk about it.'

"I can't tell you," she managed.

Jilla blinked at her, obviously reining in her own reactions. "Shall I call Dr. McCoy?" she asked softly.

"NO!" burst out of Ruth's lips, and she realized there was only one person it would be worse to have to face with this than him. That realization broke through her numb control. "I can't talk to him," she found herself rasping. "I couldn't tell him, please, Jilla, just..." She wasn't talking about McCoy, and she turned, racing to the shower, throwing her soiled body beneath the spray, leaning against the shower's bulkhead, sobbing out her anguished humiliation.

Jilla shuddered, forcing calm back into her being. That something horrible had happened to Ruth was obvious, and if it is so disturbing that she cannot talk to Dr. McCoy...

Her mind made the only feasible connection. Humans were always reluctant to discuss sexuality with those they considered paternal. Ruth thought of McCoy as a second father. Therefore, if there was something seriously wrong that she would not want to discuss with him, the problem could only be a sexual one. Who, then, would Ruth want to discuss a sexual problem with? Who could she talk to, confide in, who could comfort her fear and pain? The answer came and Jilla had to force the immediate jealousy away.

Sulu.

She swallowed, steadying herself, and went to the intercom.

M'Benga had given Sulu something for his nausea and was carefully cleaning the welts on his back prior to using a spray bandage when the intercom signaled. Sulu groaned almost inaudibly, "go away," And Ben sighed, reaching across the bed to the com.

"M'Benga, Lieutenant Sulu's cabin," he said.

"Dr. M'Benga?" Jilla's Majiir's soft voice questioned. "Where is Sulu?"

"He's - asleep, Jilla," Ben said, hoping Indiian's couldn't detect a lie over an intercom. "He's - been in a little trouble."

Her answering tone was intensely fearful. "What has happened?"

"He was injured, but he'll be all right."

"Doctor - was Ruth also injured?" came the hesitant question.

"She's keheil," Ben evaded.

"I see." There was a pause, and M'Benga had an idea.

"I have to check on her," he said, "but I really don't want to leave Sulu alone. Can you come and stay with him?" He stifled an exclamation as Sulu suddenly sat up, reaching for the intercom switch. Ben held the younger man at arm's length, warning the helmsman to be quiet.

"I am not a physician," Jilla replied.

"No, he doesn't need any more medical care. But I think the company will do him good." He quickly muted the audio and hissed at Sulu, "I told her you were asleep!"

"I don't want her here!" Sulu hissed back.

"Like hell you don't."

"Ben, please..."

M'Benga released the mute, hearing Jilla's voice returning, "...think I can be of some help."

"I think you're just what he needs, Mrs. Majiir. I'll be expecting you. M'Benga out." He closed the con just as Sulu was taking a breath. "That's that, Sulu," he said.

With sudden fury, Sulu attacked, screaming almost incoherently. M'Benga was able to avoid the brunt of it by quickly moving off the bed, causing Sulu to tumble to the deck. He retrieved a sedative from his medkit and injected Sulu as the helmsman made another diving lunge. Within seconds, the lieutenant collapsed. M'Benga finished the dressing of his back, then settled him in his bed.

"She is what you need, whether you know it or not," he told the unconscious man. Then he disposed of the cloths he'd used in the cleaning process. No need to distress the pretty Indiian any more than Sulu's turbulent emotions would.

M'Benga smiled at Jilla in passing in the doorway to Sulu's cabin. "Just sit with him," the doctor said. "And don't worry, it's not that serious." Then he left, and Jilla hesitantly moved to Sulu's bedside. Her hesitancy made her feel foolish. There was no sin in simply entering a man's cabin, a man's bedroom - she was simply embarrassed to just walk in when Sulu had not invited her. And would being invited be less embarrassing? she asked herself bitterly.

He needs you. Go to him.

If he wakes, will he not think I...

Does it matter? He is injured.

How can I? Aema, how...

How can I not?

Resolutely she stepped up to the bed. Sulu was lying on his stomach, the thin sheet pulled up to his hips. His back was covered in the obvious sheen of a medical bandage. He was also obviously quite naked. Jilla felt herself flushing and quickly went to draw the covers completely over him. His skin was such a warm color, unlike the cool jade of...

She closed her eyes, taking a deep breath. What does Dr. M'Benga hope your presence will accomplish? she questioned. How can you aid him? He will not even know...

Suddenly Sulu shuddered, a low moan sounding from his throat. Jilla swallowed helplessly, her tia responding to the rising fear. Sulu sobbed, again shivering violently, then cried out and Jilla was at his side. She reached out tentatively, stroking his dark, silky hair. His body started, his eyes snapping open and Jilla was lashed with pain and terror and humiliation. She cried out his name in shared anguish, shared shame.

And then, quite abruptly, she was holding him, soothing him, whispering soft words of comfort, absorbing his fear and letting it flow through her, away from him. "I cannot take it from you as Ruth could," she found herself whispering. "I cannot give what she would. Yet I would help, I would heal..."

She felt his arms coming up around her, felt his grip crushing her, then gradually easing up. His breathing slowed, becoming deep and even. When she looked down at him, his eyes were clouded with conflicting emotions, but warm, thanking her. Then she saw no more for she closed her eyes when he reached up and kissed her.

The water wasn't hot enough. It was scalding her skin, turning it a bright red, but it still wasn't ridding her body of the feel of the cuffs, the bruising, the baton...

A scream rose in her throat and she slid to her knees, sobbing, begging the memory to leave her alone. She couldn't handle it, she hated what she'd done, hated Gordon, hated... No, not Roy. He's as much a victim as I am, raging erection or not. Goddess, I'm so sick, so ashamed... help me, Zehara, help me...

"Ruth?"

She heard the voice, deep, masculine, and spun away in panic as the shower door slid open. She recognized M'Benga, and he held out a hand and she collapsed into his arms, weeping hysterically. Before she knew what was happening, he'd dried her off and was putting her to bed, murmuring solicitously at her. She clung to him, refusing to let go when he tried to get up. "Cleanse me of it," she whispered fiercely. "Make it leave me. Give me something else, please, Ben."

"I'm not sure that's psychologically sound, Ruth," Ben said dubiously.

"I am. I know what I need."

He stared at her, still uncertain, and she pulled him down to her with passion and intensity and hunger.

"You're not going to claim I took advantage of you, are you?"

She laughed. "Hardly. I was the aggressor here."

He inspected the scratches on his shoulders. "There is that."

She glanced around, as if just noticing her surroundings.

"Where's Jilla?"

"I sent her to sit with Sulu."

"Not nice, Ben."

"On the contrary, Ruth."

She giggled. "Push push, huh?"

"Indeed."

"God, don't say that!"

"You can dish it out but you can't take it, Miss Valley?"

"Shut up, Ben."

Jim was waiting on Gordon again, but this time he wasn't nervous or impatient. Valley and Sulu had reported back on board and he was set to debrief them in the morning. The meeting with the Admiral wasn't necessary, of course. It probably wasn't wise. But the Inspector General had already ordered Commander Hart, the second ranking officer at Delta Station to take command and there would in minutes be a call to the Admiral informing him of that fact and freezing his computer's memory. The nature of any official charges was being reconsidered due to the revelation regarding Lieutenant Lo's true heritage. Yet Jim knew that whatever the fake Lo's contribution to the scheme was, Gordon had been a willing participant. And Jim needed some taste of victory.

The Admiral looked relaxed and - much to Jim's disgust - very satisfied as he approached the table.

"My compliments, Jim," he began, signaling the server for his usual, "on your very cooperative lieutenants. I think we can get down to business."

"No, sir, I'm afraid we can't," Jim returned tersely. "You see, Admiral, you no longer have a business."

Gordon's eyes went icy as a waiter came up to the table. "A call for you, sir," he said, "From Starfleet Headquarters."

"The Inspector General," Jim clarified. "About your resource grants, no doubt. My lieutenants cooperated you into a court-martial, Gordon, and I'm delighted to have been the means. I've already given Headquarters my report and copies of the records of your illegal deals. The copies won't stand up in court, but what the Inspector gets from impounding your computer will; at least enough to see you and your whole fraudulent scheme out on your ass." He paused. "Oh, and by the way, did you know your attache was a Klingon agent? Fraud and treason." Jim tsked, then his expression hardened. "Two things we won't ever see eye to eye on, Admiral."

He watched as, without any reaction, Gordon rose to follow the waiter. Jim signaled and the Security detail from Commander Hart moved in from the perimeter of the Officer's Lounge. Gordon merely glanced at them. Jim had to ruefully admit that he admired the admiral's calm. Then Gordon turned back with four words.

"I'll remember you, Captain."

"I hope so, Admiral," Jim returned grimly. He watched the Security team escort the admiral away, finished his drink, then returned to the Enterprise.

"Where were you all night?" Ruth asked brightly as Sulu and Jilla came to sit at the mess table she was sharing with Dr. M'Benga. Sulu half-grinned, but Jilla arched her eyebrow significantly.

"I was sitting with Sulu," she said, her tone defying Ruth or anyone else to comment, although she was glowing faintly. "As Dr. M'Benga sat with you."

M'Benga chuckled.

"Pretty haughty words for a nova," Ruth remarked, taking the dare, "and are you sure you want to make that comparison?"

Sulu smiled as Jilla's slight shimmer increased. "He needed me," she protested.

"I did, you know," Sulu defended before Ruth could run with it. Ruth met his eyes and shrugged.

"Everything okay?" she asked. Sulu's arm slid around Jilla's shoulder.

"Sulu, please!" Jilla whispered and he echoed Ruth's shrug and dropped his arm.

"Doing fine," he replied. "You?"

"Just great." Ruth pushed two cups forward. "Have some coffee," she ordered.

"Ruth, I do not like..." Jilla began,

"Sure you do."

"Ruth..."

Sulu gently edged one of the cups toward the Indiian. "Here," he said. She stared at it, then at him, then obediently picked up the cup. He gave Ruth a nod of satisfaction and she and M‘Benga burst out laughing.

"Mr. Sulu, Miss Valley, Ben, good morning Mrs. Majiir."

All four looked up at the Captain's voice. All four murmured various versions of a polite reply. Jim smiled easily.

"I thought you'd want to know that Admiral Gordon has been brought under base arrest," he said.

Sulu's eyes fastened on the table. Ruth's smile was brilliant. M'Benga took, Jim thought, careful notice of their reactions. And Jilla Majiir glanced uneasily between them all.

"And," Jim added, "I wanted to thank you."

"Unnecessary, Captain," Sulu returned.

"Throw the book at him, Bwana," Ruth put in.

"They will, Lieutenant. I'll want your report in my office as soon as you're done with breakfast." He grinned wryly at the obvious lack of any food on the table, then walked away.

The table was silent for a moment, then M'Benga rose. "You tell him," he said sternly. "Or I will." He nodded to Jilla, then he, too, moved away from the table.

Ruth blithely raised her cup to her lips. "Let him, Roy," she said. "I'm not going to talk about it."

"Me neither," Sulu agreed, and ignored Jilla's suddenly lowering head. "There's no need to. It was in the line of duty."

The End