MacEntyre suddenly straightened and tilted her head back. “Step away from the creature, Tarvak,” Ve’el commanded.

Before the older Romulan could decide to make a move to come to the forefront, the woman’s face contorted.

Del! she cried.

The engineer rushed to her side. Pelori…

The lady shook him off imperiously. “Get your hands off me, Joron.” Again she twisted and jerked. Sedative, Spock! she said, gasping a command to the Vulcan.

Before he could rise, she stopped him. “Don’t you dare, Tarvak,” Ve’el growled, stepping between him and the trembling slave. “This body belongs to me.”

“My Lady…” The older Romulan warrior was torn between his respect for tradition and his unease with the perversions he suspected in her.

She does not own all that is contained in that body, Tarvak, the Vulcan inside him pointed out.

Pelori! Del cried out, struggling to push Joron aside as the younger Warrior halted, waiting to follow his Bonded’s lead.

Ve’el turned and glared. If you are truly concerned for her safety, do not approach me again.

The woman’s whole body spasmed as Pelori fought her way to the surface. Spock, sedative! she repeated, shouting the order. Del, distract her! The doors…!

Ve’el clawed her aside. “Joron, Tarvak, you will withdraw,” she ordered, her eyes blazing. “The creature belongs to me. I will attend to it.”

“My Lady.” The older Romulan rose, his expression grave and regretful. “I fear you have overstepped propriety in this case…” Joron, release the Human.

On this cue from his Bonded, the younger Romulan obediently fell back.

As Spock hurried to the bedchamber. Del quickly crossed to Ve’el/Pelori, gathering his strength as he grabbed her shoulders and pulled him to her.

All right, Jorry, ol’ boy, the engineer said to the Romulan inside him, moving his hands up to the temples of the struggling woman as her face shifted between hatred and gratitude. You gonna hafta do more than stand there an’ look good.

You wish me to attack her? As little as he liked Ve’el, Joron found the idea of forcing himself into the brain of a woman too taboo to contemplate.

You ever been in a three-legged race, son? The Human asked incongruously as the xenoneurophene enhanced power of his mind gathered and became focused.

Three-legged?

Jus’ follow my lead an’ keep in step, the Human advised. He turned his attention back to the woman. All right, honey, he said with a tenderness ill-matched to the force of the assault he was mounting. Let us in.

In? Joron asked, horrified and amazed as a crack in Ve’el’s shielding opened before him.

Keep in step, handsome, the Human advised, pulling the Romulan along with him as they breached the barriers of the woman’s mind.

What do you think you’re doing, Human? Joron demanded finding himself suddenly in the very alien landscape of Ve’el/MacEntyre’s psyche. Do you intend to destroy the half-breed as well?

You say half-breed one more time, jackass, the engineer warned, an’ you gonna be the one….

You will never even be able find Ve’el in here, the Romulan said as they swept further and further into the weirdly complex territory of the woman’s brain. And as for fighting her…

I ain’t gonna fight her. The Human came to halt in front of a blocked off section of the psyche. I gonna give her what she want.

Joron snorted despite his discomfort and disorientation. All she wants is a submissive male at her feet.

Del didn’t reply. He began to drop his shields.

You can’t be serious… Joron could feel a presence that distinctly echoed of Ve’el begin to gather. Do you know what she’ll do to you?

Take me. The Human replied simply, continuing to strip himself of all defense. Make me hers. Teach me to obey.

Joron sneered in anger and disgust at the naked desire the Human was purposefully exposing. And you call me a slut…

Maybe it take one to know one, the engineer replied dryly.

The Ve’el presence was becoming stronger and more palpable.

You wished me to watch this? Joron asked, fighting his fear with disgust.

If you as smart as you are good lookin’, the Human drawled, you’ll know the right t’ing to do.

The power of Ve’el opened a vacuum in one of the voids in the half-Indiian’s consciousness.

Joron watched in horror as the Human’s naked lust and self-destructiveness allowed him to be sucked into the void. The energy that was Ve’el followed him in like a bird of prey circling for the kill.

When the last traces of the Human began to pull at Joron, he struggled to free himself. He was caught, though, as if tied to the Human. Panic made him furious, then strategic understanding focused his will. The Human was allowing himself to be taken, giving his own mind as decoy. It was an honorable tactic, even when employed against one it should not be. He wrenched himself free and blocked the opening to the void.

Thanks, Joron.

The voice was that of the half-Indiian.

That was his plan, the Romulan said in stunned comprehension, continuing to stare at the closed portal to the place where the Human had allowed himself to be trapped, defenseless to dishonorable defeat. Yet, paradoxically, it was precisely the Human’s acceptance of that fact that made it honorable

You’re going to need to get out of my head now. The half-Indiian pushed him gently but firmly away. You need to keep his body breathing.

Yes. Joron retreated back into empty hull of the Human’s brain, blinking the Human’s eyes as he looked down on the woman’s face. Her shielding returned as strong burnished duraniam. She took his hands from her temples.

Tarvak had returned and was holding an unfamiliar device to the non-gift’s neck. The woman knelt down beside him.

Commander, she said coolly as she rolled the slave onto his back arranged his limp limbs comfortably. I assume you are familiar with the Vulcan technique of tal’shi’ya?

Joron could see the surprise in his Bonded’s mind as he and his Vulcan host nodded and answered, And the Romulan equivalents.

Because I am Indiian, the woman continued, her tone calm and commanding, I will be absorbing at least part of his madness. Should I lose control, break my neck.

The Romulan could feel the grim respect for a fellow warrior this instruction inspired in both his Beloved and his host. Understood, they acknowledged.

What you’re looking for is not simply chaotic images, Commander, the young woman continued, checking the non-gift’s eyes and pulse. If I start to red line, there will be a sharp power surge. It should be obvious. It may be strongly associated with the color blue.

The mention of this hue touched off a wave of apprehension in the Vulcan. Understood.

If I feel I am approaching the critical mark, I will give the order myself. The half-Indiian took the slave by his wrist. If I am unable to, use your own judgment. But act swiftly. You won’t have much time.

Yes, Lieutenant.

As for your colleague…. Sympathy wreathed around the woman as she looked down at the non-gift. If I fail, his disposition will be at your discretion. However, I strongly recommend a quick termination for him as well.

Understood. The Vulcan’s reply indicated that he fully intended to weigh his options carefully before taking her suggestion.

In this state, you’ll never get him back across the border, she warned. Turning back to the non-gift, she took in a deep breath. Well…

Good luck, Miss MacEntyre, a very Human-seeming part of the Vulcan wished the Human part of the Indiian.

Thank you, Mr. Spock. The young woman put a hand to the non-gift’s neck. I will need it.

Del was blind in the dark. This had to be one of the places that Pelori kept things she didn’t want to think about. Memories of her failures – small and grand – floated all around him. Missed opportunities, botched plans, lost love…. The darkness of failure wrapped around him blending into his own. Potential unachieved. Self loathing. Lost love… Oh, my love…

Almost a tailor-made prison for you.

Ve’el?

Her presence was just a dark voice in the smothering blackness. You thought to deceive me – to lure me here.

The idea cross my mind, he admitted.

I rule here. Her presence twinkled like black stars in a black sky.

Del was almost grateful to have even this much of a point of orientation in the consuming void of despair. Looks like you done made yourself comfy, yeah.

She is right to hide such weakness, Ve’el commented, surveying her black kingdom.

The engineer struggled to maintain a sense of himself that would keep him from merging into MacEntyre’s desolation. That one fo’ the head-shrinkers to debate.

You thought yourself very clever, didn’t you Human? Did you think I couldn’t see your stupid plan? I know all of her hiding places. This is the most obvious and the most insecure.

In more ways than one, Del replied with dry humor as he resisted the consuming pull of his lover’s self-doubt.

I know how and when to escape, but you…. Ve’el’s chuckle had a dingy, evil sound as it echoed in the bleak mindscape. Trapping you is almost worth losing the non-gift.

I ain’t gonna be much use in keepin’ your teacups filled an’ your toes sucked down here...

Stupid, vain Human. Her darkness caressed him contemptuously. I don’t want your body. I want your mind.

The twinkling darkness that was Ve’el congealed into a form that moved towards Del. In spider form, she reached out with a talon pointed towards his heart.

Pelori paused for a moment at the edge of Lahs/Chekov’s madness, surveying the damage. The subject’s simple, tidy psyche had become a chaotic, multi-layered jungle. Conflicting memories screamed at each other’s funhouse mirror reflection of what it believed to be the truth.

It was the fundamental simplicity and orderliness of the psychic landscape that was feeding the madness now. There was no mechanism for handling the flood of disjunctive information flow in either the slave or the navigator’s personality. He/they was/were going mad because he/they knew no other way to deal with the contradictions other than going mad.

This stubborn insistence on only one path of rationality was a flaw MacEntyre had noted as a potential trouble spot while she prepared the subject for integration with the Lahs persona. This tendency to reject contradictions made it more likely that once the Lahs personality was established, the subject would actively bolster the stability of the new identity, rejecting his own memories as invalid or integrating compatible artifaced impulses into his assumed character.

Somehow though, the contradictions had become too great.

Pushing her way through the chaos, she could see the core of the Lahs persona had withdrawn. It lay cocooned in its own trauma. The original subject’s personality was trying to reassert itself by default. It was the Russian’s attempt to come to his own rescue that was near to killing him.

Ve’el has done this to him. MacEntyre realized bleakly. She’s been playing with his emotions. When the slave can’t cope, the brain pushes the navigator forward as a defensive reflex. The violence of the contrast between the two personas stimulates Ve’el, makes her feel powerful… makes her feel…

MacEntyre forced her attention back to her subject’s tortured psyche. Ve’el was a problem for later. As she had prepared herself to do in her projections of worst case scenarios, the lieutenant walked through the man’s brain, speeding the numbing influence of the drug she’d had the Vulcan inject into his veins, manually turning off the figurative red alerts. She moved quickly and decisively, closing the windows and doors of memory, walking swiftly past the panicked agony that screamed and tore at her.

The subject’s brain was remarkably resilient. Once it recognized her efforts, it did not resist her progress. It welcomed her aid in returning to its preferred state of simple, clean efficiency – even if that meant suppressing its true identity.

She did not let herself relax or slow as the hideous screaming quieted. There was a still a danger…

The core persona, the still fractured Lahs/Chekov turned its attention to her as she drew closer to the central conflict. It reached out to her – a wounded child/boy/man in pain/fear/love/lust/desperation/desire.

It spoke, calling her simultaneously the names of a hundred different women it loved/ wanted/ hated/ feared/ desired/ admired/ respected/ cherished/ dreaded/ yearned for.

Pelori gasped as she lost her mental footing and slid into the maelstrom-like vacuum of agonized need.

Leas’ I get to see what you really like, Del commented, feeling his fear blend into MacEntyre’s dreads.

The spider paused indignantly. Don’t insult me, Human.

If the truth insult you… he replied easily. You really got Pelori fooled, y’ know. She look up to you.

She gives me the respect I am due, Ve’el replied, the spider image fading. As a subordinate should… As you will learn to. She congealed once more into monster.

You always been like this underneath? he asked as her talon drew near. Is this here the Romulan soul?

The spider sneered. You know nothing of the Romulan soul.

Really? I been brushin’ elbows wit’ it pretty close recently. he informed her. You all spiders underneath? Or is it jus’ you? Livin’ in dark holes like this change you, Ve’el? Livin’ in the dark an’ knowin’ you dead?

Silence! The spider commanded.

Silence an’ darkness, DelMonde confirmed. That where you belong now, Ve’el.

The spider faded. You know nothing, Human.

I t’ink I beginnin’ to get a clue, though. He let himself open to her sparkling black presence. Unable to rest. Caught ‘tween darkness an’ light. That what makin’ you into a monster, woman?

You will never leave here, weak fool. Ve’el drew a concealing cloak of contempt about her. Joron has taken your body. It has been his plan all along.

He do seem pretty fond of it, Del admitted ruefully.

Ignorant Human, the lady sneered. You’re more dead than I am, but are just too stupid to realize it. You’re nothing but a carcass for me to feed on, now.

An’ that makes you not’ing more than somet’ing that feed on carcasses, Romulan, the engineer pointed out.

I feed, Human. The spider form emerged in sparkling black. I live.

“Tarvak,” Joron sat down on the floor in front of where his Bonded knelt and watched the half-Indiian tend to the non-gift.

Not taking his eyes off the woman or fully supplanting the Vulcan, the older Warrior put an acknowledging hand on his beloved’s knee.

It is I, Joron, the younger man informed him, wonderingly. Truly I. I am alone in this body.

Tarvak nodded. The Human has allowed himself to be trapped with Ve’el.

Sacrificial self destruction in defense of his comrades... And as a result I am alive -- truly alive. The magnitude of the fact brought tears to Joron’s eyes. Not a shadow.

The older warrior brushed his fingertips to the younger man’s temples. Life was taken from you too soon, my Beloved, he said, his smile sad. You love it so much.

Any pleasure Joron felt was marred by the thought of the Human’s sacrifice. And yet…

Tarvak nodded, turning his watchful gaze back to the half-Indiian. These aliens have their own sort of honor, do they not?

Joron nodded slowly. One could almost grow to admire them.

Remain calm!

A hysterical giggle at the thought bubbled up inside Pelori MacEntyre. She grabbed onto it. Anything that would remind her of who she was.

Pieces of Lahs/Chekov were smothering her in memories of women. She was a shattered mirror of thousands of interactions with mother/ lover/ mistress/ colleague/ handler/ teacher. The slave/navigator made love to/ was screwed by/ was whipped by/ was smacked by/ laughed with/ cared for/ took orders from/ gave orders to/ helped/ fought/ loved/ hated her in a million different ways.

I am Pelori MacEntyre, she reminded herself, fighting to the urge to fragment. I am me. I will remain calm and whole.

He/they was/were like a drowning man clutching blindly for the first thing in reach… More than that, he/they was/were a drowning man finding the one person he/they most wanted to apologize to/ strangle/ screw/ save/ fight/ kiss goodbye in his arms.

She felt her eyes turning green.

Calm. MacEntyre had to gather her strength at a painfully slow rate. Despite the beating her sensitivity was taking from the wild thrashing of Lahs/Chekov’s insanity, she could not afford to go any faster. Spock was under orders to break her neck if he sensed a spike. Worse than that, a power surge in her current condition would almost surely trigger the cascading madness that would necessitate her termination. I will remain calm. I will remain whole.

There was a unexpected strength under the surface of the null’s mind. It pulled at her like the heart of a gravity well.

No, she instructed the smothering mind around her. Don’t pull me. You’re hurting me. You don’t want to hurt me.

The Lahs/Chekov recoiled in surprise. As fragmented as it was, it could solidify around this idea. He/they did not – with very few exceptions – want to hurt the multitude of hers in his/their life. Hurting seemed wrong to him/them – even when he/they had been badly hurt him/them/self/selves…

MacEntyre took advantage of the easing of the mind’s death grip on her to gather more strength.

Let me go, she ordered. You need to let me go so I can help you.

Don’t go! the wounded thing cried, grabbing on to its mother/ mistress/ friend/ lover. Don’t go!

The pull of the core of the null was becoming intolerable.

I will remain calm. Pelori struggled to remain above the insane mind’s panic. I will remain whole.

Despite the danger, she had to pull in power more quickly. Her time was running out. She had to maintain balance, resist the pull. The mindscape around her was becoming tinged with blue.

Don’t goooooooo!

She felt herself suffused with strength. The first flush of drug-fueled euphoria buoyed her.

Don’t gooooooooooo!

I’ll need a lot of power to get out, she thought, greedily sucking more to her. Lots of power.

Don’t gooooooooooooooo!

Remain calm! she ordered herself. You have enough.

Nooooooooooooooooooooooo!

She didn’t know if the cry came from Lahs/Chekov or herself as she made herself cut off the flow before it reached the tipping point.

Release me! she commanded in the voice of a hundred women.

The slave/navigator fell back in devotion/ fear/ love/ obedience.

Her eyes were one again cool silver.

Feeling the touch of a hand at her neck, she surfaced long enough to order, Belay.

There was relief in the Vulcan/Romulan’s eyes. Are you in difficulty, Lieutenant?

It’s okay. She gave him a reassuring smile. I just slipped.

If I dead, Del postulated, an’ you eat me, then that make you a dead person that eat other dead people to survive. Ain’t you Romulans got a word for that?

From the way she recoiled, he could tell that they did indeed.

Does your foolish prattle ever cease? she asked, but did not approach again.

Not the way you thought you be spendin’ your Afterlife, is it, Ve’el? He pressed. Not a nice way fo’ a favored daughter o’ the Klii-sun to end up, non? I’d be kinda ‘shamed myself…

Shut your filthy mouth, she hissed, but retreated further.

Yeah, whadda I know? he agreed. I jus’ a dumb Cajun. Maybe fo’ you folks, endin’ up a zombie vampire is some big honor…

I will leave you here, Ve’el decided, abruptly. You need time to learn what it is to live as a shadow. Joron has taken your body…

You t’ink so? the engineer interrupted pointedly. Really? ‘Cause, y’ know, jus’ ‘cause you lost your honor don’t necessarily mean he done lost his…

We will see, Human. The sparkles of Ve’el faded into the blackness. We shall see what you know of honor…

Del found himself alone in the darkness of his lover’s despair.

Yeah, he said to himself trying to find something positive to hold on to. We gonna see all right.

“Is he stable?” Spock/Tarvak asked as MacEntyre drew her hand back from Lahs/Chekov’s neck.

“Remarkably so.” The Lieutenant blew out a long relieved breath. His mind has a predisposition to preserve equilibrium that is… very unusual. Every contact with him continues to challenge my preconceptions of what it means to be psi-null. I think that if Romulan scientists were to explore the “non-gifts” of a null brain, it might radically change their attitudes towards non-telepaths.

Joron arched an elegant eyebrow. “Really, my Lady?”

“Really, my husband,” she replied lightly, as she turned to him and beckoned him forward.

“What do you wish of me?”

It’s time to release Del and Ve’el. Although her tone was even, her eyes brooked no argument. You closed the door in my mind behind them. I’ll need your help to open it again…

Joron did not move forward.

…and to guide Del’s mind back to his body, she continued pointedly, rising.

The sweetness of life ached inside Joron. He bit his lip and did not meet the gaze of his Bonded.

“It’s time,” MacEntyre said, stepping in front of him.

Joron lifted his eyes to Tarvak. How can I, beloved? he asked plaintively. How can I leave this - leave you again?

This time is stolen, my Bonded, Tarvak replied gently. This second life we have been given...

How can you...

I'm not sure, Joron. But this is not the time to discuss it. To return the body after such a sacrifice is the honorable thing to do.

Reluctantly, Joron agreed, and Tarvak smiled at him.

“It is the honorable thing to do,” the Romulan said, lifting his fingers to the half-Indiian’s temples.

The alien confusion of her brain was still nauseating to him. She guided him swiftly back to the spot where the Human disappeared. Together they pulled open the block he’d slammed into place.

Took you damn long enough.

The half-Indiian smiled at her lover’s mindvoice as his essence flooded noisily back into the body that had briefly belonged to Joron alone. I’m going to translate that as a gracious ‘thank you.’ Where’s Ve’el?

She done disappeared down a hidey-hole, DelMonde barged back into control, using their lips to kiss the half-Indiian. You gonna need to find her, girl. She done gone half-crazy.

MacEntyre shook her head. She doesn’t want to be found right now.

How’s T-Paul? the engineer asked, crossing to the sleeping navigator.

He is Lahs once more, Spock/Tarvak informed him. We should move him to his cot. Your assistance, Joron?

DelMonde didn’t step aside for the true Joron to re-emerge as he helped the Vulcan/Romulan lift their unconscious servant. We got a problem wit’ Ve’el. Hidin’ in your brain ain’t doin’ her no good.

It’s not necessarily a nice place, MacEntyre apologized, holding the door open for them.

Hell, girl, the Cajun snorted as they maneuvered Lahs’ bruised body through the entrance to her bedchamber. Compared to what inside my head, it a ride in a kiddie park.

It had been agreed that the best course of action was to let Lahs sleep. The equilibrium Pelori had reestablished would take better hold if the non-gift’s subconscious was allowed to rest and rejuvenate. And, of course, the body needed time to heal.

Del called down to the kitchens for a light breakfast and lots of j’lat, even ordering some non-herbal tea for Spock. The Vulcan had not argued the need for caffeine. After it arrived, the three ate quietly, each of them repairing and strengthening their individual shields, none of them wanting to dwell too much on the morning’s activities.

After the second cup of tea – and Del’s second pot of j’lat – Spock finally spoke into the silence. “We must prepare for this afternoon’s interviews,” he said.

“What will the examiners be looking for?” Joron asked, and from the eagerness in his eyes, both Spock and Pelori knew that this was Joron.

“Strategic skills,” Spock allowed Tarvak to answer. “Cunning, subtlety, the ability to take on another persona.”

Joron chuckled. No problem with that last, beloved.

Yes. If we allow our hosts to take the forefront at carefully selected times…

As long as you mind your accent, Del, Pelori put in, just to make certain Joron hadn’t completely locked the engineer away.

I think I can manage that, DelMonde replied with only a slight Southern drawl.

Spock’s eyebrow rose. Do you then usually exaggerate it for effect?

Del made a face. No, I jus’ not usually careful ‘bout it, he said in his normal cadence. Though he didn’t vocalize it, the disdainful ‘ya dumb fuck bastard’ was plain in his mind.

Insubordination, Mr. DelMonde, Spock commented tightly.

Apologies, sir.

Can we get back to the interviews? Joron put in, obviously peeved.

“I think what they will be most interested in is our commitment,” Pelori-as-Ve’el said. It was temporarily impossible for Ve’el to take even the smallest piece of the forefront. Even if it hadn't been, Pelori would be more than reluctant to allow the Romulan to do so, and all four of the others agreed with her. Tarvak had been more than shaken by what the Romulan woman had tried to do to Lahs’ host. It had been decided that it was a very fortunate thing that she, perhaps alone among the Fleet officers, could well “play” her Romulan persona.

“As long as we present our true devotion and desire to serve the Empire in whatever capacity they wish to assign to us,” she continued, “I think there will be little difficulty with our suitability.”

“Will fighting ability count?” Joron said with a wide grin.

“If you can teach others the throwing moves you employed during the games, that will be a definite plus,” Tarvak replied with warm regard.

You can help with that, can’t you, Human?

I got a name, Romulan, the engineer answered his guest-mind.

If I use it, will you…?

I might not be as inclined t’ let you fall on your green ass, yeah.

Joron gave an exaggerated sigh. Very well…Del.

The Human grinned. Joron, he returned.

To the matter at hand, gentlemen? Spock put in.

“I believe I am skilled enough at intrigue –“ Pelori/Ve’el began. The rest of the minds at the table heard ‘devious. ’ “- to merit a placing. And Tarvak, you have years of experience with specific knowledge of Federation battle techniques.”

“Thank you, my Lady,” Tarvak acknowledged graciously.

“Well, then, I am certain we are as prepared as we can be,” Pelori/Ve’el concluded. This is the main event, gentlemen, she said privately. I wish us all good luck.

Better than we had so far, Del agreed grimly.

Del and Pelori had taken a much-needed rest, lying together in Joron and Tarvak’s bed. Spock played the lythyr quietly, not wishing to disturb them – or Lahs. He was finding it almost pleasant to be alone with only Tarvak’s thoughts for company. They had a great deal in common, both in the way they approached situations, and in the devotion they felt toward their beloveds. Now that he had had some time to think about it, Spock had come to realize that he and Ruth were, indeed, Bonded in all but the ritual form. Their telepathies were in harmony. She had vowed to serve at The Time. He loved her, and had no doubt that she loved him. When he returned from this assignment – and he had begun to believe that was actually possible – he would be certain to discuss the matter with her.

That is a good and wise course, Spock, Tarvak murmured approvingly. Your thoughts of her indicate that she is as worthy a mate for you as Joron was for me.

Was? the Vulcan responded, surprised at the tense.

Tarvak chuckled. And is.

After a companionable pause, Spock ventured, May I ask a question of a personal nature, Tarvak?

What is there between us that could still be personal? the Romulan replied, his tone warm with wry amusement.

Spock refused to let the uncomfortable echoes form memories within him. I wished to ask if it is of concern to you that Joron is – aware – of the intimate nature of Mr. DelMonde’s association with Lieutenant MacEntyre.

Why should it be? Tarvak returned easily. The body Joron inhabits is not his, nor is his mind or his essence included in their trysts. It touches nothing that is mine. There was a moment of silence. As is the case with your body and my interactions with Joron.

If there was a touch of reproach in the Romulan’s tone, Spock chose not to acknowledge it. The Vulcan Bond seems to carry more possessiveness than its Romulan counterpart, he said instead.

Understandable, Spock, since your race carries the mutation of a mating imperative. When one’s life literally depends on the fidelity of the body, such emotion is reasonable. Though I am given to understand that many Vulcans find no emotion a reasonable one.

There is that perception, Spock agreed. However, it is much closer to the truth to say that Vulcans do not accept emotion as a valid foundation for decision-making. It is but one of many factors that must be taken into account.

You are a passionless people, Tarvak said, his words carrying an aura of both sympathy and bemusement.

Not true. We are simply dedicated to keeping our passions in check.

I trust you will forgive me if I sorrow in your joyless existence.

As I do that you will understand my dismay at your open ferocity.

Their intellectual exchange was interrupted by the sound of the outer door chime.

Mr. DelMonde, Miss MacEntyre, we have visitors, Spock sent, and heard their acknowledgement. He rose, putting the Romulan instrument aside, and went to the door.

Three uniformed Warriors stood there. “Tarvak of House Merad?” the most senior said.

“Yes,” Tarvak responded. The Warrior saluted, and Tarvak returned it.

“We come at the behest of Legate Ramok, to escort you, your Bonded, Joron of Bo’rah, and the Lady Ve’el of Klii-sun to certain appointments.”

“We are prepared to accompany you,” Tarvak said as Joron and Ve’el came up to the door.

“Warriors,” Ve’el greeted them. “Allow me a moment to give instructions to my servant…”

“The non-gift is included in the request, my Lady,” the Warrior returned.

Both Joron and Tarvak’s eyebrows took flight. Within her, Pelori felt Ve’el stirring.

What new treachery is this, Ve’el? she demanded.

And who are you to speak of treachery? Ve’el returned archly.

You nearly destroyed Lahs, and his host!

An accident, I assure you.

Don’t lie to me, Pelori said in precise mockery. I know your thoughts.

Then you know my motivation was simply to prepare for this eventuality. When Ramok spoke to me regarding the training, he also thought of Lahs. I gathered that it is deemed important to some element of their missions to include a non-gift – though I certainly can’t fathom why.

Pelori decided not to argue the point. She needed to reserve all her strength to guard against any trickery the Romulan might attempt.

“Of course,” she said to the Warrior. “He is taking his rest period. I shall rouse him.”

Aware of the Warrior’s watchful gaze, Pelori crossed the common area to her bedroom.

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