“Here is my fountain of youth,” Tarvak said, his voice suffused with pleasure as Joron approached, escorting a female of clear high estate.

“Fountain of youth?” the young man repeated, a charming affectation, but he turned almost immediately to Ve’el. “My Lady Ve’el,” he said, “may I present Lady Holsa, whose consort husband is the Legate of this Province, Ramok. Lady Holsa, my Lady Ve’el.”

The two women acknowledged each other with gracious nods. Holsa turned expectantly. When another moment had passed without response from Joron, she prompted, “And your handsome Bonded, Joron?”

“I am Tarvak, my Lady,” Tarvak said, frowning as he bowed. Joron, where are your manners?

There was no reply.

“And I see you have met our esteemed Centurion,” Holsa was saying

Joron?

“Tarvak was just explaining to me how he has stayed so fit,” Deron said, “but seeing his Bonded, is there need for details?”

Joron!

The Lady Holsa laughed. ‘No need, certainly, but wouldn’t they be delicious?”

Tarvak moved toward his inattentive Bonded, then stopped at the young man’s neat, not by any means inattentive side-step.

JORON!

His urgent plea was met with only a blank wall

Inside Pelori’s mind, she could feel the desperation growing in Tarvak. Spock had again been supplanted, but with the barrier she had created within DelMonde, Joron was not responding to the call of his Bonded. The rapidity with which Tarvak’s agitation was increasing was astounding. She mentally shuddered. She had feared this might happen, but she had thought it would take more than a few moments of inaccessibility to panic the older Romulan.

As his tia grew more and more alarmed, she chastised herself for not reminding DelMonde to remember to behave as Joron would towards Tarvak. It hadn't been easy for him under the best of circumstances – not that we've had any of those yet – and he’d had four ales in ten minutes. She sighed in exasperation.. She wasn’t surprised that, despite the alcohol, the blocks she’d put around Joron were holding. She was, after all, very well trained – and DelMonde had a tremendous tolerance.

Joron? Joron, where are you? Tarvak was half-demanding, half- beseeching

Quickly, she formulated a way to allow them to leave the club without either causing too much suspicion, too much offense, or too much a disturbance. The situation had to be repaired, and that could only be done in the relative security of their apartments.

“Kali’an take me for a fool,” Ve’el suddenly exclaimed. “Tarvak, we have yet to register our residence with the Legate!” She turned to Holsa. “Forgive me, Lady, we were fatigued from our long journey, and we so wished to explore your lovely Province that the formality quite slipped my mind.”

Holsa frowned, but it was a kind expression. “You’d best correct the oversight immediately,” she replied. “My husband has been known to be a stickler for this sort of thing.”

“My Lady, may I call on you at a later date?” Deron asked with proper respect.

“My House would be honored, Centurion,” Ve’el agreed. “Perhaps tomorrow evening? I’ll send my servant to the Legion with the address.”

“That will be most acceptable, my Lady.”

“Tarvak, Joron, attend!” Ve’el almost snapped. Tarvak bowed to Holsa and saluted Deron.

Joron’s bow was flamboyant, almost overly so.

Quickly! Pelori shouted to DelMonde. Tarvak is about to go critical.

She didn’t even try to contact the Vulcan who was completely submerged within the growing anger of his Romulan host.

“What’s your name?”

Lahs glanced up from his plate of bread and fruit. He had taken a seat along one of the far walls of the slave pen, waiting patiently for his Mistress to return. He had been hungry, and was most grateful Lady Ve’el had allowed Senior Husband to purchase this small meal for him.

“Lahs, in service to the Lady Ve’el,” he answered the slave who had spoken to him, taking a drink from the cup of water the pen-master had given him.

“Spoiled, aren’t you?”

“My Mistress is kind and generous,” Lahs stated, almost defiantly.

“Oh, he’s spoiled all right,” came another slave’s voice, thick with laughter.

“You’re a pretty one,” said the first male. “I’ll bet she’s kind and generous with that, too.”

“He’s too old for that,” said a third, a very young, very striking boy. Lahs again looked down at his plate as the creature undulated across the pen to stand before him. “Does she allow you to pleasure yourself for her amusement?” the boy asked.

“She – she has been quite proper,” Lahs found himself stammering.

“That means no,” the second slave retorted and there was a ripple of laughter through the pen.

“How do you stand it?” the beautiful one asked, then he crouched down at Lahs’ side. “Or is she ugly?” he whispered conspiratorially.

Lahs felt himself flushing. “She is quite beautiful!” he returned hotly.

“And she lets you suffer? Unless you’re a shor’vath.” There was more laughter and not a few expressions of distaste.

“I am not unmanned,” Lahs said from between gritted teeth.

“Maybe we need to allow him to prove that statement,” the first slave rejoined, and he kicked the plate of food from Lahs’ lap. A few of the other creatures scrambled to pick up the morsels that fell to the dirt floor.

“Oh, stop that, Krel,” the pretty boy sighed in disgust. He patted Lahs on the knee. “He thinks he’s worth something because he belongs to Lady Holsa. The Legate is her husband,” he added. He turned his head. “We’re all worthless non-gifts,” he continued a little louder. “Whatever status our Mistresses or Masters have doesn’t rub off on us like the scent of oiled bathwater.”

There were murmured assents, and Krel snarled, but stalked away. He grabbed a piece of fruit from a cringing slave and sat on the floor against a wall, his teeth tearing into the juice-filled globe.

“I’m called Wen,” the boy said. “I’ll bet you were a fine bedslave once, huh?”

Lahs lowered his eyes. “I prefer not to speak of the past,” he replied.

The boy’s face twisted in sympathy. “Bad placements?” he guessed. When Lahs didn’t respond, he sighed again. “That’s all right. I’ve been lucky, I know.” There was a pause, then Wen brightened. “Does your Mistress allow you to go to the communal pens?”

“We have just arrived here,” Lahs said. “I don’t know if she’s aware of such things.”

“I hope she becomes aware. It’s a good place for us to be when our owners have to be elsewhere and we’ve finished our chores. They don’t have to worry about us getting into trouble. And I don’t know about you, but my Master is always in a much better mood when I haven’t gotten into trouble.” The boy laughed, and Lahs found his friendliness and good humor infectious.

“Can I – may I ask how old you are?” Lahs said.

Wen wrinkled his forehead. “I don’t know – fifteen or sixteen, I think.” He cocked his head, studying the face before him. “You’ve gotta be – what – twenty, twenty-two?”

Lahs had to smile. “Something like that.”

The boy bent forward. “So what happens – what do we do when we get too old to warm our Master’s beds?” he whispered.

Lahs looked kindly on the boy. It was obvious that Wen had been vended to the first man who had broken him to the bed. The Praetorian Guardsman who had bid highest at the auction for the right to take Lahs’ virginity had also offered to purchase him outright. However, his handlers were wise enough to hold him back for two more years of intense training. The seventeen-year-old Lahs who stood at his first marketing was much more poised and capable than the fifteen-year-old who had wept through his first bedding. His handlers’ prudence paid off when he was bought for a flattering sum by a wealthy matron.

Although this boy’s fine clothes and his very presence at this exclusive club demonstrated that he had been fortunate to be purchased by an affluent and important master, his manner betrayed his inexperience.

“Much depends on you,” Lahs informed him, using the same phrasing his trainers had. “A slave must continually be adaptable to the needs of his owner.”

“Yeah,” said a dark-haired slave sitting nearby. “You never know if he’s going to need your mouth or your ass.”

“Oh, look,” Lahs said, pointing to the other side of the room. “A piece of my bread rolled under that bench.”

The slave scowled, but went in search of the bread.

“No one is a bedslave forever,” Lahs continued when the other man had moved away. “You must take every opportunity to prove your usefulness in other areas.”

Wen grinned wickedly. “He doesn’t give me many opportunities to do anything else.”

Lahs smiled indulgently. “That too will pass.” Inside himself, Lahs felt an odd sense of revulsion to the words he was saying and even to his own memories. He wasn’t quite sure why. Other than his own lapses in behavior, he had nothing to be ashamed of.

“Is that what you did?” Wen asked. “Became useful in other areas?”

“My first mistress was, as you say, an unfortunate placement,” Lahs admitted, deciding to talk a little more about his past to see if he could find the source of his unease. “I was fully bedslave under her for several years. However my second mistress was older, a distinguished noblewoman.” His second mistress had been Lady Ve’ahn, one of Lady Ve’el’s maternal grand-aunts. Although his first mistress seemed continually displeased with him, she had been even more profoundly displeased when Lady Ve’ahn had manipulated her into giving Lahs to the matriarch as a birthday present. “With her I was not only bedslave, but also serving man as she traveled about our province fulfilling her duties as a magistrate. When she grew ill, I was taught to be a health attendant as well.” The slave felt a moment of sadness remembering the too-long drawn out death of his second mistress. She had been demanding and stern, but fair. “My current mistress inherited me. To her, I am primarily a serving man.”

Wen let his eyes travel up and down the slave’s body. “But she still dresses you as a bedslave.”

Lahs shrugged. “It pleases her to do so.”

“Probably because you’re too short too fit into a grown male’s clothes.”

Lahs turned to find that Krel had returned. The servant was leaning against the wall, insolently still eating one of the pieces of fruit Tarvak had paid for.

“As I was saying,” Lahs began, turning his back on Krel.

Instead of accepting this snub, the other servant reached out and pulled at Lahs’ earlobe. “Look at those ears,” Krel said to one of his friends. “Wonder if his dick was the same size? … When he still had it, that is.”

A white, hot rage like he had never experienced before welled up inside Lahs. “Get your hands off me,” he ordered in a voice that barely seemed to be his own as he knocked the other slave’s hand away.

“You boys!” The pen-master called immediately. “Down, now!”

Lahs went numb with shock as he knelt in the dust beside Krel.

The slave-keeper had taken a short quirt off the wall. “This is an exclusive club,” he informed them through his teeth. “I shouldn’t have to put up with this. Hold out your hands.” Lahs winced as the pen-master grabbed his wrist and delivered three stinging blows to his right palm.

“I don’t want to disturb our patrons,” the pen-master said, taking his other wrist and giving his left palm the same treatment. “But this should be enough to let your owners know that you’ll be needing a real punishment when you get home.”

The slave-keeper moved on to Krel. “Don’t think I won’t be mentioning it to your mistress, either. I’ve been having trouble with you all day, boy. I was going to let it pass, but now…”

The taller slave received two extra slaps from the quirt on each hand.

“You stay on this side,” the pen-master ordered, pointing Lahs to the left of the pen and Krel to the right. “You stay on that side. I don’t want to see either of you near the other for the rest of the evening.”

“I’ll get you for this,” Krel mouthed as soon as the pen-master turned his back.

The slave-keeper whirled back around. “That’s it,” he said, hauling the taller slave up by his collar and pushing him towards the back of the enclosure. “Face the wall until I tell you to move.”

Lahs’ knees felt weak as he made his way to a bench on the far left side of the pen. All the other servants cleared away from him. It was several moments before even Wen would come near him.

“Oh, Lahs,” the boy whispered, aghast. “What did you do that for?”

“I don’t know,” he replied honestly.

“What will your Mistress do to you?”

“I don’t know,” he answered, looking down at the green streaks on his palms in disbelieving horror. “I have never done anything like this before.”

Wen laid a very discrete, sympathetic hand against his shoulder for a moment when he was sure no one was looking.

“I’ve been having the strangest feelings since we arrived here,” Lahs confessed to the boy. “In the flying machine, my mistress said that she thought I was spacesick. Perhaps that’s it. I have a spacesickness.”

Wen gave a sympathetic nod, but moved further away from him on the bench.

“Lahs!” His mistress’ voice sounded simultaneously in his ears and in his mind. He hurried across the floor of the slave pen to meet her.

“Your boy wasn’t the one who started the trouble,” the pen-master was informing her.

“Good.” Lady Ve’el handed the attendant an extra coin. Her voice was distracted though, as if she didn’t really care. She kept glancing back and forth between First Master and Second Master as if something were about to happen.

First Master looked displeased. He also kept stealing glances at Second Master. Second Master looked troubled… or drunk… or both. Perhaps Second Master had drunk too much and was going to be ill. And who will have to clean that up? Lahs asked himself ruefully. Immediately catching the unacceptable tone to this thought, he began his litany of. I am a slave and a non-gift…

“Shuttle, Lahs,” Lady Ve’el ordered tersely, gesturing him to run ahead and secure transportation. “Quickly.”

Second master is a true… Lahs started to continue as he hurried across the lobby. Remembering what the voice in his head had told him these words made Second Master want to do, he switched over to counting his rapid steps. One! Two! Three! Four! Five!

They barely made it back to the apartment. Once out of the Senatorial Parlour, Tarvak had grabbed Joron harshly by the arm, and the younger man had just as harshly pulled away. Pelori could hear and feel Tarvak’s furious demands, and she gave DelMonde a mental kick and hurried as quickly as she dared down the wide boulevard to their hostel. In the lift, Tarvak was blasting his Bonded’s deafened mind with imprecations and she had to have Ve’el severely chastise him. He drew up indignantly just as they reached their floor, and Ve’el commanded silence until they were safely inside their rooms.

“Lahs, to your cot and stay there!” Ve’el ordered, and turned her attention to her husbands as the creature scurried to obey.

“Joron, you will attend me, now!” Tarvak seethed as Pelori quickly removed the jammer from her sleeve, activating it.

“Make me!” DelMonde spat in return.

Lieutenant Commander, you must allow Joron to calm his Bonded… she began fervently.

“Fuck that!” The engineer’s eyes were blazing with a ferocity she had never seen – and truth be told, had not expected of the charming if sarcastic drunkard. She made a swift check of the blocks she had erected, and found that DelMonde had turned what he called the picket fence of wet cardboard into impenetrable steel.

Tarvak’s eyes narrowed. “You refuse me contact with my Bonded?” he asked darkly, and Pelori realized he was addressing DelMonde.

“I refuse you ever’t’ing,” the engineer snarled back, “for as long as there breath in my body.”

“Insolent Human,” Tarvak growled. “I could bring the Telanate down on all of you in less than a moment’s time.”

Spock, help us! Pelori cried, but knew that there was nothing of the body’s usual essence to hear her.

“Do it!” DelMonde challenged. “I burn the mother-fucker to hell an’ back!”

“I will teach you your place,” Tarvak promised, advancing on the Human. Despite his inebriation, the engineer danced away from the Romulan’s quick movement.

“You gotta catch me first, charonge,” he taunted.

Mr. DelMonde, you’ll get us all killed! Pelori screamed.

Not yet, darlin’, his mind-voice laughed. She could feel the drug-enhanced power within him rising.

Tarvak charged again, and again DelMonde slipped from him. With sudden, deadly force, the Romulan spun, catching the slower Human by the collar as he made his own pivot to keep himself facing his adversary. DelMonde burst into a frenzy of kicks and punches, and Tarvak lifted him bodily off the floor. The engineer swore, clenching his jaw, struggling more fiercely, clawing at the arm that held him, aiming kicks at Tarvak’s groin, twisting in his grasp. The Romulan stopped these futile attempts with one, bone-bruising slap to the side of DelMonde’s head.

“You will learn,” Tarvak said in a tone as cold as ice and as hard as dylithium. His hand reached up, the fingers spread, pressing like a branding iron against DelMonde’s face. The engineer’s dark eyes went wide, his mouth opening in a silent “OH!”

Abruptly, Pelori’s tia was flooded with intense sexual heat, an obdurate desire that threatened to overwhelm her shields. She could feel the same inferno pressing against DelMonde’s mind – and for the first time, sensed Joron frantically clawing at the wall that imprisoned him.

“I will break you, young one,” Tarvak was murmuring, and the sound was both promise and terrible threat. “This body will learn to respond, you will come to intimately know who your rightful master is. I will subdue you with such thoroughness that there will never be any thought of defiance in you. Your obedience to me will be as complete as any pathetic non-gift’s, and you will, as they do, worship me for allowing your submission. Then we will see if you dare to try and keep my Bonded from me.”

For one terrible moment, Pelori felt all of DelMonde’s shields crumbling before Tarvak’s onslaught. Fear unlike anything she had ever known, even during the most difficult parts of her training, poured from him, along with grief and hatred and the beginnings of desperate pleas. Tarvak was stripping the clothing from the Human, lowering him to the floor, the Romulan’s erection prominent in the Vulcan body.

Then with a sudden cerulean blue explosion, pure power roared to life in DelMonde’s mind. The Romulan’s strength was twisted, turned against him – and with renewed horror, Pelori realized that the engineer was not aiming his rage at Tarvak. It was Spock’s mind he targeted, Spock’s body he meant to burn to ashes. All the anger and betrayal that had been stored in the Human’s mind for over a year was escaping, taking the intensity of the xenoneurophene and using it to wreak vengeance on the man who had nearly destroyed the woman he loved – and had then taken that woman from him. There was no compassion, no mercy, no thought of the mission or of his own death, only the unquenchable hunger to have the Vulcan dead at his feet.

Pelori did the only thing she could. She redoubled her shields, called upon the strength that her superiors had stored within her, and activated the kill switch.

DelMonde lay inert on the floor, Tarvak intent on claiming the body before him. Ve’el sent him a vehement blast of anger.

The body is unconscious, where is your honor!

The Romulan turned his head, stopping his assault. Where is my Bonded? he demanded.

Your rage has damaged him…

My rage damaged no one but this Human, Tarvak interrupted harshly. Where is Joron!

Allow me, Ve’el said to her host and moved to the forefront. These two do not share what you do with Joron, she said, stern but soothing. In fact, they share a particularly unique and virulent distaste for one another. We must do what we can to insure we remain while allowing them their privacy.

I must join with my Bonded, my Lady, Tarvak answered, regaining his self-control.

Indeed, you must, but we must arrange matters so that this will be allowed.

How?

I will suggest to this one, her mind-voice indicated Pelori, that an agreement be made between you and the Vulcan and Joron and the Human. You cannot expect to be allowed full union, Tarvak, and so you must formulate the least amount of contact that will satisfy the Bond while not damaging Joron’s new body, or the psyche that it belongs to.

The Romulan snorted, then abruptly returned his attention to that body.

Tarvak? came Joron’s voice, weak but audible. Tarvak, help me! I can’t see, I can’t move…

I am here, my beloved, he soothed, and caressed the face before him. Can you feel my touch, my Bonded?

Y-yes, Joron replied. He kept me from you, he - Joron paused, his mind sending a seething wave of hatred toward Pelori. She imprisoned me! She teaches him how to control me!

As he must, Ve’el put in. Quickly, she outlined the problem as she had for Tarvak.

Damage to the body? Joron sneered with much the same implication as Tarvak’s earlier snort. He has known males, my Lady.

But not one endowed as a Romulan, Ve’el returned patiently. She smiled inwardly at Tarvak’s smug pride and Joron’s flush of pleasure. If we are to convince them to allow the necessary contact, there must be strict limits placed upon it. And you both must adhere to those limits.

How will you get this – Human – to agree? Joron asked petulantly.

Ve’el smiled. Leave that to me and Lieutenant MacEntyre.

They won’t like it, Pelori commented to Ve’el as the Romulan persona returned to her secondary place.

But if your mission is to succeed, you must convince them, Ve’el pointed out. Begin with the Vulcan, he is amenable to logic.

Will Tarvak allow him to speak now? Pelori asked with a wry frown.

Ve’el mental eyebrow rose in haughty disdain. Of course.

Pelori took a deep breath reaching out with her mind. “Spock?” she said, both mentally and out loud.

The Vulcan seemed to shudder, the dark eyes blinking. “What has…” he began, then stopped, staring down in horror at the naked body beside him.

“Things got a little out of hand,” MacEntyre said, grabbing Joron’s ruined tunic and placing over the lower portion of DelMonde’s anatomy. “I had to use the kill switch.”

“Then our mission is undone,” Spock returned gravely, though the relief nearly glowed in his mind.

“Not yet,” the lieutenant stated. “I can reawaken him with more isti’li. But we have a serious problem that must be addressed.” She took another breath. “Spock, Tarvak and Joron have to be able to touch. You and Mr. DelMonde have to find a way to allow it.”

“That is not possible,” Spock said flatly.

“Are you aware of what has happened in the past twenty minutes or so?”

The Vulcan frowned. “Not as such, no.”

“Then I think it is possible, Commander.”

Spock stood, taking several steps away from the figure on the floor. “Tarvak can take over my body,” he agreed, “but I cannot allow him the contact he desires. While I comprehend his need for his Bonded, I am married to another, Lieutenant MacEntyre.”

“I know. He has agreed to limitations on his union.”

One eyebrow rose. “Indeed. And what is the extent of those limitations?”

Pelori sighed. “You and Mr. DelMonde will have to work out what will be acceptable to you, with all due understanding of the needs of their Bond. While I fully understand it will not be comfortable for either of you to think about it, remember that neither one of you will remember it – if you allow Tarvak and Joron to take over your consciousness for the necessary intervals.”

“And how, Miss MacEntyre, will you secure the Lieutenant Commander’s cooperation?” Spock wanted to know.

“By telling him just how close Tarvak came to taking what he wanted.”

The Vulcan flushed a deep green, and Pelori went to her room to retrieve another dose of the isti’li. Returning, she knelt beside the unconscious engineer, and gently forced DelMonde’s mouth open, massaging his throat so that he reflexively swallowed. She placed her right hand on his carotid artery, her left gently clasping his wrist.

Wake, now, Lieutenant Commander, she murmured silently. When he began to stir, she asserted control over his mind and body. Don’t try to move just yet. You need time to recover from the coma.

Why you stop me! DelMonde’s mind-voice nearly roared. There was such raw anguish in his tia that Pelori felt tears beginning in her eyes.

Mr. DelMonde, do you really want to kill him?

Hell yes…!

Despite what that would do to Miss Valley?

If there had been agony in his being before, it was nothing compared to the intensity of pain that screamed through him at the mention of his former lover.

I thought not, Pelori soothed. Our mission has to succeed, and in order for that to happen, we have to accept that the mission planners chose, for reasons that may not be clear to us, to implant real Romulan persons in our minds, not just memories to aid us in our deception. She felt DelMonde bristling and exerted calm. We are Starfleet officers, Mr. DelMonde, and unless you wish to abandon your career and your life, we must continue. Can you at least agree to this much?

Carefully she examined his reactions. She knew – and had known all along – that the engineer’s career was important to him, despite his recent aberrations. She knew he was a good officer. He would not have been chosen for this assignment if anyone in the upper echelons of Fleet had thought otherwise. Personal grief had clouded that for him – she had tried to shame him into accepting it, but now saw that she had to, instead, bolster his wounded pride and shore up his sense of honor and loyalty and duty. She sent it to him, emphasizing her knowledge of his competence and worth, of the privilege she felt at being assigned to an officer of his high caliber. She felt his sarcastic rebuttal – you flatterin’ me, girlie? – and dropped her shields enough to let him see the truth in her regard. That it would also allow him to realize just how attractive she found him, and how attracted she was, was, at the moment, of no consequence.

Hmmph, he commented, but she felt the pleasure behind the dismissive syllable.

Indiians do not lie, Mr. DelMonde, she confessed softly.

But they surely keep some truths to theysevles, he returned.

In this case, I promise not to, Pelori vowed.

Then call me Del.

She found herself blushing. Very well, Del.

An’ can I call you Pelori?

She flushed again. I think I prefer Li’l Mac, she admitted

DelMonde’s smile filled her right down to her toes.

After a few more minutes rest, Pelori helped Del to rise.

“Where my damn clothes?” he asked brusquely.

“Tarvak tore them off you, remember?” the lieutenant said.

His face darkened. “Oh. Yeah.”

To both their surprise, Spock stepped forward, his gaze averted, handing DelMonde a robe.

“Merci," Del replied tightly as he took the offered garment, slipping it on and belting it snugly.

“Now,” Pelori continued, “we must discuss the best way to avoid this sort of scene in the future.”

“Tell the damned Romulan to keep his fuckin’ hands off me,” Del snarled.

“Unfortunately, that’s not a realistic option,” the lieutenant countered. “When a few moments out of contact with Joron can provoke that kind of response, we must take his needs into consideration.

“I not gettin’ into bed wit’ him,” the engineer spat.

“Nor is it the most desirable course for me,” Spock replied.

“Leas’ we agree on somet’ing,” Del muttered.

“Good,” Pelori broke in smoothly. “But what you must agree on, gentlemen, is not if contact can be allowed, but how much.”

Both officers glared at one another, DelMonde belligerently, Spock defiantly.

“I cannot control him,” Spock said, then added “obviously,” before DelMonde could. “I have no memory of the events which transpired, and it is safe to assume that, if you allow Miss MacEntyre to so instruct you, you will likewise have no memory of what Tarvak and Joron do when they are in command of our bodies. It seems the only logical solution.”

“Fuck logic,” DelMonde snapped. “I not lettin’ that li’l connasse do what ever th’ hell he want with my…”

“Del,” Pelori said gently. “We have no choice. If we don’t reach accommodation with them, Tarvak will follow through on his threat.”

“An’ I will blast the motherfucker straight to…”

“And I will use the kill switch again.”

DelMonde sucked in air. “You let him do that to me, Li’l Mac?”

“I don’t want to,” she said, looking him straight in the eye. “But my mission has to come first. And if you refuse to follow my orders…”

“So it an order now?”

“I don’t want it to be.” Her eyes pleaded with him to understand. And as I promised, I am being completely honest with you, she told him privately.

He stared at her for a long minute, and she noted that he was swallowing convulsively. I hate him, I hate him, I hate him! seethed through his being, and she exerted her most calming demeanor.

I know – but you won’t remember it. And if you set clear-cut limits, Ve’el will see to it that they respect them.

Clear cut limits, huh? Like what?

“Whatever you think is appropriate,” Pelori answered aloud, “understanding that you have to take their needs into account.”

Del let out a long breath. Then, without looking at Spock, he said, “He not touch my dick.”

Without missing a beat, Spock replied, “All genital contact will be strictly off limits,” and Pelori was profoundly grateful for his precise control and quick acceptance.

“No pokin’ or proddin my…” Del began.

“I consider that to be included in the definition of genitalia,” Spock returned.

DelMonde sighed. “I s’pose we gotta allow ‘em to…”

“Kiss. And embrace.” Spock’s features showed none of his clear distaste. “Some form of skin-to-skin contact is unavoidable.”

DelMonde made a face. “Yeah,” he grumbled. He glanced at Pelori. “S’at it, then?”

“They will need to be allowed to touch one another’s minds,” Spock said, and his grimace didn’t show. “This will no doubt be activated by a touch similar to that Vulcans would use.”

Del’s eyebrow rose. “An’ that be…?”

Closing his eyes, Spock extended his index and middle finger, the others curved in toward his palm.

“Shee-it,” Del scowled.

“They will begin with the touch of one another’s hands,” Spock continued, “and will progress up the arms to the neck, and likely the face, throat and ears.”

“Ears, huh?” The engineer looked like he had just swallowed poison. “Shee-it,” he repeated.

“And that will, of course, be only the physical manifestation of the union of their minds.”

“Hell, they minds can do what they damn well want. It my body I concerned about.”

“As long as their mental communion does not touch either my gifts, or yours, Mr. DelMonde, I believe I can endure,” the Vulcan finished.

“There’s no reason it should,” MacEntyre rejoined. “In fact, I think that would be most counterproductive for them.” She paused, glancing between the two men. “We have an agreement then, gentlemen?”

Del glared challengingly at Spock. Spock returned it without flinching. Then they both took deep breaths and answered, “yes.”

“Good,” Pelori said. “There is one other thing. It would be most helpful if you will allow them to be more in the forefront during our interactions with other Romulans. I will make certain Ve’el monitors them so that they do not take undue liberties, but their reactions are by far more appropriate than either of yours. We must gain the confidence of the ones who can guarantee our acceptance into the training school. Is this agreed to?”

Again the two men squared off, and again both came to the same conclusion.

“Agreed,” Spock said.

“Like I got a choice,” DelMonde granted ungraciously.

What did I tell you? Ve’el said to Tarvak and Joron.

The two Romulans nodded to their lady, acknowledging her superior understanding of Federation sensibilities.

Ve’el only smiled to herself.