Could Mohammed Move a Mountain?

Gage relaxed in the VIP rooms provided for him and his entourage. His entourage relaxed also, which meant Coron put his feet up on the nearest table, Selli went to get the stash, and Rand sat at the com to ‘look up an old friend.’

Lita stood in the center of the room, arms folded and said, “Well?”

Gage had never quite understood how a Monolem could make one word – any word – an accusation, but he took it in stride.

“Customers are everywhere,” he explained.

Lita scowled. “How many, Lane?”

“Oh…” he prevaricated, “only one or two.”

“Or three or four,” Coron added with a smirk.

“Dozen,” Selli concluded with a self-satisfied giggle.

Got to get that girl into bed and out of important conversations, Gage thought.

"Actually, it's closer to..." Rand began from over his shoulder.

“Find Ebony Beauty, Rand,” he scowled at the security advisor.

“My very intent, boss,” Rand returned with a grin.

“Ambassador, kindly keep your mind off your former customers,” Lita commanded.

Gage let a puzzled expression cross his face. “Former? Honey, whatever do you mean? I’m…”

“…going to screw this deal royally, and yes, the innuendo was intended,” Lita interrupted. “No way in Saford’s Hell will I allow that. You’re good, Lane, very good, but this is the Emperor’s deal, not yours.”

“Come on, Monolem,” Coron put in over his feet. “The man’s still got profit to make.”

“A profit is a profit,” Selli reiterated unnecessarily.

Gage shook his head. You’re not helping, honey.

Lita seemed to be considering something. Finally she said, “Truth, Lane. How many deals could you make?”

Gage thought carefully. Groupie, Kam, Gypsy, Cajun, Spike, Corsair, Jet, Whirlwind, Dragonfly… A small group of loyal customers – and of course, the friends they’ve made in this herbert’s paradise. “About two dozen, give or take,” he replied to Lita’s question, then shrugged at the disbelieving look that came into her eyes. “Kirk’s children are cleaner than most.”

“Are they more discreet than most?” Lira wanted to know.

Gage gestured expansively. “Kirk didn’t know about Groupie, did he?”

“No,” Lita agreed. She stood in thought for several minutes. Gage took advantage of the lull in the grilling to fill and light his favorite pipe. “All right,” she said finally. “If the deals go down without the Brass’ knowledge.”

“Or the Ears,” Rand called again.

“Or the Ears,” Lita reiterated.

“Deal and done,” Gage said firmly before any more conditions could be added.

“Pity I can’t make a profit on this little excursion,” Coron added sourly.

“Your services are not required, Relf,” Lita scowled.

“Monolems have been known to take possession of my wares,” Coron pointed out coldly. “And they won’t be enjoying those services and luxuries once we’re members of the Federation. Your brother’s order for an Antari won’t ever be filled and my guild won’t be to blame.”

“Yes, we heard all about your incompetence,” Lita returned.

“It wasn’t incompetence,” Coron informed her. “I got a higher bidder, and I had to dump the stock in a hurry.” He shrugged. “I did what any good trader would have done.”

“Be that as it may,” Lita said, “my brother can take care of his own twisted desires and your guild will be officially disbanded.”

“As long as it’s only officially, ma’am,” Coron rejoined with a gracious nod.

We’ll see about that, you slime, Gage provided silently for her. A Monolem would never say anything so tactless, but he was well aware of how this particular Monolem felt about the slave trade. And he knew why. Calvario had ruined a number of fine enterprises – and he laughed privately at the pun – by trafficking with the slavers before his timely incarceration. “Let’s just get the Emperor’s business attended to, shall we?” he commented instead.

“Deal,” Lita said, staring challengingly at Coron.

“Deal,” he grumbled.

“Deal,” Selli agreed, though it sounded reluctant.

Once gain Rand pulled himself away from the com long enough to say, “Deal.”

“And done,” Gage concluded, then chuckled. Ah, to be young and in love with a looker like Ebony Beauty.

Tomor Rand clicked off the com, still smiling at the blank screen. It would be so damned good to see Uhura again.

He laughed to himself, recalling how he’d first met her. He’d been on an assignment to get rid of some Klingons that were infesting one of the border planets, a dismal little place called Kelincar. The ugly fuckers had been doing some illegal mining and the HTE Leather had been sent to give the natives a hand in rousting them out. The Klingons were really more interested in encroaching upon Haven space than they were in mining and the Emperor hadn’t fancied that at all.

Just when they’d gotten things under control – and were making a nice profit in trade goods besides – the Federation had come along. For some ridiculous reason, they’d been under the impression that Kelincar was in disputed space and had their not-at-all-the-Havens’-problem Organian Treaty to worry about. So they decided to take on the solving of a nonexistent difficulty into their own clumsy hands. And since hostilities had just been declared between the Haven Empire and the Feds, they decided to take it on in a clandestine fashion. Rand had often noted that the Prime Directive wasn’t as iron-clad as the Feds gave it out to be. Kirk and his children had drawn the assignment.

They’d only managed to complicate things, of course, and in the process, Rand had had to interrogate one of the Kalee’s more lovely and unique concubines, a dark-skinned temptress whom the warlord aptly called Ebony Beauty. He had ‘interrogated’ her for hours, leaving them both happily sated. Rand had known from first sight that she was no native, but at first he’d thought she was Klingon. One touch of her smooth, silky skin had put that to rest. And further touching of her smooth silky skin had opened his heart in a way it had never been opened before.

Tomor smiled to himself, an eager leer claiming his features. He relaxed, lighting a long, thick cigar of Rigellian, anticipating a lovely, protracted reunion with no irritating assignment in his way.

The reception was going well. Everyone was pleasant and cordial – even the Vulcans. But then, Jim thought, circumstances are more congenial than the last time we ferried the Federation’s ambassadors to Babel. Spock and Sarek are even speaking to one another.

The captain circulated among the dignitaries, noting with mild annoyance that the Haven delegation was what they would no doubt consider fashionably late. He also noted with some surprise that Jole Costain and Scotty seemed to be avoiding each other. He had thought the two engineers would get along famously.

With nothing demanding his attention or intervention, Jim felt perfectly free to have a quiet chat with Dr. Han; not only about the status of the play she was directing, but about the unusually sweet smile on her face.

Ruth chose a demure gown in a subdued shade of peach and did her hair in a soft chignon with a braided accent. She looked, she thought, a proper Vulcan wife while not entirely submerging her own identity. Spock would be proud of her. And you can be proud of yourself, she told her reflection. She smiled at her dress-uniformed husband and held out two fingers. He nodded approval. She had considered wearing her formals, but knew that her fidgeting in the uncomfortable clothing wouldn’t have made a good first impression. And the only reason for it would‘ve been to tweak Mr. My-Son-Chose-to-Devote-His-Knowledge-to-Starfleet-Instead-of-the-Vulcan-Science-Academy anyway. Bones had told her about that conversation too, but after how Spock had reacted to her knowledge earlier, she wasn’t about to confess it.

As she and Spock made their way to the reception area, Ruth consciously strengthened her empathic shielding. There would be dozens of beings from five or six different worlds and Spock’s nervousness, despite his earlier assertion that there was nothing to be nervous about, was getting to her. She really didn’t need the aggravation of other people’s emotions on top of it. She had a fleeting thought of simply disengaging her fingers from Spock’s and heading for the nearest friendly Bones, but Spock’s stern, my wife in her head stopped her. Then he headed straight for his parents.

I’ll like his mother and respect his father, Ruth repeated in a silent mantra.

“Father, Mother,” Spock said in a strong, firm voice. The Vulcan ambassador and the lovely matron accompanying him turned and Spock subtly urged Ruth to take a step forward. “She who is my wife, Keheil Ruth Maxwell Valley ani Ramy.”

Ruth tried to smile, hoping it didn’t look like the grimace it was. “Ambassador Sarek,” she said. “Lady Amanda.”

There was a brief but awkward pause, then Sarek held out crossed arms, palms out. “You are welcome in our House, daughter,” he said.

The smile became genuine and Ruth returned the embrace with a proper bow of her head. Sarek stepped back and Amanda came forward, throwing her arms around the Antari’s shoulders in a warm, if somewhat surprising hug.

“Welcome to the family, dear,” she murmured, her voice sincerely pleased. Ruth glanced at Spock. His eyes were smiling at her.

“My wife,” Sarek cut in. Amanda settled back into a properly sedate pose, but she winked at Ruth. “We have heard much of your work Keheil,” Sarek continued. “You bring honor to our Clan.”

“Thank you – “ Ruth hesitated, glancing again at Spock, who nodded. She tried the word out. “ – Father.”

“Spock’s choice was not mine,” Sarek went on. “However, I see he chose wisely under the circumstances.”

Amanda’s smile darkened.

“Circumstances?” Ruth questioned, her own smile frozen.

“There is the matter of the claim against the Household,” Sarek intoned.

“Which has been settled, Father,” Spock put in.

“Yes, Sarek. Let it be,” Amanda added.

“Which has nothing whatever to do with me,” Ruth said to Sarek.

“Let it be, Ruth,” Spock echoed.

“Indeed?” Sarek replied, ignoring both wife and son.

“I had no place in the proceedings, or so I was told,” Ruth stated. “Therefore…”

“However, if Spock had not contracted with you…”

“Spock loves me.”

“Love is a Human emotion which…”

“Made you marry a Human!”

“You cannot know my reasons…”

“Sarek!” Amanda broke in.

“My wife, enough,” Spock said at the same time.

“My apologies,” Sarek offered diplomatically. Ruth also bared her teeth.

“And mine, Ambassador.” There was a short pause. “Husband, if I might…?”

“Indeed, my wife,” Spock said with no little relief. Ruth nodded to her in-laws and moved away as quickly as grace and tact would allow.

“Is she normally so high-strung?” Sarek asked sternly.

Spock considered couching the truth, then took a deep breath. “Yes,” he answered.

Amanda looked between father and son.

“Good,” she said.

Sulu stood against the bulkhead, watching the reception. He was on guard duty, being Chief of Security and this being an important occasion. He was actually glad of it; it meant he wouldn’t have to mingle and gave Jilla an excuse to stay home. Too bad Ruth wasn’t as lucky, he reflected. He’d watched her introduction to her in-laws with a great deal of sympathy and understanding. There, but for the grace of the Buddha – or Aema – no, not Aema. Anybody but Aema.

He hadn’t had to be told which of the Indiians was Ambassador Costain. He looked just like his daughter. And by the non-looks the ambassador was giving him, no one had to tell him that the Chief of Security was his daughter’s – what? Paramour? Seducer?

Husband, Sulu answered his thoughts firmly, and his fingers touched the band of silver on his left hand.

He must have been staring at Costain because the Indiian suddenly turned directly toward him. Sulu felt himself flush but met the older man’s eyes.

Only to be seared by cold, grey lasers.

“Jesus god!” Sulu murmured in heartfelt trepidation. It must be an Indiian talent, he decided when coherent thought – other than the fear for his own life – was again possible, to be able to look through someone and still leave scorch marks.

“You enjoyin’ yourself, Scotty?” McCoy asked as cheerfully as he could, considering that he’d been in his dress uniform for several hours and could look forward – though he wasn’t – to several more.

“I am not,” Scott replied dourly. “I can tell ye I’ll be glad when we drop the lot o’ them off at Babel.”

“Something wrong?” the doctor wanted to know..

“That Sassenach from Indi,” the engineer growled. “I tell ye, if I had a bonnie lassie like Jilla for my bairn, I’d not…”

“Ah, I see,” McCoy interrupted.. “You’re talking about Jole Costain.”

“And who else?” the Scotsman returned belligerently.

“It’s their religion,” McCoy tried to soothe. “We don’t understand…”

“I understand the man’s a heartless…”

“Scotty, he has his reasons…”

“Ah, what do ye care, McCoy?” Scotty muttered derisively. “You don’t like the lass.”

Before McCoy could protest, Scott had stormed away from him.

Scott was brooding and he knew it. It wasn’t good for the mission and it wouldn’t be good for Jilla, he knew, but he couldn’t help himself. He’d so respected Costain, even liked him at first. But to deny a sweet, lovely child like Jilla, to call her non-existent… It was too cruel, too unbelievable that a man would deny his own flesh. And such a one to be proud of! Scott was no longer a young man. He knew it. His passion was engines and he was all too aware he might never have children. It was a lonely prospect, but one he accepted. He worked off his paternal instincts with those young officers he’d most like to call his own. Jock Thompson had been one, as was Noel DelMonde; Jilla was another. It was a bitter thing to see a man cast off what he himself wanted so much.

You’re wrong, McCoy, he thought to himself. I understand Costain’s religion. Have I not seen Jilla suffer with it? Have I not seen the tears she hides in the tool crib? Was I not the one to touch her small, pale hand when she came back from that hellish ceremony on Indi? Poor Jilla, poor wee bairn…

And it wasna her fault, that’s the most galling thing of all! Does the man not know that? Can he not make an exception in his stiff-necked righteousness? It wasna her fault, Lord, it wasna her fault!

Scott grumbled furiously, helplessly and left the reception area. He didn’t even make his usual last check of Engineering before going to his cabin, a straight scotch or two, and bed.

“That isn’t sweet, James,” Jade said placidly to Jim’s comment. “That’s vapid.” And she smiled again.

Jim shook his head. “Your native export,” he stated.

“It’s a religious practice,” Jade explained. Then, to Jim’s puzzled expression, added, “I practice it religiously.”

“Ah,” Jim said, and wisely added nothing else. When it became obvious that Jade would float back into oblivion if he let her, he asked, “How’s the play coming?”

“Oh,” Jade replied with a sweet – vapid – smile, “about as I expected.”

“That bad?” Jim chuckled.

The smile stayed plastered on the doctor’s features, and her voice kept the same, slightly sing-song tone. “Worse”

“Want me to give them a captainly talk?”

“Gods no, that will only make them more difficult.” This, Jim noted, was also said in the same soft lilt as the rest of her conversation.

“I could order them flogged just for you, Jade,” he suggested.

The smile became a touch brighter. “Would you?”

“It would be in character, don’t you think?”

“As little as possible in this condition, James.” She seemed to pause for a moment. “Ah yes. Your character.”

“When do we tell the rest of the cast?”

“Dress rehearsal,” she answered, then frowned. “James, you’re making me think.”

“Forgive me Jade,” he apologized. “How unaccountably callous of me. Shall I go away now?”

“Yes, I think I’d like that,” she murmured. Then she reached out, touching his cheek. “But not too far?”

Jim flushed. “Of course not, Doctor,” he said gallantly. The woman is stoned, he thought as he moved away from her. To the gills.

Uhura escorted the Haven delegation to the reception. She had actually volunteered for the duty, more then anxious to see Tomor.

“So nice to see you again, Beauty,” the ambassador said. “Though I confess I miss the nose ring.”

The communications officer smiled graciously. “The shisofa suited you, too. I trust you got a better quality translator.”

“I don’t think I’ll be needing one,” Gage replied without a hint of discomfort. “Unless you and Rand have developed your own little love language.”

“We don’t do much talking, Boss,” Rand put in with a wide grin.

Uhura’s returned expression held more than a little sensuality. The lieutenant had been diplomatically polite to the other members of Gage’s staff, but she was really hoping that both her and Tomor’s presence at the reception would prove to be unnecessary. They had almost reached the mess when the door to a turbolift opened and Daffy Gollub stepped out. Before Uhura could react, the chemist uttered a shocked “Eeek!” then pivoted around and dashed back into the car and disappeared with the closing of the doors.

Gage chuckled, shaking his head. “Dear Groupie,” he said. “It’s nice to see she hasn’t changed.”

Uhura glanced at Tomor. She had thought Gollub hadn’t been spotted on Kelincar. The handsomely muscled Haven shrugged. “I’ll explain later, Beauty.”

“I’m not sure I want you to,” she murmured back.

Rand grinned. The young Haven woman who had been introduced as Selli Oran snickered. The slaver who the crew of the Enterprise had run into before muttered, “Ah, true love.” The final member of the delegation, Lita Monolem, frowned at Gage.

The ambassador simply announced, “Straighten up,” and the door to the reception hall hissed open.

Sulu came to attention when the door opened. Under normal circumstances he would have returned to ‘at ease’ status after the delegation had passed. Instead, his mind went blank, his eyes stared, his throat went completely dry. Daffy’s words echoed in his brain, making sudden terrible sense as the Haven ambassador turned his head and winked at him.

Bones had grabbed Ruth by the elbow as she tried to storm out of the room and swung her around, placing something tall, cold, and alcoholic into her hand. “New daddy givin’ you problems?” he asked brightly.

“New daddy’s gonna be late daddy if he keeps it up,” Ruth growled. “And Spock wants me to respect him. I’ll give him a mouthful of respect…”

McCoy chuckled and patted her on the shoulder. She sighed, resting her head briefly on his shoulder. “I know that as Vulcans go he’s considered a liberal, fair, reasonable, honest good man,” she said, “but he disapproves of everything Spock does and I’m just not capable of putting up with it.” She paused, lowering her voice. “Remember in the shuttle when he thought you were his father?”

“I’m not likely to forget it, Ruthie,” McCoy replied just as quietly.

“If it weren’t for what it would do to the man I love, I’d be very tempted to tell the ambassador all about it.”

“Think it would do any good?” the doctor wondered skeptically.

“Who knows? I just want him to know what his son really thinks of him.” She took a long swallow of her drink, then brightened, allowing the warm glow to spread out from her stomach. “Amanda’s nice, though.”

“Glad to hear it,” McCoy returned heartily.

Ruth grinned at him, and the expression froze on her face as she saw the elegantly dressed, bearded man who had just entered the room. She felt her eyes widen to the point where they nearly dropped out of her head. Had her vocal chords been operational, she might have croaked out something about her past returning to haunt her. Instead, she stepped away from McCoy, moving cautiously across the room until she found the bulkhead against which Sulu was standing at rigid attention.

“Gage,” she squeaked at him in a barely audible whisper.

“Gage Gage,” he whispered back.

Jim almost went over to ask Ruth and Sulu why they and Lieutenant Gollub reacted so – strongly – to the Haven ambassador. But a delegate claimed his attention and he let it slip his mind.

The reception was the bore Coron had feared it would be. And he really hated seeing that – several impolite expletives come readily to mind – Kirk. It was damned embarrassing. And Rand wasn’t about to let him forget the incident. He really hated Rand as well. And the Monolems, who were ruining his business. Leave it to the Emperor to cave in to the pressure of the CEO, he thought sullenly. If the slavers had a bigger say in Imperial business than the dealers and traders…

He stood scowling at the punch bowl, trying to at least appear as nonchalant as was expected of Havens. Its contents were nothing more exciting than fruit juice and sparkling water and Coron hated that, too.

“Bored as I am, Captain?” came Selli Oran’s sultry voice in his ear.

“More,” he replied.

“We could liven things up,” she suggested.

Coron stared at the beautiful woman, recalling their whispered, under-the-covers conversation of several nights before. It was a smug thought: he’d gotten what Gage wanted. “Now?” he asked.

“Why not?” she replied smoothly. “Everyone’s busy with this charade, there’s only minimum staff on duty.”

Coron considered. “True,” he said slowly.

“No one will miss the junior members of the Haven delegation.”

“No. Least of all the senior members.”

“Gage is too busy trying to make some scores.”

“And Monolem’s too busy watching Gage.”

“While Rand only has eyes for.”

“What better time?”

Selli grinned. “And if anyone does notice, we can confess our torrid affair.”

“Beautiful, Selli,” Coron acknowledged with a small bow. The Haven woman giggled.

“Thank you, Captain.”

Arm in arm, they slipped past the crowd and out of the reception hall.

“Is this the last one?

“Yeah. We’ve covered every deck but VIP territory.”

“How soon will it take effect?”

“As I recall, only a few hours. Unrefined zenite gas is nearly as potent as some of our better products.”

“Oh goodie. Can we watch?”

“Not if we want our alibi to hold oxygen.”

“Captain, are you suggesting…?”

“Let’s go to bed, Selli.”

“At ease, Admiral,” Gage greeted the generic yellow-shirted drone in the turbo-lift without bothering to look at him. He’d found that addressing these stuffed shirts by the wrong rank did a lot to take the air out of them.

Instead of laughing or making some feeble attempt at normal conversation, this one stiffened up even more. It faced carefully away from him, clearing its throat in a manner that was as uncomfortable as it was strangely familiar.

Frowning, Gage stepped forward so he could look into its round, chocolate colored eyes. “Do I know you?”

Apparently giving in to the fact that it was not possible to achieve invisibility from less than a meter away in an otherwise empty ‘lift car, Chekov turned and faced the Haven resolutely. “No, sir,” he replied firmly in accordance to the agreement that had been made. “No, sir, you do not.”

The Ambassador gave him a sour smile in memory of their misadventures on Kelincar. “No,” he replied with equal firmness. “No, I do not.”

The Fed had the impudence to frown at him – probably for some trifling pique over being kept (rather decoratively) in a cage for a piddling few hours.

After only a few seconds of weighty silence, the lift doors opened.

“Your deck, Ambassador,” Chekov announced with icy politeness, coolly inviting him to leave his precious little metal box.

“Thank you, entirely unknown and insignificant Federation flunkie,” Gage replied loftily, exiting before tossing over his shoulder, “I liked you better as a girl.”

Late the next day – he never had been a morning person – Gage followed the sound of familiar voices and found himself in a very full briefing room. No one seemed to notice his presence. He didn’t actually mind that; he was a student of humanoid nature. It was a big help in his business to know his customers. Their interactions always gave him a clue as to what in his stock would appeal to their appetites.

Take the couple to my left, he commented to himself, though if they’re really coupling Spike has a lot of explaining to do to her new hubby. She and Cajun had been exploding at one another at least once every ten minutes for the half hour Gage had been watching them. Their bickering – when it wasn’t about the upcoming performance – seemed centered around their former relationship, her present relationship, and his lack of sympathy over her in-laws. From this, Gage knew exactly what they needed. Cajun was a fan of sapphire, and he would appreciate some calming numbness. And dear Lady Spike could certainly use her taste for venus to relieve her tension; and he could present it as a wedding gift for her and her no doubt nowhere-near-her-speed Vulcan husband.

He didn’t see Groupie or Gypsy, and Corsair, Jet, Whirlwind, and Dragonfly were never really steady customers. But Kam was there. Ah, dear, dear Kam, Gage sighed. It hasn’t been that long, has it? Of course, on Naois you weren’t interested in your usual. And I do have quite a loss to make up on you. The Haven studied the young Human with a practiced eye. You seemed so nervous last night, lover. Amber’s good for easing that kind of strain. You forget what you have to be anxious about and just concentrate on what you like to do. Gage shivered. I’ll always be grateful to Cal for training that marvelously imaginative mind of yours - though for abso-fucking-lutely not-a-gods-damned thing else. And I hope the sick-fuck rots in Saford's Hell.

He smiled to himself and casually strode over to the play’s director, an elegant, beautiful, TerAsian native of Rigel he’d been introduced to at the reception; Dr. Jade Han. She was sitting on the edge of the stage, smoking a pipe of Rigellian. Good vintage by the aroma. And she’d been imbibing the previous evening as well. He quickly ran through his inventory in his head. Yes, he had a plentiful enough supply…

“Good morning, Dr. Han,” he said urbanely.

She slowly glanced up. “Mr. Ambassador,” she replied sweetly.

“You’re doing a fine job here,” he told her, having to raise his voice above the raucous ranting and raving going on behind him.

“Am I? How very nice of you to lie,” she replied. She smiled, then screeched at the top of her lungs; “SHUT UP!” and calmly turned back to him. “The children get a little rowdy,” she confessed.

He chuckled. “So I noticed. Would you be terribly offended if I offered my services?”

Her eyes moved blatantly over him. “Services?” she repeated with more than a hint of suggestion.

The chuckle became outright laughter. “I meant of a pharmaceutical nature, Doctor.” He paused, giving her thin, sweater-and-skin-tight-slacks clad body a thorough visual going over. “But we can, of course, discuss – other things.”

A light of understanding dawned in her eyes. “Ah, you’re that Gage. Is that why some of the children seem a little anxious?”

“A legend in my own time,” Gage returned. “How flattering.” He gave a slight bow. “But, to business. Can I interest you in something to calm your nerves during this trying period?”

She looked at her pipe, then back at him. There was a wry grin trying to find its way to her lips. “I’m afraid I only use herbs. Chemicals can be very damaging to the psyche. And Haven chemicals can be unpredictable in other races.” She leaned forward. “I’m a psychologist, you know. I’ve had experience.”

“I’m sure you have,” he murmured, not at all talking about pharmaceuticals.

Her laughter sounded only slightly suggestive. “Thank you for your concern anyway, Mr. Ambassador.”

“Lane, please.”

“All right. Lane.”

“And I may call you…?”

“Tonight. At twenty-two hundred.” She smiled again. “Jade.”

He smiled back. “Jade,” he said, and bent, kissing the doctor’s hand.

With a sigh, she finished her pipeful, then rose, turning to the performers.

“Break’s over, ladies and gentlemen,” she called. “Let’s get back to work.” She briefly turned her attention back to the Haven. “Good day, Lane.”

“Good day, dear Jade.” He went back to the door, listening and waiting. Sex was almost as good as a score.

“Cajun, they tell me you’re a poet.”

Noel DelMonde stopped abruptly at the sound of the familiar voice. He was nursing a headache as it was; he wasn’t too surprised at hallucinations as well. He turned, fully expecting to find the corridor outside the rehearsal room to be empty, and found instead his Haven dealer standing in front of him.

“Shee-it!” he breathed and felt his mind stinging with the sudden inrush of eager, greedy emotion. Shield yourself ‘fore you lose it completely, the trained part of him warned.

Gage grinned at him – could it really be Gage? – and said, “So how’s your control these days, my friend?”

Del closed his eyes. “Jus’ fine,” he grunted through his teeth.

“Yes, I can see how fine,” the Haven replied wryly. “I also see that you and Spike aren’t as – friendly – as you were on Naois.”

Del shuddered. He didn’t want to remember that leave; the intensity, the need, especially not the visions. “She married,” he said dully.

“She needs venus,” Gage answered. ‘And what are you in need of, Cajun?”

A deep breath got the throbbing in Del’s head under control. “Rien from you,” he managed, and went on quickly before Gage’s incredulous stare found a voice. “Got my own supply. A legal one.”

The Haven’s face lit up. “I’m so glad for you, my friend,” he said, and clapped a amiable hand to Del’s shoulder. “You do realize that in my present position I can assure you of a continuing, highest-quality…”

Del shut out the words and tried to walk away. The hand on his shoulder tightened.

“It doesn’t look to me like you’ll make it through your duty shift,” Gage murmured. “On the house for…”

“No!” Del roared. Thunder crashed in his brain and he stalked almost blindly down the corridor. Not on duty, he told himself fiercely. Never on duty.

Jim heard the shout and quickened his pace, but when he rounded the curve of the corridor, he only saw Ambassador Gage ruefully shaking his head after the tense, obviously distraught figure of Noel DelMonde. He headed toward the Haven to ask about the strange effect the ambassador seemed to be having on certain crew members, but the intent was swept away as he was stopped at the turbolift by Jole Costain. It was half an hour before he actually got into the car.

Spock stood in the captain’s office, patiently listening to the most long-winded, repetitive, unnecessary diatribe of, he was certain, his entire life.

You are the First Officer of this ship, he reminded himself with some irritation. You should not allow your thoughts to drift to other subjects when your captain is tirading at you. With some difficulty he focused on Jim’s words.

“…Costain is the most… If I take his demands seriously, what next? Sulu’s public execution?”

To the best of Spock’s recollection, Jim was describing the encounter with the Indiian ambassador, who wished the Chief of Security removed from duty. Sulu’s very presence, Costain maintained – although he did not, of course, actually mention the Lieutenant Commander’s name – offended the moral sensibilities of the Indiian delegation. As captain of the vessel and host to the ambassadors and their parties, it was Jim’s responsibility to see that the delegation’s needs were met.

It was perfectly understandable from an Indiian point of view. Spock found himself wondering how much worse Costain’s reaction would be had he knowledge of the helmsman’s recent in flagrante delicto – then had to stifle the sudden urge to tell him

“…supposed to be a tolerant people!” Jim was ranting. “They can just tolerate this. I’m not about to run my ship on the whims of…”

Spock suppressed a sigh. Jim had a valid point as well. Why he was giving the matter such unnecessary attention was something Spock could not quite fathom. Especially as he had serious concerns of his own, which the captain - my friend - hasn’t even noticed, much less addressed. He had known there would be difficulty in the meeting between Ruth and Sarek, but he had expected it to come from Ruth. While most of her protests during their discussion of the event in the privacy of their cabin later in the evening – and on and on into the wee hours of the morning – had been illogical and superfluous, she had been correct in at least one respect: Sarek had started it. She had been properly respectful, even to the point of calling him ‘Father.’

“… on the basis of merit and duty rotation, not because some diplomat finds his lifestyle personally…”

Spock forced his attention back to Jim’s voice. “Yes, Captain,” he said, simply because he knew he should say something, “but it is Indiian religion.”

Jim frowned and went on. “And this is a Federation starship, not an enclave for the Indiian code of ethics. Mrs. Majiir’s his daughter, you’d think he’d bend a little for…”

Foolish assumption, Spock thought grimly. Parents do not bend for their children. My father will not so much as sway. He must find some way to disparage whatever I do. I choose the most beautiful, most accomplished, most talented, most compassionate, most perfect of mates: a scientist, a healer, and he disapproves!

“… and if he thinks I’m going to put a mark like that on a fine officer’s record out of some cock-eyed belief…”

I am a man, fully grown, I make my own future. I need not explain or justify what I am or what I do. I considered my choice most carefully, I weighed all the factors, including ones he would deny.

“…can’t bow to that kind of pressure, not even from an ambassador. What if every civilian that came on board thought he could dictate…”

She is a telepath, our minds are eminently compatible. She has the fortitude and stamina required to withstand both the mental and physical rigors of The Time. As she proved. And he owes her a debt of gratitude for that – unless he wished to see me dead.

“…Starfleet can’t seriously expect us to kowtow to every far-fetched request…”

How can he not approve? How dare he not approve?! All Vulcan will see her worth when the Time comes again and he…!

“Spock, you’re not listening to me,” the captain pouted.

“Indeed,” Spock replied, his thoughts still angry and self-absorbed.

“Indeed?!” came Jim’s stunned response.

“You have repeated yourself nearly interminably.”

“Because you’re not listening!”

“You have obviously made up your mind to ignore Ambassador Costain’s request,” Spock pointed out. “Why do you continue to harangue about it?”

“Because it’s… it’s…” Jim sputtered.

“Precisely.”