Could Mohammed Move a Mountain?

“Uh, Mr. Scott,” Lieutenant Judith Miller said quietly.

Scotty looked up from the circuit panel he’d been examining. Judy jerked her head toward the engineering room door. Her Chief followed the motion and glowered fiercely as he caught sight of Costain and a troop of Indiians. He slapped the tools he was using into Judy’s hand and stalked toward the intruders.

Costain began glowing before Scott said a word. The engineer was struck momentarily by the similarity to Jilla’s reactions, then angrily shrugged off such comparisons.

“You’re not welcome here, Mr. Ambassador,” Scott growled. “I’m short-handed and you’re in the way.”

“I am an engineer,” Costain retorted. “You have implied that my presence was welcome here.”

“Aye, was. You’re a diplomat, sir, not a working technician, and your presence could prove dangerous to the functioning of this ship. My job…”

“Has nothing to do with this!” Costain shouted.

“I’ll thank ye not to tell me my duty!” Scott answered, equally loudly.

“I’ll thank you not to lie so blatantly to an Indiian, Lieutenant Commander!”

“Now look who’s complainin’ about lies!”

“I do not…!”

“She’s your flesh, man, and a finer lass couldna be found…”

“She is gone!”

“Ye do na deserve t’be her father!”

“You do not comprehend…!”

“And if ye don’t get out of my engine room, I’ll throw ye out myself!”

“You can try!”

“At your request, sir!” Scotty bellowed gleefully and swung his balled fist at the ambassador’s jaw.

Costain returned the blow. His aides rushed to defend him, as Scotty’s subordinates raced to their Chief. Security was alerted and it took only moments until the Chief of that section arrived with a team to quell the brawl.

How do I explain this to Jilla? Sulu wondered as Dr. Sanchez began applying bandaging spray to his multiple cuts, scrapes and bruises. Hi, hon, your dad and a few of his friends tried to kill me. No, that’s not the way to put it. How about I was just doing my job and I walked into a riot that decided to run over me? Damn, I hurt.

Sanchez was tsking at him for taking part in a brawl he was supposed to be stopping. Sulu bore the unjust lecture in miserable silence. At least it wasn’t McCoy; McCoy was busy trying to find out who started it. Or Han, with her smirk and ‘penance, Mr. Sulu.’

Sulu was pretty sure he knew who had started it, even though both Mr. Scott and Ambassador Costain were obstinately silent. Costain’s aides and the Engineering staff blamed each other. And since everyone was obviously the injured party, no one could prove their claim one way or another. All Sulu had first-hand knowledge of was that Costain had radiated sheer delight at being able to deck his son-in-not-exactly-law. And that Sulu himself had shown remarkable, even superhuman restraint in not striking back.

Of course, he’d been jumped by the other Indiians before he could.

He wasn’t thrilled about having to make a report to the captain either, and sighed inwardly when McCoy returned and called Kirk’s office.

When the com signaled, Jim turned from staring at his First Officer, wondering what had gotten into the Vulcan, and slammed his hand down on the com’s switch.

“What?” he snapped.

“McCoy,” came the drawled yet somehow chastising reply. “You want to get down to Sickbay and help me sort this all out? Seems there’s been a fracas in Engineering. I’ve got the casualties with me. And,” he added, “one of those casualties is a certain ambassador’s dignity.”

Sarek’s at it again, Jim thought disdainfully, remembering the last time his ship had been invaded by the Federation’s elite. And Vulcans are supposed to be peace-loving. He sighed. “We’re on our way, Bones.” He closed the com. “Come on, Spock.” He bit back his annoyance when his First Officer frowned but turned dutifully to follow him.

“It’s working,” Selli whispered happily to Coron as Captain Kirk stomped past them. He was followed closely by the Vulcan who, Selli noted, was a little greener than usual.

Coron motioned her to the side of the corridor, pulled her into an embrace, and whispered back, “So it is, my dear.”

They had spent the morning touring the Federation ship, both more than pleased with what they’d seen. Zenite gas heightened aggressive behavior and there had been plenty of evidence of its effects among the crew. The Federates were growing irritable, easily distracted from duty, downright nasty in some cases. Emotions were on the tense side and the two Havens were satisfied with their work.

“We’d better get back to clean, fresh air,” Coron said, “before it starts to affect us.”

“Good idea,” Selli replied. “Our illustrious leader’s spending a lot of time with the Feds. Maybe I’ll soothe his fevered brow when he comes home.”

“You do and you’ll regret it,” Coron growled.

“Before it starts to affect us?” Selli giggled.

Coron stared stubbornly at her for a few moments, then took a deep breath – not that that’s gonna do much good here, he reminded himself. “Right,” he told his co-conspirator. “Let’s go.”

“Alright, what happened?” Jim demanded as he stepped into Sickbay. The eyes of Ambassador Costain, the Indiian delegates, the Chief Engineer, six members of the Engineering section, the Chief of Security and half a dozen of its members, and doctors McCoy and Sanchez turned to him, but no one said a word. He waited for a short count of five, then said, more loudly, “Well?!”

McCoy, Scott, Sulu and the Security officers all started talking at once.

“Shut up, all of you!” McCoy barked, then turned to the captain. “All I know, Jim, is Security dragged the Indiian delegation…”

“Indiian? Not Sarek?” Jim broke in.

“And why would you assume my father was involved?” Spock asked frostily. Jim turned on him.

“Why? Well, let me think, Spock. The last time he was on board my ship he threw a Tellurite into a bulkhead, was accused of murder, I was damn near stabbed to death…”

“My father was only defending himself from an unprovoked...”

“Since when are you so buddy-buddy with your Daddy?” McCoy interrupted.

Jim turned on him. “Shut up!”

“My fath—“

“Shut up both of you! That’s an order! Or does everyone in this room want to spend a month in the brig?”

“What did I…?” Sulu began.

Jim glared at his insubordinate subordinate.

“Yes, sir, Captain, sir,” the Security Chief subsided.

“Now,” Jim began again, “Will someone tell me what the hell is going on here?”

Sulu took a deep breath. “Security was called to break up an – altercation – between the Engineering staff and the Indiians. They aren’t saying who started it.”

“They did,” a sullen Dav Miller muttered.

Jim scowled. “And just how did you come to be here, Mister?” he demanded of Sulu.

Sulu’s glance dropped to the deck. “I – uh – I had to break it up, sir.”

“I see.” Jim turned to Scotty. “Mr. Scott?”

“I was brawlin’ Captain, and I’ll take my medicine…” He glared at Costain. “…but I’ll not apologize to that… heathen!”

“Heathen?!” Costain burst out. “If you want heathens, Captain…” He pointed an accusing finger at Sulu. Sulu looked ready to jump off the examination table and throw the Indiian under it.

“Not that again!” Jim roared. “You’re all – “ He managed to stop himself before calling the Indiians insane and thus forestalled a major diplomatic incident, but the temptation to give them all a good piece of his mind remained strong within him. “Ambassador,” he managed, “I’d appreciate it if you would confine yourself and your aides to areas of the ship reserved for the delegates. Mr. Scott, you’re on report and the rest of your staff will be assigned extra duty. Mr. Sulu, I’ll speak to you later. I do not, repeat do not want this incident, or any like it, happening again. Is that clear?”

The chorus of “yes, sirs” from his people was slow in coming, but come it did. The Indiians glared daggers, a half-dozen silver-skinned beings glowing angrily at him as Costain gave his snarled agreement. Jim resisted the urge to start the brawl all over again as he exited to the safety of the corridor.

“You going to lunch?” Daffy called as Ruth prepared to leave the chemistry lab.

“Yeah, so?” the Antari challenged.

“So good,” the chemist replied in a muttered snarl.

“What’s it to you?” Ruth demanded, irritated at Daffy’s tone.

“You’ve been a barracuda all morning,” came the snarling retort.

Ruth bared her teeth. “Barracuda’s somebody else,” she said.

“Not today,” Gollub told her. “Go away, paskudne.”

“With pleasure.”

Ruth stomped out of the lab, wishing one could slam starship doors. All they ever did was hiss. Of course, that could be fitting, too. She turned and hissed loudly at the one behind her, then grinned and started down the corridor. She’d only gone a few steps when she saw Gage. She briefly contemplated turning and running, but bravely went on, deciding to ignore him instead. Unfortunately, he didn’t ignore her.

“Been waiting for you, Spike,” the Haven murmured.

“Still hurting from our last encounter?” Ruth wondered acidly. She was hoping Gage would wince at the memory of having to pay a nice percentage of the quarter up he’d bet against Roy’s life – and then leave her alone.

Instead, he smiled deprecatingly. “You win some you lose some,” he acknowledged. “It was a fair wager.” His voice dropped to a intimate level. “I do hope you aren’t hurting from our last encounter.”

Ruth shuddered, but stated coldly, “I’m no aphrodite, Gage.”

“Of course not,” he agreed. “Just a hit or two, now and then. Nothing to worry about, I’m sure.” He smiled. “Otherwise, I wouldn’t even suggest it.”

“Not in the mood, Mr. Ambassador.”

“But you’re still on your honeymoon, yes? Consider it a wedding present.”

“It isn’t one my husband would appreciate.”

“You never know until you try,” Gage said with another persuasive smile.

“I do,” Ruth assured.

“It will ease the stress you’re under.”

“What stress?”

The Haven regarded her conspiratorially. “Come on now, Spike. Cajun, the play, your in-laws…”

“Go to hell,” she whispered in the same tone.

“Spike! Is that any way to talk to a fellow Federation citizen? Especially one whose only concern is for your happiness?

“And your profit, Citizen Haven.”

“Now it’s xenophobia? Really, Lady, you injure me. I did say it would be a present, didn’t I?”

“Why, so you did, Ambassador,” Ruth returned with a false show of chagrin. Then she again bared her teeth. “Still not interested,” she said, and pushed her way past him.

Gage swore softly. At this rate, he’d never close a deal. The damnedest thing was that they wanted it. I know they want it, he repeated to himself. Why can’t I convince them? Where’s my charm, my instincts? Damn! I’ll have to try harder.

It had taken Sarek several hours of solitary meditation to achieve the proper state of mind regarding his son’s wife. He had come to realize, as Amanda had pointed out, that he had, indeed, ‘started it.’ It had not been out of malicious intent, although he was certain the young woman interpreted it as such. He had merely thought to convey to her the gravity of the situation surrounding her marriage. It had not occurred to him that Spock might have already discussed with his wife whatever he felt necessary Sarek had also come to realize that he had not, as yet, truly accepted Spock’s new role and responsibilities. The young woman – Ruth, daughter, she-who-is-wife-to-my-only-son – was Spock’s to deal with, not his. Spock was grown and a man, a husband though not yet bonded. And Sarek, after long thought, understood that his influence as Head of the Household must cease. Amanda would be pleased.

At that moment, the door to their assigned cabin burst open. Sarek was aware, of course, that the door itself had behaved in its usual manner; it was Amanda’s agitated emotions that gave the action its vehemence.

“The behavior of the crew of this ship,” his wife announced loudly, “has deteriorated markedly since we were last here!”

Sarek tried to reform his shattered calm. “Indeed,” he replied, attempting to be neutral. Amanda glared at him.

“And I’m not talking about Spock!” she nearly screeched.

He gave up his peaceful mental state. “Of course not, Amanda. I did not mean to imply…”

“Oh yes you did!”

Sarek stiffened. “We will discuss this when you are more composed…” he began.

“Sarek Sepaklrn Xtmprosqzntwlfd, don’t you dare walk away from me!”

She was so close to hysteria that Sarek began to worry. There must be more wrong than Human emotionalism.

“My wife, forgive me,” he said as soothingly as he could. “I had not realized the seriousness of your distress.”

She seemed mollified. “That’s better,” she replied. He crossed the room, taking her hands in his.

“What troubles you, my wife?”

“Nothing.”

If Vulcans ever screamed in exasperation, Sarek would have.

“And everything,” Amanda rejoined, then added miserably, “oh Sarek, I don’t know!”

Maintaining admirable calm, Sarek drew his wife toward the bed, sitting her down on it. “Tell me of it,” he coaxed.

Amanda sighed, closing her eyes. “I was taking a walk in the recreation area, knowing you needed the time to meditate,” she began. “Normally it’s such a peaceful place, but…” she paused. “Everyone I passed was arguing or fighting, even the on-duty personnel. It just isn’t like Jim Kirk’s ship!” Her voice had become more strident and Sarek again took her hands.

“Most unusual,” he said thoughtfully. Amanda had grown used to a reserved environment; it did not surprise him that she would be so affected by such discord. However, it was unlike her to be so emotionally agitated herself. Her usual reaction to being disturbed in such a fashion was more logical. “Perhaps,” he suggested, prepared for an angry rebuke, “Spock’s marriage has had an adverse effect on your…”

“Oh, really!” she exclaimed.

“Perhaps not.”

She sighed again. “Sarek, I have a headache.”

“Lie down and rest, my wife. It may simply be the strain of the journey.”

“It is not me!” Amanda insisted. “The crew is behaving oddly!”

“Yes, of course, but you are overwrought. Rest.”

“Sarek…”

“Rest, Amanda.”

She frowned, but did as he commanded. When the scowl on her face relaxed, Sarek permitted himself a brief smile and touched his fingers to her temple. He could feel the tension ebbing from her body and wondered at the cause. The journey, or – despite her protestations, her son’s marriage. There was seemingly no other possibility.

“NOT THE BUDDHA!”

Jilla pivoted, the statue in her upraised hands, her face a mask of glowing fury. Sulu dived to catch the falling sculpture as Jilla let out a howl of frustration.

“I love you, woman, but my mother gave me this and I’ll…” He clutched the rescued statue defensively to his chest. He’d had a bad day and he didn’t need this. A man should come home to… anything but this, he thought, almost too stunned to be angry. His cabin was in shambles. Ripped clothing and sheets were thrown on the bed. There were pieces of what used to be ceramics of some kind all over the carpeted floor. The desk was a trash heap of data disks, drafting tools, spilled coffee and replicator remains. And the deck glittered at odd places…

With a soul-wrenching thud, Sulu realized that the glittering was from Jilla’s dylithium jewelry. She threw that? he shuddered. Does she have any idea how much that costs?

“What the hell’s wrong with you?” he thundered.

Jilla stared at him for a fraction of a second, then dissolved into hysterical tears. The sight only aggravated Sulu’s already foul mood, but he carefully put the Buddha on the deck and went to enfold her in what he hoped she would feel was a loving if exasperated embrace. “What happened?” he said, trying to keep his voice from being too harsh.

“I… it is not… I do not… oh Sulu…” she wailed, clutching at him so tightly he could hardly breathe.

His irritation strengthened with her incoherency, until it was replaced by pain as her fingers began to dig into his back..

“OW!” he shouted, pulling sharply away.

“I’m sorry!” she shrieked back, then burst into renewed weeping.

“Will you just tell me what’s…”

“I don’t know!”

“Damnit, something had to…”

Abruptly Jilla began beating on him. “Do not say that!”

“Say what?” Sulu roared.

“Damn!”

“Oh for the love of… all right, Jilla, stop hitting me. Stop it. Will you just please… Stop it, da—-stop it!”

She didn’t stop. She was so frenzied she couldn't stop. and Sulu reacted with the only thing he could think of. He grasped her wrists, pulled her toward him, and kissed her.

It was more like crashing lips, but it worked. At least partially. She was still bruising and scratching his already bruised and scratched body, but it was infinitely more pleasurable.

She never got around to explaining what was wrong and he resigned himself to ignorance. Blissful exhaustion, vague frustration, and ignorance.

Jim woke more irritable than when he’d gone to sleep. He’d listened to McCoy’s recitation of all the incidents of spats, tiffs, shoving matches and outright fights among his crew and it had preyed on his mind all night. What was wrong with them? This mission wasn’t that tense. The Havens weren’t exactly being welcomed with open arms by Starfleet, but there was no reason for that kind of undisciplined behavior. He was the one who had to put up with the ambassadors and their delegations, but he wasn’t letting it get to him.

He grumbled several choice epithets as he got out of bed. Even Spock seemed less than controlled. Of course, with his father on board…

The com buzzed and Jim scowled at it before he answered. I don’t even get five minutes to shower, he grumbled, then thumbed the switch. “What?”

“James, dress rehearsal today,” came the soft, sweet voice of Dr. Han.

“I know,” he snapped. “I’ll be there. I said I would, didn’t I?”

“Temper, James. Just a reminder.”

“I won’t forget, Doctor.”

“I wish I could. Good morning, James.”

The intercom clicked off and Jim scowled again. Damn rehearsal. Damn play. Damn mission. He kept scowling through his shower, as he got dressed, and well into the first watch.

In the morning, Amanda was refreshed, calm and completely herself. Sarek was most pleased.

Del had a headache. Sapphire and Gage called to him, but he threw himself into a fury of writing and music and ignored the awareness of suppressed danger and ferocity that pounded against his skull – after punching Pavel Chekov in the mouth when the little charonge told him to stop torturing cats with his guitar.

Jole Costain could not understand why he had reacted so violently the day before. He was a diplomat, a statesman. He had carefully cultivated the moderated expression of his inherent emotionalism. The presence of That One should not have provoked him to such outbursts, regardless of how disturbing it was. He was determined not to lose his composure again – must not if he were to see his child before reaching Babel.

Spock woke still brooding about his father. Ruth woke still brooding about Spock. And the play. And Gage. Their morning rituals were snappish and petulant, and Ruth left swearing she’d never bring up the subject of her in-laws again. Spock went to the Bridge vowing the same thing.

“Oy god, what happened to you?” Daffy asked as Pavel Chekov stormed into her cabin with his jaw swollen and purpling.

The govniuk hit me!” Pavel growled.

“Which govniuk?” the chemist said.

“Which do you think?”

“How would I know? I don’t even know what a govniuk is.”

“Dafshka, I would appreciate some ice,” the Russian snarled at her.

“You want a drink? Now? With your mouth all…”

“I want the ice for my mouth,” he explained caustically, then muttered, “tupoumno bliatz.”

Daffy turned from the replicator, sans ice, placing her hands on her hips. “Which means?” she asked pointedly.

“Which means get me the ice, Daphne!”

“I don’t think so, zayin-boy.”

The navigator’s normally soft brown eyes hardened. “If you want to get any zayin you’ll get me the ice.”

Daffy folded her arms with a sweetly vicious smile. “And you think I can only get it from you?”

“Sooka!”

“Zevel!”

“Zatknis' na hui, shliushka!”

“That’s it!”

Daffy launched herself at her lover, all nails and teeth. Pavel fell with her to the deck, grabbing her wrists, ramming his head into her chest. She shrieked in his ear and to her surprise, he roared back. Abruptly she grabbed his head, kissing him passionately. They rolled together for quite some time, alternately hitting, biting and devouring each other’s bodies.

Jade stretched and yawned, her head still pleasantly fuzzy. She rolled over and her brain took several seconds to register that the other half of her bed was empty. A few moments more and she remembered who was supposed to be there.

“Lane?” she called softly.

“Right here, Jade,” the Haven’s voice replied.

Jade opened her eyes to see Gage standing at her dresser, carefully refilling her pipe. His handsome face turned to her.

“After all we shared last night,” he said with a smile, “I couldn’t leave you empty handed.”

“How very sweet,” Jade murmured, “but my supply is more than adequate.”

The Haven gazed at her naked figure outlined by the bed sheet. “Most definitely,” he returned. She giggled. “But it’s Haven custom. One never leaves one’s host with less than when one came.”

The doctor sighed happily. “There’s nothing ‘less’ about you, Lane.”

He came over to the bed and leaned down, taking her hand and kissing it. “My pleasure, dear lady.”

With another yawn, Jade sat up. “What day is it?” she asked. Gage looked dubious, then shrugged returning to the dresser. Jade giggled again. “I meant, how long have you been here?’

“Oh. Just the one night. So far.”

“Oh goodie.” She got up, heading for the dresser herself.

“I beg your…” Gage began.

She frowned, taking her pipe from him, then gave his cute, firm backside a healthy swat. “I only meant that I’m still on public relations hiatus for the play so I don’t have to report to Sickbay.” She returned to the bed. “Which means I can have some more Rigellian.” She lit the pipe. “Care to join me?”

“I’d like nothing better,” Gage said, “but, unfortunately, I do have duty to report for. However…” He paused, then again came over to her, this time giving her a full, deep kiss. “Let me assure you. sweet Jade, that I would never in all my life have thought such pleasure could be had out of a little Rigellian.”

Jilla was again staying home to work. Sulu shuddered at the thought of the further damage she’d do to the cabin and locked the Buddha in the safe. He took a quick shower and dressed, leaving his pouting Indiian alone with her destructiveness.

He’d gone about four meters from his door when he saw Gage. He did an about-face, but the Haven’s voice called, “Still jacketed, Kam?” and he stopped.

“Leave me alone,” Sulu snarled.

“I see you still are,” Gage returned. “As bad off as you were on Naois?”

Damn. No, don’t say that. “What the hell do you want?”

“Ah, it’s not what I want, my dear friend,” the Haven said persuasively.

Fuck not saying it. Damn hell. “It always is, Gage.”

“How hostile. I thought things were better with your Indiian.”

Damn shit hell. “They are. Leave me alone.”

“Then why the jacket, Kam? Surely I can help – as I did then.”

Damn shit hell son of a bitch bastard! Sulu turned to face the ambassador. “Listen, Gage, I’m married now…”

The Haven grinned. “That’s what Spike said.”

“You’re not gonna tell me Ruth…”

“I’ve got what you need, Kam,” Gage murmured, and it was almost sensual. “My money’s not on venus this time.”

For a moment, Sulu felt dizzy, almost as if he were going to faint. But his equilibrium returned as Gage held out an open palm. Three butter-gold capsules shimmered there.

Amber.

God, Buddha, Aema – amber.

“You haven’t been on a cruise in a long time,” Gage’s low voice was continuing. “My guess is you need it and bad.”

“No,” Sulu said, but his voice was shaking.

“Come on, Kam, I know you better than that.”

“No.” Damn, it’s so tempting…

“Cal always said you couldn’t go two weeks without…”

Gage never finished the sentence. Sulu grabbed him and slammed him up against the bulkhead. The capsules spilled to the deck.

“Don’t,” he hissed, “ever mention that name to me again, or I swear by all the gods there are I’ll break your goddamned neck.” He paused, staring fiercely into the Haven’s dark eyes. “You got me, bastard?”

Gage swallowed. “Sure, Kam, sure,” he managed. Sulu let him go, turning away. “But you still need. And I’ve got a ready supply.”

Sulu closed his eyes, refusing to look at the beckoning spots of gold on the metal beneath his feet. “I said no, Gage.”

The Haven’s voice was a vicious whisper. “You need, Kamikaze!”

“No.” God, no, I don’t...! “I don’t need it.”

“You can lie to yourself, racer, but not to me.” Gage’s hand was on his arm, almost caressing. “A good cruise would fix you right up.”

“Damn it, Haven, take no for an answer!”

The grip on his arm tightened, pulling him around. “You want it!” Gage demanded. “Why won’t you…!”