Jilla talked for hours once she got started. She spoke of her family, her upbringing and her marriage. It had been a definite love match. Ruth laughed when she heard Selar’s proposal: “I do not wish to be parted from you. Indiian custom dictates a bond which is among the most permanent known to the galaxy. I have decided it will have to do.” Unemotional indeed! Jilla’s voice had become very soft speaking of it.
Selar had been a scientist of some importance, a professor in genetic biology at the Vulcan Science Academy, and a noted researcher. He had been the Vulcan subject in the Academy text on xenopsychology, a fact which no one was supposed to know. They had met while he was on a field trip to Indi. Jilla had inherited her father’s love of starships and engineering and had already been studying to take Starfleet entrance exams when she was old enough. She and Selar had discovered a mutual interest in methodical application of theory – and in each other. Ruth kept her smile to herself; Jilla’s eyes sparkled when she spoke of him.
He’d been killed in a laboratory accident less than four years after their wedding. His parents, and most of Vulcan, apparently, had agreed that she should leave the planet. With no where else to go – and Ruth felt a huge twinge of sympathy for that fact – Jilla had applied to Starfleet. With her previous engineering training and just a little bit of dropping the Costain name, she had passed the proficiency testing for most of the first and second year classes at the Academy. A little additional work in Starfleet procedure, and she was able to graduate in two years, rather than the usual four – and managed to make that top one percent of starship-bound cadets.
Ruth listened quietly to the joy and the sorrow. She recognized Vulcan control and translated everything into what she considered normal language – yet there was a feeling about Jilla, sometimes stronger, sometimes weaker, of something being not quite right. It felt forced and hesitant, almost violently so, as though some great flood was being held in check. Ruth could sense tides of – something – straining for release, as well as the effort Jilla was putting forth to keep in back – and yet the effort itself seemed forced, as though it wanted to let the waves come, but couldn’t.
Abruptly she realized her attention had drifted. Jilla had fallen silent. She quickly looked up, ready to encourage the Indiian, but Jilla wasn’t looking at her.
“There is… something else,” she murmured, and Ruth understood that the silence had been discomfort with the ‘something else’ and not rebuke for her roommate’s inattention. “I find it – difficult to discuss,” she went on, then again was silent. Ruth waited. “I have been widowed for – some time,” she finally continued, even more softly. “One tends to take for granted certain… there are natural needs that marriage… I find myself…” Her voice became all but inaudible. “Commander Spock…”
Ruth bit her tongue, grimacing.
“He is Vulcan…” Jilla went on. “…the memories of… the memory is yet quite strong, and he…. I believe he is attempting to lessen my apprehension… but when he is… the nearness of….” Jilla swallowed in a discomfort that would have been tangible even if Ruth had not been an empath.
“I hadn’t thought of that,” Ruth replied. She ignored the Indiian’s swift glance and shocked surprise. She forced herself to go on, trusting to Jilla’s sensitivity to pick up her confession, as well as her regret. “But really, is that… I mean, I don’t know how long periods of mourning are on Indi – or on Vulcan, for that matter… and I understand that you loved your husband and all that, but… well, since you do find Mr. Spock attractive…” She grit her teeth, brazening it out. “Isn’t another man really what you need here?”
The look on Jilla’s face was horrified, outraged – and shot through with that violent, hesitant something. “Mnorinndarim are proudly monogamous,” she said, almost haughtily. “The customs concerning fidelity are strictly binding, and not only until death. Selar is my husband, Selar will always be my husband.” The pride-filled tone faded. “It is an inglorious disgrace that I should ever allow even the thought of another…” She stopped, as if only realizing she was still speaking out loud. When she continued, her voice was tight. ‘Forgive me, Ruth,” she said. “Such display of such emotion is unconscionable.”
“Hardly, “ Ruth returned. “I think it’s good for you.”
“I wish to be alone,” Jilla murmured. “Will you leave me?” the words were polite, but the Indiian’s features were grimly determined.
Ruth backed down. “Sure, Jilla,” she said. She left quickly, aware that Jilla was reaching for her lyrette. One way or another, she was going to find out what Jilla Majiir’s problem was.
Ruth had been working in the special studies lab doing routine reports when Spock entered, handing her a data tape with a request that she beta-test the new diagnostic he had been working on. It was designed to examine every process running in the computer, including all the system subroutines, to search for inefficiencies and memory leaks. She decided to take advantage of the opportunity.
“Mr. Spock?”
“Yes, Miss Valley?”
“I would like to request some computer time for personal use.”
“Personal use, Ensign?” Spock asked, his eyebrow rising.
“It’s about my roommate, Ensign Majiir,” she replied, sensing the rise in interest in his non-expression. “I think there may be something wrong with her. Bones – Dr. McCoy shares my feeling,” she added quickly as interest turned to disapproval.
“I would suggest that the Doctor run additional tests on any aspect of Mrs. Majiir’s physical condition which he finds…”
“I don’t think it’s physical,” Ruth interrupted.
The eyebrow rose again.
“I think it’s a cultural problem. There are such vast differences between Indiian and Vulcan philosophies, an inner dichotomy seems inevitable and…”
Spock sighed. “Miss Valley, while I am well aware of your nearly uncontrollable tendency to interfere in the lives of anyone you perceive of as being in need, I was under the impression that Ensign Majiir’s psychological tests were quite normal.”
Ruth frowned at, but decided not to comment on Spock’s observation. Instead, she simply pressed on with her own agenda. “For an Indiian, yes,” she conceded, “but we feel that for no effects of her undeniably Vulcan behavior patterns to be noted in her basic psychology is highly unusual and bears scrutiny.”
“Perhaps,” Spock returned. “However, it is possible for sentient beings to, at times, confine their reactions to logical ones, rather than those dictated by heredity.”
Ruth’s frown became a scowl. “In other words, she’s acting Vulcan because she made a conscious choice to do so.”
“If other words are necessary, yes.”
“Mr. Spock, is my request for computer time granted?” Ruth asked impatiently.
“Dr. McCoy feels it will be helpful?”
Ruth gazed hopefully at him. She’d gotten to him, and that had been her intention. She couldn’t quite identify the tone of voice, but if he was going to give in this easily, she wasn’t about to argue over vocal inflection. “Yes, sir.”
He paused as if considering something that had nothing to do with her request. “Very well, Ensign,” he said. “Bring the log tape to me when you are finished and I will authorize the time used."
“Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.”
Spock left the room abruptly and Ruth reminded herself that, unlike Bones, she couldn’t get away with calling after him ‘and just what are you up to?’
Yet.
Spock entered engineering, going about the normal supervisory duties of a First Officer. Ensign Majiir was carrying out normal inspection of the impulse power unit. Spock moved casually about the section, taking all the relevant readings and data. Jilla just as casually moved around the syncrotron unit, conducting the necessary tests, keeping that unit carefully between herself and him. Spock made a few not-so-casual moves. Jilla succeeded in maintaining her distance gracefully and seemingly coincidentally.
Fascinating.
“Ensign, is the syncrotron unit at full functional capacity?” Spock asked formally.
“Yes, Commander, I am completing the test series now,” she replied, matching his tone.
“R’jelnk et kl’k.” He asked for the result in Vulcan, watching for her reaction.
“N’tul, la’b, s’lt, t’va," she replied. Her voice was stiffer, less lilting, though that could be due to the nature of Vulcan pronunciation. The increase in the tension of her body, however, could not.
“Do you play chess, Mrs. Majiir?”
“Yes, Commander.” She made the transition between languages with fluent ease, but there was an unidentifiable flicker in her eyes.
“Would you honor me with a game after the watch?”
“If you wish it, Commander.” She dropped a small tool and Spock bent to retrieve it. When he handed it to her, she looked away. “Thank you, sir.”
“Carry on, Ensign.”
“Yes, sir.”
Spock was deep in thought as he left engineering. And Jilla pushed him from her mind with frantic haste.
“King’s rook to king’s level,” Spock said, moving the black chess piece. Jilla studied the board for a moment. Ruth hovered over her shoulder.
“Queen to queen’s level, check,” they said together. Jilla and Spock fixed Ruth with an almost identical stare; head tilted to one side, eyebrow rising. Nodding to herself, Ruth backed a step, her hands coming up.
“Just kibitzing,” she said apologetically.
“Kibitzing?” Jilla asked.
“It is a Yiddish word which means to offer advice on another’s work,” Spock answered.
“Yiddish?” Jilla again questioned
“A combination of the Terran Hebrew and German languages,” was Spock’s reply. “Those of Jewish descent often use idioms from it.”
Jilla nodded and returned her attention to the game board. Spock made another move.
“The bishop,” Ruth suggested, then immediately added, "sorry.”
Jilla moved the bishop.
“King’s knight to queen’s, check,” Spock responded.
“Queen’s rook to…” Ruth’s voice trailed off. “So how can I help it?” she shrugged.
“Queen’s rook to king’s level three,” Jilla conceded with a wry glance at Ruth. Spock also glanced at Ruth.
“Kah t’lz i unt roh’dr’n,” he said. “Mate in four.”
“What?” Ruth exclaimed and again leaned in to study the board. Jilla looked it over and nodded, but her eyes held the strange flickering which was becoming disturbingly frequent.
“Mate in four,” she agreed, but her voice was a toneless whisper. She stood.
“Where?” Ruth demanded.
“Ensign, are you well?” Spock asked softly. There was never much color in an Indiian’s face, but Jilla’s was losing its natural sparkle.
“Yes, Commander, I…” she closed her eyes briefly, and swayed.
“I can’t see any possible mate in four moves,” Ruth insisted. It was difficult for her to ignore Jilla’s reactions, but she was determined to find out what caused them and if Spock was doing it. She was quite prepared to read her Boss the riot act if she had to…
Spock stood and caught Jilla as she began to slump to the floor.
“Jilla!” Ruth cried out on top of Spock’s, “Miss Valley, call for Dr. McCoy.”
“NO!" The word burst with surprising vehemence from Jilla’s lips. She pulled herself away from Spock’s grasp. “I will be all right!”
Spock’s eyebrow rose. “Are you certain…” he began.
Incredibly, Jilla glared at him. “Quite certain, Commander.”
“Jilla, maybe you should let Bones have a look…” Ruth suggested hesitantly.
“That is unnecessary,” Jilla interrupted coldly.
“…or I could see…”
“No.”
“...or maybe go and lie down for a little…”
“I said I was all right!” Jilla’s words were harsh and snappish.
“All right!” Ruth answered Jilla’s hostile tone with one of her own, immediately regretting it.
A few chess pieces had fallen to the deck. Spock began retrieving them. “Ensign Valley,” he said, and Ruth knew it was a cover for his embarrassment, “would you care for a match?”
“She has already played one,” Jilla said, her voice a sarcasm-laden hiss, “and lost it.”
Spock stared at her, both eyebrows lost in his hairline. A hurt look sprang into Ruth’s eyes. Jilla blinked and shook her head.
“Forgive me, Ruth, I do not know what…” She began to sway again and Spock again reached for her arm to steady her. At the touch of his hand, she jerked violently, the undefined flicker in her eyes becoming a bright flashing. A panicked look came over her features and she pulled away, nearly racing to the rec room door. Ruth went after her.
“Jilla, what is it?” she asked beseechingly.
The Indiian was shaking. “Please, Ruth, I must leave, I cannot be in the same room with him, not as I am! Please, you must let me go!” She turned, moving swiftly down the corridor.
Ruth turned from the door and stood, hands on hips, glaring defiantly at Spock. Observation had told her nothing, therefore it was time for the direct approach.
“What did you do to her?” she demanded.
“I beg your pardon? Spock replied, genuinely confused.
“What did you say? She was fine until you said whatever it was you said!”
Spock blinked, unable to understand why he was being attacked. “Ensign Valley, I merely gave a chess move, king to queen’s level, capture. I spoke in Vulcan to foil your ‘kibbitzing’ as it seemed to be disturbing to Ensign Majiir.”
“Well, it was probably just the language,” Ruth returned, firmly ignoring the allegation that she had played any part in Jilla’s being upset. “You don’t have any idea what your reminders of down home are doing to her, do you?”
Somehow, he was still on the defensive. “Explain.”
“She lost her husband, you know!”
“Yes.” Spock waited for the explanation.
“A Vulcan husband?!”
Spock carefully reined in the sigh of exasperation. “And?”
Ruth stared at him as if he had just grown a second head. “Vulcan things remind her of him. It hurts her to be reminded of him. I know – she knows you’re only trying to help but it’s not so lay off!”
He had done enough staring for one evening, but it couldn’t be helped. “Indeed, Ensign?”
Ruth calmed herself, lowering her eyes. “Sir,” she finished.
Jilla sat nervously in sickbay. Ruth had insisted nearly hourly that she receive a check-up, finally informing her that if she didn’t allow Dr. McCoy to do so, Ruth would.
“There is nothing either you or Dr. McCoy can…” she’d said.
“Do you know what’s wrong then?” Ruth had countered. When Jilla remained silent, Ruth insisted, once again, “let’s go.”
She had avoided telling Ruth why nothing could be done. She did, indeed, know what was ‘wrong’ with her. But to admit that would entail a discussion of the details, and that she was not prepared to do. However, when it came to a choice between the Human doctor, and Ruth’s keheil abilities…
“Husband, would this abnormality be any cause for concern in an otherwise healthy Indiian?”
“No. Rest easy, my wife. Even if a qualified physician knew what to look for, and could make the necessary correlations with the Vulcan endocrine system, there would be very little in the way of evidence he could produce to prove his theory.”“It will appear in increasing quantity in your bloodstream as The Time nears, but it resembles almost identically a naturally occurring, if somewhat rare, abnormality of the Indiian endocrine system.”
I was glad of it then, Selar, Jilla thought sadly. I wanted no one to be able to detect it or stop it. Now… now, my love, it is too late. It will happen and you are gone and it is too late.
“Well, Mrs. Majiir, you check out just fine except for a slight rise in blood pressure,” Dr. McCoy said as he walked into the examination room, “which is probably responsible for your feeling a little woozey. There’s a rare chemical build-up in your system, but I consulted the Indiian database and there’s no ill effects unless it keeps increasing. So I’ll want to keep an eye on that.”
“Certainly, Doctor,” Jilla said tonelessly. “Will that be all?”
McCoy looked up from his statboard. “You can go on and tell Ruthie that I gave you a clean bill of health.”
“Thank you, doctor,” Jilla said. She rose and left Sickbay, keeping the wave of relief to herself.
McCoy stared after the petite Indiian. Even after his exam, he still felt a nagging feeling that there was something wrong with her. He had run every test he could think of, but still…
Ridiculous, he chided himself. She’s in perfect condition. Must be something on Vulcan that keeps people who live there for any length of time so damned healthy. Even Spock, with his hybrid make-up is always perfectly healthy. It’s enough to make a poor, imperfect Human feel downright frail. Or an old country doctor hang up his shingle…
Something clicked.
Wait a minute. ‘Even Spock with his hybrid make-up…’ Even Spock… McCoy his the intercom switch.
“Lab, run those tests on Mrs. Majiir. I know I just had you do it, I’m tellin’ you to do it again! And give me the most complete analysis you can of that build-up in her system. McCoy out.”
He stared out at nothing, thinking hard. “I hope you’re wrong, McCoy,” he said to himself. “I sure as hell hope you’re wrong.”
Spock lay on his bed, meditating. He had removed the blue Sciences tunic in preparation for his rest period and felt in need of some quiet contemplation. Ensign Majiir’s reactions to him were puzzling. While he understood that Ruth Valley’s suggestion of alleged reminders of her lost husband would suffice for a Human, the fact that Jilla Majiir had taken great pains to adapt to her husband’s culture removed any believability from his assistant’s claim. He had checked the status of Ensign Majiir’s medical examination. McCoy had found nothing amiss. He considered the dubious possibility of some form of space-sickness; while rare, it was not unheard of for newly commissioned officers to have trouble adjusting to the physical conditions of life aboard a starship. However, as Mrs. Majiir had only been aboard for a matter of weeks…
The door chime broke his concentration. He sat up. “Come,” he called. He considered reaching for his discarded tunic, but was comfortable enough within the confines of his own cabin in the black thermal shirt.
“Commander Spock, am I disturbing you?” Jilla Majiir stood in the doorway.
“Not unduly, Ensign,” he replied. “You wish to speak with me?”
She took a hesitant step forward, allowing the cabin door to hiss shut behind her. “Yes, sir,” she returned quietly. “I wish to apologize and offer explanation for my atrocious behavior of last evening.”
Spock stood, holding up a hand. “Unnecessary,” he said. “Considering your situation…”
“Commander, I am Selar’s wife,” she interrupted. “I have dishonored…” she paused, then went on. "An explanation is required."
Spock inclined his head in deference to her understanding of Vulcan culture. “Very well, Ensign. Will you sit?” He indicated a chair, and sat at his desk. Jilla moved to the chair, but didn’t sit down.
“I have tried to conduct myself in a manner befitting my husband’s station," she began without looking at him. “It was his wish that I embrace his customs and attitudes, and I believe I have had some success…”
“More than ‘some’, Ensign,” Spock interjected.
She blushed, her skin glowing briefly. “Thank you, Commander. I have had success as far as the physical area of restraint is concerned.” She paused. “Except for last evening.” She paused again. “Commander Spock, you are a noted scientist. Has it not occurred to you that such admirable control is hardly common to the Indiian race?”
Spock swiftly recalled the conversation he had had with Ruth Valley. “Yes,” he said at last, “however, I attributed it to the bond between husband and wife, and to the fact that you resided on Vulcan throughout the course of your marriage.”
“Selar and I were wed for slightly over four years,” Jilla put in quietly.
Spock was silent. Vulcan was a difficult language. Many off-worlders never managed its intricacies. And the taste of Vulcan food was usually unpleasant, especially to races that were not vegetarian. Indiians were known to eat meat as often as they did vegetable matter. Yet Ensign Majiir spoke the language easily, and her meal preference had been strictly vegetarian – and usually Vulcan.. “You learned the language quickly, Ensign,” he said, then began to frown as the implication formed in his mind. “And our customs, and a preference for Vulcan dishes…”
“Yes, Commander,” Jilla returned. “I have learned everything which makes a Vulcan what he is.” There was a slight emphasis on the fourth word of the sentence and Spock’s eyebrow began to rise.
“Your Academy records indicate high intelligence,” he countered, “as well as the ability for assimilating a great deal of knowledge at astonishing rates…”
“Not astonishing for a Vulcan.” Jilla’s voice interrupted quietly.
Spock found he did not like the course the conversation was taking. “No, not for a Vulcan…” he agreed uneasily.
“My abilities are a result, not the reason.”
“The result?” Spock managed, his voice now as quiet as hers. “Of what?
“Surely you have seen it,” Jilla said as she sat, lowering her head. Her thick hair fell along her face, throwing it into shadow. “An Indiian has great difficulty adjusting to Vulcan life, Commander,” she began. “Selar wished above all else that I be accepted. I… I found it impossible – “ Her voice broke, but she took a deep breath and went on. “He was researching the – cyclical chemical changes – and succeeded in isolating what he believed were causative factors…”
“Ruthie, I don’t know how it happened, I don’t know if its natural or if it can be stopped or reversed or …”
“What! Will you tell me already!” Ruth nearly screamed at McCoy. He’d called her into his office to talk about Jilla and had, in the last ten minutes, told her nothing.
“I found a chemical build-up in her system,” McCoy went on. “It occurs naturally, though rarely in Indiians, or at least the chemical she’s got is damn near identical to one that occurs naturally in Indiians. Its molecular structure is odd, not one a man would be likely to forget once he’s seen it, and when I saw it I knew I’d seen it before. But I’ve never examined an Indiian with it before, so how could I? So I dismissed it, but…
“Bones, will you please get to the point!”
“I’ve remembered where I’d seen it, Ruth. I’ve checked it. That rare chemical build-up is also damn near identical to one that showed up in Spock when he went amok.” He paused. “More than damn near, though I can’t tell you how it happened." He took a deep breath. “Ruth, that girl is building up to…”
“Pon farr,” Ruth whispered.
“Pon farr,” Spock whispered.
“The genetic material introduced into my system allowed the production of the inhibiting enzyme,” Jilla’s voice was strained, her head still lowered. “and imbedded the cyclical dissemination through my body. Unlike Vulcan females, I have no genetic instruction for the stabilization of the cycle. Through the mind touch, Selar was able to synchronize my – cycle – with his.”
Spock stared at her, trying to assimilate what she had just confessed. A female Vulcan carried the farr’k enzyme, as did all Vulcans. But because of her two similar chromosomes, a female received genetic instruction that stabilized the cyclical build-up of the farr’k enzyme and the mating drive associated with it. That coding was absent from the male dissimilar chromosome. With the introduction of both the enzyme and the cyclical build up, and with no stabilizing instruction, Ensign Majiir would inevitably experience… His mind recoiled at the thought.
“Selar found there were associated factors, ones that he could not isolate from the cycle,” she was continuing. Spock glanced up. She lifted her head, brushing her hair gently aside. Her ear was not as elongated as a Vulcan’s would have been, but it was definitely of a Vulcan shape. “I am no longer Indiian, Commander,” she said, “yet not completely Vulcan. The genetic make-up of my body has been altered. The agility of certain muscular groups, notably tongue and fingers, has increased, allowing me to pronounce the more difficult sounds of the Vulcan language. That agility plus added tendon strength allowed my rapid mastery of the lyrette. Expanded ability of my retentive faculties increases my capacity for knowledge of all kinds, and the synaptic block of the farr’k enzyme slows my reaction time to emotional stimuli. I am a deliberate mutant, Commander.” She looked up at him. “My marriage vows are quite explicit and quite final. The – cycle – drives me to… and my memories of my husband’s physiology….” Her voice broke.
Spock rose from his seat, turning from her. “Your reactions to me, then, are…” he began.
“Exquisitely painful,” she finished. “And the more of Vulcan you display…”
“I see,” Spock returned quickly. “My apologies, Mrs. Majiir. My attempts to put you at your ease were misguided.”
He felt her moving around the desk, drawing nearer to him. “My behavior will become more – erratic – as The Time…” Her fingers touched his back.
He turned swiftly, taking a step away from her. Her eyes were very bright, her skin glowing softly. For a moment, his thoughts were filled with her perceptions. She saw not Commander Spock, but Vulcan male; dark eyes that were beautiful to her gaze, brows sweeping up from angular features, tall, slender body, graceful, elegant hands, long tapering fingers, the olive skin of her husband….
“But she’s not Vulcan!” Ruth burst out. “How did that enzyme get into her system?”
“I told you, Ruthie, I don’t know,” McCoy said wearily. “But if it affects her the same way it did Spock, we’d better tell the captain and get her to Vulcan.”
“Bones, Vulcan’s not going to do her any good. Her husband is dead.”
“Then she’ll die,” McCoy said abruptly. “She’s got two weeks, tops.”
“Can you stop the build-up?”
"No," McCoy grumbled.
"Can I?"
“Can you interfere with her genetics?”
Don’t bet on it, ani Ramy, came the Zehara’s voice in Ruth’s head. She scowled. “There’s got to be something we can do!”
“You’re not her type,” McCoy snorted. “For that matter, neither am I. For that matter, there’s only one person on board who is.”
“Could it help?” Ruth asked hopefully.
“How do I know? It’s supposed to be a mating drive, but there’s all that telepathic, bonding mumbo-jumbo.” McCoy paused, grimacing at Ruth. “No offense.” She glared at him. He shrugged. “So it might, but you’d have to convince Mrs. Majiir. And even if you do, how are you gonna get that green-skinned, pointy-eared ice cube to oblige?”
Spock backed away. “No…”
Jilla was beyond hearing. She came toward him, her lips parted, her eyes gleaming with warmth and desire. Spock felt an odd, strongly compelling tingling beginning in his veins, and tried to shake it off. It did no good. Then realization came. Could his chemistry be responding to the hormonal stimulus of a female in pon farr? It wasn’t unheard of for males of the same family to be affected by the stirrings in their kinsmen. And since there had never been a female in The Time before, wasn’t it possible that her kinsmen would also be so affected?
And does that mean that she will trigger, in me…
NO! I will face that madness when I must, but not now, not so soon, not unprepared…
“Ensign…” he began.
She moved sensually toward him and he closed his eyes, fighting the desire that threatened him. Control, discipline.
“I cannot help you…”
“Spock…” Her voice was a feathery caress that echoed in his mind. His blood stirred, his penis coming erect.
“Ensign… Mrs. Majiir!” he said sternly, attempting to remind her of her marriage. His ability to resist his body’s urging was weakening, his vision becoming tinged with green. She moaned softly, her hands reaching for his face. Insistence became stronger, rousing the sleeping animal. NO!
“Ensign, I must insist…” He brought his hand forward to ward off her touch, but when their fingers connected…
A spark flashed through him, a fiery command of need. The relentless desire seared him, and the animal roared to full, demanding awareness. His hand grabbed hers, pulling her forward – then he stopped, desperately pushing her from him.
“Kroykah!” he shouted. Stop! The animal screamed in defiance.
Jilla froze. He was shaking, hunger lashing through him. He struggled to control his heady, primal reactions.
“K’lan et alak!” he ordered harshly. I order you away from me!
Jilla’s eyes clouded, then cleared. She stared at him, then swiftly retreated. “Commander, I…” She turned and fled from the room, leaving Spock filled with confusion and nebulous comprehension – and the daunting task of calming the frustrated beast within him.