“Well, you certainly are th' luckiest son of a bitch on th' planet, Lindstrom,” Noel DelMonde commented, standing atop a ladder as he fastened a segment of his “new and 100% improved” scrambler to the wall of the coma ward.

Despite the general chaos, the director was contriving to spend as much time as possible by his wife’s bedside with her hand firmly enclosed in his. There was usually -- as there was at this moment -- a big dopey grin plastered on his face.

“I can think of a few reasons why I might make that argument, Mr. DelMonde,” Lindstrom concurred, giving his beloved’s hand a supportive squeeze as a medtech from the Drake ran a scanner over her legs. “But my reasons are probably a little different than yours.”

In the hours that had passed since the showdown with Rani Bachchan, the team had re-established communication with the Drake. The engineer’s revised and streamlined design had been mass-produced on the ship. Teams were now in process of installing scramblers in locations in all the planet’s population centers with intensive emphasis on the coma wards.

“Other than th' obvious…” the Cajun granted. “First we got th' fact that; A) if anyone in this whole affair knew their ass from a hole in th' ground, th' mess you had here coulda been a disaster on th' galactic scale. If you had anybody wit' any degree o' engineerin' know-how operationalizin' th' still existin' Landru-era technology to its full potential as a neuro-sonic weapon, then not only would your whole planet be brain-fried or zombie-fied, them Orions would have th' whole quadrant walkin' 'round all googly-eyed as well.”

“We were assured everything that posed any danger had been completely disassembled,” Lindstrom rebutted firmly, keeping close watch on the medtech as she used an instrument that looked like a tuning fork to apply healing waves of stimulation to the bottoms of his wife’s feet.

Although the patients in this ward were now all awake and alert, many still needed additional medical attention for the damage their bodies had suffered from languishing months or years in a catatonic state. Medical teams from the starship were supplementing the resources of Lindstrom’s team to deal with the crisis here and in other hospitals.

Due to the scale of the emergency, Rendell had not only deployed her entire staff, but had also recruited the assistance of large number of Drake personnel whose records revealed they had medical training. Her only concession to local sensibilities was to arrange to have her team outfitted in baggy blue Star Fleet medical coveralls supplemented with the big white starched aprons and gathered caps worn by nurses on the planet. Alien features and skin tones were hastily hidden behind large surgical masks.

Fortunately the newly awakened coma patients still seemed in too dazed or euphoric a state to notice or care too much about the appearance of these ministering visitors.

“Far be it from me t' criticize th' work o' th' Star Fleet Corps o' Engineers,” DelMonde replied, pausing his installation to raise his laser-wrench in salute to this honored organization. “They done their best – as they always do. I have seen where they tore Landru’s computers down t' somet'ing you couldn’t assemble back into a calculator, but that not seem t' be sufficient on this planet. Borolithium crystal was used as a source o' renewable resonant energy in th' Pre-War era. That shit is integrated into th' windows an' walls o' almost all your buildings. T' completely neutralize any potential o' re-activation…”

“We’d have to tear down everything,” the director protested.

“Ev-er-ry-thing,” the engineer confirmed. “First up you gonna need t' confiscate all them pipe-gun gizmos – whatever th' hell they are – and bust 'em up. ‘Cause apparently they is more t' 'em than meets th' eye. They was bein' used as catalysts t' focus neuro-sonic energy an' cause all th' havoc this time. An' ya’ll need t' do more t' make sure that no unauthorized folks is gettin' their hands on loose phasers an' communicators so’s they can fool 'round wit' hooking them up t' Landru-era tech layin' 'round. But, yeah, t' be completely out o' th' woods an' in no danger o' anyone ever comin' in again an' throwin' together a brain-frying machine -- you need t' tear down everyt'ing that has any scrap o' borolithium in it. An' I mean, tear it ALL th' way down. Down t' th' foundations. An' especially dig up all them old Landru contraptions that’s still underground.”

“The people here would never let us do that.” Lindstrom protested helplessly. “They won’t even let us tear down wooden shacks that are falling apart in places where no one lives on the strength of traditions that say Landru was supposed to have had a meal there once upon a time…”

“That gets us t' th' second part o' how you lucky.” The Cajun gave the top of his scrambler two taps. “Despite what I may t'ink, it looks like B) you more than likely t' get your fundin' back…”

The director goggled at him. “What?”

“What Del is trying to say…” Sulu interjected urgently from across the ward, once more threatening to dislodge the sensors attached to his forehead.

“Captain, please…” Employing uncharacteristic force, Dr. Rendell clamped a restraining hand on his shoulder. “I literally need only a few more seconds.”

For hours, the doctor had been attempting unsuccessfully to get her captain to sit still long enough for her to run the series of neural scans that would allow her to certify him fit for command after losing consciousness for a time period beyond the span specified in Star Fleet regulations.

Although Dr. Rendell herself did not place this check as the highest priority that needed to be completed by her team, apparently the Drake’s first officer did. If she had to field one more call from him asking if she’d done so, the doctor was sure she was going to have to strangle somebody… perhaps several people…

Sulu smiled charmingly. “Sorry, Lian.”

The Haven did not return his smile or move her hand. Instead she leaned in closer. “I am armed, you know.”

The captain silently resolved never to let Rendell spend so much time alone on a mission with Del. The Cajun did not seem to be a good influence…

“What I believe Lieutenant Commander DelMonde is trying to communicate,” Sulu began again – this time careful to do so with no abrupt movements of his head, “is that since we have incontrovertible proof of Orion interference in the affairs of Beta III…”

“In th' form o' two pug-ugly green-ass Orions coolin' their heels in th' Drake’s brig…” the engineer avowed with a satisfied grunt.

“Given the gravity of the potential threat of neuro-sonic technology to be used against the population here or developed into weaponry…”

“…Fo' some serious galactic-level zombie-fyin'…” the Cajun amended, underling the seriousness of the menace with circling wave of his laser-wrench that ended with a tap to his own temple.

“And given the probable intractability of the native population to be receptive to permanent measures to eradicating all traces of Landru-era architecture…”

DelMonde shook his head. “They throw themselves one hell of a hissy-fit…”

“And the political fire-storm it would cause if the Federation further traumatized this population by insisting on that level of cultural decimation…”

“Th' media would sure be able t' make us look like some right villainous bastards if they got wind o' th' story…” the Cajun agreed, making a “tsk, tsk, tsk” noise.

“Given all these factors,” Sulu summarized as Rendell’s scanners finally began to signal they had reached a conclusion with a series of beeps, “someone could very reasonably conclude that it is quite likely that you could see an increased Star Fleet presence on Beta III.”

The engineer nodded and folded his arms. “Probably military outright.”

“Well…” The doctor tilted her head critically as she examined the readout from her instruments. “You are sane as you ever were, Captain.”

Sulu grinned. “Sane enough for command?”

Rendell raised an eyebrow. “There are a positively ungainly amount of assumptions teetering precariously atop that question,” the Haven demurred, removing the sensors from his forehead.

Lindstrom was shaking his head. “I don’t know how to feel about the prospect of a military presence on Beta III.”

“You might be feelin' pretty good 'bout it ‘round 'bout th' time that your friendly neighborhood 'independent traders' show up askin' 'bout where their buddies done got to,” the Cajun speculated jovially before sliding down the ladder. “What I be wantin' t' know is what you figurin' on doin' ‘bout that…”

“Hey, Del,” Sulu interrupted significantly, pointing to the other end of the ward with his thumb. “Don’t you have that thing you need to do… elsewhere… right about now?”

“Mais, I guess I could be doin' somet'ing else at that.” The Cajun collected his toolbox with a diffident sniff. As he passed his captain’s bed he quietly added, “Since my presence seems t' have become odious t' th' person whose life I so recently saved – not to make a big deal out o' that or not'ing.”

“Del…” A puzzled frown wrinkled the captain’s brow as he gestured the engineer closer. “About you throwing yourself between me and potentially being vaporized… not once, but multiple times…”

The Cajun held up a magnanimous hand to forestall any further comment. “A simple 'Thank you' an' a detailed description o' my valor above an beyond duty in your log will do nicely, my friend.”

“Yeah… This is not for the Promotion Board.” Sulu gestured back and forth. “This is between the two of us. As much as I appreciate what you did, I was unconscious a couple hours, not a couple years. I was a little lighted-headed at first, but…”

The Cajun snorted incredulously. “Oh, you t'inkin' you was able t' pop out o' a coma an then hop right up an' start dodgin' phaser blasts, huh?”

“I just wanted to know why you suddenly started believing that phaser beams were going to bounce off your back,” his captain countered.

The engineer crossed his arms and shook his head. “You jus' not able t' stand anybody else bein' heroic, non?”

From where she was packing up her equipment, Lian Rendell gave a half-laugh. “You’re not going to tell him, are you?”

Sulu shot her a look. “Tell me what?”

“Hey,” the Cajun scolded the physician. “I thought you an' me was partners here.”

The Haven shrugged. “I’ve not seen a line of that poem yet…”

“You keep on this way an' it gonna have a first verse an' a refrain that’ll make your head spin,” DelMonde promised darkly.

“Tell me what?” Sulu repeated firmly.

“Some folks has always not only got t' look a gift hoss in th' mouth, but got to sit there an' criticize th' damned dental work…” the Cajun grumbled, as Dr. Rendell merely smiled mysteriously and moved on to her next patient.

“You knew Rani wouldn’t shoot you, didn’t you?” Sulu guessed.

“Not 100% - no,” the engineer countered defensively. “But it did very much seem like th' Orion’s plan was t' have her kill you, Vale, Lindstrom, an' a bunch o' th' folks in th' ward here. An' then when word o' that kind of massacre got out, it would trigger a huge scandal that would probably cause Star Fleet to shut down operations here an' withdraw all remaining personnel. At the same time, th' other part o' th' plan was to kidnap me – or whatever Star Fleet engineer was handy. The Orions might have killed this Bachchan woman an' her family after she’d done this dirty work fo' them. Or they might have used them as hostages t' pressure me into workin' on rehabilitatin' th' ol' Landru tech fo' 'em when they moved into this planet after th' Federation moved out.”

“So that’s what you were thinking when you were body-blocking me from phaser fire a half-dozen times?” Sulu thoughtfully tapped his lips. “That you were a more valuable target than I was? And she wouldn’t risk harming you to take me out?”

“Maybe a li'l,” DelMonde conceded begrudgingly. “But in your log, you need t' concentrate more on th' 'extraordinary valor an'devotion t' duty above an' beyond' parts on my behalf… an' not mention what I said 'bout no one here not knowin' their ass from a hole in th' ground, all right?”

“I will certainly bear all that in mind,” the captain promised. “I was just a little concerned about seeing you purposefully throw yourself in the line of fire like that. A little afraid it might mean… something different about your state of mind…”

“Mais, you not need t' lose no sleep over it,” DelMonde replied gruffly, taking up his toolbox. “I sure not intendin' t' make that kind o' shenanigans into no habit.... Certainly not on your ungrateful behalf… ‘Specially if I not get no commendation or medal or not'ing out o' this.”

Sulu nodded, once more appreciative of exactly how wonderful it was after all these many years of friendship to bask in the full warmth of the Cajun’s love. “I will consider myself warned, Lieutenant Commander.”

“You do that, Captain, sir,” the engineer replied in kind, turning and heading to the opposite end of the ward.

Sulu looked to his side to find that Lindstrom was now loitering miserably in aisle between the beds. Apparently the medtechs had shooed him away while they applied stim-therapy to his wife’s spine.

“She’s gonna be fine,” the captain assured him, motioning him over.

The director nodded tightly. “About what your telepath said about…”

“He’s not my telepath,” Sulu corrected firmly. “That makes him sound like an exotic pet. He’s an engineering officer.”

“Yes, sorry, sorry…” Lindstrom held up two hands to emphasis the adamancy of his apology. “About what he said about Beta III becoming a military outpost… All I meant to indicate was that he sounded very sure of himself.”

The captain gave a half-laugh and glanced over his shoulder to check that the Cajun was too occupied to come over and belt the director. “Del is very fond of his own opinions and is sometimes overly generous about sharing them. I don’t think that being a telepath has anything to do with that. And it’s not like he can overhear what Star Fleet Command is thinking from out here.”

“But your thinking is running in the same direction, isn’t it?” Lindstrom said, taking a seat on the bed next to Sulu.

The captain could now see where the director’s emphasis on the engineer’s mind-reading abilities was coming from. Lindstrom was assuming that Del was broadcasting what he knew to be Sulu’s conclusions.

“It’s a possibility,” he allowed conservatively.

“A strong possibility,” the director pressed. “And a frightening one.”

“If this incident reframes Beta III as an element of the Federation’s sector-wide pushback to Orion expansion,” Sulu replied, reasoning that there was no advantage in being too cagey with his speculations, “in the minds of Command, this planet will go from being a backwater protectorate where no change in status was expected during most of their career-lives, to a chess piece whose strategic significance can suddenly blossom or fade dependant on events half-way across the galaxy at a moment’s notice.”

Lindstrom took in a long breath and then blew it out in a whistle as the impressive impact of Sulu’s conjectures descended upon him.

“Did I say frightening?” he asked. “Let me upgrade that to terrifying.”

“If that kind of radical shift in thinking materializes,” the captain continued seriously, “in my opinion, it will be very important that there is a sense of continuity and stability in the leadership structure here as well as someone present who can serve as a buffer between the population and the command hierarchy of whatever type of military presence the Fleet deems necessary. The people of Beta III will need to continue to interact with figures who they know and trust and with whom they have strong, lasting bonds in which they can feel secure, despite the whatever instability the politics of the moment may bring.”

Medtechs helped Lindstrom’s wife up to an unsupported seated position on the bed. As she performed the stretches and twists they directed, she looked over and gave her husband a radiant smile.

“I’m not going sugar-coat any of my findings in my report,” Sulu cautioned.

Lindstrom met his gaze evenly. “I don’t expect you to.”

“You’re still going to have to answer to Headquarters for some of the choices you’ve made. But I promise to do as much as I can in my log to help you make your case.”

The director held out a hand for him to shake. “Thanks.”

“In return,” Sulu said, taking it, “promise me one thing.”

“Anything,” the director replied eagerly.

“Work harder on honesty going forward.”

Lindstrom laughed. “Trust me, I’m done with 'independent traders' forever. Thankfully, we’re going to have a radically decreased need for medical supplies in the coming days.”

“That’s not what I’m trying to get at. What I’m talking about is more in the way you look at the people here,” Sulu gestured towards the brown robe Dr. Rendell had discarded near his bedside. “For example, the Anarchists – You call them that because you feel they don’t believe in anything, right?”

“They don’t,” the director replied. “They’re completely disillusioned… in love with Anarchy.”

“That’s not one hundred percent true.” Sulu held out the battered sleeve of the robe. “They don’t believe in the Federation. They do still believe in Landru. They are sad and angry that he is gone. They’re disillusioned with the lives you’ve tried to provide for them. To them, it’s this new lifestyle that seems like anarchy.”

“I guess all that’s true.” Lindstrom shrugged. “When you look at it that way, I guess you could say they have very strong convictions.”

“Strong enough to kill for,” the captain asserted.

“I recognize that they do have beliefs. They’re just not kind of ideas we need to encourage.” The director heaved a big sigh. “We need to try harder to explain what we’re doing… to make the Federation more attractive.”

“No.” Sulu put a belaying hand on the other man’s arm. “This gets to the very heart of what I’m trying to tell you. In order to lead them more effectively, you need to take more time to look at what all the people here actually believe – not just those whose beliefs are closest to your own -- and what the entire population really wants for their planet before you move forward with the goal of making them part of the Federation – even when you disagree with what they believe or want.”

Lindstrom shook his head in sad frustration. “There’s been so much compromise…”

“Is it real compromise, though?” Sulu gestured to the walls surrounding them. “Or is it like this hospital ward – a clever veneer in the style of Betan culture over the machinery of the Federation?”

Lindstrom gave a half-laugh. “You’re starting to sound like an Anarchist…”

“What I’m recommending is that you start listening to those dissident voices,” the captain said seriously. “My team hasn’t really resolved anything for you that can’t flare back up again in a year or two in a different – perhaps more malignant -- form. You need to find the true heart of this planet – even if that means including elements that you’d like to excise. You need to find a way to make them part of this planet’s greater conversation again – even if you don’t agree with the things they say.”

An ironic smile played about the director’s lips. “I need to --as Landru might say -- make the Body as One.”

“Exactly.” Sulu smiled. “That’s their way. That’s what they want.”

The director nodded, then shook his head as if to clear it. “Speaking of Landru, I’ve been hearing a weird rumor…”

“Oh?” Sulu asked as Tristan Vale crossed to him with a stack of paperwork to sign. Apparently now that he was certified sane enough for command, his first officer was able to release the floodgate of backed-up reports, notifications, or requests requiring his approval.

“Yes.” Lindstrom gestured to the ward where many patients were now in various stages of sitting up or trying their legs with the assistance of the medtechs. “The folks who have re-awakened have come back to us with a rather marvelous story. They are suddenly unified on an issue that has been dividing this population. Although he is revered by all, there has been no clear consensus on the nature of Landru. Was he a divine being? Or was he just a gifted leader whose words had profound spiritual importance? Until now, there’s been a spectrum of opinions.”

“True,” Vale confirmed, using the free space on the captain’s bed to sort his stack into piles of relative priority. “We saw some of the vehemence of that division of opinion demonstrated in the Planetary Parliament.”

Lindstrom stood to make more room for the lieutenant. “The patients who have reawakened, though, are now saying that they had a revelation – They are calling in 'The Great Revelation' in fact. They now all share what seems to be a very clear and consistent vision of Landru as mortal being who was an inspired spiritual teacher and leader.”

Sulu nodded as he handed a signed document to Vale. “It’s interesting that they felt they were in communication with each other while in a catatonic state.”

“The illusion of telepathic communication could be a byproduct of the special properties of borolithic resonance enhanced in an unusual and unpredictable manner by the introduction of subspace frequencies beyond normal range from the modified communication equipment,” Dr. Rendell contributed, standing back and taking reading of the patient in the bed beside Sulu as he took his first tentative steps.

“It coulda been some real telepathy thrown in there too…” DelMonde commented. The engineer had now worked his way along the wall on Sulu’s side of the room checking connections near enough to be within conversational distance. “You never know about that stuff…”

“These people are, of course, very precious to us now.” Lindstrom helped the newly ambulatory patient carefully back to his bed, giving him a congratulatory pat on the back before turning him back over to the ministrations of the medtechs. “Any insights they feel they have gained are being taken very seriously. Word of their 'Great Revelation' is spreading like wildfire.”

“There would seem to be a myriad of advantages in having this population share a unified view of Landru…” Vale observed. “No matter what that view is.”

“Oh, yes,” Lindstrom agreed. “I mean, they’re still not going to let us knock down old cabins in the woods where somebody thinks he might have spent the night…”

“But you could conceivably come to some agreements about how to teach History and Religion in an acceptable manner,” Vale said, remembering the heated debate on that subject at the Planetary Parliament.

Sulu nodded as he signed another requisition. “Without having to try to accommodate two dozen contradictory points of view…”

“And perhaps come to some agreements on which buildings are the most important to preserve…” Lindstrom predicted optimistically.

“'Cause th' military is sure as hell gonna wanna come in an' knock some shit down,” the Cajun warned.

“Oh, no…” the director groaned.

“An',” DelMonde continued a little cruelly. “I suppose it not hurt not'ing at all that this view of 'Landru th' Great Teacher' is actually th' one that you an' most o' your team happen t' like best, non?”

“Yes.” Lindstrom turned to the Drake’s captain significantly. “And that’s the point that makes the whole thing very, very, very touchy. Some of our reawakened folks are saying that 'The Great Revelation' came from you, Sulu.”

The captain’s deep baritone came as close as it possibly could to a squeak. “Me?!!!”

“You.”

Sulu blinked blankly and then shook his head. “I didn’t tell anybody anything. I was unconscious. I have some vague recollections of being in a euphoric state, but I don’t remember being in communication with anyone. I most certainly don’t recall saying anything that would…”

DelMonde grinned. “…Violate a blue dozen Cultural Autonomy Regulations out th' wahzoo from here t' next Sunday like you was James T. Kirk’s granddaddy…”

The captain put up both hands and again shook his head adamantly. “It wasn’t me.”

“Arne!”

“Tula!” Lindstrom turned, delighted to find his wife taking steps towards him on the arm of a medtech.

“Arne,” she gestured towards the Drake’s captain. “It be not him.”

“Darling.” The director took his wife into his arms and kissed the top of her head. “You said it was Sulu. Everyone told me it was Sulu.”

She smiled indulgently. “This be Sulu, the man.”

“Yes,” chimed in the patient in the bed beside the captain, giving his shoulder a fond pat. “This be Friend Sulu.”

The patient on the other side, an elderly lady, attracted by the discussion, turned and wisely contributed, “This be Sulu, our brother.”

Lindstrom frowned. “And… someone else told you about Landru?”

“This be Sulu, the man,” the old lady clarified. “In the land where we rested, the Land Beyond this Life, all be transformed… all be purified…

DelMonde climbed down from his ladder to stand by the old lady. “You talkin' 'bout… his soul, non?”

The woman took the Cajun’s hand and smiled. “Friend, these things be passing beyond your understanding at present time.”

“Mother Malshar,” Tula said, gesturing to DelMonde. “This be Sulu’s friend, our Guide.”

The identification generated a ripple of murmurs of recognition from the surrounding patients.

“Oh, Blessed Guider!”

“Peace to you, Guider!”

The old lady squeezed Del’s hand. “The Land Beyond this Life be the sweetest soul’s rest, but our place be here, to spread the Great Revelation to the Body.” She smiled up at him beatifically. “Joy to you, Guider!”

The engineer was momentarily stunned. He felt shockingly exposed. Usually telepaths were the ones who dealt out -- rather than received -- such moments of invasive identification. Taking a breath to steady himself, he reasoned the natives’ unexpected collective knowledge of him must be was an unlooked for side-effect of his telepathic aid in leading them out of their catatonic state. Some kind of borolithium craziness probably…

“Happy t' be of help, ma’am,” the Cajun returned politely. “But, that do make some difference, non? In me bein' able t' understand 'bout Sulu an' ya’ll an' ever't'ing? Since I kinda caught a glimpse there at th' tail end?”

After taking a moment to consider, the old woman and her friends nodded.

“Okay,” DelMonde said, relieved that they were finally going to be able to some answers from the natives that would help them unravel this unworldly cross-cultural conundrum. “Good.”

“Guider…” Mother Malshar reached up and gave the Cajun’s shoulder a kind pat. “These things be far, far, far beyond your understanding at present time.”

The engineer hung his head in defeat. “Okay, well, that settles that…”

“You keep saying that he’s Sulu 'the man.'” A puzzled frown wrinkled Lindstrom’s brow. “You’re not trying to indicate that somehow in this other reality he was… I don’t know… Sulu the .…”

“Fo' th' love o' Sweet Jesus an' all our sanity,” the Cajun interrupted urgently, “do not let what you t'inkin' roll past your lips!!!”

“You’re right.” Lindstrom granted. “That’s… that’s just… No. We don’t want to go there.”

“No, we do not.” The engineer said firmly.

“We’re all agreed, though,” the captain of the Drake began carefully, “that the Great Revelation did not come from me?”

“No, no,” the patient in the bed beside him agreed, laughing. “Not from you, Friend Sulu.”

“Not from Sulu, the man,” Tulu agreed, before allowing the medtech to assist her back to her bed. From the bed on his other side, Mother Malthus extended a hand to Sulu. “Peace to you, Brother. And Joy.”

“And to you,” he replied, taking it. Although he had no understanding or recollection of what had passed between him and these people during the time he had been unconscious, Sulu did now have a sense of closure about his experiences on Beta III… perhaps this time because he had been an active agent in determining the outcome of events, not merely a victim of circumstance. “And to all of the Body.”

“And to you and you and You.” With her other hand, the old woman gestured to his heart, his forehead, and an area above both. “May you again find Harmony.”

“Thank you,” he replied, as touched as he was puzzled. “Peace to you and Joy.”

“We shall have it,” she assured him, “for the You that is Greater than you has restored the light of Landru to shine upon us once more.”

This puzzling parting benediction was interrupted as a pair medtechs walked between them to lift the old woman’s frail body into a wheelchair to transport her away for further therapy.

“Gentlemen…” DelMonde stepped into the aisle between the beds and gestured for his fellow officers and Lindstrom to join him in conference. When they did so, he began seriously, “Let us take a moment here an' consider. Let me remind you that when th' natives say puzzlin' shit like this t' us – say t'ings that are obviously very pertinent an' meaningful t' their explicitly Federation directive-protected cultural belief system but are jus' too damn out there fo' us t' wrap a brain cell 'round wit'out danger o' warpin your whole medulla oblongata out your left ear -- there is absolutely zero in th' regs that demands we gotta record one word of it in any o' our logs.”

The assembled officers took a moment to take in these startlingly practical words of sage wisdom from the Cajun. After exchanging significant glanced, the two most senior officers began to nod.

“Actually, Doctor,” Lindstrom said, turning to Rendell. “I haven’t mentioned it before, but I was going to say that I think one of those Orions might have cuffed me in the ear during our struggle. I seem not to have heard a fair amount of the conversation that took place over the last five minutes.”

“Yes,” Sulu agreed. “And my recall might have been affected by the period of time I was out. I seem to have difficulty recalling what was just said…” He then hastened to amend, “Other than the fact that the natives agreed that the Great Revelation did NOT come from me.”

“Yes, after some… initial confusion,” the director confirmed readily, “we all got a clear confirmation on that.”

“Yeah…” The engineer snorted. “Clear as th' clearest…”

“Del…”

“I know, I shuttin' up.” The Cajun turned and gave Rendell a wink. “Mais, Doctor. Now you see how folks rise through th' ranks in Star Fleet…”

“I’m gratified to see that reality is so close to our speculations,” she replied sardonically.

“Vale, contact the ship,” Sulu ordered. “Let’s beam up before we completely live down to the Haven’s expectations…”

“Home again!” Rendell sighed happily as they materialized in the Drake’s transporter room. She turned to Vale. “Well, Lieutenant. I’m sure you are more than ready to return to your normal, silvery self.”

“Merciful Aema, yes!” the Indiian exclaimed, then glowing brightly, turned to his fellow officers in hasty apology. “That is to say, there is nothing inherently revolting or disgusting about Human appearance, but…”

“Mais, I not t'ink that, ‘til you be takin' on so,” DelMonde drawled. “Now I probably gonna wanna stick a bucket over my head fo' th' rest o' th' week.”

“Oh, I… I really…” Vale stammered, momentarily confusing the sarcasm in the Cajun’s purposefully misleading projected aspect for real offense.

“Come with me, Lieutenant.” The doctor rolled her eyes as she put a hand on the Indiian’s shoulder and guided him towards the exit. “Somehow, I think Mr. DelMonde’s self-esteem is going to survive this blow…”

“Del…” Sulu stopped his friend before he could follow them. “Level with me. When you pulled me out of wherever I was when I was in that catatonic state, what did you see?”

The engineer took in a deep breath. His mouth opened and closed a few times of attempts to articulate and reply. Finally, he shook his head.

“I gotta admit that them folks called it,” he said, shaking his head. “When you make telepathic contact, sometimes you catch a glimpse o' some wild stuff that not make a lot o' good sense in th' rational world. What I saw was not easy fo' me to put into words… Not easy fo' me t' get a good handle on. I caught flashes o stuff that was beyond my understandin'. I gonna need some time t' chew it over 'fore I can tell you 'bout it in a sensible way.”

“Hmmm…” Sulu was disappointed. However, part of him was somehow quite sure aspects of this experience were best left as a mystery. “As soon as you figure anything out, let me know.”

“I will. I will,” the Cajun promised, giving him a pat on the back. “I t'ink I gonna need a couple centuries t' t'ink it over, but I will definitely let you know….”

The End