Ann Zewen

2270

PROLOGUE

The colors were blindingly brilliant, swirling together, apart and together again in ever-changing patterns while flickering flashes of pure white energy slashed through the multi-hued fluidity like streaks of lightning in a summer thunderstorm.

A huge, heavily shielded vessel moved steadily toward that kaleidoscopic screen, its crew watching the amazing pyrotechnic display warily, but without real fear. They had lost contact some time earlier with the ship that had preceded them on their protracted journey, and only now realized that ship and its crew had probably been destroyed while attempting to cross the barrier ahead. Despite that knowledge, they continued on their way, undaunted, prepared to meet their destiny head-on.

They moved forward, propelled by their commander's determination to find whatever was on the other side of that barrier. At a command from their leader, crewmen engaged a newly developed protective system that extended outward to enclose the ship in a sharp-edged envelope of energy.

They continued steadily onward, and the envelope sliced its way through the pulsating 'wall', deflecting its power around the ship and allowing them to pass through unharmed, if somewhat shaken, to the relative peace on the other side. Once safely through the barrier, they drew to a full halt, giving the crew a chance to recover from the disorientation of having been bombarded by the explosive barrage of colorful radiance.

Once recovered from the physical and emotional shock of the passage, the commander ordered his ship forward again, crossing the darkness of space until they approached a single bright star orbited by a flourishing green planet. He ordered his helmsman to reduce speed as they drew ever closer to the enticing world.

Suddenly, their previously silent communications system came noisily to life, crackling with static, then broken voices giving way to a clear but indecipherable message that was followed by a long silence. Finally there was another transmission, this time, in just one voice . The words were somewhat halting, as though the speaker was using a language long-forgotten, but still the message was understandable, as the crew incredulously heard their lost brothers eagerly welcome them to their new home.

Instead of the joy its senders expected, however, the message was greeted with great sorrow. The commander finally ordered the contact broken without any response at all.

"They are not of our kind," his primary advisor reported, his voice hissing and clicking in his anger. "They are changed."

"Yes," the commander agreed sorrowfully. "They have altered themselves. They are no longer among us and can no longer be trusted." He paused, then added wearily, "end them."

His chief gunner reacted instantly, carefully aiming the ship's powerful weapons on the unsuspecting planet below. He reached out with one long, snake-like appendage to flip the precise toggle that would send a powerful bolt of pure energy onto the surface of that incredibly beautiful and peaceful world. While some of his other 'tentacles' were busily operating a dozen or more instruments, the tip of one circled around the proper switch. His powerful, complex mind sent the appropriate signal along the sophisticated network of nerves to the correct appendage, ordering the movement that would fire the weapons.

"Wait!" At the last possible minute, the commander stopped his gunner before he could carry out the previous directive. He hesitated, seeming to reconsider his earlier decision, and then hissed reluctantly, "End them...but preserve their knowledge. We must consume it so that we will know all they have learned since they ceased being of us."

Without comment, the gunner readjusted his controls, then fired on the planet--a powerful bolt of energy speeding from the ship to strike the lush sphere with a stunning force that felled all animal life. The once vital bodies of the world's inhabitants were now nothing more than empty shells, but with the accumulated knowledge of their lives still locked within the cells of the now-lifeless bodies. The commander hand-picked a team to accompany him to the surface of the dead world.

When they returned to the ship, the commander ordered a new course, and calmly proceeded through the galaxy he now knew was called the Milky Way by one of its dominant species. He was searching for those puny creatures that had just one pair of eyes and four limbs, only two of which they could manipulate with anything remotely resembling the dexterity of his own people. He would settle for any other beings with knowledge he might put to use. This was a galaxy teeming with life, many species existing in a form similar to that adopted by their now-dead brothers. But there were other forms, too. And there were many kinds of knowledge, many talents to be absorbed from the various species before the invaders carried out their mission of conquest followed by colonization.

As he contemplated the glories awaiting him in this galaxy he had chosen as his people's new home, Tejan's hundred appendages began to vibrate, sending out a humming that was soon joined by his crew. They might not understand the reason for it, but it was enough for them to know that Tejan was pleased. And so they shared in it.

*****

The Federation Starship Thalis was on patrol in Quadrant 24 when Science Officer Shriv detected something on his sensors which convinced him the readings were in error. A quick analysis of the instrumentation revealed no apparent malfunction, however. He knew better than to bother his captain with a simple lapse in the function of his instruments. Rather than report the problem, Shriv instead crawled beneath his station to double-check the circuits, hoping to find something that would account for the mysterious error. Because Shriv was constantly upgrading, improving or otherwise working on one or another of his sensitive instruments, Captain Cheras didn't question his behavior now. If Shriv himself had believed the unbelievable readings, or Cheras had questioned his science officer's unquestionably normal behavior, the Thalis might have survived the attack. It was unlikely, but barely possible. As it was, however, it was already too late for the Thalis and its crew by the time the starship made visual contact with the impossibly big, improbably fast vessel first detected by Shriv's instruments just moments earlier.

Cheras turned to the science station to request Shriv's analysis of the situation as soon as he saw the huge ship on the main viewscreen. The captain had just opened his mouth to form the question when a powerful bolt of energy emerged from the alien vessel. It traversed the one hundred twenty-six kilometers separating the two ships in time too quick to measure, instantly surrounding the Thalis with a life-draining force. Cheras never asked his question, and Shriv never saw either the alien vessel or the energy bolt that caused their destruction. Only the horrified communications officer managed to act at all, pressing a single button milliseconds before the energy bolt arrived.

*****

Tejan sent a half-dozen of his crewmen over to the tiny vessel to gather what knowledge they could from the vanquished creatures who had been unable to put up even the most rudimentary of fights. When his crew returned to their own ship and shared with their commander what they had learned, Tejan hummed his joy. Now he knew the codes and frequencies used by the alliance known as 'the Federation' to communicate their most sensitive secrets.

Tejan ordered a new course for his ship, directing it toward a relatively unexplored sector of this galaxy. He hadn't yet determined why this 'Federation' was so interested in that sector, but he would learn that soon enough. For now, it was sufficient to know there was something there these puny creatures wanted.

*****

The giant ship proceeded on its new course for a period of time amazingly brief as measured by Tejan's people, who were then distracted momentarily by another strange vessel. Although Tejan was eager to reach his goal, he took the time to divert his ship the short distance required to encounter this new species.

The reptilian creatures on board that vessel detected the approach of Tejan's ship in plenty of time to escape the impending attack--if the captain had acted quickly. It was against the nature of his kind to act quickly, however. Besides, at first, the captain believed it was a familiar opponent approaching. That enemy was strong, but conquerable in a one-on-one battle. The captain ordered his crew to battle stations, then waited with the patience typical of his species for the appearance of his adversary. When it came, he reacted, but too slowly.

"They are not Orion!" was all he had time to hiss before the new enemy surrounded his vessel with a powerful, paralyzing tractor beam.

Tejan ordered the transport of one of the creatures to his own ship. The green-scaled captain regained awareness long enough to catch only a brief glimpse of his huge captors before Tejan ordered his end. The commander then tasted his captive's memories. There was no vibratory hum this time, however, as Tejan quickly ordered the removal of his captive's remains. "There is little of use to us here," he told his crew. "End them. We will find more useful beings elsewhere in this galaxy."

"What of the others of his kind?" asked Tobar, who had also tasted the creature's knowledge. "Their planet is not far from our plotted course."

Tejan flicked an appendage in annoyance. "They are not worth our attention at this time. We will dispose of them later." He flicked another appendage. "End them."

The gunner took aim and fired. An energy bolt engulfed the other ship, draining the life from the crew just as had been done with the previous target. Tejan's ship then proceeded on its way. The lifeless shell that had once been a starship was left behind, operational but with no intelligence to direct it, drifting aimlessly in space.

*****

Tejan studied the data obtained by his ship's instruments from the planet below them. He puzzled over the information, unable to determine what the beings called Humans found so interesting here. The planet's inhabitants superficially resembled those Humans. What was it about them that set them apart and made them so important?

"Bring one of them to me," he ordered his men, and minutes later, his command had been obeyed.

The creature who stood before Tejan shook in his terror and confusion. The earless one's fright grew as one of his captors approached and he sensed what the many-limbed being intended. Tejan recoiled in pain at the psychic shriek emitted by his captive, but the 'sound' was quickly cut off. In seconds, all life had drained from the creature, and Tejan settled down to consume its knowledge. When he had finished, he turned again to his troops.

"It is the young ones we need."

"As you wish."

"Wait," Tejan stopped the soldiers before they could leave. "They must be taken alive; we must wait until their abilities reach their maximum potential before we absorb their knowledge."

Without comment, Tejan's men moved quickly to obey.

*****

A dozen younglings played happily together, watched indulgently by the old one in whose charge they were. Lessons were over for the day, and the young ones were working off all of the energy that had been held in check during the long hours of his tutelage. The 'grandfather-teacher' smiled fondly as he saw young mr'Antor patiently explaining the rules of the latest game for the third time to little nh'Estia. As the eldest of the group, mr'Antor seemed to have endless patience with and love for his little sister. While the other younglings spurned the company of mere children, mr'Antor forced them to accept his sister's presence. The death of their father two fullmoons ago made her unusually dependant on her elder brother, and it was to mr'Antor's credit that he not only accepted the responsibility, he welcomed it.

The old one was very pleased as he watched the silent exchange between the youngling and his even younger sibling. mr'Antor exhibited early signs of possessing both a powerful intellect and a compassionate wisdom. Once the boy reached first maturity, surely very soon now, he would take his place among the greatest of their people's telepaths. The discoveries he could accomplish during that first, strongest surge of psychic power were likely to be significant ones. Perhaps he would be among those who succeeded in perfecting the transmission of their thoughts across the vast reaches of space to improve communications with the tribes whose messages traveled on waves of what they called sound to be received in something known as ears.

The earless Rycherians had painstakingly developed first a device capable of receiving those mysterious messages, and then a means of answering them. It hadn't been an easy accomplishment, inventing machines whose nature they couldn't even understand, but finally they had succeeded, and the apparatus they had developed had converted the rapid and steady stream of meaningless electronic impulses into visible symbols. It had then taken them even more time to translate those symbols into a form they could understand. They had accomplished what had originally seemed to be impossible, and then proceeded to reach outward from their own world and make contact with those beings from other planets.

Someday, perhaps, they might even travel through that space, as those other people did. However, the old one who once claimed the proud name of mr'Uller, but was now known simply by the honorary title of mr'Ynto didn't really believe that would happen in his lifetime. Rycherians would never willingly choose to place themselves in the hands of creatures who communicated with easily misunderstood 'words' rather than clearly formed, precise thoughts. It would be many more generations before Rycher was ready to launch its own space fleet, and the people would wait until that time to leave their homeworld and explore other regions of space. mr'Uller had existed for many generations already, so many that he was the only one left who even remembered his private name. Soon he would proceed into the other realm. But before he could make that final transition, he had to pass on his vast accumulation of knowledge to this new generation. It was his responsibility to assist them in the transformation from youngling through the brilliant, but often chaotic season of first maturity and to the fullness of adulthood. It was a duty he enjoyed above all he had experienced in his past, one reserved only for the oldest and wisest of the elders.

The time of his passing was rapidly approaching, and he knew he wouldn't remain in this realm long enough to witness the launching of a Rycherian fleet. It was enough for him, however, to know his people were 'talking' with these creatures who wanted the Rycherians to join something called the United Federation of Planets. All of Rycher knew about both the invitation and the ruling elders' reluctance to accept it. The images projected by the alien visitors' minds were far too chaotic to be easily comprehended. Even the ones called 'Vulcan' hid far too much of themselves, and the Elders were wary. mr'Uller wasn't sure what his advice would have been had the Elders requested it. He hadn't been consulted, however, so he didn't think about the matter too much. He would leave such decisions to those who were younger and less entrenched in their ways. The younglings were sufficient responsibility for him.

Suddenly, a flickering of light caught mr'Uller's attention, and he turned to see a trio of huge, repulsive creatures appear on his planet's surface. Their almost shapeless bodies were contained in a hairless, leathery, putty-colored skin, and mr'Uller noted the two pair of colorless eyes extended on short stalks that moved independently of each other, as they carefully examined the surrounding countryside. Their minds were powerful, transmitting images of gigantic ships that had been used to propel them across the vast darkness of space, ships even greater than those of the creatures with ears whose messages mr'Uller's people had intercepted. He sensed something else, too, a malevolence he had never encountered in all of his long life. It inspired a mindless terror within him that froze him in place, preventing him from any action. Then, catching sight of him, one of the giants glided swiftly in his direction, extending one long, slender appendage to snake around his neck, cutting off the oxygen and drawing a curtain of blackness over his mind. His last conscious awareness was of the mindscream of the younglings as they disappeared in the same flickering light that had brought the giant beings.

When mr'Uller regained consciousness, he looked around him quickly, fearfully, but the gigantic, many-limbed creatures were gone. So were the younglings. In terror and sorrow, remembering that terrible light, he sent out a psychic shriek. Instantly, he was surrounded by a large number of adults. He realized they had arrived too quickly and in too great of numbers to be responding to his own call. His charges weren't merely hiding then. As he had feared, they had been harmed or taken by the invaders and had cried out to their parents in their terror.

Together, the adults searched the surrounding area, transmitting silent cries to the missing younglings. But no answers returned. Finally, in desperation, they gathered to consider their options.

The creatures took them, mr'Uller insisted, describing the huge vessels he had seen in his brief contact with the minds of the invaders. They are evil. We must regain our younglings. Soon they will reach first maturity, and we must not allow the talents they attain to be either wasted or perverted.

And how do we accomplish that? scoffed nh'Errice, who had little respect for either mr'Ynto's age or his wisdom. They are no longer on Rycher, and we do not yet have the means to leave this world. How do we recover our lost younglings?

We must ask the Federation for help, mr'Oqin stated calmly, calling an end to the debate with the authority of his rank clear. No. He raised his mental shields to block out the barrage of objections his statement brought. I understand the reluctance many of you feel, but we must do this. We cannot save the younglings by ourselves, so we must seek their assistance. He paused while the others gradually came to accept his pronouncement--and the wisdom that had prompted it.

And if they are unable to retrieve the younglings? nh'Errice demanded.

Then we will find someone who can.

CHAPTER ONE

Captain James T. Kirk half-sat in his command chair, white-knuckled hands fiercely gripping the armrests and bearing most of his weight as he remained semi-suspended in the motion of standing. He was frozen in place, staring wide-eyed in horror at the nightmarish scene displayed on the main viewscreen of the Enterprise bridge, oblivious to the chaos that surrounded him.

"Jim! God damn it, Jim! Do something!" Doctor Leonard McCoy stood in his usual place slightly behind and to the left of the command chair. The physician's voice was harsh with the anger and pain that he was making no effort to suppress. He clutched at the back of Kirk's command chair with his right hand and stared just as horrified at the same scene that had his captain mesmerized.

The huge ship on the viewer fired another burst of power, and the resulting explosion jolted McCoy and the others on the bridge out of the daze that seemingly held them all in its grip.

"Jim!" the doctor shouted yet again. McCoy moved another step forward to place both hands on the chair arm and lean forward. He pushed his face belligerently into Kirk's line of vision, forcing the captain to acknowledge his presence--whether he wanted to or not.

When his latest attempt to attract Kirk's attention still got no response, McCoy grabbed the captain by his shoulders and shook him, hard, forcing the hazel eyes to shift in his direction. Then he almost wished they hadn't. There was a hard, wintry expression in those eyes the physician couldn't remember ever seeing before, not in all the years he had known this man. It was a look that hinted at emotions as cold and dark as the changeable eyes from which all color had drained, leaving an empty blackness that sent icy shivers down McCoy's spine.

"Jim," McCoy spoke softly, almost pleadingly now, the very softness of his tone and the absence of his Southern drawl lending an added urgency to his words, but still there was no reaction. "Damn it, Jim." His voice came out in a harsh whisper. "Spock's back there. We can't just leave him there. Do something!"

For just a moment the ice seemed to melt from the frozen irises as they lightened back to their usual green-flecked golden hue, and McCoy saw his own pain reflected and intensified in his friend's eyes. The sensitive lips trembled for a millisecond, and McCoy thought for a moment that he had managed to get through to him. Then those lips stiffened, and the eyes hardened again, leaving the physician uncertain whether he had actually seen the aching emotion there at all. Then he heard the words spoken softly, barely above a whisper, pain in every heart-rending syllable.

"I can't, Bones," Kirk rasped. Then he paused for so long that McCoy began to suspect he wasn't going to say anything more. Then-- "I'm sorry, but...God help me, I can't."

Kirk finally pushed himself up from the command chair to exit the bridge. He moved toward the turbolift silently, stiffly, unable to watch that monstrous scene on the main viewing screen any longer. He needed to escape from the images being transmitted by the probe left behind when he had told Sulu to take the Enterprise out of the star system. Now they hovered in space, just outside the GX Andromedae system, safe for the moment from the aliens' formidable weapons, but still close enough to receive the probe's transmissions. Close enough, too, to return and engage the attackers in battle...if Kirk would only give the word.

But James T. Kirk said nothing. He merely paused at the turbolift, his back to the bridge, while the alien vessel shown on the viewscreen fired a final barrage of phaser-like power. The assault converged on the defenseless moon that orbited the third planet of the system, scoring a direct hit on the small scientific outpost with such intensity that the entire satellite erupted in a fiery explosion.

McCoy heard a sudden short scream from somewhere behind him. It was just as quickly cut off as he threw one arm up to protect his eyes from the blinding light that filled the viewscreen and flooded the entire bridge. Moments later, when the illumination had faded a bit, he lowered his arm warily to stare in horror through eyes squinting against the still painful brightness. The main viewing screen was filled with a swirling mass of debris that was all that remained of the Andromedae Three moon, the domed scientific outpost, the colony of scientists--and Spock. The doctor turned his head slowly to frown at the man who remained facing the empty turbolift, his stiff back to the bridge.

"Mister Sulu." The voice sounded incredibly old, interminably weary. "Get us the hell out of here."

"But--"

"I said, go, Sulu. Warp nine. Now."

Although the voice remained low, restrained, Sulu didn't hesitate again. The starship shifted into warp drive.

As soon as he felt the transition to warp power, Kirk stepped into the turbolift without ever having turned around to face either his crew or the horror on the viewscreen. He hadn't seen the explosion, and he didn't see the expressions on his crew's faces. He hadn't seen them, but he didn't need to do so in order to visualize exactly what both had looked like. And the images in his mind were more terrible, more damning than anything he could have witnessed with his eyes.

The doors closed, and Kirk sagged against the side of the turbolift, catching his breath on something that was closer to a sob than he cared to admit. Then he stiffened again, tugging his tunic into place and squaring his shoulders, blinking his eyes to hold back the unwanted tears. The lift stopped, and the doors slid open to reveal two crewmen standing outside. His eyes straight ahead, ignoring the men, Kirk exited the lift and made his way down the infinite corridor to his quarters, retreating hastily to the sanctuary within. When he emerged again an hour later, it was to return directly to the bridge.

For the next three days, the captain didn't utter a word outside the line of duty. He either sat in the center seat, staring at the main viewing screen, with a cold, set expression on his face, or he shut himself up alone in his own cabin. No one dared attempt to breach that wall of silence. Even McCoy left him alone.

*****

Three days later, a haggard, white-faced Jim Kirk emerged from Admiral Komack's office at Starfleet Headquarters, resplendent in full-dress uniform, body held stiffly, his face set in a frozen expression that allowed no questions. The cluster of officers and friends who had sat in the outer room throughout most of the day, waiting impatiently for the outcome of that very private meeting, stared at him, willing him to tell them the admiral's decision. They waited in vain.

Kirk's gaze swept silently, swiftly across each of their faces, refusing to quite settle on any of them, passing even more quickly over the unforgiving expression on McCoy's visage.

Without acknowledgement, he turned away from them and walked over to the admiral's aide's desk where, one by one, he removed the impressive array of medals and insignia from his formal uniform until only the rows of braid around the neck of his tunic and down the front of the uniform remained to mark him as a Starfleet officer. He hesitated a moment longer as though undecided what to do next, then abruptly grabbed the heavy satin fabric with one hand and yanked, tearing some of the threads loose and tossing a strip of the gold onto the startled aide's desk.

Someone gasped at the unnaturally loud sound of the uniform fabric tearing, and they all came to their feet in silent protest, but no one dared say a word. Not bothering with the remaining braid that hung loosely from the front of his tunic, Kirk turned back toward the center of the room in defiance and found the others gaping at him in shock and horror. Once again, however, he couldn't seem to meet their appalled gazes. Instead, he stiffened his spine and then stalked toward the doorway, head held unnaturally high, eyes staring straight ahead. He strode swiftly, purposefully toward the doors, apparently intent on leaving without acknowledging them in any way at all. He hesitated briefly as though having second thoughts when the doors slid open with a soft whoosh.

His back to the room, posture stiff and forbidding, former Starfleet Captain James T. Kirk, most recently commander of the U.S.S. Enterprise, spoke to his loyal crew for the last time. "There will be no court-martial," he said, then walked out of their lives forever.

The crew was still staring in disbelief at the empty portal a few minutes later when the doors to the inner office opened again. As one being, they turned their heads to glare at the man who stood there. He ignored their expressions. "Commander Scott," he said instead, and gestured toward his office.

Scott looked at each of his friends briefly in confusion, then rose to his feet, straightened his own, unique full-dress uniform and followed the admiral inside. When he emerged a few moments later, his face was flushed with emotion, his body stiff with anger.

"Let's go," he told the others tersely.

"What happened?" Chekov demanded.

"We are ordered t' take the Enterprise back on patrol," the engineer said, his tones clipped, most of his accent missing.

"You're in command?" Sulu surmised.

"That's right, and you're t' serve as m' first officer," he answered the helmsman's question and then turned to Chekov. "Pavel, you're acting science officer." He glanced again at the others, his anger rising once more. "He ordered us to go right back out there and finish the mission without our two top officers, an' they're not even replacin' them. Said it would be too disruptive to assign new commanding officers for th' few months left in this mission. We just have t' take over their duties, while still coverin' our own." He sighed, then caught the look on McCoy's face and forced his own emotions back into control. "Come on, Doctor. Let's go home."

"Home!" McCoy snorted. "It'll never be that again."

"Aye," Scott replied mournfully, his mind on his beloved engines and the duties that would keep him from them. "It willna be th' same."

Single file, the Enterprise officers exited the office and made their way silently to the transporter station to beam back up to their ship. When Montgomery Scott emerged on the bridge a short while later, he was clad in command gold. That was all it took. By the time Uhura had taken over the communications station, her relief had already passed the word. By the time Sulu steered the ship sedately out of orbit, the news had circulated among the third of the crew on duty. By the time Chekov had entered the course ordered by Scott and they had shifted into warp drive, all four hundred thirty crewmen aboard knew. When Scott ordered Uhura to open the shipwide communications system so he could make his announcement, it was nothing more than a formality.

James T. Kirk was no longer in command.

In Sickbay, Leonard McCoy sat alone in his office staring at an empty glass and a full bottle. He lifted the bottle and started to pour some of the intoxicant into the glass, then set it back down on the desk top. "I'll be damned if I'll let you drive me to drink," he muttered to the empty room. Then he abruptly shoved his chair back away from the desk, stood and crossed the room. He replaced the bottle and glass in their storage places, and walked out into the main area of Sickbay.

"Nurse!" the doctor bellowed. Immediately, Christine Chapel emerged from a side room. McCoy ignored the slight redness that rimmed her eyes and merely ordered in a brisk tone, "it's time we did a complete inventory of all medications on board. Let's get busy."

Chapel held back the sigh that threatened to escape. "Yes, Doctor," she replied in a shaky voice and moved to carry out his orders, at first grudgingly, and then more enthusiastically as she realized he was right. Work was the best thing for both of them right then.

*****

The table in the far corner was an oasis of calm in the sea of chaos known simply as Pedro's. Two of the beings sitting there were deep in conversation, their voices rising and falling as they argued the merits and demerits of various forms of intoxicants available for consumption on this very alien planet. Meanwhile, the remaining two sat quietly, equally ignoring the spirited discussion at their own table and similar arguments elsewhere in the tavern.

The silent man's hooded silver gaze swept constantly back and forth across the room. He eyed each of Pedro's customers carefully but unobtrusively, ever watchful for the disturbances that were commonplace in all such dens of thieves, wherever they might be found in the galaxy. The man sprawled lazily in his chair in a deceptively casual pose, arms folded across his chest as he tipped the chair back on two legs. While his demeanor was quiet and reserved, his attire was just the opposite. The full-sleeved electric-blue satin shirt warred for attention with the equally loud, tight crimson pants and unbuttoned lime green vest. The pants hugged slim hips and powerful thighs, while the half-opened shirt displayed a muscled chest covered with a thick mat of silver-tipped black hair. The hair on his head was also tipped with silver and lay shaggily on his broad forehead and around his ears as though he were well overdue for a cut, while a bushy mustache adorned his upper lip. A jewel-encrusted knife handle protruded ostentatiously from the snug waistband of his pants, but whether it was attached to a real blade or was merely ornamental was something the curious would have to find out for themselves--at their own risk.

The small, fine-boned woman at his side was just as quiet, but in a more self-contained manner, seemingly unaware of the noise around her. Whatever thoughts occupied her mind were her own secret, no evidence of them on her serene face. Only the eyes gave her away, silent amusement dancing within their sparkling green depths--amusement and, beneath that, the threat of a darker, more violent emotion. Her clothing was similar in style to the man's, but without his raucous color combination. Her pants were black, shirt a silvery gray and vest a rich, deep forest green. Strapped to her right thigh was an intricately designed leather scabbard holding a small, but deadly and quite expensive knife. Like the woman's clothes, the knife's handle was less ostentatious than that on the man's blade, but a careful examination would reveal both the rarity and value of the perfect tiny jewels encrusted there.

The raucous noise of the crowded bar dimmed to a murmur for a brief moment when the door opened, then resumed quickly as the mostly humanoid patrons failed to recognize the new arrival and returned their attention to whatever had held it moments earlier.

Two wary pairs of eyes, one pale gray with glints of silver, one brilliant emerald, remained on the man who stood silently in the doorway, watching, waiting, as he surveyed the dimly lit room and finally settled his own gaze on them. The new arrival's eyes widened almost imperceptibly as he hesitated in the portal for just a moment before moving forward into the room, headed deliberately for their table. The description the Gorn had given him turned out to be more accurate than he had believed possible or even dared to hope. The quartet had been easy to spot in this bar that catered to the various humanoid species who had 'business' on the home planet of the Gorn. But he hadn't expected his own, involuntary reaction to the man's eyes. Their gazes had met briefly, met and locked. The silver in the man's eyes had seemed to catch the light and reflect it back at him in a manner that evoked painful memories. Then the seated man shifted his gaze slightly, away from the light, and the unnatural glow disappeared. The eyes were still a silvery gray, but no longer seemed to shine. The man in the doorway shoved the better-forgotten recollections into the back of his mind where they belonged, and stepped forward.

The conversation of the remaining two beings seated at the table died abruptly when the newcomer stopped in front of them, and all four waited for him to speak. They didn't have to wait long.

"I'm looking for Raile."

No one spoke for a minute, and then-- "I'm Raile," the flamboyantly dressed, silver-eyed one acknowledged in a low, gravelly voice. He lowered the front legs of his chair to the floor and then placed his mug on the table. He casually wiped his mouth with the back of his other hand, all the time carefully scrutinizing the stranger while giving no indication as to what he thought of the man.

"My name's Kirk. I hear you're looking for experienced spacers to help crew a private ship."

"I might be," The man called Raile drawled, apparently giving both the question and the questioner equally serious consideration. "What kind of experience?"

"Twenty years with Starfleet."

He had the attention of all of them now, but only Raile responded, still in that slow, deep voice that was almost a growl. "Doing what?"

The new man shrugged. "A little bit of everything. Navigation, helm, engineering in a pinch."

"James T. Kirk."

The hazel eyes shifted to the woman who had spoken. "That's right," he acknowledged, an edge of defiance in his voice.

"Well," said the grinning, comfortably brown-clad, red-bearded man who sat on the other side of the table, a half-empty mug of the local brew in his right hand. "The famous Captain James T. Kirk." He laughed, but without real humor. "Or should I say ex-captain."

For just a moment, something burned deep within the cold hazel eyes, then the mask slipped back into place. "Just Kirk is good enough." He said, then deliberately turned his back on the little man and faced Raile again. "About that job..."

"I don't know." The group's leader drew the words out, as though deliberating over the proposal. His gaze caught Kirk's, and suddenly his eyes glinted silver again. "If they kicked you out of Starfleet--"

"They didn't kick; I left." He spoke evenly, every trace of emotion carefully eliminated from both his voice and his face, the resultant non-emotion an expression in itself.

"Just one step ahead of their boot, way I hear it. Word around here is, you're either a coward...or a traitor...or maybe you're just incompetent." The voice was flat, expressionless, but the statement held the feel of a question just the same.

"Does it matter?" Sensing he was being tested, Kirk still refused to allow the other man to provoke him into reacting.

Raile shrugged and pushed him a little harder. "It might. I don't have room for cowardice...or incompetence on my ship." He ignored the third possibility.

"I'm no coward." The voice was dangerously soft, but still level, even, as he continued to resist Raile's prodding. "And you'll learn soon enough how competent I am." He, too, refrained from discussing the matter of his loyalty --or lack thereof.

"How do you feel about the Gorn?"

Kirk blinked. That question had come out of nowhere. The minute he heard it, he realized he should have expected it, given their present location, but somehow he hadn't. He shrugged. "They're all right," he finally answered noncommittally. "Why do you ask?"

"Because if you join us, you'll be working for them...sort of." When Kirk didn't comment, Raile continued, "They're having Orion trouble. Their fleet isn't big enough to handle it, and Starfleet's got its hands full on the other side of the Federation with the Klingons and Romulans. They hired, or rather invited, us to help out."

"Mercenaries?"

"Not exactly, more like privateers. They don't pay us directly, just give us the freedom to make our own way...with certain restrictions, of course. We're free to go anywhere in this sector we want, and salvage anything of value we find. In return, we engage the pirates every chance we get, and then keep anything we can take from them. There are a couple of other ships like ours. The Gorn figure the Orions will give up and go elsewhere if we make it difficult enough for them to turn a profit. I'm not so sure, but it's profitable work for us, and we don't have to worry about dodging patrol vessels of every imaginable kind while we're at it. All we have to do is leave the Gorn ships alone, and everything's fine. Makes it a little safer than our old way of operating."

"Is safety that important to you?"

Raile's wicked grin was answer enough, but he explained anyway. "Let's just say it's a relief not to have to look over my shoulder all the time. The Orions are enough to handle without having to worry about Starfleet, too." He watched Kirk carefully for a reaction, but again got none. "So, do you have any objections to working for the Gorn?"

"Should I?"

"I don't know. You tell me."

"I don't have any problems."

There was a long silence while Raile continued to study him. The entire conversation had been a kind of elaborate verbal dance, with each of them saying as little as possible while trying to get as much information as he could from the other. Raile couldn't fault Kirk for the attitude since it was exactly what he was doing himself, but it made him a little wary. Still, he needed a helmsman badly, and he wasn't likely to find a better one on that planet. Despite a nagging sense that all was not quite as it seemed, Raile instinctively felt he could trust this man. Confident in his own ability to judge others, he dismissed his misgivings and leaned forward to hold out his hand. "Welcome aboard. Where's your gear?"

Kirk took the outstretched hand, outwardly relaxing although his eyes had failed to soften. "In a locker at the spaceport."

Raile nodded agreeably. "Good. You can pick it up when we leave in a couple of hours. For now, meet the rest of the crew. Donovan." He pointed to the red-bearded man with the twinkling, Irish-blue eyes. Kirk nodded when the young man grinned, reminded briefly of Kevin Riley's irrepressible good spirits. He immediately corrected the reaction. Despite his small stature and outward show of good humor and friendliness, there was an air of hidden danger about this little man that would have been completely foreign to the clowning Riley, a danger Kirk sensed was held in common by all of the spacers sitting at that table.

"Nydor." Raile continued his introduction, and the big alien's mouth split in what obviously was meant as a smile of welcome, although any Human less familiar with other intelligent species would have had difficulty in recognizing it as such. Most people would register only the sharp, pointed teeth and equate the gesture with a predator's snarl rather than a sentient being's greeting. Kirk, however, looked beyond the mouth to the eyes, and merely nodded again. Andorian blood, he thought, noting the blue tinge to the skin. Something else...he wasn't sure what, but this alien was bigger, apparently stronger than the Andorians Kirk had encountered during his years with Starfleet. There were other differences, too. The antennae were little more than barely noticeable bumps on this creature's head, and there was a deceptively mild expression on Nydor's face, despite his harsh features. Kirk wasn't sure what it was about this alien that disturbed him so much. Maybe it was just an aura he projected, or perhaps it had something to do with the semi-military nature of his attire. He wore a gun-metal gray mesh-metal 'vest' worn over black, leather-like shirt and pants. The black of the shirt was relieved by colorful, elaborate embroidery in a band along the edges of the front opening, which were held together loosely by matching black, leather lacings. A wide, studded belt was fastened with an oversized pewter buckle. Despite Raile's denial of the description, Nydor's entire ensemble reminded Kirk of the garb of a mercenary, the kind of dangerous warrior you wanted fighting on your own side. Whatever the source of Kirk's disquiet, something told the former Starfleet officer that the other three beings at that table, as dangerous as they might appear, were mere pussycats compared to the big alien. Kirk decided it would be best not to cross him.

"And Talya, our navigator." Raile indicated the woman last. Kirk noted her smooth, bronze skin, delicate features, dark hair pulled back into but attempting to escape from a knot low on her neck and finally her startlingly green eyes topped by severely arched brows. He tried to guess both her age and her heritage, but didn't have a clue as to either, although he doubted she was as young as she appeared. She had an air of quiet assurance that denied her youthful looks and was, in turn, contradicted by the fiery heat of danger he could see burning deep within her eyes. As for her features, they were basically humanoid, vaguely resembling those of some of the more exotic races of his native Earth. But Kirk knew instinctively that the woman was not Human, at least not entirely, and maybe not at all. As she turned sideways in her chair, he noticed the knife strapped to her thigh and wondered at it. He narrowed his eyes in concentration. There was something vaguely familiar about the elegant little weapon. He allowed the idle speculation to fade. The woman eyed him coldly and made no motion to shake the hand he had automatically held out to her, instead merely looking first at it and then at his face. Feeling awkward, he pulled the offending hand back.

"You can take the helm," Raile refrained from commenting about the silent clash between Kirk and Talya, but there was obvious amusement dancing in his eyes. "Nydor's been steering us, but his true talents lie in other directions." He didn't say what, and Kirk refrained from asking; he'd find out soon enough. "We leave in two hours. If you need anything, you'd better get it now."

"Everything I need is at the spaceport." It wasn't exactly the truth, but as close to it as he could allow himself.

"Good. Then have a drink." Raile gestured at an empty chair, then motioned for a waitress. Kirk finally sat down.

*****

Two hours later, the five of them were waiting their turn at the Gorn spaceport transporter. Kirk stood a little apart from the others, a duffel bag at his feet held all that was left of his worldly possessions. Someone approached from his right. Kirk tensed and turned warily, half expecting to see his Gorn informant and not sure how to act if he did, but the man was Human and a stranger. Kirk suppressed a sigh of relief, but remained alert, ready for whatever might happen.

"Hear you signed on with Raile?" the new arrival asked conversationally. Kirk didn't deign to reply.

The weaselly looking man shrugged indifferently. "Your life. Throw it away if you want, but I wouldn't have expected to see the famous Jim Kirk joining up with a bunch of pirates. Call them privateers...same tune, different words," the man added in swift reaction to the cold look the original description drew. He shrugged again. "Okay, okay. None of my business. Didn't intend to meddle in your affairs. Just wanted to be sure you knew what you were getting into."

Kirk's eyes grew even colder. "I always know what I'm getting into," he told the man. Without further conversation, he picked up his bag and moved to join the others at a gesture from Raile.

"Who's your friend?"

Kirk shrugged. "Never saw him before."

"What'd he want?"

"To warn me about you."

Raile laughed. "He scare you off?"

"I thought we settled the question of my courage."

"So we did." Raile easily dismissed the issue. "It's our turn next. Ready to go?"

"I'm ready."

Raile grinned and slapped him on the shoulder. "Let's get going then. I get itchy feet after I've been planetside a few days." Kirk grinned back in understanding. He had a feeling that beneath the flamboyant exterior and behind the outlaw facade was a kindred spirit.

Hefting his bag onto his shoulder, Kirk followed the others onto the platform, and they were quickly transported aboard their ship. Kirk found himself on a compact, but obviously well-equipped vessel. The crew had transported into a small compartment located adjacent to the engine room. The former starship captain's eyes widened as he noted the elaborate matter-antimatter chamber and the highly sophisticated control panels that were visible through the huge Gordonite window that served as one wall. He recognized some of the components as virtually the same ones found in Scotty's domain back on the Enterprise. Others looked as though they might have been supplied by the Gorn, and still more bore a remarkable resemblance to items he had glimpsed once aboard a Romulan D7 battlecruiser. That still left a number of components that were utterly alien to him, however. It was a complex and perplexing array of technical wizardry. Scotty would have felt like a kid in a toy store. But Kirk just turned to Raile with one eyebrow lifted inquiringly in unconscious imitation of his absent friend as the others exited the room, headed for other parts of the ship. The privateer captain grinned again, obviously understanding Kirk's bewilderment.

"We take what we can get, whenever, wherever and however we can get it. This ship originally belonged to a wealthy but somewhat paranoid Terran merchant who feared attack by Klingons, Romulans or maybe even Orions...or other pirates." The grin widened. "So he equipped the Zephyr with a warp drive system second only to those in Starfleet and weapons not usually found in private vessels--or exactly legal for them. There's even an incredibly efficient two-being shuttle attached to the bottom of the ship and accessible through a special hatch. Of course, what was state-of-the-art when the original owner commissioned this vessel more than ten standard years ago is hopelessly outdated now, but we've managed more or less to keep pace over the years, thanks primarily to Nydor's talents and our many...er, suppliers. Even our Gorn hosts help out occasionally."

Kirk didn't question who else might be included among those 'suppliers,' but there was one query he couldn't refrain from making. "The original owner's fears came true? He was attacked?" Even though he'd felt compelled to ask, Kirk wasn't sure he wanted the answer to his inquiry, especially as to who might have done the attacking, but Raile laughed easily and showed no reticence about answering.

"Not really," Raile replied, then elaborated. "He was well prepared for any kind of physical attack, but he failed to make provision for a financial one. Some bad investments did him in less than a year after he took possession of the Zephyr. Talya's father immediately took advantage of the situation and picked the ship up for the proverbial song--not that he wouldn't have just as readily taken it by force if necessary. When the old man died a few years back, shortly after they began their arrangement with the Gorn, Talya inherited both his ship and his crew--Nydor, Donovan, and Dr'Vellian, the helmsman you're replacing."

"How'd you get in on the act?" Kirk let pass for the moment any curiosity he had about how Talya's father had died.

Raile shrugged and laughed. "Just lucky, I guess. Talya said she was too young to command, although I suspect she just didn't want to be bothered with the details of the job. She has little patience with such matters and would rather just handle navigation and leave the rest to me, especially dealing with customers and planetary officials. She's too likely to lose her temper and ruin a good deal.

"And Donovan's almost as hot-headed as Talya," he continued, "while Nydor... well, Nydor's just Nydor." He shrugged again. "As for your predecessor, Dr'Vellian was both too inexperienced and too stupid. He could steer a ship with the best of them, and was the best marksman I ever saw; he could pick off the smallest of targets with a single short burst of phaser fire. But otherwise, he was just plain dumb. Look at how he died."

Kirk started to ask how Dr'Vellian had died, but Raile continued his monologue before he could get the words out, so he had to let that one pass, too. But he promised himself he would find some answers, and soon.

"Anyway," Raile said, "I had just lost my ship and crew in an ion storm...barely escaped with my own life. Since I had had a similar arrangement with the Gorn, they put me in touch with Talya. We made a deal."

"What kind of deal?" Kirk wisely refrained from asking how Raile had managed to survive when his ship and entire crew hadn't. That wasn't any of his concern; any arrangements on the Zephyr were.

Raile hesitated, eyeing him carefully, apparently sizing up his new crewman. Then, somewhat to Kirk's surprise, he answered candidly. "She and I share sixty percent of all profits. The rest is divided among the rest of the crew, you included."

"So I'm cutting into their share?" Kirk wasn't sure he liked that idea. It didn't bode well for future relations with his fellow crewmen. They might prefer to have a bigger cut themselves rather than have to include an unknown new crewman.

"Yes, but don't let it worry you." Raile understood his concern and quickly reassured him. "We needed another man. They knew that as well as I did. They won't give you any trouble--not about that anyway." He paused a long minute, obviously weighing his next words. While Kirk waited for him to resume speaking, they felt the ship's engines start. The low throb of impulse power felt good. "About Talya..."

"Don't worry," Kirk interrupted before Raile could say more. "If she's yours, there won't be any trouble. I'm not in the market for anything like that at the moment."

Raile laughed easily, genuinely amused at the suggestion, then shook his head. "That's not exactly what I meant...and not exactly in keeping with your reputation either, but that's neither here nor there. No, Kirk, Talya's nothing to me except a business partner, a valuable member of this crew, and a friend, a very special friend, kind of like a kid sister, although even I find it difficult to fathom what's going on in that beautiful little head much of the time. No, I did want to warn you to steer clear, but not because of any proprietary interest of my own. I'd just hate to see you get injured. I can't afford to lose another helmsman so soon, and it'd take too much of my time to find another one."

Kirk's eyes widened in surprise as he wondered exactly who he did have to worry about. "Nydor?" He frowned in doubt, but despite Donovan's air of danger, Kirk couldn't quite believe the little Irishman would ever be a serious threat to him.

Raile threw back his shaggy head and roared. Finally, he brought his amusement somewhat under control and managed to force out a response. "Definitely not. Not him, not me, not Donovan...not anybody. Talya's just not interested in men. No, that's wrong. Make that anyone, male, female, whatever. She doesn't let anybody get too close. She likes plenty of elbow room. And, believe me, she's more than capable of backing it up. That woman's stronger than she looks, and I know you saw her knife. It's small but deadly, with a razor-sharp blade, not primarily an ornamental weapon like mine, although quite pretty in its own way.

"Don't get me wrong," Raile hastened to reassure Kirk when he saw the uncertain expression on his new helmsman's face. "She's not mean-tempered, not exactly, just..." He paused as though to think of an accurate description, then grinned again, "...a little quick on the draw, somewhat spoiled, and a bit too much her father's daughter. Most of the time, she's pretty easy to get along with, but I don't advise crossing her. And the easiest way to do that is to touch her. She doesn't like being touched, by anyone at any time. Most men in this quadrant already know that. Those who don't learn quickly. I'd rather you didn't learn the hard way. I don't have the time to nurse you back to health."

Kirk met the silver eyes squarely. His curiosity was aroused by the other man's less than adequate attempt at explanation. No touching. That sounded familiar. Could the mysterious Talya be telepathic? A touch telepath? She didn't look Vulcan, but then, they weren't the only touch telepaths in the galaxy. He dismissed the thought for the moment, not wanting to think about Vulcans right then. As for any curiosity he might have about the woman, he had no intentions of following up on it. He had neither the inclination nor the time himself. "No problem," he said aloud. "Like I said before, I'm not interested."

"You will be," Raile warned. "They all are, sooner or later. There's something about Talya, besides the obvious fact that she's a very beautiful woman. I don't think anyone except perhaps a Gorn would ever be completely immune. Still, the smart ones just don't do anything about it."

"I'm smart."

"Then why'd you leave Starfleet?"

The shutters closed over Kirk's face again. "That's personal."

Raile held up one hand in mock surrender. "Okay, okay. I get the message. Talya doesn't like to be touched, and you don't like to be questioned. No problem."

Before Kirk could ask what Raile didn't like, a chime beckoned from a speaker on the bulkhead. Raile answered it.

"We have permission to leave this planet in ten minutes," Talya reported, a hint of mockery in her voice. "Should Nydor take us out, or is the new helmsman ready to begin work?"

Raile grinned ruefully at Kirk and released the intercom button, speaking confidentially. "Sometimes I wonder which one of us commands this vessel. Oh, well, at least she had the grace to phrase it as a question this time. I suppose I should be grateful for that. Sometimes she's not so courteous." He pressed the button again. "We're on our way."

*****

Kirk sat at the helm, running his hands over the controls to familiarize himself with them in the remaining few minutes before they received final clearance to leave the dock. Nydor leaned over his right shoulder, explaining anything he found unfamiliar--which was remarkably little. Kirk decided that the same firm that designed the Enterprise console must have built this one, too. As far as he could tell, the main differences were the more compact arrangement here and the fact that the helm was on the right, with navigation to left instead of the opposite arrangement found on Starfleet vessels. He wondered about the man who had commissioned the Zephyr--and about the man who took it off his hands.

The clearance came through, and Kirk carefully began to manipulate the controls, easing the little ship from its berth. He was impressed at how easily it responded to his touch...impressed and pleased. It had been a long time since he had steered anything other than a shuttle. He was relieved he hadn't lost his touch...and a little surprised to find out how much he was enjoying this particular duty. It was kind of nice to be busy actually doing something when the ship left port, instead of just sitting in the center chair, depending on everyone else to be his hands, eyes, and ears. He knew how much he usually enjoyed sitting in that chair, but after the helplessness of that final mission... He firmly closed the door on that memory. He didn't have time for it now. Later.

The Zephyr slid smoothly, silently away from the port and through space, past the outer planets in the Tau Lacertae system. As they cleared the final one, Raile gave the order, Talya plotted in the course, and Kirk pressed the button that shifted them into warp drive, once again pleased with the little vessel's instantaneous response. They were on their way. To exactly what, he wasn't sure, but at the moment it didn't matter. The fact of finally doing something after the days of inactivity was a welcome relief. And he actually found something appealing about the adventurous life of a privateer, unofficially aiding the Gorn in their undeclared 'war' with the Orions while taking possession of anything they could recover from the pirates or salvage from derelict ships.

Besides, Kirk was back where he belonged. He might be in a different chair, but at least he was on the bridge of a ship, warping through space. It felt good--as good as anything could these days, without his ship, his crew and friends...without Spock.

*****

The pain was intense, almost unbearable--a hundred mental voices shrieking in agony. The Vulcan collapsed to his knees and remained there, head bowed, until the excruciating pain finally faded. When he looked up again, he was no longer at the scientific outpost, no longer in the company of others of his species. He was on a vessel of some kind, surrounded by huge, hundred-tentacled creatures who appeared to be scrutinizing him like some kind of rare and fascinating specimen. One of them opened its "mouth" and began to talk...

CHAPTER TWO

"Raile, the scanners reveal an approaching object," Talya reported. There was a note of barely suppressed excitement in her voice as her hands moved across the board, adjusting the various controls to obtain the more specific information she knew Raile would require.

"Approximately twenty, no twenty-two thousand meters away...a vessel of some sort." She swung around to face her partner, grinning in anticipation. It was the first genuine smile Kirk had seen on her face in the days since he had joined this strange crew. "No life signs."

Kirk glanced again at the woman who sat at the station to his left. Unlike the Enterprise and other Starfleet vessels, where there was a different person responsible for each duty, this ship's crew had to double up on jobs. He himself was responsible for weaponry as well as the helm. Talya navigated the ship and operated its sensors, keeping the others apprised of anything "out there" they needed to know about. Nydor remained an enigma to Kirk, devoting nearly all of his time to engineering, while his other responsibilities continued to be a mystery. Donovan was in charge of life support and communications.

Nydor and Donovan also served as relief officers for Kirk and Talya, taking over the helm and navigation posts for a few hours each day to give them a little precious rest time.

Raile's job was much as Kirk's had once been, watching over everything, making decisions when needed, in general commanding his vessel. He was also prepared to fill in wherever necessary in any kind of 'emergency' situation. Kirk found himself hoping such an emergency wouldn't ever arise--at least not as long as he was serving on the Zephyr.

The former starship captain was more than a little surprised at his own lack of envy for Raile. Just a few weeks earlier, he would never have believed he could be satisfied with anything less than command. But now he found it actually a relief to be just one of the crew, taking orders rather than giving them. For once, he was contented not to bear the responsibility for four hundred and thirty lives--or was it one life?

Kirk pushed the thought to the back of his mind, refusing to consider the issue any longer. He had neither the time nor the energy for looking back and fretting over the past right now. He returned his full attention to Talya's report and Raile's response to it.

He was disconcerted by the woman's obvious pleasure at the lack of evidence of any life aboard the drifting vessel, both disconcerted and a little repelled. It didn't really seem to matter to her that the disabled ship's crew had been Gorn. He had overcome his initial revulsion for the reptilian creatures long ago. Even when he had found them repulsive four years earlier, he had been unable to kill one, despite what to many people would have been more than enough provocation. He certainly couldn't find pleasure in the demise of these creatures who had done nothing to incur his wrath or fear. Of course, there was always a chance the ship ahead was an Orion pirate vessel. That would put a different connotation to the entire situation. Still, he felt it was a bit premature to be celebrating the death of the unknown ship's crew.

"Ease her down a bit, Kirk, and bring her to a full halt at ten thousand meters. Let's see what we have." Raile's voice was calm, completely in control, with no evidence of the excitement that had been in Talya's. Kirk couldn't help but wonder if the ship's commander was truly as cool as his voice indicated...or if it were nothing more than a facade.

Talya swiveled in her chair to face the command seat again, an eager expression on her face. "Cloak?"

"No, I don't think so...not yet. But be ready in case you detect any signs of life on a closer look."

Kirk's hands moved over the Zephyr controls as he divided his attention between what he was doing and the conversation between Raile and Talya, who were talking almost as if they were alone on the bridge, or as though the information they were exchanging were commonplace, already well known to their crew. Kirk realized it probably was--except for him.

But for him, it seemed there were always surprises, like this one. Cloak? he thought. As in Romulan? His concern about the unknown derelict took back seat to his growing curiosity about his own new ship and its crew, and he eagerly turned his attention to the conversation between Raile and Talya, intent on learning as much as he could...in as short a period of time as was humanly possible.

"There are still no indications of life, Raile," Talya reported after a few moments, her attention once again on her sensors, "although the life-support systems appear to be operational." She turned back to face Raile, a broad grin spread across her face. "It's perfect."

"Gorn?" Raile asked. "Or Orion?" He didn't even consider whether it might be something else again, and it really didn't sound as though he cared much either. Apparently, one ship was as good as another when it came to salvage operations. Their contract prevented them from attacking Gorn vessels, but any derelict was fair game for salvage.

"Gorn," Talya answered after more scanning. She didn't seem to care either; probably none of them did. Kirk decided he would have to adopt the same callous attitude toward any of their...targets. He didn't even know what to call the ships they would be salvaging--or attacking. He suspected it would be something as mundane as...supplier.

"Raile?" Talya was frowning now, in concentration.

"What is it?" He picked up on her mood instantly.

"I don't know." She continued to frown. "Something strange. I can't..." She paused, studying her sensors intently. Then she looked at Raile again. "This doesn't make sense," she protested, hitting the edge of her board with one hand. "I don't understand these readings."

"All right, Talya," Raile said patiently, trying to calm his volatile navigator. "What doesn't make sense?"

"There's nothing wrong with that ship," she answered, exasperation clear in her voice although she managed to keep her tone low. "Nothing wrong at all... except that everyone on board is dead."

"Plague?" Raile suggested, and Kirk shivered at the word, as though an icy wind had blown across his back.

"No." Talya was calmer now. "Nothing like that either." Her eyes flashed as her confusion gave way to anger once more. "Damn it, Raile! There's just no reason for them to be dead!"

"Nonsense," Raile countered, dismissing Talya's concerns. "There had to be something wrong, either with the ship or the people. You just can't detect it from here." The Zephyr captain came to his feet. "All right, let's see if there's anything left on board worth bothering with." He started for the bridge doors. "Donovan, Nydor, get your gear and come with me. We're going aboard. Full life-support," he added as an afterthought, "at least until we know what we're going to find over there. No need to take any more chances than we have to. Kirk..." He turned to the new helmsman. "You stay on the bridge. And be ready to warp out of here on a moment's notice just in case we have to hurry back. Talya, you come, too. We need you to operate the transporter."

Transporter? Kirk hadn't seen any such device in his three days aboard the Zephyr, despite his careful, almost inch-by-inch examination of the entire vessel and its equipment. They had used the Gorn spaceport's transporter to transfer from planet to ship, and he hadn't even considered the possibility that this little craft had one of its own. Raile and his crew were full of surprises. What else had he missed?

The last to exit the bridge, Donovan turned to the newest crewman before leaving. "It's portable," he explained in answer to Kirk's unasked question. "Takes a lot of energy, and we can only go over one at a time, but useful when the shuttle's not practical." He grinned in response to Kirk's blank look. "The shuttle's fine when there's someone at the other end to open the locks and allow us to enter," he explained, but it's kind of hard to get somebody to answer the door when there's no one home."

Kirk suppressed an unintentional smile in response to the other Human's colorful colloquial speech. It reminded him a just a bit of Bones. His smile died.

*****

The next few hours were exceptionally long ones for Kirk, who was held captive on the bridge by the crew's need to have someone constantly monitoring the ship's controls and hold the vessel in place until the salvage operation was completed. He idly supposed it was a compliment, in a way, that they trusted him enough to leave him in sole charge, but, as usual, Jim Kirk would rather be where the real action was, not sitting impatiently on the Zephyr's bridge, waiting for the others to return to the ship.

Even Talya was kept constantly busy throughout the operation. First, she had to handle the portable transporter to beam the salvage team onto the other ship. Then the airlock that attached the shuttle to the bottom of the Zephyr became her responsibility when Nydor returned to get the little vessel and ferry various items from the Gorn ship back onto the Zephyr.

Kirk sensed that she, too, would rather have been on that other ship with the men, but she never overtly challenged Raile's decisions on anything, although Kirk had caught an occasional rebellious look in her eyes when their commander had given her an order obviously not quite to her liking. Kid sister, Raile had characterized the alien woman, and there certainly was something of the sibling nature to their strange relationship. Kirk hadn't yet seen her infamous temper in action, but there was plenty of evidence of its existence, seething just below the surface of her carefully cultivated calm demeanor.

Bored with waiting, Kirk began to speculate about that derelict ship. Obviously, it was a private freighter, and he knew it was a Gorn vessel. He wondered at Talya's strange report about no damage, and shivered again. What had happened? Had they been attacked? By whom? Not Orions, surely. If that had been the case, there would have been plenty of damage, and there wouldn't have been anything of value left to keep Raile and the others busy this long.

They certainly were busy. He had been monitoring their communications with Talya to help pass the time, and he was impressed with the amount of equipment and cargo Raile was managing to transfer back to his own ship. There were engineering parts Nydor would find useful in effecting any needed repairs in the future, valuable mineral ore that could be sold for a tidy profit, and medical supplies that might come in handy some unspecified day, although Kirk was unsure how Gorn medicines would react with the Zephyr crew's mostly Human physiology. Apparently there were foodstuffs of some kind, as well, although Kirk didn't recognize the names he had heard Raile list for Talya. For himself, he couldn't imagine finding Gorn food palatable, but it seemed whatever they had found was a favorite with the crew, judging by the teasing repartee Raile and Talya had exchanged over the comm system temporarily linking the two vessels.

Finally, there was a message sent directly to him.

"We're beaming back aboard in three minutes, Kirk. Be ready to warp out of here immediately, on my signal."

"Why the rush?"

"Don't ask questions. Just do it."

Kirk recognized that tone of voice; he had used it enough himself. Whatever Raile was up to, he'd find out soon enough. With no further questions, he checked the controls, plotted a course directly away from the derelict, and fed it into his board. All it would take now was to press a single button, and they'd instantly be far away from their present location.

"Okay, Kirk. NOW!" Raile's voice came through loud and clear, but whether from the derelict or the cargo hold of their own ship was unclear. Remembering that one-man portable transporter, Kirk hoped the entire crew was already back aboard the Zephyr.

Ignoring any misgivings he might have about the others' whereabouts, Kirk pressed the warp-drive control button simultaneously with the final word of Raile's transmission, and the ship seemed to jump across space, as though eager to get away as quickly as it could. Kirk programmed the rear vista onto the viewscreen and was remarkably unsurprised when the derelict exploded behind them, leaving nothing but a cloud of dust-like debris which would quickly dissipate over a period of hours. He swiveled around in his chair as the turbolift doors slid open to discharge a laughing Raile and a more sedate but still somehow excited Talya.

"Good haul," Raile told Kirk as he took his place in the center seat. "Donovan and Nydor are packing it away now. We'll have a little celebration later. You do like brandy, don't you?"

Kirk nodded in response. "I like it fine," he said, remembering many a bottle shared with his chief medical officer. Bones. He shook off the melancholia that threatened to overwhelm him, and forced a congenial grin onto his face. He hoped it looked more natural than it felt.

Apparently so, Raile didn't seem to notice anything unusual. "Good, good." he said. "We found a whole case of the stuff over there; we'll break it out later this evening. We can leave Talya in charge up here, and you can join us." He grinned teasingly at the beautiful navigator. "She's not much of a drinker."

Kirk's gaze slid to the woman who was once again sitting by his side. "I merely do not see the purpose in such an activity," she recited a little primly, and Kirk felt himself stiffen involuntarily at the uncustomary formality of her comment. Then she met his gaze and winked at him, as though to let him in on some kind of private joke. Only he didn't find it very funny at the moment. "But feel free to indulge yourselves," she continued, all arrogance and condescension now. "I can handle things for a while."

Kirk found himself unable to find an appropriate response to her teasing. Although he knew that she had meant the conversation to be lighthearted and friendly, Talya's words evoked still more painful memories he wasn't yet ready to examine. For a moment there, she had sounded almost exactly-- He turned quickly away from her to return his full attention to the helm and his responsibilities there. When next he looked her way, Talya was busy at her own board again. He watched her for what seemed like a long time, noticing the way her long, slender hands worked the controls, admiring the view of her deceptively delicate profile. She was certainly a beautiful woman, but there was something else, something more, something...familiar and yet not. It nagged at him, distracting him from his own duties. If only he could figure out exactly what it was. But where had she picked up that particular turn of phrase?

*****

Talya found the bridge refreshingly silent once the men had gone to their 'little celebration.' She allowed herself a tiny secret smile at the term now that the smile couldn't be seen by the others. Knowing Raile, Donovan and Nydor as well as she did, she was certain that little was hardly an accurate description of the drunken revelry most likely being enjoyed at that very moment. She didn't yet know, however, how the new man would handle himself during such off-duty activities. She sensed he was capable of playing every bit as intensely as he worked, and yet there was nothing playful about him. Of course, it was understandable...under the present circumstances.

She frowned a little in puzzlement over that new crewman. Jim Kirk. From the beginning, she'd had reservations about allowing him to join the crew. She was convinced that the former captain of one of Starfleet's most renowned vessels wasn't likely to fit in with the Zephyr force, but as Raile had explained when she'd finally managed to get him alone and broached the subject, they couldn't afford to be too choosy right now. They needed another man, and they needed him now. And Kirk was definitely qualified to do the job--more than qualified. They weren't likely to find anyone else half as good.

As usual, Talya had bowed to Raile's judgment, although not without an argument...of the heated variety, very heated.

"How dare you?" she had demanded at the first opportunity. She had begun pacing back and forth in Raile's cabin the moment they entered. "You have overstepped your authority this time, Raile. James T. Kirk as our helmsman! It's ludicrous. Next thing I know, you'll be hiring an admiral to replace me." Talya flung herself into a chair next to the desk and glared up at the man who was still standing just inside the doorway, leaning lazily against the bulkhead.

Raile crossed the room and poured himself a drink, offering one to Talya. She peered at the bottle in his hand, then shook her head. He shrugged, replaced the bottle and downed his own drink. He leaned against the desk and looked down at her. She squirmed in the chair, realizing her position gave him a strategic advantage in the argument. It was too late to do anything about it now, though.

"All right, let's hear your objections." His voice was calm, patient, as lazy as his stance, and as false--it only made her angrier.

"My objec--" she sputtered. "Must I spell them out? Do I have to subject myself to this humiliation?"

He merely nodded.

"If you insist." She tried sarcasm, but he still didn't budge. "In the first place, he's too damned well known. Just as soon as the Orions learn he has joined us, they'll be picking fights for no other reason than his presence on board."

"So? I thought you wanted to fight Orions?"

"I do! But--" Unable to think of an appropriate response, Talya quickly moved on to voice her next objection. "He's been in command of a starship for years. What convinces you he would submit to your authority? He'll never follow your orders."

"He'll only not follow them once." If Talya had been thinking straight right then rather than being ruled by her own anger, she'd have realized there was neither pride nor boasting in Raile's drawled remark, and she'd have known it was nothing more than the basic truth. "I don't anticipate any problems."

"How do we know he's not a spy?" She played her trump card last and leaned back in the chair, a smug smile on her face. It died abruptly when Raile threw back his head and roared with laughter.

"Spy!" The silver eyes were glittering with his unconcealed amusement at that charge. "For who?"

"The Federation. It could all be a set-up." She stuck stubbornly to her position although Raile continued to chuckle.

"Talya, Talya. I don't know what's bugging you, kid, but you can dismiss that notion right now. The Federation has absolutely no reason to plant a spy with us. We're on their side, remember? It's not like the old days when your old man was on the run from every planetary official in the galaxy. We're privateers now, not pirates any longer."

She lowered her head, eyes staring at the hands clasped tightly together in her lap. "I don't trust him, Raile," she whispered. "I don't know why, but I just don't trust him. Something..."

The laughter disappeared from Raile's eyes, and his lazy voice took on a hard edge. "Give me one good reason--just one--and I promise you I'll have him off this ship at the next port."

But Talya just shook her head slowly. "I don't have a reason," she admitted. "Just a feeling..."

"Well, let me know when you come up with a reason, something more than 'a feeling.'" Raile pushed himself away from the desk and started for the doorway, gesturing for Talya to precede him. She hesitated only a second before complying. "Until then, we need a helmsman, and he's the best qualified we've been able to find, so he stays. And Talya..." She paused and turned back to face him. "Don't forget who's in command of this ship."

Her eyes widened at the last, and she opened her mouth to resume the argument, then thought better of it. She bit back the words of anger and flounced down the corridor. Raile chuckled softly behind her.

The argument had ended like most of them, with Raile winning. Talya shook her head now at the memory. Would she ever learn? She never hesitated to challenge Raile in private, occasionally even allowing her usually tightly reined temper its full range as she had in the argument over Kirk. After all, her father hadn't raised her to be a meek and mild, submissive female. Hers was a proud heritage, on both sides, and she never forgot it, despite never having had any real contact with either her father's or her mother's people. Of course, she had made no more effort to contact any of her relatives than they had her. She suspected neither side of her family would find her acceptable and had always lived by the premise that if she rejected them first, they would never have a chance to reject her.

But the very volatile nature that caused Talya to challenge the man she had personally chosen to command her ship inevitably led to her own defeat. While she ranted and raged at him, Raile just stood there calmly and outmatched her logic, much as her mother had done with her father. At least she had the good sense to keep their arguments private. Talya always followed Raile's orders without debate in front of the rest of the crew. A ship couldn't have two commanders, and it had been her own decision to take him on after her father's death. It was a decision she never seriously regretted, although she did find him infuriating at times and had even been tempted to resort to her sleek stiletto on at least one memorable occasion. Luckily, she hadn't done him too much damage before she came to her senses.

Talya stared in horror at the blood that covered both Raile's left arm and the blade of her knife. She dropped the knife to the floor and rushed into the bath off the main portion of his cabin, returning with two towels, one wet, the other dry. Quickly washing off the blood with the wet cloth, she wrapped the dry one around his arm. "Hold that," she ordered, then hurried to retrieve a medical kit from her quarters when he complied.

He was still standing there when she returned. She wished he would yell at her, chew her out...something...anything. But Raile remained silent, watching her out of hooded eyes as she bound up his wound.

"There," she said finally. "That should do it." Raile nodded, and Talya realized she was dismissed. She opened her mouth to protest, then closed it again when she caught the look in his eyes. She bent to pick up her knife, wiped it on the already blood-stained towels and replaced it in its scabbard. Tossing the towels down a disposal chute, she glanced at Raile one last time, then sighed and left without further conversation.

Talya sighed again now...at the memory of that incident. Although Raile had quietly submitted to her ministrations, she had no doubts about his submission being a meek one. It had been more like an nobleman accepting services due him. She reached for her knife now, taking it out and turning it over and over in her hands, admiring it, feeling its weight and shape, smiling as though at an old friend. The incident had resulted in a greater respect between the two of them. Raile had been very careful ever since not to provoke her too far. And she worked a little harder to keep that temper under control.

Sighing heavily, Talya replaced the knife in its scabbard and shoved the memories of both the incident of the knife and the argument over Kirk firmly into the back of her mind where she told herself they belonged. She turned her attention back to her sensors, scanning the region of space where they were cruising, searching for something, anything that might be a profitable target for the Zephyr and its crew. An Orion ship would be preferable; she could certainly use some real battle action right now, but she'd settle for another derelict to salvage if nothing else came along. At the moment, she'd settle for almost anything, as long as it provided a little diversion. She was thinking far too much about the new helmsman, and she didn't like the direction her thoughts were taking.

Talya deliberately dismissed all thoughts of James T. Kirk from her mind. Profit, that was what she should be thinking about, and it was the only thing she should be concerned about--for now.

*****

Kirk arrived late for the 'little celebration.' The Zephyr crew was already gathered in Raile's quarters, seated at the table in one corner. Before joining them, Kirk took brief note of the austere furnishings, augmented by a display of various exotic weapons from throughout the galaxy. Kirk recognized a Klingon kh'uled, a Terran claymore, an Andorian flabbjellah and even a Vulcan lirpa. He turned away from the last, uncomfortable with the memories it evoked.

"Here, Kirk, try this." Donovan waved a bottle of green liquid in his direction, and Kirk moved to the table and the one empty chair there. He sat and reached for the glass the Irishman had just filled. Kirk took a careful sip of the smoky liquid and almost choked. Raile laughed and pounded him on the back.

"Takes a bit of getting used to," he commiserated. "I prefer the Saurian version myself, but this Gorn bilgewater is about all we're likely to get our hands on here--unless we can find an Orion ship."

"Yeah," Donovan agreed. "Besides you don't drink this stuff for the taste. It has the highest alcohol content of any consumable beverage known to man--or Gorn."

"If you can call this 'consumable,'" Kirk offered skeptically as he held his glass up to examine the suspicious drink.

Raile laughed again. "You'll get used to it." He turned to eye Nydor reflectively. The blue man had downed three glasses of the vile liquid during the course of the brief conversation and hadn't said a word. "Of course, you're unlikely to learn to like it. Nydor's the only non-Gorn I know of who does. You'll just learn to tolerate it--for the effects."

"Maybe," Kirk considered and then conceded, still doubtful. He eyed the deck of cards Donovan was ruffling idly. "Are we going to play? Or are you just practicing?"

It was all the invitation Donovan needed. "Seven-card stud," he announced and began to deal the cards.

After an hour, Kirk looked ruefully at the tall stack of poker chips in front of Nydor and the tiny one in front of himself. He realized he was feeling the effects of the intoxicant more than he liked, and they weren't particularly pleasant ones. Instead of feeling increasingly sociable, he was just getting more and more depressed. He finished the drink in his hand and set the glass on the table. When Donovan moved to refill the glass, however, Kirk stopped him.

"No, thanks. I think I've had enough tonight." He stood up. "Deal me out. I think I'll get some sleep." Before the others had a chance to object, he had already left Raile's cabin and started down the corridor. He started for his own quarters, then decided he didn't want to be alone with his thoughts right then. Already, the more potent effects of the Gorn intoxicant were easing off a little, leaving behind a lingering depression that wasn't likely to be conducive to a good night's sleep. He'd be better off finding something constructive to do with his time. Maybe Talya could use some help--or least company. He headed for the bridge.

Talya swiveled to face the bridge doors the second she heard them open, and raised one arched eyebrow in surprise when she saw Kirk standing there. For some reason, he found her expression disconcerting and felt like a small boy caught misbehaving by his mother.

"I didn't feel much like celebrating," he explained, sliding into the helm position. "Thought maybe you could use some help up here."

The second eyebrow joined the first. "I don't think you'll be of much use like that," she scoffed.

He colored. "I'm not drunk," he protested.

"No?" Her disapproval was obvious.

"No." Kirk stubbornly reached for one of the controls on his board and accidentally hit the wrong switch, causing the ship to shift a little in its gravitational field. The unexpected movement brought a brief wave of nausea to his stomach, but he brought it under control quickly. Just as quickly, he had the ship, too, back in control. Only then did he dare to raise his head to meet Talya's gaze. He felt more than ever like that small boy.

"You're certain you're not drunk?"

"Not now." It was true, too; he was completely sober--now--thanks to the shock of his mistake.

Talya chuckled softly at his embarrassment. "Maybe you'd better go sleep it off anyway. I can handle things better without your help tonight. You have my permission to return to your quarters."

Insulted by the arrogance of the statement, he wanted to argue with her, but thought better of it.

"Maybe you're right," he admitted sheepishly.

"I know I'm right," she answered, then waved him away in dismissal. "Go on, Kirk. Get out of here."

Shaking his head at his own stupidity, Kirk complied silently. The last thing he heard before the doors slid shut behind him was the sound of Talya's laughter. It made him want to go right back in there and shove her pretty little teeth right down her throat. Then he laughed himself when he realized that urge was the clearest indication of all that she was absolutely right in her assessment of his condition. He might not be falling-down drunk, but he had consumed sufficient alcohol for his judgment to be impaired, which meant he had no business anywhere near the ship's controls. He headed for his quarters.

"I'll just sleep it off," he muttered as he walked. "At least I'm not as drunk as the others will be by the time they quit. I won't be hung over tomorrow, and she'll need help by then. She can't work alone all night and then continue all day tomorrow while the rest of us nurse hangovers."

As he continued through the corridor, Kirk's earlier depression began to seep back into his mind once more, and he was briefly tempted to join the others again and seek oblivion in more cards and the Gorn liquor, even if he did end up with a whopper of a hangover the next day. He dismissed the idea, though, knowing it really wouldn't help.

Once inside his cabin, Kirk collapsed on the bunk and lay there staring at the ceiling, trying to keep his mind a blank so that the unwanted memories wouldn't make him even more despondent. The effects of the Gorn drink were almost gone now, their absence and Talya's condescending rebuke leaving behind an even deeper depression than before. He shut his eyes and tried to sleep, but the visions that formed behind his closed eyes forced him to open them again.

Sedola. He shivered. The word alone was enough to make him feel cold all the way down to his bones. Bones. He still remembered the pleading look on McCoy's face when the doctor had begged him to do something to save Spock, to return to the GX Andromedae system and engage the enemy ship in battle. But he had been able to do nothing, and it had been too much to bear, and so he had started to leave the bridge, but then he had found he couldn't leave. He was trapped, frozen in place...

Unable to escape the horror, held motionless by his own inability to act, Kirk remained facing the turbolift door as he heard the gasps and screams behind him and caught the reflective flash of the explosion on the main viewing screen. He just stood there, unable to leave and unable to turn around and face the horror that his inability to act had caused.

And yet, in the midst of all the horror, guilt and sorrow, somewhere, a small part of Kirk's brain remained functional. He realized that in seconds the aliens would turn their attention to the Enterprise and begin pursuit. The Federation starship was out of range for now, but they weren't likely to remain so for long. Kirk hadn't been able to help Spock, but he could save his ship and the rest of his crew. "Go, Sulu!" he ordered, and fled the bridge blindly.

He only regained awareness after he reached his quarters, realizing he had left no one in charge on the bridge, and that he couldn't bring himself to face the others right then. He reached for the intercom button.

"Kirk to Engineering." He hardly recognized as his own the voice that was hoarse with suppressed emotion.

"Engineering. Scott here. Cap'n, what's--"

"Not now, Scotty. I..." He hesitated, then blurted the order before he had time to seriously reconsider it. "You're in charge until further notice." Kirk paused again for a moment, then added. "We're already on a course back to Earth. Take us there, best speed."

"But--"

Kirk broke the connection before the engineer could say anything more. Mercifully, Scott took the hint and didn't push the matter any further. Kirk had been tempted to remain in hiding all the way back to Earth, unwilling to face the questions and demands for answers he knew he would see in his crew's eyes even if they didn't speak them aloud. But the ghosts that haunted his cabin and his own sense of duty brought him out again within the hour. Luckily, no one challenged his actions openly, and he managed to avoid meeting anyone's gaze directly, so he never saw the unspoken questions.

On the Zephyr, Kirk opened his eyes again. He hadn't realized he had closed them; not really wanting to sleep. The memories crowded in on him then, tearing at him, leaving him feeling cold and alone as he had never been alone in his life.

The dreaded meeting with Komack had been almost a relief, but the real difficulty came when he left that inner office and found the most trusted members of his crew waiting for him, staring with eyes that seemed to stab at his heart. He had shifted his own gaze away from them, but not before reading the various emotions in their eyes. McCoy's were filled with anger, Uhura's with a compassionate sorrow, and Christine Chapel's held something very close to hatred. The others showed only confusion and a dying hope.

"There'll be no court-martial," he'd told them and left. It was the last he saw of them, maybe the last he would ever see.

Again, Kirk remembered the expressions he had seen only briefly in their eyes. Even with his own wide open, he kept seeing them...staring...accusing. He hadn't realized how damning his behavior throughout the entire mess would appear to the others until later, until he saw their eyes. Then he saw one other pair of eyes, dark brown, filled with only love and understanding.

"Spock!" the cry was torn from his throat. In desperation, he turned over onto his stomach and covered his head with both arms. He lay there a long time, dry-eyed, face buried in the pillow, before he finally drifted off to sleep again--dreamlessly this time.

*****

Kirk was already at the helm the following morning when Raile arrived on the bridge. The commander was bleary-eyed and pasty-faced. His skin-tone clashed horribly with his usual flamboyant color scheme--burnt orange, neon yellow and hot pink today. Kirk wondered idly if Raile might be color blind. The commander groaned, and Kirk felt tempted to echo the sound. He hadn't drunk enough of the Gorn intoxicant to cause a hangover, but the aftereffects of his own, restless night were almost as painful.

"Was there a hangover remedy in those medical supplies?" Raile asked Talya, his voice a barely intelligible harsh whisper as though anything louder was an occurrence devoutly to be avoided.

"No, but I can mix one up for you," she offered deadpan.

He grimaced. "Thanks," he growled. "I'd appreciate it."

Talya slid from her seat and left the bridge, surprising Kirk with another wink as she passed him. Kirk's puzzled gaze followed her, watching the way her hips swayed in her typical, form-fitting black pants. She hadn't cracked a smile during the entire exchange, and yet he could feel her amusement the entire time, as obvious as if she had been grinning from ear to ear--even before that wink. Something about that raised eyebrow...

"You were smart to go to bed when you did," Raile interrupted the unfinished thought. "Too much brandy is hell the morning after, and Talya's 'remedies' are almost worse than the symptoms they're designed to cure. Sometimes I think she actually enjoys making me suffer. Donovan tells me the old man could be a bit sadistic at times; maybe Talya's his daughter in more ways than one."

"Then why bother?"

Raile shrugged, then winced. "As noxious as they are, they do work. Like I said, mornings after are hell."

"I know. I've indulged enough myself at times," Kirk admitted with a sympathetic grin. "Just wasn't in the mood last night though."

Raile shrugged again, knowing better to question his new helmsman about his 'mood'. "You're free to join us or not as you please, Kirk. Talya usually doesn't. Apparently, she's unable to feel the effects of alcohol herself, and she really doesn't understand the attraction intoxicants of any kind have for the rest of us, although she does join us on rare occasions. Personally, I think she likes watching us make fools of ourselves...more of that sadism, I guess. As for the rest of us, like all Irishmen, Donovan's in line whenever a bottle's opened, and I'm usually not far behind," he admitted with a self-deprecating grin.

"Nydor?"

Raile shrugged again. "Nydor's hard to figure sometimes. He drinks like a fish, even more than Donovan, but it rarely seems to affect him. And usually when it does, it happens all of a sudden, without warning. Frankly, I don't really think it's the alcohol that affects him, but rather something in certain mixtures that reacts to his physiology--or maybe it's something else again, something cyclical in his make-up--who knows?"

"Exactly what is his physiology?" Kirk couldn't resist the opportunity to satisfy at least a little of his natural curiosity. There was something intriguing about the big blue man.

Raile laughed heartily. "To be honest, I don't know myself. There's Andorian blood there, but I'm not quite sure what else--and I'm not sure I really want to know. We may be better off not knowing," he added cryptically, then sobered briefly. "We're a strange crew, Kirk," he admitted. "You, Donovan and I are pretty much alike, all basically Human, although he was born and raised on Centaurus, and if the people of my planet have any ties to your Earth it's so far back in our prehistory that no one remembers anything about it--not even in legend."

"The Preservers?"

"I don't know. Perhaps." He grinned. "Then again, maybe my planet is the homeworld and we colonized Earth."

"Maybe. I don't think that's likely, but I wouldn't rule it out. All scientific evidence points to the likelihood that Human life is indigenous to Earth, but I learned a long time ago not to take anything for granted. What about Talya?" The question was casual...too casual.

"I don't know," Raile again seemed unsure about his facts. "From what Donovan's told me and the holos I've seen, she doesn't bear a lot of physical resemblance to her father, except for the coloring, although she apparently gets her somewhat warped sense of humor, hair-trigger temper and thirst for adventure from him. He was a big man, dark like Talya, but big boned, a little coarser featured. And his temper was legendary. Talya controls hers most of the time, but they say her father rarely made any effort to master his. If you crossed him, no matter how trivial the matter, he would just as soon hit you as look at you--and just as soon shoot you as hit you. Apparently, Talya was the only exception. No one ever saw him so much as raise a hand to her--whatever the provocation...and, man, can that woman be provoking when she wants to be.

"Anyway," he continued, "Donovan says the old man never talked about where either he or his late wife came from. He spent a lot of time entertaining both his daughter and his crew with what were probably highly exaggerated tales of his many reputed exploits both on the fringe of and clearly outside the law. But, somehow, he never really talked much about himself personally at all, seemed somehow to feel as though it was beneath him to explain too much to simple crewmen. In fact, besides the certainty that he was a true pirate for years before making an agreement with the Gorn to help them fight off the Orions, all we know about him for sure is that he wasn't Human, not truly, although he looked it. Talya herself doesn't talk about him, or about her mother either. I do know she was said to be even more alien than the old man and that she died years ago, when Talya was just a small child, two or three years old, but I don't really know anything more about her at all. No one who knew her is still around, except for Talya herself, and she won't discuss either one of her parents."

Kirk digested that information, then deliberately changed the subject. "About that Gorn ship..."

"What about it?" Raile asked warily.

"Why did you destroy it?" Kirk was careful to keep any hint of judgment out of his voice.

Still, Raile hesitated to answer him. He eyed Kirk carefully, then he shrugged. "You might as well know. Our contract allows us to take anything we find on such derelicts, but we're understandably prohibited from interfering with the Gorn themselves in any way."

"So?" Kirk prompted when Raile seemed reluctant to continue. His explanation hadn't really explained anything so far. The Zephyr crew hadn't harmed any of the Gorn ship's crew. They had all been dead long before the sleek privateer arrived in the vicinity.

"So...there was something missing from that ship," Raile continued his explanation, "and we would have had a hard time accounting for its absence if it were ever discovered."

"What was missing?" Kirk asked, speculating over the possibilities, "Dilithium, weaponry, military documents..."

"Their captain."

"What?" That was the last thing Kirk had expected to hear.

"The Gorn captain." Raile paused. "I was acquainted with him. He wasn't there."

"Where was he?"

Raile shrugged again. "No idea. And Talya was right, Jim. There really was nothing wrong with that ship, and no sign as to how the crew died. It was like the life had just been drained out of them. Although we had nothing to do with whatever happened, I'd rather not have to explain any of this mess to the Gorn. They like mysteries even less than I do. It was easier just to salvage anything that's not traceable and then destroy the rest."

"I see." He sounded doubtful.

"Yeah, well..."

The conversation ended abruptly when the bridge doors slid open, and Talya stepped through, carrying a tumbler with a noxious looking concoction that made Kirk cringe involuntarily. He was glad he didn't need a hangover remedy himself. To Raile's credit, though, the commander took the glass and downed it quickly while Talya slid a bit too innocently into her chair at Kirk's side, running a quick check over her instruments. She kept her eyes so carefully averted that Kirk became instantly suspicious. He'd be willing to bet that the active ingredients in that 'remedy' weren't really unpleasant at all, and that Talya added the other just for the fun of it.

Dismissing the idea as unimportant, Kirk turned his attention back to his own helm board, puzzling over Raile's comments. Obviously, their conversation was over for now. He hadn't learned much about his fellow crewmen, not nearly as much as he'd hoped. There was a mystery attached to each of them, and he wasn't sure he cared for the idea. For one thing, exactly who wasTalya's father? Or rather, what? Kirk didn't like mysteries much himself. Of course, he couldn't really object to their secrets when he had more than enough of his own. But he didn't know how much he could count on any of them in a crunch, and that bothered him, more than a little. He was used to a crew he could trust implicitly, all the way to hell and back if it were necessary.

Again, his gaze slid to Talya, and he amended the thought, although he wasn't quite sure why. Despite her mysterious background, her youth, temper, quirky sense of humor and obvious enjoyment for the life she led, somehow, he just knew he could depend on her. His instincts about people had always been good, and he was convinced he was right this time, too. There was something inherently trustworthy about the alien woman, something vaguely familiar somehow...if he could just figure out what it was. But the peculiar combination of her dual heritage made it virtually impossible to ascertain what she had inherited from whom--and what the original combinations had looked like. It was a puzzle he was determined to solve. A hair-trigger temper, usually under control, and that knife...

CHAPTER THREE

Commander Spock was dragged unceremoniously from a deep sleep by a dozen, snake-like limbs encircling his own arms and legs and forcing him to stand. He faced his captors stoically, as he had each time since that first confrontation a few weeks earlier. He had relived his sudden capture over and over again in his mind, and still he had trouble understanding it. One minute, he had been discussing some data with the scientists at the Sedola Outpost on the moon orbiting the third planet of the star, GX Andromedae. The next...

The thing that impressed Spock the most about Sedola was the incredible silence. Established in the harsh environment of the GX Andromedae Three moon, the scientific facilities were all constructed beneath a gigantic transparent aluminum dome. Inside that dome, both scientists and equipment were protected from the elements, but the super-strong structure also kept out any atmospheric sound. As for the scientists, they went about their appointed duties, seldom exchanging any verbal communication at all. But every time Spock lowered his shields even a little bit, he was bombarded by an astonishing array of telepathic 'noise' that forced him back behind his own mental barriers at the first opportunity. Powerful telepaths, even by Vulcan standards, the Sedolans had chosen to separate themselves from their homeworld in the 40 Eridani system and establish their own mobile scientific community, traveling the galaxy to study unusual or otherwise significant scientific phenomena wherever they might be found. Completely devoted to their scientific research, the Sedolans had developed a means of communication that was just one step short of complete group consciousness. Their minds were open to each other at all times, allowing any one of them to tap into any of the others' memories to retrieve information he or she might need. It was an efficient means of sharing the astonishing amount of scientific data amassed by the Sedolans, but the effect was quite disconcerting to someone trained since childhood in the techniques of blocking random telepathic transmissions.

Spock stood to one side, observing, as the scientists completed their latest experiment, when suddenly, the Sedolans simultaneously exhibited signs of distress. Although Spock's shields prevented him from detecting whatever had disturbed them, he picked up some of their sense of urgency. Before he could lower his shields, or the others could act in any manner, the entire outpost seemed to shimmer around him as though he were being caught up in a transporter beam.

His next awareness was of being enclosed in a huge vessel of some kind. Before he could focus on his surroundings, the piercing agony of a hundred shrieking mental voices shot through his mind, bringing him to his knees. When the pain faded, he shook his head slowly and looked up to find himself surrounded by immense creatures.

Although he had never before seen them in reality, it took him only a split second to recognize the huge, hundred-tentacled creatures. He remembered well the baffling vision he had seen three years earlier when Jim had asked him to attempt telepathic contact with Kelinda. Obviously, he had been right in his supposition at that time. These creatures were Kelvans in their natural form; he knew it as surely as if they had come right out and admitted to it. The being before him held him prisoner with a device similar to that used earlier by Rojan and his followers to paralyze the Enterprise crew.

His captor opened what had to be his mouth and made a sound that emerged as nothing more than mere garble to Spock. The Vulcan rose to his feet and shook his head again, to indicate his lack of understanding. Obviously, the creature was attempting to tell him what it wanted, but the Vulcan wasn't equipped with a translator and couldn't understand the Kelvan language. The alien spoke in a harsh, guttural language, punctuated by clicks and hisses, that was indecipherable to Spock. It waved several of its tentacles in gestures apparently meant to illustrate its speech, its four eye-stalks moving about in a similar motion. None of it made any sense to the Vulcan.

In an effort to understand, Spock reached out with his mind, much as he had with Kelinda. Once again, he wasn't completely successful, still able to detect only fleeting glimpses of visual images. While incomplete, however, these glimpses were a little clearer than those he had received when he had tried to touch Kelinda's mind years earlier.

The Vulcan recoiled from those images instinctively and had to exert extraordinary control to avoid showing the gesturing Kelvan how strongly it had affected him. As his mind had touched the alien's, Spock had seen himself, not as he was now, but rather as he had been more than two years earlier. He had also seen Kelinda and Rojan, Jim and Doctor McCoy and several others from the Enterprise crew. He wondered how these Kelvans might have such complete visual images of people they had never met.

What Spock saw next, both explained that mystery and added to his growing distress over it. These huge leathery beings had settled down to enjoy a meal, eating some form of meat, gnawing on long, rounded bones, their strong, pointed teeth ripping the raw flesh away in long, sinewy strips. It was a vision that the vegetarian, Spock found repugnant in itself. His recognition of what kind of meat the invaders were eating--and subsequent hypothesis as to why--was the final factor that caused him to abandon for several days all attempts to communicate with these particular Kelvans.

He could only be thankful that the Kelvans the Enterprise crew had met three years earlier had forsaken most of their natural customs along with their original forms. He was glad Jim Kirk and the others had been spared this knowledge about the invaders from the Andromeda Galaxy--especially Jim, who, predictably, had found his self-assigned task of charming the beautiful Kelinda all too comfortable. What would he have thought...how comfortable would he have been, had he known the truth about her people?

Then Spock wondered if his friends had any awareness of the fate of Rojan and his people. He hoped not. Although he firmly believed in the doctrine of IDIC, he had never expected to encounter an intelligent species capable of devouring another merely to expand its knowledge through the ingestion of memory RNA. This...incomprehensible practice strongly tested his Vulcan ideals as far as the Kelvans were concerned.

He hoped he never would face such a challenge again.

Spock finally managed to control his rev