The Children of Haole
a sequel to "The Mindsweeper"

Donna S. Frelick

October 2294

CHAPTER ONE

The wind slicing over the slick, black rock was cold and smelled sharply of the sea. The heavy sky lowered to the leaden water at the horizon, threatening rain. Below, the dark, furious waves disintegrated against the rocks, booming and hissing in unending rhythm, breaking themselves into microdrops of salt spray that stung his skin where the thick robe didn't cover him. It felt wonderful.

She turned to him as they climbed to the sheltered plateau that was their destination. "We're almost there. You okay?"

"Fine," he answered, gratified to find it was actually true. He had just begun to feel comfortable in his body again after the long weeks of regeneration and therapy. He was tired from the climb and aching all over, but he welcomed the pain; it meant only healing now.

At the top of the bluff, the geothermals bubbled and rolled in pools hollowed by the sea in the volcanic rock. The day was too far gone, the sea too angry, for the pools to attract many visitors. The two of them were alone.

He stripped off his robe and lowered himself into the nearest pool. The water washed hot and healing over his body, dissolving the knots in his overused muscles. Kate, laughing with wild exhiliration, bared herself to the biting wind long enough to raise goosebumps on her naked skin before she slipped into the water beside him. "Oh, that feels incredible," she breathed, stretching languorously in the soothing cauldron.

He watched the steaming water lap at her breasts and shoulders, noted with delight the way the cold had hardened her nipples.

The diffuse sensual pleasure of the heat on his skin give way to the sharper focus of gathering arousal. He reached for her and found she was already moving toward him.

They kissed, his tongue slipping past her parted lips to explore her soft mouth. She withdrew, teasing him; he pursued, withdrew, pursued again until he broke off to bring his lips to the hollow of her throat, to her shoulder. He let his tongue run over the sensitive peaks of her breasts, licking the salt from her skin, and felt her hands grip his shoulders in response. When he lifted his head to kiss her again, her lips were open, vulnerable; her mouth was like a sun-warmed peach, ripe and tangy-sweet.

His hands traveled down her belly, up the inside of her thigh, seeking her tender secrets with a confidence born of long practice. She smiled beneath his kiss and caressed him in return. He felt himself swell under her touch until he could think of nothing but burying himself in her.

She didn't wait for more of the simple pleasuring he would willingly have given her, but straddled him and took him in, sighing his name. For a moment it was all he could do to hold on to his climax in the wet heat of her body. He willed himself to think of something else, to feel the wind on his face and the rock against his back until the urgency subsided.

Then he began to move beneath her, rocking in and out of her, matching her rhythm, positioning her hips and buttocks with his hands to increase her pleasure. She responded hungrily, her need building until it finally overtook her and she arched away from him in violent orgasm.

After a time her demanding thrusts quieted to a gentle, sustaining ebb and flow. He moved to change places with her and sank between her thighs, chin-deep in the fizzing water. He spread her gently, opening her to the sweet attentions of his tongue. She tasted like the ocean, like life; her taste and the liquid fire of her response made him shake with desire. But he denied himself a while longer, persisting until she gave herself up to his skill and his devotion to her body and drowned again in a wave of joyful passion.

He was very close himself now, aching with the need to join her. He drew her out of the water, the steam rising from her skin, and covered her body with his on a pallet of their robes at the edge of the pool. With a smooth, unifying thrust he was deep inside her, pulling almost all the way out before beginning the next stroke, strong and slow as if he had all the time in the world. He could feel his climax mounting at the base of his spine, but still he held back.

"Come with me, Kate," he whispered fiercely.

Her only answer was a breathless moan.

"Come with me. Feel how much I want you and you won't be able to stop it."

He slowed his movements to an irresistible circular grind and waited until he heard her breath come in short, soft moans. Then at last he let go and his triumphant shout joined hers as they both washed over the edge of climax. He exploded inside her, calling her name as he spasmed a final time into her welcoming flesh.

"Oh, my sweet starman," she whispered, rolling out the last of her shuddering orgasm. Her fingernails raked his back just hard enough to make him shiver. "I'm going to miss you so much."

James T. Kirk, UFP Starfleet Captain (Ret.) found himself abruptly alone, curled against his pain in the narrow ship's bunk. He didn't know when he'd slipped from warm memory to awake, stone hard and sobbing, in the cold reality of the dark cabin. It took a moment for him to realize the images fading from his mind lacked even the substance--and the comfort--of memory.

The place in his dream was real enough--an R&R colony on Pacifica--but he'd been alone when he'd experienced the sensual draw of the place as a young lieutenant. Pacifica had been a locus of fantasy for him ever since. He'd always meant to take Kate there one day; making love to her there had been a gift of pleasure he'd always meant to give her when they finally had the time.

But now it was too late and Kirk couldn't stop the tears. He was aboard a Federation courier ship loaned by a sympathetic Commanding Admiral named Bill Smillie, headed for the fourth planet in the Delta Aurigae star system. In the morning, he would disembark on that lovely planet for the purpose of attending a funeral--Kate Logan's funeral. And he would finally have to admit that the woman who had filled his dreams for twenty-five years was lost to him forever.

*****

The Vulcan and the doctor filed into the transporter room, expressions somber, the evidence of their long service to their captain and the Federation carefully in place on their dress uniforms. As they stepped onto the transporter pad, McCoy turned to Kirk. "You okay?"

"Fine," Kirk said shortly.

"You know, the galaxy wouldn't come to an end if you let your feelings show a little bit, today of all days," McCoy said.

"Bones, please." Kirk tried in vain to keep the strain out of his voice. "Let's just get this over with."

The transporter chief looked to Kirk for word that he was ready. Kirk took a deep breath and gave it. "Energize," he said.

Laria and Dartha Allen were both waiting for him when he stepped off the transporter pad. The Deltan woman had hardly added an extra line or kilo in the twenty-five years since he'd last seen her. Allen, however, being only Human, looked every bit of sixty. Kirk noted the changes, and noted, too, that Kate Logan's two lifelong friends were comparing him to the Jim Kirk they'd met briefly so long ago. He wouldn't have been surprised if they'd found him wanting in the comparison. He was sure he'd aged ten years in the three days since he'd received the message about Kate.

Laria held out both hands to him. "Captain. Thank you for coming."

He took her hands, felt the cool strength in them. "It's Jim, please." He dropped her hands and took the one Allen offered him. "Thank you both for thinking of me."

"Kate left instructions for, well, in case..." Allen said. It was all too clear how much she disapproved of this particular instruction.

Kirk merely nodded. "My First..." He stopped and started again. "My friends--Captain Spock and Doctor Leonard McCoy." He tried to be patient as they murmured the required greetings, the condolences meant to help carry the weight of a grief that could not yet be borne. But questions had burned in him for days, and he blurted out the first of them before they had even left the transport facility.

He touched Laria's arm as they walked, leaving Spock and McCoy to distract Dartha Allen. "How did it happen?"

She shook her head. "We don't know exactly. A Federation scout on patrol in the Sector 16 found Roxanne derelict and drifting. There was evidence of a firefight."

"Pirates? or Klingon renegades?" he said, his jaw tightening.

"The investigation was not able to determine that," she replied. Perceiving his next question in his face, she added, "Nor were they able to determine the cause of death. In fact, they brought us no body to put to rest. There was only..." She struggled to collect herself. "...the blood in the cabin to show she'd not given up without a fight."

"Her cargo?"

"Gone, of course."

Kirk swallowed, hard. The evidence pointed to a boarding party in search of loot. If Kate had given them any trouble they wouldn't have hesitated to eliminate her. Disruptors left no bodies behind.

Still, Kate Logan had one advantage no other trader had--the sentient being that was an integrated part of her ship. "Surely Roxanne could tell us what happened," Kirk said.

Laria sighed. "Jim, I can't tell you how hard it was to lose Kate. She was our closest friend; Dartha and I owed everything to her. But to lose Roxanne as well..."

"But you said they found the ship...?"

"Yes, and the engineers tell us her computer systems survived almost intact. They can detect Roxanne's presence in the matrix, but she won't release the ship's log, and she refuses all attempts to communicate. I've tried--we all have--but she won't talk. Whatever happened on that ship is locked up in her memory until she decides to reveal it."

"Maybe I should try--or Spock," he suggested.

Laria stopped in front of a gate leading off the public walkway. "Perhaps," she said and led the way through the gate, down a path landscaped with a holo of tall Terran wildflowers and flowing Deltan grasses. A low, rounded cottage of textured thermocrete stood at the end of the path. "Welcome to our home. Kate always thought of it as hers--I hope you will, too."

*****

They sat awkwardly in the sunlit front room, trying to keep the circumstances that had brought them together from overwhelming any attempt at conversation. Laria spoke quietly of the last time they had seen Kate Logan, of the relationship they had shared over the years. While Laria talked, Dartha Allen's dark eyes took Kirk and his companions apart piece by piece. Her hostility darkened the room, though she tried to be polite for Laria's sake. McCoy shot him a questioning look, but Kirk had no idea why she was so distrustful and answered with the merest shrug of his shoulders.

Kirk grew more anxious by the minute--to be through this, to be left to wrestle his grief alone. After a while he simply couldn't contain it and got to his feet to begin a restless prowl around the room. McCoy and Spock watched him protectively from their seats, picking up the conversation to cover for him.

The room was full of delicate, beautiful things, objects chosen with love from planets throughout the galaxy to soften the impact of Allen's many absences. They were displayed side by side with her awards from a long career as a newsnet reporter--two Pulitzers, a Bernstein, the Sontnu she'd won with the holovids of a secret arms depot taken at close range, with Kate Logan at the helm of the Roxanne.

There were photos and holos, too--Dartha and Laria together, numerous friends and family members, a gaggle of young girls at a birthday party. He found himself staring at a recent holo of Kate, and several that appeared to be Kate as a child. Something about the older images wasn't quite right, but he was hardly in a mood to sort it out. She had been so beautiful, and now she was gone. He realized with a flush of renewed grief that he didn't even own as much as a photo of her.

He felt the room go suddenly quiet and looked up to see his friends rise to their feet. He turned and saw a young woman standing in the doorway, and for a crazy moment he thought he was seeing Kate Logan as he'd first seen her, standing over his table in a bar outside Starbase Twelve.

The woman in the doorway was a bit younger than Logan had been then, and her hair was much lighter than Logan's dark chestnut. But her eyes were the same startling green, her compact body conveyed the same lithe strength. And her face--if it weren't for a certain stubborn set to the jaw, she would have been the very image of Kate. Kirk understood instantly that the photos he'd been looking at were of this young woman growing up. And he realized he'd stopped breathing to stare at her.

McCoy was somehow at his elbow, trying unsuccessfully to hide a grin. "Well, I'll be," he said, his voice pitched for Kirk's ears alone. "Damn, Jim, if you don't do good work."

He half-turned to the doctor, his eyes never leaving the doorway. "What?"

Laria stood and took the young woman by the arm. "Gentlemen, this is our daughter..."

The young woman gently disengaged herself and held out a hand to Kirk. "I'm J.T. Logan."

Spock's eyebrows both disappeared into his bangs in the closest he ever got to an expression of astonishment. McCoy clasped his hands behind his back and began to rock back and forth on the balls of his feet.

"J.T.?" Kirk said, hoping his hand didn't shake as he took hers.

"Juliette Tamara," she said. "J.T.'s just a little easier to handle."

Kirk cleared his throat and glanced from J.T. to Laria and back, looking for an explanation. "Logan?"

Laria hesitated. "It's a long story, Jim. There'll be plenty of time to tell it after the services."

"There aren't going to be any services," J.T. said. As everyone turned to her, she added, "My mother isn't dead."

CHAPTER TWO

The ambient sound machine filled his cabin with the rush and retreat of the ocean, overlaying the ever-present thrum of the Enterprise's engines. In the dim light, she could just make out the details of his quarters--the few precious books on the shelf by his desk, the meditation sculpture from Vulcan, the discreet scatter of their clothes at the foot of the bunk.

There had been the slightest moment of awkwardness between them after the long weeks of separation, a moment quickly overcome in rekindled passion. No crisis on the bridge had interrupted them--they'd had hours to rediscover each other. Nothing she had imagined in their time apart had been sweeter than this reunion. Her body still hummed with pleasure in the afterglow of their lovemaking.

He emerged from the shower and toweled off. Then he stood, unselfconsciously naked, smiling at her from the doorway. She smiled back, and he dropped the towel behind him to join her on the bunk, his skin still damp and deliciously warm, smelling of soap.

"Planetfall at 0800 tomorrow, and we'll have ten days ahead of us," he sighed. "Now that you're on permanent contract with Starfleet and I'm at HQ, I can regularly bribe the duty officer to schedule all our leave time together."

"Since when do you take leave without someone beating you over the head with a club?" She laughed, but her heart wasn't in it. The weight of what she had to tell him still pressed on her, despite the comfort of their intimacy.

He rolled over on one elbow and kissed her. "Since my leave time includes opportunities to make love to you everyday, twice a day, three times on Sunday."

In the face of his playfulness--his evident happiness--she almost lost her nerve. It would be so easy to deal with the problem on her own; he would never have to know. But she wasn't entirely sure she could pull it off; she wasn't entirely sure she wanted to take the easy way out. She needed his help. And he deserved a chance to offer it.

She was suddenly aware that he'd fallen silent, watching her. She looked up at him with an embarrassed smile. "Welcome back," he murmured. "Want to tell me where you were?"

"Are you sure you want to know?" she asked him. She was so tired of thinking.

His hand went to her face, touched her cheek. "If I'm pushing too hard, you need to let me know. Maybe I'm expecting more from this relationship than I should be."

"No, it's not that," she said. "It could never be that."

The emotion she read in his face was honest, open. It was easy to see, now that she was with him. The icy fears she'd conjured up in her time apart from him melted just enough in the warmth of that honesty to give her courage.

She took a deep breath. "I'm pregnant, Jim."

For a long moment he was very still, gazing at her with an expression she couldn't interpret. Whatever thoughts were running through his head were unreadable in his eyes. She rushed to fill the gap of silence that threatened to swallow her. "I knew my implant was close to replacement level. I should've had it done at Starbase Twelve, but with all that happened--the ship and Dartha and the trip to Rho Orionis...Well, I let it slip..." She trailed off, wishing he would say something, anything.

His hand stole to her belly, stroked the skin over the taut muscles that as yet gave no hint of the change in her body. "It's early," he said, not a question. "Have you made a decision?"

She shook her head, not trusting herself to speak.

"Did you know I'm already a father?" He gave her an ironic little smile when she looked at him in surprise. "Twice, that I know about. My son David would be about 15 or 16 now. He's with his mother. She's made it clear she doesn't want me in his life and I guess she has her reasons. I have a feeling I'll never have a chance to know him."

He paused, then continued in a voice thick with regret. "There was Mirimani's child. He--or she--died with her. I don't remember much about it--McCoy says it's because of the head injury."

"Jim, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to..."

"No." He shook his head. "Those things are in the past; I can't do anything to change them. It's the future we have to think about now."

"You don't have to feel obligated," she said. The last thing she wanted was for him to be trapped by her mistake. "I just didn't think it was right not to tell you."

He shook his head again, as if she had misunderstood him. He struggled to find the right words. "Kate, I can't ask you to make the sacrifices you'd have to make for this child. I won't ask you. It's your body--it's your choice--not mine."

He looked at her then with a need she'd never seen in him, a need she'd seldom seen in anyone. "But if I could, I would do anything just to hold this child, knowing she's ours. I would give anything to watch her grow up, to be a part of her life. I've lost so much in my life, Kate. Please don't tell me I have to lose this chance with you, too."

Kate Logan woke with a start, her face wet with tears, the darkness around her profound and stifling. The dream still gripped her--a reality that might have been, but wasn't. Jim Kirk hadn't been within a hundred parsecs when she'd found out she was pregnant. She had been alone, except for Roxanne, and too far from medical facilities to safely make any choice but the one she'd made. There'd been no steady job with Starfleet; she'd made her living as a lone wolf trader at the time, without even a partner to back her up. And Jim--recounting losses he could not even have imagined in those early days together.

The dream washed back over her, and Logan rocked back and forth on the hard bunk, sobbing. "Oh, Jim, I'm sorry; I'm so sorry." She prayed, as she had prayed for twenty-five years, for him to forgive her. She'd had so many chances to tell him. She still couldn't explain why she hadn't told him at Tarsus. They'd been facing death, then; surely it had been a time for honesty.

She had hoped to spare him the pain that she felt, a pain she'd lived with so long it had become a permanent part of her, a scar she was forced to examine every day in the mirror. She had hoped to spare him, as she had hoped to spare J.T.

She was no longer in a position to shield either of them from the truth. By now, J.T. would know everything. By now, J.T. would think her mother was dead, and Kate Logan, confined alone with her misery on a ship bound for God knew where, almost wished she was.

*****

Kirk found J.T. on the broad back porch, staring out at the deepening darkness of nightfall. She glanced up at him, defiant, but said nothing.

"That was quite a scene you caused in there today," he said, nodding in the direction of the living room. The shouting was finally over. The room was empty now, the people and the emotion that had filled it earlier had scattered. "I think Bones has persuaded Dartha to go to bed, but I don't think she's going to be any readier to listen tomorrow."

J.T. closed her eyes. "I didn't mean to hurt them."

"I know." He moved to lean against the railing next to her. "Would it help if I said I believe you?"

She looked up at him and smiled. That smile, the first he'd seen on her face, was so like Kate's it was a stab in the heart. "Thanks."

Kirk took a ragged breath, made an effort to shut down the emotions that had threatened to overload his control all day. He told himself there would be time later to feel. Right now, he needed to think. He needed to know whether he believed J.T. because she might be right, or just because he wanted to so badly. "Run through it again for me, J.T. What do you think happened out there?"

"Kate had just landed a contract to deliver neutronium to Rigel Seven," J.T. began. " I guess it was just the last straw for Ostyr Tyro."

"Ostyr Tyro is Orion," Kirk said, puzzled. "Reputed to be a slave trader. Why would he be interested in legitimate business?"

"Clan Tyro is poised to move up in the Orion Syndicate," J.T. answered. "Ostyr apparently believes he can extend the Syndicate's influence by covering their activities with a legal front. He's telling the media that he's a businessman, out to reform the leadership of the Orion system."

"Like hell," Kirk muttered. He'd had enough experience with the Orions to doubt any impulse to "reform".

J.T. nodded. "And Kate wasn't helping. Every time he'd get a legitimate deal worked out, there she'd be. Kate must've snatched half a dozen fat pieces of work right out of his jaws over the last couple of years. People warned her about him--Laria and Dartha were frantic about it. Everyone tried to convince her to let one of her partners take this run. But she'd just negotiated the deal--she liked to take the first run of a new contract herself."

"But Kate must have beat out competitors like Ostyr before. She wasn't exactly new to this business."

"Oh, sure, there were plenty of others. She didn't get those Federation Merchant citations for nothing."

"So even if this was something more than murder in the course of a robbery, there could have been any number of suspects," Kirk pointed out, wondering how he would ever find the right one.

J.T. disagreed. "Most of the old rivals are dead or serving time on Tantalus. A couple have left the businesses to their offspring, but they've steered clear of Kate. No. If anyone did this, it was Ostyr Tyro. He's the only one with both the guts and the resources."

"Okay. Let's assume Ostyr wanted to kill Kate. If he'd wanted to do it quietly and without witnesses, he would've done it in deep space," Kirk said. "Attack the ship someplace where ion interference and distance would have made it impossible for Kate to call for help."

"There's a six-month ion storm in progress in Rigel," J.T. said. "Kate had to fly blind through it or lose a week going around it. It was the perfect spot for an ambush. But whoever did this didn't just attack the ship. They took Kate and the cargo, and left the ship behind deliberately."

Kirk was skeptical. "Why--when it would've been so much easier just to destroy the ship, or to steal it?"

"So the authorities would read Kate's death just like they have--as murder in the course of a robbery," J.T. argued. "The ship was a decoy. You notice there's no one out there searching for Kate now."

"All right," Kirk acknowledged. "But you still haven't told me why you think Kate is still alive."

"Ostyr is an Orion," J.T. explained. "If he could get Kate out of the way and make a profit at the same time, he'd do it. There was profit in Kate, as much as in the cargo."

Kirk nodded, sick at the thought of how Kate might be profitable for an Orion slave trader. J.T.'s argument was following an inevitable logic. "What about an alibi? If Ostyr was trying to polish his image, it would hardly do for him to attack Kate directly."

"Oh, Ostyr covered his own butt, all right," J.T. said. "He was here on Delta Aurigae Four at a trade conference when Roxanne was attacked. The authorities won't even consider the possibility that he was involved. But he's got a fleet of ships and any number of allies who would have been glad to do the job for him. Not to mention his heir, Cestyr."

Kirk was willing to believe Ostyr Tyro was in this up to his fat neck, but he knew they didn't have enough evidence to force an official investigation. "We have to know what happened on that ship, J.T."

"Only Roxie can tell us that."

"And she's not talking. Why?"

J.T. shook her head in frustration. "If I knew that I could answer the big question. Where is Kate? Damn it, Jim, where did they take her?"

The facade she'd managed to prop up all day suddenly dissolved into trembling tears. She seemed so young, so like the little girl in her pictures, with a need for comfort that triggered every protective, paternal instinct in Kirk's soul. Maybe he hadn't been there for all the bumped knees and childhood disappointments, but he was here now, and he wasn't about to hold back even if they were strangers.

He gathered her up and held her close, let his own tears join hers, though he could not have said what those tears expressed. He only knew the mix of regret and pride, hope and fear and joy that this day had stirred in him was too much to hold in.

After a long time, he spoke. "J.T....if I had known...Kate never told me."

She pulled away from him, wiped at the tears on her face. "She never told me either. She left a letter for Dartha and Laria to give me in case anything happened." Her short laugh was more like a sob. "It's funny how the mind works, isn't it? I don't know why I never caught on. All I had to do was look in the mirror."

Kirk had to smile; eyes Kate's particular shade of green were not at all common.

J.T. sighed. "I don't blame you. Maybe she owes us both something."

"No. She doesn't owe me anything," he answered. "She offered me the universe and I never got around to taking her up on it."

J.T. considered for a moment, but Kirk could sense she was unconvinced. He could almost see the walls going up around her again. "So what was it between you two?" she said. "A one-night stand, a passionate weekend? You'll forgive me if I want the details."

It was a direct question. It deserved a direct answer. "I loved her, J.T. I still love her. Maybe that's why I want so much to believe you."

Relentless, J.T. asked again, "And did she love you?"

He started to answer that it was for Kate to say, but he knew better. She had told him in a hundred different ways, not just in the beginning when J.T. must have been conceived, but again every time they had met since. She had had her life and he had had his, but they had shared love across both years and distance. That had never changed. "Yes. I believe she loved me."

"How could two people love each other so much and spend so much time apart?" she said, bitterness clouding her voice. "I don't understand it. If you loved each other that much, why weren't you together?"

"I don't know, J.T." He tried to find a way to explain what he himself had only just begun to understand. "I don't think either of us knew what we had at first. It was fifteen years before we found each other the second time. I was sure, though, after what happened on Tarsus. Since then we always seemed to pick up right where we'd left off, as if nothing that had happened in between mattered."

"I happened in between," J.T. shot back.

"No," he said firmly. "You happened before we were sure. I guess Kate just couldn't trust me with something that important."

"But there were others," J.T. said. "Kate was married once."

She was still testing him, probing for dishonesty. He took her up on the challenge. "I was, too, for a while," he admitted. "In fact, McCoy could probably tell you I've never lacked for female companionship."

"Dartha already told me," J.T. said. "She says you're famous for it."

He shrugged; he'd never been particularly embarrassed by what others described as his "reputation". "I loved most of the women I was with, J.T., in my own way. Most of them loved me back. But none of those relationships held up over time. When I saw Kate again on Tarsus I understood why. What we shared I never found with anyone else."

Disarmed at last, J.T. looked at him for the first time without the suspicion he'd felt from her since they'd met. "If that's true, then you need to find her as much as I do," she said. She gave him a brief, reticent smile. "I'll take you to see Roxanne tomorrow."

She took the steps down into the back garden, deciding perhaps to walk off a little of the edginess Kirk knew she was feeling. God, she even walks like Kate, he thought, though he recognized the nervous energy in her step as his own.

A sound at the doorway behind him made him turn to see Laria watching him, tears welling in her wide brown eyes. She joined him at the railing. "When Kate came back from that run to [Meissa] and told us she was carrying your child, Dartha wanted to kill you. I almost agreed with her. I never understood what Kate saw in you until today."

"Laria, you must believe me--if I had known..."

She put up a hand to stop him. "Kate had already made her decisions by the time she came back from [Meissa]. It was too late by then to safely end the pregnancy, and, truth be told, I think she loved the child too much already."

Regret crushed Kirk's heart once again. Why didn't you tell me, Kate? You never gave me a chance.

"J.T. was a part of you, maybe the only part of you Kate would ever have," Laria went on. "Still, Kate knew she couldn't keep the child, with or without your help. It would have meant the end of the life she had worked so hard to make for herself."

"So she left J.T. with you," he said.

Laria nodded, smiling. "That was the greatest gift of trust any friend could give another. And we were so grateful. Kate was here with us whenever she could get away. J.T. grew up loving her--the great, glamorous Aunt Kate. I think J.T. decided to be a starship pilot like Kate the minute she could say the words."

"J.T. grew up believing she was yours?"

"We told her she was adopted. When she asked about her parents, we told her we didn't know anything about them. Kate thought it would be better that way, at least until J.T. was old enough to understand."

"But J.T.'s a young woman now. How long was Kate going to wait?" Kirk quelled an urge to pace. He forced himself to keep his voice low and calm, but he couldn't keep his exasperation from bubbling to the surface. "Was she ever going to tell me?"

Laria placed a cool hand on his arm. "Try not to be too hard on her, Jim. She meant to do it. She kept waiting for the right time--until time finally ran out for her." She looked away, the tears in her eyes threatening to spill out onto her cheeks.

Kirk sighed, feeling his anger subside. Who was he to judge Kate anyway? He hadn't exactly been a model of familial responsibility in any of his relationships, unless you counted the crew of the Enterprise as family.

He reached out to touch Laria's shoulder. "You don't believe J.T., do you?"

She shook her head. "I want to, Jim. But I can't help thinking her plan to search for Kate is a tragic waste of time. She needs to face her loss and get through the grieving. We all do."

Doctor McCoy stepped out onto the porch, looking as worn out as Kirk felt. Spock followed, a Vulcan rock in a storm of Human emotion. Yet Kirk could see the strain even in him.

"Laria's right, Jim," McCoy said. "It's not healthy for J.T. to keep denying the truth. God knows we all wish this hadn't happened, but we need to acknowledge that it did and get on with living."

"Is that what you think, too, Spock?" Kirk asked him.

The Vulcan was silent for a long moment. When he spoke it was evident he was choosing his words carefully. "It would hardly be...appropriate...for me to suggest how best to respond to the emotion this situation evokes. As a Vulcan, I have the ancient disciplines to rely on during a time of mourning. Without those disciplines, Humans are often vulnerable to self-deception."

"Unfortunately true," McCoy agreed.

"However," Spock continued, ignoring McCoy, "I would say in this case there may be a logical basis for believing Kate Logan is still alive."

Bless you, Spock, Kirk thought.

"Spock, there's a logical basis for believing my Aunt Minnie is still around, too, but I happen to know she died when her cruise ship was lost in an ion storm back in '46," McCoy said. "Just because we didn't recover the body doesn't mean the death isn't real."

"Jim, you have to convince J.T. she should drop this," Laria pleaded. "Let us bury Kate in peace."

"I can't do that, Laria," Kirk answered, his mind made up. "I think she may be right."

"I should've known," McCoy groaned.

"Her argument makes sense, Bones. And if there's a chance Kate's still alive, no matter how slim, we have to take it."

Kirk drifted away from the group and stared unseeing at the stars rising over the horizon. If she was out there somewhere, he knew, the circumstances of her life were likely much worse than death. But if there was the possibility that she lived, there was also the possibility that he could bring her home. "I have to know, one way or the other," he told the sky softly. "I won't give up on Kate until I know."

CHAPTER THREE

Logan was thirsty, so thirsty her tongue clung to the roof of her mouth and had no relief to bring her cracked lips. Her temple throbbed dully under a mat of dried blood. She couldn't remember when she'd eaten last--had she had something before they went into the ion storm in Rigel? She couldn't remember, but she knew it was of only passing importance. If she didn't get something to drink soon, she'd never live long enough to starve.

How long had it been? She didn't know that either. She'd lost track of the hours, drifting in and out of a sleep that gave her neither rest nor peace. She'd seen no one; heard nothing but the constant muttering of the ship's engines.

Just when she had decided that her solitude was a good sign, footsteps rang out in the corridor. Logan struggled to stand, despite the dizziness the movement caused her. She had just about managed it when the heavy cabin door swung open to admit two of her captors. They were Klingon, renegades without the insignia of clan, creche or battle group. One of them held a disruptor; the other held the tray from a standard food replicator.

The one with the disruptor put a massive hand in the center of her chest and shoved. She felt her body leave the deck and jerk backwards to slam against the far wall of the cabin. Pain lanced through her shoulder and hip; breath escaped her lungs in a convulsive wheeze. Logan wanted more than anything to get up and put a fist through the Klingon's yellow teeth, but she stayed where she was, slumped against the bulkhead. If she was to live, she had to stay where she was long enough to get that tray.

The Klingon grunted. "Not much fight left, eh, Human? Too thirsty! Too hungry!" He laughed, not a pleasant sound.

"Maybe we should just take this back and feed it to Zgar," he other suggested, showing his incisors. "I don't think the Human wants it."

Logan forced herself to remain still. She started to lick her lips, clamped down viciously on the urge.

"Oh, I think she wants it," the first one answered, too softly. "Don't you, Human?" He moved closer, his bulk nearly filling her sight. The other moved closer, too, and waved the tray in her direction.

The smell of the food, the thought of the water, was unbearable. Logan shook with the effort not to show it. "I don't want anything from you," she said, hoping he would find her spirit amusing.

Instead he growled and slapped her with the back of a gloved hand. Her head snapped back against the bulkhead and blood erupted from an inch-long split in her lip. He pulled the hand back again--she couldn't help watching it with a kind of detached horror--but stopped as his communicator beeped. Cursing, he yanked it off his belt. "Kragh."

"Commander, the Shipmaster instructs me to inform you that we are on orbit approach. You are ordered to the bridge."

Kragh clearly wasn't happy, but renegade or not, he followed orders. He aimed a desultory kick in Logan's direction, then motioned his companion to leave the tray and come on.

They bolted the door behind them, but Logan was no longer interested in the chance of escape through their carelessness. She wiped her bleeding mouth with her sleeve and got shakily to her knees. All she wanted was to be left alone with the contents of that tray.

*****

The glacial plains of Rura Penthe stretched for a hundred kilometers in any direction. An impossibly distant wall of blue-green ice broke the horizon, twelve hundred meters high and a day's walk wide. There was the wall of ice and there was the plain; there was nothing more.

The wind cut at his body, screaming in his ears, scouring at his vertical form in an endless effort to grind it level with the ice at his feet. Overhead, the anemic suns bathed the plains in a cold glare, blinding him through the tiny slit in the cloth covering his face that allowed him to see.

He put one numb foot before the other and kept moving, grimacing with the effort to accomplish even that much. To stop moving meant death in this vast, white, frozen sea and despite everything he was determined to live. He moved, he breathed, he lived. He refused to consider anything else.

Ahead on the unforgiving ice, a form took grotesque shape. It had lived once, but now was frozen into torturous death in the path ahead of him. He changed direction slightly to avoid it; he'd already seen enough of the kind of death this planet could deal out. But when he looked again, the corpse was at his feet, demanding recognition. The wind ripped at the rags that covered the face--and, oh, God, it was David! His son's blue eyes stared sightlessly at him from a face rimmed with frost. Sweet Jesus, what was David doing here?

He stumbled, fell, got to his feet again and staggered on in terror, tears freezing on his cheeks. He moved again, though time itself seemed to have stopped. He moved, though the wall of blue ice drew no nearer, and he could no longer remember why moving was important.

Another dark blotch appeared on the plain ahead of him. He hesitated, afraid as he had seldom been in waking life of what lay ahead. Another form appeared beside him, and another behind, until he was surrounded by corpses on this glacier of white death, corpses whose faces he knew--Mirimani, clutching a bundle that he knew held his stillborn child; Edith, her body crushed, but her face still innocent, trusting; his brother Sam, his face a mask of unendurable agony; the men and women of his command who had given their lives on his orders; the hundreds on the Farragut; the thousands on Tarsus IV.

They stared up at him, faces glazed with the ice of early death, accusing him. He ran, fleeing that place of horror with the last of his strength, guilt clutching at the back of his neck. He ran until the frigid air sent shards of pain into his lungs with every breath and his heart faltered in his chest. When he could run no longer he sank to his knees, eyes closed against a vision of blood and bitter responsibility.

An eternity later he opened them again and saw redemption: a room, warmed by a fire, filled with the small artifacts of a lifetime of love. He lay, cleansed of all the blood and the filth of his ordeal, between clean sheets that smelled of lavender, under the layered weight of woven wool and quilted cotton. And there, in the bed next to him, was Kate, a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth as she watched him.

He reached out with a hand still unsteady with shock. Her skin was warm and smooth under his fingertips. Her chest rose and fell gently with each breath; her heart pulsed regularly under his hand. "Oh, Kate, thank God," he whispered. "Thank God."

Her arms opened to take him in, enfolded him as he pressed his battered body to hers. Drained and weary, he had nothing left in him but need. It was no matter. She wrapped him in her strength and held him close, murmuring comfort, until his grateful tears at last ran out and he slept without fear.

Kirk started out of a sound sleep, jarred, he finally realized, by the chime of the doorpad announcing a visitor. He pushed himself into a sitting position and grabbed his chrono off the bedstand. It was 0930 already; he'd slept half the morning.

The doorpad chimed again. He fumbled into the standard hotel-issue robe and swung open the door before his impatient visitor could hit the pad another time. McCoy and Spock stood in the corridor.

"Were you gonna sleep all day?" McCoy said, pushing past him into the room. "I thought you were so anxious to get started."

"And good morning to you, too, Bones," Kirk replied, closing the door again. "Spock."

"Captain. I trust you rested well."

Kirk took a second to assess his status. "Yes, thank you, Spock, I believe I did."

McCoy peered at him, making his own assessment. "Well, you look a sight better than you did yesterday. But then you always look your best when you're about to take a flying leap off the deep end."

"Anyone else hungry?" Kirk said, tapping his breakfast order into the hotel comlink.

"We ate," McCoy informed him. "Hours ago."

"Sorry." Kirk was not the least bit abashed. He felt too good this morning to let Bones get to him. "I'm starving."

He headed for the shower, talking as he went. "Spock, you relayed my message to the captain of the Mercury?"

"Yes. Captain Uma sent her respects and indicated she planned to resume her standard duties as of 0800 today."

"Good," Kirk answered under the stinging rain of hot water. "No sense holding them up while we sort this out. Smillie had to pull enough strings to get us this far."

"Yeah, and if we can't get Roxanne out of her coma we'll be taking commercial transport home," McCoy groused.

A Vulcan eyebrow shot upward. "An interesting analogy, Doctor."

A softer chime announced the arrival of Kirk's breakfast in the replicator slot. Still tingling from the shower, Kirk wrapped himself in the robe again and sat down to eat. It occurred to him that he hadn't actually enjoyed a meal since...

"Are you gonna eat all that?" McCoy hovered over the tray, disapproval in every line of his face.

"You want some?"

"No! Somebody's got to stay healthy enough to do the surgery you're going to need when all that fat and salt gets to your heart."

Kirk smiled and took another bite of bacon. "Spock? You have some ideas about Roxanne?"

"Perhaps." Spock nodded slowly. "Doctor, what would your course of treatment be for a patient who is unconscious and unresponsive?"

"Well, Spock, that would depend. Has this patient sustained any injuries or am I just assuming he or she keeled over for no apparent reason?" McCoy said irritably.

Spock merely looked at the doctor, annoyance a shadow across his face that Kirk had no trouble perceiving.

McCoy sighed. "Okay. My first step would be to check for head injury. If concussion, cerebral hemorrhage or more severe brain damage was indicated and the patient was otherwise stable, I'd probably begin with a cortical stimulator. That is, assuming the patient is Human."

"The patient in this case is not Human, doctor," Spock rejoined. "However, I believe we can draw certain parallels based on your medical knowledge."

"You want me to use a cortical stimulator on Roxanne?"

"Not at all. I have designed a computer program that should provide the equivalent stimulation to Roxanne's 'brain'."

Kirk looked up from the last of his breakfast in surprise. "Spock, you haven't even had a chance to examine Roxanne."

"The program is rudimentary, Captain, little more than an outline. If my theory is applicable, I can refine it based on what I find within Roxanne's data banks."

"Then I think it's time we saw our patient," Kirk said, standing up from the table. He clapped McCoy on the shoulder on his way to get dressed. "Don't you, Bones?"

"I'm beginning to hate these medical metaphors," McCoy grumbled.

"And you are entirely too cheerful this morning. Should I check your blood chemistry?"

Kirk finished dressing before he acknowledged McCoy's question. Shrugging into his jacket, he finally looked at the doctor and grinned. "Kate's alive, Bones. Don't ask me how I know, but she's alive. And we're going to find her. Let's go."

*****

Juliette Tamara Logan stood in the transparent catwalk of Level Seven of Delta Spacedock and looked out at what was hers by the strangest turn of fate. Cradled in the massive gantry, swaddled in temporary scaffolding and fed by repair umbilicals, Roxanne slept in the yawning bay of the repair facility. Slept, and would not waken.

More than a ship, Roxanne had been partner, companion, friend--even sister--to Kate Logan since the day a telepathic creature on Rho Orionis V had merged with the ship's systems to create a new lifeform. Roxanne and Kate had spent twenty-five years together in space--all of J.T.'s life. It didn't seem right that the rest of the galaxy still considered Roxie just a ship to be passed on from mother to daughter as part of a lucrative commercial trade business. Yet the flimsy that J.T. held in her hand said just that--Roxanne was her ship now, along with all the headaches and profit of her mother's business.

Just for a while, Kate, J.T. promised. Just until we bring you home. Her head still swam every time she thought about it. As a child she'd imagined her parents as a beautiful couple tragically killed on their way back home from some exciting adventure. She'd pictured them--the ideal mother and father, heroic and loving and noble--torn by accident from their tiny child.

J.T. had long ago given up that particular dream. What a shock to learn it was true. Well, at least the part about the couple, if not about the accident. Hell, her mother was the sainted Aunt Kate, adventurer extraordinaire. And her father? James T. Kirk, hero of the galaxy. Yep, those are some formidable forebears,all right.

And theirs had been no sleazy affair, either, oh, no! Jim and Kate were the real thing. J.T. had believed Kirk when he'd said so, but Laria had confirmed it later, without being asked. So that's good, right? I'm a product of true love, J.T. thought with some irony. So why didn't we all just live happily ever after?

J.T. knew why, of course. Her mother's choice had been the only sensible one. And her father had been given no more choice than J.T. herself had. She just couldn't help feeling the teensiest little bit of resentment about the whole damn thing.

"Fifty thousand credits' worth of talking ship, and she's all yours."

The voice was gratingly familiar, and too close to her ear.

J.T. moved to put some distance between it's owner and any part of her anatomy. What is it about some guys, anyway? J.T. thought. You have a lapse in judgment one night, and they're all over you for the rest of your life.

"Chaz. Aren't you dead yet?"

"Ooh, baby, if looks could kill, I'd be lying here as we speak."

"Let me try again then."

Chaz tilted his head, letting the long black hair fall in his eyes. "Aw, c'mon J.T. Don't tell me you're letting all this new-found wealth go to your head."

What in the worlds did I ever find to like in this guy? Well, there are those big, blue eyes and ...like I said, a lapse in judgment. "Whatever happened to 'sorry about your loss, J.T. I'll say a rosary for you'? Or did you just overlook the fact that someone I loved died to leave me this ship?"

Chaz shifted one scruffy boot and at least had the grace to look embarrassed. "Oh, hell, J.T." He sighed and started over. "Well, I am sorry about Kate. It must be tough for you."

J.T. softened--fractionally--and let him off the hook. "Yeah. Look, I've got some business to take care of. Maybe I'll snag you later."

"Hey, what's the rush? I haven't seen you in weeks--I missed you."

J.T. rolled her eyes and started in the direction of the nearest turbolift. "Like I said. I've got business."

"I was hoping you'd give me a tour of the new ship," he said, stepping too casually into her path.

Something about his tone or the way he moved--could he actually be threatening her? "You've seen the ship before," she replied shortly and brushed past him.

Chaz rocked back on his worn heels and called out after her. "Oh, J.T., can this mean you don't love me anymore?"

She spun to face him. She didn't know where this new bizarre streak was emerging from, but she'd had enough of it. "I think you're finally getting the message, Chaz. Keep out of my way. Are we clear on that?"

Chaz tried out a disdainful laugh, but it lacked something in the delivery. "Sure, babe. I already got what I needed from this relationship anyway."

J.T. took a step toward him and had a palm strike to Chaz's smirking face already lined up when she felt a restraining hand on her arm. She whirled to see who it was connected to. Oh, terrific! Daddy's here to save his little girl!

"Now, Juliette, we wouldn't want to lose our tempers, would we?" Kirk said calmly.

"Who the hell are you?" This from Chaz, who plainly didn't realize how close he'd come to a broken nose.

"My name is James T. Kirk," he said. "I'm Juliette's father."

J.T. was mad as hell, but the look on Chaz's face was almost worth the aggravation. She had to admit Kirk had timing.

"I believe I heard my daughter ask you to leave," Kirk continued, turning to her for confirmation. "Didn't you, dear?"

"Actually, I..." J.T. began. She stopped when she felt a squeeze from the hand that still held her arm. She nodded.

Chaz shook his head. "Scuse, must've stumbled into the wrong holo, man," he mumbled, and shambled off down the corridor.

J.T. looked from McCoy, who was trying to keep a straight face, to Spock, who was impassively examining the bulkhead, to Kirk, who looked ready to catch hell. She shook off his hand and obliged him. "You blast in here after twenty-five years and think you can..."

"J.T., I don't plan to make a habit of interfering in your affairs," he said quickly. "In this particular case I'd say he probably had coming whatever you were about to hand him. But we don't have time to sit in the 'dock security office all morning explaining why you saw fit to assault a law-abiding citizen. We need to talk to Roxanne. Now."

She imagined he'd used just that combination of reasonableness and command thousands of times in his career. It was too damned effective to be anything but well-practiced. She suddenly smiled. "You know, you're good. You're very good."

He smiled back. "Shall we go?"

J.T. nodded and led the way to her sleeping ship.

CHAPTER FOUR

"Run it for me again, Roxie."

"But Kate...let's watch that old war holo instead. I love the part where the ship makes that 180-turn and--"

"No. And besides, it's the captain and the helmsman who make that maneuver."

"Whatever. Shall I cue it up?"

"No. Play the newsnet piece again."

"We've already seen it twice today. How about a game of Black Friday?"

"Roxanne."

"Oh, all right. But I'm getting a little tired of watching you wallow in self-pity."

"I'm not wallowing."

"All these years, Kate, and I still don't understand. How can you love someone you see maybe once every three or four years? I mean, I have access to information on this subject, and this is just not typical of Human relationships."

Logan grinned. "No, I guess not. But then, Jim Kirk is not your typical Human either."

"Au contraire! From what I can tell, he's your prototypical Human--emotional, impulsive, idealistic, not to mention, shall we say, the Dobie Gillis of the galaxy?"

"The who?"

"A mid-20th century Terran reference to a fictional lovesick adolescent."

"A very obscure reference."

"Admittedly. But apt."

"If you say so. Anyway, I never said he wasn't Human. I said he wasn't typical. Just look at the career he's had."

"As if we had to watch a retrospective of Jim Kirk's career to learn anything about him. We already have copies of every newsnet report ever filed about him."

She watched the images flash across the screen like memories from her own life. Overlaying the newsnet pictures that billions of beings saw, were the personal visions only she could claim. "Starfleet's youngest starship captain" and his wary smile the night they'd met on Starbase Twelve. "Chief instructor at Starfleet Academy" and the regret in his eyes when they met again on Tarsus III. "The triumph at Khitomer" and his reborn confidence--and passion--when they met for a few precious days together the following summer.

So much of his life had been spent as a public hero. So little of it had been spent as a private man. And now retirement--as good as a death sentence for a man like Jim. Unless she herself could grant him a reprieve. "I made a promise to myself twenty-five years ago, Roxie," she said. "I swore that if I ever heard Jim Kirk had given up the Enterprise I would be the first one at his door with an offer. Looks like now's the time."

"Yeah, well, hold that thought. We have company."

"Someone else is crazy enough to track through this storm? How close?"

"One hundred thousand kilometers and closing. They're on an intercept course."

"Intercept? Any identification?"

"None."

"Damn." Logan didn't like the feel of this. She was too far from the main trade routes. The ion storm raging for ten parsecs around her ship muffled her communications and blurred her sensors. Plotting their course through the storm had been a gamble. Something told her they'd just thrown snake-eyes. "Raise shields."

"What? It's probably just an old lone wolf too low on supplies to go around the storm."

"Just do it, Roxie."

"Raising shields."

Logan got to her feet and paced slowly on the ship's compact bridge. "Range?"

"Eighty-five thousand."

"Scanners?"

"The ion storm is causing too much interference. I can't read anything."

"Let's make it a little harder on them. Come about to seven-zero-mark two-one."

"Seven-zero-mark two-one it is, though I don't..."

"Roxanne, who's the captain of this ship?"

"You are."

"Thank you. Warp three, please."

"Warp three. Aye, aye, CAPTAIN."

"Where are they?"

"Changing course to follow. They've gone to warp four. Remind me to look up this intuition thing sometime."

"Plot an evasive course--as random as you can make it. And push it up to warp six."

"You DO remember my port warp nacelle is overdue for repair?"

"I remember. Give me warp six."

"Warp six. They're still closing. Sixty thousand klicks."

"They must be close enough to scan by now. Who the hell are they?"

"Orion design--a marauder. Klingon surplus weaponry, including two nearly new disruptor cannons."

"Crew complement?"

"Typically thirty, but I can't read them through this soup."

"Jesus. Can we outrun her?"

"I'd say not."

"Jettison carriers," Logan commanded.

"What?!"

"You heard me!" Logan hissed. "We can pick up the cargo later, if I'm wrong."

"In this storm? Better just kiss your new contract goodbye,"

Roxanne replied. "They're hailing us."

"Onscreen."

The extravagantly pierced face of a young Orion male filled her viewscreen. "I am Cestyr, son of Ostyr Tyro, captain of the Deathwatch. Surrender your ship to me and I will spare your life."

"If you want anything from me you'll damn well have to take it," Logan countered evenly.

"It will be my pleasure," Cestyr replied. His image on the screen winked out, replaced by a view of the Deathwatch coming about to bring disruptors to bear.

"Arm phasers and target that ship," Logan said.

"Armed and locked on."

"Fire!"

The thin stream of phaser fire arced from ship to ship, dissipating harmlessly against the Deathwatch's starboard shields. The Orion finished his turn and fired disruptors. Roxanne rocked with the impact.

"I'm losing port shields! They're down to thirty percent!"

"From one hit? That's impossible!"

"Kate, they're all going--I can't compensate!"

"Auxiliary power to the shields. Give me manual control." Logan fired phasers again, watched the plasma splash against the Deathwatch's forward shields. Then she hurled Roxanne directly at the Orion ship and punched in the commands to drop her under the enemy's hull. She came up behind the marauder and fired aft phasers. "Bet that hurt," she said, watching the sensors report Deathwatch's aft shields dropping to forty percent, then twenty.

She fired again, but the Orion spun about, and the shot glanced off his bow. He brought his weapons in line once more. Logan slammed Roxanne to port, but she could see it was no use. Disruptor fire hit Roxie's starboard flank, creasing her from stem to stern. The ship groaned, bulkheads twisting under the blow. Alarms blared as fire control systems fought the sparking panels and fused switches on that side of the ship.

"Where are those shields, Rox?"

There was panic in the ship's voice. "Dropping! They're all dropping! We're losing auxiliary power. My programming..."

"Logan! You have no shields. Prepare to be boarded." The Orion glared smugly at the screen.

"Go to hell! I'll kill your people as they reintegrate."

"Too late," she heard someone say behind her. Then a mailed fist struck her temple, and she heard nothing more.

Hours after the dream left her, Kate Logan finally opened her eyes. Light stabbed at them, filling her head with screaming pain until she closed them again. She made a move to sit up and realized quickly it was impossible. The least movement brought on a maelstrom of pain and nausea. Her head seemed swollen and ponderous, her neck a mass of twisted, splintered cable too weak to support its weight. She felt a tide of sickness rising in her throat, but she fought to keep it down. If she allowed it to happen, she really believed the act of retching would be enough to kill her.

The food, she thought. Of course. It was common Orion practice to drug slaves before they were unloaded. Drugged, slaves were no more difficult to handle in port than a shipment of machine parts--and, when necessary, no more noticeable. Through the haze of sickness, Logan could perceive that she was no longer aboard the ship that had carried her. She'd been delivered, she guessed, to whom and where she had no idea.

She dozed off for a while and when she woke again the light coming through a small, high window into the room was more tolerable. She felt well enough to sit up, and if she didn't move her head too fast, the pain stayed within bounds. She attempted to take stock.

The light in the window was bluer than the normal range of solar radiation that any Terran would be used to--a B-type star, possibly a B3 like Achernar. The window itself was a simple opening in the wall--no glass. So, an M-type planet, requiring no special adaptive measures for Humanoid life. Well, that narrows it down, she thought. Only a few million places I could be.

Of course, it was possible she was on some planet in the Orion territories, like Xantharus, but she doubted it. Cestyr Tyro wasn't likely to take the chance the Feds would find her where the weight of suspicion would land on his father. And with so much to choose from, Orion labor contractors were generally pretty picky. She was too old to bring him much profit at home.

But some backwater colony planet off the main trade route--that was a different story. Women of any description were valuable on those planets. She looked from the dirty mattress on the floor to the sink and toilet in one corner; from the single door to the high window. It was ugly, filthy, but ultimately unrevealing. If she'd been sold to that fate, the room held no clue to it.

She went to try the door, just in case, but before she could reach it, the door burst inward to admit her captor. Her worst fears were realized in a single glance.

He was Human, mostly, with the dress and tattoos of a Rigel colonist. And he was huge, mountainous, the fat collected in fleshy rolls at his neck and waist. His pale, watery eyes stared at her out of his bloated face, and when he smiled Logan knew why his appearance sent a chill of revulsion through her.

"Good. You're awake." His voice was a dusty wheeze. "I've brought food and water."

Logan looked at the tray he held and said nothing.

The man entered the room--filled the room, crowding her into a corner--and locked the door carefully behind him. He set the tray down and waved at it. "Eat. It's not drugged." He laughed, and Logan shivered. "The customers like it better if you are--uh--yourself."

"What is this place?" she demanded.

The man spat in a corner. "You are in my place of business in Port One, Tantua. But what does it matter to a whore where she is? The view is always the same." This struck him as funny. He laughed again.

"I'm no whore."

"You are now, be'!" the man snarled. "You are my whore! My name is Rondo Hadley and I own you. I bought and paid for you with solid Fed credits. And my customers will gladly pay me to show you your place."

"They'd pay more for a chance to win me for themselves."

"What?"

Logan barely recognized her own voice, strong and sure despite her crushing fear. It was as if she was listening to herself from across the room. She couldn't wait to hear what she would say next. "This is one great armpit of a planet," she argued. "Men outnumber women ten to one and half of those women are whores. What would your customers give for a woman of their own? How much would they drink in your bar trying to win the favor of the bartender? Use me as a prostitute and they'll pay as they always have--no more. Use me as a bartender and you'll have them lined up six deep every night."

"Ha! They'll cut you into individual pieces that they can each take home. Then I'll have nothing for my pains."

Logan shrugged. "Suit yourself. But I warn you I have nothing to lose. I'll kill the first man you send in here. And the second. And every one I can after that until I am dead myself. Then, again, you'll have nothing. And even on this backwater rock someone's going to start asking questions when a bunch of your customers end up dead."

Hadley scowled, sending ripples through his heavy jowls. "You won't kill anyone. And they won't have to kill you to get what they pay me for. Eat. The customers are waiting."

He unlocked the door and backed out. Logan heard him secure the lock once more. Then she turned to eat what she fervently prayed would not be her last meal.

*****

It had been ten years since Jim Kirk had been on Roxanne's bridge. Ten years since Logan's ship had snatched them out of the suffocating darkness of the blasted Tarsus shuttle and saved his life for the second time. God only knew how many times Roxanne had saved Logan's life since they first linked up. Might as well try and count the times the Enterprise--and the crew that made her what she was--had saved him.

The bridge was unchanged in every way but one--the most important one. Kirk could no longer feel Roxanne's presence. Without Roxanne, without Kate Logan, the ship felt lifeless. Without the living spirits of her captain and crew, she was a ghost ship.

"Your analysis, Spock?" Kirk asked.

Spock turned from the computer interface and folded his arms across his chest. "Roxanne's memory banks and operating programs have been erased. Her duotronic circuits and core program matrix, however, are undamaged. Unusual energy readings at the program core indicate the living being we call Roxanne still exists and retains a minimum of information."

"Can you access that information? Or should I say, can you contact Roxanne?"

"You correctly assume the two actions are related, Captain," Spock replied. "We determined at Rho Orionis that Roxanne is essentially a living information matrix. I am detecting within the ship's computer hardware what remains of Roxanne's consciousness."

J.T. nodded. "We knew she was there. But we haven't been able to contact her. Will your program allow us to do that, Mister Spock?"

"Roxanne's living matrix is currently tied to the ship's computer systems," Spock explained. "I believe the first step in helping Roxanne back to full consciousness would be to reprogram those operating and memory systems. Once that has been accomplished, the stimulatory program will feed new information through the circuits continuously, with informational complexity increasing at a logarithmic rate every twelve point one four minutes."

"How long before we know whether it's working?" Kirk said.

"Given the limits of information available and Roxanne's processing capacity, I would estimate the maximum benefit to have been reached within eight point one five hours."

"Eight hours?" McCoy snorted. "If I'd seen no results from a cortical stimulator in ninety minutes, I'd declare the patient brain-dead."

"As we have noted before, Doctor, this patient is not Human."

"Then I guess we can skip the hand-holding, too, huh? I mean, since the patient has no hands."

Spock turned and raised an inquiring eyebrow at McCoy. The doctor sighed. "If the patient was Human, I would recommend someone stay with her, preferably someone who knows the patient well. It's been well-documented that the touch or voice of a loved one--or even just a caring being--has a positive effect in these cases."

"Of course," Spock said. "Vulcan healing techniques often involve members of the patient's family. But the use of the hands is not absolutely required."

Kirk discerned the slightest relaxation of certain muscles in the Vulcan's face. "Spock, I do believe you're developing a sense of humor in your old age," he said.

"Your old age, perhaps," Spock answered blandly. "I am not even middle-aged by Vulcan standards."

J.T. guffawed, but recovered immediately at the look on Kirk's face. "Uh, maybe you could try talking to Roxanne, Jim," she said. "I've already tried, and I got nowhere."

Kirk looked at McCoy, who shrugged. "Why not? Maybe the shock of hearing your voice would make a difference."

Kirk sat down at the communications console and faced the control board. What could he say to bring Roxanne back to consciousness? What combination of words and phrases would bring Kate Logan back to life? He cleared his throat and hit the intercom pad.

"Roxanne, it's Jim Kirk," he began...

He talked for hours--steadily, quietly, shutting out the distractions on the bridge and in his mind. He talked to Roxanne as if she were laid out on a diagnostic bed in McCoy's sickbay, as if he could actually take her hand and pull her out of the isolating depths of her trauma. He spoke in a voice pitched so low only a ship's sensor could pick it up, confiding the secrets of his heart to an old friend, his lover's closest companion.

He described how Kate had looked the night he'd met her. How she'd smiled all the way to her green eyes. How her confidence had shown in her walk. How her courage had warmed him beyond the power of a cold world to touch him.

Kate Logan had become his lover and his only friend at a time when duty compelled him to give up everything that had once sustained him. When his duty was done and his life restored to him, he found Kate had created a space for herself in his heart that no amount of excitement at the helm of a starship or warmth in the company of friends could fill. Most days he was too busy to notice it. Most nights he was too exhausted to feel it. But once in a great while, in the quiet hours between the last brandy and the beginning of first watch, the emptiness her absence had left in him widened into a dark canyon large enough to devour him.

Those moments had come more and more often lately. Retirement had provided fewer diversions--hell, it had provided no diversions. He had been forced to look deep within himself and he'd come to realize there was an important piece missing.

"I don't want to believe Kate is dead, Roxanne," he murmured. "I have too much to tell her, too much I want... Please, I need your help. I can't find her if I don't know what happened during that ion storm."

Kirk was suddenly aware of McCoy's hand on his shoulder. "Jim, it's been almost five hours. Why don't you take a break?"

"My God, has it been that long?" Kirk asked, but now that his concentration was broken, he could feel the stiffness in his muscles and the dryness in his throat.

McCoy handed him a tumbler of water and grinned. "I think you must have gone into some kind of trance. I always thought of you as a man of few words."

Kirk smiled. "Oh, I don't know. I've been known to give a few speeches in my day."

"True, but those are usually delivered with plenty of body language to back them up. Not to mention volume. This quiet introspection is not like you."

"Sounds like you're about to launch into a speech of your own."

"Well, since you brought it up, I do have a question for you."

"I figured as much."

"What do you plan to do if Roxanne never wakes up? Sentient beings of all kinds have been known to retreat into catatonic states or comas that last for years--effectively forever. It's beginning to look like that's what's in store for Roxanne."

"You don't know that," Kirk snapped.

"No, I don't," McCoy admitted. "But if this were a medical case, my duty would be to prepare the patient's family for the consequences of the injury. Raising false hope is never a kindness."

Kirk looked up. "Are we still talking about Roxanne?"

"Jim, you must know the chance that Kate is still alive is remote, to say the least. It's very easy at a time like this for people to lose their sense of perspective."

"Do I take it, Doctor, that you think I'm losing my mind?"

"Not in any permanent sense, no. But you had unfinished business with Kate. Things you always meant to say. Time you'd always meant to spend. A daughter you didn't even know you had. It's painful to realize you'll never have a chance to resolve any of that with Kate, but you know as well as I do that you can't hide from the pain. You can't pretend it doesn't exist. You just have to go through it."

The concern was so evident in McCoy's face that the rush of anger Kirk felt was gone before he opened his mouth to answer. His old friend was trying to help him the best way he knew how; Kirk couldn't blame him for that. But McCoy was wrong. Kirk knew it the way he'd always known the right move to make. His intuition had seldom failed him. It was important that he trust it a while longer.

"Bones, I know how crazy this must seem to you. But if I don't see this through I will never be able to resolve anything." He leaned forward, as if he could bring some of that famous body language to bear on the argument. "I believe there is a chance--all right, a very small chance--that Kate is alive. Believing that, how could I live with myself if I abandoned her now? And J.T.--do you think she could ever forgive me for walking away from this? If you're right and there is no hope, then we've only postponed our grief for a while. We'll have the rest of our lives to grieve. But if we're right, then we have to act now, or Kate's death will be on our hands."

"Damn it, Jim, you are the only man in the galaxy who could be lightyears away from a tragedy and still blame himself for it!" McCoy exclaimed. "If Kate is dead, it's not because you couldn't save her. This horrible thing did not happen on your watch."

If I had been where I wanted to be, where she wanted me to be, it would never have happened at all. "I should have been with her, Bones."

"Jim, I'm reading an increase in energy levels in the core matrix," Spock broke in.

"She's strengthening by the minute, Mister Spock," J.T. confirmed. "We must have hit some kind of threshold with the information feed."

"Perhaps if you tried again to speak to her, Captain."

Kirk held McCoy's gaze a moment longer. McCoy simply shook his head, unconvinced.

Holding on to his hope, Kirk turned and spoke to the ship again. "Roxanne, it's Jim Kirk..."

CHAPTER FIVE

The turbolift doors shot open onto the Enterprise bridge, dark now except for the emergency deck lights, and unnaturally quiet. Even with all the crew on shore leave and half the ship in pieces for a refit, Kate could feel the energy of this place.

Beside her, she felt Jim take a deep breath. This was home to him, more than any place he'd actually owned or dreamed about. Here was his heart, in a circle of carpeted decking and duotronic control panels, in a place that housed so much more than what could be seen.

He turned to smile at her and gave her hand a quick squeeze before he left her to key in a few instructions at the engineering station. She heard the obliging beep that meant the lift doors had locked, then watched the viewscreen go on to display the view outside Spacedock, courtesy of the 'dock commnet. The bridge filled with stars.

"That's better," he murmured, taking her hand again to pull her to him. They kissed, exchanging a taste of Saurian brandy, a promise of stolen pleasure. The combination made her head spin and suffused her body with a burn that began deep inside her and spread to her fingertips, her ears, her skin.

Her hands slid down his back and over the swell of his hips, holding him close to feel his warmth against her breasts, his heat against her belly. Their kisses deepened, insistent now and breathless, igniting a fire that surged through her veins like a pulse of molten metal.

"What exactly is the penalty for doing what we're about to do on the bridge of a starship?" she breathed, knowing she couldn't stop even if the damn ship was under attack by a fleet of Klingons. They had long since passed the point of logical decision-making.

"That depends on what we're about to do," he said, daring her.

She told him, whispering the delicious details in his ear until she could feel him shiver in anticipation.

"Whatever the penalty is, it'll be worth it," he answered at last. His hands framed her face as he brought his lips to hers, teasing her this time with the lightest touch at her mouth.

She rested her hands on his chest; his heart was racing, as hers was. "Take this off," she commanded softly, lifting the gold uniform shirt at the bottom so she could feel his skin. He complied, revealing the contours of his body in the light and shadows thrown from the viewscreen. She pulled back half a step to appreciate them, watching her hands trace the muscles of his shoulders, his chest, his stomach, following the oblique lines down from his ribs to the waistband of his pants.

She stopped there for the moment, bringing her hands back up to run her thumbs across his nipples. She felt them tighten in response, heard his sharp intake of breath, and smiled. "Hold on, starman," she whispered. "I'm just getting started."

Slowly, so slowly her body throbbed in protest, she removed the rest of his clothes, and her own. She knelt to caress him, savoring the feel of his velvet skin and smooth, hard length in her hands, in her mouth. She let the feel of him feed her own desire, even as she fueled his with her touch, until they moaned together, desperate with need.

She pulled him down on top of her, arched to meet his joining thrust. She urged him deeper, responding to him with every nerve, every sense, every cell. He moved inside her with the sure strength that was his alone, moved until she could stand it no longer and let him take her past all restraint, all reason, all conscious thought. In the end, her fire consumed him, too, in a final flare of exploding passion, leaving them spent and satisfied at last in each other's arms.

She lay with him on the bridge of the ship that was his life, watching the stars wheel around them in the endless night, and felt safe and warm and wonderfully alive. As though nothing could touch them or separate them or stand in their way. As though the protection of his arms and the power of that ship running through him would be enough to keep her safe and warm forever.

Logan awoke with a start in the humid darkness of her room. She had time to smile at the remnants of her dream--the thought of Jim Kirk agreeing to a tryst on the bridge of his starship was pretty outrageous--before the reality of her situation came crashing in on her again.

Dark. It wouldn't be long now. She could hear the customers carousing in the bar on the other side of the wall, drinking up the courage to try out the new whore. There was no doubt in her mind that she was the main topic of conversation. Logan had been in enough downplanet spacers' bars to know.

She rolled off the mattress and moved to the door. Then she yanked open the front of her jumpsuit and reached for the seam that ran down the inside of her leg. She felt for a tiny tab of fabric, found it and gave it a tug. Just behind it her fingers detected the tip of a thin, flexible polymer cord. She pulled it all the way out of the hidden sheath sewn along the inside of the seam.

Logan had learned the trick from a courier pilot with whom she'd shared a raucous two-day shore leave once an infinitely long time ago. She'd learned a few other tricks from him, too, but this had been the most useful one. In her younger days as a lone wolf trader she'd had plenty of uses for a tool--or a weapon--that couldn't be found in a quick search . Lately she'd only carried it out of long habit. But the Klingons on Cestyr's ship, like others before them, had missed it in their search and now Logan planned to put the garotte to its original deadly use.

She wrapped the cord once around either hand and flattened herself against the wall beside the door. Then she waited, concentrating on her breathing. In through the nose, out through the mouth. Expand the diaphragm, contract it again. Rhythm, focus, clarity, power. She would only have one chance. If she was going to kill somebody she had damn well better be centered.

A roar of laughter in the bar followed by an expectant hush gave her warning. A moment later the latch lifted, and the door opened a crack, then a space large enough for a man to fit through. The figure stood uncertainly in the doorway for a second, unable to see into the darkness.

Logan uncoiled in a fury of movement and struck the man from behind, looping the cord around his neck and driving him to the floor with a crippling kick to the back of his knee. He struggled against the tightening noose, tried to roll against the weight on his back, but Logan held on. She gripped the cord with brutal, unthinking determination until disparate pieces of information from her hands, her eyes, her ears came together in a coherent picture in her brain. "Jesus!" she gasped. "You're nothing but a kid!"

She released the cord a fraction, enough to allow her victim to drag in a breath between fits of coughing. He put his hands to his throat and curled into a miserable ball, but made no move to attack her. She backed off from him carefully and watched him for a moment.

When he'd finally caught his breath he sat up, leaning against the wall for support. "Please. Don't kill me!" His voice confirmed what Logan had perceived. He was young, no more than a teenager. Most likely Human. And scared as hell.

"If I was going to kill you, I'd have done it the first time," she answered. "Just how old are you, anyway?"

"Fifteen. Well, I will be in a couple of months."

"Fourteen?! What the hell are you doing in a place like this? Where are your parents?"

"I, uh, they work one of the big ag complexes in the T'var Valley. I'm on my own down here."

"In other words, you ran away from home."

"You'd have run, too. I couldn't take it anymore."

"Uh-huh. So you wound up in this drainage ditch of a bar with a bunch of idiots for friends." He didn't try to defend them. She suddenly realized something else. "Please don't tell me this was going to be your first time."

"Well, uh, not really..."

"Never mind," she groaned. "I don't want to know." She considered him for a moment. She had promised to kill the first man who came through the door. Technically, she guessed, he didn't qualify. "You go back into that bar and tell your idiot friends that I will kill the first of them that steps through that door. You know I can do it, too, don't you?"

She could see his head nod in the darkness.

"I'll work to earn my keep, but not this way. I need a man; given time I'll choose one. But I won't be forced. I'll die first and I'll take as many of them with me as I can. Do you understand?"

"Yes," he answered, but he made no move to go.

"Okay, that's it. You can leave."

Still he hesitated. "I...do you want to get out of here?"

"Oh, hell, no! I love it here!" she muttered.

"I'll help you!"

She almost laughed, but stopped herself just in time. "Son--what's your name?"

"Rafe Cardoza. Well, it's Rafael, really, but I hate that."

"Rafe. I'm Kate. And thank you, but I'm not ready to make a break for it just yet. You can help me by convincing your friends I really mean it when I say I'll kill them. If you want to help them, keep them out of here. Because, by God, I'll do what I have to do."

"Okay. I'll try. But it's like you said--they're a bunch of idiots."

"Wish me luck, then."

"Good luck, Kate," he said and shyly shook her hand. Then he turned and went back through the door into the din of the bar.

*****

Life was good for Ostyr Tyro, clan ruler and Worldlord of Xandor. His trade empire stretched from the Federation homeworlds to the Romulan Neutral Zone, from Cestus to the Klingon border. It was regrettably true that his rival Planyr Tor, Worldlord of Xantharus, had a larger fleet. But Ostyr felt confident his many alliances would soon loosen Clan Tor's claw-hold on power.

The Worldlord of Xandor let his eyes roam lovingly over the data on his viewscreen. The figures confirmed his "legal" trade in dilithium and precious ores was showing nearly as much profit as his traditional market in slaves and prostitution. It had taken many years and much hard work to establish his credentials as a legitimate businessman. But, in fact, he'd been so successful at convincing the Feds of his sincerity that nothing he did now to secure the Directorship of the Orion Syndicate was likely to create a stir. Who knew? They might even help him take over from that incompetent Chelas Brok.

And now, the hyrsta that had been the one obstacle to his happiness had been removed. The bitch Logan and her fancy ship were no longer a factor in his calculations. They were merely another mark in the profit column. He would return to Xandor with all the business she had stolen from him, and fat contracts with the Deltan Business Council, too. They had little choice but to use him now. Ostyr smiled, the expression sliding across his broad green face like an oil slick on water.

Ostyr saw the smile reflected on the face of his son, the eldest of his first wife's children, his heir. "You have done well, hanTyro. I give you the profit from Logan's sale."

Cestyr brought his hands to his face briefly, a gesture of respect. "I am grateful, P'tyr."

Ostyr squinted into his son's eyes, looking for any trace of sarcasm in him. If the son was ambitious enough to usurp his father's place in clan or councils, he gave no sign of it. Ostyr was satisfied, for the moment. "And, now, what is the response of Belingor on Deneb Kaitos Five? Will he use our services?"

"I have convinced him to sign the contract. We make our first delivery before the tenth sun."

"Excellent." Ostyr devised a sly test. "You are so efficient at serving your father's needs that I am constantly amazed you have time for your own business."

"It is my business to serve your needs, P'tyr."

The Orion laughed. "A clever answer, my son. But tell me, how goes the great real estate project on Tantua?"

For the briefest of moments, Cestyr's eyes flashed with resentment.

Good, Ostyr thought. It is not well to take criticism too meekly, even from your father.

"I own half the planet outright and control the profit on another thirty percent," Cestyr replied. "The plan is nearly complete."

"What keeps you?"

"A few farmers in the T'var are holding out. But I have plans to change their minds when I return."

"Be certain you do," Ostyr warned. "If you allow some to resist, others will begin to grow spines." The father cocked his head to consider the son. "I have yet to understand why you go to this trouble for such a miserable place. Psi Eridani is a system without profit or pleasure, that I can see. Is there some part of this story yet untold?"

Cestyr appeared to come foolishly close to sighing, but caught himself just in time. "I have explained, P'tyr. There is great wealth in iridium on Tantua."

Ostyr snorted. "Iridium! What kind of trade is that for an Orion?"

"It was the foundation of our clan."

"Oh, yes! Until the disaster at Haole. You do not intend to repeat our ancestor's folly, I hope?"

Cestyr laughed lightly. "Our honored ancestor chased a dream of glory down a wormhole. I dream only of profit."

There was something behind his son's eyes that Ostyr could not name. What is he up to? "Well, a son must make his own way in some things," Ostyr said finally. "Profit to you. Have we other business today?"

"One other matter, P'tyr. The one who helped us with Logan-- Krishnamurthy."

Ostyr spat through his teeth. "That slime-sucker. What of him?"

"He has something of importance to tell you. He insists on seeing you personally."

"Oh, he insists, does he?"

Cestyr merely smiled. "I thought you might enjoy making an example of him after you hear what he has to say."

Ostyr grinned and heaved his green-skinned bulk out of his chair. "Ah, my hanTyro. Always thinking of my happiness. I have trained you well!"

"It is my pleasure to serve you," Cestyr said.

Again, Ostyr thought he detected a trace of deviousness, but he didn't bother to pursue it. His spies would let him know if Cestyr posed a real threat. There was more pleasant business to take care of first. "Bring him in."

Cestyr left and returned with the hyrsta-borne Human. Gods, but these Human males were weak--and so pink! He had seen far too many of them during his stay on Delta Aurigae IV. "You have something to tell me?" Ostyr boomed at him and was pleased to see the Human tremble.

"Uh, yes, sir. That's right. I'm Chaz, remember, I gave you the codes for Logan's ship?"

"Of course, I remember. You think I'm an old fool?"

"No, no, 'course not. It's just that you're such an important man and all..." Chaz was beginning to sweat. He shifted from one foot to another in front of the towering Orion.

"Yes. Tell me what you came to say."

"I thought you might like to know who came to Logan's funeral. Turns out he's J.T.'s father--man, was I blown!"

"Who? And why should I care?"

"Well, that's what I mean. It wasn't just any old geez. It was Captain Kirk--you know, James Kirk of the Enterprise? At least he used to be."

Ostyr's eyes narrowed. Kirk was known to him, of course. One of the Federation's most prominent warlords. There was no accounting for these Humans--why would a man of Kirk's power choose an old woman like Logan for a lover? But then he'd heard Kirk had many lovers. Perhaps the man just liked variety. "He came for the funeral, you said."

"Well, yeah, I guess. But I ran into them in Spacedock. I thought that was really sinister. I mean, what if they suspect something? And that Vulcan, Spock, he was with them, too, and you know he's one unbelievable cyberman. He's got the highest computer rating in Starfleet."

Ostyr felt his good mood unraveling. A computer specialist and a former starship commander--and clearly bent on seeing Logan's ship. He had questioned Cestyr when he returned--why hadn't he destroyed the ship? His son had argued for leaving the ship behind to deflect suspicion. Stupid, Ostyr had thought. Simpler to leave no evidence at all. But the ploy had worked with the officials; perhaps it would work with Kirk as well.

At any rate there was one link in the chain of evidence that Ostyr would enjoy eliminating. "I imagine you think you deserve a reward for bringing me this information?"

Chaz smiled eagerly. "Well, I was hoping..."

The Orion grabbed the weakling Human by the throat and squeezed until he could feel the bones cracking between his massive fingers. He watched the Human's face turn red, then purple as he struggled for breath. Ostyr lifted his victim off the ground and shook him gently. "We are most grateful for your help," he whispered with a smile. "Oh, yes. Most grateful."

But by that time, Chaz was much too busy dying to hear him.

CHAPTER SIX

"Jim, is that you?"

Kirk was instantly alert, despite the long hours he'd spent at the console. "Yes, Roxanne, it's me. It's good to hear you."

"I...feel so confused. Where's Kate?"

"There's been an accident, Roxanne. Don't you remember?"

"No, I...but where is Kate?"

McCoy touched Kirk's arm. "Probably just momentary confusion," he explained. "Best not to tell her anything much now. Let her get her bearings first."

"Kate can't be here right now, Roxie. I'm taking care of you for a while. J.T. is here, too."

"Hi, Rox," J.T. said. "How are you feeling?"

"I don't know. I feel...scattered. I'm receiving information from the ship's systems--are we in Spacedock?"

"You're at home, Rox," J.T. answered. "Delta Spacedock B, Slip Seven-Three-Two, just like always."

"But how did I get here? Kate and I were on our way to Rigel Seven, transporting...the ion storm. There was an ion storm."

"Yes," Kirk responded. McCoy frowned at him, but he couldn't help pushing just a little bit. "You suffered some damage to your systems. Do you remember what happened?"

"We were watching the newsnets. It was a report about your retirement, Jim."

Kirk felt a flush of embarrassment, as if Roxanne had revealed some intimate detail of his life in a roomful of strangers. He suppressed it and went on. "What happened then, Roxanne? Do you remember what happened?"

"No, I...I don't remember anything. I was there...now I'm here. Did something happen to Kate? Please tell me. Is Kate hurt?"

Kirk looked at his companions, seeking advice. "What is her status, J.T.?"

"Readings are in the low-normal range, Jim," she answered. "The program has done its work. The rest is up to us."

The hope in her face reflected his own. He turned to the dispassionate Vulcan. "Spock?"

"I agree," Spock said. "My readings show Roxanne's systems and memory banks are operating at 93 percent of capacity."

"What's your assessment,Bones?"

McCoy shrugged. "We're way out of my league here, Jim. If this was a Human patient, I'd advise waiting a few days to discuss anything serious. But somehow I don't think that would be the best course now. I can't keep Roxanne from worrying with a sedative. Maybe you'd better go ahead and tell her."

"Jim? Are you still there? What are they talking about?"

Kirk turned back to his console. "Roxanne, something happened to you and Kate while you were in that ion storm. A week ago, you were found drifting and derelict near the location of the storm. Kate was no longer on board."

"Not on board? But where...she can't be..."

"We don't know, Roxanne." Kirk tried to reassure her. "We don't think Kate is dead. J.T. thinks Ostyr Tyro may have kidnapped her to get her out of his way. But we have no way of knowing unless you can remember what happened."

"But I can't remember--I can't!" There was an edge of panic now in the synthetic voice. Kirk had never heard anything quite like it.

"Roxanne," Spock spoke calmly. "Search your core memory. Are there any parts of it that you cannot access?"

The bridge fell quiet while Roxanne searched deep within her core being. "Yes, Spock. I can access almost everything, but there is an area that is...not responding to my attempts to access. Do you think the information is stored there?"

"It is possible that you placed the information under special protection to keep it from being retrieved by an external probe."

"Or possibly to keep from facing an unpleasant memory," McCoy pointed out. "Humans do it all the time."

Kirk swiveled in his chair, an idea breaking in a grin on his face. "Spock..."

The Vulcan nodded. "I believe the mind-meld would be useful, Captain. I will prepare myself."

*****

Logan waited behind the door, the blood pounding in her ears. Above the roar of her fear, she could hear voices in the bar--first the boy, then others, arguing, laughing, boasting. They would have to test her, she knew. She wasn't sure herself whether she was capable of carrying out her threat. She only knew that this time, she wouldn't have the advantage of surprise.

She thought she was ready, but still she started when the door latch lifted. She crouched, waiting for the man to come past the threshold, but he stood protected by the door until his eyes adjusted to the dark. Logan froze, willing herself to stay where she was.

Then she saw his hand extend beyond the door. The hand held a phaser. Cursing, Logan threw herself against the door, slamming the man's forearm into the jamb hard enough to make him drop his weapon and howl. She swung the door open, grabbed the damaged arm and yanked the man inside, smashing his face with her forearm as he fell past her into the room.

He was big, though, and tough. Only slightly inconvenienced by the blow, he grabbed at her and caught her arm. She came up with her other hand and jabbed at his throat. Not a killing strike, but enough to make him let go in a fit of coughing.

One end of the garotte was still wrapped around her wrist. Logan leapt on the man's back and throttled him with it. He bucked and twisted; Logan clung to the cord. She could feel him weakening, but he kept his head. He rushed for the nearest wall and slammed backwards against it, crushing the breath out of her. She slumped to the floor, gasping for air.

Through a muffling fog of pain and oxygen deprivation, Logan could hear the man laughing as he rose and turned to face her. She knew she had no more than an instant to move or it would be too late. He lunged, she rolled and scrambled to her feet. She kicked at his face--once, twice, again--until he sprawled out on the floor. Then she raised her knee and brought her heel down on his neck. Instinct and the long years of martial arts training took over--the blow shattered the crucial vertebrae below his skull and ended his miserable life.

It was finished. She had actually done what she had threatened to do. She let her legs go out from under her and sank to the floor, trembling with shock. Now what the hell do I do?

Hadley and his customers saved her the trouble of deciding. They burst through the door and hit the lights, illuminating the grim scene for everyone's benefit.

"What the hell is going on here?" Hadley shouted.

Logan got to her feet and backed into the room's far corner. If she was going to have to fight them all...

"Damn, she killed that sucker!" somebody said.

"Is he dead?"

"Shit, I ain't going in there!"

"What'd she do, slit his throat?"

"No, you idiot! She strangled him!"

"As little as she is? Naw, she musta hit him with somethin'"

"Looks like the Vulcan death grip to me!"

"There ain't no Vulcan death grip, asshole."

"Shut up!" Hadley glared at the blinking crowd of gawkers. "Somebody get this pile of shit out of here."

A couple of the dead man's companions came forward. "What the hell are we supposed to do with him?" one of them demanded. "I don't want to have to talk to the Feds about this."

"Take him out and dump him in the river for all I care," Hadley said. "Just get him out of my bar."

The two struggled to pick up the dead man. The crowd parted for them as they hauled him out, then closed back in again, waiting to see what would happen next.

"You might get away with one body," Logan said as calmly as she could. "But any more and the Feds will be down on you like my heel was on that jerk's neck. Anyway, I'm not sure any of your customers are interested in fighting for it. Are you, boys?"

Heads shook all around. Logan thanked God that the crowd was made up of support workers and low-level techs. A gang of criminal hard-asses would have jumped her without a second thought.

Hadley exhaled loudly. "Okay. You win. Boys, meet the new bartender."

Logan saw Rafe Cardoza standing at the doorway, his eyes wide with something approaching awe. She winked at him. "First round's on the house," she offered brightly and followed the cheering crowd to the bar.

*****

After so many years of study and practice, Spock was adept at the mind-meld techniques of his home planet. He no longer verbalized the mantras that less-experienced Vulcan youths spoke to ease one mind's approach to another. He simply prepared himself and reached out. And Roxanne, who had once used her ability to touch the minds of others to torture and kill, opened her matrix to him willingly. Kirk, watching from Spock's side, marveled at his skill--and her trust.

The two of them spoke in the same voice:

"The ion storm is causing too much interference. I can't read anything. Kate's worried... Warp six. They're still closing... Who are they? Orion design. A marauder. What the hell do they want with us? ... I am Cestyr, son of Ostyr Tyro, captain of the Deathwatch. Surrender your ship to me and I will spare your life... Arm phasers and target that ship. Fire!...I'm losing port shields! They're down to thirty percent! Kate, they're all going--I can't compensate! ...Dropping! They're all dropping! My programming ...they have the codes, they have our frequency codes! ...Logan! You have no shields. Prepare to be boarded...Go to hell! I'll kill your people as they reintegrate. Too late...Kate, Kate! It's my fault--I must have revealed the codes somehow... Kragh, you and Koregh transport her to the ship and confine her in the cargo bay. I have found the computer interface, Lord... No!... Excellent. Dump the files... No! Remember! Survive!... Be thorough. I want the soul of this talking ship. And don't leave anything for the Feds to find. NO!! SURVIVE! NO!!STOPSTOPSTOPSTOP!!

"Spock!" Kirk shook him to break the contact, but he all could see was a deep well of horror in Spock's eyes as the Vulcan shouted the helpless words over and over again. "Roxanne, let him go! Spock!"

Kirk hesitated a second longer, then struck the Vulcan full in the face. Spock shook his head slightly and the film clouding his eyes cleared. He looked up, fully present once again. "Thank you, Captain."