Текст книги "Catalyst of Sorrows "

Автор книги: Margaret Bonanno

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Текущая страница: 9 (всего у книги 21 страниц)

Chapter 9

The arrow whizzed past Tuvok’s right ear, tearing foliage off the trees behind him. Unperturbed, he drew the bowstring back as far as his left ear, and let fly.

“Incoming at five o’clock, husband,” Selar reported beside him, crouched below the tumble of rocks Tuvok had chosen as a defensible position when the attack started. She was picking up life-form readings on her medical tricorder, since Tuvok’s hands were occupied. “Bearing 13 degrees azimuth.”

Careful to aim above their attackers’ heads, Tuvok let a second arrow fly. It was greeted by a spatter of truncated Sliwoni arrows, released from short bows held sideways at the waist, making them far less accurate than Tuvok’s longbow. Two fell short, skidding to a halt in the dirt, another overshot the Vulcans, two more struck the rocks very close to them, sending stone chips flying, but doing no more damage than that.

Taking advantage of their assailants’ inferior weaponry, Tuvok responded with a third arrow, then a fourth, a fifth, a sixth in rapid succession. The response was two more shots from the attackers, then nothing.

“They are dispersing,” Selar reported before Tuvok’s last arrow had even struck home, embedding itself, they discovered as they made their way back to the ship, a hand’s-breadth deep into one of the old-growth trees in the grove from which their assailants had tried to cut them off from the ship.

Their arrival on Sliwon had been uneventful enough. The Sliwoni had a taboo against orbital vessels and so, against Sisko’s better judgment (“I just hope I can get her off the ground again!” he’d muttered), Albatrosshad followed the authorities’ instructions, crossed atmosphere, and come to land.

Sisko had set her down in a clearing not far from the highway leading to one of the larger communities, backing her around so that her stern was all but flush with a sheer cliff face dropping more than fifty feet to the sea. Because of Sliwon’s exceptionally large moon, the tides here were extreme, varying as much as thirty feet from low tide to high. That and crosscurrents and quixotic winds made the cliff face virtually unassailable even by the local hovercraft. All the same, Sisko stayed with the ship, content to tinker with his engines while the others went about their research in town. Their cover story that they were traveling merchants had, just as on the two previous worlds, been readily accepted.

But something had happened while the Vulcans were away. Rumors arrived with the great rumbling convoys bringing produce to and fro, or beeped and chattered along each citizen’s personal comm unit, worn permanently affixed to the left ear for constant communication. Something heard from somewhere else had turned the Sliwoni suspicious, and hostile looks followed the outworlders. Tuvok and Selar had wisely decided to curtail their visit, only to find that a party of villagers armed with traditional weapons had gotten back to the clearing before they did, and cut them off.

It had been agreed from the beginning that the away team would not carry phasers, which was not to say that Tuvok was unarmed. Though they were advanced enough to have in-system spaceflight and fairly sophisticated communications and transportation technology, the Sliwoni held an anachronistic reverence for knives and archery as personal weapons. Tuvok had fashioned a longbow and some arrows from native materials, and found he had need of them now.

Clearly not expecting that one lone outworld archer could outfire them, the villagers had retreated.

“My thanks for your assistance, wife.” Tuvok lowered the longbow, which was almost as tall as he was, to his side, but nocked another arrow at the ready, just in case.

“What you need is an infrared scope,” Sisko said, opening the Albatross’s hatch, which he’d sealed off when the attack began, and seeing them safely aboard. “Or maybe heat sensors embedded in the arrowheads.”

Tuvok waited while Selar stepped through the decontamination beam, then repaired to the lab with the day’s specimens, before stepping off the transporter pad and out of the beam himself.

“Since it was my goal notto hit any of the villagers, I fail to see how a heat-seeking sensor would be of benefit,” he said dryly. “I assume you are joking.”

“Yes and no,” Sisko said. “But you have to admit the infrared scope would be a good idea.”

“Indeed, given a warm-blooded species.” Tuvok headed for the sleeping quarters to put the bow and his few remaining arrows away. “But it would not work for Gorn, for example.”

“Granted,” Sisko said, following him to continue the conversation, “but give me the specs, and I could probably design one that could read even cold-blooded species…”

“Boys and their toys!” Tuvok heard Uhura murmur.

“Well, no one had the courtesy to give me an exterior visual to watch the fight,” McCoy grumped. “But from what I hear, that ‘toy’ may have just saved your away team.”

“Has the ship sustained any damage?” Tuvok asked, ignoring both Uhura and McCoy. Unless they were holding an official briefing, the away team was so accustomed to the holos’ background chatter by now that they usually worked around it.

“She’s fine,” Sisko reported of Albatross.“They may have been intent on vandalizing her, but they didn’t get very far before you all arrived. I just battened down and waited until I picked you up on sensors. May I?”

Tuvok un-nocked the last arrow and handed Sisko the bow. Not for the first time, Tuvok noticed the human admiring the craftsmanship.

“Not bad for a southpaw,” he said, handing it back. “How’d you learn to shoot like that?”

“In ancient times, many Vulcan tribes were skilled archers.” Tuvok stored the bow beneath his sleeping compartment. “The arid climate is conducive to accuracy over great distances, though the heavier gravity also presents some challenges. Nevertheless, if one can learn to shoot an arrow on Vulcan, the skill is commensurately easier on other worlds.”

“That’s the long answer,” Sisko said with a slight smile. “Is there a short one?”

“I have taught the principles of archery at the Vulcan Academy of Defensive Arts,” Tuvok replied. “And to assume that one who is naturally left-handed is any more or less skilled than someone who is right-handed…”

“I stand corrected,” Sisko said with a wink in McCoy’s direction. The aged doctor chuckled. “I’d better get back to work on that adapter,” Sisko continued. “How much longer will you and Selar need to finish your collecting?”

“That will depend on the outcome of Dr. Selar’s tests on today’s specimens,” Tuvok said thoughtfully. “Unless, of course, what disturbed the Sliwoni escalates into a situation which necessitates our abrupt departure.”

“Which I can’t guarantee until I can get that damn adapter to do what it was designed to do, or jury-rig something else that will,” Sisko said.

Tuvok glanced around the cabin, feeling a frown form on his face. “Where is Zetha?” the Vulcan asked quietly.

Now it was Sisko’s turn to frown. “I don’t know.”

“You want to what?” Crusher had demanded. “I don’t think that’s a good idea at all.”

“Is there a medical reason why she can’t be cleared to accompany the away team?” Uhura asked.

“You know there isn’t. There’s some evidence of childhood malnutrition, but she’s in excellent health now,” Crusher half-whispered, leaning into the screen and hoping Zetha couldn’t hear. Crusher was in her office, separated from the examining room by a clearsteel partition. Just past her left shoulder, Uhura could see Zetha sitting upright and quite still on the end of the diagnostic bed, studying her surroundings with her characteristic alertness, and no doubt aware that she was being discussed in the next room. “You still haven’t told me who she is or what’s going on.”

Medical had always had a special place within Starfleet hierarchy. Doctors regardless of their rank reserved the right to tell off their superiors at regular intervals and, technically, Crusher did not answer to Uhura or anyone in SI, but to her superiors at Medical. So if she chose to address the admiral as a peer and even, on occasion, chew her out, it was expected.

“She’s the courier who brought the locket across the Zone,” Uhura said.

“She came all this way through hostile space, carrying something that could have killed thousands if the inner seal was breached—” The very thought made Crusher breathless. “She’s barely out of her teens!”

“And a Romulan, not some spoiled human kid. From what Tuvok’s been able to gather, a Romulan with no family who grew up on the streets. Tuvok’s not entirely sure whether or not she’s a trained operative.”

“Oh, and so you want to send her back the way she came and hope she doesn’t signal her superiors and betray the rest of your team. Brilliant!”

“I thought it was,” Uhura said calmly, pretending she didn’t hear the sarcasm in Crusher’s voice. “Because if she does make the attempt—and I believe Tuvok’s capable of preventing her from completing such an attempt—then we’d know for sure that her story’s a fake, wouldn’t we?”

Crusher managed to look chagrined. “I hadn’t thought of that.”

“Which is why you’re a doctor, not an intelligence operative,” Uhura said before McCoy could. The old grouch had gotten the hang of Heisenberg’s holo program, and found he enjoyed virtually loitering in her office to eavesdrop whenever the fish weren’t biting. “I want her along for cover on worlds where there are Romulan speakers. As good as they are, Tuvok and Selar are still Vulcans. There are circumstances under which an outright lie could trip them up, and nuances of the culture and the language that Zetha can pick up that the others might not. And I do believe that, in the custody of three Starfleet officers, there’s very little harm she can do. How would you characterize her mental status?”

“She seems…wary,” Crusher conceded. “As I would be in strange surroundings, among a people I’d never seen before who spoke a language I only partly understood. Oh, yes,” she said off Uhura’s puzzled look. “She’s already mastered the rudiments of Standard and then some. She wanted to know exactly what I was doing, what each instrument was for…”

Zetha had been watchful but cooperative during most of the examination, answering questions, following instructions. “Close your left eye, now your right eye, stick your tongue out, inhale, exhale, cough. Does this hurt? What about this? This may sting a bit. Lie down, sit up, stand on one foot, hop on the other,” and so on. Only the hypospray seemed to alarm her.

“What is that?” she had demanded when she saw what the healer had in his hand, her muscles tensing, ready for fight or flight. Pointless. At the weak-chinned Tal Shiar operative’s nod, the injection was administered, and the healer left the room.

“Nutritional supplements,” the weak-chinned lord said. “You’re not a little malnourished.”

“No, really? After a lifetime on the streets? Who’d have imagined?”

“Dispense with the sarcasm,” he snapped. “It’s very unattractive.”

“Of course, Lord,” she’d replied flatly. Did he know this was the greatest sarcasm of all?

“What is that?” she demanded again when Crusher approached her with the hypo. Either side of the Marches,Zetha thought, it’s all the same!

“I’m not injecting you with anything,” Crusher explained gently, stepping back a little at her alarmed look. Professional manner aside, she’d taken an immediate liking to the girl and wanted to put her at ease. “It’s just a blood draw. Some of it will be used in our research, but mostly it’s to make sure you’re healthy.”

“She does seem to be wound too tight,” Crusher acknowledged. “But that may be normal for a Romulan. It might also be a little bit of post-traumatic stress. Did she give you any details on how she got here? I imagine it must have been harrowing. She’d need to process that.”

“But would you say she’s fit to travel?”

“If I say no, you’ll lock her away in one of your famous SI containment rooms, at least until the away mission returns. Which could be weeks or…longer.” Neither woman was willing to complete the thought that the away mission might not return at all. “But if I say yes, and you send her into the Zone, at least part of the responsibility is mine.”

Just past Crusher’s shoulder, Uhura watched Zetha slide quietly off the diagnostic table and begin moving slowly around the enclosed room, not touching anything, but examining every object she could see from every possible angle, as if memorizing it. She did not, Uhura’s practiced eye noted, bother to try the door or seek any other avenue of escape, at least not overtly. But then she would know she was being watched, so perhaps she would do that later. Her actions could be equally interpreted as those of a curious child, or a spy.

“Let me worry about that, Doctor. Is there any way you can give me an objective assessment of her state of mind?”

“You mean anything that might indicate whether she’s been conditioned, trained to lie?”

“Not necessarily.”

“There are tests I can run, but whether they’d work on a Romulan…we know so little about them, and half of that’s rumor laced with propaganda. I doubt a standard DSM score would work, but—”

“In English, please.”

“Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders score. With some modifications, it’s how we’ve assessed human mental status for the past four hundred years. I can’t tell you if it will work. But I have an idea what might.” Crusher hesitated. “I’d like to take her home with me tonight.”

“Doctor…” Uhura nodded toward the room behind her, where Zetha had chosen that moment to pick up a small mediscanner Crusher had left on a side counter. It bleeped sharply enough to startle her, and she set it down a little too forcefully as Crusher turned abruptly in her direction. Almost sheepishly, the girl moved away from the counter and retreated back to the bed.

“Some spy!” Crusher remarked before Uhura could state the obvious. “She’s just curious. It’s normal. My radar would go off if she wasn’tcurious. And if she could spend an evening with Wes and me in a less clinical setting, I think I could learn more. See how she socializes, get her to drop her guard.”

“Absolutely not!” Uhura said. “Don’t get soft on me now, Dr. Crusher. She’d be a security risk, and you know it.”

“Respectfully, Admiral,” Crusher said, “you’ve asked me for a psych assessment; this way I can give you one. You’re not going to get that with her sealed up in a windowless room with no one but Tuvok to talk to. Oh, I know, SI’s containment rooms have all the amenities of a luxury hotel, if you overlook the fact that the door locks in the wrong direction. She needs socialization, not just a bunch of SI types asking her questions all the time.”

“I agree,” McCoy chimed in. He had the annoying habit of presenting himself as just a voice, even though he had Uhura and Crusher on visual.

Who asked you?Uhura wanted to snap at him, but she restrained herself.

“You might remind yourself that she’s as strong as a Vulcan,” she told Crusher. “Would you be able to overpower her if she attacked you?”

Crusher held up a hypospray. “This can. Done it before with psychotic patients. Has she attacked anyone so far?”

“She’s been contained so far.”

“Do you want me to do a psych profile or don’t you?”

“Are you blackmailing me, Doctor?”

“What do you think? At home I can run her through DSMs and Rorschachs and anything else you’d like and give you an evaluation in the morning. I can also feed her a home-cooked meal and show her that humans aren’t the monsters her upbringing has no doubt led her to believe. You want to be paranoid, fine. Have Tuvok tag along. He can bunk in with Wes; they can play kal’tohtogether. But Zetha gets the guest room.”

Uhura drummed her fingers on her desk, weighing options. This wasn’t what she’d had in mind, but was she balking just because McCoy was siding with Crusher?

“Promise me you’ll be careful,” she said at last.

Crusher held up the hypo once again. “Where the safety of my son is concerned? Always.”

Sisko was the last to arrive at the briefing the next morning, and realized something at once as he glanced around the room.

I’m the only human on this mission,was his first thought. His second was, Get over it. Not every Vulcan is like Solok!

That particular Vulcan and his notions of racial superiority had left Sisko with a sore spot ever since his Academy days. The resentment still festered, though he hadn’t seen Solok in years. Solok was one Vulcan who didn’t seem to understand that it was illogical, not to mention unjust, to continually point out to humans where they were lacking in comparison to Vulcans, whether it was in physical strength, longevity, emotional control, or intellect.

All the more reason not to judge all Vulcans as a species. You’re in command of this mission,he reminded himself. You can’t afford to let old baggage get in your way. Besides, no Vulcan will ever be able to throw a split-finger fastball. Console yourself with that.

His reactions to his fellow Starfleet officers were fleeting. But then he caught sight of Zetha. A civilian. And another Vulcan? If so, something about her was…off, Sisko decided, but he couldn’t figure out at first what it was.

“Thank you for joining us, Mr. Sisko,” Uhura said evenly. “I believe some introductions are in order. Lieutenant Tuvok, Dr. Selar, Lieutenant Benjamin Sisko. And this is Zetha. She has come to us from across the Neutral Zone.”

“A Romulan—?” Sisko blurted before he could stop himself.

Zetha’s chin came up, her eyes narrowed, assessing this human, but saying nothing. Uhura cleared her throat, and Sisko settled himself into the only empty chair in the room.

“I’ll make this brief, people,” Uhura began. “Your goal is to attempt to track this disease to its point of origin. You’re to start with worlds where we have Listeners, and work your way backwards, following the disease vector Dr. Selar has plotted from known cases. We need to know where this began, even if you have to go all the way across the Zone and into the Empire to do so.”

She didn’t give anyone time to react, but forged ahead.

“Your cover will vary from world to world. We don’t know a lot about the worlds inside the Zone. Some are Romulan sympathizers, some would prefer to be allied with us, but the majority seem, not surprisingly, to resent being marginalized to a DMZ between two enemies whose differences they refuse to recognize. So I don’t think I need to tell any of you to get the lay of the political land before you speak.

“Mr. Sisko, you are in command. Your cover is as the skipper of the Albatross.She’s your ship. The others have chartered your ship and your services. You’re a Terran, but a freebooter with no loyalty to any government. Your cover name is Captain Jacobs. All the necessary documentation is in your personal logs onboard.”

If he noted his sudden promotion, Sisko didn’t mention it. He did notice Uhura had given him his son’s name as cover, and it was enough to make him smile. Uhura read his thoughts on his face and spoke before he could.

“Don’t get sentimental on me, Lieutenant. I gave you that name as a mnemonic. It’s one thing you’ll never forget, whatever the circumstances.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Your goal is simple,” Uhura continued addressing the group. “Target the places where people gather. Talk to them, monitor news reports, listen to gossip. If possible, monitor the medical clinics. Any report of unusual illness, get in as close as you can and collect what you can, bring it back to the ship for testing, and interface with Starfleet Medical.

“Tuvok and Selar, where you believe it best to be Vulcan, you will use your true names; where Romulan cover would be preferable, use the names Leval and Vesak. You are itinerant merchants, husband and wife, and Zetha is your niece.”

Selar nodded. Tuvok reacted not at all. Zetha looked as if she were about to speak, but thought better of it.

“Your course has already been laid in; the ship knows where she needs to go, but you can override if necessary. Specifics on known worlds are in the memory banks; you’ll have plenty of time in transit to memorize the details. Dr. McCoy, Dr. Crusher, and I will be available to confer on holo whenever necessary. I don’t have to tell you that if for any reason you’re boarded, use your discretion, but if you’re taken in tow, you dump everything.

“I wish I had time to go into more detail now, but the one thing we don’t have is time. This thing is spreading. There are now over thirty Federation worlds reporting deaths, and the media’s picked it up; we can no longer keep this quiet. People are dying. We have to track this thing to its source and put a stop to it.”

She made eye contact with each of them, trying unsuccessfully to keep the emotion out of her voice.

“Dismissed,” she said, “and all my hopes go with you.”

“So you’re Romulan?” Sisko broke what seemed like an eternal silence, punctuated only by the hum and bleep of instrumentation and the odd, ominous creak from the old bird now and then that he was determined to track down as soon as he had a moment. Even though Albatrosshad been on autopilot since she’d coughed and grumbled her way out of one of the most remote berths in the Utopia Planitia yards, he still felt a strange obligation to sit at the conn and watch the stars go by. At some point, Zetha had joined him.

“Yes” was all she said now, mesmerized by the view on the forward screen.

“I’ve never met a Romulan before. I don’t think most humans have. What’s your story?”

“Truth is always easier than a lie,” the Lord had drummed into them at drills, usually during combat training. “Why?”

Zetha watched the others watching each other, none of them wanting to speak first, in case they might be wrong. Apparently it was the reaction he expected, for it made him smirk.

“Truth is consistent!” he barked to be heard above the grunting and huffing and straining in the cold, high-ceilinged room as his ghilik,as he called them—the word meant “mongrel”—went through their daily exercises and he stood off to one side, hands clasped behind his back, alternately berating and lecturing them. “If you must lie, remember what you’ve told to whom, in case you’re asked to repeat your story later.”

The less intelligent among them, even those who’d survived by lies, had raised their hands during the break, asking questions. Zetha said nothing, but when he challenged her, she was ready.

“Truth is also dangerous,” he barked, gimlet eyes focusing on Zetha, annoyed that she didn’t flinch the way some of the others did still. “Why?”

She hadn’t hesitated. “Because to tell the same truth too consistently makes it seem like a lie.”

He hadn’t smiled, hadn’t even acknowledged what she’d said. He’d merely narrowed his eyes at her, and she knew she’d won.

“So essentially we’re on this mission because of you,” Sisko said thoughtfully when she’d told him the most recent version of the truth.

Zetha shrugged to hide a sudden lurch in her heart rate. Carefully!“That’s one way of looking at it.”

“How do we know you’re not a spy?”

“Tuvok doesn’t seem to think so.”

“You’re not speaking with Tuvok at the moment,” Sisko said, tweaking the environmental controls, which were still sluggish regardless of the work he’d done. His tone was not unkind, but it was incisive. “I’m in command of this ship.”

Zetha shrugged again. She understood that her role here was no different than what it has always been—to be silent, invisible, to speak when spoken to, watch and listen. She had followed Tuvok onto Albatross,dutifully stowed the clothing Uhura had provided her in the wardrobe she shared with Selar in the sleeping quarters, and sat on the edge of her cot awaiting instructions. When Tuvok told her she was free to move about the living quarters and the cargo bay, she had masked her surprise and gone exploring before venturing forward to the control cabin, in hopes Sisko would allow her to watch the stars on the forward screen.

He’d been running a diagnostic prior to departure, the pilot’s seat swung 180 degrees around from the controls so he could check all systems when he saw her in the hatch-way. He’d crooked a finger at her and pointed her toward the copilot’s seat.

“Sit if you want. But don’t touch anything.”

She had done just that, and watched silently as Albatrossrumbled out of dock and made half-impulse until she was clear of the Sol system, then lurched into warp. She’d won points from Sisko for being quiet and enjoying the view, but now he seemed torn between curiosity and mistrust. Unfortunately, it was the mistrust that came through in his words.

“Tuvok knows where to find me,” Zetha said now, studying the human out of the corner of her eye. Distrust was straightforward; she could deal with it.

“Three things,” Sisko said. “First, you’re allowed forward only when I’m here and on my say-so, and when you’re here, you sit where I tell you to sit and you don’t touch anything. Second, you stay out of the engine room.”

“And third?”

The lieutenant’s expression softened somewhat. “Tell me about Romulan cooking. You’re not vegetarian like Vulcans, are you?”

“Vegetarian?” Zetha didn’t recognize the word.

“You don’t just eat plants. You eat meat, fish, things like that.”

“When we can find it, yes.”

“You like spicy food?”

The recollection of the meal she and Tahir had pilfered from the refuse bins outside The Orchid, discarded no doubt because some centurion’s wife found it not to her liking, tingled for a moment on her memory’s taste-buds.

Remember the food,she told herself. Don’t think about Tahir. Either he escaped that afternoon or he didn’t, and if he did, you’ve long been replaced in his affections by another…

“Sometimes,” she said carefully.

Sisko’s smile appeared genuine. “This mission might not be so bad after all!”

How important is it,Zetha wondered, to make this human accept me? More to the point, why is it necessary when the others have?

Uhura accepted me almost too readily, because she believed I was sent by Cretak. Tuvok needed to ask his questions but, once satisfied with the answers, he no longer questions me. As for Selar, her passion—and yes, I know, Vulcans are reportedly lacking in passion, but as the distant brothers, we know better—Selar’s passion is medicine, her focus narrow, and if whenever we are planetside I play to the cover story that we are kin, and emulate her behaviors, and if when we are on the ship I make myself useful by volunteering to do small, unskilled chores in her lab, she in her quiet way will accept me.

As for the other humans, the flame-haired one and her son all but apologized for being human in my presence, something I still don’t understand…

“Jolan tru,”Wesley greeted her when his mother, her hand proprietarily on Zetha’s shoulder, introduced them. At only eleven, he was already taller than Zetha. “I hope I’m pronouncing that right.”

“You are.” Zetha said. He is a child,she reminded herself, shaking his proffered hand as she had observed other humans do. Do not judge him.

“I’ll leave you two to get acquainted,” Beverly said, heading for the kitchen.

It was after he’d shown his guest around and she had repressed her reaction to the sheer wealth of thingsthat one child could possess that Wesley, running out of small talk, suddenly blurted:

“I’m glad you’re here. I’ve never met a Romulan before. I get to meet new people a lot, but never a Romulan. My mom’s always bringing home stray kittens and people with nowhere else to go…”

“Very nice, young man!” came Beverly’s voice from the kitchen, though Wesley seemed to know he’d blundered as soon as he’d spoken.

“Oops. I didn’t mean—”

“I know exactly what you mean,” Zetha said without inflection, and Wesley had excused himself as if to find a hole big enough to crawl into, even though she hadn’t seemed to be offended. If anything, she had wanted to laugh at his ingenuousness. But then it made her angry, that he should have the freedom to be so ingenuous, when even at his age she—

Not his fault,she reminded herself, her sharp ears picking up the heated discussion in the room beyond.

“But, Mom, I didn’t mean it that way—!”

“Well, what exactly did you mean? Because from what I could hear, it sounded like—”

“I mean—I don’t know—maybe because she’s like a kitten? She’s small, and she seems gentle, but I bet if she got mad, she’d have claws, that’s all.”

“That’s very glib, Wes.”

“I’m sorry.”

Is this because of me?Zetha wondered, marveling. She could hear Beverly sigh.

“I’m not the one you should apologize to, but if Zetha has the good grace not to be offended, I’ll let you off the hook. But try to think before you open your mouth from now on, please? Remember the one about walking in someone else’s shoes?”

The boy didn’t say anything then; perhaps he merely nodded. Zetha treated him with caution for the rest of the evening.

At the dinner table, she watched how they used their utensils and emulated them, and waited to be asked if she wanted seconds, because she was beginning to understand that humans, at least these humans, always had more than enough food. She thought of Aemetha’s foundlings fighting over the last scrap, the last drops of soup in the pot, thought of the House and the rows of refectory tables, the bowls full of the same gray slop whatever the meal, and, having guessed that Dr. Crusher’s medical instruments would assess her past as readily as the Tal Shiar healer’s had, ate with gusto, but slowly, knowing she was watched.

She endured their efforts to entertain her, uncertain of the rules. No one had ever singled her out for such attention before, unless they wanted something in return. Assuming Crusher was monitoring her as much as Tuvok had been, she watched and waited for cues. Did she want to watch a video with Beverly, or play a game with Wes? She would do either, both, whatever was needed to get through this night until Tuvok retrieved her and she learned her fate on the morrow.

Had Zetha been amazed to learn that she would be going with the away team? There were not words enough in her vocabulary to encompass her amazement. Yet nothing showed on her face. She would find acting the part of a Vulcan, when the time came, easy enough.