It seemed that even a few weeks of immersion in a second language could make a non-native speaker significantly more fluent. I was well into the first draft of my report when it dawned on me that I was writing in Standard on a Standard keyboard. If I hadn't had to stop and search for the ligatures and accented characters required for Romulan names and terms, I might have finished the whole thing before I consciously recognized that the language I was using wasn't my own. In fact, the realization that I had been thinking in Standard without benefit of a permanent neural implant was unnerving. Quickly I printed out the draft, then went looking for a padd and stylus so that I could copy it in longhand--and in Romulan. Tilendi would just have to send me a notebook from her ship's stores if she wanted a neatly produced final version.
* * *
Half-reclining on a sofa with the padd propped against my raised knees, trying not to think about Adjuvant, its mission, or its crew, I was searching for some plausible way to explain the inexplicable when the commlink rang.
As soon as I answered, Uhura asked warily: "Are you alone?"
"Yes. The ambassador has gone back to her ship."
"Oh, good. We didn't want to get you in any trouble."
"We?"
"Doctor McCoy is with me. Okay if we come up? The security desk just cleared us with the ambassador's aide. We've been freezing to death outside for the last ten minutes, waiting for his permission."
Tilendi must have been amusing herself by instructing Nanclus, her assistant, to make them wait. "By all means," I said. "Come up right away."
* * *
Uhura hadn't been exaggerating their condition. She removed a hat and jacket thickly encrusted with dripping clumps of snow; McCoy, swaddled in a heavy muffler, stamped his feet and puffed into his hands to warm them.
I took their wet coats and draped them over the hall chairs. "You look as though you've crossed the Southern Steppes of Qo'noS."
"It's all her fault," said McCoy, scowling at Uhura as he pulled off his boots. "She made Spock drop us at the airpark. Said she wanted to feel the ground under her feet. Instead she felt the snow up to her--her knees for eight blocks."
"I told him to wear his parka when we left San Francisco," Uhura laughed. "But Len never pays any attention to the weather reports."
"Hasn't this planet heard of climate control?" I asked, only half facetiously. The two of them were shivering; I was sorry I'd let the fire die out.
"Yeah, sure." McCoy was brushing wet snow from his hair. "But Canadians don't believe in it. They only use it for tornados and floods and droughts. They like blizzards." He grinned at me, then looked around the apartment, just as Tilendi had done. "Jeez. Get a load of this place."
"I assure you, Doctor, I didn't choose my accommodation."
"At least it's nice and warm. Got any fresh coffee in that fancy kitchen? Or some other beverage that might thaw my extremities?"
"There may be something. I haven't investigated. So far I've only used the food dispenser--not for coffee, though."
"I'll have a look," said Uhura. "We wouldn't want any of the doctor's extremities to seize up permanently, would we?"
* * *
While McCoy inspected the apartment, offering caustic opinions on the decor and the amenities, Uhura worked her alchemy in the kitchen. In due course she presented us with a pot of coffee, a plate of round cakes called muffins, and a bottle of Terran liquor with an unpronounceable name.
"Eighteen-year-old Bunnahabhain," McCoy murmured, turning the bottle reverently in his hands. "My God, Scotty should be here. Was this just sitting in the cupboard, Ny?"
"Mmm. Well, in the liquor cabinet, anyway. Along with a pretty impressive collection of other bottles. Guess the Federation figures diplomats need a certain amount of lubrication to get their negotiations going."
"Good thinking, I'd say. Ladies? A little whisky?"
"Thank you, Doctor, but no. The coffee is good all by itself."
"No thanks, Len. I might fall asleep if I have anything to drink. I'm really tired."
"Yeah, it's been a helluva day, and you can bet there'll be more to come." McCoy poured a generous amount of the liquor into a glass. "How about you, Commander? How are you holding up? Are you taking those vitamins I gave you?"
"Yes, Doctor. Every day." That was the truth.
"Good. We should probably all be doing the same. The next few weeks are likely to be stressful for everybody." He swirled the whisky in his glass. "Jim thinks the inquiry could last a month or more."
"Commander," Uhura said carefully, "Captain Kirk told us that your lawyer has explained what really happened on the mission--about Commodore Parizeau--and that it was all right for us to discuss the inquiry with you. But I'm not sure whether you even want to know any of this--"
"Believe me, Lieutenant, any news is welcome. Counselor Elydex has been most conscientious about keeping me informed, but I would appreciate hearing your opinion of ... events." It was all I could do to keep from demanding to know exactly where the cloaking device was at this moment and where it was going to be one day or ten days from now, but I didn't want to anger Uhura or make her suspicious. Permit your friend Devor to look after Adjuvant. He knows his duty ...
"Well, I'll tell you what I know so far," she said. "First of all, Commodore Parizeau has been suspended from active duty, supposedly temporarily."
"Innocent until proven guilty," McCoy muttered.
Uhura nodded, as if she knew what he meant; I certainly didn't. "But Captain Kirk and Mr. Spock haven't been relieved of duty," she said. "They're officially on leave, just like the rest of us. And Mr. Spock said that Sarek is scheduled to arrive on Earth soon, so I suppose the inquiry will begin sometime after the holidays, when everybody's back at work."
"Did the captain travel here with you?"
"No, he's still in San Francisco."
"He'll be here tomorrow afternoon," McCoy said. "He had a meeting at Headquarters with some people from the judge advocate-general's office. Starfleet wants to make sure he's represented by one of its own lawyers."
Uhura, who had been reaching for the coffee pot, looked at him. "Really? Who?"
"Not sure. Areel Shaw, I'd guess, if Jim has anything to say about it. Last I heard, she was still assigned there." He took a sip of whisky. "You wouldn't know this, Commander, but a while ago Jim was in a bit of trouble with Starfleet, and Areel, who's an old friend of his, was the prosecuting attorney then. The whole thing turned out to be a--well, 'misunderstanding' doesn't seem to be the right word, but--" He stopped himself. "Anyway, it turned out okay in the end. More or less." Clearly, he had remembered that he was speaking to an enemy officer, and was belatedly aware that he might have revealed something he shouldn't have. I could have put his mind at ease by telling him that the Romulan High Command had been among the first to know about Kirk's court-martial, and about its unexpected outcome. Instead, I decided to change the subject.
"Do all of you have residences in this city?" I asked Uhura.
"Christine Chapel owns an apartment here. I'll be staying with her, and Len and the captain will be at the regional Officers' Club in Rockcliffe Park. Mr. Spock usually stays at his family's home."
"Bet you'll find him camped out at the OC this time," McCoy said. "Can you picture the atmosphere in that house? Sarek, the model of Vulcan rectitude, finds out that his son helped the captain of the Enterprise pull a fast one on the Romulan Empire because some deranged paperpusher issued phony orders. There'll be ice crystals on the grapefruit every morning if those two have to sit across from each other. And the mood Spock's been in lately, there might even be blood on the walls." He refilled his glass. "Why the hell the Federation Council wants Sarek to chair this inquiry is beyond me. Haven't they ever heard of conflict of interest?"
Uhura nodded. "That's what everybody's asking. Admiral Komack's ADC told me that people are saying that the Federation and the Romulans have already struck some kind of a deal, and that the inquiry is just a front. Someone else said the press was asking about rumors of a purge at Starfleet headquarters, so they must know something about Parizeau's involvement." She frowned. "I can hardly wait to see the news reports in the morning."
"Oh, hell. That's all we need." McCoy favored us with a prodigious yawn. "'Scuse me. Mind if I stretch out on the couch for a few minutes, Commander? I feel like I've been standing at attention for twenty-four hours straight."
"Please make yourself comfortable, Doctor."
"Thanks, I will. Ah, that's better. I think the circulation is coming back to my feet." He wiggled his toes. "My socks are dry, there's a tumbler of single-malt Scotch at my elbow, and I'm enjoyin' the company of two beautiful women. Does life get any better than this?"
Uhura smiled across the coffee table at me as she answered him: "Guess not, sugar, although the women think they should've come first in that list. Now you just shut your eyes for a little while, and I'll wake you when it's time to go home."
* * *
McCoy slept, snoring quietly, while Uhura and I talked in low voices. She seemed to welcome the opportunity to think aloud, and I wasn't about to discourage her from doing so.
"The thing is," she said, "I don't understand how Parizeau was able to cut those orders without authorization from the Federation Council. There are at least half a dozen different systemic and procedural safeguards. And how did he transmit them to the ship, anyway? I know I didn't receive any coded packets from Starfleet without the proper tags. He must have piggybacked them on something else, something routine, something that the captain would be sure to see, but that nobody else would look at too closely, and he must have used a nonstandard encryption. I just can't figure out how he got past me, and it's making me crazy. And on top of it all, the captain told us that Parizeau himself programmed the translator codes. He used my linguistic research!"
"I know you take this personally, Nyota. And I don't blame you." I take it personally too. "But without more information, there's no way to determine with any certainty how the deception was instigated. Are Enterprise's communication databanks accessible to you?"
"No. Everything's been sealed until the inquiry."
"So we must assume that they'll be analyzed by the Federation investigators, and that Parizeau's method will eventually be revealed."
"That's probably true," she said reluctantly. "But I still want to find out for myself. I'm the senior communications officer, Aerlyn. I feel responsible. I should have noticed anything out of the ordinary."
"I could say the same thing. I do say the same thing."
"Oh, God, I know. The position you're in now--the position we're all in--this isn't what Starfleet is all about. Parizeau must be insane. No military secret is worth this."
Military secrets are the most fleeting of all ... "Nyota," I said, hoping to silence that remembered voice, "do you know anything about this Commodore Parizeau? What his background is, what his alliances are, what might cause him to bring the Federation to the brink of war in this way?"
She shook her head. "No. In fact, until this whole thing blew up, I didn't even know he was in charge of Starfleet Intelligence. He must have been appointed very recently. I'm friends with a couple of people who work under him--well, not directly under him, but in the department. I'm going to see them after the holidays, and I'll try to get some information from them."
That was the second time she'd mentioned that topic. "What holidays are you speaking of?"
"This is the Christmas season. The official holiday period lasts about a week, from Christmas Day to New Year's, and a lot of people take the time off from work."
I glanced towards the icy windows. "The celebration can't be a harvest feast. At least, not in this hemisphere."
"No, it was--still is, for some people--a religious holiday that got started because the church authorities didn't like the pagan festivities that were connected with the winter solstice. It's really a family time. Everybody tries to get home if they can. The last Christmas I was on Earth, my sisters and I met in a spaceport restaurant. We were all on our way somewhere else."
"And will you see them this time?"
"Oh, I hope so. I'll see my older sister for sure. She's been invited to the Titan Conservatory to give a series of master classes in the new year, and--this is getting to be a tradition-- we're going to meet at Guernsey Spaceport for Christmas dinner. She has a layover there for a few hours, and it's not a long trip."
I thought of the family festivals and namedays and other important occasions that I'd missed over the years. "It's like this for all of us, isn't it? Never in the right place--or even in the right sector--at the right time."
"Mmm. And then when you are at home, nobody else is." She stood up. "How about some more coffee? It'll only take a minute." Without waiting for an answer, she carried the empty pot into the kitchen. Humans--always acting as though they're offering you a choice. But this time the thought didn't rankle; I was actually beginning to find the trait amusing.
I walked over to the window and looked out at the cold white landscape below. Through the falling snow I could see the dark lines of streets and groundways, wet and shiny now from the effects of the ice-melters that were embedded within them. At least McCoy and Uhura wouldn't have any trouble navigating if they decided to walk to their Officers' Club ...
Behind me McCoy stirred in his sleep. I turned around to look at him, and the absurdity of the situation struck me with such force that I was tempted to laugh, or curse, aloud. What was I doing, standing here in this cavernous and decadently furnished room, permitting a Starfleet officer to prepare a beverage for me as if she were a friend, watching a Starfleet officer sleeping in my presence as if he were a family member? And what were they doing, these two, seeking out my company, discussing Parizeau, discussing the future--the position we're all in--as if we were comrades at arms, facing a common enemy?
If the thought crossed my mind that the apartment felt less unfriendly and the night less lonely because Uhura and McCoy were here to share them with me, I dismissed it immediately as trivial and unworthy of further consideration.
* * *
The second pot of coffee was empty by the time McCoy awakened. He sat up, rubbing his eyes. "I beg your pardon, ladies," he drawled sleepily. "Didn't mean to doze off. Rude of me."
"Not at all, Doctor." On Romulus, his "dozing off" would have been viewed as an affront to courtesy and a personal insult to the other guests in the room. But Uhura seemed unoffended, and I wasn't prepared to make an issue of it.
"What time is it? Any coffee left?"
"Almost four a.m., and no," Uhura said. "But I can make some more."
"Anybody else as hungry as I am?"
Uhura and I exchanged a glance of agreement. Suddenly the thought of food seemed extraordinarily appealing.
"What did you have in mind, Len?" she asked. "Your redeye special?"
"I think that could be arranged. Got to check out the kitchen first. I need at least a dozen eggs, and plenty of jalapeños, and green onions--" He was counting the ingredients on his fingers. It seemed to me that he ran out of fingers before he finished.
* * *
For the next half-hour McCoy bustled about in the kitchen, talking to himself and occasionally to the food, the utensils, and perhaps the household gods. When he finally emerged, he presented his creation with a flourish. The "redeye special" was an enormous platter of eggs scrambled with cheese, peppers, and onions, accompanied by a bowl of salad, a stack of toasted bread, and a tall bottle of thin red seasoning liquid.
"Tabasco sauce," McCoy said. "Watch yourself, Commander. You have to use it sparingly. It's damned hot, and you should--oops, too late. I think you might have used a little too much."
I sampled the eggs, which were almost spicy enough to suit a Romulan. "In fact, Doctor," I said, pouring more of the red liquid onto the food, "this meal is very pleasant, but somewhat bland." Keeping my face as solemn as I could, I caught Uhura's eye. "I don't suppose there is anything like your berbère sauce in the kitchen? To make the eggs more piquant?"
McCoy stared at my plate and then at me, incredulous and--temporarily, at least--reduced to silence. Uhura, seeing his reaction, swatted at him with her serviette: "Len, you idiot. She's teasing you!" Her laughter was infectious, and I lost my composure.
McCoy's face crinkled slowly into delighted surprise. Perhaps it had never occurred to him that Romulans might have a sense of humor.
* * *
It was almost dawn when we finally said goodbye. My guests stood in the hallway, retrieving their boots and coats.
"Hope we didn't keep you up too late, Commander," McCoy said, grinning. "I really just wanted to check up on you and make sure you were feeling all right, but this turned out to be a real nice party. Ny, do you want to share a cab with me?"
"Thanks, Len, but I'd like to walk. Feel the ground under my feet some more."
"Well, darlin', now that you mention it ..." He dropped his boots and padded over to the casement window. "Seems like the worst of the storm is over," he said, drawing back the drapes. "Maybe I'll just walk with you. I could use the--what the hell!" His voice rose to a shout on the last word.
Startled, I turned around to see the windowpane light up with a blinding brightness, as if a phaser rifle had been fired squarely on target.
Uhura and I were across the room in a second; instinctively, we placed ourselves on either side of the window in a defensive position. Seeing the crisscrossed beams of white light that were sweeping across the building and the grounds, I could only think, We are being attacked. I pulled McCoy out of the line of fire and reached for the weapon that should have been at my hip.
"Wait," Uhura said, straining to look upward. "Those beams are coming from skimmers!"
"They can't be," I said, trying to see what she saw. "Skimmers are the next thing to toy balloons. They're not equipped to carry armament."
"Bloody bottom-feeding scavengers," McCoy said over my shoulder, sounding both angry and relieved. "It's the media, Commander. Using searchlights. Taking pictures!"
"What?"
"Looks like somebody found out where you were. They probably want images of the building--maybe even this apartment--for their news reports. They can't get past the security fields on foot, so they're trying for aerial shots. Incredible."
Incredible was hardly the right word. Elydex had warned me about the media, but this was too bizarre--
Suddenly the doors opened without warning, and two Federation security guards entered the apartment. "Excuse us, Commander," one of them said. "Sorry to interrupt. There's nothing to worry about. We're clearing the skimmers out of the local airspace right now. Some news agency groundcars are parked on the other side of the service road, though, and we can't do anything about them. They're on public property. Doctor McCoy, Lieutenant Uhura, when you're ready to leave, just let us know. It would be best if you beamed out of here--"
"Now just a damn minute! I'm not afraid of a few lowlife reporters who haven't got anything better to do than harass--"
"Sorry, sir, but Starfleet Command has specifically requested that we transport you to the Starfleet Admin building."
"Damage control," McCoy muttered. "Starfleet's afraid we'll say the wrong thing to somebody. All right, we were leaving anyway. C'mon, Ny. The sooner we sign in with Admin, the sooner we can get home. What're you doing?"
Uhura was seated at the computer terminal. "Just checking the news. Hold on a minute, I'm getting the keyword. I'll put it on audio." She entered a command, and a synthesized male voice filled the room.
"Keyword search completed," it said. "Result: four files, updated hourly. Related graphical images available in library. Formal statement of protest from imperial praetor of Romulan Star Empire and public statement from Romulan ambassador to Federation, select One. Public statements from president of Federation Council and Starfleet media liaison, select Two. Public statements from organizers of protest demonstrations planned for Ottawa, Reykjavik, and San Francisco, select Three. First relay reports from Banks Outpost on deployment of Klingon Fleet and public statement from Klingon High Council, select Four." There was utter silence. "Waiting," the computer said patiently. Uhura hit the keyboard with a single vicious stroke, and the screen darkened.
"The Klingons." McCoy was staring at me as if I'd somehow betrayed him. "The goddamned Klingons."
"Always a part of the Romulan equation, Doctor."
"But, Commander," Uhura said, frowning. "The Organian peace treaty--how can the Klingons be any threat to us? That statement from the High Council could just be political posturing. It might mean nothing."
It means that they fear the loss of their own cloaking capability if the Federation learns the secrets of the technology. And that they will act--Organians or no Organians--to protect their military advantage. But before I could say anything, McCoy answered her.
"Organians or no Organians," he said, scowling fiercely, "it means the shit has hit the fan."
© 1996, 1999 Kathleen Dailey. All rights reserved.