Archive of Our Own

Work Text

A Second Kind of Love?      Spock’s cousin considered her life as a series of conflicts. In the early years, she fought against her duty to behave as a Vulcan, think as a Vulcan, and to disregard her native tendencies totally. She also had a bad habit of fixating on unsuitable men and often found herself in the wrong place at the wrong time. Today, at Starbase 20, proved one of those, restless for the arrival of a certain man. In fact, the appointment had been arranged many years ago. This year, however, this usually punctual person was two hours overdue.     “You are T’Pira, foster child of Sarek?” queried a strong male voice in an accent she recognized as Vulcan.     Sitting at a chair at one of the many tables here in the arcade and still dressed in her blue Science uniform, the woman looked up into the dark eyes far above and noticed another man in the red and blue trimfits of a trader, moving to her other side.     “Yes,” she said, “although I’ve not used that name since applying to Starfleet. I currently go by Vera Hopton. Who wishes to know?”     Both men bodily obstructing any attempts at her leaving, the first one replied, “You are to come with us.”     “Why,” she asked, a bit impatiently, although unconcerned. Many of her fellow crewmen from the Yorktown wandered about this Starbase arcade, and the man questioning her was undeniably Vulcan, so could not possibly pose a threat.     “Is Sarek or Amanda in need of me?”     When the man didn’t answer, Vera tried a tentative mind-touch, only to have it blocked and a strong arm gripping her arm in response.     Pulled forcibly upright, he directed her toward a faraway door and whispered, “Do not be foolish! If you come with us, quietly, you will not be harmed.”     Knowing their strength could easily overpower hers, and that their telepathic shields seemed impenetrable to her usual mental talents, she obliged but still struggled against his painful grip. To make matters worse, each time she tried, her captor increased the pressure of his fingers upon her arm. Beyond the doorway, then led around a corner, with neither man signaling for transport, she discovered herself unexplainably in another room, aboard a strange ship, and not a Vulcan one.     There, two other men, wearing bulky uniforms of gray and green metallic with a red sash hanging from one shoulder, stood before her. Both well over six feet tall, the same as the two with her, and extreme physical attraction, which set her female hormones into overdrive, one had hair of sandy blond, nearly brown, and the other’s hair was so blond as to be almost white.     Never on Vulcan had she seen hair approximating theirs. Although the physical appearance of these four seemed partially Vulcan—pointed ears, upswept eyebrows, upright bearing, and skin tones—their blond hair and muscular builds screamed, “Not Vulcan!”     The blondest one approached her, and at that moment she registered another non-Vulcan trait. His eyes. Green eyes! No, they were more a smoky gray mixed with brilliant green.     “I do not know who you are,” she said, jerking her arm from the man who captured her, “but you, at least, are not Vulcan. Perhaps the other, but not you nor this other.”     “All my men,” he said in a hoarse whisper, deep but soft, “including myself, are of one race, my lady. As you have guessed, we are not Vulcan…but Romulan.”      “Romulan,” she mused aloud. “So, this is what Romulans are.”      “Naturally, you notice certain racial similarities.”     The blond nodded to the two men who accompanied her, and they hit their right fists against their chests simultaneously before extending their arms outward in salute, which this one returned. With them gone, he took Vera’s arm and turned to the remaining man.     “Tregar, notify Tleen to set assigned course. Warp Four. Maintain cloak until we achieve Empire space.”     “Yes, Commander,” said the man, saluting the same as those who’d recently left.     “So,” said Vera, as this one guided her down the long corridor outside the transport room, “you are a Commodore.”     “Yes, I am Tlasus, Commander of Reton Fleet of the Romulan Star Empire.”     Taking a second look at the man beside her, Vera was forced to admit, his appearance was quite impressive, despite his near white hair. His musculature was perfection, without being overdone. In short, she’d never met anyone like him in all her years. Again, her hormones responded and sent a warmth through her breasts, which she tried to ignore.     “Tell me,” she said, “to what do I owe the honor of my ‘invitation’ aboard your ship?”     “Your legendary beauty,” he said, half-smiling.     “My beauty cannot be so legendary as to reach the ears of a race never seen in the Federation.”     “You should never underestimate your beauty nor the reach of Romulan ears.” He came to a halt and motioned to a closed metal door.     “My quarters.”     Keeping her features expressionless, he led her to a door a short distance from his and said, “Your quarters.”     “Ah,” she said, turning toward him, “I see you anticipate a lengthy visit on my part.”     His other hand rested on her shoulder. “I anticipate more than a visit, but we shall speak of that later. There is still time.”     He removed a metal disc from a sleeve pocket on his tunic and pressed it against the door panel where they stood, whereupon the portal slid silently aside and they entered together, him behind her.     Glancing about the ample room, she pivoted to face the man, meeting those cool green eyes nearly a foot higher than her head and noticed a slight curl appear at the corner of his sensual mouth.     “You cannot leave,” he informed, “neither your quarters nor the ship, without me. The only place you may go is through that door,” he added, gesturing with an inclination of his head to one on his left. “But it does not lock on your side.”      “Considering the location of your quarters, I need not guess where it leads.”     “Not with your intelligence. You will also find your outer door locked from the outside. Only I can unlock it.”     “Which means, I am your prisoner.”     His lips curved upward again. “We shall discuss that subject thirty minutes from now. I shall expect you.” After releasing her, he left through the adjoining door to his own quarters, but the portal remained open, much to her surprise.     Vera’s body filled with anxiety, and she could feel her emotion of anger increasing steadily. In the past, she’d never been in this type of situation. Well, not exactly this type. Never had she been so utterly alone with a man, cut off from familiar reference points, except by her own volition. Another point of fact crossed her mind: this man, unlike others—with one possible exception—could easily overpower her.”     “Damn Vulcan,” she muttered under her breath, meaning that exception. “If not for you, I would be elsewhere.” But Vera, perhaps because of her Vulcan upbringing, wasn’t about to let that “damn Vulcan” or any Romulan frighten her. So what, if she was human.      Thirty minutes later, Vera passed through the door into the Romulan Commander’s quarters, where she found him sitting at a desk and speaking into the videocom to another officer. On entering, she crossed the room and sat on one of the room’s two remaining chairs. His conversation done, he came and sat opposite.     “I am surprised your common sense did not override your curiosity but was certain you would come.” His words slow and precise, further affirmed the similarity of this race to the Vulcan one.     “You said, you would reveal the reason for my being here.”     He merely nodded in reply.     “That is what you said, is it not?”     “Not actually. What I said was we would discuss the reason I possess the only demagnetizer to your door.”     “But, earlier, you said we would speak of what you anticipate.”    “Your memory astonishes me. I never expected such.” He gazed at her awhile, making her uneasy, then let his emerald eyes travel from her face downward.     Again meeting her eyes and unnerving her resolve with their fthomless depths, he remarked, “That uniform of yours is…interesting. Female Romulans uniforms are not nearly so…” He sighed then concluded, “…interesting.”     “Commander—”     “Tlasus, please.”     “Tlasus, if you are trying to flatter me, you waste your time.”     “T’Pira…, I mean Vera, since you prefer that name, a Romulan never resorts to flattery…any more than a Vulcan would. You see, Romulans and Vulcans are quite alike, as they should be.”     “Oh?” Vera replied with a soft sign, as though uninterested.     “Are you saying you are not intrigued by the origins of the Romulan race? I was led to believe your position in Starfleet was that of an anthropologist, among your other fields of training. Is an anthropologist not interested in such things?”     “I would be interested, if circumstances were otherwise.”     “I distract you?”    She glared at him, with what she knew were cat-colored eyes.    “I have been called distracting before,” he continued. “The accusation is not new, I assure you, but any living Vulcan would be distracted under these circumstances, especially a Vulcan scientist.”     “I am only Vulcan by rearing, like you did not know.”     “Yes, I know. You are much too emotional for a Vulcan.”     “Emotional?” she said, beginning to rise from her chair.     “See what I mean?”     Immediately, she resumed her seat with a plop. “I am not emotional,” she retaliated, “I am Vulcan.”     “You contradict yourself.”     “You know what I mean.”     “Indeed.”     “It would seem Vulcanoid males are much alike.”     “You should know if any woman would.”     Rising fully, she countered, “I refuse to stay here and be insulted. I am returning to my quarters—my prison.” She turned to go, but his next words and their tone stopped her.     “You are not leaving,” he said slowly, an edge of steel in his voice. “You shall remain here, in this room, until I give permission to leave.”     She whirled back to face him. “No man has ever spoken to me in this manner and been able to enforce his words.”     “Including Vulcan males?”      Her hands clenched tightly at her side. “No Vulcan male has needed to speak such words.”     “Do not purport to be a ‘Woman of the Galaxy,’ Vera. I know what lies behind your reputation.”    He swiveled his chair in her direction and continued. “I have watched your actions for many years. I know you merely tease and cajole, shaming the truth into the memories of your so-called exploits, who dare not admit their failed attempts at seduction.”     She could feel her face beginning to flash bright pink with anger.     “You wanted to know why you are here, and I will tell you.” Once more his sea-green eyes traveled over her harshly, seductively. “I am calling your bluff, my dear. You see, from the moment I next summon you to my quarters until I tell you otherwise, you are my larita, or whatever word you use on Vulcan.”     “I believe the similarities in language is sufficient for understanding your intent.”     “One other thing,” he added, rising from his chair and moving to stand before her.  His green eyes now met her amber ones, almost apologetically, confusing her. “The primary reason for your being here is because of what will happen to me within the week. In the Romulan Star Empire it is a condition known as pon farr. Is the term familiar?”     “The term is the same in Vulcan.”     “I thought as much, and your purpose here for this situation is one you have previously accepted. Perhaps, now, you understand the origins of your own race.” He gave her his back, saying, “You may go,” and walked across the room, disappearing behind a curtain of bright red velour.     She took two steps toward it, then said, “As to that previous situation, it was one of necessity, not choice,” and entered her own quarters.      When she awoke the next morning, the tablet beside her bed displayed a handwritten note.                There are clothes for you in the closet. It would please me if you wore them.      Below, appeared the single letter “T.”    Smiling the faint, gentle way she usually did, she went to the aforementioned closet in the far-right wall and discovered there a sky blue, gauzy tunic, along with identical ones of yellow and pink. After slipping on the one of blue, she crossed to their shared door, which opened at her approach, allowing her access to the Commander’s living quarters.     Now her anger had abated, she felt differently and admitted Tlasus had been correct regarding her curiosity. She did ache to know more about this infamous warrior race, its relation to the more peaceful Vulcan one…and the man himself. This time she scrutinized the room more carefully, noting a brace of sword-like instruments hanging on one wall and a triangular shield on another, the image there portraying an orange, eagle-like bird she’d never seen, its talons stretched out as powerful wings clutched air to slow its attack.     Everything in the room sat in perfect order, but her curiosity compelled her to draw aside the curtain behind which Tlasus had disappeared the previous night. When she did, it appeared to be his sleeping area. Justifying what she found there would help her determine the man’s true personality, she cast her eyes carefully about, memorizing each detail.    In complete contrast to the living area, all here was in disorder: drawers pulled out and assorted items of clothing dangling over their tops or laying jumbled on the floor. In addition, his bedclothes, on a much larger bed than hers, were rumpled from what seemed a disturbed night’s sleep. The only exception to this untidy state was his bedside table, which held a single holographic picture in a silver frame. This item sitting in shadows, she picked it up for a better look, only mildly surprised to see an image of herself, against the background of the community room on Starbase Four.     “Why," she exclaimed aloud, "I haven’t been there in five years!”      “Four point three-two years,” a voice behind her corrected.     She turned about to see Tlasus standing there, holding the curtain aside. “Should I apologize for invading your domain?” she asked.     “You have not aged a single day since that was taken,” he said.     “Tlasus,” she said, replacing the picture, “I should leave…return to my own quarters.”     He came to her, a matter of only a few steps, and lifted his hand to her face, touching the first two fingers to her cheek. “You are beautiful this morning. I did not think you could be more so than your image, but is so.”     “Tlasus.” Vera closed her eyes as he moved his fingers over her eyelids and down her nose to her lips, inhaling deeply as he did so.     “If I did not need to return to Control, I would elaborate on how beautiful you are.”     His touch left her face, and when she managed to open her eyes, he was gone.     Pulling herself together, she took charge of her breathing and turned to set his room to rights, straightening and smoothing his bedcovers, as well as folding the half-removed clothing and bringing order to the drawers. As to those garments on the floor, she picked up each one and sniffed it to determine whether it smelled of his body odor or was clean and distributed them accordingly, the clean ones to their appropriate drawers, based on what they already contained and the worn ones toward what seemed to be a disposal slot for such.     When she first approached with a shirt containing his musky, male scent, she hesitated, not knowing if this was a disposal or productive aperture. What if this shirt was a favorite of his? How would he take her presumptive interference with his possessions? Therefore, she gathered the remaining clothes and put them in a half orderly stack beneath the set of drawers.     All this done, Vera returned to her quarters where she found breakfast waiting for her, still hot. Shaking her head in amazement, she sat and did the meal justice. She didn’t see Tlasus until late that evening when he came officially off duty.      He entered from his quarters into hers and seated himself in a black leatherette chair beside the bed where she slept and stretched his long legs out before him. Bearing an expression of intense concentration on his face, he watched as she slumbered, unaware.     Thirty minutes passed, and she awoke, noticing him there, still staring at her.     She raised up on her elbows and rubbed her eyes. “Tlasus…, what are you doing here?”     “You were asleep.”     “As though I had much else to do, since you forbid my leaving this room.”     “You have a fascinating mind,” he said, ignoring her remarks, “so full of many things, all diverse and multifaceted. It is difficult to imagine that each has a place in your life.”     Vera sat up and swung her legs over the side, smoothing the gauzy blue fabric of the tunic she still wore. “I do not think it proper for someone to probe another’s mind while they sleep.”     “But, during sleep, the mind is most accessible and candid.”     “Nevertheless, I resent your intrusion.”     “Then I apologize, since I had no idea how you felt and have no desire to incur your wrath.”     “Well, now you do, although I do accept your apology.” She paused then added, “Are we in Romulan territory?”     “Yes,” he answered calmly.     “How far?”     “Twenty light years or so.” He changed the subject. “I took the liberty of having our dinner delivered here tonight. Are you hungry?”     “Yes.”     “Good.”     Later, while they ate in his quarters, each remained silent, and as Vera’s anger abated with the intake of the delicious repast before her, she viewed Tlasus in a new, friendlier light. He didn’t seem threatening at all, but gentle and caring. Again, her curiosity caused her discomfort, although she must admit, with each passing hour, her hormones increased her physical attraction to this man.     “Tlasus,” she began, no longer capable of holding her tongue, “on Earth there is a curious display of affection between men and women, called ‘kissing.’”     “Yes,” he said, placing a morsel of food into his mouth. “I have heard of this. So?”     “I wondered if you have ever—that is, did you realize the kiss is common to many planets, yet differs between each one?”     “I never deemed the matter important for consideration.” He looked at her mildly astonished. “You propose a demonstration?”     Vera narrowed her eyes imperceptibly. “If you are interested, I could. Surely, a man, such as yourself, would be interested in what other races find desirable, would you not?”     “I have no need for perversions,” he said, continuing to concentrate on his food, rather than her face, which made her rethink her actions and her words.      Courage regained, she remarked, “Even I enjoy kissing.”     “Of course, since you are human.” Again, he avoided eye contact, which meant any seductive attempts on her part, such as licking her lips or gazing at him half-lidded, with mouth slightly open, would serve no purpose.     “Even Vulcans sometimes kiss,” she said.     “I find that difficult to believe,” he commented, inserting another bite of food into his mouth.     Vera leaned back in her chair. “I think,” she said, “the Romulan warrior is afraid.”     He looked up at last and rose from his chair in one swift move, toppling it over and scattering their food across the floor. “I am not afraid.” He strode around the end of the table and pulled Vera to he feet. “Demonstrate!”     “Is that an order, Commander?”     His eyes softened, and the same upward turn of his mouth belied his true anger. “If need be.”     “Well, first,” she began, “it is necessary to be much closer.”     Tlasus pulled Vera hard against him. “Like this?”     “Yes,” she said, her breath rate escalating from the feel of his muscular body pressing into hers. “Now, you must put your mouth to mine. Gently.”     He followed her instruction with tight, closely held lips which rested on hers for a split second.     “No, Tlasus,” she said. “Here, let me show you.” Vera stood on tiptoe and placed her parted mouth on his, keeping it there for a full count of five. “Like that,” she said, removing his lips. “That is a kiss.”     “Why did you close your eyes?”     “It heightens the other senses.”     “Do it again, and I shall close mine.”     She obliged and melted into the arms, which now encircled her and brought her closer. When they parted, he nodded.     “It is…stimulating. Check me this time to observe if I do it correctly.” He bent his head, consciously closed his eyes, and kissed her. This one much longer than hers, she almost gasped for air, when he finished, because he’d kissed her so forcibly he’d flattened her nose, making breathing difficult.     “You learn well,” she commented, once her breaths normalized.     “Was that a human kiss?” he asked.     “More or less. There are variations, depending on the circumstances.”     “Show me a Vulcan kiss.”     In answer, she placed her fingers along his jaw and brought her mouth to bear on his again, using her knowledge of neurological anatomy.     “Interesting,” he said when it ended. “Quite different, almost like the Touching, but I prefer the human way.”     “As do I, sometimes.”     “You must teach me the other ways, as well, and then we shall practice them.”     The remainder of the night they did so, much to Vera’s delight, and she hoped Tlasus’, too. He learned the art of kissing quickly and well, each succeeding minute driving both into sexual need.     So much for Romulan control, she thought, and before she expected, he had pressed her onto his bed and peeled off his bulky uniform, while she discarded the gauzy soft tunic she wore.     “Are you willing?” he asked in the brief second they struggled to undress.     In answer, she plastered her mouth against his. What happened next, more tender and loving than she could imagine previously, they lay together, afterwards, sated and catching their breaths. With Tlasus’ fingers combing through the mass of her hair, instilling within her an emotion she couldn’t define, an image formed in Vera’s brain from an old Earth TV series called, “Lost in Space,” whose fat, cylindrical robot would flail his tubular arms about, shouting, “Warning! Warning! Warning!” Realizing she should be taking warning from not only her behavior but his, she didn’t care to heed her brain or any Vulcanlike logic. All she knew was he contented her.     “That was quite remarkable,” he said when she sighed at his actions.”     “Yes,” she managed, still breathing deeply, “I agree.”     The depths of his grayish green eyes mesmerizing her, she barely heard his next words and murmured, “What did you say?”     “I said, I’ve never experienced anything like this.”     “Not even with a Romulan woman, of whom many who would gladly share your bed.”     “Hah!” he remarked, the corners of his lips teasing into a smile, so unlike Vulcans, who never smiled. “Romulan women are incapable of responding to a man the way you do. To me.”     Vera took a deep breath, relishing the compliment. Again, his eyes drew her attention, until he brought his lips back to hers. When they broke off, her gaze focused on their shape and plushness.     “Why me? Why now?” she asked, unable to prevent her fingers from exploring the bare, bulging muscles of his shoulder and arm.     “Why now, as in these last minutes?”     She shook her head slowly. “No, I mean, that picture of me was taken years earlier, so why did you have me kidnapped now?”     “Oh that. I saw you there from a distance and became enchanted immediately. Followed you for days, in fact, before I took that photo. Afterwards, I couldn’t get you out of my mind.”     “But you haven’t answered my questions. I mean, I understand, now, because you are near pon farr, but why me? Surely a Romulan woman would have you.”     “You haven’t seen any Romulan women, have you?”     “None I know of.”     “Let me show you what Romulans consider a desirable woman.” That said, he rose from the bed, completely nude, allowing Vera’s favorable assessment of his backside, and she almost called him back to bed. A brief time later, he came back with his tablet, thumbing the screen, at the same time giving her the opportunity to appraise the front of him anew. She was not disappointed and found him more desirable.     “Here,” he said, climbing back into bed and snuggling close so she could see the 8 x 10-inch viewscreen. “This is the female voted most desirable of all Romulan women in our star service.”      What Vera beheld there consisted of a woman of what she guessed in her forties, face too full and the line of her jaw uneven with sagging jowls. She possessed eyes of a brilliant blue—her only admirable feature, in Vera’s opinion—although they lay shadowed by droopy eyelids.     On expanding the image to full figure, Tlasus showed Vera the rest of the woman. Breasts much larger than her own full complement, she also noticed the woman’s thick waist and that she was overweight by a good fifty pounds.     “I can’t believe it,” she said, lapsing into the use of contractions as she would when speaking to most crewmates or under emotional stress.     “Would you believe me now, if I said I searched everywhere for a female I found attractive during these last years, and none equaled my attraction to you. So, I did my research, fearing I would injure you, if you were the delicate human I first supposed.”     “Because of my rearing in a higher gravity than Earth and thus stronger than a normal human.”     “No, because you are half-Vulcan and half some other human-like race.”     “What do you mean. I am human.”     “No, you are not. Has no one ever told you—no physician or those who raised you?”     “No.”     “Hmm, I wonder why.”     “So do I. Though this,” she said, indicating the image on the tablet, “is why you chose me.”     “In part.” He kissed her again, and she surrendered completely.       When she awoke, seeing Tlasus’ eyes closed and his head resting on her breasts, she realized something, last night, had grown between her and this Romulan male which made her trust him and whatever he said, completely. Then and during the hours he would be away on the bridge of this strange spacecraft, she would reflect on their nights. This man enjoyed his newly learned talent of kissing, and he did have a talent for it, as well as making a woman feel desired and fulfilled, since they continued sharing the same bed. Even when his pon farr came upon him, his physical state of extreme sexual need was unlike that of the half-crazed barbarian Vulcan males became. Instead, Tlasus’ behavior consisted of that of an overly affectionate human.     Because his normal duties were suspended during this phase of his life, they spent each day of the requisite two weeks in bed, cuddling, having sex, and speaking of many things.     On the morning he’d been deemed ready for active duty, he rose with an apologetic smile and headed for his set of drawers, while Vera regarded him from the rumpled sheets barely covering her nakedness.     The covers slipped back, she whispered, “Come back to bed.”     “Ah, if only I could, but…”     “Would they penalize you for being, say, fifteen minutes late?”     “Oh, you she-devil, tempting me with your luscious body, and knowing I cannot resist. Fifteen minutes, then, but no more.”     Vera laughed and welcomed his presence beside her, where they kissed themselves into a sexual frenzy.      One night, they sat together dining on what passed for the Romulan equivalent of tender beefsteak and baked potato, this one green in color, and a fine, sweet beverage, blue in hue.     “I have been thinking,” said Tlasus, during a lull in their normal conversation.     Vera looked up from her plate anticipating important news. She was not disappointed, at least in that regard, but what he said upset her greatly.     “You should return to your people.”     Her tongue refused to form a protest, and she listened to what else he said.     “Therefore, I have arranged for your transport tomorrow morning, several hours before the change of shift, while the corridors will be empty. If the crew knew I had brought an alien aboard, a woman not a prisoner but a guest, the repercussions would be severe, and your life could be in danger.”     Pushing the food about her plate with her silver fork and head bent downward, she barely heard his last words, her brain still affected by the first ones.     Leave? her mind questioned, how can he discount so easily all which has passed between us, the intimacies we shared, the… No, I won’t think of those. Despite her resolve, moisture coated her eyes, and she could no longer meet his eyes.     “As you wish,” she mumbled and felt his hand cover hers where it now lay still.     “Vera, it is not my wish, merely the most—”     “Don’t you dare say ‘logical. I hate that word.”     “I know. I was about to say ‘practical.’”     In her mind “practical” had the same meaning, and she felt her eyes beginning to fill with tears and then their warmth rolling down her cheeks. Upon realizing this very uncontrolled emotion, she rose rapidly from her chair, with the excuse, “Then I should go and prepare.”     However, Tlasus held her hand more firmly. “Finish your food first. There is plenty of time.”     “I’m no longer hungry.”     When he released her, Vera rushed through the door of their adjoining quarters, and he followed, coming up behind Vera where she searched through the closet for her Starfleet uniform, hose, boots and utility belt.     “This can wait,” he said, shutting the closet doors. “Look at me.”     Given little choice, she faced him, letting him witness for himself the outcome of his decision.      “Is this truly what you want, Tlasus?” she asked, sniffing.     “What I want and what I must do are different.”     “But, do you want me to stay?”     “I do. Do you want to stay?”     “As impractical as it might be, I do.”     “Nevertheless.”     “Nevertheless, your decision is the best.”     He nodded in agreement and left her alone. Afterwards, she collapsed on the narrow bed and sobbed for the first time in nearly a decade.      Later that night, she summoned her courage and, dressed only in a filmy nightgown, entered Tlasus’ sleeping space. The almost imperceptible sound of her bare footsteps rousing him, he sat up and regarded her with gray-green eyes filled with sadness.     “If this must be our last night…,” she began.     “Say no more. Come here.”      “Vera, awake,” said a familiar male voice beside her ear. “Time to dress.”     Once fully outfitted, they traveled down the corridor to the Transport Room, not speaking another word, each lost in their own thoughts.     Emotions too raw and aware what she felt for this man beside her, she wanted to deny it and deny, too, that this one, unlike all others, had affected her heart in this short period of time.     Too soon. Too soon, her mind echoed.     Suddenly, the deck lurched and threw them against metallic walls.     He took her arms and steadied her back the direction they’d come. “Get in your quarters and stay until I return.”     “He spoke into the com on his wrist. “Tregar, I’m headed to the Bridge. Meet me there.” At the same moment, Vera heard a message come from the bridge of the Cresas.     “Commander, we are under attack by the Klingons. Shields are up, but they came upon us unaware before we could take evasive action.”     “Commence firing and blast those bastards out of the galaxy. On my way.”     No sooner had those words been exchanged than claxons began to blare, and red lights flashed along the corridor walls and on the disks within the quarters of each crewman they passed, which she witnessed when all those doors automatically opened with the call, “To combat stations” blaring over the speakers.     Safe inside her quarters, Vera paced their length in anxiety then dropped into a chair and gripped the arms with whitened fingers.     Momentarily, the lighting dimmed. Another hit, she thought. The lights dimmed, again, then blackened but failed to brighten like the other times.     Within the ship’s skin, she could hear the faint din of the warp engines increased strength. They were retreating. Still, the room remained dark, and in the inkiness of her surroundings, she used outstretched finger to manipulate her steps to the door which adjoined her rooms to those of Tlasus. The door failed to yield, except she could hear concerned voices on the other side, speaking Romulan.     The next thing she heard consisted of a door opening and then closing before silence reigned, again. How many hours she spent in that darkened room before the lighting was restored, she didn’t know, but it seemed over two days.     More hours passed. She felt hunger gnawing at her vitals, although knew she could go without food for up to a week without such pains assuaging her body. Except now, they made their needs undeniable.     By conjecture, a week had passed, so why had Tlasus not returned? Previously, when they engaged in various conflicts, he would come to her afterwards to at least unlock her doors. And yet, this time, he had not come.     What if he is dead? What will happen to me, then? New fears began to possess her.     As she thought these things, the main door to her quarters opened, and an officer stood in the doorway, one she recognized as Tregar, the man who’d stood beside Tlasus when she first arrived—he of the sandy blond hair.  His handsome face stern, a large bandage divided his right cheek.     “You are to come with me.”     She neared the door cautiously. “What has happened to Tlasus? How did you obtain the demagnetizer to my quarters?”     “My brother has been severely injured and is only now gaining consciousness. He asks you be brought to him.”     “Tlasus is your brother?” she asked, studying this tall man’s features and noting the similarity between the two men, the high forehead, the same shape of nose and lips.     “Yes, he is. Will you come?” The man’s eyes were full of dark pain. “Please. I-I think he needs you.”     “Of course,” she said and followed the rapidly retreating figure of Tregar through the corridors to the Infirmary where Tlasus lay in a room, isolated from the other wounded crewmen and women, his face pale and eyes weak.     “He has just completed the healing trance,” said the physician, “so make your visit brief.”     Vera nodded and went to Tlasus’ side where she took his pale hand between her pinker ones.     From his bed, Tlasus addressed those about him. “I request privacy.”     “Of course, Commander,” answered Tregar with a nod to the physician and officers surrounding him. Once they’d left, he said, “Shall we set course for the one you previously requested?”     “Yes.” Tlasus melded his gaze to Vera’s and squeezed her hand.     Tregar saluted and vacated the room, leaving the man and woman alone.     When he had, Tlasus spoke. “I apologize for imprisoning you all this time, but now Tregar will care for you and see to your needs until I am well.”     “Care for me?”     “Yes. Arrange your meals and so forth.”     “That he may do but no other. Any other needs I have, only you can fulfill.”     Eyes dropped, Tlasus evaded hers. “There has been a question within my mind for several weeks, which I considered inappropriate to ask. But now our relationship has progressed…” He stared beyond her, holding her small hand tighter. “If you could consciously consent to remain on this ship, or at least in Romulan Territory, I would deem it a great honor. I have come to know you,” he added before she could answer, “as an intelligent being and as a woman. I feel you have also come to know me and my race in a like manner.”     Vera’s free hand covered her face. “Tlasus, your question brings me torment. If things were otherwise, I would gladly stay with you, but I am of the Federation, not a Romulan.” She removed her hand and met his eyes. “I can no more change my loyalties than my genes, and this is what grieves me, for I want to stay. But, if possible, I must return to the Federation. I cannot consciously do otherwise, and this is what you ask—that I consciously consent to remaining and become a traitor to the Federation.”     Her remaining hand grasped weakly, betraying his physical state, he said, “Vera, I have heard there are certain flagrant, illogical emotions which Terrans possess, among which is one named love. I am not sure of its symptoms. Could you describe them?”     “When a person loves another, romantically,” she began quietly and unemotionally, “he or she finds it difficult to be apart from the object of that love. Such absence brings uneasiness, lack of concentration, and other inefficiencies during early contact. When one loves, he feels a wholeness, a completeness of being, which he never experienced before. Even in its beauty, love can also bring fear, the fear of rejection, the fear of losing the object of that love to fate, and the fear of cessation of that love.”     “Those must be the reasons love is deemed illogical.”     Vera looked away. “I suppose.”     Tlasus reached up and guided her face to meet his. “You describe the emotion well, so you must have experienced it. Is that so?”     “Yes. Many, many years ago, but a love now dead from neglect and, looking back, I realize it wasn’t the kind of love I describe, merely infatuation.”      With a gentle touch on her temple, she felt Tlasus’ mind touching hers to soothe the pain of remembrance.     “It was the Vulcan named Spock.”     She jerked away. “How could you know. No one knows, and his name is one I have delegated to the deepest recesses of my mind, never to speak aloud much less think it.”     Sitting up, he put an arm about Vera and drew her body against his, stroking her dark hair. Weeping quietly, she yielded to his warm embrace.     “Remember the day you awoke and found me at your beside and scolded me for probing your mind while you slept?”     Answered by a jerky nod, he continued. “It was then I learned of him.” He turned her to face him. “I understand, Vera. I know how much his actions wounded you.”     She buried her head against his chest and nodded, jerkily, and heard, “I understand because I have experienced the symptoms you just now described, and it fits mine for you perfectly.” He raised her chin and wiped the tears from her face with a thumb. “I also believe you described the way you feel about me.”      “I do, but it’s not the same.”      “Perhaps there are many kinds of love: one, the infatuation you spoke and, secondly, this.”     All she could do was nod.     “On the worlds of Romulus-Remus,” he said, further comforting with a hand caressing her back, “when a man and woman feel this way, the woman becomes mithra to the man.”     “I am already mithra to you, aren’t I?”     “No, only larita.” He smiled sadly. “The woman must come three times to the man, of her own accord, before she is mithra. You have come but once…that night you were to leave the next morning.” He lifted her chin and kissed her.     “How soon will I be returned?” she asked.     “One week, though I must remain here four more days.” His fingertips traced her features, causing shivers of tempting delight throughout her body.     “Then our present course is toward the Federation.”     “I knew you would refuse to stay but hoped, just once, I was wrong.”     Closing her eyes at his touch, she opened them and met his. “Then, I believe we have an appointment after your release.”     “And the day of your departure will be our farewell.”     “Tlasus,” she said, her fingers tracing the contour of a cheekbone, “I did not intend for things to end this way.”     “And yet, I knew they would. But, perhaps this is not the end. Perhaps our relationship will never end.”      Their last night together came, and both were quiet, merely enjoying the presence of the other. Finally, Tlasus broke the silence.     “I believe even Tregar will be saddened at your leaving.”     “Really,” she said, smiling. “He was so worried about you.”     “Because he fears he will inherit command of the Cresas upon my death.”     “I rather like him, though. He is much like you…so unusually non-Romulan.”     Tlasus frowned. “Why do you say that?”     “Well, he is your brother, so naturally, you are somewhat alike.”     “Tregar revealed, he is my brother?”     “Yes,” she said, surprised he would ask.     “That is strange. He has never told anyone else.”     “You mean, no one has ever noticed the resemblance you share?”     Tlasus shook his head in denial.     “But wait! If no one, except the three of us, know he is your brother, there must be a reason.”     “There is, and thus the story we give of being cousins.”     Her mind sensed something unspoken. “You are both only part Romulan, is that it?”     Again, he nodded. “I fear Romulans are very bigoted when it comes to other races or hybrids, even on the individual worlds. Another reason I preferred you not be seen. If Romulan Command discovers my relationship with you or my kinship with Tregar, our positions in the Star Service could be jeopardized. It is only through wit, we have advanced this far. Even still,” he continued, “we are treated as inferior, much the way the blacks were treated during Terra’s War Between the States on the Union side, relegating all those of color to separate units. The entire crew of The Cresas consists of these, so-called hybrids or half-breeds.”     “You know you can trust me.”     “I do, but…” The Romulan grew uneasy. “There is more we must speak of.”     “What, my love?” she said, using one of the many Earth endearments.     “My love… I like the sound of that, which makes what I must say more difficult.” He rearranged his body on the bed and looked her in the eye.     “For reasons of security, you will be returned much as you were taken, by men disguised as Vulcan traders from a Vulcan cargo ship we captured many years ago, which will dock at Starbase Twenty. They will take you to the authorities there and say you have just regained your memory, after being found wandering about the arcade six weeks before.”     “I understand.”     “You have seen little here, except the Transporter room and these living quarters, so thus are unfamiliar with the rest of our technology. While you might feel a loyalty to Starfleet Command to disclose what you have seen, remember your story of where you have been. To do otherwise would compromise your narrative. Also remember, the Federation is unaware of what our race looks like. There is more, I would tell you, and, again, you probably won’t like it.”     Vera took a deep breath and nodded.     “I, personally, have what I prefer to call agents on every starship of the Federation and on many cargo transports, as well. They do not threaten; they only observe but have other functions as well, which I will tell you when we next meet, if you do not discover them earlier.”     “We will meet in the future?” Vera was dumbfounded, thinking this was the last she would see of him.     “We will. I promise you.”      The next morning, the Cresas orbited Starbase 20 at a great distance, maintaining its cloak of invisibility, with Vera wearing her blue Starfleet uniform safely aboard the Vulcan cargo ship in her holding bay, along with the two men posing as traders. Tlasus stood beside her, waiting until the last minute to leave, in addition to Tregar.     Tlasus raised his hand in the familiar Vulcan salute, fingers divided into a V, and she raised hers in answer, both mumbling the words she’d heard many times before, except his were slightly different.     “May your life be peaceful, and may prosperity be yours.”     Tregar turned and departed, but Tlasus backed slowly away, holding her gaze while she stepped backward, widening the distance between them. The cargo bay closed, the transport’s engines roared, taking them into space and toward Starbase Four, an asteroid improved to Starfleet standards for recreation and business.      On their approach to the docking bay, one of the men, a middle-aged Romulan, dressed in blue and red trimfits, whose name she heard was Teras, checked his craft’s small monitor and said, “Cresas out of scanner range. We will soon disembark.” He turned to Vera. “You know your part, my lady?”     A single nod of her head indicated her assent.     Following a short but silent journey from the port to the main base, the men escorted her down the shiny metal interior corridors toward the Base Commander’s office. Since leaving Tlasus, the emptiness Vera experienced on leaving him grew steadily inside her, because each step taking her farther along her return to the Federation, also brought her farther away from the man she would give her life to be with.     Still, it seemed a brief time before the entered the Commander’s present. Even then, her mind could not focus on her return proceedings and debriefing. She heard questions and answered those directed to her but remained unaware as to the nature of either. However, the men with her seemed satisfied with her responses. Soon, left alone, a woman came who guided her to a room where, the woman had spoken, and Vera had replied. Again, she knew not what. Once more, she was by herself.         Sometime during the night, a man came and rushed Vera onto a passing space shuttle headed for the Yorktown which had been her home the last two years.    Home? she wondered. Will any place, ship, Starbase or planet ever be home, when my heart and mind wish to be elsewhere?
 
     The shuttle slipped quietly through the blackness between Starbase 20 and Starbase 15 where the Yorktown waited. Inside the huge craft, the passengers slept…all but one…a woman who appeared in her early twenties, dressed in the blue science uniform of Federation Starfleet, one gold stripe circling each wrist of the long sleeves, which indicated her rank of lieutenant.    She shifted, uncomfortably, in the contoured seat, unable to compose herself for sleep. As she pushed her weight against the back rest, it reclined more, and she shuttered her eyes against the soft lights and the presence of those about her. Still, she found sleep impossible, for her mind remained too full of the memories of these last weeks.    A whisper of a name within that organ caused her diaphragm to contract involuntarily in a spasm of loneliness. Another name whispered, one she’d forced into her subconscious memory many years before, this one brought waves of pain, so she returned it to obscurity. Again, she revisited the more recent memories—the pleasant ones of comfort within a certain Romulan’s arms—and slept.    When she awoke, the craft was docking at Starbase 15, where the Yorktown waited impatiently, and where she was known by her human name as Vera Hopton, not the Vulcan one of T’Pira.      Dr. Leonard McCoy paced up and down the Transporter Room, his steel blue eyes cold with anxiety. Finally, the familiar sound of transport caused him to turn toward the platform. Golden molecules coalesced and brightened, changing color to separate into blacks, blues, and flesh tones. The process complete, he stepped forward and took the dark-haired woman’s hand, seeing at once the tired and haggard expression on the once youthful face.    “Come on, young lady, you’re getting a physical. Six weeks of amnesia hasn’t done you a bit of good.”     Without protest, she allowed him to lead her into a turbo lift but even then, wouldn’t meet his scrutinizing eyes. The lift stopped, and McCoy again took her hand and led her to Sick Bay, where he motioned her onto the examination table.     Although the diagnostic board indicated normal functions, her face remained abnormally somber and pallid.     “Okay, sugar,” he said, using the term of endearment reserved for her alone, “want to tell Uncle Lenny all about it?”     The bed tilted up, she rose to her feet and walked slowly toward the shelves of medical vials and ran her fingers over the stopper of a blue one, knowing at least subconsciously, her action consisted of displacement behavior because of her reluctance to answer.     “I want to tell you, Leonard, but not here.”     “Let’s go to my office, then,” he said, staring at her back. When she failed to respond, he lightly gripped her upper arm and directed her the short distance to his private area and locked both doors behind him.     When he turned about, Vera sat in a chair, hands to her face, sobbing. Confused by this behavior she’d exhibited only twice in the seven years he’d known her, McCoy knew whatever happened in these last six weeks had affected her deeply.     He sat opposite her and took both hands, whereon she raised her head, reddened eyes streaming tears and breaths short and gasping.     “Oh, Leonard…”     He studied her face and could see the cause of her outburst evident on her features. “Oh, Lord. It’s happened, hasn’t it? You’ve fallen in love for the very first time.”     In response, Vera nodded, lowered her head and sniffed several times, attempting to regain her composure before speaking. “Let me think a while first. So much has happened, I cannot assimilate it all.”     “Take your time, honey. I can wait.”     After nearly ten minutes of silence, she raised her head and sighed. “I was not amnesiac those six weeks, but that’s not what I reported during my debriefing, and the rest of what I’ll tell you, must remain our secret.”     “You know where you were, then?”     “Not exactly. I only know I was somewhere in Romulan space.”     “Romulan?” McCoy’s arched eyebrows rose more than usual.     “Yes. When I disappeared from Starbase Twenty’s arcade, I was kidnapped by Romulans.”     “Romulans! But, why?”     “The price of utter humiliation and shame makes it impossible for me to say, but…it is the cause of my despair.”     The doctor released her hands and rubbed his chin, regarding her facial expression. “Oh! I ah… I think I understand.” He shifted his weight. “Vera, you realize no one in the Federation has ever seen a Romulan.”     “Exactly, and part of the reason I gave the story I did to the authorities. How could I prove Romulans abducted me, Leonard? They would have thought me hallucinating.”     “Are they humanoid?”     “Yes.” She rose and started to leave. “I believe, I’m not ready to talk about it, after all.”     Out of his chair in a second, McCoy gripped her arm, but his voice remained paternal. “What did happen those six weeks? I’ve never seen you so…despondent.”      “As you said before, I fell in love.” She broke loose with little effort and disappeared through the now unlocked doors.      McCoy resumed his seat, talking to himself. “Well, good. She needs some real love in her life…, poor kid.”       That night, Vera showed up unexpectedly at the door to Leonard McCoy’s quarters, wanting to speak more of what happened.     “Glad you came, sweetie,” he began, “there’s something I forgot to tell you.”     “What?” she asked with her wide, cat-colored eyes, questioning him.     “I received orders for transfer to the Enterprise and will be leaving within a week.”     “The Enterprise.” She nodded. “A fine, new starship. Good officers.” Her eyes closed as she sat down. “I have requested detached status to return to medical school.”     “Good, I was beginning to wonder if you’d ever finish, and I think the diversion will prove beneficial.” He poured himself a drink of amber liquid, not offering her one, since she never drank alcohol. “By the way, speaking of The Enterprise, I think you’ll be interested to know who the new captain is.”     Her eyes opened but looked quite tired. “Oh, really? Who?”     She didn’t seem very interested, but he knew she would be. “James Tiberius Kirk.” He smiled infectiously.     “Jim?” she mused aloud, eyes becoming soft. “I doubt he’ll remember you, however. He’s only seen you that once.”      “Yeah, he was just a typical love-struck, senior cadet back then.” McCoy cocked an eyebrow. “Want me to say hello for you?”     “No,” she said, shaking her head. “He has his life now, and I have mine. Why is it all the men in my life have left me or I them?”     “Don’t know, sugar. We certainly haven’t left you because we wanted to.”     “You can’t speak for others, Leonard. You can’t possibly know their reasons, especially one.”     “Was this latest one a Romulan?” asked McCoy, changing the subject slightly.     He watched her eyes grow moist and wrapped his arms about her in fatherly comfort, her tears wetting his tunic as they poured, once more, from Vera’s eyes.     Upon his arrived on The Enterprise, McCoy was greeted by the ship’s captain and First Officer.     “Dr. McCoy,” said the captain, reaching out his hand.     The doctor gripped it firmly, and they shook hands, giving him the feeling, he’d like this man. Then his eyes travelled from the captain to the dark, cold eyes of the Vulcan first officer.     The captain seemed to notice and introduced the other. “Doctor McCoy, this is Science Officer and second-in-command, Commander Spock.”     When McCoy reached out his hand this time, the man’s hands remained behind his back, and he merely nodded his head in acknowledgement, causing the doctor to take an immediate dislike to the Vulcan.      That night, McCoy recorded his first letter to Vera since his arrival.      Dear Vera,
     The facilities here are, for the most part, quite adequate, in other words what one would expect from a newly built, state-of-the-art starship; but I’ve ordered a few more instruments I believe will improve diagnostics and treatment greatly.

Jim Kirk has become a very personable young man, who takes his command seriously. I’m very impressed with him. His First Officer, on the other hand, is another matter. Of course, I don’t know Vulcans the way you do, so maybe I’ve misjudged the man. You were born, grew and were raised Vulcan, so know the Vulcan ethics and ways, but this guy is too Vulcan, if you know what I mean. He behaves the way you do in one of your “shut-the-world-out” moods, except he’s that way all the time. As you would put it, is there a logical explanation for his demeanor, or are all Vulcans like him?

So, how are your studies and internship coming? Can’t imagine you having trouble in the program there on Methias. Glad you picked there instead of the school on Andoria. Hope you’re getting counseling regarding your recent… How should I put it? Loss? Drop me a minute or two soon.

Your “mentor,”

Leonard McCoy

He switched off the tablet and mused over the Vulcan paragraph. “Wonder if I should mention his name? Naw. With her luck, he’ll be the one she had trouble with way back on Earth. She doesn’t need that kind of grief. She’s got enough to forget right now. I’ll just leave this the way it is…safer.      Vera’s answer arrived a month later: 
     Dearest “Uncle Lenny,”

I am pleased Jim has become so prominent in Starfleet and likeable, as well, but am distressed the First Officer displeases you.
    It is not unusual for Vulcan males to be overt in their emotionless behavior. As a psychologist, I believe you will insinuate my meaning. Like all males, Vulcan have problems concerning their identity, especially racially, and thereby overcompensate for such imagined faults. I have often wondered if their control could account for their violent aggression during pon farr, since my experiencing a similar, but more warlike race, has proven the opposite.
     As you mentioned, you have few models of Vulcan behavior from which to draw your conclusions concerning the behavior of this one male. May I suggest you take a more scientific interest and observe him as you would any biological species before making any conclusion as to his normalcy. For a Vulcan, I’m sure he considers himself perfectly “logical.” I would also appreciate the termination of your infatuation with that particular word. You are becoming too fond of inserting it wherever you deem appropriate, despite knowing how I abhor it. Please tone down your verbosity.
      On the other subject of your latest, I am pleased to report my studies have met with little difficulty, despite my extended absence from medical school. At present, I am enrolled in twelve anatomical and bacteriological courses and two in galactic research. In addition, I participate in the modified internship program at the Hospital of Alien Medicine, principally working with Andorians and Rigelians, which leaves little time for being counseled. I do, however, attend a session or two each month but find it of minor benefit. My despair continues. At year’s end, I anticipate advancement to full-time internship and thus obtain my degree in nine months, all toll.
     I have developed no friendships or other relationships here. To do so would be impractical, for I have neither the time, inclination, nor necessity.”
     As always, I think of what friends I have and wish them well, though some may be enemies of the Federation. Politics and war are such petty reasons to separate racial harmony. I am in no mood for philosophical arguments, so shall close.
     As always, I remain your devoted student and friend,

Vera Hopton.

McCoy turned off the viewer, laughing. “And she accuses me of being verbose. She’s more verbose than I ever was.”     Spock walked into Sick Bay just as the playback ended and listened quietly to McCoy’s ending remark then said, “Indeed, Doctor, I would say the lady is quite correctly verbose. Is she Vulcan?”     McCoy swiveled his chair about. “Why?”     “The voice is vaguely familiar, and her speech patterns seem Vulcan. May I ask her name?”     “It’s Vera Hopton. Lieutenant Vera Hopton.”     The Vulcan shook his head. “The name is not familiar. I must have been mistaken about her voice.”    The Science Officer left for the labs and McCoy breathed a sigh of relief, thinking, “Would he have known you, if I’d given him your Vulcan name, instead, dear Vera?”        About a month following her last letter to McCoy, Lt. Vera Hopton, medical intern, found herself confronted by a group of five very tall Vulcans at one of the trading post on Methias. Sucked in to the center of their group, she found herself spirited around a corner into a storage room, where the men left, and she came face to face with her beloved Tlasus, wearing the same red and white trimfits as the other men, which emphasized his wonderful physique.     At once, she felt his warm embrace and his lips pressing against hers. Upon parting, he said, “I told you we would see each other, again.”     “But how did you know where to find me?” she asked, with widened eyes.     “Remember my saying I had many agents in place, observing? But I must speak of other things and thus the timing of this meeting.” His hand edged under the overlapping folds of fabric across his chest and emerged holding a ring whose round, multicolored stone shone with iridescent brilliance.     “You must wear this always,” he said, slipping it onto the third finger of her left hand. “Raise the stone, like so,” he said demonstrating, “press the center of the base, and one of my agents will contact you within ten hours.”     “Why would I have need of your agents?”     “If you transfer or have need to send me a message, you can tell him or her. When this agent comes, he will say, ‘I hear The Enterprise is faltering.’ Your response will be, ‘No, but I hear the whatever-one-you-will-be-transferring-to is.”      A finger running across the ring’s entrancing surface, she asked, “What if I am transferred to The Enterprise?”     “Simply reply, ‘Yes, it is.’” He sat her on one of the many cartons occupying the small room. “You can send any message to me the same way, but I must know where you are at all times. If I should be ordered or put into a position of attacking a Federation Starship or Base, not knowing you were there, I would grieve forever.”     “How long can you stay?” she asked, still within his embrace. “It feels like years since our last night together.”     He stroked her shoulder-length dark hair. “And more years may pass before we share another such night. I can remain only a few minutes since each moment in Federation territory gambles our discovery. Ah, if only you were Romulan.”     “We have been through that before. My loyalties lie in the Federation. I could never become a Romulan…not even for you.”     “I understand, but that still does not prevent the wanting.”         Upon her return to her dormitory room, she recorded a letter to Leonard McCoy. 
     Dear Leonard,

That certain man I mentioned the last time we spoke, has again come into my life. As to whether he remains, is another question I’ve yet to answer satisfactorily. But, for him, there is no doubt as to my place in his life.

Don’t expect to hear from me for some months, as I’ll be occupied here, however I relish each and every word you care to send. Even when you scold me, I take pleasure in knowing someone finds me worth the trouble. Remember, if not for your influence upon me, I’d not be in the field of medicine but one or more of the many areas of science, in which I am proficient. Please, don’t despair when you hear my next words, for my reasons are carefully thought out.

I have decided after obtaining my medical doctorate in Space Medicine to enter bacteriological research and, while concentrating in that area, continue in other parts of medicine and general science. As you know, I find it difficult to remain in any one discipline at a time, being unable to focus my mind singly upon any one matter. For my mind to be efficient, it must be fragmented into two or more projects at the same time. I realize this trait seems completely unreasonable, but for me, it’s a fact, one I’ve grown to accept. Perhaps such things keep me sane, despite all my emotional and physical setbacks. On the other hand, perhaps only my increased personal insensitivities to ridicule and pain are responsible.
     Fortune, if such a thing exists, seems to favor me lately, because for the first time in my life, I feel happiness rather than despair. Since last seeing the person I mentioned at the beginning herein, I feel a future exists I can hope for, one I can dream upon and rely upon. It doesn’t seem such misfortune which has plagued my past can continue forever. After all, not all men have deserted me.
     I realize this missive is unusually long, but as I mentioned previously, this will be my last for a long period of time. As always, you will understand each meaning behind my words. My very being is transparent to your scrutiny.

If your opinion of the Vulcan officer hasn’t improved, I suggest you simply ignore him. I do realize this may be impossible. Impatience only knows how I’ve tried to ignore certain offensive Vulcans, only to have them make themselves more offensive and more burdensome.

On another subject, within six more months it appears I will finish here and be granted a one-week furlough, which I plan to take at Starbase Ten in your quadrant. If you could arrange a short pass to that base at the same time, we could meet and have one of our “father-daughter” talks. It’s been a long time and would give us both much benefit.

Don’t concern yourself with my mental health. It is quite good…now.

I hear much gossip concerning the activities of James Kirk, so you need only gloss over his latest exploits in your correspondence. As always, he is in my thoughts.

The time to leave for another class has crept upon me, so must end.

As always,

Vera

McCoy listened to this last with apprehension. On one hand, Vera mentioned being happy and having hope for the future, while on the other, she requested meeting him at Starbase 10 to talk. Obviously, Vera now knew she would see the Romulan with regularity but couldn’t accept even that certainty in her life of uncertainties.     He transferred the file to a folder containing others he’d received from this woman he regarded as a daughter, all stored on a separate, portable drive, and locked it in his desk drawer. Following another period of contemplation, he left for the Bridge.      “Bones,” Kirk voiced as McCoy left the lift, “have you completed the annual physicals?”     “Sure have. A few could use a weekend pass; the others need longer ones. We’ve been out too long, and it’s beginning to tell.”     “After this assignment, we can take a rest. Not before.” Kirk swiveled in his command chair to the right. “Mister Spock, what’s the latest readings on that robot freighter?”     “Following previous course. No further deviations. However, it is impossible to predict how long it will maintain these actions.”      McCoy couldn’t help but throw in a barb. “Don’t tell me the freighter computer is now illogical, Spock?”      “Doctor,” answered the Vulcan, furrowing his brow slightly, “any computer is capable of malfunction, and such is the obvious case with this one. When anything, even a machine, loses rationality, it is, by definition, illogical.”     “Hmm,” commented McCoy, grinning.     “If you gentlemen will kindly reserve your debates for a more appropriate time, we can end this mission earlier and get that R and R a lot sooner.”     Spock returned to his scanner, and McCoy left the Bridge, his stomach alerting him it was nearly dinner time.      When the good doctor entered the recreation room on Deck 4, he overheard, quite unintentionally, the conversation of two junior officers. They were gossiping. While McCoy programmed his meal and removed the tray from the slot, he attempted to ignore their remarks. But, after a while, the subject of the men’s discussion became impossible to ignore. Because the subject was Vera.     “Say, Rudy, did you hear the latest about Ole Golden-Eyes?”     The other leaned back. “You mean Vera Hopton? No, what’s she done, now?”     “Well,” the first said, winking and lowering his voice slightly, “according to my sources, she was raped by a Klingon.”     “Hah! I’ll bet,” was the other’s response. “She probably raped him. Everyone knows how she goes for aliens.”     “Could be, but the Klingon ended up with a torn face…no matter how he got it. Man, what I wouldn’t give to be alone thirty minutes with that little marcat.”     “You and me, both. There’s got to be someone able to tame her.”     “Hell! Who wants to tame her? I’ll take her just the way she is.”     They both laughed at the last and then changed the subject.     McCoy left for his quarters, no longer hungry.      Once there, he opened the app for a new recording and began:      Dear Vera, and you are dear to me or otherwise I wouldn’t give a damn what you do!    Ordinarily, I wouldn’t take note of rumors regarding you, but taking into consideration your present problems and the quality of rumors floating about  The Enterprise, alone, concerning you, I think I’m obliged to confront you with them.
     I realize you are busy, now, but if you have time to listen to this, you have time to respond, no matter how short…and I do require an answer. Your reputation is too vulnerable to have it damaged by such odious gossip.

The latest I’ve heard was a few moments ago between two junior officers concerning you and some Klingon—the particular item a doubtful rape. Many other such topics have been associated with you: how you seduced an Andorian; how you entertained the entire Orion fleet, et cetera. I won’t go into further details. You get the drift. And don’t put me off by saying you don’t understand my slang, because I know you do. Any linguistic specialist who doesn’t know the slang of five or more worlds for the last two centuries isn’t worth her salt, and you are!

I won’t threaten you, because I know threats are useless. Just soothe an old man’s feelings for you by explaining such actions, if they are true. If they’re not, say so.

As always,

Leonard

Her reply arrived two weeks later through subspace relay, the same manner as he’d sent his. McCoy had informed Uhura the matter was an emergency, so instead of waiting for the note to be transferred to a file on his personal computer station, he asked the communication officer to play it from her console, and Vera’s words were heard by everyone on the Bridge.     The letter began, Dear Leonard, what can I say to dispel your doubts?     And continued from there:         Some of the rumors you’ve heard are undoubtedly true, in part, others entirely false. In any event, these stories are quite old. I’ve been completely chaste since my return to The Yorktown from parts unknown and continue so these years on Methias or other facilities where I’ve served. I plan to continue so, even when assigned to another starship, no matter what.
     The Klingon in question accused me of several items which are false. In fact, he insulted my intelligence, and had arranged, in his devious, Klingon manner, for us to be alone and then did, indeed, try to rape me. He was not unattractive, but because of his previous insults, I was in no mood for his advances, so struck him with half my strength across the jaw as a warning. As a result, he was thrown into a desk and lacerated his cheek on the corner, whereupon I left him.

As to the Andorian matter, I confess I did seduce him, in a way, since I was the aggressor, although only to obtain information I needed for the Federation, and nothing actually happened because I drugged him. I entertained the Orions with a version of the Old Earth, Turkish belly dance. Is that considered immoral? You must recall I’m aware of my reputation. Most of the darker aspects are relegated to my early years in Starfleet when I…well, you know.

You also know enough of me, and the galaxy, to know my outlook upon such things. That you now question it, hurts me deeply.
     On another subject, I have recently received notice of my change of status to medical officer, lieutenant commander rank, after graduation. For a time, I will return to The Yorktown and then depart for my next assignment on the Kongo. Do not forget my furlough before my returning to the previously mentioned ship. You’ve yet to answer me on that, which is quite unlike you.
     “You have also failed to mention how you fare with the first off—”

At the last words, McCoy quickly flipped the switch to off and blushed, trying to ignore the aforesaid First Officer’s cold accusing eyes.       Months passed before McCoy answered that letter, and by then they’d disabled, boarded, and corrected the erratic freighter and headed back to their home base of Starbase 10 for R and R. He’d sent a short subspace message during the journey to Vera, care of Base 10 delivery. It said, “Help is on the way. Don’t forget our date.”     On Starbase 10, he found her sitting alone at one of the rec room tables, her expression pensive.     “I believe you sent for a doctor, miss.”     She looked up and laughed.     “Well,” he said, “it’s been a long time since you did that.”     “Yes, it has.” Then her face grew somber and thoughtful, again.     McCoy sat and placed his hand over hers, where it gripped a glass of wine she held.     “What’s wrong?”     “Nothing.”      Removing his hand, McCoy sat back, studying the strained lines upon her otherwise flawless face. “Sure!” An eyebrow cocked upward, he said, “Vera, you’re lying to me and haven’t done that in years.”     Answered by a faint smile, she said, “How true. I suppose, speaking psychologically, I’m putting myself on the defensive. But, perhaps I have reason.”     “How so?”     “Since my arrival here, I’ve been propositioned five times.”     “Told you what happened to your reputation. Were they Starfleet officers?”     “No. Civilians or aliens.”     “Some nerve, if you ask me.”     “Leonard, could we take the tour?”     “The Wilderness Tour? You’ve seen that dozens of times, so why now?”     “It has a calming effect on me…helps me think.”     “Well, I’d intended taking you aboard The Enterprise to meet the Vulcan First Officer—”     “I’d rather not,” she said, cutting him off. “Besides I might run in to Jim, and the time isn’t right for that.”     “Hmm,” said McCoy, rubbing his chin. “See your point. When’s the next tour leave?”     “Half-an-hour,” she replied, smiling, once more.     “Well, if you promise not to withdraw into that Vulcan shell you rely on too much, I’ll take you.”      Hand held upward, she said, “I promise.”      The tour monorail car raced along a path which extended through the natural mountain peaks and down through verdant valley then downward through barren desert and ever blue lakes.     An hour out, McCoy asked, “Seen him lately?”     “Not for three months,” she said, gazing out the window at the scenery flashing by.     “You still feel the same?”     Answered by a whispered, “Yes,” McCoy nodded and slowly exhaled in sympathy then took her hand and patted it.     When he did, she looked up at him and smiled sadly, saying, “My Humanness is showing, right?”     “Nothing wrong with being Human, Vera. Nothing at all.”     “Leonard, there’s a question I’ve been meaning to ask.”     He cocked his head to the side in question. “Which would be?”     While I stayed on that Romulan ship, he told me I was genetically part Vulcan and part of some other alien race.”     McCoy nodded, not at all surprised. “So, you want to know if any of the testing I’ve done on you throughout the years, or your Starfleet records, have shown any proof of that, right?”     “Yes.”     “They have.”     “Then why wasn’t I told? Why did Amanda or Sarek never say anything of that nature, or for that matter Spock?”     “If you want to know the truth, sugar, I suggest you find time to visit Vulcan and ask T’Pau, while she’s still mentally capable. I’ve always thought she knew but never said anything.”     “Another mystery of my life. But, if I am part Vulcan, that explains why I gained admittance to the Vulcan Academy so easily, although at the time I thought it because of Sarek’s status as an ambassador. All my life I was told I was a relative of Amanda’s, so that reason makes no sense.”      Days later, the ones in between spent enjoying the recreational activities of this very Earth-like Starbase, McCoy stood by as Vera prepared to beam to the waiting Yorktown.      “You’re much like Joanna would be,” he said.     “Your daughter? But she’s not nearly as old as I, is she?”     “No, a bit younger, but her hair was dark like yours. I guess I’ll never see her again.”     “Perhaps you will. Surely, she must wonder about you, despite the number of years you’ve been absent from her life.”     “I suppose it doesn’t matter, really. You’re more like a daughter to me than she ever was.”     “Then I’m glad I could bring that quality to your life, if nothing more.”     “Yeah, well,” he said, wiping an errant tear from his cheek. “You—you take care of yourself, ya hear? And don’t forget to keep in touch.”     “I assure you, I won’t. Goodbye, Leonard.”     “Bye, honey. Be happy, huh?”     “I’ll try.”     He hugged her quickly and placed an accompanying peck on the cheek before pushing her toward to the Transporter platform.     For the next few years, Vera would see Tlasus under circumstances similar to the last time, lasting but a few minutes due to his fear of being discovered, confirming each time nothing had changed between them, despite his status in the Romulan Fleet having risen greatly. Now he commanded the entire Reton Fleet, consisting of fifty Birds of Prey warships. As those years vaporized away, a month at a time, Vera, now serving on The Constitution, sent news to Leonard, and he sent his to her, with nothing of consequence except his growing friendship with Jim Kirk and his admitted tolerance of the Vulcan First Officer, whom he never mentioned by name.     Knowing she could no longer put off getting the answers she wanted, Vera applied for the accumulated leave time she was due and requested two weeks off. The same day she received approval, Vera arranged a visit to Vulcan and requested an appointment with High Matriarch T’Pau.    Stepping off the cargo transport at Vulcan’s capital, the blast of hot air felt like sticking her head inside an oven. The landscape remained as barren as it did in her memories, and the tall buildings of the city still reached high into the currently cloudless sky in the distance. It was in that direction, she guided her steps. A glance at the chronometer on a nearby tower announced the time as 08:30 Star Time, a full half hour until her appointed meeting with the Matriarch.     Ascending the gilded stone stairs to the audience chamber, Vera spared the luxurious surroundings little note. Neither were the tall tapered columns on each side or the murals of Vulcan history new, because she’d been here many times in her childhood. At the top of the stairs stood two ceiling high carved wooden doors, depicting more scenes from Vulcan’s past, but these exhibited a more primitive time, of Vulcans fighting and killing each other, or at least those who looked like them. Tlasus never did disclose the origins of the Vulcan race, and now she wondered more. Probably not even T’Pau knew the true history.     A single guard, dressed in brilliant yellow, flanked each side of the entrance to the Audience Chamber and they saluted Vera with the typical V-shaped hand, mumbling “Live long and prosper,” to which she replied with the identical words. Inside, at the far end of the room, sat T’Pau on her stone throne, fashioned with ancient Vulcan characters declaring, Ruler of All We See.     The woman herself, dressed in various shades of purple fashioned into a loose, full-length garment, hid what Vera knew had once been a glorious figure, one she now guessed had aged and thickened. The woman's gray hair swept up and piled atop her head in various twists and curls, displayed her Vulcanoid ears to full advantage, unlike the women of other worlds who chose to style their hair in a manner which hid their ears. The image of the Romulan woman Tlasus had shown Vera came to mind. She had also styled her hair to give full view of her pointed ears. Ah, how much alike were the Romulans and the Vulcans!     Stopping a good fifteen feet away on the silver-tiled floor, T’Pau beckoned Vera closer and pointed to a place at her feet clad in soft, embroidered shoes of gold. Vera complied and, with bent head, knelt before the woman.     “Peace be unto you, my Matriarch.”     “Raise thy head, child, and let us see what thou hast become.”     In expected obedience, Vera followed the command and met the old woman’s eyes, now a cloudy gray, which when Vera left this planet had been a lovely shade of blue.     “Hmm,” said T’Pau, cocking her head from side to side as she studied Vera’s face. “Thou hast changed greatly, but we art pleased. Why dost thee come now?”     “I seek answers, Revered One.”     “Answers to what?”     “Answers to my true parentage.”     “Ah,” said T’Pau leaning back into the cushion at her back. “Art thee ready for truth?”     Vera ignored the other woman’s question and put forth the facts. “I have been told I am half Vulcan and half another race—one unknown—but all this time have been made to believe I am human.”     “It was necessary for thine acceptance among the citizens of Vulcan.”     “And now?” asked Vera.     The old woman licked her narrow lips and nodded. “Now, truth can be revealed. Thou art, indeed, half Vulcan, the daughter of mine grandson, Sarnak, and thus last living female of mine line and mine heir.”      Despite being taken aback by this news, Vera recovered and asked the remaining part of her question. “And my mother?”     “A woman called Altaneesa from the planet Adana, whose race is human in appearance and whose genes seem to dominate Vulcan characteristics, unlike humans.” T’Pau’s following silence made Vera uneasy, and she began to ask another question, but T’Pau’s raised hand prevented it.     “I know thee wonders why thou wert given to Sarek and Amanda. Thy mother died here shortly after thy birth, unable to take the starkness of Vulcan when she had been raised in more luxurious surroundings. Thy father…,” T’Pau took a deep breath before she could continue. “…became deeply depressed and refused any help with thy care. When it became obvious he had neglected thee within a matter of days, being too consumed with grief, we decided thou shouldst go to others. We chose wrong.”     Vera’s eyes never left the old woman’s form as she went silent again, then with lifted chin continued.     “He—he—he died of despair an hour later, his Vulcan control contaminated by his marriage to an overtly emotional woman and her influence over him, for which we never forgave her.”     “Do Sarek and Amanda know my true parentage?”     “They do.”     “And Spock?”     “He does.”     “Grandmother,” Vera began, “if I may call you that…”     “Thou may.”     “Do you know the origin of our Vulcan race?”      The old woman bowed her head, glanced up with narrowed eyes and studied her great-grandchild.  “We do?”     “Then, tell me, please. As your heir, surely I must know these things.”     With a nod of her head, the old matriarch said, “We came from far away, the first ones those who disagreed with their former world's warlike mentality. This is why we suppress our aggressive natures. Our kind were begun by those most dedicated to the sciences and art. Intellectuals of all kinds. Afterwards, we were joined by others of similar thinking from the various worlds of that star system.”     “I understand, and this knowledge affirms my previous observations. And, as your heir, I assume you and the High Council will decide whom I shall marry, where I shall live, and all else?”      T’Pau shook her wobbly head. “We will decide who thou shalt marry later. For now, thee mayest remain in Starfleet service.”     “Grandmother, I have come to love a man of upstanding character, so cannot marry whomever you choose, when it is him I want a life with.”      “Such a man, unless he is of Vulcan nobility, is forbidden as thy husband. Thou mayest keep him as thy lover, if thee wishes. Many Matriarch’s have done so, although most art faithful to their husbands, in respect to our life partner and in  example to our subjects.”     At her words, Vera rose to her feet, hands balled into fists at her side, as she fought to maintain her Vulcan-taught control, and forced her voice to be calm rather than reveal the obstinance she felt. “I will not marry anyone but whom I choose, regardless of tradition or your wishes.”     T’Pau’s narrowed eyes drilled into Vera’s equally narrowed ones. “Oh, but thee wilt, youngling. Be sure of it! Now, get out of our sight.” Dismissed with an abrupt forward movement of a shriveled hand, Vera turned and left, not bothering to show respect by backing away down the long room until she reached the doors.     Her hurried steps taking her farther and farther away from the odious old woman, Vera’s mind struggled with what she’d been told. Tlasus had been correct. Except now, she not only owed allegiance to Starfleet and the Federation, she owed it to the Vulcan State, as its future Matriarch.     No, if T’Pau insisted she marry someone not of her own choosing, she would refuse the matriarchy. Am I the only existing heir? she mused. Male or female? There must be another. What about T’Pau’s sister, T’Pree? Can the Vulcan people not be governed by the High Council, instead?     In moments, she found herself at the doorway to the familiar residence of her foster parents, a bevy of variously colored plants decorating the front entrance, trellised overhead with blooms of red and gold, reminding her of Earth.  A knock upon the carved door received no answer, so she walked around to the back and the garden there.     Much appeared the same as she remembered from her earlier years here, but when she pressed her face against the glass windows and shaded it on either side with her hands, she could see no sign of either Sarek or Amanda’s presence. A woman, she didn’t recognize, dressed in servant’s garb of gray, passed by, and Vera tapped on the window.     The woman turned and came to the back door, opening it. “What do you want?”     “Your master and mistress. Are they home?”     “No, and I do not expect them for many months. He is serving as Vulcan’s Ambassador on Rigel Six.”     “Oh, I didn’t know. Sorry to have disturbed you.”     The woman gave Vera a wary look and shut the door, followed by the click of the lock. Summarily dismissed, Vera left, determined to never again set foot on this harsh planet.     In this frame of mind, she made for the spaceport and booked the first available passage to Rigel VI.      Arriving there, Vera hired an air conveyance—more of a two-person capsule—to take her to the Vulcan Embassy. High metal gates, gilded in gold blocked her entrance where a squadron of red-clad demanded her proof of citizenship. Producing a tablet, they gripped her right hand and separated the thumb, pressing it onto the tablet surface. Her identity confirmed, they opened the gate and allowed her entrance.     Within the stark, typically Vulcan structure, Vera stated her request and two more guards escorted her to the office of the Ambassador. Once announced, she entered and Sarek rushed forward to embrace her. Safe in the comfort of his arms, she released her pent-up tears. Despite this non-Vulcan behavior on Sarek’s part, Vera had never been treated any differently, and her presence in this stoic man’s life had released his protective and caring nature.     “Let me call your mother, and you sit here,” he said, guiding her to a stiff-looking chair by his polished dark wood desk.     While she sniffed and wiped away her tears with her hands, Sarek crossed to a door at his left, opened it, and called out Amanda’s name. Quickly inside, the woman who’d raised Vera, took one look and came to her side, stooping beside Vera and taking her hands.     “Oh, my precious girl! What ails you? Sarek,” she said, turning her head in his direction, “send for the physician at once. Can’t you see our daughter is in dire straits?”     “I’m not ill, Mother. I’m—” Vera didn’t know what to say except the truth, so began at the beginning. “I spoke to T’Pau.”     Amanda traded a cautious look with her husband then both returned their attention to Vera, Sarek moving to her side and placing an arm about Vera’s shoulder and stroking her hair with his other hand in a calming motion.     “Say whatever you need, T’Pira,” he said.     “Sarek, you know she goes by Vera now,” corrected Amanda.     “She will always be my little T’Pira. I keep forgetting she’s grown now with a mind of her own. But, my dearest child, tell us the rest.”     Vera exhaled, causing her chest to rise and fall noticeably. “I am heartsick at T’Pau’s words, revealing my true parentage. What hurts me more, is that she said you both knew, as well as Spock, and yet none of you have thought me needful of this information.”     “We thought it best to wait,” replied Sarek, “and T’Pau forbade it.”     Vera inhaled and looked from one to the other. “Did you also think it best I not know I am her heir and that my choice of husbands will be her decision, not mine?”     “But that lies many years into the future,” provided Amanda. “At least another ten years.”     “Does it matter I’ve found love with another, then? Does it matter that T’Pau will never accept the man I want, because he’s not of Vulcan nobility?”     Amanda looked up at her husband, sadness in her eyes then said, “She didn’t approve of your father marrying me, either. Don’t forget we know how powerful love can be and the way it defies logic. Tell us then of this man who’s stolen your heart.”     Vera shook her head. “I cannot, because….”     Squeezing her hands, Amanda made Vera look at her. “It’s not Spock is it? I thought you’d long ago outgrown your teenage infatuation with him.”     “She what?” said Sarek much louder than his usual controlled voice.     “A mother notices these things, Sarek.”     “No, Mother, not Spock. In fact, neither of us has spoken or corresponded with the other in almost fourteen years.”     “How strange,” Sarek broke in. “While he never mentions you nor asks of your welfare in his letters…or you in yours, for that matter, we naturally assumed…”     “Then, who is this man?” Amanda probed, again.     “A member of another race, not Vulcan, not Human, not…anyone identifiable to the Federation.”     Amanda and Sarek exchanged another questioning expression.     “Sweetheart,” began Amanda, “however did you meet him, much less spend time with him to fall in love?”     Vera blurted out her entire history with Tlasus, with the caveat, “You mustn’t breathe a word to Spock or anyone. You understand why. But I cannot see a future, otherwise, despite the difficulties we face in being together.” She lowered her head and forced out, “And despite our extended absences from each other with only a few minutes in the others company.”     Amanda stood up and took Vera into her arms. “Oh, my poor, dear girl, no wonder you’re heartsick.”      McCoy recorded his next correspondence to Vera a month after her return to The Constitution.      Dear Vera,
     The ship has recently crossed the Neutral Zone into Romulan Space in pursuit of a vessel of that Empire which destroyed four outposts along the border. You can imagine the astonishment of everyone, especially the Bridge crew, when our First Officer managed to bring up an image of the Romulan Bridge and their officers. That the Romulan race seems identical with the Vulcan brought many question to bear upon our resident Vulcan officer.

While the Romulan ship had been severely disabled in the ensuing battle, the commander ultimately destroyed the vessel, not us.

I thought you should know these facts. It’s highly probable this incident may trigger the resumption of the Romulan-Federation War.

If I can answer any questions concerning this event, please inform.

Leonard.

Another month passed before he received an answer. 
     Dear Leonard,
     Please inform immediately of the age and coloring of the Romulan commander. Do you know the name of the craft? Reply by subspace if possible. I must know these facts.
     Vera

McCoy answered at once: 
     Romulan Commander middle-aged, dark, slightly gray hair, dark eyes, medium build and height. Name of vessel unknown. Surely this man couldn’t be the one you think.

Her reply, also sent by subspace radio was brief: 
     No, it is not.”

Needless to say, Lt. Uhura was puzzled to the point of speechlessness by these transmissions.      One year morphed into another Vera and the good doctor met was much like the last, except for one thing. Vera appeared more depressed than ever.     “Okay, sugar? What’s wrong?” If McCoy had asked her this same question once, he’d asked it a hundred times.     “I haven’t seen Tlasus in almost three years.”     In one of their many “letters” Vera had divulged the name of her Romulan love, at last, as well as the secret of the iridescent ring she wore constantly.     “Did you let him know you transferred to The Kongo?”     “Yes,” she answered, crumpling the napkin she held. “And within the month, I’ll be transferred yet again, this time to The Constitution, as Science Officer. I wonder, though, how long I’ll stay there. It seems I get transferred every three years.”      “And Tlasus knows of this transfer, also?”     “When I return to my ship, I’ll send for the courier tonight.”     “Honey, why don’t you send a message, saying you want to see him?”     “I’ve thought about it, of course.”     “Stop thinking about it, and just do it.”     “I’ve also thought about sending Jim a letter. It’s been ten years since my last.”     “That would make him very happy. You know, he still hasn’t remembered me from that time he saw me before. Which reminds me. How are things on Vulcan? Heard from your foster parents, lately? Have you had a chance to visit there and speak to T’Pau?”     “Everything goes well, and I did visit T’Pau, as well as my parents, leaving me with more questions than answers.”      On return to her quarters on The Constitution, Vera lifted the ring’s stone and pressed the center of the setting then sat down to wait. An hour later, her door buzzer sounded.     “Come,” she voiced, and the door swished open to admit a young security ensign, dressed in red tunic and black trousers, who appeared human. In his right hand he held a tablet and stylus.     “I have some things for you to sign, Doctor.”     She took the device and signed the three screens, flipping from one to the other, then handed both tablet and stylus to the ensign.     “I hear the Enterprise is faltering,” he commented as she gave them back.     Vera bit her lower lip. “No,” she answered, “but I understand it is The Reliant.”     “And, when will this take place?”     “Twenty days from this one.”     “I see,” said the young man. “Then, I can only hope all will go well with her.”     “Ensign,” Vera called just as he began to leave, “there is something I wish delivered.”     “Yes, Doctor?”     She picked up a disc from her desk top. “You will see the person whom is to receive this gets it immediately? I also expect an answer. Will you so inform?”     “Of course, Doctor. I have volunteered for the payload shuttle to Base Twelve, so your message will be delivered within the week and should have your answer within two. Is there any special place you had in mind?”     “Within fourteen days, we arrive at Alpheria Outpost.”     “I understand.” That said, he turned on his heel and left.    Like the other couriers, she’d never see this one again. Somehow, they all vanished or were transferred within days to other ships.      Her reply came along with her regular mail at Starbase 12 in exactly thirteen days. She’d counted each one with growing anxiety.             “Your message is highly emotional, but you already know this. When we meet, I will attempt to explain why I have been absent from you so long. Nothing, as far as I am concerned, has changed. If you can but wait, tomorrow will bring us together again. There is a place at the one you mentioned, where I shall meet you, located on the fourth upper level on the left as you leave the lift, four doors down. The door you will enter has a triangular dent in the lower left, bottom edge. I shall be behind it at Oh-one-hundred, Starfleet Time.
 
     Another disc accompanied this one from her parents.      Dearest T’Pira, it began, it wasn’t until our return to Vulcan that Sarek and I learned of Spock’s brief return to his home planet.
     It’s difficult to put into words what to say of what happened, because I’m not sure how you’ll take it. Even Sarek is unsure. Spock never turned out the way I thought, for certain. But I must go on as to the reason for this correspondence.

To put it bluntly, Spock’s marriage to T’Pring has been annulled. This happened two months ago when he returned for the finalization ritual. Well, we both know what T’Pring is and has been for years, and she chose the Kal-if-fee with Captain Kirk as her champion. Everyone had supposed it would be Stonn, who’d been her lover for years. She’s crafty, that one. Anyway, maybe at last there’s hope for Spock’s future, with a wife he can love as I am loved by Sarek.

I don’t pretend to understand all the intricacies of the customs and laws governing marriage on this world, for they’re each and every one totally illogical, as far as I can determine, but will try to persuade Sarek to speak to T’Pau.

Did you receive the pictures with Sarek’s latest letter to you? I think they turned out quite well, all in all. Do send a few words soon. We all miss you.

Your loving mother,

Amanda.

As confused as her foster mother’s letter had left her, as well as with the possibilities Spock’s new marital status presented T’Pau, Vera worried the old woman might scheme to bring herself and Spock together. But Vera knew it wasn’t good to worry about such things, and too much confusion bred sleeplessness. So, she turned her thoughts to composing a letter to James Kirk. After struggling with the words in her mind, she began simply with:
 
     Dear Jim,     It has been many years since I became aware of your existence and position aboard  The Enterprise, but as you know, I strive to do things only at the appropriate times, and now the appropriate time has come for me to send you this. If you require a further explanation, may I suggest you have a long talk with your Chief Medical Officer. I’m sure he can clear things up. He will also update you as to my position in Starfleet and my duties.
     This letter is short, I agree, but more a word of two of “reintroduction,” if you will. Feel free to send to me as I have you but only if you want, not because I might expect it or you deem it your duty.

As before but not quite, I remain

Always,

Vera

She removed the disc and laid down on her bed, directing her thoughts to Tlasus and the hour after midnight the next day.
 
      Managing to escape the protective custody of the crewmembers she’d beamed down with, and after several wrong turns, Vera found the lift to the Upper Levels of the Starbase. As the cylinder rose higher, each number ticked overhead in bright red: 1U, 2U, 3U, and 4U at last, causing her heart to climb into her throat.     With a lurch, the lift stopped at 4U, and she stepped off into the metallic corridor, biting her upper lip. Here, the doors stood far apart, and what she could see of the darkened corridor lay covered in the dust of years.     The time on her wrist chronometer read: 24:56, and when she looked to her right, a faint light showed beneath a door ten meters ahead.     The same emotion as before quickening her heartbeat, she stopped, glanced behind her, and counted the doors then turned to the one ahead—the fourth door. Boot heels echoing on the metal floor, she started forward, but the closer she approached that promised rendezvous, the more she ached for Tlasus’ presence. On the other hand, there was still that uncertainty of T’Pau’s next actions haunting her mind.     A few meters more lay her destination, then she was there, standing before it. Within seconds, it opened, and light poured from the small room, blinding her temporarily. In the few seconds needed for her eyes to adjust, Tlasus stood before her, holding out his arms in welcome.     Then she fell into them, pressing her cheek against his hard chest. After a time, he moved Vera to his side, and they entered the confines of the tiny space.     Again, he held her and kissed her, and in that moment, any doubts she had for their future dissolved.     Face buried in his tunic, she asked, “Why, Tlasus? Why, after so long a time?”     “I have been on assignment to the Frontier these years. Only recently did I receive permission for temporary assignment to the border. In two weeks, we return to the Frontier.”     She raised her head and met his eyes. “Then it could be another three years.”     “Perhaps longer,” he admitted, running his fingers down the contour of her cheek.     “Tlasus, I doubt I can endure another such absence.”     The huge man smiled, his gray-green eyes sad and gentle. “There is a second kind of love, yes?” His fingers cupped her face.     “Yes, oh, yes!” she answered and stood on tiptoe to press her mouth against the plush softness of his.     When they parted, he put his cheek against hers and caressed her hair. “Never have I met a woman like you and never again. Romulan women are not nearly so attractive, as I have shown you. But, as we have discussed before, I have my loyalties and you have yours. Each of us will survive until the next time.”     Suddenly, he held her away, his face showing shock. “Spock, again!” he hissed. “And now free?”     “Yes,” said Vera, lowering her eyes briefly, “but—”     He released her and strode angrily to the other side of the small enclosure, giving her his back. “I think it best you resolve that situation first. I cannot share you with any man, not yet, perhaps never. Before, he presented no threat, now he does. I will not seek you out until you make your decision.”     Vera couldn’t find the words to answer. She knew he could read her mind by touching her skin. He knew the conflict in her mind of the marriage she might be forced into, and the possibility that marriage might be to Spock. Did Tlasus also not know her undeniable love for him, alone?     When next she looked at him, he’d removed his communicator and lifted the grid.     “Commander Tlasus. Stand by.” He closed the grid and turned to face her, his mesmerizing eyes still gentle but saddened, as he ran a hand through his white-blond hair and managed a single step in her direction.     “I do love you, Vera, and know you love me. With this knowledge I shall be content until you decide what you want. If you relinquish your future for Vulcan and what your Matriarch and the High Council decide, so inform. You know how to reach me. Continue updating me on your whereabouts, but do not expect a reply. Such would be…distracting.” He opened his communicator grid again. “Transport, Tregar.”     In a few seconds, he was gone, without saying goodbye.     With Tlasus gone, and the light with him, Vera crumpled to the floor of the dark room. Her hands reaching out and discovering what felt like a bulky-textured fabric, she pulled it closer and gathered the material—probably a cloak—to her face, where her nose picked up the scent of her beloved. The room was cold, so he would have worn it when he first beamed down.     Needful of his presence, she wrapped it about her now shivering body and clutched its warm folds to her chin, inhaling Tlasus’ scent which enveloped her in comfort. There she sat for almost an hour, hoping he might return for this item of clothing, but knowing, somehow, he wouldn’t. At last, she rose to her feet and left the room, her steps leading her to the lift, and the light within to closer examine the cloak she held about her.     One side consisted of fur or pseudo-fur, difficult to identify which, the other she recognized as the same material used on Romulan uniforms except the crimson hue of the Commander’s sash.     As the lift descended into the lower levels of the Starbase, Vera bundled the cape, fur side out, and when she stepped off, walked rapidly toward Arcade. Ten minutes later, she emerged from a shop, a plastic-wrapped package under her arm, a sad smile on her face, and a determined glint in her eyes. But few witnessed her attitude at this hour of the morning, and by 06:00, she slept in her temporary quarters, the cloak again enfolding her with its warmth and masculine fragrance.     Although she slept, her mind did not. It called to Tlasus, to any woman of the distant past who could sympathize with her dilemma.     Many years would pass before Vera would make her decision, after careful consideration of each possibility, and before she would confront Tlasus once more, this time on a military mission. Continued in "In Possession"