[While on patrol in the Pelia Sector Block, an undocumented wormhole opens off the starboard bow of your ship...]
Personal log: Tylha Shohl, officer commanding USS King Estmere NCC-92984
The halo of blue-white fire hangs in space. I can imagine it striking reflections off King Estmere's gleaming hull. It looks... fabulous.
"I'm getting some... interesting readings, sir," says Zazaru. The Trill scientist's soft brown eyes are thoughtful.
"How stable is it?"
"That's one of the interesting things," Zazaru says. "Verteron decay levels are... virtually flat. This one might prove fully stable, like the Bajoran wormhole. There are some other things -" Her attention turns to her readouts again.
A stable wormhole. Quite a find - especially if it goes somewhere interesting. I exchange glances with Anthi Vihl. "Orders, sir?" she asks.
"Rig a class II probe," I say. "I'm trying not to rush into things, so much."
My exec almost lets a smile through her professional mask, for an instant. "Programming a probe now, sir." Over at the ops console, F'hon Tlaxx is already setting up the telemetry channel.
Still, the minutes pass like hours, and I'm tempted to get up and pace around the bridge. We've made a few changes to King Estmere's bridge, mostly rigging chairs in front of the Tholian pop-out consoles. We still have to live with the interface designs and the crazy gravity layout, though. I keep myself in check, settling down in what I hope is a dignified attitude on my command chair.
"Launching probe." More minutes tick away.
"Getting telemetry now, skipper," says F'hon, and whistles. "Looks quite something...."
"Do we know where this thing goes?" I ask.
"It doesn't exactly go anywhere." Zazaru looks up from her console, for the first time in quite a while. "It's a sort of... spatial inclusion. A pocket in space. And there's something inside."
F'hon puts it on the screen, and we stare up at the image... a blue-green globe, marbled with fleecy white clouds, the glare of the wormhole making a soft haze around it. A class M world.
Quite something, indeed.
---
The huge bulk of King Estmere barely shudders as we cross the threshold of the wormhole... or whatever we decide to call it. This spatial inclusion is a new phenomenon, and Zazaru is still puzzling over some aspects of it.
The planet inside looks beautiful, even to my Andorian eyes; verdant forests, rolling oceans, towering mountain ranges. There's no sign of habitation or intelligent life. It's pristine, unspoiled....
And valuable. While Zazaru sweats over whatever's puzzling her, her human assistant Addie van Benn is guiding the probe through the atmosphere to a landing. And the readings she's reporting -
"Dilithium readings, sir, also possible traces of decalithium. Mass concentrations in the planetary crust indicate... pergium ore in commercial quantities. And there are organic molecules in the planetary atmosphere...." She brushes a lock of long brown hair away from her face. "They're consistent with several known families of anti-carcinogenics and anti-retrovirals. This place could be a pharmacological treasure house, as well as a mineralogical one."
"The Vulcan Ministry of Science should be informed," says Sirip. The Vulcan security officer is looking at the screen, and his face says nothing, but I think I know what's going through his mind.
"Mr. Sirip," I say. "You will not communicate prematurely, outside official channels."
Sirip doesn't even have the grace to look abashed. "No, sir," he says. I look from him to his Tellarite counterpart, Lolha. She is staring at the readings with naked greed on her face. And Klerupiru, the Ferengi computer expert, is actually licking her lips. Well, I should expect nothing else from them. But this world... this world was found by my ship, an Andorian ship. And, as such, it becomes an Andorian Imperial possession.
The question is, of course, how to make sure of that. "Commander Vihl," I say, "command conference in my ready room. Call in the chief engineer, too."
---
"We can't trust any of them." Dyssa D'jheph's antennae are quivering on her head, her homely face set in a scowl. Beside her, even Anthi looks tense and sullen. I can feel my own antennae twitching, as they seek out currents in the air... currents, and undercurrents.
"Why did High Command send us out on a multi-racial ship anyway?" Dyssa adds, rhetorically. Anthi frowns a little at that. Criticism of High Command never sits well with her.
"We can rely on some of them," I say, thoughtfully. "The Ferengi, the Tellarites - they will follow their commercial instincts. We just have to persuade them that Imperial Guard protection is... in those interests. That shouldn't be hard."
"What about the Vulcans, and the damn humans?" Dyssa asks. "We certainly can't rely on them."
"We didn't anyway," I say. I pinch the bridge of my nose. Something is bothering me....
"The ones who worry me most, though," I continue, "are the renegades. That Orion science officer, Kluthli, for instance, or our favourite Breen, Jek the Apostate. They're going to be tempted, I think, to - to buy themselves back into favour, somehow, with their own factions. And this discovery would even be enough to buy Jek back into the Breen Confederacy."
Dyssa snorts. "I'd 'apostate' him if he tried it!"
"We need to make sure our own people take control," Anthi says crisply.
"Yes," I say. "But we need to be subtle about it... shuffle the personnel, just a touch. If all of the other species on the ship combined against us... I don't know if we could hold her."
"So we play them off, one against another," Anthi says. "It's... going to be a pretty dangerous game, sir."
"Particularly as the humans and the Vulcans will be trying it too," I add. "Others, even. I mean... we all like F'hon, right? But the Bolians are so close to Romulan space, we can't rule out him doing some sort of deal with them, in the supposed interests of his people...."
"Or the Trill," says Dyssa. "I never know what's going on in her head."
"She's busy with something," I say. "So that's an excuse to move someone else into the science officer's admin slot - say, Zodes Andeteph?"
"That damn Aenar roof-knocker?"
"She's one of us. Practically. Imperial Guard, anyway." I rub my nose again. "Wish we had our Imperial Guard uniforms instead of these damned overalls...."
"No argument there, sir," says Anthi, with feeling.
I stand up. "Before we do anything, though," I say, "let's assemble an away team. I want to know exactly what it is we've got, before we have to fight for it."
---
The air is heady with scents, sweet and hauntingly familiar. A cool breeze plays with my antennae, while the rush of the waterfall drowns out the singing of the forest birds, and rainbows sparkle in the spray. My feet make no sound on the soft, mossy turf as I walk beside the little river and gaze up at the cliff face.
It is beautiful, this world, without a doubt.
"It's fantastic." Addie van Benn has come up behind me - without me noticing her. Careless of me. But the young human scientist doesn't have any hostile intent, this time. Her face is positively glowing with enthusiasm.
"There's no current indigenous life, sir," she says, "but I'm finding all sorts of, well, traces. Archaeological relics. I haven't even begun to find a cultural context for most of them -"
"No hurry," I say. "What about the other stuff?" I try to sound casual, but we both know the mineral deposits and the biochemical resources are the important things.
"I'm still reading - well, a whole lot of mineral traces," says Addie. For just a minute, she frowns. "Nothing much in the immediate vicinity, though. It's odd, I thought we put the probe down in a good place for that... but I guess we'll have to look further afield."
"No hurry," I say again, tilting my face upwards, closing my eyes to enjoy just the feeling of the sun on my skin. "To be honest, I'm rather glad.... I don't think a mining camp would look good in this spot, would it?"
"No, sir," says Addie, fervently. "This is... just beautiful."
I open my eyes, look around for the others. The away team has been an exercise in taking precautions. With Addie down here, and Zazaru still gnawing at her puzzles aboard the ship, Zodes Andeteph should be ready to take over the science division smoothly. Meanwhile, Sirip and Lolha are down here with me, where I can keep an eye on them - and so can Nozys Hyhr, my Andorian assault commander, and the only one of those I can trust. And F'hon jumped at the chance to come planet-side, too... I wish I was sure he was just happy to get off the ship for a bit, and doesn't have some ulterior motive....
I take a deep breath of the scented air. F'hon is squatting on the ground, apparently entranced by some flower; Lolha is sorting through a pile of pebbles by the side of the waterfall. Probably looking for something valuable. Tellarites aren't as bad as Ferengi, but they're still pretty mercenary. Nozys is watching them both from a short distance away, her face blank, her eyes wary. This is good. As for Sirip... the big Vulcan is standing at the foot of the cliff, and staring up it, apparently at nothing. I walk up to him. "Mr. Sirip."
For a moment, he doesn't respond. Then he turns to face me. "Sir," he says.
"So, what do you think of it?"
Another momentary pause. "A very beautiful world." His tone gives nothing away.
"I was expecting something more... logical," I say. Am I deliberately trying to goad him? Yes, I suppose I am.
"There is a logic in the appreciation of beauty," Sirip says. And, with that, he turns back to look up the cliff.
I follow his gaze. I can't see what's especially beautiful about this particular piece of rock. But, Vulcans, who can figure them?
The probe came to rest at the foot of this cliff, and is still lying there, its black bulk already half hidden by flowering vines. I walk over to it, touch the metal skin. It is cold, intensely cold: I snatch my hand back before my fingertips burn. Some kind of malfunction? An overload on its coolant mechanism? But the flowering vines don't seem to be affected.... Another puzzle. I shake my head, and breathe in deeply again. The world is so lovely....
... but at the back of my mind, I can't shake the feeling that something's wrong.
---
"Mild hypoxia." Samantha Beresford jabs a hypospray into my neck, blasting tri-ox compound into my circulation. "All the landing party have the same symptoms. That should fix it, but don't go taking any more chances." The human doctor's eyes and tone are cold.
"That can't be right," I mutter. "The scans all indicated a standard class M atmosphere, oxygen content perhaps even a fraction of a percentage higher than Andoria's...."
"Then some of those complex chemicals must inhibit oxygen uptake," says Samantha. "Once again, sir, don't take any more chances."
"How come it didn't affect your fellow human?" I ask, suspiciously.
"Addie van Benn is suffering from hypoxia just the same as you," Samantha snaps back. "It doesn't show as much, because of your higher Andorian metabolic rate." She rakes her fingers through her long dark hair. She looks exhausted, and disgusted. "I know all about your Andorian paranoia, too," she continues. "But I took an oath when I took up my profession, sir, and that oath says to me, 'first, do no harm'. You Andorians know all about oaths and honour, don't you? Or you're supposed to."
"All right, doctor." I'd be within my rights to have her shot. But I need my chief medical officer. "The point is taken. We'll use breather masks for our next away mission, and you will study the metabolic effects of the chemical compounds in the atmosphere." I stand up. "That will be all."
Outside sickbay, Dyssa is waiting for me, her face grim. "I don't like the feel of this situation," she says, without preamble.
"Me neither," I say. "What's bothering you? Specifically."
"The Vulcans are too damn quiet," she says. "All of them, just... quiet. Saying nothing, doing nothing. It's not natural. They're up to something, I can smell it." She scowls. "And that damn Aenar in science division is worse than useless. Spends half her time just staring into space - well, as much as she can stare, I guess. I don't know what she's thinking."
"What about Zazaru?"
"Still obsessing, still chasing down decimal places. We can ignore her... I think." Dyssa shakes her head. "Unless maybe she's playing some kind of deep game with us? It's getting so we can't trust anyone."
"All right." I try to think. "If Zodes is no use, we'll need someone else to watch science division. I'll see if I can put a discreet watch on comms, make sure no one's sneaking out unauthorized information.... Nozys can watch the security side... Anthi has some science training, maybe she can help you monitor science. How are things in Engineering anyway?"
Dyssa shrugs. "Holding up. At least we can rely on Thirethequ and Jeroequene - probably. The Jolciots are one of our client species, and I'm making damn sure they don't forget that."
"Don't ride them too hard," I say. "The last thing we want is to stir up latent resentment...." I close my eyes, tightly, for a moment. That feeling of wrongness persists, somehow. "How did we ever get into this situation, anyway?"
"Damn stupid idea, multi-species crews," Dyssa grumbles. "The one good thing is, that human tac officer? Kleefisch? She's gone quiet as the Vulcans, or the Aenar. Just staring at nothing, and humming, they say. So she won't be any trouble, at least."
"That's something, I guess." I sigh. "I'm going to rest in my quarters while the tri-ox takes effect. Then we'll work out the schedule for the next away team... and anything else that needs doing."
---
How did we get into this situation? Alone in my quarters, I turn the question over and over in my head, while I lie on my bed, staring up at the ceiling....
Staring... like Sirip, the other Vulcans, Zodes Andeteph, Soledad Kleefisch. I frown. There is something... Vulcans and Aenar have high psi potentials; Soledad Kleefisch has always been a little fey and mystical - has she ever tested positive for psi? Some humans do, not many, but some.
So, something is affecting the telepaths... maybe? And maybe Zazaru, too, her normal curiosity turning into obsessiveness. The Tellarites, and the Ferengi, obviously greedy - too obviously? Is something influencing them, turning them into... stereotypes of themselves?
At least my own mind is clear, I think....
And then my eyes snap wide open, as I ask myself: if it wasn't, how would I know?
---
The Orion renegade, Kluthli, is almost supernaturally beautiful; long, lustrous dark hair frames a perfect green face in which two sparkling blue eyes gaze at me as if I'm the most important thing in the world. Even in modest civilian clothing, she has a decided effect on every male she comes in contact with... as an Andorian shen, I'm not entirely immune myself. And that's why I need to talk to her.
"I need to know about mental influence," I say.
She shakes her head, setting her dark locks swaying. "I've never - used my pheromones in that way, sir. Not aboard this ship. I made an agreement when I joined your crew -" She frowns, just for an instant, there. "And, in any case, it wouldn't be... wouldn't be honourable."
"I'm not accusing you of anything," I say. "I'm just - well, I want to know if there are any signs you might recognize, if someone else were using some sort of... some sort of control."
"I don't -" She frowns again. "You'd be better off asking an actual telepath, or an empath, sir."
"I don't think I can. Or, at least, I don't think I'd get a useful answer. You must have noticed...."
"The Vulcans have all gone weird," she says, slowly. "Yes."
There is a long silence, while we just look at each other. Eventually, I say, "It's... hard to think of these things."
"Yes," she answers, equally slowly. "And... just the fact that it's hard to think of these things... means...."
"Means," I say, with a tongue that seems thick and clumsy, "that we're... not being allowed... to think them."
Kluthli speaks in a rush, as if she's breaking through the mental block. "I think you're right, sir - there's a way men look, when a Matron is really, really cutting loose with her control effects - a kind of blank look - I can see it, more an more, on the faces of the crew -"
"Try to think." It is so hard to think. "There has to be... some kind of range, for this, this thing. If we can get out of range -"
Kluthli looks woebegone. "Surely it's not going to let us take the ship back through the wormhole...?"
"No." Then I smile. "But King Estmere is a carrier...."
---
I look around the bridge. Dyssa and Anthi have been making progress, it seems... Nozys and her lieutenant, a young chan named Thires Entonav, have got the tactical consoles locked down with their personal IDs, Dyssa has taken control of a lot of operations functions under F'hon's nose, and the Aenar, Zodes, is in Zazaru's normal place at the main science station.
Dyssa was right about her, though: her filmed eyes are vacant, her white features slack. I repress a shudder of revulsion, even though I know why she looks like that... I think I know why.
It is still very hard to think.
"We need closer scans of the mouth of the inclusion," I announce. Zodes blinks, once, and otherwise fails to react at all. I purse my lips. "No point asking main science division to do it. I'll borrow a science officer and go out in the captain's yacht."
"We don't have many science officers who are -" Anthi catches herself before she says Andorian "- reliable, sir."
"I don't plan on being out long enough for that to be an issue. Commander Kluthli is available, and she can run the scans I need."
Anthi frowns. Dyssa, on the other hand, gives me a sly grin. She's a shen like myself, of course.... Well, let them think what they like. "Carry on," I tell Anthi, firmly.
I can see she wants to object, but Imperial Guard conditioning carries the day. "Aye, aye, sir," she answers, woodenly, as I turn to leave.
---
"Why the Cotswold?" Kluthli asks, as the little ship slips out of King Estmere's hangar bay.
"It's got everything we need," I say, "and it looks... plausible... for me to take it out. After all, it's the captain's yacht - a perk of the job, you might say."
I lock our course in for the mouth of the wormhole, and engage the impulse drive.
"That wasn't what I meant, actually, sir," says Kluthli. "I mean, why the name? Why King Estmere, too, come to that? I've never recognized either of them as Andorian cultural references...."
"Oh, I see. They're not." I set reverse angle on one viewscreen, watch the King Estmere slowly dwindle and merge into the blue-green glow of the planet. "They're both named after compositions by a human musician I happen to like. Gustav Holst, lived about four hundred years ago. His Cotswold symphony is a lovely orchestral piece. King Estmere, though, is a choral work, built around a long poem." I smile. "A thoroughly implausible tale, really, full of fighting and magic and unlikely sorts of swashbuckling.... You wouldn't expect it of humans."
"No...." Kluthli seems perturbed. "It's odd, though, sir, that a piece of human culture should - should speak to you, the way this does. Did you have a lot of exposure to human music on Andoria?"
"I didn't grow up on Andoria. I was born on Gimel Vessaris... a colony world...." I pause. Something is bothering me, again: an insistent feeling, as of memories resurfacing. Gimel Vessaris, reading old bookfiles and listening to music... and something else.
I touch the front of my coveralls, my fingers finding the blunt arrowhead badge on my breast.
"Something else," says Kluthli, in a puzzled tone. "About the names, the Cotswold and the King Estmere... no, not the names themselves." That smooth jade brow is furrowed by a deep frown. "Prefixes. Shouldn't they be IGV, or IGS....?"
"Imperial Guard Vessel, yes," I mutter.
"But they're not. They're both USS. What does USS stand for, sir?"
"United Star Ship. Standard Federation designation -"
Then the shock of realization hits us both, like an icy shower jarring us out of slumber. We exchange horrified glances.
"The Federation," Kluthli says, appalled. "We forgot - How could we forget the Federation?"
"We had help." My expression is grim; released from its bonds, my mind is racing. "We've got to get King Estmere out of range of that - whatever it is."
"Whatever it is," says Kluthli, "it must want the ship, for some reason. It won't let them go easily, I'm sure."
"No." I think hard. "It's got flaws, though, this - thing. It makes mistakes. I think it's over-reached itself, trying to take us. And I think, if we can get enough, umm, momentum, working in our favour."
"What do you mean, sir?"
"Conditioning. Anthi's in charge on the ship, now, and she is nothing if not by the book."
My fingers dance on the control console. "Hold on."
The little ship shudders and lurches, and the lights flicker, as I run the emergency sequence. Kluthli's eyes are wide. I open a channel to the ship.
"King Estmere, this is Cotswold. I am declaring an emergency. We have encountered a spatial flux and I have had to eject the warp core. Request immediate pickup, repeat immediate. Confirm."
Anthi's voice comes over the speaker. "Confirmed, sir. Are you injured?"
"We're fine. We need immediate extraction before any more systems fail, though. Confirm your ETA."
"On our way, sir. Fifteen minutes at safe impulse speed."
"Check." That should be all right - no point rousing suspicions by insisting she breaks procedure. Though there is still more that I can do. "We haven't run any exercises on this situation in a while. Anthi, while you're en route, refresh your memory - read the manual on retrieval procedures. Thoroughly, from cover to cover. That's an order, Commander."
"Aye, aye, sir." There's a hint of a question in her voice, but only a hint. Anthi will obey orders.
I look at Kluthli. "I think that should do it," I say.
"And if it doesn't?" She seems quite cool, all things considered.
I shrug. "I'll have to figure out some way to retrieve and reinstall the warp core, and then we can crack out of here, and hope we can get help before... whatever's there... finishes with the ship. It shouldn't come to that, though."
And, indeed, it's not long before Anthi's voice comes back over the speakers. "I've read the Starfleet manual, sir," she says with crisp emphasis. "Ah... we're awaiting further orders."
---
"My guess is, it's some sort of psychovore," I say, a little later, on King Estmere's bridge. Zodes and Sirip are there, looking somewhat more awake and alert. They look better; everyone else looks a great deal worse. Dyssa, especially, is avoiding meeting anyone's eyes. "It created an illusion of a wormhole, and of a desirable planet, and it... messed with our heads, to keep us occupied. Probably, it would have sucked the life out of us, starting with the telepaths and other sensitives, while we all quarrelled among ourselves."
Anthi speaks through thin lips. She's angry. I know she is, because so am I. "It's a clear and present danger, sir."
"I know. We need to take measures."
She is already at the weapons console. "I'll lock main batteries onto the planet's centre of mass."
"No," I say. "Target the probe. We know the probe landed on something. I think there's just enough there for it to maintain a scrap of class M environment - just about. Though there wasn't enough oxygen for the away team, and the probe got cold from exposure to space. Everything else was... just an illusion." I give a shaky laugh. "I should have known. I felt the sun on my face! There isn't a sun within five light years of here."
"That explains," says Zodes, slowly, "why Commander Zazaru couldn't finish her analyses."
"The data was inconsistent," I agree, "because most of it wasn't real." The Aenar is able to think again. That's a good sign, at least.
"Weapons locked," Anthi reports.
"Hold," I order. "First things first... F'hon, try opening a communications channel."
Everyone stares at me. "Skipper?" says F'hon, blankly.
"If I'm right about this thing," I say, "it will read just the intent to communicate in our minds... and if we can open a dialogue, then that's what we'll do." My gaze sweeps across all of them. "That thing brought out... the worst side of us. All of us. I don't want to think about the way it made me act. Well, we're going to show it we can be our best. We're going to try to talk, before we open fire. Because we are Starfleet, and that is what we do."
There is a short pause, and then F'hon says, "Channel open, sir."
I stride to the centre of the bridge, look up at the illusion of the planet on the screen. "We wish to communicate," I say, loudly and clearly.
For a moment, there is no response. Then F'hon frowns at his console. "I'm getting something," he says. "I think you're right, skipper - this is coming in on a subspace frequency, and the universal translator says it can decipher it.... Putting it through now."
A voice sounds on the bridge. "King Estmere, you are to proceed with your current investigations as a matter of urgency."
Anthi and I exchange looks. "That sounded like -" she begins.
"Admiral Semok, yes." I address the air. "You're not my superior officer. Drop the charade, identify yourself. We want to talk."
Another voice comes over the speakers. "Your mission for the Federation is to seek out new knowledge, heedless of personal danger. You are our vanguard. You will fulfill your mission."
"President Okeg's voice," says Anthi. "One of his speeches?"
"Just stock cliches." I shake my head. "Speak to us yourself. Don't hide behind an assumed identity. We want to talk to you."
The next voice is one I never expected to hear again. "Tylha, I'm disappointed. You know what you're supposed to do, now just go and do it."
Sudden fury stiffens my spine. "No!" I glare at F'hon. "Cut the channel." He complies.
"Sir," says Anthi, cautiously, "who was that? It sounded Andorian -"
"It was," I say. "My thaan-father's voice." I can feel my antennae droop in dejection. "It's not intelligent," I say. "It's just a predator... trying to find the right way to lure us back into range. If it was an intelligent being, it would never have tried to press that particular button." I slump, heavily, into my command chair. "Just more fakery."
"A lure," Zodes concurs.
"So what do we do now, sir?" Anthi asks.
"It's not intelligent." Somehow, I feel a hundred years old. "And you're right, it's a danger to everyone who comes within range." I take a deep breath. "Burn it."
---
The only real thing was a tiny asteroid, perhaps a kilometer or so in diameter. I stand on it, now, wearing my EV suit, trying to see if there is anything I recognize from the beautiful mirage I saw. But there is only jumbled bare rock.
Of course, the sustained plasma-disruptor barrage from King Estmere must have rearranged the landscape a fair bit.
Even now, we don't know if we've killed the creature, or just driven it back to whatever hell dimension spawned it. These psychic monsters... starships have encountered them before, in various forms, and sometimes they have survived the encounters. We still don't know nearly enough about what they are, or how they live.
King Estmere survived this encounter. I should be grateful for that, at least.
Another suited figure comes into view; I can make out the Vulcan's face behind his visor. "Mr. Sirip. Feeling better?"
"Fully recovered, thank you, sir. Though I will admit to being a little mortified." He doesn't look it. He never does. "I am supposedly trained against psi influences of this nature. I should have been able to resist it better."
"Don't worry about it. Has the survey team finished?"
"We have discovered some remnants - we presume, of ships that were drawn in by the psychovore before us. Much did not survive the bombardment, of course, but we have sufficient material to interest the archaeologists for some time. The relics go back quite some time - centuries, certainly; possibly millennia. I think we have made the galaxy a slightly safer place, sir."
"That's something," I say. "Let's get back to the ship."
"Yes, sir." Sirip pauses, and for a moment I see some expression on his face. "If I may ask, sir... how did you manage to overcome the psychovore's influence? I don't believe you have any notable psi capacity or training...."
I manage a short laugh. "You really want to know? Self-doubt. People often tell me, I worry too much... this time, I worried too much that I might be wrong. And I was wrong, because that thing was making me wrong. Usually, I manage it without any help."
"I see," says Sirip. "Innate concerns penetrating the false certainties instilled by the psychovore. Interesting. Self-doubt. I must try to cultivate that quality."
I laugh again. "Don't cultivate it too much," I say, "it's not healthy. Believe me."
"I will bear that in mind, sir." For an instant, he actually smiles. "Still, how very... Andorian... of you, sir, to turn it into a weapon."
I grin back at him. "It's what we do," I say. "Come on. Let's go home."
No comments:
Post a Comment