Title: Coals of Fire
Author: Jane (jat_sapphire)
Contact: jat_sapphire@yahoo.com
Other Headings, Disclaimer and Notes, see PrologueAct I: The Art of the Possible
If there was one thing that ought to make him feel completely normal, Jim thought, it should be a briefing. Uhura, Scott, Sulu, McCoy - all the usual suspects in their usual seats, with their usual faces - but not quite. Looking down the length of the briefing table, Jim could see eyes shifting. He wondered exactly what the current scuttlebutt was about recent events in the first officer's quarters. The only other person certain to be ignorant was staring into the middle distance, elbows on the table and fingers steepled."Well," Jim said, sitting down, "let's get this show on the road," and wondered which show he really had in mind. He had been questioning his own reactions a lot lately. He wanted to stop. Shore leave was probably what he needed, but there was none in sight at the moment. Unless he counted Altair, and he suspected that in the end he would not be able to count it.
Spock moved one hand toward the base of the computer terminal, while the other drifted down to rest on the table. The screen lit with the image of a man with dark gray skin and navy blue hair. On the pictured face was an extraordinary expression, a hero's look of strength, intelligence, and purpose. A little theatrical, Jim felt, but still impressive.
"Aulua Jiilau," said Spock. "He has now been the inaugurated president of Altair 6 for two days. According to the Federation's political analysts - and apparently, according to the Altairian electorate - the one man who can unify the planet's factions and complete the peace negotiations with Altair 5."
"Admiral Komack said so," Jim agreed, "but why? What makes him the *only* man of the hour?"
Spock's eyes flicked to his face, then away to the center of the table again. "Altair 5," he went on, "was founded as an agricultural colony by Altair 6, three hundred and forty-five planetary years ago. Jiilau was confirmed as the Governor-General of Altair 5 shortly before the outbreak of armed insurrection there. After several police actions were insufficient to stop the home rule movement, Jiilau was given specific and strict orders by the Altair 6 government to make a deliberately brutal pre-emptive strike." There was a special look of austere distress that Spock got whenever he spoke of violence; he wore it now. "The plan was to destroy the city of Giniwallon."
"Destroy it?" Sulu sounded like he couldn't believe it; Jim had the same problem. McCoy made a sound of disgust, and Spock looked even more austere.
"Yes, Mr. Sulu. Giniwallon had a population of approximately 485,060, and it had already seceded from the rest of the colony. Jiilau's orders were to level it, not only to kill its inhabitants but to reduce the city itself to rubble." Spock paused. "This would in fact have crippled the home rule movement."
"He refused," Jim guessed.
"He did. In fact, he took command of the fleet of ships which had been dispatched to destroy Giniwallon, and immediately ordered them disarmed; then he returned with the fleet to Altair 6. Before his trial and subsequent imprisonment, he released to the Altairian press every communique he had received relative to the planned massacre, as well as a great deal of supplementary information, interviews, pictures, artworks, and so forth produced by the colonists. He was, in effect, their publicist." Spock's eyebrow twitched up, and Jim felt better, seeing that familiar look. A little better.
"But he didn't manage to stop the war," said McCoy.
"No, but his status as a prisoner of conscience and the scandal created by the released material was a significant influence on the government's further policy. No such wholesale massacre was attempted again."
"A hero," mused Jim, "and now he's the president . . . and he changed the date of his inauguration."
"Yes, why'd he do that?" asked McCoy. "Only a week earlier, too, so what good could that be?"
Spock, without actually moving any muscle in his face, managed to look completely unconvinced as he said, "The official explanation was that the original date coincided with the most sacred fast of one of the planet's religious sects."
"But you don't believe it?" McCoy was never one to let anything go unspoken, especially by Spock.
"I have no logical reason to disbelieve it. The religious holiday, the observation by fast, is real; it is held on that date every year."
"*Every* year! So it was predictable? No reason to wait until just two weeks beforehand to notice it?" McCoy pressed Spock.
"Yes," Spock agreed. Jim had noticed that lately they had not been baiting each other as often as they sometimes did. Even that touched a nerve, but everything did, now, and it really had nothing to do with - well, yes, it had something to do with Spock, foolish to pretend even for one thought that it didn't.
"There must be rumors. There must be *reasons,*" Jim insisted. "I don't buy the holiday. Something's going on, more than I realized when - " He shook his head. "More than Komack told me. He ordered three starships to this inauguration. He must have expected trouble."
"From the colony, that Altair 5?" asked Scotty.
"Perhaps," said Spock. "Or from disaffected citizens of Altair 6. Apparently several threats have been received, though the exact nature of the threats does not seem to be known."
"Gentlemen, we need better information," Jim said. "Perhaps the Farragut and Constellation crews will know more by the time we get there. We're late for this party, after all. Maybe they'll have taken care of everything for us." His grin said, *fat chance, and we love it that way, don't we?*
Spock looked up, looking slightly surprised. "The Farragut will not be in attendance. She has been reassigned to an emergency at Space Laboratory Tau Omega. New results in the station scientists' investigation of Bertholdt rays have revealed that they are intensely dangerous to animal life, and the scientists must be evacuated."
"Why," asked Jim with deceptive mildness, "didn't I know that already?"
"The message just came in before the briefing started, sir," Uhura answered promptly. "I was waiting until I gave the Communications and Protocol reports."
Jim reminded himself that the Enterprise did not have sole responsibility for every emergency in the galaxy. "Well, President Jiilau seems fated to have only two starships at his inauguration." He reflected without dismay that Komack must be having fits. "In any case, Lieutenant Uhura, let's have that protocol report. What else do we need to know to get along in Altairian society?" The presentation that followed was so routine that it was boring, and Jim reveled in the boredom.
"Thank you, Uhura," he said afterward so sincerely that she looked at him in surprise.
Then she smiled. "You're welcome, Captain."
He glanced down the table to where Spock was doing some file transfer on the library terminal, then back past all the other faces. "Well, people, this meeting is adjourned." He stood at the table as they left, not needing to see them go but not feeling any special urgency to be elsewhere. Spock was gathering up his disks.
Suddenly he looked up and said, "Captain, a word?" and despite the formality of the question, Jim felt suddenly chilled. Everyone else had gone. He and Spock had not been alone since they had had sex; they had never had a chance, or made a chance, to talk about anything that had happened since Spock's aborted marriage. This was not the moment Jim wanted to start.
"Yes, Mr. Spock?"
"I request permission to return to alpha shift, Captain. The research projects in which I was engaged for the last four gamma shifts are complete, and Dr. McCoy assures me that I am in perfect health."
"Really." Jim thought about that. "How did that come up?"
"I asked him to perform a physical exam - "
"You *asked* him? Spock?"
"I did. He also registered some surprise."
"Some surprise! I'll bet." *Love to have been a fly on that wall. Or, on second thought, maybe not.*
"His exact words were, 'Tell Jim you're healthy as a horse and chomping at the bit to get back to work.'"
The joking response left his lips without any second thought: "And you asked him what resemblance you could possibly bear to any member of the genus Equus."
Spock inclined his head, his lips just curved in one of his typical not-smiles, and Jim flashed unexpectedly back to the full smile he had seen on that mouth, only a few times, and the last time was - Jim clenched his teeth while Spock was still saying gently, "Why, Captain, you might almost have been present."
"Yes, well, Mr. Spock, permission granted," Jim said in haste, stepping back, and immediately wondering why he had moved. Spock raised his head slowly; his mouth set and his eyes grew remote. Then he nodded once and left the briefing room, and Jim let a minute or so pass before he followed.
~~~~~
It was autumn on the southern continent, and the goldenwood trees for which the Altair system was so justly famous were alight with subtly shaded yellows: lemon and saffron and honey, banana and wicker and maize. Gracefully curved branches full of perfect oval leaves stood in vases instead of flowers, and President Jiilau's entourage all wore either corsages of fresh leaves or some ornament carved from the glittering wood. But the showpiece of this reception was the long conference table, a huge single plank of goldenwood as long as a shuttlecraft and tapering from two meters wide at one end to .72 meters at the other, as Spock estimated the size. To prevent anyone from carelessly putting food or drink on the precious surface, the table had been tilted so that its widest end slanted up to shoulder-height, while the narrow end was cradled in a rack with accents in latinum, partially obscured by a label in Federation Standard: "Presented to President Aulua Jiilau on the occasion of his inauguration, with the good wishes of the people of the Five Aggregate."Jiilau himself stood near the wide end of the table, flanked by his two spouses, receiving guests and performing for the news service video pickups. He shook hands, saluted, patted shoulders, or whatever form of greeting was most familiar to his guest. At the moment he was flicking a long blue-gray tongue at the Ambassador for the Regulus Allied Corporations. The ambassador, a lean, broad-shouldered woman with a cascade of dark curls, laughed musically and touched Jiilau's cheek, then the cheeks of his husband and his wife.
"That will be a popular clip," said Doctor McCoy, looking on from across the room. "Four beautiful people."
Spock looked down at the glass of fruit juice in his hands, and responded, "Not to mention that the trade agreements being negotiated by this ambassador are of the greatest importance to the Altairian economy."
"Mmm, I suppose a few people watching the vids might be taking the logical view," said McCoy.
"Perhaps."
"*Perhaps*, Spock?"
"It is never easy to predict the reactions of races who allow their emotions to rule their behavior." Spock turned to put the glass down, scanning the reception crowd as he did so.
Jim was standing under the tall windows at the other end of the room, speaking to one of the ministers of the Upper House. He was holding her arm up in the late afternoon sunlight, admiring the goldenwood bracelet on her wrist - and, given his openmouthed smile and the woman's mesmerized expression, admiring the owner of the bracelet as well.
McCoy chuckled. "I see Jim is doing his usual thing."
"Define 'his usual thing,' Doctor."
"Charming the underwear right off all the prettiest young things in sight."
Spock assumed a disapproving expression, but said nothing.
"Oh, it has its uses for the rest of us, no doubt. Considering we missed the inauguration by two days, and God and T'Pau forbid we tell 'em why, the presidents' aids and such are being mighty kind to us. Jim's charm has smoothed a lot of feathers. And various other parts of diplomatic anatomy, I bet. Look at him now."
Spock was looking. He noticed that several other people in his line of sight seemed to be gazing at Jim as well - a considerable number in view of the array of luminaries in the room, quite available to be gawked at: media stars, the command crew of another starship, the diplomats of all the nearest star systems, and the highest officials on the planet. Part of the captain's attraction could be novelty since, among all the celebrities in attendance, only he had not been present for at least some of the earlier functions in a planetwide celebration which had now been going on for several weeks.
Many of the onlookers, however, must have been staring for much the same reason Spock was. Jim Kirk was extraordinarily good to look at as he stood before the backdrop of the window and its glory of sun and yellow-leafed trees and bright sky, in his gold-trimmed dress uniform, bending his gilded head. The woman who laughed with him was a flaxen blonde, dressed in a pale gauzy fabric that glowed against the blue-gray of her skin and that seemed to move even while she was still. And now they *were* moving, walking among the other guests with his hand at her back, steps matching like dancers.
Halfway down the length of the room, Jim suddenly lifted his head and looked straight at Spock, as if he had been aware of Spock's exact location in the room and had known all along that Spock was watching him. His face was unexpectedly solemn, even stern. Their eyes met for only a moment, and then he looked back at his companion.
Spock turned to McCoy. "Excuse me, Doctor," he said. He picked up his juice glass and paced evenly away in the direction of the windows.
~~~~~
McCoy's eyes traveled from the blue sheen across Spock's shoulders to the glint of Jim's hair in the crowd. He shook his head."I wonder..." said a quiet voice at his side. He turned to look, and there was the Ambassador from Regulus. "I wonder, are you a member of the Enterprise crew?"
Her name, he remembered after a moment, was Rachandra Estellare. She had a spare, sculptured beauty that was set off by the soft lines of her layered robes, and her eyes were just the same color as the emeralds on her jeweled openwork collar. She was the prettiest sight McCoy had seen in a month of Sundays, but he also noticed that while he was thinking what to say, she was looking at him with a quizzical smile that suggested that she was at least one step ahead of him.
"Your uniform..." she gestured, paused, and then went on, "I have not seen you at previous inaugural functions."
Thoroughly charmed, McCoy said, "Have you been to so many? I'm delighted to have caught your attention at this one."
"I am collecting the commemorative buttons for each event," she said so gravely that it took him a few seconds to laugh.
He made polite noises about her position as Ambassador, and she began talking about her upcoming negotiations and Altairian exports. "Such as the goldenwood of which that - rather ostentatious table is made."
"Yes, I've been wanting to ask someone about that," said McCoy, mostly meaning it. "It's a beautiful thing."
"It is a very expensive thing." She held out her hand, where she wore three wooden rings and a bracelet carved into links. "I bought these on Regulus, and they cost as much as this - " she gestured at her jeweled collar. "A whole table, and given from the ex-colony to the ex-colonizers, is . . . I don't know the idiom in Standard. It is the sort of gift which creates as many negative as positive feelings in the recipient. A generous gesture which evokes guilt and distress."
"Heaping coals of fire on someone's head?"
"I don't know. That sounds very strange." She pursed her lips a little, an expression McCoy mightily admired. "You do know the colony on Five was founded especially to cultivate goldenwood? The trees grew well there, so well that they became a serious threat to the local ecology - and the colony's only real cash crop."
McCoy looked at the table again. Kudzu that size would certainly be a major annoyance. Then he looked back at the ambassador, beginning to doubt that this encounter had anything to do with his natural charm or sexual magnetism. He asked, "Does Regulus have a trade agreement with Altair 5?"
"Not as yet. Their government is still in the process of formation. We have a petitioner to the Aggregate Constitutional Committee, of course."
Nodding, McCoy pushed a little harder: "You wouldn't be trying to pump me for information, or the official Federation position, or something?"
"Could I get such information from you?"
"No, I'm just an old country doctor."
Now it was her turn to nod, and though her expression was still cordial, he could see the thoughts buzzing behind her eyes. "There *is* a favor I would like to ask of you," she said, "well within a 'country doctor's' purview. Could you point out Captain James Kirk to me?"
At least she was honest, though he was thoroughly put off to find himself, once again, standing in Jim Kirk's shadow. Even when he had from time to time exploited Jim's reputation to meet women, he found it depressing, and now he really had no taste for it. "I'll introduce you to him now, if you wish," he said, on his dignity, and led the way through the crowd; Rachandra followed in silence.
~~~~~
Jim knew this feeling too well, the edginess of delay and uncertainty, and knew how dangerous it was to be so wound up while he could do nothing. If this had been a shore leave, or even an ordinary ceremonial visit when he could have slipped away from the party after a shorter interval, he would have gone somewhere to relax, to get away, even to drink a little. He could not do that now. Couldn't afford to lose himself amongst strangers, couldn't risk the fogginess of hangover later, when something might happen at last.But he knew another drug. How many years ago had he first realized that someone else's body could dull his mind, awake his senses, sidestep his feelings as well or better than the most potent alcohol? And in Rachandra's eyes were the same tension and the same knowledge; she absolved him.
He brought her onto the ship. It was a practical decision, since her dirtside quarters were shared with the members of her little embassy, but he wasn't happy about the hunger in himself that insisted *Sex! Now!* and drove him to this point, when they were in his quarters in the dim light and her eyes were half-lidded and he teased himself with a gradual approach, undressing her slowly. He always liked to do that, and in this case the layered robes were like petals he was pulling back. She stood easily, moving only to give him access to the fastenings of her jeweled collar or to raise her arms away from her sides as he drew down the silken sleeves. Under the outer robe, she wore a sleeveless, knee-length top in a lighter silk. Her shoulders relaxed in his hands; her arms were muscular and smooth-skinned; above the loose, low neckline were the tender hollows of her collarbone and upper ribs. He stroked there and she shivered; he ran his hands down the silk to cup her breasts and she leaned forward, her mouth just opening. Her pliancy excited him. Her small breasts grew warmer in his palms while under his fingertips were the hard edges of her ribs. He kneaded, flattened his hands and rubbed, and felt the nubs of her nipples rise under the cloth. He held her breasts and thought of other breasts he had touched like this.
"Undress me," she reminded him, and he put his fingers into the loose knit of her sash, trying to find the ends or fastenings by touch while he kissed her neck up to her jaw. She chuckled and pushed his shoulders away, then undid the sash herself in a moment. He took off his dress uniform tunic, then bent to slide his hands up her legs, catching her top's edge and lifting it, up her thighs, finding the waist of her loose trousers and dipping index fingers under it just a little, then up the waist, the ribs, making her shiver again as he dragged his nails so lightly over her skin that he could scarcely feel the contact. He pushed his hips into hers, rubbing his erection against the cloth of her pants and his. She raised her chin, closed her eyes, took a deep breath and let it out slowly as he gathered the silk in his hands. He brought it up over her head and she pulled out her arms and wrapped them around his waist. She was a little taller than he. He had to pull her head down to kiss her. He tangled his hands in her hair, combed through the length of it and then did it again, burying his fingers where her hair was as warm as her scalp and dragging down slowly to the cool wash of the ends. He loved long hair.
Her breasts pressed under his collarbone, her hips rode above his, her tongue reached down into his mouth, tickled his soft palate. Oh, yes, he loved that too, every texture of the new body. Here were the ridges at the roof of her mouth; here were the edges of her teeth; the top and the underside of her tongue, the varying textures of her lips and chin and throat: here a little rougher, there a little softer. Taking a new lover, he sometimes felt as if he were drawing a map, running his fingertips or his tongue along all the borders of texture. She seemed now to do the same, moving her fingers in tangled lines up and down his sides and back. She worked his trousers slowly down, her hands on his ass, his thighs, down to the backs of his knees. There she stopped, looking back up at him, laughter in her eyes. "I do not know the fastenings of your boots," she said. So he pulled them off while she stood back - in fact, as he stepped out of the pants and boots, she circled him, looking like a predator deciding where first to bite.
He turned and caught her by the waist and worked his fingers into her trousers, running them back and forth until she writhed and twisted in his arms: she must be ticklish. The waistband rode his wrists as he reached farther down over cooler, tighter skin, filling his hands and making her jump. "You love this," he murmured, "love this," speaking to her and to himself, remembering touch and touching her.
He pulled down her trousers, ignoring her frustrated sound as his hands left her ass, and leaving the fabric heaped around her ankles, stroked up the inside of her calves. She shifted her feet farther apart and he kissed her legs as he rubbed them, up around the thighs, and she said "Ooh," in a small crooning voice as he neared her crotch. He ran his fingertips across the last few inches of the inner thigh, where the skin was a little loose, found the spot where Areel was ticklish, Ruth felt nothing much and Carol was so sensitive that she only wanted the touch when she was so aroused that any movement made her groan. He couldn't remember ever touching Gary there, not on purpose. Probably he had. So warm, but not as warm as -
He jerked his hand back as if he had been burnt, flashing back to the fierce heat of Spock's skin, the way he had moaned deep in his throat when Jim's hand slid between his thighs, the textures of his cock and balls and the *scent* - *oh god she smells all wrong, she feels all wrong, no, what am I thinking? Why else am I here, why did I bring her but because the other is wrong, I'm the captain, I can't have it, I can't have him, dammit, touch her, touch *her** - he reached for her hips, pulled her to his face, rubbed his hot cheeks against her thighs. His forehead was teased by her rough bush of pubic hair, and she thrust her fingers across his scalp and crooned again. He was losing his erection and his throat was tight. If she spoke words, he could not hear them over the roar of his own need to touch a skin not his own and not Spock's and not, in the end, important.
She eased one foot up out of the tangled fabric and stepped back, then moved the other, hands still in his hair. He followed willingly, and step by step she pulled him to the bed. Her grip was strong and she knew exactly where she wanted him to touch her, and as she murmured and pushed at his head and hands, he simply followed her lead. He would not think. He would *not.* Skin, nipple in his mouth, the other breast against his cheek, hands holding her waist. He suckled and licked the tightened aureole, then kissed down over the softness of her stomach and the roughness of the hair that hid her clit, and she flung her legs apart over the sides of the bed as he slipped his hands under her, lifted her ass to put his tongue just where she wanted it.
A drug, a drug, the taste of her and the slick folds he was licking and the way she moved and groaned. He was hard again. He sat up and pulled her hips toward him, entered her and began to rock, then to pump, and she spoke, the same phrase over and over, but not in Standard. Her hands made fists, her fists thumped against the ledge behind her head, and her voice rose still higher and louder and then she came, deep shudders rolling through her. Even her arms shook, and her fists trembled open, fingers fluttering. He came too, watching her.
She lay with her eyes closed and he still looked at her. She drew in a long breath, let it go, and her lips curved in a smile that for a moment wrung his heart: strands of dark hair over the pale forehead, the sharp curve of cheekbones, dark lashes lifting - but her eyes were green and all the shapes were wrong. Her face had no real openness, no special warmth. He pushed back from her and off the bed, and stood looking down at her as she stretched and sat up.
"You have a place I can wash?" she said.
"Through there," he gestured toward the door. "A sonic shower."
She nodded and stood, then touched his cheek. He thought she might say something personal, 'thank you' or 'I liked that' or some such thing, but she just said, "Do you mind if I wash first? Or is there somewhere that you will soon need to be?"
"Be my guest." While she was gone, he picked up her robes and underwear as well as his own uniform and shook them out, pulled on his briefs and pants again. Not, he decided, the dress tunic. He got out one of the green wraparound uniform tops and put it on, pulled on his boots, brushed his hair. There, now at least he was marginally decent, so he could walk her to the transporter room when she was ready to go. He picked up the garnet globe that had rolled off the ledge when she thumped it, realizing that she could not leave soon enough for him. No sooner had he thought so than she reappeared, walking without self-consciousness, completely naked and very beautiful, and he felt nothing but impatience. She looked him up and down with a wry half-smile. "You do have an appointment after all?"
"No," he said, "no appointment."
"Ah." Her voice was thoughtful, her face solemn as she turned to where her clothes lay on the nearby chair. She dressed in silence. When she turned around again, she was the Ambassador, her eyes full of calculation. "Captain," she said, "it is very important to my people that the supply of goldenwood should continue."
"Ambassador, it is very important to the Federation to maintain peace in this solar system and in this sector." It was very strange to deliver one of his planned interview responses in these circumstances, with the scent of sex still on his body and her clothes wrinkled where he had crushed them in his fists or stepped on them. But by the look on her face, postcoital trade negotiations were her daily routine.
"Trade is peace," she said, and he thought he was hearing the single religious tenet of Regulus.
"We shall keep the peace," he reiterated, "and you can see to the trade."
"Jiilau has some idealistic idea of writing the trade agreement in the Five Aggregate's favor. Many of his ministers are furious about it, and the Fivers have no coherent position, no protection." She put one hand on his arm and gazed intently at him. "I tell you, Captain, there is great potential for violence in this situation."
*Tell me something I don't know.* He stared up at her. "From whom?"
"I am neither a terrorist," she said steadily, "nor a policeman. I cannot guess. But I want your promise that you will stop it, prevent it."
"That's what we're here for." He stared, but she did not yield. "You might trust us to do our jobs." *Two starships. Was Komack right - can two starships be not enough?* "You didn't have to fuck me," he said the word deliberately, but she did not react, "to get me to do the job I'm here to do anyway."
Then she did smile a little again, and said, "Oh, no. The fucking was a fringe benefit."
He grabbed her chin in one hand, her shoulder in the other. "Rachandra," he said grimly. It was almost the first time he had said her name at all, certainly the first time since they had beamed up. "What aren't you telling me? That I need to know?" After a moment her eyes slid away, and he knew she would speak.
"I have gotten anonymous letters," she said. "I am afraid to show them, afraid to respond, afraid they will stop. They give me information about Jiilau's government and intentions, and the information has been accurate, as far as I have tried to verify. I have used this information to form my approach to the negotiations. You understand?"
He thought he did, but was not greatly interested in her moral dilemma. "What else do they say?"
"Jiilau moved his inauguration. You know that. What no one knows is why. My letters say that he did receive threats that the ceremony would be disrupted, the temple where the ceremony was being held - you know about that? The fast?&nbssp; He had already done this unprecedented thing, scheduled the ceremony in the temple so that even the fasters could go, even on that day, and then to have the temple threatened - they said they would destroy it, all the people in it, and of course Jiilau and all the offworld guests. Unless Jiilau backed down on a number of initiatives, including the favored trade status for Five. He could have increased security, hunted down the threats - instead he moved the ceremony, put it before the trade vote. He has . . . an unorthodox mind."
Jim nodded. "Go on."
"Now my letters say that the next threat is to destroy the goldenwood itself. A biological agent, a parasite, an explosive barrage, fire, the threats vary but their intent is the same. Five's plantations will be destroyed if Jiilau does not yield."
"And he won't. But you don't trust him to solve the problem either."
"Do you not understand? I cannot rest, I cannot trust others to do what I cannot oversee. This is too important. I cannot lose this concession for my people!" Now her face was naked, now her eyes were alive, much more than during sex. He looked at her and recognized his own obsession. He had seen himself too often this evening, and none of the views were pretty ones. But he put that aside, as he always could when there was a job to do. Right now the job was strategizing, and more than ever he was impatient for her to go - if she really had given all her information.
She seemed to be finished, so he let go of her chin and stepped back. "The next letter comes to me," he said very slowly and forcefully.
Still, she thought about it before nodding. "Yes, I will tell you."
"And any other relevant news." She thought again, and he felt a flare of anger. "This is *not* a negotiation, Rachandra. For god's sake, how are we supposed to work in the dark?" Still she said nothing. "Tell me you are going to cooperate."
"I will," she said at last. He stared at her for a moment or two more, but she seemed candid enough, and after all the logic of the matter was obvious.
"Why did you wait for me? Why not give this information to Captain Chang on the Farragut, when she was here, or Commodore Decker on the Constellation?"
She smiled slowly; he waited for speech too; she touched his cheek again. "I was looking forward to the fringe benefits."
He saw her off the ship and went back to his quarters to shower and change. He needed to chew these ideas over, brainstorm, plan. Eventually he'd have to brief Decker and coordinate their strategies, but first he wanted to get his own plans clear. And there was one person on the ship who had always helped him do that. He pulled the clean shirt over his head and put his hand out toward the comm - and hesitated, and then made an irritated sound and pushed the button. For heaven's sake, if he couldn't discuss strategy with his first officer, one of them had better transfer. The thought was painful. No, no transferring. They would beat this.
"Mr. Spock," he said, and there was no reply. "Mr. Spock? Computer, locate Mr. Spock."
"Mr. Spock is in Rec Room 1," said the computer.
"At this hour?" he asked, and of course got no response. *Well, it won't be crowded - it's as good a place as any.* He closed the comm and left.
Inside the door of the rec room he paused, looking at the deserted space, the empty tables, and Spock at the three-d chessboard. Spock moved a rook, left his fingers on the piece and contemplated it, seemingly unaware of Jim's entrance. Jim walked over and took the chair on the other side of the board. "A problem? Or are you playing the computer?"
Spock looked up with eyes as bleak as Jim had ever seen them. "A problem," he said.
"Well, I have one too." Spock lifted his chin and waited. Jim went on, "I've gotten some information ..." and summarized what Rachandra had told him.
At the end Spock nodded, an eyebrow rising, and said, "Yes . . . that is a plausible account of President Jiilau's motivations. If you feel the source is reliable?"
"'Reliable' is not quite the way I would describe Ambassador Estellare. Or her anonymous letters. But I think she means to tell the truth. This time."
"Then my recommendation is that we acquaint Commodore Decker with this information and that you and he come to an agreement about a suitable course of action."
"Naturally, Mr. Spock. I plan to. But I want your ideas about where we can go from there."
"Surely the Altairian Intelligence agency has some idea who is sending these threats, or President Jiilau or his staff may have some notion. Another line of investigation which we can suggest is to locate the origin of the anonymous letters. This is presumably someone on, or closely associated with, the president's staff."
Jim grinned, picturing Rachandra's reaction to that idea. "I'm sure the Ambassador would prefer not to reveal the existence of the letters."
After a moment, Spock asked, "Do you feel bound to protect her interests?"
"No more than those of any other party." Jim saw Spock's expression shift, but so slightly that he could not tell what the movement meant. "But go on," Jim prompted.
"I suggest a meeting with heads of the relevant agencies and offices. Even if they know nothing, it will be wise to coordinate our efforts and to collaborate with them. After that . . . there will be more options than I can foretell. But one necessity will be to contact Altair 5, perhaps to go there, to be certain that the goldenwood plantations are as well protected from attack as possible."
"Very sensible. If I suggest it, that will likely be our responsibility. So let's be prepared. Research the goldenwood plantations, start making a security plan now. Hmm. I met one of the ministers at the reception: she may give me a way in, let me know more about where the legislature stands. The Ambassador seemed to feel that there was conflict there, and that it might escalate. Maybe I can find out how far it might go."
Spock nodded, then looked down, hesitated, looked up again. "If I may make a request, Captain," he said very formally.
"Go ahead," Jim said, curious.
But Spock looked down again and did not speak.
"What is it, Spock?"
"I have no right to ask," he said, and Jim felt a chill at the slight roughness of his voice. Spock would not meet his eyes and did not go on.
"Spock?"
"I withdraw my request."
"Oh, no," Jim said, "tell me. What's the matter?" He looked at Spock's fingers, gripping the chess piece tightly, the tips and knuckles pale.
"I heard you," said Spock tightly, still not looking up.
"I'm right here - " Jim began blankly, and then he suddenly grasped what Spock was talking about. This time the wave of feeling was scalding. He thought of Rachandra's fists hitting the shelf, and of the noise she made; he thought of Spock leaving his quarters to do chess problems; he remembered feeling absolved but only now let himself know why he had wanted absolution.
"I'm . . ." *sorry,* he didn't say. He was also embarrassed in a way he hadn't been for years. Spock brought out this odd prudery: Jim remembered the awful conversation about 'Vulcan biology' and the way they could not look at each other then. This time, it was the chess piece they were both staring at. Not letting himself dwell on the action, he reached out and touched the back of Spock's hand, then lifted the rook out of his loosened fingers and put it back onto the board.
"I never meant to hurt you." When Jim said that, Spock looked up, but his face was too rigid to read. "Uh, if I did hurt you. I suppose that's the wrong word, an emotion. I'm sorry I disturbed you. Were you trying to sleep?"
"No." Spock's hand curled closed, and he drew it slowly to the edge of the table. "Jim."
Just the name, his own name, and he was flashing back again - the last time he had heard the rough baritone syllable, rougher then. Spock had used no endearments, had hardly spoken, but Jim had never heard his own name sound quite like that.
"Jim," Spock said again, "I -"
"We have to work together," Jim said. "I need my first officer." That was what he knew, and he backed away from hearing anything that would shake it. Anything that would shatter the hard-held composure on the face before him - or his own.
Spock thought for what seemed a long while. Then he said, simply, "You may rely upon me . . . precisely as you have always done."
"Thank you," Jim said, meaning it. "And I - in future I'll -" He didn't really know what he wanted to promise. He wasn't going to stop having sex. "I'll do what I can," he said helplessly, "I'm sorry," remembering Spock's often-repeated opinion that apologies were illogical, and very aware that apologizing for something he might well do again really was absurd.
But Spock only said, surprisingly, "I also am sorry," and then stood. "Permission to go, Captain."
"I'll go," Jim said, standing too, "you can go back to the chess problem."
Now *that* look was irony, one eyebrow rising, the first touch of anything approaching humor that Jim had seen. "I believe I am finished with the chessboard for the present."
Jim wondered what he was avoiding, anyway. Leaving the room at the same time Spock did? Walking down the corridor together? Ridiculous. He made a movement, not quite a shrug, not quite a nod, his lips tugging outward in a kind of smile. An awkward moment that yet was not, somehow, as awkward as he expected. And when they went together to the lift and then to their quarters, walking with Spock at his shoulder felt closer to normal than he thought it could.
~~~~~
Go on to Act II?