But Soleta waved her off impatiently. "It's not about that. Not about that at all."

At this, Selar was bit surprised. "Well, then. . . perhaps you wish to explain it to me."

"I do not. Now release me from my promise." "

No."

The two women stared at each other, each unyielding in their resolve. It was Soleta who broke first. She looked away from Selar, and in a voice so soft that even Selar almost missed it, she murmured, "It is for your own good."

"My own good? Lieutenant, I need your help. That is where my 'own good' lies."

"You do not want my help."

"I believe I know what I want and—"

"You do not want my help!"

The outburst was so unexpected, so uncharacteristic, so un-Vulcan, that—had Selar been human— she would have gaped in undisguised astonishment. As it was she could barely contain her incredulity. Soleta looked as if someone had ripped out a piece of her soul. She was fighting to regain her composure and was only partly successful. Selar, in all her years, had never encountered a Vulcan whose emotionality was so close to the surface. All she knew was that she was beginning to feel less like a supplicant and more like a tormentor.

"I release you," she said slowly.

Soleta let out an unsteady sigh of relief. "Thank you," she said.

Clearly, now, she wanted to leave. She wanted to put as much distance between herself and Selar as she possibly could. But the reasons for her outburst, and Selar's open curiosity, were impossible to ignore. She could not pretend that it had not happened, and—despite the size of the it was, in the grand scheme of things, a small place to live when there was someone whose presence was going to make you uncomfortable. Particularly when it was someone such as the ship's CMO; not exactly the type of person one could hope never to have any interaction with.

Soleta leaned against the wall, her palms flat against it, as if requiring the support of it. She weighed all the possibilities, and came to what she realized was the only logical decision. Still, she had to protect herself. "If I tell you something relating to my medical history . . . will you treat it under the realm of doctor/patient confidentiality."

"Does it pose a threat to the health or safety of the crew of the Excalibur?"

The edges of Soleta's mouth, ever so slightly, turned upward. "No. No, not at all."

"Very well."

She took a deep breath. "I am ... impure," she said. "You would not want me in your mind."

"How do you mean 'impure'? I do not understand."

"I am not. . . full Vulcan."

Selar blinked, the only outward indication of her surprise. "Your records do not indicate that." She paused, considered the information. "It is an unexpected revelation, but it is hardly cataclysmic. Your attitude, your demeanor, indicates you consider your background to be ... shameful in some manner. Some of the greatest Vulcans in history do not have 'pure' parentage."

"I am aware of that. I am personally acquainted with Ambassador Spock."

"Personally." Selar was impressed, and made no effort to keep it out of her voice, "May I inquire as to the circumstances?"

"We were in prison together."

Selar found this curious, to say the least, but she decided that it was probably preferable not to investigate the background of that statement. Clearly there were greater problems to be dealt with. Selar was all too aware that bedside manner was not her strong suit. And her experiences since the death of her mate, Voltak, had done nothing to soften her disposition. She knew that she had become even more distant and remote than her training would require, but she had not cared overmuch. Truthfully, since Voltak had died those two long years ago, she had not cared about anything. Nonetheless it was clear that Selar had to put aside her own concerns and deal with those of Soleta.

She placed a hand on Soleta's shoulder. Soleta looked at it as if it were an alien artifact. "Neck pinch?" she asked.

"I am endeavoring to be of comfort," Selar said formally.

"Nice try." The words had a tint of humor to them, but Soleta did not say them in an amused manner.

Slowly Selar removed her hand from Soleta's shoulder. Then she straightened her uniform jacket and said, "I do not recall your service record indicating any mixed breeding. Although I will respect the bond of doctor/patient confidentiality, falsifying your record is frowned upon. In some instances, it could even result in court-martial in the unlikely event your parentage included a hostile race such as . . ."

Her voice trailed off as she saw Soleta's expression, anticipating the word. Selar barely dared speak it. "Romulan?" she whispered.

Soleta nodded.

"You . . . lied about one of your parents being Romulan?"

But at that Soleta shook her head. Slowly she sank back down into the couch.

"My mother was Vulcan," she said softly. "I thought my father was as well. They were colonists . . . scientific researchers. Severalthey had endeavored to conceive a child, but each time the pregnancy had resulted in miscarriage. It was a tragic circumstance for them, but they dealt with it with typical Vulcan stoicism. Besides, they had their work to keep them occupied.

"And then there came a day when my mother was on a solo exploration, my father occupied with something else. To her surprise, she came upon a downed ship, a small, one-man vessel. Deciding that there might be someone in need of rescue, she investigated. She found someone. He was a Romulan, injured from the crash. He said he was a deserter."

"A deserter?"

"So he claimed. He begged my mother not to inform anyone of his presence. His concern was that the Federation would turn him back over to the Romulan government . . . or else put him in prison. She informed him that she could not make that promise. It would have been logical for her to lie, but my mother could not bring herself to do so. He was very angry with her, tried to stop her. She fought him and then she . . ." Soleta lowered her voice. "She learned the true nature of his background. He was not a deserter. He was an escaped criminal. A violent, amoral individual, and he . . ."

Her voice trailed off. But there was no need to finish the sentence.

Selar said nothing. She did not trust herself to be able to speak without emotion.

"When my mother returned home, she was already pregnant," said Soleta. "She contemplated having an abortion . . . and rejected it. It was not a logical decision."

"Not logical." Selar, who prized logic no less than any Vulcan, couldn't quite believe what she'd heard. "Had she aborted the pregnancy, you would not be here."

"True enough. But considering the circumstances of my conception . . . the nature of my sire . . . making certain that I was not born would have been the logical choice. But my mother and . . . the man I thought of as my father . . . they felt it . . . illogical . . . to dismiss my existence simply because of who my true father was. They were willing to take the chance that I would not be some sort of violent criminal. That their care, their training, their guidance, would be more than enough to overcome whatever unfortunate tendencies my genetic makeup might carry with it. It was a foolish gamble, but one they were willing to make. Perhaps they were not thinking clearly because of their frustrated encounters with Ponfarr.Or perhaps they were too . . . disoriented . . . by the recent events to come to a more sensible decision. Whatever the reason, they chose to let the pregnancy proceed. This time, she did not miscarry. There is a great irony in that, I suppose."