Xiong’s visit to the quartermaster was brief and proceeded strictly by the book. The crew of the Bombay was nothing if not efficient. Of course, he reflected, when you’re as busy as they are, you have to be.

Settling into his temporary quarters several minutes later, he felt the low frequency thrumming of the ship’s warp engines ramping up to high power. The Bombay was accelerating rapidly. Xiong dimmed the lights and dropped with a relieved sigh onto the lower rack of a double bunk. Seventy-nine hours to Vanguard, he thought. Folding his arms behind his head, he closed his eyes, heaved a deep sigh, and let himself start to drift off to sleep. More than enough time to finish my report for Commodore Reyes…after a nap.

The door to his shared quarters opened to admit a shrilly whistled tune, followed by the person causing it. The overhead lights snapped on to full strength. Peeking through one eyelid, Xiong silently observed the entrance of a young Tellarite officer whose crimson uniform shirt bore the single cuff stripe of a lieutenant. Xiong had never heard a Tellarite whistle before. It seemed louder and more piercing than human whistling. He guessed that it was because of the Tellarites’ more robust sinus cavities.

Like a sonic drill, the whistling corkscrewed through Xiong’s thoughts. He rolled away from his roommate and pulled his pillow over his head, but still the semi-musical nasal shrieking continued. He must see me, Xiong told himself. After six torturous minutes that felt like an hour, he couldn’t take it anymore. He rolled over, removed the pillow from his face, and shot a steely glare at the porcine-featured whistler. “What the hell are you doing?”

Recoiling with a surprised expression, the Tellarite said, “I am whistling.”

Mustn’t lose my temper. Remain calm. “Why?”

“Because I enjoy it. It helps me think.”

The irony alone made Xiong clench his jaw. “Would you mind stopping for a while? I need to sleep.”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t realize it was bothering you.” The brawny, black-eyed fellow stepped forward and extended his hand. “Lieutenant Nem chim Loak, impulse drive assistant supervisor.”

Xiong shook Loak’s large and rough-textured hand. “Ming Xiong.”

“Nice to meet you, Ming. Which department are you in?”

“I’m not,” Xiong said, already regretting that he’d let the conversation last this long but despairing of a way to end it. “I’m just hitching a ride back to Vanguard.”

“Oh—you must be the A&A officer we just picked up from Sagittarius.”

“Yeah,” he said, choosing to stifle his usual rant about the abbreviation being a misnomer. Though his position was often referred to as “anthropology-and-archaeology officer,” it was Xiong’s opinion that the job was actually about xenology rather than anthropology. Therefore, he liked to tell people that he should be called the “X-and-A officer.” Recently, however, he had been told by more than one person that it was a pretty boring subject for a rant and that he might as well learn to live with the flawed abbreviation.

“So,” Loak said, “what were you doing on—”

“It’s classified.” Just as Xiong had hoped, his comment brought the conversation grinding to an awkward halt. “Anyway, thanks for not whistling. I’m going back to sleep now.”

“Um, sure,” Loak said. “Do you mind if I read for a while?”

“Be my guest.”

Loak grabbed a data display tablet and carried it with him as he climbed into the top bunk. Down below, Xiong rolled over and pulled his pillow back over his head once more. A few deep, measured breaths later, he was almost over the threshold of consciousness, back to sleep.

Then the small room reverberated with Loak’s deep, resonant humming. Loud and tuneless, it was enough to prompt Xiong to indulge in homicidal fantasies: I wonder if I can shove this whole pillow through his snout and into his throat.

Xiong stared up at the bunk bottom above him and projected his seething ire toward the drooping bulge caused by the Tellarite lieutenant. Carefully stripping the bilious anger from his voice, he said with poisonous overpoliteness, “Loak?”

The humming paused. From above came Loak’s cautious “Yes?”

“Are you familiar with the effects of sleep deprivation on humans?”

“Not exactly, but I—”

“It can cause irrational behavior,” Xiong said in a tired monotone that nonetheless conveyed a quiet edge of danger.

“I wasn’t aware of—”

“You never know what might make a sleep-deprived human do something insane. A word spoken out of turn…a tune taken out of context. Any little thing…and a human can just snap.”

“I see,” Loak said softly. “That’s very—”

“Have you ever considered dyeing your hair pink?”

“No,” Loak said defensively.

“Are you planning on sleeping any time between now and when we reach Vanguard?”

Suddenly, Loak sounded nervous. “Why do you ask?”

“No reason,” Xiong said quietly. “No reason at all.” After allowing a few moments for the conversation to sink in, he added, “I’m going back to sleep now.”

There was no reply from the top bunk. Not a word, not a whistle, not a single hummed note. Satisfied that he had made his point, Xiong finally relaxed and fell asleep.

He awoke two hours and nine minutes later to the most horrific snoring he’d ever heard in his entire life. The baritone vibrato of Loak’s deviated septum shook the bunk frame. Glaring through half-lidded eyes, Xiong reminded himself that, as a guest aboard the Bombay, he had the luxury of changing his schedule so that he could sleep while Loak was on duty and simply pass Loak’s sleep cycle elsewhere.

I’m still going to dye his hair pink, he decided.

4

Hostile colors coursed through the elite Political Castemoot SubLink of Tholia. Cacophonous tones of anxiety and dark hues of indignation underscored the collective mind-line of the Ruling Conclave, which reigned supreme over Tholia’s Great Castemoot Assembly and the species’ telepathic network, the Lattice.

The Federation provokes us, insisted Narskene [The Gold]. Too long have we left their trespasses unanswered.

Calming shades of indigo infused the SubLink as Velrene [The Azure] replied, We have made no claim in that region. She offered up memories, several hundred generations old, of Castemoot decisions to push Tholia’s explorations in every other possible direction but into the Shedai Sector. Dozens of thought-facets twinkled with images of inherited history.

Always have we defended our trailing border, interjected Yazkene [The Emerald], referring to the orientation of Tholia’s territory relative to the rotation of the galaxy. Seventeen previous Castemoots planned to repulse the inevitable Klingon encroachment. His mind-line darkened with shame. But when the Federation constructed its starbase, there was no plan. Why were we not poised to retaliate when the Federation came?

Sonorous chimes heralded the inclusion of Falstrene [The Gray] into the discussion. It is pointless to speak of defense unless we commit to colonization. We cannot defend the Shedai Sector from alien incursion unless we occupy it.

Azrene [The Violet] objected with coruscating anger. The Laws of the First Assembly forbid it!

Rolling clamors of dissent propagated laterally and disrupted the Castemoot’s already heated deliberation.

The Klingon Empire did not exist when the First Assembly ratified its canon, retorted Radkene [The Sallow]. The law speaks to the galaxy that was. We must rule in the one that is.

Eskrene [The Ruby] adjusted her mind-line hue to complement Radkene’s. I concur. Might not the Federation aggrieve the Klingons by impeding their expansion? Our enemies may yet neutralize one another, leaving the Shedai Sector barren once more. Patience is—

Deafening and blinding, an excruciating thought-pulse ripped through the Political Castemoot. Hues blanched to near-transparency, mind-lines faded, the SubLink faltered. Instinct propelled the conclave participants to escape the SubLink, to retreat into the broader sanctuary of the Tholian Lattice. But there was no peace to be found; a piercing wave of psionic power held the Tholian race in its crushing grip. In a flash, every Tholian mind knew the icy touch of enslavement.