Her nerves still jangling from recent events, Uhura had her phaser out before she realized it.

“Who’s there?” she demanded, whirling around, activating her translator and trying to keep her voice steady.

The response was silence, as of someone holding their breath hoping not to be discovered.

Too late for that now,Uhura thought. Whoever you are, I’ve got you!

“Come out of there,” she ordered quietly. “I’m armed. I won’t harm you if you show yourself, but you’ve got to come out now.”

Still nothing. Phaser at the ready, she moved quickly, pushing doors open randomly, her eye on the second-to-last booth. By now she could hear labored breathing, as if whoever was in there was no longer attempting to hide, but rather was coiled, ready to spring. Pushing the final door open with her phaser hand, Uhura made a grab at a bundle of quilted fabric, found a limb underneath, wrapped her hand around flesh and bone and yanked, hard.

She swung her captive around, out of the booth, and against the wall, casually frisking her for concealed weapons, finding only a small honor blade, which she palmed and slipped into her uniform belt before really taking stock of what she had on her hands.

It was a very young Romulan female, wearing the livery of the diplomatic corps. She was ashen, and not only from the effects of having a phaser pointed at her throat. Her face was smudged with tearstains, and fresh tears started in her luminous brown eyes.

“A-are you going to kill me?” she stammered.

She was just a child, Uhura realized. Probably some diplomat’s daughter, frightened by all the shooting, needing to empty her bladder and wash the tears off her face before she disgraced herself. And here was a Starfleet officer scaring her all over again. So much for diplomacy! Chagrined, not for the first time that day, Uhura put her phaser away.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “No, I’m not going to kill you. But after what just happened in that conference room, I thought maybe youwere planning to kill me.”

As if remembering, the girl started to tremble, and Uhura resisted the urge to put an arm around her and comfort her. She wasRomulan, she reminded herself. How would someone from her culture handle it? In a gesture of complete trust, she held out the honor blade and, when the girl did not take it, pointedly placed it in her hand and turned her back to her, returning to the mirror.

“It’s my guess,” she said, addressing the mirror, watching the girl’s reflection, “that you’ve never seen anyone killed before. It’s horrifying. I know.”

“You are a Starfleet officer,” the girl said seriously, weighing the blade in the palm of her hand for a moment before concealing it within her quilted tunic. “You must be accustomed to it.”

Uhura put the finishing touches on her hair and dropped the comb in the disposal. She contemplated the choices of lip color in the dispenser as she continued to address the girl without looking directly at her. “Believe me, honey, even if you’re trained for it, you never get used to it. And youcertainly weren’t expecting it. My guess is you came here with your family, expecting nothing more than an offworld adventure, a chance to mingle with other species, enjoy some exotic food in alien surroundings—”

She watched the girl’s spine stiffen.

“Do not mistake me for some sheltered child. I am an aide to Senator Pardek. I—” She as quickly snapped her jaw shut, angry. “You are a spy! You are trying to trick me!”

“Oh, for pity’s sake!” Uhura exploded, turning on her. “May I remind you that you’re the one who was hiding from me?”

That seemed to back her off. Uhura programmed in her makeup choices, powdered her nose, touched up her eyebrows, applied the lip color she’d chosen, all in silence, watching the Romulan the entire time. Finally the girl sidled up to the mirror beside her. She ran some water into the palms of her hands, splashed her face. Uhura handed her a towel, which she took after only a moment’s hesitation.

“Forgive me,” she said at last, watching Uhura’s reflection in the mirror as well even though they were all but standing shoulder to shoulder. “You are correct. This whole event has been…not what I expected. I rushed in here because I was feeling ill. I had hoped no one would find me until I had regained my composure.” She disdained the choice of combs in the dispenser, and began running her fingers through her helmet of dark hair. “That is the only reason I was hiding. And then for you to take me for a child…”

“That was presumptuous of me,” Uhura said. “Guess I owe you an apology as well. Here, you’ve got the part all crooked. Allow me…”

With that she selected a fresh comb from the dispenser and began to groom the Romulan’s short, dark hair; the girl permitted it, and seemed to relax with the added attention.

“There, now, that’s much better!” Uhura announced when she had done, leaving the young woman to wonder if she meant the apology, or the repair to her person. “You okay now?”

The girl listened to the translation, then nodded.

“If it’s any consolation,” Uhura said, disposing of comb and makeup, and wiping the water spots off the basin before disposing of the towel, “the first time I saw someone killed, I also lost my breakfast.”

She waited for the translator to render that into an analogous Romulan idiom before she offered her hand and said, “My name is Uhura. Nyota. May I ask yours?”

“Cretak.” The girl’s handshake was firm and decisive. “Kimora.”

“Kimora,” Uhura repeated, smiling. “That’s lovely. But I will of course call you Cretak until we know each other better.”

“Will we?” Cretak withdrew her hand, tucked both hands into her sleeves; it made her look very dignified. “I do not see how. After what happened in that conference chamber, no doubt our peoples will consider each other enemies for a very long time.”

“Why? Because some on both sides turned out to be traitors not only to the peace process but to their own people?” Uhura waved it away. “Either we’re all implicated with the traitors or none of us are.”

“Truly?” Cretak considered it. “How ironic!”

“What?”

“That I am in training to be a diplomat, yet this is an aspect of diplomacy that I had never considered.”

“There’s a jewel in the bottom of every Pandora’s box.”

“Pandora’s box? What an interesting expression. What does it mean?”

Uhura told her.

Cretak tilted her head like a bird, considering this. “A moral, no doubt. There are many such tales in my culture as well.”

“Which shows we’re more alike than different,” Uhura suggested.

For the first time, the young Romulan smiled. “If only it were that simple!”

“It can be,” Uhura said. “Azetbur and Kirk have just made peace. And so have you and I.”

“And so with that the two of you became lifelong friends,” Curzon suggested dryly.

“Hardly,” Uhura sighed. “You know how they say timing is everything? Just then a whole flock of Andorians came fluttering through the door and, as if we’d rehearsed it, Cretak slipped outside, I checked my hair in the mirror one last time to give her time to put some distance between us, then I went back to join my crewmates.”

Whom she found, just on a hunch, diligently working the buffet, rounding up traitors having had no noticeable effect on their appetites. The only one missing was Spock, whom she couldn’t find at first in the crowded room. Escorting Valeris into custody, Uhura assumed, not wanting to think of what that scene must have been like. It really was a shame. Such a bright young woman, her whole career ahead of her…

Two things happened simultaneously. First, Uhura spied Spock at last, talking rather seriously to a portly Romulan senator at the far side of the room. Among the senator’s staff, most of them female, most of them young, she caught a glimpse of Cretak, who, as if sensing she was being watched, glanced briefly in Uhura’s direction, and as quickly looked away. Or had she been watching her, Uhura wondered, ever since she’d entered the room?