Tuvok un-nocked the last arrow and handed Sisko the bow. Not for the first time, Tuvok noticed the human admiring the craftsmanship.

“Not bad for a southpaw,” he said, handing it back. “How’d you learn to shoot like that?”

“In ancient times, many Vulcan tribes were skilled archers.” Tuvok stored the bow beneath his sleeping compartment. “The arid climate is conducive to accuracy over great distances, though the heavier gravity also presents some challenges. Nevertheless, if one can learn to shoot an arrow on Vulcan, the skill is commensurately easier on other worlds.”

“That’s the long answer,” Sisko said with a slight smile. “Is there a short one?”

“I have taught the principles of archery at the Vulcan Academy of Defensive Arts,” Tuvok replied. “And to assume that one who is naturally left-handed is any more or less skilled than someone who is right-handed…”

“I stand corrected,” Sisko said with a wink in McCoy’s direction. The aged doctor chuckled. “I’d better get back to work on that adapter,” Sisko continued. “How much longer will you and Selar need to finish your collecting?”

“That will depend on the outcome of Dr. Selar’s tests on today’s specimens,” Tuvok said thoughtfully. “Unless, of course, what disturbed the Sliwoni escalates into a situation which necessitates our abrupt departure.”

“Which I can’t guarantee until I can get that damn adapter to do what it was designed to do, or jury-rig something else that will,” Sisko said.

Tuvok glanced around the cabin, feeling a frown form on his face. “Where is Zetha?” the Vulcan asked quietly.

Now it was Sisko’s turn to frown. “I don’t know.”

“You want to what?” Crusher had demanded. “I don’t think that’s a good idea at all.”

“Is there a medical reason why she can’t be cleared to accompany the away team?” Uhura asked.

“You know there isn’t. There’s some evidence of childhood malnutrition, but she’s in excellent health now,” Crusher half-whispered, leaning into the screen and hoping Zetha couldn’t hear. Crusher was in her office, separated from the examining room by a clearsteel partition. Just past her left shoulder, Uhura could see Zetha sitting upright and quite still on the end of the diagnostic bed, studying her surroundings with her characteristic alertness, and no doubt aware that she was being discussed in the next room. “You still haven’t told me who she is or what’s going on.”

Medical had always had a special place within Starfleet hierarchy. Doctors regardless of their rank reserved the right to tell off their superiors at regular intervals and, technically, Crusher did not answer to Uhura or anyone in SI, but to her superiors at Medical. So if she chose to address the admiral as a peer and even, on occasion, chew her out, it was expected.

“She’s the courier who brought the locket across the Zone,” Uhura said.

“She came all this way through hostile space, carrying something that could have killed thousands if the inner seal was breached—” The very thought made Crusher breathless. “She’s barely out of her teens!”

“And a Romulan, not some spoiled human kid. From what Tuvok’s been able to gather, a Romulan with no family who grew up on the streets. Tuvok’s not entirely sure whether or not she’s a trained operative.”

“Oh, and so you want to send her back the way she came and hope she doesn’t signal her superiors and betray the rest of your team. Brilliant!”

“I thought it was,” Uhura said calmly, pretending she didn’t hear the sarcasm in Crusher’s voice. “Because if she does make the attempt—and I believe Tuvok’s capable of preventing her from completing such an attempt—then we’d know for sure that her story’s a fake, wouldn’t we?”

Crusher managed to look chagrined. “I hadn’t thought of that.”

“Which is why you’re a doctor, not an intelligence operative,” Uhura said before McCoy could. The old grouch had gotten the hang of Heisenberg’s holo program, and found he enjoyed virtually loitering in her office to eavesdrop whenever the fish weren’t biting. “I want her along for cover on worlds where there are Romulan speakers. As good as they are, Tuvok and Selar are still Vulcans. There are circumstances under which an outright lie could trip them up, and nuances of the culture and the language that Zetha can pick up that the others might not. And I do believe that, in the custody of three Starfleet officers, there’s very little harm she can do. How would you characterize her mental status?”

“She seems…wary,” Crusher conceded. “As I would be in strange surroundings, among a people I’d never seen before who spoke a language I only partly understood. Oh, yes,” she said off Uhura’s puzzled look. “She’s already mastered the rudiments of Standard and then some. She wanted to know exactly what I was doing, what each instrument was for…”

Zetha had been watchful but cooperative during most of the examination, answering questions, following instructions. “Close your left eye, now your right eye, stick your tongue out, inhale, exhale, cough. Does this hurt? What about this? This may sting a bit. Lie down, sit up, stand on one foot, hop on the other,” and so on. Only the hypospray seemed to alarm her.

“What is that?” she had demanded when she saw what the healer had in his hand, her muscles tensing, ready for fight or flight. Pointless. At the weak-chinned Tal Shiar operative’s nod, the injection was administered, and the healer left the room.

“Nutritional supplements,” the weak-chinned lord said. “You’re not a little malnourished.”

“No, really? After a lifetime on the streets? Who’d have imagined?”

“Dispense with the sarcasm,” he snapped. “It’s very unattractive.”

“Of course, Lord,” she’d replied flatly. Did he know this was the greatest sarcasm of all?

“What is that?” she demanded again when Crusher approached her with the hypo. Either side of the Marches,Zetha thought, it’s all the same!

“I’m not injecting you with anything,” Crusher explained gently, stepping back a little at her alarmed look. Professional manner aside, she’d taken an immediate liking to the girl and wanted to put her at ease. “It’s just a blood draw. Some of it will be used in our research, but mostly it’s to make sure you’re healthy.”

“She does seem to be wound too tight,” Crusher acknowledged. “But that may be normal for a Romulan. It might also be a little bit of post-traumatic stress. Did she give you any details on how she got here? I imagine it must have been harrowing. She’d need to process that.”

“But would you say she’s fit to travel?”

“If I say no, you’ll lock her away in one of your famous SI containment rooms, at least until the away mission returns. Which could be weeks or…longer.” Neither woman was willing to complete the thought that the away mission might not return at all. “But if I say yes, and you send her into the Zone, at least part of the responsibility is mine.”

Just past Crusher’s shoulder, Uhura watched Zetha slide quietly off the diagnostic table and begin moving slowly around the enclosed room, not touching anything, but examining every object she could see from every possible angle, as if memorizing it. She did not, Uhura’s practiced eye noted, bother to try the door or seek any other avenue of escape, at least not overtly. But then she would know she was being watched, so perhaps she would do that later. Her actions could be equally interpreted as those of a curious child, or a spy.

“Let me worry about that, Doctor. Is there any way you can give me an objective assessment of her state of mind?”

“You mean anything that might indicate whether she’s been conditioned, trained to lie?”

“Not necessarily.”

“There are tests I can run, but whether they’d work on a Romulan…we know so little about them, and half of that’s rumor laced with propaganda. I doubt a standard DSM score would work, but—”