No, check that. One more odd thing. Under “personal statement/goals,” Luther Sloan had written “to someday be Head of Starfleet Intelligence.”

If she hadn’t met the man, Uhura might have taken that for what it was obviously meant to be—a brash young man’s egotistical fantasy, a little bit of top-of-the-world-Ma showing off. But there was nothing brash about the Luther Sloan who had just walked through that door.

This was no fantasy. Behind that bland mask of a face was a man driven by ambition. He’d meant every word. The very statement was a dare. He was showing his hand in the most blatant way possible, and daring anyone to challenge him.

“Head of SI? Not while I live and breathe, Mr. Sloan!” Uhura said very quietly, wiping the screen and any trace that she’d been prying into his file. Then she focused her attention on the message from Starfleet Command.

The virus heretofore designated Catalyst, it stated, did not exist. The entity which had claimed 1,076 Federation lives was judged to be a rare and self-limiting mutant off-shoot of R4b2 Rigelian fever, and precautionary vaccinations were just that, precautionary. No additional outbreaks of said R-fever had been reported effective this date, medical experts (Uhura wondered if Crusher, Selar, or McCoy were among them) were on record indicating no further outbreaks were anticipated, case closed.

Any rumors about an unusual fever affecting Romulans were just that, rumors, and had no connection whatsoever with R4b2 R-fever or the mythological Catalyst. There was no reason to suspect bioterrorism, and no information about the R-fever outbreaks would be relayed to any individual within the Romulan Empire or elsewhere, end of report.

Even as Sloan stood there pretending he wasn’t looking at her, Uhura had been running scenarios in her head, trying to think of a way around the interdict. There weren’t any. Once she gave the C-in-C her word, her hands were tied.

Now, if Sloan had arrived five minutes earlier…

Luxury, Zetha decided, is a hot shower. Not just a mob of you lined up to make a quick pass under the sonics to kill the bugs in your hair the way we did in the House, not the rusty lukewarm trickle that was all the plumbing in Aemetha’s house would ever yield, but hot running water coursing down your body, first thing in the morning, every single day. Maybe again at night before you went to bed, or any time you wanted. A real hot-water shower, the water pulsing so hard it hurt, or caressing you, flowing over you, washing away all the bad things, so that you always looked forward to the new day.

Luxury is clothes that fit, that have never been worn by anyone else. Luxury is knowing that you can fill your belly without anyone else going hungry. Luxury is knowing you have a right to live, a right to your own identity that no one can take from you.

But with that luxury comes uncertainty. When you have something to push against, the pushing becomes everything. When the fear is taken away, it’s as if the ground you’re standing on has suddenly slipped out from under you.

Who am I? What am I? Where do I go from here?She had never had time to ask those questions before, and now that she did, she wasn’t sure she wanted the answers.

Dr. Selar had restored her freckles exactly where they belonged. She was still a ghilikwith no family name, but that didn’t seem to matter here. She still wore the sash Aemetha had given her; Tahir’s smooth stone was still in her pocket. And she had an important piece of information, courtesy of Dr. McCoy.

“Whoever told you you’re a hybrid never really studied your codes,” he told her, having completed one last favor for Uhura and double-checked the initial tests Crusher had done by performing a complete genetic scan. “Or else they flat-out lied. You’re as Romulan as I am human.”

And?she thought. That bit of knowledge was at once a shock and an indifference. Had someone, perhaps the lord so aloof she never learned his name, manipulated her data from birth so as to control her all her life? Did it mean she could return to Romulus and demand her birthright as a fullblood? Did she care?

“If you were human, I’d recommend counseling,” was Crusher’s opinion. “After a lifetime of being told you don’t exist, you’re suddenly faced with a lot of choices.”

“Am I?” Zetha asked. It had never occurred to her that she would be free to decide. She assumed the reason Admiral Uhura had asked to see her was in order to give her instructions for her next mission. Wasn’t it obvious that she must now be used as a weapon against her own people?

Don’t anticipate,she told herself. Wait until you hear what the admiral has to say.

For what seemed like the thousandth time, Uhura reread her resignation letter, fiddled with the commas and semicolons, saved it, and considered. Her perfectly manicured finger hovered over the Send button and almost came down. She thought of her Listeners still in the field, the numberless spiderweb threads flung out from this office across two quadrants, constantly sending information her way and resonating to her guidance. Not for the first time, she wondered what would happen to all of them if she resigned.

What makes you think you’re the only one who can do this?she asked herself. Offhand you can think of half a dozen people you’ve handpicked and trained yourself who could do as well or better.

But what guarantee did she have that the C-in-C would take her suggestions and replace her with one of those handpicked agents? The answer, she knew, was no guarantee at all. For some reason, she couldn’t get Sloan out of her mind.

Her finger hovered over the Send button yet again. Who do you think you’re kidding?she asked herself ruefully, before putting the resignation letter away for another year just as Thysis buzzed Zetha in.

“You wanted to see me, Admiral?”

Uhura motioned her to a chair. The girl sat on the edge. She was as petite as Sisko was large, but her coiled and waiting posture at the end of this mission was a mirror image of his at the beginning.

“I have some news for you,” Uhura began. “It’s about your Godmother.”

“When…how—?” Please!Zetha asked whatever gods or Elements might be paying attention. Please tell me…

“Before the away team even left Earth, I sent word back to Senator Cretak that you and your message had arrived safely. I told her what you’d told Tuvok during your interrogation, in an attempt to get confirmation from her that your story checked out. At the same time, I had one of my Listeners search for Aemetha.”

Admiral Uhura paused and smiled. “Your Godmother is alive and well. In fact, my Listener reports that Senator Cretak has given the truth to your original story and more or less adopted her. I’m told she intends to put forward some legislation to pay some attention to the street urchins. She’s doubtful it will pass the full Senate, but she indicated that if it doesn’t, she will at least see to Aemetha’s house.”

Zetha said nothing. If Aemetha had escaped the Tal Shiar’s reach, likely Tahir had as well. Did she dare ask? If the admiral knew, she would have told her. Don’t ask for too much,she thought. She heard Uhura sigh.

“It’s been a luxury being able to communicate with Cretak this far,” the admiral said, almost to herself. “I’m afraid what happened on Renaga—even though officially it never happened—will make communication that much more difficult from now on. But—” Uhura seemed to remember she was thinking out loud. She stopped herself and smiled again at Zetha. “Neither your problem nor your concern, my dear. Do you have any idea what you would like to do next? Or have we yet convinced you that we don’t intend to kill you?”

Zetha suppressed a small smile, then grew serious. The question frankly puzzled her.