“It was my first impulse,” Shelby said. “But Starfleet wants Tridentto remain here.”

“Here? In the middle of nowhere? Captain, with all respect, that’s absurd. We’ve been surveying the sector, trying to find a trace of the Beings. If we now know they’re involved in planetary politics on Danter, why stay here?”

“Exactly the question I posed to Starfleet.”

“And their response?”

“They told me they wanted Tridentto remain here.”

Mueller grunted at that. “Why am I not surprised.”

Suddenly the com unit whistled in the ready room. “Hash to Captain,” came the voice of the Tridentops officer, Romeo Takahashi.

Shelby immediately noticed that his customary leisurely (and most likely affected) drawl was absent, and that promptly got her full attention. If Hash was all business, something was up.

“Shelby here.”

“Captain, you might want to get out here. We got a Romulan ship decloaking a thousand kils to starboard. And it ain’t like any Romulan ship I’ve ever seen.”

“Shields up,” Shelby said immediately. If a Romulan ship was dropping its cloaking device, that could easily be a precursor to an attack, and she was not about to take the chance that it was otherwise. She was on her feet even as she snapped out the order, and Mueller was preceding her out the door.

II.

It was a Romulan vessel, all right. The markings, the general shape were most distinctive. But Hash had been absolutely on the money: It was like no other Romulan ship that Shelby had ever seen. “XO?” she floated the unvoiced question, since Mueller was generally rather on top of things such as odd bits of knowledge.

Mueller simply shook her head, even as she took her post at the second-in-command station. “Unfamiliar with it, Captain.”

“Talk to me, people. What have we got?”

Arex was positioned at tactical; the Triexian was running scans with his three capable arms moving in all directions at once. “Energy pattern is definitely that of a Romulan ship, Captain ... as if the presence of a cloaking device wasn’t sufficient.”

“Weaponry?”

“Two heavy-duty plasma cannons, a photon torpedo array ...”

“Are they running weapons hot?” asked Shelby, her gaze fixed on the newcomer.

“Negative, Captain. They’re just sitting there.”

“It’s not a warbird ... it’s not a bird-of-prey,” Hash was muttering. “What the hell is it?” He glanced at Mick Gold, the conn operator who was seated near him. Gold, a slender young black man who was rarely at a loss in coming up with arcane facts, simply shrugged.

The turbolift doors hissed open and Lieutenant Commander Gleau entered. The science officer took one look at the monitor screen and said in surprise, “I’ll be damned. A bird-of-paradise.”

All heads snapped around and looked at him. “A what?”demanded Shelby.

“That’s what Starfleet calls it,” said Gleau, heading over to the science station. “We don’t know what the Romulans call it. I’ve heard it described, but never actually seen it. There’s only one in the Romulan fleet. It belongs to the emperor.”

“The Romulanemperor?” asked Hash.

Gleau looked to the ops officer with a slightly withering glance. “No, Lieutenant, the emperor Julius Caesar.”

“Belay the sarcasm, Gleau,” Mueller snapped.

Gleau bobbed his head slightly in acknowledgment, but still had that smug expression on his face.

“What would the Romulan emperor be doing out here?” Shelby wondered.

“I doubt he’s aboard,” said Mueller. “If the emperor were going somewhere, Romulan protocol would certainly require an escort.”

“My surmise as well, Commander,” said Gleau. “I’d theorize that it’s serving to transport someone whom the emperor holds in high regard. To attack the bird-of-paradise would be regarded as tantamount to an attack on the emperor himself, and would earn the enmity of the whole of the Romulan empire.”

“It’d be a more daunting message if more people knew what the damned thing was,” muttered Shelby. “Arex, see if you can raise them.”

“Unnecessary, Captain. They’re hailing us.”

“Are they?” Shelby shrugged. “Well, then ... let’s see what they have to say.”

The screen wavered for a moment, and then a face filled the screen. It was not, however, the face of a Romulan, even though the angled eyebrows and pointed ears gave him a passing resemblance to one. But he was most definitely a Vulcan, and a rather aged one at that. The sides of his hair were streaked with gray, and he carried his solemnity like a great cloak.

Shelby had risen from her command chair and was about to speak when she heard a startled gasp from behind her. She half-turned to see that Arex was staring at the screen in more than just astonishment. He was gaping in what could only be shocked recognition.

The Vulcan tilted his head slightly in mild confusion. When he spoke, his voice was low and gravelly, and there was just a touch of wry amusement in his tone. “Lieutenant Arex?”

Arex managed a nod.

The Vulcan continued, “You are a long way from home, Lieutenant.”

“I could say the same of you, Mr. Spock.”

“Indeed. However, I believe it safe to say that I am somewhat the worse for wear.”

“Mis ... Ambassador Spock,” Shelby automatically corrected herself. “You have us at a bit of a loss, sir. May I ask what you’re doing out here, aboard what we believe is a personal vessel of the Romulan emperor?”

“You may indeed,” replied Spock. And then he waited, eyebrow raised in a minuscule fashion.

Shelby moaned inwardly. His reputation for precision and proper phrasing of language was obviously well earned. “What are you doing out here, Ambassador?”

“Rendezvousing with you, Captain. Starfleet tends to be rather ... cautious ... in any of its communiquйs that involve me. My ongoing work with Romulus and striving for reunification with my own people remains a matter of some delicacy. I will tell you more once I am aboard Trident.”

“Very well. Send coordinates through and we’ll be more than happy to beam you aboard.”

The arched eyebrow went ever higher. “I am always wary of humans who are ‘more than happy,’ Captain. Such excess rapture often leads to most unhappy outcomes.”

“I will remember that, Ambassador,” said Shelby, trying not to smile at the gravity which the Vulcan imparted to every pronouncement, whether it be Starfleet directives or grammatical commentaries.

“In addition, Captain ... I believe I may have something that belongs to you.”

“Something that ... ?”

And Shelby was dumbfounded as Spock stepped slightly to one side, to reveal Kalinda and a slightly abashed Si Cwan standing near him. Si Cwan bowed slightly in a vaguely mocking greeting.

“Si Cwan?”said a surprised Kat Mueller. “We tried to get in touch with you on Danter, and couldn’t!”

“A most logical outcome,” Spock observed, “considering that they were aboard this vessel.”

“We were forced to depart Danter under less-than-ideal conditions,” said Si Cwan.

Kalinda added helpfully, “If you can term a stolen runabout that was so badly shot up the entire thing was breaking down as ‘less-than-ideal.’ ”

“I think that would qualify, yes,” said Shelby. “Ambassador Cwan ...”

He raised a hand and, looking a bit pained, said, “Captain ... if you’re planning to say ‘I told you so,’ at the very least do me the courtesy of waiting until I’m there rather than broadcasting it.”

“I had no intention of saying that, Cwan. Prepare for beam-over. Shelby out.” She turned and asked, “Arex? Have you got their coordinates?”

“Just coming through from the bird-of-paradise now, Captain.”

“Good. Feed them down to the transporter room. XO, Arex, with me. Gleau, you have the conn.”

“Captain,” spoke up Arex, “might we include Lieutenant M’Ress in the welcoming party. Both she and I have significant past history with the ambassador.”