Then Mueller came out, smoothing out her uniform shirt. “Ambassador,” she said briskly. “Good to have you back. Are you free for dinner tonight?”

“I ... suppose, yes.”

“My quarters. Twenty-two hundred hours. You remember the way?”

“Yes, I—”

“Good.” Her back ramrod-straight, she walked briskly away in the opposite direction from Gleau.

Si Cwan and Kalinda stared at one another. “You know what I’ve noticed about these Starfleet vessels?” asked Kalinda. “I always feel like I’m coming in on the middle of someone else’s scenes.”

III.

As the conference lounge emptied out, Kat Mueller realized that she and Gleau were going to be the last ones out. “Lieutenant Commander Gleau,” she said softly, standing right next to him. “A moment of your time, if you please.”

He looked at her questioningly as the conference lounge door slid shut behind the departing form of Spock. He had been standing, but now eased himself into the nearest chair. “What can I do for you, Commander? If you’re looking for advice ... ?”

“Advice?” There was confusion in her cobalt blue eyes. “On what?”

“Well, on your little mishap with the captain just now.” He smiled in a manner that Mueller believed he felt extraordinarily ingratiating. “I’ve been known to have a way with people, and I might be able to give you some hints ...”

“I studied your psych profile records,” she said abruptly, her eyes hardening.

She was pleased to see that Gleau was thrown off by her switch in topics. “Pardon?”

“Your psych profiles. From when you first joined Starfleet. All incoming cadets are required to undergo psych profiles and, as part of that, a study for any potential talents that would be considered ‘paranormal abilities.’ ”

“Paranormal meaning those things that humans are incapable of doing,” said Gleau with a smug air. “Amazing. You know, in your Earth’s history, you all once thought that your world was the center of the galaxy. It’s curious how so many of Starfleet policies continue to be derived from that philosophy.”

“Yes, curious as hell. That’s not the point, Gleau. The point is, such profiles are standard issue ... except you didn’t undergo them.”

“Didn’t I?” He cocked an eyebrow. “It was so long ago, I don’t recall.”

“You received a special exemption for anything except the most minimal, surface scanning,” she said. She had gotten up and had come around to where Gleau was sitting. She rested a hand on his shoulder as if she were being friendly with him. “The specific reason given was that Selelvians had a long cultural tradition of believing that intrusions into the mind were the height of personal violation. The argument was that it would be a violation of the Prime Directive to force such procedures on you. The request came down directly from Federation representatives to exempt you from more detailed scans, and Starfleet deferred to the UFP.” Her hand squeezed tighter on his shoulder. “Remember now?”

“It’s starting to come back to me, and by the way, you’re hurting my shoulder.” He kept his voice low and even, but Mueller was reasonably sure she heard a touch of fright in it. Good.

“So tell me, Gleau,” said Mueller. “Did Selelvian representatives use ‘the Knack’ on any Federation representatives to sway them over to their concerns? You know ... that handy little Selelvian technique of convincing people to do what they’d like?”

“Commander,” and he laughed uncomfortably, “I’ve genuinely no clue what you’re—”

“Or did you seek cover for yourself because you have other talents, in addition to the Knack, that you don’t want anyone to find out about.”

He paused. “Such as?”

“Such as being able to insert yourself right into somebody’s mind. To haunt them in their dreams.”

He blew air through his lips in annoyance. “What has M’Ress been telling you now?”

“I never mentioned her.”

“You don’t have to. It’s painfully obvious what this is about: more harassment. If you’ll excuse me ...”

“I don’t think I will.”

“I don’t think I’m giving you a choice, Commander,” he said, and he got up from his chair and shoved her hand away.

Without hesitation, Mueller spun him around and shoved him down on the conference lounge table. The tabletop shook as his back slammed into it and he gaped up at Mueller, all of his posturing and self-satisfaction having magically evaporated.

Mueller stared deep into his eyes, because she was confident of one thing above all else, and that was that she was an excellent judge of character. She assessed everything that was going through his mind, looked for a hint of what was truly going on with him, and became convinced in a heartbeat that what the Caitian had told her—what she had, at first, dismissed out of hand—was, in fact, true. An innocent man would have had anger in his eyes. But what she was seeing was fear and, above all, guilt. Her gaze dissected him and found that what was left was the equivalent of a child with his hand caught in the cookie jar.

“If I find out that you’ve been threatening Lieutenant M’Ress—or anyone—or if anything happens to her, or if I happen to have a bad dream about you ... you’re finished. Are you clear on that, Gleau? I will finish you personally.”

“Are you threateningme?” he gasped out.

“Yes. Absolutely. Are we clear on it?”

He looked as if he was about to make some sort of defensive, arrogant retort, and so to be preemptive about it, Mueller raised him up slightly and then slammed him back down again.

“All right! All right!”

“Good. Then we have an understanding.”

She released him then and stepped back. Quickly he sat up, out of breath, watching her with glazed eyes like a trapped animal. Then, losing no time, he bolted from the conference lounge.

Mueller came right after him and then saw Si Cwan and Kalinda standing there. Her mind raced, allowing for possible future developments, and she came to the conclusion that the Thallonian ambassador might be of help.

“Ambassador,” she said, smoothing her uniform top to achieve some semblance of polish. “Good to have you back. Are you free for dinner tonight?”

He looked bewildered, as if he had expected her to say something else entirely. “I ... suppose, yes.”

“My quarters. Twenty-two hundred hours. You remember the way?”

“Yes, I—”

“Good.” She turned on her heel and walked off, wondering what she had just gotten herself into.

EXCALIBUR

I.

MACKENZIE CALHOUN LEANED FORWARD, resting his elbows on his desk, and stared thoughtfully at Zak Kebron. “Are you quite sure of this, Mr. Kebron?”

“Positive, Captain,” Kebron said firmly.

The Brikar security chief was idly scratching at the base of his nonexistent neck. Calhoun noticed that more large flakes of his hide seemed to be coming off. “Are you having a problem, Mr. Kebron?”

“Problem?”

He gestured. “With your skin. Significant chunks of it appear to be breaking away.”

“It’s seasonal,” Kebron said.

“We’re on a starship, Mr. Kebron. We don’t get seasons.”

“That’s true.”

Which seemed to be more than enough of an answer to satisfy Kebron, even though it naturally made no sense whatsoever to Calhoun. Calhoun exchanged a glance with Commander Burgoyne, who had been standing there listening to the exchange. Burgoyne shrugged hir slim shoulders ever so slightly, but gave no reaction beyond that. Obviously it made little sense to hir as well, but both knew Kebron well enough to be certain that further questions along such lines would be useless.

So instead Calhoun turned his attention back to what Kebron had wanted to inform him of. “So the Tridentis being sent to Danter?”