They were silent for a moment, and then Arex moved in a slow circle around Mueller. “What do you think of the M’Ress and Gleau situation?”

“What?” She blinked in confusion. “Where did thatcome from?”

“I thought this might be a good opportunity to discuss it, away from the ship.” His head extended a bit further from his body. “I assume you know what I’m referring to. ...”

“Of course I know. But why are you asking me?”

“Because,” Arex said slowly, “I have reason to believe that you and the good lieutenant commander exchanged some harsh words.”

“And how,” inquired Mueller, her voice taking on an icy edge, “would you know that?”

“I’m head of security, Commander, and a starship—for all its size—is still little more than a small town in space.” He shrugged, which was a truly odd gesture for someone with three arms. “People overhear things, people tell other people things, and sooner or later most people know each other’s business. And if the security chief doesn’t know, he’s not much of a security chief.”

“And yet, here I am feeling not especially secure.”

“I notice,” said Arex, “that you’re also not answering the question.”

“Here’s a concept, Lieutenant,” Mueller replied, rising from the bench and standing with her sharp, angled chin pointed in an imperious manner at Arex. “I’m your superior officer. I am not required to answer any questions that I’m disinclined to answer.”

“I wasn’t disputing that.” He drew closer to her, tilting his head and studying her with a gaze that seemed to bore right through her head. “But here’s something else that is beyond dispute. M’Ress is a dear, dear friend. And it’s my firm belief that Gleau is out to harm her. I suspect it’s your belief as well. But I’m not going to allow it to happen. So I was curious as to whether you were going to allow it.”

There was far more to what he was saying than the mere words. Mueller was not the least intimidated by the intensity of his stare. Instead, her interest was piqued. “A dear, dear friend? How dear a friend?” There was a distinct air of challenge in her voice.

She was pleased to see that Arex seemed a bit taken aback by the way she addressed him. “What do you mean by that?”

“What do youmean?” A slow smile spread across her sharp-edged features. “My God ... are you in love with her?”

Arex promptly retracted his head, his neck sinking as if it were deflating. “That is a pointless subject to—”

“You are.”

“It is pointless to discuss it,” he said, and he turned his face away. “Our ... species ... would not be compatible. Whatever I might feel for her intellectually, even emotionally, is rendered moot by certain physical realities.”

“And she doesn’t know.”

He turned back to her. “And you must never tell her.”

“Are you issuing me an order, Lieutenant?” There was an almost condescending challenge in her voice. “I don’t do well with subordinates ordering me about.”

“It’s not an order. It’s ... an emphatic request.”

“I see.” Her lips twitched, and she said nothing for a time. Arex waited, as if he knew that she would talk eventually. Slowly she lowered herself back onto the bench, lost in thought.

“Do you,” she asked finally, “believe Gleau presents a threat?”

“I have already said I do,” Arex said promptly, as if he knew she would ask. “My question is, do you believe it?”

“I don’t know,” she admitted. “I feel as if something is off ... but it’s nothing actionable.”

“Did you threaten him?”

She shifted on the bench. “We had ... strong words.”

“He won’t stand for it,” said Arex. “He will do something to retaliate.”

“Such as?”

“Such as ... I don’t know what. But that, I believe, is part of my job. To not wait around to find out what sort of threat someone poses.”

“And what would you do, to be preemptive?”

“Whatever was necessary.”

“To be blunt, Lieutenant,” Mueller said, “that sounds as much like a threat as anything that Gleau has said.”

Arex considered that. “Good,” he finally decided.

III.

Soleta, Spock, and Si Cwan—the “S” squad, as Si Cwan had dubbed them, getting absolutely no humorous response from the Vulcans (and not really expecting any)—approached one of the temples. They walked right past the lengthy line of people waiting to file through and perform—what? Prayers? Rituals? Slaughter? All of them at once?

They had not gone directly to the temple. Instead they had first spent time at a meeting of the Danteri senate, and Si Cwan had been quite frankly astounded by what they had witnessed.

“Committees working in unison,” he told Spock and Soleta as they left after several hours of observing, shaking his head in incredulity even as he recounted it. “Votes being passed unanimously. All points of view being represented and considered before one firm direction is decided upon.”

“Not, I take it, what you were accustomed to during your stay here?” inquired Soleta.

“It was impossible to accomplish anything while I was here,” Si Cwan told her. “Every project, every proposal was awash with selfish considerations, tied to irrelevant concerns, and caught up in week upon week of endless discussion. It seemed that the world was governed more through back-room gamesmanship and betrayal than anything approaching uniformity of spirit and will. Now it’s as if ...”

“They’re all drugged?” suggested Soleta.

It gave Si Cwan pause, and then slowly he nodded. “You’re saying ...”

“The ambrosia.”

“An intriguing hypothesis,” said Spock, “and not remotely outside the parameters of possibility.”

As they approached the ring of temples that adorned the part of town casually referred to as “Worship Circle,” the people waiting in line didn’t seem to care that the three offworlders appeared to be cutting in front of them. In fact, they stepped back and indicated that the trio should feel free to do what they wished.

“Not precisely the renowned Danteri aggression of which I have heard tell,” Spock commented as they walked past, “and providing of only further support for the lieutenant’s ambrosia hypothesis.” Then he glanced at Si Cwan. “Curious the twists and turns of fate, is it not, Ambassador?”

“I’m not sure what you’re referring to, Ambassador,” replied Cwan. “And for that matter, I wouldn’t have thought Vulcans to be big believers in ‘fate.’ ”

“I do not speak of ‘fate’ as predestination, but merely a convenient term to apply to life’s vagaries which we can retroactively perceive,” Spock said in his singularly smooth cadences. “As to what I am referring: The last time the three of us were together, Soleta and I were endeavoring to escape imprisonment on Thallon, and you were our captor.”

Cwan smiled at that. “Yes. Yes, I remember.”

“Yet now we are thrown together as colleagues.”

“It is rather amusing, isn’t it.”

“Speaking as someone who would likely have died in prison if left to Thallonian tender mercies,” said Soleta rather dourly, “you’ll forgive me if I don’t join in the general air of nostalgia.”

“You are forgiven,” Spock said with no hint of sarcasm.

They entered the temple. As Si Cwan looked around, he decided that “temple” might be too strong a word. “Shrine” was probably more accurate.

A small altar had been erected and a Danteri family—father, mother, two sons—were kneeling in front of it, their hands clasped before them in supplication. They weren’t in the process of sacrificing any small living creatures, which Si Cwan was a bit relieved about. What instead caught his attention were the crude paintings on the wall opposite them, on the far side of the altar.

It was an ebony-skinned being with the head of a fearsome dog.

“That’s Anubis,” Si Cwan said softly. “In the picture.”

“Anubis. The Egyptian god of passage to death,” Spock said.