“I have no idea to what you are referring,” Soleta said. But she very much disliked the way he was looking at her.

“You forget yourself,” he said, and it might have been her imagination, but it almost seemed that the very air around her surged with power as he spoke slightly louder. “You forget to whom you are speaking. I am a god of truth, Soleta.”

“No. You are an alien Being who has assumed the form of a god of truth.”

“The two cannot be separated. I am what I am. And you are what you are. Half Vulcan, half Romulan. That puts you outside the parameters of your beloved Starfleet, does it not?”

Soleta glared at him. “This is the second time you have brought up that aspect of my lineage. I did not ask for, nor did I create, the circumstances of my birth. I see no reason that I should be penalized for it.”

“And causing the death of dozens of Romulans? Should you not be penalized for that as well?”

Soleta’s blood, normally cold, ran colder. She was certain that her face had suddenly become ashen. She turned away from him, except there he was, right in front of her again, and she spun in another direction and there he was again. “Stop. Doing. That,” she said icily.

“There are only two individuals in all this galaxy to whom you cannot lie, Soleta. One is yourself. The other is me.”

“And what have I done,” she asked, her voice drenched in sarcasm, “to warrant such attention? Why have you singled me out for his harassment?”

“Is it harassment to perceive a potential for greatness within someone and want to try and help them achieve it?” he said.

“If it involves absconding with them to some sort of transdimensional nowhere, then I would be thinking yes, it is.”

He took her by the shoulders, and his voice was soft and even a bit alluring. “From time to time,” he said with gentle insistence, “my people would come upon mortals who possessed tremendous potential. They would take them and impart the godhead to them, and the result would be some of the greatest heroes in all mortal history.”

“ ‘Impart the godhead.’ That,” she said slowly, “would be a euphemism for ‘have sex with,’ am I correct?”

“More or less.”

She pushed his hands off her shoulders. “Then it will have to be ‘less’ in my case.”

“Oh, I know your case,” he assured her. “I know your case all too well. Your soul is heavy, Soleta. You carry the burden of overwhelming guilt upon you. Not surprising, really. You know yourself to be a child spawned of a violent act, inflicted by a member of a vicious race upon your mother, and yet part of you actually feels drawn to that race. It makes you question everything about yourself. Your own trustworthiness, your dedication to the organization you presently serve, the—”

“Shut up!”

All her equanimity and Vulcan training evaporated in that instance of overwhelming anger, and she lashed out at him, clamping her hand down upon his bare shoulder in the Vulcan nerve pinch.

It had no effect upon him, other than to provoke a mocking smile. Abruptly he grabbed her, wrapping his arms around her and pulling him toward her in a violent kiss. For half a heartbeat she actually felt herself melting against him, and then she rallied and shoved him away, her chest heaving with contained fury. “Do not touch me,” she said fiercely, “or I shall find a way to kill you. Believe me. I will.”

He smiled. “You were the proper choice. That is becoming even more clear to me.” Then he stepped back from her and put his hands out and open in front of him. “Very well. I give you my word as a higher Being that I will not force myself upon you ... even though you realize that I could. I could do so and make you think it was your idea. That, however, would not be seemly for a god of wisdom and truth. And knowledge. It is knowledge that you seek. And I shall provide you with that knowledge. Not only that, but I shall provide you with what is your greatest desire.”

“And what would that be?” Her voice was laced with scorn, but she had to admit to some mild curiosity.

“Peace.”

“Peace? My greatest desire is peace?”

“Yes. Peace from the raging torment that gives your soul no rest. You deserve such peace, Soleta. You deserve not to feel perpetually torn by the dual aspects of your nature, and the guilt over activities in the past. You did not mean to kill those Romulans. ...”

“I know that.”

“You were tricked,” he said, and he was approaching her once more, his arms at his side, swaying in a relaxed manner. This time, however, she did not back away. “Tricked by the Romulan you knew to be your biological father. You foolishly believed that if it was possible to find redemption in such a creature, that it could lead to your own redemption as well. If he had hidden depths of righteousness, then you might be more of a righteous female than you credited yourself. Instead he turned out to be a traitor, to you and to his people. And since that time, your own concerns over your trustworthiness have haunted you. Tell me, Soleta ... how loud are the screams of the Romulans in your dreams when you dwell upon the deaths you caused?”

She wanted to make some sort of snide reply. She wanted to tell him it was none of his damned business. She even wanted to run away. Instead, she heard herself admit the truth: “Very loud. And every night. Every night ... I hear their screams.” Her voice was thick with that most insidious of traits, emotion, but she wasn’t dwelling on that. Instead all the sleepless nights she had spent, from that day to this, were surging within her. “When the building blew up, thanks to the bomb I set off through my father’s trickery. I should have known ... should have realized ...”

“But you could not have.”

“But I should have.”

“Would you like to ease that suffering? Your soulsickness? If only for a while?”

She shook her head, even as she said, “Yes.”

He raised his hand, and there was something in it. It appeared to be glowing. Overcome by curiosity, she leaned forward to get a better look at it.

It was the oddest thing she had ever seen. It seemed to be some sort of gelatinous mass, but it was shimmering gold. It was attached to a small branch, giving it the appearance of something that had been plucked from a tree or a bush. It throbbed and pulsed, almost as if it was alive, as it lay there in his palm. He reached over with his other hand and lifted it up. By all rights, it looked as if it should just fall apart, losing all its cohesion. Yet it stayed together, giving it the curious look of something that was both solid and liquid at the same time, like mercury.

And she felt a warmth radiating from it. That was the eeriest thing of all.

“What is it?” she asked.

“You already know.”

The strange thing was, she did. “Ambrosia.”

“Yes.”

Automatically, operating entirely on reflex, she brought her tricorder around and scanned it. The readings surprised her. It registered as a simple collection of proteins. There was nothing remotely toxic about it, nothing to explain the feeling of ... of total peace she derived just from looking at it.

“That sensation you feel,” he said as if reading her mind—which certainly seemed to be within the parameters of his abilities—“is a sensation of your wounds being cleansed by an inner light.”

“Ah. Is thatwhat that feels like.”

“You attempt to jest, but you know in your heart that I am right. It washes over you, as nurturing as a gentle surf. As much as you may deny it, truly you welcome it. You know that to be the case.”

“Let us say ...” She stopped and cleared her throat, because it suddenly felt clogged. “Let us say that it is true. Not that it is, but just for sake of argument ...”

“Very well,” he said, sounding generous. “For sake of argument.”

“Then what would you suggest. That I consume this unknown substance?”