The Pon T'Keshtan

CHAPTER 8:

Spock, dressed in his standard Science Blues, arrived outside Nyota's quarters at precisely oh-eight-thirty and pressed the door chime. Nyota, dressed in the pants variation the Operations Red uniform instead of a short skirt, and wearing a broad headband to control her loose hair, answered immediately. "You are wonderfully punctual," she said, tilting her head and smiling brightly at him.

"And you are feeling much improved," Spock replied.

"Yes. Very. Thank you." The Spleneth Aperitif had been exactly the medicine she required, and she felt blissful, refreshed and focused, powerful and uplifted. She hoped to transmit some of that energy to Spock; giving him a vicarious boost through her attention and touch. She shouldered her small carry-purse, wrapped her arms around Spock's arm and maneuvered him into the corridor. "How are you today?" she asked as they headed toward the main Transporter Room. "Did you have a nice evening with Sa'aat?"

"'Nice' is, most likely, not the most appropriate word," Spock admitted as they entered a turbolift together. Nyota laughed, a rich, hardy laugh, as the doors shut.

Spock and Nyota materialized on the Starbase's main receiving platform, and stepped off carefully before looking around them. Thick vegetation, green on top of green, covered the young and still-developing planet, Jagusch-McGillis. There was little variance between the climate zones; bayous gave way to rain forests, rain forests gave way to riparian forests, which in turn gave way to coniferous forests. To protect this burgeoning environment, expansive filtering bio-domes that stood out on the planet's surface like silvery blisters surrounded by pale green areolas of manicured lawn covered the Starbase and settlements. Each of the three to five mile wide domes allowed sunlight, fresh air and fresh water into the covered areas, while refining and cleansing any exiting vapors or fluids so as not to contaminate the exterior landscape. Long transit tunnels and grey stone paths connected the domes. Beyond the paths were a wild tangle of enormous trees, vines and exotic flowers harboring the insects, birds, reptiles, and small mammals exclusive to the planetoid; outside the domes, the air was filled with the sounds of howling, buzzing and singing things.

Inside the main dome, the Starbase bustled with different languages, the droning hum of small craft and scooters and the whirling fizzle of transporter beams. Spacecraft larger than four-point-five meters in length were not allowed on the surface, so most personnel and products were beamed in through the base's transporter system. A hexagonal-shaped promenade surrounded a congested cluster of buildings standing between six and twelve stories high that held the main Starbase offices, conference centers, medical facility, schools, living quarters, travel agency and food court. Transit tunnels leading to the other domes began at each angle of the promenade. Floating computerized multilingual signage at the intersections described the various destinations available through the tunnels. Nyota was almost giddy with delight. This was a xenolinguist's paradise. The noise was somewhat bothersome but not unbearable to Spock's sensitive ears, so he made no complaint. He leaned in to speak to over the din. "What will be our first objective?"

"Let's find a sign-station and pick something," Nyota suggested. Spock nodded, taking her hand. She smiled inwardly and outwardly. She loved when he "claimed" her this way, announcing to everyone who saw them they were a couple. He didn't make or take the gesture lightly. She gave Spock's hand a little squeeze as they headed for the nearest signboard.

Once there, Nyota lifted her hands over Spock's eyes. "Just point to something," she prompted.

"This is not an expedient or advisable way for committing oneself to a destination," Spock said blindly to the air.

"I know, but it's the fun way. So choose something."

Spock pointed at the floating board, and Nyota dropped her hands so he could see what he had chosen: Clothing District, Tunnel 5. He was expressionless.

"If that's going to be boring for you, we can choose something else," Nyota said.

"No," he said. "If selecting a random destination was the point of this exercise, then we have achieved our goal." He had told himself last night, as he sat in the Observation Deck with the sleeping, snoring Dr. Surrey, he would dedicate this day to Nyota. Whatever she wanted, no matter what it was, if it was within his power, he would give it to her: time, attention, affection, tokens, favors, sex... It would be his gift to her, while he still had the capacity to give her everything he could. Before Dr. Surrey had mentioned the medical power of attorney, it had not occurred to Spock, on a conscious level, that his current psychiatric disposition could deteriorate to a point where he would be incapable of cognitive thought or self-directed action. He now understood he had to take such a possibility seriously. He had gone to the Medical Bay that morning, and with Nurse Chapel as his witness, named Nyota his medical proxy - although she was not yet aware of it.

"Okay," Nyota said. "Which way to Tunnel Five?"

"East," Spock said.

"Ooookay. Which way is east?"

Spock gestured in the proper direction. As they began walking, he suggested, "When we have some time, I will teach you svi'besau (1) which allows one to more easily orient oneself in an unfamiliar landscape."

"Wouldn't it just be easier to buy me a compass?" Nyota joked, and then giggled at Spock's deadpan response.

They opted to requisition a small solar-electric shuttle-car. They could have easily walked the tunnels, which were between one-point-seven and five-point-two miles long, but Nyota reminded Spock that by the end of the day, she would be fatigued, and they might have purchases to bring back. The three-wheeled convertible - with twin seats in the front, a small cargo well in the rear and a bright red identification badge on the side reading "Li'l Otto" - could race through the tunnels at fifteen miles per hour. Of course, since the tunnels were congested with pedestrians and cart-peddlers more often than not, one would be fortunate to achieve and maintain a speed of four to five miles per hour for any distance.

When Spock assumed the driver's seat without asking, Nyota put her hands on her hips. "What's this? You don't think I can drive?" she asked.

"Rank does have its privileges, Lieutenant," he reminded her.

"Oh, pulling that on me, are you?"

"I am the more qualified pilot," Spock said. "And, you do not yet have a compass."

"All right, you win." Nyota smiled and walked to the passenger side. "Permission to come aboard, sir?"

"Permission granted," Spock said with a slight bow of his head. Nyota climbed into the passenger seat. As he drove down Tunnel 5 toward the Clothing District, she placed a hand on his thigh and attempted to project through the contact nothing but weightlessness and happy thoughts.

"Couldn't get enough of me, huh?" Nurse Chapel asked Sa'aat jokingly as he entered the Medical Bay; inwardly she lamented that the Vulcans she found the most attractive were all either spoken for, disinterested, or gay.

Sa'aat gave her a level stare before saying, "I am looking for Dr. McCoy or Dr. Surrey."

"Dr. McCoy and Dr. Surrey are on shore leave. Is there something I can help you with?"

"If I wish to report an anomaly, may I make such a report to you?"

"It depends on the nature of the anomaly. If it's a medical anomaly, yes. If it's something like, say, a freak transmission or a peculiar nebular formation, then, no."

"One would assume that if I come into the Medical Bay, I would wish to report a medical anomaly."

"Yeah, you'd think so, wouldn't you," Christine said, needling him further.

Sa'aat dropped his chin to his chest and, looking at her from under upswept eyebrows, said in a low voice, "I do not understand how Spock tolerates this."

"Tolerates what, sweetie?"

"The ill-defined roles, the incessant flippancy, the gross familiarity, the frittering away of time and energy..."

"Hang around us Humans long enough and you'll get used to it. You might even find it enjoyable."

Sa'aat gave her another long look, and then turned to leave.

"Wait, truce…" Christine relented and Sa'aat turned to face her again. "What medical anomaly did you want to report?" she asked in a professional tone.

There was more to the Clothing District than its name implied. There were clothing stores, tailors and seamstress shops specializing in fashions from all over the galaxy - Bajoran, Trill, Betazoid, Nausicaan, Betelgeusian, Pakled, Capellan, Elasian, Kelvan, Orion, Malurian, the list went on - but the district also included weavers, cloth merchants, hatters and milliners, cobblers, leather-smiths, feather-workers, furriers, jewelers and even a couple metallurgists. Nyota wasn't much of a clotheshorse, but she enjoyed the different apparel as examples of cultural art. Spock viewed them in much the same way. On Vulcan, modes of dress, even the type of fabrics, were often particular to rank, status, class or ceremony. Even the attire he had worn to petition the Vulcan Science Academy for admission - simple traveling pants, soft boots, handmade shirt and heavy sweater made of coarse plant fibers - was ceremonial, announcing that he was merely a contrite, unadorned aspirant, while allowing the Ministers to shine in their finery. In Vulcan tradition, mystics wore moiré and brocade, females wore metallic cloth and broad-silk, and males wore chapped-cloth and leather.(2) Coming from such a stratified environment to Starfleet, where everyone dressed similarly, had taken him weeks to get used to. He had come to appreciate the simplicity of uniforms, however, and their ability to "equalize" people at a glance.

While Nyota browsed among the bolts of fabric at an open-air shop listening to the conversations around her, Spock watched an indigo-skinned Crikian(3) seamstress add fine embroidery to a handmade blouse. The Crikian's long, delicate eight-fingered hands, holding elongated needles, moved over the fabric like large, ethereal, dark blue spiders. When she came to a pause in her work, she looked up at Spock and hissed at him in the liquid tones native to her species, "You wisssssh to buy?"

"No," Spock said, presenting his side and shoulder to the alien so as not to impose or offend. "But I do have a query."

"Yesssss?"

"May one engage an artisan such as yourself for a personal project?"

"A commissssion?"

"Yes."

"For what purpossssse?"

"A panel of Vulcan calligraphy."

"Vulcan... Rare thessssse daysssss," the seamstress said. She bowed her head on her willowy neck, and closed her large eyes for a moment, "It would honor me."

Spock took his communicator from its notch on his waistband. "If I may transmit the specifics to you?"

The Crikian set her work aside, and stepped, on four legs, to the adjacent counter where a small computer station was set up for transmitting communiqués, funds, and other digital data. She activated it, and then instructed Spock on how to transmit the information and payment for his project to her.

From an aisle away, Nyota watched their interaction. Spock seemed much better today, alert, attentive, engaged. He wasn't happy, he wasn't content, but he was more himself, more accepting, more flexible than he had been in weeks. However, something about his better mood nagged her, reminding her of an Academy classmate who had committed suicide several years ago. He had been happy and relaxed - after months of being morose and withdrawn. Everyone had thought he was recovering. Nyota later learned it wasn't unusual for suicidal people to display an air of liberation once they made the choice to end their existence; it was as if the decision itself was a relief for them. Vulcans didn't commit suicide, it went against their very natures, but still... Nyota mentally kicked herself for being so morbid. Spock was enjoying the day for once and she reacted by jumping to unwarranted conclusions and trying to paint him as self-destructive. She pushed the thoughts from her mind with an inward shudder; she didn't want him "reading" things like that from her.

Unable to hear what they were saying, Nyota watched the Crikian and Spock, as the seamstress touched his forearm lightly with a spidery finger then vanish under a counter, only to reappear a few seconds later with a large bolt of cloth in her multiple arms. Spock slowly skimmed his fingertips over the fabric. The material was a heavy, irregular weave; peacock blue thread interspersed with flecks and daubs of gold, copper, bright orange and port-brown. Even from where she stood Nyota could identify it as Vulcan.

"You wisssssh to purchassssse?" the Crikian asked Spock softly. He clutched the fabric hard enough that the ridges in the cloth cut impression into the skin of his hand. Such a purchase made no logical sense. He would never use it; he had no tailoring skills. Still, it was a piece of his homeworld, sent to a safe place before everything else was destroyed, so it had some historical and cultural value, he thought - even as he refused to acknowledge the sentimental value it also held for him. His mother had worn a dress made from the same fabric on the day she had died; the day he had lost her; not fast enough to catch her hand before she plummeted out of his line of sight, out of his life. Spock closed his eyes, unconsciously trying to put a lid on the all-consuming tide of emotions welling up inside of him.

"Yes," Spock answered, opening his eyes, composed once more. "Thank you. Can you have it delivered to the Enterprise today? I believe Ensign Herich is the current duty-officer in Receiving. Tell him to have it sent to my quarters upon arrival."

The Crikian nodded once; pleased by both the sale and the fact her customer hadn't bothered to haggle. She was not a cheat, but anything from Vulcan brought a high price these days. She was lucky such an incomparable buyer had found his way to her shop: a buyer with credits to spare in his account. The gods were generous. She would have to set aside a good portion of her meal to them that evening. She relegated the Vulcan bolt over to the 'sold/ship' bin under the counter and looked up to see Nyota now standing next to Spock. "Found sssssomething?" she asked, even though she could see that Nyota held a bolt of yellow Elasian silk.

"Four yards, please," Nyota said, handing over the fabric.

In another dome, Kirk, Scotty and McCoy crowded around a small table in the center of the saloon at the far end of the Patinkin Café. Despite the early hour, the place was full and multilingual conversations, crude jokes, and bad singing abounded. The café didn't play music, not wanting to insult one race by playing the music of another. So, occasionally a patron would stand at his or her table, or walk around the saloon singing boisterously if often not quite on key. "Good god, it sounds like someone vacuuming cats," McCoy complained about the latest vocal excursion.

"You try hitting the high notes when you're doused with Saurian Brandy," Kirk said grinning, his face crinkling around twinkling blue eyes. After all his shipboard responsibilities, he was grateful for the moments he could just be "Jim" again, sharing a drink with friends, and maybe trolling for a little feminine nibble. Unfortunately, however, there weren't many female saloon patrons at the moment. Truth be told, it was hard to distinguish between some of the males and females in the bar. Although it was a bright morning outside, the interior of the bar was as dark as dusk. And, yes, it was early for drinks, but, Jim convinced himself, it was four o'clock somewhere, on some planet... Scotty was already on his second Cobalt-Derivian Cocktail, but the effects of the first one hadn't hit him yet. Kirk and McCoy had started more conservatively with their drinks: beer for Kirk and bourbon for the doctor. "Pace yourself, Scotty," Kirk warned with a chuckle. "I may not be around to carry you home."

"That's what transporters are for, Captain," Scotty said winking, a grin working across his face. "To more friends, and less need of them,"(4) he toasted before taking another swallow.

The captain and doctor raised their glasses and laughed.

A older Human woman seated in a booth on the far wall across from the bar then caught Kirk's eye. There were two other people in her booth but Kirk couldn't tell what gender they were - or what species, for that matter, because their heads were on the table. The woman's dark hair was coiffed in a wave that went from one side of her head to the other, finishing in a pendulous ringlet that hung as if it was caught in stasis, suspended in the air. She was dressed in a short, sleeveless shift that ended mid-thigh. Her legs were long, and she had kicked off her shoes, and her painted toenails gleamed. Kirk raised his glass again, nodding at her. Her slow, acknowledging smile was like smoke curling across her lips.

McCoy leaned in to the captain and said bluntly, "Y'know, one of these days, Jim, you're going to bring home something I can't cure."

"Nonsense, Bones," Kirk stood and clapped McCoy on the shoulder. "You can cure anything." He walked over to the woman, carrying his beer with him.

"Unbelievable," McCoy muttered. "The breakfast crowd hasn't even left the building and he's already got a date."

There was a sudden bang against the table, and startled, McCoy's caught his glass one-handed before its contents spilled. Scotty lay face-down on the tabletop, unconscious. The second Cobalt-Derivian Cocktail had felled him without warning. McCoy shook his head and reached out with his free hand to make sure Scotty was breathing and still had a pulse. He was and he did. "Wonderful," the doctor grumbled.

He detached his communicator and flipped it open. "McCoy to Enterprise."

"Enterprise, Johannes here."

"Well, good morning... Could you patch me into the Medical Bay, please? I'd like to talk to Nurse Chapel if she's available."

"One moment." There was a slight delay before Christine answered the com-link call.

"You've only been gone two hours, doctor," she said. "Now, stop checking in and get some relaxation. Don't make me come down there."

"It might actually be kind of nice if you did," McCoy's voice said over the link.

"Drinking already this morning, are we?" Christine joked in return.

"Just a bourbon, and I actually haven't been able to drink it y-."

"Crap!" Christine heard Kirk shout in the background over a sudden caterwauling that made it difficult for Christine to hear or understand him.

"Watch it! Damn it to hell," McCoy groused.

"Dr. McCoy," she said.

"You're not a woman! You're not even Human!" Kirk shouted over the din. There was a pause before crashing, scuffling sounds came from the doctor's end of the transmission. Glass breaking, a chair or two overturning. Then a bit of silence.

"McCoy? Dr. McCoy?" Christine said urgently. "What is going on there?"

"...Give me a minute..." came the response.

Then she heard the clicking-sounds of an alien language as Captain Kirk's voice exclaimed, "Eew! I think it touched my hair!"

"I told you to be careful, Jim," McCoy sounded like he was trying not to laugh. Then he came back on the line. "Cripes... Christine, are you still there?"

"Yes. What's going on?"

"A Xinxian in the bar tried to use a holo-lure(5) on our good captain..." He laughed. "Just wash it off, Jim; it's not permanent..."

"Gross!" said the captain.

McCoy snickered before saying in only a slightly more serious tone to Christine, "I called you because I need you to have someone lock onto Scotty's coordinates and beam him to Medical. He's got a belly full of Cobalt-Derivians, and I don't want his heart to stop beating while that stuff works its way through his system."

"Lord. How many did he have?"

"Just two..."

"I think I'm going to throw up," Kirk moaned in the background.

"Let that be a lesson to you," McCoy returned.

"Poor dears," Christine said, smiling. "Will I need to hold a bed for Captain Kirk, too?"

"Nah, he can handle it. It's just a little bug juice - "

"... It feels like slime-devil slobber," Kirk complained.

Christine chuckled. "I'll have Chekov snag Mr. Scott, and I'll keep an eye on himself myself."

"Does that mean you won't be joining me planetside?" McCoy asked.

While others may have found McCoy's attempt at flirtation to be sexual harassment, Christine knew better and took his playfulness in the spirit in which it was intended. "Well, well, well, Doctor," she teased back.

"When I'm on shore leave it's 'Leonard', Miss Chapel."

"Well, Leonard, I don't think we're scheduled to be off at the same time during shore leave."

"I know the guy who set the schedule. Maybe I can get him to make an adjustment or two."

"You mean Commander Spock," Christine said. "Well, that may be a problem. I had Sa'aat in here a little while ago, and... there's something you need to know."

The transit tunnel to the Universal Bazaar dome, the next stop on their "winging-it tour" of Jagusch-McGillis, was jammed. A Rakhari(6) peddler's cart had overturned, snarling pedestrians and other carts around it. Spock, leaving Nyota in Li'l Otto, stepped through the crowd to offer what assistance he could; she loved his selfless chivalry. She could see the top of his head - his smooth dark hair, the bangs, the tips of his exquisite ears – since he was taller than most people in the crowd were. He directed passersby around the toppled cart, and then he and two Tossuns (7) worked to set it upright again. There had been a lengthy discussion before the Tossuns did anything; it wasn't in their nature to get involved in other people's problems, usually only acting if it was in their best interest. Spock, ever the diplomat's son, must have been able to convince them that getting the cart moved would serve them in some fashion.

While she waited, Nyota listened to conversations in more than a dozen different languages and several sub-dialects. Isolating and translating them was good exercise for her; the sort of live interaction the ship's training computers couldn't begin to emulate. When she heard something unfamiliar, she would focus on it, listening for audible cues that might help her with a translation later. As she fixed upon a conversation between two Naussicans, her communicator beeped. She flipped the device open without looking at it. "Uhura here."

"Hey, Uhura." Dr. Surrey's voice answered.

"What's up, Doc?"

Dr. Surrey chuckled in response. "Bugs Bunny, circa 1940!"(8)

"Excuse me?"

"Nothing. Trivia. My brain is full of it."

"What can I do for you, Doc?"

"I need to ask a favor - "

"I'm on shore leave," Nyota reminded him in a sing-song voice, trying not to sound peeved.

"Yeah, I know... It's just... I need you to keep an eye on Spock."

Nyota's gut went cold and hard. "Why?" she asked flatly, surprised at how emotionless her voice sounded.

"Sa'aat told us that Spock might still be hallucinating."

"He's fine," Nyota countered bluntly.

"Yeah, well, he apparently spent last night serving a meal and talking to someone who wasn't there."

"Spock was with Sa'aat last night - " Nyota contradicted, not wanting to believe him.

"Sa'aat and his half-brother, Sybok."

"I didn't know Spock had a half-brother," Nyota said. "Maybe Sa'aat is the one hallucinating." That was a churlish comment and she regretted it immediately, but still... the idea that an accusation from Sa'aat might ruin her day with Spock was galling.

"I didn't know Spock had a sibling either, until just now," Surrey replied. "Nevertheless, according to Sa'aat, Sybok exists... He just wasn't there last night when Spock was talking to him and entertaining him."

A small, strangled sound of anguish rose in Nyota's throat. She pushed her voice past it and said again in Spock's defense, "He is doing fine today."

"I'm just asking you to keep an eye on him."

"All right. I'll let you know if I notice anything. Uhura, out." Nyota snapped the communicator closed before the doctor could say anything further. She let it fall into her lap for a moment, feeling as though someone had punched her. She blinked hard to stop tears from forming, took a deep breath and lifted her head in defiance of the sorrow that threatened to spoil their day together.

She pressed for control as she clipped the communicator to her waistband. Looking up, she saw the crowd start to dissolve in the tunnel ahead. The Rakhari's cart was on its wheels again, and traffic slowly unsnarled. Spock was helping pick up the fallen merchandise and return it to the cart. Finished, he clapped the street dirt from his hands and headed back toward her through the dispersing crowd.

Now composed, Nyota smiled as he approached. "Are we good to go?" she asked in a chipper tone.

"In a few moments," Spock said, climbing into Li'l Otto's driver's seat and looked across at her. She raised a hand to the side of his face, using her thumb to remove an imaginary smudge of grime from his cheek; she just wanted to touch him, connect with him. His eyes filled with unspoken questions, but before she could answer him someone in car behind theirs honked at them, bellowing, "Come on! Move it!"

Spock looked behind him at the other driver and then back to Nyota. "Apparently, alacrity is required."

"Apparently," Nyota echoed with an understanding smile.

Spock looked ahead then stepped lightly on Li'l Otto's accelerator.

ALL SALES ARE FINAL.
BARGAINING IS PERMITTED.

ALL BEINGS SHOULD EXERCISE CAUTION WHEN PARTAKING
VENDORS' FOOD, BEVERAGES, POULTICES AND POTIONS.

FIGHTING IS PROHIBITED.

STARFLEET IS NOT RESPONSIBLE FOR LOST OR STOLEN ITEMS,
ILLNESSES, INJURIES OR UNWANTED PREGNANCIES.

Despite the somewhat ominous warnings on the signage at the Universal Bazaar's entrance, everyone around seemed to be enjoying themselves - as far as Nyota could tell. Small chatting, laughing crowds clustered around various performers, oohing and ahhing at the jugglers, dancers, magicians and acrobats. One shape-shifter amused people by emulating them, and nearby, a Filligian threw its purplish-black lungs out at passersby and then sucked them back in again with no damage to itself. Booths, yurts and carts covered most of the Bazaar-dome's floor space creating a maze of very narrow pathways through and around everything. Some displays were mounted on cantilevered scaffolding, while others were suspended from the dome's ceiling from heavy cables as thick a man's leg. These larger structures blocked some of the sunlight coming through the dome, so some places on the floor were cast in dark shadow. To counteract that effect, the dark areas were illuminated by a variety of lamps and flameless torches; one booth even had jars of wriggling bioluminescent worms to light its space.

Where the Clothing District had been a conglomeration of all things fashion, the Universal Bazaar was a random cacophony of everything else. Traders, sellers and buyers from all over the galaxy haggled over everything from works of art to precious metals, from robotic helpmates to animals, from foodstuffs to supposedly curative ointments, herbs and potions. This booth sold seeds and carnivorous flowers, while that one sold raw gemstones. Another sold little insects that looked like miniature dragons; and its neighbor sold something that looked like piles of living eyes (each one blinking at a different interval, and watching the passersby). Even items banned for sale or use in the Federation, such as the Venus Drug and Arboreal Pipe-Vipers, were available here. No wonder the Bazaar was famous, Nyota thought. It was the most amazing, tempting, beautifully exotic and eclectic mess she had ever seen.

It was also immediately overwhelming, and Nyota just sat in the cart for a moment taking it in. Spock's Vulcan brain could easily compartmentalize what he saw, so he could selectively absorb the sounds, images and smells, and dissect them piece-by-piece rather than be inundated with them all at once. At this moment Nyota envied him that skill.

Despite the exceedingly narrow aisles, Spock expertly maneuvered Li'l Otto without a single collision, and she was glad he was in the driver's seat. Some of the passages were so slender Nyota had to keep her hands within the confines of their cart; otherwise, she'd inadvertently knock things from the displays. However, the compact space also made shopping simple, as the vendors could cater to her without her ever having to leave her seat. When she considered purchasing a bracelet made of Spican flame gems and latinum from a Ferengi vendor, Spock asked to hold the item before she paid for it. He placed it level in his up-turned palm and calculated its weight and latinum content by feel alone. "This piece is advertised as eighty-weight latinum," Spock said to her. "It is clearly only seventy-three."

Nyota raised an eyebrow at the vendor whose large ears were flushed in either embarrassment or anger. "Lower the price, and I'll consider purchasing it," she said. The Ferengi snarled, showing snaggled teeth, but dropped the price by eight credits.

"Fifteen credits," Spock said flatly.

"Ten - " the Ferengi countered.

"Thirteen... and we will not contact the authorities."

"The authorities? About what?"

"The synthetic emeralds you are advertising as genuine; the detritus glacier-crystals you are advertising as diamonds; the pure silicone nodules which are clearly aggregates -"

"Sold!" the Ferengi relented before Spock could continue.

Nyota grinned and added the bracelet to her treasures of the day. "You're good at that!" she complimented Spock as they traveled slowly through the crowded aisles again. "I should take you shopping with me all the time." Spock looked across his shoulder at her, not amused by the notion. Nyota laughed, taking hold of his bicep with both hands. "Don't worry, I won't torture you like that…"

She made several other purchases as they drifted through the Bazaar, some impulsive, most of them gifts for relatives who had never been off-Earth before. Spock was more selective and bought only one more item: a tiny silver compass with a pearlescent face and crystal bezel. He placed it in Nyota's lap after he bought it, and watched her face fill with glee at the sight of it. She laughed and bumped her shoulder against his in a display of affectionate camaraderie before leaning over and kissing him on the cheek. "Thank you! I love it!"

"Take care not to lose it," he cautioned her. "A lost compass is of no value."

Nyota grinned, pulled open her uniform's neckband, and tucked the compass into her bra, between her breasts and against her heart. Spock's eyebrows arched. "That is a very unconventional mode of transportation," he said.

"Yes, but surprisingly effective," Nyota said, laughing.

Later, they stopped amid a collection of small pavilions where exotic foods were being sold. Spock wasn't hungry but he knew Nyota was. She chose some skewers laced with the blackened and spiced flesh of riverbirds, and another covered with large, fried insects that crunched when she chewed them. Spock turned away at the sight of the animal flesh, but said nothing to discourage Nyota from her lunch. He knew she would have made other choices, in deference to him, if they had been available. Aboard the Enterprise he often avoided taking his meals with the rest of crew for just this reason; the sight of the Humans devouring the skin and tissue of once-living things made his stomach roll and his Vulcan sensibilities reel. Synth-meat (9) was available on the ship, but most Humans balked at the idea of consuming it, considering it "unnatural," and claiming it was not digestible and made their entrails cramp. Meat-eating was part of their historical and biological makeup, they said; they were partially carnivorous by nature. As Captain Kirk himself had once told Spock, "My caveman ancestors didn't claw their way to the top of the food chain so I could eat grass and branches." Therefore, Spock said nothing about Nyota's lunch, instead occupying himself with plotting out the next trail of their excursion.

It was then he thought he heard the vlei. (10)


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(1) Svi'beasu: translated literally from the Vulcan it means "in the map." It's a technique for mentally plotting out the local terrain so one doesn't get disoriented.
(2) Author's Note: I just made all of this up, basing it on inference and observation rather than Trek canon.
(3) Crikian: a native of the planet Crikiia Opta; Crikians are long-legged quadrupeds with four arms and four eight-fingered hands. Their bodies tilt forward from the pelvis, and their round heads are displayed on top of delicate l-shaped necks. With dark green or dark blue skin, depending on gender, the Crikians are best known for being adroit artisans in fabric making and weaving, sometimes spinning threads from their own bodies to add into their work. Author's Note: I made this race up; it's not part of Trek canon.
(4) More friends...: An old Scotsman's toast: "Mair frien's, and less need o them!"
(5) Xinxian holo-lure: the Xinxian are an insect-like race that like to lay their eggs in mammals. They use holographic projections around themselves to imitate whatever decoy image they think may be most effective, and then use it to lure prospective egg-receiving candidates to them. Author's note: I made this race up; it's not part of Trek canon.
(6) Rakhari: a humanoid species native to the planet Rakhar; Rakhari practice polygamous marriage. (DS9)
(7) Tossun: A native of the planet Tonsunus Minor. Built like living boulders, the Tossuns are known for their brute strength - and their general refusal to regard anyone else's circumstances but their own. Author's note: I made this race up; it's not part of Trek canon.
(8) Bugs Bunny: A fictional cartoon character from Earth created by Tex Avery and Robert McKimson in 1940. "Bugs Bunny" was short for George Washington Bunny, and debuted in the cartoon "A Wild Hare" against Elmer Fudd. With his distinctive Flatbush accent (a blend of dialects from the Bronx and Brooklyn area of New York), his best known catchphrases were: "Eh... what's up, doc?", "Of course you realize, dis means war," and "Ain't I a stinker?"
(9) Synth-meat: a synthetic meat substitute made from a mix of plant fibers, soy and yogurt. Author's Note: I made this product up; it's not part of Trek canon. Although, in ST:TNG Commander Riker did note that meat-like substances were available aboard the Enterprise for the Humans to eat.
(10) Vlie: the Vulcan word for a sound that's like a bellow, or a low bull-like roar.