Somewhere in the Stars of Night

 The last 4 paragraphs before the end have yet to be written down.

“There's worse places we could have landed.” the dark haired but fair-skinned man said, looking around him. “I especially like the view.” he added, looking down at the park below. More specifically two women in blue playing at a fountain.

“They look more or less human.” His friend agreed. “I'm more interested in their keeper.”

Malcolm looked around to see who Elliot could be talking about. The only older human around was a bespectacled man with his head in his garden. Older human' his mind repeated. Then he saw what Elliot must have already noticed. The woman standing next to the two young women and who was clearly their caretaker, was not human.

“Come on you hooligans, that's enough raucous futzing. It's getting dark.” A older voice said from somewhere down the way. Elliot couldn't tell who had spoken. A moment later they heard something truly raucous.

“Clumsy Fool!” The both took of toward the sound of the disturbance. A gruff looking older man with smooth gray skin and large eyes was yelling at his server.

“Hey, what seems to be the trouble?” Elliot said, coming up quickly while Malcolm knelt down quickly at the man's side.

“This maggot spilled our dinner all over the terrace.” The burly man replied.

“From what I can tell he just dropped the dinner rolls and the mangoes, no big deal.” Malcolm said as he helped the man up.

“You human tells me it's no big deal. I don't know whether to fetch a doctor for your head or a tanning iron for your back.”

“Who are you sir?” Elliot said, attempting diplomacy.

“Someone far too busy to wait on Sika's clumsy feet.” A voice called from the crowd.

“Indeed so.” Agreed the man, whose name was apparently Sika. “I am truly sorry Ithicar.”

“It's Issachar you...”

“That's enough.” A commanding voice said from the other end of the terrace. A gray-skinned individual in a dark red tunic and brown slacks walked forward. He was clearly a man of some authority as the crowds parted to let him through. “There are other people at this business attempting to enjoy their meal. I suggest you pay your bill and allow them that courtesy, Sajen.”

“Tell that to this stranger.” The customer said, jabbing a thumb in Elliot's direction before resuming his seat.

“Thank you, whoever you are.” Sika said to Malcolm, clutching his hand.

“Sika, the same advice goes for you.” The older man said gently but firmly.

“Of course Magistrate.”

“I haven't seen the two of you around before.” The Magistrate said, putting his right hand to his collarbone in what was apparently a mild greeting.

“We're just passing through. We're...from the valley.”

“Well as chief peace officer here in Tarsus I would advise you to keep your head down in public until you know if you are staying. Or at least until you know who you are talking to.”

“Thank you, for the advice. And we will try to be more careful.”

“Well, restful night to you then.” The Marshall said amiably.

An hour later Malcolm saw a familiar face walking down the main path.

“Sika is it?” he called. The man nodded but said nothing. “Listen I, I hope I didn't get you into any trouble back there.”

Sika was clearly caught off guard. “You were very kind to me. More than mos' people here.” He looked form one strangers face to the other, as if waiting for them to continue. Elliot blushed.

“My name is Elliot. And this is my friend Malcolm.”

Sika smiled faintly. “Malcolm and Elli't.” He repeated, indicating them. “Strange names. Listen you should be getting...How stupid I am!” he interrupted himself. “You are strangers, travelers. Please, come stay with my daughter and I tonight!”

“I...Thank you. I don't know what else to say.”

Sika raised his right hand with two fingers up. “ 'Strangers and aliens are to be to you as natives and brothers. Make a habit of welcoming strangers for supper, the night if they need lodging.' It's the only way we can stay alive and together here in the outerlands.”

'lead the way' I almost said, but Sika was already leading us down one of the side streets. Four blocks later we came to his home, it looked like an old ranch house. A large wide window on either side fo the door but no other openings. He stopped right before the door. “Malcolm I should tell you, my daughter Tula doesn't talk much. Not in standard anyway.”

I wasn't sure what to say, and he didn't seem to expect a reply so I kept quiet. He shook the handle of his front door and pushed inward. There was a collection of books on the floor at the far wall, a tall thin bar the height of a room lamp right beside it. When Sika tapped it, the bar itself glowed with warm, orange light.

“Tula, Tula I bring guests.” Sika called cheerfully.

“Mi-an Sikal, father.” A young voice called from the other room. A moment later Tula walked into the room. You could almost say she bounded into the room, pushing up on her left foot as she rushed to embrace her father. I found her comely and delightful.

“Tula these are my new friends, Malcolm and Elli-t.” Tula's head tilted sideways. She smiled faintly at me. I shook my head to say 'no problem'.

“Supper is in the warmer. Is this a time for wine?”

She said happily. That's when I noticed she had made no attempt to shake hands, and neither had anyone else. Maybe they didn't do that here.

“Ka-ja Tula.” Sika said with a gentle remonstrance.

“Apalogies our friends, distracted.”

“Another Odyssey Tula?”

“Kavaberry pie. I...thought there'd be a reason for it so I made some at Nyssa's today.”

“Nyssa is a good teacher then?” Malcolm said sweetly to her. Sika looked embarrassed.

“Nyssa looks out for me when dad is gone for a long time. Nothing else to do.” Her face suddenly grew calm and serious. “Three for wine.” It almost didn't sound like a question.

“Yes please.” Malcolm said quickly. “Yes that would be wonderful.”

“Malcolm, Nyssa isn't real. She was having a tea party. Or the same idea.”

“Passing the time talking to polite guests.” Sika explained, smiling broadly. “Washroom down at the end, supper is almost ready.”

Sika quickly sat down at the head of a table that could have seated 6 people comfortably. Malcolm sat to his right and I sat down next to him. Tula set a salad of dark red vegetables a small loaf of thick bread and a platter of some kind of roasted meat down on the table. She left, came back with 4 plates, six glasses all about the size of tumblers and one much taller glass all of them made out of what looked like bronze or copper. She sat down on her father's left. They folded their hands into their laps and bowed their heads. Malcolm and I did the same.

“Herne and Silas and all our friends.” Sika said coarsely.

“Sarrin and Jenna.” Tula piped.

“Mary, Ellen.” I whispered. Malcolm gave me a look of sympathy. He shook his head. The prayer broke without explanation or inquiry. Sika filled 4 glasses with water and three from the bottle of wine on the table. He handed the tallest glass to his daughter and we each picked our own water and wine glasses.

“To young for wine?” Malcolm asked Tula jokingly.

“Too young by far.” She answered with a grin.

“Are you here looking for work?” Sika asked me, dishing out some of the salad.

“We were hoping to find work somewhere. Mostly I just wanted to see what else was out there.” I answered him.

“Although we intend to settle down eventually.” Malcolm said casually.

“Settle down?”Sika inquired.

“They'll not know where 'home' is until they find it. Until then they will keep being travelers."

Malcolm and I looked at Tula in surprise. Her eyes were over bright. “You speak like the people I create. You I can understand.” She said smiling brightly.
"I'm sorry the 'people she creates'?" I asked Sika.
"She speaks in an older dialect of standard. She writes all her stories in that voice. You sound like...her."

“akkamitti isaan waliin wal argite?” Tula asked her father later.

(How did you meet them?)

“Eliyoot Artar duratti naaf dhaabbate Malcolm immoo akkan ka'u na gargaare.”

(Elliott stood me up in front of Arthur and Malcolm helped me up)

“Kana irraa Eliyoot gowwaa fi Malcolm gara laafessa ta'uu isaa argite.”

(You took from this that Elliot was stupid and Malcolm was kind.)

“eeyyee sirriitti.” Sika enthused.

(Yes, exactly.)

Tula shook her head slowly. “Lakki abbaa. Eliyoot ija jabina kan qabu siʼa taʼu, Maalkoom immoo ni yaaddessa ture.”

(No, father. Elliott was courageous, and Malcolm was concerned.)

“I cannot disagree.” Sika said smiling sadly.

Tula wears a blue crystal around her neck that in her own words "tells everyone else I have my head so far in the clouds I can't see the tree in front of me." In other words, anyone who hassles her for not following the custom of position, for not knowing how things are will get laughed at themselves rather than encouraged or agreed with.

The next morning Malcolm and Elliot meet Tula at a city park and one of the gray skinned people, who are the first class citizens on this planet starts hassling her. He's a bully teasing the quiet dreamer, they can tell this in an instant. Now this is a bi-lingual as well as a bi-species town and it is unclear to the visitors why Tula speaks this ancient native to the planet language more often than the others. But the boy ends his string of insults with "Deimos Pah Tar-ek Ni'cha." And Tula's eyes actually light up. 

"Ayiah Selat Portia, Myah Selene Kolos." She says calmly and walks away. Leaving a very intrigued but clueless pair of visiting humans.

"He basically said that the founder of my tribe slept with the pigs." She explained later.

Deimos, the founder of her tribe -by which she meant humans on this planet though they don't pick up on that right away- had 2 sons and three daughters by his wife Portia. Who left him to live with another man from beyond the sun. She describes that union as a 'prosperous marriage' resulting in 7 sons and 5 daughters and how that clan, Kolos eventually became the dominant race on the planet.

"But all of us came from Portia. Can you sense the implication?" She says with a smile.

The implication of course being if Deimos slept with the pigs what does that make his wife. Suddenly her eyes grew hard. "Where are you from?" She said coarsely. Malcolm and Elliot looked between each-other. "The Valley is the center. This would have been your lifeblood. Where are you from?!"

They quickly realize they just heard this planet's equivalent of two of the sons of Abraham as well as the origin story for the human and non human races on the planet and showed no sign of recognition. They had previously told the girl Tula and her father Sika that they were from the valley and just passing through looking for work. They had actually crashed here from another planet...Earth.

Three Alien Generals

 In a world where everyone is the extreme of themselves, Jeremiah and Nikita speak of their benign captor J'onn Jo'nzz. J'onn would be a Captain not a General but it still fits.

“He's trying to make sense of us. More specifically, of me.”

“Does he know who you are?”

“In that I'm an alien. The rest? He has a nearly accurate picture of just about everything. And I'm starting to get the suspicion that I'm 15 degrees off in everything I know about him.”

“How do you mean?”

“Either he's extremely a-typical for his race or I got them confused to begin with.” She looked down. “Then again, he would've had even longer than I did to learn otherwise.”

Jeremiah looked sad. “I take it by 'to learn otherwise' you mean 'to learn the things living on Earth would have taught him'.” Nikita nodded solemnly, her straight auburn hair shaking slightly with the motion. "How long have you had to learn the conventions and realities of life on Earth?”

“I first landed on Earth not too long before you landed on the moon.”

“Okay one, you do not look that old. And two, how much older do you think he is?”

“My people live about 120 of our own years. I don't know how long that is in yours. And... he's been here for at least 300 years.”

“Okay how do you know THAT?”

“He's a Martian. No matter what else he is, he's a Martian. Which means it's been 300 years since he's been able to go home. But I don't know...”

“Wait, are you saying that depending on which race of Martian he is...”

“Jeremiah, if that man wanted us dead we'd BE dead.”

“Then why the hesitation?”

“Because while I'd rather believe that the way he's been talking to me is a result of him living on Earth for the last 300 years and not because I got it wrong which race of Martian was which, the thought that living on Earth has changed a person in this way and to this degree is not something I would otherwise hope.”

“Okay, now you really do need to sit down and vague out.”

“That sounds like a good idea.” She sat down on the floor, feet together, knees high, looking rather like butterfly or a very awkward spider. Her head dropped and she entered what Jeremiah knew to be a meditative state. Her knees were almost as high as her head was low. She could have been sleeping except her eyes were moving around, she was clearly aware of her surroundings. When the alien came in the next morning, Jeremiah could sense something was wrong. In the 20 something days they'd spent in his care, his attention was split evenly between Jeremiah and his charge. If anything he had payed slightly more attention to the middle-aged human male than the unskilled but confident female with him. Perhaps he'd recognized the custodial role Jeremiah had in her life. Something was different today: the man's eyes never left Nikita's face.

“Come with me, now.” He said to Nikita, who still did not raise her head. “I'll not ask again.”

Jeremiah stood between Nikita and the alien. “Leave her alone.” The man raised his hand, as if to backhand Jeremiah. In the last instant he pulled himself back. Jeremiah gave a grateful look before continuing. “Please, whatever you have planned for her, take me instead.”

“For all you know I'm about to take her away and execute her. Do you still volunteer?”

“No, but I know you're not going to. Nikita was right if you wanted either one of us dead we'd BE dead by now. What you want from us, is answers.”

“And it's about time I get them.” He took Nikita by the wrist. Jeremiah grabbed him by the shoulder and forcibly pulled him away. Strangely the alien looked both pleased and amused at the gesture. “Your actions are heroic, if remarkably unwise.”

'What do you want with her?' Why the sudden interest in her specifically?' 'Leave her alone you animal!' These expressions stretched themselves across Jeremiahs face in 2 seconds. He said none of these things. Instead he held out his hands in an emphatically non-threatening posture. “Sir, and I call you that because I have nothing else to call you, for what must be almost a month by know we have been nothing but civil with each-other, though exceedingly impatient. A friend of mine told me that even enemies can give each-other compliments. If you hurt her, my restraint will go right out the window. And I will probably die trying to take you down. But I swear on my life if you let her go, you can do whatever you want to me__in payment of that debt.”

This speech did not have quite the effect he'd intended. The green-skinned Martian actually backed away from his human charge and cast down his eyes. “You, care for her?”

“This surprises you?”

“Yes. What IS she to you? I mean...who is she to you?”

“Someone who has been tortured for years by a man far more blind than I have words to express. A man I served under for years and at one time looked up to. If there is one truth of which I need no convincing it is that she is innocent, that she is precious to me. You are not nearly as blind as Henshaw and yet you are. I cannot pretend to understand it. There is one more truth: I would die before I let her come to harm again. Please, she has been through enough, let her alone.”

“Among my people not to introduce yourself is extremely rude, even among enemies. From what I understand that is a tenet across the galaxies. We have given you our names Sajen. I'd appreciate the same courtesy. Nikita's voice came as almost a balm to the conversation.

“I do not understand.” Jeremiah admitted.

“Neither does our host...at all. He is almost as blind as Henshaw himself and he can freaking read out minds to learn the truth of our souls!” Nikita's voice displayed no anger as she said this. The only emotion to come through her voice was...regret. “You've figured out I'm not Enkaren. You must have known I was not a threat. It follows you thought Jeremiah was a threat, to me if not to yourself. I'm gonna ask a question I've had in my mind for a while: Phobos or Deimos?”

“You know the difference?” The Martian inquired, astonished beyond measure.

“I know what they are, not which is which. That was the entire problem on my part. In the early days of Mars there were two brothers, Phobos and Deimos. Their rivalry and bloodshed was the reason for the split of the Green and White Martians. I learned that from an Enkaren woman I once knew here on Earth. From which I understood that Phobos and Deimos were like Ishmael and Issac from the Old Testament. Except they split along such divergent paths they became two separate races rather than founding two separate religions.”

“You never knew if my kind were...Ishmael or Issac?”

“I've never met your kind before in my life. And the White Martian I met was...Hank's favorite example of how dangerous aliens could truly be. She'd been in that cell for over a decade when I met her. No one could hold completely to their morals after that.” She spoke with unrestrained bitterness. “In case you haven't figured it out yet, Henshaw was a Creech-ta. If not a Chrish-naka Sareth. And until now you seemed equally blinded.”

“Why do I get the feeling that if you had known I belonged to Deimos... you would have...”

“ 'Deimos Pah, Tar-ek Ni-cha.' would have been the first thing out of my mouth 3 days ago.”

“Could someone provide me with a translation?” Jeremiah asked, holding up his hand.

“What she said was that I've failed or disgraced the name of my progenitor. Except if I came from Phobos my behavior wouldn't have been failing my progenitor, but living up to his name. Believe me when I tell you that White Martians are Creech-ta to almost anyone.”

“ 'ignorant, arrogant asshole'.” Nikita translated.

“How in the name of rational thought are you speaking the Enkaren language so naturally if you are not, yourself Enkaren?!”

“Because it's my people native language as well!” Nikita replied, openly laughing.

“But you...you're not...” He rubbed his left forefinger against her temple, as if tracing something that should be there. “Are you Xavallen?”

“Why should that be of particular interest to you?”

The alien actually bent his back forward and backed away from Nikita. “I...my name is... J'onn Jo'nzz. And I must humbly beg your pardon.”

“I...do not understand. Please you owe me nothing. You might owe Jeremiah an apology for so completely misjudging him but you own me nothing!”

“Okay, I'm officially lost.” Jeremiah admitted.

“No less so than I.”

“You...you don't...” J'onn actually stammered.

“My parents taught me more about Enkarens, Brevaks, Zyerilians and such than they did about our own race. That's why I left.”

“There was a coming of age ceremony 2 years before I became a legal independent adult on my planet. But I never had one. My biological parents didn't think I was worth teaching my own races history and culture. So I ran away. And because I wasn't yet a legal adult by our planets laws that's what I was: A runaway.”

“I was as wrong about the two of you as this arrogant human you keep talking about was wrong about her. I am sorry. And I will FIND a way to make it right.” He left without another word.

A few hours later Jeremiah walked up the steps from the basement. Something he very rarely did. He saw J'onn sitting at a dining table, staring out the window. “Most humans, most races in the galaxies at all no matter how much they try to lift the head of another and put the needs of their friends first, would still put their own life, their own survival before anything else at need. Xavallens don't. They are, by comparison to their brethren, Friars and Philosophers.”

What Almost Escaped Us

 The aliens have orange fur and are basically bipedal cats called the Tzenkethi. It has not yet been explained how Chris ended up in this cell to begin with. The audience takes the same journey of discovery Chris and his keeper are taking together.

She was staring at him. Reclined on her sofa, hand at her mouth, she stared at him with acute interest as he struggled to break free of his handcuffs.

“Do you enjoy watching people struggle?” He demanded finally.

“When I see a human, they usually do not struggle for long.” She replied easily. The fur around her mouth twitching in delight. She stood up and sauntered closer to his cell. “Human behavior is inexplicable. Even if you get those restraints off you will still be imprisoned by the force barrier.” She rubbed her thumb against her 3 fingers. “Sincerely, why do you bother?”

“'Hope is eternal until we are dead. Then there's no need.' Old Mojave wisdom.”

“Mojave, is that a race or a region?”

“A region.” He answered with some surprise.

She sat back on her sofa and began twirling a thin rope, looking not unlike a cat playing with a long blade of grass. “You are a curious one.” She continued lazily. “I've been here 70 years and have never met a human like you. It is a pity imperial law does not allow for exceptions.”

“How do you mean?”

“More inclined to ask questions before punching. More prone to defiance than pleading.”

“I'm not certain why I should be...” She pinched the rope with the flat of her thumb and his body instantly seized, as if someone had taken hold of his back and yanked upward.

“You do not seem to understand much of anything. It is...most curious actually.”

She lifted the rope as if examining the end and he felt dizzy, light-headed, as if he was floating in the air. She pressed the point of her claw into the rope and suddenly Chris felt the point of a sword against his throat. If she pressed into the braided fabric he would feel the sword press into his skin, suffocating him, if not slicing his vocal cords.

“Please...” he gasped.

She dropped the rope. Instantly his pain ceased. He wasn't even breathing hard.

“Kochalk Mirach.” A man's voice said from behind his jailer. “Are you done playing with your food?” He demanded in English.

“I'm well aware of my duties.” She answered. “Leave him for the officers.” She was gone.

“I sincerely suggest you try to get some sleep.” Chris sat on the ledge that was obviously meant to be his bed and looked at the floor. The man turned and left without another word. Chris shook his head as if to clear it. Something was incredibly wrong here. He didn't know what. And he did not like not knowing. When next he opened his eyes he had a new visitor. One that was not as clearly female as his prior guard and who quite clearly was a person of authority.

“You've made quite an impression there human.”

“Why do you call me that?”

“It is what you are, for starters. Now tell me who you are.”

“My name is Captain Christopher Pike.” The man said almost professionally.

“A captain? That is unusual. Captain of what ship?”

“The USS Enterprise.”

“Impossible. There has not been a human captain of that ship for decades.”This female, if it was a female, had darker orange fur on her paws and her face had streaks of black. Her voice was smoother, silkier than the other guard, reflecting both maturity and experience.

“And what is your name.” Christopher intoned.

“I am Solivar.” The officer replied simply. It could not be doubted she was an officer in whatever star-fleet she served. She stared at him impassively for several minutes.

“What is it?” He asked shortly.

“I'm trying to decide what use to make of you.”

“I take it you're not used to troubling yourself with human prisoners?”

“You would be incorrect. Although I admit I find you more intriguing than most.”

Her lieutenant stepped forward. She raised her hand sharply. “Da, dobro znam što biste učinili s njim. da je bilo po vašem. Ali moja volja prevladava.” Her subordinate backed away from her.

“That pup had his ideas what to do with me?” Christopher guessed.

“Quite right. But my will prevails on such matters.”

“So what are you planning on doing with me?” 'God this feels freakishly familiar!'

“Bring Sarrin back. We will see what she can learn. And if she's as ready as she believes ” Solivar turned to the 'pup' at her side. “Stay here until she returns; do not touch him.”

“Why are you bothering to speak in English?”

“I see no reason to hide this part of our intentions from you.” Solivar answered directly.

“How considerate of you.” He did not say this with doubt or sarcasm, more like he was acknowledging the truth of his statement. These people were thoughtful, in their own way.

Sarrin, as was apparently her name, stared hard at her prisoner. There was a sharpness, a set seriousness to her face. She sipped from an ornate white mug.

“I take it this is not a 'carrot and stick' situation?” The man said from inside his cell.

“Your words make no sense to me.” She replied shortly.

“Are you Sarrin?” The woman nodded. “Is it your function to try to coax answers out of me gently while your superior tries to force them out of my throat.”

“I see your meaning. You want to know if I am being falsely nice, if I am simply playing with you. In other words if my restraint and interest are merely a facade.”

“I wouldn't have put it quite that way, but yes.”

“I am merely trying to study you. I want you to make sense to me. That is my motivation.”

“I am going to assume English is not your first language.”

“What is 'English'?”

“Ah...nevermind.”

“Did they not give you anything to eat yet?” Sarrin inquired. Chris shook his head. She began tapping on her console. “I'm going to give you some lombark meal.” She stated matter of factly. A thick brown mug, wider and taller than her own appeared on the table in front of her. She looked up at him sharply. “You have to get to the back of that cell or I can't feed you.” Chris backed up against the wall, his hands behind him. “It'll only be half a day's ration.” She continued as if there had been no interruption. She slid the mug across the floor, it stopped just inside the cell. He picked up the mug and looked at the thick brown liquid inside it.

“You're not drinking coffee are you?” He asked with a light humor.

“No. I'm not sure what you'd call this. It's a drinkable food.”

“Liquid bread?”

“Close enough.”

“Military rations.” Chris guessed. Sarrin did not reply. Chris drank about half of the mug in peaceful silence. No small feat when ones hands are bound. He set the mug down. “Thank you.”

“Welcome.” Sarrin returned. She sat on her sofa and began fingering the rope again.

“Why are you doing this?” Chris urged.

“Surely you're intelligent enough to figure that out.” Sarrin answered, almost playfully.

“I don't mean your kind, I mean you personally. Your compatriot was wrong. You are not playing with your food. You don't even want to be doing this.” Chris insisted. “So why are you?”

I'm not obliged to tell you anything. Although I will admit you continue to surprise me. Eventually I WILL figure out what makes you so frustratingly unique.”

“Don't you mean 'frustratingly defiant'?”

“That''s not the only thing that makes you so – To-Ka!” Sarrin said suddenly, holding her hand flat out to him, like she was telling him to stop. Which he quickly realized is exactly what she was doing. “Do yourself a favor, don't try anything.” She told him sternly. She reached to her left, pressing her palm flat against the arm of the sofa. The 'force barrier was restored.

“Did you do that on purpose?” Chris inquired. “Leaving the barrier down.”

“No.” Sarrin answered simply. “I am surprised you didn't try to escape.”

“I won't lie and tell you it didn't cross my mind. But I was a little distracted.”

“Your honesty is very refreshing. It usually requires much encouragement to get a straightforward answer out of our prisoners.”

“Okay, I'm not kidding here, what do you want from us?!” Chris near-barked.

“ 'Us'?” Sarrin replied.

“Me. What do you want from me.” Chris rushed, covering.

“You said 'us'. Are there more like you? Yes..there are others.” She answered, without waiting for a reply. “Your concern for them is evident. How many more of you are there?” Chris did not answer. She wrapped her hand around the rope. “How many humans came with you?” Still Chris did not speak. “Surely you must realize there are things that make this,” She lifted the rope gently. Chris braced himself, but no pain came. “feel like a slap on the wrist.” She pulled gently on the rope until it stretched taunt across her face. Chris's throat tightened as he felt his arms bent backward. All she would have to do was pull a little harder and the tendons in his shoulders would pull themselves apart. She gazed at him across the rope. “It's a technique called 'traumatic hypnosis'. Quite effective, yes?” Chris didn't respond except to nod his head. Sarrin unceremoniously dropped the rope again. She leaned to her right, away from the wall and the rope. Her eyes closed for a moment. “I wish I was doing a better job of this.”

“May I now ask you a question?”

“You mean beyond that one? You can ask.”

“Are you being tested as well?”

“In a way.” Sarrin admitted. “They wanted to see how I would handle an interrogation, what methods I would employ and how long I could stay here. The only thing is, I can't think of any questions to ask you. Well, none that can't wait four hours anyway.” She actually yawned.

“Ne napuštajte svoju stanicu!” A harsh voice said over the intercom.

'Who said I was leaving?” Sarrin replied in English.

The doors sealed themselves and the lights dimmed to half their intensity. “TAC: 2-3-9 seventy-four Alpha Orion-3.” Sarrin said sharply. “I set the room at 74 degrees. It's all I can really do to make you comfortable.” Sarrin explained as she stretched herself on the floor her feet toward Chris' cell, her head toward the couch, her left-leg bent so her foot was flat on the tile. “Kether Prax. Nox.” She told thin air. The room went completely dark.

Chris lay down with his eyes to the ceiling. His gaze drifted to Sarrin. Is this a test from her? Does she expect me to try to run? She wants to see if I will try to run. Is it a good idea. Probably not. Do I want to get her into trouble? No I don't think so. It is strange, I would expect a feline to lie on her side with all fours on the ground, or on her stomach like a cheetah. Not on her back like that. 'but she doesn't' live on all fours' his mind answered itself. 'She's sleeping in such a way that she can jump to her feet in an instant if alarmed or startled. She's resting, not sleeping...'at the ready'.

“Captain Pike, are you there?” La'an's voice was barely perceptible in the muffled air. Her voice was coming from somewhere to Chris' left.

“Over here.” He whispered urgently.

“Are you alright?”

“Yes, I'm fine. In a cell, otherwise I'm fine.”

“Do Not. Move.” Sarrin's cold voice rang out.

'Of course. Sarrin was waiting for this. Knowing there were others on this ship with me, they would wait for someone to try to rescue me. And cats see much better in the dark than humans.'

“TAC. Lagan, mekan, ali jasan.” The lights came on, soft and low. Sarrin was staring hard at La'an, her face as impassive as before. “For your own sake human, do. Not. Move.” Sarrin repeated.

La'an followed the woman's very sound advice and held herself still.

“I congratulate you. This was a most impressive trap.” Chris said with a little bitterness.

Sarrin did not even spare him a glance. “Tar-ek dahl. No senta Ca-rine Me-tai.” A few moments later another guard came in.

“Herinner mij eraan om nooit aan jouw wijsheid te twijfelen.” The guard said to Sarrin.

“You might as well speak in their language.” Sarrin said in English.

“Waar sturen ze die idioten heen, naar die bevroren woestenij die is gereserveerd voor hen die hun plichten niet hebben vervuld?” The guard replied.

“Hell. And I take your meaning.” Sarrin answered instantly.

“Translation please?” Chris prompted respectfully.

“He asked what was the name of the frozen wasteland traitors and liars are sent to.”

“It isn't a frozen...” La'an began.

“He was saying hell would freeze over before he spoke English in front fo a human.”

“What is your name and what have you done to my captain?” La'an demanded.

“He really is a captain of a starship. That is interesting.” Sarrin noted. “Other than arresting his movement slightly, we have done nothing to him.”

“I find that hard to believe.”

“No actually she's right about that. I've been stuck in this cell for 3 days – and they forgot to give me my ration last night. Other than that they haven't really done anything to me.”

“Wat zullen we met deze andere doen?” The other guard inquired, indicating the female human. Sarrin replied in a long string of her native language, lifting her arm in front of her, with her fingers raised, as if holding a snow globe. The guard smiled and nodded. “Duur?”

Sarrin tilted her head, considering the question. “TAC: What is the clock?”

“The time is 0-seven hundred hours.”

“Five.” Sarrin decided. “But not yet. What is your name?”

“La'an.” The human woman answered honestly.

“La'an. That is not a normal human name?” Sarrin pondered aloud. “Not that it matters. How many more of you are there?” Neither human spoke. Sarrin turned to the human she found so fascinating. “KRIS!” She barked. “How many more humans like you are there here?”

“My entire crew is 'like me'. As far as Io know, La'an is the only one to come with me.”

Sarrin studied Chris for several moments, her head tilted to one side. “That is likely true.” She turned to the human female. “La'an, my lieutenant is going to take you to a very small room. Resist and you might not see your captain again. Harsh though we can be, we are not liars.”

“You can trust her on that.” Chris advised.

La'an was led away by the male guard. Sarrin walked to the table and picked up a bottle of oil.

“Are you an anomaly or a specialist?” Chris prompted.

“Explain.”

“You are more inclined to ask questions before punching. And you don't seem to have much of a stomach for outright interrogation or torture. Does that make you an outcast among your people? Or are you simply of a different caste?”

Dipping her finger into the small jar, she spread its oil under her nose and across her left wrist. “More the second one. I'm not a wounded heart or anything..”

“Bleeding heart.” Christopher corrected automatically.

“The brute force attack doesn't always work with prisoners and when that is observed, I'm called in to apply alternatives. In some races a soft answer leads to increased malleability. It's not as though humans are the only life-forms we ever put in cells. Studying our enemies helps us to understand them and most of my superiors understand that.” She put the bottle back on the table and stretched herself on the floor much like she had done, except her feet were toward the sofa, her head was toward his cell and she was on her side.

More than an hour passed in this way. “What did you do with her? Where did you send her?!” Sarrin did not reply. She did not even raise her head. “Tell me!” Chris urged. “Please, I don't care what recompense you demand for it, I need to know what's happening to her!” Sarrin took a deep breath and let it out slowly, but did not answer. “Sarrin, I take your meaning.” Chris began, forcibly calming his voice. “Please, will you tell me what is happening to my second officer? You said she is in a very small room. I accept that. Tell me, is anything else happening to her?”

“If you mean is she in an agonizer or something, the answer is no. She is being held in a place where none of my people can see her and all she can see is the ceiling.” Sarrin propped herself up on her elbow and looked at Chris who looked back at her, nonplussed. She held up her hand again. Chris now saw the similarities between that pose and a pedestal risen high in the air. “She is on a table so high there is little space between her and the roof.” Sarrin finished.

“For five hours?” Chris guessed.

“She will spend the next five hours with no one to talk to and nothing to hear. What happens to her after that is up to you. Do you fully grasp my meaning?”

Chris nodded sadly. “Her continued safety is entirely dependent on my continued cooperation.”

 “Yes. And you were right before.”

“About what?”

“You did not get your ration last night.” She placed her hand on the table, which he now noticed stretched between her sofa and his cell. “Nosiette. Ca-rinn tomai-dahl.” A large mug of the 'liquid bread' appeared in front of her. This had an aroma of hazelnut to it. She motioned him to back away from the force barrier. He did, his hands behind his back and flat against the wall, as before. She walked up to the cell, placed the mug just inside the barrier and backed away, keeping her eyes on his shoulders to his waist. She sat down on the sofa, her legs to the side, pulled close to her chest. She placed her hand on the armrest and the force barrier was once again restored.

“With the force barrier activated, I don't really need the restraints."

“You know the language of diplomacy. You speak in terms you know I will understand.”

“It helps to be talking to someone who's just as good at it.”

Sarrin swallowed hard, took a small, silver device from her belt and pressed the blue tip. The restraints on Christopher's wrists released themselves.

“I say it again: Thank You.” Christ said with feeling.

“What else would you like?”

“If you are sincerely asking...”Chris began.

“NE-ver doubt my sincerity.” Sarrin barked.

“Forgive me.” Chris apologized. “Something to drink, something cool to my throat.”

“Toren Kall. Notsanta E-Se-kaia nesta-Zaki.” Sarrin said to thin air.

“Which means exactly what?”

“I asked my attendant to bring me a human drink from the cooler.”

Sarrin did not speak and Chris did not speak to her until the attendant came in carrying a dark purple glass, translucent and cone shaped. Sarrin put the cup to her lips. “Dasar bodoh. Keluar dari sini, sekarang! Gėrimas iš vynuogių, o ne iš grūdų. Šį kartą tai padaryk teisingai!” Her attendant looked at her with admiration. Her prisoner looked at her as if she were insane.

“Do I want to know what you just said?” Chris asked, with a small amount of apprehension.

“It roughly translates to 'You idiot, you brought me the wrong one!' I asked for a drink made from grapes, not one made from grains.”

“You're entire race are truth-speakers, aren't you?”

“Our soldiers are yes. It's part of our military code of honor. And I take it you have a particular question you wish to ask me.”

“Yes. What you're doing with your hand..flexing your fingers, rubbing your thumb against your fingertips. Do all of your people do that?”

“Those of us who have seen combat. Who have been forced to live in environments not suitable to our kind.”

“It's how you cope with being cooped up on a starship. You can't run around and stretch your legs, so you stretch other appendages, like your arms and hands.”

“A good guess, but no. The planetary conditions of most worlds we investigate are not entirely compatible with our own physiology. Some of us stay for weeks and months on these worlds. After such prolonged exposure our bones...hurt.”

“Investigate. You mean for colonization?”

“Yes. Now get some sleep. You will need your strength tomorrow. Trust me on that.”

“At this point it wouldn't occur to me not to trust you.”

Sarrin hesitated. “Captain, there is something that according to standard protocol I should have asked you in the first hour I had you here in front of me."
“Whether Starfleet is a military space-fleet?” Christopher guessed.
"No. Whether you yourself have ever been captured by the enemy before. If you have anything by which to judge... or against which to measure your time here."

"I'm going to have to ask for clarification on that."

"Have you ever been taken prisoner and ended up in a cage? Are you an experienced officer in your star-fleet?"

Chris's eyes darted upward, then to the floor. He was searching his memory. "I have been trapped by aliens who threw me in a cave behind an energy barrier. Looking back on it, I don't really think of it as being imprisoned, because my alien keepers treated me more like a specimen in a zoo than a prisoner in a cell."

“So most of the conditions still fit. Except for the aspect of your captors being 'the enemy'."

“Very much so. Why the sudden interest?”

“As I said, I should have asked you this right after leaning you were the captain of a starship. I am merely correcting my own breach of protocol.” She smiled coyly. “And I can't help thinking you're taking being trapped in a cell with no idea why you've been captured remarkably well. I wondered if this was or wasn't your first time.”

“You and I are both in a journey of discovery Sarrin. I'm piecing things together as we go along. And being in a cell in itself seems to fade compared with the incomparable opportunity to learn and understand. There are few things more important to us. Most especially...to me.”

“So... 'diplomacy' wasn't the right word.”

“Right enough.”

Sarrin nodded sagely. “One last thing before 'night mode'. Your second officer, she is a solider?"

"Very much so...why do you ask?"