Margeret Bonanno - Probe

Never mind that it wasn't the same ship, that it was twenty years later, that he wasn't the same nervous young lieutenant. All the familiar faces would be there — Scotty, Spock, Uhura, and countless others-and that would make it strange. And it was still the Enterprisein spirit, at least-so the memories would be there as well, ghosts overlaying the spanking new corridors as he walked them.

But he could deal with that kind of strangeness. What Kevin Riley was really having trouble dealing with was his status as the most important person aboard the ship, the man around whom the entire mission would revolve. And if he found it hard to deal with, he wondered how James T. Kirk would feel.

After all, Riley had been an eager-to-please ensign the first time he'd met the captain. Kirk had forced him to specialize, gotten him an early promotion to lieutenant. When Malik had died in a landing party under his command, Kirk had nursed him through it. When his career was in tatters, Kirk had picked him up, dusted him off, and gotten him an entirely new one. Saved his life, really, if you thought about it. And now he was to be the representative of the Federation, nominally in charge of Kirk and his entire crew.

That was the kind of strangeness he wasn't sure he could deal with.

But he had survived his apprenticeship with Ambassador Sarek, he told himself firmly. And he had approached that assignment with even greater apprehension, he remembered, none of which had been allayed when his first meeting with the ambassador got off to what Riley considered a less than auspicious start.

"You recount here an incident while you were on active duty," were the first words out of the Vulcan's

mouth as he scanned Riley's personnel file. Riley himself, not yet invited to sit, stood and sweated. "You were given charge of a landing party wherein a crewman was killed by an indigenous predator. You claimed responsibility for the crewman's death and retired from starship duty for a time thereafter."

It was not a question, exactly, but the ambassador obviously expected a response of some kind. Riley swallowed and began, "As the officer in charge of the landing party, sir, it was my responsibility-"

"— to anticipate every possible contingency? To know future events in advance in order to counteract them? I think not, Mr. Riley. Do sit down."

Riley sat, but he did not stop sweating. When he'd asked for a transfer to Diplocorps, he'd expected at most the kind of posting he'd had with his former captain-a glorified secretarial job, attached to some commodore's office in the boondocks where he could learn the drill and maybe, by the time he was in his fifties, end up second-in-command at some remote starbase where the natives were mostly female and dark haired. He'd never expected to be assigned to Sarek, and he certainly hadn't expected Sarek to accept anyone less than a Vulcan as his 'fleet liaison.

"Humans have a certain-spontaneity-which I have frequently found of value," was the only explanation Sarek ever gave, and that only once, weeks later, when Riley, after a particularly frustrating day, had suggested that his posting might have been a mistake, the result perhaps of a computer glitch or a bureaucratic mix-up. "If you are uncomfortable with the posting," Sarek had gone on, "you may request a transfer at any time, barring our being in midcrisis at the time."

That first day, though, Sarek had said nothing as he

impassively read Riley's file from beginning to end. After what seemed like hours to Riley, the Vulcan had looked up and contemplated his erstwhile new aide.

"You have no family, Mr. Riley." Again, not a question but a statement of fact requiring something more than a nod as a response.

"No, sir, I don't. With the amount of traveling I do, it didn't seem fair to acquire any permanent attachments. And my biological family-my parents-were killed on Tarsus IV."

"I am familiar with the circumstances," Sarek said. "Do you believe this has any bearing on your choice of career?"

Riley nodded. Hell, yes, he wanted to say. But he supposed one didn't use that manner of language around an ambassador. This ambassador, certainly.

"I know I'd like to use whatever skills I have to prevent the kind of incident that gives rise to a monster like Kodos."

The answer seemed to satisfy Sarek, who folded his hands on the desktop and studied Riley in silence.

Riley thought he knew all about Vulcan silences: he'd survived a few under Spock in the early years. What was expected of him, he knew, was to wait, for however long it took-without flinching, fidgeting, looking bored, or otherwise implying that his valuable time was being wasted. He didn't know how long Sarek's silence lasted, although subjectively it felt like at least a year, and it was so complete that Riley occasionally imagined he could hear his beard growing. In fact, he began to wonder if the beard was the object under scrutiny.

He'd started it during his years as Kirk's secretary and become rather fond of it, fascinated with the range of colors it produced, from brown to red to what he still

believed was a premature gray. He wouldn't go so far as to say it made him look distinguished, but it made him feel less boyish, and that had to be an advantage to a diplomat, at least among humanoids who associated facial hair with maturity and/or dignity. In any event, he'd hate to have to part with it.

"Vulcans have a saying, Mr. Riley," Sarek said at last. " `A beard more often reveals than conceals.' You will therefore rarely encounter a bearded Vulcan. Do you intend to retain this-growth of yours?" There was, of course, no trace of emotion in either Sarek's voice or his features, nothing to give Riley the faintest cue as to what the correct answer might be.

"It can go if you dislike it, Ambassador," Riley offered at once.

He saw just as quickly that it had been the wrong answer.

"If you are to be my liaison with Starfleet, Mr. Riley, you must understand one thing: I have no patience with indecisiveness. It was one of your own revered philosophers who said, `Be thou either hot or cold. Be not lukewarm or I shall vomit you out of my mouth.' Not a pleasant metaphor, perhaps, but one with which I hold. You may be unsure, Mr. Riley, but never indecisive. Do you understand the distinction?"

"I believe I do," Riley had said after a long moment.

"I believe you do as well," Sarek had responded. The deal was done, and Riley kept the beard.

And learned. The learning never ended.

Bracing himself, Ambassador Kevin Riley exited the `lift and after only one false start, made his way toward the briefing room.

As if on cue, only seconds after the President's announcement concerning the identity of Sarek's replacement, the replacement himself hurried tardily and apologetically through the door. There were handshakes all around, those of Kirk and McCoy perhaps a bit warmer and hardier than the others. Admiral Cartwright, however, cut the greetings and reminiscences short and pointedly brought Riley up to date on what had been covered prior to his arrival.

When the admiral had finished and Riley had quietly taken a seat between McCoy and the admiral, Spock turned to the President. "I believe, Mr. President, you indicated there were other Romulan demands you felt might also be deemed `peculiar."'

The President nodded. " `Unusual,' or perhaps `unexpected' might be a better description. Nor would some be considered as much `demands' as `opportunities."'

McCoy snorted. "Since when have Romulans been known for offering anyone an `opportunity'? Unless it's an opportunity to die!"

Cartwright's scowl, apparently never far below the surface, staged another comeback while the President smiled faintly as he gestured to the admiral.

"The conference is to take place," Admiral Cartwright said, "on and in orbit around a planet the Federation designates Temaris Four." As the admiral spoke, an orange globe formed and stabilized in the air above the center of the briefing table, courtesy of one of the conference room's concealed holographic projectors.