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  "She loves him, Jim."

  "I know. S'Talon said she'd been with him for years, but I don't think he knows. It's a shame she couldn't have that at least."

  "She's been delirious these last few hours—slipping in and out of sanity—and she's talked a little. S'Talon's an unusual man. Comes from an old family, well-educated and managed to stay free of the intrigues of the Romulan court. The Praetor doesn't like him."

  "That explains why he was chosen as a decoy. He could be relied on to carry out the mission but his loss would be welcome. He seems to be in no man's land, in as much danger from his superiors as he is from the Federation."

  "From the way she talked, more. He was almost assassinated on this mission."

  Kirk's eyes shifted to the Romulan commander.

  "Bones, I have a feeling S'Talon is the lever we need to push things our way."

  S'Talon was unaware of Kirk and McCoy. He guarded the centurion's bedside, fiercely protective. The depth of his feeling was a surprise he did not try to analyze. He examined the pale face before him, noticed the delicacy of upswept eyebrows, the curling length of lashes, the hair spread across the pillow like a dark cloud. He smiled thinly as his centurion opened haunted black eyes.

  "Commander …" she whispered.

  "Ssshhh …" said S'Talon, silencing her with two gentle fingers against her lips. "Ssshhh …" he repeated. "I know you revealed nothing … or perhaps something of great value—your loyalty," he said.

  Full lashes fluttered as the centurion's eyes widened in surprise.

  "I could not let you betray yourself, Commander," she answered.

  "I know."

  "Commander …"

  "Do not speak."

  "I must. It is selfish, I know, but I want to tell you before I go … I have always loved you."

  Obscure facets of S'Tarleya's personality coalesced for S'Talon. He had thought her loyalty unusual and valued it. Now he knew its source.

  "I have been blind, Centurion. And a fool."

  "Not blind. Dedicated, I think. You had no time for my love. I would have waited until you did. A fool? Maybe. For it seems you must have seen my feelings."

  "Sometimes, Centurion, one holds the greatest treasure in one's hand and knows it only by its most prosaic characteristics. Familiarity is a most effective disguise."

  "And now it is too late … for both of us."

  Regret clouded S'Talon's thoughts and poured pain into the centurion's eyes. He pulled himself up short. Time enough for self-pity later. S'Talon allowed his fingers to caress her face, his touch gentle with understanding. He closed his eyes and concentrated on attaining peace. The barriers in his mind melted away.

  "S'Tarleya," he thought and she turned toward him, wonder growing in her eyes. "We have this time," his mind said. "It takes little time to say … 'I love you.'"

  "My love will be with you always," she answered.

  S'Talon felt a white light wash through his mind, flooding it with crystal clarity. His perceptions were heightened. He understood with a depth and breadth he had never before reached.

  "I love you, S'Tarleya," he repeated, "I love you."

  From McCoy's office the two humans kept their prisoner under observation while allowing him a certain amount of privacy.

  "That's what's in store for the Romulan empire, Jim: pain and loss and lingering grief," said McCoy.

  Kirk studied the alien commander and his officer. Neither the centurion's helplessness nor the commander's tender strength was lost on him. The centurion was dying. They all knew it. His own impotence made him angry. In so many ways S'Talon reminded him of Spock. He had the same control, the same quiet logic. He was the kind of man the Federation needed within the Romulan empire, a man of foresight and daring who might be persuaded to consider new ideas. He was losing not only a loyal and trusted companion, but what even an outsider could see was a special kind of love. Kirk thought of disease, hopeless and final, striking the Enterprise. If this had happened to his ship, his world … Spock, Bones, Scotty, Chekov, Uhura, Sulu … all four hundred and thirty crew members … it would be intolerable.

  "Bones, there must be something!"

  "Research is promising, Jim, but without large quantities of refined quinneal we won't have a chance to win. Jim … I know how you feel, but are you sure this is the right course? The Romulans have always been our enemies … you know there are going to be some who will say that if we had let the empire die we'd have let a big headache die with it."

  Kirk smiled wryly.

  "I know. I expect a lot of flack in that area. But if we don't do something about this … well, as far as I'm concerned there's no other course to take. It might even be the first step in making enemies friends."

  He activated the intercom.

  "Spock," he said.

  "Spock here."

  "ETA with the planet Canara, Mister Spock?"

  "Four point two-three hours, Captain. We have picked up a remote communications drone. It is of singular design and seems to be programmed by voice print. It will open only at your command."

  "All right, Mister Spock. S'Talon and I will meet you in Control. Kirk out."

  He walked slowly over to S'Talon, loath to intrude. The Romulan's mail tunic glittered and Kirk let himself be fascinated by it for a moment before he spoke.

  "Commander …"

  "Yes, Captain. I heard. I am ready. The centurion," he said, turning to Kirk, "is dead."

  "I am sorry, Commander," said Kirk, his hazel eyes searching S'Talon's face. "Commander …"

  The captain placed one hand on the Romulan's shoulder and S'Talon raised his eyes to Kirk's. For a timeless instant Terran and Romulan understood one another.

  "Let's go," said Kirk softly.

  They walked in silence to the turbo-lift, each man absorbed in his own thoughts.

  "Deck eight," said Kirk as the doors slid together.

  "You realize, Captain, this will not be easy. The Praetor will believe you murdered the centurion and brainwashed me. You must convince him and his officers that is not the case. You are going into terrible danger."

  "And you, Commander? You risk your life. Isn't peace—no matter how uneasy—worth the risk?"

  S'Talon gauged Kirk for the hundredth time.

  "Yes."

  "Report, Mister Spock," announced the captain as he and S'Talon stepped into auxiliary control, now manned by the bridge crew. S'Talon's left eyebrow rose in surprise at the small control area and Kirk smiled to himself, pleased he was able to keep the Romulan from prolonged observation of the Enterprise's bridge.

  "Communications have been restored, sir. The computer detached the sub-space monitor, but we were able to rig a by-pass," said Uhura.

  S'Talon chuckled.

  "We needn't have worried about communications, then. You do not know the time I wasted on that."

  "Captain."

  Spock's tone definitely indicated he wished to speak privately.

  "I recommend you open the communications drone before contacting Star Fleet."

  Spock held out the little cube for the captain's inspection. The letters "SICR" were stenciled on one side, followed by the Federation emblem. Kirk fingered the tiny struts that made it a maneuverable spacecraft.

  "This is new."

  "Indeed, Captain. It is an experimental model."

  "Another one?" Kirk raised the box to eye level. "This is James T. Kirk, SC 937-0176 CEC, commanding the USS Enterprise."

  A metallic click issued from the depths of the container and the top portion opened to reveal a message tape.

  "Open sesame," murmured Spock, and the captain looked startled. He handed the tape to Uhura, who slipped it into a decoding slot. Kirk, hunched over the viewer, absorbed the message. When he turned back to face Spock and S'Talon it was obvious the news had not been good.

  "It's from Yang. Four starship class vessels, under the joint command of Admiral Iota and Captain Garson are on their way to the Neutral Zone to invest
igate our disappearance. Admiral Iota believes the Enterprise destroyed. He has practically sent a declaration of war to the Romulan empire. Garson is trying to hold him. Uhura, contact Star Fleet Command. Tell them …"

  "Before you do that, Captain, you should know that there are four Romulan ships of the line guarding the Neutral Zone. They have orders to protect our escape route at all costs."

  "Damn! It's like begging for a war! Uhura, contact Star Fleet Command."

  Uhura turned to the tiny communications panel, her fingers flying as she attempted to contact Star Fleet.

  "I have them, sir. It's Admiral Poppaelia."

  "Put him on the screen."

  Poppaelia's familiar face filled the small screen.

  "Kirk! Thank God. What's going on out there? And a Romulan? Aboard the Enterprise? Why haven't you been in touch?"

  "We had some mechanical difficulties, sir. I won't go into them now. I just got a special message that a detachment under Captain Garson and Admiral Iota is on its way to the Neutral Zone. Admiral, you've got to stop them!"

  "I can't. They've arrived. And they've contacted the enemy. Right now they're sitting, just out of range, on the border of the Neutral Zone. On the other side of the border are four Romulan ships. Stalemate. What's going on?"

  "Sir, the Romulan fleet has invaded Federation space, but not for any military purpose."

  Poppaelia's eyes carried a look of innocent disbelief and Kirk plunged on.

  "Sir, you are aware the Romulans have been oddly insular lately." Poppaelia nodded. "We have discovered the entire population is being ravaged by disease."

  "That is correct," contributed Spock. "The Romulans have been attacked by a virulent strain of myrruthesia. It is a rare virus, but it could be a major threat to Vulcan as well."

  "Get McCoy up here," Kirk whispered in an aside to the communications officer.

  "That still doesn't explain why the Romulans have invaded Federation space … did you say the entire Romulan fleet?"

  "Yes. The only known cure for the disease is a substance which uses a refined form of gran as a catalyst. As you know, the Romulans are poor—especially agriculturally. They simply do not have the facilities to produce enough of this catalyst. And they are desperate. Over a third of the population has been destroyed by the disease. So they have invaded the Federation to try to buy or take enough gran to stop the plague."

  "This is true?"

  S'Talon nodded.

  "But why didn't they appeal to the Federation for help? In a situation like this …"

  "Pride, Admiral," answered S'Talon, "coupled with the firm conviction you would relish the destruction of the empire."

  "There are many who would," admitted Poppaelia. "What do you want me to do, Kirk? It's become a military situation. All that has to happen is for one shot to be fired and we'll be in the middle of a galactic war."

  "Stop Iota." Kirk's voice was urgent. "You can do it."

  "Is there a way around this?"

  "Yes. Cooperation. Doctor McCoy?"

  McCoy moved to the viewscreen.

  "Admiral, I've isolated the virus and come up with a vaccine. It will do the job if we can get it made and administered fast enough."

  "The Romulans were right," added Spock. "The Canara solar system is the nearest and best supply of gran. If the Canarans could be persuaded to let the Romulans purchase their gran, the plague could be averted and peace maintained."

  "And just how do you propose to do that? Shall we send the Romulan fleet—which has invaded our space—an engraved invitation to help itself?"

  Kirk ignored the sarcasm.

  "Let us act as intermediary for the Federation. Commander S'Talon and I will be joint emissaries between Canara and the Romulan empire. What is there to lose?"

  "Nothing, I guess. All right, Kirk. You have two solar days. If at the end of that time you cannot come to an agreement, I will have no alternative but to consider this intrusion an act of war and to proceed accordingly."

  Poppaelia's voice faded and Kirk took a deep breath.

  "Let's get started," he said. "Mister Sulu, warp four."

  * * *

  The Praetor regarded the elderly man with ill-disguised contempt.

  Romm Joramm sat cross-legged on a woven mat, the translucent ivory of his complexion catching the last pale, pink rays of the Canara sun. The single white garment he wore accented the delicacy of his features. Only the knot of gold which clasped the shoulder of his tunic bespoke his rank or wealth. His pale, gold eyes warmed with hospitality.

  "So you are the trader Jublius Mannius—please, sit and share the fruits of the land."

  He indicated the empty mat with a wave of his hand and the Praetor reluctantly lowered his impressive bulk to the floor.

  "You are here to negotiate for our crop—so much you have told my wife. I am sorry to have to refuse, but our treaty with the United Federation of Planets includes the sale of all surplus gran directly to the Federation."

  "And if you were to receive the offer of a better price?"

  The Praetor's voice was slick with the fat of wealth. He examined the rings on his left hand, judiciously turning it so the jewelry caught the light of the oil lamp and flashed in gaudy splendor.

  "Wealth is a very fine thing, but I think there are better. We have received one thing from the Federation that I am not sure you can offer."

  "I assure you, elder, we are prepared to pay any price you can name."

  "I think you have already forfeited the Federation's price … Praetor of the Romulan empire."

  "So you have discovered my identity. That is of little consequence. What is this price I cannot match?"

  "Why, simple honesty, my Praetor. You have come to me under false pretenses and your story of trading for gran is likely to be a fabrication also. Had you come openly … but it is too late to speak of that. Guard, will you escort …"

  "I think not. You will not touch me or restrict my movements. Even now the Praetorian guard has secured this village and the weapons of the Romulan fleet are trained on the population centers of this planet."

  The Praetor spoke with smug authority, but Romm Joramm, elder of Canara, was not visibly impressed.

  "That will not help you, lord. Who will harvest the fields if you destroy the people of Canara? In any event, we have taken precautions."

  "You?"

  The contempt in the Praetor's voice was no longer disguised.

  "Yes. You look unconvinced. Jaael."

  A young man stepped from the shadows, his slim figure and gold eyes typical of Canara's inhabitants.

  "Jaael, please explain to the Praetor the situation as it now stands."

  "When we discovered the identity of the visitors we implemented planetary defense …"

  "I see no defenses. I do not even see weapons. We will take what we want. You must become more adept at deceit if you wish to be believed."

  "You speak from experience, no doubt, but wait," replied Romm Joramm.

  Jaael continued.

  "The incendiaries have been set and at your word they will be ignited. In one minute the fields will be aflame. In one hour there will be nothing left."

  "You will destroy yourselves?" The Praetor could not keep the horror from his voice.

  "Perhaps. But we will maintain what we are. And we will not have helped our enemies. You see no evidence of warfare? But we are a warrior people. We have spent our lives in constant warfare against our environment. We must fight to survive. And we have learned to prepare ourselves. We are prepared for you."

  The Praetor's face was a mask of failure. He was completely at a loss.

  "The interview is over." Joramm's voice was suddenly sharp. "You and your fleet will depart Canara or Canara will die. You have six hours, sir!"

  Joramm turned his head, shutting the Praetor out as surely as if he had slammed a door in his face. He was insulted and he knew it. That this frail old man could out-maneuver the might of the Romulan empire—he could no
t accept it. There was a way to defeat this puny, washed-out old fool. He would find it … and if he did not, if the empire must die, he would at least have the satisfaction of draining the lifeblood of Canara. He would not kill them—oh, no. But he would scorch their planet until nothing could survive. The water would be tainted and the land sterile. Canara would die in the lingering agony of starvation. Whatever the outcome, they would not win.

  "Captain! A message from Star Fleet Command coming in, sir. It's coded and scrambled."

  "Put it on the viewer," replied Captain Garson.

  "Aye, sir."

  Iota winced as Admiral Poppaelia's angular face appeared.

  "Captain Garson. Admiral Iota."

  Poppaelia's formality made both men uneasy.

  "Admiral," acknowledged Garson.

  "We have some new information on the Romulan problem. It is more acute than we dreamed. It seems the Romulan empire has, indeed, invaded the boundaries of Federation space …"

  "What did I tell you? And would you listen? What are you going to do about it? Or is it already too late?" interrupted Iota accusingly.

  "I'm getting to that. It seems we do have a chance for peace. Their purpose is not military."

  Poppaelia ignored Iota's explosion, but Garson's look of disbelief unsettled him. If he lost Garson there would be no controlling Iota, and they would be destroyed.

  "The Romulans have been attacked by a plague of unbelievable proportions. They desperately need medical assistance."

  "Then why didn't they ask for it?" Iota barked.

  "Would you have given it to them? That's why. Your reaction speaks for itself. They felt they could expect no help so they decided to try to trade for or take by force the supplies they needed."

  "Sir, may I ask the source of this information?" Garson asked.

  "Yes. It's a reliable one: Kirk and the Enterprise. It seems he managed to capture a Romulan officer who corroborates the story. Moreover, the Enterprise's medical officer has conclusive proof the disease exists. He has come up with a vaccine that can stop the course of the plague—if it can be made and administered fast enough."