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  "It is not necessary. I would rather eat with the family," the lady said, with a gracious smile at the farm wife.

  The woman bowed low, but Oneko gestured her to sit with her.

  "I am the Lady Oneko. Thank you for your hospitality."

  "I am Yoshikete Hana," the woman stammered. "I am honored to be of service."

  Oneko's politeness and courtesy put the woman and her household at ease, and before long a large pair of wide eyes peered out from behind a barrel.

  "Come out," Oneko urged, reaching out her hand.

  "Oh, that is only my small, ugly daughter," the woman said with humble deprecation.

  The child, beautiful and fine-featured, shyly came out. She was about seven. "Show some politeness to the lady," the mother chided harshly.

  "Come, girl, sit by me," the lady said, and the child haltingly came forth, bowing with the help of her mother's firm shove.

  "She is lovely," Oneko said, smiling at the appreciative mother, whose harshness did nothing to hide her real pride in the child. "I remember being so young," Oneko said wistfully. "How easy life was for me then."

  Sulu entered, bowing to Lady Oneko.

  "Come, sit and eat with me," Oneko said to Sulu. Kiku glowered but said nothing. "Let us pretend we are simple farmers, and all a family. Come, Hanasama," she said, using the polite honorific which made the peasant feel more like a lady of the court than she ever thought possible, "tell your husband to sit with me, and we shall eat your good food, and gossip, and tell tales. For this evening, we shall pretend we are in celestial heaven and there is no trouble in the world."

  Sulu watched Oneko shyly as she charmed the simple family into easy conversation. But the charm worked on him as well, and as the evening drew to a close, the web of warmth and trust that Oneko wove only served to strengthen the respect he felt for her.

  Suddenly Oneko doubled up, crying out in pain.

  Kiku was at her side. "This is no good for the lady. She shouldn't be on the road at all," she chided. "This is her first pregnancy, and she will miscarry if she is not allowed to rest." She hustled the lady off, reluctantly accepting the herbal teas which the farm wife offered.

  "If I had known she was in that condition …" the woman stammered.

  Oneko was still pale the next day. Sulu knelt protectively by her huddled form.

  "Lady, I don't think you should travel for the next few days. You are safe here."

  "No. It is my duty to go where I have been sent, and for you to bring back information about the western army's attack plans. I am well enough to travel," she insisted, rising up to her elbow, but the effort brought on more nausea, and she lay down again.

  "Look at you!" Sulu exclaimed. "You risk your life and the child's."

  "You don't understand." Her face was tortured, and tears began to run down her cheeks, ravaging the remnants of her makeup.

  "Understand what?" Sulu said with exasperation. "I understand that you are to be hidden to protect Torii's blood line if all is lost in Tokugawa's campaign. And I understand that if you travel too hard, you are going to lose the child. And I understand that you are safe here, for now, and that staying here until you are well again is the best choice we have."

  "You are right," she said with demure submission that made Sulu's heart melt. "Very well. For today only, then. But at least stay with me. I am very lonely. You never told me about yourself. What is your home? You come from the mountains, ne?"

  "No, lady. I come from the land beyond the horizon," he said. Even if it was a half truth, it felt good to say it. "I didn't realize how …" he struggled for the word, "how hard it has been for me to pretend I belong here. I don't know how I got here, but when I woke up, I was far from home and from my world. I don't belong here, but yet I do. I think I wanted to be here. And now I can't go home."

  He got up and paced, the rolling samurai gait becoming more familiar with each passing day. "I am forgetting, already, who I am, was." He dropped down cross-legged on the ground with the attitude of any other angry samurai.

  "Tell me what you do remember," she urged quietly.

  "Let's speak no more of it," he replied quietly, afraid of giving away too much.

  She inclined her head slightly, honoring his request.

  "My Lord Torii thinks very highly of you," she said.

  "I think highly of him," replied Sulu neutrally.

  To his astonishment, she placed a hand on his. He felt his throat go dry. "And you honor him."

  He looked into her eyes, and there was something there, something unspoken.

  It was one of the most difficult things that he had ever done, but he removed her hand from his and said softly, "Yes. In all matters."

  All things except being counted on to return and help him in his final battle. Can't forget that. Honor your promises, but only when convenient. It was a very sour thought that went through his mind.

  Oneko smiled, and he wasn't sure whether it was approving or regretful … or some of both.

  The next morning, they moved out, to the tearful farewells and repeated bows of the farm family. Oneko gifted the daughter with the kitten. Sulu rode next to Oneko's litter. She had left the curtain on his side open.

  She smiled at him in that same maddening way that expressed both interest and lack of interest. He began to think that perhaps the word "inscrutable" had been coined expressly for her.

  Sulu didn't remember much of the rest of the day. He rode near her, making polite small talk, pointing out a flower here, a cloud there. Yet, when they weren't talking, he found himself sneaking glances at her from time to time, feeling almost like an adolescent schoolboy. It was extremely annoying.

  That afternoon a scout reported a rockslide blocking the road, which had turned into a narrow ribbon hugging the cliffs overlooking the pounding waves and jagged rocks. A deer trail, narrow but passable, was nearby. Oneko, who had been pressing to go on, now pleaded that they turn back, her eyes never still as she nervously searched the woods for brigands or goblins or some other terror.

  They finally rejoined the road where it turned inland, and followed a narrow mountain pass. Sulu pointed to the dark spots of habitation that nestled in the seaside valley at the foot of the mountain road. "That's the home of Mochizuki, the inn Minaguchiya. That is where we will stop."

  Before they moved on, they took a moment to treasure the breathtaking view, the purity of Mount Fuji rising majestically from the blue of Suruga Bay. The dark violet ribbon of the Okitsu River wound down to the sea. The mounted party rode down the mountain road, until they came to what was left of a bridge. The swollen river bubbled between them and the inn.

  "It seems fordable," Sulu said, riding carefully out into the swirling water. "Whooaaa," he shouted suddenly as the horse slipped slightly, sending him faltering in the saddle as a fan of water splashed up his side.

  Oneko giggled, and shouted, "Let me show you how." She stepped gingerly into the swirling foam.

  "No!" Sulu shouted back. "Stay on shore. It is deep. We'll carry you in the litter. Or mount a horse and let me lead you."

  "No, Heihachiro-domo. It would be even safer if you carried me," she said fetchingly. He leapt from his horse and ran up to her side, but she only giggled, saying, "Come here, my noble pony," and she ordered him to crouch down as she scrambled up on his back piggyback fashion.

  "I don't know why," he said, sweating but straightening out under the fragile load, "you didn't let me lead you on the pony."

  But she only giggled. He dutifully carried her across the river, keeping his precarious footing with each step, slick or squashy as he picked his way by feel over the rocks and mud of the shallow river bed.

  "There, we are almost safe," she said triumphantly, tapping his shoulder in a mock imitation of a rider driving a horse.

  She twisted around on his back, treating the entire business as a game. And then the sudden shift in her weight overbalanced Sulu. He shouted out a warning, cried out her name and then toppled over.
There were shouts of alarm from shore as Sulu and Lady Oneko were swept away by the power of the river.

  Chapter Twenty-nine

  Scotland, 1746

  "COME OUT! In the name of the Duke of Cumberland, surrender!"

  Scotty looked around the cabin desperately. "Is there another way out of here?"

  Megan shook her head numbly. She looked as if she'd just been given a death sentence, which indeed she had.

  Seamus reflexively put his arm around her shoulders. It was a charming gesture, and in a more cheerful time, it might actually have indicated the possibility of something more.

  "Don't worry, lass. We'll be fine."

  "We will?"

  "Absolutely. You see, Mr. Scott here—he's a miracle worker."

  Scotty glared at him, but Seamus seemed absolutely sincere. "Usually," he said dryly, "I have a bit more to work with."

  But he was looking out desperately, trying to figure out something. At least the windows were firmly shuttered. They couldn't fire in through there …

  Fire.

  He looked at the fire in the hearth. He looked at the twine that had wrapped the swords, and the rags scattered around.

  He went to the wood that was standing over in the corner, and gripping the twine firmly, flexed it. He looked up at Seamus. "Get some rags. And take that longer piece of wood—the one that's a rod … and start breaking it into sections about a foot and a half long."

  "Why?" said Seamus in confusion.

  "Do it!" ordered Scotty.

  The officers looked at each other, the snow coming down around them not leaving them in the best of moods. The sun was already coming up on the far horizon, and it wasn't too soon for them.

  "This is ridiculous," said one of them, who was named Halsey. "There are nine of us. There're two of them …"

  "Plus whoever's in the cabin," said another officer.

  "There's no one else in there," said Halsey with confidence, and then grinned, "except for perhaps the body of that slip of a girl we had fun with. Remember?"

  "Was this the cabin? God, you're right."

  "I've had quite enough of this," said Halsey firmly.

  He leaped atop his horse and, with a yell, charged forward. As he pounded toward the cabin, he pulled out his saber, holding it above his head. "Surrender!" he shouted.

  The door of the cabin was thrown open.

  Seamus was standing there, holding firmly in one hand the long piece of wood. Twine had been affixed to either end, and he was pulling it firmly back with the other hand. Nocked in it was a makeshift arrow, and on the end of it, a rag that was furiously burning.

  Samus let fly with a twang.

  The arrow shot through the air, its path uneven but true, and slammed into Halsey. It knocked him clean off his horse, and his splendid coat and shirt immediately went up in flames. He writhed on the ground, screaming and rolling.

  Other British soldiers were charging forward now, to the aid of their fallen fellow. By this time Seamus had nocked another arrow, and again he fired. This time he missed, the arrow just grazing the flank of the horse. It was enough, though, to cause the horse to rear back in pain and shock, and it threw its rider.

  "Those bastards!" shouted Halsey, the only comprehensible words in his continued scream as he tried to extinguish himself.

  Seamus slammed the door shut and shoved his back against it. "It worked!" he said gleefully.

  There was the sound of a musket report, and a huge piece of the door disappeared just over Seamus's head. He hurled himself to the ground and rolled toward Scotty, who was standing next to a far wall.

  "Looks like we'll need another miracle," Scotty sighed.

  For some reason the words "Beam me up" floated into his head. They had some sort of meaning, but damn if he knew what it was.

  Then, from outside, there was the sound of more gunfire, a virtual volley, and the three trapped people hit the dirt floor.

  Several more musket shots hit the door. Megan screamed, and Scotty gritted his teeth as wood splintered over his head. He heard more shouting, and the sounds of panicked horses, of thundering hooves and pounding feet.

  And then … after an eternity …

  Nothing.

  Seamus and Scotty, lying on the floor, looked at each other. Megan's face was still buried in the dirt. Slowly, she raised her face—covered with filth.

  The door of the cabin slowly creaked open.

  A man was standing there, backlit by the rising sun.

  He was well-dressed, his kilt of brightly dyed wool and his jacket of a continental cut. The heather on his bonnet, along with a brace of feathers, was fresh and crisp. On his arm he wore a round shield, covered with leather but bossed in brass. He was holding a fine sword that was, at the moment, covered with blood.

  "Problem here?" he asked, sounding somewhat amused.

  Seamus, amazed, jumped to his feet. "Duncan!" he cried out, and running forward, threw his arms around the older man. Scotty could now see just beyond the door, the unmoving bodies of the British soldiers. Followers of the duke who would follow him no further.

  "Duncan, Duncan," Seamus kept saying over and over.

  Others, dressed similarly to the one called Duncan, were now visible behind him. "I wondered," said Duncan, "if you hadn't of got yourself hanged or shot."

  "Ach, it was a close thing, but this fine man here saved me." He waved toward Scott. Then his eyes went wide. "He knew you'd save us, Duncan. He knew! He has The Sight!"

  Scotty shrugged modestly.

  Duncan looked at him appraisingly. "The Sight. Excellent. We're on our way to Inverness, and I have a strong feeling that the prince would be quite pleased to spend some time with a man who knows what is to come."

  Not when he finds out just what that is, thought Scotty.

  Chapter Thirty

  KRAL HAD NOT SAID ANYTHING to Vladra for some time. She sat across the room from him, and finally, exasperated by the silence, he said, "You have cooperated with the Starfleet men."

  She looked straight ahead. "To where are my loyalties supposed to be, my lord? To the Klingon empire which thought nothing of dispatching me into space? To the former commander who berates me and hushes me? Or to the Federation men who rescued me and asked nothing in return? Whom do I owe my loyalty to, Kral? Whom do you owe yours to?"

  His lips thinned. "We are Klingons. Nothing can change that."

  "Nothing will change that. But what does that mean, to be a Klingon?"

  He stared at her in confusion. "It means to be strong. To be one with one purpose. To disdain weakness, and know that the greatest death is death in combat, with honor."

  "And what honor is there in the way we were treated? What honor is there in backstabbing, Commander?" she said with desperate urgency. "What honor, what sense is there, in adhering to principles and beliefs when all it will result in is dishonorable death and pointless hatred."

  "No hatred is pointless," said Kral.

  "This one is. For God's sake, open your eyes, Kral. Earlier you spoke words of love, when you thought you were to die. Speak words of cooperation now, and think of living."

  He stared at her for a long moment. "What would you have me do?"

  "Whatever it takes, my lord. Whatever it takes."

  The doors hissed open and two security guards stood outside. "The captain wants to see you," one of them said.

  Minutes later Kral and Vladra were ushered into a conference room. Their eyes opened wide as they saw the array of Klingon food put out for them.

  Kirk and Spock were standing there waiting for them, their hands folded behind their backs in unison, like bookends. Kirk slightly inclined his head, and the security guards who had accompanied Kral stepped back out of the room.

  "You trust me in a room with you?" said Kral.

  "Mr. Spock, this is Commander Kral and … I'm sorry, I don't know your rank," he said to Vladra.

  "Your equivalent would be 'lieutenant,'" she said simply.

  "C
ommander, Lieutenant … my first officer, Mr. Spock."

  "A Vulcan," said Kral with curiosity. "I have never actually seen a Vulcan before."

  Kirk was inwardly amused at the mild sense of wonder Kral exhibited, a sign of his relative youth. "Shall we be seated?"

  They sat opposite each other, and an ensign seemed to materialize from nowhere to serve the steaming food. Kirk studied Spock's impassiveness and did his best to emulate it. It wasn't easy. The food looked absolutely stomach churning.

  When the food was served out, Kral eyed it suspiciously.

  Kirk knew immediately what the problem was. "I assure you, I would do nothing so crude as to poison you," Kirk said with an amused tone. He ate first. "Delicious, truly delicious," he lied graciously.

  The Klingon shoveled some food onto his plate, eating it greedily. And then he repeated the operation until he had demolished most of what was on the table. Vladra followed suit.

  The moment the food was gone, Kirk said, "We're running out of time, Kral. My ship, your ship, and my missing crewmen are all running out of time. There's only one thing that's going to get us out of this. A treaty between the two of us."

  Kral sent his plate spinning across the cabin, whizzing past Kirk's ear, slamming off a wall and clattering to the deck. "Damn you all to Durgath's Hell. You're at me, and my woman's at me, and what I want most is to have my hands around Kbrex's neck and squeeze and squeeze until his eyes pop out." His fist pounded down onto the table, sending the remaining dishes dancing. Then he looked up at Kirk. "Am I supposed to like this situation? Am I supposed to embrace you and call you brother?"

  "Likes and dislikes are irrelevant, sir," said Spock. "What matters are questions of honor."

  "There is no honor among Federation men," said Kral.