Only Human by Alara Rogers 
 
Part III: Yamato 
 
With minor revisions to the parts posted before, here is all of 
Only Human Chapter III.
 
Paramount owns Q and the universe; I own the original characters.
No copyright infringement is intended.  Not to be sold for profit.  

ONLY HUMAN (for those who haven't caught the story thus far) is an 
alternate universe, based on the premise that Q lost his powers for 
good in "Deja Q."  In exchange for protection, he offered the 
Federation the benefit of his advanced knowledge, and was transferred 
to Starbase 56.  Three years later, miserable beyond endurance, Q 
attempted to kill himself. 
 
Dr. T'Laren, Vulcan xenopsychologist and former Starfleet counselor, 
turned up at this point, claiming that Starfleet had hired her as Q's 
therapist.  In fact, it turned out that she was really hired by the Q 
Continuum, in the person of the Q who got Q thrown out, whom T'Laren 
refers to as Lhoviri.  T'Laren persuaded Q to accept her help and 
allow her to counsel him through his depression.  To that end, they 
left Starbase 56 on T'Laren's ship Ketaya-- a gift from Lhoviri, with 
some surprising capabilities-- and headed for the starship Yamato, 
which was currently hosting a physics conference. 
 
Over the course of the past weeks of travel, Q has come to trust 
T'Laren, more or less, though they've had some knock-down-drag-out 
fights in the process.  At the end of Part II, Q decided that he no 
longer wanted to die.  Part III details 's adventures at the scientific 
conference aboard the Yamato, T'Laren's problems as her 
somewhat shady past comes back to haunt her in the forms of her 
young sister-in-law and her former lover, and the ups and downs 
of Q and T'Laren's relations with one another.  Section 14 also 
deals explicitly with sexual themes, though I consider it suitable 
for teens and mature Congresspersons (like Patrick Leahy, who 
opposed the CDA.) 
 
Note that elements of this chapter and previous ones contradict
the Voyager episode "The Q and the Grey."  I remain convinced
that my version of the Continuum is more interesting than the
vision we were presented with in that episode, and so I have not
revised to fit that episode, as it's too stupid to be canon. :-)

Parts I - III are all available at the following sites:

FTP:

ftp://ftp.netcom.com/pub/al/aleph/trek
ftp://ftp.europa.com/outgoing/mercutio/alt.fan.q
ftp://aviary.share.net/pub/startrek/tng

Web:

http://www.europa.com/~mercutio/Q.html
http://aviary.share.net/~alara
http://www1.mhv.net/~alara/ohtree.html

Send comments to aleph@netcom.com.

Only Human

Part III: Yamato

	*Starfleet officers live for challenge*, Commander Derek Wilde 
repeated silently to himself, like a mantra.  *We love it.  We thrive 
on it.*
	It wasn't working.  
	Captain Okita had smiled when he said it.  "I think it would be 
good practice for you to have primary responsibility for the 
conference, Mr. Wilde," he'd said cheerfully.  "Hone your diplomatic 
skills.  Give you a wider range of command experience."  What he meant 
was, "I don't want to be bothered babysitting these people, so I'm 
sticking you with it, Derek."  Thank you *so* much, kindly mentor 
Okita.
	It was, he was sure, a recipe for sure disaster.  Take 40 of the 
most brilliant-- and most temperamental-- minds in the Federation.  
Bring them together on a single Galaxy-class starship for a scientific 
conference regarding a singularity sitting squatly just out of range to 
suck Yamato into itself.  Oh, and add that the science officer for that 
Galaxy-class starship, Lieutenant Commander Shahrazad Dhawan, was 
herself one of the most brilliant and temperamental minds in the 
Federation, that she had very strong opinions on the nature of the 
singularity and resented the hell out of the decision to have a 
scientific conference.  Further stipulate that because of the science 
officer's passionate and highly undiplomatic nature, most of the 
science department's liaison duties to the conference were being 
carried out by a naive young Vulcan, who would have been described as 
an airhead had she not been a phenomenal genius, since her innocence of 
other species' ways was as great as her intellect.  All in all, Wilde 
was convinced that the conference was a disaster waiting to happen.
	He was now attempting to convince himself that Yamato's science 
officer was not totally insane.  "You *pulled a knife* on Dr. Morakh."
	Dhawan nodded, completely unapologetic.  "You ever been to a 
Klingon scientific conference, Commander?  That's an accepted part of 
scientific debate."
	"You are not a Klingon, Dhawan!  You're a Starfleet officer!"
	"Yes, but I was debating with a Klingon.  You have to speak to 
people in a language they understand."
	"So speak to him in Klingon.  *Don't* pull a *knife* on him!  My 
God, what if he'd attacked you and you'd killed him?  Or he'd killed 
you?"
	"I'm good enough not to get killed in a debate.  And he'd never 
have achieved his current level of pre-eminence in the scientific world 
if he was careless enough to get killed by a human woman with a 
pocketknife."
	"That *thing* was hardly a pocketknife, mister."
	Lieutenant Sovaz, watching the debate with interest, piped up.  
"Actually, it was a ceremonial dagger of the Cianni, used for combats 
in their mating and political rituals.  Commander Dhawan received it 
from the Cianni when she defeated--"
	"Enough, Sovaz," Dhawan snapped.  The young Vulcan woman quieted 
instantly.
	"Do you understand the diplomatic ramifications of this?  A 
Starfleet officer attacked a Klingon scientist with a ceremonial 
dagger?"
	"I didn't attack him," Dhawan protested.  "I pulled it out and 
told him I'd cut off his balls if he insulted my methodology one more 
time.  And you should have heard his insults, Commander.  I would have 
lost face if I hadn't threatened him."
	"I don't care about your lost face!  This is a Starfleet vessel, 
one of the premier vessels of the fleet.  We have an example--"
	Dhawan smiled innocently.  "We also have an obligation to honor 
other people's cultures, don't we?"
	Wilde controlled the urge to punch her.  "We are hosting a multi-
species conference of highly touchy and incompatible people.  We have a 
Klingon and his retinue.  We have a Tellarite.  We have two Andorians 
and a Nausicaan.  We have a Cardassian-- on a ship where the Counselor 
we're relying on to help mediate is Bajoran.  We have a large number of 
very volatile human personalities.  Scheduled to come aboard still, we 
have a Romulan woman, a former energy being who specialized in 
harassing people for several million years, and a woman from god only 
knows what species with god only knows what problems. The only way 
we're going to keep control of this madhouse is to follow Starfleet 
diplomatic guidelines.  And that means that *you* are going to control 
your temper, is that understood, mister?"
	"Understood, Commander," Dhawan said calmly.  Meaning, most 
likely, "I'll say whatever you want and then do what I like, 
Commander."
	Wilde felt he hadn't made his point, and opened his mouth to start 
again, when his communicator went off.  "Wilde here."
	"Sir, Ketaya is docking.  Q will be coming aboard in a few 
minutes."
	"My favorite," Wilde muttered.  "Acknowledged."  He turned toward 
the door.  "Mr. Sovaz, meet me in the main transporter room in ten 
minutes."
	"Aye, sir."
			*				*				*
	Lieutenant Sovaz often found humans hopelessly confusing.
	This was hardly a surprise.  Sovaz often found Vulcans hopelessly 
confusing as well.  She had long ago accepted that she simply didn't 
live in the same universe as most people, whatever their species, and 
yet she still persisted in the belief that on some level, others must 
be fundamentally like her.  She was puzzled by Commander Dhawan's 
unwillingness to meet the scientists as they came aboard-- Sovaz 
herself couldn't wait until they were all aboard.  "We're going to meet 
some of the greatest minds in the Federation," Sovaz had said three 
days ago.  "I would think that a human would be excited by the 
opportunity."
	Dhawan had grinned.  "Does that mean that you're excited, Sovaz?"
	It was not very Vulcan to admit to a human that one was excited.  
"I confess I'm looking forward to this with great anticipation," Sovaz 
said instead.
	"Well, I'm glad someone is," Dhawan had said, and had never 
explained to Sovaz why she didn't feel the excitement Sovaz would 
expect a human to feel.  Or why no one else on the ship seemed to feel 
such excitement, either.
	Earlier today, when Sovaz had been told that Q was expected to 
arrive today, she *had*, in fact, felt excitement.  She had performed a 
calming exercise, but had to admit that it had not been entirely 
successful.  Everyone else who was coming aboard was brilliant, a 
scientific luminary, someone Sovaz looked up to and respected.  But all 
of them had acquired their knowledge from more or less the same places 
Sovaz had acquired hers.  Q had millions of years of experience in 
practical physics, and had once known literally everything there was to 
know about the physical universe.  Even now, if her understanding of 
his situation was correct, he knew more or less everything it was 
possible for a human being to comprehend.  Q could answer any question 
Sovaz had-- all she had to do was think of the right questions to ask.  
It was quite a thrilling notion, and not entirely illogical that she 
*should* feel excitement at such a prospect.  Curiosity was an accepted 
emotion, after all.  If anyone had asked Sovaz if she were excited 
right now, she would have in all honesty had to answer "yes."
	And yet...
	She heard Tanai, the comm officer, say to Wilde, "Ketaya is 
docking," and it blotted out the pleasure she'd expected to feel at the 
prospect of meeting Q.  The word Ketaya was a reminder of a grief she 
had never entirely been able to overcome.  Sovaz held her face as still 
as she could as she acknowledged Wilde's order.  But she walked to the 
transporter room more slowly than usual, and fought for mastery of 
feelings she had never truly been able to deny.
	To most Vulcans, a ketaya was a nuisance, flying in windows left 
open and stealing shiny objects, or digging through improperly covered 
refuse.  On her *Kahs-wan*, Sovaz had seen a ketaya digging out the 
eyes of a dead sahar, a sleek predator of the mountains.  They were 
much like Terran magpies or ravens, scavengers and tricksters, and 
unlike their Terran counterparts the ketayas were green, the exact 
shade of blood.  None of this meant much to modern Vulcans.  When Sovaz 
had been a child, though, the ketaya was a magic bird, harbinger of 
death and transformation in the ancient myths her older sister would 
tell her.
	She remembered sitting on T'Laren's lap, transfixed by the visions 
a tale invoked in her.  T'Laren would change her voice when she spoke 
different parts-- high and sweet for a ketaya, growling and gruff for a 
sehlat, cruel and bitter for a le'matya.  Or she would tell stories of 
ancient gods, when creatures far beyond the ken of mortals walked the 
surface of Vulcan.  Sovaz knew perfectly well that such stories were 
illogical-- sehlats did not really talk, and she was quite positive 
that even in the days before Surak gods did not walk around on Vulcan-- 
but she didn't care.  The stories were fun, and if her older sister 
chose to tell them to her, who was she, a small child, to contradict 
her elders?
	Sometimes there had been conflicts.  She remembered once, when 
T'Laren had been telling her a story, her brother Soram entered the 
room and stared.  Sovaz squirmed slightly, uncomfortable under her 
elder brother's gaze.  She knew, though she was not sure how, that 
Soram disapproved.
	"You should not fill the child's head with lies, T'Laren," he'd 
said.  Actually, he'd said "my betrothed one," not "T'Laren", and after 
they actually got married he always called T'Laren "wife."  Sovaz 
didn't know why.  Mother and Father called each other by their proper 
names.
	T'Laren had shaken her head.  "Is that all you can see in the old 
stories, Soram?  Lies?"
	"They are obviously not true.  Therefore they are lies.  I don't 
see how that is a difficult conclusion to draw."
	"Simply because they're not true doesn't make them lies.  That's a 
very black and white argument."  T'Laren had gently removed Sovaz from 
her lap.  "Embedded in a fictional story can be powerful truths, that 
would sound insipid if simply stated flatly.  Some truths require the 
resonance of symbolism.  And children are well-equipped to interpret 
symbolism, better than they are to interpret plain facts."
	"You speak of human children, betrothed.  Not Vulcans."
	"There is little difference at Sovaz's age."
	"And you, of course, are an expert on the raising of Vulcan 
children."
	T'Laren had raised her eyebrow.  "You are not my father, 
betrothed.  Nor are you hers.  If you have a difficulty with my 
treatment of your little sister, take it up with your father.  Should 
he choose to ask that I stop, I will obey."  She had turned back to 
Sovaz as Soram left, stiff-shouldered.  "Now where were we?"
	Not all her stories were of Vulcan's past.  Sometimes she told 
stories of Earth, which seemed as distant and impossible a place as the 
once-upon-a-time land where Vulcan's ancient myths took place.  Sovaz 
had protested and called her a liar when T'Laren told her that water 
fell out of the sky on Earth, and that every ten or fifteen years it 
did the same thing on Vulcan.  T'Laren had shown her holotapes to prove 
it.  And sometimes, T'Laren had said, it grew very cold on Earth, and 
the water that fell from the sky froze to ice before it hit the ground.  
But it formed very tiny, powdery, white ice crystals that covered the 
ground like sand, and that human children would play in, bundled in 
warm clothing.  Sovaz found this as likely as the notion of talking 
ketayas, but T'Laren assured her that it was true.  And if that could 
be true, then *anything* could be.  The universe was full of wonders.  
As Sovaz had grown older and T'Laren had advanced in Starfleet, T'Laren 
would come home on leave with more wondrous stories of places she had 
visited.  Sovaz determined to follow her parents' and brother's 
footsteps into Starfleet, not for their sake, but for the stories 
T'Laren told her.
	Two years ago, T'Laren had stolen a shuttle and thrown herself out 
into the skies over Vulcan, ending her stories forever.
	Grief was appropriate, was proper, at a loss of such magnitude.  
But it was the Vulcan way to grieve and then to master the grief, to 
remember the life without pain.  And Sovaz could not.  After two years, 
she still grieved.  There was a question left unanswered, and Sovaz, 
who would not acknowledge that any mystery must remain forever 
unsolved, was forced to face the fact that she would never learn why 
her older sister died.  If it had been an accident, she could research 
the cause and comprehend it, someday; if it had been murder, she could 
have questioned the killer.  But T'Laren's murderer was forever beyond 
questioning.
	It made no *sense*.  Why would anyone kill themselves?  It went 
against the most fundamental drives of any sentient race!  It was 
illogical in the extreme, and the explanations Sovaz had been given 
were no explanations at all.  Words like "unwell"  were used to 
describe T'Laren, before her death-- as if Sovaz, an ensign in 
Starfleet at the time, was too much of a child to understand the truth.  
After her death, occasionally the word "insane"  was used.  But that 
explained nothing.  Had T'Laren been too mad to know what she was 
doing?  Had she believed she could breathe in space, that she would fly 
among the stars without a ship?  Or had she known what she was doing?  
And if she had, *how* could she have done it?  *How could she have 
abandoned those who cared for her?*
	Sovaz had questioned Soram, sure that T'Laren's bondmate had to 
have known what was going through her mind-- but Soram told her that he 
had kept his mind closed to T'Laren since her insanity first 
manifested.  The final communication he had with her, her deathcry, was 
the first he'd had in months.  And when Sovaz asked if he had sensed 
anything in that final cry as to her emotions-- did she feel triumph?  
release?  despair?  joy?-- he looked at her as if she had committed an 
obscenity and said that he would not speak of it.
	Today she was to meet a person who knew the answers to all the 
questions Sovaz might have, except for that one-- *why did T'Laren kill 
herself?  *And she would give up the answers to all the other 
questions, she would give up this opportunity she'd been given, if only 
she could learn the answer to that one...
	But that was foolishness.  Sovaz forced composure.  She should 
concentrate on the opportunities she did have.  And concentrate on 
doing her job, and making Q feel welcome here.  
	She entered the transporter room.  Counselor Tris and Security 
Chief Washington were already there, Washington in a dress uniform and 
Tris in what Sovaz presumed was a Bajoran dress uniform.  When Tris 
wore a uniform at all, it was a Bajoran military uniform; he wasn't 
Starfleet, exactly.  Sovaz made sure she was composed, and took a deep 
breath.
	Commander Wilde came in.  "Q's party is ready to beam up, sir," 
the transporter chief told him.  
	"Right.  Energize."
	For a moment, as the shimmering forms took solidity on the 
transporter platform, Sovaz saw the man she had come to greet, a tall 
slender human.  Then her attention was entirely caught by his 
companion.  She stared at the Vulcan woman materializing, unable to 
believe her eyes.  Could it possibly be true?  Somehow, some way, could 
Soram have been wrong?
	Then the two had fully materialized, and Sovaz was sure.  Emotions 
surged in her, beyond all hope of control.  "T'Laren!"  she cried, and 
lunged forward, breaking ranks.  "*Sister!  *You're *alive!*"
	T'Laren stepped back slightly and studied her with the same utter 
coldness Soram had given her when she had been overemotional.  
"Lieutenant Sovaz," she said in a coolly correct voice, obviously 
reading Sovaz's rank from her pips.  "I was unaware that you had been 
posted to *Yamato.*"
	Sovaz stepped backward in bewilderment and growing mortification.  
Why was T'Laren being so cold?  So... traditionalist?  Was she ashamed 
of Sovaz for the emotions Sovaz had shown?  She must be, yet why?  It 
wasn't like T'Laren to reprove Sovaz for emotions-- maybe she was wrong 
and it wasn't really T'Laren?  But no, it had to be-- how would she 
have known Sovaz's name?
	Commander Wilde stepped forward, hastily filling the awkward 
moment with talk.  "Welcome to the *Yamato.  *I'm Commander Derek 
Wilde, first officer.  I'm responsible for the conference."
	Q watched the interchange between Sovaz and T'Laren with dawning 
interest.  It seemed perhaps that this conference would be far more 
entertaining than he'd thought.  He was slightly amused at Wilde's 
attempt to cover, and decided to make life difficult for the man.  "So 
the captain doesn't think I'm worthy of his personal attention, is that 
it?"
	"Not at all!"  Wilde said stoutly.  "Captain Okita will see you 
after you've had time to get settled in and comfortable.  He believes 
people should be at ease before meeting with ship's captains.  This is 
our security chief, Lieutenant Ken Washington--"  a tall human with 
curly, chocolate-brown hair and big blue eyes, who looked far too young 
for his job and far too serious for his youth-- "Counselor Tris--"  a 
male Bajoran in a non-Starfleet uniform with black hair and strangely 
feral dark eyes, who was glaring at T'Laren-- "and Lieutenant Sovaz, 
science liaison to the conference.  And you must be Q, right?"
	That was a space-filler question if Q ever heard one.  He jerked 
his thumb at T'Laren.  "No, she's Q.  I'm A."
	T'Laren said severely, in her I-Am-The-Ultimate-Vulcan voice, "I 
am Doctor T'Laren, Q's psychiatrist."
	"Ah."  Wilde nodded.  "Pleased to meet you, Doctor."  He turned 
back to Q.  "Sovaz'll take you to your quarters, get you--"
	"I would prefer another guide, Commander," T'Laren said in the 
same icy voice.
	"Fine," the Bajoran snapped.  "I'll do it."  He grabbed T'Laren's 
arm and tugged her off the platform with a complete lack of diplomacy.  
Q smiled, intrigued.  This was getting better and better.
	In the corridor, Tris snapped, "What the *hell* are you trying to 
pull, T'Laren?"
	"I am not trying to 'pull' anything."
	"*Don't* give me that shit!  I want an explanation-- if for 
nothing else, then what you did to Sovaz.  That was just inexcusable."
	"I have no desire to discuss it," T'Laren said, glancing back at 
Q.
	"Fine.  We'll talk later."  Tris released T'Laren's arm and strode 
ahead.
	"Hardly a very diplomatic young man, is he," Q murmured.  "Though 
for a Bajoran, I suppose he's a radiant source of goodwill."
	"Q.  Be quiet."
	"So what's this about your sister?  I'm astonished, T'Laren.  You 
told *me* you had no siblings.  Was this perhaps an oversight?"
	"I have no sister."
	"Sovaz seemed to believe otherwise."
	"Sovaz is mistaken.  She is not my sister."
	"And that solves everything, doesn't it?"  Tris muttered, loudly 
enough to be audible to Q.
	He palmed open a door.  "These are your quarters.  There's two 
bedrooms, with individual locks, and a living room and bathroom 
accessible from both.  Here--"  he handed Q a round badge of some sort-
- "is your guest combadge.  If you need anything, don't hesitate to 
call."
	"Can I have a Starfleet uniform?"  Q asked.  "Red."
	Tris seemed to think about it.  "Mmmm-- no," he said decisively.  
	"Why not?"
	"Stop it," T'Laren said sharply.
	"Because you're not Starfleet," Tris said, "and if I can't have a 
Starfleet uniform, neither can you.  Sorry, but them's the breaks."  He 
stepped into the quarters.  "If you want to freshen up, the bathroom's 
over there."
	Q wondered if he should take the hint, and decided not to.  This 
was far too amusing.  "I'll keep it in mind," he said cheerily.
	"I believe I would like to," T'Laren said, starting for the 
bathroom.
	"Oh no you don't," Tris said, grabbing hold of her arm.  "You and 
I need to talk."
	He tugged her out of the room.  Q started to follow, and Tris 
pressed the manual override button to close the door, in Q's face.
	Well.  This was hardly diplomatic treatment.  Q smiled nastily.  
The doors were soundproof, but there was a little trick he had learned, 
that perhaps Tris didn't know about.  He hit the internal manual button 
to open the door and immediately afterward hit the button to close.  
This had the unfortunate side effect-- if it was done right-- of 
jamming the door a crack open, just enough that sound could come 
through.
	"*First* of all, you don't tell me you're alive," he heard Tris 
say angrily.  "Did it ever occur to you that there are people who care 
if you're alive or not?  Though after what you just did to Sovaz, I'm 
not sure why I should.  And second of all, why the hell did you try to 
kill yourself in the first place?  You know better than that!  Why 
didn't you get help?  And *first* of all, what you just did to Sovaz is 
inexcusable!  What's gotten into you?  That kid worships you.  She 
*cried* when she heard you'd killed yourself!  In the first place, I 
can't see how you could hurt *anyone* like that, let alone someone as 
innocent as Sovaz.  Your own sister!"
	"Sovaz is not my sister--"
	"Don't *give* me that!  You called her your sister for the past 
five years--"
	"You don't understand," T'Laren said coldly.  "Sovaz is Soram's 
sister.  When Soram was my husband, Sovaz was my sister.  Now that I am 
no longer married to Soram, I no longer consider Sovaz my relative."
	"Oh.  I see.  All your relationships change completely because 
you're not married anymore.  And I suppose I'm no longer your *taran*, 
right?  After all, you're not married, so *that* doesn't apply."
	The word didn't translate.  Q decided to wait for a lull in the 
conversation before looking it up.  Tris continued.  "So you don't feel 
anything for her at all, that's what you're saying?  You're just like, 
oh, well, I guess I don't know her anymore.  And even *that* wouldn't 
excuse you!  Unless you positively *hated* the kid, you have no excuse 
for hurting her like that."
	"She's Vulcan.  She'll cope."
	"So if I'd casually told all your co-workers the things you told 
me in confidence, you'd have coped, because you're Vulcan.  Right?"
	"I was probably too unwell to cope at the time."
	"Oh, but you're fine now.  Obviously you've got back your license 
to practice.  Or have you?  Does your patient know about your little 
nervous breakdown?  Who re-certified you anyway?"
	"Starfleet Medical--"
	"And how'd you explain to *them* how you miraculously survived?  
'Oh, I threw myself out of my shuttle, but fortunately a passing 
inbound space freighter just happened to notice, and beamed me aboard.' 
Or let me guess.  Vulcans can survive up to ten minutes in vacuum, 
right?  Because you're so superior to all the rest of us poor species?"
 	"I told them my family had been mistaken in certifying me dead."  
Her voice held just the faintest trace of bitterness.  Three weeks ago, 
Q would never have detected it-- but he heard it now, and he was 
willing to bet the Bajoran did too.  "Soram was divorcing me, after 
all.  He had already severed our link.  He could easily have mistaken 
my death."
	"So he divorced you.  Well.  I'm glad I found *that* out.  That's 
more than anyone else seems to know.  Is that why he said you were 
dead, then?  Because a dead wife is easier to explain than a divorce?  
Can divorced Vulcans remarry?"
	"Of course they-- Soram remarried?  You know this?"
	"Sovaz told me.  And incidentally, she keeps referring to the 
woman as 'my brother's wife.' *Not* 'sister'."  Tris paused.  "Oh, come 
on, T'Laren.  Don't tell me you still care about him.  Not after what 
he did to you!"
	"You know nothing about it.  You never understood my relationship 
with Soram."
	"No, and I don't think I ever will.  I thought Vulcans were too 
logical to stay in abusive relationships."
	Now she sounded angry.  "Soram did not abuse me.  What happened 
was my fault, and there was nothing he could have done to save me.  He 
did try, you know.  He was never the monster you thought he was."
	"Sovaz told me he said he closed his mind to you, when you went 
off the deep end.  I'm sure that did you a *lot* of good."
	"Was he supposed to let me infect him?  Few Vulcans can risk being 
bonded to one who is insane--"
	"You keep using that word.  You know better.  What you had was a 
nervous breakdown.  You did *not* go *insane*, T'Laren.  Not by any 
definition *I* ever learned."
	"What a Bajoran-- or a human-- would consider insanity, and what a 
Vulcan would, are two different things."
	"Yes, obviously.  Since I can't think of a reason for what you did 
to Sovaz short of that.  Are you sure you're well enough to practice?  
We wouldn't want you harming an important Federation asset because you 
were insane when you treated him."
	"I am in my right mind."
	"Then *what* the hell did you just hurt Sovaz like that for?"
	"Very well."  T'Laren definitely sounded angry, the distinctive 
degree of coldness in her voice differentiated from the coldness of 
mere annoyance.  "I did not wish to deal with Sovaz.  I did not want to 
answer her questions, I did not want to be faced with the reminders she 
presented, and the quickest and most logical fashion of silencing her 
would be to hurt her feelings.  And I no longer wish to discuss the 
subject."
	Tris was silent a moment.  "You have really turned into a bitch, 
haven't you," he said incredulously.
	"Apparently so.  Now let me pass."
	"No.  No, I don't buy it.  I can't believe that you, of all 
people, could turn that heartless.  Cold, maybe, if you decided to go 
ultra-Vulcan.  That I can buy.  But cruel-- no.  You'd just have told 
Sovaz you didn't want to talk about it, twenty times until it got 
through her head, but you wouldn't have cut her down like that."
	"Perhaps you don't know me as well as you think you do."
	"Perhaps I don't.  But I think I know you well enough to know you 
usually pull this kind of stunt when you're feeling guilty.  I remember 
when you tried to pull this crap on *me*, remember?"
	"I never did that to you."
	"You did so.  I remember it quite distinctly.  I wasn't going to 
take it then, and I'm not falling for it now.  So what're you feeling 
guilty about?"
	"You aren't going to do this to me, Tris.  I know the trick.  I am 
not your patient, and I am not about to tell you anything.  You can 
believe anything you like about the incident, but I do not wish to 
discuss it with you or anyone."
	There was a silence for a moment.  "Fine," Tris said finally.  
"We'll talk about this later."
	Q hastily moved away from the door, into the foyer of his own 
bedroom, and pretended to be unpacking as T'Laren came in.  He glanced 
over at her, gauging her mood.  She seemed very Vulcan and very 
withdrawn, and paid no attention to his ostentatious removal of his 
clothes from his bag, instead making a beeline for the bathroom.  He 
shrugged, and started unpacking in earnest.  T'Laren had asked him 
before why he bothered to bring clothes, when the replicators aboard 
Yamato could make anything he wanted.  Having attempted to get clothes 
out of a Galaxy-class starship's replicator menu before, though, Q 
didn't trust Yamato's replicators to keep him in the style to which 
he'd grown accustomed, so he'd gotten an entire wardrobe out of 
Ketaya's replicators and lugged it over here.  This, unfortunately, 
required that he unpack the whole thing, to avoid having to live out of 
his suitcase for two weeks.  Vanity was a very taxing business.
	While he worked, he spoke quietly to the computer.  "Computer.  
Give me the definition of the word *taran*.  Print it on the terminal 
screen."
	"What language?"
	"Probably Bajoran.  If not, Vulcan."
	A definition appeared on the terminal.  "*TARAN*, fem.  *taransi*.  
Bajoran.  The male lover of a woman who is already married.  No close 
Standard equivalent.  Standard equivalent of fem.  form is *mistress*."  
There was more, but Q ignored it.  He'd suspected it would be something 
like that.