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Of course, the human was still a youth by the standards of Tuvok’s people. No-less man a youth. An infant. And yet, in the eyes of Starfleet, Crusher was his commanding officer.

His superior.

Inwardly, Tuvok shivered. Humans, he thought.

He had been around them far too long in situations that were far too volatile. He longed for the crystalline stillness of Vulcan’s deep meditation chambers, the tranquility of a walk in a sun-washed, crimson desert, the sense of balance and well-being that enveloped him when he sat down to harmonious meals with his family.

And yet, after so many years, something had pulled inexorably at Tuvok to rejoin Starfleet. Duty had struggled with duty, and no entity living could win such a battle.

He watched with a mounting sense of apprehension as the conversation between Crusher and the guard called Old Scowly unfolded. Clearly, he told himself, the commander’s scheme was leading them into trouble.

Finally, Old Scowly agreed to approach his employer. With some difficulty, he slipped his hulking frame inside the gilded door-whereupon Crusher leaned closer to Tuvok and spoke quickly and quietly.

“I don’t know for certain what kind of establishment this is,” said the commander, “but I can make a pretty good guess.”

“Unfortunately,” the Vulcan whispered back with sincere and undisguised revulsion, “so can I.”

“Still, we may have to go along with it.” Crusher regarded Tuvok. “Would that… pose a problem?”

“Naturally,” the Vulcan replied.

The commander grunted. “I was afraid you would say that.”

“And knowing what I do of human marriage customs,” said Tuvok, “I would imagine it would pose a problem for you as well.”

Crusher looked lost. “Maybe we could just play along for some of it… for the sake of-“

“My master will see you now,” said Old Scowly. He had reappeared before the Vulcan knew it. “You may enter through the changing room, remove your clothes, and join Pudris Barrh at his pleasures.”

Tuvok kept his disgust to himself. His companion maintained control over his expression as well, though the visible darkening of his cheeks seemed to betray him. The Vulcan hoped that Old Scowly was unfamiliar with the physical manifestations of human emotions or, as Crusher might be inclined to phrase it, “the jig” would be “up.”

“Excellent,” Crusher replied heartily. He turned to Tuvok. “Sulak, you’ll accompany me.”

“You will divest yourselves of your weapons as well, of course,” growled Old Scowly.

The commander winked knowingly. “Of course.”

The gilded door opened again and they went inside. As the door closed behind them, the Vulcan saw that they were in a dressing room of some sort-or more accurately, an undressing room.

The walls were paneled with dark woods and there were lockers made of the same material. The only other pieces of furniture in the room were a couple of long benches.

Crusher uttered an earthy human phrase with which Tuvok was not unacquainted. “What the hell do we do now?” he sighed.

The Vulcan didn’t answer, of course. The question was clearly a rhetorical one.

Frowning, the commander sat down on one of the benches and began to remove his boots. He didn’t look happy.

As it happened, Tuvok wasn’t happy either. If he didn’t know better, he would have said that the uncomfortable sensation in the pit of his stomach was apprehension. Of course, that was impossible. His control over his emotions was impeccable.

And yet, the sensation remained.

“There must be another way,” said Crusher.

“There is no other way,” the Vulcan told him. “This is the situation in which your plan has placed us.” He knew his words sounded biting, but he didn’t wish any of them back.

The human ran his hands through his thick, dark hair. “Damn it,” he said, “if Beverly ever…”

“Finds out about this?” the ensign suggested.

Frowning, Crusher nodded. “But as you say, there’s no other option open to us. I guess we’ll just deal with whatever comes as best we can.” He grunted. “The things we do for king and country.”

Tuvok looked at him. “We do not pay homage to a king, nor does Starfleet ally itself