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not be lost.”
    “Her consciousness,” Zhatan corrected, sounding a bit annoyed. “Not just her memories.”
    “Some kind of permanent mind-meld?” Kirk asked.
    “In theory, a far more complicated process. Not practiced, if it ever truly was, since antiquity.”
    “We,” Zhatan said proudly, “have always been this way.” She looked to McCoy, whose mouth was a bit agape. “Do you grasp our nature now, Doctor?”
    McCoy took a moment to contemplate his reply. “I think so. Family dinner with your crazy aunt, every moment of every day.”
    “Bones,” Kirk chided, then turned back to Zhatan. “We’re not just talking to you, but to one of your ancestors?”
    “More than one,” she said.
    Spock’s brows shot up. “Not merely a duality, but a true multividual?”
    Uhura gasped, as clearly she understood the implications.
    “The Vulcan word is sha’esues ,” Spock said. “A collective of distinct consciousnesses held within one mind.” He looked squarely, even disbelievingly, at Zhatan. “A very unlikely condition.”
    “Our sense is that you deem it unlikely so as not to call it ‘impossible’ and be proven wrong.”
    Nodding, Spock accepted that appraisal.
    “We assure you,” Zhatan continued, “this has been the way of my people for our entire history.”
    Silence settled on that thought. Kirk wondered just how many personalities were within Zhatan. How did they communicate to her? Was she a primary personality, with control over the others, relegating them to mere voices, or did they “possess” her, for lack of a better term? In either case, how large was his audience?
    In reality, it might not matter. Kirk often had to negotiate with more than one person—a council, a prefect on a short leash, a ship’s commander who answered to higher ranking officials. Perhaps this would be no different.
    Ambassador Pippenge seemed to come to the same conclusion. “If I may, Ambassador Zhatan, you are both intelligent and, most certainly, learned in many areas.” Palms down on the table, he spread his fingers wide and pressed down slightly, releasing his tension physically rather than through his voice. “Why did you attack us?”
    Even though the attack was on the Enterprise , Pippenge said “us,” Kirk noticed.
    So did Zhatan. “Us?”
    “Once in our star system, the Enterprise is our guest,” Pippenge explained.
    True, though with the treaty already signed, Enterprise was an aligned vessel.
    “At the time, we thought it a Maabas warship.” Zhatan dismissed the attack with a wave of her hand, as if her perception that the Enterprise was the enemy justified the attack.
    Pippenge pursed his lips. “We have no warships.”
    At that statement, the Kenisian ambassador and war commander grinned. She seemed to smile a lot, Kirk thought, and he wondered if it was a smile from Zhatan, or if it was a variety of consciousnesses that turned her lips upward. Could he ever know who was behind the ominous grin? How, he wondered, did her . . . condition work?
    “No warships. Isn’t that interesting,” she said, staring at Pippenge, and though it was phrased as a question, it clearly was not.
    “We’re prepared,” Kirk said, pulling their attention back to him, “to negotiate a peace between your two peoples.”
    “What is your interest in this planet?” Zhatan asked the question, but Kirk sensed a different tone than before. Again, he wondered just who within her was doing the asking.
    “Cultural and scientific,” Kirk replied. “The Federation’s treaty with the Maabas fosters that exchange.”
    “One doesn’t need a treaty to exchange ideas. One only needs a method of communication.” Zhatan nodded slightly, as if she’d won some point in a debate. “What else does your treaty cover?”
    Kirk was no fool, and now he smiled to let her know that. “You’re asking if Federation protection is part of the agreement.”
    Still smiling, she nodded.
    “It is,” Kirk said, a bit more