Free Star Trek: That Which Divides by Dayton Ward Page A

and minerals that the body lost during prolonged exertion and perspiration. Designed as a dietary supplement for shipboard crews, it also served to reduce the demand for drinking water during protracted missions in deep space. Unlike water, it possessed a bitter tang that only grew stronger as a consequence of the ship’s reclamation and recycling systems, which of course were impacted by the amount of time the Nevathu stayed out on patrol far from home. Vathrael knew that drinking the concoction served a purpose so far as contributing to the health of her crew while conserving the precious water supply, but one of the promises she had made to herself was that upon her retirement from the service, matnaral would never again touch her lips.
    Reaching up to wipe her mouth, Vathrael asked, “You understand I was only joking about our sparring match? You honestly do possess formidable talent. I hope you will continue your studies.”
    Terius nodded. “I am honored and humbled by your words, Commander. Your reputation as a master of Ch’Vashrek is well known, after all.”
    “An artifact of my youth, Centurion,” Vathrael said, retrieving her towel and using it to wipe perspiration from her face. Though hand-to-hand combat was taught at the military academies, their preferred style was an amalgam of different martial arts that had been blended and simplified for ease and efficiency of instruction on a large scale. Vathrael had acquired an interest in Ch’Vashrek while still a cadet, studying under the watchful eye of her maternal uncle—himself an acknowledged master of the ancientfighting art—during whatever fragments of otherwise unoccupied time she could bring to the endeavor. Upon graduating from the academy and receiving her commission as an officer, Vathrael had continued her studies, even going so far as to enter various competitions devoted to the discipline. Her uncle’s ample, often grueling tutelage served her well, allowing her to win most of those contests. Though she had long ago given up such pursuits, her affection for Ch’Vashrek and the benefits it provided her mind and body continued unabated.
    Reaching for her lirash , Vathrael began wiping the weapon’s grips with her towel as she eyed Terius. “With your abilities, you should consider competing. I daresay you would thrive in such an environment.”
    “I have thought about it,” the centurion replied, retrieving his own towel and proceeding to wipe his hands. “Perhaps if I had a tutor, someone with a passion for the sport and hard-won experience, to guide me, I might consider it.”
    Well, it certainly appears as though young Terius can add servility to his list of skills . Vathrael schooled her features so as not to reveal a betraying smile as the errant thought echoed in her mind. Despite the centurion’s penchant for easy, transparent flattery—a talent seemingly developed by all officers with familial ties to influential people in the Romulan government—Vathrael was forced to admit that she found the idea of acting as a teacher to a student of Ch’Vashrek carried with it an appeal she could not easily dismiss. She had not even attended competitive matches since making the decision to refrain from participating, but she still retained her taste for the excitement to be found at such events. Given that she was approaching the end of her military career, the idea of dedicating time and energy tosome other pursuit was something she had been considering for a while. Perhaps she could find some new fulfillment as a mentor, not only to Terius but to other young students seeking to master the revered fighting art. It was a notion, Vathrael decided, that would require further reflection.
    Her attention was drawn to the sound of the exercise chamber’s door sliding open, followed by a set of fast-moving footsteps echoing across the deck plating. Vathrael looked up to see Subcommander Sirad, her executive officer, enter the room while carrying