4.
O happy living things! no tongue
Their beauty might declare:
A spring of love gushed from my heart,
And I blessed them unaware:
Sure my kind saint took pity on me,
And I blessed them unaware.


Malcolm does not see Tar'a flash golden again for a long time. He never stops to ponder what it means, thinking only that it was a way for Tar'a to find him in the dark. They go about their daily routines, Malcolm climbing through the rigging, repairing the damned masts, the rest of the sailors cleaning up the derbies on the deck and sorting through stores for anything salvageable. They make several more runs before he sees that brilliant golden color again, and when he does, he's momentarily stunned by how such bright luminescence could remind him of death.

But he supposes it's appropriate, because when he finds Tar'a alone in the forward section of hull, the golden color is accompanied by a low moan, almost a keen. He has just returned from captain Mish'as cabin and seems . . . subdued somehow. Probably something to do with local politics, Malcolm's sure.

"Tara'a, what's wrong?" He takes a deep breath, bracing himself for this. He's not good at this stuff. He has trouble enough with humans, let alone a different species with completely different emotional cues.

Tar'a continues to moan and the gold intensifies. "I will never find myself an acceptable mate."

Malcolm nearly balks. He most definitely was not expecting that. He'd thought that Tar'a was far too old, and definitely far too wise to bother with such things. "I'm sure you will do just fine."

"No, Mal'colm. You could not possibly understand. I am so hideous. No one would want me to bare their children. No man would want me. I am so deformed."

Wait . . . no man? Huh? He always thought that Tar'a was a man. "Excuse me?"

"My color spectrum is so broad. I can't seem to express myself. They will all think that I am hideous and inarticulate, without class." No wonder Malcolm has an easier time understanding Tar'a. He thought it was only because they spent so much time together. "My only friend is a tak'ai who only comes in red, white, and Earth-colored."

"Thanks for the compliment."

"You are welcome."

"Why are you so concerned about finding someone, Tar'a? I'm single and probably will be for . . . well, on this planet, forever." Not that he wouldn't mind something other than his right hand for a change.

"My mother insists. I can't remain on this ship any longer. I must marry and only then will I have enough capital to get my own ship and my own business."

"Oh. Well, I'm sure you'll find someone. You're a lovely person. You just have to wait for someone to see that." He sounds like a bad Valentines Day card, like those novellas and self-improvement guides for giggling teens. He sounds kind of like Trip, actually. But he can't think of anything else to say. Tar'a has just turned his entire perception of the world on its head. He thought she was an old man and she turns out to be a very young woman, anxious about finding a spouse. He supposes he can log this as just another mistake, another hopeless cross-cultural misunderstanding like the many they've experienced since they got here.

"Thank you, Mal'colm."

And then to gold melts into a deep forest green, showing her contentment. Gold must mean sadness, he thinks - so much different from what he's used to.

And then she turns, and if he's not mistaken, there's something different about her eyes. They're not as dark.

"Will you do something for me, Mal'colm?"

He hesitates only briefly. She's a friend. It doesn't matter how wrong he was about her place in society. She's been nothing but kind to him for as long as he's known her. "Of course."

"Let me hold you."

He nods, still unsure, as she envelopes him, great gelatinous body molding to fit around him. It feels like sinking in a pool of Jell-o, only he's not having trouble breathing. She's warm and vibrating just slightly and colors are flashing in a rainbow around him. It's like he's floating and sinking and flying all the same time and he can almost feel something. It's not pain. It's not happiness, or contentment. It's a new feeling altogether, neither wonderful nor mundane. The closest he can find is melancholy, but without any particular sadness.

And after how long, he does not know: seconds, minutes, hours, eons, she releases him.

"Thanks."

---

He doesn't know enough to know, but he thinks that Tar'a has been avoiding him. Of course it could just be something to do with the Mil'akan politics that he always tries to ignore. The other sailors are obsessed with Tar'a all of a sudden, keeping her busy more than her actually trying to avoid him. Yet he misses her presence.

If he's made a mistake by their last conversation, he wants to right it. She's his only friend on this world, and after Enterprise, he's come to depend upon having friends. But he doesn't want to risk offending her more.

He finally resolves to ask Mish'a, rapping reflexively on the solid wooden door to his office even though the Mil'aka use low whistling noises instead.

Mish'a calls, "Come in, Tak'ai," nevertheless. Mish'a has always been accommodating, willing to recognize that Malcolm doesn't know their culture and patiently explaining things to him. That's why he's here now.

"What can I do for you? Another stop, perhaps?" He appears hopeful.

"Not this time, Mish'a. Actually, I just have a question."

"Go ahead. Today is a hurried day and soon I would like for you to check on the Northwest sail, please."

"Indeed. I was simply wondering about a Mil'akan behavior that just happened to me. I have never experienced it before."

"Certainly, Tak'ai. Please describe."

"I . . . er . . . well, this individual asked to me to hold him . . . or her. I agreed, not wanting to offend them. And they sort of . . . enveloped me, flashed lots of colors . . ."

Mish'a strands abruptly, great jiggling form looming towards him as he flashes bright with anger. "Who did this to you Mal'colm?" This is the first time Mish'a has called him by name, and it startles him that Mish'a even knows it.

He feels suddenly uncomfortable, backing away even though he knows that Mil'akan law forbids an attack. "Why?" he almost squeaks. "What does it matter?"

"You have . . . Blar'ax! How does one say this? It is not polite, but how else to make you understand?"

Malcolm is afraid now. Whatever this is, it's serious and he knows what happens to serious on Mil'al. He backs up until he's pressed back against the door.

"Just say it."

"You were . . . that is how we Mil'akans initiate sexual . . . . You were raped."

"What?!" He was not raped. Tar'a would not do that to him. He trusts Tar'a. Tar'a would never hurt him. "I refuse to believe it."

"You were not partnered to the one who did this, yes?"

"No, but . . ." But they were friends? If that truly had been rape, then . . . what kind of friend takes advantage of a friend's ignorance?

"You were unaware of the consequences of the act, yes?"

"Yes, but . . . but . . . if I hadn't been, then would there be a difference?"

"I would have to dismiss you both for violating the terms of your contract. But, if you were an unwilling participant, then you can take this before the courts. The offender will be executed, but deservedly so, and you will be recompensed with a percentage of their earnings." Mish'a began to pace. "I cannot believe that one of my own women would take advantage of such a innocent little young male such as you . . ."

"Women?"

"Yes, women. All those serving in the market are women," which explains why the UT always translated pronouns as masculine. He idly wonders what the feminists would have to say about that. "Men are to be neither seen nor heard, only traded for. Do you know what kind of paperwork I had to fill out to get you, Tak'ai? Luckily, there were no rules on the books for off-worlders. Now, perhaps, I am wondering if I have made a grave mistake. Please, Tak'ai, tell me the name of the one who has violated you so that we might seek justice."

Even if it was wrong, even if he's horrified and betrayed, he cannot condemn Tar'a to the same fate as Chang and McKenzie. He can't have another body on his head. He just can't.

"No."

"If you do not tell me, Tak'ai, the law states that I must dismiss the entire crew, if I know that two have violated their contracts."

"I . . . I don't wish to prosecute. It was consensual. I was just confused. I would have . . . I led her on. I just wasn't sure of the full extent of the . . ."

"If you are sure, Tak'ai. I do not wish to do this, but if you continue down this line of thought, you will be dismissed as well. You do realize this."

"Yes, I realize this, but I can't bloody-well see her executed because I can't keep my mouth shut, can I?"

Mish'a ripples a readish yellow, the Mil'akan equivalent of a sigh. "If this is what your kind considers honor, Tak'ai, you are a species destined for bankruptcy." Bankruptcy, indeed. They were already thinking of eliminating the money system back on Earth. If only they should be so lucky out here. "You must give me a name."

Malcolm lowers his eyes. "Tar'a." It still feels like a betrayal, even if he knows the other options are far worse.

Mish'a turns so many colors all at once that it blends almost brown to Malcolm's eyes.

"Tar'a? She would never . . ."

"I know," Malcolm sighs. "I think it must have been a mistake."

"I told her that next time in port we would being going to all the adequate houses, looking for a husband with a good dowry. I told her not to follow any foolish ideas about beauty and souls and other such nonsense. What was she thinking? Now I must . . ."

"Tar'a is your daughter?"

"Of course she is. Why do you think the crew indulges her so? She is so young and so foolish. I wish . . . No. It is the law and without the law there would be nothing but war and chaos and bankruptcy. No, I am afraid, Tak'ai, that I must dismiss you both."

And that was Mil'akan ruthlessness - her own daughter. But there was nothing that Malcolm could do about it.

---

"I'm sorry, Tar'a. I didn't know. I wish you had asked. I wish you had told me. God, we made such a mess of things." It's not the first mess Malcolm has made since coming here either.

He tries to comfort her, not sure where to place his hand that's not indecent, but he needs to touch her, needs to dim the shimmering gold that's so bright that it's almost blinding.

"My career is over, Mal'colm! I was as foolish as my mother says. I thought that even though you are just a tak'ai, things would work out between us and I would not have to go through the humiliation of coupling with a low bidder."

"It's okay, Tar'a. I still wish you had told me, but I understand."

"Nobody will hire us now. We will go three-times bankrupt, Mal'colm."

"Then we'll just have to build our own ship. With you knowledge and my ability to climb the rigging, we should be able to make it work. I used to be an engineer of sorts." He neglects to mention that all he ever built was weapons, unless Trip was in a real pinch and needed an extra pair of hands down in engineering. "I can build us the fastest ship on Mil'al. And the laws of market-forces dictate that we will find business, no matter how much of social pariahs we are."

Tar'a turns to him and she is so bright green he almost has to close his eyes. He smiles.