Devereux mimicked Tarkanan's movements, but her motions were less fluid, even hesitant. Still, he smiled at her with warm approval. Devereux found herself smiling in return. Without warning, Tarkanan turned on one hoof, bringing his other hoof up in an abrupt, sharp kick that Devereux was certain would have seriously disabled an enemy, if not killed him if the blow was delivered in the correct location.
Quickly resuming a less threatening position, Tarkanan stared placidly at Devereux. "You seem surprised, Captain."
Swallowing back a growing lump in her throat, it took a Devereux a moment to find her voice. Still, it came out more weakly than she would have liked. "I had heard that your people were pacifists."
Tarkanan nodded. "We are. My band will not provoke violence. However," he smiled gently, "would we not be foolish not to be capable of defending ourselves against it?"
Devereux frowned slightly, replaying his motions of attack in her mind. "I suppose so," she conceded softly. "But still . . ."
The Heftaur elder's expression seemed thoughtful, the look of a teacher instructing a promising student. "It is difficult to control one's spirit, if one cannot control one's self."
Devereux considered that for a moment. Something in the Heftaur's demeanor even when she first met him had made her expect philosophy from him, but the gentle way in which he presented it caught her off-guard. She had just opened her mouth to respond when she was interrupted by the familiar chime of the ship-wide intercom.
"Captain Devereux, please signal the bridge when possible." It was Hawke's voice. Devereux was relieved the lack of urgency in his tone, but she knew that he would not call for her unless it was fairly important.
Devereux tapped the control on the nearby bulkhead. "Devereux here," she said, her voice regaining its usual firm control. "What is it, Lieutenant?"
There was a momentary pause before Hawkes spoke again. Devereux suspected that he was forming his words carefully in case she was not alone.
"Can you come to the bridge please, Captain?" Hawkes said. "We have a . . . situation."
Devereux resisted the urge to glance over at Tarkanan. Still, she could sense him watching her with calm patience.
"I'm on my way, Lieutenant," she said into the pickup. "Devereux out." She turned toward Tarkanan. "If you will excuse me, Ambassador."
Smiling gently, Tarkanan nodded. "Of course, Captain," he said with a complete absence of irritation at the interruption. "I understand your duties."
Devereux felt as though she should say something more, but resisted, not wanting to end the evening with a trite or potentially foolish-sounding remark. Draping a towel around over one shoulder, she exited the chamber.
Pausing in the corridor, she tried to determine whether or not to return to her quarters to change before reporting to the bridge. After a moment's consideration, she decided against it, as her cabin lay in the opposite direction. Although Hawke's request had not sounded urgent, her curiosity was now piqued.
She encountered only one other crewmember on her way there, who regarded her without particular interest. To find the captain out of uniform in the middle of the night should scarcely have come as a surprise, Devereux told herself, but she still felt mildly awkward about it.
She entered the bridge with the towel now wrapped over her shoulders. Quickly, she noted that the bridge was only lightly occupied by the third-shift crew. She made her way to the Tactical station where Hawkes waited, displaying an entirely different kind of patience that Tarkanan had. As much as Tarkanan's sudden attack movement startled her, she would have felt no such surprise had Hawkes exhibited a similar behavior. She always suspected that he was someone kept his violence in careful check, but always prepared to strike, like a tightly coiled snake.
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