I thought it was a damned good thing I'd saved the program in the protein re-sequencer, but it turned out that the Zemulun Stalope had brought his own food supply as well . . . and it was more varied than his daughter's choice.

Phlox and I toured the corner of the shuttlebay that had been penned off for the . . . supplies.

There were the rats of course. Those I could handle, but the others . . . Big, slow, very dangerous looking supplies nosing around in the hay.

"Dios! They're dinosaurs," I muttered weakly, wondering how I was going to prepare one because they looked like little armored tanks with spiked tails.

"Yes," Phlox nodded. "Rather like a small Anklyosaurus. Or the Beta Perseian versions of the same, I suppose."

"I've never prepped anything like that!" I pointed out miserably. "And if it's done improperly, I could end up hurting myself or killing our guests!"

"True," Phlox commiserated. "Although from what I saw of the Zemulun Stalope at the gathering he certainly wasn't adverse to your earlier offerings. Let's see what we can find out. I'll talk to the aides and surely you have enough connections to get some help with preparing these . . ." he waved at the pen.

I nodded; what else could I do?

So I waddled back, glad that I'd already set most of the menu for the other guests, and thinking hard of who to ask. Blue was top of my list; out of all the chefs I knew, he had the most multi-world experience, so I got a priority channel to him as soon as I got back to the galley and sent images of the . . . food source.

"Oh man, now there's a challenge," he muttered. "But it looks a little like an armadillo. Got any connections to hunter chefs? Maybe backwoods types?"

"Possibly," I sighed. "If you get anything, sent it through priority. How are you and Justine doing?"

Blueflower beamed. "Shakin' and bakin' every day! Itty Bitty's got a sideline goin' with cosmic crullers these days. Speakin' of these days, ain't you about to pop?"

"Close to it," I grinned. "Tell Justine I really appreciate her advice about the shoes."

"Will do; we'll be in touch," Blue promised before signing off.

-oo00oo-

Porthos knew we had guests that he didn't like; I could tell by the way he snuffled me and made little gruff snorts. Normally he's a mellow pup; sweet and friendly, but he'd already had a run in with the Zorida Stalope and somewhere in his doggy brain he'd decided this wasn't a cat he liked. Consequently Jon and I were determined to keep him from the Zemulun Stalope before our pet ended up as another snack. The last thing any of us needed was to have an Incident, so I arranged for Phlox and Sath to run herd on our beagle as needed.

Oddly enough, one of the people who gave me some help in regards to the food was our chief engineer. I never would have guessed it in a million years but as I served up breakfast, he handed over a printout to me.

"Jon mentioned you were lookin' for some prep advice," Trip murmured, "so I pulled up my great granny's diary, specifically her recipes for, ah, armadillo. Figured that's pretty close to those things in the hold."

I could have kissed him and said so.

"What's stoppin' you?" he teased, so I planted one on his cheek, clutching the papers gratefully.

"If this works out I'm going to make sure your grandmother gets the credit for it," I told him.

"If this works out, you'd better," Trip agreed. "She'd come back jest to haunt me if you didn't."

And so I got started. Fog was interested in helping so we both read over the recipes, and talked to one of the Zemulun Stalope's assistants, Perimal, about the food.

"The armored ones are called Zoks and the furred ones are called Kikas. Handling them is . . . considered bad manners," she told me, her tail flicking back and forth. "The work of the lowly."

"Yes, I remember that," I sighed. "But since I don't want to offend or poison anyone, I'd appreciate a little help here."

"But you are already well-informed," Perimal looked confused. "The Zorida told her father that the food on your ship was excellent, even though you yourself were . . ." she trailed off, looking uncomfortable.

I tried not to gawp. "Ah, really? I was under the impression . . . you know what, never mind. I can do the Kikas, it's the Zoks I don't know about."

Perimal promised to send what information she could, and when she left, I looked at Fog, who was scowling.

"Didn't you tell me the Zorida constantly complained about the food? About how it was cold?"

"Yes," I nodded. "So I guess the issue was actually . . . personal."

Fog shook his head as he turned on the oven. "That becomes . . . dangerous, Franny. A personal dislike is an opening for all sorts of accusations. I do not like how vulnerable we are right now."

I pulled out the bins of vegetables that needed prepping. "I agree, but we're going to have to count on Starfleet having our backs here. They agreed to this escort duty on our behalf."

"In any case, show me at least how to prepare a Kika," Fog replied. "That way the responsibility is shared."

After we'd made the quiches, I did, running the program and showing Fog all the steps. My back was starting to ache by now, and he shooed me off, promising to keep an eye on the gallery. I toddled off to lie down for a while, still chewing on a few thoughts I wasn't quite ready to vocalize.

If the Zorida had lied, then it was to cause disruption, and the first line of thought was that she was after Jon. Since the Zorida was a spoiled little princess it made sense to me; he was not only in charge of the ship but a studly handsome guy to boot. Add to that that I was doing a job she found revolting . . . yeah that didn't help either.

But now she was back, and she'd brought her Daddy so I wasn't sure what that meant. Was she still interested in Jon? Or was this truly a matter of establishing diplomatic ties with Starfleet and the other planets?

Too confusing. I fell asleep without figuring anything out.

-oo00oo—

The first dinner was a three-course number heavy on vegetarian offerings—at least for the Vulcans and Tellerites. Sath had set up a long table in the Mess hall to accommodate the party, and it thrilled me to see everyone in dress uniforms. Reed was the only one who looked comfortable in his, of course. Jon didn't fidget too much, and Hoshi was utterly elegant. She could wear a burlap bag and still look dainty in it, to be honest. T'Pol was in one of her fancier suits and from the way Trip was eyeing her he approved of it, ahem.

I of course stayed in the background. Word from the Admiral was that I could be hostess if I wanted to; as the captain's wife I had that option, but the double burden of cooking and hosting was a lot, especially with a baby on the way so I opted out. And in any case, if the Perseians weren't fond of food prep people I sure as hell wasn't going to irritate them further by sitting at the same table with them—discretion, valor and all that.

And my new plates were on display. Just the sight of them sent a little spark of delight through me and I fought the urge to mention them to everyone. I think Jon could tell though; he gave me one of those supportive smiles when I looked up from admiring his setting.

"Sure you don't want to go into the dinnerware business?" he whispered.

"And give up all this glamour?" I shot back, but grinned as I served up a ratatouille I knew he'd love.

The real test of diplomacy was going to be how the vegans were going to react to the Perseian meals. As honored guests, the Zemulun was at the other end of the table, flanked by his daughter the Zorida and the Vulcan representative. I set the artfully skinned Kikka down in front the Zemulun, pleased with the way it looked on a bed of lemongrass and seared mushrooms. His daughter got a smaller one, just as elegantly done.

She shot me a quick look, pupils narrowing into slits; no love lost between us. I moved away and began serving the other guests, doing so as unobtrusively as I could. Fog helped, and we returned to the galley where I sat with a clear view to the table. Sath was out there serving the drinks; he'd let us know when it was time to start clearing for the next course.

Damn but it felt good to get off my feet. I rubbed my aching spine and thought about whether I could puree some of Kika livers and make a sorbet for the Perseians as I watched everyone eat.

Unlike his daughter, the Zemulun didn't use silverware. He popped his claws out—and that was a hell of a sight—and raked them through the little body on his plate, slashing it into bite-sized pieces, bringing the entire dinner conversation to a halt for a moment as he did so. But he just nodded and motioned for people to carry on, and apparently they did, although sort of cautiously after that. Those claws of his reminded me of my Misono knives—big, sharp and hard to ignore.

From this angle I couldn't see too much of the Zorida, but she seemed to be dominating the conversation at her end of the table. That meant she wasn't eating, and that annoyed me for a couple of reasons. It would give her an excuse to throw a fit about the food being cold, for one, and it meant she was probably trying to charm the guests. I'm not sure how that would fly with the Vulcans and the Tellerites, but the humans . . . some of them might be cat people.

We got the nod from Sath about half an hour later, so Fog and I moved out to collect plates. As I moved around the far end of the table, I passed by the Zemulun, who looked at me as I removed the pile of bones on his dish. And by looked, I mean stared with those big lavender eyes.

Under his breath I heard him say one word.

One word.

I forced myself to stay calm and walked back to the galley with my tray, trying not to tremble.

'Delicious' never sounded so threatening.