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Pacific Heights, San Francisco: Earth

Stardate: 54504.3

Crestia nervously looked at the Klingon diplomatic security guard that searched through her backpack with a sneer on his face. She had received the strangest message of her life yesterday. The Federation Diplomatic Corps forwarded her an official request from the Klingon Empire for her to appear at their embassy in San Francisco. She had no idea what it was about, but decided a special request from her host government probably shouldn't go ignored.

"You are cleared to proceed," the guard said gruffly as he handed the bag back to her. She took it with a nod of her head and walked through the vaulted arches leading into the embassy's darkened waiting area. After a few nervous moments wondering if it would be better to head right back out the entrance, a Klingon clerk emerged from a back room.

"Crestia, Daughter of Lucretia?" he asked abruptly.

"Yes," she said adjusting the straps of the backpack.

"I am Bakral, Son of Tuvmet, third adjutant to Ambassador L'Stok. Follow me," he said beckoning for her to step through the door. She took a deep breath and walked forward. As she proceeded through claustrophobic corridors adorned with small statues of famous warriors set into wall recesses, she wondered what exactly what was happening.

"Am I being questioned? Are they going to detain me?" she thought as progressively more and more negative thoughts intruded their way into her head. "Are they going to try to take me back to the Empire? They can't do that, can they? I'm under Federation protection. Oh gods, the Federation has a treaty with the Empire…"

Her heart raced as they approached a door which Bakral opened. Crestia stepped inside to find a sparsely furnished visiting room with two stools and an empty metal table. A kettle of tea with two cups had already been laid out.

"Please wait in here," he said before turning to leave.

"Wait!" Crestia said finally summoning the courage to speak. "What am I here for?"

"You were not told?" Bakral asked surprised. "The governor of Subik IV demanded an audience with you."

"Why would a Klingon governor want to see me?" Crestia asked in shock.

A door opened behind her. Then, a familiar voice from the past caused her to freeze.

"Because this governor has not seen you in far too long…"

Crestia was afraid to turn around, fearing that her mind was playing cruel tricks on her. Finally, she managed to turn her head just enough to catch a glimpse of an Elohsian dressed in a blood red Klingon kamakha. A shining chain mail baldric hung over her shoulder. A strange crest emblazoned the sash that triggered a strange memory in her mind. She was suddenly a little girl, huddled by the fire in the slave quarters behind the Vreenakii villa on Romulus. Her father had her cradled in his arms as he made strange markings in the soot of the fireplace. He said it was the true language of their people, one that the Romulans forbade them to speak or write, but one that all had to keep alive in their hearts. Now, Crestia was certain of it. The crest on the baldric said, "House of Lucretia" in ancient Elohsian. Above it was the smiling face of a woman that Crestia had given up all hope of ever seeing in the flesh again. Her lip began to quiver and tears forced their way from the corners of her eye.

"Mother…" she stammered in total bewilderment. Bakral nodded respectful and excused himself, closing the door behind him.

"My Child!" Lucretia screamed once they were alone. The women ran into each other's arms and embraced for the first time since they were torn apart by Romulan legionnaires four years before on a planet lightyears away…

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