The royal jet had been grounded for exactly seven minutes when the problem surfaced.
It began with a suggestion from a senior security officer - imported, newly assigned, and evidently convinced his training manual outweighed common sense - had cleared his throat and said, with the careful tone of a man who believed procedure would shield him from consequence, that standard protocol advised the royal couple should not travel on the same aircraft.
"In the event of an attack," he'd begun, "continuity of-"
Dax's pheromones unfurled before his voice did, their pressure so strong that the air itself decided it would rather belong to him than to physics.
The officer's pulse had spiked so violently the med scanner picked it up. Two of the security detail shifted instinctively, hands half-raising, then freezing as they realized exactly how bad an idea that would be.
"You will not," Dax said quietly, "finish that sentence."
