The Last Treason 29

T'Laihhae

After the debriefing, I make my way back to the Messalina and my quarters. I am tired, and deeply troubled over the unanswered questions we still have.

I am not so tired that I do not immediately spot the object lying on my bed.

I remain quite still for a second, then draw out my tricorder, slowly and carefully. The object does not respond as I activate the scanning function. It is what it appears to be... a small commercial holo-emitter, suitable for mementoes or messages. There is a trace of organic material, but nothing that registers as harmful.

But how did it get there? I take a nervous step towards the bed, then another. The emitter does not react. I reach out, holding my breath, and touch its playback control.

Thyvesh's image, transparent and faintly luminous, appears in the air over the emitter.

"By the time you see this," his voice says, "I will be dead. It is unfortunate, but it cannot, now, be avoided. I tried to avoid it, the first time."

His voice sounds stronger and more certain than I remember it. Perhaps it is the knowledge of his impending death that makes him concentrate.

"The first time someone found the weapons cache at Priyanapari, it was a Tal Shiar Commander working for a General Vorkov, who wanted a political advantage against a rival named Hakeev. This Commander found the doorway, attracted my attention, and compelled me, by - methods I will not describe - to comply with her wishes. She was ruthless. She was clever. Her name was T'Laihhae i-Kanai tr'Aellih."

I feel the blood drain out of my face.

"She drove me to acquire my current levels of awareness, to enhance my sensitivity to the chroniton streams. She thought it would make me a better tool. She was right, I suppose - but the enhanced sensitivity also gave me more control over the doorway. I used that. I went back to a decision point, took a step.... I planted suspicion in Vorkov's mind, made him take a step that turned T'Laihhae against him. Turned you against him. Together, we built the console, and used that to circumvent the original you. Then I went back, to teach the techniques that she had made me learn, to an earlier me, before I ever met her. With your time-track and mine subverted, the original events at Priyanapari - simply never happened."

I stare dumbly at the image. The voice continues.

"I wanted to go on, but... it is not possible. That is what I discovered. The increased sensitivity to the time streams... forced me to an awareness. To the awareness that there was no way the Suliban could win. For all our weapons, all our ingenuity. We could divert the time stream, we could blast whole civilizations into nonexistence... but we could only work with what we had, and what we had was not enough. For the Suliban to become the dominant galactic power, we would have to change things... too much. Either make the galaxy a wrecked thing, not worth the trouble of dominating... or make the Suliban into something that was no longer Suliban. That simple knowledge... that was enough to break my earlier self. To break me. To know that, whatever I did, however I tried, the cause to which I had given my life - was futile."

His voice drops. "I knew, even then, that something else would happen. That there would be more meddlers in time, that the archive would be uncovered again. And I knew... it would have to end, and I would have to end along with it. I knew your abilities. I knew you would find some way to destroy the archive. And I knew... I know, now... that my own timeline would have to turn to a closed circle, somewhere within it."

He takes a deep breath. "As I make this recording, I know my younger self is looking for me. He will demand that I teach him the awareness techniques which disillusioned me to the point of madness. I know that, when I do so, he will realize what I realized. He will lash out, will kill me, in response. I welcome it. I have lived a long life, and much of it several times over. It needs to end."

His voice is so low that it is barely audible. "Goodbye, T'Laihhae. I will not ask for your forgiveness."

The image winks out.

I stand there, staring at the emitter, for a long time. I do not know what I feel about this. I do not know how to feel about this. I have always thought of Thyvesh as a friend. Now I know... that he made me what I am. That he set up the situation in which I betrayed another friend to execution... that, without him, I would have been - what? Something which I now despise - but that I would not have despised, without him -

I do not know what to feel. I think, perhaps, I never will.

I pick the emitter up, and feel something rattle inside it. There is a compartment in it - often the case, with these commercial gadgets; a little space for a trinket, a physical memento. I find the compartment, open it.

The rank badge drops into my hand. It is a conventional enough raptor, but twisted, crushed and bent. There are old, dried bloodstains on it. I close my hand around it, and my fingers fit perfectly. My badge. My blood. From the time when I took it off, crushed it, dropped it into the dust.

From the day that Thyvesh made me.

He took two Romulan soldiers, made one a corpse, made another a hero of the Republic. Perhaps it is best that he is dead. Because nobody should have that much power.

I trusted him. And, in the end, I left him to his death, and destroyed his life's work forever. Justice, perhaps? Betrayal wrapped around betrayal, and the last treason is also the first.

I put the badge back in the compartment, and close it. I find an empty shelf and put the holo-emitter on it. Then I go to my bed, lie down, and stare at the ceiling. I am desperately tired, but sleep will be a long time coming.

The Last Treason 20

Luga had never seen Chrog so angry. His rage had passed through the stage of ranting, and now showed itself as a sort of deadly, white-hot calm. "You have no idea what you are doing," he hissed into the portable communicator.

On the viewscreen, Kirza's expression was unrepentant. "I know exactly what I am doing. We have the Nhandesson weapon, now, and if our alliance is to continue, it will be on much more equal terms."

"You do not know how to operate the weapon." Chrog's tone was almost reasonable. Luga suspected that someone was about to die, very soon. She regretted that the little communications hut offered no space to edge cautiously away from him.

"How true," said Kirza. "Though I fancy we have learned more from you than you suspect - we are not quite so easily distracted with shiny weapons as some would like to believe." Luga hissed through her teeth. "However, given the range and effectiveness of this device, I imagine you would prefer it, too, if we did not operate on the basis of trial and error. The time-space continuum in this star system is battered enough already. So. You are the experts in temporal technology, you will provide us with instruction. I look forward to using this thing. I might start by cancelling out the damned Organians and their peace treaty! - I will give you an hour to compose yourselves and prepare your technicians. Hov'etlh out." The screen went blank.

Chrog took a deep breath, held it for several seconds, then exhaled. "I believe I commented," he said, "on the undesirability of forming partnerships with other species - What are you doing?"

Luga was pawing frantically at her clothing. "A listening device," she hissed through clenched teeth. "The damned Klingon must have planted some sort of bug on me -"

"You are scanned regularly as a security measure!" Chrog snarled.

"For transtator signatures!" Luga screeched back. She held something up to the light; a tiny bulbous thing with a hair-fine dangling antenna - at first glance, it might even be mistaken for a hair. "This, this, it must be -"

Chrog consulted his wrist scanner. "Electronic. A passive receiver, echoing and modulating a background carrier wave in EM frequencies. Ingenious, if primitive. In this time period, of course, the Klingons were very keen on surveillance." He leaned close to the bug and spoke clearly and distinctly. "They must have enjoyed the sight of all those clean, smooth foreheads!"

Luga gave a wordless snarl and threw the bug down to the floor. She drew her chronoplasma pistol, made a swift adjustment, and took aim. "I wish this was your face, Kirza," she said, and fired. The bug flared and vanished, leaving nothing behind but a scorch mark on the floor.

Chrog was continuing to scan. "No sign of any more of those," he said. "Well. Such trustworthy allies the Klingons are...."

"What are we going to do?" Luga asked.

"Stall them. The operation of the anti-time weapon is complex, we can baffle them with science for as long as we like. That does not concern me... unless Kirza grows impatient and starts pressing buttons at random. What bothers me more is the other one."

"Thyvesh?"

"Am I expected to believe it was a coincidence that he chose this moment of distraction to make a break for his temporal portal? We must have that thing properly analyzed. I want to know where he has gone."

"To the Suliban weapons cache, presumably." Luga's face grew thoughtful. "In point of fact... the artifact is under constant observation, though the Klingons' attack may have proven a distraction. But it may be possible for us, now, to extract a temporal signature and - just possibly - to extrapolate Thyvesh's destination coordinates from it."

"You think so?"

"It is possible. And, with that information, we should be able to find our own way to that weapons cache."

Chrog stepped to the door of the hut, opened it a crack, and peered through. "The Federation would seem to be in the way," he said sourly.

"Captain Grau is having a field day, setting up monitoring devices with her science teams," said Luga. She joined Chrog at the door, and they both looked out. The dark Priyanapari night was pierced with the glare of floodlights, as science teams from the Harrier surrounded the artifact with sensor probes and mobile computer workstations. Na'kuhl troops stood around, watching them, their frustration almost palpable.

"Well," said Luga, "they have twenty-third century Starfleet equipment - it will be easy enough to subvert that. Grau may run her sensor analyses, and we will take her results. Since we cannot affect her without risking the wrath of one or both of her invisible companions... she may as well be of some use to us."

"What is the status of those - things?" Chrog asked.

"Unknown. We think the Rift entity is not yet at home in linear time, but we cannot chance being wrong. As for the Organian -" Luga shrugged. "We have no means to track an Organian. Very possibly, as Grau suggested, the creature is everywhere. One might hope, at least, it is spending some time with Captain Kirza. If her threats provoke the Organian into taking direct action... well, it would simplify matters."

"Kirza and the Organian," muttered Chrog. "Neither one worries me as much as Thyvesh."

---

"Thyvesh."

Thyvesh crouched beneath one green-glowing column. His fingers trembled as he took the holo-display unit from its hiding place. There was not much time, now.

"Thyvesh."

The voice - did it sound closer, now? Strange, that it sounded so - different. But, of course, it would sound different, to him. Because normally, he only heard it from inside his own head.

The holo-display unit had a closed compartment in its base. It was a standard commercial model, a thing for storing old messages, old images - souvenirs, mementoes. He opened the compartment.

From a pocket of his ragged clothes, he took a small metal object. A Romulan rank badge, in the form of a raptor... but twisted, deformed by some sort of pressure, and stained with dark-green markings of dried-up Vulcanoid blood.

"I know you are here. And you know that I know - how could you not?"

Thyvesh put the badge into the compartment, closed it, put the holo-display on the floor. He owed it to her, after all, he thought. He had lied to her, about being safe, about his counterpart being unable to get in. A white lie, a necessary lie, but still a lie. He owed her the truth.

Whatever the truth might be.

"I will find you. You cannot hide forever."

Thyvesh reached out, with his hands, with his mind. Alternative timelines, paths through time and space, cascaded through his altered brain. An infinite series of alternatives, he was so tired of them all - He found the line he wanted, focused his mind on it, concentrated. The holo-display shimmered briefly under his hand, and then it was gone.

So. No more reason to delay, then. He heaved a sigh, and stood up.

"Thyvesh - ah. There you are."

He turned around, slowly. His younger self was there, looking - eager, and neat, and efficient, in his military-styled outfit. How had he ever been able to be so neat and efficient? In his hand, the younger Thyvesh held an obvious weapon - a gun, but with a strange parabolic emitter dish instead of a barrel, and a complex control panel behind it that flared out to cover his hand and wrist.

"White-3741," he muttered. "Sairish's neural override weapon."

"You recognize it," the younger Thyvesh said. "That is good. You know what it does. You know what I can do with it. What I will do with it." He raised the weapon and took aim. "You will not die, but you may wish you had - unless you tell me."

He had to go through the motions. "Tell you what?"

"You know what."

"I know. But I remember - I asked me to say it -"

"You asked me." The younger Thyvesh smiled. "I know what you mean. Very well. You are able to use the door - without being in its physical proximity. You can operate freely in time and space. You can go anywhere, anywhen that you wish." For the first time, he looked faintly uncertain. "You seem to have wished to go to some very - grubby - times and places. Never mind. I assume there is a reason, that I will find out in due course. But now, now, you will tell me that secret. You will explain to me how to do it. I can think of - many uses - for the technique." He sighted carefully at Thyvesh, and adjusted the weapon's complex controls.

How was it possible? That he had ever been so - so dynamic, so driven, so certain of himself? It was all a part of his past, now. But the past - the past was never more than an instant away.

"You will tell me," his younger self said, with absolute conviction.

Thyvesh looked him in the eye. "Yes," he said, "I will. I did."

The Last Treason 18

T'Laihhae

In the deathly silence of the weapons store, the sudden screeching and grating sound is a mind-numbing shock. I clap my hands to my ears, and turn around, trying to identify the source of the noise - but it seems impossible; the noise is everywhere, all about me, echoing off the impossible limits of this space.

Dimly, I become aware of Thyvesh's voice. I concentrate, make out the words he is shouting: "- the door! The door is in motion -"

I have lost my bearings, in among all the glowing columns of light with the deadly devices inside them. Thyvesh, though, seems to know where he is going. I follow him as he runs between the columns -

The sudden silence is almost as nerve-shattering as the noise itself. Thyvesh does not slow down, though. He runs with almost frantic urgency, picking his way unerringly between the columns of light. The artifact - the door - comes into view, now. It is spinning, churning. It rotates on some unguessable axis, aspects of it revolving into view from unknown dimensions.... The sight is disturbing.

"Not yet," Thyvesh gasps. He is out of breath. "Not this time. Not yet."

"Thyvesh." I am panting, myself. "Thyvesh, what happened?"

"He is -" Thyvesh swallows loudly, and a shudder runs through his body. "My counterpart, he is using the Na'kuhl ship's temporal technology to probe the door. To try and interface with it, activate it, remotely."

"As you can?"

He laughs, long and wildly. "Oh, yes. As I can. Very much as I can."

I study the thing. Its movement seems to be slowing. "He did not succeed."

"No. Not this time. But we did not succeed, either. When we tried. Or did not."

His mind must be wandering into alternative timelines again. "When did we try? What did we try?"

"The console. On the station. The console - it is for managing the door."

So much, I had already gathered. "When we - were not here - before," I murmur.

"Yes." Thyvesh clutches at his head. "So many different timelines."

Too many to be helpful to us now. "What can we do?"

"I must - try harder. To keep control. I am here, now, and I can hold the door from this side." But there is doubt in his voice. Whatever his counterpart is trying, it is taking a toll on Thyvesh.

I put my hand on his shoulder, feel his trembling. "Thyvesh. Is there anything I can do to help?"

His tremors increase. With a sudden shock, I realize he is laughing. "Yes," he says. "No. You will know what to do, when the moment comes. You always did."

He turns to face me. His eyes are wild. "You will know. And I trust you. I trust you to betray me."

The shifting metal shapes of the impossible door suddenly speed up, and a faint screaming sound makes itself audible as surfaces grind together. The shapes spin and twist and slide into new configurations -

- and suddenly the door is a door, a rectangular opening, twice the height of a man, filled with a swirling blackness -

Thyvesh moves, quickly, too quickly. I have no time even to think of offering resistance, before he seizes me by the shoulder and thrusts me through the door.

---

I spin into the darkness, and it enfolds me, and for a time I know nothing. I do not even know how long a time - if such a concept can even be said to have meaning....

Then there is light, dazzling my eyes, and weight, and noises, and a foul smell of burning.

I drop to a crouch, rubbing my eyes, trying to get my bearings. Where has Thyvesh thrown me, where and when? - There is smoke in the air, metal deck plates under my feet. The place seems vaguely familiar....

Metal floor - metal walls - metal shapes of consoles. The control room of the Denobulan station - the very place we fled from, when the Na'kuhl ship arrived. The smoke in the air - I gather my wits. There is a release of energy, Thyvesh said, when the door is opened. This room must have been filled with a burst of heat and lightning, just as I arrived.

It has worked in my favour, I think. There is a smouldering shape on the floor nearby, humanoid, dressed in what was once heavy red body armour. A Na'kuhl, blasted down by the force from the door. The only one here, though? I could never be that fortunate.

The equipment - the equipment is rugged, it is superficially scorched, but undamaged. Or perhaps Thyvesh has sufficient fine control to direct most of the energy at the Na'kuhl? - In any case, the most important thing, the console, is still functional. The Na'kuhl have not tampered with it. Not yet, at least.

Somewhere far off, there are noises. Distant, but horribly familiar. The shrill sounds of energy weapons.

Fighting. There is fighting, somewhere on the station. I stand up, turn to the station's control console. I must decipher Thyvesh's purpose, find out why he has sent me here, determine the meaning of his cryptic comments.

First, though, I must find out who is fighting whom, and which side - if any - I am on. The familiar sense of practicality grips me as I engage the internal sensors. First, of all things, I must survive.

The Last Treason 14

T'Laihhae

I did not expect... this.

I turn away from the thing that is the doorway, the jumble of metal parts that seems to have angles and perspectives that the eye cannot follow... and I look out at the Suliban facility.

An expanse of featureless black floor; above it, some four metres over my head, a matching expanse of featureless black ceiling... and if there are walls, they are lost in the distance and I cannot see them. But all around me are... rings. Hollow cylinders, some two metres across, and rising as high as my waist, and in each one is a column of softly glowing coloured light, and in each column some - artifact - hangs unsupported in mid-air.

"It is... not like any Suliban base I have seen," I say.

"It is unique," says Thyvesh quietly. "Even now, I do not know if we made this place, or merely discovered it." He gestures behind me. "Same thing is true of the doorway. Did we make it? It is eternal, outside normal time - maybe we found it, when our temporal fumblings matched its configuration -"

"You mean that it was made by some earlier civilization?"

"Perhaps. Or perhaps - it is outside time, it has always been there - perhaps no one made it. Perhaps it just... is."

A disquieting thought. "But the... devices? The things in the -"

"Oh, yes, in the force cells. Yes, they are all ours." His face, in the coloured lights, looks drawn, haggard. "All of them."

"How many? How big is this place?"

"Large enough. There is a wall, but you could never reach it - the space-time of the lesion distorts at that point. Yes. Large enough." He makes a vague gesture with his left arm. "Replicators, sanitary units, sleeping couches, all are over there, in the white section. It was laid out in sections, once. We gave up keeping them in order, though, after a while."

"Sections?" I ask.

Thyvesh stops. He looks down, at the blank black floor, and does not speak for some seconds. When he does, his voice is as I have never heard it before: hard, flat, controlled. "The devices are colour coded according to utility. White is for conventional weapons - energy beams, explosives and the like. Yellow is information weaponry - two shades; the bright golden yellow is for computer viruses, the lighter one for memetic warfare targeted at sentient minds. Everything from basic propaganda to lethal earworms and basilisk images. Do not study the data carts in a yellow cell too closely, unless you are familiar with the safety procedures. Even so, we lost people."

"Lost people? Thyvesh, who was here? How many of you?"

He ignores the question. "Cyan is for subspace weapons, isolytic devices. Purple is for temporal devices, mostly weaponry, some utility. Green is genetic augmentations and biological warfare."

It is a matter-of-fact recitation, and it is enough to chill the blood. There are dozens, even hundreds, of these columns of light.

"How long were you here? How many of you - how did you make all of - of this?"

He stops still. When he speaks, his voice is soft, and sounds as though it comes from far away. "After the Temporal Cold War effort collapsed, shortly before the founding of the Federation, a dozen of us withdrew... here. Time flows... differently, here. By the time of the current interference, in the twenty-third century, I was the only one left. There were many factors at work. I need not age, you see - my body rejects entropy at the cellular level, if I wish it. And I did wish it... I was so certain, at the time, that I had to persevere. That I could use these things, here, to rewrite time, to change history, in my favour." He shakes his head. "A fundamental mistake."

"You were the last one? What happened to the others?" Though I am not sure that I want to know the answer to that question.

"Industrial accidents. On a philosophical level, sometimes. We tried many different augmentation procedures, and epigenetics is a complex matter. Chaotic, in fact. The smallest change can have immense consequences, usually fatal ones. This is... one part of the problem. The humans are right to reject efforts to improve their genome. Such efforts never go to plan - possibly, they cannot go to plan. Evolution is another chaotic process, it is impossible to anticipate its requirements.... There were other things. Follow me." He turns and strides off, between the columns of light, moving quickly and purposefully. I follow him.

He stops after twenty metres or so, and points to a purple-glowing column. The device floating in it looks like something to be worn, a metal vambrace, gleaming in silver, with a ring of controls surrounding a single large, ominous, red button.

"There is one item," he said, "that led to an... existential accident."

"What is it?" I ask.

"An immediate temporal reduplicator. Suppose you are faced with a decision, with a choice between two or more courses of action... the reduplicator allows you to proceed down all the branching timelines ramifying from that decision, and you can pick the one with the best outcome. You need never make a mistake again."

"I... think I see," I say. Then I shake my head. "No, no, I do not. By definition, surely, that device cannot go wrong... can it?"

"Think. What would happen to you if you used that device?"

"I... would always be successful?" I frown. "Though... if I never made a mistake... would I ever learn anything?"

Thyvesh nods. "You do understand. Wear that device, use it for long enough, and you become a mindless thing, a creature that understands only one concept, press the red button and you get it right. Sibrei... she developed it, she used it... and she came to understand the flaw."

"What happened to her?"

"She used the device. She decided that her fundamental error, the one initial mistake she had to correct... was being born as the sort of person who might use such a device. So she corrected that mistake. I... I remember her. Because that is the way my brain works. But to the rest of the universe, she is gone, she never existed."

"But surely -" My head is spinning. I put a hand to my forehead. "There must be things here that are safe. Things whose - scientific principles - could usefully be studied -"

"No!" Thyvesh's eyes are burning. "The conventional weapons - most of them are already familiar to your era's scientists, there is nothing to be gained from studying those. The same is true for the information weapons, even the wetware hacks - you refrain from those, but it is a matter of morality, not from ignorance of the principles. Even the subspace devices, they are not beyond the reach of your science. As for the temporal weapons -" His voice trembles, and his whole body with it. "They cannot be used for good purposes. They must never be used at all. Nobody, nobody knows this... better than I."

"Very well." I do not know if he is right; I only know that I must depend on him, for the present. "Turning to practicalities - are we safe, here?"

"In among all these weapons of existential destruction? Yes, safe enough." He laughs. "The time flow here is monodirectional and inviolate. The other me cannot enter here while I am present. For the time being, we are safe enough." He shakes his head. "But the time will come when we must leave."

"Well, of course we cannot remain here indefinitely -"

"We do not. We did not. The confrontation is coming. And for the first time in - centuries, perhaps -" He closes his eyes tightly. "The confrontation is coming - and I cannot see what happens after that."

The Last Treason 12

Bare, desolate, and miserable, thought Chrog as he stamped along the corridors. Bleak and soulless geometric shapes everywhere, none of the warm organic contours or vivid colours of a Na'kuhl ship's interior. No matter, he reminded himself. The people who built this dismal place - never existed, now.

"Secure the main control room," he ordered. "We will set up the communicator... somewhere more comfortable, I think. There must be a conference room or some similar facility -"

"Sir." A lieutenant from one of the injector battalions spoke up, urgently, from behind him. Chrog stopped and turned. "Security sweep reports an enemy vessel docked in one of the landing bays. Romulan, twenty-fifth century commander's gig. No one aboard -"

"What? Security sweep! Scour the station until the Romulans are found!" Chrog glared at a nearby science officer. "I was told there were no life signs!"

"There were none," said the scientist. "Not when we docked. Perhaps the Romulans have left - ?"

"Without their shuttle? Did they walk home, perhaps?"

"Transporter operations might -"

"If you can resolve a set of transporter coordinates for this place, I would be very interested to see them." Chrog turned back with a snarl. "This station should be secure. I only chose it to stop Luga's whining about the risks of running comms from K-22. Now I find it is crawling with Romulans!"

"A single gig can carry only a few crew," the science officer pointed out.

"They should not have been able to get a gig here, in any case! We are in a fragment of a different timestream! Navigating to these spacetime coordinates should be beyond twenty-fifth century science!" Chrog thumped at the nearest door; it slid open, revealing a small, bare room - an office of some sort, he supposed. "This will have to do. Bring the communicator. Set it up." He shook his head. "I thought this place was suspiciously warm and comfortable. Evidently the Romulans have restored some part of the power supply. Well, we will use that to power the communicator, then. And keep a sharp watch!" The whole point of this operation, he reflected, had been to avoid the Roms....

The anti-chroniton transmitter occupied most of the single desk in the middle of the office. Chrog found an adapter and rammed it home into the room's power main. The transmitter's screen lit up, showing the abstract, random, shifting shapes of a routine self-test.

"Preliminary sweeps completed," the injector lieutenant reported. "Security forces confirm no unknown life signs detected."

"Roms are devious," Chrog growled. "Beam over more squads from the Strange Attractor. I want this facility searched and secured. Do not rest until every millimetre of every room and every corridor has been scanned!" The transmitter seemed to be taking forever to start up. Of course, Luga had no way to reach this station, she would have to use her own chroniton rig instead of just leaving recordings... that would take time to tune in, itself....

Chrog frowned. No, that could not be the reason. Luga's rig was already tuned, had been for a century and a half. No, if there was a delay, it had to be due to something here and now. But what?

Then the screen flickered and changed, and his frown deepened. Luga's face appeared, but it was vague, fuzzy and blurred - and there was someone with her, he could see them over her shoulder, someone with green skin -

"Chrog." Luga's voice was tinny and distorted. "Are you receiving me? There is interference -"

"I hear you," said Chrog, "and see you. Who is that with you?"

"His name is Thyvesh, a Suliban. He came out of an artificial temporal anomaly here on Priyanapari. We need to reach an agreement with him."

"I told you," said Chrog sternly, "this project was to be ours. Recruiting a Klingon agent in your century is one thing, but an alliance with the Suliban -"

"Is necessary," Luga interrupted, "if we are to gain access to his temporal anomaly."

"And what is so vital about this particular anomaly?"

Luga's face lit up with a smug, gloating smile. "Only that it contains the Suliban's principal cache of temporal and genetic weaponry. Does that capture your interest, Commander?"

Chrog shut his eyes, took a deep breath, opened them again. "It... does," he said slowly. "Yes. I... see your point." He took another breath. "So. What is this Thyvesh's price?"

"We have yet to reach an equitable understanding. We were waiting, obviously, for your approval. Now that we can speak to you - though I curse this interference -"

"Interference!" The Suliban suddenly shouted, turned, and pushed the astonished Luga away from the screen. Wild eyes stared at Chrog. "You are the Na'kuhl commander? Good. Listen to me. This interference -"

"What?" Chrog was baffled. "What are you talking about?"

"Interference! In a chroniton transmission! There is another temporal anomaly, and it must be near you! And I know what it must be!" Thyvesh clutched his brow. "Someone opened the door!"

"The door?" Chrog shook his head. "What door?"

"There is an artifact here," said Luga, "which controls access to the Suliban weapons cache. Thyvesh, here, is the only one who can use it - his brain is sensitized to chronitons -"

"You do not understand," said Thyvesh.

"No," said Chrog, "I do not. So, let us resolve this simply. Explain."

"Someone opened the door. Someone used the anomaly to access the weapons cache. But the door is here, here on Priyanapari, and only I can open it, and I did not."

"Then -" Chrog groped for an answer. "Someone else, someone with the same abilities -"

"There is no one else! And I can see the interference! I know what it means! The door was opened from your end of this link!"

"But there are no anomalous artifacts here," Chrog protested. "Unless you count the station itself - but our scans would have revealed any temporal artifact -"

"Yes," said Thyvesh, "yes. Don't you understand?"

"No," said Chrog, "I do not."

"The door was opened." Thyvesh's voice was strained and patient, as if explaining to a backwards child. "Only I can open it. Therefore, I must have opened it. From your side, without being in its physical presence. Somehow, a future or alternative version of me has learned how to manipulate the doorway without using the artifact." His eyes locked with Chrog's; they were avid and anxious. "You wish an agreement? The first part of my price is this. Find that other me, and bring him to me. Because I must know how he does it."

The Last Treason 11

T'Laihhae

The interior of the station lends whole new levels to the word spartan. Bare, bleak corridors, their walls enlivened only by stretches of exposed pipework... there are roundels, regularly spaced at head height along the walls, that emit a dim light... and there are sliding doors that open onto rooms, most of them stripped bare of furnishings or equipment. It is empty, it is desolate....

It is, at least, no longer cold. I make my way up the access ladders - I have not been able to reactivate the turbolifts - to the control room, where I find Thyvesh much as I left him, hunched over the largest of the remaining consoles, studying a data feed that looks like so much random noise to me.

"I have restarted an auxiliary fusion plant," I say. Thyvesh glances round at me for a second, then turns back to his work. "At least we will not freeze, or starve, or suffocate," I say, "while you do... whatever it is you are doing."

He does not respond at first. I shrug and turn around, planning to go to the replicators and obtain food... when he speaks. "I am trying to open the door."

I turn back to him. "What door?"

"Only one door. The door. Exists in multiple time zones, different time streams... even fragmented ones, like this... but there is always only one door." He points to the data on the display. "See."

I look, and I still see nothing. "I do not understand this."

He gives an odd little wheezing laugh. "I was hoping.... You should, really." He slaps the side of the console. "You built this."

"I - what?"

"Before. The last time you were here. Which never happened, now. Was hoping you still might see... the processes, the logic behind it. But no."

The gravity plating is stable, I made sure of that... so the giddy sensation I feel must only be my head spinning. "I built this? When we - did whatever we did, that did not happen?"

"Reads and interpolates chroniton superpositioning signatures." Now he slaps the side of his head. "Like my brain, but mechanical. Objective. Reliable."

I frown. As he says... if I made this, I should understand the methods I used. Except that was not me, that was some past, alternate version of me.... Perhaps it is best not to try to think about these things. "How? I mean -" I think furiously. "You would need to base it around a very precise timing mechanism, so that the temporal fluxes would be detectable."

He nods in approval. "Atomic clock at the heart of it. Yes."

"And then the temporal discontinuities would show... how, exactly?" I am asking myself this question, more than him. There is an inspection panel in the side of the console. I pull it open, and start tracing the intricate web of circuitry. Some things are becoming clearer....

"What is the door?" I ask, as I trace the links between components with the tip of my finger.

"It is a door," says Thyvesh. "Just a door. The hinges, now, they are a little... special. They swing in directions no one else can see. But the door is only a door."

"There must be more to it than that," I comment, though my mind is not entirely on the conversation. "There must be entropy gradients involved...."

"Discharge of energy when moving between different time periods," says Thyvesh, "yes."

The atomic clock is there, and it is positioned under a group of things I recognize - highly sophisticated phase discriminator devices, the sort of thing used for quality control in singularity core production. The arrangement... the arrangement is unusual. But I should expect the unusual. "So," I think aloud, "this door should be detectable, whenever it changes its space-time orientation. Whenever it... swings. On those hinges."

"Yes."

"Who made the door? And why?"

"The Suliban. And security. Needed a place to store... things. A place that was not a place. A place with only one entrance, that we could control. That I could control. So we built a door, and opened it onto the void... and we built a safe place, inside the void."

"A void. Like this? Another unreal timeline?"

"Not exactly. This place might have been. We opened a door to somewhere that never was." He laughs again. "It was very quiet. Peaceful."

And they stored things there. And I can guess what sort of things. The Suliban made a creditable attempt to destroy the Federation before it could even begin - with temporal manipulation, and genetic augmentation. They had help from - somewhere, or someone. But they were an advanced culture to begin with, and they were ingenious and determined.

They must have made weapons that I can only imagine. Or, perhaps, that I should not imagine.

I close the panel and stand up. Now, when I look at the data stream, some parts of it begin to make sense. "Since each movement of the door is non-temporal," I say, "from our position in the timestream, we should see all of them at once. We should be unable to discern... Oh."

Thyvesh positively grins at me. "You see why this place, now? We are outside the normal timestream. We have... perspective."

Someone in Temporal Investigations let slip a remark about "temporal observatories", once. This must be something like one of those - a vantage point from which the flow of time can be seen.

"Do we not need temporal shielding of our own?" I ask, as I try to make sense of the readout. "So that... if there is a new opening of the door... we know it is new?"

"Would help. But not essential. I remember." He taps the side of his head again. "You will just have to trust me." He turns to look directly at me, and his face is sad and serious. "I know that must be hard."

"You have always... helped me. And I have never really known why." I swallow a sudden lump in my throat. "I trust you, Thyvesh."

"Thank you." He reaches out to take my hand for a moment, cold, dry, scaly fingers wrapping around mine. He lets go almost at once. "So. Any of this becoming clearer?"

"I think -" I take a deep breath. "Singularity cores were never my specialty - I know more about the warp fields they generate - but this display is showing spikes in zero-point energy, I think." I indicate a part of the data stream. "And from that, we can extrapolate a function of the chroniton displacement -"

Things are falling into place. Am I understanding this, or simply remembering it? Thyvesh can remember things that never happened - is my brain, too, becoming sensitive to chroniton imbalances? Is that possible, in the abnormal space-time of this aborted timeline? Too many questions.

"Can you open this door?" I ask.

"Always. Isn't wise, but... the door opens from my side. Wherever I am, I am on my side. Trouble is, whoever I am, I am on my side." He touches the console. "This is always on its own side of the door, too. Or should be."

"How do you open it? Do you... summon it, somehow?"

"I need to be in the right frame of mind. Easy enough to achieve. But just because I can do something... does not make it a good idea."

So, this console will be an access point to the Suliban secret cache - one which does not depend on Thyvesh, one which we can use to sneak around behind the back of his alternate self. I can see how that will be useful.... Has it already been useful, once before? In a time which never happened?

Something flickers and changes in the data stream. My eyes narrow. "What was that?"

"Temporal surge. Something shifted in the timestream... but not the door. Nothing to do with me."

"But if it registered on these instruments -" I look around, cross the floor to another console. The design is strange, but the functionality is clear enough. "It must have been close at hand." I touch the controls, tune in the viewscreen -

In this non-space, the viewers have only shown blank blackness - until now. Now, a monstrous scarlet bat-winged shape cruises slowly across the screen. "Na'kuhl battlecruiser. Acheros class."

"Here?" Thyvesh sounds agitated. "Now?"

"Here and now." The Denobulan characters are strange to me, but the scan data is clear enough. "It is closing on the station. It must mean to dock."

"No," says Thyvesh, "no. They must not find us. The station is big, big enough to hide -"

"Not if they make a determined search."

"They do not know we are here -"

"But they will, when they find the gig in the shuttle bay. They will search, and they will take us." I take a deep breath. "We need a bolt hole. And we only have one. You will tell me it is unwise, and I am sure you are right, but we have no other option. Open the door."

The Last Treason 9

The Klingon science camp was little more than a scattering of lean-tos and prefabricated lab modules. Now, under an awning, the Suliban, Thyvesh, reclined in a folding chair as if it were a throne, and sipped replicated raktajino from a plastic mug with the air of a connoisseur savouring a rare vintage.

Kirza's fingers itched for the trigger of her disruptor, and her face was set in a snarl. The expression in Luga's red eyes, though, was avid, and she leaned forward in her chair, eager to catch any word from their - guest.

"What brought you to this world?" the Na'kuhl asked.

"The temporal anomalies offer... certain advantages," said Thyvesh. "The fabric of space-time itself is slightly worn, here - as a result of the Nhandessons' activities, of course."

"The who?" Kirza demanded.

"The original inhabitants of Priyanapari," said Thyvesh.

"We have wondered." Luga licked her lips. "What became of these - these -"

"The Nhandessons? They built a destructive anti-time weapon, and temporal shielding to protect themselves from it. One research project was rather more successful than the other." Thyvesh smiled.

"They... obliterated themselves?" asked Kirza doubtfully.

"All except the weapon itself, and a few nearby buildings whose structure was quantum-entangled with it."

Kirza's scowl deepened. "Then how is it you know their name?" Inwardly, she shivered. Temporal obliteration... would even Gre'thor receive the souls of these Nhandessons, or would they just be... gone?

"Because," said Thyvesh, "it is my business to know these things - to see possibilities, pasts, futures , might-have-beens and never-weres. The temporal fractures on this planet make that easier, of course."

"Your neural structure is pervaded with chronitons," said Luga. She stared at him. "What does it feel like?"

"Ah," said Thyvesh, "if only the language existed that was capable of describing it.... However. Your Klingon associate is clearly restive, so perhaps we should turn our conversation to more practical matters."

Luga shot Kirza a sharp look, and received a glare in return. "Very well," the Na'kuhl said. "Practicalities."

"We both desire changes to the current timestream," said Thyvesh. "Extensive ones. I do not think our goals need be incompatible, though. The elimination of details such as the Federation... we can all agree on that one, I think."

"Formidable, though," said Luga.

Kirza's lip curled. "And why should we believe you can help us?" she demanded. "You step through a door from nowhere with nothing more than the clothes you are wearing -"

"You need to think," said Thyvesh, "about what is on the other side of that door."

"I do not need to think, only to see for myself. It opened for J4 Red, it will open for others. Or do you think we could hire only one skilled technician?"

Thyvesh smiled, a benevolent, tolerant smile. Kirza ached to punch it off his face. "Your technician attracted my attention. The door can only be opened from my side." He tapped one temple with a long finger. "It requires a certain unique insight."

"Which only you possess, of course," said Kirza sourly. "So what is on the other side of the door?"

"Various... projects... that we thought it best to keep in a state of temporal shift. Our enemies can hardly steal things that do not, technically, exist." Thyvesh beamed at Kirza. "I sense that you would welcome more specific information. So. Let me provide you with an example. Do you have such a thing as a data cart about your person?" He reached into a pocket in his tunic and drew out a small device.

Kirza had a data cart in her own pocket - it held reports on the Hov'etlh's spares and consumables, the sort of detail she usually left to her staff. She pulled it out and handed it to Thyvesh with some reluctance. His fingers brushed against hers; they were rough, dry, cool and repulsive to her. "What is this about?" she demanded.

Thyvesh fitted the device onto the data cart, and tapped rapidly on its command interface. Incomprehensible symbols flickered in the air as a holo-display engaged. "Let me put you a question for a question," said the Suliban. "What would happen if you overrode your safeties, opened all the vents on your warp coils, and flooded your warp core with antimatter?"

"My ship would explode," said Kirza. "Obviously."

"Suppose you also speeded up the power cycles on the EPS grid, to transfer the overload out as fast as it could build up?"

"Then my ship would have a prodigious power output," said Kirza, "for the few minutes before she shook herself apart under the strain."

"Suppose you were to synchronize your structural integrity field to the harmonic frequencies of the EPS grid?"

Despite herself, Kirza's eyes widened at that. "Is that even theoretically possible?"

"Oh," said Thyvesh, "warp drive was theoretically impossible, once." He pulled the data cart off the device and flipped it back to Kirza. She caught it by reflex. "Full details are now stored on that data cart. You will want to check it for viruses and so forth, of course - security is always a good habit to have - but, once you have done so, you will find it will quite significantly increase the power output and overall capabilities of your ship. At least six times your current firepower, for instance."

"The coolant for the disruptor banks -"

"A new formulation is included on the cart. You'll find you can fire your disruptors more than adequately."

Kirza stared at the little square shape in her hand. "If this is true -"

"It's true." Thyvesh cocked his head to one side. "You should probably check it out sooner rather than later. I believe we have potentially annoying visitors on their way."

"Hostiles?" Kirza rose to her feet. "We cannot challenge the Federation -"

"But this will not be the Federation, I think," said Thyvesh. "Or, at least, it will look sufficiently unlike the Federation that you will have - plausible deniability, I think is the phrase."

Kirza turned the data cart over and over in her fingers. "I will check this," she said, and left the shelter at a brisk trot.

---

"Klingons," said Thyvesh, as he and Luga watched Kirza go. "Easily placated with nice shiny guns."

"Are you sure about the consequences of this?" Luga asked. "The disruption to the timeline from a significant Klingon weapons advance -"

"I took the liberty of scanning her ship's warp signature, earlier," said Thyvesh. "The software package is rather specific to her ship. I'm sure the Imperial Corps of Engineers will work out how to generalize from it. Eventually. Perhaps in a couple of hundred years."

"Ah." Luga relaxed. "That is probably wise. Best not to introduce any random variations to the time stream, in case the ones we plan do not succeed."

"Yes.... Of course, the changes I hope to make will render the Klingon Empire an amusing irrelevance in the decades to come. I trust you do not object?"

"They are allies of the Federation for much of their history. As such I would welcome their extinction - but I will settle for amusing irrelevance."

"Mmm." Thyvesh sipped his raktajino. "The Federation remains the primary target. If both our species are to flourish as they should."

"We must consult with my superior officer. I warn you, he is not in favour of alliances with other species. He will need persuading - and with more than simple shiny weapons."

"That is only to be expected. Fortunately, I have a great deal more than that to offer." Thyvesh smiled at her.

"So... what is behind your temporal door?"

"The principal research and development efforts of my people. An armamentarium that is by no means to be despised. We were never content simply to accept the gifts of our... future associate, you know. We engaged in quite substantial research on our own account." Thyvesh's smile broadened. "And, of course, if you have studied our history... you know what was always my people's main weapon."

"I... see," said Luga, slowly.

"You must understand why I am so parsimonious with the details, when it comes to your Klingon friend. She would want more than is safe to have. At least, more than is safe for her to have."

"Quite." Luga's face grew pensive. "But we must keep her satisfied, I think. She is, after all, an ally."

"Oh, yes. For the moment." Thyvesh took another sip of raktajino. "You and I both know that nothing is immutable."

The Last Treason 7

T'Laihhae

The change is... faster than instant. I stare at the screen, and half my mind is telling me that this is what I saw, this is what was there from the outset - while the other half reels in shock from this fundamental betrayal, from this revolt by reality itself....

"Scanning," Zdanruvruk croaks. His fingers fumble at his console. "The temporal anomaly has... resolved itself. The planet is there... sort of."

The enigmatic white sphere is gone; now, grey-brown clouds boil in the skies of a solid but desolate world. Even at a glance, I can see that there is still something very wrong. "What happened to it?"

"I'm reading... massive particulate contamination in the atmosphere," says Zdan. "Consistent with supervolcano eruptions... or a substantial meteor strike... or, maybe, heavy bombardment."

"Sir." Ruby's voice; the android is cool and collected. "I am connecting to subspace channels and receiving updates to our database from Republic Command."

Of course; in this new timeline, the history of Priyanapari may be known... I suppose I should be glad if there is still a Republic for Ruby to connect to. "Signal the Virgo, too. Commander Teadoursi may have insights into this development." Time for the temporal specialists to earn their keep, I feel.

"Virgo is hailing, sir." And they are prompt. Well, they are flying a time machine, they have no possible excuse for tardiness....

"On screen."

The image of ruined Priyanapari is replaced by the impassive face of T'Mev's first officer. "Timeline shift," she says. "Disconcerting, if it's the first time you've seen one, I know."

It might be my first time... or it might not. I do not know. "Do you have any idea what happened?"

"We're querying our own shielded datacores and external temporal observatories. It looks like whatever disaster caused the temporal rift... has been averted."

"Averted, or merely... reduced? The planet is still devastated."

"According to historical records on this time-track, Priyanapari was targeted by Romulan forces in the first decade of the twenty-fourth century. It was the property of a Klingon Great House, the House of Karav... which was not a Great House prior to the timeline shift. I think I see what's happened...." She shifts her weight a little. It is not much, but it shows her to be uneasy.

I raise one eyebrow. "Please explain."

"I think...." She pauses. "The temporal rift must have been detected, and reported back to the enemy forces making the temporal incursion in the twenty-third century. They took some sort of measures which prevented the rift from forming. But, in the process, they must have made this place too much of a threat to the Star Empire -"

"That is consistent with the data I am receiving," Ruby interrupts. "Republic records now show that a military installation on this world was targeted by the Tal Shiar in 2402. Further data is only to be found in the Tal Shiar's own classified archives, I am afraid... but the threat was severe enough for someone to order a C-fractional strike. The House of Karav was, at the time, a vocal opponent of any ties between the Klingons and the Star Empire - perhaps that is why they were seen as a threat."

C-fractional strike. A planet buster. The Tal Shiar accelerated an asteroid to near lightspeed and aimed it at this world. The threat must have been extreme - even the Tal Shiar is relucant to deploy world-wrecking weaponry, in normal situations. But there is something else - I frown. "Commander Teadoursi. You say the existence of the rift was reported back in time to the twenty-third century...."

"And those agents made some adjustment that changed the outcome, yes."

"Reported back from when?"

The Rigelian shifts her body again. "That's what's worrying me. The readings we're getting suggest... this time zone. Whatever's happening here in the twenty-third century, the opposition wants to see the results of it... here and now."

"Which implies they have some sort of observer in this system, now," I say.

"Somewhere around this time zone, yes," says Teadoursi. She shakes her head. "It won't be easy to track down. Their stealth technology is centuries ahead of yours, even."

"Then we should start looking," I say, firmly, "carefully and diligently, right now."

"We don't know what this observer might be," Teadoursi points out. "It might be a stealthed remote drone... or it might be a cloaked Na'kuhl battleship. We can't tell."

"Then we shall look very carefully," I say, "but we shall look."

Teadoursi nods. "Commencing scans. I'd better tie in my conventional sensors to yours... I don't think your ship's computers have the protocols to handle the more advanced stuff, though."

"Then you are more likely to find our intruder first." I flash a brief smile at her. "Messalina will be on station to back you up."

I wish I felt more confident about that. My adapted battle cruiser is equal to most contingencies in this century... but if our adversaries come from the future, I might be commanding nothing more than a futile antique; my nanite disruptor beams might be no more effective than simple cannonballs aimed at the shields of a starship....

Teadoursi's face vanishes. Ruined Priyanapari scowls down at me from the viewscreen. I busy myself with other matters, reading the tachyon scans on my repeater board -

"Signal from Virgo. Urgent," says Ruby.

"On screen."

The Rigelian comes back, and she looks concerned. "We've registered a shuttle launch from your ship," she says.

"What?" It is enough to jolt me out of my composure. I glance around the bridge. "Confirm that!"

"Nothing registering on the automatic log," says Aitra in doleful tones. "But I'm reading...." He turns to face me, and he looks even more careworn and hangdog than usual. "Sir, your gig is no longer in its docking cradle."

I snarl. "Run virus sweeps and computer subversion checks, immediately! And find that gig!"

"It will be cloaked," Ruby observes.

"Work with Subcommander Aitra. The two of you know cloaking systems better than anyone - and this is one of our vessels, you know its cloak parameters -" A sudden horrible thought comes to my mind. I slam my palm down on the command console. "Computer! Tell me the location of passenger Thyvesh."

"Working," the computer grunts. "Passenger Thyvesh not located. This person is not aboard the Messalina."

Thyvesh. There are always things he does not tell me, things he dare not tell me - and he has his own agenda, too, that he does not or cannot disclose. I glare at my bridge team through narrowed eyes. "Find me that shuttle."

"Virgo's sensors are at your disposal," says Teadoursi from the screen. "Though even with our sensor suite, one of your cloaked ships won't be easy to find -"

"Got it," says Aitra. The Rigelian looks surprised, and almost affronted. But Aitra is good with cloaking systems, and he knows the gig's cloak intimately. "Looks like it's on a medium orbital trajectory - as if it's heading for something near the planet. I can't tell you what."

"Hail him," I order.

"Sending signals," Ruby says. "No response."

I consider. "Can we get a transporter lock?" Or a targeting lock - but that must be a last resort.

"I've got a fix on the gig itself," says Aitra, "but I can't isolate individual life signs through the cloak -"

"Then we will try another approach," I say, and stand up. "Lock on to the gig's transporter pad - use its prefix codes. Then beam me over, and I will reason with him."

---

Green light wraps around me... and stays, a worryingly long time. I have never experienced such a delay in the matter stream - but this is no ordinary transport; Ruby and Aitra are working hard to keep a fix on the fleeing shuttle -

I try to draw in a breath, but I cannot. I am unreal, a pattern of energies flowing across space, a thing of data only....

The green light fades, and reality returns. I am standing on the gig's transporter pad. Before me, a hunched figure sits at the controls, with Priyanapari looming on the forward viewport. "Thyvesh," I say.

Thyvesh turns. "T'Laihhae," he croaks. "Shouldn't have come. Knew you would, but you shouldn't have - can't stop what's meant to happen -"

I step forwards, off the pad, towards him. "Thyvesh." My voice is firm. "Tell me what you are doing. Explain this."

"Timeline shift." He gestures spasmodically at the viewport. "Planet is back."

"I can see that." My hand goes to the pistol at my hip. I will stun him if I need to.

"Worse things come with it. They opened the door. In the past. They let him out." He licks his lips. "You said it yourself, once. The one enemy with whom it is always necessary to come to terms. But I can't. Not with him."

"You are not making sense. With whom?" But even as I say it, I remember... my own words, to Vorkov, in the cells. No one was there to hear them but Vorkov and myself, but I am used to the way Thyvesh sees and hears without needing to be present....

One's self is the one enemy with whom it is always necessary to come to terms.

"An alternative timeline. An alternative version of you...."

"Wrong one. Mustn't happen. He hid behind the door. I have to hide, too, now." He turns, and makes some adjustment on the control board. The planet seems to roll, in the viewport.

"Hide where? Where are we going, Thyvesh?"

"Not where. Or when. Alternative." His fingers move rapidly across the console.

And the planet rolls, and blurs, and is gone. The viewport is black and blank, empty even of stars. My hand tightens on the gun. "What have you done?"

"Reprogrammed the helm computer." He gives a harsh wheezing cackle. "Any warp drive is a time machine, if you know how to configure the warp field. Includes temporal shielding. Has to."

"Temporal shielding?" A feeling of dread is rising within me. "What have you done?"

"Should be docking with the Union station soon. Will figure it out. He hid. Now I have to. And so do you, since you're here.... You shouldn't have come. You had to, but you shouldn't have."

"Thyvesh. Explain. Please."

There is something in the viewport, now. One solitary - object - in the empty black. Blocky modules arranged in a ring, with a long central cylinder - like a child's spinning top, hanging there in infinite darkness.

"Station of the Union of Federated Planets," says Thyvesh.

"You mean the United Federation of Planets," I say, though without conviction.

Thyvesh laughs again. "If only.... The Vulcan-Andorian War destroyed Andoria as a spacefaring power, but then the Romulans botched their takeover, and what should have been a simple reunification turned into a bloody civil war that shattered all the Vulcanoid worlds. The humans retreated, abandoned deep space exploration, after the catastrophic failure of their NX prototypes. But the Tellarites and the Denobulans had to respond to Klingon expansionism, had to band together, work with other minor powers - Xylarians, Caitians, Deltans...." His laugh is worryingly high-pitched. "Historical forces. Peaceful multi-species federation, it's an idea whose time has come.... All that planning, oceans of blood spilt, starships and cities burned in their thousands... and all they did was move the Federation capital from Earth to Denobula Triaxa. Couldn't even change the initials."

The station - whatever it is - is large, now, and close. "A relic of an aborted timeline." It's the best guess I can come up with.

"Yes. It's not real, it never happened. But we are not real, now, either. Only way to stay safe."

Hangar bay doors are opening in the side of one module. The gig drifts through them, slowing, coming to rest on the deckplates with a dull metallic clang. Thyvesh shuts down the flight systems.

I take a deep breath. My hand is very tense on my gun.

We are here. Now to find out where here is.

The Last Treason 6

Sometimes Chrog reflected on the elegance of the comms system. His transmitter sent a stream of anti-chronitons backwards in time, modulated by his video and audio input... but the response was a simple recording, made by Luga in the twenty-third century, and left in a secure location on the station. He would talk... and, as the anti-chronitons modified the past, Luga would hear his words, and would reply - or would have replied - accordingly.

Just now, though, the comms system was not foremost in his thoughts. "It is a disaster," he snarled into the screen.

"Tell me," said Luga.

"The planet is gone. Replaced by a class three temporal rift. Something went badly wrong in the development of the anti-time weapon. And, worse, it has drawn attention."

"You have the ship. Deal with it."

"Temporal agents are there in force. They have one of ours - a Daemosh-class - and local help in the form of a Romulan adapted battlecruiser. I cannot hazard the Strange Attractor against both of those." He glared at Luga. "I do not like this. The Rom involvement... Romulans are serpents, they are subtle, they know how to strike unseen."

"If they have detected the temporal rift, they may well decide to make a temporal incursion of their own. I must be on my guard." Luga sighed. "The anti-time weapon could detonate at any point in the next century.... Finding the key event now, to prevent the explosion, will be complex and difficult. And K-22 is occupied in this time zone." She glanced over her shoulder. "I do not know how long I can continue to operate here unobserved."

"Your stealth technology is hundreds of years ahead of them!"

"Even so," Luga snapped, "I cannot remain silent and talk to you!"

"Consult your... ally. Find out what might happen. Set procedures in place to prevent the temporal rift from forming." Chrog shook his head. "Even so, their temporal shielding will permit them to know a rift might form. They know Priyanapari is significant, now."

"They must have known that anyway, from timeline analysis. Chrog, I must go."

"Very well." He snapped off the communicator, stood up, and took a deep breath. The air on the abandoned station was thin and stale. He paced moodily up and down, his footsteps echoing in the dimly lit mess hall.

"Something closer," he said aloud, though no one was there to listen. "We must establish a watching station, somewhere close to the planet... we must have stealth systems, enough to prevent detection even in this century...." He shook his head. "Roms. Roms are stealthy, they know cloaking systems... and they are treacherous...."

---

"A massive explosion," Luga said to Kirza. "Enough to destroy the planet completely."

Kirza struck at the air in exasperation. "So?" she demanded. "What are we to do?"

"Whatever we can." Luga's voice held dry amusement. She leaned against the hull of the shuttlecraft and looked out over the valley.

Sloping gently down from the hillside landing pad, a hastily paved track led to the Klingon's science camp, and... the other buildings. The buildings were hexagonal in plan, with small domed roofs, all apparently made of concrete. Black rectangles of doorways gaped in one side of each one.

"I need specifics," Kirza hissed.

Luga looked at her and shook her head. "I have explained this," she said. "We stand at the beginning of a historical process - any action we make, here and now, can have massive ramifications in the years to come. Clearly, something we have done, or not done, has resulted in a catastrophic failure... now that we know this, we can change our plans, and Chrog, from his vantage point in the future, can report on the effects."

"Oh, I understand this," said Kirza. "It is frustrating.We hold the levers of the world in our hands - but we do not know which ones to pull! " She kicked out at a clod of earth.

"Everyone does," said Luga, "The difference is, we know it.... In any case, let us review our plans and see what changes can be made." She straightened up, and began to walk down the pathway. Kirza followed, scowling at the hairless, leathery scalp of the Na'kuhl's head. Useful allies, she thought, but hardly attractive ones....

The sky above them was a clear blue with just a hint of green; the sparse vegetation on the hillside rustled and stirred in a light breeze. Priyanapari was a pleasant enough world... or would be, Kirza thought, if it were not for its secrets. She shot an uneasy look at the nearest of the hexagonal buildings. They still had no idea when those had been built, or by whom. And in two of them -

She lengthened her stride, caught up with the Na'kuhl female. "We decided to concentrate on one of the - artifacts," she said. "The one you said was the anti-time weapon."

Luga glanced sidewise at her. "We did."

"What if you are wrong?"

"I am not." Luga seemed almost amused. "The technology is alien, true, but its purpose is quite clear. To those of us with the right background."

"What if the other one is something we need? Some sort of balance or control mechanism -"

"It is not. I am not so sure what the purpose of the other artifact is, to be honest." Luga stopped. "You think this might be our failed decision point? Normally, when it comes to alien artifacts of indeterminate purpose, it is best to leave them alone."

"You said the planet will be totally destroyed," Kirza snapped. "How could this make things worse?"

Luga's shrivelled lips quirked in a smile. "A valid point," she said. "Very well, then. Perhaps your mercenary security expert might help."

Kirza scowled. "It is about time that the little grub earned his keep."

---

Kingrol hesitated at the entrance to the building. Kirza turned, irritation showing in her face. "What is it now?" she snarled.

"I - my regrets, Captain." Kingrol stepped through the entryway. "It is just -"

"Just what?"

The big Klingon seemed edgy, even nervous; he shifted his weight uneasily from foot to foot. "Several of the crew have reported - odd occurrences - in this building. Objects being moved, if left unattended - even a sensation of, well, of being watched -"

"Foolishness." Kirza strode deeper into the interior of the building, trying to project a confidence she did not altogether feel.

The buildings were empty, hollow - they were single vast empty spaces inside, like hangars. One of them contained the anti-time weapon, a glittering transparent sphere filled with bluish light, mounted on a heavy toroidal base, and wrapped in superconducting wiring whose intricate patterns looked, somehow, wrong to everyone who saw them. The other artifact was a complicated arrangement of metal rods and square plates... complicated indeed, because the angles, again, seemed out of true whenever Kirza looked, as if the whole massive thing was a section of some larger construction, seen at some unguessable angle from the wrong vantage point. It was unnerving.

She would not let it unnerve her. Neither the artifact, nor Kingrol's wild tales. She snapped her fingers. "You. Forwards."

If the artifact disturbed the security consultant, it did not show. The grublike insectoid shuffled into the room and stared up at the labyrinthine mechanism. Kirza repressed a shudder of disgust. The alien, whose name was J4 Red, had proved useful in the past... and now, she hoped, he would prove his worth again. "Get to work," she ordered.

"What do you wish me to do?" J4 Red replied. His huge sad eyes blinked, once.

"Open it up," said Kirza. "It is a device, a mechanism - it must have workings. Expose them, and we can trace them, find out what it does. So, we start by opening it."

J4 Red's antennae twitched. He shuffled forwards to inspect the artifact, then stood for a while, peering up at it. "Possible," he said in mournful tones. "There is something there that looks like it might be an access panel...." He raised one claw, tapped cautiously at a metallic projection. There was no response, only the dull click of the contact.

"Sir." Kingrol stepped back, shot a troubled look at Kirza. "Should we have security precautions in place? I do not question your orders, but -"

But he did not want to meddle with this thing, Kirza thought. It would be easy, very easy, to agree with him... but it would be weakness. This place - the artifact, the planet itself - posed questions, and she would have answers. She would take answers.

J4 Red had shuffled a little closer to the artifact, and all six of his manipulatory limbs were at work, now, probing at rods and panels. He seemed entranced in the task.

"If it bothers you," she said to Kingrol, "I will assign a security detachment to supervise." She composed her face in an arrogant sneer. "I will attend to this now. You, remain here and watch J4 Red while I deal with this." This place made him fearful? Let him face those fears.

She turned on her heel and strode towards the open exit -

She had gone perhaps three paces when actinic light flared all around her, and a blast of sound rang in her ears, and a hot breath of wind pushed her in the back and sent her sprawling to the floor.

She rolled, cursed, got to her feet and span around into a fighting crouch. The artifact -

The artifact was smoking, as if it had just been struck by lightning. J4 Red was smoking, too, was a charred and battered ruin lying lifeless on the floor. Kingrol was down, groaning and moving feebly, his clothing scorched and tattered, his face red with burns. And in the side of the artifact, a door was opening. A man-sized panel, that had not been there before.

The door swung open. Flickering light seemed to crawl around its edges, and a humanoid figure was suddenly framed in the entryway. The figure paused for a moment, then jumped down, to land lightly on the floor beside J4 Red's corpse.

Kirza snarled and reached for her disruptor.

The humanoid turned towards her and reached out - and, though it was easily six metres from her, it reached out and touched her, its arm suddenly elongating enormously, scaly fingers plucking the disruptor from her hand.

"We will get along better without these toys." The humanoid dropped Kirza's disruptor. Behind it, the door swung shut with a clang of heavy finality. "Hmm. Klingon?"

"Who are you?" Kirza snarled. "What are you?" Her eyes were streaming, from the smoke and the aftermath of the flash -

The figure stepped forwards, into the light from the doorway, and one of her questions was answered. Scaly, green skin, with a triple ridge on the brow - Suliban. This one was wearing a tight, form-fitting bodysuit that gave the impression of being military, though there were no visible insignia.

"Klingon," the Suliban repeated. "Well. There is no reason, I suppose, why I cannot work with Klingons. We may yet be useful to one another, you and I." He smiled. "Let us start with some effort at amity, at least. Who am I? My name is Thyvesh."

The Last Treason 4

Personal log: T'Laihhae i-Kanai tr'Aellih, Admiral, currently assigned as commanding officer, RRW Messalina

Ronnie Grau is uncharacteristically quiet as she follows me back to the transporter room. Perhaps it is the presence of Thyvesh that quells her, as he shambles beside us. It is enough to disturb me, I know.

Thyvesh. My oldest surviving friend, if I have friends.... The Suliban augment has stayed in hiding for years, occasionally calling for meetings, more often sending me information that he has gleaned with his - vision. It has been enough help for me to carve out a substantial career for myself with Republic Intelligence... and to help the Republic itself, in the desperate struggles that have taken place.

But Thyvesh has always remained hidden, in the background. Until now. Until... whatever happened at Priyanapari... appears to be happening again.

So, we are a silent trio, until we are crossing the main concourse on our way to the transporters. Then Ronnie asks, directly, "So what was the big secret at Priyanapari?"

"You never saw it," said Thyvesh. I do not know if it is a question or a statement. Perhaps, neither does he.

"I don't know what I saw," says Ronnie. "Let's face it, my memory could be rewritten at any moment, couldn't it? I know I remember the stuff that I told you, but -" She shrugs. "Someone bobbles something, somewhere in the past... and my memories of that past would change to match, wouldn't they?"

Thyvesh laughs. "Welcome to my world," he says.

"But it's not your world, is it?" says Ronnie. "The difference is, you remember the alternate timelines. Your memories may be jumbled up, but they're not... subject to editing."

"Ah. Not entirely. I do not see everything." Thyvesh slaps the side of his head. "The universe is very big, you know. It won't all fit in. And what I do see... is sometimes... scrambled. Not easy to interpret."

"I guess not," says Ronnie. "So is that why you won't answer my question?"

"Ah." Thyvesh stops in his tracks, his head hanging. He seems to think, and when he speaks, it is only after some internal struggle. "There are at least three possible time tracks for Priyanapari. In one of them, the system is empty and safe. In another, there is a weapon there, one which can unmake time itself. In yet another, there is...." He shakes his head. "Something much worse."

For the first time, I speak, addressing Ronnie. "Which do you remember?" I ask.

Ronnie looks at me, very sharply. I remind myself not to discount the intelligence inside her mutilated and eccentric head. "I wish I knew," she says. "I didn't see everything. And what I did see is... optional, it seems. Conditional. That's why I'm asking."

"Clear answers. Yes," says Thyvesh. "Clear answers, always valuable, much to be prized. It's unfortunate that they're also impossible.... We should go," he says to me.

Ronnie sighs. "Good luck," she mutters.

"You seem perturbed," I say.

"Well, it's the existential uncertainty," says Ronnie, "it gets to me. Also," she adds in sour tones, "the Temporal Prime Directive."

"What about it?" I ask, though I know the answer already.

"T'Mev and her blonde chum have already started their temporal incursion, right?" says Ronnie. "They are in the past, now... if 'now' is the right word. Anyway. They could be going to the Stygmalian Rift, couldn't they, with the chronometric beam Saval worked out, to shut it down... and they could be beaming T'Pia's counter-frequency at me, the one that pulled the Rift entity out of my head. It could all be shut down, way back, a hundred and fifty years ago... no Rift entity, no time warps, no Siohonin invasion, no massacres in the name of Sebreac Tharr...."

"And you would have been dead for a hundred years, at least, when you were urgently needed to defend Andoria from the Hegemony," I point out.

"Point," says Ronnie. She sighs. "That's the trouble with meddling in time, isn't it? You can't cherry-pick the good bits." She shoots a hard glance at Thyvesh. "Can you?"

Thyvesh's voice is as bleak as hers. "If I could choose my life," he says, "do you think I would have chosen this?"

"All right," says Ronnie, "so, we've all got to play the cards we're dealt... know when to hold 'em, know when to fold 'em, know when to walk away, know when to run. All right. Well, you two make damn sure you know when to run... and try and leave my personal deck in some order I'll recognize, will you?" And without waiting for an answer, she turns and stalks away.

---

I see Thyvesh settled into the guest quarters, and then I go to the bridge.

Everyone stares at me when I walk in. I have changed my clothes, and am wearing the black uniform with gold trim which I affect when I wish to show determination. My crew, who know me, know that uniform means trouble ahead. I see Subcommander Aitra's face, already careworn, sprout new worry lines as he sees me... Zdanruvruk, the Reman science officer, eyes me narrowly... Ril'ell, the waifish tactical officer, rolls her eyes... even the android, Ruby, raises an eyebrow and purses her lips slightly.

"Progress?" I ask.

"Course set for Priyanapari," Aitra reports. "Standard cruising speed only."

The adapted battle cruiser Messalina has a bizarre configuration, like a hollow crown of thorns wrapped around the pulsing green glow of a Borg warp core... she can attain high speeds using the subtranswarp drive, but this time she is staying at conventional warp speeds. Because she must allow her consort to keep pace.

"What of the Virgo?" I ask.

"Commander Teadoursi reports all systems in readiness," Ruby says. "Temporal shielding has been extended and synchronized with our warp field." She calls up an image on the screen. "The Virgo is... as you see, sir."

T'Mev's ship - commanded by her Rigelian exec while she herself is away in the past - is an elegant scarlet shape, like the calyx of some exotic flower. The captured and converted Na'kuhl science vessel has temporal technology, including the temporal shields that would answer some of Ronnie Grau's concerns... subquantum chroniton signature buffers that can support the details of one timeline while a ship, or an individual, is part of another. Truth be told, I am unsure how they work. Technically, some of this technology has not yet been invented....

But as long as it works, now, I suppose I need not be concerned. "ETA at Priyanapari?" I ask.

"Eight hours at current speed," says Aitra.

Messalina and Virgo have passed through the Federation's network of transwarp gates, which includes a secondary hub near the now-disused K-22 station. We have a clear run at Priyanapari, now... and I can only speculate as to what we may find when we reach it.

I am not the only one who is speculating. "Sir," asks Aitra, "what do you expect to find there?" He is one of the few who know there is - or was - something of significance in that system.

"Truthfully," I say, "I have no idea. I have been there before - with Thyvesh - and, at that time, I performed some kind of... temporal intervention. But I had no temporal shielding, at the time. So... whatever I did, it cancelled out the whole timeline - including whatever incident provoked the intervention in the first place."

Aitra looks baffled for a moment. "Thyvesh," he says. "Would he know?"

I shake my head. "Thyvesh sees many alternative futures and pasts," I say. "But he cannot now say which possible past was real before we changed it. All the possibilities - as I understand it - are equally unreal."

"Oh," says Aitra. He looks, if anything, more baffled.

I can hardly blame him.

---

I should sleep, but I cannot. I try to lose myself in details, the minor administrative trivia of running a starship... but I am continually distracted by the approaching star in the centre of the viewscreen.

Priyanapari. An obscure name in some local star catalogue. Also, the name given to the one marginally habitable planet out of six. A class L world, with considerable vulcanism, as if it were much younger than its parent star's age would suggest.... How much interference has there been, to the timelines around Priyanapari?

Priyanapari. I came here, once... and then, I did not. Thyvesh warned me to stay away. He told me the bare bones of the story, claimed that it was all that he could tell me... and he said that he owed me a debt. One I have been collecting on, ever since. But I do not know - cannot know - what it was I did for him.

Do I, now, have to do it all over again? Or is it a different threat that I face?

Questions with no answers. And the star swells and brightens on the viewscreen, until it is no longer a star, but a sun, and I feel the faint shudder as Messalina drops out of warp.

"Commencing standard system-wide sensor sweep," says Zdanruvruk. The elegant scarlet shape of the Virgo drifts slowly across the screen. "Receiving telemetry from our consort," Zdan adds with a grunt. "They've got some pretty fancy chronometric devices... they'd need them, of course."

"Naturally," I say. "Tell me when you have readings on the planet. Let's know what we have to deal with."

"Our arrival in-system was on target," Aitra says. "We're about three million kilometres from the habitable planet."

Zdan grunts again. "Not that habitable - I'm not seeing much in the way of life signs." He leans forward, hunching his shoulders. "That -" He raises his head, and his forbidding Reman features are creased into a scowl. "That can't be right."

"What is it?" I ask.

"These readings -" Zdan waves an exasperated hand over the science console. "This doesn't make sense."

"Three million kilometres?" I ask. Aitra nods. "Well, then. Let's see the problem. Give me a visual."

A featureless disc appears in the viewscreen. "Magnify," I order.

The disc becomes larger... and is still featureless. Zdan is muttering over his instruments. I frown. The planet is showing... as a perfect circle, perfectly white, perfectly unblemished.

"That's..." Zdan swallows loudly. "That's not a planet, sir."

I turn to him. "Then what is it?"

"If I'm reading the feed from the Virgo correctly.... It's a temporal anomaly. A stable anti-chroniton rift, where the planet ought to be." Zdan shakes his head. "Almost stable. It's growing. Incredibly slowly - no more than a centimetre a second - but growing."

"You are saying," I say slowly, "that the planet has been consumed by a rift in time."

"That's... what it looks like, sir," says Zdan.

I nod. I refuse to be shocked. Whatever we found here, it was going to be... disturbing. In one way or another.

"What are we going to do, sir?" asks Aitra.

"Remain calm," I say. "Consult with the Virgo... see what, if anything, needs to be done. A centimetre a second," I add, reflectively. "The universe is expanding faster than that... I am not sure that it constitutes a problem."

Every head on the bridge turns towards me. "Thyvesh spoke of a weapon that destroys time," I say, "and also of something much worse. That -" I point to the featureless circle on the screen "- may, in fact, constitute some sort of victory."

The Last Treason 1

Personal log: Veronika "Ronnie" Grau, officer commanding USS Falcon, NCC-93057

The young lieutenant is visibly flagging. Partly this is because I have been plying him with Melurian brandy which is about a hundred and seventy proof and will melt the fillings out of your teeth out if you're not used to it. Mostly it's because, well, when he asked me if I had any stories about Starfleet's oldest heroes, I don't think he had my sorts of stories in mind.

"So, there we were," I continue, "and we were just starting to get down to business when there was this hammering on the door and a voice yelling come out, I know you're in there. And he was like, oh God, it's Janice, and I was like, what's the problem, you told me about Janice, you said she was cool, and he was like, no, that was Janice Rand, this is Janice Lester, oh God, and I was like, jeez, Jim, you could at least give me a cheat-sheet or something, couldn't you?..."

Club 47 is much classier than it used to be, back in the day. There's the dance floor, for people who like dancing, and on the other end there's the observation deck, for people who like staring at space, and in between is a seating area where people can meet and talk. Or, in my case, do rambling diatribes until innocent young lieutenants pass out. The booths are quite quiet, just at the moment, though out of the corner of my eye, I spot someone sliding into a seat nearby. A Vulcan woman, dark haired, grey-eyed, elegant in science division uniform.

"So, Jim's like, we gotta get you out of here or there's gonna be a scene, and I'm like, Jim, this is a space station, I can't exactly climb out of the window and shin down the drainpipe here, what do you suggest? And he's like, we gotta think of something, oh God, where are my pants? And this Janice is still pounding away on the door and... excuse me a minute." Something just clicked in my miswired brain. And it's not like Lieutenant Whatshisface is paying attention any more.

So I slip out of my seat, and shuffle over, and slip into the seat opposite the Vulcan woman.

She quirks her eyebrow at me. She looks like she's waiting for someone... and it's not me.

"I never forget a face," I tell her.

Her eyebrow remains quirked. "A useful accomplishment," she says with deadpan cool.

"No, I mean, I never forget a face. Even after I had my Borg implants yanked out - well, most of them." I've still got a fair bit of cyborg junk cluttering up my system. Not to mention a left eye which doesn't work properly, so I have to wear a patch most of the time. I reckon, though, even with all that, she should still remember me. "I meet someone, I remember what they look like, I can put a name to the face. Even if it's been a while. Even if it's been quite a while... Dr. T'Mev."

She opens her mouth, reconsiders whatever she's about to say, and closes it again.

"See, I know how I come to be in the twenty-fifth century," I say. "Same way I got into the twenty-third - the time warp in the Stygmalian Rift. Two and a bit more trips across that, and here I am, slightly beat up and frazzled, but still alive. And here you are, not looking a day older than when I last ran into you, at - where was it, Starbase K-22, right? Easily a century and a half ago, and you look, well, just like it was yesterday. So what's the secret, Doc? Do you moisturize?"

"Admiral Grau," she says.

"Oh, call me Ronnie, everyone does. You were very helpful when you were counselling me, back in 2263. Of course, you didn't manage to keep me out of trouble in the future, but you didn't know the whole story... come to that, I didn't know the whole story, back then." I thought I just had a normal, healthy, neurotic self-destructive obsession with the time warp that had snatched me into the future. I didn't know, at the time, that it was home to a homicidal fire god who'd sunk his claws into my brain and was trying to get a foothold in our reality. It's these little details you always miss out on.

"I can see," says T'Mev, "that we need to have a conversation. It will, regrettably, be complex in the extreme. There are factors of which you are not aware."

"You said that back at K-22," I say. "You seem awfully fond of that phrase."

"I must make a note of that," says T'Mev. She shifts in her seat, a little uncomfortably. Since she's Vulcan, this is the equivalent of a full-on panic attack in another species. "Do you recall any other details of our last meeting?"

"Plenty," I say with a snort. "You have to admit, the whole business got pretty memorable."

"Indeed?"

"All right, you weren't around for most of the shooting. That was when you left me with your little blonde friend. The one with the gosh-awful phony accent and the obvious Greek island tendencies..." I'm slowing down as the full situation starts to dawn on me. "And the... very fancy... retrofit ship.... Oh no. This is some sort of Temporal Investigations shenanigan, isn't it? Can you have just one shenanigan? Nobody'll tell me if it's one of those words that's always plural."

"I think you have the gist of it," says T'Mev. "I would caution you not to say too much more. The meeting of which you speak has... yet to occur, in my personal time line."

"Whoo boy." Where did I leave that Melurian brandy? I might need it myself, if I'm going to have to cope with temporal paradoxes. "So... should I just get lost, or what?"

"I... think it may be helpful to have your input," says T'Mev, slowly. "This is an unexpected development, and it may be possible to use it to our advantage." She purses her lips in thought. "There is a situation. It involves events in the twenty-third century, and in this time period. It might, in fact, be advantageous to have input from someone who is present in both eras. I must admit, it did not occur to me that such an eventuality might even be possible."

"Well, that's me all over," I say. "My spirit-twinkle makes life's rainbow shine bright. So... what can I do, and what shouldn't I do?"

"I assume that I will brief you on the overall situation," says T'Mev.

"Yeah, but you don't say anything about coming from the future," I say, "because I'd remember it, if you had." Oh, God, this is going to get complicated. I really envy Lieutenant Passed-out, right now.

T'Mev raises her head sharply and looks over mine. "Well," she says. "I was supposed to meet some people here, to discuss the situation... and I see they have arrived."

I turn. There are two people coming towards us, and in the largely Starfleet environment of Club 47, they kind of stand out. Especially the shambling one dressed as a hobo, with a ragged anorak sort of thing covering his upper body, and the hood not entirely shadowing his face. His face is green, with a triple-ridged forehead and scaly skin. Suliban. I remember when the Suliban were trouble, but since the end of the Temporal Cold War - if that particular shenanigan can really be said to have an end - they've been relegated to a sort of nomadic lifestyle on the fringes of Romulan space. Which, I guess, is why this one's accompanied by a Romulan. More specifically, a female Romulan in nondescript green and brown clothes, who I happen to know is an Admiral in the Republic navy; she is dark and fine-featured, and her face gives nothing away. Her name is T'Laihhae, and I haven't seen her since... the Siohonin business, which was not exactly my finest hour. She greets me with a guarded nod.

"Hold on," I say. "We first met, um, at ESD, right?"

"I had just brought the news of the Hegemony's planned attack on Andoria," says T'Laihhae. Her dark eyes narrow a little. "Is this relevant?"

"Maybe." I turn back to T'Mev. "I don't remember her from the twenty-third century."

"No," says T'Mev.

And, "No," says the Suliban, in a voice like death. "The timelines, they knot together, but not then. Here, perhaps, or nearly here.... Veronika Grau, I have to call you Ronnie, because everyone does. It's been a long time. I saw you, but you never saw me...." He sits down next to T'Mev, which can't be much fun for her if she has a sense of smell. I scootch over on the bench to make room for T'Laihhae. She gives me a very doubtful look, and takes a seat.

"Ronnie," she says. "Jolan tru. I confess I did not expect to meet you here."

"Nevertheless," says T'Mev, "it seems she is involved. It is fortunate that she happened to be here... or, rather, it was preordained that she should. Apparently."

"Knots," says the Suliban. "All tangled up in knots. All wrapped around the one knot that ought to stay tangled up for ever. Watch out for the man with the knife."

"Called Alexander?" I ask. The Suliban nods. T'Mev and T'Laihhae both look blank. "Earth cultural reference," I say, "never mind. So, who's your Suliban friend?" I ask T'Laihhae. I can't remember if Club 47 has a dress code or not. I guess not, if this guy made it through the doors.

"Thyvesh," says T'Laihhae. "He has been... very helpful... in the past."

"And will be helpful in the past, later on," says Thyvesh. Helpfully.

"Thyvesh is the last of the Suliban genetic augments from the Temporal Cold War," T'Laihhae says. "His brain is sensitized to chroniton radiation, to the extent that his consciousness is out of phase with the normal timestream. He sees things. Things that are, or will be, or might be."

"I see things," Thyvesh confirms. "Priyanapari."

Oh boy.

"I first met Thyvesh at the Priyanapari system," says T'Laihhae. "Since then... he has helped me, discreetly. But he has always chosen to remain in the background, unacknowledged. Until now."

"Because of Priyanapari," Thyvesh adds.

"Oh boy." I say it aloud, this time. Everyone looks at me. "Well," I say, "I wish you luck with it. You'll need it." I grin at T'Laihhae. "See, I was there, in the twenty-third century. So I know how it's meant to turn out."