Heresy 29

Valikra's quarters were bare, spartan. There was not a single personal ornament or decoration to be seen. Vorkov stood in the centre of the room, at an attitude of respectful attention, while Valikra paced restlessly up and down.

She turned to face the Tal Shiar defector. "You have been much in the company of T'Nir," she said.

"Yes, Hegemon." There was no trace of expression in Vorkov's tone.

"I imagine it is not a romantic intrigue?"

"Hardly, Hegemon. T'Nir is attempting to gather something of... a clique, around her. A group of people who have - in her view - a deeper understanding of the teachings of Bresar, and of her husband's ultimate goals."

Valikra nodded slowly. "Such informal social groups often wield influence in subtle yet effective ways. T'Nir shows some wisdom in creating this - network."

"Of course," said Vorkov, "it has the benefit of making T'Nir's thoughts better known to... other social groups."

"Quite. Hence, I do not ask you to break off from T'Nir's society. Quite the reverse, in fact." Valikra's gaze sharpened. "Is there a definitive list of the membership of this group?"

"Such things are naturally informal. People of influence, though, are amongst this inner circle. High Admiral D'Kalius is in T'Nir's company almost as much as I am; also, Economics Minister Vorram."

"And on the Vulcan side?"

"Silit, T'Nos, Vorruk. There are others, but those, I judge, are the most constant... and the most influential."

"Interesting.... T'Nir speaks of different strands of opinion within the Hegemony. You know her mind. What is her - strand?"

"I believe T'Nir's thinking tends towards a complete separatism. She feels that Romulans and Vulcans should not concern themselves with the activities of other species, that we should forge our own destiny."

"I see." Valikra's expression turned calculating. "It is... not untenable. We do not need the lesser species, after all. We need not come to open dissension with T'Nir over this issue. Dissension is to be avoided."

"This concept may be a product of T'Nir's study of Bresar," said Vorkov. "She has steeped herself in the historical records - and, of course, in Bresar's time, other species were not a factor in Vulcan politics. Warp travel was not yet possible - other races were known only by occasional signals from space, whose authenticity was debated. T'Nir may regard them as irrelevant now, because they were irrelevant to Bresar then."

"She has devoted much time and study to Bresar?"

"It is, after all, her original calling. She has explained some of the mental disciplines practiced in the time of Bresar... they are not without interest. One can see the rudiments of the later Kolinahr disciplines, but without the pacifistic accretions of Surak."

"That is well. Surak's weakness divided our people; that division must be undone." Valikra turned and resumed her pacing. "Find out what you can about these teachings. And continue to cultivate T'Nir in other respects, too... I cannot be part of her clique myself, my position does not permit it. I must have eyes and ears in that group, though." She turned sharply on her heel to stare at Vorkov. "You are to be my eyes and ears, General. D'Kalius is a soldier, Vorram is a bookkeeper - you have the political instincts that I need. Go, and do not fail me, Vorkov."

His long face expressionless, Vorkov bowed deeply, and left.

Heresy 28

Tylha

None of us looks particularly diplomatic, even in full diplomatic uniform. Ambassador Streg shoulders his way across the floor like a street fighter, radiating Tellarite pugnacity. Admiral Hengest is visibly ill at ease, his gaze darting every which way. Myself, I just feel uncomfortable.

Above us, the roof is a force-field dome, transparent, but partially polarized against the fierce point of light that is Delta Pyxidis. This ninth planet of the system is an airless, barren world; the rest of the system is equally inhospitable. But something about it attracted the attention of a Vulcan scientific survey, and the small colony here has been a going concern for some decades - and now, it's the latest addition to the Hegemony of Bresar.

The diplomatic reception is being held in a sort of plaza, open to that black sky, surrounded by the functional forms of the colony buildings. The colony administrator, T'Van, is standing in the centre, with a group of Hegemony dignitaries orbiting around her - including two familiar faces. Stiak looks better-groomed, but much more careworn, than he did on Chara V; T'Nir, now officially his consort, seems to have blossomed - she is gracious and elegant in her blue robe, making introductions and keeping conversations bubbling along.

Streg is neither gracious nor elegant. "So," he says to Stiak, "what do you make of this latest addition to your empire, then?"

"I am sure that Delta Pyxidis IX will make a valuable contribution to the Hegemony," Stiak replies with Vulcan imperturbability. I think the Federation Council must have chosen Streg to try and dent that imperturbability. I suspect they're wasting their time.

Or, I muse, it might be something slightly more subtle. While Streg is being brash and noisy and confrontational... all eyes are on him. Which leaves Hengest and me free to do our jobs.

Hengest touches my elbow, now, and I mark the direction in which his gaze flickers. I spot the tall, elegant, rigid figure standing a little way outside the main group. I make my way towards her while Streg is shouting.

"Hegemon Valikra."

"Vice Admiral Shohl." A minimal inclination of her head in response, and those icy eyes glance over me and dismiss me. "We meet again - under more pleasant circumstances, I think, than last time."

"Quite. Congratulations on your promotion," I say.

Again those eyes weigh me and find me wanting. "It is not so much a promotion as a recognition of a fact. I was the effective ruler of Porruma and a number of other systems. I am now their titular ruler as well."

"And your dominion is expanding."

She shakes her head. "This planet is part of the Vulcan Hegemony."

"But the Romulan side is expanding as well, isn't it? Besides, how clear is the distinction between the Romulan and Vulcan halves? Aren't you setting out to abolish that distinction, in fact?"

"We are. But, for the present, it exists. The Vulcan side has certain commitments, my own side has others."

I decide to broach the subject. "The Vulcan side has some obligations to the Romulan Republic."

"We do not recognize the so-called Republic."

"It exists, though, whether you recognize it or not. And we're concerned about your possible conflicts with it."

She raises one eyebrow in that quintessentially Vulcan gesture. "I would have thought you were concerned more with actualities than possibilities."

"All right. Actually, you are attacking Reman interests - mining camps, settlements, convoys - all across Psi Velorum and into the fringes of the Tau Dewa sectors. And Vulcans are involved with these attacks."

"In some respects, you exaggerate. The scale of operations against the Remans is not so significant as you suggest."

"It's significant enough to worry the Remans - and the Republic - and, indirectly, the Federation. You're already fighting the Tal Shiar and their Elachi allies." And whatever's behind them, and the Iconians are not a comfortable thought to dwell on. "Surely you don't want a war on two fronts?"

"I must concern myself with actualities. The manufacturing plants for singularity cores require upwards of five thousand tons of refined pergium each month. The planetary shields at Cor Tasgenia need focus crystals, which cannot be replicated, for the satellite generators. These are two examples - I could cite twenty from memory, more if I consult my records. The Reman mining concerns have these resources. We need them."

"So trade for them."

"Why should we? We have no treaties with the Remans - they are a recalcitrant offshoot of the Romulan state. I am the legitimate heir to that state." She waves her hand at me. "You will say that others dispute that legitimacy. It is immaterial."

"The Remans see themselves as a free people."

"Reman perceptions are often erroneous." She actually smiles at me. "I find myself in an expansive mood, Vice Admiral Shohl. I am about to impart a truth to you." Her smile broadens. "You will find it uncomfortable. That is often the way with truths."

I meet her gaze. "I'm sure I can take it."

"Very well. An essential reason why I attack the Remans is so that they will know their place. It may be necessary to attack others - for the same reason."

I raise my own eyebrow at that. "You think the Remans' place -?"

"Is as it has been, historically. In servitude to a superior race. I said you would find it uncomfortable. It contradicts your Federation dogma. But it is the truth, for all that. We - Romulans and Vulcans alike - are a superior species in every respect. We are stronger than you, healthier than you, in body and in mind. You may bring some specialised assets in some areas - you Andorians, for example, have your enhanced senses, your ability to tolerate a wide range of environments - but, overall, you cannot compete with us. It is folly to try."

"The last Romulan," I say, keeping my tone carefully neutral, "I heard make a speech like that... is either dead, or frozen forever in a temporal anomaly."

"Perhaps. He or she must have made an error. We can make errors - I do not claim that we are perfect. I claim, correctly, that we are better than you."

"And that entitles you to take what you want?"

"That means that, inevitably, we will triumph. Despite setbacks. All setbacks yield to the disciplined mind. You have seen for yourself how well we have coped with the setback at Romulus." Her smile is as icy as her eyes. "Our dominion is inevitable. You will not find us unkind masters, if you cooperate and know your place. Andorians should be good at that - you have found your place, have you not, in the service of the human empire?"

"The Federation," I say firmly, "is not a human empire."

"Of course not," she replies with deep sarcasm. "Remind me, though, what is the relationship between yourself and the human Admiral Hengest?"

"I'm only assigned to him pro tem. And there are Andorian Admirals in Starfleet. For that matter, my official commanding officer is a Vulcan -"

"So you have practice in obeying Vulcans. That will stand you in good stead."

"What about the Vulcan philosophy? IDIC? Infinite diversity in -"

"Propaganda. The weakness of Surak. Bresar's mental and political disciplines show us a truer way. We adopt him as a symbol, Vice Admiral Shohl, because in his time we were one people - as we will be again."

"United in superiority over the lesser races?"

"You speak with irony, but it is true. We can see the beginnings here. Look how my co-Hegemon Stiak and his consort have grown into their roles. Look at that gathering there - Vulcan and Romulan in harmony. Even the Tal Shiar recognize this and are beginning to rally to our cause." She points. "That is General Vorkov, once a senior Tal Shiar officer, now a convert to the Hegemony - and all his substantial military forces with him. There will be more."

Vorkov? Something nags at me - the name is familiar. The man himself, tall, dour, long-faced, is a stranger - but something tells me I've heard the name before. I shelve the problem, return to dealing with Valikra... or trying to. "There will always be weathercocks. What makes you think he won't turn his coat again?"

"People like Vorkov," says Valikra, "are realists. I can deal with realists. Vorkov seeks, realistically, to join the winning side. To retain his loyalty, all I must do is win. And I do assure you, Vice Admiral Shohl, that I can and will continue to do that."

"Is everything well?" A new voice - T'Nir's, I recognize it. She has come up behind me unnoticed; I turn towards her.

"Everything's fine. Hegemon Valikra was just presenting me with some uncomfortable truths, that's all."

"In fairness," Valikra says, "Vice Admiral Shohl took them... as well as might be expected."

T'Nir smiles graciously. She's changed a lot from the harassed but determined refugee I took aboard my ship; she seems to have filled out into the role of society hostess. "Hegemon, with respect, you do represent one strand of opinion within our political discourse. I understand you feel it is the correct one -"

"Events will prove me right." I get the feeling this is a discussion they've had before, more than once. I also get the feeling T'Nir is not persuasive enough to change Valikra's mind.

One strand of opinion? I glance upwards, at the black sky above the force field dome. This planet has no atmosphere, and you might expect to see stars - but the harsh brilliant light of Delta Pyxidis is enough to drown them out, make them invisible. I have a terrible feeling that Valikra is like that.

---

The reception produces... nothing. If Streg won any diplomatic concessions from Stiak, he's not saying anything; if Hengest gathered any valuable intelligence, he's keeping it to himself. I know, as we prepare to leave orbit, that nobody changed Valikra's mind....

"Something odd on sensors, sir." Zazaru's voice breaking into my reverie. The Trill science officer is peering intently into a display screen.

"Problems?" My antennae twitch. Hengest and Streg are travelling in the Luna-class science vessel Umbriel; Valikra is aboard a D'deridex warbird with a flight of Mogais as escort; Stiak is remaining on the colony for the present.... Our ships should be enough to cope with anything short of an all-out attack, but in these peculiar times, I'd like to be sure an unusual sensor contact isn't an all-out attack.

"I'm reading something - I need to make some cross-checks. Objects, about range two-triple-zero...." Zazaru's voice trails off as she concentrates.

"Let's play it safe. Yellow alert. F'hon, get me a line to Admiral Hengest - and to Valikra's ship, if she's willing to talk."

"On it, skipper." F'hon turns to his comms board as the alarms sound.

"I think I have it." Zazaru's head snaps up. "Power signatures consistent with Elachi drive emissions, sir. There might be something else, too -"

"Yes, like cloaked Tal Shiar ships. F'hon, challenge them - not that it'll do any good." The Elachi: the real silent enemy - unwilling to communicate, except with crescent-wave disruptors and their grotesque biological subversions. "Helm, give me an intercept course, max impulse. Red alert. Roll wing cannon platforms." The automated armed drones give me substantial extra firepower, and I have a terrible feeling I'm going to need it.

"Admiral Hengest, sir," says F'hon.

"What's happening?" Hengest's voice asks.

"We have what looks like Elachi ships on sensors, possibly with a Tal Shiar contingent under cloak nearby. Sir, we have to presume them hostile - I'm moving to intercept."

"All right." Hengest's voice shows no sign of tension. "I have to warn you, Tylha, I'm not a combat commander. Umbriel will follow your orders on this one."

"Thank you, sir. Please set up to receive secure tactical telemetry, and follow us in. We'll need your ship's superior sensors if we're going to pick out cloaked vessels."

"We don't have a full tachyon detection rig over her, but we'll do what we can."

Spirits of Earth surges forwards, with the science vessel in support. I peer at the tactical scans, willing them to resolve into something I can recognize -

"I have Valikra, sir," says F'hon.

"Hegemon Valikra. We have Elachi ships on sensors, and they almost certainly have cloaked consorts. Suggest you be on your guard."

"Noted," Valikra's cold voice replies. "Transmit all your available information. I note you are moving to engage."

"We're moving to probe. If that turns out to be a full-fledged Elachi assault force, two Starfleet ships can't handle them. We will fall back to the low orbitals and coordinate with the planetary defense network." However much there is of that. "What about Stiak? Is he secure?"

"Hegemon Stiak is still on the planetary surface. The settlement is heavily shielded against stellar radiation in any event - Stiak is almost certainly safer than we are, unless the enemy can land troops in force. I will await your further reports with interest. Valikra out."

The tactical display is clearing as Zazaru refines the sensor scans. "Signal Umbriel and Valikra. Three S'golth class warships...." I rack my brains. "They're almost certainly a diversion for the cloaked ships... the traces we've got are too big for T'Varos and too fast for a Mogai or a D'deridex - I'd guess Dhelan-class warbirds."

"There's still something around those Elachi," Zazaru says.

"Right." A plan is starting to come together in my head. "So let's fix that. Designate targets Alpha, Bravo, Charlie." I key in comms on my command panel. "Umbriel. Those S'golths are bunched up tight enough that I can try a wing cannon overload, centred on Target Alpha - that will take my cannons offline for a short time, so in that interval, I want you to do whatever you can to slow down Target Bravo."

"And the others?" Hengest's voice asks.

"I'll deal with them. Those S'golths are bait, meant to distract us from the cloaked ships - but they're too dangerous to leave out there. So we'll finish them hard and fast, then backtrack to support Valikra against the others."

"You're assuming Valikra is the target?"

"I don't see a reasonable alternative."

"Neither do I. All right, Tylha, Umbriel is following you in. Target Bravo locked."

"Plasma torpedo launcher fully primed," Anthi reports. "Cannons hot. Shields at maximum, all crew at combat stations. One minute to weapons range."

"F'hon, any response from the Elachi to our hails?"

"None, skipper."

I didn't expect any. "All right. Stand ready, people, this is going to get rough."

The Elachi ships are red dots on my tac screen... are yellow dots... are green ones. "Target locked. Overload set. Fire!"

Space erupts with blinding light as my cannons create a field of destruction. The tac screen flickers, overwhelmed with noise, steadies again.

The three S'golths are showing damage, the leader heavy damage - and space around them is garishly illuminated by the implosions of ruptured singularity cores. An escort group of T'Varo frigates, lying close under battle cloak - so their screens were down when the phaser burst hit. They never stood a chance.

"Turrets. Cutting beam. Fire torpedo."

The cannons are temporarily offline, but our remaining weapons hammer at the battered shape of Target Alpha. The kinetic cutting beam slices away at the saw-toothed hull, the phaser turrets pound at it; strange coloured flames burst from the hull breaches - Elachi atmosphere, no doubt. Then the first plasma torpedo hits, and the S'golth's warp core goes, and it is all over for them.

To one side, Target Bravo is struggling in a glowing, swirling field of force: an induced gravity well, created by the Umbriel's generators. The science vessel's phaser arrays are blazing, and strange signals on my instruments tell me Hengest's crew are trying some other forms of attack besides. With luck, they will be able to occupy Target Bravo's attention while I kill the third S'golth.

Target Charlie's elegant pincer snout is turned towards me now, and Spirits of Earth shudders as crescent waves of disruptor energy slam into her shields. Damage lights start to flash yellow on my consoles. Nothing too bad yet - and my cannons are live again. Blue-white phaser light flashes back at Target Charlie, and the Elachi ship's shields flare and flicker.

"Steer three-eight-seven mark two zero. Reinforce forward shields."

Spirits of Earth might look like an antique, but beneath that old-fashioned exterior she has nearly as much Borg technology as a Tal Shiar adapted destroyer. The shields protest under the Elachi barrage, but they hold - for the moment. And the moment is all that I need.

"Overcharge the torpedo launcher. Hold ready." Spirits of Earth completes her turn, comes onto the heading I want. "Subspace jump now!"

Stolen Klingon technology flicks us across space in the blink of an eye. Like us, Target Charlie has reinforced her forward shields to cope with our attack - now, the jump takes us behind them, to the weakly guarded aft quadrant.

The first blast from our cannons brings down the weak aft shields, tearing into the S'golth's hull, shattering an impulse engine. Then the plasma bolt launches from our modified Borg torpedo tube. The glowing ball of death moves through space at an almost leisurely pace, strikes the unguarded hull - and does its lethal work. The Borg-designed device disassembles the enemy ship at a subatomic level, the energy of the plasma bolt coursing through the matter of the ship's hull and leaving nothing but a fading glow and a faint electrical flickering behind it.

"Come about. Lock cannons on Target Bravo, continuous fire."

Target Bravo has almost climbed out of the Umbriel's gravity well, but the effort has told; that elegant hull is torn and leaking air in several places, stressed almost to its limits. Spirits of Earth's phaser barrage comes down like the hammer of the Infinite - and breaks the S'golth's back.

There's nothing worse than a few flashing yellow lights on my damage control board. "Status check on the Umbriel," I order.

"Umbriel here. We're pretty much intact." Hengest's voice. "Forward and port shields are down to forty per cent - regenerating them now."

"Regenerate them on the way - flank speed back to the planet, to support Valikra." The other part of the raiding force must, surely, have come out of cloak by now -

Indeed they have, as the medium-range sensors tell me. Three flights of Dhelan warbirds, decloaking at short range - if they had caught Valikra napping, she'd be so much ionized gas by now. But they didn't. Valikra's D'deridex's shields are flaring brightly, but holding, and she and her escorts are tearing the Dhelans apart with continual heavy fire from disruptor arrays and plasma torps. And Valikra had her cloaked assets too, it seems - the nightmare spiny shape of an adapted battle cruiser shimmers into view beside her, plasma torps shrieking out of its throat, disruptor beams reaching from its spines to shred one of the Dhelans -

Something clicks in the back of my mind. T'Laihhae flies an adapted battle cruiser - and it was in her company that I heard Vorkov's name. And I remember, now, the way her normally impassive face twisted with fury when she heard it -

Spirits of Earth and Umbriel hurtle towards the battle - but, the way Valikra's ships are handling themselves, it will all be over before we get there.

"Signal from Valikra, skipper," says F'hon.

"Let's have it."

There's a visual; Valikra's face appears on my screen, her icy eyes shining with the light of battle. "Dhelan warbirds," she says. "I believe you guessed as much. Typical of Republic forces."

I shake my head. "No. Those S'golths were unmodified - Elachi, beyond doubt. There's no way the Republic would cooperate with the Elachi."

Valikra frowns. "Perhaps you are right." She glances at something off to one side, seems to find it unworthy of further notice. On my tac display, two more Dhelans die. "We will no doubt find out more from a forensic examination of the debris. Valikra out."

Heresy 14

Tylha

"Bringing her in now, sir." Anthi Vihl's voice is crisp and correct over the com link. I look up, into the troubled sky.

"OK," I say, "see you soon, then. Shohl out." I turn to my companions on the ground. "Bring those force field emitters to maximum. There's going to be a lot of dust kicked up when the RCS thrusters cut in."

Klerupiru makes the necessary adjustments, and the air sparks as the force fields gain power. There's already a visible ledge on the ground where the emitters are holding back the falling dust. One of the Vulcans, Stileg, helps.

I look up again at the sky, but I'm looking in the wrong direction. I feel, more than see, the shadow fall over me, and when I turn, Spirits of Earth is there, through the clouds already, gliding through the troubled air towards the ground.

I suppose I'm used to the 871 metre bulk of the King Estmere; I always think of Spirits of Earth as a small ship. But she isn't, seen in absolute terms - especially seen from underneath her as she's coming in to land. Her huge wing blots out the murky sun as it sweeps overhead, and I hear and feel the vast dull rumbling in the air as she passes through it.

I wait for the blast and the dust storm, but there isn't one. The ship just settles, slowly, to the ground, perhaps her own length away from the encampment. I hit my combadge.

"Down and secure, sir," says Anthi's voice. "Landing struts deployed, opening the ventral hatches now."

"Did you just dead-stick that landing?" I demand.

"Antigravs only, sir," she replies. "I thought it best to minimize the disturbance to the dust."

I shake my head. "OK. Let's get this show on the road, then. Everything ready?"

"Operating rooms are prepped for surgery now. We have AG float pallets in the airlocks, ready to take the critically injured to sickbay. I have the IDRA people here, too -"

Faintly, I hear a voice saying, "Although she nearly didn't, I almost had a coronary at that landing!" A familiar voice - Koneph Phoral, Osrin Corodrev's chan-partner. I repress a grin. "We'll have a chat later on about standard landing procedures." And the only words I'm going to say will be along the lines of "good work, Number One", because she's right, the last thing we want to do is drag those casualties through a howling dust storm. "Let's get to work. Secure the injured first, then evacuate this facility, completely. I think Stiak will finally let us do that, now."

As if on cue, I see Stiak emerging from his hut, followed by the tall striking figure of Valikra. I head for them. Valikra turns her head to survey the Spirits of Earth, and gives a minimal nod, as if the ship meets with her approval - just. Stiak seems preoccupied with something.

"Vice Admiral," says Valikra. "We are ready to depart."

"We're getting ready to move the injured," I tell her. "After that, we can get everyone else on board. I take it that's still the plan?" I turn to Stiak. "Director?"

"Yes," he says. His eyes seem unfocused. Perhaps he's lost in thought - he seems the type.

"We shall depart as soon as is convenient," says Valikra. "And I must return to the Raven's Heart and set some matters in train. You are privileged, Vice Admiral Shohl. You have been present at a moment of history." And, with that, she sweeps past me and stalks towards my ship.

Heresy 12

Valikra waited until the sound of the Andorian's footsteps had quite died away before she said, "There is more, is there not?"

"I beg your pardon, High Admiral?" said Stiak.

"There is more. An Andorian is not sensitive to these things, but I can feel it." She leaned forward, her eyes intent on Stiak. "Listen to me. I am looking for something, and I think - I think - I may now have found it."
  
Stiak looked back at her, steadily, unemotionally. "What are you looking for, High Admiral?"

"A symbol - something to rally around. Something we both can rally around - Vulcan and Romulan alike. Do you not see? This Bresar united Vulcan before the Sundering. When we were all one people. We can be one people again, this proves it. This proves it."

"The records tell, no doubt, a fascinating story -" T'Nir began.

"But the records are not the whole of the story," Valikra interrupted. She did not look at T'Nir - her attention was wholly on Stiak. "I can feel that it is not. Do you deny it?"

Stiak hesitated. He took a deep breath. "No," he said, "I cannot, in honesty, deny it."

He reached into his clothing. "The last tremor opened another chamber," he said. "I did not record what I did in there... it was a tiny, tiny room, empty save for one thing." He took out a cube of crystal, yellow and carved with a multitude of facets, that seemed to flicker with a light of its own.

"A katric ark," Valikra breathed.

"Yes," said Stiak. "I have touched it, I know.... It contains the katra of Bresar himself."

There was a dreadful hunger in Valikra's eyes. "I did not know it," she said, "but that is... precisely what I have been searching for. Let us discuss this further."

Heresy 11

TylhaBehind her protective visor, Samantha's eyes are angry. "These people need more help than I can give them here," she snaps.

I look down at the pitiful figures lying on makeshift beds in the shelter. The Vulcan scientists have evidently done what they could, and Samantha has added devices of her own, supporting them and monitoring their life signs... and it's pretty clear that this isn't enough. Two of them, especially, are lying very still, with grey waxen faces - if the monitors didn't say so, I wouldn't believe they were still alive.

Samantha follows my gaze. "Those two need urgent therapy, and possibly lung transplants. There's no way I can do that here. Even if I could set up a sterile operating area, another tremor would be disastrous. I know you can feel those coming -"

"Not far enough in advance," I say. "I'm sorry."

Samantha nods. She shifts her visor with one hand, and I can see where Vulcan blood has caked on her fingernails. Some of the injured have been bleeding freely - too freely. "Even a light tremor would stir up too much of this damned dust," she says. "I don't know what to suggest."

"We'll have to bring the Spirits of Earth down into the atmosphere," I say. "Land her, or just hover her over the camp. At that close range, we can be certain of getting a transporter lock. Or we can use standard shuttles to ferry the critical cases to sickbay."

"It's one hell of a risk," Samantha says. "Spirits of Earth may have wings, but she's a starship, not an atmosphere craft. Especially not this atmosphere."

"She flew atmospheric on Gimel Vessaris," I point out, "and that was with heavy battle damage, even. I think she'll do fine here." I rub my forehead. "The question, of course, is whether T'Nir and this Stiak will let us do it. In the meantime, let me get this set up, it might help." I turn my attention back to the force field generator, which should block the worst of the dust from the shelter. "Klerupiru's setting one up in the sleeping hut," I add.

Samantha is already absorbed in the readings from one of her patients, but she asks, "Why did you bring her along, anyway?"

"Klerupiru? She's a tech expert as well as a computer whiz."

Samantha shoots a glance at me. "That's not the only reason, is it?"

"No," I admit. "I wanted our High Admiral along so I could keep a close eye on her. And - well, I like Klerupiru, and I admire her abilities, and I would even, personally, trust her... but you have to admit, she's got finely honed criminal instincts. And I thought those might come in handy, for keeping that close eye on our Romulan friend." The force field emitter goes live with a hum and a click. If I've tuned it right, small high-density objects - like dust particles - will just bounce off the field. It'll make some difference to the quality of the air.

It is tested immediately, as the door of the shelter opens. A figure stands in the entrance, mummified in protective wrappings. "Director Stiak has returned." T'Nir's voice. "He requests an immediate conference with you and the High Admiral."

"All right. Let me just check -" The force field seems to be holding. Little motes of golden light are flickering around T'Nir, as it repels the drifting dust. "That's good, for the moment, at least. Samantha, sing out if you need any help. I'm on my way."

In the short time we've been here, the camp seems to have got worse; the light is dim, the dust-drifts thickening. As T'Nir leads me across to the next hut, I realise the simple explanation: night is falling. The only light, soon, will come from the reflected glow of the lava fields, over the horizon, but still entirely too near to us. In the dim troubled light, the encampment looks like some relic of a destroyed world, half-covered by the sands of time.

There are lights inside the domed hut we reach: Klerupiru has restored the camp's main power systems, at least. I step inside, and wait as T'Nir unwinds her outer garments. My uniform, at least, repels the worst of the dust... though I will need hours in the sonic shower to get my hair clean again. Beneath all the wrappings, T'Nir turns out to be a small, slender, Vulcan woman, almost fragile in appearance. There is certainly a brittle look to her fine-boned face... though that might just be down to the tension of the situation.

Two others are standing at a work table; Valikra is one, the other is a medium-tall, heavily built Vulcan male with a handsome, thoughtful-looking face. "Director Stiak?"

He nods. "Vice Admiral Shohl. I am glad to see you - on the whole."

"We're trying not to be a mixed blessing, sir. But your injured need treatment, and my doctor tells me she doesn't have the facilities for it here."

"Human inefficiency," says Valikra with a sniff.

"No," says Stiak, "no, I do not believe it can be that. The circumstances are difficult, I appreciate that. But the work had to continue."

My antennae twitch at that. "Had to?"

"Yes. I believe it is now complete - or, at least, complete enough that nothing is to be gained by remaining." He indicates the work table with a wave of his hand. "See for yourself."

There are rows of objects on the table, box-like things with rounded tops, about a dozen of them. There is some sort of writing on them. I frown. Valikra looks just as puzzled. "What are they?" she demands.

"Solid evidence of a nearly forgotten episode of history," says Stiak. "Data records of the Hegemony."

My frown deepens. "I never thought the Gorn Hegemony got anywhere near here," I say, "and that script looks like some sort of ancient Vulcan to me."

Stiak does the eyebrow-quirk thing. No Vulcan is ever too tired, too hurt or too demoralized to do the eyebrow-quirk thing. "Not the Gorn Hegemony, Vice Admiral. The Hegemony of Bresar."

"Well," I say, "I'm afraid that's a completely forgotten episode as far as I'm concerned."

"Bresar," says Valikra thoughtfully. "I have heard the name... I can recall no more."

Stiak nods. "Prior to the Time of Awakening on my planet, there were any number of warlords and faction leaders in conflict on Vulcan. It was a troubled time - as I'm sure you are aware. A little over two thousand years ago, though, there was a brief spell of peace and unity, when one leader became dominant over all the others. His name was Bresar... and surprisingly little is known of him beyond that."

"He is a semi-legendary figure," T'Nir chimes in, "like, perhaps, Napoleon or Alexander on Earth, or... I cannot think of an Andorian equivalent."

"Andorian history is pretty sketchy, sometimes," I say. "Maybe... one of the Thaba kings?"

"Perhaps," says Stiak. "In any case, most of what we do know about Bresar comes from the writings of his detractors. It was a warlike time, and his hegemony was not imposed without bloodshed - though, once established, I believe it to have been a time of peace. The histories tell us, though, that it was finally overthrown in a destructive rebellion, but Bresar himself declared that, since the Vulcan people did not welcome his rule, he would depart and try his luck elsewhere." He points to the table again. "We believe that this is where he tried it."

"This must have been pre-warp, though, even for Vulcan, surely?"

"Yes. The technology existed, though, for sublight flight at relativistic speeds. The journey from Vulcan to Chara is a matter of only a few decades, most of those being eliminated, even, by the time dilation effect. We think Bresar landed on this planet as a man in late middle age, no more than that. As for his subsequent history, his attempts to settle here, and why they came to nothing - well, we believe these records will tell us."

"I have reconstructed the data formats used in Hegemonic times," says T'Nir, "and will now be in a position to test my theories on these data storage units. It is best, perhaps, that I do so in a stable environment, such as that aboard your ship."

"Before the Time of Awakening," says Valikra. "Before Surak. That means that Bresar unified Vulcan... before the Sundering." Her eyes are alight with strong emotion.

"That is correct," says Stiak.

"We must talk more of this," says Valikra. "This has - potentialities. As a symbol, as a historical memory...."

My combadge chirps at me. "Shohl."

"Sir." Klerupiru's voice. "The IDRA supply drop has passed the tropopause. It should be making planetfall within the next five minutes. Do you want to be at the arrival point?"

"I'd better be," I say. I look at Stiak. "If you'll excuse me, Director, I think this supply drop needs my attention. Once we've got the capsule open and delivered the urgent necessities, we can talk some more about getting you and your discovery off this planet."

"Of course, Vice Admiral," says Stiak gravely. "Thank you for your patience and your efforts."

Heresy 9

The scream of the descending shuttlecraft cut through the incessant whispering of the dust-laden wind. T'Nir sighed, wound her protective fabric about her face, and stepped out of the shelter.

About a dozen others had also left their domed huts, standing, shrouded in wrappings, in the light fluffy dust that covered everything like a grim snowfall. T'Nir looked upwards, shielding her eyes from falling dust, and saw the shuttle. Not a standard Starfleet model - well, of course, it could not be, in the circumstances, she thought. It was sleek and black, shaped like a leaf, or the point of a spear. It circled the encampment, once, before spiralling in to land by the largest intact dome. T'Nir went forward to meet it. The black material of the hull seemed to repel the dust, as if it spurned the world around it.

The exit ramp hissed down, and the shuttle's occupants disembarked. T'Nir bristled at the sight of the Starfleet uniforms - a Ferengi and a human in science division markings, the human carrying a case with medical symbols; behind them came a tall, lanky Andorian in operations colours, the insignia of a Vice Admiral at her throat. Shohl, then. All three were wearing breather masks and transparent visors, protection from the dust. Behind them -

T'Nir blinked. The woman in grey and white was clearly Vulcanoid, but did not carry herself like a Vulcan - then, she noted the raptor brooch. Romulan? Here? The woman wore a breather mask of a different design, and she moved -

She moved like the shuttle, T'Nir thought. With a casual disdain for the disordered world around her. She trod in the dust, and it was truly dust for her, beneath her notice.

"Who commands here?" the Romulan demanded.

T'Nir stepped forwards. "Director Stiak is in overall command," she said, "but he is unavailable at present, being engaged in necessary work. I am T'Nir. I have been deputized to attend to you."

The Romulan arched her eyebrows. "We have medical supplies in the shuttle," said the Andorian, "and Dr. Beresford here is anxious to get to work on your casualties. Commander Klerupiru is an expert technician, and hopefully she and I can help with your mechanical difficulties. So, point us in the right direction, and we'll get to work." She looked vaguely quizzical, behind the breather. "I must admit, we're all... curious to know what work it is, that's so absorbing you can't take a break from it."

"There is disagreement on that matter," Stileg's voice came from behind T'Nir. The man shouldered past her, heading towards the shuttle. "We have seven dead and six seriously injured from our initial complement of thirty. Supplies are critical - most of our stores were destroyed in the initial incident, and much of what survived has become unusable due to the dust contamination. It is the judgment of many of us that evacuation is needed."

The human, Dr. Beresford, came out to meet Stileg. "Let me have a look at that forehead," she said.

"There are others in far worse need than I, doctor," said Stileg. "Let me show you the way. Is there other equipment that I may carry for you?"

"Let's get it," said the human, and led Stileg to the shuttle. T'Nir felt obscurely angry, sternly repressed the emotion. It was not unreasonable, she thought, that Stileg should consider the medical matters urgent. But he should have respected her authority -

The Andorian suddenly shouted, "Brace yourselves!"

For an instant, T'Nir thought she had gone mad. Then, the ground shuddered beneath them. The Romulan stumbled and nearly fell; the Andorian reached out a steadying hand. Her legs were spread, braced, ready for the shock. The Romulan shook off the helping hand. "How did you -?"

"Can't fool these antennae," said the Andorian. Of course, thought T'Nir, the sensitivity of the Andorians was well-documented -

"Let me take you to the main workshop," she said, "and I will explain the situation, as well as I am able. Director Stiak will give you more complete information, when he returns." If he returns, she thought, and clamped her mind down hard against that thought. But if he was underground - when that shock came -

"That is an excellent idea," said the Romulan. "We will go. Since Vice Admiral Shohl has not seen fit to introduce me, I will inform you that I am High Admiral Valikra of the Romulan Star Empire. We are engaged in a number of humanitarian ventures across the quadrant, and are cooperating with the relief effort here." She smiled, thinly. "I hope we will be able to be of service to you."

Heresy 8

Tylha
The clouds are vast and churning, lit both by the sun from above and the fire below. The initial blast of the supervolcano has subsided into a dull fierce glow, from the pooling magma that covers everything within a hundred kilometres of the eruption site. The falling dust and ashes will, eventually, cover everything on this Continent Beta, to a depth of at least fifteen centimetres - more, here, so close to the blast.

Walt Whitman's sleek black shape knifes through the clouds without so much as a whisper of resistance, and inside her cockpit, everything is eerie calm.

"The devastation is considerable," Valikra says from the seat beside me.

"I've seen worse," I mutter. She turns towards me.

"Really? Where?"

"Bercera IV."

She nods, accepting my answer... somewhat grudgingly, it seems. In person, she is even more forbidding and impressive than she looked on the screen. She is tall, nearly as tall as me, and instead of the gaudy Imperial uniforms with their thick quilted fabrics, she wears a simple grey tunic and trousers, with a white cloak pinned together with a silver brooch at her left shoulder. The brooch takes the form of a Romulan raptor, and its eyes, picked out with tiny rubies, are the only note of colour in her outfit.

"The Vulcan appeared concerned for our safety," she says. "You are sure this vessel is reliable?"

"Absolutely. The Walt Whitman is rated for environments a lot worse than this. Besides, since it was built in the 29th century, it can hardly be destroyed in the 25th, can it?"

Valikra sniffs. "I find your logic specious."

She's going to be fun. "In any case, the Whitman is the best chance we've got - unless you want to ride down ballistic with the supply drop from IDRA." The relief agency ship is a converted freighter with Starfleet surplus science mission pods attached to its aft cargo modules; as an atmosphere craft, it's hopeless. Corodrev has, however, put together the unmanned supply drop, a module simply fired like a shell from the main ship, descending slowly but surely, with a few RCS thrusters to guide it safely to its touchdown point. "Your Tiercel shuttles can't cope with this heavy-element dust any more than my standard type eights, and transporter operations... don't even bear thinking about."

"Possibly we can set up pattern enhancers near the Vulcan's base."

"Possibly. I'd want to test them thoroughly first. Once you've seen one scramble case, you never want to see another one."

"Scramble case?"

"Reintegration failure."

"I see." She looks at me disdainfully. "Your terminology is imprecise. You should rectify that."

I get the feeling this is going to be a long trip. "Pulverized topaline ore," she says, reflectively. "Normally, so valuable, now such an inconvenience. Your Ferengi must be distressed by this."

"Oh," says Klerupiru from behind us, "if I was a true Ferengi, I'd be hanging out of the shuttle with my mouth open, now."

"Quite," says Valkira, in a quelling tone. Any efforts at humour are to be firmly squelched, it seems. Unless that crack about Ferengi was meant as a joke. I turn around to look at Klerupiru and Samantha Beresford, in the rear seats. "You two comfortable back there?"

"Pretty much," says Samantha. She looks austerely at me through her data monocle. "We should be more cramped, in fact - I wanted to bring more medical supplies, remember?"

"Your physician is, I hope, competent to work on Vulcans and Vulcanoids," says Valikra.

"Dr. Beresford's more than competent on a whole range of different species," I say.

"Though of course I'm most used to glueing pig-headed Andorians back together," says Samantha.

"That should not prove necessary," says Valikra. "Assuming, of course, that we traverse the planetary troposphere without incident."

I don't think any of us is going to get a rise out of the High Admiral. It seems a peculiar sort of rank, too, though I don't know what ranks are held in the various shuddering remnants of the Romulan Empire these days. She seems to be utterly humourless and utterly dedicated to... something. Some inner vision. And it's one that she's fanatical about, clearly. I have very bad memories of Romulan fanatics.

The timeship doesn't so much as shiver as she dives deeper into the clouds, the roiling vapours parting at the mere touch of that ultra-sleek matte black hull. "All readings nominal, holding course and speed," I say. Valikra gives a minimal nod. I have a feeling I might have to disabuse her of the notion that I'm her personal chauffeur. That air of absolute authority - that is a front for something, usually an underlying insecurity. But, of course, any Romulan has a lot to feel insecure about.

I need to know more about her - why she is here, what she is fanatical about. Of course, I could always just ask her....

"Why are you here, High Admiral?"

"Your shuttlecraft is the only vehicle capable of reaching the science team quickly. It was necessary for me to... hitch a ride, I believe is the term."

"I didn't mean here in the shuttle. Why are you in this system?"

"Our Vulcan brethren need help."

"And they'd get it without you. I'm here, in fact, because your Vulcan brethren have been turning help away.... You know a Federation relief effort would reach them, you must appreciate that Federation teams can do anything your people can. So why are you here? Why aren't you helping your own people?"

She turns and looks at me, sharply, intently, with those icy eyes. "I am," she says.

"All right, Vulcans and Romulans are basically the same species, fair enough. But why these Vulcans, when there are so many Romulans in need, closer to home?"

"You have no conception," she says, "of where my home is.... In any event, I am helping Romulans everywhere by helping Vulcans. Or at least, I will be, if you will kindly permit it."

"Would you mind explaining how?"

"Your instruments are registering turbulence." She points. The autopilot is handling it well - I suspect the Walt Whitman's systems are several orders cleverer than me, in fact - and there's no real need to make a trivial course correction. I make it anyway. Outside, the dust clouds are wrapped around the shuttle, enveloping us in a roiling orange murk. It's no harder to see through than Valikra's manner, though.

"So you do mind explaining how. Very well, then."

"People will be helped. That is all that the Federation cares about, is it not?"

"No. Not by a long way. For that matter, the Federation doesn't go about indiscriminately helping people - ever heard of the Prime Directive?"

"Yes, of course. What looks like help from one angle may be hindrance, or unwarrantable interference, from another, and so the Federation does not intervene unless the issues are clear-cut - to the Federation's satisfaction."

"We never claim to be perfect."

"Very wise of you." She stares into the murk beyond the viewport. "I seek a rapprochement with the Vulcans. It is necessary to extend a hand of friendship." She turns to glare at me. "Your next remark will include some reference to D'Tan and Mol'Rihan. Please, spare me."

"Very well." So, she wants the Romulan Star Empire - or whatever fragment of it she represents - to make friends with the Vulcans? Interesting. Somehow, though, I doubt whether the High Admiral is going to be good at making friends.

Maybe she's different with Vulcans. Come to think of it... she'd better be.

Heresy 6

Tylha
Spirits of Earth hurtles between the stars, the subtranswarp drive eating up the light years. I settle down on the bridge - small and cosy, after the King Estmere's echoing Tholian hall with the peculiar artificial gravity - and take a few moments to luxuriate in the cool air.

Dr. Haught shivers. "Cold in here, isn't it?"

Harley Haught is a geologist, added to my crew at the last minute, in case we need his expertise on the surface of Chara V. He's a tall, rather good-looking young man - if you like humans - with dark hair and a rather high forehead. And, judging from his attitude, he fancies himself something of a lady-killer. Which might be amusing, come to think of it.

"It's an Andorian ship," I point out. "And I've just been enduring Earth's temperatures...."

"Yes," says Haught, "but, well, you guys are more adaptable than us poor pinkskins, right?"

Actually, that's true, though you won't often find a human who'll admit to it. I revise my estimate of Haught up a notch. "Conditions on Chara V are warmer," I say. "Normally - I don't know what this volcanic incident will have done to the climate."

"Well," Haught says, "in the medium term, there'll be a drop in temperature, as the volcanic dust increases the planetary albedo. But I guess it's early, yet, for that to take full effect. I just -" He breaks off, as the bridge door hisses open. "Whoah!" he says.

Amiga stands in the doorway, looking faintly taken aback. The android has just returned to her normal look, opening the service panels to the circuitry in her cheeks, removing the cosmetic caps from her eyes so that the naked metal shows. "Are you distressed, Dr. Haught?" she asks.

"Wow. Just, um, surprised, I guess. I saw you in the transporter room earlier...."

"Indeed you did," Amiga says. "Mostly, I do not conceal my artificial origins. I recently had reasons to assume a fully humanoid appearance, though, and I have only just reverted to my normal fashion. I trust you do not disapprove?"

Haught looks blank for a moment, then he laughs. "I'll say one thing for you," he says. "Whatever your origins, you're clearly all woman."

Amiga inclines her head. "I shall take that as a compliment... to my designers."

A low rumbling laugh comes from the tac station. "Don't mess with that one, lad," my uncle, Kophil Phohr, says. "She'll eat you alive."

"Commander Phohr, needless to say, does not speak from personal experience," Amiga says.

"Any time you want to put your money where your mouth is, robo-girl...."

"I hate to break this up." Even Anthi Vihl, my ultra-professional exec, isn't hiding a grin. "But we're about to come out of warp at Chara."

"OK. Amiga, Uncle Kophil... flirt later. F'hon." The Bolian comms officer looks up. "Patch us through to local traffic control, make sure we have all the right clearances. And get me the IDRA ship as soon as you can manage it."

"On it, skipper," says F'hon Tlaxx.

Spirits of Earth shudders as she drops to sublight speeds, and the view on the screen changes to a normal static starscape, a bright yellow star glowing to one side. I check the system display on my console. Chara has seven planets, two hot rockballs in close orbit, one habitable and prosperous class M world, then an oddity, a minor planet about the size of Sol's Mercury, in an orbit that makes it look as though it's a capture from interstellar space. Our destination, Chara V, is next, a much more marginal class M... and then there are two moderate-sized ice giants, further out. A pretty typical system - well, unusual in that there are two class M worlds, but not that unusual. I've seen many stranger.

"Got an automated response from traffic control," says F'hon. "Patching it through to helm now - and there's a Jevon Tolm, planetary governor, Chara V, wants to speak to you."

"On screen."

The face on the screen is a humanoid one, possibly even straight-up human, it's hard to tell just from a headshot sometimes. He's thin and middle-aged and worried looking, whatever species he is. "Vice Admiral Shohl?"

"That's me. We've had a request from IDRA to lend assistance."

He looks marginally less worried. "Anything you can do to help would be welcome. We have the situation in hand in the capital, and in most of the districts on Continent Alpha. But the situation on Beta is confused -"

"That's where the Vulcan science team is, isn't it? And where the disaster happened?"

"Yes. Frankly, Vice Admiral, we're worried about those people. The only inhabitants of Beta have been accounted for - but the Vulcans were a lot closer to the epicentre of the blast, and the reports we have are... confusing. We don't have air craft capable of reaching them at this time, and the IDRA vessels aren't equipped for atmospheric operations in that amount of turbulence."

"Well, if need be, I can take my ship down, we are cleared for a range of environments - but, naturally, I'd like to explore other options first."

"Of course, Vice Admiral." Does he look slightly less worried? "Just - well, please do everything you have to - everything you can - to get those people out."

"I'll put you through to my quartermaster to see if there are any other essential supplies we can get to you. We should be in transporter range in -" I shoot a questioning glance at Anthi.

"Thirty minutes at full impulse, sir."

"Thirty minutes."

He smiles, a twitchy smile but a genuine one. "It'll be a relief to have a Starfleet ship in orbit, Vice Admiral. Ready to talk to your quartermaster now. Godspeed."

The screen goes blank, comes back with the image of the planet. "I'm not sure atmosphere operation are advisable," Haught says.

"Well, very often we have to do stuff that isn't advisable. What's the problem?"

"I'm reading some odd chemical composition from the volcanic dust cloud." Haught's high forehead is furrowed in thought. "There are some heavy elements I didn't expect to see...."

Zazaru speaks up from the main science console; the soft-spoken chief science officer has been very quiet up to now. "The planet was surveyed briefly as a possible source of topaline ore, but the deposits were not considered sufficient for commercial exploitation. However, since topaline is often found near the planetary mantle -"

"Oh, of course," Haught interrupts. "Deposits blown out from deeper levels by the supervolcano. Makes sense."

"Glad to hear it." There is a certain amusement in the Trill scientist's soft brown eyes. "I'm reading something else, though, which is genuinely anomalous. Traces - just traces - of kironide. And an isotope, too, that I'm sure can't be native to the planet."

"Kironide?" Haught's eyebrows go up at that.

"In dangerous quantities?" I ask.

"Hard to tell." Kironide, in some circumstances, acts as a natural psionic amplifier. The problem is, even after two hundred years of study, no one is sure what the circumstances are. On the planet Platonius, it reliably imparts psychokinetic abilities to most humanoids... anywhere else, the results are a whole lot less reliable, and there are still no consistent theories as to why. Kironide dust in the air? That is one reason to be very, very careful.

"I don't understand about that isotope," Haught says.

"Niobium-91," says Zazaru. "In terms of the relative isotopic quantities on this particular planet, it is not something I would expect to find in any quantity... but there is a localized source reading, somewhere in the region of the Vulcan science team. The conclusion is obvious."

"It is?" Haught seems at a loss.

"Obviously," I take pity on him, "it must be what led the science team here in the first place. And, if it's not natural - well, draw your own conclusions."

"But Chara V has no native inhabitants..." says Haught.

"So," says Zazaru, "the likelihood is, it was brought from elsewhere. A spaceship. Possibly a long time ago, if my estimates of the radioactive decay chains are correct."

I frown. There are pieces of a puzzle, here, but it's a puzzle that's obstinately refusing to take shape. I crane around in my seat to look behind me, at where Commander Sirip is sitting, quietly, by a secondary security console. "Sirip, you're the nearest thing I've got to an expert on Vulcans... does any of this suggest anything at all to you?"

"Regrettably, no, sir," the Vulcan tac officer replies. "I can only offer the truism that, whatever reasons the scientists have for remaining in that location, it must be a compelling one. But nothing I have heard so far suggests any reason for the compulsion."

Well, I suppose it's too much to ask that he should know some bit of Vulcan lore that conveniently explains what they're up to. "Does the Chara system mean anything to you?" I look around the bridge. "Or anybody else, come to that."

"It is a system with habitable worlds, comparatively close to Vulcan," says Sirip. "It has been the subject of science missions before, naturally."

"I have a complete historical record," says Amiga.

"Of course you do," says Kophil. She smiles at him. I give it a few more months before she resprays herself in blue, bolts on a pair of antennae, and becomes my aunt by marriage. Perhaps I'm being simplistic, though.

"Unfortunately, nothing relevant seems to present itself," Amiga continues. "It is only a typical system, with no indigenous sentient forms, and no significant historical impact. Even the wars in this quadrant have, to date, only involved it peripherally."

"I have a sensor contact," Anthi announces suddenly, and every head turns towards her. "Something big, on an inbound vector to Chara V orbit. Trying to resolve it now...." Her eyes widen. "Sir, it's cloaked!"

"Yellow alert," I order. Can there be any good reason for a cloaked ship to be operating here? "Maintain course. Let's not let on we've spotted them."

"Maintaining course. Sir, I think - yes, they're decloaking."

"Put it on the screen. Maximum magnification - let's see what we've got."

One second, there is the empty starscape; the next, the stars shimmer, and a shape appears - the ugly winged bulk of a Romulan Scimitar, grey-green and massive.

"Weapons hot. Get me a read on that ship!"

"On it," says F'hon tersely. "Sir - incoming communication. They're hailing us."

I lean back in my command chair. "Let's have it."

The face that appears on the viewer is a harsh Romulan one, all sharp planes and angles, surmounted by iron-grey hair in an elaborate coil and braid, and with the coldest, lightest grey eyes I have ever seen. She looks at me with those icy eyes, and I sense a will behind them, a will and a purpose.

"Starfleet vessel. I am High Admiral Valikra, aboard the IRW Raven's Heart. You are no doubt at alert status. You may stand down. My mission is a peaceful one."

Stand down? I'll stand down in my own time. "You're a long way from Romulan territory, High Admiral. I'm afraid I'll have to ask you to specify your - mission."

"Naturally." Is there a hint of amusement in those eyes? "We have heard that some of our Vulcan brethren are in distress on the planet Chara V. We have come to offer them our unconditional assistance."

Heresy 1

Personal statement: High Admiral Valikra i-Taronat tr'Damasau, aboard the IRW Raven's Heart

We have been wounded too long.

For centuries, we have been torn apart, divided, at odds with our own people and our own heritage. The recent events have not worsened this; they have only thrown the problem into sharper relief. The wound remains, as it always has.

We called it the Sundering, and it is a good word, a true word. It is the wound that does not heal, the loss that is always felt. Like the phantom feeling of a missing limb.

We have tried to assuage that pain, to fill the gap, and each stopgap has proved worse than the last. The Klingons were faithless allies and untrustworthy enemies. The Remans - ah, those sad twisted mockeries of ourselves! And, after the treachery that cost us our second home, the attempts at alliances then... shabby dealings with the Hirogen, and now an effort to make us partners with the Elachi under the yoke of the Iconians...

It is not fitting. We are Rihannsu, we do not serve.

As for the rag-tag rabble of Mol'Rihan, their partnership with the vile Remans, their efforts to treat even-handedly with Klingons and Federation alike... they are not worthy even of my contempt.

The wound must be healed, and there is only one way to do that. We are Rihannsu, we do not depend on the charity of others. What we need, we take.

The time has come to heal the wound. On our terms, in our way.

The time has come to take back what is ours.