Heresy 59

T'Laihhae

"You are dismissed," I tell the centurion on guard duty at the brig.

She looks at me doubtfully. "Standard procedure is that prisoners should not be left unattended -"

"I am attending. You are dismissed."

She looks even more doubtful, but the habit of obedience is strong, even in the Republic fleet. She stands, salutes, and leaves. I square my shoulders and enter the brig. Then I turn, to lock down the doorway with my command code.

The brig is not large, but there is space enough to separate prisoners if need be. The crewmen from the shuttle are being held in cells near the doorway. I walk down the narrow passage between them, turn a corner, and stand before the only other occupied cell.

He is there. He is sitting on the bed, and he looks up as I approach. I see the light of recognition in his eyes.

"Centurion T'Laihhae," says Vorkov.

I stop before the force-field entrance to the cell. Now that the moment has come, I find it hard to think what to say to him. The knife in the wrist sheath feels immensely heavy.

"Should I address you as General, or Minister?" I temporize.

"Whichever you feel appropriate," he replies. There is no emotion, not even a trace of apprehension, on his long, saturnine face.

I have imagined a moment like this many times. In that imagination, I have cursed him, or lectured him, or simply killed him, each one a hundred times over. "Minister Vorkov, then. It is your current effective rank, after all."

"Quite so, Centurion," says Vorkov.

He is trying to needle me, I must not let him.... Then, a realization. He is trying to needle me because he needs to. He needs to feel he is asserting some sort of power over me... because the reality is - quite otherwise.

"I am disappointed in you, Minister," I say. "You have not sufficiently assimilated and understood the maxims and principles of Bresar. Procedures adapt to the realities of the situation, do they not? And the reality of this situation is... that my old Imperial rank is no longer relevant."

He raises one eyebrow. "You require me to address you as a purported Vice Admiral of the so-called Republic."

"I do not require it - Minister. For all your purported and so-called, you are a prisoner aboard a Republic warship that answers to my commands. Facts, Minister. You are surrounded by force fields and armoured metal and armed guards, and there is nothing purported about any of it."

He nods. "I accept that. So. It seems you have come a long way since our last meeting, Vice Admiral. Perhaps you should thank me for that."

"Oh," I say, "I have considered very deeply, Minister, what I owe you."

He grows agitated, at last. He stands up. "Am I, at least, to be permitted the Right of Statement before -"

"You may talk." I remind myself: that is all he can do.

"You hate me because I killed your friend -"

"Incorrect," I say, "or at least incomplete. You made me complicit in my friend's death, and that is why I hate you. And myself."

Vorkov's shoulders slump, a little, at that. "Then you... recognize your own role in what happened."

"Of course. And I have condemned myself for it - many times. But I do not let that cripple me... one's self is the one enemy with whom it is always necessary to come to terms."

"Necessary." He snarls. Somehow, I have cracked the façade. "What I did was necessary - disaffection was growing under my command, an example had to be made! The consequences of disloyalty had to be demonstrated -"

"Ah, yes," I say. "Another reason to be disappointed in you. You spoke to me so memorably of loyalty, and yet, here you are, a defector from the Tal Shiar to the Hegemony."

"Loyalty," Vorkov spits, "is a virtue only in subordinates."

"And you have never seen yourself as a subordinate?"

"Never. Valikra offered opportunities for advancement - and T'Nir offered opportunities to dispose of Valikra. T'Nir's death cult around the katra would have self-destructed in due course. And then - there could have been a ruler of a unified Vulcan and Romulan state. Not a fanatic, not an academic idealist, not a ghost from the dead past. I could have ruled."

"I fear you underestimate your opposition - or overestimate yourself. And you are wrong, in any case, about loyalty. If we are not trustworthy for those we command - then we have no right to command them."

"Moralistic nonsense."

"Not at all. Simple pragmatism. Sooner or later, they will realise that." I frown. There is a sound in the air, a dim rhythmic banging. "I think I hear my subordinates now, in fact. Working at the door to the brig. I should commend them, but they leave me with very little time -"

I twist my wrist, and the knife pops into my hand. I hold it up. "I killed your lackey Plectan with this," I say. "An assassin's weapon, with a poison reservoir in the hilt. I have not had time to replace the Dimorus rodent toxin I used on Plectan... but I did have the opportunity, during the journey from Andoria to Vulcan, to prepare a liquid suspension of Pasicide-7. It would be interesting, academically, to see what it does...."

My gaze meets his and holds it for what seems like a year.

Then I slip the knife back into its sheath. "I can live with an unsatisfied academic curiosity," I say.

Vorkov finds his voice. "I am... gratified," he says.

"You should not be. I intend to do the right thing, Minister, by the law and by treaty. You are wanted in the Federation for a heinous crime, and the evidence against you is more than sufficient. Do you know what they will do to you, in the Federation? They take rehabilitation very seriously." I find I am almost crooning the words. "They will work with you, Vorkov, over years and decades. Counsellors and therapists, psychologists and telepaths... they will bring you to an understanding of your crimes, and a genuine desire for atonement. You will resist, but it is for your good, so they will never give up. They will cure you, Vorkov. They will cure you of the disease of being you."

He does not reply. His face is stricken.

"There is hope, yet, though," I say sweetly. "I might leave you to the Federation, but the Tal Shiar are not inclined to be lenient with defectors. They may well send operatives to... cure that disease by a more radical excision. Should that happen, rest assured that I will shed no tears."

I hear the door of the brig burst open, hear the clattering of running feet on the deck. I turn as they come around the corner.

It is not the ones who know me best - my old comrades from Virinat and Crateris. Aitra is there, his face freshly lined with new worries, and his partner Retar... Dellis, her big homely face apprehensive... Zdanruvruk, determination in his eyes... and Commander Yousest, out of place as always in Starfleet uniform, his vestigial gills fluttering. It is not the ones who know me best... it is, perhaps, the ones who care about me the most....

"Sir -" Aitra begins, and stops. Zdanruvruk has a medical scanner in his hands: he points it at Vorkov. "He's... uninjured," he says, in a tone of blank amazement.

"Of course he is." I remember something, and add, with a brief smile, "Our equipment should not be tainted with the blood of a traitor."

And I turn and walk away. Behind me, I hear a single thump and crackle - Vorkov's fist, striking uselessly at the force field. I pay him no more mind. For the first time in a long while, I feel I can pay him no more mind.

"Sir." Dellis is at my elbow. "We were - we worried that -"

"That my history with Vorkov might lead me to take private vengeance. I can understand that."

Dellis shakes her head and looks sullen. "None of us knows what that - history - is," she says.

"Perhaps you should take the opportunity to ask Vorkov. In any case - it is over now." My heart is, curiously, light. "I have taken all the vengeance that I needed to take. Whatever was between Vorkov and me... is ended, now, and I have won." I smile, and the smile remains on my face. "And I am relieved to discover - I can live with that."

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.

Lit Challenge 14: Tainted

[Romulus and Remus are gone. You are one of the survivors, struggling to survive in the aftermath of unspeakable destruction.

These are dark and dangerous times for your people, as the Tal Shiar crack down on any dissent and mysterious beings unleash terror throughout the far-flung colony worlds.

You will be the one to reshape an empire. Gather allies, go undercover and find the proof that will rally your people to revolt.

Together, you will rise up against an oppressive regime and demand freedom. You will fight for your people.

You are the Legacy of Romulus.

Use this Literary Challenge as an opportunity to create the backstory for the Romulan Republic character you will be creating when Legacy of Romulus launches next month. This could be a simple biography, or as complex as a complete story of your history. Have fun!]

Three moons' light cast difficult shadows as Darus loped across the rocky ground, skirting the edge of the vast canyon that crossed the desert's face like a scar. Darus's own face was set, intent, feverish with concentration. One misstep - he knew these rocks, he knew them well - but one misstep would be enough -

And that was the least of his worries, of course.

His ears were alert, painfully alert, to the sounds of the night. There was the inevitable scuff and rattle of his own feet on the dry stones... was there something else? Animals lived in the desert, somehow; tiny hairless foxes, and slow torpid lizards, and nameless things with too many legs. But there was something else, too, echoes of his footsteps... that weren't echoes.

They were close. One of them was close. Darus fought to keep his nerves under control. He knew they were close - he had to let them close - once, at least -

Six hours to sunrise. By sunrise, it would be over, one way or another. He would reach the perimeter, he would find a transporter station... or he wouldn't.

Footsteps. Not his own. Very close, now.

The hunter loomed out of the shadow of a rock, features twisted in a grin of triumph; tall, black-armoured, a weapon in his hands. Darus slowed almost to a stop, his eyes narrowing, judging the situation.

"Halt!" the hunter commanded.

Darus's mouth was very dry. He breathed heavily, sucking at the thin dusty air of this world. The Hirogen stood there, his body armour blending with the shadows. A young one, Darus thought, an initiate, puffed up with pride at his first kill.

He pointed to the Hirogen's gun. "Are you hiding behind that, hunter?" he said, putting as much scorn into his voice as he could manage.

The Hirogen looked down as if seeing the weapon for the first time. "This?" he said, his scorn more than matching Darus's. "This is for dangerous prey." He tossed the weapon aside. Darus took the opportunity to sidle, inconspicuously, a few steps left.

"For such as you," the hunter continued, "I will use only my hands." He gestured with his balled fists. They were lethal enough weapons, Darus thought. His body tensed, but he kept his voice level as he spoke.

"You should be sure you know where you stand, hunter."

The hunter's eyes glittered in the moonlight as he stared. "I stand with my pack!" he answered. "And the pack stands with your Empress, who gives us hunting grounds - and prey, in traitors like you, Romulan!"

"That wasn't quite what I meant," muttered Darus.

His rangy body seemed to explode, to uncoil itself into a leaping kick, a martial arts strike that hammered into the Hirogen's massive chest. It was delivered with Darus's full strength; an unarmoured foe would have fallen with his sternum caved in. The Hirogen staggered at the force, took a step back. His foot came down on a rock, which moved underneath it. Arms flailing for balance, the hunter took another scrambling step, then another; then, finally, his foot came down on a rock which wasn't a rock at all, only a shadow. With a shriek, he toppled and fell, vanishing over the lip of the cliff. Darus stood up, every limb trembling. He wrapped his hand around a fist-sized rock and advanced, cautiously, to the edge of the precipice. Poised to throw, he looked down. It took a moment, in the dim light, to make out the scene. The Hirogen's lumpish shape was hard to pick out among the other lumps, of rocks, some twenty meters below. Darus relaxed, a little.

One down. One pursuer down, out of how many? But at least the odds were fractionally less against him. And at least, now, he had a gun.

He retrieved the weapon from where the hunter had thrown it, checked the charge and the settings. It was enough to make his spirits rise. Just a little.

"Damn you, T'Laihhae," he said aloud.

---

Two days before.

"Damn you, T'Laihhae," Darus said cheerfully, "why not at least try it?"

The slim young woman looked up at him, dark eyes watchful. "Your rock climbing? I don't care for broken bones, even if you do."

"So you'd rather stay here?" Darus made an expansive gesture which took in the whole of the dusty compound, the blocky administration building, the stark shapes of the barracks. "This has got to be the worst outpost in the entire Empire! Damn it all, at least climbing rocks is good for something. What else do you want to do? Sit around and work extra shifts? Listen to the educational broadcasts from our glorious leadership?"

T'Laihhae's eyes flickered from side to side. Her voice dropped a little as she said, "Please don't speak disrespectfully of the leadership."

"Oh, come on," said Darus. "It's just you and me here... haven't we known each other long enough to speak freely?"

T'Laihhae's gaze dropped. "Sometimes... you speak too freely, Darus. You should not be so - so critical."

"Why not? Honest criticism's needed sometimes. Like when someone's too repressed to try a new experience, say."

"Don't make light of it, Darus. Please. We should -" The young woman drew in a deep breath. "We should respect our leaders... because they're all we have. All that's left, after...."

Her voice trailed off. Darus remembered just how many of her family had died, in the disaster, in the painful aftermath.

His voice dropped. "Maybe not all we have," he said. "There are alternatives."

"Such as what?" asked T'Laihhae with asperity. "Refugee status on some Federation world? As well sell ourselves as slaves to the Klingons."

"There's always D'Tan's people."

T'Laihhae opened her eyes wide in astonishment. "The pipe dream of Mol'Rihan? Under the leadership of that... that academic idealist?"

"There must be more to him than that," Darus said thoughtfully. "Obisek's terrorists are prepared to work with him... and nobody ever accused them of idealism. Besides, have you noticed how much time on those educational broadcasts is devoted to rubbishing him? The powers that be wouldn't devote so much time to putting him down, if he wasn't a real challenge."

"You shouldn't say things like that," T'Laihhae reproached him. "Besides... how could we even reach him? It's as much a fantasy as D'Tan's politics."

"Well, now," said Darus, "that isn't strictly true, is it? The whole point of this outpost is to maintain the transporter network... beaming supplies from the mines and refineries to the orbital stations, for transfer to trading ships from all over the sector. Maybe in the old days they could monitor everything, but now they haven't a hope. Think about it, how easy it would be. An extra transporter signal or two, routed through the system onto a neutral ship - a claim for diplomatic immunity, or maybe a straight-up bribe to some captain - and anyone here could be on their merry way to Tau Dewa inside a week!" He grinned at her. "You mull that over. Me, I'm going to climb some rocks."

---

Cold and gritty, the rocks tore at the palms of his hands as he pulled himself up. Teeth bared in a grimace of effort, Darus reached the top of the rock spire, wriggled across it, lying flat, trying to keep the sounds of his movements indistinguishable from the night sounds of the desert.

He peered out, over the edge of the rock. Light stung his dark-adapted eyes. The Hirogen had built a fire. Two of them were standing by it, bulky bodies silhouetted against the flames; a third sat on a flat stone, staring into the blaze.

It reeked of complacence, of overconfidence.... It was meant to, of course. It was a trap.

All right, Darus thought. I can see three, the bait. Where are the ones I don't see? If I were them, where would I be waiting?

The rock spire was a natural marker; he had spotted it by the dim red reflection of the firelight.

They wouldn't expect him to have the gun. They would expect him to come in cautiously, to tackle the ones by the fire... the one who was sitting down, now, he would have his back to the direction they expected him to come. A broad, tempting expanse of Hirogen back... and hunters in cover waiting to gun him down as he made for it. In cover where?

At the base of the rock spire, of course. Darus grinned. He must have passed within meters of them already - but they were so limited, the Hirogen, they saw only what they expected to see, heard only what they expected to hear. He was Rihannsu.

If there is one thing we know, as a people, he mused, it is the strength of being unexpected.

Cautiously, hardly breathing, he worked his way around the top of the spire, eyes straining in the uncertain light of moons and fires. Complex shadows lay around the base of the spire, but eventually, he had them. Two hunters, crouching in makeshift foxholes, weapons ready, waiting to shoot... along the path they expected.

One of them was beneath an overhang of the rock. Darus reached out and down, found a loose stone, a chunk twice the size of his head. It made a faint grating as he dislodged it, it dropped silently, it hit with a dull, solid thunk. One hunter left. One of the ones by the fire looked around, troubled, but not quite alerted. Darus moved into position, forcing himself to do it quietly, silently. Every lesson he had ever had in mental discipline came back to him, now, guiding his limbs, his eyes, his breathing, even the beating of his heart.

He was in position. He leaped. He dropped.

The armoured body of the second ambusher didn't make for a soft landing, but Darus was braced for it and the Hirogen wasn't. He recovered first; his hands shot out, seized the hunter's thick neck, twisted with force and precision. The Vulcans had a word for this sort of killing, he thought. He couldn't remember it right now.

There was no time to think. He knew he'd made too much noise, this time. Now, he had to announce his presence. Decisively.

The gun was in his hands, spitting blue lightning across the night. One Hirogen dropped where he stood. The others had time, just, to reach their own guns -

Cold rage mounted in Darus, the controlled fury that was the legacy of his people. Shots flared into the darkness. Rocks shattered in blue fire, an instant after his body left them. For a few brief moments, there was a storm in the desert, a storm of lightning and death.

And, at the end of it, the Hirogen lay dead, and Darus pulled himself up to his full height.

At the end of the fight, the Rihannsu was the only one left standing. It was always the way.

---

One day before.

Darus stood, rigid, at attention, while Colonel Vorkov's cold eyes appraised him.

At length, the colonel turned his long, doleful, threatening face to one side, towards T'Laihhae. "Centurion T'Laihhae. You will relate the topic of conversation between yourself and Centurion Darus. You know the incident to which I refer."

T'Laihhae's face was graven in stone. "Centurion Darus believes he has discovered a flaw in our security, Colonel," she said flatly.

"Yes," Vorkov said, and turned to look at Darus again. "A means of desertion. With so few of the loyal military left, desertion is an exceptionally heinous crime." His gaze switched back to T'Laihhae. "Why did Centurion Darus discuss the matter with you? You have no security responsibility."

"I -" A muscle jumped, just briefly, in T'Laihhae's rigid face. "I believe Centurion Darus's ideas in this respect were not fully formulated, Colonel. It was - a speculation. Nothing more."

"But you reported it to the security authorities," Vorkov said. "As was your duty."

"Yes, Colonel."

"And Centurion Darus did not so report it."

"I do not know, Colonel." T'Laihhae's face was under control again, blank and impassive.

"I know. He did not." Vorkov's cold eyes were on Darus again. "Why not, Centurion Darus?"

"I -" Darus racked his brains. "It was as Centurion T'Laihhae says, Colonel. It was idle speculation on my part. I did not - I did not consider it worthy of security attention."

"You do not have security responsibility. That was not your decision to make."

"I -" Darus knew he was trapped. "I am in error. I accept your judgment, Colonel."

"An error." Vorkov's voice was almost kind. Darus knew that was when his superior was at his most dangerous. "Such an error might be misinterpreted, might it not? A suspicious mind might think that you yourself intended to exploit this security vulnerability."

"I am a loyal soldier of the Empire." The lie was almost palpable.

"Centurion T'Laihhae is a loyal soldier of the Empire. She has demonstrated that. You, Centurion Darus, will be given an opportunity to demonstrate your loyalty. Centurion T'Laihhae, you are dismissed."

For a brief instant, Darus thought he saw something in her eyes... fear, shame, grief? Then she saluted, turned briskly on her heel, and left.

Darus and Vorkov were alone. For an instant, Darus thought of attacking the man, taking his disruptor, fighting his way out of the building - Stupidity, he thought. He wouldn't stand a chance.

"You may consider yourself under arrest," Vorkov informed him, in that kindly voice. "You may protest... you may continue to describe yourself as a loyal soldier. You will be given a chance to be of service."

"Sir." Darus could think of nothing to say. Colonel Vorkov leaned back in his chair, steepled his hands in thought.

"You may demonstrate this security vulnerability. You will be taken to the perimeter of this base, and you will be released to make your way to a transporter substation. Should you reach the station and abscond, the vulnerability will be demonstrated. Should you abscond and return, voluntarily... then your loyalty will be demonstrated." Vorkov stared hard at him. "I tell you frankly, I do not expect this."

"I am a loyal soldier of the Empire."

"So you say. There are others in the service of the Empire - or allied to it." Vorkov actually smiled. "Our allies will be engaged, for the purposes of this exercise, to ensure that you do not attain your ends. It will be good for them. They grow so restive when they do not have the opportunity to hunt." The smile broadened. "So, Centurion Darus, one way or another, you will be of service to the Empire... whether you like it or not."

---

The transporter substation was a glowing jewel laid on the dusty bosom of the desert. Crouched beneath a boulder, Darus stared at it, longingly.

They knew he was making for it. It was as much a trap as the fire by the rock spire, perhaps more so. It was the one place they knew he had to come. There was no chance of reaching the next closest station, not before sunrise - and, in sunlight, he would be fully exposed; the hunters would find him, if the desert didn't kill him first.

The substation was maybe three hundred meters away. Darus ran through the options in his mind. Vorkov would already have changed the override codes, revoked his security clearance - that didn't matter. He could open an access panel and toggle in the settings he needed; Vorkov would need to replace the system's entire hardware setup to stop that. It would take maybe three minutes. He had to cross three hundred meters of desert, and buy three minutes of time at the end of it.

It would have been so much easier with help.... I'm sorry, T'Laihhae, he said to himself. I shouldn't have damned you. You trusted your superiors, you trusted the system, the world you live in; how could you know it was this bad? That it was ruled by merciless thugs like Vorkov, that Rihannsu lives could be traded to the Hirogen for favours? I will come back, he promised. I will come back for you, T'Laihhae, and I will make you see the truth. By the Elements I swear it.

Three hundred meters. His gaze swept across the ground, over and over again.

At least he had more equipment, now; spare guns, two knives, a Hirogen personal shield. Darus thought furiously, then unslung one gun from his back. His fingers worked busily for minutes; then, he placed the weapon carefully on the ground, scraped a loose layer of sand over it, and scuttled away from it on his hands and knees. He was committed, now, he had to move quickly.

There was another large boulder, some fifty meters closer to the substation. Darus reached it just in time, vaulted over it, crouched behind it -

The force chamber explosion of a Hirogen tetryon carbine, set on overload, made a very bright flash, a very loud bang, and an entirely satisfactory diversion.

This was no time for stealth; Darus ran, his breath burning in his chest, his feet somehow finding the right purchase, never stumbling on a shifting stone or tripping over a half-glimpsed obstacle. The desert was alive with blundering black-armoured shapes, dazzled by the blast, confused, some of them firing at shadows. Amid the confusion, there was a chance, just a slim chance -

He was almost at the transporter when the air ahead of him shimmered blue, then turned solid.

The Hirogen grinned down at him, towering above him; a massive, monstrous Alpha of the pack, securely confident in his own invulnerability.

This was it. This was the final fight. Darus felt himself grinning back.

---

The outpost was bleak in the colourless dawn light as T'Laihhae followed Vorkov down to the perimeter fence.

"Loyalty," the Colonel said, "is always paramount. But its importance may be said to increase in troubled times. It is in troubled times that we show our true selves. Any person may be steadfast while they are not confronted with challenges. It is in the meeting of those challenges that our character is revealed."

T'Laihhae stared at the black shapes approaching in the growing light. Hirogen hunters, striding along the ground for the most part, but a few were riding a battered military hover-truck. There was something on the truck's flat bed....

"For those who demonstrate loyalty," Vorkov continued, "there is advancement and preferment. The truly loyal do not yearn for such things - their service is enough in itself - but the rewards are the natural consequence of their actions. For those who demonstrate faithlessness - there is punishment, of course. And such punishment as will serve as an object lesson, for others whose loyalty is... more delicately balanced."

The hover-truck came to a halt. The hulking Hirogen leader stepped down.

"A good hunt!" he crowed, and slapped a balled fist into his cupped palm. "Fine prey, strong, brave and clever. The pack is stronger for his culling of our weaklings!"

T'Laihhae could see the shape lying in the truck, now. The Hirogen had done... things. His head was mostly intact, the features still recognizable. Of course, T'Laihhae thought, the Hirogen pack leader would want a trophy in good condition.

Vorkov nodded, briskly. "We are grateful," he said. He turned to T'Laihhae. "We shall discuss your opportunities for advancement, later. For now, though, attend to the details here. And see that this vehicle is properly cleaned." He sniffed, audibly. "Our equipment should not be tainted with the blood of a traitor." He turned on his heel and stalked off, back towards the administration building.

T'Laihhae addressed the Hirogen Alpha. "Please take whatever trophies you require," she said. "I will then take the vehicle and return it to the transport pool."

She did not watch what the Hirogen did next. She stood impassive, her eyes fixed on some distant point beyond the horizon, until the snarling, laughing pack had finished and loped away.

She was still staring into the distance when she reached up and took hold of the rank badge on her tunic. She pulled it away from the cloth, held the metal raptor in the palm of her hand, closed her fingers about it. Her hand became a fist, her knuckles turned white. Olive-green blood seeped between her fingers, trickled to the edge of her wrist, became a droplet that fell to the dusty ground. One drop, another, a third.

T'Laihhae opened her fist and looked down for the first time. The raptor badge was bent and twisted, green and sticky with her blood.

"Tainted," she said aloud, "with the blood of a traitor."

She dropped the badge into the dust. With a sudden, savage movement, she crushed it into the ground with her boot heel.

Then she got into the hover-truck and drove away, never looking back.