Deep Gate 1

2387

There was a light glowing at the far end of the instruction hall.

Steret repressed a frown; annoyance, too, was emotion. One of the students had evidently decided to work late; he would speak to them, make sure they understood the importance of keeping regular hour, the necessity to allow proper time for sleep, to rest the brain and maintain peak levels of cognitive ability. It was only logical. The students had the ability to comprehend logic.

He paced across the otherwise deserted hall, picking his way between the hemispherical study cells, heading for the one that remained lit, where everything else was dark.

As he approached, he saw who was in the cell, and realized that a more flexible approach might be required. The overwhelming majority of students at the Vulcan Academy were, obviously enough, Vulcan. But this one - He saw the hairless head, the round, blunted ears, and he brought to mind this particular student's circumstances.

He halted at the rim of the study cell. "Student Shemosh."

Shemosh had evidently not heard him approach; now, the student raised his head and turned dark, liquid eyes on Steret. The Vulcan struggled with a sudden surge of emotion. He had never had romantic feelings for males - had, indeed, repressed all such passions, except during the septennial indignity of the pon farr - but the emotional charge, the naked need for closeness, for comfort, in the Deltan's eyes -

"Instructor Steret," Shemosh said. "I - I am sorry. I didn't know -" He looked around him. "How late is it?"

"Very late. I was about to close the Hall for the night." Steret squatted down at the rim of the cell, looked at Shemosh. The Deltan wore a plain, white, student's robe. The console screen before him showed diagrams and equations - some problem in hyper-dimensional geometry, it seemed, though it was far beyond Steret's own competence. Shemosh was a postgraduate exchange student, already an expert in recondite areas of subspace physics; he was an immense asset to the Academy, to the Federation, to the cause of science as a whole. Too valuable an asset, Steret thought, to be allowed to squander himself. "I understand your difficulties. But you should rest."

"I -" The Deltan's hands clenched into fists, and Steret shuddered as another wave of raw emotion broke against his Vulcan discipline. "I - Oh, you are right. Of course you are right. But I wanted -"

"Your reaction is natural and understandable," said Steret. "You have suffered a tragic loss. An emotional response is inevitable."

"My tragedy?" Shemosh's gaze turned to the screen. "My tragedy is nothing, compared with -"

"The destruction of Romulus is a great loss, certainly," said Steret. "But for most of us, it is a thing too large to be felt, only to be comprehended as an abstraction. A definite, localized, personal loss, on the other hand -"

"Yes," said Shemosh. He turned his face back to Steret, met the Vulcan's gaze with his dark eyes. "Yes, I know, you do understand. I know your discipline only forbids the expression of emotion, Instructor, not the fact of it." He gave a wan, rueful smile. "I know that you are trying to be kind."

"Insofar as my position and my cultural background permit it, you are correct," said Steret.

"Thank you," Shemosh said softly. "It is all that anyone can do," he added.

The Hobus supernova had behaved like nothing in history. The radiation, which should have been only a harmless though brilliant light in Romulus's sky, five hundred years in the future, had taken some short cut through subspace and arrived in a matter of weeks, at an intensity that reduced the entire system to rubble and vapour. Billions had died. And one, individual tragedy among all those billions - the crew of a Deltan trade ship, a close-knit family concern, passing too close to the subspace rift at just the wrong moment. They had been so proud of their brilliant son, when he won his academic scholarships, when he went to study on Earth, then on Vulcan....

"The past cannot be altered," said Steret. "It can only be faced. My cultural background will only permit me to suggest that you face it - logically. To neglect your own health, your physical needs, is not logical."

"You are right," said Shemosh. He sighed, and stood up. He took one hard look at the image on the screen, then turned the console off. "I will - go to my quarters. And try to sleep."

"That is logical. I know it will also prove difficult." Steret stood up, too. "I regret that I cannot offer you greater assistance. Perhaps you should consult with a counsellor from your own culture, or one similarly skilled in the expression of emotion."

"It's a good idea," Shemosh said. His face was thoughtful.

"It is the best that I can offer you. Again, I regret that I can do no more. But the past is the past. There is nothing that any of us can do to change that."

Steret watched, impassively, as Shemosh clambered out of the cell, muttered something under his breath, and made his way across the darkened hall, out into the open air and the hot Vulcan night. Then he closed down the cell, made a final round of inspection, and retired.

But Steret found sleep hard to achieve that night, too. He had heard Shemosh's words as he left, and they puzzled him.

"Nothing any of us can do," the Deltan had said, "except wait, maybe."

Present Day

"Maintaining separation at five kilometres," Lieutenant th'Talish reported.

Captain Leaman grunted. "Not so long since I'd get worried, having a Klink that far up my - never mind," he said. "Time to target?"

"Closing to optimum scan range in seven minutes," Commander T'Tel answered from the main science station.

"All right," Leaman said. "Call the Klinks, let's tell them what not to expect."

He studied the tactical display. The mIn wo' showed up, precisely on station, five kilometres behind the USS Southmoor. Leaman could call up a visual, study the blocky, angular shape of the Naj'Sov science cruiser.... A botch job, he thought. Ugly, from its chisel prow right back to the oversized subspace radome covering most of its rear. A flying scrapheap, compared to the neat lines of his own advanced light cruiser. He shook his head. It had been easier when they were fighting the Klingons, dammit.

"I have the CO of the mIn wo' on screen," said Lieutenant Shaffer on comms.

"Let's have him." The Klingon commander's scarred face appeared on the main viewscreen. "Commander Qarn. Ready for your first test?"

Qarn bared his teeth. Leaman hoped it was a smile. "All systems optimal, Starfleet. But where is your target?"

"Dead ahead. It's just kinda hard to spot." Leaman smiled, himself. "This one's great for calibrating a base line. Just run your scan on the coordinates we've sent you, and you'll get zero."

"Zero on what?" Qarn asked. "Electromagnetics? Lidar ranging? Gravimetrics? Subspace interferometry?"

"Any of them," said Leaman. "All of them. Take a look at Galactic Object 4704, Commander. The biggest spot of absolute nothing in the known galaxy."

The anomaly was hard to spot, sure enough. This close, some stars were occulted by the convoluted black - mass wasn't the right word, Leaman thought; GO4704 had no mass. It emitted no radiation, either - nor did it reflect any, which was the only way to spot it. Matter passed through it, but came out the other side with its temperature reduced to that of cosmic background.... Where the energy went was just one of the puzzles about the object. There were several competing theories, but none had been verified, due to the effective impossibility of getting meaningful information out of the anomaly.

It was there. It was a mystery of space - harmless, unless you were unlucky enough to run into it. And it was, as Leaman had pointed out, a great place to set zero points on your sensor equipment.

"Helm, steer eight five mark zero," he ordered. "We'll get out of your field of view, Commander."

"Such excitement," the Klingon grumbled. "Very well. Let us test your zeroes, Starfleet."

Icons flashed around the mIn wo' on the tactical display. Qarn was running a full sequence on his new ship's active scanners, it appeared. Galactic Object 4704 looked... unimpressed, Leaman thought.

"Gravimetrics zero," Qarn said slowly. "Electromagnetics... zero. Temperature, absolute zero. I had not thought that achievable in nature. Subspace -" He leaned to one side, looking at something out of Leaman's field of view. "I thought you said this thing was all zeroes, Starfleet. I have theta-band subspace radiation here."

"Check the shielding on your sensor coils," said Leaman. "I'll bet you that's nothing but internal noise from your own ship's systems."

"I will take that bet, Starfleet. There is nothing wrong with my systems."

"Sir." T'Tel's eyebrow quirked. "I'm picking something up on our own sensors."

"What? Can't be. Double-check." Leaman activated a repeater screen, studied the feed from the science station.

"Positive for theta-band radiation," said T'Tel. "And I'm picking up some exotics. Readings consistent with anti-tachyon particles, though -"

"GO4704's been dead since it was first detected," said Leaman blankly. "Over a hundred and twenty years of just nothing -"

Qarn laughed, a huge explosive bark of scorn. "Nothing, you say, Starfleet? Look at it!"

"On screen. Visual." Leaman's mouth was suddenly dry.

Qarn's face vanished from the viewer, and in its place -

Galactic Object 4704 was a twisted toroid in shape - a shape which, given its black-on-black colour, had taken a long time to map. But there was no problem determining its shape now, not as it hung in the centre of the screen, tiger-striped with a pulsating rainbow of shifting colours -

The screen went blank. The Southmoor lurched violently, and a shower of sparks erupted from an overloaded console. Leaman's command screens blanked out, then filled themselves with static and gibberish. An automated alarm began to scream.

"What the hell just happened?" Leaman yelled. "Status report!"

"Working," said T'Tel. "We have - Sir, we appear to have inadvertently transected a radiation beam. Damage to several decks -"

"Warp power is out," added th'Talish. "Main deflector is shorted, non-operational. Structural integrity reads seventy-eight per cent. We still have impulse, I'm sealing our hull breaches -"

"Sir, the mIn wo' is hailing," said Shaffer.

"Let's hear them." Stunned, Leaman sank back into his command chair.

Qarn's face, when it reappeared on the screen, was flickering and scarred with static. "Starfleet. How bad is it?"

Leaman swallowed. "Warp power is out. No word on casualties yet -"

"I think you may have been lucky. Someone or something is tickling your galactic object, Starfleet. Tickling it with a radiation beam more than powerful enough to disable your ship. Tickling it hard enough to get a response." The Klingon's face was very serious. "I will tow you clear of the immediate danger zone, and my engineers are ready to assist you in making repairs. After which, I suggest we head back to Starbase 271 and make a report. This has become something more than an exercise in calibrating my sensors."

Heresy 60

The Warden's body flickered for an instant as his holographic matrix went through a scheduled self-test. He looked down from the guard post, at the light bridge that led to the deepest, most secure levels of Facility 4028.

The holographic guards were marching over the bridge now, faceless in their reflective helmets, their armour gleaming with personal shielding, their weapons at the ready. Eight of them. The slight figure of the Vulcan woman in their midst was almost hidden from the Warden's view.

An indicator flashed on the control board. The cell door was opening. A moment later, the cell started to register occupancy. The door closed again. The Warden fancied for a moment that he heard the dull boom of the door swinging shut, echoing through all the lightless rock that held the Federation's most secure detention facility. He reproved himself. He was not programmed for fancies - and, anyway, those doors did not swing, they slid.

"T'Nir of Vulcan," he read aloud from the display. "Guilty of treason, murder and conspiracy to commit genocide."

Confirmed, came the electronic message from the ISIS computer.

"She is of previous good character, was acting under mental influence, and pled guilty to all charges. These facts should mitigate in her favour."

Noted.

"Against this, we must consider the unquantifiable factors of the mental influence. We have no guarantees that it has lapsed, and lack a full understanding of its potentialities. The matter is under investigation by experts on Vulcan, but no conclusions have been reached."

Also noted.

"In view of this, all precautions must be taken to ensure the continued security of the facility." The Warden was not programmed for professional pique, either - but, when he considered some events earlier in his career, he felt it anyway.

I concur, said ISIS.

"Condition: security ultimate, then."

Confirmed. Security ultimate.

The light bridge winked out. On the other side, the guards, their work done, discorporated, their holo-matrices returning to the ISIS network.

The Warden continued to look down. His vigilance was mechanically perfect, mechanically patient... eternal.

---

The cell was spacious, and not uncomfortable. But it was still a cell.

T'Nir sat on the bed for a long, long time, her head hanging. Finally, in a quiet voice, she began to speak.

"I am imprisoned under conditions of maximum security, among artificial minds I cannot influence. The artifact, the source of my power, has been taken from me and is being held at a cosmic distance from here. What remains of the will of this fleshly vessel is now implacably opposed to my own. My existence is known, my political and military power has been destroyed. My enemies are on their guard against me."

She raised her head. Her eyes were burning.

"These things are setbacks. And setbacks yield to the disciplined mind."

Heresy 58

Ronnie

Two of Twelve is wittering at me about brain activity and heart rates and what is wrong with mine. I ignore her as I bend over Tylha. For a moment, I think she's not breathing. Then she shivers, and her antennae twitch; her eyelids flutter open, and she even manages to say something in Andorian which my combadge is too prissy to translate. I'll take that as a good sign.

When the katric ark went dim, and the psi field faded out, everyone rushed in. Tylha's CMO and a couple of Vulcan medics are crouched over Stiak, scanning him. I could have told them there was no point. Living people don't have faces like that.

The androids, Amiga and Ada, are getting smoothly to their feet. "Self test commencing," they say in eerie unison. They stand quite still for a couple of seconds, then chorus, "Self test completed and satisfactory." I stare. Ada turns her metal eyes to me, and explains, "We are both the same model, sir, after all."

She seems totally calm and unfazed by it all. Oh, to be a machine, never to know fear or panic or confusion... wait, no. Been there, done that, worn the T-shirt. Not for me, thanks, not ever again.

Ahepkur is trying to scan the androids with her tricorder, while also keeping a phaser pointed at the katric ark. A couple of the Vulcan security guys are edging into the doorway -

And everyone's eyes turn to T'Nir as she unfolds from her meditation pose and stands up.

"For the moment, I am myself," she says in a small voice.

Ahepkur levels her phaser a fraction of a second before the security guards do the same. T'Nir pays no attention to them. She takes a single step forward, and touches the katric ark with her fingertips.

"Bresar is... in abeyance. I cannot say for certain that he is destroyed. But for the present... I am myself again."

A gasping voice comes from the floor behind me. "How can we possibly be sure?" Tylha asks.

"A logical question. You cannot," says T'Nir. "I will do what I can to prevent Bresar's resurgence... I have done all that was possible, in the past." The recordings. Of course. "But it is unlikely to be sufficient, once Bresar has recovered from the psychic shock of Stiak's... action. Bresar's mind is powerful and strongly driven to survive. Moreover, this artifact was crafted specifically for him."

Her voice is calm, toneless, and logical. One thing I'm sure of, it's a Vulcan speaking.

"At present, the katra of Bresar is to some extent divided between two vessels - the katric ark and myself. To render him harmless, it will be necessary to sequester both vessels in widely separate locations."

"Or destroy one," I say, "or both."

"Conceivably. I am not sure that the katric ark can be safely destroyed with any technology currently available to us, though. Bresar is a survivor, and he anticipated many methods of destruction."

I can imagine. Or maybe I can't. Even if we dropped the damned thing into the sun... I wonder, about a star haunted by the ghost of Bresar.

"As for myself -" T'Nir makes a dismissive gesture. "The katric ark should be kept for study - under the strictest possible safety constraints." She hesitates. "I, too, should be kept under strict controls. This is appropriate, for many reasons." She turns and takes a step towards Stiak's body. "The Hegemony of Bresar must be repudiated and its organization dismantled. In support of this... it is necessary that criminal charges should be brought against me. I will... I can... offer no defence. In the public interest, I will accept the maximum penalties for my actions." She takes another step forwards.

"Even though it was Bresar acting, not you?" Tylha asks, hoarsely.

"That is not relevant. It is impossible to deal with Bresar, without dealing with me. Besides, I can never be sure of my own level of complicity, in accepting Bresar's mind into mine. It is logical that I should accept this." She takes one more step, and stands over Stiak's body. She looks down. "In any case... my life is over."

I look at her face. I didn't even know that Vulcans could weep.

Heresy 55

Tylha

The blackout lasts only a fraction of a second... yet things seem to have changed in its wake. Something is wrong - I can't see where, but something is wrong -

That's it. My senses. I can see just fine, but my antennae... nothing is registering, no feeling, no taste to the air. As if I've gone numb from the forehead up. And somehow the light is - wrong....

It's disorienting, but it's not going to stop me. I raise the pulsewave and point it towards T'Nir. Her eyes are open now, and she studies me, smiling faintly. Then other things start to click -

Stiak's eyes are wide open, too, and he is standing... and his attitude is one of abject fear. And the table, that held the katric ark... the table is empty, now.

"It's over, T'Nir," I say, and my voice sounds hollow and weak.

"A gun," T'Nir says. "You think you can stop me with a gun."

I press the trigger. The pulsewave makes a faint whining sound, but nothing else happens. T'Nir's smile widens.

"Vice Admiral Shohl." Stiak speaks now. "You - you should not be here."

"No," says T'Nir dryly. "Indeed not."

I work the gun's action, loading the secondary function - the grenade launcher. There's no way to set a photon grenade to stun, and at this range it will turn T'Nir's unprotected body into hamburger. I know I'm supposed to take her alive, but I have a dreadful fear of this situation - I pull the trigger.

The grenade drops out of the end of the barrel, hits the stone floor with a dull ringing sound, and rolls away.

"A monster," says T'Nir in a voice dripping scorn. "A monster with blue skin, and odd-shaped ears, and antennae... and of course a death ray. So feeble. An image to frighten schoolchildren."

The voice is... wrong, as if it carries overtones of someone speaking in a different register. And besides, T'Nir knows me, knows what an Andorian is.... My skin crawls. "You're not T'Nir," I say.

"How perceptive of you. Actually, some of me still is. Enough to use... enough to fool people."

"You're Bresar."

"Silly little monster. Of course I am."

"There was enough left," Stiak says softly, "to deceive me."

"You," says the thing with T'Nir's face, "wanted to be deceived."

"It's still over," I say. "I don't know what sort of damping field you're using on my weapons, but it won't stop a strike from further away. I have a ship in orbit - for that matter, this building is surrounded right now -"

T'Nir throws back her head and laughs at that. The sound is chilling. "Oh, dear," she says. "This building is surrounded? However did they manage that?"

"Look out of the window, Vice Admiral Shohl," says Stiak in dead, hopeless tones.

I step across the stone floor, carefully skirting T'Nir and her three silent acolytes sitting behind her. Between two tall bookshelves, a window opens onto the garden beyond. I look out.

The garden is still there, the plants still green and verdant. Above them, the sky - the sky is glowing yellow, and cut with gleaming facets. I swallow, hard, and turn to Stiak.

"We're inside the katric ark?"

"The important part of you is," says T'Nir. "The mind. The meat is left in the outside world, of course. One may last a long time without meat. I survived unimpeded for more than two millennia." She sniffs. "And you should not refer to this device as a mere katric ark. It took six psi-artificers of the house of T'Sirn a year to create this artifact - it would not have been possible, even so, had I not used some arts I know to enhance their intellectual capacities -"

"We know of these arts," Stiak says. "The cerebral amplification, sooner or later, burns out the brain."

"In a good cause. My cause. I have never shrunk from using the technique. Silly little monster, are you planning to hit me?"

I let my arm fall to my side. I thought it would probably be futile.

"You have destroyed my material power," says T'Nir, "but you cannot touch me. I assure you, the artificers of T'Sirn made quite sure this vessel was indestructible. No one before or since has had such skill in working kironide. I made sure of that. Preserved, in here, I am safe forever. And, sooner or later, I will find other minds, who will let me re-emerge into the material world - if and when I wish it."

"You were defeated before," I say. "You fled from Vulcan, all the way to Chara V - and you died there, Bresar. Talk all you like, you're still dead. Dead and gone."

"How little you understand. I did not flee. The people of Vulcan showed ingratitude, so I left. And how have they fared without me? Squabbling and brutalizing each other, then finding a sterile unity under the philosophy of a bloodless pacifist... then going out into space and mingling with the likes of you." She laughs. "I wish I could have seen their faces, when my descendants first discovered your kind. Intelligent life among the stars! How disappointed they must have been, to find nothing but a cheap caricature of life, an image from a child's picture book walking around and pretending to think...."

"At least we're better than you," I say hotly. "You think you're the only psychic vampire the Federation's ever encountered? You're not even the first one I've run into. You can be beaten, Bresar, and you will be. By us. The cheap caricatures."

"Vice Admiral Shohl," says Stiak, "be careful."

"Oh, quite," says T'Nir. "You cannot harm me, or even anger me, but you could very easily bore me, and that would be worse, for you."

"Why?" I ask. "Are you planning to bore right back at us? On the current showing, I admit, you'll be good at it."

"This world is as I wish it," says T'Nir. "At least, once I have my full complement of powers." She makes a quiet tutting noise. "I suppose that cannot be put off much longer now. And it is unfortunate... I do not have all that I would wish. Seven wills, you see, seven minds - the artifact is optimally configured with seven coordinated mentalities. You understand now, I take it, the symbolism of the seven-pointed star? Seven rays of power, united to serve my will."

I stop breathing for a moment. Me, Stiak, the three ministers... and T'Nir herself, whatever there is of her... and the mind of Bresar. Is that what awaits me? To be fused into a composite mind, under Bresar's domination, forever?

"Oh, no," says T'Nir. Is she reading my mind, or just my face? "No, you are not suitable at all for inclusion, monster. No more are you," she adds, turning to Stiak. "Your guard technique against mental invasion matters much less than you think... but you are a scientist. Dry, sceptical, passionless little minds. Politicians, now, they are much easier to handle." She gestures at the three silent figures sitting behind her. "Venal politicians have their uses, in the material world; they can be bought. But honest ones - ones who believe in a cause - those are suitable for my purpose. If they believe in something, they can be made to believe in me."

"But -" Stiak's voice has a catch in it. "T'Nir - she was never concerned with - with politics -"

"She believed in something." The voice is gloating, malevolent. "She believed in you."

Stiak makes no reply. His face is ashen. T'Nir rises to her feet, still graceful. "I would have preferred to have the whole of my little... coterie," she says. "But the Romulans failed me. They died, or they fled." She sniffs. "They fled from Surak and they fled from me. Dying and fleeing seems to be all that these Romulans are fit for." She turns to address the three ministers. "Since they are not here, I will require everything from you."

"Of course," says T'Nos in a trance-like voice.

"That is only logical," says Silit in the same tones.

T'Nir stands and looks down on them, and they change. Before my eyes, a faint haze, like steam, starts to rise from their bodies... and it thickens, becomes opaque, hiding the shapes of the three Vulcans from view. I'm reminded, hideously, of the roiling clouds in Storm Command. T'Nir steps forward into the cloud, and inhales, long and loudly, breathing it in, breathing all of it in...

The cloud clears. Silit, T'Nos and Vorruk are gone.

"You two are not suitable." The bass registers of a powerful masculine voice are louder and clearer now, behind T'Nir's words. "And your conversation has already grown tedious... now, you may amuse me in other ways."

I can't help myself; I lunge for her, my hands clawed, reaching for her throat. But she seems to recede, suddenly, into the distance - and the walls, the floor, the whole structure of the library suddenly comes apart, the pieces all flying into a faceted yellow sky, and I fall, and fall....

---

And I land. Hard, on a gritty stone surface, the breath knocked out of me. I roll, and struggle gasping to my feet. The strange light, the blindness in my antennae, are still confusing me.

Nearby, I hear a weak groan. Stiak.

I help him to his feet, then look around, trying to take stock of our new surroundings. We're on a level surface of stone slabs, some narrow, some broad - it stretches out as far as I can see, in all directions, vanishing into a heat haze, beyond which I can see, in the distance, the red rolling desert hills of Vulcan. Stiak is gasping for breath, evidently winded worse than I was. There is no sign of T'Nir.

A grating noise behind me: I turn around. The narrow slabs of stone are rising out of the ground, becoming walls around us, walls that enclose us in a maze of narrow passages. Stiak says, "No..." in a hopeless moaning tone.

"Stiak." I take him by the shoulder and shake him. "What's going on?"

"It is -" Stiak coughs and swallows, hard. "This is the Shifting Maze of Kham-Sen. It was - a place of execution, in the times of the historical Bresar. Or was reported as such - I am not convinced it was ever built, in reality -"

"How does it work?"

"You have seen how it works. Just now. Each section of wall is hydraulically operated; they extend or retract in a random pattern. It is designed... so that the victims believe that there is a way out. So they hurry, endlessly, through the maze, in search of the configuration that they believe will permit them to reach an exit."

"While Bresar looks down from above, and has a good laugh," I say. "Well, where is he, then?"

Even as I speak, the shadow falls over me. I turn around, and look up.

He is a powerfully built Vulcan male, middle-aged, his dark hair lightly touched with grey, his hawkish features seamed and lined. He looks down on us with black eyes, and his mouth twists into an amused sneer.

He is somewhere around fifteen hundred metres tall.

I think we have a problem.

---

"So, he's just going to watch while we... run around," I say.

"There is little point in running," says Stiak. "We know there is no escape."

"We'd better move, anyway," I say. "If we stay here, he'll start thinking we're boring again. And then he'll come up with something worse." I point at random. "That way."

"We should stick close," says Stiak. "The walls may rise suddenly and separate us.... though I do not know what we can accomplish, together or separately."

"There must be something we can do. Besides - we're not really here, are we? This is all some sort of mindscape, a programmed hallucination. Can we die here?"

"I suspect," says Stiak, "that we cannot... but we will feel the normal needs of our corporeal bodies. Starvation, dehydration, lack of sleep... they will reduce us, ultimately, to a mere mass of pain, a mindless survival. In such a state, we will finally be assimilable by Bresar. A sort of... basic foodstuff... for his psyche."

"I think I'd prefer to avoid that." A grating sound; the walls are shifting again. I hang on to Stiak as the maze changes around us. I should have seen that coming -

"Wait a minute," I say. "Antennae."

"I do not understand," says Stiak.

"Ever since coming in - here - I've not been able to perceive anything with my antennae," I say.

"That is unsurprising. Bresar has no knowledge of Andorian antennae and no subjective understanding of the perceptions you receive through them. So he cannot create those sensations, within this reality."

"Which tells us something. This isn't real, and Bresar is fallible. This mindscape isn't perfect, so it can't be a perfect trap."

The walls change again. Stiak stumbles and falls, leaning against one. "Forgive me," he says, "but I do not see how the fact that you are partially blind... helps us in any way." He moans. "It does not have to be perfect. It only has to be good enough."

"We're inside a psionic artifact," I carry on, doggedly. "All right, Bresar had it made, he knows how it works - but our minds are inside it, too. Surely we can influence its workings, somehow? You're trained in these things, aren't you? In a small way, maybe, but that might be all we need."

Stiak shakes his head. "I do not know how far I can trust my own mind. I do not know how much of - what I have done - was through my own volition, or through the influence of Bresar. That mind is both subtle and powerful, Vice Admiral Shohl."

"Call me Tylha," I mutter.

Stiak turns haunted eyes on me. "Tylha. The Hegemony has done - terrible things. I know that now. And I honestly do not know whether I did them through compulsion, or because I was persuaded by my wife's or Valikra's rhetoric, or because I genuinely thought they were the right thing to do. I do not know how guilty I am."

"Worry about it later. For now, we have to think of some way out."

"But there is none," says Stiak despondently. Then there is a grating noise, as the walls move again -

And, unbelievably, there is another sound.

I look down in astonishment at my chest. My combadge chirps again, insistently. I stare at Stiak, whose eyes are round with amazement too. Hesitantly, I reach up and touch the badge. "Shohl here."

"Holy moly, it freakin' works. Amazing," says a familiar voice.

"Ronnie?"

"Hang in there, kiddo. You are not losing your marbles, this is really me, in the flesh and kicking. Um, except for the flesh part, I guess. And the kicking."

"Who is that?" Stiak asks.

"Veronika Grau, call me Ronnie, everyone does. Listen, you would not believe what we're doing to get you out of this. My crew and your crew and the Vulcans, it's all go this end, really."

"How are you speaking to me?" I ask.

"Any organic brain getting into the psi field is going to get zonked, pronto. But the androids - your Amiga and my Ada - aren't quite as badly affected. So, we've got a sort of daisy chain set up - Amiga has grabbed hold of you, and Ada's grabbed Amiga, and I get to grab Ada and then use my remaining nanites to make a neural bridge to your cortex. We're using the androids and Two of Twelve as a telephone exchange. And I hope Two of Twelve is really annoyed about it."

I shake my head in disbelief. "OK," I say. "I'm not going to pretend it's not a relief to hear your voice...."

"But you don't need moral support, you need help, fair enough. What's your actual situation?"

"We're trapped - Stiak and I - inside a generated mindscape -" Quickly, I fill her in on what's happening. At the end of it, a low whistle comes from the combadge.

"OK," says Ronnie, "OK. So I get the picture. I suppose the trick now is going to be getting you out of the frame.... Look. Dorok is bringing in some psionic tech-heads from the Vulcan Academy of Sciences, I'll give them what you've told me, maybe they can crack it. Hang tough, kiddo. We will get you out of there. Dunno how, yet, but hey, I'm an optimist. Maybe you can, I dunno, fight Bresar for control of the local reality?"

"Fight him how?" I ask.

"Well, y'know, physically. Direct combat being a metaphor thingy for psychic influence. Kind of thing."

I look up at the towering giant figure. "He's got a bit of a weight advantage," I say. "And reach."

"So find an equalizer. Or use your mobility advantage. Sting like the butterfly, float like the bee. Whatever, you know what I mean."

Stiak has been sitting by me, muttering inaudibly to himself, moving only to keep near me when the walls shift. Now he raises his voice and says, "It may be possible."

"What may?" Ronnie and I ask it together.

"This - link. It is something which Bresar would not permit, were he aware of it. And that means that he is not aware of it. Tylha is right, his control of the perceived local reality is not total." Stiak seems to be gazing into space, theorizing aloud. "If we can find something - some element - to use, which Bresar does not understand or anticipate... ideally, something he cannot use T'Nir's knowledge to compensate for.... Yes."

"Yes, what?" I demand.

"I think I can influence local reality... just enough, for an equalizer. A new factor, whose potentialities Bresar does not know, and which I happen to know... impressed T'Nir." He takes a deep breath. "Tylha, I will need your fullest cooperation."

"All right," I say guardedly. "But what -"

I never finish the sentence, because his hands are suddenly on my head, and there is a roaring in my ears.

"My mind to your mind," is the last thing I hear him say, "your mind to my mind...."

Heresy 53

Tylha

The planet hangs, red and brooding, in an empty sky.

I've never seen the space around Vulcan so devoid of traffic. Of course, we've left what remains of the Hegemony fleet near Andoria... and every commercial craft either wisely steered clear, or was commandeered for use as a bomber in the attack.

But there is nothing wrong with Vulcan's planetary defence grid, and Spirits of Earth feels nakedly exposed as she cruises towards the planet.

"Does that code T'Laihhae gave us check out?" I ask.

F'hon Tlaxx nods warily. "As far as I can tell, skipper. We won't know, of course, until we actually try to use it."

"We're in range of Vulcan Spacedock and about a thousand smaller satellites and stations," I mutter. "If they start shooting, what are our chances?"

Anthi looks at me, pauses for thought, then says, "Less than ideal, sir."

"All right." I stand. "F'hon, set it up. And flood the data channels with our package as soon as you can."

The Bolian taps busily on the comms console, then turns to me. "All yours, skipper."

I stare hard into the viewer. I don't know how many people are seeing me now. T'Laihhae's pre-empt code should put me on public viewscreens all over Vulcan....

"This is Vice Admiral Tylha Shohl of the Federation starship Spirits of Earth," I say. "I have come here directly from Andoria, where Federation, Imperial Guard and Romulan Republic forces have defeated an attack by the Hegemony fleet - an attack with the intention of destroying Andoria.

"We are transmitting, over our data channels, evidence to justify this claim. Evidence of the attempt to poison Andoria's atmosphere, of the attack on Andoria's data networks, of the strikes by relativistic weapons - and, finally, the attempted use of an isolytic device, a weapon banned by every known interstellar nation because of its disruptive effects on subspace."

And I feel a small stab of personal grief, there. The USS Hammersmith was my first command... all that time ago, during the nightmare at Vega Colony. She was a good little ship, and she didn't deserve to go like that.

"Let me be clear on this: we do not hold the people of Vulcan to account for this. We are not here to start a war with the Hegemony, or to demand changes to the government of your planet. But we know who ordered this failed attack. We have a list of names, a specific list, of those in your government who conspired at this. T'Nos, Minister of Thought; Vorruk, Minister of State; Silit, Minister of Defense; Vorram, Minister of Trade; Vorkov, Minister of State Security... and T'Nir, wife of Hegemon Stiak, and, we believe, the lynchpin of the conspiracy - and the murderer of Hegemon Valikra.

"We are not here to fight a war or to debate the legitimacy of the Hegemony of Bresar. We are here to take those named individuals into custody, and return them to the Federation to stand trial on a charge of attempted genocide." I glare into the empty viewer. "We await your response."

F'hon touches his console. "Screen off," he reports.

"Did it get through?"

F'hon nods. "I tapped in to the public comms nets. You got through, skipper. And I'm getting confirmation that our evidence package was read by someone's computers, at least."

"So what now, sir?" Anthi asks.

"We wait for a reaction. Either the Vulcans will start talking, or they'll start shooting."

Anthi looks at the tactical display. "Talking would be preferable, sir," she observes.

F'hon's console beeps for attention. "Looks like you might get your wish," he says.

"They've got enough manpower to talk and shoot," I mutter. "Let's hear it."

The viewer brightens, showing a man's face; narrow-featured, olive-skinned, dark-haired, with typical Vulcan ears and winged eyebrows. "I am Dorok, Commissioner for Transportation," he says. "Vice Admiral, we have received your transmission. I am acting on behalf of a committee of interested persons - I do not speak for the Hegemony -"

Oho. My antennae twitch. "What do you - interested persons - want from me?" I ask.

"Clarification is essential. The Hegemony Navy attacked Andoria in force. What is the status of their fleet?"

"Defeated. Destroyed or captured - there's been substantial loss of life on both sides. You'll notice that High Admiral D'Kalius is not on our list of named conspirators - he's beyond the Federation's judgment now, has been since his isolytic weapon blew up."

"I see," says Dorok. "Vice Admiral, you must be aware that the rise of the Hegemony on Vulcan has not occurred without substantial public debate. Your arrival, with this news, necessitates a resumption of this debate, with - a heightened intensity. The news that the Hegemony Navy is no longer a factor will... influence the discussion. Please take no action until I speak with you again." And the screen goes blank.

"What do you make of that?" F'hon asks.

"Committee of interested parties," I muse. "I think we just fired the starting gun on a counter-revolution. And if this Dorok's got control of off-planet communications already...."

"Still no hostile action from the satellite defences," Anthi says.

"Commissioner for Transportation?" F'hon says. "Doesn't sound like much."

"Pull up some information about him from the planetary net. My guess is, he's a leftover from the original, legitimate Vulcan government - not important enough for the Hegemony to replace him." And concerned enough about the issues to get a group of - interested parties - together. I feel my antennae starting to rise. Things are looking up.

Something cold presses against my neck and hisses. "Hyronaline," Samantha Beresford says crossly, pocketing her hypospray as I turn. "You needed it. You need a full check-up, too, between combat stress, and getting caught in the fringe of a nuclear explosion, and - look, I know Andorians don't have a regular sleep cycle, but you do need some sleep." She glowers. "Get some. Or the next time I sneak up on you with a hypo, it'll be loaded with sedatives."

She's right, of course, I've been running on empty for far too long. "Not now, Doctor," I grumble at her.

"All right," she says, "not now. But soon."

"Soon." I sit down. "Depends on how long this takes."

And we wait.

---

"There is movement on the planetary surface," Zazaru reports. "More than one might expect, I mean."

At least an hour and a half has passed. I am twitching in my chair, trying to restrain myself from pacing up and down the bridge. I don't want to think about what things must be like on the Messalina....

"Commissioner for Transportation doing his stuff?" F'hon asks.

"It might be troop movements," says Zazaru.

"We can't intervene unless some legitimate body asks us to," I mutter. Prime Directive. I've never felt so constrained by it.

"Stiak's takeover was virtually bloodless," Anthi says. "I'd expect any counter-revolution to be much the same. The Vulcans will settle their differences logically."

"Or try to," I say, "before they resort to bloodshed."

I look at the viewer, at the dusty red world turning beneath me. Vulcan. Those desert sands have run green with its people's blood so many times in the past. This planet's history is steeped in conflict and violence, before the Vulcans learned to discipline themselves and turn away from that path - and they have not always succeeded, even in recent history. This aberration out of their deep history... might it be the start of another cycle of wars for them?

I hope not. Fervently.

"I'm getting something," Anthi says. "Energy spikes from Spacedock -"

A line of golden light traces itself suddenly across the screen. I sit bolt upright. "Red alert!"

"Phaser lance," says Anthi, "but it wasn't aimed at us... one of the smaller stations." She turns to me, eyes grim, antennae ferociously stiff. "Reading that station... totally destroyed."

"Signal coming in," says F'hon.

"On screen!"

Dorok's face appears on the viewer. "Please do not be alarmed, Vice Admiral. Matters are well in hand."

I keep my voice steady. "Mind telling me who's shooting at whom?"

"A security unit remaining loyal to the Hegemony had access codes to orbital weapons. They were not amenable to persuasion, so extreme measures had to be employed."

"You have control of the main orbital station?"

"We have. With most of the military personnel absent, it was simple to persuade the remaining officers and crew to renounce the Hegemony. The methods used by Stiak's people in maintaining control have - aroused some antipathies - among the bulk of Vulcan's citizenry. Without the implied threat of military intervention, support for the Hegemony is declining at a precipitous rate."

"So your counter-revolution is going to plan?"

"Events would bear that interpretation." Dorok glances at something off to the side. "Ah. Information. The main governmental buildings in ShiKahr have been successfully occupied by our forces. The principal power stations and data centres are already in our hands, and I believe we have just demonstrated our control of the orbital stations. Vice Admiral... I understand that you may not have sufficient diplomatic status to approve this... but, provisionally, I believe it is now possible for Vulcan to apply for readmittance to the Federation."

I can't believe the feeling of relief that washes over me when I hear that. "The President said the door would remain open," I say, "and I certainly don't have the diplomatic status to contradict him. So - um, equally provisionally - welcome back."

"Thank you, Vice Admiral Shohl," says Dorok gravely. "I will now attempt to establish the whereabouts of those... named individuals... you discussed. It is in our interests, too, for them to be taken into custody, since they constitute the hard core of the Hegemony leadership. Expect more news from me shortly." And the screen goes blank again.

"We're winning," I say softly. "I think it's the first time in a long while that I've felt we were winning...."

"It might not be over yet," Anthi warns. "Sir, the red alert -"

"Oh, yes. Cancel that." I lean back in the command chair. Samantha Beresford's suggestion of sleep is starting to sound more like a good idea.

But only a few minutes pass before Dorok comes back. "The Hegemony's remaining security forces have, for the most part, been dissuaded from action," he says. I wonder how permanent the dissuasion is, but I say nothing. "An official statement will be issued shortly from the central ministry in ShiKahr, repudiating the Hegemony."

"I see," I say. "Are congratulations in order, First Minister?"

"That might be premature." I wonder what happened to the old First Minister, the one Stiak replaced. "In any case," Dorok continues, "I have some news regarding the Hegemony leaders. The Romulan Vorram, I regret to say, resisted attempts at capture and was killed in an exchange of fire. His compatriot Vorkov decamped during the same incident, and we believe he is attempting to flee the planet in a shuttlecraft. I am not certain that we could intercept him from the orbital installations without destroying his craft - and I would regard it as preferable for him to be captured alive. Still, if you require it, I can instruct the orbital stations to open fire -"

"No need," I say with a smile. "Not if you have a solid ID on that shuttle, and can transmit it."

"I will do so." Dorok looks off-screen and gestures at someone. I turn to F'hon, who frowns in concentration at his console, then nods. "All right," I say to him, "you know what to do." I turn back to the screen.

"You are planning to intercept the shuttle yourselves?" Dorok asks.

"We're arranging to have it intercepted," I say. "Our friends in the Romulan Republic has proven very helpful during this... business."

Despite that, though, I can't help feeling some qualms. T'Laihhae's personal history with Vorkov - whatever it might be - makes me worried. Will she let some private vengeance get in the way of public justice? Even though we've worked together before, I still know very little about how T'Laihhae's mind works....

She shows, at least, that she has a taste for the dramatic. F'hon has found the shuttle, a fleeing dot on the tactical display - and the way the Messalina decloaks, directly in front so that the shuttle hurtles straight into the battlecruiser's spiny maw, is pure theatre. The tractor beam she slaps onto the shuttle, though, is eminently practical. So much, I think, for Vorkov. One way or another.

"That... accounts for all the Romulans, I guess," I say to Dorok. "What about T'Nir and the others?"

"We have conflicting reports on their whereabouts," he replies. "I will signal you when we have resolved the existing ambiguities." He signs off.

And we wait. Again. I debate with myself about calling T'Laihhae and asking about Vorkov. I have a horrible feeling it might be futile.

In any case, only a few minutes pass before the Vulcan signals again. "I have located them," he says. "All four of your suspects, together with Hegemon Stiak, have retreated to T'Nir's family home in the L'esvar Valley."

That's odd. I frown. "Is that a defensible location?"

"No. Security forces were minimal there, and I understand that the few Hegemony troops remaining have fled or been disarmed. Nonetheless, that is where your suspects have gathered. Vice Admiral Shohl, it might be valuable, as a gesture, if you were to effect their arrest in person. The sight of a senior Starfleet officer would, as it were, establish the reality of the Federation's presence in Vulcan affairs."

He wants me there for public relations. That's fine with me: I want to be there. "On my way," I say. "Pass coordinates to my transporter chief."

---

Vulcan is hot, hot. Worse than Earth. My lungs labour in the feeble air. The sky seems all one vast glare, brooding, oppressive, intolerable. And this, it seems, is one of the garden spots of the planet: a Vulcan paradise. If this is paradise, they can keep it.

T'Nir's family home looks pleasant enough, though. It's a complex of domed buildings, lying amid a lush garden - it looks alien, at least to me, but it's not... displeasing. It's no fortress, either. The armed Vulcan security team looks hideously out of place in front of it.

Dorok is there. In the flesh, he is shorter than me, and slightly built. "Vice Admiral. Welcome."

"Thank you, Commissioner," I say, formally. "What's the situation?"

"The building is surrounded. We have set up a transporter inhibitor field, so they cannot beam out, at least until they can analyse the frequencies and calibrate a boost to the matter stream to compensate. However... our tricorders show some anomalous readings, which we are frankly at a loss to interpret at this time." His thin face looks grave. "We can confirm, positively, the presence of a small mass of refined kironide."

"The psionic artifact they took from Chara V," I say. "The thing that started all... this."

"The katric ark of Bresar," Dorok says. "Quite."

I look at the house. It is calm, peaceful... there is no hint of what might be happening inside. "Well," I say, "whatever threat it presents, we'd better find out sooner rather than later." I unsling my MACO phaser pulsewave from my shoulder. "Set to heavy stun, and a wide-angle short range beam. It should be enough to drop five Vulcan politicians before they can trigger... anything."

"I admire your optimism, Vice Admiral," says Dorok.

I don't think I'm that optimistic... but standing outside T'Nir's door dithering will get us nowhere. Besides, from Dorok's point of view, this is what he wants to see. Starfleet, back on Vulcan - doing Starfleet's job.

So I square my shoulders, heft the pulsewave in my hands, and walk up to the door.

"I have a security override," Dorok calls from behind me. "Engaging now." The door hisses open.

It's cooler inside, though not by much. The décor is restrained and tasteful, about what I'd have expected from T'Nir, in fact.... Amazing. She may have tried to murder my entire species, but I approve of her interior design? I put the thought out of my head, and strain my senses, listening, feeling the air....

There are no sounds, but there are vague patterns of disturbance in the atmosphere - there are people nearby. Keeping quiet? Scared, perhaps? "T'Nir," I call out. "T'Nir, this is Tylha Shohl. You remember me, you must know why I'm here. It's over, T'Nir."

Faint sounds in one room nearby, might be people moving, or just breathing. I move in that direction, my footsteps still the loudest noise in the house. I come to a door, and it slides open at my approach with a hiss that seems startling. The gun feels hot and heavy in my hands.

Beyond the door, there's a large, comfortably appointed room, perhaps a library, perhaps just a living room with a lot of bookshelves... T'Nir is there, seated in a meditation pose, cross-legged on the floor behind a low occasional table. The others are there, too, Stiak off to one side, the three ministers seated behind T'Nir. All in the same pose.

On the table is a glittering yellow cube, maybe the size of a fist, its surface cut into facets which scatter splinters of light in all directions. The katric ark.

"T'Nir," I repeat, "it's over."

I move through the doorway. I don't raise the gun, yet, but it's ready in my hands. I step towards them and -

Blackout.

Heresy 36

The First Minister stood at the window of his office, staring out at the lights of the city. It was night, and ShiKahr glowed with myriads of lights from towering buildings and swift-moving vehicles. Normally, the First Minister found it calmed him, to watch the life of the city like some intricate mechanism working before him.

Tonight was not a normal night.

The First Minister suppressed a sigh as he turned back to his desk. The messages on the console still shone with urgency icons. He composed his mind in the discipline of Kolinahr as he strove to address the problem.

Then the door to his office hissed open. 

T'Nos, the Minister of Thought, was first to enter; a Vulcan woman of late middle age, not very tall, somewhat plump and matronly in appearance, but still with a certain pride in her bearing. And, behind her, a slim and elegant figure in blue robes.

"Minister T'Nos," the First Minister said, "T'Nir. Welcome. I regret that I have many matters demanding my attention at present.

"We are aware of this," said T'Nos. "We are here to offer our assistance."

"We are here to help you," said T'Nir.

"Assistance from the Hegemony would be welcome." The First Minister could not quite keep an edge of frost from his tone. "The Hegemony's military adventurism is at least partly the cause of the problems before me."

"Such setbacks yield to the disciplined mind," said T'Nos.

"That is a maxim of the Hegemony," added T'Nir.

"I would be grateful for any assistance in overcoming this particular setback," said the First Minister. "I should point out that some people are of the opinion that too many concessions have been made to the Hegemony in the first place. With Silit's elevation to a full Ministry, you now have three members on the Council itself -"

"That is as it should be," said T'Nos.

"The Hegemony and the official government must work in harmony," said T'Nir.

"We are here to promote such harmony."

"We are here to help."

The First Minister looked from T'Nos to T'Nir and back again. Both women were smiling, mildly.

"Then how do you suggest that we extricate ourselves from this situation?" he asked.

"What is the situation?" T'Nos replied.

"Specify the terms of the problem," said T'Nir, "and logic will furnish the solution."

"We are here to assist you to see the logic of the situation."

"We are here to help. Please, specify the problem."

"I - " The First Minister took a deep breath. "Vulcan lives have been lost. I must demand an accounting from the Romulan Republic for this. They will claim their action was justified -"

"The Republic is not logical in these matters," said T'Nos.

"Therefore, your demand must be pressed home in a manner which they cannot ignore or discount," said T'Nir.

"I cannot press home demands without Federation support," said the First Minister, "and that will not be forthcoming."

"The Federation has various interests in, and obligations towards, the Republic," said T'Nos.

"Those interests and obligations conflict with the requirements of Vulcan in this matter," said T'Nir.

"That conflict must be resolved in some way."

"Your responsibilities are to the Vulcan state, First Minister."

"The conflict must be resolved with this paramount obligation in mind."

"The Federation also has obligations towards the Vulcan state."

The First Minister's face was grey and strained. "I... do not know if the Federation...." He put one hand to his brow. "The Federation cannot afford to antagonize the Republic further...."

"We have no desire to antagonize the Republic."

"But the interests of the Vulcan state must be recognized and upheld."

"If the Federation and the Republic act against those interests, measures must be taken."

"You should not regret any measures taken to support the interests of Vulcan."

The First Minister was swaying, the strain showing on his face. "I - there are constraints on me - I cannot act -"

"We recognize your difficulties."

"We are here to help."

"We understand the logic of your situation."

"If you are unable to act, others must act for you."

"The destiny of Vulcan is, necessarily, its own."

"We will assist you to reach the correct conclusions and decide a course of action."

"We will not shrink from whatever measures are necessary."

There was almost a hint of triumph in T'Nir's voice as she said, "We are here to help."

Heresy 34

Admiral Trosek turned the gravity field in his quarters up to a punishing 1.75 gees for his daily exercise routine. He was in the middle of a vigorous set of push-ups when his communicator chimed. He cursed under his breath, stood up, and turned to the console. "Trosek here."

"Admiral." It was the voice of Slaralyk, his Reman flag lieutenant. "We have a distress call on comms - Reman freighter convoy under attack."

Trosek cursed again. "More of these Hegemony pirates, no doubt. Set a course to intercept, best speed, and advise the convoy we are moving to assist. Perhaps our mere presence will be enough to scare them away."  

He turned away from the console before hearing Slaralyk's acknowledgement. A few minutes in the sonic shower, to cleanse the sweat of exertion; a change into full uniform; and then Trosek was ready to stride onto the bridge of the RRW Khuaenen and take charge of the situation.

The Ar'kif class tactical warbird was one of the Republic's most powerful battleships, and Trosek, a veteran of the internal warfare that had plagued the Star Empire, was one of the new Republic navy's most experienced commanders. Tall, physically powerful, his black hair only a little touched by grey, he took control of the bridge by his mere presence. He settled himself in his command chair and reviewed the situation on the tactical display. A faint frown appeared on his patrician features.

"I don't recognize that ship class," he said, indicating the presumed hostile.

"Historical records indicate a possible match for a Vulcan cruiser design," Slaralyk said in guttural tones. "The warp signature and emissions profile indicate modern technology, though. Sir, the Reman freighters lost comms in the last strike -"

The dots of the three Reman freighters were huddled in one corner of the display. Trosek's frown deepened. They were too close together - a core breach on one of those ships would take the other two with it. And they were flashing multiple damage status indicators -

"Hail the hostile. Let's see what we're dealing with."

"Transmitting," said Centurion T'trel from the comms console.

Trosek turned to look at the Starfleet liaison officer, Commander Stug. The Tellarite's face was expressionless. "Our duty is to protect our citizens," Trosek said. "I do not know who is on that ship, but if they are attacking Reman civilians, my duty is clear - whoever they are."

"Noted," said Stug. "I've got no time for pirates anyhow."

"Transmission from the hostile," said T'trel. "I have visual."

"On screen."

The face that appeared on the viewer was that of a Vulcan male; pale-skinned, dark-haired, the expression almost mild, as if he were engaged in some moderately distasteful duty. "I am Commander Sorot of the HBS Stulak," he said. "Please be brief. I am engaged in necessary actions against Reman criminals."

"I am Admiral Trosek of the RRW Khuaenen. You are firing on civilian vessels under our protection. You will stop. Now."

If he was impressed, the Vulcan did not show it. "We are taking necessary action against Reman criminals. That action will be completed."

"What criminals? Those are unarmed freighters!"

"I attempted to detain this convoy so that its leaders might answer questions concerning the assassination of the Hegemon Valikra. We have credible evidence that personnel from those vessels were in the vicinity of the Hegemon at the time of this crime. Instead of cooperating with my enquiry, the freighters elected to flee. It is a maxim of the Hegemony that innocent citizens cooperate willingly with the state."

Trosek glared at the Vulcan. "Your Hegemony has been attacking Remans without warning across half the quadrant. Is there any wonder that they should try to escape from you? Present your evidence through legal channels - it will be heard. In the mean time, stand down."

"You have no authority to give me orders. I will carry out my assigned duties."

A dreadful gulf seemed to open in Trosek's stomach. With an effort, he kept his voice level as he said, "I too have my assigned duties. They include the protection of Republic civilians. I will execute those duties. You would be well advised not to test me, Commander."

"Your duties cannot involve firing on a Vulcan vessel - and this is a Vulcan vessel. Agreements between the Republic and the Federation would preclude any such action."

"If a vessel is firing on Republic citizens, my duty is to stop it, whoever it belongs to. Yield to the logic of the situation, Commander. If my ship engages yours, you will be defeated."

Was there a flicker of - some emotion - on the Vulcan's face? Trosek couldn't be sure. But Sorot continued in the same mild, reasonable tones, "That has yet to be determined, and you may well find your confidence is misplaced, Admiral. In any event, you will not prevent me from carrying out my orders."

"For the last time, Commander Sorot - stand down."

The Vulcan said nothing. The viewer went blank. After a fraction of a second, the tactical display came back.

"The Vulcan is turning," said Slaralyk.

"Moving to depart?"

"I don't think so, sir. It looks like he's presenting his energy weapons broadside to the freighters."

Trosek swore. "Any communications yet with the freighters?"

"No, sir," said T'trel.

"Flank speed. Get us in between the convoy and the Vulcan, fast. Maximum power to shields." Trosek leaned back in his chair. "HBS. Must be 'Hegemony of Bresar Ship'. If we can be sure that this action is not acknowledged by the Vulcan Defence Force -"

"Sir?"

Trosek glared at T'trel. "I would rather not start a war between Vulcan and the Republic if I can help it, Centurion." The sick hollow feeling in his stomach wasn't going away.

The Khuaenen leaped forward, positioning herself between the battered freighters and the long ominous shape of the Vulcan cruiser. "Launch fighters," Trosek ordered. The Scorpion fighter wing was an effective fighting force, and their presence might just tip the balance, might just convince the Vulcan not to fight -

"Incoming!"

Phaser light slammed into the Khuaenen's port shields, and the warbird shuddered. "Hold fire!" Trosek shouted. "Damage report!"

"Shields holding at seventy-two per cent," said Slaralyk. "He nudged us good, but it was just a nudge... we can take it."

The freighters couldn't, though. "Manoeuvring thrusters. Keep us in his way. Signal the fighters to target his weapons arrays, but do not fire unless I give the word."

He had a visual on the enemy ship, now. That long, narrow design gave him an advantage, Trosek thought; the Vulcan's moment of inertia would be higher, the Khuaenen could turn faster, keep position better.... He wished he could talk to the Reman ships. If he could get them to warp out, fast, while Khuaenen kept the Vulcan occupied....

The warbird rocked again, as another blaze of fire came from the enemy's weapons ports. "Port shield down to forty-one per cent - reinforcing. Minor stress on structural integrity field."

Still nothing significant, but that wouldn't last. The Vulcan ship was moving, swinging around - swinging around fast, Trosek realized. They had to have sophisticated RCS arrays on that ship - in another few seconds, he would be out of position -

"Hard about, one niner seven mark three." It would turn their undamaged starboard shields towards the Vulcan -

The phasers fired again, and this time the Khuaenen rocked in the barrage, and damage lights winked on across the control board. "Must have overcharged his phaser arrays. He can't do that trick twice in a hurry. Divert singularity power to the shields!"

Reinforced by the overflow power of the singularity core, the Khuaenen's flickering shields steadied and firmed - just in time for another barrage from the Vulcan ship. Slaralyk cursed. "He's going for our drives - that last one damn near took our RCS array offline - Sir, he knows what we're trying to do, and if he takes our drive out -"

Time seemed to stop inside Trosek's head. If they lost the thruster arrays, or took too much damage to the engines themselves - then they would drift helpless, unable to protect the convoy further. And there was no way to signal the Remans to go to warp, he didn't even know if they could go to warp -

The only way, now, was direct action. Elements preserve me, he thought, I know what I must do.

"We have no choice," he heard himself say. "Return the favour - target that warp ring of theirs. Shoot to disable, if you can. But shoot."

"Yes, sir." There was a grim satisfaction in the Reman's voice. Trosek found he was afraid to look at Commander Stug. "Targeting locked."

"Fire."

Khuaenen's plasma arrays flared into life, spitting ribbons of green lightning at the Vulcan cruiser's midsection. The enemy ship's shields glowed, for an instant, then shattered like glass before the onslaught. The plasma beams drove into the drive ring, searing and tearing at the armour, burning into the warp coils within -

Suddenly, the circular warp drive was a ring of flame around the hull of the cruiser, and Trosek allowed himself a faint flash of hope. If he had just disabled the Vulcan's drive -

Then the ring of flame blazed a thousand times more brilliantly, exploding into a dazzling disc that cut the cruiser neatly in two, before the white flash of a core breach annihilated it completely.

The white-hot wreckage of the Vulcan ship faded and died in the blackness of space, and the last chance of peace died with it.

Heresy 31

Office of the First Minister, Vulcan

The First Minister was standing at the high window, looking out at the setting sun. He turned as his aide showed Stiak in.

"Hegemon Stiak. Welcome."

Stiak bowed. "First Minister. I am honoured."

"My condolences on the recent loss of your colleague."

"Thank you, First Minister. It has been a great blow. Hegemon Valikra will be sorely missed."

The two men regarded each other for a moment or two in silence. The First Minister broke it. "What now lies ahead for your political movement?"

"The work will continue, First Minister. It must. We have devoted too much effort to turn back now - and the goal remains a worthy one." Stiak's voice fell. "I realize the load that will now fall on me... but I must continue. In taking on the role, I have taken on the obligations."

"That is inevitable."

"Of course, you understand this, First Minister - better than I."

"Yes, since I have longer experience in the situation."

Another pause. This time, it was Stiak who spoke first. "The Romulan side of the Hegemony will need support."

"In what sense?"

"Principally moral, though organisational and material assistance will also be required. The Romulans are still prone to emotionalism, and this event will dishearten them. It is necessary to show that we Vulcans still stand by them."

"I see the logic in that. Who will replace Valikra in her role as Hegemon?"

"For the present, no one. It is emotionalism at work again - none of the Romulans feels worthy to claim her position. There is talk of leaving it forever unfilled, as a memorial. In any case, the original Hegemony did not operate as a duumvirate, and it is natural that the organisational structure should have its authority consolidated in one person."

"That one person being yourself," the First Minister observed.

"I accept the obligations."

"You have inherited command of a military force of some substance - and one engaged in a war."

"There will be difficulties. They will be surmounted. It is for this reason, though, that I would like to discuss certain avenues of practical support."

The First Minister raised one eyebrow. "What avenues?"

"The Romulans are demoralized and beset with enemies. They must have military assistance. Starfleet is unlikely to offer such assistance, in view of the existing conflict with the Klingons, and also because of some tensions which have arisen between Starfleet and Hegemony ships." Stiak drew in a deep breath. "They have nowhere to turn, except to us. Commissioner Silit has prepared some theoretical studies regarding an expansion of the VDF -"

"Silit has joined your movement, I understand."

"We seek such support from talented persons in positions of authority. First Minister, would you yourself consider joining our number?"

"I do not think that would be appropriate."

"Were you to do so, you would naturally assume my own position at the head of the organization. I would gladly step aside - it would be the only logical course of action."

"To do so would be to commit my own authority - which derives from the people of Vulcan - to your political cause. I cannot do that, without a clear mandate from the people of Vulcan."

"That also is logical."

"In any case," said the First Minister, "you were speaking of Commissioner Silit's study."

"Reserve industrial capacity can be diverted to the construction of ships to supplement the Romulan forces. We would have no difficulty in finding volunteers from our movement to crew them. The material assistance to the Romulans would be considerable, but the boost to their morale would be yet more of an asset."

"You are proposing, in effect, a direct military alliance between Vulcan and the Romulan component of the Hegemony."

"You should bear in mind, First Minister, that the ships would be part of the VDF and under Vulcan control - and, as they intermingle with the Romulan forces, those forces also would fall to some extent under our authority."

The First Minister's eyebrow quirked again. "Do we need a Romulan battle fleet?"

"One exists. The measures I propose would give us extensive control over it - enough to prevent excesses, to lessen the existing tensions with Starfleet - ultimately, to divert the Romulan military machine towards more constructive ends."

"I understand." The First Minister hesitated briefly, then said, "Such a force would, naturally, operate independently of Starfleet."

"There is no reason why Starfleet should have authority over an expanded VDF."

"No. However, we must consider Vulcan's treaty obligations to the Federation. Would you be in a position to guarantee that the VDF component would not be deployed contrary to Federation policy?"

"I cannot think where such conflicts might arise. The Federation has no treaty obligations towards the rump of the Romulan Imperial State."

"What of the Remans?"

Stiak seemed, momentarily, discomposed. "The Remans.... First Minister, we see no reason to continue with Valikra's antagonistic policy towards the Remans."

"I am relieved to learn that."

"But - the circumstances of Valikra's death are obscure. The nature of the attack... is not inconsistent with Reman terrorist methods. Naturally, we await a full explanation - but, if it is discovered that Reman forces were responsible -"

"We must tread cautiously around our obligations to the Federation, and the Federation's obligations to the Romulan Republic."

"All treaties must be honoured. But, First Minister, I am not aware of any treaties preventing us from prosecuting action against murderers and political assassins."

The First Minister inclined his head. "Violators of the law must be punished, within the law. That is only logical. Very well. The Council will meet to assess your request for assistance to the Romulan component of the Hegemony of Bresar."

"Thank you, First Minister. I will leave the requisite data with your administrative assistants."


Office of the Proconsul, Mol'Rihan

D'Tan looked across his desk at the hulking figure sitting in shadow. "I will ask," he said. "For form's sake, I must ask the question."

"I will answer." Blue eyes glared from the scarred gargoyle face. "I did not kill Valikra; I did not order her death; I did not desire her death." Obisek's deep voice took on an ironic tone as he added, "I will not go so far as to say I mourn her death. But my people took no part in it."

D'Tan sighed. "I believe you," he said.

Obisek's eyes narrowed. "By which you mean... that no one else will."

"She was an enemy of your people. If we could discover how she came to die -"

"How can we do that?" Anger edged the Reman leader's voice. "We, of all people, have the least chance to prove our innocence. We stand accused, so we stand convicted - as it always has been, for my people."

"I have prepared a statement repudiating the Hegemony's accusations. We will not abandon your people, my friend."

"As a matter of political necessity," Obisek said flatly, "you may have to."

D'Tan leaned forward. "We will not abandon you."

The Reman regarded him closely for a moment. Then he gave a reluctant nod. "I believe you. Your mnei'sahe is not... flexible... enough for you to abandon what you know to be right. Some would consider that a failing in a Romulan," he added tartly.

"I do not. I will not renounce what is right, on the basis of - of a spurious accusation."

"The Hegemony," Obisek observed, "wants reunification. They want your people, my friend. Your people. They do not want mine.... An old tune, that, one I have heard many times before... but it still seems depressingly popular."

"They will not take us. I will not see the Republic sundered - and to split my people away from yours would destroy us both. Your people have been part of the foundations of the Republic from the outset, my friend. Reman efforts, Reman honour, Reman worth have been proven a thousand times or more.... Even discounting the justice owed to your people for centuries of inequity... to lose you would destroy us."

The Reman stirred in his chair. "Fine words, D'Tan... and I admit, it is good to hear them. But words alone will not be enough to save us."

"True," said D'Tan. "So, let us turn to practicalities...."


Shipyard reception area, Qo'noS orbit

R'j Bl'k' stalked away from the chief engineer's station, a snarl on her face. "S's's'-rrrrr-tk't," she said.

"Problems?" asked Rrueo, idly examining her claws as she leaned casually against a pillar.

"Another three days before repairs to the Goroke are completed," the alien said in disgust.

"Well," said Rrueo, "if it is any consolation, the USS Canberra will undoubtedly be in spacedock much longer... if the Feds can even find all the pieces."

"Starfleet clings to the Aznetkur corridor like a dd'hhd-kk'rr."

"Rrueo assumes that is a clingy thing?"

R'j glared at the Ferasan. "They are... they are unreasonable," she spat.

"They are Feds, what do you expect? Rrueo hears, too, that their distraction in Romulan space will soon be over."

R'j cocked her head to one side. "How so? What have you heard?"

"The Remans have assassinated the Hegemony leader Valikra. Oh, they deny it," she made an airy gesture with one paw, "but it was them, who else could it be? So, leaderless, this Hegemony will naturally fall apart, now."

"S-s-s-s-s," said R'j. Her swirling metallic eyes seemed to turn inwards, and a series of clicks and rasps started to sound from her complex mouth.

Rrueo rolled her eyes. "Oh, now you are thinking," she said. "Rrueo knows those noises, you are working things out in your head, and soon you will come up with reasons why Rrueo is wrong. Rrueo cannot wait to hear them, this time."

R'j clicked some more, then said, "You are too dismissive of this Hegemony. It is a threat, a danger. What are their aims? To reunite the Vulcans and the Romulans under the banner of an old Vulcan warlord. In the name of his philosophy." Her rasping voice dripped with scorn. "Vulcans are trouble enough now, when they follow a philosophy of pacifism. What will they be like when they do not? Vulcan science officers are worthy enough opponents - do you yearn to face Vulcan warriors?"

"But Valikra is dead," Rrueo protested. "The Vulcan leader of the Hegemony is a nothing, an academic, a theorizer - Valikra was the force, and she is gone."

"S-s-s-s-s. You are not a fool, do not talk like one. Not a force? Her memory will be more of a force than ever she was in the flesh. She was a leader - now, she is a martyr." R'j's eyes fixed on Rrueo in a glare. "Think about it. She is dead. She can do nothing, so she can do nothing wrong. She cannot make anything, so she can make no mistakes. I tell you, fanatics will follow a glorious memory much, much further than they would follow a fallible living woman."

Rrueo's whiskers drooped. "But... if you are right... what can we do about it?"

"Nothing. That I can see." R'j turned. "I am going to the mess hall for a drink - will you join me?"

Rrueo shook her head. "Rrueo will return to her ship. Rrueo has no desire to hear you make that noise again."

Heresy 25

"It all seems very odd to me," said the human. His name was David St. Charles, and he was a junior consular official at the Earth embassy to Vulcan. He was short and plump and blond, and Silit found him intensely irritating, though he naturally suppressed any visible signs of the emotion.

"The situation is, I grant you, an unusual one," Silit said. He looked around him, at the tastefully furnished reception room, at the various guests of the Hegemony of Bresar - and the members of the Hegemony itself. The tall Romulan, Valikra, was the centre of a tight little group of people; Silit could not see her Vulcan counterpart Stiak. He tried to sidle unobtrusively around a smoothly curving piece of abstract sculpture, but the human followed him.

"I mean," St. Charles continued, "these people are, well, what are they doing, exactly? Trying to set up an alternative government? I mean, why does your government even stand for it? Why doesn't your Council do something, eh?" 

"Possibly because freedom of association is guaranteed in our planetary constitution," said Silit.

"Freedom of association is one thing," said St. Charles, "but sedition, now, that is quite another."

"But no sedition is contemplated," said Silit. He felt obscurely annoyed at having to defend the Hegemony people to this human nincompoop. "The Hegemon of Vulcan is merely the leader of a social group. If there is any intention on the part of this group to change the government or the policies of Vulcan, that change will no doubt be effected by appropriate constitutional methods."

"The Hegemon of Romulus is effecting change with massive war fleets!"

"In the troubled situation in the Romulan state, that, I suppose, is an appropriate constitutional method. Here, such methods are not required. You have, have you not, political parties and associations on Earth?"

"We have, we have." The human smiled. "Though they don't quite give themselves such airs as the Hegemon does."

"The title is grandiose," said Silit, "but Stiak himself has no affectations. To some extent, this reinforces his position in Vulcan public opinion. It is clear that he does not act from motives of personal ambition."

"Ah, well," said St. Charles, "you'd know more about Vulcan motivations than I do, of course."

"Inevitably so." The human was very dull, Silit thought.

"Still - what do the actual office-holders think of these titles Stiak is passing around like party favours?"

"In many cases," said a new voice, "the actual office-holders and the titular ones under the Hegemony are the same people."

Silit turned. Stiak's partner T'Nir had come up unnoticed beside them. She looked composed and elegant in a simple blue robe, and her voice was mild and reasonable in tone.

"Ah," said St. Charles, "the - the Hegemon-ess? Hegemona? What is the appropriate title, anyway?"

"I am T'Nir. The Hegemony of Bresar recognizes the disadvantages of nepotism. I hold no rank within the Hegemony, since any such appointment would be open to misinterpretation." She smiled gravely. "Still, I am sure you understand that I support my husband as best I can."

"That is logical," said Silit.

"Ah, right," said St. Charles. "The political good wife, yes, I understand. Well, I wish you luck with that - it's a tough row to hoe, that one! But you were saying, about the office-holders -?"

"We hope to persuade as many members of the Council and the general administration as possible to join our organization," said T'Nir. "In the event that a political reunification becomes practical, that will greatly simplify the transition of government."

"I see, I see," said St. Charles. "You want the key people to join your - your Freemasonry. Makes sense."

"I am not familiar with the term," said Silit.

"Oh, an Earth thing. A social grouping. Nothing political, of course, just an organization... of people who know each other, and rely on each other."

"It sounds admirable," said T'Nir.

"Mmm," said St. Charles. "Can be... or not. Depends, really...."

Silit and T'Nir waited a moment for him to explain further, but he said no more.

"In any case," said T'Nir, "I wished to speak with you, Commissioner Silit, on precisely this matter."

Silit raised one eyebrow. "You wish me to become a member of the Hegemony? I am not a person of influence."

"Your position as Commissioner for the Vulcan Defence Force is not without importance," said T'Nir. The human said nothing, but his gaze darted rapidly from Silit's face to T'Nir's and back again.

"The VDF is simply an appendage of the Space Service. It exists only in the remote eventuality that Starfleet should be unable or unwilling to extend military protection to Vulcan. As Commissioner, my role is simply to maintain it in adequate condition to be called upon."

"Indeed," said T'Nir. "It is a measure of the divergences in our cultures... your equivalent, on the Romulan side, would be at least an Admiral of the Fleet, commanding great respect and influence."

"Such matters are of no concern to a logical mind," said Silit.

"Of course not," said T'Nir. "This is an important reason why you should be a member of the Hegemony. You could communicate Vulcan logic, Vulcan values, to your Romulan counterpart. There would, no doubt, be practical advantages as well - the VDF's preparedness and efficiency could be increased by a study of Romulan military methods."

"I concede that the Romulans have more current practical experience in that area," said Silit. "We recruit, of course, a cadre of retired Starfleet officers -"

T'Nir touched his arm. "I will not ask for any commitments at this stage," she said, "but I would like to introduce you to your Romulan counterpart, Admiral D'Kalius. I am sure you will have much to discuss with one another, regarding your mutual profession at least...."

Heresy 21

The L'esvar valley was sheltered, somewhat, from Vulcan's scorching winds, and so it was a place of relatively plentiful vegetation. T'Nir's family, for the past four generations, had made their home on the western slope, surrounded by a garden of plants which had developed, over the years, into a little oasis of lush greenery, majestic trees shading multi-coloured herbaceous borders and a smooth green lawn from the searing heat of the sun.
  
T'Nir was checking the settings on the irrigation system when she heard the chime announcing the private transporter pad was in use. She completed the work, then turned to walk into the house, a low-lying complex of interconnected domes, painted a cool blue-white.

Stiak was in the entrance hall, taking his luggage from the pad - including, T'Nir noted, the insulated container that held the katric ark. "Welcome," she said. "I had not expected you so soon."

"T'Nir." Stiak held out his hand and they touched fingers. "My ship made good time from Romulan space."
"The discussions went well?"

"They were broadly successful." Stiak shook his head. "It is easy, as an outsider, to become cynical regarding politics. However, when one realizes the amount of work involved in building a consensus and agreeing the requisite courses of action, one understands that a political career is the province of dedicated persons only. I shall not be unhappy to return to the academic world once this is over."

T'Nir smiled faintly. "Is this an appropriate attitude for the Hegemon?"

"It is an honorary title only," said Stiak. "Valikra, as the Hegemon of Romulus, is engaged in most of the actual work - as Hegemon of Vulcan, my role can only be titular and ceremonial." He gestured at the insulated casket. "Sometimes, it feels as though the katra of Bresar is jealous of Valikra. The knowledge and will of Bresar chafe at their enforced inactivity... and, I think, Valikra is too like Bresar in temperament for the two to be comfortable together."

T'Nir sighed. "It is not logical," she said, "but I too sometimes feel jealous of Valikra. She sees so much more of you, now, than I do."

"You need have no concerns on that account. As a potential mate, Valikra is too formidable a prospect for me - or, I suspect, for anyone. But she has ideals, and a political vision. I feel it is, in some sense, my duty to assist her."

"There have been reports of fighting, attendant upon Valikra's ambitions."

"They are accurate. There will, I fear, be more." Stiak shook his head. "The Romulan factions will not respond to logic unless it is backed by armed force. However, Valikra's goal of a united Romulan political entity with formal ties to Vulcan is a laudable one. It is my hope that, once the Tal Shiar and other Imperial remnants are subdued, D'Tan's Republic will be amenable to a peaceful settlement. Once that is achieved, the prospect of Reunification... actually seems achievable."

"In such a case," said T'Nir, "your ceremonial role would be likely to expand, to a position of genuine authority."

"In that event," said Stiak, "I would naturally resign it to some person of more definite political ability. I have interviewed several leading members of the Council, and helped them commune with the katra... one of those might prove a suitable candidate."

"Let us leave this matter for the moment," said T'Nir, "so that you may refresh yourself after your journey."

–--

A little later, sipping fruit juice in a parlour overlooking the garden, Stiak said, "There was another matter I wished to discuss with you."

"Speak freely." T'Nir came to stand beside him. "You know you can discuss anything with me."

Stiak turned to face her; his face was grave. "I know, and I value the knowledge highly. I would speak with you regarding our relationship. It is my wish that it should become officially recognized."

"You are asking to marry me?"

"Yes."

T'Nir looked into his eyes. "I accept, with great gladness, choice of my heart."

"I am gratified." Their fingers touched.

T'Nir smiled. "I hope I will not be inconvenienced by the ceremonial aspects," she said. "The wife of the Hegemon was a person of some importance...."

"You have derived this from the data records?"

"94.2% of the records are now converted to modern formats and translated. Of the remaining data, perhaps half is subject to corruption, the rest is encrypted beyond our current capacity to access it. Both problems will yield to painstaking analysis and reconstruction, in time. The historical picture presented is an intriguing one. I sincerely trust that you and Valikra do not intend to model your political vision too closely upon Bresar's."

"There is no danger of that! The katra, of course, containing as it does Bresar's emotional matrix, has all his ambitions and his... historically appropriate... moral value system. However, there is no possibility that it will impose its attitudes upon ourselves."

"I understand there is a psionic amplifier system within the katric ark?"

"There is; a kironide-based device. Crude, though, by modern standards, and it presents no hazard."

"I am glad to hear it. Bresar's moral values are decidedly not those of our time."

"True. From what I have learned thus far, I think even Valikra would shrink from some of Bresar's methods." Stiak put his arms around her. "Let us, please, turn to more pleasant matters."

T'Nir held herself close to him, enjoying the feeling of his embrace, of his body next to hers. "I could wish," she said, softly, "that it was your time of pon farr. To shed logic and decorum, to unite with you in pure animal joy...."

"That time will come," said Stiak with a smile. "Let us, in the meantime, see what may be achieved in that direction...."

"You are not too tired, after your travels?"

"Never."

---

Much later, T'Nir lay beside Stiak in the bed, watching him sleep, in the dim starlight of the night sky. My heart has chosen well, she said to herself, silently.

Slowly, carefully, so as not to wake him, she slipped out of the bed and stood. The night air was cool, but not unpleasant; still, she slipped on a robe before padding out of the bedroom on silent feet.

Something was nagging at her. She paused in the doorway of the bedroom, ordering and marshalling her thoughts, identifying the source of her disquiet.

The katric ark. That was it. Had it been properly secured? Crime was a product of undisciplined and illogical thought, it was very rare on Vulcan - but possession of the relic of Bresar's consciousness had a political dimension, now, and it would be wise to take precautions. Stiak had left his luggage in the entrance hall... it would take but a few moments to transfer the ark to the house's secure storage....

T'Nir did not turn on the lights; the starlight was enough to see by, in this house that she knew so well. She went to the hall, and found the container. It was heavier than she had expected - shielding, no doubt, to prevent any unauthorized scans. She carried it into the room that had been her father's private office; the safe in there was proof against any intrusion she could imagine.

She turned on a desk light to tap in the security code on the safe's door; it unsealed itself with a faint gasp of released air. The safe was a man-sized, metal-walled cupboard, built into one wall of the office; it was empty - it had not been used since her father died.

She put the container inside, and then frowned. Logically, she said to herself, I know that the ark cannot have been interfered with... but, security procedures dictate that I should be certain what it is that I am securing.

Stiak had once told her the security passcodes he used - an act of trust, one of many which bound the two of them together. She entered the code on the container's lock, and swung open the lid.

The katric ark lay in a foam-lined hollow, gleaming softly with its own light.

"So," T'Nir said aloud, "this is you, Bresar. I have read so much about you... and it seems we are both jealous of Valikra...."

This was foolishness, she thought. After a few more moments, looking at the glittering crystal of the ark, she closed the lid, and sealed the container inside the safe.