Heresy 43

Ronnie

Nobody seems to know what the hell is going on. */*command and control inefficiency---verbal communications should be superseded by direct neural networking---reconnect and assimilate---priority---reconnect*/* I've had three contradictory sets of flight orders for the Falcon today already, and Earth Spacedock seems to be drumming all the time to the sound of rapidly moving technicians' feet. */*static space station is complex mechanism---greater efficiency achieved by direct integration of organic service modules*/* And there seems to be something almost smug about Two of Twelve, as she rabbits on about where we're all getting it wrong.

I decide to go see Tylha. She's dug out a little niche for herself, aiming some of those moving techs in roughly the right direction: maybe she has more of a handle on things than I do.

When I reach her office - well, her absentee boss's office - though, she is stalking out of it with a distinctly purposeful glint in her eye. Or slant to her antennae. Maybe both.

"Ronnie," she says, "hi. I can't stop. T'Laihhae is bringing Stileg in."

"I'm sure they make a lovely couple," I say. "Who are they?"

I tag along behind her as she strides for the turbolifts. I probably shouldn't bother her, but what the heck, this sounds interesting. "T'Laihhae is a Republic officer who's been operating under cover on Vulcan," Tylha says. "Stileg is a former associate of Stiak and T'Nir, and he says he has some important information that absolutely has to reach us."

"Right. Right. So he had to be brought, right? Neither snow nor rain nor heat nor gloom of night... sorry, I'm rambling. Is it likely to be any good? This info?"

"I don't know." Tylha's eyes are far away. "He knows Stiak personally... but he's not in the Hegemony movement itself, so his access has to be limited, doesn't it? Well, I suppose we'll find out." We both step into the turbolift.

"Righty ho, then. Do you want me to make not-cleared-to-know noises and scoot off like an inappropriate person?" I say this just for form - I don't make the least move to get out of the lift capsule.

"I'm probably not cleared to know," says Tylha. "I just sort of - inherited - Admiral Hengest's files." She glances at me. "Maybe it'd be a good idea to have another witness, at that." She touches the control pad and says, "Level 37, reception area 2."

"So how reliable are these two, anyway?" I ask as the turbolift starts to move.

"T'Laihhae - I've worked with her before, she's good. Stileg... I only met him briefly. He seemed to be more practically-minded than T'Nir or Stiak." Tylha sighs loudly. "There was a time, not so long ago, when you could pretty much depend on Vulcans being reliable."

"You still can, some of the time," I say, to cheer her up. "My science officer, Saval, he's still there. Backing me up, keeping my head straight. Of course, considering the things they said about him after the Durella system business, he might think the Hegemony's not a healthy place to visit."

"Some of my Vulcan crew stayed on," says Tylha, abstractedly. "Others... didn't. I suppose I can't blame them... they had things to worry about, like families. Like Admiral Semok...."

The lift doors hiss open. The reception area is on the inside of the station; one wall is transparent aluminium, giving a view of ESD's massive internal docking bay */*structural weakness---interior should be reinforced and utilized for industrial projects---aesthetic concerns are irrelevant*/* Dear God, Two of Twelve is in a frisky mood today.

Two people are sitting at a table; they stand up as we come in. One of them is a medium-tall Vulcan male in civilian clothes; he looks worried. Stileg, I assume. The other one is also in civilian clothes, a short, dark-haired, unassuming-looking Romulan woman. She greets Tylha with a microsecond's worth of smile and a "Shaoi dan." Hmm, little Ronnie thinks to herself, hmm. Romulan greetings are marked for relative status, and that phrase is used between equals. Which suggests to me that this Romulan and my hatrack-headed friend here have worked together before... and it worked out well, well enough for Tylha to puncture that traditional Romulan arrogance and get some measure of grudging respect.

"Vice-Admiral T'Laihhae," says Tylha. "Mr. Stileg. This is Vice-Admiral Grau -"

"Veronika Grau, call me Ronnie, everyone does. Tylha says you've got some news for us?"

The Romulan, T'Laihhae, quirks an eyebrow at me in a very Vulcan way. Stileg just looks more miserable. "Yes," T'Laihhae says. "We need to work out the best way to make this information public. I think it needs to be made widely known - and widely believed, which may be more of a problem. I have verified it, forensically, to the best of my ability -"

"But I still do not know," Stileg breaks in, "the exact provenance of this data. I simply received the two chips - anonymously - and -"

"Hold on," says Tylha. "Two chips?"

"I received a second," says Stileg. "I must assume it comes from the same source...."

"Whatever that is," says T'Laihhae. She sits down at a table by the transparent wall, a table that's got a holographic console. "You should see these yourself, I think. We can then discuss how best to make them public - without alerting the Hegemony, until we are able to fight off any denials or counter-allegations they can muster."

We cluster around the imager. I look around - the reception area is empty, but for us and a couple of off-duty ensigns chatting in one corner. I don't imagine we'll get much of a grass-roots movement started with them, so I decide to watch what all the fuss is about, first. T'Laihhae slots a data chip into the console, and hits the play button.

The image that forms on the screen shows a room, somewhere; a bare, rather plain room with not much furniture in it besides a single conference table. Standing up, near the head of that table, is a single figure, a tall Romulan woman dressed in grey. "Valikra," says T'Laihhae, as if Valikra's pictures hadn't been plastered over every news medium in two quadrants for months.

Valikra turns, as if she's heard something that we can't hear on the recording. Another figure comes into the field of view, a slight Vulcan woman in a blue robe. "T'Nir," says Valikra, with a minimal nod of acknowledgement. "Welcome."

"Shaoi kon, Hegemon," says T'Nir, with due deference. "Are you prepared for the council meeting?" She seems to glide towards the other woman, moving with smooth elegance.

"I am," says Valikra. "I expect significant discussions to take place, and I will warn you now, I am fully prepared."

T'Nir smiles slightly. "We await your input with a heightened sense of anticipation," she says.

"I have heard the council's arguments," says Valikra, "and I am ready to refute them, utterly. This proposed isolationism of yours, T'Nir, is foolish to the point of danger. You know I bear no love for the lesser species of the galaxy, but we must engage with them."

"I have no doubt that you will present your views with your customary rigor and eloquence," T'Nir murmurs.

"Quite," says Valikra. Then she laughs. "At least those will be the only weapons I require! I am almost unused to having discussions without weapons in reserve - I am glad that meetings with the council are less violent than policy discussions with the Tal Shiar."

T'Nir laughs politely. "We do not see the need to bear arms in the council chamber," she says. "Although they might not prove necessary, in any event. Have you not heard of the Vulcan death grip?"

"Oh," says Valikra, "that myth."

"Yes," says T'Nir, and suddenly she reaches out and grasps the side of Valikra's head. "Yes, it was convenient for you to believe that."

Valikra says nothing. After a moment, T'Nir lets go of her head. Valikra sways on her feet for a second or two, then falls, stiffly, to lie motionless at full length on the floor. T'Nir looks down at her with a mildly benevolent expression on her face. The screen goes blank.

Tylha is the first one to find her voice. "T'Nir killed Valikra?"

"So it would appear," says T'Laihhae. She takes the chip out of the viewer, slots another one in. She pauses a moment before pressing the playback button. "I must warn you," she says, "this next one is... worse." Then she hits the button.

The screen shows the same room, but the conference table is in use now, six people sitting around it. T'Laihhae touches another button, and the image freezes. "You might not recognize everyone in this recording," she says. "They are - influential - members of the Hegemony government." She points to each one in turn. "The Vulcans: T'Nos, Minister of Thought; Silit, Minister of Defence; Vorruk, Minister of State. The Romulans: High Admiral D'Kalius; Vorram, Minister of Trade - " her lips turn thin "- and General Vorkov, Minister for State Security."

"There some history between you and this Vorkov?" I ask.

T'Laihhae's eyes flash, but she says nothing more than, "Yes," and hits the button to start the playback again.

Once again, T'Nir glides into the picture. This time, she takes a seat at the head of the table. "I am sure you are all aware," she says without any preamble, "of the Federation President's response to our withdrawal from the UFP."

"A response of our own is indicated," says Vorruk.

"A strongly worded statement, perhaps," adds T'Nos.

"Insufficient," D'Kalius snaps. Oh, I knew he was a bad lot from the minute I set eyes on him. "Words are not enough."

"Quite so," says T'Nir. "President Okeg seems to think the Hegemony's independence is some passing whim on the part of the Vulcan people. We must take decisive action to convince him otherwise."

"How decisive?" Vorkov asks. I'm inclined to believe this one's a bad lot, too. T'Laihhae seems to think so.

"Half measures would be worse than no measures at all," says T'Nir. "The plan I have in mind is a bold one, but it would carry with it several benefits."

She raises one hand and starts to tick off the points on her fingers. "It would ensure a permanent and irrevocable breach between the Hegemony and the Federation. It would significantly reduce the Federation's military capabilities, to the point where short-term reprisals would not be practical for them. It could be made broadly acceptable to the population of Vulcan as a whole, due to certain long-standing animosities. And, finally, the target species has an anomalous reproductive system, meaning that its population would never recover from the proposed action, so we need fear no long-term reprisals either."

A faint frown crosses her forehead. "However," she adds, "I have... some reasons... to believe this meeting room may no longer be entirely secure. We shall, therefore, convene at an alternate location to finalize our plans for the destruction of Andoria."