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.
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