Again, I am on the surface of the sphere; again, a vast shadow blots out the sun.
There are not a few vessels to do that - several Republic Scimitars are running a patrol pattern around the spire, and Starfleet and KDF ships are in attendance too. This shadow, though, is cast by the huge, angular bulk of a Tholian Recluse carrier, coming to a halt over the wreck of the Tapiola.
Faint blue beams reach down from the carrier, and the Tapiola shudders, sending ripples running out over the surface of the artificial sea. The tractor beams brighten and intensify, and the wave surge higher in response, and slowly, painfully, the listing hulk of the Tapiola rises out of the sea. Water pours from her ravaged starboard blade, a cascade that roars and foams into the waves below.
The tall, lanky Andorian beside me whistles through her teeth. "You brought her in to a soft landing in that condition?" says Tylha Shohl. "I should rub your head for good luck or something."
"I took the only course of action that presented itself."
"Yes, of course." Tylha shakes her head. "You did a hell of a job, though."
The first time I met Tylha Shohl in person, I was composed and correct in full uniform, and she was battered, grimy, and covered in a foul-smelling tellurium compound. Our positions are very nearly reversed, today. I am bruised, shaken, suffering from multiple minor abrasions, and desperately weary; my uniform is scuffed and torn, and there is a general-issue combadge at my chest - something which I find oddly disquieting. "What is your preliminary assessment?" I ask her.
The torrent of water from the ship has slowed to an intermittent dripping and pattering. Tylha squints up at her, antennae twitching. "Lots of stuff to do," she says. "That big hole, and the blown out converter, won't be nearly as much an issue as the distributed damage to the EPS grid... and Tholian ship architecture, well, it's got challenges all its own. But we'll see." Her face breaks briefly into a lopsided smile. "This is the sort of thing Experimental Engineering is meant to be good at, after all."
"I am glad to leave the ship in capable hands," I say. "I must go, now. There are matters I must attend to."
She touches my arm. "You're sure you're all right?" she asks. "It sounds like you had a pretty rough ride."
"Thank you for your concern. I will recover." I meet the gaze of her ice-blue eyes. She knows that, were I human, or Andorian, I would welcome the offer of sympathy, of friendship, that she makes. She knows, too, that I am Vulcan, and I cannot. She has the grace to accept this. It is kind of her.
Above us, the sun comes out again, as King Estmere carries Tapiola gently away.
I make my way along the shoreline, to the nearest working transport station. We have managed to restore much of the local transporter network... and I have a destination in mind. I have questions to ask... and, I think, apologies to make.
---
The room at the top of the spire shows evidence of hasty repair work, and there are still many consoles which are dark, dead, non-operational. I make my way between them, to where a robed figure sits huddled before a blank screen.
"Are you Dyegh?" I ask. "I am T'Pia."
The Solanae turns. Huge eyes in a rigid mask-like face regard me from under a hood. "I am Dyegh, yes." The translated voice sounds sad, resigned.
I kneel down on the deck beside him. "I wished to thank you for your efforts," I say. "I understand from my colleague M'eioi that you made a considerable personal sacrifice in destroying the Voth ship, and thereby saving my life and my crew's. I wished you to know that it is appreciated."
"I... suppose I am glad to know that," says Dyegh.
"Your colleague Siffaith, I gather, is meeting with Federation and Joint Command diplomats to form some preliminary understandings between our people. Are you not concerned to be a part of that?"
"No," says Dyegh, "not really. Siffaith is better with - people - than I am. It is best left to him. He has energy, he has intellectual curiosity - he will learn, and adapt. Perhaps in ways I cannot."
"I hope he will be successful in reaching an agreement. It is a difficult situation - by the laws of my people, the entire sphere should be, in effect, your people's property. However, there are others to be considered, and a more - complex - process of negotiation must ensue." The sphere is vital to our operations in the Delta Quadrant - and the Klingons and the Republic have their own interests, and no Prime Directive to constrain them.
"That matters much less to me than you might think," says Dyegh. He gestures towards the open windows with one claw-like hand. "Look at it! What one person, what one species, could own something like that? Even the old gods considered it as a home for a multitude of their servant cultures, not just my own Progenitors. No, the Land is roomy enough for us, and for you, and for many others besides. Even including the Voth, if they should ever come to their senses and give up their claim to the whole of it. The Land was meant for many peoples -" He makes a noise that the translator interprets as a sigh. "My only hope was... to restore it to its full glory."
"I gather you were planning, somehow, to reactivate the central star."
"It is possible," says Dyegh. "A massive infusion of hydrogen, an accompanying blast of energy to reinitialize the full solar phoenix reaction - but it had to be regulated, carefully. No sense in simply blasting fresh fuel in, destabilizing the sun, turning it into a nova.... The Home contains control devices that would enable me to manage the process. Or it did. So much is wrecked, now. And I did not fully understand all its workings, in any case. I tried, I was learning...."
"I will admit that I am perplexed. Your people were surviving without difficulty - and you are not, physiologically, well adapted even for the levels of illumination already prevalent here -"
"It would have restored the Land to its full function, its full power. One can always shelter from the sunlight."
"I see." I pause for a moment to consider. "In many ways, it is a noble, even an altruistic, vision. It might be possible for us to help you achieve it."
Dyegh leans towards me, his huge eyes suddenly intent. "And why would you do that?"
"Many possible reasons. We would learn much about the mechanisms and technologies of the sphere. We would gain a better understanding of your people, which might help in establishing meaningful contact with your remote cousins in subspace. And, of course, we would prefer to have some hand in managing such a project ourselves, for the sake of safety, if nothing else." I have reviewed the parameters of Dyegh's final intervention; he came perilously close to destabilizing the main gravitic anchors which neutralize the central sun's gravity - without which, everything on the interior of the sphere would fall into the sun. It is tactful not to draw his attention to this, at this moment.
"It is a dream," says Dyegh. "It seems, for now, an impossible dream."
"The Federation," I say, "was largely founded by people coming together to realize their dreams." I rise to my feet. "I will leave you to consider this. It is, of course, only one of many possibilities."
"Yes," says Dyegh, "many possibilities."
"In any case, I came here principally to thank you for your efforts. I will leave now."
"Yes," says Dyegh. He says nothing else, and I turn and go.
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