The Dark Veil

by James Swallow

  “Captain!” Vale couldn’t hide her surprise. “Sir, we’ve been tracking your biosigns since you beamed over there, but we couldn’t make contact. Are you all right?”

  “I’m fine, Commander. Stand by to bring me back.”

  “Aye, sir, standing by.”

  He studied his Romulan counterpart. “So this is how we end things? You and I go our separate ways, write our logs, sail our ships?”

  “That was always going to be the way,” noted Medaka. “One of my ancestors was fond of saying that men like us are creatures of duty. Those words were as true for him as they are now for us.”

  “Even after what we went through?” Riker pushed the point, trying once again to get a read on the enigmatic Romulan.

  “Do you think the Jazari destroyed themselves in that energy pulse?” Medaka countered by asking a question of his own.

  “I don’t know.” Riker answered honestly. “I hope not.”

  Medaka stepped closer, lowering his voice. “Major Helek had a peculiar notion about them. She said they were a threat. She insisted they were synthetics. But that sounds like an outlandish conspiracy theory, does it not?”

  The truth caught in Riker’s throat. For a brief instant, he was drawn to share the secret the Jazari had left him with. His gut instinct told him that Medaka was a man he could trust, and he wondered what would happen if he did. Would the truth build a bridge? Would it go a measure toward mending the gap between humans and Romulans?

  It was a tempting choice, but he let it pass. There was too much at stake for the Jazari, whatever their fate might be, and as much as Riker might want to trust this Romulan, he could not trust all of them.

  When Riker didn’t reply, Medaka went on. “Helek was Tal Shiar, and their kind live in a maze of mirrors, where every breath of wind and creak of the floor is the harbinger of a plot against them. Perhaps she went too far down that path, into that maze.”

  “I thought all Romulans believed in conspiracies,” said Riker.

  “Only the real ones.” Medaka glanced in the direction of the hatchway through which the guards had taken Helek. “She was so certain that her Tal Shiar masters would forgive her and protect her, it never occurred to Helek she might be abandoned by them.” He sighed. “Some will sacrifice anything to keep their secrets, even their most zealous and loyal.”

  Riker considered that. “Thank you for your candor through all of this. I hope if we meet again, it will be as friends.”

  Medaka smiled. “We shall make the best attempt.” He moved to walk away, and on a sudden impulse Riker took a step after him.

  “Joron.” Riker deliberately used his first name, speaking in a hushed whisper. “You and your family. We could help you. We can find somewhere safe for them.”

  The Romulan hesitated. “Thank you for that offer, William. But if you were I, could you accept it?”

  “I might,” said Riker. “If it meant saving Deanna and Thaddeus.”

  “Then you have a courage greater than mine, sir. Jolan tru, Captain.” Medaka turned and left Riker alone in the arena.

  He stood in the silence of the great, metal-walled chamber, dwelling on the admission he had just made. Could I give up everything I have for my wife and my child? The answer was marbled through every fiber of Will Riker’s being. I hope I never have to make that choice.

  He took a breath and reached up to tap his combadge, but before he could do so, Riker became aware of another presence in the chamber.

  “Captain. I would speak with you.”

  That voice. Riker knew it, but he couldn’t immediately place it. It was the deep and sonorous timbre of someone who had seen more of the universe than he might in a hundred lifetimes.

  He found his hooded advocate standing behind him, the silent and watchful figure silent no longer. Riker hadn’t heard him approaching.

  “Do I know you, sir?”

  In response, the advocate reached up with age-worn but dexterous fingers, and rolled back the hood to reveal himself. A patient face lined deep with wisdom studied Riker, one eyebrow arched in consideration. “Greetings.”

  “Ambassador Spock…” For a second, Riker felt utterly wrong-footed. Finding the venerable Vulcan here aboard this ship seemed almost unreal. Spock was a legend, not just to every Starfleet officer in the last hundred years, but to beings all across the Alpha and Beta Quadrants. He fumbled for an adequate response. “It’s an honor to meet you, sir.”

  “I was compelled to conceal my identity earlier,” explained Spock. “The Romulans enjoy an unnecessary degree of theatricality in their legal mechanisms. I hope my silence did not stress you unduly.”

  “No…” Riker said, his mind racing as he worked this new, unexpected revelation into the series of events. “I’m grateful you were here to speak for me. Thank you for intervening on my behalf.”

  “You labor under a misconception, Captain,” said Spock. “I am not responsible for your release. That decision was made by the tribunal. I merely offered an… informed viewpoint.”

  Riker gestured at the silent, empty chamber. “The Tal Shiar really have left Helek twisting in the wind.”

  “Quite so. The Tal Shiar is a ruthlessly results-oriented organization. Helek’s failure and abuse of their resources for her own crusade sealed her fate. If she had brought them some element of success, matters might have been very different.”

  Riker gave a crooked smile. “If you hadn’t been here, I might have gone with her into those cells.”

  “When a matter regarding Starfleet comes to my attention, it is a priority to me,” said the Vulcan. “More so when the name of a former officer from the Enterprise is mentioned.” He gestured toward the darkened gallery. “When I became aware of this situation unfolding in the Neutral Zone, I decided to offer my assistance. Sympathetic voices within the Romulan government saw the value in that.”

  Riker considered that. “The last I’d heard of you, sir, was that you had left Romulan space.”

  “For a short time. I returned after the threat of the coming supernova event became clear. I have initiated a collaboration between the Vulcan Science Academy and Romulus, seeking solutions that might preserve the Romulan civilization.” Spock paused. He seemed to be mulling something over. “I had hoped that I might converse with the Jazari before they… departed. Their technologies could have proven useful. I regret that we arrived too late.”

  “If there’s any way that I can assist,” said Riker, “you need only ask.”

  “I intend to.” Spock studied him for a moment. “Your colleague Commander La Forge is a very gifted engineer and shipwright. I have read several of his warp propulsion theory monographs with interest. I would like to speak to him regarding a… technical conundrum I have been working on. Off the record, you understand.”

  Riker wondered what the Vulcan was referring to, but he knew better than to press the point. “I’ll reach out to Geordi when we make port, I’ll let him know.”

  “In addition, I would also ask you to pass on my gratitude to your former captain, Jean-Luc Picard. Circumstances have conspired to prevent me from speaking to him directly, but I would like him to know that his efforts with the refugee crisis were greatly appreciated.” A subtle frown creased the ambassador’s face. “Many of those who supported Vulcan-Romulan Reunification were left displaced in the early days, after the supernova threat was revealed. Picard’s tireless work during that time has ensured that those people, and their hopes for the future, will survive.”

  “You’ll be rejoining them?”

  “No.” Spock’s frown deepened. “For the moment, my focus remains on seeking a solution that might end the present crisis. Perhaps, if I can achieve that, then the proof of my good intentions toward all Romulans will finally be affirmed.”

  “I don’t envy you the task,” admitted Riker. “Good luck.”

  Spock raised his hand in the traditional Vulcan salute. “Until our paths cross again, Captain. Live long, and prosper.”

/>   “Peace and long life,” he replied, returning the gesture.

  The ambassador drew his hood back up and walked away. Riker watched him leave, still feeling a little nonplussed at the whole encounter. After everything he had experienced in the last few days, the last thing he had expected was to find a Vulcan guardian angel looking out for him.

  He tapped his communicator. “Titan, this is the captain. One to beam up.”

  * * *

  Helek sat cross-legged on the floor of the metal cell, her eyes closed and her head bowed forward. There was no door, no air vents or other furniture in the space. Inside this iron cube, there was nothing but her captivity.

  Her uniform was gone, taken from her along with her sash of rank, replaced with a common ship suit of bland, scratchy fabric fresh from a replicator. Her concealed weapons and tools, down to the needle daggers hidden in the length of her hair, were confiscated.

  Outwardly, everything that had made Sansar Helek who she was had been stripped away. Within, the loss threatened to be greater still.

  She passed the time by building scenarios in her mind as to what her fate would be, dispassionately evaluating each one, and ranking them according to probability.

  In one, she sat here in this pose until she starved to death, until her lifeless body slumped forward and began to decay. In a second, she terminated herself by breaking her neck against the unyielding metal walls. In a third, she waited for the eventual arrival of a guard and killed him by biting out his throat. More possible scenarios branched off that opening action, each becoming less survivable the longer they went on.

  In some, she would be freed by the Tal Shiar, and they would reveal to her that this whole chain of events had been a ploy, a way to declare her dead so the Romulan secret police might use her as a nameless, faceless agent in ever more clandestine missions. In others, they left her here as a grim object lesson to anyone in their ranks who might dare to take matters into their own hands.

  But in none of these potential futures did Helek allow herself to think of the Zhat Vash. To even hold the idea of them, to grasp the shape of their name in her mind, that felt like a betrayal. She had risked everything to fulfill the mission they had given her, to rage against the terrifying danger of the Admonition. And even in this moment, despite everything she had said in the tribunal chamber, Helek was unsure if she had succeeded or failed them.

  It was difficult to reckon the passing of time, but she was sure it was days before someone finally came. And with him was the answer.

  One wall of the cell shimmered and dematerialized to reveal a sallow-faced Romulan man in the naval duty uniform of an uhlan. The low-ranked crewmember stood in the corridor outside and waited for Helek to acknowledge him.

  “I want food and water,” she demanded. In Helek’s experience, the best way to deal with subordinates was to put them in their place from the outset, no matter what the situation.

  “You cannot give orders anymore,” said the uhlan. “They took that privilege from you.”

  “Then take pity on me,” she snapped. “Or go away.”

  “I do have something for you,” said the man.

  “What is it?” Helek decided to indulge him.

  “A choice.” He stepped over the threshold and into the cell, but he was careful to stay well out of Helek’s reach. “A gift from Aia.”

  Aia. The name turned her blood to ice. In ancient Romulan myth, it meant the place of every grief, and for her sins, Sansar Helek had once walked in its dust.

  Those initiated into the secrets of the Zhat Vash knew of Aia as the world where the horror of the Admonition lurked. On that desolate planet, beneath the waning light of eightfold stars, the dread warning of the death of all organic life awaited the unwary.

  Helek had experienced that warning and lived. Few did. Not all were considered worthy enough to risk exposure to it.

  She peered into the uhlan’s eyes to search for the truth of him. His flinty gaze had a haunted quality to it.

  “You have seen it,” Helek said quietly. He did not need to respond. Like knows like, she thought.

  He held out his hand, offering something. “You drew too much attention to our cause. You allowed your ambition to outstrip your reason. For the work to be completed, it must happen in darkness. Too much is at stake.” He dropped an object into her open palm. “You understand that, don’t you?”

  Helek studied the needle dagger she now held. The wire-thin blade had the telltale rusted orange sheen of a felodesine-coated edge. The poison was swift and utterly lethal to Romulan blood chemistry.

  In the moment before the uhlan stepped back out of reach, Helek ran a scenario in her mind where she killed him with the weapon and escaped the ship holding her prisoner. She could do it. It was possible.

  But there was nowhere she would be able to hide. She could escape the talons of the Romulan fleet, she might even be able to evade the Tal Shiar. But the Zhat Vash would not let her draw breath for long. They would be in every shadow, concealed in every crowd, they would find her no matter where she went.

  Helek rolled the dagger between her thumb and forefinger. There was only one place the Zhat Vash could not go, and there only the dead had dominion.

  “Atone for your errors, sister,” said the guard, backing away. “And be assured that the crusade will carry on without you.”

  * * *

  Thad sat on the floor of the Riker family’s quarters and doodled on the sheet of paper in front of him. Rather than using a padd like Shelsa and the other children in his class, the boy liked the feel of something physical and real. There was something better about the way his colored pencils scratched and smudged as they moved across the page. With a padd, if you made a mistake, you could just erase it and start again. On the paper, you had to make it work.

  Rough, sketchy forms were starting to come together, abstract things that grew from the motions of the pencils. Thad didn’t have a plan for what he was creating, just the impulse to create it. He let the thing come together on its own.

  He heard movement in his father’s study. Thad’s parents—and everyone else’s—were back at work now that the Titan was at “full operational capacity,” whatever that meant. Dad’s duty shift was supposed to be over, but the boy had learned early on that a captain never really got a day off.

  That didn’t seem fair, but his mother had once told him that being the commander of a starship was a lot like being a parent, and parents never got a day off either. It’s called responsibility, she said. The older you get, the more you’ll have.

  Dad had been talking to the ship’s computer in his study, making his captain’s logs to send off to Starfleet Command so they would understand what had happened out here in space. Thad had a log of his own, a diary, but it was mostly filled with more sketches and scribbled notes on his invented language.

  “What are you drawing, kiddo?” Thad looked up to find his father standing over him. His uniform tunic was open and he seemed tired, but happy.

  “It’s a map,” said Thad.

  “Of what?” His father crouched to see it better.

  “I’m making a planet,” he explained. “It’s gonna have continents and islands and seas. I’ll draw maps for them too, and make languages for everyone who lives on them.”

  Dad grinned. “That’s pretty cool.”

  “I’m gonna make somewhere we could live,” he added. “Maybe an island, with a nice house. And somewhere for the Jazari too, in case they ever come back.” Thad stopped, thinking of Zade and the others of his kind. “I think they made it wherever they were going, Dad. And they fixed me up, so I figure that would be a good gift.”

  “What’s it called, this planet?”

  “Ardani. That’s Kelu for home.”

  “Good name.” His father reached out and tousled his hair. “There’s a lot of worlds in the universe. Yours could be out there.”

  “Ours,” corrected the boy. “Our planet, Dad.”

  The door hi
ssed open and his mother entered, and immediately Thad sensed that something was up. Earlier, she’d gone down to sickbay to talk to Doctor Talov, and the boy guessed it was because of him. The Vulcan medical officer had submitted Thad to an extensive battery of testing, scanning and poking and prodding him in all sorts of ways to make sure he was whole and well.

  His dad sensed his mom’s hesitation too, and he frowned. “Are you all right?” He glanced at their son, and then toward his study, a tell Thad knew of old. It meant Shall we talk about this privately?

  A smile formed on his mother’s face. “I had a conversation with Talov. He told me Thad is in perfect health for a boy his age, but he wants to continue to monitor him for a while.”

  “Uuuugh.” Thad made a long, annoyed sound. “More tests?”

  “You went through something no human has ever experienced,” his father said gently. “We need to make sure you’re okay.”

  “I am okay,” insisted the boy. “Better than okay!”

  “But that’s not all he told me,” said his mother, and she reached out to take her husband’s hand. Her smile widened, and Thad stopped drawing. She seemed different somehow, suddenly more alive.

  His dad’s grin came back, wide and wild, as something unspoken passed between them. “No…!”

  “Yes,” said his mother, and she grinned too.

  Thad had the sense that both his parents knew exactly what was going on, but he was out of the loop. “What is it?”

  “That house on your island,” said his father with a joyful laugh. “I think it might need to be a little bigger.”

  * * *

  The sun was low in the sky, but the air was still warm as the late afternoon began to reach for the evening. Straw-gold light the shade of a good Chardonnay filled the study, and Jean-Luc Picard sat back in his chair.

  He allowed himself the indulgence of reading back over the words on the holo-monitor in front of him, and he was happy with his writing. History could sometimes seem like a dry collection of facts and dates, but there was a kind of thrill in turning those truthful details into a narrative that would draw readers in, and make them feel like they were witnesses to something important.