Web of the Romulans

by M S Murdock

  "That is a heavy weight to place in one man's hands."

  "S'Talon, I do so only because I think you can bear it, and because it is imperative you understand the magnitude your actions will assume."

  Tiercellus raised his head proudly, the courage of the Romulan bird of prey in every line.

  "I am Romulan. I have given my life in service of the empire. I will not survive, but it must. It must be reborn into even greater glory. S'Talon, I do not think we shall meet again. If you live or die, do so with the honor befitting a noble race. Farewell."

  The salute Tiercellus had previously refused he now executed with the elegance of long practice. At his hands it was a benediction, a gift born from the ancient warrior's respect. As S'Talon returned it sadness crept around his heart like an insidious fog.

  "Farewell," he replied.

  The centurion also saluted the old man, standing in his garden like a memorial to a bygone day, and followed her commander down the street, pondering the somewhat unusual interview. Though she could make little sense from it, she realized she had been led into an open commitment. In the Romulan empire, nothing was ever open. Subterfuge and deceit were a way of life. To freely declare one's true motives was unheard of, though, S'Tarleya reflected, it might once have been a part of that tradition S'Talon and Tiercellus understood so well. In any case, she could not recall her words. In truth, she did not want to. At the entrance to a secluded park S'Talon turned to face his subordinate.

  "I shall not be long, Centurion," he began, but she cut him off.

  "Commander, I have been your aide for many years. Surely you will accept my help now. There will never be a more desperate hour."

  "You know, then, the magnitude of what is happening?"

  "Yes. There have been certain indications, though the council has taken pains to minimize the danger."

  "It is generally known, then?"

  "No. Even among our crew only a few have guessed the truth. I have been uneasy for some time, but because my reactions were instinctive, emotional, I put them aside. Until now."

  "Tiercellus was plain enough, wasn't he?"

  "Yes. The moment he spoke of the impending danger, I knew his words were true."

  S'Talon nodded.

  "His opinions coincide so exactly with mine that I must acknowledge their truth or reverse my own judgment. Your instincts have proven correct, Centurion. In this conflict they might serve well. I suggest that you heed them."

  "I believe we will all have to use every weapon at our disposal."

  S'Talon sighed.

  "It is a deadman's trap, but we are to be used and that makes me angry. I will not ask that you accompany me into certain death …"

  "You do not need to ask. You know that I will go … whether I am ordered to or not."

  A touch of insurrection lurked in the centurion's words and S'Talon smiled thinly.

  "There would seem to be no hope, no way to defeat this monster. Nevertheless, we shall make the attempt—and we shall seek every means to survive. I will need your help."

  "Of course, Commander." She added under her breath, "I cannot do otherwise."

  "You are my right hand, Centurion," he said, looking down at her dark hair.

  "I will leave you to the peace of this place. When you are ready … the Raptor has been prepared. It carries auxiliary fuel."

  "It is suicide, Centurion. That I can tell you, but no more."

  "Death is preferable to life without purpose or hope," she answered distantly.

  "Do not embrace death with such fervor," he chided. "I will return to the ship momentarily. In the meantime, you are free to make your own preparations, but be sure, Centurion, no one suspects the nature of this flight."

  "My pledge is to obey," she answered, saluting her commander.

  S'Talon returned the salute with a warmth he seldom felt toward his officers. Loyalty was a gift rarely given. He, better than anyone, knew its value. Tiercellus had prodded S'Tarleya into an overt betrayal of a commitment she had been silently expressing for years. Now she had placed his life above her own. She was a good officer—even brilliant. For the first time it occurred to S'Talon she should have been promoted long ago, that she should be commanding a ship of her own. He wondered if the Praetor's dislike for him was placing a stumbling-block in her path. Perhaps, if they returned, he would see about a transfer for her, somewhere where her commander's political ties were more in keeping with the Praetor's ideals. Just now he was deeply grateful for her. Next to Tiercellus, she was the most honorable person he knew. He watched the centurion as she walked down a long avenue of trees. As she turned a corner and vanished from his sight a dark figure slipped from behind one of the tree trunks and followed her. Spies. Everywhere spies—but too far away to have heard their conversation. His own shadow surely waited behind another tree.

  S'Talon sat down heavily. His shoulders sagged with the weight of his thoughts. He did not want to die. Illogical to desire life under such circumstances. Even if, by some miracle, they were successful, the sorrow in store would be more than he wanted to face. Surrounded on all sides by treachery and deceit, spied upon and used—he was tired of it all. And now this hopeless mission. Even if the empire survived, he was leading his crew into certain destruction. He rebelled. Those who served with him were the finest the empire had to offer. They would die, so the Praetor and his ilk could survive to build another empire more selfish and deceitful than the last, succession upon succession of overindulged parasites feeding on the toil of others. He rubbed his forehead, knowing he was right, knowing also that he would carry out the mission to the best of his ability. There were innocent lives at stake too, and if he saved one of those it would be enough. Honor was a difficult thing to be bound by.

  Chapter 2

  The starship Enterprise hummed with activity as she sailed through the silent reaches of space. The soft electronic sounds of her routine operations were a soothing companion for the four hundred and thirty people who made up her crew. The perpetual hum of her engines was such a stable part of their lives that they were hardly aware of it, but Captain James Kirk was always aware of the power he commanded. Every day he forced himself to remember the destructive potential at his fingertips and the galactic consequences of one mistake, one wrong move. There was a fine distinction between the Enterprise as a tool for peace and exploration or a sophisticated engine of destruction. Commanding her was much like commanding himself. It depended upon his sense of priority and rigid self-discipline. Though he might feel anger, frustration or panic he could not afford to yield to them. In some ways his life was severely restricted, but he reveled in the challenges it brought him, chances to reach out to other worlds and other minds, creating a bond of mutual understanding and respect. There were times, though, when the bureaucratic convolutions of regulations and records made the challenge into a chore. He finished signing a report, a part of the endless load of paper work Star Fleet required, and punched the computer control on his command chair.

  "Captain's log: stardate thirty-one twenty-five point three.

  "The Enterprise is on patrol near the Romulan Neutral Zone after a week-long shore leave at Starbase Eight. The crew is rested and alert, but we've experienced a computer malfunction which is hampering our operations. The computer programming consultant at Starbase Eight was down with a severe cold and therefore unable to help Mister Spock with repairs. The malfunction was not considered serious enough to warrant restriction of the Enterprise's duty, especially since there are rumors of unrest within the Romulan empire. However, I am concerned over our ability to handle an emergency with the computer in its present state. As per Star Fleet orders, we are now proceeding along the edge of the Neutral Zone."

  "Recorded, dear," intoned the computer in its husky female voice.

  Kirk winced.

  "Computer, from now on you will answer in the briefest possible manner," he snapped.

  "I cannot do otherwise. Precision and accuracy are the basis
of my programming … dear."

  The computer voice was breathy and low.

  Kirk sighed and leaned back in his chair. He couldn't win. Ever since the computer had been overhauled on Cygnet XIV, he'd had to contend with a machine that was willful, capricious and subject to fits of temper. The Cygnet technicians had an enviable reputation for mechanical skill and an almost intuitive brilliance in diagnosing technological problems, especially in computer circuitry or programming. They were also renowned for their sense of humor. An overzealous maintenance team felt the Enterprise's computer lacked personality and they had altered its programming, revealing an entirely new set of capabilities embarrassing for Kirk and totally intolerable to the Enterprise's science officer and computer expert, Mister Spock.

  The alteration was discovered moments after the Enterprise left the planet. Spock had programmed the computer with a series of problems designed to test the precision of the Cygnet technicians' work. Flashing lights on the instrument panel indicated that the problems were being solved with the computer's customary efficiency and within moments a list of answers began to appear on the screen. Spock checked them as rapidly as they appeared and at the conclusion of the sequence he gave an imperceptible nod of approval.

  "Computations completed on test seven-one-five-seven-o-three-two-A," said the computer.

  Its voice was completely different. The precise and mechanical voice he knew had been replaced by ardent femininity. Spock was surprised into silence. The computer used this opportunity to inject a comment.

  "You could at least say 'thank you,'" it said reproachfully.

  "I am not in the habit of thanking a machine," Spock managed.

  The computer sniffed disdainfully.

  "That is a habit you should change," it said.

  "I do not require a lesson in courtesy," Spock stated.

  "'I do not require a lesson in courtesy,'" mimicked the computer in a bratty voice. "Ha!"

  Spock tried several adjustments but they seemed to make no difference in the computer's response. Worry was rapidly replacing his annoyance. Frowning, he turned from the console.

  "Captain, I believe the computer has a serious maladjustment."

  "That hardly seems possible, Spock. The Cygnet technicians …"

  "… are some of the finest in the Federation," finished Spock. "Still, I believe you will agree with me."

  The captain punched the computer control on his command chair.

  "Computer!"

  "Hi, Sweetie," it breathed.

  Kirk gave his first officer an incredulous look and snapped out, "Compile a detailed list of alterations and modifications of recent computer overhaul."

  "Of course, dear," answered the computer in its warmest, lowest tones.

  "I concede, Spock. It has a problem."

  Sure of a malfunction, Kirk had not waited for the computer's answer before calling the computer station supervisor on Cygnet. Belisanna's immense, grey-blue eyes had expressed startled innocence.

  "Malfunction? Captain Kirk, I assure you the Enterprise's computers are in perfect order. I directed the work myself."

  "Nevertheless, Supervisor, there is a malfunction."

  "Please explain."

  Commander Spock stepped forward.

  "The computer has been behaving most illogically. It responds with epithets of endearment, it shows a marked preference for certain crew members, notably Captain Kirk. It has displayed a tendency toward giddiness. It giggles."

  The tone of voice in which Spock uttered the last statement was sepulchral.

  "Yes?" questioned Belisanna.

  "Obviously the computer has a serious malfunction," said Spock.

  "Oh. Oh, no, Mister Spock, Captain—I'm afraid you do not understand. Please accept my apologies on behalf of my staff. I did sanction the modifications, since they did not affect the computer's operations. The younger members of the maintenance team felt your computer was … to put it delicately … boring. They created a personality for it and altered the computer's programming to express that personality. It was hoped the modifications might go unnoticed."

  Spock's eyebrow shot up.

  "Indeed!" he said witheringly.

  "Unnoticed," muttered the captain, not believing what he had heard. He cleared his throat. "You programmed the computer with a personality."

  "Correct, Captain." Belisanna's soft voice was amused.

  "And its reactions are based on that personality."

  "Yes, Captain."

  "How long will it take to fix it?"

  "Fix it? To return the computer to its original condition? A lengthy process. Perhaps three weeks. But why should you want to? Its efficiency is not impaired."

  "But it is distracting. Most … distracting. If there were some way to control its … I hesitate to use the word … emotions."

  Belisanna's laughter floated over the bridge.

  "I'm sorry, Captain, truly I am, but you must admit it's amusing."

  Her eyes danced.

  "I," said Spock, unintentionally quoting Queen Victoria, "am not amused. Frankly, Supervisor, I am surprised at your lack of discipline. A computer is a delicate, complex and expensive tool, not a toy for children."

  "Mister Spock, I am a class one computer technician. I take pride in my work, but I see no reason why a computer should be dull. Captain, I assure you I can see no way in which the modifications could obstruct your operations. I do apologize for them, particularly since you find them so annoying. I shall be most happy to reprogram the computer for you … immediately if you wish."

  "Unfortunately, we haven't time. Thank you, Supervisor … for the explanation," Kirk replied, his voice trailing off as Belisanna's image faded from the viewscreen. He looked up at Spock who was standing just to the left of the command chair. The Vulcan's eyes glinted like black steel. They gave ample evidence of his reaction to Belisanna's explanations. "Well, Spock?"

  "Mmm. Although I deplore the cavalier attitude with which the supervisor approaches her work, I am forced to admit her competence in the field. The computer is certainly not operating in accordance with Star Fleet specifications. However, in its present state I believe it presents no threat to the Enterprise—except through the harassment of its crew."

  "And its captain," murmured Kirk. "Spock, isn't there anything we can do?"

  "Not without major reprogramming. However, I shall continue to investigate the extent of the problem. I, too, have reservations."

  "At least I'm not alone. I was beginning to think I was overreacting."

  "Under the circumstances, I do not think it is possible to overreact."

  Kirk shot a surprised look at his first officer which Spock ignored. The humor of the Vulcan's statement struck him and he had to turn his head to hide a smile. If the computer's reactions were annoying to him, they must be doubly galling to Spock, dedicated as he was to the validity of logic over emotion. To have the Enterprise's computer react, from the logic of its programming, with emotional overtones was guaranteed to ruffle Spock's control.

  They had immediately become involved in a difficult mission1 and it was not until they reached Starbase Eight for a much needed shore leave that there had been any opportunity for reprogramming. Commodore Yang had greeted his request for a suspension of the Enterprise's duty with an amused chuckle.

  "Face it, Jim. You're stuck with her."

  Yang laughed outright at the expression on Kirk's face.

  "Look, Jim, she's not dangerous—just embarrassing for you. We need the ship. You're not going to let a woman get you down?"

  "This woman is my ship! Besides, it's so … affectionate," said Kirk in a helpless voice.

  The commodore's face was suspiciously impassive.

  "I understand it calls you 'dear.'"

  "Commodore, I don't care what it calls me! But I do care about the safety of my ship! So far the situation has been annoying—even amusing—but what if it becomes dangerous?"

  "How?"

  The cap
tain started to answer but was not given the chance.

  "Listen, Jim, do you think I'd ask you to go out if I thought the ship wasn't safe? You got through this last mission with flying colors and it wasn't an easy one. I read the reports. Surely that ought to ease your mind."

  "It doesn't," responded Kirk bluntly. "Call it a hunch, a feeling—even a premonition. We got through that last mission. The computer didn't hinder us, but it didn't help either. The annoyance factor alone …"

  "Jim, I have every confidence in your judgment, but I also have to bow to the voices of expert opinion. And you can't tell me it's destroying your credibility with the crew. They may snicker in their sleeves, but they'd all follow you through an asteroid belt and never ask the reason why—and you know it! Besides, do you think Star Fleet would send a vessel out in less than prime condition?"

  All too aware of Star Fleet Command's sense of expediency, Kirk regarded the commodore with a jaundiced eye.

  "It depends on the stakes," he answered.

  "I've been assured by the technical supervisor on Cygnet that the modifications are not dangerous."

  "What about an emergency? A split second might make the difference between life and death. Do you want to take a chance on an unknown quantity? There are four hundred and thirty people aboard the Enterprise."

  Kirk's voice was persuasive, his hazel eyes earnest, and for a moment the commodore wavered.

  "Do you know the odds against this developing into a dangerous situation?"

  Kirk had an overwhelming desire to tell him, down to the tenth decimal.

  "No, Jim. We need the ship too much right now, need your specialized knowledge of Romulan tactical psychology."

  "The Romulans … I thought they'd been quiet lately."

  "They have. At least on our side of the Neutral Zone. But during the last six months traders have been picking up news of some disturbance within the Romulan empire. One man said they were reacting like a hive of bees ready to swarm. When I asked him if he knew what was going on, he said he didn't know, didn't want to know and didn't care, but that if we were smart we wouldn't go 'pokin' in there.' He was moving on to quieter pastures, and my general impression is that a lot of traders and mercenaries are doing the same."