“This is no time for racial division. The stakes are too high.”
“If that is the case, then the first thing I suggest you do is never call me ‘halfbreed’ again.”
Selar inclined her head slightly. “Very well…Soleta. But I need to emphasize—”
“No. What you need to do is shut up.” She sat in the nearest chair, staring dazed into space. “So many questions I’ve had, for so long, and never anyone to ask, until now. Rest assured that I’ve no more interest in having my secrets exposed than you do with yours. I need time to—”
“Take all the time you require, but I need your word now.”
“Or what?”
Selar’s face was unreadable, but there was a look in her eyes that suggested the level of the stakes and the lengths to which Selar would go to protect her race.
“You have my word,” Soleta said. “But in exchange, you will immediately tell the others your true nature and real name. Protecting the fate of the Vulcan race is a sufficient show of good faith on my part. I don’t need to be worrying that I’ll slip and call you by your true name, calling my own loyalties into question. I’m not interested in keeping secrets from Mac.”
Selar hesitated and then nodded. “Your terms are acceptable. I simply hope that your M’k’n’zy of Calhoun doesn’t overreact and kill me.”
Soleta rolled her eyes. “You can’t take him seriously when he says things like that.”
“Would you bet your life on that?” When Soleta didn’t respond, Selar simply inclined her head slightly and said, “I thought as much.”
It was two hours later when McHenry reported that the ion trails had diverged. The larger vessel, the one from the Alliance, had broken off, leaving the smaller transport ship to continue to Romulus on its own. Without hesitation, Mac ordered McHenry to keep the ship on the trail of the transport ship. He ignored Soleta’s protests that it could be another form of trap, nor did he particularly care why the larger ship had veered off. “Perhaps they had some other mission they had to undertake,” he said, and that was sufficient for him. It was less than inspiring for the others, but they didn’t see the point of going up against Mac. Not when he was in this sort of mood.
Forty-seven minutes later, they overtook the transport ship.
The battle was short. The transport was armed, but the Excalibur deftly outmaneuvered it, and pinpoint assaults from the Excalibur’s big guns managed to disable the transport’s offensive capabilities while leaving the rest of the ship intact. They then steadily battered the shields, punching a hole through them sufficient for a strike team, composed entirely of Xenexians, to beam aboard.
Mac, naturally, was at the head of the strike team. He wouldn’t have it any other way, despite Soleta and Jellico both asserting that he had a responsibility to the ship to keep himself as safe as possible. “How would my people respect me,” he had said, “if they thought that I was afraid to face the perils to which I would subject them?”
Now Soleta, Selar, and Jellico made their way through the corridors of the captured transport. Any Xenexians they encountered bowed deeply upon seeing them, as was their custom. The three of them also had to step carefully over fallen bodies—Cardassian, for the most part. It had been a ferocious battle, and Jellico almost slipped more than once in pools of blood that had not yet been cleaned up.
They met up with Mac in the cargo hold. Soleta noticed that his long hair was flecked with blood. He either didn’t notice or else didn’t seem to care. “All right, Selar,” he said sarcastically. He had not been at all pleased when she had confessed her deception to him, although he hadn’t seemed inclined to kill her. At least, Soleta didn’t think he had been; it wasn’t always easy to tell. “What are we dealing with?”
Selar entered the cargo hold and cracked open one of the crates. She studied the contents and then nodded. “It appears to be canisters of C-170.”
Mac exchanged confused looks with the others. “What is that?”
“It’s a radioactive isotope,” Jellico said promptly. “Used in the manufacture of weapons.”
“What sort of weapon?” said Soleta.
It was Selar who responded. “Weapons involving Thalaron radiation.”
“So you’re a spy and a scientist?” said Jellico. If he had been suspicious of her when she was “Thue” and a Romulan, he was even more so now that he knew she had been less than candid from the very beginning.
“A scientist by training; a spy by necessity,” said Selar, and then went on, “To be specific, C-170 is a triggering agent required to instigate a cascading biogenic pulse.”
“How significant a pulse?” said Mac.
Selar fixed him with a look. “It could generate a pulse sufficient to destroy an entire world.”
“My God,” said Jellico. Mac let out a low whistle. Soleta said nothing.
“The Romulans likely have the rest of the materials already in place or are receiving delivery from other sources,” said Selar. “But there is no substitute for C-170. Without it, whatever device they’ve created would be useless. Obviously, the Alliance wanted to have possession of the C-170 so that the device—”
“Bomb,” said Jellico. “Let’s call it what it is.”
“So that the bomb,” said Selar without hesitation, “would be created on the Alliance’s timetable. They wanted to hold the final piece.”
“And now we hold it,” said Mac.
“Let’s go.”
“Go?” said Mac to Jellico, who had just spoken. “Go where?”
“Back to the Excalibur, obviously. So we can blow this damned ship to bits and its cargo along with it.”
“Why would we want to do that?”
Jellico looked astounded. “Because it’s a doomsday weapon, Mac,” he said, gesturing toward the crates and clearly amazed that he needed to explain it. “If we destroy this shipment, we can—”
“We can what? Prevent the doomsday weapon from being made? When this vessel goes missing, they’ll just arrange another shipment from somewhere else, sooner or later.”
“Then what are you suggesting? That we deliver it?”
“That’s exactly right.”
Jellico paled. “You can’t be serious.”
“It makes sense,” said Soleta.
He turned to her as if she had just stabbed him in the back. “How can you say that?”
“My mouth forms the words; it’s not all that difficult.”
“Consider, Jellico,” said Mac. “If a doomsday weapon is going to exist, why shouldn’t we be the ones in control of it?”
“Because we’ll be tempted to use it!”
“If the Alliance has it, they’ll be far more than tempted.”
“He is quite correct,” said Selar. “We have every reason to believe that the Alliance has allowed the Romulans to exist unmolested—or relatively so—because they have been waiting precisely for the creation of this sort of weapon. At present, even the Alliance does not possess weaponry capable of annihilating an entire world. A Thalaron bomb will provide them with exactly that. They would not desire such a device unless they fully intended to use it.”
“Even if we manage to acquire this bomb,” said Jellico, “that won’t necessarily prevent the Alliance from doing so.”
“Maybe. But maybe it will persuade them not to use it,” said Soleta. “After all, if they know we have it and can retaliate in kind should they employ it, that knowledge might serve to prevent them from utilizing it in the first place.”
Jellico looked as if he were about to reply, but Mac was already turning to Selar. “The techniques used to create your…appearance,” he said. “Can you replicate them? Disguise others to look like Romulans?”
Slowly, she nodded. “I could cannibalize some of the equipment in this vessel’s medlab. The transformation would be far more painful for the subject than the technique used on me. It might even kill a human…”
“I’m not considering using it on a human.”
She eyed him. “You mean yourself.” He nodded slowly. “Very well. Come with me. We will get started.”
Selar and Mac walked out. Jellico, meanwhile, was still staring at the crates and slowly shaking his head. “Problem, Jellico?” said Soleta.
He turned to her and said, “All this talk about using our own weapon to deter the Alliance from using it first. But what’s to stop us from using it in the first place?”
“That’s easy,” said Soleta. “We’re the good guys.”
“Are we? Are you sure?”
Soleta didn’t reply.
Hiren, Praetor of the Romulan Alliance, was not one typically to stand on ceremony. So it was that he literally sprinted down the corridor leading to his private study upon learning that the final element for Project Parity had finally arrived. A team of scientists had beamed down with it and were prepared to assemble the device that would finally put them on equal footing with the Alliance.
Hiren knew what they said about him. He knew that they claimed he was swallowed in paranoia to the point of near insanity. He knew that they claimed he was unfit to rule and should be forced out of office at the earliest opportunity. He knew that they claimed he was the Alliance’s puppet, kowtowing to their every whim in exchange for questionable promises of safety.
They know nothing of me. Nothing.
He turned the corner and saw that guards were standing to either side of the study doors. He remembered that he had posted them there, but abruptly he began to second-guess himself. The eyes and ears of the Alliance were everywhere, and he didn’t need random guards listening in on his plans. “Has everything been brought in?” he said. The guards nodded. “Very well. You may leave.”
The guards exchanged confused looks. That was acceptable to Hiren. Let them be confused. There was no need for them to be aware of what was happening. The assorted parts for Project Parity had been brought from half a dozen different points around the city, each prepared independently so that no individuals save Hiren and the chief designer would know what the nature of the final device would be. And what with the chief designer having met with a tragic accident just two days earlier—having thrown himself off a cliff after stabbing himself repeatedly—Hiren only had to worry about his own trustworthiness. Of that, as always, he was fully confident.
Of course, there was the matter of the scientists themselves. They were the ones who were going to be working from the chief designer’s plans and constructing the device. Naturally, they were going to figure out what it was they were assembling. But that was acceptable. After all, once the device was assembled, there was nothing that could be done to disassemble it. Hiren would have his weapon, parity would be achieved with the Alliance, and all would be well. And if the scientists proved to be a problem down the road, well…
…there were plenty of cliffs out there.
The guards had obediently departed, and Hiren walked into his private study. He looked with approval at the assorted containers stacked neatly. Standing at the far end were three Romulan scientists, two female and one male.
“Greetings,” he said. “I am Hiren, Praetor of the Romulan Alliance.”
“Yes. We know,” said one of the females. There was an edge to her voice, a harshness that seemed wholly inappropriate to the occasion. Typically, people groveled upon meeting Hiren, which was the way he preferred it.
Plus, there was something vaguely familiar in her voice. He tilted his head thoughtfully and said, “Have we met, young woman?”
“On several occasions, yes.” She walked slowly toward him. The far end of the study had been cast in shadow since the sun was setting, and even in the best of light, Hiren’s eyes were not what they once were. “I was usually in the company of my father.”
“Your father?”
“Yes.” She was close enough now that her features were clearer to him. “Perhaps you remember him? His name was Rojan. You had him killed.”
Hiren’s mouth moved, but no words came out at first. Then he found his breath and started to cry out for help. Even as he did so, however, the male Romulan—who had not moved a muscle until that moment—was across the room, covering the distance in one leap like some sort of beast. He drove a knee into Hiren’s chest, knocking him to the ground, and a face both familiar and unfamiliar snarled down at Hiren.
“Remember me?” said the male Romulan. “You condemned me to die in the mines of Remus because I committed the unpardonable crime of refusing to murder my father.”
The ears, the brow, were Romulan, but the eyes burned with an intensity that Hiren would never forget, even though they had been in a much younger face when he’d last seen them. “Muck,” he whispered.
“So you called me. Now I am Mac. And perhaps I should make up for that uncommitted murder right now.”
The other woman now stepped forward and said firmly, “Is this what you intended with this mission, Mac? To kill the Praetor?”
“Are you going to stop me?”
“No. I simply wish to know.”
“If he doesn’t,” said Soleta, moving toward him, “then I will.”
“And is that,” said the other woman sharply, “how you are going to prove that you are ‘the good guys’? By murdering someone in the name of vengeance?”
“In the name of justice,” Mac said.
“Never confuse the two. I never do.” She came over to him and said, “We have everything we desire. The entire weapon is right here. One assumes that Hiren has the plans to assemble it. Once he provides us with those…”
“Then you kill me,” Hiren said, mentally upbraiding himself for dismissing the guards. There was no one to whom he could call for help, thanks to his own stupidity. “Hardly an incentive for me to tell you how to complete the…” He hesitated.
“Weapon, you idiot,” said Mac. “The word you’re hesitating to speak is ‘weapon,’ as if we didn’t know what—”
Suddenly there were shouts from outside the Praetor’s study, shots fired, orders issued, and more shots.
The former Muck hauled the Praetor to his feet. “Expecting company?”
The doors to the Praetor’s private study burst open. A Klingon strode in. His face was narrow, and his beard and temples were tinged with gray, but he looked as formidable as any Klingon Hiren had ever seen. Right behind him came a Cardassian. His skin was deathly pale, his black hair slicked back, and—curiously—several pieces of bone were missing from the characteristic ridges on his face. Backing them up was a squadron of Alliance guards, a mix of Cardassian and Klingon troops.
“I am Krone,” said the Klingon and, indicating the Cardassian just behind him, continued, “And this is Tome Ari. We were told you would be expecting us.”
Not this soon, damn you. Not for days yet.
“Of course,” said Hiren, forcing a smile.
Tome Ari looked suspiciously at the three other figures in the room. “Who are they?” he demanded.
Everything froze as Hiren realized he was holding the fate of three people in his hands, and at least two of those people would like to see him dead.
On the bridge of the Excalibur, Kalinda suddenly sat bolt upright in her seat and said, “Change course. Now.”
The abrupt pronouncement caught Jellico off guard. Robin Lefler turned to Kalinda and said, “What?”
Kalinda ignored both of them. She was on her feet and saying, “You heard me, McHenry. Now!”
As you wish, Kalinda.
The Excalibur had been en route to Romulus. Mac, Soleta, and Selar had taken the transport vessel and had by that point arrived at their destination. There were any number of Romulan vessels orbiting the Romulan homeworld, so the transport was the logical means for Mac and his crew to penetrate Romulan security. The Excalibur had been approaching slowly to serve as backup, moving into communication range but not sensor range.
But there had been an abrupt change of plan as Romulan space receded on the viewscreen. “What the hell is going on? What are you doing!?” said Jellico
.
Kalinda was undeterred by his anger. “Remember the Alliance ship that broke off from the science transport? McHenry said a vessel matching its ion trail is coming in from warp space. It’s heavily armed, and we are no match for it. He’s operating on the assumption that they have a description of this vessel and will attack on sight. So it makes sense for us to keep out of sight.”
“And they’re heading for Romulus?”
“Yes, Edward,” said Kalinda. “So it would seem.”
Jellico and Robin exchanged worried looks. “If they’re planning to meet with the Praetor…” said Robin.
“Who else would they be meeting with?”
“Then this could pose a serious problem for Mac and the others. What should we do, Jellico?”
“We wait,” said Jellico, “and we hope that Mac can lie his way out of whatever situation he finds himself in.”
Mac feigned confusion to the best of his ability and said, “Noble Krone, honored Tome Ari, my associates and I have absolutely no idea why you should be surprised that we’re here. What reason would you have to think that something unusual transpired in our voyage here?”
He folded his arms and waited. His hand rested comfortably on the palm-sized blaster that was secreted just inside his tunic. If Krone, Tome Ari, or any of their men made any sort of abrupt move, Mac would open fire and hope for the best.
Krone exchanged a glance with Tome Ari and then growled. “We were informed that representatives of the Alliance had boarded your vessel to provide…protection. Commandeered it, actually. Took command. Or so we were told.”
“Who made that allegation?” Selar spoke up.
“The commander of the Warship Blackmorn, the ship that transported us here,” said Tome Ari. “He broke off from your vessel to rendezvous with us at Terok Nor so that we could come here and see for ourselves this masterful weapon you’re about to create for us.” That last was directed more to Hiren than it was to Selar.
“Well,” Selar said carefully, looking as if she were immensely concerned for Tome Ari’s and Krone’s feelings, “I would never wish to imply that your commander was less than candid with you. Never for all the world. Yet on the other hand, you are faced with the irrefutable proof of your own eyes. We are here, and there is no sign of your representatives, and if they were in charge, certainly they would have come down here instead of us, would they not?”
Star Trek®: Mirror Universe: Shards and Shadows Page 29