T’Pol slumped her shoulder slightly, in an attempt to lose the bearing that she knew read to humans as “stickup-the-ass-Vulcan” in the words of one Charles Anthony Tucker III. She hoped that the mannerism would make her appear more vulnerable in the ensign’s eyes.
“I am confiding in you, however, Hoshi, woman to woman. There are certain Vulcan…things that I am going through right now. Things that are…difficult to discuss with humans, or even with a Denobulan doctor. I used the scrambled transmission because I was already ashamed at what the beta crew had witnessed on the bridge; it would shame me even further if any revelations about my private health were intercepted accidentally by another crew member. Yourself included.”
Sato looked sad, and approached T’Pol with her arms outstretched, gathering her in for a hug.
“I understand, Commander. And I’m certain that Captain Archer will as well. I’ll check with him to verify that he’s okay with you using the scrambler, but unless he tells me otherwise, your secret is safe with us. And if you ever need to talk, just know that I’m here for you.”
“Thank you,” T’Pol said, stiffly allowing herself to submit to the somewhat awkward hug the younger woman offered. She felt guilty for misleading the ensign, but she knew it was necessary. And T’Pol felt confident that Archer would believe her excuse as well were he to confront her about the matter.
Just as she felt confident that Jonathan Archer would never suspect what she had really just requested of her old friend Denak.
ELEVEN
Day Thirty-three, Month of K’ri’Brax
The Hall of State, Dartha City, Romulus
“I HAVE BROUGHT THE VULCAN SPY, Admiral, per your orders,” Centurion Terix said, standing at attention in the open doorway to Admiral Valdore’s office. A pair of armed uhlans, members of the Hall of State’s ceremonially dressed yet highly trained security contingent, stood vigilantly behind him. The uhlans’ sidearm disruptors were conspicuously visible, as were their sheathed Honor Blades, and the guards’ dark eyes gleamed alertly from beneath their shiny silver helmets.
A somewhat shorter man, clad in a rumpled, deep-green detention jumpsuit, stood at the centurion’s side, his wrists tightly shackled together before him. The bruises that marred the prisoner’s face did nothing to dampen the fires of defiance that burned deep within his eyes.
Valdore looked the captured spy up and down for a long and silent moment. This is indeed a dangerous one, he thought without any irony. He will certainly bear close watching wherever he goes from now on.
Nodding a curt acknowledgment to Terix, Valdore rose from the chair behind his heavy sherawood desk. “You may remove his restraints, Centurion.”
“Sir?”
Valdore scowled. “Perhaps you pulled your helmet straps a bit too tightly around your ears this morning, Centurion. I said that the prisoner’s restraints will no longer be necessary. Remove them. Now.”
A look of surprise briefly crossed Terix’s usually hard and stoic features. “At once, Admiral.” He turned and nodded to the nearer of the two uhlans, who retrieved a small electronic key from his belt, stepped forward, then opened and took the restraints before resuming his previous position.
During the entire process the spy simply stared at Valdore, his expression now displaying a sort of defiant curiosity. The man stared in silence as he rubbed his wrists where the shackles had chafed them.
“What is your name?” Valdore asked the prisoner.
“Cunaehr ir’Ra’tleihfi tr’Mandak,” he answered slowly, pronouncing each syllable as though his tongue had grown swollen and heavy. “I have been Doctor Ehrehin’s assistant for the past twelve fvheisn.”
Valdore nodded, not bothering to challenge the spy’s professed identity despite the fact that his own research the previous evening had already conclusively put the lie to it. Cunaehr, the longtime apprentice, assistant, and amanuensis of Doctor Ehrehin i’Ramnau tr’Avrak, died some three khaidoa ago on Unroth III during an ill-fated static test of an early prototype of the avaihh lli vastam, the still-elusive warp-seven stardrive. Therefore, Cunaehr was the only person in the entire vast expanse of Romulan Star Empire space that this spy could not be.
Who is he, really? Valdore wondered, as he had done for the past nine dierha. And how did the Vulcans manage to place one of their spies in such a sensitive position?
Valdore knew he couldn’t discount the possibility that his own instincts had been compromised more than he had realized by his own recent political imprisonment following the drone-ship fiasco of the previous fvheisn. Or perhaps the spy had gained his initial foothold on Romulus during the several long khaidoa of Valdore’s incarceration.
But Valdore allowed all such questions to go unasked, at least for the moment. He knew that there was nothing to be gained by letting the spy understand the extent to which his assumed identity had been compromised. Far better to allow him to continue operating with impunity, all the while keeping him under close but discreet scrutiny. This Vulcan might be put to considerable productive use for the Empire, whether knowingly or not.
“On behalf of all the military forces of the Romulan Star Empire,” Valdore said, “please accept my apologies for your confinement.”
“I’m sorry?” the spy said, looking nonplussed.
Valdore assayed a smile he hoped the man would find reassuring. “No. I’m sorry. For having allowed you to be arrested and imprisoned, and so soon after the slaying of your mentor. You are free to go, Cunaehr.”
“Sir?” said Terix, who was still standing with the uhlans near the office doorway.
“I wasn’t addressing you, Centurion,” Valdore said, using a tone that brooked no further argument. He kept his gaze fixed upon the spy, whose blunt response took him by surprise.
“Why?”
Valdore chuckled. “Contrary to what many of our officers believe, not even the Romulan government is infallible. I stand before you as proof of that. I, too, was once imprisoned. Until my superiors thought better of that erroneous decision, that is.”
“I was arrested,” the spy said quietly, looking more puzzled by the moment, “by mistake?”
“We thought you were someone else,” Valdore said, nodding. “It appears you were the victim of a simple case of mistaken identity. Nothing more.”
The spy nodded, a look of hesitancy bordering on suspicion displayed across his face, as though he feared falling victim to some devious psychological trick. “It’s a real relief to hear that, Admiral,” he said at length.
“I hope this unfortunate incident will not significantly slow down your progress toward accomplishing Doctor Ehrehin’s objectives.”
The spy’s earlier hesitancy abruptly vanished. “I live only to serve the Empire, Admiral,” he said in his hard-to-place, possibly rustic accent.
And serve the Empire you will, my Vulcan friend, Valdore thought. Regardless of your real intentions.
“My chief technologist’s office will furnish whatever you require to continue the good Doctor Ehrehin’s work,” Valdore said aloud. “You will find that the laboratory in which you and Doctor Ehrehin worked has already been repaired.” And it will be under much heavier surveillance from now on, he added silently.
“Thank you, sir,” the spy said, lowering his gaze contemplatively in a way that made him look vaguely troubled.
“You may speak freely here, Cunaehr,” Valdore said, hoping to inspire the other man’s confidence.
“Have you learned the identities of the ones responsible for Ehrehin’s murder?” the spy asked. Valdore noted with some surprise that the man’s expression of concern for the dead mentor whose legacy his very presence threatened appeared as authentic as it did. It was a fine performance. Or perhaps he really had developed some genuine affection for the old man, his Vulcan emotional repression and political predilections notwithstanding. After all, despite all their pretensions to the contrary, Vulcans were no less emotional than their Romulan cousins; they were merely far more re
pressed, and therefore arguably far less sane—and thus more dangerous—than the typical Romulan.
“Centurion Terix,” Valdore said, his eyes still riveted upon those of the spy. “Since we have established that this man is indeed a loyal Romulan, I believe his question deserves an answer. What have you learned so far about the assassins?”
Terix made flustered noises. “Admiral, these are sensitive security matters. I shouldn’t—”
“What you shouldn’t do, Centurion, is disobey a direct order,” Valdore said, stepping down hard on the young officer’s protestations. “Give me the general outlines of your report. Now.”
Terix nodded, apparently hastening to focus his concentration and gather his scattered thoughts. After a momentary pause, he said, “So far as my people can determine, Doctor Ehrehin was killed by terrorist revolutionaries whose larger goal is to compromise the stardrive project.”
“The Ejhoi Ormiin, I’ll bet,” the spy said, his eyes now riveted upon Terix.
“Why are you so certain of that, Cunaehr?” Valdore asked, raising an eyebrow and using a tone of voice that had been known to make first-year uhlans—and occasionally even sublieutenants and decurions—soil themselves during inspection tours.
The spy didn’t appear to be cowed in the least as he faced Valdore again. “Let’s just say I know they’re highly motivated to go after Ehrehin a second time. It’s got to be the same dissident group that I helped rescue Ehrehin from in the Rator system two khaidoa ago.” Addressing Terix, he added, “I tried to explain that to you when you and your men arrived in the physics lab—just a little bit too late to save Ehrehin’s life.”
Terix nodded impassively, not rising to take the obvious bait. “My men immediately began investigating the Ejhoi Ormiin, beginning with a most thorough interrogation of the lone surviving assassin. It was a far more intensive questioning than any such terrorist operative is capable of coping with. Or surviving, as we discovered during last night’s, ah, interview session.”
As Valdore nodded his dispassionate acknowledgment, he noticed that the spy seemed to flinch ever so slightly at Terix’s description of standard military interrogation procedures, which the intelligence experts in the much-feared Tal Shiar had refined almost to an art form. The ousted Vulcan leader V’Las, with whom Valdore had once quietly conspired, had had no such compunctions about the prosaic realities inherent in transacting the sometimes-bloody business of espionage. It seemed odd that even the largely peace-loving Vulcans would not have selected someone equally sanguine about the use of aelhih’druusmn equipment for direct mind-scans and other such things to employ as a deep-cover spy inside the Romulan Star Empire.
You should handle that font of compassion with great care, my covert friend, Valdore thought as he studied the spy. It can be as hazardous as raw antimatter in a profession like yours.
“Please give me a summary of the results of your investigation, Centurion,” Valdore said.
“We have a high degree of confidence,” Terix said, “that the Ejhoi Ormiin terrorists have already managed to acquire a good deal of classified data concerning the avaihh lli vastam stardrive project. We will need to infiltrate their organization directly in order to determine their precise capabilities pursuant to that stolen data.”
“I suppose that such an operation would require a great deal of highly specialized expertise in warp-field theory and related fields,” Valdore said, stroking his clean-shaven chin. His gaze drifted to the tapestries that adorned the far wall, as was his wont whenever he was deep in consideration of weighty strategic or tactical matters.
“Indeed, Admiral,” the centurion said. “I will need the help of personnel capable of recognizing every possible permutation of the stolen data if we are to succeed in tracking down the thieves and their confederates. And if we are to prevent what they have taken from becoming a direct threat to state security.”
“The level of expertise required would have to be comparable to that of the late Doctor Ehrehin himself,” Valdore added as he fixed his stare back upon the spy, whose face was beginning to pale as understanding appeared to dawn upon him.
Despite his evidently discommoded emotional state, the spy’s next utterance surprised Valdore yet again. “As I said before, Admiral: I live only to serve the Empire.”
“I believe the admiral has just ordered you to accompany me on a field mission to infiltrate the Ejhoi Ormiin terrorists,” Terix said, his words tinged with no small amount of incredulity. “The very same people who once took you and your mentor prisoner.”
“Correct, Centurion,” Valdore said as he studied the spy’s reactions. “You’ve just been drafted to serve the Empire in a way you doubtless hadn’t anticipated, Cunaehr.”
“I’m an academic,” the spy said, his jaw setting in apparent determination as he paused and regarded both Terix and Valdore for a long and sober moment. “But I think I can handle that. The stakes in this particular game of trayatik are way too high to do otherwise, Admiral.”
Valdore’s initial surprise at the spy’s sentiments dissipated after a moment’s consideration. Being an operative from one of the worlds allied with the fragile young Coalition of Planets, this man almost certainly had no more desire than did Praetor D’deridex himself to permit a group of self-styled renegades and revolutionaries to gain control of the most potent stardrive ever conceived.
Cunaehr, or whatever his name really was, offered a clumsily executed Romulan military salute. “When can I get started?”
Valdore suppressed a victor’s smile. “Centurion Terix, please take Cunaehr to your computer terminal. I want you, personally, to familiarize him with the briefing materials I’m about to transmit there.” Those materials contained everything “Cunaehr” would need to know. The success of the rest of the coming mission would hinge largely upon Terix’s suspicious nature; Valdore knew he could rely on the centurion to keep a weather eye on his Vulcan charge, regardless of any superior’s orders.
After Terix and the uhlans had escorted the spy away, Valdore smiled in his otherwise empty office. As he activated the terminal atop his desk and transmitted the files he had prepared in advance for Terix’s mission, he quietly savored a feeling of triumph.
He always felt this way whenever a significant new weapon came into his possession.
When the guards had thrown open his cell door and dragged him abruptly to his feet, they had awakened Trip Tucker from a fitful sleep and an extremely convincing dream about T’Pol. As he awakened, he had been convinced then that he was finally about to die. Well, I guess I’ve had a good run, he thought, wondering precisely what he’d do during his final moments before the fatal disruptor blast, or sword slash, or guillotine—or whatever the hell they were planning on using—finally carried him off to glory.
The last thing he’d expected his captors to do was to offer him an apology, a job, and the freedom to move about Dartha as he pleased during the few hours that remained before he was to embark on his first mission on behalf of the Romulan Star Empire’s military, under the supervision of one very dour-faced Centurion Terix. He found the situation almost laughably complicated: here he was, a human masquerading as a Romulan, but mistaken by the Romulans for a Vulcan; all the while, he’d be working with the Romulans to catch people who might actually be Vulcans infiltrating the Romulan Star Empire.
Reasonably sure he hadn’t been surreptitiously followed back to his small rented suite of rooms near Dartha’s central commercial district, Trip carefully checked the apartment for listening devices. Once he felt satisfied that no one was about to kick his door down, he removed his small subspace transceiver unit from its hiding place beneath his bedroom floorboards. For the first time during the two days since he’d called in to make the initial report about Ehrehin’s untimely death, he activated the heavily shielded unit’s battery pack, powering it up.
Stillwell thought he needed to worry about me going native before, Trip thought as he waited for his unscheduled transmission t
o wend its way across the light-years and negotiate the labyrinth of the bureau’s clandestine two-way audio-video communications protocols. I wonder what he’s going to say about this report.
As he’d expected, Stillwell had seemed fairly bowled over by Trip’s revelation about his most recent change of plans.
“So you’re just charging off to some remote part of Romulan space alongside one of their military officers,” Stillwell said, looking doubtful as he digested Trip’s initial bare-bones report about his arrest, his temporary confinement, and the mission briefing that had followed his sudden and unexpected release. “Just like that.”
Trip smiled ironically at the image on his screen. “Sure beats a summary execution, Captain.”
“You still have plenty of time to stumble into one of those, Commander. I just hope you haven’t forgotten that Romulans can turn on you like rattlesnakes. I’m sure you haven’t forgotten what our ‘friend’ Sopek did to your partner on Rator II. Treachery seems to be these people’s national pastime. I give you the Romulans’ own Ejhoi Ormiin dissident group as People’s Exhibit Number One to prove my point.”
The Romulans are hardly alone on that score, Trip thought. He was sorely tempted to remind his superior that Sopek might have been about as Romulan as T’Pol was, and to mention the xenophobes of Terra Prime, a human terror group that had nearly succeeded in strangling the infant Coalition of Planets in its cradle a few months back. Even after the death of its founder, the fading remnants of Terra Prime were still a thorn in the Coalition’s side.
But because he didn’t want to get bogged down in an ideological argument, Trip skirted the issue. “Valdore didn’t leave me a lot of other options, good or bad,” he said. “Anyway, you have to admit that this is one time when what we want and what Valdore wants fit together like spoons. Letting a bunch of rogue dissidents have the potential to build their own warp-seven-capable starships won’t do a damned bit of good for us or for the Romulans.”
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