He sobered at that. “I get it, Trima. Culil, I should say. Sorry to have offended you.”
She turned her back to him, uncertain as to whether her shining eyes would give the lie to her words. “Go, now. We will speak further of this, in private.”
She heard him walk to the door, heard it close behind him. Trima didn’t move for a moment, then turned around. Yes, he was gone. She let out her breath in a rush and clapped a hand to her mouth. What he had said shook her to her very marrow. Could it really be so? Did his people truly live like this? She needed to hear more about it, and soon.
But in the meantime, she had duties to attend to. Trima went to a carved wooden chest, opened it, and removed the false bottom. There, looking spectacularly out of place, were five items. Two were communications devices they had found on the Strangers, which looked more like jewelry than technology. Two others were weapons, also recovered from Tom and Chakotay. These looked like the weapons they were. The fifth item was a small handheld communication device unlike the ones the two Federation representatives had carried. It sparkled in the shafts of sun that filtered through the shutters, and one corner of it pulsed bright green.
She removed it and checked for a message. There was one, short and to the point. Yet another Culil in another village had died under mysterious circumstances. This made the sixth one in almost as many moon cycles.
And now, she was Culil. She sat the device on her lap, and began to manually enter a message—quick, efficient, full of detail, and to the point. As all her missives to the Alilann were.
Our Culil was found dead several days ago, a clear mark of a directed energy weapon on his chest. Fortunately, or unfortunately, whoever committed the atrocity was clever enough to cover his tracks. The Culil’s domicile was filled with the smoke from the Sacred Plant, which was directly responsible for his death; the energy weapon was obviously set to only stun. No one in the village has noticed, though I think this alien Paris might suspect something.
Either that, or he or his companion Chakotay is the killer. Chakotay disappeared the night of Matroci’s murder, which makes me very suspicious. They could be the ones killing the Culils, wandering from village to village, place to place. They had the weapons, though I think it odd that Chakotay and Tom would have been able to find where I had hidden them, used them, and then returned them.
You must let me know if Chakotay was Recovered or if he fled on his own. And if the former, then why did you not take Tom Paris? I am in danger now. Please advise.
Trima paused, then recklessly continued, voicing her emotions. They are only Culilann, but they are not beasts to be slaughtered so. Matroci was a voice of calm reason in this village, and his death is a setback for everything save an increase in hostilities. Was this authorized? I repeat, was this authorized? If not, and if Chakotay was indeed Recovered, then, Implementer, you have a rogue on your hands, and no one is safe.
Trima sighed, then tapped in her signature: “The Silent One.”
CHAPTER
2
IT WAS A COMFORTABLE CELL. CAPTAIN KATHRYN JANEWAY had to give the Kwaisi that. But a cell it was, nonetheless, and she was in it, and she had to get out.
She paced back and forth like a caged animal, the repetitive movement helping her mind to focus. She couldn’t believe she had been so easily captured, and even with a security-guard escort! She hadn’t expected the Kwaisi to react in such a fashion, or else she’d have been more alert. After all she and her ship had done to help them, too.
With an uncharacteristic bitterness, Janeway recalled her first encounter with the Kwaisi. Sensors had picked up eight heavily armed vessels, riddled with mutated dark matter. It was a wonder they weren’t falling apart right before her eyes. The leader of this fleet was one Captain Ulaahn, a deluded, suicidal being who was convinced that somehow his ships had managed to decimate an entire star system a few light-years away.
It was the dark matter that had infested his brain talking, of course. He had destroyed one of his own vessels before Janeway had managed to transport him to Voyager, remove the dark matter from his body, and talk sense to him.
She leaned against the metal wall and chuckled without humor. She’d abducted him against his will. “Tit for tat,” she said aloud, though no one could hear.
It was after she had helped him that she realized the Kwaisi weren’t the most pleasant of the alien races they’d encountered in the quadrant. It wasn’t that they were aggressive, they were just extremely arrogant and litigious. And it was the latter characteristic that had landed her in this Kwaisi jail, awaiting trial. It seemed that while the Kwaisi were grateful for Voyager’s help in purging their planet of the dangerous dark matter, they also held her responsible for the stuff being there in the first place. Her pleas that they release her, so that her ship could save more people the way they had saved the Kwaisi, had fallen on deaf ears. They were bound and determined to drag her to trial, although Eriih, head of the Kwaisi council, had confided that he was certain she would be exonerated. Janeway supposed that was something.
They had let her speak with her ship. After explaining the situation, Tuvok had replied, “We will, of course, manage to free you, Captain.”
They were welcome words, and the steadfastness with which Tuvok uttered them filled her with pride. “There’s too much at stake for Voyager to be delayed,” she had told him. “My orders are for you to take the ship on to the next patch of dark matter. They won’t hurt me here.” She felt certain it was the truth, but as she uttered the words, she realized she had doomed herself to at least a year in this place.
There was a long pause. “At the present moment, with you in the hands of the Kwaisi, I am the acting captain of Voyager,” said Tuvok. “I hear the logic in your words, Captain, but surely having you back in command of this vessel can only aid our quest. I repeat, I will explore every avenue to ensure your freedom. It is only after that exploration that I will allow Voyager to depart.”
Stubborn Vulcan. Janeway knew better than to argue once Tuvok had made up his mind. It wasn’t direct disobedience, just enough for him to manage to get his way despite her orders to the contrary.
Anger at her impotence rose inside her and she banged a fist on the metal wall. It did nothing, of course, except hurt her hand, and as she rubbed it she wondered what Tuvok was doing to try to get her out of this damn place.
* * *
“Please,” said Telek R’Mor. “You must let me speak to the Kwaisi Council.”
“Dr. R’Mor,” said Tuvok, “I have already explained that you were the original target of the Kwaisi Council. They wished to try you for your so-called crimes, and took Captain Janeway in your place as she is, for the time being, your commanding officer. There is no doubt in my mind that if you transport down to the planet, the Kwaisi Council will be delighted to have both of you to be placed on trial.”
Telek closed his eyes briefly, seeking calm. For the first time in his life, he envied the Vulcan. None of this seemed to be bothering Tuvok.
“Commander Tuvok,” he said with exaggerated patience, “the information I have just received from Tialin will convince the Kwaisi to release the captain. Our mission is far more dire than any of us realized.”
“If you would tell me what you learned from the Shepherd, I will consider your request.”
“I told you, it is for the captain’s ears only!”
“As the captain is not present,” said Tuvok, “then your information must needs remain unheard.”
“Veruul!” cried Telek, and stormed off the bridge. He was shaking, with fear and anger combined. “Deck Two,” he instructed, and the turbolift hummed into motion.
He tried to calm himself, clasping his hands in an effort to stop their trembling. Tuvok was right, as far as he knew. To him, it would indeed be folly to simply allow Telek to beam down and himself be captured by the trial-hungry Kwaisi. But Tuvok didn’t know what Telek knew, and the Romulan feared he could not convince the Vulcan chief of se
curity with mere words.
Alone in his quarters, Telek lay on the comfortable bed, his body tense and his mind racing. What to do, what to do? How to convince a stubborn, emotionless Vulcan that—
Yes. It was the only way.
“Telek R’Mor to Commander Tuvok.”
“Go ahead, Doctor.”
“I would appreciate it if you would meet me in my quarters immediately.”
“You are hardly in a position to make requests, Doctor. Our captain has been kidnapped. My place is on the bridge, orchestrating a rescue attempt.”
“Your place is to protect the security of this vessel and its mission. Please, Tuvok. Come to my quarters. After that, if you do not agree with my suggestions, I will make no more of them and stay out of the way.”
A pause, perhaps the longest in Telek R’Mor’s life. Then, “Very well. But this will be brief, Doctor.”
I don’t know how brief it will be, thought Telek, but I will wager you will stay longer than you think.
* * *
Young Ensign Kim was a reliable officer. Tuvok did not hesitate to leave the bridge under his temporary command. Kim knew enough not to do anything drastic without consulting him first. Still, the Vulcan felt the faintest tendrils of annoyance creep through him as he stood in the turbolift en route to Telek R’Mor’s quarters.
Gently, he pressed down the unwanted emotion. Dr. R’Mor had obviously learned something of great import when the sphere had spoken to him with the Shepherd Tialin’s voice. As the entire purpose for being here hinged on Tialin’s request, Tuvok was inclined to pay attention to what she said. That Dr. R’Mor, as fine and logical a non-Vulcan scientist as Tuvok had ever met, was as agitated as he was by this unknown message was not dismissed by Tuvok. He was prepared to listen with full attention to what R’Mor had to tell him.
He exited the turbolift, strode down the corridor to R’Mor’s quarters, then stood at the door, waiting to be invited. “Come,” called Telek.
The door hissed open. “I assume you are prepared to tell me what Tialin told you?” asked Tuvok.
“No,” said Telek, surprising Tuvok. “But I am prepared to show you.”
It took a second for Tuvok to realize what R’Mor was proposing. He did not like it. The Vulcan mind-meld was not something to be used like a tricorder, as a mere diagnostic tool.
“I do understand the personal intrusion that a mind meld represents to your people,” said Telek gently. “I would not ask for such a thing lightly. But it is the only way I can truly convince you of what I know.”
Tuvok cocked his head quizzically. “I do not doubt what you will tell me, Dr. R’Mor. You have not lied in the past, and there seems little reason for you to lie now.”
“Thank you, Tuvok. I appreciate your trust. But you need to know this as I know it. Tialin didn’t just talk to me. She spoke to my brain, implanting the information in a way that—” He fumbled for words. “It is a deep sense of knowing, Commander. That’s all I can tell you. And you have to experience that as I did, as a knowing, not a telling.”
Tuvok’s dark brown eyes searched Telek’s. Precious seconds were ticking away on the bridge.
“Very well,” said Tuvok. “I agree.”
They sat down on the edge of the bed. Telek smiled slightly.
“What is it about this situation that you find amusing?” asked Tuvok.
“There are dissidents on my planet who secretly follow the Vulcan path,” he said. “This has gone on for generations. They hope for unification, someday. I was just thinking how pleased and excited some of those people would be to be involved in a mind-meld, as I am about to be.”
Tuvok frowned a little. “If they react with pleasure and excitement to a mind-meld, then they are not truly following the Vulcan path, are they?”
“Spoken like a true son of the planet,” said Telek.
There had been enough chatter. “Close your eyes and take a moment to calm your no doubt racing thoughts,” said Tuvok. He did the same, though he was much more tranquil than the agitated Romulan. He was not looking forward to this. The mind-meld was an intimate act, one Tuvok had shared only in the most dire of cases with anyone who was not a Vulcan. He was not eager to plunge headlong into the chaotic mind of a being as passionate as Romulans were believed to be. Admittedly, Telek’s years of studying science had taught him discipline, but even a disciplined non-Vulcan mind was a riot of emotions to a true Vulcan.
He opened his eyes. Telek sat silently, expectantly. Tuvok lifted his right hand and placed his fingers with exquisite gentleness on the Romulan’s ridged brow, temple, chin.
“My mind to your mind,” he said, intoning the ritual words. “Your thoughts to my thoughts.”
And those thoughts came, rushing toward him in a stampede of colors and emotions and feelings. It was not the most volatile mind Tuvok had encountered; that dubious distinction belonged to the late sociopath Lon Suder. The feelings and thoughts of others with whom he had melded joined in the cacophonous chorus: Janeway’s warm sincerity, Paris’s cocksure arrogance tempered with insecurity, Kes’s thoughts before she spiraled away from them into an existence they could only imagine. Voices, words: You are my soul, my husband—My dearest friend, Tuvok—I only want to do something for the ship….
Carefully, Tuvok took the many voices, many thoughts, and separated them strand by strand. With great gentleness and respect, he laid them aside, focusing on the vibrant thread that was Telek R’Mor. Quick images flooded his brain, not what he sought but nonetheless vital to understanding that final goal. He saw an elegant Romulan woman holding an infant daughter. I am a husband. I am a parent, Tuvok thought, his mind automatically seeking all resemblances to ease the shock of sharing another’s thoughts. He beheld the face of the chairman of the Tal Shiar, Jekri Kaleh; such a young, fair face to house such cruelty. He saw a blond man, humanoid, with a twist of contempt to his full mouth. Lhiau, the rogue Shepherd.
For a moment, Tuvok resisted the flow of Telek’s thoughts and branded everything the Romulan knew about Ambassador Lhiau onto his own brain. Knowing one’s enemy was wisdom. This was their foe, Tialin had said, and thus far nothing Tuvok had learned had made him inclined to doubt her.
On swept the relentless tide. Tuvok experienced grief and horror at the words uttered by Kaleh: Your family is dead. Telek knew more than most about the atrocities that the Tal Shiar sometimes perpetrated in the name of protecting the interests of the Empire, and now Tuvok was the shocked recipient of that knowledge. He saw himself through Telek’s eyes, saw Janeway, Chakotay, Seven, Torres, Neelix, who had tried to kill Telek. The images rushed past, merging together in a kaleidoscope of color until it coalesced into a hovering, purple sphere.
It was the orb Tialin had given them, their means to understanding how to extract and contain dark matter. The orb glowed, and spoke without speaking.
Tuvok listened. Despite his lifelong control over his emotions, his heart sped up and sweat broke out on his dark skin. His eyes went wide, dilated, and he almost stopped breathing. He had never imagined such a horror, such a complete and sweeping disaster, as what was being imparted to him now.
It was no wonder Telek had not wanted to put this into words. To do so would be to drastically reduce the profound impact of this knowledge, though speaking this information would be horrific enough. Tuvok wanted to break the contact at once, to deny what had been imparted to him, had been burned onto his brain like a brand.
Instead, he regained control. He gently disengaged his mind from that of Telek’s, returning to the Romulan the thoughts that were rightfully his and his alone. He thought a brief statement of gratitude at being allowed to share those thoughts; a Vulcan ritual.
Tuvok was trembling by the time his mind returned to him and he stared at Telek R’Mor.
“Now,” said R’Mor shakily, “you know.”
“Yes,” said Tuvok. “We must beam down to the Kwaisi Council at once.”
CHAPTER
3
But the former head of the Romulan intelligence service the Tal Shiar was not laughing at them. She was laughing at fortune, which had raised her from the streets only to throw her back down even harder. And she was laughing at the familiarity of all of this, although up until now she had only witnessed these events from the other side.
There was terror here, of course. She’d be the worst sort of veruul, knowing all the ghastly details as she did, to feel no fear. But she also knew exactly what was being done to her, and why, something that most prisoners did not have the luxury of knowing. The blindfold was to make her feel vulnerable, to force her to trust to the goodwill of the guards—who naturally had none—to save her from tripping or slamming into something. Her ankle was slightly twisted and there were bruises forming on her forehead and right elbow already.
Next, possibly, would come the psychological and physical experiments. Many a cure for disease had come from trial and error upon living patients. And new types of interrogation that did not involve elaborate equipment were always tested on those unlucky enough to come down on the wrong side of the law—or, Jekri mused bitterly, on the wrong side of Ambassador Lhiau.
She was glad she thought of Lhiau, because the hatred that flooded her at the thought of his loathed, handsome face gave her strength and courage. She was here wrongly accused, and she was certain that almost everyone involved, save perhaps the Empress, knew it.
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