by M S Murdock
"Argelian, we are beyond debate. We are captured. I acknowledge that to be my decision, but I will not justify it to you or any other crew member. You will accept the authority that is mine by law, or you will reap the consequences. I do not think there is a man here physically capable of stopping me if I should desire to kill you."
Argelian paled. He had never heard his commanding officer make an idle threat. He stiffened to attention and backed away. S'Talon watched him, knowing the man was cowed. He did not wish to make an enemy of Argelian, but there was a time to assert authority. Now at all costs, he must maintain discipline.
S'Talon looked around the Enterprise's detention area. Its air of freedom was created by a lack of visible sentries. The chamber was spare but comfortable. Except for the shimmering force field in the doorway, it could have been crew's quarters in any military installation.
"Centurion."
"Yes, Commander?"
"You know Argelian better than I. Do you think he will rebel?"
"No. But you may have made him an enemy."
"No man likes to be mastered. Still, it was necessary."
S'Tarleya nodded. Since the attempt on his life, she had been S'Talon's unobtrusive shadow. Now as she stood behind his chair, she noticed for the first time fatigue in his posture. He was fighting his own men as well as the enemy. Soon he would be torn apart between them. The Praetor had made him a scapegoat, counting on his sense of honor to hold him to his post. Everyone's hand was against him. Only in his centurion would he find unequivocal loyalty.
She looked down at his dark hair with its rebellious waves and her eyes softened. He felt his cause worth dying for, worth the sacrifice of his honor and his good name as well. Her motivation was less overt. As a Romulan officer, she was pledged to defend the empire, yet Tiercellus had not asked that of her. He had asked her to protect S'Talon in full confidence of her reply, and he had been wise. There was only one thing she would trade her life for: the welfare of someone she loved.
"Now, Centurion," said S'Talon, "you see the alternative I spoke of."
"Yes, Commander. I do not believe it would have occurred to me."
"You must learn to think beyond regulations, Centurion."
"I am learning it is sometimes necessary to do so," she answered.
S'Talon leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes. S'Tarleya watched as he relaxed and was humbled by his trust in her. Let all the others betray him. She would not be an agent of his destruction.
Yang pushed the remains of his lunch into the disposal unit and regarded his desk. Tapes in boxes of fifty were stacked around its perimeter. Loose tapes littered the work area. He had spent the past week on inventory and he still had three hundred boxes to check. The tapes were reproduced in triplicate and each set required his personal authorization. The next time some overstuffed line officer made a derogatory remark about administrators he would just give them a tour and let them use their expensive, precise scientific training on his kind of detail. He judged they would be near a nervous breakdown in three days. The thought gave him infinite satisfaction as he reached for the next tape.
"Commodore."
Damn. He had just revved himself up to impulse power. All he needed was some idiotic diplomatic dispute.
"I thought I told you not to disturb me."
"Yes, sir, but I have Admiral Iota, from Star Fleet Headquarters, here, sir. And Captain Garson of the Potemkin."
"Well, show them in!"
Yang rose to his feet with anything but grace—tapes sliding off the table and tangling up his feet—as Iota marched into the room.
"Yang, what have you done about the Romulan situation?" demanded the admiral.
"I am making some discreet inquiries, sir. As yet nothing has come of them, but given time …"
"We don't have time! The Romulan fleet will invade Federation space and we'll be sitting here waiting for answers."
"Have you heard from Kirk, Commodore?"
Yang turned at the sound of the firm, reserved voice and took a good look at Captain Garson. He had not met the man before. Garson's steadfast attitude, platinum hair and grey eyes combined with his height created an impression of quiet competence. He liked him.
"No. Normal communications are still blocked and, since you ask the question, I assume other, less obvious communication lines are also inoperative."
Garson inclined his head. A man of few words, thought Yang. Admirable. He was surrounded by words and they made him tired.
"However, I am working on another method of contacting the Enterprise … at the moment I can't disclose how …"
"Commodore, I am a member of the Star Fleet Defense Council and I have full security clearance. I demand to know what means …"
"It would be a breach of faith, sir. Besides, isn't it your theory the Enterprise is destroyed?"
Iota stopped short.
"Yes."
"Then why waste time on an attempt to contact a nonexistent vessel?"
Garson's eyes flickered with interest. Yang was more than he looked.
"Of course, of course … at any rate our primary purpose is to discover what is going on out there. Since there are no new developments, I propose we take our ships across the Romulan Neutral Zone into the heart of the Romulan empire, to the horse's mouth, so to speak. If we move first we may prevent a galactic war. Commodore, you will provide us with the most direct route to the planet Romulus."
Yang's eyes goggled. There were no gaps in Iota's logic: it was a tangled knot pulled tight, destruction in every loop. He collected his wits.
"No."
Garson's statement was simple, clear and sensible. Yang relaxed.
"Admiral, you must know entry into the Neutral Zone is, in the eyes of both the Romulans and the Federation, an act of war," Yang managed.
Iota opened his mouth, but Garson cut in.
"You are right, Commodore," he answered smoothly. "The only alternative is to patrol the zone."
"Useless toadhopping! Where has it gotten us?"
"I'll tell you where it hasn't gotten us, Admiral. It hasn't gotten us into a war." Yang had control now and was pushing for all he was worth. "I live with the 'Romulan threat' you talk about. I've learned the quickest way to turn a threat into reality is to challenge it. Sit back, watch, and the threat usually fades away. I don't mean we should bury our heads in the sand, but asking for a fight is the surest way I know to get one."
"I concur. Entering the Neutral Zone comes under my jurisdiction as military commander of this detachment. We will not violate the Neutral Zone unless directly provoked," stated Garson.
Iota smoldered. For a moment Garson was afraid he would try to pull rank and the situation would become ugly, but he thought better of it.
"Then we will patrol the Zone, gentlemen, and bide our time. But under my protest. I will accept no responsibility for the decision."
And you will get none, thought Yang.
"Departure in one hour," stated Iota. "Until that time I will be in my quarters. Gentlemen."
Yang and Garson watched the admiral's strategic retreat. The doors closed behind him and Yang turned to the captain.
"Sit down, Captain. Can I get you something? No? Then answer one question for me. How in the name of all that's holy did that idiot get command of this mission? He's just about sent a formal challenge to the Romulan fleet."
"How did he ever make admiral? Or get assigned to the Defense Council?" countered Garson. "It's my understanding he's cultivated friends."
Yang smiled.
"He should have gone directly into politics. He missed his calling. Can you control him?"
"I don't have to, Commodore. I am in full military command of the mission."
"Oh yes you do. You may have a perfectly legal authorization from Star Fleet Command, but on the borders of the Neutral Zone you're a long way from headquarters. You know the kind of problems he could cause just by opening his mouth."
"I admit there is a dang
er."
"Sir, you are a master of understatement. I hope you've considered all the ramifications."
"I have."
"Then let me just say that the welfare of the Federation is close to my heart. I've spent twenty years keeping the threads of communication between the Romulan empire and the Federation unbroken. It's a tenuous thread and the slightest jar is capable of snapping it. Iota isn't ajar, he's a fusion bomb. If any of us are to survive, peace is the only way and the only hope for peace is to get to know and understand each other's motives. We can't do that if we can't talk. Right now our contact with the Romulans comes mainly from neutral traders and the barest bit of automated intelligence sensing. That's indirect enough. I don't want that thread snapped. I simply wish to make my position clear. You understand me, Captain?"
"I believe I do, Commodore."
Yes, Yang was more than he appeared, and this offer of support was something he had not counted on. It was a bonus that might make all the difference.
"Thank you, Commodore."
Garson smiled as he left, surprising Yang with the warmth it lent his face. This man was a gift from the gods, but still Yang could not shake a feeling of gathering darkness. He turned back to his inventory tapes, knowing if the galaxy exploded tomorrow it was still his job to finish checking them today.
The Potemkin's VIP cabin was dim, an artificial twilight which accented a circular port set into the ceiling showing the changing panorama of the constellations. Iota, stretched out on the bed, found them anything but comforting. He closed his eyes to shut them out and found himself thinking of Kirk and the Romulans. Of all the commanders in the fleet, Kirk had managed to engage the Romulans twice. His ship had been the first to actually see a Romulan face to face … and they had looked like Vulcans!
Iota remembered his shock at that news, almost a thrill. He had read Kirk's log entries and Commander Spock's paper on that first encounter with avid interest. Spock had postulated the Romulans to be offshoots of the Vulcan race and Iota had been quick to grasp the significance of this. He envied both Kirk and Spock their opportunities to match wits with such an adversary.
He tried to remember when he first realized the Romulans were the ultimate challenge in the game of power. He must have been very young. His father had been an armchair admiral who channeled his military aspirations into war games. Some of Iota's pleasantest childhood memories centered around the game table as he and his father waged sham battles across lucite space. Even then he had always wanted to fight the Romulans—or better yet, be them! The Klingons were dangerous, but distressingly repetitious, and the Andorians too flighty for a real contest. Only the Romulans made the game worthwhile.
All his life he had played at strategy second- and even third-hand. Now he was about to make the game a reality. He would have his own chance at a glorious contest. For once he would be using all of his abilities, using them to save the Federation from its own blindness. When the debris of battle was cleared away, he would be revealed as the hero whose insight and ability had saved the day. From childhood he had prepared for this opportunity and he was not about to let a lot of bureaucratic red tape get in the way. Poppaelia, Garson, Yang—they were all fools. He had always known the Romulans would eventually take on the Federation. War was in their blood. If the cooing doves could not recognize an act of war, he could, and he would save them in spite of themselves.
Kirk strode purposefully out of his cabin. Intent on the problem of making S'Talon talk, he narrowly missed colliding with his first officer.
"Sorry, Spock," he apologized. "I was preoccupied."
"That was apparent, Captain. Perhaps with the same problem which brings me here."
"The Romulans?"
"Yes."
"You've been talking with them. Found any weak spots?"
"Possibly. I do not believe the crew are aware of the reason for their commander's actions. They are uneasy about him. One of the sentries even reported an open confrontation between S'Talon and a crew member."
"He stands completely alone, then?"
"No. He has a personal guard, or aide. She seems to be totally loyal."
"She?"
Spock nodded.
"What does she look like?"
Spock cocked an eyebrow.
"She has no distinguishing characteristics."
"Spock, is she attractive?"
"I believe you would find her so."
"And totally devoted to S'Talon …"
Kirk's eyes became distant.
"Spock, I think we have our lever. Get S'Talon and this aide to briefing room two. How much do they know about Vulcans?"
"I would say approximately what we know of them."
"The bare essentials. It just might … work."
Kirk's reflective mood changed abruptly.
"Go on, Spock. And Spock … try to look ruthless."
"Captain?"
"Never mind. Just don't say anything. That'll do. And follow my lead. Whatever they're hiding must be big or they wouldn't have gone to such lengths to conceal it."
"Surrender is not a part of the Romulan outlook. I agree with you. Moreover, what they wish to conceal must be of paramount importance to the Federation."
"Why us?"
"They were on our side of the Neutral Zone."
"Good point. And from what S'Talon said, time is on their side."
"Then we must make haste."
"Indeed we must. Bring them."
Chapter 11
"Captain's Log: stardate three-one two-seven point two.
"With the release of auxiliary control the computer seems to have detached itself from active involvement. It is allowing repairs and it has accepted a cursory reprogramming of the personnel files. Though the ship is still being run through auxiliary control, and will require a starbase facility for a complete overhaul, it is estimated the bridge will be operational in twenty-four hours. The Romulans have given us little trouble but we have made no progress in discovering their purpose on this side of the Neutral Zone."
Briefing Room Two was an armed camp. S'Talon and his centurion, seated opposite Kirk and his officers, were maintaining a solid shield of distrust. Kirk parried and fenced, discovering more of S'Talon's caliber with each stroke. It was a stalemate, with each side holding its own. Kirk glanced at his first officer. Spock was observing the situation in silence, his face impassive, his arms folded.
"Mister Spock," said the captain, "how can we convince our adversaries of our trustworthiness? Their attitude reveals a distressing lack of confidence."
"Indeed, Captain, short of telepathic contact I can think of no logical course of action."
"You would use your power in this manner, Vulcan?"
The centurion's voice was hard and S'Talon's surprise showed clearly in his expression. Spock remained silent, watching the Romulans with emotionless objectivity.
"Kirk, you will not permit this?"
"I am afraid, Commander, we must use every means at our disposal to discover your purpose. If it requires Vulcan mental techniques … the choice is yours, Commander."
S'Talon's eyes narrowed as he faced Kirk in grim silence. There was anger in them, dark and dangerous.
"Spock."
Kirk's voice hung in the air, the soft intonation a striking contrast to its ominous import.
"Come, Centurion," said Spock.
S'Talon was on his feet, his fist slamming down on the table.
"No! If someone is to endure this barbarism it will be me! I will not have my crew subjected to torture!"
Two security guards stepped forward but Kirk held S'Talon with his eyes.
"Centurion," repeated Spock.
S'Talon started to speak but the centurion cut him off.
"It is my privilege to serve the empire, Commander."
She rose, her movements lending feminine grace to the severe lines of her uniform. She strode toward the door, head high. Spock turned to follow her. The deliberation of his movements made S
'Talon shudder. He knew only too well the terrifying effects of a forced mind link.
Kirk had not taken his eyes from S'Talon's face. He regretted the pain he was causing, but the Romulan was stubborn. "Now, Commander," he said, "we will continue our discussion."
As the doors closed behind Spock the centurion turned to face him. He admired her control, the light of challenge which covered the fear in her eyes, the defensive attitude she had adopted.
"I warn you, I will resist."
Spock knew that to be true, knew also she was fully aware of her danger. Obviously such extremity was used by the Romulans, though they had not expected violence from a Vulcan. Her courage in the face of mental torture was remarkable. He paid tribute to it.
"That will not be necessary, Centurion."
At her complete surprise he elaborated. "The Federation does not employ torture as a method of interrogation."
"A trick!"
"Yes."
"No!" she said and sprang toward the door.
Spock caught her, carefully keeping her hands away from his face as she struggled and fought in his grasp.
"No!" she panted. "You will force him into betrayal! He will sacrifice his honor for nothing! No!! No!"
She realized she could not overpower Spock and stopped fighting, raising dark, swimming eyes to his.
"Please. Do not do this. There must be another way. I will speak! Do not force him to betray himself!"
Spock regarded her with compassion.
"And what of your honor?" he asked curiously.
"It does not matter. I will speak! But stop this!"
"As you wish, Centurion."
S'Talon studied the Terran captain, trying to probe his depths. All he knew of Kirk—his personal brilliance, military genius and diplomatic flair—warned him to proceed with care. He vowed not to underestimate the man again, though he had always heard Terrans were weaklings.
"So, Commander, once again I'll ask you … what are you doing in Federation space?"
"It is sufficient that I am here. I await the legal proceedings for my execution."
