It had been a chemical explosive, or so the local Compliance Division had determined. Simple, primitive, deadly. No telltale radiation or antimatter signature to set off the security alarms. Triggered by a mechanical timekeeping device—again, no anomalous energy readings to raise suspicion.
The device had been placed under the elegantly carved stone podium from which Spock had addressed his audience. There were visual sensor logs of his speech—his impassioned plea—which had been transmitted live for other interested parties on Romulus, and recorded for eventual transmission over subspace information channels to Vulcan.
“It is not a question of logic,” Spock had said in the final moments of his life. “It is not a question of emotion. It is a question that can be answered only by the blending of the two. Emotion and logic. Romulan and Vulcan. Two halves of a single entity that has too long been sundered.”
Then Spock had paused to look around at his audience. He had taken a sip of water from a slender cup. And then the nature of what he said subtly changed, became more personal, and Kirk couldn’t help but wonder if in some way Spock had known the next words he spoke would be his last.
“There is rest enough for the individual being, too much and too soon, and we call it death. But for our people, Romulan and Reman and Vulcan, and all who will stand with us, there can be no rest and no ending.
“Only together can we then go on, frontier after frontier. First the stars, and then all the laws of mind and matter that restrain us.
“And when, together, we have achieved understanding of all of deep space and all the mysteries of time, still we will be beginning.
“Together.
“Unified.
“Or—”
There the record ended.
The penultimate, still image of this recording haunted Kirk: Spock, holding one outstretched hand to his audience, reaching out to all the worlds of the Star Empire and Vulcan’s myriad independent colonies, as the first yellow-orange glow of the bomb’s detonation shone up from beneath him.
Reaching out from the grave, Kirk thought sadly, painfully.
The final image showed only the light that had consumed his friend.
After that, there was nothing; the visual sensors had been rendered inoperative.
Kirk slowly grew aware of Riker watching him, as were Troi and Worf. But McCoy still stared at the dark viewscreen, as if his thoughts were the mirror of Kirk’s. Kirk had no reason to think that they weren’t.
Kirk, Spock, and McCoy. The three of them had experienced so much together, to have lost one was to have lost a limb, a heart, a soul.
It came to Kirk that the others were waiting for him to say something.
He cleared his throat, so dry, so unwilling to make a sound. What words could there be to express such a loss?
Move on, Kirk told himself.
He closed his eyes, saw himself in the center chair of the Enterprise. His Enterprise. A crewman had been lost, but the mission must continue. The mission must always continue.
“Do they…do they know who’s responsible?”
“Three groups have claimed responsibility,” Riker said quietly.
“So far,” Troi added.
Kirk looked at her, didn’t understand. “A conspiracy?”
“Confusion,” Riker said. “The political situation on Romulus is…chaotic, to say the least. Interim senators have been appointed to replace those assassinated in the coup, but they have no real authority until the new praetor has been confirmed—and months of internal bickering have to be resolved before that happens. According to our best intelligence, the real power, for the moment, seems to rest with the Imperial Fleet. They’ve at least taken responsibility for maintaining order on Romulan colony worlds, restoring trade routes, keeping the empire together.”
“The Imperial Fleet,” Worf huffed in derision. “They were responsible for Shinzon’s coup.”
Riker sighed, as if he and Worf had had this conversation before. Kirk recognized the feeling. “Yes, Worf. Some elements within the Fleet chose not to act against Shinzon.”
“They did more than not act against him,” Worf countered. “I have reviewed the diplomatic reports. Fleet leadership actively gave their support to Shinzon, in return for his offer to destroy the Earth.”
Kirk knew that post-coup conditions on Romulus were still uncertain. He also knew that the political situation that had allowed Shinzon, a Reman slave—a human slave, at that—to rise to an unprecedented level of power might never be truly comprehended by a non-Romulan. But he didn’t care about any of it, unless it might have something to do with Spock’s death.
Troi’s distinctive, calming voice spoke next. “Worf, I’ve read the reports, too, and that’s not what Starfleet Intelligence has concluded. A majority of Romulan military commanders did agree to not interfere in Shinzon’s claim to be the new praetor. In return, they accepted Shinzon’s promise that he would ensure the Federation would no longer be a threat to Romulan interests.”
Kirk noted that while Worf seemed perfectly ready to argue with Riker, he immediately fell silent when Troi addressed him.
The Betazoid capitalized on that silence. “Most of those commanders were led to believe that promise meant Shinzon would take a more aggressive stance in the empire’s relations with us. That he would unilaterally renounce the Cheron Accords, rearm the Neutral Zone outposts, and open talks with the Klingon Empire to reestablish their old strategic alliance. Instead, Shinzon set out to obliterate all life on Earth with an outlawed thalaron weapon. Apparently, he referred to that act as ‘decapitating the serpent.’ ”
Troi stopped speaking, as if sensing that Worf was ready to respond. He was.
“We both were there,” the Klingon softly said, as if flood-gates were straining to contain a building torrent of rage. Kirk was impressed by Worf’s restraint, decided he must have an interesting history with the counselor.
“And we both know,” Troi said coolly, “that without the last-minute assistance of the Romulan fleet, the Enterprise might not have been successful in stopping Shinzon from reaching Earth.”
She paused again to let Worf speak, but Riker took the initiative.
“Worf, this is not the time or place to debate Romulan politics. We know that the majority of Romulan commanders who supported Shinzon, or who at least agreed to not act against him, were appalled at Shinzon’s plan to destroy the Earth. They know what kind of war that would have unleashed with the Federation. They know how their own empire would have been regarded by the nonaligned systems.” He fixed his gaze intently on Worf. “And do you honestly believe the Klingon Empire would hold to its own promise not to develop thalaron weapons if they knew the Romulans already had them and had demonstrated they were willing to use them in an unprovoked first strike?
“Memory Alpha has already published a preliminary analysis of probable developments in the event Shinzon had not been stopped. They estimate that the Alpha and Beta Quadrants would have been consumed by total thalaron war within three years. Consider that. With entire planetary populations subject to extinction from a single thalaron strike by an undetectable cloaked warship, within a decade the infrastructure of interstellar commerce built up over centuries would be obliterated. A galactic dark age would follow, during which not one surviving world in the Federation, the Romulan and Klingon Empires, and the local nonaligned systems would have the slightest chance of mounting a credible defense against the Borg.”
Riker was finished, but Troi was not. “Romulan military leaders have no love for the Federation,” she said, “but they aren’t insane.”
Kirk was disturbed. Why was Riker—with Troi’s help—going to such great lengths to explain himself to Worf? After all, both men were in Starfleet, and Riker outranked Worf. Even the fact that Riker, a superior officer, was allowing debate in his ready room suggested some still-to-be-revealed agenda for this meeting. An unwelcome suspicion quickened Kirk’s pulse.
“Captain Riker,” Kir
k said, “is there any reason to believe the Romulan military is involved in Spock’s murder?”
Kirk’s last two words were almost lost to the sudden dry constriction of his throat. His mind knew what must be done, the attitude that must be maintained. But his flesh betrayed him.
“Call me Will,” Riker said. “And no, no reason at all. In fact, the military establishment has changed its unofficial stance on the topic of reunification of Romulus and Vulcan. They know how close Shinzon came to successfully attacking Earth. And I assure you, they are very aware that if the situation had been reversed, and a rogue Federation ship had come that close to destroying Romulus, the Star Empire would have to respond with an all-out counterattack. No matter the consequences.”
Troi offered a small shrug. “You see, Captain Kirk, just as we don’t fully comprehend the Romulan political system, they truly don’t understand why the Federation didn’t declare war on them in the aftermath of Shinzon’s attack—that lack of response is unthinkable to them. Right now many Romulan leaders still believe that our ongoing negotiations with them are simply a stalling tactic while we develop our own thalaron weapons.”
“The end result,” Riker added, picking up on Troi’s point as if he and she were two halves of a joined mind, “is that the Romulan military is eager to establish peaceful relations with all the members of the Federation. Our diplomats don’t really believe the military would welcome unification, but neither will the military oppose initial discussions. Not as long as it means increased contact and openness with Vulcan.”
Troi completed their explanation. “That’s why Ambassador Spock was able to take such a high-profile presence on Romulus, to actually announce where he would be speaking so that ordinary citizens could join the debate on unification.”
Kirk nodded. “In chaos, he saw opportunity. So like him.”
“Unification was his dream,” the counselor said softly.
Then McCoy spoke his first words since the sensor log had been played, almost as if he were speaking to himself. “He must have seen it coming. He must have.”
Kirk look sharply at his friend. “Bones…?”
“Did you hear what he said, Jim? Those last words of his. It was as if Spock knew he was going to die.”
Kirk sighed, not surprised that McCoy felt as he did. But he didn’t see why the doctor was so upset by the idea that Spock sensed his own mortality. “We’re all going to die, Bones.”
“Speak for yourself,” McCoy said. “Spock knew those were going to be his last words. He was putting himself up as a target.”
“For what possible reason?”
McCoy waved a thin arm toward the viewscreen. “For this. His chance to deliver a powerful speech that all of a sudden becomes his legacy. Do you think anyone would be paying half as much attention to this speech of his if it hadn’t been his last? Typical…” McCoy shook his head.
Kirk now understood what had provoked the doctor. Everyone grieved in his or her own way. McCoy’s way was to deny what had happened, transferring his anger and his sorrow from Spock’s killers to Spock himself. Also typical.
“Doctor McCoy,” Troi said gently, “in the few times I’ve spoken with him, Ambassador Spock never appeared to be the type of person who would willingly seek out death just to prove a point.”
McCoy gave the counselor a twisted smile. “Well, then, my dear, you don’t know Spock.” He rocked back in his chair. “Who saw him last?”
“There were three thousand Romulans in the audience,” Riker began.
“No, no,” McCoy interrupted. “Not who saw him—who was with him? Before he went on stage.”
Kirk instantly saw what McCoy was suggesting, was surprised he hadn’t thought of it himself.
“Spock’s katra,” Kirk said.
“He’s done it again, Jim.”
Kirk saw that Riker and Deanna appeared confused. He tried to explain. “There is an aspect of a Vulcan’s personality, what they call their katra, that, under certain conditions, can survive physical death.”
Troi nodded. “I’ve heard the stories.”
“It’s not just a story, Counselor,” Kirk said.
“Damn right it isn’t,” McCoy muttered.
“The point Bones is trying to make,” Kirk said, “is that if Spock thought or suspected that he might be in danger, he…would first have taken steps to see that his katra was preserved.”
Troi and Riker exchanged a glance. “A mind-meld?” the Betazoid asked.
“A specific type of meld,” Kirk said. “Possibly with whomever it was who was with him before he took the stage.”
Riker put his hands palm down on the smooth wooden conference table. “Captain Kirk—”
“Call me Jim,” Kirk said.
“Jim,” Riker continued. “Do you agree with Doctor McCoy? That Spock might have known what was about to happen to him?”
“If Spock had suspected he might be facing an assassination attempt, then he certainly wouldn’t have accepted it,” Kirk said forcefully. “He’s not afraid…wasn’t afraid…of dangerous situations, but he’d never go willingly to his death.” He glanced over at McCoy. “Not like this, Bones.”
Riker half-smiled, though Kirk could see the sadness that lingered there, as if the new starship captain was too familiar with the loss of a friend. “I see you two don’t agree.”
“It’s not a disagreement,” McCoy snapped. “Jim’s wrong, I’m right. That’s a different matter.”
Kirk knew better than to take the bait, and remained silent.
“Then how would you like to resolve it?” Riker suddenly asked.
“Resolve what?” Kirk answered.
“The truth,” Troi said.
“About what happened to Spock,” Riker added.
McCoy glared at Kirk. “And how do y’all suggest we do that?”
“By going to Romulus,” Riker said, “and investigating Spock’s death firsthand.”
McCoy straightened up in his chair, surprised. Kirk leaned back, thoughtful. So there had been an unspoken condition underlying everything Riker and Troi had said. Riker had intended to make this offer from the beginning.
And, Kirk sensed, there was something else being hidden, as well.
“What about the Romulan authorities?” he asked. “Aren’t they investigating?”
“The Compliance Division is,” Troi said. “They’re the equivalent of the local civilian police. They’re treating Spock’s death as a criminal matter.”
“But from everything you’ve said, Counselor, Spock’s…murder…wasn’t a criminal act. It was political.”
Troi gave Riker an intense look. “Given the current situation on Romulus, the civilian authorities don’t have the power—or the will—to act against the political authorities.”
McCoy slapped his hand on the table. “You just told us there was no political authority on Romulus.”
“Other than the Fleet,” Kirk added.
“No one,” Riker said, “is saying this is going to be easy. It is quite possible that Spock was killed by a disaffected faction of anarchists who have never acted before, and who will never act again. People impossible to trace and impossible to bring to justice.”
“It’s equally possible,” Kirk pointed out, “Spock was assassinated on the orders of the Fleet leadership—people paying lip service to talk of unification, who have no intention of allowing it to proceed.”
Riker nodded. “And if that’s true,” he said, “then Spock’s assassination could be the proverbial tip of the iceberg, proof of a powerful group submerged within the chaos of Romulan authority. A group determined to defeat any efforts toward a new era of peace between the empire and the Federation.”
Almost without conscious thought, Kirk felt an odd relief, almost a dislocation of his emotions, realizing he was no longer focused on his loss in the past, but on the mission that lay in the future.
“Will,” he said, “do you have any reason for thinking such a cabal exists?�
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Riker tapped the controls of a small padd on the table before him. The viewscreen on the far wall changed its display to show what was obviously a Romulan warship, but one that literally bristled with armaments. A scale at the side of the image gave an indication of the warship’s size—at minimum twice the length of Picard’s Enterprise.
“What is that monstrosity?” McCoy asked.
“The Scimitar,” Worf said.
“Shinzon’s ship,” Riker elaborated. “With a fully functional thalaron weapon capable of obliterating the biomass of an entire planet with a single discharge.”
Kirk understood. “Yet it was a slave’s ship.”
“Exactly,” Riker said.
With that, Kirk knew what the Federation feared, and why Riker had come to him.
A ship like the Scimitar did not arise from empty space. It was undeniably the result of a massive Romulan program of research and development. Even Starfleet’s mind-boggling Martian shipyards would be hard-pressed to construct such a vessel in under two years. And add to that a thalaron weapon capable of planetary destruction…Kirk’s mind raced through the implications. How many intermediate models had been built and tested? All of this designed, prototyped, tested, refined, and brought online without Starfleet detecting any hint of it.
And then, in the end, the Scimitar had been placed in the hands of a slave who single-handedly eliminated the existing government of Romulus.
“You think there are more of those,” Kirk said.
“No question,” Troi said.
“The Romulans admit as much, to a point,” Riker added. “They’re saying this class of vessel was intended for use in the Dominion War, but that the war ended before the space-frames were complete. Same story for the thalaron weapons—developed to be used against the Dominion homeworlds in the Gamma Quadrant, but never brought forward to operational status.”
“Can they account for the unfinished ships and weapons?” Kirk asked.
Riker shook his head. “Supposedly destroyed by Shinzon once he took control of the Scimitar, so that no one could oppose him.”
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