Sh’Zenne opened the lock for a third time, and Griffin wailed. Zhao gestured for her to stop. “Yes?” he asked. “Is there something you want to share with me? The codes?” Griffin mumbled something incoherent, and Zhao kicked him toward the threshold of the airlock.
With black, frostbitten fingers, Griffin clawed at the deck, trying to hold himself back. “No. No.” He wheezed. “Tell you.”
“Better,” said Zhao, and nodded to sh’Zenne, who bent down to recover her frost-covered communicator. “Pass on the key codes to Lieutenant Tupo.”
“An expedient if ruthless form of interrogation.” The Vulcan woman who had spoken earlier stood before the captain. He found himself appreciating the line and shape of her, long waves of black hair falling down over her shoulders, and a cool, serene face.
“You disapprove?”
She shook her head slightly. “On the contrary. Your method shows forethought and control. Other Imperial officers would have gunned down the entire crew as a matter of course. You appear to apply object lessons more sparingly.”
He was sure he detected the smallest measure of sarcasm in the words. Zhao crossed to her and pressed a phaser against her throat. “Do not make the mistake of assuming that leniency on my part represents weakness, Vulcan. As you noted, I have the power of life and death over every person on this ship.”
She remained irritatingly unruffled. “And who, I wonder, has that power over you, Captain Zhao?”
Her eyes—for a moment, he found himself searching them, and in the woman’s gaze, he glimpsed something…fascinating. He smiled thinly and shrugged the moment off, moving away. “I am a servant of the Empire.” Zhao said the words by rote, ignoring the ashen taste they left in his mouth.
“As am I,” she replied. “In that capacity, I offer myself to your service.”
Zhao turned back to face her. “Is that so?” He holstered the gun and reached out to stroke her cheek. The flesh was warm, as if touched by the sun. She was, it had to be said, quite alluring. “Why would you do that?”
“Because I know who you are, Zhao Sheng. I know you treat your men and women well.” She nodded at the Andorian. “I know what a man like you requires.” He smiled at that, and she eyed him. “And I know that I will perish if I remain aboard the Eighth Happiness. Once you leave, Griffin’s crew will kill me. They blame me for this turn of events.”
“Are they right to do so, Miss…?” he asked, considering her with new eyes. “You will forgive me, but I don’t know your name.”
“Yes, they are,” she replied, “and my name is T’Prynn.”
“The tribute is secure in bay two,” said Klisiewicz. Zhao’s first officer delivered his report, as always, standing ramrod straight and staring at a point somewhere beyond the far bulkhead of the captain’s private chambers. “We have resumed our patrol pattern as ordered, sir.”
Zhao nodded, assembling the items he needed from storage cupboards in one of the alcoves. “Anything else, Stephen?”
The other man hesitated for a moment. The captain knew the small tell; Klisiewicz was a rarity among the Endeavour’s crew, an Imperial officer who fully embraced the letter and law of the Empire’s military doctrines. He typified the mentality of “by the book,” and while sometimes that generated friction with the more rebellious and relaxed attitudes of Zhao’s other officers, the man played an important role aboard the ship. He was the voice of reason, the echo of what the Fleet once was; and in darker moments, the captain might have been willing to admit that Klisiewicz was a mirror for the officer that he had once been.
“It came to my attention that a number of junior ratings had expressed seditious opinions over your handling of this action,” he explained after a moment. “I’ve initiated a disciplinary session in the agony booth for them.”
“What did they say?”
“It was suggested that you showed weakness in allowing the freighter to continue on its way.”
He chuckled dryly. “What good would another obliterated starship be to the running of the Empire?”
“Indeed, sir,” agreed the officer. “The questioning of your commands. That sort of insubordination is intolerable.”
Zhao glanced up and smiled thinly. “You would have preferred to execute the men, wouldn’t you?”
Klisiewicz gave a curt nod. “I would, as an example to others. But your standing orders disallow it.”
The captain patted the bulkhead. “This is a ship full of rogues and brigands, Lieutenant Commander. Do you know how I have kept them in line?”
“Fleet diktat demands the use of discipline and the rigid application of punishments.”
Zhao nodded. “And I don’t shy away from those things when I need to. But my crew follow me because I keep them alive. Because I am good at what I do.” He took a swig from a bottle of Saurian brandy liberated from the Eighth Happiness. “Because I give them the spoils. I’m not a commander who kills his way through his crews, who climbs to the top on a pile of corpses—” He halted, catching the tone of bitterness bleeding into his voice. I’m not a man like Reyes. He left the words unspoken, but Klisiewicz could sense his meaning.
The junior officer nodded and went on. “The woman you took as your prize has been processed,” he noted. “There was a minor fracas when Dr. Leone made an attempt to conduct an examination.”
“Oh?” Zhao worked the heating element in front of him.
“Yes, sir. The woman broke his arm.”
“Good. That will teach him to keep his hands to himself.”
Klisiewicz produced a small data card from a pocket. “She had this on her. It’s encrypted. She refused to unlock it for anyone but you.”
The captain took the card from him and turned it over in his hands. “Curious. Where is she now?”
“Outside, sir.”
He nodded. “You’re dismissed, then. Send her in as you leave.”
“Captain.” Klisiewicz hesitated again. “I’m not comfortable leaving you alone with her.”
“Your concern is appreciated, Stephen. But I’d rather have you on the bridge. And besides, if she murders me, you’ll be promoted to the center seat.”
The lieutenant did as he was told and left, allowing T’Prynn to enter. The light desert nomad robes she had been wearing aboard the freighter were gone, and in their place she was garbed in a simple crew jumpsuit. Zhao smiled slightly; even in so drab an outfit, the Vulcan appeared attractive. He made a mental note to find her something more appealing to wear from the spoils in the hold.
He continued at his task, working half concealed in the alcove. “Take a seat, if you wish.” When she didn’t, he continued, “You assaulted one of my officers.”
She nodded. “Will I be punished in return?”
“That depends. Why did you do it?”
“Your surgeon-commandant informed me that all females aboard the ship are required to service him sexually. When I declined, he offered me recreational narcotics and then attempted to assault me. I injured him.”
Zhao shrugged. “He’s an excellent doctor. A poor judge of character, though.” He tossed the data card, and T’Prynn caught it easily. “What’s that?”
The Vulcan held it between her thumb and forefinger. “I would define this as an opportunity, Captain.” She placed it on the table.
“Indeed?” His work complete, Zhao deactivated the heating elements in the console before him and moved the bowls from it to a tray. He carried the steaming containers from the cooking area. Zhao set out chopsticks and some sticky rice in front of T’Prynn. “Eat,” he offered. “You must be hungry.”
“You cook your own food?” The Vulcan raised an eyebrow.
“Of course,” Zhao replied. “I’ve had run-ins with poison more times than I care to recount. It’s not difficult to reprogram a fabricator to add toxins to a meal. This way, I know what I’m getting.” He took a few bites, then paused. “Something wrong? You don’t like my rice?”
T’Prynn heard the warning in
his tone and sat, taking up the proffered bowl. They ate in silence for a while, each quietly taking the measure of the other. Zhao was mildly surprised when the Vulcan spoke first.
“I assume this chamber is secure?”
“Of course.” He helped himself to more vegetables.
“I have been looking for your ship for two solar weeks.” She put the rice bowl aside. “My passage on the Eighth Happiness was my second attempt to draw Endeavour’s attention.”
“If you wished to speak to me, why not send a subspace message?”
“It was important that this meeting be clandestine. I convinced Captain Griffin that he would be able to cross your patrol zone without detection, when in fact I had altered his ship’s warp signature so that you would find it easier to detect.”
Zhao took another swallow of brandy. “Go on.”
“I have been placed under deep cover in order to penetrate the Taurus Reach and contact you directly.” She put a slender finger on the data card. “As I said, to present you with an opportunity.” T’Prynn pushed the card toward him. “The files contained here will authenticate everything I am about to tell you.”
He made little stabs in the air with his chopsticks. “I’m not open to business offers,” he replied. “Whoever you’re working for, Klingons or Romulans, I’ve no interest in them. I have…” His voice trailed off. “I have obligations in the Taurus Reach.”
T’Prynn continued, “This offer is made on behalf of Admiral Spock of Starfleet. I am his operative.”
“Spock?” Of all the names Zhao had expected to hear, that had not been one of them. The Vulcan renegade, the dangerous man whose reputation had extended even this far, to the Empire’s distant fringes. The officer who defied all attempts to assassinate him. The man who had killed the heartless James Kirk, who some said had a terrible power at his fingertips. Spock, hated by many and admired by more. Zhao had to admit that he placed himself firmly in the latter camp, not that he would have said it openly.
If Klisiewicz had been there, his response would have been immediate, placing the woman in the brig, if not terminating her on the spot. Internecine alliances and compacts between Imperial officers, while commonplace, were tolerated only when it was to the Empire’s ultimate benefit. It was widely held that Spock’s intentions were not ones that favored those in the corridors of power on Imperial Earth. But the Vulcan admiral’s bold stance against the machinations of the Empress’s court had struck a chord with Endeavour’s commander, and in that moment, he decided to hear T’Prynn out.
She saw she had his attention. “In revealing my identity and intent, I have shown you a degree of trust, Captain. Will you return that confidence?”
“I will,” he agreed. “Nothing said in this room will leave it.”
The woman continued. “In Admiral Spock’s considered opinion, there is a critical situation developing in the Taurus Reach. The existence of the Vanguard station, Imperial Starbase 47, is a threat to the stability of the Terran Empire. If left unchecked, Starfleet’s operations within the Reach will soon ignite a conflict that will ruin important plans for the Empire’s future.”
“Whose plans?” asked Zhao. “I doubt you mean those of Empress Sato.”
T’Prynn ignored his interruption. “Admiral Spock requires that the command of Commodore Diego Reyes be terminated with extreme prejudice and that Vanguard’s operations be neutralized.”
Zhao gave a bitter laugh and let his rice bowl clatter to the table. “And you come with this to me? Spock conjures this demand from the air and expects me to fulfill it for him, to turn against my commanding officer, throw away my life?” He snorted derisively. “And the lives of my crew?”
The woman fixed him with a steady gaze. “The admiral guarantees three rewards if you succeed.”
“Only three?” Zhao sat back and folded his arms. “Let me hear them, then. If only so I can give a complete accounting of your treachery to the Office of Imperial Inquisition when I report you for this madness.”
“First, you will be granted the rank currently held by Reyes, with all the power and status that entails.”
Despite himself, Zhao stiffened a little at her words. Reyes had made it clear in no uncertain terms that the Endeavour’s commander would never advance in rank, not while the shadow of Vanguard loomed large over the Reach.
“Second,” she continued, “you will have the chance to recover the life of someone very important to you.”
He was on his feet in an instant, his hands balling into fists. “You don’t speak of her!” Zhao snarled. “You do not speak of her in my presence!”
T’Prynn showed no alarm, no concern over his abrupt flash of fury. “And third, you will recover the honor you have lost.”
His anger, potent and towering, was suddenly bled away, vanishing as quickly as it had come. Zhao felt a rush of cold run through him. An understanding.
“This is the admiral’s offer, Captain Zhao. Do you accept?”
He found himself speaking without being conscious of it, his thoughts churning. “I…I will consider it.”
She watched the passage of emotions across the face of the human, reading them in his eyes, the tightening of the skin around his lips and a hundred other subtle cues that Zhao was not even aware of. She had studied the man and done what she could to ensure that she would attract him on their first meeting, but it was not until now, when they were alone together, that T’Prynn felt she truly had an insight into him. Her mission was to persuade Zhao to take up Spock’s flag and turn against the man whose boot was pressed against his neck; but humans were so ephemeral, as hard to predict as they were easy to read. Her eyes fell to the data card on the table; she recalled the brief touch of the admiral’s hand on hers as he gave it to her.
The dry, sullen heat of her homeworld, the dust suspended in the still air of an alleyway in Vulcana Regar. Weeks ago now, but as fresh in her mind as if it had been moments.
T’Prynn offered the three figures before her the ritual gesture of an open hand, fingers split. “I am here.”
The tallest of the three mirrored her actions, and she saw the lines of his face in the shadows cast by an awning overhead. “T’Prynn,” he said, his words resonant. “It is agreeable to see you.”
She inclined her head. “Admiral. I came as quickly as I could.” There was a weariness in her words that she could not conceal, despite her best efforts. He was strange that way; something about Spock’s presence disarmed her, made every element of her tradecraft seem insubstantial. T’Prynn was discomforted by her inability to hide things from him. Deep inside, the very smallest ember of resentment burned in her.
If he noticed, he made no mention of it. “We move forward,” Spock explained. “The progression is slow but steady. Your contribution continues to be of great value.”
Another being might have thanked him for the compliment. T’Prynn said nothing, feeling no need to acknowledge what was obvious.
“You understand my time is limited, that the Empire’s future requires my full and complete attention.”
“I do.”
“Consider a dam holding back a lake,” he said carefully. “It is old and crumbling. It is best that it be dismantled and the water allowed to find an equilibrium.”
“A somewhat simplistic analogy for the Terran Empire.”
“Quite so, but adequate for this discussion. The dam has cracks that will widen if left unchecked, that will result in an uncontrolled flood. These flows must be stanched before they bring the entire structure down. What you have done, T’Prynn, is to enable me to tap those flows, control them or obstruct them. I wish you to understand the value of your work.”
“I do,” she repeated. “Not that my understanding is required. Only my obedience.”
“I regret some measure of coercion was required on your part, in order to have you prosecute certain missions.” Spock’s admission was unexpected. “I hope you will understand it was necessary.”
Necessa
ry? The hot ember in T’Prynn’s heart throbbed. Was it necessary to hold my secrets over me for all this time? She applied a degree of iron self-control, reaching into herself to silence the dissention—and other, more strident voices and desires.
“The Empire’s future requires a total commitment, and I have surrendered my life to that duty,” he continued. “But for now, I must move with caution. I cannot tip my hand to the Empress. This is why your covert skills have such importance.” He looked away to the other figures, and for the first time, T’Prynn caught a scent from one of them.
Human. A female. She peered into the depths of the figure’s hood but could discern only the vague impression of a face. Spock’s concubine, the one called Moreau.
“Many obstacles lie in the path of the Empire’s deconstruction,” said Spock. “Of late, I have learned of a most pressing problem.” He offered her a data card, and she took it, brushing his fingers. “Vanguard station, a starbase constructed out on the edges of Imperial space, in a zone known colloquially as the Taurus Reach. It sits within range of both Klingon and Tholian territories. It is fast becoming a potential flashpoint for interstellar conflict.”
She turned the data card over in her hand. “For what reason?”
He did not answer her immediately. “For my plans to succeed, it is imperative that the Taurus Reach be left to the militant Tholians. Without Fleet involvement, they will drive off any probing expeditions from the Klingons, and the area will remain stable. The Empress Sato, however, has other ideas. She has turned control of Vanguard over to one of the Empire’s most brutal officers, one Commodore Diego Reyes. Do you know of him?”
She nodded. Diego “Red” Reyes, as he was called, had a reputation for butchery and arrogance that broke limits even among the ruthless men and women of the Fleet. A thief in his youth who graduated to hardened criminal status in the barrios of Earth’s lunar complexes, after being pressed into Starfleet service, he had risen to high rank through callous cunning and sheer violence. It was said that among his record of atrocities, Reyes had personally obliterated the colony governed by his wife in retaliation for her divorce, killing thousands of innocents and turning the world’s surface to glass. T’Prynn had encountered the fringes of the man’s influence in missions within Orion space, where the commodore had connections with the crime syndicates.
Star Trek®: Mirror Universe: Shards and Shadows Page 12
