McCoy and Uhura had been uncharacteristically subdued in their leave-taking: it was obvious that the news reports of Klingon troop movements had disturbed them. Well, they had cause to worry. Regardless of the restrictions imposed by the Organians, who as often as not were nowhere to be found when clarification or enforcement of the treaty was wanted, the Klingons were capable of making an inordinate amount of trouble even, and sometimes particularly, when they had nothing to gain by it. In the situation at hand, they were a dangerously unpredictable element.
Like most of my generation, I felt no particular affinity towards our allies. They lacked finesse and subtlety,and their volatility made them a perennial wild card in the ongoing game of sectoral politics. The Klingons, for their part, thought Romulans aloof and arrogant, too fond of strategy and too easily bored with tactics. Nonetheless, the empires were bound together like spouses in a loveless marriage, resenting the bond but fearing the isolation that any severing would bring.
The direct outcome of Krinein's defeat at Kirk's hands had been a strengthening of the Romulan-Klingon alliance. The acrimonious negotiations that ensued had won us the spacewarp drive and them the cloaking device. Both sides felt that they'd given more than they'd received, and both grudgingly agreed that they were better off than they'd been before. The conviction--one might almost say the passion--that united the two peoples was the bone-deep certainty that the Federation, given a hair's breadth of opportunity, would impose its hegemony on whichever empire was foolish enough to, as the Standard phrase had it, go it alone. I'd once heard another Standard saying that defined the relationship succinctly: The enemy of my enemy is my friend.
And now our friends were weighing in on our side. But as I sat watching the news updates, I knew that the bellicose statements issuing from the High Council were inspired not by comradely outrage at Starfleet's violation of sovereign Romulan space, but by unalloyed self-interest: the theft of the cloaking device was every bit as devastating to the Klingons as it was to us. With imperial defenses fatally compromised and the balance of power irrevocably changed, first by the Organians and now by Kirk, there would be nothing to stop the Federation from annexing whom it wanted, when it wanted ...
Nothing except Adjuvant.
* * *
When Elydex arrived at the apartment later that morning, she listened without surprise to my account of the night's events.
"I did warn you," she said, "about the excesses of the media, and that Starfleet wouldn't be able to keep the Enterprise incident a secret. That's the price of living in a free society." Though her facial expression--what there was of it--didn't change, I could tell that she was annoyed by what had happened. "I've already spoken with the chief of Federation security. He has agreed to extend the perimeter guard around this building, and to augment it with an enhanced forcefield if necessary. In addition, all contiguous airspace has been interdicted. They won't bother you here again." She raised her glass to her lips; as usual, no water disappeared from it.
"I still don't understand why they would care about obtaining an image of me, if that's really what they were after. Shouldn't your 'free society' be more concerned about treachery in Starfleet? About war with the Romulan Empire? About the Klingons?"
"In fact, Commander, all those things are being debated in the media, along with certain signs of domestic political unrest. There is an extensive and well-organized network of people in the Federation, and especially here on Earth, who are opposed not only to war, but also to militarism in general, to capital punishment, and to a number of other things. The Enterprise incident, along with your presence here, has spurred them into action."
Hoping I wouldn't have to hear a lecture on Federation politics, I asked: "And what does that mean?"
"To put it as simply as possible, there is a grass-roots movement afoot to prevent your repatriation. Our intelligence sources report that the organizers are planning demonstrations aimed at rousing public sympathy for your cause."
"My cause? I'm not following you, Counselor."
"They have apparently discovered that when you return to Romulus you will be tried on charges of dereliction of duty, and that if you are found guilty you will very likely be executed. Again, I apologize for putting things so bluntly."
"There's no need to apologize for speaking the truth." Where is this leading?
"For once, the peace activists are on side with Starfleet. Both groups want to keep you here, though for vastly different reasons. And both are determined to do whatever is necessary to achieve that end."
"None of this makes any sense." I was getting tired of repeating that phrase.
Elydex covered my hand with hers. "You must understand that capital punishment is not permitted in the Federation. Any world that wishes to become a member must sign an undertaking to the effect that it will never impose the death penalty."
A memory was trying to surface. "When I was first aboard Enterprise I saw a news report of protests about the admission of a world to the Federation--I don't remember the details, but it had something to do with capital punishment."
"Yes, that would have been Kornephoros. The planet's ruler was willing to sign the undertaking, but he would not agree to retroactivity. He wanted to be able to execute those already under sentence."
"What happened?"
"The matter is still unresolved. But the same groups that protested the admission of that world are now mobilizing against your return to Romulus. They are determined that the Federation will not be a party to sending you to your death."
"Oh, I see. The Federation, whose Starfleet betrayed me in the first place, is now going to defend me against the justifiable retribution of my own people. You'll pardon me if I say that I don't think much of that logic."
"The activists would argue that their logic is not the Federation's, and certainly not Starfleet's." She released my hand. "In any case, the political repercussions of the Enterprise incident are only just beginning to be felt. No one is likely to escape their impact."
"Nevertheless, as soon as that wretched inquiry is finished with me, I will be going home, just as we agreed. The Federation can't do anything to stop me. No one can force me to stay here a moment longer than I have to."
"Your government will certainly make representations to that effect. And that reminds me: have you spoken to Ambassador Tilendi about your Romulan co-counsel?"
"Yes. She said that she needs some time to consider the matter."
"Very well." Elydex made a note on her padd. "I will be in touch with her later today. Tomorrow I leave for San Francisco to meet with the opposition, as it were. We need to discuss some housekeeping matters--security, scheduling, clerical and technical support, and so on."
"Can't that be dealt with from here?"
"My minister has instructed me to talk to them in person. He believes that it will be more efficient."
I had to smile at that. "I can imagine. The Reticulan gift for obtaining information from humans. Your minister must find it very convenient."
"Just so, although I prefer to call it a gift for observing human behavior. Now, are you going to be all right here for the next while? It's possible that I may not be back until after the holidays. If you need me, I can be reached at any time through the San Francisco office of the Ministry of Justice. The commcode is in your computer."
"I'll be fine. I have Tilendi in orbit above me and guards standing watch all around me, there is a kitchen full of food and a computer full of reading material, and I expect that Uhura and McCoy will come to see me again." I hesitated. "I presume that you don't object to their visiting me. Tilendi seemed to think there was no harm in it." And that there might even be an advantage to it.
"I agree with her, Commander. I'll inform the security chief that you may see whom you like, provided that your visitors pose no security risk and that your ambassador does not object. Is that acceptable?"
"Completely. That's very generous of you." I meant it: a Romulan official would never have permitted a prisoner such latitude. "Thank you, Counselor."
She inclined her head. Then, as if it had only just occurred to her: "You know, we might consider giving you an intradermal locator so that you could leave this apartment if you wished. There would be some restrictions, of course. You would have to transport to and from your destination with a security escort, and any excursion would require prior authorization from me and from your ambassador. Does that arrangement appeal to you at all?"
For one of the few times in my life, I was surprised into speechlessness.
"Starfleet will not approve," she continued. "But you are not under Starfleet's jurisdiction."
"Counselor ..." I didn't know how to respond; I could only say again, "That's very generous of you. But I assure you, I'm fine. Besides, I doubt that Tilendi will agree to my leaving this place, even for a short while."
Elydex's enormous eyes seemed to grow even larger as she studied my face: "Oh, I think she will, so long as your activities don't conflict with her agenda."
"Her agenda, as you put it, is to protect the Empire's interests."
"Indeed it is, Commander--interests both short-term and long-term. It's agreed, then. I will speak to Tilendi about her choice of co-counsel, and about the locator." Her small smile appeared. "I still think you may find some things to enjoy during your stay."
* * *
Long after we had said our goodbyes and the transporter sparkle had faded, I stood looking at the empty platform, thinking about agendas--and wondering, for the first time, exactly what Elydex's might be.
* * *
For the rest of the day I stayed close to the terminal, scanning the repetitive and uninformative newscasts and waiting for Tilendi to communicate with me. But by evening I hadn't heard from her, unless the automated acknowledgment that my mission report had been received counted as a communication. The only other message came from Uhura, who called to say that she and McCoy had made it to their respective residences with no serious interference from Starfleet or from the media, and that she would talk to me after she'd gotten some sleep.
I hadn't eaten anything since my second helping of McCoy's redeye special some fifteen hours earlier. I was trying to summon up the energy to interact with the food dispenser when I heard a newsreader announce, in solemn and judgmental tones, that Captain James T. Kirk and Commander Spock of the starship Enterprise were "meeting behind closed doors in Ottawa this evening with Federation officials and top Starfleet brass," whoever or whatever that was. The newsreader's round pink face was replaced by a vidclip of Kirk and Spock.
Flanked by security guards, they were ascending the steps of a building in the company of two middle-aged men and a younger woman, all Terrans. Reporters jostled for position, trying to get past the guards, calling out questions; the halogen floodlamps on the video recorders lit the scene with a garish brilliance that was only slightly diffused by the veil of falling snow. The woman stopped and turned suddenly, bringing the group to a halt. Her manner was brusque, irritated, as she spoke into one of the microphones that were being thrust towards her. The newsreader's offscreen narration droned on, so that the woman's words were barely audible. But I wasn't interested in what either of them had to say: my attention was fixed on Spock.
He was wearing a blue field jacket that bore the Starfleet crest; his collar was turned up against the cold. The unforgiving lights bled color from his skin and created deep shadows beneath his cheekbones. He stood next to Kirk, straight and still, facing the crowd of reporters, waiting for the woman to finish her statement to them. A sudden gust of wind lifted the fringe of dark hair from his forehead, making him appear younger and, for a moment, oddly vulnerable. Then whatever the woman was saying, or the reporters asking, caused him to press his lips together in a tight line. On a Romulan face, that expression would have been a storm warning; what it might mean on a Vulcan face I couldn't guess. Kirk said something to the cameras, then took the woman by the elbow and began to climb the steps again. Spock moved behind the two of them as if to shield them from the crowd; the other members of the group followed, leaving the reporters still shouting questions as the doors of the building quickly opened and closed.
The pink-skinned newsreader reappeared, and I deactivated the screen. The sight of Spock's face, gaunt and not quite impassive, had stirred longing and anger and bewilderment. I thought I knew what he truly wanted. How could I have been so wrong?
I'd made no attempt to hide my personal interest in him while he was with me on Eidolon. In fact, it had been my clear intention to seduce him--first into citizenship of the Romulan Empire, and eventually into my bed. But despite the emotionally charged atmosphere, my mind had been largely occupied with the immediate logistics of commandeering Enterprise, which hung motionless in space awaiting Spock's return. Once we were safely home, there would be more than enough time for the two of us to explore the limits of our curiosity, our imagination ... So I had been completely unprepared for the conversation's sudden change in direction.
You will lead the Enterprise to a Romulan port with my flagship at its side.
Yes, of course. But not just this moment. An hour from now will do even better, will it not ... Commander?
There was no mistaking the meaning in his eyes and his voice. An hour from now. He had taken the first step; for me to speak my name aloud to him was the natural response, an expression of trust and permission between a man and a woman according to the customs of both our worlds. When he leaned towards me to hear me whisper, My name is Aerlyn, my lips barely touched his ear; but the touch sent a thrill of desire through me--through us, because even that light contact was enough to form the fragile beginning of a mindlink. And later, when he finally lifted his hand to strengthen the link, caressing my face with gentle fingers that trailed fire, it was an effort to speak aloud: It is hard to believe that I could be so moved by the touch of an alien hand.
His answer had come in thought and in words, through the wall of heat that was rising between us: I must confess that I too am moved ... emotionally. I know it is illogical, yet--
Yet whatever he'd seen in me--and what had he seen in me?--that might have been worthy of love or of desire or merely of an adversary's respect had counted for nothing in the end. He had been carrying out his duty, as he'd calmly informed me while he made his statement. Everyone carries out his duty, I'd answered, numb with the shock of betrayal. You state the obvious, Spock ...
* * *
I stood by the window and pressed my forehead against the cool glass, trying to will him out of my consciousness. All this dwelling on the past only added to my anger and confusion. The problem was that I had too little to do and far too much time to think. If Elydex had meant what she'd said about giving me a locator, I hoped Tilendi would accept the offer without questioning her motives too closely. What the Federation might permit me to do outside this apartment was anyone's guess; I supposed that I might be taken to a museum or to a concert--something uplifting and non-threatening, with a certain amount of propaganda value. Well, any diversion would be acceptable, so long as I didn't have to endure Earth's freezing weather and so long as there was nothing within a thousand kilometers to remind me of Spock.
© 1996, 1999 Kathleen Dailey. All rights reserved.