Federation linguists had shown a sad lack of imagination in rendering the Romulan word viamsa as "cloaking device." In our language, the term had a much more subtle resonance: it was an untranslatable play on the words for "mirror" and "veil," and was meant to connote illusion as well as concealment. Whoever had converted it into something so prosaic as a "cloak"--a garment large and awkward to manage, good for hiding behind only until someone smarter and quicker pulled it away to reveal the cowering creature huddled there--had completely missed the point of the technology, not to mention the nature of the Romulan mind.
The physics of the cloaking device was based in part on a theory of controlled specular reflection, which had caused more than one bewildered non-scientific observer (usually Klingon) to state huffily that it was all done with curtains and mirrors. The fundamental truth of that assertion appealed to the Romulan sense of humor, and the device was named appropriately.
From the beginning, the research and development teams assigned to the project had been a model of interdisciplinary cooperation--physicists of all persuasions, from high-energy to subquantum to optical to temporal, for cloaking theory was grounded in all those fields; engineers from every guild, whose job it was to see that the device meshed perfectly with life-support, propulsion, and weapons systems; and artists and craftsmen, charged with creating the spectacular holographic imaging programs that made our enemies doubt the evidence of their tracking sensors and even their own eyes as a starship, massing in the millions of tonnes, disappeared in seconds into empty space.
The early prototypes, crude by present-day standards, had performed much better than expected. Over the decades the technology grew more sophisticated, and most of its faults were eliminated. In due course four Nal'et-class Warbirds equipped with plasma mortars took the cloaking device to the field for beta testing. Smash-and-grab raids on a few outposts along the Federation side of the Line proved largely successful: three of the Warbirds came back intact--and even Krinein, which did not, had suffered no defect in its cloak. The push was on to develop a cloaking device suitable for installation on larger ships, and the current versions--including Adjuvant's one-off warp cloak--were made ready for field trials.
The first rumors of intermittent systemic malfunctions had been suppressed. Too much money and too many reputations were at stake to risk the cancellation of the project, so the military and scientific establishments conspired to hide the reports of vessels that had mysteriously--and permanently--vanished. But when the imperial praetor's private cruiser was lost during its shakedown flight, the truth became known: sometimes, for no apparent reason and in unpredictable and irreproducible circumstances, the engaging of the cloak would cause a ship--along with any observer ships that happened to be within a few hundred kilometers--to disappear. And by "disappear," of course, the scientists did not mean "cloak." The ships vanished instantaneously--as if no measurable time passed between a vessel's presence and its non-presence.
It went without saying that every scientist ever involved with the cloaking device was called upon to aid in the search for answers, but no answers were forthcoming. And where else could we turn? To the Vulcans, whose subquantum and interphasic physicists were the finest in the known galaxy? To the Reticulans, who had mastered transdimensional mechanics millennia before the Vulcans were able to travel beyond their own solar system? There was no one in whom we could confide, for the only possible sources of expertise greater than our own resided within the boundaries of the Federation.
Speculation flourished. One group of experts theorized that the engaging of a cloaking device somehow opened a gateway to a distant point in our own spacetime--perhaps to one of the unexplored quadrants--and that the gateway's gravitational pull drew in not only the cloaked ship but any other object within a certain radius: hence the loss of the observer ships. Others were sure that energy fluctuations caused an overload loop in the device, so that the invisibility field encompassed not only the host ship but the observers; the chilling corollary of that theory was that the ships, once cloaked, could never uncloak. Still others argued that a malfunction at the subquantum level could trigger a spatial interphase phenomenon, causing a vessel to transmigrate to a parallel or overlapping dimension or even to another universe. Since none of the ships had ever been heard from again, one hypothesis seemed as valid as another. The only thing that was not in question was the fact that no fewer than eight Romulan craft of various classes had been lost while testing versions of the cloaking device. And now two Federation ships had joined them in whatever limbo they inhabited ...
* * *
Nanclus was ready to leave for the Romulan embassy, where he would prepare a confidential status report to be transmitted directly to the Senate and the imperial praetor. Although the report, which summarized and analyzed the implications of Devor's mission and the Federation's likely response to it, would go out over Tilendi's signature, the assignment was a coup for Nanclus. Only the most senior legates were entrusted with such sensitive tasks, and if he carried it out to Tilendi's satisfaction he could be assured of a significant promotion--perhaps even an ambassadorship. Counselor Venn, who was also staying at the embassy, seemed no more than mildly interested in the disappearance of Al-Diraj. He was eager to meet with Elydex when she returned from San Francisco so that he could report to her on the results of his legal research, the exact nature of which I didn't fully understand and didn't care to. He was as impatient as a soldier waiting for a commander's order to engage an enemy.
"You haven't changed, Taris," I said with a smile. "If you were half as zealous and adroit in combat as you are in debate, you'd rule the galaxy."
"And if we could only entice him into the diplomatic service," said Nanclus, "his skill with words alone might well achieve that very end."
"Not my style, old friend," Venn said, clapping Nanclus on the shoulder. "You diplomatic types always have to pull your punches." He made a face. "And those boring receptions! Hours spent listening to the maundering of uncivilized, jumped-up, overdressed emissaries from every appalling cultural backwater in the quadrant, as if you gave a spacer's boot for anything they had to say! And all that barbaric outworlder food! My stomach couldn't take it, Sel. Fried bilharnum, plamp fricassee, bowls of ghagh still on the hoof, as it were." He gave an exaggerated shudder, winked at me, and then glanced sideways in K'trel's direction. "No offense, Ambassador. Each to his own taste, no? Give me a plate of well-boiled Remish suckerfish any day."
K'trel growled four words in a guttural regional dialect I didn't recognize, though I could easily guess his general meaning. He wasn't in the mood for Venn's gibes: although no cloak-equipped Klingon ships had so far been lost, he'd been put out of countenance by the reminder that the Romulan technology, purchased at the cost of the Klingon warp-drive equations, was flawed. But Tilendi managed to head off any overt conflict. She diverted K'trel's attention with questions and conversation just long enough to enable Nanclus and Venn to make their farewells to me and complete their transport. As soon as they were safely gone, she escorted the Klingon to the platform, offering reassurances and platitudes; when she was certain that he was mollified, she bade him goodbye and gave the order to energize with undisguised relief in her voice.
"Mightn't he have noticed that?" I asked.
Tilendi sank into an easy chair. "Fortunately, Klingons aren't particularly attuned to subtleties of intonation." She rubbed her forehead wearily. "That was very wrong of Taris. Baiting the ambassador as if he were a hostile witness in some law court will only serve to antagonize him, and we cannot afford that just now. Klingons have no sense of humor, as my nephew well knows. That's why it amuses him to provoke them. I must have a brief word with him."
I had been on the receiving end of Tilendi's "brief words" more than once; I experienced a moment of sincere sympathy for Venn. "Let me get you some tea, Lidiya," I said gently. "Or a brandy. It's been a long day."
"Indeed it has, child, and it's far from over. Yes, I would like a brandy, if you will join me."
"With pleasure. Can you stay for a while?"
"No. I must return to the ship to dispatch some messages."
"Something you can't take care of from the embassy?" I asked, knowing the answer.
"You needn't play guessing games, Aerlyn," Tilendi said with a wry smile. "I cannot meet with Ambassador Sarek until I receive further instructions from the homeworld. The secrecy level of our discussions makes it impossible to communicate through the embassy."
"I wish you success, Lidiya." I filled two glasses and handed one to her.
She took a sip and closed her eyes for a moment in silent appreciation. "Now that the Federation is no longer in possession of the cloaking device," she said, "the scales of power are in balance once again, and the political turmoil at home should die down somewhat. I anticipate that my talks with Sarek will proceed very quickly from this point on. The news that Devor did not fire upon Al-Diraj will only work to my advantage. And Adjuvant's ability to travel at warp speed when cloaked has been successfully field-tested. That is an unexpected bonus, and should put both the Senate and High Command in a good mood."
"You still can't tell me what these talks with Sarek are all about?"
"I wish I could." Her tone made it plain that it was time to move to another subject. "I am curious about your recent visits with Lieutenant Uhura. Were you able to learn anything useful from her?"
"Not much. She's upset and angry about the Enterprise incident, of course, mostly because the programming for Kirk's translator implant was based on her linguistic research. And she can't understand how Parizeau could have transmitted the false orders without triggering her security safeguards. I had the impression she was going to do some investigating on her own. She takes it all very personally."
"As she should, if she cares for her honor. This suggests that Parizeau did not work alone. A specialist would have had to prepare the program so that someone on Enterprise, presumably Commander Spock, need only load it into the translator module."
"Uhura seems to think that Parizeau handled the programming by himself. And when the captain's not-so-dead body was returned to the ship, McCoy must have implanted the translator when he performed the cosmetic surgery." This was the first time I'd really thought about the secondary logistics of the theft; I had to concede a grudging respect for Parizeau's thoroughness and his willingness to gamble on the occurrence of a staggeringly improbable series of events. It was also the first time I'd been able to contemplate the loss of the cloaking device with something approaching emotional detachment.
"It is possible that Spock programmed the translator," Tilendi said. "Certainly he would have had access to Uhura's work through Enterprise's library computer. Or perhaps he is as fluent in Romulan as the lieutenant is."
"No, he knows only a few words in our language."
"Ah. I see." She set her glass on the coffee table and regarded me with interest. "I must admit that I was surprised when Elydex told me that Spock had invited you to dine at his family's home."
"I believe that he merely wished to give me a chance to get out of this apartment."
"So he said to Elydex. He took a risk, though. Reporters might have been waiting anywhere."
"The house is in an isolated rural area. We transported almost to the door." I looked away, remembering our walk along the snow-covered path: I have never felt this before ...
"Obviously the two of you were able to maintain a degree of civility while you were together."
If not now, when? Such an opening might not come again. But I could still hear Spock's words: It is a matter of privacy. Without his consent, I couldn't speak the whole truth. Therefore, a grain would have to do: "We did take the opportunity to clear the air between us."
"Indeed," said Tilendi, after a longish pause. "Well, then. Perhaps I was right to accede to Elydex's request that Spock remain with you until your guards were reassigned. She told me that it was for the eventual good of both Federation and Empire."
"What did she mean by that?"
"I've no idea. You know how Reticulans are. They see omens and portents in everything."
* * *
As soon as Tilendi left, an oppressive silence fell upon the apartment. I moved restlessly from window to bookshelf to computer, unable, as my great-grandfather would have said, to settle to anything. I will return to you in a day or two, Spock had promised. The day that had just passed had seemed like ten, and I missed him with such intensity that I seriously wondered how I would get through the next. My appetite was gone, I had barely slept, and I was in a more or less constant state of sexual tension. In the past, when I'd found myself in this condition, I had been able to channel my unrest into the demands of a higher activity--planning strategies, carrying out missions, commanding a flagship. Now, though, with my work and my command taken from me, the only mission I could carry out was the one I'd defined for myself: securing a future with Spock. And the more I thought about him, of course, the worse off I became. I wondered whether he was experiencing something similar. It seemed unlikely: his Vulcan disciplines would enable him to defer consideration of his emotional and other needs until some more convenient, more appropriate time ...
At the sound of the comm chime, my heart leapt. But the building's transporter operator didn't speak the name I wanted to hear. I instructed her to admit the visitor, and then watched with curiosity as James Kirk materialized on the platform.
"Evening, Commander," he said. "I hope I'm not disturbing you."
"Not at all, Captain. I didn't expect to see you again so soon."
"Headquarters doesn't want me for a while. I could have waited around, but I don't do waiting very well. I decided to transport back to the Officers' Club here and finish up some paperwork."
I couldn't help smiling a little. "But, Captain, as you see, you are not in the Officers' Club."
"Well, your place was on my way. I'll leave my boots here by the door, if that's all right."
"You are familiar with Romulan customs."
"I'm learning." There was no humor in his voice.
What is this all about? I wondered. Adjuvant? Spock? The inquiry? Aloud I said only, "Then you'll accept a glass of water, and perhaps a brandy?"
"Yes, I will, Commander. Both, thanks." When he removed his outer jacket I saw that he was in uniform. I was pleased that I'd chosen to wear my duty fatigues to receive Tilendi and the others: the fatigues might not be as impressive as a Romulan uniform, but at least they would remind Kirk that I too was a soldier--and for now, at least, of a rank equal to his. For some reason, that seemed important.
In contrast to most of my visitors, he appeared to take no notice of the lavish surroundings. He drained the water glass in a single draft; when I handed him his brandy, he thanked me again and sat down. His face, always expressive, showed fatigue and, oddly, distress. I decided not to waste time on banalities: "Why have you come here, Captain?"
He let out a tired sigh. "Because, Commander, my officers and I had what you might call a rude awakening today. We were hit over the head with one of your ... Romulan customs."
I stared at him, uncomprehending. "Not literally, of course."
"Damn near. We were coming out of the Command building when we ran straight into the biggest protest march I've seen since ... well, that I've ever seen, come to think of it. At least on Earth."
"The news reports did say that demonstrations were taking place. Did you think those anti-Romulan activists posed some kind of a threat? Surely they could have been contained." If I had been there and had a weapon, I would have made short work of them myself.
"They aren't particularly anti-Romulan," Kirk said. "But they are anti-war, and anti-Starfleet."
"Your people must have been better armed than the protesters were. Why didn't the authorities disperse them?"
Kirk looked as if he wished they'd done just that. "The demonstrators weren't armed. Not with weapons, anyway. We were hustled back into the building before they could see us." He frowned. "Spock and Scott and I were all in uniform. They would have recognized us right away, and there were reporters all over the place. Starfleet wanted to avoid a public scene, so we watched the demo on the monitor in Admiral Komack's office."
I thought their retreat more than a little unworthy. "Why didn't you just confront them?"
"They confronted us, Commander. As I said, not with weapons. With words."
"With words! What possible harm could that do?"
"One of their speakers seemed to be rather well informed about Romulan law and military traditions."
The cutting remark I had been about to make died on my lips; now I understood why he had come. Elydex's sources had been right: The organizers are planning demonstrations aimed at rousing public sympathy for your cause. Unable to think of any other response, I murmured, "I see."
"Well, I didn't see. Not at first. But by the time I'd listened to the whole damned speech, I saw everything pretty clearly. The man didn't leave much to the imagination."
I said nothing, but felt a weight settle in my stomach. And Spock had been there with him, had heard it all ...
"On Starbase Four," Kirk said, "when Ra-ghoratrei told Dro that he wanted to make sure you'd still be available to deliver your testimony ... I thought he meant that if he let you go home he wouldn't be able to extradite you again under a witness subpoena. But that wasn't what he meant, was it?"
"No."
"We don't know much about your society, your laws, your traditions. We just assumed ... I don't know what we assumed. Not this. Never this."
"Captain," I said, as gently as I could. "I will tell you what I told Lieutenant Uhura, who feared that I would be reprimanded for the loss of the cloaking device. It is a question of honor--mine, my family's, my first officer's, my crew's. I will stand before the Senate not because I am bound to do so by warrant or statute, but because that is the Romulan way."
He hadn't heard most of what I'd said. "You mean Uhura knew about this and didn't tell anyone?" he demanded angrily.
"No. She knows only that I will lose my command. There was no logical reason to tell her the rest."
"No logical reason--how the hell can your people condone this kind of vengeance?" He was nearly shouting now.
"Justice, Captain. Not vengeance, but retributive justice. I've brought dishonor on my crew and my family, and one way or another I must make things right. It's my responsibility to balance the accounts. You, of all people, must understand that."
"Of course I understand responsibility! But to pay with your life for something you didn't even--" He shook his head, disbelieving. "There's got to be another way to ... to balance the accounts."
Again I said nothing. The truth lay there in front of him, contained in his own words. Let him reason his way through this, if he can. But he didn't get a chance to try; his communicator whistled shrilly. "Kirk," he snapped.
"Spock here, Captain. We have a message from Arecibo."
"Classification."
"Bravo Two, sir. Science update concerning sector two zero six."
Kirk looked at me consideringly, then made a decision. "All right. What've you got?"
"The text is as follows. No debris field, no antiproton residue."
Kirk was very still. "Say again."
"Repeat, Captain: no debris field, no antiproton residue. This message is double confirmed."
"Acknowledged." He hesitated. "Spock--"
"Yes, Captain?"
"Are you and Scotty going to be there much longer?"
"Apparently not, sir. Admiral Komack is now in a closed meeting."
"Understood. I'll be at the OC. I want to see both of you as soon as possible. Come straight to my quarters when you arrive."
"Acknowledged. I will inform Mr. Scott. Spock out."
Kirk pocketed his communicator and turned to me. "You heard it for yourself. That ship that intercepted the Al-Diraj--one of yours, or Klingon? No, don't say it." He held up his hand before I could speak my automatic denial. "It almost doesn't matter now. Wherever the intruder came from, it wasn't able to carry out its search-and-destroy mission."
I kept silent; I was curious to see how much he knew.
"The Al-Diraj wasn't fired upon, Commander." Kirk sounded as if he couldn't quite believe what he was saying. "She just ... disappeared. Disappeared, as far as we can tell, without a trace."
"After all, that is the function of a cloaking device," I said, deliberately misunderstanding him, hoping that my expression revealed nothing. "That's why you wanted it so very badly in the first place."
"We wanted it," he said softly. "But not at this price." He wasn't referring only to the loss of the ship.
Exasperated by his human sentimentalism, pitying his naivete, I met his gaze directly. "Did you think your actions had no consequences, Captain? That those you defeated in battle or by stealth could walk away unscathed from their encounters with Starfleet's saviors of the galaxy?"
"Commander--"
"Have a care, Kirk." It was the first time I'd addressed him by name since that night in the arboretum. "One day, out of nowhere, some vanquished enemy will rise up and exact revenge upon you--if not for your victory, or for your treachery, then for your mercy." I looked into those strange alien eyes, dark now with anger and sorrow, and wondered whether he understood any part of what I was trying to tell him. "Believe me, that last will be your undoing."
© 1996, 1999 Kathleen Dailey. All rights reserved.