I had been on Hellguard less than a tenday when a supply ship arrived from the homeworld. There was a mixup about manifests and bills of lading, and the ship's commander insisted that someone must beam up and straighten it out before the last batch of supplies was sent down. Lacking any competent office staff, I had come in person. Tal had left his duties to accompany me, and between the two of us we were eventually able to put things in order.
The region of space around Hellguard was famous for the violent ion storms that blew up without warning. While we were aboard the supply ship, a storm came out of nowhere; the degree of magnetic flux was such that we could not beam safely back to the planet. The ship's commander offered to send us and the supplies down in a heavily shielded cargo shuttle, assuring us that we could miss the worst of the storm if we departed immediately.
When we entered the hangar bay we found the commander standing by the door. "Your landing coordinates are already entered in navcomp," she said. "We'll retrieve the craft when we make our next supply drop." A technician hurried over and handed her a padd; she barely glanced at it. "Preflight is complete," she snapped. "I want to break orbit before the storm grows worse." With no further discussion and no farewells, Tal and I boarded the shuttle.
Out of long habit I made directly for the pilot's chair, fastened my restraint harness, and pulled down a commset. Stooping to accommodate himself to the low-ceilinged cabin, Tal took the operations station. He opened the keypad and entered a series of commands; launch clearance came almost before he requested it, and in seconds we were free. I imagined that I heard spacedoors slamming shut behind us and a heartfelt good riddance. The supply ship, a glowing blue triangle on the viewscreen, moved off through the storm--not at the usual in-system crawl but at full impulse power, as though eager to see the back of us.
"Something we said?" Tal raised an eyebrow in mock puzzlement.
"Who can blame them? I'd get away from here just as fast, if I could. Give me a weather projection, please." When it appeared on my screen, I was sorry I'd asked for it. The disturbance was growing in intensity, and at an unsettlingly rapid rate. "Boosting power to nav deflectors," I said. "I don't like the look of this storm."
"Nor the feel of it--" Tal braced himself against the console as a sudden violent turbulence buffeted the small craft. Several unsecured objects, including someone's forgotten beverage flask, went flying. "So much for their preflight! Deflectors holding, gravity nominal--we're doing well."
"Don't speak too soon. Auto stabilizers are at half--" A power surge animated every telltale on the console as the shuttle tumbled through another pocket of supercharged turbulence. "Are offline! Compensating!" I hope. "Are you all right over there?"
"Never better," Tal said, calmly adjusting his commset. "Planetary traffic control reports severe local disturbances all the way down. They're diverting us to Kharsalen, near the science center." He frowned at the readouts. "Transmission's breaking up. Auroral substorms--"
We slammed into the crest of an ion wave, and quick as thought ricocheted into another. A section of overhead shelving broke loose with a loud tearing sound, spilling tools and equipment across the deck. The shuttle pitched and rolled helplessly; alarms wailed in outrage as essential systems failed. "Navcomp out!" I shouted to Tal. "Helm on manual!"
"Deflectors holding," he shouted back, "but only just! Who built this thing, anyway? Klingons?" Then, astonishingly, he grinned at me. "What are you waiting for, Helm Officer?" he barked in perfect imitation of our first-year flight instructor. "Take us down!"
As if I have a choice! The shuttle, now more projectile than guided craft, plummeted groundward, bucking and shuddering through layers of atmosphere with a sickening, bone-jarring vibration. Sparks and acrid smoke shot up from the console as if someone had put a match to kindling. I felt the anchor belt of my harness break loose as I fought to maintain helm control. "Warn them!" I screamed over the deafening shriek of the alarms. "Braking systems at thirty percent! Hard landing! Evacuate the field!"
I could barely hear Tal's voice through the commset: "Cleared for emergency touchdown! Visual approach bearing nineteen point three-zero--take us down, amkhoia!"
Gasping for air, blinded by the smoke that filled the cabin, trusting in nothing but fate and my instincts, I took us down.
The impact came with impossible, unthinkable, annihilating force. In that last second of consciousness I knew neither fear nor pain, just a kind of exhausted acceptance. It's finished now. No more longing, no more grief. Spock, beloved-- Darkness fell like a blanket, like a shroud. I reached up with grateful hands to draw it over me.
* * *
The smell was elusively, maddeningly familiar. Calling upon other senses to assist me in the task of identification, I ordered my eyes to open, my fingers to extend themselves and transmit data to my brain. But I could see only unbroken blackness, and my hands, if indeed they were still located at the ends of my arms, were unresponsive. Somewhere in the distance I could hear voices, and those too had an eerie familiarity. Something about the combination of smell and sound ...
Sickbay! I thought with triumph. Enterprise's sickbay. Kirk and McCoy and Chapel whispering by the door, trying not to wake me, just as they were doing on the day Kirk lost those two crewmen at Triacus--
But something was not right. These voices were speaking Romulan, not Standard, and I recognized only one of them. Fighting the desire to sink back into the blackness, I strained to listen. But though the individual words made a kind of sense, I couldn't interpret their collective significance.
"I beg you, Subcommander, let us move into my office!" A woman's voice, urgent and imploring.
"... line up your so-called experts against me? Against her? Our conversation goes no further than this room!" That was Tal--a very angry Tal.
Then a man's voice: "Be reasonable, Subcommander ... remarkable opportunity ... squarely within our mandate."
"No!"
"... cannot possibly grasp the scientific importance--"
"No!"
"... not a family member ... consent from one of her relatives--"
"Her family must know nothing of this ... suffered enough. So has she!"
"... do you think you are? You have absolutely no authority--"
"... warning you, Healer" --Tal's voice, cold and dangerous-- "cross me in this and you will live just long enough to regret it!"
"... violating every research protocol of this facility ... every medical protocol!"
"Enough!" Tal's shout penetrated the fever or drug that clouded my mind. "Do it now, this minute, and in my presence, or I will--"
"Jascha!" My voice was a hoarse croak. "What's wrong?" I tried to raise myself, but my muscles refused to cooperate. "Where am I?" In bed. I'm in bed. Why can't I sit up?
Tal hurried to my side. "Forgive me, amkhoia. We didn't mean to disturb you." Heedless of the other people in the room, he pressed my hand to his lips.
"Please don't distress yourself, Commander," said the woman as she approached me. In the twilight dimness I could see that she wore the red duty fatigues of a Romulan soldier; but on her breast pocket, where the Two Worlds ought to have been, was embroidered instead the bright green circle of the healing professions. "You're in the infirmary at the Kharsalen science center. You're going to be fine. Right now it's very important that you rest."
"What were you--why were you arguing? What must my family not know?"
"It's nothing," she said quickly, her eyes on Tal. "You sustained numerous injuries and fractures in the shuttle crash, and we need to do some repair work. We were simply discussing the matter of consent."
"Of course you have my consent," I said, relieved. "Do whatever is necessary. And you're right ... I don't want to worry my family ... Subcommander Tal can speak for me in everything."
"As you like." She looked once more at Tal, who gave her a murderous glare. With a faint sigh she activated a sterile field and pressed a hypospray against my neck. "Subcommander Tal wishes to remain here with you. Is that all right?"
"Yes," I said. The need to sleep was suddenly overwhelming.
The woman leaned towards me. Her scent was delicate, flowery, like a midsummer garden. "Please don't worry, Commander. I promise you that when you wake, all will be as it was before."
* * *
An unfamiliar star burned hot and high in a purple sky. Even through closed eyelids its brilliance was painful.
I don't know that sun. Or that sky. Where am I?
Open your eyes, beloved, said a familiar dream-voice. Open your eyes and see where you are.
I only see the sun ... Wait. I smell flowers. Different kinds. A garden? But where?
Apply your mind to the task, said the dream-voice, amused. White sun, violet sky, a garden. What do these attributes suggest to you?
Kaferia! A garden--our own garden on Kaferia! I reached out blindly for Spock's hand, lacing his fingers in mine. Oh, my love-- Joy and relief flooded through me. I thought I'd lost you forever! Is it really you? Are you really here with me?
Aerlyn, answered the voice. I'm here. Can you hear me? I'm here with you ... open your eyes and look at me!
"Aerlyn, I'm here--look at me!"
In an instant the dream evaporated into nothingness. I opened my eyes to find Tal sitting beside me, holding my hand in his. A painfully bright light shone directly overhead, casting the perimeter of the room in deep shadow.
"Jascha," I whispered. Not Spock, but Jascha ...
"Yes, amkhoia. It's me. I'm here. Thank the gods you're awake. How do you feel?"
As though I've lost everything all over again. "I can't see you," I said. "Turn off that light."
He touched a control on the wall. "Better?"
"Better." Muddled memories were beginning to surface. "The shuttle--"
"Scrap," he said cheerfully. "You earned yourself a high pass, Helm Officer. The only debris they're picking up out there is inorganic."
"What ... what happened?"
"Your restraint harness broke. When we hit the runway you were thrown against the cabin wall and pinned under some wreckage. Talk about luck! We might have been diverted to one of the quarry landing fields, and we would have had to try to beam you out to a hospital. But the healers were waiting for us here."
"Are you all right, Jascha?" A livid bruise marred his cheek and jawline, and a makeshift bandage on his forearm was stained green.
"Me? Undamaged." He rubbed the back of his neck. "Bit of a whiplash. Don't worry, we won't deduct it from your marks."
"How bad are my injuries?" Or do I not want to know? "I can't feel much."
"Multiple fractures, internal injuries, concussion. The healers fixed everything, but they want you to wear this for a little while." He guided my fingers to my forehead, where I felt the cold smoothness of a neural stimulator. "For the concussion."
"The healers ... you were rude to them. I heard you threaten them. Why?"
His face darkened. "Arrogant fools! They don't know who they're dealing with. Or rather they didn't. They do now."
"But why did you--"
"Shh, everything is all right. We'll talk about it later."
"I think I have to use the toilet," I said, trying to identify an oddly distant sensation.
"No, they've catheterized you. Intravenous fluids only for a while. They don't want you walking around quite yet."
"Um." I wasn't prepared to argue with him. "If you say so."
"Do you want to go back to sleep?"
"No. Tell me about the landing. I don't remember any of it."
"Ah," he said, grinning broadly. "You were merely magnificent. Do you recall that the braking systems failed? Well, then. The nav deflectors were still functional, so we were sure that we wouldn't incinerate ourselves during entry. But all at once the sensors showed a sudden rise in exterior temperature--" He recounted the details of the landing as though he were reading a novel, pausing now and then for a melodramatic effect, making me laugh. But halfway through his narrative my eyelids began to grow heavy.
"Sorry," I murmured. "Can you tell me the rest later?"
"Count on it. I'm just getting to the best part." He touched my lips with paired fingers. "Sleep well, amkhoia," he said quietly. "You're safe now. I'm here with you. I'll always be here."
* * *
The next time I woke, the female healer was standing beside me, monitoring the diagnostic readouts from the panel above my bed.
"Greetings, Commander," she said with a smile. "My name is Pallon. I supervise the medical division of the science center."
"My name is Tayva," I answered, glad to find that I remembered that much.
"How are you feeling?"
"Fine," I said, wishing it were true. "May I leave soon?"
"Your injuries are healing well, but you sustained a rather severe concussion. I want to keep you here for another day, at least."
"A day? That won't do. I'm supposed to be on duty right now--"
"Your staff has been informed of the shuttle accident. You're on authorized medical leave."
"Where is Subcommander Tal?"
"I had to banish him. He hasn't left your side since you were brought here. Someone is finally seeing to his whiplash and his cuts and bruises."
"I'm glad. Tal tends to ignore things like that."
"So I noticed." Pallon looked at me with curiosity. "He's very concerned for your well-being. I take it that the two of you are ..." She let the question fade discreetly into the ether, but I could guess why she had asked it. No doubt she had noticed a good deal more about Tal than his reluctance to have his injuries mended.
"No," I said, "Tal and I are friends--the very best of friends since childhood. I've put my hand in the fire for him any number of times, and he for me." And now he's doing it once more, on this godforsaken world. "But we are only friends, I assure you."
She smiled at me again, and I saw for the first time that she was no more than a few years older than I, and rather extraordinarily pretty. "I did notice that he calls you 'sweetheart,' you see," she said diffidently.
"Oh, that. He's called me that for years--" I turned slightly towards her so that I could see her face a little better. But when I shifted position, the faraway sensation I'd felt earlier suddenly localized itself: an involuntary tightening of internal muscles, a tiny trickle of wetness in a place where none should be. "Healer, I'm afraid I really must use the lavatory. I don't think the catheter is ..." My voice trailed off. Something was wrong--
Disbelief and denial, at first. Then bare comprehension of irrefutable physical evidence. Then shock, then sheer incredulous horror. No. Not possible. Not without intervention-- Every stage of understanding must have shown plainly in my face, for Pallon's eyes widened in alarm.
"No," I breathed. "Oh, gods--" I sat straight up in bed; the sudden movement dislodged the intravenous feed from my hand. Blood and cuprasaline solution seeped from beneath the bandage and ran between my fingers, leaving a watery green smear against the sheet. I stared at it, speechless, transfixed. I could feel the beginning of hysteria rising like bile in my throat; only Pallon's presence kept it from erupting. Control. Control! It is a matter of privacy--
"Lie down," Pallon ordered. "Lie down, Commander! It's nothing! It's to be expected!"
Instinctively I resisted the pressure of her hands against my shoulders, bringing my own hands up in a defensive reaction to break her hold on me. But she too had been trained as a soldier: she seized my wrists and held them tight, effectively immobilizing me. "Lie down," she said again. "You must lie down!"
In truth, I could do nothing else: suddenly my body felt limp as string. I lay back on the pillow, unresisting. Through a blur of unshed tears I saw Pallon's deft fingers reaffix the intravenous feed to my hand and replace the bloodied bandage. Not until she had finished that task did she move towards the foot of the bed. Murmuring reassurance and compassion in a voice as gentle as her touch, she satisfied herself that all was indeed as it should be. Nothing is as it should be! The anguished cry spiraled up from a pit of rage and grief that had opened somewhere near my heart. Nothing in this universe will ever be right again! Gods of Remus, how many more losses must I endure?
"You needn't hold back your tears," said Pallon. "Believe me, they'll help." She sat down beside me and took my hand, just as Tal had done. "We're trained to suppress all feeling during interrogation and imprisonment, but there comes a time when even the strongest soldier must let go of the pain and anger that follows such a brutal assault. Your ordeal is over, and you're entitled to the release of tears."
"My ordeal--what are you saying? There was no ordeal! No one assaulted me!"
She nodded knowingly. "It's obvious that they altered your memories of what they did to you. We'll look into that when you're fully recovered. They're a people without honor, Tayva. They're capable of anything." Her fingers tightened on mine. "We know that you were raped while you were in captivity. The first scans we did when you were brought here after the shuttle crash showed that a pregnancy had resulted from the rape."
For an instant, reality wavered. The juxtaposition of those last two nouns signified a further truth too awful to bear. Nightmare. This is a nightmare, this must be a nightmare--
"But everything is fine now," said Pallon, anxiously watching my face. "We ended the pregnancy, as we do for all soldiers impregnated through rape. There were no complications. You're young and healthy, and you'll be able to conceive and carry children normally." She hesitated, as if expecting a response. "Subcommander Tal was sure that you must be unaware that you were pregnant, for if you'd known you would have taken action. He wouldn't permit us to tell you before the surgery because he wanted to spare you any further stress. I did warn him that it would be impossible to keep it from you, but he assured us that he would discuss it with you himself when you were feeling stronger. I know this is a terrible shock--"
"You can't imagine." I could feel the hysteria growing in me again, an upwelling of shrieking, howling fury at the bitter irony of the universe. But somewhere among the tattered remnants of my Vulcan discipline, I found a few more shreds of outward control. Feel nothing. Reveal nothing. It is a matter of privacy ... "You simply cannot imagine."
Thinking that she understood my meaning, Pallon nodded once again, this time in sympathy. "Genscans of the embryonic tissue identified the rapist, of course. The presence of human and Vulcan DNA left no doubt. Everyone knows that there is only one Vulcan-Terran hybrid in the Federation's Starfleet. Subcommander Tal was extremely upset when we informed him of the test results. We tried to explain that some scientific good might yet come out of this terrible experience if we could transfer the embryo to stasis, bring it to viability in our laboratories, and study it over time. Statistically, you see, we're unlikely ever to encounter another naturally conceived trilinear cross." She frowned, momentarily distracted. "We know that hybrids can be engineered for fertility with one or both generative species, but not with a random third--if it was random. The implications ... but now we'll never know. Subcommander Tal insisted that all the genetic material be destroyed. He was concerned that our safeguards would prove insufficient, and that you might someday encounter the--well, he wouldn't allow us to retain even a single sample of embryonic DNA." There was a distinct note of regret in her voice, probably for the monograph she would never get to write. "It's a pity, really. It would have added greatly to our store of knowledge, if only Tal had--"
As if the mention of his name had conjured him, Tal entered the room. Pallon stood up: "She's fine, Subcommander. Try not to tire her. She needs to rest." A gentle touch on my hand, as if to steady me. "She knows." With that, she left us alone.
The sight of Tal's distraught face cut me to the heart, and this time there was no stopping the tears. Cry all you want, said the pitiless inner voice. An ocean of tears will never wash away this pain.
Tal sat down on the bed and drew me into his arms. "It's all right, amkhoia. It's all right, it's all right. You're safe now, no one can hurt you now. Federation bastards! Animals! Savages! No better than Orions, no better than Klingons! I know who did this to you, and I swear he'll pay with more than his life for--shh, shh, don't, it's all right. It's all over now."
"Jascha, no, you don't understand, Jascha, please, please--" I pulled away from his embrace, for the fragile psychic shields I'd managed to erect were rapidly crumbling. Both of us were emotionally overwrought, and as long as we were in close physical contact he might easily sense the true reasons for my distress.
"You should have told me what they did, Aerlyn," he said. "You should have told Lidiya or Satheil. It's not a thing to endure in silence." Under his breath he swore a venomous curse. "Animals! Hypocrites! Endless talk of their noble Federation ideals, while they abuse and brutalize their prisoners--"
"Jascha, please, just listen to me--" The desire to confide in him, to pour out the whole tragic story, was almost irresistible. But some vestige of rationality stopped me. If I told him the truth, I would compromise everyone who mattered in my life, including him; yet if I allowed him to go on believing that he was bound by friendship and loyalty to avenge an assault that had never happened, even worse was in store. Better to convince him that honor required a different response ... "Jascha," I said more forcefully, "listen to me!"
Something in my voice must have gotten through to him. "I am," he said, faintly surprised. "I'm listening, amkhoia."
Now that I had his attention, I sought frantically for some inspiration, some telling argument that would persuade him not to dispatch a team of assassins to kill Spock and everyone else associated with the Enterprise incident ... Suddenly I remembered my first night aboard Enterprise, when I'd been terrified that he might commit ritual suicide in reparation for his commander's unpardonable negligence. He is nothing if not a traditionalist. I took a deep breath and swallowed my tears.
"Jascha, you must understand that this--this situation touches not just my personal honor but my honor as a soldier and a citizen of the Empire. If I permit you to act on my behalf, then I'll be ceding a prerogative that rightly belongs to me." I talked on and on, desperately hoping that my words--charged, evocative words of honor and obligation and retributive justice--would strike a chord: Allow me to deal with this by myself. In my own fashion, in my own time. My right and my duty ... our way, the Romulan way ...
The appeal was logical, unanswerable, and entirely in keeping with Tal's standards of morality and behavior. I read assent in his eyes even before he spoke.
"Do what you must, Aerlyn," he said very softly, "by whatever means you must." In a slow, deliberate motion, he raised his closed fist in the Fleet salute. "But know that in this, as in all else, my heart and my hand are yours to command." The ancient ceremonial affirmation seemed to comfort him somehow. His rigid posture gradually relaxed; I could almost feel the tension flow out of him.
"I know that," I whispered, nearly ill with relief, wanting but not daring to embrace him again. "Believe me, Jascha, I've always known that."
© 1999, 2000 Kathleen Dailey. All rights reserved.