Do you remember what I told you, my friends, as a gloss to the previous chapter? That here, in the chapter that you are about to read (I hope), we would have finally seen the shark leaping out of the water to bite its prey. Well, perhaps it would have been more correct to say that we would have finally seen the shark leaping out of the water to reveal its presence. Because this is what is going to happen, and if you want to know where... well in the most unlikely of places where a shark might turn out.
Here. Just so, my friends. Here. Among the tall columns wrapped in the darkness of this temple. But, on the other hand, you know well which temple it is, do not you, my friends?
And, after all, what better place to show up in the way in which the dark lord of the abyss likes to show off?
A majestic place and shot through with something subtly disquieting, in some way, in its mystical murkiness.
The shark loves to be disquieting.
It loves the murkiness.
And, after all, what better place to show up in the way in which the dark lord of the abyss likes to show off?
A majestic place and shot through with something subtly disquieting, in some way, in its mystical murkiness.
The shark loves to be disquieting.
It loves the murkiness.
Am I a little "murky", by chance, my friends? Well! It's all fault of that damn scoundrel of my ancestor! Don't forget this!
But fear not. All will become clear. Simply, you must not lose sight of the dark door that you can see on the bottom of the temple.
But fear not. All will become clear. Simply, you must not lose sight of the dark door that you can see on the bottom of the temple.
This one
Because from there, at one point...
While, from the great entrance portal of the temple...
But enough, by golly! Let's not anticipate things. Let's read, my friends. Let's read.
While, from the great entrance portal of the temple...
But enough, by golly! Let's not anticipate things. Let's read, my friends. Let's read.
Chapter Eight
Phlox roused himself. Something was going on. T'Pol seemed almost to have stopped breathing and appeared spasmodically tense. She opened her eyes suddenly. The doctor stood up, equally suddenly, equally or even more tense, if possible, dreadfully worried, dreadfully uncertain. He rushed to the Vulcan. She was looking at, yes, the doctor had no doubt. She was observing, even while sleeping, just to call it so. And was holding her breath. She wasn't awake, but she was watching. Was peering at something. Attentive, alert, to the breaking point.
Tucker was looking around, attentive, alert, to the breaking point. One by one he and his few men had sidled into the temple, inside the large nave, gliding like disembodied shadows between the leaves of the huge portal. Without need of any order, they had cowered in the shade, almost without breathing, without making any noise, and had managed not to get noticed by any of Hayes's men. They had one advantage over them, a faint but real advantage, and had to capitalize on it to the most: they knew that the others were there and consequently could see and recognize them, even if hidden between the columns. Those others did not know anything about them, did not suspect that there might be other shadows, hidden in the shade, because the sentry Hayes had placed on guard, had not been able accomplish his task (for the truth would never be able to perform any task) and because the silence and the swiftness of the action of Tucker and his men had been such that they had slipped through those others, as shadows through the shadows and, you know, the shadows are all equal to each other. How does a shadow think that another shadow is not the shadow that he believes that it should be, if the fact of being a shadow makes it impossible to recognize what or who the other shadow is, and if there is no shadow of suspicion that there can be different kinds of shadows?
But... the Lirpa. This had to be well hidden, Tucker was well aware of that. He himself had to stay concealed very well, so no one would notice that there was a Captain of the Elite Guard in the temple: he didn't know if there were a Captain as part of the expedition corps of Hayes, but if by chance there had been, someone could realize that the Captains were two.
Therefore, Tucker was standing behind a pillar, well set back, behind all the others, with the Lirpa against his body. And he was watching. Was peering out. Attentive, alert, to the breaking point.
But... the Lirpa. This had to be well hidden, Tucker was well aware of that. He himself had to stay concealed very well, so no one would notice that there was a Captain of the Elite Guard in the temple: he didn't know if there were a Captain as part of the expedition corps of Hayes, but if by chance there had been, someone could realize that the Captains were two.
Therefore, Tucker was standing behind a pillar, well set back, behind all the others, with the Lirpa against his body. And he was watching. Was peering out. Attentive, alert, to the breaking point.
The snake senses of Mayweather allowed him to notice immediately the swift glance that the Ensign, placed directly by him at the monitor of the external energy sounder, had thrown sideways at him.
The man was one of his creatures, he answered only to him and knew that only to him, to Mayweather, he had to report. The rest had not the slightest importance for the young Ensign. None, and less than less it had importance to ask himself questions, of any kind. He had merely to obey to Mayweather, thus ...he would live long enough, perhaps long enough to earn some reward. Perhaps… long enough to find out, one day, something useful to reverse the situation and to make Mayweather shake just like now Mayweather was making him shake. But, for now, things were so. Mayweather knew things about him that made that snake in livery his master.
Therefore, when the Ensign realized what was happening, which was exactly what the powerful "Prince Consort" had said might occur, he turned a stealth look towards his owner, quickly and covertly. He knew that this one would have immediately realized his gesture. He did not know how his master was able to do it, but he knew that Mayweather was always aware of everything, noticed everything. Before anyone else. Mayweather was a dangerous and deadly serpent, always attentive and alert, to the breaking point.
Mayweather, surreptitiously, looked at the Ensign. He knew what that quick and fleeting nod from his man was. He peered at the man's console.
It had happened: a sudden burst of energy, outdoors, away, not too much, but enough to think that it had happened a little while ago. A time ... enough. And, subsequently, a sort of thrill, strange, unknown. But if that thrill meant what Mayweather thought, considering the distance that separated the Flagship from where they were to the apparent point of origin of the burst of energy and considering that the elapsed time was, according to his quick calculations, just enough, in this case, at that very moment, down yonder, on the planet in flames, into the city under attack and in ruins, someone - someone, a human shark, perhaps - was about to do something.
Just at that moment
Mayweather, still attentive, alert, to the breaking point, bent his head to the Empress, with all due respect.
And, with all due respect, whispered to her a few words.
The man was one of his creatures, he answered only to him and knew that only to him, to Mayweather, he had to report. The rest had not the slightest importance for the young Ensign. None, and less than less it had importance to ask himself questions, of any kind. He had merely to obey to Mayweather, thus ...he would live long enough, perhaps long enough to earn some reward. Perhaps… long enough to find out, one day, something useful to reverse the situation and to make Mayweather shake just like now Mayweather was making him shake. But, for now, things were so. Mayweather knew things about him that made that snake in livery his master.
Therefore, when the Ensign realized what was happening, which was exactly what the powerful "Prince Consort" had said might occur, he turned a stealth look towards his owner, quickly and covertly. He knew that this one would have immediately realized his gesture. He did not know how his master was able to do it, but he knew that Mayweather was always aware of everything, noticed everything. Before anyone else. Mayweather was a dangerous and deadly serpent, always attentive and alert, to the breaking point.
Mayweather, surreptitiously, looked at the Ensign. He knew what that quick and fleeting nod from his man was. He peered at the man's console.
It had happened: a sudden burst of energy, outdoors, away, not too much, but enough to think that it had happened a little while ago. A time ... enough. And, subsequently, a sort of thrill, strange, unknown. But if that thrill meant what Mayweather thought, considering the distance that separated the Flagship from where they were to the apparent point of origin of the burst of energy and considering that the elapsed time was, according to his quick calculations, just enough, in this case, at that very moment, down yonder, on the planet in flames, into the city under attack and in ruins, someone - someone, a human shark, perhaps - was about to do something.
Just at that moment
Mayweather, still attentive, alert, to the breaking point, bent his head to the Empress, with all due respect.
And, with all due respect, whispered to her a few words.
Here's the door. Beyond it, the nave of the Temple and, beyond the nave, the outside world, the city in flames and prey of the imperial forces. But, perhaps, even a possible salvation. Or, more likely, an almost certain death, but in any case, not the death of a rat from which they had managed to escape. And then ... never despair. He was Harrad-Sar. It was death to be afraid of him, not him of death.
Harrad-Sar turned briefly toward the shadow of a Vulcan female who was behind him, panting, bruised, her eyes wide open, forgetful of all her Vulcan pomposity, with her hand glued to his.
He nodded to her, trying to be reassuring. She answered with a quick nod in her turn, in a pitiful attempt to appear calm and sure.
Foolishly and inanely prideful woman! But that was okay. Harrad-Sar knew that she was ready. Scared, yes. On the verge of hysterical tears, if she hadn't been a Vulcan. But she wouldn't have done it, or at least not at that time, and surely not if anyone could see her surrendering to crying.
She was ready.
And strong.
Much stronger than many so-called strong men who Harrad-Sar had known in his life of ruthless pirate raider, first, and of fierce rebel, later.
She would not disappoint him.
He nodded again, as if to make her realize that he had understood everything. Then he turned toward the door and raised his hand to push it.
To open it.
Suddenly, he stopped.
Harrad-Sar turned briefly toward the shadow of a Vulcan female who was behind him, panting, bruised, her eyes wide open, forgetful of all her Vulcan pomposity, with her hand glued to his.
He nodded to her, trying to be reassuring. She answered with a quick nod in her turn, in a pitiful attempt to appear calm and sure.
Foolishly and inanely prideful woman! But that was okay. Harrad-Sar knew that she was ready. Scared, yes. On the verge of hysterical tears, if she hadn't been a Vulcan. But she wouldn't have done it, or at least not at that time, and surely not if anyone could see her surrendering to crying.
She was ready.
And strong.
Much stronger than many so-called strong men who Harrad-Sar had known in his life of ruthless pirate raider, first, and of fierce rebel, later.
She would not disappoint him.
He nodded again, as if to make her realize that he had understood everything. Then he turned toward the door and raised his hand to push it.
To open it.
Suddenly, he stopped.
*Come on, damn man! Come on Harrad-Sar, come ahead! I know you're there! Come off, damned Orion. Open that door. Show off your disgusting face. Show to me, to your "friend" Hayes, what you're made of. Make me the undisputed warlord of the Human Empire! *
*Come on, damn man! Come on Harrad-Sar, come ahead! I know you're there! Come off, damned Orion. Open that door. Show off your piratical face. Give me, to your "friend" Tucker, the way to bring you out of all this. Make me continue to dream my impossible dream! *
The Empress did not show the slightest sign of any change, her regal demeanour did not appear at all cracked.
But the snake to her side had spoken to her ear. "Let us draw near, let's go down. It is best to closely monitor what is happening."
The snake never spoke in vain.
The Empress spoke calmly and safely. "Let us draw near, let's go down. I want to closely monitor what is happening."
Said and done.
The orders of the Empress were always performed promptly and without delay.
She knew it.
Mayweather knew it.
The flagship went down, mightily, toward the surface of the planet in ruins.
But the snake to her side had spoken to her ear. "Let us draw near, let's go down. It is best to closely monitor what is happening."
The snake never spoke in vain.
The Empress spoke calmly and safely. "Let us draw near, let's go down. I want to closely monitor what is happening."
Said and done.
The orders of the Empress were always performed promptly and without delay.
She knew it.
Mayweather knew it.
The flagship went down, mightily, toward the surface of the planet in ruins.
Phlox did not know what to do. He was standing beside the bed where lay T'Pol. She was awake, and yet asleep. She was asleep, and yet awake. On her face the evident signs of a spasmodic tension. This would have been enough to destroy a Vulcan under normal conditions, let alone a Vulcan under the conditions of T'Pol.
The doctor fell on his knees beside the bed, in the throes of the most desperate of uncertainties.
The doctor fell on his knees beside the bed, in the throes of the most desperate of uncertainties.
There was something. He could feel it. The instinct had never deceived Harrad-Sar. But it made no sense. Everything was falling apart there. What should they do, there, the soldiers of the Empire, even more so in light of the fact that they had without doubt thought he was dead, buried inside of his Palace of Command?
And yet ...
However, the two of them could not stay there, behind that door. They had to enter the nave and exit the Temple, before also this would hurtle down on itself.
Harrad-Sar clenched his fists, unconsciously clutching violently also the little hand of T'Pau.
To hell! They could not stay there forever.
He pushed the door softly. It opened little by little in the dark quiet of the nave.
Harrad-Sar pushed out his head slowly and cautiously. Attentive, alert, to the breaking point.
And yet ...
However, the two of them could not stay there, behind that door. They had to enter the nave and exit the Temple, before also this would hurtle down on itself.
Harrad-Sar clenched his fists, unconsciously clutching violently also the little hand of T'Pau.
To hell! They could not stay there forever.
He pushed the door softly. It opened little by little in the dark quiet of the nave.
Harrad-Sar pushed out his head slowly and cautiously. Attentive, alert, to the breaking point.
*There you are, damn motherfucker of an Orion! Yes, this way! Come to your daddy, my dearie. Come to your friend Hayes! *
*There you are, finally, damn plunderer of an Orion! Yes, this way! Now ... - Tucker clenched convulsively his Lirpa. - ...now, choose the time well, Tucker! *
T'Pol sat bolt upright in bed, in her waking sleep.
Phlox was practically about to burst into tears.
Phlox was practically about to burst into tears.
Harrad-Sar came forward, wary and suspicious. A weapon, any weapon, damn it! But he had nothing! Not even his whip, his most beloved whip, was in his hands, to reassure him, at least a little, to give him at least a little confidence, as much as such trust could be completely empty and useless.
He walked slowly up the nave, all his senses alert, T'Pau in tow.
Everything was quiet, all was silent, no one and nothing seemed to lurk.
Yet there was something. He sniffed the danger.
But there was nothing.
He advanced a few paces yet, without straying far too much from the door, which, in case something or someone had been truly in ambush and at one certain point had dashed upon them, could be the only way of escape, backwards, towards the stairwell whose steps they had just gone down steeply.
But there was nothing. Nothing.
Yet ...
Harrad-Sar couldn't manage to decide. They had to cross the aisle and reach the great access gateway to the temple, through whose half-closed leaves, the livid light leaked from the exterior, the light of the fires, like a blade of flame that beat down on the floor. They had to go out there and get into that light, outside, in the ruined world through which they should seek the most unlikely of ways of salvation.
But Harrad-Sar couldn't manage to decide.
He was reluctant to move away from that door. Once they were away from it, they would no longer have any chance of returning to the stairwell, to the insecure, and yet sole way-out that they would have had if really someone had broken an ambush that Harrad-Sar perceived, or, perhaps, more simply, feared.
Eh sure, because, really, he did not hear or see anything.
There was nothing.
Only semidarkness and silence.
Harrad-Sar inhaled sharply. Enough. Let's go. He made to move, decisively, towards the great portal of the Temple.
A resistance, not excessive, but determined, restrained him. A tightness to his hand.
T'Pau.
He walked slowly up the nave, all his senses alert, T'Pau in tow.
Everything was quiet, all was silent, no one and nothing seemed to lurk.
Yet there was something. He sniffed the danger.
But there was nothing.
He advanced a few paces yet, without straying far too much from the door, which, in case something or someone had been truly in ambush and at one certain point had dashed upon them, could be the only way of escape, backwards, towards the stairwell whose steps they had just gone down steeply.
But there was nothing. Nothing.
Yet ...
Harrad-Sar couldn't manage to decide. They had to cross the aisle and reach the great access gateway to the temple, through whose half-closed leaves, the livid light leaked from the exterior, the light of the fires, like a blade of flame that beat down on the floor. They had to go out there and get into that light, outside, in the ruined world through which they should seek the most unlikely of ways of salvation.
But Harrad-Sar couldn't manage to decide.
He was reluctant to move away from that door. Once they were away from it, they would no longer have any chance of returning to the stairwell, to the insecure, and yet sole way-out that they would have had if really someone had broken an ambush that Harrad-Sar perceived, or, perhaps, more simply, feared.
Eh sure, because, really, he did not hear or see anything.
There was nothing.
Only semidarkness and silence.
Harrad-Sar inhaled sharply. Enough. Let's go. He made to move, decisively, towards the great portal of the Temple.
A resistance, not excessive, but determined, restrained him. A tightness to his hand.
T'Pau.
The air stirred with violence. A rumble, at first distant and then ever more closely, twanged it. A roar that quickly became deafening, and filled everything.
The imperial soldiers, standing next to the powerful war vehicles that encircled the city, in neat rows, raised their heads, astonished, unable to understand what was happening, why the mighty Imperial Flagship was passing over them, far from deep space that was its logical and real home.
They saw it hurtle across the sky, aloft, like a huge mortal bird, whose beating of wings almost threw them on the ground.
They saw it go towards the city, as if it would beat down on it, and then saw it start to wheel in wide circles above the burning buildings, lifting with its powerful riptide, clouds of dust and debris.
They saw it move all around and all along the town, over it, moving away and then approaching, rising high and then going down.
As if searching for something.
The imperial soldiers, standing next to the powerful war vehicles that encircled the city, in neat rows, raised their heads, astonished, unable to understand what was happening, why the mighty Imperial Flagship was passing over them, far from deep space that was its logical and real home.
They saw it hurtle across the sky, aloft, like a huge mortal bird, whose beating of wings almost threw them on the ground.
They saw it go towards the city, as if it would beat down on it, and then saw it start to wheel in wide circles above the burning buildings, lifting with its powerful riptide, clouds of dust and debris.
They saw it move all around and all along the town, over it, moving away and then approaching, rising high and then going down.
As if searching for something.
Harrad-Sar turned suddenly. He looked at the small Vulcan intently and intensely, without speaking, and yet dumbly asking forcibly.
T'Pau shook his hand again, her eyes fixed on his. "Smell. Human. And another smell, that I do not know. However, it has something familiar."
Harrad-Sar did not waste time on trivial matters. The nose of a Vulcan female is finer than a device searching odours. There were Humans, there, lurking. His instinct had not betrayed him. And if, along with the Humans, there was someone or something else, it mattered little.
The Orion snapped ahead. Pushing hard and impetuosity the Vulcan, he sprang toward the door through which the two of them had just passed. A few paces separated them from it, fortunately. And, fortunately, his instinct had prevented him from straying too far from it. Maybe ... perhaps they could succeed. Yes, maybe they could.
"Fire. Before them. Bar to them the way. And remember that I want them alive."
Strident blades and deadly of light flashed in the dark, right in front of them, between them and the door, blocking their way, just like the imperious voice that had risen in the darkness had commanded, a voice Harrad-Sar had already heard, a rough voice and tough, that he knew well.
The two, the Orion man and the Vulcan female, halted abruptly and looked around, breathing hard and harsh, still hand in hand.
Shadows detached themselves from the shade, slipping out from the shadows of the columns and revealing themselves for what they were. They encircled the two while at the same time putting themselves between the fugitives and the door.
With anger and regret, Harrad-Sar contemplated his end, his failure.
His end, the end he had thought to deceive, the end of all hope. For him, for the rebellion. And for T'Pau.
A shadow stepped forward. It did not approach them much, and therefore they could not see its face through the visor of its war helmet. But for Harrad-Sar it was not hard to realize who it was.
The voice that had just barked its order rose again, sneering and derisively self-confident. The voice of Hayes. The voice of the shadow that was standing up, firmly, secure and mocking, in front of them.
"Well, well, well. What a windfall. In one fell swoop, the leader of the Rebellion, the highly venerable Harrad-Sar, the living legend, and another leader of the Rebels, I have reason to believe. A very peculiar leader, I must say. A Vulcan female, bloody hell, to talk like my unfortunate predecessor. Definitely a remarkable prey. A little run down, to be honest, but once cleaned up well, definitely appetizing. It is to believe."
Harrad-Sar could not hold himself back. "You do not ..."
Hayes's voice interrupted him. Very tough this time. Simply and solely tough. "Take them. And woe to you if you twist a single hair on them."
Harrad-Sar made a step forward, leaving the hand of T'Pau and interposing himself between her and the shadows before them. "Very good. I, as you see, am here." - Softly and calmly. - "Please, I am waiting."
Some shadows came forward, a little undecided to tell the truth. It was Harrad-Sar the one who stood in front of them. Battered, smashed, torn, bruised, wounded ... but still Harrad-Sar. Perhaps it was just an urban legend that he was able to break the neck of a man with only one of his big fingers, but it was not a legend, a fantasy story, what, just a few times before, they had seen him do. How could they take him without causing him any harm?
The weapons of the soldiers of the Elite Guard were not set to stun, but only to kill. This was well known. They were the emblem of the strength of the Empire, they weren't trained to spare the lives of the enemies of the Empire, they were trained to destroy them. And their General, Hayes, who never spoke in vain, had just told them that he wouldn't tolerate any wound on the Orion and on the Vulcan. So how could they force the Orion to surrender to them? Threatening him with their phasers surely would not have helped, it was necessary to take him and the Vulcan with him by bare hands, and this... well, this did not seem like a very easy task, and, there was to swear, not even… pleasant, as much as they were many and he one only man. Without forgetting the Vulcan, in addition.
Vulcans are strong. Of course, the physical strength of the Vulcans was not a problem for the soldiers of the Elite Guard, they knew how to fight it. But ... well… but that Vulcan female... She was small, certainly, looked scared, too, and very down-at-heel, to be honest. However, she had been able to follow Harrad-Sar in his mad flight, and had come out alive from all that, and now she was there, along with him. And... and if she had been made of the same stuff of that other Vulcan female? That T'Pol, who was now gone, no one knows where, but whom all universe had seen fight like a furious tiger in that cage of horror where she had been locked up? That cage that should have marked her ignominious end, and that instead had consecrated her indomitable strength?
Damn it! Being Elite Guard soldiers and being, moreover, under the direct orders of General Hayes, had its advantages, it was undeniable. But sometimes this could be pretty damn dangerous. For what you had to deal with, and for what you could receive on the part of the General in question, if you had not been able to execute his orders. Eh sure. Because, if they were prevented, on that occasion, from using their deadly weapons to kill or to wound, it was not said that the General should not decide to use his own weapons against his men themselves, if these ones had not been able to run promptly and effectively his orders.
And the voice of the much-feared General rose, one more time, hard and threatening, giving substance to the secret thoughts and secret fears of those proud, strong, poorElite Guard soldiers who had the not much enviable fortune of being with Hayes when he had decided to enter the Temple. "So? Shall I remind you who you are and who am I?"
"Dead men."
No one had time or way to realize, to figure out who had spoken, to whom it belonged the voice, loud and plucky and impudent, which had risen to respond that way to the rhetorical question of Hayes.
No one.
Because, suddenly, all hell broke loose.
T'Pau shook his hand again, her eyes fixed on his. "Smell. Human. And another smell, that I do not know. However, it has something familiar."
Harrad-Sar did not waste time on trivial matters. The nose of a Vulcan female is finer than a device searching odours. There were Humans, there, lurking. His instinct had not betrayed him. And if, along with the Humans, there was someone or something else, it mattered little.
The Orion snapped ahead. Pushing hard and impetuosity the Vulcan, he sprang toward the door through which the two of them had just passed. A few paces separated them from it, fortunately. And, fortunately, his instinct had prevented him from straying too far from it. Maybe ... perhaps they could succeed. Yes, maybe they could.
"Fire. Before them. Bar to them the way. And remember that I want them alive."
Strident blades and deadly of light flashed in the dark, right in front of them, between them and the door, blocking their way, just like the imperious voice that had risen in the darkness had commanded, a voice Harrad-Sar had already heard, a rough voice and tough, that he knew well.
The two, the Orion man and the Vulcan female, halted abruptly and looked around, breathing hard and harsh, still hand in hand.
Shadows detached themselves from the shade, slipping out from the shadows of the columns and revealing themselves for what they were. They encircled the two while at the same time putting themselves between the fugitives and the door.
With anger and regret, Harrad-Sar contemplated his end, his failure.
His end, the end he had thought to deceive, the end of all hope. For him, for the rebellion. And for T'Pau.
A shadow stepped forward. It did not approach them much, and therefore they could not see its face through the visor of its war helmet. But for Harrad-Sar it was not hard to realize who it was.
The voice that had just barked its order rose again, sneering and derisively self-confident. The voice of Hayes. The voice of the shadow that was standing up, firmly, secure and mocking, in front of them.
"Well, well, well. What a windfall. In one fell swoop, the leader of the Rebellion, the highly venerable Harrad-Sar, the living legend, and another leader of the Rebels, I have reason to believe. A very peculiar leader, I must say. A Vulcan female, bloody hell, to talk like my unfortunate predecessor. Definitely a remarkable prey. A little run down, to be honest, but once cleaned up well, definitely appetizing. It is to believe."
Harrad-Sar could not hold himself back. "You do not ..."
Hayes's voice interrupted him. Very tough this time. Simply and solely tough. "Take them. And woe to you if you twist a single hair on them."
Harrad-Sar made a step forward, leaving the hand of T'Pau and interposing himself between her and the shadows before them. "Very good. I, as you see, am here." - Softly and calmly. - "Please, I am waiting."
Some shadows came forward, a little undecided to tell the truth. It was Harrad-Sar the one who stood in front of them. Battered, smashed, torn, bruised, wounded ... but still Harrad-Sar. Perhaps it was just an urban legend that he was able to break the neck of a man with only one of his big fingers, but it was not a legend, a fantasy story, what, just a few times before, they had seen him do. How could they take him without causing him any harm?
The weapons of the soldiers of the Elite Guard were not set to stun, but only to kill. This was well known. They were the emblem of the strength of the Empire, they weren't trained to spare the lives of the enemies of the Empire, they were trained to destroy them. And their General, Hayes, who never spoke in vain, had just told them that he wouldn't tolerate any wound on the Orion and on the Vulcan. So how could they force the Orion to surrender to them? Threatening him with their phasers surely would not have helped, it was necessary to take him and the Vulcan with him by bare hands, and this... well, this did not seem like a very easy task, and, there was to swear, not even… pleasant, as much as they were many and he one only man. Without forgetting the Vulcan, in addition.
Vulcans are strong. Of course, the physical strength of the Vulcans was not a problem for the soldiers of the Elite Guard, they knew how to fight it. But ... well… but that Vulcan female... She was small, certainly, looked scared, too, and very down-at-heel, to be honest. However, she had been able to follow Harrad-Sar in his mad flight, and had come out alive from all that, and now she was there, along with him. And... and if she had been made of the same stuff of that other Vulcan female? That T'Pol, who was now gone, no one knows where, but whom all universe had seen fight like a furious tiger in that cage of horror where she had been locked up? That cage that should have marked her ignominious end, and that instead had consecrated her indomitable strength?
Damn it! Being Elite Guard soldiers and being, moreover, under the direct orders of General Hayes, had its advantages, it was undeniable. But sometimes this could be pretty damn dangerous. For what you had to deal with, and for what you could receive on the part of the General in question, if you had not been able to execute his orders. Eh sure. Because, if they were prevented, on that occasion, from using their deadly weapons to kill or to wound, it was not said that the General should not decide to use his own weapons against his men themselves, if these ones had not been able to run promptly and effectively his orders.
And the voice of the much-feared General rose, one more time, hard and threatening, giving substance to the secret thoughts and secret fears of those proud, strong, poorElite Guard soldiers who had the not much enviable fortune of being with Hayes when he had decided to enter the Temple. "So? Shall I remind you who you are and who am I?"
"Dead men."
No one had time or way to realize, to figure out who had spoken, to whom it belonged the voice, loud and plucky and impudent, which had risen to respond that way to the rhetorical question of Hayes.
No one.
Because, suddenly, all hell broke loose.
T'Pol jumped on the bed, and kneeled over it, spasmodically gripping its edges with her hands.
Phlox grunted and swallowed, his throat dry and harsh. Enough now. To hell with everything. He rose from the ground and grabbed the Vulcan by her shoulders .
He shook her. "T'Pol! Wake up!"
T'Pol did not react at all to the call of the doctor. Her hands gripped increasingly the bed and her eyes were wide open in frantic alert.
Yet she was sleeping!
"T'Pol! Damn Vulcan! Wake up! WAKE UP, DAMN IT!"
Phlox grunted and swallowed, his throat dry and harsh. Enough now. To hell with everything. He rose from the ground and grabbed the Vulcan by her shoulders .
He shook her. "T'Pol! Wake up!"
T'Pol did not react at all to the call of the doctor. Her hands gripped increasingly the bed and her eyes were wide open in frantic alert.
Yet she was sleeping!
"T'Pol! Damn Vulcan! Wake up! WAKE UP, DAMN IT!"
Without thinking, without delay and without hesitation, Harrad-Sar did what in his life of a marauder always hovering between life and death he had done so many times, managing to save the skin when the skin was now virtually lost. He acted instinctively, without wondering what was going on. He fell down, dragging with him the Vulcan, and covering her with his body, to protect her. And, about this, actually, a quick question and stunned crossed in a flash his brain: what the hell was happening to him? But the question disappeared as quickly as it had appeared.
There was something else at that time, and much more important.
He could clearly hear the blows and, with the corner of the eye, could perceive the flashes of the phasers, which crisscrossed over their heads, over their bodies lying on the ground.
Someone, that someone, whose different smell T'Pau had felt, was attacking Hayes and his men.
Who he was, how and why he was there and why he was doing what he was doing, at that moment came to irrelevant and meaningless issues.
What Harrad-Sar had to do was to take advantage of that incredible, lucky, unexpected occurrence, trying not to lose their lives just when a subtle and unhoped lifesaving rope appeared to have been thrown to him and T'Pau.
He had to grab that rope, climb on it and lift himself and the Vulcan out of the no way out abyss that just until a moment before seemed to have hopelessly sucked them into its lightless murkiness.
It was necessary take advantage of the circumstances, and try to reach the exit, but, in doing so, it was also necessary not fall prey to friendly fire, while avoiding being made target of the shots of Hayes and his companions. And it needed to hurry, because their enemies were not unwary tots, and as soon as they had recovered from their surprise - which would be coming in a very short time - they would react with force, ability and determination. Indeed, Harrad-Sar was sure this was already happening: he heard Hayes' harsh voice bark his orders and was aware that, well that went, the unknown friends could keep in check his men for not more than a few minutes.
Cautiously, Harrad-Sar raised his head, to realize the situation. He looked towards the exit. He had to figure out if the road was sufficiently unencumbered, at that time, if it were possible run to the portal with some, albeit remote, chance to reach it unscathed. So, in doing so, he heard and saw something happen, in a very fast sequence. First of all, that voice again, the unknown voice that was raised earlier and that now cried aloud something he could not understand. Then, a figure, that he wasn't able to clearly see, detached itself from behind a pillar near the entrance portal.
There was something else at that time, and much more important.
He could clearly hear the blows and, with the corner of the eye, could perceive the flashes of the phasers, which crisscrossed over their heads, over their bodies lying on the ground.
Someone, that someone, whose different smell T'Pau had felt, was attacking Hayes and his men.
Who he was, how and why he was there and why he was doing what he was doing, at that moment came to irrelevant and meaningless issues.
What Harrad-Sar had to do was to take advantage of that incredible, lucky, unexpected occurrence, trying not to lose their lives just when a subtle and unhoped lifesaving rope appeared to have been thrown to him and T'Pau.
He had to grab that rope, climb on it and lift himself and the Vulcan out of the no way out abyss that just until a moment before seemed to have hopelessly sucked them into its lightless murkiness.
It was necessary take advantage of the circumstances, and try to reach the exit, but, in doing so, it was also necessary not fall prey to friendly fire, while avoiding being made target of the shots of Hayes and his companions. And it needed to hurry, because their enemies were not unwary tots, and as soon as they had recovered from their surprise - which would be coming in a very short time - they would react with force, ability and determination. Indeed, Harrad-Sar was sure this was already happening: he heard Hayes' harsh voice bark his orders and was aware that, well that went, the unknown friends could keep in check his men for not more than a few minutes.
Cautiously, Harrad-Sar raised his head, to realize the situation. He looked towards the exit. He had to figure out if the road was sufficiently unencumbered, at that time, if it were possible run to the portal with some, albeit remote, chance to reach it unscathed. So, in doing so, he heard and saw something happen, in a very fast sequence. First of all, that voice again, the unknown voice that was raised earlier and that now cried aloud something he could not understand. Then, a figure, that he wasn't able to clearly see, detached itself from behind a pillar near the entrance portal.
Two other figures approached the first, they too indistinct, difficult to be well distinguished, which arranged themselves at the sides of the other and a little ahead, towards the Temple's inside, all of them turned towards him and T'Pau. The three figures silhouetted against the light coming through the portal, the two lateral each holding a big phaser, and with this firing wildly. It was clear that they were making a hellish fire barrage to protect the central figure. This was fully against the light, with its back turned to the Portal, just a step before its semi-open leaves, as if wanting to indicate the way, and it was therefore not possible to distinguish well. However, one thing Harrad-Sar was able to see well, even in the distance that separated him from the portal and even in the general semidarkness that surrounded all things, because the backlight the central figure was rising up in, the sabre cuts of light produced by the phasers' fire and the being, the Orion, very eagle-eyed, allowed him to well catch that particular: the figure was holding something in his hand.
A Lirpa.
Harrad-Sar turned his eyes down at T'Pau, who lay under him and he saw that she had twisted her neck so that she could see something from her position and that she too was staring towards the figure which stood against the light coming from the outside; and he saw in her eyes the same surprise that he knew that it shone through his. In that same instant, the voice rose again, strong and imperious, dominating every noise and all the deafening confusion all around them. Harrad-Sar was not able to understand the words, but they were commands, this was certain, and the language in which they had been spoken ... that language was not Vulcan, but it was pretty damn similar to this. The Orion man turned back immediately his gaze at the figure. It seemed to him that this one was watching him and T'Pau. From that being, whoever he was, came another word, just one, extremely loud, this time perfectly understandable. It was addressed to them both. "Now!" Harrad-Sar did not waste time on silly issues. He stood up in a trice, dragging with him his Vulcan partner. Without any break in the sequence of his actions, without allowing her to say even a bah, he raised her in his arms, and, with her upon them, he started to run like a madman towards the figure; towards the portal. Towards the faint hope of their salvation. |
"T'Pol! T'Pol! T'POL!"
Nothing to do. The Vulcan did not wake up, sleeping her awful sleep, her eyes wide open in a nightmare that was - yes, it was - anything but a nightmare.
It was impossible to go on like this. Despite everything the doctor had told himself and had previously decided, something needed to be done, and if T'Pol could not be awakened from her nightmarish sleep-waking, then ... Well, then, given that it was unthinkable that she could be driven to wake up making use of a stimulant, which would be too hazardous ... then, she needed to be sedated. She had to be plunged into a real sleep, deeper, without nightmares, regardless they could be true or real, in which she was not overwhelmed by emotions probably not hers, or maybe even hers, and which could destroy her.
And… and together with her, if General Tucker had come back – about which there was to think, it seemed – from the nightmare which, it was evident, was now unfolding across T'Pol's brain, also him, Phlox, and most likely in a very most bad way than that of T'Pol.
Although... although such a thing could break the link, the Bond, Phlox was sure, which at that moment tied very strongly T'Pol to Tucker. And... the doctor shuddered ... although breaking this Bond, just at that moment, just in that way, could bring with it consequences to which the doctor preferred not to think.
Sweating and cursing his fate, Phlox prepared a syringe full of sedative, while continuing to observe the Vulcan who had begun to tremble, in an impressive crescendo of emotional tension.
Nothing to do. The Vulcan did not wake up, sleeping her awful sleep, her eyes wide open in a nightmare that was - yes, it was - anything but a nightmare.
It was impossible to go on like this. Despite everything the doctor had told himself and had previously decided, something needed to be done, and if T'Pol could not be awakened from her nightmarish sleep-waking, then ... Well, then, given that it was unthinkable that she could be driven to wake up making use of a stimulant, which would be too hazardous ... then, she needed to be sedated. She had to be plunged into a real sleep, deeper, without nightmares, regardless they could be true or real, in which she was not overwhelmed by emotions probably not hers, or maybe even hers, and which could destroy her.
And… and together with her, if General Tucker had come back – about which there was to think, it seemed – from the nightmare which, it was evident, was now unfolding across T'Pol's brain, also him, Phlox, and most likely in a very most bad way than that of T'Pol.
Although... although such a thing could break the link, the Bond, Phlox was sure, which at that moment tied very strongly T'Pol to Tucker. And... the doctor shuddered ... although breaking this Bond, just at that moment, just in that way, could bring with it consequences to which the doctor preferred not to think.
Sweating and cursing his fate, Phlox prepared a syringe full of sedative, while continuing to observe the Vulcan who had begun to tremble, in an impressive crescendo of emotional tension.
"Down there!"
Mayweather could not hold back, but the Empress did not seem being jarred by his exclamation and nobody paid any attention to the obvious lapse of etiquette and style in which her Prince Consort had fallen.
And after all, how would have it been possible? What had appeared on the display screen, which the absence of sounds has made unreal even more than it was in itself, has reduced any other thing to be insignificant and devoid of weight and substance.
The ship had flown over the city in the grip of the blazes and destruction, over and over again, in large concentric circles, looking, like a rapacious vulture, for something, no one knew what, and Mayweather had sweated, metaphorically, at the idea that he could have been mistaken. He dominated secretly the Empress, but she dominated openlyhim.
But he had had to push her take the ship down. From above, from the deep space where it was before, it was not possible to see in detail what was happening in the city of the Rebels; therefore, even if such a manoeuvre was anything but free from hazards and risks, for a so big vessel and so difficult to steer within the atmosphere and, most importantly, so close to the ground, Mayweather had suggested to the Sovereign to make the powerful flagship descend practically to the planet's surface, to observe closely, to seek closely, that something that his suspicious and observant mind rightly believed was occurring.
Then, finally, right there, right in the heart of the city, in the living center of power of it, now in ruins and on the verge of collapse, deserted and abandoned, prey to the destructive fire... right there in the square outside the Great Temple, next to the Command Centre of Harrad-Sar, now about to fall down ...
What the devil meant that young Orion woman, lying unconscious on the ground? And the soldier next to her? Standing, alert, it was clear, right in front of the entrance portal of the Temple? And, most importantly, what was that body, belonging, as its uniform showed, to the Elite Guard, who lay on the ground, drenched in blood ... with its head cut off? Just like the late lamented Reed?
"Your Majesty ..."
The Empress gave him a withering look. Mayweather shut abruptly his mouth. He knew when it was better to retire in good order; a snake always knows when it is best retreat into the safe haven of its den.
The Sovereign stood up proudly. "Continue to fly over the city, with all the batteries ready to fire."
Mayweather nodded to himself. After all, the Empress knew very well what she had to do. It was not possible to use the weapon that had reduced the city in that way from that height, the ship itself would come out destroyed; that meant that only the normal weapons could be used, if it was the case. Besides, but this was obvious, the vessel could not be kept firm in the atmosphere. It could only continue to fly over the town.
"A team will prepare to be teleported to the square before the temple."
Mayweather nodded again within himself. Yes, the Empress really knew how to handle things. She was truly a great woman and it was very nice to know that he was her secret master, owner not only of her body, but also of her mind. Truly a shame if one day he should have to get rid of her.
Mayweather could not hold back, but the Empress did not seem being jarred by his exclamation and nobody paid any attention to the obvious lapse of etiquette and style in which her Prince Consort had fallen.
And after all, how would have it been possible? What had appeared on the display screen, which the absence of sounds has made unreal even more than it was in itself, has reduced any other thing to be insignificant and devoid of weight and substance.
The ship had flown over the city in the grip of the blazes and destruction, over and over again, in large concentric circles, looking, like a rapacious vulture, for something, no one knew what, and Mayweather had sweated, metaphorically, at the idea that he could have been mistaken. He dominated secretly the Empress, but she dominated openlyhim.
But he had had to push her take the ship down. From above, from the deep space where it was before, it was not possible to see in detail what was happening in the city of the Rebels; therefore, even if such a manoeuvre was anything but free from hazards and risks, for a so big vessel and so difficult to steer within the atmosphere and, most importantly, so close to the ground, Mayweather had suggested to the Sovereign to make the powerful flagship descend practically to the planet's surface, to observe closely, to seek closely, that something that his suspicious and observant mind rightly believed was occurring.
Then, finally, right there, right in the heart of the city, in the living center of power of it, now in ruins and on the verge of collapse, deserted and abandoned, prey to the destructive fire... right there in the square outside the Great Temple, next to the Command Centre of Harrad-Sar, now about to fall down ...
What the devil meant that young Orion woman, lying unconscious on the ground? And the soldier next to her? Standing, alert, it was clear, right in front of the entrance portal of the Temple? And, most importantly, what was that body, belonging, as its uniform showed, to the Elite Guard, who lay on the ground, drenched in blood ... with its head cut off? Just like the late lamented Reed?
"Your Majesty ..."
The Empress gave him a withering look. Mayweather shut abruptly his mouth. He knew when it was better to retire in good order; a snake always knows when it is best retreat into the safe haven of its den.
The Sovereign stood up proudly. "Continue to fly over the city, with all the batteries ready to fire."
Mayweather nodded to himself. After all, the Empress knew very well what she had to do. It was not possible to use the weapon that had reduced the city in that way from that height, the ship itself would come out destroyed; that meant that only the normal weapons could be used, if it was the case. Besides, but this was obvious, the vessel could not be kept firm in the atmosphere. It could only continue to fly over the town.
"A team will prepare to be teleported to the square before the temple."
Mayweather nodded again within himself. Yes, the Empress really knew how to handle things. She was truly a great woman and it was very nice to know that he was her secret master, owner not only of her body, but also of her mind. Truly a shame if one day he should have to get rid of her.
Harrad-Sar did not care for anything, ignored everything around him. He paid no attention to, did not watch the beings – men, women, from what race, he didn't know nor was interested to be aware of - who were making a sort of living barrier around him and T'Pau and were running as in a protective circle to the portal of the temple together with them, all around them, doing a hell fire and uninterrupted against the Imperial Soldiers, trying to prevent these ones from getting up from the ground where they had thrown themselves with professional suddenness, as soon as the firsts of them had fallen under the blows unexpectedly fired by an enemy who had appeared out of nowhere.
He did not care, ignored, paid no attention to, did not watch, wanted not to see, when, all around them, their unknown protectors began to fall, mown down by the dashing and powerful, and expected, reaction of Hayes' men, from behind the columns where not a few of them had remained hidden and protected, even if disconcerted and taken aback, at the outbreak of the hell; when the shots of their enemies started to burn the air over his head, the ground behind and before his feet; when the two figures next the one holding up the Lirpa got twisted on themselves, hit by the phasers of the Imperial Soldiers, and went down, to the floor, kicking up their heels in the spasms of death.
He simply ran. Without breath, without sensitivity, without thoughts. Aching in any fiber of his martyrized body, without knowing where he found the force. All along the nave that seemed to never end. Between the hostile fire from an enemy who no longer cared not to wound him and T'Pau. Sustaining into his arms, with the most tiring of efforts, the little warm body of T'Pau, that he felt, knew, that, in spite of all her Vulcaness, was not able to give more than what it had already given, as patently it was said by the abandon without shame with which she had surrendered to his protective embrace.
He ran. Towards the indefinite light that filtered from the portal, to throw himself and T'Pau in it out of there. To find what, he did not know, did not want to know. To do afterward what, he did not know, did not want to know. With what hope, he did not know, did not want to know.
He ran and ran and ran. Towards that figure wielding the Lirpa and urging him; that had flung open the portal with vehemence and violence, to enable him to rush out; that was rising up, fiercely and steadily, heedless of the fire of the enemies, that pelt it.
He ran. He ran, ran, ran…
To cover a distance that he knew it was great but not infinite and that at those moments seemed endless.
And, finally, no one could ever understand and describe how this was possible, he reached the portal, and rushed out of the temple, on the steps of the churchyard. He sprang all along and over the steps, with an impetus and momentum that he did not know where it came from to him, and went beyond them, as flying, until to land, feet joined, on the parvis.
He did not care, ignored, paid no attention to, did not watch, wanted not to see, when, all around them, their unknown protectors began to fall, mown down by the dashing and powerful, and expected, reaction of Hayes' men, from behind the columns where not a few of them had remained hidden and protected, even if disconcerted and taken aback, at the outbreak of the hell; when the shots of their enemies started to burn the air over his head, the ground behind and before his feet; when the two figures next the one holding up the Lirpa got twisted on themselves, hit by the phasers of the Imperial Soldiers, and went down, to the floor, kicking up their heels in the spasms of death.
He simply ran. Without breath, without sensitivity, without thoughts. Aching in any fiber of his martyrized body, without knowing where he found the force. All along the nave that seemed to never end. Between the hostile fire from an enemy who no longer cared not to wound him and T'Pau. Sustaining into his arms, with the most tiring of efforts, the little warm body of T'Pau, that he felt, knew, that, in spite of all her Vulcaness, was not able to give more than what it had already given, as patently it was said by the abandon without shame with which she had surrendered to his protective embrace.
He ran. Towards the indefinite light that filtered from the portal, to throw himself and T'Pau in it out of there. To find what, he did not know, did not want to know. To do afterward what, he did not know, did not want to know. With what hope, he did not know, did not want to know.
He ran and ran and ran. Towards that figure wielding the Lirpa and urging him; that had flung open the portal with vehemence and violence, to enable him to rush out; that was rising up, fiercely and steadily, heedless of the fire of the enemies, that pelt it.
He ran. He ran, ran, ran…
To cover a distance that he knew it was great but not infinite and that at those moments seemed endless.
And, finally, no one could ever understand and describe how this was possible, he reached the portal, and rushed out of the temple, on the steps of the churchyard. He sprang all along and over the steps, with an impetus and momentum that he did not know where it came from to him, and went beyond them, as flying, until to land, feet joined, on the parvis.
"Your Majesty! Look!"
The Empress turned suddenly toward the Ensign who had shouted. This was not the way to behave, no one could think in any way to yell a command to her, for no reason.
She made as to speak, but the young man did not give her the time. "Majesty! Look! On the screen!"
The Sovereign was dumbfounded, but she understood. There are times when certain things have to be ignored.
All eyes turned to the screen.
The Empress turned suddenly toward the Ensign who had shouted. This was not the way to behave, no one could think in any way to yell a command to her, for no reason.
She made as to speak, but the young man did not give her the time. "Majesty! Look! On the screen!"
The Sovereign was dumbfounded, but she understood. There are times when certain things have to be ignored.
All eyes turned to the screen.
Harrad-Sar tumbled on the parvis, by the élan with which he had desperately launched out and aloft himself, succeeding though, not even he could ever explain how, not to break any of his bones and to continue to wrap the Vulcan in his arms and to keep, so it seemed, both him and T'Pau not too much damaged, at least not much more than they already were.
He shook his head and, grunting, got up, dazed, but still unpredictably alert, still with the Vulcan in his arms. He let her go and helped her back on her feet.
He stared at her.
She seemed to be enough all in one piece, after all. And was looking at something, behind his shoulders.
Harrad-Sar turned on himself.
A body. Wearing a human uniform, soaked with red blood.
Without a head.
Harrad-Sar turned his eyes back to the Vulcan.
Her gaze shifted elsewhere.
Harrad-Sar followed her gaze.
A war helmet. Not empty.
The head. Severed.
And next to it... a woman, lying on the ground. A woman of his breed, a young Orion girl, her face stained with red blood, with a chain around her neck, who was stirring up on the floor; who opened her eyes just at that moment; and who, even if with the most evident lostness yet in them, started to stare intently at him and T'Pau, adding bewildered wonder and fear in her look.
Harrad-Sar dwelled his eyes on her; on her chain; and, finally aware, on the figure, not yet noticed either by him nor T'Pau in their understandable confusion and in the frantic coming of the events the one after the other, who was holding the chain, some steps far from the girl.
A soldier, big and tall, dressed as an Imperial Elite Guard, his face hidden behind his helmet, his head turned towards him and T'Pau; and a big phaser, leveled, in his hands.
Even an Orion pirate can surrender to discouragement and despair, even a pirate and a warrior as Harrad-Sar.
All useless. All in vain. Everything was lost. The rebellion, his stubborn fight. Him himself. And T'Pau.
But what had he hoped? This was what was waiting for him and for the Vulcan, out of the temple: a ruthless soldier of the Empire, big and strong, surely only one among many, against whom he would have no longer strength to fight, to whose mortal weapon he could only surrender and succumb.
But there has been no time for losing themselves in the hopelessness.
He shook his head and, grunting, got up, dazed, but still unpredictably alert, still with the Vulcan in his arms. He let her go and helped her back on her feet.
He stared at her.
She seemed to be enough all in one piece, after all. And was looking at something, behind his shoulders.
Harrad-Sar turned on himself.
A body. Wearing a human uniform, soaked with red blood.
Without a head.
Harrad-Sar turned his eyes back to the Vulcan.
Her gaze shifted elsewhere.
Harrad-Sar followed her gaze.
A war helmet. Not empty.
The head. Severed.
And next to it... a woman, lying on the ground. A woman of his breed, a young Orion girl, her face stained with red blood, with a chain around her neck, who was stirring up on the floor; who opened her eyes just at that moment; and who, even if with the most evident lostness yet in them, started to stare intently at him and T'Pau, adding bewildered wonder and fear in her look.
Harrad-Sar dwelled his eyes on her; on her chain; and, finally aware, on the figure, not yet noticed either by him nor T'Pau in their understandable confusion and in the frantic coming of the events the one after the other, who was holding the chain, some steps far from the girl.
A soldier, big and tall, dressed as an Imperial Elite Guard, his face hidden behind his helmet, his head turned towards him and T'Pau; and a big phaser, leveled, in his hands.
Even an Orion pirate can surrender to discouragement and despair, even a pirate and a warrior as Harrad-Sar.
All useless. All in vain. Everything was lost. The rebellion, his stubborn fight. Him himself. And T'Pau.
But what had he hoped? This was what was waiting for him and for the Vulcan, out of the temple: a ruthless soldier of the Empire, big and strong, surely only one among many, against whom he would have no longer strength to fight, to whose mortal weapon he could only surrender and succumb.
But there has been no time for losing themselves in the hopelessness.
"Change of plans. No team has to be teleported. I want Harrad-Sar and the Vulcan with him, here. Teleport them here. Immediately. Ensign, calculate the coordinates."
"Yes, Your Majesty, it'll take a few minutes."
Without speaking, the Empress cast a withering look at the poor Ensign. He began to stammer. "Your … Your Highness, it… it… it is difficult to hook the coordinates of the square of the temple, in these conditions. I… I mean, there are too many interferences due to the breakup of the energy sources of the city. There needs… there needs to approach as much as possible and calculate well and with certainty both the approach manoeuvre and the coordinates."
Mayweather decided it was appropriate to intervene, with all due respect, of course, and with caution; however, he had to do it. Apart from the fact that the Ensign could still be very handy to him, things were exactly like he had said, Mayweather knew it very well, and it was necessary to make it that that stupid, irrational uterine female of hisbeloved Empress realized it, or, rather, didn't let her anger obfuscate her mind to such an extent to make her ignore things that were obvious, even to her.
However, it was necessary, too, that she did not make a fool of herself. Woe! For her, and also for him, this was sure.
Damn it! He too had to be careful! Oshi was anything but stupid, and nevertheless she was almost acting so. It was really true that power sometimes makes you stupid! One mustn't let himself get intoxicated by it.
"My Empress, I beg you to be magnanimous. It is really unforgivable that a simple Ensign dares to suggest to you things that you know perfectly well, but you must remember the awe that you cause. It is difficult to keep one's head straight in your presence. Forgive him, for now, he is useful to us in these situations; and let us know your decisions."
The Empress glared by askance at her Gigolo, conscious of the anchor of salvation that he had thrown to her, and, for that reason, doubly enraged. By a whisker she had avoided from making a fool of herself, just in grace of Mayweather, of the astute snake brain he reasoned with, and who was now giving her a way to get out of the impasse
There was really to be get caught up with anger, but it was needed not to let herself be transported by it, even if there were lots of good reasons to do so. Harrad-Sar, the rebel leader, was there, in front of the Temple, ready to be grabbed and this could not be done. And she, yes, she was afraid that something would happen that would prevent her from doing this, during the time that they had to wait. Too many things she did not know had to have happened on the planet, things that her belovedParamour most likely had expected or suspected. And he had not said anything! Damn snake! Damn treacherous snake!
But this time, he would paid. At the appropriate time, of course. At the right time. Maybe, with the help of another animal in human form.
For now though...
The Empress sat, calm and secure, on her command chair. "Five minutes. Not more."
All the technical staff snapped at her command.
"Yes, Your Majesty, it'll take a few minutes."
Without speaking, the Empress cast a withering look at the poor Ensign. He began to stammer. "Your … Your Highness, it… it… it is difficult to hook the coordinates of the square of the temple, in these conditions. I… I mean, there are too many interferences due to the breakup of the energy sources of the city. There needs… there needs to approach as much as possible and calculate well and with certainty both the approach manoeuvre and the coordinates."
Mayweather decided it was appropriate to intervene, with all due respect, of course, and with caution; however, he had to do it. Apart from the fact that the Ensign could still be very handy to him, things were exactly like he had said, Mayweather knew it very well, and it was necessary to make it that that stupid, irrational uterine female of hisbeloved Empress realized it, or, rather, didn't let her anger obfuscate her mind to such an extent to make her ignore things that were obvious, even to her.
However, it was necessary, too, that she did not make a fool of herself. Woe! For her, and also for him, this was sure.
Damn it! He too had to be careful! Oshi was anything but stupid, and nevertheless she was almost acting so. It was really true that power sometimes makes you stupid! One mustn't let himself get intoxicated by it.
"My Empress, I beg you to be magnanimous. It is really unforgivable that a simple Ensign dares to suggest to you things that you know perfectly well, but you must remember the awe that you cause. It is difficult to keep one's head straight in your presence. Forgive him, for now, he is useful to us in these situations; and let us know your decisions."
The Empress glared by askance at her Gigolo, conscious of the anchor of salvation that he had thrown to her, and, for that reason, doubly enraged. By a whisker she had avoided from making a fool of herself, just in grace of Mayweather, of the astute snake brain he reasoned with, and who was now giving her a way to get out of the impasse
There was really to be get caught up with anger, but it was needed not to let herself be transported by it, even if there were lots of good reasons to do so. Harrad-Sar, the rebel leader, was there, in front of the Temple, ready to be grabbed and this could not be done. And she, yes, she was afraid that something would happen that would prevent her from doing this, during the time that they had to wait. Too many things she did not know had to have happened on the planet, things that her belovedParamour most likely had expected or suspected. And he had not said anything! Damn snake! Damn treacherous snake!
But this time, he would paid. At the appropriate time, of course. At the right time. Maybe, with the help of another animal in human form.
For now though...
The Empress sat, calm and secure, on her command chair. "Five minutes. Not more."
All the technical staff snapped at her command.
Behind them, noises and shouts. And shots of guns.
They turned around.
From the portal, several men, all wearing the battle dresses of the Imperial Guards, were rushing outside.
The end. For real.
And nevertheless, why did the soldiers not fire against him and T'Pau? Or, rather, why, while they were madly running towards him and the Vulcan, they continued to turn their heads as for looking at their shoulders? With their weapons ready to fire... toward the Temple?
A light of understanding began to shine in Harrad-Sar's brain and he heard his petite Vulcan - *Mine? * - say "We haven't been able to discern how our rescuers were dressed." Yeah, they hadn't been able; until that moment.
Maybe it was not yet the end.
Their eyes got pinned on the temple gate. A soldier, apparently the last, emerged from the portal, pausing an instant to close it powerfully, as if to prevent or delay that someone else may come out.
He wore the uniform of a Captain of the Elite Guard. And was holding in his hand a Lirpa.
They turned around.
From the portal, several men, all wearing the battle dresses of the Imperial Guards, were rushing outside.
The end. For real.
And nevertheless, why did the soldiers not fire against him and T'Pau? Or, rather, why, while they were madly running towards him and the Vulcan, they continued to turn their heads as for looking at their shoulders? With their weapons ready to fire... toward the Temple?
A light of understanding began to shine in Harrad-Sar's brain and he heard his petite Vulcan - *Mine? * - say "We haven't been able to discern how our rescuers were dressed." Yeah, they hadn't been able; until that moment.
Maybe it was not yet the end.
Their eyes got pinned on the temple gate. A soldier, apparently the last, emerged from the portal, pausing an instant to close it powerfully, as if to prevent or delay that someone else may come out.
He wore the uniform of a Captain of the Elite Guard. And was holding in his hand a Lirpa.
What the hell was going on? What were they doing there, those soldiers? Were they trying to capture Harrad-Sar? Yes, of course, it could be, but something was wrong, there was something fishy in all this. They were members of the Elite Guard, apparently, therefore under the direct command of Hayes. But he, where was him? Inside the temple? To do what?
The Empress had no direct control over what was happening on the planet, and this made her furious, literally. She hated not being able to exercise direct control and the lack of radio communication, which in fact she herself had wanted, to avoid that some unknown enemy, in listening, (and this enemy existed, this was a fact) may pick up something useful for himself and harmful for her and for the Empire, has made things even worst.
Her Majesty Oshi Sato the First was on hot coals, and certainly it did not help the expression of Mayweather, not exactly quiet.
But how much time was needed, damnit? How much time the technical staff was using to do what she had ordered? She wanted Harrad-Sar on her ship, before something could happen able to prevent it, even though she was not sure what.
She turned a second. "Four minutes. Only four."
A muffled exclamation made her turn her head back toward the screen. It had been Mayweather, and such a fact was not by him.
Despite herself, the Empress's eyes widened in amazement like everyone else, for that matter.
From the portal of the temple an officer had come out, running as a madman, a Captain, apparently. He stopped abruptly, just an instant, to close forcefully the Portal.
He was holding something.
The Empress winced, uncertain, very uncertain. She knew that many veterans kept and used, in peace and in war, the strangest trophies, depredated from the subject races.
But that one!
A Lirpa! And... yes, a very odd Lirpa, to watch carefully.
The Empress raised her voice. It resounded a little shrill. "Only three minutes! Not a second longer!"
Then, suddenly, it occurred to her ...
Another order. Curt and firm. Peremptory. In a steady voice, this time.
"I also want that Captain here."
The Empress had no direct control over what was happening on the planet, and this made her furious, literally. She hated not being able to exercise direct control and the lack of radio communication, which in fact she herself had wanted, to avoid that some unknown enemy, in listening, (and this enemy existed, this was a fact) may pick up something useful for himself and harmful for her and for the Empire, has made things even worst.
Her Majesty Oshi Sato the First was on hot coals, and certainly it did not help the expression of Mayweather, not exactly quiet.
But how much time was needed, damnit? How much time the technical staff was using to do what she had ordered? She wanted Harrad-Sar on her ship, before something could happen able to prevent it, even though she was not sure what.
She turned a second. "Four minutes. Only four."
A muffled exclamation made her turn her head back toward the screen. It had been Mayweather, and such a fact was not by him.
Despite herself, the Empress's eyes widened in amazement like everyone else, for that matter.
From the portal of the temple an officer had come out, running as a madman, a Captain, apparently. He stopped abruptly, just an instant, to close forcefully the Portal.
He was holding something.
The Empress winced, uncertain, very uncertain. She knew that many veterans kept and used, in peace and in war, the strangest trophies, depredated from the subject races.
But that one!
A Lirpa! And... yes, a very odd Lirpa, to watch carefully.
The Empress raised her voice. It resounded a little shrill. "Only three minutes! Not a second longer!"
Then, suddenly, it occurred to her ...
Another order. Curt and firm. Peremptory. In a steady voice, this time.
"I also want that Captain here."
In a flash, the figure wearing the Captain's uniform turned around.
He dashed along the steps, brandishing the Lirpa.
He yelled as he ran.
Again that language, unknown and yet so similar to the Vulcan. So similar that this time Harrad-Sar seemed to understand something; something as: "Ready!"
Then another shout. "Valdore!" - A name? Again. Pressing. - "VALDORE!" - And Again. - VALD…"
The scream died in the throat of the man.
He dashed along the steps, brandishing the Lirpa.
He yelled as he ran.
Again that language, unknown and yet so similar to the Vulcan. So similar that this time Harrad-Sar seemed to understand something; something as: "Ready!"
Then another shout. "Valdore!" - A name? Again. Pressing. - "VALDORE!" - And Again. - VALD…"
The scream died in the throat of the man.
"NO!"
The scream burst out from T'Pol's mouth.
The scream burst out from T'Pol's mouth.
A flash in one with a sharp snap. The man swerved to the side, turned on himself, as if pushed - as if struck - with force and violence, by something. From behind.
He fell with a crash on the stairs, on his back, and tumbled down rolling over them, until stopped on the parvis, just a few steps away from T'Pau and Harrad-Sar.
He fell with a crash on the stairs, on his back, and tumbled down rolling over them, until stopped on the parvis, just a few steps away from T'Pau and Harrad-Sar.
T'Pol jumped out of bed, like a fury, sweeping up the doctor and his syringe, which shattered on the floor.
Like a madwoman, her hospital nightgown fluttering around her, she railed herself against the facing wall, as if she had not been aware of its existence, of what she was doing, where she was going, as if she wanted to reach something or someone that only she could see, someone who was over the wall, over that wall. She bumped into it and right after, as if she had not even realized what she had done, turned frantically, leaning on the wall with her back.
She looked at the doctor with haunted eyes, but he could bet anything, even his life, she wasn't seeing him, neither him nor any other thing that was there.
Phlox was stunned, unable to act or even think.
He stared, wide-eyed, at the Vulcan, who was breathing with terrible trouble. Her mouth became dropped open in a scream, a cry... desperate, which pierced the ears of the physician.
"NOOOOOOOO!"
Then she slowly slid down the wall, until to sit on the ground, undone and tousled, her back against the wall, her legs, uncovered, curled up beneath her, her mouth still open in a silent scream, eyes wide in empty.
She remained so, inert, motionless.
Her arms lay abandoned at her sides.
Like a madwoman, her hospital nightgown fluttering around her, she railed herself against the facing wall, as if she had not been aware of its existence, of what she was doing, where she was going, as if she wanted to reach something or someone that only she could see, someone who was over the wall, over that wall. She bumped into it and right after, as if she had not even realized what she had done, turned frantically, leaning on the wall with her back.
She looked at the doctor with haunted eyes, but he could bet anything, even his life, she wasn't seeing him, neither him nor any other thing that was there.
Phlox was stunned, unable to act or even think.
He stared, wide-eyed, at the Vulcan, who was breathing with terrible trouble. Her mouth became dropped open in a scream, a cry... desperate, which pierced the ears of the physician.
"NOOOOOOOO!"
Then she slowly slid down the wall, until to sit on the ground, undone and tousled, her back against the wall, her legs, uncovered, curled up beneath her, her mouth still open in a silent scream, eyes wide in empty.
She remained so, inert, motionless.
Her arms lay abandoned at her sides.
The man remained inert, flat on his back, motionless.
A stench of burning flesh was rising from him, and, beneath him, along the ground, a red blood stain was spreading, imbuing the soil.
His Lirpa lay abandoned beside him.
A stench of burning flesh was rising from him, and, beneath him, along the ground, a red blood stain was spreading, imbuing the soil.
His Lirpa lay abandoned beside him.
End of Chapter Eight
Well come on, come on, my friends. Cheer up! Do not do that face!
Well, of course. I can understand you. You are doing, I can see you, the same face that I did when I read these tremendous line , come out from the hands of that skunk of my ancestor.
And I have had your own thoughts.
I can feel them.
*Well? But what the hell! Like this? In this way? This... this is the end of... the shark? So does it end up, after having finally jumped out of the water? But... but do not joke, please! And... and T'Pol? Destined to end like that, she too? In the... in the darkness of the most leaden and most hopeless murkiness?*
Guys! Guys! But what's up? Fanfiction is this! Do you remember, don't you? Fanfiction. Not reality. Do not let yourselves be involved too much!
It is fanfiction.
Perhaps.
Well, of course. I can understand you. You are doing, I can see you, the same face that I did when I read these tremendous line , come out from the hands of that skunk of my ancestor.
And I have had your own thoughts.
I can feel them.
*Well? But what the hell! Like this? In this way? This... this is the end of... the shark? So does it end up, after having finally jumped out of the water? But... but do not joke, please! And... and T'Pol? Destined to end like that, she too? In the... in the darkness of the most leaden and most hopeless murkiness?*
Guys! Guys! But what's up? Fanfiction is this! Do you remember, don't you? Fanfiction. Not reality. Do not let yourselves be involved too much!
It is fanfiction.
Perhaps.
Oh well, in whatever way things may be, if you agree, I think it is worthwhile to know something more.
So then, here's to you...
So then, here's to you...
Legends, my friends, legends. Just like that.
And if it is not enough to you the image of our T'Pol to make you aware of the why of the title of the chapter... well, then you just need to go and read it.
Please, do it. I... that is, my ancestor would be very proud.
And if it is not enough to you the image of our T'Pol to make you aware of the why of the title of the chapter... well, then you just need to go and read it.
Please, do it. I... that is, my ancestor would be very proud.
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COPYRIGHT 2013 © Asso - [email protected]
COPYRIGHT 2013 © Asso - [email protected]