Dreams, dreams, dreams, dreams ...
People dream.
Everyone dreams.
Even the Vulcans, although they try not to do it.
To no avail.
And so, even T'Pol dreams.
What?
Or rather ... whom?
Dreams she Tucker, perhaps? And why is that?
And he, Tucker, does he dream, by any chance? He, too? And what kind of dreams, might he ever have this... this being whom, by now you will have all figured out, no one really knows? Not even... yes ... not even T'Pol.
Perhaps now it is the time to know something more about him.
Perhaps now it is the time to try to penetrate a little into his dreams.
Let's try it, my friends.
Let's read, if you want it, this chapter.
And, to begin with, let's read something that looks like a dream and that, instead, is reality.
Here it is.
People dream.
Everyone dreams.
Even the Vulcans, although they try not to do it.
To no avail.
And so, even T'Pol dreams.
What?
Or rather ... whom?
Dreams she Tucker, perhaps? And why is that?
And he, Tucker, does he dream, by any chance? He, too? And what kind of dreams, might he ever have this... this being whom, by now you will have all figured out, no one really knows? Not even... yes ... not even T'Pol.
Perhaps now it is the time to know something more about him.
Perhaps now it is the time to try to penetrate a little into his dreams.
Let's try it, my friends.
Let's read, if you want it, this chapter.
And, to begin with, let's read something that looks like a dream and that, instead, is reality.
Here it is.
An Orion man, Harrad-Sar, and a Vulcan female, T'Pau, who seem to fly.
If this is not a dream, a dream, then... what is it?
Let us try to understand it, my friends. Maybe the ...
...of...
...will be able to clarify our ideas.
Mh ... have you ever heard of a fanfiction able to do it?
No. I do not think.
But, and if, by chance, were it not a fanfiction?
Mh ... have you ever heard of a fanfiction able to do it?
No. I do not think.
But, and if, by chance, were it not a fanfiction?
Chapter Five
She slept.
Quietly.
Her face was serenely calm.
This was the first time Phlox had been able to relax and watch T'Pol while she slept. Before he had been scared she wouldn't survive for many reasons, but he was sure that her sleep had never been as placid as it appeared to be now.
He was sitting in front of the medical console, looking intently at the visage of the young Vulcan, as she slept; not a medically-induced sleep, but a natural and peaceful one.
The weariness of the long hours of physical and mental work he had had to endure while the uncertainty of T'Pol's fate had lasted, which insanely fuelled his fears in respect of the not veiled threats made by General Tucker, was slowly dissolving, leaving room for a languorous exhaustion. But still he felt that he could not afford to relax completely. He knew his life hung by a thread, because as much as Tucker appeared changed; to the extent that not only had he rescued T'Pol, but also showed towards her a strangely attentive attitude - gruff, but nevertheless indubitably caring… Okay, in spite of all this, he was still Tucker, and the man had every reason to dislike him and to be suspicious of anything he could do; and certainly Tucker, in that new and strange position of power he had among those scary aliens, was ready to cut him into slices, if he offered him the slightest pretext.
Suddenly, a sorely unwelcome and vivid image of the headless and bleeding body of Reed came into Phlox's mind: the body had been hung up on the bars of the cage in which T'Pol had been jailed.
What had meant to be T'Pol's cage of horror had become a cage of horror for Malcolm Reed.
A cold and chilling shiver ran down the length of the doctor's spine.
The recordings that he had seen from that day were too confusing and fragmented. It was not possible to see - or perhaps it was deliberately not clearly shown - how and who - above all, who - had butchered the Empress's sadistic right hand man. But he - Phlox - knew who it was. All of the others, thinking that Tucker was dead; they would rack their brains, and agree that the hatred Reed had engendered was sufficient to explain his terrible death. Even though it was perplexing that someone had raged so fiercely against him just at the juncture of T'Pol's rescue. T'Pol was the woman who, for all to see, had become the living symbol of rebellion against the Empire, and even more so for the fact that she had apparently been conniving with the Empire itself - if her rescue, then, could be more easily understood and interpreted as a kind of demonstrative action directed by someone unknown who had the strength and courage to do it ... Well, the reasons behind the slaughter of Reed, were not quite evident, regardless of how much he was hated. Why waste time in this way? Why risk so much?
Why?
WHO?
Phlox felt the shiver down his back intensify. It almost forced him to visibly shake.
He knew why, and especially he knew well whom.
Maybe his mind, forged in the harsh asperities of the Empire, couldn't fully grasp what could be meant by - in all its aspects - the fact that Tucker had wanted to rescue T'Pol. Even if he had started to figure out the unexpected - unbelievable - cause of Tucker's actions; even more perplexing for the doctor, was to work out how Tucker had managed to become... The General Tucker, who, somehow held a power over those threatening Aliens.
But as for the cruel havoc of Reed…
Phlox had seen Tucker in action. He had seen the cold and fierce determination with which he was able to act, the spine-chilling capacity with which he transformed all of his intelligent emotional temperament into an equally intelligent glacial ruthlessness.
He had been a true son of the Empire.
Not infrequently, the doctor had found himself wondering what would have happened if Tucker had wanted to commit to being in command. Would it have been possible to fight him? Honestly, the doctor did not know what action Archer himself could have taken to counter a real threat from Tucker. The man was highly intelligent, about that there was no doubt, and his staff; even if some members had not been really trustworthy, were almost entirely for him. Many, many people would have followed him, if he'd wanted to lay some trap for another officer, most likely even for some very high-up officer.
On reflection, perhaps not even the Empress had enough skill, intelligence and artfulness to thwart him, not even with that treacherous being, Mayweather, at her side. Phlox hadn't been there personally to experience the Empress snatching power, obviously, or observed what role Mayweather had played in all that; but, equally obviously, he was now aware of everything.
Hoshi... would she have been able to become the Empress, if Tucker had been present?
But - and that was the core of the problem - on the other hand why would he want to oppose her, considering that he had never previously shown any sign of ambition for power? Eh sure, because, in any case, Tucker seemed to never side with anybody. To be perfectly clear… he had never looked for an advantage for himself.
It was just so, he had been a faithful soldier of the Empire.
And that was what was really strange. Not his apparent faithfulness to the Empire, but the fact that a man like him seemed to be so devoid of ambition.
At least that was what had been apparent from his behaviour?
The doctor shook his head, hit by a word that had surreptitiously crept into his mind.
Apparent - why had such a word come into his thoughts? Of course, now it was clear that Tucker was fighting against the Empire; but now is now, and cause could be what happened to T'Pol, whose destiny was evidently extremely important to Tucker.
But when the doctor thought about the possibly that Tucker's fidelity to the Empire had been only a pretence... he – it was futile to deny – had had previous thoughts about Tucker's behaviour; a behaviour, which was not perfectly in line with what one might have expected. Although the faint signs of this abnormal behaviour on the part of a Starfleet Officer could actually only be perceived by Phlox now, in light of the vision of Tucker that recent events had provided the doctor with.
And as he continued to delve deeper into this problem, he wondered what anyone actually knew about Tucker? To be honest, only that he was the best engineer who existed in the Empire. And this added mystery onto mystery. Eh sure, because, in that world of snakes that had become the Human Empire, it had never been forgotten that Tucker held total control in his hands something the others didn't have: engines.
Between him and any engine, there existed a mysterious liaison, an uncanny link. All this, together with a profound - almost magical - mastery of engineering and technology, gave him a power that no one else had and… yes… it made him unique. He was even perceived as a subtly frightening figure. And, well thinking about it, he did not seem to have friends, or at least not to have allowed even one person to get close enough to him; yet the reality was that no one could really be considered a friend in the den of hyenas that was the Empire.
And with regard to his time on Enterprise:
He appeared ... distant. A Scary character, with that ugly scar, which in addition to everything else, made him almost repulsive, and which made people even more incapable of understanding why T'Pol – such a succulent Vulcan female - had ever wanted him.
There were many rumours about where and how he had got that scar….
Everyone knew that there was an obvious explanation for that scar; it was due to Tucker's long exposure to countless doses of deadly radiation, but, in any case, it emphasized the impalpable aura of fear and loneliness that surrounded the Commander. No, correction; the General.
Sure, the General.
A General, Tucker the General verses Tucker the Commander. The engineer; the obedient servant of the Empire in opposition to, from what Phlox had observed, General Tucker, the Empire's fiercest enemy.
So, basically, who was Tucker? What did the people of the Empire think of him? And what had been the thoughts of the crew of Enterprise? And what of those who should have known him better than anyone else? To all intents and purposes, he was a lonely and enigmatic man, with a lot of potential power in his hands that he chose not to use, displaying behaviour absolutely in contrast to what was seen as so-called normal Human behaviour. Perhaps that was the reason why T'Pol had wanted him, namely – even if it wasn't logically the only reason – but, in his grim and tangibly mysterious way, he was different from all the other Humans.
In the short time that had passed since Tucker had left, following Valdore, who knows to do what, the doctor had found himself once again reflecting on what made Tucker so "special". Now a further concept could be added to that idea, his diverse personality. Was it possible that T'Pol had been able to feel this diversity, even if unconsciously, by means of the peculiar sensorial powers it was murmured that Vulcans had? Could the Vulcan woman be attracted to this facet of Tucker's character?
Now his thoughts were quickly following one after the other, impossible to stop, as if a compulsive frenzy had taken the place of the exhaustion he felt. It was as if Phlox wanted to offer himself a clear demonstration that, in the end, he had finally awakened from the torpor, which the recent overwhelming events had forced on him.
He looked thoughtfully at the quiet face of the sleeping woman.
In his mind, he imaged himself addressing her, as if searching for a response to the strange questions that had begun to swirl through his brain.
*Did you find Tucker to be different, Vulcan Lady? And what was the difference you found in him, that made you think he was a worthy choice as your man? A man like him: harsh, scoffing, and physically marked by fate? Why a "Human" like him, when you could have had any of the Vulcan men you wanted? Only you, Lady of the revolt, the one who even dared to think of rebelling against the power of Humans at the very heart of their power.*
Phlox's brain worked and worked and worked...
He could not stop…
Such diversity; diversity and loneliness. There was an air of impalpable distance about him. As well as a kind of threatening and frightening...yes…frightening disregard; from… from a concealed rancour, a repressed hatred; a hatred that was masked... sure… masked behind a constantly derisive attitude. That could hide something much deeper; something that to be kept hidden, a secret that could not be revealed.
Different, Tucker was certainly "different".
So be it, but, why and in what way was he "different"?
Why Tucker, why a man like him who seemed to be so…what would one say…so lacking in ambition? A man who kept his distance from battles for power?
And what about his scar; where and how had he got his scar, for real? It had happened during his murky past, certainly. But…what had happened in his past to mark him so?
All Phlox knew of him was his conduct and appearance as a perfect Officer and man of the Empire.
Was that all he really knew of Tucker? And… and if, in reality…?
The quiet breathing of the Vulcan female as she peacefully slept, seemed to be in tune with Phlox's thoughts, as if the rhythmic sound was finally taking away the fear which had accompanied the recent period of the doctor's life; the fear that had prevented him from thinking with his normal perspicuity. That sound was so meaningful, because it demonstrated that his efforts had reached their aim, and this meant he was able to relax.
After such long a time, he could afford finally to let his guard down.
It was just so.
The doctor lowered his chin to his chest, and re-focused on the course of his thoughts.
After such a long time…but just how long, had he really been there?
Sure, the time that had elapsed while he was in that cubicle had been long, that was a matter of fact. And, in addition, he had been more dead than alive, during the days and nights he had been vainly aware of rolling by, locked in that windowless cell, without a clear notion of how to measure the time that passed. But, after all, he was aware that he hadn't grown old in that cell; so he could not have spent an age trapped inside its walls. Certainly it hadn't been long enough to allow Tucker to gain his current position, among the Aliens. It... The doctor opened his eyes wide, finally letting himself accept without wavering an awareness that had been stirring in the depths of his mind … Tucker's rise to power was the result of something that was started far back in time, long before he had supposedly ... died, as the doctor knew that the rest of the universe currently believed.
Something had happened to Tucker far back in time.
The answer to the puzzle came from the engineer's past.
From the past that had given Tucker his scar.
Although the doctor raised his head, and looked up, he was not taking in the scene in front of him, because his thoughts still engrossed him.
Who was Tucker, in reality?
What was the purpose he was pursuing?
How had he been able to gain a position of trust among those Aliens? How was it possible that his authority was so important that they had decided to save him from death; at least that was the doctor's understanding of what had happened? Then why had they consented to help Tucker rescue T'Pol? And even to capture him, Phlox, so that he could heal the Vulcan?
Who was Tucker, in reality?
What was the purpose he was pursuing?
How had he become connected to his Alien and fearsome comrades?
What was the nature of the game he was playing with these Aliens?
And… what game was he playing with regard to the Empire? A game, the doctor now understood he had played for long a time. He knew what had happened to T'Pol compelled Tucker to stand up and be counted. Although, if he had not seen it with his own eyes, Phlox would never have believed that Tucker was capable of behaving in such a way; that he could feel a romantic pulse for the Vulcan female - the same one who had treated him so badly – which caused him to march out into the open and risk his life to rescue her from the horrific fate to which she had been condemned.
*He had marched out into the open?*
The doctor shook again his head, fiercely; almost in rage.
What the hell was he thinking? Nobody else knew Tucker was still alive; he had "marched out into the open" only for T'Pol, and for him, as well as those Aliens, of course. And, this was for sure, - a shudder ran down the doctor's spine once more - there was only one further person who had discovered that Tucker was not dead: Reed. Although he had found out just before his head had been sliced from his neck.
The fact that Tucker had chosen not to reveal that he was still alive, even to the people he was closest too - T'Pol's surprise at seeing him and what he had told her, clearly testified to this - that couldn't be without reason. Phlox didn't know what was concealed behind the evident belief that all people had about Tucker's death, as well as his own. However it was clear that Tucker felt there was some advantage in continuing the pretence.
It was evident that the game the doctor understood Tucker was playing with Empire had entered a different and new phase; and even in regard to the Aliens, it seemed, whose attitude toward "General Tucker" didn't sound particularly friendly; judging from Valdore's behaviour and signals from the others. It was as if they were not exactly convinced about what Tucker was doing and also wanted them to do; almost as if they were afraid of being cheated, in exactly the way that Tucker had evidently been able to deceive the Empire, if what the doctor thought was true. And the more he thought about it, the more he was convinced that it was true.
But, at the same time, Tucker's authority seemed too eminent, for the Aliens to not consider following his orders, or - at least - his instructions. Just so, because to Phlox it seemed that Tucker acted as if he was thinking ahead all the time. And on the other hand, how could it be otherwise? If all that was being unravelled in Phlox's mind was true - and the facts testified to it - the Aliens had to cope with a man who had been capable of deceiving the whole Empire; he had become the prototype of the perfect man of the Empire and one of its best Officers, while playing a dangerous double cross with these Aliens, in the pursuance of who knows what obscure purposes.
And as an obvious consequence, this man had become virtually indispensable to them. They had no choice but to trust him, so they had to follow his instructions. Just as the orders issued by General Tucker probably had to be respected.
Smart? A man like Tucker had to be much more than merely smart. And...Phlox patently scowled… a man like Tucker had to be extremely dangerous; even more dangerous, much more, than what the doctor had thought hitherto. Because such a dangerous game could only be played by a very dangerous man; a really pitiless man; capable of doing the most horrendous things, if he thought they were needed.
He was capable of perpetrating the most atrocious revenges against those who interfered with him, or dared to defy and hurt him.
Phlox only had to consider what had happened to Malcolm Reed.
Or consider what the fate would be of those who weren't able to live up to with his aims; to satisfy his wishes.
Like what would happen to him, if he failed to take care of T'Pol, to return her, intact and undamaged, to the arms of Tucker. It did not matter that this was an extraordinary event, the fact was that her recovery affected his well being, and all Phlox could do was take note of this. And act accordingly.
The doctor looked over at the sleeping woman, on the bed.
Yes, his life hung by a subtle thread, and this thread was lying on that bed. If he caused that thread to break, then he would suffer the end of his own life, and - a shiver ran yet again down the doctor's spine - most likely Tucker wouldn't hesitate to force him to experience the joy of the vivisection that he had inflicted on his animals.
Yeah, vivisection, the joy…no, that was inexact. The…the "pleasurable necessity" was more fitting – The pleasurable necessity of hurting defenceless creatures. For science, sure, he always acted in the pursuit of science.
The doctor again bowed his head to his chest.
He… he… he felt…
What was happening to him? What was that strange feeling; a sort of tremor within?
It was strange and unexpected.
He cast his mind back to a time, in the years of his youth, when he was a naive student.
When…when he had believed in his profession; when he had thought it was an ethical one.
Long ago; before life - a hard, harsh, ruthless life - had demanded that he change; before the Empire, had demanded that of him.
Eh sure, because one day he had faced a choice. The Empire had made demands of him and he had changed; had little by little become the Phlox that he was now. He had become the perfect – heartless - doctor of Enterprise. The dark side of his being had been successful and had claimed all of him. Its dark shadow had mingled with the black shadow of the world into which he had been born. It had been the only possible world for him.
Sure, he had become a vital part of what was his only possible world.
The enthusiastic young student who bowed his head over fatiguing medical texts, had long since disappeared, swallowed in the mists of a nonexistent Utopia.
But now, something had happened.
Although, what had happened had been strange, and unexpected:
Another Universe had been revealed. And apparently it was different; less harsh. It was a universe where...love seemed to have a place. A place where that Utopia; the Utopia of the years of his youth, seemed to have a reason to exist.
There was another possible world.
Phlox had learnt a little of that other universe, and, in truth, what little he had discovered seemed ridiculous, stupid, hypocritical, too. Those others, the inhabitants of that other universe, in fact, filled their mouths with lofty ideals and noble aspirations, and then acted and behaved exactly like the inhabitants of this universe. They too could be snakes, hyenas or jackals. Although they had to face a much more aggravating circumstance, in that they longed for a better world.
Utopia. UTOPIA! A stupid, foolish and futile Utopia! Never mind that it was an illogical and dangerous ideal. A world without the Empire! But whatever would that universe be like, devoid of order and rules - hard, harsh, and mostly despised – but still an essential part of the Empire? Without the Empire, there would be Chaos, CHAOS!
There could be nothing other than chaos.
Exactly! Chaos was not a viable alternative. And if order required that the evil - albeit controlled - was the rule ... Welcome to evil!
And then ... what the hell did it matter to him? He simply had to survive and then he might have the luxury of thinking about his life. There was nothing more than that! He must try to draw maximum benefits from this world, just like everyone else.
Just like everyone else.
Just like Archer, who had thought to become the lord of this world and had met his death due to his blind ambition.
Just like Hoshi, who had snatched hold of the biggest opportunity life had presented and had truly become the lady of this world.
Just like Mayweather, who probably hoped to take advantage of the greatness of the Empress to become her most eminent and powerful sycophant.
Just like Tucker. Tucker, yes, he had stayed in the shadows while pursuing and plotting towards an obscure purpose.
And just like T'Pol, too; who, while seeking a successful outcome for her ridiculous and futile uprising hadn't hesitated to throw the only one who had wanted to jump the barriers for her, to the winds. Even though neither he nor T'Pol had been willing to accept that they were irrevocably bound to each other.
Eh sure, because the fact was that T'Pol had wanted Tucker.
And… that meant…
Like a shadow emerging from a lost past, the latent but still vivid professional competence of Phlox; his great knack for preparation – that had disappeared in the swamp of a life that had sucked him down - was gradually rising to the light, reviving the immense capacity that had once made him a great doctor; so great that the Empire had demanded that he join their elite.
And even though he was an evil and selfish doctor, he still retained the essence of the great doctor he could have been. He also knew, by instinct, and professional curiosity what lay behind the behaviour of men and women, whatever their race.
Consequently…
Consequently he was well aware that a Vulcan woman does not throw away her Pon Far on just anybody.
T'Pol didn't know anything of that, but Phlox knew. There was much more inside him than the unworthy and bad doctor people believed him to be. He had studied hard. He was a real doctor; a paragon of a doctor, a doctor to whom medicine was exactly what engineering meant to Tucker. Tucker would understand his expertise and dedication to his field.
TUCKER! Tucker again! It seemed that only Tucker was able to understand such things!
But what Tucker wasn't in position to understand was that there must have been something very deep in T'Pol's behaviour; so deep that not even she knew what it meant. Certainly Tucker had not been aware of the importance of what he had done, when he agreed to appease the needs of T'Pol.
He had followed the instincts of Human male.
And she had also followed the instincts of Vulcan female.
But there had been something else.
Something that was strange and unexpected.
That's right, because instinct alone could not explain what he had seen in their eyes; never mind Tucker and T'Pol's behaviour toward each other.
Sure, and that was the crux of the matter.
Why and how was it possible for such a thing to have happened?
The doctor tried, almost rabidly, to put his thoughts in order.
It was like... yes, it was like something even stranger and more unexpected than everything else that had happened. And it was still in evidence. It was as if, for some reason, a part of that other universe, of that living Utopia, had appeared in this universe.
In the Tucker he knew.
And in the T'Pol he knew.
Or it was as if a really strange and unexpected thing – sure – but, which somehow already existed, in the folds of this harsh world. Could it be that this amazing phenomenon had been waiting for the right people to awaken it?
At the right time;
But only for the right people…
The right people to foster absurd hope in an impossible universe,
The only people, that made sense to Phlox, were Tucker and T'Pol.
The doctor's eyes darted to one of medical console screens.
There were many screens monitoring the various vital signs of the sleeping woman. Apart from the basilar corporal functions, the Vulcan's pulse rate, blood pressure, venous pressure, heart rhythm, respiratory rate, intestinal peristalsis, gastric and bladder repletion were all measured…
The screen the doctor was drawn to, showed her mental activity, in the form of wave lines, which unfolded across the monitor, displaying the current status of her neuronal and psychic processes.
One thing was clear: T'Pol was dreaming.
There was nothing wrong with that. It might be true that Vulcans do not dream, or - rather - that they attempt to repress their dream activity through meditation, because they believe it could be dangerous. It was considered too primordial, too upsetting. For them, there was too much of a risk that their beloved and useless self-control could be compromised. But T'Pol had not been able to meditate for a long time and therefore she could not help but dream while in a deep refreshing sleep.
So, there was really nothing wrong with that. T'Pol was finally sleeping naturally; no longer under the hold of whatever hypnotic had been administered; so that during sleep, she was able to dream naturally.
No, there was really nothing wrong with that.
What, maybe, seemed slightly wrong – or, rather, strange - was an aspect of T'Pol's dream-waves.
Eh sure, Phlox was a great doctor, rich with much cognizance. For example he knew the different patterns of dream-waves belonging to the many races that populated space; and he knew, too, that, according to the latest acquired cognitions, each individual race seemed to have their own peculiar pattern of cerebral dream-waves.
He attentively observed T'Pol's displayed oneiric brain waves.
He was confident that she was definitely dreaming.
But the surprising fact was that she was dreaming just like a Human.
Or to put it another way, her dreams were displayed in a pattern of cerebral dream-waves practically super imposable on a Human pattern.
Phlox stood up slowly, without letting his eyes stray from the screen.
There was something inside him that he hadn't felt for a very long time, and that he had believed he would never feel again.
It was curiosity, scientific curiosity,
And also a feeling that he had found a connection to someone else's life.
T'Pol was dreaming.
And Tucker... how could she be using his brain waves patterns in her dream?
Quietly.
Her face was serenely calm.
This was the first time Phlox had been able to relax and watch T'Pol while she slept. Before he had been scared she wouldn't survive for many reasons, but he was sure that her sleep had never been as placid as it appeared to be now.
He was sitting in front of the medical console, looking intently at the visage of the young Vulcan, as she slept; not a medically-induced sleep, but a natural and peaceful one.
The weariness of the long hours of physical and mental work he had had to endure while the uncertainty of T'Pol's fate had lasted, which insanely fuelled his fears in respect of the not veiled threats made by General Tucker, was slowly dissolving, leaving room for a languorous exhaustion. But still he felt that he could not afford to relax completely. He knew his life hung by a thread, because as much as Tucker appeared changed; to the extent that not only had he rescued T'Pol, but also showed towards her a strangely attentive attitude - gruff, but nevertheless indubitably caring… Okay, in spite of all this, he was still Tucker, and the man had every reason to dislike him and to be suspicious of anything he could do; and certainly Tucker, in that new and strange position of power he had among those scary aliens, was ready to cut him into slices, if he offered him the slightest pretext.
Suddenly, a sorely unwelcome and vivid image of the headless and bleeding body of Reed came into Phlox's mind: the body had been hung up on the bars of the cage in which T'Pol had been jailed.
What had meant to be T'Pol's cage of horror had become a cage of horror for Malcolm Reed.
A cold and chilling shiver ran down the length of the doctor's spine.
The recordings that he had seen from that day were too confusing and fragmented. It was not possible to see - or perhaps it was deliberately not clearly shown - how and who - above all, who - had butchered the Empress's sadistic right hand man. But he - Phlox - knew who it was. All of the others, thinking that Tucker was dead; they would rack their brains, and agree that the hatred Reed had engendered was sufficient to explain his terrible death. Even though it was perplexing that someone had raged so fiercely against him just at the juncture of T'Pol's rescue. T'Pol was the woman who, for all to see, had become the living symbol of rebellion against the Empire, and even more so for the fact that she had apparently been conniving with the Empire itself - if her rescue, then, could be more easily understood and interpreted as a kind of demonstrative action directed by someone unknown who had the strength and courage to do it ... Well, the reasons behind the slaughter of Reed, were not quite evident, regardless of how much he was hated. Why waste time in this way? Why risk so much?
Why?
WHO?
Phlox felt the shiver down his back intensify. It almost forced him to visibly shake.
He knew why, and especially he knew well whom.
Maybe his mind, forged in the harsh asperities of the Empire, couldn't fully grasp what could be meant by - in all its aspects - the fact that Tucker had wanted to rescue T'Pol. Even if he had started to figure out the unexpected - unbelievable - cause of Tucker's actions; even more perplexing for the doctor, was to work out how Tucker had managed to become... The General Tucker, who, somehow held a power over those threatening Aliens.
But as for the cruel havoc of Reed…
Phlox had seen Tucker in action. He had seen the cold and fierce determination with which he was able to act, the spine-chilling capacity with which he transformed all of his intelligent emotional temperament into an equally intelligent glacial ruthlessness.
He had been a true son of the Empire.
Not infrequently, the doctor had found himself wondering what would have happened if Tucker had wanted to commit to being in command. Would it have been possible to fight him? Honestly, the doctor did not know what action Archer himself could have taken to counter a real threat from Tucker. The man was highly intelligent, about that there was no doubt, and his staff; even if some members had not been really trustworthy, were almost entirely for him. Many, many people would have followed him, if he'd wanted to lay some trap for another officer, most likely even for some very high-up officer.
On reflection, perhaps not even the Empress had enough skill, intelligence and artfulness to thwart him, not even with that treacherous being, Mayweather, at her side. Phlox hadn't been there personally to experience the Empress snatching power, obviously, or observed what role Mayweather had played in all that; but, equally obviously, he was now aware of everything.
Hoshi... would she have been able to become the Empress, if Tucker had been present?
But - and that was the core of the problem - on the other hand why would he want to oppose her, considering that he had never previously shown any sign of ambition for power? Eh sure, because, in any case, Tucker seemed to never side with anybody. To be perfectly clear… he had never looked for an advantage for himself.
It was just so, he had been a faithful soldier of the Empire.
And that was what was really strange. Not his apparent faithfulness to the Empire, but the fact that a man like him seemed to be so devoid of ambition.
At least that was what had been apparent from his behaviour?
The doctor shook his head, hit by a word that had surreptitiously crept into his mind.
Apparent - why had such a word come into his thoughts? Of course, now it was clear that Tucker was fighting against the Empire; but now is now, and cause could be what happened to T'Pol, whose destiny was evidently extremely important to Tucker.
But when the doctor thought about the possibly that Tucker's fidelity to the Empire had been only a pretence... he – it was futile to deny – had had previous thoughts about Tucker's behaviour; a behaviour, which was not perfectly in line with what one might have expected. Although the faint signs of this abnormal behaviour on the part of a Starfleet Officer could actually only be perceived by Phlox now, in light of the vision of Tucker that recent events had provided the doctor with.
And as he continued to delve deeper into this problem, he wondered what anyone actually knew about Tucker? To be honest, only that he was the best engineer who existed in the Empire. And this added mystery onto mystery. Eh sure, because, in that world of snakes that had become the Human Empire, it had never been forgotten that Tucker held total control in his hands something the others didn't have: engines.
Between him and any engine, there existed a mysterious liaison, an uncanny link. All this, together with a profound - almost magical - mastery of engineering and technology, gave him a power that no one else had and… yes… it made him unique. He was even perceived as a subtly frightening figure. And, well thinking about it, he did not seem to have friends, or at least not to have allowed even one person to get close enough to him; yet the reality was that no one could really be considered a friend in the den of hyenas that was the Empire.
And with regard to his time on Enterprise:
He appeared ... distant. A Scary character, with that ugly scar, which in addition to everything else, made him almost repulsive, and which made people even more incapable of understanding why T'Pol – such a succulent Vulcan female - had ever wanted him.
There were many rumours about where and how he had got that scar….
Everyone knew that there was an obvious explanation for that scar; it was due to Tucker's long exposure to countless doses of deadly radiation, but, in any case, it emphasized the impalpable aura of fear and loneliness that surrounded the Commander. No, correction; the General.
Sure, the General.
A General, Tucker the General verses Tucker the Commander. The engineer; the obedient servant of the Empire in opposition to, from what Phlox had observed, General Tucker, the Empire's fiercest enemy.
So, basically, who was Tucker? What did the people of the Empire think of him? And what had been the thoughts of the crew of Enterprise? And what of those who should have known him better than anyone else? To all intents and purposes, he was a lonely and enigmatic man, with a lot of potential power in his hands that he chose not to use, displaying behaviour absolutely in contrast to what was seen as so-called normal Human behaviour. Perhaps that was the reason why T'Pol had wanted him, namely – even if it wasn't logically the only reason – but, in his grim and tangibly mysterious way, he was different from all the other Humans.
In the short time that had passed since Tucker had left, following Valdore, who knows to do what, the doctor had found himself once again reflecting on what made Tucker so "special". Now a further concept could be added to that idea, his diverse personality. Was it possible that T'Pol had been able to feel this diversity, even if unconsciously, by means of the peculiar sensorial powers it was murmured that Vulcans had? Could the Vulcan woman be attracted to this facet of Tucker's character?
Now his thoughts were quickly following one after the other, impossible to stop, as if a compulsive frenzy had taken the place of the exhaustion he felt. It was as if Phlox wanted to offer himself a clear demonstration that, in the end, he had finally awakened from the torpor, which the recent overwhelming events had forced on him.
He looked thoughtfully at the quiet face of the sleeping woman.
In his mind, he imaged himself addressing her, as if searching for a response to the strange questions that had begun to swirl through his brain.
*Did you find Tucker to be different, Vulcan Lady? And what was the difference you found in him, that made you think he was a worthy choice as your man? A man like him: harsh, scoffing, and physically marked by fate? Why a "Human" like him, when you could have had any of the Vulcan men you wanted? Only you, Lady of the revolt, the one who even dared to think of rebelling against the power of Humans at the very heart of their power.*
Phlox's brain worked and worked and worked...
He could not stop…
Such diversity; diversity and loneliness. There was an air of impalpable distance about him. As well as a kind of threatening and frightening...yes…frightening disregard; from… from a concealed rancour, a repressed hatred; a hatred that was masked... sure… masked behind a constantly derisive attitude. That could hide something much deeper; something that to be kept hidden, a secret that could not be revealed.
Different, Tucker was certainly "different".
So be it, but, why and in what way was he "different"?
Why Tucker, why a man like him who seemed to be so…what would one say…so lacking in ambition? A man who kept his distance from battles for power?
And what about his scar; where and how had he got his scar, for real? It had happened during his murky past, certainly. But…what had happened in his past to mark him so?
All Phlox knew of him was his conduct and appearance as a perfect Officer and man of the Empire.
Was that all he really knew of Tucker? And… and if, in reality…?
The quiet breathing of the Vulcan female as she peacefully slept, seemed to be in tune with Phlox's thoughts, as if the rhythmic sound was finally taking away the fear which had accompanied the recent period of the doctor's life; the fear that had prevented him from thinking with his normal perspicuity. That sound was so meaningful, because it demonstrated that his efforts had reached their aim, and this meant he was able to relax.
After such long a time, he could afford finally to let his guard down.
It was just so.
The doctor lowered his chin to his chest, and re-focused on the course of his thoughts.
After such a long time…but just how long, had he really been there?
Sure, the time that had elapsed while he was in that cubicle had been long, that was a matter of fact. And, in addition, he had been more dead than alive, during the days and nights he had been vainly aware of rolling by, locked in that windowless cell, without a clear notion of how to measure the time that passed. But, after all, he was aware that he hadn't grown old in that cell; so he could not have spent an age trapped inside its walls. Certainly it hadn't been long enough to allow Tucker to gain his current position, among the Aliens. It... The doctor opened his eyes wide, finally letting himself accept without wavering an awareness that had been stirring in the depths of his mind … Tucker's rise to power was the result of something that was started far back in time, long before he had supposedly ... died, as the doctor knew that the rest of the universe currently believed.
Something had happened to Tucker far back in time.
The answer to the puzzle came from the engineer's past.
From the past that had given Tucker his scar.
Although the doctor raised his head, and looked up, he was not taking in the scene in front of him, because his thoughts still engrossed him.
Who was Tucker, in reality?
What was the purpose he was pursuing?
How had he been able to gain a position of trust among those Aliens? How was it possible that his authority was so important that they had decided to save him from death; at least that was the doctor's understanding of what had happened? Then why had they consented to help Tucker rescue T'Pol? And even to capture him, Phlox, so that he could heal the Vulcan?
Who was Tucker, in reality?
What was the purpose he was pursuing?
How had he become connected to his Alien and fearsome comrades?
What was the nature of the game he was playing with these Aliens?
And… what game was he playing with regard to the Empire? A game, the doctor now understood he had played for long a time. He knew what had happened to T'Pol compelled Tucker to stand up and be counted. Although, if he had not seen it with his own eyes, Phlox would never have believed that Tucker was capable of behaving in such a way; that he could feel a romantic pulse for the Vulcan female - the same one who had treated him so badly – which caused him to march out into the open and risk his life to rescue her from the horrific fate to which she had been condemned.
*He had marched out into the open?*
The doctor shook again his head, fiercely; almost in rage.
What the hell was he thinking? Nobody else knew Tucker was still alive; he had "marched out into the open" only for T'Pol, and for him, as well as those Aliens, of course. And, this was for sure, - a shudder ran down the doctor's spine once more - there was only one further person who had discovered that Tucker was not dead: Reed. Although he had found out just before his head had been sliced from his neck.
The fact that Tucker had chosen not to reveal that he was still alive, even to the people he was closest too - T'Pol's surprise at seeing him and what he had told her, clearly testified to this - that couldn't be without reason. Phlox didn't know what was concealed behind the evident belief that all people had about Tucker's death, as well as his own. However it was clear that Tucker felt there was some advantage in continuing the pretence.
It was evident that the game the doctor understood Tucker was playing with Empire had entered a different and new phase; and even in regard to the Aliens, it seemed, whose attitude toward "General Tucker" didn't sound particularly friendly; judging from Valdore's behaviour and signals from the others. It was as if they were not exactly convinced about what Tucker was doing and also wanted them to do; almost as if they were afraid of being cheated, in exactly the way that Tucker had evidently been able to deceive the Empire, if what the doctor thought was true. And the more he thought about it, the more he was convinced that it was true.
But, at the same time, Tucker's authority seemed too eminent, for the Aliens to not consider following his orders, or - at least - his instructions. Just so, because to Phlox it seemed that Tucker acted as if he was thinking ahead all the time. And on the other hand, how could it be otherwise? If all that was being unravelled in Phlox's mind was true - and the facts testified to it - the Aliens had to cope with a man who had been capable of deceiving the whole Empire; he had become the prototype of the perfect man of the Empire and one of its best Officers, while playing a dangerous double cross with these Aliens, in the pursuance of who knows what obscure purposes.
And as an obvious consequence, this man had become virtually indispensable to them. They had no choice but to trust him, so they had to follow his instructions. Just as the orders issued by General Tucker probably had to be respected.
Smart? A man like Tucker had to be much more than merely smart. And...Phlox patently scowled… a man like Tucker had to be extremely dangerous; even more dangerous, much more, than what the doctor had thought hitherto. Because such a dangerous game could only be played by a very dangerous man; a really pitiless man; capable of doing the most horrendous things, if he thought they were needed.
He was capable of perpetrating the most atrocious revenges against those who interfered with him, or dared to defy and hurt him.
Phlox only had to consider what had happened to Malcolm Reed.
Or consider what the fate would be of those who weren't able to live up to with his aims; to satisfy his wishes.
Like what would happen to him, if he failed to take care of T'Pol, to return her, intact and undamaged, to the arms of Tucker. It did not matter that this was an extraordinary event, the fact was that her recovery affected his well being, and all Phlox could do was take note of this. And act accordingly.
The doctor looked over at the sleeping woman, on the bed.
Yes, his life hung by a subtle thread, and this thread was lying on that bed. If he caused that thread to break, then he would suffer the end of his own life, and - a shiver ran yet again down the doctor's spine - most likely Tucker wouldn't hesitate to force him to experience the joy of the vivisection that he had inflicted on his animals.
Yeah, vivisection, the joy…no, that was inexact. The…the "pleasurable necessity" was more fitting – The pleasurable necessity of hurting defenceless creatures. For science, sure, he always acted in the pursuit of science.
The doctor again bowed his head to his chest.
He… he… he felt…
What was happening to him? What was that strange feeling; a sort of tremor within?
It was strange and unexpected.
He cast his mind back to a time, in the years of his youth, when he was a naive student.
When…when he had believed in his profession; when he had thought it was an ethical one.
Long ago; before life - a hard, harsh, ruthless life - had demanded that he change; before the Empire, had demanded that of him.
Eh sure, because one day he had faced a choice. The Empire had made demands of him and he had changed; had little by little become the Phlox that he was now. He had become the perfect – heartless - doctor of Enterprise. The dark side of his being had been successful and had claimed all of him. Its dark shadow had mingled with the black shadow of the world into which he had been born. It had been the only possible world for him.
Sure, he had become a vital part of what was his only possible world.
The enthusiastic young student who bowed his head over fatiguing medical texts, had long since disappeared, swallowed in the mists of a nonexistent Utopia.
But now, something had happened.
Although, what had happened had been strange, and unexpected:
Another Universe had been revealed. And apparently it was different; less harsh. It was a universe where...love seemed to have a place. A place where that Utopia; the Utopia of the years of his youth, seemed to have a reason to exist.
There was another possible world.
Phlox had learnt a little of that other universe, and, in truth, what little he had discovered seemed ridiculous, stupid, hypocritical, too. Those others, the inhabitants of that other universe, in fact, filled their mouths with lofty ideals and noble aspirations, and then acted and behaved exactly like the inhabitants of this universe. They too could be snakes, hyenas or jackals. Although they had to face a much more aggravating circumstance, in that they longed for a better world.
Utopia. UTOPIA! A stupid, foolish and futile Utopia! Never mind that it was an illogical and dangerous ideal. A world without the Empire! But whatever would that universe be like, devoid of order and rules - hard, harsh, and mostly despised – but still an essential part of the Empire? Without the Empire, there would be Chaos, CHAOS!
There could be nothing other than chaos.
Exactly! Chaos was not a viable alternative. And if order required that the evil - albeit controlled - was the rule ... Welcome to evil!
And then ... what the hell did it matter to him? He simply had to survive and then he might have the luxury of thinking about his life. There was nothing more than that! He must try to draw maximum benefits from this world, just like everyone else.
Just like everyone else.
Just like Archer, who had thought to become the lord of this world and had met his death due to his blind ambition.
Just like Hoshi, who had snatched hold of the biggest opportunity life had presented and had truly become the lady of this world.
Just like Mayweather, who probably hoped to take advantage of the greatness of the Empress to become her most eminent and powerful sycophant.
Just like Tucker. Tucker, yes, he had stayed in the shadows while pursuing and plotting towards an obscure purpose.
And just like T'Pol, too; who, while seeking a successful outcome for her ridiculous and futile uprising hadn't hesitated to throw the only one who had wanted to jump the barriers for her, to the winds. Even though neither he nor T'Pol had been willing to accept that they were irrevocably bound to each other.
Eh sure, because the fact was that T'Pol had wanted Tucker.
And… that meant…
Like a shadow emerging from a lost past, the latent but still vivid professional competence of Phlox; his great knack for preparation – that had disappeared in the swamp of a life that had sucked him down - was gradually rising to the light, reviving the immense capacity that had once made him a great doctor; so great that the Empire had demanded that he join their elite.
And even though he was an evil and selfish doctor, he still retained the essence of the great doctor he could have been. He also knew, by instinct, and professional curiosity what lay behind the behaviour of men and women, whatever their race.
Consequently…
Consequently he was well aware that a Vulcan woman does not throw away her Pon Far on just anybody.
T'Pol didn't know anything of that, but Phlox knew. There was much more inside him than the unworthy and bad doctor people believed him to be. He had studied hard. He was a real doctor; a paragon of a doctor, a doctor to whom medicine was exactly what engineering meant to Tucker. Tucker would understand his expertise and dedication to his field.
TUCKER! Tucker again! It seemed that only Tucker was able to understand such things!
But what Tucker wasn't in position to understand was that there must have been something very deep in T'Pol's behaviour; so deep that not even she knew what it meant. Certainly Tucker had not been aware of the importance of what he had done, when he agreed to appease the needs of T'Pol.
He had followed the instincts of Human male.
And she had also followed the instincts of Vulcan female.
But there had been something else.
Something that was strange and unexpected.
That's right, because instinct alone could not explain what he had seen in their eyes; never mind Tucker and T'Pol's behaviour toward each other.
Sure, and that was the crux of the matter.
Why and how was it possible for such a thing to have happened?
The doctor tried, almost rabidly, to put his thoughts in order.
It was like... yes, it was like something even stranger and more unexpected than everything else that had happened. And it was still in evidence. It was as if, for some reason, a part of that other universe, of that living Utopia, had appeared in this universe.
In the Tucker he knew.
And in the T'Pol he knew.
Or it was as if a really strange and unexpected thing – sure – but, which somehow already existed, in the folds of this harsh world. Could it be that this amazing phenomenon had been waiting for the right people to awaken it?
At the right time;
But only for the right people…
The right people to foster absurd hope in an impossible universe,
The only people, that made sense to Phlox, were Tucker and T'Pol.
The doctor's eyes darted to one of medical console screens.
There were many screens monitoring the various vital signs of the sleeping woman. Apart from the basilar corporal functions, the Vulcan's pulse rate, blood pressure, venous pressure, heart rhythm, respiratory rate, intestinal peristalsis, gastric and bladder repletion were all measured…
The screen the doctor was drawn to, showed her mental activity, in the form of wave lines, which unfolded across the monitor, displaying the current status of her neuronal and psychic processes.
One thing was clear: T'Pol was dreaming.
There was nothing wrong with that. It might be true that Vulcans do not dream, or - rather - that they attempt to repress their dream activity through meditation, because they believe it could be dangerous. It was considered too primordial, too upsetting. For them, there was too much of a risk that their beloved and useless self-control could be compromised. But T'Pol had not been able to meditate for a long time and therefore she could not help but dream while in a deep refreshing sleep.
So, there was really nothing wrong with that. T'Pol was finally sleeping naturally; no longer under the hold of whatever hypnotic had been administered; so that during sleep, she was able to dream naturally.
No, there was really nothing wrong with that.
What, maybe, seemed slightly wrong – or, rather, strange - was an aspect of T'Pol's dream-waves.
Eh sure, Phlox was a great doctor, rich with much cognizance. For example he knew the different patterns of dream-waves belonging to the many races that populated space; and he knew, too, that, according to the latest acquired cognitions, each individual race seemed to have their own peculiar pattern of cerebral dream-waves.
He attentively observed T'Pol's displayed oneiric brain waves.
He was confident that she was definitely dreaming.
But the surprising fact was that she was dreaming just like a Human.
Or to put it another way, her dreams were displayed in a pattern of cerebral dream-waves practically super imposable on a Human pattern.
Phlox stood up slowly, without letting his eyes stray from the screen.
There was something inside him that he hadn't felt for a very long time, and that he had believed he would never feel again.
It was curiosity, scientific curiosity,
And also a feeling that he had found a connection to someone else's life.
T'Pol was dreaming.
And Tucker... how could she be using his brain waves patterns in her dream?
The staring eyes of the young Orion man gazed at Hayes' face, as if they were trying to figure something out, staring in incredulous wonderment. Then the pupils moved upward, and, as the light in them faded, the man loosened his desperate grip on Hayes, and started to slip slowly towards the ground.
Hayes hacked with his knife in a sudden surge, thrusting into the Alien's flesh, where it had already been driven in, freeing him from the knife's cruel bite only for Hayes, with satisfied determination, to inflict one last fierce wound on him. He then allowed him to fall to the ground, enjoying with pleasure, the ultimate horrible grimace of pain on the Orion's face as his deliberate cutthroat act caused the final and mindful glare of a man's life as it ran away.
The man slid down bit by bit, while the spitefully smiling eyes of Hayes watched, his body slipping down against the General's body; his blood copiously dunking the Human's combat uniform.
Once the Alien was finally lying in a broken heap in front of Hayes, there were a few last gasps, and then he gave his soul to his God.
Hayes looked with grim satisfaction at the inert form by his feet. That bastard had dared assault him; too bad that the circumstances didn't allow him to treat the Alien in the way he deserved. And in addition - the General glanced sidelong at his uniform - he had dirtied his combat suit with the Orion's impure blood.
Damn Aliens, damn rebels!
With a sudden motion, the General turned around and with consummate skill flipped the knife upward into the air.
Seamlessly, in one fluid motion, he elegantly recaptured the falling knife and then threw it angrily and forcefully, at an almost impossible speed.
The knife sliced through air with a rapid and ominous whistling, until it reached its target.
The old Andorian woman was on her knees in a row of other prisoners, with the rubble of a collapsed building behind them. Her hands held behind her head, as she waited under the threat of the guns of Hayes' soldiers, the woman appeared not to have noticed what had just happened to her.
Without a moan, she slipped to the ground, her neck sliced from one side to the other by the knife.
All of the other prisoners held their breath. They stared at the body of the old woman, who had so suddenly met her death; then they locked their eyes on Hayes.
They caught sight of his eyes behind the combat helmet visor he wore.
And they understood what was about to happen.
They didn't even have time to think about trying to escape.
The deadly weapon flames extinguished all of their dreams in one blow.
Hayes hacked with his knife in a sudden surge, thrusting into the Alien's flesh, where it had already been driven in, freeing him from the knife's cruel bite only for Hayes, with satisfied determination, to inflict one last fierce wound on him. He then allowed him to fall to the ground, enjoying with pleasure, the ultimate horrible grimace of pain on the Orion's face as his deliberate cutthroat act caused the final and mindful glare of a man's life as it ran away.
The man slid down bit by bit, while the spitefully smiling eyes of Hayes watched, his body slipping down against the General's body; his blood copiously dunking the Human's combat uniform.
Once the Alien was finally lying in a broken heap in front of Hayes, there were a few last gasps, and then he gave his soul to his God.
Hayes looked with grim satisfaction at the inert form by his feet. That bastard had dared assault him; too bad that the circumstances didn't allow him to treat the Alien in the way he deserved. And in addition - the General glanced sidelong at his uniform - he had dirtied his combat suit with the Orion's impure blood.
Damn Aliens, damn rebels!
With a sudden motion, the General turned around and with consummate skill flipped the knife upward into the air.
Seamlessly, in one fluid motion, he elegantly recaptured the falling knife and then threw it angrily and forcefully, at an almost impossible speed.
The knife sliced through air with a rapid and ominous whistling, until it reached its target.
The old Andorian woman was on her knees in a row of other prisoners, with the rubble of a collapsed building behind them. Her hands held behind her head, as she waited under the threat of the guns of Hayes' soldiers, the woman appeared not to have noticed what had just happened to her.
Without a moan, she slipped to the ground, her neck sliced from one side to the other by the knife.
All of the other prisoners held their breath. They stared at the body of the old woman, who had so suddenly met her death; then they locked their eyes on Hayes.
They caught sight of his eyes behind the combat helmet visor he wore.
And they understood what was about to happen.
They didn't even have time to think about trying to escape.
The deadly weapon flames extinguished all of their dreams in one blow.
For a moment it seemed as though everything around them was still; as if they were hanging in a void.
Harrad-Sar arched his back, feeling the stretch in his kidneys, as he raised his arms and elongated his body, like a diver trying to find the best position in that brief moment before the inevitable fall.
Then they began to fall.
In that instant, Harrad-Sar forced himself to let his torso to fall forward, until he found himself upside down, with his arms stretched out ahead of him as they plummeted headlong towards the far away earth.
The subtle body of T'Pau, clung onto his, as if she was without weight; like she was not even there.
But her teeth belied that impression.
They consistently inflicted pain on him as they fiercely jabbed at his bare neck.
But certainly the pain was nothing to Harrad-Sar; a mosquito bite would have been more annoying. At most, he felt the pain was useful, in that it made him even more vividly aware of the deadly madness he had thrown himself into.
And T'Pau was sinking into the madness with him.
As if he was in a movie, he saw the temple's spires approaching at the speed of a flash of light.
It was just like a surreal motion picture.
But the wind whistling around him reminded him that it was real, and they were falling in mad race towards almost certain death.
He had only one chance to avoid it, a plan born in the craziness of his brain.
And if he had failed...T'Pau:
Perhaps it was true that Vulcans did not dream...
But if he failed, then T'Pau wouldn't ever have any chance of dreaming again.
Harrad-Sar arched his back, feeling the stretch in his kidneys, as he raised his arms and elongated his body, like a diver trying to find the best position in that brief moment before the inevitable fall.
Then they began to fall.
In that instant, Harrad-Sar forced himself to let his torso to fall forward, until he found himself upside down, with his arms stretched out ahead of him as they plummeted headlong towards the far away earth.
The subtle body of T'Pau, clung onto his, as if she was without weight; like she was not even there.
But her teeth belied that impression.
They consistently inflicted pain on him as they fiercely jabbed at his bare neck.
But certainly the pain was nothing to Harrad-Sar; a mosquito bite would have been more annoying. At most, he felt the pain was useful, in that it made him even more vividly aware of the deadly madness he had thrown himself into.
And T'Pau was sinking into the madness with him.
As if he was in a movie, he saw the temple's spires approaching at the speed of a flash of light.
It was just like a surreal motion picture.
But the wind whistling around him reminded him that it was real, and they were falling in mad race towards almost certain death.
He had only one chance to avoid it, a plan born in the craziness of his brain.
And if he had failed...T'Pau:
Perhaps it was true that Vulcans did not dream...
But if he failed, then T'Pau wouldn't ever have any chance of dreaming again.
Phlox watched the brain waves of the dreaming T'Pol.
They were changing, becoming faster.
He turned his eyes toward the Vulcan.
She was breathing more rapidly.
She was no longer sleeping calmly.
The doctor went closer to the screen, looking again at the lines of waves.
They were intensifying.
What was T'Pol seeing in her dreams?
They were changing, becoming faster.
He turned his eyes toward the Vulcan.
She was breathing more rapidly.
She was no longer sleeping calmly.
The doctor went closer to the screen, looking again at the lines of waves.
They were intensifying.
What was T'Pol seeing in her dreams?
"Here we go, General Tucker." Valdore looked at Tucker with an impenetrable expression. "The game is yours."
He turned his eyes to the display screen.
"Show us that you're, as you Humans would say… "
He looked again at Tucker, gazing fixedly at his sombre visage,"… not a stupid… and dangerous… dreamer."
He turned his eyes to the display screen.
"Show us that you're, as you Humans would say… "
He looked again at Tucker, gazing fixedly at his sombre visage,"… not a stupid… and dangerous… dreamer."
From among the shapeless heap of inert bodies, one started to move.
There was one was still alive.
The soldiers seemed almost irked and raised their weapons to complete their work.
A face turned toward the men; a scared face, dirty and beautiful, with two gleaming wide open eyes full of terror and tears, which flowed down the green and shiny skin of her delicate cheeks.
The charming young Orion girl regarded the soldiers from the ground, while her pheromones spread through the air, trying by instinct to make their thousand-year old play, although she knew very well it was futile against the insurmountable barrier of the filters used in the combat helmets of the Humans. She was about to bid farewell to the light and the world before ever getting a chance to truly savour it. For the girl knew she was about to be ravaged by the excruciating fire of soulless Imperial armigers.
She raised her arms in a trembling gesture of heartbreaking invocation; her lovely visage sweaty and her usual cheeky attitude, which was such a distinctive feature of Orion females, totally forgotten. Her mouth was ajar as she recited a silent prayer of fear; and then, after a several moments filled with suspense, she bowed her head, and lowered her arms, as quivering and crying silently, she awaited her fate.
"NOT HER."
The words resounded around the space, strong and imperative, surmounting the noises of death and agony; gunshots, screams, laughter and jeers from the soldiery and the moans and the shouts of dread from people at the mercy of the Empire's retaliation.
The words rolled into the ears of the young girl and frightened her much more than the terror of dying.
She recognized the one who had just spoken.
And she recognized that in the instant those words had been spoken, her life had ended as surely if her death had been ordered.
Her life would be a waking death.
She raised her head and horrified, the young girl looked in the direction from whence the words had come.
The Commander of the dreaded Elite Guard of the Empire was slowly approaching her.
He reached her and kneeled down in front of her. Although she was scared she couldn't look away from his eyes, almost hidden behind the dark visor of his helmet.
The young girl saw the cold sparkle in the diaphanous blue of those eyes.
In her nightmares she had seen that glacial glitter, many times. And now her nightmares had become reality.
The mouth beneath the helmet spoke in a sibilant murmur to her.
"You're too gracious not to deserve something… different."
The man's sneering voice scuffed the last word and then he stood up, and turned around, as if what was about to happen was devoid of any importance.
He did not pay the slightest attention to the violent hands that grabbed the girl, to her struggling and screaming; to her desperate crying, as she was imprisoned in the chains of her damnation, marked by his insignias, to be preserved for him and conveyed, unharmed, to his quarters. For him to enjoy when all was done and the leaden peace of the Empire would fall forever on the dead city.
He inhaled harshly, looking around and savouring the inebriant taste of his power; of the rottenness of the dead.
The Empress would be satisfied.
He knew she was observing everything from the safety of her Admiralty Ship. The methodical and well guided slaughter that his soldiers were bringing down on the surviving rebels would enhance his quoted value greatly; nothing would be precluded from him henceforth; the current gallant one of the Empress should beware of him.
Hayes grinned to himself; yeah, who knows perhaps the Empress would deign to select him as a recipient of her personal favours. She couldn't be that bad, if, what was whispered by Archer before his premature death, and the vague hints from her bodyguards, were true. They had talked about the wild noises and the feminine chirps coming from behind her closed door, when Mayweather was inside with her.
Oh well, in any case his personal 'spoils of war' would have no problem rising to the occasion even as it fell due to leakage from some of its components… due to force majeure.
Eh sure. It was not easy… to hold his attention. - Hayes' inner grin became a malignant sneer. - That nice Orion girl would learn that the hard way, but surely he would have the opportunity to enjoy her for longer than usual, because Orions were tough people.
The grin vanished along with the pleasure he felt inside.
Sure, Orions were tough people; one of them in particular came to his mind.
Harrad-Sar - the first leader of Rebels, also their greatest and of course their final leader.
Hayes raised his head and directed his gaze ahead, toward the fumigant core of the city, where there was – or rather where there had been - the Command Centre of the Rebels. It was once been the fortified palace that had also been Harrad-Sar's residence.
He had seen it, before the ground attack had been launched. Then it had already been the prey of flames and ready for collapse and he looked forward to it being reduced to a heap of ruins, beneath which the bodies of the Resistance Leaders would be buried.
He expected Harrad-Sar's body to be among the corpses.
But if even half of the rumours about the Rebels' Orion Leader were true, it would not be surprising to discover that he was still alive.
And if he had luck on his side...
Hayes smiled openly to himself.
He wouldn't kill Harrad-Sar. No.
He would capture him - Alive. And then he would deliver him - alive and well - into the hands of the Empress.
Hayes grunted, with satisfied anticipation. The slow and frighteningly cruel death to which the Empress would condemn Harrad-Sar would be wonderful to see and enjoy. Only T'Pol, if she had the mischance to fall into the hands of the Empress again, would experience a worse death.
Hayes snorted with determination. Harrad-Sar had to be still alive, so that he, Hayes, could find and - above all - capture him; because he could have everything he wanted in recompense. Everything, even... even that Vulcan female, that… T'Pau.
Once again he felt his mind latch onto his obsession. The rare Vulcan females he had managed to hold in his hands…
They had been without comparison; definitely.
But they were indeed difficult to find; they were rare commodity. And that T'Pau... he had seen her, and there was something about her... She was not T'Pol, that was certain, but only the departed Chief Engineer had had the good fortune to have T'Pol, and, on the other hand, if it were possible to get hold of that Vulcan bitch again, he knew for sure the Empress would not give her to him.
But that T'Pau…
Sure, she seemed to be very close to the leaders of the revolt, most likely she was herself a leader, and, consequently, could not be given as war prey to anyone other than the Empress; but if he caught Harrad-Sar and pushed him into the sweet embrace of the Empress…
Hayes started to march, heading toward the city centre, toward the place which had been the power base of rebels.
He really hoped Harrad-Sar was still alive, and that the Vulcan female was also with him.
A female scream of pain and fear drew his attention. He turned round to look at his squadron of men following behind him. One of them was roughly hauling up the Orion Girl, who had fallen and been dragged along the ground.
Hayes smiled openly, this time, while turning back again towards his destination.
This would be a very remarkable day, a day to be remembered forever. It would be a day of triumph for the Empire; and for himself.
And on this triumphal day, he would be able to feel the full measure of his success, having also caught for his pleasurable love games an Orion female. Wondrous things were told with regard to Orion women and their love abilities. And – he grinned again to himself – he had become aware by personal experience that those things were not mere rumours. His near future looked really nice.
But this was not all: if fortune would help him, maybe this could become an even brighter future, both for his dreams of ambition and with regard to his private dreams.
However, he knew that luck had to be helped; nothing was given gratuitously in this cruel world. He must not lose his concentration, it was important to be attentive and ready to seize the moment when and if it was presented.
He ceased to secretly grin, and focused on his aim.
Now the palace of Harrad-Sar came into full view. It was in flames, and was falling apart, like almost all the buildings around it. However, the Temple next to it appeared to be still intact. It seemed to be the only area that could be approached without excessive danger, at least for the moment, and... yes... probably the only route Harrad-Sar could have tried to use, if he was still alive, to escape the collapse of his headquarters.
Without hesitating, he walked firmly to the Temple, followed loyally by his soldiers, who still dragged the young Orion woman with them.
Was it really possible that he would find Harrad-Sar there, still alive and ready to fall into his hands? Would he be able to crown his triumph fully and throw himself toward greater and more substantial dreams of power and ambition?
Perhaps not, but something, possibly his evil genius which had always advised him well during his whole life, told him that he was not deceiving himself.
He felt sure that he was about to meet Harrad-Sar; as well as that charming Vulcan female.
He would complete his triumph with the capture of the Head of the Rebellion.
And...he wouldn't allow the memory of Corporal Cole's sad eyes, which still stubbornly and inexplicably flashed into his mind, to prevent him from fully fulfilling his private and lustful dreams.
There was one was still alive.
The soldiers seemed almost irked and raised their weapons to complete their work.
A face turned toward the men; a scared face, dirty and beautiful, with two gleaming wide open eyes full of terror and tears, which flowed down the green and shiny skin of her delicate cheeks.
The charming young Orion girl regarded the soldiers from the ground, while her pheromones spread through the air, trying by instinct to make their thousand-year old play, although she knew very well it was futile against the insurmountable barrier of the filters used in the combat helmets of the Humans. She was about to bid farewell to the light and the world before ever getting a chance to truly savour it. For the girl knew she was about to be ravaged by the excruciating fire of soulless Imperial armigers.
She raised her arms in a trembling gesture of heartbreaking invocation; her lovely visage sweaty and her usual cheeky attitude, which was such a distinctive feature of Orion females, totally forgotten. Her mouth was ajar as she recited a silent prayer of fear; and then, after a several moments filled with suspense, she bowed her head, and lowered her arms, as quivering and crying silently, she awaited her fate.
"NOT HER."
The words resounded around the space, strong and imperative, surmounting the noises of death and agony; gunshots, screams, laughter and jeers from the soldiery and the moans and the shouts of dread from people at the mercy of the Empire's retaliation.
The words rolled into the ears of the young girl and frightened her much more than the terror of dying.
She recognized the one who had just spoken.
And she recognized that in the instant those words had been spoken, her life had ended as surely if her death had been ordered.
Her life would be a waking death.
She raised her head and horrified, the young girl looked in the direction from whence the words had come.
The Commander of the dreaded Elite Guard of the Empire was slowly approaching her.
He reached her and kneeled down in front of her. Although she was scared she couldn't look away from his eyes, almost hidden behind the dark visor of his helmet.
The young girl saw the cold sparkle in the diaphanous blue of those eyes.
In her nightmares she had seen that glacial glitter, many times. And now her nightmares had become reality.
The mouth beneath the helmet spoke in a sibilant murmur to her.
"You're too gracious not to deserve something… different."
The man's sneering voice scuffed the last word and then he stood up, and turned around, as if what was about to happen was devoid of any importance.
He did not pay the slightest attention to the violent hands that grabbed the girl, to her struggling and screaming; to her desperate crying, as she was imprisoned in the chains of her damnation, marked by his insignias, to be preserved for him and conveyed, unharmed, to his quarters. For him to enjoy when all was done and the leaden peace of the Empire would fall forever on the dead city.
He inhaled harshly, looking around and savouring the inebriant taste of his power; of the rottenness of the dead.
The Empress would be satisfied.
He knew she was observing everything from the safety of her Admiralty Ship. The methodical and well guided slaughter that his soldiers were bringing down on the surviving rebels would enhance his quoted value greatly; nothing would be precluded from him henceforth; the current gallant one of the Empress should beware of him.
Hayes grinned to himself; yeah, who knows perhaps the Empress would deign to select him as a recipient of her personal favours. She couldn't be that bad, if, what was whispered by Archer before his premature death, and the vague hints from her bodyguards, were true. They had talked about the wild noises and the feminine chirps coming from behind her closed door, when Mayweather was inside with her.
Oh well, in any case his personal 'spoils of war' would have no problem rising to the occasion even as it fell due to leakage from some of its components… due to force majeure.
Eh sure. It was not easy… to hold his attention. - Hayes' inner grin became a malignant sneer. - That nice Orion girl would learn that the hard way, but surely he would have the opportunity to enjoy her for longer than usual, because Orions were tough people.
The grin vanished along with the pleasure he felt inside.
Sure, Orions were tough people; one of them in particular came to his mind.
Harrad-Sar - the first leader of Rebels, also their greatest and of course their final leader.
Hayes raised his head and directed his gaze ahead, toward the fumigant core of the city, where there was – or rather where there had been - the Command Centre of the Rebels. It was once been the fortified palace that had also been Harrad-Sar's residence.
He had seen it, before the ground attack had been launched. Then it had already been the prey of flames and ready for collapse and he looked forward to it being reduced to a heap of ruins, beneath which the bodies of the Resistance Leaders would be buried.
He expected Harrad-Sar's body to be among the corpses.
But if even half of the rumours about the Rebels' Orion Leader were true, it would not be surprising to discover that he was still alive.
And if he had luck on his side...
Hayes smiled openly to himself.
He wouldn't kill Harrad-Sar. No.
He would capture him - Alive. And then he would deliver him - alive and well - into the hands of the Empress.
Hayes grunted, with satisfied anticipation. The slow and frighteningly cruel death to which the Empress would condemn Harrad-Sar would be wonderful to see and enjoy. Only T'Pol, if she had the mischance to fall into the hands of the Empress again, would experience a worse death.
Hayes snorted with determination. Harrad-Sar had to be still alive, so that he, Hayes, could find and - above all - capture him; because he could have everything he wanted in recompense. Everything, even... even that Vulcan female, that… T'Pau.
Once again he felt his mind latch onto his obsession. The rare Vulcan females he had managed to hold in his hands…
They had been without comparison; definitely.
But they were indeed difficult to find; they were rare commodity. And that T'Pau... he had seen her, and there was something about her... She was not T'Pol, that was certain, but only the departed Chief Engineer had had the good fortune to have T'Pol, and, on the other hand, if it were possible to get hold of that Vulcan bitch again, he knew for sure the Empress would not give her to him.
But that T'Pau…
Sure, she seemed to be very close to the leaders of the revolt, most likely she was herself a leader, and, consequently, could not be given as war prey to anyone other than the Empress; but if he caught Harrad-Sar and pushed him into the sweet embrace of the Empress…
Hayes started to march, heading toward the city centre, toward the place which had been the power base of rebels.
He really hoped Harrad-Sar was still alive, and that the Vulcan female was also with him.
A female scream of pain and fear drew his attention. He turned round to look at his squadron of men following behind him. One of them was roughly hauling up the Orion Girl, who had fallen and been dragged along the ground.
Hayes smiled openly, this time, while turning back again towards his destination.
This would be a very remarkable day, a day to be remembered forever. It would be a day of triumph for the Empire; and for himself.
And on this triumphal day, he would be able to feel the full measure of his success, having also caught for his pleasurable love games an Orion female. Wondrous things were told with regard to Orion women and their love abilities. And – he grinned again to himself – he had become aware by personal experience that those things were not mere rumours. His near future looked really nice.
But this was not all: if fortune would help him, maybe this could become an even brighter future, both for his dreams of ambition and with regard to his private dreams.
However, he knew that luck had to be helped; nothing was given gratuitously in this cruel world. He must not lose his concentration, it was important to be attentive and ready to seize the moment when and if it was presented.
He ceased to secretly grin, and focused on his aim.
Now the palace of Harrad-Sar came into full view. It was in flames, and was falling apart, like almost all the buildings around it. However, the Temple next to it appeared to be still intact. It seemed to be the only area that could be approached without excessive danger, at least for the moment, and... yes... probably the only route Harrad-Sar could have tried to use, if he was still alive, to escape the collapse of his headquarters.
Without hesitating, he walked firmly to the Temple, followed loyally by his soldiers, who still dragged the young Orion woman with them.
Was it really possible that he would find Harrad-Sar there, still alive and ready to fall into his hands? Would he be able to crown his triumph fully and throw himself toward greater and more substantial dreams of power and ambition?
Perhaps not, but something, possibly his evil genius which had always advised him well during his whole life, told him that he was not deceiving himself.
He felt sure that he was about to meet Harrad-Sar; as well as that charming Vulcan female.
He would complete his triumph with the capture of the Head of the Rebellion.
And...he wouldn't allow the memory of Corporal Cole's sad eyes, which still stubbornly and inexplicably flashed into his mind, to prevent him from fully fulfilling his private and lustful dreams.
"Do you not trust me, Valdore?"
Tucker's eyes had narrowed to thin slits on his ravaged face.
Valdore, despite having all the rocky self-assurance of his race, had always felt uncomfortable in front of that face and that look, from the beginning of their "working relationship". It had been the same when he had seen those eyes at a distance, in the secret, ironclad secure and rare video broadcasts which Tucker had only made when it had been absolutely necessary to communicate. At the beginning, on the even more rare occasions when he had met Tucker in person; and this latter period, during which he inevitably saw that face with a constant and not exactly welcome assiduity, it had not been particularly pleasant. That face had aged; had become tougher. And the scar, that deformity, seemed to be carried by Tucker as a mark of pain and scary darkness. It was a mark of grim solitude.
Tucker was alone when he was with Humans. And he was also alone when he was with his allies, the Romulans. In fact he still seemed to be apart from any race, no matter who he was with.
He was merely alone.
Valdore wondered if that was why he had wanted to save T'Pol? After all, it was rumoured that T'Pol had been the only one who had…warmed him.
Mh, sure. But the heat was…glacial. In the end, that Vulcan bitch had enveloped Tucker's heart in a thick layer of ice.
Ah bah! These were stupid thoughts. There was no heart in Tucker. It had been dissolved by the vitriol of life a long a time ago. And vitriol was a really fitting word to use.
Hey! So why the devil was he having these stupid thoughts?
Devil? Mah...Perhaps he had spent a bit too much time with Humans – or more importantly with Tucker. Something about them – or rather about him - had stuck to him.
Valdore succeeded in not allowing any of his weird thoughts to show, when he finally replied. His voice, when he spoke, resounded strong and biting.
He said only one word: "No."
In response, Tucker laughed uproariously, with what seemed to Valdore, to be real enjoyment. He felt that he would never be able to understand these Humans, let alone this Tucker.
And this also made him feel uncomfortable.
Tucker recovered from his attack of laughter. He turned to Valdore with a glint of mischief in his eyes.
"Well, I cannot say that you're wrong. Surely, I cannot be considered a very reliable person, at least in regard to my relationship with the Human Empire."
"You're a..."
"I'm a traitor to my own people? Sure, Valdore. But it seems that this hasn't prevented your people from using me, and from trusting me, for your own purposes. Nor you..." - Tucker's expression had became sinisterly crafty – "... from trusting me and taking advantage of me, for your own purposes."
Valdore turned his eyes again to the screen as his discomfort grew. If he had been Human, he would have alternately moved his centre of gravity from one leg to another. He had often observed Humans doing just that when they were ill at ease, for example… after something they would have preferred had not become common knowledge, was discovered.
He understood this feeling because it had just happened to him. The sly expression on Tucker's face reminded him that the man was too smart not to have realized that much of the information that the Human had provided, had been used by him for lots of purposes that were only personal. He had taken advantage of Tucker to advance his career by using the Human's information as he best saw fit; therefore the intelligence had not always been used in the most appropriate way to bring real benefit to his people. And if a man like Tucker, who had played an extremely dangerous double game for years, while advancing his own career, position and rank, and managing to remain alive and able to cooperate with Romulans at the same time… if such a man had decided to subtly reveal that he was aware of this, at that very moment ... Well, it was certainly not meaningless.
Valdore continued to stare at the screen, while his brain worked intensely.
Basically, Tucker had told him: "Be careful, not to hinder me; there are things I know about you that it is better for you no one else knows."
And as Tucker had just said this, it meant that he'd have to take all possible precautions in this regard. It was quite logical to think that whatever might happen to Tucker, not strictly related to his current mission, could bring into full light, things that it was preferable were kept concealed; as the revelations could lead to undesirable consequences for Valdore.
Yes, damn it, he thought, cursing the ways of Humans. That man was too damn smart. Never mind that he was far too subtly dangerous. Dealing with him was like having to spar with a tiger, but in the form of a snake, to make use of the Human metaphors. And to make matters worse, he had been the one who had created this beast.
Valdore exerted control on his emotions. One day or another he would find a way to get rid of Tucker, without danger to himself of course. And it wouldn't be a pleasant end for the Human. But for now, all he could do was... how did the Humans say it? ...live with the gaff. In addition, it was certainly not the right time for him to act. Tucker was useful. And how! He was even essential, considering that what he had asserted had been found to be absolutely true. A new phase had begun in regard to relations with the Human Empire. The new technologies it had acquired required a different way of approach, a more... aggressive one. It was no longer the time just to watch, while continuing to extend an impalpable network of infiltrators into positions of power within the Empire. The fact had to faced, that the balance of force had shifted decisively in favour of the Human Empire, which meant, as Tucker rightly claimed, that it was now only a matter of time, before the Human Empire – with a new aggressive Empress at the helm - would pull the Romulans out of the shadows they hid in. And inflict a taste of Human domination on them. It would be necessary to become more manipulative, albeit with an added need to be ultra cautious, because the current situation was not favourable. It was still necessary to act from the shadows, but also to be ready to make a show when the time was right. They had to behave cagily and prudently, but with determination.
The problem for Valdore was that he was not entirely convinced that the path of action Tucker had suggested was the right one. His mind returned to the Vulcan female. Why rescue her? Many Romulan lives had been risked during the rescue, never mind the danger of the Empire discovering that they had been behind the plot? He had risked his own life, too, by wanting to personally lead the game. And why rescue that treacherous doctor, Phlox? Why him too?
Of course, Tucker had been absolutely convincing:
Demonstrative action... Instilling fear by doing something that was neither foreseen nor known ... The symbolic value of T'Pol as a sign of the revolt started in the new heart of the Human Empire's power base... The undeniable help she could provide with her race, which demanded Phlox's skilful intervention to restore her good health, both mentally and physically…The need for Tucker to prove that he could also do more than just talk, particularly because of the new circumstances that existed, so the rescue team command should be his (Of course, And surely Reed had been very happy about that, considering what had happened to him!)
And so on ...
A very true and convincing case to make:
But Tucker had always been very convincing; it was not surprising that he had become General Tucker of the Romulan Secret Services, and as a result, it was now very hard to oppose him.
Sometimes Valdore wondered if by chance he had created a monster that would eat up not only the Human Empire, but also the Empire to which Valdore gave allegiance, and for which Tucker apparently worked for as well.
Apparently…
Why had that particular word appeared at Valdore's mind? Nothing could push him to think that Tucker could behave toward the Romulan Empire in the same way he had acted toward the Human Empire. It was absolutely true that after his recruitment by Valdore himself, Tucker had provided great intelligence and skill and aided the gradual penetration of the Romulan Empire into the ganglia of the Human Empire, laying the groundwork for the future conquest. The rank of General had not been gained for nothing, on part of Tucker. And certainly it was not his fault that the Rebellion had provoked such an unexpected change in the situation. To be honest, Tucker had very quickly suggested the best action to take, in light of the new circumstances, on that occasion. Just as he did later, when the waters, already turbulent because of the Rebellion, were even more upset by the arrival of Defiant, and everything that had followed. Maybe, he had even reacted a little too quickly?
… His job had been to make contact with the rebels, using discretion, and to keep a close eye on the Rebellion. It was useful to counter the power of the Human Empire, but it was also necessary that the Rebellion did not make too much headway. The victory of the rebels would have thrown the Quadrant into an ungovernable mess, and then all the patient work of Valdore's Empire would have been useless…
All true, all unquestionable.
And, in effect, all agreed, by Valdore as the leader of Romulans involved in the plan. He had found that the analysis of the situation made by Tucker, and the solutions he had proposed were perfectly logical and acceptable.
And Tucker's usefulness had become indispensable.
But perhaps, to think of it, hadn't Tucker been a bit too fast in his analysis and in providing appropriate solutions?
And yet, Humans were justly famous for making rapid decisions. Some people asserted that this was also a limitation and that it would be the cause of their perdition, one fine day. But, for now, it was the main cause of their rapid, relentless and unstoppable ascent. And Tucker, with his vivid intelligence and resolute and fierce temper, was the champion of this attitude. Indeed, Valdore had been able to take advantage by watching the Human's actions and responses to problems; it could lead to taking possession of the Human Empire by the back-door. To get a hold of a species when you do not have the strength to openly fight them, it is necessary to rely on someone who thinks and acts like that species. He was after all a person, who possessed all the vices and virtues, to the highest degree of that species.
A person who could think quickly, act quickly, and take decisions decisively.
Someone who was able to face new and unexpected situations: then calculate the pros and cons of any situation, and change their mind and course of action with the speed of lightning and in accordance with rapidly changing events.
That was Tucker, and Valdore couldn't help but feel an ambivalent respect for him, mixed with a diffident admiration.
Diffident...
Yeah.
Because the fact was that Tucker had the ineffable ability to put the others in front of forced choices, and make them seem to be the only valid ones.
But was it really so?
Like when Tucker realized it was time for him to appear to die, and had persuaded Valdore that this was the only valid choice, also indicating the method and timing; and dragging Phlox in tow.
Or like when, he and his superiors had been convinced that it was necessary to rescue T'Pol.
It had been presented, once again, as the only valid choice.
Or like this time, when they...
"The cat got your tongue?"
At the sound of Tucker's mocking voice, Valdore roused himself, trying to make sense of what the Human had just said.
He looked at the Human with vacant eyes and saw the light of mocking fun in Tucker's eyes.
Tucker's voice rose again, still jeering, and really amused. "I said..."
Valdore silenced Tucker swiftly. "I understood."
Tucker did not seem to give the slightest weight to the glacial and harsh tone of Valdore. He shrugged his shoulders, saying only with quiet arrogance "Ah, good."
Valdore would never get used to this. Humans... Tucker... and his abrupt and unpredictable changes in behaviour... the difficulty in realizing what he meant; to understand what was hidden behind his tone, his words... and even if there was something hidden.
It was a draining fatigue.
Even as a Romulan, he hadn't been left unharmed because of all he had gone through. His people owed him a great deal for the hard work that he had shouldered; recruiting and working with Humans and with this Human in particular.
He couldn't understand what T'Pol saw in him.
Valdore suppressed the disturbing desire to sigh, while looking at Tucker. The Human was watching him, with a look that was saying: "So?"
Valdore understood that he couldn't remain silent. He spoke with his usual sharp and firm voice. "I was thinking, Human."
"About what?"
"I was thinking that your race often takes decisions under the influence personal feelings."
"Explain what you mean."
"Do not deny what you are because, that day, you will have chosen to act through personal need."
"Sure, and you have been doing a good job good of pushing me to make such a choice."
"That is true, and it is also true, as you Humans say, that a leopard cannot change its spots."
Tucker frowned visibly. "What do you mean, Valdore?"
"We are here, on the verge of taking an important step towards our goal, because of your influence, Tucker."
"This is the most logical course of action, Valdore. Everyone, including you, agreed to do this. It is the most rational choice."
"And absolutely not a choice based on personal feelings or needs, right Tucker?"
"What the hell, what motives could I have that are so personal, I am willing to risk my life trying to save a damn Orion rebel who is probably already dead?"
"Perhaps nothing, Human, but admit it, it's hard not to think that something personal lies behind the choice to run such a high personal risk. Considering that many Romulans will follow you in this enterprise, it would be highly regrettable that you and my men might die for a choice based on personal intentions, and even worse that we launched an action based only on these personal intentions. The fate of the Romulan Empire is at stake."
"And the fate of the Human Empire, Valdore."
"Human…"
"Romulan!" This time Tucker's voice was anything but mocking. He was brusque and loud. Never before had Valdore heard the Human speak to him like that.
The man took a short breath, then crossed his arms across his chest and looked steadily at the Romulan.
His voice was a low murmur; and sounded menacing.
"Romulan, I don't think it's time to discuss what is already established. Our course of action and the mission we are about to start have been fully debated - and approved, Valdore."
Tucker narrowed his eyes, keeping them fixed on the Romulan.
"Approved by your superiors, Valdore, just remember that..." - he paused for a instant, then spat out the last word as if it was an insult – "...Romulan!"
Valdore's eyes sparkled with anger. Romulan, Vulcan or whatever, there was a limit to his patience. "Human! This is too much! Remember who you are!"
Tucker looked at Valdore for a long time without speaking, his eyes glittering with a violent fury, his deformed face contracted in a dumb wrath.
Then the rage and fury disappeared from his visage.
He uncrossed his arms and lowered them to his sides, with what seemed like a gesture of submission, his head bowed, hiding his face from Valdore's sight.
It was just for a short instant, and then he raised his eyes to meet the Romulan's.
They, the sane normal looking eye and the one crossed by his scar, looked lacklustre; he seemed lifeless,
Gloomy,
And sad.
His voice sounded flat when he spoke.
"I know who I am, Valdore." He took a slight breath, and then went on; speaking in such a feeble voice it could hardly be heard, even with a Romulan's acute ears. "I am a vile and unworthy traitor. I am a worm with no honour, no home, and no friends. I have been marked in body and soul. I am the deceiver and the deceived. And I am condemned to live a life, day to day, without light."
The man then turned around, showing his back to Valdore, his hands crossed behind him.
Without moving, he resumed his speech, his voice full of harsh bitterness. "I have been sentenced to demonstrate my ability, my capability, and my courage every day. That I am a being worthy of life."
He turned slowly to face Valdore again, crossing his arms on his chest once more, only this time without any semblance of defiance, almost as if he wanted to protect himself. "That was the case in T'Pol's rescue; as it is now, in this mission."
The sadness in the Human's eyes seemed like deep chasms, the same feeling as reflected in his voice. "To constantly demonstrate my loyalty, by risking myself, that a worm could be given the same semblance of dignity. All in order to gain credibility from those who do not expect anything more than to crush this worm."
Valdore was caught off guard by this unexpected flow of words, so far away from the usual mode of expression he was used to from Tucker. It was so different from his normal demeanour.
He half opened his mouth to say… to say…
For the first time in his life, he found that he was at a loss for words.
Tucker raised his hand, unconsciously and mercifully saving Valdore from his search for a response, with that gesture. Then with his arms crossed again he spoke, as he gazed straight into the Romulan's eyes, his voice still in a low tone. But this time any harshness or sadness had disappeared from his voice; it was absolutely calm.
"I do not seek excuses or understanding, Valdore. You pulled the trigger, but the choice was mine. I am responsible for my life and what I am. And my choice, what I am, cannot be erased. I must do what my choice and my life require. I must fight along with you and your people. I must fight for our cause."
After taking a very short break, Tucker spoke again, this time his voice had an icy controlled tone.
"I can understand your concerns and your puzzlement at my choices and actions, although I think it's a bit late to let them throw our mission into doubt. However, just because this road we are travelling on is long and perilous, fraught with unknowns, I think it is better to drive away any doubt, and clarify everything. You must let me know your fears immediately, before it's too late. When we act, it must be as one man to ensure that we reach the end of the road, and achieve all of our goals."
Tucker narrowed his eyes until they were slits.
"Valdore, the enemy is not me."
He raised his head to the screen and pointed at the powerful flagship of the Empress, motionless in space, and radiating an aura of quiet deadly force ready to manifest itself in all its power when the need arose.
"The enemy is out there."
Tucker lowered his visage to Valdore again, and talked, using his hands to give more weight to his words.
"Our common enemy is the Empire, Valdore; the human Empire!"
The Human clenched his fists, with restrained fury.
"The Empire that did this to me!"
He raised his right fist in front his face, tightening it so fiercely that the knuckles became white.
"The Empire that hurt T'Pol so cruelly!"
Valdore almost flinched at Tucker's last words. He narrowly managed to make a calm reply.
"So it's true, Human."
"What, Romulan?" Tucker's eyes sparkled again, in what seemed to the Romulan to be a sort of knowingly amused way.
"That your actions are influenced by your personal feelings."
"Have I ever denied this? I am Human, Valdore, I can't split mind from soul. But I don't think this is futile. On the contrary, it can be very helpful."
"Maybe, as long as it doesn't obfuscate your thought processes."
"Do you have any complaints about the role my personal feelings played with regard to the choice I made when I decided to serve the Romulan cause?"
"In that circumstance your decision came from hatred, Tucker. Hatred; Lucid and conscious. But with regard to yourVulcan female, that was different, and such different feeling that might really blur a man's mind, from what I know, even though I am unable to understand this fact, and even though it's hard to believe that you ..."
Once again Tucker burst into laughter. It seemed that he had to force himself to stop laughing.
The tone of his voice was mocking again. "You're right, Valdore; that would be very hard to believe. Impossible, you would even say. Although it's much more difficult to believe that a Romulan could talk about such things. Don't you think, Valdore that you have been hanging out with Humans a little too long?"
Valdore had to restrain himself one more time, as he heard Tucker say aloud what he privately thought.
Suddenly, Tucker seemed to become serious, as he spoke solemnly to the Romulan. "And I must add that you're doubly right, Valdore. No, more, Triple that." And Valdore thought he caught a flash of a teasing taunt in the blue of the Human's eyes.
The Romulan looked uncertainly at Tucker, unable to discern the meaning of his tone, the contrast between his attitude and the twinkle of fun in his eyes. "What do you mean, Human?"
"Apart from what you have already underlined, it's true that I also acted on my personal feelings, when with your help, I decided to save T'Pol. It was personal, Valdore. And it is also true, as you rightly noted that she is mine."
The man's lips bent into a sardonic smile. "So that I can be sure you understand: I could not allow something that belongs to me, to be ruined forever. She is one of my personal belongings."
The wry smile of Tucker became a bit more marked. "And when, thanks to Phlox, she is fully recovered..." - The smile grew. – "... I'll show her what I can do with what belongs to me. What I will do to one of the most pleasantly usable of my personal belongings."
Tucker grinned. "You know, Humans need such things; they help clear their minds, make them more able to take the right decisions, as you want me to be capable of doing. So, you can now understand why I wanted to rescue T'Pol, apart from her undoubted worth to our cause. I don't think any of your Romulan women would be willing to help me to clarify my mind, and I'm sure you wouldn't want my clarity to make decisions adversely affected. But with T'Pol..."
The sardonic smile widened into a mocking laugh. "Oh, don't worry, Valdore. Even if I must wait for T'Pol to be fully recovered in order that she can be useful to me, allowing me to act with the needed lucidity, I am at present under the beneficial effect of the personal satisfaction I took from my encounter with Reed. It will be enough until T'Pol is able to fully serve me."
Valdore watched Tucker with blank eyes. No. He would never get used to this. Lies or the truth, seriousness or clowning around; all mixed together, at the same time, without any possibility of understanding where the one finished and the other began. Romulans, like their cousins, the Vulcans, didn't lie. They could hide the truth, but they didn't say one thing in the place of another. That was a Human ability, a capability that no other breed had, or at least to such a high degree. This was their most powerful secret weapon, the real secret of their success.
They were the sons of evil.
No, it was more than that. They weren't just wicked, in a wicked and debauched universe. They were beyond wickedness, because they were… amoral.
They wallowed in this evil universe.
They were this universe.
Valdore was right. It needed the banner of Human race, to try to defeat this race.
It needed Tucker.
He was the man.
And it seemed that despite all of Valdore's suspicions; despite what Tucker had done for that Vulcan bitch, the Human was still the heartless man he had always been.
He was the standard-bearer for his heartless breed.
Of course, this was only the case if Valdore had really understood what was true, in the disorienting game the Human used to present himself.
The Romulan attempted to take charge of this game. After all it had been Valdore who had mentored Tucker for his current role.
He nodded imperiously, and spoke firmly, avoiding making any comment in response to Tucker's words. "It's time, Human. My men are ready. It's up to you."
In that instant, he felt the uncomfortable sensation that he had swallowed the bait, as Tucker would say. And what made it worse was that he did not even know what the bait was.
However, there was no time or way at that moment. In any case, one fact was certain: the monitoring of Tucker had to be increased to the nth degree. As well as the watch kept on the Vulcan female.
Tucker nodded in turn, with that hint of a jeering smile on his face, which made him look even more deformed and disquieting under the red light of the small command bridge.
His voice sounded absolutely normal. "Good, Valdore. As you say, it is time and I am glad. You seemed almost lost in some sort of strange dream there, but obviously that's impossible: you're a Romulan; you can't be lost in dreams. Unless my bad influence has already managed to affect you to that extent."
He did not give Valdore time to respond, turning on his heel and walking quickly toward the exit. Then he disappeared beyond it.
Valdore heard him shout back one last time from the corridor.
"However, you do not need to worry. I won't tell anyone that the steely Valdore sometimes gets lost in dreams."
Tucker's eyes had narrowed to thin slits on his ravaged face.
Valdore, despite having all the rocky self-assurance of his race, had always felt uncomfortable in front of that face and that look, from the beginning of their "working relationship". It had been the same when he had seen those eyes at a distance, in the secret, ironclad secure and rare video broadcasts which Tucker had only made when it had been absolutely necessary to communicate. At the beginning, on the even more rare occasions when he had met Tucker in person; and this latter period, during which he inevitably saw that face with a constant and not exactly welcome assiduity, it had not been particularly pleasant. That face had aged; had become tougher. And the scar, that deformity, seemed to be carried by Tucker as a mark of pain and scary darkness. It was a mark of grim solitude.
Tucker was alone when he was with Humans. And he was also alone when he was with his allies, the Romulans. In fact he still seemed to be apart from any race, no matter who he was with.
He was merely alone.
Valdore wondered if that was why he had wanted to save T'Pol? After all, it was rumoured that T'Pol had been the only one who had…warmed him.
Mh, sure. But the heat was…glacial. In the end, that Vulcan bitch had enveloped Tucker's heart in a thick layer of ice.
Ah bah! These were stupid thoughts. There was no heart in Tucker. It had been dissolved by the vitriol of life a long a time ago. And vitriol was a really fitting word to use.
Hey! So why the devil was he having these stupid thoughts?
Devil? Mah...Perhaps he had spent a bit too much time with Humans – or more importantly with Tucker. Something about them – or rather about him - had stuck to him.
Valdore succeeded in not allowing any of his weird thoughts to show, when he finally replied. His voice, when he spoke, resounded strong and biting.
He said only one word: "No."
In response, Tucker laughed uproariously, with what seemed to Valdore, to be real enjoyment. He felt that he would never be able to understand these Humans, let alone this Tucker.
And this also made him feel uncomfortable.
Tucker recovered from his attack of laughter. He turned to Valdore with a glint of mischief in his eyes.
"Well, I cannot say that you're wrong. Surely, I cannot be considered a very reliable person, at least in regard to my relationship with the Human Empire."
"You're a..."
"I'm a traitor to my own people? Sure, Valdore. But it seems that this hasn't prevented your people from using me, and from trusting me, for your own purposes. Nor you..." - Tucker's expression had became sinisterly crafty – "... from trusting me and taking advantage of me, for your own purposes."
Valdore turned his eyes again to the screen as his discomfort grew. If he had been Human, he would have alternately moved his centre of gravity from one leg to another. He had often observed Humans doing just that when they were ill at ease, for example… after something they would have preferred had not become common knowledge, was discovered.
He understood this feeling because it had just happened to him. The sly expression on Tucker's face reminded him that the man was too smart not to have realized that much of the information that the Human had provided, had been used by him for lots of purposes that were only personal. He had taken advantage of Tucker to advance his career by using the Human's information as he best saw fit; therefore the intelligence had not always been used in the most appropriate way to bring real benefit to his people. And if a man like Tucker, who had played an extremely dangerous double game for years, while advancing his own career, position and rank, and managing to remain alive and able to cooperate with Romulans at the same time… if such a man had decided to subtly reveal that he was aware of this, at that very moment ... Well, it was certainly not meaningless.
Valdore continued to stare at the screen, while his brain worked intensely.
Basically, Tucker had told him: "Be careful, not to hinder me; there are things I know about you that it is better for you no one else knows."
And as Tucker had just said this, it meant that he'd have to take all possible precautions in this regard. It was quite logical to think that whatever might happen to Tucker, not strictly related to his current mission, could bring into full light, things that it was preferable were kept concealed; as the revelations could lead to undesirable consequences for Valdore.
Yes, damn it, he thought, cursing the ways of Humans. That man was too damn smart. Never mind that he was far too subtly dangerous. Dealing with him was like having to spar with a tiger, but in the form of a snake, to make use of the Human metaphors. And to make matters worse, he had been the one who had created this beast.
Valdore exerted control on his emotions. One day or another he would find a way to get rid of Tucker, without danger to himself of course. And it wouldn't be a pleasant end for the Human. But for now, all he could do was... how did the Humans say it? ...live with the gaff. In addition, it was certainly not the right time for him to act. Tucker was useful. And how! He was even essential, considering that what he had asserted had been found to be absolutely true. A new phase had begun in regard to relations with the Human Empire. The new technologies it had acquired required a different way of approach, a more... aggressive one. It was no longer the time just to watch, while continuing to extend an impalpable network of infiltrators into positions of power within the Empire. The fact had to faced, that the balance of force had shifted decisively in favour of the Human Empire, which meant, as Tucker rightly claimed, that it was now only a matter of time, before the Human Empire – with a new aggressive Empress at the helm - would pull the Romulans out of the shadows they hid in. And inflict a taste of Human domination on them. It would be necessary to become more manipulative, albeit with an added need to be ultra cautious, because the current situation was not favourable. It was still necessary to act from the shadows, but also to be ready to make a show when the time was right. They had to behave cagily and prudently, but with determination.
The problem for Valdore was that he was not entirely convinced that the path of action Tucker had suggested was the right one. His mind returned to the Vulcan female. Why rescue her? Many Romulan lives had been risked during the rescue, never mind the danger of the Empire discovering that they had been behind the plot? He had risked his own life, too, by wanting to personally lead the game. And why rescue that treacherous doctor, Phlox? Why him too?
Of course, Tucker had been absolutely convincing:
Demonstrative action... Instilling fear by doing something that was neither foreseen nor known ... The symbolic value of T'Pol as a sign of the revolt started in the new heart of the Human Empire's power base... The undeniable help she could provide with her race, which demanded Phlox's skilful intervention to restore her good health, both mentally and physically…The need for Tucker to prove that he could also do more than just talk, particularly because of the new circumstances that existed, so the rescue team command should be his (Of course, And surely Reed had been very happy about that, considering what had happened to him!)
And so on ...
A very true and convincing case to make:
But Tucker had always been very convincing; it was not surprising that he had become General Tucker of the Romulan Secret Services, and as a result, it was now very hard to oppose him.
Sometimes Valdore wondered if by chance he had created a monster that would eat up not only the Human Empire, but also the Empire to which Valdore gave allegiance, and for which Tucker apparently worked for as well.
Apparently…
Why had that particular word appeared at Valdore's mind? Nothing could push him to think that Tucker could behave toward the Romulan Empire in the same way he had acted toward the Human Empire. It was absolutely true that after his recruitment by Valdore himself, Tucker had provided great intelligence and skill and aided the gradual penetration of the Romulan Empire into the ganglia of the Human Empire, laying the groundwork for the future conquest. The rank of General had not been gained for nothing, on part of Tucker. And certainly it was not his fault that the Rebellion had provoked such an unexpected change in the situation. To be honest, Tucker had very quickly suggested the best action to take, in light of the new circumstances, on that occasion. Just as he did later, when the waters, already turbulent because of the Rebellion, were even more upset by the arrival of Defiant, and everything that had followed. Maybe, he had even reacted a little too quickly?
… His job had been to make contact with the rebels, using discretion, and to keep a close eye on the Rebellion. It was useful to counter the power of the Human Empire, but it was also necessary that the Rebellion did not make too much headway. The victory of the rebels would have thrown the Quadrant into an ungovernable mess, and then all the patient work of Valdore's Empire would have been useless…
All true, all unquestionable.
And, in effect, all agreed, by Valdore as the leader of Romulans involved in the plan. He had found that the analysis of the situation made by Tucker, and the solutions he had proposed were perfectly logical and acceptable.
And Tucker's usefulness had become indispensable.
But perhaps, to think of it, hadn't Tucker been a bit too fast in his analysis and in providing appropriate solutions?
And yet, Humans were justly famous for making rapid decisions. Some people asserted that this was also a limitation and that it would be the cause of their perdition, one fine day. But, for now, it was the main cause of their rapid, relentless and unstoppable ascent. And Tucker, with his vivid intelligence and resolute and fierce temper, was the champion of this attitude. Indeed, Valdore had been able to take advantage by watching the Human's actions and responses to problems; it could lead to taking possession of the Human Empire by the back-door. To get a hold of a species when you do not have the strength to openly fight them, it is necessary to rely on someone who thinks and acts like that species. He was after all a person, who possessed all the vices and virtues, to the highest degree of that species.
A person who could think quickly, act quickly, and take decisions decisively.
Someone who was able to face new and unexpected situations: then calculate the pros and cons of any situation, and change their mind and course of action with the speed of lightning and in accordance with rapidly changing events.
That was Tucker, and Valdore couldn't help but feel an ambivalent respect for him, mixed with a diffident admiration.
Diffident...
Yeah.
Because the fact was that Tucker had the ineffable ability to put the others in front of forced choices, and make them seem to be the only valid ones.
But was it really so?
Like when Tucker realized it was time for him to appear to die, and had persuaded Valdore that this was the only valid choice, also indicating the method and timing; and dragging Phlox in tow.
Or like when, he and his superiors had been convinced that it was necessary to rescue T'Pol.
It had been presented, once again, as the only valid choice.
Or like this time, when they...
"The cat got your tongue?"
At the sound of Tucker's mocking voice, Valdore roused himself, trying to make sense of what the Human had just said.
He looked at the Human with vacant eyes and saw the light of mocking fun in Tucker's eyes.
Tucker's voice rose again, still jeering, and really amused. "I said..."
Valdore silenced Tucker swiftly. "I understood."
Tucker did not seem to give the slightest weight to the glacial and harsh tone of Valdore. He shrugged his shoulders, saying only with quiet arrogance "Ah, good."
Valdore would never get used to this. Humans... Tucker... and his abrupt and unpredictable changes in behaviour... the difficulty in realizing what he meant; to understand what was hidden behind his tone, his words... and even if there was something hidden.
It was a draining fatigue.
Even as a Romulan, he hadn't been left unharmed because of all he had gone through. His people owed him a great deal for the hard work that he had shouldered; recruiting and working with Humans and with this Human in particular.
He couldn't understand what T'Pol saw in him.
Valdore suppressed the disturbing desire to sigh, while looking at Tucker. The Human was watching him, with a look that was saying: "So?"
Valdore understood that he couldn't remain silent. He spoke with his usual sharp and firm voice. "I was thinking, Human."
"About what?"
"I was thinking that your race often takes decisions under the influence personal feelings."
"Explain what you mean."
"Do not deny what you are because, that day, you will have chosen to act through personal need."
"Sure, and you have been doing a good job good of pushing me to make such a choice."
"That is true, and it is also true, as you Humans say, that a leopard cannot change its spots."
Tucker frowned visibly. "What do you mean, Valdore?"
"We are here, on the verge of taking an important step towards our goal, because of your influence, Tucker."
"This is the most logical course of action, Valdore. Everyone, including you, agreed to do this. It is the most rational choice."
"And absolutely not a choice based on personal feelings or needs, right Tucker?"
"What the hell, what motives could I have that are so personal, I am willing to risk my life trying to save a damn Orion rebel who is probably already dead?"
"Perhaps nothing, Human, but admit it, it's hard not to think that something personal lies behind the choice to run such a high personal risk. Considering that many Romulans will follow you in this enterprise, it would be highly regrettable that you and my men might die for a choice based on personal intentions, and even worse that we launched an action based only on these personal intentions. The fate of the Romulan Empire is at stake."
"And the fate of the Human Empire, Valdore."
"Human…"
"Romulan!" This time Tucker's voice was anything but mocking. He was brusque and loud. Never before had Valdore heard the Human speak to him like that.
The man took a short breath, then crossed his arms across his chest and looked steadily at the Romulan.
His voice was a low murmur; and sounded menacing.
"Romulan, I don't think it's time to discuss what is already established. Our course of action and the mission we are about to start have been fully debated - and approved, Valdore."
Tucker narrowed his eyes, keeping them fixed on the Romulan.
"Approved by your superiors, Valdore, just remember that..." - he paused for a instant, then spat out the last word as if it was an insult – "...Romulan!"
Valdore's eyes sparkled with anger. Romulan, Vulcan or whatever, there was a limit to his patience. "Human! This is too much! Remember who you are!"
Tucker looked at Valdore for a long time without speaking, his eyes glittering with a violent fury, his deformed face contracted in a dumb wrath.
Then the rage and fury disappeared from his visage.
He uncrossed his arms and lowered them to his sides, with what seemed like a gesture of submission, his head bowed, hiding his face from Valdore's sight.
It was just for a short instant, and then he raised his eyes to meet the Romulan's.
They, the sane normal looking eye and the one crossed by his scar, looked lacklustre; he seemed lifeless,
Gloomy,
And sad.
His voice sounded flat when he spoke.
"I know who I am, Valdore." He took a slight breath, and then went on; speaking in such a feeble voice it could hardly be heard, even with a Romulan's acute ears. "I am a vile and unworthy traitor. I am a worm with no honour, no home, and no friends. I have been marked in body and soul. I am the deceiver and the deceived. And I am condemned to live a life, day to day, without light."
The man then turned around, showing his back to Valdore, his hands crossed behind him.
Without moving, he resumed his speech, his voice full of harsh bitterness. "I have been sentenced to demonstrate my ability, my capability, and my courage every day. That I am a being worthy of life."
He turned slowly to face Valdore again, crossing his arms on his chest once more, only this time without any semblance of defiance, almost as if he wanted to protect himself. "That was the case in T'Pol's rescue; as it is now, in this mission."
The sadness in the Human's eyes seemed like deep chasms, the same feeling as reflected in his voice. "To constantly demonstrate my loyalty, by risking myself, that a worm could be given the same semblance of dignity. All in order to gain credibility from those who do not expect anything more than to crush this worm."
Valdore was caught off guard by this unexpected flow of words, so far away from the usual mode of expression he was used to from Tucker. It was so different from his normal demeanour.
He half opened his mouth to say… to say…
For the first time in his life, he found that he was at a loss for words.
Tucker raised his hand, unconsciously and mercifully saving Valdore from his search for a response, with that gesture. Then with his arms crossed again he spoke, as he gazed straight into the Romulan's eyes, his voice still in a low tone. But this time any harshness or sadness had disappeared from his voice; it was absolutely calm.
"I do not seek excuses or understanding, Valdore. You pulled the trigger, but the choice was mine. I am responsible for my life and what I am. And my choice, what I am, cannot be erased. I must do what my choice and my life require. I must fight along with you and your people. I must fight for our cause."
After taking a very short break, Tucker spoke again, this time his voice had an icy controlled tone.
"I can understand your concerns and your puzzlement at my choices and actions, although I think it's a bit late to let them throw our mission into doubt. However, just because this road we are travelling on is long and perilous, fraught with unknowns, I think it is better to drive away any doubt, and clarify everything. You must let me know your fears immediately, before it's too late. When we act, it must be as one man to ensure that we reach the end of the road, and achieve all of our goals."
Tucker narrowed his eyes until they were slits.
"Valdore, the enemy is not me."
He raised his head to the screen and pointed at the powerful flagship of the Empress, motionless in space, and radiating an aura of quiet deadly force ready to manifest itself in all its power when the need arose.
"The enemy is out there."
Tucker lowered his visage to Valdore again, and talked, using his hands to give more weight to his words.
"Our common enemy is the Empire, Valdore; the human Empire!"
The Human clenched his fists, with restrained fury.
"The Empire that did this to me!"
He raised his right fist in front his face, tightening it so fiercely that the knuckles became white.
"The Empire that hurt T'Pol so cruelly!"
Valdore almost flinched at Tucker's last words. He narrowly managed to make a calm reply.
"So it's true, Human."
"What, Romulan?" Tucker's eyes sparkled again, in what seemed to the Romulan to be a sort of knowingly amused way.
"That your actions are influenced by your personal feelings."
"Have I ever denied this? I am Human, Valdore, I can't split mind from soul. But I don't think this is futile. On the contrary, it can be very helpful."
"Maybe, as long as it doesn't obfuscate your thought processes."
"Do you have any complaints about the role my personal feelings played with regard to the choice I made when I decided to serve the Romulan cause?"
"In that circumstance your decision came from hatred, Tucker. Hatred; Lucid and conscious. But with regard to yourVulcan female, that was different, and such different feeling that might really blur a man's mind, from what I know, even though I am unable to understand this fact, and even though it's hard to believe that you ..."
Once again Tucker burst into laughter. It seemed that he had to force himself to stop laughing.
The tone of his voice was mocking again. "You're right, Valdore; that would be very hard to believe. Impossible, you would even say. Although it's much more difficult to believe that a Romulan could talk about such things. Don't you think, Valdore that you have been hanging out with Humans a little too long?"
Valdore had to restrain himself one more time, as he heard Tucker say aloud what he privately thought.
Suddenly, Tucker seemed to become serious, as he spoke solemnly to the Romulan. "And I must add that you're doubly right, Valdore. No, more, Triple that." And Valdore thought he caught a flash of a teasing taunt in the blue of the Human's eyes.
The Romulan looked uncertainly at Tucker, unable to discern the meaning of his tone, the contrast between his attitude and the twinkle of fun in his eyes. "What do you mean, Human?"
"Apart from what you have already underlined, it's true that I also acted on my personal feelings, when with your help, I decided to save T'Pol. It was personal, Valdore. And it is also true, as you rightly noted that she is mine."
The man's lips bent into a sardonic smile. "So that I can be sure you understand: I could not allow something that belongs to me, to be ruined forever. She is one of my personal belongings."
The wry smile of Tucker became a bit more marked. "And when, thanks to Phlox, she is fully recovered..." - The smile grew. – "... I'll show her what I can do with what belongs to me. What I will do to one of the most pleasantly usable of my personal belongings."
Tucker grinned. "You know, Humans need such things; they help clear their minds, make them more able to take the right decisions, as you want me to be capable of doing. So, you can now understand why I wanted to rescue T'Pol, apart from her undoubted worth to our cause. I don't think any of your Romulan women would be willing to help me to clarify my mind, and I'm sure you wouldn't want my clarity to make decisions adversely affected. But with T'Pol..."
The sardonic smile widened into a mocking laugh. "Oh, don't worry, Valdore. Even if I must wait for T'Pol to be fully recovered in order that she can be useful to me, allowing me to act with the needed lucidity, I am at present under the beneficial effect of the personal satisfaction I took from my encounter with Reed. It will be enough until T'Pol is able to fully serve me."
Valdore watched Tucker with blank eyes. No. He would never get used to this. Lies or the truth, seriousness or clowning around; all mixed together, at the same time, without any possibility of understanding where the one finished and the other began. Romulans, like their cousins, the Vulcans, didn't lie. They could hide the truth, but they didn't say one thing in the place of another. That was a Human ability, a capability that no other breed had, or at least to such a high degree. This was their most powerful secret weapon, the real secret of their success.
They were the sons of evil.
No, it was more than that. They weren't just wicked, in a wicked and debauched universe. They were beyond wickedness, because they were… amoral.
They wallowed in this evil universe.
They were this universe.
Valdore was right. It needed the banner of Human race, to try to defeat this race.
It needed Tucker.
He was the man.
And it seemed that despite all of Valdore's suspicions; despite what Tucker had done for that Vulcan bitch, the Human was still the heartless man he had always been.
He was the standard-bearer for his heartless breed.
Of course, this was only the case if Valdore had really understood what was true, in the disorienting game the Human used to present himself.
The Romulan attempted to take charge of this game. After all it had been Valdore who had mentored Tucker for his current role.
He nodded imperiously, and spoke firmly, avoiding making any comment in response to Tucker's words. "It's time, Human. My men are ready. It's up to you."
In that instant, he felt the uncomfortable sensation that he had swallowed the bait, as Tucker would say. And what made it worse was that he did not even know what the bait was.
However, there was no time or way at that moment. In any case, one fact was certain: the monitoring of Tucker had to be increased to the nth degree. As well as the watch kept on the Vulcan female.
Tucker nodded in turn, with that hint of a jeering smile on his face, which made him look even more deformed and disquieting under the red light of the small command bridge.
His voice sounded absolutely normal. "Good, Valdore. As you say, it is time and I am glad. You seemed almost lost in some sort of strange dream there, but obviously that's impossible: you're a Romulan; you can't be lost in dreams. Unless my bad influence has already managed to affect you to that extent."
He did not give Valdore time to respond, turning on his heel and walking quickly toward the exit. Then he disappeared beyond it.
Valdore heard him shout back one last time from the corridor.
"However, you do not need to worry. I won't tell anyone that the steely Valdore sometimes gets lost in dreams."
Phlox continued to observe T'Pol's brain waves, as shown on the monitor, his interest mixed with concern.
They were now quiet again.
As if T'Pol had got some peace in her dreams.
They were now quiet again.
As if T'Pol had got some peace in her dreams.
Tucker walked quickly down the corridor, his mind a lot quieter.
Damned Romulan! It had been a close shave! But fortunately he had succeeded in sidetracking Valdore. Certainly, it had been a hard toil, but he had managed it, and now his relief was such that it even overtook his anxieties and fears.
Yeah, but what had happened was the clearest proof that the game was really hard, now. If ever there had been a time when it could have seemed a bit easier.
Yeah. Sure.
Tucker reached the transmitter field platform, on which the small group of Romulans who were to accompany him on this mission, were waiting.
Yes, the game was becoming very, very hard.
He looked at the stiff expressionless faces of the Romulans. Sure, they were expressionless, but he could still get a sense of their mood.
Here comes the human worm, the treacherous and untrustworthy one. Guide us, General Tucker and do not make the slightest mistake. Otherwise, we will mercilessly crush the worm that you are.
He was not deceiving himself: this was written on those faces. On the other hand, could he expect any different reaction? For the Romulans, he could only be a miserable deceitful worm, ready to trick them as he had deceived the Empire. The only thing that could protect him was the fact that the Romulans could not imagine something other than that his personal interests lurked behind his actions. They thought that he was there with them only because events within the Human Empire forced him to be there. And indeed this was true for the most part. What else could he do now that the arrival of the Defiant had upset all his plans and inexorably cut off any possibility for him to count on his "protection"? What option had he, but to "die" and then reach those who could offer him a bit of uncertain security and their suspicious help. His plans were now completely different from the ones he had made after the first winds of the Rebellion had blown through the minds and hearts of the most disgruntled vassals of the Empire.
Yeah. And the game was hard now, much harder than it had been before. It was one thing to deal with Valdore and the Romulans from afar; something else when he had to survive in their midst.
To say that he was alone did not begin to express the depth of his loneliness.
Tucker smiled bitterly to himself. What was he thinking? When ever had he not felt alone?
Apart for those few fleeting instants when he had thought that T'Pol...
Yeah. But then T'Pol had revealed her true self. Yet, why should he expect her to be different? For the "beautiful" face - he grinned bitterly to himself – of a Human as evil and arrogant as all Humans? What else had he deserved from T'Pol, but deception and contempt? Why should T'Pol not use him in the way that women have used men all along in order to reach their aims? It was expected in a universe that did not allow them to be different, to act differently? And, in addition, how could T'Pol know that he...
And then, perhaps, if what she had done to him was for a higher ideal ... perhaps she was not like the other women of this universe; she was not without light; perhaps she ... perhaps she...
In any case, he could never have let her die in that terrible way. No. He could not have done that. Not to her. Not also to her. After... after what had happened to Lizzy!
And so he had added another very difficult to control variable to the myriad of other problems that made up his game. And what's more he had to include Phlox, in his tremendous scheme.
He felt an immense fatigue press down on his shoulders. But what was he doing? What was he doing? How could he think of entrusting to the absurd hope that everything he knew of Harrad-Sar; his indomitable capacity for survival, would enable him to find the Orion man, still alive, and ready to help him rebuild his dangerous and tiring game of deceit?
And yet wasn't it true, by chance, that he had always worked that way? That he had always entrusted everything to the most absurd hope? Had he killed, deceived and betrayed, always in the name of absurd hope? His absurd dream? For that he had forced himself to change his game, totally and completely, every time the mocking fates had surreptitiously changed the cards on the table?
Hadn't it always been so? Hadn't he always entrusted everything to the most absurd dream? Hadn't he always held onto the most absurd hope? What was different in this dream; a hope he would find a man who was most likely already dead? And it was imperative that he was the one to find this man alive. He knew that if Harrad-Sar was alive and he did not get to the Orion male first, his "compassionate" Human brothers would claim this prize. And his compassionate brothers knew very well how to extract all possible information from their prisoners, even some secrets this man did not know he possessed. And that would be really unfortunate.
So, he and the Romulan team had to find Harrad-Sar, if he was still alive. But he, Tucker, could not afford to let the Romulans find the Orion without being present. It had to happen that way, because he could not fully trust that the Romulans would not yield to the temptation to interrogate Harrad-Sar if he was not there. They too, knew how to extract information, even if the prisoner was unconscious. And even this outcome would be extremely unfortunate.
Complicated? And what made this mission different from the past?
What?
Something was there. Actually it was someone, T'Pol.
This time if he fell he would drag T'Pol with him; she was now inextricably linked to him in the suspicious minds of the Romulans.
And he could not allow that to happen.
He could not!
So, come on man! It was another task he had to pull off!
What was the crazy title of that absurd movie that he had seen? That movie dating back to a time before the Empire, when power and potency had not yet completely corrupted and perverted Humans?
Play It Again, Sam.
One more time, Tucker searched his crazy sense of humour for the necessarily absurd strength he needed to get ahead in this stupid and absurd game. This was his stupid and absurd dream.
Play It Again, Sam, he repeated to himself, while he found a place on the platform beside the stiff and silent Romulans.
His face was a mask of nothingness; his scar was forbidding in the dark.
He motioned that the device be made operational.
Then his atoms were pulled apart and dispersed within a multicoloured light. It was always an unpleasant feeling, which he would never get used to experiencing.
In those brief, although they felt interminable, seconds of estrangement, he was aware of the tension in his mind, just like a violin bow about to engage the tension in its strings.
Then, suddenly, he found himself in another place. He was in the midst of the rebellious city, and prey to fire, destruction and death.
His ears were assaulted by screams. His eyes were horrified by the inert bodies he saw. All of his senses could feel the terror palpitating in the air.
This was nothing like what he had heard, seen, and felt from afar; when he had watched on the screens of the Romulan ship.
It was in flames and about to collapse.
Were they too late? Was he too late?
He lowered his head in consternation and his eyes fell on a motionless body, lying not far away.
The body was that of a woman. A young, beautiful and dead woman, drowned in her own blood. In the air which reverberated with flames, and clouds of the thick smoke, her blood seemed to have a greenish shimmer. She seemed ... it seemed to him that she had pointed ears.
His head sprang up as he convulsively clutched the Romulan Lirpa, a sign of his command, in his hands.
He looked toward what had been the top of Harrad-Sar's palace.
He would not fail. He would find Harrad-Sar. Yes, and he would find him alive. And then he would succeed in what he had planned for the Orion leader.
He would not allow Valdore to be right: that all of his dreams could only be stupid… and dangerous…
Empty, futile, unrealizable...
... and only dreams.
Damned Romulan! It had been a close shave! But fortunately he had succeeded in sidetracking Valdore. Certainly, it had been a hard toil, but he had managed it, and now his relief was such that it even overtook his anxieties and fears.
Yeah, but what had happened was the clearest proof that the game was really hard, now. If ever there had been a time when it could have seemed a bit easier.
Yeah. Sure.
Tucker reached the transmitter field platform, on which the small group of Romulans who were to accompany him on this mission, were waiting.
Yes, the game was becoming very, very hard.
He looked at the stiff expressionless faces of the Romulans. Sure, they were expressionless, but he could still get a sense of their mood.
Here comes the human worm, the treacherous and untrustworthy one. Guide us, General Tucker and do not make the slightest mistake. Otherwise, we will mercilessly crush the worm that you are.
He was not deceiving himself: this was written on those faces. On the other hand, could he expect any different reaction? For the Romulans, he could only be a miserable deceitful worm, ready to trick them as he had deceived the Empire. The only thing that could protect him was the fact that the Romulans could not imagine something other than that his personal interests lurked behind his actions. They thought that he was there with them only because events within the Human Empire forced him to be there. And indeed this was true for the most part. What else could he do now that the arrival of the Defiant had upset all his plans and inexorably cut off any possibility for him to count on his "protection"? What option had he, but to "die" and then reach those who could offer him a bit of uncertain security and their suspicious help. His plans were now completely different from the ones he had made after the first winds of the Rebellion had blown through the minds and hearts of the most disgruntled vassals of the Empire.
Yeah. And the game was hard now, much harder than it had been before. It was one thing to deal with Valdore and the Romulans from afar; something else when he had to survive in their midst.
To say that he was alone did not begin to express the depth of his loneliness.
Tucker smiled bitterly to himself. What was he thinking? When ever had he not felt alone?
Apart for those few fleeting instants when he had thought that T'Pol...
Yeah. But then T'Pol had revealed her true self. Yet, why should he expect her to be different? For the "beautiful" face - he grinned bitterly to himself – of a Human as evil and arrogant as all Humans? What else had he deserved from T'Pol, but deception and contempt? Why should T'Pol not use him in the way that women have used men all along in order to reach their aims? It was expected in a universe that did not allow them to be different, to act differently? And, in addition, how could T'Pol know that he...
And then, perhaps, if what she had done to him was for a higher ideal ... perhaps she was not like the other women of this universe; she was not without light; perhaps she ... perhaps she...
In any case, he could never have let her die in that terrible way. No. He could not have done that. Not to her. Not also to her. After... after what had happened to Lizzy!
And so he had added another very difficult to control variable to the myriad of other problems that made up his game. And what's more he had to include Phlox, in his tremendous scheme.
He felt an immense fatigue press down on his shoulders. But what was he doing? What was he doing? How could he think of entrusting to the absurd hope that everything he knew of Harrad-Sar; his indomitable capacity for survival, would enable him to find the Orion man, still alive, and ready to help him rebuild his dangerous and tiring game of deceit?
And yet wasn't it true, by chance, that he had always worked that way? That he had always entrusted everything to the most absurd hope? Had he killed, deceived and betrayed, always in the name of absurd hope? His absurd dream? For that he had forced himself to change his game, totally and completely, every time the mocking fates had surreptitiously changed the cards on the table?
Hadn't it always been so? Hadn't he always entrusted everything to the most absurd dream? Hadn't he always held onto the most absurd hope? What was different in this dream; a hope he would find a man who was most likely already dead? And it was imperative that he was the one to find this man alive. He knew that if Harrad-Sar was alive and he did not get to the Orion male first, his "compassionate" Human brothers would claim this prize. And his compassionate brothers knew very well how to extract all possible information from their prisoners, even some secrets this man did not know he possessed. And that would be really unfortunate.
So, he and the Romulan team had to find Harrad-Sar, if he was still alive. But he, Tucker, could not afford to let the Romulans find the Orion without being present. It had to happen that way, because he could not fully trust that the Romulans would not yield to the temptation to interrogate Harrad-Sar if he was not there. They too, knew how to extract information, even if the prisoner was unconscious. And even this outcome would be extremely unfortunate.
Complicated? And what made this mission different from the past?
What?
Something was there. Actually it was someone, T'Pol.
This time if he fell he would drag T'Pol with him; she was now inextricably linked to him in the suspicious minds of the Romulans.
And he could not allow that to happen.
He could not!
So, come on man! It was another task he had to pull off!
What was the crazy title of that absurd movie that he had seen? That movie dating back to a time before the Empire, when power and potency had not yet completely corrupted and perverted Humans?
Play It Again, Sam.
One more time, Tucker searched his crazy sense of humour for the necessarily absurd strength he needed to get ahead in this stupid and absurd game. This was his stupid and absurd dream.
Play It Again, Sam, he repeated to himself, while he found a place on the platform beside the stiff and silent Romulans.
His face was a mask of nothingness; his scar was forbidding in the dark.
He motioned that the device be made operational.
Then his atoms were pulled apart and dispersed within a multicoloured light. It was always an unpleasant feeling, which he would never get used to experiencing.
In those brief, although they felt interminable, seconds of estrangement, he was aware of the tension in his mind, just like a violin bow about to engage the tension in its strings.
Then, suddenly, he found himself in another place. He was in the midst of the rebellious city, and prey to fire, destruction and death.
His ears were assaulted by screams. His eyes were horrified by the inert bodies he saw. All of his senses could feel the terror palpitating in the air.
This was nothing like what he had heard, seen, and felt from afar; when he had watched on the screens of the Romulan ship.
It was in flames and about to collapse.
Were they too late? Was he too late?
He lowered his head in consternation and his eyes fell on a motionless body, lying not far away.
The body was that of a woman. A young, beautiful and dead woman, drowned in her own blood. In the air which reverberated with flames, and clouds of the thick smoke, her blood seemed to have a greenish shimmer. She seemed ... it seemed to him that she had pointed ears.
His head sprang up as he convulsively clutched the Romulan Lirpa, a sign of his command, in his hands.
He looked toward what had been the top of Harrad-Sar's palace.
He would not fail. He would find Harrad-Sar. Yes, and he would find him alive. And then he would succeed in what he had planned for the Orion leader.
He would not allow Valdore to be right: that all of his dreams could only be stupid… and dangerous…
Empty, futile, unrealizable...
... and only dreams.
There was a sudden fluctuation in T'Pol's brainwaves. Then they began to spread unequally, at an irregular speed.
Phlox turned his head to regard T'Pol.
She was fidgeting under the sheet and breathing hard.
And her head moved jerkily from side to side on the pillow.
What on earth could she be dreaming about now?
Phlox turned his head to regard T'Pol.
She was fidgeting under the sheet and breathing hard.
And her head moved jerkily from side to side on the pillow.
What on earth could she be dreaming about now?
End of Chapter Five
Yeah! What on earth could T'Pol be dreaming about now?
Do you have any idea, my friends?
Do you have any idea, my friends?
Oh well, never mind. The next chapter will clarify everything.
Be careful, though....
Be careful, though....
See not to lose your head!
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COPYRIGHT 2013 © Asso - [email protected]
COPYRIGHT 2013 © Asso - [email protected]