Here we are, my friends.
Do you remember what I told you?
See not to lose your head.
This I had told you.
And now you will see that I did not speak in vain
Liar, I agree.
But honest.
Do you remember what I told you?
See not to lose your head.
This I had told you.
And now you will see that I did not speak in vain
Liar, I agree.
But honest.
Mh ... that one, that this disreputable gentleman, who on the helmet bears the insignia of the elite guard of the Human Empire and on the hauberk the insignia of Captain... that weapon, I said, is it, by chance, a Lirpa?
Let's read, my friends, let's read.
It's worth it.
In any case, remember. It's all fault of my ancestor.
Let's read, my friends, let's read.
It's worth it.
In any case, remember. It's all fault of my ancestor.
Chapter Six
The long whip snapped suddenly with an intense hiss that ended in a violent cracking sound.
The timing was perfect, precise. It couldn't afford to be a fraction of a second early or late.
The tip of the whip coiled up, like a hungry snake, around the pinnacle Harrad-Sar had targeted, in that infinitesimal moment when he had to make a choice, then direct the whip and finally act, all while he and T'Pau were dashing towards the ground, far below them and hungry for their lives.
And from that moment on, everything seemed to take an eternity to happen, although in reality time was passing in the beat of a dragonfly's wings.
A powerful reaction force was transmitted along the whip, until it reached the hand of Harrad-Sar, who grunted hard in an effort to dominate it. He had to grab the handle of the whip with his other hand. All his muscles tensed as he struggled not to lose his grip and withstand their sudden change of direction.
His body and that of T'Pau, clinging to him like a carnivorous plant, were pushed backwards.
Harrad-Sar managed to keep his arm in its socket, while the centrifugal force tried to throw them away from the steeples of the temple, and back towards his collapsing headquarters.
Then, for a microscopic instant, they were parallel to the distant ground, while describing a curvilinear path. When they at last straightened out, at the end of their crazy trajectory, their heads were upright again, and while they hung by the scourge as if it was the thread of their lives, Harrad-Sar finally saw the wall of the temple's dome coming awfully fast at them, as if it was ready and eager to smash them.
"Hold tight! Hold tight!" he screamed, feeling the girl's teeth convulsively sink even more in his neck and her arms and legs clench frantically at his torso and hips.
He shifted his weight, managing to change the direction of impact. In front of them now stood the glass pane of a great skylight that he had focused in on, in the short time he had been able to observe the wall supporting the dome. He lifted his legs at right angles to his body, as he and T'Pau dashed toward the large glass window.
His feet collided with the glass. They broke through it, smashing it into a thousand pieces.
Harrad-Sar with T'Pau in tow, penetrated like a torpedo into the dome, entering the large room that was behind the now shattered glass window.
Once again his timing was perfect as his hands let go of the whip just as they were flying through the smashed window.
The accumulated momentum made them dart in a blind flight across the room. The floor, which was substantially intact, apart from some infringement caused by the power of the Empire's attack, seemed to be rushing at them.
Instinctively, without even having to think about what he was doing, Harrad-Sar prepared himself for the certainty of impact.
He would absorb the brunt force with his body, which was heavy even without the added weight of T'Pau, against the floor. Although T'Pau was slender he knew she would be weighed down by the momentum.
He shouldn't be too badly injured if he did that.
It should prevent T'Pau from crashing too ruinously against the ground.
He should then be able to save himself and T'Pau again, just as they had avoided being sucked into the deadly void.
He couldn't squander what he had managed to do so far.
He did not think, did not ponder, did not reflect. He could not, there was no time.
He simply acted with the animalistic alertness that had made him a living legend: Harrad-Sar, the man that death had never managed to grasp.
A fraction of a second, and his feet bumped against the floor, his body tensed back obliquely and his arms stretched aloft.
His powerful legs bent like springs, enabling him to absorb much of the impact.
In a fluid motion, he straightened his legs, pushing against the floor with his feet, and generating a mighty tilt, he threw himself forward, projecting his arms ahead to facilitate the action.
He succeeded in projecting his upper body forwards and fell face down, against the floor. His hands bumped flat against it, but his vigour and long experience enabled him to absorb most of the shock, as he flexed his arms as if they were springs, managing to prevent them from being broken in the same way he had succeeded in saving his legs, using both the resistance and pliability of his trained limbs.
Finally, his body hit the floor, in its entirety, but he avoided slamming his head against it and also stopped himself from turning over, which would have caused a ruinous shock to his passenger, who had no means of protecting herself.
He slithered on his belly and chest, rubbing disastrously across the floor, hurting his thighs, knees, elbows, and his hands which were stretched forward. He still kept his head straight, the woman weighing down on his back, as they were dragged by the force of momentum, until a wall restrained their mad rush.
The final violent shock against the wall was impossible to avoid.
Then, their crazy and uncontrolled travels came to an abrupt end.
Harrad-Sar lay immovable. Then he shook his head, trying to understand and focus his mind, to dissolve the fog permeating his dazed brain.
He was alive, not even he knew how, but he was alive. And he realized, for real, what he had done
He shook his head again.
He was alive.
And... and the small Vulcan woman hanging behind him?
He felt her weight on him, inert.
They had bumped side on against the wall, and this had prevented him from having his head smashed in the collusion.
But... the Vulcan?
He continued to lie prone on the ground. Only moving his head slightly as he tried to figure out ... Yes, her head was still there, on his shoulder.
But she wasn't moving. She was ... was stock-still.
He spoke. His voice sounded strange even to him: it was ... was soft. "Vulcan. Are you... are you ...?"
A movement. Slight. A sigh. Slight.
Her voice.
Slight and dizzy. "A... alive?"
A pause. Bated.
Another movement.
Another sigh.
Then her voice. Again.
Low.
Uncertain.
She sounded anxious, but said in a clearly audible voice, "I do not know."
Her tone grew, became more solid, even if a crack could clearly be heard in it. "Logic would say no, but apparently it would seem so."
Harrad-Sar was relieved. He did not understand what the hell was happening to him, where all this concern was coming from for a damn Vulcan female. However, he could not deny he felt concern; he had risked all to save her.
To hell! Pragmatism, first of all! The rest ... bells unimportant.
He rose gingerly on his elbows and knees, with the Vulcan's reply still in his head he could not help but giggle. These damned Vulcans! They were strong in body and spirit; there was nothing else to say!
"Logic, eh? You know for Orions, Vulcan logic has no cards to play."
He felt her warm breath on his neck. "I know, otherwise why would you dare defy Human puissance?"
This comment drove Harrad-Sar back down to the reality of their situation.
Humans. Yeah. It was not over, not at all. They still had to find a way to get down, and then move about in a city ... held by Humans.
And even if they escaped the deadly grip of the Humans, where then could they go?
Oh, to hell! One thing at a time! He was Harrad-Sar, after all. The man feared even by death! He was the deathless Harrad-Sar and he would provide evidence of this fact one more time.
Grunting and snorting he rose up, ignoring the aches and pangs that affected his entire body. The Vulcan's body seemed to be heavier than before. He felt awfully tired and full of suffering.
But he needed not to be like that. He couldn't afford it.
He spoke harshly, turning slightly toward the female's face, while his bruised and bleeding hands untangled the belt buckle that tied him to her. "Get down."
He felt her arms let go of him and her body detach itself from his. Then he heard the soft thud of her feet against the ground.
He turned and saw her.
For the God of all the pirates! Certainly she hadn't passed unscathed through everything that had happened. And although Harrad-Sar avoided turning his eyes on himself - he knew he couldn't look any better. She was horribly bruised and tattered. Her body, still unripe but already attractively fleshy, was peeking everywhere from under her robe, which had been reduced to pitiful shreds. It was also strewn with blood, partly coagulated in greenish lumps, partly still flowing from the many bruises and wounds that covered her from head to toe.
In the gray-green of her face - dirty, dusty, sweaty, and veiled by unkempt and matted hair - her large eyes stood out, glittering with unconcealed fear. A fear for all that had occurred; and for all that might be waiting to ambush them.
But still she was stony, with a firm expression on her face.
Harrad-Sar grinned darkly. "I don't think Human men could find you appetizing in this state."
"To speak like them, not even you would be taken for a little flower."
A grin broadened on Harrad-Sar's face. Yes, decidedly these Vulcans were not so bad.
Then he frowned. There was still a lot of work to do. "Are you uninjured? No broken bones? Do you feel any pain?"
She could not help but sigh. She shivered slightly, but recovered swiftly, even if her voice sounded a little tremulous. "I seem to be uninjured, except some of my ribs may be broken or just cracked; only that."
She straightened her shoulders and managed to speak with a firm voice. "And with regard to pain... I am Vulcan. I have been trained to bear and control it."
Harrad-Sar nodded silently. Yeah, after all, these Vulcans were really not bad. Or rather, this Vulcan female... eh sure... she was indeed not bad.
"And you? How do you feel?"
Harrad-Sar almost jumped at this question. There was... well, he couldn't know this for certain, but there seemed to be concern in her tone.
Nah, that was impossible. A Vulcan couldn't feel such emotions. Nobody could feel this way for an Orion; for him, for Harrad-Sar. There was no room for such things in this Universe. The female... yes, the female needed him. She knew that, and her questions reflected that. There was nothing more... nothing more than that.
But, although it was idiotic he felt a strange knot in his throat. What was happening to him? Why had he done all those things for those eyes - those so innocent eyes – belonging to the Vulcan girl? What... what had that damned Vulcan man done to him in the moments before he died?
He also straightened, chasing away those odd thoughts from his mind for the umpteenth time, in this weird day of dread and death. And he tried to ignore the inexplicable sensations he had never felt before.
He spoke with harshness. "I am Harrad-Sar. I..."
The floor shook under their feet, a low and threatening rumble.
There was no longer time for pleasant conversations. They had to get away. Fortune favours the bold, but one mustn't take too much advantage of fair-weather.
"Let's go, Vulcan. We have not escaped death in the void to find it here."
He grasped her hand, as he had done when they made their escape through his headquarters, and once more she let him do it so that he might lead her, rapidly, towards the possibility of escape.
And once more Harrad-Sar felt a sense that he needed to protect her, which he wasn't able to explain, never mind that he did not want to.
But her hand was definitely secure in his. And he felt she was following him quietly, confidently.
Just like a little girlie with her dad.
Harrad-Sar barred those strange feelings from his mind. It was not the moment to lose his head with things that couldn't be explained.
He ran to the access doorway, leading to a staircase that descended into the dome, with her in tow.
They rushed through the door and then started to race down the stairs.
Hand in hand.
The timing was perfect, precise. It couldn't afford to be a fraction of a second early or late.
The tip of the whip coiled up, like a hungry snake, around the pinnacle Harrad-Sar had targeted, in that infinitesimal moment when he had to make a choice, then direct the whip and finally act, all while he and T'Pau were dashing towards the ground, far below them and hungry for their lives.
And from that moment on, everything seemed to take an eternity to happen, although in reality time was passing in the beat of a dragonfly's wings.
A powerful reaction force was transmitted along the whip, until it reached the hand of Harrad-Sar, who grunted hard in an effort to dominate it. He had to grab the handle of the whip with his other hand. All his muscles tensed as he struggled not to lose his grip and withstand their sudden change of direction.
His body and that of T'Pau, clinging to him like a carnivorous plant, were pushed backwards.
Harrad-Sar managed to keep his arm in its socket, while the centrifugal force tried to throw them away from the steeples of the temple, and back towards his collapsing headquarters.
Then, for a microscopic instant, they were parallel to the distant ground, while describing a curvilinear path. When they at last straightened out, at the end of their crazy trajectory, their heads were upright again, and while they hung by the scourge as if it was the thread of their lives, Harrad-Sar finally saw the wall of the temple's dome coming awfully fast at them, as if it was ready and eager to smash them.
"Hold tight! Hold tight!" he screamed, feeling the girl's teeth convulsively sink even more in his neck and her arms and legs clench frantically at his torso and hips.
He shifted his weight, managing to change the direction of impact. In front of them now stood the glass pane of a great skylight that he had focused in on, in the short time he had been able to observe the wall supporting the dome. He lifted his legs at right angles to his body, as he and T'Pau dashed toward the large glass window.
His feet collided with the glass. They broke through it, smashing it into a thousand pieces.
Harrad-Sar with T'Pau in tow, penetrated like a torpedo into the dome, entering the large room that was behind the now shattered glass window.
Once again his timing was perfect as his hands let go of the whip just as they were flying through the smashed window.
The accumulated momentum made them dart in a blind flight across the room. The floor, which was substantially intact, apart from some infringement caused by the power of the Empire's attack, seemed to be rushing at them.
Instinctively, without even having to think about what he was doing, Harrad-Sar prepared himself for the certainty of impact.
He would absorb the brunt force with his body, which was heavy even without the added weight of T'Pau, against the floor. Although T'Pau was slender he knew she would be weighed down by the momentum.
He shouldn't be too badly injured if he did that.
It should prevent T'Pau from crashing too ruinously against the ground.
He should then be able to save himself and T'Pau again, just as they had avoided being sucked into the deadly void.
He couldn't squander what he had managed to do so far.
He did not think, did not ponder, did not reflect. He could not, there was no time.
He simply acted with the animalistic alertness that had made him a living legend: Harrad-Sar, the man that death had never managed to grasp.
A fraction of a second, and his feet bumped against the floor, his body tensed back obliquely and his arms stretched aloft.
His powerful legs bent like springs, enabling him to absorb much of the impact.
In a fluid motion, he straightened his legs, pushing against the floor with his feet, and generating a mighty tilt, he threw himself forward, projecting his arms ahead to facilitate the action.
He succeeded in projecting his upper body forwards and fell face down, against the floor. His hands bumped flat against it, but his vigour and long experience enabled him to absorb most of the shock, as he flexed his arms as if they were springs, managing to prevent them from being broken in the same way he had succeeded in saving his legs, using both the resistance and pliability of his trained limbs.
Finally, his body hit the floor, in its entirety, but he avoided slamming his head against it and also stopped himself from turning over, which would have caused a ruinous shock to his passenger, who had no means of protecting herself.
He slithered on his belly and chest, rubbing disastrously across the floor, hurting his thighs, knees, elbows, and his hands which were stretched forward. He still kept his head straight, the woman weighing down on his back, as they were dragged by the force of momentum, until a wall restrained their mad rush.
The final violent shock against the wall was impossible to avoid.
Then, their crazy and uncontrolled travels came to an abrupt end.
Harrad-Sar lay immovable. Then he shook his head, trying to understand and focus his mind, to dissolve the fog permeating his dazed brain.
He was alive, not even he knew how, but he was alive. And he realized, for real, what he had done
He shook his head again.
He was alive.
And... and the small Vulcan woman hanging behind him?
He felt her weight on him, inert.
They had bumped side on against the wall, and this had prevented him from having his head smashed in the collusion.
But... the Vulcan?
He continued to lie prone on the ground. Only moving his head slightly as he tried to figure out ... Yes, her head was still there, on his shoulder.
But she wasn't moving. She was ... was stock-still.
He spoke. His voice sounded strange even to him: it was ... was soft. "Vulcan. Are you... are you ...?"
A movement. Slight. A sigh. Slight.
Her voice.
Slight and dizzy. "A... alive?"
A pause. Bated.
Another movement.
Another sigh.
Then her voice. Again.
Low.
Uncertain.
She sounded anxious, but said in a clearly audible voice, "I do not know."
Her tone grew, became more solid, even if a crack could clearly be heard in it. "Logic would say no, but apparently it would seem so."
Harrad-Sar was relieved. He did not understand what the hell was happening to him, where all this concern was coming from for a damn Vulcan female. However, he could not deny he felt concern; he had risked all to save her.
To hell! Pragmatism, first of all! The rest ... bells unimportant.
He rose gingerly on his elbows and knees, with the Vulcan's reply still in his head he could not help but giggle. These damned Vulcans! They were strong in body and spirit; there was nothing else to say!
"Logic, eh? You know for Orions, Vulcan logic has no cards to play."
He felt her warm breath on his neck. "I know, otherwise why would you dare defy Human puissance?"
This comment drove Harrad-Sar back down to the reality of their situation.
Humans. Yeah. It was not over, not at all. They still had to find a way to get down, and then move about in a city ... held by Humans.
And even if they escaped the deadly grip of the Humans, where then could they go?
Oh, to hell! One thing at a time! He was Harrad-Sar, after all. The man feared even by death! He was the deathless Harrad-Sar and he would provide evidence of this fact one more time.
Grunting and snorting he rose up, ignoring the aches and pangs that affected his entire body. The Vulcan's body seemed to be heavier than before. He felt awfully tired and full of suffering.
But he needed not to be like that. He couldn't afford it.
He spoke harshly, turning slightly toward the female's face, while his bruised and bleeding hands untangled the belt buckle that tied him to her. "Get down."
He felt her arms let go of him and her body detach itself from his. Then he heard the soft thud of her feet against the ground.
He turned and saw her.
For the God of all the pirates! Certainly she hadn't passed unscathed through everything that had happened. And although Harrad-Sar avoided turning his eyes on himself - he knew he couldn't look any better. She was horribly bruised and tattered. Her body, still unripe but already attractively fleshy, was peeking everywhere from under her robe, which had been reduced to pitiful shreds. It was also strewn with blood, partly coagulated in greenish lumps, partly still flowing from the many bruises and wounds that covered her from head to toe.
In the gray-green of her face - dirty, dusty, sweaty, and veiled by unkempt and matted hair - her large eyes stood out, glittering with unconcealed fear. A fear for all that had occurred; and for all that might be waiting to ambush them.
But still she was stony, with a firm expression on her face.
Harrad-Sar grinned darkly. "I don't think Human men could find you appetizing in this state."
"To speak like them, not even you would be taken for a little flower."
A grin broadened on Harrad-Sar's face. Yes, decidedly these Vulcans were not so bad.
Then he frowned. There was still a lot of work to do. "Are you uninjured? No broken bones? Do you feel any pain?"
She could not help but sigh. She shivered slightly, but recovered swiftly, even if her voice sounded a little tremulous. "I seem to be uninjured, except some of my ribs may be broken or just cracked; only that."
She straightened her shoulders and managed to speak with a firm voice. "And with regard to pain... I am Vulcan. I have been trained to bear and control it."
Harrad-Sar nodded silently. Yeah, after all, these Vulcans were really not bad. Or rather, this Vulcan female... eh sure... she was indeed not bad.
"And you? How do you feel?"
Harrad-Sar almost jumped at this question. There was... well, he couldn't know this for certain, but there seemed to be concern in her tone.
Nah, that was impossible. A Vulcan couldn't feel such emotions. Nobody could feel this way for an Orion; for him, for Harrad-Sar. There was no room for such things in this Universe. The female... yes, the female needed him. She knew that, and her questions reflected that. There was nothing more... nothing more than that.
But, although it was idiotic he felt a strange knot in his throat. What was happening to him? Why had he done all those things for those eyes - those so innocent eyes – belonging to the Vulcan girl? What... what had that damned Vulcan man done to him in the moments before he died?
He also straightened, chasing away those odd thoughts from his mind for the umpteenth time, in this weird day of dread and death. And he tried to ignore the inexplicable sensations he had never felt before.
He spoke with harshness. "I am Harrad-Sar. I..."
The floor shook under their feet, a low and threatening rumble.
There was no longer time for pleasant conversations. They had to get away. Fortune favours the bold, but one mustn't take too much advantage of fair-weather.
"Let's go, Vulcan. We have not escaped death in the void to find it here."
He grasped her hand, as he had done when they made their escape through his headquarters, and once more she let him do it so that he might lead her, rapidly, towards the possibility of escape.
And once more Harrad-Sar felt a sense that he needed to protect her, which he wasn't able to explain, never mind that he did not want to.
But her hand was definitely secure in his. And he felt she was following him quietly, confidently.
Just like a little girlie with her dad.
Harrad-Sar barred those strange feelings from his mind. It was not the moment to lose his head with things that couldn't be explained.
He ran to the access doorway, leading to a staircase that descended into the dome, with her in tow.
They rushed through the door and then started to race down the stairs.
Hand in hand.
Had his eyes deceived him? Was it possible? Had he lost his head by any chance? Was what he had seen true?
Up there, high up, distant, but clear, visible, distinguishable.
Two figures attached to each other...
As if in flight...
But a flight without wings that had finished quickly inside the Temple's imposing dome.
One of the figures had been much bigger than the other...
The suddenness of the fast flowing scene had been such that his quick reflexes had only kicked in at the very end, enabling him to activate the zoom inbuilt in his battle helmet visor. But that had been enough - the smaller figure... no, it hadn't been possible to identify who that was, because of the way the person was clinging to the larger body, keeping he or she hidden, concealed.
But the bigger one...
Hayes lowered his eyes to look at his soldiers.
For all their discipline, it was evident that they had been silently sounding out one another, unable to quite believe what they had seen. Even the young Orion girl seemed to have momentarily forgotten her chains, her pain and dread at her promised dark future. From her crouched position on the ground, her eyes were locked aloft; and the soldier who was holding her chains seemed to be paying no attention to his job or her, his eyes also fixed on the scene on high.
Hayes turned to look towards the base of the temple.
He focused in on its majestic door.
Up there, high up, distant, but clear, visible, distinguishable.
Two figures attached to each other...
As if in flight...
But a flight without wings that had finished quickly inside the Temple's imposing dome.
One of the figures had been much bigger than the other...
The suddenness of the fast flowing scene had been such that his quick reflexes had only kicked in at the very end, enabling him to activate the zoom inbuilt in his battle helmet visor. But that had been enough - the smaller figure... no, it hadn't been possible to identify who that was, because of the way the person was clinging to the larger body, keeping he or she hidden, concealed.
But the bigger one...
Hayes lowered his eyes to look at his soldiers.
For all their discipline, it was evident that they had been silently sounding out one another, unable to quite believe what they had seen. Even the young Orion girl seemed to have momentarily forgotten her chains, her pain and dread at her promised dark future. From her crouched position on the ground, her eyes were locked aloft; and the soldier who was holding her chains seemed to be paying no attention to his job or her, his eyes also fixed on the scene on high.
Hayes turned to look towards the base of the temple.
He focused in on its majestic door.
Had his eyes deceived him? Was it possible? Had he lost his head by any chance? Was what he had seen true?
And yet his senses had never cheated him, and his good eye had always been able to see even for the injured, even from a great distance, like the one that separated him and his minions from the high summits of Harrad-Sar's burning building and theTemple.
He had really seen those figures darting far away up there, like crazy trapezists, throwing themselves against the dome of the Temple. He had then seen those two figures, one small and one much larger, disappear into the dome.
And the big figure...
The abruptness of the scene, it had streamed by so fast, that it was only at the end his reflexes, although very quick, allowed him to activate the zoom built into the visor of his battle-helmet. But that had been enough, the smaller figure...no, it was impossible to recognise who was hidden, concealed, by the larger body.
But, in the case of the big one...
Tucker looked at his soldiers. They were in same combat uniforms as those worn by the troops of the Empire, so that they could pass as servants of the Empress Hoshi. They were looking at each other, and he was sure that if he could see their faces through the dark visors of their helmets, he would see astonishment and incredulity painted on them, regardless of who they were.
He turned his eyes and looked towards the base of the temple.
He focused in on its majestic door.
And yet his senses had never cheated him, and his good eye had always been able to see even for the injured, even from a great distance, like the one that separated him and his minions from the high summits of Harrad-Sar's burning building and theTemple.
He had really seen those figures darting far away up there, like crazy trapezists, throwing themselves against the dome of the Temple. He had then seen those two figures, one small and one much larger, disappear into the dome.
And the big figure...
The abruptness of the scene, it had streamed by so fast, that it was only at the end his reflexes, although very quick, allowed him to activate the zoom built into the visor of his battle-helmet. But that had been enough, the smaller figure...no, it was impossible to recognise who was hidden, concealed, by the larger body.
But, in the case of the big one...
Tucker looked at his soldiers. They were in same combat uniforms as those worn by the troops of the Empire, so that they could pass as servants of the Empress Hoshi. They were looking at each other, and he was sure that if he could see their faces through the dark visors of their helmets, he would see astonishment and incredulity painted on them, regardless of who they were.
He turned his eyes and looked towards the base of the temple.
He focused in on its majestic door.
Phlox stood up suddenly. Something was wrong. T'Pol's pulse rate was dangerously accelerating, her agitation increasing. He had not dared to wake her, but now he was afraid, awfully afraid. What was going on in T'Pol's dreams? Her equilibrium was fragile. He didn't know, didn't understand, but worried that this equilibrium could break under the impetus of the strange phenomenon he was monitoring.
He broke out in a cold sweat.
This mustn't be allowed to happen; he could not let all he had gained so laboriously be lost in this way.
He visibly shivered.
He could not allow it! He could not allow General Tucker to return and find that T'Pol...
No, no! He could not allow it!
This could not, must not happen!
He didn't want to lose his head…as had happened to Reed!
He broke out in a cold sweat.
This mustn't be allowed to happen; he could not let all he had gained so laboriously be lost in this way.
He visibly shivered.
He could not allow it! He could not allow General Tucker to return and find that T'Pol...
No, no! He could not allow it!
This could not, must not happen!
He didn't want to lose his head…as had happened to Reed!
Down the stairs, down into the depths of the empty building, where there were no devices that might have helped speed their escape; there was no energy to power them. Instead they climbed down through an abandoned and silent building, except for the creaks which they now could feel underfoot as well as hear, getting louder and louder.
Down, in a mad rush.
Down, hand in hand.
Down, with their minds caught up in this single thought, in this single action, in this single aim.
To go down…
Towards an exit…
Towards a crazy hope of salvation.
Down, in a mad rush.
Down, hand in hand.
Down, with their minds caught up in this single thought, in this single action, in this single aim.
To go down…
Towards an exit…
Towards a crazy hope of salvation.
Phlox was standing next to the T'Pol's bed.
He clicked his fingers, uncertain about the best course of action.
Should he wake her up? But what if this made things worse? If it was not appropriate to stop what was happening?
Albeit with understandable disbelief, Phlox had begun to suspect the nature of the phenomenon that was unfolding before him. Maybe it was just an absurd idea, but if it were so? What did he really know about the strange things that lay in the ancestral folds of the Vulcan essence?
He had heard the myths about Vulcans.
But if they were not myths...perhaps any intervention on his part might cause T'Pol injury that might be irreparable.
With his hand hovering above her shoulder, ready to wake her, the Doctor was still unable to decide what he should do.
Uncertainty held him in its strong grasp.
What to do, damnit?
Just at that moment, T'Pol's eyes snapped open.
Phlox was startled, as well as scared. Then he realized that her eyes were not those of a conscious woman: they were watchful, but didn't register that he was standing there or her current surroundings. They were somewhere else, watching something or someone. T'Pol's pupils moved, as she followed the scene she was seeing in her mind. But, strangely, all of the agitation that had griped hold of her had disappeared, as testified by the physical data; her breathing and pulse, and the data from the control screen showing her cerebral activity.
Phlox was fascinated by those open eyes viewing actions happening somewhere outside the room in which she slept; because the doctor no longer had any doubt his supposition was correct.
T'Pol was really observing something, which judging by the change in her oneiric behaviour had her acute attention, as confirmed by the data he was collecting.
And what did matter above all was that although it could be argued what T'Pol was watching was only the fruit of her mind, he believed, as a result of all of his observations, that through her mind, T'Pol was seeing real events unfolding...
Phlox was lost in the contemplation of what it might mean with regard to his suspicions.
It was not only his reawakened scientific curiosity that was intrigued: it was clear, obvious, and even logical - to put it in terms that T'Pol would appreciate - that if such a fact could proved it would have huge consequences for everyone.
For the Empire and its destiny.
T'Pol's eyelids descended slowly, hiding her eyes from Phlox, but he knew that even though now hidden, her eyes were still moving, still following something, a person, a thing, a scene, that T'Pol could see as if she was there herself.
And he knew that whatever she was seeing was being transmitted to her mind via the eyes and mind…of another person.
Phlox lowered the arm with which he had intended to wake T'Pol as soon as her eyelids closed.
He retreated slowly and thoughtfully, and sat down again at his medical observation station.
No, he decided, he wouldn't wake T'Pol, wouldn't interfere.
He couldn't take any chances, he had to observe and understand.
Yes, for the moment that was all he would do. Observe and understand, and keep quiet about what he had discovered. He must only speak of this at the right time. And…act, correctly and wisely, when it was the right time.
He had to keep his head firmly on his shoulders. He certainly could not afford to lose it now.
Because...
He smiled slyly.
Well, life had been rather harsh to him recently, but who knew when things might change. Each person had a chance in this filthy world, in the Empire. All one had to do was to know when and how to grasp this chance. Of course, one must be careful: the chance that Archer had had, ended up burning him, but consider Hoshi - pardon, the Empress... well she had used the knowledge she gained to great success. Now he, Phlox, the despised doctor, not only knew what was brewing, to use a Human term. He knew that rebellion was not the only game being played, there were other - and unknown - people in this game; and he knew that Tucker was playing an important part in all this. And now he knew something that nobody else knew, not even T'Pol, not even The General Tucker. Phlox was aware that if he found the right way to take advantage of this knowledge it could be extremely useful and beneficial for him.
Sure, something new and unexpected was happening in the Empire; something that no one - neither the old Emperor, nor the new empress, nor Harrad-Sar, the leader of the rebels, nor anyone else, let alone the protagonists themselves - would have ever predicted something that could change the fate of the Empire in a totally unforeseen manner.
All Phlox had to do was to figure out what role he could have in what he was sure was being prepared for the Empire…
…A new Destiny.
He clicked his fingers, uncertain about the best course of action.
Should he wake her up? But what if this made things worse? If it was not appropriate to stop what was happening?
Albeit with understandable disbelief, Phlox had begun to suspect the nature of the phenomenon that was unfolding before him. Maybe it was just an absurd idea, but if it were so? What did he really know about the strange things that lay in the ancestral folds of the Vulcan essence?
He had heard the myths about Vulcans.
But if they were not myths...perhaps any intervention on his part might cause T'Pol injury that might be irreparable.
With his hand hovering above her shoulder, ready to wake her, the Doctor was still unable to decide what he should do.
Uncertainty held him in its strong grasp.
What to do, damnit?
Just at that moment, T'Pol's eyes snapped open.
Phlox was startled, as well as scared. Then he realized that her eyes were not those of a conscious woman: they were watchful, but didn't register that he was standing there or her current surroundings. They were somewhere else, watching something or someone. T'Pol's pupils moved, as she followed the scene she was seeing in her mind. But, strangely, all of the agitation that had griped hold of her had disappeared, as testified by the physical data; her breathing and pulse, and the data from the control screen showing her cerebral activity.
Phlox was fascinated by those open eyes viewing actions happening somewhere outside the room in which she slept; because the doctor no longer had any doubt his supposition was correct.
T'Pol was really observing something, which judging by the change in her oneiric behaviour had her acute attention, as confirmed by the data he was collecting.
And what did matter above all was that although it could be argued what T'Pol was watching was only the fruit of her mind, he believed, as a result of all of his observations, that through her mind, T'Pol was seeing real events unfolding...
Phlox was lost in the contemplation of what it might mean with regard to his suspicions.
It was not only his reawakened scientific curiosity that was intrigued: it was clear, obvious, and even logical - to put it in terms that T'Pol would appreciate - that if such a fact could proved it would have huge consequences for everyone.
For the Empire and its destiny.
T'Pol's eyelids descended slowly, hiding her eyes from Phlox, but he knew that even though now hidden, her eyes were still moving, still following something, a person, a thing, a scene, that T'Pol could see as if she was there herself.
And he knew that whatever she was seeing was being transmitted to her mind via the eyes and mind…of another person.
Phlox lowered the arm with which he had intended to wake T'Pol as soon as her eyelids closed.
He retreated slowly and thoughtfully, and sat down again at his medical observation station.
No, he decided, he wouldn't wake T'Pol, wouldn't interfere.
He couldn't take any chances, he had to observe and understand.
Yes, for the moment that was all he would do. Observe and understand, and keep quiet about what he had discovered. He must only speak of this at the right time. And…act, correctly and wisely, when it was the right time.
He had to keep his head firmly on his shoulders. He certainly could not afford to lose it now.
Because...
He smiled slyly.
Well, life had been rather harsh to him recently, but who knew when things might change. Each person had a chance in this filthy world, in the Empire. All one had to do was to know when and how to grasp this chance. Of course, one must be careful: the chance that Archer had had, ended up burning him, but consider Hoshi - pardon, the Empress... well she had used the knowledge she gained to great success. Now he, Phlox, the despised doctor, not only knew what was brewing, to use a Human term. He knew that rebellion was not the only game being played, there were other - and unknown - people in this game; and he knew that Tucker was playing an important part in all this. And now he knew something that nobody else knew, not even T'Pol, not even The General Tucker. Phlox was aware that if he found the right way to take advantage of this knowledge it could be extremely useful and beneficial for him.
Sure, something new and unexpected was happening in the Empire; something that no one - neither the old Emperor, nor the new empress, nor Harrad-Sar, the leader of the rebels, nor anyone else, let alone the protagonists themselves - would have ever predicted something that could change the fate of the Empire in a totally unforeseen manner.
All Phlox had to do was to figure out what role he could have in what he was sure was being prepared for the Empire…
…A new Destiny.
Tucker raised his Romulan lyrpa. It was similar to the ones used mostly by Vulcans, but no Human would be surprised to see it in the hands of a soldier of the Empire. They were prized spoils of war that the faithful sons of the Empire were in the habit of extorting from friends and enemies alike so where a frequent sight in battle. It was common that such 'barbaric weapons' were used in combat, as a sign of power over conquered peoples.
But in Tucker's case his lyrpa was the symbol of his command over his "faithful" soldiers
All of them were currently silently focused on him.
Now was the time to act and give them the right orders.
*Make sure you keep your head, man. Take care not to lose it now, figuratively or for real.*
He did not speak, but instead made a quick gesture that everyone understood.
The men arranged themselves in a loose semicircular formation and, cautiously and carefully, began to advance towards the distant temple door, until they spotted a cohort of Human soldiers, who had beaten them to gain a position right in front of the door's mighty panels.
Tucker raised his lyrpa again, signalling for everyone to hold their position.
He observed the scene carefully and identified that the large group of warriors all wore the emblem of the Imperial Guard and that there was a young woman in chains with them, an Orion girl. The Commanding Officer... the insignia he wore...
Unconsciously, Tucker gritted his teeth.
Hayes!
But in Tucker's case his lyrpa was the symbol of his command over his "faithful" soldiers
All of them were currently silently focused on him.
Now was the time to act and give them the right orders.
*Make sure you keep your head, man. Take care not to lose it now, figuratively or for real.*
He did not speak, but instead made a quick gesture that everyone understood.
The men arranged themselves in a loose semicircular formation and, cautiously and carefully, began to advance towards the distant temple door, until they spotted a cohort of Human soldiers, who had beaten them to gain a position right in front of the door's mighty panels.
Tucker raised his lyrpa again, signalling for everyone to hold their position.
He observed the scene carefully and identified that the large group of warriors all wore the emblem of the Imperial Guard and that there was a young woman in chains with them, an Orion girl. The Commanding Officer... the insignia he wore...
Unconsciously, Tucker gritted his teeth.
Hayes!
Hayes raised his arm in an imperious gesture. Now they were just in front of the temple's entrance.
He turned to the soldier in charge of guarding the young Orion girl. "You will stay out here with her and guard her. You must also ensure that no one interferes with our mission. Whatever happens, even if the event seems most unlikely and apparently devoid of meaning, let me know immediately."
His tone became even more peremptory; his eyes darting menacingly at the soldier. "Have I made myself clear!"
Nervously, the soldier swallowed. No one would - ever - dare argue with Hayes, even if, in all honesty, he would have preferred that such an assignment be given to someone else. There was always a risk that you would lose your head when you had dealings with General Hayes, and that was not just figuratively.
But the man was a soldier of the Empire, a member of Hayes' loyal Imperial Guard.
So, he snapped to attention and shouted loud and clear: "Yes Sir, my General."
Hayes nodded. Then, without any further delay, he turned and headed for the temple's door. His voice resounded strongly as he gave the order, "Inside, with me."
He crossed the stately threshold with his soldiers and entered into the vast and majestic nave.
He turned to the soldier in charge of guarding the young Orion girl. "You will stay out here with her and guard her. You must also ensure that no one interferes with our mission. Whatever happens, even if the event seems most unlikely and apparently devoid of meaning, let me know immediately."
His tone became even more peremptory; his eyes darting menacingly at the soldier. "Have I made myself clear!"
Nervously, the soldier swallowed. No one would - ever - dare argue with Hayes, even if, in all honesty, he would have preferred that such an assignment be given to someone else. There was always a risk that you would lose your head when you had dealings with General Hayes, and that was not just figuratively.
But the man was a soldier of the Empire, a member of Hayes' loyal Imperial Guard.
So, he snapped to attention and shouted loud and clear: "Yes Sir, my General."
Hayes nodded. Then, without any further delay, he turned and headed for the temple's door. His voice resounded strongly as he gave the order, "Inside, with me."
He crossed the stately threshold with his soldiers and entered into the vast and majestic nave.
"Are you tired?"
"Vulcans are capable of controlling… "
The Orion cut her short, "I am."
T'Pau looked aslant at Harrad-Sar, while they continued to hotfoot it down the endless steps. She was almost breathless; practically drawing breaths through her teeth, but she would never, could never, admit that. Quite simply such a thought was not part, could not be part, of her mental training; what she had been educated to control. She was a Vulcan, after all.
*However… mh… however, if Harrad-Sar is tired...*
She spoke with quiet nonchalance. Or at least was how it seemed to her, because ... Well, she knew it was difficult to outwit Harrad-Sar. "In this case, maybe it is better we stop for a moment."
Harrad-Sar stopped as soon as T'Pau, who, apparently, did not object to his need to rest, halted her downward flight.
He leaned his back against the railing, letting go of the Vulcan's hand. Panting, she turned towards him.
She could not lessen her breathlessness; even when she realized he was watching her intently, though she struggled desperately - in truth - with little success, to hide that she was nearly at the limit of her strength.
The Orion man smiled broadly with brazen impudence, taking open amusement from the Vulcan's manifest embarrassment. Damn! These Vulcans are really ignominiously funny, with their desire to appear like unbreakable rocks. And yet, he had to admit, there was, in this way of being, something that made this little Vulcan woman extremely fascinating, even if it was only now, in these dire circumstances, he had noticed it. He could not fully understand, but it seemed under that rind of hardness; of that hateful will to appear cold and untouchable, there was a nucleus of - gentle, almost imperceptible, and therefore even more entrancing - feminine frailty.
He did not know, maybe he was mistaken; did not know that uncharted territory into which he had unwittingly ventured, but it was, as if she were to say, without uttering a word, perhaps without even thinking consciously: Bring light to my core, my true essence. Help me, Harrad-Sar. Help me to be what I truly am.
Were all Vulcan women like that? Well, if that was the case he could really understand what that bloody Human, Tucker, if rumours were true, could have found in that Vulcan woman, T'Pol, who, besides being a formidable fighter - on that fact there could be no shadow of doubt – was also, judging by the images he had seen, damn beautiful. She was really… appetizing, to use his previous culinary metaphor.
With an openly mocking air, yet with a kindness that he would never have believed he had, Harrad-Sar addressed the Vulcan. "Thank you. I'm eternally grateful to you." And - incredibly - he found this little play on his part to be entertaining and enjoyable, regardless of their situation.
The Vulcan nodded, with regal aloofness, which singularly contrasted with her miserable aspect. Only, she raised her eyebrow, and this – if Harrad-Sar understood - spoke volumes.
She leaned her back against the railing next to him, and remained quiet for awhile, trying to recover.
Harrad-Sar could sense her disquiet.
He spoke softly and calmly, to infuse confidence and courage. "We'll get by. I have overcome in much worse situations." He said this even though he knew it was a lie, and he didn't really believe that the little woman would be fooled.
He heard her reply, low and uncertain, coming from beneath her dishevelled mop of hair, as she kept her face hidden while she spoke. There was a note of fear in her tone. "There are the Humans, down there."
"Yes"
"They are Warriors of the Imperial Guard."
Harrad-Sar repeated, in same dull murmur, "Yes".
T'Pau kept her head low. "And General Hayes commands them."
Harrad-Sar's voice became even lower and gloomy. "Yes."
He felt her hand rest on his arm. It felt cold and sweaty and she was noticeably trembling.
He turned to look at her and found himself staring down into her large eyes. He couldn't swear it, but they seemed misty, as if clouded... well... as if clouded by a tenuous veil of tears.
But, obviously, that was impossible; it was just his tried nerves playing tricks on him. Sure. Although ... although, if one paid attention, a note of weeping could be heard in her voice, in her tone - if not in her words per se. "It is hard to believe that, given the way I look, General Hayes might find me…" – The Vulcan visibly swallowed – "… might find me… appetizing. Isn't that true?"
Harrad-Sar's eyes widened, because he had just heard the Vulcan crack a joke. He knew it had taken courage, as she must be aware of Hayes' infamy; to use his words, hoping to be reassured by him. But above all because... Damn! He did not at all like that she repeated his quip in that way. It did not sound ... did not sound right, coming from her mouth. And then ... and then, come to think about it, well, it had been a really horrible witticism!
He narrowed his eyes and lowered his face toward hers. He looked at her sternly, grabbing her hand that gently rested on his arm and at the same time speaking harshly, perhaps more than was warranted.
"Do not lose your head. Hayes, if we have the misfortune to bump into him, will find you damn appetizing, my dear Vulcan, regardless of the fact your current appearance is really unappetizing." - He gave her hand a strong squeeze – "But he will not be allowed to satisfy his appetite."
He lowered his face even closer to hers and spoke ominously, but also reassuringly to her. "Actually, if we do meet him, it will be his misfortune, not ours," - He snorted – "because I will make sure that he will never again be able to satisfy any of his appetites."
It was stupid bluster, he was well aware of that, just as he was perfectly aware that she was equally aware.
But it was what was needed. He had to find some way to - had to! - infuse courage in her.
And then ... well, he was still Harrad-Sar, the one who, so far, had always managed to cheat death and doom.
And it was not done to set limits on the great God of the Pirates.
And this God … Well, it would not cost much for Him to put His hand on the heads of those who were with him, like for instance the little Vulcan female.
Somehow, his attitude - his bravado – worked, most likely because the small Vulcan wanted it to be so. She needed his audacity.
The woman nodded, clutching Harrad-Sar's hand in turn without hesitation. She spoke softly. "If you have rested enough, I think we had better continue our descent. You know, certainly your people are good at building temples, perhaps even better than they are at making piratical forays, but I do not know how much longer this old building, though robust, will remain standing."
Harrad-Sar smiled widely, with genuine amusement. Damn! He had always really underestimated these Vulcans!
He nodded again, and joked quietly. "Yes, thanks. You were very kind to let me have a little rest." - He winked. – "You know, we poor Orions, are not like you strong Vulcans."
She remained deadpan, without even the smallest reaction to his provocation, apart from limiting herself to a raised eyebrow. "Let's go?"
Harrad-Sar looked at her, giggling a little yet. "Let's go."
Hand in hand, they again began to descend.
By now, they were very close to cutting their first tape.
Harrad-Sar mentally calculated what point they had reached: yes, just few flights of stairs left, and the great temple access nave would welcome them.
"Vulcans are capable of controlling… "
The Orion cut her short, "I am."
T'Pau looked aslant at Harrad-Sar, while they continued to hotfoot it down the endless steps. She was almost breathless; practically drawing breaths through her teeth, but she would never, could never, admit that. Quite simply such a thought was not part, could not be part, of her mental training; what she had been educated to control. She was a Vulcan, after all.
*However… mh… however, if Harrad-Sar is tired...*
She spoke with quiet nonchalance. Or at least was how it seemed to her, because ... Well, she knew it was difficult to outwit Harrad-Sar. "In this case, maybe it is better we stop for a moment."
Harrad-Sar stopped as soon as T'Pau, who, apparently, did not object to his need to rest, halted her downward flight.
He leaned his back against the railing, letting go of the Vulcan's hand. Panting, she turned towards him.
She could not lessen her breathlessness; even when she realized he was watching her intently, though she struggled desperately - in truth - with little success, to hide that she was nearly at the limit of her strength.
The Orion man smiled broadly with brazen impudence, taking open amusement from the Vulcan's manifest embarrassment. Damn! These Vulcans are really ignominiously funny, with their desire to appear like unbreakable rocks. And yet, he had to admit, there was, in this way of being, something that made this little Vulcan woman extremely fascinating, even if it was only now, in these dire circumstances, he had noticed it. He could not fully understand, but it seemed under that rind of hardness; of that hateful will to appear cold and untouchable, there was a nucleus of - gentle, almost imperceptible, and therefore even more entrancing - feminine frailty.
He did not know, maybe he was mistaken; did not know that uncharted territory into which he had unwittingly ventured, but it was, as if she were to say, without uttering a word, perhaps without even thinking consciously: Bring light to my core, my true essence. Help me, Harrad-Sar. Help me to be what I truly am.
Were all Vulcan women like that? Well, if that was the case he could really understand what that bloody Human, Tucker, if rumours were true, could have found in that Vulcan woman, T'Pol, who, besides being a formidable fighter - on that fact there could be no shadow of doubt – was also, judging by the images he had seen, damn beautiful. She was really… appetizing, to use his previous culinary metaphor.
With an openly mocking air, yet with a kindness that he would never have believed he had, Harrad-Sar addressed the Vulcan. "Thank you. I'm eternally grateful to you." And - incredibly - he found this little play on his part to be entertaining and enjoyable, regardless of their situation.
The Vulcan nodded, with regal aloofness, which singularly contrasted with her miserable aspect. Only, she raised her eyebrow, and this – if Harrad-Sar understood - spoke volumes.
She leaned her back against the railing next to him, and remained quiet for awhile, trying to recover.
Harrad-Sar could sense her disquiet.
He spoke softly and calmly, to infuse confidence and courage. "We'll get by. I have overcome in much worse situations." He said this even though he knew it was a lie, and he didn't really believe that the little woman would be fooled.
He heard her reply, low and uncertain, coming from beneath her dishevelled mop of hair, as she kept her face hidden while she spoke. There was a note of fear in her tone. "There are the Humans, down there."
"Yes"
"They are Warriors of the Imperial Guard."
Harrad-Sar repeated, in same dull murmur, "Yes".
T'Pau kept her head low. "And General Hayes commands them."
Harrad-Sar's voice became even lower and gloomy. "Yes."
He felt her hand rest on his arm. It felt cold and sweaty and she was noticeably trembling.
He turned to look at her and found himself staring down into her large eyes. He couldn't swear it, but they seemed misty, as if clouded... well... as if clouded by a tenuous veil of tears.
But, obviously, that was impossible; it was just his tried nerves playing tricks on him. Sure. Although ... although, if one paid attention, a note of weeping could be heard in her voice, in her tone - if not in her words per se. "It is hard to believe that, given the way I look, General Hayes might find me…" – The Vulcan visibly swallowed – "… might find me… appetizing. Isn't that true?"
Harrad-Sar's eyes widened, because he had just heard the Vulcan crack a joke. He knew it had taken courage, as she must be aware of Hayes' infamy; to use his words, hoping to be reassured by him. But above all because... Damn! He did not at all like that she repeated his quip in that way. It did not sound ... did not sound right, coming from her mouth. And then ... and then, come to think about it, well, it had been a really horrible witticism!
He narrowed his eyes and lowered his face toward hers. He looked at her sternly, grabbing her hand that gently rested on his arm and at the same time speaking harshly, perhaps more than was warranted.
"Do not lose your head. Hayes, if we have the misfortune to bump into him, will find you damn appetizing, my dear Vulcan, regardless of the fact your current appearance is really unappetizing." - He gave her hand a strong squeeze – "But he will not be allowed to satisfy his appetite."
He lowered his face even closer to hers and spoke ominously, but also reassuringly to her. "Actually, if we do meet him, it will be his misfortune, not ours," - He snorted – "because I will make sure that he will never again be able to satisfy any of his appetites."
It was stupid bluster, he was well aware of that, just as he was perfectly aware that she was equally aware.
But it was what was needed. He had to find some way to - had to! - infuse courage in her.
And then ... well, he was still Harrad-Sar, the one who, so far, had always managed to cheat death and doom.
And it was not done to set limits on the great God of the Pirates.
And this God … Well, it would not cost much for Him to put His hand on the heads of those who were with him, like for instance the little Vulcan female.
Somehow, his attitude - his bravado – worked, most likely because the small Vulcan wanted it to be so. She needed his audacity.
The woman nodded, clutching Harrad-Sar's hand in turn without hesitation. She spoke softly. "If you have rested enough, I think we had better continue our descent. You know, certainly your people are good at building temples, perhaps even better than they are at making piratical forays, but I do not know how much longer this old building, though robust, will remain standing."
Harrad-Sar smiled widely, with genuine amusement. Damn! He had always really underestimated these Vulcans!
He nodded again, and joked quietly. "Yes, thanks. You were very kind to let me have a little rest." - He winked. – "You know, we poor Orions, are not like you strong Vulcans."
She remained deadpan, without even the smallest reaction to his provocation, apart from limiting herself to a raised eyebrow. "Let's go?"
Harrad-Sar looked at her, giggling a little yet. "Let's go."
Hand in hand, they again began to descend.
By now, they were very close to cutting their first tape.
Harrad-Sar mentally calculated what point they had reached: yes, just few flights of stairs left, and the great temple access nave would welcome them.
Hayes and his men ventured warily into the great nave, which served as the entrance to the majestic temple; a grandiose access, a sumptuous business card, so to speak.
Even with all their stolid inability to understand the august greatness of their surroundings, lacking the latent mysticism that often resides in sentient beings; they still could not help but feel strangely intimidated.
It was immense. The tall columns that punctuated the vast space, the tops of which were as high as to be lost from view; were also incredibly numerous, countless; and dilated ad infinitum in every direction.
The nave was permeated in silence. It was soundless to the point that it could overawe. The noises, the screams, the chaos that existed outside, seemed to be afraid to enter there. The sound of their footsteps was too loud, even if restrained and muffled, and seemed out of place, there.
The nave was immersed in dimness. The light, coming in through the enormous glass windows, chased itself; performing arcane magic tricks along the walls, around the columns, and up, up, up, up high, until it disappeared into the invisible space above.
But a blade of red light from the fires that raged outside attacked the dark floor, mercilessly cutting it in two through the chink left between the huge panels of the immense door.
The world, the war, struggle, death, and destruction, had managed to gain a small foothold in there after all.
That bruised blade of light had helped bring them within the sacred building.
Yes, blasphemous death, that mocked everything, had also managed to reach in there.
Hayes and his henchmen had brought it in with them.
They brought desecration with them.
Enraged, Hayes pulled himself together, vexed and annoyed at his momentary inaptness. Whatever was he thinking to so childishly lose his head? Being impressed by a place was something only for inert spineless people; it was simply a place like many others, nothing more and nothing less. And he knew that well. The information services of the Empire had provided every detail about the topography of the entire city, every building, including this ancient temple consecrated by the Orions to their God of pirates, a God of enslavers and predators.
The huge rectangular nave, which disappeared from the view up high and in every direction, due to the indistinct gloom that enveloped it, had only two access points, one allowing access from outside, through the impressive portal which they had just used, and the one that lead to the top of the building and the dome.
Hayes smiled sardonically to himself.
There was only one method to access the dome, which he had seen Harrad-Sar crash into.
For Hayes had seen what happened very well, through his telescopic visor – Harrad-Sar hadn't smashed against the dome: he had entered into it.
Sure, maybe he had died in the process, but frankly Hayes did not think so. A devil of a man capable of challenging the void; escaping death when the building he was in collapsed around him, then reaching the relative safety of the temple by hanging by a thin thread, would not die so stupidly. He was alive, and at this moment coming down the stairs from the dome at breakneck speed, and when he reached the bottom, his only option was to go through the nave. The temple was completely devoid of energy so none of the elevators worked. And Hayes knew well where the door to the stairs to the dome was situated.
With a stony face he motioned to his men.
From that point on, no one was to speak. Harrad-Sar was too smart, he must not suspect anything. It was necessary to take him alive and Hayes was well aware that if he had the slightest suspicion they were there, he would kill himself. That was why it was better not to meet him on the stairs: if Hayes and his men revealed themselves in that way, it would cause the Orion to take his own life. Harrad-Sar was the kind of man willing to gamble everything to stay alive, everything, except for his honour and liberty. And of course he knew what he would face if he fell alive into the hands of the Empress.
A nod, a hand gesture from Hayes and his many men, with weapons in hand, moved with him. They were disciplined, silent and sure.
The shadows between the columns enveloped them. They stopped, well arranged, scattered around to form a hidden circle of Human wolfs, waiting in ambush in front of the door giving access to the stairs; from where Harrad-Sar would enter the nave as it would seem and - Hayes sneered wickedly to himself – if fortune would smile on him, another person could enter with the Orion pirate.
That small figure clinging to him in the void, holding onto him in such a way to be indistinguishable even with his telescopic visor...
Hayes grinned even more.
He thought he knew who that small shape belonged to.
Even with all their stolid inability to understand the august greatness of their surroundings, lacking the latent mysticism that often resides in sentient beings; they still could not help but feel strangely intimidated.
It was immense. The tall columns that punctuated the vast space, the tops of which were as high as to be lost from view; were also incredibly numerous, countless; and dilated ad infinitum in every direction.
The nave was permeated in silence. It was soundless to the point that it could overawe. The noises, the screams, the chaos that existed outside, seemed to be afraid to enter there. The sound of their footsteps was too loud, even if restrained and muffled, and seemed out of place, there.
The nave was immersed in dimness. The light, coming in through the enormous glass windows, chased itself; performing arcane magic tricks along the walls, around the columns, and up, up, up, up high, until it disappeared into the invisible space above.
But a blade of red light from the fires that raged outside attacked the dark floor, mercilessly cutting it in two through the chink left between the huge panels of the immense door.
The world, the war, struggle, death, and destruction, had managed to gain a small foothold in there after all.
That bruised blade of light had helped bring them within the sacred building.
Yes, blasphemous death, that mocked everything, had also managed to reach in there.
Hayes and his henchmen had brought it in with them.
They brought desecration with them.
Enraged, Hayes pulled himself together, vexed and annoyed at his momentary inaptness. Whatever was he thinking to so childishly lose his head? Being impressed by a place was something only for inert spineless people; it was simply a place like many others, nothing more and nothing less. And he knew that well. The information services of the Empire had provided every detail about the topography of the entire city, every building, including this ancient temple consecrated by the Orions to their God of pirates, a God of enslavers and predators.
The huge rectangular nave, which disappeared from the view up high and in every direction, due to the indistinct gloom that enveloped it, had only two access points, one allowing access from outside, through the impressive portal which they had just used, and the one that lead to the top of the building and the dome.
Hayes smiled sardonically to himself.
There was only one method to access the dome, which he had seen Harrad-Sar crash into.
For Hayes had seen what happened very well, through his telescopic visor – Harrad-Sar hadn't smashed against the dome: he had entered into it.
Sure, maybe he had died in the process, but frankly Hayes did not think so. A devil of a man capable of challenging the void; escaping death when the building he was in collapsed around him, then reaching the relative safety of the temple by hanging by a thin thread, would not die so stupidly. He was alive, and at this moment coming down the stairs from the dome at breakneck speed, and when he reached the bottom, his only option was to go through the nave. The temple was completely devoid of energy so none of the elevators worked. And Hayes knew well where the door to the stairs to the dome was situated.
With a stony face he motioned to his men.
From that point on, no one was to speak. Harrad-Sar was too smart, he must not suspect anything. It was necessary to take him alive and Hayes was well aware that if he had the slightest suspicion they were there, he would kill himself. That was why it was better not to meet him on the stairs: if Hayes and his men revealed themselves in that way, it would cause the Orion to take his own life. Harrad-Sar was the kind of man willing to gamble everything to stay alive, everything, except for his honour and liberty. And of course he knew what he would face if he fell alive into the hands of the Empress.
A nod, a hand gesture from Hayes and his many men, with weapons in hand, moved with him. They were disciplined, silent and sure.
The shadows between the columns enveloped them. They stopped, well arranged, scattered around to form a hidden circle of Human wolfs, waiting in ambush in front of the door giving access to the stairs; from where Harrad-Sar would enter the nave as it would seem and - Hayes sneered wickedly to himself – if fortune would smile on him, another person could enter with the Orion pirate.
That small figure clinging to him in the void, holding onto him in such a way to be indistinguishable even with his telescopic visor...
Hayes grinned even more.
He thought he knew who that small shape belonged to.
They were far enough away not to arouse suspicion, quite simply one of many groups of Human soldiers who were combing the city with methodical ferocity, each under the command of an officer, in the manner normally used by ground assault troops.
There was therefore nothing suspicious about them and that must continue. They were not there to do battle, they had a specific mission, involving a few men, and they had to succeed.
Yeah, but now their mission had become pretty damn complicated. Tucker's general idea had been to find Harrad-Sar, if he was still alive, eagerly hoping that was the case, for many reasons that only he knew. Basically they would have to extract him from the "care" of his Human "friends", by getting their hands on him before anyone else had the chance, but Hayes had got there first, damnit! Of course, it was logical that fucker had wanted to ascertain the fate of the rebels' leader and, if possible, capture him. But couldn't that shitty asshole have let Tucker get there first, that damn son of a bitch?
*Okay, do not lose heart. Think fast and then act quickly*. And this was more urgent and necessary than ever, considering, among other things, that his soldiers – friendly and reliable, no doubt – were watching him, impassively of course, but also damn happy to get an opportunity to catch him out. And to make him pay dearly if they saw any sign of hesitation on his part or any other action they might find suspicious.
*So, let's see.*
The rational and schematic chaos that was Tucker's mind, unknown to all, apart from T'Pol who had maybe touched its complexity, analyzed the whole situation in a lightning flash.
First: Harrad-Sar, that devil of a man, had managed to escape from the promise of a rat's death and had made a display of animal vitality, throwing himself at the temple, flying trough the air in such a "spectacular" way.
Second: There was a chance he had been badly injured or even killed, when he penetrated the dome of the temple as if he was a jet, and, if so, it was futile to despair: everything would be over. But maybe he was still alive, and, in that case, he would be trying to reach the base of the temple, and from there to leave and try to escape being captured or killed by the Human soldiers.
Third: Hayes had seen everything that had happened, just as he had, and then come to the same conclusions. Consequently, he had decided to enter the temple with his soldiers, to "accommodate" Harrad-Sar – one way or another - when he was forced to show himself.
Fourth: Perhaps Harrad-Sar would be killed in the embrace of Hayes' "warm" welcome and, in this case, the same reasoning as had been noted in the second option applied: despair was futile, because everything would be over in the worst way. But perhaps, indeed very probably, Hayes would have played through the scenarios to ensure that he caught Harrad-Sar alive. What better opportunity would there be for him to ingratiate himself to the highest degree with the "gentle" Empress? And get everything he wanted from her? And the whole world knew what Hayes wanted, and, particularly, that this "what" would be even more welcome if it was Vulcan. Tucker had difficulty explaining exactly why, but that thought enraged him.
Fifth: Hoping that the whole thread of his argument had no faults or flaws, there was a fair chance that the rebels' leader would be captured alive by Hayes and his men. Therefore, relying on this hope, which was not too far-fetched, the problem was how to extract him from their loving embrace, without in turn being crushed in this hug. Now, it would not be possible to free Harrad-Sar before Hayes' men captured him. There was too much disparity of numbers between the opposing forces. It would be impossible. That also meant that it was not conceivable that they could wait for Hayes to emerge from the temple, with Harrad-Sar as their prisoner. Tucker and his Romulans had to enter the temple, and try to evade the Humans waiting inside, so that they could count on surprise to literally rip Harrad-Sar from the hands of the Imperial troops, at the very moment in which they tried to catch him. Then, Tucker and his men would need to be able to fade away with the Orion.
Tucker smiled to himself with wry amusement: a doddle, nothing more. And anyway – he shrugged his shoulders – it was the only way, there was nothing else they could do.
Sixth: The presence of the soldier left outside the temple by Hayes, needed to be considered. Of course, he had certainly been given the task of preserving that pretty girl for Hayes' pleasure, but his mission was not limited to this. That soldier was also on sentry duty, he had to keep lookout, with orders to warn Hayes, if something happened outside. Now, clearly the warder would not be concerned to see other Human soldiers in the area around him, but would definitely attempt to warn Hayes if other soldiers tried to enter the temple. Which meant that the soldier had to be - how best to say this? – "silenced". However, this must be done without clamour, quickly and absolutely without any noise being made, not even from that juicy Orion girl.
*So, finally make a start … *
Tucker looked carefully all around him. There was no one else around, either Alien or Human, except, of course, for his men, the soldier and the Orion girl. After all it was perfectly logical: the Rebel Command Building was on fire and, believed to be on the verge of collapse, and the temple, although sufficiently distant from the Palace not to be affected immediately, and apparently robust and intact, would eventually follow its neighbour in a disastrous demolition. So, why would anyone want to be there, some survivor of the city? Only Human soldiers that had good reason to move around the neighbourhood would be out there, perhaps if they were looking for Harrad-Sar or some other big shot Rebel that by sheer fluke might still be alive and able, if captured, to provide useful information to the Terrans.
Actually, and on this point Tucker counted a lot, the lone soldier might not find anything strange about another group of Humans hunting around. However, they could not afford to rely on luck. *Do your best, the Devil will do the rest*. If he wanted to act, this was the moment. He raised his Lirpa again, in a particular way. The gesture was well coded, and his men understood perfectly what it meant.
*… The soldier on guard would not find it at all strange for a handful of other Humans to approach the temple in order to speak to him, particularly if he is not in the company of his fellow soldiers, but in the company of an Orion girl in chains. It is a situation that certainly any man in the Human ground army would want to investigate…*
The Romulans arranged themselves behind Tucker, who had started to move, and they began to walk smartly in a two well ordered ranks toward the temple and the soldier, who, at that point, noticed them.
*…Of course, the soldier would definitely not like the sight of a whole bunch of Imperial troops marching in his direction and then coming to a halt beside him. That would arouse his suspicions. However, it would appear perfectly normal if a single officer continues to march alone to his position, to find out what is going on, as stipulated in the rules, leaving his men behind to wait and watch…*
The Lyrpa was lifted again. The Romulan soldiers came to a halt with their weapons drawn and held at the ready for any type of action, while Tucker continued at a rapid pace towards the soldier. The guard, in his turn, levelled his weapon to point it at Tucker, but without letting go of the chain that secured the girl. She still squatted on the ground and had the look of a frightened waif painted on her face. The distance between them was very short, now. Tucker could see her eyes, wide open and fearful.
*Come on, boy. Can you not see who I am? Can you not make out that my rank is that of a Captain in the Elite Guard?*
The soldier suddenly snapped to attention, bringing his weapon to his chest in a position indicating a respectful greeting.
*Bravo, kid. That's good. So you finally got it?*
Quickly, but without undue haste, Tucker covered the short distance that separated him from "the odd couple". He stopped right in front of the soldier. He spoke calmly, in a controlled and quiet voice, "Everything in order, soldier?"
The soldier replied firmly, "Everything in order, Captain."
Tucker made a gesture full of meaning towards the girl in chains, crouching on the ground.
The soldier replied to the unspoken question in a respectful tone, although it was clear he was maliciously amused. "A spoil of war." Then he added in a patently significant tone, "Belonging to General Hayes."
"Ah, understood." Tucker spoke as if he was used to hearing that name mentioned and his foibles. "In that case..." He bent his head slightly, as if to take his leave, but then gave his Lyrpa a little shake, as if he had just realised it was in his hand, and in this way, he drew the soldier's attention to the weapon. Behind his visor, the look in the soldier's eyes spoke volumes, which had been the intention. He could not help but look intently at that wonderful and strange weapon.
Tucker spoke again, to satisfy the soldier's evident curiosity. "Beautiful, is not it?"
"Yes, Captain."
"Yeah, just so."
Then, as if he was willing to talk a bit about that weapon, which must have looked a little strange in the hands of a Captain of the Elite Guard on active duty, even if it was customary for veterans to show off their trophies of war... "You know, soldier ..." - His tone had became allusive and conniving. - "I do not think that the Vulcan who displayed this Lyrpa in his house could possibly have any need of it, now." - A little pause, then, with a malicious giggle. – "It is much better in my hands, considering that he can no longer use his hands."
The soldier, surely a little surprised, that an Officer was being so open with him, but assuming that due to the obvious pride of possessing the weapon he desired to talk about it, decided that at the very least there would have been nothing bad or wrong - nothing dangerous - in revealing that he had perfectly understood the pun made by this likeable Captain; even better, maybe, one of these days, this encounter might turn out to be useful to him, if he found out who this Captain was. To share jokes with an Officer was not a small thing; he might emerge greatly strengthened by this, in some way. So, after a short hesitation, the soldier also grinned to mirror Tucker's good humour.
*Oh, good boy, good boy. Just like that, take the bait. But, you know I do not understand how you achieved your position; you're too dumb to be part of the Elite Guards. Ah, but maybe... Certainly, muscle with just a little brain power is all that is needed to mercilessly crush the enemies of the Empire, right? You're just what Hayes wants, right?*
Just what the Empire wanted, given their aim was to be the proud dominators of the Universe.
The anger and bitterness toward those who thought themselves the so-called bastions of the Empire and what the Empire stood for per se rose powerfully inside Tucker, almost obscuring his satisfaction for what appeared to be the success of his fraudulent gimmick.
This was the Empire of Men! And he was a part of this! ... He was a son of this empire!
And that soldier ... that soldier, ready to hurt body and soul, as had been done to him - Tucker felt as if his scar, his marked face, was starting to burn – the mark that had made him what he was now... he was once like that soldier! He was looking at his own image, a reflection of what he used to be!
He hated that soldier!
As much as he hated himself.
He hated that soldier for what he was and for what he was destined to become, he hated himself for what he had been and for what he had become. Neither of them deserved to live. As for him, well Tucker knew he had already dug his own grave. It was only a matter of time.
As for the soldier, his fate would be Tucker's responsibility.
It was needless to postpone to tomorrow what should be done today.
*You know, my friend, I do not think I will feel remorse, quite the opposite, in fact. *
He lifted his weapon as if to show it off with pride. "I must say that it's really wondrous. It is incredible that a people as slothful as the Vulcans could build such things."
He raised the Lyrpa a little more. "It is perfectly balanced."
He brandished the weapon, positioning it as if he was about to hit an imaginary enemy. "With a simple but well-considered move of your arm, a weapon like this could slice of a man's head from his neck in one cut."
Most likely, if there was another life beyond this sorry one, a life of eternity, the soldier would use it trying to work out what had happened to him.
All that remained of his life, in his mind, before his head rolled away bouncing on the ground; was a fleeting vision of rapid movement, while he registered the words – "Just so!" - hissed by that Captain. In that instant a hurried thought crossed his fading mind: that perhaps it would have been wise to inform General Hayes as soon as he had seen those soldiers approach. His last feeling was that of regret that he had failed to do so.
The poor Orion girl had not realized what was happening. Before the mute scream forming in her mind could be born through her open mouth; before she fully perceived the horror of the blood issuing from the decapitated torso of the soldier, which then caught her full in her face... something, probably a swift and strong punch, not enough to be injury her badly, but well calculated, well-aimed, just right, allowed her exhausted mind to find peace in unconsciousness.
Tucker allowed himself a solitary moment of complacency. It had gone perfectly. There had not been a sound, nothing. Quickly and with deadly - it had to be said – accuracy he had succeeded. He smiled to himself as he celebrated his malignant fun. Counting Reed his score was now two. Well, certainly his Romulan instructors, considering the few and fragmentary training sessions he had, could not say that he hadn't proved himself to be a good student.
As he again raised his Lyrpa, this time to indicate that his men should join him, he looked absently at the head of the soldier, lying separate from his body, the dead orbits gazing at nothing.
A sardonic grin surfaced on his lips. "Sorry, soldier. Obviously nobody bothered to teach you never to talk to strangers?"
Then his eyes rested on the inert girl, also lying on the ground. "Eh I know, hitting a woman is not gentlemanly, but, I'm afraid the end justifies the means, not to mention that I am a sordid human. What kind of gentleman did you expect me to be? And please remember that I didn't kill you."
Yeah. He had not killed her.
Why?
At the very least it would have been easier and much simpler, because now he also had to look after the Orion girl, not to mention, make his "trusty" companions bite the bullet when they complained that his choice was a poor one to understand.
Yeah. But if he had killed her, then he would be in all respects not only similar, but equal to that soldier, to Hayes, to the Empress, never mind all the men and women who had reduced the Empire to what it was now.
The Human Empire had been born through force and prevarication, but that was normal, there is no power that is not birthed in that way. However force and prevarication cannot be replaced by pure stolid self-importance, by a stupid assumption that everything can and must be granted to you simply by reason of the power you hold, by a silly idea that it is impossible - inconceivable - that anyone would ever think to stand against you, want to be counted, that the force and the prevarication that originated your power could perpetuate it eternally, without expecting something to return. Force and prevarication cannot exist alone.
It is impossible… - Tucker frowned to himself - *It's impossible to go on like this.*
The future of the Empire depended on the need for change.
*Yeah. The future of the Empire depended on the need for change*. The whore, Hoshi Sato, by seizing power had dealt the Empire a mortal blow. Even if she defeated the rebellion, the seed had been born – *with… a little of help* - and the Empress' blind cruelty, the shallowness of her vision, her ambition without strategy, the inevitable internal struggles that would follow her ascension to the throne, with the old political class not so ready to surrender their weapons, would undermine the potent strength of the Empire irreversibly, in spite of every possible acquired new technology. That was the fuse of destructive fire that would reduce it to ashes.
And when the Empire died, everything and everybody would fall with it.
No, really. It was not possible to go on like this; and so, even with all the spite and resentment, anger, revenge and hate he felt, indeed, just because of all that, he had understood this, and inside him - who knows how, who knows why and even why just in him - a dream had been born.
Yes, he had a dream, born from the devastation of his soul, and to make this impossible dream real he was determined to overcome anyone who stood in his way with a double-dealing ruthlessness.
He had plunged his soul into sulphuric acid.
Oh sure, He knew very well he was black-hearted, with a dark soul; deceitful, cruel, bad. An embezzler, a ... traitor; he was just like the others, even worse than the others.
But the fact was that he had acquired – had been forced to acquire - knowledge of his own being, of his essence, of the essence of the Empire, even before he had become aware that there was another world where people, seemed to live and act differently. Much earlier than that revelation - and in the most devastating of ways – an impossible dream had seeded itself in his mind.
Certainly, he knew that it was a dream born from and nourished on hatred. He knew he couldn't be anybody other than a son of this universe, lacking soul and heart. He… hadn't been born in that other universe. But, ultimately, this dream was born in him, and he had pursued and continued to pursue it in the only way he knew.
It was the only way that he could be in this absurd and psychopathic universe.
And besides, what other choice had he? He could not deny what he was. The evil and hatred into which he was born could not be erased, and living in this universe had added more evils and a growing list of hates, and he had followed his instinct, nourished by the perversion and malice that are the mark of this universe. He had been marked by the brand of the Empire.
No, he didn't know any other way to live, it was his life.
And he knew how his life would end, one day.
The darkness, without hope of light that had engulfed him long ago, the day that his sister… that he…
The darkness that he had unconsciously hoped T'Pol might help him forget, at least a little, although the oddness of what had happened between them, his inability to think and behave differently from the way in which he had been conditioned, his incapability to comprehend what was happening to him; it had been such that he had treated her as though she was nothing more than a means to obtain physical satisfaction...
That darkness held him in its cold shadow, as he looked thoughtfully at the unconscious Orion woman lying at his feet.
She was meant to experience a happy and joyful life, but she had been caught in the stranglehold of the Empire's network. Her life would no doubt end in the worst way.
Just like his.
Yes, he knew what would be his fate one day: butchered, dismembered, torn to pieces. Not to forget the derision and hatred that would be heaped on him.
If his dream, his design - concealed, hidden, known neither by the Empire nor the Romulans nor by anyone else – did come true, the Empire would despise him, Humans would hate him, and Romulans would destroy him. He would be torn down cruelly and pitilessly. He would have no means of escape from their revenge for the deceit he had used to trick them. Then all his cunning would be of no use; his network built laboriously on connivances and dangerous so-called "friendships". Not to mention that there could be the real possibility that he would be hit by the avenging blows of someone of his own species, knowing that it was certain no one would defend him. At the same time the other species, former slaves of the Empire, would just scoff at the memory of a Human, who was a coward, liar and deceiver, who had died so stupidly and sordidly, fighting a war that was not his concern. He knew that his contribution to their cause would be deliberately misrepresented by his enemies and rumours would be spread malignantly about him, to heap vengeance on vengeance, so that the only picture he would leave behind would be that of a sinister villain, a man without honour or pride. What better revenge could there be than to destroy a man? To take his body, soul and the memory people would have of him.
However even if his dream did not come true, the Empire, obviously, and the Romulans, too, because of his failure to help them fight against the Human Empire, would both want to destroy him. While the other species, still slaves of the Empire, would despise and hate him, because of the possibility he could have failed and made their hellish situation even worse. And their hatred and contempt would be added to the legitimate hatred and to the righteous scorn of the Romulans, never mind the opinions of his own race who would have even more reason to despise him.
And to finish with a flourish, if fate had given victory to the Romulans, in defiance of his secret designs, it would be difficult, even impossible for him to act and behave as if all had ended exactly as his plans had envisaged, that he been achieved what he wanted, if they were victorious. Indeed, it was certain he would be eliminated by the Romulans if this ever was the case. He would be considered too treacherous; far too dangerous. In that circumstance, he would no longer be useful. It would be better to eliminate him. And Valdore certainly wouldn't offer him any help; indeed, he would be at the front of the queue ready to make the first strike.
On the other hand, regardless of whether or not his dream would be realized, his position was now that of a man constantly hovering between life and death, if possible even more so now. The sudden change on Enterprise, the pressure of events, the certainty that harlot who was the new Empress, together with her gang of henchmen, would have made life impossible for him, keeping a constant eye at him, limiting his freedom to take action to the extreme and preventing him from any possibility of communication with his… "Contacts", had prompted him to change his plans drastically. He had to disappear from Enterprise and seek refuge in the "embrace" of his "friends", the Romulans. But it was a deadly embrace, because he was no longer able to limit himself to sporadic contact with them, he was constantly with them and especially with that fox Valdore, so, sooner or later, he knew he would make a mistake. And then the balance would suddenly shift its equilibrium towards his death. And because of this he had put his foot down on the throttle, knowing, that this was a race to certain death for him, regardless of the outcome.
The cold darkness inside him deepened its icy grip even more. There was no way, he knew for certain: regardless of what happened, that he could avoid dying in the worst possible way, and hatred and contempt would accompany his death, if only because of the ignoble way in which he had behaved and managed things. He would be labelled traitor by his people and traitor by the enemies of his people.
But that dream ... there was still that dream.
And, in the hatred and bitterness that devoured him and the whole of that Universe ... in the cold darkness of his lonely soul… maybe ... in that dream ... there might be a little light, a small spark of heat even for him…
T'Pol.
Once again, for the ten-billionth and first time after the ten billion times that he had already thought about that mystery, and knowing that he would go there again at least another ten billion times, Tucker tried to understand, and once again, was not successful.
No, he couldn't understand. That woman... that Vulcan, treacherous and rebellious, that slimy and cruel bamboozler... T'Pol.
At the very least he should feel an urge to strangle her, to dismember her into tiny pieces, to torture her to death for what she had done to him. He would not have thought twice to do that to anyone else who crossed him, if presented with the opportunity.
But instead...
When he was separated from her, he with the Romulans, and her in the hands of that Queen of Brothels, the self-appointed Empress, he... had missed her.
When, during their separation, he had thought what tortures that ignoble bitch, Hoshi, was inflicting on her, he had felt something inside, a kind of gloomy trembling; a grinding, ache.
When he had discovered the terrible death that had been reserved for her, he had foamed with rage at the bloodcurdling horror, and had to find a way to rescue her. He had played all his cards to convince his distrustful allies to help him, had lied and bluffed as never before just to achieve that aim, succeeding at last in saving her, just at the instant before she lost honour and life in a frightening manner, in that cage of horror. And, right after, he had even given up his need for retaliation against Phlox, so that the doctor might heal T'Pol. He had persuaded the Romulans to free Phlox from his cell, after convincing his pitiless allies to imprison the doctor. He had saved him in spite of the Romulans' intention to kill him, when circumstances had forced them to rescue the physician along with him, and in spite of a deep impulse of his own to make Phlox scientifically aware of what lay beyond life. And many times he had wondered, afterward, how and why he had made that decision to refrain from killing Phlox, instead preserving his life, convincing himself that it would be a crueller fate for that man to end his days in a cell, or even better, rotting away, forgotten in the Romulan dungeon: that should have been the doctor's fate.
It was as if, he had some kind of presentiment that there would be a need for Phlox to cure T'Pol.
T'Pol, T'Pol, T'Pol, once again, always T'Pol.
Why had he done all of that? Why hadn't he let the treacherous bitch die? And die in that terrible way, as she deserved?
What had that Vulcan whore done to him? That witch? Had this been a consequence of the mind meld, by any chance? But no, that was impossible. He had thought about that possibility many times, but it could not have been a mind meld. He knew about that strange Vulcan practice, far better than any of his own kind, because of a necessity to understand the practice. He had to handle his relations with his "friends" the Romulans, carbon copies of the Vulcans yet far more dangerous and treacherous, so consequently he had to learn all about them; all the conceivable myths and even the inconceivable ones, to avoid any unpleasant "surprises". Sure, no Romulan would have thought of dirtying his neurons, by fusing his mind with that of a Human, and, least of all, with his, but in life you never know, and, he could not run the risk that some "dear Romulan friend" might try to read what he kept concealed in his mind. Fortunately fate had helped him. Mh ... maybe, to think of it, fate had been not been very nice to that old wreck, that old Vulcan professor who he had tracked down in the slums of San Francisco and who, had succumbed to adequate "unction", to train him to defend himself from any unpleasant mental attacks; but, after all, that old man was alone in the world, having ruined himself by evaporating his mind chasing the skirts of an ungrateful Orion slave; he had led such a sad life. No, Tucker was sure that… fate had done that miserable Vulcan a very great favour: the place where that poor man had ended up because of… that ill-omened accident was certainly better than the one into which he dragged his pitiable life. And then…well, it had also been a good thing for Tucker because one could not really trust a man like that, a stray homeless and brainless Vulcan, ready to unburden himself to anyone, especially after one glass of Andorian ale too many.
Whatever else he was, that poor old Vulcan was a real crackerjack. However, in the short time that had been available he taught him a lot of stuff about mind melds, really a lot. And because of that he seared in anger: at his weakness, for allowing himself to be taken by surprise; and against that damned traitorous Vulcan female who had surreptitiously extorted from him what she needed and implanted a telepathic suggestion to compel him to sabotage the power grid, taking advantage - that Vulcan bitch be damned! - for the irrepressible desire which she had aroused in him.
That hussy had beguiled and manipulated him, had used him treacherously, without even caring about the consequences he might have to endure!
And yet, despite all that, despite his anger, his resentment...
But how was it possible? What kind of trick had she used on him, that damn woman?
For him it had been awful. He not only had to bow to the fact that fraudulent bitch had tricked him, but he also had to find the strength to fight against what she was doing without her becoming aware that he knew what she was up to. He had to ensure she was unable to discover what was buried deep in his mind; that which she must not know, albeit, of course, in his initial surprised and wrathful helplessness she had inevitably embezzled from his brain what she wanted and had primarily sought, while he, had not known or been able to fight against the telepathic prompting she had grafted onto his mind.
Yes, it had been awful, and even more terrible had been the candid and contemptuous effrontery with which she had later disclosed to him what she had done, obviously unaware that he already knew and understood.
*And nevertheless, in spite of all this… But how is it possible? HOW IS IT POSSIBLE THAT DESPITE ALL THIS, I ... I…*
No, the mind meld had nothing to do with it. A mind meld was only a mental technique for sharing thoughts, experiences, memories and knowledge, exactly what T'Pol had needed from him. It was also possible to inculcate subconscious orders, of course. But what reason could she have, that damn Vulcan daughter of a demon, to order him ... what? What !, damned devil? What was this thing he felt, which he was unable to understand; all he knew was that it was so powerful it made him forget all the Vulcan bitch had done to him? And that it pushed him to risk everything he had so laboriously built just to save her, to protect her, to…
*To have her!*
No, by the horns of Beelzebub, it hadn't been the mind meld! Surely she couldn't have used the meld to cast a spell on him.
A spell, yeah, for the blood of the devil, a spell! Because that was what he felt had taken hold of him!
She had cast a spell on him.
She had bewitched him.
That woman, that hag, that sorceress held the power to bewitch him. She had got under his skin and reached into... inside his heart, the heart he believed he no longer possessed.
No, he was not able to understand, it was something too foreign to him and everything he knew. But ... something… a yearning had made its way through the rubble of his heart which he had thought would never beat with… with…
*With what?*
He was incapable of identifying what he was feeling, but it had been enough to push him to do everything he had done for T'Pol, regardless if it made his life even more difficult, and to hope… to hope that, despite all that she had done to him, despite her open contempt for him, the coldness that she had shown towards him at the end ... despite all that, maybe ... just maybe ... what she had given him might be something more than Pon Far induced carnal desire.
And if that was the case, perhaps, there was a little hope, even if he wanted to loath himself for that incomprehensible weakness, never mind being weak enough to be glad to be afflicted by that weakness. Yeah, because this unknown feeling that he felt... he wanted!
And his hope was... was...
Damn! He remembered that she had chosen him to meet her needs, and… also her attitude, her words, her... her docility toward him, when she awoke in the infirmary… that goodbye from her, when he had to leave, that seemed pervaded with concern for him... that farewell, that recommendation on her part ... "Be careful."
Could she be playing him again? Was it possible that, despite all that she had gone through, her ability to control herself was such to enable her to act like that, so soon after she had been rescued? Perhaps she had immediately understood that her life was in his hands, and that she ... she must be ... gentle with him? Or ... or ... when she had linked her mind to his, she had seen - and felt - a bit of that other T'Pol, the one ... in that other universe, who had made the other Tucker suffer too, but who eventually had made him ... had made him ...
Tucker smiled to himself with a weird sort of bitter pride. The other Tucker had really become the greatest of Engineers, in his own universe, so great that his technical manuals had even become the technical-scientific heritage for spacecraft in that other universe. And, in these manuals, there were many notes, written in a secret code. Secret to everyone, but him, because that code... that code was the same one he used!
And those notes were not merely scientific.
He had found something else apart from technical notations.
In those personal notes the other Tucker had said he was … happy. Happy! That was the word the other Tucker had used. T'Pol had made him happy.
*… He had found contentment with his T'Pol…*
Damn that other version of him! He was weak, stupid, dull and inane!
But also deucedly, accursedly and unendurably enviable!
Could it be – COULD IT BE! – that his T'Pol, the one who had behaved so atrociously towards him… could it be that perhaps... one day ... she would care to warm him… with her light, and her heat?
Could she be gentle with him for at least a short while - until his inevitable end would part him from her…forever?
Why had he chosen not to kill the Orion girl? He .. yes ... he knew why. It was because he couldn't completely yield to what he was, to what he had to be. If he had broken her life, indeed there would be no justification for all he had done, was doing and would do in the future in the name of his absurd dreams. It would be as if all that was precious to him did not exist, as if it never existed. Never, not even... - Tucker suppressed the pang he felt inside - … not even his little sister.
It would be as if she had never existed.
His dreams ... his prohibited dreams ... would only be the nightmares of a sick mind.
And T'Pol would really have had every reason to regard him as just another disgusting son of the Human Empire.
Then harsh reality woke him from his reverie. The Romulans had reached his position.
Tucker smiled bitterly to himself. But what the hell was he hoping for? This was reality, his reality, the reality that he had created with his own hands in pursuit of an impossible dream.
And T'Pol ...
Another dream, a dream within a dream, one he recognised that was even more impossible.
Saving and looking after her and giving her the promise of a future, he was prepared to fight and die for that.
That was true even more now, because before she had not been within his reach.
But having her... having her for real...
Having her soul…
This was a dream that could never become reality.
Never.
Tucker shook himself vigorously. What on earth had taken hold of him? And right now, of all times? He felt the impatience of his waiting men. They were all looking at him; behind the visors, he could see their stony eyes. He took a meagre satisfaction from a kind of respect and fear he perceived in them.
Oh sure. Tucker sneered to himself, with acrid sarcasm. These warriors had not been among those who had taken part in T'Pol's rescue mission, they hadn't seen with their own eyes what he had done to Reed; they had heard about, of course, but it was one thing to listen to a story, another to be there in person. *Okay. Not all evil can cause harm. I need to take advantage of the situation.* There would be no objections, even unspoken; to whatever order he gave.
He pointed his Lyrpa at one of the soldiers. Perhaps he had made a stupid blunder, but it seemed that the man winced almost imperceptibly and moved slightly back.
He ignored the impression the man had given him and spoke in a peremptory tone. "You, stand guard here, and watch the girl. While I doubt anyone else will come near here, you never know. Whatever happens, you must give us time to do what we need to do. How you do that, well that's your damn business. Try not to act like an idiot, like that guy." He gestured towards the headless body of the Human soldier.
Then, he beckoned to the other Romulans. "The rest of you are coming with me, inside now!"
Before moving towards the door of the temple, he again addressed the Romulan soldier who was to be left outside on guard, with smug pleasure. "See you do not lose your head."
Then grinning to himself he turned on his heels. Something told him that the Romulan had perfectly understood the double meaning of his bad joke. And, in light of recent events, he would ensure that he did his job to perfection.
There was therefore nothing suspicious about them and that must continue. They were not there to do battle, they had a specific mission, involving a few men, and they had to succeed.
Yeah, but now their mission had become pretty damn complicated. Tucker's general idea had been to find Harrad-Sar, if he was still alive, eagerly hoping that was the case, for many reasons that only he knew. Basically they would have to extract him from the "care" of his Human "friends", by getting their hands on him before anyone else had the chance, but Hayes had got there first, damnit! Of course, it was logical that fucker had wanted to ascertain the fate of the rebels' leader and, if possible, capture him. But couldn't that shitty asshole have let Tucker get there first, that damn son of a bitch?
*Okay, do not lose heart. Think fast and then act quickly*. And this was more urgent and necessary than ever, considering, among other things, that his soldiers – friendly and reliable, no doubt – were watching him, impassively of course, but also damn happy to get an opportunity to catch him out. And to make him pay dearly if they saw any sign of hesitation on his part or any other action they might find suspicious.
*So, let's see.*
The rational and schematic chaos that was Tucker's mind, unknown to all, apart from T'Pol who had maybe touched its complexity, analyzed the whole situation in a lightning flash.
First: Harrad-Sar, that devil of a man, had managed to escape from the promise of a rat's death and had made a display of animal vitality, throwing himself at the temple, flying trough the air in such a "spectacular" way.
Second: There was a chance he had been badly injured or even killed, when he penetrated the dome of the temple as if he was a jet, and, if so, it was futile to despair: everything would be over. But maybe he was still alive, and, in that case, he would be trying to reach the base of the temple, and from there to leave and try to escape being captured or killed by the Human soldiers.
Third: Hayes had seen everything that had happened, just as he had, and then come to the same conclusions. Consequently, he had decided to enter the temple with his soldiers, to "accommodate" Harrad-Sar – one way or another - when he was forced to show himself.
Fourth: Perhaps Harrad-Sar would be killed in the embrace of Hayes' "warm" welcome and, in this case, the same reasoning as had been noted in the second option applied: despair was futile, because everything would be over in the worst way. But perhaps, indeed very probably, Hayes would have played through the scenarios to ensure that he caught Harrad-Sar alive. What better opportunity would there be for him to ingratiate himself to the highest degree with the "gentle" Empress? And get everything he wanted from her? And the whole world knew what Hayes wanted, and, particularly, that this "what" would be even more welcome if it was Vulcan. Tucker had difficulty explaining exactly why, but that thought enraged him.
Fifth: Hoping that the whole thread of his argument had no faults or flaws, there was a fair chance that the rebels' leader would be captured alive by Hayes and his men. Therefore, relying on this hope, which was not too far-fetched, the problem was how to extract him from their loving embrace, without in turn being crushed in this hug. Now, it would not be possible to free Harrad-Sar before Hayes' men captured him. There was too much disparity of numbers between the opposing forces. It would be impossible. That also meant that it was not conceivable that they could wait for Hayes to emerge from the temple, with Harrad-Sar as their prisoner. Tucker and his Romulans had to enter the temple, and try to evade the Humans waiting inside, so that they could count on surprise to literally rip Harrad-Sar from the hands of the Imperial troops, at the very moment in which they tried to catch him. Then, Tucker and his men would need to be able to fade away with the Orion.
Tucker smiled to himself with wry amusement: a doddle, nothing more. And anyway – he shrugged his shoulders – it was the only way, there was nothing else they could do.
Sixth: The presence of the soldier left outside the temple by Hayes, needed to be considered. Of course, he had certainly been given the task of preserving that pretty girl for Hayes' pleasure, but his mission was not limited to this. That soldier was also on sentry duty, he had to keep lookout, with orders to warn Hayes, if something happened outside. Now, clearly the warder would not be concerned to see other Human soldiers in the area around him, but would definitely attempt to warn Hayes if other soldiers tried to enter the temple. Which meant that the soldier had to be - how best to say this? – "silenced". However, this must be done without clamour, quickly and absolutely without any noise being made, not even from that juicy Orion girl.
*So, finally make a start … *
Tucker looked carefully all around him. There was no one else around, either Alien or Human, except, of course, for his men, the soldier and the Orion girl. After all it was perfectly logical: the Rebel Command Building was on fire and, believed to be on the verge of collapse, and the temple, although sufficiently distant from the Palace not to be affected immediately, and apparently robust and intact, would eventually follow its neighbour in a disastrous demolition. So, why would anyone want to be there, some survivor of the city? Only Human soldiers that had good reason to move around the neighbourhood would be out there, perhaps if they were looking for Harrad-Sar or some other big shot Rebel that by sheer fluke might still be alive and able, if captured, to provide useful information to the Terrans.
Actually, and on this point Tucker counted a lot, the lone soldier might not find anything strange about another group of Humans hunting around. However, they could not afford to rely on luck. *Do your best, the Devil will do the rest*. If he wanted to act, this was the moment. He raised his Lirpa again, in a particular way. The gesture was well coded, and his men understood perfectly what it meant.
*… The soldier on guard would not find it at all strange for a handful of other Humans to approach the temple in order to speak to him, particularly if he is not in the company of his fellow soldiers, but in the company of an Orion girl in chains. It is a situation that certainly any man in the Human ground army would want to investigate…*
The Romulans arranged themselves behind Tucker, who had started to move, and they began to walk smartly in a two well ordered ranks toward the temple and the soldier, who, at that point, noticed them.
*…Of course, the soldier would definitely not like the sight of a whole bunch of Imperial troops marching in his direction and then coming to a halt beside him. That would arouse his suspicions. However, it would appear perfectly normal if a single officer continues to march alone to his position, to find out what is going on, as stipulated in the rules, leaving his men behind to wait and watch…*
The Lyrpa was lifted again. The Romulan soldiers came to a halt with their weapons drawn and held at the ready for any type of action, while Tucker continued at a rapid pace towards the soldier. The guard, in his turn, levelled his weapon to point it at Tucker, but without letting go of the chain that secured the girl. She still squatted on the ground and had the look of a frightened waif painted on her face. The distance between them was very short, now. Tucker could see her eyes, wide open and fearful.
*Come on, boy. Can you not see who I am? Can you not make out that my rank is that of a Captain in the Elite Guard?*
The soldier suddenly snapped to attention, bringing his weapon to his chest in a position indicating a respectful greeting.
*Bravo, kid. That's good. So you finally got it?*
Quickly, but without undue haste, Tucker covered the short distance that separated him from "the odd couple". He stopped right in front of the soldier. He spoke calmly, in a controlled and quiet voice, "Everything in order, soldier?"
The soldier replied firmly, "Everything in order, Captain."
Tucker made a gesture full of meaning towards the girl in chains, crouching on the ground.
The soldier replied to the unspoken question in a respectful tone, although it was clear he was maliciously amused. "A spoil of war." Then he added in a patently significant tone, "Belonging to General Hayes."
"Ah, understood." Tucker spoke as if he was used to hearing that name mentioned and his foibles. "In that case..." He bent his head slightly, as if to take his leave, but then gave his Lyrpa a little shake, as if he had just realised it was in his hand, and in this way, he drew the soldier's attention to the weapon. Behind his visor, the look in the soldier's eyes spoke volumes, which had been the intention. He could not help but look intently at that wonderful and strange weapon.
Tucker spoke again, to satisfy the soldier's evident curiosity. "Beautiful, is not it?"
"Yes, Captain."
"Yeah, just so."
Then, as if he was willing to talk a bit about that weapon, which must have looked a little strange in the hands of a Captain of the Elite Guard on active duty, even if it was customary for veterans to show off their trophies of war... "You know, soldier ..." - His tone had became allusive and conniving. - "I do not think that the Vulcan who displayed this Lyrpa in his house could possibly have any need of it, now." - A little pause, then, with a malicious giggle. – "It is much better in my hands, considering that he can no longer use his hands."
The soldier, surely a little surprised, that an Officer was being so open with him, but assuming that due to the obvious pride of possessing the weapon he desired to talk about it, decided that at the very least there would have been nothing bad or wrong - nothing dangerous - in revealing that he had perfectly understood the pun made by this likeable Captain; even better, maybe, one of these days, this encounter might turn out to be useful to him, if he found out who this Captain was. To share jokes with an Officer was not a small thing; he might emerge greatly strengthened by this, in some way. So, after a short hesitation, the soldier also grinned to mirror Tucker's good humour.
*Oh, good boy, good boy. Just like that, take the bait. But, you know I do not understand how you achieved your position; you're too dumb to be part of the Elite Guards. Ah, but maybe... Certainly, muscle with just a little brain power is all that is needed to mercilessly crush the enemies of the Empire, right? You're just what Hayes wants, right?*
Just what the Empire wanted, given their aim was to be the proud dominators of the Universe.
The anger and bitterness toward those who thought themselves the so-called bastions of the Empire and what the Empire stood for per se rose powerfully inside Tucker, almost obscuring his satisfaction for what appeared to be the success of his fraudulent gimmick.
This was the Empire of Men! And he was a part of this! ... He was a son of this empire!
And that soldier ... that soldier, ready to hurt body and soul, as had been done to him - Tucker felt as if his scar, his marked face, was starting to burn – the mark that had made him what he was now... he was once like that soldier! He was looking at his own image, a reflection of what he used to be!
He hated that soldier!
As much as he hated himself.
He hated that soldier for what he was and for what he was destined to become, he hated himself for what he had been and for what he had become. Neither of them deserved to live. As for him, well Tucker knew he had already dug his own grave. It was only a matter of time.
As for the soldier, his fate would be Tucker's responsibility.
It was needless to postpone to tomorrow what should be done today.
*You know, my friend, I do not think I will feel remorse, quite the opposite, in fact. *
He lifted his weapon as if to show it off with pride. "I must say that it's really wondrous. It is incredible that a people as slothful as the Vulcans could build such things."
He raised the Lyrpa a little more. "It is perfectly balanced."
He brandished the weapon, positioning it as if he was about to hit an imaginary enemy. "With a simple but well-considered move of your arm, a weapon like this could slice of a man's head from his neck in one cut."
Most likely, if there was another life beyond this sorry one, a life of eternity, the soldier would use it trying to work out what had happened to him.
All that remained of his life, in his mind, before his head rolled away bouncing on the ground; was a fleeting vision of rapid movement, while he registered the words – "Just so!" - hissed by that Captain. In that instant a hurried thought crossed his fading mind: that perhaps it would have been wise to inform General Hayes as soon as he had seen those soldiers approach. His last feeling was that of regret that he had failed to do so.
The poor Orion girl had not realized what was happening. Before the mute scream forming in her mind could be born through her open mouth; before she fully perceived the horror of the blood issuing from the decapitated torso of the soldier, which then caught her full in her face... something, probably a swift and strong punch, not enough to be injury her badly, but well calculated, well-aimed, just right, allowed her exhausted mind to find peace in unconsciousness.
Tucker allowed himself a solitary moment of complacency. It had gone perfectly. There had not been a sound, nothing. Quickly and with deadly - it had to be said – accuracy he had succeeded. He smiled to himself as he celebrated his malignant fun. Counting Reed his score was now two. Well, certainly his Romulan instructors, considering the few and fragmentary training sessions he had, could not say that he hadn't proved himself to be a good student.
As he again raised his Lyrpa, this time to indicate that his men should join him, he looked absently at the head of the soldier, lying separate from his body, the dead orbits gazing at nothing.
A sardonic grin surfaced on his lips. "Sorry, soldier. Obviously nobody bothered to teach you never to talk to strangers?"
Then his eyes rested on the inert girl, also lying on the ground. "Eh I know, hitting a woman is not gentlemanly, but, I'm afraid the end justifies the means, not to mention that I am a sordid human. What kind of gentleman did you expect me to be? And please remember that I didn't kill you."
Yeah. He had not killed her.
Why?
At the very least it would have been easier and much simpler, because now he also had to look after the Orion girl, not to mention, make his "trusty" companions bite the bullet when they complained that his choice was a poor one to understand.
Yeah. But if he had killed her, then he would be in all respects not only similar, but equal to that soldier, to Hayes, to the Empress, never mind all the men and women who had reduced the Empire to what it was now.
The Human Empire had been born through force and prevarication, but that was normal, there is no power that is not birthed in that way. However force and prevarication cannot be replaced by pure stolid self-importance, by a stupid assumption that everything can and must be granted to you simply by reason of the power you hold, by a silly idea that it is impossible - inconceivable - that anyone would ever think to stand against you, want to be counted, that the force and the prevarication that originated your power could perpetuate it eternally, without expecting something to return. Force and prevarication cannot exist alone.
It is impossible… - Tucker frowned to himself - *It's impossible to go on like this.*
The future of the Empire depended on the need for change.
*Yeah. The future of the Empire depended on the need for change*. The whore, Hoshi Sato, by seizing power had dealt the Empire a mortal blow. Even if she defeated the rebellion, the seed had been born – *with… a little of help* - and the Empress' blind cruelty, the shallowness of her vision, her ambition without strategy, the inevitable internal struggles that would follow her ascension to the throne, with the old political class not so ready to surrender their weapons, would undermine the potent strength of the Empire irreversibly, in spite of every possible acquired new technology. That was the fuse of destructive fire that would reduce it to ashes.
And when the Empire died, everything and everybody would fall with it.
No, really. It was not possible to go on like this; and so, even with all the spite and resentment, anger, revenge and hate he felt, indeed, just because of all that, he had understood this, and inside him - who knows how, who knows why and even why just in him - a dream had been born.
Yes, he had a dream, born from the devastation of his soul, and to make this impossible dream real he was determined to overcome anyone who stood in his way with a double-dealing ruthlessness.
He had plunged his soul into sulphuric acid.
Oh sure, He knew very well he was black-hearted, with a dark soul; deceitful, cruel, bad. An embezzler, a ... traitor; he was just like the others, even worse than the others.
But the fact was that he had acquired – had been forced to acquire - knowledge of his own being, of his essence, of the essence of the Empire, even before he had become aware that there was another world where people, seemed to live and act differently. Much earlier than that revelation - and in the most devastating of ways – an impossible dream had seeded itself in his mind.
Certainly, he knew that it was a dream born from and nourished on hatred. He knew he couldn't be anybody other than a son of this universe, lacking soul and heart. He… hadn't been born in that other universe. But, ultimately, this dream was born in him, and he had pursued and continued to pursue it in the only way he knew.
It was the only way that he could be in this absurd and psychopathic universe.
And besides, what other choice had he? He could not deny what he was. The evil and hatred into which he was born could not be erased, and living in this universe had added more evils and a growing list of hates, and he had followed his instinct, nourished by the perversion and malice that are the mark of this universe. He had been marked by the brand of the Empire.
No, he didn't know any other way to live, it was his life.
And he knew how his life would end, one day.
The darkness, without hope of light that had engulfed him long ago, the day that his sister… that he…
The darkness that he had unconsciously hoped T'Pol might help him forget, at least a little, although the oddness of what had happened between them, his inability to think and behave differently from the way in which he had been conditioned, his incapability to comprehend what was happening to him; it had been such that he had treated her as though she was nothing more than a means to obtain physical satisfaction...
That darkness held him in its cold shadow, as he looked thoughtfully at the unconscious Orion woman lying at his feet.
She was meant to experience a happy and joyful life, but she had been caught in the stranglehold of the Empire's network. Her life would no doubt end in the worst way.
Just like his.
Yes, he knew what would be his fate one day: butchered, dismembered, torn to pieces. Not to forget the derision and hatred that would be heaped on him.
If his dream, his design - concealed, hidden, known neither by the Empire nor the Romulans nor by anyone else – did come true, the Empire would despise him, Humans would hate him, and Romulans would destroy him. He would be torn down cruelly and pitilessly. He would have no means of escape from their revenge for the deceit he had used to trick them. Then all his cunning would be of no use; his network built laboriously on connivances and dangerous so-called "friendships". Not to mention that there could be the real possibility that he would be hit by the avenging blows of someone of his own species, knowing that it was certain no one would defend him. At the same time the other species, former slaves of the Empire, would just scoff at the memory of a Human, who was a coward, liar and deceiver, who had died so stupidly and sordidly, fighting a war that was not his concern. He knew that his contribution to their cause would be deliberately misrepresented by his enemies and rumours would be spread malignantly about him, to heap vengeance on vengeance, so that the only picture he would leave behind would be that of a sinister villain, a man without honour or pride. What better revenge could there be than to destroy a man? To take his body, soul and the memory people would have of him.
However even if his dream did not come true, the Empire, obviously, and the Romulans, too, because of his failure to help them fight against the Human Empire, would both want to destroy him. While the other species, still slaves of the Empire, would despise and hate him, because of the possibility he could have failed and made their hellish situation even worse. And their hatred and contempt would be added to the legitimate hatred and to the righteous scorn of the Romulans, never mind the opinions of his own race who would have even more reason to despise him.
And to finish with a flourish, if fate had given victory to the Romulans, in defiance of his secret designs, it would be difficult, even impossible for him to act and behave as if all had ended exactly as his plans had envisaged, that he been achieved what he wanted, if they were victorious. Indeed, it was certain he would be eliminated by the Romulans if this ever was the case. He would be considered too treacherous; far too dangerous. In that circumstance, he would no longer be useful. It would be better to eliminate him. And Valdore certainly wouldn't offer him any help; indeed, he would be at the front of the queue ready to make the first strike.
On the other hand, regardless of whether or not his dream would be realized, his position was now that of a man constantly hovering between life and death, if possible even more so now. The sudden change on Enterprise, the pressure of events, the certainty that harlot who was the new Empress, together with her gang of henchmen, would have made life impossible for him, keeping a constant eye at him, limiting his freedom to take action to the extreme and preventing him from any possibility of communication with his… "Contacts", had prompted him to change his plans drastically. He had to disappear from Enterprise and seek refuge in the "embrace" of his "friends", the Romulans. But it was a deadly embrace, because he was no longer able to limit himself to sporadic contact with them, he was constantly with them and especially with that fox Valdore, so, sooner or later, he knew he would make a mistake. And then the balance would suddenly shift its equilibrium towards his death. And because of this he had put his foot down on the throttle, knowing, that this was a race to certain death for him, regardless of the outcome.
The cold darkness inside him deepened its icy grip even more. There was no way, he knew for certain: regardless of what happened, that he could avoid dying in the worst possible way, and hatred and contempt would accompany his death, if only because of the ignoble way in which he had behaved and managed things. He would be labelled traitor by his people and traitor by the enemies of his people.
But that dream ... there was still that dream.
And, in the hatred and bitterness that devoured him and the whole of that Universe ... in the cold darkness of his lonely soul… maybe ... in that dream ... there might be a little light, a small spark of heat even for him…
T'Pol.
Once again, for the ten-billionth and first time after the ten billion times that he had already thought about that mystery, and knowing that he would go there again at least another ten billion times, Tucker tried to understand, and once again, was not successful.
No, he couldn't understand. That woman... that Vulcan, treacherous and rebellious, that slimy and cruel bamboozler... T'Pol.
At the very least he should feel an urge to strangle her, to dismember her into tiny pieces, to torture her to death for what she had done to him. He would not have thought twice to do that to anyone else who crossed him, if presented with the opportunity.
But instead...
When he was separated from her, he with the Romulans, and her in the hands of that Queen of Brothels, the self-appointed Empress, he... had missed her.
When, during their separation, he had thought what tortures that ignoble bitch, Hoshi, was inflicting on her, he had felt something inside, a kind of gloomy trembling; a grinding, ache.
When he had discovered the terrible death that had been reserved for her, he had foamed with rage at the bloodcurdling horror, and had to find a way to rescue her. He had played all his cards to convince his distrustful allies to help him, had lied and bluffed as never before just to achieve that aim, succeeding at last in saving her, just at the instant before she lost honour and life in a frightening manner, in that cage of horror. And, right after, he had even given up his need for retaliation against Phlox, so that the doctor might heal T'Pol. He had persuaded the Romulans to free Phlox from his cell, after convincing his pitiless allies to imprison the doctor. He had saved him in spite of the Romulans' intention to kill him, when circumstances had forced them to rescue the physician along with him, and in spite of a deep impulse of his own to make Phlox scientifically aware of what lay beyond life. And many times he had wondered, afterward, how and why he had made that decision to refrain from killing Phlox, instead preserving his life, convincing himself that it would be a crueller fate for that man to end his days in a cell, or even better, rotting away, forgotten in the Romulan dungeon: that should have been the doctor's fate.
It was as if, he had some kind of presentiment that there would be a need for Phlox to cure T'Pol.
T'Pol, T'Pol, T'Pol, once again, always T'Pol.
Why had he done all of that? Why hadn't he let the treacherous bitch die? And die in that terrible way, as she deserved?
What had that Vulcan whore done to him? That witch? Had this been a consequence of the mind meld, by any chance? But no, that was impossible. He had thought about that possibility many times, but it could not have been a mind meld. He knew about that strange Vulcan practice, far better than any of his own kind, because of a necessity to understand the practice. He had to handle his relations with his "friends" the Romulans, carbon copies of the Vulcans yet far more dangerous and treacherous, so consequently he had to learn all about them; all the conceivable myths and even the inconceivable ones, to avoid any unpleasant "surprises". Sure, no Romulan would have thought of dirtying his neurons, by fusing his mind with that of a Human, and, least of all, with his, but in life you never know, and, he could not run the risk that some "dear Romulan friend" might try to read what he kept concealed in his mind. Fortunately fate had helped him. Mh ... maybe, to think of it, fate had been not been very nice to that old wreck, that old Vulcan professor who he had tracked down in the slums of San Francisco and who, had succumbed to adequate "unction", to train him to defend himself from any unpleasant mental attacks; but, after all, that old man was alone in the world, having ruined himself by evaporating his mind chasing the skirts of an ungrateful Orion slave; he had led such a sad life. No, Tucker was sure that… fate had done that miserable Vulcan a very great favour: the place where that poor man had ended up because of… that ill-omened accident was certainly better than the one into which he dragged his pitiable life. And then…well, it had also been a good thing for Tucker because one could not really trust a man like that, a stray homeless and brainless Vulcan, ready to unburden himself to anyone, especially after one glass of Andorian ale too many.
Whatever else he was, that poor old Vulcan was a real crackerjack. However, in the short time that had been available he taught him a lot of stuff about mind melds, really a lot. And because of that he seared in anger: at his weakness, for allowing himself to be taken by surprise; and against that damned traitorous Vulcan female who had surreptitiously extorted from him what she needed and implanted a telepathic suggestion to compel him to sabotage the power grid, taking advantage - that Vulcan bitch be damned! - for the irrepressible desire which she had aroused in him.
That hussy had beguiled and manipulated him, had used him treacherously, without even caring about the consequences he might have to endure!
And yet, despite all that, despite his anger, his resentment...
But how was it possible? What kind of trick had she used on him, that damn woman?
For him it had been awful. He not only had to bow to the fact that fraudulent bitch had tricked him, but he also had to find the strength to fight against what she was doing without her becoming aware that he knew what she was up to. He had to ensure she was unable to discover what was buried deep in his mind; that which she must not know, albeit, of course, in his initial surprised and wrathful helplessness she had inevitably embezzled from his brain what she wanted and had primarily sought, while he, had not known or been able to fight against the telepathic prompting she had grafted onto his mind.
Yes, it had been awful, and even more terrible had been the candid and contemptuous effrontery with which she had later disclosed to him what she had done, obviously unaware that he already knew and understood.
*And nevertheless, in spite of all this… But how is it possible? HOW IS IT POSSIBLE THAT DESPITE ALL THIS, I ... I…*
No, the mind meld had nothing to do with it. A mind meld was only a mental technique for sharing thoughts, experiences, memories and knowledge, exactly what T'Pol had needed from him. It was also possible to inculcate subconscious orders, of course. But what reason could she have, that damn Vulcan daughter of a demon, to order him ... what? What !, damned devil? What was this thing he felt, which he was unable to understand; all he knew was that it was so powerful it made him forget all the Vulcan bitch had done to him? And that it pushed him to risk everything he had so laboriously built just to save her, to protect her, to…
*To have her!*
No, by the horns of Beelzebub, it hadn't been the mind meld! Surely she couldn't have used the meld to cast a spell on him.
A spell, yeah, for the blood of the devil, a spell! Because that was what he felt had taken hold of him!
She had cast a spell on him.
She had bewitched him.
That woman, that hag, that sorceress held the power to bewitch him. She had got under his skin and reached into... inside his heart, the heart he believed he no longer possessed.
No, he was not able to understand, it was something too foreign to him and everything he knew. But ... something… a yearning had made its way through the rubble of his heart which he had thought would never beat with… with…
*With what?*
He was incapable of identifying what he was feeling, but it had been enough to push him to do everything he had done for T'Pol, regardless if it made his life even more difficult, and to hope… to hope that, despite all that she had done to him, despite her open contempt for him, the coldness that she had shown towards him at the end ... despite all that, maybe ... just maybe ... what she had given him might be something more than Pon Far induced carnal desire.
And if that was the case, perhaps, there was a little hope, even if he wanted to loath himself for that incomprehensible weakness, never mind being weak enough to be glad to be afflicted by that weakness. Yeah, because this unknown feeling that he felt... he wanted!
And his hope was... was...
Damn! He remembered that she had chosen him to meet her needs, and… also her attitude, her words, her... her docility toward him, when she awoke in the infirmary… that goodbye from her, when he had to leave, that seemed pervaded with concern for him... that farewell, that recommendation on her part ... "Be careful."
Could she be playing him again? Was it possible that, despite all that she had gone through, her ability to control herself was such to enable her to act like that, so soon after she had been rescued? Perhaps she had immediately understood that her life was in his hands, and that she ... she must be ... gentle with him? Or ... or ... when she had linked her mind to his, she had seen - and felt - a bit of that other T'Pol, the one ... in that other universe, who had made the other Tucker suffer too, but who eventually had made him ... had made him ...
Tucker smiled to himself with a weird sort of bitter pride. The other Tucker had really become the greatest of Engineers, in his own universe, so great that his technical manuals had even become the technical-scientific heritage for spacecraft in that other universe. And, in these manuals, there were many notes, written in a secret code. Secret to everyone, but him, because that code... that code was the same one he used!
And those notes were not merely scientific.
He had found something else apart from technical notations.
In those personal notes the other Tucker had said he was … happy. Happy! That was the word the other Tucker had used. T'Pol had made him happy.
*… He had found contentment with his T'Pol…*
Damn that other version of him! He was weak, stupid, dull and inane!
But also deucedly, accursedly and unendurably enviable!
Could it be – COULD IT BE! – that his T'Pol, the one who had behaved so atrociously towards him… could it be that perhaps... one day ... she would care to warm him… with her light, and her heat?
Could she be gentle with him for at least a short while - until his inevitable end would part him from her…forever?
Why had he chosen not to kill the Orion girl? He .. yes ... he knew why. It was because he couldn't completely yield to what he was, to what he had to be. If he had broken her life, indeed there would be no justification for all he had done, was doing and would do in the future in the name of his absurd dreams. It would be as if all that was precious to him did not exist, as if it never existed. Never, not even... - Tucker suppressed the pang he felt inside - … not even his little sister.
It would be as if she had never existed.
His dreams ... his prohibited dreams ... would only be the nightmares of a sick mind.
And T'Pol would really have had every reason to regard him as just another disgusting son of the Human Empire.
Then harsh reality woke him from his reverie. The Romulans had reached his position.
Tucker smiled bitterly to himself. But what the hell was he hoping for? This was reality, his reality, the reality that he had created with his own hands in pursuit of an impossible dream.
And T'Pol ...
Another dream, a dream within a dream, one he recognised that was even more impossible.
Saving and looking after her and giving her the promise of a future, he was prepared to fight and die for that.
That was true even more now, because before she had not been within his reach.
But having her... having her for real...
Having her soul…
This was a dream that could never become reality.
Never.
Tucker shook himself vigorously. What on earth had taken hold of him? And right now, of all times? He felt the impatience of his waiting men. They were all looking at him; behind the visors, he could see their stony eyes. He took a meagre satisfaction from a kind of respect and fear he perceived in them.
Oh sure. Tucker sneered to himself, with acrid sarcasm. These warriors had not been among those who had taken part in T'Pol's rescue mission, they hadn't seen with their own eyes what he had done to Reed; they had heard about, of course, but it was one thing to listen to a story, another to be there in person. *Okay. Not all evil can cause harm. I need to take advantage of the situation.* There would be no objections, even unspoken; to whatever order he gave.
He pointed his Lyrpa at one of the soldiers. Perhaps he had made a stupid blunder, but it seemed that the man winced almost imperceptibly and moved slightly back.
He ignored the impression the man had given him and spoke in a peremptory tone. "You, stand guard here, and watch the girl. While I doubt anyone else will come near here, you never know. Whatever happens, you must give us time to do what we need to do. How you do that, well that's your damn business. Try not to act like an idiot, like that guy." He gestured towards the headless body of the Human soldier.
Then, he beckoned to the other Romulans. "The rest of you are coming with me, inside now!"
Before moving towards the door of the temple, he again addressed the Romulan soldier who was to be left outside on guard, with smug pleasure. "See you do not lose your head."
Then grinning to himself he turned on his heels. Something told him that the Romulan had perfectly understood the double meaning of his bad joke. And, in light of recent events, he would ensure that he did his job to perfection.
Light years away, the young Vulcan woman resting in the Romulan infirmary was no longer sleeping quietly and restoratively.
There had been a sudden jolt in her, echoed in the wave patterns that recorded her brain activity, as... - Phlox considered for a moment - ...yes, as if she had seen, heard or who knows, maybe even had a strong and intense experience. All the indications were the same as he had observed before as she seemed to become re-immersed in an event only she saw, giving it tense attention.
For the first time the doctor had seen clear substance in his ideas, his suspicions, in the results of his observations.
Where was Tucker, the General, at this time? What was he seeing, observing, doing, feeling and experiencing? And just what was T'Pol seeing, observing, doing, feeling, and experiencing?
Certainly, beyond any consideration, of what had happened before Phlox was really intrigued. Whatever happened, he had to find out exactly what was occurring, how and why. He had to strengthen his suspicions with valid proofs, perhaps by sounding out T'Pol - how, was still to be worked out - never mind when this might be possible.
The doctor gave out a long sigh. He had to watch the Vulcan and what was being recorded by the medical instruments, while trying to remain calm and cool, but it was not easy. He had observed, with keen interest, both the sudden jolt, and the return to her earlier state and was already sweating buckets as he resisted the renewed urge to interrupt T'Pol's sleep, if, at this point, it could be really called that. But he had decided not to wake her so that was that.
Surely – Phlox rubbed his hands over his face, as if that gesture would help him make sense of what he was pondering and also calm him – he needed to think hard about all the implications of his theory, not to mention the hard test he was putting his adrenal glands, this puzzle could really make a person lose his head.
There had been a sudden jolt in her, echoed in the wave patterns that recorded her brain activity, as... - Phlox considered for a moment - ...yes, as if she had seen, heard or who knows, maybe even had a strong and intense experience. All the indications were the same as he had observed before as she seemed to become re-immersed in an event only she saw, giving it tense attention.
For the first time the doctor had seen clear substance in his ideas, his suspicions, in the results of his observations.
Where was Tucker, the General, at this time? What was he seeing, observing, doing, feeling and experiencing? And just what was T'Pol seeing, observing, doing, feeling, and experiencing?
Certainly, beyond any consideration, of what had happened before Phlox was really intrigued. Whatever happened, he had to find out exactly what was occurring, how and why. He had to strengthen his suspicions with valid proofs, perhaps by sounding out T'Pol - how, was still to be worked out - never mind when this might be possible.
The doctor gave out a long sigh. He had to watch the Vulcan and what was being recorded by the medical instruments, while trying to remain calm and cool, but it was not easy. He had observed, with keen interest, both the sudden jolt, and the return to her earlier state and was already sweating buckets as he resisted the renewed urge to interrupt T'Pol's sleep, if, at this point, it could be really called that. But he had decided not to wake her so that was that.
Surely – Phlox rubbed his hands over his face, as if that gesture would help him make sense of what he was pondering and also calm him – he needed to think hard about all the implications of his theory, not to mention the hard test he was putting his adrenal glands, this puzzle could really make a person lose his head.
End of Chapter Six
"Light years away, the young Vulcan woman resting in the Romulan infirmary was no longer sleeping quietly and restoratively.
There had been a sudden jolt in her, echoed in the wave patterns that recorded her brain activity, as if she had seen, heard or who knows, maybe even had a strong and intense experience.
Where was Tucker, the General, at this time? What was he seeing, observing, doing, feeling and experiencing? And just what was T'Pol seeing, observing, doing, feeling, and experiencing?"
There had been a sudden jolt in her, echoed in the wave patterns that recorded her brain activity, as if she had seen, heard or who knows, maybe even had a strong and intense experience.
Where was Tucker, the General, at this time? What was he seeing, observing, doing, feeling and experiencing? And just what was T'Pol seeing, observing, doing, feeling, and experiencing?"
Yeah! What is she seeing and hearing and feeling, our T'Pol?
We know it. Am I wrong, my friends? No, I am not wrong. We know it.
But believe me, we are just starting out, poor T'Pol!
Shortly and soon you'll understand.
But before, in order to get into the sensory experiences of T'Pol, to understand, in other words, the reality of her dreams, you will have to extricate yourself from, you'll have to understand what lies behind, the...
We know it. Am I wrong, my friends? No, I am not wrong. We know it.
But believe me, we are just starting out, poor T'Pol!
Shortly and soon you'll understand.
But before, in order to get into the sensory experiences of T'Pol, to understand, in other words, the reality of her dreams, you will have to extricate yourself from, you'll have to understand what lies behind, the...
Do you know? I think that the shark fin that is commingled with the face of Tucker is more than enough to whet your appetite.
Oh yes. That mendacious scoundrel of my ancestor was really in the ball, about that. And, modestly, I do not think I'm far behind him.
Oh yes. That mendacious scoundrel of my ancestor was really in the ball, about that. And, modestly, I do not think I'm far behind him.
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COPYRIGHT 2013 © Asso - [email protected]
COPYRIGHT 2013 © Asso - [email protected]