Oh mama!
I really hope you have recovered, my friends!
Poor T'Pol!
Maybe it is also true that she is not quite the T'Pol that we are all used to know, I mean the T'Pol of our Universe.
But...
Having to suffer in that way!
Having to face such an ordeal!
Such an atrocious, hideous experience!
To wish not even to our worst enemy!
Really!
Luckily someone ran to her aid.
Yeah.
Someone.
But who?
Do you have any idea, my dear friends?
Yes?
Okay. So, what do you think? Do we want to check?
Very well.
I really hope you have recovered, my friends!
Poor T'Pol!
Maybe it is also true that she is not quite the T'Pol that we are all used to know, I mean the T'Pol of our Universe.
But...
Having to suffer in that way!
Having to face such an ordeal!
Such an atrocious, hideous experience!
To wish not even to our worst enemy!
Really!
Luckily someone ran to her aid.
Yeah.
Someone.
But who?
Do you have any idea, my dear friends?
Yes?
Okay. So, what do you think? Do we want to check?
Very well.
In this case, please read here
Oh oh!
Battlefield!
And all those people, then!
Even... yes! Even Harrad-Sar!
But not the Harrad-Sar that you know, my friends. Another Harrad-Sar. Different. The Harrad-Sar of the Mirror Universe. With his fate.
Really, if it hadn't been Daniels to tell all this to me, one could think that everything is invented.
But you know well that it is not so, my friends.
You know it, don't you?
Don't you believe?
Chapter Three
"Reed!"
Choked and angry, and with what sounded unmistakably like fear, finally the voice of the Empress burst forth from her mouth; after she had regained a little of her mind functionality. She tried to mollify the dryness of her lips by passing her tongue over them but it was also as dry as her throat.
"Reed! Damn you!" She shouted aloud, her voice squeaky and coming from beneath the bodies which were weighing down on her.
A hand seized her arm and extracted her with force from under those inert forms.
She found herself standing up on rickety legs and she looked wide-eyed at the face of the one who had helped her.
Travis was in front of her, the hand supporting her was his. He was staring at her with strained eyes. His face looked drained and there was a wound on his forehead which was bleeding copiously.
The Empress gazed at the blood which flowed down her paramour's visage, all over his attractive features.
She inhaled sharply and lowered her eyes to examine herself; to discover what was causing the clammy wetness she felt on her skin. To see if it was blood.
It was.
But it was the blood of her bodyguards.
Breathing harshly, echoing the breathing of her gigolo, she regarded the bodies which had covered her with their flesh and blood, and had protected her.
Her eyes lingered over them.
They were all dead.
As also was the Terran Prefect.
She inspired herself to be hard again, and then lifted her head to look around.
From among the glares of the fires, which were flaring up everywhere, from among the debris; the dust and the death fug which permeated the air, the Empress looked at her people.
She heard their shouts of pain, and listened to their whines of agony.
She watched her soldiers while they attempted to stir themselves; to regain their discipline; to react. To restrain the crowd of Vulcans, who, thank goodness, were too shocked themselves to be able to do anything.
A dull wrath started to rise inside her, taking the place of the fear and of the dismay which had got hold of her.
She looked aloft at the high vaulting roof of the palace. Spirals of acrid and dense smoke hovered there, inside and all around the enormous chasm, from where the Inferno had plummeted down on them. She saw the uprooted video-cameras, wrecked and dangling from the walls. The devices which should have broadcast her triumph to many worlds and peoples were now displaying her failure, the larceny of her vengeance.
Her rage grew until it was a burning flame.
How had it been possible? HOW? Reed! REED! That incapable! That hopeless, unable to do anything right toy soldier.
The Empress turned around in a fury and yelled out in her ire, "Reed! Show yourself, damn you, you so called General; the greatest of warriors!"
At the lack of response from her commander-in-chief, she screeched again in a shrill voice. "REED!"
"I don't think he can respond."
Mayweather's cold response drew the Empress's attention. He had finished with the ritual formula, "…Your Majesty," but, the Empress could swear that there was a hint of a mocking tone in his respectful appellation.
She was going to reprimand him, when her brain grasped the full meaning of his words. She watched Mayweather's face intently and he reciprocated her gaze. Then without a word he stepped aside and allowed her to see.
Mayweather's body had kept the cage out of her sight, but now the Empress was able to have a full view of it. It looked completely unbalanced; the bars seemed to have been hit by a tremendous energy, and were still steaming, looking broken and blackened. It no longer had a ceiling and in the middle of its bloody floor, far from his inert companions, lay the last monster, the one who had been on the point of fulfilling the ruthless revenge desire of the Empress. Or, rather, only what remained of him was lying there: a vast and motionless body, bleeding and yet fumigant from the mortal discharge which had killed him, the noisome smell emanating from his burned flesh abhorrently plaguing the air.
And, hanging from the twisted bars, just in front of the dumb struck sovereign, was another body, lashed to the cage by his arms.
They were handless arms. And the body was headless. The head had been severed from its neck.
The blood which trickled copiously down the uniform the maimed body was wearing wasn't enough to hide who it had belonged to.
It was the body of the one who once had been Malcolm Reed.
Choked and angry, and with what sounded unmistakably like fear, finally the voice of the Empress burst forth from her mouth; after she had regained a little of her mind functionality. She tried to mollify the dryness of her lips by passing her tongue over them but it was also as dry as her throat.
"Reed! Damn you!" She shouted aloud, her voice squeaky and coming from beneath the bodies which were weighing down on her.
A hand seized her arm and extracted her with force from under those inert forms.
She found herself standing up on rickety legs and she looked wide-eyed at the face of the one who had helped her.
Travis was in front of her, the hand supporting her was his. He was staring at her with strained eyes. His face looked drained and there was a wound on his forehead which was bleeding copiously.
The Empress gazed at the blood which flowed down her paramour's visage, all over his attractive features.
She inhaled sharply and lowered her eyes to examine herself; to discover what was causing the clammy wetness she felt on her skin. To see if it was blood.
It was.
But it was the blood of her bodyguards.
Breathing harshly, echoing the breathing of her gigolo, she regarded the bodies which had covered her with their flesh and blood, and had protected her.
Her eyes lingered over them.
They were all dead.
As also was the Terran Prefect.
She inspired herself to be hard again, and then lifted her head to look around.
From among the glares of the fires, which were flaring up everywhere, from among the debris; the dust and the death fug which permeated the air, the Empress looked at her people.
She heard their shouts of pain, and listened to their whines of agony.
She watched her soldiers while they attempted to stir themselves; to regain their discipline; to react. To restrain the crowd of Vulcans, who, thank goodness, were too shocked themselves to be able to do anything.
A dull wrath started to rise inside her, taking the place of the fear and of the dismay which had got hold of her.
She looked aloft at the high vaulting roof of the palace. Spirals of acrid and dense smoke hovered there, inside and all around the enormous chasm, from where the Inferno had plummeted down on them. She saw the uprooted video-cameras, wrecked and dangling from the walls. The devices which should have broadcast her triumph to many worlds and peoples were now displaying her failure, the larceny of her vengeance.
Her rage grew until it was a burning flame.
How had it been possible? HOW? Reed! REED! That incapable! That hopeless, unable to do anything right toy soldier.
The Empress turned around in a fury and yelled out in her ire, "Reed! Show yourself, damn you, you so called General; the greatest of warriors!"
At the lack of response from her commander-in-chief, she screeched again in a shrill voice. "REED!"
"I don't think he can respond."
Mayweather's cold response drew the Empress's attention. He had finished with the ritual formula, "…Your Majesty," but, the Empress could swear that there was a hint of a mocking tone in his respectful appellation.
She was going to reprimand him, when her brain grasped the full meaning of his words. She watched Mayweather's face intently and he reciprocated her gaze. Then without a word he stepped aside and allowed her to see.
Mayweather's body had kept the cage out of her sight, but now the Empress was able to have a full view of it. It looked completely unbalanced; the bars seemed to have been hit by a tremendous energy, and were still steaming, looking broken and blackened. It no longer had a ceiling and in the middle of its bloody floor, far from his inert companions, lay the last monster, the one who had been on the point of fulfilling the ruthless revenge desire of the Empress. Or, rather, only what remained of him was lying there: a vast and motionless body, bleeding and yet fumigant from the mortal discharge which had killed him, the noisome smell emanating from his burned flesh abhorrently plaguing the air.
And, hanging from the twisted bars, just in front of the dumb struck sovereign, was another body, lashed to the cage by his arms.
They were handless arms. And the body was headless. The head had been severed from its neck.
The blood which trickled copiously down the uniform the maimed body was wearing wasn't enough to hide who it had belonged to.
It was the body of the one who once had been Malcolm Reed.
She was screaming, crying, and squirming, in terror and pain. Vaguely she was aware the nightmare wasn't true, that she was actually sleeping, that there was no longer a Monster clawing at her.
But in her mind the cage was still real and her heart was beating furiously while she clinched her teeth until they creaked against each other.
And she screamed, cried, and squirmed.
Caught in the horror of her madness.
Reclined on her large bed, the Empress was watching her troops on the screen which was situated in her royal private apartment. Things were going satisfactorily. It had been a good idea to assign the command to Hayes; it had been necessary to find someone able and skilled to replace Reed.
The Empress wasn't able to repress the slight shiver which ran along her spine.
She stirred, ill at ease, and moved to the edge of the bed, while her eyes observed the ranks of her army on the ground without seeing them.
Instead of her armada, it seemed to her that that a body without a head and with arms, which ended in two bloody stumps, and were enchained to the cage's bars, was displayed on the screen.
Who had reduced Reed so? Why? In the middle of an attack clearly led to save that Vulcan whore? There was only one person the Empress thought was capable of doing that. The only man who had nourished such a dire rancour towards Reed because of the tortures the deceased Commander-in-Chief had compelled him to suffer, and even more because of the lustful desires Reed had for the woman whom this man had felt belonged to him; everyone was aware of the affair between him and that Vulcan tart, they had done nothing to hide it, and everyone knew of Reed's propensity towards that slut, because he too hadn't done anything to conceal his craving.
Only this person might have wanted to rescue the Vulcan traitress and at the same time take vengeance on his enemy. Also…the Empress again felt a chill run along her back... yes, and also deliver a clear warning to all of them.
She knew what it meant. The decapitated head…to have no chance to have thoughts of any kind; ever again. The missing hands…no possibility to do anything, ever again. The threat had been made that it could happen to all of them; to all who had harmed that damned Vulcan female...what she, the Empress, had ordered be done.
The Empress tried to think coldly, chasing away the subtle fear she felt. However the more she thought about what had happened, the more she was convinced that she wasn't mistaken. Actually, there could only be one man capable of such horrible vengeance, so cruelly unmerciful, as she, the Empress, was; as was the way in the evil world where they all lived; while contemporaneously being capable of feeding dark yet still romantic feelings, so strong and untameable that he had wanted to save the woman who had betrayed the Empire and who had also had the sense to deceive this man. The Empress knew the treacherous behaviour of that Vulcan hooker toward her saviour; she knew it for sure.
But, in spite of all that, this man had thrown himself into that undertaking, because… because he was a very special man, the only man among all those the Empress had known, who, unconsciously, seemed to put feelings, even if they were dark, above flesh and ambition.
And who, for those reasons alone, she had wanted to possess. The Empress almost grunted in a miff…and hadn't had.
That Vulcan hussy had had him. She had entrapped him in her web, to the extent that he had risked his life to free her.
Anger and jealousy leavened inside the Empress.
That Vulcan bitch had defeated her, had plotted against the Empire, and had taken the man she, the Empress, should have possessed, and, now that harlot was free, far from her revenge, and liberated by exactly the one person who she had treated so badly and heartlessly.
The thoughts of the Empress seemed not to be able to break free from the twisting around and around in her head.
And that stupid and skilful man, the one who held the secret to make ships function in his hands; that man, whose power could have been increased by his unique ability to handle engines and the engineering, including the new technologies they had acquired; that man had thrown himself into the attack just for the beautiful eyes of a woman unworthy of such dedication.
Why hadn't it been her, Hoshi Sato the Great, the mistress of the Empire's Destiny, why had she not been the one to have such a lucky fate?
What a couple she and he could have been. His knowledge combined with her craftiness; his strength and her ductility; his bravery and her capacity for manipulation; his stubbornness and her artfulness.
His body coupled with her body.
She, oh yes; she would be capable of solacing him for the gash that marked his visage, the brand of his job, the stigma that the Vulcan bitch hadn't been able to appreciate; to relish.
The sign that was his fatal abnegation.
Tucker.
Tucker! TUCKER!
He. HE! Only he could have been the one!
Only he could have the motivation and the boldness to make that attack.
Sure. Only him.
The Empress suddenly raised her head, frowning and uncertain. The absurdity of her thoughts struck her.
Sure. Only him.
But he was dead.
Save me! Enough! Stop!
PLEASE!
Fear, pain, shame. Horror.
Without end.
But no! It wasn't true. She was safe and far from all that horror.
He had saved her.
But he was dead.
But in that case, she should still be in the cage, still fighting against all that horror. That one, the Cage of Horror, would be her true fate.
As the fear, the pain, the shame.
The horror.
But his arms had been true. She had felt them.
And...it seemed so real; that voice. His voice...
Low ...and raucously threatening.
"It's taking too much time, Phlox. Her body is healing but her mind is not. Days and days have passed and after all the cures you've used, I find her to be so panic-stricken, still engulfed in all that horror. And she doesn't seem to want to wake up. See to do something, Doc. It will be better. Believe me. Better for your health!"
The Empress tried to stir herself. It wasn't the right time to have such thoughts. The battle was about to start and that was all that should matter at present. She focused again on the screen. Her troops were deployed; General Hayes was waiting for her signal. The ship was ready to provide air support. The crew on the bridge and the rest of her vessel were all awaiting her orders. At her nod, hell would be unleashed on the heads of the rebels and then her army would crush them in its mortal embrace.
After the public debacle of her failed demonstration of strength; the flop that should have been her finest act of revenge, it had been hard and difficult to hold onto power. The rebel's self-assurance had increased, and their military forces had attracted new recruits, not to mention the renewed vigour that the internal resistance ranged against her had acquired.
But her lover was right; certainly he didn't have Archer's virulence and bitchy strength, and because of that she had thought to take advantage of him, following his own prompting. He had been capable of pushing her to free herself from Archer's cumbersome leadership and was now her docile servant, glad to savour the power of her reflected might and the warmth of her proffered body. Never would he have the will to leave the shadows and expose himself to the full light and this suited her fine. Yet his mind was keen, as was his body… strong. She remembered his words; and his puissance.
"No haste. Order. One thing at a time, Your Majesty."
That was what he had said to her in their alcove, while she was attempting to recover from her rout with his hot help, the night after the robbery of her jubilation.
"First of all, the rebels," he had gone on, while his hands greedily tasted her flesh. "Nothing's changed, that's the priority," his mouth had sighed on her skin. "Force is still ours, we will crush their defences," he had murmured, while he was crushing her own defences. "The deposed Emperor is boneless and unwarlike, surrounded by a court of spineless flatterers, all ready to follow the winner. He is not a danger. We will take care of him, afterwards."
The Empress sighed without thinking, while she relived the mighty thrust which had meaningfully accompanied that 'afterwards'.
"And as for the unknown people who attacked us, they will know our revenge. We have found some traces of their origin in our scans; we will find them. And we will shatter them." And then he had shattered her, stifling with his mouth, her shouts of pleasure on her mouth.
Fingers, well-known, on her mouth, were attempting to stifle her shouts. Softly, softly! It was the sweetness that he alone was capable of showing, even amid his toughness. When he had made love with her.
It was untrue. Untrue! It was not his voice. Or the voice of Phlox! He too had died, he too!
Nevertheless...nevertheless it seemed to be Phlox's voice! Although it trembled slightly, as if the speaker was in fearful awe.
"Commander...viz...General Tucker, I swear, she is recovering; even her mind. What she experienced was tremendously traumatic, even for a strong Vulcan like her, not to mention all the days and the nights she spent, before that terrible ordeal, among deprivations and tortures. So I had to sedate her - potently. And inevitably the sedation has affected the working of her brain circuits. Now, though, it's time for her to wake up and just because of all that, she responds like this. She is fighting in a world between dreams and reality but this is the end of it, General, I swear. Look at the medical monitor that is maintaining a close surveillance of her condition, look at it. She is fighting to wake up and because of that she is agitated and cries out. But this is about to finish, she is going to wake up. And you shall see, General Tucker, you shall see: she will be sane and in good health. I swear, General. I SWEAR!"
General... Tucker?
"General Hayes is waiting, Your Majesty. We all are. Your presence is required on the command bridge."
Once more her paramour's voice recalled the Empress to reality. She looked at his figure astir in the doorway. She had to be more careful; although he could be a hot lover, she shouldn't get lost in that way, couldn't allow her body to guide her thoughts and her actions. Things had changed since she was a sex-toy for love games in the bed of the potent of the moment. She had an Empire to lead, now. And a rebellion to crush.
She got up in a majestic fashion and her voice was grave, "Let's go," as she preceded her beau to go to the bridge; after he had respectfully given way to her.
As she entered, the people waiting there stood up and bowed their heads.
She ignored them and made her orders in a loud voice, while looking at the screen, standing haughty before it, her arms folded across her chest.
"Shooting emplacements!"
"Ready, Your Majesty. At your beck and call."
"General Hayes!"
"At your orders, Your Majesty. We are ready at your call."
Hayes' voice rang loud in the bridge from his position on the world below the ship. The last stronghold of the surviving rebels was on that world.
Soon, the town; the rebels' extreme bulwark would be a heap of steaming ruins and then her army on the planet would spread out to exterminate the rebel residual forces, and the survivors would then taste the same horror as that which the Vulcan whore had been able to escape.
But she, the Empress, Hoshi Sato the Great, intended find that Vulcan strumpet again. Yes, she would find her again and finish what had been started. She would retrieve that Vulcan bitch.
Wherever she was.
Where… where she was? The cage… That… that name…
"Doctor... "
Again she heard his voice, while the nightmarish images in her brain were becoming less distinct. Whoever had touched her mouth had gone away, and she opened her lips, as if searching for that touch which she thought she had lost forever.
"My dearest Doctor…"
Menace.
"General! No!"
Phlox again. Fear.
Her mind went into combat to clear the last of the nightmares; only relaxing when the last had faded away. They disappeared into the fog of her soul and finally the hard real world claimed her.
Her eyes fluttered open, with effort.
"My dearest, dearest Doctor... "
Violence.
"NO NO! General, NO!"
Prayer.
She turned her face to look in the direction of the voices she could hear.
"She is waking. Really General, really. She..."
Surprise. Relief.
"General! Her eyes! Watch her eyes! Please. PLEASE!"
She fought to focus her eyes…
And then she saw.
The Empress raised her arm to impose silence. Not one sound could be heard around her.
Then as she lowered her hand, she issued the command.
"Fire."
"Welcome back to the world, Princess."
He was there, in front of her. He was not a vision, he was real.
He was smiling at her with his sardonic smile and the blue of his eyes were coruscating while his scar seemed to pulsate across his jeering visage.
She was unable to do anything. She merely watched him in silence, motionless, with bewilderment painted all over her face.
He laughed, a mocking and yet cheerful laugh. "Never fear, Baby, you're alive. I'm not a ghost."
She endeavoured to fight against how dazed and weak she felt, trying to raise her upper body up from the bed, as she stretched out her arm to try and touch him; to be sure that what she was seeing was true.
"Ah no, Milady, no." He took hold of her raised hand and with an unfamiliar softness pushed her back onto the bed, gently pressing against her shoulder with his other hand. Then he smirked sarcastically in his usual way. "Still the same pig-headed and logical female, eh, my dear Vulcan? Eh, I know, all of this is illogical, isn't it? But - what do you want? - I'm such an illogical man... I am so very illogical that I am alive, when I should be dead."
Then he frowned and clenched his lips. He spoke with bitterness, "So very illogical that I wanted to save you…after what you did to me."
The Vulcan batted her eyelids, in acknowledgement. And in shame, while a subtle feeling of fear crept into her. It was true, she had... she had...
Her thoughts about him, the thoughts she had had during her desperate fight, when, inexplicably, she had desired to have him near her, to help her and to save her, violently invaded her mind. Now those thoughts, that desire, that she hadn't even imagined she might have had, apparently had become reality, but… - She sighed deeply, unsure. - … but now, if all that was true… what would he do to her?
As if he was reading her mind, he burst into laughter and then in-between chuckling, spoke again, "Eh sure. How very illogical I am. Though, not to the point of risking my own life to rescue you simply so that I can take my revenge on you."
The Vulcan listened to him, trying to understand. She attempted to speak but her voice was feeble and stunted. She was only able to emit one word.
"Why?"
The man, who had been standing stiffly upright in front of her, visibly sagged. He stared at her for an instant, dour, as if trying to gather his thoughts.
Finally he started to talk again, although he didn't respond to her question. His voice sounded strangely quiet. "If I am illogical, see to make sure that you are the logical woman that you say you are. Do not talk; do not make any effort to do so; be quiet, think only that you must recover well." Then, almost as speaking to himself, he added in a very low tone, half-and-half between seriousness and what sounded like a sort of forced jocosity. "Explanations' time can wait. For now, simply see that my illogical feats don't get wasted."
Suddenly, as if willing to show that he was still the same caustic and unpredictable man, he put on his habitual dark and sardonic mask and spoke while chuckling and apparently amused. "Most likely our friend here, standing behind me, won't be glad to think about my reaction, if you don't heal perfectly." He turned slightly and pointed with his index finger at person behind him. His gesture seemed playful, as was his tone; but it also sounded subtly ominous.
"Right, Phlox?"
The ship rumbled deeply, it trembled, and then there were a series of bangs, strong and puissant, all in rapid succession. Then a whoosh was heard, loud and prolonged.
Then silence.
All the eyes on the bridge were focused on the screen, on the last rebel city.
Harrad-Sar was observing the screens in his large command room, surrounded by all of his Officers; Orions, Tellarites, Andorians, Denobulans, Vulcans, as well as an assortment of other species also under the heel of Human Empire.
All were Commanders of different groups that, in many worlds, had dared revolt against the dire power of the Emperor, and even against the will of the majority of their fellow citizens.
Harrad-Sar laughed bitterly to himself. To be honest, the Officers were all that remained of the rebellion after the usurper, the new Empress, had taken command and used the new technology the doom had given her; so that she could to take hold of power and to quell the rebellion.
Rapidly and with a ruthless efficiency, which was a feature of the human military organization, an acquired heritage from their military history, Humans had subdued so many races, even those who were older and more advanced than them but unprepared to face such an aggressive species. Well then, with that kind of effective determination, the ships of the Human Space Fleet had been supplied with the new weapons, and from that moment the fate of the rebels was marked.
Harrad-Sar tried to fight against his thoughts and not allow his awareness; that they faced an imminent rout, an idea which gripped his chest, to influence his appearance and his usual conduct. He was the General-in-chief, the Supreme Commander and the only surviving political major player in the whole alliance.
He almost burst out laughing, openly, in bitter cheerfulness, at the pomposity of what he had thought.
General-in-chief; the Supreme Commander; political major player: now he was General-in-chief of what? Of what alliance was he Supreme Commander? In truth he was the last battered leader of an alliance of improvised and disheartened rebels that did not understand the worth of an articulated and coordinated organisation until the final outcome of the disastrous revolt, whose military actions had not been co-ordinated and which had lacked real political and unitary leadership.
That was who he was; the Supreme Commander. The beings surrounding him were what was left the alliance.
They had to be on the edge of disaster in order to comprehend this simple truth; only unity and coordination could bring victory against a well organized state, with disciplined armed forces.
Harrad-Sar indulged in a faint and sad smile. It was all too late. Probably there had been a chance before the Imperial Forces retrieved that damned ship, the Defiant. His spies had had told them everything. Yes, at that time it would have been possible, but afterwards... - He managed to suppress a sigh of sorrow which had demanded be freed from his lungs while his eyes still stared at the screens, waiting with bated breath, as were all the others. - … Afterwards and when, after practically all the military Commanders were dead, the rebels had decided to pull together their residual forces under the command of only one leader, - him – everything had already been lost.
And so, there they all were; together, awaiting their fate, in the city where everything had begun and where everything would soon end.
Harrad-Sar attentively watched the central screen. It showed a bird's-eye view of the city, sent from the artificial satellite that was still orbiting and broadcasting from on high; most likely its last transmission before it was destroyed by the Imperial flagship.
It was a magnificent town, golden and agleam, great and vast, shining brightly in the morning light.
Harrad-Sar felt pride inflate his chest. The town was the never conquered heart of Orion Syndicate, which Human invaders had never managed to reach and vanquish.
Until now.
For centuries, raiders hailing from his species had come from space to pillage men, women and children from that town, to sell in the slave markets of the Orion territory; around that proud town their potency had grown and other cities rose elsewhere, in worlds which became theirs and from where their pirate ships had scattered terror, the terror that even Humans, for all their vainglory and the power could not help but feel at the sight of Orion vessels swooping down upon them like gray sparrow hawks.
It had not an accident that that the revolt had started with his species. What for the others was an incomprehensible way of life; not being organized in a veritable state, against which Humans were unable to lead a well planned military campaign; their ability to act as a loose brotherhood of semi-freelance corsairs; their fierce spirit of independence; all of these were things that the others didn't possess, the spark necessary to ignite the rebellion's flame.
Pursued, persecuted, sought, the pirate vessels, now transformed into genuine privateers for guerrilla warfare, were always there to remind the dominators of space that there were people who were yet free, who were able to fight against them, and their coruscant capital, they were sought and never found, and became the symbol of the slight waft of freedom that blew, subdued, underground; until the waft had become a storm, which had powerfully pounced at the heads of the human seigneurs.
Until now.
Harrad-Sar regarded the high towers, the svelte golden minarets silhouetted against the blue sky; the dashing domes.
A heartbreaking sadness clenched his soul.
Until now. Until the end.
Now those towers, those minarets, those domes shining with gold and silver...they will shatter onto the ground.
They will become dust.
Together with him and all those gathered there.
The Empress sat down on her command chair; which was shaped like a throne, and she quietly looked at the screen.
She placidly crossed her legs.
Standing next to her, Travis discreetly placed his hand on her high backrest, just as a respectful and duteous prince consort must do.
There was still some moments to wait.
T'Pol looked at the Doctor. So, it was true, she hadn't deceived herself. Phlox was alive, and she had really heard his voice.
The surprise she had felt and the force, with which the reality of Tucker's presence had struck her, had prevented her from noticing him at first, as well as the ambience of the place where she was. It was a large and dim room, similar in some ways to a Vulcan lodging, with respect to the aspect and furnishings, but simpler; it was Spartan, as was the bed where she was resting, as was the Vulcan-like blanket which covered her. Now she was able to notice all that, as well as the strange clothes that Tucker wore, a sort of armour, which seemed made of rawhide.
She observed him, from behind, while he was still facing the Doctor. Her mind practically went by its own volition to that appellative; that name she seemed to have heard during her difficult awakening... that title Phlox had used to address Tucker.
General Tucker.
What did it mean? What was meant by her surroundings? Where was she? What was that familiarity, mixed with diversity that she recognized in her current environment?
Her silent wonderings were broken by Tucker, who, reverting his mocking eyes to her, spoke again. "More and more illogical, isn't it Baby? Two ghosts in only one blow. Eh, but ghosts don't exist." He sneered mischievously. "The late lamented Vulcan High Command denied their existence, didn't they? Who knows what they would think of all this, if only we Humans hadn't destroyed them at the time of our conquest of Vulcan."
T'Pol did not pay any notice to his banter, as offensive as it was. Too many questions were whirling around in her mind; too many and all too weird, meaning that she wasn't able to suppress a questioning and puzzled look from forming on her face. Tucker immediately detected that look and what it meant. His percipience had always been more than merely notable - T'Pol knew that perfectly - and now it seemed to her to be even keener, if that was possible; judging by his words and behaviour.
He scowled in response to what he had read in her face; his eyes serious, almost flaming with restrained rage. "I said that explanations must wait. Wasn't I clear enough? This time the one who has the upper hand is me, my dear beautiful Vulcan." He beckoned to Phlox. "The Doctor can testify to that." Then he pointed his index finger at her. "You can only do one thing: obey me." His voice became low, almost threatening. "And I am ordering to you not to ask questions."
Then a strange look appeared in his eyes. T'Pol was incapable of defining it. It seemed… What? How could it be described? Was it an almost imperceptible sign that he was worried? Or that he cared? Was that possible? But what was she thinking? Was her mind still lost in a dream; there was no other possibility for the perceptions she believed she had observed. Nevertheless…nevertheless he had saved her, he had done that. Why? Again the question pervaded her mind.
Why?
And just while she was trying to find the thread of that tangled hank, Tucker lowered his hand and added a few words. "You must only rest, T'Pol. And recover. Soon and well."
Those words, the tone he pronounced them with, resounded...resounded… How did they resound?
T'Pol felt an unknown sensation inside her; she was unable to recognize it, but it was… pleasant. Pleasant. Yes.
She was incapable of labelling it, she didn't know that it could exist in the universe where they lived; maybe in that other Universe, the one the Defiant had come from... but there, in their reality, so rough, so ... iniquitous. Iniquitous: that was the right word. She had never dwelt on this idea before, for her their reality was what it was; but now…
She didn't understand.
And she couldn't comprehend why he was transmitting this new sensation with his words, which emanated from a man with a fathomless demeanour. A man who had all the reason to retaliate against her; he was someone she had treated unfairly and badly, whom she had ignominiously deceived. Even although she had only acted in the way she knew; the way she had been taught. The way of their universe.
She had been attracted to him, sure, but… but she had also had to satisfy her needs, so... well then... it was logical - logical - that she had thought to do it with a man she found... appealing. A...agreeable, in some way.
But still when she had been in the cage, she had had those thoughts about him; and he had rescued her from her doom; and he seemed to speak to her, when he dropped his habitual rough way, as if she was important to him, or, at least she had got that impression.
How could this be possible? Him? Tucker? A… a Human? Tucker, the most Human of Humans?
She… didn't understand.
She stared at his eyes. Perplexed; uncertain. And, in the end, she didn't know why, she had to speak, to say to him... "I will obey you."
And she was sincere.
She abandoned her head on the cushion and allowed her body to relax on the bed. For reasons she didn't comprehend and didn't want to inquire, she was experiencing something that she had never known before, something that she… relished.
Safety? Protection? She didn't know what that meant. She had never used those words, they were unknown to her. They were things that had never been a part of her life, not even when she had been a child, even if, sometimes, she had felt the need of something like that. And...and, indefinably, she had felt a hint of those sensations for the first time when she had been in the arms of the man who now seemed to inspire them. But all that appeared impossible, illogical, without sense. Most likely she still had to be purged from all that she had been through; ordeals of the sort she had experienced could not pass without leaving wounding marks; even the Doctor had expressed that concept.
But, after all, did it matter? All that she knew was that it was a nice sensation. And she didn't need to know anything else, for now.
Explanations could wait; for now… for now she only wanted to obey.
As Tucker looked into her dark eyes, he seemed to her he was also uncertain and searching for the right words. Finally he spoke, and his voice sounded unsure, as he simply said "Very well."
At that moment the door at the far end of the room opened, and a man entered.
Harrad-Sar could almost perceive, tangibly, the grievous thoughts which seemed to permeate the atmosphere; his thoughts and the ones coming from his companions. That was, obviously, normal; wasn't it normal that people get immersed in their sorrowful thoughts when they are living moments like these? Probably, what were the last moments of their lives?
Indeed, their lives. He was sure that each and every one of them was reliving their lives; what they had done, disliked, and relished, and those things that they would never do again; or dislike. Or relish.
Like him.
He observed with even greater grief the luminous city on the screen.
Oh yes, it was a very beautiful city, so sweet to the eyes, under the terse sky and in the middle of the verdant plain where she seemed to sensuously lie, like a bride in her mellow waiting for her groom.
And it was his town. There, he had been born; there he had grown up; and there he had started on the path to become what he was now.
It was there, that he had learned to be an Orion Pirate; and had become the best, the cruellest, the most pitiless of all pirates. And the bloodthirsty corsair-warrior he was.
Suddenly, it seemed as if his past was there; the yells of his victims rang through his mind; it seemed to him that he could see their visages, the tears on the cheeks of the women, the expression of fearful incomprehension and the affright on the children's faces.
He had lived all of that, it had been his road, which he had walked along, proud and fierce, ignoring the pain he had given, the pain, the desperation that had made his town so glorious. Now, just there, in the city of his pride, that was the pride of his race, he was bitterly tasting the acrid flavour of the sorrow he had dispensed without parsimony or regret, and it was a very cold comfort to him that not one of the other species that were drinking this bitter cup with him and his people in this nefarious universe which possessed them all, was without sin.
Could it be possible - strange how such thoughts came to his mind - that all of this was their punishment?
Harrad-Sar was unable to recognize himself. Never had he had such thoughts before, but maybe the imminence of death can push men towards such ideas.
Those Humans, could they be, by chance, the Nemesis for their sins? The sword with which some Superior Entity wanted to punish them for all the evil they had done? But, in that case, should he believe that everyone - EVERYONE - not only his cruel race of bandits and pirates should deserve such a dire fate?
No, it wasn't possible. There had to be some light, somewhere, for this godless universe.
Humans weren't different from the others, weren't the chastisement for their crimes. And...even they, if what was rumoured was true, might have a heart; if it wasn't a fable that one of them, that famous engineer, that Tucker, had saved that Vulcan female, that T'Pol, who it was said had belonged to him, from the horrible punishment the Empress had devised for her. Or, at least, this was the popular story; or maybe, only the common desire to wish that such an unbelievable love liaison could exist, an underground aspiration for a different world. Sure, because that man was dead, this was well-known; and because, in reality, nobody had witnessed exactly what had happened in the bedlam of that day, when the Empress had been depredated of her revenge.
The truth was that nobody knew who had launched that attack against the Empire.
Could it be that the Humans had their own Nemesis?
Oh enough, now, enough to have such thoughts; even if... yes... even if it was... it was sweet, consolatory, in someway, thinking that such a flower could blossom between a Vulcan woman, a female of a subdued race, and a sullen, glowering, grim, arrogant Human man.
It seemed to be a very tenuous hope for the future, now, that all was hopeless for them.
Now, in fact, all that the rebels had left was that city - and their pride.
The surviving rebels had barricaded themselves into the town after all their space vessels had been destroyed. It was their last fortress, their citadel of pride. In there, they - men, women, children; of all species - were waiting for their marked end, well aware that surrender would be worst than death.
It was all which remained theirs; all that they had. No other city, no other village, no other borough, besides that town was under their control, all of the others had been crushed in the mortal vice of the Empress' armies, one falling after the other, under the ruthless guidance of General Hayes, the scourge of the Empire.
General Hayes. Sure. And his Imperial Legions.
Harrad-Sar's eyes went to the screen that displayed the Imperial Army.
The army surrounded the city on every side. It was immense and impressive.
There were rows and rows of enormous armoured vehicles; and hiding in their metal wombs were innumerable cohorts of well trained infantrymen, ready to pour out at the right moment and march in a disciplined and unstoppable manner against them.
That had been the force of Human Empire, since the start of its expansion. Infantry, ground troops able to fight anywhere and to conquer what spaceships and aircrafts could only destroy. They were assisted by every kind of well-engineered conveyance, capable of acting on land or sea, in the air or in the forests, on the mountains or the plains. Troops were recruited from any world, with the promise of some privilege, and under the firm command of the Human Officers they were framed into their iron discipline.
And Hayes had been able to reorganize this powerful army, owned by Humans, perfectly, in a short time, continuing the job the tremendous Malcolm Reed had begun, so that they could efficiently complete what the spaceships started.
Harrad-Sar's eyes lingered on the waiting army, tidily deployed over the plain, after disembarking from the cargo ships; a disembarkation that nobody had been able to contest, and which had only been made to demonstrate the Empire's strength.
Harrad-Sar was well aware of that, as were the others: the bloody conquering of the city, instead of allowing it to be easily destroyed by the Human ships, would provide for a fierce resistance on the land; but, just for this, it would be the meaningful spectacle at the end of rebellion for the Empress to offer to everyone.
And may it be so; as he knew they would sell their skin at great cost to the enemy. It wouldn't be a smooth walk for the Terran Army; the weapons they had weren't able to even heckle the Human spaceships, but they were enough to disrupt the Human war machines with their load of human and other species' lives before they managed to penetrate the city's defences. Blood would flow over the plain.
Harrad-Sar's smile was sinister; there would be a bloodbath. Especially of Human blood.
Then, he looked at the third screen, and he scowled.
The Imperial flagship was displayed on it. It was far away in space; it looked quiet.
As a vulture which spies from afar on its prey.
The man was stocky, but not fat; he looked strong and he wore the same weird clothes as Tucker. The same… A vision suddenly came to T'Pol, even through the fog in her mind with regard to that day. She had seen those clothes on the people who had fought against the Humans in the Arena of Death.
She hadn't seen their faces; they were covered and of course she had been near death at that time.
Now, as the man approached her bed, she was able to see his visage.
His expression was stern and penetrating; his mouth was large and volitional; his nose was sharp and aquiline; his eyes were dark and piercing.
His hair was dusky and, although not identical, was combed in a similar fashion to hers.
His eyebrows were arched and, although surmounted by bilateral ridges on his forehead; they were like hers.
The tips of his ears were pointed.
Just like hers.
The energy level indicators had reached the top. Then, all of a sudden they went down, all together. The air seemed to quaver.
Then, a blinding light enlightened the screen and the whole room.
Everyone, including the Empress, tried to shield their eyes, screening them with their hands.
She felt Travis' hand grasping her shoulder, but she didn't mind that he had made a public and inappropriate manifestation of familiarity.
The moment was too important; it absorbed all of her attention.
Now she would see if her engineers had been able to emulate the one she had lost; if they had been capable of turning the sketches found in T'Pol's possession into reality; along with something written in Tucker's hand; regarding an unknown and terrifying weapon; connected to a species, the Xindi, against whom Humans had fought in another Universe; something that incredible man had been able to redesign in a scaled-down fashion so that it could be assembled on a spaceship, all that from the short time he had been able to examine the Defiant's database.
Really, regardless of his insane liaison with that Vulcan whore, his was a serious loss. - The Empress couldn't suppress a smile, imperceptibly, even in that juncture. - For many reasons.
Then, any other thought became unworthy of the Empress' attention. It was happening.
The screen turned completely black; then a dazzling blade of light crossed it; the viewing sensors followed the glaring shining slipstream in its breakneck ride, while it stretched out through space.
Down, down.
Until it reached the city.
The man walked swiftly towards the bed.
Towards her.
T'Pol was looking at him, with keen attention. She had never seen an alien like him before.
He was similar to her; but also different.
A subtle uneasiness spread inside her.
The man stopped in front of her bed, next to Tucker, and gave him a nod as a greeting while totally ignoring the Doctor.
He addressed her, speaking in a loud voice, with sure assertiveness, as he looked steadily at her. "Glad to see you are finally awake, Vulcan. It was about time. General Tucker was getting impatient."
The discomfort grew within T'Pol; she felt something which could be called fear.
Almost inadvertently she pulled the blanket up to her chin to use as a shield.
With a sudden motion, Tucker moved to put himself between her and the man, hiding him from her sight, and acting as a barrier between her and the Alien.
And T'Pol felt glad of that.
Then Tucker spoke to the alien, curtly, almost harshly, while the Doctor withdrew to stand against the wall so that he could remain aloof, as if he wished to hide his presence.
"What do you want, Valdore?"
The man stared at him with a rough expression, for a brief instant, and then he spoke in his turn to the Human, drily, and brusquely. "It's time, Tucker."
Immediately afterwards he pivoted on his heels and without another word and without waiting for a response he rapidly went towards the door and then exited the room.
T'Pol waited for Tucker's next move. What had they meant by those words? Who was that alien? And why did she feel… so?
Tucker stared at the door for a short time, with his back to her and then he turned slowly and looked seriously - pensively - at her.
He gazed at her for a long time, still with that expression on his face. Finally he shook himself. He laughed out loud, not cheerfully but forcedly.
And T'Pol did not feel glad about that.
She opened her lips to speak, but Tucker stopped her with his hand.
Placed on her mouth.
But not brusquely, rudely or harshly.
Then he pulled back his hand and smiled.
But not sarcastically, not ironically or sardonically.
He simply smiled to her.
Again, that sensation. That feeling, inside her.
He spoke to her.
But not gruffly, not boorishly or tauntingly.
"I must go. But I'll be back soon."
The sensation continued to grow inside her.
"Remember, Baby, explanations can wait."
The sensation was growing more and more.
He smiled again; a smile... that was gently teasing. As was the tone of his words.
"And do not forget; you said you would obey me, and I order..."
He became serious; he seemed ill at ease, like if he found it difficult to say what he wanted to tell her.
Eventually he found his voice.
"...I order you to recover. Well and soon."
The sensation had become almost oppressive, and T'Pol could only nod; she was unable to speak.
Tucker nodded in reply; he was also unable to speak. It was evident that he was uneasy, awkward.
He nodded again and made as if to turn away and leave her, but suddenly he stopped and looked strangely at her.
T'Pol waited to see what he wanted to do.
He spoke; in a very low voice. "T'Pol…"
T'Pol was gazing at his tense face, as she lay in her bed, under the warmth of her blanket and under the unknown sweetness from that mysteriously delightful sensation.
"T'Pol…"
T'Pol nodded once more, to invite him to finish his phrase.
And at last, he did, "T'Pol, promise it."
T'Pol looked at Tucker with a puzzled expression on her face. She talked softly and her voice sounded strange to her ears. She… called him by his name. "What, Tucker?"
Tucker appeared to be startled; he then recovered enough to say, loud and clear, "That you'll obey me."
T'Pol couldn't find the words. All she could do was to stare intently at Tucker and then nod once again.
He went on looking her, his face now stern; tough. He spoke again in a hard voice. "Say it."
T'Pol renewed her look of confusion, and when she asked the question, she used the same words as before, "What, Tucker?"
Tucker's face seemed threatening, as he responded, although she could also tell as much by the tone of his voice which was anything but menacing, "say 'I promise'."
T'Pol opened her eyes wide. What was happening to Tucker? What was happening to her?
Why, how was it possible that she could bring herself to respond - softly! - "I promise."?
Tucker said nothing; he stood motionless and serious in front of her, the blue of his eyes hardly perceptible under his frowning eyebrows and his deforming scar.
He nodded, again; then, again.
He recoiled backwards. Then he halted. Nodded, then recoiled back again, then halted. He spoke again: "Very... well." Then he smiled; a broad smile. Then he became serious once more. And finally he smiled again; slightly. Before at last he turned round and headed briskly for the door.
Suddenly he stopped in front of Phlox, and looked at him. The Doctor jumped, unready for Tucker's abrupt action.
Tucker burst out with a short laugh. "See that her promise isn't vain, okay Doc?"
"Su... sure, General, this is for certain."
Tucker nodded and then turned round to face toward T'Pol. He gazed quietly at her.
Of sudden T'Pol felt the weight of her tired body, of her exhausted mind.
She felt the imperious necessity to rest, to sleep
That was the problem, yes, it was. Now she understood. There was no need to be a Doctor to comprehend it. Her body, her mind, her whole essence had been worn out to the extreme, so it was not strange if she was feeling so; was so odd. But now she would recover, and would become herself again.
And Tucker...
T'Pol realized that she was using his name in her thoughts also. Oh, but sure. Her mind, even in extremis, was always logical, even now, even unconsciously. What rank did he hold now? General? Of what, of whom? So...Tucker, yes, simply his name. And he - he too - would become once more the one he had been for her... before.
Yes. Sure.
But…but, nevertheless, was all that enough to explain why it seemed to her that all of her accumulated tension had slipped away, easily, along her shoulders, just by looking at Tucker's face? And why did she have the neat perception that, who knows why, she would sleep quietly, this time? Without having any nightmares.
And why…why had she felt so... so unhappy that he was going away? Why did she have to say in a faint voice... "Come back…soon." And then have to add... "Be careful."
Tucker blinked at her words; then reacted, forcefully, regaining his world's solidity; knowing where he was and his own way. He launched a last glance at her, accompanied by another grin.
At last, he turned away from her and walked out of the door.
He disappeared from T'Pol's sight.
Towards her.
T'Pol was looking at him, with keen attention. She had never seen an alien like him before.
He was similar to her; but also different.
A subtle uneasiness spread inside her.
The man stopped in front of her bed, next to Tucker, and gave him a nod as a greeting while totally ignoring the Doctor.
He addressed her, speaking in a loud voice, with sure assertiveness, as he looked steadily at her. "Glad to see you are finally awake, Vulcan. It was about time. General Tucker was getting impatient."
The discomfort grew within T'Pol; she felt something which could be called fear.
Almost inadvertently she pulled the blanket up to her chin to use as a shield.
With a sudden motion, Tucker moved to put himself between her and the man, hiding him from her sight, and acting as a barrier between her and the Alien.
And T'Pol felt glad of that.
Then Tucker spoke to the alien, curtly, almost harshly, while the Doctor withdrew to stand against the wall so that he could remain aloof, as if he wished to hide his presence.
"What do you want, Valdore?"
The man stared at him with a rough expression, for a brief instant, and then he spoke in his turn to the Human, drily, and brusquely. "It's time, Tucker."
Immediately afterwards he pivoted on his heels and without another word and without waiting for a response he rapidly went towards the door and then exited the room.
T'Pol waited for Tucker's next move. What had they meant by those words? Who was that alien? And why did she feel… so?
Tucker stared at the door for a short time, with his back to her and then he turned slowly and looked seriously - pensively - at her.
He gazed at her for a long time, still with that expression on his face. Finally he shook himself. He laughed out loud, not cheerfully but forcedly.
And T'Pol did not feel glad about that.
She opened her lips to speak, but Tucker stopped her with his hand.
Placed on her mouth.
But not brusquely, rudely or harshly.
Then he pulled back his hand and smiled.
But not sarcastically, not ironically or sardonically.
He simply smiled to her.
Again, that sensation. That feeling, inside her.
He spoke to her.
But not gruffly, not boorishly or tauntingly.
"I must go. But I'll be back soon."
The sensation continued to grow inside her.
"Remember, Baby, explanations can wait."
The sensation was growing more and more.
He smiled again; a smile... that was gently teasing. As was the tone of his words.
"And do not forget; you said you would obey me, and I order..."
He became serious; he seemed ill at ease, like if he found it difficult to say what he wanted to tell her.
Eventually he found his voice.
"...I order you to recover. Well and soon."
The sensation had become almost oppressive, and T'Pol could only nod; she was unable to speak.
Tucker nodded in reply; he was also unable to speak. It was evident that he was uneasy, awkward.
He nodded again and made as if to turn away and leave her, but suddenly he stopped and looked strangely at her.
T'Pol waited to see what he wanted to do.
He spoke; in a very low voice. "T'Pol…"
T'Pol was gazing at his tense face, as she lay in her bed, under the warmth of her blanket and under the unknown sweetness from that mysteriously delightful sensation.
"T'Pol…"
T'Pol nodded once more, to invite him to finish his phrase.
And at last, he did, "T'Pol, promise it."
T'Pol looked at Tucker with a puzzled expression on her face. She talked softly and her voice sounded strange to her ears. She… called him by his name. "What, Tucker?"
Tucker appeared to be startled; he then recovered enough to say, loud and clear, "That you'll obey me."
T'Pol couldn't find the words. All she could do was to stare intently at Tucker and then nod once again.
He went on looking her, his face now stern; tough. He spoke again in a hard voice. "Say it."
T'Pol renewed her look of confusion, and when she asked the question, she used the same words as before, "What, Tucker?"
Tucker's face seemed threatening, as he responded, although she could also tell as much by the tone of his voice which was anything but menacing, "say 'I promise'."
T'Pol opened her eyes wide. What was happening to Tucker? What was happening to her?
Why, how was it possible that she could bring herself to respond - softly! - "I promise."?
Tucker said nothing; he stood motionless and serious in front of her, the blue of his eyes hardly perceptible under his frowning eyebrows and his deforming scar.
He nodded, again; then, again.
He recoiled backwards. Then he halted. Nodded, then recoiled back again, then halted. He spoke again: "Very... well." Then he smiled; a broad smile. Then he became serious once more. And finally he smiled again; slightly. Before at last he turned round and headed briskly for the door.
Suddenly he stopped in front of Phlox, and looked at him. The Doctor jumped, unready for Tucker's abrupt action.
Tucker burst out with a short laugh. "See that her promise isn't vain, okay Doc?"
"Su... sure, General, this is for certain."
Tucker nodded and then turned round to face toward T'Pol. He gazed quietly at her.
Of sudden T'Pol felt the weight of her tired body, of her exhausted mind.
She felt the imperious necessity to rest, to sleep
That was the problem, yes, it was. Now she understood. There was no need to be a Doctor to comprehend it. Her body, her mind, her whole essence had been worn out to the extreme, so it was not strange if she was feeling so; was so odd. But now she would recover, and would become herself again.
And Tucker...
T'Pol realized that she was using his name in her thoughts also. Oh, but sure. Her mind, even in extremis, was always logical, even now, even unconsciously. What rank did he hold now? General? Of what, of whom? So...Tucker, yes, simply his name. And he - he too - would become once more the one he had been for her... before.
Yes. Sure.
But…but, nevertheless, was all that enough to explain why it seemed to her that all of her accumulated tension had slipped away, easily, along her shoulders, just by looking at Tucker's face? And why did she have the neat perception that, who knows why, she would sleep quietly, this time? Without having any nightmares.
And why…why had she felt so... so unhappy that he was going away? Why did she have to say in a faint voice... "Come back…soon." And then have to add... "Be careful."
Tucker blinked at her words; then reacted, forcefully, regaining his world's solidity; knowing where he was and his own way. He launched a last glance at her, accompanied by another grin.
At last, he turned away from her and walked out of the door.
He disappeared from T'Pol's sight.
End of Chapter Three
Well, really!
Almost beyond belief, my friends. Almost beyond belief.
But this time, I have nothing to do with all this. Daniels is the responsible.
Not me.
And the following is even more beyond belief.
Frankly, I would recommend you to carefully read it, because it will show you what is possible to perceive ...
Almost beyond belief, my friends. Almost beyond belief.
But this time, I have nothing to do with all this. Daniels is the responsible.
Not me.
And the following is even more beyond belief.
Frankly, I would recommend you to carefully read it, because it will show you what is possible to perceive ...
___________________________________________
COPYRIGHT 2013 © Asso - [email protected]
COPYRIGHT 2013 © Asso - [email protected]