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By Root 720 0

’s variegated surface. She allowed herself to be drawn irresistibly by the pristine white of the northern polar cap and the mists that shrouded the peaks of Mount Tar’Hana and Mount Seleya, the sapphire blue of Lake Yuron and the Voroth Sea, all of which were set against the contrasting flame-and-rust-colored backdrop of lowland, coastal Raal, the sun-baked highlands of the Plain of Blood, and the sweltering expanse of volcano-ringed Vulcan’s Forge. Just beyond the nightward terminator, the lights of the cities of Gol, Kir, and Vulcana Regar beckoned in dignified silence.

After she had torn her gaze away from the vista on the main viewscreen and entered the turbolift, T’Pol had still found herself wondering: Did the captain really expect her to succeed? Or was he actually attempting to keep her out of harm’s way as the Romulan conflict escalated?

Striding purposefully toward ShiKahr, T’Pol considered that the mission ahead of her needed to be undertaken, for a number of eminently logical reasons. First, the warp-field detection grid had so far failed to live up to Vulcan’s promises. Second, T’Pol had harbored quiet doubts about the longevity of T’Pau’s Syrrannite government from its inception, particularly if its aggressively reformist agenda were to precipitate a political backlash that could empower a new reactionary demagogue. For lives to be spared, time was of the essence.

Government district, Shikahr, Vulcan

If T’Pol had to place a label on the vague trace of emotion that had filtered to the surface of the older man’s stony visage, it would have read “mild annoyance.”

For any Vulcan—especially one who occupied the high-profile position of Administrator T’Pau’s first deputy and senior surrogate—this was the equivalent of a human’s shouted curses. Minister Kuvak’s demeanor might have signaled that he was not generally well disposed toward unscheduled visits to his office so late in his workday. Or it might have meant that he was not generally well disposed toward her, an intuition supported by the ruthless efficiency his office functionaries had applied to terminating her initial call, which she had made from a public comm unit on ShiKahr’s quiet outskirts.

“As I already told you, Administrator T’Pau is off-planet today,” the minister said with exaggerated patience as he walked around the austere desk that dominated his surprisingly small inner office.

T’Pol nodded. “So you said earlier. But you did not indicate then, however, when you expected her to return.”

Kuvak walked to his office door and gazed out into the wide outer foyer, where several clerical workers busied themselves at their computer terminals.

“How did you get past my staff?” Kuvak said, fixing his narrowing gaze back upon T’Pol.

She briefly considered asking him if he’d expected to find his staff unconscious and restrained, then thought better of it. Instead, she said, “My V’Shar security credentials.”

“Thank you for apprising me of that,” Kuvak said in clipped tones. “I will see to it that that particular lapse is remedied. After my security contingent escorts you out of this building.”

“That is, of course, your decision,” T’Pol said, determined not to allow Kuvak to provoke her, as she had evidently already provoked him. “At least until Administrator T’Pau returns to Vulcan. Must I invoke the kash-to’es-khau to learn the approximate date you expect that to occur? Or must you arrest me instead, thereby complicating your schedule with court proceedings and diplomatic protests from Earth, Starfleet Command, and Captain Jonathan Archer?”

Kuvak remained silent, but his eyes blazed with the ancient flames. T’Pol knew him well enough to understand that he did not enjoy being manipulated by a troublesome former intelligence agent quoting V’Shar security directives. But she also knew there was nothing to be gained by being overly gentle with him.

“Administrator T’Pau will return to Vulcan in approximately twentyeight point six four Vulcan standard days,” he said at length. “I will remain in charge until that time.