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The lengthy duration of T’Pau’s absence surprised her, though she harbored no illusions that the interval would suffice to allow Kuvak to craft any substantive change in Vulcan’s policy regarding the Romulans. And the fact that Kuvak had barely even deigned to speak with T’Pol initially made any such initiative from him unlikely in the extreme.

And where was T’Pau? Given the speed capabilities of Vulcan starships, the amount of time she was spending offworld could have put her in any number of places. T’Pol realized she could infer this to be good news, a sign that she was working in person and behind the scenes against the Romulan threat, perhaps partnering quietly with Coalition worlds or other nonaligned planets. But this was entirely conjecture. Kuvak was clearly not about to volunteer any specific information regarding the administrator’s whereabouts or itinerary, and T’Pol knew it would be less than prudent to press him on the matter; neither the V’Shar kash-to’es-khau directive nor the numerous other laws governing executive privilege and government transparency strictly required him to be forthcoming with details.

Tipping her head forward in a gesture of respect, T’Pol said, “I am content to wait until then, Minister. And I hope to cause you as little trouble as possible in the meantime.”

The glare Kuvak cast at her as she turned to leave gave her the satisfaction of knowing that he was expecting precisely the opposite outcome.

Mighty T’Rukh gazed down from an indigo-and-black sky that it half covered, a gigantic eye maintaining its unending vigil over the sleeping city. The night was already several hours old by the time T’Pol had finally finished her meal at one of the local restaurants. Resolved to delay no longer, she had taken a hovercar to the quiet residential neighborhood near ShiKahr’s northernmost boundary.

T’Pol entered the darkened house quietly, unwilling to do anything that might disturb the tomblike silence. Her last visit had been more than a year ago, when her mother had died in her arms following a raid by the reactionary V’Las government on a nearby Syrrannite hideout. T’Les had been one of the casualties of the transition from the corruption of the V’Las regime to the current reformist Syrrannite government led by T’Pau.

The realization came to T’Pol that T’Les’s dark and silent dwelling now belonged to her. I have little to do but wait until T’Pau returns, she thought as she felt along one of the entryway walls for the illumination controls. Perhaps I should take some time to tend to this place.

She was surprised to note that the lights came on immediately once she had found the control padd and entered the appropriate command. Vacant houses were usually disconnected from the central power generation and distribution infrastructure as a matter of course, if only to reduce the possibility of accidental fires. She made a mental note to check out the household utility circuitry herself as soon as possible.

The illumination did little to encourage her; instead, it only accentuated the yawning emptiness of the house. That emptiness mirrored the bereft sensation in her gut, the sense of utter isolation that she usually refused to acknowledge. But she was separated from the solace of her work now, cut off from the comfort of her deepening friendship with Jonathan Archer.

Just as she was cut off from Trip.

Again she cursed herself for her weakness. I am a Vulcan. I must master this.

A knock at the front door broke the silence. Reflexes and training took over, and the phase pistol she carried beneath her robe sprang into her hands.

“Enter,” she said.

The front door opened, and a familiar figure strode into the brightly lit entry foyer.

“I thought I might find you here,” he said, an eyebrow raised.

T’Pol lowered her weapon, frowning. “Denak?”

T’Pol’s old V’Shar colleague gestured with his maimed right hand toward her weapon. “I am gratified that you recognized me, T’Pol.”

Tucking the weapon away, she said, “Come in. Please accept my hospitality.