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“Why do you think so?” she said, mirroring his frown. “Isn’t it also possible that she is dead?” After all, being discovered and killed while in the field was an ever-present hazard of the intelligence profession.

Denak was unfazed by her blunt observation, but T’Pol had expected nothing less. Instead, he surprised her by adopting an uncharacteristically confessional tone. “Ych’a and I have shared a... telepathic bond for many years. Establishing psi-links between spouses is a Syrrannite practice that is still not considered entirely acceptable.”

It occurred to her that this lack of social acceptance had given Denak and Ych’a a reason to keep their marriage concealed. T’Pol still had misgivings about the practice of mind-melding.

“I will not judge you,” T’Pol said. “Or Ych’a.” How could she, when she shared a similar bond with Trip? The implications of that bond now seemed far more profound than ever before. The connection that she and Trip had shared—that they continued to share—was no mere casual dalliance. It was all but identical to the link that united two of her oldest friends in the bonds of Syrrannite marriage.

And that makes Charles Tucker my mate, she thought. In a much truer sense than Koss ever was.

Denak’s eyes seemed to brim with both gratitude and pleading. “It was my link to Ych’a that gave me confidence that she would assist you in your foray into Rihannsu space last year—just as it tells me now that she isn’t dead. And that she has been concealing something important from me, in spite of our link, and continues to do so even now.”

T’Pol sat back in her chair, trying to process everything Denak was revealing. It was hard to fully embrace it. “Your assertions seem to contain a great deal of supposition. Do you have any empirical proof?”

“Only the evidence of my years of experience with our telepathic bond. For instance, I have always been able to feel the link attenuate with distance, though it has never broken. I sense a similar attenuation now, greater than ever before, as though Ych’a is now physically farther away from Vulcan than she has ever been...” He trailed off into a troubled silence, staring into the middle distance of the westfacing wall.

T’Pol wanted nothing more than to assuage her old friend’s distress. “What do wish me to do?”

Turning to face her again, Denak said, “I want you to help me find Ych’a. Even if that means venturing offworld, or perhaps even into Rihannsu space.”

“You are being overly emotional, Denak,” she said. “And illogical.”

The determination in his eyes told her that he couldn’t care less about that. “Perhaps. But you know as well as I do that logic alone is seldom the sole determining factor in such decisions. Help me, T’Pol.”

Loyalty and friendship warred with practicality and logic. She had a vitally important task to perform on Vulcan, one that could alter the outcome of the war. But she also couldn’t pursue it effectively for another twenty-eight days—and he knew it.

On the other hand, his conclusions were based almost entirely upon subjective information. It was likely that he couldn’t even determine in which direction to head when he began his search.

But how is Denak’s request any less logical the one I made of him last year? she thought, slowly allowing loyalty and friendship to gain sufficient leverage for a narrow victory.

When I needed his help, and Ych’a’s, to rescue Trip, both of them were there for me.

“I will assist you in any way I can,” she said.

THIRTY-NINE

Day Ten, Month of K’ri’lior

Wednesday, February 11, 2156

The Hall of State, Dartha, Romulus

FIRST CONSUL T’LEIKHA WATCHED in silence as Praetor D’deridex rose slowly from the opulent chair atop the dais in the Hall of State’s cathedral-like audience chamber. Transcending the enfeeblement of his aged lungs, the Romulan Star Empire’s supreme leader spoke with surprising volume and vehemence.

“My boot,” the old man roared, “should already be upon their throats by now, Admiral!” A heartbeat