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As long as he was not subjected to a comprehensive DNA analysis or a deep tissue scan, no Vulcan would ever discover that Talok had assassinated Minister Tavak and taken his place. Talok understood that suspicions would almost certainly be roused eventually. Questions would be asked. Sooner or later, somebody was bound to take a scan of him, or obtain a tissue sample. If he was both competent and fortunate, however, he would discover the source of Haakona’s Vulcan technology connection and melt away into the shadows—per his decades of Tal Shiar field experience—long before any of that could happen.

Mount Seleya, Vulcan

T’Pol wondered if she was losing command of her faculties as a consequence of the twenty-four consecutive days of deprivation she had experienced. She could draw some solace from the fact that the worst of the physical punishments of the last few weeks was behind her. Although the ascent from the blazing sands of the Forge to the chill, wind-carved peaks of Mount Seleya had been arduous, at least it was finished, and hadn’t been followed immediately by an equally harrowing descent through the forbidding darkness of the Osana caverns. She and Administrator T’Pau had even paused at Mount Seleya to take their first meal in weeks. And now, as T’Pol sat quietly on the stone floor between an equally silent Administrator T’Pau and Minister Kuvak—the latter’s presence being somewhat reassuring inasmuch as it meant that he couldn’t actively undermine T’Pau’s government at the moment—T’Pol found at least a fleeting interval of peace.

The other people present were the handful of adepts charged with the maintenance of Mount Seleya’s ancient, open-air cathedral. Today the adepts were conducting the solemn rites associated with the induction of a new Kolinahr master, who was kneeling respectfully before them. The ancient ritual progressed in stately fashion as T’Rukh stood sentinel duty overhead and Nevasa drew ever closer to the distant horizon, lengthening the shadows cast by the circle of dour, robed figures. The net diminution of the sky’s brightness made the fires that crackled in the central ceremonial brazier appear ever brighter by contrast. The only sounds were a few ritually intoned phrases of Old High Vulcan, the sporadic jangling clashes of the hexagonal racks of kus-vakh bells carried by two of the adepts, and the faint background keening of the wind.

Evening arrived as the ceremony reached its slow and dignified conclusion. In the rarefied air of Mount Seleya’s upper reaches, high above the heat of the Forge, the cold of night came immediately, making T’Pol shiver despite the thickness of her robes.

The three visitors rose to their feet as the adepts and their newest inductee formed a procession that departed the broad stone circle, a space that had been worn smooth over the centuries. After the wind had swallowed up the retreating sound of the adepts’ bells, T’Pau turned toward T’Pol and said, “We hope that this—the full embracing of the teachings of Surak—will become the birthright of every Vulcan, from now through every generation yet to come. Peace, through the exercise of logic, via the discipline of the Kolinahr. Do you understand now that we cannot contemplate war when that possibility is finally within our grasp?”

Ignoring T’Pau’s question, T’Pol instead addressed the administrator’s deputy. “Minister Kuvak, are you in agreement?”

Administrator T’Pau’s deputy cast an uneasy eye in his superior’s direction before answering. “In this matter, Administrator T’Pau speaks for all of Vulcan.”

“Indeed,” T’Pol said, as the bulwark of hope that had enabled her to endure the past two dozen days crumbled. “Then I must report to my commanding officer that my mission has ended in failure.” She paused; what she planned to say next would be difficult, but it had to be said. And her candor could hardly make matters any worse.

“And I must also report,” T’Pol added, “that Vulcan is being led to ruin by an evident megalomaniac.”

“Kroykah!” Kuvak shouted,