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But Archer had shared his own mind with Surak, and yet had remained pragmatic in matters of war and peace. T’Pol’s mind-link with Charles Tucker must have given her an understanding of humanity’s capabilities—at least equal to that T’Pau—yet T’Pol had no illusions about humanity’s chances of survival. It was going to take more than resolve to defeat the Romulans. Earth still desperately needed Vulcan’s help.

Something else had begun to bother her about T’Pau’s vision as well: She wondered just how the administrator expected to persuade all of Vulcan to adopt the mind-meld. While the Syrrannites regarded the practice as a sacrament, most Vulcans saw the act as either an unacceptable compromise of personal boundaries or as an outright obscenity. The notion that the mass of Vulcan’s population might be expected to undertake it—even to touch the most universally revered mind in all of Vulcan history—could rouse a social backlash capable of reversing all the progress that T’Pau’s new Syrrannite government had made so far.

T’Pau is attempting to tame truly dangerous forces, she thought. Those forces could bring about an overnight leap forward in Vulcan’s progress along Surak’s path of peace and logic. Or they could dredge up old apprehensions that could drive this society right back to the fear and aggression that motivated V’Las. And that place, T’Pol felt certain, lay only a few short steps away from the raptor’s wing. She shivered, but for reasons that had nothing to do with the chill of Seleya’s thin air.

The shrill beep of the personal comm device interrupted her grim reflections.

“T’Pol here. Go ahead.”

“I have news, T’Pol,” said a voice that she recognized immediately as Denak’s. “Ych’a has just returned to Vulcan after completing a clandestine assignment.”

“That is gratifying to hear,” T’Pol said, relieved to learn of the congenial resolution to which Denak’s unenviable predicament had come.

“There is more,” Denak continued, sounding almost ebullient by Vulcan standards. “Ych’a brought someone back with her—someone I am certain you will wish to see immediately.”

SIXTY-EIGHT

The Hall of State, Dartha, Romulus

CHIEF TECHNOLOGIST NIJIL ONLY GLANCED at the image on the screen atop the desk in the First Consul’s office. But that momentary glimpse had been more than sufficient to tell him everything he needed to know. Nijil had known from the outset that T’Leikha wasn’t content to conduct a mere ransacking, as the late Praetor D’deridex had recently done in an attempt to intimidate Valdore. Had that been her plan, T’Leikha wouldn’t have prevailed upon him to create and plant the explosive compound that had reduced the mansion, along with most of the estate’s outbuildings and much of its surrounding landscaping, to a smoldering crater.

“You do fine work, Doctor,” First Consul T’Leikha said as she gazed with obvious satisfaction at the real-time aerial images the tiny drone was still transmitting.

“Thank you, First Consul,” Nijil said, forcing a smile.

But even though he had been working secretly against Admiral Valdore’s interests, Nijil found it difficult to share the first consul’s enthusiasm. He had been quietly funneling assistance to the Ejhoi Ormiin dissidents for years—presumably without the knowledge of either Valdore or T’Leikha—but he would not have chosen this moment to make an overt move against the admiral.

“I’m not at all certain this was a wise course of action,” he said as he slowly paced across the broad, plushly carpeted chamber.

T’Leikha sighed in an almost theatrical display of forbearance. “Don’t worry, Doctor. I will see to it that Admiral D’soria retains you as his chief technologist once he assumes Valdore’s duties.”

“That’s not what worries me, First Consul.”

“I find that curious, Doctor,” she said, frowning. “I would think protecting your career would be uppermost in your mind at the moment, given the penchant that new administrations have for making a clean sweep of their predecessors