***********************************************************************
Imperial Warbird L’Nar
Subcommander T’Rhiel didn’t escort Glover to the interrogation chamber. She arrived after he had been forcibly strapped into the chair. The Romulan dressed in white surgical scrubs moved out of the way and stood at attention. T’Rhiel stood over Glover. Behind her, the two guards that had forced him into the chair had taken up positions by the door. Terrence was pleased to see the bright green smear of blood on one of the guard’s busted mouth. The skin scraped from Glover’s knuckles didn’t trouble him one bit.
T’Rhiel placed a finger under Glover’s chin and he attempted to jerk away, but his head was restricted by the restraining band that had been placed over his forehead.
“Come now Commander Glover,” T’Rhiel pursed her lips. “Such defiance. We’ll see how defiant you will be after a few sessions with our mind probes.”
“What happened to the mind-sifter?” Glover asked through gritted teeth.
“The colonel wanted something left of you afterward, so he ordered that mind-sifter to be used on the Vulcan and the traitor.” Terrence was immediately fearful for both of them. “Too bad these interrogation chambers are soundproofed.”
“If you hurt either of them, or any of my colleagues,” Glover warned.
T’Rhiel shook her head. “Don’t waste my time with idle threats Mr. Glover.” She motioned to the white-haired doctor.
The man produced two small rectangles, both glowing an ominous crimson. “These are mind probes,” the L’Nar first officer explained. “Doctor N’Ral will attach these to your forehead. Doctor, enlighten our guest as to what is about to happen.”
“Of course Subcommander,” N’Ral said as he attached the devices on Glover’s head. Though the medic talked, Terrence continued staring daggers at T’Rhiel. “The mind probes will allow us to record your thoughts, which we will be able to view via this screen.” T’Rhiel patted the screen facing Glover. “It can cause distress if you are uncooperative,” the man said, with some concern. “This is a more civilized method of interrogation,” he added.
“More humane,” T’Rhiel needled.
“Yes, all together, a less messy alternative to the mind-sifter or other interrogation methods,” Dr. N’Ral concluded.
“I feel so much better now,” Glover rolled his eyes.
“Begin the interrogation Doctor,” the first officer ordered.
Glover tried to steel himself as best as possible.
“Dr. N’Ral suggested you don’t resist,” T’Rhiel said. “Though personally I hope that you do.”
Glover bit back a retort. He knew the woman wanted to rile him, to knock off his concentration. “Do your worse,” he eventually said.
“Oblige the commander,” T’Rhiel ordered.
The red glow began growing; he could see it on the edges of his vision. And then he felt the fingers, digging into his mind, probing his thoughts. Terrence tried to put up mental blocks, to fight back with his anger, but the fingers were persistent, burrowing.
“Interesting,” T’Rhiel said, one finger at her lips as images began to fill the screen. It was a mixed jumble, snatches from Glover’s life.
“Tell me about the Starship Renegade. I want to know everything about the New Orleans-class.”
“No,” Glover said, through gritted teeth. “I will never betray Starfleet.”
“You don’t have a choice in the matter,” T’Rhiel replied. “Dr. N’Ral, increase the power of the mind probe.”
The crimson light became blinding, pulling Glover out into a sea of red, an ocean of pain. It tore a cry of agony from him as the fingers became blades, fiery ones that slashed and burned through his brain.
“No, no, no,” Terrence shouted, closing his eyes to the blinding light. He was bathed in sweat now, his muscles straining to the point of pain as he fought against his restraints.
“This isn’t working,” T’Rhiel said, her voice distant, just on the precipice of the encroaching darkness, an abyss Glover would’ve welcomed. “Mr. Glover you appear to be more than what you appear to be. Humans, normal humans should not be able to withstand this level of probing. Dr. N’Ral, discontinue the probe.”
The red sea receded, though the pain lingered in his mind. It took Glover a few moments to open his eyes. The regular light was now stinging. “Doctor, perform a genetic scan of the commander.”
The medic ran their equivalent of a tricorder over Glover. The man shook his head, “I am no expert on human physiology,” the man offered, “but I see no abnormalities there.”
“Because you don’t know where to look,” she said, snatching the tricorder from his hands. She frowned as she read the findings. She scanned Glover again, and took another look.
“There are subtle alterations of your neural pathways, congenital in origin,” she concluded. Glover looked as confused as the medic. She pushed the tricorder into N’Ral’s chest. The man barely caught it before it fell to the deck. The first officer bent down and looked Terrence over, her interest piqued in him in a way Glover knew wouldn’t be beneficial to him.
“One or both of your parents was genetically engineered,” she surmised. “Fascinating.”
“Go to hell,” Terrence spat.
“Dr. N’Ral, repower the mind probe,” she ordered. “But let’s not focus on Mr. Glover’s treasured oath to Starfleet. I find his personal life, those he loves, far more interesting.”
“No, aahhh!” Glover screamed as the knives began stabbing, increasing in intensity as several lovers and friends came to the fore, leading eventually to a picture of his father and then his mother on the monitor. He could barely make out his mother’s proud visage through his tears.
“Cease at once,” T’Rhiel said, and Terrence detected a troubled tone in the woman’s voice. She turned to him. “This…is your mother?” The superior air had evaporated and a shocked expression flashed across the woman’s face.
“Yes,” he said, his voice ragged, his chest burning as if he had ran the Academy Marathon.
She leaned closer, and whispered in his ear, “She lived on the Norkan colony.”
He jerked up. “How did you know that?”
“Where is she now?”
“Use your scanner to find out,” Terrence remained defiant.
“Dr. N’Ral,” she ordered. “Dig deeper.”
Glover shivered as the agony began again. “Erebus,” the woman whispered, as she found Glover’s deeply buried pain. The scanner uncovered the small memorial service Samson and Glover had held for his mother after the Starship Tombaugh had been declared lost, with all hands.
“What happened to her?” T’Rhiel demanded. Terrence refused to answer. She instructed N’Ral to turn up the juice.
“She was lost, on the USS Tombaugh, all hands,” the words were ripped from Glover.
“She’s dead,” T’Rhiel replied, her voice stricken. “Dr. N’Ral, stop the memory scanner.”
The pain receded again. “Guards, unshackle the commander to his cell.”
Glover wanted to fight, but his muscles failed him. The guards picked him up like a sack of green potatoes. “You know my mother,” Terrence said to the first officer. “How do you know her? What does she mean to you?”
For once T’Rhiel was speechless. “Get him out of here,” she said eventually.
“No,” Glover tried to plant his feet, but the guards forced him through the door. “Answer me!” He demanded before the door closed behind him.
***********************************************************************
Imperial Warbird L’Nar
Glover was thrown back into the cell. He stumbled, almost falling, and damn near twisted his ankle as he turned around to confront the guard he had pushed him. But by that time the guard had activated the force field locking him in. The guard sneered at him.
Terrence wished he could push through the energy field and strangle the man. He glared at the man. “Why don’t you drop the force field?”
The guard placed his truncheon against the field, causing it to crackle. Despite wobbly legs, Glover stood firm, squinting as sparks shocked him.
“Pretty fearless…for a human,” the other man laughed. “If I didn’t have my orders…”
“Yeah, excuses, excuses,” Terrence threw up a hand and turned his back to the guard. “I see why you can’t defeat the Klingons, excuses.”
“Listen to me, you nhaidh!” The guard bellowed, but Glover ignored him. He noticed Hudson lying in the corner of the cell. He went over to his friend. He knelt down.
“Cal,” he said gently, “Cal, are you okay?” He gingerly touched the man’s shoulder. With a groan Hudson rolled over.
He frowned at the two scorch marks on the man’s forehead. “Mind probe,” he said, to himself as much as to Hudson. He touched the bruises on his brow and winced.
Hudson trembled and drew into himself more. “The mind probes affect everyone differently,” the voice made Terrence jump.
He turned around quickly, his aching muscles as primed as possible for a fight. He could just make out Valeris sitting in a shadowed corner, kneeling, her hands in front of her, as if she was praying, or meditating.
“Spock tried to teach me the value of meditation, but I had never put much stock into it. I saw how little praying or meditation did for my parents.” Valeris said. “My parents are the reason you are here Mr. Glover.”
“What do you mean?” Terrence asked. He wanted to approach the woman, but something told him not too; he wasn’t sure if it was out of respect or fear. Did he really want to go through the door that the woman was now holding open for him?
“Admiral Uhura,” Glover could hear the smile in the woman’s voice. “She’s become quite the manipulator in her advanced years.”
“What are you talking about?” Glover tried to keep the impatience out of his voice.
“My parents were part of the clergy on P’Jem,” the Vulcan said. “P’Jem was one of the planets attacked by the Klingons after the war.”
“The Four Years War?” Terrence asked, still not sure how any of this had anything to do with the admiral choosing him for this mission.
“No,” there was the smile again. “Not the Four Years War, that tragically forgotten war. How old do you think I am Mr. Glover?”
“Oh, uh, well, I mean you, ah, do you look great,” Terrence fumbled about.
“For my age you were going to add?”
“No, of course, not I mean,” Glover continued flailing.
“I am teasing Mr. Glover,” Valeris let him off the hook. “I have come not only to value meditation and reflection as I’ve matured, but also humor. We Vulcans do have emotions; we merely choose to suppress them.”
“Yes,” Terrence nodded, “I get that.”
“Well then,” the cheer drained from Valeris’s voice, and it took on a faraway cast. “During my childhood, P’Jem suffered two attacks by the Klingons. The first occurred during the brief war that was stopped by the Organians.”
“Ah,” Glover said. “That war.”
“Yes,” Valeris replied. “Not as long, or disastrous as the Four Years War which occurred some two decades before, but still a lot was lost in that brief exchange of hostilities, including our monastery.”
“My parents decided to stay and help rebuild the monastery. They were unprepared when a conflagration between the Romulans and Klingons only a few years later spiraled into Federation space, and P’Jem was once again in the crosshairs. One of the Romulan priests studying at P’Jem was the scion of a powerful Romulan family, one that Klingon marauders hoped to capture for ransom. Their attack resulted in many deaths, including their purported captive, and my parents.”
“I’m sorry for your loss Valeris.”
“Thank you Mr. Glover,” the woman replied. “But it is I that remain in your debt.”
That brought Glover up short. “I don’t understand.”
“Your ancestor, your great grandfather, Hamilcar Glover, led a landing party to rescue the survivors of the attack. I had gone for days without food and water, hiding from Klingon warriors. Hamilcar saved my life. I am forever in the debt of the Glover family. And Uhura knew that, she knew my personal story. She thought your presence here would prevent any treacherous actions on my part.” Valeris paused, her emotional control slipping, “It is the same reason the admiral brought Xinran along as well.”
“I don’t follow,” though there was something wiggling in the back of Glover’s brain that told him otherwise.
“I met Xinran as a child, on P’Jem,” Valeris’s smile was elegiac. “His father was a visiting religious scholar, similar to my own parents’ vocation. Xinran and I were once friends. His father was who the Klingons were after. He lost his father when the Klingons attacked that second time.”
Yes, Glover thought, but kept to himself. Xinran had mentioned coming living on P’Jem before, and as soon as Valeris had mentioned the planet he should’ve made the connection, but with everything in flux, Xinran’s recounting of his personal history, had dropped into the recesses of his mind. If he had had the time he would have kicked himself for that.
The woman wiped her dry eyes, as if they were filled with tears. “Our pain bonded us, and we stayed in touch throughout the years. I tried to recruit him into the conspiracy; Xinran serving aboard the Goshawk at the time. He would have no part of it, yet his own honor kept him from informing the authorities. After the conspiracy had been foiled and all the investigations were done, Xinran’s career in Starfleet was ruined. Despite all the pain I have caused him, the river of anger between us, it has been…agreeable to see him again.”
“Well, I’ll be damned,” Glover replied. There was so much family history, so many worlds the Glovers who had chosen Starfleet service had visited, and so many conflicts they had participated in, Terrence hadn’t remembered P’Jem.
And to know that Uhura did and that she was using him to manipulate Valeris angered him, but also made him respect the admiral even more. She was thinking at a level Glover hadn’t fathomed. He was just glad Uhura was on their side.
When the survivors arrived at Vulcan the priests offered me the fullara, a ritual to repress unwanted memories and emotions, to help me get over P’Jem, to move on, but I didn’t want to move on. I needed to hold on to my pain, I thought it would honor my parents’ lives and their sacrifices; but now, after all that transpired, perhaps things would have been different…maybe better, worse, who knows…”
“We all have regrets,” Glover offered.
“Surely not you Mr. Glover,” the smile had returned. “You are a young man that doesn’t seem to possess any.”
“Perhaps I’m merely as good an actor as you and Admiral Uhura,” he rejoined.
“Not quite,” she replied, and he could tell the smile was fuller now. “But in time you might become a master at it. The first part is learning how to lie to yourself.”
“I see,” Glover pondered.
“Once you are able to deceive yourself, doing so with others becomes facile,” the Vulcan added.
“And what have you lied to yourself about?” Terrence asked.
The woman sighed. “A great many things,” she answered. “But the most important self-deception as it pertains to our predicament is my miscalculation over Leta’s loyalty. I thought I could break through a lifetime of indoctrination, but even love wasn’t strong enough.”
“If there is any bright side, at least we’re going to the Arx,” Glover knew the joke was flat before he finished it. But Valeris chuckled anyway, the sound musical.
“Yes,” her voice grew grim. “However my plan was not only to visit the Arx, but to leave it as well. And this sojourn unfortunately has all the hallmarks of a one way trip.”
************************************************************************
Imperial Warbird L’Nar
Traveling Under Cloak
The disruptor dug into Glover’s back. He elbowed the guard pushing him. The guard hissed. “You are eager to die today human.”
“I won’t be going alone,” Terrence shot back, through clenched teeth.
“Keep moving,” the guard warned, poking the weapon into Glover’s side again. Terrence whipped around and smashed the man in the face, cracking the guard’s nose.
Other disruptors were shoved at Glover’s face, but the man stood over the downed guard, daring him to get up. Cal moved to help, but Terrence warded him off.
“Enough Commander Glover,” Colonel Crassus said. “You’ve provided enough good sport for the evening.” The Tal Shiar commander had provided just enough distraction for rough hands to seize Glover’s arms. He struggled against them.
“Terrence, don’t,” Uhura said quietly. He looked at the woman, heartened to see her alive and all the rest of his colleagues, though each one looked the worst for wear, with Xinran faring the worst.
The Romulans had spent days interrogating him, the admiral, Valeris, and Cal, while subjecting Xinran to endless combat training rounds eager to test themselves against a V’Shar operative.
“I would heed the admiral’s advice,” Crassus warned. “I have graciously allowed your party to come to my bridge, and any more disruptions I will consider disrespect,” the icy threat lie just beneath his calm tone.
He turned his back to them and motioned from behind. “Come now. I want you to see this.”
The rest of the captives trudged slowly behind the striding colonel, while two guards delighted in pushing Glover along. Crassus ordered them lined up, situated between his command chair and the long helm terminal. Crassus stood between Uhura and Glover.
“Release him,” he ordered the guards. The men reluctantly complied. Though they took positions close by, and Glover didn’t have to look back to know they had their weapons at the ready. “Drop our cloak and helm, all stop.” The lighting on the bridge brightened, though the effect wasn’t disconcerting due in part to the room’s drab green and tan interior. The deck rumbled beneath Glover’s boots as the ship became stationary.
“What do you want us to see Colonel?” Uhura asked, her voice imperious despite their current predicament.
The woman’s tone amused the commander. “The Arx.”
“There’s nothing out there,” Cal groused, not in the mood for Romulan games.
“That’s where you’re wrong Mr. Hudson,” Crassus replied.
“We are still in the Chaltok system,” Valeris said. “The Arx is located in the Hectori sector, 72.8 hours away.”
Crassus smiled. “You continue to impress me,” he then looked at Major Leta. “Like mother, like daughter.” The woman was at a standing console beside the command chair. The woman couldn’t quite hide her pensiveness. Subcommander T’Rhiel stood impassively at another standing terminal on the opposite side of the empty command chair.
The woman’s brows knit as she saw Glover looking at her. She briefly met his gaze and then shifted again. Terrence was surprised that for a brief moment her expression had become anxious.
“Lt. Nalvin, contact the Arx,” Crassus said, smirking at Valeris. The woman’s eyebrow was arched, likely in curiosity.
“No response sir,” the nervous man replied. Crassus frowned.
“Hail them again.”
The communications officer gulped before replying, “Still no response.”
Crassus grabbed his chin. “Damn Admiral Danclus and his bureaucratic games.” He cleared his throat and barked at the jumpy Nalvin. “Open hailing frequencies again.”
“Yes sir,” Nalvin said.
“Admiral Danclus,” Crassus raised his voice. “This is the Tal Shiar Imperial Warbird L’Nar, demanding you approve entry into the Arx.”
“Nothing still sir,” Nalvin said.
“Imperial Fleet arrogance,” Crassus scoffed.
“Perhaps a warning shot might encourage compliance,” the woman at the tactical station suggested. Crassus shook his head and gave a tight lipped smile.
“It’s always disruptors first with you Sica,” the colonel said. “No,” he sighed. “Danclus is being particularly ornery today. Send one more entreaty,” he advised Nalvin. The man responded in the negative.
“The Imperial Fleet still doesn’t understand the respect of the Tal Shiar,” Crassus replied. “Subcommander T’Rhiel, submit the override code.” The subcommander quickly input the information into her terminal.
“What the hell?” Cal breathed as the space in front of them began to ripple. The void continued contorting as a new, massive shape emerged.
“My God,” Uhura gasped as a hulking tetrahedron loomed over the L’Nar, as if threatening to devour the now tiny warbird.
“You were right Lady Valeris,” Crassus said. “The Arx had been in the Hectori sector.”
“But it moved,” Valeris replied.
“Because it’s more than just a space station,” Glover interjected. “The Arx is a warp capable space station.”
**************************************************************************
Imperial Warbird L’Nar
Subcommander T’Rhiel didn’t escort Glover to the interrogation chamber. She arrived after he had been forcibly strapped into the chair. The Romulan dressed in white surgical scrubs moved out of the way and stood at attention. T’Rhiel stood over Glover. Behind her, the two guards that had forced him into the chair had taken up positions by the door. Terrence was pleased to see the bright green smear of blood on one of the guard’s busted mouth. The skin scraped from Glover’s knuckles didn’t trouble him one bit.
T’Rhiel placed a finger under Glover’s chin and he attempted to jerk away, but his head was restricted by the restraining band that had been placed over his forehead.
“Come now Commander Glover,” T’Rhiel pursed her lips. “Such defiance. We’ll see how defiant you will be after a few sessions with our mind probes.”
“What happened to the mind-sifter?” Glover asked through gritted teeth.
“The colonel wanted something left of you afterward, so he ordered that mind-sifter to be used on the Vulcan and the traitor.” Terrence was immediately fearful for both of them. “Too bad these interrogation chambers are soundproofed.”
“If you hurt either of them, or any of my colleagues,” Glover warned.
T’Rhiel shook her head. “Don’t waste my time with idle threats Mr. Glover.” She motioned to the white-haired doctor.
The man produced two small rectangles, both glowing an ominous crimson. “These are mind probes,” the L’Nar first officer explained. “Doctor N’Ral will attach these to your forehead. Doctor, enlighten our guest as to what is about to happen.”
“Of course Subcommander,” N’Ral said as he attached the devices on Glover’s head. Though the medic talked, Terrence continued staring daggers at T’Rhiel. “The mind probes will allow us to record your thoughts, which we will be able to view via this screen.” T’Rhiel patted the screen facing Glover. “It can cause distress if you are uncooperative,” the man said, with some concern. “This is a more civilized method of interrogation,” he added.
“More humane,” T’Rhiel needled.
“Yes, all together, a less messy alternative to the mind-sifter or other interrogation methods,” Dr. N’Ral concluded.
“I feel so much better now,” Glover rolled his eyes.
“Begin the interrogation Doctor,” the first officer ordered.
Glover tried to steel himself as best as possible.
“Dr. N’Ral suggested you don’t resist,” T’Rhiel said. “Though personally I hope that you do.”
Glover bit back a retort. He knew the woman wanted to rile him, to knock off his concentration. “Do your worse,” he eventually said.
“Oblige the commander,” T’Rhiel ordered.
The red glow began growing; he could see it on the edges of his vision. And then he felt the fingers, digging into his mind, probing his thoughts. Terrence tried to put up mental blocks, to fight back with his anger, but the fingers were persistent, burrowing.
“Interesting,” T’Rhiel said, one finger at her lips as images began to fill the screen. It was a mixed jumble, snatches from Glover’s life.
“Tell me about the Starship Renegade. I want to know everything about the New Orleans-class.”
“No,” Glover said, through gritted teeth. “I will never betray Starfleet.”
“You don’t have a choice in the matter,” T’Rhiel replied. “Dr. N’Ral, increase the power of the mind probe.”
The crimson light became blinding, pulling Glover out into a sea of red, an ocean of pain. It tore a cry of agony from him as the fingers became blades, fiery ones that slashed and burned through his brain.
“No, no, no,” Terrence shouted, closing his eyes to the blinding light. He was bathed in sweat now, his muscles straining to the point of pain as he fought against his restraints.
“This isn’t working,” T’Rhiel said, her voice distant, just on the precipice of the encroaching darkness, an abyss Glover would’ve welcomed. “Mr. Glover you appear to be more than what you appear to be. Humans, normal humans should not be able to withstand this level of probing. Dr. N’Ral, discontinue the probe.”
The red sea receded, though the pain lingered in his mind. It took Glover a few moments to open his eyes. The regular light was now stinging. “Doctor, perform a genetic scan of the commander.”
The medic ran their equivalent of a tricorder over Glover. The man shook his head, “I am no expert on human physiology,” the man offered, “but I see no abnormalities there.”
“Because you don’t know where to look,” she said, snatching the tricorder from his hands. She frowned as she read the findings. She scanned Glover again, and took another look.
“There are subtle alterations of your neural pathways, congenital in origin,” she concluded. Glover looked as confused as the medic. She pushed the tricorder into N’Ral’s chest. The man barely caught it before it fell to the deck. The first officer bent down and looked Terrence over, her interest piqued in him in a way Glover knew wouldn’t be beneficial to him.
“One or both of your parents was genetically engineered,” she surmised. “Fascinating.”
“Go to hell,” Terrence spat.
“Dr. N’Ral, repower the mind probe,” she ordered. “But let’s not focus on Mr. Glover’s treasured oath to Starfleet. I find his personal life, those he loves, far more interesting.”
“No, aahhh!” Glover screamed as the knives began stabbing, increasing in intensity as several lovers and friends came to the fore, leading eventually to a picture of his father and then his mother on the monitor. He could barely make out his mother’s proud visage through his tears.
“Cease at once,” T’Rhiel said, and Terrence detected a troubled tone in the woman’s voice. She turned to him. “This…is your mother?” The superior air had evaporated and a shocked expression flashed across the woman’s face.
“Yes,” he said, his voice ragged, his chest burning as if he had ran the Academy Marathon.
She leaned closer, and whispered in his ear, “She lived on the Norkan colony.”
He jerked up. “How did you know that?”
“Where is she now?”
“Use your scanner to find out,” Terrence remained defiant.
“Dr. N’Ral,” she ordered. “Dig deeper.”
Glover shivered as the agony began again. “Erebus,” the woman whispered, as she found Glover’s deeply buried pain. The scanner uncovered the small memorial service Samson and Glover had held for his mother after the Starship Tombaugh had been declared lost, with all hands.
“What happened to her?” T’Rhiel demanded. Terrence refused to answer. She instructed N’Ral to turn up the juice.
“She was lost, on the USS Tombaugh, all hands,” the words were ripped from Glover.
“She’s dead,” T’Rhiel replied, her voice stricken. “Dr. N’Ral, stop the memory scanner.”
The pain receded again. “Guards, unshackle the commander to his cell.”
Glover wanted to fight, but his muscles failed him. The guards picked him up like a sack of green potatoes. “You know my mother,” Terrence said to the first officer. “How do you know her? What does she mean to you?”
For once T’Rhiel was speechless. “Get him out of here,” she said eventually.
“No,” Glover tried to plant his feet, but the guards forced him through the door. “Answer me!” He demanded before the door closed behind him.
***********************************************************************
Imperial Warbird L’Nar
Glover was thrown back into the cell. He stumbled, almost falling, and damn near twisted his ankle as he turned around to confront the guard he had pushed him. But by that time the guard had activated the force field locking him in. The guard sneered at him.
Terrence wished he could push through the energy field and strangle the man. He glared at the man. “Why don’t you drop the force field?”
The guard placed his truncheon against the field, causing it to crackle. Despite wobbly legs, Glover stood firm, squinting as sparks shocked him.
“Pretty fearless…for a human,” the other man laughed. “If I didn’t have my orders…”
“Yeah, excuses, excuses,” Terrence threw up a hand and turned his back to the guard. “I see why you can’t defeat the Klingons, excuses.”
“Listen to me, you nhaidh!” The guard bellowed, but Glover ignored him. He noticed Hudson lying in the corner of the cell. He went over to his friend. He knelt down.
“Cal,” he said gently, “Cal, are you okay?” He gingerly touched the man’s shoulder. With a groan Hudson rolled over.
He frowned at the two scorch marks on the man’s forehead. “Mind probe,” he said, to himself as much as to Hudson. He touched the bruises on his brow and winced.
Hudson trembled and drew into himself more. “The mind probes affect everyone differently,” the voice made Terrence jump.
He turned around quickly, his aching muscles as primed as possible for a fight. He could just make out Valeris sitting in a shadowed corner, kneeling, her hands in front of her, as if she was praying, or meditating.
“Spock tried to teach me the value of meditation, but I had never put much stock into it. I saw how little praying or meditation did for my parents.” Valeris said. “My parents are the reason you are here Mr. Glover.”
“What do you mean?” Terrence asked. He wanted to approach the woman, but something told him not too; he wasn’t sure if it was out of respect or fear. Did he really want to go through the door that the woman was now holding open for him?
“Admiral Uhura,” Glover could hear the smile in the woman’s voice. “She’s become quite the manipulator in her advanced years.”
“What are you talking about?” Glover tried to keep the impatience out of his voice.
“My parents were part of the clergy on P’Jem,” the Vulcan said. “P’Jem was one of the planets attacked by the Klingons after the war.”
“The Four Years War?” Terrence asked, still not sure how any of this had anything to do with the admiral choosing him for this mission.
“No,” there was the smile again. “Not the Four Years War, that tragically forgotten war. How old do you think I am Mr. Glover?”
“Oh, uh, well, I mean you, ah, do you look great,” Terrence fumbled about.
“For my age you were going to add?”
“No, of course, not I mean,” Glover continued flailing.
“I am teasing Mr. Glover,” Valeris let him off the hook. “I have come not only to value meditation and reflection as I’ve matured, but also humor. We Vulcans do have emotions; we merely choose to suppress them.”
“Yes,” Terrence nodded, “I get that.”
“Well then,” the cheer drained from Valeris’s voice, and it took on a faraway cast. “During my childhood, P’Jem suffered two attacks by the Klingons. The first occurred during the brief war that was stopped by the Organians.”
“Ah,” Glover said. “That war.”
“Yes,” Valeris replied. “Not as long, or disastrous as the Four Years War which occurred some two decades before, but still a lot was lost in that brief exchange of hostilities, including our monastery.”
“My parents decided to stay and help rebuild the monastery. They were unprepared when a conflagration between the Romulans and Klingons only a few years later spiraled into Federation space, and P’Jem was once again in the crosshairs. One of the Romulan priests studying at P’Jem was the scion of a powerful Romulan family, one that Klingon marauders hoped to capture for ransom. Their attack resulted in many deaths, including their purported captive, and my parents.”
“I’m sorry for your loss Valeris.”
“Thank you Mr. Glover,” the woman replied. “But it is I that remain in your debt.”
That brought Glover up short. “I don’t understand.”
“Your ancestor, your great grandfather, Hamilcar Glover, led a landing party to rescue the survivors of the attack. I had gone for days without food and water, hiding from Klingon warriors. Hamilcar saved my life. I am forever in the debt of the Glover family. And Uhura knew that, she knew my personal story. She thought your presence here would prevent any treacherous actions on my part.” Valeris paused, her emotional control slipping, “It is the same reason the admiral brought Xinran along as well.”
“I don’t follow,” though there was something wiggling in the back of Glover’s brain that told him otherwise.
“I met Xinran as a child, on P’Jem,” Valeris’s smile was elegiac. “His father was a visiting religious scholar, similar to my own parents’ vocation. Xinran and I were once friends. His father was who the Klingons were after. He lost his father when the Klingons attacked that second time.”
Yes, Glover thought, but kept to himself. Xinran had mentioned coming living on P’Jem before, and as soon as Valeris had mentioned the planet he should’ve made the connection, but with everything in flux, Xinran’s recounting of his personal history, had dropped into the recesses of his mind. If he had had the time he would have kicked himself for that.
The woman wiped her dry eyes, as if they were filled with tears. “Our pain bonded us, and we stayed in touch throughout the years. I tried to recruit him into the conspiracy; Xinran serving aboard the Goshawk at the time. He would have no part of it, yet his own honor kept him from informing the authorities. After the conspiracy had been foiled and all the investigations were done, Xinran’s career in Starfleet was ruined. Despite all the pain I have caused him, the river of anger between us, it has been…agreeable to see him again.”
“Well, I’ll be damned,” Glover replied. There was so much family history, so many worlds the Glovers who had chosen Starfleet service had visited, and so many conflicts they had participated in, Terrence hadn’t remembered P’Jem.
And to know that Uhura did and that she was using him to manipulate Valeris angered him, but also made him respect the admiral even more. She was thinking at a level Glover hadn’t fathomed. He was just glad Uhura was on their side.
When the survivors arrived at Vulcan the priests offered me the fullara, a ritual to repress unwanted memories and emotions, to help me get over P’Jem, to move on, but I didn’t want to move on. I needed to hold on to my pain, I thought it would honor my parents’ lives and their sacrifices; but now, after all that transpired, perhaps things would have been different…maybe better, worse, who knows…”
“We all have regrets,” Glover offered.
“Surely not you Mr. Glover,” the smile had returned. “You are a young man that doesn’t seem to possess any.”
“Perhaps I’m merely as good an actor as you and Admiral Uhura,” he rejoined.
“Not quite,” she replied, and he could tell the smile was fuller now. “But in time you might become a master at it. The first part is learning how to lie to yourself.”
“I see,” Glover pondered.
“Once you are able to deceive yourself, doing so with others becomes facile,” the Vulcan added.
“And what have you lied to yourself about?” Terrence asked.
The woman sighed. “A great many things,” she answered. “But the most important self-deception as it pertains to our predicament is my miscalculation over Leta’s loyalty. I thought I could break through a lifetime of indoctrination, but even love wasn’t strong enough.”
“If there is any bright side, at least we’re going to the Arx,” Glover knew the joke was flat before he finished it. But Valeris chuckled anyway, the sound musical.
“Yes,” her voice grew grim. “However my plan was not only to visit the Arx, but to leave it as well. And this sojourn unfortunately has all the hallmarks of a one way trip.”
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Imperial Warbird L’Nar
Traveling Under Cloak
The disruptor dug into Glover’s back. He elbowed the guard pushing him. The guard hissed. “You are eager to die today human.”
“I won’t be going alone,” Terrence shot back, through clenched teeth.
“Keep moving,” the guard warned, poking the weapon into Glover’s side again. Terrence whipped around and smashed the man in the face, cracking the guard’s nose.
Other disruptors were shoved at Glover’s face, but the man stood over the downed guard, daring him to get up. Cal moved to help, but Terrence warded him off.
“Enough Commander Glover,” Colonel Crassus said. “You’ve provided enough good sport for the evening.” The Tal Shiar commander had provided just enough distraction for rough hands to seize Glover’s arms. He struggled against them.
“Terrence, don’t,” Uhura said quietly. He looked at the woman, heartened to see her alive and all the rest of his colleagues, though each one looked the worst for wear, with Xinran faring the worst.
The Romulans had spent days interrogating him, the admiral, Valeris, and Cal, while subjecting Xinran to endless combat training rounds eager to test themselves against a V’Shar operative.
“I would heed the admiral’s advice,” Crassus warned. “I have graciously allowed your party to come to my bridge, and any more disruptions I will consider disrespect,” the icy threat lie just beneath his calm tone.
He turned his back to them and motioned from behind. “Come now. I want you to see this.”
The rest of the captives trudged slowly behind the striding colonel, while two guards delighted in pushing Glover along. Crassus ordered them lined up, situated between his command chair and the long helm terminal. Crassus stood between Uhura and Glover.
“Release him,” he ordered the guards. The men reluctantly complied. Though they took positions close by, and Glover didn’t have to look back to know they had their weapons at the ready. “Drop our cloak and helm, all stop.” The lighting on the bridge brightened, though the effect wasn’t disconcerting due in part to the room’s drab green and tan interior. The deck rumbled beneath Glover’s boots as the ship became stationary.
“What do you want us to see Colonel?” Uhura asked, her voice imperious despite their current predicament.
The woman’s tone amused the commander. “The Arx.”
“There’s nothing out there,” Cal groused, not in the mood for Romulan games.
“That’s where you’re wrong Mr. Hudson,” Crassus replied.
“We are still in the Chaltok system,” Valeris said. “The Arx is located in the Hectori sector, 72.8 hours away.”
Crassus smiled. “You continue to impress me,” he then looked at Major Leta. “Like mother, like daughter.” The woman was at a standing console beside the command chair. The woman couldn’t quite hide her pensiveness. Subcommander T’Rhiel stood impassively at another standing terminal on the opposite side of the empty command chair.
The woman’s brows knit as she saw Glover looking at her. She briefly met his gaze and then shifted again. Terrence was surprised that for a brief moment her expression had become anxious.
“Lt. Nalvin, contact the Arx,” Crassus said, smirking at Valeris. The woman’s eyebrow was arched, likely in curiosity.
“No response sir,” the nervous man replied. Crassus frowned.
“Hail them again.”
The communications officer gulped before replying, “Still no response.”
Crassus grabbed his chin. “Damn Admiral Danclus and his bureaucratic games.” He cleared his throat and barked at the jumpy Nalvin. “Open hailing frequencies again.”
“Yes sir,” Nalvin said.
“Admiral Danclus,” Crassus raised his voice. “This is the Tal Shiar Imperial Warbird L’Nar, demanding you approve entry into the Arx.”
“Nothing still sir,” Nalvin said.
“Imperial Fleet arrogance,” Crassus scoffed.
“Perhaps a warning shot might encourage compliance,” the woman at the tactical station suggested. Crassus shook his head and gave a tight lipped smile.
“It’s always disruptors first with you Sica,” the colonel said. “No,” he sighed. “Danclus is being particularly ornery today. Send one more entreaty,” he advised Nalvin. The man responded in the negative.
“The Imperial Fleet still doesn’t understand the respect of the Tal Shiar,” Crassus replied. “Subcommander T’Rhiel, submit the override code.” The subcommander quickly input the information into her terminal.
“What the hell?” Cal breathed as the space in front of them began to ripple. The void continued contorting as a new, massive shape emerged.
“My God,” Uhura gasped as a hulking tetrahedron loomed over the L’Nar, as if threatening to devour the now tiny warbird.
“You were right Lady Valeris,” Crassus said. “The Arx had been in the Hectori sector.”
“But it moved,” Valeris replied.
“Because it’s more than just a space station,” Glover interjected. “The Arx is a warp capable space station.”
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