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Merak II
One week later…
Terrence Glover swatted away a large insect that distressingly resembled an Earth mosquito. He then wiped beads of sweat from his forehead, for the fourth time. “Forget how you can live here, but what about T’Prell? This environment is totally different than Vulcan.” The jungle planet had been a Vulcan colony for centuries.
Samson Glover smiled, lifting the squirming baby into the air. Despite her twisting in his grasp, the child laughed, and it tugged at Terrence’s heart. The pointed tips of the little girl’s ears seemed at odds with the unrestrained joy she was expressing. T’Cyan…his sister…he thought, still amazed at the reality of it. He had grown up without siblings and now he had had two.
As if sensing his thoughts, his other sibling entered the room, quietly and hanging to the corners, the shadows, which was something that was natural to her, being a former member of the Tal Shiar.
Now, like him, Colonel Decia was twisting in the wind. She had chosen with her heart, and so far it had betrayed her personal prospects, if not her newfound family.
Decia was his half-sister, a product of a forced union between their mother and a Romulan senator when Deitra had been a captive of the Romulans. A painful secret she had never shared, even with his father. Decia had only learned of her mother and her human heritage later in life.
Similar to Deitra both Samson and Glover had fallen into Romulan clutches. Without Decia both of them would still be prisoners, or worse.
Samson shifted in his seat, and nodded at Decia. Terrence couldn’t stop from wincing. Neither man had escaped unscathed. Terrence’s scars were internal, but a Kolaran sand scorcher had melted part of the man’s face. It was a horrific disfigurement that he refused to change with cosmetic surgery.
Terrence knew the man still felt guilt over the death of Ousanas Dar and the dubious mission that had led to Dar’s death and Samson’s capture. Terrence had been taken while searching for Samson.
Decia, tall and stately in a tan, flowing Vulcan tropical soft suit, her dark skin, pointed ears, and short hair created a striking visage. Samson waved her forward, handing the baby to her. Decia tilted her head, drawing a chuckle from both men.
She looked at them curiously. “You’re adapting to Vulcan mores quite quickly,” Samson said.
The woman frowned. However she did gingerly take the baby from the elder Glover. The little girl reached out for the tip of her older sister’s nose. Decia brought the child in, their noses touching. The little girl giggled and Terrence saw Decia relax, one of the few times he hadn’t seen his older sister on edge.
“Has T’Prell returned from the market?” Samson asked, looking around Decia.
Decia, playing with T’Cyan, replied, “Your mate has not Samson.” He nodded, patted his knees, steadied himself and then stood up slowly. Terrence had to restrain himself from attempting to help his father. The elder Glover had repeatedly rejected any assistance.
He puttered around a moment, finding his footing, before motioning to Terrence. “If you would be so kind Decia, could you watch T’Cyan while I talk to Terrence?”
“Of course,” the Romulan dipped her head respectfully. Terrence followed his father out to the curved balcony. Samson walked over to the edge, and leaned against the railing. He sighed.
“It’s breathtaking, isn’t it?” Despite the heat, Terrence had to agree as he settled in beside his father. The domicile was high up in the trees, a part of a grouping of similar tree homes, spread across the planet. Terrence looked out and saw the thick, green, lush canopy all around them, and kissed by the bluest sky above. He had spent so much of his life in space, aboard starships or stations, born on the USS Houston even, that always spending time planet side was disconcerting after long stretches. But here, with his family, he felt some semblance of peace, the first peace he had felt in a long time.
“How did things go son?” Samson dispelled that peace, though unintentionally and carefully, “With Jasmine?”
“They-they didn’t,” Terrence said, his chest tightening. “It started out…good, but then, by the end…it was like neither of us knew why were there, not anymore.”
“You were there because you love each other,” the older man declared, placing a surprisingly still strong grip on Terrence’s shoulder.
Terrence shook his head. “Yes, I love her,” he declared, “And I think she loves me. But it’s been too long, too much. Too many mistakes, like a galaxy of them.”
“So you work through them,” Samson urged. “You endure them. Look at me at T’Prell.”
“Yes,” Terrence’s heart warmed at the mention of his step-mother. She had never given up on either of them, and she had put everything on the line to help save them. Samson’s voices lowered, “And even your mother, what I would give….”
Terrence turned to the old man and squeezed his shoulder. While they were prisoners his mother had actually returned, a former Borg drone, arriving in the rush of refugees from the Delta Quadrant. After helping save the planet Aaamazzaria, Deitra had stayed with her fellow ex-drones, and sought out a part of the galaxy that hadn’t been benighted by or feared the Borg.
Neither Glover had gotten to see her, but Terrence was happy that she was alive, and he knew that Samson was as well. The decision to marry T’Prell hadn’t been an easy one for Samson, but it was the logical choice, Terrence realized, the word making him chuckle.
Samson raised an eyebrow, in imitation of T’Prell. “I did something funny?”
“No, no sir,” Terrence said. “Just…thinking…I guess the absurdity, the wonder of it all.”
“Yes,” he nodded. “The universe is a very confounding, yet thrilling place, especially when you find your place in it.”
Terrence’s stomach clinched. He wasn’t ready for this conversation yet. So he deflected, “And what of Decia?”
“I had encouraged her to join Starfleet, but is resistant,” Samson didn’t hide his disappointment. “Though for decades now she was raised, conditioned to see Starfleet as the enemy, so I understand. Unfortunately, T’Prell has had similar luck convincing her to join the V’Shar.” He leaned closer, lowering his voice. “Though truthfully the V’Shar officials are distrusting of her.”
Terrence frowned, but he understood. The Vulcans and Romulans had a long, tortured history. Trust was something both sides were going to have to learn how to give. “What about the Romulan expatriates?” Terrence asked. It was an old question.
The Romulans who had now resided in the Federation, there was a community that might welcome her, but so far Decia had not sought them out, nor had she accepted any of their entreaties.
“I think it’s the conditioning again,” Samson said. “She likely saw those people as traitors, who knows what guilt she is dealing with for what she might have done to some of them or their families while she was in the Tal Shiar.”
Terrence shook his head, hurting for his sister. “She’s lost right now.”
“So are you,” Samson pointed out.
Terrence winced, feeling himself twisting in the wind. “I don’t know what to do,” he admitted, immediately berating himself for confessing such weakness, even to his father.
“I know son,” Samson patted his shoulder. “You don’t have to stay in Starfleet.” After their rescue, the elder Glover had officially left it all behind, and settled down on Merak II, writing books on Federation and Romulan history, and teaching subspace courses for the Academy.
Terrence had returned to the Fleet, expecting a hero’s welcome, but instead was confronted with the awful truth. There had been no effort to rescue them because a Vendorian shape shifter, in league with the Romulans, had taken over his personage, even becoming an admiral, a position he had longed for years. And this “Admiral Glover” had wreaked all kinds of devastation, the worst for Terrence being the deaths of his long-time friends Ivan Cherenkov and Aquiel Uhnari.
The doppelganger had almost delivered schematics for Operation Vanguard’s dreaded Alpha-Weapons to the Romulans before he was stopped. If only Terrence had been the one who got to pull the trigger.
But he hadn’t, however he did have to deal with the cloud of suspicion, doubt, of fear even hanging over him, some of it coming from even long-time colleagues. And its poison had infected him. He wasn’t the man he once was, and he feared he would never be that person again.
“How is the therapy going?” Samson asked. Both men had undergone therapy, though Terrence’s had been more intense. The Romulans had done quite the number on him, toying with his mind, making him believe that he was a Corillian drug addict, when it was all just part of their mind control. However he believed he was an addict, even though he had never touched one vial of the garbage.
They had broken him, something he never thought possible, but the Romulan bastards had accomplished it. So now he was just pieces, a fractured man.
“I heard that the Aries was available,” Samson said. You can take the man out of the Fleet, but not the Fleet out of the man it appeared.
Terrence scoffed. “That old rust bucket.”
“You got to get your feet wet again somewhere,” Samson scowled.
“So far they’ve wanted to stick me on a starbase, one preferably far away from Earth,” Glover said. “My story is too newsworthy for Starfleet to just get rid of me, but I’m considered too risky for a major command now.”
“You’re going to prove them wrong,” Samson stated simply. “You always have, and you will again.”
Terrence turned away from his father, lowering his head until his chin touched his chest. He closed his eyes, wishing to shut out the universe and quiet his demons. “I’m not that man…not anymore.”
“Nonsense,” Samson declared. “This is not my son talking, not Deitra’s son.” The mention of his mother, and his memories of her fierce example, lit the embers inside him. It allowed him to push back the demons, at least for a while.
“Command has offered me the Rushmore,” Terrence said. Samson tilted his head, pondering, his eyes glazing over as he accessed his memories.
“New Orleans class?” The former admiral asked.
“Yes,” Glover said.
“Hmm,” Samson replied.
“Hmm?” Terrence repeated.
“While New Orleans are good ships, contributed mightily defending the Federation and exploration, it…it seems like a step backward.” On his climb to the captain’s chair Terrence had served aboard the Starship Renegade, under rising Captain Tryla Scott, nearly two decades ago. The Renegade had been of the New Orleans-class.
“What do you mean?” Terrence couldn’t help but feel defensive. “You just said I need to get back into the game.”
“True,” the elder Glover nodded. “However, you’ve always gone forward, you’ve always moved up. Command should be offering you a Galaxy or Sovereign class. Absent that, an Akira or maybe another Nebula or Prometheus.”
Terrence shook his head. “Not ready for that yet.” He winced, the wounds over the destroyed Aegis still unhealed. Samson patted his son’s hand.
“Sorry son,” Samson said. “But I know you.”
“I’m not sure you do,” Terrence sad, pulling away from his father and looking off into the thick forest, which felt as impenetrable as his own choices and desires at the moment. “I’m not sure I do.”
“If you’re feeling that way…I hate to say it, but maybe Command is right, maybe you do need to dial it back and take more time.” Samson ventured.
Terrence shook his head again and looked at his dad. He tried to smile. “And then what I do? Who would I be?”
“That’s a good question,” Samson said. “Only one that you can answer.”
“I have to see,” Terrence began. “I have to see if I still have it, or even want it even more.”
“Terrence commanding a starship is too big a responsibility if you’re not ready for it.” Samson said.
“I know,” Terrence grated.
“And you’re putting a lot of lives, not just yours on the line…if you are not ready…if you have doubts.”
“I know that too,” the younger Glover said.
“So, are you sure you want to do this? I mean while we…we were…away, the Talarian Incursion, the simmering tensions with the Alshain, all the Delta Quadrant refugees, and now the chaos with the Romulans and Klingons, new dangers like the Drai, Cha’lav, and the Kothlis’Ka.”
“Had to bring up the Kothlis’Ka,” Terrence tried on some grim humor.
“Without that invasion,” Samson’s mirth was darker than a black hole. “It wouldn’t have given Decia, T’Prell, and the others a chance to save us.”
“Yes,” Glover said, pushing back his memories of his captivity at both the hands of the Romulans…and the Kothlis’Ka.
“And now the Romulans are feeling the after effects of it,” Samson replied, his expression somber. His father had long been fascinated by the Romulans and despite the several years of horror they both suffered at the hands of Patrin Volok and others, the elder Glover was still concerned about the Star Empire. The Romulans were struggling in the wake of Shinzon’s assassination of the entire Romulan Senate, his brief reign as Praetor, and his decisive defeat by the Enterprise and anti-Shinzon Romulans in the Bassen Rift a year ago.
Terrence knew it was selfish and cruel for him to think so, but he was glad that the Romulans were suffering. They were getting back some of what they had inflicted on others, including his mother, for centuries.
Still, the situation along the Romulan Neutral Zone was intense as the Romulans vied for power among themselves while at the same time seeking to fend off the Klingons and others who wanted to exploit their weakened condition.
Terrence shifted the conversation back to what continued to bedevil him. “I’ve got to see if I’ve still got it Dad,” he admitted. “There’s a part of me that wants it, always has, but it feels weaker now, more like an echo, a shadow of what I used to be. I have to play through that, I’ve got to see if the drive that has guided me my entire life has extinguished or not.”
“And you damn well can’t do that sitting behind some desk,” Samson nodded. He smiled. “It was the opposite for me son. I never cared much for starship command. I was fine parked behind a desk, doing my part, but also reading, studying.”
“Sedentary,” Terrence joked, and Samson grinned.
“Well, I wouldn’t have used that word,” the former admiral said, “but yes. Something slower paced. Now your mother…” He paused, his expression growing wistful, then sad. Both men had not been here for Deitra when she returned…now a member of the Borg Collective. It had been the false Terrence, the doppelglover that had been there to receive his mother, had spent time with her. It was such a violation, one that Glover couldn’t do anything about, and his powerlessness galled him.
“I know what you’re thinking,” Samson said. “I can read it on your face. It’s not your fault son that that thing took your life.”
“But-but he defiled everything,” Terrence replied, smacking the balcony’s railing with his fist. He ignored the pain. It was minor compared to the agony his soul had gone through and continued enduring. “I-I used to dream of seeing Mother again, sometimes even imagining I would access the Guardian to see her…at least one more time.”
“You know about the Guardian of Forever?” Samson asked, with a raised eyebrow, in a good imitation of T’Prell. “Now how did you come by that information?”
“We’ve all got our secrets now don’t we?” Terrence grinned. His father shook his head in mock consternation.
“Well son, the one thing, the positive thing was, if that…shapeshifter hadn’t been there, Starfleet would have destroyed Deitra’s sphere.”
“Yes,” Terrence shook his head, in confusion. “I mean he protected her…as if he was me, as if he really cared for her.”
“Perhaps on some level…he did,” the old admiral said. “I’ve been reading what scant information we have on the Vendorians. The Enterprise, Kirk’s ship, encountered a Vendorian infiltrator in 2269. Before that, the use of Vendorian spies to lure ships from either the Romulan Empire or the Federation across the Romulan Neutral Zone as an act of war was codified by treaty.”
“So that explains why the Romulans, before Shinzon’s coup, denied having anything to do with the impostor,” Terrence surmised.
“Yes, talks were still ongoing before Praetor Hiren’s assassination,” the older Glover said.
“And now the Romulan Empire has more trouble than lying about their agents,” Terrence said.
“Which we are trying to help them with,” the admiral said. “Captain Picard is leading the diplomatic talks for our side. Jean-Luc contacted me just the other day,” Samson said. “He wished that I was there on hand, but of course he understood how emotionally vexing that would be.”
“Yes,” Terrence didn’t hide his annoyance. “It was presumptuous of him to even ask.”
“He was doing his duty son,” Glover said, now looking his years, beyond them. “However sometimes our duties change. Perhaps it is something you have to consider.”
“Perhaps,” Terrence said. “Tryla said something along the same lines.”
Samson brightened. “Tryla? How is she?”
“She’s doing well. She suffered some grievous injuries while in the Delta Quadrant. After recuperating she finally accepted promotion. She’s in charge of Point-Station Zayin along the reconstituted Alshain border.”
Samson nodded. “That’s a good thing. A steady hand is needed to keep watch over the Alshain. Despite their war ending, the situation is still tenuous.”
“I agree,” Terrence said.
“You know Terrence, I always liked Tryla. She reminded me of your mother. Very beautiful, very ambitious.”
“Yeah,” Terrence repeated, gloom hanging over his fondness.
“Just saying,” Samson trod carefully, “If things are completely finished between you and Jasmine, it would not be the worst thing to see if you can reconnect with Admiral Scott.”
The younger man rolled his eyes. “You’re bound and determined to get me married off, aren’t you?”
Samson shrugged. “Sue me. But you’re not the only one. I’m scouring all my contacts, as well as keeping an eye out at all my Vulcan and Romulan refugee circles to find a suitable mate for Decia.” Glover chuckled. “So far she has rejected all my attempts.”
“Smart sister,” Terrence grinned. Samson laughed again. “So what are Decia’s plans?”
“You could go ask her,” the old man suggested. “I want you two to bond. She’s your sister.”
“Of course I know that, but…these kinds of things take time,” Terrence parried. “You know that.”
“Don’t I?” Glover backed off.
“We’ve all got our issues to work through,” Terrence said.
“Yes,” Samson grew somber again. “Decia left behind her life, all that she knew, to save us, the family of a woman she had never known. And what that Vendorian with your face did, to your friends, to the Federation…what I did to the Federation, to Ousanas.” Samson’s ill-fated attempt to prevent the Benzites from joining the Romulan Empire had been exposed after Samson’s capture, and it had led to the Benzites rejecting both the Federation and the Romulans. Now they were going it alone.
Samson’s capture and seeming execution by the Romulans, and then his heroic return were the only things that had staved off a court martial. Starfleet Command had let the man quietly retire and the elder Glover had been more than willing to take off his uniform.
Terrence reached over and clasped his father’s shoulder. He pulled the man in close and hugged him. “Dad, the time for judging yourself is over.”
“You should listen to your own advice,” Glover riposted.
“Easier said than done, I’m afraid,” Terrence admitted.
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