CHAPTER 8

Picard leaned back in his seat and considered the bridge’s main viewscreen, where he’d asked Worf to bring up a long-range sensor grid. There were several red blips moving across the thin green lines of the grid.

Each blip, the captain knew, represented a Romulan warbird.

It was no surprise to him to see that the Romulans were still patrolling the far side of the Neutral Zone. What did surprise him was the number of vessels assigned to that function.

“Curious,” Picard said, stroking his chin with the knuckle of his forefinger.

Riker, who was seated beside him, turned to the captain. He looked suspicious. “There should be more of them, shouldn’t there?”

“There should,” Picard agreed.

He would have turned to Counselor Troi, who was seated on his other flank, but there was no point in doing so. They weren’t even close enough for a visual yet, much less for her to gauge the Romulans’ emotions.

Instead, the captain addressed Data, who was stationed at Ops. “Commander, put together whatever information you can access and come up with a reasonable hypothesis. I want to know why—”

His command was interrupted by the subtle shoosh of the turbolift doors. Picard didn’t have to crane his neck to see who had come in. He could tell by the caustic mumbling, and the looks of discomfort on the faces of his officers.

Admiral McCoy had emerged onto the bridge.

“—why these Neutral Zone patrols look sparse,” the captain finished.

“Aye, sir,” replied the android, and set to work.

“Sparse?” echoed the admiral, as he descended to a position in line with the command center, alongside Riker. His eyes narrowed, deepening the elaborate crow’s-feet at their corners, as he took in the graphics on the viewscreen.” What’s sparse?”

Picard sat up in his chair and turned to face McCoy. “The number of warbirds along he border,” he explained evenly. “If we can determine the reason for it, we might be able to use it to our advantage.”

The admiral harrumphed. It was not a compliment. “Idle speculation,” he commented. “A waste of time, if you ask me.” He eyed the captain from beneath bushy white brows. “What are we doing to help Spock?”

Picard could feel a considerable heat climb his neck and rise into his cheeks. He did not normally tolerate that tone on his bridge. Not even from a higher-ranking officer.

However, he reminded himself, McCoy had served on the original Enterprise—and he was desperately trying to rescue his friend. As a result, the captain felt constrained to stretch the rules a bit in this case.

“As it happens,” he informed the admiral, “I have already begun working toward Ambassador Spock’s release.” He glanced over his shoulder at Worf, whose stolid figure loomed behind him at the tactical station. “Any response from the Romulans yet, Lieutenant?”

The Klingon grunted. “None, sir.”

“Well,” said McCoy irascibly, “I’ll just wait here till we get one. That is, if Commander Riker’ll be good enough to give me his seat.”

Picard exchanged a glance with his first officer. Rising, Riker indicated the empty seat with a gesture. “All yours, sir,” he told the admiral.

As McCoy sat down, he muttered something beneath his breath.

“Did you say something?” the captain asked him.

The admiral turned to him. “I said, in my day they served coffee on the bridge. And I could sure as shootin’ use a cup right now.”

Picard sighed and appealed to Riker again. With an expression of forced tolerance, the first officer headed for the replicator.

“And I want it hot,” McCoy added.

The captain nodded obediently. “Of course, Admiral. As you wish.”

Spock watched the shadowy faces of his students as they anticipated the ending to his lesson in the security of his quarters. “And so,” he said, “it is clear that the way of Surak is preferable to a life of passion.”

For a moment, he allowed the words to sink in. Then he awaited questions.

On Romulus, those questions had often been long in coming. His students there had been inclined to ponder their lessons at length.

Obviously, that would not be the case here on Constanthus, he thought. Not as long as Skrasis was among them.

Responding to the youth’s upraised hand with a nod, the Vulcan awaited Skrasis’s onslaught. What’s more, he wasn’t disappointed.

“If a system is intrinsically superior,” the youth said, “does it not make sense to spread it?”

“It does,” Spock agreed. “After all, that is what we are doing here. We are encouraging the spread of Surak’s wisdom. Or his system, if you prefer to think of it that way.”

But the Vulcan had a feeling Skrasis meant more than that. As it turned out, he was right.

“But the teaching method is slow,” the Romulan observed. “And if there are benefits to be derived from such a system, is it not better to spread it quickly?”

Before Spock could answer his question, Skrasis beat him to it.

“It would seem it is. And the quickest way of all,” he finished, “is through force. So, then, is it not appropriate to use force as well as the teaching method to spread the word of Surak?”

The Vulcan sighed. Though possessed of a keen and analytical mind, Skrasis accepted nothing at face value.

In this, he was different from D’tan, who had come with Spock from Romulus. In fact, aside from their intelligence and youth, the two had virtually nothing in common.

D’tan soaked up his lessons as the desert plains of Vulcan soaked up water during the rainy season. He accepted virtually everything he was told and had memorized nearly all of Surak’s writings—a formidable task that few raised on Vulcan even undertook.

Skrasis, on the other hand, questioned everything. Even the most basic tenets of Surak’s teachings, at times. It was his way to test a thing over and over again before allowing himself to rely on it.

What’s more, Spock welcomed the youth’s questioning. And not just because it helped to illuminate the issues at hand.

As the time drew near for their trial and execution, he had sensed growing unrest in his charges. Fear, anxiety, and frustration were all natural reactions for an emotional people facing death. And even the relatively disciplined and motivated unificationists were susceptible to these strong emotions.

The Vulcan had long ago made peace with the possibility of his own death. Having experienced the phenomenon, it no longer carried the same weight with him.

However, his students did not have the benefits of his lifetime of study and personal experience. For them, the lessons provided a distraction—and Skrasis’s questions only increased their value in that regard.

“However,” Spock explained, “your proposition contains a contradiction, Skrasis. The principles of Surak are based on personal choice and an avoidance of violence. One cannot accept these principles and condone the use of violence to spread them.”

The youth wasn’t ready to relent. Not yet. “But the use of force in this case would serve the greater good. As you have also taught us, the needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few. Or the one.”

The Teacher should have been appalled to hear his own words used to defend such unethical practices. Yet he was pleased.

Clearly Skrasis had internalized Spock’s lessons. Even when he did not quite believe his own position, he held it out for inspection anyway—no matter how harsh a scrutiny it was likely to receive.

And that was the essence of Surak’s legacy.

The Vulcan eyed his student. “Even if we assume the Vulcan way would be superior for all sentient creatures, surely there would be those who would resist, those who would not submit no matter what the price.”

Skrasis said nothing.

“Presumably,” Spock continued, “these individuals would have to be eliminated.”

The youth shrugged. “In the beginning, perhaps. But the greater good would still be served. Imagine a galaxy governed by intellect, pure logic. A galaxy without war, or crime, or senseless violence.”

The Vulcan tilted his head, demonstrating his skepticism. “Except for that violence perpetrated by the administrators of this superior system.”

“But in the end,” Skrasis persisted, “you would have a generation of beings who knew nothing but the way of logic. Ultimately the need for all violence would disappear.”

The other Romulans assembled there had long ago become spectators, watching the Teacher and his young student in their verbal confrontation. Now, they were all looking at Spock for his answer.

“What you propose,” the Vulcan said, “has been tried many times in history. One example of it would be the Romulan Empire itself.”

Obviously, this was something that Skrasis had not considered. The youth’s face betrayed his surprise.

Spock went on. “Like many empires great and small before it, the Romulan Star Empire believed it had a superior system. From its earliest days, violence was used to firmly establish its power and to maintain loyalty to the state. And more than one generation grew to maturity knowing nothing else. Yet, as we can see, unrest persists.

“Insurrection. Purges. These are clearly a part of the fabric of Romulan society. And still, there are those who risk death simply for the knowledge of another way of life. Many of them are in this room. Many more are outside, in the courtyard.”

The Vulcan could see Skrasis absorbing the new information, turning the idea over in his mind.

“Surak teaches us to find order in chaos,” Spock pointed out. “He does not teach us to try to eliminate chaos or impose order onto it. And the reasons are not simply ethical, because a complex system—whether a biological entity, or a society, or even a language—must remain diverse. It must remain open to change or it will die.”

He took in all his listeners at a glance. “Infinite diversity in infinite combination is at the heart of Surak’s philosophy. An ordered galactic civilization, even if such a thing were possible, would fail to thrive. And inevitably, it would decay.”

For the first time since Spock had encountered Skrasis, the youth was completely and utterly silent, lost in the thoughts the Vulcan had planted. Allowing this silence to linger, Spock found himself actually looking forward to Skrasis’s reaction.

In the end, however, the silence was broken not by Skrasis, but by Belan, The older man entered hastily, apologizing for the intrusion.

“Teacher,” he said, “a word with you on an important issue?”

The Vulcan nodded his assent.

“A group of us has given our situation careful thought,” Belan informed him, “and though we are honored by your instruction, we have chosen a different path.”

Spock looked at him. “I see,” he replied.

Belan looked back over his shoulder to make sure there were no guards within earshot. Then he turned to the Vulcan again.

“We are planning an escape, Teacher. I have come to ask all present, and for you as well, to join us.”

Spock frowned ever so slightly. “You must know,” he said, “that your chances of success are slim indeed. All who try will almost certainly perish.”

By the determined look on Belan’s face, he could see that the Romulan had already considered this.

“We accept the risk,” Belan told him, “and the odds against us. If we live, our efforts will have been vindicated. If we die, our deaths will point up the absurdity and waste of the Romulan system. However, if we do not try, we will die anyway, and then our deaths will serve no meaningful purpose.”

He met the Teacher’s gaze. “It is just not our way, to wait for death. It may be weakness on our part, but we cannot deny who we are. We must meet our fate head-on.”

Ultimately, the Vulcan could not argue with Belan’s logic. He had made the point himself to Skrasis moments ago. Infinite diversity

“How do you intend to prevent the infiltrator from alerting the authorities to your plans?” Spock asked.

Belan shrugged. “Admittedly, a problem. However, we are asking that none of us remain alone for any period of time. It will be impossible for the spy to signal anyone if he or she is constantly in the company of others. Of course, we would not presume to ask you, Teacher—”

“Unnecessary,” the Vulcan interrupted. “I will comply with your request.”

“But you will not join us?” Belan asked.

Spock shook his head. “Like you, I must be true to my own nature.”

Belan turned to the others in the room. “Any who wish to link their fortunes to ours, come now. We have preparations to make.”

For a moment, no one moved. Then two of the Romulans who’d been listening to the Vulcan got up to join Belan. Both of them were Constantharines.

But neither of them was Skrasis. The youth remained seated, meeting neither Spock’s gaze nor Belan’s.

The Vulcan stood to face Belan and his two compatriots.

“Live long and prosper,” he told them. “May you find what you seek.”

The three of them returned the gesture. “Thank you,” Belan replied.

“You have a single-mindedness that I have experienced before,” Spock observed. “You refuse to accept your fate even when it is inevitable. That is an almost human quality.”

Belan studied his teacher, as if to find clarification in the Vulcan’s face. “Is that a criticism, Teacher?”

Spock almost smiled.

“No,” he assured the Romulan. “It is not.

***

“This time, when Eragian went over the day’s briefs, he looked for news from Constanthus. Surprisingly, there wasn’t any.

Most of what he perused was mundane—reports on minor military victories and resource allotments. The proconsul was about to shut off the screen when the last item caught his eye.

He read it again, more closely. Then he turned to Lennex, who had been standing by in his silent and disciplined way.

“Why was I not informed of this immediately?” the proconsul asked, pointing to the item.

The Tal Shiar looked at him. “It did not seem to merit special attention,” he explained.

Eragian was genuinely surprised. “A Federation starship crosses the Neutral Zone—with a Romulan cloaking device aboard—and that does not merit special attention?”

The tone of the proconsul’s voice would have cowered most other officers, but Lennex was unflappable. “Your Eminence, the ship is at least one hundred years old, as is the cloaking device. It had no crew, only a single addled and middle-aged human. Neither he nor the ship ever posed a threat to our security. What’s more, the warbird commander is preparing to interrogate him, after which he will dispose of the ship—and most likely, the human as well.”

“The human is said to be a Starfleet officer,” Eragian pointed out. “Have you checked his service record?”

The Tal Shiar shook his head. “He was not identified, either by name or by image.”

“And you tolerated that lack of information? I’m surprised,” said the proconsul.

“As I indicated,” Lennex repeated, “I did not deem the matter worthy of special attention.”

Eragian cursed inwardly. It was a common failing among the Tal Shiar to adopt a narrow focus when dealing with other races. After all, as the guardians of order and orthodoxy, they were primarily concerned with security within the Empire.

Naturally, this pitted them most often against other Romulans. In his position as proconsul, Eragian had to pay equal attention to enemies within and without the Empire.

Staring at the image of the human on his screen, Eragian stroked his chin. “There are nothing but questions here.”

And the proconsul knew there would be no quick answers. But he hadn’t risen to the exalted rank of proconsul without fine-tuning his instincts. And right now, those instincts were telling him that this human was important.

Hitting a padd on his desk, Eragian signaled one of his junior officers. “Alert Commander Hajak to prepare the Vengeance,” he directed. “I am traveling to the outer worlds today.”

“Do you have a specific destination in mind?” asked the officer, over the intercom link.

“I will be visiting Outpost…” Eragian quickly scanned his memory for the one nearest to the site of the Starfleet officer’s capture. “Outpost Number Forty-Eight,” he said finally.

He turned his attention to Lennex again. “See that the prisoner is not harmed, and that he is transferred to the outpost. And get me all the information you can about his vessel.”

Nodding succinctly, Lennex left the proconsul’s office. Eragian didn’t doubt that the Tal Shiar officer would ferret out every bit of data available on the starship. Sitting back in his chair, Eragian entertained the prospect of visiting a bleak, primitive outpost which could hardly have been farther from the splendor of Romulus.

He hoped the human was worth it.