Disclaimer: Paramount and Viacom own Trek. I just like to
play with their toys...
(Historian's note: this takes place in the first season of the original series,
before the episode "Balance of Terror")
(Author's Note: Forgive the use of the name Skon. No connection is implied to
any well-known ancestors of any well-known Vulcans.)
Captain Valentina Romanov:
USS Achilles, Saladin Class Destroyer, near the Romulan Neutral Zone.
"Captain's log, stardate 1724.5. We have left our assigned patrol along
the distended end of the neutral zone to answer a distress signal from a Vulcan
scientist on Cappa 3. The Achilles is going in, ready to make what might be the
first contact with the Romulans for close to a hundred years. It is not an
opportunity I approach with enthusiasm. This crew has spent more than its share
of time skirmishing with the Klingons. We know our role as a border patrol, and
we have an understanding of sorts with the Klingons. They come over and we push
them back. It has the comfort of routine. But this hint of Romulans... is
unsettling."
Romanov switched off the recorder and looked over the broad, bird shoulders of
her Skorr helmsman T'Char at the viewscreen. Cappa 3 was dark and dismal.
Uninspiring to anyone, with the possible exception of a Vulcan scientist. Or a
Romulan. She turned back to Skon, who was suddenly at her side. There were
times, she reflected, when the grey flecks in the Vulcan's hair seemed to
multiply if he was concerned. Today they seemed to have doubled.
"Lifesigns, Commander?"
"One. Very faint, and masked by magnetic interference."
"Is it our Vulcan scientist?"
Skon paused over his hooded viewer. "The readings are... atypical for a
Vulcan." Then he turned to her. "The lifesigns are very weak, however.
I would recommend expediency."
She cocked an aristocratic eyebrow at him. "Can I assume you don't
recommend transporting through the interference?"
Skon managed to somehow look just a bit more Vulcan at that. Whether it was
annoyance that she was presuming what he would say, or surprise at the same
thing, she wasn't sure. And he never let on. "Affirmative."
"Right," she muttered dismissively. She tapped the comm panel on her
console. "Hanger bay, prep a shuttle for immediate departure." She
stood and moved to the turbolift. "T'Char, you're with me. Commander Skon,
you have the bridge."
Ten minutes later, the shuttlecraft Enola Gay settled carefully onto the
surface of Cappa 3.
Captain Romanov led her team out onto the surface. "Whatever hit here sure
did a job!" she shouted above a screaming wind. There was a smell that the
wind could not carry off. Chemicals. Cordite. And something else Romanov
couldn't immediately identify. She looked to T'Char with questioning eyes.
"Plasma." The Skorr was quiet. "Look over here." As Romanov
followed his gaze, he indicated where a nearby mountain peak had been
completely obliterated. "This happened recently. The plasma burns on the
rock are fresh."
"How long ago?" She started to wonder about their safety now.
"Less than an hour." T'Char was glancing nervously at the swirling
storm clouds above them.
She knew T'Char too well to think that he was frightened.
"Lieutenant, we didn't pick up any ships or other lifeforms. But keep that
beak of yours pointed at the sky anyway. I want to find this Vulcan and get
back to the ship."
Leathery wings had brought T'Char two metres up into the turbulent air.
"He's just ahead. Less than fifty metres." T'Char's sense of smell
and natural hunting instinct was more useful than a tricorder on planets like
this.
With T'Char fighting his way through surface winds, and Captain Romanov leading
two security guards across the bleak landscape, it took only minutes to reach
the Vulcan.
The remains of the mountaintop almost covered the figure that was sprawled half
out of a small tent. Green blood soaked into the dirt. Too much green blood.
"Help me, T'Char." Romanov was struggling to remove a jagged rock
that lay across the Vulcan's back. T'Char lifted the rock up easily, as Romanov
gently rolled the prone figure onto his back. Then she felt a quick intake of
breath as she saw his face. It was a human face, bleeding unmistakable green
Vulcan blood.
Captain Romanov watched as Doctor Tyler applied a hypospray
to his patient's arm. There was a quick hiss, and puffy eyelids fluttered open.
The Vulcan with the human features and 'atypical' life readings woke up gently.
Then, as he realised he was in sickbay onboard a ship, he tried to jump.
Without a word, he struggled quickly against the straps holding him down. Then
he looked up into Romanov's face, and relaxed. "You're safe," she
muttered. To her, his unguarded actions spoke volumes. He had been caught doing
something he shouldn't. "I am Captain Valentina Romanov of the Starship
Achilles. What is your name?"
"My name is..." there was a hesitation, which trailed off to a heavy
silence. "Stoke. My name is Stoke. Captain, I must be taken to Vulcan
without delay."
Romanov stopped him with a stern and practised Tsarina gaze. "First things
first. Who attacked you?" From the corner of her eye, she saw Skon's
intense gaze. There were too many questions.
Stoke seemed to glance very quickly at Skon. Then he looked at Romanov with
unseeing eyes. "It was a ship. It appeared from nowhere... as if it had an
invisibility screen. There was no communication, but I saw a large bird of prey
painted on the underside. The ship dipped into a low orbit, and fired an
enveloping energy field comprised purely of plasma."
Romanov looked at Skon and mouthed a single word. "Romulan."
Stoke saw her. "Probable, Captain. It would be in keeping with their ships
during the Earth/Romulan war. But Captain, I have information that I must get
back to Vulcan without delay."
Romanov shook her head. "Whatever you have can wait. If the Romulans have
returned, we need to deal with it here and now."
"Can I speak privately with you?" Stoke sounded agitated for a
Vulcan. "This is a matter of great importance to Vulcan, and the
Federation."
"More important than a Romulan invasion?" Romanov started to move
away. She knew that would encourage Stoke to talk.
"In private, Captain." Stoke was more stubborn than any Vulcan she'd
ever met, despite the softening edge of his human features.
Romanov nodded to Skon, and the red shirts she had close by. They left as a
group. Then she looked at Stoke with fire in her eyes. "This had better be good." The
Imperial haughtiness of the old Tsars served her well now. The hours her father
Nicholas had spent teaching her in the Siberian camp came back effortlessly.
"There was a custom among my people, almost a thousand years ago. A way of
passing information that could not be compromised, or corrupted. For centuries,
it was shunned. Distrusted by the ruling faction on Vulcan. Even today, it is
not spoken of."
Romanov couldn't keep the scepticism out of her voice. "And what would
that be? All she saw were his hands
that came up, barely pausing to break the straps that had held him down.
"What--"
Gentle pressure on her temples. A voice foreign yet familiar. "I am the
Tsar of all the Russias."
"You are not." Her voice. Her will coming to her defence. There were
things in her awareness that were new. That didn't belong. That had been there
before. The stamp of familiarity. The Delta Quadrant. Tricobolt torpedoes.
Conspiracies. The twenty-fourth century. Sloane. Thirty-one.
This was her story, and she knew that. It was all new, yet it was really old
news. It was the future, and the past. But what did it have to do with...
A huge bird, with two talons outstretched, holding worlds in those talons. A
message to brothers on Vulcan...
Valentina Romanov found herself on the deck, and she stood. Stoke was
prostrate. Strapped down. "I don't know how you did that, or for that
matter just what you did. And discounting for the moment fantasies about the
future..." Her thoughts in fact were still glued to the future. The
conspiracy, and Mister Sloane...
"Captain?" Stoke's voice was like a knife. A fist that hit her across
the face was TODAY.
"What was that all about? What is it you have to tell the
Federation?"
Stoke seemed to relax visibly. "It is now in you. A Vulcan will be able to
retrieve it. No one else will ever find it."
Romanov looked at him with distrust... he had attacked her in a way she had
never conceived of. "I'll contact the Vulcans. The Vulcan
ambassador." Whether it was in angry response to an attack, or the need to
convey Stoke and his secret to Vulcan, she couldn't say for sure.
In the darkened, quiet, and very private confines of Captain
Romanov's cabin, Stoke heard her speaking in hushed tones. He knew that she was
speaking directly to the Vulcans, rather than the Federation. That was not
quite what he had wanted, but it couldn't be helped. While her voice hummed
secretively in the background, he examined carefully what he had found in her
mind. Encrypted secrets. The trip to the 23rd Century from the 24th was
shadowed. Romanov would have no conscious knowledge of that. There was also
some question as to when she had apparently turned on her shipload of Section
31 personnel and dispatched them with creative use of a transporter. The
Guardian of Forever, and the so-called 'Guardian Nursery' in the Delta
Quadrant. There was, of course, the genetic engineering in her past. The cloned
Tsar Nicholas who had reconquered the Old Russian Empire as Earth's Eugenics
Wars had ground to a halt. He had left an heir... and so, through the years and
generations had begat Valentina Romanov. But that didn't float to the top of
Romanov's concerns. What did float to the top was the Voyager Conspiracy. And
Mister Sloane. There was an empty patch. Something hidden to Romanov that even
Stoke could not decipher.
"The Vulcans have dispatched their ambassador to escort you home."
Stoke had to pull his mind away from the jumble of secrets he had copied from
her mind. "Home?"
Romanov felt as if her brain had been washed inside and out. So when the odd
Vulcan Stoke seemed half asleep, she summoned an annoyed tone. "Vulcan.
That is home, isn't it?" She immediately regretted the angry tone. Stoke
had a vulnerability. And a passion. She felt drawn to him as she had never felt
drawn to anyone. As if he knew more about her than she knew. And as if she was
ready to tell him anything. "You aren't like any Vulcan I've ever met."
"Obviously you've never met a Vulcan who spent his life in the Romulan
Empire."
Romanov's gasp asked the question that she suddenly could not. That elicited a
small grin from Stoke. "I suddenly
feel as if I can tell you anything," he muttered slyly, as he moved one
hand up to casually sift through her long, straight reddish-brown hair.
"Can you keep a secret?"
Romanov felt him wash through her. His mind... his fingers... his out-of-place
smile. It was the same as before, yet somehow... more. Where the last had been
a brush. A touch. A caress. This was a melding. His body was hard and
unyielding, yet somehow a gentle playground. "Yes," was all she could
say.
"I have a bit of Romulan blood in me. And I also have a big story to tell
your Federation." His fingers continued their gentle invasion of her
defences and disciplines. "I have much I would like to share with you. But
a degree of intimacy is involved."
Her body knew the answer, and made it clear, even as her mind was considering.
Her hands tried in vain to pull his left hand from her hair, as her body
wriggled in sudden need and hunger. "Fire." The word hissed out from
between clenched teeth.
He raised one eyebrow. "Indeed." His left hand took a fistful of hair
for a second; long enough to tense her body and bend her head back with a
delicious scent of not quite fear. He found his mouth and teeth at her throat.
Tasting. Teasing. Not quite threatening. Desire. That was it, and Stoke
suddenly laughed. His hand left her hair. Her mind and body were his now. There
would be no need to physically do anything. And yet, her desire was sufficient
to stir the old, long-disguised and covered up instincts. He slowly moved his
hands to her shoulders. There he searched for a fastening, or a zipper, or
other such instrumentality. Then the beast in him tired of searching, and his
fingers yanked at the flimsy material. It tore quickly and easily, and her
naked back was shivering under his touch.
Romanov could no longer distinguish between the fingers in her mind and the fingers
burning trails down her back. The cool air of her cabin was suddenly a
sweltering jungle. Fingers parted her buttocks, and pulled her close to the
animal... the man... the animal that had her. His hardness lay flat against
her, pent up and hungry and eager to push into her. It was impossibly big, and
its obvious desire equally unbelievable. She thought briefly of his words.
'Obviously you've never met a Vulcan who spent his life in the Romulan Empire',
and she knew instinctively that he was not a Vulcan. He was a Romulan,
regardless of his green Vulcan blood, and his rounded, decidedly human
features. The desire suddenly went cold at the realization. She was, literally,
sleeping with the enemy. She felt his mental fingers probing her mind, and they
were as easy to sidestep and deceive as the awkward advances of a teenaged boy.
Her mind stroked his mental probes, as her body took his member in and let him
plumb her hungrily. Now that she understood him, the mental hold was gone. It
wasn't really a power, she mused, as the Romulan/Human hybrid slammed into her.
It was a parlor trick. It was learned, rather than inherent. The question of
Stoke essentially settled in her mind, she allowed him to continue to plumb and
split and twist and turn her around as she thought over the efficiency report
that was due in a week.
Thirty minutes later, Romanov was zipping up a spare uniform and contemplating
the sweating figure asleep in her bed. "Stoke!" He awoke with a
start. She saw him look around quickly, like a startled animal, then settle
down. "We both have big secrets, don't we?" She was using the thick,
Russian Tsarina purr that worked on everyone. Humans and aliens alike.
Stoke brushed a lock of hair from his eyes. "It would seem to be in our
best interests to maintain these secrets."
She smiled like a very hungry Cheshire cat. "Yes. But there may come a
time when it ceases to be in my best interest. Do you understand that, my
pretty little Romulan?"
He raised an eyebrow to counter her aggression. "Obviously."
A comm panel beeped with what seemed to be timidity. "Skon to
Captain Romanov."
Romanov smiled once more, hoping to cloud Stoke's reasoning just a bit.
"Go ahead, Commander."
"The Vulcan transport Tal Shaya has come alongside."
"Thank you." She saw that Stoke was genuinely uncomfortable.
"Have their transport officer coordinate with ours to safely beam their
party directly to my cabin. Then I want you to disable all internal sensors and
comm channels in or out of here. I'll use a communicator for further
contact."
"Acknowledged."
That was what Romanov loved about Skon. Nothing but nothing fazed him. He asked
no questions. Ever. "Excellent. Romanov out."
Less than a minute passed before the Vulcans appeared in her cabin. No. One was
a human female. Romanov looked to the Ambassador for an explanation, but
suddenly found, when she saw his face, that she couldn't speak.
Stoke looked first to the startled face of the human woman
who had beamed in with the Vulcan. Then he looked to the Vulcan ambassador, and
despite years of training to think like a Vulcan, he gasped. It was himself...
almost.
Romanov found her voice first. "Ambassador. Welcome to the USS Achilles.
My name is Captain Valentina Romanov." She was startled. More than she had
ever been in years of space travel and undercover dealings for Section 31. The
Vulcan ambassador, whom she had heard of but never met, could have been a
father, or at least an older brother to Stoke. But even that didn't say it. It
was as if Stoke were an earlier print of Ambassador Sarek, from perhaps ten
years earlier, and someone had brushed away all of the distinctive Vulcan
features to make Stoke. It was like seeing Sarek as a human. Except for that...
"Forgive me, Ambassador, but..." her words trailed off.
Sarek saw the human Captain's eyes widen. "Captain, she who is my
wife." He indicated Amanda, who was silent. Then he turned to Stoke. It
was as if he were looking at himself from years ago. Yet his physical
appearance was undoubtedly human. Without letting his gaze leave Stoke, he
spoke to Romanov. "I am honoured to serve. May I speak with your
guest--?" This is where Sarek hesitated, because he did not wish to offend
Captain Romanov. The situation was tenuous in the extreme.
"Alone?" Romanov thought that Sarek seemed on edge. And that made her
nervous.
Sarek cleared his throat. "Forgive me, Captain. Not alone. But without you
in the room." There were times, Sarek thought, when you simply could not
spare their frail egos.
Romanov turned the accent up to full. "Certainly, Ambassador. I am
honoured to serve." She picked up a communicator and flipped it open.
"Skon, release the seal on my cabin for me to exit. Then lock it
again." She glanced at the ambassador's wife, who looked concerned for her
husband. She gave the impression of someone who had stepped from a holiday into
a nightmare. Romanov felt pity for the woman. Then she cocked an eyebrow at the
ambassador. "Use the communicator when you need to speak with me."
She pushed it towards him slightly and rose to leave. "Take care,
Ambassador." She left without looking at Stoke.
Sarek regarded Stoke quickly. Ancient, banished emotions pounded away in the
background, like the distant echo of long-silenced drums. "Please explain
your existence." His eyes were locked on the impossibly familiar features.
"And your appearance."
Stoke stood so quickly that Amanda jumped back. She saw the slight sheen of
sweat that clung to Stoke's forehead like an animal. This... was he a son? A
clone? If he was a son, shouldn't he look like Spock? Would she have to learn
to love it?
Stoke could almost smell the revulsion from the human woman. "I am not a
son, Madam. Nor a clone." Stoke knew from Romanov's 'files' that the
Romulans would eventually trade in an infamous clone. But not yet. "I am a
Romulan. With a share of human blood. The reason they thought I was a Vulcan is
going to be rather a shock to the Federation. And perhaps a death-knell to the
comfortable relationship Vulcan enjoys with Earth."
"And why is that?" It was Amanda, who could no longer be silent in
the face this man.
"My wife--" Sarek did not want her involved.
Stoke's voice was silk. Honey, laced with venom. "Because, dear Lady, the
Romulans and the Vulcans are brothers. Only separated by a thousand years. The
humans will learn that the dreaded unseen Romulans who threatened Earth just a
short time ago are related quite closely to the beings with whom they share
their deepest intimacies." He leered at her.
Sarek knew that it was all possible. He wanted to hide Stoke away where he
would never be seen. He also felt the rumblings of the past. The need to
protect his mate. "You have not explained your appearance. You claim to
be--"
Stoke smiled. "My father commands the greatest warship in the Empire. But
he has a shame. A human woman that he found huddled in the bowels of a
passenger liner that had strayed into Gamma Hydra." He looked at Amanda.
"The Romulans claim that system. Did you know that? I wonder when
Starfleet will learn that." Stoke thought about that with longing.
"But I digress. My mother was a human. In this case," he indicated
his eyebrows and ears, "the human genes were predominant. I look
human. But the insides are all Vulcan. Well, Romulan. Well, same thing really.
When the humans see just how close I am to you, they will start to question
their choice of friends. And that, my Vulcan brother, is the beginning of the
end."
Sarek knew that it was all highly improbable. He also knew that sometimes the
improbable happened. What was required here was a tactical move. Stoke felt he
had an advantage, and Sarek thought he should equalize matters. "Is this
why you simulated an attack on Cappa 3?" He saw Stoke's eyebrows go up,
and pressed his advantage home. "Captain Romanov informs me that they
examined the impact crater from orbit while you were sedated. It was obvious
that you detonated the 'plasma torpedo' yourself. You did this to gain
sympathy?"
Stoke smiled, in spite of the turmoil in his mind. "Captain Romanov can be
most sympathetic."
Sarek was compelled to raise his eyebrow. "Indeed. She is also a Starfleet
officer, with an uncharacteristic respect for diplomatic sensibilities. She
contacted the Vulcan High Council as soon as she came to believe that you were
Vulcan. When she, in her words, saw the colour of your blood. Then she spoke
with me, less than a day ago. I was on vacation with my wife when we were
diverted here. And again, an hour ago, she told me everything she knew about
you. Everything. The humans have shown already that they are untroubled by
you." As Sarek watched Stoke lower his head, he thought briefly of the
ability of Vulcans to lie when it was the logical thing to do. "You will
not pose a threat to the Federation." And when the truth was the harshest
of instruments to wield.
Epilogue Part One
Romanov was happy to have all of the guests off of her ship. She liked Sarek,
though she thought his son was cuter than he was. But she worked better without
telepaths on the opposing team. "Ambassador, I will not tell anyone. I
promised that already. But I want to know where he is." Sarek could still
be frustrating, even through a comm channel. But that just made him sexier.
"I think I have a right to know."
Sarek was Sarek. Polite and maddening and as yielding as tritanium. "I
will submit your request to the proper authorities. Forgive me, Captain. I have
obligations. If you will excuse me."
Romanov knew when to quit. "Acknowledged, Ambassador. Mene sakkhet
ur-seveh." She was rewarded
with a raised eyebrow.
"Peace, and long life." Sarek closed the channel, and thought briefly of the roguish
Captain Romanov. Then he turned to Amanda. "She is unique."
Amanda didn't care about Romanov. "Where is Stoke?"
"Why must you know?"
"Because he makes me nervous." Amanda didn't say that she saw her son
in the eyes that were too familiar and too alien at the same time.
"Stoke is safe." Sarek was not satisfied with what had become of
Stoke, but he had seen little alternative to the decision of his government.
There was simply too much danger of his prediction coming true to loose him on
the galaxy. "He is out of the way of history."
Epilogue Part Two
Stoke looked out of the porthole that would be the first and last that he ever
saw of Vulcan. The view of the red planet from the confines.... they had
refused to admit that it was exile... the confines of Vulcan Space Central was
unsatisfying. It was a reminder of what he had tried to do, to bring chaos to
the woman from Earth who had made his life chaos, and made his noble father an
unhappy and lonely warrior. The secrets of the woman Romanov was now doomed to
die with him in this cell, from which the Vulcans promised to care for him for
the remainder of his natural life. And Stoke, he gathered, speaking of himself
and too himself, because his was now the only voice.... Stoke would encourage
no more fires. A tear welled up in his eye, and for a moment, blurred his view
of Vulcan.