Текст книги "Killing Time "

Автор книги: Della Hise

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"The time will come," Thea replied evasively, "when not even the Fleet can stand against us, Sarela." She paused, looking absently at the slave at her feet. "When that time arrives, I may see fit to give the Empire an heir to the title I now hold … but not until then." With a heavy sigh, her eyes closed. "Our children are taught the sword before they are taught to read or write. I will not bring a son into the Empire only to see him die a fool."

Sarela listened to the morose words in silence. "Then your reasons for permitting the time operatives to complete their mission are … personal?" she stated as a question. "You hoped to be able to alter the Empire's historical structure sufficiently to allow peace among our people, peace with the Alliance?"

Thea nodded, then held her hands up in a gesture of frustration. "But we must first forcethe Alliance to hear us, just as we must compel our own people to listen to the words which saved the Vulcans from themselves." She paused. "It will not be easy, for men such as Tazol and the Warriors do not wish to see these changes." She sighed. "As Praetor, they will hear my words … but as a woman who must maintain anonymity, they will be inclined to dismiss them." She smiled wistfully. "As you pointed out, Sarela, even the Praetor's word is sometimes questioned; and from your own experience, you have learned that the Warriors are often given precedence over the builders of our society."

Sarela's eyes darkened. "But it has always been the way of our people that women are equal to the Warriors. Indeed, many women have beenWarriors, even Fleet Captains on our ships of conquest."

Thea studied Sarela carefully. "But a woman has never before been Praetor—and those who have tried did not live long enough to make their mark on the Empire. The Warriors are fools, Sarela. It is easy enough for them to play their games of conquest, permitting women to join them in battle, while secretly abhorring the fact that we are quite often their mental superior." She smiled once again.

"That is somewhat of an understatement, my Lady," Sarela said with amusement.

Thea laughed lightly, a deep sensuous sound. "That is the one thing our ancestors accomplished when they tampered with the genes of those who preceded us. By creating a stronger male Warrior, they failed to account for certain genes and chromosomes which determine mental capabilities. It is no wonder that the majority of commanders in the Fleet are female; the Warriors are physically superior, that is true … but most are incapable of intricate reasoning."

Sarela smiled ruefully, but a cold, silver chill slowly climbed her spine. "But therein lies the problem, my Lady," she said. "They arephysically stronger, and they would not hesitate to kill anything which threatens their way of life—including the Praetor—especially if they consider the Praetor vulnerable."

Thea nodded quietly. "It is a possibility," she conceded. "My guards will protect us, but even all the forces of the palace will not be able to stand against the Fleet for long. The dichotomy between the Warriors and the rest of our people is too great. That is one reason why my anonymity must be carefully guarded. My father was cautious, and for that I am grateful to him. He made it understood within the palace that I was to be granted complete rule as Praetor upon his death; and my advisers and attendants have never questioned that authority. I have given them no reason to do so," she quickly added. "And I was once the commander of a flagship while my father still lived." She smiled. "Perhaps it was his way of testing me—and perhaps I even failed that test in many ways. But he never permitted it to be known that I was his daughter. He told the Empire only that there was an heir to the throne … and the Warriors naturally assumed that his heir would be a son."

"Then your father must have known that you would eventually try to change the Empire," Sarela surmised.

Thea's brows furrowed. "Perhaps," she conceded. "And perhaps that is his legacy of punishment."

Sarela looked questioningly at the other woman.

"He was embittered when I was born," Thea explained. "He could father no more children, and had produced no previous offspring. Perhaps he even believed that on the day I came to power I would be foolish enough to reveal my true identity." She smiled. "I believe that, when he sent me out to command his flagship, he did not think I would return." Again, she paused. "But nonetheless, I must have proven myself to him in some way, for he provided me with the protection I needed. And so long as my views appeared to mirror the Warriors' wishes, even they have accepted me as Praetor. It is the fact that my views are now something less than traditional which places me—and you, now that you know who I am—in danger."

"Then we must take care when presenting the Tenets to the Empire," Sarela suggested. "No one must know—at least not immediately—that the Praetor is female." She knew now that her own gender was what had robbed her of command. Once Tazol, a Warrior of her father's camp, had been chosen as her life-mate, it was a convenient excuse to instate him in a high position within the Fleet. She felt the anger rise in her veins when she realized that she had been right in her previous assumptions: Tazol was hardly fit for command of a garbage truck. He was nothing more than her father's puppet, her father's heroic gesture to the Warriors … and perhaps even her father's slap in the face. In many ways, she suddenly realized how much she had in common with Thea.

"To a Warrior," Thea said sadly, "conquest is the only means of survival." She shook her head very gently. "Try to imagine telling Tazol that we should make peace with the Alliance. He views peace only as a cemetery filled with the bones of our enemies. He comprehends nothing else … and neither do the other Warriors."

Sarela sank back in the chair, absently lifting the wine goblet to her lips. "There is another matter," she said guardedly.

Thea glanced up, eyes questioning.

"If the Vulcans are as perceptive as we believe them to be," Sarela proceeded, "it will not be long before they discover that their universe has been altered." She paused, remembering her own First History. "And as you well know, their tradition of dignity and duty will not permit them to allow Second History to remain. They will do everything in their power to reinstate the past as it was before our agents were sent into Earth's history."

Impulsively, Thea rose from the chair, paced the width of the room, then turned sharply. "I have already considered that aspect to some extent," she revealed. "Which is why we must contact the Alliance immediately. My studies of Second History point out the fact that the Vulcans have not yet discovered the physics of time travel whatsoever; it exists only in theory to them, or in the form of infrequent accidents over which they possess no control. They have never been able to bridge the time-gap at will—which operates in our favor." She paused, putting one hand thoughtfully to her chin. "We must make certain they do not discover the causeof their displacement before we have the opportunity to meet with them. And … it is suggested by my scientific advisers that, even if the Alliance doeseventually succeed in re-creating First History, certain effects of Second History will still remain intact."

Again, Sarela looked questioningly at the other woman. "The intricacies of time alteration are indeed paradoxical," she murmured.

"In effect, Sarela," Thea explained, "First History still exists in the molecular memory of this universe. It is—or was—a physical reality, the reality which wouldhave been had we not sent our operatives into Earth's past. That First History reality cannot be erased, no matter how successful our operatives were. As you say, someone within the Alliance will eventually discover what has happened, and will indeed attempt to correct it. I do not know if that can be accomplished, but for the moment it is irrelevant. What is important is that we move quickly. Since the mind can reach beyond the physical boundaries of anyuniverse, we must contact the Alliance before they discover that we are responsible for what has transpired." She paused. "In essence, certain individuals will exist in both universes—as well as in a host of other universes and alternate dimensional planes. And since SecondHistory, now that it has been created, is no less physically real than First … it, too, will remain forever locked in the memory of the entire universal concept." She hesitated once more, brows furrowing with the attempt to explain.

"In other words," Sarela surmised, "we must attempt to make peace with the Alliance—with specific peoplein the Alliance—relying on the theory that, whether Second History remains intact or not, that peace will still remain."

Thea nodded very slowly. "Not precisely accurate, but essentially correct. I do not know if anypeace we make now will withstand the test of time itself. We must hope, however remote that hope is, that they do notdiscover our tampering at all. But since that is, granted, too much to expect, we must rely on my advisers' word that those who exist in both First and Second History will retain at least partial memory of both universes. In other words, since our ships were in hyperspace at the time of our operatives' work, we know both Histories—one from experience, the other from computer tapes. At this point, the men and women aboard our light-ships are the only beings who retain both sets of knowledge. However, if the Alliance is eventually successful in setting the time-flow right again, those who are instrumental in doing so—those people who actually doit—will retain at least partial memory of both Histories, since they will have had physical reality and consciousness in both timelines."

"I see," Sarela mused. "But … which is to be done first? Do we present the Tenets of Discipline to the Romulan people beforecontacting the Alliance, and hope that the Warriors will listen? It does not seem a likely possibility," she added logically. "And if we attempt to contact the Alliance first—without giving our people an opportunityto hear the words of peace first, they will surely believe that we are attempting to betray the Empire."

A smile came to Thea's lips as she moved back to the chair and sat down, her hand returning to the slave's head. "I have not abandoned allmy Romulan instincts, Sarela," she replied elusively. "Certain starships and Alliance personnel are not unknown to me, and subterfuge is often a necessity if we are to gain what we seek."

Sarela's eyes focused on the Praetor's hand, which was stroking the slave's hair in gentle contrast to the cunning words. "How may I aid you, Lady?" she asked, finally releasing her own doubts and reaching out to touch the shoulder of the young slave who sat at her feet.

Laughing from deep in her throat, Thea curled into a more comfortable position in the large chair. "We shall contact the Alliance first," she said, "and the rest will take care of itself. Tazol is not foolish enough to prevent my transport ship from leaving this vessel. He needn't know precisely where we are going, and he will hardly attempt to stop even his wife if she is in the company of the Praetor!"

Sarela returned the laugh, becoming more and more interested. She no longer cared about Tazol, no longer cared whathe would think.

"At any rate," Thea continued, "it has come to my attention that the VSS ShiKahrhas been monitored in the vicinity of the Neutral Zone. That ship will be our destination," she continued knowingly. Her eyes grew distant. "In First History, there were two officers aboard that ship—then known as the USS Enterprise—who were once devious enough to trick an Empire Fleet Captain into practically handing them our cloaking device." She avoided mentioning that shehad been that Fleet Captain. "And while you are correct in your assumption that the Alliance might not listen to mere words from the mouth of a Romulan, there is a wedge which can be used against those two officers which will forcethem to help us." She smiled to herself.

Sarela returned the smile with one of her own. The cloaking device incident was not unknown to her, and even she had heard of the two Starfleet officers to whom Thea was referring. "What shall we do, Lady?" she inquired.

"All we need do is … kidnap … either one of them," Thea replied without hesitation, "and the other would do anything in his power to retrieve his friend—even to the point of negotiating with us." She smiled gently. "And the Alliance, unlike the Empire, grants great power to its starship commanders. If a workable peace treaty can be signed by one of their captains, that treaty is then binding to the entire Alliance."

Sarela considered that. "They trust their officers highly," she surmised.

Thea nodded. "Would that I had known that years ago," she murmured to herself. But she quickly pulled her mind back to reality. "At any rate," she continued, "there is a certain Vulcan who will prove invaluable to us."

Sarela smiled at the simplistic beauty of the plan, daring to think that it had a certain potential. She raised a questioning eyebrow, however. "What is to prevent them from attacking your ship the moment we are detected on their sensors?" she wondered hypothetically.

"The Vulcans are basically a benevolent race," the Praetor reminded Sarela. "They will not attack a vessel which appears to be in distress—even if it is a Romulan vessel. And once we are safely aboard their ship, I have a plan which will insure the Vulcan's attention for as long as necessary to begin formal negotiations."

Sarela sank back in her own chair, her hand absently stroking the slave's smooth shoulder as she spoke. "Tazol will be dark with rage when he discovers what has happened," she remarked, feeling an odd moment of joy at the thought. "And if peace caneventually be established, even he will not dare lead the Warriors in an attack against the palace—for he would know that the Alliance would defend Romulus just as it defends any of its own worlds." She laughed lightly, delighted with the idea of her husband's reaction. "He will become useless—even more so than he already is!"

"Fools like Tazol are easily replaced," the Praetor responded as she eyed the young man at Sarela's feet. "And if we are cautious, he will know nothing of our plan until it is too late for him to do anything to prevent it." She sobered suddenly. "Do I have your trust now?" she asked.

Sarela's eyes spoke for her as their gazes locked. "Our views mirror one another, Lady," she replied. "I would welcome an opportunity to stand with you in this endeavor."

The Praetor rose, going to stand directly in front of the other woman as a smile found its way to her lips. "It has also come to my attention that you are somewhat … displeased with your father's choice for life-mate," she stated deviously.

"Tazol is a thoughtless child," Sarela replied, "but he ismy father's choice." She wondered fleetingly why her personal life should be of interest to the Praetor … until a single phrase came back to her: No one ever leaves the Praetor's personal service.Thea would not be likely to permit her to return to her former life; she already had seen too much. A chill climbed her back, but she ignored its implications.

Thea studied the other woman for a very long time. At last, she reached down, taking the slave at Sarela's legs by the hand and drawing him to his feet. "As a gesture of friendship and a token of my own trust," she said, eyeing the treasured slave appreciatively, "I give Sekor to you until you reach your decision regarding a proper life-mate."

Sarela's eyes widened. "Only the Praetor is permitted to choosea life-mate!" she remembered incredulously, almost oblivious to the fact that Thea continued to hold the man's hand out to her freely.

An easy chuckle slipped past the Praetor's throat. "I thought we had agreed that the time for change has come to the Empire," she remarked. "I can even have Tazol executed if it would make this gift easier to accept." She paused as she caught a glimpse of insight into Sarela's hesitation. "Would it be any simpler if you considered how many times menhave given womenas gifts? It is no different, Sarela. He is yours … if you wish him."

For a moment, Sarela could not respond, until she suddenly caught herself laughing. "As a gesture of friendship … and trust," she murmured, mirroring the Praetor's words, "I accept."

She slowly grasped the slave's outstretched hand, surprised at how relaxed the man appeared, how unconcerned he was to be handed over as a gift, almost a bribe. But she knew he was far from a bribe; and it was easy to guess by the easy twinkle in Sekor's eye that he knew it as well. She took a deep breath, accepting her attraction to his beauty.

"But it isn't necessary to kill Tazol," she added, feeling a burden lift from her shoulders when she realized she was now free of him forever. "He is, after all, just a mindless child—not responsible for his actions. Let him live … if you wish it."

Thea's brows furrowed slightly. "Mercy?" she teased. "You, a Romulan, bred to revenge and tradition, show mercy to a man whom you despise?"

But Sarela only smiled. "Not mercy, Lady," she corrected. "Pity."

Chapter Eleven

THE VULCAN AWOKE, and noticed without emotion that the pain in his back had all but paralyzed him. He tried to force weighted eyelids apart, but to no avail. Scents drifted to his nostrils, and he breathed deeply. Antiseptic. Clean. Noises of gentle footsteps.

"Take it easy, Spock," a familiar voice murmured as he struggled to move.

Delirium crept closer, its black hands creating a mutation of reality.

"J-Jim?" he whispered, his voice coming out as little more than a painful gasp. Breathing, he discovered, was quite painful. But as reality slowly returned, he wondered why he should be addressing the young ensign as "Jim," and precisely why he should think that Kirk, of all people, would be leaning over him. And yet, as with so many things, it seemed natural, familiar … as if it had happened that way countless times before.

"It's McCoy," the voice explained. "Just take it easy for a while, Spock."

Sinking back on the bed, the Vulcan felt a moment of disappointment mingle with confusion. "The landing party?" he asked, battling a demon of pain. "Are they …?" He opened his eyes at last, wincing at the bright light which stabbed sensitive pupils.

McCoy nodded, but the Vulcan could see that the usual sparkle was absent from the blue eyes.

"Everyone's safe, Spock—except Donner," the doctor said, knowing that attempting to delude the Vulcan into quiescence would prove futile. "He was already dead when we beamed aboard." His voice was gentle, soothing; yet he knew there was nothing he could say to ease the guilt Spock would feel. "We've got him in the cryogenic chamber for now," he added. "I can't do anything for him here, but maybe the doctors at Starbase Ten will be able to help."

Spock's eyes drifted shut once again. Despite his personal disapproval of the ensign's bigotry and violence, he had no desire to see the man dead; and he wondered if he'd made the wrong decision in allowing him to be part of the landing party to begin with. But still … too many crewmen unable to function … too many incidents of slippage … Death would have claimed someone, regardless.

"And the others?" he demanded, teeth clenching with agony as he attempted to speak.

"Selon took a spear in the behind when he turned to run," McCoy said through the tunnel of darkness. "He won't be sitting down for a while, but nothing too serious. Doctor M'Benga's patching him up right now."

Spock nodded, then struggled to rise on one elbow, stopping only when the doctor's hand pushed him gently back down.

"Kirk?" the Vulcan asked, feeling something related to horror slice through him. The last conscious thought … Kirk … "What about … Jim?" The pain moved a little closer, threatening to take him back to blackness.

"Not a scratch," McCoy's distant voice said reassuringly.

It was the last thing the Vulcan remembered before a hypo hissed against his bare arm. Coenthal. The cold crept up into his shoulder. But that one statement from McCoy was enough. The human paradox was safe. Despite the odds, despite himself … Kirk was alive.

Darkness claimed Spock in warm black arms.