The evacuation was being finished quickly, and Ajeya was pleased; her team was working well. She passed by every room supervising their work. There were some places, however, she did not want to visit. One of them, particularly, was just in front of her.
She had been called to the detention area, and as she headed towards it, old memories stirred in her mind, sending her painful images of a past best forgotten.
A soldier of her unit was arguing with the only guard posted there, who did not want to shut down the cells' force field; the equipment, however, was scheduled to be beamed up, and her subordinate was not ready to move without consent. Ajeya was led to the cells by the guard.
"Look, ma'am, I can't let all these prisoners free."
Ajeya tried to keep detached, but when her eyes met the figures gazing at her impassively from the other side of the security fields, another scene assaulted her mind, and made her inwardly recoil.
The Vulcan was looking at her again. At first he was cool, unaffected. She could not detect any emotion when he observed her, even though he knew what was going to happen. But then, the Fever came, and he looked mad. He contorted in the cell where they had been left alone, and he tried to resist her, to refuse her, as she made herself go through with this. He swore he'd die of the madness first. But he was drained, and when she stepped closer, a shattering force he could not control pushed him towards her, against his own will, his fingers burning on her skin, and even if both found it repulsive, they joined. The touch joined them in another way, although he fought this too, and a myriad of pained thoughts overwhelmed her.
Pulling herself out of the unwelcome memory, her eyes were colder than she intended when she faced the guard. "They won't run away. They won't cause you any problem. These cursed Vulcans," she spat, "are so passive, they would stay here to die."
One prisoner, a male, spoke quietly, and when Ajeya and the guards gave no reaction, he spoke again, the words slightly... different this time. She suddenly realized he was trying different Vulcan languages to see if any of them could be understood. The frightening truth was, she did recognize some of what he said: their faces, the Sundered, and war, not peace.
A sickened laugh threatened to escape her lips, and when she turned to go back to the exit door and leave the nightmare behind, her gaze locked briefly with one of the prisoners, and the sight shocked her, because it was no illusion.
The woman was there, a faint rebellious fire in her eyes. That woman was real, and Ajeya knew her. She tried to place her, to remember when she had seen the Vulcan woman before, and as the vision formed in her mind, she felt sickened. For in front of her was the woman the Vulcan had thought of and called to repeatedly in his feverish state; the woman he had wanted to be with him in that terrible moment. The image of that woman still tormented Ajeya sometimes, in her dreams, and as if the Vulcan's betrothed was a premonition of a dark impending doom, she had become true.
T'Pren.
She knew the name as well as her own, and could never forget it, only bury how the Vulcan's thoughts called it with longing... with despair, the way she couldn't avoid calling for Diartr.
Ajeya rushed for the door, and even if she realized she was acting odd, she didn't care. She only held herself back long enough to issue an order over her shoulder.
"All right," she conceded, and she knew her voice was hoarse, "the force field will stay until the prisoners are executed." Turning to her soldier, she ordered, "Remain here."
And she left.
She was still in shock when she encountered a squad of soldiers leading a group of children away, most likely to their executions. Thair was with them too, and he still looked nervous and distressed. Her eyes narrowed when meeting his. She did not pity him; she wished he would be killed with the half-breeds. He was the one who had contacted and convinced her to take part on the project, and he was the one who had really deceived her. She knew the High Command would punish the people responsible for the failure, and she was glad he would pay for the damage he had caused her.
When she passed by the children, she tried not to look at them, dreading to find a half-breed looking exactly like her; she had seen enough ghosts for one day. Her eyes disobeyed her, and she found herself watching them.
Two of the children were restrained, and the guards roughly dragged them away. Most of them followed the Romulans willingly, though, and even marched in formation in column upon column behind the non-commissioned officer in charge. They looked Romulan, she reflected, even if she knew too well they were not. All barefoot and dressed with blue plain tunics, with the names the scientists had given them on the left side of their chests, they were an odd looking little army. Ajeya would have laughed at them in other circumstances, and then a sudden thought came:
I never knew so many had been born.
None of them was her creation, though, and that made her feel a little bit better. They were all too old; the youngest of them was at least seven or eight.
It was odd to see them complying even when they were going to be killed. Then, she realized, they probably did not know they were going to die, or they had resigned themselves to the fact, as Vulcans did.
One suddenly turned in her direction, a boy with long, dark bangs falling over his eyes, and his knobby wrists and ankles poking out clothes that weren't long enough anymore.
The mother in Ajeya spoke without thinking. Growth spurt. Just starting out, just like Ehiil at that age.
She grinned before she thought about that too, thinking of how it seemed like her son needed new clothes every month now, not to mention reportedly eating all food in his vicinity, and the half-breed boy whose name badge read Micar smiled back.
Her chest constricted, and she tore her eyes from the hybrids and got away.
As soon as she could not hear them anymore, Thair approached one of the children. The boy, around eight years old, marched without conviction, looking too shy and vulnerable between his stronger and more determined peers. The man whispered his name and took him apart from the line. The nearby children glared at him, and some of them cursed him, although the guards soon silenced them.
"Do you know who that officer was?" murmured the Romulan, smiling slyly.
The boy shook his head, and the man leaned closer to tell him, the malice replacing the sadness on his eyes.
