Secrecy was everything.
He had a room in his suite where he conducted his most private business. It was carefully swept every day for listening devices, but even so it was with angry trepidation that he activated his communication device.
The interview he had just terminated had been highly uncomfortable. That arrogant young man had been extremely annoyed at the way events had turned out, an annoyance that however carefully hidden had lent an edge to his voice as he disclosed that far from obtaining a wife who had been cast out of Starfleet as confidently predicted, he had now received a set of documents declaring that she intended to divorce him!
Koss's family was absolutely incensed at the outcome. In order to placate them and him it would now be necessary to find a beautiful young woman who was actually aware of her duties and prepared to fulfill them, and preferably soon; the young man was approaching pon farr and would very shortly require the services of a submissive wife. That said, hopefully next time he would have the intelligence to simply take his bride into any available room after their nuptials and establish his authority over her, which would at least leave him less of an object of covert derision.
After a few moments while the various encryption protocols activated, the screen glowed into life. He set his teeth. This interview was not going to be comfortable.
"Well?"
"They failed," he ground out. "The case was dismissed."
The heavy face on the screen showed little response, though the mailed shoulders shrugged slightly. "It was always the probable outcome."
"But – Archer escaped!"
"You really don't get it, do you, Administrator? Of course he escaped. But the damage has been done. Relations between the Thaessu and the Hevam have sustained damage."
He blinked. "Nothing significant."
"Of course not. But you should learn patience, my dear Administrator. That is how frost works – patiently. One tiny crack at a time, the water seeps in, and then it freezes. And when the dawn comes the crack is a little wider, and more water can get in.
"Vulcan has shown itself hostile. You have attempted to damage Starfleet's hero. That will not be forgotten or forgiven. Even if not everyone in the organization now nurtures resentment or distrust, some will. And so, the crack opens."
For the first time since receiving the news, he felt the first easing of apprehension. But it lasted only until Admiral Valdore leaned closer to the screen, scowling.
"That does not mean your failure is forgotten or forgiven, Administrator. Those who serve the Empire are expected to carry out their orders.
"We will overlook your failure – this time. But next time, we expect you to do better.
"Much better!"
The connection closed with a click.
V'Las sat back, fighting a sudden and illogical urge to smash the device beyond repair. Then with a savage movement he rose and moved to the window, where he looked out, narrowing his eyes against the glare of the setting sun. On the horizon, the red sands of the Forge looked as though they were on fire.
Somewhere out there, sehlats were probably already fighting over the remains of two prosecutors who had outlived their usefulness and failed their government; he had no more use for failure than his masters did.
And out there, too, were the Syrrannites. Somewhere. Hiding in their caves, mumbling their quasi-mystical nonsense, talking of the legendary Kir'Shara as though it held the answer to all the problems in the world.
Well, even if it existed, it probably didn't hold the answer to his problem. Which was that Captain Jonathan Archer had once again evaded disaster, and probably had not the faintest idea that he'd slipped through the Raptor's grasp.
My chance will come again, Captain, V'Las promised himself grimly.
And next time, the claws will take you.
THE END.
