Disclaimer: This world, its characters and most everything else is not mine.
Rating: R
A/N: More plot moving forward.
Enterprise, still in space dock at Jupiter Station, buzzed with activity. Captain Tucker had ordered everyone aboard since the fleet could be ordered out toward Romulan space at any time.
Of course, Trip knew that that wasn't likely to happen until the negotiations commenced, but he knew they needed to be ready. He also feared that with Romulan cloaking technology — and its always changing phase frequencies — a sneak attack was not out of the question. The NX-02 was still out patrolling no-man's land and the NX-03, The Endeavor, was fresh out of space dock and had a completely green crew. Enterprise's crew, on the other hand, was combat seasoned.
"Good Morning, Captain," said Malcolm as he strode into the Ready Room.
"Mornin', Malcolm," said Trip, "Any news from the spooks on the negotiations that aren't supposed to be happening?"
"Nothing yet," said Malcolm, "Commander T'Pol doesn't plan to make contact for another two to three hours. She's waiting for the final proposal from the coalition, so it can be transmitted immediately."
Trip sipped on his coffee. It seemed a little too good to be true, the notion that they could negotiate their way out of this war so soon. But he hoped it was true. He didn't want to be captain of a warship. He wanted to be an explorer.
"Hoshi and T'Pol left a couple of hours ago. When are you heading over?" asked Trip.
"As soon as I'm done here, sir" said Malcolm.
"Well, then," said Trip, "Dismissed."
Malcolm smiled as he got up.
"Good Luck, Malcolm," said Trip.
Malcolm nodded, but he didn't say anything. Both men knew they would need more than luck, if these negotiations were to have any hope of coming to fruition.
****
The ProConsul sat down at his breakfast table alone. He had dispatched his letter to Bala's family and was waiting for a response. As soon as he got it, he would order his guard to arrest Ston. Then, he would wait for contact from T'Pol.
As he drank his Romulan tea, he felt a great resolve toward the negotiations and not just because he wanted his favorite son returned to him. Romulans were highly adept conquerors, but he sincerely doubted the current government's ability to prosecute a war against an alliance that included the Vulcans. Vulcans, were, after all, simply another kind of Romulan. Initially, he had believed they would be invading Earth, Tellar, Andoria and Vulcan individually. It wouldn't have been easy, but the Empire could have accomplished it.
But with the four planets united together, and possibly bringing other planets such as Alpha Centari, Denobula and even Beta Zed into their alliance, the conflict could be drawn out for years. He would propose holding off the full scale invasion until the intelligence forces could destabilize this potentially destructive alliance.
His suggestion made sense, but he knew Vulcans better than most Romulans. He only hoped he could convince his fellow members of the Great Council to respect their cousins.
The ProConsul heard a noise, and he looked up to see one of his Remans escort Ravel into his dining room.
"Good morning, sir," she said formally, her hands behind her back.
"Ravel, I may need the intelligence department's assistance in backing my claim that that alliance between our eastern border targets presents an unnecessary risk and should be destabilized before this war proceeds further. Do you believe your department can provide documentation of this?"
Ravel thought for a moment. His request was highly unorthodox, but it had merit. Their cousins the Vulcans would no doubt be the most formidable enemy the Empire had ever faced, and if they were allied with other races, it would make them even more dangerous. It was also highly unusual for the Romulans to be goaded into conflict by another race, as the humans had done after the explosion at the mining colony.
"The fall of the High Command did deal us an unnecessary blow," said Ravel, "and many of our analysts believe that the war has begun — prematurely. As much as some of the generals and the senators refuse to believe so."
The ProConsul nodded.
"Can you put together a report? You may use the secure communications station in my upper office."
Ravel nodded.
The ProConsul must be very serious, she thought.
Although she had secret clearance, offering her use of his communication equipment was unusual.
The Reman will escort you up to the console and log you onto the system," said The ProConsul, "If you happen to notice I'm receiving a communication from my daughter summon me immediately."
"Yes, sir," said Ravel.
*****
Ravel had been working at the terminal for several hours, when a message appeared on the screen that T'Pol was trying to communicate with her father. Ravel knew exactly the kind of device that she was using, as she used one similar to contact the ProConsul during her years as an operative on Vulcan. Without logging off, she quietly made her way down the steps toward the sitting room with the intention of summoning The ProConsul.
Years of intelligence training combined with a sensitive Romulan nose made Ravel stop in her tracks. She smelled copper blood. She also smelled the zinc blood of Remans. Something was very wrong.
As silently as she could, she moved toward the smell, which was emanating from the sitting room. Her heart beat quickly in her side, and she suppressed her developing fear. She stopped just short of the ornate lattice double doors that led to the sitting room. She peered through a crack the door's design and saw an appalling scene.
The ProConsul was curled onto the floor, his fine robes stained with green blood. Above him stood Ston, a ceremonial Romulan knife in his hand. He looked as serious as she had ever seen the boy look. Behind him stood Bala, smiling.
"You did perfectly, husband," said Bala, "I'm so proud of you."
The ProConsul, in clear agony, gurgled something and trembled.
"He's bleeding everywhere," said Ston, "The carpet is ruined. And there are no more Remans to clean it. We should have kept some of them alive to clean up this mess."
"We'll get more Remans," said Bala, "Now that you're to be a ProConsul. Father says he can arrange that."
Ston knelt down next to his father.
"You shouldn't have tried to have me arrested," said Ston, "You made me do this."
Bala kicked the ProConsul with her tiny foot. He grunted.
"You underestimated him," she said coldly to her father-in-law, "Something I would never do."
Bala then reached over and kissed Ston on the cheek, and he smiled with pleasure.
Ravel saw green coming out of The ProConsuls mouth, and then he closed his eyes.
"We need to leave," said Bala, "Father's men will be here soon to take the body and hang it in the square. We will have to open the gates for them since the Remans are dead."
Bala and Ston then dashed off toward the front door. After waiting a moment, Ravel quickly moved toward The ProConsul, who she feared was already dead. She pulled a needle from her military belt and pressed it into his neck. If there was any life left in him, the stimulant on the needle would revive him.
His eyes flew open, and for the first time in the many years she had known him, Ravel saw fear in his eyes.
"Ston. . .he's . . ."
"I know, sir," she said, "Her family has chosen him. All the better to control the Great Council. Can I get you to a hospital?"
He shook his head.
"I feel no pain," he choked, "You know what that means."
She nodded. Fatal wounds did not hurt. All soldiers knew that.
"Go connect to T'Pol. Tell Enme what has happened. You must find a way to fight them. They will destroy the Empire from within. You know that."
Ravel nodded. She also knew well what would happen to her and all those who were perceived as close to this once powerful man.
"I'm sorry, Ravel, for what this means to you. . . I should have seen. . ."
Ravel used a corner of his robe to wipe the blood from his mouth.
"Quiet, sir. Tell me what to tell T'Pol to tell Enme."
"He needs to know that the Empire is now his enemy," said The ProConsul, "as it is yours."
With that, his eyes closed, and Ravel knew there was no reviving him. She ran upstairs and into the communications room where she had been working. With one hand, she created a connection with T'Pol's ring. With the other, she pulled up some messages that had arrived in the meantime. She read them quickly, and the contents were not surprising. The ProConsul's other two sons had disappeared.
Enme was the only hope for the family that had helped rule the Empire since its founding.
Him and the Vulcan woman, thought Ravel.
That very Vulcan woman appeared as a hologram. Ravel turned and looked at her.
"I wish to speak with the ProConsul, as he requested," said T'Pol in Vulcan.
"The ProConsul is dead. He was assassinated only moments ago," replied Ravel in Vulcan.
The Vulcan woman did not appear to react.
Damned automaton, thought Ravel.
"I need to speak with Enme, is he there?" asked Ravel.
Surely, the ProConsul would have demanded proof of life. Surely he would be in close proximity.
"Please," said Ravel, her voice cracking.
T'Pol stepped aside and her image disappeared. It was replaced by Enme, who did not speak Vulcan. In Romulan, Ravel quickly explained what she had seen. The green hue drained from Enme's face, and his mouth dropped open.
"Ravel, you need to get out of the house and off Romulus. As quickly as you can. Can you do that?"
Tears filled Ravel's eyes, but she nodded. She was a trained intelligence agent and a military officer. If anyone could avoid the assassins that would come after her she could — at least for a time.
"Where will I go? They'll eventually find me."
"Make your way to the no man's land between Romulan and Alliance space. Near the mining colony there's a place called Hirku station — the place where Ston transferred the dilithium."
Ravel nodded. She knew of the place, but she had never been there.
"Get there. I will meet you there. . . just get there."
"You're a prisoner," she said.
"All the armies of hell won't stop me from getting there," said Enme, and he reached a hand up. Ravel instinctively did the same, though she felt nothing as her hand passed through the hologram.
"We'll be exiles," said Ravel.
"Just go. . .now!"
With that, Enme disappeared.
****
It had been nearly a half an hour since the communication between Enme and Ravel had been cut off. Although her brother had been silent the whole time, T'Pol knew that back end negotiations were now an impossibility. Enme stared out the window at the giant red storm of Jupiter.
"It seems you and I are both orphans, sister," said Enme, "but I believe I am the greater orphan. For I have lost my people as well as my father this day."
T'Pol said nothing.
"So. . ." continued Enme, "How does one go about applying for political asylum for Earth? Do you happen to know?"
T'Pol raised her eyebrow. This was unexpected.
"I thought you said you would never betray your people by choice."
Enme took a deep breath, and he turned and looked his sister dead in the eyes.
"My people are now being ruled by my brother Ston and the family that helped him murder our father, probably our two brothers and anyone close to them from servant to officer to friend. According to my culture the only honorable thing for me to do is everything I can to topple that government. It seems my enemies' enemies are now my friends. That includes you, T'Pol."
This was perhaps the first time he had ever called her by name. She nodded.
"I will convey your request to Admiral Archer. Are you sure you wish to ask Earth and not Vulcan for asylum?"
Enme thought about that for a moment.
"No offense, sister, but I think I prefer the company of humans. Much as you do."
****
Meanwhile, at the listening station in the next room, Hoshi had told Malcolm, Archer, Soval and the rest of the intelligence officers what had occurred. She roughly translated both the Romulan and Vulcan portions of the conversation.
"Damn," said Archer, "I thought we had a chance of ending this war before it got out of control."
Malcolm shook his head, this was very bad news. On the other hand, they now had one hell of an intelligence asset in Enme. And if they could find this woman Ravel, no doubt she could be invaluable as well. If it was the same Ravel from his report on T'Pol and the Captain's kidnapping earlier in the year, this woman had spent several years spying on the Vulcans and could tell them much about Romulan intelligence operation.
"Could this be an elaborate deception?" asked Malcolm, "The woman is a Romulan intelligence agent."
Soval leaned forward.
"It's possible," said Soval, "but Vulcan has several operatives on Romulus. They should be able to confirm this assassination and the resulting political upheaval within days."
Malcolm nodded.
"If that's the case, we need to find this woman Ravel. She could help us," he replied.
Archer nodded.
"Malcolm, I'm leaning toward believing this story. If the V'Shar can confirm it, then I'll want to send Enterprise to search for this woman. The fleet will follow you toward Romulan space, but we're slower. You and T'Pol will have be the ones gathering the intelligence from the prisoner — or rather defector — along the way - and continue to gather intelligence once you've found this Ravel person."
Soval raised a hand.
"The V'Shar can send a ship. We'll allow Starfleet intelligence to join us. . ."
"Soval," said Archer, "Enme is T'Pol's brother. And she's suddenly the only family he has left. Romulans may be murderous bastards, but they do value family. The safest place for us to stash this guy is Enterprise. My gut tells me that under the circumstances, he wouldn't do anything to upset the only sane relative he has left. And it appears he's going help us lure in this Ravel and convince her to defect to our side as well."
"No offense, Admiral," said Soval, "but you humans are not equipped to deal with two members of the Romulan military. . ."
Archer stood up. He spoke forcefully and confidently.
"If either of our Romulan defectors get out of line, I'm sure T'Pol, Malcolm and his team can handle it. I've seen them deal with far worse."
****
That evening T'Pol dined alone with her captain in the private mess. She briefed him on the events of the day, and the orders that were impending for the ship. But Trip didn't give a damn about that. His wife's father had very likely been murdered that day. He knew they had a rule about not getting personal in official areas, but this was hardly a normal situation. He stood up, walked around the table and knelt next to her. He locked eyes with her.
"He was your father," he said, "and he's probably dead. I'm sorry, baby."
Trip entwined his fingers in hers. As he expected, her emotions were twisted into a storm of regret, anger, sadness and confusion. The man whom she had known as a child had been dead to her for decades, the Romulan they had met months previous was a figure of anger and mystery. Yet, she was deeply saddened that he was gone.
"I should not care that he is dead. He was dead to me long ago," she whispered.
"It doesn't work that way," he said, "You loved him when you were a kid, or whatever you Vulcans call love, and he loved you."
T'Pol leaned over and rested her forehead against his. Unlike a Vulcan mate, he would never shame her for feeling such complex emotions. Nor had she ever sensed one ounce of concern over her Romulan parentage. She was never more grateful for having a human mate, even though it meant verbalizing her feelings.
"I am glad to have you here, Thy'la," she said.
They stayed quiet for a few minutes, until she spoke again.
"Your catfish is going to get cold," she said in Vulcan monotone, "and Chef had it brought especially from Louisiana and kept in stasis for you."
Trip sighed and returned to his chair. Chef certainly knew how to keep his captains happy.
"As soon as Ravel's story is confirmed by the V'Shar," said T'Pol, "They will transfer my brother to this ship. Malcolm suggested we tell the crew he is V'osh K'atur, since he is obviously not a conventional Vulcan. Malcolm believes we should also give him more freedom in deference to his status as a defector, though we shall continue to monitor him carefully."
Trip took a bite of his catfish. He hated the idea of lying to his crew, but he understood the necessity. The general public could not know that Romulans and Vulcans were the same race. The V'osh K'atur story made sense.
"I suppose you could argue that all Romulans are simply V'tosh Ka'tur," said T'Pol simply.
Trip smiled. She always knew how to make him feel better.
