Chapter Fifty-four
An Unexpected Visitor
Charles Tucker III
It's 04:30. The alarm that's set to sound when someone has entered through the back garden gate has awoken me. By the time I'm in my robe and slippers, I hear the rap at the door. Two, then three, then one. That tells me they've come from one of the Western cells. Over two thousand miles. It's a long trip, but that could just be where they got the directions. I've had them come from as far away as Japan and Australia, half way around the world, just to get here and escape it. I shuffle down to the kitchen and turn on the monitor.
Whoever's out there, he or she is very good. The long grey cloak blends into the shadows of the climbing roses T'Pol grows on the arbor at the back door, and our visitor's face is completely hidden in the depths of the hood. Any casual passerby would have to stop and watch for movement to know someone was there. Then a hand slips from the folds of cloth and shows me the ta'al that T'Pol taught me, palm forward, ring and middle fingers separated. The fact that this person has found the back gate to my garden, made it safely to my door, and knows this sign tells me he or she is one of ours. I open the door and command, "Show your face. We don't welcome strangers here."
He throws back the hood, and my breath catches in my throat. He's older, grayer, bearded, and his shoulders have rounded forward into a slight stoop, but I'd know those cheekbones anywhere.
"Malcolm!" I croak.
His eyes flash like a rabbit's when it realizes its only chance is to run from the fox, but I'm just quick enough to grab his arm.
"Of course you don't recognize me. I've had my face fixed, but you once agreed to a mind meld just to shut me up."
He almost falls forward into my arms. It's a moment before he speaks, hoarsely. "When I found out the sanctuary was in Florida, I never imagined... After the court martial...when they packed in gloating over your conviction…even despite the commutation, because who would believe they wouldn't just manufacture a jailhouse riot or a suicide...I thought you were dead."
I draw him into the house, into safety – insofar as anywhere in the Empire is safe.
We talk far into the night. He doesn't mention Liz, but the fact that he's alone is eloquent enough; that, and the fact that a kind of light has gone out of his face, and that when he thinks no-one's looking at him he wears a look of such exhausted grief I can hardly bear to imagine what he's feeling right now.
The fact is that over the years we've established contact with a well equipped Vulcan underground. They still don't foster violent resistance but they acknowledge the rule of the empire for the evil it is, the reforms Emperor Burnell is slowly implementing nothwithstanding. And when the Human rebels get too old or just too tired to struggle anymore, they can take a cloaked ship to Vulcan – with the caveat that they can never leave Vulcan as long as the Terran Empire continues its oppressive regime.
For all intents and purposes, they become defectors.
T'Pol and I have worked long and hard here, building up what you could call a rescue network. We help out where we can, and we arrange for people to flee to sanctuary when they need it. But it's a one-way trip to the compound on Vulcan. I've suspected for a long time that Emperor Burnell knew it was there, and Malcolm's revelation that he knew our co-ordinates confirms that suspicion. At a guess, he's happy enough for the rebels to sink out of sight and quit doing any more damage – as long as they do quit. Any sign that they were just resting up and coming back to take up the cause again would most likely put a smart end to his tolerance. So that's the undertaking they have to make before we ship them out: that they stay there peacefully, keeping the place open for others with the same need, who've done all they can and now have to pass the job on to others. Because it will go on – it must go on, and in a weird way I think Burnell acknowledges that. Because freedom is a demand of the spirit, and it's not something you can just lock up and proscribe. Not now, not ever. If it takes a hundred years, or a thousand, the Empire will fall.
But the years have taken their toll on us – well, mostly on me, because Humans have a relatively short life expectancy anyway and the brutal treatment handed out to me after my capture had its effect; for although the Emperor was a surprisingly compassionate jailer, that bitch Hernandez had me for several months before Austin Burnell claimed the throne, and she enjoyed hearing me scream way too much. If it wasn't for medication I don't think I'd still be functioning at all, and even with it I have plenty of small aches and pains that tell me I'm not as young as I was when I was when I fell in love with Melissa Lyles.
So Malcolm's arrival sort of solidifies what I'd already been thinking, in a nebulous way: that it's time for us to leave too, and leave the fight for the next generation to take up. When you're fighting an enemy as clever and ruthless and relentless as the Terran Empire, you have to be at the top of your game or you risk giving them a claw-hold they'll use without mercy to rip everything asunder. I'm not far off becoming a liability in that respect, so I think it's time for the three of us to step aside. I can even feel a kind of 'rightness' in it… three has always been a kind of magic number, so even though I'm desperately sorry it can't be four of us, it'll still be good for the three of us to be together, with all our history. Good and bad, it made us what we are.
The decision feels sort of sad, because it's always sad to feel you can't contribute anything more to a cause you know is so important, but the sun will still rise when we're not here to see it anymore. The fight will go on, and hopefully with a bit better chance of success because the three of us were here and did what we could to make it happen.
Obviously now Burnell has flagged he knows about us we'll have to move our base of operations. There are others who can take over, who've been waiting for the signal. I haven't even been sure why I delayed this long. Maybe in my heart of hearts I was hoping for a miracle, and if so, I've just had it. It's time to go.
We have a tiny guest room with a bed kept ready for the arrivals, and it's not far off dawn when Malcolm finally lays down on it. The soft light of the bedside lamp is kind to his gaunt face, though there's no disguising the streaks of silver in his hair.
Tomorrow, after breakfast, I'll talk to him about going to Vulcan. I don't think he'll argue, at least not for long – I'm guessing he'll still be enough of an ornery cuss to need persuading he's finally done enough. I could even suggest that however out of date some of it may be, his background knowledge of the Empire's workings could be useful to the Vulcans' covert support for the rebellion; they may not actively participate in the resistance, but they're definitely not above feeding information to those who do.
Maybe one day he'll be able to talk about Liz, tell us what happened to her. I'll guess it'll be a while, if ever. If it hadn't been for her he'd never have been able to rediscover himself, and now he must feel like the loneliest guy in the universe. I sure don't envy him that.
As I leave him there and shuffle slowly back to my own bedroom, I'm grateful all over again that I still have the woman I love waiting for me there. As long-lived as Vulcans are, she's hardly changed at all since the days on Jupiter Station. When I'm with her I can still believe that I'm Commodore Charles Tucker III, and even if the days are long gone when I could make the earth move they've been replaced by something hotter and steadier and enduring. I call it love, and so does she; though I accepted long ago that maybe we don't mean the same thing by that word, it's close enough.
I don't think she'll need any persuading to go home to Vulcan. As for how happy she'll be with the idea of taking Malcolm along, well, I guess she'll have her reservations. I'm still not convinced she completely trusts him even now, and I don't blame her for that – you can choose to forgive someone but you can't choose to forget what they did. But I think I can talk her into it.
The natural heat of her Vulcan body makes the bed that much more comfortable to get into, at least in winter – in the summer, only the air conditioning makes it bearable to lie beside her. But now I cuddle up gratefully, even more thankful than I usually am that she's still here with me.
So, it's a bittersweet moment but Trip and Malcolm have found each other again. What a shame that they're both too old now to continue the mission. Please leave a review if you're enjoying the story.
