I am Spock, he said.
His name appeared to spark immediate recognition in Sorent, as well as in most, if not all, of her fellow officers. That did not surprise Spock, since his effortsand all effortsto unify the Vulcan and Romulan peoples had been deemed illegal long ago by the Romulan government.
Remove your hood, Sorent ordered. Slowly.
With care, Spock reached up and pulled the cowl of his robe backward, revealing his face. Once again, he saw recognition in Sorent, as well as in others. Behind him, he heard a faint trill, and he suspected that both the inner and outer doors had just been sealed. Four more security officers scrambled from behind the counters to join Sorent and JVelk. Past the left-hand counter, Spock saw a door open and a uniformed man emerge, the colored rank strip on his arm identifying him as a protector, the highest field-office grade in Romulan Security.
You are the Vulcan who preaches for the reuniting of Romulus with your people, Sorent said. Am I correct?
I advocate for such a reunification, yes, Spock said. He watched as the protector stepped up to observe the proceedings.
And this is? Sorent asked, gesturing at Spocks prisoner.
I do not know, Spock said, but he tried to kill me.
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Manufactured in the United States of America
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ISBN 978-1-4391-6081-7
ISBN 978-1-4391-9165-1 (ebook)
To Marco Palmieri,
Who came into my life as an editor,
Plying his craft with artistry and optimism,
But who turned out to be something even more important:
A good man and a good friend
Inevitable as the dusk must fall,
The shadows gather beneath birds of prey;
The nightmare drops again, ensnaring all
Within the dark veil of ego and sway.
Covering the land in surrounding gloom,
Forces alight in the murky city,
And staring and waiting, they promise doom,
Seek weakness and vantage, offer no pity.
Their hour come around, slouching toward the throne,
They clamber over fellows, reaching ever higher,
Seizing all wealth and power for their own,
Battling each other, these rough beasts of empire.
RABAN GEDROE,
notes accompanying
her painting Affairs of State
I
The Fell of Dark
I wake and feel the fell of dark, not day.
What hours, O what black hours we have spent
This night! what sights you, heart, saw; ways you went!
And more must, in yet longer lights delay.
GERARD MANLEY HOPKINS
1
The blade tore through his flesh with cruel ease.
Agony erupted in Spocks midsection, a red-hot ember blazing at the center of an instantly expanding inferno. He grabbed for the knife protruding from his abdomen, for the hand that wielded it, but as he staggered backward a step under the assault, he reflexively threw his arms wide in an attempt to retain his balance. He knew he had to prevent himself from falling, vulnerable, before his unknown, half-seen attacker. Loosed from his grip, Spocks handheld beacon clattered to the rocky ground, its narrow beam sending long shadows careering about the subterranean remnants of the ancient Romulan settlement. In silhouette, visage concealed by darkness, his assailant loomed above him, broad-shouldered and a head taller.
Spock struggled to concentrate, understanding on the heels of the ambush that he likely would have little time to defend himself. Seeking to rule the pain screaming through his body, he focused on the other details of sensation. He felt the cool metal of the knife against his now-exposed right side, even as his blood rushed warmly from the newly opened wound. He smelled the musty scent of age and abandonment that swathed the underground ruins, commingled with the fetid odor of the modern citys sewer system, which ran nearby. The electric tang of copper filled his mouth.
Spock had tasted death before, and recognized it. Intense memories surged in a flash through his mind. Piloting the faltering Galileo above Taurus II, the heat in the smoky main cabin climbing as the shuttlecraft and its crew began plummeting back into the atmosphere. On the planet Neural, hearing the report and then feeling the strike of the lead projectile as it penetrated his back, mangling his viscera. In the Mutara Nebula, repairing Enterprises warp drive, and suffering the lethal effects of extreme radiation as he did so.
But then the images slipped, melting away in a flat wash of color. The past faded from Spocks mind as quickly as it had arisen, and thoughts of the future suddenly seemed unreachable. Only the excruciating present remained, and only at a remove. Loss of consciousness beckoned, and beyond itwith no ready receptacle for his katraso too did nonexistence.
The would-be assassin closed the small distance, the single pace, that Spock had put between them. The attacker seized the handle of the knife and twisted the blade within the ragged wound, doubtless searching for vital organs. With the pain intensifying, Spock reversed course and reached with his mind for his physical distress, embraced it, clung to it as a means of preventing himself from passing out. He summoned his strength to fight back, only to discover that he had already taken hold of the hand clutching the weapon. As a Vulcan, even at his advanced agea year short of his sesquicentenaryhe possessed corporal might exceeding that of the individuals of many humanoid species. He could not fend off his assailant, though, perhaps owing to his compromised conditionor more likely, he thought, because his adversary enjoyed commensurate bodily prowess.
Romulan, Spock thought, though in the inconsistent lighting, he could not be certain. But the conclusion followed, considering the aversion of the Romulan governmentof both Romulan governmentsto his efforts to reunify their people with their Vulcan cousins. It also made sense given his current location, deep beneath Ki Baratan, the capital city of Romulus, and the very heart of the Romulan Star Empire. Few natives, let alone outworlders, knew of even the existence of the old dug-out structures, much less how to access them. Buried by both history and the foundations of the present-day metropolis, much of the belowground, stone-lined tunnel system had been converted long ago into sewage conduits.
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