Middle of the month of Z’at, YS 8765
Tuesday, March 16, 2156
Vulcan’s Forge, Vulcan
“YOU ARGUE PERSUASIVELY,“ Administrator T’Pau said, raising T’Pol’s hopes yet again in spite of herself.
Unsurprisingly, T’Pau dashed those hopes once more, just as she had done several times already during the six days since their desert colloquy had begun. “We remain, however, unpersuaded.”
Their dialogue had become an endurance contest as they descended from Mount Seleya to the desert canyon that marked its boundary. But it was a contest that the petite administrator seemed to be in no danger of losing. T’Pol was impressed by the smaller woman’s strength and stamina as she walked beside her along the Forge’s broiling sands, scarcely sweating despite the heaviness of her robes and Nevasa’s merciless brightness overhead. T’Pau showed little sign of the fatigue she must have felt, other than a slight puffiness around her dark eyes, which remained as sharp as ever.
Only twice before had T’Pol herself gone this long with neither food nor drink, on or off the Forge. The first time was the ten-day kahs-wan survival ritual she had undertaken in this very desert at the tender age of seven. The second occasion had come two decades later, during the basic Vulcan military training exercises she had endured on the volcanic slopes of Mount Tar’Hana.
During the past six days, T’Pol had used all the Vulcan discipline at her disposal—a fund that she knew had been depleted by the lingering aftereffects of her former trellium-D addiction, as well as by the vestigial synaptic scars left behind by Pa’nar Syndrome—to pursue a single purpose: convincing T’Pau that she was wrong to keep Vulcan out of the fight against Romulan aggression.
But for all that effort, T’Pol had made no measurable progress, although she counted the fact that T’Pau had consented to continue the dialogue as a moral victory of sorts. It was as though the administrator had something to prove, to herself if not to T’Pol or the rest of Vulcan and the Coalition, and that apparent need had kept her talking right through a prolonged interval of what should have consisted of meditation and contemplation, in addition to the fasting and deprivation that both women were enduring.
The dialogue would have to come to an end sooner or later. Even Vulcan endurance had its limits, and T’Pol knew that every day T’Pau spent here in the desert was another day during which Minister Kuvak’s hands would wield the Vulcan government’s levers of power and influence—including those that quietly moved illicit arms shipments from Vulcan to destinations located on the wrong side of the Romulan border. But since pursuing that topic had proved useless so far—T’Pau simply wouldn’t hear it—T’Pol decided instead to pursue a different tack.
“Vulcan’s relations with the rest of the Coalition have been strained greatly by your decision,” she said, continuing to match T’Pau’s vigorous walking pace.
“That is true,” the administrator said. “It is regrettable.”
Weary though she was, T’Pol still wasn’t prepared to give up. “The damage still might not be irreparable, Administrator. However, that could change quickly should certain information become generally known within the Coalition.”
“Explain,” T’Pau said as she overcame a slight hesitation in her step. That hesitation might have marked a shred of self-doubt, or it might have merely been the consequence of a rock in the sand.
“Have you considered how much damage it would cause to Vulcan-Coalition relations should our allies discover our... unique relationship to the Romulans?”
T’Pau came to an abrupt halt and turned to face T’Pol, who planted her feet firmly as she awaited the administrator’s response.
“T’Pol, the prospect of that eventuality never ceases to haunt those few of us who are aware of it.”
T’Pol nodded. “Then you must also have considered the natural corollary of that eventuality: the assumption many would make that we have been acting in collusion with the Romulans in their aggression against the allies.”
“Believing that would require a formidable leap of illogic,” T’Pau said with a slight shake of her head.
“Perhaps not. In fact, it would not be an altogether implausible chain of reasoning, given that our collective inaction has arguably already cost many thousands of Coalition lives so far.”
“Nevertheless, it would be a most unfair conclusion.”
“Fair or not, such a reaction would be both understandable and widespread,” T’Pol said, standing her ground. “Especially given the emotional proclivities of such species as humans, Tellarites, and, particularly, Andorians. Do you not agree?”
An almost pensive expression crossed T’Pau’s pinched, sun-seared features. She seemed to be giving T’Pol’s latest argument serious consideration, or at least to be letting her guard down enough to allow herself to exhibit some doubt about her chosen course.
The moment reminded T’Pol of a passage she had read in a copy of the King James Bible that Doctor Phlox had once lent her, when she had been making a concerted effort to understand human myths. A passage in the Book of Luke had recounted a forty-day ordeal of fasting in the desert endured by one Jesus of Nazareth, who was almost a sort of Surak figure for many humans. On the eve of Jesus’ gruesome, state-sponsored murder—a perplexing episode from humanity’s Iron Age that might have appalled even her own pre-Surakian ancestors for its sheer brutality—an antagonist named Satan had tried several times to tempt Jesus, at one point offering him all the world’s wealth and power if he would only agree to apply his divine powers to decidedly nonecclesiastical purposes.
Which one of the two of us, I wonder, is playing the role of Satan? T’Pol thought as she allowed T’Pau to think on her words in silence.
“It is imperative,” the administrator said at length, “that our allies do not discover our relationship to the Romulans. Perhaps the Romulans’ own obsession with keeping their society closed and leaving behind no prisoners will be enough to ensure that this does not occur.”
“It will occur, Administrator. The only question is when it will occur.”
“We shall see,” T’Pau said, then resumed walking.
“Your reluctance to see our Romulan connection revealed is logical, Administrator,” T’Pol said as she moved alongside her again. “But if you fail to plan for its inevitable revelation—if you continue to sit out the fight without offering a satisfactory explanation for Vulcan’s idleness—then you may damage the Coalition beyond all hope of repair.”
“That is the burden we must carry, T’Pol.”
“And that burden may be heavier than you realize. There is a fundamental ethical concern at play here, Administrator. Even without the Coalition Compact, Vulcan bears at least some responsibility for the actions of the Romulans.”
“The Romulans make their own choices,” T’Pau said. “Just as their ancestors did, centuries ago. Vulcan is not responsible for that.”
“Can you be certain of that? Are the Romulans not what we once were? Are they not us?”
Nodding solemnly as she trudged onward, T’Pau said, “That is precisely why we dare not get any more deeply involved in this fight than we are already.”