William Shatner: Captain's Blood

Except, of course, the Romulans.

In the view of the Surakians, the Romulans were an af-front to the Vulcan psyche. Until the renegades had been returned to the fold, the grave insult their ancestors had paid to Surak would continue to be an unhealed wound.

Before Spock could take his place on the green metal bench across the table from T’Vrel, the healer had scanned him with her medical tricorder and gave her verdict. “You are well enough.”

Spock wondered what it was about physicians, how they all managed to sound like McCoy to him. Or was it just that he missed the human doctor’s company, and sought to find it elsewhere?

“News?” Spock asked. He glanced at the tray she had set out for him. Old Romulan military rations. The Soltoth Command Post dated back from a time before the Earth/Romulan wars, when the Star Empire had taken on the Hiram Assembly. The war had gone badly at first, and had reached the outskirts of the Romii system. This complex of volcanic caverns deep within Romulus, attainable only by transporter, had been intended as an impregnable bunker from which the Imperial Fleet could prosecute the defense of the homeworld.

The bunker had not been necessary. The worlds of the assembly were now Romulan colonies. The Hiramnae themselves an extinct species. It was the Romulan way.

“No change,” T’Vrel answered. “Claims of responsibility from three organizations. The Compliance Division will release the coliseum to its owners in two days to allow repairs to commence.”

“No word from Vulcan?”

“Regret at the loss of a senior diplomat on leave, who was acting on his own without official sanction.”

Spock kneaded a food pack to activate its heating chemicals. He had expected more from the Vulcan diplomatic community, and T’Vrel seemed to sense it.

“You are surprised by their response?” she asked.

“Disappointed,” Spock answered.

“Surely, that is an emotional response.”

“It is not every day one dies. I had expected a more…pronounced reaction.”

“Define ‘a more pronounced reaction.’ “

“A public call for an investigation into the circumstances of my death. An official effort to begin one.”

“The Vulcan embassy has expressed full confidence in local compliance officials.”

“Then they are lying.”

That his inflammatory accusation drew no outward response from T’Vrel was not remarkable to Spock. Surakians had the same perfect control of their autonomic systems as the greatest Kolinahr masters.

“They are being diplomatic. It is their function.”

Spock placed the heated foodpack on the tray before him, squeezed the activation corners, and the soft-sided pouch hardened to become a low, rectangular bowl as the top surface split open. He sniffed the aroma of centuries-old plomeek soup.

“Agreeable?” T’Vrel asked.

Spock paused, surprised. For a Surakian, to enquire about a purely subjective experience was illogic of the most extreme. Food was fuel. Palatability was not an issue. She had even had to switch from the scholar’s tongue to a more common Vulcan dialect to ask the question.

So Spock ignored it, refusing to be pandered to. He peeled the serving utensil from the foodpack, tapped it on the table once to harden it, then used it to stir the ancient soup.

“Given the inexplicably low-key response to my assassination,” he said, “logic suggests that I have miscalculated the effect I wished to create.”

“Now you are being diplomatic,” T’Vrel said, still in the common dialect. “The miscalculation is shared. You did not act in this alone.”

Spock appreciated T’Vrel’s willingness to share the responsibility. But though he had had considerable help in putting his plan into motion, the final decision had been his. None of that was worth stating to a Surakian, though. To repeat information already known was illogical.

“Have you any insight into conditions which we did not allow for?” Spock asked.

“One.”

That admission did surprise Spock. “Indeed.”

She returned to the scholar’s dialect she preferred. “The existence of an unidentified party already engaged in covert efforts to change the existing political structure on Romulus.”

Spock took a mouthful of the plomeek soup, and was momentarily surprised by how flavorful it was. The Romulan military had long ago learned what Surak had so eloquently stated, that a military force proceeds by the nutritional well-being of its members.

“The existing political structure on Romulus was chaotic before my assassination,” Spock said. “To all appearances, it remains chaotic.” The political fallout from Shinzon’s coup was what had prompted him to take the extreme step of manufacturing a legend by becoming a martyr to the cause of unification. By itself, the deceit behind such a concept would be disagreeable to a Vulcan, even illegal if attempted on a world within the Vulcan sphere of influence. But Romulan society was much more apt to take action based on emotional reactions. Thus, as he had done once before, in command of a doomed shuttlecraft long ago in the past, Spock had seen the logic of emotion, and had acted on it.

But T’Vrel had even more surprises for him.

“Upon consideration,” she said, “the existing political structure on Romulus appears to be chaotic.”

Spock put down his utensil, his appetite gone. Had he risked everything based on false assumptions? “Explain,” he said. The Vulcan healer had switched back to a common dialect, subtly implying that he was at fault for not being able to reach the same conclusion she had.

“The aftermath of Shinzon’s coup brought uncertainty to Romulus. Many groups vying for power, each looking for advantage over the other. None willing to speak out against or for unification with Vulcan. None wishing to cause friction with Vulcan ‘influences’ in particular, or Federation ‘intiatives’ in general.

“You, Spock, chose to exploit those chaotic conditions, by presenting yourself as a martyr, an emotional rally point for the many groups to coalesce around—a logical decision supported by the elders of my s’url.” The healer used the Vulcan word for a Surakian school of logic.

“Yet now it appears my logic was uncertain,” Spock said.

T’Vrel nodded once in acknowledgment. “Our plan to have the new government of Romulus endorse unification depended on the fact that our manipulation would bring stability and order.

“What it appears we did not consider was that another group saw the same chaos we saw, and decided to exploit it as we planned to exploit it, to further their own cause.”

“What cause?” Spock asked.

“Unknown,” T’Vrel answered. “All that we can infer is that the failure of our plan was caused by our attempt to bring order to a situation that was already ordered.”

“In other words,” Spock said, “our logic was sound, but our analysis of initial conditions was flawed.”

“Yes.”

Spock steepled his hands, pleased that an explanation was in hand, frustrated that a new plan would have to be developed.

“Have you given consideration to what new steps we might make to further our cause?” he asked.

“Yes. But the situation is more complex than it first appears.”

Spock refrained from interrupting, knowing further explanation would follow, and it did.

“There is only one reason why news of your assassination was not followed by the predicted outpouring of Romulan sentiment for unification: The other group that we failed to identify is actively against unification.”

“If that is true, then it would appear I died for nothing.”

“Regrettable.”

Spock decided he had been deferential long enough. “Not regrettable. Unacceptable.”