“People change, Doctor.” Determination put a fierce cast on his angular features. “I’ve seen good people killed, watched nations push each other to the brink of war, and faced an enemy so powerful that I still have nightmares about it. I sent one of my few real friends to her death so we could obtain the intelligence T’Prynn brought us today. I’ve made more compromises, broken more promises, and shed more blood than I’d ever thought possible. The reasons why don’t really matter anymore. I’ve come too far and seen too much to believe that everything will be all right if only we make token gestures to morality. What matters now is that the whole galaxy seems to be out to kill us, and the Shedai are at the front of the line. So either help us get this array working, or get the hell out of my lab.”

Stung by Xiong’s vitriolic rebuke, Marcus stormed away, leaving him to his infernal device and willing collaborators. Those morons at Starfleet Command are going to get us all killed, she decided. It was time to put a halt to the madness, to plead her case to someone who would listen to reason and intervene before it was too late.

As she opened the secure hatch and left the Vault, she was not surprised to note that none of her so-called colleagues and peers paid the slightest heed to her departure. But she vowed they would not continue ignoring her for much longer.

Sequestered in her private office, T’Prynn drew quiet satisfaction from the comfort of slightly higher gravity and temperatures, and lower humidity and air pressure, than were standard aboard Vanguard—or, for that matter, inside most Starfleet vessels and facilities. She had configured her environmental controls to approximate as closely as possible the climate of her native Vulcan. It was a small indulgence, but one that made her daily work routine more agreeable.

A number of tasks still awaited her attention before that day’s duty shift drew to a close. She needed to decrypt a few packets of intercepted Klingon signal traffic, review reports from a handful of recently debriefed field operatives, scan the latest public news from both the Federation and its neighboring rivals for patterns of interest, and conduct a cursory review of the official identity files of all newly arrived visitors to the station to see if any triggered alerts from the biometric recognition systems concealed inside the docking bays and primary corridors.

It was a slow day aboard Vanguard, all things considered.

A soft beeping from the companel on her wraparound desk alerted her to an incoming subspace message on a secure frequency from Earth. She checked the encryption keys, which confirmed the message had originated at the headquarters of Starfleet Command. Following protocol, she tapped in her authorization code to accept the transmission. The Starfleet emblem on her panel’s vid screen was replaced by the careworn features of Admiral Selim Aziz, the director of Starfleet Intelligence. His skin was of an especially rich shade of brown, a visible testament to his Tunisian heritage. When he smiled, his gleaming teeth seemed almost blinding in contrast to his complexion. “Good morning, Lieutenant T’Prynn.”

“Good afternoon, Admiral.”

His smile faltered, then vanished. “Ah, yes. I forgot to account for local time aboard the station. My mistake.”

She saw no point in prolonging or capitalizing upon his apparent discomfort at the minor faux pas. “It’s of no consequence, sir. How can I assist you?”

“I noted with interest your report of a successful reinterview of Cervantes Quinn. Has the intelligence produced by that debriefing proved useful to the team in the Vault?”

“It has. Lieutenant Xiong informs me the new intel provided by Mister Quinn has been instrumental in the reconfiguration of the array, and it is expected to be of equal value when it comes time to bring the system fully on line.”

A sage nod from Aziz. “Excellent.” He eyed T’Prynn with suspicion. “I also noticed that your report did not explain how your reinterview managed to elicit this intelligence from Mister Quinn, when your initial interview failed to do so.” He folded his hands and leaned forward. “Without casting aspersions upon your interrogative methods, I am compelled to ask what made this latest debriefing more successful than the last.”

She had hoped no one would ask about this, but now that Aziz had, there would be no way to avoid an official record of the matter. “A most reasonable inquiry, Admiral. I extracted the information from Mister Quinn’s memory by means of a Vulcan mind-meld.”

“I see.” He thought for a moment, then nodded once. “From what I know of your people’s customs, that can’t have been an easy thing for you.”

Giving away nothing with her face or voice, she replied, “It was not, sir.”

“I commend you for making such an extraordinary effort, Lieutenant.” Concern creased his ebony brow. “However, it raises troubling questions about Mister Quinn.”

“Such as . . . ?” She focused on masking her alarm at the direction of the conversation.

“My first query would be whether he remembered this intelligence all along but simply chose not to divulge it during his first debriefing.”

“No, sir,” T’Prynn said with verbal force. “My opinion is that Mister Quinn was afflicted by a psychological block induced by emotional trauma. He was unable to recollect the details of that mission with sufficient clarity due to his distress at the death of his partner.”

Aziz pressed his index finger to his lips for a moment, striking a thoughtful pose. “Would you say that your mind-meld had the effect of helping him overcome that mental block?”

A small nod. “That would be a fair assessment.”

“So his memory of that day’s events are now clear in his mind?”

“I think they are, yes. The meld has greatly improved his specific recall.”

The admiral’s mood turned solemn. “Most unfortunate.” He paused, seemingly deep in thought. Before T’Prynn could ask him to explain, he continued. “If his memory had remained unreliable outside of the mind-meld, I might have been able to authorize a simple mind wipe for him and left it at that. But if he recalls the details of the Shedai’s technology clearly, even one of our engram erasures won’t hide that kind of detailed information from a Klingon mind-sifter.”

“I’m afraid I don’t take your meaning, Admiral.”

“I’ll be blunt, then: Mister Quinn’s history of alcoholism and unstable behavior make him a security risk, especially in light of his recent relapse into binge drinking.”

“I’ve taken steps to help him control his addictions. Given time and support—”

Aziz shook his head. “It’s too late for that, Lieutenant. The intel to which he’s had access is too important and the stakes in the Taurus Reach are now far too high for us to risk Quinn being captured and interrogated by a hostile power or rogue political actor. And considering the current downward spiral of his life, I’m afraid he’s no longer useful to us as a covert asset, which means we have no compelling reason to spend time or resources rehabilitating him.”

T’Prynn said nothing. She just stared at Aziz and waited until he made it an order.

“Covertly neutralize Mister Quinn at your earliest opportunity. Aziz out.”

The admiral terminated the connection without brooking further debate, which was just as well, since there clearly was nothing left to discuss. Quinn’s life had been declared forfeit, and T’Prynn had been designated to collect it.

Seeing no other alternative, she began planning the end of Cervantes Quinn.

23

As a general rule, Admiral Nogura preferred to conduct official meetings inside his office. He tried to avoid visiting the other departments under his authority because, in his experience, the arrival of a commanding officer—especially one of flag rank—tended to have a disruptive effect on business-as-usual. Convening behind closed doors also provided the additional advantage of discretion. Put simply, people often seemed more willing to speak their minds in private.