“So out of all the possible candidates in Starfleet, Starfleet Command selected youto infiltrate the Romulan Star Empire.”

“Yes. But it wasn’t exactly Starfleet Command. It’s a covert ops bureau buried deep inside Starfleet Intelligence. In fact, Starfleet Command would probably deny even knowing about it.”

“Deceit,” she said, her voice edged more sharply than she had intended. “How very human.”

“Oh, come on, T’Pol,” he said, his brow furrowing. “Humans sure as hell don’t have a monopoly on deceit.”

“Vulcans do not make a habit of lying, or of concealing the truth.”

“Then you folks must be quite a bit better at it than weare. But even Vulcans get caught sometimes in the middle of a whopper. Do I have to remind you about the Vulcan operatives who were secretly spying on the Andorians on P’Jem? Or how your former fearless leader V’Las set up those terrorist attacks last year, then tried to pin ’em on T’Pau and the other Syrrannites?”

Including T’Les, my mother,she thought. T’Les had died during that terrible time.

Though Trip’s words stung her, T’Pol carefully schooled her mien to maintain its best display of Vulcan equanimity. There was no point in continuing to argue the point; she knew that he was right. Nevertheless, she still felt incensed–illogically, she had to admit–that he had deigned, whether under orders or not, to keep concealed from her something as important as the faking of his own death. She stared at him in silence, not trusting herself to speak again until she succeeded in calming her roiling emotions, or at least in centering herself somewhat.

“You should have taken me into your confidence,” she said at length, finally breaking the silence that had begun to stretch awkwardly between them.

“You’re probably right, T’Pol. And I’m sorry.” His eyes glistened with regret, and she was startled when she realized that her own eyes were waging a struggle of their own against a rush of unshed tears. “ Probably”?

“Who else knows?” she said aloud.

Tears finally began running freely down his cheeks. “Malcolm. Phlox. The captain.”

Only those with an operational need to know,she thought, understanding but still somewhat resentful. And angry. And hurt.

“I’m so sorry, T’Pol.”

Still battling her own emotions, she said, “I am…gratified that you survived.”

“Gratified, but also damned pissed off,” Trip said, smiling through his tears.

“Vulcans do not experience such base emotions.”

“Horse apples they don’t.”

“I certainly hope no one else sees you in this emotional state,” she said, though in truth she wasn’t eager to let anybody see heranytime soon either.

“What, are you afraid I’ll give Vulcans a bad name?” Trip said, chuckling at his own comment as he wiped at his still‑flowing tears with the heels of both hands.

T’Pol stood watching him, feeling awkward and inadequate to do anything to comfort him, or herself for that matter. Her arms felt like useless vestigial appendages, so she clasped her hands behind her back to keep them out of her way. She wondered how he would react if she were to initiate the same sort of affectionate human embrace to which Captain Archer had spontaneously resorted only a few minutes ago.

Then, as she studied his overwrought face, a fundamental realization struck her: He had said he had been sent into the Romulan Star Empire as an infiltrator. Therefore Charles Tucker now wore the face of a Romulan.

And the face of a Romulan was all but indistinguishable from that of a Vulcan.

“Your…appearance suggests that Romulans and Vulcans are kindred species,” T’Pol said once she’d found her voice again.

“Looks that way.”

Oddly, her emotions began to calm now that she had an external problem of some importance with which to occupy her mind. “Does Captain Archer know?”

“I’m sure he’ll figure it out once he’s a little bit less preoccupied.”

“Of course,” she said, nodding, training her attention back upon the core of Trip’s surprising revelation. “If the Romulans truly are a throwback to the warlike, colonizing period of our ancient ancestors, then all the Coalition worlds are in grave danger. The Romulans will never stop attacking us voluntarily.”

“I know,” Trip said.

At that moment T’Pol understood with immediate, heart‑breaking certainty that he intended to go back among them, and probably quite soon. She could sense from the resolve in his voice that it would not only be useless to try to talk him out of it, but also that it would be dangerous to the Coalition should his mission be interrupted or delayed.

And there was another grave danger as well, one that could not only disproportionately affect her homeworld, but might also shatter the entire alliance if it wasn’t addressed properly.

“The Coalition will be fragile for a long time, Trip, even after the delegates sign the Compact,” she said.

“I figured that kind of goes without saying,” he said, regarding her with evident curiosity. “What exactly are you getting at?”

“I speak of Vulcan’s…evident kinship with the Romulans. Should this secret ever get out, the other Coalition members–even Earth–will distrust us. The Andorians would almost certainly demand our withdrawal from the alliance, or else abandon it themselves. Even if the Andorian‑Vulcan war that would almost inevitably result didn’t directly involve Earth and Tellar, it would render the entire Coalition more vulnerable than ever to Romulan conquest.”

Trip seemed to be listening with what T’Pol regarded as an appropriately Vulcan degree of sobriety–so long as one overlooked his tear‑streaked cheeks, and his greenish bloodshot eyes.

“Looks like we’ve both done the political math the same way,” he said after she’d finished making her case. “Don’t worry, T’Pol. Your people’s secret is safe with me. And I’m just as sure it’ll be safe with my…associates here on Earth. And with Captain Archer, too. As far as I know, that’s everyone else who’s seen the dirty family linen. I’m sure it’s going to be kept strictly off the record.”

She gathered Trip’s meaning clearly, despite his often perplexing human metaphors. Relief swept through her, like the cooling winter nightwinds that blew so infrequently across the desiccated sands of Gol.

“And yoursecret is safe with me.” She felt certain that there was no way she would voluntarily reveal to anyone what had actually become of him. Being officially dead was his best protection, considering the dangers inherent in interstellar espionage, and the consequences, should his true fate and activities be revealed, were too grave to be contemplated.

He grinned again. “I know, T’Pol. And I think I finally came to understand that when I was in Romulan space and thought I was going to die there….

“I only wish I’d realized it sooner.”

He approached her closely then, put his arms around her, and gathered her in for a kiss. Though surprised, she did not resist, and even found herself reciprocating.

Nearly as soon as it had begun, the kiss was over. “So long, T’Pol. I’ll see you again after this Romulan business is finished. I promise.”

Then he turned, headed for the door, and was gone.

T’Pol stood in the tiny dressing room for several minutes, stunned and silent, alone with her thoughts and her regrets. So much still remained unsaid between them, though she supposed that neither of them had any real need to hear any of it spoken aloud by the other. After all, the vestige of their mind‑link still remained.

She knew that the only constructive–and logical–thing she could do was to look forward, hoping, if not entirely believing, that their paths would indeed cross again someday.

But she was also logical enough to know that no one could entirely avoid taking at least an occasional backward glance.