"From the Depths..."

[Guest TParek]

"From the Depths..."

Lt. T'Parek

April 07, 2156

 

Vulcan Consulate, Earth

2143

 

The Terran night sky was illuminated by the faint trails of shuttlepods passing through the atmosphere and by traces of light stars far across the galaxy sent dancing across space: the navigational tools of the ancient peoples, the inspiration for poets.

 

Even from these distant points of light, heavy drapes were deemed necessary by the Vulcan High Command to shield the eyes of their personnel and to safeguard the precious sleep needed to deal with the onslaught of primitive human emotions barraging the pointy-eared diplomats.

 

A young Vulcan woman lay on her side, her aristocratic features barely visible in the shimmering waves of light that found their way through the elegant curtains. Her sleep as relaxingly undisturbed as the physicians in the High Command could have hoped, she turned away from the dark shadows opposite the window.

 

Was the reaction instinctive, or did those highly tuned ears of hers detect the nearly silent hum of a transporter?

 

A voice quiet, yet filled with self-assurance and power, pierced the air. "T'Parek."

 

She bolted upright in her bed, instantaneously slamming the bedside communications panel. Static was the sole response she received. Were she an emotionally handicapped species, she'd have let loose a barrage of oaths.

 

The deep tones returned in full force, ridiculing her efforts. "Your actions are useless, and illogical. It is said that in space, no one can hear you scream. For all intents and purposes, you are in space -- a form of space that I have compelled to do as I will it."

 

T'Parek's reply was calm; any fear was channeled into her icy reply. "Cutting the communications to my quarters hardly elevates you to the level of an omnipotent being who can alter the fabric of space to do its bidding."

 

"Perhaps not," he said, his silhouette moving towards the lighting controls, pausing a moment before activating them. "Then again, perhaps it does."

 

The Vulcan woman drew the blankets around her closer. Thank the ancient gods that she didn't care for sleeping in the buff. "If you would be so kind as to tell me why you're in my room at oh three hundred hours, I would appreciate it."

 

She'd never quite seen someone so nondescript before. If she were a betting Vulcan, she'd have laid a high wager down he was a shapeshifter. One of the kinds who'd blend into a crowd. For all practical purposes, invisible.

 

"You have no fear," he remarked, nodding approvingly. "But you're entirely correct; it's not commonplace for a stranger to be in a woman's room this late at night. Particularly if the woman if Vulcan, as opposed to, shall we say, Orion?" He ran a hand through his perfectly kempt hair. "T'Parek. Diplomatic trainee, current assignment: San Francisco, Earth. Descendant of Sartrav, founder of the House of the same name." He finished, satisfied with his report on her.

 

"Is that meant to impress me?"

 

He looked thoughtful for a moment. "No, not necessarily. But it sounded menacing that I was able to look up your file, don't you think?"

 

She didn't reply, just staring at him; wondering whether or not she could make her way to the display of ornamental weaponry on the far wall.

 

"But to the matter at hand. Did you know you are possibly the most important woman in Earth's history?"

 

T'Parek barely suppressed a snort, letting her emotional coil express itself through the slightest twitch of an eyebrow. "I am honored. And, pray tell, how exactly might I be the Chosen One to affect Terran history for epochs to come?" Her voice dripping with sarcasm, she narrowed her eyes at the stooge.

 

"How much of your House's history do you know?"

 

He was either insane or incredibly cunning. T'Parek suspected the latter. "Enough. Why do you ask?"

 

A self-satisfied grin swept across his face. "How about ranging back to around Surak's time?"

 

If this goon was attempting to rattle her with his proficiency in Vulcan history, he was again failing. "Yes, I'm more than familiar with it. Your point, please. The hour is late," she stated as if dismissing a servant.

 

"Va'mahrak," He said the ancient word in a most pronounced manner and raised his eyebrows.

 

"Life-destroyer. Does it mean something more specific?" she asked.

 

He walked between T'Parek and the window, his form becoming a silhouette. "Shall I be frank?"

 

"I see no reason for you not to be."

 

He nodded. "Very well. T'Parek, your people are egotistical fools who look down on humanity because they aren't as technologically advanced as the Vulcans. My division and I have decided to turn the tables a bit."

 

The Vulcan raised an eyebrow. "Culturally as well as technologically," she added cheekily. "Your division?"

 

He dismissed her with a wave of the hand. "It was written into an article of the Starfleet charter. Nothing of your concern. However, what does concern you is the fact that you will be of great use in making Earth a dominant power, technologically."

 

The young diplomat shook her head slowly. "No, you have the wrong person if you want to reverse engineer or recreate Vulcan technology. I'm no engineering officer."

 

"Oh no. You're precisely the one we need. Va'mahrak does indeed have a more specific meaning than the literal translation."

 

"Do continue."

 

"It is our understanding that your people created an extremely advanced weapon in the dark ages of Vulcan. When your hero Surak came around, he didn't want your violent people to start wholesale start killing planets."

 

Her voice quaked slightly as she spoke. "Those planet-killer weapons are a thing of legend. Nothing more."

 

"Oh, so you have heard the rumors? Surak had all of the schematics destroyed except for one set, which he entrusted to a friend. Your ancestor, Sartrav."

 

The temperature in the room seemed to have dropped a few degrees. "Genetically encoded the schematics?"

 

"In Sartrav's RNA. I'm here to collect it."

 

T'Parek glanced at the ceremonial lirpa mounted on the wall, seemingly a light-year away for all the good it would do her. "It would be illogical to assume that I carry the gene."

 

He grinned, withdrawing a hypodermic needle and a small dagger. "This can be done the easy way, or the hard way. The hard way leaves you dead."

 

"Does it now? In that case, I suppose we should go about it the less lethal way." Just come close enough for a nerve pinch...

 

The goon reached for her arm, sinking the needle into a vein with one hand while still keeping a good grip on the knife. He made one mistake as he turned from her, and almost savagely, the Vulcan targeted the pressure points that would render him unconscious.

 

Lo and behold, the covert operations agent had taken a precaution against that. He smirked as he ran a scanner over the blood sample. "My division gave me special neck and shoulder protection to prevent that from happening. Feisty little thing, aren't you?"

 

Reaching into another pocket, he withdrew a hypospray. "Unfortunately, memory-erasure techniques are slightly frowned upon on Earth. But, the Division allows us a little elbow room with medical regulations. I'm sorry, T'Parek, but you aren't going to remember any of our exchange."

 

 

* * *

 

 

Several hours later, the Vulcan woke up and began her duties, blissfully unaware of the previous night's incident. The "division" organized under Section 31 of the Starfleet charter did its work well.

 

Meanwhile, deep inside a bunkered installation on Luna, the scientists analyzed the sample retrieved by their agent. Pleased with the prospect of Earth becoming a major military power in the Alpha Quadrant, the Section officials began celebration plans.

 

But as the Section leader entered the research area, he was greeted not with a computer rendering of the va'mahrak, but a row of crestfallen personnel.

 

"Director..." the lead researcher said, looking at the floor, "Subject T'Parek does not carry the gene, and it is highly likely that none of her close relatives do. On the branch of Sartrav's family tree descending from her daughter, the trait containing the information was lost. Now, the son of Sartrav, Stren, left Vulcan during the schism that our sources described, so any of his descendants are either far from here on an alien world, or dead."

 

The Section director stared at the walls, not seeing anything. "That will be all. Earth must seek another way to set herself apart..."