The Slopes of Andoria

Chapter 15: Auribus Teneo Lupum by Distracted

Jhamel mopped her brow with a cool, wet cloth, took a drink from the canteen hanging on a strap over her shoulder, and thought longingly of snow-covered slopes and the comfort of freezing temperatures.   The sounds and smells of new construction came in through the walls of the medical tent.  She had only rudimentary medical training, but her blindness made her a hazard on the construction site and she wasn't about to spend her days hiding in the underground bunker while her family labored in the heat.

The population of Weytahn was down to a mere one hundred fifty souls.  Every above ground structure had been reduced to rubble by the recent attack, so the first order of business was to clear the debris and rebuild shelters for the survivors.  Simultaneously, the disposal of the dead was a necessary task.  By the time Jhamel had returned from Andoria on the Amarith, Shran had organized the scattered survivors into work crews and the most distasteful jobs were under way.  

The labor was progressing well.  Although rebuilding each colonist's home was out of the question with their current resources, several communal residence halls had already been completed.  There were beds for all of the children and their caretakers under a solid roof, and, with the construction of this final structure, all of the adults would have a place to sleep indoors tonight.  The power station was operational, and tomorrow they'd begin work on a hospital building.  Administrative buildings, including the governor's residence and the militia headquarters, had been left until last.  Similar repairs were being made to the orbital platform, but those would take months. 

Jhamel and Shran spent nights in the underground bunker beneath the rubble of their home with the rest of their new family.  When he'd had the safe room built Shran had spent nearly all of their savings on a tiny generator with a virtually inexhaustible dilithium power source.  It wasn't powerful enough to do very much, but it did keep the chamber well ventilated and cool.  Jhamel had considered it a shameful extravagance at the time, but had since changed her mind.

She turned to survey the tent with her telepathic senses.  There was discomfort, to be sure, but no overt pain radiated from the occupants of the twelve beds set in two rows of six.  Her charges were stable.  She lifted a pitcher of cool water and began making her rounds, filling each patient's canteen and wetting clean cloths to make cooling compresses.  The more severely injured had already been transported off-planet to the sickbays of the ships in orbit.  The injured here were those who'd refused to leave and were stable enough to stay, men and women with mild injuries: some with dehydration, others simply suffering from shock and exhaustion, who required only a few days in bed, a sympathetic ear, and plentiful food and drink for full recovery before they returned to the work force.  These things Jhamel could provide.

On the edge of her awareness, Jhamel sensed a familiar presence.  She smiled and turned to greet Shran.  The pungent scent of laboring male accompanied him into the tent.  She felt the tingle of his antennae brushing hers and the gentle pressure of his hands on her shoulders.  He had someone else with him, also familiar.

"You don't want to touch me.  I'm filthy," he warned her with a smile in his voice.   The fact that he had something confidential to tell her hovered in the back of his mind.  "I'm taking you to dinner now," he announced.  "I've brought Imaru to relieve you."  The warm affection of her sister-wife filled Jhamel's mind.  She smiled again in response and extended a hand. Imaru grasped it.

"Don't you need to eat, too?" Jhamel asked.  She could sense Imaru's fatigue.  Unhampered by blindness and as strong as the males, Imaru had been laboring just as hard as Shran.  The larger woman chuckled.

"Always the little mother, aren't you?" she said in an indulgent voice.  "I was scheduled to work until sundown.  This is a break for me."  She squeezed Jhamel's fingers in her calloused hand.  "Go, love.  Go spend some time with Shran," she reassured.  "Thot will be bringing me something to eat soon.   We'll see you later tonight."  Jhamel squeezed back, released Imaru's hand, and took Shran's.  

The four of them were still in the first throes of married bliss despite the fact that the rebuilding left them precious little time to bond with each other.  Imaru was strong and capable and Thot was a marvelous cook.  They all complemented each other in ways that Jhamel had never imagined they would.  Shran was still a bit more standoffish with them then he was with Jhamel, but they never took offense.  Forming a quad was difficult for some at first, and he had a lot on his mind.  

Shran led Jhamel through the construction site, carefully avoiding debris which might trip her up.  She looked even paler than usual.  Aenar were less tolerant of heat than the average Andorian.  Spending so much time outdoors in above-freezing temperatures was taking its toll on her.  He carefully shepherded her, not to the communal dining tent as she obviously expected, but back to their small shelter.  Her relief was palpable when they walked through the door into the comfortable chill.  A table was set for two in the center of the room.  

"Thot's been a busy man," quipped Jhamel.  

"And why do you assume it was Thot?" Shran inquired in pretend indignation.  He stepped to the small sink set in the countertop against one wall and began washing up.  Jhamel smiled and bent to inhale deeply over the sprig of sweetbloom tucked into a vase in the center of the table.

"Dinner you are perfectly capable of providing...a table decoration, not so much," she teased.  She was correct, of course.  It would never have occurred to him to put a flower on the table. Thot, on the other hand, seemed to think that a meal was not complete without some sort of greenery in a vase.  The man was positively salivating over the prospect of decorating the soon-to-be rebuilt Governor's "Palace"-so called by the colonists because prior to being destroyed it had been the largest and most elaborate residence on the planet.  What Thot didn't realize was that Shran had inherited the annoyingly ostentatious residence from his predecessor, and that he had no intention of re-building with such extravagance.  He did plan the same interior paint job, though - and the same powerful cooling units.  In that, he was adamant.  Thot was not going to be able to talk him into anything else, no matter how charming his smile might be.

"I helped Thot bring the food from the dining tent," protested Shran as he wiped the dust and sweat from his face and arms with a wet towel.  "Don't I get credit for that?"  Jhamel stepped up and grasped his hand.

"Of course you do," she replied, smiling.  He bent his head to touch her antennae to his.  The tlasp sent a shiver of pleasure through him, just like always.  She was happy; he could feel it, and their quad marriage was the reason.  He still didn't much like sharing her, but it was worth it just to feel her joy.  

"Come, sit," he said, and led her by the hand to the table.  "Eat."  Jhamel took her seat across from him.  He had to take a bite of his own meal before she would start.  Silence followed while they ate.  It was a nice change.  The girls chatted constantly when they all ate together.  It was entertaining most of the time, but an occasional quiet meal was refreshing. He finished first, a by-product of his military "shovel it in and get on with your work" dining philosophy. 

"Your uncle sent a message to you today," he said finally.  "It's encrypted."  Jhamel looked up from her meal, surprised.  

"Encrypted even from you?" she said.  Shran shrugged.  

"A High Command encryption code.  Above my security clearance."  He thought that he'd kept the bitterness from his voice, but Jhamel's face showed her sympathy.  

"We'll open it together when I'm finished," she said.  "Uncle Nehru would never send me an encrypted message unless it was a matter of utmost importance.  I'll need your input."

"This is an official communication, not a social message, Jhamel.  Do not reveal its contents to anyone without my express permission." Shran grimaced at the screen.  Jhamel reached for his hand and gave it a squeeze, but otherwise showed no evidence that she'd even heard the warning, much less had any intention of obeying it.  Jhamel's uncle was a pale and washed-out looking little man who'd never been prone to asserting his authority over anyone before being recruited by Imperial Intelligence less than a year ago, but he'd taken to the regulated life of a military officer like an ice bear to sleet.  The positive reinforcement he was getting from his superiors for his strict obedience wasn't helping to make him more tolerant - or tolerable. 

"Two days ago officers of the Andorian Imperial Guard captured a terrorist who is believed to be responsible for the attempted bombing of the Emperor Sanet Memorial," said Nehru stiffly.  "He is Coridian."  Shran glanced at Jhamal in surprise.  Her expression was unchanged, as if the information was something she'd expected.  "Because he was nearly dead from cold exposure, I managed to convince Imperial Intelligence that the usual interrogation techniques would likely kill him.  For that reason, they allowed me to retrieve information from him telepathically."  That was another surprise.  The average Andorian greatly distrusted the Aenar with their freakish coloring and equally freakish mental skills.  The higher echelons of the Imperial Guard were no different.  They trusted telepaths only when forced to.  "This Coridian was in Vulcan employ, apparently paid handsomely by an organization known as the Seheik'uzh... a Vulcan term which roughly translates as "The Newly Declared Ones."  According to our sources, the Seheik'uzh is an underground faction of Romulan sympathizers.  Our intelligence suggests that this organization is being run by a cadre of Vulcans who were members of the last Vulcan High Command, and led by none other than ex-Administrator V'Las of Vulcan."  Shran let out his breath in a low whistle.  This news would harpoon the fragile Vulcan/Andorian co-existence straight through the heart.

"I have informed my direct superiors.  They are of the opinion that full disclosure to our High Command will result in all-out war with Vulcan.  I am revealing this information to you in the hope that you will be able to discover answers to the questions it raises."  The tight-mouthed old man looked like he'd swallowed something rancid.  "I need your help.  What do the Romulans have to do with these subversive Vulcans?   Are they controlling them?  If evidence of direct Romulan control is discovered, I have no doubt that Andoria will choose to declare war on the Romulan Empire rather than on Vulcan.  If not..."  His voice trailed off and he shook his head with a sigh.  The action made him seem almost sympathetic.   "You have already given us useful information on this subject, but, because you have refused to reveal your source to us, you must obtain more information yourself."

 Shran paused the message and turned to Jhamel.  "Source?  What source?" he demanded.  "Why didn't you tell me you were doing something so dangerous?"  Jhamel flinched at his tone, but raised her chin stubbornly.  

"I am a trained telepath, Shran," she told him in an even tone.  "It would have been a waste of my talent not to follow up on the information I picked up from Commander T'Pol."  Shran stared back at her in shock.  The Vulcan Starfleet officer was her source?  

"How...how did you get any information from her?" he sputtered.  Now both the Vulcans and the humans would be after them.

"Her ordeal on the surface of Andoria weakened her emotional control.  I was able to pick up enough information to convince her that I knew more than I actually did," Jhamel returned pragmatically.  "Once she thought I knew the basics already, she was willing to allow me to meld with her to definitively confirm a historical and genetic connection between Vulcans and Romulans.   I was convinced at the time that the information would discourage our High Command from allying with the Romulans.  This new information should widen that rift even further... provided it doesn't result in war with Vulcan."  Jhamel set her jaw.  "Can you get a message through to Enterprise for me?  I need to speak to Commander T'Pol."

"I was informed that Minister T'Pau had withdrawn support from the Coridian government some time ago."  Archer's voice was clipped and annoyed.  Trip could see that the captain was reaching the end of his patience with Soval and his mysterious errand.  He exchanged a look with T'Pol.  She was sitting very erect in her chair with her eyes fixed on Soval.  Something was bothering her.

"She did," replied Soval. "Except for a few operatives to monitor the conflict without intervention, both Vulcans and Andorians ended their interference once the civil war began. Unfortunately, the Coridian government looked for other sources of support against their rebels."

"The Romulans?" asked Archer.  Trip noticed T'Pol wince slightly as the word left the captain's mouth. Was it possible that she was afraid of what Jon was going to say?  

Soval answered Archer's question. "Indirectly. The Romulans are not interested in the Coridians, but they are using them as a means to destabilize the sector."

"You said indirectly," Archer asked. "So who else is involved?"

"Former Administrator V'Las."  

The entire ready room was silent for several seconds while they absorbed that bombshell.

Archer cleared his throat.  After a barely noticeable pause he asked, "By that can we assume a connection between V'Las and the Romulans?  How could that happen?"  

Trip blinked.  He looked at T'Pol, whose face bore a studiously neutral mask, and then back at Archer's oh-so-innocent expression.  Soval doesn't know the captain knows about the Romulans, he realized with a shock.  She never told the Vulcans either.

Soval's response sounded well-practiced.  "We have long suspected a Romulan role in the war-like policies of the former High Command.  V'Las has been out of the public eye for some time now, but Vulcan Intelligence keeps him under surveillance.  He was one of the chief investors in Coridian dilithium during his tenure as administrator.  When T'Pau removed Vulcan governmental support from Coridan's dilithium mines, V'Las turned to alternative investments to maintain his income.  He now resides on Coridan.  His armaments company is believed to be the primary supplier of weapons to both sides of the Coridian civil war.  His company has recently been linked to the acquisition of some very unusual and useful technology by the Coridian fleet, including what appears to be a cloaking device."  

"Wait a minute..." put in Trip.  "So, what you're sayin' is that V'Las has somehow gotten hold of Romulan technology that nobody else has, and he's sellin' it?"

"To the Coridian government," clarified Soval, "Which is why the Coridian rebels on the ships which accompanied me here have asked for my assistance.  Neither the Vulcan nor the Andorian ships in this sector can get involved on Coridan, by order of their respective governments.  Enterprise is the only Earth vessel in this sector.  The rebels have requested my services as a go-between to negotiate for your help.  They need it to get their planet out of this very dangerous situation."

"Dangerous is a bit of an understatement," replied Archer in an ironic tone.  "V'Las may have just signed Coridan's death warrant."