Requiem Read online

  “Thank you. I think.”

  “You are welcome. I think.” He indicated the vrass. “You have not consumed much of your meal. Is it inadequate in some way?”

  She wanted to bend the truth again, to spare his feelings. Then she remembered who and what she was talking to. Taking a breath, she slid the bowl aside and said, “Yes, as a matter of fact, it is inadequate. To be specific, it tastes terrible.”

  “Does it?” He appeared amazed . . . which, for him, meant the raising of both eyebrows. He took a large bit of it, rolled it around in his mouth as if truly tasting it for the first time. His face remained impassive, but he nodded slowly after a moment and said, “You raise a valid point. This is substandard. My apologies.”

  “I am now officially concerned, Father. Producing a meal that is borderline inedible is unprecedented.”

  “It is nothing.”

  His dismissive tone of voice didn’t fool her for a moment. “Father . . . you know me as well as I know you. Something is indeed bothering you, and I am going to continue to inquire of you what it might be until you tell me. It would be highly illogical, and a waste of both our times, to prolong the process.”

  Volak seemed to consider the point a moment, and then he inclined his head slightly. “I bow to your flawless reasoning. It is of comfort to know that the time that was spent teaching you Vulcan disciplines was not entirely wasted, even if you choose to ignore them at your whim.”

  He was silent for a short time longer, as if trying to determine the best way to bring it up. Soleta waited patiently. Finally he slid the inedible food aside and leaned forward, his elbows on the table, his level gaze fixed on Soleta. Something about his demeanor had changed. Soleta had been on high-density worlds that had less gravity than the look in her father’s eyes.

  “He has been in contact with me,” said Volak.

  She stared at him blankly. “He. What ‘he’ would that be?”

  “Rajari. He is out of prison.”

  Soleta felt the blood draining from her face. She stood up so quickly that she banged her knee on the underside of the table.

  “Are you all right?” Volak asked.

  “Am I all right?” Soleta backed up, coming to rest in a corner of the room. “Why would I not be all right? I return to Vulcan on the fifth anniversary of my mother’s death, to be here for you and support you as a good daughter should. And I find out that the Romulan bastard who raped my mother and put me into this world, instead of rotting in a camp where he belongs, is apparently walking around free and harassing the only real father I’ve ever known.” She shook her head as if she could somehow dispel the horror of it through sheer disbelief. “Did he escape? Is that what you’re telling me? Have the authorities been alerted to—”

  He shook his head. “No. He was released.”

  “Released?” She could scarcely believe it. “How was he released? Why? Whose idiotic decision was that? When did you hear from him? Has he come here? Did he threaten you? If he threatened you, perhaps we can have him put back away to—”

  Volak was on his feet and coming around to his daughter. He placed his hands on her shoulders to steady her. “Soleta . . . calmly. Your reaction is not aiding in the orderly dissemination of information.”

  “I don’t care!” she said heatedly. “I don’t care about orderly dissemination! I care about that monster doing more damage than he’s already done! I—”

  “Soleta,” and there was iron in his tone, “there will be no further discussion of this until you have remembered enough of what I taught you to be able to handle this matter in the manner of a true Vulcan.”

  “You mean as opposed to the Romulan half-breed that I am?”

  There was such sting in her tone that she instantly regretted the words as soon as they were out. Volak, however, was far too disciplined to let them have any impact upon him. Or, at the very least, to allow that impact to show. Nevertheless, Soleta was instantly contrite. “I’m . . . sorry, Father. I know that is not what you meant.”

  She took a deep breath, found the stable center after some effort, and then walked slowly to the chair and eased herself into it. She folded her hands and placed them primly in her lap. “All right, Father. Tell me what happened.”

  Instead of replying immediately, he walked over to the comm screen that was situated on the wall. “I received a communiqué from Rajari. Except, in point of fact, it was not addressed to me. Instead it was directed to your mother. Obviously Rajari was unaware of the fact that she was dead.”

  “When did you get the communiqué?”

  “Five weeks, three days, eighteen minutes ago.”

  Soleta shook her head in quiet amusement. But then her mind returned to the seriousness of the situation at hand. “Did you store it?”

  “Of course.” Volak was already accessing it, and a moment later, the image of Rajari appeared on the screen.

  Soleta was quite annoyed with herself that her first impulse was to cut and run. She felt a trembling in her leg and fought it off angrily. A flagging of her spirit was not going to do her a bit of good.

  Nevertheless, looking at him forced that hideous moment, years ago, to come spiraling back to her. That time when, back on the Aldrin, Soleta had been a young officer who had decided to talk to a captured Romulan spy and saboteur. She had never seen a Romulan in person, and considered it a matter of scientific curiosity.

  She had come there to perhaps learn something. Instead she had learned far more than she could ever possibly have expected.

  She pushed the thought away from her, scrambled the image in her mind so that the sneer of the captive Romulan would be wiped away. The Romulan that she was looking at now bore a resemblance to that one from years gone, certainly. It was, after all, the same one. But none of the arrogance was there. Then again, it wasn’t as if he appeared merciful or pleasant or was anyone that she would want to spend five minutes with, unless it was five minutes spent throttling him. His hair was a bit thinner, his complexion somewhat paler. There was hardness in his eyes, though, a hint of the mercilessness that he had possessed when he had assaulted Soleta’s mother. T’Pas, who had thought that the crashed spy might actually be a defector from the Romulan Empire. She aided him, and had paid a terrible price for her naiveté, to be brutalized by the depraved, bullying bastard. To this day, Soleta could not believe that her mother and father had gone through with actually having her. Certainly their repeated, failed attempts to have a child of their own had hampered their judgment. Soleta knew that that could be the only reason, for the only logical choice would have been to abort the pregnancy. Had Soleta been in her position, she knew that was what she would have done.

  So there he was, Rajari, after all these years. He stared out from the comm screen, but his image was frozen. Soleta looked to her father, her face a question. Volak was watching her with mild uncertainty. “Are you prepared, Soleta?”

  Soleta realized that the tension in her body was quite visible. Her entire body was curved forward, like a gargoyle or some sort of large cat ready to strike. She forced herself to calm once more, and said, “I am a Starfleet officer, Father. I believe I am capable of watching a simple transmission, no matter who sent it.”

  “Very well” was all he said, and activated the message.

  “Greetings, T’Pas,” Rajari began. The sound of his voice was like a deep wound to Soleta’s heart, but she pulled even the vaguest hints of emotion out of the mix and watched him with utter dispassion. Rajari continued, “I hope that this transmission finds you well. I am . . . quite certain you remember me. In case you were unaware, I was in a Federation prison camp for some time. I would still be there, most likely, were it not for the Dominion War.”

  “The Dominion War?” said a confused Soleta, looking to Volak. He put a finger to his lips, indicating that she should be quiet.

  As if answering her puzzled exclamation, Rajari said, “I knew some information that was of strategic use to the Federation in their battles a
gainst the Cardassians. It is impressive what one can pick up when one is pursuing a career of illegal weapons transport and smuggling. Believe it or not, I was able to provide the Federation with some inside information that not only saved lives, but also enabled them to make some serious headway in their conflict. In a way . . . I am a war hero.” He laughed very softly at his vague attempt at humor, and Soleta felt a slight thudding in her temple. “That, plus . . . certain extenuating circumstances . . . prompted the Federation to arrange my early release. That was most kind of them, was it not? Granted, it was the price for what I told them. Then again, they could have gone back on the arrangement, and what recourse would I have had, eh? So . . . I am free.”

  “Free.” Soleta echoed the word in disbelief.

  “You may wonder why I am communicating with you now,” Rajari went on. His expression was unreadable. “Think of it as taking care of . . . unfinished business. You see . . . you deserved more than what I gave you. Much . . . much more. I regret that I was unable to attend to you as I truly should have. Given another opportunity, I would have handled you very differently. Then again, life is not in the habit of giving second chances. I have one now, though, and I am going to endeavor to make the best of it. So . . . I wanted you to know that . . . and I hope . . . if my luck holds out,” and he smiled thinly, “I will see you in the afterlife. Farewell.”

  There was silence in the room for long minutes after the image vanished.

  “Have you shown this to anyone else, Father?” she asked finally.

  “What is there to show? I checked with the local Starfleet representatives and they affirmed that he had indeed been released. There is nothing else to be done.”

  “Nothing else to be done?” Her training went right out the window as she made no effort to keep the incredulity from her voice. “Father, he threatened you! We heard him!”

  “The message was to your mother, not me. Obviously he is unaware that she is dead.”

  “And if he finds her gone and you here, do you think that you are safe?”

  “What reason would he have to do me harm.”

  “He’s a mad-dog sadist, Father. He doesn’t need motive, merely opportunity.” She was pacing furiously now. “I don’t have to tell you this; you know it yourself. That’s why you’re so distracted.”

  “I was merely preoccupied with my internal dispute as to whether I should show the transmission to you or not.”

  “Don’t lie to me!”

  “Vulcans do not lie,” he said mildly.

  “Yes, we do, Father. We lie to ourselves, just like any sentient being. We’re just as capable of self-delusion as the lowliest human.”

  “Perhaps not the lowliest . . .” said Volak thoughtfully.

  Soleta growled in frustration and ran her fingers through her thick, dark hair. Her fingers bumped up against the IDIC hairpin that she customarily wore . . . the pin that her mother had given her as an heirloom. The one that Rajari had recognized while he was imprisoned on the Aldrin, which had prompted him to start boasting about the poor, helpless Vulcan colonist who had sported a similar hairpin. A colonist whom he had raped, and had a great time while he was doing it. And all the time that he had been chortling about his “accomplishment,” he was unaware that the young Vulcan Starfleet officer he was addressing was the issue of that ungodly union, wearing not a similar hair clasp, but the exact same one. She had realized, though, and it had taken all her training not to scream, or to shut down the force shield and blast him to pieces right then and there.

  Feeling that pin now reminded her even more starkly of the encounter, and she pulled her fingers out of her hair as if, like the legendary Gorgon, she had sprouted snakes in her head and one of them had bitten her hand. “Tell you what, Father,” she said. “Why do we not go out to dinner? Whatever the reason for your distraction, this is somewhat inedible. Allow me to treat you to dinner. After all, you are certainly entitled, considering all the meals you prepared for me. It is equitable.”

  “If you were interested in equity,” Volak pointed out, “you would prepare a meal for me with your own hands rather than suggest we go out.”

  “I had assumed you were interested in a meal that was more edible than this, not less.”

  Volak naturally caught himself before he could laugh, but Soleta knew her father well enough to be aware that he had found the comment amusing. “I defer to your judgment. Shall we . . . ?” and he gestured toward the door.

  “Before we go, Father,” she said, “I would like you to give me a copy of that message, if it would not be too much trouble.”

  “Trouble? Not at all. But why would you desire such a thing?”

  “I want to have a brief chat with the local Starfleet representatives, and I thought it would help to have a copy of it in hand.”

  He duplicated the message onto a file chip. But when he handed it to her, he kept her hand in his a moment longer than he needed to. “Was I in error showing this to you, Soleta?”

  “No, Father. And you are very likely correct. Even if Rajari’s intentions are hostile, once he learns that Mother is gone, then he has no further business in your life. I am sure you are quite safe.”

  “My father is in mortal danger. How obvious does this need to be in order for Starfleet to do something about it!”

  Commander Holly Beth Williams spoke with a slow drawl as she turned away from Rajari’s message, which had just finished playing on her desktop viewer. She had a round face, seen-it-all eyes, and short brown hair. “I’m sorry, darlin’, I’m not seein’ it.”

  “Not seeing it! He spoke about unfinished business. About handling her differently. About seeing her in the afterlife. The meaning is obvious: He’s planning to kill her.”

  “Why?” asked Williams. “Even were your mother still with us, she’d pose no threat to him.”

  Soleta felt nothing but frustration. She had come to the Starfleet offices on Vulcan in hopes of alerting them to the situation so that Rajari could be found and thrown back in prison once more. Instead all she was encountering was a series of officers who weren’t willing to see it her way. When she’d finally been brought to Williams, the woman’s friendly demeanor (“Call me H.B.,” she’d said cheerily) had given her reason to believe that she’d found the right woman. But Williams’ mild reaction to the message was dashing Soleta’s hopes. “Monsters do not require reasons, Commander. That is part of what makes them monsters.”

  “It’s ‘H.B.,’ darlin’, remember? Or ‘Holly Beth.’ Don’t answer to ‘Holly.’”

  “Your sobriquet is of less interest right now to me than it should be, I admit,” Soleta said evenly. “This message—”

  “Is simply not clear cut enough for me to request any action be taken. Which I believe is what everyone else here is telling you, except you don’t seem willing to listen.”

  “I am not the one who is unwilling to listen,” Soleta shot back. “I admit, the contents of the message are somewhat veiled. Naturally Rajari would phrase it in that way. He would be aware that others might view the message, and would not be so foolish as to provide overt evidence of threats for all to see. But I have met him. I know him. I know what he is capable of.”

  “And what would that be, exactly?” asked Williams. She leaned forward, her fingers interlaced, obviously curious.

  “Anything.”

  Williams sighed and shook her head. “Computer,” she said after a moment, “pull up file on former Romulan prisoner, Rajari.”

  “Working,” the computer informed her.

  The screen shifted, and Rajari’s picture appeared on it. This time, however, it was accompanied by text. Williams tilted the screen away from Soleta and said, “It’s marked ‘Confidential,’ Lieutenant. Sorry.” Then she scanned the contents, nodding slowly and even muttering to herself slightly.

  “Well?” prompted Soleta after a time.

  “He was released, just as the message says. Beyond that, I’m afraid it’s confidential.”
/>   “Confidential? Information about a convicted spy, smuggler, and saboteur is confidential? What about my father’s life, Commander? Where does that fit into the parameters of Starfleet concerns.”

  “I told you, you can call me . . .”

  “‘H.B.,’ yes, I know!” said Soleta, her exasperation showing ever so slightly. “But what I should or should not call you does not concern me. What concerns me is my father’s safety! I would spend the rest of my life guarding him if possible, but it is not possible, nor would he permit that. Assigning Starfleet officers to guard him is also impossible, obviously. Something must be done about Rajari before he comes to Vulcan and kills my father! At least alert the spaceports!”

  “I don’t see where that would do any good. If he has a private conveyance, he could wind up landing anywhere on Vulcan. Besides, alert them to what? He’s done nothing illegal. There’s nothing he could be held for.”

  “This is insane! What has to happen here, Commander? Does my father have to wind up with a knife in his back for Starfleet to say, ‘Oh dear. It appears that we allowed a madman to go around at his whim and destroy people’s lives! Our fault.’ This is my father’s life we’re talking about, Commander. Perhaps that is an abstract concern to Starfleet, but it is not to me.”

  Williams was studying her with open curiosity. “No offense, but I can’t say’s I recall ever seein’ a Vulcan get worked up about anything.”

  “My apologies,” Soleta said evenly. “Were I a better Vulcan, perhaps I would be able to discuss my father’s impending murder with sufficient dispassion.”

  Commander Williams leaned back in her chair, studying Soleta with such a piercing gaze that Soleta felt as if it were boring into the back of her head. Finally she said, “I regret, Soleta, that I am not at liberty to provide you with any information about Rajari. His known whereabouts are confidential. Computer, time please.”

  “Thirteen fifty hours,” the computer replied promptly.

  “My apologies, Lieutenant,” Williams said as she rose. “I have a meeting I must attend. You can see yourself out, I’m sure.” And without another word, she strode briskly around the desk and out the door.