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Everything felt so much smaller now from inside a starship. But Jhamel found that didn’t surprise her.
She had touched the vastness of space, in the telepresence machine. She had known it for the absolute it was, unending and boundless. And for an instant, she and Gareb had shared that extraordinary wonder. Just before he died.
How could she possibly go back now, to the life she'd had before? How could she return to her people, after what she had experienced?
She sat in the quarters the humans had given her, lost in her thoughts. They had been so kind, all of them, and she a stranger to them. The universe was full of such a dizzying array of beings – the generous humans, the charming Denobulan doctor, the steadfast Vulcan first officer whose strong mind was an ice sheet over a deep and roiling ocean.
The Romulans who had kidnapped her brother, and lied to him, and sent him to his death.
The thought compressed her chest, a weight that settled on her lungs, requiring her to force the next breath out and in, and the next. With enough repetitions, the effort eased. It was unfair, she thought, that all she had of Gareb now was her memories, and the memories hurt. She pushed back at the pain, prodding it like a bruise, letting it hurt. If it hurt, she was still alive, and if she was still alive, a part of Gareb still was too.
If she was still alive, she owed it to him to live.
She felt an approaching presence, and recognized it with a happy anticipation that startled her. She barely knew Commander Shran; why did his attention please her so much?
He was just outside. The door chimed.
“Come in,” she said.
“We'll reach Andoria in approximately twelve hours,” he said as he entered. “These pinkskins try, but their ships are only capable of so much.” He was trying for levity, and almost succeeding, but he couldn’t stop himself from pacing, his steps marking the boundaries of the small room.
“What will you do when we return?” she asked him.
The pacing stopped. “Report to the General Staff for the debriefing I’ve been avoiding,” he replied ruefully. “I doubt it will be a pleasant conversation.”
“I could go with you. Speak on your behalf. Would that help?”
“Jhamel…” Whether by accident or design, he'd stopped directly in front of her, and now he took one of her hands between his, very gently, kindly refraining from saying how little the word of a pacifist Aenar would likely mean to the General Staff of the Imperial Guard. “Wouldn’t you rather go home? Back to your people?” There was something almost regretful in his voice, and she could sense his antennae lowering. It was oddly flattering.
“I don't think I can go back. Not to stay.”
“Why not?”
“The world – the universe – is so much larger than I ever knew. And I think I’ll need to be somewhere… larger now, too.”
“Where?” And that sounded… hopeful, which was also flattering.
“I'm not sure. I can start with the General Staff. Because someone should speak for you. Even if it's only me.”
He didn’t seem to know how to reply to that, and she couldn’t help but feel a flicker of pride, because even though she hadn’t known him long, she knew Thy'lek Shran was rarely at a loss for words.
“A compromise then,” he said finally. “The pinkskins love those, so we'll give it a try. We'll go back to your people first, and then – if you still want to – you can accompany me to Th’shyn, and my debriefing.”
She didn’t feel it necessary to tell him she already knew how that was going to end.
Lissan was waiting at the entrance to the lower tunnels, hopeful and wary. “Welcome home,” she said, but something in her tone was cautious. “We have assembled a conclave, Jhamel. Will you share what you have experienced?”
“Of course.”
The conclave was unsurprising – it was only natural that her people would be curious and concerned after everything that had happened. Naturally they would want to know, and she would be doing them a disservice to demur. So she left Shran in the guest quarters he had occupied only a few days before (but it seemed like so much longer), and went with Lissan.
And in the midst of her people, she shared everything. She opened her mind to them without reservation, holding nothing back. Perhaps it was a little cruel, she reflected with a pang, to give them even Gareb's death. But they had to know. She had to make them understand. She had experienced something extraordinary – there was a world, and more than a world, beyond their caves, and though they had hidden themselves from their proud blue cousins, she couldn’t hide anymore.
She'd left the first time for Gareb's sake. This time she would leave for her own. She didn’t yet know where she belonged, but she would never know if she didn’t seek it out.
She returned to Shran in the guest quarters, and found him staring at his communicator. “My debriefing is scheduled for tomorrow morning,” he said. “An Imperial Guard shuttle will be arriving in three hours to take me to Th'shyn.”
“Three hours,” Jhamel said, nodding to herself. “That gives me time to pack.”
“You had no intention of abiding by our compromise, did you?” Amusement warmed his voice, and she smiled.
“I did! After all, we came here first, didn’t we?”
“So you followed the letter of the compromise and not its spirit.”
“Something like that.”
He shook his head, smiling, but then his smile faded. “I don’t know that they'll be willing to speak with you.”
“We won't know until we try, will we?”
If the pilot of the shuttle sent to collect Commander Shran was taken aback either to be retrieving him from such a remote location, she did a superb job of concealing it. She couldn’t quite control the surprised twitch of her antennae when she realized he was being accompanied by an Aenar, but Jhamel couldn’t really blame her for that. For her own part, she cast her senses out beyond the shuttle’s outer shell, feeling the wideness of the snowscape below, the world spreading out beneath her, until she fell asleep.
She woke as they were arriving, and realized she was covered by Shran’s coat, which he recovered wordlessly as they moved to disembark. They were conducted to Imperial Guard headquarters, deep in the heart of the city, and she made sure to stay very close to him as they progressed. She knew her appearance was not like that of an Andorian, and she could feel the curious confusion of those of who saw her. There was a contingent of Aenar present in Th'shyn, to serve as liaisons between her people and the Imperial government, but she doubted they were much seen by the common citizenry. She had, in years past, toyed with the idea of asking to be a part of the delegation; she could never leave Gareb, though.
Strange how he had brought her here after all, in a way. He would have laughed at that. Maybe she should try laughing at it, too, and she would. But not quite yet.
Shran shot her a faintly amused look, though his own anxiety still pulsed beneath it. “You’ve certainly tossed yourself right into the depths coming here,” he said lightly. “There are probably more people living in Th’shyn than there are Aenar entirely.”
“I did say I needed to be somewhere larger,” she replied.
In truth, there was a part of her questioning the wisdom of this course of action. There were so many minds, so many presences, all unknown, all foreign, and it made her want to shrink, to vanish. They were not oppressive - they did not seek her harm. They simply were, like the grinding of the ice and the moan of the wind, and she was sure that, given time, they would simply weave into the backdrop of her perception. But for now, they left her jittery and on edge, her nerves rattling in her skin. No wonder her people had chosen their caves.
Without thinking, she reached for Shran's arm to steady herself, and he gently patted her hand. But then she caught a whiff of guilt, like an acrid odor – it was his, she realized. He felt guilty for her discomfort, and more than that…
More than that, he wasn’t sure he didn’t deserve whatever blame might be rested on his head during the upcoming debriefing.
But that wasn't right. The drone ship had been so powerful, its subterfuge so enormous – what had he done to merit punishment? She felt her resolve return, wrapping back around her like a cloak.
The courtyard of the headquarters of the Imperial Guard was encircled on three sides by a massive wall of cut black stone, names inlaid in its surface in shining quartz. “The Wall of Heroes,” Shran murmured to Jhamel as they passed. “My crew deserves their place on it,” he added, and she could sense he didn’t believe that would happen.
They do, and it will, she thought.
They were brought through a maze of rooms and halls, until they came to an antechamber that had anticipation seeped into its every molecule. This was a place where one waited at the pleasure of one’s superiors - an all-together bizarre idea, by Jhamel’s reckoning; her people did not embrace such rigid structures, but she could not let Andorians’ strange ideas about hierarchy shock her. Understanding could come first, and then, if necessary, judgment could follow.
There was one other person in the waiting room, a younger, taller man in an Imperial Guard uniform who stood somewhat stiffly at their entry. “Sir!”
“What are you doing here, Lieutenant?” Shran asked, apparently surprised to see him.
“The same thing as you, I imagine.” The lieutenant shrugged, and again, the movement was stiff. “They’ve spoken to everyone else, as far as I know. I’m not sure why they saved me for last, except that my medical leave only ended two days ago.”
“But you’ve recovered? That Denobulan didn’t do you any lasting harm?”
The lieutenant smiled faintly. “I’m told he saved my leg.”
Shran sniffed, then returned the smile, unable to pretend he wasn’t pleased to see his subordinate returned to health. “I’m being a boor,” he said suddenly, and turned to Jhamel. “Jhamel, this is Lieutenant-”
The inner doors opened, and a stern-looking individual with haughty antennae appeared. “Commander Shran. Follow me.”
Shran straightened his shoulders, and Jhamel briefly reached for his hand, squeezing it. Don’t be afraid, she told him, and he blinked, then tightened his fingers on hers, nodding. The doors closed behind him.
Then there were two of them, the Andorian and the Aenar, and he was the one to break the silence. “Karveth. That’s what he was going to tell you my name is. And apparently you’re Jhamel.”
She nodded. “I am. You served with him on the Kumari, didn’t you?” It was his turn to nod, slightly agog.
“Did- did you read my mind?”
“It is extremely improper to take others’ thoughts without their permission,” she said firmly, then smiled a little. “I surmised.”
Lieutenant Karveth chuckled sheepishly. “Of course. Yes, he’s my commander.” His good humor drained away. “Was my commander, I suppose. Whatever my next assignment is, I doubt it will be under his command.” He shook his head slightly, and said, mostly to himself, “It wasn’t supposed to end like this.”
He looked back at her. “I know why I’m here. What about you?”
She could feel his curiosity radiating off him, like heat from an ice bore. “It's a long story,” she said. “But I’ll tell it. I have a feeling we have time.”
He resumed his seat, and she sat beside him, and begin to tell the story - about her brother’s kidnapping, and the drone ship, and the human ship Enterprise and the telepresence device. In a way, it was helpful, verbalizing all of it, finding its chronology. Speaking the words now might make it easier, she hoped, for when she would speak them to the General Staff. Karveth listened, without interruption.
“So I had to come with him,” she said. “Your people need to know what truly happened. Your...superiors, they need to understand.”
“Then it really wasn’t the Tellerites,” Karveth said softly. “The pinkskins were right.”
“They were.”
“And you...you destroyed that ship.”
She shifted diffidently in her seat. Gareb did. “In a manner of speaking.”
The lieutenant looked at her. She could feel the stirring eddies of his mind, the anger and the pain and the relief. “Thank you.”
“What for?”
“The crew complement of an Icecutter class starship is eighty-six, and we were fully manned,” he said. “Nineteen survived. Eighteen,” he corrected bitterly, “with Talas dead. In the engineering department, there were twenty-eight of us… and three survivors. So if you helped to destroy that ship, then you’ve avenged the deaths of my crewmates.”
She wanted to say that she hadn’t been raised to engage in vengeance, that her people did not believe in retribution, but the words failed to form. She simply nodded. “It was necessary.”
They were quiet for a moment, then Karveth sighed very softly, leaning his head back against the wall. “I'm still alive,” he said, gazing up at the ceiling. “I feel like I have to make that mean something. But for the first time in my life… I don’t know what happens next.”
Despite herself, Jhamel laughed. Karveth shot her a sharp look. “I know exactly what you mean,” she said, by way of explanation. “It’s...like stepping off a cliff, isn’t it?”
His antennae relaxed as he chuckled in return. “It really is. First engineering school, then officer training, then my first posting, then the next… I thought it didn’t matter if I lived or died, as long as I did it in the service. And then I came as close to death as I’ve ever been, and… whatever I do with this second chance can’t be more of the same.”
“There’s no going back to who you were before,” she said softly.
“No,” he agreed, his voice barely more than a whisper.
“I can’t go back either.”
“It’s...liberating, I think.”
She smiled at him. “It is. And terrifying. But it is.”
The inner doors opened again. “...Miss? Jhamel?” Her lack of an honorific obviously confused and discomfited the official. “The General Staff wishes to hear your testimony.”
“Good luck,” Karveth said as she stood.
“And you,” she replied. “Promise me you’ll make the best of whatever happens next, Lieutenant.”
“You have my word.”
Jhamel had a feeling that wasn’t an empty phrase for him. She inclined her head to him, antennae dipping respectfully, and he returned the gesture. Then she pulled herself up, and followed the official through the open doors. Shran had told her she was courageous, and she intended to prove him right.
She was led into a large, semicircular room. A crescent shaped table followed the curve of the back wall, and seated at it, all facing forward, were fourteen Andorians. They were all of mature years, some older than others, and each had about them an air of experience and competence. These were men and women who had done.
But there was a stirring current of unease in the room, as well as a hazy feeling to the air that told her there had very recently been argument in the room. And a greasy sense of… embarrassment? Yes, at least some of the General Staff were ashamed of something, and could not mask the feeling.
Shran stood before them, his hands behind his back, his antennae deferential. One of the seated officers spoke. “Major,” he said, his voice pleasantly sonorous, “will you bring a chair for the young lady? It is one thing to ask a Guardsman to stand before us. It is another to ask that of a civilian.”
Another of the generals huffed, a sound halfway between derision and disapproval. “What does it cost us to hear her, Tevess?” the first general asked.
“What does it profit us?” Tevess shot back.
“Enough,” snapped a third, a woman seated in the center of the crescent table whose uniform bore insignia more elaborate than either of the first two. She fixed her attention on Jhamel, who swallowed hard, determined not to quail. The major set down a chair, and she sat, keeping her focus on the generals before her.
“Miss Jhamel,” said the first, still kindly in his tone, “I am General Ral. Please tell us how you came to be a part of this… unusual affair.”
She had been right – telling it all to Karveth had helped. But Karveth had been a far more sympathetic audience. It was apparent that the room was almost evenly split between those who were interested to hear her (if not necessarily eager) and those who felt her presence was a detriment to the decisions they must make as a body. The latter group, she judged, did not want to hear about the humans, or the Romulans. They were comfortable with the place Andoria occupied in the galaxy and wanted that neither threatened or challenged.
Tevess was, either by appointment or sheer volume, the speaker for that position, and though he was not the only one to snort or grumble as she spoke, his were the most obvious. Ral sighed heavily. “Yes, Tevess?”
“My objections are unchanged,” Tevess said flatly. “Are we truly to believe these ‘Romulans' compromised our planetary security for the purposes of kidnapping an Aenar - all so they could foment contention in the quadrant unseen?” His voice dripped disdain, and Jhamel's back stiffened.
“Yes!” she cried, to her surprise as much as anyone else’s. “You should believe it, because it is true!”
Tevess’s lip curled. “Who is this woman, Commander?” he asked Shran.
“I have told you, General.”
“Oh, you have. But I can’t help but feel you haven’t been entirely honest about her. Does the telepathy of the Aenar make it easier to forget the woman who was your r’eyslen?”
Shran sucked in an enraged breath; there was a murmur of disapproval in the room. Jhamel tightened her balled hands in her lap. She had felt Shran’s pain at Talas’s death – it was cruel to evoke her memory like that.
“That is unnecessary, Tevess,” said the woman in the center. He leaned in his seat, unapologetic.
“Would you agree, Temerah?” He looked towards another woman, seated at the far left of the table. She had spent most of the meeting thus far with her attention fixed inwardly, adding little to the emotion that swirled in the room. There was something strangely, maddeningly familiar about her, but Jhamel could not say what it was.
Her head lifted. “My daughter does not lie unavenged, Tevess,” she said, quiet and flat. “Shran challenged her murderer. The human captain exercised the right of substitution and was victorious by strength and cunning. Honor was satisfied, and I will NOT be told by you how to grieve.”
Of course. In Shran’s memory of the woman who had chosen him, Jhamel had come to feel she had some sense for who Talas had been, and in her mother, a part of her echoed. Tevess’s mouth and antennae drew with embarrassed anger, his misfired ordinance exploded in his face, and he looked back at Jhamel.
“That still does not explain who you think you are, to lecture the General Staff of the Imperial Guard.”
“I’m not here to lecture anyone,” she said. “Only to tell you all that Commander Shran doesn’t deserve censure. If he had not done what he did, you would be at war now.”
“The Imperial Guard does not fear war.”
“Perhaps you should.”
He regarded her silently for a moment, then said, very softly, “You Aenar really are blind.”
She returned his scrutiny, even though she was perceiving him through different senses than he was perceiving her. She wasn’t angry with him, she realized – in fact, she was strangely relieved. He left her with only one option.
Jhamel knew Lissan would have been horrified by what she did next. Any upstanding, respectable Aenar would have. She supposed she wasn’t very respectable anymore. Maybe she never really had been. Maybe she'd always been waiting to be disreputable, and maybe the time was now.
“It's true I don’t see with my eyes,” she said, just as quietly. “But I see far better than you, General.”
She took a deep breath, reached for Tevess's mind with her own, and gave him her brother’s death.
The general swayed in his seat, slumping forward with an unnatural sounding gasp. Those seated nearest him started from their chairs in alarm, but he raised a shaking hand, lifting his head, eyes heavy and hooded, to look at her.
“What was that?” he rasped.
“The Romulans came to this planet without your knowledge, General,” she said softly. “They stole my brother away, and broke his body and his mind in their machine. They heaped the deaths of hundreds on his head. I will never be able to return his body to the ice where it belongs, but I was still able to be with him when he died. I was able to help him stop what the Romulans had done to him. And the only reason I could was because of the humans.”
Every pair of eyes and every set of antennae in the room were trained on her – some in confusion, some in anger, some in uncertainty, some in acceptance. And one in admiration.
“When we first encountered the pinkskins, I thought they were just puppets of the Vulcans,” Shran said. “They proved me wrong, time and again. Besides,” he added, almost as an afterthought, “some Vulcans aren’t so bad, if you catch them on a good day.
“If the Imperial Guard does not fear war,” he continued, his voice strengthening, “then neither do we fear strength. And allies are strength.”
“Well said,” murmured Ral. General Temerah nodded her agreement. Tevess continued to look at Jhamel.
“You loved your brother very much,” he said, almost too softly to be heard.
“Yes,” she said simply.
“Major,” said the ranking general from her seat in the center. “Tell Lieutenant Karveth we will hear from him tomorrow, although I believe at this point his appearance will be largely a formality.” The major saluted and withdrew. “And you,” she said to Shran and Jhamel, “may go. We have much to discuss here.”
Jhamel stood somewhat shakily, but Shran was there, offering his arm. “What did you do to Tevess?” he asked as they left, a little smile warming his tone. She smiled back ruefully.
“Something that proved I’m not a very good Aenar, I’m afraid.”
“I think you're the best Aenar I’ve ever met,” he said, still smiling.
“And you're the best Andorian I’ve ever met.”
“I think once you've met more Andorians, that opinion will change.”
“I don’t think it will.”
Why was it flattering that his antennae curled slightly when she said that?
“Then I will strive to deserve your confidence,” he said.
Didn’t he know he already had?