Thea rose, began to pace. "I have decided to help you," she said at last. "You, Sarela and I will take the T'Favaroninto Earth's past." She met his eyes steadily and came to stand before him. "Since my advisers have also informed me that your existence will be terminated once you intercept my operatives," she continued coldly, "I find myself quite eager to begin." She transformed the alien emotion of love into the familiar sensation of anger and responsibility—feelings she well knew how to handle. "I was a fool, Spock," she added. "A fool to believe I could be anything more than what I am—a Romulan. I accept that now, just as I accept that the Empire cannot permit itself to die as a result of my father's erroneous scheme."

"Are you abandoning the possibility of eventual peace between the Empire and the Alliance?" Spock asked. He tried to reach out with the link, but it suddenly seemed as distant and unreachable as that other universe.

"We are a warrior race," Thea recited, her eyes brighter than usual. "Perhaps it is not meant to be any other way in any universe, Spock."

The Vulcan noted that she didn't specifically answer the question. "There are others who must accompany us on the voyage, Thea," he said guardedly.

"James Kirk," Thea reasoned, tone bordering on contempt. She leaned closer. "When I met you before—in that other timeline—I knew then that he was something special to you." She paused for just a moment. "Can he be worth what you are doing, Spock? Can any one man be worth an entire universe?"

The Vulcan's response was direct and without hesitation. "Yes. And you must realize that my reasons go beyond James Kirk. We have already discussed them; your advisers have confirmed them. In less than one Standard week, madness will spread throughout your Empire, Thea. That is the one fact you cannot deny."

A smile came to the Praetor's lips. "Perhaps," she said casually. "But I shall always wonder if you lied—if James Kirk is even deeper in your blood than Vulcan!" She waved her hand in dismissal. "But no matter. We have no time to argue loyalties. If we are to attempt this mission of yours, we must be on our way at once—before Tazol and his men move against the palace." She hesitated for just a moment. "Your other friends—the doctor and the female Katellan—will remain in the company of my personal guards." She smiled once again. "I would be foolish to relinquish allmy high cards; and if you are wrong about this, your lies will purchase their death."

The Vulcan knew he needn't worry about being wrong; and was almost grateful that McCoy and S'Parva would be spared the transition. They would simply step back into their other lives in one fashion or another.

"Even if I am successful," he stated, "Tazol will still know what has happened. He is a product of First History, and will not be changed once that timeline resumes. If he resists your authority now, he will continue to do so in First History as well."

Thea shook her head in mild disbelief. "Can it matter to you?" she asked. "At any rate, do not concern yourself with what happens once we leave the palace—for neither you nor I shall ever return."

A questioning brow rose at the note of finality in her statement. "And where will you go, Thea?" he inquired. "I do not believe you will relinquish the title of Praetor so easily."

With a smile, the woman nodded. "In your universe, it is said that rank possesses certain advantages. The same is true here. Even if I cannot hope to withstand a full-scale attack on the palace, I canpurchase retaliatory power once I return from Earth's past. My closest advisers have already transported onto three of our Fleet ships, and are preparing to offer power and wealth to the officers in return for helping defeat Tazol and his men. Once clearly implicated in the plot to overthrow the Praetor, Tazol can be executed. In the meantime," she continued, "I have ordered the palace grounds evacuated. When the fool attacks in the name of tradition and honor, he will attack nothing more than empty walls."

"Very well," the Vulcan murmured. "However, if you wish to maintain any hope of establishing peace with the Alliance—the Federation," he corrected, "we must take James Kirk into Earth's past as well. Even though my alternate self will retain certain memories of what has transpired in Second History, his word alone will not be sufficient. You will need Kirk's influence as well."

"The influence of a man who is responsible for taking you from me?" Thea asked with a lifted brow. Her eyes darkened as she turned away. "Very well," she agreed at last, as her own logic intervened. "However, keep in mind that you will both be under my surveillance. And any attempt to do any more or less than what I direct will result not only in your own death, but his as well."

The Vulcan inclined his head in agreement. At the very least, he would be with the peculiar human to face the nonexistence which would surely result if they were successful in destroying the Romulan time-operatives.

"I am prepared, Thea," he stated, not permitting himself the luxury of considering it further. It would be too easy to alter his decision. Here, he had life, command of a starship … and the promise of a future with the Romulan Praetor. That other nebulous timeline offered only brief mind-glimpses of his alternate self … and he could not help but wonder how it would feel to become a person he had never known … and how Kirk would react when told that he too was to become a phantom of time.

Chapter Twenty-two

KIRK WAS AWAKENED from a comparatively sound sleep by the persistent whine of what could have been a shuttle's engines had he not been in the middle of a desert wilderness. As his eyes opened lazily, he discovered Richardson already sitting up, peering through the window-flap of the tiny tent.

"You may not believe this, Juliet," Richardson stated, "but that's either the cavalry coming over the hill, or else our little paradise is being invaded by the Martians."

Kirk bolted upright, threw back the tent flaps, and found himself staring at the alien craft which was slowly making its way toward the campsight at an altitude of less than a hundred feet. "There aren't any Martians, Jerry," he reminded his roommate. He crawled outside, Richardson close behind. "From the looks of it, I'd say it's probably a Romulan shuttle of some sort."

Richardson glanced sharply at Kirk. "Well," he sighed, standing up and offering his strong arm to assist Kirk to his feet. "Whatever it is, we won't have much luck hiding from it. . . ." He let the sentence trail off as he began walking toward where the machine was settling to the ground in a relatively flat area approximately fifty yards away.

Kirk felt a moment of something like elation as he looked up to the sky, his eyes settling on the smiling constellation which was directly overhead. He reached out tentatively with his mind, feeling his heart quicken when he touched a surprisingly familiar presence. He stared at the craft, then back to the stars, a smile slowly finding its way to his face.

"It's Spock," he murmured to himself as he grabbed Jerry's arm and headed toward the alien spacecraft. "I think room service finally got our message."

As the engines died down to a gentle purr, Kirk stood staring at the shuttle, trying to imagine what the ShiKahr's Vulcan captain would be doing aboard an enemy vessel. But something stirred in the back of his mind, and he knew that Spock hadn't defected, that his loyalty was still above suspicion. He waited, exchanging expectant glances with Richardson.