T’Pol remembered.
The desert air was dry, carrying with it the unmistakable scent of sand and heat. This near to the Forge, one could hear the wailing of the wind as it roared through the twisting canyons. There was no spot in ShiKahr closer to the Vulcan heritage.
Clad in the unremarkable work robes of a low-level bureaucrat, T'Pol stood quietly before the elaborately carved overlook that dominated the view. From here, she could see nearly all of the streets and curved alleyways leading to or past the ancient gates that had once marked the border of Surak's demesne in antiquity. Over the centuries, those gates had been expanded and reduced and rebuilt again so many times it no longer resembled its original appearance.
She heard the traitor approach long before she saw him. Menos did n
