Rise of the Federation: Live by the Code (29 page)

“Captain,” th’Cheen reported, “the Klingons are starting to emerge from warp.”

“Go,” she said to the Senior Partners. After a final, solemn nod from three different anatomies, they vanished from the screen.

“The last Partnership transport has gone to warp,” Ramnaf Breg reported a moment later. “It’s up to us now.”

“Six Klingon battleships, Captain,” th’Cheen announced. “Heading for Cotesc . . . now one is—three are veering this way. They’ve detected the fleet.”

“Three isn’t bad,” Giered Charas said. “We can handle three, right?”

“We just have to keep them from going to warp,” ch’Gesrit answered. “Barrage them with enough energy or matter to prevent a stable warp field.”

“Excellent,” Zoanra zh’Vethris said. “The radiation and shrapnel when we blow up should do the job nicely.”

“There’s that optimism I fell in love with,” Breg told her.

The navigator sighed. “You were right, Vrith. I should’ve gone home and put my genes in the pool while I had the chance.”

“Ah,” Breg said, “but then we would never have been together.”

“And look where that got me,” zh’Vethris said with an annoyed twist to her antennae. But her hand snaked out and clasped Breg’s anyway.

Over sh’Prenni’s right shoulder, Commander Charas shook his head and harumphed. “I don’t believe it. That damned Banerji will actually succeed in outliving the rest of us after all.”

Sh’Prenni was glad at least one of them would. “I don’t think he’d see it as a victory, Giered.”

“No.” Charas lowered his thick-antennaed head and spoke very softly. “But I do.”

She smiled at him. “We know.”

“One milliphase to firing range,” th’Cheen announced, his confident, proud tones unwavering. Sh’Prenni smiled at him, knowing it was for the crew’s benefit.

Resuming her seat, sh’Prenni hailed the medical bay. “Zhar, are you ready?”

“Don’t worry, Captain,”
th’Lesinas replied with gravity.
“We’ll keep this crew fighting as long as they’re able.”

She smirked. “Not with each other, I trust.”

“With this crew? We can only hope.”

“You’re a pillar of optimism as always, Chirurgeon. Bridge out.”

Taking a breath, sh’Prenni switched to the shipwide address channel. “All hands, this is the captain. You all know what we fight for. You need no speeches, no more motivation than your own belief in our enterprise. Just look at your crewmates around you, and remember the beliefs we share. I know you will prove worthy of them.”

Charas set his jaw and nodded. “For Andoria.”

Breg leaned forward over her console. “For the Federation.”

Th’Cheen stood fractionally straighter. “For the pride of the Guard.”

Ch’Gesrit sighed and rolled his eyes. “Oh, for Uzaveh’s sake.”

Zh’Vethris turned in her seat and met their eyes one by one. “For the Partnership.”

“For the Partnership,” they all agreed in turn.

Reshthenar sh’Prenni rose from her seat and stared at the incoming Klingon fleet in defiance. “Battle stations, my friends. Let’s show them all what honor really means.”

19

October 29, 2165

U.S.S. Pionee
r

O
NCE THE TASK FORCE
had done all it could in Ware space and had set course for home, the captains of
Endeavour
and
Pioneer
assembled in the latter’s briefing room (for
Pioneer
was still the lead ship of the task force) for a debriefing with Admiral Archer over subspace. Joining T’Pol and Reed in the briefing were Charles Tucker, Travis Mayweather, and Hoshi Sato.
At last,
Tucker allowed himself to think.
Almost got the band back together.

“So Vabion is just gone?”
Archer asked over the wall screen. Through the windows behind him, the towers of the Golden Gate Bridge peeked intermittently out of the morning fog engulfing the strait for which it was named.

“We lost track of him during the resettlement on Etrafso,” Travis Mayweather replied. “He may have slipped away on a Tyrellian ship, even gone with the Balduk.”

“Or maybe,” Tucker suggested, “he decided to stay and help rebuild, like Olivia did.” At Mayweather’s skeptical look, he shrugged. “So call me an optimist.”

“And you’re confident the survivors of the Partnership will be safe under Balduk rule?”
Archer asked.

T’Pol fielded that one. “The Balduk are an aggressive people, but they honor their agreements, and they are highly territorial. They contracted to defend the Partnership from its
enemies. Claiming Etrafso as a protectorate is a logical way to fulfill that contract in the face of the Klingon occupation.”

“Except it’s not just the Klingons now. This
 . . . Silver Armada has the Ware destruct code too.”

“Evidently so, per their alliance with the Klingons. But this could be beneficial to the remaining Ware-dependent civilizations in the region. The Pegenoi are absolutely dedicated to the destruction of the Ware, but will no doubt show more consideration for the lives under its influence than the Kling­ons would.”

“What about the conquered Partnership worlds?”

“Reports are sketchy,” Sato said. “But from what Balduk intelligence could gather, the Klingons are ignoring hostile environments like the Xavoth and Sris’si homeworlds, as long as their Ware is destroyed. They appear to have occupied Cotesc, Rastish, and others, though.”

“We can only hope the Klingons find the Partners too physically incapable to enslave,” Reed added.

“The Klingons have now begun moving beyond Partnership space,” Sato continued. “They’ve occupied the Pebru and set about destroying their Ware. But they’re starting to get stretched thin. Reports are that other worlds with deactivated Ware are being left alone, so long as the Klingons are convinced it’s being destroyed.”

“Which means Vanot is safe,” Mayweather said, audible relief in his voice. “They’ve already destroyed all the Ware that Vabion distributed there.”

“I’m glad, Travis. If you’d like to swing back by Vanot on the way home . . . check in with your friend Urwen . . .”

Mayweather shook his head. “Thank you, sir. But I think it’s best to leave her, and the Vanotli, with a clean break. Let them carry on without having to worry about Ware
or Klingons or anything else in space, until they’re ready.” He smiled wistfully. “Besides . . . a day or two wouldn’t be enough.”

“I understand, Travis.”
After a moment, the admiral’s tone lightened.
“Speaking of which, Malcolm—I heard from Captain Williams that his daughter is now dating your ship’s historian. Is that okay with you?”

A chuckle went through the room before Reed answered. “Assure the captain that Mister Kirk is an officer and a gentleman. As for myself, I have no objection at this point, as they aren’t in a direct chain of command. It bears watching—but if anything, it resolves a lingering morale issue among my bridge crew.” At Archer’s inquisitive look: “Let’s just say a longstanding tension has been eased.”

“To put it another way,” Mayweather said, “we were wondering if those two would
ever
figure out what was obvious to the rest of us.”

Archer shared in the general amusement, then sobered.
“I’m just glad something positive came out of this disaster. This has not been the Federation’s finest hour.”

The others conveyed their agreement. “What’s the mood back home, sir?” Sato asked.

“Somber. Confused. I think most people saw the Ware as something dangerous, destructive. The thing that destroyed worlds, that nearly provoked a war with the Klingons. As far as anyone knows, either here or in the Empire, it was the failure of the Ardan IV attack that led to the faction behind the invasion being discredited, their rivals put in power. That and the honor
Vol’Rala
won in battle—their fearlessness that gave even the Klingons pause, and won their respect.”

“That much is true,” Reed averred after a respectful silence.

“Anyway, the Partnership is being seen as one more casualty of the Ware. The complexities of their relationship with it are being lost amid the rest. I
think it’s easier for the public to cope with it that way. ”
Archer sighed.
“You should see the nosedive Abramson Industries’ stock has taken. Suddenly the idea of a future full of bright, shiny robots serving our every need isn’t all that popular. Akomo was probably smart to get out while she could.”

“In more ways than one,” Tucker said. “A little bird tells me the investigation is going to show that one Philip Collier, civilian consultant for Abramson, sold classified Starfleet intel to the Klingons, allowing them to destroy the Ware. Collier will disappear shortly after he disembarks in Federation space.”

The mood darkened. “They think of everything, don’t they?” Mayweather said.

“They certainly try.” Tucker looked at Archer, at the captains, at the rest. “Are we sure this transmission is secure?”

“I swept for listening devices and taps using the protocols you showed me, Trip,”
Archer said.

“It’s as secure as I could make it on this end,” Sato added.

“Thanks, Hoshi. If you don’t mind, could you and Travis give us the room?”

The two junior officers traded a look. Both captains indicated that they were free to leave. “Sure,” Mayweather said, rising. “The less I know, the better, right?”

“If you like to sleep at night.”

Mayweather nodded and headed out. Sato rose to follow, but passed by Tucker first. “Welcome back from the dead, Trip,” she said, and leaned in to kiss him on the cheek.

Not just yet,
he thought, but he merely smiled and thanked her.

Once he was alone with T’Pol and Reed, Archer addressed him.
“What’s up, Trip?”

“My patience, for one,” Tucker said. “This is the second time in as many years that Section Thirty-one has demanded
I sacrifice innocent lives somewhere else for the good of the Federation. First it was Sauria, and Maltuvis ended up conquering the whole planet, and who knows what he plans next. Now it’s the Partnership, and a whole civilization’s practically ceased to exist overnight. This is
not
what I signed on for.”

“More,” T’Pol added, “it was the Section’s attempt to avert the creation of Klingon Augments that led to the spread of the Qu’Vat mutation, provoking the internal unrest that nearly escalated into an invasion of the Federation. Their attempts to increase the Federation’s security have tended to produce the opposite result.”

“I finally see,” Tucker said. “The Section exists to break the rules in an emergency—to do the wrong thing for the greater good. But that doesn’t work. Because the damage from doing the wrong thing doesn’t just go away. It provokes more wrongs, more trouble, and sooner or later it comes back to bite you in the ass.”

“But what can we do about it?”
Archer asked.
“They don’t legally exist. They don’t answer to anyone. We could expose them, but how much could we prove? And what would it do to the Federation if people learned how much our formative actions were tainted by Section Thirty-one’s involvement?”

Reed shook his head, darkly amused. “We thought the Ware’s builders had created a monster. A system meant to serve and protect, but given so much autonomy that it became impossible to contain. It seems we have a monster of our own to contend with.”

“You’re right, Malcolm,” Tucker said. “The Section is losing its way. It’s looking for excuses to break the rules to justify its own existence. It’s serving itself, not the Federation.

“And I can’t be a part of that anymore.”

“Do you have a plan, Trip?”

“I’m workin’ on it, Jon. It’s a long way from ready, but I wanted to give you three the heads-up.”

“Understood. Whatever you end up doing, I’ll back your play.”

“As will I,” T’Pol said, though he hardly needed to hear it.

“Count me in, too,” Reed said. “I have my own scores to settle with Mister Harris and his cronies.”

Tucker smiled at them. It was a pleasure to be back among his old crew again, just as it had been a joy to return to ­engineering—a joy that Harris and his schemes had indelibly tainted.

Soon, he would have to give this all up once more, in order to proceed with his plans. But at least he could enjoy it in the here and now. It would give him strength for what lay ahead.

November 12, 2165

Qam-Chee, the First City, Qo’noS

Laneth stood defiantly alongside K’Vagh and Kor before the High Council. From the seat of power at its head, Chancellor Khorkal gazed down upon them for some time before speaking. Councillor Alejdar stood by his side, a place reserved for a senior advisor—an impressive height for a female to reach. But then, it was rumored that Alejdar had somehow managed to obtain the secret Federation formula that the Defense Force had used to eradicate the Ware drones. Laneth was torn between hatred toward the elegant noblewoman for her role in the rebellion’s defeat and admiration at the influence she had gained despite the barriers against her sex.

Finally, the new chancellor spoke. “General K’Vagh, son of Wor’maq. General Kor, son of Kaltar. You have fought long and hard against this Council—first to attempt its conquest,
then to defend your remaining territory. You have won the right to this parley.” Elsewhere on the Council floor, angry grumbles came from the contingents led by Councillors B’orel and Ramnok. “There are those who denounce the dishonor of fighting with bloodless drones,” Khorkal said, acknowledging the complaints. “But your warriors fought and died well in holding the Qu’Vat sector after the Ware was defeated. Some say that you have earned the right to be called true Klingons, despite your . . . disadvantage.”

K’Vagh limped forward a step, leaning heavily on a thick, gnarled cane. He had been injured in the battle that had earned the parley invitation from Khorkal, and he had yet to heal completely. “I would put my warriors against any ­Klingon. Whatever change befell their heads, their hearts remain mighty. As they have proven time and again in battle.”

“Save for those who fled like cowards and abandoned their allies.” That was Councillor Ja’rod, testing out the new authority he had gained. His triumph against the Ware had earned him the seat vacated by Khorkal’s ascension to the chancellorship.

“Common pirates and mercenaries,” General Kor countered. “None of them were ever true warriors. We were better off without their unworthy assistance.”

“Enough,” Khorkal warned. “Only some say you have earned your place as Klingons. Others still insist that none with the taint of humans can stand among us. Councillor B’orel still calls for your extermination.”

“Then let him come and deliver it,” K’Vagh said with a smirk.

“That is just what I had in mind,” Khorkal said, bringing him up short. “This dispute has gone on long enough. The leading parties are both here now. Let us resolve this in
the most direct manner—with a duel. You against B’orel.” He glanced at a quiet, older councillor toward the rear. “Assuming Deqan has no objection this time.” A roar of laughter echoed through the hall, and Deqan made a gesture of acquiescence.

“But that is not fair!” Kor challenged. “K’Vagh is our leader, and he is injured.”

“We will accept a
cha’DIch
to fight in his name.”

Kor hesitated, clearing his throat as he sized up the younger, leaner B’orel. However, he appeared to be girding himself to volunteer as K’Vagh’s second in the name of his family pride. Before that disaster could come about, Laneth stepped forward. “I will fight for the general!” she exclaimed.

That garnered shocked reactions throughout the hall—and an appreciative smile from Alejdar. Laneth realized she might have to start liking the noblewoman.

B’orel looked around in protest. “I will not fight a female!” he insisted.

“You may nominate a
cha’DIch
of your own,” Laneth taunted, “if you are too afraid.”

That did it. “I fear no common whore,” B’orel snarled. “Certainly not half-human scum like you.”

“Then you will die without fear. It will be the first honorable act of your life.”

B’orel’s eyes widened in rage and he reached for his
d’k tahg
. K’Vagh stepped forward. “Wait!” he cried. Khorkal lifted a hand, stilling B’orel. “What are the stakes?” the general asked.

“If B’orel wins, the
QuchHa’
will be expelled from the Empire, no longer to be called Klingons. Any who remain will be slain.”

“And
when
I win?” Laneth asked.

Khorkal gave her a warning glare. “If K’Vagh’s champion prevails, the
QuchHa’
will be allowed to remain in the Empire.
You may continue to live in your current territory. Those who have noble titles and lands may retain them without further challenge. And this Council will approve the petition of Doctor Antaak to continue researching a cure for your condition.”

“We do not need a cure,” K’Vagh insisted. “This is who we are now.”

“Perhaps one day, your deeds will prove your equal worth,” Khorkal said. “For now, you will still face much resistance. The prospect of a cure will diminish enmity toward your existence. And if you are right, and it matters not what you look like, then it will matter not if you are cured.”