Star Trek Discovery- Fear Itself

by James Swallow

  The Kelpien squinted, his eyes adjusting swiftly. He could make out a shape, a small figure crouching in the dark where a nexus of support cables came together in a heavy bundle.

  “She doesn’t know,” Madoh went on, his voice dropping to a whisper. “Not everything. Not about all of the steps we take to protect her. It is better that way.”

  Up there, Saru saw that the crouching figure was holding something. Light glittered off the keen edge of an arrowhead, nocked and ready to be released. The tip moved as he moved, tracking him.

  “Understand?” said Madoh. “If you try to hurt her. Threaten her. If you make any sudden moves, anything that marks you as a danger . . .” The Gorlan reached up and put a thick finger on the flesh of Saru’s throat.

  “That is not my intention,” Saru said stiffly.

  “Good.” The Gorlan took a deep breath and looked around. The gruff, bellicose manner he had exhibited up on the command deck was gone. He seemed calmer, almost sorrowful. “What you are being granted is an honor. Prove you are worthy of it, outworlder.” Then, at length, Madoh turned and walked off, vanishing in the half dark like all the rest of them.

  • • •

  Saru waited patiently, shifting from hoof to hoof, unsure if he should remain in the same spot. Time passed—an hour, perhaps?—and at last he dared to take a few steps, peering up into the gloom. No swift arrow came whistling out of the blackness to bury itself in his neck, so he decided to take that as a sign he was free to move around.

  A faint, floral odor reached his nostrils and Saru cautiously followed it to its source. In the center of the open area was a repurposed thermal radiator, casting out a low simmer of warmth.

  He hadn’t noticed it before. Atop it was a metal flask, with a wispy pennant of pale steam escaping from a vent in the lid. Saru moved closer. The flask appeared to be brewing a heated solution of tisane, and unconsciously his mouth watered.

  Odd, he thought. The smell was totally new to him, and yet Saru’s first compulsion was to want to drink some of the brew.

  “I have brought cups,” said a musical voice. He heard her footsteps, the shuffling gait of the distorted leg as she stepped and half dragged it.

  Saru shifted to face the Gorlan female in the white robes. She seemed very small to him, hardly larger than an immature humanoid child. Her face, though, her eyes—there was an age to them, and a gracefulness that reminded the Kelpien of Philippa Georgiou.

  At once, he felt a sense of trust move through him. “Are you doing that?” he asked, waving a hand in the air as if trying to catch a handful of the aura-sense. “Are you trying to set me at ease?”

  The question seemed to confuse her. “You may as well ask me if I am breathing, if I am living.” The moment passed, and she smiled. “Saru. Welcome back.” She nodded at the modified UT clipped to his uniform. “It’s good we finally have a way to talk without the barriers of our diverse natures falling between us.”

  Gathering her white robes up, she picked her way across the makeshift decking to the radiator pad and found a place to sit. She seemed so delicate, her limbs thin, her body stiff. Saru watched her, let her take her time about it. “You are what the others think of as the hub,” he ventured.

  She sighed. “The center of the circle. It does sound so very serious, doesn’t it?” She gestured to the flask. “Could you get that? Do be careful, it’s hot.”

  Saru did as she asked, bringing the steaming container down to her level. He placed it within arm’s reach and backed off. “What do I call you?”

  “Ejah was the name I was born with,” she said as she poured out two generous measures into the battered metal cups she held in one hand. “You’re welcome to use it. I don’t have much call to. After I was lifted, it wasn’t important anymore.”

  “Lifted?” The term seemed out of place.

  Her head bobbed. “Yes. The ones like me, we have a role to play.” She patted her twisted leg with one hand and tapped her brow with another. “The Creator withers us in one way, empowers us in another. As in all things, there has to be balance.”

  “I think I understand.” Again, Saru wanted very badly to submit Ejah to a deep biomedical scan with a tricorder. What are the odds I would see a loss in bodily mobility combined with a marked increase in the size of her brain’s electroreceptive organs?

  She sat back and studied the two cups, but made no move to offer him one. “So. Did you bring me a token?”

  “Uh . . .” He swallowed hard. “Is that your custom? I am sorry, I don’t have . . .” Saru trailed off. He didn’t want to offend the Gorlans; and then an idea occurred to him. “Wait, no. Yes, I do.” He reached up and took off his Starfleet insignia. “This?”

  She held out a hand, and he dropped the badge into her palm. Ejah seemed delighted by the offering, running her fingers along the curves of the silver delta shield. “I like it. What do these things mean?” She touched the raised dots indicating Saru’s rank, then the etching on the reverse side, showing his name and serial number.

  He explained the significance, and she seemed pleased, the insignia vanishing into the folds of her grubby white robes. In return, she pushed a cup of tisane toward him. Saru waited for Ejah to drink first, and then he followed suit. The flavor was bittersweet. Not unpleasant, but lacking something.

  “You don’t like the taste?” she asked.

  “It needs salt,” he said.

  “Ah. I will remember for next time.” Ejah mirrored his careful sip and gave him a solemn look. “And so with this sharing of my vital fluids, you and I are now betrothed, Saru of Starfleet.”

  “What?” All the color drained from the Kelpien’s face in a cold rush. He raised his hand questioningly. “I don’t . . .”

  “I am very fertile, so I will bear a large brood from our copulation,” she went on. “Afterward, our children and I will consume your flesh, as is our way.”

  “What?” he repeated, shocked rigid. Saru’s threat ganglia crawled at the back of his head, squirming so much they seemed to be trying to break off and escape.

  In the next second, Ejah was making the same rough chugging noise that Saru had recognized earlier from Madoh—she was laughing, but in this case the sound was warm and inclusive instead of harsh and mocking.

  She held up the cup and gave him a wide, toothy smile. “Forgive me! I am teasing you. It’s just a drink, nothing more.” Ejah leaned in to share a confidence. “I have heard there are beings who serve in Starfleet that have no sense of humor. At all!” Two of her hands came up and made the shapes of points at the tips of her ears. “Is that true?”

  “It is,” he agreed, an unashamed relief flooding through him. “They are called Vulcans.”

  “Vul-Kans.” Ejah tried out the word. “I’d like to meet one. Have you met one?”

  Saru recalled Michael Burnham’s face, and the telltale arch of her eyebrow when she posed a challenge to him. “In a way.”

  “It is a strange concept for me to process,” admitted Ejah. “My life would be desolate without laughter. But I imagine these Vulcans are like us, Saru, yes? We are the sum of our natures. We’re all on the path that our birthright sets out for us.”

  “I’m not sure if I agree,” he replied, taking another sip of tisane. “I took a different path from the one I was born into.”

  “Did you?” Ejah smiled again. “Or did you just find the way to the path that had been right for you all along?” She paused. “I am Gorlan. What form are you, Saru?”

  “My species is known as Kelpien. The others who came with me to this ship are humans, a Mazarite, Vok’sha, and a Xanno.”

  “So many.” Ejah’s eyes widened. “Is it difficult for you to be united, on your ship and in your Federation?”

  “We disagree on some things,” he admitted, and he saw she was opening a door for him. “But what we agree on far outweighs those concerns. I hope we can do the same with your people.”

  “And the Peliars?”

  “All of us.” />
  Ejah sighed. “I wanted that too. But they haven’t made it easy.” She shook her head. “They don’t see what is coming.”

  Saru’s brow furrowed as he considered the words. Was she speaking about the hijacking of the freighter, or something else? “The Federation and Starfleet . . . our duty is to the preservation of life.”

  “Mine is to my people,” she replied. “Do you understand what I am to them?” Ejah nodded in the direction of the silent dwellings all around the open atrium. “My people believe my gifts are the embodiment of our Creator’s will. I am a living conduit to that faith.”

  Do you see?

  The words were in Ejah’s voice, but she did not speak them aloud. The shape of them was abruptly present in the front of Saru’s thoughts, forming out of nothing.

  He couldn’t help himself. He jerked back in shock, and knocked over the metal cup, sending what was left of the tisane across the metal decking. Too late to stop himself, Saru flicked his head up, searching for the archer above, fearful of what would come next.

  Ejah raised one hand in the direction of the shadows overhead.

  No.

  “Oh, you’ve spilled it. Let me pour you some more.” She gave a brittle smile and set the cup upright, before carefully refilling it. “I am sorry, Saru. I didn’t mean to frighten you.”

  “You’re a telepath.”

  “Is that your word for my gift?” She made a shrugging motion and handed him back his cup. “I’ve never been able to define it. I’ve always thought I was just more aware of things than others around me.”

  Saru worked to contain his reaction, gripping the cup firmly. Is there something in this, he wondered, something affecting my mind?

  He was well aware of the existence of psionic ability in some species, but he had never encountered it directly. The communication Ejah had sent to him was so strong, so clear, he couldn’t help but wonder what else she was capable of.

  She became sad. “Ah. I have overstepped. Now you don’t trust me.”

  “It isn’t that . . .” He took a breath. “It was unexpected.” Saru looked around. “Is that why Madoh seemed different when we came down here? Are you affecting him?”

  “Yes,” she admitted, “but not in the way you think. I can only project, I cannot read others. And what I do is not coercion, not something I can force on you.”

  “You spoke to me.”

  “That is only possible when I am very near to a person, and if they are open to it. If you don’t wish to hear me, you won’t.” Ejah gave a long sigh. “It is a great effort to communicate that way. But my mind is unfettered, Saru, even as my body is a withered thing. This is the Creator’s will, so that I am kept humble. I do not question it.”

  Saru’s thoughts raced. “They call you ‘the hub’ because you bring unity, am I correct?”

  “I was lifted after my birth. In every community, those like me come once in a generation, and we are brought into being to guide our brothers and sisters.” She tapped a finger on the middle of her brow. “I . . . bring them clarity. I help them work as one.”

  “Does every Gorlan colony have a hub?”

  “Yes. There are old stories of a before-time, when the Creator’s face was turned from us and the Gorlans had little harmony with one another. There was no circle then, only discord.”

  Saru considered that. “You command them, is that it?”

  “No. If that were possible, I would never have allowed Madoh to take up arms against the Peliars.” Ejah looked into her cup. “I provide focus. And insight.” She looked up, and one of her hands clasped Saru’s. “That is why it is important we speak. I have to warn you about what is coming. The Peliars do not hear me, but I think you will.”

  There are things I have seen.

  The silent voice pressed into his thoughts again, and Saru instinctively resisted it. He forced himself to relax and allow it to continue.

  When I dream, I see pathways. Futures.

  “How . . . ?”

  “Everyone around me is moving in different ways, cutting paths, making ripples . . .” Ejah swirled the tisane in her cup. “When you exist at the center of all that, you begin to see patterns. They vary, but as time passes, they collapse toward a single eventuality. I’ve dreamed things, Saru.”

  A world made of ash. Destruction falling on threads of fire.

  The form of the words and the imagery propelled them into Saru’s awareness with an almost physical force. He reeled, struggling to process it.

  He gasped and held up his hands. They were shaking. “Please, stop. It’s overwhelming!”

  “I am sorry,” repeated Ejah, reaching up to wipe tears from her eyes. “But I need you to understand. This is why they protect me with such desperate dedication, Saru. And this is my attempt to protect them.”

  The Kelpien was still trying to comprehend what he had just experienced when he became aware of figures approaching from the shadows. Madoh, Kijoh, and the other Gorlans drew to a reverent distance and waited there.

  “You have to go,” said Ejah, rising unsteadily to her feet. Despite himself, Saru automatically reached out and helped her up. “We are here,” she added.

  “Where is—?” He began to ask the question but fell silent as a rumbling tone echoed through the hull of the massive starship. The constant mutter of the vessel’s drives faded. They were dropping out of warp.

  “The sanctuary world designated by the Peliars.” She turned her back on him. Other Gorlans appeared to crowd around Ejah and spirit her away.

  You will see.

  Saru turned as Madoh approached. His gaze trailed after the hub as she vanished behind the flaps of a darkened yurt. “It seems she thought you were worthy,” he muttered.

  “Few are,” added Kijoh. She carried a glassy data pad in one hand, and held it up. “This is a relay from the sensors up on the command tier. We have reverted to impulse drives and the autonomic navigation is vectoring us to a nearby planet.” She offered it to him, and he took it.

  “You spoke to her,” Madoh grated. “So now you know what is at stake. She is precious to us.” He jabbed a fist at the Kelpien. “I need you to do what you promised!”

  But Saru did not reply. He stared at the image on the data pad, a long-range visual of the star-freighter’s final destination. It was a dark and uninviting sphere wreathed in streams of gray-white cloud, broken up by small, colorless oceans surrounding pallid, barren landmasses.

  A world made of ash, he thought.

  • • •

  Burnham dashed onto the Shenzhou’s bridge and into a carefully controlled maelstrom of activity. At every station, the starship’s command crew were fully engaged in preparations to meet the unidentified alien vessel. From the corner of her eye, she saw Kamran Gant running through the available offensive and defensive systems, and he briefly met her gaze.

  Gant didn’t need to say it. With the damage Shenzhou had suffered still being repaired, they were in no shape for a fight.

  Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that, Burnham told herself as Captain Georgiou took the center seat.

  “Lieutenant, take science station two,” said her commander, indicating the console with a nod of her head. As Burnham followed the order, Georgiou glanced up at her first officer, who stood nearby. “Give me the count, Number One.”

  “Target vessel will be on us in less than two minutes,” said the Andorian. “They show no signs of slowing, Captain. It looks like a combative approach.”

  “Are they trying to make us flinch?” Georgiou straightened in her seat. “Ensign Fan, any contact on subspace?”

  “Negative,” reported the communications officer. “Captain, we’ve been hailing them on all channels since they entered range. They’re not responding. There’s no way they’re not hearing us.”

  “Rude,” noted Georgiou. She looked back at Burnham. “Sweep the craft, tell me what we have.”

  Burnham had anticipated the captain’s orders and already started a comparati
ve analysis of the incoming ship against known designs in the Federation’s database. Her first answer was the one she imagined everybody on the bridge was waiting for. “It’s not a Tholian design. Power curves, warp matrix emissions are all way off that baseline.”

  “We need to know what it is, not what it isn’t,” snapped ch’Theloh. “Details, Lieutenant.”

  “Yes, sir.” Her hands danced over the controls, and in seconds the potential origins of the craft narrowed down to a single high-percentile probability.

  “I want to see what we’re dealing with,” Georgiou was saying. “Januzzi, give me a visual and magnify.”

  The ops officer tapped in a command and part of the main bridge port rippled, becoming a viewscreen. The other vessel lurched closer as the view stabilized, and the craft was revealed. A crescent-moon shape, approaching them on a vertically oriented plane, it rose up like the blade of a vast, curved sword ready to be dropped in a swift executioner’s blow. Four warp nacelles—two at either end of the structure—glowed purple-white as it started to bleed off its approach speed.

  “Tonnage has to be at least twice, maybe three times ours,” offered Ensign Detmer.

  “We don’t have this design in our memory bank,” Burnham reported, shaking off the grim mental image of the ship as weapon. “But sensors are picking out emission vectors from on-board systems that match those of the Peliar Zel freighter.”

  “A warship,” said ch’Theloh. “Come looking for its lost compatriot?”

  “Still bearing down on us,” called Gant. “Slowing now, but with a very aggressive posture . . .”

  “Captain, we should go to red alert,” said the first officer. “We can’t afford to be hit again.”

  “No one is clearer on that than I am,” Georgiou said briskly. “We hold.” Then she threw a look toward the tactical station. “But be ready, Mister Gant.”

  “Count on it, Captain,” said the lieutenant. Burnham guessed that after the surprise attack they had suffered earlier, Kamran would not let the Shenzhou be caught unprotected for a second time.

  Her panel chimed a warning tone and Burnham’s attention switched back to it. “Sensors are reading an aspect change on the target. . . . It’s shifting attitude . . .” She halted. That wasn’t all there was to it, though. All down the length of the craft, new blooms of energy were appearing beneath the outer hull.