Rise Like Lions

by David Mack

  “Thank you,” Picard said. “Now can you tell me why you asked me here?”

  “In time.” She stepped away toward a broad trail that led down the side of the cliff in a switchback pattern. “Walk with me.” Picard followed her, with Troi close at his shoulder and K’Ehleyr and Barclay following at what seemed like a respectful remove. Saavik continued as Picard caught up with her and fell into step at her side. “How much have K’Ehleyr and Reginald shared with you about who we are and what our purpose is?”

  “Only the broad strokes,” Picard said, taking care to watch his step along the edge of the trail. His every step sent loose stones tumbling down the dusty path. “She told us Emperor Spock created your group to preserve the knowledge of the lost Terran Empire. She also said you have many bases and amazing technology.”

  Saavik steepled her fingers at her waist. “That is only part of why we exist.”

  Picard stifled a derisive chuckle. “Ah, yes. She also said you were trying to ‘steer the galaxy toward a new age of freedom.’”

  “Not trying, Mister Picard. It is happening as we speak.”

  “I’ll believe it when I see it. What has any of this to do with me?”

  They navigated the switchback turn with careful steps. A few more pebbles dislodged by Picard’s feet tumbled over the edge and vanished into the mist.

  “Memory Omega needs the Terran Rebellion,” Saavik said. “Our strategy is predicated on their eventual victory over the Alliance.”

  This time Picard could not help himself. He let slip a short, mocking laugh. “Then your strategy is in serious jeopardy—because I doubt the rebellion will last more than a few months now that it’s lost Terok Nor.”

  “True, they are in great peril. You can help change that.”

  He warded off her suggestion by briefly crossing his wrists into an X. “Not me. I left the rebellion years ago. Their misfortunes are not my concern.”

  “I see,” Saavik said.

  Over his shoulder, Picard caught a glimpse of Troi’s disapproving frown. He averted his eyes and kept them on the trail ahead.

  Saavik trained a sidelong stare upon him. “Do you understand the real reason Memory Omega was created? Or why it wants to aid the rebellion?”

  “I’m not sure I want to know,” Picard said, fearing that he might once again be pulled into the service of something he would grow to hate.

  The Vulcan woman’s gaze was steady and profoundly unnerving to Picard. “You fear that we aspire to resurrect the Terran Empire,” she said.

  “I am concerned about that possibility,” he admitted. “But as a scholar of history, I know that Spock himself abolished the empire and replaced it with a constitutionally ordered republic. It seems unlikely he would dismantle an empire with one hand while hoping to rebuild it with another.”

  “A most astute conclusion,” Saavik said.

  Unable to suppress his natural curiosity, Picard asked, “What is it, then? What is Memory Omega’s goal? To rebuild Spock’s lost republic?”

  “Not at all.” Saavik led him around the next switchback and started a descent into a thickening fog. “What is gone is gone. Spock charged us to remember the past, not repeat it. He directed us to lay the foundation not for a second republic but for something far better: for a future in which all sentient beings can live freely, not just some.”

  It was one of the most outlandish, absurdly idealistic fantasies Picard had ever heard. “I’m sure this utopia you’ve conceived looks lovely on the drawing board, but—”

  “I assure you, Mister Picard, we are working to make it a reality.”

  “Is that so? Then what, pray tell, are you waiting for?”

  Saavik shrugged. “The right time. It is not enough to know merely what must be done; one needs also to understand when it must be done. Spock’s plan was carefully timed to unfold over a span of more than a century. In the long term—”

  “Long term?” Picard snapped. He stopped and turned to confront Saavik face-to-face. “Do you listen to yourself? You speak of long-term strategies and grand plans to change the galaxy, but you have no sense of the present! For all your talk of supporting the rebellion, you seem to have done precious little to help it. Those people are dying now. They need your help now. While you hide in this magnificent Shangri-La, real people are paying for their freedom with blood and tears. Don’t tell me what you plan to do in the future—tell me what you’re ready to do right now. Because this is your chance to act, and you’re missing it! To hell with Spock and his century-old timetable! Now is the time for action, not words.”

  K’Ehleyr emerged from the mist behind Picard. “I thought you didn’t care about the rebellion. Because it sure sounds like you do.”

  He looked back at her to find himself the object of three different stares. K’Ehleyr was amused; Barclay looked hopeful; Troi wore a mask of desperation. Picard looked back at Saavik. “I’ll ask for the last time: Why am I here?”

  Saavik was composed, calm, and dignified. She spoke without emotion or hauteur, but with simple, direct honesty. “We have watched you for a long time, Mister Picard. I believe that because of your history and your inherent good nature, you are the sort of person who can help us reach out to the Terran Rebellion, by carrying our offer of support and leadership to them. We need someone from outside our sheltered society, someone with a reputation beyond reproach who is known to the rebels, to act as our ambassador. I wish you to be that ambassador.

  “And you are correct in your assertions about Spock’s timetable. His projected timeline of events was off because he did not account for further interference in our affairs by persons from the alternate universe. Thanks to events that have transpired on and around Bajor, the future has taken shape far sooner than Spock expected. Consequently, we—and you—must act now, before this pivotal moment in history slips away from us.”

  Shocked and intrigued, Picard asked, “What pivotal moment?”

  Saavik placed her hand upon Picard’s shoulder.

  “The one at which a rebellion becomes a revolution.”

  21

  Under the Rose

  The image on Defiant’s main viewer danced and crackled as sapphire lightning bolts ripped through the bruised-black tempests of the Arachnid Nebula.

  O’Brien sat in the command chair, stroking his stubbled chin and upper lip while waiting for a call from the darkness. Eddington stood silently close by, leaning against the bulkhead on O’Brien’s left, while Keiko lurked on his right, next to his chair. Like him, she stared anxiously at the screen.

  She quipped sotto voce, “You always take me to the nicest places.”

  “You’re the one who told me to take this bloody meeting,” O’Brien said, teasing her with a gruff look before softening it with a half smile. “Let’s just hope he actually shows up. Otherwise we spent a week coming out here for nothing.”

  The bridge was quieter than usual because the ship was “running silent,” with most of its systems either offline or at minimum levels. Instead of the normal undercurrent of energy moving through the plasma relays and the light chirping of feedback tones, O’Brien heard the soft taps of fingers on muted consoles and the occasional shuffling of a boot on the carpeted deck. He had always thought of the Defiant as cramped, but this deathly quiet only made it more oppressive.

  Leeta looked up from the sensor console. “Captain, I’ve detected a single tachyon ping from another ship inside the nebula.” She checked her data. “Transmission time and frequency are correct.”

  O’Brien shot a nervous look at Eddington, who mirrored it with his own. The terms arranged by Keiko with her contact inside Calhoun’s armada specified a precise time at which Calhoun’s ship would generate a single tachyon pulse, as well as a frequency to indicate that all was well and another in case there was danger. Apparently, Calhoun’s ship had sent the all-clear signal.

  Now it was the Defiant’s turn.

  “Leeta,” O’Brien said, “transmit the response pin
g. Signal all-clear.”

  “Yes, sir.” She entered the command into her console.

  Tigan looked over from the tactical console. “Should I arm weapons?”

  “No. This is supposed to be a friendly meeting.” Old habits died hard for O’Brien, and a glance at Eddington’s guarded expression convinced him that he was not alone in thinking caution might be warranted. He looked back at Tigan and added, “But keep your eyes open—just in case.”

  Leeta declared, “The other ship has entered sensor range.”

  “Give me a visual,” O’Brien said. Moments later, the image on the main viewer magnified, and he saw a beautiful, streamlined vessel slice its way out of the murky violence of the nebula. It was a much bigger ship than the Defiant.

  Bloody hell, he thought, that’s one serious piece of machinery.

  An alert chirped at the forward station. Bowers silenced it and swiveled his chair to face O’Brien. “Sir, they’re hailing us.”

  O’Brien stood and stepped forward, flanked by Eddington and Keiko. He took a moment to straighten his shirt and jacket and palm the sweat from his forehead. “All right. On-screen.”

  The image switched to a crystal-clear transmission from the other ship. Looking back at O’Brien and his comrades was a man who looked human except for his vibrantly purple eyes. His dark hair was long, ragged, and worn loose. A fearsome scar marred the left side of his face, and his complexion was tan and storm-leathered. Deep lines creased his forehead. He looked to O’Brien as if he had been chiseled into existence by an angry god rather than born of a woman.

  That has to be Calhoun, O’Brien surmised.

  Flanking the black-clad living legend was an elderly Romulan man who O’Brien recognized from news vids as Hiren, the former praetor of the fallen Romulan Star Empire, and a strikingly beautiful and youthful Vulcan woman.

  Calhoun spoke first. “General O’Brien?”

  “That’s right. You must be Captain Calhoun.” He gestured to his left and right. “This is General Eddington and Colonel Ishikawa.”

  Calhoun nodded, then glanced at his people. “I suspect you recognize Praetor Hiren of the Romulan Star Empire, and this is my second-in-command, Soleta.” Hiren and Soleta nodded their salutations.

  “All right,” O’Brien said. “You called this meeting. What do you want?”

  “What do you think we want? We’re here to combine our forces.”

  O’Brien’s inner pessimist reminded him, If it sounds too good to be true… He made no effort to mask his suspicion. “For what purpose?”

  Soleta and Calhoun traded perplexed looks, then Calhoun looked at O’Brien as if he were answering a trick question. “To defeat the Alliance.”

  Crossing his arms, O’Brien said, “I’m not sure that’s possible—not even with the fleet I hear you’ve assembled.”

  “Maybe it is, maybe it’s not,” Calhoun said. “If it is, we’d be fools not to try. And if it isn’t, we’ll just fight on the run till we go down in flames.”

  O’Brien frowned. “I can do that now. At least on my own, I’m calling the shots. So why should I team up with you?”

  Calhoun shrugged. “So we can do more damage before we die?”

  Eddington cracked an embarrassed smile. He leaned over and confided to O’Brien, “I like the way he thinks.”

  Keiko tugged on O’Brien’s sleeve and whispered with urgency behind her raised hand. “We should meet with him, Miles. Hear what he has to say.”

  It cut against O’Brien’s instincts, but he felt the tide turn against him.

  “All right,” he said to Calhoun, “let’s talk.”

  “We’ve prepared a banquet for you,” Calhoun said. “Let us know when you’re ready to beam over. Excalibur out.” The transmission ended, leaving O’Brien with a view of Calhoun’s monstrous ship nose to nose with Defiant.

  Brow furrowed with contempt, O’Brien mumbled, “A banquet? What does he think this is? A cotillion?”

  “Don’t look a gift horse in the mouth, Miles,” Keiko chided. “Even if we end up rejecting his proposal, at least we’ll get a free lunch.”

  “Don’t be fooled,” O’Brien said. “There’s no such thing.”

  Eddington spoke softly but with a steely resolve. “Whatever lunch ends up costing, Miles, think about paying it. Look at Calhoun’s ship. Now remember that he has a whole fleet of Romulan military starships. You’ve been saying we need more strength to take back the momentum against the Alliance.” He shot a wary glance at the Excalibur. “Well, there it is.”

  O’Brien knew better than to argue with Eddington after he’d made up his mind. There was no other course now but to go forward. “Fine. I’ll meet you both at the transporter bay in ten minutes.” He started aft.

  Keiko asked, “Where are you going?”

  “To change.” He gestured at his clothes as he left. “You don’t think I’m going to a fancy dinner dressed like this, do you?”

  Keiko hurried from the turbolift into the port-side corridor on Deck 3 of the Defiant, keenly aware of each passing moment, knowing that if she was late meeting O’Brien and Eddington at the transporter bay on Deck 1, it would arouse suspicion and invite questions she would prefer to avoid. She also hoped no members of the crew crossed her path while she made this unscheduled detour.

  The door to the starboard cargo bay was locked. She opened it with her access code and slipped inside, making sure to seal the portal behind her. The lights were dimmed inside the cargo bay, making the tight spaces between the stacked containers feel like a rat’s labyrinth. Navigating it easily by memory, she found her way to a remote nook in the mountain of metal boxes.

  Tuvok was there, waiting for her. “Thank you for coming.”

  “I don’t have a lot of time,” Keiko said. “What’s this about?”

  “There is a disturbingly powerful psionic presence aboard the Excalibur,” Tuvok said. “I think it might be cause for concern.”

  His news sent Keiko’s imagination spinning in wild directions. “What sort of presence? Are we talking about another Vulcan, or maybe a Betazoid?”

  The brown-skinned Vulcan shook his head. “No. I have never before encountered anything like it. Not even Kes made such a profound impression.”

  Struggling to recall the details of years-old briefings from Memory Omega, she asked rhetorically, “Kes? The alien you liberated from Intendant B’Elanna on Stratos?” Tuvok nodded. “I thought she was the most powerful telepath known.”

  “Until now, she was.” There was a dark note of warning in his voice. “Whatever it is that travels with Calhoun and his crew, I suspect its power far exceeds that of Kes—by at least an order of magnitude. Perhaps more.”

  Keiko pushed her fingers through her hair as she pondered the ramifications of what Tuvok was saying. “Aren’t Vulcans usually touch telepaths?”

  “Yes, though in some cases our gifts can be used at short range, and there have been documented instances in which—”

  “Yes, yes,” she said, cutting him off with a raised palm. “So, if you’re able to sense this entity from a distance, is it able to sense you?”

  “Almost certainly,” Tuvok said. “It is possible there are few, if any, thoughts among our crew that it is not privy to, if it wishes to be.”

  Panic clouded Keiko’s judgment. “This is not good. Not good at all.” She started to pace in the tight lane between container stacks. “So, not only is it possible that Calhoun already knows we have telepaths aboard, it’s likely.”

  Tuvok nodded. “Correct. It would, therefore, be wise not to prevaricate on this matter. If questioned directly, we should not attempt to hide the truth. Doing so might be perceived by Captain Calhoun as a sign of bad faith on our part.”

  “Well, that’s going to be a problem.” She struggled to keep from shouting. “Miles and Michael don’t know about the Vulcans’ abilities. If anyone asks them about it, they’ll probably deny it. And if Calhoun or his people ask me, I’d have to confirm it�
��and Miles will know I’ve been hiding things from him.”

  “Logically, it stands to reason that General O’Brien will learn of your lies of omission eventually.” He paused as Keiko shot a scathing glare at him. He arched one eyebrow and soldiered on. “Regardless, it would be most awkward if the truth were exposed under these circumstances.”

  Keiko sighed and rolled her eyes. “Awkward. That’s an understatement.”

  “Might I suggest we obviate the crisis by telling O’Brien and Eddington about Memory Omega, and our mission, before the meeting with Calhoun?”

  A shake of her head. “We’re under strict orders from Saavik not to reveal anything to the rebellion until she says otherwise.” She pressed her palm to her forehead; either her hand was cold or her forehead was hot. She chalked it up to a flush of frustration. “But I honestly don’t think she or anybody else knew we might end up in a mess like this.”

  “If this meeting goes badly, it could doom the rebellion,” Tuvok said. “The only hope either side has of long-term survival, let alone victory, is to unite with the other. But there is too much innate distrust in their natures, too long a history of betrayals and deceptions, for them to compromise easily.”

  “The bigger problem is that power-sharing doesn’t work in a military hierarchy. Consensus is all well and good for a civil government, but it’s a formula for disaster on a battlefield.” She made herself stop. “But I’m getting ahead of myself. That’s a longer-term issue. What we need to focus on right now is making sure this parley doesn’t break down before it has a chance to get started.” A thought occurred to her. “If I let you mind-meld with me, can you erect a short-term telepathic shield for my thoughts?”