Star Trek: Vanguard: What Judgments Come

by Dayton Ward

  All things are possible, Jetanien reminded himself, then tried to recall something he once had read from an ancient human text given to him by a former assistant. The book had contained anecdotal passages about warfare, which the Chelon quickly had learned could be translated to diplomacy as well as any other competitive endeavor. It took him an additional moment to retrieve the passage from the depths of his memory: Keep your friends close, and your enemies closer.

  “What our friend requires,” D’tran said, shifting in his seat to reach for an empty glass sitting atop Jetanien’s desk, “is to join us in our celebration. There will be time later for political maneuvering, posturing, and brinksmanship.”

  Lugok nodded. “Agreed,” he said, hoisting his bottle. “Come, Jetanien, and learn why bloodwine is a most excellent substitute for any breakfast beverage you might otherwise choose to imbibe.”

  “Very well, my friends,” Jetanien said, moving around his companions to the seat behind his desk. His movements were halted as a low rumble rattled his office windows and even the artwork hanging on his walls. The overhead light flickered, and there was a noticeable interruption in the bulb’s audible hum.

  “What was that?” D’tran asked, rising from his seat as Lugok did the same.

  Frowning, Jetanien turned toward the doors leading to his balcony. “That sounded like a crash of some kind.” Had an accident occurred, either on one of the nearby streets or even outside Paradise City’s perimeter wall? Even before he reached for the control to open the door, he now could hear the faint sounds of alarm sirens wailing in the early morning air from some distance away.

  But not that far.

  “No,” Lugok said, moving in the direction of the balcony. “That was an explosion.”

  Jetanien opened the door and stepped onto the balcony, where it took him no time to locate the origin point of the crash, explosion, or whatever had happened. A plume of dark smoke was rising into the sky from south of the city, where the colony’s rudimentary spaceport resided.

  “Some kind of accident?” Jetanien asked.

  “Or sabotage,” D’tran replied.

  From behind them, the intercom on Jetanien’s desk beeped for attention, followed by Sergio Moreno’s voice. “Ambassador, you have an urgent call from the spaceport administrator’s office. It’s Constable Schiappacasse.”

  “Route it to my viewer,” Jetanien called out, walking back into the office and taking a position behind his desk so that he could see his computer display. The unit’s compact viewscreen activated, providing an image of Carla Schiappacasse, her eyes wide with concern and her hair tucked under a white brimmed cap that distinguished her as a member of the colony’s security force.

  “Ambassador Jetanien, I was told Senator D’tran was with you this morning. As you’re no doubt aware by now, we’ve had an incident here at the spaceport involving the Romulan senator’s private shuttle.”

  “This is D’tran,” the elder Romulan called to the viewer as he moved to stand next to Jetanian. “What has happened?”

  “I’m relieved to see you, Senator,” the security liaison said. “I was unable to raise you on your personal communicator.”

  “I apologize,” D’tran replied, reaching into the folds of his robes to produce the compact communications device. “I had deactivated it.”

  “As long as you’re safe,” Schiappacasse said, frowning as she lowered her head as though studying something off-screen. “I’m afraid the same can’t be said for your shuttle, sir. It’s been destroyed.”

  D’tran’s expression showed his alarm at the news. “Was anyone hurt?”

  “Not so far as we’ve been able to determine, sir,” Schiappacasse replied. “We’ve had several injuries among our security staff, and they’re being treated at the infirmary.”

  Standing to Jetanien’s right, Lugok grunted in disapproval at the report. “Do you know what happened?”

  The image, which jostled enough for Jetanien to realize they were seeing the view as transmitted from a handheld device, shifted to move Schiappacasse out of frame and focus on the tarmac. There was now a clear view of the smoldering wreckage of what Jetanien recognized as the Romulan transport. The smoke streaming from the ruined craft matched what he had seen from his balcony, and the ship itself was continuing to burn.

  “We’re still waiting on a detachment from the fire brigade to arrive on scene,” Schiappacasse said after a moment. “We were attacked, Ambassador. Our best estimates count a dozen colonists who infiltrated the port’s secure area. All of them were angry and demanding access to a spacecraft so that they could leave the planet.”

  “What?” Jetanien asked, stunned by what he was hearing. While pockets of unrest had continued to be trouble for the constabulary almost since the colony’s first day, none of the incidents so far had risen to the level of deliberate, malicious attacks on private property. More troubling than the assault itself was its apparent motivation.

  Schiappacasse’s face returned to the viewer. “I admit we didn’t consider how serious they were. I thought it was something we could get under control, but they weren’t being very receptive.”

  “Who was it?” D’tran asked.

  Clearing her throat, the security liaison replied, “Klingons, sir. They said they were tired of being lied to about the situation here. There was something about their farming work being doomed before they could even start, and that they refused to stay here. When my staff and I tried to get them under control, they stormed the tarmac.”

  Lugok said, “Consider yourself fortunate, Constable. They might just as easily have killed you and your staff.” Turning his attention to Jetanien, he added, “It sounds as though this group is among our newer arrivals, brought here specifically for the task of assisting with our agricultural needs.” He frowned, shaking his head. “I was told they had a warrior’s drive to help us, but I found them to be less than motivated from the moment they arrived. I should have known they would cause trouble.”

  “Constable,” D’tran said, “you indicated they were seeking transport off-world?”

  On the screen, Schiappacasse nodded. “Yes, Senator. Your transport was among those vessels they were able to access after reaching the tarmac. Though we were able to keep them from hijacking the ship, once it was clear they wouldn’t succeed, one of the colonists—a female, according to the initial report by security teams at the scene—broke away from the group and threw some sort of explosive underneath it. After that, it was too late to do anything else. I must stress that we won’t know more until we’ve had time to conduct an investigation.” She paused, reaching up to cover her mouth as she coughed, perhaps from inhaling smoke. “Obviously, we need to find out where they got the explosive, and if they have any more.”

  Jetanien asked, “Are you worried they may have smuggled contraband weapons to the colony, Constable?”

  “They would have no need to do that,” Lugok countered. “I suspect the components for building an improvised explosive are in abundance here, despite the colony’s standing directives against weapons.”

  D’tran grunted. “Now, there’s a comforting thought.” To the viewscreen, he said, “Have the infiltrators been taken into custody?”

  “Yes, Ambassador,” the liaison replied. “They’re being held here until we can secure transport to the brig.”

  “I’ll question them myself,” Lugok said, almost growling the words.

  Jetanien nodded. “We need to know if this is an isolated incident, or the symptom of a larger problem.”

  “Indeed,” the Klingon said, before setting the bottle of blood-wine on Jetanien’s desk and making his way from the office.

  Turning his attention back to Schiappacasse, Jetanien said, “Thank you for your report, Constable. Please keep us informed of your findings as you are able.”

  “Of course, sir. Schiappacasse out.”

  As the viewer deactivated, Jetanien looked to D’tran. “Well, for the moment, I think we can assume
that your ship was not deliberately targeted.”

  “Perhaps it was coincidental,” the aged Romulan replied, “but I cannot help but be troubled by this. Taken with the other incidents of unrest, I am beginning to fear that a pattern is emerging.” Sighing, he added, “Jetanien, have you considered the possibility that there might be some form of organized, united effort being brought to bear against our mission here?”

  In point of fact, Jetanien had lost count of the occasions on which he had pondered that very notion. “If that is the case, then we do not have the resources to combat it.”

  More troubling than that unfortunate reality, he knew, was the greater concern that anyone planning such action was also well aware of the colony’s vulnerability.

  19

  It was with no small amount of satisfaction that Ja’tesh guided the Sporak all-terrain vehicle along the broken, uneven ground, steering it over and around rocks, vegetation, ditches, and other depressions with practiced ease. She had been piloting such vehicles since childhood, having been taught by her father almost from the time she had been able to walk.

  “You drive as though you are possessed by a demon escaped from Gre’thor,” said her mate, Kraloq, from where he sat in the Sporak’s front passenger seat to Ja’tesh’s left.

  She laughed, keeping one hand on the wheel while reaching with the other to poke her mate’s muscled arm. “Be thankful the ground’s dry,” she said, making no effort to quell the mischievous pleasure she was deriving from Kraloq’s discomfort. “There’s nothing like driving one of these through the mud after a good rainfall. That’s the sort of terrain these Sporaks were built to conquer.” Kraloq’s only reaction was to roll his eyes, a response that prompted another laugh from Ja’tesh.

  She knew that, like most males, Kraloq preferred to pilot the vehicle rather than subjugate himself to his mate’s desires, but he endured this affront to his ego with silence, at least most of the time. As for her, the comfortable whine of the Sporak’s engine as its vibrations permeated the vehicle’s every surface never failed to soothe her. Likewise, they always elicited recollections of traveling with her father to his favorite hunting grounds on Qo’noS. The journey took almost an entire day from their home, with the travel time spent singing songs or listening to her father tell all manner of stories. Such tales often received increasing levels of embellishment during each subsequent trip, which only served to heighten their charm and embed themselves in Ja’tesh’s vast catalog of fond memories.

  “Next time, we use the transporters,” Kraloq said, bouncing in his seat as the three tires on the Sporak’s left side rolled over a large rock.

  “Where’s the adventure in that?” Ja’tesh asked, navigating the vehicle around an even larger rock. “The point of a trip like this isn’t the destination, my lover; it’s the journey we enjoy along the way.” In addition to the many skills her father had taught her, most of which served little practical purpose in modern Klingon society while being well suited to life on a remote colony world such as Traelus II, he also had imparted to her an appreciation for enjoying life, rather than simply living it. She loved eschewing the trappings of contemporary life and instead plunging headlong into nature. It was this desire to love and understand whatever world on which she found herself that had guided her to her present career as a horticultural specialist, and made her a prime candidate for membership in a colonization effort. Though not as respected as a career in the military, the work of settlements like this one also was of service to the Empire, inasmuch as it allowed her people to extend their reach that much farther into the galaxy. The Traelus system was among those regions which were at the most extreme edges of Klingon territory and influence, and Ja’tesh knew that, in generations to come, it might well provide a point from which the Empire would again seek to push its borders outward.

  Besides, if she had not opted to volunteer for the colony assignment on Traelus II, she would never have met Kraloq. Though a farmer himself, he had served as an enlisted soldier in the military before an injury during training cut short whatever glorious career he might have enjoyed. Having never faced an enemy in battle, Kraloq instead left the service with feelings of shame and failure. Ja’tesh had never given much credence to the popularization of military service as a cornerstone of Klingon culture. Yes, she believed a strong force capable of defending the Empire and its interests was important, but the glamorization of “honor above all” and the casual sacrifice of lives in the name of glory and conquest were attitudes with which she always had taken fervent issue. Though she had been involved with one or two soldiers during her young life and at one point even had seen herself as a willing, loving, military wife, Ja’tesh had long ago decided that she much preferred her lover in her bed rather than his medals on her wall. It had not taken long for her to convince Kraloq of the virtues her line of reasoning embraced.

  “You’re smiling,” Kraloq said, reaching for a support handle as Ja’tesh navigated the Sporak around a hole in the ground.

  “Am I?” she asked, opting to share nothing further, though when she reached for him this time it was to stroke his long, black hair. Glancing to the far horizon, she saw how far the sun had traveled, and she looked at the chronometer set into the driver’s console. “It will be dark soon, but we should be home before that.”

  Kraloq grunted. “Or, we could spend one more night under the stars.”

  “That does carry a certain appeal,” Ja’tesh conceded, her smile widening. Twelve days spent camping and touring the remote highlands located more than two hundred kilometers to the south of the colony had served as a welcome change of pace from the activities that all but consumed their days. It had been the first extended respite she and Kraloq had enjoyed since arriving at Traelus II, and they had done their best to savor every moment of the time spent away from their fellow colonists. Ja’tesh had been anxious to see areas of the planet that had not yet been disturbed or even explored as a consequence of the outpost’s presence. For his part, Kraloq had spent a good portion of their getaway content to watch his mate bathing nude in the river that ran past their campsite, or lying on the small beach and allowing the warmth of the Traelan sun to dry her bare skin. And what of the nights? As Ja’tesh had expected, the open air, warm fire, and utter solitude had affected her mate’s desires and attentions in other areas, much to her satisfaction.

  Males, she mused. So predictable. Perhaps one last night before returning to their demanding duties was not the worst idea, after all.

  “What is that?”

  Kraloq’s question broke through Ja’tesh’s reverie, and she turned her head to see that he was pointing out of the Sporak’s open passenger-side window at something in the distance. Her eyes tracked across the open terrain until she saw … something sitting atop a small rise. Whatever it was, its straight lines and reflective surface were very much out of place in the middle of open ground.

  “Some kind of equipment from the colony?” Ja’tesh asked as she brought the Sporak to a stop. “I don’t recognize it.”

  “It appears too small to be farm or excavation equipment,” Kraloq said. “And even if it was, what’s it doing all the way out here?”

  Ja’tesh shrugged. “Maybe somebody else decided to camp tonight.” She smiled, but it had no effect on Kraloq, whose expression had turned dour. “What?”

  “We should see what it is.”

  “What do you think it is?” she asked, placing her hand on his shoulder.

  Shaking his head, Kraloq replied, “I don’t know. That’s why I think we should look.”

  For the first time, Ja’tesh realized her mate was displaying actual concern. “You’re serious.”

  “Yes,” Kraloq said, nodding before pointing to the communications panel on the Sporak’s console. “We should notify the colony.”

  Frowning, Ja’tesh said, “This is the soldier in you, isn’t it?”

  Rather than replying, Kraloq had shifted his position in his seat in order to reach
behind him and pull a small satchel from the floorboard of the rear passenger area. Ja’tesh said nothing as he reached into the heavy, woven bag and extracted from it a disruptor pistol. “We’re on an isolated planet near enemy territory. Yes, this is the soldier in me.”

  Ja’tesh released a sigh of concession. “Fine.”

  Shifting the Sporak into gear, Ja’tesh guided the vehicle toward the strange object as Kraloq made contact with the colony administrator and advised him of their discovery and current location, and that they were investigating the situation. Ja’tesh brought the vehicle to a halt at the base of the rise, and after refusing the disruptor pistol Kraloq offered her in favor of the knife she had already strapped to her right leg, the pair made short work of ascending the hill.

  “It’s not ours,” Kraloq said, his brow furrowing as he studied the object sitting atop the plateau. Ja’tesh nodded in agreement as she regarded the odd construct. It was as high as her neck, and perhaps somewhat smaller than a typical shipping container. Rather than sitting on the ground, it stood on six short, thick legs. Its shell appeared to be constructed from some kind of metal or metallic composite material, though Ja’tesh saw nothing resembling seams, joints, or rivets. The thing looked to have been cast as a single piece, rather than assembled from plates or other components. Its black surface reflected the heat of the midday sun, though when Ja’tesh held her hand close to one side she felt no warmth.