Star Trek: Vanguard: What Judgments Come

by Dayton Ward

  The shriek of rending metal pierced the air and Jetanien turned to see the control panel near the door explode in a shower of sparks just as the hatch slid aside, revealing at least a half dozen men and women, all of them dressed in utilitarian garb and brandishing some sort of weapon. The first one through the doorway was the man Jetanien had seen on the video feed, his left arm still in its sling and his right hand wielding that same length of metal pipe. He swung the improvised club at Jetanien the instant his eyes locked on the Chelon, but Jetanien was faster, shambling out of his attacker’s reach. The man, his eyes wide with unchecked rage, lunged forward, swinging the pipe a second time even as the rest of his group followed him onto the roof. Jetanien stumbled as he tried to keep one hand on D’tran’s arm, but the elderly Romulan staggered, unable to match his friend’s pace. He twisted in an effort to keep his balance, but the motion cost him momentum, giving the man with the pipe an opening.

  “No!”

  The metal club struck D’tran’s head with sufficient force to crack the Romulan’s skull. His eyes rolled over white as green blood spilled out across his silver hair. Already dead, the senator crumpled to the rooftop as Jetanien rushed his killer, slamming into him and throwing him to the ground. The man landed on his wounded arm and cried out in pain, but Jetanien ignored him as he reached forward to wrench the pipe from the rioter’s hand.

  “I should kill you myself!” he barked, reaching for the man with his free hand. He stopped when he heard Moreno calling for help, and turned to see his assistant fighting with another of the rioters near the front of the shuttlecraft. As he moved to help, the other man, a large human male dressed in soiled coveralls, threw Moreno to the ground before turning and moving for the shuttle-craft’s open hatch. Pulling himself to his feet, Moreno moved to follow the other man.

  “Wait!” Jetanien shouted, and his assistant halted, looking to him for guidance. “Let them go! Just let them have it!” Turning back to the man who had just killed D’tran, he pointed the pipe at his face. “Go,” he said, his attention drawn once more to D’tran’s limp, lifeless body. A pool of bright green blood was spreading beneath the Romulan’s head. “Go, before I change my mind.”

  He did not watch the man regain his feet and run for the shut-tlecraft even as he heard the vessel’s engines whine to life. His gaze instead remained fixed on D’tran. For more than a century, and often working in secret, the elder diplomat had broken ranks with his fellow senators and even his praetor, devoting a significant portion of his adult life to pursuing peace between the Romulan Empire and its interstellar neighbors. A life’s work, crushed with the same intensity as with the weapon that had ended his life.

  Not if I can help it.

  Dropping the pipe at his feet, Jetanien turned to look for Moreno even as he saw the shuttlecraft’s hatch closing. His assistant was backing away from the ship as its engines increased their power output. Where would they go? The shuttle had no long-range capabilities, and the moment it was detected by an incoming starship, everyone aboard would be taken into custody.

  Or maybe they’ll just fly it into a mountain.

  The thought echoed in his mind at the same instant Jetanien felt a tingle playing across his body. A whine filled his ears and a bright, white light washed out his vision, and for the briefest of moments there was the familiar sensation of limbo before the sound faded. When the light dissolved, he saw that he now stood along with Moreno on the transporter pad of a Klingon vessel.

  “Welcome aboard, Ambassador,” said Lugok from where he stood in front of a bulky console. “We received your distress signal, but the nearest Starfleet ship is still more than an hour away, so we intervened.”

  “Thank you,” was all Jetanien could muster as he maneuvered himself to sit on the step leading down from the pad. Moreno, his face a mask of worry, moved toward him.

  “Are you hurt, sir?”

  Jetanien shook his head. “No.”

  Stepping closer, Lugok asked, “What of D’tran?”

  “Dead,” the Chelon answered, replaying the fresh memory of his friend’s last awful moment. “He was killed just before you arrived.”

  “Then it is a tragic day,” Lugok said, his voice softening. “Despite the many differences our peoples hold, I came to respect him.”

  “As did I.” Shifting his bulk to a more comfortable position, Jetanien added, “It’s a shame that his government sought to undermine what he was trying to accomplish here with more of the same deception and subterfuge that has defined the relationship between our societies for generations.”

  Lugok said, “He was not alone. My superiors sought something similar. Perhaps if I was stronger and endeavored to make my voice heard by the High Council, they may well have made an honest, honorable commitment to this initiative. Instead, I believe it was their lack of vision that ultimately doomed us to failure.”

  “What?” Jetanien asked.

  Releasing a derisive snort, the Klingon replied, “Come, Jetanien. You saw those who would represent the Empire. Criminals, disgraced warriors, and even those deemed unfit to serve. Outcasts from our society, but possessing not the fraction of pride necessary to take their own lives and restore some measure of honor to their Houses. They did not come here of their own volition; they were banished here. I should have demanded more. I should have demanded better. I failed in that regard.”

  “I think we all failed,” Jetanien countered. “Our failure here was one of imagination. Perhaps the concept we envisioned was flawed from the start, and our peoples are not yet ready for peaceful coexistence.”

  “So, we keep trying.”

  Surprised by the abrupt comment, Jetanien turned to see Moreno regarding him, conviction evident in his eyes. Then, the man blinked several times, as though reconsidering whether he should have spoken.

  “Go on, Sergio,” Jetanien prompted.

  “It’s wrong to just give up so easily,” Moreno said. “Not after everything that’s happened. So what if our governments choose to continue doing things as they always have. D’tran worked under that burden for more than a century. He didn’t need or expect any assistance from his superiors, and yet for decades before any of us was born, he worked with his Federation contact to broker agreements and keep the peace. Now that he’s gone, someone else will have to take up that mantle, otherwise his death truly will be a tragedy.”

  Jetanien sighed. “We can do that, but not here, and not today.”

  Frowning, Moreno asked, “Why not?” Before either Jetanien or Lugok could respond, he said, “Tell me, what do you think will become of Paradise City?”

  “I suppose it will be evacuated and abandoned,” Jetanien said, “a monument to what could have been.”

  Moreno said, “Or, we can petition for the colony to be restored. Let it be a distraction, rather than an attraction.”

  “A distraction,” Lugok repeated. “It could end up appearing more like a mockery.”

  “And if it does,” Jetanien said, beginning to comprehend what his assistant was suggesting, “then so much the better.” When Lugok scowled in confusion, he held up one of his manus. “Think about it. There are colonists who would be content to stay on Nimbus III, so long as the situation is brought under control. We can convince our governments to let them stay here, particularly if the settlers are doing so on their own and not requesting much in the way of formal support. Let the ‘experiment’ continue, and let the detractors think it’s a waste of time.”

  Lugok smiled. “And while everyone sees the very public failure on constant display, we in turn possess a haven where we might continue our work, away from the prying eyes of those who would seek to undermine real, open communication.”

  “Exactly,” Moreno said.

  Jetanien recalled the first clandestine meetings he had shared with Lugok and D’tran, there on the barren, unwelcoming surface of Nimbus III. From the shared insights and compromises reached during those first days had sprung Paradise City, with its promis
e of lasting peace forged between three interstellar neighbors. Despite the very real setbacks that had consumed the colony, Jetanien knew the situation could be remedied in short order, perhaps even within weeks after the arrival of support vessels. After that? There seemed now to be more reason than ever to revisit the strategy with which he and his companions had begun, only this time, there would be no spectacle, no pressure exerted from officious meddlers with no vested interest in the outcome. Removed from the spotlight, the peace process could, with proper nurturing, thrive.

  “What do you think, Lugok?” Jetanien asked. “Is it worth pondering?”

  The Klingon replied, “And what if someone takes notice of our little refuge of diplomacy?”

  “Then we move it somewhere else,” Jetanien countered. “Someplace even more remote, if that’s what it takes. The location isn’t important. What matters is that we preserve the peace, by any means necessary.”

  Lugok smiled. “D’tran would certainly approve. Come, let us find a bottle of bloodwine, and drink to the memory of that bothersome Romulan and all the work he will cause for us in the days to come.”

  35

  Ming Xiong studied the status indicators on the communications panel, satisfied that everything was properly set. “I think we’re ready to go.”

  “Excellent,” replied Mahmud al-Khaled from where he sat at one of the half-dozen consoles that had been installed in the Lovell’s secondary cargo bay. “I’ve activated and synchronized the processor with the communications array. It should time out perfectly with the frequency rotation.”

  Nodding in satisfaction, Xiong could not help smiling. “I have to say, the idea of adding a harmonics resonance processor was genius, Commander.”

  “Tell that to my number two,” al-Khaled replied, gesturing toward another console, which was manned by Lieutenant Kurt Davis, the executive officer of the Lovell’s Corps of Engineers detachment. “It was his idea. Isn’t that right, Kurt?”

  The tall, lean bald man was hunched over his console, engrossed in the data being fed to him by the workstation’s array of status monitors. Al-Khaled had to repeat the question before Davis looked up to see who was talking to him. “What?”

  “He said if this doesn’t work, he’s blaming you,” called out a new voice, and Xiong turned to see the Lovell’s first officer, Araev zh’Rhun.

  “Wow. There’s a fresh idea,” Davis replied, smiling. “Come down to keep an eye on us, Commander?”

  Casting a sardonic look in the engineer’s direction, zh’Rhun said, “Someone has to keep you honest.” She turned her attention to al-Khaled. “So, where are we?”

  The engineer replied, “I think we’re ready, Commander. Kurt?”

  “Levels are optimum, sir,” Davis said, patting his console. “The subspace relay will draw power from the warp engines. That should help regulate the relay, the communications array, and the harmonics processor, and still provide enough juice to penetrate the crystals’ internal power fields while keeping the signal focused.”

  “What about the universal translation matrix?” Xiong asked.

  Tapping the console again, Davis replied, “Also ready to go. We know from the last run that the Shedai entity is likely receiving our signals. We think we were able to at least send a simple message through the translation protocols, but now that we’re synchronizing the harmonics to work more effectively with the orb’s interior crystalline structure, the translation should be more effective. Hopefully it’ll be enough to coax a response.”

  Xiong nodded in approval at the report before turning to eye the self-contained chamber occupying the space at the center of the cargo bay. As before, all of its internal components had been activated and it now operated free of the Lovell’s other onboard systems. On one of the monitors at al-Khaled’s workstation, Xiong saw an image being fed to them from inside the chamber, that of the crystal polyhedron sitting in its cradle, waiting. The orb emanated its omnipresent violet glow, radiating a quiet menace that Xiong thought reflected the entity it contained. How would the Shedai react when a connection finally was made? What would it want? What would it say? Was there a chance it could be reasoned with, and some mutual understanding reached? Xiong had no idea. Despite the setbacks the previous three years had brought and even considering the obstacles he had faced and the challenges he had endured, he remained optimistic, even if that hope now was balanced with no small amount of caution. There was no denying the Shedai commanded unmatched power; what remained to be seen was whether their intellect and wisdom rivaled their strength. He could not believe that a civilization capable of achieving so much could not be engaged in constructive dialogue. What was needed was common ground, and a way for both sides to navigate their respective paths to that point of accord.

  Will we find our path today? Only one way to find out.

  “Okay,” Xiong said, nodding to zh’Rhun. “I think we’re ready to proceed, Commander.”

  Zh’Rhun nodded before moving to a wall-mounted intercom set into a nearby bulkhead and activating the unit. “Zh’Rhun to bridge. Captain, are you monitoring?”

  “Affirmative, Commander,” replied the voice of the Lovell’s captain, Daniel Okagawa. “Commander al-Khaled and Lieutenant Xiong can proceed at their discretion. We’ll leave this channel open.”

  “Acknowledged,” zh’Rhun said before looking to al-Khaled and Xiong. “It’s your show, gentlemen.”

  With a gesture to Davis, al-Khaled turned back to his workstation and began pressing several of the console’s multicolored buttons in a prearranged sequence.

  “Activating the frequency rotation protocols,” al-Khaled said, “and transmitting the first hailing message. Let’s see what happens.”

  We call to you.

  Another signal, this one of greater force and possessing a new level of clarity, now reverberated through the crystalline lattice that formed the Wanderer’s prison. Amplified by the crystal itself as well as the energy fields surging within the enclosed environment, every syllable was a spear of pain driven through the Wanderer’s mind.

  Free me.

  She pushed the message through the cacophony enveloping her, feeling the resistance of the protective fields holding her hostage. Who called to her? Not the Progenitor, of that she was certain. This did not feel like him, with its odd, maladroit rhythms and lack of sophistication. No, she decided, it must be Telinaruul who called to her.

  The impudence. How dare they try to communicate with her as though considering themselves her equals.

  We call to you. Do you understand?

  That they had managed to effect a method of discourse that even resembled the high language of her people was an impressive feat, she conceded. It was not their apparent technical prowess that angered the Wanderer. Rather, it was their arrogance.

  Free me. Free the Progenitor. Free us, and I may grant you continued existence.

  She detected the shift in the energy fields surrounding her. What was happening? Something was having an effect on the crystal. A low drone was filling her mind, forcing aside her every thought as its intensity expanded.

  We do not understand. Help us to understand.

  Something else was happening to her. The Wanderer felt a renewed sense of strength welling up within her being. A vitality she had not felt since becoming a prisoner was beginning to pulse through her consciousness. Concentrating on the new sensations, she realized that the source of her returning vigor was somewhere beyond the confines of the crystal holding her. Whatever power was being used to drive the signals being directed at her was also disrupting the orb’s crystalline fabric. Already she could feel its structure beginning to fluctuate, and she at once set to searching for any new points of weakness. Even the energy field that acted as her guardian seemed to be changing, and the Wanderer perceived a loosening of its perpetual grip on her. As her strength increased with each passing instant, so too did her anger and sense of determination.

  You will understand.

&nbs
p; A status indicator on al-Khaled’s console changed from green to red, and Xiong pointed at it. “What’s that?”

  “Power fluctuation,” the engineer replied, his fingers moving over the rows of buttons and other controls. “And sensors are picking up some kind of disturbance inside the crystal.”

  The intercom on al-Khaled’s workstation whistled for attention, and was followed by the voice of Doctor Carol Marcus. “Marcus to Xiong. What’s going on over there? We’re detecting all sorts of odd readings from the crystal.”

  Reaching across the console to activate the intercom, Xiong replied, “We’re picking up irregularities from inside the crystal, Doctor. Commander al-Khaled is diagnosing the problem now.”

  In front of him, al-Khaled leaned forward, and Xiong saw his friend’s eyes narrow. “There are microfissures forming within the latticework. Kurt, reduce power to the subspace relay.”

  At his own workstation, Davis replied, “Aye, sir. Reducing power.”

  “Won’t that affect the signal?” Xiong asked, casting a glance toward the isolation chamber.

  Al-Khaled nodded. “Yes, but if we keep the power at its present level, it might make the microfissures worse.”

  “Is the crystal stable?” asked Commander zh’Rhun.

  “For the moment,” al-Khaled replied.

  Damn it! Xiong shook his head, feeling his sense of apprehension beginning to rise. It was working! According to the computer, their initial message to the Shedai entity had been received and had been answered. The alien’s next response had been garbled by the power fluctuations, rendering it indecipherable, but Xiong could not help but hope that some form of real connection might finally have been made.

  Davis said, “Something’s wrong.” He waited until Xiong and al-Khaled moved to stand behind him before pointing to a pair of status monitors. “See this? Energy levels inside the crystal are rising. It’s almost like …”

  “… a buildup to detonation?” zh’Rhun asked, completing the thought.