Star Trek® Cast no Shadow

by James Swallow

  “I am sure tragic events such as that one occur all over the galaxy every day. Why come here to tell me of this single incident?”

  Spock told her of the Klingon statements regarding the suspects in the bombing, and also of some new if rather anecdotal evidence that suggested that the truth might not be so clear-cut.

  “A code word was found prefixed to encrypted communications messages, apparently sent and received by those who destroyed themselves to perpetrate this attack. That code was also in use seven years ago by those engaged in the assassination of Gorkon.” Spock gave her a level look. “You are familiar with Earth’s Greek mythology?”

  “A . . . a passing familiarity.”

  “Kallisti.” When he said the word, she almost reacted. It took effort to remain silent, and Valeris wondered if she had revealed something before she could stop herself.

  Kallisti. She had not heard that uttered since before the assassination, before Gorkon and the Enterprise.

  “It means ‘for the most beautiful.’ The folklore claims it was written on the surface of a golden apple, a gift given at the wedding of Peleus and Thetis that was eventually responsible for igniting the Trojan War.” Spock came closer, watching her carefully. “A single act that plunged two nations into conflict on the eve of a great union. The so-called apple of discord was created by the Greek goddess of strife.”

  “Her name was Eris,” she said.

  4

  Starfleet Penal Stockade

  Jaros II

  United Federation of Planets

  Commander Miller watched the courtyard through the glass doors of the annex. Out in the cool night, Ambassador Spock spoke to the convict, his movements small and understated. The woman, on the other hand . . . From what he knew of Vulcans, she was practically animated.

  For better or for worse, it was up to Spock now. Sulu had been as good as his word; the captain had spent a half hour in a private conversation with the ambassador over subspace, and when he emerged from his cabin, he gave the order to divert the Excelsior to the Jaros system.

  “Ambassador Spock understands the situation,” Sulu noted. “He will make the arrangements.” He didn’t volunteer any more than that, and Miller didn’t ask.

  Lieutenant Vaughn had questioned how that might be possible. After all, despite his respected status, Spock was no longer a serving Starfleet officer and technically had no formal influence over the workings of a place like the Jaros II stockade. But then again, when you had rescued as many worlds as the first officer of the Enterprise had, people tended to cut you a lot of slack.

  Things became clearer when Miller learned that Spock had visited the prison complex earlier, some time before the news from Da’Kel had broken. He wondered what the Vulcan had hoped to gain. Of all the prisoners incarcerated there, Valeris could be the only one of personal interest to Spock, and the former captain’s mentor-student relationship with the woman was a matter of record. Miller decided not to dig too deep—for the moment. He was just a commander, and the motivations of a decorated ex-officer like Spock were not his to deliberate upon. For now.

  Miller and Vaughn beamed down to the coordinates provided, and were told to wait. Now that time was almost over, so it seemed. Out in the courtyard, the conversation had to be reaching its end point. “Moment of truth . . . ” Miller said to himself.

  At his side, Vaughn’s jaw was stiff and his posture rigid. “He’s not what I expected,” said the junior officer. “Spock, I mean.”

  “What did you expect?”

  “I’m not certain,” he admitted. “I’ve never met someone who died and came back before. I thought he’d seem . . . I don’t know, different somehow.”

  “He’s a Vulcan,” said Miller, and that was answer enough.

  “So is she.” Vaughn’s gaze became a glare as he studied Valeris from a distance. “She’s not what I expected either. A Vulcan traitor. I didn’t think their kind were capable of that.”

  “They can lie like anyone else,” Miller noted. “They just have a whole different way of doing it from the rest of us.”

  “She committed high treason.”

  “I’m well aware,” said Miller.

  The lieutenant was silent for a moment. “Do you think Valeris cares about what she did? Or does she think betraying her oath was logical?”

  “You’d have to ask her.” Miller heard the antipathy in Vaughn’s voice and gave him a look. “It’s not our concern. We’re not in the business of judging right and wrong, Lieutenant. We’re here for information, that’s all.”

  “How can we trust a traitor?”

  “I never said we have to trust her. Valeris has information we need, so we do what we must to get it. That information isn’t black-and-white. It’s not good or bad, it just exists. It’s only what you do with it that makes the difference. If Valeris can help us, we use her, end of story. The moral issues we can consider another day.”

  “Aye, sir,” came the reply, but Miller could tell the other man wasn’t convinced.

  Outside, Spock threw a glance back at them and the commander opened the doors.

  Valeris looked up as they approached. Vaughn felt her gaze rake over his tunic and the Starfleet insignia on his chest. He wondered if she was remembering wearing a similar uniform.

  Spock backed away a step to allow them to come closer. Valeris looked across at her former commander and cocked her head. Her voice was as cold as the night when she spoke to him. “The reality of things becomes clear,” she said. “You did not come to Jaros II in some consideration of my well-being. You are here because Starfleet ordered you to come. Because you want something from me.”

  Spock didn’t address the comment. “This is Commander Miller and Lieutenant Vaughn, from Starfleet Intelligence. They have questions regarding the Kallisti code.” He paused. “It would be in the best interests of all involved if you would answer them as fully as possible.”

  When he said the code word, Vaughn caught the slightest twitch on the woman’s face, a fractional microexpression that even her Vulcan resolve wasn’t enough to completely hide. He knew then: she knew exactly what that code meant.

  Valeris drew herself up. “I do not remember.”

  “Haven’t asked you anything yet,” said Miller.

  “Nevertheless,” she replied. “I do not remember.”

  “Okay, that’s a lie,” said Vaughn. “Even I got that one.”

  “You are being offered an opportunity, Valeris,” Spock told her.

  “An opportunity?” Her answer was almost a sneer. “For what? To once again serve a Federation willing to do anything for the pretense of peace? To help the Klingons?” She turned away. “If you believe I will do so, then you are indeed a poor judge of my motivations.”

  Miller shook his head. “No, I don’t think so. I’ve got a pretty good idea of what will motivate you, Valeris. Lieutenant?”

  Vaughn had been carrying a padd with him, and now, at the commander’s direction, he offered it to the Vulcan. He kept his expression neutral as she took it from him.

  “What is this?” she asked. “A list of my crimes?”

  “No,” said Miller. “It’s a document drawn up by the Office of the President of the United Federation of Planets. It’s not quite a pardon, but it’s in the same ballpark.”

  The lieutenant gave the commander a sharp look. He’d had no idea what the padd contained. “Starfleet is offering her . . . a deal?”

  Miller nodded. “Something like that.”

  “You understand the gravity of this offer, Valeris?” Spock asked. “I called upon certain favors to help Commander Miller facilitate this proposal. It will not come again.”

  Miller spoke as Valeris scrutinized the text on the padd. “If you agree to assist Starfleet Intelligence with our investigation into the Da’Kel bombing, and if that information proves to be of value, your prison term will be reviewed.”

  “Define ‘reviewed,’ ” Valeris replied.

  “That
depends on what you have to give. Some names and places—that could mean a couple of decades trimmed off your life sentence.”

  “I will require more than that,” she retorted.

  “I don’t doubt it,” said Miller.

  Valeris glared at Spock. “I want my life back. I want to leave this place and return to Vulcan.”

  “That will never happen,” Spock said firmly.

  “A colony, maybe,” Miller went on. “That we could do. And a new identity. You could . . . start again. If you give us everything you know.”

  “If you really do know anything, that is.” Vaughn couldn’t remain silent. He was incensed that someone who had betrayed the ideals of Starfleet could be offered the chance to walk away from her punishment. If justice were truly enforced here, then Valeris would have been deported to some barren wasteland world, exiled like the convicts of Earth’s eighteenth century. It wasn’t right that she could have her crimes erased with the stroke of a politician’s pen.

  “And if I decline?” she asked. “Will you transport me away in the night, take me to some secret facility, and compel the information you need from me by force?” Valeris ended the words with her eyes on Ambassador Spock.

  “No,” said the other Vulcan. “If you refuse, you will spend the rest of your life in confinement here on Jaros II. Is that what you wish, Valeris?”

  She looked at the ground, and for a long moment the only sound was the low howl of the night winds. Vaughn found part of himself hoping Valeris would reject the offer of amnesty. As much as he wanted to uncover the truth about the attack on Da’Kel, he despised the idea of working with a traitor to do so. It didn’t sit well with him that they were here only because of data he had uncovered. But Miller had taken his side, and Sulu with him—and, it seemed, so had Admiral Sinclair-Alexander back on Earth. Or at least they’re giving me enough rope to hang myself.

  “What I wish is to be left alone.” Valeris’s reply was almost a whisper. Then, with an abrupt motion, she placed her thumb on the padd’s reader plate and it chimed. The woman thrust it back into Vaughn’s hand. “We have an agreement, then.”

  “Kallisti,” said Spock, wasting no time. “How did the code connect with Gorkon’s death?”

  Miller nodded. “Was the House of Q’unat part of the conspiracy?”

  Vaughn became aware of Valeris watching him. She ignored the others and stared at him. “What do you wish to ask me, Lieutenant?”

  He said nothing, but a question still pressed at his lips. Why did you betray your oath?

  When he didn’t respond, Valeris looked away. “I have no knowledge of the House of Q’unat. The code word was part of a communications protocol set up with another group. A political activist cadre operating in the Beta Quadrant.”

  Spock’s brows arched. “Klingon?”

  She shook her head. “Are you aware of an organization called SeDveq?”

  “It means ‘the Thorn’ in common Klingon,” said Vaughn.

  “That is one translation. It also refers to a form of barbed spearhead used in melee combat,” she continued. “The group I refer to are a violent revolutionary sect from the Krios System.”

  “Krios Prime is a planet on the far side of the Empire,” noted Spock. “It is euphemistically designated as a ‘protected’ world under Klingon aegis.”

  “In other words, they annexed it and are stripping it for all it is worth?” said Vaughn.

  “They gained a foothold there over thirty years ago,” Spock went on. “The Krios System is rich in ores such as biltritium and pergium, both valuable to an expansionist galactic power like the Klingons.”

  “Those elements are used in power systems,” noted Miller.

  “In short supply after Praxis exploded,” Vaughn added. “All the more vital.”

  Miller folded his arms across his chest and studied the woman. “You need to tell us how to locate and access any files relating to Kallisti that Cartwright left behind.”

  “There are no files, not any more. Broken remnants at best,” Valeris told him. “They were erased the moment the admiral was arrested. All that remains is here.” She touched a slender finger to her forehead.

  “Fine. Then you give up everything you know about this Thorn group, every detail you can recall.”

  She arched an eyebrow. “That may take several days.”

  Vaughn looked across at the senior officer. “We don’t have that much time. The Excelsior is on a tight clock . . . If we’re not at the border when the escort ships from the Klingon Defense Force arrive . . . ”

  “They will consider it a grave insult,” Spock concluded.

  Miller frowned. “General Igdar is already looking for any excuse to shut us out of the investigation . . . We can’t give him the opportunity.”

  “Then it appears you have a problem,” said Valeris. Vaughn couldn’t be sure, but he thought he detected a tinge of amusement in her words.

  The commander cut right through her reply. “No, not really.” He turned to Spock. “Ambassador, your support in this situation has been vital. Starfleet Command and the Federation thank you for your assistance.”

  “May I ask how you will proceed now?” said the Vulcan.

  Miller drew his communicator from where it was clipped to his belt and flipped it open. “The lieutenant is right: time is against us. We’re already pushing it as it is, diverting to Jaros. We can’t afford to remain here and conduct an in-depth debrief with a new asset.” He glanced at Valeris. “As of this moment, you’re now officially transferred to the custody of Starfleet Intelligence. You can brief us on the way to Da’Kel.”

  “That would seem to be the most expedient solution,” Spock offered.

  Valeris covered a flash of surprise. “I will not travel into Klingon space.”

  “Oh, I beg your pardon,” Miller replied. “Did you think I was offering you a choice? You signed the paper. You belong to me now.” He raised the communicator to his lips.

  “Wait.” Valeris held up a hand. “Very well. I will accompany you. But I have a condition.”

  “You are in no position—” Vaughn started to speak, but Miller waved him to silence.

  “What condition?” said the commander.

  “Doctor Tancreda . . . She has assembled a file on me.”

  “The doctor is Valeris’s psychoanalyst,” explained Spock. “Assigned by the Federation Council for purposes of rehabilitation.”

  “I want her case notes,” Valeris insisted. “And I want all other copies deleted.”

  Vaughn eyed her. “Why?”

  She looked back at him. “I wish to keep my own secrets.”

  Spock gave a nod. “I will see to it.”

  “Then we’re done here.” Miller returned the gesture and spoke into his communicator. “Excelsior, this is the landing party. Three to beam up. Lock on and energize.”

  The landing field beyond the penal complex was a small affair, a disc of thermoconcrete wide enough to accommodate the civilian shuttlecraft Spock had been given for his travels. The warp sled remained up in orbit, maintaining a steady position directly overhead, patiently awaiting his return.

  There were no crew on board—with his extensive experience on auxiliary craft, Spock did not require them—and the shuttle’s sensors detected his approach, waking the ship from its dormant state, the ramp across the rear hatch dropping open. Sulu had made the offer to Spock to accompany the Excelsior at least some of the way to the Klingon border, but he declined. While it might have been agreeable to meet with his old Enterprise crewmate once again, Spock knew that his presence would have only exacerbated tensions that already existed.

  It was important that he keep his distance from Valeris for now—if not indefinitely. His absence would ensure that her mind was not clouded by her attitudes toward him . . . and in turn, he would not be distracted by his own regrets.

  At least, that was his hope; he imagined that it would not be so easy to lock away the reactions that had come upon him
on seeing Valeris again. Outwardly, Spock remained the stoic, metered example of the Vulcan ideal. Inwardly, the landscape of his thoughts was clouded.

  She will never forgive me, he told himself, nor should she. Perhaps one day things might reach an equilibrium between them. But not today.

  His thoughts were drawn back to the moment by the sound of racing footsteps across the landing pad and Spock turned to see Doctor Tancreda approaching at a run. The wind was picking up and she wore a shemagh held across her face to deflect the blown sand. “Ambassador!” she called, her voice tight with anger.

  Spock stood at the hatch and waited for her to reach him. “Doctor.”

  “What have you done?” demanded Tancreda. “My work . . . You had no right, no authority, to take my files!”

  He cocked his head. “Calm yourself, Doctor. That was not done on my order. Your files were seized under the instructions of Starfleet Command. I will remind you that this facility operates under their auspices. It is not a civilian penal complex and therefore does not operate under the same strictures.”

  “Don’t quote rules and regulations to me,” she shot back, “and don’t insult my intelligence by pretending you’re not involved! This would never have happened if you were not here! You pulled strings to get access to Valeris, not once, but twice—and why? Was it to salve your own conscience?” Her eyes flashed with annoyance. “Now months of my work have been deleted from the database and my patient has disappeared!”

  “Valeris’s presence was required elsewhere.”

  “Really?” said Tancreda. “And with that vague justification, you spirit her away? Do you understand the progress I have been making with her?”

  “Yes. I read the case notes. Your ‘progress’ appeared negligible, Doctor.”

  Tancreda scowled. “I was on the verge of a breakthrough! But now you’ve derailed any chance of psychological healing Valeris might have!”

  He raised an eyebrow at her tone. “I disagree. Valeris was my student. I know her well . . .” Spock paused, considering the deeper meaning of his words. “As thoroughly as anyone could. I believe her incarceration in this facility is only hindering her.”