Star Trek® Cast no Shadow

by James Swallow

  Kaj didn’t look up from her task. “This ship has been used for missions of piracy, so there are secured compartments on the lower decks. I found something that resembled a cell and locked him in.”

  “How can you be certain that he won’t be able to escape?” Vaughn asked. “If I had a brig on my ship, I’d make sure I knew where the skeleton key was.”

  “I considered that,” allowed the Klingon, “which is why I took a proximity detonator from the supply locker and placed it on the hatch. I made it clear that if Rein opens the door from the inside, he’ll be blown apart.”

  “Thorough as ever,” Vaughn remarked. Once again he could see what it was about Kaj that had earned her Commander Miller’s professional respect.

  “It’s what keeps me alive,” she replied. “There. Course set. You may proceed.”

  Valeris set the controls and the Daughter banked to port, accelerating across the void. “I estimate that in order to reach Qo’noS within the probable ten-hour deployment window, we will need to sustain a warp velocity of factor six-point-three.”

  “The drives from a K-6 can manage that, can’t they?” Vaughn asked.

  Kaj and Valeris both shook their heads. “Not on this spaceframe,” said the Klingon. “They’re designed for a ship half the mass of this one. If we push the engines, the warp field will collapse.”

  “At the very least,” added Valeris. “It is more likely that a critical matrix imbalance will occur and the ship will be dragged into a wormhole effect.”

  Vaughn stepped up from the console and studied them both. “So, then. Solutions? Because if we arrive late to this party, all we’ve gone through will have been for nothing.”

  The Klingon and the Vulcan exchanged glances. “I believe it is possible to modify the warp field matrix to negate the collapse effect,” Valeris explained. “Essentially, to force it to hold through the injection of controlled verteron bursts.”

  Vaughn took this in. What she was suggesting was the equivalent of pouring inflammable fluid on a raging fire; it would be enough to create a temporary surge, but it could just as easily result in a fatal blowback.

  She saw the train of his thoughts on his face. “It will not be without a degree of risk.”

  “A large degree,” corrected Kaj.

  “Are you sure you can do this?” To say Vaughn had his doubts would have been an understatement of galactic proportions.

  “My Starfleet training encompassed warp field theory and engineering process.” Valeris seemed unconcerned; there was that damnable Vulcan arrogance again.

  “Your training is almost a decade out-of-date,” Kaj retorted, “and I imagine your familiarity with Klingon systems is passing at best.”

  Valeris nodded. “Indeed. Which is why you will need to assist me, Major. Together, we will be able to manage the warp matrix in real time.”

  Vaughn considered her reply and realized that both women were looking to him for the final word. Great. Now the time comes for one of us to make a decision that could blow up the ship, and suddenly I’m the guy with command authority. He took a breath. “Valeris, have you calculated the odds of us actually succeeding in this?”

  She gave a nod. “Yes. Would you like me to tell you the figure?”

  “No.” He folded his arms. The way she had replied was answer enough. “Just go get it done.”

  “Lieutenant,” Kaj warned, “a single error—”

  “Will kill us all,” he finished. Vaughn drew himself up and settled onto the command saddle. “So don’t screw it up. That’s an order.”

  Valeris raised her eyebrow at his tone but said nothing. Kaj only nodded and glanced at the other woman as she crossed back toward the hatch. “Follow me, convict,” she said. “Now you’ll get your chance to prove you’re as good as you think you are.”

  The hatch clanked shut and Vaughn was alone. He surveyed the empty bridge and sighed. “Not exactly what I had in mind for my first starship command,” he muttered, and pulled down the periscope monitor to study the path ahead.

  Don’t screw it up, repeated the voice in his head. It sounded like Darius Miller.

  The warp core of the Daughter ran horizontally down the keel of the Kriosian cutter, the length of the main engineering spaces a slender compartment that was little wider than the ship’s corridors. Control panels and monitoring gear lined the walls, while the thrumming column of light that contained the critical matter/antimatter reaction was beneath their feet. Pulses of light juddered into the dilithium chamber, flaring through gaps in the gridded deck plates. Valeris saw immediately from the rhythm and resonance of the pattern that the intermix was out of sync.

  She moved to an observation station and frowned as pages of Kriosi pictographs scrolled down the screen in a waterfall of data. Like the rest of the alien warship, the warp core was antiquated. The Vulcan made an attempt to adjust some gross calibration vectors on the fly, but it became clear that little short of a dry-dock overhaul would return the Daughter to its optimal functionality.

  “If we do this,” Kaj was saying, “we’ll run this craft into the ground. The human might not want to say it, but I will. The warp drives will be little but burned-out cinders by the time we reach the homeworld. If we reach the homeworld.”

  “You seem doubtful of our chances.” Valeris didn’t look up. “I have observed that the Klingons are a fatalistic people. Is it not one of your most oft-stated axioms that says, ‘Today is a good day to die’?”

  Kaj’s lip curled. “Today is not a good day to die. Tomorrow, perhaps.”

  “How can you tell?”

  “A Klingon can tell.”

  Valeris threw her a look. “I believe you are mocking me.”

  “And to think they say that Vulcans are too literal-minded to understand sarcasm.” She ran her hands through a series of command strings. “Warp engines are ready to engage.”

  “I concur,” said Valeris. She leaned forward to speak into an intercom grille. “Lieutenant Vaughn? Warp power is now available at your discretion.”

  “I copy,” he replied a moment later. The humming note of the core grew faster, the pulses of light flickering. “Here we go. Approaching light speed. Onset critical momentum in four seconds. Three. Two—”

  The cutter made the leap from normal space to warp travel with a heavy, shuddering groan that echoed down the length of the starship. Valeris gripped the edge of the console in front of her to steady herself as the deck trembled beneath her boots. Kaj muttered something darkly under her breath as the Daughter surged beyond the speed of light and continued to accelerate.

  A disc-shaped gauge on the main engine display slowly filled with orange as the cutter moved up the warp scale, the dial crawling toward the warp six threshold. The acceleration brought with it increased vibration from the walls and the decking, and green warning lights began to blink on across the panels.

  Kaj had a monitor displaying the four salvaged engines, the colors showing the status of the intercoolers and the meshing warp fields. “Stress levels are high,” she reported. “The incompatibilities between the hull struts and the drive nacelles are more pronounced than I thought.”

  “Do we need to reduce speed?” asked Vaughn, a note of worry in his voice.

  “Negative,” Valeris insisted. “We are at factor four and climbing. Once we reach the target speed, we can normalize the field matrix.”

  The juddering of the hull was louder now. “This ship will tear itself apart if we push it too far!” Kaj snapped.

  Valeris ignored her. “Warp five. Approaching warp six. Stand by for verteron pulse.” She worked the controls, lining up the particle surge that would—if she was not in error—smooth the flight of the ship. If my calculations are incorrect, she considered, none of us will live long enough to make an issue of it.

  The engine chamber was vibrating like a struck bell, and across every console cascades of danger-green icons flashed in unison. The Daughter crossed the warp six line and its velocity stabiliz
ed, but the same could not be said of the vessel itself.

  “Structural integrity is dropping!” Kaj called. “Do it now, convict, or we will be atoms!”

  She triggered the verteron surge and watched the flood of high-energy particles bombard the warp matrix. The fragile bubble of inverted space-time writhed, but ultimately it held. Slowly, the tremors lessened until the destructive thunder sank to a background rumble.

  “Warp six point five. How about that.” The relief in Vaughn’s voice was obvious. “Now all we have to do is keep this up for ten hours. I hope they got some raktajino on this tub.”

  Valeris’s reply was calm and steady. “We will monitor the warp matrix from here. Engine room out.” She tapped the intercom control and turned to find Kaj watching her. The Klingon held a remote console in her hand, the padd-like device connected to the engine core with a thick, looped cable.

  The violet skin tone that had characterized the major’s disguise was almost totally gone now, save for a few mottled patches of discoloration on her neck and hands. She resembled the splinter breed of her species similar to humans, swarthy and dark-haired, but without the heavy cranial ridging. Kaj was measuring her silently.

  Valeris realized that this was the first time she had been alone with the Klingon agent. A jolt of alarm echoed in her thoughts. The Vulcan still had a weapon in her belt, as did Kaj. Valeris estimated that the odds were even—her superior reflexes versus the Klingon’s training and skill.

  She voiced her thoughts. “Are you considering if you will kill me?”

  A slow smile crossed Kaj’s face. “Do you think I would do that, convict? Kill you to sate a desire for revenge over the chance to save countless lives? Does that seem rational . . . logical to you?”

  “I have never considered rationality and logic to be components of the Klingon psyche.” The flat delivery of her response killed Kaj’s smile immediately.

  Once more, Kaj did what she had done so often when Valeris spoke to her: she sneered. “Your . . . gratitude is overwhelming. Such touching words.” The major hesitated, then came closer. “You will answer a question for me,” she ordered.

  “If I can.”

  “Why did you choose to turn on Rein?” Kaj’s eyes narrowed. “You could have left him to execute us there in the landing bay. All you needed to do was nothing. He would have carried out his attack, and you would have done your part in striking against a people you hate.”

  “I do not experience hatred.” Valeris’s reply was rote and automatic.

  Kaj continued. “Afterward, you could have escaped. Found whatever freedom you wanted. Why not, convict? Why did you do that?”

  “My name is not Convict,” said Valeris, ice forming on the words. “And I do not expect you to understand.”

  “Why?” Kaj snapped back. “Because I am a Klingon? An unsophisticated thug from a barbarian culture, incapable of thinking at your level?” She snorted. “Your conceit is immense, Vulcan.”

  Valeris turned away. A faint resonance sounded deep inside her—the ghost of an emotion. “I do not have to justify myself to you.”

  Kaj grabbed her by the shoulder and spun her around. “No,” she agreed, “but you will have to justify it one day. To yourself, if no other!” The Klingon prodded her in the chest. “I know why you hate us, Valeris. I know what happened to you!”

  “You do not know me,” she insisted, but there was a tremor in her words.

  “I read the report on what happened at Nidrus Gamma.” Kaj said the name and it made Valeris feel sick inside. “After Captain Sulu revealed that you were on board the Excelsior, at the first opportunity I downloaded every piece of data I could find on you from the archives of Imperial Intelligence. It wasn’t just about the death of Gorkon . . . I went deeper. There was a surprising amount of information on Commander K’Darg’s ill-conceived attempt to influence the local government on Nidrus all those years ago. His first officer gave a full report to the admiralty in order to ensure he was not charged with the same crimes.”

  “Crimes?” Valeris blinked, concentrating on maintaining her outward expression of neutrality; but within, her thoughts were churning.

  “Disregarding orders. K’Darg was an opportunistic fool, operating far beyond his remit. He presumed too much and paid the price for his greed. He had no authority to do what he did. The taking of prisoners for ransom is the act of a desperate coward.” Valeris saw genuine loathing in Kaj’s eyes. The Klingon’s sneer faded. “I know revenge very well, Vulcan. My culture is built upon its bloody bedrock. You have good reason to hate my kind.”

  “I do not experience—” Valeris caught herself, her voice rising. “My enmity toward the Klingon species is based in logic and fact, not emotional response,” she insisted. “You cannot be trusted! Your empire is a clear and present danger to the Federation. First the Empire was an enemy, interested only in deceit and conquest, and now it has become a parasite, taking support while biding time to turn against us once more!”

  “But never an ally?” Kaj replied. She became cold. “You could never accept that, could you? That our peoples might find common ground at last?” She prodded her again. “The mere thought of that terrified you.”

  “I do not fear you.” Valeris reached into herself and found a wellspring of defiance—but dark emotions spun and turned there, like ink through clear water.

  “Vulcans cannot lie,” Kaj said, walking away across the deck. “How many times has that falsehood been uttered, by fools who mistake logic for truth?” She pointed back at Valeris. “But the fact is Vulcans always lie. They lie to themselves.” The major shook her head. “You’re not machines. You deny what you are; you deny your emotions. That’s what you are afraid of.”

  Valeris tried to find a counterargument, but nothing seemed to fit. She could hear her blood thundering in her ears. The dark emotion inside her was brimming, colliding with flashes of memory from that day in the storehouse. The knife in her face, K’Darg’s leering eyes, the smell of blood and ozone . . .

  . . . and the fear . . .

  “Your argument is flawed,” Kaj told her. “If it were reason alone that drove you, then you would have let Vaughn and me perish. The success of Rein’s plan would result in the logical outcome you’ve wanted for so long: the collapse of the Klingon Empire. But now you are going to help save the very thing you hate! Explain that!”

  “I . . .” Valeris struggled to frame her reply—and failed. Her hands drew up into tight fists, her cheeks darkening with the rush of blood. Now the memories of Nidrus Gamma were swept away, overwritten by Rein’s words and the fierce, brutal emotions that wreathed him like smoke.

  If I could press a button and wipe every Klingon life from existence at once, there would be no hesitation in me. She remembered the perfect calm on his face as the Kriosian had said those words.

  Once, there had been a time when Valeris might have done the same. There were acts she had committed without pause and only the faintest flashes of remorse. The clandestine meetings. The corruptions of the Enterprise files, Kirk’s stolen logs . . . the silencing of Burke and Samno. They seemed like moments from some alien alternate of herself, distant and far removed.

  It all flowed from the black diamond of hatred that had buried itself in her three decades earlier. Valeris had learned to rationalize it, cloaked it in arrogance and bigotry and called it logic—but she had only built walls around her hate and denied it.

  Spock’s forced mind-meld had brought it screaming back to the surface, dragging it into the light where it was impossible to deny any longer. He showed her something in those brief, terrible moments, a truth about herself she did not wish to accept.

  On Jaros II, in the wake of the assassination, Valeris had been searching for a way to leave that behind. A single day she could live without the knowledge that she had poisoned herself with emotion. A day without the hate.

  And then there was Rein. He was a reflection of her, the same unbreakable will fueled by deep, old anger
, the same lies cast against the same enemy. Rein believed what he was doing was for the good of Krios Prime, for freedom and victory. But his lies were her lies—it was only personal revenge dressed up like something noble. Genocide, in return for past wounds.

  She saw it in his eyes as he watched his brother die moment by moment. Rein had allowed himself to be consumed by his emotions, driven by them until there was nothing left of the man he might have been. Valeris looked upon the leader of the Thorn and a greater fear came to her.

  I could become like him.

  She tried again. “I . . . It is difficult, once patterns of behavior have become entrenched, for one to accept a deviation. It does not come easily.”

  Kaj frowned. “Not every Klingon treats honor as a thing to be adhered to when it is convenient. Prejudice is born of this notion.”

  Valeris closed her eyes and, with a strength she had never believed she had, for the moment put out the old fires of her enmity. At length she nodded. “We will stop the Thorn,” she said, a sense of purpose rising in her, “and perhaps together we may redress the balance.”

  20

  Kaitaama’s Daughter

  Qo’noS Sector

  Klingon Empire

  The Kriosian cutter slowed steadily from warp speed to a careful impulse cruise, crossing the orbit of the outermost world of the Klinzhai system. As much as possible, the star system that was home to the Klingon species was a fortress in space: a boundary patrolled by a flotilla of guardian ships and protected by drones lay around it in a massive invisible sphere. These were the outer walls of the castle keep that was Qo’noS itself, and any ships making their approach along anything but the approved flight corridors were subject to attack without warning.

  The Daughter followed the course that Major Kaj had programmed into its navigation console hours earlier, traveling along the primary entry vector that the Defense Force left open for civilian transports and freighters. But it was immediately clear that the entire sector was on alert status. The patrols were more numerous, and the craft that normally swarmed the heavily populated system were moving in slow chains, under the watchful eyes of battle cruisers.