Star Trek: The Lost Era - 08 - 2319 - One Constant Star

by David R. George III

  Harriman took a couple of steps toward her. “What does that mean?” he asked. “That if I feel justified in doing what I have to do, then you should feel justified in what you have to do—namely, stop me?”

  “John,” Amina said, shaking her head. “John, how have I stopped you?”

  “Isn’t that why you’re here?” he asked. “You convinced Admiral Mentir to keep the Cassiopeia and the Enterprise in place long enough for you to bring me new orders.”

  “Because I knew that, in this particular rare case, you wouldn’t listen to me,” Amina said. “I don’t mean that you wouldn’t do as I suggested; I mean that you wouldn’t even listen to what I had to say.” She strode forward, her movements strong and supple, her carriage an exercise in grace. When she reached him, Amina tucked her padd beneath her arm, then took one of his hands in both of hers. “I knew you wouldn’t listen to me because, even if I don’t know the exact nature of the mission you’re going on, I know the reason you’re going. I understand the importance of the bonds you share with certain people.” She shrugged, and the corner of her mouth lifted, causing a dimple to form in her cheek. “They say you can’t pick your family, John, but in the entire time I’ve known you, that’s precisely what you’ve done. Everybody in your life who you were related to by blood is gone—and frankly, some of them weren’t worth having in your life anyway. But you’ve chosen your own family. I know because I’m in it. So is Demora. She’s the sister you never really got to have.”

  The reference to Lynn squeezed Harriman’s heart, as it almost always did. He’d loved his sister, older than he by two years. At the age of eighteen, during a break from university, she’d tagged along with friends on a trip to a border outpost. There, local law enforcement believed, she’d unintentionally witnessed a crime, a chance occurrence that had resulted in her murder.

  “My sister,” Harriman said, and he thought about how Demora really had fulfilled that role in his adult life. “My friend. She’s in trouble, Amina, and I’m the only one who can possibly save her—her, and more than five hundred other Starfleet personnel.”

  “I don’t quite understand how it is that only you can save Demora, because you won’t tell me,” Amina said, though with no hint of reproof. “But I believe you. I believe you because I love you, and because I do know who you are. You would tell me if you could.”

  “I really would.” He considered telling her at that moment, regulations and security clearances be damned. But the classified nature of the information wasn’t the only reason he hadn’t told Amina. He also feared that, if she knew what he intended to do, she would never be able to let him go.

  Amina patted his hand. “As a Starfleet officer, I appreciate your dedication to duty,” she said. “As your wife, not so much. But you are who you are, John, and I happen to love that man.”

  “You don’t know how much that means to me,” Harriman told her. “Especially now.”

  “I love you,” she said. “For now and ever.” They had used the phrase with each other almost since the very beginning of their relationship. It had been the title of a sonnet that Harriman had written for her.

  “I love you, for now and ever.” He moved forward and kissed her, his hand coming up to cradle her head. Staff in the shuttlebay control room could see them if they looked, as well as anybody who happened to be in either of the observation galleries, but he didn’t care.

  When they ended the kiss—warm and gentle and soft, filled with all they felt for each other—Harriman asked the question to which he had to have an answer. “If you’re not here to stop me, then what are Admiral Mentir’s new orders?”

  “You’re not taking the Cassiopeia on its mission by yourself,” she said.

  “What—?” he began, but he really didn’t know what to ask.

  “The chief of Starfleet Operations has temporarily reassigned me to the Cassiopeia,” Amina said. She handed him the padd. “Length of tour to be determined.”

  Harriman took the padd and reviewed the order. His mouth fell open. He didn’t know how to react. He felt elated and terrified at the same time—elated that he would not have to leave Amina, and terrified what it would mean for her life. “But . . . the station . . .”

  “I’ve left my exec in command,” Amina said. “I think Farish has been waiting for an opportunity like this for a long time. When I informed him, he practically ushered me to the warp shuttle.”

  Harriman chuckled, and the lightness of the moment felt good. “You may never get your command back.”

  “No, I guess I might not.” The simple statement contained several levels of meaning, the most serious of which Harriman felt he needed to address.

  “Amina, this mission—”

  “I don’t want to hear anything about the dangers involved,” she said. “I’m a Starfleet officer . . . a captain, not some deskbound admiral. I’ve served on starships, and I’ve spent more time on the edge of the Romulan Neutral Zone than almost anybody in Starfleet, including you. And I also don’t want to hear about us maybe never being able to come home. That’s the whole point. This—” She tapped a finger to where her heart beat beneath her chest. “—is my home . . . and this.” She touched the left side of his chest.

  “I love you,” Harriman said, and he wrapped his arms around his wife.

  “Let this be a lesson to you, John Jason Harriman the Second,” she whispered into his ear. “If you ever leave me, I’m going with you.”

  * * *

  10

  * * *

  Tenger didn’t like it, but then, nobody had asked his opinion. Sending a virtually empty starship to collect a stranded crew made sense, and transporting injured personnel up to a vessel with a functioning sickbay also had a certain logic to it. But if you considered that none of those recovered individuals would actually stop being marooned, or that the cost of taking on that action would be to leave two more people cut off from the Federation, it simply ceased to add up.

  The security chief knew that Linojj thought it foolish to allow one or two officers to pilot a starship on their own, even for a brief journey, but Tenger disagreed with that as well. If Buonarroti and the engineering staff could centralize the controls so that Harriman—or Harriman and Sasine, as it turned out—could command the ship, then why not automate it totally? They could send Cassiopeia through the portal with the shuttlebay doors left open but its force field in place. Captain Hikaru Sulu could then land Pytheas in the hangar deck, make his way to a transporter room, and begin beaming his crew up from the surface. The result would be the same as with Harriman’s plan, except that neither the admiral nor his wife would have to be placed in the same plight as the people they were attempting to save.

  Something else is going on, Tenger concluded. Maybe Harriman did have a means of reversing the portal’s flow—although if he did, why would he keep that from the Enterprise crew? Again, something didn’t seem right to him, and he figured that some vital piece of information must be missing from his understanding of the situation.

  Beside him, on the other end of the combined communications-and-tactical console, an indicator signaled an incoming transmission. Kanchumurthi acknowledged the alert with a touch, then brought up a window of the sender’s identifying information. “Incoming message from the Cassiopeia,” he said.

  “Put it on-screen,” said Linojj from where she sat in the command chair.

  Kanchumurthi did as ordered, and the main viewer blinked, the image of the Cassiopeia bridge replacing that of the ship itself. “Commander Linojj,” said Harriman, “the Cassiopeia is ready to commence its journey. We’ve sent a probe with a message notifying Captain Sulu that we’ll be coming through the portal shortly.” The admiral did not sit in the center of the bridge, but at a peripheral station on the port side. Captain Sasine crewed the communications panel.

  “Acknowledged,” Linojj said. “We wish you—”

  “Admiral!” Sasine said, just as Tenger saw what she must have seen appear on Cassio
peia’s tactical display. “I have three bogeys incoming.”

  “Confirmed,” Tenger said as he worked his controls to accumulate profiles on the approaching vessels. “They’re Tzenkethi. Three frigates, coming fast.”

  “Profile?” Linojj asked.

  “Trident-shaped,” Tenger said. “Highly maneuverable, armed with disruptors and plasma cannon. Firepower and deflectors almost as strong as an Excelsior-class vessel, stronger than a Constellation-class vessel. Faster than both.”

  “Admiral,” Linojj said, standing and moving to the center of the bridge. “If you’re going, I’d say that now is the time.”

  “Agreed,” Harriman said. “Engaging thrusters and bringing us about.”

  “We’ll wait until you’ve cleared the portal,” Linojj said.

  Tenger expected the admiral to countermand Linojj, to order Enterprise out of the system and back to Helaspont Station, but instead, he said nothing. Then the security chief recalled that, to ensure safe passage through the portal, Harriman intended to use only thrusters, employing the impulse drive only once he’d cleared the alien device. If the notably belligerent Tzenkethi arrived before Harriman and Sasine had made good their escape, Cassiopeia would be no match for even one frigate—even if Cassiopeia had a full crew.

  “Time until the Tzenkethi arrive?” Linojj asked.

  Tenger calculated the frigates’ velocity and distance. “Less than five minutes.”

  “Admiral,” Linojj said, “can you make it through the portal by then?”

  “We can if we punch it,” Harriman said. “Increasing speed.”

  As the seconds passed, Linojj walked over to stand between the helm and navigation stations. “Lieutenant Aldani, set a course directly away from the Tzenkethi Coalition. Let’s not give them any reason to think we’re interested in their territory.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Ensign Syndergaard,” Linojj continued, “on my order, I want you to break out of the system as quickly as you can. At the earliest possible moment where we have a safety margin, accelerate to warp nine.”

  “Understood, sir.”

  Linojj walked back toward the command chair, but she didn’t sit. Instead, she looked up at Tenger. “Time until the Cassiopeia makes it to the portal?”

  “One minute,” Tenger told her. “The Tzenkethi have just dropped out of warp. They will arrive in less than ninety seconds.” Suddenly, a new reading appeared on the tactical console, which emitted a series of alert tones.

  “What is it?” Linojj asked.

  Tenger checked the sensors. He couldn’t believe what he saw. “There are three more Tzenkethi vessels headed this way—two frigates and one of their next-generation warships. They are no more than twenty minutes out.”

  “Raise shields and charge weapons,” Linojj said.

  ♦ ♦ ♦

  “No,” Harriman said. He wanted to rescue all of the Starfleet personnel stranded on the other side of the portal, he had come to the Rejarris system specifically to do that, but he could not risk a war to do so—or even short of that, he could not leave the Enterprise crew outgunned by an antagonistic force, six starships to one. Not that a second Starfleet vessel will make a difference, he thought. But he was the ranking officer on scene, and he would live up to that responsibility. “Stand down, Commander Linojj,” he said as he worked his controls to turn Cassiopeia away from the portal. “Let’s not give the Tzenkethi any reason to fight.”

  “With all due respect, Admiral,” Linojj said, “the only reason the Tzenkethi need to fight is that we’re from the Federation.”

  “Captain,” Tenger said, “we’re being hailed.”

  “Captain Sasine, open a channel with the Enterprise and the Tzenkethi ship,” Harriman said. He set a course to return to Enterprise’s flank.

  “Yes, Admiral,” Amina said. She worked the communications console. “The Tzenkethi message is audio only.” Harriman knew that the Tzenkethi typically eschewed visual communications with other species, although their reasoning remained a source of speculation within Starfleet.

  “Let’s hear it.”

  “Tzenkethi squadron to Federation starships,” said a voice interpreted by the universal translator into Federation Standard. The software lent the speaker’s voice a soft lilt, a fair approximation of the Tzenkethi, whose verbal communication, when heard firsthand, sounded more like a carillon than speech. “This is Gedlin Siv Vel-B.”

  “Gedlin Siv,” Harriman said, using the Tzenkethi’s given name, followed by his title, “this is Admiral John Harriman of the U.S.S. Cassiopeia.”

  “Admiral Harriman, I demand to know why two Federation starships have made incursions into Tzenkethi space.”

  At the communications console, Amina pointed toward the main viewscreen. On it, the image of the portal had been replaced by that of three Tzenkethi vessels, arrayed in a triangular formation. Each had the form of a trident, with the tine-like hulls forward and a wide, single base behind. The two outer hulls curved outward from where the third hull met the base. The ships had no angles, only a collection of smooth, flowing surfaces, all a lustrous metallic green. The forward tips of the tines, Harriman knew, hid a collection of disruptors and plasma cannon.

  “Gedlin Siv, the Federation knows of no claims to this star system, or to any system in this sector, by the Coalition,” Harriman said.

  “The Tzenkethi Coalition is not required to inform the Federation of its territorial imperatives,” said Gedlin, the gentle rendering of his voice by the translator no mask for the vexation in his words.

  “Certainly not,” Harriman said, trying to strike an appropriate tone and find the right approach to extract the two Starfleet vessels from the situation without any shots being fired. “I did not mean to imply that the Coalition has any obligation to the Federation. I simply wanted to point out that we are not willfully violating Tzenkethi territory.”

  “And yet you are nevertheless in violation,” Gedlin said, apparently unwilling to try to find any common ground.

  “As you say, we are in violation,” Harriman told the squadron leader. “We will therefore withdraw at once, if that will satisfy your grievance.” He checked to ensure the active status of the impulse engines as he waited for a response, but he received only silence. It’s no wonder I’ve never heard anybody ever utter the phrase “Tzenkethi hospitality.” “Commander Linojj, you’ve heard the request of Gedlin Siv that we vacate this star system, as well as my agreement to do so.”

  “I have, Admiral,” Linojj replied. “What are your orders?”

  “We will withdraw,” Harriman said. He wanted to make a run for the portal, but for so many reasons, he couldn’t. Not only would that leave the Enterprise at the mercy of three Tzenkethi frigates—all faster and, in aggregate, far more powerful than the single Excelsior-class vessel—but three more Coalition vessels would arrive shortly, including one of their brand-new marauders, which Starfleet believed could match up against any Federation starship. But even if the Enterprise crew could manage to get their vessel away and clear, Harriman couldn’t take Cassiopeia through the portal for fear that the Tzenkethi would follow. It had been difficult enough to prepare the ship to be controlled for a brief period of time, over a short distance, by one man; he and Amina could not hope to survive taking Cassiopeia into battle, nor would they be able to lower the shields in order to transport up members of the Excelsior crew.

  But if we withdraw, Harriman thought, the Tzenkethi will likely find the portal anyway. It seemed to him that if one of the Coalition vessels vanished through the structure, or was even caught by its tractor beams, the other Tzenkethi ships would probably destroy it. Either that, tow it home, or set up a research project at Rejarris II. None of those cases would allow for the continued safety of the stranded Starfleet personnel.

  “Admiral Harriman?” Gedlin asked. “I am waiting for your ships to withdraw.”

  “We need a few moments to prepare for warp speed,” Harriman said, trying to buy
some time—except that, in just minutes, the other three Tzenkethi starships would arrive. “This is an old vessel, but I’m sure you can see from your own sensor scans that you have nothing to fear from us. We are running with our shields down and our weapons offline.” He hoped that Linojj had hewn to his orders.

  “You have no more time,” Gedlin Siv said. “Withdraw at once, or pay the price for your trespass.”

  “Understood,” Harriman said, and he immediately looked to Amina and made a slashing motion across his neck.

  “Channel to the Tzenkethi muted,” she said. “You’re still on with the Enterprise.”

  “We’re here, Admiral,” Linojj said.

  “Perhaps now would be a good time to fake our own deaths,” Harriman told her, only partially joking. And it’s not like I haven’t done something like that before. “Commander Linojj, leave your shields down and your weapons offline. I’m setting a course out of the system that will take us directly toward the portal. Follow half a kilometer behind. When the Cassiopeia is exactly one kilometer from the portal, transport Captain Sasine and me directly to the Enterprise bridge.”

  “Admiral?” Linojj asked, skepticism evident in her voice.

  “That’s an order, Captain,” Harriman said, not harshly. “But Xintal, you need to trust me. I’m taking a chance, but it’s the only chance we have to save the crews of both the Enterprise and the Excelsior.” Harriman waited only a beat, but Linojj’s silence seemed to go on far longer than that. If she won’t—

  “The Enterprise is ready to follow the Cassiopeia, Admiral,” Linojj said.

  “Excellent,” he said. “Harriman out.” As Amina closed the channel to Enterprise, he set about turning his starship slowly and unthreateningly away from the three Tzenkethi frigates. “Put Gedlin on,” he told Amina. She did so, then nodded. “Gedlin Siv, as you can see, we are withdrawing. We will depart the system, go to warp, and head directly for Federation space.” He very carefully laid in Cassiopeia’s course.