Star Trek: The Fall: A Ceremony of Losses

by David Mack

  The comm crackled slightly as th’Liro hailed them. “Attention, civilian vessel Parham and Starfleet vessel Aventine. We have received an executive order directing us to stand down. Captain Dax, you’re free to take Doctor Bashir and his accomplice into custody and depart.”

  Dax replied, “Acknowledged, Ilmarriven. We’ll make this quick and painless.”

  Enraged, Harris muted the comm. “Those blue bastards! They sold us out!”

  “Captain, stay calm. I’ll need your help if I’m—” Bashir’s plea was interrupted by a jolt that rocked the tramp freighter. A blinding golden radiance filled the cockpit. He lifted a hand to shield his eyes. “Tractor beam. You’d best power down, Captain.”

  Harris trembled with fury. “I ain’t gettin’ reeled in like a prize marlin.” He jabbed at switches on his master control console, and the next thing Bashir saw was a holographic targeting sight superimposed over the viewport in front of Harris.

  “You said this vessel was unarmed!”

  “Officially? It is.” Harris locked the Parham’s concealed phaser cannon onto the unshielded Aventine. “Unofficially? I got sick of being hassled by pirates. Never thought I’d have to use this on a Starfleet ship, but there’s a first time for everything, I guess.”

  “Stop!” Bashir lunged to pry Harris’s hands from the controls, but by the time he seized the captain’s wrists, it was too late—Harris had fired. A cloud of orange flames and blackened debris erupted from the Aventine’s main deflector dish. The tractor beam faltered and ceased, and for a moment the Parham floated free as its would-be captor listed sharply to port.

  Then everything went straight to hell, just as Bashir had always feared it would.

  • • •

  That does it, Dax fumed. No more kid gloves. She white-knuckled her command chair’s armrest as operations officer Mirren struggled to bring Aventine’s inertial dampers back online and flight controller Tharp fought to restore the ship to its previous attitude.

  Bowers’s deep voice cut through the whooping alarms and frantic chatter. “Damage reports! Now!” He pivoted toward Kedair. “Target the Parham and fire to disable!”

  “Locking phasers. Firing. One hit.” The security chief reacted to an alert on her console. “Holding fire—one of the Andorian ships is blocking our shot.”

  “Magnify.” Dax watched as Kedair adjusted the image on the forward viewscreen to show the second Andorian battle cruiser, the Tuonetar, maneuvering into a defensive posture that prevented the Aventine from targeting the escaping tramp freighter. “Mirren, hail that ship, and get me the captain of the Ilmarriven. Tharp, come about, Pursuit Pattern Indigo. Get us a shot at the Parham before she enters the atmosphere.”

  While the others carried out her orders, Bowers stepped to his customary post at the right of Dax’s chair. “We took a direct hit to the main deflector dish. Damage to all primary sensors, including the ones we need for slipstream. Be warned, our targeting’s also going to be impaired.”

  “Wonderful.” Despite the Aventine’s maneuvering, the image on the viewscreen continued to show the Tuonetar dead ahead. Dax leaned forward. “Tharp, report.”

  “The Tuonetar’s moving with us, Captain. I can’t get around her.”

  Mirren swiveled her chair to look back at Dax. “I have Captain th’Liro on audio.”

  Dax stood up to better project her voice, though her rising swell of anger likely would have done the job just fine all on its own. “Captain th’Liro, why is your sister ship impeding our effort to capture the Parham?”

  “Unknown. We’ve ordered Captain sh’Naar to stand down, but she refuses to respond to our hails.”

  Kedair silenced a shrill alert on the tactical console. “Captain, the Tuonetar is raising shields and charging its weapons, and the Tholian battleship is moving to attack position.”

  “Shields up,” Dax said, almost as if by reflex.

  Bowers leaned close to confide, “Without the main deflector, we have no forward shields. So I recommend we avoid taking any punches on the nose, Captain.”

  She whispered back, “Noted.” Then she raised her voice for the comm discussion. “Captain sh’Naar, this is Captain Dax aboard the Starfleet vessel Aventine. We have no quarrel with you or the Andorian people. Please stand down and let us—”

  A flash of light on the viewscreen was matched by a thunderous boom that resonated through the deck and bulkheads and sent Dax and Bowers tumbling across the pitching deck of the bridge. They slammed against each other as they collided with the access panels beneath the starboard consoles. The roar of the blast faded but left Dax’s ears ringing.

  Kedair reported with cool detachment, “The Tuonetar fired on us, Captain.”

  All eyes on the bridge turned toward Dax, who realized that her next orders would mean the difference between peace and war for billions, as well as the life or death of her crew.

  “All power to shields, Lieutenant. And get me a shot on the Parham before it’s too late.”

  • • •

  Captain Lemarliten sh’Naar was desperate. “Hit them again! Target their impulse drive! Helm, keep us ahead of them! Someone hail the Parham, tell them to use us for cover!”

  Fearful glances skipped from one junior officer to another, and another, as if everyone on the bridge of the Tuonetar was waiting for someone else to second-guess their commander. By default, the task fell to her first officer, Commander th’Desh.

  Her second-in-command was reed-thin and taller than a hermit’s tale. He towered over her as he interposed himself between her and the rest of the crew, no doubt to stop her from giving them more orders. His voice was trip-wire taut. “Captain, we had no order to fire.”

  “It’s my order, Commander. Carry it out.”

  I don’t have time for this, sh’Naar raged as th’Desh stalked away from her command chair. None of us do. In her heart, she knew time was running out, not only for her and her bondmates—who after three attempts had yet to accomplish even a single successful fertilization—but for the Andorian people as a culture and as a species.

  The communications officer turned from his panel to face sh’Naar. “Captain, no response from the Parham—but Presider ch’Foruta has ordered me to put him on the shipwide comm.” He tapped a blinking icon on his panel, and then the presider’s voice resounded through the ship.

  “Attention, officers and crew of the Tuonetar. Your attack on the Starfleet vessel is in direct defiance of my executive order. This is a direct order: Stand down, before this conflict escalates into—” Sh’Naar cut off the presider’s message in mid-sentence with a tap on her command console, then she opened her own channel to address the crew.

  “Attention, all decks, this is the captain speaking. I know I don’t need to tell any of you that our people stand on the brink of extinction. So, with all due respect to Presider ch’Foruta, I will not let that Starfleet vessel leave our space with a man who says he has brought us the cure. I can’t guarantee that Bashir is truthful. Or that he’s right. But for the sake of our families—for the sake of our people—I intend to give him a chance to prove that he is both. Remain at your posts, and carry out your orders. That is all.” She closed the channel and turned her chair toward her tactical officer. “You have your orders. Don’t make me repeat them.”

  “Yes, Captain.” The young chan avoided eye contact with sh’Naar and focused on his panel as he fired the Tuonetar’s phasers at the Aventine. Then he looked up, terrified. “Sir, the Ilmarriven is raising shields and charging weapons—and ordering us to stand down.”

  She watched the Ilmarriven maneuver into prime firing position against the Tuonetar. Every second was priceless now; unless sh’Naar could bring the Parham aboard the Tuonetar to let her crew evaluate Bashir’s alleged cure, the opportunity would be lost. Regardless, even if her gamble proved justified, she knew this would mean the end of her military career—but all she cared about in that moment was the family she had been so long denied.

 
Sh’Naar resigned herself to the will of Uzaveh and cast aside caution.

  “Helm, catch up to the Parham right now . . . no matter what it takes.”

  • • •

  It was impossible to see the Parham’s command console through the toxic smoke filling the cockpit, but Bashir guessed from the sickly whining and groaning of the ship’s damaged impulse engines that Captain Harris’s ill-advised escape attempt wasn’t setting any speed records. “Evasive, starboard! Get us out of the crossfire!”

  “Jus’ sit back, Doc! I know what I’m—”

  A nearby barrage of phaser fire turned everything retina-searing white for a split second. Then a stray shot volleyed between the two Andorian starships on either side of the Parham clipped the tramp freighter with a glancing blow that showered Bashir and Harris in sparks. The lights dimmed, and the consoles hiccuped on and off for a moment before half of them went dark and stayed that way. Harris thumped one screen with the side of his fist and coaxed it back to life for a few seconds, long enough to parse an automated damage report. “Cannon’s fried, warp drive’s toast. Starboard might’ve been a good call, after all.”

  Bashir made a quick survey of which systems were still functional. “Shut down main power and use the manual thrusters to push us toward the atmosphere.”

  Harris gawked as if Bashir were a gibbering mugato. “Are you outta your mind, Doc? Dive into atmo without main power? We’d go up like a cricket in a campfire.”

  How had Harris survived this long flying a ship by himself? “I’m not suggesting we leave main power off all the way down. Just long enough to drop off everyone’s primary sensors for a few seconds so we can make a run for the surface.”

  “The surface? Maybe you missed the memo, Doc, but they’re not exactly rolling out the red carpet for you. It’s my ship, and I say we boogie.”

  “With no warp drive? How far do you think you’ll get before—”

  A metallic-sounding vocoder voice screeched over the comm. “Attention, commander, Parham. This is Commander Rezthene of the Tanj’k Tholis. Prepare to be taken in tow for your own safety. Failure to comply will be interpreted as a hostile act.”

  The two men frantically waved away the cloud of smoke in front of them to see the Tholian battleship cruising directly toward them. The sight of the triple-wedge-shaped vessel bearing down on them impelled Bashir to push himself as far back into his chair as he could go. “Captain, if I was you, right about now I would be—”

  “Leaving! What a wonderful idea!” Harris patched every last bit of power he could dredge from his ship’s batteries and wounded impulse core and set a course for full retreat from the Tanj’k Tholis—even though that meant risking another run through the gauntlet of phaser fire dancing between the Tuonetar and the Ilmarriven.

  The Parham lurched to a halt, and its hull creaked like a rusty hinge being twisted apart. Harris checked his instruments. “Tractor beam. But it ain’t the bugs, it’s—”

  “Captain Harris,” said a woman’s voice, “this is the Tuonetar. We have you in a tractor beam. Shut down your engines and let us bring you aboard.”

  Reacting to Bashir’s affirming nod, Harris replied, “Whatever you say, ma’am.” He reached up, closed the channel, and looked at Bashir. “So, is that it? Mission accomplished?”

  Outside, salvos of phaser fire leaped in all directions between the Tuonetar and the Ilmarriven—and the Parham quaked as the tractor beam enfolding it stuttered.

  “Not yet,” Bashir said. “Not even close.”

  • • •

  It was all spiraling out of control. A new enemy rose at every turn, and sh’Naar knew at once that her ship was outmatched. The Parham was being towed into the Tuonetar’s main hangar, but the Aventine was proving more resilient than she had expected, and now the Ilmarriven had turned against sh’Naar, firing multiple shots that had left the Tuonetar hobbled.

  “Aft shields failing,” called out the engineering officer. “We’re losing main power!”

  Damage reports raced up the command display beside sh’Naar’s chair. “Patch in the reserves, and divert power from life support to the tractor beam.” A tap on the console switched it from damage control to tactical. As belligerent as the Tholians were, they were courting Andor, so sh’Naar was sure the Tanj’k Tholis wouldn’t fire. As for Captain th’Liro and the Ilmarriven, she had a hunch they would pull their punches long enough for her to finish this. “Tactical, keep an eye on the Aventine, but target all weapons on the Ilmarriven, and angle our aft quarter toward the Tholians. Fire on my mark!”

  “Belay that order,” th’Desh said, loud enough for everyone on the bridge to hear. “Cease fire, drop shields, and open a channel to the Aventine and the Ilmarriven.” All at once, battle activity on the bridge halted, and everyone looked up with both hope and fear.

  Sh’Naar turned to see her first officer holding her at phaser-point. “Mutiny?”

  The gaunt-faced thaan glanced at the communications officer, who confirmed with a nod that the channel was open. “Captain sh’Naar: By authority of a lawful executive order from Presider ch’Foruta of the Parliament Andoria, and in accordance with Andorian Imperial Fleet regulations, I relieve you of your command, on the grounds that you have acted against the orders of a superior, and are, in the professional estimation of myself and Doctor zh’Phair, psychologically unfit for command.” Neither his hand nor his voice wavered as he added, “Lieutenant ch’Mas, take Captain sh’Naar into custody and escort her to the brig.”

  There was nothing to say, so sh’Naar waited until the tactical officer drew his phaser and ushered her toward the turbolift. As they walked to the waiting lift car, she heard th’Desh issue his first order as the new acting captain of the Tuonetar.

  “Release the tractor beam on the Parham, and tell Captain Dax it’s all hers.”

  • • •

  Standing at the center of a smoke-filled bridge, surrounded by fragged consoles and plasma conduits raining erratic sparks from the overhead, Dax was torn between feeling grateful that the Tholians had stayed out of the altercation and that no one on either side seemed to have been seriously hurt, and feeling borderline homicidal that Harris, Bashir, and a rogue Andorian starship commander had put her and her crew in this position in the first place.

  Bowers finished his circuit of the bridge and joined Dax in front of their side-by-side command chairs. “Heavy damage to the main deflector, sensors, and shields. Minor damage to the port warp nacelle and its slipstream coils. A few injuries, no fatalities.”

  “Bottom line it for me.”

  “We’re looking at two to three days of repairs before we can leave orbit.”

  It was all Dax could do to keep her temper in check. “Dammit. I was ready to go easy on that civilian until he did this. Now I plan to make sure he never breathes free air again.”

  “You and me both, Captain.” Bowers motioned toward the flashing alert panels on the bulkheads. “Should we stand down from Yellow Alert?”

  “No. Captain sh’Naar’s reaction makes it clear this whole mess is a lot more incendiary than we thought. There’s no telling where the next blowup might come from, so stay sharp, and keep the shields up, just in case.”

  “Understood.”

  Mirren got up from the operations console and walked back to join Dax and Bowers. “Sirs? The main shuttlebay reports the Parham is aboard. On my recommendation, we’re waiting until a security detail arrives before we pressurize the bay.”

  Finally, some good news. “Smartly done, Lieutenant.” Dax turned toward the security chief. “Lonnoc. Take a team to the shuttlebay and arrest Captain Harris and Doctor Bashir.”

  Twenty-three

  Framed within the desktop monitor, Fleet Admiral Akaar was the very portrait of stoicism. He seemed less pleased by Dax’s news than she had hoped he would be, accepting her report of Bashir’s capture with a slow, dour nod. “Have you debriefed him yet?”

  “No, sir. My security chief arrested him a
nd his accomplice a few minutes ago. They’ve been searched and confined to separate sections of the brig.”

  “Well done, Captain. Now bring Bashir back to Earth, as soon as possible.”

  It was time for the bad news. “I’m afraid our return has been delayed, sir.”

  Concern creased the white-haired admiral’s brow. “Explain.”

  “During our initial attempt to tow the Parham aboard, it fired on us, using a concealed weapons system. We returned fire and disabled the freighter’s weapons and warp drive, but before we could reestablish our tractor beam, the Andorian cruiser Tuonetar fired on us.” She picked up a padd from her ready room’s desk. “Long story short, we’ve sustained some—”

  “Stop—the Andorians fired on you?”

  “I was hoping I might gloss over that part.”

  “Keep hoping.” His concern intensified. “Please tell me you did not return fire.”

  She shook her head. “No, sir, we didn’t. Within less than a minute of the Tuonetar’s first shots, it was intercepted by its sister ship the Ilmarriven, and the Tuonetar’s first officer relieved its captain by order of the Andorian presider.”

  “So this can remain a strictly internal matter for the Andorians?”

  “Yes, sir, that’s my understanding. We’ve just received formal apologies from both the Parliament Andoria and the Andorian Imperial Command.”

  Akaar’s fierce mask of anxiety relaxed a bit. “Good. I know it can’t have been easy to hold your fire in such circumstances, Captain. I commend you and your crew for your restraint.”

  “Thank you, Admiral.”

  “Now, if you can, please explain to me why the Andorians fired on you.”

  She dreaded his reaction to her next revelation. “He told the Andorians that he came bearing the cure to their fertility crisis. And he asked their government for political asylum.”

  He closed his eyes and massaged his temples with his thumbs. “Did they believe him?”

  “Hard to say. They denied his request, if that means anything.”