Wasn’t that just what Section 31 had done to him? Drawn him down the wrong path, blinded him to the better way, led him to do great harm with the excuse that it was for a good cause? And hadn’t this whole mission been his attempt to escape from all that?
Maybe there was no escape. Maybe this was all he was now. Even if he succeeded in bringing Section 31 down, it still lived on inside him.
Where could he possibly go from here?
15
Birnam
IN THE WAKE of the events surrounding the forest fire and the discovery of the dryads’ funereal practices, Captain Zang had suspended his plans to harvest dryad tissues. Though not completely convinced that the species was self-aware, he was no longer willing to take the risk. He had shifted the Verne crew’s efforts toward searching for equivalent pharmaceutical compounds in other, less complex species of Birnamite flora. Harvesting the dryads had become a more difficult proposition in any case, since the huge dendriforms had grown wary of humanoids and begun to give them a wide berth. The speed with which the awareness of the tiny animals as a threat had spread through the dryad population was further evidence of their ability to communicate. T’Pol had recommended that the Boomers keep their distance from the dryads as well, so as to minimize the risk of disruption to their culture and way of life.
As for Maya Castellano, there was no clear way to define any crime to charge her with, aside from reckless endangerment. The legal status of the dryads had not been defined at the time of her action, and the authority for penalizing her lay with Zang and the Verne crew—but it was hard to imagine a greater punishment than the shame and condemnation she saw in her son’s eyes in those few moments when he was even willing to be in the same room with her. Her attempts to explain to Alec that she had done it to protect his future had only made him angrier; he refused to let her use him as the excuse for her actions.
The Endeavour crew had stayed on for a few more days to continue their studies, but Hoshi Sato had seen little of Farid Najafi, who had been up on the Verne recovering from the burns and smoke inhalation he’d sustained in the fire. He did return to the planet surface when the time came for the Starfleet party to make their final farewells before moving on to their next assignment.
Hoshi greeted him next to the grove of asparagus trees outside the Boomers’ camp, offering him a data slate. “This is the best linguistic model I’ve been able to construct based on the brain scans we got,” she said. “A couple of the surviving dryads still had enough tracer in them to let us get some useful data, though we had to do it from a distance and the resolution isn’t great. But it’s something. Maybe it’ll lead to a way to translate their speech, even communicate with them if you decide to try it.”
Farid smiled. “Talk to the trees, and have them listen to me? There’s a dream come true.” He took her hand. “Hoshi, I don’t know how to thank you for all you’ve done for us. Or how to apologize for the liberties I took—”
She placed her other hand atop his. “Don’t even think of it. That was all on me.” She looked away, grinning nervously. “Please don’t take this the wrong way—but I realize now it was never even about you. I mean, yes, you’re funny and sweet and sexy, but . . .”
Hoshi let go of his hand. “When I saw you in danger from the fire, I was . . . well, I was concerned, of course. But when I thought it through afterward, I realized it was no more than the concern I’d feel for anyone I saw in danger. I was worried for you, but not . . . not devastated. Not like I was when Takashi was almost killed.”
She sighed, folding her hands before her. “That was . . . so terrifying. And ever since then, I’ve been coping with the price he’s had to pay for his heroism . . . the loss of so much of who he was, the struggles every day. I’ve felt such intense anxiety, such turmoil over my future with him. I turned to you because I wanted to retreat—to hide from that intensity. To take solace in something more fun and carefree.
“But now I see . . . the whole reason my fears are so intense is because my love for him is so intense. It wouldn’t be so hard if he didn’t mean so much to me. And my concerns for the future wouldn’t affect me so much if I weren’t truly committed to that future. My fear didn’t mean I shouldn’t be with him—it meant I should. My love for him is strong enough that I’ll be there for him no matter how hard it gets. And that’s what he needs. It’s what I need—to know I have that strength in me.”
Najafi was quiet for a long moment. “So . . . do you understand?” Hoshi asked.
He cleared his throat. “Um . . . sure. Yes. I’m, I’m glad that your lack of actual caring for me has brought you such clarity. I guess.”
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it that way—”
“No, really, it’s all right. It would’ve been more flattering if you’d been madly in love with me, sure, but I’m glad for you that you have someone you do care about that deeply. And, well, it was fun while it lasted. We’ll always have the pitcher plant.” They shared an awkward laugh.
He came closer and clasped both her hands this time. “What can I say? Birnam is like some idyllic fairyland. It brings our dreams closer to the surface. We got to share a momentary dream, and I liked it a lot. I got to kiss those lips, which is almost as great an achievement as proving that trees are people too.” She blushed and rolled her eyes. “And I’m glad you got something more substantial out of it. It’s the least I can do in return for all you did for me and the dryads.”
Moving in, Farid kissed her on the forehead. “Thank you, Hoshi Sato. And may the sun never set on your happiness.”
March 10, 2166
Starfleet Headquarters
Malcolm Reed strode into Admiral Archer’s office with a pleased look on his bearded face. “We finally have a line on Harris, sir.”
Archer considered him guardedly, hesitant to get too excited. Most of the news had tended to be positive in the days since Reed and Marcus Williams had come forward to present their case against Section 31 to the judge advocate general and the Federation Department of Justice. The indictments against Harris and his cadre of unsanctioned spies had come down quickly, and Starfleet’s rank and file had been readily cooperating—partly due to Archer’s instructions, but largely out of a sense of relief on the part of those officers who had been manipulated or pressured into helping the Section from time to time, only to discover that its hooks were not easy to extract once they were in. Williams had not been the only asset whose conscience had troubled him, and a number of others had agreed to share what they knew once they had learned of the Section’s role in the fall of the Partnership. Their cooperation had helped lead to the arrest of over a dozen committed, full-time agents of the cabal so far, and the seizure of the facilities from which they had operated.
Not all consciences had been possible to salve, though. Admiral Parvati Rao, Harris’s old Starfleet Intelligence liaison who had been implicated in Section activities by the new testimony, had been found several months dead in her remote home on the plains of Mars. Evidently she had taken her own life not long after the Partnership investigations had begun, perhaps fearing the very chain of events that had led to her exposure. One thing that Rao had been known for, Archer reflected, was her uncannily accurate foresight.
Despite Rao’s involvement, the evidence made it reassuringly clear that the core membership of the Section had been a fairly small group of current and former Starfleet officers. T’Pol had been correct in her probabilistic assessment that the conspiracy would need to be relatively small in order to last as long as it had. It also appeared to be limited entirely to the United Earth branch of Starfleet. Evidently the group had been too insular to consider recruiting outside the Earth branch in the five years since the Federation’s founding.
As for the use of Article 14, Section 31 of the Starfleet Charter as the group’s self-justification and informal name, that fact had been kept out of the press, with Archer’s grudging cooperation. It was the judgment of Secretary sh’Mirrin that reveal
ing that information might give the false impression that Starfleet’s bylaws actually endorsed such a group, rather than simply being ambiguous enough to be exploited as its excuse—or, even worse, that it might give future officers the idea of following in Harris’s footsteps. As far as the news and the history books would record, the organization was simply “the Harris conspiracy.”
Indeed, many of its members might remain anonymous as well, for no records of their identities had been found. The operatives now in custody had been identified from their DNA and biometrics, but Harris and his top echelon remained at large—as, of course, did Charles Tucker. Trip would still be officially dead unless he chose to come forward and set the record straight. Archer and Reed were in agreement that they would not reveal his secret without his approval, and they were certain the others who knew of his survival—namely T’Pol, Phlox, Travis Mayweather, and Hoshi Sato—would agree.
Unfortunately, the JAG office’s data forensics teams had achieved only limited success at decrypting the Section’s computer records or reconstructing those that the agents had attempted to erase prior to their arrest. The JAG assured Archer that enough information had been recovered to shut down the cabal and prosecute most of its members, but certain key categories of information had proved unrecoverable, including data on their secure communication protocols, their top-level organizational structure, the details of their origins, and their long-term plans. The very selectivity of what was lost was suspicious in itself, but it was possible that Harris and his circle had kept that information strictly in their own heads, or in files carried on their persons. Tracking them down had been Malcolm Reed’s top priority.
“How much of a ‘line’ are we talking, Malcolm?” Archer asked.
“It’s thin, sir. But we found a trail of ownership leading to a small, private starship with a sophisticated warp drive. We located the hangar, and although the ship was gone, we were able to determine its initial flight plan and range based on hangar records, staff interviews, and in-system traffic scans. It’s a given that they’ve diverged from their filed plan by now, but they only left two days ago, and I’ve retasked two Andorian Guard ships to track their ion trail. We won’t let them get away, sir.”
“That’s encouraging news, Malcolm. Good work.”
“Save it for when we have Harris and all his cronies in a cell, if you don’t mind, sir.”
Archer rose, came around his desk, and clasped Reed’s shoulder. “I think you’re more than deserving of a ‘good work,’ Malcolm. I’ve been very grateful for your assistance these past few days. With Marcus resigning, it’s been . . . well, it would’ve been a hell of a mess without you helping out.”
Reed sighed. “It’s a hell of a mess either way, sir. I mean, Pioneer is done with its refits. I should be aboard her, taking her back out there. But I need to stay here to testify, to coordinate the search . . . there’s no telling how long I’ll be out of action, is there?”
“That’s actually something I wanted to talk to you about,” the admiral said. “Since you’ll have to stick around Earth for a while anyway . . . I was wondering if you’d like to take over full-time as my right-hand man.”
Reed stared at him, stunned. “It’s a very kind offer, Admiral, but I’m not an administrator.”
“You’re the most disciplined, conscientious, detail-oriented officer I’ve ever known. You’ve done a fine job coordinating the investigation.” He held Reed’s gaze closely. “More importantly, after Marcus’s . . . after what happened with him, I need someone I know I can trust absolutely and without reservation. I need you, Malcolm. Will you help me out?”
The captain thought it over for a minute. “When you put it like that, sir, I can’t refuse. Yes—I accept.”
Archer shook his hand. “Great! Welcome aboard.”
“But what about Pioneer, sir? They’ll need someone to take over as captain. Travis isn’t quite ready. But they deserve the best, sir. Who can we find to take over on such short notice?”
The admiral grinned. “As it happens, there’s someone I have in mind. A new captain who should’ve been out there already, but has been prevented by forces beyond her control.”
Reed’s eyes widened as he realized whom Archer meant.
March 11, 2166
U.S.S. Pioneer
“You’re sure this wasn’t your idea, Malcolm?” Caroline Paris asked as Reed led her through the corridors toward the cargo bay.
“I told you. The admiral had already made the choice when I found out. He wasn’t even aware we were involved. It was just a happy convergence of a ship in need of a new captain and a captain in need of a functional ship.”
“I’m still not sure whether to be relieved by that or offended that you were too embarrassed to tell your friends about us.”
There was humor in her tone, but Reed still fidgeted. “You know how private I am. And the admiral has had a great deal on his plate lately.”
“I know, I know,” she said, squeezing his arm. “I guess I’m just worried they won’t accept me. You’ve all become a pretty close-knit bunch.”
“I was a first-time captain when I got Pioneer. I needed time to bond with the crew, to win their trust and acceptance. I expect it will go much easier for you.” He smiled. “You have a knack for winning people over.”
“Well, having a ship that isn’t cursed and/or actively out to get me should help too. Although I did feel we were close to cracking Vesta’s problems at last. I’m a bit frustrated that I won’t get to see it through to the end.”
“The nature of the service, I’m afraid. We go where we’re posted.”
“Yeah, about that . . .” Paris took his arm and stopped him not far from the bay entrance. “I knew our duties would take us apart soon enough, but I figured we’d both be out there. That we’d run into each other from time to time, maybe team up on missions. Now you’re gonna be back here on Earth, stuck behind a desk . . . who knows when we’ll get together again?”
He replied with a reassuring tone. “On the other hand, being the assistant to a Starfleet chief of staff means I’ll be coordinating a lot of the UESPA fleet’s operations. Which should give me occasion to speak to the various captains over subspace fairly often.”
“Isn’t that more the sort of thing you’d usually channel through starbase or sector commanders?”
“Well, yes, as a rule, but there are times when direct contact is more efficient.”
“Malcolm . . .”
He took her hand. “Caroline, you have nothing to worry about. No matter how far apart we are . . . we’re together. We’re connected. I’ve seen that with other relationships among my friends and crewmates. Having someone they feel connected to brings them a special contentment, even if they’re separated by dozens of parsecs for months at a time. I think . . . I’d like to think that what we share will have the same endurance.”
Paris clasped his other hand, cradling both of his between hers. “Yeah, I guess I’ve pretty much lost my taste for casual flings with exotic alien men. I guess you’ll have to do.”
“You always know how to make a man feel special,” he answered wryly. “Now, shall we go in and greet the crew?”
The gathered personnel of Pioneer snapped to attention as the two captains entered the cargo bay. Reed paused and took a few moments to drink in the sight of them all, basking in the warmth of the memories their faces evoked. Travis Mayweather, stalwart friend and moral compass. Val Williams, his strong right arm. Rey Sangupta, embodiment of the crew’s bold, inquisitive spirit. Bodor chim Grev, the heart of the crew. Kivei Tizahr, still new and hard to get close to, but already indispensable. Tallarico, Liao, Kirk, Ndiaye, all the rest he’d never gotten to know as well as they deserved to be known.
“Before we begin,” Reed announced through a tightened throat, “I just want to say to all of you what an honor it has been to be your captain. It took me time to earn your trust, and in so doing, I became a better officer and a better man. And a happ
ier, less lonely man as well. I trust you know how much you all mean to me even if I don’t always express it.” Their expressions let him know that they did. “And I know that, if you were able to put up with me, then adjusting to your new captain should be a breeze by comparison.” The crew laughed politely, sadly.
Clearing his throat, Reed nodded to Mayweather, who straightened and called, “All hands, attention to orders!”
The crew came to attention as one. Reed raised the data slate in his hand and read from it: “ ‘From Starfleet Headquarters, Office of the Admiralty, to Captain Malcolm Reed, commanding officer U.S.S. Pioneer, 11 March 2166. You are hereby requested and required to relinquish command of your vessel to Captain Caroline Paris, commanding officer U.S.S. Vesta, as of this date. Signed, Admiral Jonathan Archer, Starfleet Command.’ ” Turning to Paris, he handed her the encryption key card that would transfer all his command codes and authorizations to her once she inserted it into Pioneer’s computer. “I am ready to be relieved.”
Paris took the card, then faced the crew and recited her own, equivalent orders to take command. Finally, she turned to Reed and intoned, “I relieve you, sir.”
Reed answered crisply, “I stand relieved.”
Turning back to the assembled crew, Paris took a step forward and spoke. “I want to thank you all for welcoming me aboard Pioneer, first as a visitor and now as your captain. I can’t tell you what a privilege it is to command this ship. Captain Reed has always spoken highly of each and every one of you, and we all know he’s not one for giving unearned praise. As for me, I know I’m untried, but I’m determined to prove worthy of you. I’ll no doubt be a more easygoing captain than Malcolm was, but that’s only because I expect you to live up to his high opinions on your own. And I know you all join me in wishing Captain Reed the very best in his new posting. Of course, all standing orders, regulations, and instructions remain in effect.”
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