Rise of the Federation
Page 27
“Painfully well.”
Archer winced at the reminder of their first encounter with Shran as an adversary. His sorrow at their apparent reversion to antagonism was clear on the admiral’s face. “He’s painting the support of nonintervention as giving aid and comfort to our enemies, as well as abandoning those in need like the Saurians,” he went on. “I’ve already lost a lot of my backing in Starfleet and the Council. I’m afraid the directive may be dead.”
T’Pol considered. “It could be argued,” she said, “that the harmful impact of Section Thirty-one’s interventions in other cultures merely reinforces the premise that a prohibition against such unilateral intervention is warranted. Harris will not be the only corrupt or misguided member of Starfleet. Some form of regulatory check on intervention is still necessary.”
The admiral nodded without enthusiasm. “That’s basically the case I’m planning to make tonight. There’s a debate scheduled before the Council. Shran and I are having it out once and for all. It’s probably my last chance to save the directive.” He shook his head. “I just wish it didn’t have to be at the cost of his friendship. I’m dealing with enough loss lately.”
T’Pol held his gaze in understanding. “As are we all, Jonathan.”
M’Tezir, Sauria
“Do not concern yourself, Emperor,” said the alien on Maltuvis’s communication screen. “As this first shipment demonstrates, I shall be quite capable of satisfying your fleet’s need for antimatter without the hazards of surface-based manufacture.”
“You had better,” Maltuvis replied. “My offworld alliances have proven undependable in the past.” It was a risk to make this contact directly, but the new benefactor had provided encryption protocols even more sophisticated than what the Orions had used, along with a procedure for smuggling antimatter to the fleet under the cover of an asteroid-mining operation, something that had never occurred to Harrad-Sar. Even if the communication were intercepted, it would only be by Starfleet. The rank and file of Saurians knew only what he told them: that aliens were the enemy against whom he would protect them. Any claim that he still colluded with aliens would merely be the propaganda of other aliens, and who would believe them?
“The Orions are nothing but gangsters and pirates,” replied the gray-haired mammalian creature on the screen. “They were unworthy of you. The people of N’Ragolar are strong, ingenious, and driven. What you have built in only a few short years is astonishing. I have been searching for allies with a martial spirit like yours. With your ambition and ruthless drive, and with your people’s resilience and power, the stars are yours for the taking.”
“And are you worthy of us?” the emperor challenged. “You were deposed long ago. Your attempt to retake your world failed. Now you are a renegade, lost and searching for a home. You need me more than I need you, Vulcan.”
V’Las, erstwhile Administrator of the Vulcan High Command and current fugitive from Federation justice, seethed at Maltuvis’s words, showing far more emotion than the other Vulcans the emperor had met—which was to the man’s credit. But he gathered himself and went on with a tight smile. “All I want, great Maltuvis, is to find a race of beings who prize martial strength and conquest as I do. A people that I can help guide to a great destiny. I believed the Vulcans could be that race, but they failed me. They had been too badly tainted by weakness and pacifism for too long. That is not a problem for you.”
“Not anymore,” Maltuvis agreed. “The pacifists did get their grip on this world, but I have driven them out. I succeeded where you failed.”
“Yes,” V’Las grudgingly conceded through clenched teeth. “And with my help, you will succeed on a far greater stage. Together, we will build an interstellar empire to surpass the Federation, the Klingons, even the Romulans.”
His wizened features twisted into a cold leer. “And, in time, to destroy them.”
Starfleet Headquarters
Archer was just wrapping up a revision of his notes for the evening’s Council debate when Dani Erickson called. “It’s time,” she said.
The sadness in her eyes left no doubt what she meant. “Porthos?” he asked, his throat tightening.
She gave a pained nod. “The vet says . . . there’s no point in prolonging his pain any further. Jon, I think he’s ready to move on. But he’s your . . . your family. You have to be the one to make the call.” A pause. “I know how busy you are,” she said. “If you want . . . you could talk to the doctor now and . . . I’ll stay with him for you.”
There was a considerably longer pause before Archer replied. “I’ll get back to you.” Dani nodded, blinking away tears, and disconnected.
Archer didn’t know how much time passed while he sat there, overwhelmed. All the decisions he’d needed to make at this desk paled next to this one. As a Starfleet officer, how could he drop everything, set aside his responsibility to the Council and his allies, in order to say goodbye to his dog? But as a person, as a friend, how could he not?
The sound of Shran’s strident voice shocked him out of his reverie. He hadn’t even noticed the Andorian admiral storming into his office. “What’s the meaning of this delay, Jon? I’ve been patient. I’ve put up with your refusal to abandon this absurd proposal even after all the revelations. I agreed to go through the whole blasted debate one more time before the Council. I’m not going to stand for any more delaying . . .” He trailed off, then took a step closer, studying Archer’s face. “Jon, what is it? You look like your best friend just died.”
Archer couldn’t stop the tears from coming, causing Shran to rear back. “You’re not far off,” the human said in a rough voice. He strove to gather himself, knowing better than to expect sympathy. “I’m sorry. It’s just . . . It’s Porthos.”
The anger instantly drained out of Shran’s body, his antennae sagging. “Your animal? The . . . beagle?”
Archer nodded. “He’s at the vet. He’s . . . in his last hours. Dani called . . . asked if I could come to be with him. To say goodbye.” He shook his head, gathering up his notes and preparing to stand. “I know, it’s the worst possible time. The Council is waiting, and it’s not fair to you—”
Shran was already moving around the desk. He grasped Archer’s arm, helping him to his feet. “To hell with the Council, Jon. And to hell with me. Go. Your companion beast should not leave this world alone.”
Archer stared at the other admiral in gratitude and shock. “But . . . the directive. The debate . . .”
“The fate of worlds can wait. You have a friend who needs you.” His antennae coiled into the equivalent of a shrug. “Maybe this is the wrong time to resolve the debate fairly in any case. The question has been too tainted by Harris and his ilk. We can revisit it at some future time, once we have perspective. I could win easily if I pressed the issue today. But that would not be the right way to win.” He lowered his gaze. “It was you who taught me the importance of that.”
Archer clasped his old friend’s hand, deeply moved. “Thank you, Shran. I don’t know what to say.”
“Just go be with Porthos.” Walking with Archer toward the exit, he spoke again, hesitantly. “I don’t suppose . . . that is, I know how hard it can be to say goodbye. If you . . . need me to come with you, lend additional support . . .”
“That . . . would be very much appreciated,” Archer said with a bittersweet smile. “Thank you—my friend.”
Acknowledgments
Thanks are due as always to my editors Margaret Clark and Ed Schlesinger, who were especially patient with me on this book. Thanks also to Doug Drexler for cluing me in on his cover design and Mark Rademaker for sharing the details of his version of the Enterprise XCV-330, based on the Matt Jefferies concept art originally featured in Star Trek: The Motion Picture.
Thanks to David Mack for letting me in on the content of his novel Star Trek—Section 31: Control and working with me to keep our two independently developed tales consistent with each other. The mathematics T’Pol invokes in her dis
cussion of the probability of a conspiracy’s exposure are based on the work of Doctor David Grimes (see Grimes DR [2016] “On the Viability of Conspiratorial Beliefs.” PLoS ONE 11[1]: e0147905. doi:10.1371/journal.pone.0147905).
My versions of the Starfleet oaths at Caroline Paris’s promotion and change-of-command ceremonies are based on a mix of Star Trek precedent and United States military procedure. Any differences from similar oaths and rituals in other Star Trek fiction can be attributed to revisions in Starfleet procedure over time.
The discussion of red dwarf habitability is informed by a number of research papers on the subject, including Heath, Doyle, Joshi, and Haberle, “Habitability of planets around red dwarf stars,” Origins of Life and Evolution of the Biosphere, Vol. 29, No. 4, pp. 405–424 (for heat distribution on a tidally locked planet); Yang, Cowan, and Abbot, “Stabilizing Cloud Feedback Dramatically Expands the Habitable Zone of Tidally Locked Planets,” Astrophysical Journal Letters, Vol. 771, No. 2, July 10, 2013 (for cloud cover); Kay et al., “Probability of CME Impact on Exoplanets Orbiting M Dwarfs and Solar-Like Stars,” Astrophysical Journal Vol. 826, No. 2 (for the risk from stellar flares); and Luger et al., “Habitable Evaporated Cores: Transforming Mini-Neptunes into Super-Earths in the Habitable Zones of M Dwarfs,” Astrobiology Vol. 15, Issue 1 (January 2015), pp. 57–88 (for atmosphere loss and planetary migration). Thanks to Paul Gilster of the Centauri Dreams blog for bringing these papers to my attention.
The Saurian shipbuilding factory was largely inspired by the Boeing Everett Factory in Everett, Washington, which I took a tour of during my trip to Seattle in 2011 for my sister Kathleen’s wedding. Thanks to the folks at Boeing and to cousin Cynthia for taking me on the tour.
The memory of my beloved cat Natasha informed my treatment of Porthos’s final days. It was difficult to dredge up those feelings again, but I feel it serves as a tribute to a dear friend who will always live on in my heart.
About the Author
CHRISTOPHER L. BENNETT is a lifelong resident of Cincinnati, Ohio, with bachelor’s degrees in physics and history from the University of Cincinnati. He has written such critically acclaimed Star Trek novels as Ex Machina and The Buried Age; the Star Trek: Titan novels Orion’s Hounds and Over a Torrent Sea; the two Department of Temporal Investigations novels Watching the Clock and Forgotten History; and the Star Trek: Enterprise—Rise of the Federation series. His shorter works include stories in the anniversary anthologies Constellations, The Sky’s the Limit, Prophecy and Change, and Distant Shores, as well as the DTI novellas The Collectors, Time Lock, and Shield of the Gods. Beyond Star Trek, he has penned the novels X-Men: Watchers on the Walls and Spider-Man: Drowned in Thunder. His original work includes the hard science fiction superhero novel Only Superhuman and several novelettes in Analog and other science fiction magazines, some of which have been compiled in the e-book collection Hub Space: Tales from the Greater Galaxy. More information, annotations, and the author’s blog can be found at christopherlbennett.wordpress.com.
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Cover design by Alan Dingman
Cover art by Doug Drexler
ISBN 978-1-5011-6570-2
ISBN 978-1-5011-6577-1 (ebook)