Star Trek: Enterprise: The Romulan War: Beneath the Raptor's Wing (Star Trek : Enterprise)

by Michael A. Martin

  Soval found that surprising, given the relatively backward state of human technology when compared to that of Vulcan, or any other nonhuman Coalition world. “That is fascinating,” he said. “We have always seen the Terrans’ technological backwardness as their greatest liability in a galaxy filled with hostile powers like the Romulans.”

  “Regardless of the Terrans’ relative vulnerability to one particular Romulan weapon, their essential backwardness has not fundamentally changed,” T’Pau said. “Make no mistake. The Terrans have not yet had enough time to establish a sufficiently robust galactic military posture to counter the Romulans successfully.”

  Soval saw no need to be lectured on that subject. He knew very well that the human race had tended to allow its reach to far exceed its grasp ever since their Zefram Cochrane flew his first warp-driven ship. Even far more recently, despite the horrendous shock the paranoid and aggressive Xindi delivered to the human species only two years ago, Earth remained a wide-eyed innocent on the interstellar stage.

  With no small amount of regret, he thought, Perhaps they would be in a better position to defend themselves had we not worked so assiduously for most of a century to contain them, to protect them from their urge to charge out into the galaxy before they were ready to face its many dangerous unknowns.

  But was anyone ever truly ready for that?

  “You have just constructed a strong argument against urging our allies to leave Earth to its own devices against the Romulans,” Soval said. “And I must point out that even Starfleet technology is not entirely invulnerable to the new Romulan weapon’s effects, despite its lesser degree of compatibility either with our own technology or with that of the Romulans.”

  “The universe issues no guarantees of survival, Soval,” she said.

  “Regardless of the Romulan weapon, we should find a way to aid the Terrans,” he said, sidestepping the truism. “Or at least encourage our allies to do it in our place. It will do Vulcan no good should the Romulans succeed in conquering or exterminating humanity. Their lives are already short enough as it is.”

  “And that is one of the traits that will save Vulcan from its own inertia,” she said with an emphatic nod. “Should the human species survive the next several years, that is.”

  “I do not understand,” Soval said. He was beginning to wonder when a gift for bizarre non sequiturs had become a prerequisite to attaining the lofty post of planetary administrator.

  “You pointed out yourself that the humans possess relatively short life spans,” she said, speaking in a manner that he had always associated with that of a patient and methodical teacher. “The obverse of this, of course, is the much lengthier Vulcan life span, which is not an unalloyed advantage. Whether we wish to face it or not, our longevity has freighted Vulcan society with a strong tendency toward what a human sociologist once described as ‘social ossification.’”

  Although he had nothing but respect for the authority of her office, Soval was beginning to tire of being lectured by one so young.

  “Attanasio Ewan Hodgkin,” he said, taking care to avoid correcting T’Pau’s misperception that Doctor Hodgkin—a biologist by training— had been anything more than a dilettante in the sociological disciplines. Despite Hodgkin’s obvious brilliance, Soval considered him somewhat presumptuous for attempting to apply his so-called “law of parallel planetary development,” formulated during his studies of Loracus Prime’s insect life, to the “soft” sciences of anthropology, history, and sociology that were relevant to the galaxy’s countless and varied sapient races.

  “I have read the paper to which you are referring, Administrator. Hodgkin coined the term ‘social ossification’ to describe the tendency of individual Vulcans to stay in the same career positions for lengthy periods, sometimes extending to centuries.”

  “He correlated the phenomenon with a predilection for extreme rigidity of opinion among Vulcans,” T’Pau said. “A rigidity that has manifested itself in countless deleterious, if subtle, ways in our society.”

  Soval hadn’t been entirely persuaded when he’d first read the paper, and he remained just as unconvinced now. “I must admit to finding Hodgkin’s core idea intriguing. I noticed, however, that his assertions were notably lacking in specific examples.”

  She nodded, conceding the point. “Perhaps. But events much more recent than Doctor Hodgkin’s paper are replete with such examples. Among these I could list the Vulcan Science Academy’s continued obduracy in admitting to the possibility of time travel—even when presented with conclusive positive evidence supporting the phenomenon’s existence. Or the shameful acts of illegal spying my predecessor’s reactionary government committed against the Andorians at P’Jem. Administrator V’Las and his functionaries evidently learned nothing from the P’Jem blunder, since they later tried to provoke a needless, bloody war against Andoria. And they almost certainly would have succeeded in doing just that had a group of ‘illogical’ humans not intervened to resolve the situation in favor of peace.”

  It had not escaped Soval’s notice that Captain Jonathan Archer, or at least members of his crew, deserved the le-matya’s share of the credit for the positive resolutions to the crises T’Pau cited. In fact, he had come to believe, in no small part because of his association with Archer during recent years, that the highly energetic human species more than compensated for whatever it lacked in individual longevity with ambition and inquisitiveness. Despite their naïveté, immaturity, impetuousness, and myriad other failings, it was clear to Soval that a great destiny awaited them—a destiny from which Vulcan’s more advanced but less dynamic civilization could benefit only by doing at least whatever was minimally required to nurture it.

  “With respect, Administrator,” he said, “you have merely constructed yet another cogent argument in favor of maintaining and strengthening our ties to the Terrans. Vulcan society might well not survive its inherent tendency toward social inertia without them.”

  “I agree completely,” T’Pau said.

  Then perhaps, he thought, I might yet persuade her. He decided, using a metaphor he’d picked up from one of Prime Minister Samuels’s aides during a visit to Candlestick Park, to “swing for the fences.”

  “Then allow me to be so bold as to assert that First Contact with Earth may have been the best thing to happen to Vulcan since the time of Surak’s Great Awakening nearly two millennia ago,” he said.

  “Ambassador Solkar has said as much himself,” T’Pau acknowledged.

  Soval couldn’t have asked for more authoritative corroboration. Not only had Solkar served in Vulcan’s diplomatic corps longer even than Soval, he had also presided over Vulcan’s side of the historic encounter that Terrans now celebrated as First Contact Day on the fifth day of every April. Solkar, who had commanded the science vessel T’PlanaHath on that day, now nearly a century past, was the first Vulcan to clasp hands in friendship with the pioneering human warp-drive scientist Zefram Cochrane.

  “Then I must ask whether it is logical to risk humanity’s short-term survival in the face of a Romulan threat that clearly has them overpowered before the war has even gotten truly under way?” he said, pressing his advantage. “Is not taking such a risk the same as gambling with the long-term survival of the Vulcan people as well?”

  T’Pau stopped again, and looked up toward the sky in a contemplative fashion. “I cannot find fault with your logic, Minister,” she said, suddenly replacing her teacher persona with something else, something that Soval found far more honest and open, perhaps even vulnerable. “You know that I have advocated humanity’s best values since my administration began.”

  After coming to a stop at her side he nodded, well aware of the controversy Vulcan’s youthful new administrator had engendered back home with her strong promotion of social policies designed to infuse Vulcan society with some of the Terrans’ greatest strengths, such as a pending initiative intended to limit the number of decades any individual Vulcan would be permitted to pursue
any one career path. Despite the initiative’s well-publicized exceptions—designed for certain diplomats, scientists, and perhaps other specialists whose vital work on Vulcan’s behalf might be undermined by the rigid application of a term-limit rule—extremely conservative elements on Vulcan had been scandalized by such radicalism, particularly from a leader who professed a strong personal devotion to full Kolinahr attainment.

  As when he decisively won a debate against Ambassador Gral of Tellar, Soval restrained his sense of triumph and spoke with as much humility as he could muster. “With respect, Administrator, if you cannot fault my logic, then why can you not see your way clear to applying it?”

  Soval heard neither doubt nor hesitation in her reply. “Because it is illogical to prioritize a long-term goal above that of immediate survival. I remain convinced that the risk to Vulcan posed by direct engagement with the Romulans is simply too great to justify, Soval. Such a conflict would not only jeopardize all the recent progress Vulcan has made in moving closer to Surak’s ideals of strength through peace, but it could also create a potentially even greater threat to Earth, as well as to Vulcan’s other Coalition partners.”

  Soval frowned. “How so?”

  “Are you willing to risk walking away from the path of logic and toward that of embracing the violence that nearly saw our ancestors consumed in nuclear fire?” she asked, her earlier didactic tone returning. “Suppose that the Romulans had managed to capture the Vulcan ships that our forces had to destroy? The Romulans would have reverse engineered those vessels in fairly short order. That single encounter might have increased their capabilities by an order of magnitude or more.”

  The thought gave Soval pause, and introduced a coldness to his spine that had little to do with the chilly Sausalito evening. But he still couldn’t justify leaving the Terrans to their own devices in the face of the Romulan threat, any more than he would allow a Vulcan child weakened by disease or hunger out into the sun-scorched, predator-infested desert of Vulcan’s Forge to face the life-or-death kahs-wan survival ritual. For all his faith in humanity’s strengths, he understood its vulnerabilities all too well—vulnerabilities for which he felt intensely responsible, given Vulcan’s role during the past several decades in restraining Earth’s attempts to establish itself in the galactic neighborhood and beyond.

  Soval remained convinced that T’Pau’s path would lead to incalculable suffering. Unfortunately, he also had to acknowledge that his own plans would yield similar results back home. The Romulans would see to that, even if the Coalition were ultimately to prevail.

  Looking up at a black basin of stars that seemed nearly close enough to touch, Soval said, “We have tried to contain them almost from the moment they acquired superluminal flight. We owe them.”

  “Indeed. However, we may have already paid that debt without realizing it.”

  Soval couldn’t begin to understand her meaning. “How?”

  “The technological backwardness we enforced on the Terrans may have enhanced their chances of dealing successfully with the Romulans’ new weapon,” T’Pau said, her words delivering an icy irony, yet absolutely no trace of humor. “And that advantage, intentionally conferred or not, must suffice. Vulcan’s security, and by extension that of the entire Coalition, demands that my decision stand.”

  “Another choice must be possible.”

  “None that aren’t more expensive than Vulcan can afford, Soval. But I do have faith in humanity’s ability to rise to the occasion, even under such dire circumstances as these. The humans have survived narrow passages before, just as we Vulcans have. And like us, they have emerged stronger on each occasion.”

  Every sentient species had been tempered and honed by adversity, and sometimes had to overcome apparently insuperable obstacles. But such crises were much easier to discuss in a bloodless, academic manner when viewed retrospectively rather than prospectively.

  “I often wonder what the humans will have achieved a century from now,” T’Pau continued. “That span of time is relatively inconsequential to us. But to them, it is long enough to replace their present population almost completely—as well as long enough to heal virtually any wound they might sustain today.”

  “I, too, often wonder about the future,” Soval said. “Even as I wonder whether any humans at all will survive to see the next century. Or Vulcans, for that matter, should Earth fall to our Romulan cousins.”

  “The humans will endure,” T’Pau pronounced, her smooth, youthful face a grim mask of determination. “I have faith that the humans will lead this alliance within a century’s time, or perhaps even sooner. And with our continued guidance, someday their vigor and vision may bring about the peaceful, galaxy-spanning society that Vulcan has always held as an ideal and yet somehow never achieved.”

  She stopped again, facing her minister and bringing him to a halt as well. “They are like us, Soval—only far less susceptible than V’Las has proved us to be to the corruption that accompanies great power. Perhaps this is because they die so much sooner than we do, even without the curse of war to cut their lives short before the end of their natural spans.”

  A twitch along her jawline revealed the barely constrained maelstrom of emotion she struggled to govern, albeit imperfectly, in spite of her devotion to the Kolinahr.

  “Administrator, your ‘faith’ seems to be grounded more in emotion than in logic,” Soval countered, trying to communicate his adamant firmness while remaining respectful and deferential. “Vulcan cannot simply remain idle while Earth burns, regardless of the cost to us.”

  Raising an eyebrow, T’Pau said, “Vulcan’s withdrawal from the front lines of combat will leave us anything but idle, Minister. I will see to it that you are given ongoing briefings on our alternative strategic plan as it evolves.”

  Once again, she surprised him. “ ‘Alternative strategic plan’?”

  “It is the real reason I have decided to delay my return to Vulcan,” she said. “You and I will present that plan during a joint meeting tomorrow with the United Earth government’s civilian and military leaders, along with the other Coalition representatives. We will lay out the broad strokes of that plan together, since it has taken shape sooner than I had originally expected, thanks to the labors of the Vulcan Science Academy.”

  She reached into a fold of her robe and extracted a small padd, which she handed to him. “This contains the new tactical plan’s most pertinent briefing materials. Study them closely after your meeting this evening. In the meantime, you must resist doing what your emotions tell you to do. You must dissuade the Andorians and the Tellarites from trying to take our place on the front lines.”

  Soval thought he could feel the planet shifting beneath his feet, though he knew he was merely reacting to the rapidly accelerating pace of change. He had no doubt that it would accelerate further before any of the current crises were resolved.

  “I am not at all sanguine about the outcome of any attempt to ‘dissuade’ my Andorian and Tellarite counterparts,” he said as he flicked the padd’s actuator and scanned its table of contents briefly before tucking it into his robe and fixing his gaze back on T’Pau. “Thoris of Andoria has always distrusted me, at least to some extent, Administrator. Your official pronouncement today can only have exacerbated that situation.”

  “Of that I have little doubt,” said T’Pau without any perceptible trace of emotion. “Nevertheless, I trust your expertise.”

  “My expertise has never included the mastery of a communication style sufficiently blustering and insulting to impress Gral of Tellar. Besides that, both diplomats take their respective worlds’ Coalition Compact obligations very seriously—particularly those concerning mutual defense. They will both be most difficult to ‘dissuade.’”

  “Regardless, you must convince them of the unacceptable danger inherent in engaging the Romulans,” T’Pau said. “Both Tellar and Andoria share much of Vulcan’s vulnerability to the new Romulan weapon. You must make them understand this. W
ithout revealing anything else, of course.”

  Despite his lingering personal reservations about T’Pau’s decided course of action, Soval could see no alternative to bowing to the inevitable, other than simply resigning his post. And he wasn’t about to do that, particularly during a crisis. Besides, he hadn’t had time to give her “alternative strategic plan” a fair hearing.

  “Of course, Administrator,” Soval said. “I shall do my utmost to persuade Thoris and Gral to press their governments to do as we have done. Without revealing anything... inconvenient, of course.”

  T’Pau glanced down momentarily at the pocket into which Soval had tucked the padd she had given him, then met his gaze head-on. “Tell them that there are ways to fight without fighting. And that we will work cooperatively to discover them together.”

  Then she turned and walked back toward her aides, who were just barely visible along the distant edge of the deeply shadowed garden. A few moments later, he stood alone again in the courtyard with only the stars, the deep shadows, and the rows of Vulcan plants for company.

  The minister withdrew the padd from his robe and began studying its contents. He could see immediately that a great deal of work lay ahead of him once he finished up tonight’s meeting, for which he was now running quite late.