March 23, 2163
U.S.S. Pioneer
“Shields holding at maximum,” Val Williams reported. “Target locked.”
Captain Reed nodded. “Fire.”
“Firing.”
On the screen, a bright orange beam lashed out and began slicing through its target. “Target severed clean through,” Rey Sangupta announced moments later from the science station. “Great shooting, Val!” He grinned across the bridge at her, but an alert signal beeped from his console, drawing his attention back. “Uh, the severed portion’s fragmented. Debris incoming on a collision course.”
“Tractor beam,” Travis Mayweather ordered.
The lieutenant operated the controls. The beam shot out . . . but the debris kept coming. “No effect, sir! I don’t understand . . .”
“It’s the shields,” said Sangupta. “They’re scattering the tractor beam!”
“Tallarico, steer us clear,” Reed ordered.
“Too late, sir!” the helmswoman cried. “Brace for impact . . .”
The ship trembled as the shield generators absorbed the impact of the cometary chunks. The loosely packed clumps of rock and ice shattered easily against the force barrier, rendering Regina Tallarico’s warning somewhat unnecessary. “No damage,” Williams said a moment later. “Shields holding.”
“Yes, they’re holding fine,” Reed groused, “but what are they doing to the tractor beam? Doctor Dax, what happened?”
The nervous little Trill made noncommittal noises as he studied the telemetry. “Just a moment . . . Um. That shouldn’t have happened. Perhaps Lieutenant Williams miscalibrated the beam?”
“Hey, Val knows what she’s doing,” the science officer barked. “The problem’s with whatever you did to the shields!”
“Thanks, Rey, but I can defend myself,” Val shot back.
“That’s enough,” Reed told them both. “Doctor, report.”
“Hmm . . . there does seem to be a problem with the gravimetric gradient . . . an unanticipated lensing effect at tractor frequencies. Sorry.”
“How long will it take to fix it?”
“Uh, I don’t know yet. We’ll have to review these results . . . build new models, run simulations . . .”
“So not anytime soon, you’re saying,” Mayweather interpreted.
“Sorry. No.”
Reed sighed in frustration. The sound almost kept Mayweather from hearing what Tallarico muttered under her breath—something about how Starfleet had been better off without all this alien junk.
He saw that the captain had heard it too and was about to confront the helmswoman about her impolitic remark. Mayweather didn’t think it would help matters if that happened in front of Doctor Dax, so he moved forward and said, “Captain . . . it’s been a long shift. We’re all on edge and probably not thinking clearly.” He threw Tallarico a look as if to say, Right? She blushed and gave a chastened nod. “So why don’t we all call it a night and get back to this in the morning?”
Reed gave him a look of gratitude and nodded. “All right. Alpha shift, you’re relieved for today.” The regular bridge crew started securing their stations and briefing their reliefs as they arrived. Tobin Dax left the bridge in a hurry to review his findings with his team.
Before Mayweather could leave, though, the captain caught his eye. “It’s time,” he said, casting glances toward Sangupta and Williams.
Mayweather nodded reluctantly. Given Sangupta’s proclivities—both of their proclivities, really—he’d been hoping their fling would prove ephemeral and resolve itself. But the science officer’s outburst of inappropriate chivalry proved that it was still a going concern, and possibly starting to affect the lieutenants’ work. As he and the captain had planned if it came to this, Mayweather came up to Sangupta while Reed approached Williams and asked her to join him in his ready room. “Lieutenant,” Mayweather said to the science officer, “would you come with me for a minute, please?”
Sangupta looked at him in puzzlement but simply said, “Yes, sir.”
It was a short ride in the lift to Mayweather’s quarters. Once inside, he said, “Rey, it’s about you and Val.”
Sangupta blinked, playing dumb. “What about us?”
“Don’t try to kid a kidder, Rey. It’s a small ship, and you two aren’t very good at being discreet.”
“Okay,” Sangupta said, “granted, we’ve been having a little . . . thing going on lately. But with all due respect, sir, what’s the problem? We’re equal in rank, we’re in different departments . . .”
“And you just almost bit Doctor Dax’s head off because he suggested Val made a mistake. Not to mention that you’ve been fatigued when you come on shift in the morning, even been late a couple of times. Val hides it better than you.”
“All right, sir, maybe we’ve gotten a little carried away with each other. I mean, can you blame me? She’s really—”
“That’s enough, Lieutenant.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Rey, the captain wants it to stop. He doesn’t think that kind of relationship is appropriate on a ship this small. He’s telling Lieutenant Williams right now, and I’m telling you.”
Sangupta tried to mask his irritation, with little success. “Why couldn’t he tell us both?”
“We thought this would be less . . . awkward. So far you’re not giving me reason to doubt that.”
The younger man clenched his fist by his side. “And of course Val will do whatever he orders.”
“He is the captain.”
The science officer sighed. “Understood, sir. It ends now.”
“Good.” He patted Sangupta’s shoulder. “Look at it this way: She’s the daughter of Admiral Archer’s right-hand man. Do you really want to risk what might happen to your career if you screwed things up with her?”
Sangupta paled. “You . . . have a point, sir.”
Of course, Mayweather knew Archer would never be less than scrupulously fair, but his words seemed to make Rey feel better about ending the relationship—and maybe reduced the chance of a relapse.
Once he’d dismissed Sangupta, he headed back to the bridge, passing Val Williams on her way out of the ready room. She seemed perfectly cool and collected as she acknowledged him, but he could hear the resignation in her voice.
“How did it go with Sangupta?” Reed asked once the ready-room door closed behind Mayweather.
“It took a little convincing, but he accepted it. Val?”
“No problems. She understood my position and accepted my orders.”
“Well, that makes one of them.” He sighed. “Did we really have to crack down on them so hard? I mean, Hoshi and Takashi—”
“Hoshi and Takashi don’t serve aboard my ship. You know I’ve always preferred a more by-the-book approach to discipline than Admiral Archer employed aboard Enterprise. I can’t blame T’Pol for continuing that tradition aboard Endeavour, at least with those two. They’ve proven they’re able to balance their professional and personal lives in a mature way. And I can understand T’Pol being sympathetic to their desire not to be separated.” Mayweather nodded. It had been something of an open secret that she had grown close to Trip Tucker before his untimely death eight years before. “But the community we had aboard those ships had its own particular alchemy, and Jonathan Archer was the one who made it work. I have no illusions about my own ability to anchor that kind of community. But that’s why we have Starfleet discipline and regulations.”
“I understand that, Malcolm. But you’re not exactly making many friends among the crew.”
“I’m not here to be their friend, Travis. I’m their commanding officer. That calls for their respect, not their friendship.”
“Funny. I thought the reason you asked me to be your first officer was because of our friendship.”
“Because I trust you. Professionally speaking, that’s what matters. Our trust and respect for each other as officers, and for the chain of command. Not just us, but the whole crew.”
Mayweather leaned against the wall. “I guess so. But it’d be easier for the crew to trust you if they knew you well enough to have faith that you have their best interests at heart.”
“They should respect the rank. The position.”
“I’m sure they do. But that only goes so far.” He stepped closer. “Malcolm, you’re a much easier guy to like than you give yourself credit for. Let them see that. Don’t keep sending me to do all the talking with everyone you can’t compare armory stories with.”
Reed was quiet for a moment. “I’ll try, Travis.”
“All right.” That seemed to be the best he could get for now. But Mayweather clung to his optimism. Maybe once they got through this upgrade problem and tensions eased, Malcolm would be willing to loosen up a little more.
That is, if they could ever actually get the upgrades to work.
March 24, 2163
Federation Executive Building, Paris, European Alliance
Thomas Vanderbilt found Admiral Gardner and Li Meilen, his security advisor, waiting in his outer office once he emerged. “Sorry, folks, the briefing’s going to have to be on the run. I’m just about to leave for Vega Colony and I’m already running late.”
“Don’t worry, Mister President,” Gardner said. “Starfleet One won’t leave without you.”
“Very kind of you, Sam,” he went on as he led them out into the corridor. “It’s just that I don’t want to keep the Saurians waiting now that we’re so close to working out a deal for their mining rights. That monarch of theirs, the Basilisk?”
“Basileus,” said Li.
“Right, he insists he won’t make any deal unless he meets personally with the ruler of the Federation. Hopefully I can convince him that I approximate that description in some small way.”
“Speaking of which,” the Centaurian security advisor went on, “the election results are finally in on the Alrond colony. Lecheb sh’Makesh won.”
Vanderbilt grimaced. “And did she . . .”
“Just as she promised. She’s called for the colony to secede from the Federation and declare itself the seat of the true Andorian Empire in exile. And she has the Alrondian defense fleet commanders on her side.”
“Samuel, do we need to worry?”
“It’s no more than a dozen ships, sir, and only one outdated battlecruiser,” the white-haired chief of staff assured him. “They have no aggressive intent—they just want their colony left alone.”
“But the election was very close,” Li added. “There’s not enough of a popular mandate to guarantee secession, and there’s no legal recourse for permitting a branch of the fleet to go renegade. This seems to be just an extreme case of an anti-Federation protest movement blowing off steam.”
Vanderbilt shook his head. “They’re coming out of the woodwork lately, it seems.”
“We did come together pretty fast after the war ended. Now that the initial excitement’s worn off and people are seeing the messy business of making it work, it’s given the anti-Federation voices more ammunition.”
“And some of it’s in response to the Mute task force, sir,” Gardner said. “There are protests on Vulcan and Mars against imperialism and military adventurism.”
“Amazing. Just a decade ago, the Vulcans were the ones with the massive armed fleet policing the region. One ancient text gets uncovered and they’re suddenly pacifists.”
“Not all of them,” Li replied. “The anti-imperialist protestors had a clash with some Anti-revisionists. Just a very lively debate for the most part, but a few of the Anti-revisionists almost got violent.”
Vanderbilt searched his memory, snapping his fingers. “Those are the guys who insist the Kir’Shara was a Syrannite forgery to undermine the High Command, right? They want the old regime put back in power?”
“Yes, sir, and put in charge of the Federation—whereupon they’d kick the Andorians out.”
“Oh, sh’Makesh would like them.”
“Well, except for the part where they hate each other with a passion.”
Vanderbilt sighed. “How many protests on Tellar this week?”
“About fifty.”
“Well, at least something’s normal.”
They entered the lift. “Samuel, speaking of the Mute task force, any word?”
“They picked up a distress call last night from an Ithenite ship, but when they reached the coordinates, there was no sign of it.”
The president frowned. “One of the task force ships?”
“No, a cargo freighter. It does look like the Mutes got it. The task force is combing the area now.”
“Okay, keep me posted.”
The lift deposited them on the ground floor. “Anything else I need to know before I leave?”
“There’s been a recent upswing in Nausicaan and Nalori raider activity along the border,” Gardner replied.
Vanderbilt furrowed his brow. “Because of the ships we pulled off for the task force?”
The admiral shook his head. “Different sectors. Mostly near the Tandar Sector and Orion space.”
“Can we spare a few more ships to send that way?”
“As long as things stay quiet around Deneb, it might be doable. And nothing’s going on there except the Denebian fever outbreak, which the Denobulans are treating. I’m reluctant to weaken any other border regions, though.”
“Well, keep an eye on the situation for now. Let’s see if it gets worse.”
“Yes, Mister President.”
“Anything else?”
“Not for the moment,” Gardner said.
“No, sir,” Li said. “Have a good trip.”
“What’s the weather like on Vega Colony this time of year? No, never mind, I’ll ask the ship’s captain. You can go back to work now, Sam, Meilen. Thank you.”
“Thank you, Mister President.”
9
March 26, 2163
U.S.S. Thejal
THE BLACK-AND-GREEN DELTA-Wing Vessel sat silently in Thejal’s path, hanging in the viewscreen like a f’sherr-beetle before it struck. “Here we go,” Kanshent Shelav muttered under her breath before ordering her comm officer to open a channel. “Alien vessel, this is the Federation battleship Thejal. Identify yourself and declare your intentions.” The response was only silence, as expected. “Your vessels have been identified as the responsible parties in a series of unprovoked attacks in this region and are suspected in several ship disappearances. I am authorized by Starfleet Command to require you to submit your vessel and crew to inspection. If you do not cooperate, we will use all necessary force to disable—”
A burst of feedback erupted over the comm channel, and the lights and status displays flickered on the edge of overload. “The scanning beam,” tactical officer ch’Refel called. “Brace for impact!”
Even as emerald fire erupted from the Mute ship and lashed against Thejal ’s shields, Kanshent ordered, “Return fire! Disable their vessel!”
But the enemy was already on the move. The first beam only grazed a corner of their ship, the rest missing cleanly. With a green blaze, the ship disappeared into warp. “Damage report,” Kanshent called.
“Two of our forward shield emitters are offline,” ch’Refel replied. “Inertial damper grid is depolarized, and one of the atmosphere processors took damage. We’ll need a few hours for repairs.”
“Notify the rest of the task force, and send a message to Rigel command post. Let them know the Mutes may be adopting a more aggressive stance. They fired upon us in their first encounter rather than the second.” Ch’Refel’s antennae bent skeptically. “You disagree?” Kanshent asked.
“With respect, Captain—we know they have encountered an Andorian vessel before. Perhaps they felt they could skip the preliminaries this time.”
“Possibly. But it’s still worth alerting the rest of the task force that the Mutes’ strategies are adaptable.”
“Understood.”
“Captain!” It was zh’Vansh, the comm
unications officer. “We’re receiving a hail,” she said. “It’s Rivgor. The Malurian ship.”
“Onscreen.”
The broad, gray-scaled face of Dular Garos appeared on the monitor. “Captain. We were patrolling nearby and detected your encounter. Are you in need of assistance? We can rendezvous within two hours.”
“Thank you, Mister Garos, but our damage is manageable.” Kanshent considered. “Still, it’s safe to say the Mutes will be back for us. And they seem to be willing to skip a step or two where our vessel is concerned. Their next attack may be decisive.”
“We stand ready to assist Starfleet in any way you require.”
“And Starfleet appreciates it.” She saw ch’Refel’s antennae folding back in irritation but let it go for now. “Tell me, have you had any indication that the Mutes detected your vessel?”
“We’ve registered no scanning beams. And my ship’s engines are designed to be . . . low-emitting.” No doubt, Kanshent reflected, for the sake of smuggling operations. But for now, Garos was an ally, however questionable his ethics.
Indeed, that ethical flexibility might come in handy now. Garos gave her a devious smile. “Are you proposing we orchestrate an ambush, Captain?”
“Yes, I am.”
“I like the way you think. I’ll be there in a couple of hours and we can work out the details.”
“Have you ever tried Andorian cuisine, Mister Garos?”
The Malurian smiled again, more amiably this time. “I’m always open to sampling new cultures.”
“Excellent. Then we’ll discuss plans over dinner.”
“I look forward to it.”
“Thejal out.”
Once the viewer was dark, Kanshent stepped over to the tactical station. “Mister ch’Refel. I’d appreciate it if you’d keep your attitudes toward Starfleet to yourself when we have an open comm channel on the bridge. Don’t assume other races can’t read your reactions just because they lack antennae.”
Star Trek: Enterprise - 015 - Rise of the Federation: A Choice of Futures Page 13