The Basileus spread his arms. “They had the power to remake this entire world—and destroy others,” he added, his eyes seeming to flash even through the goggles. “That is the kind of achievement I would expect from those with the power to travel among the stars. I can easily imagine what they could have done with such power.”
“I just bet.”
He tensed, controlling his irritation. “Captain Shumar, I wonder if we could converse in private—and out of the sun. I have a matter I would like to discuss with you.”
Shumar exchanged a look with Paris, whose expression said, Better you than me, pal. “Very well,” he said. “There’s a private meeting room over here.”
Once inside, Shumar dimmed the lights to a bearable medium, for which the Basileus thanked him, although the Saurian did not remove his goggles. “I would have taken this to your president, but he insists on having all parties present for any policy discussion. I felt it would be better to make this overture to you, as one military man to another, so that you could relay it to your president.”
“I’m not sure that would be . . .”
“Understand, I wish only to bypass the Global League’s obstructionism. Their unreasonable demands are making it impossible to arrive at a satisfactory resolution.”
Shumar spoke with care: “They’re not the only ones who’ve made demands, sir.”
“But theirs are not commensurate with their value! Your commissioner clings to his pretense of even-handedness, but we all know it is M’Tezir’s mineral wealth that the Federation desperately craves.” Shumar gave no answer. The Basileus took it as agreement and continued, stepping closer. “As for the rest, the brandy and drugs and art, well, you could obtain those too . . . if you were dealing with a single broker. One government in control of all N’Ragolar’s trade.”
“Are you telling me,” Shumar replied with the sardonic dryness that was his heritage as an Englishman, “that you intend to join the Global League at last?”
The Saurian monarch peered at him, inasmuch as eyes that huge could peer. “I am learning to recognize human sarcasm, Captain. We both know that is not my proposal at all. M’Tezir will never submit to Lyaksti tyranny.” Again, he sidled a step closer. “However . . . given access to the right . . . resources, M’Tezir could take action to free N’Ragolar’s other nations from that tyranny. Whereupon we could build a genuinely fair, global coalition which would grant generous terms of trade to our benefactors.”
Shumar let the monstrousness of the proposal sink in before replying with the same dryness. “In other words, you’re asking for weapons you can use to conquer Sauria yourself.”
“For the good of all—including your own.”
“Apologies, Basileus, but to me it sounds more like you’re nursing a historical grudge and asking us to help you indulge it. That’s not going to happen, sir. The Federation has no intention of taking sides in any local conflict, and we certainly won’t help you start a war.”
The Basileus’s lips pulled back, exposing sharp teeth. He paced around the table in the center of the room, then turned to face the captain. “I do not understand your recalcitrance. I know you do not share Commissioner Soval’s beliefs in noninterference.”
“I believe the Federation has a responsibility to help people where it can. Improve their standard of living, encourage equality and peace, save them from diseases or famines. Not arm aspiring conquerors.”
“But you need our resources in order to do all those noble, benevolent things.” The Saurian leaned forward, placing his hands on the table. “I am grateful to the Federation for bringing knowledge of the greater universe to my world. But that includes the knowledge that there are other powers besides the Federation. Powers that would also be eager to acquire our mineral reserves. If the Federation will not accept my proposal, I may be forced to take it to the Klingons, or the Orions. All our dilithium, our tritanium, our rare earths would fall into their hands, not yours.”
Shumar smiled, letting the monarch know he had made a mistake. “Basileus . . . I can say with confidence that if you take your proposal to the Klingons, or the Orions, they will most likely just come in and take your dilithium, your tritanium, and all the rest by force—and take your people as slaves in the bargain. Far from extoling you as their liberator, the people of Sauria will damn your name down through the ages for bringing such devastation upon them.
“At least with the Federation,” he went on, “your nation will be treated as fairly as everyone else, and it will surely prosper as a result. Especially since we will protect you from the Klingons, the Orions . . . and any others who would aspire to conquer your world.”
Those large, veiled eyes stared at him unblinkingly for a long moment. “I see you are firm in your position. You argue persuasively, Captain. Very well.” He headed for the exit. “I shall see you at tomorrow’s session, then.”
“Tomorrow,” Shumar agreed.
Paris was waiting for him when he exited the meeting room. “What was that all about?” He filled her in. “Damn,” she said. “I knew that guy gave me the creeps. Talk about your Napoleonic complexes.”
“I’m afraid you’ll have to finish the tour without me, Caroline,” he told her. “I think I need to have a talk with the commissioner.”
—
“This is exactly what I have been warning you about all along, Captain,” Soval said once Shumar had briefed him—along with President Vanderbilt, who had been meeting with the commissioner at the time. “Our contact has already destabilized the political situation on Sauria in a potentially cataclysmic way.”
“I have to admit, Soval, I’m starting to see your point,” Shumar replied. “But Mister President, this simply makes it more imperative that we stay engaged with the Saurians. We can’t undo what’s already happened, but walking away at this point, leaving things so unstable, would only do more harm. We’ve seen what happens when we wash our hands of the problems we’ve already caused for pre-warp civilizations.” He reminded them of what he considered a particularly egregious example from Jonathan Archer’s career: When an Enterprise officer had left his communicator behind on a pre-contact planet on the brink of war, the discovery of the device had sparked a military panic. Archer had been captured while attempting to recover the communicator, and his attempts to avoid confessing he was from space—even after his captors’ own scientists had deduced that truth themselves—had only made things worse, convincing the inhabitants that their enemies had superior technology and genetically engineered soldiers. “Our last survey probe showed that those people are still at war, over a decade later. If Archer had simply told them who we were, managed the consequences of the accidental contact instead of retreating and leaving them to their own paranoia, countless lives could have been saved.”
He turned to Soval. “Yes, first contact carries the potential of dangerous mistakes. But walking away after our mistakes have already done harm is a far greater mistake, leading to far greater harm. We have destabilized the Saurian situation, and that is why it is imperative that we stay engaged with the Saurians and help them resolve the tensions we have provoked.”
“How do we know such further engagement won’t simply exacerbate the tensions even more?” Soval challenged.
“We have to try, Commissioner. We can’t just run from our responsibilities the way Archer did.”
“Watch it there, Bryce,” Vanderbilt said. “Jonathan Archer is a man I count as a friend, and I have no doubt he was doing what he believed was necessary.”
“I’m sure he was. But it proved to be the wrong decision. I don’t want to see us repeat it.”
The president sighed. “I have to agree with Bryce here, Soval. This isn’t like that thing with the communicator. The Saurians know us already. We have a relationship. There’s no worry about secrecy here, no reason not to stay engaged and do what we can to clean up our messes.”
“With all due respect, Mister President,” Soval asked, “would you feel the
same way if it were not for the potential political and economic gain for the Federation?”
“I don’t know, Soval. But it’s my job to consider the political and economic good of the Federation. Whatever our concerns for the Saurians’ well-being, I have to think about the well-being of the billions of Federation citizens whose lives would be a lot worse off if the Klingons got Sauria’s wealth.
“So it’s decided. We stay engaged, we keep an eye on the Basileus and do what we can to placate him . . . and we hope it doesn’t blow up in our faces.”
U.S.S. Endeavour
Hoshi Sato closed her eyes, reaching out to feel her way along the corridor wall with her hands as she and Takashi Kimura made their way toward the decon chamber. It was only moments before she tripped over a wall protrusion, but Kimura caught her deftly. “What are you doing?” he asked.
“Trying to get into the aliens’ heads,” she said. “What’s it like to perceive the world as much through your hands as your eyes? If I can understand that way of seeing the world, maybe it’ll help me figure out the concepts their language is built around.”
“Okay, but could you do it someplace where you won’t bump into people and things?”
“I was trying to—”
An alert klaxon interrupted her. Kimura recognized it immediately. “Breach in decon!” he cried, racing around the corner ahead of Sato. She realized the lights were out in that part of the corridor and raced after him. Before she even reached the corner, his voice cried out briefly and was cut off.
“Takashi!” she cried, picking up the pace.
The Mutes were out of their cell, crouching over the limp forms of Kimura and the crewman who’d been guarding the chamber. “Get away from him!” Sato cried, forgetting everything she’d observed or deduced about these beings’ communication. Realizing she was armed, she grabbed for her phase pistol, drew it, and fired at the creature whose hands were roving over Kimura’s head. It barely seemed fazed, shifting easily out of the line of fire.
Then the other one was moving toward her incredibly fast, and its hands reached for her, and—
—
Hoshi Sato awoke to see Doctor Phlox’s comforting visage, and she recognized the sounds and smells of the menagerie of strange and medicinally useful creatures Phlox maintained in sickbay. “Takashi. Is he . . .”
“I’m fine,” she heard him say, and she turned to see him sitting up in the adjacent bed. The guard from before—it was Teska—lay unconscious in the third bed.
Sato sat up as well, finding herself reasonably intact and strong. Captain T’Pol and Commander Thanien stood near the foot of her bed. “What happened? Did the Mutes escape?”
“Oddly, no,” T’Pol told her. “When the security team arrived, they found that the aliens had moved Commander Kimura and yourself back into the decon chamber.”
“As hostages?”
“No. If anything, they seemed to be examining you. They were . . . removing your clothing.” Sato shivered. “Fortunately the team was able to stun them and retrieve you before you fell prey to hypercapnia.”
“To what?”
“Carbon dioxide poisoning,” Phlox clarified. “But you should be fine now. The CO-two levels were already diminished in the chamber because of the open door. Apparently the aliens can withstand a greater range of atmospheric variations than we thought, at least for brief periods.”
“But why would they do it?” Kimura mused. “They were right next to the launch bay. They could’ve made a run for it.”
“In a sub-warp shuttlepod?” Thanien asked.
“They could’ve fired on us to damage our engines, then sent out a distress signal.”
“Clearly they preferred to attack the crew,” the first officer countered. “Most likely they hoped to hijack Endeavour itself.”
Sato had been pondering what she’d been told. “I don’t think so, Commander. Phlox, do we have surveillance video of the attack?”
“We certainly do.”
She was able to regain her footing with little difficulty, and spent some time reviewing the playback on the main sickbay monitor. It was disquieting seeing herself dragged unconscious into the decon chamber, poked at and partly undressed by these eldritch creatures with faces like Munch’s The Scream as interpreted by H. P. Lovecraft. But she found herself mercifully distracted by the way they did it. “Look at them. They don’t seem malicious or afraid—just curious. It’s like they’re naturalists examining specimens taken in the wild.”
“They don’t seem to care much about hurting their ‘specimens,’ ” Kimura reminded her.
“Well, not all scientists do. This may sound silly, Captain, but I’m reminded of, say, British or French explorers from the eighteen hundreds. The kind of people who were fascinated to learn about the strange new animals and peoples they could find around the world—but who were more interested in shooting them or taking them prisoner to put on display back home than in showing any consideration for their well-being.”
“Intriguing,” Phlox said. “So you think that their motives are actually scientific?”
“That they’re taking all those ships and crews as . . . trophies?” Kimura added.
“Now that I think about it, it would explain the weird pattern of the ship encounters. First they just observe a ship, size up their initial impressions . . . then they take a deeper scan . . . then they send a team aboard to study the crew and their responses . . . and finally they take possession of the whole ship. A careful, deliberate process, assessing their findings in each stage before they move on to the next.”
“Then why fire on the ship in their second encounter?” Thanien asked. “To test its defenses?”
“Maybe. Or maybe just to see how its crew reacts. Do they retreat? Do they fight back?”
“If what you suggest is true,” T’Pol said, “then it’s possible at least some of the captured crews could still be alive, in the aliens’ equivalent of research institutions.”
“Or zoos,” Kimura added.
Thanien bent his antennae skeptically. “If what she says is true, then it’s just as likely that they’re on display in Mute museums—stuffed and mounted.”
U.S.S. Pioneer
Sound traveled easily in the nacelle catwalk. That made things problematic for anyone who sought any privacy. But it also meant that when the fight broke out, Valeria Williams was quick to find out about it.
As she raced down the metal gangway toward the far end of the compartment, joined by a pair of other guards she passed along the way, she found herself unsurprised that a fight had begun. Cramming fifty people into this tight space, in fear for their lives, was bound to create tension, especially with Commander Mayweather hurt and unable to calm the crew. She wasn’t even surprised when she realized the fight involved Dax’s engineering team: She’d heard plenty of grumbles from people who blamed the “alien intruders” for the danger the ship was in.
But Williams was surprised when she and her backup guards pulled apart the combatants and she saw Rey Sangupta amid the engineers, one eye bruised and his lip bleeding. “Rey!” she cried. “What’s going on here?”
He held up his hands defensively. “Hey, I didn’t start it, I swear.”
“The hell he didn’t!” Somewhat predictably, it was Crewman Tatopolous, the blowhard from maintenance. “You should’ve heard him, Lieutenant. Mister Mayweather and Mister Sheehan are fighting for their lives, we’re all probably gonna die here, and he’s laughing with these inhuman bastards about how it’s a good thing because they solved a math problem!”
“No, no,” the science officer insisted. “No, that is not what I—that’s not what I said, Val. I just, we just—we solved it!”
She stared. “You found a way out of here?”
“No, no, we’re still working on that. But we cracked the shield problem. We were trying to figure out how a warp reactor could produce a wormhole, and we realized—well, I realized—that you could treat a warp field as a specia
l case of a wormhole where one mouth was nested inside the other!” He wrapped a hand around his fist to illustrate it. “And once we started looking at it as balancing the shield equations with wormhole equations instead of warp equations, the math became so much simpler to solve! We were able to come up with a much more robust subspace geometry—one that should work regardless of warp coil calibration, and work for any ship!” He shrugged. “Unfortunately, we also proved the wormhole metric has no directional component, so there’s no possible way to determine where it comes out, and nineteen times out of twenty it’d collapse and crush the ship if it even formed at all, so we haven’t revolutionized space travel just yet. But we have cracked the shield problem.”
“Listen to him!” Tatopolous cried. “Just as cold-blooded as they are. He forgot it’s these aliens’ fault we’re in this mess in the first place!”
The group with him uttered cries of encouragement: “Yeah!” “Using us as guinea pigs!” “Think they’re so much smarter, but look at them now!”
Williams tensed, a hand on her phase pistol. But someone else stepped out in Tatopolous’s path before Williams could. It was the historian, the little blond guy whose name she couldn’t remember. “I know how you feel, Alex,” he said, his voice so soft that the others had to quiet down to hear him. “I felt the same way. Who do these interlopers think they are, coming here to lecture us on how to run our own systems? Our ships worked fine until their tech was installed, so why should we trust them to know how to fix things?”
This isn’t helping, Stan—Sam—whatever, Williams thought, starting to move forward.
But Stan or Sam’s voice suddenly got harder, more compelling. “But that was when we were safe and comfortable. It’s easy to get protective of what you have when you aren’t in any real trouble. Those animal instincts kick in and flail around looking for someone to be afraid of. Outsiders make the easiest targets.
“But when the danger becomes real, when the chips are down, that’s when we have to look at the people beside us and realize they’re in the same boat we are. That we have to hang together if we don’t want to hang separately. It wasn’t that long ago that our neighbors came to our rescue at Cheron. When they proved we could count on them when it really mattered.
Star Trek: Enterprise - 015 - Rise of the Federation: A Choice of Futures Page 18