Star Trek: Vanguard - 009 - In Tempest's Wake

by Dayton Ward

  “Aye, sir,” replied the communications officer as she set to the task of relaying the captain’s messages.

  Content to remain where he was as his officers carried out their various duties, Kirk continued to take in the image of the stars on the main viewscreen stretching into multihued streaks as the Enterprise made the transition to warp speed. He did not realize he had allowed his attention to wander until he felt a touch on his shoulder. Startled from his reverie, he looked up to see Leonard McCoy standing above and behind him, leaning over the railing.

  “Jim?” the doctor prompted, concern evident in his eyes. “You okay?”

  Kirk nodded, attempting a small smile. “I’m fine, Bones. Just lost in thought, is all.” Glancing past McCoy, he saw that Spock also was regarding him from where he sat at the science console. “Mister Spock? You look as though you might have something on your mind.”

  As McCoy perched himself on the railing next to Kirk, the science officer swiveled his chair so that he faced both men. “I have just completed my final diagnostics of the library computer following the . . . modifications it received during our stay at Starbase 12. As expected, the primary and backup memory banks have been purged of all files and references to Operation Vanguard.”

  “Don’t you just love Starfleet?” McCoy asked. “Always looking out for our best interests.”

  Ignoring the doctor’s remark, Kirk turned and rested his forearms on the railing between him and Spock. “Well, we knew that was going to happen. For all intents and purposes, Vanguard never happened.”

  Spock’s right eyebrow rose as he clasped his hands in his lap. Keeping his voice low, he replied, “Yes, sir, the alterations were not unanticipated. However, while the computer was performing its diagnostics, I took the opportunity to interface with Starbase 12’s systems and access the master Starfleet data network. I have found several . . . interesting developments.”

  His curiosity piqued, Kirk asked, “Such as?”

  “For example,” the Vulcan said, “Starbase 47 is now the designation of a Starfleet ship research and development facility located near the Tammeron star system. However, I know that this same facility was—until recently—designated Starbase 210. So far as I am able to determine, it is just one of several starbases that Starfleet is renaming.”

  McCoy frowned as he asked, “Is that something they do very often?”

  “Starfleet has lost or decommissioned several bases and other facilities over the course of a century’s worth of interstellar expansion,” Spock answered, “but I can find no record of any such previous action.”

  Shrugging, Kirk rubbed his hands together. “Still, it doesn’t sound that unusual.” Even as he spoke the words, he knew he was not convinced. Besides, Spock would not have seen fit to mention the detail if he believed it irrelevant.

  “I agree,” the first officer said. “So I conducted additional research; specifically, the Starfleet personnel databases. There is no record of a Diego Reyes having ever served in Starfleet in any capacity. Further, I found no other data on him. No birth or citizenship records or property or financial transcripts. It is as though the commodore never existed.”

  “Are you saying they just erased him?” McCoy asked.

  Spock seemed to consider the question for a moment before responding. “The commodore was convicted by a Starfleet court-martial and sentenced to a term of incarceration at the New Zealand Penal Settlement on Earth. There is no record of that conviction, or of his having arrived at the colony. It is possible that Starfleet Command viewed the nature of Reyes’s connection to Vanguard as being in need of particular safeguarding and provided him with a new identity before securing him in a safe location.”

  Snorting, McCoy replied, “Or maybe they just threw him in a hole somewhere.”

  “Bones,” Kirk said, casting a hard glare at his friend as a reminder to keep his voice down and his bearing in check, lest their conversation attract the attention of the other officers working about the bridge. He could understand Starfleet’s extraordinary efforts to conceal any and all knowledge of Operation Vanguard, but Kirk had to believe there was a line that could not be crossed. Regardless of whatever information Diego Reyes might possess with respect to the supersecret project and the tumultuous events that had surrounded it, he still was a decorated officer with decades of experience. If nothing else, he was a resource that could prove useful at some unknown future point in time. It was easier for Kirk to accept that Starfleet had used some of the considerable resources at its disposal simply to relocate the former commodore, archiving him, in a manner of speaking, for safekeeping.

  “Other personnel attached to the project likewise seem to have disappeared,” Spock continued. “Lieutenant T’Prynn has been transferred to Starfleet Intelligence, but her duties are classified. The surviving members of Starbase 47’s senior staff also have been reassigned, but their present locations are unknown.”

  Sensing where this might be going, Kirk looked down at his hands for a moment before asking, “What about Doctor Carol Marcus?”

  “Her current location is classified,” replied the science officer. “She is listed as attached to Starfleet’s research and development division, but no specific position title or description of duties is given.”

  Kirk could see McCoy in his peripheral vision, perhaps gauging his reaction to Spock’s report. As the first officer had no knowledge of his prior relationship to Marcus, and it was not a subject Kirk wished to raise here on his bridge, he forced his expression not to change as he said, “That’s too bad. I would’ve liked to have said good-bye before she left the station for . . . wherever.” Then, for Spock’s benefit, he added, “We’re . . . old friends.”

  If Spock interpreted any additional meaning behind the explanation, he chose not to demonstrate it. “If you wish, I can endeavor to ascertain more information, Captain.”

  Perhaps too quickly, Kirk shook his head. “No, that won’t be necessary.” Even if the Vulcan was successful in locating her, Kirk was compelled to acknowledge the possibility that Carol might not want to be found, at least not by him. Once more, he recalled their last, unpleasant conversation while she was still assigned to Starbase 47. If he had known it might be the last opportunity they would have to speak—for the foreseeable future, at any rate—he might well have done a better job carrying his part of the rather animated discussion.

  Then again, probably not. It was a bitter thought, taunting him with its stark, brutal assessment. He deserved the upbraiding, Kirk knew. For the moment, all he could do was hope that fate one day would reunite him with Carol Marcus, and that he might introduce himself to his son.

  My son.

  “So,” McCoy said, intruding on Kirk’s thoughts, “I guess that’s it, then. Operation Vanguard is no more. We’re all just supposed to pretend it never happened and get on with our lives. Is that it?”

  “That is essentially correct, Doctor,” Spock replied. “Operational security would seem to demand that all information on this subject be sequestered until such time as someone with the proper authority decides otherwise.”

  Releasing a derisive chuckle, McCoy said, “And how often does that happen?”

  “Not very often,” Kirk said, his thoughts only partially on the subject at hand. “To be honest, I’d bet a case of Saurian brandy that we never even hear the name Vanguard again.”

  TWELVE

  Stardate 7098.5

  Starfleet Archives Annex, Aldrin City, Luna

  Never say never.

  Kirk hated the new uniforms.

  He slid his right index finger between his neck and the stiff high collar of his admiral’s uniform. Was it him, or was it just too warm in this section of the complex? A glance at his companion, Admiral Nogura, told him that the older man seemed to be suffering no ill effects, either due to his own uniform or the environment within the subterranean lunar facility. Since Kirk knew that the internal temperature was kept at a comfortable level throughout the in
stallation, the only other explanation for his apparent unease had to be the purpose of their visit.

  “You look nervous,” Nogura said, as though reading his thoughts.

  Shaking his head, Kirk replied, “No, sir, it’s nothing like that. I guess I just didn’t expect to be dealing with . . . well, this . . . again.”

  “With luck, this will be the last time.” Then Nogura chuckled, as though to himself. “Then again, my luck when it comes to Operation Vanguard hasn’t been very good.”

  Walking alongside the admiral, Kirk eyed the gleaming white passageway stretching before them, with closed doors on either side of the corridor. Perhaps fifty or sixty meters ahead was a junction connecting this passage with another, wider one. A moment later he saw an antigrav transport pass through the intersection, its onboard computer interfacing with that of the facility to guide the car and its passengers to their destination.

  “This is my first time here,” Kirk said, genuinely impressed with the size of the complex. “I had no idea it was this big.” One of the most secure installations in the Sol Sector, the Aldrin City Archives Annex contained more stringent access protocols than Starfleet Headquarters itself. The use of transporters was not permitted except in the case of emergency, and even entering the base required the formal authorization of the chief of Starfleet Operations. This was fortunate for Kirk, as—thanks to the machinations of Admiral Nogura—it was the position he currently occupied.

  Though he had visited the moon on several occasions—the earliest being a trip during his childhood with his father when the elder Kirk had been required to pilot a transport from Earth to another Starfleet installation—those visits had not included this facility. When young Jim Kirk had inquired about it, his father had offered little in the way of useful information, leading the teen to believe that it might well be some kind of top secret base that was home to all manner of sensitive and even dangerous information and perhaps even alien artifacts. It was not until he joined Starfleet himself that Kirk had been something less than surprised to learn the accuracy of that early, youthful assessment.

  Nogura said, “Twenty-six levels, each of them occupying five square kilometers. There’s talk of expanding the complex, either outward or downward, depending on whom you ask. Apparently, Starfleet feels it might one day run out of room for all its secrets. Considering how much data and material pertaining to Vanguard we just brought here, I suppose they could use the extra space.” There was no mistaking the bitter tone lacing the admiral’s words, but a glance in his direction told Kirk that the other man had no apparent interest in expounding on this comment. “You should probably get used to the idea of coming here every couple of months or so. There’s never a lack of interesting reading, that’s for sure. Of course, this assumes the chief of Starfleet Operations will even let you in the place. I hear he can be a bit disagreeable.”

  Kirk chuckled. “I’ve heard that, too. I’ll have a little chat with him about that.” Despite the shared levity, he knew that Nogura—in his patented oblique fashion—was commenting on the difficulties Kirk seemed to be having as he settled into his new role. Just over two months had passed since his promotion, and already he felt as though something within him—something he could not identify—had gone missing, some quality that no longer asserted itself as he settled into his current duties. Instead of directing the actions of one starship, Kirk now oversaw every ship in the fleet. His perspective on the interstellar political climate—in particular how it affected Starfleet—had expanded far beyond the center seat on the bridge of one vessel. Now the quadrant was a mammoth game board, with Starfleet representing his playing pieces as he and other senior flag officers worked to ensure that their resources were deployed in a manner best suited not only to supporting Starfleet’s mission of exploration and furthering Federation knowledge but also responding to the tests presented by adversarial powers.

  Just another day at the office.

  But was it enough? Along with the challenges of commanding a starship, Kirk also missed his friends. Spock, already gone to Vulcan, now was supposedly immersed in some form of advanced studies about which little was known or offered to outworlders. Leonard McCoy at last report was considering putting his own extended leave on hold in order to participate in a Starfleet program to send doctors and support services to planets, colonies, and other isolated communities along the Federation border. Such a choice seemed at odds with the doctor’s original and rather vocal intentions to “get lost for a while” following the Enterprise’s return to Earth. Kirk had no idea if his friend had accepted the assignment or carried out his good-natured threat to “disappear.” The rest of his former crew was busy elsewhere, with duties relating to the Enterprise’s upcoming top-down refit, or other assignments as handed down from Starfleet. He did not know at this point just how many of the crew would stay with the ship once its upgrades were completed. The only thing Kirk seemed to know for certain was that another captain would guide her toward her next mission.

  Thanks for the reminder.

  Following the signage, they traversed several sections of corridor that to Kirk all looked alike, before turning a corner and arriving at a short section of passageway that ended at a large, formidable-looking metal hatch. Positioned outside the hatch was a pair of guards—a human male and an Andorian female—each wearing the standard uniform for a member of the security branch, including maroon body armor and matching helmet bearing the Starfleet insignia. The officers were standing at ease, their hands behind their backs with their phasers holstered on their hips, and both came to attention at the sight of Nogura and Kirk.

  “Admiral Nogura,” said the Andorian, a lieutenant. “Admiral Kirk. Captain Czerwinski’s expecting you.”

  “Lead on, Lieutenant,” Nogura said, indicating the heavy hatch.

  Turning to a recessed keypad set into the bulkhead to her left, the Andorian tapped a sequence, and a moment later the massive hatch slid aside to reveal what to Kirk looked like a typical computer operations center or even the bridge of a starship. The room was square rather than circular, with fifteen workstations of varying configuration lining the walls, only half of which were occupied by base personnel. A pentagonal island at the center of the room featured five additional workstations, only one of them in use. The island’s lone occupant, a human female with short blond hair, had already risen from her seat and now was moving around the station toward Kirk and Nogura. She wore a variant of the current Starfleet duty uniform—a white short-sleeved tunic and blue-gray trousers. On her shoulders were epaulets displaying her rank insignia.

  “Admiral Nogura,” she said as she approached, “welcome to Aldrin City. I’m Captain Czerwinski, commander of the archives facility.” Turning her attention to Kirk, she added, “Welcome, Admiral. Congratulations on your promotion. I have to say, sir, that some of the things you and the Enterprise ran into made for lively reading.”

  “Only about half of those reports are true, Captain,” Kirk replied, offering what he hoped was a disarming smile. In truth, he remained uncomfortable with the entire notion of somehow being “famous.” Though he did not consider doing as he was ordered to be worthy of any particular recognition, the media had taken great delight in covering the end of the Enterprise’s tour of duty. Much attention was given to comparing it to the starship’s sister Constitution-class vessels, along with the unfortunate and often tragic fates that had befallen several of them. He suspected that at least part of Nogura’s motivation for promoting him was to somehow exploit the good graces in which the former Enterprise captain now found himself with the press. Even Timothy Pennington, the former Federation News Service reporter who had been a witness to many of the events pertaining to Operation Vanguard, saw fit to write his own essay on the Enterprise, her crew, and her mission. Having read the article, Kirk was only somewhat surprised to note that his ship’s presence at the “Battle of Starbase 47” had escaped mention.

  Kirk noted the change in Czerwinski’s
expression, as though she sensed that Nogura was not in the mood for idle conversation. To him, she said, “Admiral, as you saw for yourself, your consignment has been installed in our long-term storage section on level twenty-five.” She made her way back to her workstation. “It’s to be categorized under ultrasecret classification as well as a special dispensation from the Starfleet commander and the Federation president, ordering its isolation for a period of not fewer than one hundred years. Extensions to this directive will be subject to review by . . . well, whoever holds those titles a century from now.”

  “The only safe bet is that it likely won’t be any of us,” Nogura said. Then, with a raised eyebrow worthy of any self-respecting Vulcan, he added, “Except perhaps for you, Captain.”

  Smiling at the unexpected compliment, Czerwinski cleared her throat as she reached for a data slate lying atop her station’s console. “All we need now, sir, is your authorization to activate the enhanced security protocols. Once that’s entered, the materials in question will officially be in isolation, and the clock will be running, so to speak.” As intended, Czerwinski and her personnel had no direct knowledge of the contents of the archive containers that had been placed in storage under Kirk and Nogura’s supervision. According to Nogura, more than twenty percent of the total inventory stored in this facility was shrouded in a security classification so dense and compartmented that it exceeded the clearance levels of the archive’s support staff.

  “That won’t be necessary, Captain,” Kirk said, moving past her to examine one of the island’s other workstations. Gesturing toward the console, he asked, “This station is the master access console for the central archive database, correct?”

  Czerwinski’s expression changed to one of confusion, though she was able to reassert her composure. “Yes, Admiral. It’s a dedicated console, the only one with complete authority to access and update any memory bank in the facility. Only I and three other members of the archives support staff have sufficient credentials to access the database in this manner.”